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-- your humble gamemaster

Turn 16: out cold

You follow the path to the south, towards the port. The jungle becomes thicker and darker, and you hear strange cries and rustlings in the trees all around you. Some of them are enormous, the width of a garrison tower and fully three hundred feet high. This feels, somehow, like a bad place. You notice it's grown cold. Twix starts looking around wildly, but when Heflam asks him what it is, in an irritated voice, he refuses to say. The captive scout's eyes are wide in his head, and he starts to speak, but Twix flails away to motion him to be silent.

There is a sign here alongside the path, in Imperial Common. "Port this way. Run as fast as you can."

You do. Bombr is, once again, surprisingly fast for someone his size. Photius, once you release him, sprints ahead, clearly terrified. The rest of you rattle along behind in your legion armor of breastplate, greaves, sandals and helms. "You know," mutters Gepetto as you stumble along awkwardly, "this thing hasn't got much of a neck guard, has it?"

Twix suddenly shrieks, flailing at the air all around him. You can't see anything there. "Wolverines!" he screams at the top of a high falsetto, "WOLVERINES! AAIGH!"

Twix falls over backwards, stiff as a board, his eyes rolled up into his head. He's frothing at the mouth, unconscious. He's still breathing, but very cold. He's pretty heavy in that armor too, as you roll him over onto his back so he doesn't suffocate in the mulch and leaves into which he pitched facefirst.

Dane tries unsuccessfully to get Twix to drink some water, but he's not responding. The rest of you are gathered around in an anxious huddle. "Um," says Photius nervously, "it's better up ahead a ways, where the path climbs up and the trees are smaller. We usually try not to linger here."

"Why not?," asks Dane.

"Well, this place has a local name, like everything on the island. When the priest translated it, it turned out to mean Graveyard of Souls. A patrol got stuck out here one night in the rain when they were building the port a few years ago. Nobody ever saw them again. The priest told us they were eaten by the dead."

"Then why not build another path?"

"This is the only path between the port and the rest of the island. It would take years to hack through that jungle and build another."

Twix is out cold, and the rest of you are huddled around him. The light is beginning to fail. It's cold here, not frosty, but a damp cold that seeps into your bones. There is thick jungle with towering trees on either side of you, full of sounds that don't seem friendly or familiar.

And the path seems to have disappeared. You're now in a clearing.

"Told you," mutters Photius. "Maybe we should at least build a fire. Or try to keep going and find the path again."

"Or pray!" says Bombr, and begins removing his clothes again and singing.

Turn 15: Bunnies?

The centurion paused in his tracks. It had been another long, hot, sweaty day in this godforsaken jungle. His breastplate felt like it was cooking his insides, but he refused to take it off; if you can't get the men to wear their armor in this heat, at least you can set a good example. His helmet with its horsehair plume was hooked on one shoulder of his armor. Even Imperial pride had its limits on this oven of an island.

There, he heard it again. Someone was screaming his name, and running towards his small patrol. He made a point of leading patrols himself, to better know this posting. If only he hadn't gotten drunk at the governor's party back in Pyrrhus, he wouldn't have been banished here. Three years down, one to go. He was fit now, leaving off the drink that had brought him here. Determined to do a good job and get sent home with some respect.

He held up a clenched fist. The patrol halted on the narrow path. He walked backwards past the five legionaries , making a mental note of their names. He was furthest from the calling voice and had still been the first to notice it. Kitchen detail for these wretches. Still, on this secret island, days and days from anywhere with decent food or wine, it was the dregs sent to serve out here.

I'm the dregs, he thought.

"Centurion! Centurion Spurious Bellus! Centurion!" The figure came gasping into view around a bend, plunging through the thick brush, heedless of it whipping his face.

"Hold!" Spurious shouted. "Compose yourself! You are a soldier of the Empire!" Even if it despises you, he added mentally.

The solder hove into view and stopped short, gasping for air. Spurious saw his cut-up clothing, punctured with what looked like bite wounds. No armor; he had clearly been surprised in his sleep. This was bad, whatever it was.

"Well?"

The soldier started sobbing, as he wailed, "Rabbits. Giant rabbits. Not a man left alive in the camp. And the prisoners got away."

Sweet bride of fcuk, thought the centurion. Giant rabbits. What's next?

Got to keep up a strong front. Bad for morale to start getting nervous. Or maybe laughing, in this case.

"Alright lads. Bind up his wounds and drag him along. We're going to go to the port to see the priest about this. Reinforcements. Magic. We'll bring them in, and we'll get laurels for it."

"All the way to the port, sir?," asked a sad-looking legionary.

"All the way, soldier. After all, it's the first of the month tomorrow."

"So?"

The centurion leaned forward, put his hand on the reluctant legionary's bare shoulder. The man had stripped to the waist in this heat, against all regulations and common sense as well, with enemies about. Nevermind. Duty first. Write a book about all this later, when you're a governor yourself.

"So, lad, the wine shipment comes in on the first of the month. It's revels and Bacchus for the lot of us while we regroup with the priest to teach these spies a lesson."

The soldier brightened up, and began tearing at his ragged cloak to bind up his comrade.

* * * * *

You're outside the hut where you were bound. Giant thumping footprints recede into the darkness of the nighttime jungle all around the small Imperial encampment and its guard tower. Carnage abounds.

Turn 14: Captured

You pursue the fleeing guard further and further into the jungle. And further. He's young and fast, and sheds his spear, shield and bits of armor as he runs in order to speed up. Chip could catch him, of course, but Chip took off straight up when the pursuit began, and is out of sight as the rest of you run.

"You know," huffs the big guy in hot pursuit, "there is an alternative spelling, which my grandfather used. No vowel. Easier to pronounce too. Just Bombr. Ends with brrr, like you're cold" he gasps, leaping over a fallen palm trunk across the path. "Maybe we should just go with that. No offense."

"None taken," gasps out Heflam, just behind him.

Dane cries back from the lead position, "I think we may have more important things to worry about for now."

...as you all screech to a halt. The fleet-footed Imperial scout has led you to large jungle clearing of rocky red soil. As you all burst out of the jungle, you see the scout on the opposite side of the clearing, passing through a line of Imperial soldiers, who are armored and armed with bows, arrows on string, pointed at you. More troops close in from the jungle behind you, cutting off your escape.

The scout approaches a better-dressed Imperial, with an officer's crest on his helmet. He salutes, Imperial style, with a raised left arm. "Scout Lucas reporting sir. We found them. Sorry to report that Scouts Klaatu, Niktu and Barada have been killed, sir."

"Good work, Captain Scout Lucas," says the officer. "We'll take it from here. Get back to the garrison and get yourself some wine."

The scout disappears into the far side of the jungle. The officer turns and looks at you over his kneeling bowmen. He leans down to one, murmurs in his ear, and hands him a bright-red arrow with a glittering dark head. Looks like obsidian. The bowman puts the arrow on the string, scanning the sky above the clearing.

He doesn't have long to wait. With a shriek, Chip comes plummeting out of the sky towards the officer. The troops watch, rapt, as the bowman fires the red arrow. With a shriek of another kind, Chip plunges into the jungle, flailing his wings.

The officer looks pleased, and pats his bowman on the shoulder. "Fine shot. Just like the priest said." He looks up at you.

"There are fifty Imperial soldiers in this clearing. If you want to leave it alive, drop your weapons now. Better a prisoner than a corpse, like your dragon."

The arrows are nocked, the bowmen looking you in the eye. Behind you and a little to the side, the spearmen have their weapons lowered, and are also looking you in the eye. Fighting would be suicide.

Turn Lucky 13: In the event of a water landing...

One by one you all step through the gate, which unceremoniously launches you into the air towards the south with a sickening lurch. You see the island grow further away, the others behind or in front of you on the same long, long arc up. There is savannah under you, full of animals, then dense jungle cut by rivers and punctured by the occasional high hill. North, in the other direction, you notice a mountain rising from the savannah, dark against the horizon, receding, with storms on its crown.

You slowly begin to fall, even as you continue to plummet forwards. You see beach approaching to the south, much wider than where you landed on this island. And a port, a big port, a garrison town a wharf, cargo ships, smaller craft, buildings, and the filthy smoky haze hanging over it that says civilization.

You are falling faster, faster. You see a pool ahead of you, made of the same ancient stones, and briefly glimpse an arch on the side you're coming from, pointing back the way you came. There are two other arches pointing off at angles towards other parts of the island, and another arch on the far, south side pointing out to sea.

Moving so fast should crush you like a bug against the water, which should be harder than stone at this blinding speed. But it isn't. Even your belongings are intact, although soaked. Twix sputters and flails his way to the shore, while Dane swims there in irritatingly long, elegant strokes. Bombouar wrings out his clothes, muttering "sweet bride of Fcuk, soaked again...". Heflam is grinning ear to ear.

Gepetto looks at Heflam. "What are you so happy about?"

Heflam gestures towards the arch. "That was GREAT! Let's do it again."

Dane squints at the arches as he wrings out his clothes. "I don't think we can. The lines of force look different, like the arches are barred. I think we have to do what we came here for before we can use them again."

Gepetto grunts, "Huh. Well, we'll get our chance in a hurry. You idiots probably missed it, but we overflew a guard tower on our way in, less than a mile from this little swimming pool. They're probably on their way here right now."

Heflam quits smiling.

You're on the edge of a beautiful deep blue pool edged with overgrown ancient stones, with three arches pointing towards the island and one pointed out to sea. There's a mile of jungle between you and the beach directly to the south. The Imperial port lies to the southeast a few miles, based on what you saw flying in. The Imperials are probably on their way. The jungle is sparse enough to allow travel, but there are no actual paths, and it looks like nobody's been to this pool in centuries.

Turn 12: the Quest begins

Gepetto plays the dragoncite ocarina as he loops the thin gold chain it hangs from around his neck. The melody continues for some time; you all feel relaxed, happy, and somehow ... better. Dane notices his various cuts and scrapes seem to have disappeared.

You are all gathered in the fire circle around the leader and the other one with the red-feather cloak. It's late afternoon. The tattoo ceremonies are over, all of them similar to Twix's, except for the images and the details of what they might do. Heflam's remains a mystery; the leader simply promised Heflam would discover its uses in due time. Dane mutters something about his chi being focused, and the training postures with which he often fills his idle moments have taken on a new precision. He looks pleased. Bombar, meanwhile, has pulled a small, ornately tools leather bag out of the chest. He looks inquiringly at the leader, who grunts, leans over, and whispers something to him. Bombar looks pleased, and slides the small bag out of sight under his clothes.

The guards carry the chest away, out of sight, and other guards feed you dinner as the leader briefs you on the situation while the sun slides out of sight.

"Our bargain is that you rid our island of every last Imperial. This land is a week's walk across its breadth, the same along its height north to south. The Imperials stay to the coast, save for well-armed slaving forays into the interior villages. Most Imperials are at their port on the southern edge of the island, from whence they ship the products of the Smith and slaves as well. There are perhaps 100 troops, and merchants, and slaves at the port. There is also a wizard, an Imperial priest; we cannot see him as we see the others, and he is communion with the dead, so beware.

Your powers are yours to keep in exchange for freeing our island of all Imperials. Should you renege, these same powers will themselves turn against you.

Farewell."

And the next morning, they're all gone. There are no tracks to be seen but your own. They've left you food for a week, and skins of fresh water. They have also left Dane an obsidian sword, Gepetto a quiver of arrows with obsidian heads along with bow made of black wood carved with faces or masks, and Bombar a mace made of wood and blunt stone. Heflam finds no weapon, but there is a small ship carved out of black wood hanging around his neck, and as he touches it, his tattoo tingles.

The dragon seems a little bigger, as he circles above you in the morning light. He seems to like the smoked crocodile bits that Twix feeds him, as you clean up the remains of breakfast and prepare to start your quest.

I choose a tattoo exemplifying power, grace and protection. The focus of the image is fluid in his motions and knows the center of his being. His aura is almost a physical force which he uses to protect his being and project his will according to the focus of his mind's eye. This power will now be mine.

I watch the holy man carve this image into me and I smile. Ahhh... Through the pain I can feel the clean lines and flows of control awakening within and surrounding me. My being will now be even more able to sense and manage it's own existence.