Alera made a disgusted sound as Celeste collapsed to the forest floor.  The childe had such promise and yet so little dignity as to strike her head on a rock before finishing her kill.  Alera stared down at the three bodies beneath her and spat a single word: "Pathetic."  Gyleon twitched again, as if startled by the noise, and Alera deigned pay him some of her attention.  She was surprised he still clung to life after most men would have slipped their mortal coil.  A quick look informed, however, that was barely the case.  The life in his eyes had faded and he otherwise offered no recognition of the world he was leaving.  Just shallow breaths and the occasional spasm of a mind shutting down.  Alera had half a mind to stamp him out like the dying insect he was.  But he wasn't worth that much effort. 

Instead, she reached down, seized Celeste by the hair, and hauled the girl roughly to her feet.  She dangled limply from Alera's grip like a puppet, and given the height difference between them, her toes barely scraped the leaves on the ground as Alera stalked away from the tree under which Celeste had collapsed.  Her stride was precise but impatient, for her patiences with the childe had run out.  It had been test enough to suffer the vapid company of her dear cousin and his endless talk of grain, the most dreay of trades, while she'd waited out the daylight.  To have come all the way to Ketra and gone to such effort only for her prize to faint like a frightened goat was an irredeemable waste of immortality.  So much effort only to find out how much more would be required for the childe to be useful.  With an exasperated gesture, Alera summoned forth the dark mist once again and wrapped it around herself and Celeste, dematerializing their forms and allowing them to take flight into the midnight sky and streak south towards the Thunderblack Mountains.

The mist coalesced directly above the bloodsoaked crest sunk into the stone floor just beyond the threshold of Apocrypha's great entry doors.  Alera drifted ceremoniously down the last few centimeters as she retook human form, her stilleto boots clicking lightly on the two-meter glass panel that covered the crest and enabled entrants to the castle to walk over it.  The silent soldiers on watch around the entry hall snapped to attention at once, as if they had anticipated her arrival.  Though Alera could not see their faces through the fiersome helmets of their uniform, they all still averted their eyes that they might not meet her gaze only to have her find something she decided displeased her.  Or, perhaps, pleased her altogether too much.  Alera's senechal also stood ready, the toes of his leather shoes precisely at the edge of the crest, gloved hands clapsed over his navel, awaiting her whim.  Alera did not move to look at any of those assembled, or even so much as seem register their presence until she dropped Celeste's unconscious body like an unwanted sack and spoke.

"Have it cleaned up and given prepared chambers.  None are to visit.  I will see to it personally."

The senechal nodded his compliance, but Alera was already walking away as she made known her will.  Personally indeed, since entrusting Celeste to even a devotee she thought competent had still required her direct involvement in the end.  Still, Celeste would not wake for some time, and unlike other immortals, Alera was not wont to simply sit upon her throne and await the unfolding of events.  She walked through the castle as its mistress and owner would, seeing everything but acknowledging nothing, placing her expectations upon those slaves and soldiers she passed. 

And what slaves their were.  The vast multitudes of mortalkind, all represented in some form or another.  Specimens of all races and peoples served at Alera's command, for her tastes, broadly speaking, did little to discriminate.  She simply desired the finest specimens: the most handsome, beautiful, muscular, svelte, exotic, intelligent, charming, brash, demure. A seemingly endless supply of mortal flesh for even the most discerning of desires bustled about the gothic stone corridors of the castle, seeing to all its needs and those of its inhabitants.  They all bowed in reverence and lowered their eyes as Alera made her way to the east wing.  She could have simply returned to mist and glided unnoticed through the castle's shadowy rafters and labyrinth of secret passages, she had no intention of stewing in her frustration in the quiet solitude of her chambers.  No, the frustrations of the day would wash away much more pleasantly in the warmth of another.  And while an entire section of the east wing had been given over to facilities for perusing such "anothers", Alera would occasionally find one that suited her fancy amongst the plebians in the halls.  She would never know if she did not look. 

As she passed the apothecarium, her eye caught a dark-skinned elf who was busy refilling the censers used to mask the noxious fumes from the experiments Alera's alchemists were conducting.  She stopped, suddenly, but coolly and precisely, and turned to examine the slave, from their long shining black hair to the navel-deep neckline of their purple tunic.  The slave froze in place, pinned on the spot by her glowing stare, and waited, barely breathing.  The long match in their fingers, still lit, burned slowly downward, but they were too transfixed to notice.

"You," Alera said at last. "Make yourself ready and go to my chambers.  I would have you for dinner."

The slave did not register her words for a moment, then their eyes went wide as if they had been blessed personally by a deity from on high.  For in the slave's mind, that is what Alera was.  Unfortunately for them, like all the others, in their blind ignorance, they could not grasp the truth of her words and intentions. 

:So, the little rodent isn't completely useless,: Xaraea remarked acidly as Serish followed Tee-kup into concealed cave.  Serish found herself in agreement.  She'd only ever known goblins to eat, gossip, and scream as they fled from danger.  She'd never expected one to be able to pull together a tracking spell, let alone open an arcane lock.  Maybe she was actually a wizard as she claimed. 

:Hah, as if.  Being a wizard is about more than having power.  Even a goblin can muddle its way into a few tricks.  Wretched creature probably doesn't have half an idea what's really doing.:

Even if Serish wasn't much more inclined than Xaraea to credit Tee-kup's magical talent, she did have to admit the goblin was right on another account: something had very obviously been this way, and that made the dead silence immediately suspect.  She drew her sword and stalked past Tee-kup, the enchanted engraving along its blade glowing red as Serish prepared to set it ablaze at the first sign of hostility.  She took in the chamber carefully as she went, with the thoroughness of long practice.  It was clearly some kind of reception hall, and the lack of a single seam anywhere gave the impression that the whole of the chamber, down to every last ornament, had been formed by carving it from the stone of the mountain.  The entire floor was completely empty, save for some sort of basin or brazier on a plinth at the exact center of the room, positioned such that it never left Serish's vision as she followed the circular wall around the edge of the room. 

The only other notable feature was at the far end of the room, where a pair of enclosed rooms with decorated arrow slits carved out of there front flanking a pointed archway whose edges had been scuplted to look like saplings growing towards each other to meet and intertwine at the top.  However, the archway didn't lead to anywhere.  It was the size of a large, although not necessarily enormous, door, but behind it was a blank, smooth stone wall.  The hilt of Serish's sword clanged off the stone it when she struck it, so it wasn't illusory, and, like everything else in this room, there was no seam in the stone, so it would not slide out of the way like a pocket door.  A search of the two tiny rooms on either side, which Serish presumed to be guard posts of some kind, revealed nothing that looked like it could open the way.

The only other ways out of the reception hall were two stone doors, one on each wall directly between the entrance and the arch, recessed several feet back to prevent them from taking focus away from the murals.  Both were standing open, and Serish could see a path cut through the layer of dust on the floor.  Someone had used this room, and recently.  And yet it was still silent as the grave.  Bringing her sword up to guard, Serish moved smoothly and quietly through the door, eyes sharp and muscles ready to spring on any ambushers. 

She needn't have bothered, no one came to meet her.  Still, the room showed signs of habitation.  A raised stone slab, of a size and height to serve as a bed, occupied part of one wall furthest from the door, but the bedroll that had been laid atop it looked to have only been there for a week at most.  A half dozen other bedrolls of similar vintage were strewn about the floor.  The desk against the near wall, which was of one contiguous piece with the wall and floor like everything else in this supposed tomb, had writing implements on it, but no papers or journals or anything else that could give Serish insight on who had been through here previously.  The only other items in here were rucksacks and crates, which proved to contain rations, canteens, tools and other supplies for an expedition.  All of it was of modern make.  Searching the room on the opposite side of the chamber revealed it to be identical in its construction and nearly so in its contents. 

:These rooms were clearly repurposed as some kind of base camp.  But for whom?  And where could they have gone?: Xaraea mused. 

:Something is up with that archway,: Serish replied.  :There's no other way out.  The central chamber is big enough to bury a dragon underneath, but if these were grave robbers, they would've started tearing up the floor if that's where the dragon was actually buried.:

:Right indeed, my love,: Xaraea acknowledged sweetly, and it made something inside Serish rush to hear.  :Go check that basin in the middle.:

Serish complied, moving swiftly back to the basin.  Tee-kup barely seemed to notice, having become enthralled studying the murals on the walls.  That was fine with Serish, it meant no interruptions for whatever Xaraea had planned.  The basin was made of wrought iron and was surpisingly unadorned.  It held absolutely nothing, and neither it nor the plinth it stood on had any markings that might suggest its purpose.  Still, if Serish focused, she could feel the magic in this place swirling around the basin.  It had to do something, but what, Serish couldn't begin to guess.

:Let me try something, dear,: Xaraea offered.  Serish's left hand began making gestures over the basin, entirely without any command for her to do so.  It was if she was watching and feeling a stranger's hand perform the motions.  :I told you before, my sweet, we are one now.  I can do more for you than just whisper.  Watch.:

As Serish's hand finished its complex sequence, the basin burst into a brilliant blue fire that gave off heat as mild and pleasant as a warm summer's day.  Nowhere did the flames touch the basin, and there was no sign of any fuel anywhere.  It was a purely magic flame, and that realization was only confirmed when the shape of a hooded face with glowing eyes coalesced within.  A deep, resonant baritone voice filled the whole of the reception hall, booming and echoing from the walls, impossible to ignore but not painful:

"Seekers of the tomb of Sunlight Prism will find it through the portal.  But know that those who are not prepared to walk the Old Path will find themselves turned aside.  Only those with the strength of heart to carry on Sunlight Prism's legacy will be granted audience.  Of the Eradish, may they be called the foremost.

It was a glorious -- but tragic -- moment for the disciples of Ymunth as they set aside their quarrels and formed ranks against a greater enemy.  The Eradish forced Kar-Balramir's army out of its earthly outpost and pursued it across Le'Raana and even into the uncharted lands beyond its shores, leaving Ymunth to complete his vital works.  When the great dragon sacrificed himself to imprison the Demon Sovereign, his disciples presumed the threat vanquished, and their fellowship began to fracture.  In their petty squabbles over doctrinal differences, they abandoned their charge to guard the tools of Ymunth's great work.  The rifts they created not only shattered their covenant, but planted the seeds to free the evil their master had cast beyond the bounds of time and space. 

The Eradish dedicate this tomb to the memory and spirit of Sunlight Prism, whose labors built the fortress that will forestall the return of the doom Ymunth contained, and whose ideals and dreams of unity were dashed against the stones of treachery.  May that fortress ever stand."

After a moment of baleful silence, the face disappeared from the fire and with choral sound, a portal opened within the archway against the far wall.  Serish stood in stunned silence, staring through the flame and the wall beyond.  This wasn't the tomb of just any dragon.  This was one of the dragons who imprisoned her father.  Whatever this Sunlight Prism had done, it had been to stop her specifically. 

Xaraea's mindvoice was caustic as ever.  :Well, it seems they were killed before they could finish.  Even a dragon ought to have known one does not defy prophecy without great cost.:

The demon meant it as an insult to the dragon, but the words struck something in Serish, and up welled a profound unease she hadn't felt since she had found Ymunth's tomb, moments before Ancin had confronted and killed her. 

The demon walks in mortal flesh, and from darkness comes the light of flame.  By the child's hand, the Sovereign unchained, and the world cast asunder.

One does not defy prophecy without great cost.

Etharyn bit his lip as he watched the village burn through a spyglass from the safety of an overlooking hill and wondered where his plan had gone so spectacularly wrong.  A year back, he'd heard from a fellow dealer in secrets on the mainland of someone looking for some sort of magic tome.  The details of what particular tome was in demand were practically non-existent, but Etharyn was an ambitious man; he wasn't about to let a little thing like a lack of intelligence get in the way of a good scheme. 

The plan had been remarkably straightforward.  First, sell some passing traders and adventurers rumors of a fabled magic tome.  Next, wait for them to return to the mainland and spread the rumors.  Then, when someone would come to him asking about a magic tome, ask which tome they were looking for, then listen to the descriptions they give in response.  Repeat as necessary to gather sufficient information to locate the tome himself, then tender that information to the Silent Watcher.  The Watcher was always keen to know of lost artifacts, particularly those of great power, and would reward the faithful that offered such knowleged with knowledge of commensurate value.  Who knew what secrets gleaned by the eye that watches from shadows would be revealed to him as reward for such an offering?  Etharyn honestly wasn't sure, the possibilities were so great.  As cons went, there's no reason it shouldn't have worked.  It hadn't required specific timing, it hadn't required ironclad cover stories or characters.  All it had required was Etharyn sitting back and just doing his job like always.  So at what point, he wondered to himself, had psychopaths in longcoats entered the picture?

"Why does this happen to me?" he groaned as he adjusted the spyglass's focus to track the rampaging maniac as she walked out of town.

Once he was sure she wasn't coming back, and once the fires in town had mostly burned themselves out, Etharyn descended from the hill and made his way through the wreckage towards what was left of his tavern.  The second floor had completely collapsed and left the main dining area of the tavern buried under a mountain of rubble.  Which is why he'd had the foresight to move the area behind the bar -- and the entrance to the cellar beneath -- to the only part of the building that didn't support a second story.  Using a wood axe he knicked from outside the house of one of the fishermen, which had escaped the worst of the blaze, he set to work splitting and clearing the consumed timbers of his beloved Pilgrim's Cross from the area around the hidden cellar hatch.  The work went quickly, since no one had interrupted him to beg him to help dig out their aunt or their child or their dog out of the ruins of their house.  In fact, no one who had fled the fire had returned to the village yet, but Etharyn wasn't going to dwell on that.  He just wanted to collect his things, steal a boat from the cove, and be gone before anyone could trace the source of the rumors back to him.  He'd watched what the psychopath in the longcoat had done to the rest of the villagers and he wasn't keen on partaking in the experience. 

After the better part of two hours of labor, Etharyn had cut a swath through the rubble large and stable enough for him to haul open the floor hatch that led down to the cellar.  He had to throw his whole weight against the handle a few times, since the fire had warped it in its frame, but it popped free with a resounding crack that echoed through the mostly-silent ruins, and he scurried down the ladder.  The cellar was large, but mostly contained foodstuffs for the bar and kitchen, nothing Etharyn wanted to take with him aside from a few valuable vintages and a handful of provisions for his voyage.  However, tucked away at the very back, behind the kegs of ale, racks of wine bottles, and sacks of grain and dried meats was a hidden alcove, just out of sight from the folding staircase.  It was there that could be found the treasures Etharyn wanted to take with him.  He kept the mostly packed in a traveling chest for this kind of eventuality -- sacks of coin, sorted by principality, coded journals and ledgers, a disguise kit, various forged documents, and the other sundries of his trade -- but some were still set up around the alcove.  Most important, yes the one thing he had to take with him if he had to leave everything else behind, was the statuette in the shrine that he had made the alcove's centerpiece.  Carved of a black, glossy stone Etharyn had never see before, it depicted a shrouded figure upon a high-backed throne, and it was the one thing in the entire tavern he did not know how to replace.  It was his link to the Silent Watcher.  Every intelligence report, every juicy overheard rumor, everything he divulged to the Watcher he did by praying before the icon in the night, and the icon would whisper back with choice selections from the Watcher's dark bounty.

Etharyn had received the icon of the Watcher from his father, along with the rest of the Pilgrim's Cross, after his fathered passed away.  He did not know where or how his father had gotten on the icon, only that his father had made him promise to always keep it in his possession.  Etharyn had needed no convincing.  Direct access to a deity, and one of knowledge and secrets no less, was a powerful thing.  Absolutely powerful, if one played their cards right, and Etharyn intended to do just that.  Prerequisite to that was living long enough to draw a good hand, so he wrapped the icon in a travelling cloak, put it in the chest, then began piling the rest of his necessities in around it.  He moved quickly, wanting to be out and on his way well before dawn so no one would see his escape.

Serish woke up tired and sore.  Even after months of roughing it on the road, she hadn't had a night's sleep so uncomfortable as that hammock.  The rocking of the boat and the confined space of the lower hold had left her feeling queasy and the way the hammock had pressed into her shoulders had left her with large knots in both of them as well as her neck.  Ordinarily, she could count on one of Xaraea's divine (or perhaps unholy) massages, but what with Serish sharing quarters with dozens of other people, that wasn't an option.  After realizing lying in the hammock all day wouldn't make the pain go away, she rolled out of the hammock and dropped feet-first onto the deck to start looking for her boots.  Someone had stacked them with a bunch of other shoes up against one of the support pillars for the deck which...was probably fair.  Serish had kicked them off while in her hammock and let them fall to the floor before she'd gone to sleep, and the sound of someone tripping over them in the dark and breaking their neck probably would've woken her up. 

She grabbed her boots out of the pile and trudged over to an open hull hatch in her stockings, sinking down against one of ribs.  She basked in what little breeze wafted through the hatch, closing her eyes and leaning her head back.  She'd forgotten how stuffy ships got below deck, which only made worse the unholy smell of having dozens of people crammed into a middeck that had probably only been cleaned twice in its life.  Serish had been trained through the brutal expedience of being thrown in some mouldering dungeon or crypt and left to make her own way out, and many of those had smelled less noxious than this ship. 

Serish missed having the run of the ship she had on her previous voyage, being able to stand on the top deck and while away the afternoon watching the endless sea go by.  Unlike the overbearing captain of the Solar Halo, Idrastea hadn't spent her time coming up with useless makework.  She'd been grateful for Serish's company and Serish had found her a decent travelling companion as well.  She'd been a proper wizard, master of the arcane in a way Serish really wasn't.  Serish could blow things up, freeze them, send them flying across the room with terminal speed, and smite them with a thunderstorm like the fist of an angry god, but those were things that just happened.  The academic technicalities had always been beyond her, but Idrastea rattled them off with a breathy enthusiasm, which wove in with her gift for identifying and connecting arcane concepts on sight.  Serish understood what she was saying, but could never add anything to the conversation.  Idrastea didn't seem to mind, or maybe she hadn't noticed.  It was cute in its way.  She'd been cute.  Short blonde hair, perky attitude--

:I don't have to listen to this,: Xaraea groused, then retreated once more to the hidden corner of Serish soul where she resided.

"No, wait," Serish called after her, not realizing she'd spoken aloud, but it was too late.  She could only feel the echo of Xaraea's presence and Xaraea wouldn't even acknowledge Serish's attempts to draw her back out.  Serish let out a heavy sigh.

"Romantic troubles, eh?" asked the man who'd claimed the hammock beneath Serish's.

Serish glanced over.  He'd rolled himself over onto his belly and had his chin propped up in his hands to give her a knowing stare, elbows digging into the canvas fabric of the hammock.  Serish looked away and ignored him, but he wasn't having any of it.

"C'mon, I know that sound.  What's his name?  What's got you on the rocks?"

"She isn't here right now," Serish muttered sullently.  "And, right now, I wish I wasn't either."

It was over in a moment, a display of primal violence whose screams fractured the cloying stillness of the night, only to be cut short before the the first echo returned.  From atop a nearby tree, her step so light the branch did not so much as bend, Alera watched the moment unfold with intense interest.  Celeste had been catatonic when Gyleon had found her.  When he and Helmar had tried to pull her to her feet, Celeste's frenzy took them both by surprise.  In a heartbeat, Gyleon's intestines had spilled upon the ground, and in her starved strength Celeste bore Helmar to the ground, fangs tearing into the flesh of his throat.  A frisson ran up Alera's spine as Celeste partook of her grotesque feast, even as the smell of freshly spilt blood wafted up to her.  It had been some time since Alera had observed such an intimate display of savagery from afar and to her the vouyerism of it was deliciously indulgent. 

After savoring the scene for a while longer, Alera faded into mist once more, allowing the wind to carry her down to to forest floor where Celeste was still ravenously sucking dry every artery she could locate on Helmar's body.  The black mist swirled into form once more and Alera stood silent and unmoving over the three others, her black cloak catching on the wind.  The polished leather of her corset and bodysuit and her pale seeming to glow in the diffuse moonlight.  Her appearance was met with a weak gurgle from Gyleon, who yet lived despite his wounds and the blood pooling in his throat and lungs.  Alera ignored him and, with a bit of effort, ignored the thrumming her her body as his blood called to her.  She had fed earlier that evening (another of her distant cousins whose body now lay forgotten where the four laborers had dropped him when Alera had disappeared) and Gyleon's lowborn blood would have tasted positively vile and done little to sate her hunger, no matter how sweet it may have been to drain each of the four men dry as recompense for having to endure their uncouth company for that evening's errand.  Better to let the fledgling have it, Alera thought.  She did not want the girl feral for what she had planned.  So, she stood and waited for Celeste to drink her fill and feed the slavering beast inside her.

Aliza gestured for the others to disperse.  They needed to observe the crew assignments and rotations to locate a suitable and untravelled section of the ship where they could conduct their nightly prayers without interruption.  It would also do to know where and when someone might accidentally fall overboard.  Their task was to report the expedition's progress and findings, unobserved themselves if possible, and to do so they'd need to blend into the background, move amongst the bustle of the crowded ship while more interesting matters drew the limited attention of those aboard.  The size of the ship and conspicuousness of a small group roaming around necessitated they split up.  Eswild would try to find someplace that would afford her a good look at the sky without being conscripted into makework by the officers so she could chart a copy of the ship's course while the rest would make their way through the rest of the ship to gather whatever information they could.  While the other set off on their own initiative, Aliza made her way towards the hold to manifest the cargo. 

Serish watched the four women scatter through the narrow slit of one cracked eyelid while she continued pretending to sleep.  She didn't get the sense of anything particularly sinister about them, let alone some watchful presence, but Xaraea had always had a better feel for the finer details of cosmic forces than she did.  If Xaraea said something was using those women as a gateway...well, Serish was perfectly happy for them to go bother someone else for the rest of the voyage.

After the four women departed, she felt Xaraea's presence re-enter her mind.  :Ugh.  Whatever that thing is, it will almost certainly be spying on the whole expedition.  It wants something.  But what?:

"Hey, are you asleep up there?"

The mage (Serish didn't need Xaraea's finely-honed magical senses to determine that much) was still looking up at her expectantly.  She hadn't moved, hadn't looked down at him or otherwise made any effort to acknowledge his presence, but it was easy to tell from the quality of his voice that he was just standing there, waiting for her to answer. 

:Does he ever stop talking?: Xaraea muttered bitterly.

"If I say no, will you stop talking?"  Serish answered, still not moving.  When she was met with a moment of stunned silence, she continued before the mage could formulate a response.  "Good.  I'm exhausted and need a nap.  Keep that up and we'll get along just fine."

Serish leaned her head back on the crew hammock and tried to get some shuteye.  She'd been halfway to Serendipity when she'd seen the advertisement for this expedition and had turned back south and made the best speed she could on foot.  This opportunity -- or, more precisely, the gold on offer for joining -- was too good to pass up.  To say nothing of the artifacts that she could bring back and sell to Serenian mages and other antiquities collectors.  A few cultural baubles, or even just one of any magical significance, would go a long way towards ending her existence as a broke drifter selling her swordarm for a pittance to grubby peasants and swindling merchants.  A nice flat in a merchant district or a small manor amongst the city councillors were far more suiting a mage of the School of Sunrir than making camp on the side of the road or scrounging silvers for a tiny room at a cheap inn, even if she hadn't actually completed the trial that would make her a fully vested mage. 

No, that last ordeal -- and the last time Serish had set out on an expedition like this, less than a year ago -- had seen her bound to a demon, hunted by ghouls, recapturing a frigate from necromancers, slaughtering her way through a tribe of orcs, being chased through the catacombs of a forgotten temple by zombies, meet her father, and learn she was the obscurely prophesied herald of the doom of all Le'raana.  All to give the Necromancer Lord Ancin the perfect opportunity to literally stab her in the back with a life-sized dragon statue and kill her.  Serish wasn't sure if that was a good omen or bad for this expedition.  At the very least this one was starting out a lot less comfortable.  When she'd first set sail from Cerenis to the shores of the Moraki desert, Serish slept in one of the staterooms, being the closest thing the ship had to a first officer after she'd cut her way through the reanimated corpses of its officers and crew.  Top bunk on a triple-rack of rough canvas hammocks, breathing the stale below-decks air of a merchantman that smelled more than faintly of an overcrowded stable, listening to dozens of other crew and mercenaries chatter was far removed from that and Serish didn't particularly look forward to several months of it. 

:You could always kill the first officer and take the cabin that way.  If Ancin has fled to this new land and we recover Ymunth's skull, it won't matter anyway,: Xaraea mindspoke lazily.  The demon's bloodlust rivalled her pragmatism and that often made it difficult to determine if such suggestions were serious.  If it wouldn't have immediately gotten Serish thrown overboard, it would've been a good idea.

Her daydreams of sleeping on a real bed with a window to let in the clean sea air were interrupted by the sound of passing footsteps.  Serish had deliberately chosen a hammock well away from everyone else so her nap wouldn't be disrupted by people pacing back and forth or talking loudly right next to her.  She cracked open one baleful eye to see who had dared wake her.  Four women of heights that suggested Adelan origin and concealing themselves with heavy traveling cloaks walked briskly past the foot of Serish's hammock in a tight diamond formation.  Serish caught a glimpse of auburn hair poking out from the hood of the woman leading the group, but other than that she couldn't tell much about them except that they were armed and they were looking for something; it was in the way they moved. 

Xaraea made a thoughtful noise. :Hmmm...:

:Who are they?: Serish asked.

:I...don't know.:  The demon's mindvoice demonstrated as much surprise as Serish felt.

:You don't know?  Since when do you not recognize a uniform?:

:I've no interest in identifying every petty mercenary troupe and traveling circus on the planet,: Xaraea responsed waspishly.  :What I don't recognize is who sent them.:

Serish's mindvoice became suspicious.  :They're summons?:

:No, they're mortals, but they're marked by a deity, which is almost certainly why they're here.  The trouble is I can't say which.:

:'Can't' as in 'forbidden' or 'can't' as in 'I'm not sure'.:

Xaraea scoffed. :The latter, obviously.  The mark is...familiar, resembles a few I know but matches none.  It's too new.:

:Too...new?:

Impatience crept into Xaraea's mindvoice and Serish got the distinct impression of the demon tapping her foot.  :A deity's mark...has qualities similar to a fine wine, a character and a vintage.  The precise circumstances of a deity's existence, any significant events it has experienced, shape the mark it leaves on anything it touches, as does the deity's age.  I recognize elements of the character of this deity, but it is far, far to young to be any I know.:

:How young?:

:Half a millennium at most.:

Serish tracked the women as they made their way to one of the pools of shadow left where the oil lamps could not reach, even further from the rest of the passengers than Serish was before stopping to converse in whispers.  :'Hmmm...' indeed.:

Suddenly, she felt Xaraea's presence retreat from her mind, as if the demon were trying to hide herself, something she had never done before.  Why would she?  No one had ever seen she was there, watching and hearing everything as Serish did.  At first she thought one of the cloaked women had realized Serish was surveilling them, but the four continued their conversation uninterrupted.  But Serish's blood ran cold when Xaraea's mindvoice came back quiet and tense, a harsh whisper from a distant corner of their shared soul: :It can see us!:

Session Zero has been scheduled for Saturday May 2nd at 12 PM PDT (7 PM GMT).  Anyone else looking to join should contact me by Saturday morning at the absolute latest.

Melsathaes is the codename given to a team of four Sightless Eye agents who have been hired onto the expedition under the guise of mercenary scouts.  While they can perform those duties, their real task is to be the eyes and ears for their mistress, Alera N'Rali.  Their primary interest is uncovering secrets and identifying political and economic opportunities Alera can exploit  Despite their cover story to the contrary, they have no concern for the rest of the expedition beyond its ability to help them to that end. 

Given the Sightless Eye operates as a cult, the agents of Melsathaes worship Alera as an aspect of the Silent Watcher, an old minor deity who is the patron of scouts, spies, and those who seek what is lost, forgotten, or unknown.  This worship is how Alera keeps tabs on her agents and how she will be kept appraised of what Melsathaes discovers, as well as pass any useful information back to them. 

Each has access to an arcane ability they call the True Sight, which allows them to detect dangers and subtle details, making them peerless sentries and investigators.  Members of the Sightless Eye consider it a divine mystery and speak little of it to outsiders.

Aliza
   Most senior agent.  A veteran of some of Le'raana's most exotic and dangerous locales, she is a flexible operator who is too inured to the weird to panic in the face of horrors from beyond the veil, having vanquished a few herself.  Received orders directly from Alera, which is a rare and coveted honor amongst the Sightless Eye.

Eswild
   Trailblazer.  Eswild's duties largely consist of long tours of uncharted wilderness to map sites for deeper exploration by other agents.  This also makes her a skilled hunter and tracker, able to analyze the land and make a solid guess as to where a target may have gone. 

Brythe
   A member of the Sightless Eye's kill squads.  Brythe is a well-trained stalker, assassin, and assault troop, serving as Alera's bloody dagger to silence those who threaten her power.  Her placement with Melsathaes is to ensure the team's cover remains intact and no one hinders their mission overlong.  Unlike the stereotypical assassin, she functions well with a team and in a straight fight. 

Aengen
   Alchemical specialist.  While not a stranger to field work, Aengen's primary responsiblilty is the development of poisons, tranquilizers, and other potions to aid other field agents.  As part of this work, she identifies flora and fauna for suitable reagents and conducts autopsies on test subjects.  While not a proper doctor, she is familiar enough with physiology to perform chirurgeon duties if pressed. 

Serish knew an opportunity when she saw one.  From her vantage point, she called up a fireball and hurled it down at the mired and disoriented raiders.  It conflagrated on impact, rending a foxhole into the mud and sending the nearest raiders flying like explosive catapult shot.  The searing heat sucked the moisture and the very air out of the mud and an atmosphere around the foxhole, trapping the legs and arms of most of the raiders in the now-solid earth.

:Do you really think a bit of dried mud is going to stop them?:  Xaraea asked, incredulously.

:No, but it'll stall them long enough for me to get down there.:

Serish's sword was already in her hand when she hit the ground and ran towards the breach in the earthworks, the engraving on the blade erupting into flame.  The raider who had opened the breach had taken the brunt of the little deity's water stream attack and had gone tumbling several meters back away from the breach, where it now lay supine and half buried in the dirt.  Already it was wiggling its arms, trying to work its way free enough to cast another spell.  Serish didn't give it a chance, plunging her flaming sword into its chest where she guessed its heart was, twisting the blade sharply, then pulling it free.  The creature gave an ululating wail as the strike drew heartsblood, its concerted writhing turning into agonized thrashing as it bled out onto the cracked earth. 

Serish didn't even have a moment to savor the minor victory when Xaraea spoke up.  :On your right,: she said simply.

She needn't have said more.  Serish sidestepped and made a quarter turn, bringing her sword up to parry a paired strike from another raider who had been out of the way of both the stream of water and the fireball.  Steel clashed against steel as Serish managed to deflect both of the raider's curved blades.  Unfortunately, the raider had the advantage in number of arms, and while Serish's were busy controlling her sword, the raider had an extra hand it used to punch her in the gut.  The armor absorbed much of the impact, but the blow still drove her back on her heels, forcing her to give several steps of ground to avoid losing her balance.  The lingering heat from her fireball rising noticeably as she fell back and the scent of burning grass and flesh grew thicker on the air. 

Serish recovered her footing and planted her stance, holding her sword in a guard ready for the raider to push its momentary advantage.  It closed the distance with a bound of its goat-like legs and swiped its twin swords at opposite extremes of her guard.  She deflected the blade coming in low, sidestepping and ducking to avoid the blade aimed at her head, then followed up with her counterattack.  Goat legs, like horse legs, have a number of advantages, but they come at the expense of effectively like walking on the tips of one's toes, putting a lot of weight on the bones just above the hoof.  As the raider's weight came down on one of its legs, Serish aimed a swift kick at one of those bones, forcing it to bend in a way it had never been meant to and snapping under the strain.  The raider screeched in pain and toppled to the ground, rolling to keep its injured leg from touching anything, its swords left to lay where they clattered beside it. 

More of the raiders were drawn by the screams of their comrades, having broken free from their earthen prisons or recovered from being tossed aside by the torrential spray of water.  Serish sent one spasming to the ground with a thrown lightning bolt before having to drop flat to the ground to avoid behing hit by a flying boulder the size of a horse.  Serish took out another raider that sought to trample her while she was down with a lance of fire that speared one of its legs and sprawled it in a tumbling heap.  But wherever she took out one, three more appeared from the ground or from the smoke billowing from the spreading grassfire. 

Given the schedules of those who have already expressed interest, I've set a tentative date for Session Zero: Saturday May 2nd.  This could change if it proves necessary, but I'd rather not push it any later than that.

Since many of us are going to be stuck inside for several more weeks yet, I've been kicking around the idea of running a FATE game for folks here who are interested.  No prior FATE knowledge will be required. 

Stuff to download
FATE Core rulebook
FATE Core character sheet
FATE Core large type character sheet
FATE Core extended form-fillable character sheet
FATE Accelerated rulebook
FATE Accelerated character sheet
FATE game creation worksheet
FATE character creation worksheet

Online Rules at FATE SRD: https://fate-srd.com/

What is FATE?
FATE is a pen-and-paper roleplaying game published by Evil Hat that targets a different style of game than D&D.  It puts less of a priority on intricate rules and more on character-driven mechanics and storytelling.

Why FATE?
FATE is easy
FATE has very few rules and fewer mechanics that need to be learned, so it's easier to get new people up to speed.  There's also a lot less hunting around in books looking for specific rules, abilities, and interactions.

FATE is fast
Building off of the above, the actual dice rolling of FATE doesn't take very long, since a single simple dice-rolling mechanic is used for everything.  The creation of characters also involves a lot less hunting through rulebooks looking for the one class that best suits your character idea (since you get to make up all your abilities yourself).  How long FATE takes depends on how long you want to spend getting into character.

FATE is flexible
FATE is robust and easily modified, so it can be adapted to any kind of game we want to play.  We may need to create some systems, but that's okay because FATE is designed to easily to support that and has guidelines for doing so.

FATE is free
The core rulebooks for FATE -- those without any licensed setting material -- are pay-what-you want, and that includes not paying at all.  These core rulebooks are all very good and are more than sufficient to get a complete game going.  This means there's no cost barrier to entry and you don't need to worry about yo-ho-ho'ing the rulebooks from somewhere.  However, if you like the game, please support Evil Hat if you can afford it (I know times are tough right now; they wouldn't want you to feel pressured to pay up and neither do I).  Evil Hat are good people and they deserve the love and support, however you can express it.

FATE is collaborative
FATE puts a lot of emphasis on the group telling the story and building the world together.  It's everyone's game, not just the Gamemaster's. 

Will it be an SotE-themed game?
Only if that's what everyone wants.  We'll be building the game together as part of FATE's campaign creation guidelines.  If people would rather do another fantasy setting, a sci-fi game, or something like CATastrophe, that's what we'll do. 

How big will the group be?
4-8 people.  If enough people express interest, I may keep a few people as backups in case someone can’t make the time commitment

Who is welcome to join?
Anyone who can make the time commitment for at least a couple sessions.  I don't know how long the game will run -- it's possible it may only be a one-off game -- but I also want to run a Session Zero where we create the game and characters together.  During Session Zero, we'll come up with a more specific time commitment that works for everyone. 

I've never played a tabletop RPG before.  Can I still join?
Yes!  Absolutely!  FATE is designed to be a really beginner-friendly system.  It's why I chose it for this and why FATE is my preferred game for introducing new people to my favorite hobby.  If you're new to the hobby and want to dip your toes in, by all means, please join!

Where will this game be hosted?
I'll be running the game on Discord.  Online FATE doesn't really need a digital tabletop the same way online D&D does.  If we find we need a digital tabletop, I'll try to find a free option that works for everyone.  Any collaborative writing that needs to be done -- such as during the character creation process -- will be done on Google Docs

Do I have to use voice chat?
It would be very much preferred.  A lot can be done faster if everyone can talk rather than waiting to type.

Do I have to use video chat?
No.  I won't be because I don't actually have a webcam.  You're welcome to turn on the webcam if you feel comfortable do so.

Can I stream the game?
I was considering streaming it myself, but only if everyone in the group is comfortable with it.  If that's the case, you're welcome to run your own stream from your perspective or host mine.

I see two different games here: Core and FAE.  Which one will we be using?
FATE Core and FATE Accelerated (FAE) are largely the same game.  The only differences are in the skills and damage system.  Core has a longer list of skills and two damage tracks.  FAE condenses everything into six skills and one damage track.  The result is FAE starts and runs faster, but Core has a bit more granularity.  Grab both; we'll decide which one we want in Session Zero.

I see these "System Toolkits" here.  What are they?  Do we need them?
System Toolkits are guidebooks for expanding the basic FATE rules to deal with different game types and subjects.  We don't strictly need any of them to play, but some might be beneficial depending on what kind of game the group ultimately decides on.  Feel free to take a look at them to see if they inspire any ideas. 

Do I need to create a character before showing up?
No.   In fact, I would ask that you don't even try.  Like everything else in FATE, character creation is a group effort.  Your character will have a history with at least a couple other characters which will be determined as part of Session Zero.  Show up with a couple character ideas if you come up with them, but don't get too attached to any of them because you may end up reworking them or coming up with new characters during Session Zero.

Then what should I bring?
   • Ideas for a campaign or campaign setting
   • A device capable of running Discord and Google Docs
   • A decent microphone
   • Copies of the FATE Core and FATE Accelerated rulebooks in whatever format is most convenient for you, as well as the associated character sheets. 
      ○ You don't need to read them cover-to-cover, but familiarize yourselves with the first few chapters, particularly the game creation and character processes, if you have the time.
   • A general idea of your Wants and Limits (you can use SotE's W/L page as a guideline for what that means)
      ○ You don't need to prepare a specific list -- we'll be going over it as part of Session Zero -- just give it some thought.

You've mentioned Session Zero a lot.  What are you talking about?
Session Zero is the pre-game session.  It's where we lay out our ideas for the game world, come up with campaign ideas, pick a story tone, and create our characters together.  It's also where we establish ground rules and make sure everyone's limits are understood.  FATE has a very solid method for running Session Zero and it's one of the game's greatest strengths that sets it apart from D&D. 

Session Zero is the most important session.  If you want to be part of the game, you have to be there for Session Zero.  I may make an exception based on extenuating circumstances, but that's not a guarantee; things get complicated if I have to try to run a make-up Session Zero. 

Okay, this all sounds great.  How do I join?
Either DM me on Discord at foreverunforgiving#4519, reply to this thread, or PM me here on the site.  Please include your preferred days and times for the game.  You can also ask me any questions

When will the game start?
Probably a couple weeks from now, depending on how quickly the group fills up.


Interest List:
Celeste Adra
Miracle Mira
Eckhart Von Musel
Wolfborn
Imperfect_M
IntrovertedGamer

Serish nearly took the door to her room at the inn off its hinges as she crashed through it, already tugging on the corset laces and pulling the robe over her head.  She'd left her armor and weapons laid out neatly on a table like usual, but this time there was no contemplative inspection ritual or lingering, teasing touches from Xaraea as she donned her equipment.  Silks and leathers were pulled on with much frantic hopping and the flailing of limbs and Xaraea helped secure the buckles for the shadowsteel plate with an uncharacteristic businesslike briskness.  Within minutes, Serish was geared for battle and crashing back out the doors to the inn, much to the bewilderment of the revelers at the first floor bar. 

While the growing unease in town hadn't quite reached the bar, it was starting to creep through the streets.  At first, Serish was only weaving between the wagons that were parked in the narrow village roads, but as she got closer to the edge of town, she started having to dodge and bowl her way through gathering crowds.

:Drawn together like herd animals.  Typical,: Xaraea remarked sourly as Serish shouldered her way through a clot of whispering townsfolk who'd drifted away from a large pole festooned with long, multicolored ribbons.  :Take the rooftops; we're never going to get past these imbeciles on the ground.:

Compared to scurrying along the rotting rafters of a forgotten tomb, that request was easy to fulfill.  Serish knocked over a staggering drunkard and made for a nearby wagon that had been stacked high with crates.  With a running bound, she hopped up into the wagon and dashed up the crates like stairs until she could leap for a decorative ridge beam protruding from the nearest rooftop.  Hauling herself up, she took off again, leaping from one slate-tiled roof to the next, and catching site of the new defensive structure surrounding the town.

Serish pointed out the obvious, "That wall wasn't there before."

:It seems the little deity isn't so young,: Serish agreed with a faint note of approval in her mind-voice.  :Most wizards would have had to walk around the town to raise a wall that size.:

"Will it hold?"

:Assuming the new guests don't have siege equipment or--:

Xaraea was interrupted by a titanic rumble that shook the earth and took Serish's balance out from under her.  She slid feet-first down the high-sloped second-story roof, her boots tearing off several tiles as she tried to dig her heels in to stop herself.  She reached blindly for a handhold, only finding one on the eave of the roof as the rest of her body went over the edge.  As she dangled from the edge, Serish looked around to find the source of the tremor.  At the end of the street, a section of the earthen wall was missing.  Not gouged out as if by a ballista bolt or a flaming boulder from a trebuchet, but removed as if someone had opened a door.  Standing before the gap was a creature Serish had never seen before.  It was vaguely humanoid, but its goatlike legs were set in a wide, sturdy stance and its four arms were clearly visible in the early evening light.  The upper pair of arms held two matching swords while the lower pair were empty, spread wide with the palms facing out...as if holding open a pair of heavy doors.

:Earth magic,: Xaraea finally finished.  :Of course they have earth magic."

The woman smirked faintly behind her gauzy veil.  The little attempt at a subtle shield amused her, like a toybreed snarling a warning.  Futile, but almost respectable for the audacity.  It demonstrated Rin was observant, clever, and quick in thought.  She had heard his need and come to judge him for herself and, so far, he had proved worthy of her attentions.  He would need such qualities; her ancient enemy had many disciples, but few so discontented by serving them.  There had been many over the years, but the Circle Undone took its operational security seriously and any potential defectors were dealt with swiftly and quietly, with only the cleverest surviving long enough to contemplate the act.  It was one of the few things the woman recognized as common between them.  Almost.  Survivors weren't a concern for her.  But Rin would not know that. 

One by one the noises of the night faded as she floated inches off the ground, as if kept aloft by a moonbeam, smiling her amused, knowing smile.  Soon all was silent, save the lone heartbeat in the jungle.  Then she spoke, and when she spoke her voice was the whispering of the leaves in the breeze: "What is it you desire?"

Serish caught the last fighter with a unbalancing strike to the ankle followed by a blow to the chin that sent him staggering into the heap of his three friends, whom he promptly tripped on and fell onto.  She raised her borrowed quarterstaff above her head and gave a drunken whoop of triumph as she walked over to the bookie that had been taking bets on the fight and asked him to fork over her payout.  The odds against her boast that she was worth for men in a staff fight had been substantial and the bookie was obviously reluctant to part with such a large pot.  It was probably more than the alderman had paid her for the gruff horns.

She looked over to Xaraea, who always approved of Serish putting other mortals in their place by shows of force, but found her attention not on Serish, but on something outside the village.  Serish followed Xaraea's gaze and caught sight of a new crowd coming to the village.  No, not a crowd, a formation.  Serish shoved her way out of the throng of spectators, to the sound of slurred protests, and moved over to Xaraea.

"Any idea what they are?"

"Would it matter?" Xaraea answered, voice thick with boredom.

"I need to decide how hard I need to knock them over for ruining a party that hasn't even gotten started yet."

Xaraea smirked at that, clearly amused with where Serish was leading the conversation.  "Well, they're armed and armored, so it would be advisable for you to do the same.

Serish bit her lip in consideration.  "Two minutes' run to our room, five minutes to prepare, two minutes back.  Will they give us ten minutes?"

"Probably not, but I'd rather not see that robe ruined.  I did just get it for you."

"Then wha--"

But Serish was interrupted by Xaraea discorporealizing and snapping :So start running!:  And run Serish did.

"She can be a people-person when she wants to be," Serish answered diplomatically.  It didn't draw a positive response from Xaraea.  "She's just grumpy because we haven't been to a place with warm baths and satin sheets since we got on the boat headed south."

Xaraea made a dismissive sound and sipped more of her mead.  "Just because we walked out of the desert doesn't mean I have to accept a lower standard of living.  There is more to life than hunting bandits in the woods while living like a vagabond."

"I'll just ask the mountain stone miners to build us a Serenian bordello, then."

"Darling, please.  I've yet to meet anyone on this forsaken continent that knows how to build a proper bordello."

Serish was content to let that comment speak for itself, although she was more than a little intrigued by Xaraea's idea of a "proper bordello."  She was interrupted by a raucous cheer from somewhere outside the serving hall.  Serish leaned back on her stool, fingernails digging into the surface of the bar to keep her from toppling over, trying to get a better look out the nearest door to figure out the source of the noise.  A throng of people had gathered in the square the serving hall opened onto.  The crowd blocked sight of what was happening, but it was clearly entertaining them.  Serish rocked her stool back forward and, with a shrug, took her tankard off the bar and walked out to see what all the fuss was about. 

After shouldering her way past a few drunken spectators, she found a fighting ring had been marked out with good-sized logs and a pair of men inside sparred with quarterstaffs. Every time one of the combatants got hit or stumbled on the uneven ground, some part of the crowd would erupt into cheers and another part would hurl insults with equal enthusiasm.  After a few moments of watching the fighters stagger around each other, Serish determined the they were just as drunk as the audience.  After watching them completely whiff several easy strikes, Serish determined they probably weren't very good sober. 

"Well, this will be interesting," Xaraea remarked dryly from over Serish's shoulder. 

Serish smiled amiably but kept her words careful, taking Xaraea's advice for caution around this deity.  "A spellsword.  Last survivor of an expedition out southways.  Been trying to make my way back north ever since."  She took another appreciative sip of mead, in no rush to continue the conversation.  "Just got back into town a couple hours ago after helping the locals take care of a gruff problem and the party was already in motion.  Figured I'd stick around for some good food and relaxation before heading on.  This is my...companion, Xaraea."

She fiddled with her long braid of hair and stumbled a bit over the words.  She wasn't sure what she and the demon were. 

Before she could continue down that line of thought, Xaraea responded with a chilly "Charmed," never moving or taking her eyes off the carousing crowd in the storeroom that had been hastily repurposed into a serving hall.  Townsfolk were bringing in fresh plates of food to lay out on the big table against one wall where others were snacking or piling plates high.  The rest of the walls were occupied by makeshift bars, staffed by what Serish suspected to be the town's would-be craft brewers, eager to unleash their uncertain concoctions on an unsuspecting populace.  Serish had sampled some of what was on offer and while some of it had been decent, there was a reason she was at this particular bar. 

"Never actually been to one of these things," she mused aloud.  "There anything to do here or are these just elaborate excuses to get drunk?"  She downed the last of her mead, savoring the rich flavor before continuing, "Not that I'm opposed to that."

Aliza climbed inside the wagon and, when it became clear the golem was just going to stand there, indicated silently that it should take a seat inside, nearest to the driver's bench.  As it complied, Aliza knelt down next to the two restrained guards and began sorting through her alchemy pouch.  After a moment she retrieved a modest-sized bottle made of glass and sealed with a cork stopper dipped in wax.  With a gentle twist, she broke the seal and carefully set the stopper aside before reaching down to lift the head of one of the guards to the bottle.  She poured a measured dose of the alchemical concoction between his lips, set the bottle aside, then locked her hand firmly over his mouth.  His body, though paralyzed, was still able to react on the instinct.  Unable to breathe and with a mouthful of liquid it was unable to spit out, the guard swallowed the concoction.

She felt the golem's disapproving stare drilling directly between her shoulders as she laid the first guard's head down and moved on to the second.  "It will not harm them," Aliza assured it.  "It will make them sleep through the journey.  No dreams, no pain, no need for food or drink.  There will be a brief darkness and then they will wake.  We use it to ease our longer excursions, or when we are wounded and aid is not immediately forthcoming."

After both guards were asleep, she untied them, stripped off their armor, and bandaged the wounds her arrows had left.  The paralytic had prevented them from bleeding out, though their tunics were still wet with blood around the site where she'd hastily packed the arrows in place to prevent them from tearing the wounds wider.  She pulled the arrows out, repacked the wounds with fresh gauze, then wrapped a band of cloth around each of their chests to secure the packings in place.  Under the effects of the sleeping draught, the bandages shouldn't need to be changed, so she retied their bonds and laid them safely amongst the cargo.

With reasonable assurance that the guards would not wake or sleep eternal on the long road meet their fate, Aliza slipped nimbly past the golem and through the window in the cloth wagon cover that looked out on the driver's bench to take the reins of the mules.  "We'll make camp before sundown," she told the golem before driving the mules back towards the road. 

Serish leaned against the bar and suppressed a chuckle.  She remembered when she'd been in that position.  She'd snuck out of Ephes's manor by scaling the wall, diving down into the moat, then running as fast as she could into town.  It was the first time she'd ever been able to slip past his guards and surveillance spells and the first thing she did was go to the nearest tavern and try to order a drink.  She hadn't had any money -- everything she owned had been furnished by Ephes and he'd never saw fit to give her spending money -- so she paid by tearing links off a length of gold chain she'd pocketed while delivering treasures from her latest excursion to his treasury.  Each of the links turned out to be worth enough to buy a round for the whole crowd and the night had turned positively riotous.  Of course, Ephes had caught on rather quickly, somehow, and dragged Serish out by her hair.  The punishment for her disobedience had been something Serish had longed to forget, but it had been worth it to stick it to the old bastard, the first of only a precious few opportunities she'd had to do so before he'd put her on that ill-fated voyage aboard the Arcanum. 

Maybe it was the her own mead talking, but Serish felt an inexplicable amused sympathy for the girl who claimed to be old enough to be everyone's grandmother.  When the barkeep turned her back, Serish reached over to swipe a tankard from a reveler who wasn't keeping a close enough eye on his drink and started to slide it nonchalantly across the bar towards the girl.  Xaraea, who was facing out away from the bar, propping herself up on her elbows and arching her back in a way that did rather mesmerizing things to her chest, casually stopped the tankard as it went by with a finger placed daintily on the rim.

The demon mindspoke a warning.  :Don't get too friendly, Serish.  That's not some village maid looking for a night of fun.:

:What do you mean?:

:Look.  Closer.:

Serish scrunched up her eyes and extended her magical senses.  This was the part of magic she'd never been very good at, the focus.  She never had the makings of a good wizard.  When she did magic, the magic just happened.  She could exercise some control over it, but what form the magic took was largely independent of her conscious thought.  It always did what she needed it to, but how it did that was another matter entirely.  But Ephes had still drilled the wizardly discipline into her anyway and some of it had taken, including honed magical senses, even if it was difficult for her to make it work. 

It took a few seconds for what she was sensing to resolve into something identifiable, like stepping out into a sunny day after crawling through a dark cave, but when everything came into "focus", as it were...

:What the hell?:

The kid had Power.  Cosmic Power.  Deific Power.  It wasn't anywhere close to what Serish had seen in the few temples she'd visited in her life, or even in the same league as her father, in the brief moments she'd spoken with him while she had possession of Ymunth's skull.  But there were a lot of wizards out there who could never hope to have Power like this child had.  Or perhaps not a child after all.  Just something in the guise of a child for some reason.  A trickster?  A tester of virtue?  Given what Serish had just seen, this deity either tested some really petty virtues or tested things Serish didn't even want to begin to contemplate. 

:What's she -- it? -- doing here?  And what's driving her to drink?:

:Some sort of guardian deity,: Xaraea supplied, her mind-voice thick with suspicion and mistrust.  Serish didn't blame her; none of the few deities they'd brushed elbows with had particularly liked either of them and they returned the sentiment wholeheartedly.  :A minor one, perhaps provincial to the village.:

:Like an aspect or servant of Udlad?: Serish asked, nodding in the direction of the temple up the hill, where the council of priests that ran the village were loftily and obviously not participating in the village festivities like the passive-aggressive curmudgeons they were.  :Then why is she human and not a dwarf?:

Xaraea's mind-voice took on a note of impatience. :Maybe it's because most of the inhabitants of this village are human?  Maybe it's because she's not related to Udlad at all?  She was probably called by a part of the population that doesn't worship Udlad, not that I can see why anyone would worship something that may as well be a rock for all the personality and humor it has.  Or she may have arrived to deny a particular threat to the village Udlad couldn't or wouldn't take care of.  Deities play by their own rules.  You mortals put too much stock in a grand order to the universe.  There is only chaos and power.:

:Well, this deity's rules seem to involve her wanting to drink a lot, so I'm thinking we ought to let her so she doesn't start burning the town down around us until people treat her like an adult.:  Serish tugged the tankard free of Xaraea's restraining finger.

The demon's face soured and her mind-voice became waspish.  :Getting drinks for the other pretty girl, are we?:

:I mean, I didn't think you could--"

:This body isn't just for show, love.  I thought you would know that.:

Serish began blushing furiously again and felt her throat go dry.  "Two more, please,"[/i] she rasped at the barkeep.  The woman gave her a skeptical look when she saw the not-quite-girl still standing at the bar, scowling up a storm, but Serish gave a slightly sheepish glance in Xaraea's direction and the barkeep relented a little, coming back with two more tankards of mead before going back to serve a group that had just walked up on the other side of the bar.  Xaraea took hers and sipped at it languidly, as Serish quietly slid the second to the frustrated deity. 

"And to think they're even less pleasant when they're sober," Serish jibed, low enough that only the three of them could hear. 

The village of Hahill had been dead when Serish had left three days ago to hunt down the infestation of gruffs that had been stampeding through the few suitable farming plots on this part of the mountain and the gardens of half the people in the village.  Aside from the priests that seemed to run the village, there had barely been enough people around to keep the place running; most of the houses were dark and locked up, no one was on the streets, and the local inn was only serving two other patrons in a hall meant for a fifty. 

So it came as something of a shock to Serish when, upon returning, the streets were packed.  Carts and wagons were double-parked, everywhere she looked, leaving barely enough room for the hundreds of people swarming over them like ants to unload and carry off the cargo.  Sunset was still a couple hours off, but over the bustle of the revitalized town, Serish could still hear musicians plying their trades from somewhere amongst the crowds.

:Well, they're looking lively,: Xaraea noted.  :Seems the village is seeing a windfall.  I wonder if we can take a little off the top.:

Serish considered the sack of gruff horns she had slung over her shoulder, trophies from her hunt and the only proof she had for the job.  She'd had to settle for fifteen coppers a head -- or pair of horns, at this point -- instead of the twenty plus hazard pay she'd wanted.  The trouble with gruffs, and the one thing the alderman had refused to believe about them despite all the supporting evidence, was they tended to get bigger and meaner the more of them you killed.  Yes, the ones that had been trampling the gardens were easily dispatched, but Serish had rather quickly graduated to gruffs big enough to trample her before driving the herd off this part of the mountain.  Horns large enough to hold a week's worth of lamp oil were worth more than fifteen coppers individually, let alone as a pair.  But, if Xaraea was right, the village being flush with new goods might mean the alderman would be willing to pay a little extra now that Serish had proof the problem was a little bigger than he'd wanted to believe. 

"Sorry, fifteen is still as high as we'll go," the alderman chortled, handing her a pouch of coins before downing another swig of ale.  Serish felt a blood vessel in her forehead throb.  The old man hadn't been in his house where she'd first met him and she'd asked a resident where he was.  The resident had, kindly, pointed her in his direction, only for Serish to find when she got there that the alderman had moved elsewhere in the village.  After going through that five more times, she eventually found him amongst he densest concentration of carts in the town square, which were still loaded down with goods.  Serish had been convinced he was deliberately avoiding her, but now, seeing how rosy his cheeks were getting and the subtle slur creeping into his speech, perhaps he'd just taken a tour to sample all the varieties of alcohol the town had brought back from wherever it had gone.  He likely didn't register her scowl and continued before she could lodge a protest.  "But, what we can do... Look at this sheepskin.  Have you ever seen such fine sheepskins?  You're welcome to take some as payment, in recognition for your hard work."

"I'd prefer something that traveled a little lighter," Serish answered, trying to keep her voice tempered while still leaving the unspoken implication of like coin lingering in the air between them. 

"Of course, of course," the alderman answered, turning back to paw through the carts, completely oblivious.  "Let's see here, leather...pottery...axes..."

:Something tells me we'll not find much of value in this podunk little hovel,: Xaraea groused.  :We may just have to beat the money out of him.:

"Cordwood...blank scrolls..."

"Wait, really?"

The alderman stopped his inebriated rummaging, "Yeah.  You want some?"

Serish planted her feet and tried not to sound too interested.  "Maybe.  Depends."

The alderman pulled three small tubes out of one of the carts and handed them to Serish.  The first two held thick rolls of parchment, enough for a couple manuscripts.  But the third--

:Oh, hello,: Xaraea remarked. 

Inside the third was at least half a dozen individually-rolled sheets of vellum.  It wasn't the best vellum in the world, but to any frontier village or town it was still luxuriant in the extreme.  This alone was probably worth more than half Serish's sack of gruff horns. 

:Better not make mention of that, dear.:

:Hadn't planned on that.:

Serish tucked the tubes under her arm and turned her attention back to the alderman, who'd already gone back to digging.  "Have anything else?"

"Traveler like you, you gots to have some use for herbs, right?  Medicinal and whatnot?"

Serish had to admit he had her pegged on that one.  Master Ephes hadn't taught her much alchemy, but she did know enough that it'd saved her life in the field in the past.  She'd lost her alchemy pouch after the Ancin had killed her and and the orcs had looted her corpse, and while the Serha Plains had offered a few ingredients, she'd exhausted most of what little she'd been able to collect in her hike through the treacherous terrain of the Thunderblacks.  She took the sturdy leather pouch the alderman offered her -- not as nice as the one Ephes had given her, but still up to the task -- and flipped it open.

:Elftail, King's grass, jewelhood... oooh, ambertea.  You could make some fine poisons with these, love.  Did I ever tell you about the time I killed the king of Nelibi with springshoe extract?:

:No, but-- Wait, you started the War of the Starsong?:

Xaraea gave a throaty chuckle with barely-contained pride.  :Yes, you should have seen the looks on the faces of the Dolarond delegation as the king's flesh withered.  It was as if they had just set their own city ablaze.:

:Nelibi did burn Instow to the ground with the entire population barricaded inside.:

:And your father fed well that day.  The power that flowed from so many mortals begging for salvation from any entities they could name... Power that will one day be yours, my sweet, when we find the Skull.:

"These will do nicely," Serish told the alderman, not wanting to entertain thoughts of her father or his enchanted prison. 

The alderman answered with a rumbling basso guffaw.  "Of course, of course.  With those weregoats gone, we should be able to grow more before the winter, thanks to you."

"Gruffs," Serish corrected idly, buckling the herb pouch onto her belt.  "Well, if that's all you have, I guess I'll turn in for the evening."

"Whatever for?" the alderman roared as he took up his tankard again.  "The party is already starting!"

Serish tracked the tankard skeptically.  He hadn't been anywhere near this hospitable sober.  "I can see that.  What party?"

"We've just sold our finest batch of stone yet.  Everything you see in these carts, paid for by the best masonry in the central kingdoms!  We're drinking in the new year!"  He threw his arms wide, knocking a stack of wicker baskets out of the cart behind him and, judging by the furious squawking that followed, onto an unfortunate chicken.  The man didn't seem to notice and downed some more ale.  "Come, stay.  I can already smell Macha baking her world famous pork buns!  I'll tell Druso to hold your room for you!"

Serish shifted uncomfortably, not sure how seriously she should take the offer.  She certainly couldn't smell any pork buns, just the barnyard stink of dozens of animals all in a confined space, and most towns she'd been to had been very keen to have her on her way before sunrise.  Hahill hadn't been any different, and it wasn't until she'd agreed to leave town after she'd taken care of the gruff problem that the alderman had finally agreed to pay her. 

:Come on, Serish, live a little!: Xaraea whined as the alderman walked away in the direction of the inn.  :Or at least as much as we can in this muddy backwater.  And if they do try to throw us out we can kill a few before we leave.  We haven't had fresh food in weeks, so let's at least take theirs while they're offering.:

Serish's stomach gurgled at the mention of fresh food.  Xaraea was, as usual, right.  It had been a long time since she'd eaten anything other than trail rations and cured meat.  What few places she could afford to eat would rarely serve her.  None had known for certain she was a demonhost, but everyone acted like they could smell it on her.  But if the alderman and everyone else were going to be too drunk to notice or care...

:Alright, let's go join the party.:

:Oh no, not like that we aren't,: Xaraea cut in, manifesting her human form -- that of a tall, striking woman with tanned skin and chocolate hair dressed in harem jewelry and a diaphanous slip that could only stay on her body by means of magic -- to give Serish a walkaround, her bare feet never quite touching the muddy ground.  "A set of dirty, lived-in armor is something I wouldn't be caught dead in at a party of any kind, even one as lowbrow as this.  No, something nicer is definitely in order."

"I don't have anything else," Serish growled.  "My formal apprentice robes were on the Light of Arcanum when Ancin stole it."

"Check the third cart on the left."

Serish took a furtive look around and, upon seeing no one paying attention to them, moved to where Xaraea had indicated.  Inside one of the crates was a pile of folded clothes.  Most of them were wool or cotton in various blends or colors; sturdy, comfortable, nice without being too flashy--

"But what about this one right here?"

Naturally, Xaraea had pointed to the most expensive article in the box: a red and white silk robe with gold accents and white fur trim and a complementary set of fashionable leather boots.

"Seriously?" Serish protested.  You think they won't notice this one robe out of all the others is stolen?"

"And you think they will?" Xaraea shot back.  "They're going to be drinking all evening and well into the night.  I'd be surprised if they noticed what colors you were wearing."

With one last reluctant look at the folder robe, she pulled it to the top of the pile and began stripping out of her armor, with Xaraea making wordless approving noises all the while.  With some help from the edge of the cart, she managed to get into the new outfit without getting mud on anything.  Looking at herself in a polished bronze mirror, she had to admit Xaraea had a good eye for these things.  The fit wasn't exact, but with a few tugs it was close, and with some minor changes to the pattern the outfit would be a dead ringer for Serish's apprentice robes.  At least until Xaraea held out the last article of the outfit to her. 

"No," Serish said flatly.

"It's part of the outfit, love," Xaraea told her, her voice dripping with mock innocence. 

"I'm not wearing a corset."

"That robe isn't designed to stay up without it.  You'll be holding this ensemble together with your hands all night.  Unless you'd rather I use my hands..."

Serish felt herself flush as she snatched for the corset and wrapped it around her waist.  Making a show of suppressing an amused smirk, Xaraea deferentially made some minor adjustments so it sat comfortably under Serish's bust before tightening down the laces.  Serish made sure to hold her breath so she'd have room to breathe in it later.  She checked herself in the mirror again.

"Just.  This.  Once," she told the demon firmly, though even as she said it and saw the Xaraea's eyes on her, she felt her resolve on that point slipping. 

"Of course, my princess," Xaraea answered, folding her hands subserviently in front of her and giving a bow of her head, her eyes blazing with excitement.  "Now, we have a party to attend."