There’s a storm inside of us. A burning. A river. A drive. An unrelenting desire to push yourself harder and further than anyone could think possible. Pushing ourselves into those cold, dark corners, where the bad things live. Where the bad things fight. We wanted that fight at the highest volume. A loud fight. The loudest, coldest, darkest, most unpleasant of the unpleasant fights.

Last episode, the Castaways found themselves suffering from exposure—that is to say, their cover was blown, around fifty archers had their bows trained on them, and they (mostly Monica Montana) were about to be pounced upon by lions.

The Killing Ground!

Monica had fired a shot after the party’s curt dismissal by the evil shamaness Gulyet. The tiefling had turned her back on the party while ordering the men stationed in and upon the walls surrounding the bailey to kill them if they didn’t leave immediately. However, the Taldan gunslinger wasn’t shooting to kill. Rather, she’d been infusing her weapon with magical resonance. Her aim: to produce a sound that would disrupt Gulyet’s strange companion’s tether to the Material Plane. The resourceful polymath’s gambit succeeded! and the lion-like being simply drifted like smoke into the Ethereal.

That gave the banished mngwa’s master pause. Gulyet turned to look back at the interlopers, hand raised to hold off the archers. “You now have my attention,” she said. “Where is Azange? Why are you really here?”

By way of an answer, Dornas vaulted past her, and with his magical staff, swept up the lion-taming tiefling’s legs and sent her spinning to the ground. “You aren’t the first adventurers whose bones litter these grounds!” snarled the shaken shaman. Gulyet ordered her lionesses to attack.

The ferocious felines roared. One raced toward Monica while the other turned to face the magus who’s upended their trainer. Monica braced and felt the big cat’s hot, meat-scented breath as its great jaws tried to clamp on her throat. With a word and gesture, the arcane archeologist disappeared, forcing her foe to seek out its invisible prey with its nose and ears.

By sicking her pets on the heroes, Gulyet had made a severe tactical mistake. The archers on the walls hesitated to pepper the yard with arrows in fear of hurting their boss or the lionesses. Either, plainly, could result in a very permanent, excruciating termination of their employment. As the confounded M’bulazi sounded the alarm gongs and awaited instructions from their commanders, the Castaways were afforded precious seconds.

It was all they needed. Suddenly, a section of the curtain wall came tumbling down. A horror appeared behind the collapsing brickwork and dust cloud. In hybrid humanoid-honey badger form, Tyst howled, and with sickle-like claws that had just hewn stone, hurdled himself toward the lion who’d harried Monica. From the landing where the lycanthrope had leapt, a hawk morphed into half-elven form, revealing Kor’lec. The druid recited a spell, calling upon the magic of the wilderness.

Meanwhile, Kishtari moved to blast Gulyet with phrenic feedback, but the willful witch-doctor resisted. The tiefling rolled and crawled toward the legs of her lion bodyguard for succor, but the beast blindsided her with a swipe of its claw! Kor’lec smirked. He was the beast’s master now!

The druid ordered the lioness to continue its attack, and it readily complied. The great feline jerked the prone tiefling up in it’s jaws and mauled her with feral efficacy. Kai emerged from the party’s wagon and matched claws and fangs with the other lioness. The little dinosaur held her own, biting and raking crimson swathes across the great cat’s golden flanks.

Dornas broke from the scrum toward the gatehouse archway, only for a large, acid-drooling insect to burst from the muddy ground at his feet! Despite the element of surprise, the bug-monster failed to lock its virulent mandibles on the magus. Having all-but finished Gulyet, Kor’lec ordered his new lion against the creature Monica had called an “ankheg.”

“Who in the Hells keeps giant bugs in their front yard?” Kishtari mused.

“These assholes,” deadpanned Kor’lec, as the big cat pounced on the giant bug like, well, like a little cat pouncing on a little bug. Kishtari approached the nigh-mangled body of the tiefling shaman. She wasn’t merely holding on to life, she was conscious, too. But not for long! Kish balled up her fist and with all her might socked the demon-blooded woman, harming only her own knuckles when they connected with Gulyet’s horny hide. Luckily, Kor’lec was there to knock the villainess out good and proper. The party hastily made plans to use the dying tiefling as a hostage. Dornas, invisible Monica, and Kish dragged her inside the still open barn. There were two very frightened M’bulazi boys working within, whom Dornas chased out the opposite door leading to the fort’s inner courtyard.

As that was happening, Kai dug her clawed toes into the enemy lioness’s shoulders and yanked her head free with her teeth like she was uncorking a canteen filled with blood. Tyst rewarded the guard who’d let the party in the front gates by feeding him his own intestines. Looking for more foes to disembowel, the bloodthirsty were-creature looked upward, as the M’bulazi were finally loosing arrows. Those on the roof of the gatehouse were loading the ballista and aiming it at him. Likki sensed what his teammate was thinking and called upon his demon god before laying a hand on Tyst’s hairy hide. The lycanthrope felt the magic wash into his paws and feet. “Thanks buddy,” Tyst growled before ascending the wall like a spider.

Kor’lec bolted to scoop up Kai while arrows began plunking down into the dust around them like a sputtering rain, then ordered his lioness to take out anyone foolish enough to enter the bailey before his control of the cat faded completely. When everyone was safe inside the barn (save Tyst who was climbing to the roof) Likki jumped up, pulled the garage-style door down by the handle, and swung inside as well.

Almost as soon as Tyst’s eyes were level with the rooftop battlement, the ballistae team up there opened fire with their bows. Though their shots zinged by, Tyst had accumulated arrows enough during the climb to pluck one out of his thick pelt to menacingly break. The M’bulazi were agape, but undeterred. They chucked a few small sacks at the ominously approaching lycanthrope. The bags exploded into sticky glue, but most of these were either batted away or sidestepped by the dexterous beast. One connected, exposing Tyst to the hardening sludge, which he peeled off with muscle and fang. Nothing would stave the werebadger’s advance, as if he were a furry little grim reaper.

Finally, the ballista crew on the opposite tower had loaded and locked on him. Tyst knew there was a limit to what he could survive. He bid adieu to the nearby quartet by making them a hendectet—the hard way—before finding the trapdoor leading down into the barn and joining the others.

From their camp on the opposite side of the bailey from the battle, a pack of gnolls howled and cackled derisively at their M’bulazi hosts on the walls, some of whom were still trying to put a decisive spear or arrow into Gulyet’s lion. Finally, one of the gnolls, a milk-eyed, scarred hulk of a beast almost as big as the lioness itself, waltzed through the rain of arrows and caved in its skull with a casual swing of his iron flail. “Boys,” said the flind to his mangy crew, “time we negotiated a promotion around here.” The gnolls tittered and yipped. Taking a moment to suck lion brains off the bar of his flail, the commander continued, “just one thing we oughtta bring to the bargaining table.” Over to the barn he looked, where the intruders had holed up.

Then the gatehouse officer emerged with a group of very angry-looking tribesmen at his back. The officer had a no-nonsense stride, heavy gold rings stretching his lobes, faint white skull-like paint on his face, and several long needles pierced across his brow. “You brutes would put the Second Mistress in danger with animal tactics,” charged the Bekyar. His admonishment was met with growls from the gnolls that were really less offensive than their incessant laughter. The Mwangi continued, “we know that she lives still.”

“Bah, cowards! You…” spat the flind. Some of the gnolls started getting shovey with the humans now surrounding them. The M’bulazi shoved right back.

“You did NOTHING,” interrupted the officer, “until the dust all but cleared. Now, we find we must do what you dogs do best.”

“Hur?” sniveled the flind, squinting his one good eye inquisitively.

“We wait. For orders from below, and we find out what these foreigners want.”

Guided Tour

The indecision of the surrounding forces allowed the Castaways a moment of respite. Their plans formulated around the one key piece of the bloody chess board they’d captured. Presuming that Gulyet was second-in-command or close to second in the slaver’s hierarchy after the as-yet unmet M’kessa, Kishtari delved into her unconscious mind. Even comatose, the tiefling resisted, but Kishtari’s will won out to reveal some useful exposition.

Gulyet considered herself to be M’kessa’s apprentice. However, the pecking order after M’kessa was not entirely clear. As a cult, a militia, and a business, there were several structures in play—like pyramids connected at the tip. At least, Gulyet considered herself second-in-command of the spiritual life of the M’bulazi. Second in the business structure was a woman named Agail Enthess, a former con-artist who’d been transmuted and brainwashed to serve as M’kessa’s decoy. Enthess recently positioned herself as second in the business structure; if not altogether in charge of it by posing to eastern buyers as M’kessa, allowing the real M’kessa to focus on her experiments in magic and science. Despite their different spheres of influence, Gulyet despised Enthess, fearing the double had overstepped herself as a slave and had become M’kessa’s “favorite.”

The party felt they’d had enough information to work with, and made some more plans. Then they turned to Likki and asked the goblinoid to tend to her. Humorously, the little savage mistook the intent of “tend” in Taldane to mean “add fire,” to which Likki warned, “fire good tend much problem, but not so good demon-girl problem.” When the matter was cleared up, the mysterious entities behind the monkey goblin’s magic mended most of the tiefling’s wounds. Gulyet struggled and hissed in her bonds, but Kish secured her with a far more effective mental shackle—implanting a deep attraction to herself.

With the psionic captivation in place, Gulyet proved more than agreeable. The silver-tongued kalashtar managed to further convince the vile shamaness that they were mercenaries hired by an old enemy of Agail Enthess to kill her. The tiefling was, predictably, quite mollified by this and agreed to not only simmer down the guardsmen, but to bring the “assassins” into the keep so they could meet with Enthess (in her guise as M’kessa). Gulyet would simply use the party’s original lie, that they were rich slave buyers who wanted to negotiate with the fortress’s leader for custom slaves. She’d even help them escape after the assassination was carried out!

Gulyet shouted out to the guards that everything was okay. Even with their suspicions stirred, the fortress militiamen had no choice but to accept the Second Mistress’s commands to stand down. After that, she led the party into the keep, where the only things that would unravel their plan were their own hearts.

The nickel tour Gulyet happily provided provoked a rising tide of anger in Kor’lec. In the garden before the keep’s doors, the shamaness stopped to pray before the fountain, where within was a great statue of the demon goddess Lamashtu. After, the tiefling pointed to the garden’s trees, where the first offenses to Kor’lec’s nature-oriented sensibilities lurked—a trio of chimpanzees had been painfully mutated into killing machines. “That reminds me,” said the shamaness, “Azange, my companion, and my lions, what became of them?” It was explained that her spirit creature was temporarily banished, and that at least one of the lions was left to hold off the guards when the party took refuge in the barn. “Unfortunate,” Gulyet said frankly, “but lions are just animals. I will train others to serve.” Kor’lec seethed.

Further on, Gulyet explained that her mistress M’kessa experimented upon people, animals, and beast-men hybrids birthed by the high priestess herself from her unholy unions with animals. From these she created monstrous slaves that commanded top dollar in the markets of the east. Only the strongest chattel survived the process, those captives with no hope of surviving M’kessa’s fleshwarping were sold as common galley slaves and servants in lesser markets such as their enterprise in Summ’tero. Those changed into monsters were built into guardians or pleasure slaves that catered to whatever depraved fetish their buyers were after. When the party passed a hallway containing some zombie guards, Kor’lec nearly snapped. By this time, it wasn’t just the druid on the verge of destroying their demon-blooded hostess and every abomination she enthusiastically pointed out.

Finally arriving at a metal banded locked door in the southern rear of the fortress, Gulyet informed the visitors that they were to pass through a room requiring them to stuff their ears with cotton. “We mollify newer captives here,” the tiefling explained. “We expose them to an unceasing noise that is quite effective.” Kish remembered that the boy escapee in Suum’tero nearly broke down into hysterics when he tried to recall the sound in question.

The Bath House

Beyond the door was, to date, the most abominable thing that any of the Castaways had encountered in their short careers as adventurers. Even the bloodthirsty killer in Tyst was aghast at the sight.

The room was dominated by a drained cistern, probably an old bath chamber, as could be reasoned by the clothing hooks along the north walkway. Inside the cistern, manacled to bolted loops, were several dozen men, woman, and children of many races and ethnicities. They were mostly Mwangi humans and elves, with a smattering of halflings, dwarves, and even a few orcs and hobgoblins. The captives laid, sat and twitched nearly shoulder to shoulder or on top of each other, mutilated by whip marks and barely clothed in their own sweat and excrement. None appeared cognizant, an effect of the drone that echoed across the chamber, audible to the Castaways even through their stuffed ears.

Gulyet beamed, proud of what she was showing off to her guests. Noticing that, Kishtari made a motion to stroke her enchanted hostess’s hair, and unleashed a salvo of psionic energy that splattered the tiefling’s head against the stone wall. As the villainess’s twitching remains crumpled to her feet, one of the garments hanging on the hooks fluttered and flew upward, revealing the source of the disturbing drone.

Not fabric but flesh, the flying creature superficially resembled a manta ray, but it had a spiky tail and a humanoid “face” on its underside. Its eyes, and its unintelligible speech, betrayed the beast’s intelligence. Monica recalled what she’d read of these deadly underworld dwelling creatures, called “cloakers,” and tried to warn her companions before it blared a hellish klaxon…

Develop success from failures. Discouragement and failure are two of the surest stepping stones to success.

Last time, our heroes were engaged in preparations for their trip to the slave trafficking M’bulazi tribe’s fortress. Ahead of them was no easy task, as their destination was in the midst of the powerful clan’s tribal territory, and the journey would disprove an old cliché: Getting there isn’t, in fact, any of the fun at all.

Uneasy Lunch

Kishtari awoke to the scent of cooked food, having fallen asleep in the comfort of Ewandabe’s living room. The man was harboring a fugitive slave, a scared boy named Watende. The farmer would not even let the sheriff near the boy, so it fell upon Kish and her particular powers of persuasion to get the cranky farmer to give up his charge for questioning. This was the psion’s kind of work. Kishtari had mollified the farmer’s mind to make him more cooperative. But exhaustion had claimed her before the kalashtar could convince Ewandabe to let her interview his charge.

When the psion awoke, Ewandabe was sitting on a chair next to her, smiling, but so was his wife, not so smiling. “Husband! Why is this strange girl still here?” The farmer simply laughed her off and turned his attentions back to his sleeping guest.

“Sleepyhead! You missed my breakfast but I made you lunch!” The enchantment must surely have worn off by then, so Kishtari was fortunate that humans tended to follow through with notions they had of themselves—even if those notions were psionically imprinted.

By now, the word about town was that the visitors who’s rumbled with the Bekyar at Naga’s Notch hadn’t—as Sheriff Agata claimed—left the village. Kor’lec’s miracle with old Matumba had achieved mythological status by late morning. As a result, Ewandabe was more well-disposed to the idea of giving up Watende to Kishtari’s questioning.

The boy was young, a Zenj in his mid-teens, and horrifically abused. He was sullen and scared. But Kish was perfectly sympathetic, and soon the young herdsman was spilling his guts. He’d broken away from a line-up brought out to the front yard of the fortress after a visiting merchant had requested a slave for his orcish guards to entertain themselves with. His flight led him inside the curtain wall, where he hid throughout the day and climbed out a window at night by fashioning a rope from old linens he’d found. No, he didn’t see any sort of ghostly phenomena while he waited for night, but knew the guards refused to enter the wall for fear of it.

The frightened Zenj had heard that a few slaves over the years tried to escape from the well room in the southwest corner of the keep after being sent to retrieve water, and that the well connected to the moat outside. But also he heard that these would-be escapees never made it out that way, their bodies were always later fished out of the well when the water started tasting foul. The last thing Watende tried to recall was inside the lock-up, a “sound, a horrible drone, that never stopped and made us numb.”

For their cooperation, Kishtari gave twenty five gold crowns to Watende and Ewandabe’s family, an ample sum that would see all of the commoners through for years to come.

Back in the Saddle

Kish returned to Naga’s Notch and noticed Matumba tethered by a rope outside; which was a laughably absurd image because the huge animal could be chained to the inn itself and simply leave, trailing the building behind him. Someone had dropped off the howdah, too. Kor’lec came outside to meet her and affirmed that, yes, all those smiles and nods in Kish’s direction on the way meant they’d won the support of the villagers. Also, Matumba was to be called “Professor Peanuts” from now on.

After Kishtari caught her friends up on what she learned from the fugitive slave, Kor’lec and the kalashtar shared a few words about his dream of the undead dragon Nymdragoth. Kishtari confirmed that the horned blue dragons of her homeworld were the defenders of Adar, the mountainous sanctuary of her race and others opposed to the tyranny of the Inspired. Kor’lec had reason to believe that the dream-linked villain might have been one of these guardians, somehow corrupted. The druid told Kish about the other aspects of his dream; the serpentfolk, the forces fighting them, etc.

Elephant Crisis

Though all would have preferred more time to recuperate and equip, time was of the essence. The Bekyar would eventually catch wind that Suum’tero’s citizens had gotten behind the foreigners. The next few hours were spent in preparation for the journey. Kish and Dornas repaired the howdah, and Kor’lec cleaned the local greengrocer out of the few hundred pounds of produce Professor Peanuts would nom on during travel. Monica was nearly done combining her pistols together to fashion a new double-barreled firearm, though she’d need to polish it up on the trip. Having a notion to infiltrate the fort as slave-buyers, the group purchased Kelesh-style outfits for Dornas, Kish, and Monica.

By late afternoon, they were ready to go, traveling like emperors on the back of mighty Professor Peanuts.

For about 3 hours.

After a few hours of travel out of the swamps of Suum’tero and into the highlands of M’bulazi territory, the wild mastodon turned ornery; annoyed with the howdah and the several hundred pounds of riders and supplies strapped upon him. Kor’lec attempted to regain control of the creature, but even with Kishtari’s psionic manipulations, Professor Peanuts refused to proceed with the load upon him. The embittered druid and his companions left the stubborn old pachyderm behind, dragging their gear along on foot.

Village to Pillage

A short time after the first rains of the afternoon, the travelers came upon an M’bulazi village. The first of the Bekyar they saw were children playing in the puddles of the cowpath. The kids already bore some of the scarification and tattoos characteristic of the tribe, along with filed teeth. Upon seeing the Castaways, the children fled back to the hedge-walled huts and called out an alarm. The heroes waited on the trail and braced themselves for a confrontation, all agreeing they weren’t in the mood for any bullshit from these terrible people.

Those who answered the kids’ alarm were a handful of elderly or crippled men, and some women, implying that hale males worked up in the fortress. Still, the villagers bore spears and clubs. One of these old guys was the village headman, who didn’t feel the need to introduce himself. The Castaways responded to the affront in kind, by getting right down to business. “We want to trade for some of your draft animals,” referring to the big atlas asses they’d seen corralled next to village, “and for you to get out of our way.” The adventurers offered the plentiful bounty of produce they were hauling.

The headman laughed at the absurdity of the offer. “We don’t like these foods much, and also bananas depreciate in value much faster than donkeys.” Then came the bullshit that the party were now even less in the mood for. The headman explained that some warriors from the fortress came through earlier, and that they were told to keep an eye out for a group of foreigners who looked a lot like the travelers. “So we are thinking,” said the headman, “that you shouldn’t pass.”

The Castaways started to draw weapons when the headman whistled toward the huts. The children returned, and the villagers scooped them up in their arms while leveraging their spears toward the travelers. “We think you’ll turn back now,” said the total piece-of-shit headman. But Tyst, who’s snuck past the wall of gall already, let them know that one way or another, they were getting by. At that point, three of the villagers buckled at the knees to take a nap right there in the mud. Kish followed her minor display of power with a threat, “we can do a lot more and worse.”

Sufficiently cowed, the villagers allowed the Castaways to take the asses they needed, and a nice wagon that was just sitting there, unused, in someone’s garage. They generously left the elephant food and a few crowns. The emasculated headman had a little cheek left. “You go to kill M’kessa?” he mocked, referring to the M’bulazi’s queen, “you will die.” Then added, “she is a goddess in flesh, the chosen of Lamashtu.”

“Pfft,” spat Kor’lec, “How many gods have we killed, now?”

Somewhat sheepishly, the headman asked, “if you succeed, what becomes of us?”

“Happy trails!” returned the party, in some form another.

Before they left, Likki put out his hand to the headman, opened it, and revealed his most valuable gem. “Take it. No one like my god either.”

“Insult,” the headman muttered, snatching the precious stone, “charity from a goblin.” He made a gesture to toss Likki’s gift into the jungle, then saw that the goblin’s friends would likely make certain his head followed it. The guy simply turned his back without another word, gem in hand, and returned to his hut. With that, the party’s business with these horrible people was concluded.

The Slaver’s Stockade

By the next day of their journey, the sweltering jungle had broken into scrub, and the high hills of M’bulazi-land were studded with buttes, carved by a maze of waterways with deep ravines and gulches. The Castaways followed the old slaver’s road to a hill crest, and from there saw that the road turned and twisted down and back around to a box canyon, following a stream that had sculpted the terrain in ages of yore. Within the dead-end valley squatted the fortress of the slavers atop a low, broad mesa, forcing the waterway to either side of it. This gave the stockade the advantage of a natural moat and embankment.

It was also huge.

The old Chelish ediface sprawled roughly three acres, occupying the entire top of the butte. It was single story, save for a central guardtower, a more recent addition of wood, the original gatehouse, and the curtain wall. It had suffered—and lost—from some historic battle, apparently, as the roofs looked to have been recently replaced with not-as-flammable-as-it-seemed mud and thatch, and the walls of the bailey and forecourt were but a rampart of wooden stakes approximately twenty feet high. The rampart surrounded the keep as well, suggesting that at least some of the main structure’s original stone walls were likewise damaged.

With his spyglass, Kor’lec noted at least two dozen soldiers on just the rampart, more on the roofs of the gatehouse and curtain wall, and worst of all, two arbalests with crews on either of the gatehouse towers. This was going to be tougher than they thought…

The Castaways agreed to stick to the infiltration plan. Kor’lec changed into a hawk, while Tyst assumed dire badger form. As animals, the two shapeshifters would infiltrate the curtain wall. Kish, Dornas, and Monica, in their Kelish garb, led the wagon up the road to the front gate of the fortress. Two M’bulazi tribesmen armed with bows were stationed on the roof above the drawbridge. These informed the travelers that the stockade typically did not engage in direct sales of chattel, unless one intended to purchase the expensive “custom” creations of M’kessa herself. Pretending to “translate” for Dornas’ faux-Kelish babble, Kishtari successfully convinced the gate guards that they were indeed wealthy merchants from Casmaron who’d heard tell of the slaver queen’s marvelous offerings. Kish humbly apologized for being unfamiliar with the protocols. “But we’ve come a long way…”

After a minute, the drawbridge lowered and the Castaways led their caravan beyond. At the same time, Kor’lec and Tyst rendezvoused in the derelict interior of the curtain wall. From there, the shapeshifters kept watch on the bailey through the arrow slits.

Meanwhile, forces arrayed on the wall and, presumably, on and inside the larger gatehouse cordoning the bailey from the inner courtyard, mobilized. The guard who’d lowered the drawbridge said he’d get a representative to speak with the Castaways.

Lion Through Their Teeth

After a few minutes of awkward small talk with one of the guards, an underling of M’kessa’s presented herself. She was a tiefling, didn’t look at all affable, and interestingly, came through a hidden garage-style door that led into a stable within the gatehouse. She wasn’t alone. As foretold by the party’s interrogation of the sleeping slaver in Suum’tero, the demon-blooded woman was attended by three lions. One of the feline beasts, a male, was a bit smaller than the two females, though no less ferocious in mien, and seemed to drift in and out of reality as if he were made of spectral smoke. The spirit creature’s eyes glinted with malice and intelligence, and he immediately went sniffing about the Castaways’ wagon.

The tiefling introduced herself as Gulyet, M’kessa’s apprentice. Her strange companion was called Azange. The woman repeated the reproach of the guards, that the fortress didn’t normally engage in trade, its purpose was to “process” slaves for market in Suum’tero, and only her mistress’s “special wares” were exchanged here by arrangement. While the heroes tried to convince the tiefling that they were indeed interested in these “special wares,” Gulyet was skeptical, returning their inquiries with her own questions about who they were and whom referred them. Azange circled the visitor’s wagon. “I smell a goblin,” growled the beast in perfect Taldane.

Likki appeared. “Yes, he is a servant,” Kish explained.

“Where is his collar,” the lion-spirit asked.

“He does not require one,” the disguised kalashtar replied. Like a ghost through a gauze curtain, Azange pushed his leonine head into the wagon, then out. “You have a tamed raptor. Intriguing. I see no shackles, nothing to bind your purchases? I smell only manure and feed. Sure you are slave merchants?”

It was starting to come apart. Well, at least they made it into the bailey. Unfortunately, outer courtyards were called “killing grounds” for a reason, and the archers on and within the walls around them were reaching for arrows. From their hiding place, Kor’ec and Tyst saw the time was coming. The werebadger tensed and flexed his claws. Kor’lec quickly cooked up a spellcasting strategy.

Gulyet stated that M’kessa’s custom slaves were expensive, and asked to see what the travelers brought. When the Castaways opened their purses, she threw her head back and cackled. “Pittance! That will buy you a few galley slaves or ploughmen. We have a market for peons in Suum’tero. You haven’t enough to do business here.”

Kishtari was getting fed up with the charade—and had less to recommend of their host’s customer service skills. “Perhaps you overestimate the value of your wares.”

The tiefling stopped laughing. “Insolent fool,” she hissed, “my mistress’s creations command tens of thousands in the Fleshfairs of the East.” Gulyet turned back toward the door and ordered the nearby guard, “give them two minutes. If they don’t leave, kill them all.”

Monica threw back the robes of her disguise, pointed her gun at the strutting demon-spawn’s back, and pulled the trigger. A bullet left a chamber, lions prepared to pounce, nearly fifty bowstrings stretched, and a shot echoed around the slaver’s stockade—signalling a characteristic campaign cliffhanger…

The serpent is the embodiment of Heaven and Earth. It scares people in many ways.

Last time, the Castaways agreed to help a small cadré of dissidents from the little fishing port of Suum’tero free their village from the influence of the demon-worshiping slave traffickers known as the M’bulazi. The Bekyar sub-tribe had been coaxed into a confrontation with the heroes by the town’s resident juju priestess, the Bekyar Se’enga who was subsequently slain by Kishtari.

The primary catalyst of the confrontation, Kor’lec, who’d snubbed and offended Se’enga earlier in the night, was nowhere to be found—unless one checked a certain patch in the saline swamp surrounding the village, where the druid had bed down.

Unliving the Dream

Kor’lec dreamt for the third time of the undead dragon. In this vision, he was amongst a group allied against an ophidian army on a strange world. The wyrm was called Nymdragoth and was fighting on behalf of the serpentfolk and their monstrous creations. In the dream, Kor’lec inhabited an elf druid who was entrusted with taking a head-sized, mummified eye to someplace called the Library of Last Resort, where Nymdragoth couldn’t find it. But an elder druid, who looked vaguely like Kor’lec’s grandfather, exposed Kor’lec’s vessel as a spy being controlled by undead dragon.

Thus, Kor’lec was in Nymdragoth’s head all along as in the first two dreams. This time, the wyrm addressed Kor’lec directly when he looked into his mirror. Nymdragoth said he hadn’t felt Kor’lec behind his eyes for centuries, when in reality Kor’lec’s last dream involving the wyrm were but a few weeks prior. After more tit-for-tat, the dragon grew wary of Kor’lec’s insolence and tried to intimidate him into revealing who he was. Nymdragoth sensed a crying child in the background before the same sound woke Kor’lec, implying that the dreams were transmitting information to the villainous wyrm.

Kor’lec Gets a Deinotherium

The crying child was a local village boy who explained to Kor’lec that his father, a farmer, and some men were planning to kill poor Matumba. The boy explained that the strange animal was big and clumsy, but didn’t mean any harm. The beast had been driven away many times but kept returning to damage the fields and “upset the sows,” which Kor’lec soon learned were elephants used by the farmers as beasts of burden.

Matumba turned out to be a 13 ton, 13-and-a-half-foot tall elephantine creature, wallowing in a marshy rice field. Despite the primordial proboscidean’s threat display, Kor’lec bravely approached and gained the huge old animal’s trust. He noted a gouge in the beast’s flank, terribly festering and probably caused by a younger male in a battle for dominance. The druid was able to clean the animal’s infection and heal the wound. The whole encounter was witnessed by the farmers, who’d arrived at the field to kill the deinotherium. Kor’lec’s taming of the big angry animal greatly impressed the villagers who recognized the half-elf as a “spirit-talker” and friend of Shimye-Magalla. None wanted to slay Matumba, for he was a rare old beast, and Kor’lec nodded that he understood the villagers had to protect their farms. The crying boy’s father was especially relieved Kor’lec spared him his child’s animosity, and offered an old howdah in case the druid and his friends sought to ride Matumba. As to those friends, many of the villagers had guessed they were still hiding in town, and not run off as Sheriff Red had told the M’bulazi. Few liked “the old witch” Se’enga or her Bekyar buddies, and Kor’lec’s “miracle” gave them hope that Shimye-Magalla had sent champions that would rout the wicked slavers.

Matumba remained agreeable to the druid’s handling, so Kor’lec bid him to sit tight in a clearing and await his return. Word of his deed traveled fast, and Kor’lec’s trip back to the Naga’s Notch was punctuated by welcoming nods and smiles from the villagers.

The Bat Cave

“I call this the Bat Cave,” Samaritha explained, “because we had to clean out an icky bat nest to build it.” Kor’lec was led by the Naga’s Notch Inn’s proprietor to the hidden cellar, where Dornas and Monica were working on fashioning weapons and alchemical items. The two humans had been awake for an hour or so, using Rashoom as a runner to sell old gear at the docks and return with the supplies they needed to build a formidable arsenal. They got the returning druid up to speed on what he missed, and that Kish was at a man named Ewandabe’s house trying to get information from a boy hiding out there who’d successfully escaped the M’bulazi stockade. Kor’lec was surprised when his teammates mentioned Tyst’s lycanthropy in front of Samaritha. The dancer put him at ease by saying she was descended from lycanthropes, and protected the halfling’s discovery during the bar fight. “About that,” Samaritha contended, “he put a lot of good people at risk.”

Dornas said that Tyst didn’t seem to have the same concern for secrecy. “It’s more than that.” The skinwalker went on to explain that when a cursed lycanthrope changed unwillingly, their minds were taken by the beast and they couldn’t tell friend from foe. Injury and fear could trigger an involuntary change as easily as a full moon. Further, many hunted the changing breeds, and the worst were werewolves who hated all other lycanthropes. Samaritha figured Tyst was new to the life but needed to know these things before he hurt someone dear to him, or was found by those who got off on killing were-creatures. Dornas suggested that Samaritha herself be the one to tell him.

Kor’lec let Samaritha know that he’d secured good-will from the village majority, and so they didn’t necessarily need to hide in the dingy old cellar. He then discussed his dream visions for the first time with someone other than Kishtari. Dornas and Monica had a great many questions about Nymdragoth and the potential threat he represented. Kor’lec didn’t know what his connection was to the creature, but strongly suspected that he was either seeing things in the dragon’s past, or landing in the wyrm’s dreams of the past.

Finally, Monica finally strait-up asked what was up with the crescent shape Samaritha and her python pet had on their heads.

“It is a symbol of Yig. The Father of Serpents, for whom I am a priestess.”

Serpents Entwined

Samaritha qualified that her god was at times capricious, or hungry, but generally benign and rewarded those of his disciples who propitiated him with the proper rites. When asked about the serpentfolk, the skinwalker winced and spat again.

“Yig has a younger sister, known only as Yig-Shissa which means (in Aklo) ’Yig’s sister.’ She is not nearly as friendly as her wiser, older brother. Yig is good medicine and his little sister is bad—poisons, mutations, and such. The serpentfolk barely know of her, calling her ‘the hidden Mother’ but she created them using bad medicine. Seeing they were selfish and proud, she birthed Ydersius as their king and under him they became conquerors. By agreement, Yig and his sister share worlds like Golarion. Here, Yig looks after what you call ‘the New World’ where my ancestors, human and were-serpent, are from. He gave this side of the world to Yig-shissa and her spawn.

“At some point on this world, Yig-Shissa angered her brother. Soon thereafter, Ydersius was slain by a mortal.”

“Savith,” Dornas interjected. The little-known Azlanti warrior for whom the legendary lost city of Saventh-Yhi was named. Samaritha shrugged and continued. “the serpentfolk were cursed, and became the debased animals known today.”

It occurred to Samaritha that a lot of queer coincidences were piling up. She was one of the few people on the planet who knew that legend, and capable of imparting it on these strangers who’d discovered by chance that the serpentfolk were returning. “You’ve given me much to chew over. I must commune with my god. I thank you for causing trouble in my bar.” Samaritha smiled, there was no sarcasm in that last sentence. As to the Castaways, they agreed that a lot of what Kor’lec recently experienced in his sleep needed to be relayed to Kishtari.

The Tough Go Shopping

The Taldans were about to get back to their crafting, while Kor’lec attended to his daily benedictions. Samaritha returned after a few hours with a request to speak to the party’s priest. “Where is Jask, anyway?” Kor’lec wondered aloud. Samaritha corrected, “not the old Garundi. I meant the little one,” and gestured to Likki. The shapeshifter said she’d noted the monkey goblin’s elaborate jewelry and saw that it distinguished him as a ranking holy man. She had made something that could help Likki help the group, but she knew she was a lesser conduit of the divine than the goblin. Out of respect, Samaritha asked “may I address him?”

The party were taken aback, but Likki straightened up proudly and nodded. “Sure you can address him,” Kor’lec said. Samaritha began to unravel a scroll… Likki bounded away screeching “no! letters steal thoughts from head!” Alas, the divine spell Samaritha had scribed went to Monica. “This hymn,” the priestess explained, “will calm the beast in Tyst should the change force itself upon him.” Likki could learn it in time, but for the time being, it fell on Monica and her knack for finagling magic out of items meant for other types of spellcasters.

“Speaking of which…” Red Agata had come through the drainage gate entrance. The sheriff had caught wind of the rumor that the Castaways were still hiding out in town, but after Kor’lec’s performance with Matumba, few were ill-disposed. Red offered the party a chance to “commandeer” magical components, elixirs, and ingredients that Se’enga no doubt left in her hut—which was also a magic shop. “We’ll say I deputized you guys to ‘remove hazardous materials.’ What you find might help your preparations.”

With yet another possible side quest before them, the group decided to await Kish and Tyst’s return to the inn.

Whenever I hear anyone arguing for slavery, I feel a strong impulse to see it tried on him personally.

When we last left our heroes, the night was winding down as they, or most of them, were entranced by the sultry slithering dance of the Naga’s Notch inn’s star attraction: Satanica! Whether this entrancement was owed the exotic dancer by virtue of her talent, her considerable assets, or because Satanica performed with a powerful python as if they were one sensual entity; varied. The Castaways had plenty of reasons to assume the worst when serpents had the spotlight.

One big exception was Kor’lec, who’d decided to call it a night. Few of his teammates would understand his desire to free himself from the noise of the crowd, the glare of the colored lamps, the stink of smoke, spirits, and sweat. The druid slipped away without a word when the lights dimmed and was long gone before the inn’s dancer and her pet python could have his scrutiny. Kor’lec escaped to the night’s solace to check on Kai, and to fall asleep—and dream—to the symphony of the swamp that surrounded Suum’tero on three sides, while the ocean beat a rhythm on the forth…

Ballroom Blitzed

…and also to leave his companions to pick up the check. This particular bill being owed for snubbing the shaman Se’enga earlier on in the night.

A few in the party noticed the juju wendifa near the exit, speaking to five big Bekyar tribesmen. Se’enga was making a great show of being excessively hurt, and limply gestured to the Castaways when one of the men said “who?” through gritted, sharpened teeth.

As the band played on and Satanica danced, the men approached the party’s table, surrounded the table next to theirs, and demanded the patrons there find someplace else to sit. The tavern guests did as instructed with heads held low. The Bekyar sat in the vacated seats and kept on glaring angrily at the party. Finally someone asked the goons what they wanted.

They Bekyar all got up, cracked their knuckles and flexed their pecs. Beneath their hide vests, the tribesmen’s endomorphic bodies bore scars and tribal piercings that looked like they should have torn asunder when the muscles behind them bulged. The Castaways noted they were armed with cat-lashes, short spears, and had tall, rawhide shields strapped to their backs. The music started to come apart as the band fumbled with their instruments, and the dancer’s concentrated aplomb had likewise cracked. Sensing things were about to get all kinds of messy, Likki bounded back over to his friends. Eyes in the bar began to wander over to the confrontation, a few patrons made their way to the exit, while most waited with baited breath for the bonus entertainment.

“Where’s the half-breed?” one of the bullies challenged. He hammered the Castaways’ table with his meaty fist, jostling and spilling several drinks. “Not the woman. The ugly one.”

“What do you want with him?” Monica asked. “He offended our sister,” replied the lout. The bouncer Rashoom carefully made his way over to the commotion. “Easy now guys, there’s no reason to…”

“Mind your business fat man,” the Bekyar warrior warned, “you know the consequences if you don’t.” Rashoom froze.

Dornas continued sipping his drink, ignoring the Bekyar. Monica shrugged, one hand gently moving to her spell pouch, the other to the handle of her gun. Likki checked to see if his scarves were still wrapped around his face, in case they were referring to him. Kishtari was pretty tanked but attempted to stand with all the sober poise she could muster.

“I asked you something,” growled the thug, pushing Kish back down to her chair. With his hand. On her shoulder.
Kishtari’s companions, who understood what the rapidly intensifying treble that emanated from nowhere and everywhere meant; winced, braced themselves, or shook their heads as if to say, “nice knowing you, dude…”

The Bekyar goon simply winked out of existence with a slurping pop as air rushed to fill the vacuum.

The band came to a dead stop, a few more patrons hustled to the door, and the Bekyar, after a second spent processing what was, to all appearances, their tribemate’s instant annihilation, reached for their spears.

Kish noticed Se’enga sashaying out the front door. Oh hells no. She assured her friends that she’d “just” shunted the thug forward in time one minute. “He’ll be back,” the kalashtar added, then vanished into the exiting crowd, utilizing a knack for escape she mastered as a Riddleport guttersnipe. The four remaining hoodlums cried for blood and began stabbing wildly with their shortspears.

Tender Resignations

Tyst and his henchmen—Nine-toes, Ratty, Farqaad, and Chris—finished unloading the Freedom’s cargo. All the while, Tyst insisted that the sailors would make a great living selling the dreamshit right here in Suum’tero, maybe even set up a den or something! Ratty had drawn the short straw and had to tell the cheerful halfling, on behalf of the foursome, that they’d rather just find work on another ship. “Mind you, sir,” qualified Ratty, “this was their idea. I would have been perfectly happy working for you…”

The others kvetched and ragged Ratty to simply state what they all agreed. The sailor continued, “but we four have to stick together, see, so we’d appreciate it, if you don’t mind sir, just letting us go?”

“You don’t want to be my friend?” Tyst wondered, ostensibly heartbroken. Ratty leapt to the halfling assassin’s side and scolded the other three, expressing that he was ashamed of them for hurting their new master’s feelings. Nine-toes emptied his bowels in his britches for the second time that night, and started to cry. “He’ll never let us get away!” the soiled smuggler lamented.

“No, its all right,” Tyst conceded with heavy heart, shooing the henchmen off. “If that’s what you want. But you better be good, and not a word of what you saw tonight.” The four crooks all swore they were on the strait-and-narrow from now on, and that they’d certainly be thanking the gods for their good fortune. They’d been slowly backing up to the warehouse entryway, and ran for their fool lives as soon as the werebadger’s quivering eyes wandered elsewhere.

Tyst’s ears picked up a commotion outside. The music at the inn nearby had stopped. People were murmuring about a fight. It was time for him to do a badass thing he’d always wanted to do, and the lycanthrope’s hallmark smile returned with a vengeance.

Bully Pulped

Back at the taproom, the Castaways had their hands full with the Bekyar thugs. The tribesmen were crude but skillful fighters, and weren’t going down quickly or easily. Then the saloon doors flew open with a crack, and all eyes turned to face the entryway. Nobody saw anything, though, until their gaze shifted down to the bald, creepily grinning halfling. Tyst rolled up his green sleeves to unveil hirsute arms as stone-thewed as any human bodybuilder’s. Noticing that weapons were drawn—and of course his new friends were involved—Tyst’s smile grew wider, and the compact little terror deftly skipped into the fray, his short blade in hand in an impossible flash.

Dornas calmly sipped his drink as his hair lashed out and slugged a guy in the gut. When the same thug leapt atop the table to skewer the magus, Dornas—and his chair—floated up over the melee. Dornas remained seated coolly as his flailing coiffe did the heavy lifting—flipping the table, its contents, and his aggressor, to the sticky floor.

Monica lashed her bullwhip, attempting to pull the thugs off balance. But the Bekyar kept their feet, dextrously dodging the lash. Engaged fully with Monica, Dornas, and Likki, the four goons were easy prey for Tyst, who’d feinted down and popped up to bury his wakizashi in a hoodlum’s liver. The tribesman squealed, pivoted and gouged Tyst’s upper arm with a spearpoint. Tyst looked at the gash, smelled the tinge of iron in the blood. His expression turned sour and he doubled over like he’d been poisoned. The halfling’s flesh started to throb as his bones and muscles wrestled to rearrange themselves. The change was upon him—and an involuntary transformation meant that the beast within wouldn’t recognize friend from foe. Anyone would be a threat to his animal mind. And all Suum’tero would know there was a monster on the loose, and who’d brought it.

Meanwhile, the bar’s staff and some other patrons were doing their best to try to distract, talk down, or hold back the vicious Bekyar thugs; but they were out for blood, cursing and threatening potential meddlers with deadly force.

Monica chanted a spell and flicked out a pinch of powder. A blanket of glittering motes enshrouded the goons and stuck in their eyes. The spell was well timed. Most of the tavern’s guests had fled or were looking out the window at something even more fantastic happening outside. With remaining eyes on the coruscant cloud and the struggling Bekyar, few noticed the first few milliseconds of Tyst’s metamorphosis. Monica, Dornas, and Likki had little idea what to do except try to end the fight and escape, leaving Tyst’s fate uncertain. Unexpectedly, Satanica slid down from the stage using her python as a ramp, yanked a linen off a nearby table, and tossed it over the halfling.

“He’ll be safe,” the woman said, “finish them, but don’t kill them.”

“How can we trust you?” someone asked. “You trust him?” the dancer replied, gesturing to the growling, cracking bulge under the tablecloth. Touché. At that, Satanica’s own body contorted and shifted into a finely scaled and sinewy musculature. She quickly looped the linen around Tyst into a makeshift sack and began chanting a soothing hymn. Tyst’s growling and movements slackened somewhat as the serpentine creature dragged him back behind the bar and into the kitchen.

“If you don’t trust her,” Rashoom said, kayoing the last standing Bekyar with a sap, “trust me. And help me clean this up.”

Graving Dock

Kishtari caught up with Se’enga on the boardwalk not too far away. The psion asked her what the big idea was, siccing her boys on them. “I did no such thing,” said the imperious priestess. “My tribe-brothers simply wanted to know what was botherin’ me and I told them the half-elf refused my good-will.”

Se’enga bid Kish adieu and turned away. The wendifa’s path was blocked however, as Kish had all-but surrounded her with a barrier of pure sound. Se’enga turned to face the wall’s manifester. “Impressive. What do you want?” Kish demanded that the shaman call off her goons. “They are not mine to command,” stated Se’enga. “They are just protective. Now, let me go girl.”

Kish didn’t cancel the psionic barrier. Se’enga noted that there were villagers gathering about the pier and a crowd also watching from the inn’s front porch. The priestess repeated her command, accentuating the word “go” with divine authority. Kishtari felt the meager enchantment crumble before her alien mind, and so did Se’enga. But the six-foot-six priestess was a Bekyar and a warrior, and gambled that Kishtari’s body was easier to break than her mind. The onlookers gasped as the wendifa threw off her hide cloak, pulled a stone handaxe from her sash, and rushed the strange visitor.

Kishtari’s eyes crackled with electricity and a salvo of lightning burst from her body toward the Bekyar woman. The scintillating bolts struck the priestess and blasted her back into the sonic barrier. Kish’s eyes cleared to see the wall vibrate the flesh from the woman’s skeleton before the bones themselves disintegrated.

All in witness went dead silent. Even Kishtari was a little shocked. Then, the crowd’s susurration rose from nervous whispers to angry cries of “murderer!”

Kish turned to see the halfling with the red turban. Agata, she thought Kor’lec had called her. Suum’tero’s law-and-order. “Come with me if you want to live,” plainly stated the small woman. Agata held out her hand. Kish took it and the wiry halfling twisted her hand in a semblance of a joint lock, but bore no pressure. Pretending to arrest her, Agata explained that she was going to take her someplace safe.

The Village Underground

Meanwhile, at someplace safe, Tyst awoke to see Satanica, whose name was actually Samaritha, standing over him. “You know, you could have hurt a lot of innocent people,” the other shapeshifter scolded. Tyst was unmoved, and more than a little smitten by his sightly savior. Without missing a beat, the lycanthrope excitedly badgered her with questions, pausing only to flatter and flirt. Samaritha explained that the men who’d accosted his friends were of the M’bulazi tribe of Bekyar. They were slavers from the highlands who’d been doing business in Suum’tero for years. Business that she, and a few others, opposed. Samaritha went on to admit that she was descended from wereserpents and though she could not change into animal form, could partially shift. Quixla, the python, was her boon companion. She owned the Naga’s Notch and had an affection for her fellow “tribes of the moon.”

Monica, Dornas, and Likki helped Rashoom get the M’bulazi goons into their beds before the comedian directed them to the secret cellar beneath the inn’s kitchen. The spacious area was intended as another taproom but went unused save for a storeroom, and forgotten. Kishtari arrived thereafter, led by Red Agata through a passageway, a storm drain, from the beach. Monica had seen Se’enga’s death from the inn’s porch. “I thought she was more powerful!” Kish averred. Tyst let everyone know that he’d unequivocally decided to help the rebels get rid of the slavers. Tyst was not one for long (or short) debates when the course was clear (to him).

Monica argued that, though she wasn’t opposed, they had a pretty important undertaking already in regards to Saventh-Yhi and the serpentfolk’s agenda. When she mentioned the scaly race, looking square at Samaritha, the skinwalker spat and made a sign. Samaritha called them, “the forsaken.” Monica was relieved to see the reaction, and said out loud that they needed to discuss the yuan-ti further. The polymath and her fellow Taldan Dornas noted the crescent-shaped symbol on the foreheads of Samaritha and Quixla, but either supposed it was an esoteric curiosity.

The Castaways learned that, with Rashoom, Agata and Samaritha comprised the “rebellion” of Suum’tero that actively opposed the M’bulazi. “But we have many sympathizers,” Agata explained that some of her constables and villagers supported them. But all either feared the slavers, or relied on their tax revenue to pay off passing pirates and corrupt Senghori navy officials. Captain Massingale, the village leader, was a good man, the women pointed out, but he saw the M’bulazi as the lesser of two evils, and didn’t support making trouble for the powerful tribe.

Se’enga was Bekyar, but of a different tribe. Still, the M’bulazi adored her, and would seek vengeance for her death and their own embarrassment. Worse, the priestess was generally liked in the village for those who needed blessings or healing and followed juju. Samaritha said the slavers have made trouble for visitors before, and with Red’s help, they would claim that the party knocked out the slavers, rescued the telepath, and fled. But if the Castaways were to go after the slavers, they needed to lie low. “We’ve slept in worse places,” Dornas contended, in reference to the fact that the cellar was to be their home base while they made preparations. “But anything else you can offer that would be appreciated.”

“No payment necessary!” Tyst assured, “in fact, you can have the cargo of our ship, too, to help your town’s economic recovery after we take down the slavers!” Kish, naturally, disagreed. “Hey, you might be willing to risk your life for an admittedly fantastic set of tits, but I need something more concrete.” Samaritha looked at Red, and the halfling protested. “No! That’s evidence.” The skinwalker argued that the powerful items in the constable’s office vault weren’t doing anyone good just sitting there. The halfling relented, admitted it would take some finesse, but could probably spare one of the items she knew the nature and value of—a ring that afforded its wearer the friendship of natural beasts. Assuming they succeeded, anything else from evidence could be offered in trade for the party’s cargo, which they wouldn’t otherwise be able to exchange for its full value. And of course, anything they took from the M’bulazi was theirs.

But Donas had been referring mostly to information, and Samaritha added that the slavers had a veritable fortress in the midst of their territory, an old Chelaxian garrison. There, in addition to breaking captives, the M’bulazi also worshiped Lamashtu, a monstrous demon goddess. Monica informed everyone that goddess’s faithful were known to sacrifice infants in their unspeakable rites. But the Castaways were already sold on taking them down.

There were two more potential sources of intelligence. A young man had somehow escaped the slaver fortress and was hiding in the village. A farmer by the name of Ewandabe and his family had taken the boy in. The boy, Watende, was rightfully scared for his life and Ewandabe was very protective of his charge. The second were the M’bulazi sleeping off their drugged cocktails upstairs.

Cross Examinations

With not a small amount of trickery and finagling the party managed to sneak one of the M’bulazi down to the secret sanctuary. After securing him and coaxing him out to partial wakefulness, Kish found that his mind, even in semi-consciousness, resisted revealing details of the slaver’s stockade. That is, until an enchantment from Monica opened him like a book. He offered details about its fortifications. He knew the camp was defended by over thirty men, and the tribe had allied with a pack of gnolls as well. Any number of jackal shamans from the tribe’s surrounding territory could be visiting the fort. Dire jackals and hyenas roamed freely, and it was rumored that other monsters prowled the shadows.

The fort commander was a blind yet unequaled warrior named Icar. He had a sidekick, a jungle ogre that Icar won in battle. The commander was seen more often, but second to the leader of the slavers, a dread priestess of Lamashtu named M’kessa. It was believed she laid with beasts and mothered half-animal children who guarded the dungeons. Sometimes these damned offspring were sold to visiting slave merchants. The M’bulazi thug hadn’t personally seen the dungeon but knew M’kessa and her apprentice, a tiefling named Gulyet, laired there. Gulyet was always attended by lions she’d tamed, and protected by the ghost of a lion. There was also an old diamond mine below the stockade, the reason the Chelaxians built the garrison in the first place.

When asked about weaknesses, the slaver admitted the M’bulazi, like most Bekyar, considered themselves superior to all other creatures and were loath to ally with creatures like gnolls. Last, there were several areas of the stockade that the slavers refused to go into. The interior of the curtain wall and the northwest wing of the keep were haunted.

That gave the adventurers a lot to chew over, and they soon began forming preliminary plans. Still, they had the escaped slave Watende to chat with. Red let the group know it wouldn’t be easy, as Ewandabe was standoffish even before he began harboring a fugitive. The sheriff couldn’t blame him, the man had a family and they were all at risk if the M’bulazi discovered them.

The Castaways insisted on heading over to Ewandabe’s hut to try reasoning with him. It ws early morning, no one in the group had slept in over 24 hours of sea voyage, unloading cargo, partying at the inn… not to mention a few bloody battles thrown in. Sheriff Red accompanied them, and they all moved carefully to avoid those already getting ready for work. Tyst took animal form. Ewandabe’s place was a wide and tall mudbrick circle with a conical thatch roof. Upon knocking, the party were confronted by an angry middle-aged farmer who was already sick of the halfling sheriff calling to disturb him.

Tyst, for mysterious reasons and still trotting about as a dire honey badger, thought to barge into Ewandabe’s home. Naturally, the man reacted like any farmer with a family to protect in a setting where dangerous predators posed a real threat. He grabbed a club off a hook by the door and raised it against the creature. Tyst growled and tried to bite him in retaliation. Before the entire thing became a fiasco (and a lost opportunity) the party pulled Tyst back outside.

“All of you! Get off my property!” Ewandabe hollered, waving his club. His expression suddenly softened. “Except for you,” he said to Kishtari. “For some reason, I’d love for you to join me and my family for breakfast. I play the violin, too. Would you like to hear a song I wrote?” Kish allowed the man to take her hand and lead her inside, sparing her teammates an irreverent wink before the door closed.

Ma’am, do you know what you do when you walk into a bad bar and the hairs on the back of your neck stick up? You get your drink, you pay for it, you turn around, and you walk out.
And this is a “bad bar”?
Yes, ma’am, Jericho is a bad bar.

Last episode, the Castaways acquired both a ship and a small fortune in cargo. The hold was filled with shiver, also known as “dreamshit,” an addictive and valuable hallucinogenic drug harvested from the venom of the Mwangi dream spider. In addition to the narcotics, bolts of dreamsilk, just as illegal as the shiver, and a big caché of weapons—including a curious quiver of elf killing crossbow bolts—rounded out the Red Gull’s illicit shipment.

It was strongly suggested that the Castaways keep clear of Senghor by the naval inspectors who’d searched their vessel; at least until the Senghori officials had grounds to charge Lord Maragorn, the Gull’s previous owner, with slave trading.

The new shipowners were directed to Suum’tero, a nearby village port. There, they’d discover that for people like them, precious downtime didn’t come easy.

Restless Relaxation

Jask warned his friends that he might cry a little when they departed the Gull. It was the first time that the Garundi had been back home in a decade, and as a free man besides. The others were touched to see the cleric walk on the white sands, thanking the heavens. After haggling over the “no-questions” docking fees and settling accounts with the harbormaster, Dornas renamed their ship “The Freedom.” The party quickly took note of the raucous sounds and laughter emanating from the nearby Naga’s Notch Inn. Kishtari and Naga, her sentient psicrystal, were especially curious about the place.

Though the party weren’t certain yet they’d try to liquidate their cargo in Suum’tero, they agreed it was best stored in one of the local warehouses. Tyst and his newly drafted henchmen from the (former) Red Gull took on the backbreaking task of moving their hold’s massive stock of shiver and dreamsilk while everyone else went inside the Notch to have fun.

The inn was a crowded panoply of people and boasted a dance floor, a broad stage, and live entertainment. Local Bonuwat fishermen comprised the majority of the revelers, though there was a good mix of Garundi sailors, a few folk from the northern continent, and the not-so-good presence of Bekyar warriors—the latter infamous throughout the Expanse as slavers and demon-worshipers.

Ignoring their buzzkilling presence for the time being, the group grabbed a table, got drinks, and tried to enjoy themselves. Kor’lec shouted out a few words in Druidic on the off-chance there was a druid around. There wasn’t, but his words didn’t go unnoticed…

Kishtari simply stood at the bar and waited for some admirer to buy her drinks. She only needed a second and her hands were full of exotic cocktails and shots to bring back to her friends. A comedian and ukulele player named Rashoom finished a crowd-pleasing set of bawdy folk singalongs and jokes, which several in the party made a big show of enjoying, especially to spite Gelik. “HA! now that’s comedy!” said Kor’lec, while slapping the gnome on the back.

“He knows this audience,” Gelik explained, “a truly great comic can perform anywhere. Let’s see him try the same act in Oppara, or Kalsgard! They’d pelt him with rotten fruit, and they’d be wrong not to!”

“Jealous,” quipped the druid, who remembered he hated fun and crossed his arms. Kishtari teased the half-elf by mock-threatening him with one of the elfbane bolts. Kor’lec’s fellow elf-blood Aerys chided the kalashtar, pointing out the things were dangerous for anyone of elf-blood… “Waitasec…” Aerys’s eyes widened as it dawned on her that thus far, Kish had claimed she was half-elven.

The house band struck up a catchy fusion of tribal rhythms and contemporary beats, and many of the Notch’s patrons invaded the dance floor. Likki had been sitting quietly in a disguise he’d donned at his own insistence, not understanding anything. Music, though, he understood. The monkey goblin bounded up to the stage to join the band’s bongo players. To his friends’ delight, he wasn’t shooed away. Gelik stood, hat over heart, and took Monica by the hand for a lindyhop that enthralled the crowd. Not to be outdone, an already tipsy Kish pulled Aerys into the fray, both forgetting for a second her earlier faux-pas and the pirate’s peg leg! No matter; Aerys was aces in her proficiency, pivoting and pirouetting on the prosthesis like she’d trained on it from birth.

No News is Good, Period.

Meanwhile, Dornas saw that Big Rashoom served as the bouncer and door guy when he wasn’t performing, and decided the cheerful Bonuwat bard was a good person to solicit for the local scuttlebutt. As usual, the magus wasn’t wrong.

But Rashoom also knew a good opportunity when he saw one. He’d already pegged the Taldan’s group as an adventuring party from the moment they entered his inn, people he knew had great stories. Rashoom’s word for the group was “well-apportioned.” When Dornas asked what he meant, the merry bouncer replied with a parable about groups of all scholars, or just missionaries, or only mercenaries, or solely tomb-robbers; all failing to get far in the interior’s infamous Kaava Lands. But a “well-apportioned” group like Dornas’s might succeed. Rashoom promised the skinny, and a not-so skinny helping of his hot egg and turnip scramble at breakfast, if Dornas could regale him with his exploits. The magus promised a tale of adventure and courage, and Rashoom surrendered to his questions.

The jolly Mwangi pointed out Captain Massingale, the town founder and priest of Shimye-Magalla, a functional drunk, but popular and a decent-enough fellow trying to do his best. Rashoom explained that the M’bulazi, a local branch of Bekyar slavers, had a stranglehold on the port’s economy, and held auctions right on the docks. Most of the town were against it, but the M’bulazi paid their taxes and the money helped pay Suum’tero’s exorbitant “protection” fees to pirates and the Senghor navy. Massingale was also the town’s broker, the man to talk to about liquidating trade goods. After pointing out a few other local movers-and-shakers, Dornas thanked Rashoom for his time.

One of those “movers-and-shakers” was Se’enga, a juju shaman who’d heard Kor’lec’s Druidic proclamation and approached him. The Bekyar wendifa cordially explained through sharpened teeth that she kept the town’s balance between the spiritual and material realms, and that Kor’lec and his friends were best moseying on. Kor’lec asked what sort of services she provided, and the Bekyar boasted, “healin’, blessin’, raisin’ the dead.” The offended druid sent her off, his umbrage plain.

After doing so, a halfling woman in red Qadiran garb approached Kor’lec, and mentioned that if it were up to her, she’d have the Bekyar run out of town. The halfling introduced herself as Red Agata, the village sheriff. As an ex-slave, Agata had nothing but contempt for the Bekyar and their evil trade. But, alas, there was nothing she could do about it. Captain Masssingale, her boss, allowed it.

Needing Space

Monica and Gelik fell into a slow dance when the band’s tempo shifted, and the gnome finally asked if Monica still planned to hold off revealing her groundbreaking discoveries on Smuggler’s Shiv to the world. He knew the answer. “Yes,” Monica replied, “I still have to work something out with Kor’lec, and we have bigger fish to fry.” She was referring to Saventh-Yhi, the serpentfolk’s designs on the fabled city, and stopping whatever those happened to be. Gelik gently teased her for her altruism, said he needed to return to Magnimar, and intended to find a ship going north in the morning. Realizing this meant the inevitable end of their relationship, Monica said she understood, and teased back “we still have one more night together, then.”

After their dance, Aerys and Kish had a heart-to-heart at the bar. Kish admitted she’d lied about being a half-elf because, “and I know this sounds crazy,” she was an alien refugee from the planet Castrovel. Aerys was beside herself, but not angry or incredulous, more bemused as to why Kish thought her planet of origin was so unbelievable that she needed to lie. To her.

“Slaves from Castrovel,” Aerys explained, “have been trafficked around the coasts for a century. Its the Dream Merchants’ specialty.” Kishtari asked who the Dream Merchants were and how she could find them. At that, Aerys was struck aghast. “Please promise me you’ll never, ever, put yourself in their sights, or set foot aboard their ships. These men of Leng, they are nightmares in flesh, and I’d wish for myself a hundred lashes of the cat before condemning even an enemy to one of their galleys.” Kish was undeterred, and asked how the Dream Merchants traveled through space. Aerys explained that they rowed to the horizon and just… kept going, somehow. Aerys immediately regretted bringing the horrible denizens of Leng up, and changed the subject.

“I’m booking passage back to Eleder,” Aerys said. “I love Kassata. I have to try to fix this thing.” Kish said she understood. “You could come with me! All of you would make great pirates!” The kalashtar said she’d think about it. After some awkward attempts at small talk by Aerys, the half-elf departed. But Kish had bigger things on her mind. Extraterrestrial things.

Satanica Panacea

Gelik and Aerys had retired to their quarters, and Jask found a lady-friend half his age eager to accompany him for a private sermon. Sasha probably ditched them hours ago. The remaining Castaways were left to discuss their options, complicated somewhat by Kor’lec’s weird encounters with the wendifa and the sheriff. Slavery was an uncomfortable fact of life across the known world, civilized societies and otherwise. But they all hated it, and debated whether or not to strike a small blow against the practice here in Suum’tero.

Finally, the lights dimmed for the stage-show’s finále. She’d been named a few times by the staff of the Notch as an act worth staying up late for, mentioned by passing patrons of the Naga’s Notch in reverent ramblings. After the barker’s lewd introduction, and when the catcalls and clapping faded in anticipation…

Satanica appeared on the stage.

Satanica, and her nine-foot-long albino python.

Every normal man must be tempted, at times, to spit on his hands, hoist the black flag, and begin slitting throats.

In our last adventure, our ragtag bunch of misfits proved once again to be a force with which to reckon, even in the face of one of their owns’ desperate betrayal. Despite Monica Montana’s perfidy, our heroes went, as they say in Riddleport, “strait-up gangsta,” and hijacked the ship that had rescued them from Smuggler’s Shiv. To be fair, the Red Gull was a tempting prize, and lest we forget that this saga concerns the exploits of heroes, their “rescuers” were crooks working for Maragorn, a Bloodcove-based crime boss.

And some of them were much worse.

Make Do and Mend

Back in the ship’s cargo hold, Monica had somewhat listlessly tried to explain her treachery to the rest of the party before abruptly fainting. Gelik was immediately at the woman’s side and eased her down to her bedroll. “She’s feverish,” the gnome stated. The concern in his voice was sincere as he fanned his girlfriend’s perspiring face with his little hand.

Jask looked her over. “Pale, too. Hmm. She’s behaved erratically?” asked the cleric, who’d caught snippets of the past few minutes’ subject matter. "She shot Kor’lec," Dornas noted, “so yes.”

“We’ve seen this before I think,” Jask explained, “was she recently injured? Maybe in standing water?”

“Probably?” answered Kishtari, shrugging. “That’s pretty much been our lives every day this month.”

“I would like Kor’lec’s opinion, and I’d ask for Nethys’s guidance to be sure…” the old priest hesitated.

“Brainworms,” supposed everyone, with a collective groan.

Going on Account

Aerys had been steering the Red Gull, and allowed herself to give in to the joy of becoming as a single entity with the many tons of wood, pitch, and sailcloth that surrounded her. There was one thing the born and bred buccaneer knew she had in common with all ships—save for the caprice of the sea, every and any moment might be the last. The Shackles salt gripped the wheel and allowed herself a moment to muse. She opened her eyes and whispered to the helm, then again to the sails, “what ails you old gal?” The Gull seemed to moan her response. Aerys couldn’t put it off any longer. Her friends were the masters to be sure, but their new ship didn’t just need a pilot. She needed a captain.

“Lookout!” Aerys called to Kor’lec in the crow’s nest.

Aerys’s fellow elf-blood had been explaining “wreck-born” culture to a thoroughly confused and easily distracted Likki. For the past few minutes, Kor’lec attempted to make the monkey goblin understand civilization when, for one, Likki learned only a few weeks ago that people weren’t just easy meat that appeared on the beach as a gift from the gods; and secondly, it barely made sense to the druid, either. Likki’s brow furrowed. Maybe the little guy was better off in the jungle. Maybe, he wasn’t the only one.

“No, that not it,” answered Likki when Kor’lec apologized for confusing him. The oracle related an earlier experience in which he overheard one of the sailors refer to him as the Castaways’ “pet.” The monkey goblin would have a tough time in the world beyond the shores of the Shiv. Kor’lec brooded. The rest of the Mongrukoo would have it worse when that world came to them.

The fellow theists certainly had more to discuss, but Aerys had called for Kor’lec.

“We’ve a clear night and obliging wind. I can tack to shore if north’s still our heading, easy as porridge. Mister Likki can man the nest. Would you be so kind as to call up Mister Dornas?”

“That reminds me!” Likki slapped his bare forehead and remembered the reason he’d come to the upper deck in the first place. “Jask want you downstairs!”

Master and Commander

Kor’lec confirmed the aging cleric’s suspicions, that Monica was in fact suffering from the parasites. After a few moments’ discussion, it was agreed to use the party’s last disease curative on the archeologist. Meanwhile, Kishtari wanted to make a thorough search of the captain’s cabin, while Dornas headed topside to parley with Aerys. Kish’s nose for valuables proved as good as her insight into minds. In the captain’s quarters, the kalashtar located another elixir to purge disease, so the party had come out even. Though truthfully, Kish was really hoping to find a stash of chocolates. Unfortunately, the captain’s sweet truth seemed bafflingly limited to salty licorice! Gross!

The half-elf pirate pointed out to the magus that she’d noticed that he seemed quite at home on the decks of a ship, and Dornas admitted that he’d come from a family of shipwrights — which was about the only thing anyone had been able to get him to admit. Aerys went on to contend that the unarmed caravel would not fare well should its owner’s fleet come after them. As much as it pained her, they ought to ditch the vessel as soon as possible. Aerys’s idea was to make port at Senghor and call for Maragorn there. “Let him know we want to negotiate, and that we’re not to be trifled with.” Dornas said he’d chew it over. Meanwhile, Aerys and Dornas both agreed that the ship was in a deplorable shape. They needed to see if any of the smugglers would agree to serve, and a duty roster needed to be drawn up if they were to spend much more time at sea. Also, there had to be a chain of command. Dornas acceded the Shackles-bred woman’s captaincy in matters of ship and sail, and Aerys bowed to the Taldan’s will in matters otherwise.

Kor’lec returned to the crow’s nest as Dornas went back belowdecks. Dornas warned the druid in passing that they weren’t done talking about the whole “murdering the captain” thing that tipped off the group’s current predicament. After a few moments’ lookout, Kor’lec noticed a flash on the horizon. “Sail!” he proclaimed.

The Foul Side of the World

In the bilge, Tyst had been conducting a delicate tête-à-tête with the survivors of the Gull’s old crew when word from above came that Aerys needed some experienced hands. Quite deservedly, the crooks were locked up in the same cages that they kept chattel in when they were flying the slaver’s flag. The werebadger was in his charming and earnest halfling form, but that didn’t mitigate the sailors’ fear, nor the lycanthrope’s ferocity. When one of the smugglers yelled at another to refuse cooperating with “a monster,” the halfling casually grabbed his foot, peeled off a toe with a knife, and threw it to the rats. Henceforth, that man was known as “Nine-toes.” The others were dubbed—regardless of their real names—Farquaad, Ratty (for his conniving attempts to hike his own worth by throwing the others under an ox-cart), and Chris. Those four seemed quite eager to do whatever was asked to make it to shore alive, but the former First Mate, Bjorn, took on an imperious air. “We’ve a few things we’d like in exchange for our cooperation.”

Just as Kor’lec and Aerys were announcing that the ship turning to intercept them was Senghori navy, Kish and Dornas made a startling discovery. The bosun Frithoth had a collection of trophy heads hanging in his cabin, which might not have raised an eyebrow if they weren’t all humanoids—and all women. A gore soaked table and dishware stained with crimson evinced the bosun’s cannibalism, too. The grisly collection was mostly comprised of aquatic races that went unprotected in terrene societies, but there were a few humans mixed in. Kor’lec returned to the cargo deck when word reached him of the discovery, and the half-elf’s keen senses picked up on another of the Red Gull’s sinister secrets: behind a false panel was a living captive.

Kick Bollocks Scramble

The sea elf was called Nineve, and was taken captive trying to locate and rescue a friend of his. Frithoth chained Nineve next to her and ate her over a period of days. Nineve admitted that if he hadn’t surprised his kidnapper by turning out to be male, he’d have shared his friend’s fate. As it was, the evil Frithoth threatened to eat him anyway if the Captain Sigurd’s plans to ransom him for shipwreck treasure didn’t pan out.

The party were in a predicament. The Senghori warship was getting closer and it was a near-certainty the Red Gull was known to the slavery-hating city-state. The Castaways had a hold full of captives whose story might paint a very different picture of recent events, a number of secrets to keep, and a just-discovered prisoner abused so horribly few could blame him if he weren’t too keen on cooperating with land-dwellers.

After a lengthy debate, it was finally agreed to reveal most of the truth to the Senghori. Dornas would join Aerys topside and use a simple colored light cantrip to communicate their plight—a common signalling code had developed amongst mariners that took advantage of the spell. Meanwhile, Kish and Tyst were tasked with finding out who among the Red Gull’s former crew were on board with their new masters—Kish’s telepathic abilities would detect any foul or disloyal intent. Kor’lec’s tender treatment of the sea elf resulted in Nineve’s promise to back up his rescuers’ claims, in exchange for getting him back home to his undersea town.

Dornas relayed Aery’s translation of the maritime code, sending the colored lights well up into the night, moving and recoloring them to say “hold fire, captive uprising, slavers defeated.” A similar light display shot up from the warship, which Aerys translated as “heave to, prepare for inspection.” Meanwhile, Tyst came to an accord with the Gull’s old crew, and even Bloody Bjorn seemed eager to cooperate with the inspection. Unfortunately for him, Kish read the dwarf’s treacherous plan to color the Castaways as the slavers!

“Kill him.” Kish said, flatly, pointing to Bjorn. A millisecond later, Tyst flicked a shuriken that cleft the First Mate’s thick skull. As the dwarf’s brains plopped out into the bilge, the other crew members swore in unison to do anything asked of them.

With Flying Colors

For the first time, the Castaways had to debrief and justify themselves to an authority beyond their own consciences (or lack thereof). They fared well. Their individual accounts of their adventures over the past few weeks drew gasps of amazement from the Senghori naval inspectors, but their versions of events were—more or less—believed. Perhaps the laws of the south were less stringent than those of the more tradition-bound north, or maybe it was because not for the first time in the world, a random assortment of nobodies banded together to achieve something noteworthy. In any case, the captain of the Senghori warship took stock of the testimonies and evidence, and promised to launch an investigation of Lord Maragorn’s operations in Senghor—provided he could get a live witness. Nineve graciously volunteered to go with the warship, allowing the Castaways to continue their quests without getting mired in legal procedures. Also, the Senghori captain congratulated them on their new ship!

And the fortune in dream shit (and dream silk) sitting in their cargo hold.

For thirty years, I’ve sailed the seas and seen good and bad, better and worse, fair weather and foul, provisions running out, knives going, and what not. Well, now I tell you, I never seen good come o’ goodness yet.

At the end of our last episode, the Castaways were in a quandary: surrounded by the scoundrelly smugglers of the Red Gull, with a chance of being sold to slavery or, if things went well, sold out to a known crime lord. As the party debated their options, Kor’lec snuck off and murdered Captain Snake-Eyes in his sleep!

To dispose of the body, the desperate druid was forced to drag the pudgy carcass of old Sigurd onto the caravel’s deck, where his crime was reported — loudly — by the ship’s lizardman lookout Gortross.

If anyone could have asked Kor’lec, just then, why he did what he did, there might have been one answer: he was too fat to stuff through the porthole.

Spring Upon Her Cable

Back in the cargo hold, the Castaways heard the hue-and-cry and prepared for action. Already, the rest of the crew were responding to the lookout’s barking claxon and rousing themselves against the implicated passengers. Likewise, the Castaways’ allies awoke to the sounds of imminent combat. “How long was that?” asked Gelik, to Jask, who was sitting up in his bedroll. “About thirty-six hours,” answered the priest. “Ha!” the gnome exclaimed, “I’m way closer! You owe me ten crowns. Pay up old-timer!”

“What’s happening?” asked a sleepy-eyed Aerys. “Looks like we’re going to take over the ship,” replied Kishtari, nonplussed. Aerys broke into near-hysterics. “We cant! We’re guests! There’s a code!” blurted the pirate before somehow managing to explain that as evacuees, they had a debt to their rescuers. Betraying that hospitality discouraged ships at sea from rescuing other stranded souls.

If Aerys was in near-hysterics, Monica was full-fucking-on — then just… snapped.

“Listen to her! We can’t do this! I don’t want to be a pirate!” the human archaeologist protested.

Meanwhile, the ship’s bosun, the hideous Foul Frithoth, emerged from his cabin aft of the cargo hold where the Castaways were arrayed. He was leveraging a pistol to his left. “Best you stand down,” the smuggler gloated, “lest the little girlie here get shot, point blank.” The weapon was trained on Sasha, or at least, the shadowy nook where the teen was thought to be sleeping. The heroes couldn’t see her from their position, but it was a good bet Frithoth wasn’t bluffing.

Speaking of shadows, Tyst was like a blur, his exotic straight-blade drawn as he vaulted to within stabbing distance of the smuggler. The cagey Frithoth sidestepped the blade and started to squeeze the trigger before he swooned and collapsed in a slumbering heap.

“You’re welcome,” Kish said, her eyes aglow from the psionic expenditure.

The next thing Tyst saw was the peacefully sleeping Sasha roll out of her sleeping bag in one fluid motion, kukri in hand, giggling as she ran the curved blade across the unconscious gunman’s throat. The blood sprayed and pooled around the assassins. “There’s a girl,” Tyst praised, before his emerging inner beast began to take hold in a gruesome metamorphosis.

As the halfling’s muscles and bones twisted, bolts fired from the crew’s sleeping area fore of the cargo hold plinked around the heroes. Four of the smugglers had kicked over their room’s card table and were firing from behind it. Their aim wasn’t that good, and the party paid the volley little heed as they quickly coordinated their response. Dornas had a tough time believing that that Kor’lec, presently absent from view, was responsible for whatever the Red Gull crew were accusing them of. He insisted on going topside, and Monica followed, still urgently echoing Aerys’s protests about hijacking their rescuers’ vessel.

“I’ll protect the treasure!” Likki said, before heading down to the bilge where he’d been catching rats that were, to his savage mind, more valuable and delicious than anything that glistened. “Better follow us,” Dornas corrected. The rest stayed in the lower deck to deal with the crossbowmen, though Kish turned to Aerys with an intent to calm the Shackles-bred woman down.

Kish knelt in front Aerys and looked deep into her eyes before accentuating her calming words with a little psionic coersion. Kishtari felt her charm fizzle against the rugged half-elf’s will. The telepathic persuasion failed, and Aerys’s determination and passion won out.

Aerys grabbed Kishtari’s head and pulled her face to hers, and with the sounds of battle and incoming missile fire fading into the back of their thoughts, the women lost themselves in a long yearned for — and long-lasting — kiss.

Blunder Trust

Dornas emerged on the upper deck to find Kor’lec and Kai beset from all sides. The druid presented a swashbuckling figure with his tricorne hat and cutlass, his curved blade desperately parrying punishing blows from the burly lizardman’s bastard sword. Smugglers were shooting crossbows at them from the raised forecastle, poop deck, and crow’s nest. The scowling Taldan moved to his comrade’s side and rapped him on the shoulder. “Congratulations,” Dornas chided, “you’ve put a big red target on ‘your’ island.”

From the poop deck, the Kaava halfling Punketah took to the air, revealing wild psychic abilities as he levitated hovered over the melee. His veiny forehead pulsed and bulged as he called down to the Castaways. “Lay down your arms or be annihilated!” he rasped. At the wheel, the dwarven First Mate, Bloodbeard Bjorn, echoed his pygmy crewman’s warning. “Best do as he says, landlubbers!”

“No, keep fighting,” Gortross hissed between chops of his broadsword, “so I can swab the deck with your guts.” Kor’lec twisted and deflected blow after blow while Kai was being harried by the lizardfolk’s airborne companion, the averaptoran Craw-craw.

Monica emerged to proclaim, in a shocking turn, “we surrender!” In an even more shocking turn, the archaeologist drew her double-barreled pistol and aimed it at Kor’lec! For a moment, her trusted companions believed the Taldan woman had some trick up her sleeve. Then she opened fire, putting a bullet in Kor’lec’s lower back before dropping the weapon and kneeling, hands behind her head.

Dornas joined her. But Monica’s countryman had something up his sleeve. The magus picked up her very expensive gun and tossed it overboard. “We don’t surrender, actually.” Dornas stared knives at Monica before taking to the air to deal with the flying halfling.

“No quarter!” shouted the First Mate.

Fervor Down Below

“I… I love someone,” Aerys meekly whispered, before Kishtari drew the half-elf’s lips back to her own. They were fighters, acutely aware of the battle around them, their own place in the line of enemy fire, and Tyst in full beast-form barrelling past them on the way to do something to their foes that the word ‘murder’ seemed too gentle a word for. But in that moment Kish and Aerys were invincible in their vulnerability, and nothing else mattered save yielding to the world and to each other.

One of the smuggler’s bolts tore Kishtari’s flank as it zinged past. “Hold on,” the psion said, and with a hand wave three of the four crewmen dropped their weapons and crumpled into quiescence. “Thanks for leaving ONE,” roared Tyst, barely intelligible in dire badger form. The last of the crossbowmen gulped, emptied his bladder and bowels, and was mauled with the ferocity of a dozen bears.

All Hands on Death!

Likki passed Monica on the way to heal Kor’lec, shaking his head. “Why you hurt your family?” The sentiment was plain — but in Abyssal, as Monica herself once pointed out, it sounded like the harshest curse. Meanwhile, the halfling witch-doctor had blanketed the melee beneath him in magical webbing. Monica and Likki were held fast, as was Kor’lec and his reptilian aggressor. Dornas deftly skirted past the sticky strands on the way up to meet Punketah in aerial combat, staff twirling. “I’ve longed to measure my power against a magus,” boasted the halfling, “now BURN.” Flames fanned out from the Kaava pygmy’s fingertips, singing Dornas.

Monica freed herself from the webbing and reminded the Red Gull crewmen she wasn’t on the side of the hijackers, a.k.a. the people whose lives she’d equally saved and depended upon for the last few weeks. “Then help us take ’em down!” shouted Bloodbeard Bjorn, still fighting with the ship’s wheel on the choppy sea. Kor’lec was battling blood-loss, the webs, and a bloodthirsty lizardfolk — and losing. “Could use a little help here, Likki,” reported the druid. The oracle needn’t of understood the exact words to know his friend was hurting for curative magic. “I sorry I stuck!” apologized the monkey goblin in the demon tongue. “I’ll take care of him,” threatened Monica, before flashing her rapier at the injured half-elf.

Dornas answered Punketah’s not-really-all-that-impressive fire magic with a little alchemy, and hurled a tanglefoot bag. The goo burst upon the halfling, effectively neutralizing the spellcaster and rendering him a little less sure of his aerial alacrity.

Finally, the others emerged topside. Tyst, Kish, and Aerys, the latter still sort-of complaining about circumstantial maritime codes. Kishtari had mollified the pirate a bit by promising her captaincy of their brand new ship — if the kiss hadn’t done so already. Sasha remained below to make sure the sleeping crewmen wouldn’t be any more trouble, and everyone understood that really meant making sure they couldn’t be any more trouble, forever.

In her smartest move of the night, Monica surrendered, again. Tyst and Kish were around now. Tyst in beast mode could barely tell friend from foe under the best circumstances and Kishtari was even less likely to put up with any of Monica’s apologist nonsense. Kai finally broke away from the flying dinosaur and the human crewman she’d been tangling with, to help her master put the old flank-and-finish to Gortross. As he hissed out his final breaths, it was the lizardman who noticed he was swabbing the deck with his guts, while his animal companion, now just an animal, flew away.

Kor’lec managed to weave his webbed hands into a spell that burst radiantly on the poop deck, blinding and injuring the villains arrayed there, including the glue-covered halfling who was floating back down to regroup with his allies. Punketah called out for someone to help him remove the tarry goop from his person, and received only snores in return, thanks to Kishtari’s psionic lullaby. In desperation, the witch-doctor blindly flew off for the shore — and was intercepted in mid-air by Tyst. The lycanthrope ninja had clawed up the wall of the aft section and launched himself an impossible vertical distance toward the fleeing smuggler. Claws met flesh, and with a sickening rip, the Kaava pygmy’s midriff and legs plopped down on the deck in a deluge of gore, while his torso continued to soar, for a short distance, over and into the sea.

Tyst landed, and spat the chunks of vertebrae off of his tusks. “Creepy halfling,” he growled, and shook blood from his splattered pelt.

Laughter ensues.

This is the law: blood spilt upon the ground cries out for more.

As we open our short chapter, a man’s corpse floats gently to the bottom of a moonlit sea. Above him, galloping on the chop is a two masted sailing vessel, a caravel by the looks of her. A gravelly, staccato roar bellows from the deck before the roarer howls words from the same raspy throat. “Murder! Murder! A passenger’s killed our captain!”

Lamps wink on above and below deck. There is a commotion of voices. What mess have our Castaways gotten to now – barely a day and a half into their voyage from Smuggler’s Shiv?!?

Anchors Away

It all started just a few hours after the Castaways and friends boarded the Red Gull. The compact, speedy and maneuverable caravel appeared to have been curious enough about the distress signals blazing from the old Sargavan settlement to risk their jolly boat and two men. While the abandoned village was well-known for its cannibal squatters and the whole island considered cursed by sailors, the signals themselves were only a few months old, according to Aerys, who suggested using them. “They’ll know we’re on the up-and-up.”

After being taken aboard, the Castaways were informed by the captain, a human with the unfortunate nom de guerre of “Snake-Eyes,” that his ship had just departed Eleder (which was to be the next port-of-call for the Jenivere), and wouldn’t be returning. Time at sea was money, and the ship had goods headed to Bloodcove. This sat fine with the party. They were just glad to be on their way, anywhere. After finding spots to lay their bedrolls in the cramped cargo hold, it was time to get a feel for their hosts. Their ordeal in a jungle full of monsters had made the adventurers wary.

Aside from the captain, the party took note of most of the other officers. There was a red-bearded dwarven First Mate, a ghastly-looking human pistoleer who was the ship’s Bosun, and the ship’s mage, a Kaavaland halfling that even managed to creep Tyst out. The crew was minimal for a vessel its size, just eight sailors, with four or five on duty at any given time.

The Castaways remained somewhat demure about their business. Gelik, less so, and the little comedian enjoyed regaling his captive audience with crude jokes, pratfalls, and tales of his associates’ escapades. None of this sat well with Kor’lec, who rather wanted the Shiv’s sinister reputation to stick. Unfortunately, the proverbial cat was out of the bag, Gelik or otherwise. The surf around the island was calmer than anytime the Gull’s crew had seen. The air itself seemed cleaner, fresher, the landscape seemed more inviting. Many had noticed. Kor’lec brooded on the island’s immediate future while flying around the ship as an osprey, amusing himself by bombarding the gnome with hawk-hockey. But Gelik took it in stride, joking every time.

“You’re telling me that’s a hawk? I could’ve sworn it was a stool pigeon!”
“Someone just HAD to remind me why we call this the poop deck!” and
“Nice to have my friends dropping by to catch my act! Hey up there, sorry you had to scat!”

Then he’d snap his fingers and magic the poo away, winning gales of laughter from his audience. “Some people just want to stay mad, even when you come clean to them.”

Kor’lec did note the unusual nature of the vessel’s principal lookout while flying around; a gecko-like lizardfolk as at home in the heights as most of his kin were in wetlands. Further, the lizardfolk had an animal with him, a avialan dinosaur that Kor’lec could tell was, like Kai, more of boon companion than a tamed beast.

Meanwhile, Likki wondered why the best treasures were kept in the bowels of the ship—then slorped down a rat tail like a noodle. He asked when he’d meet the big Chief of “Wreck-born Land,” so he could impress them with his royal lineage. Before bursting the little guy’s bubble completely, Likki had it explained that there were many big Chiefs and they didn’t usually agree on things. Then Dornas got down to brass tacks. “They will see you as you used to see us.” The monkey goblin winced. “But I not food!” he protested, and swore under his breath that no wreck-born would try to eat him. He was a person. He was a prince. They’d know. He’d show them.

Charade in Voyage

Some of the Castaways were happy to finally schmooze with new faces. Kishtari enjoyed gambling, smoking, and drinking with the unruly seamen, like she was back among the rowdies of Riddleport. Dornas and Monica tried to make headway on Ieana’s notes, though Dornas broke away occasionally to canvass the crew about Bloodcove’s hot spots. On these matters, the sailors were furtive and tight-lipped, which further aroused the party’s suspicions.

Tyst and Kish both spoke the casual cant of scoundrels, and soon details emerged about the “merchant” ship and her crew. The Gull belonged to a Lord Maragorn, whom Tyst knew to be a ex-pirate king turned Bloodcove business kingpin. As it happened, Maragorn also owned the Jenivere. “Strange coincidence, that,” Aerys pointed out. The sailors were not nice men. Kish caught thought snippets of their cruelties and crimes, and some confessed even worse to Tyst. The Gull sometimes flew a pirate flag, but its primary concern was smuggling.

As night began to fall, Kishtari was tasked with swindling information from the captain. The telepath was in her element, having excelled in confidence jobs even before she’d read her first aura. It wasn’t a difficult grift. Old Sigurd Snake-Eyes longed for feminine company and clearly underestimated women from outside his own Ulfen homeland. Though his mind wandered toward the money he’d make selling the beautiful "Varisian half-elf " into slavery, he knew he was better off doing as the boss had instructed him—recover any salvage from the Jenivere and bring any survivors to him for debriefing.

Hunter’s Bend

Meanwhile, Tyst had taken note of the cold shoulder Sasha was giving everyone lately, with her worst scowls and sardonic smiles reserved especially for him. He’d spent a good part of the day shadowing her. Sometimes the canny huntress noticed him, to her credit, and pretended not to care. More often she didn’t. She was continuously wrapped in a cloak she’d fashioned on the island from sailcloth, feathers and straw. The girl was hiding something, an unsheathed weapon, by the sound of it’s scrape when she knelt for what had become a rigorous prayer routine. Tyst knew the teen normally favored small arms, and found he recognized the hymns, too—they were for Achaekek, the mantis god of assassins.

Tyst attempted to get a looksie at whatever it was Sasha was hiding when she bed down for the night. But he was sniffed out by her dimorphodon hatchling, who squawked an alarm. Having tired of the game, Tyst confronted the young woman, and asked what her problem was. Sasha started out with her usual doggerel about the lycanthrope’s presumed mission for the Red Mantis. She’d seen him at the assassin cult’s Citadel, where she grew up. “But I don’t want to kill you,” Tyst explained. “I was nice to you.” He assured the paranoid girl he had very little recollection of his time with the cult, other than his training and their possible culpability for his curse.

Sasha fell to the halfling’s earnest charms and admitted in spite of herself that she was a daughter of one of the leaders, the infamous Vernai. She intended to return to the Crimson Citadel and tout Tyst’s failure to kill her, and hopefully expose whatever political enemy of her mother’s the were-beast served. “Good luck with that,” Tyst said. “Tell you what, you do just that. Go your way, and I go mine.” It finally dawned on Sasha that Tyst really didn’t remember anything about his mission, or his employer, and that he really did intend to leave the Red Mantis behind. She laughed manically.

“But, there is no leaving the cult, and living!” Sasha scoffed. “You really think you can just… quit? The most ruthless and effective assassins in all history?”

“That’s the plan.”

“Hoo. Then I wish you luck. You’ll need it more than me.” The teen relaxed back to her childlike temperament and made Tyst pinky-swear that he wouldn’t try to blackmail her later. He indulged her, and in so doing, unwittingly became the perfect person to have reached out to the troubled teen—just in time.

That Escalated Quickly

Tyst passed by the captain’s quarters to check up on Kishtari. The halfling ninja found her tooling around with Snake-Eyes’s strongbox, while the old Ulfen was slumped over his writing desk, out cold, gripping an emptied bottle of brandy. And, she was about to trigger a potentially lethal—but more likely permanently disfiguring—trap. Tyst slipped in the room, casually dispatched the trap, and popped the lock on the strongbox.

Inside the strongbox were some coins and gems, and Tyst nabbed the most valuable, a black pearl, for himself. Then he left without a word. “Aw!” Kish pouted. But there was still mischief to make, and the thieving kalashtar went over the charts and notes on the smuggler’s desk. There was a map of the Shiv coastline, with likely impact points for the Jenivere outlined in consideration of that fateful night’s winds. There were dossiers on the passengers, and orders penned by Maragorn that confirmed what the telepath had coaxed earlier from Snake-Eyes’s limpid brain.

When Kishtari returned to the group in the cargo hold, she explained what the smugglers were up to. Kor’lec being Kor’lec presumed the worst—this “Maragorn” would have their heads! Monica being Monica presumed the hunky-dory—the guy just wants to know what happened to his boat. Dornas being Dornas presumed the plots—some machination was afoot and they needed to play along. Likki being Likki presumed the yummy—if there were as many rats in Wreck-born Land as its people took traveling he’d be fat and happy.

After mentioning lifting Snake-Eyes’s gems, Monica was horrified that her companions had just robbed their rescuers. Aside from the not-at-all insubstantial ethical concern, they’d all be assumed as culprits and clasped in irons. The party tossed ideas around like hijacking the ship, finally deciding to let Tyst return the jewels and make it look like nothing untoward had happened in the captain’s cabin.

While the group prattled on, Kor’lec wordlessly excused himself from the conversation and slipped away. Up to the top deck prowled the druid, with Kai stalking behind. Into the sterncastle he crept, where snored the captain in his cabin. The half-elf lifted the besotted smuggler’s drooling head—and with his scimitar, opened old Snake-Eyes’s neck.

Kor’lec ignited the plans and maps of Smuggler’s Shiv with a simple orison while the man he’d just killed bled out. The druid dragged Snake-Eyes’s body out to the main deck, and under the cover of darkness, lifted the captain’s corpse up and over the railing where it plopped into the sea.

A saurian growl issued from the shadows of some cargo. “These eyes are just as good in the dark,” rasped the reptilian voice of Gortross, the lookout. A lamp winked on overhead, held by someone in the crow’s nest. On the poop deck, a match was lit, and then another lamp.

“He should have listened to me,” grumbled the lizardman, "if I had my way, you’d have all made this trip in cages. Without limbs.

“They’ll listen now.”

His croaks echoed across the upper decks, and practically resonated through to the cargo hold. The off-duty seamen in the cabin fore of the hold began to rouse from their hammocks or card games, while nearby, the Castaways noticed Kor’lec’s absence. “A passenger’s killed our Captain!” echoed across the ship. Gortross had some pipes on him, and the words were repeated in whispers from the crew.

“Sounds like we can keep the gems!” Kish cheered.

I always thought the appeal for vampires are the same as religion, the desire to avoid death and live forever.

While exploring the underwater landscape in the form of a graceful porpoise, a slightly wounded Kor’lec was unexpectedly set upon by a frenzied silvertip shark!

Thinking quickly, the shapechanged druid temporarily cursed the hungry animal with a spell that made it afraid of the water! The panicked beast began thrashing and breaching in a vain attempt to get away from the very environment it depended upon, obliterating the upper decks of a nearby shipwreck in the process. Soon thereafter, the poor beast leapt out to open sea in search of easier prey.

Familiar Hilarity Breeds Contempt

Returning to humanoid form, Kor’lec thought he’d seen something aglow in the lower decks of the shark-whacked shipwreck. After making his way to the submerged upper deck, a voice called out “Stand and Deliver!”

Out from the water popped a little impish creature wearing a soggy bicorne. “You stand before captain Ekubus of the Salty Strumpet!” challenged the mephit, and gesturing to the innocuous sea life crawling about the hulk, “and me crew has you surrounded!”

By this time the rest of the party had reached the thin strand between the bluffside of Red Mountain and the lagoon. From there, the adventurers observed the parley betwixt Kor’lec and Ekubus with bemusement. The druid had managed to convince the funny little creature to “stand down.” It was clear that Ekubus was quite mad, believing that the Strumpet was still at sea. Kor’lec asked if he’d seen anyone strange pass by.

“Aye, yes!” admitted the mephit, “a funny-looking lady nearly scuttled me ship when she pushed back the ocean and entered the scary doors leading into the mountain yonder.” Kor’lec prompted Ekubus to elaborate on what he meant by “funny-looking” and “scary.”

“Well, the lady had a long snake-tail, and well, her head was also like a snake.” As to the doors that Kor’lec had only seen from afar when he was a porpoise, Ekubus added, “they’ve got pictures of vampires on ’em what makes ’em scary!”

Kor’lec played along with the mephit’s fantasy, and said he was a captain as well of the Briny Demon. After a little hiccup where the half-elf had to explain he wasn’t a spy, Ekubus let slip that his ship’s original captain was a wizard transporting magic booty to Mediogalti. The elemental being then allowed his fellow captain to return to his own crew.

Back ashore, Kor’lec recapped his solo adventure to the others. Monica and Dornas suggested that the mephit was probably once the familiar of the dead captain, if they were indeed a wizard.

Everyone else had already decided that they wanted to try using the occult ritual from the Typhonian Proposal to activate the Tide Stone and allow them all access to the secret sanctum below the surface of the lagoon. Kor’lec wasn’t sold on participating in ancient serpentfolk ceremonies, but he did think it was probably the right thing to warn Ekubus as to what was coming. All of the party, Kishtari especially, were interested in the Strumpet’s treasure.

The half-elf returned to the Strumpet, this time with Kai, and practically had to reintroduce himself all over again to the insane mephit. Kor’lec made a diplomatic play for the mephit’s plunder, saying he’d help get it to its destination while the Strumpet was forced to anchor during the coming storm. Ekubus, perhaps a little more savvy than anyone realized, invited the druid to go into the cargo hold and haul the treasure topside.

Kor’lec dove down into the dark, submerged cargo hold with a magical light. Sleepily perched in front of the glowing treasure was a spear urchin, which wouldn’t have been too much of a problem if it weren’t as big as a fucking horse.

Kor’lec tried his best to mollify the creature, but his druidly efforts only succeeded in raising the urchin’s hackles – particularly pointy hackles that injected a potent paralytic venom. After the half-elf had surfaced in utter “nope!” a jocular Ekubus asked Kor’lec if he’d talked to the “quartermaster” about the ship’s stores.

To Eschew What Lies Below

Satisfied that mephits were some kind of cruel prank perpetuated on the cosmos by some demented overpower, Kor’lec returned to the strand to catch up with the others. On the way back up the bridges and ledges, the party came upon none other than Gelik, Jask, and Aerys! And the Castaways were not happy to see their dear friends. “I thought we all agreed you’d stay put.”

Gelik surrendered and admitted it was all his idea, but Jask and Aerys interjected before anyone could beat the snot out the gnome. Both said they were of sound mind and agreed to come on their own. Aycenia had ensured the speed and safety of their travel before having to return to her tree. Sasha opted not to come, which Aerys chalked up to the teen not taking Nemanji’s death well. It was the first time anyone had verbalized what was probably so. The tiefling hadn’t been seen since he and Tyst made their heroic stand against the fungoid horde – and wasn’t coming back.

Gelik explained that he’d gotten a look at the charcoal rubbings of the Typhonian rites when he was helping Monica gear up for the away team’s destined date with Ieana. Familiar with occult magic, Gelik knew the group stood a better chance for success – and averting the ofttimes deadly consequences of failure – if they had more participants in the dangerous rite. Casters like himself and Jask were especially valuable, and Aerys was happy to lend a hand, and a fist. The trio – whose lives were secured and bettered by Dornas, Kish, Kor’lec, Likki and Monica – felt they owed their friends at least their support.

Jask had brought the copper helm he cooked with to provide seawater in a “vessel of purest metal,” pouring it into the basin atop the pyramidal Tide Stone. Aerys smeared a bloody palm onto the monoliths, the “blood from a thinking creature.” To fulfill the “tempered with the kiss of a serpent’s tongue” Kishtari tried kissing the stones, but they didn’t light up with magic writing until Kor’lek summoned a tiny snake to touch them with its tongue. The last ingredient seemed to necessitate calling upon Ydersius, which put the divine acolytes in a difficult position. Jask wondered, as it was concocted by serpentfolk, if the ritual would work just as good if it called upon another god, in other words, was the final element faith? After carefully studying the magical notations on the text and those illuminated on the stones, the mages confirmed the priest’s suspicions. As they knew of no one whose faith was as unshakable as Jask’s, he would call on Nethys.

With only a little further ado, Monica took the lead in the ritual, explaining that the ceremony depended on the focus and noesis of its practitioners. Elemental forces, biofeedback, magical awareness, and theosophy were required of the minds of the participants – Kor’lec, Kish, Dornas, and Monica would handle each respectively.

And as they began to focus their minds, the heroes and friends immediately felt themselves awash in eldritch energies. The air was charged with static that detonated into lightning around them. It fed from the Tide Stone and lashed into the pillars before arching skyward into the swirling clouds. Jask called on Nethys, over and over, using the ancient deity’s titles and anonyms. “Nethys! All Seer! Great Eye!” and so forth. Miraculously, the janus mask of the god appeared at unpredictable intervals in the vortex of clouds that formed a black funnel around the peak of Red Mountain.

Monica was losing her focus as the occult powers plumbed her mind for an awareness that she was doing her damnedest to feign – when Gelik grasped her hand and said “I haven’t been entirely truthful with you, about me, but I love you…”

Great, dark hands, crackling with lightning, appeared in the lagoon and seemed to push back the ocean! And behold! the waters of the bay were pushed back to reveal a seabed of rocks, scuttling crabs, plants, flopping fish, and sunken ships to the open air! And across the exposed shelf of the bay were great, spiky stone doors that ground noisily as they slowly opened beneath Smuggler’s Shiv to the secret dungeon beneath it.

Rust and Stardust

The ceremony took just under an hour, but the party was sorely drained by its effects. The dark clouds dispersed, yet the lagoon remained laid bare, and the doorway to the dungeon beckoned. Dornas looked at Jask, Aerys, and Gelik and – admitting that if he couldn’t get them to stay put – asked if any of them intended to come with? Gelik readily made no bones about his cold feet (er, foot), and also that he’d never been a part of the Pathfinder Society, which was his original lie. The gnome, hat in hand, admitted he tried to get in the organization by passing off fake artifacts. He was nothing but talk – a fraud and a crook. Monica replied that she’d known all along.

Jask repeated what he’d said on his last impromptu adventure with the a-team – he was just too old for this shit and was looking forward to being a free man on the mainland. As for Aerys, the pirate seemed torn – until a silent nod from Kishtari let her off the hook. Aerys opined everyone would be better off if she’d just kept an eye on Jask and Gelik, as her pegleg would only slow everyone down. The proud half-elf’s pain and frustration were evident to everyone.

Dornas, Kish, Likki, Monica, Kor’lec and Kai once again left their friends at the apex of Red Mountain to do what only they could do.

Confront Ieana.

Make history.
Be history.

Sanguine Sanctorum

By the time the party reached the shore, their exhaustion had subsided. The march over the emptied lagoon was surreal, but uneventful. Finally, the adventurers arrived at the scary doorway, and it lived up to the name. In addition to the jagged spikes protruding from the open stone doors, images of demonic vampires, dressed in cultish Azlanti garb feasting on maidens, dominated the reliefs. The embellishments likewise betrayed their Azlanti design.

Dornas admitted his keen interest in Azlanti culture, and Monica stated that their ruins weren’t often found in Garund, though their presence in the south had long been a theory in fringe academia. Beyond the doors awaited a seemingly endless stairwell going up.

The long stairs continued upward for about fifty feet, which put the adventurers just above normal sea level and deep inside the crag. The first chamber was a vaulted cathedral exalting the demon goddess Zura. Columns decorated with demons supported the ceiling arches. A crumpled, bloodstained altar listed on a dais in the room’s center, and urn-cluttered alcoves were arrayed in the west and east walls. An arching walkway, forty feet high, crossed the south quarter of the chamber, with no apparent access from the temple floor.

The decorum was a fitting tribute to the Queen of Vampires. Reliefs and frescoes depicted cannibalistic blood orgies and all manner of vile atrocities visited upon people and serpentfolk alike by fang-bearing men and women wearing capes and high headdresses. Images of bats, bat-like humanoids, and themes of bloodletting and the consumption of still-living victims were ubiquitous.

They Won’t SSSssstay Dead

But very little of all that imagery was immediately apparent, for as soon as the heroes reached the top of the stairs they came under fire from assailants on the walkway. Kor’lec’s keen elven eyes spotted two serpentman skeletons up there hurling javelins at them.

Deciding they’d had it with these guys, Kor’lec launched a spear that struck true and shattered a few dozen ribs. Dornas moved to the archway under the bridge and saw stone doors leading out of the room to the south, decorated with spikes and motifs just as the ones outside, and called Monica over to check them. The undead snakemen tossed the last of their javelins, and deciding they’d also had it, leapt to the temple floor. The one Kor’lec had already hit shattered into pieces, and the other arose just in time to get taken apart by Kai.

A thorough search of the room found a lever behind one of the alcoves that Kish couldn’t resist messing with, which, fortunately, just open and shut the outside doors. The urns had nothing but dust within them. Kor’lec discovered a pit in one of the alcoves leading twenty feet down to a pile of jagged bones and a lit cavern.

Kishtari sent her serpentine homunculus, Naga, down the pit to investigate. For the first time, Naga protested. And everyone heard it. “Have we considered all options?” it asked, “it might be dangerous down there!”

“Oh, you can hear that now?” asked Kish of the others, somewhat surprised. The psion explained that her mother’s psicrystal would speak, sometimes. It was a sign of her own psionic development. Kishtari insisted that Naga do what was asked of it.

Dangerous Toys

Naga slithered into the pit and described a natural cavern lit by glowing crystals. Aside from the skeletons, mostly human, there were old beat up crates, broken pottery, and other detritus. The psicrystal described a shallow pond of mineral soup containing motes of crystal. “There is a rather unpleasant doll sitting on a shabby box,” Naga reported, “and oh! it’s turned its head to look at me. And there’s another coming out a vase. I’m fleeing now.”

The snake-like construct bee-lined back up the pit and resumed its regular job as its master’s hairband. The tiny dolls floated off the floor up after it, brandishing tiny knives. Worse than the knives were the nimbi of blackness around their hands. “Come on, they’re just stupid little dolls!” Kor’lec teased as he walked up to the lip of the pit and slashed hard with the scimitar that he’d painstakingly sharpened that morning to a razor, toy splitting edge. Yet, he barely chipped the puppet-like monster. “Hey, why didn’t that work!?!” the druid gasped.

Dornas, dodging the dolls’ deadly negatron touch, identified them as a type of construct animated by soul-gems – precious stones that confined a sapient creature’s soul indefinitely. Which meant they had minds.

“Interesting,” yawned Kish. One of the soulbound dolls lost consciousness and plummeted down into the pit, breaking on the spiky bone pile. “Couldn’t get both of them.”

But the other one wasn’t long for the world, as Dornas jammed the butt of his magically-enhanced staff into the construct’s eye-socket in an attempt to dislodge the gem he’d guessed was rolling around in the skull. Head and gem both cracked, and the doll spun itself around to flee. But its toughened shell could only withstand so much punishment. Kor’lec and Dornas bashed the fleeing thing to bits.

Soul Schism

“So, if those things have souls in them,” asked Kish, “can we eat them and gain their power?” Likki hugged his ‘big sister’ and said “Welcome to family!”

The party had all descended into the cavern for a look around. Dornas ruminated deeply on one the Azlanti skulls he’d picked up, gazing into the face of a person ten millennia dead. The magus bagged up the skull to add to his ancient head collection. Then the conversation turned dead serious. Kish had sensed the emotions of the gems – they were suffering and insane from confinement. But they were also rubies and incredibly valuable, especially after she psionically repaired the crack.

Monica asked to see one, then tossed it upward, quick drew her gun with a twirl and BANG! The blast resounded around the cavern and echoed throughout the complex.

But Dornas had snatched the ruby into hand with some speedy legerdemain. The Taldans didn’t so much argue as disagree, icily, on the fate of the gems. Monica felt in her heart the relics were abominable and their inhabitants deserved to be released into the afterlife. Dornas thought just as strongly that it was foolish to try and free them without knowing more about them. Nobody else seemed to have strong feelings about them one way or another, save Likki who thought Kish’s joke about eating them had the most merit.

Liturgy of the Devourers

The cavern contained several tiny twisty tunnels leading who-knows-where, so Kishtari dispatched her homunculus into them. Most were dead ends, but the slithering crystal did find some larger passageways and a chamber that contained a bath filled with congealed blood.

The Castaways returned to the temple and climbed up onto the bridge, opting to check out the western wings of the structure. Opening the stone doors, the party shone their magical lights on that most dangerous of dungeon discoveries – knowledge!

They’d found the temple scriptorium.

As one with the library’s shadows, a familiar and deadly predator lies-in-wait…

They’re gonna feel pretty stupid when they find out… That they’re fucking with the wrong people.

Picture a wide shot of our heroes – Dornas, Kishtari, Kor’lec and Kai, Monica, Likki – shoulder to shoulder with determined expressions, walking slowly down the trail from Aycenia‘s grove. Behind them, the sun forms a brilliantly-hued halo over the mighty hill, the drumlin’s crown and its monde, a ring of baobabs and the ancient tree that serves as Aycenia’s fetter to the mortal world. Around the tree in silhouette stand those the heroes are leaving behind – Aycenia, Sasha, Aerys, Jask, Gelik – perhaps never to be seen again. As the quintet watch the heroes vanish below the treeline, the thoughts of each turn to their personal remembrances of the friends and saviors who’ve ensured their survival.

A Seed Twice Sown

Aycenia the dryad, in many respects, is a symbolic representation of the tropical island known as Smuggler’s Shiv, a place where nature, virginal and virtuous, has struggled to take root in a soil tainted by ancient civilizations and eldritch curses. Though she recognized the contributions of all the Castaways toward ridding the isle of its evil, it was the druid Kor’lec on whom she’d been focused that morning…

“Something troubles you my love,” said the fey, hours earlier, as she and Kor’lec watched the stars subsumed by the multi-hued swathes of daybreak’s light. After a night of love-making, the two had slowly awoken in caress upon a bed of giant fronds, shaped by the dryad’s magic in the highest branches of her tree. Aycenia continued, “there is an anger in you.”

Kor’lec tried to convince the fey that the brooding was merely his tendency, and while that was correct, he added that it was mostly his mind preparing itself for the battle to come. “Yes, but there is more,” Aycenia nudged, her ages-old empathy and intuition undressed the druid’s thoughts as effortlessly as her petite golden-brown body and mint green eyes had divested him of his clothes. “You are so angry, and conflicted.”

As to his inevitable battle with Ieana, now known to be a dangerous serpentfolk, Aycenia said, “you will return, for the sake of your son and daughter.” Taken aback, Kor’lec stammered. The dryad put her forefinger to his lips, a very humanoid way to engender his silence. “It is what we wanted from each other,” she promised.

Aycenia revealed that she had gotten used to the isle’s corruption, and the curse upon it that assured her many centuries of loneliness. “But then you came, ready and willing to change what I could not.” The dryad went on to thank the druid and his friends, and added, “your journey will take you from me, from us, but I hope someday, you will return here to rest. Perhaps even establish a grove?” The suggestion seemed fitting to both Kor’lec and his fey paramour. The dryad continued, "you’ve already been responsible for healing this place. It seems the Will of the World is for you to become its protector.

“As to the conflict between yourself and your companions, despite your differences, you must know that they love you? You need each other.” Kor’lec agreed. Aycenia’s eyes narrowed a bit and she sighed. “We need to discuss your hatred for Gelik.” The dryad was sensitive to everyone’s (save Monica’s) bad feelings for the gnomish knave, and Kor’lec’s attempt to muscle Gelik off his feet in the hollow of her tree the night before evinced the half-elf’s disgust. Kor’lec defended himself and his actions to the nature spirit by explaining that Gelik was unrepentant and dangerous.

Aycenia assured him that her concern was mostly his ability to understand and be a parent to their part-fey offspring. “Gelik has a lot to answer for, true,” Aycenia countered, "but consider that he and his kind are not of this plane, and we fey are not separate from our natures. We ARE natures! In the First World, gnomekin were childhood, personified. Their bodies like children, the whimsy and imagination you value in children, and all the obsessions and selfishness of children that frustrate adults. Perhaps we were bad parents, because we let them wander out of our world. Aycenia sighed heavily.

“Know also, that to us, our magic is part of us, we use it with as much forethought as you have breathing, or picking up a utensil to eat with.” Kor’lec admitted that it gave him a lot to chew on. They spent the rest of the morning speaking of lighter things, just a woman and man enjoying the sunrise.

Kor’lec didn’t look back as he and his companions descended once again into jungles of the Shiv. But true to his own nature, he brooded and worried. This journey, this quest, the events yet to unfold that he and his party were all starting to feel inexorably bound to, would soon take him away from Smuggler’s Shiv. What would become of this place when they were gone? Truth be told, the island couldn’t hold any of them anymore, save in one way: the stone not turned. Ieana and her evil race had returned, and it was a good bet the Castaways were the only ones who knew anything about it. The island had changed them all, and it had whittled and carved Kor’lec and Kai into something like ironwood totems – unbreakable, unpretentious, and standing for nature’s forces.

A million years ago, Golarion grew too cold for the domination of reptilian life, and beasts of feathers and fur won the world from their scaly ancestors. Kor’lec was certain that Golarion had made its intentions to the serpentfolk clear.

The druid intended to remind them.

A Fool and His Honey

Gelik was still sore. Was this hurt he felt? Jealousy? His inability to put his feelings to prose – clever, obscure, florid, excessively aureate words – just made him feel worse. Last night the holier-than-thou druid had tried to trip him. Monica, his so-called girlfriend, had barely defended him! Gelik could scarcely contain his embarrassment at having a romantic partner less-than completely dedicated to his honor and wellness. He hoped all humans weren’t like that in love. I mean, sure, she’d probably been through a lot with those jerks as they traipsed around the jungle like idiots murdering monsters and taking their stuff…

Aw, that’s gotta be it… the gnome supposed. They’d saved each others’ lives a few times. His eyes rolled. It was like currency to them. Gelik struggled to wrap his head around it all once again while trying to recall the “eureka!” moment he’d had last night…

After deftly avoiding stumbling and then thoroughly trouncing the bullying half-elf (the male, not the other bullying half-elf) in a contest of speechcraft, Gelik realized he was losing Monica. Her indifference irked him, but she was still the love of his life, the only woman he could say believed that the heart of a gallant beat in his chest, and who was too nice or naive to pry out the truth. She got his jokes, too. Gelik knew he needed to put aside the sting of Monica’s emasculating affront, no matter how wrong she was, and act quickly lest his hopes and dreams of future fame, fortune, and glory slip away.

“So, yeah, I lied about being a spy,” the gnome admitted, in front of the barely surprised adventurers. It worked! Monica said she was proud of him! But Gelik needed to play against the human propensity to mistake pride for bad intentions. He left without saying a word to anyone, or sparing Monica a glance after making his shocking revelation.

Gelik chose to sleep alone last night. Let her try to suss that out! he’d mused. This morning though, he was at the archaeologist’s side silently helping her prep for the away team’s journey to Red Mountain. A few harrumphs and heavy sighs finally got him what he was after:

“What’s wrong, Gelik?” Monica asked. The gnome blurted out that he just didn’t get why she was leaving again. “We’ve got a safe place, rescue is inevitable, and you’ve made discoveries here to secure your place in academic history a hundred times over. Why are you risking all of that?” In spite of himself, Gelik suddenly realized that his trepid pleas weren’t part of the long con, they weren’t his usual romantic pandering, and were as close to the truth as he’d ever come. Wait, had the human ensorcelled him?

After a long pause, Monica tried her best to explain. “I feel, we all feel, that stopping whatever it is Ieana’s planned is important. More important than making a name, or discovering things.”

“You’re a scholar though,” Gelik argued. “These kinds of problems are for people a lot bigger and more powerful than us. I mean, you’ve really built up a lot of muscle in the past weeks but… I mean, you used to be afraid of bugs for gods’ sake!”

“Yes,” Monica admitted, playfully flexed her arm and giggled. “I always imagined myself the world-saving type, I am an archaeologist, after all. But fantasy is one thing and reality… I’ve grown, and I feel for some reason, I think this one falls on us.”

Gelik realized he was crying. Real, tears! He cared about her. Did he always care about her? Gelik decided it didn’t matter. “Just, just please come back in one piece.”

“I will.”

The gnome had thrown his arms around the human woman’s midriff, and in that embrace they remained until Monica was called.

As Gelik watched the perplexing, amazing, adventurer he’d come to love leave him that morning, an idea occurred to him that was probably as dumb as the one that nearly got him killed (and earned the ire of just about everyone around him). What the hell? They should expect it by now. The gnome suddenly clapped, shattering the silent pall that had overcome the b-team. Having everyone’s attention, with a mischievous look Gelik proclaimed, “something’s just occurred to me. Now, hear me out…”

Red Gush

“Boy it sure was nice of Kor’lec to bring you back, Hesediel,” whispered Sasha to her pet dimorphodon chic. “But it sucks they left Nemanji to get killed by the green-cloaked halfling.”

“Oh, I warned them! Over and over, and they thought I was crazy, or stupid, or whatever. ‘Just a figment of your imagination, Sasha!’ Even when the wretched thing shows up… admits he’s stalking me… and fucking reveals he’s an unholy beast-monster! Nemanji always believed me, yes he did! Except he trusted the assassin, too, didn’t he? What the hell, dorks?

“Gee, I sure hope they don’t all get killed,” Sasha feigned a sob and started giggling, then collected herself before furtively looking around to see if anyone noticed. “I wonder if the fairy can steal thoughts like the alien? Oh yeah, Bitch-Tari, I know exactly What. You. Are. The Men from Leng did brisk business in Ilizmagorti. Lots of slaves from space… all of them too weak and pathetic to stand up for themselves. Sure liked to talk about her dumb planet when they were on their knees scrubbing blood from the Citadel training floor.” Sasha returned her attention to her pet. "She said she was Nemanji’s friend? Yet she almost got him killed over a few dumb snakes? Not exactly leading the search for him, either, is she? So full of it, like the worst Riddleport con-artists and bad at it to boot. Right? Right.

“Omg, omg, omg … try not to laugh Hesediel, but I think Gelik’s tearing up.” Sasha sighed, "alas, there was hope for him. Finally, someone as clever and ruthless as myself. And even more hated by those holier-than-thou hypocrites. Milquetoast Monica must’ve gotten to him. ‘Oh my hero! please regale me with more morality fantasies you read about when you were a wee lass!’ You know what, Hesediel? The real world is cold and hard and laughs at heroes – just like Monica’s ‘tried and true’ friends laugh at her. I’d rather be eaten alive than hear about how much she cares about me, or any of us, one more time. Scratch that, I’d rather her be eaten alive. By spiders or ants or something small and crawly. Probably she wouldn’t even fight back, saying something like ’it’s okay, the ants need to eat, too.’ Oh, I’d love to see that.

“Dornas, how I wish I knew enough about him to hate him more. But I know enough that he might be the hardest to fool, the hardest to fight, and the hardest to kill. He’s playing a game, and maybe I’m just curious enough about it to let him live… ho ho! You’re right Little Wing, he almost got me, didn’t he? Almost. I must correct myself, I hate him just fine.

“Kor’lec, oh god. Poor dope. I guess I don’t hate him as much as I feel bad for him. He did reunite us, didn’t he Hesediel? I think he understands better than anyone the awful truth about the world. It’s a hierarchy, yes it is, isn’t it Baby Biteykins!” Sasha dangled a squirming grub above her immature companion’s toucan-like beak. The tiny reptavian jumped up from the young assassin’s forearm and gulped the treat down with a happy chirp, then glided in a spin down to her feet. “A devouring helix of predators… and the prey they shit out, lol”

Sasha looked up from her pet to see the Castaways enveloped by the tropical flora. “Maybe you don’t understand it yet, mister wisenheimer druid, but you will. And I hope you have the wisdom to stay out of my fucking way when I demonstrate it to your friends. But you won’t.” Hesediel squawked angrily at the ground, so Sasha picked him up and placed him on her shoulder. She no longer winced when the pterasaur dug and scraped his climbing claws into her flesh for purchase. Anything worth living for was worth spilling blood for, believed the titian-haired teen.

“Oh, Little Wing. All this blood-and-guts talk is making me homesick. Do you… do you think its time to go home?” Hesediel absently crowed in response.

“Why, yessir yessir! Thanks for reminding me! There is, in fact, something I need to pick up first.”

Divine Introspection

“Great Nethys,” prayed Jask, "many say that it is a fool’s hope to pray to you, for yours is the impassive mask and your burden the balance of the cosmos. But I pray to you now to see these men and women, skilled casters and seekers after knowledge all of them, through to their destiny. Their trials would please you, God-King, as their motives, collectively, span the breadth and depth of good and evil, law and chaos. You, Great Eye, hold the scales of creation and upon those a world, our world, of humans and our humanoid allies. That world, your great work, these mortals would see preserved.

“You may, or may not as your whim dictates, appreciate their methods and motives, but it is your great will to see the practice of magic persevere. That is where these, I hesitate to call them heroes as I entreat you, though they are certainly my personal heroes, these champions are worth your attention. That which they oppose; the First People, the Old Masters, yuan-ti, call them what you will, are of a kind who wouldn’t simply make slaves of humanity, elfkind, dwarfkind, and all others offensive to them. The serpentmen, if the tales are true, would ensure their dominion by making beasts of the fair, civilized, and learned of Golarion’s races. You were born a man of Osirion, my god, surely you wouldn’t allow this feral regression of humanity and the loss of every advancement we’ve made in magic and science to these reptilians?

“If that is indeed your desire, All-Seer, then perhaps I can sway you with another point in these peoples’ favor. They are all, my Lord, casters and lovers of learning, as I’ve said. Further, they are all of them quickly proving to be among the most naturally talented magicians this age has known.

“I have seen you smile upon Dornas, as he develops martial katas with the stave, your favored weapon, to work spells forgotten and obscure. I have felt your interest in Kishtari, who surprises even herself as she unravels her inner-mind’s phrenic mysteries. I have noted your hand behind Monica’s uncanny luck, surely you appreciate the woman’s knack for activating foci beyond her purview with nothing more than grit and imagination, and the sheer wonder she takes in discovery. Ah, yes, other great powers look out for her too, more than anyone I’ve known who wasn’t a priest.

“And of priests, I must make a case now for my fellows Kor’lec and Likki. Both have risked their lives and saved your servant from certain death, and their reasons for it are so simple, a cynical man might question it. Kor’lec, steward of nature; wild, capricious and cruel. Likki, prophet of a demonic jungle god. I have sensed darkness and ancient evils like cobwebs draped on their souls. They have slipped, done things cruel and selfish out of anger and ignorance. And yet? They are, at heart, good men. Good. Men. That in itself is so wonderfully confounding, I can only pray that the riddle this pair poses is as engaging to you, All-Seer, as it is to me?

The old Garundi squinted to make out the last of the adventures as they seemed to meld into the treetops partway down the hill’s scant trail. I need to get a pair of good spectacles he thought as soon as we get to the mainland. Too many years a scrivener’s killed these peepers. Despite the pain it caused to focus his sights – mundane and magical – Jask searched around for some signal from Nethys that his prayer had been heard. A mark in the auras, a cloud pattern, a twig in the shape of a rune, a black and white stone. Anything. Hells, I’ll be happy to see a snake right now. Least I’d know someone was listening.

But the aged cleric’s search was to no avail. His was a confusing, aloof god, and he’d just have to take the lack of a sign as a sign in and of itself.

Ship in a Bottle

If Found, Remit to Captain Kassata LeWynn
in care of The Offices of LeWynn Shipping and Repair
(North Pier Chancery)
Eleder, Sargava

My Dearest Kassata,

This is the last message I’m tossing into Besmara’s Chest. I hope the Lady of the Black Flag sees fit to get it to you when the rum I emptied from this bottle reaches her in the Maelstrom. I know, unthinkable, right? “Waste of grog you dingy sot!” you’d say. Its been over a week since I’ve had a touch of hooch, to my betterment. Senses are sharper, my reflexes are swifter. Still the fightin’ shitehawk you knew and loved, more of a sharp cutlass now than a blunt instrument. There have been temptations. I lost a foot, and it went gangrenous midway up the calf. Got a nice peg for it. Really wanted a swig throughout the whole grisly business. Good story there. I’ll tell you over tea. Ha!

It has been many months since you left the Shackles, and me, to take over your Pa’s business in Sargava. If you got the other messages, you’ve already heard me lament the fight that split us. In summary: I blamed the drink for the fist that dissevered your nose. “Don’t follow me,” you said. Promised I wouldn’t. Did anyway, cause the echo of those words kept knocking about my head and the drink wouldn’t hush them. Scuttled here on the Shiv, was certain this would be my grave. Now, I’m almost as sure it won’t. I don’t have to let those words you said be the last between us, or that face, that scowl of betrayal and blood and disgust, keep burning in me mind’s eye.

I’m not asking for a second chance, or begging on you to take me back. What I am asking is for you to take me on. Your crew, on the Last Hurrah I mean to say. I’m thinking the lot of the old river rats who served your Pa won’t like taking your orders. You’ve likely lost, what? half your hands? You know barges and waterways better than me, but I’m still handy with rigging, making and breaking tow, moving crates. Still just as good in a scrap, but less likely now to start one for no reason. Sobriety’s gettin’ me gentle, maybe, but not soft. Jask, the nice old priest here has been teaching me meditation. I’ll let you get a good laugh outta the image. Here’s another for you, I’m thinking of taking on the cloth myself. Ha ha! The black-jack of course! We’ll see if the Queen does me right by getting this note to you.

Also, I’m wanting your trust, maybe? A cautious friendship? I suppose I’d like that truth be told. Too much?

So, I’ve a new partner in crime, so to speak. Her name’s Kishtari, a pearl of a lass from Riddleport. Gorgeous, golden skin, elvenblood like me, methinks Vudrani and Varisian on her human side. Yeah, me and the “K” names and the swarthy little jeune fille out of water. Not sure it’s love in the making, though. She’ll look a might frail to you but the girl is a living fucking cannonade, I’m told. Some kind of mental magic she does the likes I’ve never heard of. No words, no gestures, or fetishes. The gnome says she can play tricks in the head, too. Peculiar, but I’ve heard that of Vudrani. Peculiar and useful, I’d think, in our business.

I think some of the others might be swayed, with the right spin on things. These people are brilliant. Cagey, brave, dangerous. Lots to offer the business. You’ve got Dornas the fancy Taldan; good skirmisher, knows a little magic, and I’ve seen he’s got sea-legs from somewhere but he doesn’t talk about himself much. Kor’lec’s an Expanse native I’ve heard. Might have some family in the interior we can partner with. He’s also a doc and a wild priest – I heard the predators inland grow as big as whales and have teeth like sabers, and there are mosquitoes the size of kites. I’ve heard of crocs and river beasts that can flip a hoy with as little as a nod. Not that I’m a’feared of all that, but a good wild priest on the crew would save a lot of time and ammunition. There’s an educated lass named Monica… not sure what she does, but I’ve seen her pull some clever of slight of hand that makes me think larceny is her trade. Never know when that might be useful, ha ha! We picked up a gobbie native too. A witch-doctor, I think. The gobbies here brew a liqueur that’ll knock you daft. Would fetch a tidy profit if we can get the recipe, or partnership with his folk.

The others – Jask, Sasha, Gelik – all say they’ve got plans when they reach the mainland, but those other five? I don’t think they know how they’re getting about the Expanse when we escape this accused isle. I overheard they aim on sticking together, though. A tidy package to raise the quality of any crew, I trust you’ll agree.

As I close this letter, I hope I’ve whet your interest, if anything, and we can at least negotiate an accord. I know that what we shared in the Shackles won’t sway you, I made sure of that when I struck you. That, that evil err, I’ll live with for all it pains me, and I deserve it. But I want to make it up to you, through usefulness, loyalty, and the promise of getting you the wealth your family business deserves, and vengeance on your Pa’s killers you deserve.

My fate and livelihood are as good as in your hands.

Yours,
Aerys

The Red Mountain Debacle

The Castaways’ overland journey may have been fraught with peril, but there was little remaining on Smuggler’s Shiv that could challenge the septet. Kor’lec guided his companions swiftly along the old Thrunefang hunting paths, and Likki had laid upon the party a dweomer that protected them from the midday heat.

They traveled almost in silence, though Kish had something she wanted to make clear to her druid friend. “Your amulet, I understand it creates a new body for the dead.” Kor’lec confirmed that his amulet could indeed restore the dead in a new form from the elements at hand. “I ask that you don’t use it on me.” Kish explained that as a being of two natures, spirit and humanoid, that she feared a loss of her bond to her ancestral spirit. Kor’lec wasn’t sure that would be the case, but agreed to his kalashtar companion’s request.

A spider the size of a pony descended from the canopy, but Kor’lec had taken it upon himself to know the dialect of vermin in the primordial tongue. “You won’t find a painless meal here…” The spider returned in peace to her web in the treetops.

After a half a day, the heroes finally reached the foothills surrounding Red Mountain. Descending a hill adjacent to the towering rise, the party noted a series of rope bridges going back and forth between the extinct volcano and its neighbor that took advantage of eithers’ natural ledges to ascend. Likki thought they looked like Mongrukoo work, though the bridges could have been built by the Thrunefangs, too. In between the rises was a perilously deep ravine, carved out by a trickling waterway.

Ancient statues, covered in lichen and moss, stood at the ingress of each of the bridges. The white marble effigies depicted nobly posed humans with fanged countenances and radiated faint abjuration auras. Monica said the style was clearly Azlanti, and the protective magic could be staving the stone’s decay. The motifs and habiliments depicted on the statues were used by Zura cultists, even in the present. One hundred centuries ago, was there an Azlanti Zura cult on Smuggler’s Shiv? “Looks like they moved in and kept some of the furniture,” guessed Kor’lec, after the Taldan scholars explained that the Azlanti humans of that age quickly displaced the serpentfolk as Golarion’s dominant culture.

Despite Kish’s fretful protestations, the adventurers ascended the ledges and bridges.

At around sixty feet above sea level, the Red Mountain Devil attacked!

The winged chupacabra swept down upon the party without sound and the sun behind him, making him nigh invisible until he struck. Kor’lec was a few steps ahead of the rest, and was picked out as prey by the ferocious monster. The Devil sank its fangs into the nape of the druid’s neck and grabbed him.

Monica, quick on the trigger as ever, drew irons and fired (temporarily deafening poor Kish who was standing in front of her) from the back of the bridge. The beast presented a difficult target, maneuvering on the wing to keep Kor’lec in front of him – but the gun-slinging historian’s aim was true enough to hole the Devil’s patagium.

Dornas struck a solid blow with his staff that must have rang the Devil’s bell, but he kept digging his claws deeper in his captive’s flanks. Tilting his wings to catch the canyon’s updraft, the Devil suddenly launched upward with Kor’lec in his grip!

At 85 feet, the flying chupacabra let go – and imagined the gory feast he’d have waiting at the crevice’s bottom.

But Kor’lec simply stood there in mid-air.

Back on the bridge, Kishtari had mentally taken control of Kor’lec’s gravity!

The chupacabra was confused and enraged; took another shot in the wing from Monica, and a defiant saber slash from Kor’lec. Likki tossed a tanglefoot bag and struck true, forcing the Red Mountain Devil to contend with a heavy, sticky goop that imbalanced his flight. Once the terrifying bogey of Smuggler’s Shiv, the so-called Devil of Red Mountain had finally met his match several times over.

Knowing he was licked, the chupacabra spun and struggled to keep flight as he fled away further along the vale.

The Castaways weren’t about to let the monster who’d taunted them from day one get away unpunished. The heroes gave chase, clambering up to Red Mountain’s apex with the intention of following the vale’s lip to the Devil’s lair. Once in sight of the circle of monoliths further up the mount, the adventurers started taking fire from hidden foes. Monica hesitated a second and tried to make out the javelin throwers in the shadows of the peak’s monoliths. “Later! focus on the Devil!” shouted Dornas. The hunt was on!

The magus was flying for the first time, not by wing, but by a magic honed into deadly efficacy through the dangers Dornas and his companions had overcome in their grueling two week ordeal on the Shiv. He reached the Devil’s lair first, a nest of reeds and driftwood wedged into a niche in the crevice’s corner. The chupacabra looked pathetic as he was trying to scrape the tanglefoot bag’s goop from his wings, but attempted a ferocious front of roars and raspy, unintelligible words. Amidst all his vocal posturing, the Devil paused to choke down a throatful of wood, ice, broken fangs and teeth as Dornas smashed the butt of his staff – enhanced by wizardly frost – into the monster’s face.

Coughing blood, clutching his chest, the Devil’s eyes grew wide as he looked beyond the magus to the entrance of his nook. Kor’lec was soaring toward him, scimitar in his outstretched hand. The druid was still under the effect of Kish’s “optional gravity” effect and had been hurtling himself by hand across the canyon’s rocky sides. Kor’lec coasted past Dornas and collided with the Devil as the druid’s saber ignited! The chupacabra was eaten inside out by fire and become a terrified effigy of ash that was carried away, top-down, by the swirling draft.

“We’ve killed this island’s gods. Fitting we’ve killed it’s devil too,” remarked Kish.

Time and Tide Don’t Wait

There was no time to loot the Devil’s nest. Kish had ascended an olden stairwell carved into the cliffside to the apex of Red Mountain with Monica close behind her. They were greeted by the sight of four obelisks etched with serpentfolk motifs surrounding a waist-high pyramid-shaped stone — the Tide Stone. It was clear that the pyramid was recently excavated – Ieana’s handiwork. There was also a pair of animated serpentman skeletons hidden in the shadows of the monoliths who leapt out hissing. Dornas flew over from the dead Mountain Devil’s lair and the others weren’t long to catch up. The skeletons fell quickly thereafter.

The heroes noticed that the pyramid seemed designed to catch liquid in bowl-shaped impression at its top and funnel it down through grooves at the edges. Monica brought up the ritual for the Tide Stone she’d duplicated from the Typhonian Proposals in the serpentfolk temple. The Castaways bandied about ideas for enacting the same ritual “to eschew what lies below” as Ieana must have done. Monica reasoned that there was something hidden below the surf accessible if the ancient serpentfolk ceremony lowered the water. With the party entirely comprised of magic-users, it wouldn’t be too difficult to wrangle the elder eldritch forces involved…

Kor’lec would have none of that, thank-you. With his weight or lack-thereof still being handled by Kish, the druid ran and launched himself off the peak of Red Mountain toward the sea, transforming into a porpoise before splashing down.

Beneath the waves, the undersea world in all its brilliance and majesty was opened to the druid’s metamorphosed eyes for what seemed the first time — a native, not a visitor. Kor’lec quickly noticed the presence of many dead fish, reasonably assumed to have perished when Ieana pushed the water out of the lagoon. There were quite a few wrecked ships. Less than a hundred feet south from him, Kor’lec found what he’d dove for. In the curve of the inlet was what looked like an archway with stone, spiked double doors leading under the island.

Kor’lec tried to make out the details and felt a slight ripple in the water around him. Then he remembered that assuming a new form didn’t mitigate a druid’s wounds, and he hadn’t completely recovered from the clawmarks of the chupacabra. And of course, all these dead fish attracted scavengers.

The silvertip shark seemed to erupt from out of the kelp forest beneath him.

What are you, some saint all of a sudden? What has the galaxy ever done for you? Why would you want to save it?
‘Cause I’m one of the idiots who lives in it!

In the last episode, the intrepid adventurers had breached the inner sanctum of a serpentfolk temple! After recording the blasphemous rites contained within, the heroes were dramatically confronted by a horde of lacedons and their leader, Nylithati, the terrible Mama Thrunefang!

And Monica had shot her.

Should’ve Stayed in Their Humble Abodes

Nylithati screeched in agony as black viscera oozed from the bullet-sized cavity that was once her chest. The ghouls moved toward the Castaways cautiously while their leader drew the cathedral’s shadows around herself, obscuring her location. Only one of the lesser undead remained to guard Mama Thrunefang within the cloud of darkness.

“Take the humans first!” howled the Zura priestess, presuming Dornas and Monica would be more vulnerable to the lacedons’ paralyzing touch. She was nearly as wrong about that as her tactical decision to confront the heroes in the first place. One of Nylithati’s children buried its fangs into Monica’s shoulder. The lacedon chewed off a succulent chunk, so the archaeologist helped him wash it down with hot lead.

Dornas had no intention of allowing Mama Thrunefang to regroup, and with his staff boldly vaulted into the darkness, blindness be damned! Like a virtuoso of the stave, the magus found his audience and played a symphony upon the skull of the harridan ghoul. Though she managed to conjure a flying blade of force, aiming it at her foes was tricky while she ducked and wove around Dornas’s twirling staff.

Meanwhile, Kishtari psionically blasted one of the lacedons into a hot soup that splattered against the cathedral’s fixtures. Kai and Kor’lec worked together like the jaws of a bear trap, the druid hitting low on one side and his saurian companion leapt high on the other to turn their undead foes into gory mulches from the neck up. Likki darted and tumbled about like an unholy monkey to channel curative magic on anyone the lacedons managed to wound – first repairing Monica’s ravaged shoulder.

Jask did what he could, channeling holy healing and poking nearby ghouls with his long spear, though the heroes were cautious to keep a tight battle line between themselves and the aging priest. Monica approached the railing separating the dais from the lower floor of the temple and the haze of blackness where Dornas fought alone against the undead priestess.

The last lacedon henchman reached out of the darkness and through the bars of the railing to clasp its hand around Monica’s ankle. The Taldan could just make out its slobbering, grinning mug behind the banister, resembling a jailed lunatic. Kishtari was forced to hose it down with phrenic fire, adding another fine layer of ghoul glop to the temple décor.

Kor’lec imbued his cutlass with primordial flames and presented a swashbuckling figure complete with tricorne. True to the image, the druid leapt the railing and landed atop the stump of the broken pillar, then sashayed down its fallen length. The magical shadows seemed to flee from the half-elf as he flashed his blade like a man sparring with darkness itself.

As the darkness dissipated, Nylithati found herself surrounded. For the first time in a century, the monster knew fear. She tried to cower and flee, and was beaten back and forth by the heroes like a footbag losing its stuffing. Finally, Mama Thrunefang could move no more.

“We make her talk now?” queried Likki, half-kidding on account of the team’s original intention to question the Thrunefang’s founder on Ieana’s whereabouts.

“Not unless you can suddenly talk to the dead,” answered Dornas. “Still, she might be useful.” The magus pried the recently expired creature’s head off and bagged it up. The heroes also found on her an amulet of protection, and Kishtari discovered that the former Captain Kovack had worn magical armor that molded itself into a fetching, feminine leather suit when she donned it.

“I want one of those orbs,” said the kalashtar, pointing to one of the amber, snake-filled globes that topped the temple’s pillars.

The horrible relic was about the size of a person and weighed about ten stone.

Pray I Don’t Alter It Any Further

After making a thorough search of the lacedon’s warren (towing and rolling the huge serpentfolk ornament all the way), the adventurers were almost surprised to see the trailing rope leading to the surface right where they left it. They ascended, though Dornas and Kish opted to levitate themselves out of the tunnel. Dornas continued higher up to the balcony of the old lighthouse and signaled its cannibal occupants.

Chief Klorak the Red seemed annoyed to be called on. Dornas couldn’t care less.

“I have Nylithati’s head.” The magus pulled the hideous, tongue-lolling trophy from his sack.

“Give it to me,” growled the cannibal, through a fanged grin.

“No.”

Klorak’s expression turned grim. “We had a deal.”

“It was never made clear that we would give this to you,” countered Dornas, “and besides, we want to make certain you hold to the parts we did agree to.”

“Go ahead,” the chief’s smarmy smile returned, but there was uncertainty behind it. “See what happens when my men learn you’ve slain their beloved Mama Thrunefang.”

Dornas gestured at the Thrunefang corpses still littering the yard. That pretty much spoke for itself. Klorak cursed and returned to his den. Satisfied the chief knew who was sheriff ‘round these parts, the heroes headed home to Aycenia’s grove.

Reckoning’s Eve

Jask was especially happy to be safe at last, and was welcomed back by the rest of the home team. Aerys, standing now on a very piratey-looking pegleg, might’ve even cracked a smile, but quickly recovered herself. Sasha wasn’t looking quite so pallid, and Aycenia reported the patient had made a full recovery. The teen took her pet dimorphodon chic back from Kor’lec with a muttered “thanks.” Gelik’s wooden foot was shaped by his and the dryad’s magic into a fully articulated and fashionable pointy toe that he showed off to Monica.

The Castaways and friends retired to one of the hollowed-out baobabs to catch up with each other. Jask mentioned that he was happy to leave adventuring to younger, healthier heroes, and he was thinking of establishing a Temple of Nethys on the mainland once his name was cleared. Aerys seemed a little sullen as the evening’s chatter wore down, and Kishtari learned that the half-elven pirate had lost her opus, The Abendego Cantos when the Brine Demon was destroyed. “It’s all right,” Aerys reflected, “I can recall most of it, and I’ve a new inspiration.”

It came time for the away team to discuss their plans for the next day, and the home team graciously left them the little bungalow for serious hero talk. Right before clearing out, Kor’lec tried to trip Gelik, but the gnome managed to keep his balance in spite of his wooden foot. Gelik had had it.

The druid and bard exchanged jibes and insults that grew increasingly tense and ugly. Monica said nothing to either side. Finally, Gelik threw up his hands and admitted that he’d lied about being a super-spy. Nobody was surprised, though Monica said she was proud of him. The gnome “whatever-ed” and stormed out of the room into the late night rain.

The discussion that followed confirmed that the majority of the team wanted to go after Ieana at first light. Kishtari didn’t argue as much as wonder aloud if there was a good reason to take the risk. They had treasure and a means to signal the shipping lanes, after all. The decision to go after the serpentfolk wound up being unanimous – justice for those who died on the Jenivere, to cleanse the isle of evil, to finish what they started, and to prevent catastrophe.

Then the storm struck with a vengeance.

On the far side of the island, dark clouds rumbled and flashed as they revolved above the apex of Red Mountain. The pressurized atmosphere seemed to heave and exhale as if it were suffering a chest wound. The phenomenon lasted about fifteen minutes.

“Maybe we shouldn’t have decided to wait until morning,” said Kish.

When the will defies fear, when duty throws the gauntlet down to fate, when honor scorns to compromise with death – that is heroism.

Last time on Age of Serpents, our intrepid Castaways had just breached a hidden cathedral to Ydersius, the god of the serpentfolk! Incredibly well-preserved, the subterraneous structure was ages old and would be a momentous archaeological find should its discoverers live to tell of it! Because, as is often the case with ancient edifices of evil, the Shrine of the Serpent Lords was occupied… by the undead!

Knocked Into a Cocked-Hat

Just as ominously as it’s skull rose from the enormous urn at the head of the great hall, the skeletal snake coiled back inside its container and was silent. Meanwhile, the four serpentfolk skeletons continued to hiss and rattle the bars of the portcullises they were trapped behind. The ghoulish monster that was once Captain Kovack stood up from the pile of remains at the back of the cathedral and shuffled toward Kor’lec. “My… hat…” snarled the lacedon through broken teeth. In response, the druid lobbed a spear at him. He’d become accustomed to wearing Kovack’s tricorne, but also had a hard-line against compromising with undead.

“Captain, we’re honoring your orders,” declared Monica, referring to Kovack’s penitent missive, before letting her pistol continue the conversation. Grazed by spearpoint and gunfire, the lacedon frowned sorrowfully before his eyes reddened. He lurched toward his attackers with a gargling groan.

Kishtari figured her friends could handle one dumb ghoul. Curious about the serpentine motifs everywhere, she made her way to the center of the temple. Once the brash psion strayed into the shadow of the urn, the skeletal snake in there suddenly snapped up and slithered down toward her like a rushing stream. In its suddenness, the undead serpent toppled one of the temple’s pillars – and tripped the lever releasing the portcullises. The serpentfolk skeletons were freed and scuffled to surround the intruders. Impossibly, the fleshless prehistoric viper dripped venom from fangs that scored Kishtari’s flesh as she twisted to avoid impalement.

Bad to the Bones

The lacedon formerly known as Captain Kovack fell first, mercilessly clobbered into real death. “Yeah, it’s my hat now,” quipped Kor’leck. Dornas pummeled one of the serpentfolk skeletons with his animate hair, and through it delivered a pulse of necromantic magic. The undead guardian was overcome by terror and fled. But despite the adventurers’ prowess in battle, one of the prehistoric skeletons gouged its clawed hand into Jask’s midsection, sending the old priest, and his innards, to the floor.

Kish was also doing her best to stay conscious despite the relentless attacks of her assailants. After seeing Jask go down, the kalashtar decided she’d had enough of all the biting and scratching, and after saving it up all day, had enough phrenic energy for everyone and everything. Her eyes crackled with electricity, and an elegant wave of her hand turned one of the dead serpentfolk into a galvanized salvo of bones that shattered against the skeletal megaviper.

Likki, babbling in demonic tongues, was at Jask’s side in a blink and managed to magically mend the fallen priest’s nearly fatal wound. Meanwhile, Monica maneuvered behind the skeleton that came within an inch of sending the Garundi cleric to the court of his god. Hoping to give it something to think about other than the critically injured — and very vulnerable — Jask, the archaeologist sucker-punched the undead with fistful of curative magic. The damage barely registered, but the ploy worked. The skeleton slowly turned and hissed at its new target, even as Kai was right on top of it chomping and clawing.

Jask was administered a healing potion that woke him to consciousness, and coughed his throat clear. “I’m getting too old for this sh…” Jask grouched, his sentiment cut off by an explosion of energy as Kish obliterated, well, whatever it was she happened to be looking at that moment. The giant snake fossil crashed into the fallen pillar and crumbled away to smoldering ash. Meanwhile, Kor’lec conjured a badass eagle that screeched, dove, and sank its talons into another undead guardian. The skeleton tried to swat away the bird on its way toward Kish, but a sudden snap of the eagle’s beak severed the ancient reptilian’s spine – along with its tether to unlife. Kish swore she saw the summoned bird wink at her.

Between Monica’s whip and Dornas’s hair, the remaining guardian was having trouble staying on its fleshless feet. Monica uttered a word that echoed like an angelic choir and the unholy creature was consumed by white light that irrupted into gossamer moths and swallows!

Fangs for the Info

Leaving the skeleton who’d fled to cower in a corner to be dispatched by Jask and the animals, the heroes surveyed the cathedral. In front of the looming statue of Ydersius were scorch marks and splattered blood not more than two days old. Also, empty decanters that bore the traces of healing magic suggested Ieana was wounded – severely – by a trap there. Monica disabled the dangerous ward and discovered a tiny slot in the great pedestal of the statue. There was enough evidence to indicate some manner of egress, and Dornas guessed that Kish’s fang-shaped dagger – found in Ieana’s quarters aboard the Jenivere and clearly psionic in nature – was the key.

The kalashtar drew the weapon, which vibrated out of her hand and into the slot of its own accord. The statue pulled itself up and back against the wall as the base split down the middle and parted to either side. The unveiled chamber was vaguely hexagonal in shape. It had an altar inside and likewise fell beneath the predatory gaze of Ydersius, this effigy carved from strange, swirl-patterned stone that projected an eerie green glow.

The walls of the hexangular chamber had eons of grit build-up, save one. Ieana had cleansed it of detritus to reveal the Aklo text and serpentfolk hieroglyphs beneath. Those fluent in the complex tongue deciphered it as an ancient ritual to activate something called the Tide Stone. The party presumed the other walls of this unholy chamber had instructions for the other serpentfolk power stones on Smuggler’s Shiv, whose presence they’d already deduced. When Dornas and Monica used their magic to quickly excavate the remaining walls, their suspicions were confirmed. Together, the inscriptions formed the “missing” Typhonian Proposal – infamous in arcane scholarship and previously known only by its citation in another obscure book of forbidden lore. Though most magicians believed the occult magics of old were best left buried, Monica couldn’t resist recording the crowning discovery of an already amazing assortment of archaeological achievements.

After stuffing the last of the charcoal rubbings in her pack, a sardonic hand-clap echoed from back in the cathedral. Mother Thrunefang herself, the harridan ghoul known as Nylithati, was standing on the broken pillar as her children, lacedons all, prowled toward the party.

“You have come far!” the amphibious crone rasped, “and proved your worth by blood spilt. Zura favors you! I offer you… eternal life… among us!”

“That ain’t living to me, lady,” answered Monica, before making a counteroffer with bullets.

No great discovery was ever made without a bold guess.

After leaving the cannibal chief Klorak’s chamber, the Castaways made a quick search of the Thrunefang’s camp. In a shanty set aside for stores, Kishtari found a fat fluffy kitty that wasn’t interested in being “rescued,” and some smoked “human” strips in addition to some fruits and tubers. The latter rations the party stocked up on, and Likki merrily stuffed his pockets with the people jerky when he thought nobody was looking.

The late Malikadna’s lodge was a filthy mess, but within it the heroes discovered a trove of alchemical goods and potions that probably would have helped the witch’s tribemates tremendously in battle had she thought to distribute the material ahead of time.

Choosing to bed down in the Thrunefangs’ general bunkhouse, Dornas took first watch on the adjacent lookout tower. The Taldan noted that, true to his word, Klorak had one of his wives on the lighthouse balcony to keep an eye out for the now-canceled dinner feast’s late arrivals before the savages discovered their uninvited guests. The Castaways enjoyed an uninterrupted rest, fraught as it was with the seething stares and baffled mutterings of their cannibal hosts.

Breakfast in Blood

First light brought with it the inevitable challenge from one of the barbarians. A casual gesture from Kishtari toward the decaying bodies of the objector’s kinsman and a gentle suggestion from Dornas that anyone unhappy with the truce should take it up with Klorak, ensured the cannibals’ cooperation – at least for the time being.

After cowing the cannibals, the Castaways returned to their daily business — adventure. They cleared the sticks covering the hole leading to the subterranean caverns where they all knew Nylithati, the dreaded ancient “mother” of the Thrunefang tribe awaited them. After a brief discussion regarding the information they hoped to learn from this wicked matron concluded – namely, what had Ieana wanted from her? – the heroes descended into the hollow.

Kor’lec and Kai took point, followed closely by Dornas and his conjured globules of light. The rest of the party followed. The druid was unmistakably more sullen than usual, prompting Likki to ask his “big brother” what was the matter. Kor’lec responded that the armistice with the Thrunefangs didn’t sit well with him and as far as the half-elf was concerned, the only good reason to be in the caves was to remove a blight.

Recent prints in the cavern’s soil revealed the steps of a heavyset man, Captain Kovack. Alongside and across them, however, were track-marks that resembled… something, or someone, slithering.

A tight, winding cleft led the delvers to a gore-splattered chamber with some oubliettes carved into the north wall. Before these could be examined more closely, Kor’lec detected in a shadowed corner a pair of cadaverous creatures whose humanoid figures looked forcibly fractured into four-legged forms. When Dornas’s lights exposed them, the beings bounded over the jagged floor toward the intruders like broken-backed jackals – except very fast.

Kishtari had a crossbow at the ready and an itchy trigger finger. With a twang the psion’s bolt scraped a scissure in the wricked watchdog’s flesh, rupturing a line of pestilent pimples. The pus spouted like a fountain, but the heroes weren’t near enough to get sprayed. The undead abominations might have been dangerous in close-quarters, but their opponents were downright deadly in all the other quarters.

Dornas casually swung his voluminous black locks toward one of the creatures. To his teammate’s astonishment, the magi’s hair stretched forth and skewered the ghastly thing through the face! A coconut spun out from Likki’s over-sized hand put the beast down for good. As the goblin did a little victory dance, the remaining monster was shorn by an earsplitting report from Monica’s dual-barreled gun. As the archaeologist’s shot signaled the undead’s destruction, it just as loudly announced the Castaways’ presence to whatever else lurked down there.

Ghouls!

Jask informed everyone that the creatures they’d dispatched, festrogs, were a type of failed, animal-like ghoul employed as guards in their master’s warrens. The grated cavities were probably where the accursed monsters kept those they allowed to transition into undeath. Monica added that ghouldom was a pitiable state that bestowed an insatiable, eternal hunger.

Damning Testimony

Able to have a look at the oubliettes unmolested, the heroes uncovered a scrap of leather near a word scrawled in blood: “MURDERER.” Also in blood was a message reading thus:

The testimony absolved the Jenivere’s captain in the party’s eyes, and cemented an already iron resolve among them to make Ieana pay for her crimes.

As to their enemy’s nature, the evidence was getting heavy. Monica was correct all along.

Ieana had to be purecaste serpentfolk.

Serpentfolk! whose prehistoric empire once stretched across the solar system and into the planes; a species that presaged the evolution of feathers and fur, and perhaps even predated the arrival of the aboleths and elder things. Their dominance was so complete that an entire epoch was named for them. But as formidable and eonian as their age was, the purecast serpentfolk of ancient myth were thought to be extinct – as dead as their patron saint – survived in the modern day by scaly savages with but a smidge of sapience…

Until now.

Ghoul Crush

Suffice to say that whatever the Castaways’ quarry sought, it could only mean ill. The delvers made their way ever downward through the constricting passageways of the cavern and before long encountered one of its denizens. The ghoulish thing might have been human once, but it possessed an unmistakably ichthyic cast. Even in tight quarters, the lacedon barely registered its own destruction before the party took it apart.

Kor’lec sensed the shuffling sounds of a potential foe in large chamber ahead of them. Kishtari unfurled her psicrystal Naga and sent it slithering onward to get the lay of the land. The serpentine construct went undetected by the waiting creature, and it relayed the chamber’s contents to its creator. A briny well laid in the center of a roughly circular chamber, surrounded by ridges of varying elevation. There were two more lacedons in there, and one was lying-in-wait – poised to claw the first creature out of the tunnel.

Kor’lec sent Kai up to draw the creature’s attention, relying on his animal companion’s quickness to avoid attack. The ploy worked. The lacedon sprang after the swift dinosaur, allowing the Castaways to hasten into the chamber unharmed. The aquatic undead was soon surrounded and cut down. The other ghoul joined the fray, but was just as quickly overwhelmed. Monica entangled the undead in her thorny whip, and with amazing panache, whisked it up into the cavern ceiling, where it was impaled on a stalactite! The ghoul’s blackened viscera, along with its death screams, attracted a shark-like predator swimming in the well. The beast shot up out of the pit and snatched the lacedon like a prawn off a toothpick before vanishing from whence it came.

Temple Out of Time

Having defeated their foes, and with several passageways leading out of the well chamber to choose from, the Castaways selected one seemingly at random. A short tunnel to the east, further inland as opposed to those leading toward the sea, appeared to be part of a construction – a ruined hallway. Following it, the delvers set eyes on something never before seen by living human, elf, or coeval race:

A serpentfolk temple, aeons old, remarkably intact. A graven image of a cobra-headed humanoid loomed over the hall, and before it, a large red-bronze urn-shaped object was etched with glyphs. Three great obelisks, topped with amber orbs preserving the corpses of prehistoric snakes, were lined up in a central row.

The structure was a discovery that would make the name and fortune of any adventurer or scholar of history a thousand times over and send shockwaves throughout nations – if it could be reported in civilized lands. If not for the fact that they were stranded on a desert isle – and a murderous, once thought-to-be-extinct member of an ancient, advanced race of mind-controlling reptiles were there ahead of them – the gravitas of this archaeological find might have been better appreciated.

Also, the undead present were a big distraction. Four skeletal serpentine humanoids hissed at the intruders from portcullis-enclosed alcoves. In the hall’s corner opposite the statue, a hulking lacedon in tattered leathers that resembled poor Captain Kovack munched and sucked on yellowed bones amid a pile of ancient remains.

Finally, from the large urn in front of the statue, like a cobra conjured from its basket by a Vudrani punji player, the skull of an enormous fanged serpent coiled upward atop a sinuous body of ribs.

My old enemy… stairs.

After decimating the terrible Thrunefangs in the cannibals’ own camp, the witch-doctor the Castaways left alive for questioning had little more to offer in terms of information. As far as he knew, Ieana “the sorceress,” was in the lighthouse, a guest of the chief. As for the tribe’s fearless leader, “he be up there with his wives purifying himself for tonight’s feast” revealed the captive. He nodded toward Jask, “we was, after all, going to eat a holy man!” The savage added that only the chief’s wives were allowed in the upper floors of the tower.

It seamed the lighthouse was next on the plate for the adventurers, though there were some questions posed to Likki about what he might have learned from his mysterious “grandmother.” The Mongrukoo oracle intimated the truth of the creature’s origin and his relationship with her when he stated with all earnestness that “she following us now, and I supposed to go with you from now on.” Though the answer was apparent, the question as to dear Grandma’s present location was posed anyway. “She in the netherworld,” Likki whispered.

“Can we talk to her?” they asked. “I not recommend it,” Likki said, sorrowfully. “I go through three wives talking to her already.” After shaking off the “what-the-everloving-fuck” impression that chestnut left on them, Monica and Dornas deduced the minacious implications: Granny required sacrifice. Likki was prompted to explain that his matrilineal ancestor required vessels to speak through, preferably female, but the hosts usually didn’t survive. “Maybe future-sister strong enough?” the goblin wondered aloud, referring to Kishtari.

Choosing not to chew on the distasteful matter any more, the chat changed course to the usual “what now?” Jask opined that if there was indeed some evil lurking in the tunnels beneath the cannibals’ camp, the heroes should descend to take care of it. Especially so considering Captain Kovack, Ieana’s enslaved accomplice, might be alive down there. Monica agreed vehemently, but the lighthouse needed to be secured first, as the adventurers were certain that Ieana and the cannibal chieftain were holed up inside.

The party headed to the tower, save Kishtari, who turned a murderous eye – and a slightly less murderous knife – toward the captive witch-doctor. “Y… you say on your honor I get to live if I talked!” pleaded the evil shaman. The commotion brought the rest of the team back to the scene. “You!” scoffed Kor’lec, “you would appeal to our honor?” Nonetheless, the druid ordained that the party make good on their promise – so they tied the witch-doctor to the same post the cannibals had pilloried old Jask. “Let the rats have him.” The rest of the team agreed that was fitting, and probably so did the rats.

Just Slay No

After being especially careful to scan the lighthouse’s foyer for concealed traps, the Castaways proceeded into the tower itself. The ground floor of the old edifice was divvied up into three rooms. The immediate chamber was simply a reception area containing a crude stage with a throne of bones on it. Another chamber the party guessed was where Ieana made herself at home. Had made, for the room hadn’t been slept in for a few days at least. Ominously, there was a raw, rotting, half-eaten monitor lizard on the floor. The last and largest chamber was a clutter of evil knick-knacks from the ship Thrune’s Fang, including part of the figurehead. The cannibals had made up an unholy shrine around it.

The explorers returned to the entryway where a shift in the air caused the unmistakable scent of opium and pesh to waft down from the floors above.

“They’re really just up there getting high?” Kishtari marveled. The giggling that followed the narcotics’ aroma confirmed that was the case.

The stone staircase spiraled to the upper floor, where a single, shabby wood door separated the circuiting hallway from the source of the laughter and smoke. The heroes crouched just beyond the bend as Kish unfurled from her coif her serpentine homunculus, Naga, and sent it to peek through a gap between the door and the floor.

The cannibal chief was having himself a nice little party. He had four barbarous women arrayed around his chair in a chamber carpeted by furs and pillows. Two hookahs smoked profusely, and the five Thrunefangs looked happily oblivious to the slaughter the Castaways had just perpetrated on their doorstep. Content to leave the chief and his brides to their “purification rites,” the heroes attempted to seal the door shut with a combination of minor water- and cold-producing magics courtesy of Kor’lec and Dornas. But even in their less-than-mindful condition, the Thrunefangs almost couldn’t help but notice the muffled muttering of the two spellcasters’ magic words – that and the groaning, perspiring door right next to them. The stoned savages’ miens shifted into scowls and their eyes blazed with rabid ferocity. Their buzzkillers, totally busted, backed down and jostled around each other on the stairwell.

A pair of cannibal women each drew a pair of war-razors and charged out the door. Kor’lec was the first bleary shape the Thrunefang women recognized as an intruder, and he took some hideous cuts. Dornas got slashed as well. The spiral staircase favored the tower’s occupants, and the invaders could neither withdraw nor fight as effectively as they needed. Despite having just left a yard full of corpses, the lighthouse’s restrictive environment stymied the Castaways’ efforts to sustain their astonishing, homicidal winning-streak. Worse, the wives had high ground advantage and were way better warriors than those rubes whose corpses were piled up outside. “Only the best get to mate with the chief!” rasped the cannibal woman through broken teeth. “I don’t see anyone good enough to mate with,” quipped Kor’lec. The barbarian slashed him again, “I’ll cut out that tongue and eat it!”

It was no idle threat – on the stairs, a single warrior could do a lot of damage to an incursive enemy. Jask radiated healing energy that knit his rescuers’ wounds as the party coordinated a tactical withdrawal down to the ground floor. Only one Thrunefang pursued, buying the Castaways time to regroup. Dornas conjured an eldritch grease on the base of the stairs while Kor’lec produced a spider made of freaking fire. The elemental arachnid leapt upon the bloodthirsty bride, setting her alight as she struggled to keep her footing. Kai courageously braved the flames and launched herself talons-first at the burning barbarian. It didn’t take long before the fire and the wild woman’s wounds consumed her utterly.

Devils in the Details

“My thanks for culling the weak among my tribe,” bellowed the man’s voice from the top of the stairs, “we can fight all night, or we can talk!”

The cannibal leader was right – any attempt to take the tower by force could cost the Castaways more than they had to bargain. As foul as it was, the heroes agreed to parlay. “Come, avail yourself of my hospitality,” mocked the chieftain, "I’m called Klorak, the Red." Those of his wives who weren’t smoldering at the bottom of the stairs giggled and returned to their opium as if nothing happened.

Klorak was honest enough to admit that though he would have tried to kill them anyway, Ieana had indeed revealed the Castaways’ presence to him. As to the enchantress’s whereabouts, he had no clue. “Ask Nylithati, if you dare,” the cannibal chief mocked, “the one ya’ll seek left us in the night, right after she’d gone below to see Mother Thrunefang.”

Klorak wanted Ieana dead for infiltrating his camp and putting the screws to his mind. The chief went on to suggest that not only would he like Ieana served to him on a very literal platter, he wouldn’t be too broken up if the Castaways put an end to Nylithati, either. “Alive or otherwise, there always be a Mama Thrunefang.”

Though the Thrunefangs had abandoned their parent nation’s Diabolism and thrown in with Zura, Klorak at least seemed to enjoy hashing out a devil’s bargain. For one dead Ieana, he offered the Castaways three days to repair and utilize the lighthouse. Dornas had already figured it would only take half as long to get the reflector and its turning mechanism operational. As an added bonus, Klorak said the Thrunefangs would all do their level best not to eat them in the immediate future.

Kor’lec had been silent, but visibly ill-at-ease with the negotiations. Just before his companions finalized the deal, agreeing to deliver Ieana prêt à manger like so much catering, Kor’lec stalked out of the room.

“This makes me sick,” muttered the druid, and it wasn’t all the food talk.

Lure your enemy onto the roof, then take away the ladder

When we left our intrepid heroes, Kor’lec had just returned to humanoid- from dire rat-form after having chewed away Jask’s bonds. Kishtari made an amazing leap to dispatch the Thrunefang chef keeping watch over the prisoner. Meanwhile, Monica and Dornas were concealed in the nearby brush, waiting with baited breath.

A voice from Naga, Kish’s crystal homunculus, warned its maker that trouble was coming and she needed to hide. Just beyond the nearby door, a pair of Thrunefangs guarded the lighthouse foyer. The psion’s action had made a clatter, so the cannibals were on their way to see what was the matter.

Rather than hide, Kish made her way down and across the prisoner corral to help Kor’lec lower Jask into the hole. The Thrunefang dual opened the door and immediately noted what was going on. The cannibals ululated battle cries that echoed across the camp.

Unexpected Feint

Monica conjured an illusion of a wall between the party and their discoverer’s line of sight while Dornas tied a rope to a post to help his teammates climb out the cesspit. The rest of the cannibals began to awaken from their central lodge while others descended their makeshift watchtowers. Still more were returning from the diversion the heroes had tricked them with earlier. Jask’s would-be rescuers were facing a wave of slavering man-eating barbarians. At their backs was a four-hundred foot drop onto sharp stones and shark-infested sea.

Jask put his hands on Kish’s shoulders and smiled wide. “Thank you for coming for me,” remarked the old cleric with complete sincerity, “you’ve made me the happiest dead man on Golarion!”

As if the spiky club-wielding warriors weren’t trouble enough, a trio of witch-doctors (and their evil goat familiars!) waded in among them. One of the scarred shamans kayoed Dornas with a sleep enchantment just as the cannibals were closing on him. And if all of that seemed enough to spell doom for our protagonists, the Thrunefang witch Malikadna emerged from her hut while her howler monkey familiar pranced and hooted on her thatch roof.

The primate’s gaiety was interrupted by a coconut busting against the back of its head, presaging the timely arrival of Likki! “Monkey make too much noise!” quipped the goblin. But the much hoped-for host of Mongrukoo warriors weren’t with the little oracle. Neither were Nemanji or even Tyst. Likki was it to save the day and had garnered Malikadna’s full attention.

“Should have stayed in your trees, Mongrukoo!” crowed the old witch. “We’ll burn your nests and feed your corpses to the Devil!” Likki struggled a second to find a rejoinder in Common, then threw a firebomb at her.

No Enemy Survives Contact With the Plan

The two barbarians from the lighthouse finally stopped gaping at or trying to climb Monica’s illusory wall only after being reprimanded by a witch-doctor who followed them from the building. One of the pair leapt from the porch and dug his spiked club into the nape of Kishtari’s neck. As the rest of the Thrunefangs were taking the most direct route to the heroes’ position, the plan was to either circumvent the village around the corral and lighthouse – or take their chances and jump off the cliff. Likki was an unexpected complication, as the cannibals were clustering between him, the witch, and the heroes. The goblin would have to escape the way he came.

Jask was in bad shape until Kor’lec healed the Garundi with a curative spell while helping him into the pit. But the priest was still old and slow, and bereft of any sort of equipment. But his god must have been with him, for from the muck of the pit Jask recovered his holy symbol! And a fortunate find it was, enabling the cleric to tend to Kish’s neck trauma.

The rejuvenated psion focused her mind on the Thrunefangs standing over Dornas’s unconscious body, and all but one of them dropped to join the magus in sleep. But one remained awake, and he was poised to put an end to the mysterious Taldan. As the cannibal telegraphed his killing blow, he got a sudden faceful of dinosaur when Kai entered the fray.

Kor’lec called upon the wrath of nature, and it responded with entangling roots that burst up from beneath just about every part of the Thrunefang’s camp. This severely curtailed the cannibals’ favored method of engagement, which was to scream and charge blindly. The few spellcasters among them had it no easier, the writhing vegetation interfered with magic gestures and choked the magic words from their throats.

Though they were singed by a shaman’s fire-spewing hand, the heroes succeeded at jostling Dornas awake. Rather than climb to his feet, the magus magically floated up toward the overhanging branches of a tree. With a somersault and a twirl of his staff, the human unleashed a spray of dazzling color into the astonished eyes of his inbred aggressors. The overstimulation struck several of the cannibals even dumber – and down.

Monica casually leveraged her gun and blew away the barbarian who’d wounded Kish. The hot lead burst his head like a water balloon filled with blood. Likki was keeping Malikadna busy, jabbing the flaming witch with his spear while she rolled around in the gravel to extinguish herself. She too was frustrated by the wriggling roots while her opponent capered just outside their area.

With sleeping, dead, and otherwise helpless cannibals piling up around them, the heroes reconsidered their escape plans. Notably, there wasn’t much left to escape from. Dornas levitated himself down from the tree, and took the last witch-doctor’s head in his hands. With an icy expression, the Taldan flash-froze the savage shaman’s head with necromantic cold, and cast it to the ground with a shattering crash – like a discarded glass.

Only Malikadna remained a threat, and she was no longer aflame. She whipped out a wand and slapped Likki with it; its fell magic vampirized Likki’s life-force and repaired her own wounds. The party couldn’t let her get away with that, furthermore, Malikadna had spent more than enough time not being on fire. As the adventurers finished off the entangled remnants of the once-fearsome Thrunefang tribe, Kishtari blasted the witch with pyrokinetic force. The fire smashed against and shoved the old woman down the stairs leading up to her hut. Her charred corpse finally came to rest against the pen where she kept her animated skeletons.

Malikadna’s monkey spontaneously combusted, leaving nary but a soot smudge on the hut’s roof. As for the skeletons, their eagerness to join the battle, or do anything of consequence, was quieted when Jask showed them the business end of his holy symbol. Those of the group’s living opponents who still drew breath were finished off by blade, save one of the fallen witch-doctors who’d probably come to wish he had been. The party walked all day through heat and pouring rain and had slain seventeen men (and an old lady) before suppertime: when the Castaways had questions, it ordinarily did not go well for those who might have answers.

Where was the Thrunefangs’ not-looking-all-that-brave-right-now chief? And where was Ieana?

We’re not cannibals. Cannibals boil people alive in cauldrons. I prefer to think of ourselves as evolved eaters.

We last left the Castaways gaping at the flotsam of the Brine Demon. Jask Derindi had been dragged off by the cannibal Thrunefangs. All that remained was Hesediel, the hatchling dimorphodon Sasha was caring for, who poked his tiny head up from under a mat of kelp. Kor’lec scooped the squawking reptavian into the pocket of his cloak. The creature seemed content to be among familiar scents.

A few more minutes’ investigation revealed that the cannibals struck between six and twelve hours prior to the adventurer’s arrival. Hoping the time-frame was in their favor, the heroes backtracked inland in the hopes of catching Jask’s kidnappers before they made it back to their camp.

Sleeping Lizards!

As fate would have it, Jask’s would-be rescuers encountered several delays. After pausing to ready themselves for travel during the grueling mid-day hours, a pounding thunderstorm blasted their enemies’ trail and forced the heroes to move with more caution than they would have otherwise. The party soldiered on through a rain that only just died down a dull drizzle an hour before dusk.

Once again on the south beach of the Shiv’s sickle-shaped lagoon, the explorers reached the road inland. They still had many miles to go southward to the abandoned lighthouse where the Thrunefangs lived. The Castaways opted this time to take the byroad through the valley they once avoided in fear of ambush, but remained vigilant for the snare traps they knew their enemies employed. Kishtari voiced her concerns that Nemanji hadn’t caught up to them yet, but the companions had to trust the tiefling savage was in less a fix than poor Jask. With nightfall approaching, the group hoped for the kindly old preacher’s sake that either the Thrunefangs ate dinner late, or that he was bait for a trap. That the best-case-scenario was that the Castaways were walking into a trap was just how bad things were.

The kidnappers’ footprints led west off the path after the heroes emerged from the canyon. It followed a slight, low tunnel through the bush that would have been invisible to any but Kor’lec’s keen elven eyes. Taking this trail forced the heroes to crouch at times, an impediment that clearly favored yet another of the island’s damnable menaces – a trio of Shiv dragons had caught the travelers’ scent and were closing in fast. Working together, Kor’lec pinged the large lizards’ location allowing Kishtari to psionically tranquilize all three.

On a Certain Creek Without a Paddle

Leaving the lizards to dream of easier prey, the heroes pressed ahead. The sidetrack eventually emerged at the lip of a vale overlooking a stream made swift by the afternoon rain. Though it was shallow enough to see the rocks that the rapids flowed over, it was no less treacherous on account of its speed. A few ropes tied to a post on the party’s side dangled down to the riverbank, the remains of a crude rope bridge cut by the Thrunefangs to discourage pursuit.

Monica thought to bypass the ravine in the traditional way of her adventuring archaeologist idols, by casting her whip into the canopy and swinging across. While her achievements as a novice already outstripped many of the explorers she’d read about, Monica wasn’t quite ready for the weekly pennibloods – she missed fantastically. But Dornas leapt right after her and midair tackled his Taldan countrywoman before her promising career ended on the rocks below. The magus’s levitation hex allowed the two to glide to the opposite riverbank with but a few bumps and bruises. This, however, left the party split, with Kish and Kor’lec up on the opposite shoulder of the vale. And that’s when the druid had a notion so harebrained it had to work.

Using the shovel he inexplicably carried at all times, Kor’lec uprooted a tree into the ravine. It landed in the rapids with a sploosh. The half-elf shouted down to his human companions to anchor it while he and Kish descended the disabled rope bridge to the river. The party would make up for lost time by riding the log!

The whole thing worked better than it sounds written down. There were protests, and yes, Kish accurately predicted she would eventually lose hold and require saving. But Dornas once again rose to the rescue of the frailer sex, casting a rope out to the telepath and reeling her back to the kinda-sorta raft. For as rough a ride it was, the tree was well chosen as a mode of transport, and the riders’ inability to steer it only became an issue after a good hour or so cruising.

Then the inevitable waterfall loomed ahead. If the river were any deeper at that point, they all would have gone over with the log. But the adventurers’ feet touched ground, and with some painstaking maneuvering and patience, the foursome managed to tiptoe their way to the water’s edge.

Tower of the Cannibals

Whilst traveling the road from the nadir of the falls, the Castaways found themselves approximately a mile and a half from the derelict lighthouse. The cannibals’ camp surrounding the tower occupied a peninsular point and was flanked on either side by a steep and sizable drop-off into the churning swells of Desperation Bay. Worse for Jask’s would-be rescuers, the vegetation on this part of the island was sparse at best, and provided little cover.

The sun’s fading light combined with the smoke blowing down from the Thrunefangs’ fires, casting the scene in a red haze and deepening shadows. Beating drums and harsh voices likewise carried from the south. Here, at least, the Thrunefangs had no caution – no fear. The Jenivere’s survivors were firmly in the enemies’ backyard.

Despite every attempt to stick to the bush at the south side of the road, the concealment it afforded became less reliable as the cannibal’s tower loomed closer. It was not known how far the Sargavan colonists who occupied the site generations ago got along on its construction, but if any of the current tenants were keeping watch from the old lighthouse, the heroes would be spotted for sure.

The party began to plot out their rescue, and that’s when a returning Thrunefang hunting band traveling the road caught wind of them. The hunters dropped their carrying pole of dead monkeys, then swiftly made their way toward the heroes. As soon as the savages drew javelins, Dornas conjured up a concealing mist, buying the Castaways a little time to ready themselves. Kish stepped out from the magical cloud and a twang from her crossbow presaged the bloody explosion of a Thrunefang’s shoulder. Abandoning the javelins for the spiked gaffs they seemed to favor in melee, the cannibals charged and hollered hideous threats in their pidgin devil-speak.

The battle was short ‘n sweet. The Thrunefangs underestimated their enemies, and quickly got themselves surrounded. Kor’lek’s boon companion Kai leaped into the fray and showed the humans what a natural predator was capable of with tooth and claw. Dornas was a blur, twirling his staff and using it to strike necromantic weakness upon his foes. Monica tore open fatal wounds upon one of the barbarians with her thorny lash. After two had fallen, the third cannibal dropped his weapon and started to back away. The heroes didn’t let him get far.

Rat Slink

The Castaways stopped just short of torture, but gave Kish free reign to pick apart their prisoner’s surface thoughts. Even before he was magically charmed, the Thrunefang was haughty and forthcoming, confident he’d live long enough to see his captors ripped apart and eaten. Monica’s first question, translating from Taldane to Infernal (and vice versa his answers), was “why do you eat people?” The barbarian shrugged and replied simply, “we like it.” His thoughts, however, betrayed that some sacrament and ceremony were involved. The man they captured, Jask, would at midnight be sacrificed and eviscerated in a feeding frenzy by all those gathered. There were approximately seventeen Thrunefngs at base now, with the more on the way for the feast.

When queried further about their religion, far from the systematic diabolism practiced by the Thrunefang’s Chelaxian ancestors, the cannibal mentioned one Nylithati, Mother Thrunefang. “She teach us the way of Zura, this here island all Zura’s place.” Monica struggled to recall what she knew of those names, but couldn’t place them. When asked about Ieana, the savage said she was a witch and the chief gave her quarters in the tower with him. “She went below with her slave, the big man, to speak to Nylithati, but the slave did not return with her.”

Additional leading questions gave Kish a good idea of the camp’s layout – a few large wooden structures that never were completed by the Sargavan colonists and only partially reinforced by the Thrunefangs. Kish noted a corral of walking skeletons, and asked the prisoner about them. “That be old Malikadna raisin’ them there bones, she wise and powerful.”

With that information, the heroes began to draw out their rescue plan. The lighthouse, thank the gods, did not seem to be used as a watchtower. The Thrunefangs instead had two elevated platforms for keeping an eye on the road approaching the camp. However, they had allowed a stretch of land between the southern cliff’s edge and the clearing to get overgrown enough that a stealthy approach under the stars could succeed. Jask was being held in an old animal corral, tied to a post. The walls of the pen were damaged or never completed. Directly behind Jask was a deep pit the cannibals used as a waste dump. This was swarming with rats.

Disguises, illusions, and that old standby, the “I surrender, suckers!” scheme were hotly debated. Finally, a very solid plan took shape. This was to get their charmed captive to lead any number of his tribesmen away from camp while the party stealthily made their way through the brush to the pit behind the corral.

The first part of the rescuer’s plan succeeded, though their charmed captive only managed to lead away a group of four. Once at the pit, one of the Thrunefangs in particular looked to be a problem. He was on a deck overlooking the prisoner’s corral, preparing additional foodstuffs for midnight’s menu. Kor’lec called upon the earthen spirits to give him the form of a dire rat, and attempted to coerce the rats in the pit to help him free Jask. The animals were not at all interested in risking their lives, though they invited their new big-brother to partake in the their never-ending banquet of shit, garbage, and bones. Still in muroid form, Kor’lec climbed up to Jask and began gnawing away his bonds. Kish remained hidden, prepared to put the cannibal chef to sleep if his attention wavered back to the prisoner and his rodent rescuer.

Jask had been stripped and beaten to near-unconsciousness, and his skin was chapped and sun-blistered. He awoke from delirium just enough to try and warn Kor’lec away, whom he recognized even in the shape of an animal. “I’ve lived a full life and thanks to you I will die as an innocent man,” pleaded the old Garundi, “you mustn’t risk your lives now.” Kor’lec made the rodent-equivalent gesture of “fuck you” and kept on chewing.

As the bonds gave way, Kor’lec returned to humanoid form to carry Jask to safety. The Thrunefang finally noticed what was happening, but slumped over into sleep before he could raise the hue and cry. Kish wanted to finish the cannibal off right there and attempted to vault over the pit …
In another lifetime, the alien telepath might have botched her acrobatic hurdle. She might have landed squarely in the septic filth of the pit, scattering its screeching vermin in every direction. The clamor would have surely alerted the rest of the camp’s inhabitants. The heroes would have then been forced to fight the entire slavering tribe with their backs to the cliff. Jask would have been slain in the melee. They would have lost. Their story might have ended far more ignobly than it once promised to be.

In a moment that seemed destined to fail, Kish instead soared up and over the pit like a champion athlete, landed with sublime grace next to the sleeping cannibal, and with his own butcher knife, delivered him to whatever obscene afterlife awaited his soul.

In some cosmic corner of the metaphysical wheel the divinities of Golarion observe with detached stoicism the trials and tribulations of mere mortals.

This time, though, they cheered and high-fived.

Desperation is the raw material of drastic change. Only those who can leave behind everything they have ever believed in can hope to escape.

With Nemanji and Tyst still mysteriously missing in action, the other adventurers were forced to face the horrors of the caverns below the Island of Never Going There without their heaviest hitters. But our heroes were not without their own potentiality – and as they trudged through the caverns, all dug deep inside themselves to find it.

The tunnel they traversed was illumed on its floor by a purplish pollution that flowed like the ichors of a diseased body, and the gray- to violet-colored mold pulsated on the cave walls like tumors. Offerings of bones, shells, and other savage fetishes made by the silent island’s fungoid populace adorned the natural shelves and cracks. The party knew that the sewer-like passage would lead to the heart of the islet, and the source of the Abyssal infection that had likely taken root there. Soon enough, a promisingly wide and luminous chamber loomed before them.

Before Kor’lec centered his supernal senses toward the gaping hollow to suss out any enemies awaiting their entry, he detected Kai catching up to the group behind them. Apparently, the dromaeosaurid, healed of most of her wounds, wasn’t keen on guard duty while her master was walking into danger.

Deifoliation

The druid detected several creatures moving about the tiered cavern’s fungal overgrowth, likely fungous men like those already encountered. Indifferent to the alien biome, Kor’lec evoked a bomb of negative energy that withered a great mushroom mass. The chamber’s denizens scrambled to attack as the party pressed forward to meet them in battle! At the far, highest shelf of the cavern grew a hideous, marginally man-like mushroom of striated red and violet. With an atrocious slorping sound, the giant creature pulled itself from the wall and the veiny growth anchoring it. The Fungus God, angry for being disturbed, shook the cavern with a slam of its enormous fist. Its other hand served as a third leg to balance a cumbersome cap that sprouted vine-like tentacles.

As the Fungus God lumbered toward the intruders, its acolytes, winged pygmies with long spears, took to the air. The heroes were undeterred. They were there to clean up the mess the Nightvoice’s Pathfinders made – “god” be-damned.

Kai was even less deterred by the terrain, leaping up the ledges to land talons-first into fungoid flesh. Dornas climbed the nearest conical growth to smackdown the fungoid hiding atop it before it managed to take flight. Likki was chanting in Abyssal and hurling coconuts as though he had a perpetual supply. Kor’lec conjured a glob of tar-like muck and hurled it at the face of one of the winged fungoids, blinding it and forcing it to retreat as it struggled to clean out its eyes.

Monica, still unhinged with anger toward the extraplanar invaders for maiming Gelik, shot the big one and scrambled right up the step-like ridges toward it! Two of the winged acolytes swooped down toward her as she hung off one of the cavern shelves. A less-lithesome person would have been shish-kebabed, but the action-archaeologist curled and weaved around the pygmies’ spearheads before she somersaulted up and over the edge.

Meanwhile, Kishtari must have decided at some point that she was done having her potent telepathic abilities stymied by “mindless” creatures. The air around the kalashtar seamed to shimmer like heat on distant sand, though the violet stream she was standing knees-deep in iced-up around her. A howling torrent of cryokinetic energy exploded from her body and pummeled the Fungus God, staggering it back into some stalagmites. If its fall weren’t cushioned by the spongy mold surrounding the stones, its reign of terror might of ended then and there.

The psion wasn’t done – her previous frugality regarding her phrenic reserves was paying dividends. Crackling with electricity this time, Kish emitted a lattice of lightning at one of the winged pygmies who’d attacked Monica, causing it to barrel roll awkwardly into its partner. Like a billiard ball, the second one lost control of its flight and bounced off the squishy mantle of the Fungus God. That really made the ogre-sized mushroom mad.

Seconds before the Fungus God reached out to crush, strangle, and eviscerate Monica all at once, the heroes routed the remaining flying acolytes. The giant mushroom-thing now had their full attention – and that wasn’t going to go well for him! With a staff kata and some magic words, Dornas conjured a carpet of slippery slime at the ponderous monster’s feet. The Fungus God flailed in a very ungodlike manner before making an unintended comedic pratfall to its back. And while that was all great for a laugh, Monica was dead serious as she ended the creature’s act with thunderous applause from her double-barreled pistol. “Puny god,” the woman muttered as her gun smoked and the fungous monstrosity melted into sludge.

In seconds, the surviving fungoids dropped from the air or their perches and expired just as surely as if struck by the hot lead that muddled their deity’s nucleolar pseudobrain on the cavern floor. Kor’lec sensed the gray blight was already in remission, and in due coarse, the jungle would reclaim the Isle of Never Going There.

Agents now of literal, lasting consequence for the world in which they lived, the Castaways had their first taste of legendry. It felt right. It would not be their last…

“You kill god!?!” Likki blurted, breaking the sort of stunned silence that had befallen the Castaways after their victory. Though they were coping well-enough with being big damn heroes, Likki had particularities about the way his world worked. “We all did,” and “it wasn’t truly a god” were put to the primitive goblinoid, but Likki countered that he’d contributed very little and anyway “god create life, god change land, god has worshipers,” so yes, the big violet fungus was a god as far as he was concerned.

The Mongrukoo said he needed to ponder the matter, and consult with his as-yet unmet grandmother. Then he bounded away. The heroes recovered some loot that probably belonged to the Nightvoice’s captain before he became the Fungus God, including a mithral shirt that Monica was quick to call dibs on.

The Hill Has Spies

The journey back to Aycenia‘s grove was mostly quiet. Thanks to Kor’lec’s ministrations, Aerys and Gelik seemed less piqued from the fungal poison, though Sasha looked positively ghastly. All the while the diseased teen fixed her reddening eyes on her companions with a predator’s intensity. Also worryingly, the heroes found neither hide nor hair of Nemanji and Tyst before their companions’ unstable conditions forced them all to head out. Neither of the missing warriors would have any trouble tracking them if need be. “Maybe the werebadger killed him!” Gelik blundered out, a possibility that no one wanted to hear expressed, least of all by the shifty gnome.

Before he was smacked silly, Gelik let on that he was the one who healed Kai before the throwdown with the Fungus God. Kor’lec quietly thanked him. Having left Aycenia on less-than-great terms, there was a brief exchange about who would do the talking when they got back to her grove. Though both the dryad and the gnome were of fey origin, even Monica insisted that her boyfriend keep his big mouth shut during the negotiations.

Moving up the gentler slope of the dryad’s baobab-crowned drumlin, the heroes were greeted by Pollock as the great trees came into view. The reincarnated grig said that he was doing the talking for Lady Aycenia, and that she was still sore about being poked fun of. “Still,” the fey continued, “she appreciates you doing your duty to heal the gray blight.” Pollock’s typically knavish mien then bent slightly toward solemnity before saying “I am to bring her the amulet.” The former gremlin was referring to Kor’lec’s tribal necklace, the very same trinket whose latent magic had given Pollock a new life.

Kor’lec, of course, refused. He would talk to Aycenia first, and give her the amulet personally. Pollock asked several times, always restating with increasing desperation, “I am to bring her the amulet,” and every time, Kor’lec refused. Finally, the grig drew his rapier, which, paired with his klar, lent the tiny creature a formidability belying his size. Pollock pounced and attacked viciously, wounding the druid. Kor’lec refused to fight back.

Kishtari sensed and communicated to her teammates that the fey was under some sort of compulsion; and then did her level best to psionically break it. Unfortunately, the mind behind Pollock’s uncharacteristic behavior was powerful indeed – Ieana! When had she gotten to him? Those in the party able-enough to fight surrounded the grig, but all fought in defense, hoping to wear him out. Kish ran toward the boabab Aycenia was bound to, and implored her to appear. “Your servant is being controlled by another!” the kalashtar cried.

With a dramatic flourish of the great tree’s branches, out stepped Aycenia. “Pollock, what has happened to you?” implored the great fey, with general concern for the grig. “I must bring her the amulet,” was all Pollock could say, tears welling up in his eyes.

After relieving the grig of his sword with her whip, Monica had an idea. With a little bait and switch, Kor’lec appeared to give her his necklace while the Taldan created an illusory duplicate in her hand. Making sure the grig was convinced by the illusion, Monica “destroyed” the amulet.

“No!” Pollock whimpered. Then he jammed the blade of his klar into his own neck. Though most mystic compulsions stopped short of forcing suicide, the fey must have been given a terrible notion of what to expect if he failed. No one blamed Monica but herself. It was a reasonably good plan.

“He has returned to the Feywild to be among his brothers,” Aycenia lamented. Having been eased away of his vengeful ideas about the Mongrukoo, there was no hope of returning Pollock to the Material Plane.

Grove’s Synthesis

Aycenia felt she owed the party more now that they had cleansed the demonic blight from the gray islet and tried to save Pollock. Because Ieana had violated Aycenia’s sovereignty by bewitching her servant, the dryad was now invested in their quest to stop the enchantress, whoever or whatever she was. The fey shaped the trees surrounding her own into comfortable houses and created a little sick berth to tend to Gelik, Sasha, and Aerys. She restored as much power as she could spare to Kor’lec’s amulet, explaining, “you may use it three times to restore life to the recently dead, but the body will be newly formed of the earth and not necessarily match the departing soul’s original.”

While this was going on, Aycenia fielded a myriad of questions from the group while in a trance that united her in communion with the land. Though she meant not to, the dryad outed Kishtari as an alien to the rest of her astonished teammates (save Kor’lec, who already knew); Aycenia recognized the kalashtar as a being not of Golarion, but the Green Star. “But there was a time when our worlds were one, but made two by the gods for their own reasons. Many of this planet’s creatures, men and elves, can also be found there.” The group pondered the fateful coincidences coalescing around them.

Monica inquired about the serpentfolk, but their time came and went long before Aycenia or her forbears came into being. The dryad revealed that before her tree was a seed on a tree that wasn’t yet a seed, there were civilizations across the island the Castaways knew as Smuggler’s Shiv. She knew of stones that these ancients used to channel their strange intramagic – psionics – and the party had already encountered one at Black Widow Bluff. “You were inside of it,” Aycenia looked right at Monica and added, “you brought it with you?”

Smoke on the Water

Whatever the ancient fey was on about would have to wait. With nightfall but scant hours away, the heroes set out to retrieve Jask from the Brine Demon. Avoiding a small flock of dimorphodons lost the party precious time, forcing the four heroes to take refuge with Pezock, whose crabshell shack was midways between Aycenia’s grove and their shipwreck base. The crazed tengu was happy to see his new friends again and gladly put them up for the night.

The reunion was short-lived. Saying their goodbye’s to the sullen Pezock, the Castaways continued on across the Shiv, backtracking their way to the derelict ship that had served well as their hideout for several days. The smell of smoke grew more intense as the explorers approached the beach where they left the Brine Demon, and the quintet hastened their steps.

But they were too late, and sickened by the sight that greeted them in the old vessel’s stead. Smoldering piles of wood, soot-stained stones, swirling ash, and no Jask. The ship was completely destroyed. Signs in the coastal scree painted for Kor’lec an unpleasant picture of what had happened. Human tracks, some dragging away another.

The Thrunefangs were there, and they’d taken the poor old cleric.

It’s amazing how much manipulation is going on in parasites.

Our intrepid adventurers had just landed on the spongy deck of what once was the Nightvoice, which they believed to be the source of the demonic fungus and where their hobbled friends had been hauled off to. Any and all of the ship’s wood was supplanted by the gray-purple mold that given time, would devour flesh just as surely.

Likki started to slap his battle drum when he noticed dozens of fungal pygmies were descending the vines that anchored the Nightvoice between the island and some plinths of rock offshore. With his axe, Nemanji severed all but one of the vein-like strands, sending several of the creeping attackers to the swirling sea. The last vine however, the party needed as an escape route. “We’ll hold the line,” Nemanji said, gesturing to himself and Tyst, who was still in animal form. Nocking the bow given him by the missing buccaneer, the tiefling growled, "find Aerys," and through gritted teeth added, “make sure the gnome dies,” referring to Gelik. Nemanji opened fire behind Tyst, who was already halfway up the tether raking with his curved claws and badger-rushing the pygmies down to the swells.

Ras Boot

Kor’lec attempted to reconnoiter the cargo hold just below the upper deck, and was spotted while he took note of several pygmies and a fungal iguana readying themselves for an attack. Kishtari dangled Naga, her psionic homunculus, through a hole in one of the rusty metal grates separating the levels. The serpentine construct was also spotted, and revealed no more information than Kor’lec.

Whether or not the enemy was ready for them, the Castaways were obliged to take care of their own. In two teams, Kor’lec, Kai, and Kishtari took the starboard stairs while Monica, Likki and Dornas descended the port side.

What awaited the adventurers below was even more nightmarish than above decks. Pulsating purple globules on the ceiling dimly lit what was once the cargo hold of the Pathfinder vessel. The fungi had consumed stacked barrels and crates amongst which the enemy positioned themselves. Monica upended the fungal reptiform with a quick lash of her thorny whip. The creature responded with a belch of poisonous spores that nearly filled the hold and caught Monica and Dornas dead on. The mild toxin weakened the Taldan woman, but Dornas demonstrated a steadfast resistance to it that induced yet more questions about the mysterious magi’s origins.

The hidden pygmies began hurling javelins as Kai, with Kor’lec close behind, advanced through a narrow path along the starboard edge that the poison cloud did not reach. Kish, unable to find any discernible intellect within the heads of the fungoids, resigned herself to blasting away with her crossbow, but the fibrous anatomy of the monsters proved frustratingly resistant to her lancinate bolts as well.

Coughing out the spores, Monica lashed her barbed whip around the funguana’s neck and raised it into a midair spin with a violent hoick – as a chanting Dornas, his staff energized with dark magic, clobbered the whirling beast causing it to coalesce and vanish into a negatron singularity!

At the far (aft) end of the room, obscured by shadows and fungi-encrusted mounds that once were boxes of cargo, were the skeleton-stuffed stairwells. Between them lurked the champion of the fungus men; all six feet of him with powerful muscles that sprouted vines and mushrooms as he flexed like a gladiator. Wielding an enchanted longspear, the monster stepped out into the open and thrust low. Kor’lec watched in horror as Kai, who had charged, was impaled, lifted, and shaken off the end of the fungus man’s enchanted spear as if the velociraptor was merely a pest to exterminate. The fungal champion beat his fibrous chest, challenging the invaders to meet him in melee.

Meanwhile, Dornas, still standing nonchalantly in the miasma of spores, made his own display of might by knocking down the crates piled next to him. The pygmies assailing him and Monica collapsed along with it and landed prone. The Taldans were quick to take advantage – Monica sliced at the pygmies with her rapier while Dornas splattered them with his magically-empowered staff.

Kai was bleeding out, but still breathing before the fungus boss. But instead of finishing the dinosaur off, he hesitated. Repeating Dornas’s gesture, the monster man-thing pushed over the crate pile that he was adjacent to, sending his own minions gracelessly to the floor! To nearly everyone’s astonishment, the fungous brute then attacked the pygmies on his own side. Kishtari was aglow with psionic luminance – the kalashtar had somehow, impossibly breached the creature’s mind and placed him under her spell!

The control was short lived, but it was time enough for Likki to scramble over to Kai and save her life with healing magic. Once again the fell forces whom the monkey goblin served came to the rescue, rejuvenating Kor’lec’s companion almost completely. The dinosaur was commanded to withdraw, leaving Likki as the only obstacle between the fungous brute, who had shaken off his trance, and Kishtari, who had laid it. The master fungus pointed his spear at the alien woman and with herculean effort, exhaled a howl of rage!

But the monster’s beeline to Kish was his own undoing. Determined to reach the psion at any cost to his own well-being, the fungoid pushed past a gauntlet of attacks from the rest of his enemies, including a giant freaking spider summoned by Kor’lec. Sliced, bashed, and bitten, the brute reared to impale Kish, but finally succumbed to his wounds, falling in twain after a swipe of Kor’lec’s scimitar.

The Fungus Among Us

The aft of the hulk contained the kitchen where Aerys and Gelik were kept, bound by fibrous strands to an old cast-iron oven. They were dying slowly, demonstrating the obvious signs of having ingested the alien fungi. The stumps where each once had a foot were cauterized – badly.

After the party gave up their curative potions to revive them, Kor’lec did what he could to treat the captives’ poisoning. Aerys was beyond pissed. The pirate cursed-out Gelik for ensorcelling her, and if she weren’t then tied up, probably would have beaten his boyish face into a mulch.

Gelik insisted that he was really sorry. But it wasn’t good enough. The gnome hesitantly revealed that he was an operative of the king (technically the primarch) of Absalom. His mission was to recover maps and documents from the Nightvoice and hoped he could persuade the away team to do it while maintaining his cover as a craven performer. Kor’lec, who’d been searching the rest of the ship, had already recovered a cloth map to the Pirate Captain Lortch Quellig’s treasure, and incinerated it before the gnome’s sad eyes (though not before memorizing it).

Though none believed his story as told, Kishtari was unable to discern the gnome’s uncensored thoughts. And while his tale of duty and secrecy did little to mitigate the party’s anger at him, they were satisfied enough to free Gelik from his bonds.

Requesting a word in private with his girlfriend, the Castaways left Monica and her gnomish beau alone in the kitchen. Gelik let out a sigh and confided, “I can’t believe they bought all that!” Monica was furious, but Gelik convinced her that his lies were in self-defense, that he would never be dishonest with her, and that he truly loved her. All he wanted, Gelik claimed, was to show his quality to the group. He never wanted anyone to get hurt. Monica demanded that he come clean to the others, but the gnome argued that if he did that right away, they would in all likelihood murder him. To show his gratitude for rescuing him and for covering for him, Gelik shared with Monica one of his deeply-held secrets: a pentad of syllables from Truespeech, the language of the gods, that helped his words carry weight. He had learned them from a professional comedian.

Meanwhile, Dornas asked Kishtari to use her telepathic surveillance once again. The psion argued that she tried to spy on Gelik’s thoughts already, but could not break through. “Not him,” Dornas corrected, “Monica.” Kishtari felt if she did, the archaeologist would never forgive her – but didn’t refuse.

It Speaks But Cannot Be Heard

In addition to Dread Pirate Quellig’s map, Kor’lec had recovered a journal from a lead safe, some loot, and magic items. The journal was probably a captain’s log, but the shorthand was so obtuse not even Monica could make sense of it. With Dornas’s help however, the words were subjected to the scrutiny of two powerful intellects. While the context remained a mystery, a symbol stood out:

Cyth-V’sug, Demon Lord of Fungus and Parasites.

Gelik had mentioned a sea cave reached via the holed bowels of the Nightvoice that the fungal men reverently went in and out of. All knew that this meant the source of the gray islet’s contamination lied within, and that it was very likely angry and ambulatory. The party returned abovedecks, but everything was eerily silent. Nemanji and Tyst were nowhere to be found. If they had been, there would have been less of an argument to rest and return to the cavern at a later time. Ultimately, the Castaways decided in favor of finishing off the hideous blight that permeated the earth there and then. They’d make Aycenia happy and she could maybe cure their friends.

Speaking of which, despite Dornas previously making Sasha promise not to do anything dumb while they were occupied below, she just couldn’t help herself, apparently. But it was not her faculties in question (this time), the ghoul fever Sasha suffered from famished her, and left alone she’d devoured more of the gray fungi. “I have the babies in me,” the reinfected girl creepily kept uttering. Kor’lec had already figured out from the damaged remains belowdecks that the pygmies emerged out of those who succumbed to the toxic mold. It was why they took captives, to force feed and become incubators. Gelik, Aerys, and Sasha were doomed to share the fate of all those whose mold-caked bones were stuffed into the aft stairwell – unless the heroes were successful.

The clock was ticking. Forced to leave Nemanji and Tyst to whatever trouble the warriors had found, and Kai to prevent the dying home team from killing each other; Dornas, Kishtari, Kor’lec, and Monica descended to the lich-lit innards of the Isle of Never Going There.

Evils can be created much quicker than they can be cured.

The rolling stone gathered no adventurers, though it did upend some moss. After they all more or less avoided being crushed beneath the boulder’s onslaught, our heroes couldn’t help but notice more signs of a recent battle beneath the gray carpet of mold. When Monica saw Kishtari hold up Gelik’s severed foot, the anguished archaeologist shrieked and practically threw herself against the enemy. The fungal pygmies were everywhere.

Bolete the Drum Slowly

The others were hot on her heels. Tyst, still in full-on beast mode, charged past Monica but was swiping too wildly for his claws to cleave the nimble plantoids. Fortunately, the werebadger’s thick skin and nigh-instantaneous regeneration rendered him impervious to the pygmies’ spears. Several of the purplish creatures futilely jabbed and flung their weapons at the vicious lycanthrope, freeing the rest of the party to climb the slope unabated.

The fiendish creatures fought hard, but the heroes were revitalized in purpose. Monica flipped and danced into their midst blasting her double-barreled pistol, vaporizing one to the left and twirling to the right to blast apart another. The Taldan’s anger and worry for her lover fueled her inborn magic which manifested as white fire around her rapier blade. With a fencer’s flourish, Monica carved her first initial with holy flame upon a fiendish fungoid, whose chest resembled a Harrowing Night jack o’-lantern before the creature collapsed into an an “M”-shaped ash pile!

Meanwhile, Kai and Nemanji were without cover and caught in the crossfire of too many distant snipers. Tough as they were, javelin after javelin pierced and grazed their hides. Kai was forced to retreat back down the cliff. Nemanji, however, strode gallantly up the switchback trail toward his enemies. Muttering Abyssal, the tiefling dispatched Likki to to tend to the wounded dinosaur, while bringing his axe down upon an expressionless pygmy. Having hacked in twain one (and the tree it was standing on), the demon-spawn stared ominously at another, who simply melted into sludge, awed in the presence of the greater fiend!

Likki magically healed Kai, bringing her back in the fray, as Dornas blasted away with globules of conjured acid. The magus tossed his crossbow to Kishtari, so the psion could contribute to the combat. As the penetrative bolts were all-but powerless against her plantoid opposers, Kish imbued a shot with psionic energy – the projectile sprang from her weapon, then impossibly morphed into a serpentine spirit that swallowed a pygmy whole!

Monica reloaded her gun, and with a battlelust born of fury, flung herself farther up the cliff’s path. She exposed two more foes who kindled and kicked a burning cask toward her. The rolling barrel, stuffed with some manner of explosive, was a dud. The archaeologist leapt aside as the barrel feebly blew apart, barely singing her. The fungal pygmies who sparked the trap hurled javelins and retreated.

Meanwhile, Tyst found himself surrounded by the enemy atop one of the fungus trees, though the pathetic jabs of the pygmies’ spears barely bit through the were-creature’s flesh. Tyst was a terror, his teeth knives and his claws scythes; and when the shredded pygmies surrounding him seemed as if they could be served on a salad, the party’s few remaining foes finally fled.

None Left Behind

Sifting through the gray moss revealed additional signs of battle, and more ruined gear belonging to members of those previously known as the “home team.” The most disturbing of these finds was one of Aery‘s boots, like Gelik’s, containing her severed foot. Kor’lec noticed that the undulating fungi slowly consumed organic matter and seemed “excited” whenever blood from his or his teammates’ wounds dripped upon them. The “healthiest” patches of fungus resembled blood patterns one might expect on the ground from three individuals who were peppered with spears – then maimed on the spot. There were, however, only two feet recovered. Signs picked up by Tyst and Kor’lec indicated one, presumably Sasha, staggered away to the east along the beach while the others were dragged up the slope. It was a tough decision, but there was a good chance Sasha was alive and needed immediate rescue, while the others were hobbled and hauled off for a reason. The decision to follow Sasha was not, however, unanimous.

Monica had vanished above the rim of the cliff while shouting in vain for Gelik. Normally, it would be Monica who was counted on to stop a teammate from emotionally running off alone to certain death, so in this case nobody knew what to do. “I’ll retrieve her,” grumbled Nemanji, finally.

Before the barbarian arrived to gently persuade the hysterical woman to return – or less gently with his club – Monica looked across the bleak vista that the island plateau presented. Grey fungi covered everything, though in places it had purple swathes, especially near the great conical trees that would be midways to the clouds if they didn’t hunch and spiral to their tips. “Gelik!” she cried again, and Monica’s call barely carried, as if it too were sodden with blood and swallowed by the heaving mycological mass at her feet. Distant figures that she saw approaching the horizon were the survivors of her team’s onslaught, and their destination was clear. About a mile and half west, the Nightvoice appeared relatively upright and intact, perhaps seaworthy, bobbing in the shallows just beside the cliff.

Nemanji had been speaking, but Monica was still beside herself and barely heard him until his pitch grew agitated. She stepped out onto the writhing plain. Likki was present in the papoose, and climbed out, holding a hand up to his big buddy as if to say, “me got this.” The monkey goblin patted the distraught woman’s shoulder before hopping down from the tiefling’s back. With sincere earnestness the oracle proclaimed, “you need your tribe to beat tribe.” Monica finally acquiesced, and Likki led her by the hand back down to the beach to catch up with the others.

With Kor’lec’s eyes and Tyst’s nose, it didn’t take the adventurers long to find the cavern Sasha crawled into. The hole in the cliffside was plainly visible, but caked in fungi that funneled in and dropped steeply downward. Deep in the darkness, labored breathing could be heard. Having demonstrated a resistance to harm, Tyst proposed he be the first lowered by rope into the cave. “I’ll take my hybrid form, so I don’t frighten her!” the halfling cheerfully added. Neither of those suggestions seemed remotely suspicious to the Castaways, though all they’d ever heard about the green-cloaked stranger prior to that morning was that he was an assassin trying to kill Sasha – and she didn’t even know he was an invincible slaughtering hell-beast.

But if Tyst intended to murder her, he had ample opportunity in the gloom of that cavern. The titian-haired teen was completely at the were-creature’s mercy. She laid still, ghastly-thin and sallow, her skin nearly translucent and taught upon her muscles. Worse, the young woman had gray fungi growing about her mouth, her ears, hands – and elsewhere. Tyst took his halfling form to reduce weight and scooped up Sasha in his arms. The Red Mantis-trained youth half-opened one milky-red eye, and when she saw the one whom she long believed would deliver her death, gasped a single word.

“Finally.”

Foray Among the Fungi

That Sasha was dying was clear, but Kor’lec’s medicinal expertise revealed that it wasn’t just the fungi’s poison slowly killing her. Somehow, she had ghoul fever, too. There was little debate before the team’s only magical counter-poison was administered to her. They’d worry about her ailment later. Magical healing brought Sasha back to to consciousness, and again she implored, “please kill me.”

“Not right now,” replied Tyst, jokingly. After being kinda-sorta convinced that the amnesic halfling meant her no harm, Sasha related the tale of how she and the others arrived at the Isle of Never Going There.

Gelik had wanted to do something brave, said the teen ranger, “and I wanted to help him for saving me the other night.” They left less than an hour after the away team, when Jask was tending to their food stores. Sasha absolved Aerys but condemned Gelik by mentioning that the pirate had tried to stop them, but the gnome magically coerced her into coming along. The trio were accosted on their journey by ghouls in the jungle and took wounds, but Gelik wanted to press on anyway. Like the others, they were ambushed by the pygmies. Sasha admitted to her shame that she fled, leaving her companions to the fiendish fungoids’ mercy.

Her story elicited a chorus of curses and threats on Gelik from the Castaways, save Monica. “If you all weren’t so hard on him, he wouldn’t have done this!” the Taldan protested.

Again, Sasha argued that she should be abandoned, or killed. “We won’t do that, or leave you to die,” Monica said, flatly. “If you have to worry about me, you will die,” Sasha countered, fruitlessly. With a still-living Sasha in tow, the heroes crossed the spongy gray landscape to the Nightvoice unaccosted. The young girl did, however, exhibit some of the more disturbing symptoms of advanced ghoul fever, such as bleeding gums perforated with jagged teeth, a long slavering tongue, and a vocal craving for humanoid brains.

Arriving at the plateau’s ledge, the heroes looked down upon the old Pathfinder vessel and saw that she wasn’t just encrusted with fungus, she probably was totally comprised of the stuff, her wood long since consumed. Even her sails were replaced by thin, billowing sheets of fungus. Several ropy vines anchored the ship to the cliff and to plinths of rock on her opposite side. Abovedecks patrolled four fungal pygmies; the heroes decided it was time to catch them unawares this time.

Skating, sliding, and stealthily crawling down the lattice of fungal vines, the party easily and noiselessly crossed over the ocean to the Nightvoice’s deck, and dropped down upon the heads of their foes. Before Dornas leapt for the deck, he made Sasha promise not to do anything stupid and joined the melee. In seconds, the enemy were destroyed, the last was ravaged by Kai before Kor’lec batted it out to sea, where it was caught and swallowed by a breaching shark!

Though there were two sets of stairs leading belowdecks, the ship’s aft stairwells were completely stuffed with a macabre blockade of fungus-encrusted bones. The Castaways hoped that the bones of their friends, or at least Aerys’s, were not yet among them. With but two points of egress to the cargo hold, the party wondered what horrors awaited them.

“Probably a big mushroom,” deadpanned Nemanji.

I became gradually aware that here the vile fungus, which had driven us from the ship, was growing riot. In places it rose into horrible, fantastic mounds, which seemed almost to quiver, as with a quiet life, when the wind blew across them. Here and there it took on the forms of vast fingers, and in others it just spread out flat and smooth and treacherous. Odd places, it appeared as grotesque stunted trees, seeming extraordinarily kinked and gnarled – the whole quaking vilely at times.

Night fell quickly after the Red Mountain Devil flew back to its lair, and our protagonists wisely backtracked to a less barren section of the first islet, to make camp among the ravenalas and elephant grass that comprised the rock’s sparse vegetation. As bereft of flora as the islet was, its copses of trees and a small population of hares and goats were a stark and assuasive contrast to the alien grey blanketing its silent twin further north.

Kor’lec took first watch, as usual. Shortly after the others fell into sleep, he awoke Kishtari. Several matters had been weighing heavily on the druid’s mind, and the loyalty of his psionic teammate was among them. After bringing her out of earshot of his sleeping teammates, Kor’lec, Kai twitchy at his side and ready to pounce, asked flatly, "are you in league with Ieana?" Kish was taken aback. “No,” she sputtered.

The half-elf wasn’t satisfied that she’d been entirely forthcoming; Kish’s own potent telepathic abilities and passionate regard for serpents, even above the well-being of those she was fighting alongside, were throwing up the proverbial red flags. “I know how it looks, but no,” she repeated.

“You aren’t a half-elf,” Kor’lec referred to Kish’s habitual cover story concerning her race. To the druid, is was blown by Aycenia, the dryad on whose behalf the adventurers presently quested. The fey never once gave Kishtari the notice her kind typically paid elvenkind.

Kish knew she was busted, or she’d grown weary of the secrecy. Brooding and sanctimonious at the best of times, Kor’lec was at least trustworthy, and that made him a good choice for a confidante. The kalashtar revealed that she was of a race hailing from the planet Golarians called Castrovel, a neighboring planet closer in its orbit to the sun. Kish and many others of her world were refugees from an oppressive regime founded by the Inspired, a species of psionics closely-related to hers. Like them, her people were close enough in appearance to elves and humans to pass as kin. Kish suspected that Ieana was one of the Inspired.

“Castrovel is sometimes called the Green Star,” Kish had mentioned. “That’s funny,” Kor’lec chewed on those words for a second before disclosing, "my people, among the Kallijae, we are called the Emerald Star." Resolving to trust one-another again, the two returned to camp and wondered whether to reveal Kish’s secret to the others.

Though he made little sense of the words, the entire conversation was heard to one who was as shadow among the palm-like fronds of the ravenala above and beyond the sight of even Kor’lec’s keen eyes. He had been tracking the party at a distance for days. Tomorrow, the shadow thought to himself, tomorrow everything changes.

Changing Faces

“Good morning!” said the amiable halfling. No one had seen him come up on them, as if the green-cloaked stranger was there all along. But there he was. The chipper young halfling introduced himself as Tyst.

“Pardon us,” said Kish, “but we thought you were imaginary.”

“Wow,” said Kor’lec, "we really owe Sasha an apology."

“He even shorter than me!” skreaked Likki.

After a few pertinent questions all revolving around some variation of “who in the Hells are you?” details started to emerge about their breakfast-time visitor. Clearly, this was the very same green-cloaked halfling that Sasha swore up-and-down was trying to kill her. But Tyst seemed friendly enough… The stranger claimed, earnestly, that he’d been following the adventurers for some time. He’d woken up on a beach near them and had only recently regained some of his faculties. His memories were vague, but it looked like he’d been a passenger aboard the Jenivere like the rest of them – though probably not a paying one, as nobody but Sasha knew he was there. Likki was the first to mention amnesia, which he said was a common affliction among his tribesmen, “when real big coconut conk you on the head!”

"Are you Red Mantis?" queried Monica, who had paid enough attention to events to connect Sasha and her much talked-about stalker to the assassin cult. Tyst appeared not to remember, and was either a world-class liar, or truly had lost his memories. In any event, the group were about to face some difficulty and needed an extra sword arm. Or sling arm, as Tyst demonstrated when asked what he could offer in terms of help. The halfling tossed a spiked melon into the air and splattered it with a quick flick of a sling. “I have some skill in sneaking, too, obviously,” Tyst added. Having escaped even Kor’lec’s notice on the Jenivere and across Smuggler’s Shiv proved his skill. As they all had explanation enough to entrust their very lives to each other, the group proceeded to the Isle of Never Going There.

The Spore You Know…

Before hopping across the broken rocks linking the islets, the party concocted a hair-brained scheme to set a captured goat free on the fungi-covered land mass to test its safety. Goat in hand, the Castaways closed in on the grey islet toward a beach covered with mold and giant fungi the size and shape of elder pine trees. Beyond the beach was a towering cliff with some natural switchbacks and a gently sloping gully leading up onto the plateaued interior. Just before Nemanji could hurl his goat ashore, a trio of hideous grey-purple reptiles crawled out from beneath the ancient bridge-stones. The fungal iguanas attacked indiscriminately and bit hard, with one wounding Tyst. The halfling was unused to fighting outside the shadows, and tumbled past his opponents to regroup. Unfortunately, the lizard-shaped plant-thing had tasted blood and gave him chase. Worse still, Tyst’s attempt to get away from it put him in range of a pair of snipers who were hidden in the fungal trees – small humanoid forms likewise made of purplish-grey fungus.

The rest fared better – the treacherous, sludge-draped rocks posed few problems to the dexterous sextet. Nemanji and Likki worked like the blades of a murder-windmill. The monkey goblin, from the safety of his big buddy’s papoose, would jab with his spear or hurl a coconut before Nemanji pirouetted around with a swipe of his great axe. Dornas, Kai, and Kor’lec comported themselves just as well, and soon all but Tyst’s persistent pursuer had been crushed and scraped off the stones like moss. Kor’lec looked again at the fungal trees and saw what had to be a dozen or more of the manikin-faced, plantoid people maneuvering and adjusting positions, silently waiting for the invaders to come into range of their javelins.

Using the vine-like strands that grew from their bodies as amentums, the fungal pygmies loosed their short spears with pinpoint accuracy and speed. Tyst was caught in the crossfire of two vegetable men midways up the first tree on the beach. He was struck forward and back with the whip-spun javelins while the last funguana nipped at his heels.

Monica saw that her new companion desperately needed help, and perhaps by reaching him could give the enemy another target. She skipped over to him as the halfling dropped to his knees from blood loss. By the time the archaeologist was close enough to magically mend his wounds, Tyst was bent and quivering, his muscles rippling in odd ways beneath his cloak. When he stood up, nearly twice the size he’d been, the cloak fell away and revealed a hirsute, nightmarish visage. Monica stood eye to eye with a werebadger!

Tyst, fully transformed, let out a snarling roar that Mwangi natives such as Kor’lec and Nemanji knew belonged to one of the jungle’s most tenacious predators. Even Kai appeared ready to bolt in fear as Tyst ripped apart the funguana with claws capable of burrowing into rock. Tyst pointed a claw at one of the fungal pygmies who’d shot him, as if to say "you’re next." In an instant, the lycanthrope was bounding over and up onto the tree to get to his prey.

The rest of the party regrouped, recovered themselves and stormed up onto the beach after him. Monica was close behind, bravely running past and over a carpet of undulating mold without thought to what it might do to her, “I guess we know its safe now.” Its sacrifice no longer required, Kish freed the poor goat whom would have thanked the gods if it could.

Kor’lec had that morning communed with the elements to bestow upon him gifts of flame for the day, and was crestfallen to discover none of the fungi, ambulatory or otherwise, were much harmed by fire. Dornas wasn’t surprised, having deduced that the entire biome here was of extraplanar origin, Abyssal, specifically. Once that was communicated to Nemanji, the tiefling tried asking the fungal pygmies in the Abyssal tongue, “why are you trying to kill us?” as if the infinite conflicts between the Abyss’s denizens weren’t worlds more slaughterous.

With a booming report from a barrel of her pistol, Monica turned one of the vegetable beings into a fine mist. “He won’t truffle anyone again!” Tyst likewise dispatched the pair who struck him with extreme prejudice. But the small victories against the eerily silent beings, who were resilient for their size, only emphasized the difficulties to come. There were at least 8 to 10 more, in the swaying fungal trees and along the cliff. And they were in no hurry to die, either, wisely falling back up the cliff to find cover and regroup. The party had yet to face an enemy so tactically prepared, and it occurred to them that the Thrunefangs and Ieana would be even more so.

And then a boulder rolled down the gulley right through them…

Except for Kish, who decided to stay out of the battle. She was poking around in a particularly big swathe of grey mold. It felt like a greasy sponge. Something out of place caught her eye within it. The psion dug it out with her staff. She was shocked to find Aerys‘s tricorn hat. Searching and prodding revealed one of Sashas’s blades, or rather shards of a broken kukri, its minor enchantment fading. Last, one of Gelik’s extravagantly pointy boots was uncovered.

All of this would have been puzzling enough, and perhaps troubling, had any believed their friends capable of reaching the grey isle before themselves, unnoticed. The only problem was Gelik’s boot, or rather, the gnome’s severed foot that was still in it.

Make sure everybody in your boat is rowing and not drilling holes when you’re not looking. Know your circle.

The Castaways finished up their morning making preparations for an extended hike along the coast of Smuggler’s Shiv’s great lagoon. Kishtari noticed Pezock perched on a rock, longingly looking out to sea. Before they were joined by the rest, the kalashtar and the tengu chatted alone, and Pezock showed her vague, luminescent faces in the surf. As the ghostly figures vanished in the light of the sunrise, Pezock said he spoke to them sometimes, but couldn't decide if the phantasma really answered him back.

In a moment of lucidity, the avian admitted that he was conflicted about joining up with the heroes, though he was reminded that the Castaways were not unanimously in favor of it anyway. Pezock asserted that the beach had been his home for at least a decade, and he’d hate to leave behind the friends he’s made, even if they are just ghosts and shellfish.

When asked what he could contribute to the party, the unhinged bird-man unsheathed his magic saw-tooth saber and demonstrated his skill with a splendid sword dance. "I wouldn’t mind using this on the Thrunefangs, " declared the tengu, “they ate my friends and left me with no one to talk to!”

Unfortunately, the heroes could not reach a consensus on whether or not to let Pezock join them on their adventures – though they probably knew more about him and his abilities than they knew about one another.

“Rats off to Ya!”

Leaving poor, crazy Pezock at home, the Castaways made their way west. Kish cautiously mentioned the surf ghosts and Kor’lec nonchalantly informed her that he already knew about them. The psion was curious as to why he never discussed them, and whether or not they constituted a threat. Dornas answered that the druid had reported their presence to him, and no, they didn’t seem to be dangerous. Kish let slide what might have been an oversight on the two men’s part, but was unsettled by the possibility that they were deliberately keeping things from her.

Rounding the lagoons’s corner to turn south, the heroes took note of the two islets further north. They were reachable, at low tide at least, via rocks and reefs that poked out from the sea. To the far north was the foreboding “isle of never going there” whose purple-gray overgrowth contrasted significantly with the lush greenery of the rest of the Shiv.

After a mile or two south, the sandy beach began to break up into an upward incline of jagged stones, and that’s when the signs of some sort of predator gave the travelers pause. Giant pouched rats, a vicious Mwangi rodent about the size of a jackal, prowled the area. Though they hoped to meet the threat on their own terms, the party were too late to avoid the starving muridae before they began to poke their sniffing snouts out from their hiding places in the cracks and crevasses of the rocky shoreline.

Six of the animals revealed themselves and bared their filthy brown tusks before charging the heroes, deftly skipping across the jagged stones. What were barely a challenge to most nascent adventuring parties proved more formidable to the Castaways than expected, as Monica and Kor’ec were subjected to brutal bites. Dornas finally demonstrated his developing mastery of martial magicry, vaulting over the rats to vanquish a few with an ice spell levied via a smack of his staff. Nemanji was impressed, and perhaps a little jealous, to see a teammate approach his level in the art of bloodshed, but there were more than enough rodents for everyone.

When the last of the creatures was splattered across the shoals, Likki leapt out of Nemanji’s creel with a fork in hand. It was second breakfast! and there was good eating all over the place.

Sink or Swim

Finally giving in to Monica’s repeated appeals to explore some of the more intact shipwrecks surrounding the island, the party spotted a promising candidate in relatively calm waters barely a hundred feet off shore. The Castaways waded out, but at about thirty feet from the shoreline, the woeful realization sunk in that not all of them took to the water like ducks, and a few were as stones.

Monica and Kish struggled in vain, then failed, to keep their heads above water as the shelf dropped away from their tiptoes. The others only noticed that they were missing when they were almost to the shipwreck. Dornas turned back and scooped up Monica before looking for Kish. Panic started to creep in as the psion was nowhere to be found, and Dornas couldn’t trust Monica to tread water on her own. With every passing microsecond, it seemed more likely that Kishtari had been swept away by the undertow. The best anyone could hope for was a miracle – or that the telepath would reach out for rescue with her mind.

It seemed as if their adventure had taken a turn for the worst, when it suddenly got a lot worse.

Those bitten by the rats a bit earlier hadn’t thought their injuries too big of a deal, until their blood in the water attracted a trio of blue requiem sharks. Perhaps it was fortunate that Kor’lec had swum furthest out, for the hungry threesome were momentarily distracted by the druid’s attempt to talk things out with them. The sharks were not too interested in conversation, however, and while it was always difficult to translate an animal’s thoughts to words, theirs were quite plain: “blood”, “blood” and “eat”.

Kishtari continued to sink and drift out to sea, and when she detected the sharks, casually focused her mind in their direction. One of them fell into shark-sleep but the other two remained pretty stoked to eat Kish and Monica, who were, to them, indistinguishable from seriously injured turtles.

Two things happened to prevent any of our heroes from dying in such an ignominious and random manner. Kor’lec had made it back to shore and had tossed out several rat carcasses – the ones Likki hadn’t previously gorged himself to a coma on – into the lagoon. The sharks seemed okay with the offering, even though they had to wait for the undertow to make up for Kor’lec’s mediocre throw. The other was Nemanji’s red-demon ape-hand reaching to a drowning Kish and saving the woman who nearly cost him his own life just the other day.

Though the shipwreck and whatever treasures it might have held remained beyond their reach, the Castaways found something far more valuable: their lives, and a better understanding of each others’ limits.

The Spirit of the Hill

By mid-afternoon, the adventurers reached the hillock that they knew to be the home of whom Pollock called “the spirit of the island.” The gentle slope was not a rough climb, and at the apex of the rise the Castaways were greeted by the site of a circle of trees, several small baobabs encircling one large and very old baobab. The striking tableau called to mind worshipers kneeling in supplication. Cautiously the Castaways approached, and the bark patterns of the largest tree morphed into the form of a captivating woman. The dryad emerged and strode toward the explorers with a purposeful, but friendly gait.

"I am Aycenia," said the fey in perfect Taldane, “and you I know, priest of the Green,” addressing Kor’lec directly. After introductions were made, the dryad hinted at the information and benefits she proffered, though these were, she admitted, exaggerated by her messenger. She knew or could find out information from the land itself, and possessed magic that could restore power to Kor’lec’s reincarnation amulet. She could heal wounds and ailments, and most importantly, her hill was a safe place, avoided by the cannibals camped to the south.

Apparently none of this was particularly appealing to the Castaways, save Kor’lec. Though they tentatively agreed to her quest to remove the gray blight from the oft-mentioned “isle of never going there,” Nemanji in particular started interrogating Aycenia and bargaining for more immediate favors. When the dryad’s answers were not satisfactory to the demon-spawn, he became agitated and disrespectful. Soon some of the others joined in to make light of Aycenia’s plight. The dryad simply turned her back and returned to her tree. Kor’lec was silently livid.

The party, all feeling less-than-welcome, left the hill as Pollock suddenly appeared just to sardonically applaud their diplomatic “expertise.” “She is a dryad,” he explained, mockingly, “and very old. She expects her appearances to carry a little gravitas.”

After a bout of mindful meditation at Aycenia’s tree, Kor’lec caught up with the others at the bottom of the hill. Nemanji and he argued about how the scene played out. The barbarian admitted that she rubbed him the wrong way and didn’t trust her. “I would cut down her tree!” boasted the tiefling, and it seemed very likely that he would given half the chance.

It dawned on Kor’lec that Aycenia might have been just as reticent, for good reason; perhaps bringing an axe-wielding demon to a nature spirit’s sacred grove didn’t make the best impression.

The Isle of Totally Going There

Having agreed among themselves to complete the dryad’s quest, the heroes headed back northwest. They crossed from the main of the Shiv over a bridge of jagged stones, then the sparsely-vegetated islet preceding their destination. It was getting dark, and the tide had risen above the kelp-covered rubble connecting the two islets. Even in the gloaming dusk, the alien landscape of the furthest isle was ominously apparent. A gray carpet of mold and towering dull-purple fungal stalks were seen to writhe against the wind, giving the impression of clutching talons clawing their way out of leaden soup. Likki reported “guys” moving about in the shadows of the purplish stalks. Monica explained her feelings that the vegetation of the gray island was most certainly alien, and resembled some of the corrupted fungi found deep in the Darklands. “There has to be a living source,” she said, “remove it, and the place will return to normal in time.”

The Castaways decided not to attempt the crossing until sunrise, and made camp on the first isle in view of the morrow’s adventure. As the party began to bed down, a flapping sound was noticed above the crash of the shore. The night was dark, the stars only revealed themselves in flashes beyond the gaps in the clouds. But the intermittent starlight was enough to reveal the approaching flier as it grew from a dot above the horizon to a familiar silhouette. The Red Mountain Devil was coming, and it was carrying something large and oblong in its taloned feet.

Nemanji instantly kipped up from slumber and had an arrow ready to fly. Despite the impossible distance and breakneck speed of his target, the tiefling hunter squinted and released the bowstring. With a resounding twang the projectile soared hundreds of feet toward the approaching beast – and struck true! The bundle it carried dropped as the winged chupacabra rolled into a spin, its spine-tingling screech piercing the gloom of night. The Devil’s howls betrayed the fact that the wound Nemanji’s crack marksmanship delivered to it was no small one – the beast was vulnerable, killable.

The chupacabra regained itself, turned in the opposite direction and vanished above the cloud cover as its package rolled on the rocky islet’s surface. When it came to a stop at the heroes’ feet, the challenge the Red Mountain Devil posed became certain. The Castaways had sent the monster a warning, but received one in turn. For the object the winged beast dropped was an animal’s freshly-decapitated head, wrenched free from the body of a very familiar bull dimetrodon.

(You) butcher them! What sort of people are you that you wake up in the morning and think, ‘this is what I’m going to do?’ Why’d you do it? … I have seen things you would never believe, and this is the only thing I can’t understand.
Cos it made me happy.

After she glared stupidly in their direction and made a sepulchral moan, the Castaways realized that the undead woman hadn’t truly made them at all. She just shuffled her feet and turned back to the ocean. The adventurers stealthily approached the creature, circumventing the makeshift barrier that partially surrounded her campsite. The old encampment was clearly not kept up, its shelters were scantily camouflaged by sun-bleached palm leaves. Nemanji was able to creep right up next to the woman – who continued to gaze forlornly out to sea. The zombie finally reacted after Monica vaulted over the barrier with one of her barbarian teammate’s over-sized spears. The zombie exhaled a haunting wail as the archaeologist landed in the sand with her double-barrel pistol drawn. Dornas maneuvered to the barrier and shot the cadaverous woman with a ray of magical cold that flash-froze the tropical plant animating her. As the frosted fronds fractured and fell off the woman’s body, she slowly turned to meet Nemanji’s greataxe while he cleaved her in twain, head to nethers.

The woman, rather, half of her, silently mouthed “thank you” as the vines possessing her shriveled up and died. “You’re welcome,” answered Nemanji proudly, glad for a victim that appreciated his caliber for killing them.

The Castaways did not find much of interest at the camp. Kor’lec surmised that there were two humans living here, and that it was about six months old. The fire-pit had been cold for weeks. The supplies were meager and rotted, not worth scavenging. Near the camp, a mound of packed sand topped with a simple cairn resembled a grave. Had the woman actually wailed toward that grave before the Castaways attacked? A note found in the tent told some of the unfortunate tale.

The man had gone into the jungle, the woman, perhaps a wife? became a yellow musk zombie, but it didn’t say who the couple buried. Unearthing the grave, the Castaways were mortified to find a human child’s skeleton (with no treasure). They reburied the remains while Kor’lec laid some hardy beach plant seedlings atop them.

Cannibal Ambush

Kor’lec had found faint traces of the second camp survivor’s trail south into the forest, though there was also a man-made inroad leading southwest – the very same path the heroes had spotted days ago from atop Black Widow Bluff.

Deciding that the path was likely trod by the cannibal Thrunefangs, and having no interest in tracking down the hideous plant that infected the woman (whose remains were left to decompose on the beach) the party chose instead to blaze inland through the bush. Their path put them on a gradual ascent and – as they made their way southwest – dozens of feet above the cannibal trail that they tried to keep in sight. Dornas was the first to spot a bent treetop near the cliff edge with a rope trailing down to the trail – a snare to be sure. The trap was set to fling its victim up against the cliffside, where sharpened stakes were placed. Proceeding with all caution, the group soon noticed several spikey snare traps along the cliff’s edge, set up every few hundred feet. Clearly, the trap-setters assumed that quarry would utilize the conveniently placed road. They might have been right most of the time, but our heroes were more clever than that.

Reaching the near apex of the drumlin, the Castaways came upon a party of Thrunefangs crouching at the cliff’s precipice. The four human males were tanned and weathered but of marked Avistani descent, covered in scars and tattoos with Infernal motifs. The heroes hid in the brush and remained unnoticed behind the barbarians, who kept vigil over the valley. At this point, the road was over a hundred feet down. The Thrunefangs talked among themselves in hickish, barely comprehensible Taldane, and the heroes saw that they possessed jagged pointy teeth; filed or someways modified.

Because they’d been burnt before on taking the monkey goblins’ word about their neighbors, the Castaways felt that the Thrunefangs could maybe be reasoned with. Likki simply shrugged as if to sing “I warn you.” Nevertheless, caution was called for. The party decided Nemanji, Likki, Monica, and Kishtari would break cover and approach with weapons ready, but peacefully, while Dornas, Kor’lec and Kai maneuvered around to flank, hidden in the overgrowth.

As they approached, Kish telepathically glanced over the barbarians’ minds. What she saw sickened her.

The savages’ thoughts were racing with rapacious anticipation… looking for the Castaways… specifically … tearing open bellies… stuffing raw, hot intestines into their fanged mouths… cracking skulls and scooping out the naked brains to slake their macabre hunger… chewing away limbs while leaving their victims alive to watch and to be sacrificed on pentagrams of gore…

Kish’s sight saw the Thrunefangs’ ghastly desires without filter, and she nearly choked on their unadulterated depravity. The psion barely managed to stop her companions before their cover was blown. “We need to change plans,” she whispered. “They are hunting us.”

“How?” someone asked. Though reluctant, Kishtari cast her mind out like a net over the cannibals’ thoughts once again, hoping to catch a clue as to how the Thrunefangs knew them. The answer was unsurprising, but no less discomfiting. Ieana! The wicked woman had infiltrated the tribe and was now directing them to hunt her pursuers. She somehow had described the Castaways in every detail. Kish also seized upon a ghoulish image of a “Grandmother” or “Mama Thrunefang” that the cannibals idolized and made blood sacrifices to – a hairless, pallid, subterranean crone with ichorous claws and teeth, and hands with long, webbed fingers.

The Castaways had little time to deliberate, but they didn’t need it to unanimously agree upon a new plan:
Kill. Them. All.

Kishtari’s psionic net tightened into a vice and lulled three of the cannibals to sopor, while the last turned to face his enemies just as Monica enchanted him. The adventurers quietly dispatched the sleeping Thrunefangs while Monica distracted her new buddy. She asked about Ieana. The barbarian answered in chawbacon Common: “She come as one of us. Now she sleep in tower wit ’da Chief.” Monica asked him to clarify if Ieana seemed to shapeshift. The man-eater answered affirmatively. The archaeologist then inquired if he’d ever seen a pistol before. “No,” he answered.

“Take a look down the barrel,” requested Monica, innocently. When the idiot savage did, she pulled the trigger. Half of the cannibal’s face flew off in a red mist. Though alive he remained, Nemanji came up with his magic axe to carve a neat wedge out of Thrunefang’s back as if he were a wheel of cheese. Dornas conjured a brilliant light that stupefied the cannibal and stymied any attempt of his to retaliate, and Monica blasted him with her pistol’s second barrel. Another mighty axe swipe from Nemanji sent the hunter to the Hells where he belonged.

Crab Shack

Monica finally voiced her suspicions that Ieana was a serpentfolk. “And not one of the degenerate kinds you see today,” she explained, “one of the ancient intelligent ones from mythology.” The archaeologist listed some of the abilities they knew Ieana had demonstrated such as mind control and shapeshifting; abilities ascribed to the serpent lords of yore. Her teammates considered the possibility, but ultimately it seamed highly unlikely to them. The “advanced” serpentfolk who supposedly had an empire in prehistoric times were long-extinct. Only their deformed, animal-like descendants remained, slithering about in small, subterranean nests.

To send a message to Ieana, the Castaways strung their dead foes up in the very snares meant to trap them. When this chore was finished, the group headed northward along the trail back toward the beach. They discovered an old campsite and strewn weapons. Few were serviceable, having been on the beach for some years, but some were intact sawtooth sabers. Monica pointed out that these were the signature weapons of the Red Mantis cult.

As they rooted around in the sand for salvage, the heroes were halted by the sight to the northwest of an enormous horseshoe crab.

The thing was the size of a house!

But it was motionless, so the party assumed it was no longer alive. Thinking it might yield some useful building material, the group headed over to it, and were taken aback when it suddenly began scuttling in place and flailing its enormous claws. Is it a zombie crab, the heroes wondered? Despite the huge shellfish’s threatening display, it remained rooted in one spot. Was it stuck somehow?

The team crept closer along the beach, and when they got near, the crab began making outrageous sounds – squawking and screaming in a very un-crablike way. It also appeared to be tiring. Kor’lec noticed the creature’s limbs were animated not by necromancy, but by an elaborate system of ropes and pulleys. Several holes in the shell were patched by sailcloth and resin. Monica and Kishtari called out to whoever was pulling the strings of the giant puppet.

Though they were initially rebuffed, the crab shack’s occupant eventually poked his avian noggin out from the ratty curtain hung over the arthropod’s “mouth”. The creature, a tengu named Pezock, invited the Castaways into his shelter for dinner. He was stewing urchin and sculpin. Badly.

The crow-like humanoid was hospitable, but clearly unhinged by his years of isolation. The tengu possessed a magical sawtooth saber that hinted to a connection with the old Red Mantis campsite down the shore. Pezock didn’t hide it. He proudly declared that he was First Mate on a Red Mantis ship called the Crow’s Tooth – but this was likely a fantasy. Tengu were commonly recruited for ships as good-luck mascots. The cannibals seemed to have no interest in him, oddly enough, though they did kill and eat all his friends after their ship wrecked nearby. “Why worry about human cannibals? They eat humans! Though I bet I taste delicious…” declared the tengu.

When queried as to if the Thrunefangs had a ship, the tengu said no, much to the party’s consternation. Eventually, Pezock asked the party if they were with the two others he’d seen pass by a few days ago, and after being prompted, described Ieana and Kovack.

Mercy Cede

The Castaways decided to spend the approaching evening with Pezock. The poor guy was hurting for company and Monica regaled him with tales, somewhat embellished, of the Pathfinder Society and her own adventures as an archaeologist. Likki was growing anxious about his date tomorrow with destiny, the impending duel with the grig Pollock. “I’m no warrior,” admitted the monkey goblin, apologetically. The heroes let him know that they had plans for the fight.

Morning came, and the party revealed to Likki why they turned back to the beach – to provide the goblinoid with some semblance of an even playing field. Kor’lec checked the sands for any plantlife the fairy could animate and found nary a twig. Dornas had skillfully produced a new, smaller shaft to affix the magic spearhead that Cenkil had given Kish, so Likki would have a weapon that would make him the equal of a trained soldier. They reminded the little guy that he should not use fire, as grigs were well-known to have some pyromantic ability. The Castaways formed a circle around their beloved goblin teammate, and awaited his vengeful opponent.

Pollock finally revealed himself. Appeals for reason, angry words and subtle insults were exchanged between the party and the insufferable grig, but in the end, Pollock insisted on his retribution. Kor’lec said “fine. But this will be a fair fight.” The druid muttered an incantation and plastered the grig in illusory lights to ensure the fey’s natural invisibility would not be a factor in the duel. Pollock angrily flew upward and retorted, “I can wait it out,” but Kor’lec countered, “that would make you a coward.” Pollack scrunched his little face and agreed, “allright. I don’t need tricks to kill this goblin.”

The grig unsheathed a tiny rapier and raised a fist covered by a bladed gauntlet. Though his weapons were small, they were certainly capable of severing an artery – and Likki wasn’t that much bigger than his cricket-bodied foe. Pollock charged and zipped toward his ancestral enemy as the goblin stood his ground in anticipation of the end…

But by some miracle, the grig’s hate-filled flight came to a sudden, clumsy halt. Pollock crash-landed in the sand and somersaulted toward Likki in a tangle of humanoid and insectile limbs. Likki tried to jab the fey with his spear, but Pollock deftly rolled out of the way. Soon enough, the grig was on his six feet…

And then, out of nowhere, Pollock began having untimely, nightmarish flashbacks to his horrible childhood. The fey was helpless, but as Likki stabbed at him, it became obvious to the party that the goblin was not strong enough to pierce Pollock’s arcane flesh, even with a magical spear.

Nemanji had had enough. Breaking the circle, the tiefling brought his greataxe’s enchanted blade down upon the befuddled fey. Pollock’s resistance to everything except cold-forged iron saved him again. And that’s when everyone realized that Likki never, ever stood a chance at all. Kish ended the charade of a showdown and kayoed Pollock with her signature psionic sedative.

Everyone nodded the okay for Likki to finish off the acrimonious grig. The goblin approached ominously with his spear, chicken-winged Pollock, and held the business end to the fairy’s throat as he shook him awake. “I won’t stop,” threatened the roused fey. “I will,” countered Likki.

“This over. I no want to kill. I no want to die, either, but won’t fight you,” said the goblin. “We both have new lives. New chances! See so much new things. We lucky.”

Pollock considered the oracle’s words, and said “impressive. You must be quite a unique goblin to have gotten these people to fight for you.” Likki shook his head, mimicking his companions’ gesture for gentle disagreement. “No, just being old self,” shrugged the monkey goblin. Pollock admitted, with some reservation, that he was aware that no living Mongrukoo was responsible for the Black Widow Bluff massacre years ago. “We didn’t even know about you!” reminded Likki.

“You could… you know… join us,” offered Kor’lec. The grig pondered the druid’s offer, but said he currently served a new master. Pollock also admitted what Dornas first and always suspected, that the Spirit of the Island wanted to see them and her grig messenger’s conditions were his own. The Castaways gloated about knowing where her lair was all along. “But we’d appreciate the best way to reach it,” asked Kishtari. “I know the best way for me to get there,” quipped the ex-gremlin, who flew up and away over the canopy.

The little shit fairy was gone, Likki was grateful to be alive, and the Castaways considered their options for the day.

‘I fear thee, ancient Mariner!’
Be calm, thou Wedding-Guest!
’Twas not those souls that fled in pain,
Which to their corpses came again,
But a troop of spirits blessed

This very eerie edition of Age of Serpents began as many classic tales of thrilling adventure do, dusk approaching, the men out hunting and the girls at home on the Brine Demon developing their relationships – Monica‘s with Science! and Kishtari’s with wine…

In the nearby jungle, Kor’lec and Kai were left alone to face a very formidable-looking bull dimetrodon, who had just killed two previously formidable-looking monitor lizards over a goat’s corpse. Dornas had magically vanished and taken cover, while Nemanji hung motionless in the canopy, bow drawn.

But the brawny sail-backed beast simply guarded his kills and growled at the half-elf, either not recognizing Kor’lec as a threat or somehow aware that the druid meant him no harm. The carnivore’s passivity was refreshing, because just about everything else previously encountered on Smuggler’s Shiv was out for blood. After a few tense moments, Kor’lec backed away from the mammal-like reptile and left him to his dinner. Rendezvousing with his teammates, Kor’lec, Nemanji, and Dornas discussed the apex predator’s presence so close to their base camp. The druid was certain that he could procure the old sail-back as an ally, and was loathe to destroy a beast that he and Nemanji agreed could only be part of a very small population. Dornas didn’t think that the work involved gaining the creature’s trust was worth the effort, joking “I know it has a sail but not the kind we need to get off this island.” But when Kor’lec pointed out that the dimetrodon could prove an invaluable weapon against the Thrunefang cannibals, the magus consented the very cool possibilities.

Ghost Story

The sun was starting to set, and Kish was on the top deck drinking old wine and enjoying Aerys‘s Abendego Cantos, finding great inspiration in the narrative poem. Monica was working in a makeshift lab she had set up in the forecastle to reverse engineer the Mongrukoo ointment that protected the Shiv’s monkey goblins from disease. The rest were elsewhere around the area of the Brine Demon’s hulk.

Kish gulped down the last of the wine and noticed something strange at the bottom of the bottle, and it wasn’t sediment. Looking through the glass, it appeared as if a man were standing in front of her. Several sheets to the wind by this point, the kalashtar held the bottle in front of her eyes while trying to work out who her caller was. When she finally removed the bottle, whoever it was, or whatever it was, had disappeared. Kish was pretty sure it was the wine, but then she remembered the relentlessly deadly island she’d shipwrecked on. Kish braced herself and focused her psionic vision, and was disheartened to discover gauzy ephemeral strands floating about. Never a dull moment, it seemed. Kish picked up her lantern, thoughtfully put a weight on Aerys’s manuscript, and as the deck of the old scuttled hulk seemed to be rollicking on rough water, she carefully chose her steps to the lower deck.

Seconds later, Monica shared a similar glass-related encounter. The gun-slinging archaeologist’s sobriety served to shed a little more light on the intruder. The Taldan caught the reflection on one of her beakers of a tall man standing behind her – a man in mariner’s garb with a visage of death. The ghostly visitor reached up toward her… and one of his hands was a hook! “Aeshamara…” he moaned, then vanished as Monica stolidly turned to meet his gaze. The sharp-minded scholar had immediately deduced who the presence was, sensibly snuffed her burners, and went to find the others.

Monica soon caught Kishtari on the short stairwell leading down into the stern; the driest area of the Demon where most everyone had strung their hammocks. It was also where the Castaways discovered Captain Kinkarian’s remains. Few words were needed between the two adventurers, their expressions told the tale. There was a ghost, they were all in great danger, and it was time for action. Suddenly, a feminine screech tore through the deck from deeper back in the aft-castle. “Gelik”!! Monica cried.

The heroes soon came upon the gnome lying ghastly still, with much of his vibrancy and color blanched and dulled. Monica feared the worst as she took the little fellow in her arms. He was breathing, and Monica realized she hadn’t been since hearing Gelik cry out. The scholar only allowed herself a breath when her paramour began to whimper a bit. Sasha was standing nearby. “I had my back turned and the little guy said ‘look out!’ and shoved me so hard I landed on my face,” the teen ranger explained.

“I heard something groan something like ‘ash mama?’ Nobody gets the drop on me, but Gelik must have noticed something I didn’t, and when I got up and turned the light back on, he was like this! Oh, how brave of him! A brave gnome, who’d have guessed?” When asked if she saw anything else, Sasha predictably responded, "no, no the halfling is too well trained." Kish stumbled back out topside to find Jask. If they needed a miracle, only one nearby was specifically trained to work them.

Monica continued to cradle her wounded lover until she gathered herself, then gently set him down. Opening his blouse, the gnome’s chest bore the dissipating vestiges of a vicious hook-wound. Though the abrasion was merely ectoplasmic, the damage to the gnome’s soul was very real. With a bit of theatrical pretense that he probably couldn’t help, Gelik slowly blinked open his eyes and clutched Monica’s hand, “my dearest,” he said, and after a pause, “the ship… it is haunted!”

Dead Man’s Tale

The next scream heard was more of a shocked, raspy battle cry. The ghost, Captain Kinkarian, had found Aerys, who was, of course, a dead-ringer for the woman depicted in his gold locket.

Kish shone her lamp from the top deck out to the beach toward Jask, who was knee deep in the rising tide looking for crabs. Apparently he was making sure dinner would be served should the hunters come back empty handed. The besotted psion stammered out to him “ghost! Need help!” Jask misunderstood the words but the context was obvious. There was something strange, and it didn’t sound good.

The heroes rendezvoused and headed down to the mostly flooded hold of the battered brigantine, and discovered Aerys backing away from the insubstantial figure of Avret Kinkarian. The skeletal specter seemed spellbound by the half-elf, who had her ordinarily formidable fists raised in a defensive stance – but her hands couldn’t help her here. Kinkarian languidly floated toward the woman, his skeletal hand and hook reaching toward her. Aerys slowly withdrew backwards toward the wide break in the hulk that dropped into the lapping ocean. “My Aeshamara, you have come for me at last…” rejoiced the phantom pirate, his sepulchral voice tinged with hope and regret.

“The locket,” Monica exclaimed, “who has the gold locket?” The shrewd scholar was leading Gelik by the hand down the stairs. Kish was right beside them. The Taldan polymath knew that ghosts were shackled to the world of the living by memories and regrets; and like their living counterparts, associated their strongest feelings with objects. Monica, it seemed – and as usual – had worked it all out.

“I have it!” Kishtari exclaimed, but didn’t have time to give it to her teammate while she was throwing her lantern at the ghost. Which she did in response to… well, Kish was pretty drunk. His reverie broken, Kinkarian turned toward the heroes as his skeletal face morphed from passivity to hate and his eyes blazed with phantasmal flames. “Mutineers!” howled the undead captain. Then, to Aerys, he hissed, “you deceiver!”

The apparition raked his spectral hook across the half-elf’s throat. Aerys faltered backward, hands still raised uselessly like a cold-cocked pugilist, as streaks of white appeared in her indigo locks and wrinkles etched themselves across her face. "Someday, I will find a way to hurt you ", threatened the Shackles brawler.

Monica repeated, “the locket?” and when unacknowledged — again — tried to calm Kinkarian down. “The mutineers have been defeated my Captain!” But the ghost remained enraged as he turned his eyes on her. Gelik had been holding the archaeologist’s hand, kissed it, and let it drop. “Wish me luck!” he said, “tallyho!” and the gnome entered melee with the piratey presence. Muttering an incantation, his ink-stained fingers beamed aglow with golden positrons.

Thus it was Gelik who drew first blood against the Castaways’ spectral foe. After his hand passed through Kinkarian, the ghost moaned and seemed to bleed white. The gnome had cast a simple healing spell whose energy was antithetical to the undead. His second attempt to wound the presence was not successful, and neither was Monica’s attempt to do the same thing. Kinkarian was a swordsman in life who deftly dodged their attacks.

Kish was likewise having trouble nailing the undead pirate with crystal missiles manifested from her psyche, and finally acknowledged what Monica was trying to communicate about the locket. The psion dug the potential fetter from her pocket and tossed it to Aerys. The half-elf swallowed her rage and understood what she had to do as Kinkarian raised his hook to finish off Gelik.

“Avret,” she yelled, then gulped. “My love. Please stop.” The ghostly mariner turned and beheld the living facsimile of his lost love bearing the trinket that meant the worlds to him. “Aeshamara,” he said “it is you! At last.” Kinkarian reached toward Aerys with a look of euphoric joy. “I… am… so… sorry…” When his skeletal hand clasped upon the locket, the ghost’s form dispersed into millions of motes of twinkling light that drifted to the floor – and vanished. The Brine Demon was haunted no more.

The Usual Functional Discordance

Jask finally arrived in time to help Monica convey curative magics on Gelik and Aerys, which restored their youth and vigor. Sasha showed up to let everyone know her halfling stalker was nowhere outside. Finally, the trio of huntsmen arrived with a hard-fought handbasket of horned melons for dinner. Nobody would be getting scurvy on their watch! Everyone wearily debriefed everyone else, and consequently, everyone thought everyone else was kidding.

When it approached time to bed down, Aerys and Kish had yet another touching heart-to-heart that this time, devolved into an argument. Aerys said she wanted to gather up Kinkarian’s bones for a proper burial at sea, but still didn’t like the feel of the locket. She gave it to Kish while admitting her admiration for the adventurous kalashtar. Though Avret Kinkarian was likely on his way to join Besmara’s crew, Kish saw a trace of the felonious captain remained to protect the bearer of the locket. When the comfort level between the two women reached its tipping point, Aerys threw out an ambiguous intimate invitation to her new friend… that was not well-received. Both tried to salvage the moment while sniping at the other, and finally Aerys just threw her hands up and claimed she was kidding anyway. Kish shoved the Abendego Cantos back in the half-elf’s hand and curtly said “going to bed. It was really good.”

The rest of the night passed without incident, and despite the horrors everyone had encountered in the moments before nightfall, they all slept peacefully…

Morning arrived and the nine Castaways gathered on the tilted upper-deck where Jask had set up a makeshift table and chairs for breakfast. Aerys brought some water and comforting words to Kish, who was nursing a hangover. No hard feelings, assured the Shackles native. Aerys knew what it was like to misfire when one’s head was soaked in wine.

Kor’lec revealed to the group the presence of the grig Pollock and the little shit’s hate-on for Likki. The away team discussed all their options and reached a consensus to follow Ieana’s trail. She had too much a head start already on whatever it was she was after and needed to answer for her crimes. Then Likki arrived, exhausted from moving nearly non-stop through the trees to his village and back. He had a few more ointments, and a message summoning Kishtari on behalf of his brother Cenkil. The party consensus shattered into pieces. Though the pros and cons were considered for heading back to Mongrukoo territory for more gobliny intrigue, and while there, maybe going back up to Black Widow Bluff to use the Beast Stone to reach the alleged Spirit of the Island, or possibly even doing the Nightvoice quest… the Castaways eventually felt it was better to gain ground on the serpent priestess.

And so they were off.

First World Problems

On the trail, Nemanji brought up his ire with Kishtari, namely, the incident that nearly got him killed. Everyone started to argue the point when Likki intervened. The monkey goblin firmly but gently got everyone to see the issue from the others’ perspective. Kish (“future-sister,” Likki called her) wanted to preserve snakes, and if the team thought the psion had value, if they cared about her, they ought to make a token effort. Everyone saw the wisdom in the Mongrukoo shaman’s call for compromise, and finally even Nemanji agreed to try for Kish’s sake to avoid slaying their ophidian opponents – assuming they were innocent animals and there was some alternative. In return, there was a strict moratorium on Kish using her scary, swiftly-developing abilities on her teammates.

Touched by Likki’s concern for his newfound family, the Castaways started brainstorming schemes to safeguard him from Pollock. As if on cue, the ex-mite appeared hovering before them, breaking the fairy glamour that rendered him invisible. “Gah,” the grig said with his palm on his face, “so much ‘gah.’ You folks do get that I am owed my vengeance?” Nobody agreed. Except Likki.

“I will fight,” said the monkey goblin.

“What? No way!” said most everyone else, to variable degree.

Pollock had the biggest, smuggest grin. Someone asked him what his goddamn deal was. "The goblin murdered me in cold blood. You are all responsible for the death of my father and brothers, but killing the grandson of Grougak, and the most loved son of Basako, will give me satisfaction. If you want to meet the Spirit of the Island, my demands will be met." While he was talking, Kish subtly wove her mind into the fey’s consciousness.

“Where is this Spirit?” Kish asked. The grig stifled a laugh, “I’m not telling you that.” Yet he did in his mind, and Kish got a good impression of his flight path to the tree-covered hill where the Spirit dwelt. It wasn’t far out of their way, actually. However, Kish made the mistake of asking the fey for more information on the Klixarpillar grudge with the Mongrukoo, and was treated to a mnemonic montage of horrors: goblin raiders, led by a bloodthirsty Grougak, barging into the mite nursery, smashing and spearing mitelings, and killing the creche-mother just after she managed to stuff six of the mite kids – and an invisibility decanter that the Castaways now had – into an escape tunnel.

Though it hadn’t been a quarter hour since the moratorium on Kish using her powers on her teammates, she linked her mind with Kor’lec’s solely to communicate what she knew. Despite the fact that she apologized – profusely – and insisted the power she was using to speak telepathically was incapable of delving into surface thoughts, the druid resented the mental intrusion — and rebuked the psion for it. In any case, the information the kalashtar conveyed was revealing to the druid. The mighty baobab tree ringed by smaller counterparts on the hill said it all to Kor’lec: dryad.

Likki interrupted the circular arguments persisting between the grig and the Castaways. “I will fight,” he repeated. “Good,” said Pollock with a coprophagous grin, “the goblin dies next dawn.” The fey vanished.

Thus started the arguments, Dornas and Monica admonished “you’d be throwing your life away.” “We have what we need from him,” Kish pointed out. Several others were familiar with the magical abilities of grigs, and Likki’s tendency to use a torch as a melee weapon, “he’ll turn flame against you!” it was argued. Though the Castaways made short work of them, Nemanji did note that the mites were in fact well-trained soldiers. “I will not stop you. But. If he has retained his skills, you can not match him,” testified the tiefling. Everyone presumed that despite the difference in size, the grig fighter would trounce the goblin oracle in a duel.

“None of that matters,” answered the monkey goblin, with the same gravitas that helped the away team come to terms on their issues earlier. “One of Likki’s wives with child now. Child no have coward for father.”

He continued, with a downcast mien, “Likki kill when enemy helpless. Make Likki happy at time.”

Monica was affected by the goblinoid’s words, and perhaps academically intrigued by polemic socio-philosophic ideas concerning “evil humanoids” like goblins. “Do you feel guilty about that? Do you feel it was wrong?” Likki admitted that he wasn’t sure, that the few days he’d been among the Castaways had made him see things differently. He was clearly pulled and torn by doing right by his family, his tribe, and his new friends – and indeed the Castaways were certainly friends to be as invested in his survival as they showed in those moments. Even ever-pragmatic Dornas offered, “nobody is going to stop you, but there is no need to indulge that fey. We need you.”

Likki tugged his ears in aching aggravation and climbed into the wicker creel on Nemanji’s back. “Need think. Sun bright.”

The Bloody Doll

Ieana’s trail led to a stretch of bouldery beach on the Shiv’s inner lagoon. The beach was infested with rock crabs, a few dangerously large. Though these crustaceans were normally difficult to spot amid the natural stones and plinths, the Castaways sussed them out with ease. With but a few moments teamwork, the explorers rigged a trap to lure a particularly large specimen to its doom. The animal was quickly butchered for eating later, and the heroes proceeded along the beach. When the shore started to rise to a cliff, the group immediately spotted the remnants of a camp – a partially-collapsed hut and long snuffed campfire. Kor’lec scouted ahead. Standing there, staring hopelessly out to sea, was a woman in a fancy, but tattered dress. The druid and his dinosaur companion inched closer, as the rest of the party carefully made their way behind him.

The woman turned away from the sea and vacantly looked toward the heroes’ direction. Writhing green vines bearing yellow buds permeated the woman’s flesh and orifices. It seemed there was no end to the Shiv’s twisted perversions of nature.

Don’t pick the prickly pear by the paw
When you pick a pear try to use the claw

We temporarily hearken back to the previous evening, to a slumbering Kor’lec, whose rest was disturbed by the sensation of something crawling upon his chest. The druid awakened and somehow managed to be less-than-alarmed by the presence of a kitten-sized, arachnid silhouette there. Even more impressively, he remained nonplussed after making out that his nocturnal intruder possessed the upper body of a blue-skinned fey, but from the waist down was a cave cricket.

The tauric fairy probably thought his appearance would pack more dramatic wallop. The disappointment made the intruder impertinent, and he impatiently demanded food in the form of biscuits and honey before relating his story – though Kor’lec forced him to settle for some trail rations of nuts and dried prunes.

Pollock was the creature’s name, recently reincarnated into a grig – and he was not happy. He used to be a mite, the fairy mulishly explained, the last of the Klixarpillar, and had had his brains splattered to slop by Likki. “Remember me NOW?” challenged the fairy. “You. Were. Right. There.” Thanks to Kor’lec, though, or rather the druid’s long-thought-ornamental tribal amulet, Pollock was brought back to life in a new form. Turns out, the old trinket was fashioned to give new life to the dead and had a trace of juice left in it. Rather than be thankful, however, the rude little creature lambasted the half-elf and the Castaways for letting him die.

“What do you want?” asked Kor’lec. Though the druid felt some responsibility for helping the Mongrukoo goblins exterminate their traditional foes, his patience had thinned to a hair’s breadth.

“Two things. The vengeance I was raised for, first and foremost, for my adopted father and brothers. The Mongrukoo you travel with, my killer, must die. If I am satisfied, I am to lead you to the Spirit of the Island, who would like to speak with you.” The fairy revealed that the Spirit, whoever she was, suffered under the curse afflicting the island and sensed in Kor’lec someone who could avail her. After relating his terms, the grig fluttered upward and vanished. “I’ll be watching,” he warned.

Kor’lec brooded, and later, his friends would fail to snap him out of his contemplation. But the druid’s feet were as one with the brush that blanketed the isle, and would not be far behind.

Woes Among Thorns

Later, Kor’lec and his faithful dinosaur friend Kai soon located the other Castaways just in time, as they were being engulfed by vines and roots at the side of a massive copse of viper nettles. Over their heads a wicker basket, precariously balanced in the branches of the canopy, was being shaken loose by all the whipping and writhing on the ground. Only the druid perceived the trap and the imminent danger to his companions. Lurking in the maze of brambles, camouflaged by its own thorny body, a wyrm-like beast lurked, only barely glimpsed moments before by Dornas. After animating the thickets, the creature withdrew from sight, in all likelihood relying on its defenses to weaken the trespassers. Kor’lec shouted a warning to his friends and emphasized his entrance by launching a spear at the basket. Alas, he missed.

The twig-woven bin tumbled free from the treetop and seemed to fall in slow motion as the heroes raised their heads. Nemanji made a mighty leap to catch it but was a split second too late. Kishtari attempted to psionically snatch or snap it away but in vain – it was too heavy. Dornas retreated from the lashing vines and the pending impact of the ominous falling object by floating up toward the canopy. The container finally landed on the soft earth with a thud and the lid popped off…

Meanwhile, Kor’lec focused his keen elf eyes into the copse and spied the sinister bramblewyrm! Wasting no time, the druid sniped the creature with a spell that outlined it with magical light. Brighter now than a torch in the gloom, the plant monster had no place to hide.

Snake Sin

Kish bent to peer into the darkness of the opened basket, but Nemanji sensed what was coming in enough time to wedge himself between the threat and his friend. Two deadly green mambas, anxious and starved, streamed hissing from the opening like rivulets of acid.

Nemanji was primed with his razor-honed greataxe – but a sharper glint in his eye. One of the serpents sprung at him, its venomous fangs bared wide, but the enraged tiefling sidestepped and rived the reptile from the hinge of its jaws to the tip of its tail. The demon-blooded barbarian turned to face its mate…

And that’s when Kishtari did the unthinkable.

Horrified to see the animals she considered most sacred to her slain, the kalashtar enveloped the remaining viper – and Nemanji – in a shroud of psionic slumber. Though her alleged intention might have been to tranquilize both combatants, only the tiefling collapsed on his cloven feet.

While Dornas alone had a clear view of Kish’s misconduct, the whole of Golarion seemed to hold its breath as the very-much-not-sleeping-serpent closed its jaws on the barbarian’s jugular.

Kick Against the Pricks

Little Kai cornered the very confused, glowing plant-creature in the berry-laden center of the nettle patch. As the natural briars parted to make way for his passage, Kor’lec was quick on his companion’s clawed heels, while Monica deftly maneuvered through the maze of thorns to come within close range of her two-barreled gun. The bramblewyrm desperately tore into the velociraptor with its barbed talons and horns, but claw for claw, it was no match for its animal counterpart. Kai unraveled the vegetal dragon like a cat assailing a skein of yarn. An ear-shattering report signaled the explosion of hot lead from Monica’s pistol, and the near-end of the bramblewym, as the bullet blew it to barest twigs.

Kor’lec had had enough of this latest example of the Shiv’s perversions of nature. The druid placed his clenched hand in the midst of the bramblewyrm’s battered frame and let drop a fistful of seeds; these suddenly sprouted into a blooming cluster of parasitic greenery that completely assimilated their ambulatory host – to the very last sprig, nutrient, and droplet of moisture…

No Antidote for Doubt

The serpent had only just missed the vital vein on the tiefling’s neck. Nemanji was jarred awake by the pain, sprang to his feet and stared daggers… nay, Nemanji stared vorpal broadswords at Kishtari. He didn’t take those intense hunter’s eyes off of her as he dropped his axe’s head on the mamba like a Galtan guillotine. With the blade, the pissed-off barbarian scooped up the still squirming, blood-spouting halves of snake and flicked them off toward his old friend. Kish just stood there mortified. Then Nemanji realized that the deadly poison was already starting to shut down his musculature while the area around and inside his hideous neck wound was swelling like a balloon.

But Kor’lec was there once again to save the world, at least, the world as it pertained to the Angazhani savage. Opening his medical bag to an assortment of salves, siphons, and leaches; the druid expertly extracted most of the venom with a combination of tribal witch-doctoring, chirurgery, and old-fashioned intuition. Nemanji expelled the rest from his sweat glands through sheer macho determination. It was the first time anyone had seen the tiefling sweat.

After the dust had settled, Nemanji ascended to the trees alone, looking for more snakes to kill. Monica bagged the mambas’ remains to weaponize their venom, and extracted one of the bramblewyrm’s natural armaments: a thorny whip she knew she could preserve with her alchemical expertise. Kor’lec gathered the viper nettle berries for Aerys, then a glint from another section of the patch caught his eye – the draconic plant-creature had collected a modest treasure horde.

Kishtari tried to bluff, then excuse, and finally admit her deed – that being, deliberately sedating Nemanji – when Dornas, expert on the workings of spell- and psi-craft alike, put the screws to her. The magus reminded her that they were in pursuit of a murderous snake cultist. They would almost certainly be facing the dangerous reptiles again. Would Kishtari be a liability? The psion couldn’t give a concrete answer, and the troubling uncertainty of her loyalties persisted.

While returning to the Brine Demon, Kor’lec pulled Dornas aside to talk about the previous night’s visitor. But as is often the case, the conversation did not remain private for long. Likki had already been dispatched back to Mongrukoo territory with some of the tribal trinkets and treasure in the hopes of procuring more disease-preventative ointments from his people — though he might have been touched to know how the conversation played out. Dornas was sure the grig was hiding something or overstepping his role as middleman between this “Spirit of the Land” and the druid. Everyone else agreed that while the Spirit could prove to be a valuable ally, nobody wanted to see anything bad happen to Likki.

Never Split the Party

Later that evening, Kor’lec, Kai, Nemanji, and Dornas decided to go hunting for some meat that wasn’t scraped out of a tidepool. Jask appreciated the night off. Monica worked on alchemy stuff.

Kishtari found a quiet place on the ship and pondered current events with her psicrystal and an old bottle of plum wine she’d picked from the wyrm’s horde as company. Aerys eventually joined her, but the recovering alcoholic passed on a swig from the bottle. The nettle fruits were doing their job, it seemed. Aerys thanked the woman who was becoming her friend for putting her life on the line just to help cure a surly sot like herself.

“You say it was nothing, but it means everything,” said the pirate. Aerys put her manuscript, the Abendego Cantos, in Kishtari’s hands and invited her to look the draft over. "It’s life at sea, pirate adventures… but it’s also about my love for a Sargavan barge captain that I met in Port Peril." Aerys explained that Kassata LeWynn and she were partners-in-love and partners-in-crime (literally) before Aerys’s excessive drinking drove the Riverman back to Sargava. Aerys still pined and hoped the Cantos, dedicated to her lost lover, would win her another chance. But she also knew that the poems were nothing next to sobriety, and that she had Kish and her friends to thank for it.

Kish was moved. Aerys left her with the manuscript, and the kalashtar soon found herself captivated by the inspiring verses of danger, triumph, will, adventure, and love on the high seas.

Meanwhile, Dornas, Nemanji, and Kor’lec had been tracking a small herd of goats through the jungle. They came upon their quarry too late, a pair of big monitor lizards beat them to it. The reptiles were too engrossed in their meal, but the hunters sensed a bigger threat immediately.

A bull dimetrodon, about 15 feet long from snout to the base of its tail, charged from the brush and snapped up the first lizard in its jaws, killing it instantly. The second monitor turned to make a break for it, but it too was chomped on and slain. Dornas vanished, and Nemanji took cover in the canopy, leaving Kor’lec and the great sailback eye to eye.

If everyone is moving forward together, then success takes care of itself.

By the following afternoon, the castaways had managed to move their camp into the cramped, listing remains of the Brine Demon. Though only the aft upper deck, captain’s cabin and parts of the officer’s mess remained dry, strung cots ensured a level of comfort they lacked in the old seaside abri. It was more secure, too. The point was made that the undead had been unmolested by the Shiv’s denizens for nearly a decade and weren’t likely to be trifled with now. The protection afforded by the new digs likewise allowed the weary away team time to train and hone their developing skills.

The riches discovered on the wreck forced the issue of divvying up all the loot accrued thus far on the accursed island. While no one was loopy enough yet to pretend that there were places around to spend their wealth, it seemed reasonable to pass the time waiting for Jask and Kor’lec to complete their treatment of Dornas’s leg by sussing out who got what. Naturally, Aerys made a case for burying the majority of it, and explained that whomever their rescuers turned out to be would probably want a sizable cut of (and be willing to kill for) the impossible-to-hide loot. Though everyone agreed that the pirate kinda had a point, when pressed Aerys did admit that, yes, she’d really always wanted to bury treasure and make a map.

With half of the coins, unwanted arms, and junk salvage to be buried and retrieved at a later date, everyone agreed that the remainder of the treasure should be divided as diplomatically as possible. Armaments went to those who could make best use of them, while coins and jewels were allocated more or less evenly – or rather, sort of evenly because Kish had called dibs earlier on a fat aquamarine when nobody else was around. Likki seemed surprised and moved to be given an equal share, too, though the notion that the goblin was truly an equal teammate didn’t exactly sit well with everyone.

After most everyone was settled, but before deciding the day’s course of action, it was time to hash out some pressing concerns.

Independent Lady

Kish pulled Aerys aside, and after a little bit of small talk, showed the tough-talking pirate the locket the strike team had discovered in the small safe Captain Kinkarian ‘s skeleton had been clutching in death. Aerys thanked the kalashtar for the gift and commented on the gold pendant’s value. When prodded to open it, Kish was aghast when Aerys barely looked at the picture inside before shaking it out to the floor!

“Don’t you think that’s you?” Kish asked. “Nah, looks nothing like me,” replied Aerys, piqued. When pressed, the half-elven brawler admitted that maybe the image looked something like her, but she had no idea why. “I don’t know this Kinkarian,” Aerys huffed, “okay, maybe I do, by reputation. A Shackles captain. Hello, what’s this!” Aerys studied the engraving with her keen elven eyes. “The inscription says ‘To My Aeshemara.’” Aerys claimed she’d never gone by another name and wouldn’t be caught dead in “poofy” lace like the pictured woman. The pirate-poet replaced the tiny portrait in the locket, clasped it shut, and handed it back to Kish. “I suddenly don’t like the feel of the thing.”

Not quite satisfied, Kish continued to pry, but not out loud. Having recently developed the ability to pick up surface thoughts, Kish turned her psionic attentions toward Aerys. The surly salt was indeed being coy yet truthful – Aerys was confounded as to who her lookalike might be and what this woman’s relationship was to this old dead pirate. Kish opted not to turn her fun, newfound ability off when Nemanji abruptly horned his way into the scene.

The hulking tiefling had heard that Aerys was looking for him. The half-elf admitted that, as someone who did her best work with her fists, she had little use for her composite shortbow and felt it would better serve the jungle barbarian. Nemanji graciously accepted the gift, and took the stringy little scrapper in his big ape arms for a mighty embrace. Both parties survived the hug without (much) bruising or broken bones – which spoke volumes for how close this rag-tag bunch of misfits had become since the sinking of the Jenivere.

Nemanji however, reproached Kish after feeling the subtle ping in his savage brain that betrayed his friend’s mental intrusion. The telepath promised not to do it again, but couldn’t help but eavesdrop on Gelik’s stray thoughts when these clamored in from the next room…

Suspicious Minds

Gelik and Monica were enjoying a romantic respite in the candlelit storeroom where the Brine Demon’s ill-gotten booty was secured. After sifting through the chest of gold, platinum and jewels, the gnome massaged his weary lover’s feet and amassed his not-inconsiderable charms before asking after the Nightvoice, the Pathfinder ship purportedly harboring the map to Lortch Quellig’s fabled buried treasure. Insisting that the treasure would make them legends in the Society and filthy rich besides, Gelik wondered what the Nine Hells the hold up was. “You went after Jask’s ship!” kvetched the gnome. “What sort of adventurers hate treasure‽”

Monica replied that she was already outvoted on the Nightvoice issue, because it was opposite the strike team’s exploration vector and probably located on the scary-looking “Island of Never Going There.” But the archaeologist was curious enough about the vessel to frame the suggestion to search for it differently at the next meeting.

“I just want the two of us to have a nice life together,” Gelik averred, whispering in the Taldan’s ear, “when we get out of here.”

“I need to tell you something,” answered Monica, after a pause. Monica revealed to her intimate friend her closest held secret: that she was born male and disowned by her noble family. Her body was magically transmuted to the sex she felt it should be via an expensive elixir. The revelation just excited the gnome, who seemed to explode with color and youth at every syllable of his lady friend’s tale. “You know my kind depends on new experiences for our immortality. Magic or not, you are every bit a woman to me. My woman.”

After a long kiss, Gelik’s eyes met Monica’s before his gaze wandered over to the hammocks in the adjoining room. Monica lifted the gnome up and leapt backward onto one of the hanging beds…

Preaching to the Fighter

“Might you spare a moment to speak of Nethys,” Jask asked of Dornas, who retained a slight limp that the magus compensated for with his staff. Dornas agreed, out of respect for his old Garundi friend, but with polite skepticism. The preacher, for his part, had thus far been generous with his prayers, his divine magic had provided the Shiv Castaways with fresh water, had kept their food stores from spoiling, and had healed their lacerations and bruises. Mending Dornas’s shattered leg was another matter. Jask felt strongly the god known as the All-Seeing Eye must have narrowed His gaze on the heroes of Smuggler’s Shiv.

Jask pointed out that Nethys, like Dornas, preferred the staff as a weapon. He explained that the god held the world’s salvation and destruction in either hand, and because the cleric saw much of Nethys in Dornas, he predicted that one day, the magus would face a similar choice. Dornas, however, was adamant in his unbelief, despite the power the so-called gods exhibited. His own spellcraft, the magus explained, came through rigorous study and precise ritualized exercise, not the caprice of some remote entity. Jask countered only by saying that all magic was a gift Nethys bequeathed to mortals, for His own reasons.

The aging cleric would not press the matter, but admitted his hope that Dornas’s inadvertent similarities to the god of magic might someday kindle interest. “For now,” Jask offered, “He has judged you fit to receive the mantras by which His initiates calm and focus their minds when working magic. I can never repay you and your friends for trusting and proving my innocence, for making me a free man. But I am honored to be the vessel of Nethys’s will, especially as it pertains to His stake in you.”

Dornas, unmoved by all the religious talk, nevertheless spent the next few hours practicing the mantras with Jask.

Hedged Out

After a lengthy discussion, the Shiv strike team agreed that their next move would put them on Ieana and Kovack’s trail. During the meeting, Monica once again tried to make a case on Gelik’s behalf to go after the Nightvoice, but was once again voted down. Dornas especially hated the idea of prioritizing treasure over the immediate goals of finding Ieana and escaping; so Monica introduced the dodgy notion that the Nightvoice might contain information pertaining to safely navigating away from the Shiv. That dog didn’t hunt.

Though there were still some fears that Ieana may be leading the group to a trap, Likki pointed out an old Mongrukoo saying: “When sailback steps on trap, only the sailback remains,” implying that the group were so totally bad-ass they needn’t worry about ambushes. Of course, the context here also meant that there was some kind of beast on the island the monkey goblins considered too large to trap, which engendered its own concern. The scholars of the group gestured and drew different animals, pressing Likki to elaborate. Finally, Dornas guessed correctly that “sailback (Goblin: tach’rhan)” referred to a large, carnivorous mammal-like reptile called dimetrodon. As if the flying chupacabra and infernal cannibal clan weren’t enough to worry about!

Dangerous animals might’ve been less a concern had Kor’lec not chosen to remain behind that day, distracted or focused upon his meditations.

Trusting the druid would catch up to them later, the adventurers returned to Ieana’s camp and Nemanji picked up the trail westward. A steep ridge forced them south where a magnificent, rainbow-wreathed waterfall fed a shallow pool. Under the pretense of searching behind the waterfall for a hidden cave of wonders, Kishtari stripped to her skivvies for a refreshing dip in the pond. While there was no hidden cave, there were most certainly wonders to behold.

Following the creek south from the pool, the heroes took note of stubby shrubs that looked like sapling viper nettles. Unfortunately, these small bushes yielded none of the berries that Aerys had requested to calm her alcohol withdrawal symptoms. After a half mile following the stream to a u-shaped fork, the briers had grown to an immense patch covering a wide area across the opposite bank. The water was a dirty brown where the 6-foot high hedgerow clung to the creek’s edge. Wading across to the wall of writhing thorns, it became obvious to the explorers that whatever fruits the hedge had were going to be enclosed somewhere in the middle of the patch.

The Castaways circumnavigated the thorny growth to get a sense of its size, while Monica invoked a cantrip to focus her eyes past the exterior brambles. While there were no berries anywhere near the outer bounds of the nearly 100 foot wide patch, there were winding tracts within it a humanoid could possibly squeeze through – if said humanoid could take being lashed by the thorny, venomous vines. Not to be deterred, the heroes climbed up out of the creek to the dry opposite side of the patch and discovered there a thin gap into the deadly hedge maze.

At Dornas’s suggestion, Kish dispatched her crystalline homunculus into the brambles, hoping it could retrieve the berries within. But just as Dornas glimpsed a ropey, thorny plant or plant-wrapped creature slithering deep within the snarl of nettles, the overgrowth surrounding the party animated and attacked!

Episode 13 Bonus Content!

A distracting thought experiment of mine. Not intended to be insulting, tropes exist because they are fun to play with, are actually necessary in storytelling, and are inescapable, anyway. See if you agree with my picks…