07/15/745 A.E. Encampment on the beach of Dakon Island.
The night folds in upon our adventures as they enter the encampment of the weary men of the Augustine, her silhouetted form just barely visible out on the sandbar where Captain Tracy had beached her. Tired, wounded, tapped of their magical strength and spells, and quite hungry to boot, they welcomed the delightful aromas emanating from the cook's efforts as he hovered over a large cooking pot suspended on an iron tripod over a large campfire. A simple stew - (turtle) as it turned out - but the simple things were often the most welcome to weary travelers. They bandaged their wounds, spoke of the ruins, made a few plans, ate their meal, and finally let the night take them, giving themselves freely to the blanket of unconsciousness while safe amongst their fellow travelers. Only the dead rest better, and sometimes, not even they may do so.
07/16/745 A.E.
Morning breaks with the sun rising in the east in typical fashion. The yellow cast of illumination would grow whiter and brighter as the morning raced toward noon, but for now, with the glowing orb just topping the jungle's canopy, it only weakly illuminated the sands of the western beaches of Dakon island. They arose with the sun, nonetheless, and discovered once again the cook has been hard at his craft. A thick gruel to fill the stomach, topped off with slices of fresh pineapples to keep the men from scurvy and add a touch of delight to their palettes. The cook, Jason some called him (though most simply called him 'cook'), was proud of his work, and always could manage something tasty even with limited fare. This time, his choices were considerable, and the spices he put in the gruel made it both delicious and memorable as well as filling and nutritious. Though few thanked him aside from grunting in appreciation, he always took their desire for seconds to be a compliment. It was his way. Finally, he made sure everyone had a banana or two, seeing as how those were collected yesterday and were in plentiful supply at the moment. It would give them something to snack on while they labored to repair the Augustine. The sun was hot, and laboring below decks in this heat was bound to be a slice of hell, so he wanted to give them anything he could to ease their burden and break up their day's toil.
Garren awakes to find himself next to Katsumi's sleeping form, his arm draped over her body, resting comfortably along the underside of her breasts. He didn't remember doing that, but considering how he felt and how closely together they were sleeping, it wasn't so surprising. Still, he removed his arm and got up before she awoke, then gently shook her. Daylight was here, and there were things to be done. He looked around the camp and saw Jarmain was engrossed in his morning ritual of prayer, probably accumulating the favor of his god, the magic bestowed upon His chosen few that they would all badly need in the days to come. He got his meal and went to sit quietly by himself as he, too, began to reacquire the mystic lore that made his craft something other than mere show. Trekken was busy casting spells. He had not slept that night, and Sedoc also seemed weary. Garren guessed both had been up all night, guarding the camp, resting, praying, casting healing spells and then resting some more. They were quite efficient, but now dead tired.
Janjit sat upon a large, flat rock, fiddling with his new acquisition; the teak chest from the ape-man they had found slain. Instead of the gruel, he had taken the remaining turtle stew from last night and the large bowl now lay empty next to him, but he wasn't thinking about his breakfast. He was wondering about some of the items from the chest. Obsidian ear rings, for example. Where did the volcanic glass originate? This island? Ivory, teak, marble, even jade. Either this island had much to offer, or these things were traded, perhaps passing through many hands before they came to rest here. He wished he knew, for such knowledge often was of value by itself.
Sedoc cleared his throat and spoke, "Trekken and I have decided to take two crewmen and a dinghy to circumnavigate the island. We can rest while the men row us around toward the ruins on the far eastern side, and we'll come in from that angle. We think the rest of you should follow the river Jarmain reported and make your way toward the ruins from the overland route." It was obvious half the reason for this plan was simply those two were too tired to travel right then, and this might allow them to rest and then meet up later. "Besides," thought Trek, "we might find something interesting along the way as well, and Sedoc and I have things to talk about anyway." Janjit didn't particularly want to trek through the jungle either, but he felt it unlikely what he was looking for would be found along the shore, either. Oh well, it wouldn't be the first time he did something he really didn't want to do. He sent the teak chest back to the ship with his officer "roommate" and began to gather up his gear for the excursion into the jungle's depths. "Lot of good things to find in all that growth," he thought, slightly comforted by that. Then he realized something. He wasn't the only one skilled at hiding, and his comfort was replaced by the challenge; it would be his skill of perception vs. their skill at hiding and ambush. No, he would not be taken so easily, if it came to that. He readied all the daggers the Augustine could spare and knew there would be no more replacements for the remaining dozen daggers he sported until they made landfall and found a city or village of some development.
Gillmesh and Garren take machetes and start hacking their way into the jungle. It is not too difficult, and the route along the river is not as thickly overgrown as the rest of the jungle. He figured the plants that favored the river's banks were naturally not so think as the ones that nestled away from the water-rich soils. Birds of beautiful plumages flew away from the party as they hacked their way toward the bird's homes. Even the birds around here would fetch a reasonable price (if you could catch them and get them home), but compared to magic, the tens or hundreds of gold pieces they'd fetch probably would not be worth the effort. Still, they were rather pretty. Garren continued his hacking efforts, keeping rhythm with his own song. It was a rather funny sight to behold, but he may not even have been aware he was doing it. It wasn't long before they were an hour into the jungle and they came to the lake (which was more of a pond, really) that Jarmain had spied earlier on his eagle's flight the previous day. Gill wades in, splashing the cold, welcome water over himself, washing off the salty sweat and providing a measure of relief. Clearly, the padding under his metal armor was not normally comfortable, but in this heat? By the gods!
There, in this clearing afforded by the topography of the natural stone bowl that held the largish pond, right before it spilled over along the western rim and continued as an outlet, the party members stood and they could clearly see many paths that were visible, all leading to this watering hole. Obviously, many animals frequently made their way here to partake of the cold water. Yet, two paths didn't seem to be well taken, and in fact, though they were still discernible, hadn't been taken for years. One seemed to lead to the ruins to the east, the other led south, to who knows what? They decide to follow the disused path to the east, and perhaps keep their rendezvous with Trek and Sedoc in a timely fashion.
S1:
Minutes later, Gill freezes as he hears a slight whimpering noise emanating from a bush. He signals to the others, the party halts, and he presses forward to see what they are up against. Closer, closer, he creeps forward, inching his way toward the bush. Then it happens. From thirty feet away, in a place no one had been looking at all since it was quite removed from the whimpering sounds, a great, black panther-like cat (a Yellow Eye) leapt from its perch. Its coiled spring of a backbone imparted fierce momentum to its form, and the full weight of the cat hit Gillmesh squarely while the cat simultaneously raked at his steely form with claws, biting for his neck, grabbing hold with its forepaws wherever they might find purchase and repeatedly raking at the warrior with its hind claws, all in one well-controlled killing maneuver designed to take out normal prey without a prayer. (I imagine in slow motion it would be one hell of a sight). But even a warrior like Gillmesh was seriously injured in this surprise attack, and though he fell, for the first time since he was an adult, this cat had connected with its prey that did not immediately die. "Damn!" the yellow eye thought, perhaps. Oh well; what do cats really think at a time like that? Gillmesh called upon his training, rolled with the blow to lessen its impact, and altered his roll, moving away from the beast and coming to a rest just a few feet from the great cat that had knocked him down.
COMBAT BEGINS:
R1: Kat swings in toward her namesake, slicing into the cat with her katana, the cat's howls of pain reaching into the jungle, echoing off the canopy that nearly blocked all sunlight at times. Springing from where it landed, the cat jumps away from Jarmain's slow attack and scratches at Garren, clawing him deeply and biting his arm, spoiling the spell he was trying to cast. Still, the structure and form of the imprinted mystical energies upon his brain faded from memory; it was gone, just as if he had used it, but to no avail. Garren then sees one of Janjit's daggers appear in the creature's hide as it springs away again, moving, always moving. Gill swings wildly out with his sword from his grounded position, missing, but he gets up and recovers, preparing for his attack when the opening next presents itself.
R2: Katsumi again closes, but her footing is uncertain, and a root or something trips her. She barely manages not to hurt herself. The cat bounces back toward Gill, perhaps thinking to leave this area and head out the way it came, considering the growing opposition is something new to consider and not at all welcome. But first, it strikes at Gill, claw/claw/bite/rake in quick unseen sequence, damaging the man to where he could barely stand, and little rivulets of blood began to flow down his chest from his neck where the cat's fangs had grazed him, almost ripping out his jugular. Janjit's Wakizashi scores a bit of a scratch, but the cat is too fast to allow more than that. Unfortunately for the cat, with so many surrounding it, it almost leaps into Garren's trident, practically impaling itself. Gillmesh summons the last of his strength, fluidly moving through the fray, spinning in anticipation of the cat's escape course. There, the best way out, he could see the obvious escape route an experienced warrior would take. Now just put the sword there. He moves under the open gap and swings his sword upwards. His training pays off since the cat did indeed intersected with the bastardsword's razor edge, the great cat's own momentum helping to slice its underbelly open, spilling its guts out in one long, bloody, 10-foot trail as it flew through the air seeking escape. The yellow eye's body crashes into the brush and comes to a halt; never again would it move under its own initiative. It was quite dead.
COMBAT ENDS:
Jarmain rushes over to make certain it is dead, finding only lifeless yellow eyes staring back at him, their unnatural gaze, even in death, somehow disturbing. Gillmesh's wounds are bound and healed a bit by Janjit's skillful administrations of his first aid skills, and then Gill and Jarmain go investigate the whimpering, which though slower and softer now, still beacons to them. It is an ape-like man-child, crying, apparently trapped by the yellow eye on one side, and these "strange animals" on the other. No other escape possible, it hid, but as both sides closed in, he couldn't help but cry knowing he would never see his father again.
Jarmain collects bits of the cat's body (eyes, teeth, claws) and Gill tried his hand at skinning it (a "fair" job, but it won't win any prizes). It is Jarmain that takes up the chore and carries the pelt with him, as well as his other "trophies." Garren talks to the ape-child as it does speak in halting Common. The ape-child sees the dead beast and calms down a bit, his whimpering lessens, then stops. "Ah, you can talk, child. What is your name?" asked Garren, using a friendly tone and his bardic charm on the apish boy. "Toomas," he replied, still frightened as to what was going on, for it seemed these strange animals had killed a god, and only gods could kill other gods. "You, you killed it, the yellow eye, it's dead. They said it could not be killed, the yellow eyes."
Gillmesh just smiled, despite his pain from his most recent wounds. "Aye, we killed et. And we killed tha other one last night. They be more O em?" Garren chose just then to magically heal one of Gill's nastier wounds. The boy's jaw dropped at that sight as the torn flesh around Gill's neck glowed and sealed itself shut, leaving not even a scar. These WERE gods, and they were killing the evil lords of the night, the yellow eyes, the gods of the island. He was in the presence of greatness. Oh, he had to have his father meet these gods.
Awed more than anything, only scanty information can be gleaned from the child-ape, but he invites them back to his village to speak to the elders, and since it is only 20 minutes to the north, they decide to take him up on his offer.
They see the village after 10 or 20 minutes, a small place, surrounded by sharpened tree trunks; the fort-like structure could obviously keep out most natural things. With the boy's assurances, they are let into the village where they speak mostly to the village elder or chief, an ape of some age since this race's normally dark hair was now gray upon his densely-muscled form, and they also spoke to the shaman of the tribe. Though he was much younger than the chief, his power and position in the tribe was apparent by his more colorful dress and his status was shown by the many colorful feathers which adorned his outfit. "Is this true? You slew the yellow eye?" the elder spoke in a rough, gravelly voice. They confirmed this and the shaman whispers, "It is day, Elder, when they are weaker. It can be done then; I told you this," he said as his ornate dress moved hypnotically in the wind. "They are much stronger at night," he continued in a normal tone of voice, now speaking more to the new comers than his chief. "Then," he shuddered at his thoughts and memories of some past incident, "then they are powerful, frightening, and magical. The yellow eyes, the gods of the evening, then they are the lords of swift death." He now seemed lost in thought. Garren volunteered some more information just then. "Actually, we killed the first one during the night," he said as a matter of fact, and the shaman's look of disbelief deepened. "What? Impossible! At night?" If true, then perhaps these humans were more powerful than the gods, but this shaman was not an ignorant wide-eyed little child, and he seemed more worldly than most, even more worldly than the elder. "You are very . . . ," his words trailed off as he seemed to search for just the right word. " . . . skilled," he finished, apparently having decided who and what these humans were in that moment.
Jarmain, a rather practical man, now asked a more pertinent question about his particular quest. "Can you offer us any information about the stone building? I mean those ruins on the east end of the island?" The shaman replied, "It is forbidden to go there." The elder knew this full well, but such laws had their reasons. "Yes, it is the law, but that is for our own protection and our own people. Such law does not bind you. If you wish to go there, YOU may go," said the chief, almost hoping they would go to test their might against the evil ones of the night.
The shaman relays information about the ruins passed down to him from his shaman and his shaman before. They discover the ruins are said to have been destroyed from "within," but even the shaman doesn't know how or why or what did it. He warns them the yellow eyes seem to be thickest around the ruins, almost unnaturally hanging around there for some unknown reason. Apparently, the structure may have been built over a century ago, at the time of "desecration," so called because at that time their holy burial grounds were raided or disturbed or something, but that was a little before the keep's construction. Even today, because of this desecration, tradition still has them post guards by their sacred burial grounds to prevent further sacrilege. Yet, as most of this information has been passed down through the years and decades from one elder or shaman to the next, it is not particularly clear. The party decides to go to the ruins, and the shaman will accompany them to make sure no taboos are broken and to answer any questions they may have.
They make good time on the trail and are soon on the hill overlooking the ruins, where they can see a tower, perhaps 50-feet high. The tower walls have been broken from within, perhaps exploding outwards. A spiral staircase leads up and down from the 20-foot mark, and many gaps in the tower's walls expose the inner column to the elements. The whole place looks structurally unsound. The thing is also enshrouded with creeping vines that cover much of its white surface. Marble? Here?
There is also an intact wall surrounding the tower. Its defenses remind Gill of castle fortifications, especially the entryway, but it was not common practice to construct castles in this day and age since the development of magical attacks made underground complexes safer and easier to defend from without. Still, he had seen a few, and this one resembled those. They could see solid walls, a moat (now dry), and a murder hole between portcullis and gate. The place would have looked formidable if it weren't also deserted and overgrown and obviously abandoned. Such mighty defenses made it possible for a few to hold off many, but when those few defenders were absent, the defenses were as nothing. Unless cats could man the walls.
As they approached the tower, they saw they could try to climb up a steep bank and gain entry that way, or they could use the normal route, the front gate. It looked harmless enough, so they went the way of the gate. Gill inspects it closely, looking for ANY signs of life, but finds absolutely none. No living thing has been here in years, perhaps even decades or more.
They all follow Gill, his expertise leading the way. They pass the portcullis, moving past the arrow loops in the murder hole. Even here the vines are thick, choking off many of the arrow loops that would otherwise painfully be kept clear of such things. As he neared the wooden door, however, it happened. The portcullis dropped behind them, blocking off their escape. They couldn't move forward (the gate) or back (the portcullis) and though overgrown, some arrow loops were apparently clear enough. A hail of arrows begin pelting them, and with no way out, things looked pretty grim.
SESSION ENDS:
It is about 3 p.m. on 07/16/745 A.E.
© February of 2000
by
James L.R. Beach
Waterville, MN 56096