The blazing sun hangs high in the sky, its merciless rays quickly expelling the night's slight chill. Whatever comfort could be had, evaporates and one by one the adventurers stir from their restless sleep.

Zipz falls from her bed, landing soundlessly on hands and feet like a cat and peers around to find Luna, the owl, sitting upon the sleeping form of Charles’ back, eyes wide as she regards her. Zipz sneaks over the sleeping forms of those dotted around the tent floor, picking up several stray nuts and berries left over from last nights celebration and holds them out. Luna eyes them momentarily then begins pecking mechanically, hooting lightly as she does. Zipz struggles to suppress a gleeful smile as the others around her stir.

“We have a few things ahead of us,” Charles begins as those around extract various forms of breakfast from their travel packs, a general assortment of dried meat, nuts, berries and time hardened bread. “There’s the ransom note, an approved form to attend the digsite, and another to the oasis, which we could try to get stamped.”

“Maybe if we find anyone from the inn, we can return the gold,” Zylnan adds.

“Yes, good. I’ve been thinking about this person that’s being ransomed, it could be he is of some importance to what happened last night. If he’s being ransomed by sand-pirates, maybe there is a connection.” Charles says.

“If those sand-pirates asked for a ransom why would they attack the place? Seems pointless, maybe he’s already dead?”

“Maybe, but could have been a different crew last night.”

“I have something,” Zipz chimes in, lifting a silver pendant on a chain. “The captain's necklace has a picture of a ship on it. Maybe it’s famous? Maybe we can find out who owns it?”

Charles takes the necklace, staring at the over-sexualised black and white picture of a round, wide-keeled ship and coughs uncomfortably before turning the locket over. Etched into the back is a triangular engraving, scratched to look chipped and broken, with a dozen swords embedded in it.

“The silver swords…,” Charles mutters, “not the same as those that ransomed the noble then.”

“Let’s find someone from the Sandlion, get some information and return their gold,” Zylnan adds. The others nod as everyone prepares to set out, donning heavy cloaks against the sun’s rays.

As the group emerges from the maze of tents the Sandlion’s charred remains stand out across the sand, like the black ribs of a sunken behemoth, smoke drifting skyward. Figures wander its edge and as the group approaches, it becomes clear they are members of the town guard. 

“Maybe, we should stay back a little,” Zipz whispers as they approach and there is a general murmur of agreement from Misxibis, Tyrvaan and Heri. Zylnan smiles at Ballen and they throw their hoods over their heads and follow in Charles’ wake.

“Hello,” Charles directs the greeting at the Sergeant standing before the husk of the building.

“Alright,” he grunts in reply.

“So, it was crazy what happened last night.”

“That it was, Sandlion was an institution, shame to see it go up. Been around since I was a wee un, but you know what it's like when out-a-towners come. Always causing havoc, gotta catch em and make em pay.”

“You get an idea of who’s to blame, so I can keep an eye out,” Charles asks uncomfortably. The man scratches his patchy beard and nods.

“Descriptions were a bit odd from those that made it out. They talked of a green child, a demon, a dragon and a human rabbit, as well as some knife ears you see around. Difficult to know what’s true in all the panic and smoke, but was said they'd disappeared into the desert. If so, desert’ll get em.”

“Oh really, I could have sworn I saw them helping people get out. I could be wrong, but seemed like some sand-pirates came in and slaughtered a bunch of people… The Silver Swords?”

“Aye there are reports of them around, but can’t find any of em. We need to bring em all in for questioning!”

“Understandable, of course. I was curious if you saw the owner, here or about. Some friends and I caught some bandits looting when the fire broke out, and want to return it you see.” The guard cocks an eyebrow, his eyes narrowing as he inspects the others over Charles’ shoulder.

“You were ere when the fire broke out?” Zlynan steps in front of Ballen as the guard stares especially hard into his darkened hood. “What were you doing ere then when you apprehended these bandits?”

“We were coming towards the inn and ran into them, weren’t here when the fire started. We saw them carrying something and thought we’d confront them. They ran, some into the desert and some into the cacti.” The sergeant nods along, enthralled by the tale.

“You’re a good man and a good citizen. What’s your name, so I can put it in my report and you know get you a commendation or something.”

“Charles Wells, at your service!”

“The woman you’re looking for is Sylvia. She’s at the town hall now.”

“Thank you! And What’s your name fine sir?”

“Faros.”

“If I wanted to get this paper stamped to visit the oasis, is that you, or the town hall?”

Charles pulls the paper from his bag and holds it out to Faros, who squints at it.

“Not sure why I’m doing that, can’t read anyway. Check in at the town hall, with one of the clerks. Though I’ve not heard it happening often, a very protected area it is.”

“Well I won’t keep you anymore. I’ll let you get back to finding those outsiders.”

“Oh, I’ll definitely find em. There’s nowhere to hide out here, and definitely nowhere to run,” he nods in the direction of the three and walks away, continuing around the Sandlion.

The three return to the others and let out a long breath.

“We have got to be really careful. They are looking for us, well… you guys.”

“But we didn’t do anything wrong,” Heri added.

“No, we didn’t, That doesn’t stop the people of the desert.”

“People are so stupid,” Zipz chimes in as Heri whispers, “I hate this fucking place,” to herself.

“He have information?” Misxibis pipes up.

“Yes,” Charles exclaims. “We can visit Sylvia in the town hall. We can give her her money, and maybe get something stamped. We can skirt the edge of town to get there. But...I would not recommend us all traipsing through town…” Charles finishes and the group share several glances.

“I don’t think we should go over…” Zipz says.

“Is there something else to explore in the tents? Or maybe lay low? This town seems to be out for us.”

“We should hide! Or wait in our tent. We shouldn’t go through town.” Zipz says.

“Probably not…,” Heri adds, looking over Tyrvaan, Misxibis and Zipz.

“I can take Zylnan, he seems to blend in easily,” Charles nods.

“Take Zylnan and this fighter man,” Zipz says.

“Yeah, I’m sure I’ll be fine,” Ballen mutters, pulling his hood further over his head.

“Let’s get going then…,” Zylnan says. Charles mutters to Luna, who flies over to land on Tyrvaan's shoulder. 

“If you need us, she can tell me… so talk to the owl,” Charles says, turning away and marching into the sands.

The town hall rises like a keep from the desert before the town of Sandmyst point. Several rounded buttresses and towers protrude from the six story building. Hundreds of people walk the sand covered stone steps up to the entrance, hurrying about one task or another, while dozens of expeditions await final approval, their caravans hitched and ready to go as the people mill about in frustration. A few, worn and sand covered, appear as if they are returning.

Ballen, Charles and Zylnan stand before the steps looking at the flow of people moving around them before one spots the nearby job board and motions the others to follow. 

A large freshly plastered poster covers most of the board and reads:

Citizens of Sabal
Last night a tragedy befell our peaceful town. Our historic inn, the Sandlion burned down. Patrons that survived tell of sand-pirates and otherlanders being responsible. If you see or suspect any around town report them immediately to the town guard, we won’t have foreigners causing damage on sovereign soil. Any information that leads to the capture of these perpetrators will be rewardable up to 10g.
For Sabal.

Several other papers hidden beneath it tell of a missing child and missing caravan in the desert, though from their age you assume these people have either been found, or are now forever lost. Ballen tears off another new poster, hidden beneath the large one and hands it to the others. It asks for information regarding a captive, who was caught trespassing at the oasis and is accused of attempted poisoning.

He drops the paper and it tumbles away, caught in the wind. The three enter the building and find themselves in a large stone room, adorned with several plain tapestries, lines of desks at the far end and guards spread out at regular intervals about the edges of the room and in front of the two staircases. They can see that one staircase leads up to the temple to the God Emperor and the other leads up to the administration offices.

“What does Sylvia look like?” Charles whispers to the others, Ballen shrugs and Zylnan shakes his head. Charles looks across the room for a distraught woman, but finds more than one in the crowded waiting room.  He sighs. “Maybe for something like this she must be in the administration room… lots of paperwork.” The non-Saballan’s nod, though their knowledge of the kingdom’s bureaucratic system is basically non-existent.

Charles strides towards the stairs, the others behind, but as they approach the guard raises his hand.

“Papers?” he grunts.

“What kind of papers?” The guard sighs audibly and gestures to the clerks behind the desks at the far side of the room. Long lines trail from each of the desks almost to the door and the guard continues.

“Gotta get approval from the clerks. They’ll decide if your reason is valid. Can’t have just anyone walking around up there.”

“Oh, sorry…,” Charles turns and walks over to stand at the back of the line, followed by the frustrated elf-kin. They peer down the length of the line, and groan as they count over twenty before them.

Misxibis gazes north into the heart of town, while Zipz stares at her, wondering what she’s thinking. Heri peers around, taking in the town to the north, great cliffs to the west, the tents to the south and several red stacks with giant sails rising from each of them. Below one of the stacks lies a small accumulation of tents that Heri knows is a circus, of sorts.

“I feel like we will be less conspicuous there.” Heri says pointing towards the circus.

“Oh yeah! We can perform! For money!” Zipz shouts.

“Ve can and ve vill!” Misxibis adds.

“And find some information!” Heri adds as they head towards the circus.

“Purpose!” The clerk barks without looking up.

“I came because of the Sandlion! We have some money for the innkeeper. Who I believe is upstairs in the admin section.” The man looks up, lifting his glasses to peer at the three of them.

“Yes, I was saddened to hear about that. What is your relation to Mrs Murlow?”

“A concerned citizen, we rescued some gold from her inn that we saw bandits looting.”

“Rescued gold just sounds like stole gold,” the clerk grunts and several nearby guards shift uncomfortably at the accusation, shuffling slightly closer to the clerk.

“We rescued it from bandits who stole it.”

“I see,” the man mumbles, turning down to locate a piece of paper from the dozens scattered around his desk. “And… why are you returning this gold?”

“Because… it’s the right thing to do?” the three of them say at the same time, looking at each for additional confirmation.

“Uhu, this is all very suspect, people don’t usually do the right thing around here. Are you sure you’re not trying to get close to Mrs. Sylvia Murlow? Distraught and needy?”

“What!? No, can’t a good human citizen of Sabal do his duty to his country?” The man glares up at the three of them over his spectacles. “Why not just give it to a guard to take up?”

“Uhhhh, I did actually have another request…,” Charles says, sliding the unstamped oasis request towards the clerk.

“I guess you’ll be wanting this stamped then?” Charles nods and the clerk sighs. “Have you filled out form B2?”

“Oh for fucks sake,” Charles mumbles rolling his head back,” Potentially? What does form B2 look like?” The clerk sighs, pulling a binder from one of her draws, leafing through and pulling forth a bound ten page form, before sliding it over the desk to Charles.” Fill it out, bring it back to me, and we will get your answer for approval or denial in 5-10 days.”

“Super…,” the three of them mutter, “Can I go up and take the gold then?” Charles asks. The clerk eyes them then nods. “But just you, not all three of you. It only takes one of you to carry the gold.” 

“Thanks,” Charles says with a sense of relief in his voice. As they wander towards the stairs, Zylnan hands the bag of gold to Charles, who gives back the ten page oasis permission request form. “Can you take a look at this while I’m away?”. 

The guard at the base of the stairs peers over their shoulder to the clerk who gives a quick nod and he steps out of the way, letting Charles mount the stairs.

“Can I have a pen?” Zylnan asks the Clerk, “We didn’t bring one.” The man doesn’t peer up as he answers.

“Pens are not supplied here. Too much trouble with people stealing them.”

Zylnan looks skyward and mutters something inaudible before turning away.

Charles reaches the top of the stairs and finds a room filled with desks, each occupied with a clerk. Junior clerks wind through the packed room, stacks of documents and files in hand, depositing them on desks seemingly at random as they go, many of which are met with shouts of outrage or curses hurled in their direction from the clerks sitting there.

“Mrs Sylvia Murlow?” he queries one of the guards who directs him to a soot stained woman, sitting beside a desk at the far end of the room. Her eyes are red ringed and exhaustion seeps from her, as she talks. The clerk has stacks of papers on his desk and thumbs through them, pulling out odd sheets to scribble on as she talks, before squeezing them back into the pile.

“Hello,” Charles mumbles.

“It’s not really a good time for me sir…,”

“I know, I know, I heard and actually I wanted to give you something from some of us in the town.” Charles hands over the sack of gold, and she hefts it in her hand before opening it and staring in. Her eyes widen and begin to shake as she looks up at Charles.

“Why are you giving this to me?”

“Well, it was yours. We caught some bandits ransacking your inn and took it from them. Thought it best to return it. It’s best with you. Yours to begin with.”

“What's your name? And the others in town. Can you tell me who they are?”

“Yes, my name is Charles Wells and my companions are…,” he hesitates for a moment. “Zylnan, Tyrvaan, Heri, Misxibis, Zipz and Ballen.” So overwhelmed is she by the generosity she fails to notice the inhumanness of the names.

“Thank you so much. I’m going to rebuild it. I’m going to rebuild the Sandlion, and there will always be a place for you to stay when you come through here. Take these!” She pulls seven tokens out of a pouch at her hip and hands them to Charles. They are simple green, coin-like tokens with the picture of a Sandlion stamped in copper on one side.

“Show these when you come, you can stay, drink and eat whatever you wish. I hope to see you soon. I hope to rebuild this in a year or two. It could be even faster if I can get this approved,” she turns dramatically to the clerk who is watching the exchange with hooded eyes and groans, loudly. 

“Return of gold is another form,” he slides a drawer out which seems to extend longer than the desk itself and starts flicking through the hundreds of forms, before retrieving another thick binder and slamming it down on top of those on his desk.

“Well… I hope this helps you get started. I appreciate these tokens and we’re excited to see the Sandlion reopen one day.” The woman smiles and nods, as Charles turns and leaves.

Charles descends the stairs as Zylnan and Ballen look up, the pages of the request form held before them.

“Success?” Charles queries.

“Yes and no. We figured it out but it's no use. We can fill it out, but I don’t think it will be approved. We need a sponsor and a valid reason for visiting… which we don’t have according to this list of suitable reasons."

“How did it go with Sylvia?” Zylnan asks.

“It went well, she was grateful and gave us these as a reward,” Charles hands each a Sandlion token.

“Did you ask her about the ransomed noble?”

“I… did not… No I forgot… was I supposed to do that?” Zylnan sighs.

“Maybe we can ask the clerk?” The group of them stare over at the busy clerk and shake their heads. “I don’t want to ask the clerk…”

“Let’s go find the others first,” Ballen cuts in and the others nod, following them out the large wooden doors into the sands.

“It feels just like home!” Zipz shouts, too excited to realise that this circus is a bit of a dump. The others look unimpressed at the few tents and abundance of thugs attempting poorly to blend in with the crowds.

“Zipz, do not go too far, stay close,” Misxibis says.

“I wanna see all the fair!”

“Do not go out of sight,”

“I have an idea! Why don’t Missy and I do our act and gather some money for food this evening,” Zipz looks uncertainly up at the hulking size of Tryvaan and points up at him. “Why don’t you go find information? We need to know about spiders. We need to know about pirates. We need to know about treasure. You can use your dragon charms!”

Heri and Tryvaan turn at that and walk off into the crowd, meandering through the packed lanes as Misxibis and Zipz set up a small space for their performance.

Heri peers around noticing the inhabitants and mutters to himself as he goes, “dwarves, wererats, wereboar, sand-goblins, kua-toa, bugbear, broodguard… and … skinks?” Tyrvaan grunts knowingly at each identification. Heri spins around and walks towards the were-rat.

“Good day,” Heri chirps

“Alright there?”

“I’m a bit surprised to find someone so close to my kind here.”

“Well, I’ll be, what are yah? some kinda were-hare or were-rabbit? You should join up, could make loads more money.”

“What do you do for money?” Heri queries, genuinely interested.

“Mostly just sit ere, people come and talk, then flip me a coin.”

“Do you enjoy it?”

“Do I enjoy living in this giant litter box… No. It’s a desert, it's hot and I’ve got fur everywhere!”

“Have you thought about doing something else?” The were-rat peers around cautiously, particularly at the nearby wereboar.

“Nah, nah, I’ve always wanted to be here. This is the place I wanna stay. I can make money and not have to do anything?”

“But why do you want to stay here if you don’t like it?”

“I didn’t say I didn’t like it… it's fine… its fine is what it is.” His eyes dart around even more.

“Well, who runs this place?”

“It’s them over there. Those two halflings.” He gestures with a nod towards the big top, where two halflings give out tickets to those that pass.

“What are their names?”

“Jimeon and Timion.”

“And yours? I’m Heri.”

“You can just call me Ratz, that’s what everyone else calls me.”

“Okay, well Ratz. What can you tell me about them?”

“They’re an alright bunch. There’s loads of muscle around, and this place don’t move like the other travelling circuses. It just stays in one place, that’s why they’re really smart. So many people coming through ere.”

“Do you hear many rumours or tales from the townspeople?”

“Rumours, not much. Been a bit of buzz about the Sandlion burning down, and talk of someone caught in the oasis, but nothing else.”

“What have you heard about this oasis business?”

“Oh, I dunno. They are always catching people there. Then they’re always screaming about someone poisoning the place. Town goes mental and all that. Who even knows.”

“Any strange folk come through here recently.”

“Not stranger than you,” Ratz looks to the oppressive shadowed shape of Tyrvaan beside him, “And whatever the fuck that is.”

“Well if you want to come and hang out with me and my friends. They’re those two performers over there.”

“They’re what?” Ratz stands up trying to peer over the crowd in the direction Heri gestures. “Oh shit! They shouldn’t be doing that ere!”

Zipz hurls daggers wildly into the air as Misxibis pulls a stool out of thin air and sits on it, reciting poetry with all of the acumen of a professor. A crowd starts to gather and copper coins begin to land on the sand around them as people stop to watch the performance.

The crowd begins to part as two halflings push through the crowd followed by half a dozen thugs in their wake.

“Hey you! Hey! Hey! You can’t do that! This is our place! That’s our money!” the halfling at the front shouts. His loose coat hangs open, revealing a soiled undershirt. He has a lute slung over his shoulder and bears a pipe in his mouth that emits puffs of a purple vapour.

“Ok! Now ve make quick exit Zipz!” Misxibis says as Zipz plucks the last dagger from the air, scoops the coins from the sand and darts through the legs of several spectators vanishing from sight as Misxibis picks up her stool and begins to follow.

“Hey! Hey! Stop them!” The halfling screams as a thug grabs Misxibis’ arm. She spins and slams the stool into the side of the thug, knocking him to the ground, before successfully folding it and sprinting from the circus. The two bound into the afternoon desert, though little chase is given after they leave the circus limits.

Heri and Tyrvaan watch the encounter and cringe as the audible crack of the stool reaches them.

“Well it was nice to meet you Ratz,” Heri says and the two of them try awkwardly to blend into the crowd of people milling about, before skirting around and out of the circus, following the fresh footsteps of their friends.

Ballen, Zylnan and Charles watch as two figures then two more appear through the shimmering heat of the desert, alerted to their approach by Luna. They raise a hand in greeting and as they near Misxibis waves.

“Oh look! It is human looking people!”

“How was laying low?” Charles queries, certain he knows the answer.

“Well…,” Heri mumbles. “Mixed results…,” Charles, Ballen and Zylnan share a look of concern.

“What happened?”

“We put on show. Dragon and rabbit got info.”

“Well… not sure got info… but I met a rat person!” Heri chimes excitedly. Misxibis turns to her, hands on hips.

“Bunny, that was your one job!” An uncomfortable silence settles over the party.

“Well,” Charles breaks the awkwardness,” I gave the money back, and have tokens for you, from the owner. So we can stay there whenever we want. Once it's built again.” 

“Maybe, we can go for a drink!” Zipz chimes in.

“But… where? The Sandlion burnt down…,” Zylnan replies.

“The circus? Could be fun?” Charles asks.

“No, not good. Maybe tomorrow, when they don’t remember,” Mixibis replies at the same time as Zipz. The others give them an uncertain look then sigh.

“Okay…, We need some info about the Skragneck pirates, and also have this open digsite request. We can visit there, if we can sneak you guys in.”

“Ve can wear disguise…,” Misxibis adds.

“Ummm,” Heri mutters, “I think there’s only so much a disguise can do for me, the dragon man, devil woman and small green child.”

“We vear heavy cloak. I have sunburn.”

“I don’t think we should fake medical affiliations…,” Zylnan replies uncomfortably.

“If you go to digsite, and ve cannot get in. Then ve ask around tent for sand-pirate info…,” Misxibis answers. The party nod in agreement and they set off towards the stone cliff and the ancient ruins half buried at its base.

Charles leads a partially cloaked Ballen and Zylnan before the hulking shadow of Tyrvaan, his body completely enshrouded in cloth up to the guard-post as a man emerges, casting a glance over them. His eyes fall on Tyrvaan in particular, though he shows no suspicion beyond a raised eyebrow.

“Hello sir! I have permission to explore this digsite. As part of the archeological guild I have been granted access.” Charles rambles, holding his papers out to the guard, who pays little attention, taking the papers and glancing over them.

“All seems in order,” he grumbles, looking over the party again, before wandering back into the guard-post. Zylnan catches his eye for a moment and he pauses.

“We need him for his muscle.” The guard shakes his head at that.

“I’ve seen weirder things, and it's not my job to ask questions. You've got the right paperwork. Have a good day.” He disappears into the shade of the guard room where other voices can be heard.

Zipz and Heri scramble up the twenty foot wall beyond the guard-post at a speed little slower than their run, turning it into something of a race. As they crest the wall they peer down to see Misxibis struggling to climb. Her desperate attempts take her a few feet, before she loses purchase and slips back to the sandy floor. Heri and Zipz share a look and reach down to help drag her over, a task they accomplish with only a small amount of grunting and cursing.

From their vantage atop the wall they see the others passing the guard post and jump down to rejoin them, keeping themselves hidden as they approach the massive shattered form of a temple. Several guards stand outside and within, but they give little notice to the party, their role merely to protect the site and stop looting, rather than apprehend every visitor.

Charles strides up the stairs and into the main entrance, his hand glowing as he enters the darkened interior. Something tingles beyond, pulling him downward, towards the lower level of the temple. 

Misxibis stops before some of the walls eager to glean information about treasure from the ancient language carved there, though none of it makes sense to her and she instead takes some rubbings, intent to show Charles when they return to the tent.

Zylnan wanders off, to see if he can find anyone else poking around the temple, but finds nothing but the footsteps of people who have trailed in and out over the years. As he passes an intact wall a particular image catches his eye and he approaches, a black phoenix floating in a ring of light. A deep call echoes within him as he tries to divine its meaning, but the writing is far beyond his knowledge to grasp and he walks after Charles, frustrated at himself.

“Missy, those guys look pathetic… I’m gonna follow them…,” Zipz whispers, gesturing after Charles and Zylnan.

“Me too…,” Heri adds, following and the party descends the stairs into the lower temple.

Several open pathways lie around the catacombs, but other hallways are blocked by thick doors of stone.

“Shall we explore? Let’s check the open ways,” Charles says, excitedly.

The walls of the chambers are carved in ornate images and languages, much of which has decayed over time. Heri and Ballen catch fragments of words in Sylvan and Elvish, but nothing concrete and Misxibis grumbles in annoyance at the wealth of knowledge before her that she is unable to comprehend. She catches glimpses of patterns in the language, a clue to their meaning, but not much more than nothing.

Zipz and Zylnan on the other hand turn towards a particular corridor, where soft sounds emanate, distant footsteps and muttering.

Charles begins to breathe quickly, feeling his heart beat in his chest as he remembers his near deaths over the past few days and a glowing set of armour appears over his body as Zipz softly creeps down the length of the corridor.

She peers around, catching sight of a human kneeling over a dais, her body cloaked in black, while another in splendid robes stands beside her and mutters. Between them stands a tall man, adorned in splendid plate and chainmail of the finest quality, a gold embossed sword at his hip and a shield across his back. He is deep in conversation with a dwarf, covered head to toe in plate armour, with only his eyes visible. He bears a shield the same height as him, an axe that glows blue in his other hand, and a hefty mace at his hip.

Zipz steps silently back down the corridor, leaving a hint of a trace in the sand covered floor.

“There’s a dwarf and some other people in fancy armour down there! They are messing with something on the floor. We need to be quiet and careful. They look rich!”

“Let’s leave them for now,” Charles whispers.

“Yeah, let’s see the rest of the floor and stick together a little…,” Zylnan offers. Zipz nods and watches down the corridor with Heri at her back, while Charles and the others wander off further into the darkened lantern lit temple. Several giant empty sarcophagi fill several outlets along the corridor's length, their contents carried off long ago. Charles stops beside one, muttering to himself as he traces his fingers along the ancient language carved across its lid:

‘Here lies Alitor Rendlir, high priest of the order of Jahi. He lived a humble life, and through his kind works many were lifted from poverty and suffering. He will be remembered when all enter the golden halls.’ 

Charles furiously scratches notes in his ledger as he reads, all else around him vanishing as he becomes completely engrossed in his research. Zylnan continues, on coming to a set of statues, all broken, each bearing a resemblance to two legged humanoid creatures striking heroic poses. It's clear the statues are older than he could possibly imagine and he moves on, Misxibis and Ballen beside him. The corridor ends before an ancient wall, partially decomposed with images glittering across it.

 Misxibis’ freezes before the wall, her eyes drawn by its beauty and she follows a broken story along its length. Something in the artistry sucks her into the moment and she could swear the scent of summer catches in her nose as a gentle breeze caresses her face. Hundreds of creatures, some familiar, others not, gather in one place, working towards something great in an attempt to banish the strife and struggles of the world, though what it is they seek is not clear.

“You see here. Beautifully done. Lots of troubles in world and life, and here all come together, not just human, all peoples and work together towards big plan.”

“Sounds like they lost something with time,” Zylnan nods.

“Perhaps we find more clue here,” Misxibis adds sadly.

Zipz spots the dwarf step around the corner, hearing his last step before he materialises at the end of the corridor and then turns and disappears once more.

“The dwarf saw me! The dwarf saw me! What do we do?” She calls in a hushed tone.

“That’s not ideal. Perhaps prepare yourself for battle, but maybe… you should keep an eye on the …,” Charles stops as footsteps echo down the corridor, their pace steady and natural. All eyes turn to the corridor’s entrance as a tall dark skinned man in engraved plate steps out and surveys the party. At his side stand the metal encased dwarf and the finely dressed man, who turns to Heri standing a few paces away, his eyes widening slightly.

“Huh, harengon, how interesting,” he turns back to the others and a sigil of a hand holding a flame shimmers across his robes, The Burning Flame. A symbol of the magicians of Nemir.

“Ahhh, I thought you might have been someone else. You must be those foreigners from the Sandlion incident. You’ve been described to me.” The tall man at the front says in a loud commanding voice.

“Uhhh, well our descriptions have gotten around unfortunately, we didn’t actually do anything to the inn, we just rescued people,” Charles says. The man replies with a smile and opens his arms in a warm gesture of friendship.

“Fear not. I know it was not you, it was the work of my bloody brother.” Everyone shares looks of confusion, their words spilling out all at once, the clearest voice calling.

“Who are you sir? My lord?”

“Ahhh how rude of me,” he says with a quirk of a smile, “My name is Talkoris Enan Silnor Sallab.” A general silence falls over the party as they ponder the name, broken by the muttering of Zipz.

“Missy, this guys gonna have loads of money…,” Charles bows even lower, attracting curious glances from the others.

“My grace! Of course! I would never have expected to see you in a place such as this.”

“Yes…,” he nods. “I’ve heard through agents of your exploits in the Sandlion and I believe we can be of use to each other, should I provide you with a little information. I would do it myself but I can’t have my brother knowing I’m on to him.”

“Of course, anything!” Charles replies without even thinking, “I can do anything!” Talkoris smiles and all in the party are met with an immediate warmth, except Zylnan who glares at the man warily.

“Follow me and we can discuss this further,” he turns his back and returns down the corridor, followed by the wizard and the dwarf. The dwarf does not take his eyes from the party as he trails behind the other two.

Talkoris inspects each of the group as they enter and gestures to his friends, “Let me introduce my friends first. This is Ignin Greathammer, he has been my protector as long as I can remember. He is a great dwarf with impeccable honour. This is Ravin Neldir from Nemir, he is a close associate of mine from the Burning Hand. We have known each other a long time and he has come to Sabal because the situation is dire. And this woman is Sephina….”

“Ahhh duh duh duh duh duh…,” she shouts, “Don’t tell them my name!”

“Oh yes, she’s a little cautious of that.” The woman looks up from her work and even through her darkened hood, it's clear she’s glaring at him.“We have known each other since childhood, but anyway, as you might know I am the eleventh child of the God Emperor. Recently news has reached me of Galenten, my brother, the second son of my father. He has ever been cruel and I have heard rumours that he has found something through his contacts in the Silver Chain. One of his agents, Ezeheli, has been seen here. I know he was responsible for the burning of the Sandlion, though I don’t know what he’s doing here. The problem is I can’t be seen in town, and a dwarf or foreign wizard aren’t exactly inconspicuous. That leaves Sephina to keep track of everyone, and I would not put her in such danger if not necessary. I cannot provoke my brother before I know everything, his hold on the Silver Chain could make my life perilous,” he pauses to take in each of their faces in turn before continuing, “I suppose you’re wondering why I’m telling you all this. I think we can be of use to each other, and your deeds speak well of you. Even in a country when your kind is not accepted, you show kindness. I have travelled widely and seen that Sabal is not…,” he stops himself and sighs. “Anyway, I need you to act as my right hand. I need you to go after Ezeheli, I know where he has gone, but I need to unlock the secrets here to get there. What do you say?” He holds his hand out to the group, palm up.

“I’m Charles Wells, of Sab’Narath, part of the Archeological guild and would be more than happy to assist. I believe this person has stolen something from me.” Ravin turns from where he watches over Sephina’s shoulder.

“Stolen from you? What exactly did he steal?”

“An old trinket, from another digsite. Something broken.”

“What did it look like?”

“It was a small token,” at that Ravin turns to Talkoris.

“Is that why he is here? Why he came to this town? Why would he steal from this man unless it was something of great importance?”

“I was told it was worthless,” Charles says.

“The mystery continues. We aren’t sure what they seek, but for Galenten to be utilising the Silver Chain as he is, it must be something big.”

“Vot is Silver Chain?” Misxibis asks. He glances at Talkoris who nods in ascent.

“The Silver Chain are the secret police of Sabal. They are the spies everywhere, the assassins in the dark and the agents abroad. You can usually tell their number by a token they carry.”

At that Charles produces the wooden chain link from his pocket and holds it up.

“Yes, that is the token.”

“You are member of Silver Chain?” Misxibis asks of Charles, who shakes his head.

“Came from a man in the Sandlion, that I killed.” Talkoris nods.

“Definitely one of Ezeheli’s men then.”

“Vot do you know of spider?”

The group shares a look but shakes their heads at that. Zylnan strides from the back of the group and up to the others.

“You seem to know much about the attack on the Sandlion? Do you care to share how and what you know?”

“It seems to me that Ezeheli wanted this man’s item,” he gestures at Charles. “We found accounts that he had paid bandits to rob the place at the same time as paying some rather poor pirates to murder all those within.”

“It’s a pretty extravagant distraction…,” Zylnan presses.

“Ezeheli doesn’t do anything by half measures. He’s ruthless and very dangerous. The more chaos and death, the less chance anyone will have survived to discover his true purpose. Had we not met you, we wouldn’t have known it ourselves.”

“I suppose you don’t have any idea of where to start?” Charles asks.

“That’s why we’re here,” Talkoris says, “my friend here is trying to activate this ancient dais, but it seems Ezeheli has tampered with it since he unlocked it.”

“Ve have varlock, ve have vizard, maybe they can take look,” she looks at Zipz and smiles, “also have Zipz…” Zipz smiles at her and cracks her knuckles.

Charles and Zylnan step up beside it, feeling the pulse of its magic thrum around them. Zylnan bends down beside it and finds the magical mechanism cast there, but feels it has another lock. One magic and one physical.

“Zipz, can you help me here?” Zylnan asks as he begins to pull at the magical lock with his powers, but finds it a little much for him. Zipz steps up and finds the buttons controlling the mechanism but it fails to do anything. 

“It’s earth magic, does anyone have that?” Charles queries. Ravin steps up and casts a spinning vortex of earth and sand above it as Zipz presses the buttons in a rhythmic order.

The chamber rumbles around them, sand falling from the ceiling and a soft stale breeze rolls through the cavern, followed by the distant moaning of despair. Everyone shares an expression of apprehension and horror as the sounds grow louder, and beneath it the heavy thumping of steps echo down the corridor.

“Well, looks like that did it. I didn’t imagine Ezeheli would leave us with nothing to contend with! Best get ready!” Talkoris says, pulling his shield from his back and drawing his sword.