Heri gazes over a glade of serene beauty, where motes of life float across the tops of the long grass, waving in the wind. Trees circle the glade, their shadows darkening quickly as you peer deeper and at the centre sits a prominent rock of white stone.

Heri wanders, approaching the stone and pushing the grass from his path. He bends to inspect a simple bluebell that grows from its centre.

Just like those that grew at home. 

Heri stretches forth his hand and gently plucks the flower, careful not to disturb the petals, as glyphs shimmer across the stone’s surface. Unconsciously, he reads the Sylvan words aloud, though they mean nothing to him.

“Kili’Nar Elit,” he mutters and turns with a start as he sees, for the first time, a silver chain lying where it had not moments before, each link angled at the ends to form a sharpened triangle. Heri lifts the chain assuming it to be a necklace or loop, but finds it broken. Down its surface crawls a spider, and upon closer inspection, it is seen to be missing a leg.

He places the chain back upon the rock, and peers around once more. A breeze disturbs the fur on his body and the overcast sky churns unnaturally. He lifts the bluebell to his nose, hoping to once more garner a scent of home in this strange place, but finds it different, something familiar but forgotten.

The wind picks up, blowing with more urgency and now more than ever time feels as if it’s running away. A heaviness settles in Heri’s heart, one that tugs like a hand upon his soul, a horrible wrenching. He staggers from the pain and the world vanishes, consumed by darkness.

Heri opens his eyes sucking in a breath of hot, dry air and coughs, aware his body is swaying with an unnatural motion.

“What… Where…?” he mutters.

“He is avake,” Misxibis says.

“What happened?”

“Heri, Heri! You nearly died! Something happened…, there was a flash of light…, and you started to breathe. We found you dead, but you’re okay!” Zipz says all at once, her words tumbling over themselves in her excitement. Heri glances at the odd collection of those around her, taking in each in turn.

“Oh, th… thanks. Thank you, so much. What's going on?”

“Ve hide,” Mixibis replies. “It is dark, nearly, and there are people that think ve set the inn on fire. Ve are going to lay low for a vhile.”

“Oh! That’s right! The Inn…,” Heri’s eyes stop on Ballen and widen. “Who… the hell is this? Are we not sure he did it?” Ballen takes no notice as he fumbles around trying to sheathe his sword while holding his halberd awkwardly in the crook of his arm.

“I dunno… he killed some pirates. I think he’s okay!” Zipz answers, shooting him a suspicious glare.

“He is half elf… or elf… he is okay.” Misxibis adds, before turning to Ballen, “Actually, who are you?”

“Oh… yes… Hello, I’m Ballen, an Elf of the Skyreach Clan. I was stationed in Del Ayir but...," he trails off as he sees the blank faces that greet his answer. "Look, I got lost, saw some people killing each other and thought I’d join in, to save people, you know? But I don’t think we did very well!” He finally sheaths his sword and gets hold of his halberd in one hand, rummaging through his clothes and pulling forth a flute. “But, would you like to hear my music!” The others share concerned looks and Heri shakes her head at Zipz and Misxibis.

“That sounds… nice. Maybe later. Ve find shelter, make sure Heri feel better.”

“Heri do you feel okay? Can you walk?” Zipz adds.

“I don’t know…,” he pushes himself to his feet without the tinge of sore muscles or pain and pats at the spear shaped hole in his tunic, finding nothing but fur in its place. 

“Heri! You might not remember me, but I remember you! You came through Mona’s caravan a few weeks ago. I never forget a six foot tall rabbit!” Zipz says, hopping excitedly from foot to foot.

“ I never forget a small… creature… either. I remember you too Zipz, and the one with the pointy things on her head.”

“Hallo, you can call me Misxibis, or Missy as Zipz does…”

“I’m glad I ran into you, there are some really weird people out here,” Heri says. Zipz smiles, and takes a look around, as if noticing where they are for the first time. 

The flames from the Sandlion light the night’s sky, illuminating the town of Sandmyst Point to the north, its square-like buildings eclipsed by the enormous stack of red stone that fills the western horizon. 

Misxibis kicks at the hard packed sand beneath her feet and stares towards the massive dunes that lie to the west, their shadows appearing as gigantic waves set to crash upon the unsuspecting town. To the south warm lanterns glow amongst the sea of tents erected by those that seek to use Sandmyst point as a way station between Sab Narath and the ancient dig site of Khana to the north.  

Misxibis and Zipz share a look and nod, setting off towards the tents, knowing they have a home there. Heri and Ballen look around for a moment before following after into the dark desert night.

“What… uh, do we want to do with these fine fellows?” Charles asks, his eyes flicking over the crowd, counting the number of hostile glances cast in Tyrvaan’s direction.

“We would question them,” he grumbles.

“Yes, but next to a burning building seems not the best place.”

“We’ll take em back to our hideout.”

“Hideout?” Charles' eyebrow quirks up in surprise to be met with a low rhythmic growling sound that emanates from the dragon's throat. Something Charles assumes is laughter.

“It's a tent.” Charles' mouth quirks up and he nods.

Tyrvaan throws the body’s of the subdued bandits over his shoulder and pushes his way through the packed crowd as Zylnan and Charles follow. Charles, takes another look back at the conflagration that has engulfed the Sandlion and shakes his head, the meeting he had been summoned to had been a ruse, one to get his talisman, one that had succeeded. 

The party trudges off into the night, heading towards their tent, unaware of those that break from the crowd and follow.

  Tyrvaan throws the bandits to the sand covered floor of their sparsely decorated tent, looking around for some water to rouse them. 

“Hmmm,” Tyrvaan rumbles, “maybe we should have taken them to the city guard?” His musings entirely ignored as Zylnan drops into his cot and Charles begins rummaging through his satchel. He pulls out a number of official documents, those taken from the burning room, and begins to leaf through them, muttering to himself as he does.

“Hmmm, stamped permission to investigate digsite, unstamped request to visit oasis, historic translation about something called the ‘cataclysm, requisition of supplies into the desert” he tuts and shakes his head, stuffing them back into his satchel as he reads. “Ooohhh, this is interesting, a ransom from the Skragneck sand-pirates for a man named, Lhasin Tule… only two hundred gold… must not be very important, and here stuck to it is a letter,” so engrossed in the process of his investigation Charles reads the note aloud to those in the tent.

“Stonecut man with heart a’flutter,
I watch you and can do nought but splutter,
And I would melt with a mutter,
Should you go and churn ma butter.” 

Charles’ voice trails off and he grimaces and looks up to find Tyvaan and Zylnan’s eyes shifting uncomfortably away. “That’s probably something else…” 

Tyrvaan steps up to the two unconscious bandits.

“Get a bucket of water, let’s wake em,” Tyrvaan growls, turning to Zylnan shrugs.

“Too expensive. Bucket of sand okay?”

“Ugh, it’s everywhere and I hate it…,” Tyrvaan grunts in reply. Zylnan scoops the sand off the floor into a metal basin and passes it to Tyrvaan, who aggressively dumps it into the bandits face. Their heads snap back from the force of it and both open their eyes. One remains glassy eyed, his head wobbling as he attempts to focus on the tent. The other’s dagger sharp eyes focus first on Tyrvaan, then Zylnan and Charles.

“Who ordered you to attack the tavern?” Tyrvaan growls through clenched teeth.

“I ain’t tellin you nothin…” the bandit spits. A moment of silence descends in the tent and Tyrvaan turns to his bed retrieving a leather bound pack from his belongings. He steps over to the table, untying the knot and unrolls it before the eyes of a bandit. To his untrained eye, the chainmail mending tools look very much like basic instruments of torture and his eyes bulge at the implication.

“Alright, alright,” he cries. “It wasn’t the sand-pirates, we were just there for the score. Not there to hurt anybody, just rob the place!”

“What did you steal?” Charles queries. The bandits' head swings away from the tools and towards him.

“Bunch a gold. What else would I take?” Charles’ studies the man intently, then nods, removing the small wooden idol from his pocket.

“You seen this before?”

“It’s… it’s just a bunch of wood. I dunno.”

“Who told you of the score?”

“It was just some… ugh… note, but I can’t read, so gave it to my friend. He just told me about it. There was some weird symbol on the bottom… one I’ve neva seen before… but not much else about it.” Charles’ eyes bore into the man as he feels the answer of who stole his amulet within his grasp, but the movement of a shadow against the outer canvas catches his eye and before he can react a spear tears through the cloth and erupts from the bandit’s chest, his eyes darkening to nothing.

A heavy-set man pushes through the tear, and two more push through the tent flap at the entrance. Another comes through the canvas on the other side and Tyvaan, Zylnan and Charles form a defensive circle. 

Charles raises his hand and fires a barrage of luminous daggers through the man before him, each exploding out his back with a puff of blood. Zlynan steps to the side and slashes across the chest of the bandit to their left.

The bandits push on regardless, one driving a spear into Zlynan’s leg while two bound through the front and drive them into Charles' body. He coughs blood from his mouth as he falls to his knees and splutters “But… I’m human…” Charles' eyes roll back into his head and he collapses to the floor.

Tyrvaan bats a pathetic strike from the fourth bandit away with his shield and grabs Charles by the shoulder, hauling him to his feet once more and shouting, “You’re one of us now!” Holy energy blossoms from his claws and the spear wounds in Charles’ chest partially close. The energy continues to move, encompassing him in a shield of light as Charles feels the holy energy invigorate him.

A deep, rolling growl reverberates through the sea of tents and the passing Misxibis, Zipz, Heri and Ballen look up.

“Zipz, Heri, you strong enough to check?” Misxibis asks, staring towards the source of the sound.

“I can go!” Zipz says. Missy fits her with a stern glance and a smile.

“If you are not strong enough, go back to the tent,” but Zipz is already running, sliding beneath a nearby cart and around the corner.

Charles waves his hand in a mild panic at the looming bandits, the ethereal skeleton hand before him mimicking the frantic action. One the thugs easily side-step, causing Charles to shrink back as he prepares for another onslaught. 

A rapier bursts from the thug’s chest as he readies his swing and he drops his spear, peering down, a look of complete shock on his face as the light vanishes from his eyes and he falls to the ground, revealing the short form of the goblin Zipz.

“Missy! The Dragon!” she screams in excitement. Misxibis rounds the corner of the distant tent a step behind Zipz and strums her lute melodically.

Charles feels his eyes growing heavy and sees one of the attackers and a woman nearby sway for a moment before they drop to the ground and fall into a deep magically induced slumber.

Heri steps up beside Misxibis and looses an arrow from his longbow. It blurs throught he air and slams into the back of one of the bandits. He grunts and turns, waving his spear at the dragon before him. Tyrvaan steps back to avoid the blow and watches as a rapier drives through the side of the thug’s throat. He lifts his hands to grasp the wound, but loses strength before he can reach it and tumbles to the sand.

Zylnan whispers alien words and green fire burns along his sword. He drives it downward into the body of the sleeping thug. The body convulses as lifts and rams the sword into it, over and over. The flames whip off in torrents and bathe the thug beside him, causing him to drop his spear and swat at the magically propelled fire as a crossbow bolt from Misxibis smashes into the sand beside his feet.

He stoops to retrieve his spear, the fire doused and readies an attack on Zylnan’s back only to take a staggering step. He blinks as blood flows from his neck and turns shakily, peering through the torn, waving, tent canvas to see Heri Skips, longbow in hand facing him. He gurgles unintelligible words and collapses to the sand. 

“I see ve meet again!” Misxibis proclaims with a smile as Tyrvaan shakes the sleeping Charles awake.

“What … What happened? Did we win?”

“Ve von. You were… not so helpful.”

“Yea… that’s been happening a lot today,” Charles yawns. Zylnan moves over to the sleeping bandit and shakes him, though he fails to wake.

“Vhat happens? Ve lost you. Vhat is happening with you?” Mixibis asks of those in the tent.

“We … took some bandits from the inn. Wanted to find out about the fire and got attacked. We probably should have gone to the guards but… We are going to run into a lot of trouble out in these sands. You… not to be crass… but you folk don’t blend in with the traditional patronage.” Charles announces, wiping the sleep from his eyes.

“Yes, I have been hearing that all my life. It is old news.” Charles wanders a bit away from the others, peering into the sand for signs of others, but finding only the footprints that trail back towards the bonfire that is The Sandlion. “Ve have tent, you vant to come? It’s bigger! Can fit all of you.”

“We have lots of buckets of sand too!” Zipz adds with a smile trying to help, only to receive a low growl from Tyrvaan as he collects his items from around the tent.

“And little water, but mostly just still has walls!”

“That will be mostly appreciated,” Tyrvaan nods.

“Lot of space… can sit on each other lap if not!” Mixibis adds with a grin. Charles and Tyrvaan share a glance as Zylnan throws the unconscious bandit over his shoulder and begins to search the dead, pocketing several hefty coin purses.

“Zipz, can you scout vay. Make sure ve get to tent safely. Ve have large conspicuous party now.”

“Yes, I’ll go check our tent. I’m on it!” Zipz nods and disappears into the maze of lantern lit tents. The rest follows not too far behind.

The party stumbles into the tent to the ringing of bells that hang from the doorway. The inside is covered in carpets, pillows and furnishings. To one side a flap is pulled back to reveal a small bed, a wooden target with knives lodged in it and a pile of dark clothes. A flap on the opposite side is left closed, but as the wind blows through lifting it a smidge, a larger bed can be seen along with a stack of books.

The tired group falls to the cushions forming a circle around the edge of the tent while Zipz lurks beyond the entrance, waiting and watching for any that might approach. Misxibis stands from where she sat and moves to put her back to the doorway, always keeping Zipz in her eye line.

“You look much better than the last time I saw you,” Charles says, stepping up to Heri.

“Ummm, Thanks, I’m Heri by the way,” he says, his ears twitching as he speaks.

“Yes, Charles. Whe…”

“Nice to meet you, I suppose.” Heri says, cutting him off in a rush of words.

“Where are you from, if I may ask?” he continues.

“Oh, Elsewhere,” Charles quirks his eyebrows at the answer.

“Like The Elyswer, or somewhere else?”

“Somewhere else, far away.”

“So, that was kind of a weird thing. You were definitely dead, and now you’re not and you look quite well. Do you have any idea what kind of magic that was?”

“Well… ummm… I don’t really know what happened. All I know is I had an amulet given to me by my goddess and I don’t have it anymore. So, either I've failed in my mission, or she’s still looking out for me.”

“Who’s your goddess?”

“Titania, goddess of life and light.” Charles shakes his head at the name, more a student of Sabal and the desert history, than one of religion and foreign lore, “fascinating.” Tyrvaan nods approvingly at her allegiance, but says nothing more. 

“You’re a learned fellow right?” Heri asks of Charles

“I do my best,” Charles replies, with a prideful smirk.

“You know… when I was … ugh… you know. I had some sort of vision, I saw a chain with a spider crawling on it, with only seven legs. Do you know what that could mean?” Charles hesitates, before reaching into his pocket and producing the carved wooden links he took from the cultist. “Did it look like this?”

Heri bends down to get a closer look then nods in reply, “but it was much longer.” At that the tent flap opens and Zipz stands staring at the two.

“Wh… What did you say about a seven-legged spider?”

“There was a spider that crawled along the chain. I think it was a bad omen.” Heri answers, looking back and forth between Charles and Zipz. Zipz shrinks a little, her voice growing smaller as she asks the next question.

“And… And you only saw it today? Wh… When you were dead?” Heri nods and Zipz sighs. “I have something to share with you… I haven’t known you all long, but it seems we were brought together for a reason. I come from Mona’s caravan, you see. She's a great fortune teller, and she told me my fortune two years ago, when I came of age.”

Zipz turns around and takes her hood off for the first time. She slowly pulls the shoulder of her tunic down to reveal words that flow and move across her skin as if riding a playful breeze.

‘The seven legged spider comes into being. 
One of the legs is already broken and a great sacrifice must be made. 
They must all walk the same direction, facing kings, heroes and gods. 
Or else all will die and fade.’

“This was the prophecy Mona gave to me, and I never understood it,” Zipz whispers. Charles lets out a long breath, peering round to count the seven of them.

“This is certainly no coincidence.”

“Is little creepy ves, but still might be coincidence,” Misxibis cuts in, eyeing Zipz protectively. The others exchange uncomfortable looks. Tyrvaan closes his eyes momentarily muttering under his breath and nods to himself as if an agreement is made.

“There is something else I saw too,” Heri says, “but I know not what it means.” He grabs a loose sheaf of parchment and writes the sylvan he saw upon the stone. He holds it up to the others and Charles waves his hand at the unknown language. The air becomes thick with the tint of magic and the symbols shift to common.

“Kili’Nar Elit,” he reads aloud and the wizened dragon stands.

“Is this truly what you saw?” he grunts and Heri nods, as the rest of the party glance back and forth between the pair, waiting for an explanation. “It’s a name. A fey creature of Titania’s court. A powerful one.”

“Missy what does this all mean?” Zipz says, turning to her longtime friend.

“I do not know. It could mean everything, it could mean nothing. But it is bit of coincidence that we all in same place, same time, and bunny dies and sees spider.” She pauses, tilting her head in thought. “We could find this person… this Chiki Vhotsit.”

The rest of the tent look at her, shaking their heads in confusion.

“Vot vas the name? Kili Whotsit? Kili… ve could find this person?”

“Potentially, but also these papers I found. The people that made them took something from me, something I found in the ruins when I was young.” Charles replies, shaking the papers in his hand.

“Vot people?”

“A group of people, wearing strange robes. I’m not sure where they went. I had to flee unfortunately, but they were carrying this idol, which is from your dream,” he stabs a finger at Heri, “which had a spider, from your moving back, “moving his finger to point at Zipz. “Which is insane.”

“So ve have scary cult. Ve have servant of goddess. Ve have creepy moving tattoo. Ve have dead rabbit. It is good day!”

“An interesting one at least. These papers tell of an expedition into the desert and a permit to visit the dig-sites nearby. We have the permission here, and I assume this is all part of it, but I don’t know how.” Zipz points at the paper held in his other hand.

“What’s that piece of paper?” Charles shakes his head and hands it to her.

“Here, this is for saving my life.” Zipz takes it in hand and turns it over a few times trying to read the words on it before passing it up to Misxibis.

“Missy, is this a clue?”

“Ummm, this clue for … adults. Is not important. The man had admirer.” Zipz nods, but purses her lips, deep in thought considering its connection to all the events of the last day.

Zylnan leans forward and dumps the gold from the bandits on his table, “What about this? It’s not enough for the ransom, but it’s not ours either… technically.”

“Holy gold, that is lot of gold!” Misxibis exclaims.

“Me and Missy could look after it!” Zipz adds, a little too quickly.

“She sound like ve steal it… Ve not steal it. Ve can give it to people that need it?”

“Who needs it?” Zylnan queries.

“I need it,” Charles cuts in. “I’m very poor.”

“The people at the inn?” Zipz interjects. Tyrvaan glares at the pair of them and shakes his head. Trust is in short supply here.

“Dragon, where are your wings?” Zipz asks the massive creature, who pays her little heed.

“Let’s give it to inn people, and those that escaped with minor burns.”

“Give it to the inn,” Tyrvaan rumbles in response.

“We need to eat,” Zipz says.

“Yes, take ten percent for our vork.”

“We did save some people.” Zylnan adds. As they begin to bicker over what to do with the gold Tyrvaan turns to the unconscious man and shakes him. His head lolls back and forth and as he glances over his body finds he is no longer breathing.

“He’s dead,” Tyrvaan growls, and Misxibis sighs.

“Ve have dead body in tent far too long.” Zipz shuffles back towards the entrance. 

“I’ll check there are no guards around,” she mutters, disappearing into the night.

“Zipz is excellent sneak, vill be safe for her to check,” Misxibis adds with a prideful smile. One that freezes on her face as the guy rope on the tent is plucked, its reverberating sound followed shortly by a high pitched squeak.

“We should take care of this, respectfully,” Tyrvaan lifts the body and sighs, and Misxibis and Zylnan nod, with a chorus of “We’ll come.”

The three trail into the night, wandering carefully through the maze of tents and out into the giant cacti fields that grow beyond, their size and mass keeping the dunes at bay. Zylnan and Misxibis gaze around, keeping a look out for others that may be wandering this night, but struggle. The sand blows steadily against them, forcing them to raise a hand and shield themselves from its relentless annoyance. They soon give up, instead intent on the confident steps of Tyrvaan, whose long strides easily take them through the thirty foot tall clusters of cacti that rise like buildings from the sand.

They keep their eyes low from the wind and their pace steady as they trek on. The sand turns finer and their feet sink as they trek endlessly into the night. Misxibis looks up, and finds none of the lights of the town visible. 

“Are ve supposed to be this far out?” she asks, a hint of panic in her voice.

“Yes,” Tyrvaan grumbles, then stops for a moment. “No, we are lost.” Her head drops at the words.

“You are not funny dragon.”

“Maybe, we can see the inn? It was bright!” Zylnan adds.

“We get lost in desert, find way home from light of burning inn. Is fairytale.” Misxibis nods approvingly. Several moments pass as they peer through the dark, looking for the Sandlion.

“I think it’s back way ve came. Walk down this hill. Never should have followed dragon into desert. It’s old wives tale.”

Tyrvaan growls in response, and stares into the back of Misxibis as she begins her descent of the hundred foot sand dune, Zylnan a step behind. Tyvaan sighs, and places the body of the bandit in the soft sands, folding his arms respectfully over himself and closing his eyes. The sand begins to cover him and he says a short prayer to Tyr before following the others.

They slide more than walk as they descend the dune, the sands shifting awkwardly beneath their weight and as they once more reach the hardened floor, they look back at the corpse of the man to find he has slid thirty-six feet after them, one of his legs and arms now awkwardly protruding from the dune.

“My conscience is clear. It’s how he would have wanted to go” Tyrvaan mumbles, turning back to the cacti fields and following after the others.

“I bet they’re dead…,” Charles says, looking up from his papers at Heri. He peers towards the tent flap, where Zipz sits, staring out and nods.

“Yeah, probably…,”

Charles goes back to his investigation, instinctively reaching for where his talisman used to lie, and mutters the words he translated from the ancient script carved into it for the hundredth time this evening.

“Walk the path of those before, collect the hearts of those adored,
Gather life and then its mirror, fire, ice, zephyr, fissure.”

“What are you talking about? Why are you talking to yourself?” Zipz asks, after the muttering finally gets to her.

“It was my first great find. I found it in the ruins and showed it to the archeologists there, but they said the broken and darkened metal was all but worthless and I could keep it. It took me a long time to decipher the words, but it means something, I’m sure of it. I just need to find the other fragments.”

“Who do you adore?” Zipz asks.

“I… don’t know… I’m just thinking of what you showed us tonight. It’s legs are broken, but it has to walk the same direction. It sounds a lot like ‘Walk the path of those before.’ I just can’t get this out of my head.”

“I never thought much of this prophecy before… but… since Heri mentioned the spider… I dunno, it's just interesting.”

“It must mean something, if it was enough for them to steal from me.” Charles mutters through clenched teeth.

“Someone stole from you?”

“Yes, the people in the inn, with this chain idol that was in Heri’s dream, had the spider on it. They must know something we don’t.” He mutters the words again and Heri’s ears perk up this time, the words ‘Gather life’ catching in her mind, and the hollow wrenching feeling pulls at his heart once more.

Heri gasps and jumps up.

“You don’t suppose… by gather life… it means take life…,”

“I suppose it could, life can mean a number of things, collecting followers, collecting people, or… killing people.”

“It’s too complicated for a little goblin like me. Ask Missy when she gets back. She’s good with words.”

“Hmm, maybe I will.”

“You should hear some of her poetry… I wonder where they are…?” Zipz shrugs and pulls a box of dice from beneath her cloak. “You guys wanna play while we wait?”

“Yes, just give me a second. I’m gonna summon a fourth for the game.” As Zipz prepares the games and explains it to Heri, Charles begins to chant rhythmically, abruptly stops and turns mysteriously to the others.

“Would you like to meet my friend, Luna?” he asks, eyebrow cocked. Heri and Skips share a look of uncertainty, as he spins revealing a beautiful brown and white barn owl.

“Oh! She’s so pretty!” Zipz squeals.

“Hello Luna!” Heri adds, and Charles smiles warmly.

“She likes to keep me company.”

The three of them begin to play, tossing coins into the middle and rolling dice. Their laughter fills the air, as Luna hops onto the table, grabs the dice in her beak and tosses them to win several copper for herself.

After an immeasurable amount of time the tent flap opens and in shuffle Misxibis, Tyrvaan and Zylnan, their faces like thunder. A fine layer of sand permeates every inch of their bodies, falling from their hair in dustings with each movement. 

Charles, Heri, Zipz and Luna freeze, like they have been caught doing something unworldly. The dice hang in Luna’s beak and glances are thrown back and forth between the groups as each situation seems as inexplicable to the other. The silence is eventually broken by Zipz’s cheerful words.

“Missy, we’re playing dice! Do you want to play?”

“I vant to sleep…” she hesitates. “Yes, deal me in, I want to play!” As she shakes herself clean and slumps on a nearby cushion, Tyrvaan and Zylnan do likewise. With the absence of the dead body the merriment begins to increase and everyone settles into a natural comfort, as they share the information they have gathered. Missy seems particularly interested in the words of Charles’ amulet, but as Zylnan dishes out everyone's fair share of gold. That is forgotten as the games of chance continue and the party settles down for the night.