Prepared for Sacrifice

Day 9, June 7th 703 CR

It was one of those rules in life that you could hardly ever remember dreams, and Zyn was no exception. Sitting up and stretching, he felt the brush of familiar but distant memories that did not live in this life, calling from a yesterday that never was, always somewhere beyond grasping, just beyond the edge of hearing. Of course, this didn’t stop the nagging prickling in the back of his mind that he should remember it.

Greeted by the sight of Xayk, still wearing his wig made of Pols’ hair, looming over the others engaged in pleasant conversation, recollection kicked in that the dragon had been present in his dream, but try as he might he couldn’t remember anything else. The only thing that he could say for certain was that the dream seemed to have been the same he had been having for years.

“It’s not fun like that,” the dragon told the others as Zyn approached. “If there’s no war every now and then things get soooooo boring.”

“Uh-huh,” Grumiah said more out of obligation to reply nicely than anything else.

Xayk, however, was not easily fooled, especially by Grumiah’s attempted deflection of the issue that none of them really wanted to engage in conversation with him. “That’s the kind of dumb thing Steve would say,” he stated dourly before his face inexplicably and creepily brightened to gumdrops and sunshine. “That boring dope’s never going to be an issue again though.”

Grumiah sighed in resignation. “Really?” his voice put out obligingly. “You eat his dress like you threatened?”

“Uh uh,” the dragon shook his head vigorously, reaching behind him to grab something then spinning about with a calm, understated presence that just screamed that something was off, and indeed that turned out to be the case.

“I killed him,” Xayk declared like some small child seeking recognition from his parents at having successfully performed some new chore as he held out in his clawed hand the crushed and broken shell that was once upon a time a coconut with a frizzled face carved into it.

Like the others Zyn stared at the crushed shell bits with a mixture of nonsensical bewilderment and a quiet nameless terror, the kind that wouldn’t let up until one soiled oneself quite thoroughly. Fortunately there was no such soiling of undergarments though there was a collective step backwards as if the last bits of sanity and reason they had left were being repelled by the sheer bizarreness of the situation.

“It’s just as well,” the dragon surmised with a detached contemplative musing before again changing gears to creepy childlike innocence and exuberance. “I still have you guys around.”

Zyn swore that if Xayk kept saying stuff like that he was going to end up ripping out his hair and strangling himself.

With Sreenii still yet to return with news of their plea, the seven of them had only one thing to do: wait. Once again they sat down to sharpen spears that needed no more sharpening and discussed contingencies that had no basis in reality. A nervous energy pervaded the blood of all of them, creating a tense expectant atmosphere that even Pols seemed eager to break, even if it meant another descent into the darkness of that cave, even if inhuman opposition was surely waiting to meet them.

Still, they did what they could, and once again prodded Parn to see if he had anything at all he could use, but since all his spells seemed to be geared toward research they were consequently time consuming and not quite suited for combat. No fireballs, no silence spells, no nothing.

At some point as the sun crawled by and the day with it, Xayk disappeared. Where he had gone, Eli knew, but no one could decide if his immediate absence was good or bad, considering that if he was present you could see the unexpected thing that tended to happen with him as they were coming at you. Absence, however, meant you saw nothing before it smashed into your face. Whispers and quick surveying glances became common among them as they watched, ever wary of more of the dragon’s antics.

Sitting around with nothing better to do, Zyn decided to pass the time by burning things. Coconut shells, leaves, sticks, even some... other things that probably shouldn’t have been touched were all tossed in and burned up as Zyn restocked the fire. Not much time passed before Lorian came and sat down next to him. Zyn saw two possibilities: either the old goat was going to lecture him on wasting fuel or there was more odd ruminations to come as had happened the previous night. He said as much to his mentor, stoking a hearty laugh.

“I’d say I’m old enough to act how I damn well please, but our draconic friend took that excuse last night.”

“What I’d prefer to think about,” Zyn said, “Is what comes after Xayk is far behind us and we’re back in civilization.”

“Mmm... thought about that some already. There were a few people wanting my work, but there was this one that caught my eye. Vassilis Mendie, from Wales.”

Zyn frowned in thought. “Is this guy a Follower?”

“Oh yes, though before you get ahead of yourself, remember this is Wales we’re talking about.”

“Yeah, yeah, I remember.” Wales, of course, was widely known for its pervasive religious indifference. The fact that it was almost exclusively Lightbringer made it a somewhat alien territory, one that Zyn wouldn’t feel exactly comfortable in. Still from what he knew of the people, they probably weren’t the kind who’d care or look at him strangely for not being one of their faith, as would be the case if they were talking about the Midlands or Sathmore. “It’s just that... we’ve never gone into Lightbringer territory.”

Lorian regarded this with an ironic smile. “Not with you, no; but I’ve been wandering the Earth for quite number of years now, and I’ve been to quite a few places, Lightbringer turf included.”

“And no one tried to burn you alive or anything?” Zyn said jokingly.

Instead of smiling wryly or not acknowledging the remark at all, Lorian’s face wandered, his thoughts clearly in another place. “Not for such reasons as religious differences,” he said at last.

The mere fact that the old man had basically said yes to his question perked Zyn’s attention, but the cryptic nature of it gave him paused. “What’s with you old man, seriously?” he softly but firmly demanded.

“Indeed,” Lorian said contemplatively, “What could be wrong with me?” he mused in the old familiar way that meant Zyn now had to voice his thoughts and suspicions to see if they could hold water.

Zyn, of course, wasted no time. “You’ve been weird this entire trip. Ever since the ship sunk you’ve been reserved... cloistered.”

“Hmm,” the old man said to himself, “I suppose you could call it cloistered.”

Regarding his mentor carefully, Zyn examined him looking for any tells. “And it’s gotten really noticeable ever since we met Xayk. You haven’t been grilling the others, you haven’t been observing them like you normally would. You’ve just been staring off in the distance, every now and then chiming in. When something huge is going on you perk up, but the rest of the time...”

Lorian at last turned his gaze to face his student in the eye, his characteristic stare, a mix of chiding bemusement and secret iron confidence. “And what exactly about such behavior is troubling to you?”

At least his habit of testing him seemed more or less normal. “You mean am I referring to your startling lack of interest in your chosen profession or the fact that you’re moping about like a dejected lost lover?” Granted, that’s not exactly how Lorian had been moping about, but Zyn found it his task to provoke just as much as he in turn was provoked. Lorian’s provocations always seemed to get under his skin more effectively, but to Zyn it would be a matter of accomplishment as to how far he had come if he could truly succeed in getting under his mentor’s skin. He had gotten close several times, but never quite there. And Lorian, being the good teacher he was, was no doubt secretly waiting for that day himself.

“I am pleased that you are so ever mindful of the Business, however remote we may be from a place we can actually use it,” Lorain said ignoring the barb completely, his voice dripping with irony. Zyn didn’t ever bother shrugging or sighing; he’d met this particular brick wall far too many times as to still feel dejection.

“Knowledge from others is its own compensation,” Zyn duefully quoted straight from his mentor’s mouth.

“Touché,” Lorian conceded. “Things have... presented themselves in a new perspective to me in the last few days. I find myself questioning much now that I have not before, even though my life has consisted of much questioning.” Sensing his student’s unease, he let loose the barest semblance of a smile, already knowing the younger man’s thoughts.

“Lorian,” Zyn said, actually calling his mentor by name, “What’s going on?”

It was a long time before the one armed painter spoke up. “I’m really making you think, aren’t I?” Not waiting for his apprentice to respond, he went on. “First several days of this ordeal, seems nothing I could do could stop you from thinking yourself into a pit, and I don’t even want to know how much time you had to yourself floating on that piece of driftwood. But yesterday...” a chuckle escaped his throat, “Yesterday you seemed a bit too occupied to be busy churning thoughts back and forth through your mind. We had a cave to explore, then after that... you talked with the others,” he said with a small hint of amazement.

“Some of the others,” Zyn emphasized, “ And mostly with Lum.”

“Indeed,” Lorian remarked thoughtfully. But rather than comment on that, he continued. “Though through the years I’ve had you help me with many tasks, putting you to work countless times, you still have never quite grasped that one most pertinent lesson.”

Zyn rolled his eyes. “The lesson about not getting to the point to where your audience stops paying attention?”

Ignoring the barb entirely and utterly, Lorian went on. “It’s a lesson you already have a great deal of foundation for already. How do you get out of bed in the morning?”

Zyn blinked. “What do you mean? I’ve got stuff to do, stuff... to accomplish.”

“Eh, close,” Lorian responded. “Close, but not quite the point I was going for. I mean how do you get up when your cramps catch up with you, or your headaches, or when it’s nearly impossible to breathe?”

Zyn was quiet as he stared at the smoldering fire pit. “I... I just do.”

“You have a choice, you know,” Lorian said softly. “Every time, you are presented with a choice. And each time, you simply ‘do,’” he repeated the younger man’s phrasing.

“What else would I do? Die or something?”

Lorian smiled. “So your answer is to deal with your pain?”

Zyn shrugged. “Do I have a choice? Wai-wait, don’t answer that.”

“Then why,” the old man asked, “do you not apply this to your other efforts besides surviving the after effects of your numerous afflictions? In those cases you do not think; you do, in the purest sense of the word. And... I must wonder after yesterday whether you were ‘doing’ or were merely busy, as there is a marked difference between the two.”

“Busy and doing?” Zyn repeated somewhat skeptically? “Fine, just what is this magical difference, old man?”

“You have spent your entire life resisting the drudgery that collectively attempts to beat you into succumbing. Resisting pain, resisting that which you are against is something you need no lessons in. But still, you are unwilling to make the final sacrifice.”

“And just what would that be?” Zyn challenged.

“You never let it in. Always, you close yourself off from your pain, holding it off at a distance, never confronting. Surviving day by day, yes, but so near and yet so far from truly living.”

The old man was pushing some grand meaning of life thing onto Zyn, that much was clear. “Ok, ok... I can sort of see how there might be a point to what you’re saying, but... what does it have to do with anything on this island? What does it have to do with right now?”

This prompted a chuckle of mirth from the one armed painter. “In most cases, a great deal. But in your case, everything.” Once again, his gaze turned distantly to something that seemed beyond his field of vision, focusing beyond the here and now. “There are always possibilities...”

“...What?” Zyn asked at the sudden statement. The old man had said that exact phrase the previous night, in just as mysterious a spontaneity. But Zyn received no reply from Lorian, who picked himself up and started on a stroll down the beach.

Thoughts occurred to him to go chasing after the old goat, but he knew that was likely to do little good. If Lorian didn’t want to talk, he simply wasn’t going to. As Zyn there he heard Parn stumble his way out of the brush to approach him. “Uh, you, uh...” the mohawked mage began.

“What is it?” Zyn asked, keeping all signs of irritation out of his voice.

“You said you wished to know whether Xayk left any signs of magic use.”

Zyn’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh,” he said, remembering what he had told the mage the previous day. “What did you find?”

“Well, yesterday evening I looked for any signs that Xayk may have left when he...” Parn stopped, and merely pointed at his Mohawk hair. “If he used some kind of stealth magic, he left no signs. But last night...”

Instantly Zyn was reminded of his dream, one where Xayk of all people made an appearance. Merely recollecting it made Zyn want to be as far away from the dragon as possible, even though his role in the dream remained unclear and obscure. “Did he leave a trace from anything he did last night?”

Parn regarded him curiously, perhaps wondering how Zyn figured the dragon had been up to anything during the night. “Um, yes. Very yes. There... the campsite is strewn with ambient magical energy, like an infestation of termites.”

So Xayk had been up to something. “So what was he doing?”

“I do not know,” the mage admitted, “but whatever it was it was big. Very big, you could magically set an entire village on fire at once with all the energy he used.”

Zyn thought back to the dream and recalled something about a colorful veil of sorts, but what could that have had to do with anything? Just what had Xayk been up to?

The dragon himself didn’t show for some time, leaving the men around to wait and ponder, and occasionally dread. Finally, however, as the afternoon started to become late a massive dull brown scaled creature returned to them and landed, immediately sitting in a rather squat position, a strange look of mild anticipation on his face. “Just got back from our underwater friend. The deal is on.”

---

As before Xayk dismissed any suggestions that they bring torches with them, though when the spears were brought up the dragon was uncharacteristically silent. No, perhaps that wasn’t fair; he could be silent when he wanted to be, it was just that his silence, as with all things relating to Xayk, was unpredictable.

After some heel dragging they all assembled, six dirty, unshaven men, dressed in rags and, in Pols’ and Lum’s cases, just fish scale pants. Pols, after much grumbling finally relented and decided to forgo the nude in favor of Xayk’s homemade garments. Zyn felt his stubbly face, thinking how long it had been since he had had a shave. Then again, he had never really given serious thought about growing a beard. Maybe, just maybe if they got off this island, he’d see how a beard would turn out.

A tangible measure of anxiety hung in the air as they once again approached the cave, that dark claustrophobic descent that once again held the next step on their way off this island, though if what they had been told was true this really would be the last step on this never-ending journey to the ends of the Earth. The thought of setting his feet down on nice, solid, non-island ground instilled Zyn with at least some sense of hope, a hope that they could leave this hunk of rock sticking out in the middle of the ocean for good.

No one said a word as they passed the threshold of the cave’s entrance, leaving the sunlight behind them hopefully for the last time. The cavern’s darkness once again enveloped tem before a strange but now familiar ambient light lit the rocky descending passage, causing Zyn to search for a new face. A new face was almost certain to appear in lieu of the fact that on both previous descents Xayk had chosen distinct forms so that he could scrunch through some of the narrower passages. But as he scanned left and right, he saw no seventh man standing among the cast aways, and it soon become clear to the others as well that something was amiss.

“You don’t suppose he’s leaving us with that... ‘figment’ of his imagination again?” Grumiah asked aloud. There was no vocal answer except for a very audible scowl from Pols.

“Whadda ya standing around for?” a squeaky, high pitched voice suddenly rang out, startling several of them, Zyn included.

“Where in the pagan hells did that come from?” Pols demanded as he searched around.

“Down here silly goose!” the voice squeaked again, prompting the six men to all stare at the floor. There, standing midst their feet, was a small fluffy white kitten adorned with the largest, most ridiculous eyes Zyn had ever seen, though they instantly added an undeniable measure of almost revolting cuteness.

The other remarkable features were the sharp, twisted, gnarly spikes jutting out of the kitten’s back spread out in a crude flower-like arrangement, and a crude oversized wig composed of hastily threaded together hair sitting atop the head, nearly obscuring the face.

“Are you guys ready to go or not?” the absurdly cute kitten with spikes asked in its ultra squeaky voice.

“...Xayk?”

This prompted a squealing laugh from the absurd creature. “Who else did you expect, Father Yule? Come on, we’ve got evil cultists and lycanthropes to go beat up!” Xayk exclaimed before pouncing off further down the cave, turning his head back to face the stupefied men. “Well come on, sillies, we haven’t got all day!”

“Ok,” Zyn admitted, “Now I’ve seen everything.”

“Just when you think he couldn’t get any weirder,” Lum agreed.

Xayk wasn’t finished with his weirdness either, as was aptly demonstrated when he began humming, humming very loud, which in his perpetual squeaky voice became an increasingly shrill and intolerable assault on their ears. “What in Eli’s name are you humming up there?” Lum demanded at Xayk’s continued humming of the tune that was so chipper and repetitive it could drive a man insane.

“Oh, well I can’t tell you that,” the dragon in kitten form said to them. “It’s a secrwet.”

“What’s so important about it that it’s a secret?” Pols hotly and somewhat irrationally demanded.

“Silly sailor!” the kitten exclaimed. “It’s a secret ‘cause if you knew I’d have to [b]kill you[/b],” his voice suddenly became a deep, grating, menacing and altogether unnatural echoing, a seismic grinding like the proclamation of some demon. Naturally all six of them stopped dead in their tracks, eyes wide with sudden and paralyzing fear. Then, just as suddenly as it came, Xayk’s voice snapped back to its innocent, squeaky kitten form. “Besides,” he went on as if nothing was amiss,” I couldn’t stop singing it if I started saying the words!”

It was only after several long moments passed before they reacquired the nerve to take a breath and step forward again. Or it may have had to do with the fact that their only source of light was rapidly moving away from them with each stop that Xayk took, threatening to leave them in pitch black darkness. Either way in no time at all they were back on the heels of the jovial kitten with spikes, who swung his head wildly left and right in rhythm with the beat of his strange song.

By the time they reached the doorway the collective fear had mostly died away, though it was not like relaxation was at all possible seeing as they were once again seeking to infiltrate a dark confusing underground labyrinth filled with demon worshipping cultic merfolk and lycanthropes, all powered and kept nicely evil by the continual sacrifice of sentient beings.

Unlike last time, there was no long delay of chanting and spell casting. Instead, Xayk simply waved one of his kitten paws and with a great silence, only the rush of air announcing its motion, the massive stone slabs swung open.

As cheerfully and joyfully as ever Xayk leaped and pounced his way through the doorway, leaving the men to once again scramble behind in his wake. Zyn still didn’t have a solid, completely reasonable idea as to why they were following this dragon; at least he couldn’t come up with a reason that would have sounded plausible if it had been spoken back to him. They followed the dragon because... well, he told them to. The flying reptile (er, kitten for now) had them all wrapped around his claws tight, reinforced by his crazy unpredictable antics which served to produce fear in his new thralls. Pols out of all of them had risen to that fear with defiance, and while his “punishment” of being made completely bald was unorthodox and not really all that dangerous, the mere fact that Xayk had been able to pull it off so completely and so stealthily spoke volumes about what the dragon was capable of, not to mention the insane tenacity it required to undertake such a pointless task. And that was not even mentioning Steve’s... demise.

Xayk was playing them to his tune so well just by sheer physical presence that part of Zyn couldn’t help but admire his skill; greater even than Lorian by several orders of magnitude. Anyone that could leave that smug old goat speechless and caught off guard repeatedly was truly special, but that didn’t mean Zyn liked him. He didn’t so much hate the dragon, though, as he feared him, which was probably why Zyn distrusted him so. He didn’t like being manipulated like this. True, Lorian manipulated him plenty, but that was for Zyn’s own benefit, his own edification. Xayk... Xayk was simply too unpredictable to know what he was aiming at. Trusting him would be a mistake. Zyn didn’t think the dragon was leading them to their deaths as part of his twisted game, but how was he to know? The only thing he could consol himself with was that if Xayk really wanted to get them at some point, he’d make it happen; there was very little any of them could do to stop him. He was less an individual than a full flung force of nature, a fiendishly clever yet energetic and uncontrollable child in the body of a massive magic using flying reptile.

One wrong brush against a loose rock by poor Parn sent it tumbling to and fro down the somewhat steep descending tunnel, smacking itself hard against every piece and segment of stone it collided with. Instantly gasps of alarm rose at the sight, but very quickly it was realized that no accompanying clatter followed that could have echoed further through the cave, alerting others to their presence. “What... why didn’t that rock make any noise?” Grumiah asked.

Xayk, of course, had a ready answer. “Noise cap spell!” For emphasis, he nudged a rock down the descending path himself, again causing a spectacular spin through the air and numerous impacts, but hardly a sound echoed forth.

“What’s a hat spell got to do with anything?” Pols demanded.

Letting out a high pitched “Squee!” Xayk turned and pounced upon the short sailor. And knocked him flat on his back. “Not that kind of cap, silly goose!” the demonically strong kitten exclaimed inches from the petrified sailor’s face. “Cap as in upper limit! Ambient or external sounds like rocks falling or impacts and stuff; if they’re too loud, get a cap on them so they ain’t so loud! It’s magic!”

“Um, does that include voices?” Zyn asked, unable to help but notice that Xayk was speaking awfully loud.

The kitten turned to him with a pleasant, happy grin crossing his features. “No,” he answered innocently, “Why do you ask?”

Zyn most assuredly could have answered that question, but one brief stare at Xayk convinced him otherwise. “Nevermind.”

As soon as Xayk leaped off a still terrified Pols, they resumed their way. However, Lum and Pols after a minute could not help but try and test this new “noise cap” spell by kicking rocks, stomping on them, and even hurling them to ground in hopes of shattering them. Once of the fragments of said shatterings flew off and clipped Grumiah in the ear, to which the burly quartermaster snapped around and hissed at the two juvenile acting sailors to knock it off.

Putting such distractions aside, down the seven of them went, once more into the abyss. With each step he took, Zyn knew he was taking himself quite possibly closer to his death. Though this was far from the first time into this cave, for some reason he could not shake the feeling that death would be waiting below. As he had been forced to confront it on that stormy night where they were first “introduced” to Xayk, and even more so on that lonely little wooden plank floating aimlessly in the middle of the ocean, he found himself pondering his demise. And yet, to his unending frustration, he did not know how he should feel. Was he prepared? Was he ready? If the moment came, how would he react? There had been numerous times he faced mortality before, but this journey... Eli seemed to see fit to stack encounter after encounter with the fringes of death.

With silent cursing his momentarily balled his fists in frustration. Lorian’s words echoed in the back of his mind, about thinking and doing, but...

How was one supposed to feel? How could one act if one didn’t feel? Feelings didn’t just appear on demand like some servant! It wasn’t a simple matter of just dipping a bucket into the well of emotion and scooping out some feeling! The human soul wasn’t built that way, so how could Lorian of all people ask that of him? Admittedly, Lorian did have a way of teaching his student through paradox and other rather unorthodox means, but this wasn’t some simple reevaluation or change in looking at the world; this was asking the downright impossible.

As he continued his downward march, Zyn saw the others on his left and right, in front and in back of him. The slow realization came that if death were to come to him, it would come while these other men (and Xayk) surrounded him. Hell, a good deal of them would probably go down with him if it came to that, though he couldn’t say much at all about Xayk. The damndest thing was, he didn’t know how he felt about that either. They seemed an okay bunch on the whole, but he hadn’t truly gotten a chance to get to know any of them (except for Lorian obviously). He had just scratched the surface of getting to know Parn and Lum, and knew next to nothing about Pols and Grumiah. Deep down, were they good people? Zyn didn’t have an answer to that.

Damnit; just what was he supposed to do? Guided, forced by circumstances, he was being pushed along this road to what destination he didn’t know. Do, Lorian had said. Act, Lorian bade him. How was he to do that if he couldn’t feel? Don’t think, his master told him. How could he avoid thinking if he had nothing else to go on!? The old goat could go on about doing and sacrifice all he wanted; none of it made any difference if Zyn didn’t know what it was he was supposed to sacrifice!

Through his ruminations Zyn saw Xayk, who had again resumed his repetitive humming after quitting for a while, though thankfully at a quieter volume, dim his ambient light spell as they started passing mushrooms again, casting their ghostly blue glow upon the tunnel walls. Zyn checked and fiddled with the spear he had brought; he was by no means versed in combat, but felt its weight and balance nonetheless.

The day before when they had descended, there had been numerous close encounters: with fish, those giant crab things Xayk had called blorgs (which they had never quite seen themselves yet), and of course resident evil merfolk and wereorcas. Today, however, in spite of their prized innocent sacrificial victim completely disappearing on them, the demon worshipper’s tunnels were utterly silent. Even as he searched for it, Zyn could hear absolutely nothing to indicate anyone at all was down here.

“Something’s not right,” Grumiah whispered.

“Well gee, whatever gave you that idea?” Pols responded.

“They suffer a mysterious prisoner disappearance, and yet their security is lessened?” Zyn stated incredulously.

Lum turned to their kitten host. “You wouldn’t have anything to do with this would you?”

Xayk’s eyes watched him innocently, those wicked spikes on his back glistening in the mushroom light. “Why would you wanna know?” he asked ingenuously.

“There’s no one down here, dragon,” Grumiah stated testily. “Something’s up.”

“Er, actually no. Something is not up; it’s coming right toward us.”

“What?” the men said at once, looking at each other in alarm.

Rather than respond, Xayk suddenly darted down a passage to their left. “Don’t follow me; I gotta take care of something real quicklike. The crystal’s back in that main chamber we found Sreenii in. You’re not far; the little mage can get you to it. Now you might want hurry while you have time!” With that, the kitten bolted down the tunnels leaving them behind.

“Well that’s just great,” Zyn muttered.

Pols couldn’t agree more. “Anyone else get the feeling we’ve just been screwed?”

“Alright mage,” Grumiah said, suppressing whatever urge he had to grumble, putting his hand on Parn’s shoulder. “Find that crystal for us, it shouldn’t be far,” the quartermaster commanded, leaving out the grim possibility that the dragon hadn’t just left them in a trap.

Amazingly, Parn didn’t complain that whatever it was he was being forced to do wasn’t his specialty; he just took a couple deep breaths and attempted to focus. “There!” he suddenly pointed. “Very close, just that way.”

“You sure about that?” Lum asked as he scanned the tunnels around them, worriedly looking for trouble.

“As sure as I can be,” the mage responded in what had to have been the most resolute Zyn had ever heard him. Or maybe it wasn’t so much resolute as it was absent of uncertainty and low self-confidence. But hey, if Parn of all people wasn’t crapping his pants in fear, maybe this wasn’t as suicidal as they thought, though maybe that’s just what Zyn told himself to try and alleviate the dark feeling in his gut.

Trying to follow in the direction that Parn was pointing, concern was heavy about getting lost or going the wrong way, which of course ended up happening.

“There is something else,” the mage whispered. “Xayk... as he was running off, he was casting magic.”

“So?” Lum said.

“A lot of magic,” Parn insisted. “I cannot fathom what he is doing, but whatever it is, it is massive.”

Pols scowled.

“No, this...” Parn said turning this way and that trying to regain his bearings. “This way,” he indicated to their right, which being a solid wall meant scrounging around for a side passage to sweep around to head in the direction they needed to go.

A couple minutes later Parn stopped again. “This... this is wrong too. The crystal is above us.” To much gripping and worried demands that they hurry, they backtracked once again.

“Betcha this was the dragon’s plan,” Pols complained. “Get us lost down here after all he’s taken us through, just for a big laugh.”

“Shut up Pols,” Lum snapped before Zyn could. “You’re not helping.”

“Whatever,” the short sailor waved him off. “You gotta admit this is the last thing any sane person should do, going down here multiple times and all.”

A laugh of dark mirth escaped Zyn’s mouth. “Maybe Xayk’s ‘crazy’ is rubbing off on us.”

This time, they went up, then right, and lo and behold a passage that stroked some measure of familiarity stretched before them, complete with a short but quite wide alcove on the wall to their right. Not only had they found the entrance to the sacrificial chamber, but they had found the secret entrance that they had successfully used earlier.

But this time, their enemy had to suspect infiltration. Had to. Zyn shared this concern with the others.

“Could be a trap,” Lum voiced what no one seemed to want to say aloud.

“There’s no way their prized sacrifice up and walks off and they just decide to forget all about securing the place,” Zyn said. Turning to Parn, he voiced a concern stemming from that. “This alcove, couldn’t they have booby trapped it seeing as it’s a perfect entrance to sneak through?”

For all they were going through, Zyn was less than surprised to see the glistening of sweat across Parn’s forehead, reflecting off the pale blue light of the fungi. “It...,” he began. “Unlikely. The magic here is... focused, clear for some reason. There is much in the cave, but I can see nothing in the alcove.”

“Almost too good to be true,” Pols said aloud.

This was not enough to deter their fearless leader. “If we had more time, we’d look for another way in” Grumiah declared. “But the dragon told us we’d better hurry, and this is one matter I don’t wish to test him upon,” he said as he cast a gaze at Pols’ bald head and Parn’s stiff Mohawk. “We’ve already wasted enough time so let’s just get in there, nab that crystal and get the hell outta here!”

“Amen,” Lum added in assent.

“Here’s a thought,” Zyn added. “Where do we go when we smash the crystal?”

Uncomfortable silence pervaded the six of them, matched only by the eerie faint echoes of the cave. “That bridge’ll be crossed when we come to it,” Lorian said simply, though with a faint measure of that uncomfortable distance he had earlier demonstrated. In a surprise move, however, the old man lowered himself to his knees and proceeded to be the first to crawl through the passage. Blinking, then grumbling to himself, Zyn dropped to his own knees and crawled on right behind his mentor. Before long all six of them were crawling on their knees through the low passage, bringing them once again to the spacious but eerily worn sacrifice chamber. Lit by the soft blue radiance of the fungi, the only object of any significance that stood out was the softly carved altar, this time bereft of any chained occupants. It’s soft, smoothly chiseled appearance belied its far more sinister purpose, as despite apparent attempts to clean its worn surface occasional dried splatters of blood spoke of its grisly function. To Zyn’s left Parn made the sign of the yew, repeated by the sailors shortly after.

“If we’re gonna do this,” Pols said as he edged to the alcove’s end, “Let’s get it over with.”

Quickly the six of men scurried down and hunkered their way to the altar. There, suspended seemingly in mid air, was their crystal. Though darkened and obviously without any magic flowing through it, it had a ...presence, a sickening aura that seemed to strike Zyn’s stomach like dulled lightning and leave it churning; as they neared he felt his blood almost pulsate from some wave of nauseous evil that that profane abomination emanated. Its presence grew more and more as he edged closer, a pulsating grip that shook his bones. He didn’t like the fact that this thing was affecting him in such a deep way, not one bit. For years he had heard priests speak of profane magic; now he knew just how profane magic could truly be.

Hesitation and revulsion were evident in the others too, until Pols just scowled, darted forth, jumped atop the altar and plucked the crystal like an apple from a tree. “Now what?”

It was a natural question to ask, and one that should have had a logical, ready answer. The only thing was that they realized, no matter how much they needed it or how relevant it was, they didn’t have one.

Blinking, Zyn let loose a curse. “Wonderful,” he muttered.

Pols, after receiving not answers to his question just grumbled “figures,” then up and chucked the crystal against the cave floor. Instead of shattering into a million pieces like any reasonable crystal could be expected to, their dark abomination just clinked musically as it struck stone and floundered over, end over end.

Pols let loose with a series of curses that would have sent a priest into a heart attack; Lum hurried over and thrust his spear onto it, hoping to puncture and shatter it that way. This too, unfortunately, proved utterly fruitless when the crystal didn’t produce the slightest scratch or chink. “Pagan hells,” Lum cursed.

Another chuck across the room and the crystal still emerged physically unscathed; Grumiah had his own turn with tossing it against the wall, hoping his heavy muscles could put enough sheer force behind his throw to break the damn thing, but again there was no discernable effect. Each time it was struck its pulsating magical grip spiked to the point where Zyn found himself physically wincing. Like so much water the pulses seemed to fill the chamber and... spill out beyond. “Guys, we might want to hurry,” he urged.

More curses spilt out as they tossed the crystal to Parn, frantically demanding that he conjure some spell out of his butt that would break the thing. Hopeless panic marred Parn’s visage, to which Pols added an ever helpful, “Just roast the damn thing!”

As the mage fumbled and stuttered with words that bubbled upon his tongue, unwelcome echoes sounded from the tunnels. Among those echoes were voices. A lot of them. “Crap,” Zyn said, eying the main entrance fearfully. There were only three entrances to the chamber: the large, wide main one adorned with loads of once ornate but now worn and weathered reliefs, a second less elaborate archway about a quarter of the way around the room to the right, and of course the small elevated alcove that they themselves had entered through.

Another burst of shouting, this time painfully close, and Grumiah snapped about. “We’re leaving, now.” Parn, who had been fidgeting with some ineffectual spell or another, grimaced and tucked the hand-sized crystal with both hands.

“Hurry, company’s just about to spring on us,” Lum told the mage. Escape loomed ahead as they neared the alcove...

...Only for the black and white face of a wereorca to pop out of the darkness right in their faces.

Spinning around the sailors dragged Parn with them and darted to the second entrance. Zyn stared at the menacing lycanthrope who broadcast a predatory sneer. A hand lunged and snatched him by the shoulder, jerking him back like a rag doll. “Zyn, come on!” Lum shouted. Stumbling in the sailor’s wake, Zyn hurried behind him along with Lorian to reach the second entrance. Panicked fire raced through his limbs as the true gravity of the situation came fell upon his consciousness, this crashing reality that they had been discovered, and if they didn’t get out immediately, they’d be cornered.

Out of the main arched entrance came a floating horde of the demon worshiping scum that had claimed this place, racing over the tops of each other in their sinister enthusiasm to capture the interlopers. This, however, barely had time to register in Zyn’s mind before the six men came to a screeching halt as the second smaller entrance they were headed to was blocked off by five very irate looking merfolk, three mermaids and two mermen.

A mad scramble backward ensured the men practically tripped over each other onto their backs, resulting a chaotic mess of torsos and limbs. Zyn rolled over to his side, trying to get to his feet. A long object, some shaft, spear, whatever, whacked him across the head before he could gain his footing, and down he went. He fell to his knees struggling as hands smacked into his shoulders and held him down.

Amid the frantic movements and chaotic shouting, Zyn turned and saw that all of his fellows were now similarly captive, held still by various knives, spears, and simple clubs hanging menacing above each of them, the men’s own weapons confiscated and carried hurriedly out of reach. Gulping, the implication of his situation belatedly hit him; they had failed, and were now at the demon worshippers’ mercy. The thought occurred in the back Zyn’s mind of what Xayk could possibly be up to, that if only he hadn’t run off they might have had a chance.

Like cattle they were herded and pushed back into the center of the room, amidst angry jeers in the mer’s clicking foreign tongue. In the pandemonium of the situation, however, even now the wereorcas and their mer counterparts glared and tossed semi-hostile sneers at each other, and indeed a competition seemed to take place as to whether the lycanthropes or the normal mers could rough up their captives more. None of this mattered, none of this registered as it should. Zyn fought, struggled to worm his way free even as a rain of blows came down each time he did so; he struggled in his mind, fought to concentrate, to focus on survival, but only panicked, disjointed thoughts found their way into the fore of his mind.

It wasn’t enough.

With great slams they were all brought to the center of the sacrifice chamber, thrust onto the ground with enough force to crack open skulls. Dazed, Zyn staggered his gaze up, his head searing and throbbing from a not insubstantial gash in his forehead. To his left he saw Grumiah with several cuts on his arm and a similar gash on his face; several of the others looked beaten and bruised as well.

A gasp ushered as Parn froze and stared ahead, looking as if he were about to pass out. In the confusion Zyn almost didn’t notice where they had been brought: all of them were situated in an arc near the front of the sacrificial altar.

A graceful form floated in from the gathered congregation of angry merfolk and lycanthropes, a single mermaid endowed with exquisite jewels and a decisively immodest frame. With smoldering indignation she hefted in her hands the crystal that the men had attempted to make off with. “More thievery, when you have already stolen much,” she declared with unremitting hostility. “Perhaps it is not such a terrible inconvenience, for you shall pay for your previous transgression; you shall pay six fold.” One by one her eyes passed over each of them, as if to remind them of their number. Nearby Parn shook visibly; Pols clenched his fists in infinite, helpless frustration. Grumiah attempted to bury his fear behind a stoic mask, while Lum seemed to cave under a crushing weight of weariness. Zyn knew what it was, that this meant that a year old child would never get a chance to see her father.

As for Zyn, his mind raced, paced, frantically pulled and pushed in every which way, only to go nowhere, only to end up right back in this moment. The here and now, where he was going to die.

Two figures made their way through the crowd, figures Zyn recognized by their ornate garments. The wereorca and merman priests that had been hovering over Sreenii the day before, just before they had rescued the hapless intended sacrificial victim; they were here now to finish the job. Dutifully but with dark satisfaction the mermaid that had spoken turned and passed the dark crystal to her mer counterpart, who received it thoughtfully but with severe purpose. Quickly he clicked a line in the mer’s utterly alien tongue and a second mermaid approached and received the crystal, who then rose and placed the abomination in its hanging position above the altar.

The wereorca priest, meanwhile, studied the men with his large hideous eyes, even more disturbing and alien than that of a normal mer, being the combination of merfolk and one of those predatory black and white beasts that swam under the waves. As he did so, Zyn noticed Lorian, staring back up at his captors not with fear, loathing, or defiance, but... a strange countenance, a peace that stood strong like a rock against a storm. The lycanthrope priest seemed quick to notice it, and without further ado pointed to the one armed man. Two pairs of hands grabbed him and gruffly dragged him to the altar, hoisting him like some sack of grain, and deposited him just as callously.

In the back of Zyn’s mind he realized what the demon-worshipers were doing; Lorian was the one who had shown the most strength, the most resolve; killing the strong would leave the weak to cower and tremble in fear. With a heavy, crushing realization, Zyn wondered if that made him just so, not strong enough to stand up to what was happening. But what could he do? What could he possibly achieve? All he felt now...

Floating on his plank in the middle of the ocean, he had furiously pondered the separating line between life and death, that thin division between this world and the next. He had wondered if he was strong enough to face that final challenge, that final test.

It seemed he was about to find out if indeed he was strong enough.

Lorian let himself be chained down without a struggle, without the slightest piece. With that done, the mer priest unsheathed a wicked, jeweled knife, the same he had held to Sreenii’s face the day before, threatening him with death. Uttering more words in that incomprehensible tongue, the priest raised the knife upwards. Apparently they saw fit to dispense with the pleasantries of excessive ceremony or taunting as they had done with Sreenii, whom they had left by himself to contemplate his fate. Then again, they had five others who would have plenty of time to do just that, after they had killed the strongest of will among them.

Feelings bubbled and burst in Zyn’s skull, raging to and fro. He couldn’t for the life of him figure out what it was he felt, seeing that merman hold that knife above his mentor, his friend, the closest person he had ever had to a father, but...

Even as the knife was raised to its highest, ready to strike down upon him, and the crystal began glowing anew with its rending, pulsating evil, Lorian somehow cracked a wry smile as he stared at the spectacle that was to end his life. The priest shouted another phrase, then lowered the knife to above Zyn’s mentor’s throat.

Lorian’s eyes briefly passed to his student, then up into the air, gazing seemingly at nothing in particular. “There are always possibilities...”

In that moment his throat was slit.

Blood spurted out in a gushing fountain, and the old man coughed a chortle of blood which spilled all across his lips. Flaring a deep purple the crystal shone and in the deepest possible sense it roared, a soul shattering rumble that shook Zyn’s heart, rattling it.

Unexpectedly he felt a tug as he and the others were dragged to their feet; it took him only moments to figure out why, or rather see. Here now they saw the dark light from the crystal soak and bathe Lorian’s dying body, his blood glistening in its dark glow. Forced to watch they observed in mute shock Lorian’s body twitch no more as it caught alight with a tremendous, roaring black flame.

This was not the worst. Not in the slightest. Zyn felt it happen. He could feel the wrenching, shredding energies that were sapping at his mentor’s energies, his soul feeding the flames. The distance between him and the altar was inconsequential, he may as well have been the sacrificial victim himself. Every spike and roar of that hideous unholy process he felt crash into him like a wall of water threatening to drown him in its blackness, just as that dark wave that had shattered their ship had done in the darkness of that storm.

And like that wave it sought to subsume him into the deep. Cast him aside to either death or madness, never offering an in between.

Just like every pain he had ever fought sought to do to him, to cleave him in two, to break him...

No.

Like Hell it will.

It wasn’t going to happen like this. He wasn’t going to sit and let the darkness claim him.

With a roar equal to the unholy fire that even now consumed the last of Lorian’s remains on the altar Zyn’s heart pushed, making him stand straight. The fear was overwhelming, over bearing, but he took it full force, grabbed it by the scruff of the neck and lassoed it firmly. All that wild fear, hate, and uncertainty, poured into one raw molten furnace and forged in fire.

He saw the others, some defiant and some nearly broken, but all slaves to their fate. And he saw surrounding them their captors, the merfolk and wereorcas who had put aside their differences to worship in this unholy place. They had put aside their hatred to be united by hatred...

There wasn’t a second thought. There was only this one moment, and Zyn grabbed it for all it was worth. Spinning about, much to the surprise of his immediate captor who had loosened his grip, Zyn faced down the nearest lycanthrope. But he raised no hand against it. Instead, he backed against a startled mer and, before his captors could snap him back into place, shouted at the wereorca.

“Lycanthrope! Filthy were-monsters! We’ve got you now. Us un-tainted got you in our noose now, ain’t that right!”

As he had hoped, for a brief infinitesimal moment the throng of demon worshippers was too caught off guard by his sudden and very directed outburst to beat him back into place. “The trap’s going great, we’re all ready to gut you now, ain’t that right guys?” he snapped and smiled darkly to several merfolk floating behind him.

It was impromptu, it was ludicrous, it was downright insane, but Zyn knew they had one shot, and he knew that the mers and the wereorcas already hated each other. This was the only reason he hadn’t been beaten and told to be silent. But even now, he had no time to waste. All it would take was just one cool head to prevail and dismiss him and it would all be over for the men. So it was time to make things hot.

“Filthy lycanthropes!” he shouted and moved to shove the wereorca in front of him, who fortunately floated right next to a mermaid. He made deliberately sure that his shove pushed the wereorca right into the mer.

“Dirty monsters!” another shout came out, one which Zyn instantly recognized as Pols. The bald sailor, probably as a result of having been through his share of barroom brawls, caught onto to Zyn’s crazy plan and shoved the nearest wereorca.

The lycanthrope Zyn had shoved shouted indignantly, but at that moment was snarled at by the mermaid he had been sent crashing into. Zyn quickly stoked the fire as furiously as he could. “Yeah, come on guys,” he shouted to the mers, “the plan’s ready! Let’s kill these bastards now! Kill these degenerate bags of shit! Kill ‘em all!”

Zyn let loose another violent shove, and when he was pushed back by the incensed wereorca he exaggerated the force and flung himself back into two or three merfolk bunched together.

Shouts started emerging from all across the hall, angry and accusatory shouts if the tone was any indication, and more shoving as the rest of the sailors got into the act as well only added fuel to the flames. As Zyn fell completely to the floor, he saw a mer and a lycanthrope angrily shouting at each other before they were shoved from behind. Amid the waving mass of bodies some encounters got more violent then they were intended to be, and tempers took on from there.

In a matter of seconds the shouts morphed from denunciations to screams as a blow or two was exchanged, and then all hell broke loose.

Blood sprayed through the air as someone grabbed a spear or knife and sliced open their neighbor. Blows came raining in left and right as Zyn got up and crawled low beneath the floating forms of the mers and the wereorcas, unnoticed. His eyes darted around as he tried to locate the others, whom he saw piling around the altar amid the chaotic mess that the sacrificial chamber had devolved into.

He also spotted them just in time to see Grumiah stabbed through the chest with a spear. The offending wereorca, however, wasn’t off scot free as the quartermaster had apparently already sealed his fate by slicing open a good portion of the lycanthrope’s belly. Both combatants fell on top of each other in a dying heap.

Zyn watched the ordeal occur as if in slow motion, but quickly shook his head for letting it distract him. Scrambling forward to join his remaining fellows, Zyn saw Pols with a spear stolen from their captors skewer the lycanthrope priest, and just beside him on the other side of the altar Lum had jumped on top of the wereorca’s mer counterpart and after a brief struggle snapped the priest’s neck.

All around them screams of the enraged and the dying filled the chamber with an ear shattering cacophony, leaving only four men out of the original six to stand against the horde of demon worshippers. Fortunately the horde was much too occupied with cutting itself to pieces and with their priests dead no one seemed to be left who could bring any sort of order to the scene.

However, even in chaos there was extreme danger, as Parn, who was huddled small against the side of the altar as he tried to make himself as invisible as possible, was spotted by a particularly cut up grisly looking mermaid whose eyes thirsted for blood and vengeance. Zyn saw the sacrificial knife the mer priest had used to kill Lorian laying on the floor beside the demonic clergy’s body, and wasted no time in snatching it up. Parn screamed as the mermaid was about to thrust a spear into his gut when Zyn leaped up and delivered the knife into the aquatic bitch’s back. A staggered, breathless gasp escaped her mouth as she struggled paralyzed in her last moments; Zyn stabbed her again in the back of the neck to hasten her demise.

Blood covered his hands and had splattered onto his face, but he realized that for the first time in his life he had killed someone. He took little time contemplating this, however; there was work to do. He snapped around to see Lum already grabbing Parn’s arm and dragging him up, telling the mage that now was the appropriate time to “get the hell outta here!”

But first, there was one last thing to do. As mer and wereorca slaughtered each other Zyn climbed onto the altar and snatched that crystalline abomination that had so gloated and roared upon the death of his mentor. If there was anyway he could end this unholy device, he was going to find it.

This act, however, seemed to at last attract some of the fighting throng’s attention. Apparently attempting to thieve (again) their precious crystal that lay at the heart of all their deadric rituals was enough to distract them from their hatred, for a few of them at least. At least seven wereorcas and mer approached them menacingly.

Suddenly behind him a blindingly bright wall of light seemingly erupted from nowhere, causing the demon worshippers to stagger back clutching their eyes. The burst was only momentary though and by the time Zyn snapped around he saw a trembling Parn lower two stones that glowed with some residual energy as he breathed heavily from his burst of spell casting. The stones too looked to have been worn by the power that had flowed through them as they started crumbling like talc. Fortunately it seemed to be enough to daze their pursuers for now.

“Come on ladies,” Pols shouted as he nabbed a couple spears from two dead mermen and tossed one to Lum, “time to skedaddle!” For once, Zyn wasn’t going to argue in the slightest with the short sailor.

Bolting, they took the secondary entrance to the chamber and just ran, not caring much at all where they went for the moment. Right at the moment, they were putting as much distance between them and that throng as possible. As they did so, Zyn took the knife, hoping that it could have some mystical properties seeing as how it was used for human sacrifice, and tried to shatter the dark crystal with its blade. Again, not the slightest chip or crack appeared.

Up and down, left and right they ran, how long Zyn couldn’t say for certain. It felt like forever, but part of him figured that it was only one or two minutes. Eventually the tunnel they were following spilled out into a gargantuan chamber, larger even by far than the sacrifice room. “By Eli, you could stuff an entire cathedral in here,” Lum said between gasping breaths.

Zyn tapped them all on the back. “Come on, we can’t stay here.” But before they could get moving again, a great slam shook the whole cave, sending it shaking and quivering with a torrent of loose rocks. Above and ahead of them a good twenty feet an entire section of the ceiling collapsed, raining rock down as a storm in the tropics might release a torrent of rainwater. With it a great dark form fell with it and smashed onto the ground in front of them.

Coughing and choking midst the dust, Zyn tried to wave his vision clear. Suddenly a great light burst forth, a familiar ambient kind, accompanied by an equally familiar voice which rang out, “Well there you guys are!”

Shocked, Zyn stared through the dust and sure enough as his vision cleared a great scaled beast now stood where the ceiling had just caved in, sitting expectantly on his haunches, this time his head absent a crude wig made of sailor’s hair; his face composed in a pleasant smile.

“Where the pagan hells were you!?” Pols furiously demanded of the dragon. “D-do you realize what we just went through while you waltzed off and abandoned us!? Lorian and Grumiah are dead and we almost got killed ourselves!”

Xayk just shrugged nonchalantly. “Well, it appears you succeeded nonetheless,” he responded nodding to Zyn, who stared at the dragon then at the crystal that he cupped in his hand. Without further preamble the dragon reached forward with one of his massive taloned hands and plucked the dark abomination from Zyn with his claws. Rolling it into the center of his hand, Xayk just squeezed and with an ear puncturing crunch, Zyn heard the crystal shatter into a thousand pieces.

Lum looked like he was just about to say something when another fierce rumbling shook the cave, and at the far end of the chamber a great heave of dust and rocks rolled forth as an entire section of wall fell away. A great roar rolled forth and out of the frothing dust emerged two dark shapes, very large dark shapes, which stomped forth on massive feet. As they stepped into the furthest reaches of Xayk’s light spell, Zyn saw what appeared to be two huge black minotaur looking creatures with enormous tattered draconic wings sticking out of their backs. With tremendous bellows the creatures hefted what appeared to be maces the size of carriages.

Xayk suddenly acquired a bemused look on his face and turned to regard the four men. “You might want to haul thine butts outta here; I’ll deal with these rather rude fellows. Take the left passage just behind you and go left then two rights; there’ll be a shaft that leads straight up back to the surface. Wait there ‘till I come get you.”

With that Xayk slowly spun about to face the demons and sat back down on his haunches, and smiled to himself as the monstrosities roared and charged with enough power to plow a church over. Zyn and the others wasted absolutely no time and bolted from the spot; even Parn had no trouble keeping up in the adrenaline of the moment.

The thunderous footsteps faded as they put distance between themselves and Xayk, but not by much, not by much at all. A thunderous crescendo as the horrendous demons no doubt charged the dragon, and then... the men looked at each other as they heard chaotic noise, a juxtaposed jumble of thunder and roars, then complete silence, then more booming that echoed through the tunnels. They weren’t about to slow down, not for anything, not for supernatural goings on, not even if the Patriarch himself showed up were they about to slow down one iota.

This may have been a slight mistake as they were quite delayed in hearing a certain series of rapid ticks until the echoing noises were almost on top of them. “Does anyone else hear that?” Parn asked.

Still running, Pols craned his head about. “Wait, that sounds like...”

That moment they passed a side passage on their left, which went straight for a few feet before skewing off to the side. Arching around this corner was a collection of gargantuan moving shells reminiscent of horseshoe crabs, some kind of strange cross between a regular crab and a tortoise.

“It’s those blorg things!” Lum shouted, recalling the crabs that Xayk had so inventively named. Not to mention that it had been Lum who had been bitten by one of the little monsters two days before. Before the sentence had fully left the sailor’s mouth, the giant crab creatures swarmed out of the tunnel like a plague, moving far faster than their ponderous size and small segmented legs would suggest. And like a plague in no time at all were the men confronted and overwhelmed. Zyn jumped back from one as it practically leaped to him, falling to his back scrambling backwards as it snapped at him with ugly misshapen pincers that seemed to protrude from the carapace like a compound fracture.

Another of the crabs surged forward at Lum, who let loose with his commandeered merfolk spear and thrusted low, stabbing right into the blorg’s ugly face. But the crab, though likely mortally wounded, rushed at him in its mad, agonized death dance and let loose with its enormous pincers, with the sailor just barely dodging away in time but still getting nicked with a clear cut right across the arm. Berserking, the crab slammed into Lum and smashed him into the wall, sending the sailor’s head careening directly into the stone, leaving him dazed and out of commission.

The blorg on top of Zyn snapped at him again, and this time nearly sliced open a piece of his chest in the process. Kicking it square in the face did a little to push it back, but its tenacity drove it forward and Zyn back even more, forcing him back on the floor and up against a wall. Another furious bite from the crustacean’s pincers bit into Zyn’s right leg just below the knee, hard. Screaming, Zyn kicked again with his other leg as he fought back the searing cut in his right one. It felt like it a tendon or something had just been snapped.

The nasty critter didn’t get another chance to taste Zyn’s flesh, though, as at that moment Pols jumped up from behind and thrust down with his spear with enough force to send the point straight through the carapace and impale the damn thing. Snapping to his feet with a grim triumphant face, the bald sailor found himself lurched forward from behind as a set of pincers impaled him through the abdomen, sticking out from his belly in a bloody mess.

Zyn stared at the dying man for only a moment before pushing himself up against the wall and grabbing the sacrificial knife that had fallen in the scuffle. Some feet away he heard Parn shouting and swinging wildly with a spear of his own, whacking ineffectually at a giant crab that was persistently charging at him. It was an on the run fight, and one that the mage was not going to survive for much longer. Finally the blorg snapped at Parn’s spear and snapped at it just as the mage was leaning on it, causing him to stumble head over heals down a short incline. The crab eagerly advanced on its hapless prey, an encounter that would almost certainly end with the mage’s death.

Gritting his teeth, Zyn stood on his wobbly feet and his straining right leg that emphatically did not want to support his weight in its wounded state. The crustacean that had killed Pols looked to be occupied with the sailor’s body for a moment, but seeing Zyn move about apparently made it decide to pay no more attention to the deceased to rather focus on eliminating the living, and it clicked and chittered angrily. Straining against his torn leg, Zyn pushed off from the wall to give himself some momentum, which he used to leap straight onto the back of the blorg’s carapace. Furious clicking and shaking ensued, but by then Zyn had leapt off the giant crustacean and towards Parn. His landing was less than graceful with his wounded leg and all, causing him to tumble to the cave floor in a disorganized heap. He’d made more foolish leaps before though, so the pain wasn’t unbearable. The crab nearest Parn was almost on top of the mage when Zyn kicked at its back legs, causing the crustacean to spin about in surprise. Zyn had another surprise waiting for it as he stabbed his knife into its face once it revealed itself. The crab let out an alien crustacean “scream” of scattered clicks as Zyn held the knife in place until the oversized critter stopped moving. Trying to tug the blade back out, Zyn saw that he had wedged it in at an odd angle against an inner portion of the carapace precluding any easy removal.

“You... you...” Parn said between gasps. “You have a wounded leg, how... why...?”

“Why end the wacky state of affairs with your family just yet? You’ve got grief to live through, mage,” Zyn cracked as he tried to push himself back onto his feet, his right leg screaming in protest and the rest of him if not complaining than at least severely chastising him for pushing so hard after just having been whacked all over. As he did so, he saw Parn’s eyes go wide, and snapping his head back he saw the blorg that he had leapt over approach them, its pincers snapping irately...

...Only for a voice to furiously shout out Pols name and for the battered form of Lum to leap forward with a rock the size of a large dog and smash it straight down on the giant crab’s back, shattering the carapace and splattering the crustacean’s insides with a decidedly satisfying crunch.

“They killed Pols,” Lum whispered, more for himself than for anything else, though it was news to Parn whose face sagged at the revelation.

Angry clicks and chitters echoed from the tunnels behind them, signaling more of the ugly crustaceans on their way. Without another word Lum helped Zyn to his feet, and the three of them raced as fast as they could, leaving the body of Pols’ dead body behind.

Remembering to take another right, the three remaining men hurried until they had to navigate a section of cave strewn with debris, likely the remains of some wall. And right beyond, a vertical shaft illuminated with light: light from the surface. “I’ll be damned,” Lum whispered, “The dragon wasn’t pulling a fast one.”

“These look as though they were smashed from the inside,” Parn pointed to the smashed pieces of stone. “There are sigils, some kind of old enchantments engraved onto the stone. I am no expert in this kind of runic magic, but I recognize some of these symbols and it seems this wall was enchanted to be quite strong—”

“Speak quick, mage boy, we don’t have time to waste,” Lum said as he helped Zyn make his way past the debris.

Sighing, the mage stumbled over the stones himself. “I think Xayk smashed this wall, and I think he did it while we were after the crystal.”

“Ok, so he smashed a wall open to let us out,” Lum said. “Fine, good for him.”

“Whatever,” Zyn said, “I still don’t trust him.” Xayk was the type that nobody should ever trust. He thought about this cave, the demon worshipping merfolk and wereorcas, and wondered if Xayk somehow could have had some hand in it. True, he had smashed the crystal and according to Parn had paved the way for them to get out, but there were still questions about him, questions that seemed likely to never be answered.

“Speaking of which, I thought he was fighting those... things,” Lum wondered. “Wasn’t he making a bunch of Earth shattering booms when he was fighting them?” Indeed, now that they thought about it the cave, aside from the blorgs, had been eerily quiet, as if there was no colossal battle between two huge black demons and a dragon.

Regardless, they pushed their way to the shaft, blinking as they looked up where straight above the orange hue of approaching dusk shone brilliantly as the midday sun in comparison to the dark confines of the cave. Zyn had never been so grateful to see the sky. Lining the inner walls of the shaft were small obtruding platform formations that looked sturdy enough to hold some serious weight. So without further ado they started climbing.

They were about a third of the way from the top scrounging up when the smashing and quaking that had shaken the cavern when the enormous demons had charged Xayk returned, this time with a roaring that nearly deafened all three of them and sent them covering their ears to try and protect them from the overwhelming, reverberating onslaught of sound. The shaking wasn’t limited to their ears; everything around them shook fiercely and huge chunks of rock began falling down the shaft all around them, taking several of the stone platforms with it.

Zyn did his best to dodge the falling rocks, and narrowly avoided a chunk the size of a head that fell mere inches from his shoulder. Lum, however, wasn’t so lucky as another rock fell right atop the sailor’s head, knocking him out cold.

The rain of boulders didn’t last much longer, leaving Zyn and Parn to check the damage to Lum’s head. “Is he alright?” Zyn asked.

Parn stared, then shrugged uncomfortably. “I... he seems to be stable, but I am not sure.”

Grabbing Lum’s head, he smacked his cheeks lightly. “Come on Lum, come on buddy, wake up.”

“We are where Xayk told us to be, are we not?” Parn asked. “He said he would be here.”

Zyn looking up to see the stone platforms leading to the top of the shaft had mostly collapsed, stranding them from the brilliant orange sky above, stranding them from escape. So close, only twelve or so feet, but so, so out of reach.

A creeping emptiness filled his stomach, and Zyn fought to remain calm. They had done it all: they had smashed that abomination of a crystal, they had escaped from certain human sacrifice, and the three of them were this close, this close to finally escaping this hellish place to have it within sight. Just a few feet more and the three of them could climb on top of each other and possibly even get out that way!

Rocks scuffled below, and for a moment Zyn feared another slide of loose rocks were on the way, but it quickly became clear that it wasn’t rocks but hardened carapaces with pincers attached that were coming.

Parn looked to Zyn, fear creasing his boyish face into lines that almost looked permanent after the last few days. Eyes wide, he dared peek a look below. Joining him, Zyn had to squint to see in the dark bottom of the shaft, but what he saw he distinctly didn’t like. Rocks were being hefted and shoved aside as dull brown irregular shells pushed their way through. This time it wasn’t a group of four or five; now at least a dozen of the monsters were pouring into the shaft below, examining around.

“What are they doing?” Zyn whispered

His question was promptly answered when the crustaceans began clawing at the walls, and incredibly their forms slowly lifted from the floor as they clung to walls, slowly but surely climbing their way up.

Damnit! All this way only for death to slowly to march upon them like this? Like this!? He hadn’t come this far just to be nibbled apart by these Eli forsaken crabs!

He plowed through his mind thinking of a way out, of something that could at least buy them time. The blorgs crawled up steadily, but not at such a riotous pace as they did skidding about on the ground. Maybe he could kick them off as they tried to climb onto the platform? No, that might work with a few, but not a dozen; he’d succeed in dislodging one or two before the others swarmed up from all sides. Parn couldn’t accomplish much besides blind them, but the crabs probably wouldn’t be affected as a man or a merfolk or even a wereorca would be. He cast a glance at the mage, hoping that he could pull something spell out of that skull of his that could work, but Parn shook his head, unable to think of anything.

“What about that stuff you were doing with those stones, imbuing them with fire and light and whatnot?”

“I... sorry,” the mage shook his head dejectedly. “I used focused lodestones from Xayk’s cave to channel those energies, and... I used the last up in the sacrifice chamber.”

The blorgs were almost two feet above the floor now, and it had only been seconds since they started climbing. In a minute they would be inundated. There had to be something, somehow...

Beside them Lum groaned, not truly conscious but more as a reflex. Zyn stopped as he stared at the sailor.

It... could work, provided the blorgs would be distracted completely by it, which he wasn’t altogether sure of.

But it was the only option they had.

With one breath Zyn steeled himself and moved between the wall and Lum’s prostate form and started pushing. Instantly a look of alarm crossed Parn’s face, but Zyn shook his head and stared back firmly. Agony crisscrossed the mage’s features but he made no more sound or move or protest. Zyn kept pushing.

“Uhhh,” breath escaped from Lum’s mouth. “De...Deloris...”

Zyn pushed again until the sailor was practically over the edge already, his left arm and leg hanging off to the side limply. “I’m sorry,” Zyn said simply. And with that he gave the final push.

Neither of them peeked their heads over to see what happened next. Besides, they couldn’t afford to tempt the crabs with any more of their senses than they were already were. By remaining unseen, hopefully that would add to the diversion.

The telltale picking of the blorg’s legs clinging to the walls did change somewhat, and in seconds they heard forms falling below, and the distant but sure organic sound of spurting, ripping flesh. It wasn’t possible to tell if there were any muffled screams mixed in or not.

Minutes ground by agonizingly, with nothing but the chomping and clicking of the crustaceans below. Parn covered his ears and wept softly to himself. Zyn sat still until he saw a sudden shadow pass by overhead. Their view of the now distinctly reddish sky was obscured for a moment then restored before a silhouette in the shape of the head of a familiar dragon popped over the side. “So, here you both are,” Xayk said, almost as if he expected both of them and no more. But maybe Zyn was reading too much into the dragon’s words. Sometimes, you just had to draw lines.

Escape came in the form of the dragon’s tail which he rather ungracefully lowered into the shaft, letting the two survivors grab onto it before hoisting them out. Emerging on a large, smooth topped rock situated among the coral reefs, Zyn saw they were quite removed from the island, which stood with its towering plateau up against the flat backdrop of the ocean on all sides. Dusk was fully setting in, with the sun lazily hovering over the horizon, the sky in brilliant shades of orange, red and purple, reflecting serenely off the layered but fluffy clouds, the tops of to the each were illuminated in red above the darkened lower layers which were now hidden from the sun by the horizon.

“Well,” Xayk said softly as he spread his wings lazily about, “I’d say that about wraps this island up. Seems we got done what we had to do to get off. Well, no sense sticking around any longer, climb aboard!” he gestured to his back.

The two men were somewhat concerned that they wouldn’t be able to fit, but looking at Xayk he seemed... just a bit bigger somehow than they had remembered. Zyn shrugged and climbed on, ignoring his throbbing leg. He and Parn were forced to sit practically on top of each other, but neither of them complained.

“What happened to those... big demon things?” Zyn asked.

“Oh, those mean jack offs with the maces?” Xayk responded as light and carefree as ever. “Don’t you worry about them, I took care of them good,” was his ever so specific reply. Zyn figured it was a waste of time to press the subject.

Without further ado Xayk swept his wings down and with a leap they sprung into the air, gravity losing its near permanent hold on them (and their stomachs, it seemed) as they entered a rushing wind, a heady weightlessness as inertia acted upon them in a way Zyn had never experience before, or for that matter imagined. He had ridden on a horse before, and experienced the thrill of the speed and power as the world raced past, but this... this was comparing grassy knolls to snowcapped mountains. He had flown on the dragon’s back twice now, once to his cave on the island and once down from it, but this time it wasn’t some ferrying trip; this was a full blown race through the open air.

A quick and rather sudden dive caught Zyn off guard, instinctually grabbing hold of Xayk’s scaly back to keep himself steady. Behind him Parn wasn’t much better off. Both of them almost failed to notice the shape waving on the reddened waters below. “Ahoy!” a familiar distant high pitched musical voice rang out.

“Booyah!” Xayk crowed. “See, we done and fixed your problem up real nice; you won’t have to worry about black sacrifice crystals ‘n crap anymore.”

Predictably, Sreenii was not quite able to take Xayk’s excessive casualness in stride, and shifted in the water a bit. “I... I bring personal word from the Lord of the Seas himself that Dvalin has granted you clear passage; no more will he obstruct your ways with the winds of the sky, most noble dragon.”

“Ah, you hear that?” Xayk craned his head back to face Zyn and Parn as he hovered over the merman’s position on the water. “I’m noble. You think I can go legitimately bed some hot aristocratic Pyralian chicks now?”

Sreenii was equally off put by the response as the men by Xayk’s response. But his eyes were quick to note the fact that there were only two men accompanying the dragon where there had once been six. “Are the others...?” Seeing Zyn’s nod, Sreenii lowered his head sadly, somewhat to Zyn’s surprise. “Know that the sacrifices you have made today have not been in vain. You have vanquished a great evil to my people, and we shall never forget your deeds.” With that, the merman inclined his head respectfully before giving them one last wave and descending back into the deep.

With Sreenii gone, Xayk flapped his massive wings again and turned north in silence. Zyn turned back to face the island, which even now was rapidly fading into the distance and the night as the sun left the horizon. He had first gazed upon it at night, and now again did he see from a distance clearly how it punctured the flat expanse of the sea with its mountainous plateau.

That place... had caused him great deal of grief, and with his mentor’s death another chapter in his life was forever closed. A great deal of pain had occurred on that lone rock in the middle of nowhere.

But he’d live with it.

It was what he did best.

“So,” Parn yelled trying to make himself heard over the wind as it barreled past them in the dragon’s flight, “How long exactly until we reach land?”

“Oh, only a few days. Don’t worry about water; I can purify some of this seawater so you won’t shrivel up like raisins from thirst. I can probably catch a few fish, but you’ll have to eat ‘em mostly raw I’m afraid.”

Blinking, Zyn realized that those were rather sensible things to worry about, and it was quite fortunate that they would not have to concern themselves with them. But a trip of several days on the back of a flying dragon over the open expanse of the ocean raised other concerns.

“Um,” Zyn began, “That might be all well and good, but if this is supposed to last for several days... Well, sitting up straight on your back kind requires us to be awake, so what if we fall asleep and... fall off?”

Xayk didn’t respond right away, a fact that caused Zyn some measure of concern. That was nothing though compared to what the dragon did next, which was to shake himself vigorously swinging the two men side to side like rag dolls. Parn managed to hold on with his hands to dear life, but Zyn was thrown completely off balance and before he knew it he was tumbling straight down into the darkening twilight sea below. Flailing his arms about and screaming, he watched helplessly as the sea raced straight up at him...

...Only to be snatched up at the last minute by the dragon’s taloned claws not twenty feet from the water’s surface and rather brusquely deposited back on Xayk’s back right in front of a pale Parn.

“That’s not really much of a worry either, see,” Xayk said with childlike enthusiasm as he rapidly regained altitude, a sensation which Zyn noticed made his ears want to pop. “I can go weeks without sleep and I can catch both of you easily enough, so if you find yourself nodding off back there you don’t have to worry in the slightest. You just cozy up and fall asleep anytime you wish. It’s no inconvenience to me, really!”

Zyn twisted his head back, making sure not to let go of his grip on Xayk’s back of course, to stare at Parn, who stared back with the exact same look on his face.

“So,” Xayk said casually as if nothing had just happened, “I never caught either of your names, your full names anyway. You, tiny mage, what’s yours?”

“Uh, uh, Pa-Parnsus Scolastin.”

“Uh-huh,” Xayk said clicking his tongue. “And yours, Survivor?”

Zyn reflected on the odd appellation that the dragon gave him, but didn’t think much on it. “Zynaid Amadias.”

Patting his belly in affirmation, Xayk nodded. “Alrighty then, I’ll remember those names from now on. Who knows, maybe one day I’ll pay you both a visit someday after I drop you off on the mainland!”

The thought was one that made Zyn squirm, and he tried not to think about it as they rapidly flew north as the sun finally crept completely below the horizon to the west.