The Caves of Inharmonious Discord Part 4: Vanishings

Now hardened by battle, the party—nine in number—returned to the clearing near the Caves they had once claimed. It was a good spot: flat, with water, and close enough to strike fast.

But something had changed.

At the center of the camp, they found a statue. Two feet tall. Made of clay and stone, with a long braid of grass for hair. It held the shaft of an arrow like a staff. At its base were offerings: a jar of beer, a stack of coins.

This wasn’t debris. It was a message. Someone had tracked them.

The party packed up and moved on.

---

The Drums from the Swamp

They settled again, farther off, in a place that seemed safe. But just after nightfall, drumming began—low and rhythmic, coming from a swampy hollow to the south. It continued for hours.

No attack came. The noise grew monotonous.

They ate rations in silence. Sukh and Ginjo took watch with Sid, Irak, Sheng, and Shek. The foreign priests were left to rest—no one quite trusted them to stand guard. The drumming ebbed but didn’t stop until dawn.

---

Signs of Rot and Silence

At first light, the party moved again—away from the swamp, the caves, the shrine. They found another campsite, better sheltered, and set off for the northern wall of the canyon. Sukh had raided a cave there before.

They passed the familiar skull wall, now dull with weather. Inside: cold ashes in a firepit. Silence.
Then—footsteps.

A bakemono, pig-faced and slack-jawed, stumbled into view. Its nose had been crushed flat. It didn’t react. It didn’t attack.

Pana, the foreign priest, stepped forward. He drew a charm from his robes and spoke words in a foreign tongue. The creature passed them by without a sound.

The cave, they decided, had been abandoned. They returned to their new camp.

---

The Vanishing

That night passed peacefully. Too peacefully.

Sukh and Ginjo slept long and woke late. When they stirred, half the party was gone—Irak, Shek, and the foreign priests. No note. No signs of struggle.

Ginjo found tracks, leading toward the caves.

They followed.

At the bottom of the canyon they found three bodies—one of Pana’s silent acolytes and two dog-lizard bakemono. The trail led to a low cave on the northern wall. Sukh had seen this breed there before.

---

Pit of Vermin

They charged in. Ginjo and Sid triggered a hidden pit and fell. Giant rats swarmed them. From the shadows, bakemono threw javelins.

Sukh and Sheng fought back. One javelin struck Sheng hard. He staggered, nearly dead. Sukh dragged him to safety and hid him among rocks, then returned.

Four bakemono now surrounded the pit, laughing and goading the rats. Sukh raised his bow. Two quick arrows—two dead bakemono. The rest fled.

Down in the pit, Ginjo and Sid fought on. Now, with no new threats from above, they made short work of the rats. Bloodied and gasping, they climbed out on a rope.

---

Loss and Realization

The party regrouped.

There was no sign of Irak or Shek, only the dead and the echo of laughter. Ginjo and Sukh came to a grim conclusion: a stronger force had taken their companions. There was no hope in attac
king blindly.

They returned to Pasar.

There, they found Gwinch—and told him the worst of it: Irak was missing, likely captured, and they were not strong enough to go after her.

The Caves of Inharmonious Discord Part 3: Gunjar's Final Word

After a few days of rest and quiet talk, Ginjo and Gunjar made a decision: they would strike again before returning to Pasar. If they left now, some companions might not return. But there were still at least two bakemono dens they hadn’t touched—and the deeper threat was still out there.

So they set out together—Ginjo, Gunjar, and their surviving allies. Sukh and Sentra came too, but stayed back as rearguard, setting up a watching post inside the canyon to guard the main party’s retreat. Or, if the main party didn’t return, they’d know what to do.

The assault began early, on a cave lay high on the southern cliffs. Inside, they met a strange and fearsome group of bakemono: lean and long-limbed, with faces like mangy cats or clever, hungry dogs. Their weapons were long spears with cruel barbs. Their laughter echoed off the walls—manic and mocking—and they fought as if indifferent as to whether it was them or their enemies who died.

The heroes surprised a group during a meal. Gunjar called down divine silence, and within moments the creatures were overwhelmed, tied up, and disarmed. The party crept past a sleeping chamber—rows of skeletal bakemono sprawled on mats—and burst into their chief’s hall.

The fight was fierce. The chief and his bodyguards fought with wild, high-pitched howls. Ginjo took a wound to the side. One of the monks nearly lost his arm. But when the chief fell, the others surrendered. Again, Gunjar insisted that these monsters should be allowed to surrender; the party bound them and began to regroup.

That’s when they heard the knocking.

From behind a wooden door came the noise—bakemono calling out, knocking, not hostile but persistent in claiming they needed to present an offering to the chief. Gunjar wanted to rest, to heal the injured. But the knocking continued, louder and louder. The party decided to ignore them, wait for silence, then make a break for the exit.

They followed this plan—but it soon fell apart.

They silently left the chief’s chamber and then crept through the hallway toward the entrance—and into an ambush. A group of bakemono with bows and crossbows stepped out of hidden alcoves and opened fire. At the same time, a squad of spear-wielders charged from a side room. Ginjo rushed the archers. Gunjar blocked the charge.

Both leaders held the line—but the hallway was narrow and chaotic. A few bakemono slipped past them and reached the center of the party.

Then came salvation.

Sentra and Sukh, sensing the delay, had entered the cave. They found the bakemono bowmen from behind, cut one down, and shouted to draw the rest. It worked. Ginjo seized the moment, rallying the others. “Move!” he shouted. “Get to the exit!”

They ran.

Sid, one of the monks, was caught in the flank and gored by a spear. He went down, bleeding out fast. Gunjar turned back, drove the bakemono off with a furious strike of his staff, and knelt beside his friend. His hands glowed gold. Sid stirred. He lived.

Gunjar pulled Sid to his feet and shoved him toward the exit, and stood before the final wave— three gaunt and slavering bakemono with axes and long spears. They saw Gunjar alone and wounded, and they struck. He stood his ground. He fell under them.

Ginjo led the retreat, fighting through the last bakemono to reach the mouth of the cave and usher the others out, with Sukh bringing up the rear. The canyon air hit them like wind on fire. As soon as they reached the air, the always unpredictable Sentra was gone—vanishing alone into the hills. “Let him go,” Irak, said, “the two-fold path always returns and if we stays on it, that’s where we will meet him.”

They regrouped at the base of the cliffs. Everyone had wounds. Some could barely walk.

Sukh looked around, then said, “Gunjar… I used to think he was just odd. But he never hurt anyone. He always walked toward danger. And now he's gone.”
He sheathed his blades. “Let’s get back to camp.”

---

The Jungle Trial

That was easier said than done. Gunjar had known the trails best. Sukh led them up and over the ridge, but they ended up in a swamp. They turned around, cut their way through a thicket, and found themselves in deep forest as the sun began to set.

They pushed on. Swords and parangs cut through hanging vines. Then Arif, one of the quiet monks, cried out—his sword caught on a strange, glossy vine. He tried to free it. The vine pulled back. Sticky. Elastic. Not a vine.

Spiders, the size of cats, dropped from the branches. One bit Arif on the neck before anyone rea
ched him. His friends cut it down, drove the other off. But Arif was shaking. The poison took him before they could stop it.

They didn’t find their old camp. Instead, they made a new one: a bare clearing beneath the stars. No fires. No tents. Some slept. Some just waited for dawn.

---

Return to Pasar

The next day, they followed the Rowche Valley trail and returned to Pasar.

Howzaa, last of the farmers, spoke first. “I’ll guard my village,” he said. “But I’m done with these caves. You’re welcome in my home, any time. But I won’t go back.”

The monks split.

• Bagus and Cahya were blunt. Ginjo was brave, but reckless. He chased glory, not balance. They were done.
• Sid, the one Gunjar had saved, quietly joined Sukh. “I don’t know why Gunjar fought the bakemono,” he said. “But I trust him. And if you’re going back, I will too.”
• Irak, a soft-spoken but fierce monk, pulled Ginjo aside. “There’s something darker in that canyon,” she said. “The others don’t see it. But I do. I believe in you.”

Sheng and Shek, the mercenaries, were loyal. Ginjo had saved them. And the Silk Guild still paid well. “Better than guarding caravans,” Shek grunted.

Ginjo and Sukh looked at what was left. They could lead this group. But they needed more than fighters.

They needed a mystic.

That’s when they met Pana.

A stranger from the west, he wore rough robes over fine armor. He was from the west, but did not adhere to the One Law, instead claiming to carry secret wisdom. Two silent acolytes followed him. He listened to Ginjo’s tale, nodded once, and smiled.

“I have seen mysteries that you may never see,” Pana said. “But I know evil when I see it. I’ve seen things like your bakemono before. Sometimes killing is the answer.”

And so he joined them.

The Caves of Inharmonious Discord Part 2: Helter-Skelter

After leaving the lair of the red-tusked bakemono, Gunjar and Ginjo had a new vantage point. From their height above the canyon floor, they spotted other cave mouths—higher, deeper, darker.

When they returned, they chose a new one to explore. Outside it, they found a broken shield and a scattering of copper yuan. The shield was split along the grain, its strap snapped clean through.

They stepped inside. Almost immediately, something felt wrong. The air pressed on them strangely, and the path twisted in ways that didn’t make sense. The deeper they went, the worse it got. Gunjar tried to map the tunnels, but after a few turns, he staggered and vomited.

Then came the light—dim and red, flickering against the cavern walls. They followed it, not sure why, until they found the source: a scuttle of dog-sized beetles, their swollen glands glowing around scythe-like mandibles.

The sight was horrific. But Ginjo didn’t flinch. He drew his sword and gave the word to advance.

Behind him came a half-dozen others—some local farmers, including Liu-Po, and a few monks trained in the sohei tradition. The farmers were unarmed or carried tools; they weren’t meant for battle. The monks moved with discipline, but this was something new.

The beetles were fierce. Their shells turned aside even clean strikes. And they were clever. Two climbed the cavern walls and dropped from above—straight onto Liu-Po. He screamed. They tore him apart before anyone could reach him.

Gunjar shouted a warning and called on his spirits. Ginjo cut down the beetle that killed Liu-Po. The others scattered, retreating into cracks and crevices.

The fight was over. But the cost had been too high.

Shaken, Gunjar declared the cave cursed and ordered a retreat. They gathered what was left of Liu-Po. Ginjo took the lead, lantern in hand.

The tunnels twisted again. It felt like they were being led downward. But then, ahead—daylight. A faint breeze. They walked faster.

At camp, they buried Liu-Po. Gunjar said a few words. No long speech. Just truth: Liu-Po had come when asked. He had held the line.

And now he was gone.

The Caves of Inharmonious Discord Part 1: "Other things . . ."

Dramatis Personae

Ginjo – A self-exiled warrior from the Zhou Empire. Level-headed and dependable, with a growing reputation as a local leader. Co-runs a Rowche tea shop in Pasar. Known for his cool command under pressure.

Gunjar – A white shaman from the Land of the Five Fires. Practices an older, spirit-driven tradition separate from the monastic Two-Fold Path. Merciful, mystical, and unsettlingly powerful when the spirits speak through him.

Sukh – A fellow exile from the Valley of the Five Fires. A rugged fighter and sometime rival to Gunjar. Though he declined to join the first temple raid, Sukh has stood by Ginjo since their joint investigation into the Black Flowers. He prefers action to ritual, and carries the weight of unspoken battles.

Sentra – A disciplined monk of the Monastery of the Two-Fold Path. Speaks little, observes much. Occasionally travels beyond monastery walls when duty demands. Respected by both peasants and monks.

Howzaa & Li Po – Rowche farmers turned reluctant adventurers. Survivors of the temple raid, now part of the expedition's vanguard.

Shek & Sheng – Former caravan guards, rescued from bakemono captivity. Now armed, armored, and loyal to Ginjo’s leadership.

---

Into the Caves

A few months had passed since the battle at the temple. Ginjo and Gunjar had returned to Pasar as quiet heroes, but it was the Rowche farmers who carried the most urgent news. The bakemono had not disappeared—they had multiplied.

At first, it was small things: tracks near burned ground, vanished animals, unearthed graves. Then came raids—on livestock, on carts, on lone travelers. The bakemono no longer acted as isolated bands but as a growing force. Their movements pointed to one place: a slot canyon, little more than a narrow tear in the hills, riddled with caves. Old farmers called it a place of ghosts—once a hermitage for monks, now twisted by something deeper and crueler. Dark tunnels leading to still darker places of disharmony, corruption, and discord. Or, as some would say, chaos.

Howzaa and Li Po, braver than most, followed the trails. What they saw—crude symbols, bones, flickering fires—was enough to send them back to Pasar, pale and resolute.

Ginjo and Gunjar answered the call. With the monks of the Two-Fold Path, they recruited a handful of warriors and volunteers, including Howzaa and Li Po. Their goal: not defense, but purification. They would strike into the canyon and root out the bakemono before their corruption spread any further.

They chose to enter through a low cavern mouth on the southern wall, half-hidden by vines and shadow. The air inside was still and damp. Within moments, the party encountered their first foes: half a dozen blue-green, pointy-eared bakemono, the same kind that had desecrated the temple. But this time, the heroes held the advantage—discipline, courage, and steel.

Ginjo led the charge. Gunjar invoked the spirits. The bakemono, caught off guard, were overwhelmed.

Deeper in, they found a cramped chamber made to resemble a throne room, pitiful in its pomp. A larger bakemono sat there, fanged and howling. He commanded his underlings to attack—only for Gunjar to step forward and deliver a scathing sermon, condemning them for their cruelty. The spirits answered. The air grew thick. The bakemono collapsed. Most would never rise again. But there were a few who rose and fled screaming, horrified by their own wickedness. 

The group pressed on, ascending narrow stairs and winding tunnels. The deeper they went, the stronger the resistance: larger bakemono, better-armed and less easily cowed. Still, Ginjo’s leadership held them together. Gunjar tended wounds with quiet devotion. And when they entered a prison chamber, they found survivors.

A wealthy silk merchant, his wife, and two guards. Captured on the road and held for ransom—or worse. The heroes escorted them to safety. The merchant, once returned to Pasar, offered Ginjo a generous reward through the Silk Guild.

His two guards, Shek and Sheng, outfitted with fresh gear, pledged their blades to the cause.

---

New Allies, New Plans

The battle had begun in earnest.

With evidence mounting of a large and organized bakemono presence, the party began assembling a broader force. The silk merchant’s influence helped. So did the quiet authority of the monks.

Sentra, a monk of the Two-Fold Path, and Sukh, the warrior from Gunjar’s homeland, agreed to join the next raid. Gwinch, an elder at the monastery, sent five additional sohei. In total, the expedition now
numbered a dozen fighters—sohei, caravaners, farmers, and four proven leaders.

They established a camp in the canyon—a central base from which to raid and regroup. They would strike in turns: one team would attack, the other defend the camp and tend the wounded.

The first strike had gone well.

But darker things lay deeper in the caves—and the bakemono had begun to organize.

Sentra and Sukh’s Sortie

Sukh had declined the temple raid—but he had never left the fight.

He’d been watching. Listening. The stories coming from the caves sounded worse than those from the Rowche ridgeline. So when Ginjo proposed a second sortie, Sukh agreed to lead it. He would go with Sentra, the quiet monk, who had once spoken of peace with a tone so cold it sounded like steel drawn from a scabbard.

They took with them a handful of sohei, plus several brave farmers. Their target: a narrow tunnel on the northern side of the canyon, half-hidden by brush and trees.

As they approached, it happened fast—a sudden rain of spears. Half a dozen small bakemono-- half-rat, half-dog, half-lizard-- dropped from the trees, shrieking and stabbing. One monk was run through and barely clung to life. Sentra charged into the fray, and swept two of the creatures aside with his staff. The ambushers fled into the underbrush, barking and hissing.

Sentra stabilized the wounded, wrapping their wounds with calm precision. He insisted the wounded be returned to camp immediately. 

That decision may have saved lives.

---

Sukh and Sentra returned hours later to a larger cavern mouth, higher on the canyon wall. The afternoon sun slanted into the opening. Inside, the light revealed ranks of severed heads, lined in niches carved into the stone. Human and bakemono, all grim trophies.

One niche was empty.

Sentra’s eyes narrowed. He had seen movement. A pig-nosed head, twitching ever so slightly—then gone. Behind the niche, he found a small tunnel. Throwing a torch inside, he glimpsed a parallel hallway, hidden behind the rows of skulls.

"They saw us first," Sentra muttered.
Sukh nodded. “Then we move fast.”

They charged into the main corridor, seeking an intercept point. They did not find the watcher—but they found four armed pig-faced bakemono.

The battle was sharp and fast. The creatures were tough but scattered. Sukh gutted two. Sentra crushed the windpipe of a third. The fourth tried to flee—but never made it to the tunnel.

They followed signs of habitation deeper in—and soon came upon the chief's lair.

He was bloated, bright red, with massive tusks jutting from his mouth like daggers. He sat in a heap of cushions and bones, surrounded by snarling bodyguards and several female bakemono.

The sohei and farmers squared off against the guards. Sukh pointed his blade at the chief.

The duel was brief, brutal, and strange. The chieftain fought with reckless strength—smashing, howling, lashing out blindly. But Sukh was patient. He waited, deflected, retreated. When the chief overcommitted, Sukh stepped in and struck low, then high—a clean kill.

The other bakemono panicked. Some tried to flee. None made it out.

The heroes looted the lair and returned to camp.

They had found one lair—but the canyon was full of mouths. And not all of them would be so clumsy.

Rowche Rumble

Pasar had grown quiet.

By the time Ginjo and Sukh returned to the Blue Water Wine Hall to investigate the Black Flower hideout, it had already been abandoned. Though there were clear signs of recent activity, nothing pointed to specific individuals, motives, or future plans. The trail had gone cold.

Ginjo: “We had chased Black Flower out of town so it was time to get paid. We met the farmers because we started a drug store.”

The “drug” Ginjo referred to was Rowche, a mild but addictive stimulant made from a grass native to the region. Brewed into a tea, Rowche was widely consumed in Pasar and neighboring settlements and exported both east and west on the Spice Road. The best strains came from the Rowche Valley, a fertile region about half a day’s journey east.

Ginjo: “The farmers asked us to get their jade leaf statue back from the bakemono. And we agreed to help them so the Rowche would keep coming—so we could sell it.”

According to the farmers, the bakemono—strange, twisted humanoids—had long troubled their valley, occasionally stealing chickens or goats. But recently, they had raided in force and taken something sacred: the Jade Leaf, a statue said to ensure the valley’s warm rains and gentle sunshine. The villagers believed this statue was the source of their prosperity.

The bakemono had holed up in an abandoned temple on the ridge above the valley.

Ginjo agreed to help—but Sukh declined. 

So Gin-jo made some inquiries and encountered Gunjar, a wandering white shaman from the far-off Land of the Five Fires. Gunjar had no interest in stimulants or trade—but the desecration of a temple roused his deep sense of spiritual justice.

So Ginjo and Gunjar set out for the Rowche Valley.

The villagers greeted them with quiet gratitude. Early the next morning, the two adventurers, joined by seven local farmers, began the climb up the mist-shrouded ridge. By noon, the mists had lifted, and the ruined temple’s peaked roof was visible above the canopy.

As they reached the forest’s edge, they heard guttural laughter. In the clearing below, they saw a dozen creatures—vaguely humanoid, but grotesquely distorted. Some were horned, others winged. Many had tails. Their ears and noses were oversized; their skin tinted shades of blue, green, and purple. Two of them, blindfolded, were engaged in a vicious stick-fight while the others cheered.

Gunjar stepped forward, calling on the spirits to transfix the largest of the creatures. His prayer was answered. As the leader stiffened in place, Ginjo led the farmers in a charge. The remaining bakemono were killed, and the paralyzed one was bound and dragged into the woods.

Inside the temple, they found more bakemono—just as disorganized, but more numerous. The initial assault was successful, but when the fighting spread, the inexperienced farmers faltered. Three were killed, and several others fled in panic. The bakemono pursued them, and only a few brave or lucky survivors remained with Gunjar and Ginjo.

On the upper floor, the bakemono were larger, better armed, and better organized. But they had not reckoned with the shaman’s fury. Gunjar delivered a blistering sermon, denouncing the bakemono for their violent ways. His words—terrible in their truth—struck many dead where they stood. Ginjo engaged the leader in single combat and killed him with his own hands.

With the enemy broken, the Jade Leaf was reclaimed.

That night, there was a subdued celebration in the village. Of the seven farmers who had gone to the ridge, only two returned with minor wounds:

• Howzaa, who had fled the main battle downstairs but later ambushed and killed one of the pursuing bakemono, claiming the creature’s weapon.
• Li Po, who had stayed near Ginjo during the fiercest fighting and learned what it meant to fight with courage.

In the days after the battle at the temple, Pasar returned to its usual rhythm. Barges came in from across the lake, heavy with fish and salted reeds. Traders from the mountains brought furs and Rowche; caravans from the east brought silk, glass, and gossip. At the city’s center, the market buzzed as always—with haggling, laughter, the slap of butcher knives on chopping blocks, and the sizzle of oil in blackened woks.

Ginjo returned to his shop near the canal, where tea smoke and Rowche steam curled into the humid air. Gunjar lingered at the lakeshore shrine, his hands never still—scratching symbols into the sand, watching the water for signs. Sukh watched from afar.

But something was wrong in the hills.

Howzaa and Li Po returned to the Rowche Valley as minor heroes. It was they who first brought the stories: of fresh tracks in the ash near the ruined temple; of livestock disappearing from high pastures; of torches seen flickering on distant ridgelines. The elders whispered of an old canyon, once a refuge of hermits, lined with caves carved into the sandstone by wind and centuries. A place where monks and pilgrims once sought wisdom… and where others went mad.

Now, it seemed, the caves had new inhabitants.

A shepherd found a pig-nosed corpse snagged in a ravine, torn by arrows and half-eaten by crows. A boy who followed goat tracks too far returned pale and trembling, claiming he saw "a man with lizard eyes and a voice like a drum." The rumors came slow, then faster, like the breath before a storm.

The bakemono had not scattered. They had gathered.

And so, one morning not long after the temple victory, Gunjar stood beside Ginjo in the dry light of dawn. Neither spoke. They were watching the far hills.

Somewhere beyond them was a canyon, and within it, a darkness worth facing.

Pasar on the Brink

As Gwinch has re-established the Two-Fold Path in Pasar, he also found time to identify and train an apprentice, one Adidas. Although the young man had first enquired about joining the ranks of the sohei, his talent as a healer and independent personality, soon proved that he less warrior than priest, and that he would follow a path far beyond the walls of monastery.

The Festival of Luc is a busy time in Pasar. Long celebrated by the Pasari Originals, the three days of parades, dancing and feasting have undeniable appeal for the merchants and other newcomers who have turned the backwater village into a thriving market town. But, in the eyes of the Pasari Originals, these foreigners do little to understand the deep mystery under the spectacles. And consequently, a Festival of Peace becomes an occasion for violence.

In this case, deadly violence. While Gwinch and his sohei were lending their support to the Elders of Pasar in maintaining order among drunken revelers, Adidas, together with his friends Dank Sum, Genjob, and Sukh, stumbled upon a murder victim.

It started with a noodle owner complained about demons in her cellar. The heroes checked it out and found—rats. In chasing the rats they came upon a series of tunnels, connecting other taverns and abandoned buildings. Most of these tunnels were several years old, dating to the time when the Black Flowers were first coming to power. A freshly-dug tunnel led to the cellar of Bahati one of the most prominent merchants in the Silk Merchants guild. Adidas, Dank-Sum, Genjob, and Sukh didn’t realize where they were until they were standing over the body of Bahati’s daughter Binti.

Bahati was shocked, outraged, and despondent. Most of Pasar echoed his angry grief. The on-going celebration of the Pasari Original was received by other members of the Silk Guild as a deliberate mockery and most foreigners agreed it was heartlessly insulting. Phang, one of the Elders of Pasar was caught going to a secret meeting at an encampment of the Imperial Army. This was unexpected, as the Elders were very public in their defiance in the war-mongering Emperors to the North and East, but ultimately it only made them look foolish

Over the ensuing weeks, the unrest increased. The Pasar Youth stayed with the palisade of Old Pasar and Gwinch’s monks took a more active role in maintaining basic order.

Until one day, 20 Imperial soldiers entered the city on horseback. They seemed to appear from nowhere, in the middle of a busy square. Someone threw a stone and knocked a rider off his horse. The other soldiers drew their swords and the killing started.

Sukh, Adidas, and Sentra Amangang, a young Pasari priest, were there. There was something odd about the man who’d thrown the rock, a giddy smile behind the mask of rage. Unwilling to commit themselves to either side in the melee, they chased the rock thrower, first into an abandoned house and then into a tunnel. Sentra caught him and knocked him to the ground. The rabble-rouser showed regret for his part in starting a riot and eagerly shared information about his involvement while begging to be allowed to go free. It was the Black Flowers who had hired, him, paying him several weeks wages, just to throw a big rock. He didn’t know why. “They don’t want you to ask question.”

He knew the tavern where the remnants of the Black Flowers met, “almost every day.” He was done with the Black Flowers and he wasn’t looking for a new job. “I just want to get out of Pasar and go back to my own village.”

They let him go and decided to check out the Blue Water Wine Hall, the alleged hideout of the Black Flowers. On the way, they were waylaid by archers. Although the three investigators were unarmed, in keeping with the laws of Pasar, they charged the archers and gave chase when the assassins fled. Although they lost their quarry, they found what seemed to be a secret entrance to the Blue Water Wine Hall. They ventured inside and were attacked by an enormous swordsman. Adidas floored the giant with a well-aimed punch. But rather than explore further, Adidas suggested they should return to the monastery and make a report to Gwinch.

Maztica: The Valley of Peace (Arrival)

On a quiet day, after traveling far from Nexal and when Atl was resting, Omechoka, Divemoye, Mociauh, and Zolin decided to experiment with the odd items they had discovered in the lair of the Rain Dragon. Omechoka had claimed a particularly beautiful object, a small vessel seemingly made of clear water, but in solid form. Because the vessel was clear, Omechoka could see its contents, a viscous liquid the color of the sky of midnight. Now seemed like a good time to open it. Omechoka removed the stopper and tipped out a drop. Immediately the bottle became slippery in his hands. It fell to the ground and shattered in a blinding flash. The ground seemed to dissolve beneath them and all screamed in alarm. When the travelers recovered their sight, they found that they had fallen upward. They were in the sky and the poor dry husk of Maztica lay below them. Far to the North they could see the smoke of Nexal. To the South they imagined they could see their homeland, where the sea encroached upon the land to turn it into swamp. But Zolin among the mountains almost directly beneath them a lush valley. As they got closer-- for they were slowly falling-- they pointed out to each other the lake found by mountain river, croplands, villages . . .

They landed in this green valley, choosing a forest clearing, now far upriver from one of the villages. They drank cool clean water from the stream and then walked toward the village. At first it seemed deserted. No one was working in the fields and all the houses were closed. They walked along the stream to a lake where they found boats and also fish kept in pens. They took many fish. Some they cooked and ate immediately. Others they smoked to eat later. Then they returned to exploring the village. They determined that there were people in the village, but that they were afraid to come out of their houses. Finally they found a house where the occupants acknowledged their presence. A man announced his willingness to fight while a woman chastised him for using violent words and begged the travelers to go away. Zolin insisted that they meant no harm and at last the travelers were welcomed into the house.

Zolin and Omechoka prepared a meal for their hosts (smoked fish) and learned about the strange place they had arrived. First, there was no fighting. Second, there was plenty of food. The village was known as Fat Shamba. There was another village that could be reached in one or two days journey. True Shamba, it was called. Would strangers be treated kindly there? Yes, they must be; it's True Shamba. Midnight, the man of the house, would take them there.

The next morning, Divemoye would not wake up. Sleep sickness. There was only one thing to do. Take him to the Cave of the Ancestors. Midnight would help carry him.

So the Travelers left Fat Shamba, following a narrow path along the lake and then walked along the river that flowed out of the lake. Midnight explained he didn't want to arrive at the Cave when it was dark. During the night, Midnight slept soundly (as did Divemoye!) but the others were kept awake by strange droning cries and then by a hard rain.

In the morning, Midnight explained that the Cave of the Ancestors was a place of healing and a place of rest. Some who entered would emerged fully healed. Others stayed for a long rest. He had made this trip to the Cave with dead or dying relatives, leaving them outside to be welcome by the Guardians. But he had never been inside. "So if we carry your friend inside, the Guardians might decide that we all need to stay for a long rest."

Zolin, Omechoka, and Mocaiauh were all ready to take any risk to help their friend. And Midnight wanted to accompany them.

To enter the cave, they waded through a pool of knee-deep, murky and stagnant water. They found themselves in a large cavern where they lit torches, and discussed where to go next. The cavern covered with small puddles and strewn with rocks and boulders. They followed a dry that led through a chamber full of roosting bats before tapering into a passage too narrow for even one person to squeeze through, even without the sleeping Divemoye.

Returning to their starting point, they looked more closely at a large boulder at the back of the chamber and determined that there was space behind it. Zolin climbed up and confirmed that there was a tunnel behind a boulder that they could easily walk through. And this tunnel was dimly lit.

The party hoisted Divemoye over the boulder and explored the tunnel, soon coming to a vertical shaft with a ladder going down. The light was from the bottom of the ladder. The party climbed down and found themselves in the middle of a tunnel. A trickle of water ran down the middle of it. On a shelf that ran alongside, there was a body, wrapped in cloth and next to it, a candle. Up the tunnel, there were more candles burning. Walking up the tunnel, the party found more dead bodies and skeletons, with the oldest remains in the highest reaches of the side tunnels. The water trickling through the tunnel had no effect on Divemoye.

So the party explored the tunnel in the other directions, lighting the way with their own torches. As they progressed, the water got deeper, finally flowing into a deep pool. Divemoye was plunged in the pool and woke up.

The party was ready to return. As Zolin climbed the ladder, a hand reached down to help her. Zolin recoiled and raised her torch. In its light, she could see bones through the hand's transparent flesh. Looking up at the hand's owner, she saw a figure wrapped in robes. Zolin dropped back the ladder and prepared to fight, taking Divemoye's Axe of Justice form its still groggy owner. When the figure reached the bottom of the owner, it reached out to embrace Zolin, but instead received a solid blow from the bronze blade of Divemoye's axe. The figure hissed and brandished a worn and battered maca. Midnight attacked the figure with his spear, striking it with such force in the middle of its body that the obsidian blade emerged on the other side and broke on the wall of the cave. But the figure barely acknowledge this, instead reaching out wrapping an arm around Midnight and pulling him closer. Zolin hit the figure a second time with the ax and Midnight wriggled free. The figure turned its full attention to Zolin, wildly swing the maca and knocking the axe out of her hand. As Zolin fumbled for another weapon, the figure advanced, and began to batter her with the maca. Midnight grabbed the axe and found the strength to attack the figure. Zolin pressed her shield against the deathly attacker, pinning against the side of the cave so that Midnight could smash its skull with the axe. The fearsome monster was still. Midnight reluctantly returned the axe. He agreed that yes, they had just killed one of the Guardians.

The party climbed the ladder and returned to the daylight.