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.

Master of the Desert Nomads Part 6: Invitations

 Because Beatriss had brought several extra horses from the Happy Valley, those who had been rescued from the Salt Swamp were able to ride. Hyamsam led the way back to where he and the other overland travelers had parted company with Kalashar.  The caravan track was clearly marked and the larger party had no difficulty finding their way to the oasis. This was a muddy hole with a small pool at the bottom, ringed with a dozen date palms. Kalashar was overjoyed to see them. He called for a feast!

Everyone overindulged in food and several overindulged in drink.

Bo-Jong’s advisor Ryu provided the following account of the strange and tragic events that happened that night and the next day:

During the feast Bo-Jing went out to get fresh air and saw a guard talking to a winged monkey creature.

Bo-Jing ran back in and yelled to everyone about the strange sight he had seen. The guards laughed but Kalashar looked worried.

The mighty and fearless Bo Jing ran back outside the tent in time to see the winged monkey in the light of the full moon. Bo-Jing sprinted after the odd creature as it flew and hopped across the desert.

Bo-Jing spot the monster one last time as it disappeared in the ruins of a temple.

The next day, the trustworthy Bo-Jing and his humble advisor returned to the temple, along with BO-Jing’s friends Beatriss, Bayan, Tetsukichi, and Temur. They found a very old temple, half-buried in the sand. Bo-Jing led the others in battle against two statues made of amber, and then found the winged monkey waiting for them.  The monkey cowered and Bo-Jing was unsure of whether it was a worthy foe, but his dilemma was resolved when an evil magician with the head of a vulture suddenly appeared and transfixed the friends of Bo-Jing with his evil magic. When Bo-Jing leapt into battle against he vulture-wizard, the cowardly monkey attacked him from behind. Beatriss broke free of the spell and slayed the monkey. The vulture wizard retreated deeper into its lair. Bo Jing, Beatriss, and Temur followed it into its alchemical workshop where they found a magical mirror.  A man was standing inside the mirror and he addressed them by name. So surprised were they, that they lost sight of the vulture wizard.

The man wore elaborate black metal armor and a helmet that covered his face. He reached out of the mirror and handed them a letter. The letter stated that he was the Master of the Land Beyond the Great Pass and that one day soon, he would be their Master as well. He invited them to visit him, and when they accepted his invitation, reached out of the mirror to hand them a certificate granting them safe passage. Then the mirror clouded in the man disappeared.

In the vulture wizard’s workshop, they found letters in the Master’s handwriting. One letter directed the wizard to, “Bring Bo-Jing and the other agents of Zhou Deng here so that I may look at them.” A second letter stated “Tell Khel that the army of Fitar has been destroyed. I am grateful for his information and he may end his employment with Kalashar any way he sees fit. In one week he should meet the Eastern March at the reckoning point.”

When Bo-Jing and his friends returned to the oasis, they found that Kalashar and the other merchants had been killed, their goods scattered, and the well polluted. There was no sign of Khel and the guards.

Master of the Desert Nomads Part 5: Lost and Found

Meanwhile, Beatriss, Hyamsam, and Temur had little difficulty finding the Salt Swamp. After parting ways with Kalashar, they pointed their horses north and after a few hours saw the white flash on the desert before them, comparable to a mirage that stretched along the horizon. As they drew closer, they were nearly overcome by a brilliance in which the horizon virtually disappeared. Everyone used their cloaks to shield their eyes and those of their horses. Beatriss covered her own sensitive eyes and face completely.

Towards nightfall, the soft desert sand gave way to salt crystals that crackled loudly under their horses’ hooves. There was a pungent smell and unfamiliar birdcalls. Beatriss unwrapped her face and stared into the swamp, but saw nothing alive. They decided to camp and make plans in the morning. Ju-Mei refused to sleep and spent the night softly chanting and burning incense.

They woke early and in the morning light were happily surprised to find a long, flat-bottomed boat, painted a bright sky blue. Hyamsam elected to guard the horses on shore, along with the soldiers of Fitar. Beatriss, Temur, Ju-Mei, and Naron rowed the boat into the swamp.

Ju-Mai sat in the prow of the boat while the others paddled. This was the place of his nightmares. He urged his comrades to paddle and push forward, guiding them through a maze of strange trees and salt-encrusted mudflats with uncanny confidence. As night fell he did not waver, and continued chanting, until he suddenly interrupting himself, “There!”

Ahead of them they saw a flickering light. Soon they heard moans mixed with shouting, mixed with incoherent babbling.

Ju-Mei chanted in a low whispered and directed his companions to pilot the boat toward the light and the voices . . .

-------

For those in hut, the whispers from the darkness seemed to be drawing closer. In time, Bangqiu noted something moving through the water. Those who were fully coherent looked forward to a direct confrontation with whatever had been tormenting them. Al-Fitar loaded his crossbow. Tetsukichi stood on the dock with his sword. Bayan tried to rally the sohei and soldiers. Bangqiu strained his eyes against the darkness, seeking a target for a blast of magic missiles. The shape moving through the water glided into a patch of unobscured moonlight. It was a moved, filled with several people. One of them stood up. “Bangqiu! We found you!” It was Beatriss. At once, the whispers rose to a single loud chant of several voices. The people in the hut responded with a deep sigh and rushed toward their friends in the boat, some clambering down the ladder, others jumping down onto the dock or even into the shallow water. Bayan guided the catatonic soldier down the ladder. By the time he reached the boat, he was sobbing but fully alert. Ju-Mei, while continuing to chant, lit candles and hurled them into the hut and on the dock. Once everyone was safely on the boat, Naron and Temur turned it around and those who were able helped to push and paddle it away from the swamp. Ju-Mei ordered that no one should look back at the hut. “If you cannot move the boat forward, pray with me! If you cannot pray, close your eyes and sleep! If you cannot close your eyes, stare up into the sky!”

Amidst the darkness, there was no way to measure their progress. In time, morning broke and far ahead of them, through the screen of reeds and sickly trees, they saw solid land, and the figure of their friend Hyamsam waving and shouting encouragement.

Master of the Desert Nomads Part 4: The Salt Swamp

Tetsukichi, Bayan, Bo-Jing, and Bangqiu continued their way up the river. The channel widened and grew more shallow. They pushed the raft forward with long poles that sank deep into soft brown mud. The air was thick and unmoving, and the smell of salt burned in their nostrils. Withered palms and dry reeds were crusted with brownish-white crystals. As the day wore on, a salty film settled on their eyelashes.

Everyone was hungry and thirsty. The water teemed with pale, sluggish fish. Damai speared one, but when he cut it open, worms burst out, and he flung the writhing mass back into the water. The river itself was undrinkable.

At sunset, as the swamp darkened, the party noticed a light ahead. They pushed the raft toward it, sometimes slashing through reeds, sometimes knocking aside rotten, half-submerged trees.

The light came from a wooden hut raised on tall stilts, with a narrow dock below. A ladder led up to a doorway covered by a rough curtain, glowing faintly from within. The travelers tied their raft to the dock. Bayan volunteered to climb first. At the top, she called out. There was no reply.

She drew her sword and stepped inside.

The room was small and bare, with a single window looking out over the dark swamp. Another doorway stood opposite, curtained, with light spilling faintly from within. Bayan pushed the curtain aside with the tip of her blade and peered in.

Another small, empty room.

She returned and called for the others to come up.

A cool breeze stirred outside, and a light rain began to fall. Within minutes, the wind rose and the rain thickened into a fierce storm. The hut swayed on its stilts, but no one wished to remain with the raft below. Without setting a guard, they lay down and slept.

Bangqiu woke first, hot and sweating, and began shouting at the others. Tetsukichi and Bayan stirred. It was bright again—harsh daylight, perhaps near midday. The storm was gone.

Everyone had dreamed.

One of the soldiers did not fully wake. He rose when spoken to and followed simple commands, but he would not speak, and his gaze remained fixed—on nothing, or on something no one else could see.

Damai began to explore the hut. He found no end to the sequence of small rooms, each divided by curtained doorways. He became absorbed in them, searching for differences—tracing the scratches in the floor, mapping their patterns.

Tetsukichi stepped outside.

The raft was gone.

So were most of their remaining provisions.

Bangqiu declared that he could take the form of a hippopotamus and ferry them to safety—but first he would scout ahead as a bird. The sky was overcast and did not clear as he climbed. Flying lower, just above the turgid water, he wove through the reeds toward the horizon.

He saw a structure ahead and quickened his pace.

As he approached, the shape resolved.

The hut.

Bayan said nothing. She began tearing planks from the walls, organizing the others to rebuild the raft.

The day passed in slow misery. Hunger, thirst, and exhaustion pressed down on them. No one spoke more than necessary.

As the sun began to set, someone asked whether it would be safe to sleep—glancing toward Nayan, who had stood all day at the window, unmoving.

It was a fair question.

No one answered it.

Then, from somewhere out in the swamp, they began to hear whispers . . .

Master of the Desert Nomads Part 3: Ju-Mei's Fortuitous Nightmare

Meanwhile, back in the Happy Valley, Ju-Mei was troubled by strange visions; he convinced Beatriss that her friends were in danger and that she should go their aid. Tetsukichi’s protégé, Temur was glad for an opportunity to prove himself by coming to the aid of his master. And the always unpredictable Hyamsam agreed to accompany them.

Beatriss, Hyamsam, and Temur (leading a few soldiers from Fitar’s army who had remained in the Happy Valley) reached Pramayama to find that both their friends and the army had already departed. A few stragglers explained that Tetsukichi had traveled up river by boat while the army had ventured overland. Based on warning from Ju-Mei, Beatriss decided that they would take the overland route. All were mounted, with at least one spare horse, and they made good time, following the tracks of the army of Fitar.

After about a week of travel, the party spotted a large encampment. Beatriss and Temur discussed whether this would be soldiers from the army of Fitar, enemy soldiers, or someone else. Hyamsam volunteered to investigate while the others found places to hide on a rocky ridge. He became invisible and approached the encampment, making a beeline for the largest and most elaborate tent. Spotting a pair of guards just outside the entrance of the tent and hearing voices inside, Hyamsam found a place outside where he could listen to the conversation. To his happy surprise, they were speaking Findi, his own native tongue. They were two men, a merchant named a Kalashar and his assistant, discussing what sounded like a familiar debate—whether the way ahead of them was becoming too dangerous. As other merchants had been frightened off by stories of attacks by savage bandits and monsters—or simply never returned, the money available to those still willing to travel the “Dark Northern Mountain Way” seemed too good to pass up. Anyway, it would never do to back out on this contract with an army. Nevertheless, this time would be the last time for sure.

Hyamsam returned to share the news. Merchants sounded harmless enough, but which army were they supplying? Beatriss and Temur had found a small cave to spend the night. Better sleep on it rather than make a rash decision unnecessarily.

But then the party heard the sound of hoofbeats from the other side of the ridge. A large group of horsemen were gathering and seemed to be planning an attack on the merchant caravan. Hyamsam demanded that his friends assist him in protecting the merchants; Beatriss and Temur agreed that it was the only honorable course of action. They led their horses quietly down the ridge and then rode quickly toward the merchant camp. When challenged by a guard, Beatriss answered that she has a warning for Kalashar, that the camp was in danger. The guards asked the party to dismount and then led them into the camp.

Kalashar was surprised at the news but had little time to question it. They all felt the ground shake with the sound of pounding hoofbeats. Kalashar called for his guards and their captain, Khel, who sent his men to four defensive positions. Beatriss and Hyamsam joined the guards in front of Kalashar’s tent. Temur, plus Fitar’s soldiers took a position with a group of archers at the front of the caravan.

The attackers proved to be bandits—brutal in their tactics, but most intent in making off with camels and cargo. With a magic blast of steam, Hyamsam broke the charge of the fiercest bandits who had attacked Kalshar’s tent directly. Beatriss and her henchmen dispatched the others of this charge. At the front of the column, bandits from behind rocks and guards from behind a wagon, exchanged missile fire. Temur broke the impasse, leading a group of Fitar’s soldiers in a swift flank attack on the surprised archers. When the heroes of the Happy Valley turned their attention to the other parts of the battle, they found the caravan guards in a bad way, overwhelmed by sheer numbers. But when the bandits saw the magician and the warrior woman coming, they took what they could and fled. Beatriss decided that they should not pursue them, but instead stay and help the wounded. Roughly a third of the caravan guards, plus several drovers had been killed in the battle. Nevertheless, Kalshar thanked the strangers for their help, fully realizing that he too would have been killed if it weren’t their surprise assistance.

The party traveled with Kalashar for several days. He cautioned them against exploring the Salt Swamp, advising them that few who ventured within ever returned. “Centuries ago, a terrible witch lived there. She made men mad and devoured their minds. Nothing good lives there now.”

These warning echoed the dreams that troubled Ju-Mei and reinforced the party’s commitment to rescue their friends. The day came when it was time for the party to part ways with Kalshar. He indicated the way he was headed, pointing out rough mountains to the west and a dark spot before them that he said was an oasis. “We will rest there for a few days. If any mortals can venture into the Salt Swamp and return, it would be the ones who stand before me now. May we meet again.”