S1:E1: Welcome to Pathilius

What do druids seek in the wilds of the world? How do rangers keep the balance of life and death in check? What is there for a fighter to do but fight? What is there for a thief to do but steal? When you only speak in poetry but the world around you speaks a different language, what can you say? When you are lost, alone, and hunted, what hope is there for you? And when you are ancient in the eyes of common folk but exiled from those that truly understand you, where do you find peace? Sometimes the only way to answer such questions is to ask them of other people and not of yourself.

Transcript

Episode 1: Welcome to Pathilius

Angedrian, a blue and green planet in the habitable zone of the star Isvara, is a planet thriving with life, which is orbited by the Dragon Moon. It is home to a great many species of thriving humanoids including commonly dragonborn, dwarf, elf, gnome, halfling, human, tiefling, bugbear, lizardfolk, centaur, tabaxi, and every manner of half-species mix. Sequestered away in their own enclaves are  firbolg, goblin, goliath, kenku, kobold, minotaur, orc, tortle, and yaun-ti. And everywhere, there can always be changelings. Angedrian is a natural flux point for multiverse transgressions with many other species appearing and disappearing through some magic or portal from a distant universe. But Angedrian is also an ancient world with its humanoid populations having become sentient, organized, and civilized more than 50,000 isvarana ago. Civilization’s stability is fleeting and, at this moment, Angedrian is in the 5th age of civilization, built upon the ruins, magic, bones, history, and power of four previous ages. What great heights did these previous ages achieve? Very great heights of enormous technical and magical renown! But Angedrian today is less than 2000 isvarana into its current age. Magic abounds but  technology was all but lost. The current machinations and political schemes at work across the 12 kingdoms to control Angedrian, for good or evil, are in constant battle, though largely political and economic. All the while, the ancient Underdark civilization of the drow and their kindred watch and wait for a surface world faction to emerge with whom they can align. One such kingdom, a southern hemisphere continent extending from the equatorial tropics to the frozen southern ice cap, is Pathilius, a largely agrarian melting pot of species with a military mandate to protect its southeastern shores—and the rest of Angedrian—from the vile darkness of Santernafulse.  

A small cluster of bright blue butterflies flits and bounces among the large golden flowers of an emerald bush next to a stream of clear water that murmurs over brightly polished stones. Enacelle Zalane’s green, scaly feet are in the rivulet, feeling the cold-water wash away the tiredness of having walked very far today, while her head is near the bush having butterflies occasionally land on her head or ears. She had gone for a swim earlier but now sat just enjoying the flowing cold. She had been trekking through this forest for several days, collecting interesting pieces of wood, acorns, seed pods, roots, plants, and other herbalist items as she went. She’d spent an hour or so each day carving the wood pieces into various designs, often with runes or stories of her travels. She ties each of the wooden charms onto a large mesh net made from the strongest fibers of her swamp. If she ever has to be seen before an official or a king, she will wear the net as a mark of pride and honor for her people. She has a large long staff of wood that she found 4 moon-turns ago that she’d finished carving into a 5-foot sturdy quarterstaff. She adds new magical runes to it almost daily and, when she has the right materials, will complete her magical incantations. The staff has many indentations which she wants to fill with brightly colored stones or gems or something natural…she isn’t sure yet. She had spent a bit of time making some healing potions from her herbs and had a few in her backpack. The forest, known as East Mournwood, is alive with innumerable creatures of all shapes and sizes as well as loads of plant diversity. Some of the trees are nearly 100 feet tall. She is always at home in a forest and this new one that she’d only been venturing through for the last quinday is one of her new favorites. Although the West Mournwood and The Great Swamp, her home and where her lizardfolk clan still dwelt, are only seven quindays journey to the west, it had taken her many moon-turns to reach this forest because of her wandering curiosity. In the southern distance, through trees, she sees the large mountain range that dominates the southern part of this land. She doesn’t like cold and snow all that much but has heard that beyond the mountains is an icy forest of hearty winter trees and creatures that are as white as snow. She would venture there one day but not today. 

As she sits feeling the refreshing water on her feet, a small rabbit bounds up to her and nestles next to her thigh. She knows this rabbit because she had magically befriended it only this morning and fed it quite a bit. She murmurs a few arcane words and turns to the creature.

[Enacelle casts “Speak with Animals”]

“And how can I help you, my furry little friend.” She stroked the bunny’s head and back as her magical connection transmitted her message.

“Horse-woman. Stuck. Help,” The bunny’s thoughts were frightened and frantic. Horse-woman? Enacelle stands up quickly and looks around, listening to the stillness of the forest. She gathers her things and uses her clawed toe to gently scratch the rabbit’s side. It looks up at her, nibbles, and then bounds through the forest. Enacelle follows.

After a short distance, Enacelle hears the clanging of metal and angry cries. She quickly recognizes the harsh guttural rumblings of kobolds but hears a second, louder voice speaking in common.

“Leave it, you mangy vermin!” The voice is commanding.

Enacelle passes through a small patch of trees and climbs a large boulder to finally reveal the source of the noise. A large female centaur is below her with its back legs trapped under a large fallen log. Just behind her is what appears to be a cart with kobolds trying to rummage through it. 

Enacelle had seen these kobolds shortly after she entered this forest and again the other day and knows that they are scavengers, lost in these woods without a tribe. She had fed them a meal and communed with them as best she could, but they are wretched creatures who care for no one because they are starving. Their home is far to the west in Oldestall, an enclave set aside by the king of these lands with which Enacelle is familiar, that abuts the West Mournwood. But these four were stolen, probably by slavers, before they escaped into these woods. 

Enacelle thinks it best she deflates this situation before anyone gets hurt. She leaps down from the boulder to land between the cart and the centaur, facing the kobolds. 

“What do you think you’re doing, Gurg? Feela? Borty? Maris? Taking advantage of this poor woman who’s trapped? Not even offering to help?” She knows the goblins are fluent in common. 

[Enacelle makes an Intimidation Check] Rolls 1 versus kobold’s 20. 

Gurg, the chosen leader, looks emboldened and almost angry, smirking at Enacelle, then goes back to rummaging.

“Trapped? They bloody well dropped that log on me!” The centaur is furious but restrained.

“Gurg? You didn’t?” Enacelle says with deep ridicule and scorn. Feela throws his hands up laughing and Borty and Maris quickly move behind the cart for a barrier but continue to rummage. 

Enacelle sighs and turns to the centaur. “I must apologize, my dear lady. These poor creatures are lost from their home tribe, stolen by slavers I think, and are fending for themselves in these woods. I, myself, cared for them the other day because they’d had a run in with a pack of wolves… nearly killed them. They are just hungry, and I am sure they mean no harm.” She stares sternly at the kobolds who possibly blushed a bit but continue to rummage. 

“You’re a much better person than me. I’d skin them all alive!” The centaur continues to struggle as the log appears quite too heavy for her to manage on her own.

“That won’t be necessary. Here. Gurg! Gather your people and help me move this log now.” 

[Enacelle makes a persuasion check] Rolls 3 versus kobold’s 20.

The four creatures look at her with disdain and grumble to themselves. They drop the items they were scrounging. Slowly, they begrudgingly form up next to the log, lift it off of the centaur, and move it away. They mumble more angry words under their breath at Enacelle. Enacelle inspects the centaur’s hind quarters and legs carefully and hands her a potion. 

“Drink this and you should be back to your normal self.” 

[Theophania drinks potion of healing] Rolls 8 hp

The centaur, a bit untrusting but seeing true kindness coming from this lizardfolk, drinks the potion. A sudden feeling of calm, strength, and wholeness comes over her. The back of her left leg seems to straighten a bit and the swelling in her hind quarter subsides. She stands up to her full height.

[Theophania makes an intimidation check] Rolls 13 versus Kobold’s 9.

… which sent the kobolds scattering through the woods, leaving all of her things behind.

As Enacelle examines the cart which had sustained some damage, she notices fresh skinned deer pelts in the back.

“So, what brings you into these woods and who might you be?” She lifts one of the deer pelts with her staff curiously.

The centaur bows on all four legs. 

“My lady, I believe you are a protector of these woods and think lowly of me for having killed a fellow four-legged creature. I am Theophania Blackmane, and I am a hired game manager for the king. I have a contract to cull deer in the grasslands bordering the wilds and the forest as well as on farms between Pathilia and Woodshead. They have begun eating the crops of the farmers. I only kill two per day, as per contract, and give the meat to the farmers outside of Woodshead. I also take all the non-edible bits to a strange little man that lives at the edge of the woods next to Woodshead who turns the material into all sorts of interesting creations including clothes for the poor and weapon and tool handles and little trinkets. He’s quite clever and adept.” While she spoke, she secured her cart back to her hind quarters.

“I know the grasslands deer very well, actually. I also know that they have overpopulated the grasslands and farms north of the capital, Pathilia, because the last Queen of Pathilius was, in fact, a druid who insisted on shapeshifting into a deer and running wild with them frequently. She made it punishable by death to kill a deer. People always try to change the natural way of things without understanding the damage they do.” Enacelle gathers Theophania’s belongings while she speaks and puts them in her cart, some of which had fallen deep amongst the rocks.

“So, you then know well that the excess deer are, in addition to the crop damage, bringing a whole host of predators from the Arms of the Dragon down into the lands between Mistra and Woodshead. Thus, the need to cull them before we are overrun by more formidable beasts.” Theophania checks her bow and arrows, adjusts her shortswords, and takes a step to make sure the cart moves.

“Yes, true. But, my ranger friend, that doesn’t explain why you are in THESE woods. I know that the deer rarely venture here because of the wolves and other carnivores that normally inhabit which is now more dangerous with these extra predators. And your cart doesn’t look like it’s made for traversing a thick forest such as this.” She inspects the cart's wheels now that it has moved and sees no damage.

Theophania sighs. “My druid friend, you are correct. I am most comfortable in forests as I grew up in the forests surrounding the Dragon’s Back in Devenmere. But my contract is currently for the grasslands and this cart is very helpful in that terrain. But, I was monitoring a herd of deer on the edge of the forest—because one of my contract duties is to count deer as well as kill them—and I saw the most miraculous thing. Among the herd of regular deer, composed of doe, buck, and fawn, there stood an enormous stag which was three heights above the largest buck with a rack of antlers that would span a great oak’s canopy. It seemed to be made of shiny black glass with swirls of red star light inside of it. It looked at me directly. I could feel it looking into me. It nodded. And then it proceeded to lead the herd INTO the forest…. Something I would not have expected. And, as you said, the deer fear the forest mostly these days. This beast, whatever it was, couldn’t have meant the deer a kindness in leading them in? So, I followed. And, as you say, my cart is not really built for forest thickets. And the kobolds got the best of me. Without my cart, there would simply be four dead kobolds.” She folds her arms with confidence and smiles.

“What a strange… even bizarre story.” Enacelle looks off into the woods. “Knowing nothing more than you have told me, I would guess it was either a fey spirit, a shapeshifter, or some sort of demon avatar. I think, perhaps, it could have meant you harm, no? Best we leave and get you back to the grasslands, yes?” With that Enacelle hops into the back of the cart and begins giving Theophania directions through the woods going north for Woodshead.

The dense evening crowd smells of sweat, manure, and fresh dirt as Fodinis Oradurk moves amongst them. Being a naturally sneaky bugbear, he flows among them as water through river stones. He wears his fine blue tunic, green linen shirt, gray pants, and sturdy black boots; however, his long thin black coat which has multiple deep pockets—charmed by a friend to make no noise—covers his outfit. The twin short swords on his hips made of steel, iron and bronze are certainly ominous looking should one catch a glimpse of them but they are no match for his two hidden weapons on his back—weapons he had earned and would never part with. 

It is late at the Woodshead gambling hall and the final caged fighting match of the night is about to begin. The bulk of the patrons, farmers and field hands that had been sowing, plowing, and struggling all day, sway aimlessly with the excess ale in their bellies. It is the last day of Drapira, the last moon-turn of the harvest and the last work day of the quinday. Tomorrow is a holiday, the Incabulos Lullaby, signifying the beginning of the sleep of cold days. Everyone is out late or until they have spent their last coin. Fodinis’ hands are fast and the crowd is distracted by both alcohol and the apprehension of the next bout. He plans to score big. 

The headliner, a local favorite named Goshan, is to fight a new contender that has just arrived in town. Goshan is tall, wide, and composed primarily of muscle. He always fights bare chested with no weapons or armor.  Goshan is an uncommon spectacle. Most participants insist on some form of armor or weapon for the non-lethal matches. The half-human, half-orc has pale green skin, two ominous tusks, and yellow eyes with a shaved head. He wears only a leather kilt of his clan with a metal skull on his belt. He wears no shoes. Fodinis regularly attends cage matches because gambling is just his nature. Luck has been his best friend ever since that fateful night over a year ago. He has seen Goshan devastate many opponents but not in a moon-turn as there have been none. He is a bit excited to see what fool has agreed to the match. That, however, doesn’t distract him from his main goal at this point in the evening. As he moves through the drunken crowd, he quickly snatches, with the lightest of touch, a few of the heavier coin purses he sees. 

[Fodinis makes a Sleight of Hand Check versus crowd’s Perception check] Rolls 10 versus crowd’s 8.

He is unsure of exactly how much his take would be from this crowd but the heft of the silent purses collecting in his long coat pockets seems like mostly gold and silver. It is impossible to find a platinum piece in this crowd. 

[Fodinis receives 107 gp + 114 sp]

Goshan enters the cage. The crowd goes wild! Hands in the air, ale spilling across the heads, arms, and backs of everyone, they grunt out loud cheers and riotous screams for their champion. A small halfling wearing formal black robes and carrying only a wand while wearing the smallest little top hat walks to the center of the cage. He lightly swishes the wand, and his voice is magnified 100-fold.

“My dearest fight mongers! Welcome to tonight’s final match between your champion…. The beast from the east… the man with iron hands… the unholiest orc…. Goshan!!”  The crowd erupts in even louder applause. Fodinis quickly moves with the extra space freed up by the raised arms to the far side of the cage match crowd, leaving his last marks behind in hopes of fresh purses. Although there is a VIP section, the box is elevated and it’s impossible to get into. More importantly, it is impossible not to be noticed among the lavishly dressed affluence that observes from there. Occasionally, on the way out, Fodinis can snatch a noble’s purse or a ladies handbag but the risk is often too great unless there is a lot of alcohol on board. Tonight could be the night…

“And his contender… a newcomer to Woodshead… a foreigner from a land so far away… a stranger with a look so bizarre…. You may be frightened…. Entering the cage? Kace Amberdream… the man lion!!” 

Fodinis pauses in his casing of the crowd to look at the new fighter. As sure as he has heard, a man lion walks into the ring. He is stunning to behold. Fodinis has never seen such a creature and is not sure any land of Angedrian that he’d ever heard of is home to such beasts. The same height as Goshan with almost the same width but covered in long black hair and fur with hints of gold and orange, Kace is frighteningly beautiful. He carries a javelin and wears armor but within a few moments of entering the metal structure, he removes it and hangs it on the javelin just outside the cage along with a backpack. He wears only a shabby shirt and pants and no shoes. His hands are almost human but still cat-like. When he flexes his fingers, nasty sharp claws appear. His face is that of a lion with two-inch-long incisors in his mouth. Although covered in fur, it is clear this creature is muscular and likely agile as he is somehow “of a cat”. Perhaps he’s some sort of mutant tabaxi? But, no, definitely different. 

Fodinis notes the crowd has gone somewhat quiet and murmurs amongst themselves. They seem to not be sure that their champion is going to succeed and the lull dampens Goshan’s spirits. Fodinis assumes all of these suckers bet on Goshan as always. 

But, Goshan, having had a few moments to assess his foe, suddenly pounds his fists together, stands tall, flexes his arms, and gives an orcish shout and the crowd goes wild. 

[Goshan makes an Intimidation check] Rolls 6

Kace responds with a similar stance and releases a long, leonin roar. 

[Kace makes an intimidation check and Daunting Roar, Goshan makes a WIS saving throw (DC14), the crowd makes a WIS saving throw (DC14).  Rolls 16, Goshan rolls 3, crowd roll is 8.

Goshan takes two steps back, almost frightened by the lion’s display and notices his fans are clearly scared, some backing away from the cage and others looking away.

[Gosha has disadvantage on Initiative checks with Kace]

“Let the match begin!” The halfling is now located outside of the cage on a small pedestal attached to the middle of the arena about halfway up so that he can both see and be heard as he provides a blow by blow for the audience.

[Goshan and Kace roll for initiative] Goshan rolls a 15, Kace rolls a 22

[Kace attacks Goshan with unarmed attack] Rolls a 12 versus AC 12  a hit for 12 bludgeoning damage.

Kace leaps towards Goshan ferociously and swings his fist, making hard contact with Goshan’s head and turning the half-orc slightly sidewise. 

Fodinis watches the match with great interest but realizes his opportunity for a few more purses is high. He’s also bet on Kace. Knowing nothing about Kace but with odds of 100 to 1, he never turns down the opportunity for a great reward. He’d even bet 50 gp in hopes of scoring huge on a win. Of course, the 50 gps had belonged to someone else only a few hours ago so he leaves the possible turn of fortune to Kace’s fists.  He returns his attention to the crowd and finds at least 5 marks in the perfect position for a push through lifting maneuver. He begins his run, bending and melding his form to move unnoticed between the crowded bodies as best he can.

[Fodinis makes a sleight of hand check] Rolls a 26

Six more purses and pouches are now hidden in the deep pocket of his inner coat. That will have to do it for the night unless he wants to suddenly look suspicious… the coat only hides the sound…not the bulk.

[Fodinis receives 118 gp + 300 sp]

[Goshan attacks Kace] Rolls a 14 versus AC15 (20:43 fix)  for a miss. 

Goshan swings out clumsily with his fists at Kace, his knuckles deflecting off Kace’s chest.

[Kace attacks Goshn with unarmed attack] Rolls 18 versus AC 12, a hit for 7 damage. Goshan falls unconscious. 

Kace makes another swing at the head at Goshan, landing the blow on the opposite side of his face. Goshan falls unconscious to the floor.

The crowd is deathly silent. Fodinis watches in amazement as the hulking form of Goshan hits the dirt, unconscious, and is now being dragged towards the clerics for healing. Kace stands in the ring, his deep heaving breaths expanding his massive chest in and out. He lets out another ominous roar and the crowd explodes with cheers. Fodinis is sure the bulk of these fools have lost their money on the fight but the good show and the new champion are just too much to hold back their applause. It suddenly strikes Fodinis that he is owed 5000 gp! He moves quickly over to the betting booth which is not surprisingly empty of a line and hands his parchment mark to the bet master. 

“I believe I’m owed a little coin.” He smiles craftily and thrums his fingers on the wooden counter.

“You are and no one else, it seems. Clever betting on your part. But, of course, most of these fools bet quite a lot on the 5 to 1 payouts for Goshan so your winnings aren’t going to dampen the boss’ mood too much.” The bookie laughs as he hands Fodinis a large sack. Fodinis pockets it. It dawns on him that he should not only be done picking for the night, but it might be best to leave the building quickly. A few farmers notice him collecting winnings and they have all just lost. 

Fodinis quickly makes his way around to the back of the building where the fighters enter and exit, saying, “Hello!” and “Good match” to a few of them that he recognizes and flipping them a few gold coins here and there as a tip. 

[Fodinis spends 10 gp]

The fighters are not paid much for the fights, especially the early ones, and being generous to large, burly guys is a good way to keep yourself out of trouble. Kace sits on a bench, drinking a mug of liquid, and eating what looked like a leg of lamb directly off the bone.

“Hello there, Kace. I’m Fodinis Oradurk. I enjoyed the match. A good show.” Fodinis sits next to the large, leonin man.

“Thank you, Fodinis. I’m new to this… land… I’m a pretty good fighter. It’s all I know, really.” Kace continues eating. Fodinis thinks this may be his first meal in a while.

“New to this… land? Where might you have come?” While he waits for Kace’s response, he begins removing coin purses and pouches from the inner linings of his dark long coat. Looking around cautiously, he pours the contents into a small bag on his hip. Once empty, he examines each purse for its quality and, if of no interest, tosses it to one of the many urchins hanging around the fighter’s area along with a few coins. The urchins quickly pocket the coins and vanish with the hot item, probably to sell it to a street vendor on the other side of town.

[Fodinis gives away 11 leather coin purses and 110 silver pieces] 

“I’m from… very far away… it’s very hard to explain because I don’t quite understand it myself. My only hope is that one day I can get home. But, my passage to this land was so alien, it will take someone much smarter than me to figure it out.“ Kace sighs heavily and tosses the now bare bone onto a pile of bones near an open fire pit. A large dog with black fur pads over, takes the bone, sits next to Kace’s feet, and begins gnawing on it. Kace gently pets the dog’s head.

“And, do you think you’d like to enter more cage matches here? I’m sure they’d have you. You have the crowd’s favor, no doubt.” Fodinis, now having finished emptying all of the purses and dispensing with them, turns towards Kace directly. The last item in his coat is the sack of winnings. He pours the sack of gold into his little bag but leaves about 100 gp in it. He hands the sack to Kace. 

“A tribute, my good sir.”

[Fodinis gives away a small burlap sack and 100 gp; Kace gains 100 gp and a burlap sack]

“Thank you, Fodinis. I appreciate it. I need sleep though and I have no place.” Kace stands up, shoulders his armor, grasps his javelin, and begins walking away.

“Ah, please do let me extend you the courtesy of a comfortable bed as a reward for a good fight? I happen to have a large room at an inn only a few blocks from here which has three large beds, a giant bath, and is very quiet. You’ll sleep very peacefully! My treat!” Fodinis smiles with his hands open.

[Fodinis makes a persuasion check versus Kace Insight check]  Rolls a 6 versus Kace’s 12

 “I appreciate it. But I have few belongings and little coin. I don’t want to wake up naked and coinless… hahaha… No offense to your… profession.”

“None taken but, have no fear, my friend. You are as alien to me as I am to you and, in truth, I am fascinated to hear more of your story. I’ve traveled this land quite a bit in search of my own… demons… maybe I’ve come across something or someone that could help with your search? We’ll never know if we don’t discuss it!”

“Aye. That is true. And I don’t know anyone, and you’ve certainly been generous. Let's have a good sleep and then discuss our pasts over a hearty breakfast.”

Isvara had set many hours ago, bringing on the cool darkness of evening to the city of Woodshead. With the night always comes the opportunity for crimes which means someone has to keep a lookout. Umgurn Luthra is only too happy to take on this role. His pale skin and yellow-green eyes are not fond of the daylight—as few drow are—but his exile to the surface requires adjustments to his way of life. He has a dark deep hood for daytime movements that works well enough. He prefers being on duty at night. He sees well and his long white hair and pale skin frightened most people, giving him an advantage in deterring crime.

Umgurn stands in the deep shadow of a building, looking out on the street. No one sees him and he can watch the bulk of the boulevard from this point. The last cage match ended a while ago and the drunken crowds are thinned to only an occasional straggler. Everything seems quiet. Umgurn leaves the shadows and walks to the Tavern of the Dragon’s Wing and goes inside. The room is mostly empty and the fire on the hearth is only a pile of bright embers. The barkeep cleans glasses and smiles at Umgurn, as they are well acquainted. He pours a small mug of white liquid and slides it across the bar to him. Umgurn drinks the cow’s milk in two gulps. The cool liquid is creamy and rich, his favorite, and unlike anything in the Underdark. Umgurn gives a long, deep, satisfied sigh.

“It’s my favorite drink as well.” A soft purring voice startles him. Umgurn turns to see the face of a tabaxi smiling at him. “But what, pray tell, could make a drow of the Underdark a fan of milk?”

“Strange that you would ask. I know many Tabaxi from Caramoss and the Bay of Silvi in Caninthirum… but none of them like beef’s milk. In fact, they hate it and insist on drinking primarily the fermented fruits of their tropical trees.” Umgurn takes a pensive look with a questioning finger on his left temple.

“Ah, yes. We are, indeed, a Tabaxi in your world, as you say. We are called Bilai in our home world. But, we do not hail from this place you mention. In fact, we are afraid we are a bit alien to this world due to an unfortunate magical accident some time ago. Our name is Piece of the Puzzle but you can call us Piece.” They give a very low, gentle bow with both of their paws held together and pointed downward.

“Umgurn Luthra, born of Xal’zil in the Underdark, ward of Woodshead, night guard for the people.” Umgurn matches the deep bow but with one hand on his heart and the other on his forehead. “Two more milks, please.” The barkeep smiles and pours the two mugs for the new acquaintances. 

“For me, the beverages of the Underdark are all vile, bitter, and, in one way or another, make my head not my own. Even the water is a bit sour. But this.” He pauses looking at the mug. “This is blissful creamy magnificence.” He swallows the mug in three gulps.

“Fascinating. In our home, far away and across a sea of blackness, beef’s milk was a delicacy of our people and, in fact, we held the bovines in very high regard, keeping them as temple-protected beasts. But, of course, unlike here where you have the minotaur—dangerous creatures—our bovine lineages were restricted to the wild bhains and gaur and then our domesticated breeds that were used for their milk.” Piece drinks their milk slowly.

“You do not eat the meat of the cows where you are from?”

Piece seems to stare off in horror for a moment. “No, that would be unsettling.”

“All the Tabaxi I know from here, mind you, are carnivores through and through.” Umgurn frowns.

“Ah, yes. Well, there are many beasts in our home world which freely roam the mountains, valleys, and plains which produce delectable meat. We hunt them and eat them primarily. But, of course, even that must be done in moderation to keep the balance of life and death in check.” Piece finishes their milk and turns to face Umgurn more directly. 

“The Four Shallows Clan of the Everstream are…were… should still be a Tabaxi, as you call us, of vibrant riches and masterful artists. For generations, we have studied all manner of art and creativity as well as the ways of the total mind-body complex. We, for example, have always been one to catalog events around us in word, song, and poem.”

“Total mind-body complex?” Umgurn has also faced Piece and is smiling curiously.

[Pieces makes an athletics check] Rolls a 22

Piece pauses, stands up from their stool, places one foot on the ground and then extends their fore toe so that they put all of their weight on it. Their other leg comes up to their hip and both of their arms extend behind them. They hold this pose for nearly a minute, motionless. Then they blink and return to their seat.

“No doubt you are accomplished in the arts of attack as well as being pretty hard to hit with such control.” Umgurn looks the cat up and down.

Piece smiles. “If possible, we avoid fighting and simply spend our time putting into words all the beautiful things we see around us. And sometimes the ugly. But, yes. When violence is the only choice, we are… effective.”

“Pardon me for asking, Piece, but you refer to yourself collectively. ‘We’, ‘us’... Are there more of you or is it just how you are speaking Common here.”

“Ah. Yes. One of the most curious things we have noticed in this world  is your very harsh division of things into masculine and feminine, into “me” and “you”... Women and men. Male and female. Us and them. We are afraid that concept does not exist in our home world. One’s physical being is a vessel for one’s inner self which may take on any and all forms it chooses at any time. When in our clan it is time for new Bilai, the elders request all who are of a certain age and interested in procreation to volunteer. Depending on the population needs, the correct number of pairs are selected at random from a great golden bowl inlaid with mosaic tiles of fine stones and filled with a pebble marked for each volunteer. First the seed bringers. Then the litter bearers. It is a grand festival of celebration while the pairs copulate for several days. When the new litters are born, we are all their parents and siblings.” Piece finishes their milk.

“What about companionship or a life partner?” Umgurn asks with clear curiosity and with no negative judgment. He, himself, is single and unsure what a life companion could look like with his past and his face on the surface of the world.

“Bilai are an open people, kind, friendly, supportive, nurturing to anyone in their clan and anyone they may meet. The pleasures of the flesh… if that’s what you are referring to… are just as open among the Bilai. The act of procreation is strictly forbidden except during the Festival of the Golden Bowl that we just described. That is the way we keep ourselves in balance with all life around us.  But any other form of pleasure between any Bilai is allowed. Excluding parents, litter mates, and any children, of course.” Piece smiles and Umgurn smiles back curiously, wondering if this cat will fare in the world of Angedrian where kingdoms always seemed to be run by either men or women but not both. He thinks telling Piece about local Tabaxi practices may be helpful but he does not get the chance. Just as the last words are uttered from their lips, the front door of the tavern bursts open and the strangest sight shocks Piece, Umgurn, and the barkeep. A red robed figure falls through the door, his hair ablaze with yellow-orange fire, panting, and yelling. 

“It’s trying to kill me!”

Umgurn immediately jumps up and grabs the bucket of water that the barkeep hands him—for protection from fire is always the ultimate duty of all citizen of Pathilius—but then pauses when he realizes the fellow in the robe is sort of made of fire and the flames on its head calm down to a gentle flicker. Piece had already leaped from their chair, dashed to the door, looked outside, and then closed it. As they turn back to the red robed figure, Umgurn kneels next to him.

“Who is trying to kill you, little one?”

“I don’t know. Something large… and black… and full of red stars… and… I hit it with a bolt of fire and it seemed to absorb it as if it were nothing.” The panting figure falls unconscious. 

[Umgurn uses Lay on Hands] Restpres 5 hps

Umgurn lays his hands upon the forehead, murmurs, and the boy’s eyes open. He sits up and Piece joins them on the floor.

“Let me see what this is about.” Umgurn stands and walks out the door, drawing his double-bladed scimitar. The little fire man stares at the ferocious blade.  Outside, Umgurn looks up and down the street which is deathly quiet for this hour of the night. He pulls back a bolt on his hand crossbow and listens carefully. Reaching out with his divine sense, he surveys the surroundings for evil…or good.

[Umgurn makes a Perception check and an Investigation check and uses Divine Sense]Roll 18, 13, senses evil 

Though he can hear nothing out of the ordinary, his keen eyes explore the dark, every nook and cranny, of a street and its structures that he knows all too well. His divine sense tells him there is something evil south of him, to his left.  A sliver of blackness distorts the corner of the food stall across the street but he can make out no details. He raises his hand crossbow and fires.

[Umgurn makes a surprise attack at a dark shape with disadvantage] Rolls a 14, misses.

The bolt smashes into the food stall post next to the sliver of blackness, sending shreds of sharp wood flying. A shriek of anger erupts from nothing and then a whooshing sound takes to the air. Umgurn feels the flap of small wings passing over his head, thinks he smells blood, and then the night is quiet once again. He returns to the tavern.

“Whatever it was, I think it is gone for now. Are you alright?” Umgurn moves close to the   red-robed figure who now stands next to Piece at the bar, drinking ale from a mug.

“Yes, I think I’m okay. I’m not hurt. What was it?” The newcomer still shakes visibly.

“Something that bleeds when hit with shards of wood.” Umgurn sits next to them on a stool.

“My manners, sirs…. I am Malege Urmdal, fire genasi, Lunarch-ack-tari Initiate of High Sorcery, and artificer.” He bows rather clumsily. Umgurn and Piece both look at each other with confusion.

“You’re from Polipine?” Umgurn seems afraid of the answer.

“Well, no, I don’t know that place. I am from the elemental plane of fire, actually. But I was stolen from my home by a group of wizards called the Agmon. They poked and prodded me for a very long time. Then another group of wizards, the Vinporus, attacked the Agmon and freed me. They also studied me but treated me okay, I guess. And then those original wizards, the Agmon, slaughtered all the Vinporus! It was all too much for me. I was scared. I snuck out of the tower and boarded a ferry to escape. The ferry ran between the towers and Catha, as I am told it was called. We landed and I hid around the docks and traveler’s plaza. I made a little bit of money by fire juggling. Then, I found some work as a caravan guard from Cantha to Woodshead. They needed a magic-user and I told them I was, sort of. That was two moon-turns ago. I traveled with a caravan to Woodshead just today. And then that thing attacked me!” Malege is out of breath.

“Multiple factions of warring wizards? That certainly sounds like Polipine. A vile place. You’re lucky to be alive.” He pats the genasi on the shoulder in a sign of empathy and support. The shoulder is warm to the touch but cools a bit even as his gesture registers with Malege. He calms further and all flicker and flame is squelched. 

“We are sorry, Umgurn, but we do not think that was Polipine. We originally arrived here in Canville Port to the northeast. The captain of a naval ship there befriended us in a tavern and told us only a little about this land. He did mention Polipine, agreeing it is a vile, evil place but said it is far to the east. Does that make sense?” Piece shrugs their shoulders.

“You are correct, my feline friend. Cantha, of course, is in the northwest. Ah! There are a series of wizard towers on islands off the coast of Cantha, as I am told. Have never been there. Must be where this Agmon and Vinporous were, eh, Malege?” Umgurn signals the barkeep for more milk.

“Yes. Islands. With towers. Near Cantha. As long as I don’t have to go back!” Malege pounds his fists lightly on the bar.

Hearing the distress in Malege’s voice, Piece’s concern grows for the little genasi. 

“You are new here and have just arrived. And, pardon our assumption, but we believe you are quite young. Perhaps even a child by our standards. Do you have a place to stay? We stay here in this tavern and have a room with two large beds should you need a place of safety for the evening.” Piece’s hand is on the genasi’s other shoulder. 

[Malege makes a Deception Check versus Piece and Umgurn’s Insight checks] Rolls 6 versus 22 and 19]

“I am, on this plane, 22 isvarana.” Piece and Umgurn both frown deeply. Umgurn purses his lips and Piece strokes the whiskers on the left side of their face. “Okay. Okay. I am 14 isvarana. And I am alone in a foreign place. So, yes, that would be great if I could stay with you.” Malege then smiles and looks at Umgurn. “Perhaps, you could join us for breakfast here tomorrow and tell me more about this land.” Malege smiles at Umgurn expectantly.

“Yes, we think that would be an excellent breakfast conversation for us as well. And, Malege, we are only 17 isvarana so do not fret your age.” Piece points at Umgurn with an open palm.

[Malege makes a Persuasion check assisted by Piece(advantage) versus Umgurn’s Insight check] Rolls 15 versus 10

“Well, I normally sleep during the day–as I am 115 isvarana–but as tomorrow is a holiday. I’d prefer to be off if I must be honest. But I can meet you for a bit. I think I can make that work.” Umgurn frowns sarcastically, bows to both, and exits the tavern.