Aboard the curious-looking airship, the Paradysians have amassed all of the surviving scraps of zolk-paper and other scratchings they could find. They have dutifully transcribed what they could to newer materials that could be handled by those trying to decipher the text, without fear of damaging the fragile originals. Even the ship itself is quite fragile, and only certain reinforced areas have been designated as being okay for investigators to walk across. Holes accidentally punched through the floors here and there hint at where one ought not to step.

Many of the fragments are fairly surreal, describing nonsensical episodes that could only be a recounting of nightmares or poetry produced by a demented mind. Frequently figuring into this montage of images is a spotted female feline who is both beautiful and nauseating at the same time, according to Shokar's attempts to put these things into words. She is accompanied by fragrances that could be the sweet smell of perfume … or the sickening odor of embalming fluids and salves that have failed to completely cover the stench of decay.

Shokar is apparently both attracted to and repulsed by this female, whom he refers to as Amenlichtli, and the wrestling with these conflicting emotions contributes to his desire to escape, and complicates his hope to return to rescue his crew. Quite often, his dreams feature images of himself standing on some precipice above an abyss, and his wings bound in some way … with the ever-present threat, therefore, of falling in.

Despite these conflicts in Shokar's attempts to describe the figure of Amenlichtli, the images conjured up in his descriptions of his surroundings often invoke specific smells of chemicals and components unknown to the average Vartan … and, quite frankly, unknown to Zoltan until he studies accompanying notes that explain what the other Paradysians think he might be talking about.

Shokar's terminology seems to suggest that he was not merely an airship captain, but possessed of an analytical mind … one well-versed in matters of alchemy at the very least, and perhaps even the more refined arts of science.

The rest of the surviving documents are maps. The largest room inside the hull of the airship has walls covered with maps – either pasted to the walls, or even cut into the wood of the walls themselves. Attempts have been made to reproduce as much as possible, but there are still considerable gaps, and some that had fallen to the floor and decomposed there are completely beyond recovery. This ship doesn't show the same efforts toward longevity as found in Shokar's Silver Bell.

A black Vartan sits quietly in one of the more stable sections of the airship. At first glance, one might think that the ghost of Shokar himself were looking back at old memories – but the figure is neither a spirit nor the actual manifestation of Shokar himself, just a fellow member of his race. Zoltan quietly mulls over some of the journal papers in the solitude of the old airship as he studies its captain's records. He reads Shokar's descriptions of Amenlichtli with a chill in his spine, wondering if she drove him mad like he did to many of the rest of her followers.

Upon further scrutiny of the descriptions of Amenlichtli, there is a trend that seems to be developing in some of the samples … that is, assuming that these might be later samples than those that don't display this trend. And there's no guarantee of that. Just intuition. The pronouns and euphemisms and phrases apparently used to refer to Amenlichtli sound more familiar. It's all in the context of yet more contradictions … familiarity, yet distance. Attraction, yet fear. Personal struggles, only barely glimpsed at in scrawlings that vary greatly in their clarity. One thing that is for certain is that Shokar was a very troubled Vartan.

He was also very curious, and very knowledgeable. He possessed a great deal of knowledge, especially for a Vartan of his time. And perhaps what held an attraction for him was the amount of knowledge – ages-old secrets – represented by a being such as Amenlichtli – a timeless immortal.

Tapping his beak curiously, Zoltan goes through some of the notes that mention the smells of chemicals, and draws on his own meager knowledge of herbs to see if any mentioned could perhaps be something used for embalming or anything he's experienced in his study of dark rites.

The narrative of Shokar's encounters with Amenlichtli invoke some familiar memories … the sweet/sickly odor of the Avatar of Amenlichtli aboard the Death Ship, before she was burned by one of the flares … the dusty, dry odor of the bone golem that had broken its way out of the clay statue it was hidden in … and other herbs. Yes … judging by the odors, and drawing upon Zoltan's own learning in the realm of fighting the undead, there are familiar references to very real chemicals, herbs and concoctions associated with the undead, the dark arts, and the not necessarily related arts of preparing the dead.

These are testaments that have a ring of authenticity to them … and not just babblings of a mad Vartan, hopefully.

( How do I tell the people of Paradys that their hero might have fallen to the Queen of the Dead herself? ) Zoltan frowns and focuses his attentions of the maps, checking to see how many of them may reference points where he might have taken flight or shown a particular focus on a particular part of Sinai. A feeling in his stomach tells him of one particular dark land that might have been his focus had Amenlichtli actually had a hand in Shokar's interests.

Zoltan's fears are confirmed. While it's not as if Zoltan has actually seen a map of the interior of that dreaded land before, he has picked up enough lore about it to put the pieces together, as bizarre names are scrawled down, and sinister landmarks are roughly represented. If it's not a map of part of the interior of Aeztepa, then it's a map of somewhere surely just as bad. The markings on the map and the notations seem to suggest, however, that Shokar had somehow been there before … and had made this map … and used this map to plot out another course for a future expedition. Either he never took it … or never bothered to fill in the details he discovered upon taking this subsequent trip.

Another map has far more bizarre features on it … and signs that features were noted … and then scratched out. "Giant human head with one eye." "Castle made from giant dead Korv." "Forest of giant hands." "This area keeps changing."

Yet another has some scratchy representations of what might be areas of forest, and mountainous areas. "Large cave." "Howling trees." "Monsters."

Quirking an eyebrow at this, Zoltan focuses on the notes and journal entries again. He had been told time and time again that none could return from Aeztepa and live, and as an airshipman surely Shokar had heard the legends as well. Had the captain seen all these things in a dream or had he somehow physically gone to the land of the dead and actually returned? And if he did, what boon did Necropolis demand of him for his return? He momentarily remembers the vampire fox from Rephidim and growls despite himself.

Perusing the notes takes considerable time. Hours pass, as the Vartan pores over the entries, trying to decipher them, to match fragments together to make more sense…

A few pieces fit together… "The ship is complete. If my theories are correct, when the island … purpose … ride down on the column … surface." Not quite a complete thought, but enough of the fragments seem to fit together to suggest that this might be a step in the right direction.

Another map comes to Zoltan's attention as he's trying to piece fragments together. It shows a winding river that looks fairly familiar, actually. Notes on it say, "Jungle. Ruins in canyon. Stone bridge. Stone hands. Pyramid. Wild animals. Spotties attacked here. Stay clear."

Zoltan's droopy eyes shoot wide open at this. The airship had been found on the underside of the island… and his basic understanding of Paradys is that it somehow manipulates the energies of the Forbidden Zones. Could Shokar have built a ship and somehow been able to ride up and down during these moments of transfer? Aeztepa is a Forbidden Zone… It could be possible. He starts to look for anything that might have been written after his visit to Aeztepa and his experiences there. Another question also crosses the Vartan's mind… Why didn't Shokar try to use this means of transportation to evacuate his own crew to safety instead of leaving them to the cannibals?

More maps, more entries, more warnings are on the maps that Zoltan finds. It looks like the places Shokar mapped were fairly unpleasant locations, really. And it takes yet more hours to dig through the scraps, looking for answers. A journal entry here … "Icewing died from injuries … little green monsters. I … find a cure for the … not an acceptable … Wait until the island… "

The questing Vartan stretches his shoulders a bit to keep them from getting too stiff from sitting hunched over a large pile of papers. He changes the angle of his searching a bit – Shokar seemed obsessed with knowledge and had great intelligence for just an airship captain. He wonders if Shokar might have overused the metal helmet and left himself open for Amenlichtli's persuasions, and also wonders if he ever actually visited the airship graveyard where the monster herself lived. He rubs the back of his neck unconsciously as he worries about one of the possibilities that might have befallen the great Shokar.

More searching, and some sketches show up. They're only partial, but Zoltan's memories can fill in the gaps. One is a sketch – badly proportioned, but still recognizable – of a crashed airship. It looks like the one that the "metal bird" was inside. Except … there's no hint of the metal bird, or the destruction left in its wake as it plowed into this airship untold years ago.

And there is also a sketch of the Golden Crown … and some notes. "State the nature of the emergency… " If Shokar hadn't used it himself, he at least kept notes of the experiences of whomever did.

This holds a bit of an interest for Zoltan. After all, knowing what sort of information he wished to get from the helmets might help give him a better idea of what exactly Shokar wanted here or where he vanished off to. He starts sorting through the notes and copied notes to try to find out more about what Shokar tried to draw from the tower's knowledge.

Draw he did. Matching the coloration of the scrap of paper with the "emergency" reference to similar types of paper (It seems that Shokar's quality of paper varied greatly.) allows the Vartan to slowly piece together a number of sketches, diagrams and notes. Some of them look like fragments of Shokar's ship … and lots of notes concern the strange rods that radiate out from the ship here and there. They seem to bear at least some vague similarity to the "golden trees" that ringed the island.

By the notes, apparently these constructions had some sort of interaction with a "flow of energy" connected with the three cones at the base of the island. This airship must have been fairly specialized … not meant to navigate the skyways, per se, but, perhaps a mysterious column of energy leading down from the island itself.

Zoltan ruffles his feathers a little as he ponders this. Was Shokar able to determine what the whole purpose of Paradys is? He had always suspected that it had something to do with magic energy, but wonders if Shokar was able to find out any more on this. Who knows? Perhaps it was Shokar himself that had set the controls of the island to knock out magic use and imprison the Avatar there.

The researching goes well into the night. More pieces are fitted together, but nothing more of importance reveals itself just yet. At last, as the hippogryph's eyes grow bleary, it's time for a rest …

But with the dawn of a new day, it's back to work again.

A Sphynx, Brighteye (and his eyes don't look all that bright right now) wanders in on the black Vartan. He stretches and yawns. "I think I'm going to call it a … " He gazes out the window. "… morning. You find anything yet?"

"Nothing solid. Just theories." Zoltan takes a moment to pluck a dried flower that his daughter had placed in his feathers and to twirl it around idly between his fingers. "By the way… what land are we over right now?"

Brighteye says, "Heading toward … ah … Mount Dronnel. Or the Forbidden Zone near that. At least, that's the best guess right now. That's near Babel, I'm told."

"We're over the water right now. Should be crossing land by tomorrow," the Sphynx adds.

The Vartan nods, pausing to sniff at the flower before tucking it back in his feathers. "Does that zone have a name?"

"Dronnel, after the mountain," answers the Sphynx. "Even though it's not on the mountain itself. There's a whole ridge of mountains in that region, but I don't know the area well."

"Supposed to be pretty dangerous, though. Lots of storms. And disagreeable Ur creatures running about," says the Sphynx, looking like he's trying to remember something. "Uh … skedats, I think. Nasty whip tails."

Zoltan shakes his feathers out a bit, working the kinks out. "Do you know what direction the island will be taking after that?"

Brighteye shrugs. "That's anybody's guess. We're pretty far off the old course. But … " He pauses, deep in thought. "Best bets right now are Shabar, back to Lamu, or across the ocean to the Vykarin Wastes. South, southwest, or east-northeast, in that order."

( South. If Amenlichtli knows what Shokar knew, and she's been using her powers to follow my own path, it might be a good idea to keep watch on Pouncer and on the bottom of the island should we end up too far south, into Aeztepa. ) The Vartan forces out a smile. "Keep me posted on our direction, and make sure someone comes to get me if I'm needed for anything. I think I'll go back to studying Shokar's papers a bit more now."

The Sphynx nods. "Best of luck!" he scrawks, and then he carefully walks outside and off of the ship entirely before he takes to the air in flight.

Zoltan settles himself down in his normal spot and reaches for the pile of papers, but then pauses. He rubs the bottom of his beak and closes his eyes for a moment. Through his training with the Knights Templar and with their gift of the mask, he's been able to extremely crudely and roughly pick up particularly active threads of magic. He begins to wonder if in his trips to Aeztepa and other Forbidden Zones if Shokar had perhaps gotten a magical item and hidden it on the ship. It's an extreme long-shot, but something that might be worth investigating… if only to say that he did. Concentrating as best as he can, the Vartan tries to "feel" the area for any particular little "glimmers".

As the Vartan's eyes close, he can feel … a pressure. It's an odd sensation, really … as if the hippogryph were teetering on the top of a fence. Behind him is the familiar world. Before him is … who knows what?

Fighting back the urge to snap his eyes open and reassure himself that he's on solid and familiar ground, Zoltan instead carefully stretches his hands forward as he tries to feel out the odd sensation before him. ( Is this what Shokar felt in his dreams? )

As Zoltan reaches forward, it's as if the area just beyond this fence – if one bothers trying to cling to metaphors – is occupied by a cascading waterfall … and the force of it is enough to knock the Vartan from his perch if he should reach in too far. And who knows where it might take him? A sensation slowly turns into ideas that press upon Zoltan's thoughts … this ship … has been floating for many, many, many years … suspended in a flow of energy … a flow of what might be magic … to or from the Forbidden Zones … and there just might be a bit of it still lingering in the ship even now that it has been extracted from its resting place. And if it's magic … it's the sort associated with a Forbidden Zone. With all Forbidden Zones.

( Okay… you can reach out farther and perhaps find your answers – but also you might never come back – or hope that Shokar's notes are enough. So which is it… sifting through sand for a gem or risk drowning for something more? ) The Vartan just sits there with his arms out for several minutes as though waiting for someone to rush into them. But finally he makes his decision. This may be his only way of finding out if Shokar fell to the witch and may still remain her slave to this day, or if he somehow resisted and escaped – the hero deserves an ending to his story. Whispering a prayer to the Star under his breath, he tips himself forward just a fraction, enough to pitch himself into that waterfall before him.

The forces start to pull at the Vartan … and for a brief moment, time seems to slow in Zoltan's vision … as if something were asking him, "Are you sure?"

The Vartan can hear the eerie melody of chimes tinkling somewhere distant … almost forming a familiar melody … or perhaps it's just a meaningless cacophony.

( No… no I'm not. But I hope I'm strong enough to know. This may be the only way… Walking in Shokar's footsteps may be the only thing that shows me what became of him. I only pray I'm strong enough to pull myself out again. ) The Vartan hesitates for a moment, swallows, and lets himself drop.

The cascade of unseen waters sweeps up the Vartan in its downward rush, and there is a feeling of utter disorientation that is most unpleasant to say the very least. Images flash by, but too fast … and as the Vartan reflexively tries to catch them, they spray past … too many to catch them all…

There's something tumbling through the "waters", that the plummeting Vartan is catching up on. Funny … it's so much like back in Himar, when reality exploded into jagged fragments … and now there's a big jagged fragment that Zoltan is about to –

The black Vartan stands aboard the deck of the airship he painstakingly constructed, down the last detail, based on plans formulated partly from his own imagination, and partly from the unnatural designs – dare one say magic? – gained from the Golden Crown. It was a terrible price to pay … especially those delusions … but what was the alternative? The Vartan shakes those thoughts aside, as he gazes at the streams of glowing energy rushing past the ship.

He staggers for a moment. His eyes close … then open again.

"Icewing?" Shokar scrawks, "Are we ready to set sail?" The captain paces the deck of his ship, testing every inch of it for sturdiness. He'll not have his work shattered on its maiden voyage, after all!

Icewing, so nick-named for the frosty tips on his feathers, salutes Captain Shokar. "Aye aye, Captain!" He grins beakily. "If this works, we can save the whole crew!" He frowns a bit, as he looks at the streams of energy passing by. "Once we convince them this isn't magic. Right, Captain?"

Some other Vartans about the ship pull on cables, drawing the stabilizing vanes radiating from the ship into a slightly new formation. The ship descends through the stream.

"Right you are, lad." The captain grins as he moves to stand at the head of the ship as though he himself were the figurehead of it. "So let's set sail, boys! Maybe by next week we'll be eating in the pubs of Elamoore and bragging to every poor dust walker that we took a trip to Paradys and returned to tell the tale!" He draws a chitin sword from a scabbard at his side and stabs it out into the air in front of him.

The ship continues its descent … a slow, excruciatingly tense process … as every once in a while the deck jolts just a bit from the irregularities of this stream of energy. After all, the Golden Crown did indicate that the sky island's purpose was to stabilize irregularities. It's only natural that the descent would be less than regular.

Of course, one might think that it would be safer just to fly down … but that would be bad. Shokar doesn't really know why … but it would just be bad.

"Captain!" calls out Teraka, the red Vartan at the aft. "Land ahoy! Land ah – Oh by the gods!"

Shokar grabs onto the bow of the ship at a particularly rough jolt, "She's listing to the right a bit – Keep her steady, or we'll end up kindling! And I will personally cut off the tail of whomever… " The Vartan's voice trails off as his eyes fall upon the lands below.

A big human head … or something roughly approximating human … grins stupidly up from the mountains below. The gargantuan head has a single eye set above a pug nose, and it looks as if something is streaming in and out of every orifice. People. Or … creatures. Over in the other direction, there is what looks like a gargantuan Korv, sprawled on its back, its chest burst open, and the ribs rising up to form archways … with structures joining them together, and stained glass windows, making a mangled cathedral out of the giant's remains.

Other such madness meets the eyes of the captain as he gazes below. Burning pits of fire and lava … imps frolicking about madly … a forest of waving hands … strange green winged things flying about … flying up … toward the ship…

The captain grips the pommel of his sword, "It could be an attack, men! Weapons at the ready, but keep the ship steady unless you want to right the enemy by crashing into them! Icewing… our keel is dropping; do something about it!" he snaps at the crew, his voice tinged with the slightest edge of excitement? Fear? Hard to tell which. "The rest of you keep those nasties away!"

The crew rushes to action … and the stream of energy fades away somewhat, as the sky is visible again … only it's not a natural sky in the least. The sky is a swirling cauldron of blood-red liquid, with a disembodied eyeball bobbing about in the inverted murk, glowing in the place of the sun. The scene below is pure madness, chaos, insane horrors from waking dreams and the babblings of madmen. But it's all too real, as a cloud of little green imps with stingers for tails, armored hides, long flowing hair, and the faces of men fly across the ship. Swords swing, cleaving many of the little monsters into two, and the imps disintegrate into puffs of vapor immediately … but there are more!

Shokar's crew was never one to be cowardly … not after the battles they'd been through, the bizarre things they'd faced, and the many adventures they'd gone through … including fighting off those cannibal spotted cats up on the sky island, and those even more horrible monsters … but many of them cry out in terror at the scene of madness the ship is descending toward … and the monsters so ready to overtake them.

The Captain's heart aches. So much work to find an escape, and now he finds himself flying towards the maw of some great beast instead. Scowling, he swings at one of the attacking monsters, "We can't land here and live. Full reverse! I won't risk my men to this."

It takes some time for the crew to respond, given the flapping green distractions present … but it takes no trouble at all to convince them of the hazards of landing in this place, as evidenced when the ship finally begins its upward ascent again. As it does so, the stream of energy becomes more visible … to the point where the green monsters that fly into it are torn asunder and reduced to glittering particles the moment they touch. As the ship ascends, the crew examines the damage – minimal, really … except … at the keel.

"Captain! It's Icewing! He's … he's … " There's a sound of retching from Teraka.

"NO!" Shokar screams, practically flying across the deck of the ship. "I've never lost a first mate and I refuse to do so now! Icewing? ICEWING?!?!" Still, deep in his soul he knows… and curses himself. He curses Paradys, his visions, and everything else that brought him to that land and holds him there. And then he sees his first mate… His scream echoes upwards to Paradys itself and down into the very pits of Bosch below.

The image of Icewing's grotesquely warped and torn body shatters like a mirror, the fragments sweeping past Zoltan as he plummets through the cascade.

Zoltan is himself again … at least for now … hurtling through a cascading "waterfall" of … of … something he senses inside his mind, yet it seems as if it's a place that he is physically falling through.

Ahead … or below … the sensations translate themselves into something approximating light. There is a swirling vortex. It's … blue. And the color of that buzzing sensation in your teeth that you get when … but Vartans don't have teeth, do they? And that fragment over there, and another there … They hurtle through space. And a third. Images on each broken mirror. A dark place with spotted felines. A jungle with hands of stone. A place of needles of stone rising up to a molten sky, and flying Wyrms.

Three within reach, but only one.

Although he knows he's not the captain, and the events he just felt weren't his own experiences, Zoltan still weeps for the captain's lost crew-member. Still, the experiences weren't those of a madman… which brings up more questions. As he sees the lands within reach, he makes his decision. He's seen the City of Hands and the lands of Shabar… He instead reaches for that dark land with the spotted cats. It's the new land… the undiscovered one that might hold another piece of the puzzle.

The Vartan careens toward the dark mirror, which turns to face him, opening wide like the maw of a great wyrm ready to swallow him up…

A voice whispers inside the Vartan's head, "Who are you?" It's his own voice.

"I… " he trails off, unsure of how to answer. "I'm Zoltanos Cambio of Mountain Shadow tribe. Who are you?"

The voice echoes back … and the black mirror trembles … then shatters. Zoltan is Zoltan again … as if he was ever anything else … and he is tumbling through the cascade once more. The swirling vortex is somehow closer, yet "distance" is not quite real here … and two broken mirrors remain … there might be a chance to catch one of them before plummeting into the vortex. Or one might cut oneself on the jagged edge.

The Vartan shakes himself off, wondering what just happened to himself. He swallows at the sight of the two windows remaining. Shokar mentioned the City of Hands, but not Shabar. As though he were trying to strike out at an attacker, he makes a swipe for the Shabar window, bracing for the consequences if he misses.

A voice whispers inside the Vartan's head again. This time, it's louder, more distinct. And it's definitely his own voice. "Who are you?" The mirror is grasped, and the distinct image of Shabar swirls into view, the needles being viewed as from above, the liquid sky momentarily out of sight.

More determined now, the Vartan focuses himself. "I," he says deeply, "am Shokar!"

The battered airship slowly pushes through the fiery liquid. No, it's not lava, despite the appearance. A landscape reveals itself beneath the strange material: a barren desert, with stony spires rising upward from it, touching the liquid sky.

The energy column dissipates as it passes through the liquid curtain, and only Shokar's finely-tuned senses tell him that it's still there. He is alone aboard this ship. This is the last stop … the last stop before Aeztepa. Again.

The stone needles house strange flying creatures … they look like giant Gooshurms, with three Eeee wings radiating out from their bodies, and leaving trails of flame in their wake as they jet through the sky from pinnacle to pinnacle, occasionally swooping to catch some flying prey too small to see at this distance even with Shokar's keen eyes. But that is not all … there is something else amongst these pinnacles. Something shiny. Something giant, and made of amber. A castle?

Shokar strides across the deck of The Icewing. He seems older now, more tired… and changed a little. He pilots his ship alone with the skill of a whole crew. A crossbow rests at his side, loaded with a special bolt of his own making to hold off one of the Wyrms. The glint of the castle attracts his tired gaze, although it's met with a bit of cynicism now. All that glitters is not Paradise, as he's learned.

The ship is buffeted a bit by the wind … but the residual effects of the energies being siphoned off of the Forbidden Zone will still power the ship for some time … long enough to set down … and to catch a ride back up and out of here, if things prove to be too hot to handle again.

Last time, as soon as the ship came through the curtain, it was beset by a swarm of those three-winged monstrosities. Now, they seem to be taking longer to react. Perhaps it's because there's less meat aboard the ship.

The Captain nods with satisfaction as he carefully eases the ship down, although losing his crew to the monsters below has also left him jumpy and he braces himself to a quick escape… or a trip to the next world should one of the wyrms show up and prove too much for a lone Vartan. He leans against the side of the airship and peers down at the castle, wondering if he might have finally found what he's been searching for.

Strange lights dance across and are refracted within the translucent amber of the castle. Surely it can't really be made from a single piece of amber … More likely, it is fashioned out of the same rock these pillars are made of, and simply … painstakingly covered with bits of amber. Or maybe some Earth Mage had a hand in it. But then, Shokar has seen stranger things that never came with reasonable explanations. After all … to his knowledge, he is the only one who has ever set hoof on Aeztepa and lived. There were a few others who could have made that claim a year ago … but now … What Amenlichtli couldn't take, the hazards of so many other Forbidden Zones have consumed … and the rigors of trying to survive on that accursed Paradys in the meantime.

Shokar's eagle eyes pick up movement on the castle … on a platform jutting out from the structure, closer to one of the supporting needles. It looks like a humanoid form … either made out of amber just like the castle, or garbed in similar attire, accompanied by several others in less shiny robes.

( Probably the castle of some warlord. Still, I'd almost rather side with a warlord if it means escape. ) Shokar considers for a moment, and then waves an arm to the figures on the ledge. He fears calling out, lest he attract the wyrms again, and find himself forced to comb the airship graveyard again like some filthy scavenger to find parts to repair his airship.

The "amber" person is not made of amber after all, now that Shokar can see him more clearly. He is just a man … human, perhaps, though it could be any number of humanoid species. It takes a moment to tell that for certain, given how severely stooped over the man is, and the white, flowing beard that protrudes from underneath a mask of amber. The old masked man leans heavily against a staff in one hand, and raises the other hand … in greeting? In warning? In summons?

The wyrms keep their distance for now. This castle wasn't here before. Surely not. Even with all the wyrms attacking earlier, something this shiny would have caught someone's eye. Maybe the column of energy came down in a slightly different place this time…

Knowing his time is limited, he remembers his mission and works on landing and securing The Icewing. No good having his precious ship torn to bits by scavengers. "Ahoy there! May I land unmolested?" he scrawks out.

A voice calls out in response, "Land freely, Shokar of the Silver Bell!"

( What's this? Don't tell me one of those fool men went ahead of me and told then I was coming. They must have been spying on me… I'll have to better my plans at hiding. ) Shaking these thoughts from his mind, the Vartan continues to lower his ship to the red ground below.

The figures wait on the platform. It's a fairly simple matter. Land on the platform … or steer away and head for the desert below instead. Or, if all else fails … adjust the rods and flee back to Paradys. No more hails come from the platform.

Figuring he has to go sometime, Shokar aims his ship for the landing platform. If they kill him, so be it… At least it'll be an end to his nightmares.

The spiky ship's stabilizing rods sweep out of the way, as it glides to a graceful landing under Shokar's expert guiding talons. It is an exhausting exercise, since he has to do every task himself … but it is still one he can manage. And at last, he is on the amber platform, facing a hunched-over man in amber-colored robes, and an entourage of monks – some human, some Rath'ani, some assorted other races.

A couple of acolyte human boys with shaved heads rush out, bearing boxes that they set at Shokar's hooves. The smell alerts him to the contents – food. And not grubs and wild plants, either.

The black Vartan places a hand on his weapon and steps out of his ship. "I am Captain Shokar of the Silver Bell. To whom am I addressing and whose lands have I reached?" The smell hits his nostrils like some exotic perfume. Food… real food. It's all he can do to not grab the crates and shovel as much of their contents into his beak as he possibly can.

A wolf asks, "Permission to load your craft?" It looks like the acolytes are ready to do precisely that.

Before Shokar has a chance to reply, the aged priest (?) in the amber mask says, "A humble gift from the Order of the Bounded Star and Anchor, for you … and those you hope to rescue … if they will listen to you." There's a strange accent on the word "if". The human's voice sounds … sad.

The human is a bit unsteady on his staff, and every once in a while, an acolyte standing close to him tries to support him … yet not look like he's supporting the aged human. This man must be seeing his last days.

"You may." The Captain nods and then looks to the older figure. He's dressed the fanciest; probably he's the Baron or Warlord here. "And what do I owe you in exchange for these gifts?" A dubious eyebrow arches at the human's words. "You speak as though you know of my plight? Did one of my men escape the wyrms and end up in your care?"

The amber-masked man shakes his head. "I am the Champion of the Lance of Amber. The Star blesses me from time to time with visions … visions of the past, of the present, and sometimes the future. I have learned of your plight by that means. And I also know that you will outlive me … but that your days are numbered. Cherish each day as if it may be your last, and seek the light of the Star, as you struggle to fight the Darkness."

The wolf to the side, meanwhile, directs the acolytes, and carries a crate himself, as the precious supplies are loaded aboard Shokar's battered but still marvelous airship.

"The Star, the First Ones, the Sky Gods… whatever they are … have forsaken me long ago. They only curse me by letting me live to watch my men die to Paradys's traps one by one." The Captain's tone drops to one of weariness, "But I thank you for your gifts. They will bring some joy to my people's hearts, and perhaps a measure of hope." His beak lifts up to the skies as he tries to make out his island above him.

"Your people will have many trials ahead of them … but there is hope, in a future generation," says the Champion of Amber. "Many generations from now, a Vartan who is much like yourself in spirit as well as appearance will find the Icewing and Paradys, and will seek to learn of your story." Paradys cannot be seen in the sky above, hidden by the liquid curtain hovering at the tops of the rock needles. Only a barely discernible stream of energy coming down from a point in the curtain points out the way back to Paradys.

"He will hear the words I say now," continues the Champion of Amber, "although much will remain a mystery to him for quite some time, and perhaps forever."

"He'll be as much of a fool as I was for seeking Paradys, should he venture after it," Shokar replies. "Hopefully he'll have the sense to stay walled up in the tower when he arrives."

"No," answers the Champion of Amber, "for by his actions, your offspring will be saved." The Champion pauses a moment for this statement to sink in, then says, "Yes. Your unholy union with the one whose name I shall not mention has borne fruit. And many generations hence, two children will be born, descended from your line, intermixed with the stock of the spotted felines to such degree that they shall not bear any obvious hint of their Vartan heritage."

"I do not say this to judge you. I can guess full well your remorse over your actions while under the sway of the Darkness. But look to the future, Shokar. There is hope … but there is much danger as well. Not only for you, but for generations to come," intones the priest.

The words strike Shokar's heart like ice. Not only that his shame is known… but that others will know of it. No. When he gets back, he'll destroy his notes. Anything to hide it. "Hope… " he mutters. The word falls from his beak as though he didn't comprehend its meaning.

The Champion of Amber struggles forward, leaning heavily on his staff, every step underlined in painful effort. At last he reaches out a withered hand to rest on Shokar's talon … There's no way he could possibly reach the Vartan's shoulder. "There is hope. The Star has not forsaken you… "

And then the image shatters into several tiny pieces.

Zoltan is Zoltan again … and hurtling through the void, about to collide with a swirling vortex of glowing energies.

Shaking the last fragments of the experience out of his head, Zoltan looks onward to the vortex. He braces himself.

With a rush, the vortex envelops the Vartan … and he loses all sense of direction and proportion and of time …

His eyes snap open. The feeling … it's gone. Whatever magic was here in the ship has dissipated, consumed by … whatever just happened.

Scarce light comes through the window. Either dark clouds have rolled in … or it's not morning anymore.

The Vartan grunts and pulls himself up. "Great Star… How long have I been here?" He tests his legs and tries to climb out of the belly of the airship.

At first attempt, the Vartan's legs almost give out from underneath him … but he staggers his way out of the craft. And as he does so …

"BAW!" cries a little spotted cub that charges toward Zoltan, waving something round and shiny in his hands. Another cub chases after him. "I was just letting you borrow that, Enos!" the older one squeals. "Come back!"

Half falling, half kneeling, Zoltan holds his arms out to catch the cub. "Ch-children?" he croaks out, his voice hoarse from his dry throat. He never bothered to stop for a drink during that whole experience, after all.

Enos holds the ball up to Zoltan. "Baw?" Pouncer skids to a halt as soon as she grabs Enos' tail. "Papa? Are you all right?"

The Vartan taps his throat, "Thirsty," he grates. And then he reaches out and puts a hand under each of the cub's chins. He looks into their eyes and wonders to himself. Two children… an unholy union… Does the Blood of Shokar run in his children's veins?