Under the relentless onslaught of the beating sun, Jarik lies sprawled on a large bed of boards that once comprised part of the deck of the Lalee- Papu. A couple of beams rise up, tattered scraps of cloth attached to them and fluttering in the wind, the shade they provide having drifted past Jarik's position some time ago. A few barrels and crates lie on this ill-constructed "shelter", most broken open, and many empty.

Behind a wall formed by a stack of several of the crates, the sounds of splashing water can be heard … So, that wasn't just a dream…

Jarik sits up slowly and surveys the wreckage around him… His ears droop sadly . o O { More death, more loss } Through a dry mouth he calls out, "… Poodle… ! Where are you?"

Jarik looks up at the scraps of cloth. Painfully, he gets to his feet and retrieves a piece. { This could be useful… } O o . he thinks. He ties the coth around his face and muzzle, leaving his eyes free to see. { Good sand protection… }

Surprisingly, there isn't nearly as much wreckage as there ought to be. There may be a good portion of the deck below Jarik's tail, and some good scraps of the sails, and many crates, but the bulk of the ship must have crashed far from here.

There is some more splashing from beyond the wall of crates. "I'm over here. And don't come around. I'm taking a bath."

Jarik blinks, "Bath? We can't afford to waste waster here… Are you alright?"

Jarik frowns to himself, "I'm sorry about the claws… "

The poodle yaps from the other side, "WASTE? Hardly a waste. Do you expect me to stay DIRTY? Oh! The thought makes me positively NAUSEOUS!"

Jarik says, "Better to be dirty than die of thirst… Look around you! You'll be dirty again in less than an hour."

Jarik shakes his head, "You've never had to survive in wilderness before have you?"

The poodle yaps back, "Of course not! What would I be doing in the wilderness? Papa will be arriving shortly to rescue us. I can't very well let him find me smelly and dirty. Ugh! The shame of it."

Jarik shakes his head, "No one will come. No one knows we're missing, nor will they be able to find us. We have to work together. Listen, whatever you think of me is fine. Believe what you want, but I'm not part of any conspiracy. Right now, it looks like I have to keep you alive. It's my fault we're here. What else is over there? Any supplies?"

The poodle mrphs. Smack smack. "Nuffink ofer hereph!" *GULP!* More splashing. "Don't come around! I'm getting dressed now."

Jarik begins searching the wreckage for anything useful. He hopes to find some light colored cloth. His dark fur will be a problem here…

Light colored cloth there is in ample supply, though a bit tattered and scorched in places, billowing in the wind.

On this segment of the wooden platform, there are a few crates, all of which have been pried open. Inside are a number of dried and dehydrated goods.

The fox picks up the cloth and cuts it with his claws and sword until he has a makshift tunic. He pulls that over his head and ties it around his waist. Around his arms he wraps more cloth to cover the dark fur. Those are secured in place with more bits of cloth.

Jarik turns his attention to the dried goods. He rummages around in them, hoping they are salvagable.

The goods do appear to be in good condition, for the most part. Not a feast for kings, but edible.

Jarik wraps some of the goods up in a makeshift bag for carrying. He lost his backpack in the explosion.

The poodle walks around the divider, dressed in some ill-fitting but fine garb that he must have salvaged, with only a few smoke marks. "Well. Awfully warm, isn't it? Fortunately, I haven't so much fur to worry about." He grins.

Kazhir the poodle laughs. "Aha! You positively look the part of one of those desert wanderers, don't you? Why, you're all set for Abu Dhabi!"

Jarik sighs, "We need to get moving. If we stay here, we'll eventually die. Make yourself useful and gather up some of the cloth. We'll need it for shelter. I'm going to try to find something to carry water in."

Jarik looks at the poodle, "Kazhir, welcome to life. It's called survival. I may look silly, but it'll keep me alive longer."

"Get moving? What on earth are you babbling about?" the poodle says, looking perturbed. "We're not going anywhere. We'll stay here until someone picks us up."

Jarik says, "Yes, get moving. Do you honestly think someone will find us here? They'll find the rest of the ship and most likely assume we're dead too. We have to get out of this desert on our own."

"Well – " the poodle says, crossing his arms, "as owner of this ship, I COMMAND you to stay. Otherwise, you'll be considered absent without leave." He makes a rather serious expression, as if he fully expects this to strike sheer terror into the heart of the fox.

Jarik looks around, "I would tell you I've survived worse but I'd be lying." He looks directly at the poodle, "You're no commander here, Kazhir. Look around you! There is no ship! Nothing! You are nothing here Kazhir! The desert doesn't care if you're noble or slave…

The poodle yaps, "Nothing? NOTHING? Maybe to YOU, since you keep reminding me that 'titles mean nothing' to you, but I am a Varomanov – and once a Varomanov, ALWAYS a Varomanov!"

Jarik points to the sun then the sand, "Do you think it cares? It'll kill you as readily as it'll kill me. Welcome to reality, Kazhir!"

The poodle just rolls his eyes and sighs exaggeratedly.

Jarik frowns, "And I am Sir Jarik Fireclaw, head of the Order of Crydon. But that isn't going to save me. I'm going to save myself and you."

Jarik says, "And what is with this 'conspiracy'? You claim I'm a part of? I have no clue as to what they were even talking about!"

"Oh, SURE," the poodle grumbles. He then clasps his hands together, taking a faux feminine pose and batting his eyelashes rapidly, saying in a falsetto, "Oh, Sir JARIK! You've come to SAVE me! Oh divine!"

The poodle follows this with an ignoble raspberry and waves off Jarik. "Ha! We'll let the Temple decide your guilt."

Jarik rolls his eyes, "Now, get some supplies and that cloth. We need to get moving. Staying here is welcoming raiders."

Something moves in the sand, a stone's throw from the platform – just a small rise in the sand that moves along, then disappears again.

"I've already got supplies," the poodle protests. "What do you think I've been doing? I salvaged all I could."

Jarik says, "We can't take it all. Get all you can carry."

Jarik proceeds to scour the site for something to store water in.

The poodle stubbornly sits down on a crate. "You are making no sense whatsoever."

There are a few broken, empty casks which should do the job nicely.

Jarik looks back at the poodle, "If I have to carry you, you are coming with me. Now get MOVING."

Jarik examines one of the casks. Hopefully it's not too big.

"You're MAD! Mad, I say!" the poodle yaps, and with that he hops up and runs around the divider.

The little cask is about the size of a small pail.

Jarik picks up the cask and walks around the divider, "That's certainly a possibility. Now, get moving."

"I'm not taking ONE step off my ship," the poodle yaps from behind the divider. "And you can't MAKE me without a fight!"

The poodle yelps at sight of Jarik, and scrambles up the edge of the wash-barrel, standing on its rim and hopping on top of the pile of crates.

Jarik raises an eyebrow, "You, fight me? And you say I'm mad… "

The wash-barrel is filled with soapy, sudsy water, and smells heavily of perfume.

Jarik looks for untainted water…

There are a few closed barrels. Perhaps one has some water in it. None are conveniently marked "Water", however.

Jarik opens one of the barrels carefully.

Inside is … ale. Lots of it. Well, at least there's something to drink…

Jarik sighs to himself, "Quit acting like a spoiled brat and get down here."

Jarik checks the next barrel. Alchohol is the LAST thing he needs in the desert.

The poodle yaps from on top the crate pile, "I thought that had water in it. Oh well." The next barrel is full of an ample supply of flour.

Jarik checks the next one…

Pickled fish. And after that, beans. And after that, more beans. That's it.

Jarik sighs and fills the cask with ale. It'll have to do.

Jarik looks up at the poodle, "Are you seriously planning to stay here and die?"

The poodle yaps, "Stay here? Yes! Die? No!"

Jarik sets his supplies down. He looks around for some rope.

Suddenly, the whole platform shifts, just enough to slosh the water around, and for a few crates to topple over. The poodle yelps, but stays on top of the pile. The hanging sheets serving as "walls" for this pathetic shelter fill with air, as a cloud of sand blows by.

Rope there is aplenty, in various strengths and lengths, some of it holding the sheets fast to makeshift poles.

Jarik picks up a couple decent pieces and starts climbing the crates.

The poodle yelps and scrambles down the other side. "Stay away!" he yaps.

Jarik jumps off the top of the crates to the other side, "You're the one being difficult, not me… "

"You're MAD!" the poodle cries out, as he runs around what's left of the deck, around some billowing sheets.

Jarik chases after the poodle, "Like I said, that's possible… "

Round around he goes, where he stops, nobody knows! The poodle keeps whipping around the wooden platform. He seems unwilling to so much as set foot on the sand around the edges.

Jarik gives up and goes back to his supplies. "Fine."

Another tiny dune appears in the sand some distance away, tracing along for a way, and then disappearing once more. There's no sound from the poodle. He could be hiding anywhere in this jumble of cloth "walls" and stacks of crates.

Jarik finishes gathering up a small supply of food and ale. He uses the rope to tie around the cloth wrapped food and hangs it over his right shoulder. He picks up the cask. "I'll see you in the afterlife… "

The fox is answered only with silence, unless one counts the pounding of the wind against the "sails" of the remnant of the Lalee-Papu.

Jarik looks to the sun, trying to get an idea of direction…

Without knowing if it's before or after noon, it's hard to get a certain bearing. No familiar landmarks help to show the way.

Jarik picks a direction. He takes a step off what is left of the deck…

The sand feels strange under Jarik's feet. It's especially fine and light, almost spongy. It's very hot, too, reflecting the glare of the sun back at the fox's eyes.

Without looking back at the shelter the fox heads off into the desert.

As the fox walks along, it seems that he's sinking more and more into the sand. About at a rate of an inch per second, with no sign of slowing.

Another small swell appears in the sand before Jarik, running in a zigzag pattern, before vanishing again.

Jarik yipes and heads back to the deck…

The fox is getting deeper and deeper into the sand, and the way is getting more difficult.

Jarik struggles tomake it back to the safety of the deck…

Another swell appears in the sand, this time closer, zig-zagging, then making a semi-circle around the fox before vanishing again. The fox can feel vibrations in the sand as the swell passes. Just a bit further…

At last, while the fox is waist deep and still sinking, he manages to reach the deck with his free hand!

Jarik fights his way through the sand… He grabs onto the deck and tries to pull himself back on to it.

It's a struggle. Once Jarik can free his hands by setting his cargo on the deck, though, he pulls himself free and onto the safety of the wooden planks … a raft on a sea of sand.

Jarik hms to himself, "Looks like I'm stuck here, with you."

"Ha ha!" laughs the poodle from atop the crate pile. "You thought you were SO smart! I suppose nature doesn't make special exceptions for knights, after all!" With that the poodle giggles in a high-pitched, grating voice.

Another swell appears in the sand again, this time headed for the edge of the platform.

Jarik chuckles, "The only thing nature makes for knights is a hard life."

Jarik looks at the sand and thinks, not noticing the swell. { When there were bad snows we used large shoes to keep from sinking, hrm… }

As if to prove the point, suddenly the swell reaches the edge of the platform and grows and rises … the sand bursting aside, as something BIG and worm-like erupts from the sand! Its gaping maw splits with a three-way lip, as three tongues, dripping with saliva, launch out at the fox!

The poodle shrieks!

SLUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRP! SLURPSLURPSLURPSLURPSLURP!

Soaking wet tongues sweep all over the fox's body, prodding, patting and poking, crossing each other, then uncrossing, drenching him in worm-slobber.

Abruptly, the tongues snap back into the gaping maw – which sucks closed – and the worm abruptly shoots backwards down into the sand again.

The only sign left of the worm's presence is a puddle of foul-smelling saliva, which a wet fox is in the center of.

The poodle is still screaming. "Aaaaaaahhhh! Ahhhhh! Ah! Ah. Oh. It's gone now."

The poodle says, "Hurry! Before it evaporates! Scoop some up! It's wet, isn't it?"

Jarik sits there blinking… "That was… disgusting."

The poodle sits on top of the crates a moment, then states soberly, "Yes. Yes, I think it was. Terribly so." He then slaps his knee and starts laughing in his annoyingly high-pitched poodle way once more.

Jarik shakes himself, launching saliva all over, "What was that?"

The poodle shrugs. "Uhm. I'm not sure. But I think that might have been a Gooshurm. I thought they were just fables, though. According to legend, they like slobbering all over foxes." He brightens. "It's TRUE! We've proven the legends TRUE!"

Jarik mumbles to himself, "And I thought Tarin was bad… "

"A discovery!" the poodle exclaims. "A milestone in the annals of science! Or a page. Or whatever."

Jarik gets up and begins to search the deck. He's hoping to find something to construct 'snowshoes' out of.

Jarik gets annoyed, "Will you shut up?"

There's nothing metal, but there is some wood that might be worked with, and scraps. It would probably take some time and effort to construct something sturdy.

And tools.

"No," the poodle says. "I really would rather not. Hmm. You know, this could be rather intriguing. Perhaps you could assist with an experiment. Could you tie this rope around your waist?" A length of rope gets tossed to Jarik, the other end on top of the crates.

Jarik looks back to the poodle, "Why… ?"

Jarik's eyes narrow, "I will not be Gooshurm bait."

The poodle says, "Well, I'll just run the rope over this support, and dangle you over the edge, and we can study the frequency of Gooshurm attacks to see whether they really ARE attracted to foxes."

Jarik thinks… "I have a better idea… We could use them to pull our 'raft'"

The poodle claps his hands together. "What a SPLENDID idea! I'll get some more ropes… " He disappears behind the stack of crates, followed by crashing and fumbling noises.

A couple more swells appear under the sand, circling around the raft. It would seem that friends have arrived.

Jarik keeps away from the edges.

The poodle stands atop the crates, swinging a lasso around his head. "Here, Gooshiegooshiegooshie! HERE, Gooshiegooshiegooshie! Come get the yummy fox! OOP!" He ends up dropping the loop around himself. "Grrrr."

Jarik ties a rope around himself, then one of the poles. He goes close to the edge and prepares for the… slurp.

Three swells appear in the sand. Suddenly, three really big worms pop out. They start shoving at each other to get up to the fox, bumping against the wood.

Jarik shouts, "Now!!!"

At last, they seem to reach a consensus. All three mouths pop open, unleashing NINE tongues. The result is … well … very wet and icky.

SLURP!SLORP!SLUUUUUURP!SLORPSLORPSLURPSLORP!(smacksmack)SLORP!

A lasso lands around Jarik. Another gets a crate. Another hits a pole. "GAH! They won't stand still," the poodle yaps.

Jarik winces and lets them slurp. o O { You had better hurry or I'm going to shed on you… }

{ And hang you over the edge }

"GOT ONE!" the poodle cries out triumphantly!

Jarik waits for them to finish… *shudder*

"GHLOMPH?" the worm sounds like, over all the slurping. It starts jerking around, as its three tongues slip back into its mouth. Abruptly, all three stop licking, and – if it were possible – look briefly confused. Or as confused as a giant worm can look.

Another rope hits one of the worms and bounces off. "Grrr!"

Jarik opens one eye to look…

The middle worm zips back into the ground. Suddenly, it's followed by … a screaming poodle! "YAAAAAAA!"

Jarik yikes and tries to grab the poodle!

The poodle flies past Jarik, hanging onto a rope … or, rather, the rope is hanging onto HIM, tangled around his leg. Jarik's fast reflexes manage to allow him to grab the poodle. But … he's so … SLIPPERY! Or, rather, Jarik is, with all that worm-slobber.

The poodle shoots past … and crashes into a pole. "SQUEAK!" is all the poodle manages. It looks terribly painful.

Jarik runs over to the poodle, "Are you okay… ?"

Jarik picks up the poodle, getting worm slobber all over him…

The poodle squeaks, in a falsetto, "No!" His eyes roll back, as he collapses back on the deck in a pool of worm-slobber. Suddenly, the rope goes taut again … and the whole raft jerks forward! The platform bumps into the two puzzled worms, and one squirms out of the way … only to get snagged in another rope!

Jarik sets the poodle down against a crate and checks to make sure the ropes are secure…

As the rope gets pulled taut, the whole pile of crates starts crashing down, and the wash-barrel spills, sending soapy washwater out across the deck.

It would seem that one rope is "secure" around the poodle's leg … and who knows how long THAT will hold. The other is secured to a barrel that is coming this way.

Jarik gahs! . o O { There goes a bath… }

Jarik tries to grab the barrel…

The barrel meets Jarik. Jarik meets the barrel. Pickled fish go flying.

Jarik holds onto the barrel and tries to get it over to a pole. He's trying not to think about the smell…

At last, the fox manages to wedge the barrel behind a couple of poles. At least the smell of the pickled fish isn't all that noticeable over the reek of worm-slobber.

Jarik goes back to the poodle and relocates the rope from his leg to the pole…

The poodle gasps, and squeaks, "thank you!" He then swoons.

Jarik rolls his eyes and sits down. He hopes the worms can pull the raft closer to civilization…

Jarik drips some worm slobber on the poodle to wake him…

With two Gooshurms towing the Lalee-Papu (if it can be called that), and with a favorable wind blowing it along, the raft is now skimming across the desert, knocking up clouds of sand. The poodle is soon caked in sand, adhering to the worm-slobber on his body. The same is happening to Jarik.

The poodle gasps. "GAH! OOG! OW!"

Jarik looks at himself. o O { I look like a golem }

Jarik smiles at the poodle, "At least this way it doesn't smell… "

The poodle staggers to his feet, and seeks refuge behind the scattered crates, whimpering piteously, wiping bits of sandy crud out of his eyes.

Jarik seeks shelter amongst the cloth walls…

The cloth offers some respite. The craft continues skimming on, as the sun rises higher into the sky. It must have been morning. It's now getting toward noon. Judging from this information, the craft must be bearing roughly north now.

Jarik decides to wait until the Gooshurms finish pulling them to whatever destination they are headed to.

The wormy creatures seem to be going on for quite some distance without any sign of tiring…

The poodle yaps, "Look! There's something out there!" He dabs at himself with a soapy rag in a vain attempt to wipe away some of the crud.

Jarik tries to see juat what they are getting close too. He uses his hands to try and shield his eyes from the sand as he looks…

The poodle hops up, and grabs a big red sheet that is the remnant of a flag, which is strapped to a pole. He begins to wave it back and forth, but sputters as he gets another face-full of blown sand once he rises beyond his shelter of crates. "GAH!" Nonetheless, he closes his eyes and keeps waving. "Ho! Over HERE! Over HERRRRRE!"

Past some dunes, Jarik can see some billowing cloths in a myriad of drab colors. Sails? It takes a moment to tell for sure, but it appears they're moving along the desert at a pretty fast clip … comparable to the rate the raft is making.

Jarik thinks. o O { I hope they're friendly. } He shouts at the ships, "Hello!!! Over here!!!!!"

The raft begins to jerk and yank a bit. Judging from the movement of the mounds ahead, it looks like the worms are parting ways from each other, and heading in opposite directions!

The poodle wobbles, trying to maintain his balance. "Uh oh. Something's wrong here."

Jarik yipes and draws his sword! He runs to one of the ropes and cuts it!

As the rope shoots free, abruptly the raft swings around and jerks again. The poodle yelps as he goes crashing to the deck.

Suddenly, the raft stops. There's no sign of the worm. The rope stretches out a distance … but it keeps getting shorter. Or, rather, the length that is visible out in the sand keeps shortening as it buries itself.

Jarik yikes and cuts the other rope, or the raft might get pulled down…

There is a flash of light from the direction of the distant sails. Like reflections off of something shiny. They occur in patterns. Perhaps a signal? The rope cuts free just in time, the released length sucking into the sand and vanishing.

Jarik waves his sword, hoping it's shiny enough to flash in reply…

Something appears, coming over one of the dunes, closer than the sails. It's hard to make out, as the cloud of wind-blown sand is still settling.

Whatever it is, it's approaching at a good pace. A voice echoes on the winds, "Hooska! Hooska, kooshkies, HOOSKA! YA!" A whip cracks in the air.

Jarik puts his sword away…

Jarik goes to check on the poodle…

It looks like a one-man sled zooming over the dune, without any sail, drawn by onseen means. A similar sled is coming over the dune as well, spreading out. Meanwhile, the sails are approaching, a bit further away.

Jarik waves to the sled, "Hello!!"

The poodle tries to knock more crud off himself. "Oh dear! I'm so smelly and awful! I can't BEAR to be seen like this!"

Zoltan circles overhead… his eyes catch a glimpse of something… SHINY?!?!

Jarik mutters to the poodle, "You're alive. That's what matters… Do you know what these people are?"

The sled approaches, bearing a hunched-over humanoid in flapping, tattered garments that are a patchwork of hides and cloths flapping in the breeze. He (or she?) cracks the whip again. "HOOSKA!" Several ropes stretch from the front of the sled, disappearing into the sand … where there can be seen several little mounds running along.

The poodle shrugs. "I have no idea. But they have NO fashion sense whatsoever, I can see."

Jarik looks at the poodle, "And we do at this moment?" He turns back to the new arrivee, "Hello!"

Zoltan hrms… looking down at the gathering from his altitude. The shiny is gone, but what's this happening?

The sled-driver tugs on the ropes, as the sled draws near. "Gak! Gakgakgak!" He puts down the whip, and holds the ropes with both hands. The sled begins to slow, almost as if he were somehow holding it back by dragging. The little mounds zip back and forth. "Gaka! GAK!"

The poodle points up. "Look! It's Herbir! He's come back!"

Jarik looks up? "Could it be… ? Perhaps Wynona made it too! We can hope… "

Kazhir tries to direct Jarik's attention to the circling black hippogryph. "Yes! If she were here, she could summon us up a wind and blow us to Abu Dhabi in no time! Or make some water for us. I'm terribly thirsty now."

The hippogryph continues to circle… curious but a bit wary.

Zoltan thinks, . o O ( Oop… they've spotted me. )

Jarik nods, "I hope that is Herbir… We don't have anything to drink now. The ale spilled… "

The robed stranger hobbles out of the sled, walking on what look to be enormous snowshoes. The little mounds in the sand appear and disappear in place … as if whatever caused them was hopping up and down beneath the surface.

The sled-driver reaches to each mound and does something, and suddenly each rope goes slack, each mound zipping off. "Gakor!" the driver calls out, his feature still hidden by a tattered cowl.

Jarik turns his attention back to the sledrider, "Um, hello?"

The sled-driver holds up a gloved hand, and starts babbling something in an incomprehensible tongue. Behind him, something shoots out of the sand, and into the air. So does another. The two … things … collide in mid-air, making a light "koosh" noise, before falling back down again to disappear into the sand.

Zoltan glides downwards. Aiming for a flat spot of sand about 500 feet away from the gathering. Close enough to watch, but far enough to bolt.

Jarik watches…

Jarik switches to Crydonian and speaks again, "Hello? We need help… "

*Koosh!kooshkoosh!* More of the strange creatures, each a different color, pop out of the sand, crashing into each other, hopping above and below each other, and sometimes over the sled-driver. One smacks into his side, prompting a grunt, as he swats it away.

A second sled comes to a stop, on the other side of the raft. The rider follows a similar procedure, and his sled team is soon bouncing around as well. "Gakor!" he calls out.

Jarik mutters to the poodle, "Do you understand what they are saying… ?"

The poodle nibbles on a piece of pickled fish. "No idea whatsoever. They must be savages."

Zoltan skids across the sand as he lands, "Ack! This worse than landing in snow!" he squawks.

The hippogryph begins sinking into the sand. It's not quite as solid as sand ought to be.

Zoltan yipes! He flaps his wings madly… trying to take off again.

Jarik smiles at the strange people, "Hello, I'm Sir Jarik Fireclaw" He points to Kazhir, "This is my friend Kazhir… We're in need of assistance… "

Fortunately, the hippogryph has not sunk that far into the sand. With a spray of sand, Zoltan is into the air once more.

The first sled-driver hobbles up, and begins inspecting the contents of the raft. He picks up a sand-covered piece of pickled fish, and wipes it off with a sand-covered glove, having no discernable effect. The fish piece disappears into the cowl, followed by crunching noises … and the fish isn't normally crunchy.

"Ewww," the poodle comments, wrinkling his nose.

Zoltan circles over the group, shouting down. "Yark! How you walk on sand and no sink! I is need to rest wings someplace!"

"Herbir!" the poodle calls out. "Good to see you again! You'll have to land on the raft. It's all that's left of the Lalee-Papu!"

Jarik nods to the poodle, "Indeed… " He now see's the Vartan, "Herbir… ?"

"He sounds sort of strange," the poodle asides quietly. "I hope he hasn't lost his mind again."

( Herbir? ) O o . Zoltan thinks to homself, wondering if the poodle is out of his mind. But the raft would be a good place to land and rest.

The second sled-driver hops onto the raft, and walks up to Jarik, sniff-sniffing at him. "Gooshurm!" the stranger declares. The other nods in agreement. "Gooshurm hooska."

Jarik hmms, "Are you sure that's Herbir… ?"

Jarik blinks, and nods! to the sleddriver, "Gooshurm."

"Of course!" the poodle exclaims. "Just how many black hippogryphs would you expect to see over the desert? And look at those wings! I'd know those anywhere."

Zoltan circles in, trying to land on the raft as softly as he can. His wings send down a breeze to the group below.

The first sled-driver bobs his head, and makes slurp-slurping noises, waving his fingers around. He only has two fingers and a thumb on each hand. The other sled-driver laughs loudly.

Jarik says, "Er, yes. It's quite amusing… "

Jarik tries to knock off some of the sand, "Can you help us?"

Zoltan's hooves THUNK down on the raft as he lands. He staggers a bit, then steadies himself.

Jarik waves to the Vartan, "Herbir… ?"

Jarik blinks. o O { He's not wearing the necklace… }

A large sail appears again, as something crests the dune. It looks like a large ship, on three skis, borne by the wind over the sands, kicking up a cloud of dust and sand as it goes. The sails are lowering, as the craft slows to a halt. Upon closer inspection, it looks as if much of the craft is fashioned of bone, not wood. The same is true of the sleds.

The poodle blinks at the black hippogryph. 'What happened to your eyes? When did they turn purple?"

Jarik nudges the poodle, "That isn't Herbir… "

Jarik says, "He's not wearing the Vykarin necklace… "

"Of COURSE he isn't," the poodle says. "He's not a Vykarin!"

Zoltan scrawks, "Is must have me mistaken. My name Zoltan." He seems to have a much thicker accent than Herbir did.

"Oh," the poodle says. "Well … can you help us anyway? I don't think these savages understand a word we're saying."

The sled-drivers go over the large raft, poking around the barrels and crates, rummaging through everything.

Zoltan extends a hand to Jarik and the poodle. "Thanks for steady spot to land. Wings were geting sore."

"Hey! Put that DOWN!" yaps the poodle, as he rushes to grab something from one of the drivers.

Zoltan blinkblinks as the poodle rushes past.

The poodle engages in tug-of-war over a spyscope held by the hunchback sled-driver. "Let GO!" the poodle shouts. "Letskie goska ofska scopeska!"

Jarik shakes the hand, "No problem… Do you understand these people? We need help. Our airship … exploded?

Jarik tries not to laugh at the poodle, "Let him have it."

The spyscope, fashioned of polished volcanic glass, and encased in enameled wood and brass, seems more in the hands of the poodle – then the sled-driver – then it almost gets dropped.

Zoltan squawks a few words of Vartanspeak at the sled-driver experimentally.

The driver shows no response. He grabs at the scope again and kicks the poodle in the shins, prompting a yelp, as the poodle hops on one leg, holding his leg. The sled-driver goes stumbling backward, crashing into a couple of barrels, sending them rolling.

"Ack! Don't break shiny!" Zoltan scrawks.

The spyscope rolls across the wooden deck, toward the edge of the platform.

Jarik dives for the scope… !

The fox catches it JUST as it's about to slide over the edge.

Zoltan shakeshakes his head at Jarik, "Sorry… I not understand either." His eyes follow the path of the rolling scope.

Jarik holds onto the scope, "Whew… "

Jarik gets back to his feet. He nods to the Vartan and addresses the strangers again, "Listen… WE NEED HeLP!"

Rope ladders roll down from the large ship – about as big as the undercarriage of the Lalee-Papu (or, at least, the ship it used to be). More rag- covered individuals, of widely varying sizes and shapes, begin to descend, hopping onto the sand with big clumsy sand-shoes. (How they manage to climb a rope ladder in them must require some practice.)

Zoltan glances up at the ship, keeping an eye on the… whatever they are.

More sand-walkers come up to the raft, and join in tearing it apart, beginning to carry off crates and barrels. "HEY!" the poodle protests. He talks loudly and slowly, "We – need – help! And … YOUCAN'THAVETHAT!" Okay, so he doesn't STAY very slow.

Jarik tucks the scope under his mud incrusted tunic, "Hey! You can't have our supplies!"

Zoltan frowns at the poodle.

The poodle hops up and down angrily, fuming. Then, one of the sand-walkers starts prying the boards apart of the raft. "Hey! HEY! … HEYYYYYY!"

Jarik draws his sword, "Everyone… STOP!"

At sight of the sword, abruptly things are dropped, and figures go scurrying. The raft clears off quickly, and shouts in a strange language are exchanged between those on the ground and those on the ship.

Zoltan backs up a bit… preparing to fly again.

Jarik hmphs, "Better." He returns the sword to the scabbard.

Up on the ship, something rolls to the edge of the deck. It looks like … a ballista?

"AHHHHH!" screams the poodle. He faints. He finds that he has collapsed in some sandy slobber, so he scoots over to one side and faints again.

Jarik blinkblinks… and looks for cover!

Unfortunately … the raft is pretty much clear of cover right now. The sand-walkers are making way with most of it back to their big sand-boat.

Zoltan glances upwards, then madly looks back and forth.

Some bolder ones begin coming back, and carrying off what little cover remains. Another couple resume prying the boards apart.

Jarik goes over to the thieves, "Now listen here… "

The sand-walkers don't seem to be listening. They hop off the platform and trundle away with the bucket that holds the remainder of the pickled fish. One of them munches on a sample as he goes.

Jarik grabs one of them…

Zoltan leaps off the raft and flies back into the air… he swoops down after two of the sand critters and tries to snatch them up into the air.

The fox, however, is now off the platform, and sinking. The sand-walker he's holding curses, and kicks at him.

The sand-critters are a bit too heavy and spread out to get two, but the hippogryph manages to snare one, who kicks and squeals like a pig.

Jarik tries to block the kicks and drag the person back to the platform.

Unfortunately, there's not much footing to get to drag anyone much of anywhere, and it seems that the sand-walker has the advantage in being used to the sand.

Zoltan glances back at Jarik, his prize in hand. He shakeshakeshakes his prize, hoping to loosten its shoes.

Jarik gives up and makes his way back to the raft…

"SKWEEEEEE!" The creature flails, and a couple of sand-shoes fly free, bouncing off of Jarik's head.

Zoltan says, "FOX! Put on shoes, Quick now!"

Jarik grabs up the sandshoes!

Jarik fumbles and tries to put the shoes on…

Meanwhile, it seems an argument has broken out on board the ship, as the ballista gets aimed one way … then there's some pushing and shoving amongst the crew, and it gets aimed the other way instead.

The shoes aren't exactly Jarik's size, but they'll do in a pinch. With a bit of struggling, he gets back to a more favorable position on the sand … but these things are REALLY unwieldy. He has to work just to keep his balance unless he just wants to stand still.

Zoltan drops the sandcritter on top of one of his companions and tries to snatch up another, this time simply knocking him over and trying to grab a pair of the shoes for himself.

Jarik grins, "Better than sinking… "

Jarik goes after one of the thieves…

This other sand-critter squawks like a crow, and flounders about. Another pair of sand-shoes.

The fox trips and falls flat on his face!

Jarik tries to get upright again, "Gah!"

The poodle, meanwhile, is forced to move, as the sand-walkers start prying apart the boards on which he's lying. "Away! Away … or I'll BITE you!"

Zoltan squawks happily, he clutches the shoes to his chest and circles back to the raft.

The fox is back upright again, though somewhat wobbly. At least he has a better appreciation now for what's involved.

Jarik tries to get back and defend the raft…

There's less and less of the raft to defend now. Just a bunch of wooden planks being disassembled as one watches.

Jarik draws his sword again…

*FWOOM!* Something explodes in a cloud of dust back on the deck of the ship. Something is flying through the air.

Zoltan quickly hands the shoes to the poodle, "Put on, fast. Before sand swallow you up."

The poodle gasps, and, for once, does as he's told.

Jarik looks for the flying object…

The "bolt" launched by the ballista is breaking up in mid-flight … and spreading out into three parts, with something connecting all three.

It's a net!

Zoltan Acks! He grabs Jarik and the poodle by their shirt collars and tries to fly backwards.

Jarik yipes!

The poodle lets out a loud "urk!" as he's yanked backwards. (He's not very heavy, thank goodness.)

The net impacts, entrapping nothing. There are several shouts and curses from the deck of the ship, as the crew loads another volley.

Zoltan hovers in the air with the two… straining. "I not fly like this for very long. Must land soon."

The poodle yaps, "Land … WHERE?!?" He whimpers.

Jarik nods… He looks around… "Can you get us to their deck maybe… ?"

Below, the sand-walkers make off with the remnants of the raft. They pick up the net, too – and their comrades who were deprived of sand-shoes.

"I try." Zoltan responds. Panting heavily, he rises upwards to the deck of the ship.

The sled-drivers summon their kooshkies, and hitch them up. The sleds begin to slide away, while the others climb up the rope ladders onto the ship.

Several of the cowled desert scavengers begin to shout and hoot at the incoming hippogryph, waving him away.

Jarik grips his sword tightly, he senses a fight coming…

The scavengers get on board quickly. The sails have risen again, and are already filling with the wind. The large craft begins moving.

Zoltan hovers over the deck, and unceremoniously DROPS his passengers onto the deck.

"OOF!" squeals the poodle, as he rolls and hugs a bonked knee. "OW!"

Jarik lands hard on his rear! "Ow!"

Zoltan lands quickly behind… panting.

A whole army of cowled and hooting and yodeling (?) scavengers comes charging in at the uninvited guests.

Jarik gets to his feet, wobbling on the shoes.

Jarik puts his sword away and raises his hand, "Stop!"

Zoltan growls, "You want be on deck… what NOW?"

The poodle whimpers. "DADDY!!!!!" Kazhir covers his mouth, his ears flushing, and tries to regain his composure. It doesn't work.

Jarik steps forward, "You've taken our ship. You at least owe us a ride to a city… "

Zoltan glances around the ship, looking for something useful or climbable.

The scavengers don't seem to be any more fluent in Jarik's language than before. At least there is plenty that's climbable – rigging, supporting beams for the sails, piles of crates and barrels (Hmm. Don't THOSE look familiar!)

The ballista rolls back around, but the artillery crew seems to have broken out into a fist fight amongst itself.

Jarik curses and removes the shoes… He grabs the poodle and slings him over his shoulder… The fox makes his way to the closest rigging…

The closest rigging is readily at hand, though it's slow climbing with a poodle.

Jarik tries to keep going. He can't abandon Kazhir to the thieves…

The spyscope abruptly slips free, and drops toward the deck. Immediately, several scavengers who were climbing the rigging after Jarik hop down, landing on their fellows, and start pounding on each other, fighting over the instrument.

Zoltan glances upwards at Jarik… then looks at the ballista. He leaps back up into the air and lands again in the middle of the crew manning it, squawking madly and waving his arms… hoping to scare the critters away.

Jarik thinks. o O { Well, that worked out well… } He keeps climbing…

The critters are already deeply entrenched in bashing each other, and rolling and tousling on the deck. The ballista is untended.

Jarik says, "Zoltan! Aim that thing at the deck!"

Zoltan tries to spin the ballista around… aiming the net at the mass of squirming critters.

Jarik yells at Kazhir, "Hang on, friend. We'll make it… " He looks to the rigging below him to see if he's being pursued…

Zoltan shouts up at Jarik, "Keep dropping shinies! You distract them. Fancy poodle probably gots many shinies!"

The scavengers seem to be paying not the least bit of attention at Jarik. They're either fighting amongst each other, climbing over each other, or else pointing and waving and shouting at the ballista.

"No!" cries Kazhir. "They can't HAVE them!"

Jarik shouts back, "Will do! Kazhir, you need to drop them! We have to keep them distracted… "

The hippogryph glances at the controls, trying to figure out how the fire the thing.

"Butbut … they're priceless FAMILY HEIRLOOMS!" the poodle protests.

Jarik says, "Just one, keep them distracted! Losing an heirloom is better than losing your life!"

Loading the contraption looks like a problem. However, there's this big conspicuous lever that might have something to do with firing.

The poodle whimpers, then unclasps a chain around his neck, pulling out a large, gaudy medallion. He closes his eyes and drops it.

Fortunately, however, the ballista is already loaded.

Zoltan grabs the lever and YANKS!

*FWOOMPH!* The ballista jolts backward, slamming into the hippogryph. Something else shoots out the front. Several scavengers shriek. Others are still too busy pounding each other senseless, or being pounded senseless.

Zoltan crashes backwards.

Jarik keeps his position on the rigging and watches…

The bolt splits outward into three parts, and a net snaps out. As it impacts, suddenly the three parts fling back together again … the result being a big netted ball filled with squirming bodies.

Zoltan scrambles across the deck, trying to keep from flying off.

Jarik grins! He's glad his hands are wrapped up and he uses the protection to slide down the rigging ropes, getting back to the deck faster.

The few ship hands who escaped the netting are now scrambling for cover, not quite so bold in fewer numbers.

Jarik sets the poodle down and stretches. The next thing that can be seen is JArik standing, sword drawn.

Zoltan tries to pull himself back up, he's gasping for air.

Zoltan staggers sideways, still getting his bearings. He crashes into Jarik.

Jarik motions at Zoltan to get closer to the poodle… Instead, he's hit and falls over… *thud*

The poodle looks around, sees that the's the only one standing, and adopts a heroic pose. "And THAT is what happens to any who dare defy the House Varomanov!"

Zoltan clumsily helps Jarik up.

Zoltan GLARES at the poodle.

Jarik erfs and accepts the help, "Thanks… "

Jarik rolls his eyes, "Will the great Kazhir go change his pants now… ? I think he soiled himself."

The hippogryph notices one of the poodle's dropped shinies on the deck. He scoops it up and stuffs it into his belt pouch inconspiciously.

The cabin door slams open – a door that is made from a skull of a large and flat-headed creature. From the door emerges a much larger creature in tattered robes and bone armor. He roars something unintelligible, scanning the deck. In three directions at once. He has three heads!

Jarik pants, "I think you're right Kazhir, I am mad."

Jarik points at the creature, "You… !"

Kazhir whimpers at the sight of the big strange beast. "He – what – WHO? (GULP!)"

Jarik says, "What gives you the right to strip us of our ship!?!?!?"

Zoltan erks at the boss critter.

Jarik adopts a fighting stance with his sword, "We aren't going to die so easily… "

Zoltan keeps back… watching creature and waiting to see what he does.

Jarik shouts back to Kazhir, "Find a weapon!"

The three-headed beast starts babbling three things at once. One hand reaches up and slaps the two side heads – one looks like a lion, the other a goat – and the middle one, reptilian, resumes talking in the same tongue as the scavengers.

Jarik waits to see what the creature will do…

Zoltan whispers to Jarik, "If he attacks… try and go at from different side than Zoltan. Maybe we confuse."

Jarik nods to Zoltan, "If Kazhir is up to it… we could use his help too… "

Suddenly, the beast's own long, semi-prehensile tail whips up and thwaps the reptile's head in the middle. While the reptile head says, "OOF!", the lion's head turns and roars back toward the cabin door. The goat's head meanwhile, snorts, glaring at the intruders.

Kazhir puffs up his chest. "I'm … afraid of NOTHING! I LAUGH in the face of strange mutated monstrosities! All three at once! Ha ha ha!"

Zoltan bahs, "Poodle should have been left in sand. He not be of much help… " He jerks at the sudden movement from the beast.

Jarik says, "Kazhir… find a weapon… and please follow my orders this time… "

Kazhir looks around, and then runs toward the ballista.

Jarik sighs to himself.

Meanwhile, the big netted ball of scavengers is still squirming. Some rip-ripping noises hint that they might be starting to get free.

Zoltan says, "It EMPTY, stoopid dog! Find something else!"

Jarik whispers back to Zoltan, "I'm not sure if it's going to attack us or itself… "

Zoltan erks at the net… he rushes over to it.

A threesome of shuffling figures emerges from the cabin. All three heads of the big boss-man (for surely that's what he must be) start barking at the three smaller forms in three different conversations.

Abruptly, the beast's two hands and tail start swatting at the three heads. It would seem there's an argument going on.

Jarik goes to the netted pile and lays his bladetip one one of them, "Quit struggling or I start stabbing… "

Zoltan squawks to jarik, "Get over here… QUICK! I gots idea.

Jarik blinks and goes over to Zoltan…

Kazhir steps over the exhausted and semi-conscious artillery crew, fumbling around for something that looks like ammunition. Then he tries to find out where to PUT it.

Zoltan pushes on the large ball in the direction of the boss, he motions for Jarik to do the same.

Jarik grins! He starts straining against the ball!

Zoltan squawks to the poodle, "You want help? Gets over here and PUSH!"

The big scavenger ball begins to roll! And roll … and roll … the contents of the net shrieking and squeaking and squawking in fright as they go hurtling toward the big three-headed boss! He is still arguing with himself and his three underlings … until he looks up. All six eyes go wide with surprise!

Meanwhile, at the ballista, the poodle finally gets the thing loaded (how correct remains to be seen), pointed generally in the direction where the "scavenger ball" was a moment previously … where it was left aimed earlier … and where Zoltan and Jarik are standing right now. "Aha! This must be the lever… " *KLICK*