It is evening, the fifth day after Landing, and after the party at the Coalition Tower. Winter has tightened its grasp on the land, though the city only seems maybe a little more quiet. Although some of the Yodhsunala have become less active – some even going into a strange state of "hibernation," Alptraum has been told – it appears that this odd affliction does not affect the population at large to any noticeable degree.

It has, however, reduced the number of pilgrims braving the journey by foot up Mount Sunala, as the snows make the climb even more treacherous – even what with those faithful who volunteer their time to take care of the monumental task of clearing the pilgrims' path. But Alptraum is made of sterner stuff, it seems, for he grew up in Sylvania, and has braved far, far worse than this as winter goes.

The Yodhsunala have not hinted at any plans to make any special celebration of Alptraum's birthday. However, just an hour ago, he received word back through one of the acolytes that, in response to his request, Yodhsunala Mariamara would be seeing him on the morrow.

He also received word that Lord Cenesta is willing to set aside the time for a meeting with him later this week, regarding his query about possible employment opportunities. (While his living expenses are pretty much nil, thanks to his freedom to hunt on the mountain, and the Yodhsunala don't require him to work to earn a sleeping space at the temple, Alptraum has nonetheless felt the need to prove that he's capable of making an honest living.)

Just now, Alptraum has finally caught his dinner for the evening: a bizarre creature native to the region known as a "stibbit," looking and acting somewhat like a small deer, but standing on six spindly legs that taper down to clustered "hooves" that extend into sharp spines quite capable of punching holes through the unwary just as well as they can provide sure traction on steep mountain slopes.

Their large rabbit-like ears give them hearing capabilities rivaling that of an Eeee, and their shrill screams when alarmed seem specially designed to be as painful to Eeee ears as possible. This one, however, was caught in a bramble, its screams alerting Alptraum to its location, and thus proved to be a quick catch.

The stibbit is silent now, and Alptraum's hunger is satiated. It's almost sunset, though not quite. A strange, eerie wail cuts through the trees. Alptraum has heard the sound before, and he's caught a glimpse now and then of the source of the noise, over the time he's spent on the mountainside. It's a grok: a strange creature, perhaps something like a dog in its proportions and size, and filling such a niche to the Eeee, but having an almost bug-like appearance due to its hard sectioned carapace, and a strange absence of any visible eyes.

With the troubles that have befallen Babel, many groks that once were guard beasts – or, rumor has it, were bred to fight in pits – have lost their masters, and have roamed free, lone or hunting in packs, not afraid of Eeee or any other sapient being due to their near-domestication, and just as eager to feed on an unwary Eeee as to scavenge through garbage.

Fortunately, groks can't fly, so they don't present a serious threat outdoors. Still, Alptraum's got this stibbit to deal with, and it's too large and unwieldy to take with him into the air, if he is intent upon personally disposing of his kill. (And if he's not so intent on doing it himself … well, perhaps this won't be so difficult after all, once that grok comes along.)

Alptraum makes a face and digs his claws into the area around the bite mark on the neck, trying to tear it up some to obscure the true cause of death. He pans his ears around as he does so, trying to track the location of the grok. "If I lead it this way somehow, I could probably get it to deal with the stibbit for me," he considers.

At first it seems Alptraum is having some difficulty tracking the grok … but then he realizes that he's hearing not one, but three groks, and all three of them are converging on this point.

Alptraum wonders, "Three groks? Is there someone else out here? Hunting? For what?" Satisfied with the damage he's done to obscure the bite mark, Alptraum spreads his wings and looks around for a nearby tree. "Better try and see what's up before flying too far and perhaps being spotted," he decides.

The forested mountainside offers more than enough trees to choose from, and one of them is particularly close and with ample evergreen foliage to give the Sylvanian a good hiding place from prying eyes (and some buffering against echolocation, thanks to the obscuring needles and branches). As he watches, sure enough, he sees a single grok limp into the clearing, favoring its front left member. (Due to the oddness of grok physiology, Alptraum would find it hard to determine whether he should call it a hoof or a paw.) It waves its head this way and that, in the manner that groks "sniff" the air, and hurriedly limps its way over to the stibbit corpse, immediately latching onto the creature's neck and gnawing.

Alptraum grows deathly silent and watches, waiting for the other two he heard to show.

"Vashir! Koro! Get back here, you hellbeasts, before we all get shot!" an Eeee voice cries out from beyond the trees. The other two groks have gone quiet, but now they burst through the foliage into the small cleared area underneath Alptraum's perch. These two other groks have bright red shells that look to be well-kept and polished, with spiked chitin collars about their necks, and dangling leashes that trail behind them (with no one holding onto the other end). Their seemingly featureless smooth shell-like heads break split to reveal mouths full of sharp fangs, as they hunch down and make challenging, grinding growls at the other grok that is still chewing at the stibbit with a frenzied and messy haste.

"Aha, I was right. Someone else is out here. I wonder who the heck this is," Alptraum thinks, waiting for the Eeee to come into view so he can get a look.

The first grok reluctantly abandons its meal, and starts to limp toward the tree Alptraum is hiding in – or, more accurately, toward the cluster of bushes at the base of the tree – but the two challenging groks ignore the stibbit (of which, really, there's plenty left) and instead launch after their fleeing rival. They make a terrific and horrifying ruckus that is bound to draw even more unwanted attention. A young Eeee bursts through the bushes on the far side, wrapped in rags and makeshift camouflage, and tries to hail the beasts – but does not brave wandering into the fray to pull them off of the other grok.

Alptraum carefully brings his crossbow off his shoulder and loads a bolt into it. "Just in case this person is dangerous," he decides as he does so. "Wonder why he's out here. I thought people weren't supposed to come onto this mountain," he ponders, peering at the Eeee to see if he's armed.

The limping grok falls at the base of the tree, and the two other groks set into predator-turned-prey, while the Eeee just stands at the edge of the small clearing, shouting and not being heard. (In fact, with all the ruckus, not even Alptraum can make out what's being said – the groks sure aren't listening, either.)

Alptraum takes aim at the shell of one of the attacking Groks. "I'd suggest calling off your creatures before you attract any more attention. You shouldn't be out here as it is," Alptraum shouts out, then pulls the trigger, hoping to startle one of the beasts, not really hurt it.

The bolt cracks loudly against the shell of the one of the groks, and the beast wails loudly, practically doing a somersault and – in a panic – spinning around to look for its attacker (but not thinking to look up in its confusion). Its partner is slower to react, but the distraction is enough for the limping grok to drag itself a few feet away and into the bushes.

The young Eeee in the rags cries out in alarm, and drops to his knees. "Spare me, I beg you! These are not mine! I am but a poor beggar who saw these beasts heading this way and hoped to catch them, that I might keep them from mischief!"

Alptraum quickly loads another bolt into the crossbow and takes aim at the other grok. "Now, get control of those things while they're distracted," Alptraum orders. "And I heard you call out their names, so I don't exactly believe that. But, get them quieted and all will be fine."

"I … I came up with names for them!" the "beggar" pleads, even as the grok that Alptraum just startled rushes over by his side, adopts a guarding stance, and growls defiantly at Alptraum's tree. The other grok twirls around, seemingly incapable of deciding whether to chase the limping grok, to rush to the young Eeee's side, or to try to attack whatever it is that's in the tree.

"Look, just get them under control and we can talk, all right?" Alptraum says.

"V-vashir!" the young Eeee cries out. "Bad grok! Heel!"

The grok that was looking intently up into the tree turns to look at the "beggar," and whines piteously, but at another command, it lowers its head and lopes back to stand by the other grok. The Eeee then throws himself prostrate on the ground. "You are most merciful! I will leave and trouble you no more!"

"Hold a moment, I'm coming down," Alptraum says, spreading his wings and hopping off the branch he's on. He glides himself away from the two groks, just in case they try to attack. If they do attack, he'll just go airborne again.

The Eeee stays where he is – and, for the moment, so do his groks, though they still growl warningly. For the moment that Alptraum goes airborne, he catches a whisper of a noise from somewhere above the trees. Someone's coming.

Alptraum tries to focus his ears and guess how far the people whom are approaching are. "Are you expecting friends?" he asks. "Because someone is coming."

The Eeee trembles. "They're going to kill me! Please, I'll go now! I'll do anything, just don't let them find me!"

"Who are you?" Alptraum asks, looking towards the sky. "And hurry out of here, quietly, this time," Alptraum replies quickly. "I'll try and mask any Eeee marks other than mine. It was a grok attack, nothing more. You can explain to me why you're up here later."

"Kara," the Eeee says quickly, and at the bid to hurry out, he seems more than eager to comply. "Hssst!" he calls to the two groks, grabbing their leashes and tugging insistently. In a flash, they're both gone from the clearing, and Alptraum can hear the snapping of twigs as they make their way downhill toward the valley. A whimpering noise comes from the bushes near the tree Alptraum was hiding in.

Alptraum quickly goes about and tries to obliterate any of the Eeee tracks that don't match his before the others arrive. "Looks like that other grok is still here, too. What is going on out here? Does this thing perhaps belong to someone else?" he wonders.

After some considerable scuffing, Alptraum is pretty certain he's got the tracks taken care of … and then he hears some noisy chewing and rending behind him. Sure enough, that battered old grok has limped back out and is greedily devouring what's left of the stibbit (and doing it pretty impressively, too, considering he did this just after being chewed on himself). An echolocation cry from above warns that Alptraum's about to have more company.

Alptraum moves to some distant brushy cover and crouches down, waiting to see whom arrives.

"Ah, there you are!" comes a voice that sounds somewhat familiar to Alptraum – and a moment later, a green-furred Eeee woman wrapped up from head to toe in gauze bandages and jewelry alights upon the ground – Yodhgorphat Phlagaea. "I – What?" She puts her hands to her hips as she stares balefully at the grok chewing away at the quickly diminishing corpse of the stibbit. "My hearing must be going bad," she mumbles. "Perhaps I'm not fully recovered from that cold… "

"There who is?" Alptraum calls out, holding his crossbow at ready, just in case. "I didn't think other Yodh were allowed on this mountain."

The Yodhgorphat turns about. "Oh, there you are! I was just reminding myself that groks most certainly do not talk. Happy birthday!"

Alptraum laughs and nods. "No, they don't." He then adds, "Tomorrow's my birthday, actually. Wait, how did you know my birthday was coming up?" His eyes narrow a bit, concerned just how many of the Yodh know who he is.

"Actually," Phlagaea says, "according to Babelite tradition, your birthday starts on the evening previous. In the Babelite calendar, a day starts on sundown, not at midnight, but since we're all using the Temple calendar, we just make the best of it – and have a birthday half again as long in the bargain."

"Good to know," Alptraum replies, lowering his guard. "I unfortunately don't know all of the Babelite traditions. Still, how'd you know my birthday was coming up?"

"I asked," Phlagaea says.

"Sorry if I seem a bit jumpy on the subject, but, it seems people know more about me than I know about me," Alptraum admits. He then smiles and approaches, asking, "So, what brings you out this way, Yodhgorphat Phlagaea?"

"Your birthday," Phlagaea says. "That is, if you don't already have other plans." Her eyes wander over to the corpse of the stibbit that's still being torn to shreds by a limping grok even as they speak.

"Not really. I made a few plans tomorrow, but nothing tonight," Alptraum says, following the gaze. "I've just been out tracking. Heard groks around here lately, so I've been trying to track them. This one isn't a threat, though."

The grok smacks its … lips? … and licks the entirety of its blood-spattered shell-face with a long blue tapered tongue. It then starts to limp over toward Alptraum.

Phlagaea asks, "How would you like to see Mount Gorphat?"

"Uh… ," Alptraum says, starting to back away. "So, who did you ask?" Alptraum inquires of the Yodhgorphat, eyes locked on the creature that approaches him.

The grok just slowly limps on after Alptraum. Yodhgorphat just stands there, watching the "chase," as she answers, "I threatened an acolyte that I'd give her the pox if she didn't tell me."

Alptraum grins at that response. "And would I be safe there? I know by my association with the Yodhsunala, I become a target of the other Yodh. I'm not sure about all of them, though." Alptraum says, trying to keep distance from the grok.

The grok continues to limp after Alptraum, whining, but it's hardly a break of a sweat for Alptraum to keep out of reach. At last, the grok just sits on its haunches and … well, since it doesn't have eyes, it can't really be said that it's staring at Alptraum, but it certainly seems to be focusing on him.

"Safe?" Yodhgorphat Phlagaea says, sounding almost on the verge of laughing. "I can't think why not, given who you are." It might just be something in her eye, or else she just winked at him.

Alptraum scratches his neck and says, "I think I made a friend. I scared off another grok earlier." He then blinks and asks, "And who am I?"

"Well, I shouldn't go saying much, out here," Yodhgorphat Phlagaea says. "I had no idea you were so special before at the party, or I would have been flattered beyond words. And don't worry – the acolyte swore after she told me that she would go and kill herself for divulging such information to a Yodhgorphat. Given her distress, I imagine she's taking care of that right now even as we speak."

Alptraum blanches. "I hope she isn't doing that! Where was she? We've got to stop her. Afterward, sure, I'll go."

"Stop her?" the Yodhgorphat repeats, incredulous. "Surely you must jest. I thought that's what all those Yodhsunala are bent on doing – finding some excuse to bump themselves off, to show their ultimate devotion to their Mistress. But far be it from me to deny you anything. If you will follow me, I will show you where I left her."

"Lead on then," Alptraum replies and flexes his wings.

Phlagaea leaps into the air, her wings snapping out and bearing her higher, at a pace that Alptraum can easily match. The grok takes a few limping steps after the two Eeee, but he – as with most groks – lacks wings, and he soon gives up pursuit, instead sitting on his haunches, whining, and then breaking out into a mournful howl.

The Yodhgorphat doesn't seem very chatty during the short flight, instead making one wide sweep to gain altitude, and then cutting around the mountain. She points at a post along the pilgrims' path where ostensibly the Yodhsunala was that Phlagaea interrogated, but the post is abandoned. However, there's a large cluster of bats at one of the towers not far from the base of Mount Sunala, and by the commotion, it seems like something's happening there – and there are quite a few people in robes of red and black that can be seen in the rapidly dimming twilight.

Something – no, someone – leaps from the top of one of the pinnacles, and hurtles downward…

Alptraum's eyes narrow, the widen. "No!" he shrieks out, trying to beat his wings faster. Can I make it in time to catch her?

Phlagaea starts to say something, but then squeaks in alarm as Alptraum shoots past her, toward the plummeting form. The shadow vanishes amidst the towers, and as he twists his way through a couple of crossing walkways and narrowly misses a spire just around the corner and a couple of gawking bats, he dives down in time to see a long drop, and the distinctive if plain robes of a Yodhsunala, plummeting to certain doom. Her wings are bound rather than slashed, as a ritual preparation for death would be wasted upon a mere acolyte, in the minds of the faithful. It is conceivable that Alptraum could reach the acolyte before she hits the bottom … but only if he was intent upon joining her in her doom as well, for it would leave no time – even if he had the strength – to slow her fall.

Alptraum reaches out, straining to grab her. "I can't let her die. I won't," he tries to convince himself. His wings flare out a bit, though, starting to pull himself out of the dive so he doesn't join her in the collision with the rocks below.

Her eyes meet his for a moment that seems to stretch out dreadfully long. He cannot hear her words, and it might only be his imagination that puts words on her silent but moving lips: "Forgive me." A sharp and bony pinnacle slices past, unseen except at the last moment, and nearly missing Alptraum's left wing even as he starts to pull away. Although he tries to reach to her, he simply can't … and as he's waited until the very, very last moment to try to save himself, he can see that even now, he's going to face a very hard landing. This is going to hurt.

A shadow rushes up, and before Alptraum can avert his course, he glances off of it, the pain lancing through his shoulder. He half-rolls, half-slaps into a stony outcropping … but he hardly feels it, as he lands there, hanging off the side, looking down into the darkening pit. All he can see of the plummeting acolyte is a glimmering reflection off of her pendant in the shadows.

"No," Alptraum says to himself, watching her fall into the darkness. He blinks wet eyes takes in a deep breath, trying to recover from the impact. "I'm not worth dying for," he says, almost pleading, his eyes closing so he won't have to see the impact. If only his ears were so easy to mute.

A wind whistles pass, tossing Alptraum's hair as he hangs from the broken bridge support, his feet hanging from one side, and his upper body off the other. Strange thoughts flitter unbidden through his mind, and he can't help but wonder if unseen, malevolent spirits might be whispering in his ear. Time seems to draw to a standstill to his mind. "You don't even know her name." "She's just an acolyte." "What is it to you?" "She's a fool. She killed herself."

"She's a child. She's family. She's a life. All life matters," Alptraum replies softly, unsure if he's hearing anything, or just dark thoughts. "She deserved a chance to live. She did no wrong."

"So be it." And then it's as if Alptraum's ears were blocked from the noise of life, as if reality itself had been holding its breath, and only now time has decided to move on again. He can see a glimmer somewhere far, far below in the darkness. It's not moving. A streak of light shoots past – a glass vial filled with some glowing green fluid. A couple more follow it. The first shatters somewhere far below on a pile of rubble, making a green luminescent splatter that glows like foxfire, and then the others do likewise. The sounds of the shattering glass, however, do just as much for Alptraum's ears to give him a better feel for the shape of the pit and the dangerous outcroppings that threaten to snare the unwary or the hasty.

Alptraum groans and pushes himself upright on the outcropping. After taking a moment to catch his breath, he flexes his wings and tries to take off and glide down into the pit, careful to mind the outcroppings he's now aware of.

The cries of Eeee far above chase Alptraum downward, though the Eeee themselves circle slowly and cautiously, lest they make unplanned landings – and very sudden stops – on outcroppings much as Alptraum had. But Alptraum manages to navigate the treacherous way well enough, the glimmer of the pendant – reflecting a little more brightly in the luminescent light of the dropped vials – serving as a beacon, since what he seeks is not making any perceptible sound for him to home in on.

"What was that voice?" he ponders as he descends. "What did it mean, 'So be it'?"

At last, he makes his way down to a broken landing – and this is not even the very bottom! – on the side of a tower. In actuality, this may have once been the inside of some structure – or at least covered – for there are remains of statuary here, in wretched states of disrepair. The green glow is slowly starting to fade, but there is just enough for him to spy, at one end of the ruined landing, an elongated Eeee statue, battered by weathering and dropped refuse. Hanging limply in its outstretched arms is the prone form of an Eeee girl, one wing splayed and hanging free.

Alptraum eases his way over to the girl. He watches her with sad eyes as he approaches. Once there, he reaches out to lightly touch her wing. "There was nothing to forgive," he says quietly. "I'm sorry – you shouldn't have done this. Not because of me."

The torn remains of the thick leather bonds slide free from her wing and fall to the gravel at the base of the jet black Eeee statue. A breeze brushes by again, carrying with it the sounds of Eeee calling out to each other and to the walls as they search their way down … but then another noise reaches Alptraum's ears – that of breathing.

"It can't be," Alptraum says, trying to get into a better position to check the acolyte. He reaches out, trying to feel over her face, to see if she does still live.

Medicine isn't exactly Alptraum's strong point, but he can tell alive from dead well enough, and this girl is most certainly alive … though there's no telling how long that truth will hold, given what she's been through. (Really, the idea of anyone surviving this at all is hard enough. And stone hands of a statue do not make for a nice soft place to land, however unusual.)

"Alptraum!" Phlagaea's voice calls out as she makes a wide circle. "If you wanted to decline my invitation, you did not have to go to such extremes!"

"I'm not declining your invitation! I do want to see it, but… She's alive!" Alptraum calls upward. He then says to the acolyte, "Just hold on. We'll get you out of here and hopefully to some help. Just listen to my voice."

Boots strike gravel, as a couple of Yodhsunala touch down on the landing, and there are more to follow. Phlagaea alights as well, though one of the death priestesses snaps at her, "This is none of your affair!"

"She's with me. Please allow her presence, Yodhsunala," Alptraum says, still looking at the fallen acolyte. "Just hold on; help is here."

Asterezadze – the one who had shown Alptraum the tomb of his mother when first he reached Mount Sunala – pushes through, stepping in front of the lower ranking priestesses converging on the scene. "Alptraum!" she says, surprise evident in her voice. "So you are here? Please, stand clear. We will collect the body. I am sorry you had to see this; I do not suppose you are so familiar with our ways."

"She's not dead, Yodhsunala Asterezadze," Alptraum says. "I knew of this tradition, but I have never seen it."

"Not dead?" one of the Yodhsunala repeats incredulously, and another one repeats it in mockery, as if Alptraum were some uneducated fool who had never seen a dead body before. Asterezadze walks forward, and her eyes widen in the pale green light as she holds the acolyte's wrist. She turns back to the others. "Gareda, escort Alptraum back to the temple. See to it that no one repeats his name. He was not here. Is that clear? Nothing has happened." She gives a warning look to the Yodhgorphat. "Must we take any special measures to assure your silence on this, fellow Yodh?"

Yodhgorphat Phlagaea throws up her hands. "I was not here. In fact, neither was Alptraum. We were both at the Temple of Gorphat, celebrating his birthday!"

(This suggestion draws a few hisses and incredulous looks from the gathered priestesses.)

Alptraum nods at this and answers, "I was invited to go there, and I was on my way. I didn't stop here – or see this." He squeezes the acolyte's hand lightly and whispers, "Live, please." He then steps away from the body.

As Alptraum steps away, the other priestesses close in, and he can only make out a few words here and there as their murmuring becomes more excited. "Clear space for a circle. If we move her… "

Alptraum looks at Phlagaea and says, "I think it's time we go." He then adds in a whisper, "Quickly."

"Especially if we are not here at all," Phlagaea says, and launches to the air. "Follow me! I know a secret way."

Alptraum glances back one time, then takes to the air. He really doesn't want to answer any questions. not about this. A tickle in the back of his mind reminds him of a thought he once had. How people don't die around him. How when he wants someone to live, they do. He then shudders and pushes the thought away and mutters, "Impossible."

Phlagaea's secret route is so diverted and twisted that Alptraum could not hope to recall it from memory to try it on his own without a guide, he is fairly certain – and a few times it seems as if they've circled back, giving him pause to wonder whether it's a tactic to throw off pursuers, or whether Phlagaea has managed to get lost and simply won't admit it. At last, however, they make it to a dreary, ruinous place at the bottom of the city, having to rely almost wholly on sound rather than sight – though Alptraum is also able to track his guide by the faintly luminescent green vials she carries hanging from the tight bonds of gauze that serve as the belt of her unusual "robes". At last, the foxfire glow circles and lands at one particularly unstable-sounding section, where the ground is littered with ash and rubble.

"I have to admit, this isn't what I was expecting," Alptraum says as he lands a short moment later. "But then all I have to go off of was the dream experience," he admits.

"Oh, that?" Phlagaea says. "This is a back way in. Please, not a word of it to anyone. Not that I seriously fear anyone would want to sneak in. Gorphat's blessings, sad to say, are so rarely appreciated." She leads the way by ducking under a fallen pillar, and some bony and chitinous remains crunch under her feet. (She only has gauze wrapped around her feet, not shoes.)

"I doubt I could even remember the way," Alptraum says, following along. "So, um, you were going to answer the question of who I am, I think. I mean, I'm not exactly anyone important."

"Not anyone important?" Yodhgorphat Phlagaea steps on something that crunches, then shrieks and scurries away. "Don't tease me now."

"Well, then who do you think I am?" Alptraum asks, curious.

Alptraum takes a bit more care as he moves to not step on anything that might squeak, squeal, or otherwise bite.

"Watch out for the spikes," Phlagaea warns, then says, "I should think sufficient the fact that you are the Son of … Her."

I am the son of a Srinala," Alptraum admits. "I've wondered if that implied… " He goes quiet and starts looking for spikes.

Alptraum doesn't find any. It's really just as well, probably, though something to keep in mind if he decides to rush back out again.

Phlagaea says, "The acolyte implied nothing. She was quite certain as to your heritage. And here it is, a miracle on your birthday. Oh yes – I didn't see that. Nor did you."

"Third time," Alptraum mutters, then nods. "I saw nothing. Did something happen today?" He grins slightly. "Are others expecting us at the Temple?" he asks, switching topics.

"Only a few," Phlagaea says. "Parties are best kept small. Besides, Cessteria would burst a boil if she heard I were bringing you here. But she never lifts a finger or gets out of her bed anyway, so I doubt she'll ever find out. Oh, watch out for the – oh, never mind, it looks like someone already found it." An unpleasant odor reaches Alptraum's nose.

Alptraum merely winces. "I don't think I want to know want that is," he says.

A click, and a scrape of stone. "Ah! Here it is. I'm glad I opened the right one this time. Last time, Lanceta tripped over me by accident and had to drag me all the way to the infirmary. I think she intentionally dragged me through the patch of scratch-spores." A thin sliver of light cuts through the darkness, as a stone door opens, and Alptraum can see that in this chamber there are several other doors just like it – all closed, though a few have strange things on the floor in front of them, such as blood stains, piles of ashes, and pieces of torn fabric or bone. "I'm sure this is it," she says, "unless it's the pit room, but that's hardly a problem if you catch the walls quickly enough. If the floor drops out, we'll just try the second door to the right instead."

"Right, um… You can go first," Alptraum replies with a grin. "Is there a reason there are so many traps here?" he inquires.

"Not really," Phlagaea says, "but High Priestess Rictia was rather gifted in such things a few centuries ago. Rather than booby-trapping the front causeway, she was persuaded to create a secret back entrance instead, and trap it to her heart's content. None of us were actually expected to use it, so no one bothered to keep any maps – to keep it all the more secret. Some of us simply haven't anything better to do, so we've got the whole thing almost worked out … though doctrine forbids us to map what is to be left unmapped, and my memory is not the – uh oh."

A rumbling sound echoes from beneath the floor.

Alptraum immediately tries to dig his claws into a nearby wall. "This is not good!" he shouts. "I think you picked the wrong door!"

The floor drops out, revealing a toothy maw of spikes below, as the panels swing to the side. Phlagaea's hands and feet are against the opposing walls – and her wings as well. "Well … not to worry. If you can hold yourself there until someone comes by to reset the trap, we should be fine. Oh, blisters! They're all waiting for us in the reception chamber."

"Can you shuffle forward slowly? Just try to scoot one hand at a time, then foot?" Alptraum offers.

"Maybe I can get close and hold myself with my legs, then try and support some of your weight while you slip your hands and legs forward slowly," he then adds. "But if you've got a better plan, I'm all ears!"

"I … suppose I'd better give it a try. If I end up dying, can you use your powers to see to it that it's not especially slow and gruesome?" Phlagaea grunts out, as she tries to shuffle forward without slipping. There are some lantern sconces hanging from the walls up ahead, providing illumination for the corridor, though they're still far out of reach – and the steps leading upward further beyond that.

"If I had any, and knew how to use them, yes," Alptraum replies, then attempts to scoot forward.

"Don't tease!" Phlagaea squeaks out, as she works her way forward.

Alptraum scoots forward slowly as well, trying not to look down. "I am being serious! I'd love to know how to use any powers I might have. Things just, well, happen around me if I want it enough," Alptraum replies, swallowing. "This is crazy! Why did you come here, again?" he suddenly thinks.

Alptraum has plenty of time to wonder about this again and again before Phlagaea finally makes it to the bottom of the steps, and waits there for Alptraum. (She reaches out, but to try to take her hand would probably just put Alptraum in greater peril by taking the pressure off the wall, and she doesn't look like she could support his weight.) At last, with barely any breath to spare, Alptraum gets onto much firmer ground.

"Well," Phlagaea says, "I've never actually gotten past the pit before. I think this meets up with the main hall. Eventually."

Alptraum looks back at the pit and breathes a sigh of relief. "Avralie, well, I hope so," he says. He then smiles and says, "Thanks for the offer of help, but I'm a bit bigger than average Eeee, I've found. Not sure you could have held my weight if I slipped back there. Do you know if there are any traps along the stairwell? Does it like turn into a slide or anything like that and dump you back into the pit?"

"That would be rather clever. Best to be careful," Phlagaea suggests, solemnly.

"Or the lights break off, or the walls close in, or – Right, careful," Alptraum says, then swallows.

"Your secret powers don't make your fears come true, too, do they?" Phlagaea says in a tone that's hard to tell if she's joking or not. From somewhere up ahead comes a sound of a plaintive whine (though not a grok whine this time). The priestess timidly makes her way up the steps, one at a time.

"I hope not," Alptraum says hastily, then just in case, thinks about such things NOT happening. You never know.

The stairs turn around in a spiral, then back the other way, and finally come up to a landing, that ends at a chitin-barred wooden door. The stench here is decidedly less than pleasant.

Alptraum sniffs the air. "What is that? It's worse than the zombies I ran in – never mind," Alptraum says.

"Oh," Phlagaea says, as she takes a lantern from a sconce on the wall, and holds it up to the door. "This must be the secret dungeon. That would explain why someone bothered to keep the lanterns lit."

"The secret dungeon?" Alptraum inquires.

"Not secret enough, I suppose," Phlagaea says, "but it's not like anyone here will tell on us." She struggles with the door, then finally pries it open, revealing a long corridor flanked with barred doors on each side. The smell of mold, mildew and filth is almost palpable.

Alptraum winces and asks, "What do you keep down here?" He then holds his nose so he won't have too smell it.

A pathetic whine comes from one of the barred doors to one side, followed by a plink as if from a stringed instrument.

"Only wretched filth," Phlagaea says, striding down the corridor and making good time toward the door at the opposite end. "I really would not care to know."

Alptraum walks along, stopping at the door where he heard the instrument. "Um, hello?" he says.

A loud and horrible sniffle comes from the darkened cell. "Hello?" a pathetic, small voice echoes from inside. "If you'll let me go, I'll compose a song about you, and sing your praises. Or I'll keep perfectly quiet, as you please!" HACK COUGH

"Who are you?" Alptraum asks. "Why are you here?"

"I'm a bard," the whining voice replies. "I'm not terribly certain why I'm here. I think someone may have taken difference with my singing – though I honestly cannot see why. SNORT WHEEZE"

"Do you have a name?" Alptraum asks, glancing toward the Yodhgorphat. "Look, I have to go, but maybe I can put in a good word for you or something."

The fast steps of Phlagaea quiet as she disappears down the dim corridor, as she seems so intent upon getting past the cells that she's not even pausing to watch the exchange.

"Victor Reynard," the creature wheezes, and then, he strums his lute. "Master Bard! Player to kings and queens!" His voice rises to sing-song. "Player of lutes, player of flutes – player of many things! WACHOO!" (SPRANG!) "Oh dear. You wouldn't perchance have a clean kerchief, would you?"

"Afraid not. I've got to go. Look, I'll put in a good word for you, okay? Maybe I can get them to let you out or some such," Alptraum says, then heads off quickly after the Yodhgorphat.

A pathetic whine follows Alptraum as he hurries on, and he manages to catch the door on the opposite side before it closes again. Beyond it are more spiraling steps, which Phlagaea is already surmounting, though she's set her lantern in a nook, relying on the more regular lighting already provided in the staircase.

Alptraum hurries his pace and tries to catch up. "Sorry," he says.

At last, the spiraling staircase opens up onto a balcony looking out into a large cavern chamber. Patches of green glowing mosses cling to the walls here and there, and a waterfall cascades down the far wall. The beauty of the cavernous interior, however, is somewhat muted by the sickly sweet smells wafting about – perfumes used to mask a faint stink of decay. Sickly-looking clusters of mushrooms of gargantuan size hoard about in stagnant pools of water far below, and bubbling cauldrons of green goo are suspended over natural vents that are surrounded by burbling mineral pools that stink of sulfur.

"Ah. Not where I expected, but it's even better," Phlagaea says. "No more traps from this point on."

"That's good to hear," Alptraum replies. "I was hoping to there weren't going to be anymore. What is this place?"

"The Brewing Vats," Phlagaea says. "We make potent toxins and concoct terrible diseases here – and cures against the same. Best not to go down too far."

Alptraum blinks. "How about we get out of here as quick as we can, then? Please?" he asks.

"Absolutely," Phlagaea agrees, and leaps off the side of the balcony, flying upward toward a large hole in the ceiling ringed by torch-light.

Alptraum does the same, quickly snapping his wings wide and taking flight. "The more I see of Babel, and the people," he says as he flies, "The more I feel like I just don't fit in. Even given the situation of my birth – I don't think I'm what people would expect."

"Well, of course you wouldn't fit in," Phlagaea cries over her shoulder. "You're a paradox! That's what makes you so fascinating." She flies up through the hole lined by the torch-lights, and ducks into a side corridor. She leads Alptraum through several more twists and turns (though, thankfully, not through another assault of the nose quite like what he's had to deal with before), and at last they come into another cavern, this one filled with clinging vines and glowing mosses, with a staccato drip-drip-drip of water running down stalactites into blue-tinted pools. Large mushrooms of wildly varied colors cluster about, and an assortment of priestesses – all gauze-wrapped, but only a few being as ridiculously green as Phlagaea – recline, lounging lazily on the larger mushrooms, leisurely plucking smaller mushrooms from the walls and chewing on them absently.

"Here he is!" Phlagaea announces, as she alights upon a mossy patch of the floor.

"A paradox? What do you mean by that?" Alptraum inquires as he follows upward. Gently, he settles down nearby and folds his wings tightly against his back and looks around. "Good evening, Yodhgorphat," he says, then bows slightly. "Thank you for the invitation."

"Sure." "Whatever." "(Yawn.)" The general reception looks far less enthusiastic than Phlagaea might have led Alptraum to expect, though she seems no less satisfied.

Phlagaea turns to one of the reclining priestesses and says, "Lanceta, did you get the Staff of Boons? Oh! Good." She snatches a rather nasty-looking device that could very well have been fashioned from the spinal column of a Rughrat or similarly large creature, with an unidentified skull mounted at the top, and several other spiny bones sticking out here and there for good measure.

Alptraum thinks back to the dream, and the behavior of Gorphat in it, then nods. "It fits," he thinks, then looks around some more. "The staff of wha – ?" he inquires, arching an eyebrow as Phlagaea picks up the rather disturbing device.

"Careful with that," Lanceta warns. "You know how possessive High Priestess Cessteria is of Gorphat's favor."

"Gorphat would not lift a finger Herself," Phlagaea insists, "but She would at the very least see that someone does Her will. High Priestess Cessteria would do well to follow Her example more closely. Now then." Phlagaea turns back to Alptraum. "I, as bearer of Gorphat's Will, am empowered to grant you, on this day of apex of your power, your day of birth in mortal form, a boon in Gorphat's Perfectly Corrupted Name."

"This should be interesting," one of the unnamed priestesses says, and with some effort pushes herself up onto her elbows to watch.

Alptraum blinks, repeatedly. "My day of birth in mortal form?" he thinks, stunned by having it put that way. "What kind of boons?" Alptraum inquires, remembering what he's heard about Gorphat.

"What kind of boons, he says," one of the priestesses says, cackling. A couple of others laugh in return.

Phlagaea, looking serious, says, "Gorphat has power over disease and corruption, to give it or to take it away as She pleases, as Her blessings take their many manifest forms. Gorphat's afflictions may destroy your enemies, or strengthen your body. Any boon within Gorphat's power may be granted you, whether a miracle, or any service performed by those within Her command."

Lanceta interjects, "Anything but what is detailed in the Tome of Exceptions." She pats a very thick volume by her side.

"Can you give examples of exceptions?" Alptraum asks.

"Well, yes," Phlagaea says, looking slightly perturbed. "You couldn't ask that we all slit our throats, and you couldn't insist that Gorphat visit a plague upon the whole populace of Babel – or even plague someone particularly important enough to cause Gorphat's temple great trouble. That, and Gorphat generally does not concern Herself with affairs far beyond Babel itself. So, as much as we'd like to, we can't simply call plagues down on Rephidim."

"And you can't command me to clean your floors!" one of the priestesses throws in.

"Well, actually he coul – " "SHUT UP! He doesn't know that!"

Alptraum smirks and asks, "I could ask all of you to jog around the city, then?"

There are several uncomfortable stirrings around the room.

"Yes," Phlagaea says, frowning, "but I don't think it would make either you or me terribly popular in this temple."

"I wouldn't anyway," Alptraum says. "In all seriousness, then. Tell me about the prisoner below, Reynard."

Phlagaea blinks. "Reynard? Wait, is that your boon, then, that we are to tell you about this 'Reynard'?"

"You mean he's still down there?" "Yes, and he eats like a Jupani." "He asked me to marry him, and then he said he was mistaken and thought I was Gorphat. I have never been so flattered in my life! I kicked him."

"Not exactly. I need nothing for myself," Alptraum says, "But if I could use the boon to help another, that is what I would want. To see him free and well. Why exactly is he down there?"

"Well," Lanceta says, stiffling a yawn, "it's a very curious use of a boon, but fair is fair. He had some part in the Dream Ritual, and in the death of Gorphat."

Alptraum nods. "I remember that. I thought it was the poodle that took down Gorphat," Alptraum says.

Another priestess chimes in, "I was there, and the Barsunala speaks true. He really didn't do a thing except strum his lute, but Cessteria wanted him caged, since he seemed to know the Intruders who struck down Gorphat. She's never found the time to actually question him."

"Cessteria will never find the time," another priestess says lazily. "Just as well, as I doubt he'd enjoy the experience."

"Well, I can't tell you who the intruders are," Alptraum admits. "I experienced the dreams, was cast from Paradise, walked the Sea of Souls, and felt the pain of this city – a myriad of things, but I never heard their names. But if he is truly an innocent, my request is that he be set free and well."

"Nobody is innocent," one of the priestesses says. "That should hardly be a pivotal point."

"Then are his crimes so horrid as to condemn him to that fate?" Alptraum inquires.

"Probably not," says a priestess who hardly looks like she cares.

"Just give him the boon, Phlagaea!" cries out one of the priestesses from across the room. "I am not going jogging around Babel!"

"All life, big or small, matters," Alptraum replies. "The world isn't fair, and doesn't need to be. But, when you can make a difference, you should. Helping one person, ever so small, can make a difference. Touching another's life leaves an impact. Perhaps he'll help someone else to return the favor, or perhaps not. In any event, I'd like him freed and well, if he isn't truly deserving of that punishment."

"So be it!" Phlagaea pronounces, and before Alptraum has time to react, he feels the tip of the staff rap him on the top of the head. (At least it wasn't all that terribly hard.)

Alptraum blinks, then rubs the top of his head. "Do you usually bop those you boon?" he asks.

Phlagaea says, in all seriousness, "Pain makes us stronger – in measured quantities." She hands the staff back to Lanceta. "Here, let us go fetch your 'prize' from the dungeon."

Alptraum nods and says, "All right."

When they head back to the dungeon, Phlagaea holds Alptraum back, warning that the prisoner might be contagious. A couple more priestesses reluctantly come in to examine the creature (which turns out to be, so they claim, a Fox, though he looks more rat-like) and at last they proclaim that he will require some work, and they'll have him delivered to Alptraum at the Temple of Sunala.

Fortunately, Alptraum is not required to pass back through the maze of deathtraps to leave the temple…

Phlagaea accompanies Alptraum back to Mount Sunala – for while he technically has privileges to fly over the mountain on his own, having a Yodh with him helps him to avoid more curious attention than is absolutely warranted, let alone any challenges. At his direction, they touch down in the memorial grounds behind the temple, near the Srinala Tower.

"A good cold night for flying," Phlagaea says, shivering. "I hope that you do not overly regret your boon. Lanceta warned me that this fox likes to sing songs, and that his lyrics are atrocious."

"Well, I find the cold not nearly as bad as where I grew up. This is rather mild to me," Alptraum responds with a smile. He then shrugs at the comments about the fox and says, "Pitiful, bad, or not, I may end up regretting it, but. I couldn't just leave him there to suffer. If I can help people, I do – it's just how I am." He looks toward the tower and sighs, "This whole place, me, it's so bizarre. I always knew I was somewhat different than others, but – a child of a Srinala, and fatherless, or so I've inferred. It's – hard to accept."

"Mmm," Phlagaea mumbles, nodding. She opens her mouth a couple of times, failing to say anything, and then at last says, "Thank you. For speaking to me. At the party. That was very … devout of you. It pleases Gorphat."

"You don't need to thank me for that. I was glad to," Alptraum says with a smile and a slight wave. "I know what it's like to feel – alone. You're a pleasant person, and very good company actually. Weird as tonight was, I was glad I went."

"I am glad you have come to Babel," Phlagaea says. "You are a very strange and interesting man. But I should be going now. The Yodhsunala will get nervous if I tarry too long."

"That's one of the problems with Babel, you know. No one talks. No one tries to learn about, and understand, others. People assume things about you because… " He lets that trail off. "Anyway, sorry for keeping you. Thanks again for the evening. I hope I will see you again. I have few friends here. Be well, Yodhgorphat Phlagaea."

"Be well, Barsunala," Yodhgorphat Phlagaea says, "and if you are not well, may your illness make you stronger." With that, she takes to the air and wings away.

Alptraum watches her fly away. slowly, he turns his attention back to the tower and walks toward it. "Barsunala. Son of Sunala. Is that truly what I am? Did I decide that the acolyte would live? Was that Sunala speaking to me when time seemed to stand still in that pit?" Alptraum asks no one in particular as he walks. "Maybe I can really make a difference here, somehow. No, by just being me."