Though by no means short, Chiaroscuro's trip to the Pearl hasn't dragged out much either. The Skimmer Crane is an able craft, and the most challenging aspect of the ride has been to simply put up with an active Skreek archer who's nearly gone out of his mind with boredom. Soon, Kildon's vessel is moored at a dock humbled by the shadow of a tall cliff, the jagged walls of Levitha's Pearl rising up from the waters like a titan's fortress, partially submerged in a restless ocean.

Kildon makes no move to leave his ship, instead standing on the deck and briefly surveying a narrow trail that wriggles up a section of cliff that isn't quite as steep as the rest. "Looks like we hain't got any passengers back, kavi. I make th' trip back out here whene'er I receive message, or need ta ferry someone from th' coast, so's if ye want t'get back, ye'll want ta see thems in the village what kin sent a messenger Creen fer ya."

Zieekal practically bounces right over the rail onto the dock, arrows in his quiver jangling against one another. "Hah! You'll have to send a bigger ship for all the monsters we're gonna bag!"

Chiaroscuro nods to Kildon, clambering quickly and relievedly onto the pier. "Understood, captain." He looks back at the boat and water with mild distaste… the ride has been not so enjoyable to him as an airship's, but at least he managed to keep lunch down. "It might take a few day's time."

Kildon just snorts through his narrow beak, causing a short whistling noise. "Aye, whatever. Just don't be makin' me come back fer a pair o' pinewood boxes… 'tis bad luck fer a boat t'act like a hearse." With that, he turns away to direct the wimmers on his craft, all of the avians making ready to depart. (With a few grumbles about not being allowed to stop in the village for a drink.)

Chiaroscuro heads up the pier with Zeeikal. "Have you ever been out this way, Kal?"

"Only in my dreams," grins Kal, keeping in step with his kavi-like comrade. "A career in the militia was my best shot, but the Marshal didn't think I was needed for any of the few times we actually needed to come out here." His chest puffs out slightly. "Obviously, he's changed his mind! No doubt because of my nigh mind-boggling tracking and archery skills."

Chiaroscuro nods, replying "Obviously." with no trace of sarcasm. "Why has the militia needed to come out here before, do you know?"

"Not a clue!" responds the Skreek cheerfully, scratching his back with an arrow down the neck of his jerkin. "The Marshal always said it was on a 'need to know' basis, and I didn't have a need to know! Like my half-brother on my adopted third stepfather's side always used to say, "Might as well be choosey about what you hear, if something you hear is going to give you trouble anyway." This was before his ears were cut off for spying in Abu Dhabi, of course… "

Chiaroscuro nods, slowly… "I see." At pier's end, he starts clambering along the narrow path. "The Marshall does seem like a tight-lipped fellow."

Despite the steepness of the trail, Kal's exhuberance is undimmed. He nods enthusiastically, nearly losing his hat over the rocks to some rather stiff winds. "Oh, he's always like that! But he's a forthright sort, an upstanding guy. Taught me everything I know about archery, and then some! (I forgot a little, you see.)" After some rigorous climbing, and a few more anecdotes from the Skreek, Chiaroscuro crests a slightly gentler portion of the cliff, and is greeted by a small village perched precariously on the Pearl's rim. It consists of little more than a single street with various buildings on each side of it, in varying styles and states of repair.

Chiaroscuro hmmms, looking at the buildings, and keeping an eye open for any locals in the street.

Oddly enough, the place seems devoid of activity, even some of the exotic-looking watering holes, shops, and the like. The high cliff winds whistle through the thin town's lone street like some sort of wrathful living wind, howling challenges at drawn shutters and tightly closed doors.

Chiaroscuro tilts his head curiously… walking silently from one end of the street to the othetr, looking for faces peeking from windows, open dooors, conversation, music, and sign of activity.

Silent cantinas with dark windows, and barred trading posts stare back the mongoose, a row of quiet and dusty spectators.

The closest building is a ramshackle sort of cottage built out of stones and driftwood. Rather than glassed windows as one would see in Rephidim, it boasts oiled paper windows with oversized shutters that have been pulled shut and latched, with enough of a gap between them to show the glistening yellow paper. The door looks solid enough.

"You know, I thought the Rim would have been more lively than this," remarks Kal. His remark echoes off a higher part of the cliffsides.

"Lively than this… lively than this… "

Chiaroscuro looks back at Kal, nodding. "This is not a holiday today, is it?" He rubs a finger on the dust-coated sill of a window. "Or this whole fortnight… This seems wrong."

Something inside the house scuttles, and then some heavy thumping sounds come from the stones. "Go away!" a thin, etched voice yelps.

Chiaroscuro turns to the windows, and calls through them… obviously, they must not block sound fully. "Sir, we're here from the Half Valley Militia… may we come in?"

"Ahh! Ahhh! It's taken over someone an' ripped out their guts an' it's tryna to lure us all out! You won't take me without a fight!" yells the voice from inside. Crockery (from the sound of the impact) shatters against the inside wall of the cottage.

Chiaroscuro looks back at Kal. "I think you might have better luck talking with them.", he says, pointing to the window.

"Don't look at me!" exclaims Kal. "I'm just here to look after you!"

Chiaroscuro sighs slightly, and heads back to to the window, calling inside again. "Madam, please, do calm down. We are not here to do you any harm."

The woman's voice, or maybe it's a particularly high-pitched man's voice, quavers inside the building. Though lowered considerably, and muffled, it's still intelligable. "Even if you ain't the Observor come to take another, I'm not about t'open the door and find out! Don't you have enough sense to run, fool?! What're you doing out there?!"

The mongoose calmly says, "Where would I run to? It would take a true fool to run without knowing what path to take." He leans on a thick-handled walking stick in front of the window. "And what is there for me to be running from?"

"It!" shrieks the voice, as if this should be the most obvious thing in the world. "Three dead in seven days! Ghastly, ghastly… I should never have seen… the eyes… staring… "

Chiaroscuro says, "Madam, I honestly do not know what you are speaking of. I arrived here just today from Half Valley. Please, let me in so that we may talk."

The homesteader's speech becomes more and more broken and garbled. "We couldn't even recognize who they were anymore… people had disappeared before, but not so close to town! The only way we could tell they weren't just butchered animals were their eyes… oh Star… "

Zieekal shifts from foot to foot uneasily. "I think she's… he's… this fellow's talking about the Observer, but I'm not sure!"

Chiaroscuro takes a deep breath, steadying himself. "Like stories of the third war… " He beckons Kal over, whispering tightly to him. "Stay here for now." He drops his pack, and scuttles up the side of the cottage, climbing up towards the roof.

The roof is shingled with flat stone, like slate or shale, in overlapping plates on a sturdy wooden frame. Like an afterthought, a chimney pokes through the roof on one side, what looks like a bunch of cobblestones mortared together. The gaps between shingles and chimney are filled with resin, so the affair, if crude-looking, is at least watertight. It's very thin, almost warranting the term 'stovepipe' instead of 'chimney'.

Chiaroscuro steps quietly over to the chimney area, peering down it a bit, gauging the width… and frowning. He jumps nimbly down off the back of the cottage, looking…

Kal can be heard below trying to comfort the anguished occupant of the home. "C'mon now! I thought this sorta thing happened all the time! This is land where men are men, am I right? Only the toughest survive out here! Why, like my father-in-law's uncle twice removed used to say… "

The other side of the cottage bears a back door, with a thin gap between the frame and jamb. A thick board crosses the gap on the inside, probably meaning the door is barred. Two small paper windows also exist on this side, but shutters are drawn on them as well.

Chiaroscuro tries to peer inside through the gap in the door frame… along with leaning on the door a bit, testing its sturdiness.

The door doesn't give in the least. The gap offers a small glimpse at some sparse furnishings… presumeably, most of it is scooted up against the door, including a dresser placed inconveniently in the way of a decent view.

Chiaroscuro walks back around to the front, checking the sides of the building for possible entryways…

"You're trying to let the Observor in! Go away, go find some other place to hide! It's fast as nightmares, it could scuttle right in just when I get t'door open for you, an' then we're both dead!" the voice yelps as Chiaroscuro prowls around the cottage.

The logs are fairly sturdy… if the stripped bark and slightly sagging timbers are any indication, it's been around long enough to change owners several times. The sides of it are featureless, one of them completely bare, and the other with firewood stacked against it.

Chiaroscuro gets back to the front door, and calls in, "Sir, I see no Observer around here anywhere. As fast as it might be, I'm faster. You have my word that I am merely wanting the chance to talk with you. The sooner I find out exactly what has happened, the sooner I cas get a relief party send fromt he Half Valley to help out here."

"Hee, hee! You're a loon, you know!" Kal's cheery voice carries despite the wind. "The Observer would never fit through this door, it's way too big! Why, he'd probably just as soon rip the door right out and come after ya… "

"KAL! That's not helping."

The Skreek sighs. "Kal, deal with him, Kal, shut up… it's getting so a body can't make himself useful anymore."

"I tol' you! We foun' bodies, an' they're way dead," the voice says snappishly. It has been etched by years of living in this place, eroded by salt in the air. "I dunno about you but I ain't takin' no chances! Why, for all I know, you could be walkin' round with the Observor's babies in you, an' we could be havin' dinner and then you'd choke up suddenly at stew and… " The voice trails into grosteque mutterings.

"The Observor can DO that?" Though Kal is out of Chiaroscuro's view, the incredulous tone in his voice is probably a good indicator of his expression.

Chiaroscuro says, "Sir, how long are you planning to stay in there? I am sure you cannot live inside indefinitely."

Whomever is inside the cottage bangs on the inside stone wall. "Get along, ye! I'll believe it's safe out there when I hear old Mairzy up an' about! You're strangers an' you'll probably be cooling bodies by morning iffen ye don' have more sense!" In a lower tone, it continues as if talking to itself, "That old Dromodon, she wouldn't step out in a drizzle for fear of melting away."

Chiaroscuro hmmms, and turns to Kal, saying loudly, "Well, I suppose we had best move along, then. no sense in bothering this person any further, and they probably would not even want the large reward money for information." He winks to Kal.

"Money's no good to someone who's dead," the voice retorts. The cottage falls silent.

"Reward? Oh, yeah!" Kal nods agreeably. "Plenty of shekels in baggin' the big one!"

No reply.

Chiaroscuro moves along to another house, and talks a bit quieter with Kal. "Apparently this 'Observer' has gone on a rampage. We ought to send a messgae back to the Marshal about this… " He frowns. "But the ship has headed back already. Hmm."

This cottage looks to be a fisherman's cottage, better built than the last one – it has some sort of mortar sealing the chinks between stones, and was whitewashed perhaps about a few hundred years ago, most of which is now cracking and peeling away to reveal the gray-brown stones. Some nets hang on the outside. There are no sounds to be heard from within.

The Skreek shrugs as best he can with an arrow nocked on a partly drawn bow. "Kildon's probably well on his way out by now. If y'wanted to send a message, I'd say we should find someone with messenger Creens or couriers… but with the place buttoned up so tightly, I don't think much is gonna fly. Hey, if we got a bottle, we could stick a message in that!"

Chiaroscuro screws up his brow. "A bottle?", he says, in non comprension. "I don't see how that would work… our best hope at the moment seems to be to try each door in turn and see if someone will let us in." He kocks solidly on the door of the next house…

Something inside freezes, barely discernable by scraping bootheels, and then there are no more sounds from inside the house.

Chiaroscuro calls "Hello inside? We're from the Half Valley Militia… "

No reply. Maybe the sounds of bootheels were just in Chiaroscuro's imagination. This village certainly seems to be at the crossroads of some great tragedy.

Chiaroscuro knocks again, waiting a few minutes… and then moving along to the next building, frustratedly.

Time and time again, the response is the same… nonexistant. The last rays of the sun are just barely over the horizon by the time the two travellers finally settle onto the porch of an abandoned saloon. None of its glass panes are intact, and it's an even bet that the boards loosely covering its door and windows are as much there to hold the place up as keep people out. Kal sits on the front steps, rubbing his sore feet, and sighing. "Feh! Where's the action? Where's the hunt? I'm almost sorry I came here!"

Chiaroscuro nods, gazing out at the desolate town. "Frustrating. No one will even talk to us… and I do not think we can outwait them." He checks his supplies… a week's worht of food and water, if he's conservative. "I am lost for options."

A wide-winged bird-like creature, perhaps a relative of the Creen, soars overhead near the edges of the cliffs. Its lonely call echoes from the reaches of the Pearl.

Kal snorts so hard he nearly blows his whiskers off. "Lost for options! What about the basin?!" He waves his paws around over his head. "There's a great big monster eating people out there, and we're armed to the teeth! Sure, we don't have a guide… but I'm a river-ranger! Woods are my home, the river is my home, so my guess is, WET woods would be doubly so!"

Chiaroscuro looks at his walking staff. "Well, you are armed to the teeth, yes… I am armed with my teeth, mostly." He takes a deep breath. "But we ought do something, you are right. Tomorrow we shall go to the basin."

Zieekal's paws come together with a meaty smack. "Right! The only thing that can make this trip quicker is if we'd thought to just bring a taxidermist with us!"

Chiaroscuro grins at the confident Skeek. . o O (I ought to be filled with such energy as he, Lord Rik'. Give me your courage and strength as we go to face this monster.) "Very well. Tonight, let us try this saloon to sleep in. I think we can pry a board off this window here… "

The ironwood splinter-nails that had been used to keep the board in place have degraded to the point where 'corkwood' nails would probably be a more apt term. Entry should be no problem.

Chiaroscuro grips the board, and yanks solidly, pulling it free from the window.

The building creaks ominously, but it, and the puff of dust that accompanies it, seem to be idle threats, the saloon remaining standing.

Chiaroscuro peers inside through the window, seeing what the waning daylight reveals…

"Squawwww-!" The distant avian cry sounds like a herald of true sunset. The sky overhead is splashed with the velvet of twilight.

The saloon is relatively intact, surprisingly enough. Furniture that hasn't crumbled outright remains standing, patiently waiting year after dusty year for patrons, and left untouched by looters alike. A low bar blocks off a barkeeper's post, and rickety balconies overlook the main room below. Darker, less dusty patches mark parts on the wall where paintings or tapestries presumeably hung.

Chiaroscuro clambers in through the window, balancing on forepaws first, then standing upright as he passes fully inside. The creak of floorboards under his feet echoes around the room…

Chiaroscuro says, "Looks okay in here, Kal… come on inside."

Kal struggles through the window as well, his unwieldy bow and quiver snagging on the frame several times before he manages to make it in with some assistance. He whistles as he looks around. "Looks like this place could use a little paint, or maybe some curtains… "

"Or an army of maids, indeed." The mongoose finds a spot under a table that seems less dusty than most, and tail-shisks it to a somewhat cleaner state, lowering his bandanna from a headband to a mouth-cover. "But it will serve for tonight."

The archer nods his agreement, grinning. "I've slept in worse places! After getting plunked in the cooler once or twice by the Marshal, I know how hard those wooden beds are!" He squats down by the spot where his companion has dusted, unshouldering his pack.

Chiaroscuro unpacks a thin bedroll from his pack, spreading it out. It's little more than a thin rug with a blanket attached, btu it's better than sleepign on the hard floor, at least. "The cooler, Kal?"

"Jail! I haven't always been the parchment child for law and order, you know!" Kal spreads out his own sleeping area nearby.

"Ahh, I see. Good that you have found something positive to apply your energy to." the mongoose replies. "The Marshal must have recognized your talents."

"Naturally," replies Kal smugly. He dresses down to sleep comfortably in his bedroll, the nobbley bits of his jerkin and breastplate a little much to sleep in. After a bit of squirming, he seems to find a tolerable, if awkward-looking position.

The old tavern creaks as its occupants bed down. It continues to groan threats of imminant collapse, but never makes good on them, Soon, Kal's breathing becomes steady and deep, punctuated by the occasional sneeze caused by dust.

Chiaroscuro takes longer to fall asleep… pulling his Rikkorel out from underneath his shirt, and going step by step through full, formal prayers, asking Rik'tik'Tav for strength and courage. Soon, though, his eyes close in sleep, the bandanna-dustmask over his muzzle moving in and out with his breaths.

The Procession glows solitarily in the sky, like a blind white eye watching the two sleepers. It inches slowly over the horizon.

A great clattering suddenly shakes the tavern, threatening to bring the holed-through roof down! Cries like that of a banshee rattle through the rafters, as something heavy tromps up on the porch of the old saloon. Whatever horrific creature the villagers are hiding from must have scented the two travellers in here…

Chiaroscuro sits up startledly… and hits his head on the bottom of the table. *WHOMP* Whimpering at the pain, he scurries out of his sleeping bag quickly…

The monster pounds on the shutters, roaring its battlecry, "Ahahaiiiieaharaeekataeekakaieeee!" A shadowy form passes by the doorway, and then the other shutters rattle as if being struck repeatedly by spindly legs.

A Skreekish shape nearby rolls over. "Nhhzzz… Mirabelle, you're so lovely… zzzz… isn't that dress a little warm for *zznnkst*! Wah-huh?"

Chiaroscuro slaps Zeeikal in the face, not hard, but hopefully enough to wake him up. "Kal! Get up, something is trying to make its way inside! Something *big*… "

Chiaroscuro reaches for his pack and his wooden staff, trying not to make more noise than needed.

"Ughmuph!" Kal fumbles out of his bedroll, startled completely awake by the slap. "Wuzzit?! Wazapning?!"

Whatever hideous creature is making the noise, it apparently hasn't decided to come in the door yet… Instead, the battering at the walls continues around the corner and to the side, and a sharp-looking leg waves past the window on that wall, before the eerie wailing continues, "Ahaieeeehareeekateekakaieeee!" Was that the scuttling beast's head that just shadowed the window?

"Grab your things, and follow me," Chiaroscuro says in a whisper, before taking off in a nearly four-pawed scurry towards the bar counter, jumping behind it.

The wailing trails off to a huffing and puffing, and then the dreadful clattering noise starts up again. The saloon rattles under the impacts as if it really will come down soon.

The slightly dazed rat, still just clad in a longjohn like pair of pants, snatches up everything he can readily find in the dark, following after his mongoose comrade.

Chiaroscuro mumbles, Rik' Sammarrin, Rik' Tumarin, Rik' Venorin, Selah." speedily, grasping his staff and peering above the countertop, looking at the noisemaking beast…

From this vantage point, it's impossible to see the creature – it is on the other side of the saloon walls, drumming its legs over the surface as if looking for any weakpoint, and coming back to the door. The planks will certainly give quickly enough before the monstrous Observer… The hunting cry sounds forth again with more emphasis, "AHAIIIiiaieereekaaeeeeteekAAieeekaieEeee!"

Chiaroscuro listens intently to the sound, ears tracking the steps the creature takes. He whispers to Kal, "Have your weapons at the ready, my friend."

A spindly, stick-like shadow batters at the door's plankings with loud creaking noises, a fast-moving extremity of the creature. Several more boards fall away, one hanging by a single nail slantwise across the hole, letting in the merciless light of the Procession. It won't be long now…

Zieekal looses an arrow in the creature's general direction, cursing the darkness foiling his aim. It darts past the creature's limb harmlessly, and when Kal reaches back to reload, he discovers something. "Gah! My arrows spilled out on our way to take cover!"

Chiaroscuro nods. "I will get them. You stay here… throw bottles or something at it." He drops quickly to all fours, moving quickly to pick up the arrows…

The leg jabs through the opening and starts to work like a lever, pulling the boards away rather than merely banging against them. "AHahaiiieeeereekaTAAaaeeekakaieee!" wails the monster – if it's to scale, then that's one nasty big insect, and it certainly has a voice to match. The tavern shudders again, and a rafter crashes to the ground, smashing a table flat.

Rotting sawdust stings the eyes, but it's not bright enough to see the arrows too well anyway, except for some glints off the flint heads. On all fours, the mongoose can feel the flight feathers of a few beneath where he's scampered.

Chiaroscuro grabs all the arrows he can qucikly find… not wanting to spend long in the unprotected main area. He scoots back behind the counter, watching the front door… and now the ceiling as well.

The boards come loose, and a shadowy form staggers into the doorway! Silhouetted against the Procession, there's no time to identify what kind of insect it is before it charges after the running mongoose, calling out, "AHAIIEEEeeekaieee!"

Behind the counter, Chiaroscuro drops the arrows next to Kal. "Take these!" he yells, grabbing his staff and facing the creature…

The creature rounds the counter of the counter with strange dexterity, and leaps straight for the mongoose! "ReekataeekaKAIEEEE!" it bellows.

The Skreek curses, fumbling with the arrows, but it's obious he'll be far too late to reload.

Chiaroscuro swings with his staff, his eyes glinting read from energy. "Rkkk-tchk-tkkk!" He cries, in the old mongoose call…

"Ooof!" comes the surprisingly mammalian response. The leaping shadow is hit square in its side and thumps against the wall of the tavern, now more easily identified as… A warpaint-covered Kavi. He looks winded by the blow, the 'leg'-like stick clattering against the bar.

Zieekal yells, "Oh, to Dagh with it!" and leaps to his feet, a chitin-bladed dagger in his right paw. He blinks as the fight he was about to join abruptly ends.

Chiaroscuro jumps quickly atop the Kavi… pinning him down with his paws. "Who are you? Why did you attack us?"

The dazed Kavi warrior chatters back at Chiaroscuro… in Kavi. The mongoose can't make out a word of it, not being familiar with the language used most by the ferretoids, much less the tribal dialect that this warrior appears to use.

Chiaroscuro stares down at the Kavi. "Don't you speak common?" he asks, temper subsiding only slightly.

The warrior dips his head. "I- I beg your pardon, great shaman," he stutters. "I speak Rephidim, mostly. If you ask it, I will."

Chiaroscuro's mouth hangs open after the words 'great shaman'… his muzzle furrowed in thought. "Your name, young one?"

"Tik," the Kavi replies quickly. "Tik Stub-toe. But when I get my name, I'll call myself Tik the Flyknife." His eyes shine with hopes of martial prowess.

The Skreek hovers over Chiaroscuro's shoulder, mystified by the whole affair. For once, he's quiet, just listening to the exchange.

Chiaroscuro's own eyes, in the dim light of the tavern, return to their normal brown from their molten-red color. "And… " The mongoose takes a deep breath. "And do your people here know of Rik'Tik'Rav and Reyna, of Nakh, of Chunachundre and Darzee, of the Battle, of the Garden?" The words spill out one after the other, Chiaroscuro's old Kitellian accent driving through.

Zieekal's face scrunches up. "Whoa, whoa… you lost me there! Well, actually, I guess you lost me before that… but wow, now I couldn't find my tail with two paws and a lantern!"

"Yes! You are a shaman after all," the Kavi says, looking worshipful. "I could tell by the Rikkorel, and by the hands of the Prophet." He points at Chiaroscuro's hands, and then says puzzledly, "But cannot you speak Kavi? Are you from a far off tribe that the Prophet also visited?"

Chiaroscuro takes a long ragged breath. "Farther than you might know, young one." He stops pinning the Kavi… to embrace him tightly.

Tik Stub-toe squeaks surprisedly. "What are you doing, blessing me or something? Is this how they do it where you come from? Some kind of warrior-to-warrior bonding ritual?"

"Hey!" exclaims the river-ranger. "In case you don't remember, your slinky little friend there just tried to kill us!"

Chiaroscuro releases the Kavi from his emabrace, and stands back up… and nods to Kal. "This is true indeed, Kal… " He fixes Tik Stub-toe with his gaze. "And why did you attack us, Tik'?" His throat makes a soft, added push of air after Tik's name, abrely discernable.

Tik says, "Ah? No, it's nothing like that! It's night, you know." He gestures to the holes in the roof which let Procession light through. "I'm doing what the great Rik'Tik'Rav would have! And tricking ignorant townies out of their place so I can shelter from the Scuttlers and not have to worry about keeping watch. I wasn't going to really attack you, just… " He gestures to Zieekal. "Scare you off."

He adds, "If it'd worked, it'd have been a great story for the fire!" He looks a bit accusingly at the ranger.

Zieekal blows through his long incisors, and rolls his eyes. "Cheesh, if there's anything I hate, it's glory-hounds!"

Chiaroscuro brings his arms to his Rikkorel. "Cleverness indeed, young one… " he says tapping it on the forhead. "But little shown of caring.", he says, moving a forefinger to the nose. "Or bravery… " the finger moves to the teeth, and now downward to the chest. "Or fortitude, all things of Rik'. But that is not for argument now."

Tik Stub-toe looks indignant. "Well, you didn't put up any markers, how was I to know a shaman was sleeping here?" He glances over at the desolate interior of the saloon. "By Rik, I hope you don't live here… "

Chiaroscuro nods. "It was a restpoint, while searching for other Children of Rik'." Again, the Mongoose's throat-push, missing from the Kavi's speech. "Are there more here on this island?"

"Oh yes," Tik says. "Many, many of us. We are fearless hunters of the night! The townies don't know how many of us there are. I can guide you to our village, Shaman."

"Just… call me Chiaroscuro, young one. There is no need for calling me Shaman." The mongoose dusts himself off slightly. "Would tonight be best, or in the morrow?"

Tik Stub-toe looks at the door. "We should go in the morning, Sha – er, Chiee – Chirroskirro." He seems to have some problem with the syllables that make up Chiaroscuro's name, but gets it right after a few tries. "The Black Dread that torments the forest and makes these people so fearful prefers to hunt by night… And I got separated from my party that was out looking to kill it."

Chiaroscuro nods. "Very well, Tik'. Kal, let us get some sleep, yes? I understand you must be confused, but there will be time for explanations soon."

Tik looks over at Zieekal, then nods. "All right, Chirroskirro."

The Skreek looks hesitant, but nods, reluctantly sheathing his dagger. "I won't pretend t'know what's going on, here, but you seem to have things under control. Just remember! If I wake up the next morning with a sharp stick in my back, I'll… I'll… well, I'll be dead, I suppose. But I'll be the angriest corpse you ever met!"

Chiaroscuro nods to Kal. "You will be safe, worry not. I do not want to lug your corpse back to the Half Valley, especially if it will be angry at me all the way." The mongosoe walks back to the table he was sleepiing under, propping it upwards again, and settles into his bedroll.

Tik smirks. "Your life is good as long as you travel with a Great Shaman." He looks around for a sleeping place, then just curls up behind the bar.

After spending a few minutes gathering up the arrows that'd been strewn everywhere, Kal yawns widely, and reclaims his sleeping bag. He goes back to sleep on his side, but the way one ear occasionally flicks gives the impression it might be a slightly lighter sleep than before.

Chiaroscuro falls into a sleep much deeper, after a time of grateful, whispered prayer. Aside from the breath in and out of his muzzle, he is perfectly, peacefully still, in a way he has not been for almost a year's time…