Things have calmed down a bit in Aelfhem. Of course, it took a lot of work to get to this point.

The "cannonball" in the lake attracted some attention from nearby Aelfin villages, and about the time that Kensington and Roho had just given up and started cooking dinner on the shore, several locals came by to investigate. With a group effort (and one really big fish fry), the giant ball of Scarlet was towed to shore, and then loaded up onto a barge, and sent up the Sugarfir River.

There was quite a bit of explaining to do, of course, but eventually Scarlet was rolled off, and word was put out to summon a Life Mage to see what could be done to restore Scarlet to a less spherical state of being.

Scarlet hasn't been seen for quite some time, Roho has been busy continuing to minister to the wounded, and Sludge hasn't been seen since he ran off screaming.

The dragon has been keeping to her lair, it seems, since she obviously hasn't been flying around, screaming, and loosing bolts of lightning all over like before. So, at least that isn't a problem. The Winterhind saw to it that Kensington was paid … but there was a bit of a problem. Scarlet's funds were all in iron. If Kensington is lucky, he might be able to spend these shekels in parts of Sinai that are far-flung enough that the ripples of the "iron rush" haven't reached them yet … but those aren't likely to be places Kensington will be visiting anytime soon.

All in all, this hasn't been a very profitable venture in the least – compared to the trouble it has presented, certainly.

Another evening finds Kensington in a large cottage in the Aelfin village that serves as an inn – a very recent construction, since Aelfhem hasn't a long history (recent, anyway), of having visitors from the outside dropping by.

The tables are short, the stools are too, and the portions are Aelfin-sized as well. The beer is weak, and the food is bland. All those legends about Aelfin this and Aelfin that being of superior quality appear to be a bunch of hokum. It's all just middle of the road, by Kensington's experience. At least the sugarfir desserts are pretty good.

The distinctly uncomfortable and disgruntled looking corsairhalf-perches/half-sits on a low stool, his wing-claws resting on the table near a mug of watery beer, and a small, plain-looking bag that he's not willing to touch much of the time. The head of the grip of the 'F' wand pokes out of it slightly. He sits alone to brood, having snapped at most of whomever's bothered to approach him.

"Nothin' but trouble… bah, what a waste this be… I coulda been on Abaddon," grumbles the bird to himself. He slouches a bit more. "Then again… I coulda been on Abaddon."

A cheery little Aelfin girl (adult? child? Who can tell with these fuzzy little people?) trundles out, and, in a high-pitched – but not quite Eeee-level – voice, asks, "Wouldst thou care for another ale, good sir?"

Kensington sighs, gathering the bag up. "Aye, girl. An' th' bill; I be steppin' out fer now. 'Ow's yer town settlin' down after allus madness?"

"Here or Abaddon, you'd just be shoveling dirt and swinging your saber either way." a voice squawks from behind the Corsair.

The girl looks past Kensington to the newcomer, than answers, "Oh, good sir, prithee not worry thyself about us!" She smiles to the newcomer. "An ale for thee, good traveler?"

"Eh?" Kensington sits up a little straighter, glancing over his shoulder for the source of the voice.

In the doorway is an uncomfortable looking Vartan with feathers of black. The ceiling seems to be about a foot too low for him and he's hunched down a bit, and the tops of his wings still look to be a bit crunched. "No ale for me. I take on any more weights and I probably no fits through the door again."

The Aelfin girl curtseys to the Vartan … then heads off and pours another mug of ale for the Korvite Corsair.

The swordsbird's crest rises in surprise, and he gets up from his seat. A smile creases around his bill, and his eyes light up. "Zoltan? Zoltan Cambio, ye great ol' bruiser, izzat really you?"

Zoltan hunches down a bit more and rubs the top of his head. "Yah. Paradys is helping with the planting and fixing up as well as some of my friends from Savanite Empire. I ran into angry Khatta who told me you was here before she stormed outs. Sounds like you been having interesting time."

The Aelfin serving girl sets a mug of ale down on the table, along with a note for the bill in shekels. The Korv must have been pretty thirsty, by the looks of it. Hopefully they take iron here.

"Bahah! Ye don't knows the half o' it!" Kensington punches at Zoltan's ribs in a playful manner. "Damn it all, but it be good ta see ye again, shipmate! I thoughtcher'd never leave yer Shiny Shoppe after 'at 'ole nasty business wit' Abaddon we got mixed up in!" He rubs the top of his beak. "That Khatta's gone, eh? Too bad; she'll miss me, I knows it."

The Vartan simply shakes his head and pulls a copper shekel from his pocket. "Khatta also told me what you gota paid with. Here, you bill is on me." He almost loses his balance at the punch and puts a hand on the ceiling to brace himself a bit better. "What happen to you airship?"

The Aelfin serving girl comes out, quietly taking the copper as she heads off to make change.

Kensington jingles his pouch of iron ruefully. "Aye, this trip were a bust. I been out gatherin' up money fer the Wench o' Babel… er, or whate'er I end up callin' 'er. She's in dry-dock, bein' refitted, an' th' Temple been suckin' coin out o' me like a great big righteous leech."

"Hrrr. Is sound like you been having whole streak of bad lucks." The Vartan bumps his head on the roof and takes a step back. "You mind stepping outside? My wings going to get cramped if I stand in here much longer."

The Aelfin comes back with the change.

The Korv chugs down his ale, and stoops to clack the mug back down on the table. "Aye, I'm startin' ta feels walled in meself."

The Aelfin girl bows her head. "Prithee return again, good travelers!" And then she shuffles back do her cleaning chores of the otherwise empty main-room.

Zoltan counts the shekels out and eyes the Korv again. "I can see why… We could wrap you in boards and turn you into a keg for all you drinks." There's a tone of merriment in his voice. He starts to back out of the door, finding it easier than turning around.

The Korv follows along, belching loudly, then laughing. "Pah! It's watery stuff, so's I gotta gulp a keg down t'even feel a tingle. Th' sweets'll round me out like a barrel first, though."

Outside, the village is as quiet as it usually is. Most of the cottages only reach up to half Zoltan's height at the edges, making the Aelfin look all the smaller by comparison. Most of them are inside, now, having their evening meals. They're all vegetarians … which has, of course, restricted the offerings on the menu for outsiders as well.

"I hear all this mess was done by Eee pirates. I hope this no hurt things between Babel and Aelfhem. High Prince Bog-haz is friend of mine." He shakes his feathers out in the open air. "So what you gots planned now? Can probablies buy you passage back to Rephidim if you wants."

The corsair shrugs, sighing and scratching the back of his head. "Darrr… I dunnos anymore. I be goin' where the shekels're ringin'. But first, I gots ta figger out what ta do wit' this magic jobbie." He holds up the bag with the end of the 'F' wand sticking out of it. "It been causin' nothin' but trouble. Only reason I been 'angin' onta th' cursed thing's 'cause I thought 'twould be needed ta undo that big ball o' Aelfin what grew out o' the griddlecake outside th' dragon's lair." He glances reflexively at the sky. "There also be th' matter o' Dagon's carcass not turnin' up yet, far as I knows."

What can be seen of the wand looks like a rather plain affair – It's a well-cut but otherwise unimpressive stick of wood … but with a filigreed "F" embossed on the tip, the letter glittering like gold.

The "F" doesn't glow per se, but even in the dim of mountain valley twilight, it can be made out clearly.

Zoltan looks at the wand dubiously. His eyes narrow and then shoot wide open! "Yark!" The Vartan's feathers bristle out. "Where you gets that?"

"The mage 'erself," replies Kensington, cocking his head at his friend. "'Twere lyin' next ta her when she got stomped. I tried ta use it ta keeps 'er from shufflin' off ta that great Gear in th' sky, but ended up widda 'uge livin' ball o' fuzz. The thing's dangerous, mark me words." One of the bird's brows rises. "Does ye recognize its?"

"No. But I been training in feeling out certain type of magics with Knights Templar. I still very raw at it, but no feel like any magic thing I sense before." The Vartan rubs his feathers down. "You think mage got it from one of other worlds through tower portals? Is no feel like it even from Sinai." He rubs the bottom of his beakthoughtfully. "Maybe we needs to speak with more knowledgeable mage."

Kensington holds the bag slightly farther away from himself, as if that would mean anything. "I ain'ts got no idea 'ow magic works, an' I don'ts think I wanna know where she gots it. Affer what 'appened, I don'ts think she gots no business widdit, an' I'd just as soon takes it ta th' cliffs, an' be done widdit." He shrugs, a frown around the corners of his beak. "Butcha seems ta know more 'bout it than me. What say ye?"

Zoltan takes a step back. "Follow me. Maybe Queen Third-Vision can helps, or can point us to someone that can." He jerks a taloned thumb over his shoulder. "Just be on you best behavior when you talk to her… She a good friend of mine and powerful Shadow-Mage. No to mention she can probablies turn Pouncer and Enos on me if she gets mad enough." He manages a smirk and points to a clearing in the trees.

"Eh… alrighty, then." Though the Korv looks dubious, he glances at the clearing, and falls into step.

Pool of Visions
In a clearing of trees in the forest near the village of Winterhome is a mineral spring pool, heated by forces originating deep under the crust of Sinai, and resulting in a pool of water that stays warm even in winter. Its waters are held to have special properties by the Aelfin, and there are many legends surrounding it, but by and large, it is just a place of solitude, for few of the Aelfin dare disturb it without special cause.

Kensington was introduced to a Savanite woman with curly black hair and a curious ornamented headband covering her forehead, but which had a gem made to resemble a stylized eye set in the middle, making it look as if she had a third eye set there, given some imagination. This "queen" of the Savanites seemed to be on good terms with Zoltan, and introduced the two avians to her two aides – Solitary-Light, a Scryer, and Twilight-Wing, a Mind Mage. That is, if they truly have such powers. After all, they're Savanites, and everyone knows that a Savanite cannot chant.

Still it was arranged for Solitary-Light to take a look at this curious wand, and so it ends up that Zoltan and Kensington are seated in a clearing, joined by a Savanite Queen, while another strange cheetah is dancing about a mineral pool.

Zoltan keeps quiet, watching the goings on with interest. Occasionally he'll close his eyes as though he were listening to threads of unheard music in the air, and other moments he stares intently at the still waters of the pool.

The Korv watches through half-lidded eyes, having found a rock half an hour ago to bring near his chair to prop his feet on. His tailfeathers stick awkwardly past the chair's back, and it doesn't look like he's really built to use the same kind of chairs most humanoid forms do… but he must be comfortable enough to half doze.

The "F"-wand, floating on a tiny ornamental barge set in the center of the pool, bobs silently … and then the pool begins to churn and bubble.

"Hssst, Kensington." The Vartan gives the Korv a gentle nudge with his elbow. "They almost done."

Solitary-Light turns, stamps at the ground with a digitigrade foot, swings his warpwood staff over the pool, then repeats this, turning the other way, and making a strange twirl with his off hand. So this continues – an exercise that must be taxing on the elder cheetah. At last, though, he seems to be satisfied … and he makes another turn, facing the pool … then stops, dead-still.

Kensington starts, and flails his wings as his jerk nearly tips his chair over. "Hungh! Wha?" He sits bolt upright, staring at the sudden heightened activity.

Mists rise from the pool, the vapors obscuring view of the wand. In the mists, seemingly random shapes form, then dissipate … but the cheetah watches them intently, as if discerning some hidden meaning in every wisp.

The Light Mage begins forming his hands into signs … describing what he's seeing in an economy of words. But, somehow, through the power of the magic, his broken narrative brings temporary understanding of the wisps to his audience … and in their minds, in their understanding, if not in their eyes, images form within the mists, as a tale slowly unravels…

Kensington's brow furrows, and he points confusedly. "Steady on there! How… ? I mean, I thoughts they couldn't… "

Long ago, in a universe that Sinai is not a part of, a great wizard sought to prove himself as a creator of great artifacts – the greatest of any who created magical curiosities for his emperor. He created a wand – a marvelous wand charged with an array of spells, all triggered by uttering a different word beginning with the letter 'F' … Or, that is, the equivalent in their language.

Zoltan hastily puts a hand to Kensington's beak. "Shhh! Questions later… We gets answers now."

It was a truly marvelous creation … but one that required the tapping of many forbidden powers. The wizard made great sacrifices to make this wand … but the exact details are hidden. After all, scrying magic was present on his world as well, and he had no desire for his rivals to learn of what he had done.

"Mbp!" The Korv goes silent… and thankfully, doesn't protest at this point, watching the story unfold.

Still, there are ways to learn of the truth without the use of magic … or simply by the fruit of those actions. This wand possessed great power … and far too easy a means to be wielded. Anyone capable of uttering the dominant language of the land … anyone capable of holding the wand … could point it, accidentally utter a word … and wreak havoc.

Worse yet, the means of undoing such magic was not known. Even more powerful magic than that used to create the wand would be needed. In the end, the wand was thrown into a rift between worlds … and it was caught up by the streams of power that lead to Sinai. It emerged in a Forbidden Zone in a land called Sylvania.

The wisps seem to paint an image now of the forested land of Sylvania … a lush land … a vibrant land … surely a time before the haunted woods of today.

It first fell into the hands of a charlatan who used it to pass himself off as a wizard … but it did not take long for him to realize the potency of the item he handled, and the possibility that he might accidentally trigger an effect that would not be quite what he desired. After all … there was no way to tell whether, upon uttering a word, the wand would turn the target into that item … or summon such an item … or perhaps create an effect upon the caster.

At last, it was purchased from the charlatan by a sorcerer by the name of Horatio Bakula, and the young journeyman presented it as a gift to his lord, Duke Kurai the First of Blackshire.

The Vartan clacks his beak thoughtfully at the mention of Kurai. Still, he doesn't interrupt.

Bakula was aware that he had gotten an item of great power at little cost … but he had attributed it to his own wisdom and the charlatan's lack of knowledge of what he held. The accidental spell that resulted in the slow sinking of the castle soon revealed the true danger of the wand. It was tucked away in the laboratory of the castle, in hopes that it could be studied for some way to undo the spell.

Wisps form a silhouette of a castle that slowly sinks into a foggy mire … until only the tower remains.

Only many generations later was this item taken up again, by the heir to the abandoned castle, Feli 'Jynx' Kurai, the Unlucky One. In his naivete, he granted the use of this wand to a Water Mage by the name of Scarlet, an Aelfin eager to prove herself as a great and powerful sorcerer in the eyes of others.

The corsair smirks to himself at this point, but says nothing.

She grew angry at her employer, and gestured at her lord, referring to his grandmother as his 'female friend'. The phrase for 'friend' had already been used to bring a mighty three-headed dragon under her sway, but the word 'female' was discharged.

Feli's grandmother, the Lady Martinette, threw him to the ground … and the magic flew wild, seeking new interpretation on its own … creating a 'female friend' for the three-headed dragon, rather than turning Feli into the opposite gender.

"So that be why she calls it 'er 'daughter'," murmurs Kensington.

Feli's grandmother refrained from slaying the Water Mage, and instead had her sent away to a place called Rephidim. There, the Mage tried to use her wand, but it would not function in the high places, where magic was weak. Even though this wand contains magic alien to Sinai, it is still subject to the restrictions upon magic in this world.

At last, the wand came here, to Aelfhem, where the Water Mage used it many times, and then it fell into the hands of a Korv pirate by the name of Kensington…

And then … the wisps dissipate. The Light Mage turns around, and, with a surprised look on his face, signs, "Pirate?"

"Uh… " The named Korv thumbs his sash. "Er… It's a term with… um, a wide number o' meanin's. An' what I do fer a livin's changed o'er th' years. Kind of. Uh… heh."

The Priest-Queen smirks, looking sideways at the Korv.

Kensington lowers his head a little self-consciously, and mutters, "Oh, just be gettin' on wit' th' story."

Solitary-Light signs, "That is the story. I confess I am alarmed. I learned not only of the item itself, but some things about those who have only briefly come into contact with it. The implications are staggering."

The cheetah adds, "This is truly not of our world … nor even our reality. It does not belong here."

"I think that was story, Kensington." Zoltan smirks and then bows to the Scrying mage. "And it sound like you gots something bad on you hands."

The Scryer clasps his hands together, and bows in return to Zoltan … then picks up a rod and fishes the tiny barge out of the center of the pool. He removes the rod, carefully putting it into a bag without so much as touching it. Not like a Savanite has a chance of accidentally blurting out an 'F' word, but it seems this mage doesn't want to chance anything regardless.

"Well, that tears it!" The Korv stands up, smacking a fist into the palm of his other wing claws. "'At thing's a menace, an' I don'ts think it's gonna set right that ball o' fuzz what used ta be a mage." He taps the bell of one of his sabers. "Cold steel will fix 'at thing right up."

The Light Mage then presents the bag, with the wand inside it, to Kensington.

The Korv accepts the bag. "I'll take care o' it up in th' mountains. If what Solitude says be true, this thing'll die more easier th' higher we goes. I'll be seein' ye all in time fer supper."

"Did you vision say how wand can be destroyed?" Zoltan signs to Solitary-Light while putting a hand on Kensington's sword-arm. "It might no be that easy. Remember that pit of Himar happened when magic thing from other world gots used on it."

Solitary-Light signs, "I cannot answer that clearly. In the vision, the Water Mage struck a monster with the wand, and it snapped in two. It was whole again when she checked later in her bag… "

"However, while it was broken, she uttered the word 'fix'. I cannot discern whether the wand had enough magic to 'fix' itself, or whether it is truly indestructible by mundane means," signs the Scryer.

The Priest-Queen signs, "But couldn't this wand be useful? In Rephidim Standard, 'forest', 'fir', 'flowers' and 'flourish' start with 'f'. Perhaps it could be used to repair the damage done by the Water Mage and the human scoundrel."

Solitary-Light advises, "Such magics are best destroyed outright, even if they have the potential for good use. Many dark magics can be used for good … but in the end corrupt the user, until greater evil results."

"But what if it end up turning person holding wand into flower?" The Vartan turns back to Kensington. "It in you hands and I new to this whole thing. Decision is probably best left to you."

The Priest-Queen nods soberly.

"Well… I'll tells ye what," muses Kensington, rubbing his bill thoughtfully. "Iffen ye said it snapped an' didn't explode, methinks it kins be broken as much as a mainmast in high winds. We gots four people's 'ere, aye? I'll gives ye me word that I kins take it out inta th' forest alone, an' at least give thems five words a try, aye? Then I'll break it inta quarters, an' we each gets a lil' souvenir from another world ta spreads apart."

The Priest-Queen smirks, while Solitary-Light just looks confusedly at Zoltan.

The Priest-Queen signs, "Who gets the one with the letter on it? My instinct tells me that there's something special about that part."

Kensington caws, "Howzabouts I splits it lengthwise?

"He going to try using it to heal forest, and then will break it up and hand out pieces." Zoltan signs to the Light Mage. "Hrr… Interesting idea… although it just mights break number of words that can be used into it by quarter and still make it dangerous."

The Priest-Queen frowns. "Perhaps lengthwise, but break it in half again, just to be certain? What can be worse about reducing it to splinters?"

Solitary-Light just throws up his hands, and goes back to cleaning up the materials used for his ritual.

The corsair grins. "Splinters, sections, the more we got, the more souvenirs, I says." He hooks the bag to his sash, and tosses off a salute. "Iffen ye don't see me fer a week, looks fer a Korv-shaped tree, aye?"

The Priest-Queen goes up to the Korv and signs, "You are a brave one. May… " She looks over to Zoltan for a moment, then back to Kensington. "May the Star light your way," she signs in blessing. "… and protect you from that dreadful wand!"

"Be careful Kensington. Anything you wants us to tell the Water Mage if you no makes it back?" The Vartan shudders at the thought.

The Priest-Queen signs, "And have you any next of kin to notify?" She doesn't look too happy, either, at the consideration.

"Thank ye, yer worship! An' no worries… it'll take more'n a stick ta do in th' Cutlass!" He grins at Zoltan, then boosts himself into the air to circle up out of the clearing. "Aye, tell 'er she needs ta lose some weight, Zoltan! Smoke me a kipper, Skipper. I'll be back in time fer breakfast!" With that, he wings over the canopy.

Zoltan's head drops as the Korv departs. He moves to sit down next to the Cheetah queen and wait quietly for whatever happens.

As the Korv corsair flies over the canopy, he can see the shadowed valley below, illuminated here and there by points of light from the little Aelfin cottages, the airships in the landing clearing, and a few points of light up on Sacred Mountain, at the monastery. In the dim light of the Procession, the sugarfir leaves seem to glow a faint pink, marked by black wounds where a crater was created by the death of the three-headed "Guardian of Seasons" … by the forest fires caused by the Eeee pirates … and the narrow line cut through the forest by a giant ball of Aelfin fluff, heading toward the village.

Kensington brandishes the wand, eyeing it with some small measure of trepidation before taking a deep breath and winging low over the path of destruction wrought by the rolling ball of fuzz. "Alright, wand… lissen up!" He points it at one of the trees. "That be what I'm talkin' about, ye hear me?" Whether or not talking to an inanimate object means anything, Kensington begins flying lower, just above the trench in the trees. He tilts slightly to allow a wing to point the wand at the ground, and caws, "Firs!"

At the word, sparks fly from the wand … and something magical is definitely happening. Something is moving down there?

One by one … shadowy forms sprout up from the ground, and begin to rise, filling the rift cut through the forest by the ball of fluff.

Kensington keeps flying up the rift, now pursued by the filling rift. Every few wingbeats, he glides to glance back over his shoulder at what's forming. "Gretchen… I 'ope this worked… "

Yes, trees are indeed rising to fill the gap. But … they don't seem to be glowing pink like the sugarfirs. Maybe the wand just couldn't tell what type of fir to produce…

Kensington is now flying over the stone boundary to the Sacred Orchard. Not much further, and he should be all the way to the Sacred Monastery.

"Well… ye go with what ye kins manage," muses Kensington. He slows down, coming low to the ground and looping to the let the 'fir' magic take its course without filling the Sacred Orchard with mundane fir trees.

The sparks stop flying, and the spell appears to have played itself out.

Satisfied, the corsair rises up over the stone barrier again, to survey the damage to the Sacred Orchard.

The Sacred Orchard has taken a great deal of damage, indeed. The path cut through it by Scarlet's roll is but a hair on the lens compared to the large spots burnt out by the pirates' vandalism. The fires evidently spread beyond the Sacred Orchard, and into the "mundane" trees of the countryside as well.

"Harr… Well, let's try another one o' thems words… " Swooping over the damaged areas as quickly as he can, he takes aim at the damaged trees with the wand. "Flourish!"

The wand sparks again … and once more, stirring can be seen in the shadows, as some of the wounded trees suddenly begin to burst forth with new and pink foliage. There may be even more going on, down on the ground underneath the canopy.

By the time the sparks stop flying from the wand … it looks like the wounds in the Sacred Orchard have been dressed, if not healed completely.

"By the warm airstreams o' th' midlands, 'ats more like it!" The beaming Korv glides lower to penetrate the canopy, hoping to get a better look at what's gone on down there.

The stone wall dividing the Sacred Orchard from the outlying forests provides a nice, open place to land. As soon as Kensington alights upon the stone divider, he can see that, yes, something is indeed going on in the Sacred Orchard. Wounded trees are bursting with life anew, and saplings are straining their way out of the ground. However, the 'Flourish' is not picky about what it has enhanced, and several flowers, mushrooms … and, well, weeds, too … have popped up. Of course, that will translate into some gardening for the monks … but it's easier to pull up a weed than to produce an entire tree overnight.

On the other side of the wall, things look a little more curious. All of the trees that sprouted up in the path cut by Scarlet look … strange. They look very fluffy, and milky white in the light of the Procession.

At first glance, they almost look like cotton-candy trees … though that image would have been strengthened if they were pink like the sugarfir trees.

"Hmmm… 'at's not so bad, methinks. Now that's… " As Kensington gets a look at the white trees, he trails off. "What th' bloody… hoo, boy." He boosts himself up to alight on a branch of one of these new trees.

Yes, the trees have branches, that much is true. But the foliage feels, for all the world … like fur. Fine white fur. It looks a lot like Scarlet's fur, really, only in far greater abundance, and sprouting from a tree.

"Well, that's… uh… new." The corsair digs a blunt talon at the bark, half expecting the tree to scream or bleed.

Some sap comes out … but other than that, nothing especially disturbing. Just sticky.

Shrugging his shoulders, the bird decides he doesn't have time to mess with the new kinds of trees, instead lifting into the air to head back for the monastery.

As the bird does so, a few little bits of fluffy hair end up in his face … prompting a brief bit of sneezing. However, the air clears up considerably as he is airborne once more.

The Sacred Monastery is now in view … with several Aelfin monks visible, wandering around with torches and lanterns, curiously expecting yet another strange happening in their usually peaceful domain. They shout excitedly to each other in the Aelfin tongue.

Kensington snuffles through his beak, then beats his wings as he comes in for a landing. "Ahoy there!"

The monks make way for the corsair as he lands, and some of them speak to him in excited tones – though it's still in Aelfin, so it's hard to make any sense of it. By the expressions on their faces, though, they seem to be happy. That's a good sign.

"Uh… hey, great! Um… glad ta hear it, lads! Hey, that's a nice dancin' thing ye got goin' on there, bucko… " The Korv sidles around for a moment, trying to keep track of the monks. "Hey, any o' ye speak Standard? Or Bosch? Imperial? Any o' ye sign, like this? No wigglin'… claws? I guess not bat-speak… Anybody gots a dictionary?"

Alas, it doesn't look like any monks can communicate with the bird right now, even with as many languages as he has picked up on in recent history. And even if there is a translator around, he might be out jigging in the forest for all that can be told.

The corsair gestures futilely. "Uh… okay, then. Well, I gots an idea, boys! 'Cause one o' me words didn't work like it was sapposed ta… so's I don't think one o' me others is gonna. Ye got any seeds? Seeds! Fer these pink trees! Seeds?" The Korv tries to find a specimen on one of the trees.

It's hard to tell just where one does find seeds on a sugarfir tree. However, he does run into a big sack of what looks like it contains seeds, over near the big pile of fertilizer that Sludge was hiding in earlier.

Curiously, the pile has been rearranged, nay sculpted, into a humanoid form.

In fact, it bears a curious resemblance to Scarlet, standing in a dramatic pose.

Kensington takes one of the seeds from the sack, gives the fertilizer a curious glance, then tries to get the attention of a monk. He points at the seeds, then at the tree. "Be this what turns inta that?" He repeats the gesture several times, trying to be clear.

The monk just keeps laughing, nodding at anything Kensington says, and pointing at the tree as well whenever Kensington does. My, these monks are happy!

The Korv smacks his forehead. "Well, best I get this cleared up… " The bird ties his sash around the mouth of the sack to be able to carry it, then looks for a spot to lift off, hoping the bag isn't too heavy to carry aloft.

The bag is no heavier than a person … and though it's not the most comfortable of loads, the corsair manages to get into the air. Soon, he's soaring down the mountain, and back to the little inn … which is now dark, and closed up for the night.

With the wand safely holstered, the bird pecks at the door. "Ahoy in there! Oy, wake up! This be important!"

After a long silence, nothing happens … and then, just when it seems that the fates are just bound and determined to frustrated every single good-natured thing the Korv tries to do … a dim glow of a lantern illuminates the interior of the main-room, and the door cracks open, revealing the Aelfin serving girl from earlier. "Oh! Thou art wishing for lodging for the night, good traveler? A pardon that I thought thou wert headed elsewhere."

"Nah, nah… but this be important, missus," rasps Kensington, unshouldering the sack of seed. "I hates ta wake ye up ta asks ye a question, but it be a matter of life an'… uh, deforestation, I guess. Do ye know if these be sugarfir seeds?"

The Aelfin girl looks at the bag. "Sugarfir seeds?" She sets down the lantern and takes a closer look. "Perhaps. Sugarfirs groweth by the hearts of their leaves. Mayhaps these are the hearts of the leaves. A monk of the Sacred Mountain wouldst know for sure, for only they planteth sugarfir trees. The rest groweth as Nature doth see fit."

Kensington scratches the back of his head. "Aw, criminy. I were askin' the monks 'bout it, but none o' them speak a lick o' Standard! Or much else fer that matter. Hey, tells ye what, little lady… I kin takes these back to 'em… then would ye be willin' ta goes fer a flight up there?"

The Aelfin girl looks at the crow, then at her robes, then says, "Prithee, let me change into more suitable attire." And then she trundles off to a back room.

For the rest of the night, it seems like the fates are just bound and determined to give Kensington the runaround. First, he had to fly those seeds back up to the mountain. Then he had to come back and pick up the girl. Then he finds out that she's scared of heights. Then they finally get up there, and have to get a monk who isn't too busy doing a jig or pulling weeds to answer questions. Then they have to go through the hassles of translating. Then Kensington finds out that this bag of seeds is for flowers for the Monastery garden, and that planting new sugarfir trees in the Sacred Orchard is a ritual process…

"Okay, okay… How 'bouts ye ask 'em if we kins be plantin' 'em out in the regular forest, beyond th' grove?" asks a harried Kensington of the innkeeper.

A monk wanders up, and sets down a bag of seeds. He blathers something, which the serving girl translates. "These are for the replanting efforts, m'lord. Mayest thou use these instead?"

"Aye, if they's be sugarfir, they's be whats I need," replies the Korv, looking relieved. "I aims ta sprinkle 'em o'er were th' big three-headed lizard 'sploded, an' see iffen I kin get 'em ta sprouts."

The serving girl hides her mouth, then nods. "As thou wish, m'lord!"

Kensington's brow pinches together. Did he miss something? … Oh, well. "Off I goes, then! Kenny Sugarseed, har, har! Ferget it; I don't unnerstan' it either."

A short while later, the Korv is soaring over the crater created by the impact of the Guardian of Seasons (known to Scarlet as 'Ashtoreth') with the ground. The crater itself, of course, is devoid of any sugarfirs, but there is a wide wound in the forest surrounding it, caused by the resultant fires.

Spying the wide swath of darkness in the sea of pink, the corsair dives, then levels out to swoop low over the center of the crater. In his wingclaws are clutched a handful of seeds each, which he scatters as he passes near the impact point.

The seeds scatter as they are caught in the air … but it's a big target, and it looks like the Korv hit his mark.

Satisfied, the Korv allows himself a drop in altitude to unholster the wand, then passes low to point at the site again. "Flowers! … Dagh, I lost e'ery shred o' respectability as a pirate by sayin' that, didn't I?"

Almost immediately, colors sprout up from the crater. Green leaves … and flowers of blue, red and purple!

Kensington trains the wand tightly on that area, waiting for the spell to play out. "Hmm… not bad… now, we be seein' iffen th' next phase works."

At last, it looks like the wand's power has played itself out … as the crater is now full of flowers (and a few spread out beyond that, where odd seeds happened to land).

The Korv performs a wingover, opening the sack of sugarfir seeds as he does so, then swoops again like a living cropduster, trailing seeds in a concentric ring away from the crater.

The Korv is pretty good at this! The seeds scatter to the ground below, landing in the wounded areas.

Turning in a wide arc, the Korv rolls around to make his run anew. "Gretchen 'ave mercy, but 'ere's the moment o' truth. 'Ere we go! Fertile!"

Sparks fly from the wand. But nothing dramatic seems to happen right away.

Kensington keeps flying along, letting the sparks run their course along the rings of seeds he's scattered. "Hmm… might just be makin' the soil rich… Well, go wit' watcha got."

The wand seems to have finished its work, as it stops its sparking display.

Kensington makes sure the wand is done, then glides down low along the rings to land, holstering the wand. Folding his legs, he sits down to get a closer look at the seeds he's dropped, and the soil they've landed in, going so far as to shovel around with the end of his beak a bit.

The seeds are still there, but the soil looks different – although it's really hard to tell just for sure in the dim Procession-light. If it's not just imagination or the light, the soil seems to be darker and richer, and it smells more … well … earthy than before.

"Well, I be guessin' that ain't so bad," muses Kensington. "Might not set things right just this minute… but it be about all I'm willin' ta be bothered wit'." He draws the wand and gives it a good, long look.

The ornamented 'F' glitters in the light of the Procession.

With a flip of his wrist, the Korv tosses the wand into the air, letting it turn end over end. His wingclaws cross to go to the grips of his sabers, and they flash in the Processionlight as they're unsheathed.

Shick, shick, shukt. Steel blades cross the wand three times, and little sparkles shower after them. Three saber-strokes, and the Korv steps back to let the wand fall.

Sparkling bits spray into the air, then gently drift to the ground, landing about the fragments of the wand that have settled onto the rich soil and the scattered three-headed red, purple and blue flowers.

The pieces of the wand don't explode. They don't dissolve into nothingness. They don't really do much of anything except to lay there like … broken pieces of wood.

Glittering sparkles continue to fall from the two drawn blades, however, cascading to the ground.

"Hmm." The bird shakes his swords, trying to whip the sparkles off.

As the swords whip around, they gleam in the Procession-light. The sparklies stop … but when the light catches the blade just so, it goes *SHING!* That was audible.

Kensington's crest pops up in surprise. He holds the swords still again, then slowly rotates one to try to catch the light again…

It takes several tries. But there's a very quiet sound as Kensington catches the light just right. If anybody were making any noise, it wouldn't be audible.

Shaking his head, the corsair sheathes his sabers, unsure of what to make of their… alteration. Instead, he works at counting out and gathering up the eight slivers of wood he's carved out.

As the Korv gathers up all eight pieces … he finds that none of them has any sign of the letter 'F' on it anymore, nor of the glittery material it was made from.

"Well, that be mighty odd… " muses Kensington, popping them into the empty seed bag. "I'll be 'avin' t'ask them's spotties 'bout this… but otherwise, I guess it's… finished!"

From the heart of the flowery crater, a high-pitched cry can be heard. Then another. Then a third. It's very quiet, really, and the Korv wouldn't have heard it if it weren't just so peaceful up here right about now.

The corsair turns his head in surprise, having thought he was alone out here. Loosening one saber in its sheath, he cautiously approaches the source of the noise…

As the Korv continues along, he finds a small bulge in the flowers … and then a little purple reptilian head pokes out, blinking at him with faintly glowing eyes. Then, this is followed by a blue head … and a red head. They make weak little cries at the Korv.

"Aw, grife… "

Back in the pool clearing, Solitary-Light dances about the waters, where a mist slowly rises, forming a ghostly image that shows a black Korv winging through the air, wearing a papoose on his back fashioned from a seed bag. A black Vartan and another Savanite watch.

"So's, ye been keepin' an eye on me, eh?" comes a caw from overhead. "I tolja a stick weren't no match for th' greatest swordsman what e'er lived!"

The Priest-Queen looks up at the incoming crow and smiles, waving.

"Hey! That look like u-AWK!" Zoltan turns from watching the mists to look at the sky above. "Hoy Kensington!"

Solitary-Light stops dancing … and the mists rising from the pool quickly dissipate in the gusts of air created by Kensington's wing-beats.

"Ahoy there! Mission accomplished! Well, kinda." The corsair comes in for a landing. "There been… uh… some things what 'appened outside of th' planned results… but the monks be 'appy 'bout their orchard regrown, an' I seeded th' crater where the dragon crashed. 'Fertile' seemed ta make th' soil pretty rich. I 'spect it'll regrow quicker'n mold on biscuits."

Three shrill cries emit from the bag carried by Kensington … and something struggles around inside. Three little reptilian noses poke out – one red, one purple, one blue.

The Korv shifts uncomfortably. "Oh, an' there be a lil' side-trip I'm 'bout ta makes."

"Hrrr. You need helps?" The Vartan peers at the little dragon heads, "I think they hungry."

Solitary-Light, the Scryer, signs, "Sinai is safer for that wand being gone. Congratulations."

The Korv shrugs. "I ain't it's mother. Found th' scaly lil' thing in the crater where the dragon 'ad crashed. Dunno 'ow long it were there… or if it were there at all 'fore th' wand want off. I'll wager it best we brings it back ta its own kind… so I'm goin' back to th' lair." He produces a smaller seed back, extending it toward Solitary-Light. "'Ere's your lil' wand bits."

Zoltan narrows his eyes at the bag, focusing on it as though he could stare straight through the cloth if he glared hard enough.

Solitary-Light bows his head, and sifts out the pieces, shaking them into a pouch, which he ties to his belt. He's careful not to actually touch the pieces.

The Priest-Queen signs, "I do not sense any magic in the pieces. I believe it is gone."

Solitary-Light signs, "Nor do I. But I shall be careful regardless. Remember. This is not of our world."

The Vartan shakes his feathers out and grins. He pulls out a small skin of water he's been sipping from during his work and pours a small amount in the palm of his hand, offering it to the trio of dragon heads. "Likewise. Seem like normal wood."

Kensington draws one of his swords, flipping it around so he can grasp it just above the crosspiece, extending the hilt toward the Priest-Queen. "Then takes a look at these."

The three dragon heads strain to reach the water … and lap it up greedily. One of the tongues feels very warm to the Vartan's talons. It's the red one. The blue one's tongue seems very cold … though there's nothing unusual about the purple one's touch, for all the Vartan can tell.

As Kensington flips the swords, they catch the Procession-light on their blades, causing a bright sparkle and an audible *SHING!*

The Priest-Queen blinks, taken aback, but she examines the blades. At last, she passes them back, nodding.

Roho comes from beside the pool quietly, making his way towards the Korv. He quietly asks, "May I accompany you to the lair? I'm curious about where the little one came from."

The corsair startles, whether at the healer or the "shing" is hard to say. He glances over at Roho as he accepts his swords back. "Ahoy there, Zerda! Yer lookin' better. Are ye sure ye wanna go back?"

The Priest-Queen signs, "There is a dweomer on the blades. It is not very strong … but it is there. A lingering effect, perhaps?"

Zoltan pours the remaining droplets out into his hand. "I think I should go as well. At very least maybe I can keep it distracted while you do whatever it is you needs to do."

Roho nods. "I would like to. It is dangerous, but not unreasonably so. And I'm curious. Dangerous to be so, I know."

The Priest-Queen smiles and nods. "I shall turn in for the night, as it has been a long day. Solitary-Light must be exhausted from his rituals as well."

Solitary-Light doesn't comment, not seeing the Priest-Queen's signs, instead busying himself with cleaning up his supplies used for his scrying ritual once more.

Kensington shrugs. "Iffen they still cuts… that's fine by me, I 'spose." Kensington readjusts the burden on his back, bobbing his head at the Vartan and Zerda. "Well, up t'ye both. I'll be feelin' a lot better with someone t'watch me back, 'at's fer sure. Whene'er yer ready, we'll away."

Zoltan picks up a few stones on the ground and pockets them. "I all sets."

Back at the Sacred Monastery, the three adventurers land in the ruins of the old hall, where Scarlet met her … fate … some time ago. The spot on the ground where Scarlet was flattened has been cleaned up, though there is still visible damage to the open doorway where the dragoness charged through.

In the center of the stony "clearing" stands a strange statue in the likeness of Scarlet … but fashioned entirely from … by the smell and look … fertilizer.

A mostly intact structure branches off from this open-to-the-air ruin, this other chamber still retaining a roof. It is mostly dark inside, save for some flickering torches set into wall sconces just inside the opening – well wide enough to let a dragon through, of course.

Inside can be seen the sleeping form of a three-headed dragoness … with three much smaller three-headed dragons lying under her wings, their heads all piled atop each other.

Beyond the clearing, occasionally the songs and exclamations of joyous Aelfin monks can be heard, as they stay up well into the night, weeding the newly regrown sections of the Sacred Grove.

Zoltan kneels down in the grass to be more at eye-level with Kensington and Roho (not that it really matters in regards to Roho really) "What the plan now, Kensington?"

"Uh… plan?" Kensington fingers the tip of his bill, casting a glance at the mouth of the lair, and back at his cohorts. "Well, um… thinks we kin just be slippin' th' lil' fella in with the others?"

Roho chuckles softly, "Better you than me, swordsman. You want to be the one to lift her wing?"

"Aye, I figured as much," whispers the Korv ruefully. "I dunno nothin' 'bout dragon families, so iffens either o' ye 'ave some advice, speaks now or forever 'old me pieces."

Roho adds quietly, "I don't think 'mom' is sleeping like the dead, either. She's dozing, if I can hear rightly. I don't know how much it takes to wake a dozing dragon, though."

The baby dragon squirms in Kensington's pack and makes a soft squealing noise.

Kensington's back stiffens.

"Hrrr. Well, we can either distract her and brings her out and slip baby in, or maybe see what dragon does when she sees baby?" Zoltan scratches the underside of his beak.

Roho's ears flick down to the bag, then quickly back up to the adult dragoness, listening for any sign of stirring caused by her baby's cry.

Roho nods to the Korv. "She heard that, I think. One more, and she'll probably be awake. And angry. Can you see anywhere to put the baby where it wouldn't wander off before she wakes up?"

One of the dragon heads seems to be chewing on the sack, and another one is drooling on Kensington's shirt. The third is dozing quietly.

The corsair unshoulders the bag to hold it and its cargo in front of himself. "'Ere now, let go o' that, you." He glances sidelong at his comrades. "Well, tells ye what… I'll go in, and set th' lil' thing down in front o' th' mother… then I'll try ta backs out, an' we'll tries ta wakes 'er up where we gots a safe fleein' distance."

Kensington caws, "Zoltan, ye'll be carryin' th' healer, alright?"

The Vartan loads a rock into his sling. "I can carry Roho. Is done it befores."

The mother dragon rumbles softly and exhales through all six nostrils. Odd, the air seems damp all of the sudden.

Roho chuckles and nods. "Yes, he's definitely strong enough." He quirks his ears up, listening to the momma more. "I don't know if she's going to get any more deeply slumbering than she is now."

"Aye, got it… Roho, keeps an ear on th' beastie, an' warn me iffen ye thinks it'll stir." He slowly approaches the mouth of the lair, his feathers puffing in the sudden humidity.

Things seem to be going well as Kensington enters the cave – right up to the point until he steps on a piece of eggshell that was lying on the darkened floor. Six eyes suddenly snap open, one pair focusing on Kensington, another on the bundle he carries, and the third looking down at the three baby dragons.

The Korv freezes in mid-approach. "… Damn." His wings extend slightly with his bundle. "Uhh… gotcher kid here… ma'am… "

Roho calls softly out to Kensington, "Just gently put down the baby, and leave slowly." He hopes he's not wrong about the sounds of the momma's temperament.

Six sets of draconian wings flutter like paper blowing in the wind. The dragon doesn't rise up, but one head curls softly to the side to hover protectively over the three babies.

The head trained on Kensington exhales… and the Korv suddenly finds himself and his bundle drenched in moisture. The third head slowly leans forward, quirking sideways at the noises the baby makes.

The Korv nods at Roho's advice, even as he slowly bends his legs to lower himself into an avian sitting position. He starts to gently lay the infant on the floor… then freezes again, momentarily blinded by moisture. He blinks rapidly, and simply stands there, partially crouched and dripping.

The baby licks at Kensington's wing-hands, lapping up the moisture. One tongue feels warm, the other cold, while the third seems fairly normal.

Meanwhile, 'momma' starts to stir a bit more. One of the heads moves with a yard of the Korv, sniffing sharply at the air.

"Heh… heh, heh… ahem!" The Korv chokes off the involuntary snickers. "Stop it, kid, that… heh, heh… tickles." He slowly crouches deeper, laying the bundle on the floor.

Roho speaks a little louder, "Kensington, I would be getting out of there right now. She's about to wake up all the way, and she's about to do something very painful to you."

The dragon's head follows the path of the bundle, sniffing and snuffling at it. The head trained on Kensington takes an interest as well and momentarily looks away from the Korv.

Kensington, satisfied he's not dropped the infant too hard, nods agreement at Roho, even as he faces the dragon. He begins gradually backing away, trying not to make any sudden moves.

The baby rumbles at the attention and all three heads start to make happy chirping noises.

Suddenly the larger dragon's eyes grow wide and all three heads focus on the baby, snuffling at it intently…

Then the center head gently starts to lick the baby while the other two nuzzle it affectionately. It seems that they've lost all interest in the Korv.

With the dragon's attention off him, the corsair scoots backward more quickly, backpedaling all the way to the lair mouth.

"What going ons?" Zoltan whistles… too nervous to raise his voice.

Roho whispers back, "I think mom's bonding with lost baby. I think we're out of the worst of it… "

"Good enough fer me," rasps the Korv, taking cover by the arch of the lair's opening. "Any reason ye wanna stay around longer? I be still wond'rin' why th' baby were out where th' adult crashed."

The mother dragon carefully nudges the baby back with the three other sleeping children. Now there are four babies curled up with momma. The adult seems content and curls back up to sleep.

Roho nods. "I wonder that, too. But we probably won't find the answers by waiting here." He shakes his head. "Either way, I think waiting around here too much longer would be pressing our luck."

The corsair spreads his wings again. "Ye took th' words right outta me mouth, Roho. Let's be off!"

Zoltan nods his head. "I agrees. You wants to meet at my tent? I gots a few supplies for dinner, and I think cubs is asleep by now.

Roho nods, giving a small salute to the two avians. "I think it's safe to walk now. I'll meet you both there." He smiles, and sets off, carefully making his way down the path away from the lair.

The Vartan puts away his sling. "How abouts I race you back?" He grins and jumps up in the air, his wings sending a sharp downblast that shakes the tree branches just a little.

"Hey, th' only thing faster'n me blades is me wings!" Kensington darts into the air, and once far enough from the lair, cackles. "C'mon, Zoltan! Let's see iffen ye ain't the big slow clod ye look!"