A drop of water hits Chiaroscuro in the nose.

Chiaroscuro's paw flails up into the air, batting at… whatever that was. A few seconds later, he opens his eyes blearily…

The ceiling of the decrepit saloon fuzzily comes into focus. The morning sunlight is muted by an overcast sky, and a few more drops patter through the gaping holes in the roof, accompanied by the reflection of a blue flash somewhere to the west. A few seconds later, thunder peals overhead.

A Kavi face peeks out from behind the counter. He chatters in Kavi, noticing the rain; the gist seems to be that of blaming Nakh for sending bad weather their way, then switches to Rephidim, remembering that Chiaroscuro wants him to use it. "Bad omen."

Chiaroscuro pulls himself out from his bedroll. "Perhaps, Tik. But the rain brings coolness and waters our crops, so it is not always a bad omen." He stretches out, untensing muscles. "Still… not good for our travel, no."

"Not the rain," Tik Stub-toe says. He glances at the shaman as if expecting him to know just what he means, but then shrugs. "It rains a lot around here. Voice of Nakh, though… "

As the mustilae begin talking, a form on the floor, enveloped completely in a bedroll, rolls over, grumbling incoherantly.

Chiaroscuro nods to Tik… "Ah, the thunder, yes." He scratches his head a bit. Not an expression he had heard before…

The Mongoose pads over and nudges Kal awake, gently. "Morningtime, Kal."

The wormlike bundle on the floor curls in on itself, and grumbles some more, then finally allows a muzzy-looking Skreek's head to poke out. "Ngh, already? I just closed my eyes!"

Chiaroscuro nods to Kal. "Already. We should get moving before the storm worsens." He goes over to his backpack, and ducks back behind the bar to change clothing to his sturdier, more weatherproof outfit.

Another streak of lightning, and it's bass accompaniment agrees with Chiaroscuro, and the raindrops coming through the roof grow slightly in number. Kal struggles out of his bedroll, yawning and scratching himself. "Alright, then. First time I've woken up on a barroom floor without a headache, so things can't be all bad!"

Preparations this morning go quickly, hurried by the storm, and Tik Stub-Toe seems able to find his way despite the rain. He leads his Great Shaman and the river-ranger down the steep inside ridge of the Rim, where a thick forest engulfs them. The canopy provides a little shelter from the downpour, enough to where the raingear packed along keeps their wearers comfortable. The rain seems to have little effect on Tik, except for washing some of his warpaint off.

Chiaroscuro moves along, pushing his way through bushes with the aid of his walking staff. Keeping up with Tik is leaving him little time to inform Kal what is going on, but he tries in a few quick whispers to update the Skreek.

The trio travels along what appears to be a game trail. Foliage is thick on either side of the twisting path, consisting of bizaare species of wide-leafed trees and curling ferns eight or nine feet across. Large blooms of strangely coloured flowers, and creepers as thick as the mongoose's arm, plus plenty of other plants that can't even be identified. Even though it's raining here, the place is warm… the feeling is akin to having a hot, damp towel wrapped around one's head.

Chiaroscuro says speedily but quietly, "Listen quickly Kal. I am an Exile, not a Kavi though I seem to be one. And this Kavi somehow follows the worship of my people, I know not how." The mongoose duckws quickly under a branch, popping up on the other side. "It seems we will find out. If they know of the hunter, I am sure we will find out shortly."

Tik bounces ahead with youthful energy, giving Chiaroscuro ample reason to feel old. "Istlkaiee za! We're almost there!" The rain forest ahead gives no evidence that there is anything nearby, so perhaps Tik is just reassuring his two charges that he's not leading them in circles.

It all seems a bit much for the Skreek to take in, but he just nods, dripping water off a wide-brimmed oilcloth hat. "Well, if you say so… you're the one doing the investigating, not me! I hate puzzles, you know." He seems to be about to say something else, but has to concentrate on not tripping over a particularly treacherous patch of tree-roots as he and Chiaroscuro try to keep up with Tik.

Chiaroscuro fidgest with his headband, trying to keep water from dripping into his eyes. He peers ahead, pushing aside thick, broad-tree leaves…

Tik scampers through the foliage with adept ease, a testimony to the efficacy of near-nakedness for running through the jungle… and then stops right on top of a thick log that's fallen, seeing what's behind it. "Rik's teeth!" he exclaims.

Chiaroscuro jumps nimbly up atop the log, rising high on tip-toe.

Lying partly in a deep, muddy puddle up ahead lies a small, crumpled heap. Streaked with mud, it appears to be the prone form of something that once lived. Something disturbingly familiar in shape, though difficult to identify in its current state.

Chiaroscuro peers up at the muddy heap. "What… is that? He jumps down in front of the log, stepping closer… "

Tik makes disgusted noises, backing up the log and holding a hand over his mouth.

Chiaroscuro turns aroudn to Tik. "Tik'? What is… " He steps closer, bit by bit.

As the mongoose approaches, the object's nature becomes more evident. Stiff limbs, partly in the water, lie frozen against a sleek, once supple torso. Mud covers where skin once did, flayed away. Glassy eyes stare blankly at the sky on a muzzled face, rain collecting over them.

"One of our people," Tik says in a choked voice. "The Black Dread did this."

Chiaroscuro's stomach turns… and he drops to his knees. "Blood and Bone… what monster would do this?" He takes a breath, looking upward into the cloud-coated sky.

Kal crests the log, wheezing. "Sheesh, you guys! Are you trying to make me pop a lung? What're we… hoboy… "

Tik says, "I don't know… But I'd better run ahead to the village and bring back an escort. They will want to know… And I need to tell them not to shoot you or the rat." He turns and springs through the undergrowth, taking a shortcut that the relatively clear path would not have afforded.

Chiaroscuro, on his knees, begins a prayer for the departed… in full, formal Kitellian. "Rik'Tik'Tav, merciful Lord of all, Another of your children… a distant child, but a child of yours… has passed on to the garden-gate. Weigh his harvest-measure, and let him in, to serve you in the Garden… "

Zieekal watches the kavi disappear into the undergrowth. He stands over Chiaroscuro, quietly for once, then lays a paw on the mongoose's shoulder. "We gotta go, Chipper… I'd bet my lucky arrowhead that whatever Dagh-cursed demon did this is still around… there's still some sap leaking from a broken branch on the left… "

Chiaroscuro looks off into the forest contemplatively… "Do you know the path forward, Kal?", he says in far-off tones. "Without a path, we will go nowhere." He returns to his prayers for the dead… albeit a bit quicker now.

"The game trail Tik was leading us on probably takes us in, or at least pretty close to their village. Stands to reason they'd stake out a place with good hunting." The dripping Skreek muses. "I'm a tracker, remember? I don't think I can follow Tik through that growth that heavy, but I can probably tell what trails the kavi use." He shifts a little uncomfortably. "But… take as much time as… you know… you need."

Zieekal steps off to the side respectfully, then unslings his bow. He draws and nocks and arrow, then becomes still, except for his head swivelling back and forth. The hiss of the rain on leaves, and the occasional deep chuckle of thunder overhead become the only sounds.

Chiaroscuro nods to Kal, and chants… finishing up soon. "… This I ask, Rik'Tik'Tav, and Reyna beside you, grant unto the departed. Selah." The mongoose taps his fingers the dead once, over the heard… then stands.

"Lead the path, Kal."

The rat nods solemnly, and beckons with his paw, starting on down the game trail again. The going is a little slower now, but Kal seems to be picking out the path. He explains as he moves along, A pawprint here, and twig broken there, a blaze that looks like some creature's claws on a tree turning into a crosshatch design that could only be attributed to the tribesmen.

Chiaroscuro nods, listening carefully to Kal, though his ears flick about at the sounds of the forest. The peace of his sleep has passed fully to wariness.

The steady progress comes to a sudden halt, Zieekal raising one paw, then crouching.

Chiaroscuro's tailfur bristles up, and he drops to a crouch as well, paws clutching his staff.

The river-ranger's voice is low and soft, barely audible above the rainfall. "The game trail's stopped, but that's not a problem… problem is, there's a clearing ahead, and I think something's in it… "

Chiaroscuro whispers back, "It could be the village, could it not?"

"I don't… think so… " Zieekal's nose twitches, his whiskers shaking droplets of water off. "Smells wrong… " He pulls a little on his bowstring, perhaps a nervous reflex. "What's the plan?"

Chiaroscuro grits his teeth slightly… "I will go forward. If I call for aid, I will tell you to shoot low, middle, high… shoot thusly. If I say run, then runaway, no questions. If it is safe I will tell that. Understood?" His shoulders dip and roll back, his pack sliding almost noiselessly off onto the ground.

"You got it, Chipper," whispers Kal, a grim set to his normally cheerful face. He tugs the brim of his hat a little lower, slopping rain off it and shading his eyes before fitting an arrow to his bow. This arrow seems different… a little longer, with a wicked-looking obsidian tip.

Chiaroscuro holds out three fingers… then pulls one into his palm… then another… then the final, and plunges swiftly into the clearing, staff ready…

The clearing is fairly wide, centered around a sunken boulder field that seems to have stubbornly held the thick forest at bay. On the other side of where Chiaroscuro burst through, a sinuous black shape, hard to discern against a dark backdrop of trees and shadow, stands over a small, prone heap, about the same size and shape of the unfortunate kavi Tik had seen earlier. Lightening flashes, blue light reflects on black scales, revealing two sizes of crossbows slung over shoulder and on 'hip', on heavy leather harnesses. They dangle by a some pelts, and a bandolier bearing small vials. In the Naga's right hand, for Naga it is, flashes a small steel knife. The flickering lightning reveals one more thing before fading into its audial counterpart. A quarrel juts from the corpse on the ground.

The Naga looks up, one eyeridge rising.

Chiaroscuro's paws drop the staff… in shock. An Image of Nakh himself, the evil ruler of serpents, the Lord of Sheol. Instinct thousands of years old drops him to all four paws, tail rising and shaking in the air, bottle-brushed, eyed turned red as blood aflame. His teeth chatterclack together before his voice is found again, no longer in Common. "Rkk-tkk-tkk! Rkk-tkk-tkk! Sali mori Rikkorenutha? Rkk-chk-tkk-tkk-chk!"

'Nakh' looks surprised for a few seconds. His knife falls to the ground by the dead kavi, and the hand holding it reaches up to wrench the massive crossbow hanging over his shoulder into a firing position. "Anothuh of yew Suhpent-cuhsed kavi wogs, eh? An' a big one at thet! One moh pelt's going t' pay foh me bearer's blood! Ss'alkran sweahs it."

Chiaroscuro leaps high towards the snake, jaws wide open… barely able to speak in his rage. "LOWWwwaaaaachkkkkk-tkk-TKK!!!" he chatters out.

Chiaroscuro dashes full-throttle towards the snake, jaws wide open… barely able to speak in his rage. "HIIIiiiachkkkkk-tkk-TKK!!!" he chatters out, running across the forest floor.

The grass and stones and trees blur around the mongoose's line of sight, reddening as he hurtles toward his foe, the only thing that remains in stark clarity. Like an onyx statue, the Naga stands, his crossbow trained on Chiaroscuro unerringly. The mongoose's instinct slows things down in his perceptions, and he can hear his blood roar through his ears, his heart beating. Sensory stimulus becomes excruciatingly sharp for Chiaroscuro… he can feel the cold, wet stones beneath his pawpads. The rush of air swirling over his face. The fine details on the crossbowman, like the monocle over his right eye, and some stitching on his overcoat. A clack comes to Chiaroscuro's ears, and a tiny part on the Naga's weapon flicks…

The sky chooses this moment to alight, lightning cracking the heavens like a skyquake as an iron-tipped sliver of death streaks through the air. Chiaroscuro's mind perceives it, and sends messages to body, which strains to respond. It feels like something akin to getting a fully loaded wagon barrelling down a hill to turn, but turn it does. With time frozen around him, Chiaroscuro twists slowly in the air, his blood thundering with a rapid, pounding heartbeat.

Pain.

Pain lances through the mongoose's left arm and a thin ribbon of blood flies from a cut in it… but his momentum carries him on. Bright yellow sparks fly from a boulder as the quarrel caromes off it somewhere behind Chiaroscuro, its wooden shaft bursting into splinters. Then, the mongoose is upon his hated enemy.

A thin column of fur and flesh crashes into the base of the Naga, elliciting something part grunt and part hiss, and bearing it down and back. A tangle occurs, serpentine coils thrashing around sleek fur and clawed limbs. The crossbow clatters into the background. A yell sounds, but it's distant, like in a dream.

The pain in Chiaroscuro's arm has subsided with the flow of adrenaline coursing through, so he barely feels it when he's punched. Once, twice, thrice, the Naga's fists crash into Chiaroscuro's face and upper body, and yet the mongoose brings his head down closer. As if in a grotesque embrace, Chiaroscuro's neck brushes past the Naga's, his wide jaws clamping on the base of the snake's neck. He feels only the tiniest amount of pain in his own neck and shoulder as he wrenches violently. Suddenly, everything is still. Time resumes its course, and Chiaroscuro can once more notice the rain trickling down his face and off his back.

Chiaroscuro does not relax. Not yet… barely even breathing. He pulls himself free from the snake's grip, pulling free from coil and fang and talon. The rain washes over him, strong, renewing, yet the knot in his gut and a quaver in his spine keep him down on his knees.

Chiaroscuro breathes. in… out… in… out… in… and whispers "Arkaatanu, Rik'Tik'Tav. with his next exhalation.

Chiaroscuro's pulse continues to pound in his ears. Heavy, hard, deep… resonant? That isn't a heartbeat. The heat of blood in Chiaroscuro's ears begins to subside, and with his heartbeat quieting finally, a different urgent rhythm can be heard in the distance. Drums.

Lightning flashes overhead again, the thunder vengefully drowning the drumming for a few seconds before they can be heard again. In the brief light of the storm's fury, a shadow crosses Chiaroscuro. Zieekal stands over him, shock and disbelief on his face.

Chiaroscuro lifts his head slowly upwards, eyes easing to… not wholly brown. A red tint still coats the left eye. He gazes up at Zeeikal, words coming slow to his throat. "Look *pant* there, snake *pant* killed Kavi." His right paw lifts quaveringly to the pelts, and the corpse with the crossbow in it… "Tried to kill *pant* me. Dumb snake. *pant* Didn't know, almost sorry.

The Skreek rolls the black body partly over with one foot. Its open jaws snarling, its obsidian eyes stare at the sky, glazed. Sir Vilzoph Ss'alkran, Crossbowman Elite of the Savan League of Hunters, lies dead.

The drums pulse louder, their sound reflected from the trees to make it seem as if they're everywhere.

The river-archer says nothing, but his right paw tightens on his longbow as he looks at Chiaroscuro, then the surrounding forest, the air vibrating with drumbeats. Slowly, he steps back… he continues to back away, his eyes locked on Chiaroscuro, until he reaches the edge of the clearing.

Chiaroscuro aches, thoroughly. A mad tingle in arm and jaw, a swelling of his left eye, pain in other places that won't stop. "Hhhharrh. Blood and bone, it hurts, Kal." the mongoose says, rising up shakily to his feet. "Hurts like Sheol but I won." He looks at the black, dead Naga before him. "Could not kill me. Could not kill me!" He says almost gleefully to the corpse. "You tried. You said I would be another pelt. Not me." *pant* "Not a son of Rik'tik'tav!"

The last of the adrenaline in his body leaves Chiaroscuro, and he sinks, slowly, back to the ground.

The river-ranger stands on the edge of the clearing hesitantly. "You… killed him. But he tried to kill you… or was it… ?" Indecision wracks Kal, torn by what to think… and he simply dashes backward, the forest swallowing him.

Just at that moment, the woods erupt with motion! Hundreds of sleek, sinuous shapes bound into the clearing, each holding a spear like Tik's, or carrying a bent, angular sort of knife. They growl… And then gasp, realizing the snake is dead.

Tik Stub-toe chatters in Kavi to the others (hundreds? No, perhaps ten, but they moved so quickly they seemed like many more), then switches to Rephidim. "You killed the Black Dread! You must be a Great Shaman," he tells the mongoose.

Chiaroscuro watches the Skreek go, resignedly… lacking energy to call to him. . o O ( He thinks I attacked first. But I did not. He came at me and I attacked and I killed him. This is right by Rik'Tik'Tav', it is how it is done. I hope he will understand. But I am right by Rik'Tik'Tav. )

The other warriors gathered look at the mongoose collapsed by the body of the Black Dread… They mutter between themselves, then hold out their crudely carved rikkorels. "Rik'Tik'Tav! Rik velorin selarin!"

Chiaroscuro's eyes fix on Tik, as he pushes himself upright. "I killed him. He came at me and I killed him." He takes a deeper breath. "Nakh attacks, and Rik'Tik'Tav defends and destroys. The Great Battle, and this is how it is lived."

Tik Stub-toe kneels in reverence… Followed by the others, some of whom gesture to the late-to-revere with their hands, folding the lower thumbs in so that they look more like Chiaroscuro's distinctive hands. "You have fought the Great Battle," he agrees. "Now come to our village, Great Shaman, and let us treat your injuries! You will be feasted today."

The largest warrior in the group, nearly as tall as Chiaroscuro, strides forward, kneeling down by the mongoose and clasping his shoulders. "He has done what we could not… that which scourged us lies dead… yes, Stub-Toe, he must come back with us, to our village… can he be the one that we've sought for so long?"

After a moment's contemplation, the warrior, apparently a leader, barks some orders at the rest of the hunting party. They crowd about, and gather up the fallen serpent, and his scattered weapons, while others move around Chiaroscuro to boost the weakened mongoose onto their shoulders, whether or not he protests.

Chiaroscuro nods to Tik, a bit. "Injuries… yes." He pauses dizzily… and Kal is quite forgotten in the haze of celebration. "Let us go… "

The Procession moves, warriors not otherwise occupied chattering amongst themselves excitedly as they go, and occasionally casting awe-struck glances at Chiaroscuro, and the four kavi tribesmen bearing him as gently as possible by shoulders and feet while a medicine man mutters alongside them. They disappear into the undergrowth, and all this is left of the altercation is some blood on the stones, which the storm quickly washes away.