The journey to Kroz has been very trying on the spirits of the surviving crew of the Merryweather. There are enough hands to keep the ship operating, but only barely – and only with everyone pitching in and working long shifts. Barnacle is the ship's only surviving flier who didn't bail out back at Gallis, and he's in no condition to be up trying to patch the envelope … but it's just as well, since the ship's navigator was among the slain, and Barnacle's the next best thing to take up the job of trying to figure out just where the ship is. (Kroz, alas, doesn't have a nice big "Welcome to Kroz" sign visible from the sky, to make it evident when one has arrived.)

The Rath'ani cook, Gooding, took an arrow, and although he's getting around commendably, he has been relying a great deal on Morning-Mist to help out. Everyone has been on minimum rations, since the ship can't afford any trips down to the surface to replenish supplies, if it's to achieve maximum distance before the envelope gives out. Testament-Blaze volunteered to enter a "period of fasting and prayer" until the ship makes landfall in Kroz. At least water isn't a problem, as it has been raining off and on, and the rigging-climbing Khatta, Blynx, as been fixing up pails at the ends of the envelope gutters to gather fresh water when needed.

One of the low points of the trip was the matter of what to do with the dead. At first, Barnacle was determined to just have the bodies set aside, awaiting something approximating decent burial once the ship set down in Kroz. Once the bodies started getting ripe, he changed his mind.

There was quite a bit of debate, but in the end, it was voted that some words for the dead would be said, they'd be checked for any items to be passed on to next of kin (if any), and then they'd simply be chucked overboard with what little decorum could be had with a "burial at sky".

Barnacle was spiteful enough to want to do this over a Gallisian town – It was what he'd want to be done with his corpse, he claimed, after that experience in Fauxpas – but they opted to drop the bodies over a lake instead.

Another low point in the trip would have been the close call with Bosch. Bosch's borders stretch out like tendrils in several directions, and in order to reach Kroz without taking an even larger detour, passing within sight of the Forbidden Zone would be inevitable. Memories are hazy of just what happened that night when the ship drifted along, the unearthly glow of the cursed mountains lighting up the clouds. What was real, and what was only a half-remembered dream? No one seemed too eager to talk about it afterward.

It might have been a dream, but Willow can half-remember being on the deck of the Merryweather, hearing a siren call of singing voices beckoning her to Bosch, with promises of an escape from all her torments, promises of blissful madness. And then suddenly the deck of the airship became a carnival, with Willow wandering around through a freak show. One of the placards proudly announced "The Visible Shiga", and a curtain rose to reveal a tap-dancing lizard lacking any skin. His intestines slowly slipped out of his abdomen as he danced, and his lidless eyes stared directly at Willow through the whole routine. (And, as is the case in so many dreams, Willow couldn't close her eyes, couldn't turn away, couldn't run, couldn't curse or scream.)

"The gate is made, by magic and blade, and all I'm missing is my skin,"

"The lady bought it, her servant got it, so why won't Dagh come on in?"

"The colors shifting, the sand is sifting, on one side are mortal men,"

"I sing this carol, of special apparel, that's a gate to the land of sin."

And then Willow either woke up, or snapped out of it, or who knows what … but the airship is over Kroz now, not Gallis. Forested slopes drift by far below, occasionally dotted with ruined castles or gaping cavern mouths. Crystal-clear mountain streams cascade down through the wilderness, occasionally collecting into small lakes and pools, or plummeting down broken cliffs as waterfalls, and crashing into a white mist where the river begins again – where a faint glimpse of a rainbow can be seen in the spray.

The sun is out, and though the purple mountains bordering Bosch can be seen in the distance, there is no unnatural glow, no whispering music, no sign of anything unusual about that range – nothing aside from some curiously jagged angles that merely hint at something slightly sinister and out of the ordinary.

Over one of the larger lakes, a white-headed giant avian rakhtor can be seen circling, lifting with an updraft. It then wings down toward the forest canopy, bearing down on whatever prey must have caught its eye. When it appears again, it has a struggling deer – of the mundane, four-hoofed and non-sapient variety – caught in its talons, and it wings away back toward its mountain aerie.

In an open field, a herd of wild horse-like Drokars stampedes, startled as the shadow of the airship passes overhead. Some steel-blue krenns sunbathing on a boulder lazily watch from their perch, their tufted tails flicking away at insects.

Further ahead, thin plumes of smoke hint at a civilized settlement. Willow catches a brief glimpse of a castle with tall, thin parapets, flying multi-colored streamers at their peaks … but this is soon obscured by a wooded rise.

"We're too low! We're not gonna clear tis!" caws Barnacle in alarm. "Is tere any ballast to cast?"

The ship lurches as the canopy brushes against some particularly tall trees. Fortunately, Willow has two good legs to stand on now, and she catches herself – She could still benefit from that cane she once had, but enough time has passed that she could safely remove the cast from her right foot. (The left arm, however, will take longer.)

Willow spits out a few obscenities under her breath and tries to pull herself up. "Just the spice in the holds… and I don't know if we have time to haul it out. Do you see a spot to land?"

The ship lurches again, as a few more branches get knocked off of trees by the ship's passing.

"The castle over there! There must be a clearing!" the Skreek shouts out as she fumbles with the balloon's ropes, trying to coax it to rise up just a little bit.

Barnacle caws a few choice words of his own, then simmers. "If we're not going to clear te ridge … ten – Tere's a clearing!" He points a wing-claw at a light spot in the trees near a stream. It's not a clearing, precisely, but it would be a spot to touch down, at least. The surrounding ridges would shield the ship from any winds that might prompt it to go one way or the other.

The castle would just be on the other side of a ridge from the clearing … a few hours' hike at the most, and the latter part of the trip would be downhill.

"Looks like as good a place as any! Commencing landing, Captain!" Willow starts to join in with securing the deck down… since the landing might not be a soft one.

A few more trees get pruned by the passage of the descending airship, and the envelope is visibly sagging … but after a few tense minutes of navigating the ship into the clearing and casting the lines down, the ship is tethered to several more-or-less sturdy-looking trees until a more professional job can be done.

The gray Skreek looks down over the edge of the ship. Land at last. For a while, she didn't think she'd ever set foot on it again.

By the riverside, a fat frog-fish-looking critter wallows in a muddy pool. "FWUH!" it belches out, then submerges under the murk.

Meanwhile, insects in the surrounding woods – momentarily silenced by the disturbance of the approaching airship – click back to life again, filling the air with a reverberating "Neenerneenerneenerneener… "

The loading platform – still intact, unlike the boarding ramp – slowly lowers a few crew members down to the ground. The three Rhians – Hammerhead included – busily hammer pegs into the ground, working on more secure anchoring in case a storm blows through.

"Well, it looks like there might be some hunting at least… although I've not the foggiest what's edible and what isn't." Willow heads back over to the new Korv 'Captain'. "I saw a castle up ahead. Burr and I could probably reach it before nightfall… good a place as any to try to start trading, plus if we're on their lands, they'll probably want to know what's going on with us."

Barnacle looks back at the Skreek. "You sure you don't want anyone else along? We don't know te locals."

Morning-Mist wanders over to a patch of mushrooms, and starts gathering some up, humming to herself as she works.

Willow scratches her head. "You might need every other hand you can manage. If there's monsters and dangerous natives about, I'd rather keep Misty here for the time being until I know it's safe." She turns to look down at the Cervani, her nose twitching. "Hey Misty! Are you sure those mushrooms are safe?"

Morning-Mist looks up at Willow, and smiles. "Of course! We're not far from the Himar Territories. Most of the plants here look to be of the same varieties. And I know not to touch anything I don't recognize." She holds up one of the dull gray mushrooms. "These should cook up nicely, though if you eat them raw, you're asking for a stomach ache. Those red ones over there are to be avoided like the plague, however." She points at a patch of crimson toadstools with black spots.

(Whitehead… ) "Cap, Misty should probably stay here just to make sure that some of the folks with hungrier stomachs don't start grabbing anything edible and shoving them into their faces. If Hammerhead's free, I'll take him, and Testy could probably do with a leg stretch as well. We could carry some of the bits of our cargo and see if we can do some trading along the way, and those two are the strongest backs we have right now." Willow flicks a bit of black hair from her eyes. "I know Krozite, and whatever else might be the native languages, except Bosch… I'm sure we'll manage."

Barnacle nods. "Good idea. I saw tat rakhtor carry off a deer. I'd rather not find out if Cervani might be considered prey out here as well."

Whitehead trundles up. "I'll go along! I can protect Miss Willow," he boasts, showing off a bright yellow grin.

"Riiiight… just like you protected me from Suprier le Chien. I was so unaware that the underside of my bed was such a dangerous post to watch over." The gray Skreek folds her arms (or rather, folds her unhurt arm underneath her arm in a cast). "I'm sure Barnacle can keep you busy here."

Barnacle nods. "Tat I can do easily. Whitehead, get yer tail back up to the gas pump, afore I cut yer tail off!"

The white Skreek quickly scurries off. "Oh! I forgot! Sorry!"

Willow puts two fingers to her chiseled front teeth and whistles sharply, her usual method of summoning Burr.

Burr, in his haste to come over, somehow accidentally manages to bump into Whitehead, and to send the white Skreek sprawling (and cursing a stream of obscenities) in his wake. He bows to Willow, clasping his hands together.

Barnacle caws, "Take yer pick of whatever we have in the hold. If te Captain traded in Kroz before, it wasn't during my watch. I've no idea what tey have around here … or even if tey have airship supplies."

"You clumsy spotty! Bad bad bad!" Willow shakes a finger at the cheetah, although her expression isn't one of displeasure in the least. "Gather up a few odds and ends from the cargo hold; we'll try to take a little bit of everything and see if any of it catches the native's eyes."

Burr bows his head low, looking incredibly penitent. He is so heartbroken that his ears flick in agitation to the point where some deluded soul might even think they might have wiggled. He then darts off to the loading platform.

Willow hops down the gangplank to the large Rhian helping with the moorings, "Hey, Hammerhead… wanna meet and greet the natives here? I need a strong back and a good pair of legs. If you're interested, go and get some boxes together in the hold and help Burr a bit."

Hammerhead whinnies. "Sure! I thought I saw some farmlands here … might be some fresh oats to eat… " On that thought, he follows Burr.

About an hour or so later, still in the morning, Willow and her small band of fellow travelers are set to go. Burr and Hammerhead carry the bulk of the goods from the hold, as well as some supplies. Testament-Blaze carries a much lighter load, naturally.

Testament-Blaze, being the least likely to sample anything from it, carries a jug of ale, and some Gallisian perfumes and ointments. Burr and Hammerhead carry items of metal (including weapons) from Titania, some curios from Chronotopia, and some bolts of cloth from the Himaat.

Willow pauses for a moment to pick a clump of plants at the side of the path, sniff at them and then shove them into her pouch. "It feels good to stretch my legs a bit, although a bit odd that the ground isn't moving… Are you three managing all right?"

Burr just nods. Hammerhead whinnies, "Couldn't be better!" Testament-Blaze, his head towel-wrapped, still manages to look to be in fairly good spirits as he nods in agreement.

"Heh… I suppose that considering two of you need your hands to talk, this is going to be a bit of a quiet trip. Well, if either of you start to get tired, just grunt or something." The Skreek takes another sniff at the air and looks in the direction of the stone tower, trying to judge the time it might take to make it there and what the land looks like between here and there.

The way is uphill for now. It's not a true path, per se, but there are enough spaces between the trees here and there to make what passes for a trail, headed in the general direction of the castle – which is presently out of sight, thanks to all the interposing trees, and the ridge.

At this rate … a good estimate would be that the journey might take about two to three hours. Possibly less, if the opposite side of the ridge has some open fields to go through … or, even better, a road.

"Hey Burr… on the way back, could you yank a branch off one of these trees for me? I should probably start to work on a new walking stick." Willow perks her ears up ahead. "I really hope the natives here are friendly, whatever they are."

Willow catches a faint hint of movement, out of the corner of her eye, to the left.

The Skreek lets a hand slide into her belt where she keeps her throwing knives. She watches the bit of movement out of the corner of her eye, waiting to see what it does for now. Her nose twitches at the air as she tries to pick up a scent from it.

As soon as the Skreek tries to focus on it … it's gone. Whatever it was, it's gone. She's left with a faint impression of something vaguely humanoid and short, however.

"Hey, look!" whinnies the Rhian. He shifts his pack, then points at a particularly large vine-covered tree off to the side. There's something irregular about the mass under those vines … and it looks like there's a bit of stone peeking out from them as well.

Willow shrugs to herself and snuffs through her nostrils. Hammerhead jerks her attention away and she looks at the direction he gestures in. "Mmmm? Some kind of land marker that grew over perhaps?" She shuffles over to investigate.

No special scent reaches Willow's nose. Just trees, plants, mold.

Upon closer inspection, it looks like some sort of stone statue is buried underneath the vines, and that the tree has partially grown around the stone as well.

The vines cover the man-sized statue sufficiently to hide its features, other than to suggest a vaguely humanoid shape … though fairly blocky as well.

"Wow… I wonder if an airship dropped this for ballast a long time ago." The rat smirks and draws out a knife, cutting away at some of the vines as she tries to find any writing on the statue, or to figure out what it's a statue of.

It takes quite a bit of hacking … but at last enough is cut away to reveal a blocky, abstract rendition of a Skreek's head in profile. It seems that this statue is a semi-relief rendering of a Skreek, cut from a block of stone in such a primitive way that the original shape of the block is still suggested. The Skreek stands, head turned to one side, clutching a tablet to its chest. The tablet is covered with well-worn inscriptions.

Testament-Blaze signs, after momentarily setting down the jug, "Odd, that a statue should be left undisturbed for so long, so close to a settlement."

"Heh… Who'd be bored enough to make a statue of a rat?" Willow smirks and peers at the tablet. "There's writing… "

It takes more work to clear away not only vines from the tablet, but grime and grit that has worked itself into the recessed runes. Alas, erosion has worn away sections nearly flat, so it would take quite a study to try to decipher just what might have once been written there. But as fortune would have it, it is recognizable to Willow as written Krozite … a language she happens to have in her considerable repertoire.

A few words can be made out … "Moltpaa … curse … surface dwellers … snicjer … directly looked upon … this plane and the next … warning … afar."

The Skreek drops down from the statue. "Well, maybe we'll have time to eyeball it more on our way back. We probably shouldn't waste too much daylight." Still, she does take a moment to squat down to look at the base of the statue to see if it has a name. "I think this fellow was a guardian of some sort."

No, there does not appear to be any further writing, other than what was on the tablet.

"Does it look important?" whinnies Hammerhead. "Does it have any gems imbedded in it?"

Burr suddenly jerks his head to the right … then looks back to the statue. His tail bristles.

"It's just a statue of a Skreek. Can't be all that important." Willow's eyes narrow and she casts a glance in the direction it looks like Burr had been gazing in. "We should probably get moving again… " She drops to Krozite and chitters out to the trees, "Hello? Is there anyone there? It's all right; we're just some merchants who want to do some trading in exchange for supplies to mend our ship."

The leaves rustle, tousled by a chill wind. It almost sounds like chittering voices in return, but ones that make no sense in their babbling.

Testament-Blaze makes the sign of the Star over his chest.

Willow keeps her knife in her hand. "Let's go… We might have upset someone for trespassing." She jerks her head further up the "path".

There doesn't appear to be anything at all in the direction Burr was glancing … but Willow catches something out of the corner of her eye again … this time to the right and the left: vaguely humanoid shadows.

The Rhian nods, and picks up his pace. "I don't like it here," he snorts.

"Just keep moving, and don't look too nervous. They might just be looking at us to see what we're doing." Still, Willow hurries her pace along as well.

Again, there's something just barely visible in the corner of Willow's eye. It seems that whenever she looks in the direction of one of these creatures that always happen to be in the corner of her eye … they vanish … if they were ever there at all to begin with.

The rat keeps glancing around… leastwise if the critters to too busy ducking and hiding out of view, they might not be able to keep up. "We just need to hurry out of these trees and into an open field. Fewer places to hide that way."

The routine continues … and Willow can observe her companions doing much the same thing – glancing this way and that nervously, rapidly. The leaves rustle even more, and it doesn't take much imagination to hear chittering, unearthly voices in the surrounding woods.

Up ahead, there's a break in the trees – another clearing near the crest of the hill.

"There! Just a little further." Willow drops back a bit to stand behind the group, just on case someone falls and needs a hand up.

As the others break into the clearing, Willow catches another sign of "something in the corner of her eye" this way and that way … but before she can glance to the left … she feels a sharp stab in her side!

The branches shake violently, the leaves rustling and chittering more loudly.

"They're shooting darts! RUN!" Willow grabs at whatever it is that poked her and tries to yank it out.

"Snicjer!" chitters a voice. "Moltpaa!" chitters another. "Die!" says another, distinctly in Krozite. A chorus of other unnatural voices vie for attention in the background.

When Willow grabs at her side … she finds nothing there … nothing except a gash in her side, as if she were struck by a knife. It stings horribly. It burns.

( More poison. ) The Skreek bites her lip and grabs a handful of herbs from her pouch, jamming them over the wound until she can treat herself better later. She breaks into a run towards the opening in the trees.

The roots and the branches themselves seem to reach out to snare Willow … and the clearing somehow retreats in the distance. Willow can vaguely see the shadows of her companions running into the clearing, then stopping and turning to face her … but their forms dissolve away, and the whinnying shout of the Rhian is lost in the cacophony of the screaming leaves. There's another sharp pain, this time in Willow's hip … followed quickly by a slash across her arm. She keeps seeing a shadowy movement – always out of the corner of her eye. Always. But there is no sign of the weapon causing the wound. No sign of a retreating attacker. Nothing but the screaming trees, and the vengeful forest come to life.

( It's a hallucination, Sawtooth… just a hallucination. ) She grabs her knife again and tries to fling it at the dancing shape in the corner of her vision, before bolting for the spot where she remembers the tree opening to be, for all she can manage.

The whole forest seems to be bent on grabbing the rat as she stumbles and runs, and the world itself seems to turn topsy-turvy. As much as her rational mind might label this a hallucination … for some reason her senses are still caught under its spell. Again and again, burning wounds blossom on her body, her attackers always unseen save for out of the corner of her eye.

At last, she stumbles and falls … and feels grass underneath her, not roots or tangles. She is in the clearing … but the leaves still chitter menacingly, uttering threats and nonsense…

… and the world still spins, making it impossible to stand up on two feet and to tell with absolute certainty up from down.

Willow pushes herself back on her feet, chittering back in Krozite, "What the blazes did I do to you? Blasted barbarians!" She drops a hand into her herb pouch and tries to feel around, shutting her eyes tight as she tries to focus on what exactly might have been used to poison her, and if she has the means to do anything about it. ( Kroz poisons that cause hallucinations and burn on contact… think, rat… THINK! )

A rational explanation for these effects eludes the rat. Of course, if it is a poison, it might be affecting her ability to think straight as well … A looming shadow seems to be standing over her … again … out of the corner of her eye … and it looks like a hideous, warped caricature of a Skreek, lacking any fur, having bulbous, surely blind eyes … and a muzzle that looks nearly skeletal, with greatly protruding incisors.

The monster holds a wickedly carved dagger in its hand, poised to strike…

Lacking time to get a weapon in her hands, Willow kicks out at the creature's legs, trying to trip it.

Willow's feet seem to pass right through the creature's legs. Just as the creature is about to strike, however, something whistles past … There's a glint of metal … and when it strikes the monster on the head, it explodes in a burst of black ichor.

The Skreek continues pushing herself backwards (or in the direction she thinks is backwards) just in case there's more of the creatures. She squints her eyes and turns to look in the direction the bolt flew from.

It takes a moment … but reality slowly reasserts itself … though the pain in Willow's many wounds remains. She can make out that some of the trees around her … are actually a couple of cheetahs and a Rhian … looking concerned, but standing back. There's another figure, however – a Cervani in the green garb of a huntsman, with green cloth wrappings offering some camouflage to his face. He lowers a double-stacked crossbow.

"Tell him it is just an illusion," the Cervani says to the others. "The snicjers do not usually affect people so strongly as this. Do not allow him to believe he is dying. It is a strong illusion, and the way they prey on mortals."

The Cervani speaks in Rephidim Standard, with a distinctly Krozite accent.

The Rhian repeats loudly what Willow has just heard with her own ears: "Willow! It's just an illusion! It's not real!" Then, he pauses and looks at the Cervani. "If that was an illusion, how come you just shot it?"

"I hear you." Willow slowly sits up and pats her wounds, inspecting the damage. "Ow. It felt like it cut for real… Either way, huntsman, I owe you and I thank you."

There's no blood … but something in Willow's head is having a hard time believing what her senses tell her. She can still feel the pain. Perhaps it's some sort of side-effect from tensing muscles and shock to the system.

The huntsman brushes aside a long lock of raven black hair. "No thanks are required. I am sorry I did not arrive sooner. I saw the airship landing over the ridge, and sought to reach it in time to warn you of the dangers. This land has many places strong in magic, and not all of the creatures here are of natural origin – let alone benevolent intent."

Slowly the Skreek pulls herself to her feet and walks over to the Cervani. "Such as the fellow we just encountered. Do they just attack people out of the blue, or did we do something that antagonized it?" She rubs her side where the sting of a knife-cut still echoes. "I'm Willow-the-Wisp of the airship Merryweather. We were attacked in Gallis and were forced to land here after our envelope leaked too much. We've suffered high casualties and a lot of damage. Is it all right if we stay on your lands until we repair our ship? We have plenty to trade in return for any help you can offer."

The huntsman answers, "The snicjers are vengeful creatures, halfway between the lands of the living and the dead. Not ghosts, exactly. Just cursed. They are there … yet they are not. It is not anything that can be truly understood … but they cannot exist in the physical world while being directly looked at. Thus, they cannot attack in crowds, but they can attack lone travelers who pass through places that they lurk in. With a group of your size, they should not have posed such a threat. Perhaps those in the wood yonder are stronger than most."

Willow sighs, "Or some of us were weaker than most. I've heard it said by some that I'm more affected by magic than most… I truly hope that you may know of a way around it next time, or a weakness those beasties might have."

The huntsman then says, "Ah. I forget myself. Prince Diamante resides in the castle over there." He points. "I am certain that he would be most willing to show you and your crew hospitality, for journeying so far and only finding trouble at your first landing."

Willow brushes herself off, winces a little and looks off in the direction of the castle. "I hope so. I'll do my best to make a good impression upon the Prince. I… er… hope he won't be offended by a Skreek in his court?"

The huntsman seems taken aback. "Why should I … think that the prince would take issue with a Skreek visiting his court? I am certain that he will be more than happy to have you as a visitor."

"In any case … it looked like you set down by the stream. I'm sure the prince could have a wagon sent out by the old road, and then follow the stream up. It's a bit of a detour, but it should be safer than the direct route," suggests the Cervani.

A smile plays across the corners of the rat's lips. "Then this prince must be a deeply noble and kind man. I look forward to meeting him." She looks to her three companions. "Did we lose any of the supplies?"

Burr shakes his head in the negative.

The Rhian whinnies, "Looks like we kept everything. We packed it all in tight … as we kind of figured we might have to run at some point."

The Cervani offers, "I can either show you a route back to your ship to wait for the wagon … or else you can journey from this point safely on to the castle. There are no further ruins of the ancient empire between here and there."

"Good lads! Just a bit further then." Willow looks back at the 'huntsman'. "Well, we came here to see the castle. Unless our crewmates decide to wander into the forest, they should be fine, and I think they've been through enough as of late to know better than to do that… although we'd be very grateful if we could send one of our number back or a message to the ship to warn them, or at least inform them that we made it through all right." She looks to Hammerhead.

"I could head there myself," suggests the Cervani. "It would be a good chance for me to be absolutely certain of the location of the airship … for when I notify the Prince of the location, so he can send a wagon there."

Hammerhead whinnies, "Or just point the way, and I can head back."

Willow gets an odd-looking quirky smile on her face. "I'm grateful. When you arrive, please ask to speak to someone named Morning-Mist. She's probably worried about us. Our captain is named Barnacle, and is the only Korv on board… Our other captain didn't make it out of Gallis." She clears her throat. "The rest of us can wait at the castle while we ready our stock to be presented to the Prince – if that's all right?"

The huntsman nods. "Morning-Mist … and Captain Barnacle. Got it. Oh … certainly. If you aren't welcomed by the Prince himself, then Mother Diamante will almost certainly have you seated at a table for tea and be talking your ears off in no time."

"We'll do our best to be fine guests in the Prince's house. We have a few items from Abu Dhabi that should make Mother Diamante happy." Willow bows one final time. "Thank you again, sir." She whistles to the two cheetahs and the Rhian. "Hup hup, guys! Just a bit farther to go!"