The Smile of the Strawcrow
Prolgue
It was a particularly dark night in the city of Brakmar. The Brakmarian Royals were pushing the weapon's manufactory to its limits in the hopes of winning the arms race against Bonta and becoming the only political superpower in the ravaged World of Twelve. That night, one of the larger weapon production plants had dumped too much debris into the lava and the volcano was spewing out more smoke than usual, reducing the visibility in the streets to arm's length. Most of the city's inhabitants knew what this meant and stayed inside, while only the bravest and dumbest of the citizens ventured out into the smoke and ash-riddled streets. In one of the more remote alleys of the city, a Crawly of the latter category stumbled to find his way through the smog, completely unaware of the two Srams trailing him from a distance. "Oh man, just my luck," the little demon stammered, "why did he want to meet in Brakmar, of all places?" He stopped for a moment, trying to recompose himself. "All right, Slick, nothing to worry about. Just give him the goods and get out of here. The Master was restoring his strength, so by time he's done, you'll be back and he'll be none the wiser." "Oh, I wouldn't say that," a voice whispered through the smoke. The Crawly spun around, drawing his knife: "Who's there?" Silence. "I have a blade and I'm not afraid to use it!" Still silence. Slowly he tried to back out of the alley when he suddenly felt a presence behind him. "Boo!" He spun around again, ready to attack, but before he could use his weapon, his face met with the fist of one the Srams, catapulting him back into the alley. While the horned imp tried to regain his bearings, the assassin's laughter echoed in the veiled street. "You… you don't know who you're messing with!" he tried, but this only resulted in the laughter turning into a sarcastic chuckle. "Really?" one of the voices spoke, "then enlighten us. Who is it that we should fear? Your momma?" Before the cornered Crawly could reply, the sound of a soft clicking started to fill the alleyway. From the other end of the alley, the second voice whispered: "What the heck? A wind-up Wodent?"
The next instant, the entire scene was engulfed in the blast of a powerful explosion, emanating from where the voice was just before. The shockwave from the blast knocked everyone down and blew away the smoke, revealing the second Sram, surrounded by several small wind-up Wodents wobbling over the pavement. "Oh my Gods…" the skulled robber swore, "What kind of sick joke is this?" As a response to his rhetorical question, a high-pitched giggle resonated from the rooftops. On the ridge of the highest building, a scrawny-looking figure dressed in a strawcrow outfit waved at them: "Hello down there! How do you like my toys?" Trying to get up without touching the Wodents, the Sram yelled back: "You maniac! Who do you think you are, blasting innocent robbers with these walking bombs?" With erratic jumps, the masked man descended from the rooftops like true acrobat, pouncing from drainpipe to window, cackling all the way, landing right next to one the hopping figurines. "Who? These sweet little things?" he mocked, picking up the Wodent bomb, "there's as innocent as a fresh-born Gobbly." He gave the toy a peck on the cheek through his mask and with one swift motion, pulled out the wind-up key. "See," he gloated as he juggled the Wodent in his hand, "completely harmless," after which he hurled it at the nearest building. Both the Crawly and the Sram ducked for cover, expecting another blast as the figure hit the wall, but were surprised to find that it just bounced right off and fell on the floor, motionless. "Are you kidding me?" the Sram scowled as he picked up one of the stuttering toys and grabbed it's key. "It's that easy? You really are…" But before he could finish his sentence, the alley was once again filled with the sounds and sights of violent explosions, knocking the Crawly unconscious this time.
When he regained his senses, his head was still ringing from the blast, but in the back he could hear voices of what he assumed were Brakmarian guards and the soft giggling of the mad bomber. "Oohh, my head," he uttered as he tried to figure where he was. After a few moments, he jerked as he realized that he hung on the ridge of one of the rooftops surrounding the alley. He clung to the roof tiles and stared into the deep where the guards were investigating the murder scene of two innocent Srams. He slowly crawled away from the ledge when he suddenly felt a foot on his back, pinning him down on the roof: "Well, that was fun," the Strawcrow giggled, "Now for business: did you bring the goods, Shorty?" The Crawly tried to face him, but the masked man pushed him back down. "Y-y-yes, My Lord," the demon stammered, point at his chest, "I have the plans right here." "Wonderful!" he exclaimed in a high-pitched voice, "Gimme, gimme, gimme!" He lifted his foot, but before the horned dwarf could move, he grabbed him by his cowl and lifted him so they were eye-to-eye. The Crawly nervously searched the inside of his vest and after a few seconds, produced a cylindrical leather container: "He-he-here you are, M-M-My Lord." "Perfect!" the Strawcrow laughed as he grabbed the cylinder and tossed the hooded little man as if he were a ragdoll. The Crawly tumbled down and was barely able to hang on to the edge of the rooftop. While he was clawing his way back to the ridge, the masked man studied the contents of the container: "Well, well, this sure looks like the real thing." He rolled up the scrolls and put them into his haven bag. "So that loony loner actually did it. Ooh boy, this is going to be good!" The scrawny figure was bouncing up and down out of pure excitement, when a weak voice sounded at his feet: "My Lord, we must make sure that the Master doesn't find out about this." "You again?" the Strawcrow grunted and he picked up the Crawly by his collar this time. "If the Master learns of my betrayal," the little one continued, dangling over the rooftop, "he'll have my head for sure!" "Oh, but don't you worry," the Strawcrow said surprisingly soothing while digging through his haven bag with one hand, "I'll never let awful mister crackpot take your tiny little head…" "Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you, My Lord," the Crawly started, but the masked man continued, suddenly vicious: "…because there won't be enough pieces of you left to fill a flower pot!" He pulled a little stuffed Tofu from his bag, jammed it into the demon's hands and propelled him back into the alley. On street level, the guards looked at each other as they heard a terrified screaming sound approaching. They then looked up just in time to see the Crawly and his Tofu-bomb explode, filling the alley with a blazing inferno for the third time that night.
The deserts of Kalf-Cil-Fel, a barren wasteland located on one of the many islands that form the remains of the World of Twelve. None of the existing kingdoms had tried to claim this territory, as it was all but sand and rocks from coast to coast, with no natural resources. No life could thrive here, yet in the middle of this no man's land, a band of three slowly marched through the desert sands to an unknown location: they were the Rho family, consisting of father Pocso, mother Ria and their newborn son Egol. They were Pandawa fugitives ever since their homeland sank beneath the waves of Ogrest's Chaos. With all certainty gone from their previously carefree life, they had adopted the life style of the drifter, always looking for a new safe haven to call their home. But with the birth of their son, doubt had filled their hearts: "Would they ever find a new Pandala? And could they provide for themselves and their son until they did?" That's why they had decided to do right by their son and insure his future in the ever-changing World of Twelve. They had heard of a congregation of Xelors who were dug in deep in the mountains of Kalf-Cil-Fel and who had weathered out the Tempest since the Age of Dofus. This would be the perfect shielded environment for their son to grow up in, but since they themselves would not be allowed inside the monastery, it would mean they would have to abandon him there. And it was this feeling that was starting to sink in as they approached the monastery's main gates. "Are we sure we're doing the right thing?" Ria asked her husband, "Maybe we should still try to raise him according to the ancient traditions?" Pocso sighed: "Pandala is gone. The old masters have disappeared. Our way of life as we knew it has ceased to exist. We alone are not enough to instruct him, Ria." "But if we leave him here, they'll turn him into one of them. He'll never learn our drinking songs, the exhilaration of a good brawl or the quiet contemplation of a hangover." Pocso turned to his wife and son and gently embraced them in his arms. As he gently caressed her, he whispered: "I know it's hard, but we must do what's best for Egol. Everywhere you look, people seem to struggle for life. We ourselves don't even know what the next day will bring. This monastery is no KanoJedo, I'll admit that. But at least it is a place of peace and order away from the chaos of the world. And isn't that what we want that for our son? A stable home where he can play without having to worry about starvation, floods or roaming bandits?" Ria wiped away her tears as she looked at her baby boy, sleeping peacefully in her arms, amidst his parents' embrace. "He deserves a better childhood than we can offer him, doesn't he?" she sniffled and looked pleadingly at her husband, knowing that her bleeding mother's heart was no match for the overwhelming arguments of a world in ruin.
She fought her oncoming tears and nodded to Pocso, who waited a few more moments before ringing the monastery's bell. With a subtle flash, the bell transformed into a Sinistro, a small flying Xelor summon. Its eyes flashed and the Pandawas heard a far-off voice seemingly coming from the mouthless creature: "Who are you, strangers, and what business do you have with the Hand of Xelor?" "W…we are Pandawa fugitives and we've come to ask a favor of you, good sir." The eyes flickered some more, but no sound was heard. After a few heartbeats, the Sinistro's eyes extinguished and it transformed back into a bell. The Pandawas waited a little more and just when they thought they had worn out their welcome, the gates slowly opened. A lonely figure in brown habit, with only his blue glowing eyes visible underneath his cowl, approached them: "Greetings, strangers. Welcome to the Hand of Xelor. Please, come in, before the desert sun breaks through the clouds." The couple grabbed their few belongings and followed the cloaked figure into the dark corridor of the monastery.
The Pandawas followed their guide uneasily through the many narrow hallways, scarcely greeted by other cloaked monks. Ria and Pocso looked at each other, feeling the other's doubt growing with every obscure turn they took. But as the approached the central part of the complex, their worries started to wane as the narrow hallways were replaced with open atria filled with indirect sunlight and with many uncloaked monks, practicing the Xelor arts. On one of the squares, Xelors were levitating and teleporting, while on the other one, they were manipulating objects from a distance, making them float or launching them at set targets. After another corridor, they passed by a large room where everything seemed to move in slow motion as several monks were honing their time manipulation skills. From here, their silent guide led them into a large refectory, where most of the tables had been stacked on one end of the cafeteria to make room for another class. The Xelor pointed them to one of the few tables still standing: "I suppose you two are starving. I'll ask the kitchen to prepare you a meal and see if they can whip something up for the baby." They tried to protest politely, but the monk continued as if he hadn't noticed their attempt to interrupt him: "The abbot will come and greet you as soon as possible. Please make yourself comfortable, but do not disturb the lesson." He made a small bow as only a Xelor can (almost like an automaton) and exited through one of the many doors. The Pandawas sat themselves down on the bench and for the first time since debarking from the ship, they truly relaxed. They leaned against the refectory's back wall and while Ria tried to soothe little Egol, Pocso observed the class at the other end of the room.
The Xelor had just unrobed and put their habits neatly at the side of the room. Lining up 4 by 4 monks in a perfect square, they faced their instructor. "Very well, brothers and sisters," the instructor started, "we've been training on the one handed combat for some weeks now. It is time to move on to two handed, as the Great Xelor Himself intended us to." Pocso grinned. He remembered that when he was young, the Xelors' weapon of choice was the hammer, because it was the weapon the god Xelor wielded and had used to create time. But for some reason, this bunch decided otherwise. "All right," the teacher continued, "the time is now: summon your weapon!" The Xelor pupils started gesticulating stiffly and with amazing synchrony, 16 almost identical weapons came into existence right before their owners. These weapons, spear-like in appearance, could only be described as the hands of a clock, stuck on 6 o' clock, with a handle inside the central axis. "All right, first, let's repeat our exercise from last lesson." In unison, the Xelors took hold of the floating weapon with one hand and started a pattern of movements with the spear, consisting of swirling, jabbing and blocking. "Hm, not so different from the KanoJedo from back home," Pocso thought to himself. When all students had finished the exercise, the teacher instructed: "Now, let's see how good you practiced the new techniques we gave you. Time for Split Second!" On this cue, the Xelor monks grabbed their weapon with both hands and in a short flash, the weapon was turned from a one-handed spear into two separate weapons, with the minute hand being wielded as a sword and the hour hand as a dagger. With both weapons in hand, they turned to the monk next to them and started a second series of exercises, with one attacking the other and the other using one of the hands to block and the other to counterattack. This spectacle of movements was an impressive sight to behold, certainly because all 8 Xelor pairs were performing the attacks synchronously, making them look like copies of one another.
When the clattering of weapons ceased, the instructor held the tension for a few seconds before addressing his pupils: "Very good. You all remembered to synchronize your attacks with the temporal waves from the Great Clock. Excellent work! Now, for today's lesson, we'll learn how to use these weapons to compliment our other skills." He stretched out his hand and called: "Hora Prima!" resulting in a similar spear to appear in his hand. The weapon was obviously more detailed than those of the students and looked like it had seen its fair share of excitement. He held it in front of him with both hands: "As you already know, true manipulation of time and space requires your mind to be completely focused, so it cannot be bothered to spend any of its energy on the wielding of your weapons. Therefore the two hands must become extensions of your body, extensions of your mind. Just like you don't think about how to use your hands or feet all the time, so should it be with your Hora Prima. Allow me to demonstrate." With a small flash he disappeared, only to reappear moments later in the same spot, but this time levitating with his arms crossed over his chest and his two weapons rotating around his body as hands on a clock. With another flash, he teleported to one of the corners of the refectory where a straw training dummy stood waiting for him. With a few simple gestures, the weapons started spinning faster and glowing. Then, in what only seemed a second to Pocso, the hour hand extended, pushing the doll into the air, followed by the minute hand that was launched and pierced the doll's chest. Before anyone could blink, the hand lodged in the straw man started to glow and dissipated, leaving only a few ice crystals and causing the doll's descent to slow down to a crawl. Simultaneously, the minute hand reappeared in orbit around the Xelor while the hour hand fired an energy beam at the falling dummy, accelerating it back to normal speed and propelling it against the wall. When the remains of the doll hit the floor, the instructor teleported in front of his students with both feet on the ground and his weapons gone again.
Pocso rubbed his eyes, hardly believing what he saw: "Well, that is something else. Maybe the old masters could learn a thing or two here." "Good day," a warm but at the same time metallic voice spoke through his train of thoughts, "my name is Kimota. I am the abbot of this monastery. I have asked the kitchen to take your meals to a more serene location. Please follow me." The abbot guided them back to one of the atria they had passed with their previous guide, with the only difference that it now was devoid of monks. "It is the hour of prayer at the Great Clock," the abbot explained as they sat down under the porch surrounding the courtyard. "Here, we take the commitment to our God very serious. Now, I've been told that you had a request..." Savoring the sober meal the monks provided, Pocso and Ria told the abbot about the disappearance of their land, their search for a new home and the hardships they endured on their path. The Xelor listened politely, nodding from time to time, until the couple finished their tale with their arrival at the monastery. "The World of Twelve has indeed become a most chaotic place to live in since the Ogre's ascension of Mount Zinit. Thank the gods that they've tried to provide for us survivors to the best of their extent."
"Yes," Pocso continued uneasily, "now that's where our request comes in." Ria squeezed her husband's hand. "You must understand," he gulped, "it is with a heavy heart that we ask this favor of you. We feel that we no longer can provide for our little boy in this pandemonium of a world." "That's why," Ria cut in, "we would appreciate it very much if we could leave our little Egol in the secure care of your order." The abbot seemed to consider this for a moment: "This would not be the first time that we would take newborns into our ranks, but most of the time, they are left at our doorstep, with no proof of who they or their parents are." He stared at them intensely: "you do realize that we will teach him in the way of our order? He will become a full-fledged member of the Hand of Xelor and a follower of our god. There will be no way back later. The path of Pandawa will be forever closed to him." The Pandawas looked at each other and nodded: "We understand. But the survival and happiness of our son are more important than the continuation of our religion or traditions." "You most love your son very much to make such sacrifice," the abbot commented, "And I promise you that we will take good care of your son. The Hand of Xelor does not forsake its followers, but we are no secretive cult either, so you are welcome to contact or visit your son as much as you like. We have missionary posts all over the World of Twelve, so if you want to write, they will make sure your letters reach him here." The abbot got up and stroked little Egol, who had fallen asleep again: "I will send for two of our sisters to accompany you to Egol's living quarters. They will be responsible for his care the first years of his life, so do not hesitate to question or advise them." The old –as far this is applicable to Xelors– monk bowed and left the couple to enjoy the company of their son for a little longer.
Gnashville, a run-down town located on the outer edge of the Brakmar volcano. While most of the town was built on the white cliffs rising high above the ocean's waves, there were a few houses and docks constructed at the bottom of the cliff, serving as one of the harbors supplying Brakmar with the necessary goods from other islands. As farming is a rare profession in the volcanic kingdom, the importance of its harbors grew exponentially with the increase of the Brakmarian population and a lot of effort and kamas were put in the expansion of these makeshift docks. The Brakmarian builders, in their enthusiasm, had gone as far as excavating the bottom of the cliffs. This resulted in the collapse of a part of the rock formation and the disappearance of a few of the Gnashville residents, temporary bringing the harbor expansion to a halt and separating the newly built piers underneath the town from the rest of the docks. These desolate docks quickly became a safe haven for the local rodent population and were swarming with rats, ratous and even skeleton rats. The critters had a found a way through the debris and used the cave-like space to take a moment's rest from the incessant hunting of their kind by just about everyone above them in the food chain. But it seemed that even their new lair would not offer them the peace they sought, as the sea water suddenly started to glow and bubble, softly at first, but more intense by the minute. Not knowing if the bubbles were friend or foe, the rodents did what rats do best and hightailed out of their compromised sanctuary as fast as they had entered it.
Just as the last rat left the docks, a metal pod the size of a small row boat breached the surface, featuring an illuminated porthole on its front, a hatch on top and a rudder-propeller combination on its rear. After bobbing aimlessly between the docks for a few minutes, the light from inside extinguished and the hatch opened with a loud squeaking noise, revealing a young green-haired man wearing a blue naval uniform with white hems and a little pince-nez. He scanned the environment, apparently looking for something specific and after a while, started to grumble to himself: "I knew I shouldn't have trusted that fool. How could I be so stupid to trust a man in a mask?" He was about to re-enter his pod when a soft chuckle was heard above the sound of the waves: "Shame on you, Ye of little faith!" The pod passenger spun around and revealed a Feca gear on his right arm, summoning a bubble of water around him and his vehicle. "Now, now, Professor, not so jumpy," a voice jested from the shadows. The Feca dismissed his magical shield and composed himself: "It's merely 'assistant' for now, Strawcrow, as you very well know. But that might all change in the very near future. That is, if you held your part of the bargain, of course." He disembarked and approached the figure in the shadows when suddenly two figures fell from the ceiling onto the pier, blocking his path. They both were about as tall as the strawcrow man but certainly not as scrawny. They were dressed in similar rags, with the only difference that one of them wore a Pumpkin head, as seen on Al Howlin, and the other one wore a Shafer cranium instead of the jute strawcrow mask. "So where do you think you're going?" the Pumpkin head spoke as he produced a large hammer from behind his back. "Yeah," the Skull head spoke, wielding a formidable axe with both his hands, "no one talks to the boss without first talking to us." Before the Feca could react, a loud cackle was heard from behind the bodyguards, followed by the Strawcrow jumping in between them and shoving them both from the pier. "Heckle! Jeckle! You lug nuts!" he shouted as his henchmen hit the water, "Doctor Knarf is our friend. He is the one that will make all our dreams come true," he continued in softer tone. "And besides, talking to you two is about as useful as petting a rock." The two masked men splashed and fluttered in the salty water as they tried to remain afloat without losing their weapon.
"I dare not imagine what your dreams are," the spectacled man said disdainful as the strawcrow man put his arm around his shoulder. "Oh, you know, doc, I just want to put a smile on everyone's face." With his face only inches from that of the Strawcrow, the Feca noticed for the first time that where the mouth of the mask was stitched, its wearer had painted a thin, red smile over it. "Is that… human blood?" The masked man almost seemed flattered: "Oh, you like it? I thought: if you want to change the world, start with yourself." Knarf looked at him disgusted: "You truly are insane." "Maybe so," the Strawcrow laughed, "but at least I'm a strawcrow of my word." He produced the cylindrical container from his haven bag and dangled it before the Feca's eyes. "Isn't this what you were looking for?" Knarf snatched the container from his hands: "Give me that!" As he went through the scrolls, he's eyes gleamed with delight. "This is it! This is the missing piece I was looking for! Now, with a few adjustments, we…" As he noticed the three strawcrow men staring at him, he recomposed himself, trying to hide his obvious excitement. "I must say, Strawcrow, this certainly exceeds my expectations. It would have taken us decades to come up with these solutions." "Oh, I'm glad to hear that, doctor. After all, we had to take quite some risks in acquiring these scrolls," the Strawcrow said in a serious tone of voice. The Feca sighed: "Is this were you start haggling and tell me that is worth twice the kamas you were promised? Because really, Strawcrow, I…" But before he could finish his sentence, the strawcrow man leapt at him in sudden rage, grabbed his vest with one hand and lifted him a few inches of the ground. "Money?" he almost screamed, "You think I'm in this for the money?" He hoisted the startled man over his pod and dropped him in the hatch. "You pitiful, narrow-minded human!" He jumped on the pod and leaned inside. "You know our deal" he hissed while the Feca tried to recover from his fall, "And if I find you backing out of that deal…" He let the silence linger for a few heartbeats, then slowly retracted his head. "Well, let's just say you do not want to go there." As sudden it came, the threat from his voice vanished again: "Now, I suppose you have lots of tinkering to do, so don't let us hold you." He slammed the hatch shut and jumped back on the pier, while inside the Feca franticly tried to lock the hatch and start his submarine simultaneously. After a few failed attempts, the small pod lit up and disappeared in a cloud of bubbles and gurgles. The Strawcrow watched the light and bubbles of the pod slowly disappear in the murky depths of the ocean, then turned to his soaked henchman and said in a cheery voice: "Well that was fun, wasn't it?"
Chapter 1
In the monastery, Egol grew up to become a fine young man, unaware of the Tempest that still razed the world outside. He learned the way of the Xelor and regulated his 'inner clock' to the ever present tick and tock of the Great Clock of Xelor, buried deep in the mountainside, in the deepest levels of the monastery. According to the scriptures, the Clock had run continuously since the dawn of the order when the first monks witnessed the god Xelor himself sculpt the Great Clock out of the mountainside rock with his divine hammer. The first time Egol had been allowed to behold the Clock in its all glory was at his mummification ceremony. This is a ritual in the order which all novices have to go through before they are allowed to pray at the Great Clock. It consists of the novices being completely mummified, face and all, by the other monks. They are then led by their brothers and sisters to the hall of the Clock where they have to prove their devotion by offering a day of their time to the clock. This is achieved by transferring enough of their time into the great Needle, effectively freezing themselves in time. What seems like a mere second to them is 24 hours for the rest of the world. This experience can be very daunting the first time, so that is why the novices are blindfolded with their newly acquired bandages. If they succeed, their faces are cut free and they receive their Xelor armor. If they fail, they're guided back to the monastery blindfolded, are freed from their bandages and are allowed to try again with the next mummification ceremony. Egol was only ten when he participated in the ritual and was one of the youngest novices ever to succeed on their first trial. This feat gained him much respect in the congregation and by the time he reached the age of twenty, he was one of the most gifted pupils the Hand of Xelor had in their ranks. Therefore it did not take the Elders long to select Egol Rho to become one of their missionaries, the next step to becoming a senior monk in the order. His mission: to head out in to the World of Twelve to convince others to change their ways and join the Hand of Xelor. Normally, most monks would stay at the monastery until they were at least thirty years of age before being sent into the world, but the abbot believed they could not ignore Egol Rho's abilities. For his mission, he was appointed a personal Sinistro called Platine as a companion and a communication link with the Monastery, as Sinistros are able to travel the corridors between time and space. The rest of his equipment issued by the Order consisted of a Haven Bag, a brown cowl against the desert heat and a large pocket watch which was able to store small amounts of time, similar to a Xelor Dial. All the followers of the Hand of Xelor use it to 'collect' time and offer it to the Great Clock of Xelor. The only personal belongings Egol took with him for his journey were all the letters his parents had written him and the drawing one of the sisters had made of him with his parents when they last visited him, almost 5 years ago. After that, Egol had received no more letters or no more Sinistro-calls from them. Fearing the worst, he secretly hoped to find out more about their sudden disappearance on his mission through the World of Twelve.
Egol started his journey with great anticipation, as he had not seen the outside world since his arrival at the monastery and he was very eager to show the inhabitants of the World of Twelve the Way of Xelor, so he could enlighten them just as he had been. But nothing in the monastery could have prepared him for what he met there: the scorching trip through the desert was but the tip of the iceberg that is the World of Twelve. Imagine his surprise when the desert suddenly halted and became an ocean. His path blocked by the endless water, he looked around him and noticed a small shack a bit further down the beach. Before checking out the little hut, he told Platine to conceal herself, as she could scare the locals. With one little affirmative click, the Sinistro transformed in a Tofu, undistinguishable from the other pudgy yellow birds populating the World of Twelve, except for the ticking sound she made. As he approached the hut, he noticed different wares on display and a white banner with a big blue W hanging lifelessly on the side. It had all the appearances of a small stall, but with no other signs of life anywhere to be seen, it look rather out of place. When he came within arm's reach of the goods, a strange little man suddenly popped up from inside the cart: "Welcome, valued customer, to BMW! Beach Market Wally, that is, part of the Wally Maart Corporation, where we have low prices, always!" With his cheap knock-off pioneer costume, hat and all, and his big red beard, the storekeeper looked a bit like a leprechaun that had outgrown his brethren. "So, what can I interest you in, my good man? Maybe some fresh fish? Such a trip through the desert would make even the most ascetic monk a bit peckish. Or maybe a sip of 'Essence de Chardonnay'? It will fix those dried lips and throat for you and will make the mirages to come look that much more appealing." Egol tried to intervene, but the man was obviously on a roll. "But hey, if you're not in the mood for a picnic, why not work on your style? The cowl and cloak combo is so last year. So why don't you add some class to your looks with this nifty straw hat, with the added bonus that it will guard you from the sun's blistering heat, because, boy, it sure is hot here! Speaking about hot, what about this necklace? It's adorned with a beautifully cut Kralamulet, letting the ladies out there know that you're a man who wears his heart on his chest. Beware, this works on female Kraloves as well." Egol and Platine looked at each other and decided that there was no further point in staying. Egol politely pushed away the necklace the shopkeeper was dangling it a few inches from his face and started to walk away.
But before they had made one step, the man had slipped out of his shack and was standing next to Egol: "Oh, come now. Is there nothing old Wally can sell you? I even have maps of the desert." He pulled out a blank scroll and showed it to the Xelor smilingly. "No, really," Egol tried again, "the Hand of Xelor has provided me with everything I need. By the way, I don't have any kamas on me." Wally's tone and expression suddenly changed: "Oh. Well, if that's the case, I won't hold you any longer. Happy trails and don't forget Wally's Market when you have earned some money." Egol tried to respond, but the Enutrof was already back in his shop, putting back the wares he had shown. "No, wait," Egol suddenly realized, "there may be one thing you could do for me." "Without any kamas?" Wally grumbled, "I don't think so." "That fish you showed me. Where did you get it?" The shopkeeper stared at him for a few seconds in disbelief. "Boy, look around you. We're on an enormous beach, right next to an even bigger ocean. You do the math." "No, what I meant," Egol said as the Enutrof resumed his work, "is that I'm looking for safe passage to one of the three nations." "Three?" Wally raised his eyebrow, "little monk, how long have you been locked up in that monastery of yours?" Egol considered this, but Wally did not wait for his answer: "Oh, never mind. If you keep following the shoreline towards the east, you'll find a small fishermen's village. Maybe there you can convince someone to take you on board, for free." These last words obviously left a bitter taste in the Enutrof's mouth as he gave a little shudder before continuing with setting up his shop. Egol started to leave, but then thought of something: "Say, mister Maart, why does anyone decide to set up shop…" "No more freebies!" the shopkeeper yelled and smacked his shutters shut. For a moment Egol considered apologizing for not buying anything, but not seeing the point, he started to follow the desert beach until he reached the small outpost, just as Wally had told him. It consisted of several small huts and one rackety pier. The little harbor was deserted, but the huts seemed as they were being lived in from time to time. But judging from the clutter, the inhabitants were more interested in keeping their food within arm's reach of their hammock than in tidiness and personal hygiene. Egol, exhausted from his daylong walk, sat himself down by the pier and promptly fell asleep in the peaceful glow of the setting sun.
The air of the Sufokian war room was rife with tension. This kind of meetings had been occurring with increasing frequency of late, but with decreasing efficiency. They all knew the problem at hand, but none knew the answer. Sufokian King Beesmark stared at his council, eyeing each of them individually for a heartbeat before moving on to the next. They were his most trusted advisors, ready to give everything they've got for their nation, but for the moment they looked more like little schoolchildren about to be punished, not daring to meet his gaze. Only his son, the young Prince Adale sitting at his right hand side, kept stirring his cup stoically. "So, this is it?" he asked into the silence, "This is how the toiling and hardship of the generations before us will be rewarded? Not with a shining city above the waves, but with a drowned ruin in the deep?" Koky Seinjack, the treasurer of Sufokia, was the first who dared to respond, albeit with a slight quiver in his voice: "Now, Your Majesty, our situation is not that dire. The numbers just state that if we maintain our current energy consumption," he pointed at the papers spread on the central table, "we will run out of resources in more or less 9 months time. But if we cut back on all non-vital activities, we might be able…" "Cut back?" Admiral Belvu intervened, "What would you have my men do? Empty all our submarines' Stasis reservoirs and start paddling?" General Mofette tried to calm his friend: "Come now, Omar. He was not referring to the navy in particular. We will all have to make sacrifices to keep our kingdom up and running." "Up and running?" King Beesmark, obviously agitated by the general's choice of words, remarked. "Our goal, dear General, is not to keep Sufokia dangling by a thread over the abyss of oblivion. The sea levels are dropping for the first time since centuries, our former kingdom is rising above the water again and we are not there to nurture and guide it. Soon, if we would try to reclaim our former land, the New Sufokians will see us as invaders and repel us! We must be present at this rebirth of our nation." "Your Majesty," Prime Minister Buya Beize calmly spoke, "as you all know, first contacts have been made with the current government of New Sufokia and without revealing too much about our city's predicament, we've been able to secure some guarantees about our migration to the main land." The admiral protested: "But that would be as refugees! Not as the proud Sufokians that have survived for centuries beneath the waves, preserving our culture, our heritage!" Buya nodded politely. "Indeed, Admiral, but the alternative would be to tell the whole world that we had an entire city on the bottom of the ocean for years but failed to preserve it. And now, after a millennium of hiding from the world, we come knocking at their door, pleading them to take us in. Where is the honor in that?"
Next to him, Prince Adale felt his father tremble with rage. "We did not fail!" the king thundered as he slammed the table with the flat of his hand. "And Sufokia does not beg! We will raise this city and regain our former place in the world!" The prime minister, together with the rest of the war room, were taken aback by this reaction: "No, of course not, Your Majesty. This exodus is but a contingency plan for the worst case scenario." Seinjack came to his college's aid: "As we speak, Your Majesty, we are putting all our efforts in finding new sources of Stasili. We have even started up trade routes to import the mineral from other nations." "Trade routes," General Mofette grumbled disdainfully, "more like a smuggling network. If the other nations would learn that we are robbing them of this precious ore, it would give them reason enough to start an outright war against us! And who could blame them? We should concentrate our efforts on our own excavation. Our deep sea mining has been producing Stasili at a constant pace lately and the latest reports indicate that our scouts are on the verge of unearthing a new vein." The treasurer grabbed one of the papers on the table and pointed to a graph showing a sharply ascending line crossing a steady climbing line : "That won't be enough, General. Our numbers show that it is not only the acquirement of new fuel that poses a problem, but also -and maybe even more so- our energy consumption. This has gone up exponentially in the last years while the inflow, as you stated yourself, General, remains more or less the same, with a slightly stronger growth the last year due to our own underwater mining operations. Simply put: our energy demand is too high for our current supplies."
"Now that's a problem we've been addressing for some time now," Admiral Belvu said with renewed vigor. "Our research department keeps spewing out fancy new technology without taking into account their massive Stasis consumption." "But that's only side of the story," Vidar Mofette intervened, "The flipside of the coin is that these new devices have also allowed us to explore new regions and even enabled us to find Stasili on the bottom of the sea. Ten years ago, this was unthinkable. I've also read in their rapports that they did not ignore our advice: for the last months their focus has shifted towards alternative energy sources and the renewal of energy. I still have faith that our greatest minds will find us a way out of this impasse." "But will it be enough?" Koky Seinjack sighed, "As the forecasts are now, this research seems too little, too late." "And we must not forget, over the years our city's systems have been augmented with their inventions," Buya Beize continued, "to improve our life's standard, for sure, but now they've become such an integral part of our infrastructure that removing them is nigh impossible. We cannot reduce our city's energy consumption, even if we wanted to."
"All right," the king said, seemingly calmed down, "we won't find the solution to our problem here today, as was to be expected. But now we have learned that there is not one clear-cut path out of this threatening storm, but rather several different routes, all veiled in doubt. But we would be foolish fishermen should we concentrate on only one of them. Throw out all our nets and let us try to catch as many as we can!" He turned his gaze towards Belvu and Mofette. "Gentlemen, all military activity is to be reduced to the bare minimum and all spare soldiers are to be assigned to the mining operation. We must double our efforts to uncover those new Stasili veins. General, I want you to coordinate this mission. Do not come back before every grain of Stasili has been extracted from the bottom of the sea." "Yes sir, Your Majesty," Vidar saluted in his seat. The admiral tried to interject, but King Beesmark beat him to it: "Admiral, I'm putting you in charge of our research department. You are free to use whatever means disposable to further and speed up their developments. Make sure that they do not put all their effort in this energy consumption problem though, because when the time is right, our city must be ready for 'Operation Breach' as well. The importance of this vital part of our plans cannot be underestimated." Omar Belvu saluted, but Prince Adale noticed that he slumped slightly in his chair. He obviously did not agree with the king's approach, but this could not dampen Beesmark's spirit: "Prime Minister, you will contact New Sufokia's governor and start negotiations through him with the other nations and kingdoms. Maybe we can convince some of them to aid us in our plight or at least solidify our trade network." "This might not be so easy, Your Majest…" "No one said it would be easy, Mister Beize," the king interrupted, "As I stated before, we do not expect to reel in every fish, but if we don't cast our hooks, we'll be shark bait for sure." The prime minister nodded concededly. Next to him, Koky the treasurer gave the king an expecting look. "For you, Mister Seinjack, my orders are to fortify and expand our import of Stasili. We must address every available source to its fullest extent." General Mofette stirred again in his seat: "Your Majesty, are you honestly saying that on one hand, we must try to contact the other nations to get them to trade their Stasili with us, while on the other hand, we'll keep smuggling it out of their countries? This move could blow up in our faces faster than a Don Puffnando on a hot beach."
"We cannot risk to play it safe, old friend," Beesmark said in an almost melancholic voice, "our nation's future hangs in the balance. We will pay the piper after we have preserved our way of life for future generations." He stood up from the table and walked to the curtain covering one side of the room. He pulled it away, revealing a large porthole looking out over the sunken city of Sufokia. The city was riddled with lights and portholes, illuminating the bottom and the surrounding waters and attracting many kinds of fish and plant life. "It's hard to imagine that now almost a thousand years ago, our forefathers fought against the upcoming waters of the Ogrest's Floods and managed to keep our city alive, even when it was swallowed whole by the violent torrents. And how they kept its heart beating with pumps and bellows, not fed by this devil's ore, but powered by the people themselves, who worked around to clock to preserve their nation rather than abandon it and flee to safety." The councilmen looked at each other, not daring to interrupt their monarch. "No, gentlemen, we cannot allow their legacy to be swallowed by the deep. We've fought the sea for a millennium now and we cannot let it win! Even if it costs us our very souls, Sufokia will rise!" All men except the prince stood up and shouted: "Hail Sufokia!" The king stared at his advisors, recognizing again the men who had done anything to support him and who would go to great lengths to protect their kingdom. He knew in his heart that this was not the honorable way out, but as a Snapper caught in a net, they were struggling with every last ounce of their strength to escape their seemingly inevitable fate. "Thank you, my friends. Now, go forth and save Sufokia!" The men bowed or saluted and left the war room, each with their own impression of the decisions made that meeting.
As the general closed the door behind him, Prince Adale took a last sip from his cup of now lukewarm beverage: "Stirring speech, Father." Beesmark was staring out the porthole again and did look away, but only asked: "You disapprove, Adale?" The prince stood up: "Certainly not, Father. I just don't know if each of your confidants will fulfill his assigned task with the same enthusiasm." "You are referring to Admiral Belvu?" "And Prime Minister Beize as well," Adale explained as he joined his father by the window, "Neither of them seemed very eager with the instructions you gave them." "Omar and Buya have served Sufokia with extreme loyalty and zest all these years. I trust them to do right by Sufokia, even it goes against their own judgment. They understand the sacrifice I requested from them. Don't go doubting your subjects, my son, or you will end up paranoid and alone." The prince bowed as his father strode out the door, leaving him alone with this latest bit of parental wisdom. "Don't trust your friends blindly either, Father, or you will end up with a knife in your back," he answered into the silence.
Awoken by the blistering heat of the desert sun and subtle prodding of Platine, Egol discovered that he had slept all through the night at the pier. Judging by the temporal waves coming from the Great Clock of Xelor, it was about 10 in the morning. Sadly enough, except for the sizzling sound of the sea evaporating on the hot sand, the village looked exactly the same as the day before: still no sign of the inhabitants. Egol's stomach was growling: in the monastery, you could set your watch with the serving of the meals. Or rather, the meals were set to the tick of the Great Clock. Exactly on the tick of 6:00 a.m., 12:00 a.m. and 6:00 p.m., the meals were teleported onto the tables (the cook was Xelor too, naturally). Not willing to risk stopping in the middle of the desert yesterday, Egol had skipped both his meals. This may seem a trifle matter, but for a Xelor it requires a great deal of will power to ignore his daily routine. As he had also skipped the tick of breakfast, he decided to collect some time from the local fauna. Luckily, the beach beneath the pier was swarming with crabs and the fish populating the shallow waters attracted some Albatrociouses. The animals hardly noticed it as Egol slowed them down for a few seconds, collecting their 'time' in his pocket watch.
The young Xelor got so enveloped in his task that he didn't even notice the small barge approaching the settlement. "Hey hoodie!" someone suddenly yelled, "What do you think you're doing, messing with that Albatrocious! You want to bring misfortune on our hovel?" Egol jumped so hard that he tripped over his own feet and fell flat on the sand, scaring the birds away. As he collected himself, he heard a few voices coming from the boat, laughing out loud. Dusting all the sand from his cloak, he approached the ship as it was moored to the pier. Its crew consisted of a few scruffy looking men, still laughing in their sleeves, and one burly female, singlehandedly tying the boat to the bollards. She gave him one sideways glance and muttered under her breath: "Great, one of them zealots again." She jumped back on board, grabbed her duffel bag and jumped off again. Egol gave her a questioning look (which is very hard to do when you're wearing a face covering mask) as she passed him and kept staring at her as she entered one the huts. "Don't mind Ega," said the Osamodas while grabbing his own bag, "she may a bit tougher than your run-of-the-mill Sacrier, but somewhere deep inside that busty chest is buried a heart of gold." "But don't you think of digging up that treasure," the Iop added, slapping his Eniripsa crewmate mockingly, "little Sekito here tried it once and he's still recovering from his bruises." The Eniripsa pushed him away: "Only because you shoved me, Thur! I couldn't help it that I landed face down on her bosom!" The Iop burst once again into laughter as the Eniripsa stroked his chin grimacing: "My head is still ringing from the beating she gave me." As the two crewmates kept bickering, the Osamodas captain put his hand on Egol's shoulder and guided him towards the huts: "Never mind them either. They've been on the sea for too long. So what's your name, stranger?"
While Egol told him of the monastery and his mission, they entered the largest of the huts. The dimly lit interior was filled mostly with fishing equipment, but in one of the corners, kept clear of nets and harpoons, there stood a wooden table with some small stools and a cabinet. As they sat down at the table, the Iop stormed in, carrying the squirming Eniripsa over one shoulder and their two duffel bags over the other one. "Thur, you blundering blockhead!" scowled the captain, "take your business outside! We're trying to have a civilized conversation here!" "But, cap'n," the Iop tried, but one glare from the Osamodas was enough for him to drop everything and leave, followed a little later by the Eniripsa, who had picked himself from the floor. While the Osamodas searched the cabinet for his hidden stash, he told the Xelor that his full name was Captain Cin O'Card and that he and his crew were Sufokian fishermen who earned their kamas by selling their catches to merchants in Bonta and Amakna. This puzzled Egol, as he had learned that only three nations had survived the floods: Bonta, Brakmar and Amakna. According to legacy, Sufokia had been swallowed whole by Ogrest's Tempest. "Well, don't believe everything you read in books, son," Cin started to explain, "in the last decades, a few peninsulas of our former nation have resurfaced and the Sufokians have started to build their villages anew on the ruins of their old kingdom. We're a peace-loving fisher folk with no real interest in politics, so that's maybe why our nation hasn't attracted much attention from the other nations yet." Egol found this all very fascinating: "I would love to see the resurfaced buildings of a 1000-year old civilization. And these new towns would be a perfect place to start preaching the Word of Xelor." "Well, I don't know if you'll find many interested souls among us fishermen. We have our own gods to believe in. And besides, except for fishing, our favorite pastime is centered around our hammock. The villages have already attracted a few craftsmen and farmers, but they're all too busy with their daily lives to have any time for … time! Time keeping may be interesting in big cities or science, but on Sufokia, we don't really live by the clock."
The captain gave him a little grin as he swilled his drink and refilled his glass. "I suppose you Xelor don't drink?" Cin asked as he noticed the untouched glass on the table. "Oh no," Egol explained, "it is strictly forbidden in the monastery as it is told to hamper your ability to sense the temporal waves coming from the Great Clock. You know, at home, the ticks and tocks resonated in my head loud and clear, but here, only a day's march removed from the Clock, they are but subtle clicks in the back of my mind." He let out a soft sigh. Being a missionary was not going to be as easy as he had anticipated. "No wonder so many of your wrapped-up buddies go bonkers," the captain remarked, "if I had a ticking in my head all day long, I'd throw myself overboard. Or drown it out." He swiveled his drink before gulping it down with one swift motion. "But hey, if you want to go to Sufokia, we can take you. But mind you, I'll have no idle hands on my ship. Every man, woman and pet has to pull his weight on my boat," he said while glancing sideways at Platine, who clicked nervously on Egol's shoulder. Egol confirmed the captain that both he and Platine will do their best to aid the crew on their trip. "That's the spirit, lad!" Cin exclaimed, slightly intoxicated, and he slapped Egol on the shoulder. "We'll stay here for a day or two to recover and then we'll be setting sail for home. So gather your strength these next days, because you're going to need it."
Egol left the captain to his drinking and went to look for a suitable place to stay until their departure. He noticed Sekito sitting on the porch of one of the smaller huts, healing his wounds as only Eniripsas can, and approached him. "Oh, hello," he said when Egol greeted him and put away his brush/wand. "We haven't been formally introduced. My name is Sekito i Bitna, cabin boy and general punching bag," he winced. The Xelor sat himself down next to Sekito on the porch. "Don't let the others intimidate you, though. Thur Becrofal and Ega Wutat may be the 'punch-first-think-later' kind of types, but they're the best crew mates you can imagine. Once you've earned their trust, they would take on a Bwork for you… and they'd probably win too," Sekito smiled. "So, what brings you to this remote part of the world?" Again Egol told the tale of his upbringing and the mission he received before his departure from the monastery. "Ah, you're one of those cult guys," Sekito joked, "Ega told me that they took a female member of your order on board a few months ago. Apparently, she didn't like him one bit." "That I noticed," Egol said, "she gave me a rather cold stare on your arrival. But I think I might know that Xelor personally. Did anything happened that trip that made Ega so resentful against us?" "Not that I know of," Sekito admitted, "she just said that her praying freaked her out and that it was bad luck to take 'one of their kind' on board. She told me that she went on shore in Bonta and they haven't heard from her since." "Quanti…" Egol mumbled staring at the horizon. As Egol fell silent, the Eniripsa tried to cheer him up: "She friend of yours? From what I heard from Thur, she was quite a looker. Maybe you can look her up when we arrive in Bonta." Sekito nudged his companion with his elbow. This brought Egol back from his dream: "Bonta? I thought we were going to Sufokia? The captain told me you guys would drop me of at Sufokia." "Oh, that strange. Normally, we first pass Bonta and Amakna before we..." Suddenly, Sekito was grabbed by long, black tendrils coming from within his hut. "Oh no…" was the last thing the Eniripsa could utter before the tentacles pulled him into the hut. Egol stared into the hut and heard the soft sound of beating, but before he could react, Ega appeared in the doorway: "You ask too many questions, mummy." Egol tried to defend himself, but his voice got stuck in his throat as she loomed over him. He jumped off the porch as she was about to walk over him. Not giving him a second look, she walked over to the captain's cabin. Egol watched her a bit longer when Platine suddenly clicked from within Sekito's hut. He then remembered the poor Eniripsa and headed inside, where he found Sekito slouched in a corner, knocked-out. He tried to wake him but to no avail, so he picked him up and dragged him to his hammock. When he finally got him in, he heard the Sacrier shouting in the captain's hut. He caught a few of the words, but decided it was not worth the trouble and sat himself down next to the Eniripsa's hammock.
He dug into his haven bag for his first meal since his departure as he felt the temporal wave of twelve o'clock resonate inside his head. As a Xelor's face is completely covered with a mask, they use their powers to teleport the food inside their mouth. This is more complex as it sounds, as the slightest miscalculation of the size or position of the morsel of food can lead to serious damage to the Xelor's mouth. But a full-fledged monk prefers this to lifting his mask, an integral part of their outfit. He then thought of something. "Platine?" he called out to his familiar, "can you contact the monastery?" The Sinistro clicked affirmative and transformed back into her original form. Her eyes started to glow more intensely when a voice sounded from a distance: "Egol?" Egol's heart jumped at the sound of a familiar voice: "Master Q, is that you? Am I glad to hear you." Master Q was one of the senior monks of the monastery. His real name was rumored to Quentin Artz, but since he disliked that name, he had adopted the acronym Q at his mummification ceremony. He had been one of Egol Rho's tutors and had become one of his closest friends in the order. "Are you all right, Egol? It's only been a day since your departure. Are you already homesick?" "No, Master, don't worry," Egol confirmed him, "but I was just wondering about something. I've run in some fishermen on the shores of our island who claim to have met Quanti. They even gave her a lift to Bonta city." "Really?" Q's voice sounded distrustful, "we have not heard from Quanti since her departure here at the monastery." "That's what I thought," Egol said, "but could you do me a favor and contact our congregation in Bonta. Maybe she's been there, but just didn't contact us. She always was a tough nut." It was obvious from Q's voice that he didn't quite believed this, but he went along anyway: "Very well, I'll contact our brothers and sisters in Bonta and I'll let you know as soon as I find something." Thank you, Master. I would greatly appreciate it." "Now be careful, Egol," Q advised, "remember that there are many dangers in the World of Twelve. And not all of them bare their fangs at first sight. Some of them wait until you reveal your weak spot and then they strike. Do not let your guard down, my brother." "Don't worry, Q," Egol comforted him, but before he could say anything else, Thur's voice boomed through the door: "What did you do to my buddy?"
Startled by the roar, Platine turned back into a Tofu with a little flash right before the Iop came barging through the door. "You knocked him out? That's my job!" Egol jumped up and held out the palm of his hands, trying to calm him down: "Now listen, Thur, I wouldn't touch Sekito. We were just talking when Ega dragged him in and gave him a thrashing." The brute was snorting inches away from Egol's face, when slowly his expression changed as his brain caught up with the Xelor's words. He smiled: "That sounds like Ega all right! The little shrimp was staring at her chest again, ey?" he grinned. Egol shrugged as the tension in the room slowly unwound. Thur plumped himself down on a heap of duffel bags and fishing nets and stretched himself noisily. "So, what are you eating?" he asked, looking at the ceiling. "Oh, these are just some rations the Hand of Xelor gave me to get through the first days." "Smells nice. Can I have a bite?" Egol scaled the size of his rations, then the bulk of Thur Becrofal and sighed uneasily: "Sure. But I don't know if Xelor food will be to your liking." He gave him a morsel of meat which the Iop carelessly grabbed and threw into his mouth. He seemed to chew on it forever before he was able to speak again: "munch, munch … man, that meat's munch, munch tough. Do you mummify your meat as well?" "Oh no," Egol told him, "but we believe that if you don't take the time to enjoy your meal, it is a waste of time. Therefore our cooks make sure that we have to spend a lot of time on food and are not tempted to rush through." Thur got up as he finally swallowed his piece of meat. "Man, that cost me all my spit," he said lip-smacking, "Time for a beer!"
Egol quietly continued his lunch while the big sailor started rummaging through a pile of stuff in the corner of the cabin. The Xelor and his Sinistro disguised as Tofu had to duck and cover several times as Thur launched the clutter all over the room in search for his liquid treasure. "A-ha!" he shouted and lifted a beer keg over his head, "here it is!" He dumped the little barrel in between Egol and Sekito, but even this ruckus wasn't enough the wake the latter. Thur picked up a beer mug from between some harpoons, blew of the dust and filled it at the keg's tap. He gulped down the mug in one big swig and finished by wiping the foam of his big Iop smile: "Aahh, now that's what a man really needs after weeks at sea! Well, one of the things he needs." He grinned at Egol, but when he got no response, he turned his attention to the knocked-out cabin boy. He grabbed him by the back of the neck and held him under the tap, pushing the tip in Sekito's mouth. "This will get you back on your legs, little man," he laughed and he opened the faucet. Beer was already trickling out of the corners of the Eniripsa's mouth before he came to, almost suffocating in the beer. By the time Sekito finally managed to stop coughing and sputtering, his eyes were already glazed over and a dumb grin adorned his face. "Buddy!" he blurted out and he fell into Thur's arms.
Egol decided that was a good time to leave the friends to their drinking and headed out again. Back on the beach, he noted that Ega had apparently calmed down as well, because the captain's hut had gone silent. He wondered to himself if she had beaten him to a pulp as well: The expression 'punch-first-think-later' type did not even begin to subscribe this female Sacrier. Egol could not shake the impression that there was more to her then she let on. But whatever it was, she was obviously not content with his presence in their settlement or him being a passenger on their ship. Maybe she knew more about what happened to Quanti. But Egol had had enough of detective work for now and went down to the pier for some praying and time collecting in the hope this would clear his head.
Crusty Road: a fortified town amidst the rolling fields of Amakna. The combination of a relative safe haven within the town walls combined with a small harbor and an abundance of natural resources right outside the walls have made this town into a thriving trading center, attracting many artisans, cooks and bakers. The streets are always buzzing with activity and from within the many taverns, the smell of freshly baked bread and cooked dishes lure in the many customers. In between the crowd looking for a nice meal or a good buy walked a tiny, hooded man about the size of a four-year old. But despite his stature, the man seemed to stand out, because although no one really noticed him, no one bumped into him either. He navigated through the crowd with great ease, not distracted by the daily commotion going on around him and, with an obvious goal in mind, entered a tavern named 'The Blibli Barbeque'. As it was around noon, the place was packed and the barkeeper and his maids had trouble keeping up with the orders coming in. The small traveler found a free stool in the corner of the room, placed his log-like backpack next to him and sat himself down. A few people around him seemed to recognize him and started to whisper to each other : "Hey, did you see that guy?" "Yeah, isn't that.. Master Joris?" "I think so, but what's he doing here?" "Isn't he supposed to be in Brakmar?" The hooded dwarf ignored the soft humming of wild guesses and sat quietly at the table. A large man in an apron and a grease-stained shirt waded through the whispering patrons, distributing plates and mugs on his way. Placing the last mug on the table next to the little customer, he took his platter under his armed and turned to face him: "So what can I do you for?" Joris gave him a placid look and said: "Actually, I'm here to see Miss Pelvus." The barkeeper gave a disappointed but understanding grunt, headed back to the bar and shouted over the murmur of the crowd: "Nirena! Customer for you!" Behind the counter, an Ecaflip girl with long blonde curls and a typical barmaid outfit giggled loudly and took of her apron. She beckoned her tiny customer and ascended the staircase at the back of the tavern. The Bontarian representative gathered his things and followed her up the stairs.
Upstairs he found a long hallway with many doors, all closed but one. Through this one door a soft humming was heard and as he entered the room, a female voice from behind a folding screen greeted him : "Hello there. Be a dear and close the door behind you. It's letting in a draft." The little man closed the door and sat himself down on the stool in the corner of the room. He scanned the room and saw nothing out of the ordinary from any run-of-the-mill girl's room. "Impressive," Master Joris said softly to himself, "not a single flaw to be detected." At that moment, the soft humming slowly changed in deeper mumbling: "Damn brassieres… how do they ever…" followed by a soft thud that can only be described as a bag of sand hitting the wooden floor. For a moment, the messenger of Bonta considered to check if everything was all right, but before he could take action, a slender, good-looking Ecaflip male appeared from behind the screen: "Greetings, Master Joris. Good to see you again." "Good to see you too, Sulpa Venneir. Still the master of disguises, I noticed," Joris responded, pointing at the maid uniform hanging on the screen. Sulpa involuntary scratched his chest: "Yes, not my favorite one, I may add, but if you want to find out anything in Amakna, the taverns are the place to be."
"And did you discover anything new?" Joris asked while searching for something in his belongings. The Ecaflip opened his dresser, pushed the dresses aside and revealed a haven bag from within a hidden compartment: "Why, yes. It seems that the one incident that got me assigned here has taken on epidemic proportions. But only to the keen observer." He produced some notes from his haven bag and handed them to Master Joris. "Since the first victim was found fourteen isolated incidents have been reported, all with the same symptoms, but spread very thin over the country. First two farmhands in Farle's Fields, then a shepherd on Gobbalfield Country, a family of Puddlies in the Singing Fields, a drunkard in Traff Algar Square and so on. It seems that whoever is doing this doesn't want us to find out when and where he is going to strike next."
"And what about the victims? Can they be cured from their condition?" Sulpa sadly shook his head: "They called for the best healers in whole the World of Twelve, but none of them were able to do anything about it. They even claimed that the victims were in excellent physical condition, better even than the average human." Joris seemed to consider this: "That would explain why the first victim required three guards to restrain him. What curse could be causing this insanity?" "If it even is a curse," Sulpa Venneir added, "the Eniripsas had never heard of any kind of magic that would invoke this kind of… happiness." The Bontarian raised an eyebrow under his hood: "Happiness? That seems a rather cruel word for people who have had their minds wiped and who walk about aimlessly, laughing madly and assaulting anything and anyone they encounter." "I know, Master Joris, but this is how the doctors described it: the victims suffer from an overdose of happiness, to such an extent that they lose all control over their body, their emotions and their thoughts. This has made any kind of questioning or examination nearly impossible." "This seems very serious indeed, Sulpa. We must stop this menace before it can spread any further. Where was the last incident?" Sulpa Venneir took out a map of Amakna: "Here, in the forests of Emelka. A little girl went in the woods alone to pick some flowers and was found a few days later by the search party organized by the mayor to retrieve her."
"Very well," Joris said, "than that's where I'll start my research." This time Sulpa looked at him quizzically. "The king has requested for you personally, my friend," Joris smiled as he gave Sulpa a parchment with his new assignment, "Something big is happening in Bonta City and we need our top spy there to unravel the web. Jonk Lees is personally awaiting your return and will brief you once you reach the city." "Lees himself?" Sulpa groaned, "that man is about as subtle as a battering ram." "Maybe so," Joris replied, "but he is very close to our king and Our Majesty would not involve Jonk if it was not important." "You're probably right," the Ecaflip admitted, "Very well, no point in keeping Captain Lees waiting then." "How do plan on telling your current employer that you will be leaving his establishment?" Master Joris asked curiously. Sulpa Venneir slung his haven back over his shoulder and opened a window: "Oh don't worry," he said with a lopsided smile as he crawled out on the windowsill, "I've left him a touching goodbye note… and some kamas to compensate the loss of his best waitress." Joris looked out of the window and saw the Ecaflip leap from rooftop to rooftop before jumping down and heading towards the Zaap of Crusty Road.