{{Gah, sorry, that was a lot longer than "a day or so". R/L made a bunch of needy demands, and then transfering everything from brain to keyboard took more time than I expected. Also, as is my habit, once I started writing I got a bit carried away... x3}}<br/><br/>{{Stealth-Bunny: The trip was a little dull at times, but overall very enjoyable and relaxing. It was hard, you know, to return and have to go back to the daily grind.}}<br/><br/><br/>{{Now, for the DM directiveness that I promised before. For those who have never played it before, here is, as I see it, the game of D&D in a nutshell: there are heroes(PCs), and there are villains(NPCs). The villains do diabolical things, because they are Evil. The heroes seek out the villains, foil their plans, beat them up and take their stuff. This is the formula that is at the heart of the game. All other details of the game--the storyline, the setting, the tone, the play style, the emphasis on realism--are all just variations on this basic premise. In the "classic" D&D game, the party descends into a dungeon and moves from one room to the next, stopping regularly to battle monsters, acquire treasure, deal with traps and hazards, and occasionally solve a puzzle or make some important plot discovery. This formula, which was established by Gary Gygax in the 1970s, is the mother of all RPGs; any video game where you have a bunch of numeric stats and you gain levels and items by going into dungeons and defeating monsters, is following in the tradition that D&D started.}}<br/><br/>{{Getting to the point: I mean for this game to follow that classic formula. I realize that this might seem dubious coming from me, since I am a peculiar DM who displays an almost monomaniacal obsession with setting the scene and then leaving the action to the players, and so far the party hasn't gone anywhere near a "dungeon" in the classic sense. But take my word for it: underneath all of the layers of novel-like exposition, heavy moral themes, and dramatic tension, the Orev Valley game is meant to be D&D: the heroes move from one encounter to the next, fighting monsters and villains and looting their treasure (including, in our game, the loot contained in their bodies) }}<br/><br/>{{Although Fort Armel and the area around it is technically a single location, its important to note that its inhabitants are broken into dozens of separate groups and that those groups don't communicate with each other and don't really care about each other's wellbeing. On the contrary, they are constantly killing and looting each other whenever they think they can get away with it. What this means for the party is that there is not really any need for the characters to keep a low profile or to look "harmless". If, for example, a battle happens to break out between the party and Group Y and the party wins and devours Y, those who learn about the battle won't say "Sound the alarm! Everyone grab your weapons, we are under attack by intruders from the south!!!" Rather, they will laugh and say "Good riddance, those Y smelled bad anyway." and carry on with their business without giving it a second thought, since people get eaten all the time--in a violent Pact-less society, that's just how life works. Of course, there will be exceptions...some people might come seeking vengeance if you eat their friends...but in general, encounters and combats will be discrete events, just like encounters in a classic dungeon. So as long as the party doesn't do anything stupid to draw lots of negative attention to themselves (such as by singing praises for the Pact), they have no reason to worry about having the entire town rising against them--even if, by increments, they slay a large number of its inhabitants}}<br/><br/>{{So if the epic scale of the storyline leaves you feeling a little lost and unsure what you ought to be doing, just think of Fort Armel as a "dungeon" (albeit an above-ground one with no walls), and follow the classic formula. My intention for the game at this point is that the party will explore the different areas of the town one at a time. In the process they will get into a bunch of small battles, meet important NPCs (many will be enemies, but some are neutral and others are even potential allies), and learn valuable information. Some sort of climactic showdown with the Pyyrn--a "boss battle", if you will--lies somewhere in the future, but not quite yet; some plot developments will occur first.}}<br/><br/><span style="color: green"><span style="text-decoration: underline">XP Rewards (awarded to entire party if accomplished):</span><br/>Rescuing slaves from bondage: 200 xp (each)<br/>Reclaiming Fort Armel in the name of the Pact: 5,000 xp</span><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/>{{Ok, now, no more delays! You have my word, there will be no more fugues or absences on my part for at least a month or two. I know we can restore this game to its previous momentum if we try!}}<br/><br/><br/><br/>By now, the sound of worg growling has attacted the attention of the other members of the Heodo clan. An older female hobgoblin carrying a gnarled staff and a male goblin in a black cloak exit one of the tents and look towards Kalsh to see what's going on. Nine other hobgoblins stand up from other fire rings, take weapons into their hands, and approach the southern fire to stand next to their clansmen. At the same time, at the northern edge of the camp, two armored worgs look at one another, then make a sharp yelping noise to summon their riders. The two goblins, who are busy tending to a pot of simmering stew, drop what they are doing and dash to their mounts, stringing their bows as they run.<br/>"(Goblin) Something's happening over by the road. Might be trouble." says one of the worgs as his rider hops  skillfully onto his back. "Let's check it out." The pair trots south to investigate.<br/>"(Goblin)We'll stay here." says the second worg. "Might be a diversion, to draw us all over there so they can attack from the north." 'they' reffering, implicitly, to the troublesome Sogluyem.<br/>"(Goblin)Right." His rider nods in agreement, knowing from experience that the nagas have used such tricks before.<br/><br/>With the additional muscle arriving to bolster his side, Kalsh begins to grow more confident. If he can just get his jaws around Rihyan's neck, it won't matter how big or shiny he is...and just think of the nutrion that guy must have... In his mind, the scale of caution and hunger is dipping towards hunger.<br/>"(common)You're looking for somewhere to stay, huh?" he says to Sen. "I got somewhere for you to stay..." He rises to his feet--causing his bulging gut to slosh heavily--and takes a slow step closer. Inse, sensing from her alpha's voice that violence is imminent, clambers up onto his back and leans forward to whisper something into his ear. The worg's eyes twitch, but he doesn't otherwise respond, and keeps his gaze focused hungrily on the little cleric. He takes another threatening step closer. {{I'm assuming Sen backs up, otherwise Kalsh would be getting uncomfortably close}}<br/><br/>Taking a cue from their alpha, the other worgs increase the intensity of their growls and fan out to the sides so that when they charge they can come in from different angles and flank their targets. The hobgoblins sneer and brandish their weapons. "(Goblin)You want to die?" taunts one of them. "(Goblin)Go on, try something!" says another. In truth, none of them are actually that eager to find out what Geno's claws, Sashi's blade or Rihyan's hooves feel like. It is mostly a show of bravado; a display meant to prove that they aren't weak. If these strangers don't retreat and combat does break out, the hobgoblins plan on letting the worgs do most of the fighting.<br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/>{{This next section is optional reading. I think it's entertaining, but you can skip it if you want and you won't miss anything vital.}}<br/><span style="color: red"><span style="font-weight: bold"><span style="text-decoration: underline">&lt;&lt;Meanwhile: about two miles to the north, deep in a maze of subterranean tunnels&gt;&gt;</span></span></span><br/><br/>Arriving at the base of the stone staircase, Praexon pauses for a moment to look around and listen for danger. The small, low-cielinged chamber is pitch black and deathly silent; the only noise he can hear is his own rough breathing. He tries to get his bearings, but with neither a torch (only blurry, short-range darkvision) nor a map, it is a futile effort. He has no idea where he is.<br/><br/>Twelve hours ago when he first descended into this underground complex, he had worried that this sort of thing would happen.<span style="font-style: italic">"Make sure you count steps and memorize every turn"</span>he had warned himself.<span style="font-style: italic">"You don't want to get lost down there."</span>And he had tried, in the beginning, to do just that. But very quickly this task had proved to be impossible; he had seen hundreds of chambers and miles of tunnels, and they all looked more or less identical. He had soon been forced to give up trying to map out the floor-plan in his head. The last hope left that he might see the sunlight again is that his smell still lingers in every place he has been. By following that scent trail, he might be able to backtrack to the entrance.<br/><br/>But that option has its own complications. For, at this very moment, a gang of<span style="font-style: italic">very</span>unfriendly hunters--the ones who chased him down here to begin with--are already busy following that trail. Towards him. Hence, his shortness of breath.<br/><br/>He jogs to the center of the square room and looks around. There are four exits: the stairway he just entered from, plus three archways that lead to tunnels. At random he chooses the passage on the left and jogs down it, maintaining the fastest pace that his exhausted and injured body can manage. He knows that somewhere behind him, the hellhounds are closing in on this position. Soon they will descend those stairs, sniff the air for his scent, and follow it down the left tunnel. They are relentless, ravenous hunters; it's not a question of if they will come, it's only a question of when. He has to keep moving.<br/><br/>The passageway continues for a hundred feet, then bends sharply to the right and slopes downwards. He follows it for another fifty feet, where it leads into a large chamber with a high, vaulted ceiling and a damp floor. Praexon gasps as he enters this room and his eyes widen: covering the entire floor and much of the walls is a forest of bio-luminescent fungi. There are hundreds--<span style="font-style: italic">thousands</span>of them, ranging in size from tiny puffballs to toadstools as big as coffee tables. Each one produces a faint ghostly light that, collectively, provides the equivalent of moonlight. The eerily beautiful sight leaves him in awe; it has been many hours--it feels like days--since he has seen any natural light. Along two of the walls, thick metal pipes emerge from the floor and crisscross their way to the ceiling like rusty vines. Some sort of pink liquid apparently flows through them, and he can see it dripping from joints in the metal and accumulating in a pool on the floor.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">Incredible,</span>he thinks to himself.<span style="font-style: italic">What is this place?</span>He knows this underground complex as "the sewers", because that is the name Pact scholars have used to label it. When the first settlers arrived in the Orev Valley a century ago to establish the first Pact cities, they had discovered that these "sewers" and others ruins like them had already been lying vacant for ages. Many theories were put forward, but the truth about them...who constructed them and for what purpose, has remained a mystery to this day. Few explorers dare to descend too far, out of fear of becoming lost. Only the foolish--or, in Praexon's case, the desperate--have ever ventured this deep. He may be the first person to lay eyes on these fungi in centuries...<br/><br/>Putting aside for the moment his current predicament, Praexon sits in awe and ponders this mystery.<span style="font-style: italic">What is that liquid? And where do these pipes flow to?</span>he wonders.<br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/>Meanwhile, unbeknownst to the vulapine, the hobgoblin Balcam has descended the stone staircase and arrived at the four-way junction. He bends down to examine the dusty floor and observes paw-prints leading into the left archway. These he follows down the passageway and around the bend until he approaches the entrance to the fungus chamber. From there he spots Praexon sitting, deep in thought. Creeping stealthily so as not to alert his quarry to his presence, Balcam lifts a poison arrow from his quiver and takes aim...<br/><br/>Suddenly, Praexon's ears twitch at a noise behind him: without looking, he recognizes the creak of a heavy composite bow being drawn.<br/><br/>The hobgoblin releases his arrow, snapping the projectile towards his quarry's torso with lethal velocity--the instant the vulapine hears this, the sinews in his legs crack like whips to launch him into an evasive cartwheel. In the fraction of a second it takes the projectile to traverse the twenty meters to its target, the target is no longer there; the venomed shaft pierces empty air and thunks into a distant toadstool.<br/><br/>Balcam nocks another arrow and tugs against the hundred pound draw of his bow.<br/>Praexon lands his dodge, his claws tearing into the mushy floor to find traction. Immediately he leaps again, this time towards the archer, who he sees is a muscular humanoid wearing spiked leather armor. He taps into his inner power as he runs, causing his body to glow with an scintillating light as it shifts to its larger form.<br/><br/>The hobgoblin releases his second arrow without pausing to aim; it flies wide and misses. He does not have time for a third before he is tackled and knocked flat on his back by the angry and suddenly-a-half-ton-heavier vulapine.<br/>Praexon pins the archer under his claws and bites savagely for his neck. His fangs pierce leather, flesh and bone. It is a grievous wound; only the hunter's armored gorget prevent the fangs from opening a jugular and making it a fatal wound. Roaring with battle rage that blinds him to the pain, Balcam thrashes against his attacker and stabs viciously with his wrist, elbow and knee spikes.<br/><br/>Praexon's predatory instinct, awakened by the hot metallic taste of blood on his tongue, urges him to finish off this weakened prey and devour it. But, no dice--for, once again Praexon's large ears twitch and swivel as they detect a noise: the sound of heavy footfalls approaching quickly from the passageway. The hobgoblin's shout has summoned reinforcements.<span style="font-style: italic">Great...</span>he thinks.<br/><br/>He releases his would-be prey from his jaws and leaps back, then turns and sprints deeper into the large chamber.<br/><br/><br/><br/><br/>Lughur the gatorfolk stomps down the passageway and spots his fallen comrade. "You okay?"<br/>"AAurrggh!! I'll kill him!" shouts the bloodied hobgoblin as he staggers to his feet.<br/>"That's what you get for being such a glory-hog, trying to take him by yourself." Lughur laughs and produces a small vial of white liquid from his belt and tosses it to Balcam. "Here. Where'd he go?"<br/>Balcam tears off the stopper and downs the cure potion, then points into the grove of glowing toadstools. "That way. Where's Lucide?"<br/>"She and the hounds are waiting back by the stairs," whispers the gatorfolk as he heads in the direction indicated. "--so if he tries to double-back like last time, we got him trapped."<br/>"Good." grunts Balcam with a grin, picking up his bow and following behind. "We got him this time. He won't get away."<br/><br/><br/><br/><br/>Praexon pushes his worn-out body for all it's worth as he weaves between toadstools and searches, frantically, for an exit. The last thing he needs is to find himself in a cul-de-sac, outnumbered and surrounded...the thought makes his heart race. It was foolish for him to stop moving and let them catch up to him like this...he has to find another passageway out of this room, and he has to find it<span style="font-style: italic">now</span>.<br/><br/>He arrives at a dead end.<span style="font-style: italic">No...</span>He skids to a stop, facing the blank wall. There is no other doorway leading into or out of this chamber, only the one--and he has let his enemy get between him and it.<br/><br/>He has only a few seconds before they reach him. Should he try to hide? No, he is still in his large form--even if he taps his chameleon nutrion they will surely spot him. Climb the pipes?  Maybe...but the hobgoblin could just shoot him down with arrows. He has no options...he has to turn and fight. Push past them...jump over them, maybe land a stunning blow or two, then double-back and escape up the staircase.<br/><br/>"Ha! There you are!" booms a gruff, triumphant voice behind him. Praexon looks back to see the twelve-foot tall gatorfolk stomp into sight, smashing fungus out of his way. The spiked, orange-skin hunter follows close behind him, bow raised.<br/>Lughur sees the dead-end and laughs cruelly. "Haha! We gotcha now! Nowhere to run!" He crouches into a battle stance and drops his torch to free up both of his claws.<br/>"Why are you doing this?" cries Praexon. "I haven't done anything to you! Why not live and let live?" He knows the chances of talking his way out of this are slim to none, but he is desperate.<br/>"Nothing personal, mate." says Lughur, his eyes burning with hungry malice "Just doing our job."<br/>"But why me? There must be easier prey out there!"<br/>"Yeah," says Balcam, "but they ain't worth big money like you!"<br/>"What!?"<br/>Lughur snorts. "Lady Nosunei's<span style="font-style: italic">real</span>, real angry at you for eating her sister Kameko. She wants revenge,<span style="font-style: italic">bad</span>."<br/>"Kameko?" says Praexon, recalling the incident with the succubus. "But that was self defense!<span style="font-style: italic">She</span>was trying to shrink and eat<span style="font-style: italic">me</span>!"<br/>"Don't care." shrugs the hobgoblin. "All that matters to us is, Nosunei posted a reward of thirty gold bars for your living hide." {{1 bar = 1,000 coins}}<br/>"--or ten bars for just your pretty collar." says Lughur with a toothy grin.<br/><br/><br/>Praexon picks that moment to leap to the right in an attempt to shoot past the hunters. But Lughur, who was expecting this, hurls himself at the vulapine and siezes him. The two large predators grapple furiously and slash each other with their claws. The gator, pressing his advantage of brute strength, snags and pulls the vulapine within of reach of his huge mouth and chomps down on his arm, clamping his mighty jaw muscles like a vice. Balcam nocks an arrow but holds it for now, not wanting to run the risk of hitting his ally.<br/><br/>Though he can feel the gator's jaws painfully crushing the flesh and bone of his arm, Praexon keeps a level head. He knows he cannot outmuscle this brute, so he quickly moves to pursue the advantages he does have: agility and technique. With a swift, well-practiced movement he thrusts his right leg between Lughur's legs and throws himself forward so that his foe is forced off balance. Using his long tail to maintain his own balance, the vulapine then bounces on his left foot and, with each bounce, levers his foe's mass over his hip. When the gator is leaning awkwardly on one leg, Praexon shoves him over, sending him toppling onto his back.<a class="postlink" href="http://www.judoinfo.com/images/video/santani/kenkenuchimata.mov">{{ken ken uchimata}}</a><br/><br/>"Ooph!!" coughs Lughur, not really sure what just happened.<br/><br/>Praexon hops over his prone foe and, drawing up both digitigrade legs, brutally stomps with all of his weight on the gator's solar plexus. The blow explosively expels the rest of the air from Lughur's lungs and stuns him momentarily, causing him to release his grip on Praexon's arm.<br/><br/>Then it is Praexon's turn to gasp in pain, as he feels an arrow pierces his flank with great force at point blank range. He wears no armor and has a relatively soft hide, so the barb lodges itself very deep and punctures an organ or two. It is the type of ugly wound which, without immediate healing, could likely get infected and lead to a slow death. But in the short term, it doesn't stop the vulapine in his tracks, so he ignores it. His only thought is getting far away from here, quickly.<br/><br/>Praexon taps his hellhound nutrion as he leaps off of the gasping Lughur, and exhales a sudden burst of fire at the hobgoblin's face. With both of his foes distracted, he then quickly turns and makes a break for the entrance passageway. Balcam recoils from the flames, but quickly recovers and runs in pursuit of his quarry, snapping a flurry of arrows at him. The vulapine runs in a zig-zag pattern, dodging with his ears and using the fungus as cover. He makes it to the entrance and darts up the passageway, his mind on the staircase. They can't match his speed...he's going to make it...he's going to get away...<br/><br/>He makes the sharp left turn--and his heart drops in despair. The passageway is filled, completely filled, with flaming maws. The hellhounds have been waiting for him. He tries to reverse direction, but it is too late; his momentum carries him forward into their grasp. The hounds all pounce at once and form a dog-pile, each scrambling over the others to find an exposed bit of flesh to bite at. The fiery jaws ravage every square foot of the vulapine's body, painfully scorching and tearing muscle and sinew to shreds. His concentration gone, the vulapine reverts to his normal size. He will be doing no more running. The hunt is over.<br/><br/>"Release him!" shouts an authoritative female voice. The hounds obey, dropping Praexon and withdrawing. The tiefling Lucide steps past them and leers at her incapacitated quarry.  "<span style="font-style: italic">Finally</span>...he is ours."<br/>"Yeah!" howls Balcam gleefully, pumping his fist as he rounds the corner and sees what has happened. "We got 'im! We're rich!"<br/>A few moments later the gatorfolk, simmering with rage and predatory frenzy, lumbers up to the bloody vulapine and roughly hefts him up by his long, fluffy tail. Without a word, he opens his jaws wide, tosses the prize onto his tongue, and tilts his head back to gulp it down. Praexon, delirious with pain and too injured to struggle, can only observe with horror as the huge jaws close around his body. He feels the saliva soak into his fur, feels the hot, slick tube widen below him to accommodate his legs as the tongue pushes him back...this is it, he realizes...this is the end.<br/><br/>"Hey! Stop!!" shouts Balcam, grabbing the gatorfolk's arm.<br/>"You selfish..." says Lucide with a sneer, her hand going to the hilt of her rapier. "We had a deal! We take him alive!"<br/>"Ah wan' 'im!!!" says Lughur around his full mouth.<br/>"What are you,<span style="font-style: italic">stupid?</span>Do the math! This isn't just some slab of meat, this is Praexon! Alive, he's worth four times his weight in gold!"<br/>"Ah wan' 'im!!" grunts Lughur again, though he doesn't swallow. He knows Lucide well enough to understand her hand gesture: if he pushes her temper, she'll bury her blade in his chest without any remorse.<br/>"You want meat, Lughur?" says Balcam, "Think about how much meat ten gold bars will buy. A whole<span style="font-style: italic">harem</span>of slaves, and you'd still have money left over for good booze!"<br/>Lughur considers this argument, and is forced to admit to himself that it sounds really good. With great hesitation, he finally pulls the vulapine out of his mouth and drops him back on the floor. Praexon whimpers in pain, his vision starting to fade from blood loss.<br/><br/>"That's better." says Lucide. She bends down to inspects their prize, then reaches over to undo his collar and pull it off. "Hmm...nice..." she says, admiring the glimmer of opal. Praexon shoots her a hateful glare and dearly wishes he had the strength to kick her.<br/>"Aw, don't worry." she coos with sarcastic sympathy. "I'm not going to leave your poor neck to get cold." She drops his collar into a pocket of her cloak, then produces another collar, this one wrought of adamantine and inscribed with Infernal runes. She places it around the unresisting vulapine's neck "There we go!" Praexon feels an uncomfortable tingling sensation in his spine as dark magic penetrates into his body. Lucide then produces a vial of white liquid, uncorks it, and holds it over his mouth.<br/>"Drink." she commands. Praexon knows better than to drink an unknown liquid, and tries to bites her hand instead. But to his surprise, his mouth obediently opens and accepts the potion. "Good boy." she says with a condescending smirk. Then Praexon realizes what is happening: the collar is more than just a symbol of his enslavement, it's a will-stealing device!<br/><br/>The magic of the cure potion knits the vulapine's sinews back together and replenishes his blood. "Stand up." she commands. He stands. Despite his overwhelming urge to pounce on her and bite off her face, he is unable to do so. Lucide seems to relish his frustration, and turns her back as if to offer an easier target. "Hehe...Nosunei will be delighted to see you." Lughur and Balcam chuckle. "Come on," she says and walks towards the staircase. "Let's get out of this stinkhole and go get our money"<br/><br/><br/><br/><br/>Two hours of following scent trails later, the three bounty hunters, their hounds, and their collared prize all emerge from the sewers and breath fresh air once more. They then head southwest, following a narrow trail through the jungle, until they reach the highway. All the while, Praexon glares with hatred and dread at his captors, desperate for some opportunity to escape. The thick vegetation would offers a thousand places to hide, if he could just put some distance between them...but the adamantine collar is fastened tightly, and its magic forces him to obediently follow along, a prisoner in his own body.<br/><br/>They travel southwards down the highway. Along the way they pass a group of nagas heading north who are leading a group of  collared and chained humans; the two groups exchange suspicious looks, but nothing more. After about a mile of walking, they enter a bank of fog. Soon after, they arrive at a craggy rock wall which they bypass through a large tunnel lit by everburning torches. As they get closer to their destination, the hunters begin to talk excitedly about how they will spend their reward money. Lucide is going to use most of it to pay off a debt, the rest will go towards drugs and potions. Lughur plans to follow through with Balcam's suggestion and acquire a "harem" of slaves, get violently drunk, then really let loose and celebrate. Balcam is more frugal; he will buy some poisoned arrows and one top-notch slave girl, but keep most of the gold for later. "Jobs like this one don't come often; gotta make it last, you know. I gotta family to think about." he says. Hearing this, Lughur rolls his eyes and snorts derisively.<br/><br/>A knot tightens in his stomach as Praexon listens to all of this. As a Pact-loyal, he is disgusted beyond words by what he hears and wonders how anyone could be so heartless about slavery--these are not toys or pastries that they are talking about, they are living, sentient creatures! And as a newly collared slave himself, he is frightened--terribly so--by what awaits him. If Nosunei is anything like her sister Kameko was, then she is a narcissist with a cruel streak a mile wide. Definitely not the sort of person you want to have ownership over you, especially not if she's holding a grudge.<br/><br/>The tunnel exits onto a ledge overlooking a seemingly bottomless chasm between two sheer walls. The highway crosses the hundred-foot gap to a ledge on the other side by means of an iron arch bridge. Reclining leisurely against the wall near the tunnel's exit is Grant Pyyrn, the cloud giant. The lord of Armel is magnificently garbed, with an orange silk tunic, gilded bracers, and a jeweled platinum headband complementing his handsome face and ivory locks. He looks down at the travelers and says, in a bored voice, "The toll is 3 gold per head. Thats..." He pauses to count everyone present, including the hellhounds. "...39 if you want to cross."<br/>The hunters grumble and gripe under their breaths about the steep toll, but they don't dare to actually voice their complaints. It's never a good idea to annoy a cloud giant, especially when you are standing right next to a precipice. They fork over the gold and cross the bridge.<br/><br/>On the other side, the highway leads into another tunnel. Here the hunters pass by another group of slavers, this time a pack of cougartaurs, who are heading north with their newly purchased livestock. Praexon recognizes one of those collared: Aiden Aldeseld, one of the (former) oligarchs of Talloak. The noble elf has definitely seen better days. His robes are soiled and tattered, his face sags in a dejected frown, a look of utter hopelessness that startles Praexon--Aiden had always been a strong-willed one. "Aiden!" He calls out; the elf looks up and recognizes the vulapine, and stops walking. "No..." he says mournfully "Not you too..." One of the taurs notices the slaves are lagging behind and gives a yank on their chain; before the two friends can exchange any more words, they are pulled in opposite directions, never to look upon each other again.<br/>"Friend of yours?" jibes Lucide.<br/><br/>Ahead, the tunnel opens up into a wide space, and the group arrives at last at their destination.<br/><br/>The last time Praexon visited Fort Armel was three years ago. It was back during the era of peace and prosperity, before the White Wyrm rose up and swallowed the sun. Praexon had recieved a formal invitation from the silver dragon, Pact General Khorjael, who was curious to hear stories of the vulapine's recent planar travels. They had stayed up until the early hours of the morning discussing philosophy in the gardens, and then the dragon carried him to a high ledge to watch the sunrise over the Cheral Canyon. It had been a truly memorable experience.<br/><br/>But now...<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">"Oh...gods..."</span>stutters Praexon as they emerge from the tunnel.<span style="font-style: italic">"...have...mercy."</span>He has just walked into a scene straight out of Hell.<br/><br/>The  gardens, with their meticulously manicured rows and hedges, have been razed to rubble. In their place has sprouted a chaotic clustering of various colored tents wreathed in  a smoky haze and a din of excited voices: the Meat Market. Some of the vendors sell portions of dressed and smoked meat: steaks, flanks, loins, ribs, arms, legs, heads, organs--one can choose any species and any body part, and if one browses long enough one will find it hanging on a hook with a price next to it.<br/>Other vendors sell meat roasted or stewed for immediate consumption, available by the bowl or skewer and seasoned to one's liking. In spite of his abject horror and disgust, the smell wafting from these tents causes Praexon's mouth to water involuntarily.<br/>Still other vendors--and these, judging from the size and the noise of the crowds around them, are the most popular--cater to those who like their meat a bit more...raw. As in, still whimpering and cowering. There are so many slaves, too many for Praexon to even begin counting; many are chained to boulders, or tied to stakes that are driven into the ground. A few are locked in large wooden cages, in some cases packed so tightly that they have no room to move. A rare slave here and there loudly protests his or her fate, screaming and crying for mercy that will not come. But the majority just sit silently, despairing. Praexon understands now the look he saw on Aiden's face: there is no hope for these people, no chance of heroic escape or rescue. Only waiting for the inevitable.<br/>To their left, near the side of the lake, a particularly large and energetic crowd of "shoppers" is gathered around an elevated wooden platform. Front and center on the stage, a beautiful female unicornfolk stands naked with her arms tied to a pole behind her. Standing beside her, the auctioneer rattles off prices in a fast but clear voice: "twenty-five-hundred, do I hear twenty---Twenty-seven! The bid is twenty-seven-hundred, do I hear twenty-nine-hundred..."<br/><br/>Praexon feels dizzy.<span style="font-style: italic">How...could this happen...</span><br/>"Come on." says Lucide, prodding the vulapine between the shoulders. "You've got a date with Lady Nosunei." As the group pushes their way through the crowd towards the entrance to the fort, Balcam and Lughur move protectively to either side of Praexon, in case he should be recognized and anyone should get the bright idea to try to steal him and claim the bounty for themselves.<br/>"Nosunei..." repeats Praexon. Right...as if the situation wasn't horrific enough already...now he's probably going to get shrunk, tortured, and swallowed whole.<span style="font-style: italic">Great.</span><br/>{{to be continued}}