<strong><em>Whatever efforts are taken to fight it off, to push back the searing pain, you can all feel your vision fading slowly; the ring of darkness growing and closing about you, so that you mercifully falling into the realms of unconsciousness.  Even as you are falling unconscious, you feel a strange detachment, as if in the grip of an out-of-body.  There are things around you, as if of gaunt men made of dust that cascades off of them in torrents.  Only vague pin-points of evil yellow light where eyes might be, seem to be the only certain thing about them.  They approach, remorselessly and inexorably with clawed outstretched hands.  But are they even real?  They flicker in and out of your vision, sometimes there sometimes not.  Rest and peace comes as slip completely into unconsciousness.<br/><br/>Even in this restless slumber you are not incompletely insensate.  The world rocks and heaves as if in the grip of an earthquake.  Voices call out, speaking and muttering about you.  Something prods at you, surprisingly gently.  As an eternity seems to pass, your restlessness eases and you slip into the comfort of deep slumber.<br/><br/>As you slowly recover, consciousness returns to you.  You are all lying down besides each other.  Above you a sky of silk and fabric, with ropes and wood to hold it up.  What chance then, this miracle you find yourself in large tent.  Despite it all, you can feel yourselves in the grip of a fever, though not severe enough as to debilitate you.  Light.  The flap to the tent is drawn aside, and a middle-aged man with gentle features in white robes and turban bows in carrying a pot.  When he notices you are awakening, he sets the pot down and returns the way he came, calling out in a foreign language to others on the outside.</em></strong><br/><br/><div class="floatright">(http://i1117.photobucket.com/albums/k581/Am_Dreams/human_wizard_by_saturnoarg-d3kpdus.jpg)</div>A few short minutes later a man comes in, dressed in blue with a white turban, and he is followed by the man in white.  Setting his turban aside, he looks at each one of you in turn before addressing the man beside him, his accent vaguely arabic,<strong>"The blessings of the goddess be with you <em>sabbini</em>.  I shall speak to these ones; let us have the men break camp and be ready to move within the hour."</strong><br/><br/>The other looks uncertainly at him, but then bows deeply, his right hand touching his heart, and leaves.  For a moment this blue clad man stand, as if listening to the receding foot-steps, before turning his attention to you.  This time when he speaks, his accent is much different, possibly British:<strong>"I trust you boys and girls are feeling under the weather, don't worry, that will pass over the next few days.  My name is Cornellius Argentstaff... my real name is Philip Renfeld, if you know what I mean.  All of us here, despite our appearances, share a secret - and on your lives it is a secret that you are never to reveal, save to those I designate, is that understood?"</strong><br/><br/><strong>"I'm certain the question is '<em>where am I</em>', and I could tell you that you are on the border between the Shinning South and the Imperial East, but I don't suppose that means much, eh?  Perhaps you mean to ask <em>'where'</em> am I?  Quite frankly, I can't answer that for you - oh, another world almost certainly - but relative to good old mother earth, that I doubt anyone can say.  There are many answers that will come later, but now we must talk about your lives.  The moment you came here, your life came under threat.  People like us are known as the Lost, the Forsaken Ones, amongst many other names.  More importantly, know that the body you find yourself in once belonged to someone else that lived here, someone who had family or those who had reason to care - you understand don't you?  However innocent we are, we are seen as thieves of the body here.  Every now and again, someone in this world disappears, where to we don't know, but when they return they come back with the soul and the mind of someone from our world.  Nor does time seem to be a factor; I've met people who claim to come from the crusades, from the time of Christ, Calligua, and Nero.  I've even met those who claim to have come from the 2139.  I myself was fighting the Second World War against Jerry, but I've been here nearly 30 years now."</strong><br/><br/><strong>"But I did mention danger didn't I?  Certainly there is the family and friends of those whose body you now inhabit, but the biggest threat comes in the form of fanatics, collectively known as the Saeropanean Order.  Imagine men of God, devil worshipers, pagans, and cultists - people who would usually tear each other's eyes out  if they sat in the same room - united under one banner, because they think of us as the greatest possible threat there is.  A threat to <em>what</em> don't ask me, I still don't know.  Don't even think about trying to reason or bargain with them.  It ends badly.  Always."</strong><br/><br/><div class="floatleft">(http://i1117.photobucket.com/albums/k581/Am_Dreams/KharalOasis.jpg)</div>With a deep sigh, he reaches into his robes and pulls out a long-stemmed ivory pipe.  You don't see him light it, but thin stream of smoke rises slowly after a moment.<strong>"We shall be moving from this place soon.  From here, the Oasis of Kharal, you'll be taken to the Sanctuary of Al-Cairsinal, where you'll be learning all the skills you need to survive in this world, so prepare yourself - the coming months will not be easy.  If you have any questions, ask them now whilst we yet have the privacy of tent.  You needn't accept everything I tell you, most don't, but that's not a worry of mine - you will, in time."</strong><br/><br/>You can hear men calling outside as equipment and baggage is being moved at rapid pace.  You may have some 30 minutes before they start on this tent.