Trudging across the plains toward Yanshi gives you a lot of time to mull over recent events. On this particular evening I had hoped to be retired at the inn before the blood red moon had even begun to taint the horizon, but, alas, highwaymen do not conform to the schedules of the civilized. Men such as these ("lesser men", Druss called them) would be happy to feel the weight of your loaded coin-purse in their hand as they leave you, battered and bleeding, on a Mayoi in-road. And so as I contemplated, the sky darkened well before the familiar Yanshi grounds came within my view. Left to it's own devices, the mind can be very prolific in it's activities...and so it was with me, thoughts accumulating and then left behind me like the tarnished cobblestones of the path I walked.

In Ispar, night comes and goes in it's usual fashion...the sun falls and the moon rises, casting a pleasent glow across the landscape. This world that the Empyrean left behind shows us a world covered in gradual darkness every evening. Sound replaces sight as your guide to the rough and tumble earth of the southern lands, because the world reflected in this glow cannot be trusted. I remember my first few evenings here, stumbling about as a newborn babe shifts about the womb. So impotent I felt then, it makes me smile to think that I foolishly assumed that experience would make a Yanshi dusk any less an alien place.

In Yanshi, night comes and goes as a living entity. A torch is just fire and wood, but it is as good as a scalpel, peeling back the layers of lying shadow to find truth...

But lo, I wax too metaphoric! It is interesting the thoughts that can enter one's head when your only link the living world is a flickering campfire on the horizon...but that is no excuse for such ethereal writing. Though many of my teachers in Ispar would doubtless be proud, I write this for my followers...and they have no need of intangible similes and unwieldy, fluttering fits of prose.

Hah! If only my professors in Ispar could see me now, they would certainly laugh, and heartily. Grasping old men who were forever telling me that the knowledge of ages past was building the foundation for my future...it would bury them in joyous irony to know that I am part of the first generation of so-called "pioneers", entrusted with bringing the Sho race to these new lands.

It is interesting, to say the least, that while our hardy Gharundim neighbors took to the sun-baked plains, the Sho of Ispar laid claim to the southeastern wetlands of our Empyrean prison. It is obvious, at least to this humble warrior, that the Aluvians got the best part of the deal while our intrepid group foolishly decided to settle on swampy, hard-to-develop land. Gods know as a mute I'm ill-equipped to make my opinion known... even with a fresh inkwell and parchment to burn I could not have swayed the pioneers of our group, who were laying the first stones of Yanshi before I had even arrived.

Ben Ten has proven, if nothing else, that he is more warrior than municipal architect...how short sighted were we to plant our cultural seeds in a place where crops will be devoured by wasps before we do much as gather a broth's worth of wheat! But I digress...these are concerns that shall be found legitimate in time.. suffice it to say that though many of my countrymen may think Ben Ten a hero (and deify the elders as well, for "bravely" taking root in these harsh southern climes), I think him a fool.

I crossed a grassy field in deep thought, barely pausing to swat that the phyntos that unabashedly nipped at my ears, until the front door of the Source halfway house was within view. Sho, Aluvian, Gharundim alike...we can all agree that home is a welcome sight...and this ramshackle house is no exception- porch lanterns driving back the blackness, and seeming to welcome the weary men and women of the Light with an almost matriarchal custodianship.

The door swung easily in my hand, and as I wiped my soiled boots I could see a female form seated at a table by the fire, poring over a piece of business of some kind (gods know, there is a lot to be handled in a guild such as this). An impish click of the tongue every so often seemed to indicate that she didn't like what she was reading.

I couldn't help but stand in the doorframe and watch her at work, alas for my declining powers of self-control. (Ha! She would laugh and chide me so if she were ever to read this.) In the dim light she looked noble, as if fighting off fatigue to finish one more piece of Source business. I laugh when I think of the ridiculous customs of my Isparian ancestors, who encouraged our women to shuffle around in Kimonos, fetching drinks, bowing, and to generally be a non-factor. Had they seen the great number of capable women who had answered Asheron's Call, they might have reconsidered their archaic traditions.

It was Sister C who was thus engaged, the vivacious woman that all of you have come to know and trust. (Ha! How ludicrous it is to think of C shuffling around in a Kimono, fetching drinks for Sho elders of Ispar!) Though this writing may never reach her eyes if she passes away before I do in this dreadful war, I think I should say now that her beauty is unsurpassed.

I daresay that had circumstances been different I might have courted this fair Aluvian lass, she of golden locks and green eyes like the bolts of the finest Gharundim cloth. As it was, though, she is betrothed to one of my most trusted companions, and though it pains me to admit it, he is a far more handsome man than I, wide-chested and stout like a barrel, strong as an ox, and with the clean-cut good looks of an Aluvian nobleman.

And though I would not begrudge them a second of their time in each other's arms...sometimes the hypothetical side of comes to the forefront, and I see this woman bedecked in Sho wedding garb, at my side.

In any case, after indulging myself sufficiently my fantasies, I ambled over to her position and was amused to find her perusing a notice from the Yanshi City Council, and not with a pleasent look on her face.

"Hiya boss", she said, eyes never leaving the parchment, which was one sheet of a long address that the Council had sent us.

Of course I could not respond, but I'd come to the decision long ago that I wouldn't have known how to respond to C if I'd had the capability, so vexed was I at times by her Aluvian colloqialisms.

I took a nearby stylus and borrowed from her inkwell to write "WHAT ARE YOU READING?" on a nearby scrap of paper.

C glanced at my note for a second and pushed back her chair slightly from the table, as if anticipating a long discussion. "The council says we haven't been contibuting to the community", she intoned, rolling her eyes with typical C flippancy, "and they're planning to evict us if we don't bring our fields up to par with the quotas they have set."

She gestured a dainty hand towards the stack of papers that she had been reading.

I scribbed furiously.

"ABSURD."

She nodded, and start to say something, but I was already writing again. The only sound was the crackling of the slow-burning lantern incense, and the maniacal flailings of my pen. In my haste, I smeared the ink across the page, staining my silk shirt on one side. Being mute has it's disadvantages. But it is my cross to bear.

"WE AREN'T FARMERS, AND NEVER WILL BE. THEIR EXPECTATIONS ARE ABSURD."

She nodded again, and allowed a carefree smile to cross her lips. "They need all the protection they can get around here. They're just bluffing."

It was my turn to nod. And as I did, the door to the inner chambers opened and Druss walked into the room, still wearing his ichor-stained Mattekar Coat, the tanned hide nicked and worn from the days event's but easily servicable. In each hand he was sporting a mug of what I presume was Aluvian mead.

He addressed me after setting the overflowing tankards down on the table.

"I expected you sooner. It has been quite a day."

A typical Druss greeting. Many of Druss' opponents and detractors have made the mistake of thinking him stupid, figuring his massive brawn to be evidence of a weak mind. Nothing could be further from the truth, as this former Isparian barbarian is one of the more level-headed and brilliant men I've had the pleasure to meet. It was with enthusiasm that I let him take his place as one of the Source's generals, I can tell you that.

Druss barely paused to slam down some ale before he continued, his baritone voice filling the chambers in start contrast to the cultered and demure tones of his betrothed. (One assumes that his verbiage is so forceful because it was trained barking orders to his barbarian comrades back in Ispar, though I know know little of his life on that world...he says little of it and I don't press him on the matter.)

"Bloods are making trouble for us again and hampering our efforts at the Lugian Citadel. It was PMS Rage and three of her lapdogs, and they inflicted considerable damage before scurrying back under their rocks."

C sighed, her matty-clad chest expanding and contracting in a most alluring manner. If I let my eyes linger overlong, I don't think Druss noticed.

I scribbled.

"NO DOUBT MANY PYREALS RICHER, TO BOOT."

Druss nodded at the sight of my writings, and gestured toward C.

"They are scum, but adept warriors," he conceded in almost resentful tones. "Were honor might, they would be weaklings. But as it stands..."

Druss trailed off, perhaps tiring of the whole depressing business. He made a grab for his ale.

"They grow stronger with every heartbeat they end," finished C.

Before the mood could grow any more somber, the door burst open again and the boisterous Mizu-No sauntered into the foyer. It is with great relish that I remember how our eyes lit up at the sight of his animated form.

Druss looked up from his mug and waved at his friend, who was sporting a sack slung about his shoulders that was obviously laden with coin.

"Mizu!" said C, in an enthusiastic greeting. Hey eyes sparkled like emeralds, and I felt a twinge of jealousy that my arrival had not illicited as excited a response.

Mizu nodded as best he could under the weight, and unburdened himself of a great deal of pent up frustration as he placed the sack on our table, obscuring the Yanshi Council documents.

Mizu wiped his brow and turned to Druss.

"Heavier than a bitch!"

Druss laughed and good naturedly flexed his mammoth biceps. No doubt he could have toted two of those sacks wwith room to spare for his many axes.

"Hrmmph," returned Mizu.

With a flourish, Mizu emptied the contents onto the table...several thousand in freshly minted pyreal coins! The shimmering pile of riches soon overflowed the tabletop, and Sister C had to push her chair back to avoid a lapful of the shiny treasures. I could scarcely believe my eyes, and I could tell from Mizu's statement that my amazement was obvious to him.

"Caravan," he said, matter-of-factly. "Took it right out from under their noses."

I wanted to scribble but my writing impliments and paper were buried in coin. I began a complex series of hand gestures, but was cut off by Druss, who realized that he could ask the question we all had on our minds.

"A caravan under who's protection? And who's goods?"

Mizu looked sheepish.

I think we all rolled our eyes simultaneously, which would have been good for a laugh had I not been afraid that Mizu had erroneously robbed General Zang.

Druss was the first to continue speaking.

"Well?" he asked, his voice calm.

Mizu burst into a hurried explanation. "It was a caravan under the protection of Dark Kimone," he intoned, almost smugly. "Three guards, and they couldn't have killed a dead man between them. I couldn't let the oppurtunity go." He was looking at Druss as if asking for forgiveness, but I wasn't fooled for a second...Mizu does what Mizu wants and that is all their is too is. Asheron wouldn't be able to stop this incorrigable thief.

I felt around in vain for my pen, inkwell and papyrus. Like a blind man ferretting about for his bedclothes.

Druss raised an eyebrow. It was Sister C who spoke, her feminine voice carying no less weight than a man's but seeming to ease the tension somewhat nonetheless. "I know some of them are bastards, but we haven't officially declared war." Her eyes were scolding. "I don't know if that was such a good idea."

I found my paper and quill, threw it up against a nearbye wall and scribbled. "THREE GUARDS...SENT THEM TO THE LS, SENT THE DRIVER ON HIS WAY, TOOK THE GOLD?"

Mizu nodded.

I started to write again. Druss took a sip from his ale.

"Burned their wagon too."

Even with my back to the proceedings I know the sound of a man spitting his drink into the air in a fit of laughter. Sister C was giggling too, and in spite of myself I had to smile. It was just so typically Mizu.

I think that, laughing as we all were, we would have grabbed chairs and chatted our way into the evening hours, discussing politics, adventures and swapping stories, had Dhali not peeked his head out of the rear-chamber door at that moment.

It was that noise of laughter that drew Dhali from his desk in the rear, but doubtless he would have emerged momentarily anyhow. The Gharundim mage was dressed in a comfortable robe which made me look at my own dress, with it's jagged metal edges and uncomfortable, confining texture, and envy him. He peeked out of the door and said simply:

"Nice to see you all together. Come this way. I have something to show you."

We exchanged glances. Because this was serious, scholarly Dhali.

A very down-to-earth mage, Dhali (the product of Isparian Gharundim farmers no doubt) was just as willing to take part in revelry and lively conversation as the next man...in stark contrast to many others of his profession who were inclined to, as one scholar of politics put it, "begin by exiling themselves and end by exiling everyone else." In fact, it was my first thought that he might be emerging from his room to join us in a drink and a story. But I could tell from the look on his face that he had other ideas.

He was wearing his reading lenses, for one (an apparatus that Dhali says originated in Ispar and was invented by Gharundim mages, who also invented what Dhali calls "telescoping lenses"...I have no idea what these things are and the only time I tried them they just blurred my vision) and I could see that he had weary circles under his eyes that were visible even against his dark Gharundim skin...this suggested that he had burnt more than one candle to the nub recently poring over his old tomes and manuscripts.

He looked tired, I suppose, is the best way to put it. And yet for all that he had a gleam in his eye, as if he felt like he was on the verge of some great discovery. Maybe I'm reading too much into just one glance...but that is impression I felt when I looked in his direction. Perhaps the others felt it too, because all conversation stopped.

"Come this way," he said again. "It concerns us all."

And so we did. C's ale was left unquaffed, Mizu's plunder uncounted. The next member into the place that night would find an overturned inkwell, scattered parchments, and untended fire, and chairs placed about the room helter-skelter. He or she would arrive to find pyreal coins littering the floor like bird feed.

The mess could wait, though, and they would understand. For Dhali's discovery was greater than we had ever imagined.

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TSS