The dead rose from the beach in a cacaphony of familiar faces, familiar voices, familiar busts...clamoring to be heard, speaking to no one in particular, the survivors congealed and clashed amidst themselves, a vortex in which Varric found himself trapped. Or so he thought. A new level of powerless terror gripped the wizened noble as the monstrosity lumbered from the rocks. Its shambling unnatural but measured. It spoke in mimicked tones, some semblance of sentience in the Towering Horror. Perhaps enough even to parley. After all, if it had intended harm it would have merely ambushed the party in their confusion. Why alert them to its presence? Why move with such deliberation? No, this was no common beast. It wanted the survivors to know it was there. But why endanger itself like that? As father always said, to be visible is to be vulnerable.

As Varric steeled his resolve to address the unfathomable retch, he was struck dumb as the bastard Satyr dove violently into the creature's sternum. No No, you cretin! His fear boiling to indignation, Varric called desperately to the beasts, both too dumb or too prideful to hear him. He would need some way to interject before all lines of peaceful communication were severed. Scrounging about his feet frantically, the once stoic noble hurried shells and stones in his grasp like a common street rat. Unbecoming but necessary if he were to salvage relations. As he rose once more to his full height, well above six foot tall, his eyes narrowed as the trembling coward struck the behemoth and the bastard goat unleashed another fury of blows.

Seething, Varric cursed the young man for joining the assault. You fool! Do you intend to strike down every creature we meet on this damned isle? Next shall we war the trees? Is the moonlight particularly bothersome? Each word dripped with venom and each sentence punctuated with a swift barrage of debris. Shells bounced off the boy's uniform. Have the defenders of Glaifast changed so in my family's absence that they kill on sight? I expect such barbarism from your thrice damned pet but YOU. Another barrage pelted the child-commander as fury boiled in Draleth's veins, all semblance of stoicism brought low as rock and spittle flew in equal measure. My grandfather fought and died in those colors and you lead us here not as refugees but as invaders! You dishonor our King, you dishonor my House and you dishonor my name! If you are truly the last bastion of our people then the Plague was a merciful death! Draleth lurched forth as he loosed the last of his ammunition with full force, his voice carrying through the night. Must everyone in your stead die before you fall in line, Knave?

His body weighed down with the indignity of his aggression, his voice hoarse from his flamboyant tirade, the weathered noble turned sharply toward the reeling Horror, his father's same steely grey eyes boring defiantly into the ruby orbs aloft in its skull. I know you understand. I am not your enemy but these about me will not rest until you are broken and bled. Leave this place. Find what mending you can. Or stay and be shattered on the sand. His call was primal as he barked deliberately toward the damnation. Go. Home.

Izzy disappeared over the rise of piled rocks, her bare back turned on the rest.

Temp stood her ground despite her fears, determined to defend Golde until the weakened girl could stand on her own.

Thomas interrupted the monster's attack with a shriek and a wild swing of his sword. The monster, too, screeched and abandoned its attack on Ifor, skidding to face this new threat; black blood leaked from the horror's side, where Thomas' expensive sword had cut a long and deep, dead-looking gash. Ifor was forgotten in that moment; haunting bright eyes flickered, enraged, to Thomas and his dangerous blade.

It was pause enough for Ifor.

A fist connected with the monster's distracted face -- and immediately Ifor was upon it in a fury of merciless attacks.

Ifor was strong, but the monster was fast. Sand kicked up, Ifor's fists flew, claws and teeth flashed, leaving long bloody gashes on Ifor's arms and hands, bludgeoned dents and burst veins on the horror's face and chest. With a lucky grab and a powerful thrust, the monster was thrown to the sand where it caught itself with a crouch and a skid. Inky, gelatinous blood oozed from the beast's wild eye and its grinning mouth and the gash in its side, and the monster poised there in the sand on all fours, hackles raised.

...don't leave...pocket, pocket, get up, stand...

The low, crackling, hissing voices of those gathered arose out of the monster's throat, even while Varric chucked stones and insults from the dunes. The monster wasted no time, but echoed Varric's words even as he still uttered them -- only in a far more sinister tone.

...cretin...war the trees...bastion...merciful death...

The monster's shining eyes -- one shattered and full of dark blood -- finally broke from Ifor and focused sharply on Varric instead. Its fangy grin dripped black ropes of blood.

go home.

Like a cobra, it was on him. With sudden speed the monster sprang out of the sand and was instantly upon Varric, who would find himself pinned back against the dune with the strangely light weight of the monster on his chest -- it smelled of moss and tree sap and rot -- looming over him, claws pressed into his arm and his scalp, teeth sunk deep into the fleshy part of the old man's shoulder.

Varric would hear a small, quiet hissing -- but not the beast's voice. It was a chemical, acidic sound.

Just as suddenly the monster leaped off of him, scrambling away in a panic, shrieking in shock, scratching away the dribbles of Varric's sizzling and bubbling red blood from its chin; it scooped up handfuls of sand and shoved them in its mouth in a pained frenzy to rid itself of the last traces of an intended meal. The monster skittered and leaped to avoid the inevitable attacks by Ifor and/or Thomas, flung past them all and bolted across the sand -- back to the rocks, where it disappeared into a well-hidden crevice.

The ocean water breathed and fanned, frothing, at their feet.

As Izzy rounded the crest of the rocks -- behind her the shouts and scuffles of battle -- she would be greeted by a wide, rocky field that expanded for miles. There was nothing here but a flat landscape, like a sea of little rocks and thick moss and clusters of generous mushrooms that glinted in the low moonlight. Should she look carefully she would see where the mushrooms had been picked or bitten by hungry goats. In the distance, to her left, there were a few scattered trees and a forest beyond them -- and a single huge mountain that loomed dark and foreboding over the island.

To her right, the goats' bells rang.

A small herd of goats galloped away from her, over the moss and mushrooms, accompanied by the boy who ran with an awkward creaky limp.

They rushed toward a sprawling town just ahead.

Little shacks made of lopsided wood and stones dotted the perimeter, many with smoky campfires burning and dogs tethered outside. Each of the shacks featured an impossibly tall tower of stacked rocks and bricks and refuse balanced atop its chimney, as if the residents had an ongoing contest for the highest stack --

-- but these were no match for the spires of the town proper. Beyond the shacks, the architecture became more permanent and sprawling, painted clean bright colors, pink and orange and yellow -- and throughout the town's rooftops rose thin towers or antennae reaching up toward the clouds and beyond them, like a forest of spires to the sky. Many of the towers were decorated by pinwheels and whirligigs and bells and spinning bits of bright paper that swirled on the quick winds, and curious mechanical things that gleamed and turned and changed shape with the breeze.

Turning windmills dotted the landscape closest to the town, all of it illuminated by torches and hanging lamps -- but brightest of all by far was the lantern. It was an unassuming thing, boxy and crude, but it had been set up high upon an ornate mosaic column in the middle of a stone-fenced wheat field -- the only farm to be seen. The lantern's light was powerful and clean as pure sunlight, hard to look at directly. The wheat grew tall and healthy under the light of the lantern ... and nothing grew anywhere else.

The town and the shacks and the windmills and the farm were all bustling with activity; people were hard at work or gathered round fires, preparing food or tinctures from mushrooms and moss and fish, hauling grain to the windmills, telling stories and laughing. Many sat on the roofs, admiring the spires or working them higher.

The boy and his goats rushed into the sprawl of poor shacks, just outside the bright light of the lantern ... which would shine slightly brighter as Izzy drew closer.

From where she stood she could see the vast moonlit field before her. Nothing but rock, mushroom and time stood against her in her endeavour to get answers in this forsaken place. The answers it seemed were yonder in that suspiciously town-like looking establishment of lights and bustling motions in the distance. And so marched on the redhead, following the sound of the bell their potential meal.

10 minutes later she found herself about halway to the suspiciously town-like looking place and nearing the three-quarter finished mark of her wine bottle. Izzy shivered and decided that now would be best to put on her clothes now.

Little warmth they provided since they were still damp but better than the nights chill ignoring her skivvies and biting her skin cold. Little warmth was still warmth after all. A yearning look befell her eyes as they spied fire in the distance. Suddenly she was up and moving again. With a resounding growl, she stabbed the gaff into the earth and left it in her dust; hunting season was on hiatus for now. Long legs pumped double time, for the promise of heat spurred her on and she made good haste to reach her destination.

~~~

And so finally then, she was greeted by the sights and sounds of utter magnificence and grace... and the resplendant heat of a body warming torch. There truly was more to this land than she first suspected; a whole town’s worth of wonder in fact. A ponderously graceful gait she had for one who had nearly a whole fat wine bottle’s worth of alcohol to herself, but it seemed the onlookers cared not. They continued on their business in this quaint little town backed by the giant and spectacular spires. The dogs however, recognized a stranger when they smelled one, and so began the rough chorus of barkings. Izzy in response merely found a dopey, huge grin plastered to her face and suddenly she began to whistle at the doggies, waving at them. Soon enough she was making kissy noises at them and of course she just had to saunter on over.

Her melodic voice was crooning out a soft and mellow lullaby that all Daemon Squall children were taught. One after the other, the dogs began to calm and a puzzled yet bemused look befell the redhead. She reached out to pet one, but then a body intervened. The caretaker of the dogs prevented Izzy from losing a limb. This person was the reason the dogs calmed, not Izzy’s perception that her song had lulled the dogs to rest.

A drunken smile she offered the dog-keeper, “Well met, mate… I be Ms. Izzy and a trade if ye can ken me speech then? A drink for the whereabouts of a lad with a meal—goat. A goat heheheh… he look like this—” Izzy re-enacted the boy slipping over the rocks, over exaggerated his motions and over embellished his speech—“I say! Oi! Ya barmy gits! Shut yer pie holes!! Bad children are loud children! Oi, selfish redhead! Loudness will only bring bone cracking, giant jawed Monsters raaaaaawwwrrrr!!!”

Izzy raised up the near-empty wine bottle to the dog keeper. “Wellllll… in so many words that be, mate… hah.”

The dog keeper took one sniff at the top of the bottle, crinkled not just nose but entire face, held both palms to Izzy and just pointed her in the right direction. A sniff at the bottle opening she herself took, a shrug she tossed, a swill she had, a smile, wink and nod she offered, a tip of a phantom tricorn hat she gave and Izzy sauntered on in the pointed direction.

~~~

And it was here, near the lantern 'shrine,' where that moment of sobering clarity found itself inside her near-drunken head.

The glow of the spectral light was amazing. It was of a hue that Izzy had only witnessed in her dreams; it was a hue that only the worthy could touch with more than merely hand and fingers. The uprisings of wheat swayed like row upon row of zealot followers and Izzy, whether from drink or whether from mere awe, she herself began to sway as well. Then abrubptly, she stopped when she looked upward towards the moon and into the glittering skies beyond moon's face.

All voices that spoke to her, haunted her, commanded her, she could no longer deny; she had seen this sight before. Upon waking atop that floating wine barrel she had looked skyward.

Instinct to look up was what any good for anything sailor worth their salt should have done in her position. They would have looked to the stars in the nightsky to get a bearing; to know where they are at sea. And aye, Isabellia herself had first looked to the stars upon waking, but until now she denied what she had seen.

It took an ashen skinned, giant toothed, self-healing monster and a dreamy, aethereal, and monolithic lantern light to finally break her denial. But alas, here she stood, almost full drunk but she had full clarity in her mind as she looked to the heavens above and admitted the defeating, undeniable truth to herself; she did not recognize the stars above her.

Nary a one.

“Izzy, the lost at sea…” an audible, dry and strained swallow she took, _{“…is still lost…”}

Her shoulders rose and fell with a heavy sigh as she lowered her eyes. That moment of clarity further expounded and traipsed into Epiphany's territory once those steely-blue eyes finally saw it. Upon the piece of metal she had collect was engraved script. Neath the moonlight, she had not the ability to read what it said, but under the lantern light it was clear as day; it was part of some kind of plaque. Most of the script she did not pay attention to, save for the one part; that one part highlighted by the radiant hue of the lantern light. It spoke a name. A name she did not realize, until now, was her name too.

“'…we sail the high seas with fire in the heart of our Legend’s Forgery…'” she recited. But Izzy’s melodic voice was not so melodic when she repeated the words again. “Fire in the heart of our Legend’s Forgery. The unequalled Flame is legend, find you in hell then… No one strays from the fire. Find you in hell, yet again... The Flame is but a legend’s forgery. ”

Oh, she saw where the goat-herding urchin went alright, and she would follow, but she needed a moment to herself. Such an an Epiphany required a moment to soak it all in. And in the end Izzy just laughed.

When you find yourself stranded in an uncharted place, no map, no ship, no friends, no family and find yourself as only a legend’s forgery what else could you do but laugh. And so Isabellia Courtana Faunarios, formerly known as Flame, captain of The Enchanting, one of the leaders of the Daemon Squall Pirates, just stood there and laughed.

With chin lowered, she had laughed until she cried.

He blinked thrice, and that was that; like magic the beast had recoiled back into its secluded hearth, spurning the pallid illumination of defeat in favor of darkness's safe haven. No one sought to chase after it; after all, it wasn't wise to chase snakes through thickets - and even if they'd had the will to, who would guard the wounded still scattered about the sugary dunes? The now even further mutilated circus attraction took the time to observe his surroundings - taking special notice of the downed aristocrat. He passed by the captain on his way over -still tightly gripping his blade in a battle-position, as if in disbelief at the events which had just transpired- and rested a weary, lacerated hand on the boy's shoulder:

"Hone this..."

Ifor swatted the blade aside by its flat, then lightly tapped the lad's chin with the back of his hairy mitt; afterwards, it resumed its dreary position at his side -along with the rest of his lengthy appendage- as his usual lax posture returned to him.

"...'Fore you khep wahggin' that."

Within a few more heavy steps, he was presiding over the agonizing 'gentleman', and his eyes bore down upon the ill-minded ballroom brat mercilessly. He maintained this silent chiding for a few moments longer even though he doubted its effectiveness - then, seeking to retain some measure of diplomacy, raised a closed fist just overhead of the ragged suzerain...and opened it. A freshly painted stone cast itself aside Varric's head with a solid, condemnatory thud - sinking guiltily into the mellow sands.

"...You dhropped this."

In a similar fashion to the stone, he sank, cocking his head at the seeping toothmarks embellishing the lichen's shoulder. He reached for his own, and with a singular, powerful stroke, ripped clean what little resistance the waterlogged fibers gave him. Also as with the stone, he let it clutter the space opposite Varric's hollow cranium.

"Whipe yur'selhf off...you're bleeding..."

Golde was taken aback from the rude woman's question, and was about to answer when she saw the Devil itself. It emerged and it seemed to be a manifestation of a poor child's nightmare. It seemed to her that this creature is lethal and will kill anything it sees moving. Golde on the other hand is slowly getting her strength back but not enough to run away completely from it. She only held her breath, her eyes wide in fear, and praying to the heavens that this creature wouldn't turn its head on her direction. Fortunately, it didn't.

Unfortunately, this only means it's eyes are set on the other survivors.

She watched in horror as a man literally ran head-first on the monster while another man in a soldier's uniform held his sword and waved it as a way of scaring the beast. Meanwhile, the short-haired rude woman from before moved to Golde's side while holding a plank as if defending her. Golde felt bad about immediately judging the woman based on first impressions.

Golde continued as the fight in the beach continued until thankfully the monster escaped. She didn't dare move until the man who assaulted the beast approached the man with the sword and tend to its wounds. She let loose a sigh she didn't know she was holding until she felt they were all safe. She put her hand on the stone where she's leaning and managed to stand. Her body was still sore but she can manage to stand and walk with no problem.

Golde put her hand on the short-haired woman's shoulder. "T... th...", she stuttered. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "Thank you for protecting me. I greatly appreciate your kindness. My name is Golde Le'Reux, but you can call me Angel like how my family and friends called me back then", Golde said to the woman.

She turned her attention back to the others on the beach. "If you'll excuse me", she said before curtsying and walked towards two men. She saw how one man ripped a piece of his clothing to give to another man, who's dressed like how a royalty should, to wipe his bleeding wound. Golde also saw the big man's arms covered in long, bloody gashes as well.

Golde sat beside the man, took a few herbs from her cloth bag she's been carrying, and rubbed them together. Then she approached the big man. "I am a doctor and I need you to be very still, mister, so I can treat your wounds." Golde ripped off a cloth from her skirt to wipe the excess blood from his arms and apply a bit of pressure on his wounds. "I am going to apply and put my medicinal herbs on your wounds. I do apologize in advance as this might... sting a little", she said before carefully placing the herbs on the big man's wounds, knowing full well it will hurt a lot. Then she took off her shoal and ripped her skirt again to bandage the man's arms to keep the herbs in place. "These herbs will help heal your wounds and lessen their risk of infection. Do not let them get wet- well, wetter than they already are but I assure you they will still work. I will generally check back on them but rest assured I can remove the herbs hopefully by tomorrow", she said to the man.

Then she turned her attention to the man lying on the ground next to them. Like what she thought before when she first saw him, it seems the man may be of royalty. A king, maybe a duke or an aristocrat? These manners do not trouble Golde that much as all is fair and equal in the eyes of doctors. She studied the bite marks on the rich man's shoulder. Then she grabbed a cloth beside the man lying down, turned to the man she treated before and mouthed a 'thank you', and proceeded to wipe the blood off the wound and put a bit of pressure on it.

"Judging from the bite mark, the wound is thankfully no fatal, although the real enemy here is the risk of infection. Like what I did to this man, I am going to apply my medicinal herbs on your wound", she said as she acquired herbs from her cloth bag and prepped them. Then she carefully put it on the rich man's shoulder and ripped her sleeves to wrap the wound with, gently helping the man raise his shoulder to wrap it below his armpit and shoulder.

Golde stood up and brushed the sand from her dress which now cuts before her elbows and her knees. "Thank you for your bravery heroes", she addressed to the big man, the rich man lying before her, the soldier not far from them, and the short-haired woman. "Because of your valiant and heroic efforts, not a single soul was lost today, though I do fear for the woman who just ran off earlier. Oh yes, introductions first. My name is Golde Le'Reux, a doctor, though you can call me Angel whichever you like", she said to the group with a serene smile on her face.

Thomas's heart was in his throat when the monster broke away from him and threw itself on the screaming noble and sank its teeth into him. But then the beast recoiled, burned, and disappeared, and just like that, it was over.

Thomas was still standing stock still, his eyes wide, his breath coming out in ragged gasps, when the hunchback stopped by to rest a hand on his shoulder and impart some fatherly advice. It was all he could do not to salute and shout an affirmative on pure instinct - instead, he managed a mumbled nod. He would love nothing more than to never wag his tongue again - unfortunately, he still had his orders. He wiped the flat of the blade, still dripping with monster blood, off on his leg, and slid it back into its scabbard. The pretty blonde girl - Golde - and the hunchback immediately went to see to the noble's wounds, and Thomas tried not to blush when she called him (well, all of them, but him by extension) a 'hero'. Not a hero. Nobody's been saved yet.

He took a deep breath. What happened next could be decided in baby steps. The beach was dangerous - there were monsters here, which made it an insecure perimeter. They would have to leave, find somewhere else, make camp, build a fire. He was fairly confident they could freeze to death in these waterlogged clothes without a fire. Then? Establish chain of command, find a way to contact friendlies, regroup with friendlies, and repeat. That seemed like it was a good plan. That seemed like it made sense.

Thomas spoke, attempting to project as much authority and calm into his voice as he could - though all he really managed was a slow, serene monotone, it was better than he'd been doing thus far. "We need to move," he began. "We don't know if more of those things are going to come back, and we don't know if driving that one off was just a fluke. The beach is unsafe. If anyone can't walk, they need to be helped by the people who can. We'll catch up with the crazy naked lady, we'll find a defensible location, make a fire, dry off..." he trailed off, looking around between the others. "And then figure out what we do from there."

As intense as everything appeared to be with the heated discussion and interaction between Elliot's fellow castaways he witnessed a slow build up. A crescendo so to speak. Temp continued on distracted by the various other castaways and interacting with each of them in a heated way. He almost felt grateful all he got from her was a smack. He certainly preferred the smack to the verbal barrage that followed toward the other castaways.

He listened to Varric blather on and on. Then again, most of the castaways were quite chatty. Aristocrats and nobles simply seemed to do it to an excess. He imagined the noise would attract the attention of any natives, and perhaps even worse things. Just as another castaway awakened, almost as if on queue, a boy appeared from behind the goats.

The boy carried a journal. Elliot’s journal. At least it looked like it could be. He waved in an attempt to gather the attention of the castaways quietly calling out to them. He could barely hear him.

"Keep it down!"

Too late.

Shortly after something slithered out of the nearby craggy rocks. He could hear it repeating the phrases in an empty and meaningless way that caused the hairs on the back of his neck to raise. The fiend shambled towards him slowly, but Elliot had the sense that it could strike much quicker than it appeared.

Elliot took the prudent decision to retreat behind Thomas as the ship’s strangest passenger Ifor tackled the fiend. The action that came afterward Elliot could not tear his eyes away from. Teeth gnashed fiercely as the fiend reacted by lashing out at them. Elliot stepped a little further away to give the defenders some space. A literal brawl unleashed as Ifor began to pummel the fiend into the sand while Varric berated the castaways for their violence. Then came the most interesting scene of the entire confrontation.

The fiend launched itself at Varric and bit into him only to react as if it had bitten into some acidic poison. As it slithered back into the rocks Elliot’s attention settled on the blood he saw. The intensity of the skirmish and the adrenaline he still felt afterwards reminded him of his crime. The manslaughter. He had to look away from the blood as a couple of the castaways offered assistance to Varric.

He moved away from them slowly as the weight of his waterlogged clothing made walking take far more effort than it reasonably should. Elliot stopped to remove and wring out his shirt when he spotted the light to the northeast. He glanced back at the castaways as they discussed their next course of action.

Right now he simply needed to get away and clear his mind. To center himself.

A little investigation of a mystery would help him calm down, and the shimmering light in the distance would be perfectly serviceable to achieve that. Once he was ready he would rejoin them.

Temp jumped when the girl placed a hand on her shoulder, wooden plank flailing. Fuckin' hell, she was not scared.

Fuck you, Grampa. She was gonna kick his ghost ass when she died.

But the demon was gone, the old rich jackass was bleeding out in the sand, and the girl (Gold? Gold Angel? Of course she'd washed up on demon island with someone named Angel) was rushing to clean up the mess. Left alone, Temp flung her makeshift weapon into the sand and stuck her face in her hands.

She was fine. It wasn't really a demon. Her heart wasn't about to explode.

A shaky breath escaped her as she pushed her fingers up, through her wet, tangled hair.

Someone was walking towards her. It was that guy she'd woken up, but his eyes weren't on her. He was looking further down the beach, beyond her towards the yellow light. He was walking towards it alone. Temp's eyes widened. As he passed her, she hot out a hand, yanking him back by the arm.

"The hell? You have a death wish? You see a fuckin' demon and you try to walk off alone?" Temp bopped him on the side of the head with the heel of her palm. "Your brain still rattling around in there?"

Searing, bubbling pain enveloped his arms, as if Golde hadn't so much applied a healing agent as she'd dunked the unfortunate things in a couple vats of boiling water. Such was the shock of the medicine's sudden intensity that the man entered a state of pseudo-petrification - tightening up into a figure devoid of all sound or movement.

A stray wind drifted in from across the idle seas, rustling up Ifor's mossy goatee and bringing with it a startlingly frigid touch to an otherwise passively cool night. Even the moon sought a fleecy retreat, draping herself in cloud-cover as darkness cast its all-encompassing visage upon the narrow strip. A hint of movement caught the attention of Ifor's pained gaze, and he squinted after the exit of a particularly quiet shadow from their midst. Yet from a few paces back, Chapt'n Thomus cut through the gelid air with reasonably tranquil declaration:

"We don't know if more of those things are going to come back, and we don't know if driving that one off was just a fluke. The beach is unsafe. If anyone can't walk, they need to be helped by the people who can. We'll catch up with the crazy naked lady, we'll find a defensible location, make a fire, dry off..."

The moon ended her brief reprieve, and once more the beach was lit up in a pale blue splendor. Just a ways down the dunes, one could make out the temperamental body-language of the vixen as she laid into the quiet stranger; no mercy from that woman, it seemed. And how badly would it suck to be that man, then - getting slapped about by a harpy several hands smaller than you from the moment you woke up? Ifor knew he'd never take that kind of abuse willingly...

...

...But there were all sorts of types in this world - and who was he to judge the lack of another's virility?

He twitched - the presence of an unexpected teardrop poking his flesh in a sudden moment of remembrance. In this state, he wouldn't be able to defend himself against even the smallest of creatures...not with his fists, anyway.

"...Not ghunna get far wh'out weaponry, Chapt'n..." Ifor stated acutely, releasing a dreary head from its stone-like contraction and nodding it up and down the coastline. "...Ehvun uh rhock's keen in the hand whith the phrop'r 'mount of force." His eyes stopped, fixated upon the glowing ball hanging ever-so-distantly in the midnight sky.

"...As for shel'tr...where ther's lhight, there's fiher."

Elliot winced in pain as he felt someone grab his arm and pulled him away from his destination. He turned to face Temp whom promptly started to hit him once and lecture him about the dangers. He quietly listened while patiently observing her. In spite of her clear and obvious temper, she was actually quite kind.

He took a deep breath and calmly responded with a light smile. "Thank you, Temp. I did see it, however, I also saw it reel in agony as it bit into Lord Varric. It appears our blood is like poison to the fiend, and if that is the case then we have nothing to truly fear from them with proper planning." He rubbed his arm to soften the ache from it being pulled and then pointed toward where the fiend crawled off. "That fiend certainly learned its lesson. I do hope the Lord avoids an infection."

He pushed the dark feelings that swirled beneath his calm composure a bit deeper. "The native shepherd told us to be quiet, and I will definitely be quiet."

He considered Temp carefully. "That light is not far, and I will be back."

With that Elliot pulled away from Temp and continued to walk over toward the shimmering light. All he needed was some time and space. He silently prayed to the fates that his wish would be granted.

After sage advice to Thomas, Ifor confronted the injured Varric -- then offered a chance at peace.

Golde thanked Temp for her diligence, then proceeded to administer to Ifor's and Varric's wounds.

Thomas, recovering from shock, offered a plan for their continued survival.

Elliot moved quietly away to investigate the source of the yellow light -- but was interrupted a second time by Temp's sharp logic.

Ifor suggested weapons and quick movement toward the light in the distance.



With the bleeding, nonsensical Varric limply in tow, the saltsoaked troupe made their slow way along the sand; a gentle rise of rocks on their left, the breathing and moonlit sea to the right.

The chilled breeze struck their wet skin. Stars shimmered overhead. The sand became littered with old seaweed and bits of rock, empty seashells and the occasional jellyfish.

Eventually, after they passed an outcropping of stone, the yellow light came into better view.

Ahead of them, a bright yellow obelisk floated over the stones that extended into the waves; its yellow light illuminated the froth and spray, the glimmering wetness of the smoothed stones. The obelisk itself was as tall as a lamppost, tapered at its base and chiseled at the top. It glowed consistently and steadily while the quickening ocean winds struck waves against the rocks.

A huge winged shadow dove and splashed in the surface of the roiling water, then flapped into the sky again.

In the blue light of the moon, the visitors might interpret the silhouette as that of an enormous, ox-sized eagle that turned in the air and soared back the way it had come, a fish grasped in its dangerous talons -- only this creature had the fur and hind legs of a lion tucked beneath a tufted tail.

The griffin flapped its impressive wings and stretched out all four feet, landing atop a huge, straight-faced boulder that stood sentinel in the water within the light of the yellow obelisk. There was another griffin laying there, its feathers furrowing in the wind -- and next to it, a bright campfire.

From the shoreline, looking out toward the boulder in the sea, there was little detail to be made out -- but the two small silhouettes that moved between the griffins were undoubtedly human, and undoubtedly children. They wore furs and leathers, but little else could be discerned.

The first griffin, having deposited its captured prey at the campfire, flapped and bobbed and turned at the edge of the boulder. It spread its wings and launched into the wind again for another hunt -- headed this time very close to the shore where the castaways walked.

There was a good shadow near the rocky incline beside the shore, and the troupe had not yet been spotted. The rocks beside them would offer somewhere to hide, or could quickly be climbed to the mossy, mushroomed field above. Should they continue forward, the sea-littered sand ahead stretched past the shadows and into the light of the yellow obelisk, where certainly they would catch the attention of the children and their beasts.


In the glow of the lantern light, Izzy laughed ... and cried.

Dogs barked again, then quieted with wagging tails. A group of men at a campfire laughed together. A flute twirled a light melody on the cool wind. The waves of wheat rustled gently.

The lantern's gentle pulse of light synchronized with Izzy's sobbing breath, and almost seemed to breathe with her. She might notice a tingling sensation in her throat and lungs -- a radiating warmth that wasn't unpleasant, drawn in with each breath and each brightening of the light.

Out of the wheat field, through the gate of the stone fence, walked a woman in a long soiled dress; she wore thick gloves, dark-tinted goggles and a wide-brimmed hat over straw-blond hair, and she hunched under the weight of a basket full of grain.

She straightened a little, breathing a bit heavily from a day's work in the field, and she pushed her goggles up onto her forehead to see Izzy clearer; her pale brown eyes were full of concern. She shifted the basket on her back, and for a quiet moment she considered whether to involve herself in these troubles. She looked back at the lantern atop the pillar, squinting in confusion at the odd pulsing of the light, before she returned her attention to the crying stranger.

"You all right then, dear?" she asked in a lilting, gentle voice. "You'll catch cold, swimmin' in yer clothes like that." She tried a hesitant smile, and again was quiet while she shifted her weight, considering her next decision.

"Strangers aren't too common in Woondaly. Yer lost, I kin tell. You got somewhere to go?" She tilted her head, and she extended a hand for Izzy to take. "My name is North. I'm just on m' way to the windmill to drop some grain, then I'll be headin' home to my boys. Please, come with me. We'll get you warm and dry and fed -- if ya don't mind close quarters with the goats." She laughed a little, hoping to raise the visitor's spirits.

The Flame never cried. Ever.

But she was not the unequalled Flame right now was she? Nay and again nay, for she was but Izzy now. I am merely Izzy... the lost at sea... I am merely Izzy... the lost at sea...

The Flame never cried and the Flame should go down with her ship. And did she go down with The Enchanting, her very own ship? Nay and again nay, for she was but Izzy now. I am merely Izzy... the lost at sea...

At first she had just thrown up her hands and just laughed at her predicament, but here she was now, standing alone, tears falling from her eyes and trying to come to grips with who she was. Was she just a drunkard lost in self-pity and wallowing in Doubt and Despair, or just a fraud exposed for what she was; a legend's forgery, or was she just a woman washed anew in a stranger's vast and open land?

Finally she spoke aloud into the Lantern-lit air, "I am merely Izzy... the lost at sea--"

The words and tears choked up in her throat when she saw it slip out from behind the cover of the wheat rows. The Lantern that seemingly breathed and sighed with her every blubbering and sob paused its flickering light show at that very same moment; Isabellia saw a golden angel float towards her from beyond the parted zealot wheat.

When she wiped away the bitter and salted water from her eyes, the angel had reformed into a goggled woman in full labourer gear, yet still bearing a smile. Yet even more than that smile there was compassion; compassion of a golden angel.

"The angellic North it be then..." said Izzy in a sort of hushed, yet drunken, awe, "and I be alright should ya makes it alright, Ms. North."

Izzy sauntered over to the hunched over woman, that ponderously graceful gait still persisted even though the redhead was still drunk. A hand she reached out, and, if given the opportunity, Izzy would grasp the other woman's hand in both hers and gently caress her own cheek with said hand. "And no where to go but up, angellic North for I am merely Izzy, the lost at sea..."

The offer to accompany Ms. North back to the safety and comfort of Ms. North's home nearly drew tears once more, but something inside Izzy had already steeled her against such 'womanly responses.' Instead she just smiled and nodded. The laugh however did not seem to lift Izzy's spirits. Instead, Ms. North's laugh caused Izzy to frown.

"'Tis not a time for contentment, I say, kind lady, for there are others here with me; those washed ashore, cast away from the refugee ship; the Legend's Forgery," before she spoke the name of the ship, the redhead took pause and gave a dry, bitter swallow, "and in great danger are they. Monsters exist, kind lady, and they have giant teeth and heal their own broken bones. The urchin with the goat tried to warn us... but alas, we were too loud and it attacked."

Steely-blue eyes were red-rimmed as a result of both shedding tears and drunkeness, but the glazed over look seemed to vacate when she spoke next. "And left them to die, did I... aye, dearie. Left them right there did I, because I cannot care anymore... I am merely Izzy, the still lost afterall..."

The redhead shook her head and smacked both her cheeks suddenly, "...Ughs! 'Don't know what's come over me... should we then see if they are alright, angellic North...? D'ye reckon there would be more monstrosities?"

Elliot strolled up to the obelisk and stared at it as it floated there. The yellow glow made him think of sunlight. He wondered if the obelisk was warm like the sun. He cautiously reached out to the mysterious floating object until his fingertips made contact. Hot? Cold? He wondered what the obelisk meant. How it floated like this. He could see no wires holding it up.

He removed his hand quickly as soon as he saw a large winged beast land. Half-eagle, half-lion. Never before had Elliot seen a creature like this before. They were not supposed to exist. All the books he studied dismissed them all as fantasy and myth. However, here it was, a griffin. A proud and courageous creature according to the legend. The legends he read touted them as noble creatures, perhaps they would not attack.

Somehow he had not been seen yet, however he knew that it would be only a matter of time if he continued to stay in this light. He then noticed beyond the griffin was a campfire and around the campfire he could see people. More strangers. More natives? This island certainly was not uninhabited as the shepherd earlier proved that. He could not be certain that they could be trusted, and thus he stepped back into the darkness. It was at this point he realized he had been followed.

He prayed the others would be quiet enough that the griffins did not attack for the sake of defending what he could only guess to be their riders. He raised his finger to his lips in a silencing gesture to anyone that paid attention and then pointed towards the fire. There was no way they could tell if those were friendly people or not, and Elliot's experience taught him to lean towards caution.

The moment Elliot's hand pressed against the cool gemstone, the obelisk began to brighten. The light was less like the sun, more like the glow of a firefly, amplified tremendously -- and it continued to amplify in response to Elliot's touch.

The wind whistled past, suddenly threatening to toss the travelers back along the sand, drying their clothes as it flung their hair from their faces.

Something inside the obelisk was moving.

The griffin in flight faltered and somersaulted in the sudden gust, and with a few desperate flaps managed to soar across the beach and perched on the rocky incline behind the travelers, ruffled and shuddering.

Atop the boulder in the sea, the second griffin raised in alarm while the children shouted over the noise of the wind and the churning waves.

Slowly, the wind quieted. The glow softened and dimmed, and whatever had been moving within the obelisk was moving no more. Soon it was as if nothing had happened -- but the children on the rock still scurried and spoke frantically to one another.

Beckoned by its invitation, the sea-ravaged foreigners plodded on across the sugary face of the windswept belt - weary footsteps rising and sinking amidst the soft sands, casting imprints within which their contorted shadows seemed to bleed and leave excess as the golden rays boiled them away like tallow. Another sharp wind swept in from over the dark, rolling waves, seeping through what little protection was offered by the water-logged clothes that stuck tight to the strangers' skins; some sought a vain sort of shelter from the unwelcome caress by trailing downwind of others, wrapping their arms about themselves and, when all else failed, simply resorting to stamping about in the muffling dunes. And in Ifor's eyes, it served those certain *others right - he didn't care to be tacitly voted Human Shield of the team just because he wouldn't throw a fit or meld with the ground every time the situation got tense.

...That being said, it was still a clever move for such salt-soaked and booze-ridden brains as theirs.

Hmm...for that 'victory' a ways back, it was almost surprising how many casualties they'd suffered: the lichen had stopped having delusions of grandeur over peace with the natives, and instead now merely whispered delusionally; the inebriated "Lazy" and her equally off-canter relative, "Izzy", were nowhere to be seen - even the vixen's mutt had skulked off to some region unknown.

He stopped at the sounds of mumbled grumbling - it appeared that the pair having to haul the old weasel's maddened state the world over weren't having the best time back there...mostly given his habits of rolling around on the ship-siding they'd repurposed into an uncomfortable stretcher. Yet, it was all they could do outside of leaving him to the skulking filth - tandem-dragging him up the crag hadn't turned out particularly well, and Ifor remained incapable of carrying the moaning corpse anywhere in his own state. Perhaps, with a little luck, the strange party might arrive fairly shortly at their destination...at least, before they could start a vote on how much excess luggage they were willing to carry...

The broad-bodied traveler was halfway through resuming his pace when, quite oddly, he was forced to stop once more at an awkward squelch caught beneath his ragged boot. Not the usual squelching of sogged leather, either, but rather unexpectedly, of a washed up, deflated and crusty-looking...squid, of some sort? It didn't entirely look like a squid, but could've perhaps been a distant relative - what with the limp multitude of testicles and...were squid eyeless and pink? Ifor scratched his head, crouching in idle bewilderment at the glimmering mass reflected under the cobalt light.

"SPLOOSH"; the sound jolted the straggler's eyes up, up, up...up onto the soaring, bestial shadow high above. It was the instinct of the others to immediately scurry for the cover of shadow, nearly scuttling their wounded in the process - yet Ifor could only gaze in wonder at the creature's majesty, in the power of its heavy, beating wings. It rounded the rocky bend, apparently missing them entirely, but nearly casting the party back by appearance alone.

Soft whispers and the sound of debate caught his ear from where he slunk, but little else could be gathered besides the ever-more cautious procession of the line: they would continue, it seemed...and so they did. Like mice they crept along, hugging what little cover could be provided by the incline, until finally they too turned the corner, and were met by an equally startling sight. What rays of glimmering gold that had been temporarily lost behind the cliff only minutes before now coveted almost the whole of the beach, the sea, and perhaps even the stars themselves! Soft, constant light flowed over the dunes, cutting through the night and drawing the eye towards its source, a...hovering? Yes, it was a hovering, almost 'carved' rock, and yes, there appeared to be children camping in the distance; and yes, there was more than one of--

"WOOSH" - like a thunderclap the air came to life! It burst across the sands, spewing forth a frantic shower of debris and pinning their clothes and hair behind them; even the shimmering idol seemed to momentarily flutter and fail...or perhaps it grew brighter? And yet, in the moment of its resurrection, the great ocean-churning wind was silent...and from what Ifor's startled eyes could make out through the shaken comfort of the shadows, it appeared that the mutt was motioning for them to be so as well; So this was where he'd gotten off too.

Like cornered rats they held tight, constipated in the crisp dim; all that could be done was wait, now that the watch had apparently been alerted.

Elliot rubbed his eyes as he recovered from the sudden increase in light. The wind also left him somewhat dazed. He had no idea what to expect as a result of what just happened, but he certainly wanted to investigate the obelisk further. First, he had to make sure that he would be safe exploring it. He had not looked that way yet, however he could hear the frantic voices in the distance. Perhaps they were not a threat. The griffins however were a different story. If they were directed to attack, Elliot was certain the castaways and himself would die very quickly and painfully.

If he could hear them better he might be able to determine better whether or not they were a danger. He crept around skirting the edge of the light to cautiously approach the two natives. He kept an eye on the griffins as he hoped they had not noticed him, or he hoped the light blinded them enough to distract. He was used to sneaking up on people at this point. There were too many times he had been forced to hide and sneak around so he could either avoid the discovery of unsavory folks or sneak into some historical site to investigate. While he was no pro at stealth, he felt confident in his skills.

Elliot picked up a rock as he slipped behind a boulder to listen in on the frantic discussion between the two natives. Should he be at risk of discovery he could use it as a distraction while he retreated.

Satisfied that Ifor and Varric are in great shape, Golde traveled with this merry band of survivors towards the yellow light in the distance- although, merry was just putting a positive spin into it. In truth, they were all afraid, afraid of that horrifying beast that attacked them, afraid they will have no effective source of food and energy, afraid they won't be able to live another day. Despite all this, Golde was still thankful that she has met these people before she perished on an island that's seemingly placed on the corner of the earth.

The optimistic Golde wanted to say something to cheer them all up but something in their faces made her just kept in to herself. Besides, she knows all too well you can't force someone to feel the opposite of what they're feeling especially in a stressful situation such as this. The best she could do is to do what she does best and that is to heal. Instead, she used this silent walking as an opportunity to observe her co-survivors.

She started with the most obvious one - Ifor. There has been some people in her village that had the same condition as him. If that was the case, Golde could only imagine what kind of things the poor man has experienced from the people around him. Fortunately, every one in her village was kind and accepting as long as you do no harm. Golde thought that if only Ifor lived in her hometown, he will know that there is still kindness in this cruel world. She also got the feeling that sympathizing and taking pity on Ifor will be of no good. Golde admired him for his strong-heart and willingness to help others in need.

She turned next to Varric. Golde was a few distances away from the whole group when they washed ashore on this island, but she heard enough from her distance to know what kind of man he is. Her mother always told her that money will show the true you, and Varric may be a good example of that. She also heard rumors circulating among her people that men and women like Varric were extremely vain and think they're superior to all just because they live in the most glorious castles, though Golde doesn't know much about Varric to know if he really is of royalty or just a wealthy merchant. In any case, Golde decided to give him the benefit of doubt and be kind to him. After all, everyone's equal in the eyes of a doctor.

Then Golde saw Temp, the short-haired woman who protected her earlier. Like she thought before, Golde was ashamed to put everyone on labels just based on their first impressions. After Golde saw how determined Temp was in protecting her, even if she can cuss more worse than a drunk pirate, she decided to make Temp her friend. Truth be told, Golde admires Temp as the older sister she wished she could have.

Next, Golde turned to Elliot. The crazy thing is, she never saw his birthmark on his face until everything calmed down. It really came as a surprise to her when she finally saw it and decided not to make a big deal out of it. Elliot seems like a very quiet guy to her, and as women in her village would say: quiet men are intelligent men. Rather that or he just has his own problems. Nevertheless, Elliot seems like a very nice guy once you get to know him personally.

At last, Golde saw Thomas. To be honest, he's kind of adorable. He looks like a grown-up little boy playing pretend soldier, though Golde knows it will be too harsh of an observation. She admires how courageous he was when the creature attacked them, and Golde saw that he isn't just a soldier, he was a knight. Though this could be a hyperbole but Golde can't help but admire Thomas as he is a handsome one himself. She just wished Thomas would have more self-confidence and she's pretty sure he'll be more admirable than a knight in shining armor.

After a few moments, they arrived at the source of the yellow light and was quite surprised to see an obelisk there. Golde only knew about obelisks thanks to the fantasy story books she used to read as a kid and to see one in person just seemed so... magical in a way. She saw Elliot approaching and touching the obelisk as it shone to brightly. The winds were so strong Golde felt she could be carried away as their wet clothes dried quickly. Then the light faded, though not completely, and the winds died down but only after did she saw the griffins.

"Wha... what in heavens is going on?", Golde weakly and quietly whispered to herself. It's bad enough that they're trapped on an island in the middle of nowhere with a nightmarish creature on their heels. Now they discovered the island wasn't that deserted after all after they heard some natives and creatures that are the products of mythologies were right on front of their very eyes.

She quickly hid from the beasts. If they were to be discovered by these beasts, their lives will surely come to an end in just a snap. Then she saw Elliot quietly approaching the source of indistinct chatter. Natives of the island? Golde almost smiled in glee before remembering what has happened to them so far. If these beasts are as vicious as they seem, how much more are the humans living on this island? Golde quietly prayed that Elliot won't be seen by these griffins.

While Izzy spoke -- while the castaway told of shipwrecks and an abandoned crew and a monstrosity and an urchin with goats -- North's sable eyes grew wide with a strike of fear. The light of the Lantern behind her, pulsing to Izzy's heartbeat, haloed in the woman's flyaway tangled hair.

"Quickly." Without hesitation, North dropped her basket of grain spilling to the ground, grasped Izzy's hand and whisked her away into the town. They sped past lopsided shacks that leaned against one another, skirted around a group of small children playing, past the sizzle and aroma of grilling mushrooms, the spark and flash of small fires.

North called urgently into a gathering around a campfire, her voice cracking on the verge of hysterics. "Have you seen Sunny?"

An old man looked up, nodded and pointed deeper into the village. Not a few moments ago, he said. North breathed, slowed down a little, was able to focus knowing her child was indeed safe -- but there were still Izzy's comrades.

"That was a Hollow you met," she explained as she ran, clutching Izzy's hand. "You can't fight them on your own, you were right to come here."

She weaved through narrow streets, until finally they came upon a dark stone tower that was girdled high above by a ringed wooden platform. Bluish lights cast a dim but constant glow, hanging from hooks and posts. In front of the open archway of the tower, two strong women in pale-blue and yellow uniforms stood guard with spears in their practiced hands.

"There's been a Hollow attack!" North cried as soon as they were within earshot of the two women.

Immediately, one of the women rushed inside and up the stairs to prepare the team, while the other approached. "Where was the sighting?" she demanded. "How many hollows? Tell me exactly, or come along and show us. Quickly, now."

Above, the whirr of mechanical parts echoed over the town, then the fwoom of rushing air. Feet pounded on the wooden platform above, and engines were being revved.


Ifor stepped on a jellyfish -- which ultimately would cause a blue, glowing stain to appear on his boot -- and huddled against the shadowed rocks in wait. Golde joined him in hiding.

Elliot got as close as he could -- or dared -- in order to hear what the children were saying. He would have to traverse over a treacherous field of rocks, skirt around the light of the obelisk, and hop along the wet stones that stood above the moving waves in order to get closer to the high, sheer rock island upon which the children and the griffins were perched. Hearing what they were saying was very hard indeed over the roar of the water, especially from this precarious distance, but he might pick up a few words:

"Is he waking up? Is he waking up and we're the ones who'll see it? We'll go down in history!"
"But why, do you think? Have we done something? Is someone down there?"
"Who knows! I wanna know why he stopped! C'mon!"

Great wings opened, momentarily blocking the moon from Elliot's vision, until the griffin -- with two small passengers -- swooped down and made a neat landing upon a jutting rock just beside the yellow obelisk, where the seaspray foamed all around.

The children dropped from the griffin's back, and they both waded across the slippery rocks toward the obelisk. Thus illuminated brightly, their forms were made very clear to the shadowed observers; they wore furs and crude leathers, and hoods made of the hollowed faces of dead animals. The boy's hood was fashioned with the beak and feathers and vacant eyes of a great eagle, while the smaller girl's hood was made from the dead empty face of a coyote.

The boy leaped and splashed recklessly across the rocks, nearly slipped once, and boldly pressed both hands against the obelisk while the water frothed at his ankles. "Wind-god! Come out!" he hollered with a grin. The obelisk didn't respond at all. "We've been watching over you! We're ready for your return! Help us take back the island! We'll fight for our land and our freedom!"

"That is not quite how I would speak to a god," the girl pointed out calmly -- and she did not mention the fact that the wind-god did not appear to be at all interested in the boy's raucous crowing.

The girl, instead, scanned the dark silhouettes of the rocks -- and her eyes stopped on Elliot. Although by all logic any normal person should not be able to see into such shadows, this girl's eyes were perfectly accustomed to seeing in darkness.

The griffin, in turn, raised its head and looked in the direction of her gaze -- and so Elliot had both pair of eyes on him now.

"You can release him," she called to Eliot, while her companion was distracted by his own ego. "It was you."


Ifor and Golde had a perfectly good hiding spot -- far enough away from the obelisk that there was little risk of being spotted, yet close enough to see and hear much of what transpired. They saw the winged beast land among the wave-beaten rocks, they saw two children splash across to the obelisk, they saw the boy touch the obelisk and shout raucously while the girl turned her back to Ifor and Golde, spotting Elliot. The next moment, and Elliot's decision, would determine his fate --

A rush of flapping wings and a dark shadow overhead was the only warning before the second griffin dropped down off the cliff above Ifor and Golde; it landed with a spray of sand only a few feet away -- behind them, leaving only the path to the obelisk open to them -- its eyes fixed upon them warily. The beast towered over them, bigger than the largest horses, its hooked beak and shining talons a far greater threat than any hooves or teeth. Its tufted tail swished, and the griffin lowered its head with a dangerous warble.

Its eyes glanced down to Ifor's boot, stained in the luminescence of the jellyfish, then snapped its beak with a huff of breath that was so close it ruffled Golde's hair.

Golde could smell the stank breath of the creature before her. She did not make unnecessary movements and stood perfectly still, afraid that even the tiniest motion might antagonize the griffin and kill them at the spot. Slowly and fearfully she opened her eyes...

...and saw the most beautiful creature she has ever seen. More majestic than a steed and prouder than a lion, the aura it exudes is both fear and beauty, power and might. Golde was tongue-tied that moment, too taken aback from the beauty of the beast that was about to slay them. But judging from the way it looks at her and Igor, it seemed more curious than hungry.

She stood forward to attract the griffin's attention. It does not know if it sees Igor as somewhat a threat so she figured she must focus the creature's sights on her. She bowed her head and slowly knelt to the ground, her way of saying that she means no harm to the majestic beast. The griffin seems transfixed by what Golde was doing. Normally, its prey would try to run away with fear of being eaten but this one presented herself to it and does not show any kind of fear.

But whatever Golde is doing, the griffin still looked warily towards Igor, while clawing at the ground and flapping its wings as a sign of agitation, and especially something below him. Golde looked at the direction where the griffin is looking and found a sickly blue goo of some sort stuck on the bottom of Igor's boot. She has no idea where Igor got that from but it seemed that whatever it is, it's unsettling the griffin.

Golde ripped off the entirety of her left sleeve and quickly covered Igor's boot. She looked at the griffin again and saw that it was beginning to calm down but it is still agitated. She slowly grabbed something from her satchel, which the griffin took notice as it began to eye her warily, and took out a handful of reindall berries. She took these small, cream-colored, spherical-shaped berries from their farm at her home. This berries can not only treat an upset stomach, it was also a delicious treat. While the griffin was looking, Golde took out a cloth and set it on the ground in front of the griffin before putting the berries on top of it. She then moved backwards with her head bowed down.

Once she was beside Igor again, she whispered something to the man. "The griffin seems to be agitated by the blue substance on your boot. If the creatures are not looking, make sure you wash them off as quickly as you can", she said to Igor. She turned her attention back at the griffin as it curiously approached the berries on the ground. Again, it was dumbfounded by the fact that its prey would present it with food instead of itself. It nudged the pile with its beak before eating a berry, and another. And another. And another. Golde was delighted it liked the berries as much as she did.

Cautiously, Golde tried to approach the griffin again with its left hand reaching out to it. The griffin turned its attention to the approaching Golde and squawked. She stopped a bit to wait for the griffin to relax again but this time she stopped with her out-stretched hand near the griffin with her head bowed down. After a few tense moments of waiting, the griffin finally nuzzled its head on Golde's hand. Flabbergasted, she almost laughed out loud as she fully approached the griffin and stroke its soft and beautiful feathers much to the griffin's delight.

"Aww, how adorable you are my love", Golde said while scratching the griffin's neck as it cooed.

"Is he waking up? Is he waking up and we're the ones who'll see it? We'll go down in history!"
"But why, do you think? Have we done something? Is someone down there?"
"Who knows! I wanna know why he stopped! C'mon!"

Elliot wondered what exactly he had gotten himself into. Who were they talking about? He could barely hear what they said, but a clear level of excitement was present. This caused him to relax a little as they clearly were not thinking they were under attack or anything like that. That much was a great relief. He noticed they wore hoods that took on the appearance of animals and wondered at the historical and cultural significance to it.

Since he was a close as he cared to get, the griffin appeared even more imposing than ever before. What kind of legend had he stumbled into? Everything he had understood as reality had been blown away. Everything was now different, and he could not operate under any assumptions from before.

The boy leaped and splashed recklessly across the rocks, nearly slipped once, and boldly pressed both hands against the obelisk while the water frothed at his ankles. "Wind-god! Come out!" he hollered with a grin. The obelisk didn't respond at all. "We've been watching over you! We're ready for your return! Help us take back the island! We'll fight for our land and our freedom!"

A wind god? Is that what the obelisk represented? Is that what created that gust of wind?

"That is not quite how I would speak to a god," the girl pointed out calmly -- and she did not mention the fact that the wind-god did not appear to be at all interested in the boy's raucous crowing.

Elliot rather liked the girl's response. She was certainly far more level headed than the boy. He had seen children act similarly before in which boys were generally far more reckless than girls the same age. At a young age, he learned to avoid most recklessness, but even so he could not come close to the cautious nature of most women he knew young and older.

Then he noticed he had been caught. He had been seen. Elliot sighed, stood up tall, and faced the girl and her griffin.

"You can release him," she called to Eliot, while her companion was distracted by his own ego. "It was you."

Elliot stared for a while at the magnificent beast. There was no way to have been able to know he could be seen in that darkness. He could barely see a thing himself had there not been the glowing obelisk and the fire. He extended his hands out in a wide shrug.

"I'm not exactly sure how I could do that," Elliot said. "Why would I even want to?"

He then heard a warble not far off in the distance and glanced off towards the sound. It came from not far off beyond the obelisk. "Those are my friends. We were just attacked by a fiend, and we don't even know where we are. Our ship was caught in a storm and only a few of us survived. If you can help us then I may help you. I don't want us to run into anything dangerous without more information, so what causes a need for a god to help you achieve freedom? What makes releasing him a good idea? What is this land in the first place?"