The next few trials were pretty uneventful. I could probably draw them out in some kind of convincing narrative, but it’s not really necessary. I passed them all easily. I snuck around, I hunted the prey, I hauled the carcasses, I knew poisonous versus edible flora, I held my breath (not as long as some, but well enough to hunt a caiman), I climbed the trees, and I scouted the area. I even fisticuffed properly (the only one I didn’t pass stunningly. I mean, I passed, just not

I’d have to say it was when the eagle’s talon went into my eye socket that I realized hunting might not be for me. Obviously, my parents...

The three walked into camp, and each in turn dropped their loot. Faelana laid the bottle on a stump, Osa carefully drew the axe, and dropped it into the dirt before coiling up, and Caliz hauled the tower shield off his back and dropped it beside the axe.

The lizardfolk shouted in that same language Caliz couldn’t parse, but as he did, he noticed Faelana perk up. She turned to him. "That’s Old Kilio."

Caliz breathed deeply and quietly as they descended the ladder. It was a long way down, and he was feeling the strain on his arms. I’m in no shape to fight, let alone venture down into these fucking lizard’s native place. Shit. What if they are Vok Archons. "No. Angels can’t be that easy to kill, or we’d do it all the time." He felt the heat of the lantern bounce against his thigh as he climbed down, lighting up the thin tunnel up. The warmth gently radiated across his leg w

Caliz woke to a foot nudging him. He stared up at a woman decked out in studded black leather, intricately crafted to hug her every curve. Two hatchets hung at her hips, with knives in her belted boots. The only skin he could see was her face, her hood hanging back. She was a Nojern woman with what looked to be a ponytail, completely undyed and without makeup. She was a shadow in black armor. “You the newbie?”

Iron hung in the air like fog, clouding their vision, lungs, and hearts. Caliz was slumped against a wall, bleeding from his ribs and arm, his hand twitching in pain. He winced, grabbing at a bundle of herbs from a pouch in his pack, trying to remember the words of Itzel.

The party sidled carefully against the rock, Osa doing her damndest despite her long, snaky form not allowing for much in the way of sidling. Caliz motioned for them to hold off, snuck ahead, cracked the smaller double-doors, and peered inside. Inside the doors were, as the rough map stated, stables. Piles of hay flanked them, steeds rested in their little homes, and a large cage sat empty. Caliz assumed it used to contain guard animals of some kind. Dogs or something.

Caliz sat on the log beside the fire while one of the Nojern he’d forgotten the name of wound bandages around his shoulder. His armor and shirt were cast aside, leaving him in nothing but the tightly-wound cloth around his chest. Everyone at the camp was polite enough to not ask about it. “I told you it wouldn’t work.”

The carriage rumbled down the path past our party of three, the driver headed to drop their belongings at the guild hall and ask for backup, while the rest walked to Akala’s camp. It was small, a collection of tents with a fire in the trees, and a Nojern woman stood to watch them approach.