Miles Flavius adjusted his metal breastplate and looked at the soldier next to him. The sun was quickly retreating from the sky but there had been no word from inside the meeting room. And no sign that their talks would end soon. The soldier next to him was Miles Brucius, a non descript Thyatian of few words. Flavius hated guard duty with him. The hours crept by like a tortoise on Lucinius Beach.

It had been three years since Flavius had joined the Legions of Thyatis. His enlistment was all but over. In fact, as soon as they returned from Specularum, he would be an average citizen again. That sounded just fine to him.

All told though, his position was not a bad one. He had been spared going to the Hinterlands by being made a guard for Deputy Trade Counsel Montius Extragillius almost immediately upon leaving Tiro (recruit) status. Because of Extragillius, he had been trained in advance sword arts without ever really risking his life. In his position he had also been able to travel throughout the mainland of the Empire as well as to Karameikos and the Five Shires. Ah! The people of the Five Shires. Though Halflings all, they had heart and they knew how to have a good time. The memory of the taste of Moon Hill rum made his mouth water. He would have to go by the Hungry Halfling tonight after this meeting ended. If it ever ended . . .

*****

Oh, that was probably one too many, thought Flavius. But where as that barmaid's looks seemed almost hostile earlier, they sure looked inviting now. Perhaps he should have a word with her. He stood up or at least meant to do so yet his legs barely cooperated. It was time to go. The Trade Counsel would not like that he slipped out tonight.

Flavius walked towards the door. Hmm. What about that barmaid? He looked around and saw that her eyes and words were with another gentleman. And they were both staring at him but trying hard not to look as if they were not staring at him. His inner soldier's voice was trying to tell him something but his dulled mind and enlarged bladder got in the way. "Oh well. No matter. Time to get home."

Flavius shuffled into the alley outside the tavern and leaned against the wall to relieve himself. "I don't think I had that much but I sure seem to have lost control over by pant strings," he chuckled. While he was fumbling, he failed to notice the men quietly slipping out of the tavern behind him. One, the staring man, carried a sap, the other a large knife gripped in sweaty hands. "Umph!!" A blow to the base of his skull and Flavius was dead to the world . . .

*****

"Argh. Another day of this. How did I get here?" Akair's head hurt and his eyes strained to eke out any form or shape in the dark. Shouts and screams are heard from all around. It stinks. No, it really stinks. This must be a boat for the waves are rocking it. Side to side and up and down. The monk has never been to sea before and this is much too rough to be a lake. At least any lake near where he was before he was attacked. Trying to relax his mind and muscles, Akair slips back to sleep.

*****

The mystic awoke again. "How many days has it been?" His last clear memory was walking on the docks in Specularum, taking in the night air and the sounds and smells of that strange city. He had never been to such a large and crowded place. Though his monastery was a short distance north of Kerendas, he had never really stayed in that city. Besides, it was not nearly the size of Specularum and the city of horsemen was very different. Calmer and cleaner. But, as Master Esterius often said, the true servant of the Gods must be aware of both the word of the Gods and the make of their people. All brothers, whether they seek the path of the mind or the path of the body (like them), the true servant must venture out beyond the protected fields.

He had been on the docks when a man walking past brushed into him. He looked at the man to say that he was sorry when two others appeared and struck him with clubs. He was able to throw one of them in the water but then there were two more men. One must have slipped behind him and whacked him with a sap because next thing he knew, he was waking up in a covered wagon, tied to several other people. He found out that he was now the property of the Iron Ring. That was a name knew little about other than the rumors from his childhood: slavers, black marketers, pirates; takers of naughty children. But that was a far off fairy tale and this had become all too real a few days ago.

After a while in the wagon, he was gathered with other slaves, being picked to ship to market. It was all done in a desolate warehouse. A man all in black (even the eye slits of his helmet were black steel and his eyelessness was utterly disturbing) inspected them. He was accompanied by the tallest, gauntest man he had ever seen. The man in black killed a slave right beside Akair, without word or look, just a quick flick of a wrist and a dagger to the throat. But after that, Akair's sole focus became Hafkris. The sailors and slaves call him the Half-Orc and if such abominations truly exist, he is surely one of them. Hulking and ugly with a turned up snout that reminds one of nothing less than a pig. Stringy black hair, full of grit and grease. Red skin, harshly treated in the salt and sun of the sea. Cruel as the legends of Orcs suggest. He was the chief slave master during the sea voyage and he named them all "meat."

For what seemed liked many days, the mystic tossed in the hold of the ship, sick from the smell, the gruel served once per day, the constant waves and most of all, Hafkris and his whip. When he has been in a good mood, Hafkris has said the slaves are bound for the slave markets of Highport. From the sound of it, it is a great and secret city of pirates and slave traders. No matter. Akair and the other captives are firmly chained to the deck and there appears to be no way out of the shackles. Mockingly, the keys to them are hung from a hook right by the hatch to the deck, only five or six feet from the group of prisoners. They might as well be miles away.

Now, however, it is dark and perhaps night. It is hard to tell because of the storm. Crash! Another thunderous boom and the ship feels as it will turn full over through the water. A while ago (who knows how long since hours seem like days in the hold), Hafkris came and took twenty slaves above deck. He is now back and picks twenty more, leaving but six slaves in the hold. In the flash of lightning with the hold door open, Hafkris can be seen to be in an even fouler mood than normal. And is that a sign of worry or concern or even fear . . .

Still later, the cries and screams can barely be heard above the din of the storm. The wind is becoming stronger. Then . . . KABOOM!!!!!! A gut-rending, limb busting crash and a black maw appears in the hull of the ship, the wood splintering like kindling. Wind and rain and seawater and sand spray the slaves. All is confused as the ship turns over on its side. Akair closed his eyes against the stinging sand and rocks. He did not see the piece of ship’s timber that struck him in the head. He just faded to black . . .

*****

The ship had run aground on a large sandy beach. The front end of the boat was disintegrated. A few bodies were lying face down in the sand and Hafkris walked amongst them. After the crash and the subsequent turning and tumbling of the boat, Hafkris awoke. He had consumed his lucky bottle of wine first. Then he searched through the remains of the aft storage and found the only unbroken bottle of wine and consumed that too. He was rip roaring drunk so he went for some air on the beach.

Meanwhile, the last of the slaves were awakening in the damaged hold.

"Unggh!! What happened?" Flavius forgot that he was chained and tried to bring his hands up to his aching head.

Next to him was a Dwarf. "It appears we have come to a sudden stop."

The soldier looked sideways at his short, stocky companion. "You don’t say. I guess I am just glad you speak Thyatian. Well, I believe that my bonds are looser. Perhaps we can get ourselves out of here."

A voice called from the other side of Flavius with a distinct Alphatian accent, "Can anyone now reach that key that has been tormenting me these past few days?"

Flavius pulled with all of his might and what was once impossible due to a lack of leverage was suddenly easy. The chains came unripped from the wall with a mighty screech. "I think I can get them," he said.

The Thyatian dragged his chains over to the hatch and grabbed the key ring. Quickly undoing his bonds, he turned back to his fellow captives. "Ladies first." He walked over to the sole female among the six captives and undid her bonds. She smiled weakly and rubbed her wrists. Flavius moved from one to the next until all were free: a thin man with the look and voice of an Alphatian, a Dwarven man, two men with the look of fellow Thyatians and the woman.

"Well, now that this is done. Let’s see where we are and how we get out of here." The Alphatian moved passed the group towards the gaping hole in the bow. Rain came down in sheets and the gusting wind forced it in sideways. Through the gloomy light, they saw a man walking haphazardly on the beach. Shouting and thrusting his fist into the sky. Above the roar of the wind, they could catch snatches of word: "Cursed luck . . . kill him . . . ran us through the worst . . . die!"

There was no mistaking that form. It was their captor Hafkris.

"Now what?" asked the woman.

"I think we should take care of Hafkris before he comes back to take care of us,” said the Dwarf.

"He appears to be inebriated," said one of the two Thyatian men. He had the shaven head of a monk. It was hard to tell since they were all in rags and barefoot.

The Dwarf and soldier started looking around. The other Thyatian looked puzzled and said, "What are you doing?"

"We are looking for wood to use as weapons," they said in unison.

"Good idea. I will look for enough wood to fashion together a symbol of the Church. We will need the luck of the Immortals on our side." He went towards the back of the broken ship.

The monkish looking man spoke again, "I will lure him back here. Wait in the shadows and take him when he gets close."

Akair leaped out of the hole in the bow and started to climb the broken timbers up to the main deck. He glanced back cautiously at Hafkris. The drunken sailor was staring right at him.

Hafkris came charging after the Monk. "Get back in there, meat!"

As he got close to the hole, he hesitated. A flicker of something caught his eye but by then it was too late. Chronos stepped from the shadows and swung the club into the slaver's shoulder. Flavius quickly followed, holding his club like his gladius and jabbing the ugly man in the chest. The Dwarf scramble under the priest's swing and tried to land a blow of his own but was off balance and missed. Hafkris's leg jerked unexpectedly, in strange rhythm to the gestures of the Mage. His swing was thrown off and the blade went inches above Flavius' head.

From above, Akair yelled, "Up here Orc!" Hafkris paused and became unsure. He had forgotten the monk. Akair jumped down behind the Dwarf and the Fighter as they together landed blows from their makeshift clubs. Hafkris, surprised at the daring of these slaves, cursed and slashed his sword at Sarmboc. A line of bright red ripped through his tattered shirt and the pale tan began to turn crimson. A smile snarled Hafkris' lips.

Then, a sound like popcorn, and the voice of the mage sang clear, "Behold your doom, slaver." A streak of blue sparkles flew from Syndylys' hands and like an arrow, pierced Hafkris' neck. His eyes grew wide and a little gurgle mixed with blood escaped his lips. With that he was dead, his body twisting backwards into the sand.

"I have never said this about another living thing but I am truly glad he is dead. May the gods redeem his spirit. Thank you for killing him. Hafkris was truly an evil soul." Those were the first words the woman spoke and the group was surprised she was there. They had forgotten her in the heat of their first battle. "My name is Melisana."

"Well met, fair lady. I am Brother Akair of the Order of the Mountain Sun." The monk bowed as was his fashion.

"A mystic? No wonder you were climbing up the boards like a monkey." The Dwarf said as he moved to see Melisana a little better. Akair smiled and nodded at the short figure.

Flavius bowed to the lady. "A monk maybe but the Order of the Mountain Sun is at least Thyatian. This . . ."

"We have no allegiance but to the gods and the purity of self, sir," interrupted Akair.

"Yes, yes. But what I was to say is that the one back there is clearly no friend of ours, despite his vanquishing of Hafkris. The wizard is Alphatian by Vanya."

"Ay, that I am. From your tone and hooked nose, you must be Thyatian. It would seem though that at this moment we are less of our nations and more of each other. The wind is picking up and we should find some shelter." The Alphatian squinted at the rain as water ran into his eyes. "If you must call me a name it is Syndylys."

"And mine is Chronos," said the Cleric. "Chronos of the Church of Karameikos."

The Dwarf, chuckled. "Look at the lot of us. An Alphatian, a Thyatian and a bunch of Karameikans. It would make for a good joke." He reached a hand out to the Cleric. "My name is Sarmboc of Rockhome, Clan of the Stonetowers."

After finishing their introductions, the party turned to Hafkris’ body. Carefully searching him for any valuables, they only found his sword, boots and leather armor of any use. In death, the slaver was even more foul. Besides the equipment they stripped, the only thing of note was the crude tattoo of black manacles found on his wrists.

The group then climbed the broken planks of the ship to the top deck. What remained of the mast was lain across the hatch which once held them in their doom. The deck was buckled and broken and only three cabins appeared at all intact, their doors still on hinges. The first was at the far aft and contained the remains of the grain and wine held on board for the captain and senior crew. Smashed bottles, broken barrels and wine soaked grain lay scattered about. Hafkris’ bootprints could be seen here as well as the empty bottle he had tossed to the side after draining its contents.

The next room had a small cot and a chest. Inside the chest was a pair of slippers, a shirt, a cloak, several navigational charts and maps, a log book and a spell book. Syndylys examined the spell book carefully and has determined that it contains at least six spells. He can only identify the first one: Read Magic. He will need to use that spell to unlock the secrets of the others.

The final room was obviously Hafkris’. It smelled like him. However, there were two hammocks slung on the walls and one chest. Inside the chest was another pair of boots and a crossbow with 50 quarrels. Everything else has been smashed.

Having searched the remains of the ship, Melisana begins to tell the group of herself. She is the daughter of Melkeras Basarius, a merchant in Specularum. She thinks her father would surely pay a handsome reward for her safe return. He must be very worried as she has missing since she left to go to the market and was convinced to delivery a giant lizard to some unknown person. She remembers that he cast a spell at her and she was then waking up in a dark dungeon. From there she was given to the slavers and smuggled aboard the ship.

The adventurers agree that they will keep her with them (and as safe as possible) then return to their grim work of looking through the wreckage; this time at the bodies washed up on shore. They all appear to be slaves as were they. None have any worthwhile possessions.

As they carry on their exploration, the wind and rain are relentless. With little to protect most of them, they are soaked and chilled to the bone. However, they cannot agree on what to do next. Akair and Syndylys decide to climb the sand berm that borders this beach to the west. Looking around reveals little except that the terrain is hilly with many small valley like trails through the dunes. No trees are other vegetation is visible but the rain makes sight short. North of them, the sand berm extends into rough, rock y land and perhaps stays high to the sea. It will be a difficult journey going that way. To the south, the sand berm flattens eventually into the sand. In that direction and to the east the terrain is more even and less rocky. While no civilization is visible, it appears that if they are to find any shelter, they must look inland.

The Dwarf and the Priest decide that a shelter may be made out of the remains of the boat and the sand. With pieces of timber, they begin digging in but the sand is heavy with rain and the wind causes it to slide in upon itself as soon as it is dug. They persevere with Sarmboc talking about the engineering skill of his clan and how he knows he can build a shelter with two toothpicks and a rock, if necessary. The Priest does not seem to hear him but keeps his back in his digging.

"I do not think that digging a sand shelter in this storm is wise," says Melisana and the mage nods in agreement. He says, "Let us search in two directions and return in two hours. I will go with the legionnaire and Brother Akair, you go with Mistress Melisana."

The soldier stares at the wizard as if to say something but holds his tongue. He instead goes to the Dwarf and takes Hafkris’ sword. "Just in case," he says.

*****