ROLEPLAY

Probably Nivia, 2nd AC, 2618. Or 3rd AC, we don't know anymore.

Done with playing.
This place annihilates our discernment.
If I really have an advice to leave, if we manage at least to leave a trace of this trip, and that we don't stupidly die on the way, it's this one: Take a guide, my li'l ones. Leave your Fyros pride aside, your Matis dignity, your Tryker assurance, or your... whatever, I can't find anything for the Zorais... Leave everything aside, take a guide. Recognize that you are not up to it. No one is. Ah, yes, your Zoraï certainties. In the end, it's all the same, certainties, dignity, pride... You're going to die. We will die.

What we just went through, what happened between Azazor and me, I won't write about it here. I don't want to leave that to future generations. We are not ourselves, we are on edge. The smallest detail becomes a pretext for endless quarrels. Well, we should have brought up some things long ago, before we left. But he wouldn't have accepted my methods anyway... Rightly or wrongly.
I do my best not to show him that I am freaking out. He tells me he saw "something". And that seems to be enough for him to choke back many things and focus on the road. Or he is playing with me, it is his turn, but he does not have enough energy to invent a proper story. Something, a shape, gigantic, in the mist. Eyes. More eyes, he sees eyes everywhere. I think I'm going as crazy as he is here. All I saw was mist.

First, we have to reach Fort Beacon. We need to rest and eat something other than grasses. Then we will be able to talk, and make a decision. If we don't die first.

2618 Dia tria quadria... whatever

I do not sleep.

The Eyes. They are there, in the night. The Beast is there too. It makes the air vibrate with its mooing.

Eeri is sleeping. But she is afraid, I know it. She shudders in her sleep.

If we don't make noise, the Beast doesn't come near. But the Eyes are watching us. They wait for us to fall asleep before coming closer. The technique is to sleep seated. That way, the Eyes don't know you're asleep and don't approach you.


Nuptina 3450 after Dexton

I do not sleep.

Eeri lets out a groan. She must be dreaming of the Eyes. Or of the Beast. During the day, she doesn't believe me. But at night… at night even the most harliner end up seeing the unspeakable.


3450 after my father's death

One more night of staying awake or to sleep seated. Tomorrow we will hopefully leave THEIR territory.

We will leave yes. I saw the tower this morning at dawn. For a moment before the mist covered it. A leaning tower, twisted, like a bad dream.
Eeri doesn't know. I did not say anything. What if it's a hallucination??? And then, I like to see Eeri shaking in her sleep. Are you afraid Eeri? You are afraid of the Eyes, aren't you? You laugh during the day, but at night… At night they watch you too. They see that you are sleeping.

I TOO see you sleeping Eeri

Fragile                 Weak                        Alone in your dreams


2799 after the death of Lykos

Some steps          the wind                   crakk, makes the bark. The bark with feet of giant. The Beast moves. It gets about. But the Beast is not alone, other monsters are stalking it. Or are these its children?

And there are the Eyes. The Eyes know that I am not sleeping. I will not sleep this night.
She                     Sleep Eeri                I stay up                 For the Eyes not to take us away
Crrrrrrrrrr bark bark crakk small bark, crack under the steps of the Beast.


3000 years after the birth of the Beast

Eeri, you see the Beast? It moves. There are its cubs too, growling next to it.

Crak Crrrrrrrrrrrr kkkkk the bark the bark the bark come to play on the bark

If you close eyes you have lost. Do not close your EYES

Eeri, are you sleeping? I am not. Never. I am watching. I am watching YOU. And I listen to the bark cracking cracking cracking under the steps of the Beast and its children.

Tomorrow we will be freeeeeeeeeeeee.


9310 after Eeri's death

This night I see the lighthouse. And the Beast it sleeps with Her. HER! We sleep all together.

Crak Crak crrrrrr makes the smashed bone.
One morning I will see the tower. Fort Beacon. All twisted, I saw it in a dream.

One morning three gardens makes the turn of the bleachers Crak Crak one shookie two shookies it is the festival for Eeri

Eeri, you sleep? Are you SLEEPING? For ever? And I? I sleep? I SLEEP ? I'M SLEEPING ???

Date? 2618 - ...

Fort Beacon

I had given up hope of writing a word in this journal again.
Where to start? Tiredness makes me lose the notion of time, and the notion of the things that surround us. I'll try to pick up where I left off. Azazor is still immersed in his thoughts.

The light. We saw this glow, in the distance, in the deep darkness. At first very vague, like a reflection on the sky or the Canopy. We followed it, forgetting to seek other marks.
Darkness. Compared to this hole, the Sorched Corridor is a walk in the park, minus the kitins. The almost permanent haze that reigns here makes orientation on stars almost impossible. After we had seen this glow, we walked for several more days, as well as part of the nights when the mist cleared, because during the day we lost this precious landmark. I can't say how many days.

Azazor didn't say anything. He looked at me with his increasingly mad eyes, and walked. I discreetly kept my axe at reach, and slept with only one eye open. He was making good progress, the bloody bodoc, but his mind seemed elsewhere. Probably the lack of food. But the light in the distance revived the hope in us, even in him. Even if he didn't say anything.

When the glow became more distinct, we suddenly reached the bottom of a cliff. We climbed up, the path was relatively well laid out, easier to follow than I had expected. Our poor mektoub even managed to follow us, I can't explain how. Later, when it realized that we had arrived, he collapsed. He must have felt our relief. I hope he'll get over it. A beast like that is irreplaceable. At this point, if it collapsed, it would do something to me to eat it. A pang of emotion. No, I wouldn't be able to.

And so, we arrived. How to describe the place? As we got closer, I realized that the village was not right on the edge of the cliff, as I had imagined. The glow, which remained high above our heads, still seemed to be coming out of the Canopy. We continued on, and arrived at what I might call the village itself. It is as though encircled in a huge stump, but without any root. Like a gigantic tree. The light glows strangely inside. It must be a powerful magic, one I had never seen before.

Then a Tryker approached us. Unarmed, he nevertheless seemed on his guard. Relatively massive, he was dressed in a kind of armor I had never seen before.
"We are from the New Lands," I said on impulse. Azazor was remaining silent, behind me.
The Tryker raised an eyebrow, surprised, "From the New Lands?"
His accent was different from what I had heard so far. He motioned to two homins I had not seen yet. These came out of the shadows and approached us, weapons in hand, though not threatening.
"Marauders?" asked one of them, a Zorai with a weathered mask.
I repeated, "New Lands. Not Marauders."
I sensed they didn't believe me, but what was left of my discernment took over.
"We had to make a detour," I said. "And we came back here."
The Zorai approached our mektoub, watched it for a moment, then turned his eyes back to us.
"It sure look like it" he said, before nodding to the Tryker.
Azazor then walked up to one of the guards and looked at him with half-rolled back eyes.
"The Eyes... the Beast... they can get in here?"

I can't imagine what a shocked face I must have displayed when I heard Azazor's voice, he who hadn't said a word for days, even for weeks... The homins had a guffaw, and got softer.

The Tryker finally approached and spoke again: "We don't see many travelers around here. Usually the ones who come from where you come from look a little more... well... You look too armed to me for mere travelers, and too harmless for Marauders." He smiled.
I nodded, not knowing what else to do. Then he went on, looking at Azazor who just stood rooted to the spot:
"He's the armed wing? All that's left of your troops? Or, are there other homins?"
I shook my head, to let him know that there were indeed only two of us. In an almost facetious tone, unless it was that strange accent, He said something like:
"What, did an armadaï eat your crystal?"
Seeing that our reaction was only a confused look, He added:
"Okay. So if you both are still alive, we'll call that luck. Are you staying the night then going home to mom?"

They watched us for a while longer, then the Zorai and his sidekick walked away. I thought I heard them laugh, one of them saying something like, "Definitely not Marauders, they'd have gotten mad by now. New Lands softies... that'll make a change for us."
They laughed at us, and whatever. A laugh. The last few days, I would have given my soul for a laugh.

The Tryker beckoned us to follow him. We passed through thick walls. It seems to me that Azazor asked again about the eyes, about the beast. The Tryker explained that the village was a safe place. I tried to devote my full attention to observing our surroundings, despite my tiredness. He led us to a small room, not far from the entrance. I cannot define what the walls are made of. One side of this room looks like a gigantic piece of bark. On the other side the wall seems to be a tangle of vines and dried mud. Some beds are installed. Beds! I almost cried when I realized that I had not slept in a real bed for almost a year already.

Then someone brought us food and water. Another brought something for our mektoub to drink, then took it away, probably to a stable. It is in as bad a way as we are, I hope he will make it through the night. I brought all our bags, including the mektoub pack, to what will serve as our dormitory. Azazor swallowed what he was served, then lay down, without saying a single word to me. He probably fell asleep quickly.
The homins did not speak to us much more. They observe us, a little strangely, but without animosity. The place is calm, silent, except for the whistling of the wind which brings us the reminiscences of distant and strange howls.
When the Tryker came back, I made him understand that I wanted to talk. He looked at Azazor and me. Then he told us to rest, with a touch of benevolence in his voice. We'll talk tomorrow. I told him our names, and he told us his: Kickan. Mac'opin Kickan.

Now I only have the strength to finish writing these lines. I will ask him for the date tomorrow. I'm falling asleep and for the first time in weeks I know I'll manage to sleep.

D1

The first thing I saw since I collapsed from exhaustion was the ceiling of the room where I am lying. A very low ceiling, where a Zorai would hardly stand. On this ceiling, but also on the four walls of the room, are engraved names, probably of passing homins, but also dates, symbols, some of which remind me of those of Arispotle Street, in Pyr. I quickly took my bag and pulled out a varinx leather to note all this, before a Fyros arrived and asks me to follow him.



He then asked me if I had slept well. I didn't say anything. Sleeping well is a tautology. Sleeping is necessarily well. The homin took me to another, larger room, where I found Eeri. She welcomed me with a smile. There was also a Zorai homina. Then everything was explained to me. The arrival at the tower in a awful state, me asking a guard if the Eyes and the Beast can enter the camp, their laughter. And… blackout. I fell asleep for a whole day.

I have never been so scared in my life. In fact, I don't think I've ever been afraid before. How can we, homins of the New Lands, used to not dying from beatings, used to our environment, know what fear is? Without the Powers, we are so weak. And yet... Yet this tower exists. There are homins who live there, in this inhospitable place, without Powers to help them. And I ask them if the eyes can come in here... But what a toub!

We chatted a bit more with the Fyros and the Zorai, then I went back to the travelers' dormitory, pretending to have things to review. In fact, I was ashamed. I, Azazor, akenak, former legionnaire, am ashamed of what I have been in this maddening desert. A wreck, a nobody. Without Eeri, I would have died.

Now that I have slept, I must pull myself together. I'll go around, write down everything I can, interview people too. I need to know what's really in the Sea of Wood. On akash, Azazor will not falter any longer.


D2

The Zorai is the stewardess of Fort Beacon. She has been appointed by the ranger council that runs Oflovak's Halt. In fact, here is a kind of outpost of the Halt. Her name is Tao Shin, 73 years old, which according to the homins here is more than venerable. With the absence of resurrection, the life span on the Oflovak Road is much shorter than in the New Lands. The Fyros is Barylus Abythan, leader of the guards. He told me that they had a good laugh when they saw us coming. They didn't believe us when Eeri told them we were from the New Lands. Passing through here is rare for homins that are not rangers nor marauders. So to come from the New Lands is unheard of in homin memory. Tao Shin told me that in the archives the names of such homins can be found. But she was not born and could not know them. Most of the travelers are rangers. A few marauders from time to time, but also emissaries or outcasts from other nearby tribes, at least those who didn't die on the way. Because yes, there are tribes established here and there along the road, especially north of Fort Beacon. Besides, some of them maintain good relations with them. Barter is regularly practiced.

As a result, they asked us about the New Lands, which they know a little about from other rangers, and about the purpose of our trip. When we told them that we wanted to go to the desert of the old Fyros Empire, beyond the Citadel, they tried to dissuade us. They say that crossing the Sea of Wood without a guide is suicide (and let's not talk about the rest of the route). The longer you stay in this area, the more you lose in vitality. You have to go fast, so you have to follow the beacons carefully. But between the tiredness, the absence of landmarks because of the fog and the predators, it is impossible for novices like us. We survived by miracle.

Precisely, the predators (the Beast and the Eyes...), it's not what you think. The kind of plaintive cracking that we hear, the same as the one we can hear on the edge of the cliff in the New Lands, is the armadai. At least, that's how they call it here. It seems that it has other names elsewhere. But it's still the same beast. To put it simply, it's a kind of giant arma, but not exactly. Longer, but with shorter legs. Herbivorous, then. Here is my Beast, the one that shakes the bark. Just a good big herbivore, bigger though than our biggest shalahs. I'll have to see one up closer to make up my mind. What we have to fear on the other hand, are the predators of these armadais (my Eyes…). Yetins, of a very tough type. They would come from the islands of the Sea of Wood or the Verdant Continent (that's what they call the place we are, or else Ancestral Forest).

Unlike the armadais, these yetins are not made to live in the Sea of Wood. It would kill them too to stay there too long. And if they spared us during our little trip in the Sea of Wood, it's just a stroke of luck. Barylus explained to me that they hunt armadais in packs. That's when they are huting we have the best chance of getting off. Compared to the armadais, we comprise not much for them to eat. The risk is if you run into a pack that's not on the hunt. There is always one or two to have a little opportunistic snack. But, ''a priori'', there is no risk to meet them in the Sea of Wood without them hunting. That said, it is better to avoid crossing their path anyway.

In short, we were entitled to a rundown about the Sea of Wood. They told us of course about Oflovak's Halt. It is a rather quiet island, on which the city of the Halt has been built a very long time ago by the descendants of the first rangers. They insisted that it would be imperative, if we nevertheless wanted to continue our journey, to stop there before continuing towards the Cloudy Cliff Diplomatic Outpost, if only to rest and not go mad in the Sea of Wood. This pull me a face. Indeed, I was on my way to become mad. But now that I can put a name to what I heard over there, I'll be less afraid. It's fear that drives you mad. Especially when you've never really experienced it.

They told us that we could stay here for a few days, the time to get back on our feet and especially to properly weigh our decision on whether or not to continue the trip towards the east. Then they went back to their occupations, leaving us there, Eeri and me, with a lot of unanswered questions. What I would like to know is which people from the New Lands have managed to come this far? And what were they looking for?


D3

Mac'opin Kickan, the Tryker who received us at our arrival here, and with whom Eeri sympathized a lot, has made us visit the place.

The tower is a piece of the Canopy which would have fallen and remained planted in the bark. Their hypothesis is that the piece remained for a long time half attached to the rest of the Canopy, which allowed it to stabilize with the growth of the adjacent vegetation. Fortunately today, the tower is fully attached. So, although it is leaning, there is no risk of it collapsing. Moreover, considering the very uneven relief around the tower, there must be lot of debris of this canopy in the surroundings, since covered by the vegetation. The fall must have taken place at least several centuries ago. It is thus inside this root that these descendants of rangers built their dwelling, by digging a whole bunch of cavities in the root. There are dormitories like the one we're staying in, living rooms and even a bar, all connected by narrow hoses, stairs carved in the wood and ladders. At the top of the tower is the office of the stewardess Tao Shin.

We could also have a look at the lighthouse itself. It consists in a huge brazier, a large set of mirrors and… what? Some stuff that distorts the view when you look inside. Didn't ask about the name of this stuff. But it's made of totally unknown materials. I heard it came from a wreck of a Karavan ship, found north of the Verdant Continent about a century ago. From the top of the tower, the Eternal Tree can be seen in the west, emerging above the Canopy. According to the Tryker, there are some very hostile and particularly large animals there. He has never been there, so he is not quite sure, but from what he has been told, there are also homins living there, and even tribes of gibbai. However, it is rather complicated to confirm, since rangers rarely go there. Yet, there would be extremely rare resources in these lands. He also explained us that other trees of this kind, that some call Ancestral Trees, exist elsewhere, far from the Oflovak Road. But he was unable to tell me where they are. Or, maybe, is he not allowed to reveal this?

All I can say is that, seen from up ther, Atys is much bigger than one can imagine. It is forests overlooking other bare lands, islets of life, reliefs, desolate plains. A world so vast, so… inconceivable? One has no idea of such immensity until one has seen this.

After this beautiful visit, Kickan proposed us to join him this evening at the bar. He will make us taste the speciality of Oflovak Road: the baba.


J4

Big headache this morning. His damn baba, but let him keep it! I have rarely drunk something so insipid. Even Lorlyn's byrh is more tasty. Baba is an alcohol made from the seeds of the balogna tree, a kind of rustic bush of the forest. The seeds are crushed, left to macerate with water and then a bit of sawdust is put in for preservation. There is to drink and to eat with that.. So yes, I understand that it is useful when there is nothing to eat, especially since it keeps for a long time. But thence to drink this stuff for pleasure… Moreover it fills very little. It's not disgusting, but it's not a pleasure to drink. And if my hair hurts this morning, I'm sure it's their baba. Eeri and I hesitated to take out the vial of ocyx essence that we've managed to preserve miraculously from breaking. But we said to ourselves that it was not yet the occasion to celebrate. We didn't even get halfway there.

That said, it was a good evening with that Kickan. He was born at the Oflovak's Halt, like most here. Then, after starting as a guard over there, he moved up in rank. Five years ago he came here as an officer. From time to time, he goes back to the Halt. He's a liaison officer, mostly. Most of the rangers here have multiple jobs. He's mostly liaison with the Halt (mail, some cargo). He also takes care of the maintenance of the beacons in this portion of the Road. He has offered to accompany us in a few days to the Halt. He has some messages to deliver, mainly personal messages from the homins to their families who stayed at the Halt. In short, he is a nice guy and Eeri gets along well with him. You have to hear her chuckle every time Kickan makes a joke. They have a particular humor these Rangers…

Winderly 14, 1st AC 2619

If only I had had any idea of what awaited us.
Fort Beacon, in my imagination, was a small camp, on the edge of a cliff, lost in a most hostile environment, a bit like the camp of the Watchers. A brazier fixed to the top of a pole, on a hillock, high up. A bunch of irritable, rough Rangers, fighting against the elements. Three tents, a campfire.
We discovered a small town, built inside a part of the Canopy, lit up with incredible magic. I didn't expect to have such a shock until I saw the ramparts of Fyre. The top floor, where the light comes from, is a clever tangle of objects, the "lenses" of a Karavan ship, apparently wrecked and looted centuries ago, as the camp steward explained to us. Objects that reflect and amplify the light of a large brazier. I was able to observe one of these objects, up close, one of the lenses that was a bit broken. One can see through it, in a way, as if it were solidified water, embedded in a large ring made of the strange material of Karavan ships. As I watched Azazor through it, I laughed, he seemed to have regained the weight he had lost over the past few weeks. Oy, we tend to float in our armor, I must say.
The steward may well have told me that there was no magic in them, I still think they're some kind of amplifier, like the ones we wear, but specifically for light. Something magical that distorts reality. I asked if I would be allowed to take one of these lens fragments with me... Then thinking for a moment, under Azazor's heavy eye, I added: "On our way back... We are loaded enough as it is". She smiled, and offered to talk about this when we come back.

The steward, Tao, is an incredibly calm homina. She asked about the New Lands, and listened without really seeming to be impressed by anything. I told her what I thought: a bedridden Fyros emperor with no descendants, the Theocracy always terrified when a yubo farts some goo, Trykers who stick their noses in everything... We didn't really talk about the Matis.Azazor gave some other news, perhaps a little less disillusioned than mine. The homina was watching us, and seemed to be amused by our diametrically opposed personalities. We talked about the Nexus too, about the bark quake, about the gibbais, about raw materials, a subject that aroused more interest in her. Azazor also told about his fall into the rift, his famous encounter with Fyrak. Like me, Tao did not hide her doubts. He then pulled out an object, which he obviously kept in a pocket of his armor, like a storyteller displaying evidence. "I brought this back," he said. "A tooth, which embedded itself in my armor when I thrust a spear into its gaping maw. A Fyrak tooth, of a material as cold as the fragments of the Karavan ship we had observed earlier. I looked at Azazor in amazement, but added nothing.

Then I explained to Tao that I had been a Ranger, for years, before joining the Drakani to serve the Federation of the Lakes.I asked why the Rangers here didn't use tunnels to get around. Her answer was so obvious, I felt like an idiot. The tunnels on the New Lands are only a few miles long at most, and it's still a dangerous mode of transportation, no matter how well controlled. Moreover, the Almati Rangers' contacts with the two Powers assure that, if something goes wrong, a homin will be brought back anyway. Here, the distances to travel are infinitely greater. "We have developed and sought out these passages," she said, "but we have had too many casualties. In our country, a homin who gets stuck in a tunnel has no chance of ever seeing the light of the surface again."

Anyway, we talked a lot with the steward, and with Kickan too, over a few drinks.
Azazor is relatively less talkative with him. For my part, I like this Tryker. It has to be said that I got the habit of being surrounded by his kind, these last years. I realize that I miss those Drakanis tricksters a little bit. I guess Kickan has the same caustic and sincere sense of humor as their. We laughed while comparing his accent to that of the New Lands. He explained that the Rangers here were speaking the Ranger dialect among themselves, and that it is possible that the tyll and other homin languages had less opportunity to distort over time. We also tasted their local liquor, baba, and I tried to get him to taste some leftover of the gingerbread Eolinius gave me, which is a bit dry now. I had to explain to him that it was a local specialty and that it was much better fresh, nothing doing! Even dipped in baba. Well… it was as dry as a legionary's snack.
When I asked him why so many homins lived here and why they didn't come to live in the New Lands, he answered:
"Why leave here? To go and crowd us into the New Lands, to have to respect the whims of your emperors and kings... And then, if we don't stay, who will do our work here? Who will take in the unwary like you? "He laughed, I laughed too. Azazor not so much.
Then he added with a smile, "The Oflovak's Halt hosts at least ten times as many homins as Fort Beacon, and yet there is enough room for all. You will see that soon. We depart for there in five days."
We opened our eyes wide and waited for his explanation, "I couldn't wait to get back over there. I just got permission from Tao to see to the next liaison instead of Pad'ocett and Laniolle. Two of us always at least travel for that normally, and my usual crewhomin is currently on other duties. But since you'll probably be along for the ride... We'll be enough of three."
We smiled. Five days was enough time for us to fully recover.

Later that evening, as Azazor was beginning to sleep on his feet, or grumbling in his corner as usual, I casually asked if there were any Trytonists on the island of Oflovak. He nodded and smiled, "Oh, those who fight the Powers of the New Lands? Not so much at the Halt, no. From what I know, they gather at Shady Shore to escape the Karavan. That is their hideout. Besides, if they came here, they would have no more reason to be Trytonists. There are no Powers here."
I replied that, from what it seemed to me, it wasn't really about fighting, that they weren't attacking the Powers head-on, but were mostly trying to maintain some balance. He laughed, stood up and took a few staggering steps (or was it a dance?) toward the bar. "Balance, we're the kings of balance here!". He returned with more doses of baba.
As he sat down, his gaze ostensibly fell on my hand, the one where that black spot remains embedded in my skin. I froze, what a ramèch toub I am forgetting to wear a glove. Then his eyes landed on me, and he stared at me for a moment. I remained silent, feeling like he was reading my mind. After a moment, he held out a vial of baba, smiled and said:
"You know what a Zorai says when he bumps into a bar table?"

"Tahi!!! This is going to get me a bruise again."(*)

(*) Untranslatable pun : EN "bruise" and EN "blue" (the color of zorais' skin) both spell "bleu" in FR.

*****

Today I was allowed to go with two Rangers, a Fyros and a Matis, on a guard tour around the Fort. This is a task they perform very regularly. Azazor stayed at the tower to try to access the archives. He wants to know which homins from the New Lands have stopped here. I guess he's obsessed with it.
We started by following the path up to the cliff, the one we had taken when we arrived. This time it seemed like a much shorter distance... We must have been in a really bad state upon arrival. They inspected the path and looked for signs on the ground, explaining that on rare occasions the Sea of Wood's predators had ventured out here, leaving numerous claw marks in the sawdust. This could have been a sign of some unusual agitation. If so, we would have to postpone our departure to the Halt. But everything seems quiet and usual right now, they told me.
Then we went northward along the cliff. They noted a couple of landslides, common in this area and not very serious. From one spot, we had a clear, unobstructed view of the mist topping the Sea of Wood. The sky was relatively clear. They pointed out an area to me, in the distance, a trail of mist that seemed to be rising a little higher, as if stirred by some turmoil on the ground. "They're on the hunt," they told me. "This area to the north is one of the most dangerous, the higher up you go, and usually the closer you are to a cliff flanked by a ramp." I squinted, trying to observe. "They're seven or eight kilometers away, you won't see anything more from here. Down there, we get our bearings mostly by their screams."

Predators do not stay in this area, they told me later. They only come to hunt and feed, in packs. It is also because it is difficult to survive as you go deeper into the center of the Sea of Wood, a difficulty the homins undergo too. Only the armadai and some other creatures as strange as discreet live there. The packs generally come from the north, sometimes from the south, and the Rangers suspect that one or two packs have found refuge on one of the high islets, a little further south. As the claws of these kind of big yetins hardly cling to the cliff of Fort Beacon, they only venture there if they are surprised by strong thunderstorms or sawdust tempests.

We left the cliff and headed for the bark below. They pointed to the horizon, straight ahead:
"The Eternal Tree is in this direction. On a very clear day, like today, we can see its top from the top of the tower."
As we moved through the bark, we went from a desert area to a kind of jungle. We arrived in what they call the Sleeping Stumps. A place that immediately reminded me of the Barkgully, between Pyr and the Oflovak's Oasis, but covered with a dense and varied vegetation. It is filled with residues of pieces of the Canopy, fallen during the natural formation of the Fort. A multitude of bark chunks, some gigantic, fallen from the sky centuries ago. Suffice to say, I was amazed by this place. The Rangers were on the lookout, as the jugulas sometimes venture here to hunt the small herbivores living here. I picked up a few specimens of leaves, small trees unknown in the New Lands, as well as some small pieces of bark.

Then we carried on, staying at a distance from the Fort, and without really losing sight of it, describing a wide circle. The two Rangers observed several herd movements, jugulas in the distance, some groups of herbivores, including yelks very similar to those of our Desert. After an hour or two of walking, we headed back to the Fort, to return.
"While we do the northern part, another team takes care of the south. Otherwise the tour is much too long to be done in a sole day, especially when unforeseen events occur. But it's a quiet day, not much to report."

On the way back, I met up with Azazor and we climbed to the top of the tower, to admire the crown of the Eternal Tree, still lit by the evening light. What we can see is only a tiny part of this gigantic tree, which stretches for thousands of miles on the ground. I wonder if it is possible for homin eyes to admire the whole of it in its immensity. Other Rangers came to rekindle the flame of the great brazier that illuminates the Beacon. We watched them, then Azazor went back down at the call of the evening meal. I stayed up there alone for a while, imagining myself staying and spending the rest of my life in this place. Then I thought about the path left to us, and about all the people waiting for us to come back.
We leave in two days.

I still have to write two letters, seal them, and give them to the steward, hoping that a not too bumbling someone will soon make the trip towards the New Lands. One is for my friends in the Lakes and the Desert. The other, coded, for Mazé'Yum, through Nikuya for greater discretion, I think she'll be able to find him. With the instruction on each envelope to pay the bearer on arrival only if the seal is intact.

Tria, Harvestor 21, 2nd AC 2619

As I write this, we have reached the village of Oflovak's Halt. We are still exhausted, but already less than when we arrived at Fort Beacon. And we have a few good nights of sleep ahead of us. I haven't written for a long time, and I will try to resume where I left off.

We left with Kickan from the Fort, on a beautiful day. I must confess here that I was very apprehensive about going back down into that hellish Sea of Wood, and had the greatest difficulty in hiding it. Kickan's presence was reassuring, especially after the praising words of Tao, the steward of the Fort, towards him. I could see that Azazor was also somehow hiding his anxiety behind a ponderous and a bit dramatic silence. Our good mektoub, back on its feet, followed us without reluctance, probably happy to have a little exercise.

It must be said that with a guide, the progress is much faster. We went from beacon to beacon, without missing a single one. From time to time, the beacons were crushed to the ground, probably knocked down by an armadai. No wonder we got lost on the way to the Fort... Miss a beacon, and the mist will prevent you from finding the next one. It is therefore the main task of liaison officers like Kickan, to ensure that a maximum of beacons are visible. Some of them, completely broken, do not go higher than our calves... We raised back a certain number of them on the way. It is essential for this part of the route, which must be done in a minimum of time at the risk of losing the head. We have seen where that leads, already
Kickan explained us laughing that with time, he could probably do the path without beacon. At a rough guess, I'd say he made the way about fifty times, at least. As for us, without a beacon, we panic.

Eventually, Azazor understood what my beliefs were. I don't know how to describe that moment, around a fire, when he almost denied the existence of Fyrak, explaining that his story with the Dragon was perhaps only a dream... Finally, he may not be totally crazy. Then even more unexpected theories, asking the Trytonist I am if I understood what he was talking about. Unbelievable. I feigned surprise, very badly. Or no, I was really startled, I didn't expect him to come out with that in front of any other person. Since his return from the depths, he had made a perfect candidate for recruitment by one of our circles, yet the Fyros bugger still seemed to cling to the Kamis like gingos cling to homins' buttocks. Also, as for discretion... Well, I'm not in the best position to reproach him on that point, either, but still. But what the hell did I come doing in this mess, with a Fyros doubting his own convictions so much? He already seemed less mentally fragile when we left. I was probably wrong on that point. Or not, I don't know what to think anymore. It doesn't really matter now.

Well, he knows. I suspected that, now I know that he knows. Fortunately, he doesn't know everything yet. On the one hand, this is not the place where the Kuilde will come to make trouble for us. And in the end, Kickan doesn't care about all that. And anyway, am I going to spend the rest of my life on Bark hiding what I am? Let it come, this Kuilde, let it take care of my seed of life, that will reinforce the opinion that the Karavan has too much to hide from us. Maybe our cause needs this, a new sacrifice. I digress. Let's get back to the point.

The trip went on without too many clashes. We were able to see some armadais from a little closer, about fifty meters. And we heard their predators on the hunt, fortunately they were too far away for us to see them. In principle, as long as there is game not too far from the carnivores in pack, these are not too interested about us. In theory. If they don't scent our presence. Azazor was very interested in seeing the armadai up close. "The Eyes... the Beast...", we scoffed. Mostly we got to see some gigantic carcasses, bones as big as a legionary's thigh. Speaking of thighs, walking up here is exhausting, I can't write it enough. Each gesture requires a lot more energy, and a lot more concentration. Fortunately, we didn't have to take out our axe, I might not have had the strength to lift it.

And at last, the Halt.

We arrived at the foot of a cliff, strangely less high than the one of Fort Beacon. We walked along it for a while, Kickan seemed to be looking for a specific place, nonchalantly, apparently happy to have reached our destination. Then he said: "Here it is! Here!"and he grabbed a kind of bine that was bangling there, a small piece of wood attached to the end. He gave it a few sharp tugs, and told us we will have to wait a little while. After a few minutes, we heard some noises overhead, and saw a huge thing take off a few feet away from us. A few clusters of sawdust were falling here and there. "The counterweight," said Kickan, in the most natural way. We stepped aside, and saw some sort of platform coming down towards us, held up by several ropes. Our two puzzled Fyros faces must certainly have taken on the expression of a disoriented bolobi. Then we laughed nervously:

"We have to go up in there, asked Azazor?"

Kickan pondered for a moment and answered:
"First Eeri and her mektoub. She's a little lighter. Then the two of us."
"Lighter, lighter… You don't know her," Azazor grumbled.
"We can't leave your mektoub alone in the basket, anyway," he said, very seriously.
"ney, you're right. The beasts first, the homins later."

Damn Azazor, I couldn't think of anything to answer... I won't transcribe here all of his mockery, when I put my scarf over Ru-Dun's eyes and we got into the gondola, not too secure. Ha, yes, it is Kickan who named the toub like that on the way, in the local tyll spoken with that strange accent. Then he explains us that there is another path, an access ramp, but in the very south of the island, so use it would require several more days of walking.

The pod began to rise upwards. An ingenious system they have. The counterweight goes down when the pod goes up, and the same in the other direction, with a pulley system. Probably an invention of Trykers, by the way, the structure at the top looks a bit like those of our water tanks, in the Lakes.
I got up there, and a few homins greeted me with a look, busy braking the pulleys to stop the pod smoothly. I couldn't tell if they were friendly. One of them simply smiled and nodded when, not knowing what to tell them after my "oren pyr", I told them that we were accompanying Kickan, who was still waiting below.

Kickan and Azazor arrived upstairs after a few minutes. I took the opportunity to throw a few barbs at the latter while he was feverishly hanging on to a rope, trying to look relaxed. Then we headed for the Halt, a little further inland. There are two camps like these, on the west and east sides of the island, to receive and ascend, or descend travelers, each about a day's walk from the village itself. Was it the presence of Kickan, who seemed to know every homin in the camp? Still, no one asked us any questions.

After a night's sleep halfway through, and another short day of walking, we finally entered the village itself. If one can call it a village. From a few scattered buildings in the forest without apparent organization, we arrived at the top of a little valley covered with houses, overlooking a big lake. Well, nothing to compare with the beauty of the lake of Fairhaven, but even on this cloudy day, the place does not lack charm. Each cabin seems relatively clean and well kept, but has its own style. On closer inspection, some of the walls seem to be made of large bones, sometimes of wood, or of wide leather chunks. We continued on our way down to what seems to be the center, or the main square.

Then someone shouted Kickan's name, some homins came to welcome him, others were sticking their heads out of their windows. We would have preferred to be a little more unnoticed. Kickan wore a big smile, greeting each of them, throwing his inimitable "Lordoy!" on each side of the path.
A Matis arrived, without hurrying, and Kickan pointed him out from a distance:

"A member of the Council," Kickan told us with a smile, before motioning for us to stay a little ways away and go meet him. They talked for a while, then came to join us.

The Matis gave us a "oren pyr" to greet us, with an accent even stranger than the one of the inhabitants of the Fort, but in a controlled and perhaps too polite voice... A Matis, that is.
He welcomed us, starting to ask us questions about our trip. Assuming that Azazor was not going to give him the pleasure of chatting, I answered by some few banalities, nothing more than what Kickan could have told him. And then that we would like to rest for a while first. He smiled and took his leave, inviting us to share a baba later. Kickan led us to a kind of small hut, inviting us to settle down, before leaving us in his turn. He has many people to greet, starting with his family. Family, here, a word I had almost forgotten. I got lost in my thoughts for a moment, hoping that Uzykos and Wixarika were doing well. Quelle misérable je suis de les avoir abandonnés... Puis Azazor m'a secouée. Nous allons devoir nous concerter, rafraichir notre stratégie sur ce que l’on peut dire et ce dont il vaudrait mieux ne pas parler. Il y a peut-être déjà quelques maraudeurs par ici. Pas le temps de laisser mes émotions prendre le dessus.

Before leaving, Kickan warned us about the Council. It is a group of six, elected by the population. Life here is very quiet and they usually don't like anything that might disturb the calm of the place. Marauders, refugees, travelers are accepted, but they are not used to see travelers going eastwards, other than liaison officers like him. Luckily, this Matis had been there and Kickan knows him a little. He told us that he had prepared the ground for us to meet him and that we could convince him of the good intentions of our trip. That will be useful for the continuation, not that they can prevent us from leaving, but we know well that the homins of the New Lands are rare and not necessarily in favor here. "Strange behavior, for Rangers," I said. Then Kickan laughed, "Hahaha! Rangers?" On that, he left without adding anything.

I'll still have time to understand what's going on here, and to describe the place more precisely in the next few days. The road ahead to Cloudy Cliff Diplomatic Outpost is similar, and Kickan advised us against leaving before a week or more, while our metabolism gets sufficiently recovered. He also explained that unlike Fort Beacon, since we are here on a relatively low elevation island, the harmful effects of the Sea of Wood are felt to a lesser extent. We won't fully recover our physical energy, but at least we need to recover all our clarity of mind.

Azazor is already snoring, toub. And all I have left is shu fiber to put in my ears. It won't be enough, but I don't have anything else on hand.

Folially 24, 3rd AC 2619

Things are starting to get clearer about our departure. Once we are ready, we leave again in two days. We will be accompanied again, but this time not by Kickan. This one leaves again tomorrow towards the Fort, with another team member and some goods.

The one who will accompany us is Titus. A Fyros, who looks young, but seems to have the energy of a bedridden celiakos. I exaggerate. He is just young, in fact. It's apparently also due to the high altitude, everyone here seems a bit slower than elsewhere. I feel weak myself. I can see that Ru-Dun is chewing its food more slowly than usual, too. Azazor seems to be stooped as if after drinking three vials of ocyx essence. As if everything was going in slow-motion.
This Titus, then. Since we arrived, he followed us, looked at us with big eyes, then asked us questions. Then he asked us to come with us. He wants to leave the island, to move away, to find the Marauders. I heard that his father was one of them, but he never knew him, he grew up on the island. Azazor eventually gave in to his request with a " Well. But no foolery, right? Taking a Marauder's son along, what a big deal. I objected. Azazor probably thinks it will work out in our favor. What if the father betrayed them? Well, it must have been a long time ago, they'll have forgotten. Above all, he seems too inexperienced for such a journey. "Do you at least know how to hold a sword at the right end?" I asked. Supposedly, he trains every day, he told us. I didn't want to be too hard on him, but I don't think he's ever faced a kirosta, or anything of that size.

And he asked why we were traveling, if we too were going to join the Marauders.
I answered nothing more than "scientific trip", naturally taking out my axe to resharpen the blade. I don't like it, but it's true that arriving at our next destination with a homin from the Halt could be a good point for us. "Here is a fresh recruit, do with it what you will." Or not, who knows. We'll have to adapt very quickly to the reception they'll give us.

So it's decided, he will travel with us to Cloudy Cliff Diplomatic Outpost. Discreetly I asked Kickan if he knew him, if we could trust him. Here, he told me, no one has any reason to want us dead, as long as we don't cause a catastrophe. I understood this while drinking a baba with him and the Matis we met earlier. Incidentally, the baba is slightly better here than at the Fort, but it's still more bland and insipid than the lightest byrh.

They told us a lot of things about the Halt. The inhabitants here are descendants of the Rangers of Atys, who settled here. At the beginning, now several generations ago. In order to guide the refugees, to offer them a break on the way to the New Lands. That we already knew. Many have left, but some have chosen to settle, and the Halt has quickly turned into a small town. "They don't lack anything here," Coccio, the Matis, explains to me. Few predators, some javings in the north, at most, enough game, a rather generous forest, a lake. The homins hunt armadai, too. So that's it, the bones and hides that are used to build the houses. Azazor asked how, and if he could attend a hunt, but the next one is not scheduled for a month. There is a large hole, a trap, somewhere in the southeast of the island. Homins imitate the animal's cry, or its predator's, and lure it to the trap. When they succeed in making it collapse, it is killed with a pike by the hunters, then butchered on the spot. It will not be able to get out of the trap in one piece anyway. The hunt for the armadai requires many homins, and sometimes gives rise to a great party. Its meat is very fortifying and invigorating, the main source of energy for them. By the way, Cuccio offered us two large bags filled with this dried meat, for the continuation of our trip.

No one is really Ranger here anymore, or part of the guild, now. One of the only ones who could claim to join them is Kickan, like a few others of his temperament. But he is satisfied with his work between the Fort and the Halt. And as he told us: if he didn't do it, who would? Real Rangers regularly pass through here, and are admired and welcomed as heroes, as life outside the island is so harsh. But if many young people dream of joining them, few actually do. As Coccio says, when you are born here, life is so quiet that you don't need to go running around the world... Kickan joked something like: "Coccio, you are telling that to two Fyros who just traveled half of the Oflovak Road! What do you think? That you're going to convince them to settle here?"
So, Titus' case is quite rare. It was triggered when, as a child, he learned that his father was a former Marauder. By the way, the homin in question had died during an armadai hunt, after slipping and falling into the trap. The animal, in panic, crushed him with its paw, a rare but fatal accident.

But then, we asked, "On the island, neither Rangers nor Marauders, how can they remain so carefree? Marauders in the New Lands are at war with the Nations. What would they do if Marauders here tried to invade the island?" From what I understood from Coccio's explanation, that would be of no interest, to anyone. Marauders are as welcome here as any homin, out of loyalty to the Ranger tradition. The physical capacities are less, for those who are not born there, so they don't stay very long, they soon feel too weak. Just like us. And there is nothing to fight here: no kitins, no Powers, no Nations, and a popular organization. The job of the Island Council is to ensure that these traditions are respected, and to administer the city in consultation with everyone. Coccio is elected with five others for a few years of Jena, and will leave his place in two years. "Maybe to Kickan," he said with a smile. "He would do a good job." To which Kickan replied sarcastically that he was not old enough, like him, for such a task. "The Council? Stuff for bedridden!" he said. "Not as much as back home in the Desert," I added.
"Getting back to the marauders... We know how to quell the troublemakers," Coccio tells me. "Usually they behave well. It even happened in the past that some of them settled on the island, which is very frowned upon among them." Just like it will upon us: he warns us that we will be very unwelcome among the Marauders. But, the fact that we are traveling with a homin from here will maybe be helpful, and if we bring some goods, too.

Besides their benevolence, Azazor and I thought we saw in our hosts a kind of insouciance regarding the problems of the world, and above all, we were stunned by this lack of curiosity, this total absence of the thirst for knowledge that inhabits us. We looked at each other, and kept our mouths shut. As if for the first time in a long time, we understood each other.

Today, two strangers arrived from the west. They accompanied our dear Kickan. I haven't seen them yet, but Tikra says they are two Fyros from beyond the green lands. Farther than Fort Beacon. Farther than Kickan's. I say that Tikra is talking nonsense again. Ever since she started working at the West Elevator, she's been telling me all kinds of crap. The last time, she claimed to have seen an armadai bigger than the others crushing a yetin under its weight. If she wasn't my big sister, I would hate her. Tomorrow I'll go see the two strangers and see if that is still some craps from Tikra.


I can't believe it, the two Fyros do come from a place far to the west of the Halt. Beyond the horizon, there are countries where homins have built huge cities. The Fyros homin spoke of an empire ruled by a guy who is over a century old. This made the Fyrossa accompanying him laugh. But the most incredible thing is that these two homins are heading east, towards the Citadel. So I told them about my father, who was a former Marauder who came here to retire. They found it interesting because they immediately asked me questions about what it was like there, and where my father was now. I could see the disappointment on their faces when I told them that he had died two years after I was born and that I didn't know anything about the Citadel. But as for me I have a lot of questions for them. Strangers from so far away must have a lot to say, certainly more interesting than the bullshit of Tikra and her giant armadais.


The Fyros' name is Azazor. He told me that he was a kind of dragon seeker. So I showed him the drawing of my father's tattoo, the one with the fire-breathing flying monster the elders of the Council name a red dragon. My father, he too was a dragon hunter. I could see that this pleased Azazor. He has a dragon tattoo on his face. But it's not the same one. Yeah I told him, my Marauder father was a real dragon slayer. I wish I could be like him. But I'd have to get out of this dump. They say that outside the Halt, it's too dangerous. But I don't care about the danger! I am a son of Marauders! Son of dragon hunter! What do I care about yetins or armadais?


I'M GOING TO LEAVE THE HALT !!!! After three days hassling their asses, they finally gave in. So I will leave with them, towards the Citadel! Azazor showed me the map of the route they've been following all this time. It goes first through the Cloudy Cliff Diplomatic Outpost. They'll leave me over there and then I'll have to figure out how to continue on my own. Azazor told me that he would like me to go on with them to the Citadel, but Eeri, the Fyrossa, doesn't want to. It seems that she doesn't trust me. Azazor reassured me that I would gain her trust along the way and that Eeri might change her mind once we got to the Outpost. 
Mom, if you ever come back from the Great Puddle, I'll leave you my diary, so you'll know that I love you. But my destiny awaits me, far to the east, among the Marauders. I want to live like Dad.


The big departure is coming. I finished loading Polly with my jerky. My two new companions tasted it and loved it. They are butchers at home, among other jobs they have. So my meat must be exceptional. I'm going to open a market at the Cliff Outpost, it's going to be crazy!
Come on, what can I write as the ultimate sentence on my diary? Something snappy. I know, the sentence Azazor told me when Eeri said it would be too hard for me to go with them.
Don't wish it was easier, wish it made you better. 
Yeah, I know I'm going to have a hard time. But when I get to the Citadel, I'll be a different homin. Strong and proud, like my father!

Germinally ???, 4th AC 2619

I told him to wear a helmet.
If only he had. The beast would have ripped the helmet off, and his head would still be on his shoulders. Who knows.
But "dey, I get hot under my helmet, itchy," he said.

Azazor and I have been walking for five days without saying a word, without even swallowing anything. I feel like I can see the eyes of this Titus in front of me, in the mist. His eyes exorbitant with terror on his bodiless head, a stream of blood soaking his still open mouth.
And yet, I have seen some disgusting things. Scenes of torture, horrific deaths, flying limbs. For instance, when I was a young legionary, the day when Icus had cut the arm of a Matissa, before opening the veins of her neck one by one. The blood had splattered on my armor, and she had been told not to come back. We laughed. And of course, she came back. We did it again until she stopped coming back.

If only we could, reaching the Cloudy Cliff, find there a fresh Titus, brought back by some Power… Maybe by the Marauders? But it seems unlikely that he has a crystal, and even if he had his father's, that this one would be active.

In the moment, I didn't have time to don my amplifiers and try to heal him. The beast was already gone, bringing his body away. I know now that it would have been futile. No healing magic, no matter how powerful, can stick a head back on a body, other than by passing through the hands of the Powers. So we fled, taking the mektoubs, and leaving his head where it had fallen. Had Jena or Ma'Duk called him back to them, his terrified face would have already disappeared into fine dust, giving off that bluish glow.

I am scared. We are scared. But we have to move on. We won't see him again. Except in my own madness, his eyes in the mist, and my own voice replaying in my head: "If you fall here, you won't come back."

According to our estimates on the map, the outpost should still be five or six days away. I've never been so delighted about the prospect of meeting Marauders.

End of Nivia, 4th AC 2619. Or 2620 already?

Here we are, we are at the Marauders.

Since we arrived, we go from surprise to surprise. Some more unpleasant than others.
The most unexpected one is that Azazor has been in a much better mood these last days. Our talks are quieter, and we have agreed on our course of action. It's about time. I didn't believe it anymore. The bodoc even asked my opinion, and not just once. I thought he was scheming something, but I guess I was mistaken.

So. We spent a night stuck on the side of a cliff. I've never climbed a cliff so high. We stopped about halfway up, following the directions the homins at the Halt gave us, when we could find a suitable platform. Then we walked for a few more hours in the morning before we found this famous pod. There, it hasn't been that easy.
First, we had to understand what they were saying. The further away from the New Lands, the more atrocious the accent. Toub, and we realized that it was mutual. That we had to speak slowly, with simple words, articulate. Not to speak fast and eat words as I had become accustomed to doing among the Trykers, by contagion.

So they descended the pod, and shouted things from above. By dint of shouting from each side without understanding each other, they finally put the pod back up with us in it. It was much wider than the one at the Halt, which allowed us to get into on with the two mektoubs. When we reached the top, we immediately felt that the homins in front of us had a different build than those of the Halt. The system of pulleys was however similar, so it should be believed that they were able to pull harder.

They looked at us with slightly startled eyes, probably because of our attire or what we'd yelled from downstairs, and then one said they didn't expect to see a convoy from the Halt for several weeks. I let Azazor do the talking, as agreed. We are not a convoy from the Halt, though coming from. We are Fyros scientists from the New Lands, heading for the Citadel. They were visibly confused, as expected. They asked if we had any goods, we vaguely explained what we were carrying, a mektoub loaded with bags of armadai meat. From behind them came a Matis with a somewhat hurried step and a stern look.

"This one I don't like," I whispered to Azazor. Two hours later, we were sure, I was completely right not to like him.

This one is Ostini. He's a sort of chief of guards, or rather he's one of the minions of the chief of the clan that owns the outpost, the Passers, as they call themselves. It's always like that with the homins. Give them a little power, and they'll work to devalue others to keep the little bit of privilege they have. In the end, Ostini asked the same questions as his homins, using a condescending and obsequious tone. A good Matis, the kind I had missed since we left. After a few minutes, we understood that he was only interested in the goods we were carrying, and understanding that we were not merchants, he then asked us to pay for our stay here. One bag of armadai meat per person per night. We gave him two bags of Titus' mektoub, without begrudging. This one will not come to claim them anymore, except in my nightmares. Ostini gave us a briefing on the rules of the Outpost. We will be allowed to keep our weapons, but must keep them stowed away when inside the compound, as well as a couple of relatively logical things, water is rationed and we will have to pay for it. We are free to use the dormitory, the tavern, and a partly open hall that serves as a place of exchange, as a market. He showed us the dormitory where we could stay, specifying again: as long as we have enough to pay.

So we were able to get to the center of the outpost. There are indeed six buildings, two of which are obviously reserved for the clan members, arranged in a circle inside the surrounding walls. A watchtower, the market, the inn, the dormitory. Nothing very pretty, like at the Halt. A rather functional style, whose some details vaguely resembling what the Marauders build in the New Lands.

"Two bags per night… we won't last long here," I whispered to Azazor.
At that moment my eyes fell on two strange figures passing further on, between two buildings. Two strangely familiar figures.
Disturbed, believing I was dreaming, I had a moment of inattention, and Azazor told me things I did not take in at the time. He repeated them to me afterwards: maybe we would spend more time here than planned. And that we should get hired as butchers or cooks at the tavern to pay for our stay, the time to organize and especially to recover our energy after several weeks in the Sea of Wood.

The figures, meanwhile, had disappeared. At the time, Azazor didn't believe me. "What? Fraiders? What the hell would they be doing here? Are you sure? What would they be doing in a Maraudeurs camp?"… We went into this dormitory. It's very basic, but it's still better than spending a night down there. I'm taking a moment of rest to write these lines, then we'll go to the tavern. I have a plan.