Links to other sites on the Web17. THE DUNGEON MASTER: For a split instant, it appeared that combat with the stranger was inescapable. Yet even as hands clenched hilts of weapons, the desperate gasp of Othgreg was heard from behind you, piercing the maddening haze of violence like a summer wind.
"Dart! Stop! These people are friends! How much blood will it take to douse the fires of hate this day?"
So it was that the stranger stayed his hand, and once you had determined that nothing more for you remained in the town, he and Daksoalsipha led you toward the last bastion of hope, over a hundred miles to the north. As the fiery day was cooled by an indigo dusk, the latter seemed less concerned with your dwindling food supplies and more with the Empire's new aircraft.
"How resourceful these humyns are," whispered Daksoalsipha to a night sky rich with more than ten visible stars, "they have at last gained the wings deprived of them by the gods."
"Deprived us by the gods?" Logan a.k.a. Wolverine asks.
"It is what those of us who are enlightened call the 'effete factor'," replies the Midnight Maiden. "The more powerful a deity's creations, the more power a deity must expend to create them. Power is finite, and even gods must proceed with caution lest they lose too much of it."
Her statement gave you much to ponder as you continued your long journey through unfamiliar wilderness. Indeed, you had little to do save ponder as you wander-marched; you could afford no contact with civilization here. This is not the West; this is not a conquered and occupied realm like Talamar and much of Karonia; this is rather the homeland of the Empire, and practically every one of its inhabitants is your enemy.
This seclusion was almost peaceful, however, or at least it would have been if not for your constant fear of being discovered. You were at first ever watching the skies; ever awaiting the thundering growl of the Tech-Users' steel-and-iron-wyverns, but as time passed without their appearance you began to wonder if Daksoalsipha's statement might apply to them as well. Othgreg confirmed that all things must draw energy from somewhere, and thus even the power of machines is limited.
Your water supply was swiftly depleted. However, it was soon replenished by a fortuitous rainstorm, though that water possessed a mildly acridic taste which only Daksoalsipha, Dart, Othgreg, and Ozymandias failed to notice. While this still seemed a sign that the gods favoured your quest for freedom and nature, Daksoalsipha promised to locate a river so that you needn't worry about such things in the future. Additionally, when your food supplies ran out you awakened the next morning to find a freshly-slain cow with distinct claw-marks in its sides. After treating and preparing the meat as best you could, you continued onward and northward.
Traveling twelve miles per day, with the strong among you helping the weak, you journeyed for forty days and forty nights {Coincidence, I swear! - The Dungeon Master (TDM)}. Whenever your food or water supplies ran low, you would always find your skins refilled or a fresh cow awaiting you with the dawn. These gifts were often preceded by the noticeable absence of Daksoalsipha, and thus it was quite apparent from whence they came. At last, however, you reached the settlement to which you had been lead by her, and marveled once again at what the Tech-Users could do to a city.
Now you stand before a town filled with buildings at least as tall as those of conquered Talamar - a field of towers beneath a grey morn. The skyline is stark and stifled as most of the towers spew smoke through steel spears at their summits. The overall appearance of the city is that here, magic, life, and colour have been choked from the land.
"Burmingsheyr." Daksoalsipha announces. "The closest city to Kazdar, and the last outpost of resistance against the Empire."
There is no city wall; not even a gatekeeper or fence to keep you out; clearly these are a people unused to attacks. Daksoalsipha leads you into the town and through an opulent district where you see several womyn in wasp-waisted extravagant gowns, yet seems preoccupied with the task of determining where you are in relation to where you need to go. She seems distraught; as though your destination is far from here, yet still she marches on with steeled resolve. You march after her, away from the tended gardens and polished marble, toward the darker and dingier dwellings where the mournful cry of a train's whistle can always be heard some distance away. At last you arrive at a rather drab building which more resembles a prison block than a residence, with only some exotic blue-and-yellow flowers in the window revealing the presence of a culture trampled under the heel of the Empire. Daksoalsipha approaches the door and knocks thrice.
After a moment the door opens with a creak, and a hooded figure steps outside. Her cloak descends about 3/4 of the way to the ground, and beneath it is a gown of royal purple. The tight waist of said gown coupled with its bit of gold flower stitching suggest she may bear more in common with the wealthy ladies you saw earlier than with the people living in this section of the city. Still, she seems demure and secretive as she extends a slitted-sleeved arm in greeting and speaks:
"Who would beat upon elven walls this day?"
Daksoalsipha thinks for several seconds before replying: "Allierion Kazdar, keldaron ma wasszuria lena klissina elle azokar lena anurelle eine."
The cloaked womyn smiles, corrects Daksoalsipha's pronounciation, and translates for the rest of the party. "O mighty Kazdar, you would conquer the world out of fear of others like you."
"I am Fara," she continues, though she breathes the 'f' sound through clenched teeth rather than use her lips, "welcome to the resistance. I fear this will be your final haven, yet take comfort in the knowledge that your epic quest may be nearing its end."
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