Uknown Lands

Balco

During one of its many long voyages, the Khijovian crew of the Arcadia ventures for the first time into the uncharted waters of the Wintry Ocean and discovers a remote polar archipelago surrounded entirely by ice cap glaciers. The fearless explorers reclaim the islands in the ascended king's name and soon set sail again for the Wintry Bight. However, a terrible storm hits the ship which is destroyed: the survivors are shipwrecked in unknown lands…

"Logbook of the Arcadia - May 12, 1608
Day 137

The undersigned is the second lieutenant on board Zenio Periclon. I certainly won't tell about the grandiose enterprises of the Arcadia before the fatal storm, but rather a report of the recent shipwreck as expeditious as possible given my still strongly shaken soul. At the continued and assiduous request of the captain, I will put in these pages in the name of the surviving crew - albeit extremely reluctant - our recent tragic experience and our baneful castaway in such unknown wilderness. Oh, I be damned: the mere thought of recalling these atrocious events stirs up in me a depraved feeling of insane terror... It really does pain my veteran soul to rehash the horror of what happened in those execrable waters, in that watery hell..! My very hands are trembling as I try to reelaborate these terrible events, afflicted - alas! - from the gargantuan weight of my wretched memory.

Now, the Arcadia first entered what the Prestorians call Wintry Bight a few days ago, yes, soon after we discovered that recondite polar archipelago. Apparently, the nautical map supplied to us by those cursed Prestorian sailors did not specify that these waters were afflicted by vehement storms and terrifying waves! We soon sighted a dark storm cloud in the distance but, owing to the perilous and violent waters, were prevented from changing course. It was now inevitable: that storm was impending indeprecabily. The captain, in a desperate attempt to save us, had the cargo thrown overboard to lighten the Arcadia, but in vain. We were overwhelmed by the impetus of the unforgiving marine gods' anomalous waves. I don't quite remember what happened after our dear ship pitched sideways in the brutal waters, all I know is that we were shipwrecked in lands unknown to Khijovia, not even mentioned on the Prestorian map we so mistakenly relied upon.

Thus, with no food and no hope of survival, we remain isolated in these wild lands until we die. Oh, and don't think we're crazy: many of our slanderers at home still accuse us of fallacies, considering us a group of lying charlatans posing as explorers, but now I would really like to see their reaction to our terrible ordeal..! Well, this manuscript is to be considered, like the entirety of the ship's log, the definitive proof of the veracity of our tragedy in the Great Ocean. Ah, infernal waters! Let all hope be abandoned when you set sail...

Oh, what is it that I hear? My fellow survivors have sighted… yes, it seems they have found something yond. What will it be? Oh, Heaven save us! I'll stop here and go check it out myself…"

Flying_Tonk

Upon the Oriental Fjords' rocky shores, the cold and damp gravel and the mighty pillars of basalt made for a strange site, grey clouds darkening the sky and rough waves behind to trap them. Instantly this land would feel alien to those unfamiliar with it, for despite the terrain being normal, strange animals circled the lands. Whatever lurked in the waters was of mighty and terrifying capacities and the birds were replaced by strange, cackling animals of membrane and feathered wings. The shores were empty of land animals but some turquoise green moss was seen on the rocks...strange colour indeed.

Strangest of all, a vibration could be...¿felt? ¿heard? Not easy to tell, but it rattled the ear and shook the bone. It was not alike the rumble of earthquakes or the simple grunts of animals, it was irregular and seemed to change and flow like a river...like language; something was watching them from afar, this would go on for a while until a mighty horn was heard afar, powerful and commanding was the sound and soon enough from the entrance of the fjords a cloud of dust could be seen lifting up a few kilometres away, as it drew nearer twenty-one individual figures could be spotted, mounted riders in strange steeds.

As this alien retinue approached more details could be made, the riders were entirely clad in iron scales and lammelar armour, their helmets of an organic and metal cap and masked faces, hair plumes at the top alike the tails of horses and their mounts were similar to horses, yet possessed dagger-like claws near the hoof, their shaggy to dark coat of fur more like a cover of primitive feathers, strange tendrils near the mouth and a sail for a mane with intimidating patterns of black, cyan and diverse shades of orange. The riders bore shields on one arm and horse-hair type standards on the other with black and indigo colours, at the helm of them a figure bore a shield only in his hands while they all had seathed sabres, bows, axes and maces on their saddles.

This host of riders drew nearest they circled up the explorers and then the leading figure would dismount and speak to them. Tall he was, taller than most humans, and of a muscular frame. He spoke in a long and complex language of strange sounds and undecipherable manner, his companions as well spoke it amongst themselves. Realizing the foreigners did not understand him, this captain figure would grab a wooden tablet he had on his saddle and a small chisel and began to carve on the wood a message; pictographs detailing a storm, the entrance to the fjord and a campfire, followed by what seemed to be the foreigners following the riders to a camp. He extend his hand holding the tablet, hoping one of the foreigners would be brave enough to pick it.

Balco

Zenio Periclon, having "heard" something approaching, sneaked up to the place and, with careful circumspection, hid himself to watch the scene from afar. As a strange band of horsemen approached and surrounded them, the Khijovian explorers, paralyzed by a terrified amazement, could do nothing but watch the arrival of the bizarre figures with extreme awe.

Zenio, hidden, was also at first stunned by such aliens, then absolutely fascinated by what he ascertained was a sort of abstruse language, almost imperceptible to his ear. Indeed, he saw the main figure dismount from his bizarre steed and communicate with them in an esoteric language. The uknown commander was muscular and very tall, taller than Captain Scatevrio, and remained towering over the scene due to its imposing stature. At that completely unintelligible language, the explorers looked astonished at the foreigner and the latter, realizing that they did not understand him, grabbed something that Zenio was unable to discern unless he leaned forward to get closer, however preferring to remain hidden.

"A… wooden tablet? What's that supposed to mean…? Oh, it's carving something on it." thought Scatevrio now more perplexed than frightened. The individual showed him the engraved content: pictograms depicting what seemed like a storm, a fjord and a campfire.
Scatevrio reflected for a moment and tried to decipher those symbols, reasoning by intuitive inference: "Storm... Danger, perhaps? Fjord... And a bonfire... a shelter, yes, a camp?"

The captain turned to his men and said in Khijovian: "Dīənu vīəbar ellĕnum cahšcþrəa duhxxre værren, chœdĕo. Tumïæ vīəbar cohdıvrre pœssþĕn. (These people want to take us to their camp, I think. Maybe they can help us.)"

The group of explorers tacitly agreed and hesitantly followed the group of horsemen, not daring to say a word.

Zenio leaned over and watched the men walk away near a forest. For fear of losing sight of them, the second lieutenant returned to the site of the shipwreck, recovered his belongings, took a musket, retraced his steps and, gaining courage, stealthily followed the aliens at a safe distance, advancing into that bizarre land.

Scatevrio looked into the air in amazement as he crossed that unimaginable landscape, sighting impossible feathered critters flying above him . What lost world had they ended up in? Could they have died after the storm? Were these the Elysian Fields in the underworld? No, it couldn't be. It all felt so vivid, so real. His stream of consciousness was abruptly interrupted by the main figure who reached out and handed him the wooden tablet. Scatevrio suddenly looked away from the sky and didn't even have time to look around him, grabbing the tablet and immediately engraving something on it.

Ship. Storm. Waves. Skull.

Flying_Tonk

The captain of the troop saw the pictograms drawn by the foreigners and simply nodded in acknowledgement of their peril; as they marched through the coastline he whistled as if he was calling someone. For a few minutes nothing would appear until a large creature of at least three meters in height, bulky and sporting a proud mane would appear, it had a saddle with many seats and it was ridden by another soldier. The Dze captain then instructed the Khijovians with hand gestures to get on the saddle seats on the sides of this large animal.

On the march through the shores of the fjord they would be able to see the tree density began to increase, the strange smooth-barked trees near the cliffs and atop the fjords would be then be replaced by rough-barked, tall trees that towered like lances and of trunks with the width of two humans or more, ancient and mighty. The winds blew from the sea, carrying fast clouds that moved like waves on the light gray sky. The spring brought forth no warmth, but still only small patches of snow or slush were seen and it had not started to rain yet even with the ominous clouds in the sky.

Balco

Zenio Periclon, as he crossed that extraordinary lost land utterly astounded, lost himself in thought:

"May the Heavens give me the strength to continue..! Looking back on it more deeply, indeed, it is not surprising in the slightest that this land has remained completely unknown to the terraqueous globe for entire eons... This unfortunate shipwreck of ours has unexpectedly brought to light a new complexion of Mother Nature never revealed to us before: what I am witnessing in such lush forests and imaginable landscapes suggests an intricate system of autonomous biomes in which the everlasting path of evolution has tilted in a revolutionary and inconceivable tangent, manifesting illogical and unimaginable forms of life divergent from any other creature ever thought possible by humanity!

Oh, these wild lands... I'm extremely shocked to the core by the incredible biodiversity that appears before me; autochthonous species of alien beings thrive and evolve in this remote land undisturbed by external interference..! In this extraordinarily arcane environment I have lost much more than words. I have lost my world. I understood that it no longer belongs to us humans, and that it never did. Witnessing this ancient lost world is like watching a living myth flourish with mine very eyes!"

His own hands trembled uncontrollably as he tried to reelaborate this irrational and incongruous creation of the Lord. A roaring thunder reverberated in the far distance, rousing him from his train of thought.

Flying_Tonk

For hours would they tread the shores of the Fjord as the grey sky above covered the sun and its light until they reached a stream that moved inland towards a distant forest clearing. As they moved eastwards following the stream they would come across strange totems, tall and of stone with carved faces, clothes and weapons or tools; the Dze would bow in respect and clean them from dirt and leaves as they passed by. Ancient these were, for they had trace details of tear and wear and they exhumed an aura of buried history, witnesses to the eons that passed through these lands for these totems appeared as if they had seen and known all trees that ever grew, all the animals that ever lived and the immesurable stars of the night. During the travel the riders would remain utterly silent, but they listened to what the foreigners said, some had even begun to piece basic meanings and pronounciations by the end.

As the day began to enter dusk and the sky darkened, they would arrive at a camp of thirty or so tents at the forest clearing on the foothills of a crag. The tents were circular in shape and with dome-shaped roofs, covered entirely in skins and felt to insulate them, campfires dotting the outside and accompanied by various working stations of craftsmen, looms, carpentry stands and more; the sound of an anvil in the proximity indicated that a blacksmith was molding his creations and the inhabitants paid no mind to the foreigners, focusing instead on their own work. The twenty soldiers and their leader would dismount, helping the foreigners get off the beast that carried them, and then going to an uninhabited tent where they stored materials.

They would empty this tent and set up another, easily allowing for all the surviving crew to remain comfortable in their stead. Inside the tents would the wooden frames and supports be seen, the ground covered in a layer of felt and pelts for comfort, cushions and blankets were stacked in a corner and at the center was a small hearth fed with oil that would warm up the interior. These two tents were set up in the outer rings of the camp and their entrances faced towards the center of it. After they had done that the soldiers would leave for their own and begin to work their crafts or guard the perimeter of the camp. Their leader, presumably the chieftain, would then after helping with the tents go to his own as well, the foreigners now left to wander on their own for the remaining hour or so of daylight before the sun set.

Balco

Captain Scatevrio thanked with a gesture the soldiers who had set up their tents and told his men to rest while he went out to search the camp.

Captain Scatevrio: "Stay here, I'll be back shortly. I'll go find Zenio."

The captain took his bag and went out of the tent. The alien camp was very peaceful and embraced by the calm of the surrounding nature, characterized by dense forests of long trees that adorned the hilly landscape and by ancient and majestic mountains in the background. After having narrowly escaped death during the terrible shipwreck, admiring such a docile and peaceful place was an almost surreal experience. Scatevrio began to wander around the field scouring the rings that made it up one by one, observing with great interest even the most mundane details of that bizarre culture.

What first attracted him was the pounding sound of a nearby anvil which drove him to the workstation of what he assumed was a blacksmith. Fascinated by the primordiality of those people still left behind in time, the human looked at the imposing figure meticulously shaping his creations and once he stopped, he turned around curiously. Scatevrio nodded in reverent greeting and said something to him in Khijovian: "Evlah, qyhīə plācə". The native nodded with a clement smile and went back to work. While wandering around in search of the tent of the chieftain, Scatevrio noticed that some tents that made up the camp were characterized, instead of by a domed roof, by variants of a more conical shape, also observing various forms of art that decorated the outside of the tents, each one different from the other suggesting a strong individual identity distinction.

The Khijovian captain then came to a band of natives who were preparing to play and sing, and then stood in amazement at the impromptu spectacle. The man was deeply impressed by the singing abilities of the beings who performed masterful ballads and harmonious polyphonic songs accompanied by a series of percussion and wind instruments, recognizing in the fray also a local variant of a sort of violin. Scatevrio then went to a hearth where three individuals were sitting enjoying the music while eating some food. The latter, seeing the foreigner, immediately offered him portions of smoked meat with a side dish of wild herbs. The man thanked them gratefully and made a series of gestures to indicate the request to feed his men in the tents as well, which was followed by a unanimous nod of the head as a sign of agreement from the three generous natives.

Eventually Scatevrio managed to identify the chieftain's tent and enter it discreetly accompanied by a guard. The captain bowed reverently before the chief and pulled an object out of his bag. It was a thick and extravagant gem from quarries at the foot of Mount Eletherium, in the central Khijovian Clastoclites, one of the rarest and most valuable crystalline minerals in all of Pelia. Scatevrio delicately handed the gem to the chieftain, fascinated by its allochromatic sheen. The man then took out the same wooden tablet as before and carved on it. What he depicted turned out to be a lonely individual outside the camp.

Flying_Tonk

The T'aan looked at the gem and inspected it closely by the light of the hearth at the middle of his tent and then read the inscription. He could tell that this individual appeared to be lost and so quickly got up from his seat, putting the gemstone in a pouch, and called for four guards to come with him, signaling for Scatevrio to come with him as well with hand gestures.

The sun would begin setting soon and in the dense cover of the forest one not aware of his surroundings would get quickly lost and so the Dze wasted no time in pursuing them. Speaking in their infrasonic speech, they contacted nearby shadecloak rangers to help with tracking the foreigner as they looked for footprints that may lead to outside the camp.

Balco

Zenio Periclon lost sight of the group of alien horsemen and was now lost in the dense forest, wishing he hadn't been lost in his thoughts at the sight of such a fascinating environment. Now he wandered aimlessly in those unknown lands, tired, hungry and dehydrated. The sky then began to darken and the surrounding environment began to be pervaded by an early darkness, fomenting a feeling of insane restlessness. Now on the verge of collapse, Zenio sat down under the shade of a long tree and began to suffer from the evening cold. No longer able to resist his precarious conditions, he collapsed on his back on the ground, dutifully awaiting his sad fate. In a feverish state, the dying Zenio lost track of time and slowly closed his eyelids, longing for his suffering to end as soon as possible.

What roused him from his agonizing half-sleep was a rapid succession of rhythmic stomping sounds, like those of a great galloping steed getting closer and closer. Zenio, in a last painful effort, reopened his eyes and saw the vague and deformed silhouette of a tall and powerful individual stand out before him.

Flying_Tonk

Having found Zenio, an armoured Dze would pick him up and put him in his saddle and then began to produce a series of clicks and high pitched noises as he was joined by three Dze cloaked in strange camouflage, almost like they had spawned from the air as they silently approached...just like some he could've heard before...the forest was dark and visibility was low and yet the soldier and his companions on foot walked flawlessly as he guided his mount carrying the foreigner and by less than an hour they were back at the camp, the T'aan would then give Zenio a waterskin. The liquid inside it was lukewarm but would become fiery as it was drank, reactivating the body.

The Dze would leave Zenio with the Khijovians and return to their lives as night fully set in and half of the tribe would go to sleep as the other half remained awake and work in their craft.

Balco

The sick Zenio was brought back to Scatevrio's tent and was joyously received by his companions. Fortunately his moribund state had weakened considerably after drinking that strange revitalizing liquid offered to him by the natives, who had now left the Khijovians alone for the sidereal night. Soon the group of explorers, after eating the food provided by the three generous natives previously met by Scatevrio, went to sleep in the comfort of the tents; however, despite his feverish condition, Zenio decided to stay awake for a while longer.

Capt. Scatevrio: "Zenio, my boy, why don't you go to sleep, eh? You've got to recover from your illness; take a rest."

Zenio Periclon: "I'm fine, Captain, truly. 'Tis nothing serious."

Capt. Scatevrio: "Well, if you say so. But, I insist, you ought to sleep."

Zenio Periclon: "Do not worry, sir. I just need to write something, yes, then I promise I'll go to sleep."

Scatevrio nodded with a clement expression and stroked the second lieutenant's head, wished him good night and went under the covers to sleep. Zenio pulled out his logbook and crept out of the tent. He was suddenly hit by a frigid night breeze that made him completely shiver, then he strode briskly to a nearby bonfire to warm himself from the cold air. He met two seated natives who were chatting quietly in the heat of the fire and greeted them in a feverish voice, positioning himself next to them with book and pen. The two paid little attention to the foreigner, giving him just a docile nod of the head as a sign of greeting, and continued to talk together undisturbed.

Zenio began to write:

"That esoteric language alien to me rang in my ears like a sweet succession of crisp organic melodies, long and articulate, like an elaborate irradiation of complex but systematic crackling verses filled with a depth inconceivable to the human. An abstruse but fascinating effluvium of sinuous and fragrant vibrations pervaded my entire body in electrifying flashes, as if that phonic harmony even managed to permeate my very soul through complicated intertwining of reverberating sounds."

Zenio finished the brief entry in the logbook and raised his gaze towards the starry sky, staring at that kaleidoscopic sidereal backdrop that shone so brilliantly. The Khijovian would sit there for a few hours, while also observing the camp and the people at work, as if waiting for someone to speak to him.

Flying_Tonk

The night for the Dze was both a time of sleep and of work, for they could sleep in two cycles of four hours and be fine. Half of the camp would go to sleep and the other half remained, the two tribesmen at the camp where Zenio laid among those who remained. These two in particular would watch him occasionally from his rear view, he would not know, but they would talk of him a bit. They wondered, just as much as the T'aan or all the inhabitants of the land why foreigners were coming so oftenly in the recent times, but they could not help but gauge at his eyes and see nothing but curiosity and awe. A third one would join them in the camp as in other campfires people ate or played music, plucked lyres, flutes and strange fiddles of a calm sound; their intervals were strange and their patters were unnatural, but it still felt harmonious in a way. Music at night was of soft sound and of calm topics as they sang to the stars, sang to the moon and sang to the sun and as the honoured the air, water and earth.

These Dze would then after some hours then go silent, midnight was approaching and as the lively and yet relaxed attitude of the camp surrounded all one of them, the oldest of the group, would talk to him in Solaren in a curious and lively tone.

???: "You, Khijovianyw. ¿What are you writing?"

Balco

Zenio stopped abruptly and turned pale, slowly turning in amazement. He found himself in front of a calm native of very elderly appearance, probably the oldest of the group, who gave off an air of ancient wisdom, as if during his existence he had seen and experienced everything. With intellectual clemency the individual observed Zenio for a while without saying anything, staring into his tired eyes as if he managed to penetrate his gaze and scour his psyche from just his irises. The native elder smiled slightly, then nodded to the foreigner's book and pen, patiently repeating what he had said earlier. Zenio couldn't believe his ears: what the native had uttered was Solaren!

He was sure, yes, that was the Solaren language. Years ago, during the largest intercontinental voyage of the Arcadia, Captain Scatevrio and his crew had landed in the lands of Nova Solarius and during their stay there Zenio had in fact learned their language. Now, he had immediately managed to identify the language but, given the unexpected circumstance, he was deeply struck by it. Realizing that he was frozen in amazement and was lost in his thoughts, Zenio suddenly shook his head and coughed artificially to break the awkward silence, handing his book to the old native to show him the contents written in Khijovian.

He began speaking in hesitant Solaren to the old individual:

"Correct, I'm from Khijovia. Let me introduce myself, yes: I'm Zenio Periclon, second lieutenant on board of the now lost Arcadia. Um, I haven't yet learned the name of your people; I don't even know where we are currently located..! So, yes, I ask you: who are you?”

Flying_Tonk

The elder Dze would read at the Khijovian text, quickly memorizing each glyph upon the parchments, even if he knew not what they were supposed to represent and then he spoke, his voice like stone, old and yet youthful in might, powerful and unmoving.

Ńṭhuuḿ: "I am Ńṭhuuḿ, Old Mist, named for the fog that bore witness my birth. You are in the lands of the Nywii clans, of which there are twenty, in the eastfjords. These are an expanse of forests, mountains and shores that have seen the passing of our people since, oh, three hundred generations and more. These are the near eastern domains of our people, I myself am a wanderer, for I have only stopped temporarily here during my journeys." -he stopped for a few seconds, observant, and then he continued- "You wish to know more I see...¿or I read you wrong, Zenio Periclon?"

By his garments or looks one would not be able to tell his profession, nor his status, but he seemed to be respected by those around him for more than his age as they carefully listened as to what he said, even if just to hear his voice was enough, for the other two knew little of foreign tongues as word of their languages had not spread nor been taught to everybody yet.

Balco

Zenio Periclon stared at the wise Old Mist as he spoke, completely enraptured by his wise charm and pristine voice. The native elder had managed to understand the nature of the foreigner and had been particularly struck by it: Zenio was a perennially curious human and intrinsically eager to know, even as much as the Dze people themselves, and this was understood well by his glittering, yearning eyes. Therefore, his irrepressible curiosity was not for the purpose of rigorous scientific research, but rather to satisfy his hunger for knowledge and to consciously expand his wisdom.

Zenio Periclon, the Khijovian Odysseus.

Zenio did not define himself as an intellectual, as sharing and flaunting his knowledge certainly did not suit his temperament, therefore he tended to keep personal experiences and discoveries to himself and not to disclose them to the community.

Zenio Periclon: "Yes, please, do enlighten me, and, if I'm not indiscreet, I beg you, do reveal to me your ancient knowledge!.."

The Khijovian would have loved to start asking questions about the nature of their remote lands, about their culture, their history, their customs and traditions, about everything, but the questionnaire did not take place as Old Mist, grinning amused by Zenio's innate curiosity, stopped him with a docile wave of the hand and led him to wander through the surrounding territories. During this pleasant and peaceful excursion the two walked slowly while Old Mist detailed the landscape, showing him the high hills and majestic mountains in the distance. All the geographical information reported by the native was written down with surprising speed by Zenio in his book, by now overflowing with annotations. At a certain point, however, having reached the top of a nearby hill, the human stopped writing as he had run out of available pages and stopped together with Old Mist to observe the magnificent panorama of the camp below, the fjord coasts in the near distance, and the black sea, all illuminated by a sweet moonlight.

Flying_Tonk

Ńṭhuuḿ: "The seas you have come from are the domain of powerful spirits, they have a distaste for those who cross their domain and the currents are strong, but with the rise of the moons you can see they bask in their light and calm. We are a people of the stars and moons, Zenio, and their light affects all of us. Now, let us go back. I commend the strength of your soul for managing fever and hunger, but if not your own kind then maybe mine can convince you to eat and sleep. Curiosity is best nurtured when one's mind is strong."

He would then signal for them to return, midnight was nigh and the skies seemed to completely clear save for distant clouds, the twilight prevented total darkness from encircling the lands and Zenio would be able to find the way back if he so desired to return now. The wind began to grow colder in the night and yet it slowed, becoming a gentle breeze of spring.

Balco

To the words of the wise Old Mist Zenio tacitly agreed with an imperceptible nod of the head, and then, suddenly overwhelmed by a vehement wave of tiredness, he followed the old Dze towards the camp. After descending the hill in the moonlight, the two came to a clearing enclosed by tall trees, and glimpsed the camp opposite in the near distance. The peaceful noise of the night completely enveloped Zenio's soul, by now pervaded by such a drowsiness that he could have collapsed asleep at any moment, but he managed to resist still animated by an evanescent desire to know what the native would have revealed to him the next day. After a few minutes they arrived at the camp which, although it was full midnight, remained active and busy. The wise Dze accompanied Zenio to his tent in the outermost ring of the camp and, just as he was about to leave, the human stopped him and asked him:

"Old Mist, will you ever fully teach me your ancient knowledge? Indeed, will you ever be my mentor?"

Flying_Tonk

The old Dze would freeze slowly and look at the Khijovian, his sight now a piercing gaze once more, but hidding all thoughts of his own in a fog. The Dze rarely shared more than superficial knowledge, he was willing to teach Zenio...but he would not allow the knowledge of his people to be given freely to others. He would then speak at him in his calm tone, yet it bore much more power and authority as he spoke now.

Ńṭhuuḿ: "The words of our people are not to be heard lightly, and much less shared to those we don't deem worthy. I will teach you, but an oath of silence you must swear on certain things." -his voice then turned dark, his presence seemed to engulf all and darkness around magnified the light from the torches as he finished- "Not all outsiders are worthy of hearing some of our tales."

Balco

Zenio stared gravely at Old Mist's gloomy face, and then nodded slightly as a sign of understanding. The two wished good night and the Khijovian slowly slipped into his tent among his companions, trying to make as little noise as possible so as not to wake them up. He lay down next to the captain and, as soon as he closed his eyes, fell into a deep sleep.

The following morning Scatevrio woke up very early, shortly after dawn, and roused his men in order to go out together. He left the sick Zenio to sleep, and from his appearance it seemed that he would have remained asleep until noon. The Khijovian captain then led his crew across the camp towards the chieftain's tent, all the while greeting the native blacksmith he had met the day before, who gave him a soft, friendly smile. Once they reached the chief, Scatevrio used the wooden tablet again and engraved pictograms depicting the beach and some bags on it. The Dze, after brief reasoning, deduced that those were their goods and objects left behind on the coast, and that therefore the human was asking them if they could go with him and his men to recover what had survived after the shipwreck. The chieftain nodded solemnly and ordered a salvage party and a pair of sentries to accompany the foreigners to retrieve their belongings.