The captain's body, gaunt and wan, lay limply on the deck in the dark of night. He wasn't dead as far as Moros can tell, but with his life force siphoned away he might as well have been. The northman stepped back, physically unchanged yet stronger in spirit. “Pity you didn't make us show you the money we promised you,” he drawled as he turned away, boots creaking on the caravel's aged boards. On the main deck, he found Aeternam and Eris waiting for him. “Why didn't you just kill him?” crabbed the old man, wiping blood and hair off his thin, dark metal saber on a pitch-stained rag before replacing it in his cane. “Our quest is to find our kin, not waste time building ourselves one brick at a time. The payoff will come when we stand united, little brother.” Moros simply glared in reply, disgruntled that his methods were being discredited so thoroughly for interfering with the quest so little.

Meanwhile, the feeling of commitment was really starting to sink in to Eris. She, though having only choked out or beaten unconscious her assigned targets, could acutely sense how serious her new comrades were, particularly the elder. Though playing along with these murderers for now, she could always come out on top later; they were relying on her in several aspects. First and most broadly, she was their conduit to her alleged sisters, able to vouch for them and persuade others to join the cause. Secondly, her ability had been instrumental in their takeover of the caravel: in the late evening, when the crimson sun was peeking over the horizon, she had released her aura to begin a brawl among the crew. Afterward, everyone was tired, irritable, and wanted nothing more than to be alone—perfect for elimination. Now that she ship was theirs, only a few miles remained between the trio and the rumored dead zone.

One by one, they disembarked, carrying with them various equipment and provision stolen from the ship. From the torchlit vessel they entered an oppressive, swaddling darkness, stuffy and thick like some infernal fog. The solitary lifeboat arrived at the shore of the Myra River without incident. Illuminated by the light the lifeboat's lantern, Eris, Moros, and Aeternam walked steadily through the darkness, following the river southwest. The plains here were untouched by man, long and thick, full of insects and the occasional sleeping rodents that bolted when its slumber was intruded upon by determined footsteps. Once, about thirty minutes into the hike, the night's silence was broken by a keen, whooping cry in the distance. Remembering the tale of a riverman who frequented her Sand Pits, Eris guess that it was a manticore. Her allies only grunted in response. For the remainder of the trek, she couldn't shake the feeling that the beast was following them through the gloom, waiting for the right moment to strike. Though not a fearful woman, Eris quickly became aware of an intense, primal terror of the unknown, all too characteristic of humans. As a result, her self-doubt increased; if she was what these people said she was, such human instincts would be far beneath her.

Finally, the land beneath themchanged, and Moros stopped dead. He knelt examined the grass beneath him with wide eyes. If there was something special about it, Eris could not identify it, but Aeternam seemed to feel the same way about the black vegetation as Moros did. “It's not dead,” he said at last. “But it is very sick. I don't understand...”

While the two fretted over the grass, Eris continued to peer out into the darkness, searching for any threat. Gradually, she realized that there were, in fact, eyes staring back at her. First one pair, then two, then five. Only when they started to move toward her did she conclude that these ghostly eyes were more than figments of an uneasy imagination. “Eyes! Coming at us!” Moros and Aeternam, surprised and initially skeptical, shot to attention when they, too, saw the eyes spreading out to surround the circle of light radiated by the lantern of Eris. Moros grinned and put up his fists, while the old man's hand latched onto the hilt of his cane, ready to draw the hungry blade within.

Rather than a pounce and a shriek, a low voice issued from the darkness. “Intruders. Drop any weapons and put your hands above your heads.” Into the lantern's light came five men, though even in good light they would have been hard to look upon. Their skin was incredibly blemished, discolored and rotting in some places. By was of clothes they wore damp rags, grimy bandages, and scraps of rusted armor, none of which concealed their deformities. Plainly, they were diseased. Despite their condition, however, they brandished nasty-looking spears and swords and seemed as fierce as any soldier...perhaps even more. All this Aeternam took in instantly, and he raised his cane over the chest of Moros to prevent him from attacking. “We are envoys. Take us to your master.”

At that, the supposed leader of the vile squad seemed somewhat surprised. “M'lady? Very well; we will escort you to her. Make no sudden moves.” As the group began to move as one into the area marked by blackened grass, the old man commented to his little brother in a whisper Eris strained herself to hear, “We thought to find a brother in these dead lands. We may, in reality, have found a sister.”