[color=662d91]From Wisdom comes Power. From Power comes Right.[/color] From the [i]Twenty Seven Hidden Precepts[/i], Drathan Holy Text - The caravan crawled across the desert, by night a line of plodding gan-lizards and men on foot, beast and man alike burdened with supplies, their trudging column illumined by the the pale glare of the indifferent stars. By day they formed a small circles of tents, huddled against the merciless sun and the blowing black sands. Even the Nuvidians avoided these waterless, shelterless badlands, home to scorpion ants and angry spirits. Yun Es, they called this place, and theirs was the only tongue in which it even had a name. Translated roughly it meant something like "the haunted sands", though [i]haunted[/i] does not carry the connotations of hunger and greed present in the Nuvidian words. The party traveling through these wastes knew what the desert men called it, and knew what lurked here. In fact, they sought it out. It was no rare thing for a Drathan master to have dealings with the red gods. Though most followed the Hidden Paths of Yuwan and did not [i]worship[/i] the many spirits that wandered the world, neither did they despise them or their boons. The mage-lords considered themselves superior to other beings, corporeal or not, and the greatest of their number rivaled even the mightiest red spirits in power and Art. Rare was the southron wizard, therefore, that paid such creatures homage in place of Yuwan and the Old Gods. Ulthaur daz Nagath was one such rarity, Drathan master and devotee of the Red Pantheon both. It was not for lack of skill that he worshiped the earthly spirits; among the Congress of Masters few were his superior in magical talent. House Nagath- rulers since time out of mind of the great slaver port of Tripantos- had worshipped the red gods for centuries, perhaps millennia if the old lineages be true. Their reasons were obscure, save perhaps to themselves and the dark spirits they honored. Nagath rode at the head of the caravan, atop the gnarled back of an ancient gan. Powerfully built, with thick arms and a broad chest, he was clad in simple linens, in the style of the nomadic desert chieftains, the white raiment stark against his dark skin. His eyes glittered in the starlight as they wandered over the trackless black desert, seeking out signs invisible to others. Just behind him rode another figure, more slender than he, with features obscured by hooded robes. "Air's changed," the robed figure said. A woman. Her voice was quiet and cold. "Soon now," Nagath said, white teeth flashing in the gloom, "He's close." His gan-lizard snorted, pawing at the dark sand. The caravan slowed as animals grew nervous. The woman held up a hand, signaling a halt. In the distance, some vague shape interrupted the shadowy outlines of dunes. "You and I will go from here," said Nagath, "Have your men bring the offering." The pair proceeded, leaving the caravan behind, followed by two of the woman's guard. They traveled in silence, moving by foot when the gan-lizards refused to go any farther, the guards carrying a small chest between them. The hot of the desert night cooled rapidly, and the air took on a dank, rotten smell like overripe fruit. Softly, the wizard Nagath began intoning the ancient litanies of his House, and something in the woman's crate rattled in sympathy with his prayers. The distant shape grew clearer: a ruined tower of scorched stone, or rather, the very top of one. The highest spire of an ancient city, now buried beneath the sands. "Here." said Nagath, stopping some ways before the tower, "Bring forth the offering." The two guards came forward, setting the box at Nagath's feet. He smiled, opening it. A Voian serpent sat coiled inside, fangs bared and hissing. The wizard scooped it up easily in one hand, holding it just behind its arrow-shaped head. "What does it do with the snake?" asked the woman, and the wizard chuckled. "Nothing," he said. He threw the serpent at one of the the guards, and the man screamed as the snake coiled around his neck, striking his face repeatedly. The other guard reached for his sword, but Nagath was faster, grabbing him by the head and twisting, hard. There was a loud pop, and the guard collapsed. The woman took a half step back, hood falling from her head. She was astoundingly beautiful, raven hair and pale skin, tattooed after the Drathan fashion in intricate, curling lettering. "What is this?" she said, eyeing the wizard, "Even here, you think you could best me?" Her voice remained quiet, betraying some annoyance but no fear. Nagath shook his head, "I am not so foolish as to challenge you in the High Art, Archmagistra, nor do I covet your title. Your guard, not the snake, was the needful offering. One poisoned, one broken, neither suspecting. That is what He demands." The guard struck by the serpent was on his side in the sand, groaning softly, face blackened and swelling, the snake winding its way down his arm. "We could have brought slaves for this." said the woman, frowning, "A waste of-" "No." said the poisoned guard. The woman turned towards him, raising an eyebrow. He was grinning. "No...the surprise is [i]delicious[/i]." The guard's eyes rolled back in his head, and his smile widened into a twisted leer as he stood. Nagath fell to his knees, muttering prayers, but the woman remained standing. "You know why we are here," she said simply. The Poisoned Man touched Nagath gently on the brow. The wizard jerked and shuddered. "You do not pay obeisance like this one, Kai daz Syfo," the no-longer-a-guard said, "Are you above such things? Or do you save your worship for the mute heavens? That broken rock so beloved of your Augurs?" "Most Drathans do not kneel so easily," the woman said, looking at Nagath with distaste, "But I am not here to discuss piety." "No," said the Poisoned Man, "You are here to discuss the Plague. Could you not find answers in your libraries? Are the stars silent to your inquiries?" Archmagistra daz Syfo said nothing. The Poisoned Man made a gurgle that might have been a laugh. Blood bubbled between his teeth and dripped down his chin. "You have journeyed far and given me choice gifts. I am compelled to reward you... One of my brothers, the Dweller Under the Mountain, knows of this plague. He knows what is missing from your libraries. He can tell you what your augurs and scrying will not reveal, and what the pretender Justinian only suspects. I doubt he will part with such information easily, however, and his followers protect him most jealously." The poisoned man paused, bloodshot eyes looking down at Nagath. He pondered something a moment, then continued. "There is also a book- [i]The Dialogues of Alhazred[/i]. I do not know what is in it, nor do I wish to. But one of your number is already seeking it." "One of my number?" asked the woman. "Gabul." "The Wanderer? He is alive?" "Yes, in the plaguelands. Seeking the same answers you would have of me." daz Syfo stepped towards the Poisoned Man, drawing close to him. "What is the plague?" she whispered, her quiet voice trembling ever so slightly. "How can it be beyond all our Art and power?" The Poisoned Man stepped back, blood dribbling from his nose and eyes, "I have rewarded your gifts with knowledge, this compact is finish-" "You're afraid of it too." Syfo said, "That's why you don't know more. You're frightened and you've shut your eyes. What is it that scares [i]you[/i]?" The poisoned man shambled away from the woman, over to the prone corpse of the other guard. Slowly, he began dragging the body towards the tower. Nagath stood, shakily. He was sweating, eyes unfocused. "What frightens you?!" called Syfo after the poisoned man, but he did not answer. "We should go, now." said Nagath, watching the poisoned man drag the body into the tower, "Now, Archmagistra." She nodded, and the pair turned away, trudging through the black sand towards the caravan awaiting them in the distance. Behind them, carried on the warming breeze, could be heard the sound of cracking bones and of something big slurping and sucking as it fed, and the faint mewling of a long hunger temporarily sated.