It had been a long run. Even with the augmentations provided by skillful use of this lands geomancy I felt more than a bit weary. Getting to Marare Lassel was easy enough, getting around on this island is another story. Through out the night I had ghosted past the campfires of the Aun and avoided some of the more unpleasant wildlife that calls this place home. Finally I had reached the valley I sought. The only location in all the land where Ren'Qui mushrooms grew in any sort of abundance. Ren'Qui were desired by the finest chefs in the land for a variety of reasons, the least of which was their restorative properties, but far more important than that was the flavor they yielded when applied to a myriad of dishes. They were worth a hundred times their weight in pyreal, not that they could be bought. Those that harvested them guarded their stock well and kept it close. I lay down to rest for a bit. The baudrens, ashikas, and djembes of the distant Aun thrummed in harmony with the spirit of the land. Such a peaceful sound really. At some point I drifted off into a quiet slumber.

I woke to a dew-strewn morning. My armor was damp and I had more than a few complaints coming from places where hard armor met soft flesh. I had slept in this second skin many times and still wondered if their hardened carapaces where what made the Olthoi so irritable. Sleeping in armor was ever one of the more unfortunate requirements of an explorer in this land. I brought out a small pan and started a tiny, smokeless fire so as to warm water for tea. Tea made everything discomfort infinitely more tolerable.

The morning rituals done I hoisted my empty packs knowing well that they'd soon be full of precious Ren'Qui. A smile crept to my face as I remembered the way my Queen's face lit-up as she tasted a dish flavored with them for the first time. Ren'Qui were among her majesty's favorites and as always, I aimed to please.

I made my way to the valley floor and began searching for the diminuitive, horn-like mushrooms. Luck was with me as a flush was occurring. The Ren'Qui were presenting themselves proudly at the bases of the trees that lined the valley. As I gathered the mushrooms I was careful to tap them first to ensure that their spores were dropped to continue their line.

A twig snapped somewhere behind me. I dropped my bag and spun to face whatever it was that had startled me. Some 40 yards away was an Aun painted and tatooed in the markings of an Elder Shaman. In his hands he held a small tree branch, neatly broken in two. "Wou tae klah!" he muttered.

Not knowing what else to do, I relaxed my stance. I had ever maintained that if I were greeted by a race rather than immediately attacked that I'd do my best to see to it that we parted in peace. I was a chef. Despite all of my martial skills I desired nothing more than to be left to my kitchen, but necessity was a harsh mistress.

I slowly brought my thumb to my armored chest and uttered a single sound; "Ncatyl." The Aun, much to my surprise, echoed my motion and made his own sound; "Ng’Aru-Tah" and smiled.

For some time we stared at each other warily. Then the Shaman bent down and gently tapped a Ren'Qui near his feet. Deftly he plucked it from the ground and extended it towards me.

"Ahske-Lahn" he said.

I approached him slowly while he strode to meet me half way. As I took the fungus from his hand I named them. "Ren'Qui" I said, and the Shaman looked confused. I again brought my thumb to my chest and repeated my name. Then I pointed to the tiny mushroom and said once more "Ren'Qui".

The Shaman chuckeled low and pointed at the mushroom in my hand. "Rinkwie" he said with a shake of his head. He met my gaze and uttered the words "Ahske-Lahn, Ni-Catuhl. Ahske-Lahn."

I dared to smile and tried his words. "Ashki'Lan" I said as I lifted the mushroom in a salutation. The shaman nodded.

A year had passed since my first meeting with Ng’Aru-Tah. In those first few months we met often in the valley where the Ahske-Lahn grew. Either he or I would arrive first and build a small fire in a ring of stone and set a kettle to boiling water for tea, which incidentally we both enjoyed very much. We would stagger and stumble with our languages, each of us both pupil and master at once. Eventually we both had a decent command of the other's tongue and we could finally enjoy some meaningful conversation together. More importantly we could trade tales and of course, cooking recipes. Summer became autumn while we learned about our respective selves. As time passed I found myself spending more and more time in the company of Ng’Aru-Tah. I set up a more permanent camp near our meeting place and found myself not missing the comforts my cottage offered.

It was mid-autumn when the next great step took place. Ng’Aru-Tah had been teaching me how to play the djembe. He insisted that it would help put me more in tune with the land and help me through the coming frost. I wasn't entirely sure what he meant by that, but I continued to play anyway. The rhythms he taught me were soothing, powerful, mournful, vibrant, and delicate. He explained to me that to the Aun, the drums were sleeping poets who needed our hands to wake them. Looking at his intricately carved Elariwood baudren I couldn't readily disagree.

I remember it was a dreary day. Rain fell heavily on the mattekar hide tent that I now called home. The virindi mask that graced my doorway hung heavy with moisture and dripped constantly on the threshold to my humble dwelling. I was drying the skin of my drum by the fire, hoping to pelt out a few poems' to help wile away the time until the sky cleared. "Wou tae klah, Ni-Catuhl!" came the greeting as three Aun with the markings of full shaman entered my tent. I rose slowly and welcomed them in their own tongue; Greetings revered ones. Your presence brings me honor.

Ncatyl, you do us honor to have us. Ng’Aru-Tah finished the formality.

Without a word I quickly prepared 5 cups of tea, as was the custom; one for each guest and one for the Xuta of the heart. Ng’s guests made no comment, yet accepted the drinks I offered. I took the first drink and Ng’ followed suit. The other two Aun lifted the tea to slowly their lips, inhaling the fragrant steam before drinking. As a show of strength I pulled some dried meat from my larder and set it in the kettle of boiling water to soften, adding a bit of Ahske-Lahn, shaved ginger, and crushed red pepper. There was no mistaking bitter smell or the dark color of Ebon Gromnie flesh. Only the strongest hunters could take this prey and only the strongest palates could appreciate it. The Aun sat quietly while the meal cooked, content to observe me. I continued warming the carenzi skin of my djembe to rid it of moisture so that its voice would ring clear. To my surprise the Aun too pulled out their drums and began to do the same. I looked at Ng’ and he flexed his hears to say *don't worry*. We sat our drums by the fire while we ate, my oak djembe looking pathetically simple next to the artfully carved baudrens. My guests nodded their approval of my culinary skills, ginger was foreign to the Aun and imparted sweetness to an otherwise pungent dish. Ginger also added a bit of extra spice and left the stomach feeling warm inside. It pleased me that I could impress them in such a peaceful manner.

Dinner was finished, and still not a word among us beyond the formal exchange at the door. I rose and drew down the tent flap to keep out any new dampness. It was time to waken the poet. The Aun too took up their drums and watched me, almost eagerly, begin to play. I began with the poem of the hearth, the first rhythm Ng’ had taught me. It was a crisp 6-beat that brought feelings of comaradrie and safety. Slowly I changed the tempo to the more difficult 7-beat of harvest-time. My drum now spoke of full bellies, happy children, and starry nights. My eyes closed, visualizing the images the drum conjured, I heard another poet join my own. I recognized the heavy bass of Ng’s drum and smiled as he took the lead and brought us to the next movement; the tumultuous 2-3-6 beat of winter's grasp. As he did so, a second baudren joined his in chorus. A nearly perfect tenor joined Ng’s rhythm while my alto hit the accents to help fill out the poem. The images in my mind's eye sharpened abruptly. No more were they fuzzy and dreamlike. The third drum seemed to bring with it a clarity of vision, and I felt that the room was growing colder as the feelings changed to worry and vexation. As we entered into the fourth movement, springs dawn, so did the fourth drum come into play. A rich baritone fleshed out our poem even further. I felt the room warm perceptably and the scent of budding trees and moist soil eased its way into my dream vision accompanied by a slower tempo that brought with feelings of elation and relief. All four poets sang in unison, each adding its voice where it was required. I could hear howls of joy and tramping feet as my mind showed me Aun of all ages dancing under the tall trees. Slowly the tempo changed for the fifth and final time. The song of summer was upon us. A fierce 5-5 beat was rapped out as the four drums blended their voices once more. Feelings of love, success, failure, and rage flew through my brain and worked their way into my heart. In the rising crescendo, the grew even warmer now and smells of dry grasses and perfumed wildflowers filled my nostrils. Slowly the five-part poem came to its close. Ending as it began, one drum at a time dropping out until my alto djembe thumped out the final notes. Then there was silence.

Ncatyl, open your eyes my brother. Ng’ said to me softly. Slowly I obeyed him and when I could see clearly I was stunned to see blooming amaranth growing from the earthen floor of my tent.

What has happened Elder one? How is it that these flowers have grown? I asked in wonderment.

Your Xuta is pure Ncatyl. Your song spoke and the flowers listened. That is all. He answered as though nothing was at all odd.

You were right to bring us here Ng’Aru-Tah. This is a good thing. Commented the stranger with the baritone drum.

Yes. This one shows great promise and gives me hope. remarked the tenor player.

And so saying, the three visitors rose to leave. Ng’ was the last to go and paused at the door. Without turning he said into the night; Welcome to your tribe, Aun Ncatyl. When next the twin moons shine full you will meet your brothers and sisters. Your trials have just begun. I have great confidence that you will meet them all as well as you have met this one. And then he too vanished into the rain.

It had been some years since I came to dwell with the Aun. Though I had never, nor would I ever be completely accepted as one of Tonk, most of my tribe saw fit to at least grant me the respect given to an Orok-ptah'lo, the Isparian equivalent of "Brother in Law". By passing the trials of initiation, I gained admission to the tribe. My prowess in battle earned me the respect of the Warriors and Runners, the Shamans lauded my ability to channel mana for geomancy from the schools of Artifice and Anima, the Iteluan were always astounded by my skill at not being a target where Hea arrows landed. However there was one thing which all could agree upon, everyone approved of my cooking and looked forward to the feasts which I was asked to prepare for any of our many celebrations. It was during our welcoming of spring that I was called away with the Warrior and Shaman caste for reasons unknown and ominous...

"Elders, this is unprecedented. For nine springs I have prepared the feast of Goh-nu amas. Calling me away will leave many disappointed and upset the children." I said from my seat.

"Ni'cat-uhl, it is not for you to decide what the fate-winds bring you, or what you must do. Your only choice is how what needs doing will get done. The feast will still get done. What you need to do will not, if you remain in Timaru." Replied Ng-Arutah, my benefactor.

"Elder ones, I understand but to call on me now, so close to the dawning of spring's moon, is unwelcome. I shall miss the Ashke-lahn." I retorted knowing full well that by expressing my displeasure I forfeited any further hope of clemency. Such was the way of acquiescing to unpleasant duty in the culture of the Aun.

"The children will gather your Ashke-lahn. You leave under cover of darkness tonight. When the moons have set you will depart with the Warriors. Ng-Arutah will lead you. Go with Tonk, Ni'cat-uhl." Said one of the others, and I was dismissed.

I packed as I had many times in the past. Rations, restorative foods that would travel well, supplies for tending wounds, Mana Stones to refresh the various magical devices I made use of, necessary components for harnessing the land's magic, a worn book in which I kept copious notes, and of course the most indispensable of all items; tea. I rubbed my Yoroi armor with Elaniwood resin and afterward applied a liberal coating of dark ash to keep an errant glint of metal from attracting unwanted attention. I brought out my weapons, examining each in detail for anything that could cause them to fail and carefully bundled all of them but my trusted cestus. That one I hung from a loop on my belt. Before extinguishing my hearth fire, I donned my armor and strapped on my shield feeling the familiar rush of magic as the various pieces bestowed their enhancements to my mind and body. Almost as an afterthought I grabbed my oak djembe from where it hung in my lodge.

I met the party of Warriors and Runners near the edge of North Fork reservoir. Ng-Arutah was there already. He nodded at me as I greeted my brothers heartily and joined them. Ng began to explain the reason for our abrupt departure. When he was finished, all of us were fidgeting nervously. It seemed the elders had sent a party previously to investigate some mysterious visions had by Aun Hareltah. None of them had returned. We were to follow their path to their last known camp and report back our findings. Then, if possible, finish where they left off. Among the missing was Aun Keh-ket, one of our most reknown warriors. If he had fallen, we were facing a dire threat indeed.

"This is not good." I muttered while examining the edge of the fungal blight that, until recently, had seemed content with the extent of its advance. Now I watched as grass along its edges turned purplish, then black, then crumble to dust as the fungus steadily advanced at a pace one could readily observe. Hesitantly I stepped forward across the threshold of the leading edge of the blight's advance. I was worried about the unknown, but to my relief there were no dramatic effects. The dust underfoot muffled my footsteps and little else. Ng-Arutah motioned for us to continue our advance, determining our path by using the descriptions of landmarks provided by the two runners who were sent back by the first party before it disappeared. I stopped abruptly and sucked in my breath as I noticed a set of tracks that I'd not seen since leaving Dereth for Marare Lassel; a Lugian now walked in the Aun Homeland.