<html> <head> <style></style> </head> <body class='hmmessage'>  As before Xayk dismissed any suggestions that they bring torches with them, though when the spears were brought up the dragon was uncharacteristically silent.  No, perhaps that wasn’t fair; he could be silent when he wanted to be, it was just that his silence, as with all things relating to Xayk, was unpredictable.  A tangible measure of anxiety hung in the air as they once again approached the cave, that dark claustrophobic descent that once again held the next step on their way off this island, though if what they had been told was true this really would be the last step on this never-ending journey to the ends of the Earth.  The thought of setting his feet down on nice, solid, non-island ground instilled Zyn with at least some sense of hope, a hope that they could leave this hunk of rock sticking out in the middle of the ocean for good.  No one said a word as they passed the threshold of the cave’s entrance, leaving the sunlight behind them hopefully for the last time.  The cavern’s darkness once again enveloped tem before a strange but now familiar ambient light lit the rocky descending passage, causing Zyn to search for a new face.  A new face was almost certain to appear in lieu of the fact that on both previous descents Xayk had chosen distinct forms so that he could scrunch through some of the narrower passages.  But as he scanned left and right, he saw no seventh man standing among the cast aways, and it soon become clear to the others as well that something was amiss.  “You don’t suppose he’s leaving us with that... ‘figment’ of his imagination again?” Grumiah asked aloud.  There was no vocal answer except for a very audible scowl from Pols.  “Whadda ya standing around for?” a squeaky, high pitched voice suddenly rang out, startling several of them, Zyn included.  “Where in the pagan hells did that come from?” Pols demanded as he searched around.  “Down here silly goose!” the voice squeaked again, prompting the six men to all stare at the floor.  There, standing midst their feet, was a small fluffy white kitten adorned with the largest, most ridiculous eyes Zyn had ever seen, though they instantly added an undeniable measure of almost revolting cuteness.  The other remarkable features were the sharp, twisted, gnarly spikes jutting out of the kitten’s back spread out in a crude flower-like arrangement, and a crude oversized wig composed of hastily threaded together hair sitting atop the head, nearly obscuring the face.  “Are you guys ready to go or not?” the fully cute kitten with spikes asked in its ultra squeaky voice.  “...Xayk?”  This prompted a squealing laugh from the absurd creature.  “Who else did you expect, Father Yule?  Come on, we’ve got evil cultists and lycanthropes to go beat up!” Xayk exclaimed before pouncing off further down the cave, turning his head back to face the stupefied men.  “Well come on, sillies, we haven’t got all day!”  “Ok,” Zyn admitted, “Now I’ve seen everything.”  “Just when you think he couldn’t get any weirder,” Lum agreed.  Xayk wasn’t finished with his weirdness either, as was aptly demonstrated when he began humming, humming very loud, which in his perpetual squeaky voice became an increasingly shrill and intolerable assault on their ears.  “What in Eli’s name are you humming up there?” Lum demanded at Xayk’s continued humming of the tune that was so chipper and repetitive it could drive a man insane.  “Oh, well I can’t tell you that,” the dragon in kitten form said to them.  “It’s a [i]secrwet[/i].”  “What’s so important about it that it’s a secret?” Pols hotly and somewhat irrationally demanded.  “Silly sailor!” the kitten exclaimed.  “It’s a secret ‘cause if you knew I’d have to [i][b]kill you[/b][/i],” his voice suddenly became a deep, grating, menacing and altogether unnatural echoing, a seismic grinding like the proclamation of some demon.  Naturally all six of them stopped dead in their tracks, eyes wide with sudden and paralyzing fear.  Then, just as suddenly as it came, Xayk’s voice snapped back to its innocent, squeaky kitten form.  “Besides,” he went on as if nothing was amiss,” I couldn’t stop singing it if I started saying the words!”  It was only after several long moments passed before they reacquired the nerve to take a breath and step forward again.  Or it may have had to do with the fact that their only source of light was rapidly moving away from them with each stop that Xayk took, threatening to leave them in pitch black darkness.  Either way in no time at all they were back on the heels of the jovial kitten with spikes, who swung his head wildly left and right in rhythm with the beat of his strange song.  By the time they reached the doorway the collective fear had mostly died away, though it was not like relaxation was at all possible seeing as they were once again seeking to infiltrate a dark confusing underground labyrinth filled with demon worshipping cultic merfolk and lycanthropes, all powered and kept nicely evil by the continual sacrifice of sentient beings.  Unlike last time, there was no long delay of chanting and spell casting.  Instead, Xayk simply waved one of his kitten paws and with a great silence, only the rush of air announcing its motion, the massive stone slabs swung open.  As cheerfully and joyfully as ever Xayk leaped and pounced his way through the doorway, leaving the men to once again scramble behind in his wake.  Zyn still didn’t have a solid, completely reasonable idea as to why they were following this dragon; at least he couldn’t come up with a reason that would have sounded plausible if it had been spoken back to him.  They followed the dragon because... well, he told them to.  The flying reptile (er, kitten for now) had them all wrapped around his claws tight, reinforced by his crazy unpredictable antics which served to produce fear in his new thralls.  Pols out of all of them had risen to that fear with defiance, and while his “punishment” of being made completely bald was unorthodox and not really all that dangerous, the mere fact that Xayk had been able to pull it off so completely and so stealthily spoke volumes about what the dragon was capable of, not to mention the insane tenacity it required to undertake such a pointless task.  Then there was Steve’s... demise.  While he had in fact been a simple coconut, the way Xayk treated him so real, and then just up and... well, “killed” him was less than comforting.  Xayk was playing them to his tune so well just by sheer physical presence that part of Zyn couldn’t help but admire his skill; greater even than Lorian by several orders of magnitude.  Anyone that could leave that smug old goat speechless and caught off guard repeatedly was truly special, but that didn’t mean Zyn liked him.  He didn’t so much hate the dragon, though, as he feared him, which was probably why Zyn distrusted him so.  He didn’t like being manipulated like this.  True, Lorian manipulated him plenty, but that was for Zyn’s own benefit, his own edification.  Xayk... Xayk was simply too unpredictable to know what he was aiming at.  Trusting him would be a mistake.  Zyn didn’t [i]think[/i] the dragon was leading them to their deaths as part of his twisted game, but how was he to know?  The only thing he could consol himself with was that if Xayk really wanted to get them at some point, he’d [i]make[/i] it happen; there was very little any of them could do to stop him.  He was less an individual than a full flung force of nature, a fiendishly clever yet energetic and uncontrollable child in the body of a massive magic using flying reptile.  One wrong brush against a loose rock by poor Parn sent it tumbling to and fro down the somewhat steep descending tunnel, smacking itself hard against every piece and segment of stone it collided with.  Instantly gasps of alarm rose at the sight, but very quickly it was realized that no accompanying clatter followed that could have echoed further through the cave, alerting others to their presence.  “What... why didn’t that rock make any noise?” Grumiah asked.  Xayk, of course, had a ready answer.  “Noise cap spell!”  For emphasis, he nudged a rock down the descending path himself, again causing a spectacular spin through the air and numerous impacts, but hardly a sound echoed forth.  “What’s a hat spell got to do with anything?” Pols demanded.  Letting out a high pitched “Squee!” Xayk turned and pounced upon the short sailor.  And knocked him flat on his back.  “Not that kind of cap, silly goose!” the demonically strong kitten exclaimed inches from the petrified sailor’s face.  “Cap as in upper limit!  Ambient or external sounds like rocks falling or impacts and stuff, if they’re too loud, get a cap on them so they ain’t so loud!  It’s magic!”  “Um, does that include voices?” Zyn asked, unable to help but notice that Xayk was speaking awfully loud.  The kitten turned to him with a pleasant, happy grin crossing his features.  “No,” he answered innocently, “Why do you ask?”  Zyn most assuredly could have answered that question, but one brief stare at Xayk convinced him otherwise.  “Nevermind.”  As soon as Xayk leaped off a still terrified Pols, they resumed their way.  However, Lum and Pols after a minute could not help but try and test this new “noise cap” spell by kicking rocks, stomping on them, and even hurling them to ground in hopes of shattering them.  Once of the fragments of said shatterings flew off and clipped Grumiah in the ear, to which the burly quartermaster snapped around and hissed at the two juvenile acting sailors to knock it off.  Putting such distractions aside, down the seven of them went, once more into the abyss.  With each step he took, Zyn knew he was taking himself quite possibly closer to his death.  Though this was far from the first time into this cave, for some reason he could not shake the feeling that death would be waiting below.  As he had been forced to confront it on that stormy night where they were first “introduced” to Xayk, and even more so on that lonely little wooden plank floating aimlessly in the middle of the ocean, he found himself pondering his demise.  And yet, to his unending frustration, he did not know how he should feel.  Was he prepared?  Was he ready?  If the moment came, how would he react?  There had been numerous times he faced mortality before, but this journey... Eli seemed to see fit to stack encounter after encounter with the fringes of death.  With silent cursing his momentarily balled his fists in frustration.  Lorian’s words echoed in the back of his mind, about thinking and doing, but...  How was one supposed to [i]feel[/i]?  How could one act if one didn’t [i]feel[/i]?  Feelings didn’t just appear on demand like some servant!  It wasn’t a simple matter of just dipping a bucket into the well of emotion and scooping out some feeling!  The human soul wasn’t built that way, so how could Lorian of all people ask that of him?  Admittedly, Lorian did have a way of teaching his student through paradox and other rather unorthodox means, but this wasn’t some simple reevaluation or change in looking at the world; this was asking the downright impossible.  As he continued his downward march, Zyn saw the others on his left and right, in front and in back of him.  The slow realization came that if death were to come to him, it would come while these other men (and Xayk) surrounded him.  Hell, a good deal of them would probably go down with him if it came to that, though he couldn’t say much at all about Xayk.  The damndest thing was, he didn’t know how he felt about that either.  They seemed an okay bunch on the whole, but he hadn’t truly gotten a chance to get to know any of them (except for Lorian obviously).  He had just scratched the surface of getting to know Parn and Lum, and knew next to nothing about Pols and Grumiah.  Deep down, were they good people?  Zyn didn’t have an answer to that.  Damnit; just what was he supposed to do?  Guided, [i]forced[/i] by circumstances, he was being pushed along this road to what destination he didn’t know.  Do, Lorian had said.  Act, Lorian bade him.  How was he to do that if he couldn’t feel?  Don’t think, his master told him.  How could he avoid thinking if he had [i]nothing[/i] else to go on!?  The old goat could go on about doing and sacrifice all he wanted; none of it made any difference if Zyn didn’t know what it was he was supposed to sacrifice!  Through his ruminations Zyn saw Xayk, who had again resumed his repetitive humming after quitting for a while, though thankfully at a quieter volume, dim his ambient light spell as they started passing mushrooms again, casting their ghostly blue glow upon the tunnel walls.  Zyn checked and fiddled with the spear he had brought; he was by no means versed in combat, but felt its weight and balance nonetheless.  The day before when they had descended, there had been numerous close encounters: with fish, those giant crab things Xayk had called blorgs (which they had never quite seen themselves yet), and of course resident evil merfolk and wereorcas.  Today, however, in spite of their prized innocent sacrificial victim completely disappearing on them, the tunnels were utterly silent.  Even as he searched for it, Zyn could hear absolutely nothing to indicate anyone at all was down here.  “Something’s not right,” Grumiah whispered.  “Well gee, whatever gave you that idea?” Pols responded.  “They suffer a mysterious prisoner disappearance, and yet their security is lessened?” Zyn stated incredulously.  Lum turned to their kitten host.  “You wouldn’t have anything to do with this would you?”  Xayk’s eyes watched him innocently, those wicked spikes on his back glistening in the mushroom light.  “Why would you wanna know?” he asked ingenuously.  “There’s no one down here, dragon,” Grumiah stated testily.  “Something’s up.”  “Er, actually no.  Something is not [i]up[/i]; it’s coming right toward us.”  “What?” the men said at once, looking at each other in alarm.  Rather than respond, Xayk suddenly darted down a passage to their left.  “Don’t follow me; I gotta take care of something real quicklike.  The crystal’s back in that main chamber we found Sreenii in.  You’re not far; the little mage can get you to it.  Now you might want hurry while you have time!”  With that, the kitten bolted down the tunnels leaving them behind.   “Well that’s just great,” Zyn muttered.   Pols couldn’t agree more.  “Anyone else get the feeling we’ve just been screwed?”  “Alright mage,” Grumiah said, suppressing whatever urge he had to grumble, putting his hand on Parn’s shoulder.  “Find that crystal for us, it shouldn’t be far,” the quartermaster commanded, leaving out the grim possibility that the dragon hadn’t just left them in a trap.  Amazingly, Parn [i]didn’t[/i] complain that whatever it was he was being forced to do wasn’t his specialty; he just took a couple deep breaths and attempted to focus.  “There!” he suddenly pointed.  “Very close, just that way.”  “You sure about that?” Lum asked as he scanned the tunnels around them, worriedly looking for trouble.  “As sure as I can be,” the mage responded in what had to have been the most resolute Zyn had ever heard him.  Or maybe it wasn’t so much resolute as it was absent of uncertainty and low self-confidence.  But hey, if Parn of all people wasn’t crapping his pants in fear, maybe this wasn’t as suicidal as they thought, though maybe that’s just what Zyn told himself to try and alleviate the dark feeling in his gut.  Trying to follow in the direction that Parn was pointing, concern was heavy about getting lost or going the wrong way, which of course ended up happening.  “There is something else,” the mage whispered.  “Xayk... as he was running off, he was casting magic.”  “So?” Lum said.  “A [i]lot[/i] of magic,” Parn insisted.  “I cannot fathom what he is doing, but whatever it is, it is massive.”   Pols scowled.   “No, this...” Parn said turning this way and that trying to regain his bearings.  “This way,” he indicated to their right, which being a solid wall meant scrounging around for a side passage to sweep around to head in the direction they needed to go.  A couple minutes later Parn stopped again.  “This... this is wrong too.  The crystal is [i]above[/i] us.”  To much gripping and worried demands that they hurry, they backtracked once again.  “Betcha this was the dragon’s plan,” Pols complained.  “Get us lost down here after all he’s taken us through, just for a big laugh.”  “Shut up Pols,” Lum snapped before Zyn could.  “You’re not helping.”  “Whatever,” the short sailor waved him off.  “You gotta admit this is the last thing any sane person should do, going down here multiple times and all.”  A laugh of dark mirth escaped Zyn’s mouth.  “Maybe Xayk’s ‘crazy’ is rubbing off on us.”  This time, they went up, then right, and lo and behold a passage that stroked some measure of familiarity stretched before them, complete with a short but quite wide alcove on the wall to their right.  Not only had they found the entrance to the sacrificial chamber, but they had found the secret entrance that they had successfully used earlier.  But this time, their enemy had to suspect infiltration.  [i]Had[/i] to.  Zyn shared this concern with the others.  “Could be a trap,” Lum voiced what no one seemed to want to say aloud.  “There’s no way their prized sacrifice up and walks off and they just decide to forget all about securing the place,” Zyn said.  Turning to Parn, he voiced a concern stemming from that.  “This alcove, couldn’t they have booby trapped it seeing as it’s a perfect entrance to sneak through?”  For all they were going through, Zyn was less than surprised to see the glistening of sweat across Parn’s forehead, reflecting off the pale blue light of the fungi.  “It...,” he began.  “Unlikely.  The magic here is... focused, clear for some reason.  There is much in the cave, but I can see nothing in the alcove.”    “Almost too good to be true,” Pols said aloud.  This was not enough to deter their fearless leader.  “If we had more time, we’d look for another way in.  But the dragon told us we’d better hurry, and this is one matter I don’t wish to test him upon,” he said as he cast a gaze at Pols’ bald head and Parn’s stiff Mohawk.  “We’ve already wasted enough time so let’s just get in there, nab that crystal and get the hell outta here!”  “Amen,” Lum added in assent.  “Here’s a thought,” Zyn added.  “Where do we go when we smash the crystal?”  Uncomfortable silence pervaded the six of them, matched only by the eerie faint echoes of the cave.  “That bridge’ll be crossed when we come to it,” Lorian said simply, though with a faint measure of that uncomfortable distance he had earlier demonstrated.  In a surprise move, however, the old man lowered himself to his knees and proceeded to be the first to crawl through the passage.  Blinking, then grumbling to himself, Zyn dropped to his own knees and crawled on right behind his mentor.  Before long all six of them were crawling on their knees through the low passage, bringing them once again to the spacious but eerily worn sacrifice chamber.  Lit by the soft blue radiance of the fungi, the only object of any significance that stood out was the softly carved altar, this time bereft of any chained occupants.  It’s soft, smoothly chiseled appearance belied its far more sinister purpose, as despite apparent attempts to clean its worn surface occasional dried splatters of blood spoke of its grisly function.  To Zyn’s left Parn made the sign of the yew, repeated by the sailors shortly after.  “If we’re gonna do this,” Pols said as he edged to the alcove’s end, “Let’s get it over with.”  Quickly the six of men scurried down and hunkered their way to the altar.  There, suspended seemingly in mid air, was their crystal.  Though darkened and obviously without any magic flowing through it, it had a ...presence, a sickening aura that seemed to strike Zyn’s stomach like dulled lightning and leave it churning; as they neared he felt his blood almost pulsate from some wave of nauseous evil that that profane abomination emanated.  Its presence grew more and more as he edged closer, a pulsating grip that shook his bones.  He didn’t like the fact that this thing was affecting him in such a deep way, not one bit.  For years he had heard priests speak of profane magic; now he knew just how profane magic could really get.  Hesitation and revulsion were evident in the others too, until Pols just scowled, darted forth, jumped atop the altar and plucked the crystal like an apple from a tree.  “Now what?”  It was a natural question to ask, and one that should have had a logical, ready answer.  The only thing was that they realized, no matter how much they needed it or how relevant it was, they didn’t have one.  Blinking, Zyn let loose a curse.  “Wonderful,” he muttered.  Pols, after receiving not answers to his question just grumbled “figures,” then up and chucked the crystal against the cave floor.  Instead of shattering into a million pieces like any reasonable crystal could be expected to, their dark abomination just clinked musically as it struck stone and floundered over, end over end.  Pols let loose with a series of curses that would have sent a priest into a heart attack; Lum hurried over and thrust his spear onto it, hoping to puncture and shatter it that way.  This too, unfortunately, proved utterly fruitless when the crystal didn’t produce the slightest scratch or chink.  “Pagan hells,” Lum cursed.  Another chuck across the room and the crystal still emerged physically unscathed; Grumiah had his own turn with tossing it against the wall, hoping his heavy muscles could put enough sheer force behind his throw to break the damn thing, but again there was no discernable effect.  Each time it was struck its pulsating magical grip spiked to the point where Zyn found himself physically wincing.  Like so much water the pulses seemed to fill the chamber and... spill out beyond.  “Guys, we might want to hurry,” he urged.  More curses spilt out as they tossed the crystal to Parn, frantically demanding that he conjure some spell out of his butt that would break the thing.  Hopeless panic marred Parn’s visage, to which Pols added an ever helpful, “Just roast the damn thing!”  As the mage fumbled and stuttered with words that bubbled upon his tongue, unwelcome echoes sounded from the tunnels.  Among those echoes were voices.  A lot of them.  “Crap,” Zyn said, eying the main entrance fearfully.  There were only three entrances to the chamber: the large, wide main one adorned with loads of once ornate but now worn and weathered reliefs, a second less elaborate archway about a quarter of the way around the room to the right, and of course the small elevated alcove that they themselves had entered through.  Another burst of shouting, this time painfully close, and Grumiah snapped about.  “We’re leaving, now.”  Parn, who had been fidgeting with some ineffectual spell or another, grimaced and tucked the hand-sized crystal with both hands.  “Hurry, company’s just about to spring on us,” Lum told the mage.  Escape loomed ahead as they neared the alcove...  ...Only for the black and white face of a wereorca to pop out of the darkness right in their faces. 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