#1 Rumors of Cralewood Cape

Hentaur the Centaur was a Centaur named Hentaur. At the age of nineteen he left his Centaur commune (Centaurs live in communes) at the base of Mount Aluvia striking out across the land looking for adventure. Instead of finding adventure, he found a rather eclectic band of traveling circus performers under the banner of an ornery old woman by the name of Carpenter (First name ‘Madam’, possibly; Hentaur wasn’t totally sure, but he’d been traveling with the group too long to ask.).

For one so disinterested in the day’s affairs, the days affairs seemed aggressively and violently interested in Hentaur. He was a handsome horse, from the waist down, being a muscular chestnut charger with a shiny umber coat and luxurious black tail. From the waist up, he was a muscular twenty something of unusual good looks with luscious raven hair falling in a mane around sculpted shoulders. He was almost irresistibly attractive to any man, woman, or horse that crossed his path which was peculiar: as though his equine components did little to assuage his two-legged suitors and the human half had equally little effect on the four-legged variety. To call him the town bicycle would be a disservice to bikes, as he put the whole class of vehicle to shame. In the years since he’d left home for adventure, his adventures had mostly been of an erotic nature. This, as all things, was set to change.

The Imaginarium had been traveling around the southerly nation of Lamalon – just north of the Lyzarin’ja Desert, Lamalon was one of the oldest and most stuffy nations in all of Poset. Dotted from boarder to boarder with tiny villages and hamlets, grey rectangular castles, and more historical sites than you could shake a stick at; the languid dull green pastures rolled along meandering hills, and Hentaur had not been party to an ‘adventure’ in well past a week (an unusually long time for a Centaur of his stock). The camp had been set up on one such rolling hill overlooking the coastal town of Cralewood Cape – pronounced Cray-El-wood. At this point, Madam Carpenter’s little circus had swollen from what was just a few wagons when Hentaur started up to the scope of a little army, dozens of caravans painted with different colours and hues anchored in the damp grass preparing for a show of one kind or another. There was Gulliver Weigh’s little green number from which he sold “Potions and Poisons and” (if one looked at the sign, they would see many more proposed wares scribbled on its margin). A heavy looking stone wagon with a chimney housed Helper August – a creature made almost totally of metal, who seemed to want nothing more than to be helpful (hence the name). The infamous ‘Red Wagon’ which served as a brothel on wheels, but also Grapevine (the proprietor) knew how to spin a yarn and seemed up on everyone’s business.

From his perch up against an especially respectable looking oak tree, Hentaur spied Atlantica Ironside getting ready for her act through a window. One of the few women who had not ‘grazed at his pasture,’ Atlantica was a mysterious beauty. Even her vocal warmups, which constituted her singing up and down the scales (except she didn’t realize ‘g’ was a note, so it sounded more like ‘doe rae mi fa so la doe’ which was just a little lopsided) was enchanting to an almost supernatural level. She was sitting in the Green Wagon, a green wagon which served as a green room, but Hentaur could see her face reflected in a mirror. She applied green make up, then blue – layering it thicker and thicker as the notes went higher and higher, to be honest; Hentaur might have been in love.

His eyes drawn to motion, Hentaur spied a new face. A young-looking man with lazy brown hair hurriedly talking at Madam Carpenter as she hurriedly walked away from him. The elderly woman wasn’t quite human, though it would be difficult to identify what exactly she was. Her skin vaguely the colour of copper, her eyes vaguely amber, and her pupils almost diamond shaped; there really was nothing else in Poset quite like her – at least, that Hentaur had seen. For an octogenarian she seemed pretty spry, as she was able to keep a brisk pace away from her mysterious brown-haired pursuer. He seemed tired, a little frantic, but even in the state of unusual exercise Hentaur could tell this man knew how to make the sunshine brighter, to be honest; Hentaur might have been in love.

Crossing the bustling campground in a trot, Hentaur intercepted Carpenter and Co just as Alexander Tuttlewick (the man’s name was ‘Alexander Tuttlewick’) said “… My name is Alexander Tuttlewick, and I’ve been made a fool of Miss Carpenter. A fool, and a real buffoon also.”

“It’s Madam Carpenter.” Madam Carpenter corrected “… and I’m sorry to hear of your bad fortune, but really I am much too busy to – ah!” Her eyes widened as they glanced across Hentaur. “You said you’re in need of a hero, eh?”

Catching up, Tuttlewick nodded, though he was a little out of breath by this point. “Y-yes, I’m desperate. I fear I’ll have naught to live for if someone doesn’t save me.” Hentaur’s heart swelled, of course he’d be more than willing to help. Not just because this brown haired, doughy eyed young man was so irresistibly good looking, but mostly; because he couldn’t bare to see a living soul in pain.

“Then allow me to introduce you to one of our resident heroes.” Madam Carpenter began, speaking as she side shuffled away toward Goodman Grey’s wagon. “This is –”

“I…” Hentaur began.

But the sentence was picked up by a voice just behind him. “I really need no introduction, Madam Carpenter.” Hentaur’s eyes narrowed, turning he saw her. “Afterall, who hasn’t heard of the legendary hero – Misty Stepp?” Misty was a little tall for a woman, with elfin features (she was an elf, so this should be unsurprising) and the sort of white hair that blows out of a fairy tale. Her violet eyes flashed with feigned modesty.

“I... I’m terribly sorry, but I don’t know who it is that you’re referring to.” Alexander stammered. “Are you going to take me to her?”

With a smile that could break glass, Misty spoke as if she hadn’t heard him. “Of course, I – the legendary and gracious hero Misty Stepp – would be ever so willing to help you in this, your hour of need.”

“You will!?” Alexander was getting excited, almost feverishly so. Climbing to his feet and shaking the ‘legendary hero’s’ hand. “Oh my lord, that is wonderful. Truly, I am most grateful. It’s my wife, you see. She believes me to be a cad and a cur.”

“Well, I suppose this does rather beg the question.” Misty’s tone shifted quickly to suspicious and probing as she put an arm over the skinny man’s shoulder. “Are you indeed a cad and a cur, and if so; why would you expect the help of a legendary hero such as myself?”

“I… I’m not.” Tuttlewick sounded honest, though in Hentaur’s experience all men as beautiful as Alexander sounded honest. Though he wasn’t really a part of the conversation, Hentaur began to hover awkwardly behind the pair as they made their way down the hill and into the body of camp. “Truth be told, I do not know where she even got the shape of it, you see; I came home the other night and she was all afoul of me. Convinced of my infidelity, though I swear I have never been disloyal in my life.”

“Uhm… hey man, it’s cool.” Hentaur said, causing Misty to nearly jump out of her skin – though it seemed Alexander had been aware of the horse-man following them. “Ya know, we’ve all been there. You meet someone you really like, but then like; you meet someone else you really like. I don’t know what I would do if like, I had to like, like only one person.”

“But I haven’t!” Alex’s cheeks puffed out in an indignant red which all but totally melted Hentaur’s heart. “I would never dishonour my dear Bree in such a crass way.”

Misty did her best to angle Alexander away from Hentaur – she was totally convinced that she was the protagonist of this story, and would do everything within her power to keep that dopey looking Centaur out of it. “But if you aren’t disloyal, as you say…” something Misty still wasn’t convinced of, it seemed. “What exactly are you claiming happened?”

“Rumors.” He said with a gasp. “Someone spread this slanderous rumor about me, and I want you to get to the bottom of it.”

Misty offered Hentaur a look, this was the type of ‘adventure’ she was used to. With a heavy sigh, Misty’s face spread into the elfin equivalent of a customer service smile. “Of course, I – the legendary hero, Misty Stepp – and this, as yet unnamed horse creature would be glad to assist you with… with identifying whatever miscreant is spreading these rumors and tarnishing your good name.”

“You know my name is ‘Hentaur the Centaur’, right?” The couple had said their farewells to Alexander and entered the back end of camp searching for supplies. Though both Misty and Hentaur had been a part of the Imaginarium for over a year, this may have been the most time that he’d spent with her. While most of the women in the camp were mysteries Hentaur would kill to solve, Misty was a question mark with a razor for a point.

“I refuse to call you that.” Misty walked a few steps ahead, not even looking back as she spoke to him. “Keep up. If we’re to disembark on this… this quest we should assemble a party.”

“Why?” Having the same lower portion as a horse, Hentaur’s gate was quite a bit wider than Misty’s. In order to maintain her ‘walking just ahead of you because I’m better than you’ angle, she was keeping up a hearty jog, while Hentaur only sauntered. If the elf was fatigued, she didn’t show it. “We’re probably just gonna go to, like, the bar, and then like… I dunno; ask?”

Glancing over her shoulder to be sure Hentaur would see her facepalm, Misty answered “Well of course you would say that now, but on the off chance that this does devolve into madness and mayhem I would rather appreciate a few more hands on deck.”

“Does it ever devalue into madness and mayday?”

“There’s a first time for everything, ah – Vaughn! You don’t look particularly busy.” Vaughn was not particularly busy – the teenager was sitting on one end of a hurriedly assembled picknick table playing chess with a seven foot tall lizard monster.

He didn’t look up at first, instead staring with bored intensity at the game. “I do not understand.” The lizard man spoke; his voice a guttural growl which would no doubt have haunted Hentaur in his darkest nightmares, if he didn’t already know that Ba’Tok Oad’Vet was actually a massive putz. “These pieces of wood offer no degree of fear to me.”

Vaughn smiled. “Of course they don’t, but if I do this…” He moved his queen, knocking out one of Ba’Tok’s pawns. “Check.”

“I do not understand. What is this ‘check’?”

“It means I’ve got your king in check.” Vaughn spoke like he would talk to a much younger child, explaining the game in a way which teetered between condescension and honest interest. “If you don’t do something, I’m gonna get him.”

“It is the purpose of this game to protect my king?”

“That’s right.”

Ba’Tok took a bite out of the chess board, devouring Vaughn’s piece, the board, and much of the table in a single chomp. Spitting out the wood chips, he said with no sense of humor “I have protected the king.”

Rolling his eyes, Vaughn finally turned his attention over to Misty. “Can I help you?”

“What? You wish to help me? Me. The legendary hero, Misty –”

“Can we skip the preamble, I’m gonna teach him poker next.”

“I…” Misty seemed a little flawed, so Hentaur stepped up.

“We’re gonna go on like a quest thing.” As he spoke, Hentaur made a concerted effort not to sound as though he was telling Vaughn and Ba’Tok what to do, merely what he wished for them to do. “So yeah, this guy like – his wife like thinks that he like totally cheated on her, but he said that like he was loyal and didn’t. So me and the Mistster were gonna go into town and see if we can like, I dunno, set shit straight and junk.”

Hopping back and forth from Misty to Hentaur, Ba’Tok’s distinctly diamond shaped yellow eyes narrowed. “I do not understand. If he was able to fertilize the eggs of another female, how is this not a good thing? It is the will of Semuanya that we produce offspring and expand our horde.”

Ignoring that, Vaughn sighed. Leaning back onto the less eviscerated half of his bench “Yeah, I guess I’m free. Is it just gonna be us?”

Standing on the steps of the Green Wagon, Hentaur had never felt so nervous. His knees knocked – all four in different and excited configuration which defied the logic of his hinged joints. Stiffly, he raised his human hand to the peeling green paint and knocked three times. After a moment, the door opened and a girl answered – not the one he’d been looking for. This was Ediniira, a blonde girl with oddly simian features. “Hey Hentaur! Wow, you’re looking really tough today? Are you guys gonna go fight something!?” Her enthusiasm was genuine.

“No, no…” Misty stepped forward, she had less time for Ediniira than most. “We were just going to head into town and do a little reconnaissance – we’re looking for someone with good social skills.”

Bummed out that she didn’t have good social skills, Ediniira stepped aside exposing the mysterious oceanic beauty of Atlantica Ironside. “Who, me?” Where Misty pretended at grace and poise, Atlantica had them naturally. Even from a few feet away, Hentaur could swear he felt the angry heat radiating off the elf. Atlantica rose to her feat in a fluid, bubbling motion and turned to face them all. “Alright, but I need to get back by sundown for my show. Will that be alright?”

“Yeah…” Hentaur didn’t realize his jaw was hanging open until he tried to use it for words, his head tracked steadily as Atlantica walked – floated past, she offered him a bashful grin before disappearing out the door. “We wanna go to…”

“I’ve already said that.” Misty closed his jaw with one hand, and so the group set out. Walking through the camp as a unit, the five made what everyone in the Imaginarium would recognize as a party. Leading with all the confidence of the legendary hero she pretended to be, Misty’s bow hung heavy on her shoulder. At her left Atlantica hovered. Even now as she hummed to herself, you could hear the magic in every note (except for ‘d-flat’, which was somehow still mundane). Vaughn did not want to be here, but even that was part of the assembly. The fact that he seemed totally disinterested in everything going on made him an essential component to their adventure. In his hand was a little crossbow which hadn’t been fired since the turn of the century, but whoever found themselves on its bad end would suffer a fate worse than death – followed, most likely, by death. Ba’Tok brought up the rear. Him, seven foot tall, three feet across, and hulking even by lizard man standards would prove to be the muscle if things went awry. Even in this short walk he had tried to eat three chickens, two mice, and Gulliver – luckily Vaughn was here to snap him back into focus whenever the bloodlust got too intense.

Finally, Hentaur was just happy to be here. He had never gone on an adventure before, he’d never been in a party before. Of course he’d seen them leave. Groups of four to six, usually led by the grizzly bugbear buke Twig, the shimmering paladin Clarice Von Malbrecht, or one of the other figures from the Imaginarium who actually felt like they belonged in legends; they were an awe-inspiring sight. Now, for the first time in his year since leaving home for adventure, Hentaur was the one marching in a crowd of heroes. Each different and exciting, each powerful and dynamic, Hentaur the Centaur was going to save the world.

Atlantica tugged his hair quietly. “Um… excuse me, Hentaur was it?”

“Uh…. Yeahh…” Again, jaw.

“This may seem a little excessive but… well, would it be alright if I rode you?”

A single jet of hot air shot out of Hentaur’s left nostril at eruptive speed. “Uh Uh Uh Uh…”

“It’s just that I forgot to bring my boots.” She blushed, twirling her hair flirtatiously – except the gesture was subtler than that. It could have been flirtatious or playful, and this dangerous line between tacit permission and innocents elicited a second blast of hot air from Hentaur’s other nostril. “These heels are fabulous for dancing, but they make for poor walking shoes.”

“I. Uh. Uh. Uh. Sure.” Hentaur swallowed the planet sized knot growing in his throat, his knees knocked together in rhythmic gyrations as the girl – light as a feather, soft as silk, slid onto his glossy red coat. His lower lip trembled as she gently put her arms around his bare human waste to steady herself. It was all Hentaur could do to keep from rearing up like a stallion in heat, but luckily Misty was too self-absorbed and Ba’Tok was too unaware to notice. Vaughn spied it, but he didn’t care. Just shaking his head in slight disgust at the horseman’s antics.

A painting of a goat with its mouth slightly open in a slack jawed, somewhat jubilant expression hung above the tavern door. This was the sort of town where most of the population would still be illiterate, so it would’ve been a waste to pay for the lettering spelling out the inn’s name. “The Bleating Goat?” Atlantica guessed, though she was just as unsure what the pictograph was trying to depict as the rest.

“Don’t goats usually bleat?” Vaughn mused, more to himself than to anyone else. “Calling it that would be like calling it ‘the talking guy,’ that’d be redundant right?”

“I dunno, I like that they made it easy.” Hentaur responded. “Like if they called it something weird we couldn’t guess.”

“Perhaps we’re supposed to ask inside?” A single finger rested on Atlantica’s lower lip as she considered, a gesture that drove Hentaur wild.

“Don’t eat that.” Vaughn swatted Ba’Tok, who was just bending over to pick up a small yellow cat.

“It is prey, I am a hunter.”

“Yeah, yeah, but it’s someone’s pet too.” Vaughn was getting tired of this conversation. “See the tag?” Sure enough, around the cat’s neck was a collar with the name Tom Tom engraved in the tag. Though Hentaur wasn’t smart enough to spot this discrepancy, Vaughn did. A thin sigh escaping from his pursed lips. “Hey, can you hand me that?”

“It is my prey, I will eat it.” Ba’Tok did not break eye contact with Tom Tom, now hanging precariously close to his alligator maw. “If you devour it I will have to hunt again.”

“I’m not gonna – Just give it.” Though it would be unwise for anyone to snatch something from a seven foot tall lizard man, Vaughn’s diminutive height would’ve made it impossible to succeed without consent. Reluctantly, Ba’Tok let the cat go as Vaughn took a closer look. “Hey Misty, what do you think of this?”

The elf was standing in front of the door, about to enter when she looked back. “I’m more of a dog person, myself.”

“No, stupid. The collar. Who d’ya think wrote it?”

“He’s so smart.” Hentaur mumbled to Atlantica. “Like, I would’ve never like spotted something like that.” Laughing a little Hentaur added “I couldn’t even like read it.”

Misty squinted at the cat for a moment, giving it what seemed to be long consideration, before shrugging. “Maybe a lord?” Turning back to the door, she finished by adding “Whoever it was, it would be exceedingly unwise to eat their pet, don’t you think?”

“Yeah.”

“No.” Ba’Tok grumbled. “Eating prey is the way of Semuanya, it is always wise to eat prey.” Despite Ba’Tok’s best efforts, Tom Tom scrambled off the second he hit dirt. Ba’Tok’s eyes narrowed. “You owe me prey.”

“Sure, sure, whatever.” Vaughn waved him away as he followed Misty inside the Bleating Goat.

Like many other Lamalonian taverns, the Bleating Goat was a small wooden establishment with the purpose of selling food and drink to locals, as well as providing lodgings for travelers. It was standard in every possible way from the single, pudgy balding man behind the bar with a welcoming but professional grin spreading his cheeks at the sight of new patrons to the glassless windows, the three tables with two patrons per, the busty bar maid who would be good looking to anyone less worldly, and the single unusual artifact hanging behind the bar to give the place a desperate sense of identity – in this case a mounted goat’s head, lacking the eponymous bleating it’s glassy gaze cast glacial despair across the mildew soaked interior. “God, I hate Lamalon.” Misty hissed, “Alright Atlantica, this is up to you.”

Smiling coyly at Misty, Atlantica responded “Oh Misty, I’d like to thank you for thinking of me. I’ve always wanted to be on one of your adventures.”

“Um…” Taken aback, Misty took a moment to evaluate whether she was being mocked before resuming her persona. “Of course, even legendary heroes need assistants. Now, if you would be so good as to speak with the proprietor, I think it would be best if I employ my skills in subterfuge.”

“Oh Misty, you’re so smart.” Atlantica bubbled and beamed. “That’s such a great plan, if you want to do that I’ll just ask around and see what these people know!”

Not responding, Misty vanished behind one of the tables and then out of sight. For a moment, Atlantica stared at the space she’d just been standing with gob smacked awe before righting herself, and facing the bar. Feeling himself becoming a little concerned by this, Hentaur trotted up to her. “Uh… Atlantica… ya know she, like, isn’t really a legendary hero?”

“To hear her tell it.” Atlantica beamed. “Misty is so wonderful and humble, of course you may not have heard of her exploits. Isn’t she just the best?”

Hentaur blinked. “Um. Ok.”

The three of them walked up to the bar – Atlantica, because she was supposed to, Hentaur, because he was still concerned about Atlantica, and Ba’Tok, because he hadn’t been listening to the plan. He got there first. Sitting down at the bar with a heavy thud, his monstrous shape caused even the bar keep’s eyebrows to raise somewhat. “Well hello there, and welcome to the Bleating Goat.”

“Wow, that’s wizard.” Hentaur muttered.

“What can I get you started on, we’ve got a fresh case of Anburan pale ale and –”

“Meat.” Ba’Tok responded. His voice a terse growl, those blazing yellow eyes slowly revolving until both were fixed dead on the bar keep’s throat.

“Well… uh, we do have some sausage.”

“Yes.”

“Or we could do a meat pie with the –“

“Yes.”

“There was some roast in the back if you…”

“Are you going to continue talking or are you going to bring me meat?”

The bartender scurried back, quickly returning with pile after pile of meat. Despite appearances to the contrary, Ba’Tok’s throat may have actually been a portal to some endless dimension as he handily and efficiently slid plateful after plateful of raw, succulent flesh down his gullet. Hentaur had never seen the Surkh eat before and was more than a little mesmerized by the act. It was like nothing he had ever seen before – the powerful jaws opening and closing, the glistening muscle behind layers of plated green scale, the single mindedness of devotion as those barbed wire blades in his mouth tore through flesh, to be honest; Hentaur might have been in love.

Having finally caught a momentary break, the bartender leaned up against the wall which bore the goat’s decapitated head and wiped sweat from his own. A voice drew his focus. “Um, excuse me.” Turning, the man’s face flushed as he made eye contact with a totally human looking, non-reptile girl: specifically, Atlantica. “I was wondering if you might be able to help me with something?”

Doing his best to put Ba’Tok behind him, the barkeep flushed. “What can I do for you, sweet thing?”

“Well, I was wondering…” She leaned in. Hentaur noticed she tussled her hair – the same gesture she’d used on him minutes ago, and it worked just as well on the bar keep. “If you knew a man by the name of Alexander Tuttlewick?”

“Lil’ Alex, the butter maker’s son?”

“He makes butter?”

“His da did.” The barkeep shook his head. “Far as I know, he carries on the family business, though you can rest assured we do not get our butter from him.”

“Why ever not?” Her lips pouted in a cartoonish mockery of playfulness. The more he watched her, the less Hentaur understood this woman. She was savvy and innocent all rolled into one, nothing about her made sense which just further deepened the mystery. Was Atlantica really the starry-eyed girl who worshiped Misty, or was she this cunning seductress? The possibility that she could somehow be both excited and electrified Hentaur the Centaur.

“Well, er…” The barkeep looked around, slightly nervous though he clearly wouldn’t want to disappoint this beautiful young debutant. Spying no one of consequence in the bar, he continued “there were all these rumors ‘bout him.”

“No…” Atlantica said in feigned surprise. “What sort of rumors?” She leaned in, propping her arms on the bar pushing up her – well, safe to say, the barkeep was having increasing difficulty maintaining eye contact.

“Well, er… there was this rumor that he was dishonest – that he cut his butter with wax. Then there was this business with his Bree – apparently he’s a womanizer too.”

“No!” Atlantica all but screamed. “That is terrible.”

“Why… y-yes it is.” Wiping the sweat from his brow again (it seemed Atlantica was even more stressful than her reptilian companion) the bar keep took a step back. Just as he did a cat leapt – seemingly out of nowhere, and snatched one of the sausages off of Ba’Tok’s plate.

“The hunt is on!” He bellowed leaping to his feet. Chasing after the tiny lemon coloured lightning bolt, Ba’Tok barreled through the bar – leaving nothing but splinters and kindling in his wake. Sprinting after him, Hentaur reached a gallop in a little under a second. Emerging through another hole in the wall the Centaur came out into dazzling daylight. For a second, he was blinded. Blinking a few times a tableau began to form in front of him.

First, the Lizardman was bristling at the cat – which had dropped the sausage and taken up a defensive posture ready to face down this massive predator. Second, the bar keep was yelling. He and Atlantica had come through the Bleating Goat’s wall a little after him, but somehow the Surkh about to throw down with a regular house cat was only the second most interesting thing to him. The third thing, who the bartender was yelling at, were a couple. A portly woman of similar age to the barkeep and (from the little painting of a goat on her frock) probably worked for him, had her arms wrapped around a much younger, dashing gentleman. A compromising position by any standard which made more sense to Hentaur when he heard the barkeep bellow “You’ve been sleeping with Hardworkin’ Hank!?”

“Please, Welker, it isn’t like that!” She said as she gracelessly moved her left hand from his right butt cheek to the small of his back. “We’re just friends!” This was unconvincing “And he was teaching me the foxtrot for our wedding anniversary!”

“That.” The bartender fumed. “Was.” Steam from his nostrils. “Last.” Eyes red with fire. “Week!”

Realizing she was caught in a lie, the woman turned to Hank who’s mouth parted in a shit eating grin. Taking a step forward, hand extended Hank said “C’mon Welker, lots of people have open marriages.” And then he punched Hardworkin’ Hank in the face.

Like a lightning bolt, so fast that Hentaur didn’t actually see where she came from, Misty appeared between the two men. One hand on each of their chests. “Alright, that’s enough you two. There’s no need for violence!”

“This man’s been sleeping with my wife, an’ I’m gonna break his teeth in!”

“You haven’t gotten her off since the coronation!”

“Both of you, please…” Misty was clearly getting tired. “We came to town to look into a different matter entirely, but if you continue to waste my time I’ll tie you to something.”

It seemed that even Ba’Tok had lost sight of the cat, instead drawing in on the bigger conflict between these two men. Hentaur wasn’t really familiar with Surkh culture, or what exactly would be the big reptile’s contribution to the encounter, but it would probably only have the effect of complicating things further. He wouldn’t have noticed the cat again at all, except that Hentaur turned away to sneeze – that was when he saw it. Standing on its hind legs, face to the window, the little cat was face to face with the lemon coloured feline from before: Tom Tom. The cats were staring at each other in unblinking eye contact, this a very un-feline behavior. Though he couldn’t quite make it out, it sounded as though the cats were chirping at each other. Soft, high pitched sounds pattering back and forth – almost like a code or a type of language. A moment later, and the Cat With No Name got down, sprinting off to parts unknown. Tom Tom, on the other hand stayed for a moment, before reaching up and opening the window’s latch – held in place with a deadbolt that the cat operated with super feline dexterity, before also hopping down and running off.

“Um. Guys.” No one paid attention to Hentaur so he said again, a little louder “Guys!”

“What?” Misty stood with one foot on Hardworkin’ Hank’s back while Ba’Tok held the barkeep (apparently named Welker) in a bear hug which hovered uncomfortably close to a ‘pre-devouring’ hug.

“It’s… like… the cats.”

“Yeah, I saw it right away.” Vaughn led the group through town, following the dusty little paw prints from a growing number of cats. They pooled into a generally straight line and seemed to proceed out of town toward the rocky cliffs beyond. “While you guys were busy ‘investigating’ I observed thirty different examples of non-feline behavior from the cats, decoded their language, then got a coffee.”

“I also noticed it.” Misty lied – somehow, it was easier for Hentaur to tell with her. “Of course, having a hero in training with me, I wanted to see if Atlantica would see anything. Frankly, I’m more than a little disappointed in you.”

She hung her head. “I tried asking Welker, but it seemed as though he didn’t know anything.”

“That’s why its always good to have a legendary hero with you.” Misty grinned, though it was lacking something of its usual confidence. “If I hadn’t been there to spot that cat, we would’ve found ourselves in a real pickle.”

Though he almost piped up to correct her, Hentaur thought better of it. He didn’t want to steal Misty’s glory. Maybe she had noticed the cat, and just didn’t say anything? Shrugging to himself, Hentaur decided that had to be it.

The group carried on in silence for some time, walking along the single dirt road out of town which eventually winded its way down toward the beach. Overshadowed by towering cliffs on one side, it was a grey dismal place with none of the happy glow which Hentaur associated with the beaches back home. Ba’Tok, who had been leading them along the increasingly faint trail raised a hand with a growl somewhere by the cliffs. “The trail ends here.” The trail ended at an almost perfectly flat piece of grey rock, coated with oceanic moss and brine.

“Do you think the cats can walk through walls?” Atlantica asked out loud, perhaps a little too loudly as it elicited a muffled laugh from Vaughn. “What, they could?!” She spun around, a little annoyed.

“No, they went through the hole.” His finger shook a little with laughter, following the line he was pointing Hentaur spotted a small, cat sized opening in the otherwise immaculate rock.

“Very well.” Ba’Tok huffed. “We dig.” And instantly sprung into action, claws extended he tore at the rock face with limited success. Like an unearthly excavator he powered away at the rock, never flinching, never backing down. His eyes narrowed in single minded determination as he grew closer and closer to his prey.

Looking at her nails, Misty sighed. “Is there any chance of doing that faster? I had rather hoped to get back in time for Astrid’s show. They’re always such a gas.”

Suddenly remembering her own appointment, Atlantica gasped. “And I need to get back in time for my show.”

“Oh yes, that too. Do hurry it up, Lizardman.”

“Um… I could like…” Hentaur began, though again no one paid him much attention. “I could fit through there.”

It may seem redundant to say that a Centaur is magical, given that by definition an animal which is a hybrid between two would have to be some sort of supernatural, though Hentaur the Centaur was magical even compared to that standard. The centaurs in his commune practiced a style of druidic magic which required them to commune and harmonize with nature, to become one with the natural world in the most literal sense. Thinking back to his years of training, Hentaur focused hard on the shape he wanted to take – a spider. Spiders could be pretty big, about the size of a cat, but they’re also stronger than a cat. If he ran afoul of an angry feline on the far side of the tunnel he’d be able to protect himself. Slowly, disgustingly, he felt the muscles under his skin begin to contract and reform. Loud popping noises spread throughout the air, echoing louder like snapping bones or the sound of someone chewing with their mouth open. The first to spot it was, of course; Vaughn who was almost unphased by this, but even his mask of disinterest slipped a little as he watched thin black hairs sprouting from Hentaur’s torso. Misty gasped as Hentaur’s legs splayed – each of his four horse limbs splitting down the middle and twisting into a newly arachnid shape. An air splitting scream covered the spitting simmering noise as Atlantica noticed his horse torso swell to an incredible, bulbous shape. Ba’Tok didn’t stop digging as Hentaur assumed his new spidery form.

Spider-y, not fully spider. It should be pointed out that, while the Centaurs of the Valog Mountains are gifted practitioners in the art of transmogrification, it would be untrue to say that all such centaurs are masters of the art. In this particular instance, Hentaur had expertly shaped his limbs into spidery legs, his body was a foot in diameter – bulbous and covered in little black hairs. It was only at the face where things started to break down. Sprouting from the anterior portion of the spider was a horse’s head – except it had eight black, spidery eyes and its mouth split open into nightmarish mandibles. Atlantica’s screams gave way to whimpering sobs as she attempted to burry her face in Misty’s shoulder – Misty, who side stepped causing Atlantica to faceplant into the sand. Doing his best not to laugh, Vaughn took out a handkerchief and pretended to have a coughing fit.

Hentaur was embarrassed. He was sure he’d get it right this time, but watching Atlantica sob in front of him caused hot shame to melt across his new bulbous black body. Deciding to make this quick, he scurried past Ba’Tok – still furiously digging at the stone – and into the tunnel beyond. With his new spider eyes, Hentaur had no difficulty seeing in the inky blackness. Swiftly scuttling through slimy passageways, he found himself emerging into a wide-open cavern – slightly brighter than pitch, the space seemed to glow with a red phosphorescence. A shudder crept along his arachnid carapace as Hentuar retook centaur form. Not a cat in sight.

With a gesture, Hentaur conjured a ball of glowing magical light – bright enough for him to see, at the very least, but the light thrown around the room glinted and glistened disturbingly off of a pair of eyes, then another, then another. An eerie meow wafted out of the darkness, being joined by a second forming into a cacophonous chorus. Like a host of angry bees who were cats. Their eyes glinted at him from the darkness – seven sets in total, perhaps more. Hentaur scrabbled at the wall behind him – looking for some way to open the passage but no dice. From what he could tell, it was all solid rock.

Facing no other option, Hentaur turned to the cats – taking his quarterstaff from off his back, he saw the first paddy paw enter the ghostly witch light of his mystical illumination orb. A little collar shaped like a fish hung from “Floofsy”’s neck, she purred as she stepped closer. An orange cat emerged next, then a tortishell, then a tiny puma with green eyes. “Now c’mon guys.” Hentaur waved his stick around his hooves aimlessly – the cats gracefully swished just out of reach with every strike. “I don’t wanna like hurtcha. I think that like all life kinda has like value, ya know?” Swallowing hard he continued, “I think that, like, just ‘cause your demon ghost cats doesn’t mean you deserve to like die.”

Tom Tom scratched at his hoof and Hentaur reared back in agony, swinging his staff down he splattered the kitty into kibble. “You son of a bitch, that hurt!”

Meow! Screamed another one, flying for the jugular. Hentaur swung and he hit – erupting adorable kitty viscera all around him in a cloud of red pellets. Rawr! One bit his ankle. Hiss! Another scratched his handsome rump. Hentaur slammed himself into the wall, feeling warm strawberry jam dripping between himself and the rock. Though he tried, he couldn’t suppress the gag reflex and upchucked all over one of the Siamese cats.

For a small band of cats, their claws were surprisingly vicious. Like tiny hypodermic needles drawing red lines in tanned flesh. Hentaur was blinded, swinging wildly hoping to take at least some of the cats down with him when, suddenly; he heard a crash. Ratcheting one eye open he dared to dream, and then he heard the haunting song wafting in.

A beam of sunlight cut through the darkness like a cat’s claw through a centaur’s nipple, and silhouetted on the other side was a seven foot tall, green scaled, glistening lizard man with his fist outstretched. “The hunt is over, now we will feast on their flesh as is the will of Semuanya.”

Behind him, Misty raised her bow. “There certainly are a lot of them. If I weren’t a legendary hero, I might be a little worried.”

“Misty the great came into the cave, with her bow the centaur to save.” Sang Atlantica, as her notes magically filled them all with a sense of boldness and strength.

“Ya know that was a good rhyme for such short notice.” Vaughn was the last to enter, not even taking out his crossbow he had his nose in a book. “I’m beginning to think these aren’t real cat’s guys.”

The storm wall moved on and the calm ended – just like that the Cralewood Cats fell on the adventurers. In a flash of white light on frost Misty was gone – only arrows whizzing out of some unknown darkness pinning cats to the wall proved she hadn’t left. Ba’Tok grinned a crocodile grin as he was finally permitted to lift one of the cat’s and crush it in his jaws – at the moment of death, however; the animal exploded into a thick viscera-like jam, and Ba’Tok’s eyes narrowed. He spat out the feline remains and hissed “Putrid. This prey is inedible, we should go.”

“Nah, I’m too invested.” Vaughn said, in a tone which could be described as anything other than invested. He smashed a cat with his heavy tome before continuing deeper into the cavern.

Atlantica blasted a wave of cats back with a thunderous wall before turning to Hentaur. “You alright, Hentaur?”

“Uh. Uh. Uh. Uh.”

“That’s good.” She smiled as she effortlessly skewered one of the cats with her rapier.

An ear-splitting howl filled the cave. Hentaur saw, with horror and fascination, that the splattered kitty remains around his hooves were beginning to coalesce together. Pooling into thick, ropey strands of blood and fur. All melting deeper into the darkness. “Uh, guys.”

“I see it.” Misty was next to him, somehow. Nothing but a slight chilling of the air had given away her presence, and Hentaur nearly jumped when she spoke. The magical light finally caught the outline of whatever the cats had started to form into – massive and angular, it seemed to be an unsightly bubbling mass of red goo. A pair of batlike ears formed on either side of its head and it let out an unearthly meow – rattling Hentaur’s bones.

“Hey, it’s a good thing you’re a legendary hero.” Atlantica pepped up. “This would seem really bad if you weren’t so amazing, right?”

“Um… right. Giant blood clot cat monster, piece of cake.”

“This thing fills me with fear.” Ba’Tok’s maw slid open in a grim smile. “I like things that fill me with fear.”

“So uh like what’s our plan?” Hentaur got back on his hooves, shook off some of the cat gook and brandished his quarterstaff. “Or are you guys just gonna like hit it with everything?” They hit it with everything. Atlantica unleashed a volley of lightning – the electric arcs flickering off the puddles of blood on the damp cave’s floor skittering across the tableaux. One flash of light Misty was there, the next she was gone – suddenly on the far side of the room she let lose a stream of arrows. Some hit, most went wide. Ba’Tok ripped one out of the monster’s flesh – bristling tendons of blood holding on as he pulled. Eyes filled with a fiery hunger he took a bite.

Hentaur wanted to help. Watching the archs of magical lightning, the whizzing storm of arrows which seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere, he rubbed his hands together. “This is it, Hentaur. Bear time.” Hentaur turned into something that looked almost like a bear, except that it had horse hooves instead of paws, and its mouth was unnaturally equine.

Galloping forward, Hentaur barreled past Ba’Tok who was desperately trying to pick the apparently acidic slime from his mouth, and rammed headfirst into the creature. With such incredible force that he couldn’t quite believe it, Hentaur felt himself slipping straight into the monster’s oddly gooey body. He lost his balance and tripped, slamming onto the stone floor on the other side.

When he opened his eyes again, Atlantica was kneeling in front of him. Her face flushed with concern she was closing his wounds with a magical light. “Hentaur the brave bear centaur you are, you ran through that beast like a true rising star.” She smiled dopily at him after that, he smiled back.

“Passion!” Ba’Tok screamed as he yanked at the monstrous flesh, tearing out piece after piece until he came across the thing’s heart. With reptilian ferocity he dove at it with its teeth and splattered the creature’s heart in his maw. The slime and ooze instantly went slack, simply dissolving around him. “I am the apex predator!” He howled as the creature’s heart melted into goo, then blood, then nothing in his claw.

Finding his feet, Hentaur got up. “Well, that was like a massive drag.”

Leaping from the shadows Misty fired one last arrow down and into the swiftly melting creature, before posing on its corpse. “Another heroic victory for me – Misty Step.”

Atlantica, and Atlantica alone, burst into applause. Misty took a few melodramatic bows as Ba’Tok shuffled off.

“You guys done with that yet?” Vaughn’s voice called from further into the darkness. “I figured it wouldn’t take you long to deal with a bunch of cats.”

“No thanks to you,” Misty said, returning her bow to its place over her shoulder. She looked about ready to challenge him, but that didn’t last – instead melting away into mock modesty once again. “It just means you missed me destroying that monster.”

“Oh yes, Misty was wonderful.” Atlantica agreed all too quickly.

“I thought it was I who hunted this creature.” Ba’Tok was not of a species that would scratch its head in confusion, however; the odd pawing at his maw that replaced the gesture somehow communicated the same level of confusion to Hentaur.

“Yeah man.” Shrugged the centaur. “She was lying.”

“Lying?” Ba’Tok frowned. “I have not heard this word before.”

Swiftly sliding between the two Vaughn added “I’ll tell ya ‘bout it later. You guys need to come see this now.”

In the adjacent room (it turned out this cave actually had two rooms, one of which was more room like than the other) the group discovered a surprisingly well carpeted office. A nice desk, some bookshelves, and a fresh cup of tea – still steaming hot. “We must’ve just missed him.” Vaughn said to himself more than anyone else, though he seemed to be investigating it wasn’t obvious what he hoped to find. Picking up a document at random he read aloud. “Bree Tuttlewick doesn’t trust her husband, see what happens if she thinks he’s unfaithful. Huh.” Now looking to the group he added. “Someone wanted to ruin lives.”

“But why would somebody wish to do something so cruel.” Atlantica sounded naively shocked.

“Fun?” He shrugged back. Thumbing through some more he mused aloud “lots of stuff like that, some true some not. Nothing ‘bout a motive – no forwarding address either.”

“But like…" Hentaur squinted at the doorway – it was, like most doors, monodirectional and as such wouldn’t make for a good escape route when the cavern was filled with angry adventurers. The only other exit was a small skylight – about a foot across. Far too small for a human, or even a dwarf. “How’d he get out?”

“It doesn’t especially matter.” Alexander said through beaming teeth – his wife in one arm and Centaur’s hand being violently shaken by the other. “All that is of consequence is how you’ve proven my virtue. What’s more, you have unmasked the phantasm responsible for mine and Bree’s misfortune.” Releasing Hentaur’s hand Alexander read the note which exonerated him again by the dull evening light. By this time the Bleating Goat was overrun by celebrating townsfolk – most of whom had been on the wrong side of a malicious rumor or an inconvenient revelation in the last month. From seeing the barkeep arm in arm with his wife, Hentaur concluded all was forgiven.

Vaughn cleared his throat. “Aren’t you… uh…” He quickly glanced to Alexander’s wallet and back again. “Forgetting something?”

It took a moment for Alexander to realize what it was he’d forgotten before snapping his finger in melodramatic excitement. “Of course, the small matter that is your restitution.” His smile became more plastic the longer he spoke. “Now I cannot afford to pay you in money, but you heroes were so wonderful I can offer nothing but my heartiest praise to any and all who would hear!” That didn’t seem to be enough for Vaughn who’s face took a darker expression the more Alex spoke. “That and, of course… let me think.” Again a finger snap. “I am in the butter trade, how would you feel about a lifetime supply of butter?”

Vaughn glanced over at Misty. “How do we feel about a lifetime supply of butter?”

The party raged on and the night got tired, soon most of the townsfolk from Cralewood Cape had gone home or departed to the inn’s rooms. Atlantica sang her heart out, having not made it to the carnival for her show she decided to just put it on here. Never one to support another woman, Misty vanished around that time. Hentaur could only guess where she’d gotten off to, but the occasional gust of chill wind made him think she was nearby. Ba’Tok was given a seat of honor – fed as much pork and butter as he could eat, while Vaughn kept a bored but vigilant eye on those quick snapping jaws. Over the whole night he only took off one farmer’s finger, and it was a pinky so the assembly decided that wasn’t enough to worry about. The party went on.

Hentaur stood (of course, no one makes seats big enough for centaurs) at the bar nursing the same light beer as the celebration droned around him. This was his first adventure, but did he like it? He’d left the commune at Mt Aluvia just for this, but now that he’d had it; the idea of adventure confused him. There were so many egos involved, so much killing (especially of small and cute things). Hentaur almost had a crisis of identity – if he wasn’t Hentaur the Adventuring Centaur, who would he be?

Another horn of beer crashed down next to him. Looking over, Hentaur spied the lithe well-muscled form of Hardworkin’ Hank. He was a little drunk, but nowhere near the threshold. “Hey there pretty pony.” He began. “The name’s Hank – first name ‘Hard’ last name ‘Workin,’ Hard Workin’ Hank.”

Hentaur laughed. “Like, what’d’you do?”

“Work.” Hardworkin’ Hank’s hand rested on Hentaur’s – the warm touch of their skin bought Hentaur’s heart to a simmer, and a glance at Hank’s watery blue eyes filled with nothing but desire drove the stallion in his soul wild. To him, Hentaur was a hero, and to be honest; Hentaur might have been in love.