Morgan looked down at the little hollow and then out over the rough hillsides. He didn’t see any better options, so he led the six Ardeni down into the rocky, scree-covered space between two hillsides. The slope was fairly steep, and the gully was well hidden from casual observation. “I want you all to rest here while I go and try to get eyes on the gargoyles and their operation here. I want to see if I can spot the other captives they brought through.”

“What will we do if you don’t come back?” the tall, bald man asked.

“Alright, hold on, what’s your name?”

“Sento.”

“Alright, Sento, listen. I’m not planning to abandon you guys. We can’t just sit here and twiddle our thumbs, though, and you all can’t keep up with me, right? I’ll leave you with food and water, and I’ll try not to be gone very long.” Morgan looked over the whole group standing hunched together in the hollow. “I need you all to stay strong. Others need our help now, and if we’re going to get out of this mess, we have to work together.”

Morgan pulled a water barrel that he used to fill his roladii’s bucket from his pouch and set it on the ground. Then he pulled several meals worth of bread, cheese, and dried meats out and piled them on top. He handed Sento and one of the women who stepped forward long hunting knives that he’d stowed away from somewhere.

“Alright. I’ll be back soon. Don’t light a fire,” Morgan said, glancing around, “Not that there’s any wood around here.” Morgan could see by their faces that they had more questions and things to object about, but he didn’t give them a chance. He turned and jogged up the hillside and was out of their line of sight in just a few seconds.

He debated taking off his armor but decided to wait until he’d seen what was waiting near the mud-covered ziggurat. He was amazed at how tireless his “improved” body was; he’d hardly had to drink water and hadn’t eaten anything, and with the sun pounding down on his heavy armor, he was sure his old self would have been begging for a reprieve. Still, he moved like a stalking cat over the hillside, loping easily up and down the ridges. Within just a few short minutes, he was coming up on the rocky ridgeline that overlooked the flat expanse where he’d seen the massive structure.

Morgan lowered himself to a low crouch, and, when he topped the crest of the hill, he laid down on his belly to look out over the flat land beyond. He sucked air through his teeth when his mind registered what he was seeing. A brown, mud-covered pyramid rose from the hot desert soil about a mile distant from the ridgeline.

It was huge, with the sides of the base probably three hundred yards long, and it rose several hundred feet into the air at its narrow top step. It was crudely constructed, with sloping edges on the steps and yawning round tunnels peppering its various levels. Swarming in and out of the tunnels and around the base of the ziggurat were hundreds of gargoyles—some were hulking and wingless, while others were small and flew in short bursts with their broad gray wings.

Morgan didn’t see any of the clothed gargoyle “leaders” like he fought in the cavern, but as he drew his eyes back from the pyramid, he realized there was a lot more to the gargoyle settlement than just the muddy hive. The source of the water for the mud was a small lake, maybe half a mile across, that sat between the hills and the ziggurat, and, on both sides of the lake were huge “pens” with mud-brick walls. There were dozens or hundreds of Ardeni and many other races represented in smaller numbers inside the circular pens. One of the pens held a huddled, pitiful-looking throng of Urghat.

The prisoners all looked miserable, and as he watched, Morgan could see large gargoyles driving small groups of prisoners into the largest tunnel at the base of the ziggurat. “What the hell are they doing with them?” He lay there watching for a while, wondering if he should risk attacking. The number of gargoyles in his line of sight was roughly the same as the horde he’d defeated in the tunnels beneath the Rill Catcher, but he had no idea what was waiting inside the hive. While thinking about it, he saw some movement off to his right, which he figured was the east, and he turned to focus on it. A long line of bound prisoners was being led in by a force of twenty or so gargoyles.

Morgan activated his Void Vision and studied the line of prisoners, surprised to see that they didn’t look like any people he’d ever seen before. They walked on taloned feet and had ropes looped around their slender bodies, pinning colorful wings to their backs. He couldn’t see their heads because they were covered with sacks, but he didn’t think they were denizens of Fanwath.

“Are there more portals around this place?” Morgan muttered as the procession moved over the rough ground toward the lake and the mud-walled pens, and then the gargoyles pushed their prisoners into the one with the twenty or so, mud-covered, bedraggled Urghat.

Observing the movements below, thinking about how he might fight the gargoyles, Morgan’s mind kept going back to the scrolls he’d gotten in the Swordmaster’s Citadel. He decided to take the opportunity to study the scrolls while he waited for something different to happen down there.

He pulled one of the scrolls out, and while he lay there on this stomach, he unfurled it before his eyes. Once again, he studied the strange, shifting runes, and they began to move more and more and then stream into his eyes. This time, he wasn’t stopped by a System warning, and the symbols flooded into his mind, giving him a deep understanding of a new way to use his weapon.

***Congratulations! Your understanding of The Fighting Crane style has increased! You have learned the form, The Crane Takes Flight. Your style is now - Improved.***

When Morgan had seen the form's title back in the citadel, he’d been very optimistic about what it would do for him; would he really be able to fly? Now that he understood the form, he realized it wasn’t quite so incredible, but it was still a powerful utility; using his weapon’s momentum and a surge of Energy in the correct pattern, he’d be able to launch himself in any direction, almost as though he could fly a short distance, certainly farther than a normal person could jump.

He turned back to the gargoyle settlement, watching for anything that had changed while he’d been distracted, but didn’t notice anything. After slowly scanning his field of vision from left to right, he reached into his ring, drew out the other scroll, and repeated the process. When the stream of runes finished flooding into his mind, another message appeared in his vision:

***Congratulations! Your understanding of The Fighting Crane style has increased! You have learned the form, The Crane Lances Forth. Your style is now - Advanced.***

The form seemed to be exactly what he’d hoped it was—it was basically another charge ability that allowed him to lead with his weapon’s point encased in Energy and driven with tremendous force. “Figures, as soon as I get my fighting style up to advanced, I happen to take a class that doesn’t focus on physical fighting,” he muttered, once again looking out over the flat, sinister oasis below.

He immediately noticed another procession of bound prisoners being led in, this time from the west. When they got close enough for Morgan to study their physical make-up a little, he concluded that this group was not from Fanwath either; they had green-scaled legs and arms with long webbed feet. The poor creatures, hooded and bound as they were, seemed terribly lethargic and weak in the pulsing orange sunlight.

Morgan counted forty-three of the new prisoners and watched as the gargoyles led them to a muddy pen very near the shore of the little brown-green lake. As they pushed the bound figures into the enclosure, yanking their hoods off, Morgan saw that they were, indeed, some sort of amphibious people with neckless heads and bulging yellow eyes. Their loud croaks carried over the water and up the hillside as they scurried over to the wet mud and rolled in it, possibly seeking some sort of reprieve from the heat.

While Morgan observed the scene below, he began to try to formulate ideas about what was going on. Were the gargoyles just raiding other worlds? What for? Slaves? Food? Conscripted soldiers? As he imagined other portals to other worlds, Morgan caught himself in an assumption. The truth of the matter was, he had no idea if these strange prisoners were from worlds other than Fanwath. He’d really only seen a small part of his new homeworld. Did that mean there might be other portals home? Another way to get these prisoners out of here? Then had to wonder if this was the only gargoyle installation. What if there were hundreds or thousands of these mud ziggurats around this strange, unpleasant world?

Morgan shook his head and started to scoot backward. There were too many unknowns. What he needed to do was get closer, and try to find out some more information. He slid down the hill and loped his way back, up and down the other hills, to the little gully where he’d left the six Ardeni. When he came sliding down the hill into the shadow cast by the sinking orange sun, Sento scrambled to his feet, brandishing the knife. “Relax, it’s just me.”

“Oh, thank the Ancestors. What did you find out?” As Sento spoke, the other Ardeni stood up and came closer, all but one of the older men, who was sound asleep in the shade.

“Well, the gargoyles have a lot of prisoners tied up, and they bring a few into their big pyramid-shaped hive every half hour or so. Hey, are there bird-people on Fanwath? What about amphibious frog-like people?” The Ardeni looked at each in confusion and then shook their heads. The older woman cleared her throat.

“I’m not sure. There are other continents on Fanwath that we have minimal contact with. It’s possible. They might not be advanced races; they could be like Yeksa.”

“Mmhmm. Well, I need to get more information, and I’v

e devised a bit of a plan. You all are going to have to sit tight for a while longer; I’m going to pose as a prisoner and sneak into one of those pens. I’ll let them drag me into that ziggurat, and then I’ll get some answers.”

“Are you insane?” Sento took a step back, like whatever was wrong with Morgan might be contagious.

“No, don’t worry. I’ll deface one of those wrist things and wear it; I don’t think it will work if I ruin the runes, right?”

“Well, yes, I suppose that would render it harmless.” Sento shrugged.

“And I’ll keep my gear in my ring. I’ve killed a lot of gargoyles; I’m not too worried about them, but if I do get in trouble, I can move pretty fast. Anyway, it’s got to be done; I’m not leaving all those people to god-knows-what fate those gargoyles have in store for them.”

“And what about us?” the younger woman asked.

“Well, you don’t want to live in this world forever, do you? I need to get in there and figure out how they opened that portal or something. Just sit tight, and stay in the shade. There’s enough food and water here for a few days.” Morgan began to unbuckle his heavy scale armor. “Here, help me with this, will you?”

After he’d stowed most of his gear in his ring and handed off his dimensional pouch with all his camping supplies and most of his rations to Sento, Morgan took out one of the pewter disks and, using a knife, scraped away most of the runes. When he tied it around his wrist, he found that it did nothing to suppress his Energy. He still had Bloodfang hooked to his belt, determined not to put the sword into his dimensional container until the very last minute. He knew it was hard on conscious items, but what was he supposed to do in an emergency? Hopefully, he’d be able to take it out after just a short time. “Alright, I’m going to go watch that settlement until it’s dark, then I’ll sneak into the Ardeni enclosure. Don’t worry; I’m not going to forget about you guys.”