High on the jungle road
The forest road leading up to the monastery was dark, the jungle close on both sides teeming with life. She could hear some small animal moving through the undergrowth to her right and a strange whistling bird call echoed through the forest with a mimic reply coming not far off behind her. Only stars above cast a faint light as Ialyara trudged uphill on the packed dirt road. The air was cool high in the mountains and the night would have been lovely had she not been lost in thought. It had been a long day and would be a longer night still. The stone walls of the Shelynite monastery rose up above her on the hillside. Grey stone blocks likely quarried nearby and meticulously fit together without mortar or magic in unparalleled craftsmanship. Shelyn had smiled on whoever built that wall. A small watchtower rose on one side of the heavy wooden gate which was closed for the night. On the planks, carefully glued to the gate to greet any visitor, was a portrait of her friend, wanted, dead or alive for 29 000 Araban gold pieces. Ialyara was surprised the monks had put it up but then again it was likely they could not refuse. Religion in Araba was a delicate thing. While not technically outlawed, the state had pushed the churches of the myriad Gods out of cities centuries ago. "Disrespectful to the Monarch," said the public officials. "Damn lizards are scared of the competition," muttered disgruntled worshippers in the shadows. None were stupid enough to upset the yuan-ti nobility though, so Araba had developed a strong culture of mountain-top monasteries for all major religions where traditional priesthood was often abandoned in the favor of bodily training. Life was hard in the mountains, even if the Gods did provide. Her friend now gracing the gate with his likeness drawn from a scrying pool or some other magical means had been a child of one such monastery, no longer even devoted to any one God but the ideals of being one with the cycle of existence. How ironic then that the bodies of his brothers and sisters were floating upwards as smoke a few peaks westward from where she now stood. When Ialyara had attended the funeral of a particular friend and researcher of magic a mere two months back, she had been there to pay her respects and move on. She had not expected to be here now, thrown across half the world with strangers become friends in a mad search for artifacts of immense power. Artifacts they should not possess, that should only have a place in legends, uncovering secrets best left to the shadows or the Gods. Ialyara knew this would just be the beginning, Araba would not be the last place to take offense at their very existence. There would be other forces tugging at them, pushing and pulling, after their possession or lives, to use them or get rid of them. They were small wisps between blazing supernovas but damn, they were going to put up a fight. Ialyara sighed and picked up the pace. She needed to talk to the monks.