lug it all, he would. The various items and boxes, however, will be too much for his bone-thin limbs.

Skittering back up, Zrak traces his footsteps back to the study where Malkala and the others are hopefully waiting.

"I found a trove!" he shouts, stepping into the study before checking if anyone's there. "Someone come gimme a hand figuring it out. I don't recognize the coin or potions."

Zrak finds Malkala leaning over the study's table, very much engrossed in a book. Based on the numerous other books on the table, he can tell that she has been at her research non-stop since he left. In fact, it takes a few repetitions before she finally raises her head, eyes wide with surprise and confusion.

"Huh? Oh, yeah. Sure."

She follows Zrak down to the cargo hold, silent and clearly in deep thought. When he shows her the potions, it seems like she finally snaps back into the present. Talons gently wrap around one of the small green potions and her gaze glides up and down the glass.

"I honestly do not know what this is at first glance." She says as she pulls the stopper. Her nose flares multiple times as she sniffs the potion's scent, "It doesn't smell familiar either." The liquid inside sloshes as she swirls it, "The consistency is correct, though. It is meant to be drunk."

She stops it back, sets it down, and picks up the large green one. Zrak watches as she does the same exact series of tests and gets the same results. The process repeats for the blue potion, and the results are the same, except for the final. Her eyes narrow, "This one is different. I get the feeling it isn't meant to be drunk."

The last series of tests for the orange-yellow come up the same as the green potions. With it all done, she shakes her head, "I have no clue. But, I can maybe get a better result if we get back to the Post."

When Zrak shows her the coins, she immediately says, "It is some kind of currency. But the metal is different than any of ours. I honestly do not know if any merchant would take it, or even want to try to appraise it. Unfortunately, currency is a unique thing in that if it is unfamiliar or rare, its worth immediately tanks."

Zrak shakes his head in disappointment over the currency. While he hoped to strike rich, there's nothing 'rich' about something which means nothing on this world. It's a damned shame, for they sure look more interesting than the bronze and silver he lugs onto. "Let's just take some," he insists, filling two small pouches worth of the currency. "The metal could mean somethin' if we figure out what it is."

He snatched the potions as well for safekeeping. "These'll be more useful when we get time to research it." He gives a shrug at the rest, eyeing over all the remaining crates and goods. "Think we'll need anything else here?"

A thought came to him, "And did you learn anything else 'bout this ship? It's gotta be from some other world unless I'm going crazy."

Malkala nods, "It is. I can't really read the language yet, but based on the images, it comes from a world without earth. The people use airships like this one to travel between islands that float in the sky. I cannot imagine what it would be like to fly in the air like they did."

Zrak can hear a bit of emotion in her voice at that, "But otherwise there is not really much that I could glean. Without being able to read the language..." She trails off with a shrug.

As the pair return to the main deck of the ship, they find the rest of the group looking up at the massive balloon. At Zrak's question, Octavia shakes her head, "Nothing. We've been wondering what that thing is made of and how it can stay inflated. Otherwise this just looks like a normal ship."

Before anyone can say anything else, the wind picks up. What was a small breeze becomes a near whirlwind. And Zrak starts feeling sand pelt him. When the wind dies back down, the group sees forms made of the sand. Human forms. Two female and two male. One of the men stands at the wheel of the ship, one stands at the bow. The two women stand near each other talking.

No one can hear anything but shifting sands from the figures as their attention suddenly turns to the ship's left. All but the smallest woman draw their weapons and seem prepared to fight something approaching the ship. But as what looks like a vine descends upon the ship, the sands scatter.

Zrak glances around the ship, looking for the sands which dispersed to nothingness. "What... was that?" His ratty eyes blanked outward to where the figures and vine was. It was as if he glanced at a vision of the past, held by sand which flowed through the air.

In an ill-advised move, Zrak skitters over to the edge of the ship where the vine was; and leaning forward, he narrows his eyes out in the distance at the trees and beyond. It was a vine, so it had to be something among the greenery.

"I can't be the only one that saw that, right?" he asks the others, quizzical beyond belief. "Any of you know what those sands and figures were?"

Octavia and Malkala look at each other, as if trying to see if the other knew. But while Octavia just looks back in confusion, the rest of the group could see Malkala's wheels turning.

"I can't say for certain, but I believe that it was some kind of record of the past." She starts walking toward where the sand vine was, eventually standing next to Zrak, "A vision with magic so powerful it left an imprint. It could appear every once in a while, which could explain all the sand around the ship." Her eyes dart around, "I wish I could see more of what happened, but from what I know, it is going to be the same event over and over."

Octavia steps forward, "I think you are correct. The only other thing we could do right now is try to find an object that may be the source of the magic. But, that is something that, if it was to be found, Regongar or I would have sensed it already."

"Well damn." Malkala sighs.

Zrak gives a furred brow to both Octavia and Malkala, attempting to understand what they mean. "Magic can leave imprints? How does that even work?" The ratfolk looks over the ship's edge again, shaking his head around like a tiny rodent in an opera room: lost, confused, and overwhelmed.

"Suppose then that the crew's gone an' buried under whatever attacked it" he continues with a simple shrug. "Nothing we can do for them and seems like we got what we could here. Sure be nice if we can get this thing flying but I doubt we got the means."

There is a slight pause, remembering the vine in the vision as he looks back to the others. "You think that thing that attacked them is still around?" Malkala picks up a quiver of fear in his voice. "Maybe we oughta keep moving. I don't want to be stuck in the woods when it's dark out."

"Not many really know about it." Octavia says with a shrug, "The theory is that it just requires a massive amount of magical power, and pieces of that power remain in the state that it was in."

At Zrak's mention of getting the ship flying, Malkala nods, "Yeah. Maybe we can mark down this location and come back to it." She looks around as well, "It is around 4 or 5. It might actually be a good idea to just stay here. It is shelter and warmth. We would just need to deal with the possibility of the imprint appearing again and again."

Zrak shakes his head and, at Malkala's suggestion, he pulls out the map and marks the ship's location off with an "X" mark. "So it's what, late afternoon?" I bet we could make it to safety if we..."

His trailing voice arrives as he measures the distance between landmarks. Surely he'd have been able to reach a safe spot before it got too dark, right?

He checks again, and again, then sighs in husky frustration. "Fine. I don't wanna risk venturing in darkness when we can rest here." Something about the ship... bothers him. Something happened to the crew, and something did something to the crew. But neither were around anymore. So where were they?

"There's crew quarters in the lower decks," the ratfolk continued, pushing his thoughts to the back of his head. "Lemme show you. Just mind the sand."

Everyone files into the crew quarters, with everyone able to take their own room. Though Octavia and Regongar choose to take a room together. The party finds the night to be quiet, those on watch having it easy as they only had to watch one avenue of approach.

The next day the group pack up their things and head out toward the north-east toward Oleg's Trading Post. Based on their pace, they knew it would be almost two days before they managed to return.

It was only a few more hours before they were finally out of the forest and into the plains of the Greenbelt. They proceeded cautiously, keeping eyes out on the horizon for any shapes. But other than the occasional animal hunted for food, they found no dangers.

By night, they settled by a small hill that had some trees. It was not the best cover they've had, but it was the best they could find in the flatland.

The night proves to be an agitating one for Zrak, who still has the airship clear in his head as he rests in his tent. It can't be long now until they reached the Trading Post. At the same time, he can't help but wonder what may have attacked the crew. Is it still around? And if so, has it even noticed the adventurers?

Bah, he needs to occupy himself with someone to speak to.

His own agitated thoughts send him out of his tent in a sluggish walk, taking a deep breath in the night sky and wondering how everyone else is doing. Octavia and Regongar are no doubt busy with each other, while Malkala may be occupied with her own research.

Which left one person to check on, as he skitters slowly on his bone-thin feet to meet Tristan. "Hey," Zrak mutters, when given the chance to speak with him. "I thought to see how you are doing. Have you fit in well enough with us yet?"

Zrak finds Tristian sitting by the fire, his hands on his lap, eyes closed in prayer. Yet, when his prayer is interrupted, he simply smiles, "Ah, Zrak. Yes, I am quite comfortable with you all."

He pats one of his hands on the spot next to him and continues even if Zrak refuses to sit.

"I know you all are not the most religious, at least with Sarenrae," he says the last while pointedly glancing at Regongar and Octavia who are fast asleep, "but you do not need to be uncomfortable with me. I will follow my teachings without being forceful." His soft eyes move to look into Zrak's, "Are you still thinking about that ship?"

Zrak simply takes a seat on a nearby spot, rather than right next to Tristan. The ratfolk's eyes glared calmly at the praying man. "That ship from another world? Yeah. Never thought I'd see anything like it here. Can't even imagine how it even got here or what happened to it."

He gives a half-hearted shrug and stretches his bone-thin legs out. "I figure the plains didn't have wild stuff like that. Shame we don't have the time to explore everywhere."

Zrak leaves a small pause before another thought crosses his mind. "How'd you even end up at these plains, anyway?"

"Curses." Tristian says simply, "I have been traveling the world trying to learn about curses. What they are, how to sense them, how to cure them, all of it." His eyes seem to shine gold for a moment, "I had heard that the cave was cursed, so I wanted to learn about it."

His mouth curls up into a self-deprecating smirk, "And you saw the result of my research."

He looks to Zrak, "What about you? You seem like an adventurer through and through. Did you come here just to explore? Or is there more to your travels?"

Tristian's question puts Zrak on pins and needles, frozen in place and unsure how to respond. He barely knew Tristian enough to feel comfortable telling the entire truth. What would the vagrant do if he learned Zrak wants to become a ruler? Or that the ratfolk is looking for the rest of his family? Some consequences may be minor but Zrak has never been one to speak his heart out.

Malkala is a rare exception, born out of opportunity and coincidence.

Eventually, Zrak responds with a convenient shrug. "I'm looking for my family." Zrak would rather keep it simple, at least while he doesn't trust Tristian. "We got scattered a ways back and I'm hoping to learn more about where they went." The words left Zrak melancholy, briefly wondering what's happened with all of them.

"So are you just wandering around? Or do you have any sort of end goal with these curses?"

Tristian's smile turns a bit melancholy as well, "Ah, family. Something we should all fight for."

His expression returns to a more jovial one as he continues, "I guess you could say I am trying to become a mystical doctor. Trying to find the source and cure for magical afflictions." He puts a hand on the grass and curls his fingers wrapping some around them, "The world is full of magical afflictions that we don't know. As a world, we are pretty good about healing physical ailments. Cuts, bruises, broken bones."

He sighs, "But we don't know much about magical ones. Forgetfulness, dulled senses, illusions, petrification. Some we can take care of. But if you have something even moderate, you better find an experienced priest or else good luck. I want to try and fix that. To create a world where you don't need thousands of gold to cure your child who was unlucky to run into a fae and had his hair start growing inward instead of out."

The pragmatic-thinking Zrak raises an eyebrow at Tristan's interests, attempting to think of the value of a mystical doctor. The ratfolk hadn't encountered magical afflictions; but the stories of spellcraft and what little he has seen make such curses frightening, like a phantom force that could come at any time.

Yet, Zrak can't believe how to cure some of those. "You sure got a long way to go then," he responds, remembering their encounter with the cursed bear. "But if it works, you could be some real miracle worker."

He