Breaking the Fast or Fasting the Break?

The party arrives at the cafeteria to find it more or less as they'd expected.  The only other sentient life forms present are the kitchen crew, which consists of a few regular cooks and a handful of very bored-looking acolytes.

"Ah, you're here!" says the apparent head cook cheerfully in Her-Galad.  "Or would you rather I spoke Yangae?" he adds in that language.  He is clearly of the Foldorian race, but his ethnicity is unclear, possibly mixed (which is odd in Foldorian culture, as has already been noted).  The fact that he is wearing Hergoth-style makeup around one eye indicates that he is probably a Hertressk Yangae.

"Yangae would be better," says the junior priestess accompanying the party.  "That seems to be their common language."

"Alright," replies the cook with a smile.  "I'll try to leave out all the weird local words, too, right?"  He laughs.  Then he asks, "Where's your friend, Bina?"

"Something came up," is all she volunteers.  The cook apparently gets her drift, because his face suddenly looks grim.

"So what's available?" asks Lirassa.

The cook looks up at the Besteeng, makes a dramatic show of stretching his neck, and lets his eyes go wide for an instant.  "I'm glad you asked," he replies.  He gestures toward a wall, where a menu is written in Her-Galad, Yangae, Brekka, Somekh, and a couple of other languages the party doesn't immediately recognize.  "I'd just like to make one thing clear before any of you say anything.  We're here to feed people who have come for a spiritual experience, not a physical one.  Our food is made to satisfy, not to indulge.  If you want fancy stuff, please go somewhere else."

The menu is indeed very simple.  It includes a couple of basic Yangae staples, a type of bread known to the Besteengs and other post-Sarkon cultures, and a couple of Farbett food fungi.  Other than that, the only other item on the list is the very first one, which is also highlighted.  It says simply, "Standard fare."

"What's the 'standard fare'?" asks Pru suspiciously.

"What do you think it is?" asks the cook back.

Pru lowers her brows.  "Tofu?  Ganci nut paste?  Dami seed noodles?  Raw vegetables?"

The cook smiles and makes a sound reminiscent of a correct answer on a holovid game show.

Pru clicks her tongue and rolls her eyes.

"I'll have the standard fare," says Bina a little defensively.

"I will, too," says Mey'Luskar.  In answer to Pru's look of disbelief, she adds, "I've never tried it!  Besides, as long as we're going native..."

"Going what?" cries Pru.  "Don't you know the old expression, 'If it isn't right, fix it or toss it'?"

Mey'Luskar counters, "Do you know the expression, 'If the roots don't go into the ground, the branches don't go into the sky'?"

Pru frowns.  "Never heard that.  Who said it?"

Mey'Luskar looks at Mon'Fargret and smiles.  "Ty'Klemmo did.  His Civilized Eminence, I mean.  I think I'm finally beginning to understand it, too."

Pru shrugs.  "Whatever does you, lady.  I'll stick with my parvan."

The cook smiles broadly.  "Great, then!  What about the rest of you?"

Morning Comes to Mul'ein

The orb of Miyandei breaks over the surface of the sea, reaching out with probing fingers of cherry red through the misty sandbars and swaying grasses of Bal'tem Bay. At once the morning creatures begin the day's performance. It begins with the raspy croak of the tunies (kind of like Terran mudskippers, but much more vocal) and is soon joined by a symphony of twitters, buzzes, whoops, and clicks uttered by the many insect and amphibian denizens of the marshy shores. Last to come is the weird, booming bark of the bumpha fish, which provides an eerie sort of rhythmic accompaniment until the sounds of technology and civilization begin to take over.

Even with the luxuries of antigrav projection and repulsorjets, there is still no replacing the common boat. Commercial fishermen, sport anglers, and pleasure boaters are plying the waters long before Miyandei clears the horizon, their various engine hums and rapids shaking the natural symphony but never quite disrupting it. Inland, the coastal town of Bal'tem is still mostly asleep, but just beyond it Mul'ein is already coming to life. Eerie sirens mark the changing of the shifts in the factories to the north and south. Those hardy souls that fill the unpleasant yet oh, so necessary roles of urban society go about their jobs with the efficiency of well-practiced routine, working hard to get the worst done before the commuter traffic starts to clog the streets.

Meanwhile, the various hills that rise like sentinels above the urban sprawl stand in marked contrast both to the world below and to each other. Among the rugged peaks of Danteir to the north the chimneys of industry wake from the quiet of the night, their growing steam adding to the mists washing in from the sea. In Düa, near the center of the city, the sharp, rhythmic chants of exercising sports teams echo among the walled fields of Yanda University. In Danstül' Park in Ekr'in street hawkers, artists, and buskers are already setting up for the day's toils as joggers thread around them. Atop Sa'Barj to the southeast, the three great palaces of the highest of the local high stand silent, their occupants no doubt sleeping off the excesses of the previous night (as usual). And on the crown of the sprawling bulk of Erweina there is the faint sound of chanting on the breeze as the priestesses lead the dawn devotions inside the open-doored Temple.

But then a new sound cuts the harmony. From within the temple complex there is the bang of a door being flung open violently followed by the pat-pat-pat of bare feet running on a brick walkway. This is accompanied by desperate moaning, as of asthmatic breathing, as a half-panicked figure dashes out of the clearing and into the safe confines of the temple forest. The pattering and raspy gasps continue until they draw near to the gurgling of the spring-fed bathing gardens. They don't stop there. There is another bang as the gate is knocked aside, the briefest of splattering sounds as the shower curtain is plowed through unheeded, and then a great splash as the running figure dives into the main pool.

There follows a few moments of silence. Then the sound of a youngish female Hergoth voice can be heard saying, "Um...it helps to take your robe off first..."

To which Dabid replies, "DON'T LET IT GET ME!!!"

The Cleaner

As the party joins the Blues in spreading out to check out the fallen vigilantes, Blue Twelve proceeds straight to where the dark figure is holding Pru at bay with his sword.

"Why don't you finish her, dear master?" asks Blue Twelve impatiently.

"Because she is INNOCENT!" spits the dark figure in Her-Galad with a very strong Lyranell twang. He glances back over his shoulder. His eyes are no longer glowing, but with all the anger in them they might as well be. "She came here to rescue and protect one of her own. That's not a crime, is it?" He shuts off his sword (which then vanishes into thin air) and says to Pru in Yangae, "You. Over there." He nods toward where Mon'Fargret is tending to Vig. #1. "He needs help."

Pru looks ready to faint dead away in an instant, but she complies.

Blue Twelve is clearly shocked (and isn't the only one). "Dear master, what if she talks?"

The darkly-dressed person shrugs. "What if she does? She never gave the order to shoot. She never wanted to!" He gives Vig. #3's corpse a vicious kick. "This sludge-lump drew first blood in spite of her. By their own 'civilized' rules, that gave us every right to grind him into fertilizer. I'm sure she recognizes that." He glances at Pru and adds in Yangae, "Don't you?"

Pru looks up at him with fright, nods briskly, and goes back to assisting Mon'Fargret.

The dark figure turns his tangibly vehement gaze to Ham Sahladt. Surprisingly, he says something in Biton. Then he looks up and says (in Her-Galad again), "Blaghl, get the priestesses. We need them."

Blaghl bows and turns to go, but one of the Blues says, "Dear master, they're already coming!"

Indeed, one of the maintenance doors (the one on the right on the map) has opened, and Nekshi can be seen peeking out.

"Mon'Fargret," says the dark guy, "your friends are here. The way is open. Very good."

"Very good?" retorts Mey'Luskar half-hysterically in Her-Galad (the first time anyone has heard her speak that language) as she approaches, looking around at the fallen. "Very good?!? More blood on MY face!!!"

The dark figure looks at her, and his reaction is odd. His eyes widen for an instant, and then he looks away. "No," he says hoarsely. "Your face, and your soul, are clean. If there's any blame, it's mine." He looks over at the charred remains of the fallen Blue. "This is what I get for allowing myself to get rusty." He throws a vehement glance toward Nekshi. "And distracted!"

"But my..." starts Mey'Luskar in Her-Galad again, and then she gasps and switches to Yangae. "I knew some of them!" She takes a couple of steps toward where Vig. #2 is embedded in the wall. "Fel...she's...was...my friend!"

"Poisoned!" snaps the dark guy in Yangae, not looking at her. "She had the poison in her. Just like these two." He gestures toward Vig. #3 and Scan-helmet. "Any of them would have killed you in a second if they'd known the truth."

Realization crosses Mey'Luskar's face like a shadow. She puts her hand in her pocket.

The dark guy gestures understanding, still not looking at her. "She saw it, didn't she? With you?"

Mey'Luskar faints. One of the female Blues runs to her immediately.

The dark guy curses under his breath. Looking around, he says, "Fellows, here I'm known as The Cleaner. Welcome to my lair."