The satchel was full of cylindrical bars of red clay, banded with painted stripes above and below a single thumbprint pressed into the material. They were coins of a sort, with a hole so you could string them up in tens and twenties, and each carried something utterly precious at its core.

A tiny shard of cloudy, low-quality Manastone.

Even that was enough to make me lick my lips. This was precious to a dungeon, one of the few things we couldn’t make, as the stone’s own tendency to absorb Mana would cause it to collapse mid-formation when we tried to create it.

I was curious about where these coins came from. Coins suggested civilization, as did their fine clothes, the bits of warding jewelry they wore around their necks. My eyes had no trouble peering into their possessions, and I didn’t feel too guilty since I’d saved their lives - they had finely forged tools, bolts of cloth, spices in sealed jars. Most of it was the chaff of a trading route. But mixed in were runes carved on bits of wax paper, and tablets of clay containing crude spellwork.

The best prize hung around the caravan leader’s neck. A small droplet of blue stone, similar to the skycrist I’d used in Shine-Catch’s spear or my statues. Only this would turn Mana into water.

I was salivating at the chance to pry away a few treasures.

The visitors were equally entranced by me. They’d shed their loose, bulky clothes, and waded into the sparkling wash of waters. Their bodies were made of hard, grey-black stone, softening at the joints to form a kind of living clay that allowed them to move. The reason for the masks was clear enough; they had no natural faces, only six dark eyes set in two rows. Horns expanded from their head, forming individual patterns. Some would have only two large ones that curved up overhead, while others bristled with short, stubby protrusions ending in rounded caps.

It was the specific of their anatomy that fascinated me. Within their bodies they had crystal-lined empty cavities in which Mana pooled, pouring out along thinner crystalline veins. The inner system served to cultivate an animating flow of fiery Mana that turned mere stone and mineral into a living flesh.

Shine-Catch was lingering near the caravan leader, trying to surreptitiously poke him and see if he noticed.

He did.

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'Kahlim Goliath-Born'

Stonehide Demonkin

[ Bronze ]

Kingdom Infernia

Age - 31 Years

Physique - Bronze

Arcana - Unranked

Psyche - Bronze

Diet - Manaphage

Biome - High Mountains

Cycle - Diurnal

An ancient race born from the highest arts of Divine Alchemy, the Demonkin were brought forth from the raw matter of the world without the blessing of the gods. For this they were marked as outcasts and exiles, slurred as Facetakers and Golem-Men, but over the centuries their taboo has faded, and they have become just another shade of the world's kin. Born from granite and basalt, the Stonehide are a particularly resilient breed with a tendency towards wanderlust.

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This specimen was born from seastone, his hide a softer chalk variation. This slight weakness is more than made up for by prodigious size, and he bears the scars of a youth as a warrior, fighting for coin and glory until his spirit was left mauled.

Notable Features - Stone physiology, true suspended animation, arcane resistance.

I was surprised to see the caravan had brought children with them hidden inside the wagons. Rocky little imps with half-formed horns. They ran through the shallows, splashing at each other and wading deep over the slippery-smooth rocks of the outer shelf. The shadows of silver fish beneath the blue scattered as they ran around the well on footholds made perilous by moss - I had managed to save a few specimens of fish from the gasping horde the Everstorm left writhing in the desert. By the time we arrived a flock of birds were picking off the last survivors in a crowing massacre.

“So this place is- alive? A true Genius Loci capable of speech?” The caravan’s lead moved oddly when he talked, lifting his arms and striking specific exaggerated postures. This one I recognized for a sort of sign language reading ‘gentle disbelief’. It took me a second to realize why. They had completely impassive, monotone voices. To communicate with the world they’d adopted a sort of emotional sign language, just formal enough for my gift of tongues to let me read its meanings.

I suspected it also made them very good at lying.

“Hmm. A genius? I dunno.” Shine-Catch waved about with the thin flint knife she was using to peel a healing fruit, separating out the different shades of pastel flesh within to chew them one by one. Down an arm, she held it between her knees, and every few moments would manage to stab herself in the legs. “I- ow- I’d say he’s on the normal side, maybe a little dumb. You definitely can’t call him smart ‘cuz he’s got a puffed-up head as it is.”

I sighed. The bells rang, and my voice formed. “No, not an elemental, nor a god. Just a friend. I think it would be better if you accept I was a new thing entirely. You and yours are welcome here for as long as you wish. Actually...” I paused. The enemy was still at the gates, and I doubted a second break through their encampment would be as easy. “I’m not sure it’s safe to leave, yet. I’ll try to find you a way through as soon as I can.”

He bowed, assuming a position with hands folded over his chest I interpreted as ‘awe of a divine thing’. “I am Kahlim Goliath-Born. We are in your debt, truly. The generosity of this place overwhelms me.”

I had gone a little- Well. They were my first guests in a long time.

So I’d grown huge and prehistoric specimens of fern from the fertile soil, spreading into fanning displays of vivid green leaves dotted with bits of sap that shone amber-gold in the light. These massive specimens lined the edges of the trees I’d grown to mark my inner territory’s edge, a curtain through which they’d had to press before the full bounty of the oasis was revealed.

Within, under the shadows of the tree branches where the world was cool and filled with diamond-droplet mist from the waters, I’d sown the fields with feather-edged grasses that curled their tops into tight coils, each lit up by luminous glowspots, forming a sea of faint and ethereal blue spiral lights that shifted under the winds.

Now the ropes that held the bells were lined with trumpet-shaped blossom of vivid red with drooping golden pistils, and there were citrus orchards among the heavy trunks of the grandfather trees that held their branches out over the harsh sky. Bright, sweet yellow fruits with oily rinds that hiked up into blunt pyramid spikes grew among delicate white flowers.

My work had paid off. The place had the air of a secret garden now, the shine of sunlight breaking through to spark against the water’s surface and the mist that radiated out. Marble guardian statues waited under crawling ivies. The stones were full of lapis and turquoise, precious things gleaming under the cool shift of the water. Behind it all the ruins towered, hollow-eyed and sad, even as the shoots of the green life below began to rise along their walls.

And because false modesty wasn’t at all my look, I was going to bask in every delighted sigh as the warriors rested in the grass, every shout of joy as the children played in the waters. “It’s a good land. I don’t imagine there are many left like it.”

“Very few in all my travels.” He said, making the sign of ‘a comical understatement.’

“Still. I can’t travel myself, and I’m curious about your home and your people. Would you be willing to tell a few stories?” Shiny’s eyes lit up. I wasn’t the only one hungry for a glimpse of the world past this endless desert.

“Ah.” He took a pose that meant ‘a question you hoped would be asked, has been asked.’ Remarkably specific really. “But this is what I am best at.”