> In all the islands of the Utter Islands, save perhaps for the great island that is the Core of all things, where the Center Kingdom resides, it is the waterways that provides movement. Villages are built on streams. Cities on rivers. Entrepots on bays. Being cut off from a waterway means being cut off from transportation, exchange of goods, and other people. Nothing is more dangerous than being alone in the islands of the Utter Islands, where monsters outnumber the gods.

>

> From Poems of the Stream Monks

Hither, for a moment. Let me sing and sonder about that yonder port. The Wetan River Port of the Eighth Degree.

A port town should have been built at this junction. That is the way of the world. But the Wetan River God promised to only protect and safeguard the river port junctions if no towns were to be built upon them. And as you no doubt already know, as the sun rises in the east, so does demonry and monstrosity run rampant in the Utter Islands and all of Hingsajagra.

And so it was not a haggling contest. It was a demand. The engineers of the Nunuk League knew they could not keep a town afloat without a tutelary deity. And the spirit politics of this particular section is that any being that must pledge to be a guardian spirit of a town by the river must pledge allegiance to the River God. Otherwise, the river god will simply flood it, again and again, until its banks are stained red for a few moments. And then that too will pass, for all things are fleeting, for human lives are transient.

Despite this, due to the economical advantage of having towns by the river, there have been small families that live right where the River Ports are that have pledged to keep the Ports safe, protected, maintained, and most importantly, faithful and devoted to River Wetan. These families became known collectively as the Wetanta-o, meaning, Wetan People.

Of course, the problem with having such a monopoly upon such a thing is that sometimes people are corrupted with ideals of control, authority, and of course, power. Many of the Wetanta-o have become a fierce people, nigh autocratic in their regard for those that would travel down the river. Though a number of Nunuk warriors and enforcers have been dispatched to take care of them, their corruption runs as deep as their culture, for there is none to force them to change their ways.

And why would they? They are only doing this to survive the coming flood, the end of the world, after all...

But what fools will think a single family survive, and not a community?

River Port 8 is the closest to River Port 9, which is right before Imos Town. That is, the Town at the river mouth, for that is what Imos means. More importantly, it is the busiest of all the River Ports, for a great number of tributaries feed just before here. Therefore it is the junction, and in many ways, it is the center of the universe.

It makes sense for a Prince of the Wetan Dragon to have been lying in wait here.

River Port 8 bustled. Layovers are common: people get tired having to sit for hours while cruising down the river. The port bore food stalls and other such booths: gifts for bringing to Imos Town, wherein international departures begin.

There were mostly preserved or nonperishable foods, milks preserved in cans by alchemists, food stored in sealed bags, self-freezing jarlets that can hold and preserve liquids of varying qualitites. All of these crafted by alchemists and wizards, who sell them to make a living or to help their community make a living, for in the end of the world a few joss sticks is enough to spell life or death.

And yes, they traded in joss sticks now, there. Joss sticks as a currency is more popular in the nodes directly connected to the monsoon market and to the international trade, for it is minted as the official currency of Hri Wessan, the God of Wealth and Trade. Multicolored joss sticks that, when burned, supplied soma for the gods they were offered to, and so they were also the international currency of the spirit societies that overwhelmed and interpenetrated the world.

Alongside the foods were local goods, of course: textiles of beautiful patterns and color combinations, weapons crafted by blacksmiths, beautiful earthenware jars and pots,

And truly, this port was one of the largest ones. A large cavalcade of beings could be found here: wandering enslaved hell beings that have been summoned to this earth by Wizards, who now work as dockhands for the port. Spirits roamed here too: dragon-headed or bird-legged, or horse-headed, or upright walking dogs, or giant civet cats clad in armor.

Of course, the majority of people here were humans of all kinds: sun-haired, moon-haired, ocean-haired, leaf-haired. With sharp ears like Akazha, or taller than the rest, or with skin as translucent as snow or as grandiose as the night. Or skin ruddy from working backbreaking labor under the Blasted Sun, and now they bear the Sun's Holy Light mark upon them. Some of them were as tall as the night 1 and a half tails of Sintra Kennin, hulking over Raxri, while others were much shorter than Raxri, standing only at about two wings in height.

Such diversity was not new to Raxri. But the sheer number of people lounging about here, waiting for their river barges to disembark or to arrive, filled Raxri with a bit of a thrill.

The port extended from the river a good ways into the forest, signaled by shops and booths, illuminated with lotus light or with pureflame or with normal torches, clad in technicolor arrays. The road up and down the river were but tributaries to the main road upon which the port created its trade. But seeing as there did not seem to be any living cottages or sleeping cottages, the people here no doubt arrived here early in the morning from upriver or downriver to peddle their wares, and then went back home to their communities come nighttime.

Raxri walked with Sintra Kennin and Akazha. Akazha had hopped off of her kalis, now, so that she walked without any weapons. The three of them blended in pretty well with the vast diversrity of the crowd, though the foot traffic was not completely dense. The three of them moved through it safely, clad in their stylisht traveling raiments, looking like a small band of mercenaries. Those have become popular during that time.

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The entire port was teeming with them.

As they walked past, a warrior walked into Raxri without another word. The two of them bounced off of each other equally. Raxri was the first to pick themself up, of course, used to pain as they were. "Oh, forgive me!" They helped the man up, and the man shook his head.

"Don't you dare get your hands on me!" The man looked respectable, and was wearing a quilted gambeson and some fancy golden sandals. Paruka, as they would be called here.

Raxri pulled their hands back, confused.

Akazha stepped in and said, "Hey you! You fucker, give back the satchel!"

The man's scowl turned into a burning grin. "Try and get it then!" The man's human mien melted away, wax dripping. Revealing a giant, multi-headed spider clad in steel. They chittered away.

"Malichi's Tits! Get back here!" Akazha sprinted after the scuttering spider. Raxri reacted quickly, and began running as well in their direction. Sintra ran after them as well.

A small crowed gathered around them but quickly dispersed after seeing the man turn into a spider.

"What was that?" asked Raxri as the spider scuttled past the cargo area of the ships, loaded with chests of luggage. Akazha and Raxri both used their Light Body Technique, taking large strides and bounding and flipping over crates and chests. They ran through a shipyard filled with carpents and engineers, and they had to slip and slide and vault over moving ship hulls and women working on engraving ship prows.

The spider almost lost them. It made the mistake of stopping for a moment to figure out if it wanted to travel into the forest, or leap onto a moving river barge.

Raxri and Akazha were there. Akazha stretched her hands out and began performing the mudras for her telekinesis. Up close, Raxri realized the procession of hand seals were of the 12 Animal Hand Seals category. Cat, Goat, and then Elephant.

The spider leapt. Akazha caught him, brought him down. Raxri flickered forward in a sudden burst of speed, surging like the rushing river.

Their fist coming down, down, down: smashed into the steel carapace of the spider.

The spider groaned. Raxri's satchel went flying. Sintra Kennin was there to catch it, transforming from a quickflying dragonfly back into his giant form.

Akazha caught up to Raxri quickly enough.

Akazha sighed. "What is this now?" The spider squirmed under her telekinetic grip. "A fucking spiderwitch? Damn my eyes for not knowing. What made you think we were good targets?" Akazha scowled. She let go of her mudra and the spider's body went limp. He sucked in air immediately, after having been pressurized onto the ground through sheer psychic power.

"The big one looked slow," the spider said, spitting and coughing and gagging. "He was the only one that looked like he could break my bones."

"Has anyone ever told you not to judge a book by their cover?" asked Akazha. She materialized her kalis in a ray of light, pulling it from the sun's frail strands.

"Oy, oy, mercy! Mercy!" The spider squirmed. They tried to get onto their feet, but Sintra Kennin's gigantic ironclad boot slammed against the spider's chest, and their dakgatana pointed at their head.

Akazha shot Sintra an appreciative look. "You should know. Your actions have consequences."

"Forgive me! I... I was only looking out for my family. I've a lot of children, you know. 18 of them. And though they're great kids it's hard to earn a good living here! Everyone's tryna kill everyone. No one wants to hire me because I've got no connections. Please, mercy."

"Then you should've thought of your children before--" Raxri's hand shot out and grasped Akazha's forearm. Stopped her kalis from descending from its perch, upon her throne of indignation. "What?"

"Free him." said Raxri. "I think that would be for the best."

Akazha pulled her hands from Raxri's grasp. "You don't understand. If we show even an ounce of weakness here in the Ports--in any Port Town--we'll be seen as easy targets. They'll keep stealing our shit. I'm not going to kill him. Just teach him a lesson."

Raxri shook their head. "Akazha, please. Let him go. Perhaps it will be enough." Raxri turned to the man. "You are a victim of all of this, like we are too. Please, consider a different approach to getting your needs. One that will not rob others of their hard-earned earnings. We all suffer under the same iron hand."

The spider's mandibles chittered. He spat onto the ground. "You don't think I haven't tried? This is the only dependable way. If you were in my position you would understand. Kindness is not something I can afford."

Raxri pressed their lips together, deep in thought. Sintra Kennin pulled a gold core from their own pack. They gave it to the spider and said: "Here. The last of my personal wealth. Take it, and try to help those you need to help, starting with yourself. That should be enough for a jumpstart."

The spider's eyes dilated at the core. "O, great heavens! A blessing from the gods!"

"Yes," said Sintra. "Please. It's yours now. And I'm no god. Under the condition that you harm no one from here anymore. Please."

"Of course, of course!" The spider hopped up and took the golden core. He caressed it, pressed it together, held it in his mandibles. "Oh, it's real. A Core for true Will! The gods smile upon me this day."

He began dancing a jovial jive. Raxri stared at him with half a scowl. They were not sure what to feel.

Sintra stared at him with a smile. Proud of this act of altruism.

Akazha rolled her eyes. "That's enough. Go now, and honor your word. If you don't, I will turn Karma's Wheel myself."

"Oh, thank you, most beneficent ones. I will remember this until the day that I die!" They spun around and bounded into the darkness of the forest.

Raxri watched them disappear into shadow. Their heart was in turmoil.

"Looks like we looked too easy of a target," Sintra Kennin said, sighing. "Forgive me. My vigilance shall be honed upon the whetstone of this event."

Akazha waved her hand. She turned to Raxri: "You know? Some people deserve what they deserve."

"It is against the very Precepts to slay another sentient being." Raxri did not look at Akazha. They looked down upon the crater that they had made after punching the spider-thief to the ground.

Akazha only let out an exasperated sigh. Her scowl did not leave her. She looked like she wanted to say something, but instead rolled her eyes. She walked away, back towards the port.

Raxri turned and began walking back as well, following Akazha. Sintra walked with them.

Raxri asked: "What does the Scarlet God say about slaying people, Sintra Kennin?"

"Well," Sintra Kennin folded his arms, suddenly deep in thought. "The teachings say that it is some people's damla to kill people. That is why some people are born into families of knights and kings. To make war and to subjugate others that cannot be. Additionally, all things are dead in Ksewran, so killing some people would not make a true difference once you have understood the Absolute Reality."

"I see." Raxri's thoughts were hard to ascertain, now. Their thinking leaped from one concept to another: Should I have stopped her? Let her continue? Was that necessary? Will the spider-thief just do it all again due to not suffering consequences? But he did suffer consequences, I almost broke his exoskeleton. No doubt that must have done something! But what if it did not?

At the end of it, as Raxri joined the crowd again where Akazha was waiting for them without looking, Raxri swallowed all of their thoughts in a giant inhalation. They kept that inhalation circling throughout their entire body, scourging through their meridians, before exhaling, and letting that overthinking disappear along with it.

Some remainders stayed. As all things do. But even the remainders are transient, Raxri knew.

Akazha was puffing on a pipe when they returned. "Come on," she said, her voice hard. "The barge for Imos Town leaves."