"Typical. The teleportation spell didn’t work as intended. Now I’m trapped on some stupid island on the edge of the world. The stick-waving locals don’t look too friendly either. I shouldn’t have trusted that flying bacon sandwich. At least Blight’s going to have trouble hunting me and QueekQueek. I hate to say it, but I hope those fancy Skylords find a way to get me out of here." — The Aedai Chronicles
Moon searched for Mo, sending her gaze far and wide, but the beast was nowhere within the borders of the Southern Wastes. QueekQueek’s magic was surprisingly strong. Moon was surprised to discover she felt a sliver of worry for the white beast. After a moment’s reflection she convinced herself she only cared for the future of the fire people, not that undignified, ponderous brute. He was probably off causing mayhem somewhere, more a danger to others than anything else. Still, Moon found herself continuing her search.
The crew of the “Drop Dead Red 5” gaped at the spectacle. The refitted Spitfire had just emerged from the lower cloud layer in search of prey. As a dropship it would usually target slow merchant ships by dropping boarding crews onto their decks after swooping out of nowhere.
This time the Drop Dead had not pounced on a ship, but a small island that didn’t appear on any map. The light that had drawn them to their supposed quarry had not been a vast lantern, but a glowing pool of lava. What truly drew their eyes was the huge white beast kneeling upon a stone pedestal situated on rocky ground jutting out the middle of the molten pool. He in turn was surrounded by an army of grim men.
Guns and archers dotted the island and its surrounding rocks. They immediately opened fire on the small dropship which managed to claw back altitude until it was safe once more above the clouds. As the Drop Dead’s wide-eyed captain ignited signal rockets to warn the rest of the squadron off, a shimmering apparition materialized on his quarterdeck. He and his crew stopped their feverish work to stare at the scantily clad woman who stood pointing a delicate finger at him.
“Captain, I require your help.” Moon said in her most demi-godessy voice.