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Crystalline waters kiss the air, scattering into light and mist. Cool air whispers against slick stone walls, which permit only a few courteous beams of sunlight. In the grooves of these walls harmonies resonate, avian melody punctuated by amphibian percusso. Their captive audience: vibrant palms, blossoms, and lichens shiver in delight, adorned with jewels of dew. Together, they welcome a new guest with clamorous applause.
A man lies akimbo at the foot of the waterfall. He is bruised, his ego battered, but mostly unharmed from the fall. His supplies and equipment, however… he pats himself hurriedly, checking his pockets and pack.
“Shit.”
Aisa, flat on his back and soaked to his unmentionables, swears quietly to himself. His things all flew out on the way down. He tries to stand, bracing an elbow to push himself up – but his arm slips against wet rock and out from under him.
“Fuck.”
He recalibrates, pushing down instead of to the side, and manages to find his feet. Ow. He’d managed to kill his fall by catching outcroppings and buffeting himself with a spelled wind, but that did nothing to change his landing pad from being a bed of rocks. Saved his life, not his back.
With a sigh, Aisa casts a glance around, looking for his effects. He really should have been watching his step. In a sense he was – he was looking at his map to make sure he was headed the right way, right? But he really should have looked at where his feet were taking him.
And now here he is, in the bottom of a hole in the ground.
Oh, there’s his stick.
He plucks it from the shallows – a solid length of wood with a hollow at its apex – shaking the water off. The grain is old and worn, but no new scratches or cracks can be found. Nice. Bad enough that he lost the blade some time back, but looks like it has a good few years left in it still.
So here he is, in the bottom of a hole in the ground, with his stick.
Aisa sighs. One problem at a time. He’ll track down the rest of his stuff first.
___
The great news. He’s found all his stuff. Finding his stick first was good, it helped fish out his rations, bedroll, and spare clothes out of the waterfall’s course. All of which are now sopping wet, but drying over a conjured fire. Great.
The bad news. Aisa’s lost the map. He looked as low and as high as he could, swishing his arm in the water and even scaling walls to poke at ledges and crevices – he couldn't find the map. The expensive, special map that was on loan. Not great.
On to the next problem, then.
Blowing out a sigh, Aisa closes his eyes. When he opens them again, the world is bathed in color. Green, blue, brown. As expected. But within the green wash of a flower is a blue tendril of water, transmuting into the yellow of nectar at its heart. Beyond it, the falls are an explosion of deep blue, splintering into white as the spray catches sunlight. In the dark corners of the cenote are the red-pink-white pinpricks of blood, flesh, and bone: bats, frogs, the odd cave bird. Shades of brown are the most prominent. Earth and its minerals in varying densities and concentrations, in shimmering striations that flow all around.
A breeze blows past, and everything is glazed in yellowish-green.
Aisa struggles not to close his eyes, clenching his jaw. He tries to remember what the map was made of. It was an older material, practically ancient, so it would be a deeper, purer hue compared to the shallow rock of this cave…
Oh, there’s the map.
In the heart of the waterfall, cracked in two.
“Shiiit.”
___
Aisa sighs wearily, wringing the water out of his hair. That idyllic, twinkling waterfall crashed hard. He’d almost preferred landing on the bed of rocks. But everything is in order now. His robes are drying by the fire, and he has the map’s broken halves. Now to put them back together, and get out of this hole. Somehow.
He reaches down to pick them up, but he doesn’t make it. Something about the low angle or the series of impacts he’s experienced in short order, means his back is done for the day. Aisa leans carefully back, groaning. His back stiffens mid-stretch, forcing an awkward angle for a few moments - and that’s what really does it.
He’s done what he can, and he needs a break. It’s time to call in the cavalry. If they’re busy they won’t bother. Aisa lifts a hand upright to his chest and turns his palm to face his heart, golden light filling the air as the invocation is completed. A radiant sun dial with eight rings manifests over the shallows, spinning slowly.
Now, to wait. He rolls his shoulder, working out the stiffness. Maybe he should brew some tea. Even if no one shows up, it’ll be nice to have.
Thankfully, it doesn’t take long. The light glows brighter and brighter, reaching for the sky – until it simmers down with its cargo in tow.
“What the – in the water, Aisa?!”
“Hullo, Aisa! In a spot of bother, are we?”
Two voices ring out in quick succession, surly and jovial. Aisa smiles. With enthusiasm like that, maybe they should be the ones to brew him some tea.
“Hades, Hythlodaeus! I hope you weren’t busy. There’s something I need your help with…”
