Two weeks after the rescue of the two surviving crew members of the Happy Dragon No.7 by the natives of Ch’kam-turesch, and the entire Chameleon nation was in an uproar. Riots now sprouted on every street, business were looted, and in a few cases entire towns burned as lawlessness and arson reined unchecked. The people were desperate; food was now scarce as the entire fishing industry collapsed – thousands had gone with nothing to eat for days on end, and the coalition government sat upon its thumbs, hoping that things might blow over.

But things hadn’t blown over, they had only gotten worse. The first to feel the mob’s wrath were those who had managed to keep afloat during the crisis: the Ponies and those who would associate with them – it was common knowledge that the equines had food directly shipped to them from their government, but none of them had even so much as seen the outsiders help the needy in this time of turbulence, despite what they claimed. The banks were next; while the bit remained strong on the island, the native currency (the Kutoss) had bottomed out, and most of the poorer islands became even more so.

To make matters worse, sensing the government’s weakness, an underground rebellion that the collated states had been struggling to put down for decades finally made its way to the surface. The uprising was centered on a cult known as the 'Brotherhood of the Shining Eye', who had initially been an extremist sect of monks dedicated to Chu’Macq-tahl. When the culture had changed to such an extent that the monks were federally disenfranchised of their temple and forbidden to practice their sacred rites, they chose to take on the mantle of religious fighters.

Over time the group expanded to include various anarchic and fringe elements, molding them into a fearsome group of partisan fighters and rebel saboteurs. With the recent crisis, they took to the streets and began to whip the crowds into a guideless uproar with often contradictory overtones. This confusion was merely a diversion meant to move government troops away from their true objectives – often the homes of prominent officials or military stockpiles from which they could procure hostages and weapons.

Naturally, the appearance of so much violence from a people who had never been, in recent memory, inclined to such things was both a surprise and a concern. If the rebels won, many existing agreements would be in jeopardy of falling through, and the geopolitical balance could shift severely. But what most saw was an interesting spectacle with the potential to make a good story for the nine o’clock news, and so thousands of reporters, camera crews and radio correspondents flocked their way to the island, intent on getting the scoop of the year.

So it was that the world bore witness to the breakdown of a nation as it came to grips with its plight. Scenes of riotous destruction and senseless violence bombarded the viewers of the outside world as they watched in morbid fascination. Such stories as the plight of the poor and the clashes between rebel and loyalist forces were the most common topics for the late night talk shows and tabloid articles. The rioting populace and the havoc they wrought were a close second. There were even those few journalists who dared to breach the subject of the purported resurgence of virgin sacrifices and self-mutilations, rare as they were.

It was just this very issue that Royal Equestrian News Corp’s very own Tony Gluemaker (host of the award-winning, late-night cable news show, ‘Today’s World’) had decided to cover. For weeks he and his camera-crew had been traveling the entire island chain, chasing down every lead and following every tip, looking for examples of the Old Ways in action. As of now, they were chasing a lead on the outlying island of Temna-Chuta. When the trail had gone cold they had decided to take a break, sampling a local diner’s coffee as they brainstormed ideas.

Rubbing his head, the news anchor muttered, “I’m begging to think this entire thing is a load of horse-shit, you know?” A string of nods and affirmations rang around the table as he took another sip of bitter black coffee. Looking out the paneled window of the café, Gluemaker eyed the dockyard that seemed to be the heart of this little ho-dunk town. “What’d you say this place was called again, Stripe?” Reign Striper, the crew’s fact-finder, swallowed the last of his bagel before answering, “’s called ‘Molrpeq’Chutar’.”

With a look of confused amusement, the group’s camera-man, Focal Point, scoffed, “How the hell can you even say it – ‘Mower-peck Shoot-are’?” With a smirk, Stripe relayed, “’s close enough.” This got a round of laughter from all at the table as they went on with their brunch. Still looking towards the port that sprawled across the beach, Tony casually remarked, “It looks absolutely deserted down there.” Again, Stripe supplied an explanation, “Temna-Chuta’s the heart of the Chameleonic fishing industry – now that there aren’t any fish, things are going to shit around here.”

A frown of concentration crossed their boss’s face before he asked, “Why aren’t there any fish?” This brought the team to a pause. Although it was ubiquitously clear that all the turmoil in the region was linked to the disappearance of the Chameleon’s primary livelihood, no one to this point had actually sought to answer why or how most of the sea life had mysteriously vanished. Finally working up an answer, the crew’s driver, Leonard ‘Lenny’ Cabbage-patch, spoke for all in saying, “Don’t know – maybe we ought to cover that.”

Slapping the table in an epiphany, Gluemaker pointed to Lenny and exclaimed, “Hot damn, that’s a good idea!” Turning to their technician, Shoelace, he demanded, “Get on the horn with RENC and tell them we’ve got a new angle: ‘Where have the Fish gone?’ – we’ll go down to the docks and start interviewing some of the natives!” When the tab was paid the five news ponies all but piled into their van and sped off towards the port and ultimately (though they were unaware of it at the time) the truth.

Eleven minutes later and the van came to a screeching halt as the crew literally flew from its confines and towards the nearest local they could find. Surprisingly, the docks weren’t nearly as abandoned as they had initially surmised; there were a few dozen dockhands to be seen – hosing down boats and sweeping clean the boardwalks. There were also a handful of Chameleons sunning themselves in the sand of the beach. Making the rounds, the news crew went from one person to the next, asking as many questions in as many ways as possible, hoping against hope that someone might have an inkling as to what exactly was going on.

Unfortunately, they received almost just as many answers; from curses to climate change, acts of sabotage to acts of God and of course the ever present claim of aliens. Still, some were more intriguing than others – one old dockworker who had been a sailor for nearly seventy years claimed that newer industrial grade fishing techniques were to blame, that the ecosystem could not compete with the global market’s demand. Another native, a young girl who had come down to the docks to paint, could scarcely contain her hostility towards them as she mentioned the fact that the Ponies who lived on the surrounding islands did not seem to be having any trouble finding food, and that if they wanted to find the answer, they ought to find out where the outsiders were getting their fish.

Five hours of exhaustive and often emotionally charged interviews and Gluemaker’s crew were ready to set up the live feed. Setting up the equipment and establishing a connection to the network feed, Shoelace gave the signal to begin as Focal Point started recording. With a composed smile, the photogenic reporter began. “Hello, I’m Tony Gluemaker, and this is ‘Today’s World’ – tonight’s top story; ‘Where have all the fish gone?’”.

Turning towards the beach, Tony summarized the situation, “As you may have heard, the people of the beautiful Chameleonic Islands have recently experienced a famine the likes of which has never been seen in recent history, and the chaos that has come about these last few days has been nothing short of tragic for these peaceful islanders.” Taking a few steps away from the camera before looking back to the millions of viewers who were undoubtedly hanging on his words, he proceeded to recap, “While many have covered the terrible events that have come about these last few days, it stands to wonder – what caused this famine?”

“While we at ‘Today’s World’ don’t claim to know the whole truth of the matter, here is what we do know: roughly four months ago the vibrant fishing industry of the Chameleonic nation seemingly collapsed overnight.” Turning fully back towards the camera, the cable news host went on saying, “The cause for the collapse - the near complete and total disappearance of the local ecosystem’s sea life.” On cue, the camera panned towards the seemingly deserted docks where a myriad of trawlers, schooners, and tugs sat tied to the moorings, bobbing up and down to the motion of the tides.

“One need only look to the island of ‘Tim-nuh-Shoot-uh’[1], the undisputed heart of this nation’s commercial fishing trade, to see how badly the people have been affected.” The trilling keen of a passing gull added just the right ambiance to send the shot home as Tony played on his audience’s attention. “Not too long ago, these docks would have been packed with hundreds, sometimes thousands, of native fishers, dockhands, packers and contractors – a microcosm of industry and commerce, where a fresh catch was guaranteed to sell as soon as it hit the shores, and where the livelihood of the entire populace was insured.”

As the camera turned back to the news pony, the crew failed to notice the small, double hulled boat that was slowly making its trek to the sandy shoreline. “Now, the entire island has shut down – no fish means no work, and with no other source of employment to be had the money has all dried up and tensions have run high.” On the beach, a young native who had been sunning herself on the warm sands gasped (unnoticed, of course, by the news makers) as she noticed the catamaran and the two passengers thereupon – leaping to her feet, she ran away from the shore as fast as her bowed legs could carry her.

“So it should stand that until we find out why the fish have disappeared, we’re never going to truly solve the other problems plaguing these islands.” It was at this point that Shoelace’s skills came into play, for when Tony Gluemaker said, “We asked some of the locals of this fishing town what they thought might be behind the famine”, the media technician magically spliced their prior interview seamlessly into the feed for all of the world to see. To the view at home, the pale green and blue face of a grizzled old Chameleon with a perpetual frown from decades of tough living spoke his mind into the microphone proffered to him by Tony.

In halting equestrian, the old dock hand grumbled, “It is these new fishing techniques that have caused us this evil – the Old Ways taught us to fish for what we needed.” A look of scorn further marred his old, reptilian face as he finished his diatribe – “Now with so many of our people who fish for money and for the markets of insatiable foreigners, we have destroyed the gifts of our ancestors; we have brought this on ourselves… And now we will starve for such things that we have done.”

Instantly, a shot of a fair golden-skinned islander with a smock covered in many a sundering colors of paint spoke her mind, casting a glare directly at the camera and seemingly towards the millions of ponies at home as she spat in surprisingly good equestrian, “You ask me where all the fish have gone, but I ask you this: Why have no ponies gone hungry on the islands? You see them every day in their lavish beach houses and on their decadent pleasure boats – they are never in want, and seldom seem to go without the comforts that most of us would never have dreamed of having… Why do they have food yet we starve? Answer that and you’ll find out where the fish have gone.”

A thin profiled Chameleon of chalky blue complexion was next in the recap, his scarred yet youthful face set with an air of humility as he answered, “I would be a liar if I said that I knew any of such things – I know not why we have no food, but I do know that we are suffering under this curse; people are angry, and our leaders do nothing but talk and stall… We are hungry, and we need help.” A few more interviews, all ending in the same summary of “I don’t know” played before Shoelace ended his sorcery and the shot transitioned back to the carefully composed face of Tony Gluemaker.

“As the viewers can see, there are many different and often contrasting theories as to why the fish have vanished, but it should be safe to say that –” The bellicose clanging of a dozen different bells from a dozen different directions cut the media man off as the surrounding town instantly erupted in a flurry of activity and sound. Caught off guard by the sudden tumult, Tony asked, “What’s going on?” seemingly forgetting that he was broadcasting live (the ratings would be astronomical that day) to countless people across the globe. Focal Point, for his part, just continued rolling film as he turned the camera towards the beach.

Where once was empty shoreline, already well on a hundred and more chameleons of varying sizes shapes and colors were milling about on the beach, shouting towards any and all who would hear them and pointing towards the distance. To the side, Gluemaker could be heard again asking, “What – what’s going on?” The voice of Lenny could also be heard, though slightly attenuated from proximity, saying, “Looks like there’s a boat out on the water.” At this, the camera snapped towards the focus of so many eyes.

Indeed there was a boat out amongst the waters, and from what little clarity could be had from such a distance, it would seem that there were people aboard it. Already, the clanging of the watchtower bells had intensified to a new level of fervor – hundreds more of the island’s inhabitants came flocking towards the docks. As the crowd grew, the level of noise intensified, as they all seemingly spoke to one another at once, filling the air with such a cacophony of chatter as to make concentration difficult.

Vaguely, the voice of Gluemaker could be made out to say, “Stripe, you speak Chameleonic, what the hell are they saying – what’s this all about?” All through this, the camera never wavered from the image of the boat and those upon it – now clearly visible enough to discern as being two Chameleons and an assortment of provisions. Reign Striper’s laconic tone could be clearly heard as he replied, “Something about a boat; about survivors or something – ‘s hard to tell with so many of them talkin’.” Seemingly realizing that Focal Point still had his camera on, Tony asked, “Are you getting this, Point?”

With a distant tone, the camera operator replied, “Yeah, we’re still rolling.” “Good!” the newsman exclaimed, “Follow me.” Without waiting for a reply, Tony Gluemaker ran towards the growing crowed, and the shaking footage that met the viewers was indication enough that the camera was indeed following. As they pushed through the churning crowd, they could make out more and more of the unfolding scene. A handful of young men were being suited up with skin-tight water suits and the necessary swimming apparatuses, with the crowd looking on in rapt attention.

As they pushed further into the throng, Gluemaker announced, “For those of you viewing at home, we’ve come upon a breaking story - it appears to be some kind of rescue operation, but other than that, our guess is as good as yours.” As one, the group of swimmers took to the water as they quickly swam towards the boat, which could now clearly be made out by those reporting on the story as being crewed by a boy who was exhaustively paddling with an oar, and an old man who was sluggishly waving a long wooden rod of seven colored flags back and forth for all to see.

A clear shout of “Taht ahm Magtchu gohrm Reeum tu Kohl'Xam![2]” pierced the air like a sword; the crowd seemed to have been whipped in to a fury as the level of anxiousness seemed to multiply exponentially. When asked by his boss, Stripe literally translated the phrase, “She said, ‘They are of the Happy Dragon Number Seven’– If I remember right, that was a fishin’ trawler what sank ‘bout four months ago.” A look of surprise crossed Tony’s face as he exclaimed, “Hey, yeah, I read about that – apparently it was a big deal because she was such a large boat or something like that.” The camera continued to capture the drama as the rescue team drew nearer and nearer to the tiny vessel.

When the old man waving the flag pole finally noticed the men rushing towards their boat, he dropped the banner to the deck and fell down into unconsciousness – his exhaustion too great to withstand. The younger of the two, upon witnessing his compatriot’s collapse, dropped the oar and ran to his aide, cradling the old reptile’s head in his lap and desperately waving towards the swimmers as they made the final trek to the twin-clad skimmer.

As the rescue team secured the vessel, the commentary of Tony Gluemaker swept into the living room of every viewer – “It looks like they’re securing the old Chameleon first, fastening him to a life buoy – now they’re helping the other survivor off the boat as well; whether or not these are the sole survivors of the ‘Happy Dragon’ or if they’ve been sent to find help isn’t known… It looks like they’re now securing the boat to a trot-line and towing it to shore.”

As the survivors were finally brought to shore, a flood of family members and friends seemingly overwhelmed them as tears of joy and gladness were shed and crushing hugs of relief were exchanged – The parents of the young one held their son as if he might disappear before their eyes. A young woman running through the crowd and into his arms nearly bowled him over as she desperately clung to him, the two exchanging a passionate kiss that made clear that they were lovers.

A string of children swarmed around the older survivor as he was helped to his feet by a handful of middle-aged men who bore a striking similarity to him – undoubtedly his sons and their progeny – a countenance of unfathomable relief and thankfulness seemingly radiated from his terribly scarred face as he hugged each and every one of his grandchildren. The cheers of the crowd only added to the potency of the image that was being broadcasted to the world.

The uplifting moment was ended soon enough by the wailing of the youngest survivor’s mother, as her son and husband held her in consolation. As the young man looked towards the crowd he spoke to them in a surprisingly clear and audibly haggard voice; his words holding such poignant sorrow as he visibly wept. As one the crowd (particularly the women) began wailing as their complexions visibly changed – from the vibrant colors they donned mere seconds before, there arose a wave of browns, greys and charcoals that moved through their midst[3]. Some of the women began tearing their clothing, others throwing themselves to the ground in visible agony. Many of the men bowed their heads in sorrow (a few openly weeping) as the people learned the fate of their various loved ones aboard that ill-fated ship.

It didn’t take a translator for Tony Gluemaker to make the connection; replacing his inquisitive expression with one of neutral empathy, he turned to the camera and softly said, “We now know the fate of the crew of that missing boat – it would appear that these men were the only survivors; this is indeed a tragic day for these people –many of them having had family and friends on board.” Before he could continue his verbose monologue, the younger survivor raised his hands into the air yelling at the top of his lungs in an attempt to call the islanders’ attention back to him; he had yet to tell them the worst part of his tidings.

The whole world over watched as this small island reptile, battered and bruised, gaunt faced and with sun blistered skin, animatedly talked to his fellow kinsmen – his voice so full of conviction. They watched as he gesticulated to the people, watched how some of them visibly pale, how others gasped and groaned to his story. And while it was a novel experience to those viewers who had no conceivable idea what it was he was saying, it was the Chameleons’ reaction to a single word that this man had all but whispered into the air: “Gho'Zra.”

The native reaction was as swift as it was diverse. Some flinched as if physically struck. Others screamed in terror as they covered their faces. A few tore at their chest until they bled before tossing themselves to the ground and writhing. Most of the crowd merely gasped at the audacity of this young man to even invoke such a taboo subject, and in public too. Still, many more openly laughed at him – mocking his words, convinced that the heat and lack of water had addled his brain, or disregarded it altogether as pure nonsense meant to garner attention. A small few even outright yelled at him, throwing anything from rocks to shells and even a shoe or two – he took it all as a martyr might, not even attempting to ward off the blows or placate the crowd.

As all this occurred, those who bore witness to the spectacle were just as confused as their audience. Gluemaker turned towards the only member of his entourage who even marginally understood the local dialect, asking the question that a million others were asking themselves – “What just happened?” Shaking his head with confusion, Reign Striper continued to listen to the crowd as they talked amongst themselves or openly shouted at the young man. “’m not quite sure, really,” he answered, “what I can follow from, he was talkin’ about how the boat was out in the southern seas when they ran into trouble: ‘pparently they’d gotten caught on somethin’ and it turned out to be a… a sea monster?”

At the incredulous looks his coworkers were giving him he defended, saying, “I don’t know – it’s kinda hard to understand what he means.” Trying to make since of it all, Leonard asked, “So they’re all freaking out because of a sea monster?” Shaking his head violently, Striper countered, “No – no, that’s not why they’re upset; he used some word – Go-zeera, or something like that; that’s why they’re all pissed off.” Again Tony spoke up, “Well what does it mean then?” Holding his hooves up in a defensive gesture, the fact-checker cried out, “I don’t know, I ain’t never heard it before – If he’s combinin’ words then it comes out somethin’ like ‘mighty spear’, but I think they’re using it as a noun; the first syllable is open – it’s more than likely some sort of name.[4]”

Their attention was brought back to the present by the baritone bellow of the old Chameleon with the mutilated face. His eyes held a vibrant fire to them that was so uncharacteristic for one as old as he, as he verbally chastised the crowd and came to his comrade’s defense. Again, the word ‘Gho'Zra’ was invoked, and with such vituperative energy that all held their tongues in fright of the old sailor's words. With much tangible shaking of limbs, he pointed to the horizon and spoke words of personal experience, all the while bringing home each point with a resounding thump of the ad-hoc walking cane provided to him as he had come ashore (for his left leg was so mangled that he could not have stood upon it had he tried.)

As the crowd stood enraptured by the aged seaman’s apologetics, the younger of the two survivors looked once more over the crowd, scanning the multitude back and forth before he visibly zeroed in on the news crew. The words of the elders who saved him ringing in his mind, he staggered forward as a starving man might to a scrap of bread. Grasping Gluemaker’s arm in a vice-like death-grip, the bedraggled young lizard desperately asked in a heavily accented and highly unorthodox rendition of the equine dialect, “Please, you are to be showing the people of yours much these things, yes?”

With gaping mouth, the reporter stuttered, “Um – uh, uh-yeah, we’re actually broadcasting right now, why do you—” Giving him no time to finish, the Chameleon begged, “Please, I am needing to be saying something to all who can have ears to listen – let me speak through you, yes?” While normally not one to allow such a gross infraction of protocol, Mr. Gluemaker and indeed the rest of his news crew could almost taste the gravity of what this man needed to say, so with a hesitant nod, he meekly answered, “Yeah, sure thing,” before turning to the camera man, saying, “Focal Point, switch the camera over here – let him talk.”

Even before he had been asked, Focal Point had been filming the exchange as it had been happening, but even so, he nodded in confirmation before adding, “Alright, you’re on.” With a shuffling gait the ordeal-beaten young man shakily latched onto the camera, looking the growing millions of viewers who were tuning in directly in the eye as he began his watermark testimony. “Please, with your ears listen to these words of which I am to be saying: my name is Ghur’Tcha, son of Mey’Tchun, son of Kal’Tum – I bring upon my soul a heavy burden of words that by all must be heard!”

“There is not to be much more time left – death and destruction will soon be stored up against us all! The famine is only the beginning of these things which shall be known to all, soon enough – Gho'Zra is come, yes, and his anger is such that the wrath that he wields is like a hundred thousand iron spears that crash and splinter the shields of our lands and spill rivers of life-blood into the sea of the Nothel-Realm’s gates! Please, those who have ears that can be hearing my message – please know that the time is at hand that all should know the judgment of the world! Cities will burn, mountains crumble, the land will wither and turn to ash, and the bones of the innocent and guilty alike will be ground like so much fine coral sand beneath the thundering advance of Gho'Zra’s might!”

Quickly realizing that this might not be the sort of message he wanted his following to be subject to, Tony Gluemaker slowly managed to drag Ghur’Tcha away from the camera, diplomatically trying to end the tirade with such phrases as “Thank you, Ghur’Tcha, for your wonderful little story” and “Alright, we have to go to commercial break now” and at one point, “Focal, cut the feed – cut the feed damnit!” In those final seconds, the struggling Ghur’Tcha all but screamed, “Please – be listening to what I have said, Goz’Ra comes, you must be ready – please! –”

On the other side of the world, in her personal study, princess Celestia watched as the live broadcast was cut to static, a technical difficulty animation quickly supplanting the grey and black nothingness of the television screen. With grim understanding she began to compose a letter to her minister of diplomacy, Morning Summit – her while plumed quill scrawling purposefully across the velum surface of her stationary.

Mr. Summit,

It has come to my attention that there is a young Chameleon who has recently been rescued from a harrowing experience at sea which I have found to be quite fascinating – as a gesture of Equestrian generosity (and to sate my own personal curiosity), I would request that an arrangement be made to have the young man brought before me sometime next week, so that I might hear of his odyssey first hand. I would also request that the older gentleman who had been rescued along with him be brought before me as well, as I often find that more than one viewpoint is necessary to see the whole story.

Respectfully, Celestia.[5]

As the parchment vanished beneath radiant green flames, the solar sovereign cast a wary gaze across her balcony, towards the night-sky and beyond, to a place she could not see, and towards a potential threat to her kingdom. She would indeed be having a word with these survivors, for if her hunch was correct, they would be able to help her understand what her people might soon be facing...

Somewhere amidst the vast and endless Middle Ocean that spanned from the eastern shores of Equestria to the western most islands of the Chameleonic Nations, the peaceful night air was violated by the catastrophic ball of flame that erupted amidst a convoy of trade ships. Three minutes later and the last of the nearly dozen multi-ton tankers sank to the bottom of the abyss, the frenzied string of distress signals and telegrams warning of danger would continue for another minute before they too ceased. It was doubtful that those who perished had even been aware of the culprit of their demise, as a hedge of jagged white spines momentarily pierced the murky sea, gliding across its glassy surface before eerily sinking once more into the deep.

Alright, footnote time. The explanations are in order of the appearance of the various numbers braced within a pair of brackets; ~example - [1]~

[1] Having a completely different tongue and vocal structure from those people of Equestrian origin, the Chameleonic language is next to impossible for the average pony to pronounce correctly, hence the phonetic style wording of the island's name.

[2] Fluidly translates to a fellow Chameleon as "Look, the colors show them to be from the crew of the Happy Dragon Number Seven!"

[3] The mood of a Chameleon often determines the coloration of their skin - dark, drab colors often accompany sadness, while white tints and pale shades accompany fear. Vibrant saturation of a Chameleon's natural color often signifies anger or hostility, while splotches of contrasting color are used to initiate courtship.

[4] Like the languages of the Polynesians, a single word in the Chameleon language can mean as many as a dozen different things depending upon its position in the sentence, the context in which it is used, and the inflection of the various syllables, consonants and vowel sounds.

[5] This is of course a false pretense; as a politician, she would be a complete moron to divulge her true intentions to such a minor member of state.

And now for the concept artwork I promised some of you.

Author's Note

Well, here it is. Chapter six. It's finally winding up to the next arc in the overall story flow, where we'll finally confront the true nature of the beast. As I had mentioned earlier today, I am putting up concept art to go along with this chapter. The art itself covers various images I had in my head going into this story, as well as a few characters and even a map of the Chameleonic Islands. What follows now will be an explanation of the art.
The first picture, starting from the the top left corner and working our way from there, depicts:
The traditional catamaran boat that Ghur'Tcha and K'Umetk were give by the natives to make their trek back home. Directly below that is a highly ornate and stylized depiction of the Chameleon god Chu'Maqc-tahl. To the direct right of that is a representation of the average Chameleon body type (This particular one wearing the traditional tattoos associated with the worship of Chu'Maqc-tahl); the three busts are examples of some of the more exotic phenotypes in the Chameleon genome. Directly above this is a size comparison chart depicting the size of an average Chameleon to an average Pony. Slightly below and to the right of that is a rough depiction of the 'Happy Dragon No. 7' before its demise.Further below that is an illustration of the Chameleons' strange, four fingered, two thumbed hand, which is obviously quite dextrous. To the far right and of the picture is an illustration of Ghur'Tcha, the young Yeoman who's life was changed forever by Godzilla. Below that is a highly ornate Pyre-totem in the likeness of Chu'Maqc-tahl, which would be commonly used by the Ch'kam natives as a form of decorative yet functional street lamp, if you would. To the left of that is an illustration of Captain K'Umetk as he was upon being rescued - face brutally scarred and forced to walk with a cane... I hope the fact that he is old is apparent, I truly tried to make him feel old. To the left and slightly above the good Captain is a depiction of the average female Chameleon's body type; they are often set apart from their male counterparts by carefully applied pastel powders, ebony and gold inlaid hoop bracelets and a distinctive ribbon wrapped around their tail, meant to attract the eye of a potential suitor... They also wear long skirts and tie their sashes from behind. Interspersed amongst the picture are various common tattoos that the Chameleons are often apt to possess. Finally, we have a map depicting the Chameleonic Islands as seen from above and a great distance away. The legend is technically for my own use, but should you wish to know what the various numbers, letters and symbols mean, feel free to ask me.
The other picture is pretty straight forward; I drew at a bar last night while visiting with some friends. It's not much, but It's a rough sketch of Godzilla's trek through Promised Point.
It will more than likely be a while before the next chapter is posted, but rest assured that this story will continue.