"I worked as a diplomat in Thaliost during the war, but I first trained as a priest." replies Otto to Rehil with a smile. "How about you? Where are you from?"
"Regalport."
Nalverren remains silent during the introductions, his thoughts on their upcoming meeting.
"Heard good things about what?"
"..Maybe it's the wealthiest. I wouldn't know. But it is far smaller than Newthrone."
Rehil's tone is dead even.
Rehil's bow describes a head-sized circle. "It's much like this. With a big river. And humans instead of lizardfolk."
Rehil shrugs his shoulders to resettle the meager weight of his pack. He touches the dagger at his waist, the curveblade at his shoulder, the quiver at his hip.
At least if we must run for it, I'm carrying nothing that will slow me greatly.
His eyes swing toward Cole and the edges of his lips droop slightly.
Cole follows along mutely, keeping his eyes on the village around them as he listens to the team's ongoing discussion ... shaking his head at the strange back-and-forth. When Rehil looks back at him, Cole gives him an encouraging nod.
"The lord of Haka'torvhak? not the dragon himself?" Nalverren replies in common.
The lizardfolk look blankly at Nalverren .
"He was asking about Haka'torvhak," Cole responds to their blank looks, "Who or what is that? I've never heard that name."
Koouri says, "Within Haka'torvhak lives Rhashaak, the overlord of the blackscales and poisondusks. He claims to be a god. Who am I to disagree, since so few actually see him? But enough questions - we are nearly there."
The adventurers head into the palace/compost heap of Chief Ylyeshshsi. The smell is a pungent mix of stagnant water and rotting vegetation, and it is extremely warm. Water drips from overhead and the floor underfoot is squashy and damp. The walls are a lattice of living and dead wood forming twisting, rising and falling passages with uneven ceilings that often need to be ducked under. Although it is enclosed, light nevertheless filters in from outside to provide a gloomy illumination. Side passages branch off but there appear to be no doors in the structure.
The group reach a larger chamber or hollow, a sort of antechamber. There are more lizardfolk guards here, and beyond can dimly be seen a even larger room, lit with smokey torches. One of the guards turns. "Surrender your weapons."
"Do as they ask," says Koouri. "I must go on ahead." She walks ahead into the next room.
Nalverren hands over his swordcane and bow.
Rehil stoops and weaves as he follows Koouri into the mound. After the hilt of his curveblade catches a root in the roof, he crouches at the next intersection to shift his curve blade from his back to his left hand in which he also grasps his bow.
In the antechamber he straightens. When the guard speaks, the elf looks quickly to the others for guidance.
Seeing Nalverren give up his bow and cane, Rehil steps forward. He unstrings the bow before handing it to the guard. He pockets the string. His dagger follows. Last he hands over his curve blade.
Cole gives a deep, pained sigh at the size of the little entrance, and does his best to squeeze carefully in. The metallic-on-wood scrapings of his ungainly passage can be heard well before he emerges into the large chamber. He un-crouches and steps out of the entrance as he eyes the guards.
With a curious glance at the retreating Koouri, he hands the nearest guard his longspear. Then the massive war maul. Then the equally-massive greatsword. Then his large steel shield and five javelins.
Finally, on top of his small armory, he places his dagger, then looks up into the guard’s eyes with a single nod.
Vaard bends down to get inside. At the request for his weapons, Vaard holds out his shield, morningstar, and javelin. If we are made to fight I shall have to rely on my techniques which need no weapons.
"Fair well, Koouri," he whispers as she leaves.
So Rehil's good to go to the big chamber?
The adventurers walk into the next chamber. It is large with a high, domed ceiling. Sunlight filters down through the network of branches supporting the ceiling and torches flicker smokily at the margins. In the centre of the room is a pit about ten feet wide, vines and creepers around the edge disappearing into the gloom. Opposite the entrance they have come through, another passage leads away.
Finback braves stand around the edge of the room, shields, spears and clubs in their hands, their stance alert. And, on a balcony ten feet above floor level, a number of other lizardfolk stare down. One is Koouri, who looks at the group impassively, and another is Irret. A few have different markings to the Finbacks and elaborate harnesses, headdresses and weaponry, marking them out as senior members from different tribes, among them Chief Zzej of the Skinwings who prevented the riot earlier.
Also present is a poisondusk and a blackscale. The poisondusk wears a shirt made of small bone pieces strung together and a human skull as a helmet, and he and carries a minature totem at the end of a short staff. He looks older than Oula, and possibly even more malevolent as he sneers down at the newcomers. The blackscale is an especially imposing specimen, slightly crouched to accommodate the ceiling, eyes like sunken green glass orbs as he watches intently.
Next to the poisondusk stands an enormous Finback warrior, not much smaller than the blackscale. Unlike the others he carries no weapons, although his body harness is ornate and well-made. His scaly skin is scarred in many places and his face is rendered even more inhuman from past batterings he has survived. Thick cords of muscle bunch in his shoulders and arms as he grips the wooden balustrade and glowers down with undisguised hostility.
"So these are the ones to whom you offered my protection, Irret," he growls.
Rehil looks up at the balcony, sorting through the reptilian dignitaries. He stiffens when he sees the Poisondusk with the Blackscale. It must be the chief who spoke first. He looks like a warrior king.
Although Rehil knows he should pay attention to the king, he glares continuously at the Poisondusk. There's one who deserves the iron arrow as well as Oula.
Cole stands still as a statue, silvery-green eyes locked on the massive speaker.
Nalverren stands, paying attention to the lizard chief. At the mention of Irret, he looks around the room and mentally takes notes on those present.
Cole looks down at his companions, then over at Irret, and—when no one answers the chief—he replies in Draconic.
"We are those who accepted your binding truce.”
At the mention of the binding truce, Chief Ylyeshshi's claws grip the rail even tighter, making a loud scraping noise. He shoots a vicious look in Irret's direction. Standing erect but tense, she replies to the unspoken question.
"They were too powerful to overcome in battle. I saw no other way to bring them to the village. With Ssendaar slain -"
The chief cuts her off with a snarl. "Would that you were slain and Ssendaar still lived!" Irret quails beneath his fury. He continues, "I did not even wish to have the softskins here. It was the notion of my shaman." He glares at Koouri, who returns the look coolly and levelly. Then he turns back to adventurers below the balcony. "But you are here now. So, tell me - how do I defeat your friends in Da'sheth?"
Cole listens through Wultram’s response, and when the Karrn is finished, he looks up at Irret.
“Ssendaar was the large warrior under the falling water?” Cole switches his gaze back to Chief Ylyeshshi. “He fell quickly. He did not understand us. He did not understand our strengths, our weaknesses, or what we sought.”
“Our chief sent us to learn what was bringing your braves to war on our people. But the … softskins” a slight hesitation shows he finds the term humorous somehow, “ … at Da’sheth are not our people.”
He pauses, considering briefly how to proceed. “Chief Ylyeshshi commands many strong braves. When I was taught to war, I was taught that a strong arm is often only as strong as the war-tool it wields. Maybe what Chief Ylyeshshi needs isn’t more strong arms, but different war-tools.”
Rehil stares at the Poisondusk shaman but leans closer to Ashshar, Vaard, and Nalverren, in turn, hoping for a quiet translation.
Nalverren will resume his duties translating for Rehil, and will add to the storm of replies in Draconic, "Great Chief, the scale-less of Da'sheth are no friends of ours. We seek to end their vile actions in your land so that peaceful trade may be resumed. Trade that involves the scaled folk trading only what they want to trade, and cease this honorless theft by the scale-less that threatens to not only plunge our respective peoples into conflict, but also meddles with forces beyond our comprehension."
He pauses, gauging the audience, then continues, "To defeat the vile scale-less who plunder Da'Sheth, we must gather information. I have heard that attacks at night have failed? They wield powerful magic? Skirmishing has been fruitless?" He trails off, inviting a reply while clearly thinking deeply on the matter.
"But all men are enemies to the lizardfolk," croaks the poisondusk. "They take our lands from us, either by force or the treachery of false friendship. These softskins either know nothing, in which case they are useless, or simply lie to protect their friends in Da'Sheth, in which case they are less than useless." He looks sideways at Koouri, but she still says nothing.
Vaard stands with his mammalian companions.
"The soft-skins are no more a single group than we are. You do not represent my tribe, nor are these soft-skins a part of those who attack us."
Cole keeps his eyes on the chief ... not really even showing that he recognizes the poisondusk's words.