Tebati's eyes widen at the elf's admission. Ansha, a slave? She is always so beautiful and poised, so authoritative. The former slaves Tebati has known have always seemed ... broken, in some way. The image of Ansha gliding across the floor in the arms of the Grand Custodian at the gala drifts through her mind. But there is no time for wondering now; if they live until morning, she will have the luxury to dwell on it.
"Does anyone know how to get to Freehold from here? Or for that matter, from wherever we end this chase at?"
She shrugs. "Follow the road? Or the ruts of the wagon wheels," she nods to the heavy caravan, indicating it should not be hard to track. "They will wait for us, for a while at least. It is part of their commission to deliver us where the Custodian wants us, and if they meet more trouble on the road, they will be glad of our help. If we are successful, our errand should not take too long; if we are not..., finding Freehold will be the least of our concerns."
"Don't worry Ansha. Tebati's right we will be home safe and dry or stone dead before we have time to get very lost."
For some reason Jakob is smiling.
"Your confidence is inspiring, both of you," Ansha returns dryly.
"Jakob, I do believe that was a joke," Kieran remarks with a soft chuckle and a wink as he collects his hand crossbow from the ground nearby, before turning to Ansha.
"Reckless? Or heroic?" There is a brief dramatic pause. "Alright, I will give you reckless. Now, shall we? There is a damsel in distress waiting to be rescued."
"There would be a time when I would joke of proper reward by said damsel, preferably also involving a few glasses of wine," he adds in the end with a smile before his gaze falling on Tebati, "but I seem to have gone beyond that. Heh..."
Tebati frowns at him archly but cannot keep the corners of her lips from twitching upwards. "There is nothing to stop you going back," she tells him tartly, "if you think she will make you a better offer."
She was a slave? N'bellocq looks again at Ansha as if for the first time. As she prepares to join them, he is no longer scared of her beauty and power. She is somehow more like...them. It takes a moment for all that to sink in.
"Ansha, you will make someone very lucky when you haunt them, but it will not be me, and it will not be this day."
In the supply wagon, he finds the arrows he needs to refill his quiver.
As the wounded have just about finished gathering for the healing and Tebati's powerful channels have healed everyone except Qhude and the Bandu leader, both men have stripped out of their armour and face each other, ten paces apart. Just before Qhude signals that he is ready, the recently awoken and very shaken Albert calls out to him.
Qhude- a request from an eager spectator; not an order. Make him suffer.
Jeggare has by this point, joined the discussion and answers Tebati's query as to who was taken, casually implying he will accompany you in the process.
Got plenty of both miss Tebati, help yourself. A cook named Bethany; shes been part of my regular crew for several years now. Look, its going to take some time for us to move yonder tree from the road anyway; i'll have the caravan wait a day for our return but I dare not risk any longer, its too tempting a target. The roads easy enough to follow.
As Albert has shown little interest in the discussion, Stephanie speaks up incredulously-
They showed considerable tactical acumen planning the ambush, and not even your men spotted a single one of them before the trap was sprung. What if this is just a ploy and they have a secondary force waiting to overwhelm the caravan once you dash off into the distance? And if not, why are you letting the one source of information you have get beaten to death by Qhude?
Round 1- Bas'o Challenge
Slaver Init
Qhude Init
Ordered Initiative-
Slaver- 17
Qhude- 15
Qhude makes his signal that he is ready- and the slaver springs forward eagerly to attack. Before Qhude is fully ready for the attack, the slaver is upon him, hooking a leg behind Qhude's own and with a great deal of effort, applies his weight against Qhude and forces him to the ground before him
(Successful Trip VS Flat-Footed CMD)
Qhude does not lose his focus, but does nod his head slightly at Albert's words.
Round 1:
The slaver reacts quickest and is upon Qhude before he is ready and the Bas'o falls heavily upon his back. Giving over to the white heat once more Qhude does not attempt to stand, instead bellowing as he lashes out at the slaver's knee with a foot...
Kick: for
The Bandu roars in pain as Qhude's kick connects with a nasty crunch, the bone almost shattering under the force of the blow. Limping heavily, the slaver boots Qhude in the face with a brutal kick of his own, fighting defensively and trying to avoid a counterattack.
(-4 fighting defensively and +4 VS prone offset one another)
Ansha gives Jeggare a surprised look, though she doesn't comment upon his insertion into what she considers an ill-advised rescue--he had certainly proven his worth in a fight already.
As Stephanie speaks, Ansha nods her agreement. "A good question. I'm afraid I don't have any charms memorized that are likely to loosen his tongue, though. Even if Qhude weren't beating him to a pulp. I guess, if they really wanted to simply overwhelm us, they probably had the numbers for it. Thank the Song of the Spheres they didn't realize it."
For her part, she doesn't seem too particularly interested in the bout between Qhude and the Bandu slaver, but her emerald eyes wander that way frequently enough to indicate she's keeping an eye on it.
Round 2:
The Bandu's foot strikes him squarely in the cheek, snapping Qhude's head back and filling his mouth with blood. Spitting crimson onto the ground, Qhude lunges with a wild and low haymaker, attacking the slaver's shin from his prone position...
Fist: for
To Stephanie: "If they have the force to overwealm us then we die, either on the road or on a foolish rescue mission. Frankly I'd rather die trying to save someone. As far as Qhude's little entertainment, feel free to try and stop him. I know I couldn't."
To Jeggere:"Then we have a day. Let's not waste it."[/b]
Jakob grabs a spare quiver of bolts and heads down the line of wagons.
To Jeggere or anyone handy: "Apart from Bethany did they take anything else? If they found the wine supply then they could well be stone drunk when we find them."
With a slight shudder, Tebati turns her back to the brutality of the fight but cannot evade the guttural grunts of pain and effort and the sounds of fists and feet striking flesh and bone. "If we are ready, let us go," she says, following Jakob down the caravan. Qhude is swift, she reasons. He can catch up to us if he is any shape to do so when his bout is done. In only a few steps, she has caught up and overtaken Jakob, warning the group against the caltrops that were scattered in the smoke. "A few of the Bandu got away with supplies from the wagons," she tells Jakob, "but whether even they know what they have stolen or merely took whatever came quickly to hand, I do not know. We have no time to conduct an inventory, have we?"
Arriving back at the next-to-last wagon in the line where Kieran and the Sargavan soldiers had made their stand, Tebati ignores the piled Bandu corpses and points to the two large boulders north of the road. "The man who took the cook Bethany ran between those rocks and was lost to my sight."
Ansha sighs, glancing over her shoulder at Qhude again. They'll be the death of me yet, she thinks darkly. Shrugging her shoulders, she sticks close to Jeggare, only following after her compatriots when he does so.
Qhude's haymaker punch sends the Bandu staggering back with a shattered jaw and he falls to the ground beside Qhude, barely concious. He no longer looks in a state fit to fight and he seems to simply be waiting for a final blow to fall.
Meanwhile, Jeggare shrugs in response to Jakob and Tebati's line of inquiry.
It will take me some time to do a full inventory Miss Tebati, Master Jakob, but we had our least essential supplies in that rear wagon they ransacked. They filled three sacks with various items, much of it construction tools to contribute to the base camp.
With Jeggare in tow, you move past the two boulders Tebati mentioned but see no sign of the Bandu. The terrain is littered with boulders, dips and hills and a man could be hidden a mere fifty feet away and be obscured from sight simply by the treacherous badlands terrain. To your north, you see the hills only become more pronounced as the terrain eventually becomes mountainous as you look towards devils cradle.
I assume one of you has some expertise in tracking, right? Jeggare asks, heavy crossbow casually held against his right shoulder.
Qhude sees and feels the man fall and emits a barbaric yell of victory. Vision blurring slightly from the kick he received to the cheek, Qhude pushes off the ground to a kneeling position and crawls to the Bandu slaver's still breathing body. Flipping the insensate slaver onto his back, Qhude climbs atop him, kneeling on the man's stomach under the ribcage so as to force the Bandu's breath from his body. Leaning on his hands over the slaver's face, Qhude's visage is beastly and leering - blood dripping from his wounded mouth and onto the Bandu's own battered and bleeding face.
Qhude draws his deathly countenance down to beside the slaver's ear and whispers
Only then does Qhude allow the white heat to fade from a newly tiring body. Stumbling as he attempts to find his feet, Qhude has to pause a moment on one knee before rising. Gripping the Bandu's head by his hair, Qhude slowly drags the man across to before where Albert sits vigil over the fight. When he has the slaver about ten feet before the convalescing guard, Qhude flips the man onto his stomach and grips the Bandu by the hair once more. He raises the slaver's head so that Albert can look unto the once mighty but now pitiful man in his death throes.
Qhude affixes Albert with a silent stare, dead eyes boring into his... looking for a sign of when Albert thinks that the Bandu has suffered enough...
I assume one of you has some expertise in tracking, right? Jeggare asks, heavy crossbow casually held against his right shoulder.
"Actually, I have no idea, but this group has been a bit of a wonder cabinet so far. We should be able to manage something."
Ansha shrugs at Jeggare's back as she follows along. "I'm hardly a trained tracker. Not exactly a skill afforded someone with my upbringing," she says simply. "N'bellocq? What about you? Tracking isn't so far off from scouting."
Eyes scanning the terrain around them, she frowns. "If not, it's going to be a bit like that human proverb about needles and haystacks."
"Cousin," she says, touching N'bellocq on the shoulder. "It is up to you to find her. May Shimye-Magalla smile on your efforts." She stands back out of his way so that he can examine the ground, close to Kieran's side. Waiting patiently for N'bellocq to find the trail, she shoots a few appraising glances at Jeggare. She is surprised that he is willing to risk his own life to rescue the woman; perhaps she has misjudged him as just another colonial following the Wealthy Father, concerned mainly with his own profit and advancement.
N'bellocq hesitates in his wild rush to just chase wherever he thought the Bandu may have fled. Seeing eyes turn to him, and his cousin's concern, he slows and then goes to one knee at the boulders. "These tracks here are deeper than the others. This is the one that carries the cook. I will try to follow them, although there are many other tracks."
Waiting patiently for N'bellocq to find the trail, she shoots a few appraising glances at Jeggare. She is surprised that he is willing to risk his own life to rescue the woman; perhaps she has misjudged him as just another colonial following the Wealthy Father, concerned mainly with his own profit and advancement.
"Should I be jealous?" Kieran's voice is soft, almost a whisper, but the tone behind the words and the smile on his face betray the question for what it really is: a tease between lovers. "Or is it that he surprises you with his joining us in our quest to save the innocent from the not-so-innocent?"
As he talks, his eyes are on N'bellocq and his focus on the task at hand. 'Ah, I am so much more in my element in a city,' he ponders absently, one hand fidgeting with his sword's pommel as the curved blade rests in its scabbard.
"You ask, who are looking forward to the charms of your rescued damsel?" she replies in kind. "A girl must look to land on her feet. One half-elf is much the same as the next, is he not?" Despite her callous words, the way her fingers trace down his arm and interlace themselves with his free hand indicates she is in no hurry to test her hypothesis. A quick glance toward Jeggare showing that he is occupied with the dangers of the horizon, she leans her head against Kieran's shoulder, ensuring that her words are for him alone. "As badly as the Custodian desires whatever lies within that ruin, he does not go himself, nor does he send Morvius or anyone of value to him; he sends us, who are expendable and whose failure will cost him nothing. That Jeggare walks with us into danger over the fate of one woman...." She lets the thought trail off, her brow creased with puzzlement.
"I suppose it goes for half-elves as much as it goes for humans," he replies with a wink, his hand holding hers tightly as if not wanting to let go. "What use do I have for the... charms of a rescued damsel when any woman would pale if compared to you, love?"
"That he walks with us means he is more his own man than the Custodian's, at least. And that he values others," he offers in a quiet voice. "Or, were I to be a more suspicious man, that he is also tasked with making sure we go where we are supposed to go and do what we are supposed to do."
"Either way, his help will be of much use," he concludes before placing a loving kiss on Tebati's head.
She nods in agreement without withdrawing from the closeness of his embrace, her opinion certain on that point at least. "That he goes with us, knowing the country and the Bandu as he does, reassures me that we are not merely walking to our own deaths on a fool's errand. He is a practical man, not like Jakob, eager to throw his life away as a heroic gesture. If he walks with us, he must judge that we have some chance of success."
"I wonder how many we will be walking into. If there are too many and they do not attack are we open to the option of simply buying her back?"
"I'd prefer to avoid a fight, personally. That said, they may not be interested in negotiation. I guess we'll see," Ansha says. Smirking wryly, she adds, "Not interested in dying heroically, Jakob?"
"How we get her back is less important than the conviction that we get her back. Perhaps we trade her for their leader after Qhude has finished with his pummeling."
The blow was carefully chosen and it's force measured to not snap the Bandu's neck... merely to crush his windpipe and make it nigh impossible for the slaver to draw further breath. The Bandu begins to fit and shake as he desperately attempts to fill empty lungs through a pipe that will not allow it's passage.
Only then does Qhude allow the white heat to fade from a newly tiring body. Stumbling as he attempts to find his feet, Qhude has to pause a moment on one knee before rising. Gripping the Bandu's head by his hair, Qhude slowly drags the man across to before where Albert sits vigil over the fight. When he has the slaver about ten feet before the convalescing guard, Qhude flips the man onto his stomach and grips the Bandu by the hair once more. He raises the slaver's head so that Albert can look unto the once mighty but now pitiful man in his death throes.
Qhude affixes Albert with a silent stare, dead eyes boring into his... looking for a sign of when Albert thinks that the Bandu has suffered enough...
Qhude and the others watching the scene get the impression that the near-death experience seems to have unleashed something undeniably dark in Albert. He watches Qhude's work with grim satisfaction, hatred in his eyes and is clearly enjoying the spectacle.
Qhude sees no sign that Albert has had enough after several more moments of lingering agony for the Bandu, but eventually Unwe speaks up; her face pale and her voice sounding appalled by the violence before her. Her voice is quiet but has a sense of finality to it.
Qhude, Albert- enough. Finish it now.
Albert slowly nods his assent, but sighs as though regretting the decision. Stephanie has walked off seeking something else to do other than watch and several hirelings also seem to be appalled by the brutality.
Albert addresses Qhude, his voice hoarse, worn but recovering. He gestures to the slaver's fearsome weapon, the viciously hooked Guisarme.
Qhude, consider taking his polearm as your trophy- I got a good look at it while it was being plunged into my body and its of excellent quality.
d20 + 10
N'bellocq hesitates in his wild rush to just chase wherever he thought the Bandu may have fled. Seeing eyes turn to him, and his cousin's concern, he slows and then goes to one knee at the boulders. [b]"These tracks here are deeper than the others. This is the one that carries the cook. I will try to follow them, although there are many other tracks."
N'bellocq begins to follow the tracks of the Bandu captor. The ground is firm but the tracks are fresh and he has little difficulty, going at a slow and careful speed as he follows them for some three hundred feet. Working his way around various plains vegetation, boulders and terrain, he sees the tracks join up with dozens of others- he takes a little time to estimate the numbers and it appears the Bandu had another twenty men they chose not to commit to the raid. From various small tells including the depth of the footprints from one to another, N'bellocq suspects the extra manpower was made up primarily of tribesmen waiting to loot rather than armoured warriors.
Jeggare answers Jakob grimly.
Doubt they're looking to sell, Master Jakob. They only took one captive, they will think they failed their Demon Lords. I'd be willing to bet Bethany's got a sacrificial altar of some kind with her name on it.
"Perhaps 20 more joined those fleeing about here." and N'bellocq points to a set a scuffs in the dirt on the side of thier current path. "Their steps are lighter and longer..probably not armored for the fight, but useful for what they can carry."
When Albert gives his assent to ease the suffering, Qhude reaches forward with his second hand to apply pressure and break the man's neck. The struggling of the Bandu dies away as Qhude stands up and for the first time turns his head to take in the rest of the guards and caravan. His eyes pass over those showing disgust at his brutality without any pause to ken their reactions. Enough of his umkhaya's words filtered through to Qhude for him to know that they had left to see if they might retrieve the one that was taken. Still breathing heavily from exertion, Qhude feels the blood slowly weeping from the gash on his leg, while his cheek has also bloomed to a darkly purpled bruise and his mouth is filled with the metallic sanguine tang.
Cogs begin turn in his head as Qhude thinks, but first he looks to the slaver's discarded weapon. Nodding to Albert, he moves to pick up the curved and heavy bladed polearm. Running a finger along the blade of the axe he gives it an experimental heft to test it's balance. Using it momentarily as a support to lean on, Qhude's mind spins The Bandu have taken one of ours. They will not listen to reason... but perhaps they may be cowed... But words alone may not sway them...
Springing now to action, Qhude moves first to his discarded pack retrieving a small container of clay paint that he obtained in Eleder. Using his index finger, Qhude traces the clay unto his face and chest in the manner of a Bas'o death mask. His eyes and nipples are surrounded by
solid circles, and a line is traced through the blood from his bottom lip to navel. Lines are also traced on each arm from shoulder to the tip of each middle finger. He then throws his pack over one arm, leaving only his rope and armor upon the ground. Turning to Albert he states "Look over that which is mine... I will return for it."
Qhude then strides to the slaver's unmoving body and in one smooth motion raises the bardiche to bring it down heavily upon the Bandu's neck. Unused to the heft of the weapon, his aim is off and he needs a second strike to fully sever the head. He then reaches down to pick up the slaver's head in his left hand - holding the bardiche by the haft in his right.... only then he turns to the path... and the hunt.
You hear a noise from behind you and a confronting figure steps into view. From his face and shape you can see that it is Qhude, but he looks as though a death spirit come to this world to wreak vengeance. The blood of both himself and the slaver cover most of his body - the red sitting in stark contrast to his black skin and white paint that has been daubed upon his body. Those of you who know of the Mwangi recognize that Qhude has painted himself in the manner of a death mask.
But the cargo he bears is what draws more of your attention. In his left hand he bears the severed head of the slaver that you last saw alive and in single combat with your companion. It's lifeless eyes still lie open, though have rolled back and only the whites are visible. In his right he carries the slaver's bardiche. Qhude's own face is devoid of emotion, eyes tinged by deadness. He walks towards you calmly...
Fingers splayed into the opening gestures of a spell, Ansha turns at the noise behind her. Seeing it to be Qhude, she frowns in distaste at his grisly visage. "Going native, I see, she mutters to herself. She continues, still softly but loud enough for Qhude to hear now: "Welcome back. Bringing a present for our hosts?"
Replying to Ansha in a neutral voice that is devoid of emotion "We cannot speak in words that will sway the Bandu." hefting the head in his left hand a little higher "We must teach them uvalo."
Ansha raises an eyebrow, clearly taking exception to the idea that someone could resist her charms. "We'll see whether the worshipers of demons fear death or their demons more, then."
"Well, if it is fear we seek to introduce them to, you certainly seem to have taken quite the step in that direction, Qhude," Kieran remarks with a tone of mild distaste as he notices the severed head, his silver eyes a little wider than usual at the sight of the fearsome Bas'o, all painted and blood-covered.
His gaze then moves to the others, from one companion to the next, before resting on Jakob. 'His relationship with Qhude has been the most strained. I wonder what is going through his mind now,' the half-elf ponders, a look of curiosity now evident on his face.
Tebati turns toward the approaching figure, her eyes first showing welcome and relief that Qhude was the victor in his bout, then widening in revulsion at the gruesome trophy he carries. Instinctively, she takes a step toward Kieran, turning her face to his chest to block her line of sight to the gory spectacle. "Watch yourself, Qhude," she tells him, her voice tight with disgust, "lest instead of seeing you as their enemy, the Bandu hail you in your retinue of blood and death as their new chieftan."
Jakob visibly blanches at the sight of Qhude. A hand reaches for the spot on his belt where the healing wand normally resides.
A moments pause sees Jakob regain control of his emotions. When he speeks his voice is flat and calm. The tone one uses when trying to edge past a strange and angry dog.
"Ah Qhude, you are here. Good. Best to hurry."
N'bellocq nods in approval, "If they fear Demons...We become what those Demons fear."
Grimacing slightly before spitting a crimson gobbet of saliva to the side, you notice that Qhude's wounds are still open - though he makes no issue of them. Missing the nuances of the half-looks and thoughts that pass between the others, Qhude moves to near N'bellocq ready to rejoin the chase.
To Tebati's warning Qhude replies "I have no wish to become their umpetha..." a flicker of concern or hesitation flashing across his stoic face before it returns to it's resolute state he turns his head to whisper to Tebati in Polyglot "Allow me ethemba Sangoma... I ukufa-dweba with a purpose... and seek to risk no impilo but my own"
Tebati glares at Qhude through narrowed eyes for a moment before her gaze softens. She relents with a barely perceptible nod. "Do as you think well," she tells him, "but remember that your life is not yours alone to risk. You are no longer a man without a tribe."
Qhude nods at Tebati's wisdom and she sees that he has heard it. But his face remains grim and focused upon the task he has given himself.
As you continue on for another few miles, N'bellocq continues to follow the tracks with ease. Eventually the badlands terrain gives way to more desert-like terrain; sparse, open, sandy and windy. Much further to your north, a large cliff looms onimously over the plains below.
Its early afternoon by now- the heat has abated and its a little more comfortable- although the wind is making the trail more difficult to follow.
"Much less cover up ahead. They will see us coming, but I assume that is part of your plan Qhude."
"Speaking of plans, any way we can help or do you choose to sail alone right now?"
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Qhude follows behind N'bellocq as he tracks, always near the head of the trail. To Jakob's question Qhude replies "I intend to simply walk into their camp and demand that she be returned... I would not have you follow at my shoulder lest they refuse my demand." pausing a few moments before turning to Jakob with what almost seems like a wry smile "But while all eyes are on the imbube... they may not see the impisi moving through shadow at their side.."
"There is but little shadow available," Tebati observes ruefully, overlooking the sandy, sunswept plain, "and I have no skill at moving without being seen."
Tebati-
Kieran-
Qhude-
Ansha-
N'bellocq-
Jakob-
N'bellocq continues to manage the trail but although there is various cover available in the form of different terrain elevations, the tracks your following do not make use of any of it. You continue on for a couple more miles, the tracks leading up a steep, sandy hill.
You faintly make out a pair of voices somewhere over the hill.
Tebati stops suddenly, holding out her hand to halt the others, a finger to her lips. "Someone speaking," she whispers, nodding up the slope. "Two voices. Over the hill."
Jakob freezes in place. Ears straining to catch any sound.
N'bellocq quietly moves toward the hill and up its flank. Keeping below the crest, he gets close in order to get sense of what they are saying and if there might be more nearby.