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The briefing room is filled with the sound of a blaring bugle and the party turns to see the noise coming from a thin young boy with dark skin, clearly a native of Jalmeray or some other exotic isle, although dressed uncomfortably in an eloquent squire's outfit. He carries a shield and lance sized for a halfling. "Announcing the arrival of Henry, son of Scranton, of the ancient and esteemed Flaxseed clan of the city of Cassomir in the noble land of Taldor! First Watcher of the Wise Guard of Absalom, honored guest of House Eiredor, honorary Steel Falcon of the righteous Eagle Knights of Andoran, and tamer of beasts: Henry Flaxseed!"
Through the door struts a halfling wearing an elaborate tabard decorated with a flower and the words Florere et augescere, clearly the family crest. He smiles and nods to everyone in greeting as he enters the room.
Following him is a wolf wearing leather barding etched with similar floral patterns as those adorning Henry's tabard and armor. "Sit down, Indiana," orders the halfling and the wolf finds a corner in which to sit.
Henry then smiles politely and waits patiently for the briefing to start.
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Well met Madame and sirs The paler looking gentleman says as he stands from his seat. He is dressed in Autumn colors of the falling trees. His jet black hair is pulled back to expose narrow facial features and striking blue eyes; overall he looks pleasant and noteworthy.
To Flaxseed's squire Later if you wish I could be of some assistance in teaching you to really sell that advertisement. Winks at Flaxseed. It is all in the presentation, if you do not believe it how is the room to believe it. May I?
Vasilious stands on top of his chair with the grace of an acrobat; he stretches out his right hand open palm pointing to gather the attention to the Noble Flaxseed. Ladies and gentlemen it gives me extreme pleasure to have the courtesy of introducing a hero for heros. For it is in this man that I can say we can go to sleep at night safe from the tyranny of evil. His honorary titles are many and brought forward in great favor though he ask not of fancy titles but only for no more than his own name, Henery son of Scranton esteemed and beloved of the Flaxseed clan of Cassomir of prestigious Taldor. It is with want that I continue as my master is humble and care naught for frivolous titles; First Watcher of the Wise Guard of Absalom, honored guest of House Eiredor, honorary Steel Falcon of the righteous Eagle Knights of Andoran, and tamer of beasts. May you have the glory and luck to be in his presence.
Vasilios bows animatedly to the audience of his peers, after accepting a moment of silence he will hope down from the chair. he will extend his hand in greeting to the Halfling. I do hope I did not embarrass you, but dolling up a speech is something I like very much and am quite good at it.
Turning back to the room, Vasilios, the speech maker at your service! he bows low to all in the room.
“One of our number has fallen.” Venture-Captain Adril Hestram lets the grave words hang in the air before continuing. It’s difficult to imagine a large man like Adril defeated, but in light of this grim news his shoulders slump; he is a man who suffered a loss. “Targos Min-Katheer, esteemed venture-captain, is dead. His last wishes are simple: he wants his mortal remains to take one last trip along the Silken Way to his home city of Katheer, there to rest with his ancestors. He was one of our finest and we aim to honor his request. It is for this reason I’ve called you all together.”
Adril points one sausage-thick finger at the map on the table, tracing a line from Absalom to the mouth of the Pashman River, then snaking up the river to the oasis city of Lopul. “Here is where you can gather up his remains and join the silken caravan, one of the only caravans daring the harsh journey across the desert from Lopul to Katheer. This mission is simple, joyride really, but we insist you give it the attention it deserves. A few weeks in the sun, seeing the sights of the desert. A dream assignment.”
Adril has a way of making every assignment sound like a sweet deal, but the last few weeks traveling by boat up the Pashman River and then hiking the short distance to the oasis city have been grueling to the extreme. A poisonous river snake claimed one of your guides; you remember his last gasps well, and how his face bloated to twice its usual size within seconds of the bite. Before you now lies Lopul, the great caravan city, erected around the crystal life-giving waters of the Pool of Sihbon, the largest oasis for over one hundred miles. Mud brick houses baking in the sun and great canvas tents crowd the central
copse of palm and date trees.
Lopul is a caravan-city ruled by the Sheikh Samraf Al- Hadari, humble servant to the padishah emperor of Kelesh. The settlement’s population fluctuates wildly with the comings and goings of trade caravans, but usually has at least a thousand locals and travelers in residence at any one time. Most of the city is comprised of tents and temporary dwellings erected by merchants and caravan masters, with only about a quarter of the city’s structures being permanently built around the Pool of Sihbon itself. Among these permanent structures are a halfdozen caravanserai, the fortress of the sheikh, and twoscore domed dwellings constructed of mud brick. One such dwelling is the former residence of Targos Min-Katheer. All that remains is to collect his body and join the silken caravan.....
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"My, that was quite well done, sir!" Henry says to Vasilios. "Waman, did you hear that? You're coming along quite nicely but perhaps you can take a few lessons from this kind man."
On the journey Henry sits astride his wolf Indiana and keeps hearty conversation with Vasilios and all others in the party.
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You see a half-elf with a hint of wild in his appearance, especially his silvery hair and sideburns. His armor has bits of horn and covered with markings from the far East.
Closeby, there is a cougar that follows Fendahl closely, watching for commands or an occasional treat from his companion.
He bows to the collective members assembled.
"Hrrmm, yes Venture Captain, understood. An armed escort for his remains. By my honor, we will see this done."
Vasilios will keep part moral up with his speeches during the hard trek, and often make jokes about getting some color in his cheeks.
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Walking in just as the VC begins his briefing, Yanos leans against the wall, taking notes, nodding his head as the others introduce themselves. He wears full length rags similar in design to the middle eastern garb, only revealing his eyes behind many layers of loose clothing. A rather large pointy pig-sticker is at his back, and little else.
"I am Yanos, a humble wanderer of Ol' Deadeye. It is a sacred duty to return a fallen man to his people, and one I am pleased to aid in. But tell me, my friend, how did he fall? What can we expect, and had he any known enemies?"
As soon as he leaves the VC's office, Yanos's form and appearance shifts suddenly. He grows about a full foot, now standing tall at about 6ft, and much more lean and athletic. His rags become more elegant robes, though still cover everything with the exception of a few black strands waving freely in the wind between layers. His spear becomes more of a lance, a weapon of war, and without looking, he raises a hand, two fingers up, and motions forward, "Drop. . .".
From the corner of the building leaps an Owlbear, landing just beside and behind him, follows to the boat.
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"Hmm! A dhampir you say? Just when I thought I'd seen everything. 's why I took on this job, I s'pose! Still, you seem an able enough teacher for the boy. Perhaps when we get back to Absalom we can work out arrangements to put Waman under your instruction. I'll straighten that boy out one of these days." Henry sits astride his wolf as his squire walks alongside with Henry's lance.
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The spritely young woman with the close-cropped hair quietly listens to the venture captain. She let's others ask the questions, but listens intently to the answers.
Once on the road, she opens up. "So, Vasilios - a dhampir? I've never met a dhampir - am I saying that right dahm-peer? Or is it dam-pyre? Do you need to stay out of the sun? Will holy water or garlic burn you? I don't have any silver, but do we need to keep you away from silver items? Is it true that you don't age? Wow, a real-life dahm-peer..."
During any down time, Linnea practices with her whip.
As the party continues to get to know each other, you ask around town and are fairly quickly pointed in the direction of Min-Katheer’s dwelling.
A small mud-brick, domed dwelling lies at the end of a humble, sandy street here in the heart of the caravan city. The scent of the nearby oasis still reaches you, and a hive of bees, attracted by the nearby water, hangs from a date palm next to the house. The wails of mourners and cries of women and children reach your ears, and you can see a small crowd gathered outside the house’s single door, its members crying and tearing their garments. Whether professionally hired mourners or sorrow-filled residents outpouring legitimate grief for the loss of a local hero is unclear, but the emotion seems genuine enough.
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"Shall we?" Henry asks soberly to his companions.
As he nears the house, Waman draws in his breath and begins, Henry smacks him on the arm. "This is no place for pageantry, my boy. We are entering a house of morning. I do say, you have quite a bit of schooling yet to do."
Henry will lead the party into the mud-brick home of the late Min-Katheer.
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Fendahl will follow, stationing the lion Kirrah with any other party animals or mounts not allowed into the mud-brick dwelling.
In a low voice to Linnea or Orryn
"Hrrmm, from the looks of this crowd, I hope we do not have an altercation getting the remains out of the home with due reverence. I have heard wakes in some cultures can last days. Not to mention the excessive emotions. Death is but part of the cycle of life afterall."
As Henry makes for the door of the dwelling, he is greeted at the door by a man in sackcloth with ashes poured over his freshly shaved head. His face is sickly pale under the coating of ashes, and part of one ear if missing. His hands are wrapped in dirty bandages. He nods and steps aside, wordlessly letting the party enter. The front room of the house holds more mourners, and a curtained doorway blocks access to the house’s lone bedroom.
Shortly after entering, a man a man wearing priestly robes and a black jackal death mask emerges from behind the curtain. His voice muffled by the mask, the man introduces himself as Ben-Garri and explains that the honored venture-captain’s body is receiving its funeral preparations and that the party will need to return at nightfall to claim it.
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"Im affraid that wont do. We need to leave before then. Here, I am also a priest. I will help you. . ." as Yanos begins to step through the curtain and past the man while giving the rest of the group "the look".
-Posted with Wayfinder
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Fendahl will move into position to back up Yanos, should he need assistance.
"Hrrmn, we need to escort the venture-captain Targos Min-Katheer's remains without delay.
Additional preparations will be made where the actual funeral will be held in Katheer. So do not trouble yourself with such rites here."
As Yanos moves to pass the man, his voice hisses beneath the mask. You have made a untimely mistake I'm afraid. He starts to back up, while motioning lepers in the room to intercede.
Eight lepers move forward and begin attacking the party.
Six lepers press the attack, but all miss. Meanwhile two stay back near Ben-Garri.
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Ill remain unarmed, and simply say "What is the meanimg of this!", realizing to most of the crowd we moght be attacking their local priests and look a little odd.
-Posted with Wayfinder
Yanos questions what is happening!
Vasilios casts a spell and the floor slickens underneath three lepers near Yanos.
One leper falls prone, while the other two manage to keep their footing.
Henry smacks one of the lepers with the flat of his blade and the man fall to the ground unconscious.
Ben-Garri begins to chant and casts a spell and steps backward, urging the lepers to press the attack. Kill the infidels!
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Orryn can't tell what spell the gestures made by the man in the black jackal death mask indicate, but he quickly assesses the situation as only a soldier can — this man is the true threat, and must be neutralized.
Orryn reaches into his haversack and pulls out a thunderstone. His action will provoke from the tripped leper and the one still vertical, but still he does not flinch.
Fendahl smacks the prone leper with the flat of his blade. The defenseless leper can't avoid the attack and takes the full brunt of Fendahl's fury. The man stops moving, blood coming from his ears and nose.
Linnea lashes out with her whip and knocks down another leper.
Orryn reaches into his sack and pulls out a thunderstone, lobbing it toward the priest.
The is a terrific boom as the thunderstone lands, but the priest manages to cover his ears.
Two lepers try to attack Orryn as he digs through his pack, but neither can hit him.
The lepers try to attack again, but fail to hit again, while the two in the grease cannot gain any traction.
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Not wanting to strike these men, I'll take a 5ft step back and cast instead Burst of Radiance, "Be careful friends, the dark priest has called on his liege for divine sanctuary".
& Refl DC 15
Yanos casts a spell and a flash of bright light bursts across the hut. Four lepers fall, all dead.
The priest, Ben-Garri, first grunt of pain turns to horror as his paws at his eyes and stumbles.
Vasilios' spear snakes out and pulls the feet out of the lone standing leper, knocking him to the ground.
Henry smacks the flat of his blade against another prone leper, knocking the man unconscious.
Ben-Garri casts a spell and points in the direction of Yanos while yelling, "I command thee to prostrate yourself!" The priest then stumbles backward blindly.
Yanos grits his teeth and resists the foul priest's order.
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Fendahl moves up 30', side-stepping the greased area and corpses now littering the floor.
Well, at least I will not be the only one jailed for murder now.
"Enough of this nonsense. We are not playing anymore. You are up to some treachery here and we shall end it."
Fendahl challenges the caster and swings with his katana.
for AC +1 Vs Caster.
Fendahl moves into striking distance of Ben-Garri. His katana whistles through the air as his blade sinks into the priest. The priest's eyes go wide behind the mask as he crumples to the ground.