All of you have been traveling together for more than a week on a dreary camel caravan from the town of Solku to an unknown location in the northern scrublands of Katapesh. The man who hired each of you is Garavel, the no-nonsense major-domo of a merchant princess, Almah, awaiting you at the destination. You don't know much of why you have been hired, but you do know that it is dangerous, and involves taking back a location that was previously owned by the Pactmasters of Katapesh. Garavel has let it slip that Almah was tasked this mission by the Pactmasters, and no one you know ever disobeys the mysterious figures that rule over Katapesh.
In the distant haze to the west, you all can just make out the immense outline of Pale Mountain looming over the mid-afternoon horizon like a tombstone. The day's heat has been harsh, and the other environmental conditions unforgiving. The mountain almost seems like a foreboding omen, one seemingly fitting with the relentless surroundings. At the head of the procession, Garavel speaks, his voice flat and emotionless but carrying at the same time. "We are nearing our destination. The Sultan's Claw." As soon as the craggy tree appears over the next hill, it becomes obvious why it is named so. With five immense, mostly leafless branches, the growth looks more like a giant skeletal talon than a thing of living wood.
Gerr stops, wiping his brow and frowning at the high sun. He's tall, yet rail thin and so blond he's almost white haired, a strange trait for a Northlander so far from his ancestral home. He wears a curious weapon for the desert: a trident lashed across his back and crossed with a brace of three javelins. Periodically he stops, pulls out a small leatherbound book and writes something in the flowing Keleshite script.
"I note by my marks that we've seen only fifteen buzzards this entire trip and of those, twelve in the last two days. It does seem to me that we approach a place of death and I am not excited by the idea." His eyes seem to cloud with a strange darkening, as he seems to remember something painful from his past. 'Haleen, I swore I'd find you and I will.' he murmurs under his breath, then takes a moment to whisper words of magic that leave his attire clean and sweat-free once more (prestidigitation.) As he moves on, his traveling cloak slips down at the nape of his neck to reveal a curious blue birth mark in the shape of crescent moon with three stars above. It does not appear to be a tattoo, but a definite birthmark.
Young Faysal is a polite, easy-going man of Kelish descent. His long, dark hair and beard are typical of his heritage though the former is hidden under a plain turban. White clothing decorated sparingly with gold threading covers his thin but wiry frame. Faysal can normally be seen bearing a wide smile and he takes easily to the company of others, spending the majority of his time chatting amiably with any willing to lend an ear or voice. He loves to discuss varied topics but particularly enjoys spending his days discussing religious or philosophical topics.
On the day the caravan reaches the Sultan's Claw the young Kelish man seems particularly chatty. "Not perhaps the most comely of sights," He begins in a polished, honeyed tone. "I should hope all our 'encounters' will not be as barren on this journey as the mountains appear."
The young Garundi had walked in silence for much of the journey, occasionally offering a hesitant comment to Faysal’s discussions, but for the most part lost in his own thoughts. Now, as the caravan crests the hill, he recalls the words of Venture-Captain Larasso, “This should be a good first assignment for you to sink your teeth into,” she had drawled in her thick accent, “as a native of Katapesh you should be well suited to uncovering the mysteries of Kelmarane… But do be careful of the gnolls, it wouldn’t do for you to be eaten this early in your career.”
At his more talkative companion’s words, Jakari draws to a halt subconsciously scanning the horizon for landmarks, his eyes shaded by the wide brimmed hat atop his black haired head. He brings his waterskin carefully to his mouth and takes a few gulps before storing the skin somewhere hidden beneath the billowing beige robes he wears. Wiping his mouth dry, he brushes his hand against the short black growth of hair extending from his lower lip and turns to the group, “this place might not be so barren as it looks,” he begins softly, not holding anyone’s gaze for long, “that the tree grows at all suggests there is some water nearby for at least part of the year.”
The halforc named Chance stood in thought for a moment thinking What in the Stars of Heaven was Haleen doing out here. He stood taller than average, but broad of build. His actions, slow and deliberate, reflected this. Good looking, his orcness adding an exotic, rather than brutish, look to his appearance.
Hired for his strong back, Chance is also a trained healer, tending the bumps and bruises of travel with a kind word and a smile. Chance is friendly and open, when he talks at all. Mostly he lets Gerr do his talking. Chance bears a staff and starknife, he wears leather armor and occasionally a wooden holy symbol(Desna) can be seen.
Mysteriously, the water containers of the caravan seem to be full.
Clad in all black except for the upper half of his head (as avatar pic), Gregory appears to be none the worse for ware despite the elements. Gregory has been staying toward the back of the caravan, observing all those involved, attempting to discern their purposes. As such, he has spoken little to the other travelers.
As the caravan nears the so called "Sultan's Claw," the mockery of seemingly lifeless branches, Gregory dismounts the camel with ease and scans the distance. Seeing only the haze near the mountains edge, Gregory knows that the trek has more to go and is slightly agitated at the delay.
Gregory mutters under his breath in Infernal "Khafira may have some use for these areas."
Gregory stands 6 feet tall with a now sandy brown cloak, an elegant black ponytail, about 180 pounds and athletically built. His black eyes often leave the viewer wondering what is hidden within.
He has the posture and aura of someone who is fully confident in his abilities but doesn't speak of them. Upon his back while mounted is a ranseur, lustrous and black, tied securely but with a quick release for instant access along with a light crossbow off to one side. While he walks, the ranseur is used as a "walking stick." If one looks carefully, there can be seen an assortment of daggers arrayed in various places.
Gregory will walk to the head of the caravan, near Garavel, and asks in Osariani "When do we expect to arrive at our destination?" and whispers " and what townships might we encounter along the way?"
Gregory slides a tube made for his waterskin under his mask and drinks for a bit while waiting for Garavel's response, if any. If no response, Gregory will stand next to the camel on which he was riding and keep an eye on the "claw" and anything suspicious in front or rear.
As the group tops the last rise, a caravan of a half-dozen wagons and a large tent clustered around the distinctive tree comes into view. Camels in a nearby pen prance in agitation, and a clutch of confused goats and livestock wander the grounds around the wagons. Perhaps a dozen men and women rush around the campsite, chasing down an animal or hastening toward the center of the cluster, near the Sultan’s Claw, with pails of water in their hands.
One of the wagons is on fire!
Lush orange and red flames engulf an elaborate wooden wagon emblazoned with painted moons and stars. A gout of smoke pours from an open door, and as you approach an ill wind blows a number of colorful fortune-telling Harrow cards from inside the wagon. One of these singed cards blows directly towards Gerr, catching against his chest in a burst of orange cinders. He recognizes that it is the Cyclone, signifying a force that tears through whatever it meets at the behest of an intelligent being. The card portends war, arson, and destructive plans.
As the your eyes shift their focus from the fortune card back to the wagon, the whole of the Sultan’s Claw erupts into brilliant flame. The central flap of an elaborate tent flies open and a regal woman who can only be Almah steps out into the firelit night. “Douse that flame!” she shouts to the men surrounding the wagon before turning in your direction. They begin to form a water line, taking turns to douse the flame with buckets full of the liquid. “Ah, Garavel!” she says. “And just a moment later than the nick of time, as usual.”
Looking specifically past her major domo and directly at all of you, Almah barks out a simple order before running off toward the fire: “Find some way to help!”
Gregory smirks and makes a face at the "order" of Almah and would look annoyed. He looks for the water bags of the caravan, intent on using them to douse it quicker if necessary.
Also, after clearing his throat, "Does anyone have water magics we can use to extinguish the fire?"
If Gregory has witnessed the half orc Create Water, he would instead ask "Would you be willing to lend your aid?"
"Fascinating!" Gerr says, looking down at the Harrow card. Clearly this warrants more thought... At the sound of the command to aid, he rushes forward, unslinging his waterskins and dousing the blaze as best he can. As soon as those are emptied, he reslings them and pulls forth his trident to tear away the burning fabric to keep the fire from spreading.
Faysal's response to Almah is swift as he hurries in and begins trying to organise the people into a more efficient unit. The young Kelishite drops his gear to move more easily about barking orders and offering tips.
"You there, lift with your legs!"
"Sooth the animal before trying to restrain it!"
"Mind the fire, watch that it doesn't spread!"
Once it appears the group is working in a more organised manner, Faysal joins the line and helps bring in water. He appears to enjoy the excitement of the moment and eagerly aids the strangers of Almah's caravan.
Jakari’s eyes widen in concern when he sees the fire, and he seems momentarily distracted as the burning harrow card crashes against Gerr, but he quickly rushes forward upon hearing Almah’s command. Joining the water line he keeps a watchful eye for any further floating motes of flame, ready to douse any additional blazes before they have chance to take hold.
If Chance responds to the query, Gregory will suggest using 3 spells of water, if he is able; one on each end covering a full circle around the wagon and lastly one directly over top.
If Chance doesn't respond, Gregory will shrug and move to remove the covering via his ranseur then assist with passing water and looking around for signs of trouble.
Chance is slow to react for a variety of reasons. He doesn't like someone giving him orders (bad memories of growing up) and he just doesn't react quickly (low dex). He also wanted to keep his abilities secret, but not to the point of endangering lives. So, seething internally about obeying a command, Chance will move forward and begin to use create water on the fires.
Gripping his holy symbol with his staff, he will stretch forth his hand and cast his prayers to Desna for water.
Gerr takes a moment to consider the Harrow card for a moment, but then flies into action. His waterskins aid in dousing the fire, as a patch of fire on the side of the wagon is put out to reveal a grouping of burnt, but golden painted stars. His actions in the bucket brigade are helpful as well, as the number of people in the line increases to seven, speeding up the passage of water to the fire.
Faysal's silver tongue spurs the men around him into action, some helping stop the various farm animals running rampant and some moving the other wagons away from the blaze. When he joins the water line, the number of members increases to eight, and the fire begins to noticebly look smaller. He passes Almah once in rotation, and she briskly nods in approval.
When Jakari picks up a bucket and enters the frenzy, the number of people helping to put out the fire increases to nine. He notices a group of people in rugged leather armor trying to pull another unharmed wagon away from the structure that is currently burning, but they seem to be having some trouble.
Gregory and Chance's plan works spendidly, as the repeated use of the water spell is surprisingly effective. The magically born water rains down first around the wagon then over the burning cart, and combined with the efforts of Almah, her guards, Garavel, and the rest of the party, the blaze is extinguished.
With the fire gone, the chaos that had enraptured the rest of the camp begins to die down as well. Many of Almah's servants wearing the red, chitinous armor of the Pactmaster's Guard are lying exhausted on the dry, cracked ground. People putter around returning animals to their pens and then returning themselves to each of their individual wagons.
Almah stands in front of the burned husk of a wagon, her expression indescribable. Garavel steps up behind her and places his hand comfortingly on her shoulder. "I am sorry, my princess." She only nods.
Then, with a surprisingly regal twist of her figure, Almah takes long, graceful strides towards the group. "My name is Almah, princess of House Roveshki. I assume you are the ones who I requested assemble here today."
The princess is a gorgeous young woman, her skin a honeyed tan color and her hair a silken hue of night skies. Even with ash and soot sprinkled upon her figure, Almah is quite the picture of beauty. Though it is easy to see that the princess is not entirely of native blood, her wavy, form-filled black hair and curvy figure are obvious evidence of Varisian ancestry.
"I had wished to welcome you all in a more... gracious fashion and discuss our mission. But I now see that course of action is not possible at the moment. One of the members of my caravan is no longer of this world, and I do not know how or why this fire was started."
"Do not worry," Begins the Kelish man in smooth tones to Almah. "Things happen and we can not always work in the manner we intend. Who is the deceased? No doubt we should prepare for their passing to the next life. Though I am no priest I have some knowledge of the rituals."
Faysal waits for others to add to the conversation instinctively reaching for his holy symbol; a key topped with a coin depicting Katapesh.
Chance will let the holy symbol fall back on the string around his neck, not bothering to hide it this time. Having the time to reflect while praying for water, he composes himself and suppresses his natural distaste for authority to listen to her politely. When he recognizes her Varisian blood, he is a bit startled. While his ancestry is not known, the Desna cleric who taught him often remarked that he thought Chance had Varisian blood. He will let the others do the talking, for what would he say to a princess, a gorgeous one at that.
Once the fire is subdued Jakari visibly relaxes, glancing casually around the camp to ensure his aid is no longer required. When the princess approaches however, his demeanour takes on a slightly anxious aspect as he hastily wipes dust and ash from his robes.
“Yes, m’lady. Um, I am Jakari… of the Three Fountains,” the pathfinder speaks in response to Almah’s greeting, shuffling from foot to foot nervously, “ah, I am sorry for your loss.” He offers a sympathetic smile before drifting off into a somewhat awkward silence.
In Osiriani to the princess in a whisper "Also, should you need a scout or someone as an invisible bodyguard or the like, I am adequate at those tasks. I won't say I am the best as there is always someone better but, I'm not a bad alternative to the best."
As Gregory departs from the princess's company, he rubs his hands together and utters lowly in Infernal "Let's see what we can do."
Gregory then moves to the wagon and will appraise the damage, to his best guess, and search for clues as to the cause of the fire.
If the burial should be occurring, unless Gregory has found something definitive, he will attend.
If Gregory attends the burial, he will attempt to keep the burnt wagon in sight, so as to notice anyone or thing that may tamper/remove something not found, etc.
"A pleasure, my lady. I am Gerr Herricksen, a humble scholar and observer of the world. I am glad to be of any help that I may to you and your cause. I do, however, seek one named Haleem, who it is said by wagging tongues, may have been sighted in these parts. Have you heard of her?" Gerr proceeds to describe Haleem in detail.
Prior to Gregory speaking with Almah, he looks over to the cleric "Thanks for the assist, we could work well together." To everyone else in the caravan, sweeping across them all, "excellent work, with such an ethic, nothing can stand in our way. I look forward to meeting you all." As an afterthought, Gregory states " Oh yes, i'm Gregory."
"Do not worry. Things happen and we can not always work in the manner we intend. Who is the deceased? No doubt we should prepare for their passing to the next life. Though I am no priest I have some knowledge of the rituals."
"I... well..." The princess looks Faysal up and down for a moment and then sighs. "It was Eloais. He was our caravan's fortuneteller, and my... close friend. He was from Varisia, and quite skilled at his divinitary trade." Almah nods, her hair bouncing in the sunlight. "Yes. We will cremate him after we have discerned the manner of his death and take care that it never will happen again. The spirits would not be happy if we put him to rest before that. Though... I would request that you be there and supply knowledge of your rituals when we do send Eloais into the next world. You are called?"
“Yes, m’lady. Um, I am Jakari… of the Three Fountains. Ah... I am sorry for your loss.”
"A pleasure to meet you, Jakari. And I will overcome this loss in time, so it isn't a cause for you to worry about."
"A pleasure, my lady. I am Gerr Herricksen, a humble scholar and observer of the world. I am glad to be of any help that I may to you and your cause. I do, however, seek one named Haleem, who it is said by wagging tongues, may have been sighted in these parts. Have you heard of her?"
"A pleasure to meet you as well, Gerr Herricksen. If your words are true, I trust that you will put forth much effort during this dangerous journey. I thank you. But... I have no knowledge of this Haleen you speak of. I'm sorry, but perhaps someone else in the camp knows of her?"
"I will look into this fire and discern what I can, I am not an expert but I shall try. The sooner we have this solved the sooner we can reach our destination. Also, should you need a scout or someone as an invisible bodyguard or the like, I am adequate at those tasks. I won't say I am the best as there is always someone better but, I'm not a bad alternative to the best."
"Thank you, I would like that very much if you investigated the fire and its cause." In a lower voice, Almah adds. "I have Garavel for a guard. But if you prove worthy... there might be a position for you."
Gregory approached the burnt out wooden wagon, faint painted images of starry skies and rising suns barely present under layers of black soot. Wet, but burnt Harrow cards litter the ground outside the once elaborate cart. His examination doesn't turn up much, a few broken vials, a cracked crystal ball, and several pools of melted wax. But in the center of the wagon lies a charred skeletal form that can only be Eloais. There are no signs of struggle or violence, suggesting that the fortune teller died by smoke inhalation or by the fire itself. Just before Gregory stops looking around in the wagon, he notices a small blackened chest, with a symbol of a black butterfly lying on the floor of the wagon.
The princess's eyes suddenly flare up in determination, a change that everyone can notice in her body movements and verbal tone. "I would actually prefer if all of you would look into this matter for me. If you find out anything, report directly to Garavel. I know all of you couldn't have started the fire, as you were not here when the blaze struck our caravan."
Gregory
"I... well..." The princess looks Faysal up and down for a moment and then sighs. "It was Eloais. He was our caravan's fortuneteller, and my... close friend. He was from Varisia, and quite skilled at his divinitary trade." Almah nods, her hair bouncing in the sunlight. "Yes. We will cremate him after we have discerned the manner of his death and take care that it never will happen again. The spirits would not be happy if we put him to rest before that. Though... I would request that you be there and supply knowledge of your rituals when we do send Eloais into the next world. You are called?"
"Ah yes, forgive me! I am Faysal, Faysal Ali al-Hussain man of many talents."
Faysal's words strike a high note as he relates his full name, obviously taking pains to make sure those nearby overhear. With a light bow he continues on.
"Determining who committed such an atrocity against you shall be our task then. Have you any ideas who might have done this? Anyone with a grudge?"
Chance will speak quietly, still unsure of himself. "Princess, did he speak of Desna, the Goddess of dreams. I understand the Varisians tend to worship her. I will offer my prayers to her on his behalf and will gladly look into this mystery. Perhaps that is why She has brought us here."
Then he too will examine the body(heal +7) and the scene.
Wizards site dice roller: Perception 16+7=23
Gregory notices the scraggly man hiding
In regards to the small blackened chest with a black butterfly symbol,
Gregory attempts to discern its nature or intent using knowledge local/planes/nature and diplomacy.
Knowledge local (Katapesh and surrounding area, Kelmarane, Cheliax southern region from 20 years ago) 14+4=18
Knowledge planes 17+4=21
Knowledge nature 7+4=11
Gregory looks at the hiding man and portrays himself in the most non-threatening manner possible; motions with his gloved hand to come forward while speaking (clears throat quickly) "Please, come forward, I only wish to talk. I will not harm you nor will any others, I won't allow it." Diplomacy 14+5=19
Whatever knowledge attained will be assimilated and given at the appropriate time. Gregory will take care to not disturb the skeletal remains and give Faysal (as he so boisterously announced) room to work.
"Ah yes, forgive me! I am Faysal, Faysal Ali al-Hussain, man of many talents. Determining who committed such an atrocity against you shall be our task then. Have you any ideas who might have done this? Anyone with a grudge?"
Almah only shakes her head. "No, not anyone that I know of... honestly, I'm not even sure this was arson. But if it is, and I suspect it is, I want the culprit caught and brought to justice."
"Princess, did he speak of Desna, the Goddess of dreams. I understand the Varisians tend to worship her. I will offer my prayers to her on his behalf and will gladly look into this mystery. Perhaps that is why She has brought us here."
The princess nods in affirmation and acknowledges the half-orc for the first time. "Indeed, he often consulted the advice and wisdom of your dream-loving god. I thank you cleric for your service, and perhaps Desna will aid you with your search in some way."
"Please, come forward, I only wish to talk. I will not harm you nor will any others, I won't allow it."
When the other man realizes you see him, he starts to walk hurriedly away, tatters flapping in the wind. But Gregory's words calm him, and the man walks cautiously forward. "What do you want."
Gregory can't discern anything particularly unique about the box from what he knows. It looks to have been made from a tree that grows only in Varisia, but other than that, it doesn't seem out of the ordinary. As the rogue moves the box around to examine it, the contents shift around as well and you can softly hear clinking of metal against metal.
Chance's examination of Eloais's body brings up no further clues. It just doesn't seem to have been a violent death, and Eloais most likely died by other means.
You all notice Garavel's distrustful glance towards the scraggly-looking man, the normally emotionless man showing some feelings is a surprise. Over the past week of travelling he's barely smiled or frowned at anything.
Now that the excitement has died down, the members of the caravan begin to walk around the camp once again, engaging in menial daily tasks. But some stick out from the others. There is an old man tampering with a bottle filled with a green liquid to the west of the camp, near a silver-shawled wagon. A man and a woman are working at the pen to the east of the camp, feeding the animals and talking in excited whispers. And Pactmaster guards all sit around Almah's elogant wagon to the north of the camp, talking amongst themselves in their striking scarlet armor.
Faysal glances around at the people of the caravan keeping his gaze moving but trying to take in as many details as possible. He looks back to Almah and watches her curiously.
"Perhaps I am moving too quickly but the fire must have been started by someone. Since you do not know more details perhaps we should ask around?"
Faysal's face reflects a man deep in thought for a short while until he notices the change in Garavel. Seizing upon the opportunity the young Keleshite moves swiftly to the mercenary and begins in a lower voice.
"What is wrong Garavel, has the grief of Almah struck you so deeply?"
Almah nods at Faysal's question and speaks in a tired tone. "Yes, I think that would be a good idea. See what you can find out from the others. But now... I must go and rest. All of this has been taxing on both my body along with my mind. " The princess slowly turns around and walks back to her wagon, disapearing behind the shawls.
Garavel on the other hand, does not seem concerned by Almah's loss at all. "Almah's state of mind is important to my duty, but the princess will soon be alright. She will forget his silly predictions and move on." The warrior's eyes noticably drift over to the long, black haired man again. "I will make sure of that."
Another thoughtful look passes Faysal's features and he pauses another short moment. He regards Garavel carefully and smiles.
"It is good to hear that Garavel, that you would take Almah's state of mind under consideration. Many wouldn't even think of such a thing. But we should concern ourselves with the task at hand, finding out how the fire was started. Have you any ideas Garavel? You must know something of the people here."
After examining the body and saying a payer for the dead, Chance will move around the camp talking with the people, looking at wounds and refilling waterskins (and using Sense Motive). Trying to find out what people know about the situation, what they saw, just anything they want to tell me.
How big is this caravan, approximately?
"It is good to hear that Garavel, that you would take Almah's state of mind under consideration. Many wouldn't even think of such a thing. But we should concern ourselves with the task at hand, finding out how the fire was started. Have you any ideas Garavel? You must know something of the people here."
Garavel says nothing, seemingly deep in thought. With a quick step forward, he mutters quickly into Faysal's ear. "I have my suspicions, but it wouldn't be prudent if other people knew I voiced my opinions to you. So you must keep this quiet." He looks around quickly for any other members of the caravan and then continues. "I have never truly trusted Dashki, our gnoll expert. And if anyone, anyone, here was to be convicted of arson and murder... he would be the least surprising to me."
Chance's inquiries first lead him to the middle-aged looking couple in the animal pen. The pair first shrink away from his appearance, but his kind words and quiet demeanor calm them. After a few minutes, Chance has gathered some information. Helpful or not, he doesn't truly know.
They are a pair of camel drivers, and take care of the animals in the caravan. Their names are Hadrah and Hadrod, the couple excitable and prone to finishing their other sentences.
Hadrah speaks first, her eyes flashing with energy, "I was the first to notice the fire, and was the first to warn Lady Almah about it." She seems very proud of her accomplishment. "But soon after the pen somehow got unlocked and-" Hadrod butts into the conversation then, eyes watering and nose red. "-all the animals escaped! Me an' Hadrah managed to get most of them back, but Rombard, my prize goat, he... he... he's gone!" Hadrod proceeds to break down into tears, his great sobs not effecting his wife in the slightest.
"Oh be quiet, you big baby." She shakes her head disapprovingly and then continues on. "Eloais was nice enough for a foreigner, but I never really understood all his talk about 'Cyclones' and 'Fiends' and 'Uprisings.' Though... Lady Almah always spent time with him, and trusted him, so he must've been a good man, right?"
To Hadrah and Hadrod, "Did you notice anybody around the fire, or maybe anyone acting suspiciously during the fire. Like maybe someone who wasn't surprised by it? What was special about your goat?" Sense Motive, take 10 = 17; are there any strange vibes from them, like maybe the wife did something to the goat? Or maybe, the husband's tears are fake?
Chance will search out the one named Jakari, he had seemed quite at home outdoors. "Pardon me, there is a couple that lost a prize goat. Do you have any skill at tracking?"
Garavel says nothing, seemingly deep in thought. With a quick step forward, he mutters quickly into Faysal's ear. "I have my suspicions, but it wouldn't be prudent if other people knew I voiced my opinions to you. So you must keep this quiet." He looks around quickly for any other members of the caravan and then continues. "I have never truly trusted Dashki, our gnoll expert. And if anyone, anyone, here was to be convicted of arson and murder... he would be the least surprising to me."
Faysal quietly listens to Garavel patiently waiting for the mercenary to continue. The young Kelishite holds for a few seconds then whispers back.
"Why should you suspect this man in particular, this Dashki? I don't suppose you have any evidence of his guilt but what do you know of his character?"
Gregory wrote:
"Please, come forward, I only wish to talk. I will not harm you nor will any others, I won't allow it."
When the other man realizes you see him, he starts to walk hurriedly away, tatters flapping in the wind. But Gregory's words calm him, and the man walks cautiously forward. "What do you want."
Gregory can't discern anything particularly unique about the box from what he knows. It looks to have been made from a tree that grows only in Varisia, but other than that, it doesn't seem out of the ordinary. As the rogue moves the box around to examine it, the contents shift around as well and you can softly hear clinking of metal against metal.
To the straggly man, clearing throat, "I wish to know if you saw anything concerning the fire, the man named Aloais and anything suspicious or anyone with a grudge against Aloais or diviners."
Gregory listens to the mans responses carefully, speaking in a low tone.
After the questions are completed, Gregory will produce the box with the black butterfly on it and ask if the man has seen it or is familiar with, heard tale of, etc.
"Did you notice anybody around the fire, or maybe anyone acting suspiciously during the fire. Like maybe someone who wasn't surprised by it? What was special about your goat?"
Hadrah smiles and laughs loudly. "Well of course there were people around the fire - they were all trying to put it out! Except for Dashki though... I caught a glimpse of him skulking around the Sultan's Claw before it caught on fire and our animals escaped the pen."
Hadrod manages to stop sobbing enough to answer the cleric's question about his goat. "R-Rombard is better than every other goat in Katapesh! He's won countless awards for his silky coat, absolutely delectable milk, and perfectly formed horns! And now... and now! He's missing!" The man resumes his pitiful sobbing.
"Why should you suspect this man in particular, this Dashki? I don't suppose you have any evidence of his guilt but what do you know of his character?"
Garavel scoffs. "Well first off, he's an expert on those horrible fiends. I don't know how he has so much information about the gnolls, but I don't want to find out." His expression sours. "And he has somewhat of a liking for Lady Almah. I would never allow some pitiful creature like Dashki to get close to her."
"I wish to know if you saw anything concerning the fire, the man named Aloais and anything suspicious or anyone with a grudge against Aloais or diviners."
The man's face quickly turns into one of fear, and he loudly proclaims, "Dashki wasn't even near the fire when it started, I didn't have anything to do with it! ...Dashki didn't see anyone near the fire, no, I didn't..."
At the mention of Eloais's name, the other man snarls. "Heh... I didn't like him. Too close to 'Lady Almah.' Dashki never wanted him dead, only gone... but now that this happened... good riddance."
When Faysal moved to speak with Garavel, Jakari looked over to listen, but had backed off to a more discreet distance as their voices adopted a private tone. Mulling over what little information he had, he became lost in thought - until Chance broke him from his reverie.
“Ah,” he exclaims, a slightly startled expression crossing his face, “yes, I think I might be able to help with that… er, maybe you can take me to speak to the couple?”
Garavel scoffs. "Well first off, he's an expert on those horrible fiends. I don't know how he has so much information about the gnolls, but I don't want to find out." His expression sours. "And he has somewhat of a liking for Lady Almah. I would never allow some pitiful creature like Dashki to get close to her."
"While some people may seem reprehensible we must allow Lady Almah to make her own decisions, though I should hope she might choose a more suitable companion." Faysal grins slightly and wipes some of the dust from his clothing. "On a more serious note, I shall continue my efforts to find the source of this fire. Perhaps our companions have more information?"
Faysal glances at Chance and Jakari, nodding to both. He thanks Garavel and with a few measured steps joins them.
"Have the two of you turned up any clues? I have some leads though without more evidence one can not be certain."
The Kelishite pauses in thought, still seeming as though he has more to add but always refraining at the last second.
Jakari is met with open arms from Hadrah and Hadrod, when they learn that he is able to track animals. The husband runs up and grasps the ranger's hands with a frenzied fervor. "Please! You must find Rombard! I- I- I don't know what I'm going to do without that goat!" He degenerates into pitiful sobbing once more. It seems that his loss has effected him greatly, for the man to have been grieving so intensely for such a period of time.
His wife stares at Jakari, her eyes expectant. "Well? Do you agree to find the little bastard?"
The group convenes and relays their information to each other, except for Gregory and Dashki on the outskirts of the camp. It seems that with the information gathered from Garavel, Hadrah, and Hadrod that Dashki is the culprit. You all learn from each other that he is the camp's gnoll expert and that he is attracted to Lady Almah. Also that he didn't try to put out the fire when it was started.
"Hmm. Even if this Dashki is our culprit, it would seem that this attack might have done in order to create a great deal of smoke. Perhaps a signal to some entity in the desert? We must establish a defensive stance for the caravan and then we can search for lost goats!"
Chance
For our shared background, I imagine that Gerr probably tagged after Haleen often, watching her, but saying very little. Observant, but not expressive. Chance and he would have probably been cordial, but not especially close, as Gerr is very much an observer more than a expressive type. I imagine he has fond memories of Chance, but they may have been apart for long enough that he feels he doesn't yet know the adult Chance has become and is watching to see how the dynamic between them has changed...
At the mention of Eloais's name, the other man snarls. "Heh... I didn't like him. Too close to 'Lady Almah.' Dashki never wanted him dead, only gone... but now that this happened... good riddance."
To the scraggly man:
(clears throat slightly)"I take you are Dashki then, as you have stated. You say there was no one near the fire and you had nothing to do with it. I'll believe you unless evidence shows otherwise."
After a moments thought:
(clears throat slightly)"What exactly do you for Almah?
Gregory will pause for the answer.
"It seems you wanted a closer relationship with Almah, which you have the means for now. Now, I disagree with wishing death on someone, who to my knowledge, did nothing to deserve it; but to each their own I suppose. Now, uh, I wish to speak more privately, do you know any other languages?"
Jakari’s eyes widen slightly as Hadrod rushes towards him, but he gives him and his wife a faint smile, “Ah, yes… I would be happy to do what I can to find this, um, Rombard. But my companion Gerr is right when he says that defence should be our first concern,” he shuffles slightly and gives the sorcerer a quick glance, “even if the fire was not a signal, the smoke might attract predators.”
After a brief pause, he leans towards Hadrah and Hadrod, “This Eloais, the, ah, fortune teller… do you know if he had made any predictions recently? Read the, um, harrow cards for somebody perhaps?”
"Setting up an appropriate defense might be important though perhaps we could leave that to the guard?" Faysal eyes the agents of the Pactmasters for a short while before continuing. "I have little personal experience defending in an environment like this, the city or perhaps a road would cater more to my experiences."
Faysal continues to watch the Pactmaster guards assigned to the caravan, hoping to glean some information from their behaviour. As something of an afterthought he glances to Hadrod, adding.
"We could search for your prized animal but only after we have solved the problem involving Eloais. We owe it to Lady Almah after all."
The old couple's eyes widen in shock. Hadrah exclaims loudly, "Do you think that something dangerous out there would notice the smoke? And then-" with Hadrod finishing up in excited tones, "-come here? I wouldn't be surprised if some of those damn gnolls found their way over to the caravan!"
Hadrah's eyes are full of fear, and she speaks quickly and hurriedly. "G-gnolls? Hadrod, we better get inside! I don't want to be here if those monsters come barking and howling over the hills." She nods to Jakari, before rushing into a nearby wagon with her husband. "Yes. He predicted Lady Almah's future every day - until one day he got a result he didn't expect. We don't know what it was, but he stopped reading people's fortunes. That was two days ago..."
"But enough of that talk. So you'll find Rombard after you take care of the defenses then?" She nodded to Faysal. "And after you see to Lady Almah of course. We wouldn't want our problem to come before hers. Hadrod would thank you, if he could stop crying. Expect to see you later." And with that, the aging woman disapears behind the flaps of her wagon.
Chance moves over to Gregory to aid him in questioning Dashki. "Me? Oh, Dashki knows much about gnolls. Yes, yes, I do. And that is important to Lady Almah. This makes Dashki happy, to be important to Lady Almah." And in response to Gregory's question. "Dashki knows only Taldane, Kelish, and little Gnoll. I guess you not know Gnoll..." The man collapses into a fit of choking laughter, something amusing him that you can't quite understand. Chance notices that while everything Dashki has said this far is true... he seems to be a bit uneasy. The man's eyes also constantly flicker towards Almah's wagon.
(clears throat slightly) "If you can help us with your knowledge of gnolls then you would become more important to Lady Almah, as we may aid her and her retinue, including you, in any problems in the near future. I would be interested in what you know about Gnolls and maybe you can teach me how to speak Gnoll; I would teach you something I know in return." Diplomacy 15 total (10+5) if needed
After a brief pause for his answer, (throat clear) "What, may I ask fair Dashki, is so interesting about the lady's wagon? If there is some danger, no matter how small, we would need to know. Oh yes, we are here protecting the caravan, to include Lady Almah and yourself."
Jakari returns Hadrah’s nod as she closes the wagon’s flaps. Frowning to himself, he turns to face Gerr and Faysal before speaking quietly, “perhaps we should speak with Lady Almah about the, um, prediction that apparently unsettled Eloais… it might be that somebody was unhappy about it, or unhappy about what it, ah, revealed, and decided to punish the messenger.”
Jakari returns Hadrah’s nod as she closes the wagon’s flaps. Frowning to himself, he turns to face Gerr and Faysal before speaking quietly, “perhaps we should speak with Lady Almah about the, um, prediction that apparently unsettled Eloais… it might be that somebody was unhappy about it, or unhappy about what it, ah, revealed, and decided to punish the messenger.”
"I concur. Perhaps it is relevant to the current situation?" Gerr will accompany the others to see Almah.