Garavel lifts the tent’s flap, allowing the five of you through. You notice that by now, two of the red-armored warriors stand guard at either side of the entrance. They glance at you as you enter, but are otherwise still.
The interior of the tent proves even more extravagant than its exterior, appearing fit for royalty. Dimly lit by a number of candles, you see that the room is decorated lavishly with fine furniture, including a pair of luxurious beds towards the back of the tent. Seeming somewhat out of place is a large, old wooden table, situated closer to the entrance; a large map seems to be spread across its surface, held open by a quartet of stones. Your employer stands before you, leaning slightly against the edge of the table.
Up close, her appearance definitely seems to flaunt her apparent wealth. Her outfit, while suitable for hot weather, appears to be a pastiche of expensive fabrics. She wears numerous pieces of jewelry, much of it golden and some studded with small rubies. Even the sword and dagger at her belt seem more decorative than practical. With tanned skin, raven hair and generous lips accentuated by subtle applications of makeup (in the middle of the desert, no less), all in all, she seems both young and attractive. She watches the newcomers closely, waiting until you have all settled in before speaking.
“I suppose an introduction is in order,” she begins, her arms folded, “I am Almah Roveshki, leader of this expedition, as appointed by the Pactmasters of Katapesh. And as you already know, Garavel here is my majordomo - as far as you should be concerned, he is my second in command. Now then…"
“We will have to establish the terms of your employment, but there is something I must ask of you first. It is entirely possible that the fire was simply an accident, but under the circumstances, I cannot afford to take any chances. I want you to investigate what - or who - caused it.” Almah’s tone shifts, becoming slightly more distraught as she continues speaking. “A man died in that fire; if someone in this camp was responsible, then I must know. The five of you were not here when the fire started… with this at least, I believe that I can trust you. Garavel, of course, can lend you his aid with this matter.” Having finished speaking, she stands there expectantly.
"Does she even know how to survive out here? She reeks of a city-dweller, and is a liability until she proves otherwise. Her command decisions could spell dire consequences for us all. She warrants further observation."
Khasra steps forward and begins to speak in an even voice.
"Very well. I want the names of everyone who was present before the rest of us arrived. Who was around that wagon at the time of the fire? Does any member of the caravan use magic?"
He takes a breath and continues.
"Have there been any sightings of bandits or other roaming groups? Any strange weather patterns? Anything out of the ordinary is what I want. Little details, even those that you may have passed over thinking they were unimportant."
He finishes and looks at the others to see if they have anything to say. His eyes and face are impassive.
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Thurrios whispers to Khasra, "be sure and get the names of any women suspected of adultery."
"EMPLOYMENT?!" Khatijah blurts out, cutting off Khasra in the process. From how wide her eyes are and the way her jaw hangs open, she was not expecting this. As the seconds, tick by, her face flushes as she realizes she just broke another rule of being a slave, don't talk unless asked or commanded to do it.
Her mouth closes with a click and the already small girl seems to be barely a foot tall, and waiting of the inevitable lightning bolt of wrath that would be her doom.
"Speak your mind girl."
Khatijah stays silent. She doesn't even move. Thurrios wasn't her master. The woman who Garavel served was.
Upon her outburst, Almah blinks at Khatijah incredulously, more surprised than upset or angered. Garavel coughs into his hand slightly, drawing her attention.
“Khatijah and Marossa are the property of the Pactmasters,” he explains, gesturing toward them.
“Ah.” Almah nods in acknowledgement, but says nothing more on the matter. Instead she turns to Khasra, intent on answering his questions.
“I daresay that no group of brigands in their right minds would come this far north - this is gnoll territory. That being said, I do not believe gnolls were responsible either. If what I have heard about them is any indication, things would have gone far more… violently. And the weather has been normal, more or less. As for who was around the wagon, I cannot say. I was in here when it started. Everyone else however...”
As though if he were on cue, Garavel steps forward to interject.
“Fixx, Keldon, Podarn and Vodrave are the guards in red that you saw outside. They were directly assigned to protect Almah by the Pactmasters - I can vouch for their loyalty.
“Zastoran is Almah’s personal physician… she has known him for several years now. He dabbles in alchemy, but I have only ever seen him concocting curatives.
“Hadrod and Hadrah handle the livestock. They provide us with food and transportation.
“Trevvis, Utarchus, Dullen, Kallien, Brotis and Yesper are of a mercenary company that we hired some time ago. I believe Trevvis is their leader.
“And Dashki…”
“...is our gnoll expert,” Almah finishes, eying her majordomo briefly. He offers a barely perceptible shrug before stepping back. She looks back to the five of you, sighing. “Sixteen of us. Eloais was our astrologer, but he is no longer with us.” She seems a little wistful while saying this, but is otherwise attentive to the task at hand.
Khasra merely glances at Thurrios when he makes his comment.
Sami lets out an audible sigh as the whole situation is explained. She wasn't one who had knowledge in matters such as this nor was she one who enjoyed such things. Mulling the situation over in her head as it's explained she silently thinks until more speech interrupts her thought. Quietly she pains as Khatijah's status is once again pointed out. There wasn't much she could do at the moment, but the presence of such things left a bad taste in her mouth.
"Do you mind if I inquire as to why you had an astrologer here? It seems like an odd person for anyone to want dead."
Finishing her statement Sami goes back to her thoughts. Desna had brought her here for a reason and would figure out why.
"It is in Varisian tradition to have someone familiar with the Harrow on a caravan," Almah replies sullenly. "Having him with us felt... right. I do not know why anyone would have wanted him dead," she adds, shaking her head.
Marossa listens carefully to Mistress Almah as she sways slightly on her feet. Her hands tremble slightly as her slightly sunken eyes roam over the tented room, waiting to be ordered.
Khatijah listens as well, but her mind keeps insisting on imagining what her punishment is going to be. Those that look close enough see she's shaking slightly and her eyes remain fixed on a spot three feet in front of her feet.
"Not being Varisian, I was unaware of that peculiarity. I will try and remember it, although it also seems a bit odd having Varisian traditions observed here in Keleshite lands."
"Varisia is the land of my ancestors," she replies, sounding almost nostalgic, "I have never been there, but I have always honored the traditions of its people." The merchant princess glances at Garavel briefly, her tone suddenly becoming more authoritative again.
"Now then, unless you have any other questions, I would like you to get started with your investigation."
"Yes, well, my ancestors live in the City of Brass, but you don't see me..., well, it doesn't matter." He looks around to his companions, "any of you that are willing to speak actually have any questions?"
"I would like to suggest we investigate in pairs. I don't think it would be safe to do so alone if the killer could still be about the camp."
Sami speaks up and looks around at her comrades. She would pretty much do with anyone other then Khasra. She wasn't much one to hold a grudge, but she certainly needed some more time before she could deal with his temperament once more.
"Almah, it would seem we're good with the question and answer period, so we'll get right on this."
Thurrios waves the group together, "before we split up, if that's the plan, we need to know who can do what? Who is glib of tongue? Who has a keen eye? Who has seen combat before? And if you haven't what's your plan for when you run across it?"
He pauses a moment, "allow me to begin. I will admit to being a decent conversationalist, albeit not gifted like the bards. I also have a reasonably keen eye. However, I am only reasonably well read on the subjects of religion, and planar theory. Oh, I might also mention, that while not a ranger, I suppose I can identify tracks reasonably often."
"So what about the rest of you?"
Reasonable questions, though he needs to stop flapping his mouth about everything else."
"I am a desert survivalist and tracker. As for combat, I am proficient as Gnolls are a constant threat on the frontier." he says evenly.
Khatijah, follows the others out, just grateful that her new master, whatever Garavel had said about who owned her, wasn't ready to make an example of her just yet.
"I spent half of my life in the pits fighting. It's about the only thing I'm good at." she answers Thurrios.
Sami thinks over what Thurrios said.
"I can hold my own in a fight, but I'm not afraid to speak up either."
Marossa's short stature stands behind and to the side of Sami, her mouth remaining shut as she listens to each person in turn. Waiting until everybody else has finished before responding to Thurrios, "I... I can sing, and play a flute... and my former Master," Marossa's body ducks forward only to catch itself, as if she was going to go to her knees, "Had scholars and magicians teach me, but I can't really fight."
"The flute huh? If we run into any cobras in baskets, that will prove most useful!"
Sami smiles at Marossa as she eyes her nervousness. She wasn't sure what her life had been like as a slave, but certainly she was nervous about speaking up. Standing up a bit straighter the woman speaks up again.
"Why don't Marossa and I go speak to Zastoran and then you three can go speak to the mercenary group. Maybe we can figure something out."
Garavel lingers in the tent a while longer before following the rest of you out.
"Everyone in camp should be awake for a while longer," he remarks in regards to Sami's suggested plan of action, "Most should be receptive to your inquiries. It would not be in their best interests to to be uncooperative."
After Garavel speaks, Khatijah goes to retrieve a few things, namely the scale mail and the greatsword she brought with her. After donning the armor and shouldering the sword she waits for the others.
"Very well, even a bad plan can be better than no plan at all."
Sami gives Thurrios a disapproving look at his "bad plan" comment. Maybe he didn't mean it in an insulting manner, but that was how it came off. Regardless she stops herself from picking a fight. Now wasn't the time nor place.
"Amada."
She says, falling back on her Elvish. After that she looks over to Marossa.
"That's get going. I'd prefer not to sleep without knowing if I'm going to wake up to the smell smoke and sight of flame."
"We will run with Sami's plan."
Thurrios heads off to find the mercs.
Khatijah follows Thurrios, though she wonders why they'd need her. She is aware that she's not much of a conversationalist.
The mercenaries prove rather easy to locate - they are certainly loud enough. The raucous sextet sits around a campfire, exchanging crude jokes, laughing loudly, and passing around a waterskin that is probably not filled with water. From the looks of them, it was almost impossible to tell that just a few minutes ago, two of them had almost burned to death.
Zastoran, though more subdued, is not particularly hard to find either. The old man could be seen near his wagon, meticulously organizing the contents of a rather large chest. He mumbles to himself as he does so, a sound accompanied by the occasional clinking of glass.
Thurrios will sit down with the mercenaries and just chat, sort of palsy walsy like for a bit. Throwing in random thoughts and questions:
"Wow, bad luck today."
"I'm glad you two guys are ok though."
"Damn shame about the fortune teller and all."
"Did you guys know him well?"
"How long have you been with Almah?"
"Seen any good action out here?"
"Think anyone will miss the dead guy? Think anyone won't?"
"What are your thoughts on the members of the group overall?"
"How about the 'gnoll expert,' Dashki?"
When he says "gnoll expert" he'll do the finger quotation bit, or whatever the culturally equivalent symbol is.
Khatijah merely listens, letting Thurrios do the talking and doing her best to be unobtrusive.
Sami heads off with Marossa to track down Zastoran. Finding him digging through some wares the girl calls out to him as she approaches.
"Hey!"
She lets out her greeting as she waves her hand courteously.
"Mind if we ask you a few questions about what happened?"
Marossa follows quietly behind Sami, absentmindedly pulling out a small cloth wrapped package from under the folds of her simple linen skirt wrapped tightly around her waist. Her hand trembles for a moment as she stays in Sami's shadow, letting the package warm in her hand as she adds to Sami's introduction, "Mi-Mistress Almah would be most appreciative of anything you could tell us."
"I wonder what that constellation is."
The mercenaries initially seem hostile towards the newcomers, evidently regarding themselves as a rather exclusive group. After a few introductions and upon realizing that you were some of the ones who helped them out however, the ice breaks and the waterskin starts getting passed around again. The disreputable lot is more than happy to use the opportunity given to them by Thurrios to share some of their less than humble opinions and “theories.” Between the drinking and laughter, it gets rather difficult to tell when exactly they are joking.
“This is the most ‘action’ we’ve had since we signed up a couple a weeks ago. Fine by us; we get paid by the day.”
“Eloais? That little wimp had no business being here. What the bloody hell did we need some shoddy fortune teller for? We’re here to fight! Still though, poor bastard didn’t deserve what he got. Tried to pull him out of there myself, but…”
While their disdain for the astrologer seems only half-hearted at this point, at the mention of Dashki, it becomes clear that they think even less of him.
“’Gnoll expert’ my ass. Mangy git might as well be a gnoll himself. Certainly smells the part. He doesn’t usually hang around with us, thank the gods. Now that I think about it, he wasn’t around when the fire started either. Was probably spying on Almah – little animal probably wants to get into her knickers or something. Not that I can blame him.”
“Hey, now that you mention it, she was pretty friendly with Eloais, yah? Maybe he already conquered that territory. Probably made the dirty bastard jealous.”
They continue to elaborate on this theory of theirs, going on to make to several lewd jokes.
Zastoran continues to grumble under his breath as Sami and Marossa approach him, before finally shutting the chest and putting it under lock and key. He lets out a tired sigh, but his expression brightens considerably when he finally notices the two women.
"It's you again!" he says enthusiastically, smiling warmly, "It hadn't occurred to me before, but you must be the new hires. I suppose I should introduce myself. I am Father Zastoran, a devoted follower of Nethys, as well as this group’s medical professional. It is good to see that Garavel found others skilled in healing.”
Upon hearing Sami’s question, the old man’s expression and tone sadden.
“Ah, yes… of course. Well, I will help you in any way I can.”
Thurrios gives it a throaty laugh as the mercenaries are speculating on the relationships involved.
"Well, in that vein of thought, perhaps Zastoran then? As her physician, he would be in a position to have known her somewhat intimately. Do you know him all that well?"
"How about the two Hads? They seem innocent enough. Ever seen them mistreat the livestock?"
"It's probably a natural stae of affairs for mercenaries such as yourselves and guards such as the redlegs over there to have a healthy rivalry, but do you ever get together and chat?"
"Where is Dashki now?" Khatijah asks bluntly after the mercenaries finish joking about who was in her master's skirts.
Turning the conversation away from the crude jokes takes a considerable amount of effort. Their opinions about everyone else in the camp do not seem to be nearly as colorful. As far as Trevvis is concerned, the old man helped saved his life. Hadrah, the camel driver's wife, is evidently quite the cook - having such a luxury on a job like this kept them more than content. The mercenaries do not seem have much to say about the Pactmasters' guards. They are stalwart, humorless, and would not know a good time if it slapped them across the face.
"Dashki? I dunno. Probably skulking around somewhere. He usually sleeps by the tree though," Trevvis remarks, gesturing toward the Sultan's Claw.
Sami smiles gently at the man's response. He seemed rather agreeable, but that didn't stop her suspicion from bleeding through.
"So can you tell us what you were doing when the fire started?"
The girl continues her smile as she says this, but her eyes show a clear attention to detail.
Zastoran takes a seat on the chest, thoughtfully running some fingers through his short, white beard.
"Of course, of course... I was over there by the campfire, with those fellows the two of you healed and their friends. I was trying to catch up on some reading before suppertime, but I couldn't concentrate with all the racket those six were making. So, I decided to come back over here and reorganize some of my alchemy equipment instead. That's about when I heard the shouting. I was in a hurry to grab some potions in case anyone was hurt, but accidentally knocked the whole damned shelf over... I suppose the rest is history."
He rubs the back of his head, seemingly embarrassed by this last part.
"Thanks," Khatijah says before heading off to look for the "Gnoll Expert."
Once she finds him, or someone that fits his description, she asks, "You Dashki?"
Sami mulls over Zastoran's response for a second. Thinking it over in her head it seemed reasonable enough. She was a bit surprised he had a shelf to knock over, but she also wasn't familiar with caravans either. Looking to validate his story, the girl pays special attention hoping to look for any hesitation in the man's response to her next question.
"I read a bit as well on my travels. Do you mind if I ask what book it was you were read, and if you would recommend it?"
Following Trevvis' suggestion, Khatijah finds Dashki by the tree, the spot being just out of the line of sight of the mercenaries' campfire. The gnoll expert however, is awake. He leans against the base of the tree, a gnarled wooden staff resting against his body.
Dressed in filthy-looking rags, the dark-haired gnoll expert carries himself with a brooding demeanor. Just by getting near him, it becomes immediately apparent that he has a very poor relationship with hygiene, as he emits a powerful stench. As Khatijah approaches him, his beady eyes dart to her, scrutinizing her.
"Yeah, I am. What of it?" he asks with an uncouth tone, his voice betraying the same suspicion as his expression.
The old alchemist reaches into his colorful robes, pulling a small, hardcover volume out from a pocket. He holds the red book out for Sami to see.
"A collection of poems written by Bellianais," he explains, smiling fondly, "He is a favorite of mine; I would recommend him to anyone with a sense of culture. Not that there are any people like that around here."
With a sigh, he adds, "Asides from Eloais. No one else cared to discuss such things. Understandable, of course."
Marossa's eyes snap up from the ground at the mention of Bellianais, stepping forward looking past Sami's arm at the book, "Assayed Zastoran, you read Bellianais? My instructors were preparing to teach me those poems before I was um... sold to Al anesah Almah." Marossa self consciously reaches up to touch her collar for a moment before letting her hand fall again, "I don't mean to impose... but would you be willing to teach me?"
I'll go and talk tot he two Hads and see what they have to tell me on these subjects.
I'm particularly interested in the "gnoll expert."
While Khasra notes the things said by the men, he pays their derisive attitude little mind. As they go to speak with Dashki is when Khasra comments again.
"They don't like the gnoll hunter. We shall soon find out if they are justified." he says with a small bit of curiosity in his voice.
As they arrive he finds Marossa engaged in conversation with the man. Khasra moves next to the woman and waits while giving a small nod to the hunter.