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"We're here to assist your venture if you'll have us...which I hope you will as it would be an Abyss of a trek back out of here otherwise."
This evening, I will see about procuring a shovel and going out on my own for a bit.
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Most of the members of the caravan spend the evening deciding (or in some cases, arguing over) what rooms they will be sleeping in. Almah and Garavel are quick to claim a room within the northern hallway, with her personal guards taking the room adjacent to it. Everyone else is left to their own devices, though they are encouraged to rest. The mercenaries of course, take this as an opportunity to drink and play cards. Zastoran pores over his potion collection, as Hadrod and Hadrah tend to the animals.
They are all too glad to lend Thurrios a shovel, no questions asked.
"Is this true?" Almah asks her majordomo, raising a thin brow.
The man's shoulders might have shrugged, but if so, it was certainly a slight motion. "It is true that I had expected more recruits, but there were time constraints. Our late arrival should attest for that."
"And yet here they are, not even a day behind you," the merchant princess replies with a faint hint of amusement. The glint in her eyes however, betrays her fascination. "Even Eloais had not foreseen this."
"Who this Eloais? Some lesser god you speak with? And besides, we ran fast, hard and long in the great wastelands, as only great champions can," Narkû says before he realizes his mistake. A quick nod in the other two's direction, "... and them too," he finishes with a tusky smile.
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"We might not be great champions like Narks here, but we're still 'okay' champions," says Sarala, taking a jocular tone. She teases in return to the half-orc's comment, "Getting out here wasn't what I'd call the most enjoyable journey, Julius and I pretty much just rode on Narkû's shoulders all the way, bumping up and down."
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"While I do not know if I can claim it was that exciting, but
Narkû certainly did push us like 'champions' to catch up to your caravan so we could help. Either way, we understand if there is any reason to be suspicious. I'm certain we will prove worthy of your trust. I imagine there will be plenty of opportunity ahead."
"Mistress Almah, might I inquire what we will be doing upon infiltrating? That certainly sounds to be an awful lot of gnolls. Without an army to match, I must only assume there is a larger plan if their removal is to be successful, and Kelmarane is to be liberated from the grip of this Carrion King."
"How we will proceed largely depends on what our scouts report," Almah replies, glancing again at Dashki, "For the time being, guerrilla tactics will likely be the best method of approach - reduce their numbers little by little, and eliminate any strategic advantages they might have in the city. The majority of their forces likely reside in the battle market, so as long as you avoid that..."
I will check the thing out with detect magic
Sweet! So I'll grab it!
I will be awake in time to greet the sun and give praise to the Dawnflower.
As Almah's briefing comes to a close, everyone goes about their own business, settling in for nightfall. The band of mercenaries takes rotating shifts, keeping a watch on Kelmarane through the window in the chapel.
Around midnight, Dashki and Khasra wake up to prepare for their mission. As they wordlessly pack their supplies, an impossibly loud, yelping howl pierces the air, audible to all in the monastery. Just a minute or so later, a faint, similar call can be heard from the distant Pale Mountain.
"What the hell was that all about...?" Yesper, the mercenary on guard says, "That first one came from the village. They don't already know we're here, do they?"
"No," Dashki answers, "You've never heard it before? That's the Howl of the Carrion King. Every night, all of the gnoll tribes send a message to their King... and receive one in turn." Grinning toothily, he adds "If no call comes from Kelmarane, he'll know that the Kulldis have fallen." With a harsh laugh he leaves with Khasra, who wears an expression of disgust.
The rest of the night passes uneventfully.
Come morning, following a hasty breakfast, Almah yet again asks for everyone to meet her in the chapel. By the time you meet there, the two rangers have returned, now standing at her side. Considering their late shift, they only look a little worse for wear. To open matters, Almah asks them to deliver their report.
"It is not much to go on, but it is more than we had," Almah states, looking to your large group, "But from what they say, if the patrols are that sparse during the day, then you should not have much difficulty infiltrating the village."
"For that end, I have decided that it would be best if you all split into two different groups. A small group might be able to enter the village unnoticed, but too many at once might blow our cover. One group will patrol the lands around the village, making sure that the Kulldis' reach does not extend further than we suspect. The others will tackle Kelmarane."
"Once you are in the village, you will have free rein as to how to proceed... but under no condition should you enter the battle market. Not yet, at least. I have no doubts that the bulk of their forces reside there - a direct assault would be suicidal. Focus on clearing out the rest of the village. Take out any patrols or tactical advantages you come across, and if necessary, return here."
"I think I propose we check out the mill first? Was it on the outskirts of the village?"
Marossa hangs towards the back of the group as new people show up. Initially put off by the appearance of Narkû Marossa stays away from the new members of the caravan. Marossa comes joins the meeting holding a large tray with earthenware cups of water and a full jug, passing between the growing selection of groups in this caravan. Once everybody has taken a cup if they want one, Marossa settles the tray nearby and comes up next to Thurrios. Settling her left hand over her right arm, Marossa whispers, "I dunno how useful I'll be assaulting a village..."
"Marossa, you are too humble, you will be quite useful."
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Clapping his hands together and rubbing them vigorously, Julius' eyes light up as the group begins to make their plans. Finally a chance to put his training to use. His curiosity, surely one of his most powerful traits, was finally on the cusp of completing its long journey to being sated.
"I am no great strategist, so I will defer to your wisdom in this. I am anxious to see this venture through to its conclusion. We are certain to locate artifacts and knowledge which have fallen out of time since the battle market was overrun. I would see these restored and learn all we can."
"Excellent, then, so shall we begin?"
"Narkû, is ready to begin and continue to make a glorious name for himself. Although Narkû is not sure how quickly fame will follow himself, if Narkû is 'Infiltrationing', " he says with a tusky smile, as he lays a whet stone to this weapons.
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"Oh don't you worry, hero Narkû," Julius says laying his finger aside his nose and winking. "The histories are full of famous sneaky people. 'Infiltrationing' is indeed a skill worthy of remembrance. We are certainly due to find some glory if this plan of attrition against the Carrion King succeeds."
Julius rattles off a quick tale of a Pathfinder's exploit which involved successful stealth maneuvers. But since he can't really recall anything specific, he makes the some of the details a tad vague.
At the end, he tries to hurry past his small fib with a smile. He waves his hand and says, "Not to worry though, no matter whether if anyone else achieves glory, we can certainly see to it that your legend is spread far and wide, my dear Narkû."
"Surely just doing the deeds and living the experience is enough? One need not have monuments built, and tales told to commemorate you. So, across the pesh fields shall we?"
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"I myself live to find out the secrets of this world. Especially when it comes to the Arcane," the arcanist says with a grin, and a small flare of magical mist flares from his upraised fingers. Then he shrugs.
"I do admit that after having read much of the Pathfinder Chronicles there is surely some fun in knowing that one day someone will read about the exploits of my companions and me. While the 'glory' of it all may be more in the doing than the reliving, who's to say that being remembered may not serve its purpose as well. After all, would you say that your own life's path is not in some part due to at least one hero to whom you looked as an idol, Sir Thurrios?"
And as as Thurrios indicates their path, he tosses his cloak about him to help ward off the dust ahead.
"Lead on, good sir."
"My childhood heroes were Sarenrae, and my mother. Neither of whom were members of your Society. And you need not ply me with such titles, I am not a knight to have earned such an honorrific."
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Julius good-naturedly waves away Thurrios' sternness.
"You mistake my meaning, I think. I am not implying your heroes and idols have anything to do with the Pathfinder Society. The fact they exist is proof of my point at all," Julius smiles and hopes the serious inquisitor will not always take offense so quickly.
"My point being that those who come after us are inspired by us and aspire to be like us because our deeds are known to them, whether in the stories of our grandfathers around the fireplace or sung by the bards and heralds of great kings and queens at their banquets. Glory may come to us unbidden, and heroic tales may be made of our actions long after we're dead whether or not you desire such things. Surely, you realize that the powerful tales of all our world's gods is the very reason we worship them. If they had not glory, how then would you have any reason to venerate such beings?"
Julius pauses and then finishes with, "As for titles, I have often found it better to be more polite than necessary than not. There are those aplenty who find that a lack of title given is more the offensive gesture than too much. Of course...I have been wrong before." The last is said with a sidelong glance at the seemingly surly Ifrit.
Thurrios looks hard at Julius, "yes, I understand how heroes are venerated, but a few rascals such as we clearing out a monastery and hunting some gnolls are not hardly the stuff of legend."
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"Maybe not to be made heroes of the entire Inner Sea or the world, I agree. But some are willing to accept renown on a much smaller scale. And if we do succeed, I guarantee the new citizens of Kelmarane who come after us will tell the story of its reclamation by Thurrios the Redeemer of Gnolls and his merry band with as much pride as any other fable we heard growing up," Julius says with a wink.
Chuckling, he looks the inquisitor up and down. "I bet a century from now they will say you stood a whole head and shoulders taller than you are. In fact, I bet other than the 'Mountain Narkû,' the stories will surely tell you dwarfed us all in stature."
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"You didn't need to tell a tale of stealth from the books, though I sure don't remember the one you told, but your memory's better than mine I'm afraid," says Sarala, "The night I snuck a midnight snack without waking a soul, that's a day that will go down in legend and song, passed down for one hundred generations. Maybe even a million. That's what you should have told."
She nods to Thurrios and says, "Anyways, yes, through the pesh fields is just fine by me. Onwards and forwards and all that."
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Looking at Sarala, Julius laughs openly but not too loudly.
"Yes, I do recall that. And in feats of pure sneak, your tale is indeed superior to the one I told about the halfling sneaking into that dragon's hoard to take a goblet and a rock. Perhaps if our dour new friend decides to smile once in a while, I will regale us all with the tale despite not being anything of a bard myself."
"I question the value of such tales if they would tell falsehoods about such a simple thing as my height"
We head out!!
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Julius laughs again.
"Says the inquisitor who obviously believes the tales of his own deity of choice wholesale. And what good would he be to his vocation without crystal clear faith?" Julius continues his walk even as they chatter.
"And one hundred years from now when you are taller than you are by half in the tales, that the Carrion King was a monstrous gnoll with two heads and covered in spikes slain by your hand; there will be some young child who believes it so as gospel, and it will inspire them to greater heights even you cannot imagine in their quest to match or surpass your feats. Perhaps tales of Thurrios the Magnificent Redeemer will spur the actions and quests which lead to the next apotheosis of a true hero like Aroden or Iomedae. Or even not such a hero, but one cunning enough to find the way like Caiden Cailean. And it will all be thanks to those distorted stories of which the great Thurrios himself 'questioned the value!'"
Julius' amusement at the ifrit's evident disregard for the facts of what history really was is written all over his face. As he tweaks Thurrios' nose a bit more, he winks at Sarala.
Blessed Dawnflower, praise be that you are not the patron of bards and storytellers, for I may curse at the next one I see.
With a destination in mind and your path laid out before you, your party departs from the monastery. As you are leaving you can overhear Almah briefing the other team; evidently, they will be patrolling the old trade route to the east. A wide swathe of land stands between your party and the village - the pesh fields. When you start north however, it soon becomes evident that the pesh cacti that once populated this area have long withered away. The dusty fields are now little more than grit and sand, essentially a small desert. The terrain is relatively easy to traverse, not at all like the countless, rolling hills you had to climb to get here.
After just less than half an hour, you are already halfway across the field. Kelmarane grows ever larger as you continue your approach...
As the small group marches forward through the dead pesh fields with the rest of the group, she tries to remain focused, her left hand resting on the small dagger she keeps tucked away under her long simple skirt. However, with every gentle breeze that kicks up a bit of sand comes with it the sweet scent of pesh. A little fouler than she is used to because of the dead plants surrounding her, but Marossa's mouth quickly waters as her body begins to develop a cold sweat being surrounded by the aroma.
Marossa staggers slightly as the cravings she's been able to survive the last few days come back with force, her slave collar jangling softly in the open air as she catches herself on a cactus so rotted the spines have fallen out. Breathing shallowly, Marossa keeps her eyes on the ground for the moment, trying to stop her head from spinning dizzily.
Thurrios leads the group across the expanse, weapon at the ready, and his eyes constantly scanning the horizon for dangers.
It should only be a matter of minutes before you reach the village, but as you continue your trek, Thurrios notices something odd. The ground under your feet shifts ever so slightly; there is faint movement beneath the sands. Before he can warn the others however, the creature springs its trap.
The sand and dirt beneath everyone's feet abruptly shifts and slides, falling as though it were emptying into a funnel.
Thurrios and Sarala prove light enough on their feet to keep their footing, but the rest find their feet sinking into the sand, the sudden shift in terrain hampering their movement. Five long tendrils emerge from the sandpit, violently writhing toward their captured prey.
Thurrios maintains his footing after avoiding the creature's trap, and immediately attempts to lay into the creature with his scimitar.