Though no stranger to desert travel, this was Variel's first caravan, and he was unaccustomed to traveling in such a large group. Or to eating goat. Variel had had the foresight to acquire and bring his own pack mule, which was mostly laden down with food and water, yet saved this hoard against future need.
Though profit was not his motivation for this journey, he would not object to making one if the opportunity presented itself, nor would he turn aside any chance to acquire the raw materials so necessary for his business, and a pack mule might greatly increase the measure of any profit. Or provide a mount for Haleen, should one be necessary.
Tall and thin, Variel was dressed in simple, practical desert gear to keep out the sand and ward off some measure of the sun's fury. A handful of small vials dangle from his belt, and a cruel whip tipped with metal rests coiled at his side. His elven features are spoiled by the very human mustache and goatee and his human mannerisms. Presently, he is quietly feeding and caring for his pack mule, checking the harness and equipment for a good fit, speaking quietly in the tongue of angels to it the whole while.
As long as he can remember, the half-elf, Talahel Zstelian, has lived on the streets of Katapesh. This was his first time traveling outside of the city and while certainly tiring, smelly and dirty, he found the newness quite invigorating.
Talahel stands 5' 11" tall. He is lanky with black hair, green piercing eyes and a dark complexion. He carries a backpack, bedroll, composite longbow and an intricately etched longsword which he periodically lifts and shines. His clothing while worn, is very functional for exploring.
Embolden by Variel's human like features and mannerisms, Talahel plucks up the courage to introduce himself to the elf as the elf feeds his mule. "Allow me to introduce myself, I am Talahel Zstelian and I hail from Katapesh. I have seen you traveling with this caravan, but I have not had a chance to introduce myself. What brings you on this journey?"
Variel looked up as the half-elf approached him. His kind are rare in these seas of brick and sand, but the half-breeds slightly less so. His eyes rest longingly on the longbow before remembering his manners and returning the introduction.
"Greetings Talahel Zstelian, I am Variel Tahloro, also of Katapesh. I suspect that I travel with this caravan for much the same reason as most; Garavel has hired us. I confess that I also hope to find something in Kelmarane that was lost." Variel starts brushing the mule while speaking.
"And you, Talahel Zstellian, have you hopes for our journey beyond those of a simple wage?"
Talahel answers in elven, "Greetings Variel Tahloro, You surmise correctly, this caravan is a means to an end. I have recently learned that I have ties in Kelmarane that I wish to learn more about." Talahel pats his longsword gently. "I was looking for a group headed in this direction when I heard rumors about a caravan being assembled by Garavel. I seized the opportunity and now I am here. I can't help but notice those vials hanging from your belt. Did you perchance make those yourself or purchase them in the markets?"
Variel lets his lips quirk upwards as he gestures to the six vials hanging on his belt. "Do you inquire of the vials, or their contents? The vials are but inexpensive glass, and of low quality for that.
The liquid inside, yes, I have distilled, but the creation is flawed, somehow. I had hoped to create a potion through simpler, and faster methods than the guilds wish to believe possible, but these are mere toys and have almost no potency. They do not last longer than a single circuit of the sun." Variel shrugs as if it were of no importance, but his violet eyes hold a hint of frustration. He pauses with his brushing to work out a knot in the mule's mane.
"Fortunately, my other wares fare much better."
"I see, so you are an Alchemist. I have not encountered many in Katapesh. The few chemist I have seen have been drawn more toward the refinement of pesh. Perhaps, if this adventure proves lucrative enough, I may be able to afford you adding some alchemical silver to my arrow tips, one can never be too prepared. I will leave you to the grooming of your mule. I am going to the fire to take some chill off of this night air."
Talahel goes and sits by the fire with others.
Sitting close to the fire so that it's flickering light can illuminate the large book in front of him, Able sits and scribbles away, logging every piece of minutiae about the journey so far, down to the tenderness of the goat. He has claimed to be a traveling merchant, but there are a number of people who've noticed that he carries no wares; a few stories of him talking to pack animals and even some traditionally unfriendly wildlife; and one porter that swears he's wearing a wayfinder, symbol of the legendary Pathfinders. As Talahel approaches the fire, Able peers up eagerly over his large glasses, stands up, and approaches in a way that could best be described as 'scampering.'
"Greetings and salutations!" Able says in a high-pitched, eager voice. "Allow me to introduce myself. I am Ablenaffener, traveling merchant and amateur scholar and story-teller, though for the sake of expediency and in consideration of my uniquely difficult name you may be permitted to call me Able. In the interest of keeping a dedicated and fastidious record of our travels together so that future generations might marvel at the wonders we may happen to encounter, could you be so kind as to give me your name? I'd like to be as thorough as possible in my documentation, so as to ensure that no morsel, regardless of how trivial it may seem to be, go unnoticed, for fear that it may be of the greatest import later." He stands, wide-eyed and attentive, waiting for a response.
Tahl simply shakes his head at the antics of the little gnome as he sharpens and polishes his blade. He looks to Lofnaiali and whispers to her in elvish.
"Beaga amháin do you understand how far sound travels out here? Anyone out there can hear you!" Tahl snaps at Able in a harsh whisper.
Perception
Talahel overhears the two elves whispering near the fire.
He turns his attention to Able and speaks in common in a softer tone, "Greetings and Salutations, Able. I am Talahel Zstelian, recently from Katapesh. An amateur scholar, story teller and traveling merchant you say, what wares do you sell, sir? And perhaps, take a slightly quieter tone" Talahel glances at the two elves, "there are folks among us concerned about attracting too much attention to our camp. I fear their concerns may be justified."
"That is a good fear to have, if any are good at all." Says a half-elf in a fine chainshirt as he walks into the firelight, light brown hair standing out against his tan skin.
"It's good to have some time to relax away from camels, isn't it? My name is Azten, and I'm a warrior or the church of Sarenrae." He says with a smile.
I am called Caille Báis,
Tahl says simply, glancing up from his work and nods. He slowly stands to his feet and brings his dust veil up over his lower face and begins a slow dance each blade acting independently of the other as he slowly begins to pick up speed he begins to add movements spinning and ducking as each blades slices into an imaginary opponent his eyes a blaze. Then suddenly drops into a crouch one leg bent the other extended out to his side both blades out to his sides. He then slowly stands bows and slides both blades reverently into their sheaths.
but you may call me by my name Tahlumilali Auvreaanea. I am a warrior, it would be of interest to me to hear what each of you bring to this expedition.
Speaking in elven, "Greetings Tahlumilali Auvreaanea, I hope I didn't offend you by overhearing your conversation. In my line of work, I must be always aware of my surroundings and what people are doing. My name is Talahel Zstelian, I am a ranger, but unlike most rangers who can be found in the wilderness, my jungle is of the urban variety. I specialize in ... finding people."
Turning to Azten "Yes, its nice to stretch the posterior after such a long ride. Greetings Azten. I am Talahel Zstelian, from the city of Katapesh. Where do you hail from?"
Responding in elven."No offense taken. In places like this those who are unaware of their surroundings are often dead before they know it."
Tahl says evenly as he knells down resting his weight on the balls of his feet, arms across his knees. Piercing hawk like eyes staring into the fire.
Able seems sufficiently cowed from the chastisement to lower his voice, though his whisper to Tahl retains his overwhelming enthusiasm. "Apologies, good sir, for my lack of experience in matters such as this. I have not traveled much in these lands, and I am eager to learn the ways of experienced desert travelers such as yourself." A fresh flurry of scribbles is put into the book, evidently recording the advice.
"I am a procurer and peddler of trinkets, knick-knacks, and doodads, good Talahel, as well as an ever-willing scribe-for-hire. I hope to find exotic designs to bring back with me - these foreign lands are rich with inspiring baubles and broaches that the Brevish nobility will simply die for."
As Azten arrives, he once again dives into his book, carefully chronicling the arrival.
Variel was slightly bewildered. In all of his (admittedly few) 80 years, he had never seen more than one of his kind at a time before, yet and and now, there were four of them! What would happen next? Would an entire clan join the caravan as well?
Variel was keenly aware of his status as one of the Forlorn. Unschooled in the manners and customs of his kind, not even yet an adult by his people's reckoning, he was intimidated by this elven and half-elven crowd. Wishing to stay close enough to the fire to observe the socialization rituals of his people, Variel finished grooming his mule and sat down next to the one person who didn't intimidate him, the gnome.
"Master Able," began the elf, "I am called Variel. Among other things, I am a student of nature. It would please me if you would be so kind as to describe, in detail, all manner of flora and fauna you have come across in your travels. I would also be interested in any sketches you might have drawn as well."
And I remember us remarking way back when we did character creation how it looked like this was going to be a party of elves.
Turning to Azten "Yes, its nice to stretch the posterior after such a long ride. Greetings Azten. I am Talahel Zstelian, from the city of Katapesh. Where do you hail from?"
"I'm afraid I can't answer that. My parents were merchants and we often moved around, so I never thought to ask where I was born."
"I'm mostly here for nostalgia and the chance to learn more about magical items. I've been fascinated with them ever since I was told I couldn't go in the lab."
Provoked by Variel, Able is more than happy to begin flipping towards the earlier pages of his tome, proudly displaying detailed drawings and copious notes on even the most mundane creatures he's found on his travels; two full pages packed with small scribbly writing are dedicated to the mating habits of a variety of squirrel found only in Absalom. The pride of his records are dissection notes on a dead baby owlbear found in a Brevoy ditch. Able is only perfectly content to chatter animatedly and in great detail on everything in his book.
Though quite overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of Able's report, Variel follows along as best he can. Many of the creatures described are not native to the desert, and the owlbear in particular struck him as potentially alchemically significant. Though the method of delivery was disconcerting, there seemed to be much that was fascinating at the gnome's disposal.
"I must confess, master Able, that I had thought myself a traveler until I met you. However, I have never seen lands or creatures such as you describe. When your journey to Kelmarane is done, you might consider returning to Katapesh. There might be some few people I know who would be even more interested than I in listening to you. For now, though, I think perhaps I should retire for the night, to properly absorb all you have told me."
Variel, while also curious to know of the languages they speak in those strange lands, decides not to pursue that line of questioning for the night, afraid that the little gnome might again overwhelm him with his own ignorance.
Perhaps the strength of lore, like venom, should not be discounted because its wielder is small, he thought with respect.
Talahel pulls a nearby rock closer to the fire, sits on it, pulls his long sword from its scabbard and begins to sharpen the engraved blade with his whetstone. The blade gleams in the fire light. Elven runes are intricately etched on both sides of the cold iron surface of the sword. The smooth edge forms seamlessly into a metal hilt cast into the shape of a hawk. The head of the hawk wraps the tang of the blade, its wings forming the cross guard and its body the grip. Talahel, attends to the weapon with an almost reverent manner.
Variel watches as Talahel meticulously cares for his sword. Before long, though, his eye is drawn again to the plain longbow strung on his back. Though could use such a weapon, of course, he had never owned one, and the bow had become a symbol of his estrangement from his own people.
To divert himself from melancholy, Variel turned his thoughts to Talahel's remark about alchemical silver arrowheads. He was no smith, but he ought to at least be able to create alchemical silver. At least, he thought he could, given the proper material, tools, and time. Perhaps there was a way to dip existing arrowheads in the metal and let it cool, forming a type of coating? Such arrows were used only once, so it might be possible.
Thinking on how best to augment existing arrows, Variel returned to his tent and bedroll, sleeping next to his mule, to await the events of the coming day.
Talahel completes his work on his sword and returns it to its scabbard. He then rises from where he is sitting, nods silently to the remaining people at the fire and retires to a quiet area near the caravan. He unrolls his bedroll and turns in for the night, but not before tucking his dagger carefully into the folds of the bedroll within easy reach.
Seeing everyone split up, Azten reads his scrolls again to keep in mind as he sleeps, then carefully puts them away and spreads his bedroll next to the fire.
"My dear fear céile, he is probably just excited and got a little loud. Poor soul is just happy to be here I recon." A small snort escapes her mouth right before a giggle was unleashed from her throat. She leans over and pats Tahlumilali's arm.
Able stays up late scribbling away, completely oblivious to people's comings and goings, side conversations, or eventual rest. Eventually, he manages to distance himself from his writings long enough to climb onto a bedroll and fall asleep. Even in rest, the book is nearby - he uses it as a pillow.
The Sultan's Claw is quite intriguing, and Variel does not mind pushing into the evening somewhat so long as the animals do not suffer for it. Curious to know more of the history of the landmark, Variel rides up close to the herder who spoke earlier, and matches his pace.
"Surely there is a tale or two to be told of the Sultan's Claw. Might you know one, or know one who does?"
As Talahel rides along, he keeps vigilant for any signs of trouble on either side of the path. Perception
Able takes a break from recording the battling of the camels when he hears the story being told by the herder. He wrangles his own mount towards Variel and the herder, his eyes flashing with excitement as his pen flys across the page.
"Your mother's intent was probably not to unduly scare you, good tale-teller, but rather to transmit some piece of her cultural heritage to you, her progeny - the frightful insomnia suffered being an unfortunate side-effect of the macabre nature of the story in question. I am still interested, however, in the nature of the Five. One, did this Nefeshti summon them to her side as allies, or bind them there as slaves? Would you be able to describe the character of Davashuum in greater physical detail? Perhaps a listing of the names and qualities of the other four of the Five?" His face is eager, in the sort of way that a dog looks before meal-time.
Ride:
Tahl calmly sits on the camel moving with it as if he was a part of it, but every once in a while you see him cringe as he looks down at his mount.
By the gods these things are a bother. Why couldn't we have horses at least they don't spit and fight as much as these unruly ugly beasts. Don't know why people use them.
He then shakes his head at how easily excited the gnome gets over...well just about everything.
Easy Beaga amháin that's a lot of stories you are requesting we might still be here for at least a week just listening to them.
He says with a small smile, which may be the first time anyone has seen him smile this entire trip that was not directed towards Lofnaiali. After that he turns his piercing gaze toward the desert watching for any trouble.
Perception:
Smiling at the storytelling, Azten gazes up to the sun and traces his holy symbol. He seems content to ride along at a steady pace, watching the others interact like he had so long ago..
"And is your wife with the caravan as well? Or does she remain at home, to guard and keep your abode?" Variel asked cautiously.
Humans had always seemed so foolish about such things as their mates, one minute obsessing and the next ignoring. He was still too young to be bothered about such things himself, but it never hurt to pick up what lore you could when you had the chance.
He supposed that perhaps learning about human mating might not help him much when his time came, but aside from Tahlumilali Auvreaanea, who was far too intimidating, there simply wasn't anyone to ask. And how would you bring up such a topic anyway, without sounding... adolescent?
It was far easier and safer to stick to collecting the lore of the land.
Pleased not to have offended the camel herder, Variel thanked him and slowed the pace of his mount until he found a human woman looking after goats near the back of the caravan.
"Mistress Hadrah?" he inquired politely, "I am Variel of Katapesh. Your husband, has been entertaining some of us with tales of the Sultan's Claw and the Templars of the Five Winds, and suggested that you knew more than he, if you could spare the time."
Able has been taking down the stories furiously, his pen flying across the page. The other side of the page is dominated by an illustration of the gnarled tree, the Claw, with more scribbles circling it - presumably, if you can follow Able's cramped script, it illustrates how his mind interprets the connections. He grins widely at Tahl's words. "One can only hope that I can derive weeks worth of stories from the group - that will bring me ever closer to a broader understanding of this fantastic land!"
When Variel heads towards the back, Able too makes a number of low bows to him and profusely thanks him. He rides towards the back quickly, bouncing in his excitement. "The friendliness of these native people is so refreshing!", he gushes. "I'd once attempted to catalog the people and dialects of the River Kingdoms, but then was stopped by a highwayman and forced to turn him in for banditry to Brevoy. I was eventually convinced to await greater support for such an expedition, but such lawless lands do not lend themselves well towards scholarly travels. One day, perhaps..."
Upon reaching Hadrah, Able manages to keep himself quiet while Variel speaks. His book is once again open and pen at the ready.
Apprehensive about being around so many pure blooded elves, Talahel directs his camel near Azten, a fellow half-elf. "Excuse me Azten, something you said last night struck me as odd. You mentioned that you moved around a lot growing up, but you returned here partly out of nostalgia. What is your connection to this particular land?"
"Hm? Oh, sorry, I was a bit vague wasn't I? I was talking about being back in a caravan. People leaving and news ones joining, all the different merchandise to look at, all the new people you can meet in the towns.. But I do remember coming through this area once, and making castles out of the sand when we stopped for the night." He glances fondly down at the sand before looking back to Talahel. "What about you? Do you have any others reasons for being here?"
"Kelmarane. I have recently learned that I was born in Kelmarane and I heard rumors that this caravan was headed in that direction. I am interested in exploring my roots. I never knew my father, but I am hoping to find some answers in Kelmarane.
How did you come to be in the service of Sarenrae?"
Azten looks down at the holy symbol hanging from his neck and smiles.
"My mother was a sorceress, and her magic came from Sarenrae, so it started out as a family thing. Eventually though, I came to Sarenrae's service on my own, seeing that she is the reason so many people can live. Without the Sun, we would be cold and crops would not grow."
"Out here in the desert though, nothing can hide from her for long, and her light punishes the wicked. Even night holds no relief for them, because once she is gone from the skies, the chill reminds them how much they need her."
Tahl unconsciously checks both blades sliding them out of their sheaths just a few inches to make sure they could easily be drawn.
Are you alright M'anam? Tahl asks Lofnaiali as he leans over towards her camel.
Able writes down the descriptions of all of the Templars, eyes wide with fascination. "Fascinating," he mutters as he begins small illustrations in the margins. "The titles alone have the makings of years of scholarly discussion. So each Templar has a mighty weapon dedicated to them? Have such artifacts been discovered by any expeditions in history? Or would they still be in the hands of the wandering Templars?"
Though more reserved, Variel is no less fascinated by the roll of the Templars. He would be tempted to commit the story to paper, if Able were not already doing so. As it is, Variel imprints the names and their meaning in his memory.
"Is there any connection between the Sultan's Claw and the Templars, or perhaps between the Claw and Nefeshti?" he asked.
Talahel continues to ride next to Azten. "May Sarenrae bless us all on this journey." After a few moments of silence, Talahel observes Able and Variel move toward the back of the caravan, the gnome carefully balancing his pen and his book as he bounces along on the camel. Talahel, nods in their direction, "That gnome is certainly a strange one, but he seems harmless enough. Has he added you to his book of names, Azten?"
Variel idly wondered if Rombard would feature more in Able's notes than the Templars. If he had had any skill in such things he would have tried to help the old woman corral the goat. As it was, though, he was most familiar with pieces of goat floating in jars, not live animals.
"Thank you for your time and your tales, Mistress Hadrah. May Abaddar smile on your journey and profit your flock."