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 you is Garavel, the no-nonsense major domo of a merchant princess named Almah, who awaits you at your destination. The mysterious Pactmasters of Katapesh, masked rulers of this mercantile desert kingdom, desire to bring the abandoned battle market village of Kelmarane back into the economic fold. To this end, they recently assigned Almah the task of scouting out the village, clearing it of malign influence, and getting it working again. You are to serve as Almah’s agents in this affair.
In the distant haze to the west, you can just make out the immense outline of Pale Mountain looming over the mid-evening horizon like a tombstone. The scorching heat by day, the bitter chill by night...the smell of the camels, the sere environment, the sore hindquarters from constantly riding...all of it has combined to make you wonder if it is even worthwhile to have signed on for this undertaking. But just then, Garavel's curiously emotionless voice intrudes on your thoughts. "Ah, at last. Our destination nears." As soon as the craggy tree appears over the next hill, it becomes obvious why it is called the Sultan’s Claw. With five immense, mostly leafless branches, the growth looks more like a giant skeletal talon than a thing of living wood.
Martika lowers her sand-veil and smiles at Khalit. "Soon we will have the answers we seek. Or at least more information. Sarenrae will guide us to Haleen. If someone has harmed her, we will bring them to justice."
With that she rides on, carefully positioning herself slightly ahead and to one side of Khalit, where she can keep a protective eye on him.
"Justice. Yes." Khalit says tightly.
The dark expression on his face changes suddenly, becoming a smile identical to Martika's.
"Hopefully this is just a repeat of that incident with the fruit-seller... you remember, Mirama? The pomegranates?"
"Yeah, that was funny, little brother!"
Mirama laughs. One of those rare moments where she looks like a normal, happy girl. As quick as this moment came, as quick it is gone, and her beautiful green eyes, shining out below her raven dark dreadlocks, turn sombre, showing that determined look again.
Her long, filigrane fingers try to reign the camel she's riding, showing those terrible scars on her wrists.
Among all her equipment she's carrying, one item shines out - the manacles she's wearing at her girdle. No one, except Martika and Khalit know the history behind those manacles.
It was at the first camp at a watering-hole, where she took of her clothes to take a bath to wash off the desert dust and to cool her olive-brown, soft skin, when every man who started to follow her stopped dead in mid-motion, sitting back down again, because of seeing her back - it was totally scarred from being whipped a hundred or more times. Not a single spot of soft skin left. Afterwards no one dared to talk to her, except her brother and sister of course.
Mirama's used to that kind of behaviour, and now wonders again, if she will ever find a man who dares touching her hurting back, who loves her for how and what she is, wilth all those scars on her body - and her soul...
"Those where good times, Khalit, indeed..."
Kara has made the journey so far mostly in silence, feeling only slightly out of place among all these humans. At each meal she prepares food and makes sure everyone has been fed before disappearing to eat alone. Her frame looks ridiculously small atop one of the camels, but as she always rides sitting in front of a man from the caravan she's hardly noticed.
During the few times she's remained around the company at night, she walks with confidence and grace, her long low cut dress flowing in the breeze. A slit runs almost all the way up her leg on one side, and you think you almost detect a slight grin anytime she catches the men staring at her bare leg. For all her outward confidence and poise, however, her eyes betray a deep sadness.
Kara saw Mirama bathing and shelved the image of her scars away in her mind, but made no visible reaction at the sight. In fact it didn't bother her at all - for while she bears no such marks on her body, Kara has deep scars of a different sort.
Ikethru removed her Osirioni skullcap and wiped her hairless brow, her reddish-brown skin beaded with sweat. She was once again thankful that while she did away with her hair as was tradition among her people, she passed on the usual woven wig. She couldn't imagine how bothersome that would have been in these harsh climes. As devoted as she was to the Dawnflower, she had to admit She seemed to burn moreso over Katapesh than in her homeland. Perhaps it's the great river that makes it easier back home...
She overheard Martika and Khalit's exchange; they had spoken a bit about why they were travelling to Kelmarane. She hoped for the best for them. "Incident?" she asked, riding up to the Al-Raedoths inexpertly on her rented camel. This Haleen sounded rather interesting. She did not mean to intrude, but the Al-Raedoths were the only people she knew among the caravan, if only barely. Any chance at conversation made the journey more bearable.
She was dressed less for such travel that she should have been, but she doggedly held to Osirioni fashion when she could. The white and red priestess' dress had originally covered more of her back than usual for Osirioni garb, but after seeing Mirama's scars, she did not feel as much of a need to hide her own. Though deep and ragged, her scars could not match Mirama's for quantity. As sad as it was to know one of her fellow travellers had experienced the horrors of slavery, it was a bit of a relief to not have to skirt the issues of her past out of politeness. She kept her silk wrappings on her forearms though. If anyone asked what lay underneath, she would not lie, but it was best not to court trouble.
She cast another glance back at the strange halfling among their caravan. She had originally thought someone had brought a child along on this dangerous journey. She was thankful she realized her mistake before trying to find her "parents" and warning them to keep an eye on her. Still, she wondered why she was making this trip. The look in her eyes worried Ikethru.
"Well... Haleen disappeared one time before for about a week. The last time we had spoken with her, she was on her way to the market to purchase some fruit, and... Martika, you tell it better than I, take over."
Martika's continuance of the doubtless fascinating pomegranate story is sadly interrupted as the group tops the last rise, and 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 at Ikethru, catching against her chest in a burst of orange cinders. 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 your eyes shift their focus from the Cyclone 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. “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 you, Almah barks out a simple order before running off toward the fire: “Find some way to help!”
Javeed listen's to the brother and sister talk, he secretly envies their relationship, and wishes he had family still. He is intrigued by the scars on the Mwangi girl, and is all too cruely reminded of his own scars, etched into his corded flesh by flind bars and barbed whips at the hands of dog-men. He is happy to be admist the civilised folk once more, he tries to strike up conversations, but his odd manner, and lack of social skills, a by product of being raised in captivity cause all of the caravan folk to avoid him. His only solice comes with this band of adventures, he senses they are just as scared as he is, physicaly, emotionally, and spiritually. He is pleased he joined on, he saw servants of the dawnflower sign on the caravan before he did and took it as a sign to follow Sarenrae. His insticts were confirmed when they entered close to gnoll territory. He wears a white linen shirt loosely and open barring a muscled chest a bright blue sash hangs at his waits, as does a sand colored billowed pantaloon. He wears overtop his modest garb, the furs and trappings of some spotted animal, a crude coat that serves to protect.
Khalit hurriedly dismounts, and rushes over to help form the bucket brigade.
Kara quickly gets out of the way of the larger folk and does her best to stay out of sight. She keeps an eye open for anything unusual or anyone acting suspicious.
Mirama is down from her camel in the blink of an eye, helping wherever she's needed.
Ikethru snatched the card as it fell from her, staring in shock and confusion at it until the others rushed to lend aid. She slid off her camel and tucked the card into her belt, putting the strange portent out of her mind as she hurried after Khalit to help put the fires out, keeping an eye out for any wounded that may need help.
"Hit the Flames with water here!" Javeed screams, "Use the sand to exhaust the flames" Javeed barks. Looking about he attempts to identify a close by water source to fight the fire, or best uses the sand, and environment to fight it, Is the wind spreading the fire?
Seeing the need to help battle the blaze, Khalit responds first to the immediate crisis. He rushes over to where Almah, Garavel, and four soldiers dressed in the distinctive red chitin-plate armor of the Pactmaster Guard run back and forth between the burning wagon and an uncovered wagon about 20 feet away. The latter wagon contains a huge barrel holding a large volume of drinking water, and the camp members desperately work to fill a series of buckets, passing the filled pails down the line to throw upon the blaze. Noting quickly that there are more buckets lying nearby, the sorcerer silently grabs one and lends his aid in passing water-filled pails up the line. One soldier gives Khalit a curt nod of thanks as he steps in.
Ikethru, meanwhile, rushes up and stops about 20 feet away from the burning wagon. Uttering a brief prayer to Sarenrae, the cleric conjures a quantity of water that materializes in the air directly above the wagon, then falls in a small, brief downpour. A hiss of steam goes up from the wagon, and the flames are noticeably diminished by this intervention, though the fire still rages.
Ikethru then looks around and sees that, a few yards from the fire, a white-bearded man with a symbol of Nethys around his neck, kneels next to two severely burned people. The cleric is tending to one badly wounded man, but he is unable to focus on his second patient, a female swordswoman. Her situation appears grim, as she lies very still, her breaths rasping in and out infrequently.
Mirama looks around for how she may best be of assistance, and is about to join the bucket brigade when she notices four burly men struggling with an enclosed wooden wagon that rests within mere feet of the burning wagon. It is obvious that they are hoping to move it to safety before an errant spark causes it too to burst into flame.
Kara stays back and looks around throughout the campsite, noting quickly that chaos is all around, though she doesn't see anyone acting oddly, considering the circumstances. She notes the bucket brigade, the cleric working with the wounded, and the men attempting to move the wagon. She also sees, further away, a collection of animals running loose in all directions. Several pigs, goats, and sheep have been unsettled by the flaming wagon, and the creatures have somehow escaped from their pen in the confusion surrounding the fire’s outbreak. A middleaged human man and woman are doing their best to wrangle the panicking animals, but their efforts are quickly being overrun by the chaos of the situation.
Javeed uses his survival skills to rapidly assess the situation. The only significant water source he can see is the barrel of drinking water being used by the bucket brigade, although Ikethru's magic conjuration of water also was quite effective. It occurs to the warrior that the camp would be in serious trouble if the entire supply of drinking water was expended in battling this blaze. Javeed considers that the water is probably a more effective means of fighting the fire than sand would be. The wind is not currently blowing strongly enough to help spread the flames, but that could always change at a moment's notice.
Seeing that the bigger folk are taking care of the fire and that she would be less than helpful trying to help carry large buckets of water, Kara runs over to help secure the panicked animals.
Upon seeing the wounded in need, Ikethru quickly abandoned her attempts at dousing the flame and rushed to the woman's aid. "Please, let me help you." she quickly spoke to the priest of Nethys as she fell to her knees, placing her hand over the woman's wounds and whispering in prayer.
Not enough time to treat her normally, best to ensure she survives, then tend to whatever else ails her...
Javeed will run to the wagon the four men are attempting to move and assist in pulling or pushing.
str check = 16.
"By the dawnflower's blessing, move this cart, ARGHHHHH!"
Seeing that Javeed is already helping the for men to push away that wagon (and is also the better choice for this kind of work, because of his muscles) Mirama takes up the bucket he has just dropped again, to help the "waterline".
Martika looks hastily for a large blanket or other piece of cloth, using her own cloak if necessary. Rushing to the water barrel she soaks the cloth, and then charges towards the fire and tries to beat out the flames. The glow of the fire lights her face as she stands closer to the flames than most would find comfortable, Although some might read her expression as grimacing against the heat, others might see an almost ecstatic glee as she faces the blaze.
Mirama rushes forward and joins the bucket brigade, taking a place between Khalit and Garavel. She passes full buckets of water down the line, and she and Khalit both are pleased to note that they appear to be winning the battle against the flames. Just then, Martika rushes forth with her own water-soaked cloak in hand. She begins beating against the flames with the heavy wet cloth, exulting in the heat even as her proximity to the fire singes her hands and forearms.
Javeed moves to lend his muscle to aid the four ragged men and women who are pulling on the wagon near the fire. The big man flexes his muscles and digs in his feet, pulling for all he is worth as the others lend their aid. The unhitched wagon rocks back and forth, almost finding enough momentum to start moving, but at the last, it settles back into its original position, unmoved. With the wagon remaining so close to the blaze, an errant spark soon drifts over and ignites the dry wood of this wagon, setting it alight. The fire catches quickly, and soon this wagon too is ablaze. Having failed to move it out of the way in time, all Javeed can do is grab a bucket and join the four mercenaries in working to douse the blaze.
Ikethru moves to help the priest of Nethys, who gratefully nods in thanks at her overture. The words of devotion to the Dawnflower flow from her lips as she prays over the burned woman. The burn victim begins coughing smoke from her lungs, even as her seared flesh is restored to health. The woman's eyes flutter open, and her chest starts to rise and fall in a normal respiratory rhythm. The white-bearded priest turns to Ikethru, having finished his own ministrations over the other burn victim. "Thank Nethys you were here, young woman. I thank you for your aid."
Kara, meanwhile, pumps her small legs and rushes over to try to help wrangle the panicked livestock. Unfortunately, with little skill or experience in dealing with animals, she finds herself merely running back and forth, futilely chasing first one beast then another. At last, in frustration, she launches herself at one particularly large sheep, grasping ahold of its woolly coat with both hands. The sheep is stronger and faster than it looks, however, and it winds up dragging the halfling around the camp for several dozen yards before she can finally let go. Kara tumbles head over heels in the dust several times and winds up lying on her belly, dirty and winded. From there, she watches, embarrassed, as the man and woman finally corral the last of the animals, in spite of her efforts to 'help.'
After several more minutes like this, Almah throws one last bucket of water over the charred remains of the fortune teller's wagon, and the last of the flames dies out. The fire engulfing Javeed's wagon is also out, although the second wagon has been damaged beyond usability. The Sultan's Claw is now merely a charred husk, and looks even more clawlike than ever for being burnt. Thanks to the party's efforts, the process of extinguishing the fire took considerably less time than it might have, and further loss of life and property was (mostly) averted.
Almah casually tosses down her bucket and looks out over the burned remains of the wagon, where the charred remains of a person can be seen at the smoking center. "Bother. Now who's going to perform Harrow readings for me?"
Kara approaches the burnt wreckage still wiping dirt from her clothes and peers at the charred remains, raising an eyebrow at the mention of fortune telling.
"You may not want to put too much weight in his readings anyways, if he couldn't even foresee his own fiery death." I can't believe how gullible people are, believing nonsense like Harrow cards.
"Please, just lay down for now." Ikethru asked the woman she had tended to. She wasn't sure if she needed more help or not, but surely others would need healing soon. She bowed quickly to the other priest. "I will be back as quickly as I can. If any more are badly hurt, please shout for me. I will give what help I can."
The grim sight in front of the woman named Almah had caught her eye even as the rest of fires were dying down.
She patted the halfling's shoulder on her way towards the wreckage, smiling gently. The girl had tried to help. That was all one could ask of anyone, Ikethru thought.
Her smile faded quickly as she got a better look at the wreckage. Oh Sarenrae...we weren't in time to save everyone...Wait...did she mention a card reader? She approached Almah, offering her condolences. It was clear there was precious little that she could do for the apparent fortune teller. "I am sorry for your loss." she sincerely offered, though Almah seemed more irritated than saddened to her. "What happened here?" She pulled the card from her belt. It was an awkward situation. She wasn't sure whether to offer it or to put it with the poor reader's remains. She intended to see them put to rest respectfully as soon as possible at the very least.
To die by flame like that... She shuddered at the thought. Her devotion to the sun goddess brought with it a great appreciation for fire, but also wary respect.
Martika carefully shakes out her now-singed cloak and spreads it out to dry. Stepping carefully through the burnt wreckage, she says a short blessing over the remains of the fortune-teller. As she does so, she looks for signs of anything unusual that might indicate how or why the fire started, or any other clues that may have survived the flames.
In addition, she reaches out to Sarenrae, and allows the goddess to look out through her eyes and reveal if any fiendish force was responsible for the blaze.
To Kara's statement, Khalit adds: "She is correct. You should really avoid these silly northern superstitions and stick to something reliable. Like astrology, or phrenology."
Kara looks up at Khalit as he starts speaking, and her mouth gapes open as he concludes. Unable to tell if he's actually serious or not, she shakes her head and walks away muttering to herself.
Javeed is thouroughly disgusted in his inability to move the wagon, he lets a yell out and punches the wagon, only to hurt his hand, his reddened enraged face settles to a more brown tone and he stomps off in a sulk.
Martika steps near the burned remains of the fortune teller's wagon, but smoke from the wreck gets in the paladin's eyes, preventing her from seeing much. Eyes watering, she turns away and instead concentrates on sensing the presence of any evil intent nearby...but she senses no such malice.
Almah nods in appreciation at Ikethru's expression of sympathy, and then seems about to reply to the cleric's question, when Kara and Khalit approach. Almah arches an eyebrow as first Kara, and then Khalit, offer their opinions about the use of Harrow cards in no uncertain terms. In a chilly tone she replies, "Do you know my full name? It is Almah Roveshki. Yes, that is a Varisian name, although my family has dwelt in Katapesh for several generations now. I hired Eloais in Solku about a month ago to read his cards for me. I may never have visited the land of my ancestors, but having a harrower at my side just felt...right." She gives the outspoken newcomers a hard look, then abruptly turns away and changes the subject.
"Garavel!" the merchant princess barks out. "I wish for you to lead an investigation into whether this fire might have been set by someone in camp." Addressing the PCs then, she adds, "If you would be so kind, I would appreciate that you new arrivals would help my major domo. Since you had not yet arrived when the fire broke out, you will be above suspicion, yes? If there is a mystery afoot here, please help Garavel solve it."
Lantern-jawed Garavel, more the image of dashing swordsman than accountant and business expert, stands passively and waits for the PCs to respond before speaking.
Khalit bows low and says, "My apologies, lady. I inappropriately sought to relieve my own stress by shocking my new companion, and made unthinking statements."
"I would be honoured to aid in whatever way that I can."
Hearing Almah's question from a short distance away, Kala steps closer (avoiding looking at Khalit), and with a small curtsy says "Of course you have my cooperation."
Ikethru was caught off-guard by the level of offense they had caused Almah, and was thankful that Khalit and Kara were quick to make amends. She herself felt guilty for having harshly judged the woman's reaction to the man's death earlier. It hurt the woman more than she had assumed.
She cautiously approached Almah before leaving to seek Garavel, not wishing to cause further offense. "Please forgive us." she said, bowing her head and offering the harrow card she had picked up. "We did not mean to upset you further. We will do what we can to aid you, my lady."
She then stepped as close as she could bear towards the body of Almah's friend, offering what prayers she could at the moment. It was terrible, the way this man had died...
"We came here for our own reasons, at least, I did. But I will help find out who or what caused that fire. My skills are yours, for the time, Almah!" She bows - but only slightly.
With that, Mirama doesn't waste time and starts searching for tracks into or out of the camp...
Perception: 9 (+4) = 13
Survival: 16 (+0) = 16
Martika looks over at the others, shaking her head slightly at her brother's faux pas. Seeing little value in commenting further upon it, she instead responds to ALmah.
"We came here on a mission of justice, and arrived at the precise moment to witness a fire and a possible murder, and as you have said, to be the only witnesses above suspicion. Sarenrae has set us upon this path. We will go where it takes us. The signs are clear. We accept your request."
Martika looks around for a few moments, and then gestures towards the two injured travelers. "I would guess that these two were closest to to the wagon, or likely inside it, when the fire started. We should speak to them first. Also, if you have a list of names of those traveling with you, it would be helpful. Otherwise, we should construct our own."
Looking to her companions, she asks "Does anyone have any other ideas? Did any of you notice anything unusual?"
Kara shakes her head. "Aside from the overall chaos, I didn't see anything - or anyone suspicious. Let us not rule out the possibility that the fire was simply an accident. Perhaps a lamp knocked over by the very victim...or do we actually have any evidence of foul play? Did this fellow have any enemies? It seems possible he gave someone an unfavorable reading and they took revenge."
"I know of people who can read the future by throwing around bones. If you keep that in mind, readin from a Harrowdeck looks way more - how to you say in these parts of the world - sophisticated.
Khalit, as usual, your tongue is faster than your brain, little brother. Lucky you you have your "two" sisters to keep an eye on you..."
One can just see her smile, while Mirama walks away from the group of people, to check for tracks and have a look around the area.
Walking by Kara, she puts a hand on the halflings shoulder, whispering:"You might be right. There could be people who don't like to hear bad news from a Harrow-Reader and are unable to keep themselves in line."
Then she walks away.
She cautiously approached Almah before leaving to seek Garavel, not wishing to cause further offense. "Please forgive us." she said, bowing her head and offering the harrow card she had picked up.
Almah sniffs at the offered Harrow card. "It does little good to anyone now, does it? It will only serve as an unpleasant reminder. You may keep it, or throw it away...do as you wish."
However, Almah seems placated by the affirmative responses of the party members. She is apparently pleased that each one is so willing to help. "Good. Garavel can introduce you to the other inhabitants of the camp. Find out what happened. I will be in my tent if I should be needed." With that, Almah stalks away toward the tents in a swirl of fine silk.
The old priest of Nethys greets Ikethru's overture with a smile. "Please, call me Father Zastoran. I thank you for your offer, but I believe I have everything under control here now. I would be pleased to speak more with you later, if the gods are good."
Garavel gathers Martika, Khalit, Ikethru, and Kara about him, while Mirama heads for the outskirts of camp. The major domo's flat affect and emotionless voice seem just as odd now as they did when first the companions met the man. He gestures over to the burned wagon, as he begins to speak without preamble. "That wagon belonged to Eloais, whom Almah hired as her personal fortune teller in Solku, as she said. She seemed to enjoy the man's company very much, as he did come from her ancestral homeland. Almah put quite a bit of faith in his Harrow readings as well." Garavel's gaze lingers momentarily over a handful of singed Harrow cards which litter the ground outside the burned-out wagon. "With Eloais dead, there are now 16 in the group, other than yourselves. Myself and Almah, of course. Also, Father Zastoran, a cleric of Nethys," Garavel points out the old priest. "He has been Almah's personal physician and spirtual advisor for many years now."
Garavel motions toward the four soldiers who helped with the water brigade. Meticulously attired in their red chitin-plate armor, they trail after the departing merchant. "Almah's personal guards, they report directly to the Pactmasters themselves. Their names are Fixx, Keldon, Podarn, and Vodrave. At the Pactmasters' command, they will lay down their lives in Almah's defense, if need be. They are never far from her side."
Garavel gestures next to where six other tough-looking people...three men and three women...have gathered in a loose knot. Among these six are the two burn victims that were aided by Ikethru and Father Zastoran, and the four others who were helped by Javeed in their failed attempts to move the covered wagon. In contrast to Almah's personal guard, this lot looks rather disreputable, thick with soiled armor and greasy hair. "Almah has also hired this group of mercenaries, for some additional manpower and sword arms. They answer directly to Almah...and her coin purse. Trevvis is the leader. The other men are Utarchus and Dullen. The women are Kallien, Brotis, and Yesper."
Next, Garavel points toward the late middle-aged man and woman near the livestock pens. Kara's face reddens as she tries to forget her tumble in the dust. "Hadrod and Hadrah are married. They mind the animals, cook the camp's meals, and help with other various tasks. The camp wouldn't be the same without them."
"Finally, there is Dashki, Almah's gnoll expert. I'm sure he is lurking about here somewhere."
-----------------------------------
While the others listen to Garavel's introductions, Mirama looks about the edge of camp, alert to signs of tracks or anything else that appears out of the ordinary. Much of the ground in this area has been torn up by the stampede of livestock frightened by the fire, but Mirama does notice one set of cloven hoofprints that strikes her as odd. It appears that this animal was pulled away against its will to the northwest, rather than running around in a panic.
Suddenly, Mirama gets the feeling that she is being watched. Looking up, she sees a tall, dark-haired man dressed in filthy rags lurking behind the corner of a wagon, staring at her.
Kara strolls up to the group of mercenaries, putting on her most charming smile and flashing her eyelashes at the men. After a brief introduction, she inquires about their individual relationships with the recently deceased, as well as their whereabouts when the fire started. She stands very closely to each man, so while they look down at her they have a difficult time keeping their gaze focused on her face.
"Gnoll Expert" Javeed's intrest perks up, I will help also, I am calle Javeed, scarred one show me those hoof prints please" javeed states with a thirst for gnoll blood in his heart.
Javeed looks on the Mwangi woman with great respect, he shares a bond of slavery with her, he finds her scars attractive and appealing, "Who is this Dashki, I would like to speak with him soon, those animal tracks can we see them?
Ikethru fell silent and bowed her head again at Almah's refusal of the card. Best not to say anything further to upset her then, she thought, tucking the card back in her belt alongside her sheathed scimitar. She intended to place it with Eloais' remains once they were able to retrieve them; she could see to that for the man at least.
After meeting with the elderly priest again and quickly excusing herself to see Garavel with the others, she found herself wanting to speak with him again. Turning to the Al-Raedoth siblings, she said, "I met Father Zastoran earlier. I'll ask him what he knows of this. If he has been with Lady Roveshki for so long, perhaps he will know of any trouble following her or her caravan."
Approaching Father Zastoran again, she said with a faint smile, "It seems the gods are indeed good, Father." The man seemed friendly enough to her; she could not help but be reminded of old Roh-thep. "I do not wish to intrude, but may I ask you a few questions? My companions and I have been asked to help in finding the reason for the fire."
"Are there any among the caravan that have seemed suspicious to you? Any who would have any grudge against Eloais or possibly Lady Roveshki?" She hesitated a moment before asking the last question, worried that she would seem foolish. "Harrowing is not really a...dangerous art...is it?" As curious as she was about such foreign magic, she had a healthy wariness concerning it.
"So, who are you if I may ask?!", Mirama says in a no nonsense voice to that guy behind the wagon, while keeping her eyes on the man, in case he will do something...wrong.
"Javeed!", Mirama shouts - "Check out those cloven prints I've found, and you could probably also lend me a hand here, with this guy!"
Khalit waits and observes.
He knows how effective his sisters are at ferreting out information, and he is better at scaring it out of people.
Not wanting to further alienate their employer, it is best to have someone say or do something suspicious before he begins browbeating them.
"How can I help"" Javeed puffs his chest out to add to his already muscular frame using it to both detour the strange man from being agressive, and to shield, the Mwangi woman Javeed finds intriguing, bending down Javeed takes a close look at the tracks
Martika approaches the injured guards. "I judge by your injuries that you two were closes to the fire. I admire your courage. While I am sure you'd like to rest, I need you to tell me what you saw, where you were, and who else was nearby. And unfortunately I need to ask you these things now, while it is clear in your mind." Her smile is conciliatory and apologetic, but she looks each guard in the eyes in a manner that conveys her simple expectation that they will comply.
"But first, of course, introductions. I am Martika Al-Raedoth. What are your names?"
Kara strolls up to the group of mercenaries, putting on her most charming smile and flashing her eyelashes at the men. After a brief introduction, she inquires about their individual relationships with the recently deceased, as well as their whereabouts when the fire started. She stands very closely to each man, so while they look down at her they have a difficult time keeping their gaze focused on her face.
Martika approaches the injured guards. "I judge by your injuries that you two were closes to the fire. I admire your courage. While I am sure you'd like to rest, I need you to tell me what you saw, where you were, and who else was nearby. And unfortunately I need to ask you these things now, while it is clear in your mind." Her smile is conciliatory and apologetic, but she looks each guard in the eyes in a manner that conveys her simple expectation that they will comply.
"But first, of course, introductions. I am Martika Al-Raedoth. What are your names?"
Kara and Martika both approach the mercenaries, now clustered together a few yards away. The leader of the group, the one identified by Garavel as Trevvis, seems to be the most vocal of this unkempt lot. He is also one of the pair that was burned in fighting the fire, and he is loudly insisting that he is fine to his fellows as the duo approaches. His eyes flicker over Martika, but then drift up and down, lingering over Kara's well-proportioned shape as the halfling approaches. Suddenly, he seems very willing to answer questions. "All of us were just enjoying ourselves around the feast-fire, finishing off dinner with a nice sturdy drink, you know? Wouldn't mind having one with you sometime, little lady, I have to say. But suddenly, that astrologer's wagon just goes up in flames! Didn't see nobody near it, nothing strange was going on. Me and Kallien tried to get in there and pull Eloais out...he was a useless weakling, but he and Almah seemed to have a little something going on, you know what I mean?" Trevvis gives Kara a knowing wink. "I think you do, huh? We figured Almah'd give us a tongue-lashing if we didn't at least try. Anyway, all we got for our trouble was burns and a lungful of smoke. Lucky the good Father's around to set us right again." Only then does Trevvis seem to notice that Martika had also asked him for introductions. "Oh, uh...right. My name's Trevvis. This here's Utarchus, Dullen, Kallien, Brotis, and Yesper. It's uh...nice to meet you."
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Approaching Father Zastoran again, she said with a faint smile, "It seems the gods are indeed good, Father." The man seemed friendly enough to her; she could not help but be reminded of old Roh-thep. "I do not wish to intrude, but may I ask you a few questions? My companions and I have been asked to help in finding the reason for the fire."
Father Zastoran welcomes Ikethru's company, and motions for her to accompany him back to his wagon. The old priest is very friendly and engaging, and seems pleased to have her to talk with. "It is no intrusion at all, my dear. Please, walk with me and I will be happy to share with you what small knowledge I possess. I was reading a book by the firepit, but those sellsword louts were making such a commotion I could scarcely concentrate at all. I'd just stood up to return to my wagon when the fire started. Thank Nethys I was able to help spare the lives of those two that tried to help to rescue poor Eloais...thanks to your help of course," he adds with a smile. "Ah, Eloais. I suspect his 'divinations' were little more than charlatanry, but I did appreciate his conversation...I will miss that. Not a one of these others here was so well traveled and intelligent...able to discuss the poetry of Bellianais or the music of far-off Absalom. Almah was certainly quite fond of Eloais as well...perhaps too much so. "
"Are there any among the caravan that have seemed suspicious to you? Any who would have any grudge against Eloais or possibly Lady Roveshki?" She hesitated a moment before asking the last question, worried that she would seem foolish. "Harrowing is not really a...dangerous art...is it?" As curious as she was about such foreign magic, she had a healthy wariness concerning it.
The priest replies, "A grudge, hmm? Well, Dashki...I don't know about a grudge per se, but he does have a disturbing...obsession with Almah. No one with healthy desires skulks around a pretty woman the way he does. Who knows what a scoundrel like him is capable of?"
"And Harrowing, dangerous? Hardly. Sleight of hand and a wild imagination are really the only skills required, as far as I can see."
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"So, who are you if I may ask?!", Mirama says in a no nonsense voice to that guy behind the wagon, while keeping her eyes on the man, in case he will do something...wrong.
Having been seen, the ragged man approaches Mirama and Javeed. Now in full sight, the two see that he has a pronounced limp, and walks with the aid of a gnarled wooden staff. As he gets closer, a powerful body odor makes it quickly obvious that this man has a very loose relationship with hygiene. Darting eyes take in the adventurers, then he replies in a low voice, "Who am I? I'm Dashki, I work for Almah. I could ask the same of you two, prowling around the edge of camp. Who are you?"
Kara flashes a subtle smile and leans close to Trevvis, speaking in a low voice, "Maybe we'll have that drink as soon as we figure out who or what started that fire...who else had their eyes on Almah? Garavel? Dashki? Maybe one of those fellows in red?"
Javeed looks Dashki straight into his Eyes, "We are friends, or at least we hope to be. We also work for Almah, we have just arrived, and if this recent rukus was not an accident, it looks as if you can use all the help you can get" Javeed takes a step forward and shields his female companion. Javeed looks with a mixture of respect and awe at Dashki, "We have much in common, I have been looking to meet you Javeed motions to his gnoll hide armor. "Come Dashki, what do you make of these tracks, it looks as if something has been forced"
"Dashki? Is that you name? You're right; you could be even more warried about me, than I was about you. Please accept my appology..."
Diplomacy: 19 + 7 = 26
Mirama notices with smile, that Javeed is kind of protecting her.