Otlaipantili.
Dragonborn dot.
Tabaxi dot!!
The sound of the ocean, the sticky air of the jungle, the heat of the white sands. It's enough to make you want a drink, although it doesn't usually take much.
Here in the wilds of Maztica, good luck finding a bottle of ale or wine thats not 500x the normal price. Here the locals drink just a murky fermentation of aloe called "aoctli" reminiscent of gulping down a fireball...but its cheap.
The loggers in this camp don't mind though, and will take just about anything after a hard days work. They toil endlessly with stubborn imported asses and oxen, rolling oddly hued timbers into the ocean. There is only one trade route this far out and if they miss it, its month's of labor lost.
They've taken to sarcastically calling a collapsed and torn tent draped over some rocks "The Tavern", and needless to say, at this time of day its starting to get pretty sloppy.
|
Lidras Mitheredal sat in "The Tavern." He had his wings folded behind his back. His wings were white, like those of a dove. His long hair was also white, devoid of all color. His skin was white, like an albino. His once rich, blue eyes were now faded, like the rest of him. He wore a fine suit of clothes, which were gray and black. Over them was a silve breastplate. To say that he stuck out would be an understatement. From his belt hung a collection of weapons. A hand axe. A light hammer. A pair of daggers. Next to his chair was a backpack and a shield. The shield was one of the few things that seemed to have any color, though it was battered enough that whatever symbol was on it was now unrecognizable. To those experienced enough in such damage, it wouldn't be too hard to realize that most of the defacing was likely intentional.
The winged elf was every-inch the mercenary, sitting at a bar drinking his woes away. Looking at the aoctli glumly he thought about reaching for it. But deciding that it wasn't worth the effort he muttered a word of power and the glass slid over to him. He looked at it ruefully. It tasted like dwarven piss. Holding it up he cast prestidigitation on it, to change the flavor and to chill the glass. He sipped it. It tasted like the wine of his homeland. He was glad that he could do that little bit of magic, for there was precious little left to remind him of the station that he once held. It was dangerous though, for when drinks tasted like fireball, it was usually a good indication that moderation was required.
He needed to find work. Aoctli was cheap, but his funds would eventually run dry. He was almost tempted to demean himself to performing actual labor. But he hadn't sunk down that far. Yet.
He looked around idly, wondering if there would be anything to see besides the usual dirty, huddled masses of short-lived mankind.
A clawed hand pulls back the tent flap, a puff of salty air a welcome change inside the festering tent. A tall, scaled figure lowers his head and enters "The Tavern." Dressed for travel, and wearing a large pack the dragonborn approaches the bar, fishing in his pouch for a coin. The three fingered hand lays the silver coin down on the bar. "Aoctli," the deep voice says. "Wash this sand from my mouth."
Taking his drink in his right hand, a shield strapped to his arm, the dragonborn drains the glass in a single gulp and sets it down again in a single motion. "I am Gorbesh Galtar. I seek information on newcomers or travelers who have passed this way recently. Especially others of my kind. If you know of such things, come, let us drink and talk!"
|
|
Lidras looked at the dragonborn with a raised eyebrow. He was bored, and had already begun to drink too much. Turning to face Gorbresh he said "Is this paying work that you are offering? And are you just looking for information, or are looking for results?"
Gods blast it. Down to just three hundred gold? I'll be begging in the streets at this rate. What would father say if he saw me like this? He almost smiled at the thought.
"Results! Always results!" Galtar exclaims. Turning to face the albino, the dragonborn pauses a moment to process the man before him. A slow smile creeps across his face. "The results belong to Galtar, but the drinks belong to you friend!"
The dragonborn fishes another silver coin from his pouch and lays it on the bar. "Aoctli for us both!"
Walking into the Tavern a slim, cat-like figure moves into the tent. Dressed in the garb of a sailor, the cat-man moves to the "bar" and, in a stilted Maztican orders some aoctli. He turns and looks over the space to see who of interest might be here.
The female Dwarf who had been snoring at one of the "tables" snorted awake at the sounds of discussion. She wore her unwashed dark red hair in a loose braid that snaked it's way down her back, and as she rose to a sitting position you could see several scars that crisscrossed her face, including one that was covered with an eyepatch, most likely because it had put out her eye.
Her nearby pack was surrounded by a handful of teeth that had been sprinkled around it as an obvious warning, and the locals were giving her a wide berth. a holy symbol to the Dwarffather hung around her neck, and she had a Battleaxe on one hip and a Warhammer on the other.
The most telling bit of her appearance, however, was the armor she wore: Dwarven-made plate made of one of the rarest metals known: Adamantine, the breastplate of which was intricately etched with Dwarven runes that appeared to tell a story.
She looked bleary-eyed around, then picked up the mug in front of her, drained what little contents remained, and ordered another.
The large dragonman drinks the offered gift. "Many thanks!" Galtar rolls his broad shoulders, dropping the pack to the floor. He digs inside pulling out a small, wooden box and sets it on the bar. "More drink! he bellows jovially. "That is a good flavor, though the magic leaves an odd taste on my tongue. I believe this will be a similar flavor profile for you though." Taking several dried leaves from the wooden box, he crushes them in his three fingered hand and then gently dusts the drinks with them. "My offer of drinks was intended for me to listen though friend. Who else have you met on the road to this nowhere place? Any more of my kind?"
|
|
Lidras sipped the offered drink. He thinks this is similar to the ambrosia of my people?! We would have had a slave flogged for such an offense! No. No. He meant well. Be polite Lidras. Father can't buy your way out of trouble anymore.
"Thank you. I've never tasted anything quite like it." He offered a polite smile. Not too large, not too small. Just enough to convey respect and appreciation. "As for your question, many foreigners come through hear. Just now I see a Tabaxi sailor and, if I'm not mistaken, a dwarven cleric. As for your people? Dragonborn are not such a rare sight. But I did notice a black-as-night one leaving town heading south. We spoke before, about Abeir. He seemed like a pleasant enough sort."
You notice an instant shift in demeanor. The coppery-scaled dragonman exhales deeply and growls low.
"When? I have teshmeeat with this one.", Galtar uses the elven word, his hand rests reflexively on the spear attached to his pack. "Perhaps this one shared a more...specific destination?"
|
|
Teshmeeat. An interesting word. To hold onto the light. Or less literally, 'So, it comes at last to this, this justice, this final place/conclusion; it was/is/will be inevitable, a crossing of threads that brings a conclusion or cycle-end.' Lidras smiled at the superiority of his language. How much could be conveyed with but a word. He liked this dragonborn.
"Something about Tamoachan. I believe it is a ruined city of some kind. Many treasure seekers go looking for it. Few return. I wouldn't make the trip there alone, so I assume that your quarry would have a handful of followers with him. That is, if he was being honest."
Feeling the rush of close prey, Galtar's pupils widen and he breathes in deeply through his nose.
"Yes. Tamoachan. Though honesty is not a strong suit for the echye." Galtar spits. "Do you truly seek Tamoachan? Or are you speaking of innumerable, uncertain futures?
|
|
"I seek gold." Lidras raised his voice, loud enough for anyone to hear if they wanted. "And I don't quite care how I get it. You are seeking this dragonborn. Whether it is for vengeance, honor, or a new pair of boots? That's between you and him. What I do know is that if he was indeed heading to that city, then we both might find what we are looking for. Though we'd need a scout. And someone skilled in the art of healing. My magical tricks, and my blade, can do neither."
The towering dragonman raises his right arm, clencing his three fingered fist over his heart. "There is no finer scout than Galtar Gorbesh. It pleases me that you understand shaeyata requires that Meztli is mine. The rest we split as evens?"
Perking up as he hears the winged elf speak of needing a scout, Pisco looks over to him and the dragon-man.
A scout you say? Well I was born to these jungles, though stolen away years ago by pirates, but I might be able to help you...for the right percentage of the booty!"
He picks up his drink and joins the other tow at their table.
"Names Pisco, just off the cog Sun of Amn. A pleasure to make your acquaintance."
There is a commotion just outside, as a crowd gathers around a black-skinned woman falling to the sands, visible in the orange of the setting sun. You hear the beautiful, flowing rhythm of the native language in distress.
Should you move closer, she is actually covered in blood, and her hands slip and slide over the largest 2 emeralds you have ever seen. If you are a native, or have previously traversed Narabutun or the coastal trade route, you recognize the word "Intli", its a large mountain visible from the ocean.
"Demons...demons are taking our people...they come in the night, from Intli, just there from Intli...please help us..."
A churlish man pulls up his pants, and boldly takes one of the emeralds from the lady, holding it up to the light. He is almost immediately punched in the face, and falls hard to the ground. Soon nearly everyone is caught up in a struggle for the treasure, and the sand kicked up sticks to the bloody woman's face.
Finally focusing on the scuffle after having stumbled with the crowd outside to see what was going on, Zathra begins wading into the melee, punching, kicking and smashing her way to the woman to see to her health and wellbeing.
|
|
Lidras sat back and watched. "Look at the dwarf go. I'm always amazed about how creatures so small can be so strong." It was too bad about what was happening, but he had long ago stopped being surprised at the crudeness of mankind. "We'll need to wait for them to tire themselves out before we can get through."
Katra, you take an elbow to the adamantine chest which nearly shatters the funny bone of the poor 'jack who made that mistake. Its rough making progress through the bustle, but ultimately it seems not to matter, the woman is crying and cowering. Freed of her treasures, she is mostly forgotten by the drunken horde.
Her freshest, and filthiest, wounds are below the knee. The soles of her feet nearly raw, she also sports multiple lacerations that must be from the uncut jungle vegetation. However, she also has taken a serious blow to the head, and while the wound has naturally sealed it wasn't without much bleeding.
She doesn't seem to notice you and is on the verge of shock.
Lidras, ever cognizant of the local power, you start to wonder where expedition leader Silas has roamed off to. If he's the kind of man who would stand for this chaos, perhaps you misjudged him.
Pisco
Pisco keeps an eye on who gets the gems and soon move in to stop the thieves.
"Now stealing from an injured lady is not very polite. Hand over the gems and I will not be forced to kill you. What do you say?"
Pisco, the crowd is roaring and fists are flying everywhere, but it's quite obvious who holds the gems at any given moment. Still, it's uncertain if your words have the weight to penetrate through the mess.
Roll Charisma (Intimidation). If you display the full length of your claws and perform some kind of attack sequence, you can roll Dexterity (Intimidation) instead.
Letting his claws slowly unsheath in a most obvious manner, Pisco takes a martial stance as he speaks his warning to the thieves.
Intimidate (DEX):
Nearly half the men pause in their stances as Pisco says the word "kill" with the other half settling down shortly after. They turn and look at Pisco, and his claws saying things like "...what the hell, he's serious..." and "...not getting gutted by a cat-man today..."
The 2 men holding the emeralds are in in turn being held by others. They stubbornly clutch the glistening greenstones with bloody noses and torn clothes.
The one on the right looks especially anxious.
Once the crowd is less rambunctious around her, Katra, will pick up the woman and move her out of the way, then tend her injuries using the power of Moradin as well as cleaning and bandaging the wounds on her feet.
As she does so, she begins speaking quietly to her in Dwarven.
She's actually using a Dwarven lullaby, which are spoken instead of sung in the Dwarven tongue.
Galtar joins the others outside, watching the crowd and the chaos. Following the gems as they change hands. The dragonman waits patiently for the two men holding the emeralds to try and bolt with their ill-gotten gains.
Insight:
Katra, you and Moradin get her to a much better place physically. You think immediately about using a sticky herb infused tree sap to pluck grains of sand and larger stones from the wounds, but with the magics it seems unnecessary. She clings to your forearm but keeps her eyes on the darkening jungle. "Tlaz...Tlazohcamat...cihuapili tzin..."
The anxious logger bolts, but Galtar saw it coming and completes his spell. The ground rumbling outdoes the sound of the ocean before thick jungle vines burst from the beach sands, ensnaring all in a tight cluster of growth.
A sense of fear comes over the men, crying of jungle spirits. Some recognize the source is Galtar, and between his magic and Piscos death claws they seem more eager to surrender, clearing a path to the 2 gems to do with as you see fit.
Galtar steps forward toward the men, in his deep voice calling for the vines to retreat. He picks up the two emeralds, and secures them in his pouch. "Fools," the dragonman regards them with disgust, "do what you like but you better not uncork what you can’t contain."
Galtar moves to stand near as the dwarf tends to the woman. "You appear to be a capable healer, quick thinking. I am sure she will recover." The dragonman then calls to Pisco, "Do you understand what she is saying, scout?"
Pisco sheaths his claws and walks over to the woman as well.
"I speak the local language, although it has been many years since I last heard it."
Pisco serves ably as a translator, with only a few brief pauses from her deep jungle dialect. She conveys the story that her entire village abandoned their homes after being attacked by demons on horseback. They were capturing people using large bolas, but in her case she was struck in the head instead of entangled. The 2 gemstones were the weights within the bolas. She pleads for help, but refuses to go back.
Galtar looks to Pisco, "Can you have her describe these demons at all? Many times that word is thrown around, and can mean many things to different people. You and I may be demons to her. Does she know why they were taking her tribe? Or where? Did they come from the direction of Intli?"
The dragonman nods at Lidras, "Indeed you did, and I deeply appreciate your willingness to keep your word. Things would be better if more people believed that. If these demons are using emeralds of this size as weapons, they either do not understand or do not care about the value of them. Unless perhaps they truly have no value. A gem this size could certainly hire more labor they they are attempting to press into work. What say you, dwarf? Do you have an eye for gems?"
"You are fools. Fools to run into danger, heedless of the risk. Fools to think of others ahead of yourselves. Fools to want to face down demons." With that, the Dwarven woman walks back into the bar, only to come stomping back out a moment or two later, pack on her back. "Bigger the fool me, then, as Moradin has sent me to aid you on your likely suicidal trek."
Turning, she flings what quickly become apparent as teeth back at the tent "Tell your men they can have their teeth back, and I thank them kindly for the loan."
Pisco talks to the girl and attempts to calm her fears. He asks about the "demons"; trying to get a description of them. He also asks where they might be taking her people and where they came from.
"She needs rest and maybe something to drink to calm her nerves. Let's take her to the tavern and some Aoctli to calm her."
|
|
To Katra, the elf merely smiled and nodded. Dwarves were a touchy people, and he didn’t want to accidentally offend. Then, to Pisco he said ”I suppose we could do that. But do we need to waste time and coin? Just ask her here and now where her village was and where the demons have gone. She can buy drink enough with her gems.”
Pisco, the woman tries her best to describe the demons, talking of how they wore "melted faces" and were "skilled cavalry". Her village, Axayacatl, is at the base of Mt. Intli and she thinks they came from the west, from up in the mountains. She talks about how they could see them coming from far away, but didn't suspect anything like warfare until they were nearly upon them...although terrible, they were few in number.
Those who have heard rumors of Tamoachan know its been placed in that mountain range, though its exact location is unknown.
"How far is this village? Dispite the current state of troubles, it may be a good place for me to seek Meztli and for us to try to locate Tamocahan." Galtar suggests to Lidras.
"Daughter of Moradin if you are ready to leave, our scout Pisco should be able to lead the way." Galtar heads back into "The Tavern" to retrieve his massive pack, returning after a moment and ready to set off.
"Pisco, I should be able to render my assistance should you find yourself in need. I have a special way with the plants and animals." Galtar's lips pull back in a smile.
Axayacatl is part of the trade route the loggers use, Pisco and others at camp would know it. Despite being far inland, the Bilchak River connects it directly to Taylola (the eastern ocean).
Pisco node and retrieves his own pack before leaving some money with the tavern keeper to take care of the young lady.
"Treat her as your own child, and I will reward you when I return...let harm come to her, and there is nowhere in the two lands you can hide that I will not find you."