Arakan loads his new hand crossbow, before firing it through one of the murder holes, trying to catch one of the runners off guard. He then moves to a new set of holes, in order to get the jump on a different one.
Calla works hard to help the defenders prepare the hot sand, trying not to imagine it glowing red hot, sifting gently under armor, burning skin. Inescapable torment for their attackers.
Calla helps the siege crew heft the jars of heated sand into position, with Gorad on hand to tend any burns. Irivis and Arakan provide distraction by sniping at the the massed siltrunners through the murder holes and arrow slits, and even Jareen lends a hand. With the big pots dragged into position, their undersides burned black with soot, the signal is given and hot sand pours out of spouts in the wall and over the attackers. The siltrunners' shrieks are satisfyingly agonised and those that are able dash away from the gate, leaving their fellows to twitch feebly on the ground or crawl about, blind and whimpering.
"Nice!" grins the sergeant, sweating in the heat. "Get some more sand and stoke up those fires!"
percp
"There is something big out near the siltrunner leaders looks humanoid"
The monstrous figure is joined by another. Peering out into the dark in the weak moonlight it is hard to make them out though they seem to be roughly bipedal, but with four arms . The two of them seem to be piling up boulders just out of range.
nature
"Ahh I see those are broghs, 4 armed giantkin, and it looks like they are preparing boulders to throw... I wonder if they are blaming us for the meteriorte, they are well known for hating magic."
"Good eyes, Gorad," Calla compliments the shaman. "That sounds like real trouble. Sergeant, looks like the siege engines have just arrived. Don't suppose you have a spare division of cavalry ready to sortie?"
"We don't need cavalry. We've got Mr Sneaky."
Irivis nods at Arakan, lurking quietly near the murder holes.
"Whatever he does, he'd better do it soon," replies the sergeant, "It's going to take a while to get more sand going."
Irivis collects her thoughts and her allies and outlines her suggestion.
"Arakan sets up a distraction. The rest of us try and work out way into range from the other side and take out the leaders. Otherwise this fight is going to on a lot longer than any of us want. Jareen and I have ... let's call them capabilities. The giants won't like that, and I don't want to be close enough to them for them to find out what we're up to."
She grimaces.
"I'm the blight on this plan really. I don't do stealthy. Pity we can't disguise ourselves as sand dunes."
"Irivis, my dear, you are a blight to all of my plans, but a blight to your own? That's a talent." He looks to the others. "I speak giant, and from where I'm from they come in two varieties, really angry, and slightly less really angry. You don't talk to them unless they choose to talk to you." Turning back to Irivis, "Just what do you intend? I ride out, and as they chew my bones, the rest of you make your escape? These are Brogh, any one of them could probably do a number on the fort here, why do you think a small group could affect change?"
To the sergeant he asks, "Is there a sound or signal for a parley, maving a certain colored flag or a horn blast or two? Giving me a chance to speak to them could help, but I will need someone who can speak to the lizards." He looks around at the collective group expectantly.
Gorad frowns at Arakan's words and shakes his head no
"I wasn't thinking of parleying with them, Arakan. I was thinking of killing them. From a distance."
Arakan levels a snide smile in Irivis' direction, "I know you weren't thinking... of parleying. However, getting the jump on not one, but multiple, giantkin is not what I consider a good idea. Most giants are a little thick in the head, maybe I could convince them to leave, or that they have the wrong target for whatever it is that they intend." Quietly to the small group, "How much luck do you think we would have against them in combat anyways? We had our butts almost handed to us by one big lizard."
"Oh dear, what a stupid plan ... silly me. Do you have a better idea?"
Irivis looks at Arakan with limpid and innocent eyes.
Jareen Sighs as Irvis and Arkan start up, again.
As the party bickers, the broghs pile up their stones. Then they each grab a boulder and begin marching for the gate, a troop of blowgun-toting siltrunners with them.
"I hope this plan is coming soon," mutters the sergeant.
Me too, thinks Calla, bereft of ideas. The arrival of giant, monsters from the tales of her childhood, seems surreal. Unfair even - Grak's Pool was supposed to be safe, a refuge. Gramma promised, she thinks unfairly and irrelevantly.
Calla turns to the sergeant, asking, "If we lead a sortie against the giants, will anyone follow us? It's probably suicide, but we're running out of time for clever ideas."
The sergeant squints through an arrow slit. "They're going to get covering fire from those siltrunners. Running out there with them there would be suicide, but if we can cover you and discourage their little friends, maybe you can get to them and engage them?"
Calla wracks her mind for something that might save them.
"Going out into the milling crowd will be suicide, if we can get rid of their guard they will have to back off or face the full brundt of our attack. Focus on the siltrunners."
Arakan looks to the group he's saddled with, amazement on his features, "I don't know about the rest of you, but I feel like I've been tumbled through all seven of the City-states' arenas, and you guys want to try and gang up on a few giants? We haven't had a good sleep in... I can't count the days, there has got to be a better way. Irivis, you should know, for us, some problems can be convinced to go away on their own."
He looks around as if searching for something frantically, before it dawns on him. He focuses on his hand and a cone, formed of translucent green energy, forms in his hand. It is no larger than his head, hollow through the middle with an opening at either side.
He holds it up to his mouth and speaks loudly in the direction of the giants,
Calla looks impressed as Arakan focuses his untrained mind to produce a speaking-cone. She looks more impressed as he starts talking in what can only be giantish.
"What did you say?" she asks.
He turns his head to look at Calla, responding sarcastically, "I asked if they would be so kind as to avoid killing the sane people, so at least I know I'll be safe." his ever-present, unexplained disdain for Calla readily apparent.
"Ah." Calla sighs. Can't expect much but bile from that one. "Do you think they're likely to show mercy? Even to the sane among us? Still, worth a try. I suppose."
She whispers to Irivis, carefully making sure the sergeant and guards cannot overhear her, "We might need to run again. Be ready for an opportunity if the keep is overrun."
Irivis translates briefly, and then whispers to Calla.
"If we can bribe them, that's great. If not, we need to be ready. This is the only place to offer us any kind of refuge. Let's not abandon it."
"Arakan, use that huge new voice of yours to tell them there is magic they need to destroy away from here. Where the meteorite fell."
The giants pause momentarily, and one yells back:
The giants and their supporters continue forward.
He turns to Irivis, giving her a look of frustration, "Good call, but it seems the 'sky rock' is still punishing us." Arakan tries his best to stall the Brogh in speech,
Irivis is no help.
As he awaits an answer from the giants, he leans over and asks if the others have heard of this person, "Hey, do any of you know of someone named 'Pyreen'?"
"Pyreen?" Calla thinks for a moment.
And continues, "The pyreen is the legendary figure who is prophesied to emerge from the desert, purge Athas of the sorcerer-kings, and renew the land. Though there have been plenty of false pyreens - villains, fanatics or lunatics - in the past. This is bad. We're facing religious fanatics, and they have [i[giants[/i]. Whatever happens here, they need to know about this in Uruk."
The broghs ignore Arakan's entreaties and continue to march forward. "Look," says the sergeant, "If we can give you covering fire we can probably drive off the siltrunners. As for the giants, I don't know, but talk to the boss and see if you can't get some of those caravan guards to help you tackle them. If they start chucking those rocks at the gate I don't think they'll hold out too long."
"Right. Let's do this. We need to eliminate this pyreen. If the giants see him fall, he can't be the chosen one."
Arakan cocks his head, his eyebrows pursed in confusion, "Why would we warn Urik about someone coming to remove the Sorcerer-kings? I personally wouldn't mind the removal of King Hamanu. Heck, Kalak is gone, there's only six left." A thought comes to him.
The giants pause and look at each other, and then begin to converse with their siltrunner entourage. The sergeant says, "Don't know what you said, but it seemed to stop them for the moment. We'll get the sand heated up while you parley."
There is a brief discussion amongst the attackers, and then they withdraw to the main group. Another mob of siltrunners then moves closer, including the group that were standing back and watching the initial attack. One of the siltrunners steps forward. In a thin, reedy voice it calls out, "Who would speak with the pyreen, slayer of cities, destroyer of the sorcerer-kings, master of the sky-rocks?"
Arakan winces as they speak loud enough for all to hear, hoping that the knowledge of what he suggested isn't too widely shared. He adjusts himself, adopting his most regal pose, "I am the one that will speak with the pyreen, and I will require the presence of my advisors." He indicates the rest of the group. Turning to Irivis he whispers to her with an air of hopefulness,
He turns to the sergeant, and mastering his air of command, and hopefully eases the man's worries, "We will go out and meet with this pyreen, and will attempt to make him... er... it cease its assault on the fort."
"Yeah, well I'll keep heating up the sand, no offence," replies the sergeant.
Grak meets them at the gate. "So, what do you have in mind?"
Arakan nods at the sergeant, "I hope that you do, if we fail to stop them from attacking, you may very well need it."
When Grak addresses them he explains quite succinctly, "Though I have not officially trained as such, I am a Bard." He winks knowingly at the leader of the fort, secure in his implied meaning. He looks to the others as if to add, 'If you didn't know it, you do now.'
Grak looks unimpressed at Arakan's revelation. "Terrific," he replies dryly, "So I'm supposed to entrust my future to a professional liar who I hardly know and a crazy siltrunner with delusions of grandeur. I don't think so." He turns to a lieutenant. "Hold the line here. If anything happens, you're in charge." Then, to some of his men, "You, you and you - with me."
He turns back to Arakan. "I've built this place from the ground up, the deserts can take me if I'm going to just stand around while you negotiate with this pyreen. We're coming with you, to back you up and keep an eye on you."
Irivis nods approvingly.
"Very sensible. I wouldn't trust us either."
Arakan feigns his best offended face, "You know a Bard is loyal to their patron. For the safety and security of this outpost, water, and the equipment we've been offered, I would consider myself hired. Now, if we go out there with not just our entourage, but a contingent of the outpost's guard, no matter how small, how do you think they will perceive our intentions? I understand your concerns, but we pose much less of a visible threat when all I have accompanying me is an old man, an infirm woman, a speaker with nature, and one guard. The proper ruse to accomplishing my job as intended relies on not coming off as a threat." He explains at length, but can tell by the resolute demeanor on Grak's face that, he's not having any of it. Before he shoots Irivis a look of, 'you're not helping, as usual'.
"And they might think such a group a sign a weakness," replies Grak brusquely. "Anyway, you're hired, and so you'll do as I say."
He shouts to his men, "Open the gates, we'll go out and then close them again, sharpish!"
"Well done Arakan, you've bought us an opportunity. Now let's take advantage of it - enough bickering. Grak, it's good to have you with us. I expect this will still come down to a fight when the words run out."
Calla follows Grak's lead down to the gates.
Arakan seems rankled by the last words Grak addressed to him, "You may be confused due to my colleagues' eagerness to be given orders they so obediently follow blindly. I, however, need to know more. For example, do you tell your weaver how to make clothes? Do you tell your healers how to channel the land's energies? Do you inform your stonemason how to form brick, or tell your glazier how to shape obsidian? If not, then I would expect that you may tell me what you want done, but you DON"T tell me HOW to do my job. If you do, however, know so much as to be a master of all these different facets to include my own, then you must not need my aid in the first place.... as you were most assuredly about to stop the Brogh's advance, and the threat of this 'Pyreen' all on your own. If you are insecure enough to feel the need to be present, then so be it, but I do what I decide to do in order to get the job done."
Grak scowls at Arakan. "Shut up. Let's go." As the gate creaks open enough to allow someone to exit, Grak grabs Arakan and shoves him through the gap, following quickly after with his men.
Irivis shares a half smile with Calla and limps after the rest of the group.
The gate closes with a thump of finality and the rasp of the bar being drawn across. The siltrunner horde is drawn up out of bow range, a vague whispering menace in the dark. The walk across the sand towards them seems to take forever. Getting closer, the siltrunners can be seen squatting in groups, and they gaze balefully at the little embassy, the torchlight reflecting in their night predators' eyes. The enemy lines part, inviting the deputation into the centre of the camp.