Jareen will just turn in. He needs some sleep after all that spell use ;)
Despite still trying to catch his wind after falling behind a bit, Th'Kal still urges the others to not stop.
<dzzzT> "The tarek are scattered. The hunt should resume." <berrrwlt> "The clutch can sleep later."
Cahel will let the 'kreen's words hang, eager to see what the group thinks about continuing. He would like to get that creature, though.
"I am Sorry Kal. I for one need rest before we resume this hunt. As much as the creature likes to strike at night, my skills are exhausted, as is my body."
The 'kreen eventually calms down, and the caravan enters into its nighttime routines. The night guards patrol and, when the sun rises again, no one seems to have been deprived of their head.
Tawfik reassigns Gart to another part of the guard detail in the morning. Then the advance guard - Jareen, Th'Kal, Arakan and Furio - are sent out again.
Arakan seems oddly pleased, all things considered. "Well, we've seemed to make it a night without anyone losing their heads. I'd say we eluded the creature, and can rest easy not having to follow it or try to find it."
"Ha!"
"Hopefully it will come to us."
Today, the advance guard have an easy time. Gart doesn't need his crodlu, so he donates it on a temporary basis to Cahel to let him ride with the others. The land is relatively flat and featureless, and the road is in reasonable repair. Anyone approaching - not that there is anyone - can be seen from miles away. A boring day ensues, riding ahead of the main caravan, with no one and nothing to see except rock, scrub, heat haze and a few dead animals picked clean by the roadside.
The caravan makes camp that evening in an old enclosure ringed by drystone walls. As the sun goes down and the air begins to cool, there is a sudden commotion over by the wagon of the templars of Draj.
The Drajite contingent seem to be engaging in some sort of worship - and noisily. One of the guards stands watchfully by the wagon but the other kneels before a smouldering brazier with the young templar. The older templar holds a struggling food-beetle with one hand, its legs wiggling in the air, and a dagger in the other. He then declaims the service, his voice booming across the campsite as bemused caravaneers watch on.
"As the sun sets we see Ral and Gurthay, the holy parents of our lord - the divine Tectuktitlay, master of Draj, bringer of sweet waters, giver and life and death and emperor of the universe - rising together between the Bright Sentinel and the Claws of the Kank! We see Mother Locust at her zenith, while the Dragon's Eye follows the sun below the horizon!" The templars sweeps the dagger through the air, pointing out the various astronomical phenomena. "The heavens proclaim their joy and worship the divine Tetuktitlay at this, the Feast of the Great Cutting! We remember this time, the celebration his circumcision ritual, when he descended as a babe from the heavens and miraculously grew to his power in a single day! We remember how the burnt earth was blessed when he first trod upon it, and brought peace, plenty and harmony to the people of Draj! We make this sacrifice in his name, knowing it is unworthy, trembling before his majesty, and begging for his mercy!"
With this, the templar stabs the beetle with a meaty thunk. Its blood dribbles into the brazier as it is carves up into section which also drop into the flames. Once he has butchered the unfortunate insect, the templar also prostrates himself before the brazier. After a short while, nothing else seems to be going on and the onlookers begin to drift away.
Th'Kal looks back and forth between Jareen and Arakan expecting one of them to have the scene and its importance figured out and explainable to the rest of the clutch.
"Nothing to see here... I'm almost surprised they didn't use the child as sacrifice." Jareen will say, quietly, away from the templars....
The next morning, Tawfik hands out instructions. "It should be a short run today. Just after noon, we'll reach an oasis fort called Ablath. We'll stop there for the night, even though we'll scarcely be safer than in the desert. It's a den of cuthroats, run by House Tsalaxa. They're from Draj too, like that lot" - he nods over towards where the templars watch impatiently as their warriors prepare the wagon for the onward journey - "so stay sharp while we are there. I wouldn't be surprised if they try some sort of shakedown. Just don't try anything clever - I do the thinking around here, you do the fighting and dying."
Someone else is on point today, so the little band of heroes instead just patrol the caravan's left flank. The animals plod across the bare rock and, on cue, just after the sun is at its highest the advance party ride back in. "We've seen the oasis - maybe an hour away!"
In the distance a small smudge of green is overlooked by a rocky promontory and tower. The rest of the detail is lost in the heat haze.
Cahel remains silent, his thoughts on an unknown figure across the sands.
A low ridge runs alongside the road, rising gradually, as the caravan plods towards the oasis. As they reach it, they find a narrow valley slices into the hill and dusty grass sprouting on the otherwise parched stone. The line of animals turns to lumber into the canyon. The vegetation gets more lush with every step, with small shrubs giving way to nut palms. Soon they are in a narrow gorge, light filtering in from above, the walls covered with ferns and moss. A narrow trickle winds down the middle, with small plots growing vegetables one either side tended by miserable-looking slaves. In the near-distance the valley ends at a sheer cliff. Low buildings cluster underneath it while a staircase runs up to the keep overlooking the whole area at the top.
Three slovenly guards saunter up and are given short shrift by Tawfik. The caravan then proceeds to a walled caravanserai just outside the village and begins to set up camp.
Arakan is pleased to be someplace guarded and regulated, even if it's via thuggery by the oasis controllers. He works best when he knows the rules and way around them. He too will want to fill his skins, and more importantly see if he recognizes any of the plants for having toxic properties. While doing so, he tries to get a read on the people, either visitor or regular. He wants to get a feel for who's in charge, and how everyone acts around one another.
Cahel mimics the others, filling his water skin and following them silently.
In keeping, Arakan finds plenty of poisonous plants growing in a few plots, but these are guarded.
As a few of the adventurers go to fill their skins at the stream, an overseer and some guards walk over. "Oi! You can't do that!"
"Let me guess: Wrong stream?"
"That water is the property of House Tsalaxa. You can't just take it, it has to be bought. That's stealing, that is!"
"Ah, I see. So instead of saying 'Oh, hello, have you paid?' or 'Would you like to speak to the person concerned to pay' you accuse us of theft outright? That's very good of you."
"Don't get smart, you old fart. That's a, um, ten clack fine for water theft. Each."
The overseer crosses his arms and the guards smirk.
Arakan has to step up and save the old man from himself once again, "Whoa, sorry, you'll have to excuse the old man here. He's senile and sun-addled. Just look at him, he doesn't have enough sense to even keep his mouth shut when he needs to. We didn't know that our caravan master hasn't paid yet. We are not trying to steal anything, especially with us all out in the open and all bunched up like this, that would just be ridiculous. We were only appreciating the plant life and how well-guarded the place is. It offers comfort knowing there are so many guards on the walls." This he truly means, as Arakan loves having more things any enemy has to get through to get to him.
"Ah. What do you mean you foul mouthed youth? Senile? Why, yesterday, I could. What did I do yetserday.? Hmmm"
The guards curl their lips in contempt as Jareen dodders about. The overseer sneers, "Just keep an eye on the old fool," and then wanders off to harass someone else.
Meanwhile, an obese man dressed in a feathered robe stained under the arms appears, surrounded by more guards. He heads for the Drajite templars and prostrates himself, booming, "Excellency! On behalf of House Tsalaxa might I, Coyotl Tsalaxa, greet your eminence! I would offer you my rude abode so you might rest and relax away from the common herd that swarm about your radiance like flies about dripping nectar!"
The older templar looks down his nose at the sprawling merchant, then gives his grudging assent. The templars process after Coyotl towards the tower while the warriors drive the wagon after them.
Also, remember we are hoping to find a druid at this oasis to help explain the ramblings of the elf about the moons' alignment.
Jareen winks at Arakan as the guard walks off.
Th'Kal would've stayed close during the by-play unsure of how the new humans would react to Arakan's sensible words... if only they gave off a clearly pheromone scent!
Then he would just stay near Arakan and Jareen as they found their supplies and maybe a druid. But, T' doesn't like sitting still, so if it looks like it's break time for a while rather than druid-hunting time, he would go make himself useful taking care of their crodlu mounts.
Cahel sticks as near to the group as possible, without being intrusive. His own desires have taken a backseat, as it seems he has foiled his own attempt at vengeance, for the moment.
Jareen will indeed try to have a wander and see if we can find the guy.
|
Jareen quickly recognises this place for what it is - a vile sink of humanity where the feckless either get pressed into slavery or are doing the pressing. The "village" is basically a couple of barrack blocks and some inns that double as brothels for both the indigenous security and visiting caravaneers. Vice and skulduggery are the main currency here. Jareen just about manages to keep from insulting anyone who looks like they might offer violence in return, but it is quite obvious that no self-respecting druid would be living in this cesspit of iniquity.
Arakan follows Jareen around, and luckily for him, he speaks vice and skullduggery almost as well as his native tongue. He picked it up with a little immersion learning. He peppers his speech with more profanity, misogyny, and contempt, then he looks about for the druid. He doesn't ask specifically for someone of the sort, as much as he queries who manages to keep the plants and waters looking so inviting so that prices can be jacked up, and who is in charge of the slaves that tend the oasis itself. He tosses in implications that he knows of a spot he's looking to setup, but it needs a lot of tending first.
Arakan works his way round the bars, making contacts, dropping hints, setting bait. In one dark corner he find Rank, a swarthy, cold-eyed man with dark hair gathered in a pony-tail. He is nursing a small clay cup of some lethal spirit and sitting alone as he watches the laughing, staggering punters with a predatory gaze.
"So you want to know who makes the stuff grow around here? What's it to you?"
Arakan looks at the man with an understanding for the nasty faces he makes at the crude simpleton's drinking themselves even more stupid. "I was wondering, because I noticed a couple exceptional species of plant, and I was wondering how they were tended to grow so well. I'm a bit of a gardener myself."
"I know the guy in charge of the gardens. I can introduce you. For a fee."
Arakan eyes the predator with scrutiny, knowing that a meeting for a fee can often come with a dark alley and a blade meeting the back. "I'm not surprised that there would be a fee for information, but the nature and size of the fee are always contentious. Let's not get too bold at first, and we may both walk away richer from our endeavors, vice walking away with nothing."
"Do you mind if I take a seat? When Arakan here get's negotiating, it gets hard on an old man's back." Jareen says with a sly smile for Arakan...