The Cleanser nods as the blade drives home.
Moments later, a group of 10 riders approach the camp. Eight circle the area training bows on the companions, while two of them ride to the edges and pull their horses to a halt.
"Why are you here, Unpeople?"
The speaker is a woman. Muscular and tattooed, she is clearly the leader. Accompanying her is an older man, his face marked with ashes and holding a skull.
Kia, realising that she is still the only person who can speak for the party turns to the woman.
"We mean no harm to you or your people. We are here on a mission of utmost importance, to seek the help of your kind."
"You cannot harm us," states the woman calmly.
"What is this mission and who do you seek among the People? Those who travel with wolves may threaten. Or they may be worthy of our escort. Which are you? Do not lie. The Spirit Talker listens."
She nods to the older man who turns a piercing gaze on the party.
"We certainly do not threaten. Those we seek are called the Bone Riders."
The Spirit Talker nods in confirmation.
"We will take you to our clan. You may not ride through Kargzant alone. We leave at dawn. You will be ready."
The warleader and the Spirit Talker turn and ride out of the campsite, signaling to the other riders as they go. It is very clear from her demeanour that although an escort has been offered, the group are effectively her prisoners until she decides otherwise. Four of the riders peel off and take strategic positions where they can watch and pick off any potential escapees.
At dawn, your escort is waiting patiently. The Warleader nods in greeting and gestures curtly for you to ride in the centre of her archers.
What follows is gruelling. The Kargzant lead you on a path that twists and turns around the slopes of the tundra, seemingly following a set path. At times, it turns aside for some reason and once, the riders halt entirely while the Spirit Talker dismounts and places his head to the ground. He mutters something you can't understand and the group obediently backtracks and takes another route.
Even for the hardiest of the companions, this is an endurance test and as the day wears on with the pace never slackening, you realise that "endurance test" is a precise description. The Warleader watches you constantly, monitoring every slump in the saddle or swiftly drawn breath.
The sun is starting to sink once again as the riders finally breast a rise and a large tent comes into view.
"Our home. Dismount. You will be cleansed and you will speak with our shaman. You will be respectful, Unpeople."
These are the only words the Warleader has spoken directly to the comrades all the long day.
Whiteclaw paces the horses, often racing ahead and then waiting for them with a grin on her wolven jaws. She seems to be amused by the pace.
Vel has nothing left after the restless night and long day.
Reason finds himself holding up surprisingly well to the long ride.
The Spirit Talker ignores any looks of unease and rides serenely onwards to a shallow pit. Dismounting, he kneels and places his hands on the ground.
"Golden Stallion of the flames. Sun Lord. Allow the Unpeople to cleanse themselves in your fire."
Flame springs up in the pit and he stands.
"Dismount and cross."
The archers remain on horseback, circling the group.
Insight check DC20
Reason tucks his tail up neatly, smiles benignly and steps into the flame pit. Firmly in his element, he hums happily as he runs lightly through the fire.
The watching Kargzant nod approvingly as he emerges from the pit and the Spirit Talker marks his forehead with a ashy symbol.
"You are a guest. Our tent is your tent. Our salt is your salt. Our water is your water. Our horse is your horse. Your blood foe is our blood foe. From this night's falling to the next night's rising, this is so. Acknowledge it."
The Kargzant shout once in answer.
Realising that, should her cover be blown, she will need all the respect she can get, Kia dismounts and calmly steps across the pit.
She tries to smother a grimace on her final step.
"At least it doesn't keep on burning me like some fires I have known" She thinks.
The last step nearly overwhelms her, but Kia stays strong and moves through the pit. Her forehead too is marked with an ashy substance.
Nature DC10
"You are a guest. Our tent is your tent. Our salt is your salt. Our water is your water. Our horse is your horse. Your blood foe is our blood foe. From this night's falling to the next night's rising, this is so. Acknowledge it."
There is another approving shout from the Kargzant.
Insight DC12
Thinks: "Could these be the bone riders?"
The wolf becomes the gnoll, Whiteclaw rising to her full height and she strides across the pit. She looks rather unimpressed at the test.
Arianwyn regards the success of his comrades with a stoic countenance. He is no friend to fire, thanks to his background.
He considers his options, which are slim at this point. He decides to do what he always does; cheat at dice with the universe.
He steps in, worried that his icy nature will betray him.
Arianwyn grits his teeth and invokes the powers of chance...
He continues to walk through the pit.
Damn you... damn you all...
Arianwyn grimaces in agony as the flames sear him, in an almost antithetical reaction.
His body seems to steam like ice in sunlight.
Whiteclaw's reversion to her true form elicits a slight nod of approval from the Spirit Talker. As she emerges from the flames, he reaches up to mark her forehead, speaking the formal words once more.
As he finishes, he adds "This is good hunting. The spirits approve your guile."
Arianwyn's passage walks a fine line between triumph and disaster. Deliberately, he throws in his lot with whichever powers happen to be listening and walks elegantly through the flames. Only at the last possible second does any sign of pain escape his iron control and he sprints free.
The Spirit Talker surveys him.
"The Sun Stallion does not entirely reject you. Your comrades are guests. You are guest-prisoner. Our tent, our salt and our water are yours. Our horses are not yours. Your foe is yours to contend with alone. You may yet prove your worth to become guest."
He marks Arianwyn's head with ash. The symbol is a different one.
Insight DC12
1d20+11
Arianwyn throws back his hood once he has been marked and given the rights of a guest (albeit a prisoner).
His pupil-less eyes gleam as he smiles wryly, "Well, I had better not offend anyone then, had I?" he says.
"You offend by your existence," hisses the Warleader.
Bow strings tauten around the party, but the archers look to the Spirit Talker for confirmation.
"He holds guest right. Let the Unpeople stand surety. If he offends by thought by word or by deed, they will hunt and kill him on pain of their own deaths."
Vel makes a gesture, and she is suddenly wreathed head to foot in golden flames. She then trots across the pit.
Temporarily deflected from the vexing issue of giving a fey guest status of any kind, the assembled Kargzant look with distinct admiration at Vel's crossing.
There is something resembling respect in the eyes of at least one of the warriors although the Spirit Talker seems slightly less impressed.
As he marks her and grants her guest status, he adds something for her ears alone. The comment is masked by the acknowledging shout of the tribesmen.
Vel
Riders take your horses to the picket lines and set about removing tack and providing water for them. The mounts look bulky compared to the Kargzant horses you see. Small and wiry, the creatures have exude a strong intelligence as well as a sense of quite remarkable strength and durability.
Two archers move to flank Arianwyn. They draw daggers and hold them to his ribs as they escort him toward the great central yurt. The rest of the group are not so encumbered and walk freely. At the entrance, masked with cured horse hide, the Spirit Talker gestures to the bodyguard.
"This fey is under my protection. The spirits have questions. Go." As they step aside, he turns to Arianwyn.
"Why did you kill your own kindred, prisoner-guest?"
"Why doth one tribe fight another? Or one family another? They are not of my kindred," Arianwyn replies politely, "They attacked us at night with no explanation. Upon my questioning, it was revealed to be a mis-understanding. I should warn you, however, the same kindred of fey may try to attack again."
He regards the Spirit Talker shrewdly, "That is what you wish to know, is it not? Firstly, am I to be trusted if I am a kin-slayer. I have shown I am not a slayer of my own blood. Was their action against me legitimate? It was not, and I defended myself from their unjust attack. Am I a danger to your people? Perhaps so, but one such as you has already guessed that."
"Well for you that you fell among us and not our cousins. Alone of the tribes do we believe that fey have loyalty, family or honour. A kin-slayer is abomination and will be destroyed, always. As our guests, you are kin. I would not bring blood curse on our tribe by some hot-blood seeking feysport."
He considers the rest of Arianwyn's explanation.
"You show honour in warning of attack. It shall weigh in your favour."
Finally he pulls aside the horse-hide and gestures to the group.
"Enter."
Whiteclaw snarls when the bow's aim at our warlock, though that's all she does.
She'll be the last of the group to enter the yurt, just in case some archer 'accidently' decides to take a potshot at a certain Fey, as unlikely as that is.
Vel smiles brightly as she accepts the mark and enters.
Under Whiteclaw's stare, the archers lower their bows and pointedly loosen their grip on the weapons. Satisfied for now at least, she enters the yurt.
Horsehide is the main decorative feature, but there is gold as well, worked into intricate pattens and embossed on nearly everything in sight. The metal makes the dim light flicker uneasily, and it is hard to focus immediately. There is a strong, not unpleasant, smell of some sort of incense that clouds the air making it hard to see the shadowy figure of an surprisingly young person.
Kneeling on the ground, the shaman stares into a shallow golden dish, face adorned with ash marks and long intertwined with strips of horse tail, gold and shards of bone. The gender is impossible to tell. Piercing black eyes scrutinise the group and the shaman gestures in greeting.
"I am the Gatherer, enaree of the Bone Riders. The spirits told of your coming and we sent our Warleader to find you. Your purpose is not clear to me or to the spirits. You will tell me what you seek."
Arianwyn regards the shaman impassively.
"We seek knowledge of the Wards of Balance. Pirot Death-Speaker has sent us, in hopes that a great evil may be prevented. I should like to present a gift to the Ur-Pan as a sign of our trustworthiness."
"Pirot Death-Speaker is a name of worth among us. He is of the People. What gift do you offer the Ur-Pan?"
There is a slight pause and the Gatherer continues. "The Death-Speaker knows we may not tell of the Wards to any not of our kind. You are not People. Worse, you are fey, alive only to keep the blood curse of failed hospitality from our clan."
Arianwyn takes out Urho from his pouch.
"Here, I offer a dog-spirit encased in this stone vessel. You must merely rest with the statue for one night, and then it will be yours. You may summon the stone dog by throwing the statue to the ground and uttering its name."
The Gatherer looks from Urho to the dish in front of him before dipping an ashy finger into the liquid and letting a single drop fall on the figurine.
"You are disgusting to our sight, yet your words and your gift seem honourable. Are you clan to these worthy ones? The gift may be given to the Ur-Pan."
The Gather stands and you see that the shaman is truly neither man nor woman but a mixture, seeming to shift between genders with each breath.
"I am a child of Tunal and see the half worlds. I guard the passage of the dead and share in their hurt. Why do you seek knowledge of the Wards? You are Unpeople. This is forbidden. But I am curious."
The last comment is the first time the enaree has shown any kind of emotion in his (or her) voice.
Arianwyn considers his next move.
"Am I akin to them? Well, in a manner of speaking. The gnoll regards us as her pack, as 'twere and... I must confess that in the interests of safety we have practiced a necesary deception. The time for such is past. The woman here" (he indicates Kia), "Is of my race also. And yet, she has proved herself worthy."
He smiles his usual knowing smile.
"You are of two worlds. You see the seen and the unseen. I am sure you already knew of this. But, I have told you the truth, and henchforth we shall continue to be open in our words and deeds."
He conjures a small globe of cold in his hand and that circles round his fingers.
"There is a sorceress of great power who threatens to enshroud the world with her evil if she is not stopped. That is why we need this knowledge."
The Gatherer places the bowl on the ground and raises a hand. The globe of cold is replaced by a galloping flame horse, running in scorching circles around the warlock's wrist.
"So open. Fey bearing gifts. You have courage."
Both hands extend and the shaman points to the companions in turn. "So speak the spirits. You are kindred by choice. The honest fey, the hidden guest, the wild one, the fire lord and the ancient pact-maker. Our clan has seen many things, but this is like nothing I have heard of in our times."
The fiery horse continues to circle and leaves Arianwyn's hands to blaze around Kia's head, pausing in its path to hover in front of her eyes.
The shaman speaks again. "Show me the truth this Unperson speaks. Not since the days of the Skyburn have fey been made guests."
Kia calmly removes her scarf and glasses and looks without fear at the fiery horse. She bows to the shaman. Then smiles at Arianwyn.
"I cannot speak their tongue so you will have to speak for me."
Then to the Gatherer:
"I was hoping he would choose openness. We cannot, with conscience, accept another's hospitality while practising deception. This disguise was necessary until we found those whom we seek as I am sure you will agree."
"I am fey as my companion has stated."
The fiery horse returns to Arianwyn and circles his wrist once more before turning back into a globe of ice. The Gatherer nods, seemingly understanding Kia's meaning if not her words.
Arianwyn smiles as the globe returns and he causes it to disappear.
He translates for Kia.
He then adds, "We could tell you more of this witch we oppose, should you wish it, such as her consorting with demons and using unholy power to blight the earth."