It's hot. That's all that runs through your mind. Taking the next step, drudging through the air so hot, it shimmers and burns. The wind, a faint zephyr, only serves to bring dust and sand gritting against you and doesn't cool you off in the slightest.
For the thousandth time, you wonder what you are doing here, in the middle of the trackless Katapeshi desert. For more than a week, you've been with this dreary camel caravan that left the town of Solku for some gods-forsaken location in the northern scrublands of Katapesh.
You cut your eyes to the caravan leader, the no-nonsense major domo Garavel, servant of the merchant princess Almah, who hired you, but whom you have yet to meet. Almah's mission is to find and restore the lost battle market town of Kelmarane, a mission you have chosen to take on for reasons of your own.
This morning Garavel said "We are near the Princess, very near. We will see her today, I believe. She should be camped at Sultan's Claw, within sight of Pale Mountain, if we make good time, we will join them tonight," at breakfast, but so far this day has been no different than any of the others. Just plodding, sweltering step after plodding, sweltering step. Until now.
Forming out of the haze to the west and beginning to loom like a tombstone over the mid-evening horizon is the immense outline of what must be Pale Mountain. Your destination but be close indeed, for the camp was said to be within sight of Pale Mountain.
As you ride or stumble forward, you reflect on your life before the caravan, and on the new friends you have made since joining on this thankless ride into the desert.
The tanned Keleshite woman named Zuhra rides her camel a few yards away from the rest of the group as she has been for the past few days. As always, she stares at the horizon, her gaze remaining vigilant for hours on end.
As she stares unto the hazy and arid scrubland, Zuhra thinks back on the reasons that led her to take this job as a bodyguard. Unlike the many previous jobs she had taken, this one had been commissioned. This time, Zuhra hadn't decided to follow a caravan filled with travellers too foolish to pay for a bodyguard. Instead, she had been asked by the Church of Sarenrae to join the group as an official member, to protect it and, when in Kelmarane, to find and ancient monastery and help rebuild it.
Even though she was now an official member of a caravan, things were not much different for the faithful of the Dawnflower. She stayed away from the members of the caravan and interacted with them only when ordered to. In those few instances, her tone had been confident and her words few but well chosen.
Back to the present the shord, thin and green eyed Kelshite woman rearranged her red and white robes which had caught in the wind. She then tightened her burgundy headscarf, clutched the ankh dangling from her neck and returned her gaze toward the horizon.
Goddess of mercy, keep us safe thought the woman.
Why did Garavel have to be the one leading this caravan? Anyone else might not have recognized me as a slave, anyone else might have allowed me to beg for scraps from the caravan and be on my way.
Wyssal reflected on her situation as she plodded along on her camel, it could have been worse but only barely. A few days ago when she held the throat under her former-master's neck escape seemed like a great idea and she had never felt so liberated as she had riding through the desert air as a free woman for the first time in over thirty years but now she wasn't sure. Garavel had sworn to free her if she used her abilities to assist the caravan but how could she trust someone who so casually traded in lives.
She reached a weathered hand for her waterskin but found it empty, How could I be out of water so soon?. She leaned to her shoulder and mumbled to her familiar, "I don't suppose you could have taught me to make water, eh". As she cackled her sun-scorched face creased with the wrinkles of her age. She kicked at her camel and trotted along the caravan, her thick greying curls bouncing. "Do any of you young, brave souls have a drop of water to spare for an old woman?"
Hopefully Garavel is not as much of a liar as I suspect and we will meet this 'princess' soon; the earlier we accomplish our task the earlier I can be finally be free, or deal with the consequences of Garavel's deceit.
Horum had nodded at Garavel's pronouncement, accepting the notice with the same stoicism he would greet new that their destination was till weeks away.
As he walked in the shifting sand, a gust of wind snatched his burnoose away from his head, streaming out from his body. Gathering the cloth and re-wrapping his face against the searing sun and scorching wind.
The mundane task allowed his mind to travel back to his leave-taking from his Master, sent out into the world to make his way, as was the habit of his order; seeking to bring some order and balance to the chaos.
As many had before him, Horum had walked out of the desert into the oasis, a frequent stop for many caravans. His Master had told him to take work with a caravan, to earn the currency of the outside world.
Garavel had been quite happy to take Horum on , having had the occasion to do so with some of Horum's brothers in years past. All had been exemplary guards, until they'd disappeared when larger centres had been reached.
Horum accepted his duties withing the caravan with out comment, fulfilling his responsibilities without complaint. He deals with the other caravaners and guards with a quiet civility, few words.
At Gran's request, he silently offers his waterskin for her to use.
"Kelmarane, at last..."
Hadiyyah skirted the edges of the caravan. Keeping her hand on the hilt of her falchion, her eyes darted across the desert sand, while her steps tried to keep her in the shadows of the camels to keep cool. As she pulled her light, silk keffiyeh up to protect her face from the sun, Haddiyah thought about Garavel's pronouncement earlier that morning.
If they were as close as he said, then she should be seeing Kelmarane sooner than later.
"I don't know what I will find there. Hells, I don't even know what I'm looking for..."
Her thought was interrupted by the halfling woman's request for water.
"Here, I'll fill this for you. Keep it for now. It will only last one day, but I can refill it whenever you need." With this, Hadiiyah hands "Gran" an extra waterskin. With an effortless incantation and a small gesture of her hand, the waterskin fills easily to the brim, Haddiyah takes the opportunity to refill her own waterskin as well.
Having filled the skins, Haddiyah takes a long drink, quenching the dryness of her mouth caused by the desert heat and dust. Afterwards she moistens the cloth around her neck slightly, so that as the water evaporates it will keep her cool.
A few moments of comfort and relief pass, and then Haddiyah calls out "If anyone needs water, I can provide it here! Bring me your skins!", and she takes to wandering up the side of the caravan, filling the containers of any who wish.
Gran beams, drinking from Horum's waterskin a little too greedily before being called over by Hadiyah, who fills her skin completely. "Oh you're both so kind, takin' care of an old woman like this. Good that someone taught you respect.
As she rides along she leans closer to Hadiyah. "That's a nice trick there, never could get the hang of it myself", she says slyly before looking down to the scorpion resting in her lap and laughing to herself.
As the caravan continues Gran finds herself drawn to the lone Zuhra, she trots over, waving a greeting, and pulls alongside the young woman. "You seem lonely out here dear, and aye, that may be by choice but the desert is hard and we all need friends. Take that one fer instance, she's makin' water for whoever asks. That's a good friend to have. Even better's the one that will give it to you even though he can't make it appear." They ride in silence for a short period then Gran continues before Zuhra can respond, "Look, don't be so prickly is all I mean; somethin' happens and it'll pay to have friends. Oh, and keep an eye out for wise old women, you'll want to keep 'em safe and treat 'em well, they always have lots t' offer." Gran kicks at her camel, moving ahead in the caravan again, leaving Zuhra slightly stunned in her wake.
Horum accepts his much lighter waterskin back from Gran, "You are most welcome, Amah."
He then wordlessly hands the skin to Hadiya and watches as she works her magic to fill it. Nodding, he offers "You are blessed indeed to be so ..gifted. Though such gifts often have unseen costs..." he says , looking out into shifting sands.
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As you share water and conversation, the caravan moves on and you near your destination. Outlined against the setting sun, a craggy tree appears over the next hill.
"Behold, Satan's Claw! This is our destination." says Garavel in a tired voice, the strain of the long journey showing.
With five immense, mostly leafless branches, the reason for the name is obvious. The gnarled tree looks more like a skeletal talon than a thing of living wood.
As you top the last rise and the sun sinks beneath the horizon, a caravan of a half-dozen wagon and a large tent come into view clustered around the distinctive tree. 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 animals or hastening towards the center of the cluster, near Satan's Claw, with pails of water in their hands.
Looking closer, you see one of the wagons is on fire! Lush orange and red flames begin to engulf an elaborate wooden wagon emblazoned with painted moons and stars. A gout of smoke pours from an open door and an ill wind blows a number of colorful fortune telling cards from inside the wagon.
As you watch horror-struck, the whole of Satan's Claw erupts into brilliant flame.
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The central flap of the elaborate tent flies open and a regal woman steps out into the fire-lit 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 right at the party, Almah barks out a simple order before running off toward the fire: "Find some way to help!"
- Put Out the Fire
- Pull Wagon Out of the Way
- Heal Wounded Firefighters
- Deal with Frightened Animals
Zuhra spurs Mehjiya her camel and heads toward the wagon that is on fire. Once she reaches it she yells in a highly commanding and clear voice to two men who are running around.
"You and you. Yeah, you! We are going to move this wagon so that the fire does not spread. Mehjiya here is going to help us!"
Gran rides her camel as close as she dares without spooking the beast before dismounting and running to the injured. She quickly begins treating them, drawing on memories from long ago; from her youth when she assisted her parents in their apothecary work.
Zuhra
Four burly soldier-types are already trying to get a nearby wagon moved away from the conflagration. They look up as you ride the camel near them, and grunt when you give orders.
"We don't have time to hitch up the beast, come down and help us push!" one of them shouts, and you can see it is true. Without a harness or ropes nearby, it may take several minutes to hook up the stubborn camel. Perhaps with five of you pushing however...
Gran
An elderly human priest is already tending to the wounded. He looks up as you ride in. "I am working with poor Trevvis here," shouts the priest. "See if you can give any aid to Kallien there. She's got terrible burns and smoke inhalation. I can't tend both!" He points at a badly burned and unconscious female sworder lying on the ground nearby.
The wounded lady looks in a bad way, and seems to be declining as you begin ministering to her. Your actions don't seem to be enough to stop her fading, and she appears worse and near death.
Horum runs forward to assist with the fire and wagon. When Zuhra outpaces him on her camel to the wagon, he redirects and arrives at the burning wagon.
Haddiyah rushes forward to assist with putting out the fire...
Seeing that convincing the soldiers would take too much time, Zuhra jumps down from Mehjiya and runs toward the wagon.
Gran kneels in front of the fallen warrior, who rocks slightly with the shock of her burn. She pauses briefly to calm herself, the fire and frantic activity around her was to distracting, if she couldn't focus this woman would lose her life. "Come on, come on", she mutters quietly to herself, "you've seen worse than this, no need to fumble about like a fool"
Is there anyone else who needs tending to? If not I'll join the bucket brigade.
Haddiyah repeats her incantations from earlier in the day, conjuring water when needed to assist with the dousing of the flames.
The minor orison does not provide enough water to suppress the blaze on it's own, so the young Oracle runs buckets to the cadre of caravaners fighting the fire.
Horum and Hadiyah
The pair rushes forward to help fight the fire on the burning wagon. They see Almah, Garavel and 4 soldiers dressed in the red chitin-plate of the Pactmasters rushing between the burning fortune-teller's wagon and an uncovered wagon 25 yards away. The uncovered wagon holds a huge barrel which was to serve as the camp's drinking water, and the make-shift firefighters are filling buckets then rushing to douse the flames. You see another small pile of buckets nearby.
The small orison does little to douse the flames which lick hungrily at the tent sending spirals of black smoke high into the air.
Zuhra
Leaping from the camel's back, Zuhra wastes no time bending her back to the endangered wagon. She leans into the heavy vehicle and the four soldiers also strain to move it.
AID
AID
Despite the efforts of the men and Zuhra, the wagon fails to budge at all, not even rocking on it's wheels. The men look back nervously as the fortune-teller's wagon is engulfed, but it appears there is still time to try again before this cart catches.
Gran
Berating herself silently, Gran takes a moment to breathe and focus. The inner discipline finds her fingers more dexterous and her healing skill more sharpened. She is able to bind the wound without trembling and she remembers a burn salve made from goat grease that she is able to apply to the woman's fierce burns, cooling them and easing her pain immediately.
While still unconscious it appears that the female warrior, Kallien, is stable and will likely live through this wound.
The older cleric appears at your shoulder. "It is good work, little one, even if a bit unorthodox. Come give me a hand with the stitches on Trevvis and we will see if others are in need of our aid."
"Come on man, you are pushing like old ladies! Put your back into it, one... last... time... NOW!" yells Zuhra as she gives it her all.
Horum quickly grabs two buckets, runs to the water barrel, dunks the buckets until full and then carefuly, but quickly makes his way to the burning wagon.
Once there he flings the water onto the conflagration then runs back for more water.
Hustling over the fallen Trevvis Gran takes a moment to survey the scene; the roaring of flames against the deep blue sky and the panic of man and beast. What devil is responsible for this, and how can I make them pay?
She leans down to help the cleric, holding down the squirming warrior. "Be still, this wound is nothing much, soon it'll be no more than a scar. Best t'spend yer time thinkin' on a story of great bravery for when you show it off"
Zuhra
Berating the soldiers, Zuhra gets them to try again, harder. Straining under the weight the soldiers all push.
Aid
Aid
Aid
Fail
Just as she thinks her back will break from the pushing, Zuhra feels the wheels turn and the wagon starts to crawl slowly forward. The soldiers dig in deep, pushing the cart clear of the danger zone and then collapse against the frame, huffing and puffing and trying to recover their strength.
Gran
The halfling witch and the elderly cleric get Trevvis' wound patched up in no time. They stand at the ready as a few others, mostly with little burns or scrapes, come by for some medical aid.
With a few moments of respite, Gran is able to look over the cleric of Nethys quite closely. He is small and frail, and quite old, but he has the bearing of nobility and projects power even from his advanced age and withered frame. He is quick to laugh or smile, and has a tendency to see the good in people or situations instead of the negative.
Horum
The fire continues to burn after you dump your bucketfuls. It appears the only thing to do is go back for more, so you become part of the bucket brigade, hauling water from the supply wagon to the blaze with it's intense heat and choking smoke. You can see the buckets are making a noticable differnce after 3-4 trips back and forth.
Zuhra gives a sight of relief, whistles and runs toward Mehjiya. As she does so, she looks at the men whom she helped, her face impassive.
"Well done, but no time to relax, join the bucket line!" she says in a slightly supportive tone to make up of the insults she threw earlier.
As she reaches her camel, she jumps on the saddle.
Well, tries. Missing her mark, she takes a bit more time to climb up. Once on, she spurs her mount, and leaves the center of the cluster of wagon. On the outside, she takes a look around, making sure the fire hasn't attracked any unwanted visitors.
Seeing that the thrown water was having an effect, Horum redoubles his efforts, sinews straining as he slogged through the shifting sands, heavy water laden buckets in each hand.
Hadiyyah follows in Horum's steps, a bucket in each hand, re-doubling her efforts to quell the blaze.
"I'll leave you to help these few, if anyone is in real danger call me over and I'll lend a hand"
Gran makes towards the bucket brigade, ready to offer assistance when a frantic, bleating goat trots in front of her followed by an equally frantic man trying to wrangle the goat under his control. Taken aback Gran looks around and sees a variety of loose and somewhat agitated livestock. Well, this won't do, dinner runnin' about. They'll do fine with the buckets without my small arms helping them out.. Gran focuses on the loose goat, pressing her will onto it. This'll help calm down the beast, maybe that poor man will have better luck
Stopping in its tracks, the frantic goat looks around once blinking then crashes to the ground, dead asleep. The man who had been chasing the run-away goat looks at the halfling woman in wonder, nodding his thanks. Deftly he scoops up the animal and brings it back to the safety of the herd farther from the diminishing blaze.
As Hadiyah and Horum strain to get water on the burning wagon, along with the armor-clad soldiers, Almah, and Garavel, they see that the flames have nearly died out. Dark smoke still pours from the wagon, but the immediate threat of spreading seems to have passed.
"Keep dousing it!" shouts Almah breathlessly. "We don't want it to re-ignite!" She moves to grab another bucket full of water from the wagon.
Finally scrambling aboard her camel, Zuhra rides the perimeter of the camp looking for signs of any enemies. In the gathering darkness, she thankfully sees no sign of outside threat. Although the flaming and smoking ruin must be visible for miles in this trackless desert, so far, it hasn't attracted any unwanted attention.
Zuhra steers her mount toward the camp and spurs it. She carefully yet quickly guides Mehjiya through the camp, avoiding the frenzied people running around. As she does so, she circles the escaped animals, trying to get them to head for their pens or handlers.
After checking the perimeter is safe, Zuhra then rides back towards the scattered animals, attempting to herd them together and back towards their drovers. Unfortunately, she does little more than spook the already frightened animals, sending them milling about in all directions.
One of the camel drivers calls out "Where is Rombard? I can't find my lovely goat! He has gone missing!"
The rest of the crew works the bucket brigade for a bit longer, and once the fire is put out and the threat ended, all are soaked, smelly, ashy, and quite tired.
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Kicking a smoldering piece of charcoal, Almah appears downcast. "It appears the danger is past. We lost the astrologer in the flames, and his divinations will be hard to replace, but while a few others are hurt, none appear very serious."
Her eyes turn to her major domo, Garavel, her voice lowering to little more than a whisper, in which you, the PC's are included. "See if you can determine if someone in our camp set the fire. Let these others," here she indicates you with a sweep of her hand, "aid you. Since they were not here when the fire began, they are not arson suspects. If there is a mystery here, solve it and report to me the guilty party if any."
With a rustle of fabric, Almah gets up and stalks off to her tent, pulling the flap closed behind her.
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Bowing respectfully as the merchant princess departs, Garavel sighs deeply when she is out of earshot. "You heard the lady, my friends. Will you assist me in investigating this blaze and helping make the determination if it was purposefully set, or a terrible accident?"
His fingers comb through his dark mustaches, a nervous habit you have seen before. "It is a shame about poor Eloias. Though he was a Varisian, I came to like and trust him. He was a teller of fortunes using special Harrow cards. I was never one for believing in that hocus-pocus, but milady is very interested in such matters involving astrology and the like."
"Is there anyone that you know had issues with this man Eloias?"
Haddiyah takes a moment to beat some of the ash from her loose clothes.
Horum nodded at Garavel's words and the sensibility of Hadiyah's question, adding his own "Indeed...all that were not in our caravan are suspect, you must have your own suspicions, Garavel."
Zuhra stays silent but nods at Garavel.
Is it really a lone act, could it have been condoned by a group who wants us to fail... I guess I will have to see.
The women turns toward Gran:
"Any wise words to add?" her eyes seem to smile, but her face is still impassive.
"Hmm, well, lets jus' remember this might'a been one man or many, or it might not'a been planned at all. An honest bit ah buggery and a knocked over lamp is just as like to cause a fire as a match."
She glances over to Almah's tent and thumbs the card hidden in her clothes before continuing, "We'll have ta talk to everyone, but if you met anyone during the blaze that's as good a place to start as any"
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"The halfling witch speaks true." answers Garavel, a man, you have learned,of few words. "Let us begin the investigation by looking at the wagon itself for signs of foul-play. Then we may investigate the rest."
He looks sharply at Horum, as the monk suggests Garavel has a suspect in mind. "I may have a guess, but i won't color your perception by naming him at present. We will see what we will see."
Physical examination of the ruined wagon reveals sooty ashes, a few broken bottles or potion vials, a cracked non-magical crystal ball and several mlted pools of wax where candles must once have stood. Several gold coins lie scattered about, as do several blackened Harrow cards
The fortune teller's charred corpse lies near the center of the burned out wagon.
So far as I can tell the significant (named) people in the caravan are: Almah, Zastoran (the cleric), Trevvis and Kallien (the two injured warriors), whoever is in charge of the animals, and Rombard (the goat). Have I missed anyone?[/ooc]
Gran moves through the wreckage and kneels by the body, looking over it carefully. "It don't look like there was a struggle, and he has no wounds. I'd say if someone did start this fire his death was a mistake, looks like the smoke got him before the flames.
As she stands she turns her head quickly and sighs curiously, following her gaze it is clear she is watching a rather haggard looking man a good deal away, who has just turned away. "Strange" she mutters, "We may want to keep on eye on him"
Shaking herself out of her introspection Gran turns to the group. "I helped two sworders that got hurt in the blaze, could be they were close to it when it all started, might've seen somethin'. I'll start with them".
Following Gran, Zuhra enters the midst of the wagon. Doing so, she looks successively to the left and right, as if making sure that there are no dangers inside the burnt caravan. Once she seems content with her quick search, she slowly looks all around in search of the area where the fire might have started.
Clearly, without any success.
The woman nods to the halflings muttering, clearly listening but uninterested in raising her voice. She does the same once Gran states her plan. However, instead of going to see the men she met earlier or start her own investigation, Zuhra comes and stands a step behind Gran.
"Lead the way." she says, ready to follow the witch.
The two wounded were both mercenaries, not Pactmaster guards and Trevvis, the more lightly wounded of the two has gone back to the tent of the mercs. His ally, Kallien, still lies on a pallet on the ground, closely watched over by The priest Zastoran.
The mercenary is weak but conscious. She smiles thinly as she sees the little halfling approach. "Thank you, little mother. I heard you saved my skin today." the patient says, then begins coughing loudly. Zastoran comes over and looks at you disapprovingly. "What are you bothering my patient for? She is in no condition to speak."
Horum watches Gran and Zuhra walk over to question the injured mercs, then notices the Pactmaster guards huddled over a small fire.
Securing his scarf against the wind, he makes his way over and crouches down with the guards.
Silent for a moment, Horum looks at each guard then speaks "The burnt wagon. What did you see?" he says bluntly.
Diplomacy
There are four Pactmaster soldiers in all, but one is always on duty at the entrance to Almah's tent. The other three welcome you to their fire, "Thanks for your assistance with the buckets, stranger. We would like to have lost more property without your, and your friends, aid." You notice they keep their separate camp and company from the hired mercenaries, who they look down upon as undisciplined rabble.
As Horum asks about the blaze, the sergeant says, "We were all on duty at the Merchant Princess' tent when the blaze started. None of us saw anything suspicious at the astrologer's wagon." One of the others, a long, lanky fellow says: "I did see that feral man, Dashki. He was hiding behind a nearby tree. That sneaky bastard was trying to get a peek inside Princess Almah's tent. He's obsessed with her, and it's going to end in trouble I can tell you. Keep your eye out for him; he's half-gnoll or something."
Perception
Horum nods at the soldiers statement, looking each in the eye in turn, determining if he can trust thier words.
Sense Motive
Gran approaches Kallien and quickly checks upon her, "I'm glad to help you dear, focus on feelin' better, there might be a chance soon for you to repay me with swordplay soon.".
Zastoran comes over and pesters Gran, "What are you bothering my patient for? She is in no condition to speak."
"I'm just checking in is all, she's my patient too." Now she turned to the women and spoke softly, "And I wanted to ask what you were doing when the blaze started, if you saw anything that mighta been the cause?"
After Kallien answers Gran takes Zastoran aside as well, confiding in him, "Forgive me but I can't help but be suspicious about the fire. Do you remember anything about what was happening just before it started? Where you were? Who you were with? Anything of the sort?"