N'Dateh shrugs but follows them back.
Seif-al-Din nods.
"Very well, back to the Monastery it is. May I suggest that we *not* take the most direct route, though? We don't want to give any watchers an easy time of identifying our destination..."
Muqaq nods to his suli brother. "Agreed. I doubt anyone is watching, but better to head for the chapel to Nethys first, then break off and change our path in the pesh fields. We should have enough cover in the cacti to change directions without being seen."
Xanyon hefts his new rifle and follows along.
Fortunately, there is a lot of debris around that facilitates the construction of a quick travois. Spears and dirty gnoll cloaks are quickly rearranged into something easily capable of baring the unconscious priest. A few detours are taken over stony ground or exposed bedrock in order to disrupt the trail of the group, and the ends of the travois picked up and carried at times to minimize the trail it leaves behind. It is not long, in broad terms, before the group is able to make it up to the shrine of Nethys, seated as it is on the side of one of the high hills, or low mountains, that makes up the periphery of the plain.
The odd looking cleric, goat horns and all, is seated in front of the shrine when you arrive, though as before, he plays little attention to your arrival.
With her tunic sweaty and sticking on her back, N'Dateh, as soon as possible, gets to the shadows with her companion and rests, away from the desert sun.
Seif-al-Din treats the cleric of Nethys with the same indifference he is showing the party, completely ignoring the man as he tends his charge, making sure that the journey does not kill the severely weakened man.
"We should keep moving."
"Yes, let's not dally," Muqaq says, pushing the group on back to the monastery.
The team is able to press on back to the monastery without too much trouble, other than the weight of their burden, and the circuitous route taken to get back there. By the time the team arrives, many hours have passed, and it is reaching the later hours of the day. The guard in the lookout tower signals you as soon as you draw into view of each other, and you respond in kind, signalling that you are friendly forces returning. Entering the building, and returning to the dormitory area, you smell food being prepared for the evening meal.
Muqaq will make sure the wounded priest is settled into a bed, and has someone to look after him and then will go in search of some food.
Exhausted by the long journey under the desert sun, N'Dateh will get Rafhik to the stables and go to the mess to eat. She stinks of the desert, but only smiles defiantly if her "aura" produces reactions.
Xanyon carefully places his new weapon to the side by his bunk, prepared to dismantle it and thoroughly clean it. The smell of warm food overwhelms him and he goes seeking the evening meal.
The cleric is placed in a bedroll, with the chance to rest. He has taken fever, unsurprisingly, but is breathing steadily. The bubbling sound from his lungs persists, and the breathing is shallow and somewhat laboured, but it endures.
Supper is simple, but hearty, consisting of stew made from dried meat, and dumplings boiled from flour. As is usual, before long a summons to attend the Lady Almah arrives, with a request that you update her and Garavel on your latest foray, and let them know the next stage of your strategy in the town.
Akhom, who has been quiet and withdrawn at Gruthic's side on the way back to camp, remains so at dinner - unusual for the generally happy and gregarious young warrior of Sarenrae. He eats his meal slowly and deliberately, obviously feeling guilty about his late arrival to the gnoll encampment. He responds to any direct communication in as few words as possible, and seems to be wrestling with himself internally.
At the lady's summons, he pushes his half-eaten meal away to follow the others to her marquee to report.
Muqaq tells lady Almah of their battle at the crucifixion hill, and how he suspects that there are few gnolls left in Kelmarane. He continues by telling her of his plan to return as soon as possible and finish clearing out the town. "I feel like we're almost there. After we recover our spells we'll be ready to return and finish the job."
N'dateh cannot help but smile with melancholy as she sees the dumplings. It had been an eternity it seems since she last ate some.
A street vendor in the market. That's where I noticed my mark!
Sorrow wells inside her and she welcomes the summon, glad to push back the dark memories.
Gruthic accompanies Muqaq and answers any questions directed at him.
He also sits in silence with Akhom, working on his gear and lending a caring ear to any troubles the boy wants to voice.
Almah takes Muqaq's report with a nod, seemingly pleased, but making no show of it. She makes a few notes in a ledger before asking her questions, "Their numbers must be dwindling, with the number that you have brought down. The survivor you brought back? Do you think he might have useful intelligence? I could potentially have Zastoran intervene, and possibly save him, though Zastoran will no doubt complain about the expenditure of resources. What will your next move; sweep the rest of the town, or move directly to the battle market building?" With this, she gestures to the image of the multi-storied building that sits at the centre of the city. It is the building all gnoll patrols have originated from, and is likely their home base.
"I would sweep the town to find any treasure or hidden enemies, and then zero in on the battle market once we're certain there's nothing to creep up behind us," Muqaq replies.
Sounds long... thinks N'Dateh though she stays quiet and doesn't challenge Muqaq.
Xanyon nods with the wisdom of his battle leader.
"We've taken them by surprise, but if they surround us we'll go down. No sense cutting off our own retreat if necessary."
The half-orc will spend the rest of his time crafting more ammunition for the musket and pistol he carries, sure there are more gnolls ahead.
Almah looks at Muqaq and then after a moment, nods. "Seems like a sound approach. I will leave it to you. If no one has concerns for the survivor, we will tend to his wounds, and watch him, but his survival will be contingent on his own will to live, I suppose. I will have Zastoran check on him, and provide what aid he can, without depleting our resources."
N'Dateh gets up and picks up her kit:"When do we leave? My mount needs healing." She looks at the bloody scars on her body and adds with a wry smile: "I guess I could use some too..."
Muqaq tends to some of the druid and her horse's wounds.
"May the sands support your journey Muqaq. You have my thanks."
"Do we leave right now, or before dawn?"
Gruthic will approach Father Zastoran directly after the meeting with Almah and inquire about the cost it would take to heal the man they rescued.
Father Zastoran has relocated himself to the laboratory located in the basement structure beneath the southern end of the monastery. When Gruthic heads down, he sees the man hard at work amidst the forest of standing alembics and bubbling beakers. Many cases of supplies and ingredients have been carted down from his wagon, in order to make maximum use of this well established laboratory.
He doesn't seem to notice you for a long while, at least until you make yourself known. Even then, you are required to wait a few minutes while he makes a few adjustments to a variety of different boiling liquids. Once you let him know what you need, he reports that it should be pretty simple; he can prepare the needed spell in the morning , and the cost for the casting would be 150 gp. That would be the minimum needed to aid his survival, and should be enough to guarantee he lives. After that, he might need a week or so of rest to get his strength back, or you could hire the cleric for a few castings of Lesser Restoration for 50 gp each to get him healed up more rapidly.
"I have seen the lives of men bought and sold upon these desert markets for fewer coins than that, priest. To me, life is priceless. If you require gold to save the life of another man, so be it."
Gruthic will retrieve the gold coins and stack them on an empty spot on the busy table.
"Tell me father, whose faith do you carry?"
Though still uncommunicative even to Gruthic, Akhom accompanies him to see the Father, also wishing to see after the man whose condition Akhom's lateness no doubt contributed to.
N'Dateh doesn't follow. She rests in the shade, keeping her energy for the gnolls and the desert.
If she hears that you paid to heal the man...
Seif-al-Din overhears Muqaq and N'Dateh, and interrupts:
"The grace of the Dawnflower has not entirely left me. Here, let me tend your wounds."
He then turns to Muqaq.
"Tell me, did you end up finding anything interesting in that book we found? The one entitled 'Courts of Stone and Flame'?"
"Father, I'm a devotee of Sarenrae, and in the Lady's long-term employee to boot," Akhom pipes up. "If our party won't pay for this man's restoration, you can hold the debt against me. You have my word you'll see your money. Gruthic here feels the same."
"I haven't had time to look the book over in detail yet Seif, there will be time once we have reclaimed Kelmarane."
Zastoran goes back to his work, checking on another bubbling concoction. He only catches Gruthic's last question after a few moments of distracted adjustments to the flame heating the brew, "I prize knowledge above all things, and to that end I have dedicated myself to the service of Nethys, the All Seeing Eye, that I might learn from the wisdom of one who has seen, and continues to see, all things. There can be none other that can come close to the absolute knowledge of all things, and mastery of magic that is possessed by his incomparable mind. If that is all you need, please excuse me; I must prepare a few things to simmer before I retire for the night."
The evening passes quietly, Zastoran retires to his wagon, parked as it is within the monastery's wide, open Nave. As the group prepares for their own evening rest, they are greeted by a surprising sight; the Lady Almah, up until now meeting with you only by summons, wanders into the dormitory chamber adopted your team for your own. With her of course are her two active bodyguards, the other two probably taking their rest somewhere else.
The lady wanders down the center aisle, looking around the room as if trying to determine what homey touches have been added by its occupants. After a moment she speaks, "You all have proven yourselves very talented scouts and warriors; I am very pleased with all of you, and with Garavel for finding such a capable crew, that business with the barbarian aside, of course. Since the death of my spiritual advisor Eloais, I have been feeling somewhat adrift in some respects. I wonder, among all your many talents, are there any of you who have talents in seeing portents or reading signs? I would gladly take counsel, if there is."
She waits expectantly for you to respond.
"I have no such skills, m'lady," Muqaq replies. "I'm sorry."
"The desert always sends the same omen Lady Almah. You have no need of a fortune teller in the desert. Death awaits if you play the fool!" says N'Dateh, matter-of-factly.
Cocking an uncertain eyebrow at the strange desert woman, Akhom responds simply. "Apologies, my Lady, I have not the gift."
Seif-al-Din bobs his head apologetically.
"The Everlight sends me small snatches of insight which allow me to better find my own path, but I am afraid that at this time, I do not have the ability to read them for others... Give me time, though, and I am sure that She will see fit to provide..."
Xanyon shakes his head with the others.
"The only future I can see is when I lead my target. Sorry m'lady."
The lady nods at each response in turn, her face calm and even, never flickering, whether the response was poetic or curt. "A pity. I had grown so accustomed to having access to such insights that I deeply miss them now. Thank you for your time, brave warriors. Let me know when the next phase of your plan comes due."
She exits the room with a slight but graceful bow, and sweeps her flowing blue dress with its thin scarves along with her, exiting the room with little flourish, but much grace.
The rest of the night passes uneventfully, with the guards posted outside and upon the tower, all are able to get the rest their bodies' are aching for. In the morning, Gruthic and Akhom make their way in to the chamber where the crucified and dying cleric was resting.
Father Zastoran turns to you upon your entry, "Ah, you are here. I arose early this morning, so I saw no need to wait. Your spell has been cast, and as you can see, the gentleman's fever has now broken, and he is awake, if a little worse for wear. I was just orienting him to his new situation. Serara, these are the some of the rescuers I was telling you of, and the two in particular who paid the expense for your healing." He turns back to you after this last part, "You may speak with him, but please keep it brief; he still has a great deal of mending to be done, both in body and mind." With that, he stands from beside the bedroll and exits the room.
The cleric Serara looks up towards the two of you weakly. His tone looks more solid, and the pallor that accompanied his fevered state has fled. Bandages still cover his wrists and various other parts of his body, his constitution too weak to keep the wounds closed, despite the healing offered yesterday by Muqaq. Red seeps through the boiled linen wraps in a variety of places. He looks emaciated and weak, but stronger than he did yesterday, by far. Yesterday he was a man dying; now, he looks like a man with a lengthy journey to recovery, but one who will live.
"Thank you." the man manages with a raspy, weak voice. "I never expected to see another day. It was a grace when the light finally fled from me, and I no longer had to bear the constant pain of..." He breaks off, coughing. He struggles to turn to his side, as his lungs have gained the strength to expel some of the liquid within them. The mess he coughs up is unpleasant; a mixture of fluids, red, yellow, and phlegmy. When he eases back down (either on his own, or with assistance) he remains quiet, but a look of depthless gratitude can be seen in his eyes. He soon passes into sleep once more.
She doesn't seem to know what she's doing. Just a priest's tool it seems. Best to take care of my own hide... thinks N'Dateh as she tries to get a bit of rest before they head out again.
N'Dateh wakes up in the middle of the night and starts putting her kit together, then walks over to the stable. Most of the horses get nervous when they catch her predator's scent, but not Rafhik. He bows his head as she approaches and she grins at him, playing with his mane.
We might die today. Best to profit from the small respite we're offered.
In silence, she brushes his hide slowly, knowing her companion enjoys it immensely, then sets his saddle over a red blanket.
She leads her horse outside, tie him to a pole and walks to a remote spot of the camp where she can grab sand between her fingers. She lets the sand trickle slowly, studying its pattern while breathing deeply in the warming air of the desert as the wind carries it across the land.