"Where is it? I can't see it!"
Madness rolls in his eyes as Gorkhan glares at the shadowy form of the id fiend. Drawing his longsword he steps forwards and swings his blade at it.
A hiss comes from Safia. "Right in front of you." While the voice is reptilian it still sounds vaguely familiar to anyone who has heard Safia talk before. Shortly after she stops talking a rush of air can be felt near Däina as Safia rushes forth to attack the beast, scythe at the ready.
After that she stays next to the fiend, once more lashing out with her scythe.
Däina pales, whispering "Rifstejarwim" as she glances around the darkness. After a moment the light around bends and she fades from view.
Stumbling as it charges forward, Grit's tigone becomes tangled in the webbing still choking the gully. The druid, meanwhile, calls down another stroke of lightning, although it appears to do little damage to the id fiend as Däina casts her spell and fades from view.
Wild-eyed, Gorkhan slashes at the creature, but his bone blade skitters off the things thick hide as it seems to anticipate the strike. It dodges again as Safia charges in, but the shapeshifted woman manages to connect with a follow-up blow, carving a deep, bloody gouge in the id fiend's flank.
Still clearing the creature's influence from her mind, Raun cowers for a moment behind a stone spire. Shaking her head, she rises after regaining control of herself.
Ignoring Gorkhan for the moment, the gravely wounded id fiend turns on Safia in a frenzy. Its jagged fangs sink deeply into Safia's side, ripping through the psionic buffer Nnn'tkklik'l had provided, before tearing at her with its claws and spinning to smash her with its heavy, scaled tail. Each blow seems to set Safia's nerve endings on fire, psychic pain adding to the actual injuries.
Still shaken buy unwilling to let his friends suffer unaided Grit 5' steps and attacks the creature.
Nnn'tkklik'l will gain psionic focus (not sure if he is or isnt, but i have a spare move so i will make sure he is) and try to siphon health from the fiend into Safia.
His action this round is to siphon health from the fiend to Safia.
Siphon: 15 hp, DC 19 will halves, (-2 on the will save for the creature)
Raun glowers back the way she came as her mind becomes her own once again. Her knuckles whiten as she grips the hammer, and she growls her displeasure, but with fatigue still slowing her body she can't seem to summon up the adrenaline and energy she has grown accustomed to. She hurries back towards the fight as swiftly as her legs can carry her.
Annoyed by the creatures fierce attack Safia roars before once more lashing out with her scythe. The lizardfolk that's Safia slightly foams at the mouth, spittle mixed with blood as she loses herself in the lust for the fiend's blood.
Rushing to assist Safia, Grit hacks into the id fiend's flank with his scimitar, cracking scales and exposing the white bone of the beast's rib cage. Dazed, the id fiend sags as the pain of its wounds overtakes it.
Working quickly, Nnn'tkklik'l grasps the strands of the id fiend's fading life force and channels the energy into Safia, whose wounds cease to bleed and gradually close as the id fiend expels a final, shuddering breath.
Healed, she steps forward and brings her scythe down in a sweeping blow that separates the foul creature's head from its body, its blood flowing out onto the desert sand.
Id fiend blood is often in demand among masters of the Way, who distill it into tonics they claim enhance mental acuity. It might be worth gathering some to try to sell in Tyr. Others use it to create potent, mind-altering drugs or poisons.
Safia lets her scythe hang down. She wipes away the spittle as her form shifts back to her own. "Foul creature. Did it work together with those giants or just use the opportunity." She seemed surprisingly lucid.
Grit moves to the fallen man to verify what he fears - that the man is indeed dead.
Däina stares at the dead creature and Fen's body, her heart pounding. I'm alone in the middle of nowhere with bodyguards who expect to be paid, and now they know I'm a slave who can read and spellcast. She backs up slowly, looking around for an escape but realizing she wouldn't make it far without supplies. She remains invisible, waiting to see what the others do.
Fen is unmistakably dead, his chest torn open by one of the id fiend's claws and his heart removed. His face is frozen in a mask of terror. His leather satchel dangles from one hand, the strap wrapped and tangled around his wrist.
It is as I feared. Fen is dead. Grit states the obvious as he kneels at the dead man's side. He removes the satchel and looks inside. He might have been trying to retrieve this when he was attacked. Perhaps it is some sort of weapon. Is anyone else hurt? Where is Däina?
The blood-stained satchel contains a coin pouch with several dozen coins, mostly silver and ceramic, a sheaf of papyrus documents and three glazed clay tokens imprinted with various designs.
The documents are covered in strange markings unlike the Common alphabet some of you may know. You've heard that many of the merchant houses have developed their own elaborate codes - although only templars and nobles legally may read and write, merchants are allowed to "keep accounts," which often amounts to the same thing.
Two of the ceramic tokens also are unfamiliar, although you recognize the third from your visits to Urik - it's a mark of citizenship, glazed in green to signify Fen's status as a member of the trading class.
Raun's approach of the creature does not stop when it ceases moving. Her hammer raises high despite her tired state and she starts to bring it down upon the id fiend's scaly hide, only to rise again afterwards. She seems intent on pummeling the beast's remains into a fine paste.
Raun, rest. the kreen urges, walking to the fiend's corpse. He begins trying to get the ichor that he can, collecting it in his mug.
Safia slowly moves over to Fen's dead body. She closes the man's eyes, "His spirit has moved on, he joined his ancestors. Däina is free now, the only good thing to come out of this." She moved back up north to check the corpses of the two four-armed giants.
Suddenly the sound of rocks shifting is heard, then a cry from Däina and you turn to see her tent has twisted up and fallen down. After a moment Däina appears in the mess, clutching an old haversack to her chest as she looks at the party with frightened eyes.
Grit sheaths his bloody scimitar before speaking. Fen is dead. he makes clear to Däina. We guarded the Kanks as he commanded, but he was unable to defend himself against the more subtle threat. And now it is as Safia says. You are free, and certainly have nothing to fear from us. In fact, you proved quite useful during that fight. I think the others would agree that you would be welcome to continue on with us to Tyr, and perhaps beyond that, if you like.
Däina stares at Grit for a moment, then untangles herself from the tent and stands, glancing around. "And...nobody cares that I can read or use magic?"
I have watched your use of magic. You do not defile. As a guardians of nature that is all that I care about. And with a smile he adds. Besides, we are now dependent on you to get us into the city and registered as merchants. You do know your master's business, don't you?
Däina winces. "Actually...I kind of escaped my master and have been traveling with Fen. I don't know anything about being a merchant."
Raun pummels the creature a couple more times and then looks at Nnn for several moments. Sensing his interest in the corpse she grunts and reluctantly backs off, turning instead to some of the boulders around the area, taking her frustrations out on them instead.
The racquet eventually stops and she returns to the group, shrugging her shoulders at Daina. "Don't care what you do if you want to be free and work to help. Used to have cannibal before he got killed." she rumbles by way of response.
Safia turned towards the group as she overheard Däina while moving towards the dead giants, "I use magic, Grit uses magic, you use magic. Does it matter? You don't reek of death and the spirits don't hate you, so you're not a defiler. That's good enough for me." Safia offers the woman a honest smile. "We're all ex-slaves, don't worry."
With that she continued on towards the giants, hoping they would have something useful.
Däina stares for a moment, then smiles and closes her eyes as a tear runs down her face. She walks to the riverbed, shifting down next to Fen. She closes his eyes and kisses him on the forehead. "Thank you Fen, for everything. I hope you know I'm among friends now."
Däina stands, stepping forward to once more be on the high ground. Anar comes out of where he had been hiding, landing on her shoulder and playfully nipping at her ear. She smiles, scratching one his feathers. "I've never been free before. I can't imagine what it would...will be like to travel without fear or being discovered." Anar takes off, circling high above Däina. She turns to Grit. "Yes, I'd like to travel with you all. Perhaps we can learn of each other more so my magic won't interfere with your fighting, like the web."
Grit thinks for a moment, bending as he does to brush away stray webs from his tigone's back. You know, if you are going to stay with us, perhaps we have some things that would be useful to you. He moves over to where the extra gear is stored and rummages for a moment, producing a strange book of leather strips and a Agafari spear of fine craftsmanship. These things have arcane formuli inscribed upon them. We thought maybe we could try to sell then in Tyr. I am sure they are of some worth but likely dangerous to be found with. See what you can make of them.
the book contains: ash storm, dispel magic, fireball, haste, lightning bolt; invisibility, mirror image, protection from arrows, scorching ray, touch of idiocy; burning hands, charm person, color spray, comprehend languages, expeditious retreat, mage armor, magic aura, shocking grasp.
This spear is carved with spell formula: dispel magic, fly, invisibility, knock, misdirection, color spray, endure elements, mage armor, magic missile.
The b'rohg's were carrying nothing of value. Each appeared to have been bleeding from the nose and ears, their faces displaying grimaces of fear similar to Fen's.
Realizing that the id fiend blood will quickly dry out if left in the open mug, Nnn'tkklik'l passes around one of his waterskins, sharing the water before using the empty vessel to collect the ichor. He is able to fill the skin before the blood is too coagulated to gather anymore.
Däina gently takes the spell book and the spear, setting the spear down gently and leafing through the book. She makes it to the fourth page, then returns to the beginning and begins to read slower. "I don't know what most of this means." She looks up smiling; not the kind of smile of having new comrades or being generally in a good mood, the smile when there is new and challenging material to learn. "But I can find out!" She gingerly sets down the book, then throws her arms around Grit. "You have no idea how hard it is to get your hands on things like this. Thank you." She releases him, blushing slightly. "I uhh...we should get some rest. I'll look at these in more detail in the morning."
Raun has returned to gruesome work. The two Brogh's have been succesfully decapitated by her axe, their heads staked prominently at the ends of the camp, while she is now dragging the second body out beyond their camp a ways and dumping it in the gully. She returns to the others scrubbing sand between her hands to remove the blood, silently taking up her position on watch again.
The remainder of the night brings little sleep. When the sky begins to lighten in the east you pack up the camp and load the kanks carrying Fen's goods. At dawn, you set the merchant's remains afire, his pyre sending up a dark plume of smoke as you make your way southwest into the hills.
Although nothing compared to the jagged peaks farther west, the spur of the Ringing Mountains you must cross makes for an arduous journey. You make it through the worst of the climb by nightfall, however, and camp in a narrow pass that marks the apex of the ascent.
The rising sun the next day illuminates the Tyr valley ahead. The trail descends quickly from the ridge through the rugged foothills to the wide, shallow valley. Through the heat shimmer, you can just make out the great ziggurat and Golden Tower of Tyr rising above the city walls, which are shaped like a great figure 8, with the smaller circle around the tower pointing west.
Between you and the city can be seen the sprawling estates of Tyr's nobles and at least a half dozen client villages. Fields of faro and gray cotton stand in regimented rows along the fertile bottom of the valley. West of the city, the fields give way to isolated patches of rockstem and stunted cactus.
As you descend, you can see that many of the fields lie fallow and dry and the more distant client villages appear to be abandoned. Several paths and small roads run between and around the various estates, converging in a common road that winds up from the southeast to the caravan gate on the east side of the city. A few other travelers make their way toward the great gates, and you came make out a great mekillot wagon stirring up dust in the distance.
You reach the caravan gate an hour after high sun. The ancient stone portal rises more than 10 feet high and almost twice as wide. The roughcut agafari timbers of the twin doors are banded in mekillot hide and rusted iron studs and hinges.
Open now, the gate is manned by a pair of half-giant guards. Nearby, several templars in black cassocks direct travelers to an area of hard-packed dirt to the right of the gate. There you can see the templars inspect each load, question the travelers and record something on a long papyrus scroll. Money changes hands, as well, mostly ceramic but a few times you spot the flash of silver.
Falling into line, you organize Fen's kanks and prepare for your turn at inspection.
During the trip Däina throws out a breeze spell here and there, always keeping somebody a little bit cooler. She spends the majority of the spell on Raun who has been forced to walk the entire journey (plus she doesn't mind getting on such a fearsome person's good side).
When the great ziggurat begins to shadow their sight, Däina mentally calls down Anar. He lands on her shoulder, and she whispers "Hey, no talking. Remember, dumb bird." Anar ruffles his feathers in what must be an annoyed gesture, but he begins practicing his silence.
Däina turns to the rest of the party. "Not to assume anything, but is there any item that you...wouldn't particularly want found on your person?" She takes out her haversack. "If so, I can hide it for you." She opens the haversack, showing that it appears completely empty. Showing off the magical bag puts a slight smile on her face, as if bringing back a pleasant memory.
Raun feels an unfamiliar tension growing inside her as Tyr comes into sight. She would never have expected it, having spent her entire life before she was sold in one of the cities but it feels almost... claustrophobic to be returning to somewhere with so many people. The wide open spaces, and the harsh, unforgiving landscapes of the desert feel so much more natural to her now.
Even so she does not give into the weight of apprehension, her shoulders remaining unbowed as they approach the gates and the first of her own kind she has seen since her freedom.
<<The city in the valley ... I have been here before, I think. I recognize the peaks to the west, although the city looked nothing like this ...there was a river, and marshlands. I sense something, as well. A presence, like my own. Perhaps the necromancer brought the Seeker's stone here? It is faint now, but may become clearer as we draw near. Perhaps the masters at the academy know of it.>>
Däina spends a good three hours of the morning deeply absorbed in the book Grit gave her. She has her own book out and appears to be copying down the strange marking, muttering to herself in draconic the whole while. After three hours she flips a page and starts writing again, but her quill runs out of the strange multicolored ink and she frowns, shaking it. She sighs, turning to the party "I don't imagine anybody has any arcanist's ink, do they? Any chance I could buy some in the city?"
Before they are close to the city Grit considers Däina's offer to stow gear. He want to hide the Shadow Urn for sure and asks about his fetish. I could also fly in later in bird form, carrying anything that we really want to safeguard. He offers. But then I would not receive any paperwork and we might all need that. What shall our story be with the guards? The truth? If we tell the truth the entire caravan could be confiscated. Yet we do not know enough to pretend one of us is Fen. Perhaps Däina could be his daughter?
<<I possess no ink. I do not know what the clutch's story should be. I have no skill at lies, I don't know if the truth is good here. Have we done something wrong? I would like to talk to masters at the academy.>>
"I suppose my blade is magical, as is Raun's belt and helm... But it's not like they're glowing or anything. The same goes for that interesting satchel of yours Daina. They just look like well-made items... So they shouldn't trouble us if we're not drawing attention to ourselves."
You watch closely as the travelers in front of you interact with the templars.
Judging from the snippets of conversation you can hear, it seems the templars record information about the travelers - number of freemen and slaves, nature of visit, number of animals and cargo - on the long scroll.
Those answers seem to factor into the amount of money that changes hands, as well, although you see some groups with more cargo pay less after showing a token of some kind to the templars.
If anything, the merchants seem to receive less scrutiny. As you watch, a traveler in the group ahead of you breaks and runs after a templar pulls up his sleeves to reveal Drajian slave tattoos. One of the half-giants at the gate launches a javelin that impales the fleeing man through the leg and the screaming slave is dragged into the city while his former traveling companions swear they knew nothing and pass the templars an extra handful of ceramic coins.
Seeing the merchants present their tokens, you take another look at the ceramic markers you found in Fen's satchel. On second look, you see that the markings on the two unidentified disks are in a sort of shorthand version of the Common tongue spoken in Tyr. One is marked: Fen. Merchant of House Kellet. Urik. Male. Human. Dark of hair and eye. Well-fed. Sweats. The other, smaller token is marked: Landlord Hadriss. Caravan Way. Storehouse 9.