“One of our number has fallen.” Venture-Captain Adril Hestram lets the grave words hang in the air before continuing. It’s difficult to imagine a large man like Adril defeated, but in light of this grim news his shoulders slump; he is a man who suffered a loss. “Targos Min-Katheer, esteemed venture-captain, is dead. His last wishes are simple: he wants his mortal remains to take one last trip along the Silken Way to his home city of Katheer, there to rest with his ancestors. He was one of our finest and we aim to honor his request. It is for this reason I’ve called you all together.” Adril points one sausage-thick finger at the map on the table, tracing a line from Absalom to the mouth of the Pashman River, then snaking up the river to the oasis city of Lopul. “Here is where you can gather up his remains and join the silken caravan, one of the only caravans daring the harsh journey across the desert from Lopul to Katheer. This mission is simple, joyride really, but we insist you give it the attention it deserves. A few weeks in the sun, seeing the sights of the desert. A dream assignment.”
Adril has a way of making every assignment sound like a sweet deal, but the last few weeks traveling by boat up the Pashman River and then hiking the short distance to the oasis city have been grueling to the extreme. A poisonous river snake claimed one of your guides; you remember his last gasps well, and how his face bloated to twice its usual size within seconds of the bite.
Before you now lies Lopul, the great caravan city, erected around the crystal life-giving waters of the Pool of Sihbon, the largest oasis for over one hundred miles. Mud brick houses baking in the sun and great canvas tents crowd the central copse of palm and date trees.
Lopul is a caravan-city ruled by the Sheikh Samraf Al-Hadari, humble servant to the padishah emperor of Kelesh. The settlement’s population fluctuates wildly with the comings and goings of trade caravans, but usually has at least a thousand locals and travelers in residence at any one time. Most of the city is comprised of tents and temporary dwellings erected by merchants and caravan masters, with only about a quarter of the city’s structures being permanently built around the Pool of Sihbon itself. Among these permanent structures are a half-dozen caravanserai, the fortress of the sheikh, and twoscore domed dwellings constructed of mud brick. One such dwelling is the former residence of Targos Min-Katheer. All that remains is to collect his body and join the silken caravan.
Locating the domicile of such an esteemed Pathfinder is easy.
A small mud-brick, domed dwelling lies at the end of a humble, sandy street here in the heart of the caravan city. The scent of the nearby oasis still reaches you, and a hive of bees, attracted by the nearby water, hangs from a date palm next to the house. The wails of mourners and cries of women and children reach your ears, and you can see a small crowd gathered outside the house’s single door, its members crying and tearing their garments. Whether professionally hired mourners or sorrow-filled residents outpouring legitimate grief for the loss of a local hero is unclear, but the emotion seems genuine enough.
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HUNWALD STORMHEART, better know as Hun, is a lithe specimen with raven hair, olive skin, and a warming smile that could melt a glacier. His eyes seem to possess the ability to see directly into the hearts of most men, but especially women. With rugged good looks and a persistently flattering personality, this rascal prefers grifting his targets instead of eliminating them. But if the latter becomes necessary he is quite inclined to do that as well. Sporting well oiled crimson studded leather armor and a belt of five perfectly balanced throwing knives, Hun prefers the art of fencing with his masterwork rapier, exhibiting the perfect mechanical dance of martial swordplay.
"Well I am in too good of a mood for all of this sadness... Don't these people believe in wakes! I sure could use a cold, stiff drink right about now!"
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"August, Hunwald, will you kindly break a path through this crowd? We have business to attend to. Drinks come later."
These warm environs haven't put this somewhat frosty elven wizard in the most pleasant of moods. More at home with magical research than people, the reminder of death to one of a race that doesn't experience it with any frequency seems to disturb her, though she tries to hide it. Humans are such emotional, fragile things.
August Dupine listens in on the conversations, which are unfortunately in a language he doesn't speak. . The only tidbits he gets are things like; tragedy, unfair, why?.
Dupine and Hun oblige, with Piper and Wilhelm in tow. Knocking at the front door brings an answer in the form of a man in sackcloth with ashes poured over his freshly shaved head. His face is sickly pale under the coating of ashes, and part of one ear if missing. His hands are wrapped in dirty bandages.
This man is a leper, however, Targos was known for his generosity to the poor and afflicted, so his appearance here is not that surprising.
He allows you to enter without a word after respectfully moving out of your way to avoid any accidental contact. The front room of the house holds more leper mourners, and a curtained doorway blocks access to the house’s lone bedroom. Shortly after you enter, a man wearing priestly robes and a black jackal death mask emerges from behind the curtain.
You notice ashen patches on his hands and a couple missing fingers, indicating that this man also suffers from what the others inside are suffering from.
His voice muffled by the mask, the man introduces himself as Ben-Garri and explains that the honored venture-captain’s body is receiving its funeral preparations and that the PCs will need to return at nightfall to claim it.
This man wears the trappings of a priest of the B@$~~ Goddess Lamashtu
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Wilhelm sighs, remembering regretfully Adril's 'too-good-to-be-true' mission briefing.
When will I learn that *every* mission they send us poor sods on is bound to end up being horrific?
The heat didn't bother him too much, but the ever-present sand played havoc with his equipment, getting into the most inconvenient of places, and threatening to damage his supply of bowstrings and fletching.
Reaching the oasis, at last, was a welcome relief.
Now all we have to do is pick up the body, and escort it to its final destination. I wonder exactly how much pain and suffering we have in store for us on this 'simple' mission?
When he gets a good look at the mourners, he raises an eyebrow, but doesn't make a scene, simply whispering to the others.
"Be careful what you touch - all of these poor unfortunates, including the priest, are lepers..."
He then smiles at the lead priest.
"No trouble at all - I think we would all be happy to stay and observe the funerary rites; it would only be fitting, after all, since we will be escorting his body on its final journey..."
The man's face is inscrutable behind the mask, but he tilts his head to one side. "Actually that won't be necessary, we'll take it from here. It was his will after all."
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The man doesn't answer the question, but does step back. "it's best if you go."
The other three mourners stand up...
-Posted with Wayfinder
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Thiera calmly pulls a scroll from her case.
"It surprises me that you would imply violence during a time of shared mourning, and by doing so, dishonor the dead."
"We do not impose without cause, but if you should attempt to insist by force, it will not go well with you, for my companions are able combatants."
"Now, kindly do us the respect of answering our inquiry. The honored dead is Venture Captain Targos Min-Katheer, yes?"
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Leonel Terrich stands behind the well-spoken wizard, smiling genuinely at everyone they meet. Other people seem to be coming to some conclusions about their surroundings, but Leonel only sees a run of the mill funeral. He nods when the others speak, attempting to come across as generally supportive. Suddenly he becomes aware that there's some kind of miscommunication and everyone is looking a bit standoffish. The smile doesn't leave his face, but the warmth drains away to leave only the roguish grin of a trained fighter about to ply his trade.
As people start to try to move slowly to keep the situation calm, everyone reaches the same conclusion at roughly the same time... someone has to draw.
Initiative Repost:
Wilhelm: GO!
Piper: GO!
BADDIES: TBD
Hun: TBD
Thiera: TBD
Leonel: TBD
Dupine: TBD
The leper, despite his disease, is still nimble enough to dodge.
Wilhelm!
Wilhem calmly lands an arrow into the stomach of the Lamashtite, causing something of a cross between exultation and agony to escape his mask-covered lips. Meanwhile, Bullwhip cracks the yellow robed "mourner" upside the head with so much force that the man is knocked out long before he hits the floor.
The leader turns his reaction into the garbled words of a prayer to the b!~*@ goddess. A dark brown nimbus surrounds him for just a second. (Will Save DC 13 to target the priest.)
The remaining two, undeterred by the dwarf with an axe approach with fists. For what is he to the power of Lamashtu?! It's not the fists to fear, however, each hand is covered in pustules that promise a far greater hurt.
and FORST Save
and FORST Save
Their celebration does not last long however. Hun's rapier erupts through the green clothed attacker's chest!
Update:
Initiative Repost:
Wilhelm: Arrow
Piper: Miss with ray
Bullwhip: Smack
BADDIES: Cast and attack.
Hun: Stab
Thiera: Go!
Leonel: Go!
Dupine: Go!
Leader:
Yellow: KOed
Blue:
Thiera can't identify the spell, but her will is enough to overcome it for good. Her bolt slams into the surprised priest leaving him injured, but not down.
Dupine to finish the round!
Update:
Initiative Repost:
Wilhelm: Arrow
Piper: Miss with ray
Bullwhip: Smack
BADDIES: Cast and attack.
Hun: Stab
Thiera: Force Bolt
Leonel: Laments his lack of training.
Dupine: Go!
Leader: 11
Yellow: KOed
Blue:
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Dupine's first punch is merely bait. When the man over to block, he never sees the second strike aimed right behind the ear. He drops like a sack of potatoes.
Wilhelm start off round 2!
-Posted with Wayfinder
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The calmly fired arrow drops the priest!
There are three dead and one unconscious Lamashtites. The mourners outside seem to have scattered.
-Posted with Wayfinder
Before anyone checks bodies, I need some Fort saves. The bodies are riddled with disease, and you're not sure you can search through without touching...
Thiera moves into the bedroom to find the remains of the erstwhile VC. It appears that the cultists were robbing the place as what's left of his belongings are laid out in organized fashion on the floor. Thankfully he's undisturbed; wrapped in gauze and under the effects of a spell to keep him "fresh." (DC 16 to ID.)
...The plan offered up (strongly) by the Venture Captain was to get on with one of the more heavily armed caravans. Finding one should be rather simple information to gather.