The sight of the mutilation of the corpse, and Kaye's much smoother speech now that he's caught his breath, seems to give Daoud some pause for thought. He frowns, watching as you wake the acolyte for questioning.
Daoud wraps his arms and stunted hands around himself, looking uncertain and worried, and a little sickened at the idea of Ben-Garri perhaps self-mutilating. "...perhaps you are correct about something not being right, here. But-- truly, I don't think Ben-Garri had anything to do with Lord Targos's death. They had little contact with one another, and Targos was ailing before I ever saw Ben-Garri in this town. Though, it is as you have said: great men attract many enemies."
Vargo merely gazes sternly and silently at the awakened prisoner. The Hellknight armor, however, is fairly intimidating. And, of course, there's the fact that the acolyte has woken up badly beaten, and is surrounded by armed foes.
The leper coughs weakly, rolling onto his side and gazing up at you all fearfully. He is a much older man than Daoud, his body similarly ravaged by the disease, however.
"What were you all doing here? Its clear that you weren't embalming Lord Min-Katheer. Who are you and what was really going on?"
The acolyte looks nervously around, licking at his ravaged, split lips, and cringing when he notices Ben-Garri lying defeated. "No... we were embalming him," he mumbles. "Father was... for travel. He said we would... leave his body hacked apart in the sand, as an offering to... the Mother..." his voice sinks to a whisper on that name, "for past crimes that he said Targos had committed against her. He said we would-- send his organs out in their jars to each city in Qadira... and make sure that even his memory was desecrated and deformed..."
Some additional questioning of the acolyte elicits the fearful confession that 'the Mother' he speaks of is actually the demon goddess Lamashtu, who claims all deformed creatures and monsters as her children. Though most of Lamashtu's worshippers are gnolls and other monstrous humanoids, cult worship of Lamashtu springs up from time to time in the dark corners of civilized cultures. Her sacred creature is a jackal, which fits the mask.
Daoud looks truly stricken at this revelation. "What? How could you go along with this? After all the kindness Lord Min-Katheer showed us??" he demands of the other man, who has no ready answer. Daoud looks to you all and says, "I know that the stories of Targos say he tangled with jackal-cultists in his younger days..."
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Hmpf. Religious strife. Kaye chuckles to himself. The lengths people will go to please fictitious 'gods'.
"Very powerful enemies. It's a good thing we came here when we did, then. Had another day passed, Targos Min-Katheer may have been dashed across the desert. Or even worse..."
"Daoud, I wouldn't mind hearing a few stories about his many great deeds, both against the enemies of civilization and the allies of this great community." Kaye nods to Daoud and indicates they should go for a walk around the neighborhood. He knows that no matter what happens to Ben-Garri, things will get very ugly soon.
Once all of that is over, and they are out of earshot of Daoud and the other Lepers, Kaye points out the bruise on his cheek he received from one of the Lepers.
"Ma'Huuk. Could you help identify this bruise for me? I am a bit concerned that the bruise is...infected."
"I'm not skilled in the healing arts. Well, I can concoct a potion to heal immediate wounds."
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At the leprous man’s revelations of the plans for Targos’s body, Ma’huuk gives Daoud a hard look.
Without warning, he pulls his shield and smacks the acolyte atop the head with it, rendering him unconscious. Then he pulls a length of rope from his pack and tosses it to Daoud as he gestures to the now-unconscious acolyte. ”He lives. Bind him. Gag him.”
Once the unconscious acolyte is bound and gagged—and Kaye and Duoad leave for their walk—Ma’Huuk presses a hide-booted foot to Ben-Garri’s chest—securing him to the ground—as he uses his own healing stick to bring the man back to consciousness.
When Ben-Garri rouses, it’s to Ma’Huuk’s ugly mug looming over him. ”This man,” he indicates the unconscious acolyte, ”has told us what you had planned for this man Targos. You will tell us every detail and why you would do it.”
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"We should wake this one," Erevan suggests with a soft kick to the unconscious man's leg.
Erevan slowly draws his dueling blade.
"If you knew with whom you spoke, your answers would be spilling from your lips," the half-elf swordsman says as he raises the blade threateningly.
"Now speak! Or I'll have blood spilling from your lips!"
Daoud gives Ma'Huuk a long look at his cursory order to bind the acolyte. "I agree that perhaps there is more here than I thought. That does not make me your slave, Pathfinder. If you wish him bound, bind him yourself. Anyway, do you really wish a man with two working fingers," he lifts his own deformed hands, "to be responsible for binding your enemy...?"
Kaye leads Daoud off to discuss Targos's history. Ben-Garri is roused, and glares with sheer spite from his ravaged face. He sneers at your threats.
"Do I look to you like a man who fears pain?" he rasps. "Do what you will, fools. The Mother will reward me in death."
At the question of whether or not he killed Targos, however, the leprous priest laughs harshly. "No, more is the pity. If I had had my way, he would have died slowly, skin stripped from him inch at a time! Fate stole that victory from me, and now you steal even my triumph over his corpse! I will pray for the jackals to feast on your loins!"
Despite the scarred priest's disdain for your threats, you ascertain from him that Targos destroyed a local cult of Lamashtu a decade ago, and that Ben-Garri was the only one to escape Targos's justice that day. The priest has stewed with thoughts of vengeance for a long time, but-- reading between the lines of his hateful speech-- you judge that he was too much afraid to face Targos while he lived, and that instead, he has arrived much like the jackal who is his foul goddess's symbol-- a scavenger, to pick over the bones of an already-dead man. His own attempts to rebuild the Lamashtu cult, locally, had not been successful beyond the three men in the room-- two of whom are now dead. You learn little else of worth from him, since none of you are likely interested in converting to the dark worship of Lamashtu...
Outside, Kaye keeps Daoud busy, and asks about Targos's life, locally. Daoud has a dozen stories of Targos fighting off local threats over the last few decades, but the most recent stories all involve bandits, especially a group of non-human raiders calling themselves the Scorpions. According to Daoud, these raiders are mostly goblinoids, but they attack like trained soldiers, and they are equipped with high-quality gear, setting them apart from the usual run-of-the-mill thieving scum of the desert. Daoud is worried that the Scorpions will have free run over this stretch of the Silken Caravan route, with Targos dead and his protection at an end.
It is fully night, now. A few gawkers lurk at the street's end, looking down towards Targos's home, but nobody dares approach. Recalling Adril Hestram's words, you know that he suggested booking passage with a caravan back to Katheer; it might be best to make those arrangements before you sleep, as the caravans will no doubt travel at the first light of dawn.
Targos's body is still lying on the bed, naked under the sheet. Fortunately for you, the embalming given by Ben-Garri appears to be genuine-- the body will be preserved, somewhat, against the heat of the desert when you travel, and is not likely to swell or stink as bad as it otherwise might. Of course, the body does have that whole 'rune carved into its chest' going on; hopefully you'll be able to prevent further harm to Targos's mortal remains while they are in your care.
Ma'Huuk... you do notice that the leper's jagged fingernails did break Kaye's skin a bit, when you inspect the injury. It's certainly possible that Kaye was exposed to the disfiguring disease. Unfortunately, leprosy can incubate in a system for several weeks before symptoms begin to show-- if Kaye is carrying the sickness, you'll no doubt be back in Katheer, at the least, before it begins to manifest.
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Kaye thanks Doaud for the storytelling. "I wish we had met under, " Kaye feels the scratch on his cheek "better circumstances. I will certainly request more Pathfinder assistance to help secure the trade route. Perhaps my allies will bump into the Scorpions and make short work of them."
"I'll remind them to ask questions first before swinging their blades, however." Kaye laughs. "The best of luck to you, Daoud."
Kaye returns to the house and his allies, assuming the investigation has been completed. "So then, where to next? I suggest we book a caravan to leave town with. As for stay, we should probably find some lodgings for the night. I'm not sure how welcome we are in Targos's home." Aaaaand the stench. And the disease, of course. Hmpf.
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Hush nods to Kaye and indicates that he would prefer to stay at an inn for the night.
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Erevan agrees with Kaye's plans to find other accommodations for the night, as well as securing passage with an early caravan before the heat of day becomes overwhelming.
As for the corpse itself, Erevan says "Normally I would suggest a coffin...but that will not travel well on a camel. Perhaps we should wrap it tightly in a few blankets and tie it securely," he suggests.
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Ma’Huuk is quiet as the team decides what to do, instead taking the time to search the house thoroughly.
When an opportunity presents itself, he speaks to the whole group. ”Stay where you wish.” He nods towards Targos’s body, ”I and my companion will remain here. To guard Targos.” He looks over at Kay, Vargos, and Erevan, ”Ask these locals if they have a priest who can look at Targos’s body. I would pay to ensure this marking does nothing foul to him. Even better if the priest can remove it.”
Daoud nods to Kaye, and gives him a little bow before he begins to clean up the corpses and blood that has been spilled inside the house.
Ma'Huuk doesn't know any rumors about the Scorpions other than what Daoud was able to tell Kaye. The Bekyar man volunteers to spend the night in the house of Targos Min-Katheer, guarding the body against further possible blasphemies. The others seek out a priest, an inn, and a caravan, in no particular order.
For those moving about in town, it is obvious that the crowd of mourners and lepers who fled from the house have been gossiping about you. You attract more stares than you had when entering through town, and some nudging, pointing, and whispers. The other travelers give you a wide berth, but you manage to corral a grimy street child and ask about a priest. You are given directions to one of the few permanent structures in town: a shrine to Saranrae, her worship all but ubiquitous in these desert lands.
The Sarenite on duty, a middle-aged woman, frowns when Targos's name is brought up. "Hmph! The gods of Taldor served him well enough in life, but now he needs our help, eh? I thought some ragtag leper priest was tending to the body? Oh, very well..."
Though she seems to bear little love for Targos, the Sarenite agrees to come and look at the body, and is alarmed when told of the Lamashtu-rune and the now-dead cult priest. She inspects Targos's corpse, and washes the rune with a flask of holy water. "I can't heal the cut itself, not with his flesh no longer living," she says crisply, "but if there was spiritual evil intended, I have done what I can to counter it. Though Targos and the church did not always see eye-to-eye in his life, I will pray that Saranrae grants you safe travel home with his body."
***
Finding an inn is not difficult: half a dozen permanent buildings offer accommodations to those who are sick of tents and cots, and are willing to pay for the luxury of a bed, a properly cooked meal, and hot bath water. As when moving through town, you do attract some looks, but the owners of the caravanserais do not object to your coins.
Finding a caravan, on the other hand...
The first two caravans you approach give you nervous looks, and merchants shake their heads before you've barely gotten out your proposition. "No, no, all full here," they say. "Try down the street... someone else... we don't want any trouble..."
***
As Daoud works to clean up the diseased blood and remove the bodies of the dead, Ma'Huuk looks around the home intently. Daoud gives him a wide berth and makes no objections to his poking around. Ma'Huuk finds the home to be comfortable and simple, well-furnished but not ostentatious. A small study abuts the bedroom, with a document lying out on the desk in a deliberate fashion, weighted at the corners with small stones. It looks to be the will of Targos Min-Katheer, and has been stamped at the bottom with the signet ring of the local sheikh, indicating that he witnessed it and finds it to be in order, and that the sheikh's soldiers will enforce the terms of the will.
As Daoud had indicated, the house and grounds has been willed to 'the lepers of Lopul, that they may have a place to call their own.' Targos's weapons and armor were bequeathed to the sheikh himself, and various other treasures accumulated during his life have presumably been dispersed around town already according to the will. Nothing about the will strikes you as underhanded or suspicious; it seems a straightforward and very cogent statement on Targos's part, that of man who was at peace with the idea of his own passing. Targos's own signature is dated only a month ago.
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"I do not object to keeping the helpful one alive. Perhaps he can be redeemed and make something better of his life. Ben-Garri however is a snake and we should make sure he will trouble us and Lord Min-Katheer's body no longer."
When we confer with the priest of Sarenrae about Lord Min-Katheer's body, Jaracara suggests [b]"I might be able to help hold the body steady, but the medical arts are not far advanced in the Mwangi Expanse and it is not an area I have much experience with.
Jararaca pays the coin to stay at the caravanserai, but also helps to ask around for a caravan to join on the way back to Katheer.
It takes about an hour of going from inn to inn before the group-- sans anyone who stayed behind at Targos's home-- asking everyone you pass about who is in need of extra bodies on the road, before you find a caravan that seems ready to give you the time of day. In an inn on the edge of Lopul, a small group of travelers is gathered around a table, seeming to be engaged in some internal argument, though this stops as your little group approaches. A middle-aged man wearing half-plate armor, despite the heat, is pointing at a map with the tip of his dagger; judging by the styling of his moustachios, he is probably Taldan. A woman who is dressed in silken versions of the traditonal desert nomad robes, with henna in her hair and on her hands, is frowning at whatever he is saying. A rotund gentlemen dressed entirely in white, save for a gem-studded pectoral, is listening to their conversation with an air of boredom, while a thin, short Qadiran man has gripped his fez hat in frustration or worry.
All of the discussion stops when you approach. The four look you over. "May we help you?" asks the woman.
Kaye quickly explains that they are seeking passage back to Katheer, and would be happy to lend sword arms and spells to mutual defense along the road. The woman tilts her head, regarding each of you in turn. She has vivid green eyes heavily lined with kohl, and a number of bangles and jewelry on her arms and at at her ankles-- rich prizes for any bandit.
"Well met. I am Jamila al-Shafah. Our group caries weapons and wines, mostly, and some spices. And what is your business and cargo?"
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Kaye plunks 5 silver down at the inn.
"Um...I don't think my potions can do much to help preserve the body." Kaye shrugs.
"Greetings Jamila al-Shafah." Kaye bows. "We are on assignment to help a great hero reach his final rest. Our dear venture captain, Targos Min-Katheer passed away and we'd like to escort his body to its final resting place. My friends are quite potent warriors, I assure you, and Ma'Huuk knows a thing or two about travelling outside of civilized areas."
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After the Sarenite priestess washes away the rune, Hush does his best to hide the remaining cuts to remove the physical traces of it. Like the priestess indicated, he can do little to mend the dead flesh, so he resorts to a few stitches here and an extra cut there to distort the image and make it look like what he hopes is more along the lines of a protection rune.
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As Hush begins his work on Targos's body, Ma'Huuk pauses in his search of the house to help.
For a while, only the soft sounds of needle pulling on stiffening flesh and the occasional rustle of Moto getting comfortable break the silence of Hush's work. After a while, the larger man pauses to look across the corpse at the strange pathfinder.
"The others," he nods vaguely in the direction the other pathfinders left, "some are uncomfortable with you." It's fairly obvious that Ma'Huuk is at least partially included in this statement, as well. The words hang in the air as the big man watches Hush work, "You acted when actions were needed. And you easily draw blood." He shrugs in an understanding manner, "I can appreciate these things, though many in our Society do not." He finishes with a meaningful look, "But men such as us must know when to shed blood and when to restrain, yes?"
He watches the smaller man, clearly expecting an answer.
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Hush glances between Ma'Huuk and the body while the bigger man addresses him. I explore, I report (after a fashion), and I cooperate. Am I also expected to ignore my vows? He has, however, been assigned as a Pathfinder, and he doesn't want to start a row with his allies-- especially not in a part of the world where they might be the only allies someone like himself could count on. Hush looks at Ma'Huuk and nods.
-Posted with Wayfinder
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Erevan speaks to the four assembling the caravan.
"Indeed, we are the honor guard of a fallen hero, taking him to his final rest. We could make this journey alone, but though my...our...skill at arms would easily fend off any attack, we do not want anything to happen to the corpse. But let me assure you, having a swordsman trained in the ways of the Aldori will ensure we reach our destination in one piece," he says with a gesture to his finely-crafted blade.
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It was indeed a grisly business Ma'Huuk....but it was necessary. We were in the right, and that Ben-Haari is obviously the servant of Chaos and needed to be dealt with.
Vargo will then turn to the main group and nod his assent, silently to what was said by Jaraca. His presence doing the talking for the most part
Hush and Ma'Huuk do perhaps a surprisingly good job in stitching up the brutal gash that Ben-Garri had left in the old man's skin. What the leprous priest had intended as desecration looks no worse than the other incisions of embalming, by the time the two are done with their grisly task.
***
In the inn, the revelation that you're carrying a dead body elicits different reactions from the four travelers. The Taldan man in the armor exclaims, "Bloody hell, carting a corpse over the dunes? That's morbid as hell, isn't it? Won't it stink and draw bugs, and wild animals, down on us?"
"Nonsense," says the Osiriani man wearing white. "In my country, Sir Gaspar, we have respect for our dead. If the corpse has been properly prepared for travel, it will be perfectly fine... and a noble charge."
The Qadiran man wrings his fez in his hands, his balding head gleaming with a little sweat in the inn's lighting. "What does it matter, if it is corpse or coffee or cardamom? I only care that they will bring enough steel to make up for the guards we have lost so far..."
The woman simply regards you steadily as her companions bicker. When she speaks, the other three quiet down. "Among my people, it is honorable, to see the wishes of the departed carried out. I have no objection to your joining our caravan to Katheer. We will leave at first light, however, so make sure that you and your friends are present and ready to travel."
With this agreement in place, you retire for the night, to inns of your own, or to Targos's home if you have chosen to stay there for the night. Daoud has finished removing the bodies of the dead lepers; he found a small pouch of coins on the body of Ben-Garri, which he wordlessly leaves out in plain view, clearly not intending to take it himself.
Night settles over Lopul: though the town holds no more than a thousand souls right now, it is a night full of noises, as music comes from more than a few of the little tent-camps, entertainers moving among them and plying their trades: musicians, plucking the strings of ouds, qanouns, and sazes; riq tambourines and finger cymbals; and flutists playing on a dozen different instruments. There are dancers as well; veiled women with strings of coins that dangle at their faces and bellies, and who twist and writhe artfully to the music; bare-chested young men whose dancing is more athletic, leaping over flaming cords and tossing knives between them as though it were play. Many of the caravaneers mingle freely between the camps, catching up with other friends of the road they see only once or twice a year, at places such as Lopul. Palm wine and other beverages flow freely around the hundreds of campfires.
However, by midnight, the sounds of people enjoying themselves begin to die down, for everyone in Lopul knows that the next day on the road is always a long one, and sleep is the traveler's best friend.
Nobody comes near Targos's house during the night. Come morning, as roosters crow and the caravan city begins to stir in the pre-dawn grey, you wind the body of Targos in a sheet, and bind it well with ropes, and you collect your camels from the stabler.
At the inn of the night before, Jamila's little caravan is ready to travel. Aside from yourselves, there are Jamila herself; the Taldan man with the moustache and half-plate, who is introduced to you as Sir Gaspar du Mer; the small, nervous Qadiran man, who is introduced as Gaspar's trade partner, Mahmoud; and finally the Osiriani man, Pashket, who travels with a slave-boy named Atmar, to help him with his camels.
They greet you, and exchange introductions around. Their own camels are heavily laden with goods; Pashket's camels are laden with wineskins and small barrels, while the camels of Gaspar and Mahmoud are piled with bundles of weaponry, mostly swords and other bladed weapons. Jamila's camels are laden with spices. All of your fellow travelers are human.
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Jaracara doesn't seek to purchase anything overnight. He is content to mingle with the travelers of Lopul and learn of places and cultures that he has never seen and mostly never heard of. He drinks enough that he sleeps well until the crow of the rooster and joins everyone at the caravan in the morning. He looks skeptically at his camel when the decision comes of whose camel to place Targos's body upon. "Hard enough to perch myself upon the camel. I worry that if we are attacked by bandits, I could fall off and lose our charge. Are any of you particularly good at riding these beasts?"
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Hush retires for the night in a room at the inn, glad to be able to take his mask off-- the heat makes it quite uncomfortable. He joins the caravan in the morning, dressed once again in his thin and light-colored desert clothing. He shrugs and gestures at the body. I can take it.
-Posted with Wayfinder
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Kaye shakes hands with the caravan group after they finish bickering. "It will be our honor and duty to escort Lord Min-Katheer to his final place. The body has been well preserved and shouldn't smell or attract scavengers."
Kaye enjoys the night in Lupil, talking to the merchants, entertainers and townspeople. He practices his speech, and talks about his wonderful alchemical inventions, which he is certain will change the world, for the better. As long as he makes a tidy profit on it. Kaye buys a flask of holy water and a flask of acid during the talk. As everyone heads to their homes, Kaye returns to his inn.
As the sun rises, Kaye is busy preparing his extracts, potions and bombs for a long day of travel outside of the city. "I'm ready, I suppose. I'll miss the town's energy. Time for the desert, I suppose."
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Ma'Huuk arrives early, the body across his camel and his strange scaled companion stalking behind. He wordlessly helps Vargo load Targos up across the knight's camel, pulling a rope from his pack to help lash it down for safe (and secure) travel.
He gives the team a single nod in greeting, then the others of the caravan a long, thorough look ... taking in each person. The Osiriani man and his slave-boy get an open, angry glare, but the big man says nothing.
Finally, he speaks up, "Do we have all we need for this trip? Food?" He pats his camel roughly, "For us and these beasts?"
Ma'Huuk, you're not exactly an expert on Silken Caravan traders. You think you've heard of Gaspar, though: in his youth, he had mild fame as a Taldan knight, famed for fierce battling on the Qadiran/Taldan border in the constant skirmishing. He was definitely a hawkish voice in the conflict, urging all-out war, but he seems to have mellowed in his later years, given he is currently traveling and trading in the country that he advocated war with when younger.
The last coins of Adril Hestram's bequest are enough to ensure that you're fully provisioned for a week's travel back to Katheer. Jamila looks around the group, nods as if satisfied, and whistles to everyone as she easily grabs hold of her saddle hooks and mounts, with the grace of long practice on the long-legged desert dromedaries.
Sir Gaspar struggles a bit more with his camel: probably he would have an easier time of it were he not wearing half-plate. He can be heard to mutter, as the camel lurches from kneeling to standing, "This is why the gods meant us to ride horses..."
Pashket's slave-boy, a lad of twelve or thirteen, helps his prosperously-girthy master get onto his came, and nimbly climbs another. Mahmoud seems to be intently counting the number of weapons among the Pathfinders, and seems satisfied with their generally dangerous demeanor-- Vargo in his armor is suitably imposing, and of course the big Bekyar savage...
Behind you, the sky lightens with the eastern sunrise; ahead of you stretches the road that you previously traveled the other direction. Jamila takes the lead, and Gaspar's camels follow her, then Mahmoud, then Pashket and Atmar. As the latecomers, you're shunted to the rear of the string of camels, left to breathe the dust raised by a string of ten or so camels ahead of you.
In some ways the travel is more enjoyable than the trip here: Jamila has a penchant for singing, and does so in the Kelish desert tongue, singing a traditional song of the nomadic tribes that dwelled in Qadira before the Casmaron empire expanded to make it merely another satrapy. She has a good voice, strong and clear, and despite the decadent silks of her garments it is obvious she is in her element out here in the desert, with nothing but her caravan and camels to rely on, and no comforts of easy civilization at hand.
Gaspar, for his part, grumbles: he grumbles about the heat, as the day wears on and the sun rises, but refuses any advice to take off his cumbersome armor ("What, with all the raids lately? Are you mad?"), he grumbles about his camel, he grumbles about fleas on the camel, and sleeping in bad inns with bad beds being bad on his back, though you would wager the fact that he's on the far side of fifty might also have something to do with any back pain he's experiencing.
In his loose white robes, the Osiriani merchant Pashket seems serenely at his ease in the heat, perhaps merely to pique Gaspar, for at every complaint he answers with words to the effect of it not being that bad, chiding Gaspar for not having the stamina to tolerate the desert. Pashket's slave, Atmar, lingers back as far as he can without earning Pashket's chiding-- curious at the sight of your odd group, openly staring at Ma'Huuk's scaled friend, Erevan's graceful blade and Jararaca's strange one, Vargo's armor and Hush's mask. (Sorry, Kaye, you're not that interesting to a kid.)
Mahmoud rides as close to Gaspar as he can, and three times in the first day he raises a shout of "Bandits!!" -- only to be quickly embarrassed as whatever he thinks he saw on the horizon turns out to be merely a blowing weed, or a roiling dust cloud. The other three roll their eyes, and after the third false alarm Jamila says, "Mahmoud, when we arrive in Katheer you should invest either in spectacles for your eyes, or in selling your business, for by my gods, you do not have the nerves for travel." After that, the abashed merchant remains quiet.
Still, false alarms notwithstanding, no bandits strike at you your first day out. As the heat begins to rise to truly oppressive levels at mid-day... you find yourselves sweating profusely, the more so if you are wearing your armor...
Jamila knows this route well; as soon as the heat starts truly affecting people, she leads the camels off a few hundred feet, following half-buried stone markers, to a wadi that will provide sufficient shade for a few hours' time. The caravaneers unroll canvas and struts to rig further shade, and the drovers and merchants settle in for a mid-day meal, and, for some, a little nap before the journey resumes.
Mahmoud takes the lunch break to approach your group, looking between Vargo, Jararaca, and Ma'Huuk, before deciding that Ma'Huuk, savage as he is, is probably the strongest among you. "So have you seen much battle?" he half-demands, half-pleads. "You look as though you can handle yourselves, can you?"
Jamila calls a return to the road as the day wears on and the heat begins to lessen. The Zho Mountains seem no closer than when you set out this morning. Travel settles once more into the tedium of the camels plodding on, hour after hour, for Jamila seems to have no more song in her now, and the going is quiet save for the hiss of wind driving sand and little pebbles across the flat ground.
Eventually, however, Jamila signals a stop. There's an hour of daylight left: enough to set up tents for the night, build a good fire, and warm flatbread and goat cheese on the rocks by the flame. Very fresh camel milk is available, and Pashket is persuaded to offer a skin of his wine around.
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Ma’Huuk, sweating profusely in the heat, spends a few minutes when they stop to take a precautionary circuit of the chosen resting place, as wary of natural threats as he is of hidden ambushes or dangers.
When Mahmoud stops him, the huge Bekyar tribesman nods. ”Moto and I have fought. And shed much blood. Ours and others.” He shrugs, his hide and leathers creaking, ”It is the way of life outside safe city walls.”
The big man completes his circuit, then, and takes a rest.
During the continued trek, Ma’Huuk watches the sky for bad weather, the horizon for signs of raiders, and his team’s traveling companions for any odd behavior.
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Kaye knows he will melt under the intense heat, so he decides to concoct a mix. He stops sweating altogether and has no trouble with the heat whatsoever. "Sadly, these concoctions only work on myself- there would be very nasty side effects if you were to drink it."
As no one is really paying attention to him, Kaye spends his time writing up potential business plans and products, as well as his impression of the caravan goers.
Sir Gaspar: Ready for battle at a moment's notice, but will lose the battle against the heat. Maybe I'll sell him my gear for some extra profit.
Atmar: Surrounded by titans, doesn't notice the businessman. If he can't hoist himself by the bootstraps, how does he expect to buy his way out of his servitude? Children.
Mahmoud: Hmpf. Mind and Body must be in top shape if you are to be effective. There is no room for cowardice in the laboratory, battlefield or business boardroom.
Jamila: Seems very out of place, here. I wonder where she travels, and why with this low class method?
Pashket: I can't say I like slavery. I'd rather give a man a silver than a slap to make him work for me.
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I was not made for this, Hush thinks as his head swims from the intense heat. Why would anyone want to live in these kinds of conditions? As one who normally keeps to and embraces the darkness, the glaring sun and blinding sand proves too much for him. For the first time, he finds himself glad that his mask provides only one eyehole-- this way only one eye is blinded in the sun, instead of two. He nearly collapses as they break to rest during the hottest part of the day. He pulls out his wand, hoping its healing magic will recover him.
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Erevan does not complain...much...about the heat, though it is clear he is affected by it.
Once I was more accustomed to harsh conditions...perhaps I have grown too used to the comforts I enjoy.
Still, when the half-elf is not commenting on his considerable skill with a sword or the superior fighting techniques of the Aldori, he is an amiable traveling companion with a quit wit.
After taking a break to rest in the shade, Erevan motions for the slave boy to come over to him.
"Have you seen a blade like this before?" he asks after unsheathing his dueling sword made of the finest cold iron. "This is not the blade of a brute. Brawn does not always win the battle," he says with a glance at some of the large men in the group who are receiving the most attention. " If you can fight with your brain, often you can turn your enemy's greatest strength against him," he says with a glance at the boy's stocky master.
Erevan swings his blade around in a dazzling display of intricate forms.
"You may hold it if you would like," he tells the boy. "I am Erevan...Erevan Stormstride. Some day bards will tell tales of my deeds...I promise you that."
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"Have you seen a blade like this before?" he asks after unsheathing his dueling sword made of the finest cold iron. "This is not the blade of a brute. Brawn does not always win the battle," he says with a glance at some of the large men in the group who are receiving the most attention. " If you can fight with your brain, often you can turn your enemy's greatest strength against him," he says with a glance at the boy's stocky master.
Kaye chuckles as he hears that phrase. "I've outsmarted plenty of people before they threw the first punch. Sometimes the best fights end before they begin."
