Ma'Huuk goes on the defensive, while Moto chases his quarry, and this time, succeeds-- the dinosaur brings the little figure down to earth, and begins savagely rending him.
Erevan rushes to go help Jararaca...
Jararaca twists around and uses the hand not holding the reins to drive into the raider's robed body, with a crunch of bones beneath his cestus.
The large raider retaliates with a snarl, swinging his scimitar at Jararaca.
The other remaining big raider looses an arrow at the isolated Erevan.
The shot goes wide, and, cursing, the robed figure turns and starts running. Meanwhile, the large raider burnt by Kaye's bomb fires another arrow at him... ... which all but flies back in his face. That raider similarly turns and starts running off over the dune.
One of the small raiders is having trouble spurring his frightened beast on. He curses and scream, slapping the furry flank of his stolen camel, but the beast tosses its head, and it's all the rider can do to stay on the big beast. The other raider, however, kicks his camel sharply in the ribs, and manages to lunge away from Jararaca and the fast-closing Erevan.
He punches the already-injured raider hard enough to knock him flying from the saddle...
Vargo, Erevan, Hush, and Kaye are up! Targos's camel sways away from Ma'Huuk, reins swinging wildly in the sandstorm's air.
Vargo strides across the sand and buries his glaive in the spine of the small raider on the goblin nearest him, earning a howl of pain that is mercifully brief. The raider slumps off the saddle.
Kaye hurls another vial of fire, but the wind whips it away despite his proximity to the target. It lands to the north, more flame washing over the raider. There's a guttural noise of pain as the raider gets caught in another burst of fire.
Erevan dashes up and manages to bring down the now-wounded raider threatening Jararaca with a strong slash.
The two drovers nod frantically: one has a visible gash across his belly, and the other looks burnt half to death. Pashket himself is unharmed, but is yelling at Atmar to get over here and stop throwing rocks at the raiders.
Now that it's no longer struggling against a small rider yanking on its reins, the northmost camel snorts wildly and tries to take off for the open desert.
The other camel snorts and tugs against Jararaca's grip, but, with his bloodrage bolstering him, the badly-injured half-elf manages to hang on. The camel with Targos's remains seems to calming a little as there is no immediate violence going on next to it, and Ma'Huuk keeps his hand firmly tangled in the reins.
Atmar reluctantly moves back to Pashket's side; the drovers are huddled together, looking hopefully towards Hush since his words seem to promise some relief from their injuries.
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As the closest goblin threat drops bleeding to the sand, Ma'Huuk releases his grip on both his shield and his rage. Fighting the nearly-overwhelming fatigue, he growls out a command to Moto once more, this time lacing the growl with as much menace as he can muster. Then, looking around at he state of the fight, he draws out a gnarled stick from his pack and whispers rustic words as he touches it to the skin around the protruding bolt quarrel.
________
Moto stops trying to rip free a goblin limb and steps in front of Ma'Huuk, a clicking-growl emanating from his chest as he watches for any threats to come near the Bekyar man.
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Jararaca exhales a held breath, but holds onto his rage, knowing it is the only thing keeping him on his feet. "Thanks for coming to my rescue Erevan. That was close. I need to get healed quickly or I'm going to drop. Can you hold this camel so I can get to Ma'Huuk to be healed quickly!" He calls to Ma'Huuk. "Ma'Huuk, I'm almost out cold. Can you heal me?"
Erevan: the camels were running pretty full out into the storm. Though they are desert creatures, and probably could survive the brutal sand-storm better than you can, they are, at a minimum, several hundred feet away by now. The wind storm would obliterate tracks as quickly as they were formed, and visibility is at a low. In short, you're SOL when it comes to the already-fled camels. You might be able to find them when the wind drops.... maybe.
The surviving raiders quickly disappear into the howling winds. Pashket clutches at his shaved head, groaning. "I am pleased we did not die on raider-blades, but the situation is still dire, my warrior friends! The winds yet howl! We must hunker behind our remaining camels and pray the storm dies down!"
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Kaye cheers as the raider flees into the sandstorm. "And a good day to you! Buy my book sometime." Kaye checks his equipment, realizing he is almost out of alchemical bombs, and frowns. "Blasted winds..."
He first goes to the young slave boy. "You did well, lad! None of them tried to attack you- clearly they were frightened by your bravery. Some skill, strength and cunning will make a real hero some day." Kaye laughs. "I'm still working on those, though."
Kaye will help get people into shelter. In particular the half burnt drover. "One of mixtures backfired, unfortunately. I will help patch his wounds in anyway I can."
He manages to hold the camel in position, even though the beast drags him a few feet in the sand. It's one of Pashket's camels, laden with wines, but soon enough it suffers itself to be led back to the group.
Ma'Huuk knows that though the core of Pashket's idea of using the camels for shelter is sound, Pashket's idea to try and shelter in the hollow is somewhat flawed. Though it seems counter-intuitive, the best way to survive a sandstorm is on high ground-- the sand will bounce thickest, closest to the ground, and getting even a few feet up can mean the difference between being buried alive and merely buried up to your knees.
Though the small dunes offer only some altitude, it's still better than trying to emerge out into the storm-- where they won't be able to see more then a few dozen feet ahead-- and trying to blindly find some other high ground. If the group gets to the top of one of the dunes, and uses the kneeling camels as a sort of living, furry wall against the fury of the wind, huddling in the leeward side-- and if the storm doesn't go for too long-- then you'll all likely survive. You could stack the small raider bodies, as well, as an additional barrier against the wind.
Come to think of it, their oversized helms might fit some of you-- the helmets almost entirely obscure the face, leaving just a narrow slit for vision-- it would help keep most of the blowing sand, and is probably why the raiders wear them.
Moistening a cloth with water and placing it over one's mouth and nose will also help, as it will keep dust from flooding into one's lungs and choking one.
The wind howls and rages around you, stinging at any bit of exposed flesh. The kneeling camels weather the storm with placid indifference, less bothered by the fury of nature than they were the blood and violence of a little while ago. They simply close their long eyelashes and wait. You're all much more close to each others' bodies than you probably ever wanted to be, drovers and Pashket and death-priests and barbarians alike, but huddled against the camels' solid bulk, the wind itself can't tear at you with full fury, and you breathe carefully and shallow through dampened corners of your cloaks.
It's hard to measure the passage of time, but finally the winds begin to ease, and vision returns, through a dusty haze. The sun is a faint pale blotch high in the sky. The little hollow where you stood and fought is filled with four feet of sand-- perhaps not enough to have killed any of you, but you're glad you're not buried up to your chests.
Pashket gets to his feet, dislodging a few inches of sand from his shoulders, and offers a formal bow towards your group. "The loss of two of my camels and their wares is grievous to me, but I live, as do my men... for this, I am in your debt, travelers."
The drovers are less restrained. Now that the moment of crisis is past, they offer deep genuflection towards Hush. Though one of them speaks only Kelish, the other says in accented Common, "A thousand blessings on you, master! May your god grant you all rewards joyous and good!"
There is one thing that might dull your relief at surviving: the sand deposited by the storm has buried any sign of the trail, and subtly changed the landscape around you. Certainly, the Zho Mountains are still ahead of you, but.... they are large, and there is no sign of your guide and the rest of the caravan.
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You're all much more close to each others' bodies than you probably ever wanted to be, drovers and Pashket and death-priests and barbarians alike
Aaaaand Kaye.
While he is thankful to be alive due to Ma'Huuk's direction, Kaye certainly doesn't like the sand one bit. Although it does remind him of that one time one of his labmates thought he would turn into living sand if he were hit by lightning while in a sand pit- but that was stupid. Kaye does marvel how the camels don't seem to mind the winds or sand.
When everything dies down, Kaye makes a note to work on that sand repulser he thought up while in town- if the locals felt as itchy as he did at that moment, they would pay anything to get rid of the sand.
"Quite exciting, but ultimately distracting." Kaye shakes some sand out of his gloves. "Can we move on? Where...to?"
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Ma’Huuk stands to his full height, stretching his legs, back, and shoulders after being hunched for so long. ”The desert is ridiculous,” he declares in his strange cadence, ”No creature needs this much sand.”
He stands for a long time, checking the position of the sun, the mountains, and back the way they came.
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Erevan looks around carefully, relieved to be alive.
"I have never felt so...exfoliated..." he begins.
When it becomes clear their path is gone, he says "I hope the rest of the caravan survived that. It is no place for man or beast...well, perhaps these beasts. Still, our best chance of helping or finding the rest of the caravan is to leave at once. I think we need to go that way," he says as he considers where the trail used to be.
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Hush stores his wand and resumes his silence.
* * *
The swirling sand would have been nigh unbearable had they not devised such an effective plan to counteract it. Still, he's glad his god's magic continues to protect him from the heat-- he imagines it would only have made bad conditions worse. When the storm finally subsides, he pulls his dampened cloak off his mouth and readjusts his mask. He stands with Ma'Huuk and looks for a way to go from here, though he stands considerably shorter than the big man.
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Jararaca is glad they were able to hold onto three of the camels. Especially with one bearing the Venture Captain's body. He helps to get the camels to the top of the dune and following advice, puts on the helm and uses some cloth as a mask against the sand. For a long time, he knows nothing, but the wind, sand, and the solid mass of the camel behind him. He can't help but chuckle when Ma'Huuk makes his observation about the sand, "I think we are glad that our camels like all of this sand. Do any of you have any idea where the trail went?" Jararaca lends his own eyes to the task of trying to find a way forward.
Atmar preens under Kaye's praise, while Pashket gives the alchemist an exasperated look.
As everyone shakes off the sand, Pashket stands close enough to hear the debate about which way to go. "I am no guide the equal of Jamila, but I have traveled the Silken Caravan a dozen times in my life," he says with a respectful tilt of his head. "The Zho Mountains have more than one pass through them.... every few years, the route considered 'the way' will switch, as weather or rockslides or so forth conspire to close off one way, and open another. But if we proceed on our general heading, we should be able to find a pass... I hope."
He grimaces around at the bedraggled remains of their caravan, so much the lesser, now. "We will be much slower, on foot. We cannot all ride our remaining camels. We have some water with us, of course, but... not enough for an on-foot journey..."
Fortunately, several among you have the ability to call forth water. Assuming you share this with the Osiriani, his worried face crumples with a sigh of relief. "Praise all the gods! Then perhaps we stand a chance. I will help with the direction as best I can, if I see any landmarks I recall, but I will place myself and my men in your capable hands, warriors."
The bodies of the small raiders are, in fact, goblins-- easily enough discovered when you pried their over-large helmets from their heads. Feeling it's only fair turnabout for their attempted raid on you, you scavenge goods from the bodies of your dead would-be raiders, looking for anything useful to survive the desert trek that waits.
The sun its past its zenith, at least; the group decides to press on, in hopes that the caravan may have waited ahead for them. Pashket clambers onto his own camel with one of the drovers, and you leave the dubious shelter of your hollow for the open sands again...
Ma'Huuk is able to gauge their direction well enough, by the sun: Katheer lies west-by-northwest, on the other side of the mountain range; if they travel northwest til they hit the mountains, they should, with any luck, find a pass through. He picks a point on the horizon, two hills that jag together at an odd angle, and resolves to keep it in sight for the forward journey.
After an hour of travel, with the sun beating in everyone's eyes as it begins its westward sinking, Erevan's sharp eyes spot something ahead: the black wheeling specks of birds of prey. It's several more minutes before the ragtag caravan crests a small dune and sees what has drawn the vultures' favor: a body in the sands, surrounded by a few yipping jackals. The scavengers scatter at your approach, running just out of easy range for a bow and dropping to their haunches to watch you.
It's the body of a man, half-buried in the sands, his face already an unrecognizable mess thanks to the depradations of the jackals. However, you recognize his clothes: an embroidered silken vest, a scarlet belt sash... this is Mahmoud, the nervous Qadiran merchant who had wrung his hands around the campfire each night.
The cause of death is plain enough as well: a curved, jeweled dagger juts from beneath his shoulderblades, sunk several inches into his spine.
He cannot have been dead for more than a few hours, as you saw him riding ahead of you at that time.
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Vargo immediately approaches the man, draws his giant glaive and stands guard over his body
Nobody gets near this body until our doctors can inspect his body and gather clues.
Vargo has no hint of joke or hesitation. He has declared this an official crime scene.
When did he leave us - was he lost during the storm?
Mahmoud and his camels were ahead of you when the storm struck. You lost sight of him during the storm.
Pashket looks on, extraordinarily bemused at Vargo's declaration. He twists about in the saddle, looking left and right as if expecting a whole host of townspeople to have appeared, to merit Vargo's words.
".....exactly who do you think is going to be disturbing the body?" the Osiriani man asks, uncertainly, to Vargo.
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"I certainly won't be!" laughs Jararaca. While those more knowledgeable about dead bodies move to the front, Jararaca scans the area, looking to see if there are any other clues. Finally, just as everyone else reaches their conclusions about the body, he comes back to observe, making inane observations about the body.
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As the group traveled, Erevan spoke again with the slave boy, Atmar, when they were out of earshot of Pashket.
"Your bravery served you well," the half-elf swordsman said. "You did not think to cower in fear as some of the others did. That is important. But why did your rocks not strike true? It is because you have not trained your mind or your muscles for such endeavors. You must practice before the time comes...then you will be ready. It is the same with throwing a rock or wielding a blade. You must prepare yourself beforehand."
Erevan strides to the corpse and looks at it carefully.
"Do you recognize this jeweled dagger, Pashket? Among your companions, perhaps?"
The dagger is definitely not like the weapons the raiders used-- those were well-made but utilitarian scimitars, and this dagger, inset with carnelians and even a small ruby in the hilt, is the blade of a wealthy man.
Judging by the stiffness of the limbs, the body has been dead for more than two hours, but less than six... which is not terribly surprising to you, as you are sure that it's been less than six hours since you saw him alive, even if you lost track of a little time while you waited out the storm.
There is no sign of tracks other than the jackals, but this is also not surprising: unless he died after the winds died down, then it is certain the wind would have obliterated any footprints. Since his body is half-covered in sand, it seems probable to you that the storm was still raging when he died.
When Pashket is shown the dagger, he shrugs. "I cannot recall that particular piece, no, but... Mahmoud and Sir Gaspar are weapons merchants... erm, forgive me, Mahmoud was a weapons merchant, at any rate. Their camels likely had a hundred different tools of war on them; it could easily be one of their pieces of merchandise." He pauses, looking briefly philosophical over the whole thing. "How ironic, to die by the thing you sell, no? That is why I trade in wine. When I am to pass to the next world, I would not mind it, if I go in the depths of my cups...."
Atmar is the only person who might actually need Vargo's threat to stay at bay: the boy looks on with wide eyes at the half-chewed corpse, fascinated by the macabre sight. He nods fervently at Erevan's words of practicing, and you see him gathering up many small rocks while you are stopped, slipping them into the folds of his belt sash.
Another two hours pass in the wearying trudge across the brown-red desert dust. If it was monotonous on camelback, it is impossibly more so on foot: you walk for what feels like eons, only to look up and the mountains no closer. Yet time must be passing, for your shadows lengthen, behind you and to your right.
As the sun begins to slip behind the highest of the Zho Mountains, Pashket calls out: "Look ahead-- do you see that riven mountain peak? I remember that peak! It is not the route that is traveled today, but when I was no older than Atmar, traveling this passage with my father, that was the primary route of the Silken Caravan! There is a glorious shrine to Irori, the Master of Masters, along that route. I remember being awed by it as a boy. There was a spring there as well, but it dried up, and the routes shifted accordingly. Still, to the best of my knowledge, that pass would lead us through the mountains. Shall we make for it?"
It is certainly too far to make for it by day's light, for you don't have terribly much daylight left to you, but the drovers brighten at the thought of having a visible destination, even if for the next day.
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Unconcerned with what happens to the body, Hush continues on. Fortunately, he was clearly killed and didn't succumb to the elements. Nothing wasted. He doesn't relish the thought of visiting an Irorian shrine, but will if the others are so inclined.
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If not for the jackals, Jararaca probably wouldn't speak up, "I think we should take his body with us. At least long enough to see if we can find a better location to bury it. We're all on foot anyway." Continuing toward the mountains he suggests, "If Ma'Huuk does not see dangerous weather approaching again, it seems to me we should rest here. We're up against nature, not time and pressing on tonight seems dangerous and likely to fatigue us. The pass will still be there in the morning."
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Kaye shrugs when people talk about carry the body. "He has passed on already, and we may not be able to afford the additional burden. But if it is tradition, I will help." Once you have died, who cares about your body? The jackals, I suppose.
When talking about which path to take, he agrees with Jararaca. "No point to pushing our way there tonight. Especially with what we've gone through today. We can see it in the morning."
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Erevan runs a hand through his long platinum hair as they consider the partially-eaten corpse.
"This body has not been embalmed or prepared against the elements. Its presence will draw all kinds of predators to us. We should leave it here, though perhaps we could take some measures to bury it before we go," he offers.
Overall, the half-elf appears very disappointed at the prospect of walking, though physically he can endure the challenge. "I would prefer to take the known route rather than risk not finding the current path. Let us rest here for tonight, then seek this old trail in the morn."
With only Jararaca strongly speaking for taking the body with you, and Erevan pointing out it might keep the jackals on your trail, and draw other beasts, the decision is made to bury poor, dead Mahmoud under a loose cairn of desert rocks. Working as a group, with the drovers and Atmar helping-- Pashket refrains, citing that his religion forbids him from touching or coming near dead flesh-- the distasteful task is done in fairly short order, but the sun is even closer to the horizon.
You move just far enough away from the burial site that any hopeful scavengers shouldn't bother you, and you proceed to make a quick camp, although it promises to be a very cold one: none of your remaining camels, or yourselves, have anything in the way of firewood, such as the main caravan carried. There are small, scrubby desert bushes around, but they offer little more than twigs, and a fire, while easily lit, cannot survive on dirt alone.
The night is long, and cold, and dark compared to last night's, where the watch kept a fire going all throughout. This time, you are restricted to what magical lights you can conjure, or the slow burn of a solitary torch, or-- if you're a well-prepared Pathfinder-- your wayfinder.
The drovers and Pashket and Atmar all agree to take watches with you. You watch in the same order you did the previous night, but, though you strain your ears throughout the freezing, desert night, nothing strikes at you from the shadows, and the yips of jackals remain distant.
The drovers are first to be up and ready to go-- one of the stolen camels contained the bulk of their camp-making supplies, including bedrolls, and the two men have had a miserable night curled in their cloaks on the hard desert sand, huddled to one of the remaining camels for warmth. Dry trail rations are passed around and gnawed on in silence, and you resume the trail...
Fortunately, by the time the sun is rising hot enough to start you sweating, you have climbed into the mountains, and, at Pashket's urging, down through a high-walled, narrow canyon whose walls provide you with shade. Cautious of ambushes, everyone advances carefully, but another hour passes without incident.
And then, the narrow canyon opens up, wide, into a vale that once probably boasted many travelers using it as a waypoint. The vale is dominated by a towering statue carved into the striated rock of one of the walls; it is many times the height of a man, perhaps one of the largest statues the Pathfinders have ever seen. The statue is badly eroded, however, and only the general pose and the faint suggestion of robes would leave it clear to a penitent that this was indeed Irori.
Even as you're taking in this imposing sight, pondering the massive amount of manpower that must have carved out such a gargantuan statue...
...you hear the wind howling through the canyon in the most eerie, desolate... compelling fashion....
Pashket, Atmar, the drovers, and your camels begin to move forward towards the statue-- as do Jararaca, Vargo, and both Ma'Huuk and his scaled friend. They all shuffle forward together, gaze fixed on the statue, up towards its face.
Erevan, Hush, and Kaye are up. (I'll bot Erevan when I post next, due to his statement in discussion.) They just saw Jararaca take off over the sand towards the statue, and he is fleet of foot-- he is now 80 feet away from the party, and 20 feet from the base of the statue. Judging by the fixed stares of Vargo, Ma'Huuk, and the drovers/Pashket/Atmar, you think they're about to follow suit.
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Kaye sleeps snugly in his bedroll and prepares for the next day. In the morning he quickly drinks his extract of endure elements. He then prepares his alchemical bombs for the day.
"Huh. An incredible statue. I wonder who built that." Kaye's ears pick up. "I also wonder what's with that noise. What ever you are, you'll not get the best of Kaye today!"
Kaye draws his shortspear and draws his mutagen. "Something is afoot, gentlemen! Keep your wits about- dammit."