With the harpies dead, there is nothing stopping you from healing your injured, both animal and human. Pashket is effusively grateful, and Atmar looks at you all with clear hero worship on his young face. The drovers calm the camels. As the heat of the day was reaching its full fierceness before you reached the grotto, you decide to spend an hour or two here letting the worst of the heat pass before setting out again. It allows plenty of time for a mid-day meal, using the thin shade of the canyon walls for some shelter, and for the shrine to be fully explored. Ma'Huuk makes a careful and patient climb up to the mouth of the cave that the harpies had been using, with anyone accompanying him who chooses. The ground-level cave has long since been looted, but in the high cave, Ma'Huuk finds several things of interest among the detritus and filth of the harpy nest. A leather pouch containing very old coins speaks to some unfortunate, long-ago traveler. There's also a small teakwood chest of fine workmanship: its contents, however, prove more interesting.
There are more coins in the chest, of newer make. There's also a rolled-up parchment and a very finely made kukri, studded with gems and jewels. The parchment has a broken wax seal, but the remnants of the seal are still recognizable as a symbol, two crossed swords and a lion.
Unrolled, the parchment is clearly a map of the Zho Mountains, with the main corridor of the Silken Caravan route indicated, as well as other landmarks, like the old shrine where you currently are. A number of locations are circled and indicated on the map.
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"Huh...No idea what that seal is for. I'll write that down for later."
Kaye collects his shortspears and then turns to Atmar. "That second creature, Halimaa. She should have fled after we felled her companion. Sometimes strength is not how hard you swing a blade, but knowing when to retreat for another day. Don't forget that."
"This map should serve us well, Pashket! Hopefully we can catch up to the others with this, right?"
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The meaning of the crest is lost on Ma'Huuk, but he looks hard at the unfurled map. He shoots Kaye a scowl, "I think this more than just fortuitous. I am thinking this map is instructions, and this dagger and coin are payment. Ambush spots, I am guessing. Maybe we are the targets. Maybe we are not. Smarter to assume we are."
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Hush's single visible eye goes wide when he sees the symbol on the parchment. He then looks at the others, expecting them to react similarly.
GASPAR
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Pashket duly inspects the map when it's brought to his attention, rubbing at his shaven head. "That is definitely Gaspar's seal," he admits. "Oh no-- do you think these bird-women might have ambushed the Taldan, and the rest of our caravan? But surely there would be more sign of all the others than just this..."
Atmar, meanwhile, has snagged one of the morningstars wielded by the fallen harpies, and is doing his best to try and hide it on his person. This isn't working out very well for him, and only Pashket's current preoccupation with the map has stopped the slave-boy's master from noting the purloined weapon.
Whatever else the map may signify, it duly points out not only your current location, but the convergence of the old pass through which you are traveling, and the modern route of the Silken Caravan. Thus emboldened, you wait for the worst of the heat to die down before taking again to your tired feet, with the camels serving as beasts of burden to lighten the loads, at least. The body of Targos Min-Katheer continues to bump, bump, bump along with you-- if the corpse suffered much injury when the camels fell from the cliff-face, he's not complaining, anyway.
At dusk, you emerge from the heart of the Zho Mountains, and find yourself in the foothills once more. A camp is made, and watch is posted, but nothing harasses you in the night... any predators that might be trailing you are content with the carcasses of the harpies, it seems.
The divine gifts that several of you boast when it comes to creating water are much appreciated on the next day, though food is beginning to be something of a priority, as the camels that were carrying the bulk of food for Pashket and his men were some of the camels lost in the raid. Still, with your map, you have hopes of reaching the Silken Caravan today, and you set out once more, over the rise and fall of the foothills, struggling north through the dusty, rocky landscape towards where the map promises both the Silken Caravan and, eventually, civilization again.
It's a long, hot, and sweaty day. The drovers curse among themselves as they tug the grumpy camels through the trackless foothills. Spiny desert thorns catch at your clothing. The mid-day rest barely soothes tempers, and the air is still and dead on this side of the mountains.
But all the same... you make progress. There's a soft, hoarse cry of relief from the drovers when you come over another hill, and see a traveled path below you: the Silken Caravan! The hoofprints of many a camel are still fresh upon it. With renewed energy, you and the drovers take to the flat, even road, determined to make a little more time before dusk forces you to stop.
As you come out of the last of the foothills...
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"Sir Gaspar...Hmm." Kaye rubs his chin. "Did those creatures steal it from him, or did he use it to instruct them? I guess we'll need to ask Sir Gaspar when we catch up."
Kaye grins as Atmal grabs a morningstar, but makes no effort to point it out. Overnight he spends his time preparing his alchemical bombs and an extract of Endure Elements.
The next day, Kaye is relieved to see the Silken Caravan.
"Oh goodness! The Silken Caravan! I can't wait to- did you say looters, Vargo? I think they are arguing over...something." Kaye draws his bottle of mutagen and fiddles with it.
At the signs of possible trouble, you usher Pashket and the others to stay back a bit. Preparing for possible battle, you crest the next rise and see...
The road stretches ahead of you, and far off on the horizon you see the thin line of greenery that marks the distant river. But there are more pressing concerns: you see ahead of you a number of camels and drovers, and at least two dozen raiders that look like the hobgoblins those you fought several days ago, wearing helms. The drovers are kneeling on the sands, hands on their heads, while the raiders go through the cargo carried on the camels.
In the midst of all this, you see... Sir Gaspar du Mer, and the desert woman Jamila. Jamila's hands are bound behind her back, and Gaspar is holding a bastard sword dangerously near to her throat while he argues with one of the hobgoblins in the growling goblin tongue.
The Taldan man breaks off as he registers your presence. "What?" he shouts in Common. "Damnation, you people turn up like bent coppers! Squadron, attack!"
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Erevan points his blade at the treacherous Gaspar as he speaks so only his companions can hear.
"My friends, we have uncovered the worst kind of knave...a coward and a lowly turncoat. Though the odds do not look good, I would test my blade against twice this many! Follow my lead, and we will yet outlive this day!"
After saying some inspiring words to his companions, he yells to Gaspar.
"You are no knight, and undeserving of your title! No longer are you 'Sir Gaspar,' but I name thee 'Gaspar the Pathetic Traitor'! You will not outlive this day, you groveling worm!"
The swordsman advances toward Gaspar, clearly intending to defeat the man himself.
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Ma’Huuk scowls down at the field where blood is about to be shed. His team was outnumbered, with only some ranged weapons that he’d seen them use. They needed time to prepare and a stumbling block for their adversaries.
The decision made, Ma’Huuk gives Moto a quick command to Guard Kaye, hoping to give the man some breathing room to use his explosives. Then he reaches down and touches the sand at his feet, where he begins to mutter a strange, primal set of syllables over and over. The sound builds, echoing off the rocks around them. The ground begins to shudder slightly in answer. The rumbling builds and builds until finally, scrubby, rough, desert plant roots—grown to impossible size and length—explode from the ground around Gaspar and his bandits, grasping hungrily at their legs and arms.
Then Ma’Huuk strides forward, drawing his shield into place for the fight to come.
Though the thorny desert scrub rips up from the earth, startling the hobgoblin raiders and Gaspar, the ones nearest you manage to rip free...
Gaspar's face, already pink from the heat, turns a deeper red at Erevan's insults. "You dare?!" he spits. "Let's see if your tongue is so quick with my steel in your gut!"
The Taldan soldier lunges out of the plants, swinging his shield up into position on his free arm and gripping his bastard sword in one hand. In so doing, he frees Jamila, who tumbles, bound, to the sands in the midst of the writhing plants. However, she looks to be nimbly twisting her way through them.
Jararaca runs forward, drawing his flying blade and preparing to let it swing at whoever first comes within its deadly range.
The nearer hobgoblins struggle to free themselves from the desert scrub...
...only one succeeds, and staggers out of the thorns. A few more who weren't caught in the tangle also make their way out of the hindering plants.
You see Jamila, the desert nomad woman... drift upward, out of the thorns, still struggling against her bonds. Twisting in mid-air, she hangs above the desert sand, nearest to Vargo. Gaspar, and the hobgoblins, stare at the sight, Gaspar in particular with his jaw hanging slack.
"Cut my bonds!" she pleads to Vargo.
"Graahh!" snarls Gaspar, as fire bursts all over him. "You little--!"
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Ma'Huuk slaps Moto on the flank with his shield with another grunted command .
Moto rushes off to obey.
Then he draws a single length of wood from his waist and begins muttering words of power once again. The wood grows with every ancient phrase becoming thicker, heavier, thornier, and more wicked-looking.
Hush darts forward, and delivers a perfectly-aimed shortsword to a hobgoblin's gut, his blade finding a way past the chinks of armor and the thick desert robes to bite in deep. Gurgling, the raider falls to the sands.
Erevan charges forward to the bound, mid-air Jamila. "My skills are wasted against mere ropes, but never let it be said I let a lady's plight go unanswered-- unlike Gaspar the Worm!" he shouts mockingly. The half-elf's blade slices through Jamila's bonds.
Gaspar looks infuriated. "YOU'RE the worm, and I'll grind you under my heel!" he roars. He runs across the sand towards Erevan, leading with his bastard sword.
It appears he has answered Erevan's taunt with cold, hard steel...
Unfortunately, neither Jararaca's blade nor Vargo's glaive find purchase in their foes.
One raider rips free and staggers out of the thorns, coming over towards Erevan. His path takes him in the way of Vargo's long pole-arm, however.
The aspiring Hellknight's blade carves a swath through the raider, who drops to the sand clutching at his belly, no longer a threat.
Meanwhile, the raider closest to Vargo slashes at him with a scimitar. Vargo's armor holds true against the blow.
Another steps in, ducking beneath Jararaca's odd weapon, to try and gut the half-elf, thinking him an easy target. Apparently, he was so preoccupid with avoiding the blade that he forgot how to use his own.
Meanwhile, the two dozen OTHER raiders on the map struggle towards you.... The desert plants seem thin enough that they're managing to mostly pull through them, but they are slowed, and are having to fight for every step , clearly unable to make much progress.
"Use your bloody bows, you stupid savages! HAVE I WASTED ALL MY TIME TRAINING YOU?" Gaspar roars at the struggling hobgoblins.
Now that she is free of her bonds, Jamila unrolls in mid-air, straightening up. "My thanks," she says with a bow to Erevan. "I will remember it! Fight well-- if you can deal with this traitor, I shall deal with the others, before they can turn a barrage of arrows upon you all!"
With a rush of hot desert breeze, the desert woman soars away from your engaged position, flying above the twisting vines towards the entangled goblins.
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Hush moves to Gaspar and slices with both weapons. Father Skinsaw will approve of your methods. It's your own misfortune to have crossed one of his servants.
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Moto drops the already-injured raider struggling to free himself from the entangling vines...
Kaye's spear clangs off Gaspar's blocking shield; the Taldan sneers. "You're next, after I deal with this half-elf!"
Hush doesn't bother with banter: he steps forward, feints low with one blade, and as Gaspar blocks that attack, the other shortsword comes up in a quick thrust past the knight's cuirass. Gaspar grimaces, but the wound is minor. Erevan's sword nicks his shoulder in the next second.
"You rabble call these cuts?!" the knight shouts, stepping after the half-elf. "Let me show you how a man fights!"
The swing might have dropped Erevan into the dusty sand... had it connected. But the nimble Erevan turns the blow, to Gaspar's frustration.
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Vargo coldly, satisfiedly looks at the pair of raiders he dropped As if I needed further confirmation that Chelaxian Hellknight training was superior to the training of Taldane 'knights' - and I use that term loosely. Now die, traitor!"
Vargo lets loose his deadly weapon once more, sending a wide sweeping blow at Gaspar.
However, announcing his attack seems to have been an error...
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With his allies dogpiling Gaspar, Kaye shrugs, draws another shortspear, and tosses it at the one harassing Jararaca.
"The sooner we defeat this hobgoblin, the sooner I get to see how Hush will donate Gaspar to his...well, I'm not sure. He's too quiet and methodical for his profession. More appropriate for an accountant or librarian."