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Eveline glances at Pimwrick, curious what's with the sudden suspicion. She still hasn't gotten used to being even that tiny bit taller than Pim, and catches herself looking at the other halfling a bit longer than she initially intended. But she dosn't make anything out of it, and turns back to the merchant.
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"What?" Pim says quietly to Eveline, pausing slightly as she gives him a long look from her greater height, "Um, I just think more people together will be more likely to stay together. Our caravan got split up last time and it was not a good thing." As she turns back to the merchant, he has to make an effort to refocus his attention on the young man as well.
"Ah, Pathfinders! Eben's the name," the man grins in his shade, revealing a mouth full of crooked and silvered teeth as he looks up from his accounts. "A fine question, my boy, but that caravan is headed for Thuvia. Wouldn't do much good to travel with them! HA!" He lets out a sharp, short guffaw and turns to Eveline. "Well, stout one, Balentii-iirrr paid me decent so I've provided five camels, one for tha each of ya, plus two pack camels. We travel from dawn to the zenith, pitch our tents for a few hours, then travel again til dusk. Dinner will be served an hour past sundown. Water will be provided at intervals, no stealing from the supplies. We run into any trouble, you help with the fighting, but otherwise no causing a fuss, ya hear? Get along nicely and we'll get along nicely." He flashes another toothy grin. "You got all that?"
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Riding... well, camels aren't the fast running type, Eveline thinks to herself. "Clear instructions, Eben," the halfling woman replies, clearly appreciating the briefing, "so what can you tell us about our destination, Eto I mean. And how long will it be before we reach Eto?"
It's going to be a dull journey for sure.
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"Hmm, well, that makes sense," Pimwrick acknowledges, "and Thuvia is a lot farther away." Listening a bit more, he grins in spite of himself and says, "Riding camels, huh? That beats walking, and will sure be a tale to tell back home."
He looks up at Eben's head and asks innocently, "Does that hat help protect you against the desert? Should I get one?"
"It does, it does! And it helps with the ladies, too, just ask your friend there." Eben points at Lionel and gives a cheerful wink at Charis. "Eto will be no more than two weeks, if we're lucky. Desert travel is slow. I been only twice, meself, going the South Tack most o' the time. Might ask some of the other travelers, though."
Two final fellows join the caravan--a bearded man in with a red turban and a younger fellow with moppish brown hair--and the whole herd of camels is soon underway. The first day's travel is relatively brief with the late start and the caravan settles down only a few miles from Sothis, with the great Spawn's husk still visible in the distance against the moonlight sky. As camp is made, the caravan naturally subdivides into five smaller groups: Eben and his servants around a central cooking tent, the Pathfinders, a variety of Avistani traders, and two separate groups of Garundi and Qadiran traders pitched at opposite ends of the encampment. Soon, the enticing smell of a fresh roast fills the air--likely the last until Eto.
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Eveline is content with the uneventful journey so far. She has been keeping to herself, staring at the distant horizons of the never-ending dunes that dot the otherwise monotonous landscape. Under her garments Eveline curses a decision she made when leaving, and hasn't been able to correct during the journey; she kept her mithral chain shirt on at all times in case raiders decide to pop in for a visit (and their own demise), but since the caravan is so big and sports other security groups besides the pathfinders, she wouldn't need all the protection. Still, since she did keep the armor on during the entire day, she has been discomfortable for numerous reasons. And it is rare for any pathfinder to carry more than one article of clothing, and that is the case with Eveline as well. Sweating is inevitable in the current circumstances, and although the robes covering her seem untouched by it, her clothes underneath look like they've seen weeks of travel, weathered.
Eveline knows that although the days of the desert are hot and sunny, the nights are cold and vicious. She's glad she brought along the standard issue bedroll, but she didn't get herself a personal tent. She already feels uncomfortable in a regular group full of human-sized colleagues, but this time with the addition of weather-affected clothing and a seemingly polite halfling gentleman, Eveline feels straight up anxious. How she solves this predicament is beyond her as well.
"So... how many tents do we have? Any of you have your own, and did the caravan provide us more than enough?" Eveline asks the group, her words coming out rapidly, demanding for a relatively quick answer. She looks at each member of the group—Lionel only briefly—looking for a solution.
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Pim makes his way among the traders, playing a quiet melody on his harmonica as he walks, and using it as an entree to conversation with the various group. He makes a point of chatting with the two folks who arrived late, the red-turbaned man and the young man with him, but generally engages everyone, hoping to get to know them and learn what he can of their destination.
Given his most recent experiences with caravan travel, he also attempts to educate everyone on some important safety considerations. "If a big sandstorm kicks up, try to stay together, ok? Don't just take off to escape the storm. You'll likely get lost yourself, and if experience is any guide, you'll leave a bunch of Pathfinders behind."
The cook, a modestly plump Keleshite with roughly-trimmed mustache, is surprised by the offer of help from Charis. "Mostly used to doin' this on my own," he mutters, "um, I guess you can help spin the roast? Yeah, that'd help, I guess." For the next 35 minutes, Charis is stuck spinning the roast over and over again while the cook adds spices and prepares the meal.
Meanwhile, Eveline learns to her horror that Eben has provided only a single tent for the five Pathfinders, and Pim makes the rounds with the other travelers. The Qadirans are the most talkative, and he learns that Eto straddles a significant trade route within Osirion but is also importantly a home base for adventurers and other wealth-seekers eager to explore Osirion's ancient ruins for treasure. The Garundi group, most of whom are Osirion themselves, primarily complain about this fact and a few quibble with the Ruby Prince's decision to make the activity legal. A few of the Avistani traders are in fact traveling there for that very purpose, though not the late arrivals, who seek a lost family member.
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Lionel shrugs his arms at the halflings. "Now ain'tcha you two just tha bigges' rays o' optimism!", tossing them a grin. "I'll be ready with any healin' if someone needs it. Ain't that much of a healer, though, so don' go all reckless." Upon learning about the single tent, he sighs. "Well, I s'pose I can volunteer ta sleep next to tha fire. A bit o' comfortin' magic an' I'll be fine. Jus' don't throw no parties without me in the tent!", he says, winking at Charis.
He then makes his way to talk to the Osiriani, curiously asking about trade and routes that may be beneficial to Absalom and the Pathfinders as a whole.
"...An' that's what I'm sayin', we're capable folks an' we know how ta be... discreet. Me notwithstandin'!", he says, putting on his usual grin.
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Pim heads back to join his companions and share what he's learned, pleased that their fellow travelers seem pretty friendly. He gives Charis a wave as he passes her by the cook-fire, rubbing his belly and licking his lips appreciatively at the smell of roasting meat.
Hearing Lionel's offer to sleep next to the fire brings a grin to Pim's face, though it fades quickly enough as he learns why. "Just one tent, huh?" he comments, "Well, at least we'll be able to find each other if there's a sandstorm!"
He moves to give Eveline a hand, though he's no more suited to the task than she is. Seeing her move and reach, and even inadvertently bumping into her once as they work, Pim begins to blush again and he steps back and says, "Lionel, can you give us a hand? Eve is making me tent...ahem, I mean Eve and I are having a hard time getting it up...er, we need someone taller. To help. With the tent."
The night passes uneventfully (though for Pim and Lionel, at least, the roast is certainly an event all to itself). At the crack of dawn, the Pathfinders are awoken by Eben kicking sand into their tent. "Wakey-wakey! Time to get moving, before the sun starts melting sand!"
Several hours pass before Eben calls a halt, an endless tedium of dune after dune, and everyone's rumps ache a bit from continuous contact with camel humps.
Tents are quickly pitched again, a ration of water is provided, and everyone is eager to get out of the sun. Eben comes by the Pathfinder tent to say hello just as Eveline is carefully tucking away Amenopheus' crystalline geode. "That's neat. Family keepsake?"
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Is he doing this on purpose? Eveline wonders, each time Pim bumps into her, giving him a puzzled look. She's always on her toes, and expects the worst; by the end of the tent construction she keeps her distance to Pimwrick lest he decides to bump into her again. While he has been nice and all during the trip, she feels he's been getting a bit too close to her. Maybe he does have ulterior motives, or does not differ from the general populace after all. With a heavy sigh she retreats to her bedroll, not caring to undress for the night. Maybe if she'll smell of canned sweat she'll be able to get some solitude.
But alas, in the morning she can barely stand her own barely noticeable stench, and as Eben rudely wakes them up, she quickly gathers all her belongings and washes her face before moving on. This time she's smart and undons her cumbersome metal shirt armor. Her curiosity demands, though, she checks up on Pimwrick before leaving. She wants to know what's his deal, discreetly of course. "Another day under the sun, right?" she asks casually, masking herself under the saggy robes.
During the voyage she keeps a familiar, sour face; the camel ride is berating her. The constant, sudden jumps and side-to-side waddling makes her feel very uncomfortable, even more so when she seldomly spots Pim giving her a glance. Truly, the trip across the desert is least to her liking, and she's only glad to have the caravan stop again for a break. She quickly jumps off to stretch her aching muscles.
When Eben appears to ask inane questions, she looks at the man for a moment. "An item given to use during mission briefing. We are not to part from it," she says sternly.
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Satisfied with her meal, Charis curls up into a ball to give everyone as much room as possible to sleep. She's slept in worse conditions before.
The Maiden pops awake as soon as Eben kicks in some sand. "Time to march already? Very well." She wipes some of the dust from under her mask and gathers her few belongings.
Another day, another camel ride. "One particular vigilante I met, he was quite the rider. I swear he and his horse could run for weeks without fatigue. Useful when chasing criminals. I don't know how his butt whitstood the pain, though." The Maiden rubs her backside, and meditates briefly.
"Eveline is correct. A friend asked us to carry this with us at all times."
Eben smiles innocently at Numair, teeth flashing. He spreads his hands. "Only asking, only asking... hehe, you sure you didn't find that under a rock somewhere? Looks like a native make." He chuckles a bit to himself.
"Alright, well, I'll be back when it's time to get moving again." He turns and heads back into the stifling sunlight.
The rest of the afternoon passes uncomfortably in the heat, and the caravan gets moving again in the later hours. Eventually camp is set, and Eben decides this would be a great time for a story-telling contest over bread and a tangy vegetable paste. "Anyone care to start?!"
Not everyone joins in, and a few retire early to their tents or chat quietly in the shadows away from the boasting and laughing and singing close to the fire.
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True to her nature, Eveline is reluctant to join any kind of festivities. Not that she wouldn't enjoy them; it's that others do, a bit too much even. She remains there for a while, eating her share, and then retires very early to the tent with the excuse of tiredness and sore buttocks.
Eveline didn't bring any literature with her, so as she predicted, it's going to be a very dull journey. The best she can come up with is sharpen her scimitar and dagger with a whetstone, and do some minor mending on her wardrobe and armor. Inside the tent she has disrobed her mithral armor and covering desert robes, leaving the loose and light traveler's outfit on.
Eveline hums softly while doing chores on her own. Unwittingly she's humming the same tune Pim was playing with his harmonica.
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"A time long, long ago. A woman was skilled at using the loom to weave incredible tapestries. She was the best weaver in her town, and even the king's personal weavers were no match for her. One day she proclaimed that not even the gods could outweave her."
"Calistra, lustful goddess she was, couldn't wait to put the woman in her place." The Maiden takes a sip from her waterskin. "The Goddess appeared in front of her and challenged her right then and there. Now Sheyln may be the goddess of art, but Calistra's tapestries were beautiful works, displaying mankind's glory, terrifying acts of vengeance and of course, detailed entertainment." She gives Lionel a nod and a smile. "The Goddess's tapestries still hang today, I am told."
"The woman was stubborn, however. She weaved blasphemous pictures, detailing the fall of the gods. The destruction of temples. She even mocked the Goddess herself, bound and gagged before demons." She shakes her head. "The 'Goddess of Vengeance' is not hyperbole, and the woman was soon cursed into weaving thread for the rest of her existence. Her children were also cursed to weave thread, although we call that webbing. You see, this woman is the first Spider to ever exist."
The Maiden stands up and takes a bow.
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Though Pim isn't the most perceptive sort, he can tell that something is bothering Eveline, and he hopes it isn't him. When she speaks to him in the morning, he replies in as kind and friendly a fashion as he can, "Yeah, another hot day under the hot, hot sun. I think you're wise to go without armor. That's how we did it when I was in Qadira, but we were on foot, so we got really hot."
After a pause, he adds, "You know, if the heat really gets to you, wears you out, I've learned to call on Erastil and return some of that energy to a person. You just have to let me touch you. Um, well, I mean lay my hands on you. Not like that...it's called 'laying on hands' by the church." He goes quiet a moment, completely flummoxed, then adds lamely, "So, yeah, if you get tired."
Making his way out of the tent, he rolls his eyes at his own behavior and gives himself a good knock on the head to try to clear it. He spends much of the afternoon kicking himself, until he hears the story-telling contest beginning. He finds Charis' tale so engrossing, his mood lifts and he can't help but want to contribute. Slipping his harmonica from his belt pouch, he provides stirring musical accompaniment as the tale unwinds, playing a light, rising melody as Shelyn appears, a sharp shock of sound for Calistria, and a skittering, descending tune in a minor key as the weaver-woman is transformed into the mother of spiders.
When Charis finishes her story and bows, Pim claps along with the others, calling out, "Well done, well done!"
The Maiden and the Halfling (TM) garner a rousing applause for their enrapturing duet, and are later followed by a story about White Estrid's enslavement of a linnorm, an odd tale about two wayangs in love, and a hilarious rendition of a wizened old Osiriani's singular adventure involving three donkeys, a dream spider, and a rod of wonder.
The next week passes slowly and painfully. The food gets staler, the desert seems to get hotter, and everyone's sore buttocks develop severe blisters. Eben remains cheerful and boisterous as ever, but patience begins to wear thinner among the caravan. In particular, a trio of Avistani merchants seem to spend a great deal of time arguing, and each day the debate gets more heated -- though always out of intelligible earshot of the other merchants. This morning they are quiet and brooding, long stares and scowls, as they munch on hard tack.
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Lionel listens to the story with interest, then nods. "Yeah, is a hell of a story, this one. An' it carries one of Calistia's main tenets, the one I paraphase as 'Don' be a dick ta people.' Is really words ta live by, ya know.
The big man seems to not mind the sun as much as the others, his cheerful attitude seemingly coming out of an unending well. In the night, he sits down at the fire and sighs, pulling out a badly rolled cigarette and lighting it up, a heavy smell encroaching the fire. "Ah, hell. There's 'bout four betta ways to have ya ass hurt I can think of, I'll tell ya what."
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Seeing the merchants argue, Lionel grunts. Popping back in the tent, he nudges Numair gently, whispering. "Hey! Nummer! Them merchants are goin' real crazy, brotha. I suggest we go an' see what's happenin', 'cause we got ninety-nine problems that ain't them just now, and I ain't gotta count to a hunnard." He chuckles. "That, an' the travel is borin', le's spice it up with some drama."
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Numair frowns as he regards the clearly worsening relations between three of the merchants.
"Agreed, Lionel; the last thing we need in the middle of the desert is yet another problem - problems are the things which increase the likelihood that you will wind up dead out here in a gods-forsaken wasteland..."
He then moseys over to the merchants, bowing slightly.
"Greetings. The name's Numair. I couldn't help but notice that there appears to be a predicament which is spoiling your otherwise cordial relations. May I offer my services as an impartial third party mediator?"
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At first Eveline is shocked what Pim says, but a wry smirk shows on her lips which quickly fades, thanks to her discipline. She deliberately speaks—with a quiet tone, careful not to make any signals—in her race's native tongue to minimize the risk of others understanding what she's talking about, and she damn well knows why Pimwrick is so flustered. It's obvious, of course.
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After a week of enduring agonizing camelback riding and nightly get togethers, Eveline is beat. And to think of it, there's another week of this jolly action more. Fortunately Lionel has not been paying all that much attention to her now, maybe it's Charis' doing. Nevertheless, she's glad about that.
Eventually even the newly-bought desert clothes are getting worse for wear in the desert sun, to a point she's forced to abandon the robes. The saggey clothes have lots of pockets of which nearly every one has collected a handful of sand; sand which is difficult to get out. Forced to do more travel in her ordinary clothes disturbs her very much; especially with her armor, she's feeling more anxious than ever. Maybe it's Pim; yeah, definitely Pim, who is making her more nervous than before. Eveline attempts to keep her composure even at the worst of times, and seeks refuge when others gather around for festivities.
Since Eveline has been mostly by herself, she has heard snippets of the merchants arguing, but hasn't paid much attention. She's sure she too would be quite the pain in the ass after a week under the hot sun if she'd have to endure bickering trade partners at the same time. Those living in these conditions from birth to death will get used to it, like Eben. She's unlikely to get involved in the situation, unless it becomes really heated; weapons blazing sort of heated.
If they were quiet and brooding before, all three merchants manage to clam up even more when Numair approaches. Indeed, one even gives him the stink eye, spits out a bit of tack, and walks away entirely. Numair's proposition catches the other two by surprise, however, and they give each other a look. One shrugs and the other rolls his eyes, biting off another piece. "I've just been explaining to Jerrdo here that Eto inspectors are thorough. Any relics from a dig are documented and taxed." He stares at Jerrdo pointedly. "Family keepsakes or not."
"Yeah, well, it's mine!" squeaks the high-pitched whine of Jerrdo. "So what if I stuff it in a pocket and forget to mention it? It belongs to me!"
"Then you get caught, and they confiscate it," the other shrugs, standing up a stalking off. Jerrdo's face has turned red and he scrunches up an angry face at his companion before sticking out his tongue. He suddenly remembers Numair is still standing there and his face turns even redder, this time from embarrassment, and he ducks back into his tent.
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Huh... Well, that could have gone better...
Numair sues ruefully, shrugs, and returns to the rest of the group.
"Guys, we might have a slight problem... From what I have just been told, the Eto inspectors expect documentation for anything that could be remotely construed as having come from a dig site; didn't someone say the stone we were given was ancient? We may have to declare it, and pay a fee, hide it, or rely on my ability to sweet-talk the inspectors..."
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"Huh, that's not good," Eveline says, taking the geode half and looking at it, "I'm sure our venture-captains knew about that. Maybe they didn't think this would be considered such an artifact... regardless, I'd suggest being honest about it. If it does not qualify as a taxable item, then Numair should convince them."
Eveline looks at Numair, then Pim. She hopes they second her suggestion. The least likeable option would be to attempt to hide the item.
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"I agree, hiding it is probably not a good option. I wouldn't specifically declare it, but when they *do* discover it, we can express surprise, and I can try to work my charm on the official, pointing out that whilst yes, it *is* Osiriani in origin, it is a modern artifact, and not something dredged up from a tomb."
Several more days pass without significant incident, besides a bad case of food poisoning that comes and goes through the caravan. Eben announces over the evening meal that the caravan will reach Eto tomorrow. In celebration of the caravan's last night together, he produces a small cask and carefully pours out one small wooden bowl of Osiriani fire-wine for each passenger. He hands them out one by one and frowns when he has three left over. "Well, one's for me, but who's are those? Somebody asleep already?" He snorts a laugh and shrugs. "Well, more for me I guess!"
He downs all three, shakes his head vigorously, and screams. "WHEEE-OOO!!!"
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Lionel downs his cup of wine swiftly, then as Eben mentions the missing passenger, sighs. "Now, I'm bettin' ma hat that it's them three merchants. Anyone seen when they left, folks?", he says, petting his stomach after the wine. "Some hot stuff, that. Wonder what they put in it.", before standing up and grabbing his spear. "Is been way too borin' 'till now, folks. It's 'bout time somethin' happened, if ya ask me, an' not o' tha happy type. Anyone joinin' me in investigatin' them merchants' tent?", he chuckles, stretching his arm.
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Lionel lightly pats the half-elf on the back. "Now, Nummer, ya know me all too well. I ain't never get into no trouble, but trouble tends ta follow me.", he says, grinning. "Plus, we're concerned folks tryin' to make sure that them folks are enjoyin' their last moments in the caravan. Camaraderie 'n whatnots.", he grins.
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Eveline too politely refuses the wine; she doesn't drink, at all in fact, but isn't as hostile as she used to be. At least they are in the middle of the desert, and there's little mess they can do with intoxication.
"I guess we need to keep the caravan together," Eveline shrugs, "and problem-solving is one of pathfinders' forte."
A huge grin on his face, Lionel leads the way to the Avistani section of the camp. On the way he bumps into the three merchants in question, quietly sipping their firewine. Full of sulky looks and rolling eyes, but very much hale and healthy.
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Lionel sees the merchants and shrugs. "Huh. Well, I'll be damned.", before taking off his hat and putting it on Numair's head. "Ya won it, fair an' square, be wearin' in with pride, Nummer.", he grins. Proceeding towards the merchants, he waves. "Hello, folks! How ya enjoyin' tha last day? That wine's real proper, huh?", sending a smile their way, then turning his attention to Numair. "Now, folk, ya seen anyone go around or got lost from tha caravan? Cause we ain't tha same number as we were when we's left, ya know?", he questions casually.
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Eveline shrugs. "Well I can always try to look for tracks in the... sand," she says, leaving the sentence hang on purpose. Still, she looks around for some clues and missing footprints. It'll be hard among all the other dozen footprints, but at least this is something she'll have to do, and it'll give her solitude. Maybe. Pim might tag along, don't know...
Lionel and Charis make the rounds among the merchants and Eveline searches the dark desert around the caravan for clues. The merchants, mostly drunk on firewine, scratch their heads and slur their words, and the sand proves even less telling. Soon the whole caravan is off to bed and still there is no sign of who's missing, or where.
The morning provides little opportunity for continue searching as Eben gets everyone moving quickly and early. Three hours march is just enough to bring the whole tired caravan to the walls of Eto.
The immense rock walls that ring Eto rise from the horizon like a shimmering mirage that gradually sharpens into focus. The city sits inside an elevated crater with sheer, weathered sides broken only in two places by heavily guarded gates. Long lines of caravans wait in a meandering queue awaiting entrance as officials search their cargos for contraband and calculate taxes. Water sellers, food vendors, and guides march up and down the lines peddling their wares and services to the visitors. Beyond the gates, the main thoroughfares fan out around the various districts of the city before dwindling into the dozens of pathways that flow through the bazaar like the delta of the great River Sphinx.
Standing near the end of the line is an elf, who flashes a Pathfinder handsignal to Eben and is directed to the rest of the group.
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Eveline is more than happy to see the walls of Eto, although the long queue of caravans does upset her a little. Nevertheless, after weeks of enduring the desert sands, sore buttocks thanks to the camel ride, and dirty clothes and insanitary conditions, she's relieved. Eveline knows their contact happens to meet them in a spa of sorts, and this time, and this time only, she will seize the opportunity.
She raises a brow as the elf comes closer. Sure, he flashed the sign known to Pathfinders, but it's not that convoluted some foe couldn't learn it. "Yes, he said you'd be joining us once we get here," Eveline says, "we've been tasked to seek our contact here in Eto, who'd probably know more about where these mysterious Jewel Sages or whatnot reside. How come you were not tasked to come with us?"
"Regardless, Amenopheus also gave us a geode half which apparently has some magical attributes that allows us to contact him wherever we are, but we are not to use it until we find another sage of the order."