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Skye recognizes the creature as a bearded devil and casts spiritual weapon.
A starknife, the favored weapon of Desna and made entirely of force, appears between Skye and the devil. It slices through the air, attacking the creature.
The bearded devil resists the magical starknife, and it dissipates to nothingness.
Skye puts a little distance between himself and the foul creature and draws his wand of bless.
Xuan Fung does not make it through the SR. His blast fizzles this time.
Ezren knows that the Bearded Devil DR needs good or silver to overcome its DR. It's immune to fire, poison; Resistant to acid & cold.
Skye attempts to have his spiritual weapon fight the Bearded Devil, but the Devil's spell resistance is causing difficulty. So he reaches for his wand of Bless instead.
bigger]ORDER: Sova, Ezren, Corona, Skye, Xuan, Medda, Twin Horns, Devil (?), 575, Stuffing, Zavubak [/bigger]
Bold is still up!
"A devil! Spawn of Cheliax!" Ezren quickly runs down what he knows of the devil's weaknesses and immunities. "I can try slowing it down!" He then chants an arcane phrase and a glittering mass of sparkly dust flies out covering the devil's scaly skin.
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"We need silver?" Corona gasps as the devil makes his appearance. "Oh boy, I've got just the thing!" She triumphantly reaches down and draws out a silver mace and points it towards the devil before stepping closer to 575 and Zavubak.
"Haha! And who says silver's only good against werewolves?" she cheers. "New Friends, here's a weapon to borrow if you need it!"
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Medda casts Sanctuary on herself, and moves out of the way. Anok slams the devil!
He slams twice successfully, but only does a tiny bit of damage to the tough devil!
Then the Twin Horn archers try!
One archer hits, but cannot get through the devil's protections! The other archer misses!
The glittery devil takes a five foot step back and attacks Anok (the only opponent to hurt it so far) with his glaive!
Then... realizing to his dissatisfaction that Anok does not bleed, he turns on Corona instead!
The turn affects his deadly aim and he misses!
The whole party is up!
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Skye activates his wand, "Gesundheit! Bless you."
Then he stows the wand in his handy haversack. He grips his longspear, hoping he doesn't have to use it. Still got a few tricks up my sleeve.
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Ezren grunts on seeing the Devil resist his spell. "Next up...Magic Missile."
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575 looks down at Corona's proferred silver mace, and gives her his toothy grin, shaking his head slightly, not comfortable with such weapons.
My trainer once said
If it's hard to penetrate
You just push harder
He balls one hand into a fist, then moves quickly around the back of Ezren, trying to dodge past the devil's longer weapon. Once in close, he launches his balled fist as hard as he can at the infernal creature.
, for damage
He pulls his fist back, and adds, still grinning.
He went on to add
Though his meaning escaped me
'That is what she said'
Skye blesses the party with a wave of his wand! Zavubak, still tripping on herbs, misses with the first punch but connects with the second! 575 punches the bearded devil right on the nose!
Corona remembers that the Bearded Devil's special attacks are nasty.
Devil Chills: Disease—injury; save Fort DC 17; onset 1d4 days; frequency 1/day; effect 1d4 Str damage; cure 3 consecutive saves.
Infernal Wound (Su) The damage a bearded devil deals with its glaive inflicts persistent wounds that cause 2 points of bleed damage. Bleed caused from an infernal wound is particularly difficult to stanch—a DC 17 Heal check stops the damage, and any attempt to heal a creature suffering from an infernal wound must succeed on a DC 16 caster level check or the spell does not function. Success indicates the healing works normally and stops all bleed effects on the victim. The infernal wounds caused by a bearded devil are a supernatural ability of the devil, not of the weapon.
It can also teleport at will.
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Ezren's magic missile blows a wall of force right through the bearded devil!
The archers try again!
Anok slams!
Bold is up!
Click. Whirr.
It's not immune to lightning!
Xuan's lightning goes right through the demon, smoking it on the spot!
Medda claps. "You are surely warriors worthy of the Twin Horn tribe!"
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Skye runs the circle, high-fiving his companions.
"Fung, you rock, bro'."
"575, your trainer was a wise man. I must meditate upon his words. You honor us by sharing his secrets and your knuckles with us."
"Ezren, it's like you just can't miss with your magic missile."
"Zavubak, your fingernails on the chalkboard of a devil's hide are such sweet music."
"Corona." Skye searches for the right words. "Someday, we'll take down the BBEG ourselves. We just have to be patient. A dual-cursed powerless prophet combat support oracle is *not* triple-cursed, no matter what Zabuvak says."
Finally, he turns to the Twin Horns and bows, "Medda, Anok, warriors from the Land of the Mammoth Lords, glad we could be of service. Where's that pipe?"
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"Oh, it's okay New Friend Skye - I don't really like fighting that much anyway," Corona responds with a smile as she puts her silver mace away. "But sometimes I do wake up with new magic in my head, so maybe I'll learn some new tricks for fighting that way."
She turns to Medda and her companions. "And that was really fancy fighting from you guys, too! I'm glad no one got hurt."
However, she does frown and look up at the ceiling where the devil had come crashing through. "Um...but where did that thing come from? I wouldn't think New Friend Nigel would have devils as security..."
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The crowd of guards, onlookers, and concerned citizens outside the Blakros Museum quiets as Venture-Captain Ambrus Valsin approaches a woman clad in furs exiting the museum. "My Pathfinder agents tell me that you are Medda of the Twinhorn following, is that correct?"
"Yes, I speak for the following." Medda glares at Nigel Aldain, "I have come to reclaim what is rightfully ours. His agents stole our most sacred relic after we refused to sell it. We have traveled through dangerous lands to claim it back, and still he refused—"
"My agents claim they bought it," Nigel protests. "I’m not going to just give it to you because you stomp into my office demanding priceless artifacts."
Valsin interjects, "Nigel, let us listen to her story and decide how to proceed. Medda, tell us about this relic. Why is it so important to you?"
Medda takes a deep breath. "Over 900 years ago, a powerful warrior named Ivvora came into our camp. She spoke of an angel named Vildeis who guided her hunt for a great dark evil she called Eshimka. Several of our scouts had recently disappeared, later found ripped into pieces. The elders insisted that we help banish this evil and ensure the safety of our following. They laid a trap for the evil spirit, luring it to our sacred standing stones on the winter solstice. There, Ivvora and the great dark evil, Eshimka, fought a mighty battle that raged for hours. Just as the night was darkest, Ivvora dealt Eshimka a telling blow, digging her dagger deep into its flesh. The creature tried to escape, but it only snapped off the blade and then collapsed on the center stone. The elders finished their ritual and destroyed it completely.
"Ivvora rested with us for the winter before departing to eradicate more evil from the world, but not before leaving us the hilt of her weapon." Medda withdraws a bundle of bloody cloth from her bag, then unwraps it to reveal a small hilt with a bloody fragment of black metal. "She told us to bring the hilt back to the standing stones every year at the winter solstice to keep evil away. We’ve had to travel for so long to retrieve the hilt, I’m afraid we won’t make it back in time for the solstice. Please, let me leave now."
Ambrus Valsin contemplates Medda’s story for a moment, then nods, his brow furrowed. "Nigel, you should send for the Blakros agents who ‘obtained’ the hilt and hear what they have to say. Medda, I’m going to send as many Pathfinder agents as you deem necessary to travel with you and your following. I want to ensure we return this relic to its proper place." Nigel starts to protest, but Valsin cuts him off. "Nigel, you wanted my help; you are getting it. I’m helping you fix a mistake your agents made. As for your museum," Valsin takes a moment to survey the heavily damaged museum, "I’m told most of the damage was done by your own security, not Medda and her following.
"Pathfinders, prepare to head north to the Realm of the Mammoth Lords."
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Medda and Ambrus Valsin discuss long into the night how the Society might help the Twinhorn following. By the morning they have concluded that while teleportation magic might take the Kellids and Pathfinders as far as Lastwall, Medda insists that Ivvora’s hilt has lost some of its spiritual strength since being stolen. She believes the only way to restore its power is to walk the same path that Ivvora took into the Twinhorn’s land after the Shining Crusade—and that path leads straight through the Hold of Belkzen, an unforgiving land controlled by orcs!
Society mages gather to transport small groups at a time to Lastwall, and from there, the convoy of Kellids, Pathfinders, and supply wagons set off north. For all their brutal reputation, the orcs have become somewhat more welcoming of caravans at the urging of Grask Uldeth, one of the strongest orc chieftains and the ruler of the de facto capital Urgir. Those who stop at the Table of Ralock can purchase safe passage in the form of special tokens from tribal representatives. It remains to be seen whether the Pathfinders can secure enough.
Urgir, capital of Belkzen, land of the orcs, is a dusty city composed of a discordant combination of crumbling dwarven architecture and rickety shelters. Medda frowns as she looks out at the barren landscape. "Pathfinders, if you think this looks bleak, than you should consider our chances if we don't obtain tribal tokens for safe passage through Belkzen and protection from the orc tribes." She pulls out a collection of wooden and bone tokens hanging on a chain. "I have purchased as many tribal tokens as I can with gold, but still don't have enough for our following warriors and the Pathfinders."
She looks out over you, the vast parade of Pathfinders that have followed her up here. "Go! Find every leader you can, and secure us more tokens! Impress them! Use whatever means of persuasion you have at your disposal!"
Blenta is a wild woman with fierce looking tusks, short, wind-blown hair and a scar down one eye. She is surrounded by a pack of dogs, and has a falcon that she is hand feeding some meat on a knife. One of her dogs snarls as you approach, baring his teeth. She looks at you with narrowed eyes, staring at the chicken riding on Corona’s head. “What is this? Have you brought me lunch, or are you here to waste my time?”
Borbus, despite a huge bloody axe, grins as you approach. “Adventurers! Always good for a laugh.” His men laugh with him. “What do you say to a little contest? A show, perhaps? My tribe grows bored in peacetime. Perhaps we can play a game of get out of these chains?” He holds up a nasty looking set of chains. “Or you can find some other way to entertain me?”
Bukog is shorter and more human looking than most of the orcs here. As you look, you realize that he’s definitely a half-orc, though tough looking. He studies you, holding a blade which is crackling with magic, he swishes it, drawing an arcane mark that burns in the air before him. “Strangers, have you come to trade lore... Or fight?”
Gekgaro sports a mohawk and leather armor backed with a ridge of spikes made from bone. He looks at you and spits on the ground. “Outsiders! Babes in the woods and meat for our spit! What do you know of our lands? They’ll eat you alive!”
The old woman is surrounded by the oddest tribe you’ve seen here. Many are half-orcs, and most of the warriors are female. They all bear amulets with the motif of the Burning Sun. “Sorrenray, the Burning Mother, spoke to me this morning when I greeted her at the dawn,” the old woman says without preamble. “‘Help them on their mission’, Sorrenray said, but only if they can help themselves. Are you capable, strangers? Most of the outlanders we see are gloryhounds, or greedy merchants looking to sell weapons to Grask Uldeth. You don’t look like either, but I still won’t hand over my token without proof that you’re skilled enough to use it.”
Kardook grins at you through a mouth that has lost some of its teeth, but still has both long tusks intact. “Ha! What sort of a wimpy lot are you?” He smacks his fist into his palm. “Be sorta fun to find out, eh?” Despite the blustering front, he appears to have a map of a siege engine in front of him.
Unlike many of the other Orc leaders, Mirtog is slight and wiry. He grins, pulling a long knife out of seemingly nowhere. “What have we here?”
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"Well...I'm not sure where I expected helping the Blakros Museum to lead to but Belkzen and beyond definitely wasn't it, New Friends," Corona comments as they make their arrival in Urgir and receive orders from Medda. "But that's okay! Surprises are part and parcel of being a Pathfinder, right!? Let's go see who we can impress - I know we'll do a fantastic job of it!"
Looking around her, she tries to see if she can spot anyone in the crowd who might look important or know where they can find someone with some tokens. After they look around and ask around a bit, they finally have their answers. But who to approach?
"Um...I might be able to help best with Bukog, Gekgaro, or Kardook," she whispers to the others. "He doesn't scare me at all," she adds with a frown as she glances over at the leader of the Bloodied Gauntlet.
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Unlike many of the other Orc leaders, Mirtog is slight and wiry. He grins, pulling a long knife out of seemingly nowhere. “What have we here?”
Fung looks around the orc tribes, feeling rather uncomfortable with this task. I'm not much one for talking. And the last thing we need is for my stumbling words to cause offence. Nonetheless, the Pathfinders has pledged their assistance and Fung will do what he can.
Finding many of the other orc leaders large and intimmidating, he instead approaches Mirtgog somewhat hesitantly. "Um, good day? You would have seen our large expedition force. Um, I am told we need to get some tribal tokens to secure passage Belkzen. I was hoping you could help? I'm willing to provide some service in return."
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"I think Corona and I should have some success talking to Gekgaro of the Broken Spine. Anybody else want to come along?"
Skye approaches the orc in leather armor and bone spikes. Observing the orc spit, Skye takes aim with a gob of his own, trying for the same spot in the dust, and holds out his hand in greeting.
"Gekgaro of the Broken Spine, greetings from one northerner to another. My name is Skye, Shaman of the Lyrune-Quah. The beasts rarely eat alive the hunter who can track them with skill."
"See here. Your own tracks tell me much about you. You know this land well, so you avoid the soft ground that would reveal yourself to those with little skill."
"And your hair," Skye narrows his eyes in study, "I think that mohawk is completely natural, and I'll bet you don't even use conditioner, am I right?"
On Skye's shoulder, Sova the snowy owl shakes her tail feathers. Not in a provocative way. Just being friendly.
Ezren felt more than a little out of place among the orcs...until the belligerent half-orc decides to announce his presence. Hobbling over in front of the half-orc, he raises his cane and utters a quick cantrip, where the tip of his can glows in a soft blue light.
"Bukog? I am Ezren. I am no warrior, but I can defend myself." He raises his cane in a defensive posture. "I wish to trade. Surely you can tell what I wish to acquire."
"Or should you wish to talk of arcane matters, I am willing to discuss this further."
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575 watches all the native orcs with some interest, his neverending study of body language finding whole new fertile ground.
Tasked with interacting with them, in hopes of securing more tokens, he seems willing enough, deciding to see what the orc named has to say!
Veteran of battle
To keep busy during peace
Is no simple task
He says, commiserating with their boredom.
To pit two people
Each one against the other
A true test of skill
He adds, by way of introduction and a willingness to join in... with a smile that shows more teeth that it probably should.
I could try your chains
Or perhaps tell a tall tale
Or maybe do both.
Without even realizing he's doing it, he is performing... though whether Borbus finds it entertaining is hard to tell.
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"I know we can do it, New Friend Skye! You can rely on me," Corona says happily as she accompanies Skye to chat with the mohawked orc.
"Hello, New Friend-oh that's gross!" Corona exclaims as both orc and Skye spit on the ground, Skye launching his loogey an impressive distance. "Uhm...anyway, I'm Corona Merrion of Absalom," she continues, holding out her hand for a shake.
"And sure, I'm not a big fancy hunter or woodsman but did you know that you should never kick porcupines with your bare feet? Well, now you do. That's what they call a 'pro-tip' right there," she beams, quite pleased with herself.
"And besides, wasn't it the Shoanti's Sklar-Quah and Lyrine-Quah tribes that bested the Broken Spines at the Battle of the Shadefields in 4519 AR?" she adds. "You and your clan should know just how strong and capable humans can be! And the strong deserve respect, right?"
Fung looks around the orc tribes, feeling rather uncomfortable with this task. I'm not much one for talking. And the last thing we need is for my stumbling words to cause offence. Nonetheless, the Pathfinders has pledged their assistance and Fung will do what he can.
Finding many of the other orc leaders large and intimmidating, he instead approaches Mirtgog somewhat hesitantly. "Um, good day? You would have seen our large expedition force. Um, I am told we need to get some tribal tokens to secure passage Belkzen. I was hoping you could help? I'm willing to provide some service in return."
"Maybe I can help you, maybe not." Mirtog grins. "Service? Service could be interesting. But what do you have to offer, human? I've heard rumors that you lot might be from far away. Still, maybe in that little island of yours you hear things from time to time. Things that might be... interesting. Things that might even be pertinent to the matters at hand on a local level. Do you get my drift, little man?"
Making the knife disappear again, he shows you his empty hands. "I got nothing in this hand, and nothing in this hand. Yet the empty hand reaches out to choke everything else out here... Got something that might show how dirty these empty hands might be?"
"Grask Uldeth and the Empty Hand Tribe are in the top spot, and I want something I can use against them, even if it's planted."
Skye approaches the orc in leather armor and bone spikes. Observing the orc spit, Skye takes aim with a gob of his own, trying for the same spot in the dust, and holds out his hand in greeting. "Gekgaro of the Broken Spine, greetings from one northerner to another. My name is Skye, Shaman of the Lyrune-Quah. The beasts rarely eat alive the hunter who can track them with skill. See here. Your own tracks tell me much about you. You know this land well, so you avoid the soft ground that would reveal yourself to those with little skill."
"Hello, New Friend-oh that's gross!" Corona exclaims as both orc and Skye spit on the ground, Skye launching his loogey an impressive distance. "Uhm...anyway, I'm Corona Merrion of Absalom," she continues, holding out her hand for a shake.
"And besides, wasn't it the Shoanti's Sklar-Quah and Lyrine-Quah tribes that bested the Broken Spines at the Battle of the Shadefields in 4519 AR?" she adds. "You and your clan should know just how strong and capable humans can be! And the strong deserve respect, right?"
"Maybe you aren't the babies you first appear." Gekgaro meditates a moment of the enormous puddle of spit. "Perhaps we can help each other. My tribe's normal winter grounds were destroyed in a storm and I have to make a decision. Do I find some other tribe with good grounds, and burn them off? Or try to find a new place that is all our own? What do you think?"
He takes some dirt, mounds it, and starts making a topographical map of the floodplain, showing where his group and the other tribes normally winter.
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With Gekgaro thoroughly impressed, Zavubak passes the pipe back to Skye before he makes his way to Blenta, ensuring he's in the clearest of minds. Or at least, he thinks he is. He lets his bloodrage surge as he approaches, regrowing his claw duo, yet he finds his balance is still awkwardly off.
"Did we bring you lunch? Is that actually a question? You've gotta chill, lady. Take it easy."
Did I really just say that?
"I meant... I have a way with these dogs, you know. I've wrestled even the most mangy mutts into submission. Observe!"
Zavubak rushes at one of the dogs and sweeps him up with his claws.
... Subsequently dropping the poor pooch.
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Skye squats down on his haunches and scrutinizes the terrain model Gekgaro has crafted. "Well done, Gekgaro." Skye points to a likely spot. "The oft-overlooked requirement of any winter camp is field sanitation. At this site, the Broken Spine will have access to fresh, clean water. Ensure your clan restricts its, ahem, 'dumping' to this area on the other side of the hill. The creek bed will be frozen in the winter, and the snowmelt in spring will wash away any evidence the clan was ever there."
"Rendered lard from the plentiful wild boar should protect their derrières from too much chafing from the snow. Keeps a man soft and supple, too."
Skye looks up at the oracle, "What do you think, Corona? Lard's the key, right?"
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"Of course! Lard's like, the any-tool of the animal world," Corona nods eagerly. "You can cook with it, grease with it, wipe with it, and it even works as a hair product!"
"And I think that spot will be a good one, just like New Friend Skye says! It'll have a nice, inspiring view, too - there's not much better that helps start the day off right than waking up to a pretty view!"
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Fung, generally being a rather obtuse person, stares at the wiry orc blankly for a while. Hear things interesting? Empty hands? Dirty things? He was ready to shake his head and declare complete ignorance when he notices Mirtgog staring pointedly at another orc. Then it clicks.
"You want some dirt on him!" Fung blurts out, before realising that Mirtgog would likely not want anyone else to know. He quickly looks around to see if anyone heard, not realising that it is even more suspicious looking. Thankfully, everyone else's attention is on the mingling Pathfinders.
"Um, I'm not sure how I feel about that," he adds on, in a much softer voce. He looks around at the rest of the team, some who seem to have success in acquiring the tokens. I don't want to get involved in whatever politics they have. But Medda's mission is critical. If we fail... "Alright, I'll help. But I won't plant anything that isn't true. I could get into his tent instead, and take something that you might find useful."
First calling on the magical guidance of his jade wayfinder, Fung first waits for some commotion. Sure enough, when Zavubak steps on one of the dogs, the poor beast yowls out in pain, drawing the attention of onlookers. Fung takes the opportunity to quickly sidle up beside Grask Uldeth's tent and slip in. Giving himself only a few quick seconds to adjust to the change in lighting, Fung pads up to a locked chest beside his bedroll. He quickly gets to work on the lock.
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Skye notices Zavubak wrestling some hounds near the wild-looking orc woman with a falcon on one gauntleted arm.
Skye pulls some rations out of his haversack and passes them to Sova and whispers a command to his familiar.
The snowy owl takes flight, soars over the wrestlers and bombards the dogs with treats.
Skye strides over to Blenta and calls Sova to him. The snowy owl glides down to resume her perch on his shoulder.
"Greetings, Blenta of the Storm-Screamers of Rull. I am Skye, shaman of the Lyrune-Quah. Zavubak loves dogs. You can tell how he likes to play rough with animals. Great cardio. He wanted a puppy as a boy, but his mother was allergic. "
Skye draws out a mug from his haversack and whispers another command to Sova. The owl flies over Zavubak and delivers it to him. She takes flight again, makes a wide loop, and then she swoops down, grasps the tankard in her talons and returns it to Skye.
"The Storm-Screamers of Rull must hold you in high esteem, indeed. I recognize the careful breeding it takes to produce such fine hounds and the skill to train them as well as a hunting falcon. My compliments, ma'am."
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"I meant... I have a way with these dogs, you know. I've wrestled even the most mangy mutts into submission. Observe!"
Zavubak rushes at one of the dogs and sweeps him up with his claws.... Subsequently dropping the poor pooch.
"Shoo! Away from my dogs, you big lummox! I don't care how cute you are!"
Skye notices Zavubak wrestling some hounds near the wild-looking orc woman with a falcon on one gauntleted arm.
Skye pulls some rations out of his haversack and passes them to Sova and whispers a command to his familiar.
The snowy owl takes flight, soars over the wrestlers and bombards the dogs with treats. Skye strides over to Blenta and calls Sova to him. The snowy owl glides down to resume her perch on his shoulder. "Greetings, Blenta of the Storm-Screamers of Rull. I am Skye, shaman of the Lyrune-Quah. Zavubak loves dogs. You can tell how he likes to play rough with animals. Great cardio. He wanted a puppy as a boy, but his mother was allergic. "
"The Storm-Screamers of Rull must hold you in high esteem, indeed. I recognize the careful breeding it takes to produce such fine hounds and the skill to train them as well as a hunting falcon. My compliments, ma'am."
"Well, it's nice one of you has sense." Then Blenta turns to Zavubak with sympathy. "Your mother wouldn't let you have a puppy?! This is what happens when we let humans raise our half-orc brethren. If you'd been raised here, you'd know dogs!"
She reaches into her pouch and hands both of you tribal tokens. "You." She addresses Skye. "Take this boy through good orcish lands. Make sure he learns what an orc needs to know. Get him educated!"
Ezren felt more than a little out of place among the orcs...until the belligerent half-orc decides to announce his presence. Hobbling over in front of the half-orc, he raises his cane and utters a quick cantrip, where the tip of his can glows in a soft blue light.
"Bukog? I am Ezren. I am no warrior, but I can defend myself." He raises his cane in a defensive posture. "I wish to trade. Surely you can tell what I wish to acquire. Or should you wish to talk of arcane matters, I am willing to discuss this further."
"Got spells to teach? Trade?" The orc drops to his haunches and sits to parley. "I'm interested, little man. Got anything that would give me a drop on my enemies? I don't have much, but I do have some tribal tokens to spare."
575 watches all the native orcs with some interest, his neverending study of body language finding whole new fertile ground.
Tasked with interacting with them, in hopes of securing more tokens, he seems willing enough, deciding to see what the orc named has to say!
Veteran of battle
To keep busy during peace
Is no simple taskHe says, commiserating with their boredom.
To pit two people
Each one against the other
A true test of skillHe adds, by way of introduction and a willingness to join in... with a smile that shows more teeth that it probably should.
I could try your chains
Or perhaps tell a tall tale
Or maybe do both.
Without even realizing he's doing it, he is performing... though whether Borbus finds it entertaining is hard to tell.
Borbus claps, hard, "Such clever words, lizard man! Do you sing? Do you know the Ballad of Belkzen?"
♫ Den ulvende ember, der gnister krigen
Opkaldet til familie, til blod, til hjerter, der brøl:
"Hæv dine økser højt og lyt tromlerne
Lad dem vide, at Belkzen's horde kommer!" ♫
The call to kin, to blood, to hearts that roar:
“Raise your axes high and sound the drums
Let them know the horde of Belkzen comes!”
He sings, inviting 575 to join him, and then dumping some tribal tokens in the lizard's hand as he asks for an encore.
"Of course! Lard's like, the any-tool of the animal world," Corona nods eagerly. "You can cook with it, grease with it, wipe with it, and it even works as a hair product!"
"And I think that spot will be a good one, just like New Friend Skye says! It'll have a nice, inspiring view, too - there's not much better that helps start the day off right than waking up to a pretty view!"
Gekgaro scratches his chin, mutters "Lard?" under his breath, and then shrugs. He pulls out some tribal tokens. "Thanks for the help. When you next come visit, the drink's on me! If you bring that chicken, we can have stew!"
"Alright, I'll help. But I won't plant anything that isn't true. I could get into his tent instead, and take something that you might find useful." First calling on the magical guidance of his jade wayfinder, Fung first waits for some commotion. Sure enough, when Zavubak steps on one of the dogs, the poor beast yowls out in pain, drawing the attention of onlookers. Fung takes the opportunity to quickly sidle up beside Grask Uldeth's tent and slip in. Giving himself only a few quick seconds to adjust to the change in lighting, Fung pads up to a locked chest beside his bedroll. He quickly gets to work on the lock.
Fung finds lots of stuff, including a sheaf of papers and agreements that are evidence that the Empty Hand has been working with outsiders to cheat other tribal leaders.
Mirtog grins at Fung. "This is good stuff, and let it never be said that I don't repay my favors." He hands you some tribal tokens!
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"I'll go try and talk to Kardook," Corona responds. "Like I said earlier, he doesn't scare me!"
And after pointedly steering herself and her stubborn feathered companion away from the one named Blenta, Corona finds herself standing before Kardook of the Bloodied Gauntlet.
"I heard what you said about us earlier when we were walking around," she says without a preamble. "And we're not wimpy at all. None of us but especially not me. I've faced turd tunnels and tub-ninjas, stink lizards and angry ghosties! Me and some of my New Friends even tangled with fate herself and won!" she declares, her voice rising in volume and pitch as she does.
"And now! Now my Newest New Friends and I need tokens so we can pass safely through Belkzen!
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Borbus claps, hard, "Such clever words, lizard man! Do you sing? Do you know the Ballad of Belkzen?"
He sings, inviting 575 to join him, and then dumping some tribal tokens in the lizard's hand as he asks for an encore.
575 listens to the orcs song, though he does not understand the words.
Your language is strange
But the lyrics resonate
I only have words
And maybe a tale
Of the might of the Cleft Hand
Axes raised on high
With that, he takes his leave.... knowing they have limited time to make an impression with the various other tribes as well.
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He then goes to visit with .
He does not immediately realize that most the warriors are females, his skills at non-reptilian gender identification not that great.
To help oneself thrive
Is a true test of mettle
Others are a crutch
He says, by way of greeting, in response to the old woman's words. He gives her his toothy smile, then looks at his muscular limbs.
Strength of arm and limb
I have been trained to use these
I need no weapons
He invites one of the woman's warriors to try to hold him fast, letting her get a good grip. Then instead of using his strength to break free, as she was expecting, he instead suddenly ducks his head, and tries to slither down and out of her grasp... for a moment looking like the serpentine ancestors he hails from.
But strength is not all
The Burning Sun must knows this
And I know it too
Once more, the toothy grin.
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"And now! Now my Newest New Friends and I need tokens so we can pass safely through Belkzen!
"AAAAaaaack!" The mighty Kardook backs away, tossing tokens at Corona. "Take them! Take them!"
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He then goes to visit with .
He does not immediately realize that most the warriors are females, his skills at non-reptilian gender identification not that great.
To help oneself thrive
Is a true test of mettle
Others are a crutchHe says, by way of greeting, in response to the old woman's words. He gives her his toothy smile, then looks at his muscular limbs.
Strength of arm and limb
I have been trained to use these
I need no weaponsHe invites one of the woman's warriors to try to hold him fast, letting her get a good grip. Then instead of using his strength to break free, as she was expecting, he instead suddenly ducks his head, and tries to slither down and out of her grasp... for a moment looking like the serpentine ancestors he hails from.
But strength is not all
The Burning Sun must knows this
And I know it tooOnce more, the toothy grin.
Graffa applauds. "You are as wise as you are slippery. Surely the Burning Mother was right. Go forth my son and complete your mission."