Three days travel from the capital of Katapesh, beyond the bleached bone pavilion of Palace Mortalis on the edge of the region of blowing sand that lines the lower Elemion River and the border of Nex, stands the Sueda Lodge. Founded fifty years ago, the current caretaker is a dwarf named Var Pindevren, an enthusiastic explorer and historian of the region who splits his time between the lodge and expeditions to various Ancient Osiriani ruins occasionally uncovered by the Trackless Storm.
Named for the Ancient Osiriani hieroglyph for discovery, Sueda Lodge is a one-story block structure holding six guest rooms, a kitchen, dining hall, and library. Besides the lodge there is a small caretaker’s residence, poorly maintained garden, well, corral, and graveyard within the eight-foot tall mud brick walls of the compound. As is the custom of the land, all travelers are offered hospitality, but few journey to this barren and dangerous region.
This night the lodge is nearly full with a group of wanders and acquaintances of Var’s that have been made welcome to this distant place. You gather in the dining hall before supper as Var inspects the grounds and locks up the iron gate for the night. A heavy ironwood table dominates the rustic room and is long enough to seat ten. The stuccoed walls are covered with historic maps, sketches of Osiriani ruins, and swaths of indigenous textiles. Several display cases hold clay and copper pots and other minor historic relics that Var has recovered and proudly displays although you have heard these are nothing compared to the wonders he has shipped back to the Grand Lodge in Absalom.
Cortos admires the relics, wondering if his clan that he never knew would have been able to produce works of such fine craftmaship. This is the first time Cortos meets Var, but his dead relative sometimes mentioned him and had good words for the historian. Let's see if he can make something of the platinum that is coming from Zolurket.
He then takes a very good look at the other guests.
The man entering the room is crisply dressed in the Vudrani style, colours of ochre and tan. His head is bedecked with a large red turban that covers his ears. His face has sharp features and inquisitive green eyes that dart around the room suspiciously. A short groomed goatee decorates his face. Belted in clear view at his side is a curved sword you have heard called a talwar.
Smiling widely such that his teeth are exposed "Salaam good dwarf, I am Chitleen of the Shudra" bowing low to the ground "It is my pleasure to meet you this evening." pausing a moment "You are also a guest of Sahib Pindevren?"
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Jerrand watches the obvious elf enter over the rim of his mug. He sits with his back to the wall and the bench pushed away so his legs can't be trapped under the table. He watches the introduction and eyes the thin bladed weapon.
"Hrmph!" the dwarf grunts, thinking the blade will snap like a twig the first time in connects with a hammer or ogre shank.
He slams the empty mug on the table and watches the elf turn eyes to him. Jerrand's own brown orbs stare back at the clear green ones, his thick reddish beard and mustache hide any kind of facial expression.
"Ye blanket on ye head, hides ye ears elf," Jerrand's gruff low voice grumbles. "But ye jovial manner, slant eye, and ye sharp chin, ye try ta hide behind a wisp of hair tells the tale."
Pouring more ale from a pitcher into his mug. His armor clinks as the scales slide over one another as he moves. The white tabard covering the armor has a bold embossed mountain with a great blade slammed into it's side displayed proudly.
"I thought we be going into a mine. Would good will a faerie do us in the deep and the dark?"
Used to the poor humour and lack of manners that some dwarves show after his years in Katapesh, Chitleen's pleasant demeanour is not impacted overly... though you might detect a slight tightening around the eyes.
"The pagri is not to hide my heritage, merely a part of my custom... much the same as the thicket that bedecks your own chin. If it would please you I could make my countenance more dour and insert more invective into my phrasing?" it is clear from the slight curl at the side of his mouth that Chitleen enjoys the verbal banter that is beginning.
He walks smoothly over to the armored dwarf. As he passes you can smell a faint odour of oud. "Although I am not able to wield swords such that may be used to impale mountains" gesturing at his tabard "I have my uses..." letting the sentence trail off almost inviting an inquiry.
Daeron's close inspection of the displayed artifacts is suddenly jolted by the loud slamming of a mug to table. Not that the displays were interesting anyways, it somewhat amuses Daeron that some people would have the audacity to actually have pride to display such petty baubles.
One useful things that Daeron learnt on his travels was to keep it to yourself. Glancing at the broad and short dwarf creating the ruckus, the first thing that comes to mind was so much beard..
He continues watching as the dwarf's attentions continues to focus on the exotic elf from the sands.
A stocky young woman with dark hair pulled into dreadlocks hanging past her shoulder blades studies the maps scrawled on the walls. This woman, if she can be called that, stands not much taller than five feet and is built thick, and even in the lodge she is wearing her armor and large shield slung across her broad back. She is studying the maps on the wall intently, and does not appear to notice the altercation between the dwarf and the elf.
Always some manner of bully picking upon the weak Shirish reflects, as though there is a reward for it, or honor to be gained. A fool's pride is often larger than his voice.
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"Uses! HA!" GULG! GULG! GULP! "Ahhh!" Jerrand finishes his newest drink and wipes his bearded face with the back of his hand.
"I may find a use fir ye," He says looking the elf up and down. "That smell on ye may just be guid fir keep'n gobbos at bay. HAR! HAR! HAR!"
He looks at the others in the room, then turns to address the other dwarf. "Lookin' like we be outnumbered cousin. Best if Var wuild a made dis an all dwarven expo-dition."
With a slight shrug of his shoulders and a short bow, Chitleen smiles as he retreats from the dwarf's side. There is no point arguing with that one. I shall merely let the brackish water water overflow the banks and perhaps try once more when his bile is not so ascendant.
Moving instead to where the supper is laid out, Chitleen mixes a cup of chai before turning to seek more stimulating conversation.
Observe and learn..it seems that our kin from beyond our borders have taken a pacifist approach when dealing with crass non-elves such as that dwarf. I wonder how would he handle himself when approached by a more refined non-elf. Would he look upon the dress and accoutrements or would words be enough to influence his reactions.
Daeron takes out equipment for writing whilst pretending to take notes on a particular art piece and jotting down his observations.
Cortos, having fought alongside mercenaries of many races and shapes, is less than impressed by the other's dwarf display of disdain for the elf. He's seen many drunken, boasting dwarves before, and to his experience few of them hold up when it's not time for fun and games anymore. He simply raises his shoulders at Jerrand's remarks, and says: Aye, aye. But we'll see if you can raise an hammer as you can raise your voice, or if you won't stagger and fall over your mug when danger is nearby, "cousin". Then he sits at the table with the others and says to Var: Allright, allright, let's cut to the chase. Why are we here?
Shirish chuckles softly when the second dwarf? chastises the first, and turns at the mention of a hammer. As a sign of respect, she had left hers without, but well warn was the handle with the frequency of its use in sparing.
When Shirish turns, it does not take but a casual glance to recognize that she is not human. The thick young woman's complexion is the color of shale, and that on her face appears to have been carved with an intricate patterns of swirls in slightly paler gray. Tattoos strain to find relief against her dark skin, and are only just visible to the naked eye without closer inspection.
Elongated incisors flash as the young woman opens her mouth to speak. Her voice is an alto that reverberates like greatest of tenors, surprisingly cultured considering her bestial appearance. "I know only that I am to expect undead foes."
At that moment, Var's voice is heard calling loudly from outside.
I rush outside to see what's going on.
Shirish places her hand on her shield, and as she leaves the room, slings it in front of her in a practiced motion and retrieves her warhammer from the copse where she placed it before entering. The force of her blows was great enough to kill a man when needed, but if it were some minor squabble, she could withhold them and simple render them unconscious. Her longsword, however, would cut deep, and perhaps kill.
Encumbered, Shirish keeps easy pace with the dwarf who rushed out of the room ahead of her.
Interested, but not alarmed as of yet Chitleen leaves his chai where it is brewing and walks closer to the portal outside.
Straining his hears, he attempts to overhear what is being said...
Perception:
Daeron's elven ears prick up on hearing the call. A general beckoning, nay, elves do not answer easily to anyone's beck and call. He watches as fellow guests run heads towards the general area of excitement.
Sauntering at an easy pace, he peeks round the doorway trying to fathom the general situation. Noticing the Sand-born elf, he gives him a curt nod.
Accepting the elf's nod Chitleen returns it by touching his right hand to heart, then temple, then bowing.
An assimilated local greeting custom I presume?
Hesitantly, Daeron utters some elven, long had he not spoken it.
A welcome sight you are and I am far from home. Daeron Gwadestael I am, whom have I the pleasure of meeting?
Cortos and Shirish exit into the courtyard and the late afternoon light to find Var standing near the gate with a spyglass. The Dwarf is dressed in his customary, not-so-customary for a dwarf, white robes of the type worn by the Human Bedawi Nomads. He has removed his Keffiyeh to reveal shortly cropped black and gray hair in contrast to his full and somewhat disordered beard. He beckons the half-orc slave forward. ”Shirish, come here. See if this is who I think it is.”
He points southward a hundred yards or so where the gray dunes begin. The light is tricky as the sun sinks toward the far distant Brazen Range creating shadows among the dunes that blend with the smudge of the Trackless Storm farther south.
Seeing no physical threat, Shirish slings her shield back over her back and slips her warhammer back into its holster on her belt. She takes the glass in her large hands and handles it as delicately as a human female child might a doll. After a number of moments, having been directed to the grisly scene by Var, Shirish frowns. "Very like, Sir," she answers, her voice a low rumble. "Else someone wearing his robes. Although, to what purpose..." Shirish shakes her head and returns the glass to him.
Var takes another long look through the glass. "Yeah, looks like trouble." The pair of Jawad's high strung Kelish horses that Shirish has been tending through the week whicker nervously.
Var turns back to the lodge spotting Daeron and Chitleen. "You two coming or would you rather gawk from the doorway?! Grab that sourpuss Jerrand as well."
He turns to Shirish and Cortos, "What say we have look-see?"
"I will retrieve my blade, sir," Shirish says, and proffers Var a salute before returning to the house to do just that. She spares a glance for those who remain in the room as she passes, then hustles to rejoin the group outside after sliding her longsword into its sheath on her back.
I am not gawking..nevertheless this piques my interest as well.
Very well. What say you kin of the Sands? Let us see to this new development.
With that, Daeron strides forward, unslings his bow and approaches the front.
Responding to Daeron: *elvish* "I am Chitleen of the Shudra, recently of Katapesh and of Vudra long ago." before being interrupted by Var.
*elvish* "It seems pleasantries shall have to wait" smiling wide as a Cheshire cat. Calling out to Var "Of course Sahib, we shall come to stand at your shoulder." he walks outside to follow.
Var nods with approval as you all gather around and then leads the way through the scrub brush toward the smoky haze of the Trackless Storm that fills the sky to the south. A cactus bird buzzes and the clear sky in the other three directions purples as the sun reaches the horizon and you cross into the soft gray sand of the dunes. A little way into the dunes you approach the figure clad in indigo robes, face down and half buried in the sand.
Shirish stops and pulls her warhammer. "The hand just moved," Shirish reports, "Further movement beneath the dunes."
Perception:
The smile melts off Chitleen's face in an instant and he hisses "Caution, ware the body. It is reduced to bone yet still twitches."
He pauses about twenty feet from the body and allows another to approach it directly.
Cortos braces his axe. He has seen dead things move before, and that looks like one of them.
Perception:
Daeron nocks an arrow to his bow. Looking for a clear line of sight, he stays ready.
As Var approaches the body, it suddenly lurches up. It's turban and hair slide off its head revealing a desiccated face with skin stretched taunt and soft bits like the nose and ears wasted away. The living corpse is barely recognizable as the former Jawad except for the emerald eyes bulging from the skull above a round tooth-lined mouth like a lamprey. It reaches for Var as two other dead things explode from the dunes to either side and lunge at Cortos and Shirish.
Chitleen
Cortos
Daeron
Jerrand
Shirish
Var
Sandstalkers
Surprise Round
Shirish moves in front of Var to protect the officer from the enemy that is about to rise.
Angry at the fact that some people just can't realize when enough is enough, Cortos turns to the undead on his side and attacks him with his axe.STAY DEAD! he screams.
Var steps back out of the dead man's grasp drawing his weapons as Shirish steps forward to protect him. Cortos' powerful axe blow crushes a leathery head releasing a cloud of dried brains.
Denied his target, the dead Jawad claws at Shirish who ducks his grasp, but is blind-sided by the remaining creature that claws her flesh and pulls her toward its pulsing maw.
Surprise Round:
Chitleen draws his talwar, holding it before him defensively.
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Jerrand takes in the rising dead and tries to get a good look at them.
Then the dwarf sees Cortos open a skull and he mumbles as he hurries to help Shirish, "All dwarven expo. Yep dat's what e' shuild o'done."
He moves to within striking distance of the abomination fighting Shirish hoping to draw away the things attention.
Round One
Shirish cannot even gurgle, being paralyzed. She breathes heavily as death appears to be less than six seconds away.
Cortos will charge at the creature that grappled Shirish and attack it. AND F$#$ OFF YOU TOO!
Shirish's body freezes with a rigor mortis-like terror as Var hits the thing with his hand axe and then Cortos steps up with a powerful blow that hacks the body in two.
Seeing none of the spells in his head suitable for the situation, Daeron takes a step to his right, before drawing his bow and firing an arrow at the undead North of the fighter woman..
attack:
damage:
Making certain he doesn't hit the helpless slave woman, Daeron overcompensates and his shot flies wide. The thing that was her former master grabs the unresisting Shirish and latches on to her chest with his radial mouth, voraciously feeding on her bodily fluids.
Round 1:
Seeing that the combatants are still too closely clustered for the application of his talents, Chitleen moves alongside the abhorrent creature and attempts to open it's side with his talwar.
Longsword: for