Travelling to the four corners of Katapesh, a no-nonsense major-domo named Garavel has collected a rag-tag group of adventurers to help a merchant princess reclaim Kelmarane, a remote village in northwest Katapesh. The village once dominated the southern end of a trade route between Katapesh and Osirion, but fell upon hard times, abandoned, and now rumored to be the home of a tribe of gnolls owing allegiance to someone called the "Carrion King."
The ruined village represents a great possibility to the Pactmasters of Katapesh. Should the village be reclaimed and rebuilt, the resulting trade would strengthen Katapesh's western and northern reaches, regions which have had to face the horrors of gnolls, monsters, and worse.
Having set out from Solku a week ago as part of a dreary camel caravan, Garavel has been tight-lipped about your destination. The most answer he offers is the northern Scrublands.
As night starts to descend on the land, you can just make out the immense outline of Pale Mountain looming over the mid-evening horizon like a tombstone.
Fahada moves along slowly in her place within the caravan. As the sun sinks below the horizon, her indigo hair and eyes begin to look more and more black than anything else. Her elven heritage is apparent in the strange coloration, as well as the pointedness of her ears. Her skin, the color of burnt sugar, seems to glow in the fading sunlight. For all her beauty, though, she still exudes an intense sadness in moments like these when things are quiet and she is left to her own thoughts.
Deridia looked nothing like her part eleven acquaintance whom she shared the caravan with for almost a week. Her skin remained pale even after the first burns suffered coming to this sun favored country. She kept her hair short enough not to get in the way but long enough not to be taken for a boy which sometimes happened when she had her bicolor mask on and the hood of her robe up. At least if she would lower her head down she could blend in the crowds, of course in this small caravan that could not happen.
With each passing day Deridia felt more and more restless. She was quite excited about the journey and about the future prospects which would open to her once they will reach the destination however the same thought kept popping in her mind again and again. “Fahada, do you think Garavel is keeping something away from us?“
As soon as she is spoken too, it is as if Fahada undergoes a complete transformation. She looks vibrant once again and a sincere smile spreads across her face. She turns her head to look at Deridia a moment before answering, "When is a man ever not keeping something from a woman?" The jest is clear in her voice, but after a moment she continues on more seriously. "I'm certain that he is, but the better question is what and why."
Fawziya pauses at the top of one of the countless bluffs to watch the sun descend behind the Pale Mountain. She carries her personal banner atop a pole in her left hand, and plants the end opposite her colors into the sand. The flag flaps in the hot breeze, displaying her coat of arms - a cockatrice displayed, carrying a shield with a field of red and an orange band across it. She removes her helm, and her long black hair spills out, and frames her dusky face. After admiring the sunset for a time, she hurries after the caravan.
She catches up to Deridia and Fahada, overhearing their gossip about Garavel's motives. "There is undoubtedly some secret motive for coming to Kelmarane. If he were so altruistic as to want to rid the desert of the gnoll raiders, he would have hired a band of warriors, not organized a caravan. Perhaps he seeks to draw them from their warrens, and the caravan is the bait. That'd be damned cold - frigid as the desert in winter at night." She shrugs, clearly unconcerned at the moment. "All I know is that if he's led us all into a trap, I'm going to have to demand hazard pay." She unabashedly grins at her own mercenary behavior.
D'witt rode along in quiet contemplation. He pulls back the hood of his cloak, taking in the sight of the mountain. The sinking sun highlights the rust colored flecks in his skin and the small tips of ivory horns. Often mistaken for freckles at a glance, a second looks make it obvious that they are anything but. More like he walked into a mist of small rust flakes and some had embedded themselves into his skin.
His mind wanders to thoughts of setting camp and making dinner. He smiled as he pondered what he would make for the fair ladies that accompanied him on this journey. Oh, and for Marik as well, he chuckles.
When Deridia and Fahada began to speak he turned his attention to the conversation. "Well now, that's not entirely fair. Some of us are quite forthcoming" D'witt smiled. When Fawziya adds her own thoughts he listens as he brushes aside his cloak, letting his tail pull the compass from his belt pouch and place it in his hand. "I'm sure Garavel has motives he chooses not to share. But at the end of the day, don't we all." He glances at the compass with only a passing interest before using his tail to replace it. "Trap or not, we're all here for the same reason: personal gain of some sort."
"Don't worry about it now though." He smiles again, this one actually reflected in the ash grey eyes that match his hair. "Just think of the wonderful meal I plan to pull from our mundane food supplies this evening."
Fahada gives D'witt a quick wink and a smile when he complains of her unfairness towards men. "Fret not, just think of all the things we women keep from men!"
Fawziya laughs heartily at Fahada's jest. "I think most men would be surprised how much their women keep from them, if only so that they remain thinking of themselves as manly!" She turns to the tiefling, a sparkle in her dark eyes. "I hope Garavel has kept you stocked with spices, camp follower. Caravaning is hungry work!"
Ragznor has stood behind the others half paying attention to the discussion. She believes the desert has a purpose for her and she is here to find out what it is, trivial things matter not to her. But in order to exist with this new "tribe" she must make herself approachable and known.
My people believe the fate of the desert works within us no matter the plans of others. What it wills it wills and can not be changed.
As she speaks a scorpion crawls out from the loose fitting shirt and crawls around her neck and settles upon her shoulder for a second and then disappears again.
If I am not mistaken we were gathered to be the help for Gravel to his ends and in that our own ends
Her face never seems to show a change but a stoic resolve.
May the desert show me my destiny and may I fulfill it honorably.
I am sure we will know what fate we face soon enough and I have confidence we will be able to handle it. I have seen you all have talents of varrying use.
Her long white hair blows in the wind and though the temperature rises itt never seems to affect her.
"Perhaps you are right. Either way, we'll all know soon enough."
Deridia smiled behind her mask at the highly optimistic chef, then turning to Fawziya: "One boot of sand that he's in with Garavel stuffing us well for the gnolls."
Her gazes flew from Fawziya to D'witt then to Fahada and finally stopping on Ragzonor whom she studied carefully. She seamed to have promising talent and didn't seam the type that would get all her magical power from a piece of paper or leather. Nerys might have use for someone like her, but first Deridia would have to asses her true worth.
The tiefling laughed as the girls took turns teasing him. "I would wager there are things we should in fact be grateful you ladies keep from us." He regards Ragznor when she speaks and gives a friendly smirk. "Crypticly peotic as usual."
"Aye, this is hungry work. And I don't hear any of you complaining or turning down my offerings."He grinned.
Ragznor give a light but all too quick smile to D'Witt.
Your offerings are pleasing to me. but growing up eating what you can hunt and trap in a desert I don't have a great knowledge of outsider food only hqving left my people a short time
"Ragznor makes a good point about outsider food. What exactly is it you intend to cook?"
Over the last few hours, Garavel has hinted at your destination: the Sultan's Claw.
As you climb the next hill, the craggy tree starts to comes into view. With 5 immense, mostly leafless branches, the growth looks more like a giant skeletal talon than a thing of living wood.
"Ah, it's good to be..." Garavel starts, and cuts himself off at the top of the hill.
Reaching the summit, you look down and see a caravan of a half-dozen wagons and a large tent clustered around the distinctive tree. Camels in a nearby pen prance in agitation, and a clutch of confused goats and livestock wander the grounds around the wagons. Perhaps a dozen men and women rush around the campsite, chasing down an animal or hastening toward the center of the cluster, near the Sultan's Claw, with pails of water in their hands. One of the wagons is on fire!
D'witt grins. "Don't let circumstances of my birth sway you. I was raised by humans who liked to travel. My tastes are wide and varied." He looks back at Fahada. "Tonight? I was thinking skewers of seasoned meats and vegetables. A recipe I learned from a carpenter from the south."
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As the group crests the hill the sight of the wagon fire spurs D'witt. [b]"We have to help." The tiefling starts down the hill towards the scene of the fire. Once there he quickly dismounts and offers help carrying water and such.
Turok spent most of the trip listening to the others talk, speaking very little except when spoken to. "I'm sure Master Garavel knows what he is doing, he seems quite competent. If he wants to keep our destination a secret then let him, we will find out soon enough."
Turning to Ragznor he nods "Quite true, young miss. If he is playing us false then he shall find that neither the desert nor I suffer fools gladly."
"Aah, Shira. They are so young and full of hope. Much like we were when we first met. How I miss you and Chani terribly. Some day soon the desert winds will carry me to you and we will be together once more."
Upon cresting the hill Turok takes in the scenes of chaos below. "The fire must be dealt with before it spreads to any of the other wagons." Putting his thoughts into action Turok spurs his mount down the hillside, a spell upon his lips.
Fahada follows D'witt and Turok down the hill and into the encampment. Assuming water is scarce, she is gathering up pails of dirt (or sand if that be the case) and using them to suffocate the flames as much as possible.
What is this.
Rqgznor looks to understand the situation.
[Ooc]perception
why do people rush into things before they know what they are getting into.
You should wai...
Shaking her head she slowly decends keeping eyes and ears open.
A slight blush reddens her cheeks as she speaks
I wasn't talking about planar existence but those not from the desert.
"As do I, camp follower!" Fawziya exclaims. "Nothing satisfies like a skewer of roasted meat. If you are taking orders, I would also favor kahve in the mornings."
As Fawziya takes in the sight of the burning wagon, she rushes towards it as well. She removes her helm again as she goes, using it as a makeshift bucket to throw dirt, sand or water onto the flames to snuff them out. "What happened here?", she asks as she fights the fire. "What caused the blaze?"
Deridia staggered for a bit before going after the others, after all there was almost nothing she could do except check if somebody was hurt or not. The fire caught her completely off guard and having nothing to deal with it she focused more on searching what would have caused it. Thinking it would have been better just to ask, she searched for someone not preoccupied on putting out the fire or chasing his/her livestock.
Garavel digs his spurs deep into his camel's side, urging the beast into a flat out run. He quickly overtakes the rest of the party, and rushes into the camp.
Lush orange and red flames engulf an elaborate wooden wagon emblazoned with painted moons and stars. A gout of smoke pours from an open door, and as you approach an ill wind blows a number of colorful fortune-telling Harrow cards from inside the wagon. One of these singed cards blows directly at Ragznor, catching against her chest in a burst of orange cinders.
As the PCs’ eyes shift their focus from the burning card back to the wagon, the base of the Sultan’s Claw erupts into brilliant flame. The central flap of an elaborate tent flies open and a regal woman who can only be Almah steps out into the firelit night. “Douse that flame!” she shouts to the men surrounding the wagon before turning in your direction. “Ah, Garavel!” she says. “And just a moment later than the nick of time, as usual.” Looking specifically past her major domo and directly at the PCs, Almah barks out a simple order before running off toward the fire: “Find some way to help!"
Initiative:
Ragznor looks quizically at the lady as she barks orders and makes rude remarks to those that came to help.
True leaders do it be example not screaming insults
D'witt would have to remember later to be impressed with Garavel's riding skill as he easily overtakes the rest of the group. At Almah's appearance and following dismissal the tiefling guesses she is a woman with great deal of stress in her life.
Deridia frowned at the woman giving the orders and went to check on the person standing next to the bodies, hoping even just for a second that she was mistaken and they were just unconscious. Excuse me.Do you need some help?
Caravan initiative
Ragznor will accompany the cleric to see if anyone needs healing.
I too may be of some service with healing if needed.
Looking at Deridia
I can heal any one person once. So my healing power doesn't wane but once my power has touched them it can not be used again for a day on them. Let me know how you would like me to help
Almah, Garavel, and four soldiers dressed in red chitin-plate armor make a run for a wagon roughly 20 feet from the one that's burning. Garavel distributes buckets, and the small group gathers around a large keg. Almah is shouting orders, trying to get everyone organized.
The wagon which is next to the one that's burning, is being pushed and pulled by four burly soldiers wearing various degrees of armor. They seem to be trying to move the wagon out of harm's way, before it goes up like Sultan's Claw.
A red-haired halfling is crouched over two other soldiers, who appear to belong to the group moving the wagon. Although it's hard to tell, with their armor smoldering, and their exposed skin burned to a blackened crisp.
The sounds of panicked animals (pigs, goats, and sheep) can be heard over the cracking and popping of the fire. A middle-aged couple are chasing the animals down, herding them towards a pen which has been pushed over by the frightened animals.
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Don't feel hedged in by the 6 seconds rule. Have some fun with each round, playing up your encounters.
All I ask is that you only provide one post per round. They can be out of order, and I apologize if anyone's post gets bogged down by others around them. There should be enough going on to keep everyone busy.
I haven't seen an init roll from Fawziya (hope everything is okay), so she'll get an init of 1, unless I see otherwise before everyone else has posted.
The current order:
Ragznor
Deridia
Fahada
Turok
D'Witt
Caravan People
Fawziya
Have fun!
Ragznor moves to the injured men to see if they can be helped if so she bend down over one of the men and her hands will flow over his body as she mumbles. She finally holds her hand on his forehead and her eyes turn completely white as if pupils and iris did not exist for just a moment and then become normal again.
I have done what I can for him today.
Fawziya drops her helm in the sand, and rushes over towards the wagon being pushed by the four men. "Put your backs into it!", she cries, lending her strength to theirs. She grits her teeth as grabs hold of the wood, her muscles straining as she helps to push it out of danger.
[dice=Strength check?]1d20+3[/dice[
D'witt rushs to the wagon. He tries to get up into the door way of the wagon. Being a tiefling he has a natural resistance to fire but he still has to cover his mouth and nose against the smoke. He glannces quickly inside for anyone still inside or anything else important.
Fahada is gathering dirt and sand to suffocate the fire with.
Deridia looks at how Ragznor casts her healing spell, and nods approvingly. "You did quite well. You would make a great cleric if only you would put more faith in the gods. Now it's my turn." Making sure that she is close enough to both the halfling and the two burned soldiers she touches her mask which instantly lights up shining with light yellow color from its sockets then fallowed with a fast burst of energy around the cleric.
looking at Deridia
You have great power that can wash over many. I felt the warmth of the heal move through me even though I need it not.
pondering her statement of just a second.
As for being a cleric I don't believe it possible. The desert is my land and my salvation. gods are not part of my culture. we believe in the great creator who fashioned all things and left us the desert for our test. The creator gives us no more and no less than what we can bear.
Ragznor smiles a genuine smile to Deridia a someone with power and faith.
Ragznor moves over to the wounded warrior, and the halfling allows her to come near. His eyes flit over to the second soldier, who Ragznor now sees is a woman.
As Ragznor's spell washes over him, the soldier coughs, then lays still, his chest rising and falling rythmically.
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Deridia joins Ragznor, and sees the fallen woman. Her holy light washes over the area, easing her suffering. The halfling cleric raises his eyes to the sky, whispers something you can't hear, and then stands, watching the wagon burn for a moment before joining Almah.
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Helping the fire fighters, Fahada uses the land's natural resources to combat the flames, not using any of the nearby water. Only time will tell if her efforts are helping.
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Joining the fire fighters, Turok unleashes a rainstorm over the burning wagon. The hiss and pop of the water hitting the burning wood brings renewed vigor to the bucket brigade, who now run to put out the flames.
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D'Witt finds the door already kicked in. Taking a quick look around, he can see that the fire has consumed nearly everything inside the wagon. At the far end, he sees a body laying prone, face down.
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Fawziya rushes over to the wagon which is ready to catch on fire, and musters the soldiers struggling there. With an epic effort, and the aid of the soldiers, Fawziya pushes the wagon out of harm's way, knocking over a forgotten barrel of water, which helps to douse the flames.
Fawziya spares a moment to grin at the four men. "Good work, you four! Now, help the bucket brigade, and contain the flames to that wagon!" Putting word to deed, she withdraws the iron pot from her pack, scooping up sand and throwing it at the fire, hoping to snuff it out at the source.
The smoke proves to be too much for D'witt, forcing the tiefling back in a fit of coughing. As he tries to clear his lungs he drops his pack and dumps it unceremoniously on the ground. Grabbing one of his extra shirts he tries to stop one of the water bucket carriers.
A long road awaits us, things may change...Deridia murmured, not wanting to pursue that conversation when the situation around them was so dire.
She watched the halfling for a short while suspiciously, before joining the people carrying the buckets of water, quite uncertain if anything can be salvaged from the burning wagon.
Fahada continues to extinguish the fire with the earth.
Ragznor will mive over to the bucket brigade and do what she can to help put out the fire.
Round 2
The party all assembles near the wagon, passing buckets to each other, in an attempt to put out the fire.
Turok releases another rain storm over top of the wagon, helping to suppress the flames.
Coughing and gagging, D'witt stops one of the red-armored soldiers for a moment to dunk his shirt. Sopping wet, he wraps it around his head, leaving a narrow slit for his eyes, and turns back to the wagon, preparing to head back inside.
With all the agitation around her Deridia loses focus for a second but quickly gains her composure back noticing something that seamed odd to her at at first: one of the friendly faces from her caravan planning to throw himself into the burning inferno. Without a second to lose she let the buckets fall, running towards D'Witt and grabbing his cloak then slowly released it,sighing . "You are one crazy tiefling. Try not to get yourself killed... I will need a big dinner after all this mess. Go with Nethys's guidance."