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“One of our number has fallen.” Venture-Captain Adril Hestram lets the grave words hang in the air before continuing. It’s difficult to imagine a large man like Adril defeated, but in light of this grim news his shoulders slump; he is a man who suffered a loss.
“Targos Min-Katheer, esteemed venture-captain, is dead. His last wishes are simple: he wants his mortal remains to take one last trip along the Silken Way to his home city of Katheer, there to rest with his ancestors. He was one of our finest and we aim to honor his request. It is for this reason I’ve called you all together.”
Adril points one sausage-thick finger at the map on the table, tracing a line from Absalom to the mouth of the Pashman River, then snaking up the river to the oasis city of Lopul.
“Here is where you can gather up his remains and join the silken caravan, one of the only caravans daring the harsh journey across the desert from Lopul to Katheer. This mission is simple, joyride really, but we insist you give it the attention it deserves. A few weeks in the sun, seeing the sights of the desert. A dream assignment.”
Adril has a way of making every assignment sound like a sweet deal, but the last few weeks traveling by boat up the Pashman River and then hiking the short distance to the oasis city have been grueling to the extreme. A poisonous river snake claimed one of your guides; you remember his last gasps well, and how his face bloated to twice its usual size within seconds of the bite.
Before you now lies Lopul, the great caravan city, erected around the crystal life-giving waters of the Pool of Sihbon, the largest oasis for over one hundred miles. Mud brick houses baking in the sun and great canvas tents crowd the central copse of palm and date trees.
Lopul is a caravan-city ruled by the Sheikh Samraf Al- Hadari, humble servant to the padishah emperor of Kelesh. The settlement’s population fluctuates wildly with the comings and goings of trade caravans, but usually has at least a thousand locals and travelers in residence at any one time. Most of the city is comprised of tents and temporary dwellings erected by merchants and caravan masters, with only about a quarter of the city’s structures being permanently built around the Pool of Sihbon itself. Among these permanent structures are a halfdozen caravanserai, the fortress of the sheikh, and twoscore domed dwellings constructed of mud brick. One such dwelling is the former residence of Targos Min-Katheer. All that remains is to collect his body and join the silken caravan.
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Pimwrick listens raptly to Venture-Captain Hestram's description of the journey they're to undertake, his innate desire to stay at home, perhaps relaxing under a tree and playing his harmonica, briefly seduced by the idea of such a trip.
"It is only fitting that Min-Katheer be returned to rest with his ancestors," Pimwrick offers, "I would hope for no less when I meet my end." He's a nimble halfling, of average height and build for his people, with dark brown hair and warm, caramel-colored eyes. He wears a beautifully-wrought ashwood bow sticking over one shoulder and an almost toy-sized greatsword over the other. A black iron morningstar hangs at his hip, its dark color in stark contract to the gleaming links of his chainmail shirt.
Now, several weeks into the journey, nothing on Pimwrick gleams, and he longs to be back on his family's farm, doing the bare minimum of chores, rather than braving the heat, dust and wild animals offered up by the road to Lopul. Staring at the city with a touch of resentment, he says, "Well, we're here at last, might as well go find Min-Katheer's house and get started."
He flags down merchant, likely on his way to or from one of the caravanserai, and asks politely, "Excuse me, can you tell me where I'd find the house of the late Targos Min-Katheer?"
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Calvin listens to the Venture-Captain with his full attention, staring at the man the entire time.
"Calvin will see it done. We of the Skoan-Quah honor the dead as much as the living." giving the man a nod.
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The boat ride and trek to the city of Lopul where nothing new for Calvin. Being from the Cinderlands in the frontier land of Varisia harsh weather and wild animals where the least of his troubles. After entering the gate he waits for the others sharping his massive sword.
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The tall human redhead known as Meredith sits silently as the Venture Captain described the mission. She finally breaks her silence as he finishes the description.
"Such a powerful man. But in the end, we cannot cheat death. We will give him the final rites he deserves."
These trips are never joyrides, anyway. The woman plucks another flower from her hair and nods to her allies. "We're off. To Lopul."
Of the trip, Meredith remembers the poisonous snake most. How fast its venom ran its course through the guide. How she managed to scare it off before it attacked anyone else. And how she couldn't stop the venom. "At least you die free..."
Lopul is her first time in the desert. The open air, the smaller residences, and the different flora keep her attention.
"We should find out about Targos Min-Katheer's home."
Apparently the people of Lopul respect her honesty and blunt attitude.
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Pimwrick and Meredith ask around, and easily locate the house of Targos.
A small mud-brick, domed dwelling lies at the end of a humble, sandy street here in the heart of the caravan city. The scent of the nearby oasis still reaches you, and a hive of bees, attracted by the nearby water, hangs from a date palm next to the house. The wails of mourners and cries of women and children reach your ears, and you can see a small crowd gathered outside the house’s single door, its members crying and tearing their garments. Whether professionally hired mourners or sorrow-filled residents outpouring legitimate grief for the loss of a local hero is unclear, but the emotion seems genuine enough.
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"No song can last forever. Every story must have an end. We shall make a fitting last chapter for the venture captain."
The dark-haired elven woman spent most of the boat trip trying to make friends with Pimwrick, joining his harmonica practices with her flute. The sad part of the trip, losing their guide shocked her deeply. "It shouldn't be like this. Nature is full of beauty, but this just feels so wrong, so cruel, so ugly. Poisons, they shouldn't be."
The elven woman, Miriel, is short and stocky for an elf, although still slim and tall compared to humans. She dresses colorfully, and keeps her clothes clean and carefully arranged to please the eye. She carries a collection of weapons, preferring the long, curved blade so common among elves.
When arriving at the house of Targos, she approaches slowly, listening carefully to the mourning. She stops at the door for a moment, taking delight in the genuine effort of the mourners. Then, she knocks on the door, introducing herself: "Most honored friends of the late Targos Min-Katheer, I am Miriel Magol, of the Pathfinders. We are here to honor our captain, and to fulfill his last wish to take him to lay at rest in his home.
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Having spent some very pleasant days playing music with Miriel on the journey to Lopul, Pimwrick moves quickly to stand by her side as she speaks to the mourners. "It is as my friend says," he tells them, in a grave tone that sounds slightly comic in his small voice, "Min-Katheer asked that the Society take him to Katheer, and we have come to fulfill that duty."
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Calvin follows the others to the home of the passed Min-Katheer. ... I see why the Venture-Captain picked the people he did for this mission ... the halfing and elf to use their silver tongues in this delicate matter ... and myself and Meredith to make sure we get there alive ...
While the paladins talk with the mourners Calvin stands guard looking for anything or anyone out of place. ... cities make me nervous ... and this is considered a small city ...
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Meredith stands silent as the mourners cry.
Yes, this reminds me of my earlier days. So many died during the rebellion...When it failed, we all mourned those executed. I wonder if anyone would have cried for me...
Meredith wonders how the honey in that beehive tastes, and how aggressive those bees would become.
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Kevan had been quiet for much of the trip. Unlike many things, he took a journey of last rites seriously. He nods to acknowledge the mourners outside the house and wipes the sweat from his brow. This damned heat! I'll wither and die if there's much more of this! Shouldering his longspear, he retrieves the flask from his hip pouch and takes a swig. Whatever was inside brightens the cleric's eyes.
"The brave hero deserves the sorrow of his friends and neighbors. Their role here as much a part of his soul's journey as ours. We shall drink to his life and deeds!"
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A man in sackcloth with ashes poured over his freshly shaved head answers the knock at the door. His face is sickly pale under the coating of ashes and part of one ear is missing. His hands are wrapped in dirty bandages and he moves them back behind his back as he looks up at Miriel and the group of pathfinders behind her.
Listening, he stands back from the door and allows the team to enter without saying a word.
Within the building there are several more leper mourners, and a curtained doorway leading to presumably a bedroom at the back.
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Meredith notes the man's hands. "Thank you for letting us enter, sir. Is this Min-Katheer's home? We were sent here on behalf of the Pathfinder Society to escort him to his final rest."
Meredith manages to not mention I'll not shake your hand. and thinks up a decent way to be led without requiring physical contact.
"Please, lead the way."
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Kevan quickly grabs Pimwrick by the shoulder and guides him away from the doorman. He whispers to the halfling. "Old Deadeye hasn't gifted you quite enough, son. I suggest you steer clear of the man." Kevan nods to the doorman and makes his way inside.
He glances around the room. "In fact, please keep your hands to yourselves in here." A worried look crosses his face.
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After a couple of minutes a man wearing a priests robe and jackal mask appears from behind the curtain.
After taking note of the pathfinders he speaks, his voice muffled by the mask. "I am Gen-Garri. Did I hear that you are to be escorting Targos to his final resting place? The body of the honored venture-captain is being prepared for the travels. You will need to return at nightfall to claim it.
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"It burdens me to see so many suffering people, and not be able to help, as we have duties to perform. Still, it delights me that they are taken care of, and have a place in the city, even though it is a sad one. They are not completely shunned", Miriel says softly to her companions.
When the priest enters, she is momentarily shocked, but tries to get herself together.
"Yes, we have been given the honor. Please, take all the time you need to prepare our captain for his last journey. Still, it is, well, curious to see a follower of Lamashtu to take care of a member of our society. Nevertheless, I thank you, for showing love to him and these poor people. Love delights Shelyn."
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From outside the hut you hear a couple female mourners annoyingly trying to fend off some "creep", with such statements as "Go away! We're mourning! This isn't a brothel!"
Minutes later a dashing young Taldan man enters the room, almost striking a pose as he stands in the doorway. He is outfitted with a Mithral Rapier and a Mithral Buckler, but is otherwise lightly equipped.
Bowing with a flourish and straightening his moustache, he grins at the gathering. "Greetings, mi amors! I... am Giovanni! And I... am here!" He tilts his head to the side and winks.
Looking around at everyone he flashes a smile and a nod at anything (and everything) female in the room.
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Many of the shamans of the Shoanti wear animal mask much like his but this man does not look of the Shoanti. Strange but the jackal mask the man wears in not as worrisome as the affliction the man carries.
... this place is filled with death ... best to be done with our business a quickly as possible ...
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As the flashy Taldan enter the house Calvin jumps and nearly draws his sword. As the man tries to enter deeper into the house Calvin extends an arm to block his path and says in a stern whisper. "This is a house of mourning. Quiet yourself and state why you are here."
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"Lamash-who?" Pimwrick says with a gulp. Servants of the Demon Queen! Not sure I trust these guys...
"We've been tasked with safeguarding the body," he says, "it would be an honor to join the mourners here for the day, while the body is being prepared. Would you not agree, everyone? Perhaps Miriel and I can play some music in Min-Katheer's honor."
It's fairly clear the little fellow is not interested in leaving these people with the Venture-Captain's body. Glad of a distraction, he turns as Giovanni enters, then says, "Easy, Calvin, I think he's one of us."
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Miriel glares at the bard with disdain, then sighs.
"Please, don't offend the mourning. Even if it is not your way of paying respect to the passed, we should appreciate their insincerity. As for who I am, it shouldn't be that hard to see. I'm a servant of Shelyn, Miriel Magol."
"If we cannot leave right away, I would prefer to help in any way I can. Letting the time go to waste while there clearly is a lot of preparations to do hurts my heart. If nothing else, I like the suggestion that we stay and pay our part with music."
She pulls her flute from her pack, and strokes it gently.
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The lepers in the room seem somewhat taken aback by the ...flamboyant.. Giovanni.
Ben-Garri shakes his head. "The mother is above all else, a mother." the lepers nod at the priests wisdom.
"You may see the body, certainly. But many people are uncomfortable to spend too long in the presence of... these morners. They fear contamination. Of course you may stay..."
"But again, may I suggest you return at sundown when the rituals are completed. Those not dedicated to the Mother may find them awkward."
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With a spreading grin at the appearance of another instrument, Pimwrick dips a hand into his belt pouch and pulls out a simple, well-used harmonica. He gives it a couple of whacks on his hand and a quiet puff as if to tune it, then raises an eyebrow at Giovanni and Miriel, clearly asking, Shall we?
"I'm glad we're staying here, it's the right thing to do," he comments, with a quick glance at the Lamashtu priest, as if to say, So we can keep an eye on that guy.
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While not crowded, spending a long time in the room with a group of lepers means there is a reasonable chance of contact at some stage.
It is mid afternoon, so lets say three or four hours to sundown. Lets have a DC8 reflex check from those who wish to stay to avoid accidental contact during that time.
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"Ballad of the Lepers? Really?" Pimwrick says, "I've never heard of that song. Hum a few bars, would you?"
"Sure, just follow my lead..."
Giovanni positions himself in a back corner and gestures for his companions to take up spots in the other corners.
Well, this'll be interesting, won't it? Maybe the Shoanti will get it...
Giovanni starts playing a low, long note, staring at Calvin as he does so. Using the end of his flute he points to the leper priest, then to the Shoanti's weapon, then to the other musicians as they surround the lepers.
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The pathfinder team spread out around the room.
To everyones horror, after an hour or so, Meredith accidently brushes against one of the lepers! Or was it accidental? The longer the team stay, the more 'comfortable' the lepers seem to be in their presence, and the closer they get.
It is maybe an hour before sundown when the priest comes out from the back room again.
"You must go now. These last rites are only to be witnessed by members of the faith."
Status
Giovanni (avoided)
Pimwrick (avoided)
Meredith (touched, but saved)
Miriel (avoided)
Kevan (avoided)
Calvin (reflex DC 8 required)
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Miriel, completely concentrated on her music, is startled by the priest. She stands up, and puts her flute back in the backpack.
"Oh, certainly, I shall give you your peace. I didn't notice it was so late already."
She takes a step toward the door, then stops.
"No, I have a duty. Never abandon your duty, they said", she whispers to herself, and turns back to the priest.
"I deeply apologize, but I cannot leave and abandon my commitment, even for a moment. We can surely make an arrangement so that I can stay. You can trust me to keep my part of any conditions you demand. My honor holds so.
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"Oh, come on, it's not that bad!" Pimwrick exclaims at the priest, though he hopes that no passersby mistake their unrehearsed dirges for someone attempting to bathe a recalcitrant cat. "We just haven't played together very much. Like my friends say, we can't leave, but we won't get in the way. We've got a job to do."