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Once Navarion notes the Halfling eyeing his jerky, he passes the uneaten portion smoothly to his tail, which then swings to his right and then arches up, where it again snakes into his pack and emerges a moment later without the dried meat. Navarion begins to carefully focus on the details of the corridors and rooms through which the group passes, and he begins to mentally map the structure, carefully noting any details that relate to the way in which the rooms are laid out.
to note relevant details of the rooms while being led about by the Halfling.
The room into which Pulao leads you is dominated by a massive darkwood dining table that stands obliquely in the center, each end pointing at a corner of the large room. An older woman in perhaps her fifties is wiping down the table with a washcloth, and as you file in Pulao points at your group as if she can't see you for herself.
"Look, Di! Visitors! From beyond! They've come to see the temple, but they don't follow Korada. And the one with the horns has beef!"
Di stands and places her hands on her hips, studying you with initial suspicion which quickly melts away before Pulao's enthusiastic introductions as he names each of you. Her hair is already touched with gray, though she's clearly made no effort to dye it, and crows feet and laugh lines indicate a normally happy demeanor. Handsome in her older years, she might quite possibly have been beautiful in her youth.
"Visitors? Well, praise Korada and be welcome. I'm Di Duang. Are you planning on staying long? Please, be seated. Lunch is about to manifest. I'll call the others in the temple, and you can introduce yourself to everybody at once.
So saying, she lifts a hand bell that's tied to her sash, and prepares to shake it.
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Entering the dining chamber, Fahim notices several things at once. For one, Di Duang seems to be missing the upper half of both ring fingers, as well as the tip of one pinky and pointing finger.
Second, the darkwood table is intricately but very subtly carved, so that only by catching the reflection of the light that comes from the everburning torch at just the right angle do you see what seems to be a mural or series of scenes carved into the table's surface - by this first glance, you think it might be telling some kind of story.
Fahim gives his, now infamous, smile to Di Duang has Pulao introduces him. As Di Duang finishes her invitation, Fahim launches into another one of his loquacious greetings,
"Mistress Di Duang, I most emphatically thank you for your invitation to share a meal with you and the others in this inspiring Temple. I must admit that a man of my stature has certain dietary needs, and the offer of a meal with good company is never an unwelcome gift."
Fahim moves up in a friendly manner, closing the distance to more comfortable speaking distances and, more importantly, moving closer to the table.
"However, I am no freeloader, taking respite in the Oasis of Fragrant Dreams without first tending to the nightseed blossoms. I see that you are wiping down the table in preparation for the meal. May I please offer you a moment of respite and wipe down the table for you? I would give you a moment to relax, if I could, before the others of your temple come in."
as Fahim reaches across the table to Di Duang to accept the washcloth from her.
Fahim will then begin to wipe down the table, taking the opportunity to more closely examine the images in the table's surface.
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Navarion closely watches the interaction between Al-Khabyyr and Ms. Duang with a small degree of well trained suspicion. As he ponders the situation unfolding before him, he crosses his arms, and the tip of his tail absent-mindedly curls and uncurls in lazy repetition.
Why is does he want to wipe down that table so badly? Is he really just trying to make a good impression on the scullery maid, or there something else that he's after?
to get more insight into the interaction.
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Lunch is about to... manifest? I suppose that makes sense. I saw no fields nor beasts for slaughter as we approached. Then again, it could have been on the back side of the building. I don't think I've ever eaten magicked food before. Does it taste the same?
Honus gives a slight courtesy bow and nod of his head as introduced.
"Ma'am."
Manifested food. Mexus would probably know more about it, but this Di woman might overhear me asking, so I'd better not. Why would Fahim be so adamant about wiping a table? What is he staring so hard at it for? Is there something magic about the table as well?
Alahazra hasn't said anything. She seems the strong and silent type. The strong, silent, and amazingly beautiful type. She is like no woman I have ever seen! Old Mr. Beggs had that third wife that was a something, but nothing like Alahazra. Too bad I just embarrass myself in front of her. I can't believe I yelled YES so loudly when we met. Maybe she won't remember. Guh. Oh course she will. I need to just stick to what I know. And remember why I'm here. I need a chance to look through the old reports. See if there is any reference to this place.
Should I be taking a seat? I wish Mexus would say something! Or sit. C'mon. Take a seat. Suggest that we all take a seat. What is he waiting on?
Honus attempts to quietly clear his throat (and mind), but makes no movement.
Di Duang blinks as the unassuming Fahim steps forward and delivers a surprisingly eloquent and charming speech. Her eyebrows rise, and then she can't hide a smile as he finishes his request, gently taking the washcloth from her unresistant hand.
"Guests such as yourselves are most welcome indeed. See, Pulao? See how quickly and easily Fahim offers to assist? You would do well to learn from such a generous example."
Pulao's brown contracts as he stares at the ground, clearly not pleased. He slides a quick glance in Mexus' direction, and then raises his chin as if catching himself acting like a child, pushing his shoulders back.
Before he can offer a rejoinder, however, Di extends her hand to the benches. "Please! Be seated. I'd ask a thousand questions, but I know you'd simply have to repeat yourselves."
With that, she shakes her hand bell, which clangs with startling vigor. The peals have but finished echoing around the room when a number of other people begin entering, there casual conversation ending abruptly as each catches sight of the new arrivals. They're a mixed group of about seven human and halflings, dressed in the same simple robes and bearing identical symbols of Korada on their belts. A number of them are missing tips of fingers on both hands. The halflings all bear a resemblance to Pulao, while the humans are a mixed group. One stands out from the rest due to his venerable age, the streak of white in his hair and his calm, resolute air - his Tian nature evident.
An eight figure comes in last, a gnome dressed in a green tunic adorned with silver bells, his wizened face alight with surprise and delight at the sight of the Pathfinders, his hands rising like fluttering butterflies to quickly pat his shirt and belt before he turns to Di expectantly.
She smiles broadly at all. "Well, as you can plainly see, we have guests! These four are Fahim, Honus, Mexus, and Alahazra. That's all I know, so don't ask me questions, and let's not badger them overmuch before the food is served."
The Tian man with the white streak in his hair moves forward and bows. "Welcome, travelers. I am Zhuang, and you are most welcome here in Korada's temple. Please, be seated, and we shall summon the meal."
The gnome quickly glides around the group, expecting them from all angles, and then gestures to one end of the table. "Be welcomed! I am Gastidem, and would earnestly enjoy to sit with you and learn of your journeys, adventures, and interests in the temple. Please, sit here at this end by my side, so that I may answer any questions you might have, a task that I would gladly undertake."
Pulao opens his mouth to protest, but then sighs and his shoulders slump.
Everybody else begins chattering as they sit, Zhuang at the northeast head of the table, Gastidem at the southwest, and Di in the center. Pulao hangs around, waiting to see where Mexus might sit before committing himself.
"Where's father?" Pulao asks suddenly.
An older halfling woman looks over and blinks in surprise. "I haven't seen him since this morning."
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Navarion takes his place at the table as indicated, his tail wrapping elegantly over his belt, leaving the last six inches or so to twitch and curl behind him freely, apparently of its own volition.
This “father” sounds like a religious leader. I wonder if these followers know that they are in an extra-dimensional space, or if perhaps the father alone understands their situation. Regardless, this is as good of a time as any to give them the initial sales pitch. Hopefully they’re all as gullible as they appear to be, and they’ll all leave us alone so that we can get this work over with and make our way back to more interesting pursuits.
He exploits the brief break in the conversation to adopt a well-practiced smile and deftly interjects to Zhuang , “Sir Zhang, your hospitality is most generous, and I, for one, am quite touched by your munificent gesture.” Here Navarion opens to address the table at large, ”As Lady Duang previously mentioned, I am Lord Mexus Navarion of the Taldor Empire. And I imagine that all of you are curious as to why my companions and I have come to visit this splendid temple. As I previously relayed to Sir Pulao, this temple, has been lawfully acquired by a Society of which we are members. We wish to respectfully survey the Temple of Empyreal Enlightenment on behalf of our Society to carefully catalog its contents for study and reference so that the teachings of Korada, Empyreal Lord of forgiveness and foresight, can be contemplated and understood by those of our Society who wish to do so. We did not anticipate encountering followers of Korada here, as we were mistakenly lead to believe that the temple had fallen into disrepair. We are of course delighted to discover what a wonderful job you all have done in keeping this sacred space well cared for. If any of you wish to assist us to complete our goal, we would greatly appreciate any aid you are willing to offer. Regardless, we have no wish to cause any disruption to your daily routines, or to trespass upon your hospitality any more than is absolutely necessary. And at no point do we wish to do anything that would profane the temple or offend Korada. Furthermore, I assure you that we will do our best to complete our survey as quickly as possible and return to our home.”
“I also imagine that many of you have questions or concerns that you would like to have addressed now.”
to impart a sentiment of genuine concern and respect for the worshipers, their beliefs, and the temple, and to mask the simple truth that keeping up amiable relations with these unexpected inhabitants merely makes the job easier.
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Honus gives an expression of wonder after the crowd finishes funneling in. As the entire group drifts toward the table, he makes a few quick strides and places his sword hand on the back of a chair. The seat he has chosen is at the southwest half, but as close to center as can be. He measures the distance to Zhuang first, and then Gastidem, frowns slightly and drags his feet one placement closer to the gnome. Only then does he unbuckle his shield and lean it against the chair.
Once seated, he again looks down the length of the table. Zhuang... Gastidem.
Of course they would sit at opposite ends.
Honus remains quiet as Mexus speaks, , slowly nodding in agreement to each and every one of the Lord's conveyances. Upon his asking if any members of the Temple have questions, Honus cranes his head to gain view of each end of the table a third time. Zhuang...... then Gastidem.
Conversation dies down as Mexus begins to speak, all eyes fixed on him, brows raised, eager to learn more about their visitors. Aside from the occasional and accidental clink of empty glass on plate, Mexus has complete silence and their attention.
He speaks, and everybody listens in respectful silence, except for several snorts that erupt when Mexus addresses Pulao as 'Sir'. When the tiefling winds down his speech, the residents of the temple all glance at each other, until eyes finally slide over to Zhuang.
His face is grave, but he remains otherwise impassive. "You bring interesting news, Lord Mexus. The Temple belongs to your Society?"
A babble of consternation arises from all around the temple as Zhuang says these words. He waits patiently for it to die down.
"We are spiritual people, devotees of Korada. We know nothing of such legal matters. I would advise you bring these matters to our leader, Dakang. He is wise beyond measure, powerful in faith, and the one to whom you should address these matters."
This pronouncement is met with many nods.
Di speaks up, voice firm. "Regardless, you are welcome to explore the temple in order to bring word of Korada back to your Society. There are a few areas that Dakang has decreed are off limits, but beside those, we would be happy to share with you Korada's teachings and the beauty of his temple."
Again more nods. Di stands and calls out, "Let Korada provide!", and the dishes on the table are suddenly covered with nuts, berries, fruits and juices, sufficient to feed all present and more.
The worshipers immediately begin serving themselves, except for Pulao, who waits patiently as Di serves three plates and hands them to him. He balances them carefully, and then quickly departs deeper into the temple.
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Fahim’s beady eyes begin to glisten at the sight of food, his gluttonous nature momentarily overwhelming him as he tastes each of the nuts, berries, fruits and juices in turn, savoring the flavor of each.
to resist being sickened by the ashen taste of the food.
to pretend that food tastes like a wonderful meal, as opposed to its sickening truth.
By Sarenrae’s bossom, this meal is foul! Why do they not act like they are eating week old camel droppings? Maybe it has to with their faith, or my lack of same? Still, best not to offend them by telling them that I’d rather eat a thousand desert scorpions than one more grape.
“Praise Korada indeed for such a wonderful meal. Though I am far from home, I feel as if I am with family. I have only seen a fraction of this beautiful temple and I am already sorely tempted to make my visit a long one. Still, much of the temple remains to be seen, and I am sure we have many questions for each other as well. Please forgive my ill manners in eating before answering your questions. I know my friends will not make the same mistake I did by eating before we talk.”
Fahim pauses in his speech to give an apologetic smile and shoulder shrug. How to best get information from these people without giving away too much about ourselves? And what of these forbidden areas and remaining members of the Temple? Things appear serene here, but the missing finger tips, food tasting like ash, and Pulao’s father’s absence has me suspecting that things are not as tranquil as they appear.
“Yes, there is no reason we cannot get our fill of knowledge as well as food. After all, a man crossing the Sea of Fire cannot do so with provisions alone. Please tell us more about your Temple and its members. In return, I would be happy to tell you more about ourselves, although dear Mexus has already given you most of our story."
to hide the reflexive glare Fahim gives Mexus.
‘Lawfully acquired’ my fat ass. Leave it to a Taladorian to talk to peasants of politics. We should have just conquered Talador and been done with it. These people were happy to let us ‘learn’ about Korada without any cajoling. Now at least Zhuang has a hint as to the complexities of our visit, and will alert this ‘Dakang, the finger slicer,’ to our ulterior motives. Still, no trade worth making goes as expected. This may still get us to where we need to go, if not the way I was planning, or without leaving a sour taste in my mouth.
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Navarion's lengthy and single-breathed explanation of their presence causes Honus to momentarily forget about the meal in front of him. It is not until reminded by Fahim that he reaches to fix himself a modest if not scant portion. One should never begin an adventure on an empty stomach, and he made sure to eat a hearty and filling breakfast.
I'm not hungry, and I'm not sure if magicked foods will disagree with the meal I had earlier. I'll manage at least a few bites. Good that Fahim mentioned manners; I can wait to begin, then eat slowly and maybe no one will take note.
As he selects from the lighter fare within arm's reach, Honus finally notices the unusual table top.
Ah-ha. I see now why Fahim gave the table so much attention. Not good that I completely missed it until now. I need to be more aware of my surroundings if I'm to help protect our group. What are all these images? It looks like a history of some kind. Religious? Maybe it will explain these unfortunate people's lack of finger tips! I'd dread having to ask if I can't figure it out myself.
Only when appropriate, and necessary, will he eventually have a few morsels.
Zhuang settles into an uneasy silence as Di begins to speak, his brow gently furrowed, his gaze lifting from his plate on occasion to study Mexus before lowering once more.
Di, however, is happy to answer Fahim's questions, and expounds upon the the temple and its residents.
"This is a quiet community, devout, and utterly committed to the worship of Korada. We've all heard of the chaos and evil that walks the world, but we're proud to say that in this little enclave you'll only find love, devotion, and an adherence to the highest of Korada's ideals..."
Much nodding of heads.
"We're fortunate to be led by Dakang, a chosen prophet of Korada and inspiration to us all. He's so holy he doesn't need to eat, and we think he's actually an immortal. At the very least, he was here when the eldest of us arrived years ago, and even the followers who were here then spoke of his predating them. He's personally served by three aasimars, holy beyond holy. They're beautiful and we're all a little in awe of them, though they obviously don't mix with us regular worshippers much."
She then introduces everybody at the table, starting with the halfling family led by the missing patriarch Wei, his wife Liso, and their three kids, Tamtei, Xifen, and the youngest, Pulao.
There are two other human inhabitants, Hamada and Ziya, as well as herself and Zhuang. Each recounts a tale of wandering through magic portals, slipping into demi-planes by accident, or setting out on pilgrimages for Korada, all of which brought them here over the years, to be welcomed by Dakang.
Di then relates that they spend their time gardening, in contemplation, prayer, and meditation. They attend a sermon of Dakang's once a day in the chapel - the next which is to occur after this lunch - and then have a few hours each afternoon to engage in private pursuits.
Zhuang speaks up at the end of her explanations.
"What of you four? Could you tell us your personal beliefs? Pulao says you are not adherents of Korada, so to which god or goddess do you devote yourself?
You are sickened by the food for one minute:
Sickened
The character takes a –2 penalty on all attack rolls, weapon damage rolls, saving throws, skill checks, and ability checks.
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Navarion considers an answer for a moment, and the tip of his tail twitches to and fro, while the main body of the appendage remains wrapped about his waste.
What a wonderfully laid trap, I wonder if it was set intentionally, or by happenstance. Either way, we will test whether these followers are as open and loving as they claim to be …
When no one else answers immediately, Navarion responds in an even, guarded tone, ”I have not devoted myself to any particular deity. I suppose that probably stems from the negative interactions that I had with many religious adherents during my first few decades of life. Since my soul is not nearly as black as most assume my heritage makes it, I had no interest in associating with those that readily accepted me. And those of gentler and morally upstanding stock viewed me with sufficient suspicion as to make it impossible for me to ever feel truly accepted. If truly pressed on the matter, I might find myself aligned with Nethys. But if that was the case, I think it would be more because I fit less with other bodies of worship than because I truly identified myself as one of his followers. It may not be an answer that you prefer, Sir Zhuang, but at the very least it is an honest one.”
With that, Navarion steeples his fingers before him, as he anticipates some sort of retort.
Pulao returns as Mexus speaks, hands empty, and quickly scoots onto the bench by his side, eyes wide as he listens to the tiefling speak.
All listen with grave attention, their gaze clearly lingering on Mexus' distinctive appearance, but before anybody can speak, Pulao pipes up.
"Was your mother a demon? Is that why you have horns?"
There's a collective sigh of relief as Navarion answers civilly, and that in and of itself seems to reassure the others as to his quality. People visibly relax, and Pulao's two brothers even grin briefly before their mother shushes one and tweaks the other's ear.
Zhuang speaks, voice sober and reflective. "Chance, fate, or your own free will have brought you to our temple. You claim no strong attachment to a god. We will not seek to convert you to Korada's worship, but know that if you wish to learn more about his ways, we are happy to teach you. He is the god of foresight, forgiveness, and peace, and welcomes all errant travelers into his fold. Further, he claims Magic as one of his domains, and thus may be of more personal interest to you." Zhuang hesitates, then shrugs, as if relinquishing the desire to continue further.
His old face cracks into a smile. "Regardless, you are welcome here, Lord Navarion, for as long as you choose to stay."
Pulao, meanwhile, has been staring at Mexus with something that might be called equal parts fascination and awe.
Zhuang looks over at the other travelers, awaiting their answers.
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Until now, very little has been revealed by any of his companions, and so Honus takes the opportunity to listen carefully on the Tiefling's words. He feels that knowing their histories and gaining insight into their personalities will not only help to understand how each member of the group may act in future circumstances, but will hopefully aid in increasing their bonds on a more personal level.
When Pualo posts such bold questions, Honus tenses along with the rest, only to find himself nodding in respect as Mexus diffuses the tension so well with such simple affirmation.
He turns his attention to Zhuang's welcoming words, then follows the prompt of silence.
"My father was a Chaplain of Iomedae, and my uncle a Paladin."
He pauses to watch Zhuang's reaction to the word.
"Obviously, I was brought up to find faith in her Acts, but beyond that, I do identify with the core beliefs that she stands for."
At this, Honus realizes that he has the full attention of the entire table. Instantly, the free flow of words he typically finds when expressing admiration for his chosen deity reduces to less than a trickle. Instinct kicks in and he fills his empty mouth with the bit of food on his plate. A small handful of almonds.
His eye grow and his throat constricts. He chokes a moment and quickly covers his mouth.
Vile!! And it's too much to swallow whole! Everyone is looking...
Indeed there are an increasing number of concerned faces. Honus raises his hand to make it known that he is okay and just needs a moment to chew and swallow, but pale skin and sweat on his brow boasts a severe lack of comfort.
He begins crunching down. Each nut shatters into several dry slivers, only causing the repulsive flavors of ash and rot to spread and worsen. He eyes his cup on the table, but fears the liquid will taste of bile or burn his throat.
He continues crunching.
Why did I choose the almonds!? Okay. Enough. Swallow!
It takes two attempts to force the the dry paste down, and he must use his tongue to wipe away the few remaining bits stuck to the insides of his teeth, but the worst seems over. Meeting briefly with a few of the wary stares, he forces a grin and rasps a few more words.
"As... (*hack*) As I was saying. I am a firm believer in the Acts, and the co... (*cough*) Core beliefs of honor and valor..."
He chokes on the final word, unable to continue further, other than croaking a "Thank you." Trembling and afraid to look anyone in the eye, Honus stares at the table, dabs the sweat from his face with a napkin, and wishes for the world to end.
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Fahim steps into the conversational void created by Honus' abrupt conclusion.
"As you can see, religion strike closer to home for some rather than others. Our dear friend Honus is so touched by his faith that he becomes overwhelmed with emotion at the discussion of it. I wish I had his same level of devotion, faith, and compassion."
Fahim pauses for a moment to smile and look endearingly on Honus, trying to cast his choking fit as anything other than the reaction to the ashes Fahim knows all too well. Fahim has not realized yet his teeth are covered in that very same ash.
"I myself cannot claim such worship. I have been to many lands, and seen many religions, but I have not truly connected with any of them. Still, I do not give up hope to one day find a religion that is right for me. It is this yearning for acceptance, for belonging, that interested me in this very journey. When I had heard there was a chance to visit a Temple dedicated to Korada, how could I pass up such an opportunity?"
Fahim reflexively smiles, yet again, displaying his mildly ash stained teeth. A second later he realizes what he is doing and shifts to a closed lipped smile that gets lost in his beard.
Curse whatever trickery has spoiled this food. Regardless, now to lure them in to giving us a tour with the temptation at making another convert. Despite what Zhuang says, I have yet to meet a zealot who is not eager to increase his flock.
"I love a meal as much as the next person, but my appetite for knowledge and learning far outweighs my physical appetite. Once we are done with introductions, I would be honored if we could be given a tour of this unparalleled temple."
Fahim's face then twitches as he wants to smile wide, and forces a lesser, closed mouth smile once again.
Honus speaks, beginning with forthright simplicity, and indeed all eyes do turn upon the taciturn fighter, his impressive physical presence undercut but his polite manners and careful gaze. Yet when he tastes the almonds and begins to cough, eyes widening with alarm, Liso the halfling mother stands, a cup of water in hand, ready to offer it until Honus raises his hand and gestures that all is well.
Zhuang, as far as Honus can tell, does not react to the mention of the paladin uncle. His only expression is concern over Honus' choking.
Fahim steps adroitly into the subsequent silence, a pause wherein the locals glance at each other, unsure as to whether to prompt Honus to continue, but Fahim's eloquence as usual carries the moment along.
Zhuang nods his head. "I would be honored to show you the grounds, or that part of which you are permitted to enter. Let me forestall your curiosity: you will not be permitted to enter Dakang's and the aasimar's private chambers, and out of respect we ask that you do not enter the crypt or the statuary hallway that leads to it. The rest of the grounds, from the library to the chapel to the gardens are open for you to explore."
That said, he turns to Alahazra, who has up until this time remained silent, listening as attentively as the locals, learning about her partners as much as she can.
The tall, dark skinned beauty was watching Honus with concern, but notices Zhuang's gaze and takes a deep breath. She places both hands on the table, palms flat, and as if preparing for conflict turns to the head of the table, her milky white eyes steady and enigmatic. Her voice, when she speaks, his husky, mesmerizing, her flow of words not as energetic as Fahim's, but trained and mellifluous, captivating and practiced.
"I was born the small Rahadoumi town east of Manaket, one of the many way stations on the caravan route known as the Path of Salt, which leads from Azir all the way to distant Sothis and takes its name from the waves of the Inner Sea and the dried tears of the slave chains that march along it."
All eyes are upon her, the halfling children gaping, the adults leaning forward as they pay close attention.
"As the daughter of a wealthy and widowed wainwright, I wanted for nothing, growing up with the best tutors money could buy, all the time being groomed for a potentially lucrative marriage, or perhaps even induction into the Occularium, Manaket's prestigious wizard's college.
"All of that changed on the morning when I awoke to find myself suddenly and inexplicably blind. Beside himself with grief, my father called in the best healers to be found in that godless land, only to discover that the situation was worse than he could have imagined. For when the bards with the healing touch reached out to me, they were suddenly cast back by a blast of flames that burned my sickbed but left me magically unharmed."
Alahazra pauses, allowing that image to sink in. The room is silent. Nobody is eating, nor lifting their glasses to their lips. All watch and listen, spellbound.
"Yet even this might have been bearable, had the fleeing bards not revealed the rest of their discovery: that the my flames bore no hint of sorcery or arcana. Though my staunchly atheist father could scarcely believe it, his proper Rahadoumi household harbored a burgeoning cleric."
Her smile here is bitter, revealing depths of an old pain whose edges have not yet smoothed over. She glances down with her blind eyes, then looks up once more.
"I protested my innocence loud and long, but to no avail. Sickened by what he saw as a betrayal of both his trust and his national pride, my father did me a final kindness and cast me out with no more than the clothes on my back, instructing me to run before the Pure Legion arrived to take me into custody—and let my 'gods' be my new family, for I no longer had one in Rahadoum."
Liso and the human woman Ziya gasp, and Zhuang's brow furrows. Pulao goes to ask a question, but his brother tugs on his arm and silences him.
"Suffice to say I survived. My powers ultimately bought me safe passage across the burning desert sands, though I was forced many times to make my peace with what I thought was my imminent death. Was it the gods that saved me? If so, which one? I cannot say. I am Rahadoumi, raised to believe in no god, yet how can I deny the power that courses through me?"
At this Alahazra raises a hand, and golden flames flicker over her fingers, sending a brief wash of warmth over those seated by her side.
Her smile returns, its bitterness tempered by a bemused acceptance. "You ask which god I follow, and I tell you that I have never bowed nor venerated any. Regardless, I have come to respect a wide variety of deities, whom I see as powerful and strategic allies. They have chosen me for reasons I cannot discern. I shall carry this burden, their gift, but I shall not bend knee."
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Honus forgets the queasiness in his stomach as Alahazra shares her story.
Such tragedy--that poor woman. She joins our crusade because she has nowhere else to turn, and no one close to her. No. No, that can't be true. She must have found friendship in her travels since. And perhaps love. But nothing lasting, otherwise why would she be here? Maybe I can... she might... No, those thoughts are selfish! We as a group need to support her and befriend her. That is the honorable thing, and from honor we will all find prosperity, together.
The table seems stricken with silence by Alahazra's tale of woe, survival, and defiance. Zhuang, as well, sits in quiet contemplation.
Perhaps this is another of his queues. I should say something. Now is the perfect opportunity for us to excuse ourselves to see more of the Temple. And get away from... Ugh! The food!
His remembrance of the taste causes the sickness in his belly to resurge. Honus attempts to hide his discomfort, compliment their hosts, and make for a graceful exit.
"What a nice lunch! Perhaps a walk through the Temple grounds will help us digest? Yes? Anyone?"
Honus' strangled exclamation draws eyes as he breaks the silence, his forced gaiety at odds with his hoarse voice and the sweat that beads his ashen brow.
Still, Zhuang rises to his feet, though whether due to courtesy or having actually finished his meal is hard to say.
"Of course. I would be delighted to show you around. We still have a little time before Dakang begins his sermon in the chapel, so why don't we visit the meditation room? That is where I spend most of my time."
His words break the spell, and immediately people begin rising to their feet, chattering and whispering to each other, clearly excited by the prospect of having visitors for a few days. Pulao hovers close to Mexus before being hauled away by the ear by his mother, who sends him back outside to finish his task of raking the courtyard.
Gastidem sidles up to Fahim and sketches a nimble bow, eyes gleaming, and then leans in conspiratorially. "I would be most delighted to entertain you all in the garden, where I have a most marvelous device that can test your faith. Please! Do not hesitate to visit me. Few are the opportunities to reckon your adherence to your principles against the absolute certainty of an impartial judge!"
Di sets about arranging the left over food into containers, and soon the other acolytes have dispersed into the depths of the temple.
Zhuang waits by the door that leads back into the entrance hall, hands linked behind his back, eyebrows raised, a polite expression of patience on his face.
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Honus pushes away from the table, so eager to leave the room that he forgets that his shield was leaning against the back of his chair. It tips and hangs for a moment on edge before gravity takes hold and smacks the slab of wood flat against the stone floor with a THUD! He winces as it does, as if it had landed on a bare toe, but keeps his momentum by scooping it up and making for the door.
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When Honus distracts the group momentarily by knocking over his shield, Fahim quickly takes a drink from his personal water skin to wash out his mouth and remove the sacrilegious traces of ash from his teeth. Once clean, he places his water skin bag in his pack just as Gastidem slides up to him.
"I would be most delighted to entertain you all in the garden, where I have a most marvelous device that can test your faith. Please! Do not hesitate to visit me. Few are the opportunities to reckon your adherence to your principles against the absolute certainty of an impartial judge!"
“Such a device sounds marvelous, and may be the very thing for a wandering soul like myself. However, I think it would be prudent to prepare myself before undergoing such an important test of faith. After all, did not the fabled Abdula spend a thousand breaths contemplating his journey before answering the Fire Eyed Satraps’ question asking why he was worthy to marry his daughter? I think it would be best for me to visit the meditation room first and partake of its insights before being tested in the gardens.”
Fahim smiles at Gastidem, now with freshly cleaned teeth, to show that no offense is meant by choosing the mediation room over the garden. Fahim then turns to Zhuang, who is patiently waiting by the door.
“If you would be so kind, perhaps you, or one of the others in the temple, would be willing to show me to the meditation room?”
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Honus stands patiently beside Zhuang at the door. He would lead himself through if not for the fear of seeming rude. Instead he just stands. Patiently. Very patiently.
Is Zhuang waiting for me? Maybe he's waiting on Mexus, but that Pulao boy is swarming about him again. Ah, there... sent off to do chores. Maybe now we can get to the meditation room. Hrm, no. Gastidem has engaged Fahim, and now Alahazra is being delayed by the women. It sounds like they are offering kind words regarding her story. I should have thought to do that, but too late for it now. Zhuang is being so quiet! Should I make conversation while we stand here? Maybe this is my opportunity to ask about Bewei. No, here comes Mexus, so too late for that as well. I'll just wait until he leads us to the meditation room. Just standing here. Quietly.
Patiently.
Zhuang coughs politely into his hand, and then leads the way briskly along the pale stone corridor. There is a turn, making of the corridor an 'L' shaped hall, and just after the elbow is the entrance to the meditation room.
The meditation room is a lofty, open space. The stone walls are carved with several figures in various meditative poses. A few large mats cover the stone floor. The only other furnishing is a rack containing a few wooden staves and several stacked glass spheres, each no bigger than a plum.
"This is one of the more popular rooms in the temple," says Zhuang, moving into the room's center and turning to the others. "As you can see, the means to meditate are simple but effective. Light stretching, sitting in lotus position, and spinning three glass spheres in your hand. You complete the meditation with a short mantra to Korada, and benefit from the mental exercise for the rest of the day."
He hesitates, then smiles politely. "If you like, I could lead you through a sample session? It takes only about fifteen minutes."
Following the exploration of the temple, the group returns to the portals that take them back to Absalom, and present their results to the Society. Pleased with their success, they are given a new quest, one which takes them far from home, and close to the coast of Taldor. After weeks of travel, they finally draw close to their destination.
The rain lets up for a little, yet its cold sourness remains and the overcast sky shows no effort towards cheering the mood. When Osprey assigned you this venture to Taldor’s wine country, he said the region was pleasant. As usual, his words were misleading. The coast was pleasant, the mires surrounding the Railford Distillery are not.
“This mission is easy,” he said, “All you need to do is travel to Railford, find the son of Iodon Railford and convince him to let the Pathfinders use part of his distillery as a lodge. We have finances, we can protect him, and if nothing else, we can help him honor the work of his father, who after all, was one of us.”
The path to Railford is hardly an easy one to follow, especially after the spring thaw waters turn the thick clay soil to slough. Only a few crudely scarred trees denote the secluded route as it winds through the syrupy mire of flooded vineyards and vague remnants of rotten trellis with grapevines choked out by pervasive briars and heavy blankets of peat.
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Mexus considers for a moment while he surveys the shoddy “path” before the party, his tail flicking in silent contempt …
Upon our return, I must remember to send Lord Railford a strongly worded letter concerning the inadequacy of the footpaths in this part of his vineyards … no matter, a bit of mud is nothing a few good cantrips can’t remove … I should probably say a few rousing words to set the others at ease and boost morale, as this bit of the journey looks to offer an unpleasant march with litter excitement or reward to offset the grinding slog … that is unless there’s some blood bush or wither weed that’s growing in this fallow vineyard. I think I saw fresh blood bush blooms selling for twenty five gold apiece back in Absolom. I wish I could remember more about them beyond the fact that they were red. I wonder if the rest of the plant looks anything like grapevine? I really must remember to pay more attention the next time that botanomancer stops by the society meeting hall to give one of his agonizingly boring lectures about what rare plant variety he’s discovered boosts the potency of whichever spell … I feel tired just thinking about him … anyhow, onto Railford … oh yes, rousing words to boost morale!
After a few moments of careful consideration, Mexus steps forward, sloshing into an ankle-deep pool of muddy water and slick silt. He then carefully turns about to face the group, his tail arching out behind him and flicking slightly to provide balance, and wide fanged smile spreads across his face. ”My boon companions, mind not the mucky march ahead, nor the sodden drudgery that will accompany it, for before long we will deliver the Society’s message to Lord Railford and convince him cede the Society his distillery. And by tomorrow evening, we may be on our way back to Absolom to claim coin and acclaim for another deed well done. The reputation of Lord Navarion’s company will swell within the Society and we shall all share in the bounty of our success!” With that Mexus turns about and begins marching in the direction of the distillery.
That should keep their spirits up … nicely done, Mexus. Nicely done indeed!
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Lord Navarion's Company? Is that what we're known as to the Society? He carries himself well enough, so maybe it's appropriate. I wish had his confidence.
I wish I had dry socks, too.
Honus Gisborne harrumphs in self-pity. He looks down upon his boots where the thick leather is typically bound by long cords, but the weeks-long trudge has caused them strain and break. Once the group descended into the muddy territory is when the damage started. The sludge would envelope his boots with every step and pry at the leather when he lifted them, stressing the laces until they gave way. He removed and knotted the laces together again, but the reduced length meant they couldn't be tied as high, allowing them to flare open at the tops. Now the thick mud base grabs at his heels while the thin top layer splashes up and soaks into his socks.
At least it shouldn't be much further. That looks like the Southern Range rising in the distance. These paths have become so overgrown, I wish we could have gotten a map before setting off. And horses. Horses would have kept my feet dry. And better rations. I swear, the Society provides less and less with each mission. So many explorers have met their ends, but how many could have been avoided with more ample supplies?
Honus shakes his head and slogs onward.
For the first few weeks, Alahazra gamely insisted on wearing her august regalia. Though the hem of her ornate white robe with geometric crimson trim grew dusty and ragged, and at night she could be caught massaging her neck by the fire from where her impressive headpiece had worn her down, she never complained, or exhibited less than a haughty elegance.
Still, the bog and mire of the past few days have finally proven her match. After a day of dragging her soaked robes through the silty mud of the path, with dun and umber hues creeping up her white silks until she looked bedraggled and miserable, she has finally exchanged her robes of state for a practical outfit of ivory white complimented with a hooded burgundy cape. The eggshell colored leggings cling damply to her muscled thighs, and her blank, silver eyes gaze balefully out at the never ending mist of rain that seems almost to hover as much as fall through the dark skies.
She uses her staff much as a gondolier might use a pole to advance their craft, sinking it into the muck ahead of her before grimly advancing another few steps. As Lord Navarrion offers his inspirational words, she comes to a stop and stares at his back.
"So you're claiming the leadership of this sorry band, Mexus?" Her voice is grave. It's hard to tell if she's asking seriously or simply being sarcastic.
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Honus comes to a stop behind Alahazra and glances back toward Fahim. Fahim has been trailing the group for days due to stomach illness, but has managed to push onward so as not to delay their meeting with Railford. Per his request, though, they have stayed ahead by a number of paces to allow him what he called breathing room. Though lingering at a distance, he appears to be within earshot, but not yet in a state to respond to the circumstances.
Honus turns his focus toward Mexus, interested on how he will respond, but Alahazra's words finally strike him. He squares his stance on the priestess and plants his hands on his hips.
"Hey, what do you mean by 'sorry'? We did fairly well at the Temple of Enlightenment. I mean, yes, I may have choked on the food they provided, and then accidentally dropped one of Zhuang's meditation spheres, and then struggled to convince him to return with us... but we did reveal Dakang and uncovered the mysteries of the Temple, and we provided the Society with pages of detailed notes as instructed. All in all, not bad for our first mission together!"
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”Fresh from the nets” my fat ass. If I see that fishmonger again, I’ll feed him a drink so foul that even Barbas, the djinn of equivocal blessings, could not match it in cure or curse. Still, I added enough thrice blessed cumin that even the foulest of cod should not have been dangerous. I wonder if my other divine spices were affected by my travels to Temple of Empyreal Enlightenment?
Fahim curses again, for the hundredth time, as he stumbles in the muck of the "road," though the group has heard him use far more colorful terms to describe the path they have been following. The travel has not been kind to him, impairing his constitution and comeliness. His kaftan is stained various shades of brown, with the reddish clay-brown hues at the bottom transitioning to simple dirty gray hues at the top. These drab colors are only broken by the splotches of bright reds, yellows, and greens from the various potions Fahim has drunk and tried to keep down in an attempt to combat his stomach illness. His beard has faired little better than his kaftan. Most notably of all, Fahim has not flashed his overwide grin for days.
Fahim grumbles to himself, which is loud enough for the group to hear,
"'Not bad.' Ha. That is our claim to fame. A fat alchemist who cannot prepare his own meals, a prophet who is too good for the company she keeps, and a warrior who has two left feet. All lead by the Lord of contracts, who never met a sentence he couldn't convolute. 'Sorry' doesn't begin to describe us."
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As Navarion glances back over his shoulder towards the group behind, his tail flicks contemptuously at Fahimn’s jibe, but he doesn’t give any other outward acknowledgement of the statement. He pauses his careful gate as he comes to rest on a small muddy mound between two shallow pools in the ‘road,’ and he fully turns to address the party.
”I think you have the right of it, Sir Gisborne. There will always be challenges set before us, and it will be a rare night in which we fall asleep believing that we could not have done better in some task the previous day. But as our journeys continue, our self-confidence will continue to grow, and our trust in each other will be further cultivated, and our faith in our abilities as a team will mature. I believe that we have the potential to become a very proficient, formidable, accomplished, and perhaps even famous company within the Pathfinder Society. But if we are to fulfill that potential, then we must also accept that the path we have chosen,” here Navarion sweeps his up-turned palms before him, indicating the muddy rut through which they trod, ”… is not an easy, or clean, or, in this case, even discernible one. But if we continue to further our talents and work together, then one night we may be sitting together at a grand table, enjoying a sumptuous feast in some splendid manse, or caravan tent, or personal demi-plane, as we laugh about what an awful trek across the worst vineyard in all of Taldor we chose to take at Osprey’s behest, and how that journey brought us one step closer to gaining our wealth, and glory, and fame. So, is this a ‘sorry’ band of Pathfinders? Only time will tell, but I think that we have the potential to be much, much more. The choice is ours. And while this particular leg of this particular journey is far from delightful, there is adventure to be had, and knowledge to be gained if you are each willing to search for it.”
Navarion’s gaze then focuses specifically on the blind prophet. ”As for the issue of leadership, we are each sufficiently strong willed as to follow whomever and whatever we choose. I believe that if one’s actions inspire others to dream more, learn more, do more, and become more, then they are a leader. We would be blessed to have more than one such individual within this company.”
A wide fanged smile spreads across Navarion’s face as he asks, “Now, shall we continue this epic adventure through mud and rain, or is there more discomfort and discontent to dispel?”
I hope these words do the trick, I’m not sure how much more hand-holding I can stomach in these dreadful conditions … but what choice do I have? I’m not sure I’ll be able to return to Absalom unscathed if I have to do this alone …
Alahazra listens with an impassive mien as her companions speak, turning her blind gaze upon each and not giving any indication of her emotions. Her beautiful, stark features seem almost carved from ebony, the rain running down her harsh cheekbones and catching in her eyelashes like tears.
Finally she sighs. It's a surprisingly human sound from the otherwise always rigidly stoic and controlled young woman. She lifts her face to the clouded heavens, and then wipes away the rain and pulls her hood further out over her face.
"Fair enough, and fairly spoken." She straightens her back, adjusting the straps that dig into her shoulders, and firms her grip on her staff. She turns in that eerie way she has to look at where Honus stands, and gives him a rare and wry smile. "Perhaps we are not a sorry band. If so, than we are but a few notches above that status. Arriving at our destination and accomplishing our goal will see us continue in that ascent."
She looks up the path at where Mexus stands, and her smile smooths away. It isn't a cold look that she gives him, but rather her familiar reserved expression. "Lead on, Lord Mexus. Greatness and glory awaits."
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Navarion’s demeanor shifts from his playful fanged grin to a neutral façade of concern and consideration as Alahazra speaks. As she finishes her statement, Mexus turns and resumes the march toward what he can only hope will be a warm fire and some kind of spiced meat that passes for edible.
Alright, at least I’ve won a begrudging modicum of respect from the oracle. Her minimal support tips the balance in my favor … I can tolerate the despondent blubbering of the alchemist as long as the other two aren’t despairing over this blasted mire of a path … if only I had the knowledge to take us through the city of doors, we wouldn’t have to make this arduous march … there’s no point in focusing on what I don’t know though, I just have to keep alert and hope that I’m not marching us into some sort of an ambush …
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Honus opens his mouth, at first a stammer and then with intent to retort to Fahim's jabs, but Mexus beats him to the punch.
Iomedae! I cannot believe he would say such things! I thought Fahim and I had grown closer over the past weeks and he might consider me as a good friend rather than just a bumbling protector. Well, I will honor my oath of service, but will refrain from any attempt to strengthen our bonds. Hrm... But no, maybe this is not the Fahim I have come to know. He has been ill after all, and illness, especially in this weather, would sour any man's demeanor. I must turn the other cheek. Of course, turning in only one direction should be easy for a man with two left feet!
Honus gives himself the tiniest of smiles.
Besides, I am not typically clumsy...
But his smile fades, not unlike the bright colors which have disappeared from Fahim's now brown and gray garb.
I just have poor luck sometimes.
Yet, as Mexus finishes his rousing speech, Honus subconsciously straightens his back and lifts his chin. The bolster in confidence floats his feet to the surface of the mud and he is set to resume their march, but it is Alahazra that closes this chapter. Her final words may not be harsh, but they are bleak and cold, akin to vineyards in which they travel.
Honus feels the slush between his toes and slumps his shoulders as he glances at his laces. He shifts his weight and the steel of his sword slaps at his leg. The wooden shield hefted upon his back is a constant reminder of the burden he bares, protecting his companions and redeeming his family.
Mexus leads on and the group pushes forward. Honus keeps his head down, but occasionally peers over his shoulder to ensure that Fahim does not fall too far behind. The conflict actually seems to have brought a rosiness to the big man's cheeks, and he is not clutching at his belly, so perhaps some good came from this short conflict after all.
I am exhausted. Physically and emotionally. I hope we arrive at the distillery soon.
Becher fled Railford in his youth, and for years served as a soldier in the Emperor’s Phalanx, which is where your friend met him. Later, he returned home to find his father sick and infirm from the ailments of age and the business close to ruin. Becher brought in a handful of his army buddies (your friend being one of them) to try to rebuild the winery but his aid arrived too late. A change in the path of a nearby river caused frequent flooding, turning much of the property to swampland. Following the death of Iadon, the distillery opened as planned, turning just enough of a profit to sustain itself and keep the small town running. Your friend left shortly thereafter, and you know nothing of what might have happened since.
The path wends its way past field after field of swampen vineland, the marsh having caused old trees allowed to grow along the boundaries to sicken and rot.
The rain starts again and all darkens. The creepers and overgrowth do little to help the situation, blocking some of the rain but casting strange twisting shadows. Markers become more difficult to see.
It's hard work pulling each boot from the sucking mud, and progress is slow. Squelching along, it's all too easy to simply march with heads bowed, eyes focused on the next few feet of mud.
Man #1 DC18
Man #2 DC18
Dog #1 DC28
Dog #2 DC28
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Stopping so abruptly that he nearly loses balance, Honus drops his sword hand to his waist, fingers wiggling at the ready, and cups his other hand to the side of his mouth. His words escape with caution, moving quickly but crouching low as they make their way through the rain to reach Alahazra and Mexus, and hopefully stopping there.
"Wait! Campsite ahead. Fall back to me."
He swings his shield from his back and thrusts an arm through the straps. Glancing back to Fahim, he also confirms that no one is creeping up from behind. Once his defenses are raised, he slowly draws his steel.
Assuming the others retreat to his side, he reduces his voice to a whisper and gestures with a bump motion of his blade.
"Just ahead, there. Two men. Two dogs. Probably no threat, but best to be safe"
Peering ahead, the rest can indeed make out the flickering dance of a fire, burning low to the left of the path, which slopes down from the slight rise on which they stand to curve around where the camp has been established and begin a gradual ascent to a large hill in the near distance.
Beyond that, however, the others cannot make out any details.
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Mexus looks back to Sir Gisborne with a raised eyebrow as the warning is exclaimed, and then, with a flick of his tail, he peers quizzically ahead until he makes out the camp. Turning once again to face the party reveals Mexus to be wearing a relaxed expression with a lazy smile.
”Sir Gisborne, your care for our safety is admirable, but I’m not sure there is cause for alarm just yet. Those are most likely local hunters, and they may even be willing to share a portion of their quarry with us in exchange for some coins. I know that I would enjoy a warm meal in my belly, and maybe some mulled wine to stave off this accursed damp. What say you? Shall we approach as friends and ask to share their fire?”