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The olhirot's eyes lit up as they landed upon the blade. Wielding shaarat of the marguul, any ghaal'dar could earn the rank of rhu. No longer would the hobgoblin be a common soldier... "Ta muut, Sora."
As he reached for the blade, the merchantess withdrew the prize. Clicking her tongue, she chastised the warrior. "A fine weapon indeed. Many good trades were made to acquire it, but Esma needs one final trade from you to seal our bargain."
The fire of greed in his eyes dimmed slightly. "What do you need of me, Niianu Batvuuk, Mother of Markets?" The aged trader laughed, "Your words are like shaat'aar to be so sweet, but flattery is only the beginning of your payment. Look to the sky. Do you know what tonight is, gaa'dar?" Raising her hand, both hobgoblins looked towards the sky, the Golden Ring shining amongst the stars. He shook his head. "It is her Wildnight," the crone explained. "And tonight you shall trade me your lasting name."
"Paatcha, but I do not know what you ask." The hobgoblin began to worry that she would take the great blade, the skai shaarat, and his chance to become more than a foot soldier. "Whatever you ask, I will offer."
Waving her hand, the old hobgoblin began to change. Her fur became more vibrant, creases of time removed from her face as her bent back straightened. Now she stood as an example of beauty and youth. "You... you are no maiden, Sora Esma." the warrior stammered. "And you are no lhesh. Tonight, Raunip, you will give me a child..."
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Three of the twelve moons hang full in the clear night sky, casting a soft dull light upon the rocky terrain below. Large stones and worked statues poke through the grass like giant's teeth, a small tent nestled next to a few of the bigger stones. Three figures sit around a dying campfire, sharing a meal. Two of them converse softly in the Goblin tongue, while the more imposing fireside companion sits quietly...
"Five carrots for a lock of elven hair," the old woman reiterates as she slices the vegetables into the stew. "These will make a fine addition to the rats Gorb caught this morning. She prods contents of the bubbling cauldron with what appears to be a long wand of willow. Casting a glance to her other companion, she sees that the conversation is lost again on her stargazing son. "Raunip, where is your mind boy?"
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Sitting on a large stone, feet swinging back and forth, Raunip blinks as he is suddenly brought out of his reverie. "Sorry, Mother." Slowly the young boy gets down from the rock, careful to not put much weight upon his bad leg. The wan boy hobbles over to the large wagon, digging through a variety of trinkets and baubles to produce three mismatched bowls. "I was wondering where the other moons go..."
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As she stirs the stew with the Jorasco wand, "The moons are there. We cannot always see each of them. You cannot see your voice but for winter's chill or under the water, but it is there all the same." The hobgoblin matriarch tastes the stew. "Things are always changing, gaa. A good trade today might be a bad trade on the morrow." She looks to you, the weight of her gaze heavy as she appraises you once more. At last her familiar wry smile plays out. "You are a good trade."
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As you look to your mother, you know she has had many years to learn how to tell a good story. Your prying is short-lived as a stew-covered wand thwacks upon the back of your hand. "Youth, for one! I do not become younger as you grow."
There is a familiar sound from across the fire as Gorb softly chuckles. Not an audible laugh, as you have never heard the bugbear speak, but a low rumbling. The large tawny guul'dar winks at you.
After a few minutes, Sora Esma scoops stew into the three bowls with a cracked minotaur horn. The carrots do enhance the rat stew's flavor, and you wonder if the orc who traded them will find the elf he is tracking. A hot meal enjoyed, you gather the bowls and set about cleaning up for the night. Gorb lays his iron-shod club near the opening of the tent and stretches out upon a once-magnificent tiger's skin. As you ready to lay down upon your own bed, you feel your mother's hand upon your shoulder. "There is a troll's den west where a trade of mutton has been promised. Gorb and I are heading there on the morrow. You must keep north til you reach the walls of Cazhaak Draal. We are close. You must find Zuriel and trade for the alarming stone. You may take three things from the cart not promised to others to trade along the way or in the ruins to get to Zuriel."
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Within the cache are several items, you see Sora Esma'a dusting broom, but doubt she would lend that to your cause. The following trinkets catch your eye:
- Elven boots- these boots belonged to the elf lad that the lock of hair also came from
- A bottle of goblin grog
- Trickster's Deck with 10 cards left (deck of illusions)
- Potion of the cunning fox
- Six adamantine horseshoes
- Broken iron defender
- Crude child's doll sized for (and smelling of) hill giant
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The old merchantess nods, and puts the leather boots, the clay jug, and the large toy into a raggedy sack. She hefts the sack and sets it next to Gorb's club by the tent. "No we rest, gaa. On the morrow your journey begins." With that your mother disappears into the patchwork tent...
Next to the ashes of a campfire, a pale hobgoblin boy sleeps in a pile of dire bear furs. A sack lays within arm's reach. Drawn in charcoal near the fire is a crude map. Ruts in the earth show where a wagon set the night before, but after a few feet the hard packed dirt has little to show for where the wagon went. The thirteen seasons old boy begins to stir as sounds of day life reach him...
You wake to discover that Sora Esma and Gorb are hours gone, taking even the tent around you while you slept. With the coals of the campfire, your mother has given you a rough map showing your location near the stonelands of Chazhaak Draal. A mound at the edge of the ashes reveals a clay container with your breakfast of rat meat baked inside.
You tie your makeshift bedroll up with twine after eating breakfast and preparing yourself. Within the sack you see the items you picked out for trade, as well as one final gift from your mother- a thick brown traveler's cloak.
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The traveler's cloak functions as a Conjurer's Cloak, a tool to allow minor tricks and ensorcelling. The brown cloak allows its wearer continual uses of the prestidigitation and acid splash spells. Once per daybreak the wearer may wrap himself in mage's armor or summon a servant unseen. You wonder if this was something Sora Esma traded for or created, since you have no recollection of seeing it about her cart or person.
You add the cloak of the dusty road to your ensemble, draping it over your shoulders. It matches your hodge-podge look and compliments the other enchanted relics you have traded for over the years- the boots of the lonely traveler you acquired from the golin'dar sneak-thief and the talentan staff that the halfling thunder-lizard tamer gifted to you. Besides your outfit, the only other tool you carry is the border pouch, the item Sora Esma first taught you how to use. Collected and garbed, you now must choose where to begin your journey...
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You begin your trek through the large stones and broken statuary that pepper the landscape. Upon examination, the weathered statues resemble various goblinoids in antiquated attire, though most of the finer details have been lost to age or damage. Several statues show signs of fresh damage as if chunks had been hewn away from their lower halves.
The rubble provides enough cover that you do not see much beyond the next rock grouping. Occasionally in open field you can just glimpse the great mountain to the south, and you try to keep it in your vision to avoid getting lost. When you hear the laughing of a pack of wild hyenas, you climb upon a large flat rock and spend a few hours watching their approach. Difficult to spot behind the tall plains grasses, you do hear several of them sniffing and scratching at the rock you sit upon, but it proves too difficult for them to climb and they lose interest as they hunt other quarry. Their laughter lets you know of their prize long before you see a few members slinking away with hares in their jowls. The circle of predator and prey reminds you of your own hungers and you eat a simple lunch of dried meats and fruits.
Without roads or other landmarks to navigate by, you are not certain quite where to head, even though you maintain a northern path. As the sun lowers you realize you may have to find shelter for the evening and continue to Cazhaak Draal the next day.
Coming upon an area where the terrain is broken and rough, you must rely upon your staff to prod along and avoid holes where the overturned earth hasn't settled. The whinny of a horse nearby breaks the silence- but the sound is cut short quickly. "Swiftfoal! Damn you!" a man's voice calls out in the Galifar Trading tongue. His curse goes unanswered, but then you hear the distinct sound of something metallic- perhaps a weapon.
Perception check.
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Carefully approaching, you see around the next stone a squat olive-skinned lizard larger than a man, scuttling about on eight stunted legs. Its ridged back is to you as it faces off against a man with silver hair and beard. Dressed in greens and browns he swings his greataxe blindly at the creature, his other hand trying to shield his eyes. Closest to you stands a statue of a horse rearing back on its hind legs- its face sculpted into a moment of panic.
Knowledge Arcana and/or Local for more information. Roll initiative.
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The beast is called a basilisk, a creature your mother warned you about because if you lock eyes with a basilisk it can turn you to stone... and then eat you. Sora Esma taught you much of the ways of the world in her stories, and you recall that fresh blood of the creature can restore those it has petrified. She seems to be a solitary attacker, but with the partially eaten statues you have been passing she may have a lair nearby nestled between some of the rocks. Knowing this, you realize many of the statues may be petrified victims instead.
You have a difficult time getting a fix on the man, he is older though not so much as Sora Esma in antiquity. If you had to guess you would say he is probably a Reacher, a northman from the country beyond the mountains.
Thus far you have gone unnoticed. You may jump in to attack the basilisk from behind, or sneak away leaving the human to fend for himself.
Round One: Raunip, Reacher, Basilisk
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A bolt of force flies from Raunip's fingertips, pummeling the basilisk. As it screeches, the Reacher becomes aware of your presence, though he tries not to look your way. "Whoever you are, please help me!" He swings his blade at the basilisk- you can see he has landed a few lucky blows already after being thrown from his horse.
The axe swings heavily, but the basilisk is able to dodge the blow. As she tries to capture the man in her gaze, she snaps down with powerful jaws.
He shouts in pain as the basilisk bites into his leg.
Reacher 23
Basilisk 30
Round Two: Raunip, Reacher, Basilisk
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Raunip's stone bounces off of the basilisk's thick hide, the hit was not powerful enough to injure it.
"Balinor bless you, Raunip! Let us take this beast together." He lowers his hand to aim true, risking the gaze of the creature to do so.
The axe sinks into the basilisk's back, the Reacher grins, but then that grin is frozen as his body swiftly turns to stone. The basilisk roars and turns her body around to face you. Now you can see her eyes burn bright green with an otherworldly glow.
Fortitude Save (though since you move faster you have a chance to shut your eyes).
Reacher 23 HP, stone
Basilisk 20 HP
Round Three: Raunip, Basilisk
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27/50 HP
Tears stream from his closed eyes as blood stains his torn clothes and pale fur. Raunip desperately tries to hit her, knowing he may have to risk her gaze soon if he is to have a chance. He commands the sphere of fire to his other side, knowing it stands a better chance of catching her while she remains so close.
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Although the sling-staff misses the creature again, you hear it shriek as it is caught and consumed by the flames. The smell of crackling hide confirms as the jaws around you go slack. You dare a peek to find the eight-legged basilisk dead before you, smoldering.
If you act quickly, you can gather her blood to save the human and his horse.
535 XP.
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After a few moments the stone form of the Reacher begins to take on the appearance of flesh again. He blinks, then wipes the thick blood from his face. His disgusted look turns to one of relief as he sees you standing before him. "A... white hobgoblin?" He shakes his head for a moment. "Beggin' your pardon. Whoever you are I owe you my life." He takes in the scene of the burnt basilisk and his petrified horse. "We have to hurry if we are to save Swiftfoal. There might be enough of the cure left!" He rushes over to the body of the basilisk and starts to scoop up blood to smear upon the horse.
"Dammit I should have brought the weasel..." He mutters as he sets to his task. With your help it only takes moments to cover the horse. The rancher pushes you aside at the last second, as the horse's front feet fall back to the ground- right where you were standing.
He futilely wipes the excess gore off onto his shirt and extends a hand to you. "Name's Wil d'Vadalis. I am in your debt, friend."
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Wil smiles. "A magewright's trick I never learned." He looks to the setting sun, a frown creases his bearded face. "Raunip, I am afraid that my run-in with the basilisk has put me behind and a bit lost. I am going to try to find her den and rest for the night- her teeth proved quite painful. If you've nowhere to be, please join me for a meal and perhaps I can get to know the goblin who saved me a little better." The hunter takes his horse by a lead and begins to look for tracks upon the broken earth.
After a bit of scouring you hear an "Aha!" and the man points to a cluster of rocks about a hundred paces away.
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Cautiously you all approach the cluster of rocks, which rest upon a large flat shelf of stone raised off the ground. The den is not as much a cave as it is an alcove, fortunately clear of any other basilisks. Wil uses rope to fashion a lead, leaving Swiftfoal just outside of the entrance. Now that he is unpetrified you see that the horse is a magnificent specimen with long strong legs and a brown coat striped in pale green. The horse would blend in perfectly in the forest. Wil takes some of the packs off of the horse setting them into the den. He tries to make things as comfortable as possible, avoiding the spoor of the basilisk and brushing aside chunks of stone.
He opts not to light a fire, but instead lights a small lantern and sets it upon a rock. Turning to face out of the den he sits down and produces a loaf of bread from a small pack. He tears it in half and hands you a portion. "So tell me, Raunip. I might not know this side of the mountains well, but what is a goblin boy doing out here by himself?"
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"Ghaal'dar." Yes Raunip is dar- what you call goblin, but Raunip is ghaal'dar- of the mighty people. Saa'atcha, Wil d'Vadalis. It is an honor to meet you." Raunip sits beside him, his awkwardly bent legs folding as he does so. Raunip takes a bite of the bread. "Raunip is a merchant trader, headed to the stonelands of Cazhaak Draal to make trade."
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"I did not mean to offend, Raunip. I have not had many excursions into this part of Breland. Though I expect that may change soon..." Wil looks out over the rough area near the rocks. "You see all that turned over earth? I would bet my last galifar that a landshark lairs beneath us. We will be safe here, though. The furious beasts cannot tunnel through stone... though it could jump up here I suppose." Wil strokes his silvery beard in contemplation. "Cazhaak Draal, you say? The ruins of the Stone Keepers and Snake Maidens?"
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Wil smiles. "You like stories, do you? Well the critters are called landsharks but their proper name is bulette, they are longer than a horse. They burrow beneath the ground, pushing aside dirt and loose earth with powerful legs. Plates like a man's armor protects them and they have a fin that raises up like that of the shark of the sea, if you have ever been to the sea. It serves to push the dirt away from them as they burrow, but it also is a warning sign. If you see the fin breaking the earth, the bulette has already heard your footsteps on the ground and is coming for you. They leave a tunnel behind them that other underground beasts use, though you can never be too certain that the tunnel is empty." He winks at Raunip. "If only these ears were pointed. Legend has it that they refuse to eat elves for some reason. Much as how our friend the weasel is immune to the eyes of the basilisk and the bite of the cockatrice. If you are heading into a land haunted by creatures that petrify you might want to have one with you." The hunter looks out to the land turned over by bulette passage. "To answer the questions you have not asked, why a lone man is out here in the wilds chasing dangerous landsharks, my House is looking to rear a few of them, see if we can improve their tunneling skills or even train them to accept a rider. By Balinor, I think we can do it."
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Raunip returns the smile. "You tell a good story. Raunip will be careful of the landsharks." He places his hand upon Wil's shoulder, with his left hand he draws an x over his heart as he whispers "khaar'muut." Raunip's pale hand begins to glow white upon Wil's shoulder as the traveler heals the man's wounds.
Raunip then repeats the process, drawing the x and placing his hand over his heart to tend to his own injuries.
42/50 HP
Raunip talks as the white light knits his flesh together. "Cazhaak Draal is an old place, it once belonged to the ghaal'dar when they ruled all lands. The stonelands fell into shadow and were forgotten. Raunip is told that now the ruins are filled with medusae and gargoyles who are claiming the fallen city and reshaping the stone. Those not of stone are rarely permitted, but Raunip is tasked with making a trade with someone named Zuriel, since Mother is trading elsewhere." Raunip points to the sack, "Raunip has trades to make to get to Zuriel."
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The man's wounds completely mend, no sign of the basilisk bites remain, though Raunip notices there are old scars on the hunter from a life of taming beasts.
"You are full of surprises, Master Ghaal'dar." Wil nods in respect. "I have no doubt that you will reach Cazhaak Draal and peddle your wares. I was wrong to assume that a boy would not be able to take care of himself out here. There are hunters who have many winters on you that would have been afraid to take on a basilisk. I will remember you, Raunip, when I return to my home."
As Swiftfoal grazes on the clumps of grass poking through cracks in the stone porch, you and Wil watch the sun set completely. The light of the moons and the ring of Siberys cast a pale gray-amber light upon the land. The sounds of nocturnal hunters fills the night, the sounds Raunip has grown up with. Raunip even hears the far-off laughter of hyenas.
From one of his packs, Wil produces a large net of dark green and brown cloth that resembles leaves or grass. He takes time to stretch the net across most of the entrance, hanging it on jutting rocks and using stones to hold the bottom down. "There is not much I can do for Swiftfoal, but this should help keep prying eyes from peeking in while we sleep. Get some rest, Raunip. I will lookout for a little while as I go over my notes on the landsharks."
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Throughout the night there are rumbling sounds like thunder, but much much closer...
As a new day dawns, a merchant slumbers soundly within a makeshift bed inside a borrowed cave. Colored netting hanging across the entrance is pulled back as a seasoned huntsman enters. The man smiles at the sight of a young hobgoblin tangled in a blanket of bear's fur. Kneeling down, he sets a flat stone beside the bed topped with sliced cactus fruit. Soon the smell of fresh fruit wafts to the dreamer and he begins to stir...
Opening your eyes you see Wil kneeling beside you in a fresh outfit, with cactus pear upon a plate of stone. "Did you hear those sounds during the night, Raunip? The bulette that lairs beneath us made its rounds." From his belt pouch he pulls a small stoppered jar and sets it nearby. "After you have eaten I have another gift for your assistance, but it is best not to investigate it upon an empty stomach."
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Raunip eagerly eats the slices of fruit, curious to see what awaits him. "Raunip heard the rumblings, but thought perhaps a storm was closing in." After a few moments of eating, Raunip rolls up the bear pelt and dresses. Although his natural fur is enough to chase away the morning chill, he dons his new cloak anyways. After he is dressed and ready, he looks to see what Wil has brought.
47/50 HP after resting.
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Floating in wine inside the jar are the bright green eyes of the basilisk. A grisly trophy to be sure. Seeing your reaction Wil chimes in. "I know this is not what you had expected, but these may help you make better trades. Magelore tells that the eyes of the basilisk can be used in powerful spells of warding and divination. The blood only remains viable to use immediately after a basilisk's death, so there was no point collecting more. Without you, myself and my horse would be stone and probably being eaten in this very cave."
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Well preserved as they are, the basilisk eyes can fetch upwards of 80 galifars a piece from a magically inclined buyer. Mages use them in spells like sequester, arcane eye, and flesh to stone.
Wil strokes his beard in thought. "I will head out with you for a little while to help you get on the northward track, but I believe I am going to stay in this den and study the nearby landsharks. If I am going to claim a specimen for my House, I will need to discover their weaknesses and determine a way to transport them."
After half an hour you are ready to depart. Wil walks beside you, leading Swiftfoal. He matches your pace and does not seem to mind the slow speed at all.
Survival check.
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Raunip turns towards the north and sets off, using the talentan staff as a walking stick, carefully navigating the bulette ridges scouring the area. Looking around, Raunip is fairly confident he is headed more towards the right direction on this morning.
"If you capture a landshark, Raunip would like to hear that tale. The path that led Raunip to you was a good one."
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This day you are more certain of your bearings, so you resume your path towards Cazhaak Draal.
Wil tells you about his family, his home in Foalswood in the Eldeen Reaches, and draws back his right sleeve to show you his dragonmark- the magical sigil that gifts those of House Vadalis with powers over nature and beasts. He tells of his aspirations to further his stance in the Handler's Guild by making breakthroughs with the bulettes. He is amiable and pauses to explain any subjects Raunip questions. Time passes quickly in his company, and far too soon he stops Swiftfoal. "This is as far as I venture, Raunip. I am glad that we met. May your path lead you safely to Cazhaak Draal. I hope that we will meet again."