“Eh eh!” grins Sasbrek towards Gi’chak as he sees the goblin’s bullet get wasted on a rock. “You should have aimed at the sleeping ones, with that booming weapon of yours! Eh eh eh! Now they're awake, think you will do better?”
His new friend/rival properly mocked, Sasbrek fires again, this time attempting a shot a bit farther away.
________________
Aluriel waits patiently for the gnolls to mount a charge.
"Hmph. Not waste precious ammo on such worthless targets." he declares in reply, pushing himself up, putting his pistol away and retrieving his bow instead, knocking an arrow as the gnolls start to stream away from their position. He had been somewhat concerned to discover just how expensive the materials to construct his ammunition were this far from the wastes, but he didn't let that show now as he sighted along his arrow.
_________________________
Howling, the gnolls surge forward in near unison, charging towards the pass that leads upwards to where the squishier members of the group are. Two gnolls, however, instead meet the pointy end of Aluriel’s polearm - with her enlarged size, she easily skewers both gnolls. As she does this, two other gnolls avoid her attacks and barrel into Thorgrim, Yakini, and The Hand who, in tandem, slice, bite, and hack these two poor gnolls to shreds.
Two of the gnolls, the only two that retain any sort of mental capacity and are not in a frothing rage, cowardly look up at the group above them and attempt to shoot at them with their shortbows - one, in its demoralized condition, fails to get its arrow to even shoot properly, the arrow landing in the sand in front of the gnoll. The other’s aim is way off, flying in a high arc past Sasbrek.
____________________
Nexander lines up on the injured gnolls trying to shoot up at them, seeing how effective a meat grinder the more melee oriented part of the group is. This is going well.
He pulls the trigger, sending another bullet streaking down into the gully. It strikes the gnoll, and Nexander grins. "Like shooting fish in a barrel!" he exclaims.
______________________
Sasbrek does nt like being targeted with arrows. That's something the Charu-Ka were fond of doing in the Mwangi.
"Smelly pests!" he insults them as he reloads his crossbow "Carrion of the desert! Puah!"
________________
Thorgrim returns to a readied stance, his massive blade seeming slightly less so in the shade cast by the now-enormous size of Aluriel's gnoll-skewering polearm. He cannot help but appreciate how effective and utterly ruinous their bottleneck has proved to be so far.
""
__________________________________________________________
Unafe finds her eyes glued in fascination and horror as the now-giant-sized Aluriel starts cleaving gnolls like paper dolls. The mass of scars crisscrossing her young face like swollen worms grows more painful to look at, yet more difficult to look away from. Unafe continues her prayers, Grandfather Namane, thank you for sending that girl to our side...and please spare me whatever pain has scarred her so!
Turning with effort back toward her foes, she lets another stone fly...and this one flies true, smashing into the temple of the nearest gnoll with a sickening crack. Meanwhile Yakini -- licking fur and blood from her saurian lips -- readies herself for the arrival of the next morsel.
________________
Gi'chak saves his breath, simply drawing another arrow, and releasing it, finishing off another of the hyenafolk
_________________________
The Hand continues to follow his training.
____________________
Second verse, same as the first.
standard attack.
Bodyguard. God I suck at fighting but I am an awesome bodyguard.
Standing on the ridge looking down as the gnolls scrambled beneath the onslaught he and his companions brought down on them Ardeshir felt a smile coming to his lips. His superiority to these beasts was undeniable in the skillful manner in which he picked them off. These feelings he knew were a flaw in his character, but the fire of arrogance and pride that burned in his heart had not yet been brought under control. Yet were not these gnolls the filth of the mother of monsters? A plague upon the lands gifted to the civilized races by the Dawnflower or were even they too deserving of the redemption of the Everflame? Even as the thoughts tumbled within his skull, he moved his red-ash bow a faction on an inch to the left and targeted the gnoll who had assumed command of the demoralized pack.
Stilling his breath he stared down, thankful for the bright sun overhead as it would make returning fire more difficult. With a practiced ease he drew back an arrow and released. Sailing free from the bow one arrow shot downwards at the creatures throat, only to be followed followed by a second blue feathered arrow which struck the creature five inches lower, drilling into the gnoll's chest. It almost seemed as if that high flying arrow had caught some of the fury of the sun itself before it landed, carrying with it a fire which smoldered within the chest of the savage gnoll.
-----
Watching the gnolls work themselves into a frenzy, Unafe briefly imagines being down within their reach and shivers. She says a silent prayer, Great ancestors, spirits of the saurians, help me move past my fears and doubts. Help me sling true. With that she slings again at the nearest gnoll. The bullet, striking true, impacts the gnoll in the shoulder, causing it to instinctively recoil from the blow - though, due to its rage, the gnoll presses on regardless.
-----
“Eh eh!” grins Sasbrek towards Gi’chak as he sees the goblin’s bullet get wasted on a rock.
“You should have aimed at the sleeping ones, with that booming weapon of yours! Eh eh eh! Now they're awake, think you will do better?”
His new friend/rival properly mocked, Sasbrek fires again, this time attempting a shot a bit farther away, though his bolt clinks off a rock instead of hitting his target - barely missing the enraged gnoll.
-----
"Hmph. Not waste precious ammo on such worthless targets." he declares in reply, pushing himself up, putting his pistol away and retrieving his bow instead, knocking an arrow as the gnolls start to stream away from their position. He had been somewhat concerned to discover just how expensive the materials to construct his ammunition were this far from the wastes, but he didn't let that show now as he sighted along his arrow.
-----
Howling, the gnolls surge forward in near unison, charging towards the pass that leads upwards to where the squishier members of the group are. Two gnolls, however, instead meet the pointy end of Aluriel’s polearm - with her enlarged size, she easily skewers both gnolls. As she does this, two other gnolls avoid her attacks and barrel into Thorgrim, Yakini, and The Hand who, in tandem, slice, bite, and hack these two poor gnolls to shreds.
Two of the gnolls, the only two that retain any sort of mental capacity and are not in a frothing rage, cowardly look up at the group above them and attempt to shoot at them with their shortbows - one, in its demoralized condition, fails to get its arrow to even shoot properly, the arrow landing in the sand in front of the gnoll. The other’s aim is way off, flying in a high arc past Sasbrek.
-----
exander lines up on the injured gnolls trying to shoot up at them, seeing how effective a meat grinder the more melee oriented part of the group is. This is going well.
He pulls the trigger, sending another bullet streaking down into the gully. It strikes the gnoll, and Nexander grins. "Like shooting fish in a barrel!" he exclaims as he staggers the cowardly gnoll with his shot.
-----
=================================
Of the five gnolls still enraged, none make it out of the bloodbath that is to come. Charging the defensive line consisting of Yakini, The Hand, Thorgrim, and a terrifying, enlarged Aluriel, the gnolls are simultaneously skewered, hacked, chomped, and slashed into bits - they fail to get a single attack upon the defenders, their rage going to waste as they fail to unleash it.
Meanwhile, of the two remaining gnolls who haven’t had leave of their senses, they hear the bloodbath going on behind them as their fellows are systematically butchered. One gnoll, less injured of the two, attempts to flee, throwing down his bow and abandoning his staggered ally. A pair of tandem shots from Sasbrek and Gi’chak take him down before he is able to get a mere ten feet, however. The last gnoll remaining, a poor gnoll staggered from a combination of burnt fur from the previous attack and a bullet to the shoulder gifted to him by Nexander, who lines up a shot as the gnoll turns to flee.
Although a moment passes where Nexander briefly thinks to let the poor bastard flee with what remains of his pathetic life, that moment quickly fades as Nexander finishes off the gnoll with a single crack of his revolver, striking the gnoll in the back and felling him.
A dead silence rings in the area after that final shot - the gnolls are dead, and the group is all but unscathed.
Like shooting fish in a barrel.
______________________________________________
Nexander is quick to reload Betsy before the spell of abundant ammunition ends. "Hey, Gi'chak, if you wan' you can reload from my bandoleer before my spell runs out. The ammo will replace itself. It's pretty cool, man. My old man taught me about it." He walks over, offering the goblin a metal jacketed round. He looks over to the meat grinder, and the waist high wall of gnoll corpses and giant puddle of gore slicking the desert stone. He watches as some of the blood runs off the stones to drip into the sand. Yakini's about to eat right tonight. Damn.
"Hey y'all okay over there?" he calls over to the bloody melee combatants. It's hard to tell if all the red splattered on them is from the gnolls, or whether any of them are injured.
As the group looks around at the carnage, the area truly is a mess. Blood and gore cover the ground and rock walls, splattered from both recent battles. Beyond the many gnoll corpses, what is of most interest is the pile of loot the gnolls had been gathering from the four corpses and their two dead pack camels. Numerous odd and ends are piled in a heap next to one of the camels - of quick note are numerous well-made weapons, a massive, blood-splattered tower shield that resembles a sarcophagus lid, and what appears to be some odd sort of rifle with a bayonet attached. Though it appears similar to an Alkenstar-designed rifle, it appears to have no bullet loading mechanism at all - instead, it has two slender barrels with no apparent way to load them beyond the end of the barrel. In addition, its trigger mechanism isn’t standard for firearms. Indeed, it appears to have a slender wooden stick rammed down each of its two barrels. Whatever kind of rifle this is, it certainly isn’t a firearm.
Though looted, the four humanoid corpses still wear their clothing - the gnolls had looted everything else from them, but had yet to have gotten around to stripping them of their armor. One, the beefy half-orc, wears an equally large masterwork chain shirt, of which only Thorgrim could likely fill out. Covering his lifeless head is a distinctive cowl made from jet-black dragonhide that can easily be pulled down to cover one’s face if necessary. Numerous javelins and arrows stick from his corpse. The second corpse, that of a bald male halfling, appears to have died with a wicked grin on his face. His leather armor is studded with numerous bits of sharp, jagged metal that appear to have been taken from various mechanical devices. The third corpse is of a thin Taldan man with a small, frivolous mustache. It appears he took one of the gnoll’s battleaxes to the head, for a deep gash runs in his skull.
The fourth and final corpse is of the beheaded man - a middle aged man of Chelish descent, who’s head is currently mounted on a spear embedded into the ground near the gnoll leader. His headless corpse, dumped unceremoniously into an unnatural position in the dirt, wears a suit of masterwork leather armor, complete with a deep purple pair of pants and shirt underneath, stained somewhat with his blood. His light-purple cloak is similarly stained with blood and sand. Stitched onto the hem of the cloak is the unmistakable symbol of Cheliax.
___________________________________________
Gi'chak looks over to Nexander as the man makes the offer, putting his bow away and drawing his gun with a nod. He refills the barrel and tucks it away out of sight again. He then scurries down to start picking over the dead gnolls, gathering their coins to add to the collection of spoils.
Sasbrek straps the crossbow back to his shoulder belt, stands up from his sniping position and cleans the dirt from his clothes.
“Puah! Dirty, smelly sand-pests!” he screams in response to the dying laments of the gnolls. “Make desert more dangerous, get killed! Hak hak!”
The kobold scampers down the hill, a curious and greedy look in his yellow eyes as he gazes upon the treasure left behind by the gnolls previous victims.
He recognizes the wands once he manages to take them out of the weird barreled thing “Fire! Fire is good, fire is for a dragon!” he looks at the other two wands, recognizing them as receptacles for lesser spells, almost unworthy of a dragon.
“Hey! Tall dark bigfeet Nexander!” he screams at the bard “What is this stuff? It looks fine in a hoard, I say!” he screams, eyeing greedily the pearl and stones, but keeping himself from taking them until the bard has shared his knowledge.
"If none would mind, I would very much like the use of that fine tower shield." The Hand remarks as he cleans the blood off his armor and weapon.
Nexander chants a short spell and then spends a few minutes examining all the magical loot. He explains the uses of everything except for the glowing crystal and the pearl.
"These two are a bit more complicated. I think with enough time I can understand the crystal, but I'm not so sure about the pearl. Maybe Pinkerton will recognize its use. We should finish up here and go let them know we're okay."
Thorgrim grunts brusquely in Nexander's direction, affording the growing mound of loot a brief survey before setting to securing the goods in various bundles and parcels.
""
Awaiting no permission, the hulking Ulfen begins securing everything for easy transport before hoisting it on his swollen shoulders, trudging back the way they came without sparing a glance to the sea of gore that marked where the unfortunate gnolls met their grisly end.
Seeing that everyone is fine, and there's not much left to do at the battle sight, Nexander follows Thorgrim. Man's like a damned ox. In fact, I think I'd rather have him pulling my cart than some overgrown cow any day.
Relieved that none of the party were harmed, Unafe puts away her sling and walks down to meet the group, her arm on Yakini's broad shoulder. She nods permission for Yakini to start in on the gnolls, and with the familiar sound of the spinosaurus cracking bones and rending flesh, Unafe takes a turn looking at the mysterious crystal and pearl.
Shaking her head at Nexander, she says, "Sorry, big brother. I can't really make out much either, other than the transmutation aura on this one. I agree, maybe Pinkerton will have some insight."
Turning to the rest of her companions, she says, "Is there anything else we can learn about these poor souls? Or the gnolls who killed them?" She'll take a look around for any clues as to who they were and what their goals were. She'll also offer to work with anyone interested to dig a pit to put the bodies of the ambushed party in, and then follows Thorgrim and Nexander back to camp.
Gi'chik poors over most of the loot, listening as Nexander identifies the properties of the various objects. The cloak and hat sound interesting, he could see the benefit of being able to hide his nature, but they were about to spend 4 months in the desert so it probably wasn't too likely to see much use.
As Unafe asks about these 'poor souls' Gi'chak meanders over that way to have a look at the unfortunate victims of the gnolls.
_________________________
The second human was a former Pathfinder known simply as "Scepter" - a once celebrated member of the Pathfinders who went rogue after slaying his mentor, turning to a life of a freelance evoker-assassin. He too, was involved in the museum theft a few years back.
The halfling was a rather infamous little bastard known as Xaven Neversword - a man wanted in nearly half of the world for a long list of robberies and murders. There was a new bounty added to his head in Osirion after his involvement in the museum scandal.
The fourth and final member of this butchered expedition is the half-orc known as Hrokon 'The Assailant', a former Nexian Shock-trooper turned Absalom guild enforcer turned tomb raider. He is wanted for numerous murders in Osirion as well as his involvement with the others.
"Don't feel too bad for them Unafe. Known thieves and murderers, led by priest from devil-land across the sea." Gi'chak observes as he pokes at the corpses, gesturing to the headless one in particular.
Hearing Gi'chak's story about the ambushed party, she shudders. Murderers preying on murderers. Will I ever get used to this?
"Alright, let's get back to the camp then. I'll be curious to hear if Pinkerton knows anything about that pearl or crystal, and about this key."
Getting back into camp with the group, Unafe pulls out the key and puts it into the pile with the rest. "Does anyone recognize this script? I found this key tucked under a rock, back at the scene of the ambush. Shall we see if it matches the lock on that journal?"
"Well done all. The plan was executed flawlessly." He spoke to all once the final gnoll fell to arrow and fire. Allowing himself to relax he smiled and began to make his way to the killing grounds with the rest of the group, looking over the loot with obvious avarice, though holding back for the moment.
Despite learning that the group that was ambushed and killed by the gnolls were criminals and murderers, Ardeshir offers to assist Unafe in any burial she might have wanted to perform. If she no longer wished to waste her energy and water on digging, he would crouch down next to the lot of corpses and offered a brief and somewhat nontraditional prayer to the Dawnflower to give their souls a second chance at redemption in the Kelish language.
When the journal and the object the jungle woman found began to make its rounds, he sought to look over the script and try to decipher it.
(Failure)
---
The return trip to camp is spent mostly in silence, save for the grunts of labored breathing as they draw nearer to their destination. Thorgrim unceremoniously deposits the multitude of bundles he transported on the unoccupied space in the center of his pavilion. He double checks the stash to make sure nothing was lost on the trek back, and rests for a moment to afford himself a chance to quench his growing thirst. Catching sight of Unafe examining the journal they had recovered from the Battle of Two Massacres, Thorgrim decides to amble over to the Mwangi woman and peer over her shoulder. After a few moments of study, he kneels and leans in closer, eyes scrutinizing the scrawl on the pages. He had encountered and translated similar finds before, and hopes to do so again.
"Mind if I take a look at that big guy? I can probably translate it," Xander asks Thorgrim as he is examining the journal. Catching a glimpse of the script he continues, "Ah yeah, that's infernal. I'm fluent." The archivist holds out his hand for the book, intending to read it aloud in translation into common.
The Hand continues to polish armor and weapon while the others go over the loot.
Thorgrim nods with a hint of a smirk on his face. "" Thorgrim spares an inquisitive glance for Unafe, seeing as she is still the one actually holding the journal. ""
Seeing that they can read it, Unafe holds the journal out to Thorgrim and Nexander, whoever wants to read it first.
Upon the group arriving back at camp, Pinkerton, Ibir, and the others eagerly await news of what has transpired. Seven of them wait impatiently in Thorgrim’s pavilion - Pinkerton and Ibir, meanwhile, wait outside and hail the group as they arrive. Pinkerton looks greatly relieved to see everyone in good health as he inquires what happened. Nexander, arriving behind the gear-laden Thorgrim, explains the ambush and describes the events that transpired in great detail and flair, impressing Pinkerton with both the group’s tactical expertise and the bard’s oratory skill. Ibir, as usual, stands behind Pinkerton in reserved silence, apparently unmoved by what happened, but such a ‘reaction’ isn’t uncommon from the stone-faced bodyguard.
Ushering the group back into the comfort of Thogrim’s pavilion, Pinkerton gathers the group around as Nexander, who is given a chair mounted on a slightly-elevated position, prepares to open and read the journal the group found. Unafe, who had held onto the key, hands it to Nexander, who then sits down and puts the relatively large book on his lap and waits for everyone to get comfortable as he prepares to do what he does best.
Sitting in front of him, cross-legged on the ground with an eager look on his face, is Osari - next to him on either side, Sasbrek and Gi’chak sit, for lack of better seating and poor visibility should they sit elsewhere. Sitting behind them on a rock is Pinkerton - next to him, Ardeshir. Sitting haphazardly on another rock not far is The Steady Hand, his new sarcophagus-shaped tower shield strapped to his back and stuck into the ground, providing the armored behemoth a sort of makeshift chair. Unafe and Thorgrim sit on yet another rock, with Yakini laying down beside her, resting after having gorged herself thoroughly upon gnoll-flesh. Standing are both Ibir and Aluriel, each maintaining their own vigil in the pavillion. Aluriel, for her part, does not seem much at all interested at what the journal contains, especially considering it comes from a devil-priest of Asmodeus. Meanwhile, the remaining five members of the expedition present, Pinkerton’s hirelings, are sitting around on various rocks or on the ground, trying not to get in anyone’s way. The only one not present is Rhasadal, who had retired to her own tent for reasons unknown shortly after the group arrived back in camp.
Nexander, seeing that everyone is ready and waiting, takes the ornate key and inserts it into the journal’s complex lock, turning it slowly, as if almost expecting something to jump out at him when he unlocks it. As he does so, the gears and mechanisms within the lock audibly move with each passing movement of the key.
Click… Click… Click…
Click… Click… Click…
As the journal unlocks and Nexander is able to open it, he notices a trap embedded into the inside front cover. This trap, which would have been woefully difficult to detect or disable from the outside of the book, is currently disabled thanks to the proper method of opening used. Though cleverly hidden from the outside, it is clearly visible from the inside, allowing for easy reloading and repair if necessary. The trap itself is simple enough that even Nexander, not one to be particularly skilled in traps or engineering, can see how it works. When opened incorrectly through lockpicking, the trap sprays gas at the intruder from a vial of yellow vapor. Obviously some kind of inhaled poison - the vial itself can be easily and safely taken from the trap without much issue.
Looking at the next page, Nexander sees that it is written in clear, precise Taldane - penned by a steady, practiced hand.
Property of Paracount Julistar, Demicardinal of Asmodeus and Curator of The Grand Athenaeum
If those reading this are not Paracount Julistar or one of his close associates, Do Not Read Further, unless you wish to anger that of the Thrice-Damned House of Thrune.
If, by chance, you are not Paracount Julistar or one of his close associates and have somehow managed to gain access to this book, then that means that you have either stolen this book or killed its owner. If such is the case, I, Paracount Julistar wish you nothing less than eternal damnation in the Nine Hells.
If, by chance, you were not the one to steal this journal or kill its owner and have somehow managed to gain access to this book, then I, Paracount Julistar, hope that at least you were able to kill the one who did - if I, Paracount Julistar, am currently deceased at this time, please attempt to locate my corpse and retrieve a portion of it for delivery to the Church of Asmodeus for resurrection. I will ensure you are duly rewarded for your service to the Thrice-Damned House of Thrune. Should any of my associates, ones known as “Scepter”, “Xaven Neversword”, “Hrokon”, and
”Lonicera Moonthrush”also be deceased, they too would likely benefit from such a resurrection, though I cannot promise a reward for such an act beyond their gratitude.
Oddly enough, the slashing off of the name “Lonicera Moonthrush” is relatively recent - a few days old at most. Shrugging, Nexander finishes reading that portion of the book and opens to the next page - from here on out, the entirety of the journal is written in Infernal with the same practiced hand. Nexander, thankfully, is quite skilled at translating such a language into Taldane on the spot for the benefit of those listening.
Yesterday, I was approached with a rather interesting offer by an equally interesting individual. The man, wearing a thick, black robe, to which a steel morningstar and whip were attached at his waist, had his face covered by a golden mask. He carried some sort of magical staff, as well. A high-ranking Priest of Razmir, no doubt. I had heard of these individuals from my fellows back in Cheliax - they follow what most of my clergy believe is some sort of false god, and that these men are nothing more than thieves and bullies. Nevertheless, this one was in Osirion, of all places - quite a ways from home indeed! He had apparently heard of my misfortunes as of late, including the failure that was the Pyramid of the Four Pharoahs - and sought me out specifically for a job offer. A ’Deal of a Lifetime’, he said. Though I was dubious at first, I was equally as curious when he went into more detail - though, for sake of security should this book be stolen, I will refrain from penning exactly what piqued my interest.
In any case, this journal was purchased specifically for this journey - the trap within the front cover should be enough to dissuade or disable anyone from attempting to read the book, at least. That dose of Burnt Othur Fumes cost me a pretty copper piece, but it should prove a surprise for any foolhardy thief. Should this expedition prove worthwhile, I will more than make up for the cost.
We will head to Eto first, and then embark on our expedition on the 14th. Xaven, Scepter, Hrokon, and Lonicera will all be accompanying me - I do not trust this masked man, who has only identified himself as ‘Brother Warris’, but so far he has proven true to his word, and his promises seem legitimate. I will be keeping an eye on him and his lackeys - and I plan on having Lonicera see if she can’t infiltrate their ranks to gather more information.
She’s good at that. Always has been.
Upon hearing the name ‘Warris’, Pinkerton quickly frowns and, though he stays silent, seems to have become much more serious and begins to intently listen to everything the book has to say. Even Ibir, who had only been half-listening, takes note of the name and turns to listen more closely.
It has been nearly two weeks since I last wrote in this journal. I have been busy preparing for the journey, gathering textbooks on religion, arcana, and the planes, not to mention more mundane supplies. We finally embarked today, much to Hroken’s displeasure. He was disappointed to miss tomorrow’s feast, the glutton he is. For their part, my associates have been slacking off during our stay in Eto, having needed little preparation. Each have been pursuing their own agendas, particularly those oriented around the festivities and those brought here due to them.
It was only three days ago when a particularly massive caravan entered the city, accompanied by many interesting people. Lonicera had given me notice that she would be leaving tomorrow, having found, in her words, ‘a fool to drain of coin and pleasure’. Some Vudrani from Alkenstar, she said. I had known she was spending time pretending to work at one of the local establishments as a prostitute for this very purpose. Who knows how many she robbed blind during that time. Scepter isn’t happy that she isn’t instead spending time with him instead. He has been casing various establishments in disguise himself, likely trying to keep track of his ‘love’. Said he ran into some massive beast of an Ulfen (Way down here? Odd) who gave him a headache with his yelling. Also said he spotted some primitive Mwangi woman with a pet Spinosaurus. That certainly isn’t something you’d see every day.
I’m not sure what Hroken or Xaven were doing during the festivities, and its probably best if I don’t know - Xaven was likely breaking into various high-end establishments, while Hroken was probably gorging himself on food, alcohol, and whores.
I’ll probably have to cure him of yet another disease he’s gotten from the women he tends to bed with.
The second day of our expedition was a little more eventful. Besides Hroken complaining all day about missing the feast, describing all of the foods he was planning on eating and the women he planned on bedding, of course. Sometimes I wish the half-orc would shut up. First, I had time to accurately make note of Warris’s own expeditionaries. Not only did he bring along two dozen of his priests, each robed in black and wearing an iron mask, but it appears he hired himself some adventurers to work directly under him, much as I had done originally with my own associates. There are seven of them in all - Lonicera will be trying to get more information on them in the coming days. Xaven, meanwhile, is taking a more direct approach and simply talking with them as fellow expeditionaries. They are an odd group to say the least. I will have more information written down on them in detail, once Lonicera and Xaven give me more information.
Not far into the day, we came across a spectacular specimen - a Dust Digger of massive proportions. It ate one of the forward scouting priests. Good riddance. Warris, instead of avenging his underling, decided to take us a short detour and go around it. Said the beast was best left alive, hopefully to devour potential enemies. I can’t say I disagree with him, though how easily he disregards the lives of his underlings is noted.
We will be traveling a little longer today to make up for the detour. It appears that the priests use some sort of Endure Elements spell to keep themselves cool while wearing their bulky robes, according to Scepter. I have done the same with myself and my group.
"That whore! She was a spy? If I ever see her again I'll blow her slatternly head off," Nexander grumbles angrily at the revelation the Zubaida was actually "Lonicera".
Gi'chak's attention wavers in and out, growing increasingly bored at the personal notes of the pompous man. When he starts to describe the expedition of their enemies he focuses on Nexander again. "So the priests are ahead of us. If Count whoever was with them, why only his group at the gnoll ambush? Did Wallis abandone them to gnolls?"
Thorgrim's brow furrows deeply as the monkey-goblin voices a question. The death of devil worshipers and honorless mercenaries did not bother him, though the thought of the cultists owning information that they themselves did not is worrisome.
""
Pinkerton, eager to hear more from the journal, waves his hand to get the others to quiet down. ”Please, Nexander, continue - perhaps our questions will be answered if we read further on? This book has proven to be much more interesting than I originally anticipated. The fact that it deals with our enemies is of equal importance.”
Nodding, Nexander, still reeling from the conclusion that he had bedded with the enemy, continues.
Spoke to Warris today. When I realized that we were not taking the longer, yet safer route to our destination, skirting the Pillars of the Sun, but instead trekking directly across the sands in as close of a direct approach we could possibly take, I voiced my concerns. Said that we were going too deep into Gnoll territory and that we had no cover from raiders or sandstorms. He said he knew, and that time was a concern.
It appears that he had previously left out a bit of information. There was another expedition - one that was a day ahead of us. They too, were taking this route, and that we were following on their heels, one day behind - he said that he had a ’guy on the inside’ that was giving him detailed information on them. Our goal was to arrive one day after this group and ambush them, for they were after the same thing we were. I suppose I could understand, having failed my own task with the Pyramid of the Four Pharoahs due to the direct intervention of some damnable Pathfinders.
Of course, what happened earlier today nearly killed us. Ended up being quite the boon, though. We were indeed, too deep into Gnoll territory, as I had feared. What found us was no less than a gnoll raiding party - five dozen gnolls, with half as many hyenas attacked us. None of my own were killed, and for their part, Warris’ adventurers did an astounding job at keeping each other alive. Warris saved us, though. After identifying their leader, a big, mangy Flinn, the man charmed the beast and got him to call off his raiders. In fact, he did more than that.
He recruited them.
We now have our own group of gnolls. Fancy that. Most of them are quite hostile, obviously, but they fear the big one, who is called ”Mad Dogg” in their tongue. Has a rather fearsome armored hyena for a pet. They call that one ”Little Mad Dogg”. Very creative. Seems to be two other gnolls of importance - their ‘shaman’, who is a sickly albino gnoll with a third eye tied to his forehead, and their tracker, a gnoll who.. oddly enough, appears to be blind - or at least have impaired vision. Doesn’t carry a weapon beyond a few javelins, either, though his claws look quite well developed.
Before he ‘recruited’ our new allies, Warris lost nearly half of his remaining priests to the gnolls. But, instead of allowing the gnolls to feast upon their flesh (As they did with their own dead), he loaded up their corpses into a Portable Hole and said they would come in handy later. Who knows what else he has in that handy little item of his?
I couldn’t get a good look.
Today, thankfully, was devoid of encounters. The gnolls have been cranky, though Warris’ pet Flinn (Xaven has likened him to a big puppy due to the spell, which Scepter has identified as Charm Monster), has kept them mostly in line. Their constant laughing is beginning to drive me insane, however, so I am greatly anticipating when we can send them against the expedition we are pursuing. I can only hope that our rivals are as well armed as Warris said, so that they may kill as many gnolls as possible. Then we can mop up both sides and be done with it.
Lonicera, for her part, has done an excellent job at gaining Warris’ trust. She says that she has gotten him believing that she plans on betraying me for wealth and power within the Razmiran organization. I have heard her use that sort of lie before. I look forward to seeing Warris’ face when we eventually betray him, after his gnolls have been taken care of and his adventurers have wasted their resources on other matters to come. In fact, it would be nice to see his face in the first place, hiding beneath that mask of his, for he has not taken it off yet this entire expedition. Nor has any of his priests. Hard to tell them apart because of it.
Though today has been a slow day, we have made use of our time well. I have finally gathered enough information on Warris’ adventurers to get a good grasp of their skills, thanks to Xaven. Lonicera has been focusing primarily on Warris and his priests. What follows is Xaven’s notes (in his exact words, not mine) on the group, copied from the paper he wrote on with his abominable handwriting. For sake of ease, I will be writing it in Taldane, as he did.
Yo, so, been chit-chattin’ with our buddies workin’ for gold-face, as the boss-man asked me to. Had me write this crap down too, like I’m some sort of bookie. I ain’t got time for writing! But a jobs a job, and these fools are interestin’ to say the least.First up’s their dwarf. She’s got a booty and bosom like HEYO, but a face that reminds me of a hippo’s chunky backside. Breath smells similar, too! BURN! ‘Least the b+#+!’s got some funky-ass helmet she wears that comes complete with mirrors and shades. So long as she has that covering that shipwreck face of hers, she’s a damn fine b&@$!. She’s a bronze agent for the Aspis Consortium, too. She’s a greedy f*&+er, which I can relate to. Says she’s an expert on traps. Hah! Bet she ain’t wearing years worth of traps attached to her armor! Dunno why they have her along if I’m here. Ain’t no one need anyone but Xaven Neversword for traps!
Next up’s this exotic beauty from down below - the Mwangi, or whatever its called. Rich, black skin, dark hair, the works. Wears a light outfit made out of dino-hide and carries a lizard on her shoulder. Not one of those big f@*$ers like the one I saw in Eto the other day, either. One of them.. what are they called, Compys? Small little squeaker, hyperactive as hell. Poisonous too, if I remember right. B!&~@ scares the ever living crap out of me. Out of ME! When she looks at me, its like I’m staring into the eyes of some big-ass predator, like a dire crocodile or something. ...Wonder if she’s single? ‘Cuz DAMN.
Then we have this other creepy f+%+er. Can’t see what his face looks like, ‘cuz he wears someone’s friggin’ face as a mask. Preserved and all. I’ve seen him change it a few times too, never wears the same one each day. Only thing I can see is his white eyes. Heard him talking about ‘Wendo Spirits’ and other b@&@~$%&, like I’m supposed to know what those are. The hell are ‘Wendo Spirits’, and why the hell are they following him? Anyways, this f$@+er keeps himself completely covered at all times, not unlike our other friends. Also heard him talking about past lives and s&*+. The hell is up with this guy? Creepy ass m@!~!+%#$~@!.
Been talkin’ alot with a fellow halfling thats part of the expedition. F$&+er’s got quite the mouth on him, always f~*@in’ swearin’ and talkin’ smack. Totes around a pair of revolvers, too, like he’s some sort of big-shot gunslinger. Has this wide-ass hat of his that he takes great pride in. Might have to steal it and take a s@@& in it while he’s sleepin’. Hah!
Paracount Julistar interrupts his writing of Xaven’s notes here for a brief moment, returning to Infernal for a quick comment.
The two halflings have to be brothers, I swear to my Lord Asmodeus. Not only did they get into a competition to see who could talk more smack, but their annoying voices are eerily similar, and they both swear every other word. Both of them are also always flirting with the expedition’s various women. Like the gnolls, I look forward for this one’s death.
Next up we have this other annoying little f@+%er. A Kobold. Hate the little freaks. Anyways, this one’s got blue scales and tries telling the others what to do, like he’s some sort of big, important leader. Then the little f$+~er goes and hides any time someone yells back at him. Keeps yelling how he is a prime example of his kobold heritage and s~*& about how his race’s bloodline runs strong in his veins. I’d love to shove something into his veins, alright. Maybe something sharp and pointy. Noticed that he keeps his tent protected with various traps. Even saw some sort of magical rune trap he placed around his tent. Little f$~$er thinks that could stop someone like Xaven Neversword? Hah!Got two more f!@+ers to write about before I can go shove this pen up someone’s ass. Probably the kobold’s. Where are kobolds’ asses anyways? Friggin’ lizard-freaks. Anyways, next up is this half-orc, like Hrokon. Seems much smarter than him, though - he’s some sort of alchemist from Alkenstar. Never been there. Might have to give it a shot someday, heard its all sorts of f+!&ed up. Anyways, this f#!~er, like the halfling, carries a firearm - but, unlike the annoying little f@**er, this dude’s packing some heat. Some sort of advanced, custom revolver. Fancy as all-hell. Had to ask him about it - said he stole the schematics from Alkenstar quite a few years ago. Gotta see if he’ll make me one of those guns sometime. Thing looks wicked! Too bad I don’t know the first thing about guns.
Last up’s this ranger dude. Some sort of Kelish tracker. A real bandit-type. M@~!%!@!+%@@ is rather mean and hostile, even to his own - seems like he holds a grudge against everything and everyone under this f*@~ing desert sun. Dunno what stick he’s got up his ass, but he’s not one to mess with. Seems as likely to put an arrow in your eye as look at you. F&*%er even went as far as putting an arrow between my feet when I tried approaching him to talk to him. Maybe I’ll see about shoving this pen up his ass, now that I’m done writing these damn notes? At least I know where it’s located!
Nexander read the profanity ridden notes with great gusto, enjoying it heartily. "So...They were traveling with the gnolls, the Razmirans and another group of adventurers. Sounds like I have an evil half-orc twin, as do you Unafe and Sasbrek. Wonder what happened to them?"
As Xander reads, Sasbrek is rather uninterested. His mind got stuck at one of the very first sentences, promising a reward for a body part, enabling a resurrection. Nobody seems to even take into consideration that. Cheliax can’t be that far… thinks Sasbrek. If the group rests here maybe I can go back and dig out a bone – hoping that dinosaur didn’t eat everything!
His thinking is interrupted when Xander starts reading the halfling’s notes. Who are these people? They seem to know something about us, but we WHAT? A bluescale! Who do he thinks he is? This desert needs only one dragon!
“He is no twin to Sasbrek!” screams back at Xander “Pompous bluescales don’t mix with us Shivfang! Bah! They be just dino lunch!” Sasbrek is really fired up now. “Bet he sleeps with the snakenecks down in the jungle...” he adds murmuring “Stupid bluescale.”
Unafe shakes her head in wonder. "The Mwangi is vast beyond measure, but I only know of one tribe bonded with the great saurians: the Goapeke. Could this be some cousin of mine? Not a shaman, surely. Those who bond with the compsognathus are more often wizards. Old Aye and I visited the great Magaambya academy once on one of our travels. It was beautiful. The Magaambyan arcanists are ethical and noble though -- dedicated to good in the same way my masters are dedicated to balance. I doubt one of them would be associated with these sorts...unless she'd fallen far from her path."
She pauses, lost in thought, and then says, "Well, be she cousin or stranger, shaman or sorcerer, it seems she has pledged herself to those we're pledged to stop. If we do meet, it seems likely it will be on the field of battle."
Ardeshir did not hide his obvious interest in the contents of the journal. Where earlier in the expedition he seemed to maintain a distance between himself and the rest of the group, keeping his own council and only sharing it when it was of tactical or situational importance, some of that aloofness seemed to be fading away like water beneath the desert sun.
At various points during the reading the orange-eyed Keleshite tapped the back of his thumb to his lip and furrowed his brow in thought. Once or twice he looked back to where the battle with the gnolls had taken place, before relaxing to hear more from the journal.
"Are there more pages in this journal? While I do believe there is a decided advantage to hear them and understand those we follow, perhaps it would be best to save it until we can no longer travel for the day?" The second question he presented was less an actual question as a strong recommendation. If time was of the essence, it was best that they not delay any longer than was necessary.
He looked to Nexander when he cursed the whore and then Sasbrek when the excitable kobold began foaming at the mouth about his hatred for 'pompous bluescales'. Once more his brow furrowed and he looked over to Unafe. The look of contemplation soon faded however, replaced with a more approachable and casual smile.
"I counted three members of this Devil-Priests company, plus himself. From the descriptions I would wager that they are 'Scepter', 'Xaven Neversword', and 'Hrokon'. The gnolls were perhaps those magically coerced into this Warris employ. I have seen this sort of betrayal before..." Ardeshir coughed into his closed fist as a gust of wind carried some sand in the air upon it. He looked over to Sasbrek and studied the angry little kobold.
"It is fortunate however... an enemy divided will be less threat to us in the long run. I would search for their tracks were we not seeking what appears to be the same end destination." A suspicious glance was directed at Pinkerton and his closer intimates. He knew well the dangers of the desert and faithless companions were not excluded.
"Any information you can provide us on the Bluescale kobolds could be of use, especially if you know of any that might have ventured to these regions away from the rest of their kind." He then cast the wide net of his brilliant gaze over the whole of the group. "Did I mishear or was this expedition of Warris following after yet another expedition as well? How many know of this secret you keep Pinkerton?"
"Still doesn't explain why they were so far behind. Those entries were around when we left Eto. They should be miles ahead." Gi'chak observes with a grumble, he doesn't like the inconsistency. He's glad that he's not the only one who spotted the reference to a third expedition either.
"The third expedition mentioned is - was - our vanguard - the ones that were going ahead of us, to act as a decoy." Pinkerton looks solemn as he addresses their questions, his mood having deteriorated since listening to the journel's contents. "The journal said that Warris's expedition left on the 14th, a day behind the decoy expedition. Our decoy expedition left on the 13th, and this journal matches the information an associate of mine gathered on the matter. They were well armed and prepared for an ambush.. in fact, I had known Warris was following them. But if Warris had recruited these gnolls, then they were going to be woefully outmatched. And then theres the fact of the spy they had in their midst. I did not personally recruit every one of them, so unlike our group here, I could not verify their allegiences to nearly the same extent."
"Kobolds are not my specialty. I know blue-scale kobolds are native to desert regions, and that they share an affinity to lightning, much like the True Dragons that they share the color of.. but anything else is beyond me."
"As for how far ahead they are.. we should read on. I believe that they will find something that will hinder their efforts, allowing us to catch up somewhat. Considering the date at which the last journal entry read was dated, they were a single day from arriving to their destination - our vanguard would have already arrived. Both groups were taking a more dangerous, direct route - we are taking the slower, safer one, as I wanted to skirt the edge of the mountains to avoid any potential sandstorms. Tomorrow will be our last day trekking in rocky terrain, I'm afraid - then we will be in open sand for a few days."