Acteon snorted suddenly and skidded to a halt, throwing his head back and letting out a rumble of displeasure. Octavian was confused as up until this point the warhorse had been a fearless and loyal creature. He had never seen the creature act like this. He tried to kick and get Acteon to move forward but the warhorse stood his ground and refused to move, pawing at the ground. Octavian held out his hand to stop the caravan in it's tracks and closed his eyes, shutting out everything. His heartbeat slowed as his breath whispered in and out, synching with the gentle caress of the desert wind.
Using senses he hadn't relied on in over two decades the Illidari immersed himself in the breath of the deep sand, separating out the sound of shifting sand from everything else. At first he didn't hear anything but felt a strange itch in his leg. Suddenly that itch began to raise a sense of extreme caution in the wizard's mind as he recognized that rumble in the ground and what it meant.
"That power...fates protect us." Octavian whispered. Spinning Acteon around the wizard waved frantically at the caravan. "STOP! STOP STOP STOP!!! IF I TELL YOU TO, RUN LIKE THE KING OF HELL HIMSELF IS SNAPPING AT YOUR HEELS! BUT FOR NOW HOLD!"
The rumbling grew, the snaps of electrical discharge shot into the air. Each one getting louder then the last. The rumbling growing to such an intensity the ground shook, the dunes all around you began to shimmer in the moonlight as if they were becoming liquid waterfalls. Above, Pazeek would be the first to see the wurm emerge, bursting through a dune as its mouth opened, letting out alien guttural sound that came close to what might be a sand wurms roar.
Just the sheer size from the altitude Pazeek was flying would be breathtaking. It was… massive, possibly the largest thing Pazeek would’ve ever seen in his life besides a mountain. It was bigger than colossal. It was also magnificent in its own way as it undulated through the dunes, approaching the party. It would hit them in only just a minute.
Before the caravan, voices began to rise, people were confused, first the yell from Pazeek only cause people to panic. Arion’s attempt to maintain order was quickly ruined by Octavians counter orders. People began to spread and disperse ranks. Fear and terror began to fly through the caravan. The sound of the guttural beast only drove other to begin running in all directions.
The next thirty seconds felt like a lifetime, as the sand wurm burst through the remaining dune before the party, its massive body arching into the sky as it pivoted its head towards the caravan, as if it could see them. When its body landed onto the sand, it felt like an earthquake shook the dessert, the bones below it crunched and broke under its chitin scales that protected it from the coarse sands. Its body was not like those of normal wurms. Its purple color had faded into a tanny brown. The wurm diameter was easily over 130 feet, with its length not easily guessable but by the size of the wurm, it would easily be over 9000 feet in length. A beast of the world.
Its body blocked out the horizon and a large swath of the sky as it began to encircle the caravan. The movements of its body causing the sand to shift from the tremors it was causing, making it difficult to move with relative ease. The sheer sight of the wurm was the final trigger as the ranks of the caravan began to break, people screaming for their lives as they began to run from the wurm. Many stood, frozen and transfixed with fear, though the rest… fled.
This wurm was no doubt the Shi’Atar, the largest wurm in the entire desert. You never thought you’d ever seen the beast in person. All you’ve been told were stories and fables from from the Illidari Ranger Corps. Most of the time, theirs stories were considered extravagant as any real wurm would not grow to this size. But here before you, was the Shi’Atar. The master of the desert.
Slowly, Inja falls to her knees. She feels no fear, only pure, unadulterated awe. This is no mere beast, this - this magnificent, monumental, majestic creature is the spirit of the desert itself. Tears come to her eyes as she is shaken to the core by this once-in-a-lifetime happening, to come face to face with such a force of nature. Faint regret that their purpose will fail and their goals will crumble as the caravan will undoubtedly be devoured by this Grandfather Wurm is only an afterthought in her mind as she now openly weeps, overwhelmed by the glory of this encounter.
Much less impressed, Yama growls uselessly at the wurm, her tail lashing the air in rapid movements that betray the lioness's extreme agitation. Inja raises her hands towards it, as if in prayer, opening her soul to its primordial power.
Bree trembled some, lip quivering softly, looking up at the sheer magnitude of the creature. Run? Would we be fast enough? She looked around to find the others much like herself. She knew that she couldn't run nearly fast enough. Right now her only thought was to get together with one of her stronger companions to lend them aid.
She shouts over the rumbling and noise of the fleeing refugees. She feels herself being shoved back and forth as she tries to get out of the way of those fleeing, hoping not to be trampled underfoot in their panic. Once out of the thick throng of people she looked around even more frantically, starting to feel very small and beginning to panic herself. She felt cut off, lost among all the refugees, as she continued to run along the outside, trying to find the other strong fighters of their caravan.
Jasmine isn't immediately intimidated, and doesn't kneel. Cl side ring the colossal size difference, she doubts it even matters. The chaos of the caravan was concerning, but Jasmine knew how much influence the Chisen wielded, if they panicked everyone would, if they stayed strong, hopefully things could be managed.
Staring at the massive worm, Jasmine casts two spells in quick succession, the first to increase her diplomatic prowess, the latter relying on a but if her mythic magic to cast tongues, to at least communicate with it. Her bow glows, as she attempts to make herself notable to the worm and catch it's attention
Greetings, Ancient One, I am Jasmine, Revered One and High Inquisitor of the Savoured Sting. We mean you no harm, and are deftly passing through fleeing hardship from our homelands, in our quest to find permanent safety away from your territories. I thank you for gracing us with your presence and ask formal permission to briefly pass through."
Shi’Atar continued to circle the caravan, corralling the fleeing refugees with little to almost no effort. For some reason the wurm did not attack yet. Was it sizing the caravan up for a snack? Why was it in the graveyard to begin with? Though something stayed it, keeping it circling.
As Jasmine spoke out to it, the wurm barely made any motions to acknowledge that she was trying to appeal to it. The Shi’Atar slowly moved closer, circling in towards the caravan, inching closer and closer. A guttural groan sounded, as it turned its head towards the caravan. Its movement slowly coming to a stop, bring the head of the Shi’Atar merely inches from Jasmine and the rest of the proven, it’s mouth opening up as it let out a long breath. Many rows of hooked teeth showed along the inside of its mouth and down into the neck. A stench of wet earth came from its breath.
It was still alive, the length of its body shifting and sliding slowly in place.
Octavian jumped down from Acteon and jerked the horse's reins savagely to one side to get the warhorse's attention. "Stand!" he commanded.
Once Acteon had settled down Octavian left the panicked mill of the refugees and stepped next to Jasmine. "Follow my lead." He whispered to the elf before dropping to his knees and prostrating himself. "Oh mighty Shi'Atar, master of the sands, undefeated and beautiful, we humble ourselves before your august majesty and beg simply that we be allowed to pass out of your rightful territory!" he cried out in the illidari tongue.
As the others moved forward to talk, Arion began muttering under her breath, and a glimmer of magic began to sparkle around her fingertips. She wasn't unleashing it yet, but perhaps a friend or two could help to turn this around...
Tsakua pushes his way towards Bree's voice. When he finds her, he scoops the gnome up and puts her on his shoulder. "Come on lass," he growls, pushing towards the head of the worm, "We've got a beastie t'deal with."
Jasmine ignores Octavian's remarks. She didn't get a sense the creature wasn't about to eat her, but she wasn't going to kneel to something roughly the size of a mountain.
"Lord of the Sands I'd like to be able to communicate if possible, to prevent incorrect assumptions. If you would permit me, I can cast a spell that may allow the two of us to communicate freely and with greater ease, to ensure you are given the appropriate level of respect. If you agree to this, close your mouth slightly, so I can understand your wishes."
Qahnaarin cowers in fear behind one of the wagons. There is little he can do in this situation, and the refugees are too panicked to listen to another lecture on dwarven weaving techniques.
But they've only heard the first of seven! They cannot die yet!
Drifting in slow arcs above the encircled caravan, Pazeek and Sharpfeather can do little but stare at the behemoth below. For all of his fierce confidence in his abilities, the tengu has to admit that this opponent is one he'd be a fool to face, and it's an admission that leaves a foul taste in his crop. Still, if he can't fight the beast, maybe he and Sharpfeather can possibly save a few folk. And he's trying to figure out the best way to manage that when he finally notices that the sand wurm hasn't yet attacked. Curious, he watches the scene playing out beneath him, his eyes barely able to make out a handful or so of his compatriots doing something perilously close to that vast maw.
The last few days travel had presented as a bit more organized than their initial flight into the dessert. The azure-skinned man had proven thus far to be a skilled leader and guide. For his part, Taalik still mostly kept to himself. When breaks arose, he offered to assist with the instruction of those interested in the ways of battle. He had also taken to wearing the chain mail he had recovered from the human officer he had slain. It was heavier than he was used to, but he figured the extra protection would be useful, at least for now.
---
When the monstrous sand wurm erupted from the depths of the desert, Taalik knew he was standing before a Great One. The Great Ones were the pinnacles of each species native to the land, grown to enormous size as the ideal representation of their kind. Given that sand wurms were already enormous, it would only make sense that their Great One was a creature of legendary proportion. He followed the Illidari's lead and knelt low before the maw of the massive creature, offering supplication in his gesture.
It felt like minutes would pass without the sandwurm Shi’Atar reacting to Jasmines words, or those of Octavian. It let out another slow breath before it would slightly close its mouth. If that was a sign that Jasmine was looking for, it might just be it. Though if it was just breathing, well that is a problem on a whole different level. If they would wait a minute, the Shi’Atar would hold that pose.
Jasmine slowly extends a hand,making sure the wurm can have an appropriate backward reaction, before touching it lightly, casting Tongues on it.
"Let us see if the spell worked, Majestic One", she asks.
A voice, thicker then mud rose within your mind. Each world a slowly spoken. "Little one, why do you cross the desert with the lone blue? Why do I find many little ones, in the resting place of many of my kin?" For just the two questions, it took a minute for it to speak to its length. Its words felt ancient and somehow had this... wisdom to it that many would find beasts to have to be surprising.
To everyone else who is not affected by the spell would only hear the breath of the Shi'Atar. To everyone else the wurm just seemed to lay still, breathing in a very slow pace.
Bree shivered some while sitting on Tsakua's shoulder. She was still overcome with the sheer presence of the huge and ancient creature. She held her breath for several moments as she quietly watched the exchange between the three of them. She looked around slowly at the others of the caravan, seeing how they were reacting to this unique exchange.
Great One, we cross the desert to arrive in the blue's homeland for safety. So many of us are fleeing the human's driving across the desert with mindless brutality, so many of us sought safe haven. As for why we are in these parts, it was a difficult decision. We could have ventured into more populated area's by your kin, but feared a misunderstanding would occur. Ironically, we were trying to limit our presence here to avoid inconviencing those that cause the desert home" Jadmine replies, keeping her voice clear, open and honest, privately happy that they could communicate.
Shi'Atar took a moment before replyin, slowly and deliberately once again. "Little ones squabbles of no concern of mine. I am old, my time within this desert is coming to close. I was drawn to you, little ones, by the power few of you emanate. Why do you have such power?" It asked slowly, "This land is sacred. We all respect the bones which lay upon these lands. Your presence will no doubt be challenged by those younger then I. Why should I not ensure the sanctity of these lands?"
I cannot speak for the others, but I got my powers through my goddess. Just as your Kin look to you, I look to my goddess, and I follow her will. The one who persists in chasing us is stronger than us, and has little regard. You may not care about our conflicts, but when our enemy eventually crosses into your lands, who will protect them when eventually you fade? All I am requesting, is permission for us to quickly leave this lands. If we could travel faster, we would, but one way or another, the Blue need to find his way home. the inquisitor states, determined to make the creature understand.
Tsakua draws even with Jasmine and Octavian, pausing for a moment to let Bree jump off his shoulders. "Y'know you're talkin' to a giant monster that's probably just gonna eat us, right?" he asks, unslinging his shield.
For now, Arion let the others talk, curious to see what they had to say - and what the results might be. She had her own ideas about how to answers the question, of course, but... too many priests spoiled the church? Something like that, anyway.
The Shi'Atar would let out a deep slow breath, its way of saying it was considering their request. "Chosen by the gods, put through the fires of trial. So the sand speaks, so the world says." It would begin to draw away from Jasmine, the ground rumbling as it did so. "So the sand speaks, and the world says. You will have no trouble from I. We will listen to the world's story, that is still being spun." The wurm retreated back into the graveyard. "I will become one with the sand soon..." it's voice would fade as it moved to bury itself into the sand once more, the ground rumbling once more as it moved. The primal being would move towards the east.
Jasmine watches the worm slip into the sand, and relaxes significantly, she wasn't particularly scared by it, but practically speaking she would have avoided fighting it if at all possible.
She turned her gaze to the panicking refugees. Suspecting that soothing words wouldn't do the trick, Jasmine decided on a shock and awe approach.
she orders, channeling her divine powers of intimidation, charging her words with power. "The situation has been dealt with, the Shi'Atar Wurm has let us pass through these lands, but if you panic, and split off from the main group, you run this risk of being isolating and running into something that doesn't know what it just decreed. Fear will get you nowhere, so take a moment to compose yourself, and then group back up in the formation Octavian mentioned. Stay together, and allow us, the Proven, to handle any obstacles that reveal themselves."
Bree flinched at Jasmine's declaration. Even though she knew it wasn't aimed specifically at her, she could feel the sharp sting of her words. She bit her lip and rubbed her arm gently as she watched the enormous form of great wurm began to ever so slowly shrink as he disappeared into the distance. "Wow that was something else." She said softly to those nearest to her, as she barely spoke above a whisper. She couldn't help but shiver uncontrollably, feeling everything that had just transpired finally settle on her. She gave a weak smile to the others, before turning back to watch the refugees slowly get back into their procession after being ordered.
Arion glared at the people who'd broken after she'd told them what to do. "Indeed." she said, her tone... not quite harsh, but definitely disapproving. "Don't accept leadership then refuse to listen. That is... less than helpful." She seemed to have trouble being too harsh to other people, though.
Tsakua began moving through the refugees again, calming where it was needed, yelling when necessary, but overall preparing everyone to continue the journey. Occasionally, he wanted to tie a hysteria ridden refugee to a wagon, but Tsakua restrained himself and did his best to avoid losing his temper. The tension was taking a while to melt from his system, and he did the best he could to not take it out on those around him.
After a while, he ran into Arion's group, and observed the incarnate leading the refugees around her. Falling into step with her, he speaks up. "Someone pointed y'out t'me as one o'them what faced down the lich-thing back at th'watering hole," he says. "Thanks fer that, and fer helpin' these folk keep their heads." The large half-orc probably sounds gruff, but his words are sincere as he looks over the reorganizing caravan.
With the combined efforts of Arion, Jasmine and Tsakua, the refugees were calmed enough to get back into formation and walking again. The ones that fled were still nervous and anxious but that will pass when the caravan gets to their destination. The entire situation took a better part of an hour to get everything under control enough to continue on to their destination.
As the caravan begins moving you suddenly hear a thunderous crack and a dying guttural howl that shook the very earth. Only moments later a chorus of similar howls erupted from every direction. Some close, some far, all in response to the first.
The howling was... mournful, sad and angry, the sounds of sandwurms in mourning, the loss of the Shi'Atar was immediately felt across the great expanse of the deep desert.
"Oh, great one, the desert mourns your passing, and I with it. Truly, you were the most magnificent creature that I have ever laid eyes one. I am honoured to have been in your presence, even briefly."
Inja closes her eyes in a brief heartfelt prayer and takes a moment to compose herself before returning to the task of helping the caravan prepare to resume travel. Sensing her mood, Yama paws gently at her leg, then butts her huge head against Inja's hip, almost throwing the woman off her feet.
Bree heard the sound, and she bit her lower lip softly as she looked down at the ground. "Another truly powerful being has succumbed. Are we strong enough to make a difference?" She mumbled softly and the wiped her arm across her tired eyes. Sighing deeply, she resumed her trudging through the sand, hoping to see New Alexandria very soon.
Overhearing Bree's comment, Tsakua says "Nay, lass, we're not, least not in the now. If we were, d'you not think we'd've tried t'strike the Mad King down?" Tsakua pauses before continuing "The one thing we have goin' fer us is we're the up'n'comers. The old dogs never pay afternoon t'what the young dogs can become, an' we're becomin' something better than what that old dog ever was."
Octavian stayed on his knees as the great wyrm slid away, not moving. Even when the refugees began to calm down and come back together, the Illidari stayed on in his knees, sitting back on his haunches with his head bowed. An expression of grief was clearly evident on the wizard's face as the thunder and screams washed over the caravan. In a surprising move the wizard raised his face to the sky and let out a powerful scream, echoing the call of the wurms that came from all directions.
As the rumbling became silence Octavian got to his feet and moved over to Acteon, calming the nervous warhorse with gentle murmurs and stroking the powerful creature's neck. A single tear escaped his normally taciturn face before he slung himself onto the horses back and moved towards the head of the caravan. He would wait patiently while the rest of the caravan assembled before giving a silent command with a waved hand for the group to continue moving. Another hand was raised to the sky and moved in a loop position, asking for Paeek to continue his overwatch.
"Of course we're strong enough." Arion said, looking over at Breewyn. "We have already accomplished much, and we will accomplish even more. And remember - strength is not always force of arms." she seemed a little confused, though, as if uncertain why someone might be doubting things.
Several more days will pass before anything of note would happen. March during the night, rest during the day. Things were going smoothly, the nerves of the caravan has relaxed to some extent. Food was beginning to dry up quickly and more strict rationing has taken place in order to stretch what remained. During the march over the course of several days, more and more wurm signs began to appear in the distances, sounds of giant beasts battling each other could be heard numerous times. The death of the Shi’Atar has opened up a power vacuum and now the wurm’s were getting incredibly territorial and aggressive. With the alpha gone, a new one will take its place.
Everyone was packing up, readying for another night's march as the sun began to slowly touch the dunes to the west when someone pointed out in alarm. A lone figure stood upon the crest of the hill. A strong body, wrapped in white linens, dirtied brown from what could only be guessed as months in the desert. No skin could be seen as the figure was fully clad from head to toe in desert garb.
Jasmine spots the lone figure almost immediately and, feeling subconsciously in charge of new arrivals, immediately heads up the slope to meet the figure. As she walks, she attempts to determine more about the figure, relying on her perceptive gaze, attempting to break through the disguise of white linen, as well as trying to determine any suspicious motivations the figure might have.
"Greetings, what brings you here, tonight? The desert isn't usually kind to many, yet you seem to be capable enough. Who are you, and what lead to your approach?"
As soon as the call went out Octavian was on his feet and at the edge of the camp. For a minute he stared at the figure before pulling his hood down and shaking out his midnight black hair. With his staff in hand he walked away from the caravan and headed straight towards the white clad figure. "Well met kinsman. Long have I been enslaved by the humans and this is my pilgrimage home. I am escorting these refugees to New Alexandria as most of them have taken up arms against the human emperor. I am Octavian Lucarin, grandson of High Priest Maxil." he would say in the illidari language.
Bree quietly listened and stood by the others as the exchange happened between Jasmine, Octavian, and the strangely-garbed newcomer. She heard him speak his strange language, and she blinked not understanding in the least. Sighing softly she looked down at her feet and gently kicked the sand, hoping the newcomer brought good news, if any, to the lot of them.
After the wurm leaves
Pazeek nearly molts in relief when the vast length of wurm departs without having a piddly snack before it leaves. After, he stays aloft as long as Sharpfeather's endurance permits, keeping a wary out for any more signs of approaching sandwurms. The eerie chorus of howls that ring out across the sand after the caravan gets the nervous tengu's feathers fluffed out almost to the point that gliding is impossible, and the hippogriff ahead of him sounds off with a loud warble of his own.
During the march
Pazeek, with Sharpfeather's aid, spends a considerable amount of marching time gliding above the desert, ever watchful for threats, though nothing appears to his considerable pleasure. During the days, his wagon-shelter plays host to as many as will fit under the adapted tent's shade, though Sharpfeather has to get a little beaky and snappish to make it clear that he'll share his spot under the wagon, not get turfed entirely out of it. The four sacks worth of wandermeal biscuits Pazeek brought along eventually get consumed down to the last crumb, and opinion is divided on whether or not the lack of more is a good thing. Only Pazeek's own, personal stash of the biscuits remains, and nobody seems much inclined to trouble him over them.
As the rations grow tighter, the tengu has to keep a steady eye on the preserved meat bricks he'd brought--mostly for Sharpfeather, though he does share with Inja and Taalik both any time they ask for their own companions' needs--to keep pilfering hands out them. Fortunately, it's not an issue, as a casual demonstration of Sharpfeather biting through a bit of thick bone--and Pazeek wonders where he got that from--convinces folk that a hungry, unhappy hippogriff is not worth chancing for the time being.
Unfortunately, the constant scouting at night and wearying heat during the day leaves little time or energy for his usual socializing, so he doesn't get much beyond knowing which names belong with which faces. What little effort he can make goes into keeping morale up in his own particular way, teasing and light-hearted flirting aimed at agreeable members of the opposite sex, with rejections taken in deprecating good humor that hopefully leaves no ill feelings behind.
You get a friendly feeling from him, though he feels off somehow. It’s hard to pinpoint it but he does not seem much of a speaker. From the looks of him he seems like a solitary type, not one to be engaged in conversation long or finding himself in the company of others.
The lone figure stood there, watching the approach of Jasmine. To her hails he would tilt his head, his golden eyes watching her approach. His hand was already moving to his bow, but her words caused him to still. A hand would move up to his head wrappings and slowly pull the cloth down, revealing striking blue skin, much like that of Octavians. ”Ranger, Noticed your group arriving this day. Hard not to with so many.” He’d clear his throat, ”The dessert is my home, I found it to be quite friendly. Though it is my duty to investigate strange happenings in these lands. You are definitely strange happenings.” He’d give Jasmine a glance over before speaking again, ”Since I answered your questions, you have to answer mine. What brings you and such a huge company of others to my dessert? Especially in such a dire time of the Shi’Atar’s passing?”
His eyes would quickly shoot towards the wizard as he approached and hailed, though no smile would form his lips still, but more of a frown. ”Grandson of Maxil? We thought you were long dead a time before when you never returned home, it’s been what… eighteenth years?” Shaking his head, he’d give a bow of his head, ”Apologies for the disrespect, times are hard kinsman. The dessert aches and writhes in anger.” A blue hand would come up and wipe his nose for a moment as he looked past the pair and at the large gathering of refugees below.
”I don’t think I’ve seen so many at once. Surprised the sands haven’t swallowed you whole yet.” His tone was dry, as much as his humour. Clearing his throat he’d look to Jasmine for a moment.
The trek is gruelling, with provisions dwindling and everyone getting increasingly tired. Inja has a hard time keeping up with the demands for water, and she asks Octavian for advice on how to make what they have stretch longer. Garments that cover the entire body and partially the face seem to reduce the water loss due to perspiration, and walking at night certainly helps. But they cannot spare water for anything other than drinking and cooking, so Inja constantly wrinkles her sensitive nose at the overpowering odour of unwashed bodies of so many species. At least Yama is self-cleaning, and Inja herself goes away from the caravan now and again during rest stops to shift into her true form and follow Yama's example. During those times, a black leopard can be seen, sitting on the sand and meticulously licking herself clean.
She continues the training sessions with the other refugees, although her group doesn't stay the same. Some leave, not having the energy for training sessions after a night's march, while new ones join, curious or bored or driven by some personal reason. After training, she sits with the other Chosen, getting to know each of them and telling stories of herself - her childhood among the wolves, her time in Haven, the long hunting trips. She doesn't mention the bad times - right now they need to focus on survival. Revenge will come later. Oh, but it will come.
To Pazeek's flirting she responds in kind, humouring the tengu. Now is not really the time to start forming mating bonds, but the immensity of the desert and the constant threats around them do make one feel small and vulnerable and alone. One late afternoon, Pazeek wakes to Inja snuggled against him under the tarp, snoring softly and mumbling in her sleep with a contented air. A bit farther away, under the wagon, Yama does the same with Sharpfeather.
Inja watches the exchange from a distance, taking advantage of the unplanned break to replenish the water reserves of her companions and the refugees nearby. Yama growls at first, but once there is clear that there is no threat from the newcomer, she flops onto the sand with her tongue hanging out.
"Ranger, meet Scout then". the Inquisitor responds smoothly, noting the blue skin and relaxing somewhat, not seeing an enemy and more of an ally."I'm Jasmine, Revered One and High Inquisitor of my chosen deity. I'm here with Octavian here ensuring the refugee's here make it to safety, which naturally involved crossing the desert. Would you happen to know of a safe haven for us?" she asks carefully, looking the man up and down.
"Perhaps we don't taste very good." Arion noted with a slight smile as the figure spoke. "We're particularly interested in places where we can obtain food for the people - gathering, hunting, whatever may be needed as we look for a more permanent place to stay."
Qahnaarin stays quiet as they meet the second Illidari. There is little else he could contribute to the diplomacy, and he stayed near the wagon.
The wizard planted his staff in the sand and leaned on it, smiling grimly at the scout. "Forgive my lack of mirth but we are running low on food. Most here have pledged to fight the imperialist humans after their homes and families were destroyed. We were chased into the desert by a contingent that has been chasing us for weeks, ever since we broke free of our slavers and killed them all. And it's been over twenty years since I was captured and my la'ri was raped and murdered in front of my eyes. So forgive my lack of patience but as a son of House Lucarin I...request that you lead myself and the innocents following to safety in New Alexandria." he said. Octavian glanced over at Jasmine with an arched eyebrow before adding to the scout "I will vouch for them all."
The scout seemed visibly taken aback by the words of Octavian. Quickly he'd move to put the scarf around his face again, almost fumbling in doing so. Was it embarrassment or something other, it was hard to tell. "Ah, yes, sorry." He said as he'd make motion for them to follow. "You're not too far away from the wall. Just a couple more miles actually." He said as he looked out over the caravan. "I'll uh... give you some time to get ready to move. No need to wait till night fall is full. With Shi'Atar dead, wurms have gotten very active and aggressive. One will think your party is a wurm and come out of its territory to fight." Looking back towards the assumed direction of the city. "Half the night at most to reach the city walls itself. Should make it before food runs out." The scout would glance to Jasmine for a second and clear his throat.
Yes, it just seemed someone was just put into their place.
Tsakua spends his time shadowboxing, mostly to blow off some of the steam and tension that he'd been feeling in the past few days. Any members of the caravan that watched get a demonstration on hand-to-hand combat and wrestling.
While waiting, Tsakua even sets up an arm wrestling contest, and takes on all comers.
Jasmine watches the half Orc train with interest, quickly noting not many are willing to enter into contests of physical strength against him. Hoping to encourage more of the refugees to take part, Jasmine seats herself opposite.
O,k then, let's see how you go with all that strength against me then huh?" she remarks, not having high hopes but wanting to spare the half Orc any awkward moments.
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Tsakua accepts the Jasmine's challenge. "Do yer best not t'hurt me, lass," he says with a friendly smile on his face. From Tsakua's point of view, the elf was able to put up a good fight. As far as he could tell, she was skilled in the art of utilizing and leveraging her opponents size and weight to her advantage, and it almost paid off. Tsakua had to summon every last bit of strength in his arm to be able to push her hand down towards the table, and his effort could be seen on his face.
With veins bulging and muscles rippling, he looked across the table at Jasmine. "Ye're not doin' too bad, lass. Spend a little bit more time carryin' somethin' heavier than a bowstring, and ye'll be a fine wrestler yet."
Gritting his teeth, the half-orc begin the final push, forcing the elven woman's hand towards the table. Suddenly, a change begins to take place. Jasmine's hand begins rising, pushing Tsakua's hand back. The crowd of refugees watching begins cheering, voices rising as they watch the petite elf take on the brawny half-orc. The veins on Tsakua's arm and shoulder bulge as the tables have turned. The crowd roars enthusiastically, intense as the back of Tsakua's hand hovers an inch above the wood planking of the table. For a few long, arduous seconds, Tsakua holds his hand their, until finally giving in to the pressure.
A roar goes up from the crowd as refugees come forward to congratulate Jasmine. Tsakua gives a friendly grin and allows himself to fade into the background, commenting to those that come to him that he just didn't have the right leverage.
Tsakua will still arm wrestle anyone else that comes forward, using his other arm for any future competitions for the remainder of the evening.
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It was several hours of marching, and yet there was no signs of the settlement. The scout had deviated from the direction that the crystal pointed to several times, though to any noises or questions, he’d justy simply state that he knows the way. Slowly the march would finally come to a slow crawl as the scout stopped atop a dune. Facing the direction of the supposed city he would pull a bow from under his clock and latch a arrow to it. Drawing the string he would whisper a couple of words under his breath before releasing the arrow.
As the arrow soared into the sky it would let off a soft whine, and brief flash, that would pause before two more pops of light emitted from the arrow. It would take a minute after before the vision before them shimmered. Only the highly trained eyes would notice the warping of the vision, the illusion that was painted by an invisible wall. The scout would immediately move towards the shimmering wall, urging everyone to pick up their pace as a small hole opened near the bottom of what appeared to be just another regular sand dune.
As you pass through the small port, you’d see what this illusion was hiding. Large towers were affixed in a specific array, forming a perimeter around a massive city in the distance. The towers themselves had giant blue gems pulsing with light affixed atop, each tower was build much like a miniture keep, all with tiered bases and many defensible positions and overlooks. Illidari were everywhere, those upon the towers to the left and right peered over the parapets, curious and inquisitive discussions obviously taking place. Several more Illidari were standing before the group once they were fully inside. All with grave looks upon their faces.
The scout would immediately move up to one, who seemed like the one in charge. Whatever the scout told him caused him to look at the scout in a form of disbelief. The scout would bow then immediately take his leave, moving off to the tower to the right. The three illidari that stood before them began approaching, the one in charge was well built and armored with clearly desert influences of a mixture of silks, plate and leather, designed for mobility and managing the heat of the desert.
”Octavian, House of Lucerin, bless my stars you're alive!” boomed the man, his arms spreading as he quickly took Octavian up in a hard hug, ”My dear friend! I thought I’d never see the likes of your smug face again!”
The other illidari already began assisting the refugees, carts being brought over from the nearby towers to give replenishments and any other kind of needs required. Noise began to pick up as the refugees began conversing amongst themselves, as some cheers went up as many were finally relieved to be in friendly territory for once.