"Foul...Serpent...Why...Won't...You...JUST...?!" Kagrenac bites out, venom seeping into his veins.
The serpent quails before the fire in your eyes. It's poison is swift, but not swift enough, and you slice it open with a fearsome rending sweep. Blood sprays as you savage its dying form, its squeals of protest going unheard. It is dead in seconds.
The fountain of the serpent's blood drenches you in a red shower of gore. Nearly every inch of your body is bathed in it. As some of the red fluid seeps into your wound, you feel a burning sensation rush through your body. A moment later the poison is neutralized and your limbs are freed of the paralyzing venom.
Chathorik comes up behind you. "That was a good kill," he says, "but we should not linger here. We are lucky this was just one. Stone Vipers do not usually stray far from their nests. There may be more nearby.”
He cocks his head as if listening for something, then looks back down the pass. “Come,” he says, ”we should catch up with the others.
...
You catch up with the other hunters at the other end of the pass, where the long winding path finally opens up upon a wide vista before you. A jagged, scarred waste greets your eyes, with ashen soil and crumbling stone. More mountains enclose this region, boxing it in like its own little corner of hell. You can now quite clearly see vast columns of smoke rising from the craters of volcanoes strewn amidst the blackened peaks, billowing upwards to mingle with the clouds overhead. Further down the slope, and a little to the north you spot the glowing pinpoints of lights that signal lit torches and open fires. An odd array of stone and clay buildings are nestled amid the stones at the mountain’s feet. You notice the other hunters spirits lift at the sight. ”Ah, there she is,” says Chathorik, ”our home, Chutek.” The other hunters hum in agreement.
The cart continues to trundle down the mountain path towards the village. You are about halfway down when you spot a small figure running up the path towards you. As you get closer you realize it is a khanan youngling. The child runs up the path towards the cart.
“Daddy, Daddy!” the little khana shouts.
Chathorik’s face splits in a huge grin and he runs towards the little khana. ”Rodan! Rodan, my son!” he gets down onto one knee and spreads his arms wide. The little khana flings himself into the air and Chathorik catches him in a bear-hug.
”Daddy, Daddy, you’re back!’ says the little khanan boy.
”Yes I’m back home, safe and secure,” says Chathorik, scratching his son under the chin, ”and I have brought a fresh kill with me as well. Tell me, did you spy us in the pass all the way from the village?”
”Yes I did,” says the little boy.
”Ha ha!” Chathorik beams, ”My little boy has a sharp set of eyes! You will make an excellent hunter one day.”
By now the rest of the you have pulled alongside, and Chathorik sets his son back down on his feet. Straightening up he hails you. ”Kagrenac, this is my son, Chath’rodan-krazx.”
”Wow!” says little Rodan, ”You’re even bigger than my dad! You look like you could kill a wild bull with your fist. Have you ever killed a bull with your fist?”
"Greetings, Chath'rodan-krazx. I have yet to kill a wild bull with my fist."
Kagrenac feels awkward. He hasn't dealt with younglings much. Children are... Outside of his comfort zone.
"So, your dream is to become a great hunter, eh? That too is my dream. May you always find larger prey, young hunter." Kagrenac offers the boy an old Khanan blessing.
Little Rodan just stares up at you in awe. Then he notices the weapon on your back. "Dad! Dad!" he says, pointing, "That's the weapon that Slade used isn't it?"
"Yes, it is indeed a proper battle-slade. I saw Kagrenac cleave the Koru-Bahal's leg clean off in one swing." says Chathorik.
"Whoa!" little Rodan's eyes are as wide as saucers as he becomes awash in the glory that is your presence. Or at least that's how he sees you.
The other khana laugh a little at the awkwardness that this child instills in you. To them, children are just part of life's cycle; they have not grown up separated from their own kind. They are steeped in the community culture that comes from being raised in a khanan village.
Chathorik picks up his son and you descend the mountain into the village proper. Up close you can see the the majority of the "houses" are little more than elaborate tents, mostly erected from bone, covered in animal hides. A few structures have been hewn from the rock. You identify the one stone bricked building as being the village smithy by the sounds of labour ringing forth from its depths. Eventually you come to the village centre, a large cleared open area. Several huts open on the area. In the centre is a large ring of stones. At the west end is a mound, and atop the mound is the largest, most extravagant of these buildings. This large structure appears to have several rooms or branching wings, and features wooden framework at its core. The structural beams that protrude are adorned with animals skulls and strings of teeth or other small bones. A pair of skeletal wings frame the entrance.
By now a bit of a crowd has gathered. Other villagers welcome the hunters back from their journey. You see more children scurry about, racing underfoot. Some climb atop the cart and over the body of the beast. Chathorik takes out his horn and blows a short trumpeting call. The crowd cheers, then a figure emerges from the large house atop the mound, sweeping aside a scaly pelt with one claw. In his other hand he holds a large spear, bedecked with strings of bones and topped with what looks like a khanan skull embossed in silver. He is arrayed in a metallic plate work garb that hangs loosely from the shoulders over his poweful frame, and about his waist is clasped a heavy gold belt that supports a loincloth made of what looks like a bear pelt.
"Kora'chathorik-kasul, you return," the heavily bedecked figure speaks with an air of authority, as if this very obvious statement were a command instead of a welcome, though it is a welcome none the less. "And you were successful."
"Tar'kora'karachodak-thos'kamul-krazx, would you have expected anything less?" Chathorik answers in kind.
The chief grins. Then he strikes the rock beneath his feet with the butt of his spear. Then he addresses the gathered crowd with a voice that booms out over the clearing.
The crowd cheers, in the khanan way, which is to say that a roar erupts from the mouths of those gathered. Members of the village come forth and begin unchaining the Koru-Bahal. Others produce knives and cleavers, and go to work cleaning and butchering the beast. You notice right away that the hunters do not help in this. Instead they wait at the foot of the mound. The chief pulls back the covering over the entrance of the hut, and five khanan females, bearing trays of steamed meat and herbs emerge and descend the hill towards the hunters. Then the chief himself follows them.
Very little is said to you during all of this, and you are left to ponder the significance of the events. Clearly a large amount of ceremony is involved in what is going on, but as you have never been among a gathering of your own kin, you have little idea as to the significance of the parts involved.
Kagrenac watches carefully, enraptured by this novel spectacle. He has never seen anything like this. To be privy to an actual Clan ceremony? The idea is absurd, but here he is. An unnameable emotion twists in his gut.
Maybe it is loss. He can't be sure. Still, he watches on.
As the excitement wells around you, with bodies moving this way and that, you pause to take in this strange new sensation that comes from being surrounded by your own kind. Naturally you begin to notice common traits among the villagers, gaining some idea of local heritage. An equal number of both genders are present, and more importantly, you find that there is a lack of gender orientation towards the tasks being carried out. In khanan society both males and females are treated with equal respect and are tasked with duties that are best suited to each one’s physical abilities. By observing the children specifically, you can see how there is no real separation of mother and father, but rather the collective parental unit.
You can also see that to a man, and woman, each khana is armed with some sort of weapon. Swords seem to be common, most of them very plain in construction, but axes and cudgels are also seen here or there, strapped to a back or hanging from a hip. Those that wear armor you assume to be either more hunters, or soldiers and guards. And while a few of these do boast grafted armor with plates of iron or steel melded into their very bodies, the majority wear common suits of leather and scale mail.
The here in Chutek, the Khana of clan Krazx wear regular suits of armor instead of the more honorary grafted armor, as do most of the northern tribes. This is because of the high frequency of trade with the countries of Denkaaro and Khendean. The trade of both raw materials and crafted goods has led to these khana preferring armor that can be removed when neccessary. It also helps with appearances: the men of the north often find it easier to relate to the khana if they don’t dress as barbarians.
...
Losing yourself in your moment of reverie, letting yourself become lost in the moment, you fail to notice an elderly Khana holding a carved wooden staff, until it is too late. He bumps into, rather forcefully too, as if he didn’t see you just as much as you failed to notice him. He stumbles back a pace, steadying himself with his stick.
”Oof, my apologies friend. I didn’t see you there,” he says, and checks himself.
Now that you can see him, you mark the difference of his garb from that of the other khanan villagers you have already laid eyes on. He wears a sort of cloak, which hangs from him over his shoulders, but leaves his back and chest bare. The rather large hood is pulled up over his brow so that it covers the upper half of his face. A circlet of twine adorns his crown, bedecked with small baubles: teeth and finger bones mostly, some coins and a couple of iron rings, all of which hang from shortened strands of cord in a seemingly random fashion. A necklace of beads and black feathers is clasped around his neck, draped over his shoulders and across his bare chest. His hide is tough, the scales thick and browned. The protruding ridges of his spine have been pierced and rings of metal put through them, along with his shoulders. The claws on his fingers have grown considerably with age, though they appear well kept and trimmed neatly.
Judging by the way the elderly khana carries himself and seems to rely on his “walking stick” you determine that he must have lost the use of his eyes and is now rather blind. The hood over the face also helps. The exact cause of course is unknown.
The elder khana reaches forward and grabs your hand. Pressing his palm into yours he feels his way up your arm, his fingers mapping every inch of your strong, scaly arms. He feels your shoulders and neck, and moves onto your face, pressing his thumbs against your eyes and noting each and every spine on the crest of your head and chin.
”Mmm,” he hums as his hands probe your features, ”mmm, it is you. Forgive my intrusion, but I had to be sure it was you. I had heard the hunters brought back more than just a mighty beast form the desert, and now I have seen you for myself. Tell me, you are not accustomed with our traditions are you? Else you would have moved to follow the hunters to await your anointment before the ceremony.”
You get the hunch that while you are fairly certain you have never met this khana - at least not that you remember - he seems to be rather familiar with you, almost to the point where he must have had some sort of outside information. Part of you knows you are a hero, and word of your deeds often precedes you. However, you also remember that Chathorik did not seem to pay any special attention to your introduction when you first met, although you had just 1-hit a giant elephantine monster in front of him, so that may account for something. Either this elder has managed to stay current and has heard of your deeds from afar, or he is privy to some other sort of knowledge. You cannot discern which.
He does not wait for your response and taking your hand says, ”Come. We are expected, and we should not keep the chief waiting on us. The ceremony must begin as soon as the hunters are ready. And I do not doubt you are tired from your journey. There is food and water awaiting us in the chief’s hut. Come now.” Leaning on his staff he leads you over to where the hunters have gathered at the foot of the hill under the chief’s hut.
The chief and five females with him are at the bottom of the hill now, the bowls of meats and herbs set aside on rocks by the foot of the stairs. The women move among the hunters bringing around food and water. While the hunters eat, one of the women gives to each of the hunters a branch of some sort of dark, flaky wood to chew on, and takes handfuls of pungent, steamed herbs and rubs their necks and shoulders with it. Even as you approach you can smell the strong scent of the spices, the combined fragrances sting the nostril and clear the sinus. The elder pulls you up to the group, and the female with the bowl of herbs and spice-sticks detaches herself from the group to approach you. She smiles, and hands you one of the dark brown branches. Grasping it, the flaky bark begins to crumble in your grasp. Where it gets in the cracks of your scales your skin tingles. It has a highly aromatic scent that smells not unlike cinnamon. She gives one also to the elder, saying ”Here, father,” as she passes him the small brown twig so that he knows to open his hand to receive the gift. Incidentally, this means he finally lets go of your hand, which he has been holding onto until this point.
The branch has the spotty dark brown colouration of singed wood, though you know that it is naturally occurring. In common, it is known as “crackle-branch,” though in Kuur-khain the direct translation is closer to “bitter-bark.” It is used as a cooking spice by some more exotic cooks in many places, though spice traders from Kiinarachdo covet it, due to the Ephriish-khana poulous being unsuccessful in adapting it for the harsh sandy deserts of that region. It seems volcanic soil is required for its proper growth. It is not all that commonly used outside of Kara-korros or Kiinarachdo, as it is a bit of an acquired taste, though the khana who first discovered it seem to favour it over most other spices.
The green leafy herb is a cousin of menthe or “mint” that has had some success being cultivated by the khana of Kara-korros. This particular strain grows with a broader, thicker leaf, thus requiring it to be cooked before the flavours can be released, but otherwise it has those properties typically associated with the common variant: it’s scent gives the effect of making the air “taste cold” and leaves an icy sensation on the tongue, yet it has the effect of soothing warmth when applied to the skin.
Kagrenac nods in thanks to the blind man's daughter, and breaks off parts of the herb, chewing them slowly. He takes a deep breath and smiles as the cool air rushes into his lungs, giving him a hint of respite from the heat of the day. This herb is Kagrenac's favourite, and with its taste come fractured glimpses of memory. Kagrenac's only memories of his father are from a hunt celebration like this one, when his father gave him his first taste. Or at least that is what he has persuaded himself. Over the years his memories have become increasingly pale, having been adopted at age five by a Half-elven merchant caravan. Even then, the term "adopted" is generous.
Kagrenac jerks back to the present with a quiet grunt, as the woman moves closer, an inquiring look on her face.
"Lost in memory," he explains shortly, apology clear in his tone. "Thank you."
Kagrenac is a simple soul, smiling wistfully as he chews the herb, seeking to recapture another glimpse of his childhood, and his cultural roots. Perhaps this is why he was sent here, instead of another place? Unconsciously Kagrenac's posture changes as he decides to investigate his kin, and his own place among them.
He smiles at the woman again, thankful that she has given him this gift, a gift more valuable than she might realize.
"Thank you."
”Eh, you what?” the old Khana croaks, ”having a moment are you? Ehehehe, you will have many of those yet in your life, I predict. A word of advice from an old lizard: savour these moments, so that you can remember them when they are gone.” He lasps into silence momentarily as he remembers something of his own. The Khanan female smiles back at you. If lizards could blush, she would be, though not necessarily because of you. ”Ah, but we are standing on ceremony. The chief awaits. In fact, here he comes now.”
Sure enough, just as the blind Khana predicted, the heavily bedecked figure of the tribe’s chief makes his way through the gathered hunters towards you. ”Ah,” he says, extending his clawed hands in welcome as his eyes scan you from head to foot. ”So this is the one Chathorik speaks of.”
”Aye, Tar’kora,” Chathorik speaks up from the back of the group, and follows after the chief, ”this is Kagrenac, the fierce hunter who slew the Koru’bahal, and battled the stone-serpent in the pass.”
”You have the bearing of a great warrior,” says the chief speaking his appraise, though you can feel it is just that: appraisal. He is clearly sizing you up. You know that as is the khanan custom, the chief earns his position through trial by combat, and that anyone may challenge the chief for his title. Thus the chief is always wary of opponents, and makes sure to take the measure of each and every able-bodied man or woman who may wish to challenge him, be they of his clan or not. This greeting is likely as cursory a greeting as anyone could expect from a khanan chief. ”As chief I speak for this village when it comes to dealing with an outsider. Chathorik tells me you slew the beast that his men hunted, and so the honor of that kill goes to you, and thus the honor of the feast that the beast was to be prepared for also passes to you. Since you have already gained the trust of my bravest hunter, I would welcome you, as a friend of the village, to feast with us tonight in my den.”
The elderly khana, who has remained by your side this whole time and gone rather unnoticed during the chief’s reception, clears his throat, ”Ahem.”
The chief looks down at him. ”Yes, tal’shagga?”
”Harum,” the old khana grunts, ”you have fancy words for our guest, and have given him an elaborate invitation to a meal he has already been invited to. Do you then also have an equally eloquent invitation for your wise man, tar’kora? Hmm?”
The chief lowers his arms a bit and makes a show of sighing in mock exasperation. ”Yes, tal’shagga, of course you are invited, as always. Must you really insist on making me say the words out loud?”
”Hrmph, of course! And I will be delighted to accept. As always.” The old khana winks at you after he says this.
”Well then,” says the chief, ”most excellent. Chathorik, see that our guest has a bath, and see that your hunters are taken care of as well. We shall dine in my hall tonight around the fire, and then you may tell me stories from the lands beyond, haha, yes? What say you?”
"I am not the best teller of tales, but I will try my best."
Kagrenac nods once, and tries to remember all the escapades he has had in the last year. He has covered much ground, and made quite the reputation for himself.
This will be quite the tale.
Chathorik takes you back to his home. It is a small stone building with thatch roof a little ways up the road. Chathorik's mate and little boy await you and welcome you inside. Chathorik introduces his mate as Kiiraja, and you of course already met Rodan. Kiiraja heats two kettles of water - one for you and one for Chathorik - to wash yourself with. Khana tend to make do without baths (though they are known to bathe in hot springs, as some primates are wont to) mostly because plumbing and permanent homes have not yet found a place among their culture. Speaking of which, it begins to dawn upon you that this village appears to have quite a number of stone structures. This signifies a sense of permanency, that this tribe has had no need to pick up and leave any time recently, nor have they been attacked by another tribe and had their village sacked. It appears that village of Chutek, however small it might be, is rather well off for a khanan settlement.
After you finish cleaning yourself, Chathorik invites you to join him at the hearth. It is small, and there is no chimney, just a hole in the ceiling, but the burning logs are no less cheery. Finally Chathorik says "I hope our chief did not put out your desire to stay with us for the time being? He can have that effect on people. He doesn't trust strangers, and is far to close-minded for his own good."
There it is again. Something in Chathorik's tone when he speaks about the chief. Something that he did his best to keep hidden in public, but comes out when he confers with you in private.
"You seem reticent about the chief, Chathorik. Is there something I should know? He appears to be doing well, what with the evidence of stone habitations and all. What then should I think?"
Kagrenac is not sure how to interpret Chathorik's tone, and so uncharacteristically begins asking questions.
"Why is the chief so rude to the tal'shaga? Should not such wisdom be respected?"
”I would not trouble yourself so much with the banter between the chief and our shaman. They have shared that sort of bantering relationship since Karachodak was a child, and now that he is chief, he is overly mindful of his station and does not hesitate to remind others of it. As such he comes off as hot-headed and dismissive. But make no mistake, all khana are equal in their rights - the Tal’shagga and Tar’kora included. The chief would not dare to dismiss Thorus outright. The tribesmen would not stand for it. The chief and the wise man stand on equal ground in this clan.
”Karachodak is a fine enough leader for our tribe, but the stone masonry you see was built before his rule. Our village has been fortunate enough to avoid the ire of the more powerful clans. It is one of the benefits we reap of being the progeny of the great clan Tark. That, and we do not actively seek confrontation or squabble over land as the other clans do. This wisdom is what has allowed us to grow steadily for the past number of generations. In our wilful submission to a higher power we achieve victory where others must struggle. Thus we have had the opportunity to build.
”But Karachodak has done little to help this village grow since he came into power three years ago. It is true he has kept the peace - he is a skilled negotiator among the khana, more so than even the previous chief - but his mind is not one of progress. He desires only to be in power, and now that he has attained that he is content to sit upon his throne. The previous chief was more forward thinking. He got his hands dirty just as much as his fellow khana.”
Chathorik pauses for a moment. Then leaning forward he rests his elbows on his knees and speaks again. “I suppose you should know, as you were not there to bear witness. Karachodak killed my father, Tar’kora-Attachorik-Kasul-Krazx. My father was master hunter before me. When he found the spring in the desert gave, the tribe rallied behind him and urged him to claim leadership, so he did. He did not want that responsibility initially, and that discomfort made him a great leader. He ruled for more than thirteen years, the longest anyone has in this clan.
“Karachodak challenged him to single combat, as is the ancient custom, in the very square where we were gathered not long ago. My father fell on the steps before the palace and Karachodak beheaded him. I was bitter then, and I suppose I still am, but it is the way things have been done since Tarkoraag became the first leader among the khana. I was not born for leadership. I am not fit to be chief. So I will not challenge him for petty revenge. I have chosen to embrace the wisdom of my elders: to trust in the strength of my ruler and make right what has been wronged through patience and trust rather than violence.
”But you needn’t worry about me,” he says, giving you a smile, “I am old enough to know my place in the game. My fate will be decided on the open plains of the waste, at the hands of some great beast who will finally prove itself a worthy adversary,” he grins now as he says this, ”It is the fate of all hunters.”
Just then a fluttering noise and shift of the light announces that someone has entered the house. Turning around you see the blind old khana walk into the room. ”Eh, there you are,” He says, to both of you, ”telling stories to the newcomer, are we, Chathorik, hmm? Giving him an education in history?”
CHathorik grunts, ”Hmph, stories? No. History? I wouldn’t dare. That is your specialty, o wise one.”
The Tal’shagga chuckles. ”Eheheh, ‘wise one’ indeed. ‘Old and scaly’ is more like it, and one day, you’ll be just as old and scaly as me.”
”And I pray that day never comes,” Chathorik answers.
”Well it will, and I won’t be around to see it if you keep filling his head- he points at you -with stories of days gone by, or you’ll have filled my purpose for me and Kaaroxus will call me back to the stone.”
They both laugh for a good while at the exchange of jabs and japes. Then the Tal’shagga seems to remember why he came here in the first place. ”Right then, I was told to come fetch you if you are ready to go see the chief. The meal won’t begin until dusk, but he wants you both to come to his tent beforehand. Are you ready to go?”
"I am indeed, Elder." Kagrenac nods politely, still not used to these people. Out in the deserts and plains there was just him and the trail, with no one to talk to. Even when following the old fleshling who knows much Lore he did not talk all that much. He mostly let his skills and hunting prowess speak for him. Talk is new.
”Good, good then. Chathorik, you come too.” With that the three of you leave Chathorik’s house and walk down the path to the central square again. Making your way up the steps to the chief’s longhouse, you see the flickering light of a fire, and the shadows of a number of figures milling about within. The old khana sweeps aside the scaly pelt that serves as a door and enters the chief’s abode.
Inside you are greeted by a mixture of sights, sounds and fragrances. More of the sweet smelling mint and cinnamon laces the air, as well as the smell of roasting meat. A warm glow comes from one room off to the side, presumably a cooking area. The khanan females you saw earlier seem to be coming and going from this room, heading to a larger room further in, where you can see a long table and benches. Preparations for the feast are in full swing.
A younger khanan male, presumably another of the chief’s sons, emerges from the throng and directs the three of you into another room opposite the kitchen. Inside you find the chief standing by a large stone hearth, stoking the flames. He turns to greet you as you enter. ”Ah welcome my friends, you most of all Kagrenac. You are an esteemed guest of my abode. Please, take a seat,” he says, indicating a number of stools. He himself takes a seat on a rather large bench made of a dark wood with gold trimming and plush velvet cushions.
Chathorik takes a seat on one of the simple wooden stools. ”I trust there is a reason why you have summoned us early?” he inquires.
”Of course,” replies the chief. ”I heard you encountered another of the stone-snakes in the mountain pass. I believe we have Kagrenac to thank for its elimination?” he raises an eyebrow at you as he says this.
Chathorik is ready to answer though. ”Yes, I saw him slay the creature with my own eyes. He was bitten and yet the poison worked only slowly on him, and se slew the creature before the curse could take its root.”
The chief gives you an approving nod. ”Then your blood runs very hot in your veins, and the primeval fire burns clear in your spirit. It is no small feat to take one on head to head.”
He turns back to Chathorik. ”I thought you said that you had eliminated all of the stone snakes in the pass not two moons ago. Did you not destroy the nest as I asked?”
Chathorik shifts uncomfortably. ”Aye, Tar’kora. We brought down a rain of stone upon the crevices from which they had crawled forth. We thought them destroyed for sure. And it has been two moons since they were last seen. We all thought they were destroyed.”
”And yet one has surfaced,” says the chief, dissatisfied.
”This was a single snake.” says Chathorik, trying to reason with the chief. ”It may well be that it had come up the Talons from further south, perhaps looking to start a new nest. If so, we were fortunate to find it and stop the infestation before it could take root.”
The chief remains unconvinced. “I do not think so. On the morrow I want you to take your hunters to investigate. Return to the fissure from whence you saw the serpent emerge and delve into the caverns below. If you find a nest, eliminate it. If not, plug the fissure anyways. We don’t want to encourage anything else to move in.”
Chathorik has to think a moment, letting the order soak in, trying to assess his situation. Then he says, ”Kora-Kazzok-mok-Rakdul was not at the celebration today, as were most of his men. If there is indeed a nest, I will need them to help eliminate it. Where are they?”
The chief crosses his arms and replies to Chathorik in a resolute and definitive tone, ”I sent Kazzok with an envoy, north, to Garan-Kuur. I do not expect him to return for a fortnight, if things go well.”
Chathorik straightens at the news. ”Why? What business is there to attend to in Garan-Kuur that Kazzok need be sent?”
”I have sent Kazzok to speak as my voice at a convent of our kin in clan Sha’tall.” the chief replies.
”Kazzok is no negotiator.” Chathorik says, suspicion crossing his face like a cloud, “He is a warrior. I do not think he will make as eloquent a voice as your own.”
”Nor should he,” the chief declares. ”Kazzok and his Karan are there to ensure that one way or another, the Sha’tall agree to my terms. They will supply us with weapons, crafted on the great forges of the Furnace Hills.”
”Slaves?!” Chathorik is incredulous.
”Not slaves,” says the chief, ”allies. I would prefer that Tar’kora Trash-Na’andul-bo’Sha’all submit willingly to my terms, but if not, then Kazzok will challenge him for dominance of the tribe.”
Chathorik fumes for a moment then turns to the old shaman. ”Tal’shagga, do you agree with this course of action? This sounds like a great folly to me.”
”Tar’kora-Karachodak walks a destined path,” says the old man, ”whether that path be one of glory or ruin has not yet been revealed.”
”It will be glorious,” says the chief with certainty, ”you simply do not know the whole of the picture, Chathorik. Which, as it happens, is why I have brought you here.”
The chief waives to the doorway and a new figure steps into the room. She is bedecked in shimmering scales; ripples of metal folded up in ridges over her shoulders and accenting her spine and rib cage. The metal seems to merge seamlessly with her scaly skin. She bears herself with a powerful presence. ”May I introduce Sha’al-Sar’haas Chekana-kota-catharros of clan Tor. She just arrived earlier today.” The new khana crosses her arms and bows in what must be a customary tribal greeting. ”Chekana is here, as an emissary for her people, at my request. We have spent the better part of the afternoon brokering an alliance between our two clans.” Chekana remains silent and keeps her attention on the chief.
Chathorik speaks up again after the introduction has been made. ”You play at games of war, Tar’kora.”
”Yes indeed,” says the chief, ”I have forged an alliance with clan Tor, and soon clan Sha’tall as well. With the combined warriors of both Tor and Krazx, armed by the smiths of Sha’tall, we shall make war upon the rest of the tribes of the north. It is time that clan Krazx step forth from the shadow of clan Tark, and takes its place in the annals of our people."
"We have our place," Chathorik says, rising, "our place is to be a piece of the foundation that holds up our great leaders. Clan Tark would not hold if we parted from them, nor would they allow us to go peacefully, not if our intentions are to go to war with the tribes that they have long held in check."
"Held in check, yes. But only just barely," says the chief. "they bicker and quarrel among themselves enough. We shall see that they quarrel no more. Just think, with our combined forces we can crush the quarrelsome rabble, and when the Tark see our glorious victory, they will honour us as equals. And then...” the fire in the chief’s eyes glints bright in anticipation, “...well, then we might become the glorious leaders of our race.”
The room is silent for a minute as each of those present soaks in this revelation. The chief looks around expectantly, hoping that he will have convinced those present of his conviction in victory. Chathorik stews uncomfortably, visibly wrestling with his emotions. The old shaman looks troubled, his blank eyes angled toward the ground. The female, Chekana, remains impassive where she stands, as if carved from stone.
Kagrenac stays silent throughout the entire conversation, as a good hunter waits for the right time to strike. The stone snake was a formidable foe, one Kagrenac would enjoy slaying, but this underhanded "diplomacy" did not sit well with him.
What is to stop Kazzok from returning here to challenge this chief? And why is it Kazzok who has gone to challenge the Sha'tall? This dullscales should be the one to do that. The clan-chief serves no one but his clan. Should Kazzok win the challenge, by rights he should return to challenge Karachodak for the place of clan-chief. That is the way of the Khana. The dullscales is playing a dangerous game.
Kagrenac remains as still as possible, as he is clanless, and therefore should have no place in this conversation. He does not yet feel full welcome here, and is reluctant to be drawn into Khanan politics. Or any politics, for that matter.
The dullscales is playing the game of war as the thin fleshlings do. If he were true Khana, he would challenge clan Sha'tall himself. What will he come up with next? Poison? This is where the path to Nar'khana begins. I will have no truck with this.
A cunning thought sprouts in Kagrenac's mind like a desert cactus. He could wait until Kazzok returned to the village, and challenge him for the role of Chieftain of clan Sha'tall. Well, that would only be necessary if Kazzok won, but if the Sha'tall could be governed by a Khana of a different clan, then surely an unaffiliated clanless would be just as welcome, if not more so. Something to think about, for sure. Perhaps I will ask the Tal'shagga about it.
Nar'khana = Not Khana, an insult in the same vein as Dar'manda.
Sounds from the kitchen and main hall continue to drift into the chief’s private chambers through the open doorway, the only noise to be heard over the overwhelming silence.
The chief finally breaks the awkward tension. ”Well, I can see this news excites you most dreadfully. You may wish to think upon it more at a later time.” a number of new, familiar voices enter the commotion in the background, signalling the arrival of more guests. ”Ah, good the hunters have arrived,” says the chief, standing. Chathorik and the shaman follow his lead, the elder leaning on his staff for support. ”Come, we have a feast to attend to.”
The chief ushers you once more into the main hub where you find Thro’ku, Aekil, Punaka and Rakun awaiting their host. Greetings are shared (even though the time apart was brief), the chief formally welcoming all of you into his home.
He then brings you into the main hall of the longhouse, wherein a long table is set with benches on either side. Bowls of steamed meats and herbs are set upon the table, along with pitchers of water, ale, wine and other stronger beverages. Near the head of the table is set the behemoth husk that was the rib-cage of the Koru-bahal. Steam rises from within this boat-shaped cage of seared flesh and bone large enough to hold a man within. The chief ushers you in to take your seats. You and Chekana have the honour of sitting on either side of the chief at the head of the table; with Chekana on the right and you on the left, then Chathorik and the hunters, as well as the shaman, and finally the chief’s many wives and children.
When all have taken their seats, the chief stands to give a toast. he says a few words, welcoming you and Chekana as guests of the tribe. He appraises Chathorik for choosing to hunt down such a mighty beast for this celebration, and regales you all with a dramatic re-enactment of your kill - even though he himself was not present. Then he fills his cup with a strong-smelling ichor from a clay pitcher set in front of him, and downing it in one swig, he winces imperceptibly, slams the mug into the table, and declares ”Shakraz’ole raas’khan!” With that the feast commences. The bowls of vegetables and meats are passed around. A bowl of something that resembles yams, a plate of boiled eggs, a jar of pickled fish (something that must have been hard to produce this far from a large body of water) all pass beneath your snout, trailing their inviting fragrances.
The chief takes a knife, large enough to be a small sword, and begins carving the seared meat from the bones of the hulk in front of him. He takes the first portion for himself and tastes it, declaring it to be excellently cooked, and then carves out portions for all those present. These are passed down the table to everyone, and there is more than enough to go around. Judging by the size of this beast, and the lack of the rest of its body being present, you estimate the whole of the beast could have fed the entire village, a fact that Chathorik then confirms for you. ”What you do not see before you has already been distributed to the rest of the clan. The whole village will benefit from the meat of this one beast. It was a very large one, and we were proud to hunt it down.”
Khana do not use cutlery when they eat, nor do they really use plates for that matter. Bowls are provided for sauces but are used rather communally, and each has a mug for his beverage, but asides from that hands are used for everything. While no knives were set at the table, everyone who sat down pulled out a knife, or dagger, or other small blade from his or her own belt. They stab these point down into the surface of the table, and grab them to cut meat or peel vegetables when needed.
Despite the gravity of the meeting before the feast, everyone seems to be in good spirits, and is enjoying themselves fully. Chathorik eats heartily, and about halfway through the meal he has one too many cups of ale before he falls over backwards, knocking over a side table bearing pitchers of water, which shatter and spill their contents on the ground. This only serves to make everyone who witnessed the act break out in raucous laughter. After Chathorik picks himself up, the chief actually sends him another mug of ale.
The old blind shaman spends most of his time chewing a cinnamon stick and sipping from a glass of wine, which is kept perpetually brimming, but he eats well enough for any khana. Someone makes the snide comment that since he is busy with his food he can’t spend his time poking others in the eye with his wise words and tales of history. Everyone seems to find this funny, including the shaman, who coughs while taking a sip of his wine to clear his throat before joining in the laughter. You see all of the hunters with whom you journeyed in good spirits.
Despite all this levity it does not escape you to notice that Chekana partakes only little in the feast. She does not say much, except when food is passed her way, and eats no meat save the portion of rib that is passed to her by the chief. However, she imbibes no small amount of the strong ichor that you saw the chief drink at the opening of the feast, filling her mug repeatedly with the thick, black liquid.
The chief eventually turns to speak to you directly, with a voice raised loud enough for all to hear. ”So tell me, Kagrenac. How is it that you came to be here this evening?” the general murmurs from the audience (particularly the hunters) suggest that this is probably an unnecessary triviality, but the chief insists, ”I would like to know the tail of the lone wanderer who calls himself ‘Kagrenac, the Hunter.’ Truly, it is not often that the clanless go on to fashion such titles for themselves, nor is it common for them to prove mightier than even my best hunter. I would like to hear the tale of Kagrenac, as spoken by Kagrenac himself. What say you?”
The murmurs around the table rise to a hum of curiosity, and the hum becomes a babble of agreement. Someone further down the table, who has had one too many drinks, begins chanting ”kagrenac! kagrenac!” which is soon taken up by the others around the table. Eventually all the voices join in and everyone is chanting Everyone except Chekana. She remains silent, but her eyes are fixed on you with rapt attention.
As you begin to speak the chief waves his hands to get everyone to quiet down.
Kagrenac begins his tale with a grin and a bow, standing before the clan.
”As I have told your master Huntsman, I was adopted many years ago by a group of Half-elf merchants. They trained me to scout for them, and for many years I travelled through the wilderness as their guide. Recently, I have taken up work as part of a band of Heroes, part of the Guild. We were a small band, consisting of many different peoples."
Kagrenac smirks as he considered his hunting band.
"Our leader was an old fleshling who knew much of the great Lore of the world. Second was the thin wisp who smelled of arcane magics, with her quadruped companion in tow. Third was her clan-mate, a taciturn archer. Fourth, one of our lesser kin, favouring two great-toothed sabers from the shadows. Fifth, the tall one who smells of metal and disappointment, the bearer of inconstant luck. And finally myself, tracker and huntsman."
Kagrenac paused, examining his audience. The Tal'shagga was leaning forward, listening intently. Chathorik was smiling the smile of drunks everywhere after one drink too many. And Chekana was still as a stone. Eerie.
"It was I that led them through unfamiliar trails. The plains and deserts held no secrest from me, as sand runs through my veins and rocks are my flesh. It was I that laughed in the face of the desert winds, when all others would have given up in despair. And it was I who was taken away.”
Kagrenac shifts in his seat, his eyes no longer focused on the here and now, but on the past.
“But that wasn’t where it truly began. We met... I cannot remember when... Our first hunt was in the sewers of Mindraas, where we sought out the carrion of society. The wisp was not happy about this, but nevertheless came with us. All the while we were in the great city we sought those without hunters, to see if we could help and become Heroes. Yet that was simply the means to an end. Our true prey was the Fell Lord. The Queen of Sorrow herself parlayed for our aid, and charged us with finding allies and pack-mates. This was our goal."
Kagrenac raised his fist, clenching it tight to his muscled chest.
"In the midst of this, we came across an ancient fleshling, with hair paler than his skin. He sought warriors to protect him as he hunted through the bones of the world, looking for Dwemer-trail. After much digging, the ancient fleshling recovered a Dwemer safe-box. It was locked without a key, but that matters little to me. I opened the safe-box with little difficulty. From there, we received a key to disarming the ruin’s traps. It took a little work, but we managed to crush any threats to the elder, and were paid handsomely for it.”
Kagrenac caresses his slade without realizing it.
“From there we returned to the great city, and were made Heroes. We then received our next hunt: Kyrax, the fallen Hero. I tracked him out to the desert north of Mindraas, and all through the desert. We fought lycanthropes at an abandoned Dwemer city, and faced Kyrax. Then we departed Khendean, and headed to Denkaaro, where we investigated a mine. Or so we thought."
Kagrenac shook his head, his face souring as he remembered that terrible place. I am truly glad we escaped that place.
"The mine had broken into an ancient prison, where terrible threats were confined. There we faced cave leeches, zombies, ghosts, an evil necromancer, and a Worm-beast. From the beast’s corpse I took the legendary hammer Thromm, and as I picked it up my Kora grew stronger. I suddenly was much faster, able to run further and longer than ever before. We attempted to return to the mainland, for the mine was on an island, but our vessel was wracked by fell storms. Servants of evil had our crew hostage, and tried to kill us. We barely escaped."
Kagrenac sighed softly. The chief was giving him an odd look. He couldn't decipher what it mean. Chathorik seemed to be enjoying his tale though, which was somewhat satisfying. Then again, he'd seen drunks have satisfying conversations with walls.
"A thin, wispy fleshling found us and took us back to the mainland. We traveled to the land of our lesser kin, where we searched for an arcane source of power. Many caves we searched, and many serfs we lost in trying to secure this lore. Yet eventually we triumphed, and we fought our way to a rune-covered monolith. I do not remember much of that fight, as my blood was singing too loudly. A fury such as I have never felt struck me, and I smote the monolith. As I did so, it spat foul magics at me, transporting me here. I know not whether I have been thrown through time as well as space, but I know this: my Kora is lost to me. That section of my life is over. I have chosen now to seek out my kin, and live among them. I need a clan, a family. I have learned that I cannot be the lone blade, for a hunter alone has no one to watch his back, and no hearth to return to.”
Kagrenac pauses as he considers his words.
“I want a hearth to return to. While my heart still sings to see the world, I need a hearth to welcome me. A Khana alone is lost, for without Kora nor clan what are we?”
Kagrenac leans on his slade, looking around the room.
"I am Kagrenac the Hunter. My story does not end here."
The khana listen to your tale with rapt interest, murmuring amongst themselves as you recount the details of your adventures. They chuckle as you describe your friends, and growl in approval as you recount the dangers of the submerged dungeon. You can see that a number of those gathered recognize the name Kyrax, and recall that the defamed ex-Hero earned his name from the khana.
As you finish your speech, the khana cheer and raise ther mugs in your name. The chief gets up and raises his goblet in the air. "Well spoken, Kagrenac. And I say that surely your tale does not end here, for how could one who bears such fire be put out, when he would burn for all the world to see his glory. Truly, you are welcome in these halls." The hunters roar their assent, and the chief steps over to put a hand on your shoulder. "But more I say to you. You desire a hearth and home, a family of your kin to call your own. It is the birthright of every khana to be one among his people, to be a member of a tribe. And so I say that you are welcome here. If it is your desire, I would make you a member of clan Krazx. What say you?"
... ...
With that, the chief passes you a goblet of the thick black ichor and raises his own in a toast, "Shakraz'ole! To Kagrenac!"
"To Kagrenac!" the crowd replies, raising their mugs. They wait for you to drink.
Kagrenac measures his thoughts and feelings against the word of the chief, and comes to a decision.
"I would be clan."
His response is simple, but heartfelt.
"Good," he says. "Now, normally there is a traditional rite-of-passage you would perform to become part of the tribe, which involves vanquishing a mighty beast and presenting it as an offering before the chief of the tribe you wish to join... However, I do believe fate smiled upon you this day, and upon this tribe, for I see already a beast vanquished by your own hand, laid out before me," he extends a hand at the remaining ribs of the roasted Koru-Bahal, "so I will call that an offering satisfactory of this chief. It's not the traditional order of things but I don't think anyone here will complain." he and a few of the other khana chuckle briefly, so you can tell this is going well. "However, the rite is also set to challenge the loyalty of the one seeking entrance, so I hope this does not sour your mood, but I have in mind a small test: tomorrow, you shall accompany Kora'Chathorik and the hunters, and go with them into the Talons to investigate this serpent problem. Return to where you fought the Stone snake, and if there is a lair to be found, destroy it. If not, bury the crevice under a mountain of rock - it matters not the outcome, you will have proven your loyalty to me and to this tribe either way. And it will give me time to think how your skills will be best used to serve the tribe."
Excellent, I was meaning to get a rematch with that foul serpent regardless. This hastens things nicely.
Kagrenac nods firmly in response, hefting his drink.
"Shakraz'ole!"
Kagrenac downs the obsidian concoction in one fell swoop.
You quaff the drink in one fast gulp... and your bowels instantly regret it. The pungent liquid burns your insides like a raging fire forcing you to cough out a black cloud of smoke. The khana cheer, and some laugh, then they all down their own mugs. Some of the children at the far end of the table spit out plumes of smoke and flame, mimicking fire drakes, or your own goodly self - it’s hard to tell.
The festivities soon wind down, with most of the food and nearly all the drink having been consumed. The chief informs you that you are welcome to stay where you will for the night, and offers you a bed in his own house (though bear in mind that will be among the chief’s young and wives) and Chathorik offers to host you at his place. So do many of those present actually, it seems you’ve become a bit of a celebrity, seeing as it is not often that a new member joins the clan.
It is now late in the evening. The village is readying itself for the night’s rest. The sun has set far to the west beyond the vale, and here and there stars peek through the clouds of ash and dust that roll off the mountains to the east. The torches are lit along the barricades on the western escarpment, and you see a few lonely guards at their post on makeshift platforms near the gate. The eastern slope is unwatched, as it has always been; the path leading up into the mountains from whence you descended earlier today is dark, disappearing into the night among the rocky crags.
As you are preparing to sleep the village elder comes to see you. ”That was quite the day you had, was it not, hmm? Oh to be young again and full of the vigour of youth. Hmm hmm.” As he awaits your reply he pulls out a jar of poultice. ”You bore yourself well today, and not just in front of the chief. Though the recounting of your journey was quite impressive I might add. But don’t think I didn’t notice your wounds, oh no. You have traveled far to come here, and the journey has not been kind. Such is the way of our world - of this land we live in. If you’ll allow me...”
He begins to rub some of the strange poultice on your skin. It feels cool to the touch, and you can detect the fragrance of the mint from earlier. He spreads it over your arms and chest, across any visibly open wounds and the burns you sustained from the teleportation magic. The milky white balm has the consistency of wet clay - thick and pasty - but does not hurt when rubbed on the wounds. It feels... odd, but nothing more, almost as if it were blunting any sensation in the wound.
This all transpires in silence. When he is finished, the elder spreads his palms open on your chest. A soft glow emanates from his hands, that slowly perfuses through the balm, until the soft glow surrounds your body. You experience a tingling sensation, like an itch, spreading across your skin, as the wounds begin to knit themselves back together. Then the glow subsides. The balm rapidly dries and crumbles away, hard and brittle. As flakes of it hit the ground it shatters and disperses into fine white dust.
”There,” says the blind shaman, ”that should help. I trust you are familiar with healing magic, yes? You were an adventurer after all. Most khana do not trust magic, even for healing purposes, but I hope you are not so thick-headed?” He winks at you. "We are going to need you at your best in the days to come I should think. Best to take care of what we plan to invest in then."
"I am indeed familiar with healing magic, Tal'shagga. It is most valuable, I have found. Your ministrations are much appreciated."
Kagrenac scratches his head, unsure of how he should thank his elder.
"What would be an appropriate method to thank you for your healing, honoured elder?"
Blunt honesty having served him well on many previous encounters, Kagrenac employs it once again.
”Thank me? Ho ho,” the elder chuckles, ”you can thank me by killing any serpents you find in the pass tomorrow. There is no need for you to think you are in debt to me for a simple spell of healing. As Tal’shagga it is my duty to see to the well being of this tribe and all its members. My role is primarily as an advisor of sorts, but I find healing a few scrapes and cut here and there is just as appreciated. The simple knowledge that you might live one day longer because of my actions is enough of a reward for me. You are far more valuable to us than you realize.”
The following morning begins while the village is still covered by a mantle of quiet darkness. The sun may be up, but the steep slopes of the mountains prevent it from casting light upon the sleeping village of khana. The only sign of its presence is a ruddy orange glow on the underside of the clouds that roll off the heights. You wake to the sound of a working forge and the pounding of a hammer on the anvil. As you get yourself ready for the day, other sounds come and go - people in the streets, animals braying, children laughing.
Chathorik comes for you less than an hour past dawn. ”I hope you slept well. We have a busy day ahead of us. Are you ready to depart?” With your agreement, the two of you head outside and meet up with the Aekil, Rakun, and Thro’ku. Punaka is notably absent, and Chathorik remarks saying ”he will not be joining us today. The chief grooms his sons in whatever way he sees fit. Today he has not seen fit to send him with me, and this is well.” Lowering his voice a bit he adds, ”To be honest, I am glad he has. The boy is no skilled hunter. Plus, we have you with us now. We will be well equipped to meet whatever challenges the Talons will throw at us today.” Rakun and Thro’ku snicker a bit at the first remark. It seems obvious to the veteran hunters that sending the young khana along on the last excursion was a mistake.
Chathorik passes around a satchel. Within the satchel are a number of small obsidian bottles, stopped with cork. ”Thorus sends his regards,” he says. ”Let’s try not to use them all in one place.”
With that you depart, heading back up the mountain path the way you descended yesterday. It only takes an hour to reach the near side of the pass.
The rocky terrain affords little chance to observe a trail, but you are able to trace your way back to the site where you remember first seeing the Stone Serpent.
You are able to track the serpent’s trail with ease back to the opening from whence it emerged.
Observing the rock formations around the path you are able to spot a number of structures that may be fissures. One of these might be the one from which the serpent emerged, though you may need to take some time to investigate.
You remember the landmark formations of rocks on either side of the pass and are able to determine where you first saw the serpent from that. A quick look around the area reveals the open fissure.
Kagrenac examines the spoor, and quickly finds the trail.
"This way," he states, pointing at the winding marks. Something like this is child's play for a Khana of his skills. Hopefully the monster will prove just as simple.
Were it so easy...
You arrive at the fissure having followed the serpent’s trail. It is set above the path partway up the unforgiving slope of the mountain crag. Steam steadily rises from within continuing to make its ominous hissing sound as the hot condensed air rapidly cools and the droplets of water evaporate into the dry, thirsty air. You will need to climb up to the mouth of the fissure to get a good look inside.
Once you are at the lip you can take a closer look. The fissure runs steeply down and out of sight, twisting away, obscuring anything below. The passage seems somewhat narrow; you estimate you should be able to work your way down, but it might be tight. Chathorik climbs up next to you and takes stock of the situation. ”Hmm. This vent goes deep it seems. It may lead to an underground spring, or a heated pool. It is not surprising the snake would choose to linger here. They like the heat, just as all reptiles do.” He scratches his chin bristles, thinking of how best to proceed. ”The descent will be difficult, and large weapons will not work so well in the confines of the passages if we do encounter anything down there.”
Aekil speak up from below on the path. ”Why not just bring down the rocks of the moutnain and bury it? Would that not be simpler?”
”Simpler, maybe,” says Chathorik, ”and we may do that anyway, at least to discourage more from settling here. But there may be more exits than this one. If we bury one, the snakes will only find another way out, and if we leave them alive they will breed and spread. No, we will need to investigate.”
The other khana take his word as definite and begin unloading whatever they will not need. They take only their small satchels carrying their potions and water skins, and each has a one handed weapon and back up dagger. The rest they leave behind a boulder near the path.
...
The khana make the descent without light sources, relying on their superior darkvision to guide them. Even so, upon entering the shaft you quickly find that the steam is going to become a constant problem. Not only does it obscure your vision, making sight beyond 5 ft nearly impossible, but the hissing of the vents from further below and the cloying thickness of the fumes themselves masks most noise. You find it hard to hear any of the others if you aren’t near them, and figure that shouting is probably a bad idea, as you probably don’t want to wake anything that may be waiting for you ahead. But the heat is going to be another problem. The others may be more resistant to it, but exposure to the scalding fumes is going to take its toll on you if you linger too long.
The steam mist also blocks vision beyond 5 ft, as the steam becomes too thick to see through (this blocks your night vision too). Enemies within 5 ft have concealment, and enemies beyond that have total concealment.
Further more, some parts of the cave have tunnel sections that are too narrow to allow for normal movement. These are marked on your map with ‘X’s. You will need to squeeze through them. You take a -4 on attacks and AC while squeezing.
While the entire map slopes in a downhill fashion (from the top to the bottom of the page), it is not enough to hinder movement in any way. However, there are other sections of the tunnel that slope to nearly vertical. These are marked with a ‘W’. You will need to climb these sections.
As you descend you hear the sound of something slithering in the room below. Make a stealth check if you wish to avoid detection.
vs 10
Kagrenac shifts from his trusty slade to his greataxe, seeing as his eyes cannot penetrate this quagmire.
Kagrenac hears slithering, and taps the nearest hunter's shoulder. Gesturing that he hears something, he points in the direction he heard it coming from.
Init.
dex 14
dex 21
Attack
does not confirm
success
You cautiously advance into the chamber, approaching the source of the slithering sound. Near the far wall you just barely spy a slinking snake-like body coiling up. Then fangs dart out of the clouds at you as the serpent makes the first strike.
Now that you are close enough you can see that this snake is somewhat smaller than the one you have previously fought.
Kagrenac swings wildly at the foul serpent, once, twice, and thrice.
Unfortunately the steam obscures your vision, getting in your eyes and causing you to strike askew of your target. The rest of the hunters charge in after you, but each of them miss, swinging wildly in the fog.
The snake recoils, backign up against the wall. It strikes at Chathorik as it moves past his feet, but he nimbly sidesteps.
(< 20 = miss)
(< 20 = miss)
miss
miss
miss
miss
"Curse this vile serpent!"
Kagrenac hears the slithering and hissing of more stonesnakes, and yells to the other hunters.
"More of the foul beasts!"
You swing wildly into the fog once more, once again failing to find your mark.
The rest of the khana advance with you. Chathorik steps up first, getting into position, while Rakun, the nimble climber, moves to flank. With a raging cry, he kicks off the far wall and comes at the serpent from behind. His axe catches it in the tail and it squeals in pain as the blade draws blood.
Hearing your warning, Aekil steps in front of the side passage and intercepts another two of the serpents. He lands a blow with his flail on the foremost’s head, but it snaps at his feet in turn. ”Two more this way!” he calls out, ”The air seems clearer down here!” Aekil has discovered that the side passage is free of steam.
The cornered snake continues to struggle vainly, lashing out but to no serious effect.
(< 20 = miss)
(< 20 = miss)
(< 20 = miss)
(< 20 = miss)
"Confound this damnable mist! Let us pull back out of it!
Kagrenac swings twice and backs away from the serpent, in the direction of Aekil's side passage.
Finally your strikes land. You tear two bloody cuts across it and it reels back in pain. Then Chathorik cuts its head off with his scimitar. The body slumps to the floor twitching, blood oozing from its many wounds.
Aekil continues to struggle with the two serpents who now block the side passage, their serpentine bodies filling the narrow space. They snap at him, and one of them manages to sink it’s fangs in his leg. He grunts, and grimaces as he feels the poison begin to seep into his blood. He swings away, fending off more attacks, but you can already see his movements becoming sluggish. He then steps back to make an opening, into which Rakun charges, but the swerving snake heads avoid the oncoming blow.
hit
hit
good
miss
good
hit
poisoned
miss
miss
miss
good
hit
crit threat
hit
DNC
ah, good he made it. safe for next round, though still slowed.
"Cut them down!"
Kagrenac swings three more times, attempting to thin the serpents' ranks.
(< 20 = miss)
(< 20 = miss)
(< 20 = miss) eh, I leave room for discrepancy in my diction of "what is a miss"
(< 20 = miss)
Your first attack connects, but the second is avoided as the serpent coils away in the mist. However, you correct for the third and finish the wounded beast. The one still living just squirms over top of its dead brethren's body and tries to strike at you, but to no avail. Rakun seizes the opportunity to land a swift blow, cutting through the creature's scaly hide.
In the meantime, Aekil manages to recover his strength as the poison seems to lose its potency. Chathorik still tosses him the body of the first serpent you slew, and Aekil lathers himself in its blood, just to be sure.
"Only one left! Push!"
hit
hit
its dead
You strike the remaining serpent twice and Rakun finishes it. When the thrashing stops the room is returned to that eerie state of heavy silence, the dense mist giving everything a surreal feeling once more. Except for the fresh carcasses and pools of spreading blood you wouldn't know that a battle had just taken place.
As soon as the serpent is dead, Thro'ku moves to the mouth of the tunnel the two came out of. He sees that the passage slopes steeply downwards, ending in a rather tight turn. He relays this information to the group. "Looks like this tunnel leads down. I can see the bottom. It turns sharply into a narrow gap. There may be another chamber beyond, though the air is cooler and lees foul here."
Chathorik pauses before replying. He cocks his ear listening, then says, "Scout it out. Kagrenac, you go with him." Chathorik doesn't move from his position and instead seems to be watching the other passage, the one the steam seems to be flowing out of. Thro'ku begins climbing down the narrow passage. The rocky wall is easy to navigate and there are plenty of footholds.
"Have care, Chathorik. I sense that we are far from done."
Kagrenac slumps slightly as his rage leaves him, but he follows Thro'ku without another comment.
You venture down the narrow passage and emerge in a lower room, a little smaller than the last. Many stalactites and stalagmites have formed from the constant drip of condensation droplets, which fall intermittently making a drip, drip, drip sound. While the air is still warm and stiff, it is considerably cooler than the hot steam, and you feel like you are able to breath easier.
A second passage behind several large boulders leads to yet another chamber, this one shaped like the inside of a clam shell. At the bottom is a pool. The water is lukewarm, that is already much cooler than the ambient temperature. In this second chamber you also mark the presence of several large discarded snake-skin husks; molted shells of scales cast of by their previous hosts, piled like ghostly, fragmented carcasses. Each is large enough you could fit a man within one. However, there are no more signs of the stone serpents' presence down here.
"There is nothing here. Let us return to the others. Hopefully they have had more luck."
Kagrenac rumbles his annoyance as he prods one of the discarded skins with his greataxe.
You return to the first room, to find Chathorik, Aekil, and Rakun waiting for you. Chathorik hasn't moved from his post by the unexplored tunnel. When you return he asks what you found. After you tell him, he only notes "Hmm. The snakes must have cooled off down there. They may be reptiles, but even they can succumb to the heat of living in this blasted vent.
"At least we know it does not lead back to the surface. So far we have only that entrance behind us. That should make things easier later."
The hunters gather and descend into the next tunnel. It is a short passage that leads downhill less than 20 paces before opening into another steam filled chamber. The hunters move cautiously, given your previous warning, and remain wary. But the dense cloud makes navigation by sight alone quite a challenge, and so the hunters fan out at the base of the tunnel and prepare to sweep the room. Thro'ku and Rakun move right while Aekil moves left. Chathorik moves straight down the middle.
Hearing the shouts of their comrade, the other hunters quickly turn upon the source of the commotion. A large stone serpent, easily as big as the one you fought in the pass, is currently tangled with Aekil's floundering body. Rakun charges in, roaring in fury and slashes the creature's scaly hide, leaving a thin red smile. Aekil struggles with his limbs, his movements sluggish, but his efforts are in vain. His swings lack the power to do lasting damage. The snake merely continues to savage him, wrapping its body around him and crushing him. Between the coils you can see Aekil's skin begin to take on the colour of grey slate.
Next Chathorik and Thro'ku move in. Chathorik lashes out with his scimitar, and Thro'ku launches one of his Chakram into the fray, but neither seem to have much effect in freeing their comrade.
whoops
aekil is paralyzed. the snake succeeds.
Kagrenac moves to flank the monster, slicing into its sinuous coils with his axe.
that's a miss i'm afraid.
dying
You circle the snake, your feet blazing with impossible speed, attempting to attack from an opposite angle. However, the solid mass of fog blurs your vision as you move and the swing goes wide. The snake attempts to return in kind, but is too preoccupied with crushing Aekil's helpless body to do much other than snap at the mist.
Rakun, Thro'ku, and Chathorik continue to lay into the beast, hacking at it, trying to wound it in a way so it drops their comrade. Having thrown away his Chakrams, Thro'ku pulls out his hook-blade instead. They move to surround the creature, penning it in. Yet even so, their attacks are largely ineffective. The snake snaps at Chathorik, the only one to have wounded it thus far, but misses as well.
Kagrenac swings twice, growling angrily.
You continue attacking the beast but to no avail. You can only watch in helpless desperation as Aekil’s flesh turns a stony grey, moments before he is crushed by the serpent’s formidable strength. Pieces of his body go flying as the statue that was once your comrade shatters. You get the sickening feeling that some of the pieces are still dripping with red gore.
With one of the intruders to its hold vanquished, the serpent turns its full fury upon Rakun next. The fearsome warrior does not hesitate to meet its embrace, but screams both in anguish and fury, hacking at the serpent’s coils. Between the four of you remaining, you manage to slaughter the creature. When it is over, you are all left breathless. No one says a word. The hulk of the creature’s corpse is left in the middle of the chamber. Blood stains the walls, the floor, and your own scales. Chathorik looks at each of you in turn. ”Down,” is all he says after a moment. Then he heads towards a passage that leads further underground; the passage the creature seemed to be guarding.
What you find in the lowest chamber is disgusting and astounding. Horrifying, and yet somehow expected. Three large orifices of stone belch the constant flow of steam that heats the cave and fills it with mist. Nestled around these geothermal vents are mounds of small round objects, about a foot in diameter. These oblong objects are heaped in piles and look to be bound with a sticky web-like film. the bones and remains of small animal hides are scatter amongst the piles, arranged in an almost nest-like fashion. ”Eggs,” Thro’ku is the first to speak, seeing the contents of the room. ”The Tar’kora was right.’
Chathorik turns and fixes Thro’ku with a look that is both furious and full of pain. ”No,” he says, ”the Tar’kora was not right. He was wrong. Wrong to send us down here, only a handful of hunters against creatures that plague the nightmares of children. We should have had a dozen warriors or more, and the Tar’kora knew this. Yet he sent us anyway.”
Chathorik shakes his head. ”Come. Aekil needs a proper burial. His body should not go to waste.”