Rurik has remained silent and behind the group for the duration of this encounter, but finally manages to rouse himself, shaking off the disturbed fascination with which he's been regarding the ghast, and take a step back.
"I will see to our friend."
A short comment, but he has little more to offer this crowd, despite the ghast's loquaciousness.
Hurrying back to the camp, he steps beside Ulave.
"Refusing to stay in the camp as long as they harbor undead?" It's less a question and more a statement of the obvious that invites comment.
I am under an obligation to uphold order, to defend against evil, and I have sworn a holy oath to seek out and destroy the undead of this land. The Goddess herself sent me here for that purpose. I cannot permit that creature to exist, and yet I cannot destroy it without upending the order under which these people willingly live and would willingly defend. I cannot stay, and yet do nothing. So I will go.
Ulave frowns, and then looks down, avoiding the inquistor's gaze.
I admit that I am in doubt. The ghast radiates evil, but not great evil. The creation of the undead is an evil act. Its energy lingers in their very essence. I can not discern whether it was the evil that created the ghast, or the evil of its appetites that I felt. It is not like others of its kind.
Ulave looks up and smiles, a little sadly.
Fortunately, this land does not lack for undead. The execution of my Goddess's holy wrath against this ghast may be deferred, for in this land not far dwells an undead being of great power and wickedness. A lich. To find it is where I go.
Well, the flu no doubt. Twould be the death of me...but not yet perhaps. Nice to make introductions, I suppose. Now about this fellow on the ground. Has he passed? Next of kin, perhaps?
Rurik sighs and gazes out across the fetid giant camp, then beyond it at the disparate and ramshackle dwellings of the village.
"I understand. The leader of this town - the Usurer - radiated a strong evil. With such a man in control, how can this town be other than what it is? Already we have lost Eddwick. How much more would we stand to lose if we sought to accommodate this place's ways? If you've a mind to strike out into the waste, then I of course shall join you."
And with that, he turns to gaze back in the direction where they left the ghast. "Let us hope our friends are of like mind."
Agyen looks upon the talkative ghast with fascination.
The beetle circles away from and around the townsfolk, living and otherwise, to join him and Ammonis.
When Ammonis and Rurik speak of striking out, he turns to them:
"I shall join ye. I fear less for my soul than for my body. One mysterious past death to investigate is trouble enough.", he offers with a hint of dry humour.
Now about this fellow on the ground. Has he passed? Next of kin, perhaps?
Griswald perks up, clearly enthused to discuss the gruesome details of his work.
”Insssect bite. Or arachnid. Most unfortunate. The poissson appearsss to have, mmm, festered, though it isss difficult to produce estimationsss, for sssome creaturesss here excrete extremely fassst acting toxinsss. Asss you can sssee, the body isss in an advanced ssstate of, mmm, decomposssition.”
The man’s body is swollen on the entire left side. His ankle is exposed, his pants cut away. An open sore the size of a coin weeps copiously, the flesh around it dark and necrotic.
”The deceased’s name was Lamrey. He was a traveler who joined us a few years ago and graced us with permanent resssidence. No family to, mmm, ssspeak of. A great losss to the community, to be sure.”
Griswald clasps his rotted hands reverently.
Nodding to the ghast, Ammonis took his eyes from Lamrey and the ghast and turned to Lyon.
I believe we are to look at the wares...despite Ulave sudden ill disposition. Lyon, let's look into those camping spells...while I know of a wonderful spell that would put us up in full comfort every night..what was it called..ah yes secure shelter..it is however an exhausting and higher level sell. It would, at this point, limit me from my post powerful spells during combat. Ah yes, but there is a nifty spell called rope trick. Also an alarm spell of some type would be prudent.
"I am willing to contribute to the cost of such spells, if they are to be found in this place. Better gold spent wisely than gold slipping from cold grasp."
Really, you don't have that crummy scroll!? Obscene. Ammonis grumbles at himself for having not bought such a practical spell before leaving to the wastes. Well what else do you got?
Err.. oh what's this? Scanning the cryptic writing slowly, Ammonis nods. eh this would do, I suppose. I'd better go get Ulave.
Ammonis fingers through the pile of parchment, leather, skin, bark, a skull. Wizards will write on anything. Lifting a leather stack, being careful to not let the dust enter his nostrils, Ammonis spies another useful spell. Tiny Hut. That is nice. Maybe better than that wall of fire spell.
Ammonis sets the scroll stack down onto the dusty counter and turns to the shopkeep. He nods as pleasantly as he could but excuses himself. Gotsta go earn some iron, s'pose. Have a good day.
Ammonis nods and takes off.
Lyon, shop keeps don't like this Cornu much, even here. Better if someone like Ulave the Golden uses his magical crown to convince people to take less iron. That spell, I found, creates a magical spell around a campfire. Its the best I could find and we might afford....maybe. At 375 iron bits, it is not cheap.
Better stop Ulave from leaving just yet anyway. We got to talk sense into him...We should try to learn more of the land before leaving too.
"Thank you for your insights Griswald."
Once they're away from the ghast a bit Iyon responds "I'm willing to help with such an expense. I must admit this place is far more wretched than I anticipated. To be in such a state that the locals don't even understand that in most places undead aren't tolerated speaks volumes... a bizarre place."
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Ammonis and Fey plod back over to their campground. There he finds Ulave, his bedroll packed, sitting upon a bit of roc with his back turned from the Camp, staring out into the wastes. Ammonis walks around, taking a wide berth before purposely occluding the view of whatever the man had been staring. He waited to see if Ulave would speak first, but failing a bit of patience, begun first. The Camp is strange, and with its fill of mystery and evil. Is that so different than what you'd find in any metropolis? Do you run from all that is complex and shaded with gray? Make your stand. Yes. State and fight for that which you hold dear. Yes. Run? No.
Ammonis stands, and kicks some dirt. Here, in this camp, we have protection of a sort. Where that protection lay, I am not clear, but I suspect it is sourced to the Usurer, a man of disturbingly evil power, but a power that appears to have maintained a lawful order in this Camp, under which many honest folk willingly live, and do so fruitfully. We can do the same. Yes. Here we have a safety, of a sorts, but out there??
Ammonis gestures broadly ..is just death.
Your death if you go alone. Not some glorious death against a Lich Lord. No. A pathetic death from exposure to the elements, or from a mob of wild beasts.
Ammonis takes a drink of water from his flask, waiting for Ulave to speak. Failing that, Ammonis continues.
How would you serve your lady by dying in such a way, eh? Listen to the reason in my words, not the charisma, or lack-thereof, of my manner. Permit the oddities of the camp, so that you may destroy the scourge of evil undead lords you were commanded to face, not some pitiful ghast that has appeared to have turned from the worst of his nature..who knows there may be some divine destiny waiting for him. BUt that is not your fate. Your fate is larger. So you must permit the Camp its oddities. Stay here in this campground if you must.
But right now we need you and your glorious crown's help in purchasing the means to not die, right away, out there! So stop being an ass, and help your companions out by talking to the shopkeep.
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Ulave sighs. He's heard this sort of thing before. Most paladins, if they keep the company of anyone other than others of their own sort, endure many such lectures. That it would come from this wizard's lips was a small disappointment.
Ammonis, the straight and narrow path takes no shortcuts. My days of lawless adventure have been put aside for a higher purpose. But you have misunderstood me. My departure is an act of forbearance, not sanctimony. Forbearance and mercy.
Standing up, Ulave puts his hand on the man's shoulder.
But I will help you. Come, let us go to the market. But you must pay, for I will no longer touch the Usurer's iron.
Ulave walks swiftly back to the market, turning away from the sight of the undertaker. What things do you wish to acquire?
Ammonis points out several unintelligible scrolls and mumbles something about them that Ulave did not understand. Ulave nods his head and turns to the shopkeep.
Ulave smiles. Good day to you. How much for these?
The shopkeep looks at Ulave and quotes a ridiculously high price, but Ulave merely shakes his head and says Come, that is much too high. The lost holy texts of the Ilaxin would not cost such a fortune.
Ulave and the shopkeep eventually arrive at a better price.
Sanctimonious ass. but Ammonis smiles, if a bit stiffly. Sure. sure. Negotiate the price for your companions, not kiss a devil. But I'd best stay behind.... I tend to stall negotiations.
Ammonis turns to his companions who have also returned.
Ah yes, Lyon. Rurik. Here are my 10 irons. We have among us the 73 irons found here in this camp. If our good man here has any skill with words about him, I'd wager the shop keep twould drop that price down a quarter. Not that much business about. Can we gather say...281 and erm... one quarter iron bits, total?
For that matter, Ulave, unless anyone is partial to that fine magical club too big for any of us to use, why don't you sell that too..for iron bits
Better buy that alarm spell scroll I saw also. Just 25 iron bits, unless you can get the man to cut the cost. Make sure even the invisible won't totally surprise us.
Ulave seeks to find a buyer for the giant's gear. Turns out, most of the giants in the neighborhood like to buy such gear died very recently. Only the giant's keen club garnered any special interest.
Iyon assists Ulave in haggling over the various item's prices, clearly he has some experience in this kind of thing though not quite as skilled as Ulave. "The enchantment on that club is cyclops work I have no doubt, of interest to warriors and to scholars. It will not sit idle long!"
Outrageous! fumes Ammonis at being paid in gold for their loot. Paid with our own gold I suspect; the Usurer runs the whole bit would be my guess. Not that the price in gold was worse than what Ulave would receive in a metropolis, but with the usual markup of merchants and the cost to get iron, we'd have sell 10 times that just to buy it back.
All right, leave me to the peace of our campground. I need to transfer these spells to my spell book, which will cost more iron, I suppose.
"This is a temporary frustration, Ammonis. The benefit will last long."
Though it may be for whomever inherits your spellbook...
"Aye, well, we should use our time gainfully while we wait for Ammonis. How about we check in on this 'ambassador'? I've a mind to speak with an outside myself; the more I get to know the denizens of this camp, the more I sense a conspiracy to defraud us of all that we hold dear."
"I cannot help but agree with you, Rurik. On all of those points."
Passing the twin towers of the Chapel of the Dying Light, you arrive at the temporary dwelling of the envoy from Bard’s Gate. This is a sod house complete with thatched roof and fieldstone chimney. Deeply recessed windows are blocked by heavy wooden shutters. There are signs of recent repair to this structure--truly, a home befitting an ambassador.
A knock on the door elicits a shriek from within. There’s the patter of footsteps and a fumbling with the chain securing the door shut. When it opens, a tall, bearded man with olive skin and salt-and-pepper hair peers out with tired, bloodshot eyes. He sighs in relief, opening the door completely.
”Ah, it is you! The new sojourners!” His accent is seasoned with the spices of the southern lands. ”Sammar begs forgiveness for this unwelcome reception, this place...it, eh, has his wits at their ending. That is the expression, yes? Please, come in, Sammar will prepare for us tea.”
He ushers you in the dwelling, within which there are comfortable seats with plush cushions, colorful silk draperies hung haphazardly above the windows, and incense hanging in the air. To the side of the room a pedestal supports a small effigy of a female figure clothed in a tunic but with both breasts exposed. The statute glows, the result of a light spell. The home contains a hearth with a cast iron kettle, though it is far too warm for a fire. Instead, Sammar uses a woodfire to the side of the home, from which he carefully draws water that has already set to boiling. He speaks to you as he prepares his leaves and herbs.
”Sammar is sure you are hearing of the fate of his caravan sent north. We are sent to open a trade route to the northern lands, a route that must pass through this Desolation. The giant Gurg was their guide, and he became quite mad--boldly attacking you as you arrived. You were right to defend yourselves, yes, but Sammar can only imagine what is become of his cohort.”
He pours the tea, dark and fragrant, into tiny porcelain cups adorned with delicate scroll work.
”The people here, they are strange and unfriendly. It is proved difficult to establish alliances. But if the party can be rescued, well, opening the trade route would be very lucrative. Sammar and his friends would be very rich, indeed. Is that why you have come to visit him?” He sips from his cup. ”Please, drink!”
"Greetings, Sammar. I would sip some tea, while we speak of the Camp and the Desolation. Do you have any idea where your caravan may have ended up?"
Rurik enters the ambassador's home, bowing as he does in out of both respect and superficial gratitude for their polite reception. With the door closed behind him he feels some measure of relief; the Camp, small and sordid as it might be, has begun to prey on his mind, a weight that oppresses the more he learns about its inner machinations.
"You are too kind, Master Sammar. We had heard that your caravan met with misfortune, yes. What good fortune allowed you to escape Gurg and his pounders while the rest of your caravan suffered? Are the rest of the giants still alive and holding your companions captive?"
He nods to the pale skinned Agyen as the Samsaran cuts to the chase, and carefully lowers himself onto a cushion, crossing his legs and holding his tea carefully but not sipping it.
"Where they have ended up? No. Only where they were heading, and that was to the lands and cities far north of this place. But to get from here to there, one must manage the here. They set off north, planning to remain on the road, for very bad things await those who wander astray from the path. It is only a few weeks since we arrived, and the caravan left five days ago."
He smiles at Rurik. "Sammar is a diplomat and a trader, not an explorer or a warrior. Those who set off left Sammar behind as a...laison and coordinator for the future trade. I am hoping that Gurg's company would not do such a thing as to take them hostage, but who can say? Are you not thirsty?"
"How many wagons, animals, guards are in the caravan? Did Gurg mention anything of the dangers to expect in that area that you can recall?"
"Three and twenty men, Gurg, and, Sammar is thinking, eight ogre guides, with wagons and draft animals enough to carry them all.
"Gurg knew the roads well, and warned of its many dangers. Acid rain, bone storms, chimera, ghoulish wolves, and perhaps more. It is not a safe road, even in the day."
Continuing to slowly drink the tea, Agyen asks:
"I imagine Sammar would be grateful for his fortunes to be turned around, his friends even more so. Gratitude and...considerations would be fine indeed."
"If the majority of my compatriots are willing to look into the matter I will embark on this endeavour... but it would be foolish to go alone."
Sammar smiles. "Sammar can reward you, then, with these foolish iron bits so loved in the Camp. For Bard's Gate does not send its envoys penniless into foreign lands, no! If you can locate the caravan, Sammar will give you one thousand iron, and if you can save them, well the reward is tripled."
"That is a fine offer, Sammar, and one befitting a man of trade. I would agree to it. What say you, my companions?"
Upon hearing of Sammar's proposal, Ammonis nods his approval. This endeavor seems more profitable than the mission proposed by the Usurer, a clearly evil man. Ulave may protest, but perhaps he will listen to reason about proper preparation.
Agyen, did you get a good read on this Sammar? Everyone in this damnable camp has been odd thusfar.
"He actually appears to be dealing with us straight. I did not detect any subterfuge or hidden motives. He's one of the most reasonable people we've had to deal with in the Camp thus far."
"And has a more sane view on the iron bits than most here. Iron is for weapons, armour and tools. Gold and silver, rare, oretty and valuable yes but aside from coins its embelishment jewellery. If they turned their iron to better uses perhaps things would be in better condition."
"There is a bizarre set of temperaments in this settlement. I suspect a combination of the hostile and bizarre environment itself, and that those with better prospects or saner minds leave once their business is concluded."
Aha! I've copied those new spells! Ammonis remarks with more than a little pride, but to no one in particular.
"Indeed, that's a generous reward, and I believe we'd be happy to take you up on it." Rurik extends his hand to shake with Sammar, then glances at his friends. "Also a good excuse to get out of camp. Now, Sammar, can you tell us anything about the men and women who led the caravan? Names, descriptions, numbers? What sorts of good were being transported? How many wagons in total? Do you have a map of their intended route?"
It's too late for me to die young, so I'm set to go. First thing in the morning.
Sammar replies to Rurik. ”The caravan carried mundane weapons and equipment, and a multitude of crates containing trade goods. woven silks, spices, sugar, furs, oils, precious stones, and so forth. Horses draw the caravan. Many wear tunics bearing the lyre crest of Bard’s Gate.”
Sammar provides you with a hand-drawn map of the Desolation and is able to impart some basic information of the territory.
The Desolation: a vast expanse of wasted, war-torn fields that has felt the tramp of countless soldiers’ feet and drank the blood of humans and other creatures beyond imagining. Mighty engines of war and works of horrific magic slammed into the armies maneuvering across the countryside and left only death in their wake. So powerful was the magic involved, so pervasive the terrors unleashed that even now, centuries later, the lands remain indelibly marked by the legacy of battle. Where once were verdant plains and fertile fields now are only ashes and boiling craters of ooze. The depressingly bleak landscape of gray fades into the haze of the horizon.
The Desolation’s reach has never been accurately measured. Its southern boundary, marked by the tiny refuge known as the Camp, gradually rises to the stony hills that mark the northern edge of the civilized kingdoms. To the north the trade road passes another set of hills before, according to rumors, eventually entering a true desert land filled with oasis kingdoms, genies, and the exotic peoples known only in legends in the lands to the south. East, the Desolation gradually enters a wild and broken land, more verdant but perhaps no less inhospitable. For here the lands are the homes of the many orc and goblinoid clans before finally reaching a little-visited and rocky sea coast. The western edge is the Desolation’s clearest demarcation as the sheer vertical cliffs of the Stoneheart Mountains march along parallel to the trade road, visible as a seemingly impassible wall of gray stone.
The climate is universally dry. The ground is so parched that there is an almost constant haze from whitish, powder-like dust that rises with the frequent breeze. This haze lends to the overall gloom, isolation, and claustrophobia that is sometimes experienced on this otherwise wide-open plain. Occasional dust storms whip up and race south, usually petering out before reaching the Camp. These billowing white clouds are called bone storms because of the general opinion that the white dust is actually the powdered remains of the fallens’ bones trampled underfoot by the armies and then left to bake in the sun for centuries.
Thousands of beings died here, good and evil, extraplanar and mundane, celestial and abyssal. It is almost as if the lands retain a memory of that time of strife and countless horrors. How many voices were stilled to never be heard again is beyond count.
The wind sings a funeral dirge, low and constant. Perhaps it is the voices of those lost.
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Ulave! We are glad to have you. No doubt the Desolation is full of undead things for you to fulfill your paladin's oath against.
Ammonis frowns at the question of horses. I have a phantom steed spell for myself, but I do not have the communal variety..mm, that is a specialty of summoners, hmm? In any case, it would not last long enough.
The road is a bare hardpan sunken at least a foot below the surrounding ground from the centuries of travel it has seen. Tracks do not linger long on this hard surface as windblown dust quickly erases them. You walk less than an hour when Rurik calls out, pointing to the northwest.
There, you see the formation of rain clouds, dark and roiling, moving in quick from the northwest. You estimate approximately fifteen minutes until they're over you.
_________________________
Agyen quickly thinks on how the group may best endure this new trial. He does his best to dredge up memories from his past life here.
Ammonis is wary of all things in the wastes. Had not one of the Camp's residents warned us about unnatural storms?
Looks like ordinary rain. Acid rain maybe if the camp resident's are to be believed. Ammonis considers. I prepared one tiny hut spell which would last ermm, about half a day. I should perhaps prepare two of these from now on. If we take shelter, I may rest for an early night's sleep and recover the spell to cast again. Or we can forge on and test how dangerous this rain is to flesh