There are 12 taverns in West Hold. At least, 12 official ones. There may or may not be underground taverns.
"That one's called The Drunken Scholar; let's start there!"
Hoping to find something interesting to read simply because of the tarvern's name Drot walks quickly toward the entrance with his toothy grin, unfortunately it looks more like a snarl to most.
Upon their return with the missing children, Charles was simply astounded at the pay they'd received from Mr. Hatheeen. He spent it sparingly He spent a lot of the first week of his time in West Hold helping Mr. Hatheen, largely organizing his library into moving crates. He does however set aside those books he thinks might be more useful and asking the scholarly Halfling about books that could help him learn more of the immediate area they were in.
He also wondered if perhaps the Halfling had ever heard of or read of anything like what they had run into within the caves. He mentioned what Padraig had said about the place being of the Old Ways but also a cave shaped like that of a living being. Also, the oddly beneficial way which it had cured his family of the plague.
Outside of helping Mr. Hatheen, Charles faith, which had been beginning to stagnate within the village he'd called home, had started becoming revitalized over the days they'd spent out here. He could see that now, out here in West Hold. He'd been the lone true believer of the New God's faith and the handful of others he'd gotten to listen to him were mostly youths who preferred to hear him tell of how his powers had aided his travels and trials. He had to largely go off of what he'd remembered of his mentors’ previous teachings from their travels together and his own handful of direct experiences. He'd practiced the small rituals and had gone through the motions he'd learned during his time within the churches walls but he'd always felt hollow. The only times he'd felt it strongly had been when he was out and doing something in the world.
He'd meant to be a crusader, and now among others, he finally felt like he was home. He spent some of his time during the first few weeks in West Hold meeting with other crusaders and training with them and their ways. He'd picked up on new meanings and blended the old ones he remembered. He woke early in the morning to attended the dawn service on a daily basis, attempting to harness the rising power of the sun into his Celestial powers and make them into something truly brilliant, and eventually he succeeded. His time and being with Drot'ook helped him acclimate to training with so many orcs quickly. He remembered that not even 2 years earlier he'd still had some misgivings about the Orc but he'd largely gotten over them.
Intending to get a feel for what The Desolation held in store as he knew they'd have to deal with it either journeying out or coming back, he'd decided to meet with the leadership of the watch in West Hold. Charles was planning to join one of the many patrols heading out into it. It was one Commander Hayward, who was passing by that overheard Charles request and mentioned that his patrol would be heading into it within two days’ time. He'd seemed amiable enough when Charles had first come to the barracks of the crusaders. A middle-aged fellow with a peppered black beard and a strong build.
Charles joined his patrol, which seemed to consist primarily of orcs. The group was disciplined but as they traveled Charles couldn't help but notice the separation within the camps at night, the way the Orcs primarily rode ahead with a handful trailing behind, and how the commander ordered the Orcs to move into battle in the one encounter they had without so much as trotting his horse ahead, while Charles had charged forward with them. He spent his healing magics to cure some of the wounds inflicted.
Afterwards Charles rode with the Orcs, discussed things with them during the days and learned their way of doing things in the Desolation. Everyone on the squad was surprised in their own way. They started to call Charles "Souther" or "Nomad" although he hadn't told them anything about his life up to that point.
Commander Hayward questioned why he spent time with the "beasts" at all. His continuous comments and way he treated the orcs under his command chipped away at Charles until they night before they were due to return from their patrol and the Commander had taken to drinking, passing out his stash of fine alcohol only to the humans in his group while having the orcs stand guard. Which was how they seemed to prefer it anyway.
Charles was abstaining from drinking initially, but Hayward pushed the prospect getting Charles to start drinking. With a sigh, he relented and gave in. It tasted like bad water to him and he felt nothing. After most of an hour had passed, all of the men, except Charles, were largely intoxicated. Hayward brought it up that he had it imported from Tear and that he had once had comparable family vineyards until they were taken when the "filthy, Demon Lord loving orc king strangled the rightful emperor off the alabaster throne which sent my family into this squalor, and now I’m here forced to work with the same.”
It was too much for Charles who had gotten to know the orc crusaders and how they all believed in the following the New God and Astrid to fight the Demon Lord. He'd then stood up and socked the commander in the face. Charles started to call Hayward out on all of his misdeeds but the commander came right back, laying into him with several solid blows. After a moment of shock his men surrounded the two, cheering their commander on.
The two of them fought, a brutal beat down occurring on both sides, but the commander was sloppy from drink and Charles hit more often. When he started to know he was losing, the commander called for one of his men to "Get the bowl! Don’t let him run!" Charles had no idea what it meant but didn't have time to wonder as a few moments later his field of view was obscured as steam washed around them both. He stood confused for a moment then saw a moment too late as Hayward landed a dazing blow to Charles head with a club he suddenly was holding.
Charles began moving back but Hayward's handful of men kept him from leaving with staffs they had all readied and he had to dodge back into the mist. Even as Charles felt blind in the mist, Hayward’s club lashed in at him twice more, once he received a glancing blow, the second was ineffectual but from both from different directions.
He let out a deep focusing breath to try and calm his mind... and suddenly it was like he could almost see; no, he could feel everything that was close around him. Hayward's men seemed to be spread evenly around him keeping him from easily escaping while one figure, Hayward himself, seemed to be steadily stalking the outside. The man stopped moving seemingly about to attack.
In response Charles lunged forward from within the steam and smashed the commander in the face by calling upon his smiting power before he staggered back into the mist
"Aaagh… and here I thought you were just another priest. You're a paladin... but I saw you. You didn't heal yourself. You should be able to with your miracles, right? Oh... unless you can't. I thought there was something off about you. Your soul is tainted, right? Just like those beasts you spend so much time with. But you won't -"
he didn't finish the sentence however as the sound of horses suddenly thundered into the camp and there was a brief commotion as Charles felt rather than saw the riders and their mounts surround his sudden attackers.
"What? What the hell is going on?! You mongrel's, are we under attack?! Get back out there and figh- aaagh! My leg! You bastards broke my leg!"
"Commander! What are you doing?! This is treason! It's..."
"Shut your damn mouth, human!! We don't take orders we don't like."
"Souther, are you still alive?" Charles came out of the steam to see the orcs had rounded up the other men and that Hayward was grimacing through his pain on the ground.
"Grab your things, we're riding back tonight."
"Idiot's, all of you! I'll have your heads for this!"
At this the Orc who was leading the others, Fender, Charles thought looked down at Hayward. "Enjoy your walk back. Round up their horses!"
Afterward Charles was riding back with the Orcs somewhat in a daze as to how it had all just spiraled out of control.
"Here, Souther. It was your fight, the spoils for your victory are yours." they said handing him a strange looking bowl with just a tiny bit of mist trailing around it. "Fill it with water, it'll obscure your presence. Good against arrows or for cowering..."
"I didn't win that fight though. I just survived."
"Whether you win alone or with allies makes no difference. You were strong enough to survive and that's what matters. We follow our own path and only follow orders we like... or don't mind much. We won't be serving under his command anymore."
Upon his return from his patrol, Charles spent the next days in West Hold in good spirits. He noted Tesswyn’s sullen behavior.
” What’s wrong Tesswyn? I thought you were training with… Ingrid? Is it not going well?”
"It's going great. Fan-f*!%ing-tastic," Tesswyn grumbles. She massages her temples, then gives Charles a pointed look. "Do you think Ingrid is pretty?"
Charles faltered for a moment, thinking on the woman Tesswyn was clearly upset by.
Is she pretty? he asked himself. Well he wasn't dead and he knew that lying to Tesswyn would just make things worse.
"Yes, she is. I honestly don't know anything else about her or whether I'd even like her if we spoke but just looking at her, yes."
"Prettier than me?" Tesswyn asks icily.
Charles exhaled. Even he could read an icy stare like the one she was giving him. But he hardened his own gaze at her.
"That's not fair, Tesswyn. Asking me to compare the woman I love, who is the most graceful and also deadly person I know, to someone I have zero connection to.
The answer is no."
With her skills at picking up the subtlest of signs, Tesswyn can tell that Charles is telling the truth. "Fine. Sorry. I'm just stressed." She sighs and flops down on the bed. She pokes a finger at her belly. "And I think I'm getting fat."
Charles laughed and looked at her. "You have been enjoying the confectioneries a bit. I suppose if your worried about it too much, I could help you start training with me in the mornings, if you'd like."
Tesswyn nods and looks up at Charles, biting her lower lip. "Okay. If I did get fat, would you still love me?"
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Gärwin makes it through most of his planned visits, but gets drunk almost immediately at Grof's House/Tavern where he tries a drink called the Spotted Dragon. A strange mixture of cream, raisins and some kind of rum, it throws the poor dwarf for a loop. Unused to sweet drinks, he gags and sputters for a good while afterward. The worst part though, was the burn of peppers that shot up once the throat dried.
The next tavern wasn't so bad, he ate a nice stodgy pretzel and washed away the taste of raisins. Afterwards though, he was in trouble. He came across the Sweet Ship's Galley, a tavern boasting of having the greatest drink in the world. It was called the Pandimensional Beard Curler, a strong gold-green drink whose ingredients are a closely guarded secret. While Gärwin's beard did not curl, his mind certainly did. The bubbles seemed to lift from the drink directly into his brain, flooding it with alcohol. The dwarf's brain sank like a golden brick in a sea of lemon slices.
It was then that dwarf had really started to come loose, he had enough composure to last through on more tavern before trouble began. While previously, the dwarf had been tolerated through an impromptu dance with a cleaning mop, disaster struck at the following tavern. The Bee, the Bonnet and the Bludgeon was unkind to thoroughly soused dwarf. One of the patrons, an orc of a nature Gärwin was too blasted to remember, didn't take kindly to the dwarf spilling his drink on his breeches.
The two began to fight, ultimately ending with Gärwin suplexing his opponent through a table. Realizing eventually he'd have to pay for damages, Gärwin payed his dues and went home to sober up.
The image was difficult for Charles to imagine but he shrugged as he sat down on the bed next to her.
"Not that I think you'd let yourself but of course I'd still love you." after a moment he leaned to kiss her.
Tesswyn returns the kiss. "Good. But if you get fat, I'm leaving you. You know I'm only with you because you're good-looking," she says teasingly.
Charles let himself lean back on the bed. Turning on his side, he put one hand under his chin as he lifted an eyebrow at her with a smirk on his face. "So deep and thoughtful. What a wonderful motivator you are, Tesswyn." he said dryly.
Tesswyn shoves Charles onto his back, then climbs on top of him. "How's this for motivation?" She leans down to kiss him again...
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As with his companion, Drot got into his cups by the forth tavern by immediately taking on and regretting a drinking game brought on by the stout man himself.
They very next place they went held an orcish man who, matter of fact-ly, knew Drot from "way way back" despite not growing up in the same area. Though there was an attempt to convince the chap, Drot lacked the word necessary to turn the drunkard away and ended up in an heated debate that was swiftly derailed by Charles' that Drot tell him his thoughts on "modern architecture". The orc in question immediately fell asleep and the party left without further interruption.
The next bar left Drot's mind as soon as it was coherent the next day, indicating that nothing spectacular happened. Bar Number seven, on the other hand, was nearly as clear as a foggy morning. A group of three ruffians, two larger orcs and a larger human, immediately took a disliking to the now Charles-less duo. Unkind words were spoken but Gärwin's keen drunken mind warded off the negative pressings with his jolly demeanor and pointed need for more drinks. A tumble by Drot was not taken well by the human leader; though they made their chance escape by way of tomfoolery and distraction, their reprieve was short lived.
The eighth tavern, rightfully called "The Apex" was a lively place filled with a diverse mix of all peoples found in the city. Unfortunately for the imbibing duo, they were followed by the three troubled drunkards and confronted after their drinks were only half finished.
Gärwin knew there wasn't going to be any talking the three of them out of a fight, it seemed they had something to prove against the outsiders and thought it was going to be a quick beating and display of dominance. Unfortunately for them, they were not expecting the dwarf, who had side stepped the group while they were threatening Drot, to grab on of the orcs and suplex him straight into a table. It shattered with a loud crash and the fight was suddenly two on two. A circle formed and the other orc lunged at Gärwin.
Drot lost track of his friend at this point as the human, a substantial man, lunged at him and immediately began a grappling war that ended in Drot being slammed into the ground. The next time Drot opened his eyes he was alone and in his room. He could only remember a few things from the night before and his head was pounding like never before. Stumbling through the building he eventually found the man he was looking for. Gärwin was cooking lunch, happy as can be and immediately laugh at Drot's state when he entered the room.
"Something... Something bad happened last night, right? Why does my head hurt? And how did I get back here? And why are you laughing so hard? And WHY IS THE WORD BERSERK TATTOOED ON MY CHEST!?"
Drot purchases supplies and the team groups up and heads out. It's a day long journey back to the lake. Camp is set. The guard is posted outside to ensure no one f$%+s with anyone here. I don't think your dog likes me, sir, the guard says. It keeps trying to bite my ankles off and it won't stop growling at me.
On the first day, Drot, Pellius, and Gärwin assemble a pulley system using driftwood and rope to help avoid the spikes when climbing back out.
On the second day, they enter the fungal room and, as expected, face off against another fungal hulk. Knowing what to prepare for, it was easily dispatched.
The three spend the next few days gathering materials and testing the alchemical kit to see what they can make. After many failed attempts, including the creation of one small fireball, then end up with five working potions.
Frenzy Potion. You can use an action to consume this thick viscous potion. At the end of the round, you become frenzied for 1d6 rounds. While frenzied in this way, you cannot be frightened, and your melee weapon attacks deal 1d6 extra damage. Whenever a creature, friend or foe, would trigger a free attack from you, you must use a triggered action to make the attack. At the end of each round until the effect ends, you must get a success on a Will challenge roll or gain 1d3 Insanity.
Panacea Potion, x2. This rose-colored fluid has a sweet smell. When the potion takes effect, the creature removes all diseased and poisoned afflictions affecting it and heals damage equal to twice its healing rate.
Water Breathing Potion. A clear, fishy-smelling liquid with sparkling flecks, waterbreathing potion causes its user to grow gills just under the ribs for 1d6 hours. These gills allow the user to breathe underwater.
On the trip back, A. William Scott starts barking irradically. At first, you think he's just acting up again, but then you see it. A skeletal horse with a rider atop. The rider looks like some sort of human-jackal hybrid. This is one of the Anubis, a beastman unique to the dessolation.
Another appears. Then another. Soon, a small army has formed up. Looking around, you see another small army opposite the beastmen. Orcs. Lots of them. A large patrol is here to fight back the horrors of the dessolation - preventing these things from traveling south.
A horn is blown and the charge starts. The two sides both seem to he coming for you. Kicking your heels against your horse's flanks, you set off on a gallop, but the two armies clash before you can escape. The orcs do not intentionally strike at you, but the Anubis do not care who they kill.
You fight back as best you can, still trying to escape the war front. Eventually, you make it out. But not without loss.
"We got in a bit of scrap, we did! Think we showed 'em who the top dog around 'ere is too. It's a little fuzzy."
"Now I think I was a bit, no, a lot drunk and we decided to get you somethin' to commemorate a job well done."
"I... Remember a getting thrown to the ground... But after that, nothing... Well, not nothing, I remember arguing with... Uh, myself, I guess. Nothing in the waking world though... "
"Yeah, it was a sight 't see. You grabbed an entire table in one hand and smashed right into the guy. Cost a pretty penny too."
"I... No one died, did they?"
"Ehh... orc are tough stuff, shudda seen 'im run tho!"
Gärwin laughs loudly.
"The whole night comes in and out, I wonder if we can find out more about what happened. Perhaps we should trace our path back around the bars. I think I need to return this..."
Drot produces a book from his pocket, he doesn't remember anything about its contents, but does remember the pretty waitress that recommended it.
Gärwin seems indifferent about they book's owner.
"Want some bacon? I'm no master chef, but I know good bacon and eggs when I taste it."
"Eyy! wait a minute... check if she wrote anythin' in it!"
Drot flips through the book with an eager pace. His face looks somber but returns to his pained expression from the headache, immediately.
"Heh, not this time. Too bad, she was, interesting. Something odd about her for sure but I guess that goes for all of us. Hah!"
"Well, she still gave you the book, it's a start. lesse if I can remember where she was..."
"Yeah, the girl with the long hair at the Chartered Seahorse, right? She seemed sweet on you."
"Haha! I do remember her! But that was the woman that kissed us both! I got the book from a lady at the first bar, The Drunken Scholar. She had bronze skin and copper hair..."
"Go for it, Drot, yer only young once!" Gärwin says with a wink.
"I'm already old, young man! Haha... Perhaps I should still return the book though."
Drot smiles to himself, his mind is racing with all sorts of fantastical thoughts. That is, until the pain in this head comes back and he plops down to eat the food Gärwin offered him.
Drot'ook and Gärwin began making plans to visit The Drunken Scholar several more times that month, with Gärwin pushing Drot to go pursue the woman's affections.
Gärwin puts in a token effort to help Mr.Hatheen, but is more involved with supervising Billy’s work than doing much lifting himself. The boy had no difficulty moving the books, being an experienced porter. The boy had certainly grown stronger from his training with Gärwin, but that wasn’t why the dwarf was watching over him. The large number of Orcs in the area made Billy nervous and Gärwin wanted to make sure he didn’t get into any trouble. It was a relief then, when Mr.Hatheen made his way to the village. Gärwin sent his young squire along with the elderly halfing to act as his guard.
”Alright boy, this is your biggest test yet. I’m not always going to always be around to watch over you. Continue our patrols at home and bring honor to our name! … Don’t forget to see your mother too, she’s probably worried about you.” Gärwin was almost sad to see the lad go, but his gut told him things were going to get even more dangerous soon enough.
The next week had Gärwin relaxing, whittling the days with horse racing and the occasional arm wrestling competition. With time though, the dwarf became restless. Like many of his race, Gärwin was an industrious sort, preferring to get back to work than to laze about. When Drot’ook offered to take return to the demon’s cave, Gärwin was eager get back into the action. Being prepared this time, it was no problem dealing with the creatures inside. Once they left though, disaster struck.
Drot’ook’s blasted dog was barking its little head off and alerted a large band of Anubi riders. They descended upon us with incredible speed, forcing us into a fighting retreat. It was only the timely interference of guard patrol that allowed the lot of them to escape. However, the dog was never seen from again. While Gärwin hadn’t really liked the dog, he considered himself friends with Drot’ook and decided to help him drown his sorrows in booze.
After firsthand seeing the dangers out the outlands, the dwarf resolved to patrol the roads outside West Hold. He almost immediately found some jackalmen, most likely scouts for the larger force he encountered earlier. They broke off and ran when Gärwin came charging down the road, escaping into the brushwork. That wasn’t the end of it though, the dwarf managed to track the scouts back to their camp. The massive collection of tents had to hold at least fifty of them, perhaps more.
Undaunted, Gärwin snoop around the perimeter of the camp, when he spotted something terrible. Cages, and what were inside was no animals, but people. Men, women and children, caged like beasts. The dwarf knew that he was no match for an army of Anubi, he had to think of some way to get the people out. Temporarily retreating, Gärwin took stock of his supplies and hatched a daring plan.
In the early morning, before the sun rose, Gärwin soaked the grasses near far tents with oil. Then as the sun rose, dying the world in it’s orange glow, the knight lit the oil ablaze. By the time the jackalmen realized their tents were catching fire, it was too late. Running as quickly as he could, he circled the camp and slew the few guards in his way. He broke the rusted door open and the caged people ran for their freedom.
He was lucky, most of the Anubi were occupied with saving their own lives to attack the escapees. Atop his horse, Gärwin herded the people the relative safety of the open road, occasionally intercepting jackal riders before they can set upon his charges. Once there, a passing orc patrol helped the knight escort the survivors into the city.
The people of West Hold rejoiced at the return of their loved ones, and Gärwin was hailed as a local hero. The dwarf was showered in gifts, though most of them did not escape his gut in the following weeks. Life was good.
With the Hatheen family packed into wagons, and a few hired guards along with Billy, they head southward to the village.
You know, says Pellius, I think I'd like to go, too. There's a lot of knowledge in those books, and I kind of miss home. He looks to Tesseyn and Charles, Besides, there's nothing for me up north. Just more death. I wish you all the best.
To Drot, he says. Thank you, friend, for all you've taught me and all you've done to help me. I... I don't want to go to the dessolation. It'll kill me. I hope you understand.
After saying his goodbyes, Pellius follows the caravan south.
The four of you mount up and make your way North. It's quiet without Billy and Pellius bickering back and forth, or without the dog yapping at something or other.
A half day sees the terrain start to change. The winds get warmer. The grasslands less green. Soon, even the sounds of insects fade away.
The Desolation, a place seemingly devoid of life, is defined by sandy dunes, vast stretches of dusty, rock-strewn plains, and pools of boiling mud.
Even thought the weather is warmer, it's still unseasonably cold today, making the temperature rather nice for a stroll into the desert.
You travel for most of the day, doing your best to head north towards the town known as the Oasis. Nothing in particular happens. You see no signs of life anywhere. No creatures, no plants, nothing. Just sand.
Prepared for the extreme hots and colds of the desert, Tesswyn wears a loose-fiting black coat and headwrap over her typical leather armor. She is mostly quiet as she studies the map and leads the group across the desolate terrain.
Stopping to see what the hell you kicked, you discover a ladder buried in the sand. You grab the ladder and the entire thing disappears, all that is remaining is a short wooden rod in your hand.
Whenever you place this rod on a flat surface, it forms into a 20' ladder. Picking it up brings it back to rod form.
"F!#!!" Tesswyn curses as she stubs her toe. She digs in the sand until she finds a ladder, of all things! She gasps as it shrinks down into a short wooden rod. A bit of experimentation reveals that it turns back into a ladder when put down and the rod when picked up again.
"Okay, what the hell ever," she mutters, stashing the strange thing for further use before continuing the journey.
As the sun passes its zenith, the wind starts to pick up, kicking sand into your face.
Malevolent eyes form within the windblown dust. Whirlwinds of dust form around the eyes, and the move towards you with alarming speed.
Make a perception challenge roll with one bane.
If you pass this check, you can take an action this round. Otherwise, you are surprised until the end of round 1. Any boons or other abilities you may have based around surprise may be applied.
Tesswyn's auspex training pays off, her heightened senses preventing her from being surprised. "Heads up!" she shouts as she casts a spell to harden her skin.
"What's goin' on? I can't see any-" Gärwin accidentally catches a mouthful of sand and coughs heavily.
Drot, ever with he face burred in a book, hardly registers that Tesswyn even spoke.
"Hm? Yeah jus'... One sec..."
"By the grace of the New God, shield us from our foes."
With Charles' help, Gärwin recovers from his coughing fit and moves to cover the party. "Sand whirlwinds? Will my sword even hurt such things?"
The dust devils come in for the attack, their malicious eyes aiming for...
Charles and Gärwin. The whirlwinds blast sand at the two armored riders. Charles deflects the attacks, while Gärwin become blinded by the sands.
The swirling dust makes it difficult to pick up on the signs around Tesswyn. She scorches the dust devil that struck Garwin with the flames from her magic staff, but the follow up blast misses and drains its power for the day.
"Gah! My eyes!" Gärwin tries to dig the sand out of his eyes, to no avail. After not making progress, he swings his sword at where he guesses one of the creatures is.
His wild swings hit nothing but air.
Once the yelling starts Drot's head snaps up and he hops off his horse. He dons his ethereal armor and runs to aide of Gärwin.
Tesswyn blasts fire, doing significant damage with the magic, while Gärwin swings wildly.
Charles attacks the nearest one.
The attack barely misses.
The dust devils continue their assault.
One attacks Charles' horse, but the horse prances out of the way.
Another attacks Gärwins horse.
Drot casts his spell and moves next to Gärwin.
The final dust devil moves and snacks Gärwin. Charles is able to swipe at it as it moves away.
Damage tracker:
Dust Devil 1: 11 (on fire)
Dust Devil 2: 0
Dust Devil 3: 5
Gärwin's Horse: 5
Drot swings his new hammer at the Dust Devil coming into range, to get after Gärwin!
Tesswyn swaps her staff for her bow as she shoots the burning dust devil.
Gärwin swings his weapon blindly, not knowing if he hit anything at all.
Prayer to Gärwin.
Attack dust devil.
Tesswyn and Gärwin take down the dust devil on fire, while Drot attacks a second, injuring it.
Unfortunately, your weapons attacks don't seem as effective as they could be. But they still harm it a little!
The dust devils fight back.
Damage tracker:
Dust Devil 1: Destroyed
Dust Devil 2: 0
Dust Devil 3: 10
Gärwin's Horse: 5
"Piss off! Drot farts things scarier than you sandy bastards!" Gärwin loudly drums his shield with the pommel of his sword, hoping to distract the creatures.
Tesswyn's next shot goes wide as the dust devil deftly dodges danger!
The fire rages forward in the orc's eyes as his veins in his arms buldge and he swings at the living storm again.
Drot and Charles devistate the injured dust devil, leaving one remaining.
"Even the damn wind is against us here," Tesswyn grumbles. "Let's keep going. Hopefully we can find somewhere safe to camp before nightfall."
You travel on into the day. The winds stop after a while, and the dust storm clears. Without a breeze, it starts to get hot.
The sun starts to drop, but it doesn't seem to make any appreciable impact to the high heat.
You set camp. The night passes peacefully. The next day, you wake up, already sweating. You pack up and head out.
Half way through the day, you spy two Anubis - the jackal-headed beastmen. As soon as you see them, they charge towards you. You have the initiative.
"My word..."
Drot wipes his brow and flings sweat to the ground; it consumes the moisture as readily as the adventurers.
"...This is as bad as the underbelly of a slave ship, save for the stench."
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"Incoming! Imperium; Iaculum; Septem!"
Drot says his words and does the gestures, and nothing happens. No boot of energy, no exploding Anubis, no sizzle of magic. Nothing.
The heat gets to Tesswyn, and she is sullen and quiet throughout the night as she sweats and mopes.
The next day, when the beastmen appear, she wastes no time drawing her bow and shooting the same one Drot targets.
Gärwin drinks lengthily from one of his waterskins. "I think I know how beef jerky feels now."
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Gärwin charges the Anubi on his horse, his recent experience with the creatures proving beneficial as he skewers one through the chest.