Some in the group are stunned by the shocks and get caught reacting slowly, while others get zapped into bouncing on light feet. The sturdiest of the bunch simply grin and bear it... and it doesn't hurt so bad once they lean into it with will !
Finally you reach the source amidst the sandstorm: a female dwarf with dark eyes, deep brown skin, and long braids of hair decorated with horn beads. She wears a suit of vented plate mail tinged blue and embossed with the sigil of Rahadoum—an ornamental shield inscribed with the Laws of Man, bearing two hands with the palms facing out—over a red tunic and bronze-hued pantaloons.
Her position is a reclined repose, fighting to sit up, struggling with labored breath, coughing, and wheezing.
You need to help her breathe regularly.
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Ahmandé looks around in concern. This would be so much easier if I could just use my wand! He kneels down by the dwarf, but looks a little helpless. As soon as someone who looks more like they know what they're doing joins him, he quickly moves to their aid, adding his own hands (but little knowledge) to their effort.
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In spite of how ineffective her compatriot's best efforts are, Yangrit still cannot blame them. What with the dust storm howling around them and the prohibition on divine magic, the deck was already stacked against them. Even so, she must put forth her best effort as well. Kneeling down beside her fellow dwarf, she produces a cloth and, being sure to enunciate clearly and loudly through her own mask, explains: "This will help keep the dust out so you can breathe better. I am going to tie it over your mouth and nose, but you will still be able to breathe, just like me."
The dwarf woman starts coughing event more violently. When Yangrit places the screen over her mouth, her eyes widen with fear, as it seems she's still trying to eject things from her throat and lungs moreso than cutting off the influx of anything new. She pushes it away and leans over to one side, coughing until a bit of blood spatters on the sand. She then collapses from her leaning position, so a more flat, semi-fetal position, trying to create a protective eddy around her nose and mouth using her arms.
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Yangrit slaps her hand to her forehead. "Oh! What a fool I am!" She digs in her pack, finally producing a healer's kit. "This should help. Let us see..." Using the materials provided, Yangrit again attempts to help ease the dwarf woman's breathing.
Unfortunately, she has never used one of these things before, so her efforts are largely ineffective.
When Ahmandé's eyes light on Gratius' wand, he quickly moves to action. His fingers wriggle in subtle gestures as he whispers an arcane phrase.
"Are you okay, friend? Did my healing work?" he quickly asks, through the wind and sand.
** spoiler omitted **
At first she is disoriented when something prods at her as she coughs, causing her to suddenly and quickly recover and breath regularly. At Hootie's explanation she eases up.
Back in the shelter of the caravan, the dwarf introduces herself as Kazima Rufah, officer of the Pure Legion, and expresses her gratitude for your aid. "To help a stranger in a world where no greater reward can be guaranteed is a noble, dying thing."
Kazima proceeds to recount her recent mission leading up to the sandstorm. She was investigating the disappearance of Vensali Vuun, a miller who operates a mill along the Jodin River’s northern bank. Not only was Vensali missing, but her family was found torn to pieces in their home. Kazima was returning to Azir from her investigation when the storm struck.
Other than the bloodshed, the only clue Kazima recovered was a small statue of a judge’s gavel made of shimmering gold. She keeps it wrapped in a black cloth and takes care not to touch it directly when showing it to you. Kazima is unwilling to touch the statue directly, insisting that “Only something connected to a god could seem so harmless yet be so evil.” She believes the statue is connected to several other disappearances around Azir, all related to similar sculptures that each bore a different shape.
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Gratius draws a wand and uses it to know more about the statue, taking precaution as the dwarf, not touching it and using the cloth to better examining it.
Gratius eyes go wide as he understand the nature of the statue!
Don't touch it! The statue can transmit a supernatural disease on contact! after taking a breath he adds the statue has auras of divination, necromancy, and transmutation magic.
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After getting the careless dwarf back to the caravan, Kirrote stands to the side with his arms crossed, waiting out the storm. He takes little interest in the group as they obsess over some sort of magical trinket but when Gratius mentions that it transfers a supernatural disease on contact, he raises an eyebrow and grunts.
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"Are you okay, friend? Did my healing work?" he quickly asks, through the wind and sand.
Ahmandé simply nods with a smile, then bows deeply with a dramatic sweep of his arm when Hootie offers her explanation. "Ahmandé, the grandest of all the street buskers of Absalom, at your service!"
After rejoining the caravan, and introductions all around, Ahmandé's interest perks up at mention of the tiny gavel, and other similar statues. "Can you tell us more about these others? Did you recover similar statues in every case, then? All the same, like this gavel, or other designs?"
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One of Yangrit's eyebrows rises in retroactive alarm as Gratius explains the nature of the little statue. Boy, is she glad she didn't touch it directly! That was a close one. She silently waits for an answer to Hootie's questions, taking deliberately slow breaths to calm herself and slow her suddenly racing heartbeat.
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Hmm... I commend her proactive approach, though I would be surprised if it works. Kazima seems the type to staunchly protect what is within her jurisdiction, and possibly to suspect foul play if anyone tries to encroach on it. Yangrit holds her response, balancing on the razor's edge between trying to help Hootie obtain the object and attempting to smooth things over if it goes poorly. (Not that she's all that good at sweet talking people.)
"Can you tell us more about these others? Did you recover similar statues in every case, then? All the same, like this gavel, or other designs?"
Kazima thinks for a moment before answering. Not always, it seems that the disease is transferred from original victims to new ones. She then grimaces before revealing the next part. They often rise hours later, as some strange sort of golden ghouls.
She shakes her head.
Taking a look at the statue, with out touching it.
[dice= Unusual Stonework]1d20+3"Looks expensive."
"Cursed is what it is. The gold on this, and the gold that flakes from the skin of infected victims, is worse than fools gold!"
Unfortunately, we will not be able to help you in your investigations. We are needed somewhere.
Says Gratius But, you can tell to the people in charge what we discovered about the statue. If they need us I think we will stay at an inn in town where you can reach us for the duration of our business.
She chuckles a bit. I am one of the people in charge. You'll see once we get to the gate... She smiles knowingly.
Kazima considers Hootie's offer for a moment, clearly caught off guard by it.
I would prefer to keep it as evidence... aiding our investigation of these recent cases...
She grumbles to herself momentarily, clearly suffering internal conflict.
But, you have been helpful. My colleagues have enough of these cursed objects and I could use less of this influence and risk of infection around me.
She deliberates internal several moments more, emoting only with her body language externally.
Very well. You hold onto it. But, I implore you to take care in handling it. I am entrusting that responsibility to you, that you remain able to help our cause and not add to the problem. However, I suspect you're up to the task. She gives Hootie a wink of confidence.
Kazima insists on accompanying the party back to Azir to rejoin the members of her garrison.
You arrive outside Azir before dusk on the sixth night of travel. The city’s sandstone curtain wall forces you to seek entrance at one of the massive gates, each of whose arches bears the brass symbol of Rahadoum: a set of open hands, palms out, over an ornamental shield inscribed with the Laws of Man. Each gate has a staff of six guards as well as two Pure Legion soldiers dressed in blue steel armor over white garments. They appear to be collectively questioning everyone entering Azir. By the time you arrive, there’s still a line of several trade convoys and several dozen travelers, many of whom are tired from spending several hours standing in the sun and quietly complain about something that is causing recent delays.
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The caravan settles at the back of the line at one of the gates. Kazima pipes up with an offer of help.
Because of your assistance in the desert, and for which I am still here, I’m happy to escort you to the front of the line by my authority. A quick inspection of your possessions will still be necessary to enter the city. Please, follow me.
As your caravan proceeds you catch more than a few scowls from weary travelers who’ve been weathering the heat all day, draining their waterskins down their throats and on themselves. When you arrive at the front of the line, Kazima is greeted by a pair of her similarly-adorned colleagues. They hail her return, and similarly thank you for your assistance.
Before beginning the requisite search of your caravan, Kazima and the other Legion soldiers discuss her findings from her mission, and perhaps other business.
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When the caravan arrives to the long, dusty line, Ahmandé quickly takes a moment to move a bit forward, questioning the people waiting about the delay. He quickly surmises that the Pure Legion has been extra vigilant of late, due to religious disturbances of which the rumors are colorful and varied. Returning to the caravan, he relays this all to the other Pathfinders, adding "of course, it's likely to be these gold relics that are the true concern." With a lift to one eye to their dwarven escort, he seeks confirmation. "Right, Kazima?"
When they have arrived at the front of the line, as Kazima updates her colleagues and the Pathfinders wait to be searched, Ahmandé suddenly whirls on a small halfling, quickly attempting to grab the miscreant before he can get away. "You, what's this? What are you about?""
If the halfling eludes his grasp, he points and calls "Grab him!" with urgency.
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Hootie accepts the gold statue, taking care on how she handles it, wrapping it in a cloth and then stowing it in her backpack.
"I won't let you down." she replies.
At the city though while being escorted, Hootie takes care to hide the dangerous looking items around her person such as her wands. She also hopes that her attire would distract anyone else from examining her too closely.
Ahmandé's cry though breaks her line of thought and she fails to grasp the one he pointed out...
As soon as Ahmandé notices his stealth interloper the group makes fast work of detaining and piling on the halfling.
He immediately throws up an irritated and indignant front. Unhand me! I'm just making my way to a place in line to enter the city and you stop me, costing me even more time! Let me go! I don't want any trouble. As his protest continues, you notice worried desperation creeping in. He glances at the Pure Legion momentarily as he pleads with you.
As the altercation flares up, Kazima and the other Pure Legion officers slowly start approaching, warily observing to determine what is happening.
Although he's wearing rather concealing clothing (noteworthy in this brutally hot climate), you notice flaking of golden skin. Further there are faint stains of golden skin-dust apparent around the opening of his clothing and on his shoulders. With the way it glistens in the sun it's somewhat obvious why he may want to conceal it.
He continues pleading, but increasingly incoherently.
She made me do it, said it was the only way; ... I don’t deserve this—I only needed a little money, but got sick.
It's at this point that you notice he begins crying golden tears and coughing violently, causing him to struggle through his ramblings. Another few moments, and you start to notice golden bubbles forming in his throat as he fights through the coughing. He starts convulsing, causing Yangrit's grapple to become support of dead weight as the halfling begins to collapse.
At this point Yangrit can't help but let go. The halfling isn't going anywhere and she doesn't want to get any of the gold substance on her, unsure if it transmits whatever wretched sickness this is. As he doubles over he begins vomiting the molten gold that was before only bubbling up through his coughs.
The halfling continues to shake and convulse on the ground, his breathing becoming more and more labored. Finally, in one last gasp it stops altogether, though the golden bubbling continues as his eyes glass over.
The Pure Legion officers get worried looks on their faces and a concerned commotion washes through their present ranks.