It was a disturbing sight. The figure, they guessed it had once been a human male, was nailed to the splintered post with crude spearpoints, jammed into arms and legs. The dry desert air had partly mummified the remains, transforming what might have been a rotting body into a dry mass of leathery skin, twisted hair and bleached bone. While the victim lacks any armor, ragged bits of leather and clothes remain, pitted by wind and sand. Even the wooden post itself is weathered and pocked by the brutal weather. While not a true crucifixion like those rumored to be used by the distant Chelish, the corpse staked in the center of the path sends a clear enough message.
Go Away
Zolzi and Fimdi pause in front of the grotesque marker, pondering their options. Around them soar the stunning if formidable Brazen Peaks, that range of dry mountains that formed the backbone to Katapesh. Imposing and vast, this tangle of jagged peaks, steep valleys and sandy dunes makes up the northern border of Katapesh, virtually ignored by the nation at large. Mostly uninhabited by humans, it is filled with disorganized tribes of gnolls and ogres, not to mention the rumored hordes of truly wild monsters. No roads pierced these rocky heights, no trade routes braved the dusty cliffs, with even the famed merchants of Katapesh giving the desolate land a wide berth.
It was a good place to hide.
Zolzi and Fimdi had left the last town, Bronze Hook, days ago following an ancient and long disused road. At the time they thought the rugged land they were traveling were the Brazen Peaks but they had been wrong. Those first few days had been spent traversing the mere foothills, the lowest slopes of the range. Only lately had they truly understood the sheer scope of the real mountains, towering thousands of feet overhead, rocky outlines blocking out sections of the sky. Travel had not been easy. Clambering over massive boulders that had long rolled downhill to block the road, or struggling through waist high drifts of sand. The only real constant (other then toil) was the weather. So far the two of them had experienced nothing but blazing unobstructed sun. As far as they could tell, clouds simply did not exist in the Brazen Peaks let alone rain. Katapesh was a dry country but it looked downright swampy compared to the bare rock shelves of these mountains.
Still neither thought about turning back from their given mission. Even standing under the bright sun, tasting the acrid tang of dust of the road both could easily recall the dim cool interior of the Grand Temple of Nethys in Katapesh, far behind them. Old Archmage Tahmesh Orwa, wearing his usual redskull cap, had ushered them into an inner room of the temple and given them the world-changing news. The Nine Sacred Rods of Nethys had been stolen, out of this very temple. The fact someone had robbed the temple has shattering news of itself. The building was one of the largest structures in Katapesh, guarded by endless wards and magical barriers, protected by centuries of accumulated arcane knowledge.
”We must avoid a panic.” Orwa had said, ancient voice as dry as the vales of the Brazen Peaks.
A panic indeed. The Nine Sacred Rods were the most precious items contained in the rather extensive vaults of the temple, a place awash with items of great power. Each of the Rods stood for a separate school of magic, abjuration, conjuration, divination, enchantment, evocation, illusion, necromancy, transmutation and universal. They had been created centuries ago by the greatest wizards of the age, raw magic given physical form. The exact extent of their powers were shadowy, long lost in rumor and legend but one thing was clear. They [i]must[/] be returned. Not only were they central to the religious faith of the church, but they were also powerful items that could do great damage in the wrong hands. Worst of all, there was a school of thought that the Rods kept back the creeping growth of the Mana Wastes. If they went missing for too long, these strange and violent anti-magic zones might increase, spreading north throughout Garund.
Still, the news had gotten worse as the Archmage had gone on. The thief had been one of their own, a fellow cleric in the temple, a woman named Mulunesh Tennamar. She was unknown to both Fimdi and Zolzi but they were informed she had been a stellar researcher and historian at the temple for years, one of the finest archivers the order had ever known. No one had any idea why she had robbed the temple of such holy items, not even her closest friends and colleagues. All that was clear was that she had taken the relics and headed for the Brazen Peaks as fast as possible...
Which was why the fetchling gunslinger and the gnome sorcerer know stood on an empty dusty road, looking up at a grinning, desiccated skull.
Zolzi squinted up at the dead man, her breath dry in her throat. The harsh and unrelenting sun and sand had given her a constant headache, and her mouth tasted like dust. She took a sparing sip of her waterskin before passing it to Fimdi. For a brief moment she envied the dead man - surely his afterlife would be gentler than this reality was.
Giving her head a shake, she began looking more carefully, seeing if she could garner clues about how long he'd been up there. Surely Mulunesh hadn't stopped to crucify a man - this probably predated her theft. But it was important to know for sure. And had the crucifixion killed him, or had he already been dead?
"What do you think, Fimdi?"
Fimdi stands quietly beside Zolzi. The wind whips her teal hair into a frenzy which slaps softly against the fetchling's chest. She squints up at the dessicated corpse, wishing she had had the foresight to bring along a parasol to protect herself from the sun.
"Probably got what he deserved," she says matter-of-factly. "And I think it's obvious how he died." She pauses, "Surely if they really wanted people to stay away, there'd be more than one? This looks like they're barely trying."
Zolzi nodded along with Fimdi's assessment, impressed by her ability to interpret people, both living and dead. Having grown up in such a small tribe, Zolzi had never been exposed to "bad guys". Sure, the occasional horrible monster wandered past the Shinney, but she'd never had to watch out for "criminals", "creeps", or "losers". The gnome was as worldly as she was colourful, and Zolzi was again grateful that Nethys had crossed their paths.
"Right, right," she agreed. "Maybe not enough passers-by to do more than just the one?" She took a quick look around, suddenly very aware that they were also passers-by. Her right hand rested automatically on the grip of her musket - the reassuring feel of the weathered wooden grip calmed her.
******
Tipping her hat down again, to cut the worst of the glare, Zolzi took another sip, then slung the waterskin over her shoulder. "Onwards?"
Fimdi notices that Zolzi's hand drifts to her firearm and immediately she is on the lookout for rabbits. "Did you see something concerning?" The gnome is grateful that she is traveling with a known rabbit-slayer. It made her feel much safer.
"We have to find Mulunesh so that would be the obvious course of action." The sorcerer looks disgusted, "I still can't believe she stole from the temple, from Nethys! A cleric no less."
"All that to say, yes...onwards."
Fimdi and Zolzi investigate the affix corpse on the post. It becomes quite clear the person has been dead for quite some time and has probably hung here for over six months. In the lowlands it would have long turned to rotten sludge but the dry, hot air has preserved the grisly mixture of bone, skin and hair. It is hard to tell much, but judging from the torn bones and dark stains around the spearpoints holding the body aloft, they were probably alive when strung up.
They also find, amidst the remains a heavy stubby claw.
They have no idea what animal it came from, but certainly not from the dead man. Curious.
They press onward, the trail growing rougher and fainter until it is nearly lost among the dry dust and gravel scree of the mountainsides. Where could their quarry be going? Would they attempt to climb the entire range? Even if they did manage to somehow cross the peaks, all they would find on the other side were the empty deserts of Osirion, famously deadly. Perhaps they were already chasing a corpse.
The sun is starting to dip behind the highest peaks when the nearly lost path widens slightly.
Zolsi finds two sets of tracks here, faintly visible in the fine gravel stones. A mixed set of many feet, very confused leads farther up the 'main' trail, deeper into the rugged mountains.
However, a fainter track leads to the left up among some high boulders. It appears fresh however, and seems to only have been two or three people. They don't seem human but the gunslinger can't tell much more.
Zolzi stared back and forth between the two sets of tracks for a moment, before explaining what she'd seen to Fimdi. Sighing, she scrubbed sand from her eyes. "It's not clear which way Mulunesh went. This bigger track here, well, hard to tell if one more set of feet is mixed in, or overtop. These few folks here, they don't look human, but they might have info. Maybe they seen her? Or they might be choppin' down a crucifyin' tree." She looked around. "Not that there's many trees 'round here."
With the sun dipping, it would get cool quickly. "Want to follow one a ways? Or set up camp here for the night?" She looked around to see if there was a reasonable place to camp.
Even when Zolzi points out the tracks, Fimdi can hardly see them. But she trusts that her new partner knows what she's talking about.
"I would vote for the fainter, fresher tracks. They may not be human but you said that way leads to better spots for camping, right? And I don't trust them to not come up behind us if we go the other way. Better to take the road less traveled for now and see what we're dealing with. And like you said, they may have info."
Zolzi nodded, relieved that the long days hike was nearly at an end. "Alrighty. Here, I think behind these boulders might be a good place..."
She led Fimdi up the smaller trail, already feeling relief from the hot sun as it sank lower behind the Brazen Peaks. She really hoped their quarry turned from this suicidal bearing before they reached the mountains proper. She did not look forward to climbing them.
The pair head up the steep short slope and are soon among the massive boulder, the rocks easily topping both Zolzi and Fimdi. They look jagged and rough, not smoothed by rain in the slightest, as if giants are ripped them out of the earth the day before and tossed them about. The faint trail of footprints dies out quickly and both are soon working hard just to steer clear of the knee deep (neck deep for Fimdi) sand drifts hiding here and there.
The sun is sinking lower, and the scalding hot day is starting to pass away. From experience both know the nights are bone chillingly cold up here, with thing air and no moisture to hold the heat. It was a forbidding landscape that boiled you during the day and froze you solid at night. Why on Golarion was the thief heading here?
Just as they are rounding yet another dusky red boulder, Zolzi suddenly pauses. There, faint on the wind, is the sound of a strangled cry, cut off in whimpering pain. Dimly, she hears dog-like barks of laughter trail off into silence. The noises came from directly ahead where it seems the land cuts into a small dell, with steep sides littered with stones.
Her musket was in her hands before the sounds died away. Motioning Fimdi to silence, the gunslinger crouched down and whispered in her ear, "Trouble ahead. Somebody in pain, folks laughing. Or barking? Might be we could rescue a source of information."
She waited for the gnome to nod her agreement, then, moving softly into the growing shadows, Zolzi moved forward.
In answer to Zolzi's whisper, Fimdi begins to mumble quietly in a language that is completely foreign and odd sounding to the gunslinger.
The gnome then quietly follows Zolzi and her gun, trusting that her small size will allow her to remain unnoticed.
"Shhh!" Zolzi was constantly amazed at how such a small person could make so much noise. "Move your feet over the gravel, not through it."
Zolzi tries to help Fimdi move quieter, but soon gives up and goes on ahead. The gunslinger stays low to the ground, moving in careful planned routes to avoid the loosest gravel. She crests the small rim of the hollow, being careful to use a massive boulder to hide her outline against the darkening sky.
The fetchling looks down and sees the dell is small, shaped like a steep sided bowl. The slopes are covered with large waist high boulders. At the bottom, there is a flat and sandy space, and Zolzi see a small crude camp set up there.
A small hide tent and a tiny campfire make up most of it. Three hulking and furry figures sit around it, with long dog-like snouts and beady eyes. Zolzi instantly recognizes them as gnolls, the violent and ill-tempered hyenafolk who live both here and in cities. While not overly intelligent, they are hardly animals and Katapesh has an entire quarter of the city filled with these brutal creatures. Even those 'urbanized' gnolls tend to savage and cruel, Zolzi can only imagine what a 'wild' gnoll was like.
Squinting, Zolzi sees another figure down below. It is a thin shape, a human looking all the more stringy next to the muscular gnolls. He has a heavy leather leash around his neck, attached to a spike driven into the hard packed ground. He seems to be hurrying around, carrying things and leaning over the small fire. Every now and then, one of the gnolls will lash him with a whip or cuff him with a heavy fist. The laughter caused by this abuse seems to be what they heard before. How long had this man been a slave of these foul creatures?
Just as the woman is contemplating this, Fimdi steps up beside her, carelessly making a clear silhouette against the sky.
Zolzi grabs her friend and pulls her into the shadow of the large boulder, hiding her from view. Below, the gnolls see nothing and continue to sit around the fire, barking laughter coming louder.
Zolzi glares at the gnome as she yanks her down and Fimdi looks at her as if to ask, What?
She whispers, "What's going on?"
Zolzi waited for Fimdi to take in the situation below, then whispered, "Looks like just three of them. Maybe we can rescue the human, tonight, when the gnolls are asleep. He might have some information. Also..gnolls, ugh."
The fetchling has never seen one until a month or so ago, but the disgust had been immediate.
Fimdi nods, keeping her voice hushed, "I know, right? They're the worst. No magical aptitude at all. And mean to boot."
The sorcerer settles herself beside Zolzi, "So I guess we wait. This human better be worth it."
Together, Zolzi and Fimdi keep watch on the small camp as the sun truly sets and dusk shifts to true night. Overhead the stars begin to emerge, first in ones and two and then dozens and then, hundreds of brightly dancing lights ranging from devil red to ocean blue. The thin air grows chiller almost instantly, and both gunslinger and sorcerer hug the massive boulder, still warm from the vanished sun.
After an hour after sunset, one of the gnolls leaves the fire. It is hard to tell at this distance but he seems smaller then the others, more rangy then muscle-bound brute like the others. A necklace of polished bones hangs on his neck, glinting in the firelight.
The gnoll finds a flat space nearby and begins drawing signs in the dirt, using what seems to be a long femur bone. He hoarsely chants as he draws, sometime pausing and softly howling at the sky.The other gnolls ignore him except to build up the small fire, making the flames leap higher. A harsh stench rises from the dell and both Zolzi and Fimdi can tell the fire's fuel must be dung.
Then the drawing gnoll stops, and barks something in their ugly language to the others. Grunting they grab the human slave, who cowers in their strong grips, and throw him into the crudely drawn circle (careful not to disturb the marks). The rangy gnoll looks on, nods his bull-necked head and then, very carefully begins to whip the human slave brutally and mercilessly. As the human screams in pain, the other gnolls howl in laughter but the torturer only chants something, an even measured chorus that must be a prayer or evocation.
The man's back is soon a bloody landscape of cuts and wounds, raw muscles and tendons exposed to the cool night air. The gnoll is an expert with the whip, and each lick of the tool elicits fresh groans of pain from the human, who lies collapsed in the dirt.
At first Zolzi thought she would watch the cruel treatment of the human...After all, what was he to her other than a potential source of information? But when it continued, unrelenting, she found herself moving forward. Ten feet...just ten feet and I'll have a clean shot...
Fimdi watches Zolzi inching forward. Learning her lesson from last time they both tried to be quiet, Fimdi hangs back a bit as to not get in the gunslinger's way. She tries to convince herself, as the human is tortured mercilessly, that she needs more information about the situation before intervening. After all, maybe the human had broken some sort of law, found guilty, and their punishment was now being carried out. But if she is honest with herself, her argument rings hollow.
Zolzi simply can't bear to watch the man be brutalized in whatever bizarre ritual is taking place. Without even warning Fimdi she starts to sneak ahead, trying to creep along the ground like a snake, out of sight. Her friend watches, slightly more torn but willing to back her friend up.
Despite her care Zolzi foot brushes a rock and it starts to slide. Then, to her horror, it pushes other rocks, growing until a small gravel landslide begins rustling down the slope with a loud clatter. Instantly all the gnolls look up and see her.
[b]"Who dares spy on the Testing?"{/b] The stringy gnoll shouts in heavily accented Common. Then he turns tot he others and shouts something in Gnoll. The two other hyena-like men howl and begin pulling out weapons. The whip carrying gnoll carefully puts the weapon away and faces them, unarmed for the moment.
Fimdi begins speaking arcane words and making the necessary motions required to cause three darts of energy to coalesce at her fingertips before sending them all towards the stringy gnoll to slam into his chest.
Zolzi was sorely tempted to shoot the whipper, but his brutal treatment of the human had stopped, even if temporarily, and the two other gnolls were approaching fast. Training her musket on the nearest one, she aimed carefully and pulled the trigger.
Zolzi watches the charging gnolls heading her way. Calmly she raises her loaded gun, sights toward the nearest gnoll and evenly pulls the trigger. The hammer drops, there is a flare of fire and...and a small puff of smoke is all she gets. Misfire! The worst curse any gunslinger knows. The barrel is full of spent but useless gunpowder.
Behind her Fimdi steps out and lets loose a trio of bright colored missles. They whizz down the slope unerringly, dodging the charging gnolls and slamming into the wiry one. The bolts of arcane magic hit hard and the gnolls reels slightly, staggering back a step. It shakes it's wide, dog-like head and growls.
Behind him the human whimpers pitifully and cowers.
The two charging gnolls run at full speed up the slope. They move quickly and soon Zolzi can see the whites of their small, piggish eyes. Their fur is thick and wiry, a dark brown with lighter stripes and the swords battered and rusty looking. Both run up to her but don't quite have time to attack.
Down below the priest or shaman also starts to climb, not quite as fast as the others.
Fimdi's eyes widen when Zolzi's musket fails to fire. Is it supposed to do that? She squeals a bit as the gnolls get closer and takes an involuntary step backwards.
However, she doesn't want anything bad to happen to the fetchling. Who would kill the rabbits if she was hurt, or worse? Fimdi does the only thing that she knows how to do well and throws magic again - this time at the two gnolls threatening Zolzi.
An arc of flame leaps from Fimdi's fingers and flies towards the closest gnoll before bouncing off him to also hit his friend.
"Son of a cave rat!"Zolzi swears, as her musket becomes so much useless metal in her hands. Dropping it with a silent apology to Gramama, she draws her rapier and shifts her stance so that Fimdi is hopefully safe behind her. The fetchling then lunges at the nearest gnoll.
Zolzi drops the gun with a curse, and draws her thin but glittering rapier. As the first gnoll gets in range she lashes out but the bulky creature's hide turns the blow. It barks a laugh which rapidly cuts off as Fimdi sets a jet of flame toward them.
It slams into the gnoll's chest, filling the air with the stench of burned hair. The flames linger for a moment, melting skin and muscle before jumping and hitting the other gnoll with somewhat less force. Both curse in their own foul language, beating at the smoldering magical flames until the vanish. Both look quite burned and less eager to fight but the priest gnoll shouts something which makes them stiffen and growl low.
One runs toward Fimdi, raising his sword in a high arc.
The blow lands, cutting Fimdi around the shoulders, drawing her weird, purplish blood.
The other stays near Zolzi, attacking while keeping an eye on her blade.
She is able to parry the blow however and it rings harmlessly against her rapier.
Below the gnoll priest reaches the fighting area and lets out a frustrated bellow. "The Mother of Monster's curse upon you!" He bellows something in Gnoll and a wave of sickly green energy flies toward Zolzi, and she feels a surge of fear.
But she shakes it off, knowing her mind is merely playing tricks on her. The fight has not gone well so far, but they are still very much alive.
Wishing she had time to backpedal and load her musket, Zolzi did the only thing she could do. She hoped her second attempt would pierce the stinking hide before her. She lunged.
Fimdi full-out screams as the gnoll runs at her with a sword. The blow is turned away thanks to the magical force field around her but she scrambles back a step. Her instincts take over and words form on her lips as she throws up her hands. This time flame shoots from her hands but it's shaped differently and it bursts forth in a cone.
Zolzi duels with her gnoll, achieving little but parity.
Fimdi meanwhile unleashes yet more, a torrent of fire. The gnoll in front of her yelps in pain and fear, reeling back in panic. Most of his fur is burned off, revealing crisped flesh beneath. After a last cry he falls to the ground, a charred husk.
The flame roar past him to the standing priest who watches, open mouthed as the fire hits him. His fur is also burned away, flesh melting under the assault. The gnoll staggers back, barely alive, looking dazed and confused at the attack.
The other gnoll looks at his dead ally and his barely living priest. Feeling his own flames he gives Zolzi one last blow.
In his haste he misses, then runs away, not heading back down the slope but off tot he right, back toward the trail. The priest curses him feebly and then, with a word sends a healing pulse over his horribly burned body.
Much of his skin knits back together and new fur sprouts on his hunchback. He begins making his way back down the slope toward the camp, not turning his back on his twin foes.
Sheathing her useless rapier, Zolzi picks up her musket and quickly clears the spent ammo, then loads in a fresh cartridge. Raising the musket to her eye again, she takes a step forward and says, "Stop right there! We won't kill you if you stop, and answer our questions."
Fimdi looks up at Zolzi, a confused look on her face, "We're not? He tried to kill us and he almost killed that human..."
The gnome takes a look at the determined look on Zolzi's face and shrugs, "If you're willing to trust the word of a gnoll then sure," she raises her voice to project towards the gnoll, "We won't kill you."
She starts down the hill, giving the gnoll a wide berth, "While you question the gnoll, or shoot him, I'm going to check on the human."
"Not yet," Zolzi answered. "He may have information. I'm not saying I trust him, but no need to shoot him immediately if he's not gonna fight us."
Her heart was still racing, though, and her trigger finger twitched. She'd come perilously close to death, and if it hadn't been for the tiny gnome, her mission would be over. Now I owe you two lives...
The rangy, still burned gnoll looks up at Zolzi when she warns him but ignores her, still working his way back down to the simple camp. He is almost there now, easing his way down among the rocks.
Fimdi begins making her own way down, keeping distance between her and the retreading priest.
The other gnoll is long gone, leaving no trace.
Seeing the gnoll ignoring Zolzi, Fimdi says, "Shoot him! You said you wouldn't if he stopped and he's not stopping...so shoot him. Or I can."
Moving forward to keep him in range, Zolzi nodded grimly. She said, "I warned you. Last chance."
At Zolzi's last warning the gnoll pauses and growls in anger. Then, without warning he turns and runs for the tent, dog-like feet churning up the gritty sand of the small valley. A slight light starts to glow around him just as he reaches the tent, a yelp of victory in this throat....
Zolzi's bullet blows his head apart like a melon dropped from a tower. A very tall tower.
The gnoll's corpse tumbles into the dust, divine light flickering out in an instant.
They both head down to the camp, wary for more danger but none comes. The human is cowering in the dust, looking from the strange pair to the headless gnoll and back again.
"How...how did you do that. You killed him with smoke?" The human is a young man, skin pale and hands soft, clearly not someone you'd expect to find in the rugged wilds of the Brazen Peaks. His voice is soft and wavering, and he is clearly on the edge of breaking in panic.
"Was it magic? Who are you, why are you here?" His voice starts to rise in hysteria, echoing off the rocks and sand.
Fimdi approaches the human, "Shush. You're hurt. I can help." She begins pulling healing energy from deep within herself. As the healing surfaces, so do good and happy feelings. She reaches out to touch his shoulder and is flooded with the overwhelming urge to give him a comforting hug, to try to make him feel better. Internally she rails against the thought of showing any kind of affection, especially to a stranger. In the end she gives his shoulder a little squeeze and as the healing energy flows out of her she awkwardly says, "There, there. There, there. You're safe now."
The gnome looks at the young man's hands, "You're not from around here. How long have you been with those horrible gnolls?"
"HA! YES!" Zolzi leapt into the air, celebrating her perfect shot. She nearly stumbled on the scree when she landed, so she quickly made her way back down to the gnoll's camp, grinning the whole way.
"Magic?!" she said, taken aback. "Not at all! I don't know nothin' about magic. Not like Fimdi here. This is just science, it's engineering. It's black powder, and a bullet, and a spark." She wished for a moment that she wielded a pistol, like Jegan had done, so she could spin it on her finger and into its holster. It was such a cool move, that just didn't work with a musket. Instead, she carefully reloaded it, then slung it back over her shoulder.
As Fimdi ministered to him, Zolzi looked around the camp. "I'm Zolzi. The little lady is Fimdi. We're here chasin' a cleric, a bad one, stole a buncha important stuff. You seen anything like that?"
The man pulls back a little but does let Fimdi touch him. Her healing magic flows from her hand across his back, knitting up the worst wounds and stopping the bleeding. He is still in rough shape, breathing hard and shaking slightly.
He listens to Zolzi's word, clearly not understanding what a gun is. Still her prattling seems to put him at ease somewhat and he eases back down into the sand, no longer on the edge of running.
"I...I'm an artist." The man says, "My name is Stiven. I came up here to paint....." His face becomes guarded and he says, obviously lying, "The landscape."
Stiven pauses and coughs a few times, shaking his head. "The gnolls caught me a few days ago on the road. They've been carrying me around for a few days, having me gather firewood, put up tents, stuff like that." Then, he says, 'This cleric...what did she do, exactly?"
"Landscape?" Zolzi asks, raising an eyebrow so pale it's practically nonexistent. "Betcha don't need many colours out here."
As Zolzi poked her head into tents, looking for clues, she said, "Oh, Mulunesh? She stole some fancy rods or something. Nine of 'em. Did you see her? She might be dressed like Fimdi here, in black and white clothes."
Looking at the circle the gnoll drew in the dirt, she asks, "Hey, Fimdi, what's all this?" Turning back to Stiven, she asked, "Why were they whipping you so bad? They said something about a Test. Were you passing or failing?"
Fimdi's eyes narrow at the obvious lie and she immediately regrets expending any healing on this human. "Landscape? Really? If you're going to lie, at least put some effort into it. What are you really doing out here? I did just heal you so it would be polite if you told the truth."
Already on edge having the conversation begin with lies, Fimdi does her best to quiet Zolzi as soon as she mentions Mulunesh's name. "Zolzi! Hush." The gnome continues, being as vague as possible, "This cleric stole from Nethys and she needs to be caught so she can be taken back and pay for what she's done."
Keeping an eye on Stiven, Fimdi walks over to Zolzi, "It's a different kind of magic than what I wield but I'll take a look."
The fetchling shut her mouth at Fimdi's warning. The gnome was always telling her not to reveal too much to strangers. But it was hard for her to remember - especially when they were trying to get information out of somebody.
Her cheeks red, she looked carefully through the tent.
Fimdi manages to quiet Zolzi down and stop the gunslinger from spilling all of the information, although it is obvious Stiven realizes they are hiding something. Embarrassed, Zolzi searches through the crude hide tent.
The tent doesn't take long to search, which is a blessing as the leather/fur construction reeks like a dead dog. After her quick survey Zolzi finds, an unholy symbol of Lamashutu, a very nasty bedroll, a potion of Cure Moderate Wounds, a handful of old copper coins, and, partially hidden, a pouch of Dust of Tracelessness.
Outside, Stiven actually looks offended when Fimdi calls him a liar. His face reddens and he says, "I am out here to paint the landscape." he pauses and says, 'All right. I'm here to paint the Jackal's Maw."
The name means nothing to Zolzi or Fimdi.
Fimdi explores the dust circle but she quickly deduces it is not magical in nature, more of a ritualistic religious pattern. Staring at it, and the blood stained sand Stiven looks queasy and says, "They said they were deciding if I was worthy for something, some very important ritual. I got the feeling I would not live through it..."
Fimdi notes he has, so far, avoided talking about Mulunesh.
Fimdi cocks her head at his revelation, "Like paint a picture of it or actually paint it? And why would you feel the need to hide the fact that you're wanting to paint the Jackal's Maw?"
She gets out her healing kit. "Here, I'll bandage the remainder of your wounds. You don't want anything getting into those cuts. You could get sick."
As her hands work she asks, "So...have you seen anyone else while you've been out here? And now that you've survived your ordeal, what will you do? I haven't seen any artist supplies so I don't think you'll be painting anything..."
Zolzi frowned, not recognizing the name. "What's the Jackal's Maw? Is it a land formation? What's special about it?"
She pocketed the potion, the pouch of strange dust, and the money. On second thought, she also pocketed the ugly unholy symbol - might be worth money to somebody. One thing she was quickly learning about was that money was important.
After Fimdi bandaged the human up, she asked, "So what about Mulunesh? Have you seen her? Or did those gross gnolls mention her? It really is important."
Stiven looks both annoyed and offended when Fimdi suggests actually painting the Maw. "Of course paint a picture of it. How am I going to paint a giant pit to the center of the earth?."
He allows Fimdi to clean and dress his wounds, wincing as she scrubs out the dirt and grime. He thanks her shortly after it, but he doesn't look better for the bandages.
"As for what is next...well, I don't know." He looks crushed as he contemplates it. "Go home, I guess. Or at least back to Katapesh and gather up more supplies, if I can. As you said, the gnolls destroyed my paint and canvases when they captured me. I can't paint without them."
He looks at Zolzi when she asks him point blank about Mulunesh. Stiven glances at the dark, star-spangled sky, to his healed wounds and then back to the strange pair of sorcerer and gunslinger.
"Will you keep my name out of it, if I tell you? She did not seem the friendly sort, and I don't want to be on her bad side, if you understand?"