"Can you explain how this all works? You point your weapon and pull the finger part then... That seems pretty dangerous. A one-inch slip and someone can die. It is effective though. What makes it launch the bullet?"
Vulpina's eyes light up as Lupe takes an interest.
"I am so glad you asked! I shall demonstrate with this one," she says, unholstering her not-dragon pistol, "as it is slightly less complicated. Proper maintenance is important, regardless."
She holds it up sideways, and points as she speaks.
"So, the basic idea is that I pull back this lever here-- it has a piece of flint at the end, see? And the mechanism locks it in place. Then, when I pull the trigger, the flint strikes, here, and sends a spark into this tube-- called a 'barrel.'"
She tilts the pistol the other way, so that the hammer is on the far side of the gun.
"So, inside of the barrel, packed in at the very back, is black powder. When black powder is lit, it erupts-- and if you pack a bullet in front of it, then it has no direction to travel but straight out the front, here." She traces a line with her finger, then smiles.
"Longer guns give the bullet more time to straighten out, so they tend to be more accurate," she admits, "but this is, of course, far more portable, and allows me to hold a blade in my other hand. I am, of course, classically trained with light swords, so it seems a pity not to use my education."
"I would be happy to teach you more, of course," says the noblewoman, "but I hesitate to bore you further if I have already begun to."
Wow. That's...complicated. But I guess it's like a...hand cannon like knights use to defend castles. It's funny they call it a barrel. They are usually filled with water or ale but yours is filled with fire powder. Do you have to be classically trained for all that? I'm not trained at all. I found a sword and then a wolf found me. I know I probably look like a knight but I'm mostly pretending. No, training here."
Vulpina chuckles. "It is exactly like a cannon!" A smile narrows her already-narrow features.
"My training was quite thorough, actually. I was the daughter of a house of... I believe the Western equivalent would be a praetorian guard? Bodyguards for those who wear the crown," she says, then considers. "For self-taught, your technique is not ineffective. I have seen plenty of self-taught bladesmen whose flaws were simple enough to take advantage of."
She looks out, over at Wolf.
"Of course, a self-taught rider is even more rare. You do not pass as some half-swording Taldane templar in gleaming armor and sturdy footwork, but enemies still fall readily by your hand. With training, I think you have great potential."
She is quiet a moment, then:
"If you would like, I could pass down some lessons. I know how to wield heavier blades, even if I prefer smaller ones."
Lupe gets a little lost in the crown and guard stuff, but is confident that he is receiving a complement, "Thank you, and I would love some extra training. I'm going to go top off the water for everyone because I broke of the the barrels, ha barrels, putting out the fire. Then I'm going to practice my reading until we are ready to head out. Bye! Lupe hope on Wolf and starts running about the camp.
"Would someone mind accompanying me into the catacombs? We may have good fortune rifling through the weapons there."
When she does, she finds a dagger; old, and dull enough for children to play with, provided they don't need to cut cold butter as part of their game.
"Ah, this shall do nicely," she says, grinning. "New life to bring new death!"
She takes the dagger and finds herself a nice fire (or makes one), then gets to work-- heating the blade, loosening it from its hilt, and rendering the metal down in a cast iron pan.
A bit of work later and some fancy toolwork later, and she's fashioned some heavy little balls out of it, which she happily pockets, now rather pleased at her increased ability to kill.
The ginger's left eyebrow piques noticeably at the mention of "good fortune" and he speedily acquiesces to join the Lady Vulpina's impromptu expedition.
The trip to the catecombs is successful as Lady finds a nicked silver dagger in poor condition. Casper is able to find all sorts of items in various conditions and has his pick of most types of metal weapons. In other circumstances he could make a fair bit of coin selling the lot, but out here it is not all that helpful.
Lady finds that she has an audience for a while as one of the mercenaries finds clean up work to do near by and is obviously listening in while trying to appear like she is not. The long chore of molding bullets, however, is a bit too much for her and the woman moves on after about 10 minutes.
Lupe finds that the barrel has been reconstructed and made whole, and full, by the Father's miracles.
"Why don't we come in from the north and see what is in the small northern buildings?"
The group shrugs and seems amenable to Lupe's suggestion so you all set off. Approaching from the south you first circle the town from the west, where the church is and where you defeated the obnoxious Halruune, and then skirt the northern edge of the town noting a gatehouse (B9) protecting a bridge overlooking the road up the hill towards the battle market and ruined church. You pause for a second to determine the tactics you will use.
Lupe leaves wolf 30ft back and sneaks the rest for he way himself.
Sarona waits for Lupe to return from scouting.
Aaliyah curls up on the android's foot and starts to snooze.
Long before you get within 30' you notice that the Gatehouse has occupants. There are at least two gnolls in there and they seem to be addressing something out of your view, sometimes snapping at it impatiently. Though not intensively watchful, They are keeping an eye on the area.
Lupe heads back and informs the group.
"Two gnolls many be more. They are talking to something I could not see. It looks like it will be a fight if we approach."
"Ok let's go. But I will need support. "
"Ok let's go. But I will need support. "
"I will follow." at a safe distance
Any particular plans for this advance? Charge? Sneak? Spell preps?
"I have a bad feeling here. Something is telling we need to go talk to father. He says that these feeling are something called divine and that I should listen to them."
Lupe is all raring to go, but some of the others decide that enough is enough and have decided to take their winnings and go. So you return to the monastery where you are greeted by an odd site. An old friend of Almah's has decided to pay a visit and you see a merchant caravan encamped around the old church.
When you arrive Almah and Garavel are busy conducting business.
Lupe is all raring to go, but some of the others decide that enough is enough and have decided to take their winnings and go. So you return to the monastery where you are greeted by an odd site. An old friend of Almah's has decided to pay a visit and you see a merchant caravan encamped around the old church.
When you arrive Almah and Garavel are busy conducting business.
Casper's eyes narrow noticeably,
::::Well, well, well, what have we here then? Some new party to our misbegotten expedition? And what could their angle be, I wonder? Surely not disinterested...::::
He quickly approaches the Lady Almah,
"New guests then? Who might these, be then?"
As the party approaches the caravan, they immediately notice one person who, as usual, appears out of place. Perhaps it is because he stands apart from the rest of the group, perhaps it is because he is simply staring at the sky and not talking or keeping watch or doing any of the other myriad things the rest of the caravan and encampment are doing.
Observers would first not think him too out of place, he is garbed in the simple, light, airy attire that most in the desert wear, but under the light garb a keen observer would see dun colored robes covered by armor, the sheen of which indicates not metal but ... bone? Horn, perhaps.
He is of above average height for a human, leanly built under the robes. His face, uncovered and facing the sky, is not particularly handsome, framed by a goatee. His hair is shaved on the sides and short on the top, his exposed neck covered by swirling blue tattoos that, upon closer inspection, look to be less tattoos than colored scars.
At first glance he looks aged, but when the party gets closer they notice that he is still young, his face and exposed hand gripping a gnarled staff, are just weather beaten from constant exposure to the sun, the deep tan of his skin also likely the result from a lifetime of exposure.
As he looks into the sky and the desert expanse, his face furrows in a frown.
I am starting to think that I wasn't sent here to bring the storms to the desert after all.
Ever since the fateful night he spent sixty feet above the heaving deck of a ship during a massive thunderstorm, he had been convinced that it was his destiny and duty to travel to these desert lands and find a way to bring the holy storms to the dry lands. But after long travel, he found that he didn't have a clue how to do that, and these lands did already have their own storms, of a sort, which he had witnessed first hand. So why had he been sent? This caravan had been kind enough to allow him to accompany them on their journey, in exchange for his skills in scrounging and survival, and a ready source of water, but he couldn't help feeling that his journey was at at end. Or, at least that journey was at an end, and a new was about to begin.
He just didn't know why, or what.
Which was why he was staring at the desert sky, hoping to get some direction.
Lupe trots up riding wolf and addresses the caravan leaders. "Wow, new friends to help us on our mission? Are they the types of friends that are going to help hear at the church or out in the field?"
Tarak is shaken from his reverie when some newcomers wander into the camp, looking more ... battle weary... than the rest of the guards he was used to seeing around the caravan.
Intrigued, he wanders towards the newcomers and their meeting with the caravan leaders, still casting glances at the sky.
Perhaps these newcomers will provide a sign.
The caravan sets up outside the monastery, making a break for lunch while the bosses talk. Bahram heads inside to meet with Almah, leaving the underlings to fend for themselves, something they are quite used to. Garavel is tasked with
Garavel is tall and swarthy, with a lantern jaw and short black hair, and a strange bolt like device which appears to have been inlaid in the side of Garavel’s head. He shows thee merchants men to the water barrel that Father Zastoran repaired and Lupe filled.
"Take all you want."
Though he is polite, he is a bit terse, as if the complications of a merchant caravan visiting outweigh the benefits.
He points to a weather worn grey bearded man. "Father Zastoran, please see to any health needs."
He moves from group to group, assigning a pair of animal tenders the task of keeping order with the animals and having a brief discussion with a small group of mercenaries who apparently are told to stand watch.
Almah is still in a private conference when the adventurers arrive and Casper is turned away before he can even get to the door.
The elderly cleric approaches the caravan and starts with Tarak. With a friendly grin he asks, "So. Anything I can do for you. No wound is too small."
Seeing the ever helpful Lupe he calls out, "Lupe, could you fetch my blue bag for me?"
To Tarak he says, "Say, would you happen to know if the caravan is carrying any chill weed? I'm running low."
The druid starts a bit as the elderly man speaks to him, a bit surprised since most of the caravan had been largely ignoring him on the trip. Which was generally fine by him, the sky here was just so big.
"Uh, um. No. I'm fine, tip top shape really." he replies in common, with an unusual accent to these climes. "And no, haven't seen any chill weed on the trip, but I haven't been lookin neither."
When Lupe goes to fetch () the bag, he asks. "What sort of being be the little one? Some manner of halfling wolf? Him, and them other two, they seem more hardy than the rest of this lot, they guard captains?"
Father Zastoran blinks a couple of times and stares off in the direction Lupe went. "Well, gosh, I guess I never asked him. He's a nice lad. I'm sure he wouldn't be offended if you asked him. the lot of them were hired by our boss, Almah, to do all the dangerous stuff. She wants to take over an old battle market near here that is currently overrun by hobgoblins. Say, is that hobgoblin over there one of your group?"
Tarak nods at the old man's response silently, then ponders the sky in a long awkward moment before looking to the hobgoblin the good Father pointed out.
"Yes Father." Lupe yells as he runs off and gets the bag. "We saw some new bad stuff out there. My blessing helped a lot like you said." Looking at the new folks. "That guy looks like the gnolls we fought." Lupe says pronuncing the g in gnoll.
Leaning on his Fauchard in his left hand, while knawing on the warthog leg with his right, Gnasher watches from his post near the kneeling camel caravan. 'Bahram's excited that he found this Almah's thinks might be profit to be had.' Tossing the pig nuckle away from the caravan, he barks an order to the tall Mauxi spearman on the other side of the caravan, "Shamiff, stay, Gnasher see what Bahram decide." Resting his pole arm on his shoulder he begins to move.
Noticing the odd human that had taken up with them, Gnasher shakes his head, forming the human words with his animal-like muzzle he calls out to the man, "Tarak, staring at sun not good, blind eyes!" Realizing the druid had looked towards something, Gnasher follows his gaze and notices the newcomers as well, but continues on his way towards the dilapidated church entrance.
Seeing a tall man with short black hair and a strange device on the side of his head, Gnasher pauses for a moment. 'That one is obviously in charge.". Stopping momentarily, noting that one of the ones who had just returned was turned away from the private conference. Gnasher changes direction to go speak with the tall man in charge. On the way he overhears the conversation of the odd druid, the old man and the wolf mounted little one.
Walking directly up to the three, 'I should make them feel at ease.' Gnasher put's on his best smile, which sadly looks a lot like his best growl, and introduces himself. "I Gnasher, Bahram's chief guard." He gestures towards the little warrior. "You fight gnoll?" Resting the butt of his Fauchard on the ground, he crouches down so he's eye level with the rider. Pointing at him with a claw. "You kill gnoll in Kelmarane?" He gives a toothy smile, that again sadly looks more like a predators growl. "Good!" He turns his head and in a very human like motion and spits. "Carrion King break sacred laws, all deserve to die."
The caravan sets up outside the monastery, making a break for lunch while the bosses talk. Bahram heads inside to meet with Almah, leaving the underlings to fend for themselves, something they are quite used to. Garavel is tasked with
Garavel is tall and swarthy, with a lantern jaw and short black hair, and a strange bolt like device which appears to have been inlaid in the side of Garavel’s head. He shows thee merchants men to the water barrel that Father Zastoran repaired and Lupe filled.
"Take all you want."
Though he is polite, he is a bit terse, as if the complications of a merchant caravan visiting outweigh the benefits.
He points to a weather worn grey bearded man. "Father Zastoran, please see to any health needs."
He moves from group to group, assigning a pair of animal tenders the task of keeping order with the animals and having a brief discussion with a small group of mercenaries who apparently are told to stand watch.
Almah is still in a private conference when the adventurers arrive and Casper is turned away before he can even get to the door.
Casper's eyes narrow noticeably,
::::Well, well, well, what have we here then? Some new party to our misbegotten expedition? And what could their angle be, I wonder? Surely not disinterested...::::
He quickly approaches the Lupe,
"New guests then? Who might these, be then?"
Realizing the priest is talking about Gnasher, Tarak chuckles even as the wolf-halfling-thing ... Lupe ... comes back with the bag, "Ah, aye, that gnoll is Gnasher, one of the crew. Good mate he is, handy in a scrap with that mighty big axe of his."
When Lupe and the tall human and Gnasher all gather he adds, "Greetings, name's Tarak. I'm not actually part of this caravan, but they did let me tag along for a spell. I go where the wind takes me, fickle thing that it is." he pauses mid greeting with a long look at the sky, "It wants me here, for some reason. What's so special about this little island in the desert?"
"Casper, this is Gnasher he is a gnoll that seems to not like gnolls. We should keep him clear of Dashki. I think he is a good guy. And I just got this fellow's name. As he said he is Tarak." Lupe gets a little confused about the island metaphor but answers anyway. "We cleared out this building of a safe place to stay. There were birds and little bad luck gremlins that make you bad as smacking them. But we took care of them. Now we have a new mission to retake that place. He points back to the cluster of building that they just came from."
"Hmm, Take it back from what? More birds and little.. gremlins you say?" the druid asks, looking once more at the sky for a long moment.
Presently, the consternation on his face clears to resolve and he nods.
"I will help, if ye'll have me. This must be the reason I was sent to this place."
"Casper, this is Gnasher he is a gnoll that seems to not like gnolls. We should keep him clear of Dashki. I think he is a good guy. And I just got this fellow's name. As he said he is Tarak." Lupe gets a little confused about the island metaphor but answers anyway. "We cleared out this building of a safe place to stay. There were birds and little bad luck gremlins that make you bad as smacking them. But we took care of them. Now we have a new mission to retake that place. He points back to the cluster of building that they just came from."
The red-head squints quizzically,
"A gnoll who hates gnolls, so does he hate himself?"
"Mr. Tarak are you good with eggs. I'm still raising the eggs. Casper, you can just ask him, but I think my brother would say that that question is no a courteous one."
Looking from the mounted speaker to the one called Casper, Gnasher listens to the description of their accomplishments. Perking his ears when Tarak says, "that joining them must be the reason he was sent."
When Casper asks if Gnasher hates himself, the still crouching gnoll barks out a loud laugh, turning toward the smallish man. "Gnasher only hate Gnasher when he eat something upsets stomach." He stands to his full height towering over the red headed man dressed in black leather. "Gnasher hunt gnolls who betrayed Red Claw Clan, Gnolls who serve Rovagug." He gives an almost human shrug. "But will fight what tribe fight."
Turning quickly back to the mounted one who seemed to be the leader, Gnasher asks. "What is name little one?"
Tarak looks confused at the small one for a moment. "Eggs? I know a bit o nature, aye. But I know not what eggs yer talking about."
Father Zastoran, who is still near by, thanks Lupe for his kind words, giving him a strange look, now wondering what he is. but he is quickly distracted when the gnoll joins the group. torn by his duty to see to the visitors or eaves drop on the conversations, he waffles a little bit before moving on. Duty apparently winning out.
In the background the harried Hadrod and Hadrah are rushing around trying to make the animals comfortable though their own animals still need tending.
"Mr. Tarak are you good with eggs. I'm still raising the eggs. Casper, you can just ask him, but I think my brother would say that that question is no a courteous one."
"And yet that is the nature of many significant questions, is it not, little one?"
Casper turns to Gnasher and his reference to gastronomic difficulty , "an amusing formulation, no doubt. But I would hear more of your antipathy towards the Rough Beast and its followers, how came you to that conviction?"
The druid's eyes flash at the mention of Rovagug and these gnolls, turning to Gnasher in interest.
Even the destruction of the storm and gale bring new life, the Rough Beast brings only destruction. It must be the reason I was sent, to bring the Storm to these Rovagug worshippers.
With a quick glance to the sky, he smiles as resolution reaches his heart.
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"And yet that is the nature of many significant questions, is it not, little one?"
"I don't know much about that. But the people that ask those questions the most seem to be the ones that get the least done and I like to get things done."
Watching the discussion between the mounted warrior and the red haired stutterer, Gnasher rolls his eyes in a human like gesture. Carefully trying to form the difficult human words to explain to the leather clad man. Putting his empty claw on his chest, "Gnasher Red Claw." He then points towards Kelmarane. "Rough Beast Wipe out Red claws, break sacred law." Making a level swipe with his claw. " Gnasher seek revenge."
Satisfied with his explanation Gnasher exhales loudly, putting his clawed hand back on his chest. "Gnasher." He points to the storm druid. "HIm Tarak." He then points to the little warrior in charge and then the pushy red head. "Names?"
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Bahram and Almah come out from their meeting with smiles, a sign that the trade went well.
"Jacob, gather the men and start hauling. I'm told there is a wealth of old weapons beneath this monastery, and want everything of value picked clean. Kale, you stay with me to watch over the wagons while they retrieve the weapons."
Rahella, Sarona, and Lady Vulpina follow Behram to have a private talk as Almah heads over to you four with Dashki in her shadow. Singling Casper out, she asks, "Well, I'm surprised you are back so soon. See the caravan and get curious?"
Alma does a double take on Gnasher and Dashki stares oddly at him, glancing a couple of times at his gear and clothing as if trying to place him.