Mazaft looks askance at Voshi, unsure whether he is being mocked or not, and then decides once again to only talk to Zathra.
"A shipment arrived from Nex last week. The Representative Council no doubt wanted to avoid the proper import payments since they know I oversee them and receive a commission. But I have men at every gate, loyal men, and they reported the wagon. I lodged a protest at once but, as ever, these provincials ignored it. They have no idea how to run a proper system."
Uthe shrugs. "Petting ones kitty is an acceptable activity, as long as one doesn't ignore more intellectual pursuits," she posits.
"Indeed, you deserve to make your commission for these imports Mr." She says, nodding along. "It is a very valuable role you play here."
"What was the shipment of?"
Mazaft preens somewhat at Voshi's compliments but still doesn't answer her, keeping his spectacled gaze fixed on Zathra.
”Yes, clearly a man of such importance knows more about the situation than anybody else in the city. We simply wouldn’t be able to solve this problem without you sir.”
"Well..." Mazaft leans back in his chair and steeples his fingers, clearly enjoying the moment. "There are a couple of interesting pieces of information that I've heard. First, an elven healer named Numu in the Bwamandu Camp has been treating people suffering from a strange slime sickness which I imagine is this 'Slithering' that people are getting so worked up about. Secondly, a brute in the Bekyar Block named Grisshuk has been turning anyone who disagrees with him into ooze. It's not something he's been capable of until recently from what I've heard, else he'd be more than a street tough by now. If you really must investigate then I suggest you begin there."
He nods once and then leans forward again, picking up the files on his desk. "Now you must excuse me but I do have things to be getting on with."
By the time you leave the Nexian compound the sun is standing towards midday and the weather is getting hot.
"Let's check with the elven healer first. Maybe she has some tips to help us fight the oozes."
"Probably better than going to this Beykar Block and getting turned into goo by upsetting him in some way shape or form!" Voshi says, agreeing with her sister.
Bwamandu camp turns out to be outside the city proper. What was once a tiny collection of tents seems to have recently exploded in size and it is apparent that there are nowhere near enough resources for the people trying to live here.
Asking around you are rapidly shown to Numu, the only elven healer in the camp. She is a tall, sharp-featured elf with her white hair bound back in a tight, professional looking bun. She's washing her hands in a barrel outside what appears to be a series of tents that have been crudely sewn together into a much longer space.
"Well, what do you want?" She asks. "If you're new to the camp you need to find Chakotay, he's sorting out sleeping places." She's brusque but not unfriendly, simply busy.
"Probably better than going to this Beykar Block and getting turned into goo by upsetting him in some way shape or form!" Voshi says, agreeing with her sister.
"We we're under the impression that it only affected stinky humans?" Utha says with a tip of her head.
”Greetings, Numu. We are investigating this plague you call the Slithering, to try to put a stop to it. Any information you can provide about it would be very helpful.”
"Doesn't mean that he can't turn us if he has some extra special powers of some sort - you never know! I'll do whatever I can to not be turned into slime, I value my fur very much."
----------------
"Numu I presume, its a pleasure to meet you," Voshi says, trying her best to charm the woman in front of her.
"We've been told you are a healer for the slimy affliction and that you might be able to enlighten us about it."
Saylarya moves alongside Voshi, dwarfing the smaller catfolk. She folks her hands together and says "Greetings. We are hoping you possess some additional information that will allow us to help eliminate the Slithering. We would be pleased if you would share your knowledge with us."
"Yes, I've seen people die from that. Look, I'd stay and talk more but we're stretched to bursting right now and I have a lot of patients to look after. If some of you could help me then I might be able to make some time afterwards. If not you'll have to wait. If you do want to help, wash your hands and come in, I've got plenty of tools."
In the first tent there are numerous patients vomiting, sweating and showing all the signs of a nasty infection.
The second tent holds a number of walking wounded who seem to have come off badly the worse in a brawl of some sort.
The last tent holds five people all strapped to their rudimentary cots. Three have yellow foam around their lips and the other two seem to be trying desperately to scratch at a nasty looking spider bite somewhere on their exposed torsos.
If Zathra had sleeves, she would roll them up. She gets to work doing what she does best, working as a field medic.
Uthe cringes at the displays of infection and sickness. "Our skills are in other areas," she says before exiting the tent and waiting outside.
"What can I do to help?" Saylarya asks Zathra, knowing there is nothing she can do. She accompanies the oracle around and makes sure she stays safe.
She sighs "I wish we could do more to help, but this is clearly not something I was trained in."
Under Zathra's competent leadership the catfolk set to work. Voshi and Saylarya are mostly only good for mundane tasks like bandaging and emptying buckets and Uthe... is good at something, I'm sure.
It takes two hours of hard work and sweat but thankfully a little after midday all the patients are stable and feeling better, at least as much can be expected in the conditions. Numu meets you all by the water barrel and nods her thanks.
"I appreciate your help, you've made my job much easier, for today at least. Now, this plague. It's definitely a curse, not a naturally occurring disease - the onset is too sudden and there's none of the kind of symptoms you'd expect from a body fighting against infection. The first woman I saw with this was a laborer called Matala. By the time she got to me she wasn't particularly lucid but she had the hands of someone who has to work hard. I asked her about what was happening to her but all she managed to say was 'Crimson Asp', before the curse overtook her. We had to destroy the ooze she became before it could strike the entire camp. If you want I still have her belongings."
Matala's belongings are unexciting except for a small key on a cheap chain. Unfortunately there is no clue as to what it opens.
"That's all I have to offer I'm afraid." Numu says regretfully. "If you ever have time to come back here I'd always welcome the help." She adds, looking at Zathra. "Best of luck tracking this thing down."
”Thank you,” Zathra says, pocketing the key. ”We can ask about the Crimson Asp later. Let’s go to the Bekyar Block first and find Grisshuk.”
"Yes, let us talk to this stupid-head Bekyar Block and question him," Uthe says, agreeing with Zathra.
Voshi is not impressed at Zathra ordering her around with mundane tasks and complains loudly about the menial tasks each time, but still helps her sister anyway. Its as if the complaining is what she needs to make herself feel better about the situation.
The idea of getting out of this place and questioning a different person seems to cheer her up.
"Bekyar Block." she says nodding whilst turning the name over in her head, trying to come up with something witty, but falls short.
The sorceress turns to Voshi. "Did you forget his name already?" she asks with curiosity. "It would be understandable. We think stinky human names rather stupid and quite forgettable so we wouldn't blame you."
It turns out, unfortunately for Uthe, that Bekyar Block is a place not a person. Built on the site of the cities former slave market it is the largest concentration of Bekyar natives in the city and has a reputation for skullduggery, danger and constant turf wars between different criminal gangs.
That said asking about Grisshuk produces information remarkably easily, it appears that everyone knows about what has happened to him and no-one is keen to confront him. Given his description as being seven feet tall, heavily muscled and with numerous black iron face piercings ("One for every man he's killed!" One woman explains.) it's not hard to see why.
"He's holed up in Grandmother Grace's." An old, pox scarred man offers in exchange for a mug of ale. "Been there a week now. Don't know why and don't want to know. If you ladies are looking for him, that's where he'll be."
The Shrine to Grandmother Grace proves to be in a quiet back alley. The door is already open and is crowned by A stylized symbol of a smiling old woman holding a glowing orb lovingly to her chest has been carved above it. The interior is a single large room with low partition walls and a few tattered mats. At the far end, a stone font filled with water stands in a large box of sand. A muscular orc wearing blood-stained hide armor kneels in front of the font while reverently pouring water into the sand.
The libation of water into sand is an old folk custom associated with Mwangi and Osiriani shamanic rites.
"You'd best stay back." The orc says without looking up. "I don't want to hurt you. I never wanted to hurt anyone."
"Grisshuk! You can't hurt us - we think, you could tell us what misfortune you have come upon and we will help!"
"Why are you even here?" The orc replies, "I don't know what's going on. I've been praying to Grandmother Grace for days, hoping that she will help me. I don't want to hurt anyone else."
”As my sister says, we are here to help. Tell us what is going on with you, and we will attempt to find a solution.”
Grisshuk sinks to the floor with an exhausted sigh. "People turning into slime? Yes, that’s me. I’ve been breaking legs and taking slaves most of my life. Never thought it would catch up to me, but it did. I’ve been cursed by the gods, and cursed hard. Now, people I meet turn into slime. You probably will, too, for meeting me. I figure I gotta repent of my evil ways and ask for mercy from the gods. Can’t think of any other way.”
He seems entirely sincere and largely resigned to his current fate.
"When did this ability manifest? Did you encounter anything unusual prior to the first time it happened? How exactly does it work?" Zathra asks.
"Umm..." Grisshuk screws up his face, thinking, which makes the various iron accouterments jangle and clash. "I got cursed about the time my old friend Matala came to me. She worked for someone named Khalibi somewhere in the city, until a few days ago when she got sick. I sent her to a healer I heard about in the Bwamandu Camp named Numu and haven’t seen her again. Maybe she died. Maybe I should look for this Khalibi and see if he’s hiring. Maybe the gods would like it if I got an honest job.”
"We just came from Numu's camp. Unfortunately, Matala has passed. But we can ask around about Khalibi. Perhaps it is best you continue to isolate yourselves from others until we can find out how to rid you of this malady," Zathra suggests.
Grisshuk is just nodding his agreement when two large men with clubs burst their way through the half-closed door.
"Grisshuk! We said we weren’t done with you, fool. If you don’t come back to work for us, we’ll get the payment out of you another way!" The hefted clubs make it clear that any payment will be extracted in broken bones and other injuries.
The huge orc backs away like a small child. "I don't want to hurt you guys." He replies, before switching his attention to the catfolk "Can you stop them? I don't want to kill anyone else!"
Zathra steps protectively in front of the orc, brandishing her staff. She hisses, baring her fangs. "You would be wise to turn around and leave this one alone. He is under our protection, and we will not hesitate to send you to meet your ancestors if you persist!"
"You do realise that every human that has come into contact with Grisshuk has turned into a lump of slime right? Even ones that he likes. Now imagine what he would do to those he doesn't like."
The two men look at each other, then the shorter one shakes his head slightly.
"Fine!" The taller man says, "But you still owe us Grisshuk. We will collect."
With that both men turn to leave. Grisshuk relaxes, his fists opening. "Thanks, I really didn't want to hurt them - not the nicest folk but no-one deserves to be turned into a lump of slime and goo. Look, I've told you everything I know so if there's nothing else then I'd prefer to be left to my prayers. Best of luck to you."
------------------------------
Outside in the alley it is brutally hot and blindingly bright after the cool inside darkness which means even Voshi isn't quite fast enough to warn her companions when the men from a few moments before leap out from behind a stack of old crates!
Thankfully the swashbuckler is far too nimble, or perhaps lucky for her assailant. Especially when one treads on an old nail, causing him to pull a blow that was right on course for the back of her skull.
Zathra steps up beside her sister and brings her staff to bear. "You have chosen poorly," she proclaims.
Voshi flourishes her Kukri with style as she dodges out of the path of each attack.
She dances around her foe, quipping as she goes before confidently striking at one of the brutes.
"Come on boys, I expect more out of my dance partners than that!"
Critical Success The target is distracted and takes a –3 status penalty to Perception and Will saves for 1 minute. The target can end the effect early with a retort to your Bon Mot. This can either be a single action that has the concentrate trait or an appropriate skill action to frame their retort. The GM determines which skill actions qualify, though they must take at least 1 action. Typically, the retort needs to use a linguistic Charisma-based skill action.
Success As critical success, but the penalty is –2.
Critical Failure Your quip is atrocious. You take the same penalty an enemy would take had you succeeded. This ends after 1 minute or if you issue another Bon Mot and succeed.
{A}
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"Stupid, stupid humans will regret attacking one as beautiful as we are!" Uthe declares as she draws a hand up her body and is enveloped in an aura of gloriousnous.
"Well done." she compliments Voshi and Zathra on their tactics to get the men to leave, only to find them returning with hostilities later.
"Treachery will not be tolerated." Saylarya declares, before throwing to fists into the closest enemy.
Uthe's beauty causes both men to stagger as Saylarya, Zathra and Voshi apply their own attacks. Voshi's blow fells one man and Zathra smashes her staff over his head to ensure that he doesn't rise again.
Saylarya hammers both fists into the other man but instead of bleeding he lets out a pitiful moan as his flesh dissolves around her fists! Within bare moments his features have melted away and an ooze colored a foul ochre has engulfed the comatose body of his companion...
"Another icky ooze!" Uthe declares needlessly. Remember how well other weapons worked on the things before, she quickly casts a spell on her staff which quickly grows leaves and vines.
"Eurgh, not again. We did not sign up for this!" Voshi says, sheathing her weapon and attempting to punch it with her fists.
Then, learning from last time, she withdraws a fair distance, hoping not to get hit too hard.
Zathra proceeds to whomp the ooze with her staff, trying to smoosh it before it can harm her or her companions!
Having learned previous lessons the queen assault the ooze with blunt weapons! The ooze takes a mighty beating and is reduced to barely half its previous size!
It isn't out however and flails with mindless hunger at the tasty meals in front of it. However The Ooze Busters are ready for this and nimbly dodge all its blows.
Zathra whomps it some more!
Saylarya roars like her tiger forebears and pummels the jelly.
Voshi continues her strike attempts, moving back to the ooze to support the others.
Voshi leaps back into the fray and the catfolk make swift work of the ochre jelly, which is now nothing more than inert protoplasm.
Zathra shakes the jelly off of her staff. "A good fight, kittens. Now, let's resume our task."
The oracle asks around town, trying to learn about Khalibi.
Voshi follows Zathra's lead and asks around town, but asks questions about Matala, who so far has been the original source of the disease.
Wiping the ooze from her body, she smiles at the conclusion of that fight. "I feel much better now that we have several successful battles behind us. We are better prepared against these disgusting blobs of goo."
Following Voshi, she also tries to gather as much information as possible to help them get to the bottom of this problem.