"That seems fair. Give us a moment to confer - and let's keep the drinks coming."
Calla turns to her companions, "Decision time. What do we need? Other than another round?"
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"And another round of ... whatever that was. On me," Calla motions to the waitress for more another of the leather bottles of firewater.
Calla takes a sip, and barely manages to hold back a choking cough as the alcohol burns down her throat. Eyes watering, she manages a slightly strangled, "Thanks." What did gramma always say about negotiating? ... Start high, you won't get everything you want, but it sets the level of conversation and pulls the end result higher... She clears her throat, "Better weapons and armor, if you have them. Proper desert clothes and survival kits for those lacking them. Any healing gourds, medical supplies, bandages. My companions may have other, more specific requirements."
Calla speaks up, "Right. A dangerous mission, with the potential for more work later. Payment in advance, in kind, to make sure we are well equipped. Given our current lack of funds and allies, it seems like a deal we would be well advised to accept." She turns to Kamzar, "I'm keen to see what you have available. If my companions have no further objections, we should go and get started."
Calla does not know what an orb of defiling might be. From Irivis' instantly stifled reaction, and Arakan's sudden interest, she guesses that they are powerful and valuable and probably dangerous. Her long-buried merchant instincts jolt to life, and she supports Arakan's play. "It seems that you are lucky. Jareen has happened upon companions who might be amenable to a paid commission. And capable. Now, what do you need?"
Calla stays watchful, looking back over her shoulder to see if the three enforcers follow them into the room, checking for sudden movements or hands going to weapons.
Spoiler: Calla stands quickly and gives the mul a measuring look. Then, "Peace, Jareen. This is what we wanted, if not quite how we planned. Irivis, can I help you?"
"How much have you had today anyway? No, no, you lot don't bother to move, I'll just get the old dear sat down between you. That's it, you prop her up."
Calla stops and makes a scene over Irivis, hoping to draw eyes away from Arakan. "Oh dear! Come on clumsy, lets get you sat down over here with something to settle your nerves. It's all right, no fuss, no fuss," she says loudly, making as much fuss as possible.
Calla jumps to her feet, neatly spilling the dregs of her beer. "We could do with another round. I'll come help you, Irivis. Who's on beer, and who wants that fermented thri-kreen gloop?"
Calla narrows her eyes as she watches the waitress hurry back inside. "Well, she knows something," she says in a casual, quiet, tone. "Even odds we're going to need to follow her, or we're about to get into a fight."
Calla is again abashed as Arakan takes the initiative. She covers it with another swig of beer, and then tries to pay attention to the serving woman's reaction. "I think you've been out in the sun too long, old man," she replies to Jareen, furthering the conversation. "How do you kill a god, and make sure it sticks?"
Calla hands over her money gladly, and sets to work on the food with a ravenous appetite. She darts quick glances round the street, over the mug of her ale, keeping a particular eye out for the beggar that talked to Jareen. "I can feel the meat sticking to my ribs already. Not so bad, hey Arakan?"
Call is going to make contact with representatives of either her house, or the wider trading house that they were part of (so either Wavir or her own house - Wavir seems more likely). She wants to know if any of her immediate family have also escaped the raid and the sacrifice. She also wants to put feelers out to try and investigate whether this was bad luck or a targeted attack. But that can wait until after dinner. "We should go to the White Lizard. I want to know more about what that crazy beggar was talking about. You don't all have to come," she concludes with a neutral glance at Arakan. Then she heads back in the direction of the inn.
She asks around the city to see if house Wavir keeps an agent or factor here, and if so whether it is someone she knows or trusts. She tries to keep a low profile though, those raiders could have been sent after all.
Calla thinks over what she knows of the last Sorcerer-King of Tyr.
"We should refresh our supplies. Qualli - how much longer to Tyr?"
Calla looks up from lowered eyes, trying to understand the relative positions of these men. We need to get them moving on past us. Who is really in charge here, I wonder?
Oh dear. So much for passing unnoticed. "Jareen! It seems we have been sheltering illustrious company."
Calla was about to elaborate, but at the appearance of the Templar she simply ducks her head and stares at the ground. Just a peasant. Nothing to see here. Just a peasant traveller.
Calla breathes a silent sigh of relief that Arakan isn't stirring up trouble, for once. She makes a mental note to ask Irivis whether Arakan has any particular history that might get them all in trouble. "We saw the light and heard the thunder. I think the people at Grak's pool might know more, it seemed to come from that direction." Calla isn't sure why she is being evasive, but she feels unwilling to describe their capture and close brush with death.
"Journey takes us to Tyr," Calla says. "How are the roads - any trouble we should know about?"
Calla looks from Arakan to Qualli. "Do we try to avoid them or ignore them and go on our way? Is anyone carrying anything they'd rather not be found with?"
Calla replies distractedly, trying to concentrate on keeping a good lookout. SHe happily confides that she comes of a merchant family, but is vague about which one, and particularly vague about her plans once she reaches Tyr. "How often have you made this trip?"
Calla twists in her bedroll, trying not to wake up. Always a light sleeper, she soothes herself by picturing a pair of hands slowly throttling Dramm as he gapes silently for air. Silently.
Calla seethes quietly at Arakan's open sarcasm - it's not like he made a better suggestion after all. Despite her repressed anger, she eventually settles into sleep, weapons close and shield acting as a pillow. Zzzz
Calla catches Gorad's expression. Later in the evening, over their scant meal, she takes time for a private word. Quietly she says, "Who else would I trust to watch alongside him? Thank you for being here for me, Gorad."
Calla suggests a watch rotation of Jareen and Irivis, followed by Arakan and Gorad, with Calla taking the dawn watch alongside Qualli. She looks round, half expecting the corrections and outright mockery common from her brothers whenever she suggested a plan.
Sotho voce to Gorad, "We can probably trust Qualli as much as we could trust anyone from outside the family. He'll only sell us if he get's a very good offer and is sure we'll never be back to trouble him." To the group at large she says, "I propose that we travel at dawn and dusk. It's what my family has always done, and seems to be the best balance of risks."
"Yeah, we've got some experience at that. Recently, even. Leave in the morning?" To Gorad, Irivis, and the group, "We should get some rest tonight, we'll want to be watchful as we travel. DOes everyone have what they need?"
"Well, strange times makes for strange companions, as Gramma used to say. And Arakan has been useful - and we might be glad of more company before we see the walls of Tyr." Does he have guards? Does he seem like a genuine merchant, and seem well enough supplied to make it to Tyr safely? Calla introduces herself to Qualli, "Pleased to travel with you. How many days to Tyr, and when do we leave?"
As the others return from the cells, Calla rinses her mouth with water, spits, and says, "I'm going to Tyr. This ... Bend ... that hired Tek used to work for one of the elven gangs there. That's the Toothcutters that Tek mentioned. Anyway, it's a next step to finding the bastards who did this. Um ... what are your plans?" It's clear that Calla wants company, and probably help pursuing this Bend character. It's equally clear that she's not comfortable asking for help.
Calla listens from the top of the stairs as her ... companions? friends? ... press the murderous mul for information. Her heart beats quickly and the conversation is almost drowned out by the blood pounding in her ears, but she makes out the name of the scum who ordered her family killed. A step in a chain - and a name for the list.
Calla pauses at the bottom of the stone stairs, suddenly unwilling to face the mul slaver. She feels wave of revulsion, almost physical nausea, roll over her. the spear plunges into the chest once again, and her father jerks and twitches and breathes out a crimson gout of blood, once again. Reeling, she walks back up the stairs, desperately searching for fresh air before she is sick.
Calla leans heavily against on her spear, mute from shock and pain, light-headed with relief. I thought we were all going to die. How did we pull through? She looks around at her companions with a new-found appreciation. Even Arakan was useful!
. Calla winces as a massive stone fist whistles past her face, missing my inches as she jerks her head back in a desperate dodge. She feels the bolstering energy of Gorad's magic reduce the pain of her many wounds. A little, at least.
Missiles fall all around her, but Calla's weaving, jerking, fighting style avoids serious hurt. She attacks the elemental with steely focused determination, sensing that this fight needs to end quickly. Delay only serves the pyreen, in this place of his gathered strength.
Brinka struggles to escape the Brogh's grasp.
Chem, seeing that Grak, Arno, and Brinka are handling the Brogh, steps round the melee to target the Pyreen. Grak attacks the Brogh, inspiring those around him to redouble their efforts. Arakan singles out the so called pyreen, seeking to distract him - "This is no prophet, these are simple conjuring tricks". Arno simply attacks the Brogh with all his might.
Fortunately the crowd's missiles do not further injure Calla, and she takes a moment to summon her reserves of energy. Feeling a little better, Calla strikes at the elemental to give her time to recover her feet.
As the Pyreen's power washes over her, Calla growls out, "We may have been focused on the wrong opponent. That hurt!"
Still blind, Calla feels crowd-flung missiles spatter across her armor, but takes no harm. She hears Irivis gasp in pain, and hopes someone can help the older woman. Because Calla surely can't. Frustrated, she whirls her bone-edged flail in a defensive pattern.
Calla feels the rush of hot desert air as the elemental's giant fist swooshes over her head.
Calla strikes out blindly with her flail, attacking based on memory and orienting by the sound of Grak's voice.
Calla stumbles in the suddenly trembling sand, trying to keep her footing and press the attack.
Barely, she stays upright and presses her attack on the prone spirit.
Calla crosses the intervening space in an instant and is facing the elemental. She raises her shield in defiance and strikes with her flail, demanding its attention, its respect.
Calla murmurs, "Good. A fighting chance." Loud enough for the runners to hear, she says to Arakan, "Permit me to test this spirit for you - we will see the truth of the Pyreen's claim written in combat."
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