Melira Ngige's page

Melira shrugs off the apology. "Stay out of the way," she advises the passengers. "Gashnakh is making friends. Once he reports back to me, I'll pass word on to you, but it's best you keep your distance from him if you want the crew to trust him."

Melira scoffs. "You'll find few enough of those people in Belkzen. That's the problem with you crusaders: you'd rather die nobly alone than work with the wrong type of people to survive. I haven't had the luxury of picking and choosing my associates based on their moral rectitude, so I've developed the ability to assess them as individuals. Bloodtusk is a man of honor in his own way; he feels about his boat as you might about your church. You do your bit to pitch in with the crew and advance the voyage, and he'd die defending you as long as you're on this craft."

She glances around. "The rest of his crew ... I don't know them. They've all turned over since the last time I was aboard. Don't trust them, but don't go out of your way to antagonize them. I've set Gashnakh the task of inquiring about Gorewillow among the crew; they'll be more like to talk to him over a jigger of rum than to any of us, but if you start poking around and asking nosy questions of everyone, they'll go mum on the subject quick."

"Oh, and he's got a full-orc coxswain this trip," she adds. "I trust you'll raise no problems about her."

"There'll be no problem, captain," Melira promises, tugging Marikel away from the half-orc. "I'll make sure no one gets underfoot of the crew. Let me show the passengers where they can stow their gear."

When she's put some distance between the group and Captain Bloodtusk, she drops Marikel's arm in disgust. "What are you trying to do, lose the transport I've arranged for? Don't put Bloodtusk's back up; you need him if you want to catch up to Gorewillow."

Melira gives Marikel a slight frown and barely-perceptible shake of the head. "That will be fine, Captain; if they need further passage from the confluence, we can discuss it then."

"Captain Raag Bloodtusk," Melira introduces the group to a tall and muscular half-orc in a chain shirt and a thick leather gladiator's belt. "Captain, your passengers, emissaries from Trunau."

Melira regards the party with neither delight nor surprise as they approach. "You made it," she states flatly. "One ferry, as promised. We went ahead and put the horses aboard to save time. You're still in a hurry to catch up to Gorewillow, yes?"

Melira's eyes narrow. "Leave the horses with me. I'll watch for the ferry and try to convince Bloodtusk to wait if you haven't returned."

"On the Kestrel. Or the Esk," Melira replies bluntly. "Is this woman's horse really more important than your quest?"

Melira leads on, a little more quickly than before as if to put as much distance between the group and the drake as possible. A moment later, she calls out cautiously, "Someone approaching, in a hurry. Single humanoid."

Indeed, a figure can be seen jogging in the party's direction from downriver. As it nears, it is revealed to be Tama Turns-Her-Shoulder.

Melira proceeds to lead the party down the Kestrel. After a few hours of eventless travel, Dorn feels a surge of adrenalin from Skyreaver, a split-second before Melira calls out sharply, "Down, now! And off your horses, unless you want to get carried away on one!"

She hurries to the nearest rock and crouches in its shadow, making herself as small and unobtrusive as possible. A moment later, a sinuous shadow streaks over the ground and is gone.

Once she is sure it isn't circling back, Melira cautiously steps out of the shadow and peers after it. "River drake, and a large one. Fortunately for us, it already had prey in its talons and wasn't interested in stopping and trying for more."

"Not too high," Melira snaps at the dwarf. "We don't want your bird drawing the attention of any river drakes on the hunt. Might as well chum the water."

Once out of the rugged terrain of the foothills, Melira climbs atop a boulder and squints at the horizon downriver. "No signal from Gashnakh yet. Best we can do is follow the Kestrel downstream and cover as much ground on foot as possible. With luck, we'll catch sight of the ferry before long; at the very least, we'll be sure we haven't missed it if we keep near the river."

"If Gashnakh can signal the ferry," Melira shrugs, "Raag Bloodtusk can take us up the Esk in the keelboat. If he can't, we'll skirt the Marsh by foot on the southern edge. It shouldn't be any slower than traveling through the swamp itself. Still, unless we catch the ferry, we're unlikely to make up any ground on Gorewillow."

Casters, do you have your spell slots filled?

"Hmm, some of the first good news we've had for a while. Let's get moving while Melira tells us more about the hospitable sounding Ghostlight Marsh."

Melira shrugs as she prepares her pack and slings it onto her back. "It's a swamp to the northeast. where the Esk and Kestrel meet. The border between Belzken and Lastwall cuts right through it, but no one likes to go there if they can avoid it. Folk in Freedom Town say it's haunted."

"How long ago did you make the exchange?" she asks. When informed, she responds, "Then at least two days. It will all depend on whether he caught the ferry or we will -- and how quickly. Traveling alone by boat, he'd have to stop and rest while Bloodtusk has enough crew to sleep in shifts and keep the boat moving; plus, when he reached the Esk, he'd have to travel upstream, probably leave the boat and tramp through Ghostlight Marsh."

The cave in the hillside at the back of the old fort turns out to be an old stable ("The Crusaders weren't fools enough to leave horses out in the open to attract drakes," Melira remarks. "I suggest we don't either") where the horses can be sheltered for the night.

Gashnakh appears not to understand the Common tongue and is taciturn even when addressed in his own, responding to anyone but Melira with little more than an unfriendly grunt and to her with as few words as possible. The burden of any conversation falls largely on the party, and they are tired from the long day of travel and anticipating a similar jaunt the next day. Dinner is minimal, and bedding down swiftly follows the setting of the sun.

When Melira wakes Marikel for the last watch before dawn, Gashnakh's bedroll is missing. "I sent him ahead to the river to signal the ferry," she explains quietly. "The quickest way to get where we're going is by the water. It's how Gorewillow traveled, and if we've any hope of catching up to him, we'll go that way, too ... though we'll get started in the right direction by foot until we can meet up with the ferry. Might as well make as much headway as we can."

Melira scoffs. "If it's any comfort to you, Skreed Gorewillow wouldn't cross the street to pick up 'a few' gold. The payout from this operation will be substantial."

"So healer, knives, groom," Melira glances at Mahath entering with the horses, before turning toward Dorn and guessing, "and financial backer? I warn you, those horses are liable to end up drake food if you take them along the river. It's almost nesting season."

She shrugs. "Prospecting, from what he told me. He paid me to recruit and deliver people willing to do mining work in the hopes of striking it rich. There's never a shortage of those around Freedom Town. Clearly, though, he was looking for more than ore. Last time he contracted with me, it was to divert a party leaving Trunau for Lastwall, some sort of ransom effort. He said he was trading the girl's safe return for something valuable, something he had a buyer lined up for. What it was, he never told me, and I never asked."

Melira takes a bit of Marikel's proffered jerky. "I know the land, the terrain, and the dangers. You do what I say when I say it, you should get where you're going alive. I am talented with a bow. In a perfect world, anything that means me harm never gets close enough to hurt us. But this isn't a perfect world. That's where Gashnakh comes in. He's muscle. He does what he's told. And Shaƙariƙe does what I want. Don't worry; he's not poisonous."

"I can take you where he was going," she asserts. "If he's already gone by the time we get there, he'll have delivered the item to his client. If she's gone ... well, she'll be easier to track, but you'll have to decide then which your priority is. Agreed." She turns and calls over her shoulder into the lean-to built up against the side of the mountain. "Gashnakh! Kom uit! Ons het 'n nuwe werk! My associate," she explains as a burly half-orc emerges from a cave in the hillside, grudgingly tucking a handaxe back onto his belt. "I'm good, not foolhardy. No one travels Belkzen alone. Oh, and this," a snake as long as the half-orc is tall and almost as thick as his arm slithers out of the darkness as well, "is Shaƙariƙe."

"If your talents are as good as you say, you will be well compensated. We could double your usual fee. But only for tangible results."

"'Tangible results,'" Melira repeats. "Let's spell out what that means. Do you want Gorewillow or the item? Or both? Contracts are always more satisfactory when their ending terms are defined up front."

"If I tell you," Melira points out, "you'd still have to get there, and if you try it on your own, I doubt you'll get there before Gorewillow's long gone. If I help you," she turns her attention to Marikel, "my expertise and connections can get you there a lot faster than your bumbl- er,'best efforts.' But forgiveness doesn't spend in Freedom Town. Have you nothing less incorporeal to offer?"

Melira shrugs, arrow still on her bow. "Fine. Take me in -- if you can. In the meantime, Gorewillow is delivering your ... deadly artifact, was it? -- to his employer. How far ahead of you is he already?"

Melira stares back. "Not since he paid me and concluded our business. But, yes, I know where he is -- or at least where he intended to go when he had gotten what he came for. The Hold is a dangerous place for a traveler, but if I were a betting woman, I would put money on his arriving safely. He's a surprisingly capable man, for a scholar. Now, you," she glances around at the visibly tired and roadworn group, "I'm not convinced. Not without a guide who knows where she's going."