Mohandis AKA Dan E's page

You say your farewells to the Janni.

Mohandis accepts Linah's gift after the customary series of refusals. You get the impression the janni can't use the scrolls themselves but see them as valuable for trading.

Mohandis sees you off, giving you a very basic idea of the terrain for the next few miles. His assistance is obviously limited given he doesn't know where your going.

This morning I asked the elemental spirits for guidance in relation to our meeting. They seem to think it is likely we will do so again. I will pray that if so it will be as friends. He looks at Nuveril for some reason.

Until that day, ma'assalama.

Nuveril is not much of a story teller but everyone seems to enjoy her tale, slapping their legs in approval. A happy ending does not appear to be a particular requirement here. Linah might need to make a will save though :)

Khalid and Mohindis return part way through. The camp leader nods to the halfling, A good story on the risks of blind faith Nuveril. If I may I will go next. An appropriate tale for our surroundings.

Rovagug had sent ten thousand children crawling through the fire and the crushing dark, all seeking an escape for their father from the prison that held him. And nearly ten thousand of them had died in fire and agony. Only one, a creature called Xotani the Firebleeder, was true to its sire.

The Firebleeder’s claws were sharper than those of an earth demon and its breath fouler than that of pure mephitic death from the core of the world. It slithered through the earth like a colossal worm, uncrushable and always hungry. It devoured miles of stone before it, and dropped dust and slag metal in its wake.

And so the creature continued until one day, chewing through gentle sandstone, the Firebleeder found something new: a deliciously glowing bit of lichen in a wet, airy tunnel. It was delicious, a brief spark of sap and living juices against a palate raised on hard stone and dry dust. Ever hungry, the Firebleeder followed the tunnel upward and upward again. Finally it broke through to the surface, under a blinding noonday sun, where it roared and clawed out its own eyes from the pain.

The Firebleeder bled magma from its eye sockets and cursed its father’s name, he who had made it, he who had imbued with the urge to dig ever upward. The surface was a place of delicious pain, and so the Firebleeder dragged its bulk just below the surface, scorching everything above it. The flaming demonworm set fire to the forest. It set fire to the city at the edge of the forest. It ravaged the land, incinerating entire cities in an echo of its father’s destructive rage. And so the world began to burn anew.

Smoke and ash and cinders flew from the forests charred by the Firebleeder, fires that scorched soil into dust. Vast deserts grew from lush forest in mere days. The smoke turned noon to twilight. The people fled their lands, becoming nomads who would never again dare to settle, and the streets of the realm’s greatest cities emptied in fear of the inevitable fire.

Heroes rose to the challenge and set forth to conquer the fire wyrm, but their banners burned away and their swords and spears were reduced to slag. After countless armies fell to the beast’s wrath, a hundred arcanists and masters of ancient magical bloodlines swore an oath as the Legion of Wands and set forth to test their magic against the nightmare.

Battle mages, geniebinders, sand mages of Isirion, archmages of Nex, and dozens of other arcanists from all corners of the continent met to face the horror that threatened to spread its flames across their lands.

The Firebleeder’s first blast cut their numbers in half, sweeping the weakest away. But this bought the others time to bring their magic to the fore; freezing storms, hails of icy spears, rains of hissing water, and thunderous lightning transfixed the wyrm as bolts of force broke upon it in a furious storm.

Magma spewed from the Firebleeder’s wounds, each injury gushing like the eruption of a furious volcano, but the wizards stood strong. Infuriated and confused, the fire wyrm summoned a blast of flame to melt the mountains and boil the seas. Yet as the abomination readied to unleash its final wrath, the wizards spoke as one, shouting a single word of arcane might that silenced all for a thousand miles, ringing off the clouds.

And breaking the silence, a great cracking sounded as the Firebleeder’s volcanic blood cooled to stone and the beast crashed to earth.

The Firebleeder fell, impaling itself upon a mountain made white by the bones of the heroes that died that day, its hide shattering to cinders. A hundred lights glowed over its corpse by night, and of the Legion of Wands, only a dozen survived to rejoice in their victory and mourn their comrades.

Yet some say, at dawn, the corpse twitched and stirred. Deep in the heart of the mountain an ember remained in the Firebleeder’s breast.

This time there is a solemnity to the group's clapping. Mohandis holds up his hand. The night draws late and I fear our guests are tired. Perhaps one more story from them before we find our beds?

Don't let this back and forth with Khalid stop any other dialogue you'd like to get into. Note: ninjaed by Sajan. Will let everyone into these spoilers later as Khalid has been rather more successful than I was expecting.

Mohandis and Khalid step aside from the fire to talk.

You all manage a few hours sleep before the evening. Not enough to fully recover from your fatigue but a welcome respite regardless. Assuming your not trusting enough not to leave a guard or two.

As evening falls the aroma of roasting goat wafts across the camp and fills your nostrils. Several low tables are set out near the fire pit and a steady stream of other dishes join them from one of the tents: soups, vegetables, potatoes (these would be rather rare for Katapesh). Mohandis' group seems to like their portions large and extremely spiced.

Rugs and cushions from the tents are brought out for seating and with little ceremony the meal begins. Small clay jugs are passed around with the food. The brave find these are filled with a very strong whiskey-like liquor. The jama'at seem used to the potent brew, drinking in deep mouthfuls while you find it goes fiery and straight to your head.

As before the mood of the majority of the group is polite but reserved. They clearly remain wary of Grall and, somewhat oddly, Nuveril nearly as much. Perhaps it is because of the hammer resting prominently at her side. On the other hand several approach Zeladiel, bowing to the elf and asking him about his family and his tribe. On hearing he is alone they respond with commiserations and evident pity.

As best as you can tell the jama'at don't abandon their usual security arrangements for the feast. A quartet of warriors seem to guard the encampment at all times. They don't eat, they don't drink, remaining focused on their task. A reminder of where you are.

Mohandis is a gracious host, serving you up prime portions of the goat with his own hands and describing any unknown dishes. As dinner is winding down, the goat carcasses now empty skeletons, he leans forward.

So. Three humans, an elf, a halfling and a gnoll. An odd a mix as can only be an adventuring group even if Master Sajan had not said as much. What can you be seeking here in the mountains? Perhaps the lost Halls of the Hammerfall dwarves? Or perhaps you seek your way to the Darklands through the Jackal's Maw? My people have walked these trails for centuries, perhaps we can help you find your way.

"I thank you for your kindness. Your hospitality is a true testiment to the good residing within mankind. I will go and present your invitation", Linah says with a bow. She excuses herself and heads back to Nuveril alone, worried what the halfing might say if Mohandis accompanied her to deliver the message.

Mohandis smiles in response, he seems to think something Linah said is quite humorous.

When Nuveril approaches he appraises her, not unfriendly, his eyes flicking from her hammer to madu to the amulet at her neck. His smile seems to freeze for just a half second but he carries on smoothly and no less politely, bowing at the waist to make his own greeting.

Greetings Nuveril I am Mohandis. You are welcome in our camp. Be at peace.

Assuming the four of you still present. Update later for the feast.

I think its appropriate to treat Zeladiel's speech as an assist to Linah's main check. Treating this request as against an unfriendly starting attitude (general reaction from the majority of the group is indifferent, the leader has given signs that he may be better than that).

Zeladiel diplomacy assist 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (20) + 1 = 21 pass! and overall success

Mohandis seems more or less receptive to Zeladiel's request to keep his unstrung bow when Linah adds her own. A few others of the group seem displeased, one going so far as to speak a few clear words of protest to Mohandis in their odd rumbling language. Its clear they are a proud people who feel free to speak their mind (and their displeasure) to their leader.

The bulk and Mohandis however seemed swayed by your politeness and combined diplomatic efforts. The leader nods his assent. Very well. I suppose we would be poor hosts if we left your companion to camp on hard ground in the cold over a point of honor. Please extend to her my invitation to join us while maintaining her weapon. Or I can do so personally if that would mitigate any offense.

He turns to Zeladiel. As for yourself Master Elf please keep your heirloom and your spellbook. It has been a very long time since we have met one of your race. But in this jama'at at least we remember and respect those who share our duty. We are children of all of the elements but as you gather earth most of all.

And poor hosts we would be if we asked favors of our guests. Perhaps when we eat you will tell us your story, I am sure it is an interesting one.

Grall and Sajan find the allocated accomodations to be comfortable (if a little squeezed with all of you inside). Carpets and a few cushions cover the ground and there is a small brazier with jars of what seems to be different types of coffee.

It takes a little while to notice but the camp has a few oddities. For one, you can't see any food and water supplies other than the herd of goats. They do seem to have boxes and boxes of various herbs and spices though. Similarly while the encampment seems temporary the fixtures are quite luxurious and relatively bulky and theres no obvious way to carry all of it around. Perhaps they have extra-dimensional items like your haversack or other magical means of transport.

As you take your rest the main part of the group stow their weapons and armour except for a quartet, presumably guards, who disperse around the camp. They keep the curved knives though. They seem to be used as combination tools, eating utensils and presumably close quarters weapons in a pinch. Two of the goats are butchered, presumably for the evening feast.

Up to Nuveril whether she joins the rest of you. I'll assume you rest away the rest of the day without doing anything specific unless I hear otherwise. Feel free to continue conversations though if you like.

Edit: Note that Zeladiel is still on single digit hp, he was requesting a heal above I believe.

Moving along then assuming Nuveril stays behind and everyone else goes with Sajan. Feel free to read Sajan's spoilers above for descriptions. Not going to split Nuveril and the rest spoilerwise.

Nuveril begins to set her own bare camp on the path while the rest of you descend to the valley floor.

You are greeted by the camp's leader a tall, well-proportioned man wearing blue trousers and a yellow silk shirt under a silvery chain shirt. A strong jaw and cheek bones frame a regal and handsome face. His eyes are a deep blue, the iris' almost glinting in the sunlight. A scimitar and a long curved dagger are thrust through a wide belt.

Greetings friends, assalamu alaikum. I am Mohandis, leader of this jama'at. As I have said to your companion Sajan we keep to the old ways here. You shall be our honored guests for the duration of your stay.

While you were talking he seems to have gathered his group, who have dropped their invisibility (or so you assume). Another four male warriors join the six Sajan saw earlier. There are eight women, although less armored than the men they look equally formidable. There are four younger people. Their ages are difficult to place. You would say teenagers although they carry themselves with an adult like poise.

They are remarkably homogeneous bunch in terms of appearance, all over six feet tall (Mohandis the tallest by a few inches at six feet four or so), all muscular, physically attractive and with the same blue eyes. Feel free to make knowledge rolls to confirm the fairly obvious.

Mohandis gestures toward one of the larger tents. I am sure we will have much to say to each other but that can wait until you have rested. This evening we shall have a great feast! He seems too polite to mention your obvious fatigue.

When it becomes apparent that Nuveril will not be joining the rest of you several of the jama'at mutter to each other in a deep rumbling language that you do not understand. Mohandis on the other hand seems sanguine. Grall also seems to attract a lot of attention, not aggression but certainly wariness. On the other hand several nod respectfully at Zeladiel.