GM: From the underground haze of gnome-infested Yavipho, a single covered wagon crosses the twisting trails of northern Katapesh. Two gnomes work relentlessly to keep the two mules pulling the wagon on course. A haze of smoke, varying in colors belches out of the back of the wagon with ominous regularity. They haul a fresh supply of pesh, bound for Solku. Little do they realize they are bound by the warped nature of a foul and ill-timed wish by the Southern Wind.
Cerin: After settling for the night, I grumble and squawk. I miss Kingii. Instead, all I had was my wife. She was speaking to the mules again. Crazy witch, I thought. That dirty gnoll was out there somewhere, grinning to the moon and plotting how to eat them, and she sits there, talking to the mules as if nothing is amiss. At least Kingii would soon return, hopefully with the creatures head. Hopefully before worse things happened. Miki could hex me again to all sorts of immoral and amorous afflictions. I shudder in revulsion and excitement.
Miki: Nasty Statler and even nastier Waldorf bickered in the tongues of mules. I only half-listened to them. Instead, I listened to the ramblings of a terrified jack rabbit blathering about the large smelly standing dog hiding just a short run to the west.
"He's near, husband." Instead of grabbing my spear, I began to hum and comb my long wild green hair, grinning at Cerin as I did. His face paled and he ducked behind the wagon out of sight. Each brush sent a spasm through my enchanted hair and it moved as if by an invisible wind.
Then Statler and Waldorf went silent, peering out into the western night. I could barely see anything out there. But I couldn't mistake the shining eyes peeking out of the brush. Six sets of eyes. Their follower had found friends. "Time to go. The dog found his pack."
Cerin: I cursed. So much for a peaceful night. They would have to ride hard to escape the pack. And still Kingii was missing. I could feel him out there. What was keeping him?
———————
GM: From out of the high walls of Solku, a trio of camels trail dust as they ride hard for the north, following the worn merchant trails that eventually lead to the Pale River. Upon the first camel, first traveling across the Brazen Peaks to Solku, rides the shrouded Tang Pang Saka Newt, the wandering monk smelling of smoke and secrets, having escaped a dark paracountess and her devils.
Next to him, hailing from the fabled city of Katapesh, Lyrac Roland Ruprect Jethro Grimm, mighty of name and deed, freed slave, thief, mariachi and murderer, and befriended to Garavel seeks the three Great Mysteries. Three things just as mysterious as himself and his many names.
Third rides lantern-jawed Garavel, wearing a white keffyeh over his head. His business is his own, but he has hired these two to help him complete what he must.
Now they have been traveling together for more than a week on dreary camels from the town of Solku to an unknown location in the northern scrublands of wild Katapesh. Night has begun to fall.
Lyrac and Tang have learned Garavel is a no-nonsense major-domo of the merchant princess, Almah awaiting at your destination. In the distant haze to the west, they can just make out the immense outline of Pale Mountain looming over the mid-evening horizon like a tombstone.
As they are near their destination, the ground slopes downward, revealing a craggy tree. It becomes obvious why it is called the Sultan’s Claw. With five immense, mostly leafless branches, the growth looks more like a giant skeletal talon than a thing of living wood.
As they top the last rise, a caravan of a half-dozen wagons and a large tent clustered around the distinctive tree comes into view. Camels in a nearby pen prance in agitation, and a clutch of confused goats and livestock wander the grounds around the wagons. Perhaps a dozen men and women rush around the campsite, chasing down an animal or hastening toward the center of the cluster, near the Sultan’s Claw, with pails of water in their hands.
One of the wagons is on fire!
Lush orange and red flames engulf an elaborate wooden wagon emblazoned with painted moons and stars. A gout of smoke pours from an open door, and as they approach an ill wind blows a number of colorful fortune-telling Harrow cards from inside the wagon. One of these singed cards blows directly at Tang, catching against his chest in a burst of orange cinders. It is the Cyclone, signifying a force that tears through whatever it meets at the behest of an intelligent being. The card portends war, arson, and destructive plans. As their eyes shift their focus from the Cyclone back to the wagon, the whole of the Sultan’s Claw erupts into brilliant flame.
The central flap of an elaborate tent flies open and a regal woman who can only be Almah steps out into the firelit night.
“Douse that flame!” she shouts to the men surrounding the wagon before turning in your direction. “Ah, Garavel!” she says. “And just a moment later than the nick of time, as usual.”
Looking specifically past her major domo and directly at Tang and Lyrac, Almah barks out a simple order before running off toward the fire: “Find some way to help!”
Lyrac: Brushing off the road dust, I dismount the camel, thankful to be off the beast. I first pay attention to outside the camp to see if this fire is a diversion for other nefariousness. I then see if I can help at the water source to put out the fire.
Tang: Lyrac has a good idea. I try to sense danger other than the fire, before the bard can.
GM: A quick search of the area shows nothing amiss other than the chaos at hand. The darkness around the camp is near complete as the sun sets fully, leaving only the glaring light of the fires.
Almah, Garavel, and four soldiers dressed in the distinctive red chitin-plate armor of the Pactmaster Guard run back and forth between the burning fortune teller’s wagon and an uncovered wagon about 20 feet away. The latter contains a huge barrel holding enough drinking water to serve the entire campsite for a week. At present, it will take the six people sometime to quench the fire using the pail-by-pail method. There are more buckets to be grabbed if necessary.
Four burly mercenaries struggle with an enclosed wooden wagon within feet of the burning wagon, hoping to move it to safety before an errant spark causes it also to burst into flame.
An old human cleric kneels next to two severely burned mercenaries who tried to enter the burning wagon. The cleric is tending to a badly wounded mercenary, but he is unable to focus on his second patient, a female soldier, who lies near death from terrible burns and smoke inhalation.
A modest collection of pigs, goats, and sheep accompanies Almah’s party. The flaming wagon has unsettled these creatures, which somehow escaped from their pen in the confusion surrounding the fire’s outbreak. The middle-aged human camel driver and his wife are doing their best to wrangle the panicking animals, but their efforts are quickly being overrun by the chaos of the situation.
Tang: "Line up mortals!" I tell them. "Form a line and pass the buckets down". As they're doing that, I ask Ruprect, "Oh, Ruprect. Fancy pants. Help me move the water wagon closer to the flame. Less distance means quicker quenching." Too bad there's no boy scouts among the mercenaries...they would know just what to do!
Lyrac: Formidable as my mind and voice are, strength is not my strong point, so I take the place of the biggest guy on the line and send him over to help Tang. "You, brute squad. Go help the little man move that wagon. Step on him if you need too." To the rest I shout, "Anyone who can bind wounds be the first out of the line to help the cleric as the wagon gets closer."
GM: Something in the wagon hisses and explodes, throwing flames higher into the sky for a brief moment.
Tang: It might be a good idea to free up the four people trying to move the other wagon. If the line throws a couple buckets of water on the wagon they're trying to move, the danger should decrease, and we'll focus on putting the fire out quickly. I see the brute approach. "Whoa there! You're a biggin'. Start moving that water wagon. The rest of you, pour some water on the wagon closest to the fire, in case it lights up like the other, then help the big guy move the water wagon closer." The four men can help me move the water wagon, then we'll all get buckets and put out the fire.
GM: Your efforts lead to the saving of the other wagon and the dousing of the fire, calming the chaos in the camp. The mercenaries are able to quickly get the fire under control with the combined efforts of picking up the water barrel and dousing the flames in a rush of water.
Immediate crisis aside, Almah shows remarkably little concern over the fate of her astrologer, treating it more as a loss of resources than a personal tragedy. She seems more interested in the supplies and the order of the camp.
She asks Garavel to lead an investigation into whether or not the fire might have been set by someone in her camp. Since you also were not around when the fire broke out (and are thus unlikely potential arsonists in her eyes), she asks you to help her major domo determine if there is a mystery afoot, and if so, to solve it.
———————
GM: The chase was on! The landscape was not built for a wagon chase in the dark. The three gnolls yip and howl as they chase, keeping pace with the overburdened and erratic mules.
Miki: "Do something, miracle worker! Where's your pet!" I try to keep control of the mules as I try to gain a lead on the gnolls.
Cerin: "Let's keep all the profit," I grumbled to myself. "We don't need guards. Just a quick romp to Solku. What's the worst that could happen?" Do something, she says. I kick around the back of the wagon, spilling herbs and dusts, finding nothing of use for the current situation. I inhale slowly, coughing in the fumes I recently created. "Fine! You want to rush my miracles! I'll give you miracles!"
I unsummon Kingii. I clap my hands and with a hiss of power, toss a venomous fiendish viper towards the gnolls. "Now you do something, witch!"
Miki: Do something. Oh, she'd do something. "Take the reins." I pull out the small pouch around my neck and smack Cerin on the back of the head. Pink dust settled on her husband. His eyes widened and he jumped up to kiss her. She smiled and pulled out her blowgun.
Cerin: "Dust of broken hearts," I curse, jumping into the driving seat and taking the reins.
GM: The fiendish viper slithers unnoticed, striking at the first gnoll it sees. Its fangs bite deep, injecting poison into the gnoll. It screams and jumps. The others do the same, but once clear of the snake, laugh and hoot at their comrade's misfortune. A second gnoll stabs at the viper and impales it on its spear. The viper dissolves into a thick black ooze that fades into smoke.
Miki: Poisoned pesh was her specialty. Each of her darts were carefully made to be hollow, containing a tar-like version of pesh. She took careful aim and fired, striking the lead gnoll. She smiled as the beast thought it was invigorated. In truth, the pesh would slow their systems and decrease their decision making abilities.
Cerin: I felt the death of the viper. Cursing, I conjured another and tossed it behind me. Perhaps enough poison and pesh would keep the gnolls off their backs.
GM: The poisoned gnoll begins to lag behind the others. The peshed gnoll is giddy, slapping his comrades on the back and hooting even louder. As Miki prepares to fire again, a fiendish viper lands in her hair.
———————
GM: In Almah's camp, Garavel tells Lyrac and Tang that the destroyed wagon belonged to Almah’s personal fortuneteller Eloais, a handsome man from Almah’s distant homeland of Varisia. Eloais’s specialty was a divinatory deck of cards known as Harrow, a few cards of which litter the ground outside the burned-out wagon. Physical examination of the ruined wagon reveals sooty ashes, a few broken bottles or potion vials, a cracked nonmagical crystal ball, and several pools of melted wax where candles must once have stood. Eloais’s charred skeletal form remains near the center of the wagon. A search reveals no signs of struggle or violence, suggesting that the fortune-teller was killed by the fire itself or from inhaling the smoke the fire caused. You also notice the gnoll expert Dashki lurking a short distance away, watching them from behind the corner of a nearby wagon.
Tang: I keep the Cyclone card. A little memento of my journey. Aside from that, I go talk to Dashki to see if he knows what happened. "You there, lurker. Tell me what you saw."
Lyrac: While Mister Orange (Tang) does his thing I talk to Almah about what the astrologer was doing.
"A poor fate for a fortune teller. Allow me to introduce myself." I flourish a bow and brandish my most disarming of smiles. "I am Lyrac Roland Ruprect Jethro Grimm, bard and orator of Katapesh. I did not think to begin our relationship with such a hot date."
Tang: "Ruprect...leave that cork on your fork...and good opening line."
GM: Almah's smiles at the comment, glad of the relief of tension. Almah is a beautiful young merchant princess, the latest in a long line of wealthy agents of the Pactmasters of Katapesh. Her family, originally from Varisia far to the north, has dwelt in Katapesh for several generations now. Unfortunately, her family has been down on its luck for most of those generations as a result of bad investments and the economic intrigues of rival merchant princes, but Almah is ready to steady the ship and rebuild her family legacy.
One way to do that is to rescue the village of Kelmarane, which used to be in the charge of her family ages ago. The Pactmasters want it back, so they have sent Almah to make it so.
With a lantern jaw and short black hair, the dashing Garavel looks more like a swordsman than an accountant and business expert, yet it is he who oversees much of Almah’s personal business. He is the friend and ally of Almah, no more than that.
Almah’s major-domo has strong suspicions of how the fire started, but does not believe it would be proper for him to voice them at this time. The Lady Almah has asked for an unbiased investigation, after all.
Garavel sighs, then indicates that he has never trusted Dashki, and if anyone in the group were to be revealed as an arsonist and murderer, Dashki would be the least surprising to him.
Almah tells you she hired Eloais in Solku about a month ago to read his cards for her—she hasn’t visited the land of her ancestors, but having a harrower at her side felt “right.” She’s hesitant to reveal what his readings told her. She isn’t convinced the fire was arson, but if it was, she hopes you'll find out who started the fire quickly.
She does seem somewhat distraught at Eloais’s death.
Lyrac: I tell the beautiful, rich, connected, princess, "I will bring my formidable... Gifts to play in servicing her needs. If you need anything I will be questioning the rest of the help." Then I go to it and check on Hi - C and the gnoll expert.
GM: Before Lyrac leaves, Almah admits that Eloais and she didn’t have a romantic relationship, but she did spend a lot of time with the Varisian—time that could well have made Dashki jealous. She warns Lyrac had better careful. Dashki is a wild one himself.
Almah also tells Lyrac that Eloais’s readings had grown increasingly grim, and that his last reading centered on an auspicious card, the Cyclone, portending death by fire and schemes by powerful evil. When Almah asked if that indicated something about Kelmarane, he said, “Yes, but the village is only a small part of something much larger, something he called the Legacy of Fire.” Almah isn’t sure what he meant by "Legacy of Fire,” alas.
———————
Miki: I scream in alarm, using my hair to dislodge the creature and toss it at the gnolls. I then fire another dart at the gnolls before turning to Cerin. "What do you think you're doing?"
Cerin: "Making miracles!" I attempt to remember if any settlements are nearby.
GM: The second dart hits another gnoll and the viper bites a fourth. You now have two gnolls on pesh and two gnolls poisoned. There are no settlements nearby. But the gnolls have slowed to a walk and they are slowly vanishing into the night. Its seems you're clear of danger.
Cerin: I drive the mules another hour just to be sure and then we can settle for the night and hope no more gnolls are partolling nearby.
GM: You are able to settle in for the night. The mules are exhausted and grateful for the rest.
———————
GM: In your investigations, Lyrac and Tang learn Almah’s personal guard were all standing guard at her tent when the fire started—none of them saw anything suspicious at the astrologer’s wagon, but one did catch a glimpse of Dashki trying to hide behind a tree nearby; “It was clear that he was trying to get a look into Almah’s tent. That boy is obsessed with her.” a guard named Keldon remarks.
The mercenaries were enjoying themselves around the feast-fire, finishing off dinner with a sturdy drink. They weren’t too fond of Eloais and thought of him as a weakling. The guards say that Dashki wasn’t at the feast-fire with them, and one muses that he was probably spying on Almah—his obsession with the merchant princess is something of an open secret, with only Almah seemingly being oblivious to his attentions. None of the mercenaries has a high opinion of Dashki. The mercenaries make a few lewd and suggestive comments about the relationship they suspect Eloais had with Almah, and wonder if Dashki might have burned the astrologer’s wagon to “get rid of the competition.”
Zastoran the cleric was reading a book by the fire-pit, but the mercenaries were being too loud for him and he’d just stood up to return to his wagon when the fire started. He can attest that all six of the mercenaries were at the fire-pit and nowhere near the astrologer’s wagon when the fire broke out, and that Dashki was not. He thought Eloais was a charlatan and that Almah is better off now without his attention, but admits she did seem quite fond of him. He finds Dashki to be unsettling, and his obsession with Almah somewhat disturbing; “No one with healthy desires skulks around a pretty woman the way he does; who knows what a scoundrel like him is capable of ?” Zastoran admits that while he thought Eloais was a fake, he did appreciate his conversation; “Not a one of these others here can discuss the poetry of Bellianais or the music of far-off Absalom. Eloais was well traveled and intelligent. I will miss him. Do you know of any ballads, songs or fanciful stories, bard?”
The camel drivers are excitable and prone to finishing each other’s sentences. Hadrah was the first to notice the fire, but she and her husband were distracted by trying to get their animals under control soon thereafter. Hadrod in particular seems on the verge of tears—his favorite goat Rombard went missing during the chaos, and he fears the worst. The two thought that Eloais was “nice enough for a foreigner,” but didn’t really understand his talk of “Cyclones and Fiends and Uprisings.” But Lady Almah’s trust in the astrologer was good enough for them to know he was a good man. Asked about Dashki, their expressions darken but they refuse to say more.
In a conspiratational tone, Hadrah whispers, “We knew Dashki a bit from back Solku-way. Used to take rich folk into the scrublands to hunt up gnolls like trophies. Most people here don’t trust him, especially the way he leers at Lady Almah with his mouth all watering like at the smell of a fresh steak. Maybe he done it to Eloais, to remove a rival for Lady Almah’s attention?”
Dashki claims to have been finishing up dinner by the campfire when the wagon went up.
Lyrac: To Zastoran. "Of course I am skilled in many ballads and verse from near and far. And would be happy to play for our company, once we have settled the matter of the blaze."
I approach Garavan and Lady Almah with the difference in stories, and the discrepancy with Dashki's. I ask them of his employment history with the company. His references and such.
I try to signal to Tang to keep a close eye on our suspect. I also want to run this legacy of fire by him.
Tang: My approach to Dashki starts with "Who started the fire". Knowing that he's going to deny any knowledge of it, my next line will be "Why did you start the fire?" I have intimidation of +4, and would like to use it in an interrogation fashion. Putting his back up is a good thing, because he'll let things slip. I'll also be looking for him to start swinging, and be the first one to swing if it comes to that. I'll have no problem keeping an eye on our suspect as we'll most likely be trying to subdue each other very shortly. Do I know anything about Legacy of Fire? Also, if it comes to it, I prefer to do subdual damage.
GM: Dashki loudly proclaims his innocence, swearing he didn't do it. "It was the pugwampis! Terrible critters what crawled up from the Darklands below the earth. ‘Jackal rats,’ some folks call ’em, on account of their pointed little heads. They worship gnolls as gods and infest their communities like rats. Wherever pugwampis go, bad luck is sure to follow. The gnolls hate pugwampis because of it, and try to kill them all the time. But they always come back. Perhaps their bad luck caused the fortune-man’s candles to start a fire? Yes, pugwampis. I am certain it was pugwampis.”
Neither of you has ever heard of a pugwampis. Nor anything on the Legacy of Fire. Dashki can see your skeptical, probably because of Tang's violently intimidating expression. He pleads with you. "Hear my story," and begins to speak quickly.
“Almah hired me about a month ago to tell her all about the gnolls living in these hills. Gnolls killed my mother and grandfather when I was a boy. They put fire to our village and slew hundreds. Somehow I escaped with my father to the town of Solku, not far from here. It was a long time ago, I’ve forgotten most of what I saw. Terrible things. But I find it’s the sounds that stay with me. The shrill howls and barks—hundreds of them at once—that sounded deliriously close to an audience. Laughing at us.
“Father raised me to know everything about the gnolls, their customs, their language. So as better to track them down and wipe them out. All of them. Together we scouted out their lairs, studied their tribes, listened to them speak until we could understand what they were saying. They’re not dumb animals, you know. Not like you might think. In some ways they’re even smarter than us.
“Dad didn’t survive our first raid on a gnoll camp of the Three Jaws tribe. I saw them fall on him like hyenas on an abandoned kill, slathering themselves in his blood and innards. I can still hear the tear of his scalp and the sound of his bones against frenzied teeth. Against this scene I was forgotten. Ignored.
I escaped, and I carry on the work of my father.”
Tang's intimidation is fairly thorough and Dashki let's slip that he may be "a bit too fond" of Almah, but continues to plead his innocence regarding the fire.
Almah and Garavan can confirm Dashki's story of the gnolls, but not the pugwampis.
Lyrac: Lyrac looks down on Dashki. "Can you prove to us that these pig wimpies exist?
Tang: "Dashki . . .you expect me to believe that rats started the fire?" I leer and look menacing. He's going to have to prove they exist for me to back down.
Lyrac: "They do, and I'll bet every one of them has a sad story."
I take a couple of the mercs over to the ashes left and have them carefully move the debris to see if there are any holes.
GM: Scouring the ashes reveals nothing of note. The mercenaries grumble about the crazed gnoll expert as they return to their duties and cleaning up the mess created by the fire.
Dashki growls under his breath. "Believe me or no, strange one. I'll not be judged by you. Only Almah may decide my fate."
Garavel takes you back to Almah’s tent for them to render their final judgment. The circumstances and attitudes of the others seem to damn Dashki, but Almah is unwilling to convict the gnoll expert without more evidence. No one at the camp, including you, have ever heard of the “pugwampis” that are central to Dashki’s theory of what may have transpired, and a few members of the camp suggest that the whole thing may be a lie.
Almah, on the other hand, is a bit more trusting. “If my expert is correct,” she says, “the hills around here should be crawling with these pugwampis, or at least some sign of their passage. If what Dashki says is true, it should be easy for him to find one and bring it back to me.” The merchant princess turns to Tang and Lyrac, though her gaze lingers longer on Lyrac. “As he is, however, our best suspect in this affair, it would not do to send him out into the darkness alone. I’m afraid that your investigation is not yet at an end. Go out into the desert with Dashki and find me one of these pugwampis.”
Tang: "As you command, My Lady."
Lyrac: "Crawling around in dark hills that we don't know, with an arsonist in tow, sounds like a great idea. The snipe are scared now."
GM: Lyrac, Tang, Dashki, as well as the mercenaries Dullen (male) and Yesper (female), set out into the scrubland hills north of the Sultan’s Claw, searching about in darkness for signs of the pugwampis. Everyone has a torch, but the illumination merely distracts from your search as every shadow appears to be some moving object till investigated, and then revealed to be nothing more tricks of light and shadow. The low-lying hills are rugged and covered in painful cacti.
Nocturnal rodents and birds rustle and chirp. Dashki tells you that you are looking for a little humanoid creature that’s much smaller than a halfling, with light fur, dirty claws, and a tiny jackal head. After moving about 100 yards or so, Dashki reveals dozens of small footprints leading to and from the camp at the Sultan’s Claw, finally retreating into the darkness of hill country. He also detects the hesitant tread of the camel driver’s missing goat, which appears to have been pulled away against its will to the northwest, all of which become obvious as you move further away from the camp.
Tang: "Hmmm some evidence . . . let's follow the trail to see where it leads." I continue to keep an eye on Dashki though. Just because there's a now a possibility that the pagwampis now exist doesn't mean that Dashki is blameless. If he tries something, I still want to be able to act before him.
Lyrac: I make sure my pistols are loaded and ready in its holster and follow, gun dammit.
GM: Dashki shifts nervously away from Tang, calling him a filthy savage even though the odor of Dashki is the foulest.
After following the trail for several hundred feet, there is a feeling of unease. Soon thereafter, a sound not unlike the brief cry of a human child comes out of the darkness ahead.
Tang: It's clobbering time! . . . unless, of course, the sound actually IS coming from a human child. Investigate first, beat some newbs later.
Lyrac: "We need more light, unless anyone can see in the dark?" Failing that, I draw my pistol and move quickly but carefully up the trail, using what cover I can. I indicate before leaving that Yesper should keep an eye on Dashki.
GM: Dullen snorts in nervous laughter. He says that the sound must be coming from the lost goat, though the timbre of the cry makes it sound as if the creature is in pain. As you progress toward the sound, the local cacti grow more and more intense, until you find yourselves at the edge of a dense thicket of the prickly plants. The sound of the bleating goat is now obvious to everyone—and it seems to be coming from somewhere deep within the cacti.
The cactus forest, though very wide, is not so terribly deep. Only 25 feet separate you from the trapped goat, but the thickness of the growth is going to require careful maneuvering before any of you can make it to the other side.
Searching with torches in dark, you spot Rombard the goat, tethered to a scrub bush by a hairy, knotted length of rope. At the sight of your torches, the goat’s tiny bleats erupt into full-fledged brays of fear as it tugs in vain at the rope around its neck.
Tang: "AWWW Ruprect must be heartbroken to have his sister trapped like that!"
Lyrac: "At least it's my sister, not my girlfriend, Newt."
Tang: "Oh yeah, thanks for letting me date your sister. We're a real good match, she so soft and cuddly." Are there any small footprints around BillyJean?
Lyrac: "This obviously looks like a trap of some kind." So of course I move to untie the goat to set it off.
Tang: "Speaking of traps, I wonder how they got her in there." Any signs of tunneling?
GM: "That's enough noise to wake the dead," Dullen says as he carefully tries to avoid the large spines that fill the area. His dirty tunic snags on the cacti, pulling him awkwardly. He screams , twists and falls into a thick patch, making sounds similar to the goat.
Yesper howls in laughter as Dullen panics and cries for someone to get him out before he punctures something he wants to keep. She moves to pull him out but her every move ends with her being pricked by sharp quills. She curses, drawing her sword and swinging wildly, cutting the cacti in her growing rage. One slash lands a powerful blow on a thick, nearly round piece of cactus. It bursts, its contents spraying all over Yesper, blinding her. She falls to her knees scrubbing at her eyes.
Lyrac also moves into the cactus forest, pistol ready and torch before him. There is a sudden flutter of movement and a large owl, mouse in its talons, bursts up before him. He recognizes the bird before pulling the trigger, but is also pulled off-balance. However, being more agile than Dullen, he spins away from falling into the cacti. But luck is not with Lyrac. He manages to impale his torch in a thicket dousing the light, and a sharp quill stabs through his dominate hand because of the closeness of the many cacti, making him drop his pistol in pain.
Tang searches the area for signs of tunneling. He find scores of a small scratchy marks and three holes, one of which may be large enough. Upon closer inspection he almost hears the rattle of warning before the sand viper attacks. Tang tumbles, kicking out in panic and hits the snake, launching it high into the dark of the night. Tang has misjudged his strength as he scrambles to his feet. He has no idea where the snake went or where it will land.
Tang: LOL! "Oh crap. Ruprect...watch out for falling snakes. I decide to take my own advice as well
Lyrac: I recover my gun if I can, if not a use my sword to cut a hole. Where is Dashki?
GM: Searching for Dashki and clutching his wounded hand, Lyrac hears muffled curses and pleas for help. He turns to see Dashki has plunged into a sink hole and now only his head is visible. Worse, he has disturbed a hive of angry red ants. Hundreds of ants now swarm towards him and Lyrac's torch is in a thicket of cacti, catching the dry barbs and dead vegetation nearby to burst into flame.
The sand viper falls directly on poor Rombard, it's fangs sinking into the poor goat's flesh. It bleats and bucks the snake off, but the poor creature is in desperate straits now. It slumps to the ground, its tongue lolling about, coughing and twitching.
Yesper clutches her eyes and trips over Dashki's head, spilling over into Dullen, impaling them both further into the spines of the cacti.
A short distance from the commotion, on the other side of thicket, a small covered wagon shakes violently. The gnome Cerin Triggerblast Thenardier wakes as the long strands of hair tightens over his throat. He gasps and kicks himself awake, rolling off the hardwood bed and slamming his head against the hanging steel pans and cutlery, nearly cutting off his noggin.
"W-witch!" He thrashed, knocking over vials and containers of spices, animal bits and some things left unknown. "Witch!"
His foot plunges into the small cauldron set near the open doorway to the wagon. He spills out of the wagon, but stops abruptly as the slack on the hair tightens and snaps his head back. Cerin's eyes bulge and his face turns blue. "Gr-gl-iiitch!"
Miki Cogglefiz Thenardier rises gently from the soft side of the bed—having stolen the few feathered pillows in the night—stretches, yawns and unleashes her hair. She nonchalantly pulls a long handled comb and begins to 'pet' her hair as Cerin screams and falls face first into the dusty road.
Cerin coughs plumes of dust, gasping in air and choking in more dust. He thrusts his hands in strange gestures and sputters out foul arcane words. The dust falls into the shape of a porcuskunk (a fiendish dire rat creature) from the deepest, smelliest sewer levels of the Hells. He points one gnarled finger at the wagon and stomps off in the other direction, his smile growing as Miki screamed as the porcuskunk began to spray the insides of the wagon.
The mules of the wagon brayed at the caustic smells, kicking and sending the wagon towards the fields of cacti. Cerin chortled, but cut off as he saw the thrashing figures in the moonlight. They had weapons. They were screaming. His witch, er wife, was about to plunge into the thick of battle!
Lyrac: I retrieve my gun, wrapping the end of the rope from my survival pack around the forearm, I toss the other end to Dashki, shouting for him.
My intention is to wind the rope around my forearm to pull Daski out of the sink hole, firing into the swarm of ants in hopes of diverting them a bit. If Dashki panics or is otherwise unhelpful, I will charm him.
Cerin: I dismiss the skunk and cast mage hand to grab the reigns and tug on them to the side. Only half paying attention as I observe the goings on in the cactus patch. Whether the mules respond or not I only mildly register. What can I see and hear going on in there?
Tang: "Now look what you've done! Lyrac's sister is dead now, and so is my girlfriend." I decide to blame Dashki . . . I think that red ants are the universe's way of teaching humility while finding your inner strength.
Miki: Does the skunk spray linger after it disappears? I exit the wagon through the front and use speak with animals to make the wagon stop. I do a perception check to see if I notice the commotion in the cacti through my rage at Cerin for RUINING our house with a skunk from hell.
GM: The porcuskunk doesn't take kindly to being immediately dismissed before it can cause more chaos. Its pseudo-carcass pops like a bloated balloon of sewage, spraying the inside of the wagon as it returns home. The mules jolt in alarm. Miki, wiping hellish grime from her face, pulls a pinch of rabbit's hair from her vest and puts it into her mouth, whispering words of power that would allow her to again speak to and understand the tongues of beasts.
"Nay, tarry not Statler. We must flee! Tis the smell of our doom," the first mule cried to the other. Miki pulled herself on the driving board and attempted to grab the reins. The reins jerked from her hand as a ghostly hand of arcane might caught the leather straps. For just a moment, the hand looked confused. It quickly went through two motions of rock, paper, scissors and then gave a thumbs up, jerking the reins so the mules kicked and maneuvered straight towards the forest of cacti.
"I say," the second mule brayed. "Waldorf, I think she doth means to have us pinned upon yonder field!"
Miki slapped her forehead, slime peeling away as she slashed out with her hand and missed the reins again. She'd almost forgotten those two mules had once been playwright princes of the River Kingdoms before they fought against the rotten, putrid, king of Lambreth. Now they kicked and bucked, galloping closer and closer to the cacti. And then she heard the other voice, spitting and cursing from the shadows close to what looked like the poorest goat she'd ever seen.
"Cooks ya! Skins ya! Grinds your meats and bones," it called. Its every word sent shudders through the goat, and Miki. She saw the small shape of a weasel-looking creature in torn clothing, carrying a rusty dagger and crude bow strapped to its back. "Boils your tongue, and eats ya slow!" it continued.
Rope wrapped securely, Lyrac threw with deliberate aim. The first throw landed short, casting dirt and ants into Dashki's face. He screamed. "I'll laugh with the gnolls when they eat you, strange one. Ouch! Bones of my father! I told you! It's here. You'll believe me now. Get me out of here!" Lyrac's second throw hits the mark, allowing Dashki to grab it and begin pulling himself out.
As Tang mourns poor Rombard, he looks up to see a small strangely dressed gnome standing on just the other side of the goat and thicket. The gnome notices him as well. Then they both saw the wagon careening towards them and the wild-haired devlish-looking creature riding atop screaming in a bestial tongue. It looks as if the devil of Cheliax have come to retrieve Tang once again!
Tang: "NOOO! this can't be happening!" I hide behind the nearest available object . . . which happens to be the Gnome. I hold him up as a shield against the devil.
Cerin: "Let go of me you fool. That goat needs help!" I use escape artist to try and break free and go to the aid of the goat. If I get there I'll use handle animal to cautiously approach the goat, being wary of the snake. And I use a knowledge check to determine what can be done.
Lyrac: I search for a way to intercede the fire started by my dropped torch between the ants and Dashki and myself. Then I look to the mercs, to see if I can help them out of the patch as we leave.
Miki: When I finally get the wagon stopped I will grab some water from inside the water to put out the fire before it spreads. All the while my hair will be making threatening gestures at Cerin. I am muttering things like stupid hot heads and stupid stupid tall people and hissing at Cerin.
GM: Panicking at the sight of the wagon-riding devil, and disoriented by the firelight and the strangeness of the situation, Tang has mistaken the closest object (which he thought was the gnome, but the gnome was actually on the other side of the goat and thicket), and ducks behind what is obviously a rodent of unusual size. The pugwampi snarls and attacks, taking advantage of Tang's surprise, and burying its teeth into Tang's shoulder.
Similarly, Cerin, thinking the giant monk attacking him ducks and rolls and is caught by what he thinks are the strange martial arts of foreign lands. In truth, he has rolled into a particularly tall cacti and caught his collar on its needles. He thrashes about screaming obscenities until the cacti loosens and plunges him into the clear area with Rombard. Smashing the sand viper with his morning star, Cerin sees the poor goat covered in wounds, needles and its tongue has swollen and turned blue. Miraculously, it is still breathing. Cerin grabs a vial of antitoxin and begins to administer it to the goat.
With bardic flair and spouting heroic verse, Lyrac saves the dirty and freshly freed Dashki by kicking him in the face, away from the fire and ants, and into the mercenaries, Dullen and Yesper, breaking them free of the cacti. Dullen pushes Dashki away and laughs at the man's bruised face. Yesper, inspired by Lyrac's actions, winks and laughs. "Dashki speaks truth, bard. Look behind you."
Nursing his wounded hand, Lyrac turns to see the pugwampi gnawing on the dark monk. Gripping his pistol in his off hand, he takes careful aim and prepares to fire!
"Ne'er have I seen such as she!" bellowed Waldorf.
"Truly, a goddess in miniature," answered Statler. "Mayhaps we obey and stay our hooves. Lest we feel the wrath of mighty Thenardier!"
"Aye, great ass Waldorf! We stay, and let her hate be extinguished on her mate!"
The mules pulled short of careening into the cacti. Miki grabbed one of the buckets containing their rations of water, splashing it over the sticky insides of the wagon and herself. She hisses her anger at Cerin. Ribbons of her hair slashing out, knocking items over as she jumped from the wagon. Her hair grabbed two other barrels and tossed them into the fire, dousing the flames.
"Flame brained hot heads!" she muttered. She hissed again when she saw Cerin, but stayed her hair at the sight of him administering the goat. She glanced at the mules and they quickly averted their gaze, staring instead at the strange rodent creature attacking a dark clothed human.
"Lofty Imbeciles. Oversized Halfwits. Towering Simpletons." Miki continued to mutter as she walked towards the goat, ignoring the fight between monk and rodent. She tore a path through the cacti with tendrils of her hair. "And you!" she said, pointing at Cerin. "You fubsy, wee little nerf herder! Never do that again!"
Cerin: "Stay back Witch!" I back around the goat keeping it between us. "Can't you see there is work to be done here? Animals that need help. That poor man over there has a rodent attached to his shoulder. And all you can see...err smell is the bit of skunk spray." I pinch my nose at the word spray and try to look at what's going on around us w/o looking away from Miki. I also begin the process of summoning Kingii.
Miki: "Im not a witch, I'm your wife. But what after you just did I'm not sure I want to be that anymore!" I will turn towards the ROUS and get close enough to stab it with two poison darts, from my hair. I don't want to kill it just yet, just try to make it unconscious.
Cerin: "You are to a witch. And my wife." Still summoning Kingii.
Lyrac: I don't mind killing rats. If I can hit it from this distance without hitting Tang, I will take the shot.
Tang: I punch the rat in it's dumb face.
GM: The pugwampi shrieks in glee at the taste of monk until a single blast from Lyrac's pistol hits it in the head. Infuriated at being eaten, Tang lashes out with a dozen well-placed blows to the evil rodent, that is, until he realizes he has a few darts sticking out of his arms and back. He turns to see the wild-haired gnome behind him.
Tang: "Wh, gr, mumble, ganger," Tang blurts before he slumps to the ground with the pugwampi. He feels strange.
The ground around Cerin flashes in unearthly green rings of fire as he completes his summoning. Kengi the Rasp, a frilled lizard-like eidolon claws its way into existence. It spins around, sniffing and hooting with glee. It then turns to Rombard, smacks its lips and snaps its jaws over the poor goat's head. Rombard, bleats and flails with his hind legs in horror!
Dullen and Yesper both scream. "That demon is eating Rombard!"
Cerin: I swat Kingii. "Hey, I just healed him, at least wait a few minutes to make sure he's edible. Besides I've got other things for you to hunt if your done." I get Kingii's attention and send him checking into the cacti to hunt for more pugwampis. Then I turn on Dullen and Yesper and shake my finger at them. "He is not a (Quote fingers)"DEMON". And I'll let him eat who ever suggests such again!"
Lyrac: Just realizing that we were supposed to bring the pugwumpi back to our employer, I start asking Dashki about how to catch another. Do they run in packs? and other such questions.
Tang: I decide to sleep for a while.
GM: "We need no other, fancy pants," Dashki says to Lyrac. "One is bad enough. Why seek more ill fortune. You felt it, all of you? The bad omens, the mistakes, the bad luck. That is the way of pugwampi. Let us take its corpse to Almah, I dislike lingering in such a place."
Cerin: Knowledge arcane to see if I recognize his words as the possibility of a spell.
Lyrac: I tell the guards to gather the corpse. I cast sift in the vicinity of the goat, looking for tunnels or pugwimpi tracks.
Miki: If I have something to wake up the sleeping tall one I will wake him up. He is quite a bit larger than the pugwapi so it shouldn't last tooo long.
GM: Kingii spits out poor Rombard and vanishes into the night. Dullen and Yesper shrug at Cerin.
Dashki tells Lyrac. "Want to catch another. Walk until you trip. Search until a wasp stings your eye. Seek until all luck is turned against you. Then you have found the pugwampi. Still want to know? They dwell in caves close to the surface, venturing out to cause havoc. They roam singly or with as many as thirty. Such groups should be avoided at all costs."
Dashki begins to poke the pugwampi to see if it truly dead, but then sees the odd looks Cerin is giving him and scrambles to hide behind Dullen.
"Keep him back, Dullen! He looks hopped up on pesh. I can smell it on him." Dullen pushes Dashki away and sniffs the air.
"Smells of pesh," Dullen says, grunting as he pulls another needle from his shoulder. "But what gnome in Katapesh doesn't." He picks up the pugwampi and casually tosses it over his shoulder. "Let us return to camp. If there are more out there, I'd rather have Father Zastoran and the light of day to hunt them with."
Lyrac begins to hum and 'sift' through the details of the area. He finds the pugwampi entered from an old furrow that leads out of the thicket, away from the caravan. He also smells Dashki, who appears to have a very loose relationship with hygiene. Rombard barely breathes, but is mostly alive. Dullen is pained by the lines of needles decorating his arms and back. Yesper still rubs her eyes with a dirty rag, giving her a haggard, yet still attractive appearance to Lyrac. For some reason, it looks like the small female gnome is having a conversation with the mules attached to her wagon. The ensorcelled lizard monster has vanished, but Lyrac catches the slightest glimpses of it as it moves around the cacti. He also notices that Tang is not actually asleep.
Tang, not exactly unconscious, is too resilient to be brought down by drug-filled darts. However, it does conjure up images of the poisonous spiky beards of the barbazu, the bearded devils. He feels an instant distrust of any who would use poisons.
