"Very well. Dawnflower hear my plea! Heal this unfortunate with the sunshine of your love!"
The woman’s eyes flutter and she groans as the second spell causes most of her burns to quickly heal. A moment later her eyes open and she attempts to sit up.
Nasir and Al continue to pass the buckets down the line. Progress is slow, but the water seems to be slowly winning against the flames.
Princess Almah and Garavel work as hard as any on the bucket line, the princess passing along the full pails with careful haste, whilst Garavel stands closest to the burning wagon, splashing the water into the flames, ignoring the radiant heat that flushes his skin red and causes sweat to pour down his face, his sleeves singed, his kaffiyah fallen back from his head.
Assuming perception check doesn’t deter Al from doing so, he will call out; 'Garavel, you will overheat so close to the fire, let us swap spots so you can cool down! You will be of little help to anyone if you pass out or exhaust yourself up there ey?’
Garavel glances down at Al’, then nods once, throws the contents of the bucket he is holding at the fire and steps back to let the halfling take his place at the front of the line.
Al, it is hot this close to the flame, now that you’ve taken Garavel’s place. You don’t know how long you can stand it before the heat tires you out, or begins to burn you, but you’ll do the best you can while you can last. Another bucket, and another … it seems that slowly but surely the bucket line is starting to beat the fire.
Bashad, it is hot this close to the fire, you can feel your chain shirt beginning to heat up at your back, as you join the hour straining to move the heavy wagon away from the fire. You put your shoulder in, your muscles strain … and the wheels begin to turn. Slowly the five of you begin to push the wagon away. Building up a little momentum, you should be able to move it to a safe distance from the flames and embers.
It takes a while for Mu’sad to guide his stubborn camel down the rocky slope, and a little while longer for him to successfully dismount once in the camp. By the time he does so, Zephyr has returned, popping back into reality at his shoulder.
Sefu unable to find any tracks at the moment moves to help one of the group, either with the wagon or the fire, who ever is closer
Al will stay at the front of the line as long as he feels is safe before asking someone else in the line to switch with him.
Bashad, along with the four mercenaries, is able to push the other wagon far enough away that it is unlikely to catch fire itself.
Al continues to throw water at the fire. The bucket brigade is starting to beat the flames. Sefu steps in to take Al’s place at the front of the line, and Bashad then runs from the other wagon to help. The extra sets of hands allows the red armoured guards to set up a second line.
By the time Zephyr returns to Mu’sad, the fire is well on its way to being out.
Finally the fire is out! There is a half hearted cheer from a few of the mercenaries … but the mood is subdued. The wagon is destroyed, and you hear murmurs that someone was trapped within when the fire began …
Once the fire is out, the chaos around the campsite begins to die down. As the exhausted fire fighters sit on the ground, or return to their wagons or tents, and errant animals are returned to their pens, Almah stands silently for a moment, looking at the burnt remains of the wagon with Garavel by her side, before gesturing all the members of your group over to her.
“I greet you,” she says formally, a business-like tone to her cultured voice. She speaks Taldane, more widely known as the Common Trading Tongue, or simply Common. “I am Almah, heir and princess of House Roveshki and agent of the Pactmasters. It was upon my instigation that you were gathered here.”
The princess is a striking woman, even with her smooth olive skin marred by soot, her fine silk robes and ornate head-dress is some disarray, allowing strands of her wavy dark black hair to escape its confines. Her family name, her hair, the gentle curve of her nose mark her as not being of pure Kelish or Garundi blood as one might have expected, but she is beautiful by the reckoning of any culture.
“It had been my intention to meet you properly this eve and allow you a good night’s rest after your long journey,” the princess continues, “before discussing your contracts and the task I have planned for you under the light of morning. But I am afraid that all that must wait. A man is dead and property is destroyed, I would know what the cause of this tragic event was. Perhaps it was an accident, but if the fire was deliberately lit, that is important to know.”
She turns to her major domo. “Garavel, I task you with leading an investigation as to whether or not the fire was set by someone within this camp. Have your new recruits assist you; as none of you were present when the fire broke out, you are all unlikely arsonists. You must determine whether there is a mystery afoot, and if so, solve it. I shall be in my tent if you have need of me.” With that, she turns and walks back towards her tent.
Garavel looks at you all. He has wiped the sweat from his skin, his keffiyeh is back in place. “I think it best if this investigation is undertaken without bias or preconception,” he says. “Therefore, you will lead rather than I, although I will offer you what assistance I may.” His voice is as neutral as ever, if he feels anything at putting you into a position of apparent authority he does not show it.
He looks at the burnt wreckage. “The wagon belonged to a man named Eloais, Princess Almah’s personal fortune teller,” Garavel tells you. “Like the family of the princess, he hailed from the distant northern land of Varisia. Eloais’s specialty was a divinatory deck of cards known as Harrow. I understand that he was alone in the wagon at the time of the fire. He was a young man, fit and healthy of body and sound of mind as far as I know.”
Garavel takes a moment to look at each of you. “Where would you start your investigation?”
1d20+12=30
;)
Mus'ad gratefully dismounts from his steed's back, almost leaping to the ground even before it has finished kneeling. Mus'ad looks up from his landing and into the face of his grinning Gen.
"Here you are master! Faster than an arrow in flight!" Zephyr cries gleefully, holding out his tiny arm. Something shines brightly from inside his clenched fist.
Mus'ad nods, and hastily, but solemnly, holds out his own hand to the Gen. "Excellent work as always Zephyr. Let us continue to hasten, we are needed." And accepts the glowing bit from the Gen's hand into his own. Mus'ad closes his hand around the point of light, and when he opens his hand again, it is gone. The half-elf takes a sudden, short, inhale, his eyes wide.
"Yes!" he whispers. Then runs forward to the bucket brigade line. He pulls up beside Al and the others, and quickly casts a spell. It has no apparent effect.
Mus'ad then holds out his hands to the fire, and a barely visible, thin stream of misty vapor flows from his hands towards the wagon. After a few moments, sweat beading his forehead, Mus'ad stops, panting heavily.
"It's no use," He shouts to Al over the roar of the fire and the panic of animals and humanoids. "It's too hot, I can't soak the wagon like I thought I could!"
He takes his place in the bucket line until Al and the other trade places. Seeing the condition of the warrior when he steps back, Mus'ad nods.
"THAT I can help with!" He says, and extends his hands once more. In a few moments the warrior is covered in a glistening sheen of water. Turning towards the wagon, Mus'ad focuses his attention not upon the fire, but upon Al. And the short but brave firefighter feels a faint relief from the oppressive heat of the flames as Mus'ad's spell tries to keep him moist.
As the fire begins to come under control, Mus'ad changes the intonation of his chant. And a gentle but steady breeze comes from him towards the wagon. Blowing the smoke and sparks away from the firefighters and the nearby wagon. As the flames die, he switches again to mist, ensuring that the scorched bones of the wagon are wet enough to not re-ignite. Finally, his magic spent, the half-elf collapses upon the ground alongside the others. The noble, and somehow non-soot-covered Zephyr at his side fanning him with a gentle breeze.
,..........
Ok, those of us who are good at speaking with people , check the alibis of everyone.
Sefu , Farasha and me will check the rest of the wagon to see if we can determine how the fire started .
Garavel , what can you tell of of the people here ?
Garavel nods. “Two excellent starting points,” he says. “You may inspect the wagon at your leisure, assuming that it has cooled enough.” He gestures to the blackened and burnt wagon-shell.
“As for the people here, acting on the authority of the Princess you may question them all. I can tell you a little about them. Apart from the princess, yourselves and I, there are … fourteen other members of this band. Five of them have been known to me for some time;
“Father Zastoran is a priest of Nethys; he has been Princess Almah’s personal physician and spiritual adviser for some years.
“The princesses personal guard consist of four members of the Pactmaster Guard. You will have recognised them by their red armour. They are named Fixx, Keldon, Podarn, and Vodrave.
“The others were recruited in Solku and are less well known to me. The six mercenaries are, I believe, led by Trevvis. The others are called, I think, Utarchus, Dullen, Kallien, Brotis and Yesper.
“Dashki is a tracker and expert on gnolls. He is said to know this region quite well.
“Hadrod and Hadrah are camel drivers, in charge of caring for the livestock.”
"I will be happy to speak to father Zastoran. At the very least, we should have a little in common to speak about." Mus'ad volunteers.
"Then I will be happy to speak to anyone else you think, but may I recommend that warrior-types tend to respect fellow warriors, and so those august persons may be more forthcoming to a fellow sword-bearer?" He asks politely.
|
Nasir spends most of the afternoon speaking with those mentioned, focusing on the males and using her charm. 1d20+4=17, 1d20+2=21
Let's just say that my way of interrogating people is not conducive to a long friendship afterwards . If someone does not want to speak to you , just tell me . I'll take care of it but let's try the gentle way first .
Bashad (and who ever chooses to accompany him) makes his way over to the burnt wagon. Enclosed wagons such as these, meant to serve as both transport and shelter for a traveller are not common in Katapesh, being impractical for travel in the sandy deserts, and not much better in the rocky ones. Almah, perhaps influenced by her Varisian heritage, has chosen to include a number of them in her caravan, presumably they travelled well enough on the old trade road that runs near here, from Solku north to Osiron.
This wagon was made of sturdy timber, painted brightly. Now, the timber walls are charred, the paint mostly peeled away in the heat, the roof partly collapsed, the window shutters and door burnt all away. A few brightly coloured cards, similar to the one that Mu’sad caught litter the ground nearby, most ruined by fire or water.
The interior of the wagon contains sooty ashes, a few broken bottles or potion vials, a cracked crystal ball, and several pools of melted wax where candles must once have stood. Eloais’s charred skeletal form remains near the centre of the wagon. There is little else to see.
While some investigate the wagon, Garavel points out where the rest of the party can be found for questioning. Two of the Pactmaster Guards stand watch outside Almah’s tent, scanning the dark campsite and the desert beyond for signs of danger, whilst their two companions sit on rocks a few feet away, sharing a cold meal.
Father Zastoran is at the central firepit, continuing to tend to the injured mercenary, who is also at the fire talking to one of his companions. The other four mercenaries are doing a circuit of the outside of the campsite, peering out into the night for gnolls or other monsters.
The two camel drivers, having re-penned and calmed the escaped animals, are tending to the camels and oxen (who fortunately did not panic and escape their pens during the fire). Garavel is not sure where Dashki is, but points out the man’s tent, assuming he is inside.
"I will be happy to speak to father Zastoran. At the very least, we should have a little in common to speak about." Mus'ad volunteers.
Mu’sad, with Zephyr in tow, walks towards the fire pit in the centre of the camp, where several seat-sized rocks have been drawn into a rough circle surrounding a well tended fire.
Father Zastoran stands bandaging the head of a seated mercenary, a large man in dirty clothing and patch-work armour, who is sharing a shish kebab with a female mercenary, the one that was also apparently injured in the fire. Both look in much better health now.
The priest is an old Garundi man, with deeply tanned, sun wrinkled skin, a long white beard and a prominent nose. Despite his apparent age, he seems sprightly enough, his eyes are clear and alert beneath his craggy eyebrows, and his hands are steady as he works. He wears sandals, a patterned blue and white robe and a small red and blue turban. A symbol of a black and white mask hangs from a chain around his neck.
“May the All Seeing Eye watch over you,” he greets Mu’sad as he approaches, looking up from his work to appraise the mage and his Gen companion. The two seated mercenaries exchange glances and arched eyebrows.
Nasir spends most of the afternoon speaking with those mentioned, focusing on the males and using her charm. 1d20+4=17, 1d20+2=21
Nasir, meanwhile, decides to begin by talking to Almah’s personal guard. The four red armoured men watch her closely as she walks across the camp towards the princesses tent, and she is not sure whether they watch her swaying hips, as many men do, or are visually searching her for weapons or signs of trouble; a little of both she decides in the end.
Despite their vigilance, the men smile at her or nod in greeting as she nears. “Thankyou for your help with the fire,” says one of the seated men, stroking his short beard then standing to greet her. “I appreciate a beautiful woman who is willing to get her hands dirty. I am Keldon; what is your name, desert flower?” The Keleshite man smiles, then looks a little embarrassed at his boldness as his fellows stare at him in bemusement.
“May the All Seeing Eye watch over you,” he greets Mu’sad as he approaches, looking up from his work to appraise the mage and his Gen companion. The two seated mercenaries exchange glances and arched eyebrows.
Diplomacy: 1d20+9=19
"And to you honored elder!" Mus'ad declares cheerfully in return. He Salaams in greeting, either ignoring or not seeing the look exchanged by the guards.
"I hight Mus'ad, and this is my noble companion Zephyr, tiny of form, but mighty in spirit!" he says with a grin by way of introduction. The tiny Gen floats just above and behind Mus'ad's shoulder with his arms crossed, just like a little bodyguard himself. The Gen gives a solemn but very respectful bow when introduced.
Mus'ad looks at the elderly man's handiwork and nods in appreciation. "Is there perchance something that we could help with? I am not a skilled healer, but now that time is not pressing, if there is a way that I can aid you with magic, I place ourselves at your service."
"Who was the poor occupant of the wagon noble sirs? Is it true that she had the sight?"
Mus'ad uses by way of starting,...
" Farasha, can you check if the man was killed or rendered unconscious before the fire?
"Who was the poor occupant of the wagon noble sirs? Is it true that she had the sight?"
Mus'ad uses by way of starting,...
“Greetings to you, Mu’sad and Zephyr,” says Zastoran, his serious looking face breaking into a wide smile. “I believe that Trevvis here will live, although I will use magic to heal him further once morning comes, and Nethys has seen fit to grant me with further ability.”
“It is a pity that you are not as skilled a healer as that Sun Priestess, Father,” Trevvis speaks up slyly. “Else I would be as well healed as Kallien here,” he gestures to the woman next to him, “without need for bandages to hamper my stylish looks.” He runs a calloused hand through his balding, greasy hair.
“Ungrateful wretch,” replies the priest without any real malice. “Who patched you and all your friends up after that giant scorpion attack this morning? And if you had not been foolish enough to bump your head on the lintel on the way out of that wagon…”
It sounds like the pair could bicker like this for some time before Mu’sad steers the conversation towards the burnt wagon.
“Ah yes, a sad affair indeed,” says Zaphoran. “I have to say, while I still think that astrologer and fortune teller a charlatan, and Almah better off now without his attention … any loss of life is tragic, especially a young healthy man such as Eloais … and I admit Almah did seem quite fond of him.” The priest sighs, whilst the two mercenaries exchange glances again.
“I have to admit,” he continues after a moment, “that while I do not think that Eloais had the sight or could predict the future, I 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 and I will miss him.”
It’s difficult to tell, given that the place is in such disarray and ruin from the fire, and anything flammable is gone. Perhaps a more thorough search will tell you more.
“Ah yes, a sad affair indeed,” says Zaphoran. “I have to say, while I still think that astrologer and fortune teller a charlatan, and Almah better off now without his attention … any loss of life is tragic, especially a young healthy man such as Eloais … and I admit Almah did seem quite fond of him.” The priest sighs, whilst the two mercenaries exchange glances again.“I have to admit,” he continues after a moment, “that while I do not think that Eloais had the sight or could predict the future, I 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 and I will miss him.”
Mus'ad makes the sign for 'rest in peace' at this last statement.
"It sounds as if he was a noble soul, blessed by the prophets. I am certain he will be missed by most, and some more than others. As is the way of things." Mus'ad intones respectfully. He gives a quick, sidelong, questioning glance at the two mercenaries.
"Whether or not he had the sight, the Princess has relied on his counsel for some time now. Surely he was a good adviser to have maintained such a confidence?" Mus'ad inquires.
---------------
"You seem to have been friends with him. Discussing poetry and music, these are honorable, worthy pursuits which lift both spirit and mind and lead to enlightenment. Did others share these enlightening conversations? Or did he have similar friendships?"
---------------
"How long have you all been traveling together? When did the ones who are now here join the caravan?
---------------
"I hesitate to ask, but I wonder,... He seems to have been a most careful man, yet his wagon,... I cannot help but wonder if it was an accident. Are there others in the group who are not as accepting of the late seer as you are? Surely in a group this size he had no enemies, but are there any who would wish him ill?"
|
|
Nasir spends most of the afternoon speaking with those mentioned, focusing on the males and using her charm. 1d20+4=17, 1d20+2=21Nasir, meanwhile, decides to begin by talking to Almah’s personal guard. The four red armoured men watch her closely as she walks across the camp towards the princesses tent, and she is not sure whether they watch her swaying hips, as many men do, or are visually searching her for weapons or signs of trouble; a little of both she decides in the end.
Despite their vigilance, the men smile at her or nod in greeting as she nears. “Thankyou for your help with the fire,” says one of the seated men, stroking his short beard then standing to greet her. “I appreciate a beautiful woman who is willing to get her hands dirty. I am Keldon; what is your name, desert flower?” The Keleshite man smiles, then looks a little embarrassed at his boldness as his fellows stare at him in bemusement.
"I am called Nasir oh brave one. With men such as yourselves serving as protectors, how can one not be inspired to do all that she can to be of service? Surely sentinels such as yourselves have some idea what occured to cause this. Knowing that your eyes miss little leaves me feeling safer."
"It sounds as if he was a noble soul, blessed by the prophets. I am certain he will be missed by most, and some more than others. As is the way of things." Mus'ad intones respectfully. He gives a quick, sidelong, questioning glance at the two mercenaries."Whether or not he had the sight, the Princess has relied on his counsel for some time now. Surely he was a good adviser to have maintained such a confidence?" Mus'ad inquires.
“The princess doesn’t pay me to gossip,” comments Trevvis, straight faced. Kallien seems to suffer from a sudden fit of coughing.
“I believe that Almah saw in Eloais a link to her Varisian heritage,” Zastoran opinions, ignoring the mercenaries. “I agree that heritage and ancestory are important, but if one wishes to know what the gods have in store for them, well, one should consult a priest, not a fortune teller.” Perhaps there was a little bit of professional rivalry or jealousy between Zastoran and Eloais …
“Yes, I would say we were friends though. I believe that I was the only one who spent much time with him, apart from Almah of course.”
“And the princess did spend a lot of time with him,” adds Trevvis, who obviously forgets sometimes what he is or is not paid for.
Zastoran continues to ignore him, answering Mu’sad’s questions one by one. “Eloais has been with our group since soon after we arrived in Solku, about a month and a half ago. These barbarians,” gesturing to Trevvis and Kallien, “and their fellows, the couple who look after the animals and Dashki were also recruited in Solku. Only myself, the Pactmaster Guards and Garavel have travelled with Almah for longer than that.”
Mu’sad and the priest continue to chat about various topics for a while, with the Sha’ir getting no particular sense that Zastoran would wish Eloais harm, despite his distaste for the fortune teller’s ‘skills’.
At last Mu’sad broaches the question of the fire. Zastoran sighs. “It may well have been an accident; Eloais burnt many candles and much incense in his wagon – trying to get the authentic look no doubt, the fake – and the place was filled with hanging silks, cushions, books, scrolls, those damnable Harrow cards … but he was no fool either, nor clumsy oaf. It is indeed difficult to see him accidentally burning the thing down.”
The priest hesitates, looks somewhat troubled. “The gnoll expert, Dashki. He seems to have a somewhat … unhealthy obsession with Almah. It disturbs me a little, although I have never seen him act inappropriately. It was clear to all though that he was jealous of the amount of time and attention that Almah paid to her fortune teller,”
“Alone in his wagon or her tent,” interjects Trevvis,
“And if Eloais had anything approaching an enemy, it would be Dashki. I was here at the feast fire, along with Trevvis and all his band when the fire broke out.” Trevvis and Kallien nod in agreement. “I did not see Dashki here or anywhere about either before or after the fire broke out … Nor did I notice him helping to put it out.”
“The old man is right,” agrees Trevvis, chewing messily at the meat on his skewer. “The cripple didn’t like the card reader at all, and he was certainly not in our company when the fire broke out. Kallien and I ran towards the wagon when the alarm was raised, but the door was stuck – then the fire inside too hot – then smoke overcame Kallien, and I bumped my head on the way out … we could not rescue Eloais.”
"I am called Nasir oh brave one. With men such as yourselves serving as protectors, how can one not be inspired to do all that she can to be of service? Surely sentinels such as yourselves have some idea what occured to cause this. Knowing that your eyes miss little leaves me feeling safer."
Keldon puffs out of his chest beneath his red chitin armour. “We are certainly vigilant my lady,” he says.
“Yes,” says his companion, also standing and moving closer to Nasir, whilst the other two that are standing guard outside the tent look on with some jealousy, “and we shall help you as we may. I am Vodrave by the by. Look.” He leans close and points past the dancer. “We can see the fortune teller’s wagon – or what is left of it – from here. All four of us were here guarding Princess Almah’s tent when the camel woman called out that there was fire, and indeed we did see smoke issuing from the wagon. But I can quite confidently say that none but Eloais was within at the time. The princess had bid him make ready for a reading of the cards, and he had returned there to prepare an hour before hand. We saw none follow him in. The fire must have been an accident.”
“No, no,” disagrees Keldon. “It is possible that someone could have approached with stealth from the desert side of the wagon. As vigilant as we are, our view is blocked from here, it would be impossible for us to see – look, if someone approached like thus,” he too leans close and points. “If I had to suspect someone, I would suspect Dashki. He had no love for Eloais, and often said we would be better without him. Of course, the same could be said for that unwashed dog…”
“Ah,” answers Vodrave, “but cur as he is, it could not have been Dashki that started the fire. I always keep special watch for him, for as we all know he is always making some excuse to approach the princess. Mere moments before the alarm was raised I saw him lurking over near the tree, looking in this direction, trying to see past us into the tent. Look, the tree is over the other side of the camp from Eloais’ wagon. So you see, it could not have been him. And it appears that I am more vigilant than Keldon…”
" Farasha, can you check if the man was killed or rendered unconscious before the fire?
Farasha examines the blackened body, which appears to have belonged to a young human man of middling build and general good health. Little remains now but crisped, blackened skin clinging to the skeleton.
A thorough examination shows no signs of any wounds beyond the extensive fire damage, and the position of the body suggests that the man fell, perhaps overcome by heat or smoke, rather than being twisted in pain or curled up defensively.
Sefu will spread out from the camp and circle it a few times at 10 30 and 50 feet tring to see if anything came in of left the camp. He has little skill at dealing with people but does have skill at tracking so he leaves the talking to others best suited for it
17 at the 10 foot circuit. 28 at 30 and 12 at 50 feet circuit
You begin circling the camp, carefully searching the ground for tracks:
At ten feet out from the camp’s perimeter, the earth is criss-crossed with tracks and spoor from the comings and goings of the people and animals at the camp over the past several days, and the panicked flight of animals from the fire. Despite a careful search you cannot identify any tracks that strike you as particularly unusual or suspicious.
At thirty feet out the movements from camp are less, and more spread out, so foreign tracks are somewhat easier to identify. You continue to search carefully, and find something odd; dozens of small footprints leading to and from the camp. The prints are similar to those that might be made by a small dog with a proportionally long paw, but as near as you can tell they are made by bipedal creatures. You have not seen prints like these before. They remind you a little of gnoll prints, but are too small and proportionally too short.
The prints seem to be made by at least two of the creatures, maybe more, that came in from the north-west perhaps an hour ago, before retreating back into the darkness of hill country in that same direction.
You also detect the hesitant tread of a goat which appears to have been pulled away against its will to the northwest.
Following the strange prints back, you lose them again as you approach the camp around the Sultan’s Claw, but they appear to have been heading in the direction of the burnt wagon.
Beginning another sweep at fifty feet out from the camp you come across nothing else unusual, although now that you know what to look for you again come across the strange prints continuing along the same direction to the northwest.
DM
Just say when and I'll go back and tell the others
Mus'ad listens intently to all they have to say, trying his best to remember names and all other valuable details. He nods at the guards account of their rescue attempt.
"No one can fault you. It takes a person of greater fortitude than I to risk running INTO a fire! I am sure that once this terrible matter is past, the Princess will probably thank you personally for your courage and valiant efforts." Mus'ad says with a slight bow to the two warriors.
"A terrible thing all around. Imagine being trapped in a fire, unable to get out,..." He shudders.
"I wonder though, why bar your own door if you are expecting company for a reading? Was he a very private person? Or did he take great pains in his preparations? Like barring his door to ensure he wasn't disturbed during his meditations?"
---------
"I'm sure that this, Dashki?, Had a reason for not helping with the fire. Even if he has an active dislike for Eloais, I don't think I've met anyone who wouldn't try to help a person escape a fire. Perhaps he thought that there enough people already and he was helping round up the animals?"
Mus'ad looks around, towards the animal pickets.
"How did the animals get loose anyway? Did the larger ones pull up the pickets when frightened by the fire?"
---------
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to keep rambling on. Please forgive me all. I'm afraid that I have been blessed with both an inquisitive and suspicious nature. An unfortunate combination." He grins abashedly.
"Fortunately I have Zephyr to keep me straight and remind me of my manners!"
Mus'ad continues to chat with the three around the fire for a while, Happily answering any questions they may have about himself or Zephyr.
"I did not mean to keep you from your duties." He nods to the priest. "Again, I apologize for my selfish and inquisitive nature. You are all very kind to indulge a stranger so. " Mus'ad bows again. "If there is anyway that I or Zephyr can be of service, please, you have but to ask."
He says his goodbyes and looks for his camel and supplies.
;)
|
"I wonder though, why bar your own door if you are expecting company for a reading? Was he a very private person? Or did he take great pains in his preparations? Like barring his door to ensure he wasn't disturbed during his meditations?"
Trevvis and Kallien share a glance. “The door wasn’t barred or locked,” says the man, looking back up at you. “It was simply stuck, jammed. I do not know, perhaps it had swollen or warped with the heat.” He looks back down at the ground, as if embarrassed. “It took me several goes to burst it open.”
While certainly not impossible, this may strike Mu’sad as a little odd, given that the mercenary is a big, burly fellow who would be almost if not just as strong as young Bashad.
"I'm sure that this, Dashki?, Had a reason for not helping with the fire. Even if he has an active dislike for Eloais, I don't think I've met anyone who wouldn't try to help a person escape a fire. Perhaps he thought that there enough people already and he was helping round up the animals?"
Mus'ad looks around, towards the animal pickets."How did the animals get loose anyway? Did the larger ones pull up the pickets when frightened by the fire?"
The mercenaries just shrug, though Kallien looks a little dubious at the comment that Dashki may have been helping somehow else. “You’ll have to ask the beast keepers on both counts.”
Looking over to where the animals are kept, Mu’sad can see an older man and woman soothing and tending to the beasts.
just how attractive is the female guard? And does she seem to be 'attached' to her coworker or any of the others? (Something that could have been asked in casual conversation). If not attached, While Mus'ad is most assuredly not a 'player' per se, he is definitely a flirt! And would not be against making 'female friends' to spend 'free time' with while with this group.
Kallien is a tall, muscled woman with a large build and a full figure, probably in her late twenties or early thirties. She has short black hair and several faint scars mar her dark skin. She is currently burnt, dirty and decked out in rough leathers and armour. Her face would probably not be unattractive when she has an opportunity to bathe and groom, but it appears that such opportunities do not arise often for her.
A few ribald comments and hints in the conversation suggest that the six mercenaries sometimes share and swap beds, but Kallien indicates that she is not attached. She seems pleased by Mu’sad’s attention, whilst Trevvis simply looks on in amusement.
"I did not mean to keep you from your duties." He nods to the priest. "Again, I apologize for my selfish and inquisitive nature. You are all very kind to indulge a stranger so. " Mus'ad bows again. "If there is anyway that I or Zephyr can be of service, please, you have but to ask."
“It is not a trouble,” replies the priest. “I would be pleased to talk to you further at a less grim time.”
Taking 20 to check the cart = 21 search
Bashad spends the next twenty minutes or so making a careful and methodical search of the burnt wagon, first taking a visual catalogue of the macabre tableau, before sifting through ashes and burnt debris, shifting aside fallen timber and charred furniture, looking for some clue.
The search reveals no signs of struggle or violence, perhaps suggesting that the fortune teller was killed by the fire itself or from inhaling the smoke the fire caused. Under the bed is a small, unlocked chest, charred but mainly intact, containing an assortment of gold, silver and copper coins.
Bashad can find no obvious cause of the fire, although there are a dozen or so puddles of dried wax that were once candles, and a small coal burning iron stove.
Do Nasir or Mu’sad (or anyone else) wish to question any of the other groups or individuals in the camp? There are four more mercenaries doing a sweep of the camp’s perimeter (not far from where Sefu appears to be searching for tracks); a man and a woman tending to the camp’s animals (they’ve begun seeing to the group’s camels under Garavel’s direction); Almah herself in her tent; and of course the seemingly much reviled Dashki, who must be somewhere about…
Seeing that the burnt caravan is being thouroughly searched, Al wonders towards the man and the woman soothing the animals.
'Greetings friends, good to meet you, even if it is in grim circumstances ey? I am Al'Kazeer, me and some companions have just joined your caravan.
'Quite some excitment here ey? How fare the animals?'
'They caused you two some trouble rounding them all up i bet! I guess they pulled there stakes in fear ey?'
Al will be friendly and lend a hand if he can (though he is not particularly good with animals) and try to find out what the two know about the fire.
Nasir walks towrds the other group of mercenaries, rearranging her equipment to make her scimiar and whipdagger clearly visible on her ample hips.
The patrolling mercenaries look across at and nod greetings to Nasir as she approaches through the night, but do not stop in their rounds (although one of the women nods in approval at the displayed weapons, whilst one of the men takes a moment to leer at the sway of the dancers hips).
“Just making sure there’s no one or nothing lurking about, seeking to take advantage of the fire to cause trouble,” explains one of the warriors (although it seems to Nasir that had someone or something been waiting to cause trouble, they would have done so before now).
“A dangerous place this; gnolls, giant scorpions and spiders, even saw a geier the other day,” the man continues.
Seeing that the burnt caravan is being thouroughly searched, Al wonders towards the man and the woman soothing the animals.
'Greetings friends, good to meet you, even if it is in grim circumstances ey? I am Al'Kazeer, me and some companions have just joined your caravan.
'Quite some excitment here ey? How fare the animals?'
'They caused you two some trouble rounding them all up i bet! I guess they pulled there stakes in fear ey?'
Al will be friendly and lend a hand if he can (though he is not particularly good with animals) and try to find out what the two know about the fire.
The woman seems quite taken with Al. She is a wiry, middle aged Kelish woman (although years of physical labour and exposure to the sun make her appear older) named Hadrah, whilst her skinny, bearded husband is called Hadrod. He too seems friendly enough, although presently his long face and stooped shoulders make him appear rather morose.
“Ooh Al, you are a cutie aren’t you? I’ve always had a soft spot for you halflings, remind me of our kiddies when they was young, so little, but so grown up in many ways, don’t you think dearest?” Her husband shrugs morosely. “Kids,” he sniffs sadly.
“’Course ours is all growed up now and we don’t see ‘em as much as we would now. Our eldest moved to Katapesh you know – Oh, I mean the city of course, we’re still in Katapesh the country even out here you know. I suppose you must be from the city too, are you love? Oh you must be with those fine clothes you wear, oh, is that Vudran silk, your vest there? Oh, can I touch it, we don’t get much Vudran silk here in Solku, well, when I say here, we’re not really there now are we, but you know what I mean, and – Oh, feel this dearest, Vudran silk!”
“I’ll trust you on it, my flower,” says Hadrod.
“Well at any rate, I’m so glad to see some new faces around here, and arriving just in the nick of time too! Well, a little earlier would have been nicer, but you can’t have everything you wish for can you? ‘Course, if you could, you’d just have wished the fire hadn’t happened at all, wouldn’t you? And poor Eloais would still be alive, poor lad, nice enough fellow, for a foreigner. Didn’t understand half of what he went on about, with that talk of cyclones and fiends and uprisings and such, but Lady Almah trusted him and that was good enough for me, didn’t I always say dearest?”
“You always did my love.”
“Handsome young man though, oh, your friend with the little blue genie is a bit of a looker too, pity about the ears though, but still. A charmer I’d say, does the genie grant wishes do you know? Some of them do you know, but not all, can’t really trust any of ‘em I always say. Well, that woman who travels with you is quite pretty too I suppose, no, not the priestess, the other one, she could do with covering up a bit more though, couldn’t she? Always pays to leave a bit of mystery, don’t you think dearest?”
“Yes, yes, no, I hadn’t noticed her, my one and only.”
“Oh, the animals will be alright, thanks for asking poppet, we’ve calmed them down nicely now, and your camels are looked after too.”
“Except for Rombard,” interjects her husband, sounding on the verge of tears. “We can’t find him at all. Lost in the desert, or et all up, poor kid.”
“Oh yes, Rombard’s his favourite goat, poor dearie, nowhere to be seen, must have really panicked. Sad really … course, if we do find him, he’s destined for the dinner pot, not much else use for a male goat out here you know, but still, it’s a right pity. Yes, yes my love, they were a bit panicked the wee beasties, pulled their stakes and off into the dark, and me and Hadrod running around like dervishes trying to round them all up, no thanks to anyone else for helping. Oh, I know, I know, there was a fire to put out, but what would we have all done if we couldn’t get them back? Eat the camels? Funny they didn’t pull their stakes really, well not funny at all really, I wouldn’t have liked to try to round them up in the dark! Still, a little help would have been nice, fire or no, p’raps from your friend out there, just looking all over at the ground, reminds me of Dashki, and oh! Where was that one while it was all happening I’d like to know, wouldn’t you dearest?”
" Farasha, can you check if the man was killed or rendered unconscious before the fire?
"Certainly Bashad"
" Farasha, can you check if the man was killed or rendered unconscious before the fire?
Farasha examines the blackened body, which appears to have belonged to a young human man of middling build and general good health. Little remains now but crisped, blackened skin clinging to the skeleton.
A thorough examination shows no signs of any wounds beyond the extensive fire damage, and the position of the body suggests that the man fell, perhaps overcome by heat or smoke, rather than being twisted in pain or curled up defensively.
Farasha tells Bashad her findings
"I think he died of smoke inhalation or heat damage Bashad. I can find no wounds on him from a weapon."
Farasha looks about, searching for anything out of the ordinary
|
|
Nasir walks towrds the other group of mercenaries, rearranging her equipment to make her scimiar and whipdagger clearly visible on her ample hips.The patrolling mercenaries look across at and nod greetings to Nasir as she approaches through the night, but do not stop in their rounds (although one of the women nods in approval at the displayed weapons, whilst one of the men takes a moment to leer at the sway of the dancers hips).
“Just making sure there’s no one or nothing lurking about, seeking to take advantage of the fire to cause trouble,” explains one of the warriors (although it seems to Nasir that had someone or something been waiting to cause trouble, they would have done so before now).
“A dangerous place this; gnolls, giant scorpions and spiders, even saw a geier the other day,” the man continues.
"If something were waiting to take advantage of the fire, wouldn't that require a knowledge of exactly when the fire was going to be set?"
1d20+5=20
Farasha, nothing out of the ordinary around the body. However, looking around, you catch a glimpse through the open wagon door of someone in dark clothing, standing in the shadows next to the Sultan’s Claw, leaning on a cane and watching you and Bashad investigate the wagon.
As you turn your head in his direction, the man quickly turns and hobbles away out of your line of sight.
"If something were waiting to take advantage of the fire, wouldn't that require a knowledge of exactly when the fire was going to be set?"
1d20+5=20
“Ah. Yes.” The mercenary taps his nose, then looks to his fellows, who shrug. “The fact is, we don’t think anyone snuck in here and lit the fire. Chances are it was merely an accident. But if it turns out there was more to the matter … well, we want the princess to remember that Utarchus and his fellows were off guarding against further danger after the disaster, not that Utarchus and his fellows were all by the feast-fire enjoying dinner when the disaster first struck…”