Caesar's Legacy of Fire IC

[caesar193]

In the beginning, when Rovagug perfected the way of destruction, the lands were littered with the dead. Crows, maggots, beetles, worms, and the other crawling things of the earth complained to Rovagug.
“You destroy and maim too quickly!” they cried. “We cannot devour all the meat you give us! Please, destroy the people of the earth more slowly.”
“What?” shouted Rovagug, in a voice that toppled pillars. “My glorious destruction shall never cease nor slow!”
Yet in the dark, delighting in the destruction god’s slaughter, watched Lamashtu, the Mother of Monsters, and she heard the base things cry. In those black days when all the land was covered with death and all the air stank, she watched as a few tribes of men, her followers and devout worshipers, ate the flesh of corpses as the crows did, plucking out eyes, savoring the bloodiest cuts. To these cannibals she led packs of hyenas, and their ways became as one. Of those louse-ridden beastmen rose the first gnolls, half-hyenas who love the stench of carrion and praise each corpse as an offering to their dark mother. And the demon queen delighted in her own perversion and reveled in these monsters’ terrible howling songs.
Born of devastation, and insanity, and the corrupt of soul, the man-beasts spread upon the world, and where they prowled they indulged in their hunger for murdered flesh. Surely, they are to be despised by any sane god, and so we make ceaseless war on those who seek to feed on the bodies of heroes and innocents. And somewhere in the madness between the stars, the Mother of Perversion and the Mistress of Insanity still laughs her wicked laugh, as her ravening spawn, the bone gnawers and carrion eaters, grow fat off our flesh.
Gnolls are among the first abominations, and their death is a blessing. Remember this when their laughter haunts your steps.


-Opening page of the Howl of the Carrion King



A man named Garavel had hired them, all the way back in the town of Solku. All they knew was that they were to serve the merchant-princess Almah, but where was anyone's guess. Well, Garavel knew, but he was certainly not talking.

It had been a week of voyaging through the sands of Katapesh so far. The endless desert had slowly transitioned into the endless scrublands. Tiny dehydrated bushes dotted the ground, the dirt was less dirt and more fracked and dry earth matter. A mountain had risen up in the horizon about a day or two ago, a mountain Garavel had referred to as the Pale Mountain.

Still, as reticent and emotionless as Garavel seems, it's hard to miss how he speeds up the camels, drives the horses ever faster. The meaning seems clear: wherever it is that you're supposed to be headed, you're almost there.

Hello and welcome to the Legacy of Fire! Say hi to everyone else, and to your buddy Garavel. Well, "buddy" is probably the wrong word. More like companion. Anyway, it's just you five and Garavel (he's the one in the writing prompt), no other NPCs to worry about... yet. Anyway, like I said in the OoC thread, I'll be giving you four days to chit chat IC and get to know Garavel/each other. Feel free to roll whatever checks you want, and I'll give you your results when I can. Anyway, good luck and have fun, one and all!

[Hattish Thing]

"Sam" Laverne:

Sam rests lazily near the front of the caravan, her thick, muscular legs crossed as she gently bobs to and fro with the movement of the wagon she's perched upon. The rather intimidating woman wears a hastily made wide-brimmed straw hat to protect her ruddy brown eyes from the sun. She looked rather ridiculous with the thing precariously placed upon her head, for the straw hat was more suited for halflings, not humans, especially not humans of her incredible size. It was a gift from her adopted mother, and it made her feel comfortable, and if anyone said anything about it, they'd be met with the harshest of glares, perhaps even one paired with a fist or a powerful kick if they were particularly unpleasant about it.

Sam wore her silly hat well, managing to even look somewhat stylish with it. Quite the talent.

Between her full, if chapped and rather dry lips, the woman chews and rips at a bit of bandage removed from her backpack, doing so as if it was just another regular thing. Once she's gotten what she needs, the woman begins to wrap the abnormally thick bandages around her fists, doing so with a practiced sort of grace. Once she's bandaged herself up entirely, the woman flexes her burly arms and hands, making sure the cloth wouldn't rip in the middle of combat.

As the caravan got closer and closer to their unknown destination, Sam smiled, her sparkling teeth somewhat chipped from countless brawls and fights, but still quite beautiful in a rugged sort of way. She reached for the bulky, weighted wooden shield that she kept on her back. She snaps it over the thick leather she wears over her arms, fashioned from gnollhide. The woman raises her shield arm up, stretching her shoulders and making sure she'd be awake should anything unfortunate happen upon reaching their destination.

The woman doesn't appear to take much of an interest in her travelling companions, preferring to gaze off into the distance, occasionally smiling or laughing to herself about something she may have seen off in the dunes.

Carol would have loved it out here, on the road...

Sam sighs deeply before speaking towards Garavel, crossing her arms over her chest in the process. Her voice is deep, and hoarse for a woman, but still quite luscious and melodic at times, if blunt at that.

"How long until we reach where we're going?"

---

http://i1051.photobucket.com/albums/s440/Singingnoodle/7f1d348f-665d-4866-b9ff-a00d8555d2c9.jpg

[Grimshaw]

Constance, the blind oracle:

Constance sat quietly in the back of the caravan, nestled as far into the protective shade of the canopy as he could be save for his right hand, which held his battered walking staff away from his fellow travelers and consequently out in the scorching heat. He had pulled his long sleeve over its pale skin to protect it from sunburn, but it was still uncomfortably warm. The rest of him, however, was protected enough that he could risk lowering his makeshift hood to let a little of the dry desert air flow around his face and neck and stir his short-cropped golden hair. His features were pale and elegant, etched with a serene and unchanging calm that, combined with his closed eyes, made it easy to assume that he was fast asleep.

Any who thought that were proven wrong when he delicately reached down and plucked a small silver and gold compass from his belt and cupped it in his hand. His belt, like the rest of his clothing, was an eclectic combination of worn foreign traveler's garb and a variety of shawls and cloths purchased from local marketplaces and modified for his needs. Although there had been some attempt given to coordination - they were mostly some shades of either white or red - something was off about them, as if they had been bought for him by someone else based on vague instructions. In particular, no two items had matching patterns on them, especially noticeable given the local propensity for complicated embroidery. Despite this he somehow tied this strange ensemble together, seemingly simply by being in their vicinity.

He tilted his head down towards the compass's dial, a slight frown crossing his brow like cracks on porcelain before smoothing again. If the others had no idea where they were, he had even less idea. When Garavel had pointed out the 'Pale Mountain' a few days ago, the information had been useless to him.

"We can't be far." He opined, his voice soft and his words measured, especially in comparison to his towering compatriots'. "I am no expert, but even with my limited knowledge of the area, I am fairly confident that, if were were on a much longer voyage, our host would have packed more provisions for the journey and made more frequent rest stops." For the sake of the horses, if nothing else. They were not setting the kind of slow but steady pace he would associate with a long journey across this kind of terrain.

http://i.imgur.com/mj3CPH2.png

[Mornings]

Ewen'vel Fritz Tel'Tandis - The Bathetic Sentinel

The dour looking priest stared down at the wooden floor of the wagon. It hadn't been like he'd thought, it hadn't like the old man said it would. It hadn't exactly been like in books of the old heros The Society wrote about. There wasn't any call to fight, there wasn't any letter to summon the warriors - or even a damned tavern encounter. Garavel, or whatever his name was, hadn't even wanted him originally. Yet, he didn't come here for money - or a job. He made a promise, and there were people that needed him. He rolled a vial of holy water in hand, lost in thought. It had been a long trip, yet he'd gone without saying much during the trip - now it seemed the venture was coming to a close, and the quest would soon begin. There would be blood shed here, of that he was sure. Yet, he did not even know the names of those around him - would he have to bury them too? He couldn't recall the memory, but the grim flashes of that burning city filled him and pained his thoughts. He didn't want to see that again. He didn't want to carry the dead through these scarred lands to find grounds for them to find their final rest. He'd buried enough sons and daughters. Not this time. This time would be different. The sleeping beast in his lap grunted and stirred. He ran a hand through the dogs golden coat while fitting the holy vial back into his lavish magical belt which hung the carved holy medalion of a broken moon.

Looking up into the vast expanse of the near empty stretch of wilderness brought no comfort. Any man who saw Gara's face knew what this was. A loyal retainer sent to employ skilled and expendable warriors - this town, this place, which they were so desperate to recapture and wrest from the hands of those which captured it were no simple brigands. They were just extra-swords, swords they likely expected would be expended for their cause - like any crusade. He looked at the hearty looking woman with the funny looking hat shaking his head dismissively. There were all kinds of people in the world he supposed. The mountain in the distance filled him with a tense sort of anxiety - the gestures Gara subtly begun to fill with a sense of urgency. They were getting close. He rubbed Cline's head, rousing the beast, which lifted its head lazily and yawned. "...Looks like da' show aint' long fer' startin', boy. Keep ya' eyes wide open." The dog simply yawned again and licked the man's face. Wearing just his travel cloths and priestly cloak, he begun donning his 'sacred armor'. It looked like thick and unpleasently stiff garments, until he dropped a glove to the floor - splitting one of the wooden boards with its massive weight. Cline yelped in surprise, now very much awake. "Sorry boy, didn't mean all dat' an' dis'." He pulled on the arm length glove over his right appendage, flexing slightly to adjust to the stiffness. Belting on the white and brown cloth-armor, he put his cloak to the side and took a short draw of water from the water skin dangling from his chest. Without so much as a curtsy warning, he dropped his pants and began stepping into the armored greaves, though they simply looked like another pair of unreasonably heavy pants as the muscular man struggled to belt the things upon his bare bottom. He begun to speak with his back turned to the warrior looking woman in the wagon. "So wats' yer' story, sista'? Figure we probably gonna' get real familiar when dis' thing goes sideways, yeh? ...I'm- ugh. Nearly caught da' viper's 'ead" The sound of a zipper and clasp snapping into place sounded as he spoke, fitting over a chain belt and strong looking bands across his knees and waist. "Names' Father Ewen'vel. Priest from... well, far. Though sailed outa' Absalom, kinda' a home a sorta, yeh? An' wats' ya' name too, son? Musta' traveled abit wit' da' compass an' all, ye?" He lifted up his sheathed blade from his pile of seemingly damaged.. well traveled equipment.

With a nimble hand, he snapped the belt around his rear and into his other hand. There was no buckle, but his hands moving with an over evident sense of familiarity almost ritualistically weaved through the other belts tied about his heavy trousers, ending with a tight knot. He pulled out the hefty hilt of the weapon from its scabbard. It was far too large to have been a common sword. The rusted blade, while still maintained, looked ancient - only perhaps a quarter of the sword remained. The end of the blade was broken off at a jagged angle as if sundered by some unfathomable force which clove through metal and stone. He inspected the blade briefly then slid it back at his side before fitting over a iron knuckle upon his left hand, small spikes adorned the metal knuckles. "Dunno wats' got Gara's boot's backwards - but wager it aint good, ye? Best we step off ready teh double down, ye?" He tied an old broken belt loop around his left arm, though it was faded, the finish was peeling and the chrome on the buckle had long ago corroded from the salty sea air - deep embossing adorned the leather which the priest wore proudly as if it were some medal won in a tournament. It read boldly; 'DEVIL KILLER'. Taking quick and practiced visual inventory, he picked up the massive 10ft bladed hammer-pike. It was covered with deep chinks, dents and wear - it rattled when moved, the sharp pike mounting had begun to loosen. Taking the broken hilt from his side, he smacked the steel mounting a few times to tighten its grip slightly and reduce the annoying sound. "...Damn thin' gettin' old." He wiped the sweat from his brow. All the movement in the retaliative heat wasn't without its tax. He looked over his massive shield, adorned in venerable Chelish prayers and decorated in a wonderful motif of two deities before a broken moon and burning sky above the land. He glanced at the massive curved metal sculpture of a half-moon which rested upon the ground. It was far too large and heavy to be carried by a normal man, yet it looked more battle scarred then anything else in the pile of goods. There was no form of handle or device to hint at its purpose, but it was clearly once the holy symbol above some forgotten church or temple. Prepared for whatever was coming he stood straight and flexed his back against the strain of the massive weight baring down upon his powerful form. He slid out a thick cigar, shoving the stick of tobacco in his mouth with a mischievous grin, glaring out at the mountain as if accepting some silent proclamation of challenge. He dug out a strange metal box from his belt, snapping it open and clicking down a button producing a miniature torch to light the cigar in his mouth. "Gods know whats' commin'. 'An its gonna beh' good, ye?"

[Phasm]

Unlike the other guards, Rashida looks quite at home in the desert, perched atop a pile of cargo. The tall Garundi woman wears loose tan robes over brown studded leather armor, the studs deliberately scuffed so they don't shine. A matching keffiyeh, or large head-scarf, protects her head and neck from the unrelenting sun. The only bright thing about her outfit is the brass symbol of Sarenrae around her neck. She looks over at Sam, idly wondering why such a large woman wears such a small hat. Well, when her neck gets sunburned, I'll offer her my spare keffiyeh. The brim of that hat doesn't look like it will completely shade her. Sunburn is serious business for pale-skinned northerners in Katapesh. Even Rashida's dark brown skin suffers in the daytime heat without adequate protection.

"The camels and horses cannot sustain this pace for long, and Garavel seems experienced enough to know that. I believe we will arrive by nightfall at the latest." The hunter's words have a slight Osiriani accent. She reaches up to adjust the straps that hold her longbow on her back. "I am interested in your story as well, Miss Laverne. In all of you." Dark eyes sweep across her fellow guards. "Mine is simple. I grew up in Solku, now I hunt and guide people through the desert for a living." True but slightly misleading. Rashida hunts, all right, but her quarry often walks on two legs. She will wait and see what manner of people these are before telling them exactly why she wears Sarenrae's symbol.

[Hattish Thing]

"Sam" Laverne:




Without so much as a curtsy warning, he dropped his pants and began stepping into the armored greaves, though they simply looked like another pair of unreasonably heavy pants as the muscular man struggled to belt the things upon his bare bottom. He begun to speak with his back turned to the warrior looking woman in the wagon. "So wats' yer' story, sista'? Figure we probably gonna' get real familiar when dis' thing goes sideways, yeh? ...I'm- ugh. Nearly caught da' viper's 'ead" The sound of a zipper and clasp snapping into place sounded as he spoke, fitting over a chain belt and strong looking bands across his knees and waist. "Names' Father Ewen'vel. Priest from... well, far. Though sailed outa' Absalom, kinda' a home a sorta, yeh? An' wats' ya' name too, son? Musta' traveled abit wit' da' compass an' all, ye?" He lifted up his sheathed blade from his pile of seemingly damaged.. well traveled equipment.

The brawler doesn't seem to take much of a real interest in the warpriest, leisurely glancing over towards him and raising an eyebrow high before rolling her deep brown eyes. Before responding, she reaches down into a small pack at her belt, pulling out some kind of tobacco chew and getting to work at it. It calmed her in a way, and served as a decent distraction, anything to take her mind off the endless motions of the wagon as the caravan rolled across the dunes. The constant bumps and rolls had been growing steadily more uncomfortable as the travel went on. Walking would be more enjoyable at this point. Still, according to the others, their destination was relatively close by.

At least it wouldn't be too much longer.

After several lethargic chews, Sam finally replies to Ewen, a rather unimpressed look on her face as she does so. "Sam." A few more chews. "Don't got much of a story." That blank expression on her face never seemed to change. Was she being serious? Was she messing with him? She takes a deep breath, closing her eyes and resting her head against the side of the wagon, clearly disinterested in conversation with the warpriest.

Sooner she got to where she was going, the better.

More chewing. A small, yellow fly hovers nearby before speedily circling around Sam's head, filling the warrior's ear with that awful, tinny buzzing sound that she found so uncomfortable.

With a nimble swat, Sam slices her hand through the air, catching the fly in her palm before clenching her muscles as hard as possible, swiftly reducing the insect to a miserable little stain on her bandaged fist.

She rubs the stained bandage on the floor of the wooden caravan, before taking a few more chews and spitting onto the sand.

"You a priest?"

[Mornings]

Ewen'vel Fritz Tel'Tandis - The Bathetic Sentinel

Ewen stood motionless for a long moment, listening to the burly woman's words with quiet-attentive interest. He blew out a cloud of sweet smelling smoke from his noise, the tobacco was of exceptional quality. "Heh, Sam it is 'den. Simple. Easy teh' remember." He looked at the huntress at his side, tapping his cigar off the side of the wagon to shower a rain of small burning embers into the sand. "Not much'a words, ye? I respect dat', sis." He picked up the thin cloak tying it over her neck and shoulders then arranging his scarf to act as a white cowl from the sun's rays. "Im'a priest alright..." He pat the strange holy symbol which dangled from his belt "...But dun' mean teh' bore ya' wif' a hundred words'a God. We all got our place, ye?" He nodded at the Osirion woman, "So, Miss Hunta'... Mind I call you Miss Hunta'? Dun much gotta' name yet, ye? I guess being from dat' ol' town, ye' got a name worth rememberin' to the folks 'round 'ere. Dunno what an' who troubles these parts, ye? But I know, no good when I see goods' turned-tail and runnin'. An' boy, goods'a' runnin'. So glad teh' have ya." He pat the massive shield on the ground, "Ye', I gots a story. A good ol' one that still makes dis' ol' man's hands shake. But dats' a tale for a night with stiff drink, an' a' big ol' sky'a stars. I came on down from Mendev. Was'a Crusader, ye? Things got bad - Real Bad. Now Im'a here wit' ya' keepin' a promise to'a three-legged man wit' a heart too big teh' carry. An' so here I am." He sat down again taking a long draw from the cigar to steady his nerves. He looked down at his hand - it was shaking. He smirked. "Heh..." Battle shakes. Cline yelped at him once. "...Yeh boy. I know." His weary bones could feel it, whatever was coming was no good at all.

[caesar193]

"By nightfall," intoned Garavel in reply to Sam's reply, before hurrying the horses along. He hadn't even turned his head to reply, leaving his long white hood up over his head. Still, as the talk turned to the new-hire's tales, he looked back.

"What was this promise?" he asked Ewen.

[Phasm]

"Ah, my apologies; I thought I had introduced myself earlier. I am Rashida Manar. You may call me Rashida." She offers a smile, a flash of white teeth from the shadows of her head-scarf. "I am glad to have a priest on this journey. The local gnolls will not ignore such a tempting target as this caravan so close to Pale Mountain."

[Hattish Thing]

"Sam" Laverne:


"I am glad to have a priest on this journey. The local gnolls will not ignore such a tempting target as this caravan so close to Pale Mountain."


Once the Garundi woman mentions the gnolls of Pale Mountain, Sam perks up, muttering something under her breath. "Gnolls ain't going to be hurting anybody."

"Not while I'm around."

"I'll give 'em something they can't ignore..."

Sam glances down towards her shield before cracking her knuckles, her impressively muscular arms rippling with strength.

[WalkingTheShade]

The lost girl
It's been clear, for some days now, that they are definitively not going back to Katapesh city and civilization. Elen refused to believe it at first. She was too much in a rush to get out of Solku to ask where they were going. She didn't care. It seemed clear, at that moment, that caravans came and went from PLACES to Solku. And any other place (well, specially Katapesh city) looked better than Solku a few days ago. That pale mountain, well, that's not a PLACE. That's just... nowhere, and that's positively worse than Solku.

Elen feels miserable. She has blisters on her feet. Sunburn on her ears and nose. How is that even possible? She's wearing the same desert rags as the barbarians. And then flies, snakes, vipers, camel smell... The day is so hot. Black spot are coming on her vision. The horizon is wavy. The nights are so cold. Elen has no tent, no bedroll, nothing. The first night, she tried sleeping on the sand, but it was sucking the warmth from her body, and she ended chocking on a mouthful of the stuff. Next she stole some pelts from the cart then sneaked next to the camels to get their warmth. And she just knows she's been smelling of camel dung, for days now. She shouldn't have agreed to this trip to Solku. If she ever meets again her so-called friends who abandoned her in Solku...

And let's not even get started on her companions. Elen swears, if that one spits her tobacco once more... How can she chew that? Doesn't she know what it does to her breath? Or her teeth? Well, it's not like Elen could figure out right away she was a woman anyway. And that other one, is he... is he letting his dog lick his face? What the hell is wrong with these people? Well, at least, they're foreigners, they can understand what she feels... Well, they could, if Elen would come to them, which she's definitely not going to do. How is it no one has noticed her yet, here? At least, they're foreigners; the sand people, they don't even have the common decency to get sunburnt like everyone.

The leather strap of the heavy sword is burning through Elen's shoulders. The worst of all... the thirst. She's managed to steal water until now. But Garavel, she thinks he suspects. And if he does know, she can't continue stealing it. She definitely didn't beg for it, she's not letting all those ruffians think she's a common thief like them. A measure of pride is all she has left. The black spots on her vision are becoming worse. She realizes her legs are swaying her to the side. For a second, she thinks whoopsie, I'm drunk, but then she figures out oh no, right, I'm, like, dying of thirst. She sways for a few more steps and gets toward her closest travel companions. She waves her hand desperately towards the big woman. “Don't you... don't spit that tobaaaa...”

Elen falls on her face in the sand.

EDIT: and yes, Elen has just passed out because of dehydration in front of other PC.

[Hattish Thing]

"Sam" Laverne:

All the talk of gnolls near Pale Mountain sort of distracted Sam from enjoying her chew. She straightens her broad shoulders and gazes ahead, across the dunes, her cinnamon-colored eyes sparkling in the sunlight as the fairly sizable warrior scans the horizon for any sort of threat. If gnolls were around, then it was best that she made sure she was ready when they showed up. Sam wouldn't let what had happened before take place again, never again. After a moment or two spent inspecting the distant sands for any sign of gnoll activity, she settles down again, growing a bit more comfortable.

No sign of anything, not yet.

Feeling fairly confident that the caravan was safe and secure for now, Sam leans her brimmed hat forward and closes her eyes, taking a deep breath and continuing to lazily chew her tobacco. The sun's hot rays made her feel somewhat lethargic, but that wasn't necessarily a bad thing. Sam hadn't been sleeping very well, perhaps the journey itself would help her get the sleep she needed. Even sleep wrought by exhaustion was better than not getting any rest at all. The warrior smiles peacefully, and a relaxed look appears on her rugged, yet attractive face.

This was... nice.

--

Sam begins to dream of home, the rhythmic chewing of her tobacco steadily slowing as pleasant thoughts chase the less pleasant ones out of her head. At least until a particularly annoying buzzing sound interrupts her lovely daydream.

Wait, that wasn't buzzing, that's a voice.

Suddenly, Sam heard a relatively muffled "oomph" sound. What was that? Was everyone okay, was the caravan under attack? She dexterously spins, pressing her thigh against the wooden bottom of the wagon before tensing up and releasing, launching herself off the wagon and landing an impressive distance away. She lands on her feet, already in battle position, her shield held high.

Oh. It was just... that one.

--

The woman blinks a few times, her neutral expression fading into a weak blush. She... probably could have just stepped off the wagon. Regardless, she quickly makes her way towards Elen, rolling her eyes and frowning deeply as she takes a good look at the grounded bard. The heat must have gotten to her, or maybe she didn't drink enough water.

Sam reaches down to pull the half-elven woman up, easily managing to lift her up into Sam's arms. The six foot four human will walk back to the wagon with Elen in her arms, before setting the much smaller, blonder woman down where Sam once sat. The brawler then reaches into her pack to pull out a spare water canister, walking alongside the wagon and frowning as she downs a bit of the water down Elen's throat, speaking to the unconscious bard as she does so.

"...Don't do that."

Eventually, Sam feels confident that Elen will recover, but continues to walk beside the wagon, just in case. Hopefully the half-elf will wake up soon.

[WalkingTheShade]

The lost girl
“Claudio?... Didn't kiss t'dog... I swears...” Elen falls back asleep. She's snoring. Loudly.

[Grimshaw]

"My name is Constance, Father." The young man told the priest, smiling respectfully. His gaze fell on the unusual religious symbol, not that anyone could tell. Strange. He thought he knew most religious symbols, but that one...

He didn't have time to complete his thought before the young Half-Elf woman staggered towards Sam Laverne, muttered something incoherent, and collapsed to the desert sands. The muscular woman was swift, though, and had her safely deposited in the cart before Constance could do much more than flinch. Belatedly, he moved into action, closing his compass and putting it back in his belt before kneeling next to Elen and checking her pulse, then delicately opening her eyelid, nodding in quiet satisfaction at each apparently passed test. Finally, he carefully pinched the skin on the back of her hand between his fingers, and nodded once more at a sign only he knew he was looking for - however he was looking for it.

"She's only dehydrated." He said finally, in a tone as soft as if discussing the weather. "If anyone has some- ah, you're far ahead of me, Ms. Laverne." He smiled in her direction.

[Phasm]

Since Rashida is sitting in the middle of the wagon, on top of Garavel's cargo, she's barely made a move to jump down and help before Sam is pulling the half-elf in next to her and Constance is checking her over. The hunter nods at the man's diagnosis. "An easy mistake to make for those unused to the desert. Let me know if you need more water, any of you. I know the spell to create water. You need not stint yourselves." She pauses. "But do not drink too deeply, either. You may vomit if you try to drink an entire waterskin at once." Basic survival in Katapesh; how and when to drink water.

"And it is good to meet you properly, Constance." Rashida gives him a smile. Curious that he never opens his eyes, perhaps he is blind? He doesn't act like it, but there are tales of blind warriors who can fight as well as any sighted man. Maybe there's a grain of truth to those fantastic tales.

[Grimshaw]

"Likewise, Rashida. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, despite the circumstances." Constance returned the smile easily, and nodded in thanks when Rashida explained that she could supply them with water. Although the circumstances were hardly ideal, it would be best to begin rehydrating the unconscious woman immediately, and to be able to do so without worrying about needlessly wasting water was a relief. He slid down into a more comfortable sitting position next to her, took hold of the water container, and started carefully pouring tiny amounts of into the cap then gently dribbling it into her lips, his brow furrowed with concentration as he tried to compensate for the swaying of the cart. Even without Rashida's warning, he would have had no choice but to proceed carefully, lest he activate the woman's gag reflex, or worse, pour the water into her airways. He tutted quietly when the half-elf moved her head in her sleep, sending some of the water dribbling down her cheek. He was already thankful to know that Rashida could compensate for the waste, no matter how slight.

"Father, could I trouble you to steady her head?" He asked the burly priest without turning, his work too painstaking for him to make such a movement.

[caesar193]

After hearing the distant thud- and more likely the subsequent people hoping out of the wagon, Garavel stops the cart and looks back. He helps Sam haul Elen back in and, when Constance and Rashida step in to help, shrugs and heads back to his post. "Extra water in my bag, if you need it. Jug's right at the top," he says, before getting the cart moving again.

Elen quickly recovers with the ministrations of multiple people experienced with dehydration- just in time, too. "We've arrived," says Garavel, as the wagon tops one last rise. An immense tree emerges from the far side of a nearby hill, five huge branches rearing towards the sky. "The Sultan's Claw," Garavel said, naming it. The tree, the Sultan's Claw, looked like a huge wooden talon, reaching out of the ground to drag the sun down into the depths below.

It soon became apparent that your destination was an encampment gathered around the Sultan's Claw. People were running around, chasing livestock. Camels and goats roamed free... but roamed was the wrong word, ran was more like it. And there were people carrying buckets of water...

And then your wagon reached the top of the hill, and on the other side was a cart, a glorious cart with suns and stars decorating it. It was a riot of reds and golds, and not just because of the flames that danced across its wood and cloth, though the flames certainly helped.

Then a baleful wind picked up, bringing with it a dark plume of smoke and a single passenger, blasting the new-arrivals. The passenger, a single playing card, floated in and hit Ewen in his chest, falling to the ground, face up. It was strange how it wasn't even singed or charred, how it was still clearly legible, how no sand had floated over it to obscure it. The card was a Harrow Card; it was known as the Cyclone.

And then, from a regal tent near you, a regal figure emerged. "Douse the flames!" she shouted, and then she saw Garavel and the group gathered behind him. "Ah, Garavel! ANd just a moment later than the nick of time, as usual." To the group behind him, she shouts "Find some way to help!" And then she dashes towards the flames.

First combat! Well, by a certain stretch of the imagination. Don't worry, we'll have things you're allowed to kill later on. For now, all we've got is a fire.

If Elen or anybody else had something they wanted to say before the fire, then separate things out. I'm just keeping things moving. Anyway, the AP lists a couple of suggestions for you guys. Don't feel like these are things that you MUST do. Do whatever you want, even if its running in the opposite direction or adding more flames. These are just to get your minds working. Without further ado, your light suggestions:


Douse the fire (I know, this came as a surprise to me, too)
Pull a Wagon out of the Way (best not to let it spread)
Heal Wounded Firefighters (There off in the corner)
Deal with Frightened Animals (The NPCs would probably prefer you didn't stab them all to death and instead comforted them, but what do they know? They're just dumb NPCs! Probably all got the same stat block!)


And as I've stressed before, don't feel beholden to do these, or even all of them. Do whichever you feel like, even if the previous four PCs went ahead to do that thing.

Oh, and we're treating this as a combat. So one standard action and one move action per round, all that lovely nonsense. One move action will get you in range to help with any of those light suggestions, and probably any crazy plans you think up, with the exception of Dousing the Fire. A move action will get you a bucket and next to a bucket full of water.

I'll described the options in more detail as people do them. With the chaos, it'd be hard to see everything, so if you want some sort of advance knowledge of an option, give me a perception check and what you're examining, and that'll be a move action because, well, I feel like being mean right now :smallbiggrin:.

[WalkingTheShade]

The lost girl
Elen wakes up, on the swaying cart, as someone is pouring water in her mouth. She raises two feeble hands to push a small cap away and grab the container itself. As she starts drinking like a baby on her mother's teat, she realizes her hands are on those of the person holding the container. She realizes the person is that golden haired boy. She fixates his closed eyes, saying nothing. Under the travel grime and the desert filth, he might actually look good. Elen knows right away she's blushing, and it takes all her willpower not to slap the cute boy who took advantage of her passing out. She sits in the cart, raising her chin, looking at anything except her companions, silent, wordless.

That's were they have arrived? It's not even a PLACE, and it's definitely on FIRE. Elen wants to cry. The barbarians, just like their animals, are running around in the most disorderly (and like, stupid) fashion. They'll never manage to stop the fire like this! Elen stands on Garavel's wagon, trying to figure out where the barbarians are bringing water from, then jumps down to run to the closest ones carrying buckets, yelling at the top of her lungs. "Hey you there, stop running, and you, help me form a bucket chain for the water!"
Perception, to figure where the source of water is, [roll0].
Two move actions, to reach as many people bearing buckets as possible.
Diplomacy, if needed (really, they should figure out it makes sense!), to convince them to form a bucket chain, [roll1].

[Grimshaw]

With Rashida's warning about vomiting in mind, Constance had been carefully modulating how much water the dehydrated half-elf drank when the caravan came across the chaos. He heard the braying and stampeding of animals and the babble of panicked voices and smelled the acrid scent of smoke on the air long before he saw any of it, leaving him at a loss when everybody started scrambling into action. He thought he had gotten over the pain of losing his sight, had learned to live with the strange, dim world he now occupied, but the current situation was an unpleasant reminder of how hobbled he truly was.

He stifled his disquiet and picked up his staff from where he had left it on the floor of the cart, planting it firmly in the dusty ground before getting out of the vehicle and surveying the situation to the best of his ability. He tried to remain calm, or at least fake it: In a pinch, that was nearly as good as the real thing. He would be of little use with the fire, since he could not even see it, but there was a small group of wounded off to one side. There, perhaps, his meagre talents could be put to use.

He moved over to the group, seeming incongruously graceful even in his haste, and tried to project that soothing aura that so many people had told him he possessed, which had gotten him mistaken for a professional healer many times over the past few years.

"Do not worry, everything will be all right." He told them in a calm, level voice, hoping it would turn out to be true. He silently wished that he had possessed the foresight to purchase a medical kit before setting out on the journey, but set about tending to their wounds as best he could under the circumstances.

Constance possesses both the Heal skill and the Stabilize Orizon; I'll roll for both and leave it to the DM to pick which is the more suitable to the circumstances.
I hope it's whichever one gets the better roll!

If I'm doing this correctly, then my rolls should be:
Heal: 1d20 +1 (Wis modifier) +1 (Skill rank) +3 (Trained Skill)
Stabilize: 1d20 +1 (Caster Level) +5 (Cha Modifier)
Right? I hope so, because I'm rolling 'em.

Heal: [roll0]
Stabilize: [roll1]

[Mornings]

Ewen'vel Fritz Tel'Tandis - The Bathetic Sentinel

[On The Road]
The priest smiled softly at the Garundi archer, the dry air and sand gave his throat a raspy timbre "Good teh' mee'cha, sis. Can't say I'ma' well-learned man, doublely so in des' parts, ye? But da' goodly gods gota' whole lot'a grace teh' bless upon Lamashtu's children, ye?" He lifted the massive steel crescent-moon from the ground with a powerful motion with his foot, snatching the great metal talismen from the air, and letting one end bound heavily upon the floor. "...A whole lota' grace. Gotta' charge from da' goodly gods teh' protect da' goodly peoples, ye? If da' furry-folk start causin' a stir, well..." He pat the heavy object with a powerful smack. "I brought a whole lota' mercy - But I ain't got no grudges wit' no man'a creature who doin' no wrong, ye? I ain't gonna' be da' Father of Death." He pulled the cigar from his mouth and tapped it over the side of the wagon again, "There plenty'a other men who dun' got nothin' else but rage in da' heart, ye? World can do without'a 'nother." He begun strapping on his equipment, slinging the large polearm and shield before moving up to the oracle and patting him on the shoulder. "Good teh' make ya' acquaint, and such-an'-such. Dat's a good name. Strong name. Im'a' sure da' Gods'll bless ya' path, son." He shoved the cigar back in his mouth looking over his shoulder to Garavel. "Heh, now thats'a good one... Good tale actually, if youve'a mind fer' tales. Guess ya' could say, it was more like 3 promises... Kinda' started wit' da' Crusades, ye? ...And da' day I met Queen Galfrey an' ..." The sudden mumbling from the side of the wagon drew his attention away from the beginnings of his story, the girl below seemed to sway as she walked. "Ya', aiight girl?" Watching the girls eyes roll back, then stagger, he lunged forward to grab the girl before she face-planted, though at such an odd angle, he instead went out of the wagon carried by her weight. He broke her fall with his body, but ate a faceful of sand for his effort. The sound of the crash, brought sam soaring off the vehicle ready for battle. "Well damn, she's quick." He rolled over on the ground moving the girl off him to lean up from the ground while watching Constance examine the half-elf, shaking his head as Rashida and the oracle came to the same conclusion. "Heh, silly tot forgot teh' take'a drink eh?" He shook off the dirt and sand like a mongrel as the big woman carried the elf back to the wagon. He picked up the large pole arm which had fell from his back during the fall and boarded the wagon once again, watching the the brawler swap with Constance to tend to the young woman. "Easy son, I got ya' " He bent down and steadied her head while the man continued to pour water - it'd be a long ride.


***

[The Burning Camp]
The sight before him as the wagon pulled into the inflamed encampment filled him with alarm and anxiety. The dancing flames filled his soul with terror, and made the terrible scars running down his face and neck burn at the sight of the roaring flames. "...Gods be good. " He kissed the massive 6ft metal crescent, sharply turning and throwing his guitar over the large dog's back. "Stay 'ere boy, dunno whats-what in all dis', ye?" With a mighty leap he crashed down to the ground a fair distance from the wagon, burring one end of the large moon into the dirt to come into closer to the flames when a Harrow Card struck him in the chest. His eyes went wide at the sight of the card, stumbling back a step. He knew that card... Alissa had read The Harrow often, Divination marking one of her strange hobbies. He was no stranger to destiny. His eyes eyes were locked on the vicious apparition of wind depicted upon the cards painted surface. It was an omen of evil... He clapped his hands together, looking up at the sky. "Oh, Father... Hope ya' listenin' now, cuz' dis' world, dis' people need ya." He dared not pick up the card, instead locking his gaze upon the fire and the peoples moving with buckets of water. He ran a hand down his sleeveless arm, his scarred appendage beginning to fill with holy symbols made of a dim bluish light. He traced a seal into the air with a glowing fingertip, leaving the sacred seal of a broken moon burning in the air while bellowing out a prayer. Struggling to recite the learned words as closely as he could.


"Oh Father, here meh' now!"
"Lift ya' weary head. Wake from sorrowful slumber."
"All stars misaligned, all moons broken."
"An now I bare ya' token."
"Before dreadful flame, I will stand unmoving"
"For your children I usher your tears"
"Let all hear my words and know your grace!"

The light before him flickered in the air, then surged with energy as he stumbled through the words, stretching out his hand at the flames as the divine connection was established. He felt the righteous magic surge within him as the symbol shifted into a small magic circle. With ll his attention he spoke as clearly as he could to call forth and usher the ancient atrophied might into the world.

"You, my Lord are righteous in all your ways"
"and faithful in all you do"
"The Lord is near to all who call on him,"
"to all who call on him in truth."
"He fulfills the desires of those who fear him;"
"he hears their cry and saves them."
"The Lord watches over all who love him,"
"but all the wicked he will destroy."
"My mouth will speak only in praise of my Lord."
"So let every creature praise his holy name!"


With a grunt with the final word, the magic symbol crashed into his palm as a glow of holy azure light. With all his strength he cast his hand outward releasing a surge of light out from his hand. The streams of energy danced and flickered as it manifested into the world, condensing into a small wave of water that hissed as it slashed down unto the blaze. The priest took a deep breath in, feeling a minor sense of fatigue creep through his body. It took great effort to reach out to his fallen god, who did not dwell within the heavens... No he was somewhere far, very far away. It was as if he had stretched out his very thoughts across the world and time to feel the rush of some primordial wind brush his finger tips through a hole in the sky. The magic would fail without the rituals involved - rituals rarely seen in the real world, but reserved for holy days of prayer and gatherings of sacrament to a congregation. His was the living embodiment and source of all those now thoughtless motions and words reserved for the interiors of churches and chapels - They still held power to the old gods.



- Move Action
- Standard Action: Cast Create Water over fire.

[Hattish Thing]

"Sam" Laverne:

As the caravan grows nearer and nearer to the destination at hand, Sam lets out a sigh of relief. Nothing had stopped them on their journey, no gnoll attacks, no bandits, nothing. It was really quite a pleasant enough venture, all things considered. The warrior walks alongside the wagon the rest of the way, humming quietly to herself at moments along the way. However, the thoroughly unpleasant smell of smoke eventually crept up, and the brawler soon found herself on edge. Had something happened, was everything alright?

Once the Sultan's Claw comes into view, Sam's eyes widen.

Everything was on fire!

--

Sam rushes forward to one of the flaming wagons, shouting out to the others. "We've got to put the fires out!" As she moves towards one of the large wagons, she grips the side of the heavy thing, using her back foot to try and quickly jerk the wagon out of the way. Try as she might, her foot keeps slipping in the sand, and the brawler steps aside, quickly finding a better position to hold.

Next round, she'll attempt to find a better spot.

[Phasm]

Rashida stands up and shades her eyes, surveying the scene. There's a large barrel of water; their bard and the evident owner of the caravan are organizing a bucket chain, so that's sorted. Constance is aiding the injured. Sam is doing... something with the wagon. Ewen is praying rather loudly to his unknown god. Creating water by herself wouldn't do much, but perhaps in conjunction with Ewen and the bucket chain, it will work.

Nodding to herself, the hunter lifts her holy symbol in one hand and points to the wagon with the other. She begins an ancient prayer in Kelish, the syllables falling from her lips with quick, practiced ease.

"O Dawnflower, Most Merciful One, blessed among angels, hear my plea. Your people burn in the heat of Your holy light. Have mercy, and grant us the sacred waters of the sky to quench our thirst! Divine Sarenrae, light of the heavens, your faithful servant humbly asks this boon of you."


Move: Survey the scene. Standard: Cast create water.

[caesar193]

Elen, Ewen, and Rashida

After charging into the foray, Elen quickly sees that the regal figure and Garavel have all ready beaten her too the job of organization. Garavel glances her way, with a single bushy eyebrow raised, before returning to to his task. Four soldiers, dressed in distinctive red-chitin armor, help them, conveying buckets of water from a large barrel about 15 ft from the fire to and fro. Ewen and Rashida quickly arrive to help as well, sending hails of water into their respective destinations.

Still, the fire rages on, despite the nine people's best efforts.

Constance

The oracle quickly finds a halfing kneeling over a male soldier, bleeding badly. The halfling looks up at Constance, and says "Well, hello there, good chap! Here to help with the wounded, eh? There's another over there," he says, pointing to a woman clutching a scrap of cloth to a bubbling wound. "Did the best I could, but I'm a little busy with Trevvis here."

Constance kneels down next to the woman, who moans in pain, and then casts his spell. She gasps in relief, and gasps a short thanks.

Either would have worked- though you don't need to roll for Stabilize. Anyway, the DC for Heal is 15, so I went with stabilize.

Sam

The brawler find four mercenaries all ready at the wagon. As one, they heave together, but the wagon only groans and does not move.

One of the mercs gives Sam a nod before replacing his feet and shouting "Get ready for another push! Three...!"

The countdown shall finish next round!

[Grimshaw]

"You are welcome." Constance replied with a reassuring smile, but the woman had already fallen unconscious. It was probably a mercy, given her condition - but there was something he could do about that. Even though he hadn't asked for this curse and these powers - even though they had, in fact, been forced upon him - he couldn't stand by and leave someone in pain when he could help.

He reached forward and took her by the hand - a symbolic gesture at best, but comforting to him, if no-one else - and concentrated on images and words he associated with health and wellness, trying to will them into being. His mouth opened, unbidden, and words tumbled out in a language that no-one had ever taught him but which he could speak like his mother tongue.

Cure Light Wounds: Cure [roll0] points of damage

[Phasm]

The fire is still raging, but Rashida honestly can't think of anything better to do. The soldiers, Garavel, and the wagon owner have the bucket chain covered. Her healing abilities are very limited and she doesn't know much about normal medicine, so she would be more hindrance than help dealing with the wounded. She's not strong enough to lend Sam and the mercenaries a hand. Rashida's knowledge of animals mainly deals with tracking, killing, and field-dressing them; calming panicked horses and camels is not something she knows how to do.

So more water it is. Once more the inquisitor points toward the fire and recites the prayer to Sarenrae, creating water in hopes of stemming the blaze.

[Mornings]

Ewen'vel Fritz Tel'Tandis - The Bathetic Sentinel

As the water manifested and struck the fire with a hissing splash, the scarred priest looked on at the sight of the flames. This wasn't right. He might not have known many fancy words, hell, it took years of study just to figure out what his own prayers meant - but he knew one thing for sure. Fire's didn't light themselves. Even in the dessert. His dull grey eyes looked on at the camp and the wounded being treated. It didn't take a Thassalonian Scholar to realize this was no accident. Someone, or something lit that fire. He knew it. It was the card... Something bad had come this way and burned these people.

With a sharp motion, he swept down picking up the card, while bringing the great metal moon to his chest like a shield. He held up the card as if making some holy proclamation. "Oi, Samy, Rashi-girl, on ya' toes! This 'an wicked omen, an' no desert-night-fire light itself, follow? Good 'er evil, Gods be watchin'!" He stuffed the card down his pants without a thought and pointed his open palm up towards the heavens. "...HARK!" His hand erupted into a blazing cobalt colored flame.


"Lord! Yes, how are they increased that trouble me!"
"Many are they that rise against me. Many one there be that say of my soul."
"But there is no help for him in his God."
"But thou, O LORD, art my defender; Thou art my eyes; thou art my worship, and the lifter up of my head."
"I did call upon you my Lord with my voice."
"...And so he heard me out upon his holy hill."

He traced symbols of strange and ancient power in the air an inch before his own face, as if painting sigils upon his own visage in some indigo blaze. Like a mask of some forgotten Azlanti ritual, the fires melded with his skin, illuminating it with its arctic shade. His eyes shined with the same cerulean flare. His blazing eyes scanned the camp and the surrounding area looking for what had caused the chaos and blazing disturbance.


Move: Pick up card.
Standard: Cast Guidance
Perception Check: [roll0]

[Hattish Thing]

"Sam" Laverne:

After a frustrating attempt to move the wagon aside, Sam takes a deep breath, fighting through the smoke and searching deeply within for the inner strength needed to properly inspire her. The brawler steps back, assuming a lower, more powerful stance, before raising a fist up into the air, smiling as she does so. "I know we can do this!"

A second passes, just enough time for her to prepare. Then...

"Now!"

Instead of pushing the wagon forward with her hands, the powerful woman raises her leg high, kicking forward hard enough to hopefully blast the wagon with much more force than she'd managed earlier.

She had a far stronger lower body, after all.

[WalkingTheShade]

The lost girl
Elen stops in her tracks and narrows her eyes. What does he even MEAN with that eyebrow raising? Elen's trying to help and Garavel is dissing her? She's going to show him how good she is! She's definitely going to show all of them by... by... by organizing a better bucket chain than theirs! Her own, way more helpful, bucket chain! Ha!

Elen looks around for anyone holding a container or any bucket, gourd, pan, bowl, helmet or any other object approximately half-spherical and able to hold water. She starts running around forcing items into the hands of anyone panicking or not helping. “Hey you there, hold on to this, now go stand there, NOW!”

Perception roll to find containers is in the OOC thread (http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showsinglepost.php?p=20579232&postcount=94).
Two move actions, running around grabbing whatever item seems helpful and forcing it on people around her.

[caesar193]

Rashida and Elen

Rashida's second rain douses the flames on the roof, but under the weight of the soaked cloth it collapses, raising a cloud of steam from the inner wagon. Meanwhile, Elen manages to get a couple of confused people to start helping with her bucket chain. While by no means as impressive as the one Garavel is in, it still manages to get the job done and a couple of people start carting water from the bucket to the fire at her command.

Constance

The worst of the wounds close under his ministrations, but leave behind a couple of small wounds on her arm. She groans, still unconscious.

Sam

"...Two, One..." And then Sam yells her 'Now!'

The wagon groans, shudders, just about to push over the slump holding its wheels in, before its weight crashes it back down. The merc in the back cracks his neck. "Almost got it, lads! Get your muscles in there! 3...!"

Ewen

The chaos of the fire makes it difficult to see a culprit, as does his lack of familiarity with the people of the encampment. His sharp eyes do spot, curiously enough, a single goat far out in the scrubland, no doubt an escapee. The goat quickly disappears behind a hill.

But what had drawn the eye to the goat, curiously enough, was how straight the goat was wandering the hillside.

[Grimshaw]

Even as the woman's wounds began to close, Constance could tell that it wouldn't be enough. How could his skills be so meagre? He could feel the well of power inside him dimming, and knew from experience that he could only draw upon it three, maybe four more times before it would be exhausted for the day.

He pressed on regardless, once again forming that energy into a force for good with thoughts and those strange, beautiful words. He dearly hoped that he wouldn't need to use his powers many more times that day, because without them, he was useless.

Cure Light Wounds: Cure [roll0] points of damage

[Phasm]

The flames on the roof might be out, but the wagon proper still needs a good dousing. Rashida takes a moment to wrap the lower part of her keffiyeh over her nose and mouth to keep the smoke out, then repeats her prayer to Sarenrae. More water appears and rains down on the now roofless wagon.

[WalkingTheShade]

The lost girl

Now that HER own chain is organized, Elen smirks while looking over a job well done. One of the last barbarians she directed to the chain passes her an empty bucket. “Oh, no. No no... I mean, like, huh, I have other things to help with, liiiiike...” Elen looks around, “like my big woman buddy up there!”

Elen runs towards Sam, “huh, hi!” with a wave of the hand and a big smile. “I know just exactly the right spel...” Elen pats her belt and realizes she misses her component pouch. She frowns at Sam. “Strike that, I definitely have no spell.” Elen thinks for an instant of how to wriggle out of the situation, then rolls her eyes. “Aw, gods!”

The blond girl puts her shoulder against the wagon. “How does that go? Ah yeah, 3, 2...”

Move action, go to Sam.
Free action: talk too much.
Standard action: help with the wagon, Strength [roll0]

[Mornings]

Ewen'vel Fritz Tel'Tandis - The Bathetic Sentinel
Staring off at the goat that vanished into the darkness, he didn't know what to make of the sight. He wasn't really sure what was or wasn't normal behavior for a domestic animal, he'd never really thought about it. So he shook his head and took a quick survey of the encampment again, taking note of the men struggling with the cart. There wasn't much else he could do, so he decided he would assist them.

With a number of bounding steps he quickly moved to his companions who shoved the heavy wagon. "Looks like ya'all could use anoth'a set'a mitts on this one, ye?" He dug his feet into the ground and leaned into the blazing wooden vehicle with the others, grunting under the strain as he tried to keep his feet from sliding out from under himself while pressing in on the carriage.




Strength Check [roll0]

[Hattish Thing]

"Sam" Laverne:

Though her powerful kick connects with the wagon with extreme prejudice, the brawler can't seem to budge the wagon for more than a second before the bulky, heavy thing fell right back into place. Sam blinks once or twice, staring at the spot where she had kicked. There was a little dent there where her foot had planted itself quite squarely into the wagon.

Hm. Perhaps violence is not the answer to this problem.

She raises a hand up to brush some stray hair out of her face before gritting her teeth as she's approached by Elen. "Big woman buddy". Hmph. She does have a nice smile though. What in the world could she be happy about at a time like this? Sam continues to catch her breath before smiling big, though it's a big and kind of awkward smile. She's trying to be polite and all.

"Uhh. Hi. Can't lift it."

Sam doesn't say anything in response to the caster not having her casting materials. That was like Sam not having her fists. Well, I guess it wasn't really the same, but the brawler could think more on that later.

"Up, we have to move it out of the way."

With that, the brawler gets into place and begins to push.

[roll0]

[caesar193]

Constance

The woman awakes. She looks up at Constance- not that he could see it- and says "Wha...? The fire... Is it quenched?"

And then the halfling to the side looks over, and smiles, before jovially punching Constance in the arm. "Nice showing, there, good chap! As for Trevvis here... I do suppose he could use a potion." The halfling sighs, before pulling out a vial of some mysterious liquid. He gives it a quick shake, before popping the top and pouring it down Trevvis' throat.

Rashida

The two bucket chains seems to speed things along as another rain coats the wagon. The flames sputter, briefly, under the deluge, before it roars back to spread to untouched wood.

"Almost!" calls the regal figure. "We almost got it! Keep working, its almost quenched!"

Everyone else

Again, the wagon groans as the combined efforts of everyone together heaves on it. The wagon groans, its wheels creeping up the sides of the hollows they've carved in the earthy sand, before with sudden jerk they clear, and the wagon tumbles away. The mercenaries cheer- though one of them, thrown off balance by the wagon's sudden movement, only manages to fall flat on his face.

The wagon itself rolls forward, away from the fire, putting plenty of distance between it and any errant sparks. It rolls to a gentle stop, and a cursory glance reveals no other wagons or carts in danger of catching fire.

[WalkingTheShade]

The lost girl

“... 1!”, shouts Elen in chorus with the mercenaries. She watches the wagon roll away, without entirely believing her eyes. A smug smile comes again to her face: “that's more like it!”, she says proudly, enthusiastically slapping Sam on the back and giving a friendly punch to Ewen'vel's shoulder. Then she realizes what she's just done, and blushes up to her ears. She immediately looks away from her two companions. “Sorry, have to, like, go to... to help with the fire!”

Elen tries to find a shovel, or any tool that will help her put sand on whatever embers remain.

Find any object that could be used as a shovel, perception [roll0].
If Elen doesn't see one right away, she'll use her actions to try to find one.
If she finds one:
Move action to the parts of the fire that are extinguished.
Standard action to put sand or soil on whatever is still smoldering to prevent the wind from rekindling embers.

[Grimshaw]

"I think they could use your help." Constance replied, going as much on sound and smell as sight as he helped the woman to her feet. He nodded and smiled at the Halfling's encouragement, and then lingered for a moment to make sure the other man's patient pulled through while he considered his options.

From the words of encouragement he could here, and the activity he could see at the edge of his stunted vision, the fire - whatever it was - was finally coming under control. He could join in the bucket chain, but he would probably be little more than a latecomer - besides, he had already contributed to that, in a way, by getting the woman back on her feet. If Trevvis and his caretaker could eventually lend a hand he'd be truly superfluous.

On the other hand, the fire had quite distracted everyone from less flashy, extravagant problems, like the two wounded here and the loose animals nearby. Making up his mind, he set out towards the loose goats, wishing he'd paid more attention to farm work as a child.

Picking the most troublesome goat in the hope that calming it would have an effect on the rest of them too, he approached as calmly as he could, and faking an authority he didn't really feel, started talking to the animal in a tone that he hoped was both soothing and commanding.

"Good goat. Calm, now. What lovely horns you have. Everything will be alright, just calm down..."

This had been a terrible idea.

Charisma check [roll0]

[Phasm]

Rashida lets out a cheer as the wagon finally lurches away from the fire. "Good job, everyone!" One flaming cart will be so much easier to put out than two. She nods to the woman who seems to be in charge and starts conjuring water yet again.

[Mornings]

Ewen'vel Fritz Tel'Tandis - The Bathetic Sentinel

Feeling the weight of the large wagon budge and finally give way under the combined force of their shove, the priest watched the vehicle roll on out of harms way. The flames from the night fire were beginning to come to heel before the joint effort of the desert faring folk which worked to extinguish the blaze. Still, the spectacle didn't sit well with the priest. It was too dark to see, and there was too much commotion to make out any distinguishing features, but he knew just the same something lit the fire - be it malicious or not. The one small comfort he took in the experience was the lack of any offensive notions. During what few battles between men he'd seen, fire often played a crucial role. First setting the blaze, and preemptively striking while the enemy was distracted. It was the kind of underhanded trick he would have never thought of had he not seen it executed with his own eyes. Combat between the creatures of the realm was far different from the sort he was familiar with - purging demonic filth was simple and clean by comparison.

He pat his allies on the back gruffly and moved away from where he had stood. With the camp coming under control, he slid out the Harrow card again to give the ill favored device a once over. The strange thing looked mint, undamaged and in good repair despite being thrown through blazing fire and chill sands. The Faith took many strange shapes both in the world, and the hearts of men. The Harrow was one such example of that. He wasn't much for appraising religious or arcane items, it simply wasn't something he was interested in or familiar with, but occasionally he'd get a small flash of insight from his feeble studies under the church's tutelage. He looked down at the thing and hoped now might be another one of those times... He hadn't even seen such a card since he left Absalom, and that was only due to his sister's fondness of divination. He mumbled to himself while trying to examine the thing more closely. "...Damn. Da' hell are you." He wracked his brain, trying to recall what little he could.

After a moment examining the thing, he went through the motions of a quick prayer, toughing either side of his head placing a small seal of indigo glowing energy:

"Father of magic - Whose eyes see all beyond The Tapestry and The Veil.
Father of mercy - whose selflessness is without equal.
Father of guidance - whose will shall guide and protect.
Bless me with your sight and wisdom, that I may see that which lay beneath."

His eyes filled with a gentle pale blue light. The sigils on the side of his head faded away, leaving him only with the subtle augmented vision. He carefully waited, attempting to discern any arcane presence attached to the card in hope of identifying some hint at the small objects origin or purpose by its owner.


Appraise/Spellcraft/K: Religion - Which ever is applicable to ID more specific features of the card, they're all at the same penalty.
[roll0]

Standard Action: Cast Detect Magic; Will spend however many applicable rounds to determine if the device is magic or not and details of said magic if present.

[caesar193]

With the roof caved in, there was little to protect the fire from the combined efforts of the camp. As the flames died, order was soon restored, and everybody started gathering to see the source of the commotion. With one wall of the wagon fallen in, it was a simple matter for everyone to see the blackened body laying in the middle of the wagon.

The regal figure strides forward, and kneels down by the body, before giving it a cursory examination. "Natural causes," she pronounced, standing up. "At least, as natural as that fire was. Father Zastoran, if you could make sure I'm right? AS for the rest of you, you all of jobs to do! Back to work, people! I'm not paying you to gawk!"

The crowd begins to disperse as the figure strides down and says to the group of new hires and Garavel "But not you six. Follow me."

The group arrives at the regal tent, where the four warriors in red-chitin armor are all ready resuming their vigilant post. Inside, they are bathed by luxury... at least, as much luxury as you can get in the wastelands of north Katapesh. The air smells nice, perfumed, a tasteful hint of lavander. The small portable bed in the corner is covered by silk sheets. And the floor is covered with a carpet- a carpet where she has clearly given in to practicality, which is made to be stepped on with dirty boots and covered by drifting sands.

She collapses on the bed, rubbing her temples. "Just what a need, Garavel, a fire! Just perfect timing, too." She sighs, and then puts her mask of leadership back on. "Welcome to the camp. My name Almah Roveshki, Merchant-Princess from distant Varisia, and I can promise you that usually we don't have wagons burning down."

Almah stands back up, and clasps her hands behind her back before pacing. "Though Eloais could've just spilt some candle- gods know he uses too many of the damned things- I doubt it. I only saw one body, and I don't think he pulls them out unless he's performing a reading for someone. Which brings to mind the worst of options: arson."

"Lady Almah, we are alone out here. Only the gnolls would attack us, and they wouldn't have stopped with one wagon. Which means..."

"Which means we probably have a traitor. It couldn't be you, Garavel, and I doubt it'd be you five. You weren't here when the fire started. So your first task is to be to find out who- or how- the fire started. Questions?"

[Phasm]

Well, well, well. It seems that my talents as an inquisitor will be needed here after all. Outwardly, Rashida is as composed as ever. It wouldn't do for her new employer to get a bad first impression of her. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Merchant-Princess, although I wish it were under better circumstances. What can you tell us about the people in this camp? Their origins, beliefs, reasons for being here?"

[WalkingTheShade]

The lost girl

Arson? Treachery? Reading dead bodies? Things are getting definitely exciting here! Elen suppresses the shadow of a smile. Don't look happy about it, you dolt! She was just starting to think she'd die of boredom in this desert! Say something, you have to say something. Elen lowers her scarf to show her face. Before she can say a word, the barbarian next to her just blurts out an overly direct and very rude breach of protocol. Elen cringes. She just wants to slap the woman, gods, you're talking to a merchant princess, not to your aunt, at least state your name and quality! Elen politely coughs to interrupt, hoping to save decorum through a much more polite interjection. “I apologize for my companion's forwardness.” Elen bows, hand on her heart, in a manner she's seen barbarians do. “I am Elenamaurëa Orlovsky, daughter of Merelómë, traveling dancer and storyteller. I am delighted to finally meet you, merchant-princess, honored to be accepted in your service and deeply touched by your trust. We shall not break that bond of confidence. My companion's questions, if a tad forward, are to the point. I am sure her forwardness can be explained by an utmost eagerness to serve and get to the heart of this dark affair.”

[Hattish Thing]

"Sam" Laverne:

With a final, might group effort, the frustratingly heavy wagon is pushed away. It may have taken several tries, and Sam was almost certain that she'd wake up sore in the morning, but the damn thing was finally out of everyone's way. After the wagon eases into it's place, the brawler rubs her hands together, stretching her fingers out as she does so. Ow. Splinters. Not a very fun experience.

She runs a hand through her sky blue dyed hair, wiping some sweat off her brow before stepping towards one of the mercenaries that had fallen onto the ground as the wagon shuttled out of the way. Sam doesn't really smile, or look particularly friendly as she does it, but the warrior reaches down to help the man up. Once he's been pulled back up to his feet, the towering woman nods her head in approval and gives the mercenary a silent thumbs up.

Good man.

Sam is suddenly interrupted from her quiet interaction with the mercenary by some kind of tap to her shoulder. She calmly turns her head, only to notice the much smaller blonde girl bashfully looking up at her. She doesn't really know how to respond to something like that, but the much smaller, paler woman seemed to be genuinely friendly? So that was nice?

Another thumbs up.

--

The warrior follows the rest of the group with a much more relaxed motion than before. The tent was quite nice. It seemed like the perfect kind of place to wind down for a little while, out of the hot sun.

She listens intently for a while, crossing her arms over her fairly impressive bust.

After a while, she blinks and speaks bluntly. "Whoever did it will get hurt for it. I promise."

[Grimshaw]

Constance had gotten precisely nowhere with the goats, but had at least not made anything worse. That was something, he reflected, as the group was lead into the ornate but practical tent. He gave a quiet sigh of relief upon entering, and relaxed almost imperceptibly- the surroundings were seemingly more to his liking inside. He listened to the extravagant princess outline their situation with care, his lips drawn in a thoughtful frown.

"Constance of Andoran, wandering scholar and healer, at your service, my lady." He addressed her with a short, respectful bow when the time seemed right. "I will assist you in any way I can." A few questions of his own were taking shape in his head, but he held his tongue while Rashida spoke. She seemed to know far more about what she was doing than he did. Was she more than just a hunter, then? Or perhaps she was a hunter still, but of a different sort than he had been led to believe.

[Mornings]

Ewen'vel Fritz Tel'Tandis - The Bathetic Sentinel

The chaos had finally come to subside and the frenzied movements of the peoples about him begun to calm. This was a bit much for this late hour. He was simply glad this did not appear to be the precursor in some well planned and impending assault. He took a deep breath of the night's cold air as the magic symbols upon his face diminished and faded away.

His companions weren't too bad. Sure, they were all a bit rough, but not without their own skills - that much was at least evident during the evening commotion. Garavel indeed had an eye for various... He looked at the large blue haired woman produce her awkward gesture... Talents.

Looking over the burnt out remains gave the priest a better grasp on the situation. Something had happened, leading to the casualty. What could have caused it was anyone's guess, but his gut told him it was something malicious. Men didn't burn to death in fire without some help, it didn't take much to know that. The call from the fanciful woman who was evidently in charge drew his attention. He pat one of the men who had helped push the wagon on the back reassuringly and moved into the over-furnished tent. He blinked once and gave a low whistle in surprise. The lodging was rather impressive.

He listened silently from the rear as the others made their introductions. The giant metal moon was leaned over a shoulder, there wasn't many places to let the massive object rest without damaging some expensive looking thing, or another. As the others concluded, he stepped forward, a bead of sweat building on his brow from the absurd weight of the holy symbol. He spoke slowly and with purpose to try and pronounce his words with as much definition as his dry lips could muster "Pleasure teh make your acquaintance, princess. I'm Father Ewen'vel Fritz Tel'Tandis, of the disenfranchised House of Tel'Tandis. Famed in Egede. Please call me Father Ewen. I am a Mendevian crusader - in another life, and priest of The Cloister of Shattered Moon. I am well versed in martial combat, the hunting of evil outsiders and other monstrous-folk." Having managed getting through the introductions, with only a handful of minor fumbles of the tongue, he lifted up the card he had reclaimed earlier. "Ya mentioned readin's.... Found dis number as me and my lot rolled into da' camp. Came out wild an' flamin', but unmarred by either. This man use a' touch'a magic with his readin's?"

[caesar193]

"A pleasure to meet you all," Almah said.

"Most are guards we hired back in Solku. My personal guard's from somewhere in Katapesh, probably the Capitol. The Pactmaster's hired 'em. As for the rest... The victim was my personal fortune teller we picked up back in Varisia, named Eloais. As for religious beliefs... The only particularly religious one would be Zastoran. He's a priest of Nethys. The rest..." Almah shrugged. "Mostly revere Abadar, Sarenrae, some Desna. Whoever they need the blessing of most at the time.

"And as for Eloais... He was a fortune teller, of course he used magic! The way he talked, it seemed like Pharasma herself came from the Boneyard to whisper the secrets of the universe in his ears! Did he do magic? I'd like to think he did, or else what was I paying him for? But he could just be... Well, a particularly grim guesser."

"But perhaps it would be best if we questioned them ourselves," Garavel suggested gently."Or investigated the Eloais' wagon more thoroughly?"

[Phasm]

"Indeed." Rashida nods to Garavel. "Perhaps Eloais' magic has preserved more than a single Harrow card. Finding clues after a fire is challenging, but sometimes useful information survives." The inquisitor's mind is already off to the races, considering and discarding ideas. Assume that the fire was arson; she must look for the telltale signs, of course, but the tenacity of the flames suggests that the fire was not natural. Why would someone want to kill a fortune-teller? Prophecy is vague and uncertain in this day and age. "Do you know if he had enemies here? An ex-lover, someone who owed him money, a person who was offended by an unfavorable reading of the cards?" In Rashida's experience, one can boil down the majority of murders to love and money.

[caesar193]

"Ah... No, don't think there were any real enemies. And he kept his sessions with others private, so I don't know. And as for ex-lover... if the situation wasn't so serious I'd get a chuckle out of that one. My god this is going to make us late to Kelmarane... But back to the subject. No, he had no lovers in the camp. He did have a friend in Father Zastoran, I believe. He'd probably know more about Eloais' personal affairs."

[Hattish Thing]

"Sam" Laverne:


"Ah... No, don't think there were any real enemies. And he kept his sessions with others private, so I don't know. And as for ex-lover... if the situation wasn't so serious I'd get a chuckle out of that one. My god this is going to make us late to Kelmarane... But back to the subject. No, he had no lovers in the camp. He did have a friend in Father Zastoran, I believe. He'd probably know more about Eloais' personal affairs."

After a few moments of continuing to quietly listen to her new boss with a fairly dazed expression on her face, Sam can't help but feel somewhat frustrated. This really wasn't her kind of thing, but the sooner this mysterious arson was found, the sooner the caravan could get back on track, which meant that Sam would be one step closer to accomplishing what she set out for. The warrior didn't exactly know how best to be of much help, but she was certainly determined to get back on the road once again. At least she'd manage to help someone who sorely needed it, in the process of moving forward.

She makes a real effort to pay attention to what Almah says, but ultimately finds it difficult to focus.

The perfume was so strong, and the cooler temperature within the tent was so incredibly calming. She could almost feel her eyelids start to droop and get heavy, but before she accidentally offended the noblewoman she worked for, Sam shrugs off the sensation. Instead, she reaches over to tighten the bandages on her right arm, they'd gotten a bit looser during all the commotion.

Sam briefly frowns before wondering why in the world she never bothered to wear gloves over her bandages.

Gah! Focus! Focus... There was someone important talking.

The brawler snaps back into the conversation just in time to catch a few important details and names. She cracks her knuckles in an intimidating, but somewhat endearing manner, before making an offer to Almah. "Father Zastoran. I can bring him here? It won't be hard."

That neutral expression on her face was hard to read...

[WalkingTheShade]

The lost girl

The blue haired woman cannot take a clue, can she? Name and quality, gods! The others, at least, they gave some shot at politness. The blond boy was brief, and somehow cute with his bow. How does he even manage that with closed eyes? Big dirty scared dog-kisser guy did actually manage himself definitely well, knowing it looked like such a long shot beforehand. Maybe Elen's been too hard on him.

And... and... blue-hair is now dozing off? Don't give in, Elen, don't. Stay calm. Breath. How can she be DOZING off? Elen hesitates to nudge her elbow into the blue-hair's ribs, but she can't find any moment people are not looking at them. And suddenly, blue-hair wakes up. What did she just say? Don't roll your eyes Elen, look charming and nice. Elen laughs and slaps blue-hair on the shoulder.

“Hahaha... Yes yes, my comrade's dry sarcastic humor is well known among us. Or”, Elen lengthens that last syllable, “maybe someone could just go have a friendly chat with him, for a start? What do you think, Sam? (it's Sam, right?)” Elen's hand, still on blue-hair's shoulder, gives a discreet light squeeze. Elen's grin is wide, but her eyes look cold as she turns to Sam.

[caesar193]

'Yes... this isn't a witch hunt, best not to give people reason to think this is anything more than a normal fire until we have proof of an arsonist." Almah nodded at Elen."Any more questions, or are you all set to go off and actually find out who did it? I'm sure Garavel can give you a list of everyone who's here."

[WalkingTheShade]

The lost girl

Elen blushes slightly at Almah's nod to her. “As you wish...” (Elen hesitates. What's the proper title for a merchant-princess? Your highness? My princess? Your princessship? Gods, she should have attended those etiquette lessons as Kyrosh's court. Let's keep it simple.) “... mylady.” Elen gives a bow again and moves out of the tent to wait for her companions.

Once out, the desert heat makes her feel miserable and angry again. She adjusts her scarf to protect her face from the sun. Let's do it. Concentrate, girl. If she does this task well enough, maybe she can convince Almah to send her with the next caravan back to Katapesh city. When Garavel comes out, she asks him, with a dry tone: “which one is Zastoran?”

[Phasm]

"I am ready, and a list would be most appreciated." Evidently Almah wants them out of her hair. That's hardly a surprise, she'll have a lot to do getting her employees to straighten out the camp, inventory losses, and so on. "Once we have that, we will leave you alone until we have found something, Merchant-Princess."

[caesar193]

The party left Almah's tent with her final "Good luck," echoing behind them. Garavel led the way to Father Zastoran, who had returned to his wagon and was currently buried deep in an enormous chest, organizing various bottles and vials. Garavel cleared his throat, and Zastoran started for a moment, before turning and examining the PCs carefully.

"Ah, so you lot are the new hires! Welcome, welcome, to my humble abode," he said with a sweeping gesture encompassing his wagon. It was a normal, human sized wagon which was a good thing because most of it was taken up by various objects. A small, halfling sized cot was shoved into one corner, an alter to Nethys stood across from it, and between the two was the enormous chest, and another, smaller, with clothes and other such necessities.

"You, I remember you!" Father Zastoran said upon catching sight of Constance. "You helped me with those wounded chaps, eh? Sorry, I don't believe I caught your name?"

At that point he seemed to notice how cramped everyone was in his wagon, and so he sighed and waved them out. "I suppose we'll be more comfortable outside," he said. Once they had made themselves as comfortable as they could (the good father seemed to be very comfortable sprawled over the steps up to the wagon), he continued. "Now, then, what brings you to see me?"

[Hattish Thing]

"Sam" Laverne:


The lost girl

The blue haired woman cannot take a clue, can she? Name and quality, gods! The others, at least, they gave some shot at politness. The blond boy was brief, and somehow cute with his bow. How does he even manage that with closed eyes? Big dirty scared dog-kisser guy did actually manage himself definitely well, knowing it looked like such a long shot beforehand. Maybe Elen's been too hard on him.

And... and... blue-hair is now dozing off? Don't give in, Elen, don't. Stay calm. Breath. How can she be DOZING off? Elen hesitates to nudge her elbow into the blue-hair's ribs, but she can't find any moment people are not looking at them. And suddenly, blue-hair wakes up. What did she just say? Don't roll your eyes Elen, look charming and nice. Elen laughs and slaps blue-hair on the shoulder.

“Hahaha... Yes yes, my comrade's dry sarcastic humor is well known among us. Or”, Elen lengthens that last syllable, “maybe someone could just go have a friendly chat with him, for a start? What do you think, Sam? (it's Sam, right?)” Elen's hand, still on blue-hair's shoulder, gives a discreet light squeeze. Elen's grin is wide, but her eyes look cold as she turns to Sam.

The brawler glances down towards Elen with a rather perplexed look on her rough looking face. She crosses her arms a bit tighter, somewhat surprised to hear the much smaller, blonder woman call her something as nice as comrade. It was a sweet thing to say, and Sam smiles and nods contentedly. The woman appears to have completely missed any hidden subtleties in the smaller woman's words. After all, Sam's strength was her determination, and will to do whatever it takes. Also her fists, those were pretty strong too. Words were never something she was particularly good at, which was probably why the majority of her communication skills revolved around gestures and nods.

Or maybe she was just frustratingly stoic, it was hard to tell.

As Elen inflicts a light squeeze to Sam's shoulder, the brawler doesn't even seem to notice at all, but she does at least reply to the thinner woman. "Sam. Yup."

Another nod there. Truly, her linguistic prowess was the stuff of legend.

With a final nod directed towards Almah this time, Sam leaves the tent, although she does smile at Elen before she leaves. Her smile is actually somehow very pleasant to look at. It was probably the warmth in her eyes, but it was a comforting thing to see for most people.

---



The party left Almah's tent with her final "Good luck," echoing behind them. Garavel led the way to Father Zastoran, who had returned to his wagon and was currently buried deep in an enormous chest, organizing various bottles and vials. Garavel cleared his throat, and Zastoran started for a moment, before turning and examining the PCs carefully.

"Ah, so you lot are the new hires! Welcome, welcome, to my humble abode," he said with a sweeping gesture encompassing his wagon. It was a normal, human sized wagon which was a good thing because most of it was taken up by various objects. A small, halfling sized cot was shoved into one corner, an alter to Nethys stood across from it, and between the two was the enormous chest, and another, smaller, with clothes and other such necessities.

"You, I remember you!" Father Zastoran said upon catching sight of Constance. "You helped me with those wounded chaps, eh? Sorry, I don't believe I caught your name?"

At that point he seemed to notice how cramped everyone was in his wagon, and so he sighed and waved them out. "I suppose we'll be more comfortable outside," he said. Once they had made themselves as comfortable as they could (the good father seemed to be very comfortable sprawled over the steps up to the wagon), he continued. "Now, then, what brings you to see me?"


Sam follows the rest of the group quietly, taking time to appreciate the calm, relaxed atmosphere of the camp. She missed the lush green fields of her home, but the endless dunes had a beauty of their own, and spending time in a camp surrounded by smiling faces and hard working mercenaries was preferable to the long, lonely journey she would have taken had she not decided to join the expedition. This was... nice. Still, she knew at some point she would have to part with the others. Best not get particularly attached.

It was her burden, she couldn't let people get between her and her duty.

Still, it was so nice here, and the little blonde woman was kinda cute. Might as well appreciate the surroundings while she could. Once the party arrives at Father Zastoran's camp, Sam plants her feet solidly on the ground and crosses her arms again. A halfling! Just like back home. He was so cute! And small! And she just really wanted to hug him a lot! But, no. She had something to do. This man could be guilty of some awful thing after all, she couldn't let her bias get in the way of what she was tasked with doing. She does, however, notice the halfling's startled jump as he's looking through his chest.

She blinks once or twice before frowning and straight up asking the halfling if he'd done it. "Your chest. What's in it? Alchemist's fire?"

That neutral expression again.

[WalkingTheShade]

The lost girl

Sam finally looks cooperative and... subdued. Subdued, that's the word, yep. Elen is proud of herself. All in all, it's not so bad she ended up in this dirt-hole: she might just be able to give some guidance to these ruffians. Maybe, just maybe, even teach them some manners along the way. Here's some positive thinking: make the best out of this stupid situation. Elen beams with self-satisfaction. Once she sees that, the merchant princess is certain to recognize her worth and send her home... wherever that might be. Elen smiles vanishes at that thought. She scowls.

On their way towards Zastoran's wagon, Elen walks next to the cute blonde guy. Constantine? Constant? Something like that. At least Sam has an easy name. When she thinks no one is looking, Elen suddenly waves her hand in front of cute blonde guy's face.

“Your chest. What's in it? Alchemist's fire?”
Elen's jaw drops... but... but... but she definitely looked like she got the message a minute ago. She looked so... subdued? Damn you Sam! She's tricked them with her oafish subdued act! Elen breaks. Her bracelets and metal armbands jingle as she dramatically puts her face in her right palm. Positive thinking! Make the best of it. Between her fingers, Elen watches the halfling's reaction.
Sense motive, on Zastoran, see if he gives anything away, [roll0].
After a blank second, Elen looses it and starts nervously laughing loud and so totally unladylike. “HAHAHA! Damn you, Sam, that's, like, another good one!” She punches Sam, not so playfully and more than a bit angrily on the shoulder. “Hello father, I'm Elen, she's Sam, and she's like definitely the best joker around here!” Another not so playful pat on Sam's back. Elen is at a loss what more to say. Their barbarian guide seems to know what she's doing. Best let her ask the questions here.

[Mornings]

Ewen'vel Fritz Tel'Tandis - The Bathetic Sentinel

The scarred priest didn't bother saying any more. He didn't know who these people thought he was, but he was no investigator. He had no aptitude for the rhyme and riddle of unraveling mysteries. Hopefully his new companions had more of a knack for it, he shook his head with a silent gesture. He had no idea what this inquisition would even uncover, should it be successful - Though he doubted the guilty party would simply admit the wrong and they'd be able to just press on.

As much as he enjoyed the scented air and excessive pleasantries, he stuffed the card back into his pants before turning and trotting out back into the camp. Da' hell's up with dez' people? Maybe it was just him, perhaps it was the cultural difference; But back where he came from Crusaders didn't point such loose and baseless accusations upon their Brothers without infallible evidence. Rare to was it to find such a man who'd turn against his own. Perhaps the desert faring peoples here had no such loyalty and resolve, to themselves, or each other. He sighed, carrying the massive metal structure.

The small group milled through the camp until they came upon the priest of The Two-Faced God. With a heavy hand, he placed down the large moon back into the dirt; its own weight sinking it a few inches into the sand. He spun the long steel rosary chain which ended with the symbol of his faith in one hand as his companions settled around him, and Elen set back into her awkward routine. The grizzled priest raised a brow at the display. He released the chain, to rest at his side, taking measure of the short priest. His cigar had gone out in all the commotion, so he moved down to produce his iconic lighter. Snapping a short flame of colored fire to re-ignite the length of tightly rolled tobacco. He slid the device away. He took a long draw, breathing out a plume of smoke circles while holding the cigar in one hand. "Hail, Father.... Forgive da' late introductions; Father Ewen'vel Tel'Tandis, of Egede." He took another smoke from the thick cigar, biting down on the thing while digging out the familiar Harrow card. "Not much'a fortune 'ere sadly, so only comin' teh' bring grim tidings." He flicked the card out, sending it spinning threw the air to hit the Halfling in the chest, as it had done to himself. "What's rank 'an foul lookin' like it's brother against brother. Would like teh' put a stop to it."

[caesar193]

Father Zastoran was just about to answer Sam with an excited look in his eyes when Elen cuts him off. And then Ewen spoke.

"Brother against brother? Thats a tragedy, truly it is. It saddens my heart to see people, whether they be human or halfling or elf or what have you betray another." He shakes his head slowly, kneeling to pick up the card and stow it away in a pocket, and then turns to Sam. "But as for alchemist's fire! No, sadly not. Wish I did. Can't say I'm very good at the whole alchemy thing, but I do dabble from time to time." He gives Sam a cheery smile, before continuing. "Do you happen to have any alchemy experience?" He seems eager and nervous, as if suppressing a hope that he thought was unlikely. Probably because of Sam's appearance. But hope springs eternal...

"So then, am I to take that you're here to investigate that fire? So sad. If only I was blessed enough by Nethys to bring him back! But I cannot. All I can offer is the occasional healing spell... and sell healing potions..." The last part is barely mumbled, and he turns his head to the side to cover up the words even more.

Then he turns his attention back. "Eloais was a good chap. Cultured, unlike the rest of these barbarians. Oh, he liked playing with his trinkets and pretending to know the future, but we would spend many a night discussing the poetry of Bellianais or the music of far-off Absalom. I'll miss the ol' bugger."

"But listen to me prattle on and on! What do you want to know?"

[Phasm]

Rashida winces slightly at Sam's blunt question, and at Elen's clumsy attempt to defuse it into humor. Although if the matter at hand wasn't murder, the pair would be pretty funny. Her sharp ears pick up on an interesting mumble as the inquisitor scans Father Zastoran's wagon.

"I am Rashida Manar. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Father, although I wish it were under more peaceful circumstances." She bows to the halfling. "Healing potions may yet prove to be useful if the local gnolls decide that it would be profitable or amusing to attack us. But that is a matter for later." Dark eyes pin Father Zastoran with an intense but not hostile gaze. "We wish to know about Eloais, his relationships with the other people here, and what happened in and around his wagon today. Did he have any enemies? Did you see anyone approach the wagon before the fire started?"


Rashida is actually better at Intimidate than Diplomacy, but she doesn't want to piss off the local healer, so Diplomacy it is. :P I'm assuming it's still daylight, if the sun has gone down subtract one from the Diplomacy roll. (Strength of the Sun trait)

Diplomacy: [roll0]

Sense Motive: [roll1]

[caesar193]

Father Zastoran chuckled a bit, as if to cover up the wince as Rashida revealed she'd heard his mumble. "Gnolls attack us? Heh, no, we're going to attack them. What, has no one told you this yet? About how Kelmarane...? No? Well, I suppose Almah has a lot on her plate right now, she'll get around to it."

"Well, I was by the firepit, so I don't really know who was near Eloais' wagon. But I can say the six mercenaries- not her guard, the ruffians- were with me there. So that clears them, I'm afraid. As for enemies... sorry, can't think of anyone. Most either tolerated him or liked him."

[Hattish Thing]

"Sam" Laverne:


The lost girl

Sam finally looks cooperative and... subdued. Subdued, that's the word, yep. Elen is proud of herself. All in all, it's not so bad she ended up in this dirt-hole: she might just be able to give some guidance to these ruffians. Maybe, just maybe, even teach them some manners along the way. Here's some positive thinking: make the best out of this stupid situation. Elen beams with self-satisfaction. Once she sees that, the merchant princess is certain to recognize her worth and send her home... wherever that might be. Elen smiles vanishes at that thought. She scowls.

On their way towards Zastoran's wagon, Elen walks next to the cute blonde guy. Constantine? Constant? Something like that. At least Sam has an easy name. When she thinks no one is looking, Elen suddenly waves her hand in front of cute blonde guy's face.

“Your chest. What's in it? Alchemist's fire?”
Elen's jaw drops... but... but... but she definitely looked like she got the message a minute ago. She looked so... subdued? Damn you Sam! She's tricked them with her oafish subdued act! Elen breaks. Her bracelets and metal armbands jingle as she dramatically puts her face in her right palm. Positive thinking! Make the best of it. Between her fingers, Elen watches the halfling's reaction.
Sense motive, on Zastoran, see if he gives anything away, [roll0].
After a blank second, Elen looses it and starts nervously laughing loud and so totally unladylike. “HAHAHA! Damn you, Sam, that's, like, another good one!” She punches Sam, not so playfully and more than a bit angrily on the shoulder. “Hello father, I'm Elen, she's Sam, and she's like definitely the best joker around here!” Another not so playful pat on Sam's back. Elen is at a loss what more to say. Their barbarian guide seems to know what she's doing. Best let her ask the questions here.

When the blonde one starts laughing uncontrollably, Sam glances down to her, raising an eyebrow high as a concerned look washes over her tanned face. Was she alright? Was she having some kind or nervous fit, or was the weather starting to get to her again, just like back by the wagon during the journey to the camp? The brawler doesn't do much apart from shift awkwardly, unsure of what to do or say. See, these were problems that couldn't be solved with a simple nod or a shake of the head.

Or her fists.

These were not the problems that Sam enjoyed solving, she wasn't very good at these. However, when Elen punched at Sam's shoulder, the rather intimidatingly broad and tall woman stands up a bit taller than she was previously, staring down at the much smaller woman with a fairly annoyed expression on her face. She raises her head high and clenches her fists as she drapes her arms over her chest, her bulky muscles flexing as she does so. It was a silent warning, but hopefully the subtle gesture would serve as a suitable reminder that the brawler could probably break Elen's skull between her thighs.

After that business is done and over with, Sam turns her head to look towards the halfling once more.


Father Zastoran was just about to answer Sam with an excited look in his eyes when Elen cuts him off. And then Ewen spoke.

"Brother against brother? Thats a tragedy, truly it is. It saddens my heart to see people, whether they be human or halfling or elf or what have you betray another." He shakes his head slowly, and then turns to Sam. "But as for alchemist's fire! No, sadly not. Wish I did. Can't say I'm very good at the whole alchemy thing, but I do dabble from time to time." He gives Sam a cheery smile, before continuing. "Do you happen to have any alchemy experience?" He seems eager and nervous, as if suppressing a hope that he thought was unlikely. Probably because of Sam's appearance. But hope springs eternal...

Sam smiles a bit towards the halfling at this point, which was probably a good sign. The brawler couldn't help but find the tiny little man endearing, he reminded her so much of home. She could practically see the miniature priest lazily munching on a bright red apple back at the orchard's she grew up getting lost in. These were good memories, worth remembering.

She'd never let them go.

After a moment with an inquisitive look on her face, Sam shrugs and smiles even wider. It was a very warming thing to see. Why not give the little guy the chance to show off something he liked doing? Surely someone as nice as he seemed to be couldn't hurt someone else. And even if he had, the hlafling was hardly much of a threat to the brawler, in her mind.

Her tone is a bit more pleasant, if a tad cautious, still. "Uhh. When I was young, one of my village elders practiced that stuff. I used to watch with my da. Sometimes I got to crush up the powder."

"You could show me what you know?"

[WalkingTheShade]

The lost girl

Was that, like, defiance in Sam's eyes? Definitely defiance! Elen won't let Sam distract her from the task at hand with her unending provocations. She'll settle this score later. Oh yes, she will! Well, at least Zastoran seems nice and cheerful, just like every halfling should be. Elen feels reassured. He seems to be a cultured man, err, half-man.

“Eloais was a good chap. Cultured, unlike the rest of these barbarians.” Zastoran thinks just like her about those barbarians. Elen smiles happily at the revelation: she's not the only sane person in this camp! “Oh, he liked playing with his trinkets and pretending to know the future, but we would spend many a night discussing the poetry of Bellianais or the music of far-off Absalom. I'll miss the ol' bugger.”

Elen's smile turns genuinely wan and lightly sad as she kneels and puts a heartfelt hand on Zastoran's shoulder.

“Even if I never knew him, I share your hurt in this difficult moment, Father. Losing a man of culture is always a greater pain, even more in these hard and lonely lands. Pardon me if it's too soon to ask, but have you thought about your friend's interment? I'm not much of a poet or musician but, if you think he would have appreciated dancing, I would be happy to perform in his memory at this difficult time. Maybe this would help lift the spirits of all our travel companions in this difficult time?”

At Zastoran's employ of the word ruffians, Elen nods urgently, suppressing an urge to whimper: I knoooow, right, I was forced to travel with, nah, practically abducted for all means and purposes by THESE ruffians around me during the last days!

[caesar193]

Father Zastoran almost hops eagerly to his feet when Sam speaks, but a look from Garavel keeps him sitting. "Ah, perhaps another time. Really, I'm little more than a collector, anyway."

To Elen he said "Merciful Nethys, the chap just passed! Barely five minutes ago! Its barely sunk in! No, I haven't thought about his internment. But I don't think we'll have time for a long ceremony, anyway. Now that you chaps have arrived, we'll probably need to move on soon. But now that you mention it.... If memory serves, I do believe an old ruined monastary lies nearby. Perhaps we could inter his remains up there? I'm sure some sort of graveyard or crypt would be there."

I'd really rather not have things stagnate with the Zastoran, so one more question from each of you and then Garavel will say its time to move on to the next person/group of your choice. Speaking of which, who are you planning on speaking to next? List in the OoC, anyone on the list might be helpful. As might a close examination of the burnt wagon.

[WalkingTheShade]

The lost girl

Haven't thought about his interment? True, he hasn't been dead THAT long, but does the halfling think they were going to drag the body behind the caravan for the next week or something? What's that with people being so emotional! Elen sighs. “Again, Father, I am sorry for being so rash. We all know the merchant-princess wants to move fast, hence my question. I'm deeply sorry if it hurt you.” Elen lowers her head apologetically.

Elen has no questions for the halfling. She'll follow the group wherever they go next.

[Mornings]

Ewen'vel Fritz Tel'Tandis - The Bathetic Sentinel

Not sure what he could really make of the less-than-productive exchange, he bit down on his cigar. Was this really some kind of internal affair? Or an attack? There seemed to be a lack of concrete facts with which to begin any kind of deduction - Worse still, this was not his field of expertise. Far removed from an investigator, he hardly knew where he'd begin. He nodded at the short priest. "If ya' not the mind, or da' time fer it'; I'll administer this man's final rights. Gota' find this burial ground first doh'. Don't remember seein' no crypt an' graves out 'ere in da' frozen desert... If ya' can handle it ya'self, I've half-a-mind teh' take a good look at that ol' wagon. Might find somethin' or other buried n' burned; can't say I'll know what needs knowin', but I'll know when I see it, ye?"

[Phasm]

"Indeed, there might be evidence to be found." Rashida nods. "There is a monastery nearby that once housed the faithful of Sarenrae. I do not know whether it is currently inhabited, or what manner of beings might live there if so. It is the wish of Lady Cynore, she who leads the Lambent Citadel, that the monastery be investigated and cleansed if possible. Once it is safe to enter, all are welcome to be interred in Sarenrae's holy ground."

[caesar193]

Garavel then stepped forward. "I believe we've asked all the questions we needed to. We bid you good day, Father." He inclined his head respectfully.

"Going so soon? Ah, well, 'tis a busy day. I have affairs of my own to attend to." He stood and started climbing up the steps, before turning back to Elen. "And no, m'dear, no need to apologize! Death makes fools of us all." And with that he clambered into his wagon and shut the door.

Garavel turned to the group. "There are many in this camp. Perhaps it would be best if we split up and talked with the rest separately? The sun claws its way ever nearer to the horizon, and I believe we must still talk to the camel drivers, the various guards, and... Dashki. And, naturally, search the wagon."

[WalkingTheShade]

The lost girl

No... nononono... Spliting up would be worse than staying together... If they split-up, Elen's going to definitely have to SPEAK to them. Gods! “Alrighty, Garavel!” Make the best of it, make the best of it, she has to pick the least lame of all these people. Garavel is old enough to be her father, so he's right out. Elen looks the group over with a smile. Barbarian? Dog-kisser? Blue hair... or cute blond guy?

The barbarian is by far the less anoying of the bunch, but Elen doesn't know what she thinks most of the time. Dog-kisser looks bearable, but she can't make out what he's saying half of the time. Blue hair doesn't talk too much, but she's liable to start a fight anytime; Elen doesn't want to be caught in the middle of it. Cute blond guy, is well, nice and cute and all, but she doesn't want to come as desperate around him; she likes him—even though she's sure he totally groped her when she passed out—but he's going to have to work for it if he wants to spend time with her.

“Good! I'll go with... huh...” Gods, Elen has to pick-up before anyone else, or she'll get the scraps, but that's no choice! “... Sam!” Well, it's the only name she can remember for sure. Elen will woman up to her responsibilities: she will prevent Sam same from getting into trouble! Elen passes her arm gently under Sam's, cheerfully asking her: “so, who you wanna go see next, girlfriend?”

[Hattish Thing]

"Sam" Laverne:


The lost girl

No... nononono... Spliting up would be worse than staying together... If they split-up, Elen's going to definitely have to SPEAK to them. Gods! “Alrighty, Garavel!” Make the best of it, make the best of it, she has to pick the least lame of all these people. Garavel is old enough to be her father, so he's right out. Elen looks the group over with a smile. Barbarian? Dog-kisser? Blue hair... or cute blond guy?

The barbarian is by far the less anoying of the bunch, but Elen doesn't know what she thinks most of the time. Dog-kisser looks bearable, but she can't make out what he's saying half of the time. Blue hair doesn't talk too much, but she's liable to start a fight anytime; Elen doesn't want to be caught in the middle of it. Cute blond guy, is well, nice and cute and all, but she doesn't want to come as desperate around him; she likes him—even though she's sure he totally groped her when she passed out—but he's going to have to work for it if he wants to spend time with her.

“Good! I'll go with... huh...” Gods, Elen has to pick-up before anyone else, or she'll get the scraps, but that's no choice! “... Sam!” Well, it's the only name she can remember for sure. Elen will woman up to her responsibilities: she will prevent Sam same from getting into trouble! Elen passes her arm gently under Sam's, cheerfully asking her: “so, who you wanna go see next, girlfriend?”

Sam continues to look over the halfling, listening and observing the conversation with that ever-present look of neutrality on her face. If it wasn't for her fairly expressive caramel-colored eyes, it'd be practically impossible to determine what she was thinking. Unfortunately, her messy blue locks frequently fall over her eyes, making it even more difficult to determine the brawler's emotional state. After Father Zastoran packs himself away and closes the door behind him, the brawny woman shifts her jaw, unconsciously biting at her lip with an uneasy look on her face. Interacting with the halfling had conjured up some memories best kept in the back of her mind. Still, the memories reminded her of what she had to do, and so the husky warrior nods with respect towards Garavel before taking a deep breath.

She glances down to the gnoll-leather wrappings she wore around her powerful looking arms, and around her bulky legs.

After stretching her shoulders back and cracking her neck, the woman runs a hand through her hair, taking a moment to keep several of the dyed strands back out of her eyes. The dye was starting to fade, revealing small strands of her natural, light brown hair. Sam knew she probably wasn't going to get very much on charisma alone, but quietly decides that it'd be best to head on to visit this supposed gnoll expert. Perhaps Dashki may have some information on what may have happened to the gnolls she was hunting for.

That'd be nice.

As she wordlessly turns to head for Dashki, Elen wraps a much smaller arm between her own. The sudden movement would have normally caught someone off-guard, but Sam's lightning quick reflexes kicked in, and she turns her head with a bewildered look on her face. The hell was the blonde one doing? "..." Sam blinks a few times before attempting to shrug off Elen's hold on her. Now was not the time for being friendly, there were important things to do. "Don't call me that." It was a rather straightforward request, but there wasn't much showing on her face to determine whether or not the powerful warrior was upset, or just against the term.

She continues after an awkward second or two. "Dashki. You can follow, I guess."

Another shrug, then a small smile, which fades as soon as it arrived. After apparently speaking as much as she intended to, the woman begins to walk towards the general area where Dashki supposedly lived.

[WalkingTheShade]

The lost girl

“I... huh... I didn't mean anything by it... I'm...” Elen's voice trails off as Sam continues walking toward "Dashki", whoever that might be. Elen stays in place. She's not used to being rebuffed. She was just trying to be friendly. She suddenly feels more lonely than for days, or maybe weeks. Elen takes a deep breath in. Don't you cry! You're like what? A baby? Keep your chin high. Do not give up!

Elen wipes her eyes, then runs a few steps to catch up with Sam. “So... huh... What do your friends call you? Sam, or do you have a nickname or something? I like the blue on your hair. Heard blue was all the rage at the satrap's court last season. Why did you pick blue?”

[Hattish Thing]

"Sam" Laverne:


The lost girl

“I... huh... I didn't mean anything by it... I'm...” Elen's voice trails off as Sam continues walking toward "Dashki", whoever that might be. Elen stays in place. She's not used to being rebuffed. She was just trying to be friendly. She suddenly feels more lonely than for days, or maybe weeks. Elen takes a deep breath in. Don't you cry! You're like what? A baby? Keep your chin high. Do not give up!

Elen wipes her eyes, then runs a few steps to catch up with Sam. “So... huh... What do your friends call you? Sam, or do you have a nickname or something? I like the blue on your hair. Heard blue was all the rage at the satrap's court last season. Why did you pick blue?”


The brawler begins her walk towards the other end of the camp in search of Dashki, walking relatively slowly as she does so. Though she was eager to figure out whatever information the camp's supposed gnoll authority may have regarding the unusual fires, or perhaps about her own private history. It was a long shot, and Sam was almost certain that she'd be turning away with very little in the way of evidence, but any chance at learning more about what may have happened to those she held dear was a chance worth taking. It was somewhat nice out. Had the scent of smoke faded away a little quicker, the camp might even have been a relaxing place. A comfortable chair, a chilled drink, and a long nap would be absolutely wonderful right now. The desert had a beauty to it, it was difficult to see, for sure, but it was there. Sam had always made sure she took the time to appreciate the beauty in all things, and there was just something so alluring about the endless dunes, and the glimmer of the hot sun on the horizon.

Never had she thought she'd be somewhere like this, alone in the vastness, sailing a sea of sand.

Well, perhaps she wasn't completely alone. The brawler glances towards Elen, noticing that the smaller woman appeared to be looking somewhat down, as she catches up to her. Perhaps she had sustained some kind of sprained ankle or something? Sam felt out of place, but the little one was so obviously not a person meant for this life. What in the world was she doing out here?

Sam continues to walk slowly, chuckling a little bit as Elen speaks. Court? What? "Heh, nah. Just Sam." She does smile lightly as Elen compliments her hair. Sam had always felt rather proud of it. Her hair was important to her.

"Thanks. It's blue 'cause I like the color."

"Reminds me of the sky. Or the stars at night."

"Reminds me of home."

She's fairly quiet, after that.

[caesar193]

Elen and Sam

The pair quickly arrive to find Dashki by the main fire. When they had left, Garavel had pointed Dashki out, and it was fairly easy to tell the gnoll expert from the rest. The guards might be unkempt, but Dashki puts them to shame. The smoke from the fire had, at first, masked his smell. But now... Now they got hit with the full affect. The last time he took a bath was probably when he was born, and the rags he wore were the same. He looked up from poking at the fire with a stick.

"Eh? You the newbies? Whaddya want?"

[Phasm]

Splitting up is a logical use of the waning daylight. So Rashida doesn't protest; hopefully Elen will be able to get something out of Dashki, because the stoic Sam certainly won't. Elen seems a bit... overcivilized... for Rashida's taste, but beggars can't be choosers. "I will go investigate the wagon. If anyone else wishes to come, another set of eyes is always useful."

[caesar193]

Rashida (and any that accompany her)

Garavel nodded. "I trust you know where Eloais' wagon is?" He said, before Rashida left. And then he turned and left, either by himself or with the others, to their destination.

Rashida finds Eloais wagon's remnants near the main fire, catching sight (and the smell) of Dashki as he and Elen and Sam talked. The wagon's charred remnants still maintain their structure. The walls, singed and charred, stand mostly intact. A good hit would knock them down. Scattered in the sands outside the wagon are several more cards- Harrow cards, by the looks of them.

Inside, things are more sparse. The floor, weakened by the fire, had collapsed under the weight of furniture. The remnants of a table, some starry and mystical cloth on it, sits collapsed on its side. Puddles of hardened wax, some with wicks still in, cement the table to the ground.

Eloais' body has yet to be taken away. It seems nobody in particular had wanted to do it- understandably, of course, and nobody had been commanded to.

The body, as Almah previously proclaimed, does not reveal any signs of struggle or violence. As best as you can tell, natural causes was Eloais' end.

No perception check required. You find 55 blackened gold coins- which no one will notice you taking unless Ewen decided to come with. And some Harrow cards, a few candle stubs, and some general burned detritus. And ashes, of course.

As you search the exterior, you occasionally note that Dashki is watching you carefully, doing his best to be discrete about it, to you and Elen/Sam.

Um, I don't know. What else is there to do?

[Hattish Thing]

"Sam" Laverne:


Elen and Sam

The pair quickly arrive to find Dashki by the main fire. When they had left, Garavel had pointed Dashki out, and it was fairly easy to tell the gnoll expert from the rest. The guards might be unkempt, but Dashki puts them to shame. The smoke from the fire had, at first, masked his smell. But now... Now they got hit with the full affect. The last time he took a bath was probably when he was born, and the rags he wore were the same. He looked up from poking at the fire with a stick.

"Eh? You the newbies? Whaddya want?"

Though Sam waits patiently for a response from her new companion, she quickly finds herself distracted by something that absolutely reeked of filth. The horrendous smell was incredibly distracting, and what may have been a longer moment appears to have been cut short. The small smile she temporarily sported for her curious friend quickly fades into a fairly exquisite scowl. Here she was daydreaming about the exotic wonders that the desert oceans boasted, forgetting, for a moment, that things and people like this supposed "Dashki" still existed, and that in reality, most things in the desert aren't particularly fun to be around.

Or good-smelling.

She had almost hoped that the man would end up being some sort of knightly fellow, like the one's she'd heard of in the stories. But, alas, this man appeared to be nothing more than just another mercenary type.

Sam wasn't surprised.

Once Dashki growls out his dour greeting, the brawler stands up straight, folding her arms over her chest in her customary position. The woman leans to the side a bit, gazing down at the gnoll expert with a look of general disappointment. This was it? This was Dashki? Sam takes a deep breath before raising an eyebrow at the malodorous individual, reaching into a pocket of her top as she does so. She pulls out a small package of some kind of tobacco chew, the same kind she'd been chewing on the way here. After carefully unwrapping the package, she flips a chunk of the chew into her mouth before biting down hard, seeming to be making a point out of how little effort she was willing to take to respond to the man.

Finally, she speaks to him as she slips into a more authoritative tone. "You need to answer some questions." Sam looks into the fire before continuing.

"Where were you during the fire?

"An' don't lie to me."

Intimidate, rolled in OOC: (15)

[WalkingTheShade]

The lost girl

"Reminds me of home."

“Aaaaw, really? right! And, where is it that you're fro... what's that horrendeous smell?” Elen smiles disappears as she realizes there's an odorous beggar right there in the camp. She starts ignoring him to continue on their way (that's what you do to the unkempt poor) when two sudden revelations hit her. First, Sam is NOT ignoring him; second, the beggar must be that "Dashki" they went to meet. That does nothing good for Elen's mood. Dashki is even worse than her companions, Garavel and all these barbarians together. Whenever she thinks things can't get worse...

Then Sam starts talking to him with that threatening tone. Really, Elen is so... aggravated she wouldn't mind Sam kicked his ass right now. Elen affects a panicked look. However advancing seems disgusting, she advances to put herself between Dashki and Sam, turning towards the latter. Breath with your mouth, girl!

“Please Sam, don't do it!” Elen gives a discreet wink to Sam, hoping blue-hair will get the message, this time. She then turns toward Dashki. “She's mad, I beg you, please answer her!”

Aid Another (http://www.d20pfsrd.com/skills#TOC-Aid-Another) on Sam's Intimidation. Roll against DC 10, if successful, Sam gets a +2: intimidate [roll0].

[caesar193]

Sam and Elen

Dashki looked up at Sam, and then at Elen, before quickly scrambling to his feet, and gripping the hilt of a dagger- without drawing it- tightly. "I didn't do nothin'! I was right here, eatin' lunch!" He looks back and forth between them, before continuing, talking mostly to Elen. "Ok, look- an' you keep 'er away from me! I might be... a bit too fond of Almah, sure, but I didn't do nuthin! The idiot burned a hundred candles in there. He probably just got unlucky. We're in gnoll country- those damned pugwampis probably caused it."

Feel free to roll a knowledge check, any of them, on pugwampis, if you'd like.

[Hattish Thing]

"Sam" Laverne:


The lost girl

"Reminds me of home."

“Aaaaw, really? right! And, where is it that you're fro... what's that horrendeous smell?” Elen smiles disappears as she realizes there's an odorous beggar right there in the camp. She starts ignoring him to continue on their way (that's what you do to the unkempt poor) when two sudden revelations hit her. First, Sam is NOT ignoring him; second, the beggar must be that "Dashki" they went to meet. That does nothing good for Elen's mood. Dashki is even worse than her companions, Garavel and all these barbarians together. Whenever she thinks things can't get worse...

Then Sam starts talking to him with that threatening tone. Really, Elen is so... aggravated she wouldn't mind Sam kicked his ass right now. Elen affects a panicked look. However advancing seems disgusting, she advances to put herself between Dashki and Sam, turning towards the latter. Breath with your mouth, girl!

“Please Sam, don't do it!” Elen gives a discreet wink to Sam, hoping blue-hair will get the message, this time. She then turns toward Dashki. “She's mad, I beg you, please answer her!”

Aid Another (http://www.d20pfsrd.com/skills#TOC-Aid-Another) on Sam's Intimidation. Roll against DC 10, if successful, Sam gets a +2: intimidate [roll0].

With a confused expression on her face, Sam frowns down at Elen. What was she doing now? The brawler certainly didn't need any help to get the information she needed out of the guy.

He was clearly very suspicious, not to mention rude.

Which is even worse than suspicious.

Sam shakes her head silently at Elen before gently trying to rest her large hands down upon her shoulders. She smiles lightly before attempting to simply move the much smaller woman to the side, as if carrying a kitten by the neck and dropping it away. After that business is done with, Sam steps forward, reaching back to pull her heavy shield out, calmly, not even bothering to look too closely at Dashki.

The brawler mutters to Elen softly, before staring up at the gnoll expert again. "Heh. Relax."

---


Sam and Elen

Dashki looked up at Sam, and then at Elen, before quickly scrambling to his feet, and gripping the hilt of a dagger- without drawing it- tightly. "I didn't do nothin'! I was right here, eatin' lunch!" He looks back and forth between them, before continuing, talking mostly to Elen. "Ok, look- an' you keep 'er away from me! I might be... a bit too fond of Almah, sure, but I didn't do nuthin! The idiot burned a hundred candles in there. He probably just got unlucky. We're in gnoll country- those damned pugwampis probably caused it."

Feel free to roll a knowledge check, any of them, on pugwampis, if you'd like.


As she gazes towards Dashki, the brawler snaps a buckle of the shield over her arm before glaring in a much harsher fashion. She notices him playing around with the dagger and frowns even deeper. This man was about as charismatic as a cactus, and certainly not fun to talk with. Perhaps violence was the answer in this particular situation.

She points at the man with her free hand before continuing. "Hand down, please."

"Pugwampis? What?"

[WalkingTheShade]

The lost girl
“Pug-vampires! Horrible, nasty beasts that... huh... do, like, very bad things to you! And to the people you like!” Elen tries to sound confident, just like she's in control and knows exactly how things are supposed to turn out.

“By the way, Sam, I think that guy told us everything he knows. He's visibly shi... sorry, pooping himself.” Elen takes a few steps back from both Sam and Dashki showing her empty palms peacefully. She turns towards Dashki. “Listen, huh... guy? You did definitely tell us everything you know, right? Nobody needs to get hurt, I mean, we work for Almah, and you're big on her, right?”

Classical good cop/bad cop act.
Diplomacy to influence Dashki to speak more: [roll0].
Sense motive to figure out if he's hiding something: [roll1].

[Mornings]

Ewen'vel Fritz Tel'Tandis - The Bathetic Sentinel

Not seeing much of a reason to idle in front of the short man's mobile residence. The scarred priest turned away leaving it to the halfling to decide what he intended to do with the remains after they were recovered. He lifted the large metal device which was stuck in the ground at his side moving with Rashida to the burnt out wagon. He looked on at the destroyed vehicle. "Damn... Dats' a sorry sight, dat is. Guess it's a good time as any teh' poke 'round abit." He made a wide circle around the wagon first, looking for anything which might catch his attention before pulling himself up into the interior. He slammed down his massive moon-shaped medallion into the sand below and drew his sword to poke through the burned debris. After taking a fair inspection, he pulled himself up again to inspect the top of the wagon hoping to see further-more intense fire damage which might hint at the source the fire first started when it burned the metal bands and canvas of it's ceiling.


Exterior: [roll0]

Interior: [roll1]

Above: [roll2]

[Phasm]

Rashida simply nods to Ewen and hops into the wagon while he circles round the outside. Even if he sets his enormous moon statue thing down, his armor is heavy enough that the burned planks of the floor might not hold him. She wants to get a good look before Ewen comes inside. Several gold coins, blackened by soot and ashes, come up. She shows them to him. "Should he have no instructions to send these to next of kin, we now have funds for healing potions."

Once the moon-priest is done outside and Rashida is satisfied with her search inside, she jumps down and begins her own search of the outside. As the inquisitor slowly makes her way around the burned wagon, she feels a prickle on the back of her neck. Someone's watching me. She casually shifts around as if to look at a different patch of soot. Her keffiyeh hides sharp brown eyes in shadow, and she catches a glimpse of Dashki. Sure enough, he's trying to watch her while talking to Elen and Sam.

Well, well, well. Isn't that interesting?


Inspecting the body: [roll0]

Taking 10 on searching the outside.

[caesar193]

Elen and Sam

Seemingly glad for the change in subject, Dashki takes his hand off his dagger to gesture. PugWAMPis," he says, glancing at Elen to make sure she got the correct pronounciation, "About yea tall." He holds his hands apart a short distance, about two and a half feet. "Terrible critters what crawled up from the Darklands below the earth. 'Jackal rats,' some folkds call 'em, on account of their pointed 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."

Rashida and Ewen

Most of the roof had collapsed inward in the fire, and the rest is mostly semi-circular bands of charred wood made to hold up the cloth roof. Ewen doesn't find much of anything up there that he couldn't all ready see from below.

Ash and burnt cinders litter the burnt outside. The sand and dirt is heavily disturbed, but that is too be expected from all the feet running around trying to put out the fire. Burnt harrows cards and other scraps from within stick out of the sand. One catches Rashida's eye- the card known as The Joke.

[Phasm]

Rashida crouches down to inspect the burned cards. She's not familiar with the meaning of Harrow cards, but perhaps someone from the north might know. One in particular sticks out, and she plucks it from the sand. "The Joke." Rising to her feet, the hunter pokes her head back into the wagon.

"Brother Ewen, are you familiar with Harrow cards?" She holds up the Joke. "I found this outside, less burned than the others." Looking around, Rashida lowers her voice. "And the hunter Dashki has been watching us while he speaks with Sam and Elen. He was trying to be discreet about it." A smile flashes from the shadows of her keffiyeh. "Not discreet enough."

[WalkingTheShade]

The lost girl

Elen head's bend on the side while her eyes narrow and her mouth pouts. “Oh, pugVAMPIs that's... right, of course... I hadn't heard well, that's all...”

Elen turns back to Sam. “Do you think the guy's making this up? I don't think he's making this up.” Elen turns back to Dashki. “Are you making all this up, guy? Because, let's say it was, like, pugVAMPIs. How could we prove it was them? Do they leave some kind of tracks or signature or something? Like, anything? Because Almah wants to know for sure.” Elen winks at Dashki with that last sentence.

[Hattish Thing]

"Sam" Laverne:


Elen and Sam

Seemingly glad for the change in subject, Dashki takes his hand off his dagger to gesture. PugWAMPis," he says, glancing at Elen to make sure she got the correct pronounciation, "About yea tall." He holds his hands apart a short distance, about two and a half feet. "Terrible critters what crawled up from the Darklands below the earth. 'Jackal rats,' some folkds call 'em, on account of their pointed 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."

Sam leans back, visibly relaxing a bit as the man takes his hand off his weapon, though she doesn't bother lowering her shield. After all, she wasn't the one currently being suspected of having something to do with the great fire. As Dashki continues to talk, the warrior sighs. He seemed like he was telling the truth, and perhaps he truly was. But it seemed as if there was something very wrong.

How convenient for him it would be, if the local magical wildlife was to blame for the fire, instead of the supposed gnoll expert.

She'd never heard of a pugwampi anyway.

After quietly pondering a few things in her head, she speaks once more to Dashki. "You seem to know a lot about gnolls. I do too." She gestures at the gnoll-leather she wears, and reaches into a pocket to pull out a small necklace fastened with gnoll teeth and gnoll claws. After displaying the token, she puts it away once more.

"Why should we trust you?"



The lost girl

Elen head's bend on the side while her eyes narrow and her mouth pouts. “Oh, pugVAMPIs that's... right, of course... I hadn't heard well, that's all...”

Elen turns back to Sam. “Do you think the guy's making this up? I don't think he's making this up.” Elen turns back to Dashki. “Are you making all this up, guy? Because, let's say it was, like, pugVAMPIs. How could we prove it was them? Do they leave some kind of tracks or signature or something? Like, anything? Because Almah wants to know for sure.” Elen winks at Dashki with that last sentence.

The brawler doesn't respond to Elen verbally, instead shaking her head.

[Mornings]

Ewen'vel Fritz Tel'Tandis - The Bathetic Sentinel

The scarred priest milled about conducting his search, paying little mind to the discarded bits laying about within the interior. Plenty of things stood out to him, but none of them truly meant anything. The clue to connect the dots was just as elusive as ever.

The man nodded affirmingly. "Ye, know a thing 'er two 'bout dem cards. Dats some symbolic card, dat. Somethin' bout challenge only bested wif' wit an' trickery. Funny thing, dat'. Just da' same doh... Not a pastor nor cleric. Not an acolyte neither. Brother, is title reserved fer da' faithful of such an orientation. Graduated Seminary, I did. Have some such small bit I fancy a congregation, too. To guide and mentor Brothers of the faith, or those who look towards da gods fer answer... Dats why they call priests, men like the short-one and meh, Father. Important-bit, dat. Reminds us our reason an' all dat. Ye?" He nodded to himself as he concluded the short monologue.

[Phasm]

"My apologies, Father Ewen." Rashida bows her head to him, embarrassed. "I am unfamiliar with the faiths of the north. Perhaps when this task is done, we can talk of our religions." Studying the scorched card, she frowns. "I wonder if there is any meaning to these cards, or if they were simply scattered at random by the blaze and the winds." There's really no way to tell, unless... "Do you have the spell to see magic?"

[caesar193]

Elen and Sam

Dashki narrows his eyes at the sight of the gnoll tokens, choosing to ignore Elen's continued mispronounciation. "Y'aint got a reason ta trust me," he replied. "'Cept, o' course, Almah's the one callin' the shots 'round here, and she trusts me. Haven't failed her yet, ain't about to start ainy time soon. Now, why don't'chou run along and go bother someone else, aye?"

He turned away, stalking away from them.

"What did he say?" Garavel replied, having just arrived. "The camel drivers have seen nothing... and know less." He ended sourly.

Rashida and Ewen

You don't detect any magic.

[WalkingTheShade]

The lost girl

Elen frowns at Dashki's back, wondering how long the stench will linger behind him. Shaking her head, she sighs then whispers to Sam: “so rude and disagreeable... gods...”

She however turns to Garavel with a smile. “Well, except for the stench, and the rudeness, that went, like, quite well. He thinks pugv... sorry, pugWampis, some kind of unlucky lesser gnolls did it. Of course, he's got no way to prove that. But I think he's so totally loyal to the merchant-princess.” Elen looks to the sides (as if they were at court with people wont to listen to them, not alone in the middle of the desert) and her eyes light up as she's about to share a piece of gossip. She comes near Garavel, whispering again: “All truth be told, he seems... quite smitten with Almah.”

[caesar193]

Elen and Sam

Garavel sighed. "I had not heard of pugwampis until I met Dashki, and I still have not seen one. But Almah will no doubt wish to investigate these claims. And though I do not find Dashki to be the most appealing of companions, and though he is, in my opinion, the most likely to be capable of the deed, Almah trusts him. He has not failed us yet, and for that, at least for Almah, means we must give him the benefit of the doubt."