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Trench's Legacy of Fire (A Ptolus Gestalt): The Trouble With Pugwampis (Updated 1/27)
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<blockquote data-quote="Trench" data-source="post: 6029050" data-attributes="member: 40464"><p>Eloais? She was inside your caravan, yes?" Abud looks at the burnt ruins, trying to find the source of the fire. "How long ago did you see Eloais?” he asks Almah. “Was she sleepy? Inebriated? Who saw her last?"</p><p></p><p>"He," Almah says as she walks off to direct her guards in the cleanup. "I hired him in Rashadar months ago to read cards for me. I haven't visited the islands of my ancestors in quite some time, but something about his presence... just felt right." She looks toward Abud. "I'm not convinced the fire was arson, but if it was, I hope you find the culprit quickly. I saw him just hours ago. He gave another reading. He was as normal."</p><p></p><p>"Eloise....Heloise....Eloaise..." Abud sounds off. "I beg your pardon, friends, for in my community a slight change in the name's pronunciation makes it a female name. I have an aunt named thus.”</p><p></p><p>"He was a foreigner. Their names can be odd."</p><p></p><p>“Eloais gave a reading...to you? Was that his last reading?"</p><p></p><p>Almah seems reluctant for a moment before she whispers to Abud.</p><p></p><p>"His readings have been... increasingly grim. His last reading centered on an auspicious card. It portended death by fire and schemes by powerful evils."</p><p></p><p>"I asked if it had something to do with Kelmarane, and he said yes- but that it was part of something much larger."</p><p></p><p>"Kelmarane?"</p><p></p><p>Almah chuckles.</p><p></p><p>"Garavel hasn't said much has he? He often doesn't. Good. He follows orders well."</p><p></p><p>"Kelmarane is the village we are close to, and the reason we are here."</p><p></p><p>"Long ago, the village was one of several in the highlands by the Scorched Peaks situated around a battle market, a huge arcade that attracted merchants, gladiators, actors, musicians, and customers not only from Uraq- but from neighboring Panagolan and Buneir. It was a vital stop in trade with those southern countries."</p><p></p><p>"About twenty years ago... it fell, and the Pactmasters abandoned it to ruin. Rumors of curses and plagues abound, but in truth no one really seems to know why the village died. About two years ago, a pack of gnolls called the Kulldis tribe inhabited the battle market and claimed it as their own."</p><p></p><p>"Now the Pactmasters want it back, and it's up to us to deliver it to them."</p><p></p><p>"After 20 years of bleaching sun and corroding sand? Thrice blessed Pactmasters" Abud makes a traditional elven gesture of blessing. "will be lucky to find two stones together. What happened? Why do they want Kelmarane back? What changed?"</p><p></p><p>Almah looks around the camp. "Let me show you something."</p><p></p><p>She leads Abud to her tent, an elaborate affair heavily perfumed and decorated in gold and red thread. Lush carpets are laid on the ground and plush pillows are thrown about, giving Abud's feet a much needed respite from the long journey. Almah walks over to a table and idly pours herself a glass of thin wine from a silver decanter. She rolls out a large map that takes up most of the table.</p><p></p><p>"Rashadar," Almah points to a dot on the northern border of Uraq against the sea. "Mazin," she points to another dot a few inches to the west of Rashadar, also on the coast.</p><p></p><p>He finger traces down across the wide white expanse of the map for almost a foot. She lands at a small dot against the Scorched Peaks, almost directly south of Rashadar. "Al'Jahar." She then traces the curve of the mountain range that curves like a crescent moon all the way from the south and almost toward the northern coast of Uraq again.</p><p></p><p>"The Scorched Peaks are effectively the border of Uraq. Beyond these mountains, lie the southern countries. Panogolan, Buneir, and even Kellisan - who have their own empire to rival that of the Lion-Guarded Throne. I doubt anyone north of Uraq have even heard of such places. It's all just 'The South' to them. And even we don't go past the Scorched Peaks very often. The mountains are nearly twenty to fifty miles thick in places, through terrain that makes what we see here look small by comparison. Red dragons war with each other, claiming mountaintops from each other in ever-shifting border wars. There are rocs that can snatch a camel in its claws for a meal and giants that keep those birds as pets. Even without that, there is the journey itself through punishing terrain which is long, hard, and bitter."</p><p></p><p>Almah smiles despite this. "But those that can make the trip..."</p><p></p><p>"In Panogolan, there is The Silverback King. The gorilla lord sends his minions across the expanse to forage for treasures. Some he trades. Darkwood from the Screaming Jungle, sunken gold from Lake Ocota, and magical glass from the Ruins of Kho. And if you feel brave, or just suicidal, you can try to trade with the King of Biting Ants- who still knows some of the old magics of Old-Mage Jatembe that haven't been seen since the Wars of Fire. Even the natives can often find something worth giving in their town of Witbe."</p><p></p><p>"Buneir is the land of the cactus men, fighting a never-ending war with the mosquito women to keep another Malarial Queendom from rising. There are thri-kreen, the mantis-men who prowl across the savannah carving mountains into strange shapes and wielding weapons of crystallized saliva sharper than any tempered steel. Their minds are... indecipherable to us, but those that can communicate find mechanical items that rival the height of the Empire's technological prowess."</p><p></p><p>"And there's Kellisan. They ruled Uraq long, long ago. This is a land where their strange dragon philosophers sit side by side with emperors of age-old dynasties. Where the veil between the world of dreams and waking is supposedly so thin you can cross it simply by learning how to breathe a certain way. Where men master elements as easily as we can talk and can turn into animals."</p><p></p><p>"Entire worlds hidden behind those mountains. And the great, great country of Uraq- may Hannan always shine on it and Abadar bring it wealth- is the crossroads."</p><p></p><p>"Al'Jahar is tiny, compared to Rashadar. But it's purpose is simply to be a rest point for traders from these countries to exchange goods and services here before caravans go north," here Almah traces her finger back up the white desert of the map. "But even then, over six hundred miles across the Great Desert is a long, long way."</p><p></p><p>"And now it feels longer," says Garavel as he enters the tent.</p><p></p><p>Almah nods bitterly. "Here," she traces a circle in the middle of the Great Desert, "is where Ra'ad the Blue rules. As long as you pay him fealty and respect, you can pass. But... it is not a given."</p><p></p><p>"For the past five years, the Kellisani have refused to deal with him. Even refusing to bring their goods to hand off to us at Al'Jahar. Kellisani notions of honor are a strange thing."</p><p></p><p>"But," Almah traces her finger back north west up the mountain range. "Here is Kelmarane. If this village came back, traders can, instead, travel along the highlands from Al'Jahar, keeping the mountains to their left- trading their wagons for camels here and then cut across to Rashadar that way, all but bypassing the dragon's territory. Even without Al'Jahar, it is possible for brave traders to come east from the northern expanses of Panogolan, if they can pass the Fever Swamps and come directly to Kelmarane."</p><p></p><p>Almah leans back. "Of course, instead of a capricious dragon, there will now be gnoll tribes eager to raid passing caravans- but no journey is entirely without its own dangers."</p><p></p><p>She looks up. "This. This is the great work we will do."</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Trench, post: 6029050, member: 40464"] Eloais? She was inside your caravan, yes?" Abud looks at the burnt ruins, trying to find the source of the fire. "How long ago did you see Eloais?” he asks Almah. “Was she sleepy? Inebriated? Who saw her last?" "He," Almah says as she walks off to direct her guards in the cleanup. "I hired him in Rashadar months ago to read cards for me. I haven't visited the islands of my ancestors in quite some time, but something about his presence... just felt right." She looks toward Abud. "I'm not convinced the fire was arson, but if it was, I hope you find the culprit quickly. I saw him just hours ago. He gave another reading. He was as normal." "Eloise....Heloise....Eloaise..." Abud sounds off. "I beg your pardon, friends, for in my community a slight change in the name's pronunciation makes it a female name. I have an aunt named thus.” "He was a foreigner. Their names can be odd." “Eloais gave a reading...to you? Was that his last reading?" Almah seems reluctant for a moment before she whispers to Abud. "His readings have been... increasingly grim. His last reading centered on an auspicious card. It portended death by fire and schemes by powerful evils." "I asked if it had something to do with Kelmarane, and he said yes- but that it was part of something much larger." "Kelmarane?" Almah chuckles. "Garavel hasn't said much has he? He often doesn't. Good. He follows orders well." "Kelmarane is the village we are close to, and the reason we are here." "Long ago, the village was one of several in the highlands by the Scorched Peaks situated around a battle market, a huge arcade that attracted merchants, gladiators, actors, musicians, and customers not only from Uraq- but from neighboring Panagolan and Buneir. It was a vital stop in trade with those southern countries." "About twenty years ago... it fell, and the Pactmasters abandoned it to ruin. Rumors of curses and plagues abound, but in truth no one really seems to know why the village died. About two years ago, a pack of gnolls called the Kulldis tribe inhabited the battle market and claimed it as their own." "Now the Pactmasters want it back, and it's up to us to deliver it to them." "After 20 years of bleaching sun and corroding sand? Thrice blessed Pactmasters" Abud makes a traditional elven gesture of blessing. "will be lucky to find two stones together. What happened? Why do they want Kelmarane back? What changed?" Almah looks around the camp. "Let me show you something." She leads Abud to her tent, an elaborate affair heavily perfumed and decorated in gold and red thread. Lush carpets are laid on the ground and plush pillows are thrown about, giving Abud's feet a much needed respite from the long journey. Almah walks over to a table and idly pours herself a glass of thin wine from a silver decanter. She rolls out a large map that takes up most of the table. "Rashadar," Almah points to a dot on the northern border of Uraq against the sea. "Mazin," she points to another dot a few inches to the west of Rashadar, also on the coast. He finger traces down across the wide white expanse of the map for almost a foot. She lands at a small dot against the Scorched Peaks, almost directly south of Rashadar. "Al'Jahar." She then traces the curve of the mountain range that curves like a crescent moon all the way from the south and almost toward the northern coast of Uraq again. "The Scorched Peaks are effectively the border of Uraq. Beyond these mountains, lie the southern countries. Panogolan, Buneir, and even Kellisan - who have their own empire to rival that of the Lion-Guarded Throne. I doubt anyone north of Uraq have even heard of such places. It's all just 'The South' to them. And even we don't go past the Scorched Peaks very often. The mountains are nearly twenty to fifty miles thick in places, through terrain that makes what we see here look small by comparison. Red dragons war with each other, claiming mountaintops from each other in ever-shifting border wars. There are rocs that can snatch a camel in its claws for a meal and giants that keep those birds as pets. Even without that, there is the journey itself through punishing terrain which is long, hard, and bitter." Almah smiles despite this. "But those that can make the trip..." "In Panogolan, there is The Silverback King. The gorilla lord sends his minions across the expanse to forage for treasures. Some he trades. Darkwood from the Screaming Jungle, sunken gold from Lake Ocota, and magical glass from the Ruins of Kho. And if you feel brave, or just suicidal, you can try to trade with the King of Biting Ants- who still knows some of the old magics of Old-Mage Jatembe that haven't been seen since the Wars of Fire. Even the natives can often find something worth giving in their town of Witbe." "Buneir is the land of the cactus men, fighting a never-ending war with the mosquito women to keep another Malarial Queendom from rising. There are thri-kreen, the mantis-men who prowl across the savannah carving mountains into strange shapes and wielding weapons of crystallized saliva sharper than any tempered steel. Their minds are... indecipherable to us, but those that can communicate find mechanical items that rival the height of the Empire's technological prowess." "And there's Kellisan. They ruled Uraq long, long ago. This is a land where their strange dragon philosophers sit side by side with emperors of age-old dynasties. Where the veil between the world of dreams and waking is supposedly so thin you can cross it simply by learning how to breathe a certain way. Where men master elements as easily as we can talk and can turn into animals." "Entire worlds hidden behind those mountains. And the great, great country of Uraq- may Hannan always shine on it and Abadar bring it wealth- is the crossroads." "Al'Jahar is tiny, compared to Rashadar. But it's purpose is simply to be a rest point for traders from these countries to exchange goods and services here before caravans go north," here Almah traces her finger back up the white desert of the map. "But even then, over six hundred miles across the Great Desert is a long, long way." "And now it feels longer," says Garavel as he enters the tent. Almah nods bitterly. "Here," she traces a circle in the middle of the Great Desert, "is where Ra'ad the Blue rules. As long as you pay him fealty and respect, you can pass. But... it is not a given." "For the past five years, the Kellisani have refused to deal with him. Even refusing to bring their goods to hand off to us at Al'Jahar. Kellisani notions of honor are a strange thing." "But," Almah traces her finger back north west up the mountain range. "Here is Kelmarane. If this village came back, traders can, instead, travel along the highlands from Al'Jahar, keeping the mountains to their left- trading their wagons for camels here and then cut across to Rashadar that way, all but bypassing the dragon's territory. Even without Al'Jahar, it is possible for brave traders to come east from the northern expanses of Panogolan, if they can pass the Fever Swamps and come directly to Kelmarane." Almah leans back. "Of course, instead of a capricious dragon, there will now be gnoll tribes eager to raid passing caravans- but no journey is entirely without its own dangers." She looks up. "This. This is the great work we will do." [/QUOTE]
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Trench's Legacy of Fire (A Ptolus Gestalt): The Trouble With Pugwampis (Updated 1/27)
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