Dark Days in Sion - Act 3: Scene 3

[narayan]

Zaen Najafi

Zaen stops, he thinks for a moment that perhaps he should make a run for it, but hesitates. He looks around for something to cast light on, to better illuminate his surrounding. He strains his eyes to see if he can see what it was that made the noise, as he looks he has his hand on his blade in case he needs to protect himself.

OOC: Spot check = 16+4 mod=20

Though you lack low-light vision you manage to glimpse something relatively small and furry (about the size of a large dog with a long tail) moving on all fours slinking around the back porch of the farmhouse illuminated by a wildly swinging lantern. The creature raises up on its hind legs, seemingly pausing to check its surroundings, which is when you spot whiskers and reddish rodent eyes on its face. The creature is a Rhat, which in itself is not an inherently evil race, though some are known to serve evil masters and commit unlawful or evil deeds under orders of their master(s).

Rhats are common enough in Cabarda, both City and Country Rhat varieties. Like all races in Vulkh they are beholden to the same laws as everything else. There is little doubt in your mind that this Rhat is up to no good as it produces a dagger that glints ever so briefly in the lantern light before it starts to pry or carve something into the baseboards around the porch. (The farmhouse itself is set on a foundation of mortared stone and has no base-boards)

This Rhat does not yet spot you. So long as you are standing still and not carrying a torch or lantern you aren't doing anything to draw attention to yourself. At this point you are at a distance of approximately 120 ft. It is unclear to you what the Rhat's fur colors are since it wears a small cloak and leather vest of the sort a Halfling might wear (which is typical for Rhats everywhere). These garments, and the fur beneath them, appear to be of a dark shade of black, grey or brown.

You are unaware if the farmer in that house keeps any Rhats as workers in his fields (which some farmers do), but even if that were the case... you've never seen a Rhat perform carpentry or maintenance on a porch in the pitch black hours before dawn in the middle of a storm. Rhats abhor storms and getting soaked as much as any other race. Therefor, whatever this Rhat is doing is very suspicious behavior.

[Zaen: What do you do?]

[sblock= Situational Modifiers] If you wish to attempt to approach closer to the Rhat without being spotted, you need to make a Hide Check to approach as close as 60 ft at half your normal movement rate (which will take 4 rounds). An accompanying Move Silently check will NOT be necessary due to the loud storm muffling most other sounds, BUT the Rhat will have a chance to oppose your Hide Check with a Spot Check.

If you wish to cast a spell or make an attack NOW with a ranged weapon (at 120 ft. distance), you will get a free surprise attack with significant penalties for poor visibility and gusting winds. (20% Miss chance due to Concealment, with an additional 20% miss chance for ranged weapons due to gusting winds) The normal range penalty to fire a light crossbow at this range is also a base -2 penalty to your attack roll.

IF you successfully approach to 60 ft. distance BEFORE casting a spell or making a ranged attack (without being spotted by the Rhat) you may get a surprise attack without any penalty for range, concealment or gusting winds. However if you are spotted, you will be required to roll initiative before any other action is taken, UNLESS you use an Early action (as per my house rules).[/sblock]

 

[narayan]

In the lair of Kumbakarna

The elderly priest was still chewing a fair chunk of delicious homeland bread, waving one hand about in an effort to extinguish the chaos, when he noticed the parchment. First he prodded it with the end of his staff, just to be sure it wasn't some kind of trick. Then with a little more courage, he gulped the last of his mouthful down, and stooped over to scoop up the oddity. This wasn’t a particularly fluid movement, his old bones creaking from days of travel taking their toll. Still, he was tougher than most his age.

Dryly he stated, “friends, it seems Svexyn will not be present for dessert.”

He read the message to his companions and shared it with them, he was quite amazed in fact.

“Well, at least one of us has left bumcrack’s lair alive.” He muttered, grinning, but the rest of his face would express deep concern. “Our numbers dwindle, and this… well it is a magic I’m not acquainted with.”

Wrenwil sat back down next to the glorious food.

“Perhaps not much we can do about it. This at least is beyond our control. We should eat our fill none the less, Pentos has been kind to us, and we would be wise not to waste these gifts.”

It had been good to see Ordechai back to his old self, if only for a moment. The shaman’s touch and what it might have done though, this was a worry that would scratch at Wrenwil’s mind for quite some time to come.

“So…” he spoke quietly, leaning towards the half-dwarf.

“... the question is, have they taken anything from you that was best they wouldn’t know?”

Ordechai: Drops slowly to a crouched position, chewing slowly, preoccupied in thought. When he speaks again his tone is less cheery. "I'd rather they didn't know how we came to find ourselves here in the hills of Kumbakarna."

Alic: Pauses in between mouthfuls. "Didn't you say Kumbakarna was a great enemy of the Quresh?"

Ordechai: Nods slowly and swallows. "He is indeed. His wrath towards them is well known."

Alic: "So why should we worry? Seems like this place is as much of a safe haven as we could hope for... assuming of course he doesn't have any more cursed demons to pit us against!" He adds with derisive snort.

Ordechai glances up at the other deformed children of Kumbakarna overlooking you on the walkway. By now they have noticed Svexyn's disappearance, and are busy staring, growling and cursing at each other worryingly. They are also mystified by the delicious smelling-food Wrenwil has produced.

Ordechai: Jerks his head up towards them. "The only thing keeping these monsters in check is the word of Kumbakarna. If he suspects the Quresh know we are here, his sense of hospitality could change."

Alic: Spits "We have nothing to do with the Quresh! Your thoughts and memories should only confirm this!"

Ordechai: Shakes his head. "That's assuming those savages understand my memories well enough to make sense of them? They may glimpse the time we spent at The Restless Sands and get the wrong idea."

Alic: Looks over to the tribesman worryingly and hastily resumes chewing, evidently a nervous eater.

Just then the elder shaman seems to come out of his trance, staring towards Alic and the other pair of you quite intensely.

Alic: Swallows painfully as if the elder shamans stare turns his appetite. "Moradin help us from the savages!" He curses under his breath clutching the haft of his axe.

After several tense moments, the elder turns to kneel once again beside the cook fire, muttering to himself once again in his strange tongue.

Alic: Lets his breath out in a slow huff. "Maybe Svexyn had the right idea to disappear? Would have been a nice trick to share with the rest of us!" He says bitterly, stuffing his cheeks again.

Just then, something else enters the cavern through the lower passage past the iron bars. Alic's head turns slowly before his eyes start to bulge in horror just as they did when he first beheld Kumbakarna's pet demon! The dwarf starts choking on his food as something much taller and bulkier than the tribesman looms beyond the cook fires with huge black curling horns and the head of a bull!

[Wrenwil: What do you do?]

[sblock=Results of Knowledge Arcana Check]
The scroll left behind by Svexyn is purely mundane and carries no enchantments.[/sblock]

 

[97mg]

Wrenwil

Wrenwil continued to eat, but listened carefully to Alic and Ordechai's worrysome words. The tastes of a distant land, flavors that reminded him of peace, relaxation and a mountain of alluring texts back in his humble home... were somewhat soured by his companion's anxiety.

Maybe the priest was hardening. Through all the terrors of recent days, perhaps death no longer seemed like such a bother. Not with the weight of other visions lying heavy on one's mind.

"Let us not show them the fear they desire," he whispered. "If they are not of sound mind to understand your memories, Ordechai, then let's just have faith that the truth can be our gift to Kumbakarna, amongst what else he will want of us."

It was hardly a reassurance, but they'd kept their hearts beating this far. Pentos wouldn't have brought this all about for nothing. Never.

The old cleric's thoughts were interrupted by an expression of terror on Alic's face, and a look that he'd nope not to see again.

What this time! Surely even savages understand the rudeness of interrupting a sacred-gifted meal!

He turned, doing his best to keep a flat expressionless face, as he looked towards the source of Alic's newfound fears.

Then he turned back to his meal.

"Show no fear friends, no matter how we tremble inside. Alic, are you alright? Let's keep an eye on that one. Let me think..."

Beasts. Always more monstrosities. Question is, ugly friend, what kind are you... have your ways made it into the words of man or the texts of our predecessors?

[Wrenwil is scouring his memories for anything that matches the new arrival's appearance, with a Knowledge History General check. Roll = 19+5 (24)]

[sblock=Wrenwil Stats]

WRENWIL - a tough old boot on a terrible holiday Sheet: http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=209300 Level 6, Init 2, HP 31/38, Speed 30 AC 15, Touch 13, Flat-footed 13, Fort 7, Ref 6, Will 11, Base Attack Bonus 4 Masterwork Staff +5 to hit (d6+3) Spells: 4/4/3/2

[/sblock]

 

[redraider629]

Zaen Najafi

Zaen quickly realizes that casting light would be a dangerous move, so he decides to use the darkness as his ally. He watches the rhat, from affar. ~what is this thing up to?~ He begins to move closer to the Rhat, but remembers his dream. ~While this Rhat is suspicious, I must get to my uncles shop. This dream was too real. I need to get that answer first.~ He opts out of moving closer. ~Investigating this will have to wait, I must get to Jabbar's shop.~

With that Zaen waits in the darkness, completely still and quiet, until the Rhat is gone and he can continue.

 

[narayan]

Zaen Najafi

Zaen quickly realizes that casting light would be a dangerous move, so he decides to use the darkness as his ally. He watches the rhat, from affar. ~what is this thing up to?~ He begins to move closer to the Rhat, but remembers his dream. ~While this Rhat is suspicious, I must get to my uncles shop. This dream was too real. I need to get that answer first.~ He opts out of moving closer. ~Investigating this will have to wait, I must get to Jabbar's shop.~

With that Zaen waits in the darkness, completely still and quiet, until the Rhat is gone and he can continue.

The Rhat appears to pry a board loose off the siding of the porch and slips through the gap. You have no way of seeing whatever it does while it is completely concealed beneath the porch (even if you had darkvision). Several moments later it emerges again, replaces the board, and slinks away towards another farmhouse vanishing into the storm.

Without wasting anymore time, you make your way off the hillside into the streets below with only very dim light from nearby lanterns and shuttered windows helping you keep your bearings. As you walk slowly, hugging your robes about you, flashes of lightning and sudden claps of thunder keep your nerves on edge.

Suddenly there is something of a strange, faint, acrid smell of cooked flesh in the air that gives you pause... until you realize the lingering smell might be that of the Vulkyrie slain by lightning in your vision! As you glance around, you imagine you might be standing in the very spot where the creature fell from the sky. Yet be that as it may, neither the Vulkyrie, or your uncles corpses are visible anywhere in sight.

Slowly you kneel down, sick to your stomach with anger and dismay, searching for evidence, remains, any kind of sign to confirm your suspicions.

(FATE POOL Search Check: Nat 20+4 = 24, Great Success!)

Miraculously, feeling around with your fingertips, you manage to find a scorched Vulkyrie feather partially trampled in the mud. After a moments contemplation, you walk the rest of the way with a heavy heart until you arrive at the back door of your uncles shop (where the living quarters are located). The door is shut, the windows are shuttered, but there are signs of light from within peeking through the cracks.

[Zaen: What do you do?]

 

[redraider629]

Zaen Najafi

Zaen is thankful that he has made it to his uncle's shop. He realizes quickly that he does not have a key. He sees the lights on in the shop, so assumes someone is there. He whispers to himself "perhaps Aust is here, or some other partners. Maybe they will know what happened to Jabbar, or can give some answers about the dream." He prepares himself, ~Are you ready to pick up where your uncle left off~ he asks himself in his mind. "Yes, I am ready. Bring on the Vul." Zaen runs his hands over his black hair, straightening it up as best he can. He balls his fist and knocks on the shop door. "Here we go" Zaen whispers, as excitement began to overtake him. For the first time since he awoke a slight smile formed on his face.

 

[narayan]

High in the Great Drakeshvar Valley; Part III

Ra'd Alim dosed off several times for the remaining few hours of the afternoon. While the sun fell close above the surrounding peaks, Guo Jiang got a fire going and prepared to cook a large catch of fish. Suddenly a strange tone echoed across the lake startling Ra'd Alim from his dozing. He'd recognize that sound anywhere; the pipes of the Djondarma bandits!

Ra'd Alim: "BANDITS!"

Guo Jiang: "Good, they're right on time." He says calmly, producing a strange bronze pipe-whistle from within his garments responding to the call across the lake with a short tone-blast of his own.

Ra'd Alim: "What are you doing?!"

Guo Jiang: "I'm inviting our friends to dinner." He answers

Ra'd Alim: "Friends?!"

Guo Jiang: Nods "I have spent enough time among the mountain tribes to learn their ways. They gave me one of their whistles as a token of their trust."

Ra'd Alim could hardly believe his ears. All his life the Djonfang spoke with hatred towards the reclusive bandit tribes lurking above them high up in the peaks. Long ago the Djondarma tribes of the mountains and the Djonfang tribes of the valley were related, even friendly with each other. Ancient scrolls and texts within the libraries of the Fortress of the Sovereign indicated a rich history with the so-called 'RajKhan' or Bandit King, including pacts, trade agreements, and extended family ties.

This close neighborly relationship carried on for centuries before the RajKhan inexplicably declared war against the valley dwellers, sending his tribal warriors forth into battle from the air on trained Wyverns, and from the ground saddled on the backs of sure-footed mountain rams beside shape-changing druids in beastly forms. Though their numbers were not as great as the valley tribes, their surprise attack ensured a terrible slaughter.

Were it not for the dragons who came to call of the Dragon Shamans to defend the Djonfang people, the casualties of that great battle might have equaled the more recent invasion of the Ogre King.

Ra'd Alim: Glared angrily at the old man with disgust. "You are a fool!"

Guo Jiang: Snorts. "...Says the young shaman betrayed by his own elders! You must learn to see with fresh eyes and an open mind. The more you think the way they taught you to think, the more likely it is they'll find you and finish the job."

Ra'd Alim turned to stare across the lake, a feeling of dread and discomfort setting into his gut watching a small group of Djondarma paddle across the lake in three hide canoe's. As they draw up to shore, Ra'd Alim counts their number at four, each wearing similar garb of loose long sleeve wool coats called a Chuba. Underneath the Chuba are plain cotton tunics, furred vests of animal skin, or some sort of armored cuirass (usually boiled hide, sometimes studded with iron or reinforced with overlapping steel plates).

Beneath the Chuba are long woolen breeches tucked into knee-high boots designed to stomp through deep snow and keep out the cold and piercing winds of high altitude lined with fur. Around their waist they wear a sash, tucked with pouches, tools, flint-and-steel, daggers, axes or other weapons.

The overall quality and style of Djondarma garb is cheap and plain compared to the Djonfang, yet some adornment of jewelry fashioned from natural bone, claws, precious metals (silver & gold medallions), and beads (tourquoise, silver, gold) are worn proudly by Djondarma men and women. As often as not, they are known to keep and wear armor, weapons and other valuables captured in ambushes.

The most telling garment typically worn by the Djondarma is a stylized embroidered silken scarf, presently pulled up over their noses like a mask. These scarfs are dyed in bright colors and delicately sewn with embroidery, each patterned for a particular tribe and individual families within the tribe.

Ra'd Alim notes the scarfs of these four were very similar, all green with silver embroidery. Three of these four were likely directly related to each other.

The tallest and strongest of these has shoulder-length grey hair tied into braids with a well-used studded leather cuirass, gloves, bracers, and bronze armor caps strapped over his knees stylized in the fashion of rams heads. Across his back is a large hand-and-a-half broadsword with a short sword and a dagger tucked into his sash.

The one with a dissimilar scarf wears a bearskin cloak with very long, nearly white hair draped flowing over his back. A similarly long beard drapes below his scarf. A a boiled hide curiass is worn beneath his Chuba. While he wears no gloves, his boots are softer, more like over-sized moccasins. He carries no steel blades, but holds a long spear tipped with carved antler horn, a polished stone mace, and a long dragonglass dagger (obsidian) tucked through his sash.

The younger pair (probably teenagers), have shorter black hair. One of these youth was quite muscular with a hide cuirass and a shaved head. In his non-gloved hands he holds a heavy hewn-bone battle axe and four stone-tipped javelins slung low on his back. The shorter, leaner one has wilder hair cut at shoulder level, gloved hands tucked into steel bracers clearly visible with arms crossed above a pair of masterwork hand axes (of foreign make). There is also a fine short blow and arrows slung over their shoulder.

Guo Jiang: Steps forward to meet the Djondarma as they stand on the beach. Guo Jiang does an serviceable job speaking their old-fashioned dialect of the Djonfang language, albeit with a thick Caishian accent. "Welcome friends. Please share a meal with us by the fire."

The one with the braids takes a half-step closer indicating he speaks for the others.

Djondarma Leader: Stares over the old Caishians shoulder towards the cart upon which R'ad Alim still sat fuming and beleagured. -Speaking Djondarma Dialect- "Is he the Djonfang Dragon Shaman you spoke about?"

Guo Jiang: "Yes. His name is R'ad Alim."

Djondarma Leader: "...Doesn't look much pleased to see us." He comments.

Guo Jiang: "He is seriously injured, and very angry."

Djondarma Leader: "I will not hesitate to kill him if he attempts to harm us. If that happens, I will still expect you to hold to your end of the agreement."

Guo Jiang: Nods "He will cooperate if he hopes to live. Whatever happens, I am a man of my word."

Djondarma Leader: Nods "Very well. We will share your fire. Tomorrow at first light we will escort you through the mountains as promised."

Guo Jiang: Bows his head respectfully and gestures for the four to move over near the cart where the the cook fire has been lit within a circle of stones. The leader jerks his head and says something curt to the younger pair who quickly move away, apparently scouting and keeping watch.

Meanwhile the white-haired Djondarma steps over to the cart to get a better look at you, pulling down his scarf revealing the craggy features of a stubborn old man with two fangs piercing his lower lip. Twenty years ago he would have been very strong indeed, but now much of his bulk has leaned and wrinkled. There is yet much vigor and clarity in his sunken dark eyes as he sizes you up and speaks in a rough slightly tremulous voice.

White-Haired Djondarma: -Speaking Djonfang Dialect with a heavy Djondarma accent- "I am Ayuoso. Among my people I am known as 'White Bear'. I am a druid and a healer. If you wish it I can give you something to help you rest and ease your pain?"

[R'ad Alim: What do you do?]

 

[Neurotic]

Ra'd Alim Abd Al-Halid

R'ad Alim stands up eyeing the group with suspicion.

"I am Ra'd Alim Abd Al-Halid of Djonfang. I will owe nothing to you, White Bear. The Elder saved my life, thus, I honor his word and welcome you to the fire. May dragons of this land save us from ourselves."

He looks up at the Djondarma leader, judging him worthy opponent even at his full health. Right now, he has to live with the dishonor, allowing bandits into the camp and maybe owing them his life. The debt may be intended for old Guo, but R'ad feels the weight of it on his own soul.

 

[narayan]

High in the Great Drakeshvar Valley

R'ad Alim stands up eyeing the group with suspicion.

"I am Ra'd Alim Abd Al-Halid of Djonfang. I will owe nothing to you, White Bear. The Elder saved my life, thus, I honor his word and welcome you to the fire. May dragons of this land save us from ourselves."

He looks up at the Djondarma leader, judging him worthy opponent even at his full health. Right now, he has to live with the dishonor, allowing bandits into the camp and maybe owing them his life. The debt may be intended for old Guo, but R'ad feels the weight of it on his own soul.

Ayuoso: Persists with a steady stare, nodding slightly as you speak. "I appreciate your welcome. It is good that you show respect to your elders. Rest assured you have nothing to fear from me young shaman. Guo has spoken highly of you during many fireside chats with us. I have looked forward to meeting you."

Guo and the Djondarma leader have already moved over to the fire. It is several steps away from the cart. A seemingly small effort yes, but in your present condition covered in bruises, with multiple fractures and broken ribs, you will need to make a difficult Constitution Check to walk over there without passing out from the pain. If you fail that check, you will collapse. You will then need to make a Fortitude Save to stay conscious, avoid internal bleeding and subsequent death.

[sblock=State of injuries and Required Checks]
You are presently at 2 Hit Points with 3 broken ribs, a fractured right collarbone, a fractured left wrist, a fractured left shin and a fractured skull. You will not recover hit points at the regular rate of 1hp per hour with such extensive injuries. You will eventually heal naturally, but at a much slower rate of a typical man because your supernatural healing powers are presently not functional.

Constitution Check to avoid collapse: DC 16

Fortitude Save IF you collapse: DC 16
[/sblock]

[R'ad Alim: What do you do?]

 

[Neurotic]

Hard-headed and determined not to show too weak, young warrior joins them at the fire. He doesn't sit, not risking his leg sitting down. But standing then returning for an early bed seems feasible.

[roll0]

[roll1] hopefully not needed

He is no stranger to pain and bears it stoically.

OOC: why would I heal slower than human without powers?

 

[narayan]

In the Cellar of Jabbar's Trade Goods

"I have three questions: Who is their leader? Where is the leader? When will his leader attack?"

Elloral: Nods slowly, acknowledging Aust's questions before taking in a deep breath. This was clearly not something she wanted to do, but the call of duty was strong enough to motivate most any dwarf to do most anything. "Very Well." She says determinedly.

He pulls a canvas sack from a stack of them folded in one of the basement boxes. Jabbar was such a neatnik...Aust missed him already.


"Put the bottom half of the headless rhat in the sack and tie it. We'll toss it down the nearest gutter and see what comes for it."

Burrai: Frowns "Probably not a good idea. No one here knows how to navigate the sewers. REN was our only guide! Unless he returns it's too risky. A good soldier should pick his battles (and especially his battlefield) with better odds in his favor."

Aust gently pops off tops of several boxes, "We have some things at our disposal. Potions. Some weapons and armor. Wands, and the like. And this."


He removes an ornate bolt of cloth in a deep indigo hue with alabaster piping. He lays the cloth down on a table nearest the stairs. A hole opens where the table cloth is.


"We can carry something large with it; actually many somethings. But I'm thinking this might be the best way to transport the Vul's and perhaps Jabbar's bodies from here without drawing even more attention to us."


He digs through more items, "Anyone able to use anything? But don't get greedy; you can pay for it later. If indeed we revenge Jabbar and put an end to these sewer-dwellers, consider them a thank you."


He allows the others to look over the wares. "We need to leave Dera and the slaves out of this. Do not mention Jabbar nor anything else that has transpired. One of you put the Vul remains into canvas sacks. Wrap him up good, but leave it such that one of us can unroll him. Once he's packaged up, we'll put him in the Magic Bag here. And drop this in a really good spot."


"Burrai, respectfully, I realize the Vul appear indiscriminate, but they actually need people to subjugate. And where I plan to put this, it'll be pretty clear who the Vul should kill. It's either that, or you come up with a better idea."


"But know this, comrades..." Aust speaks the term with some salt, and looks at Bill and Avar, "...I aim to misbehave."

Burrai: Scratches his chin hrrrming in something like a growl. "If used RIGHT, the Vulkyrie corpse is a good lure to call upon the wrath of the other Vulkyrie; no doubt about that! ...So long as the Vulkyrie blame the right people I have no problem with using it that way."


Meanwhile, Elloral steps over the still wererat corpse of the stranger, (now reverted to human form) his chest split open by the thrust of Ersuns greatsword. She kneels down to one knee, clasping the magical beads of her long braids together in her hands as she prays. A few moments later, she opens her eyes and speaks to the corpse.


Elloral: "WHO is your leader?"


The rest of you in the cellar find yourselves starring at the corpse as the cellar goes eerily quiet. At first it seems the spell failed because the corpse remains perfectly still. Not even the eyes move to look at Elloral. Indeed nothing about its still form appears to respond to her question... until its slack jaw slowly mouths a name.


Stranger: "...Noorrrooo..." It hisses with a sucking, hollow breath (worsened by its massive chest wound) that sends shivers through most of you.


Elloral: Swallows. "WHERE is your leader?" She asks.


Stranger: "Roooming beeehiiind 'The Goooblinnns Gooobbbletttt'."


Elloral: "WHEN is your leader attacking?"


Stranger: "Onnn the Fuullll Mooonnnnn..." It gasps for the last time as the spell ends.


Elloral: Stands again quickly glad to step away from the thing. "Which one should I question next?" She asks, and looks to Billanverthorne specifically responding to his recent suggestion. "I don't want to question Jabbar. He was not our enemy. Out of respect only another family member can ask me to do so. Those are the rules of my faith."


Note: MOST of the magical items available in the cellar are listed below. Jabbar labeled them all neatly but if you are not sure of their powers or how they work, you should either direct your questions to Aust (or perhaps Avar) IN CHARACTER, or make a suitable Knowledge: Arcana Check or perhaps cast Detect Magic.


[sblock= Jabbar's Magical Items]
Potion of Lesser Restoration
Potion of Delay Poison
Potion of Neutralize Poison
Oil of Darkness
Potion of Cure Light Wounds x6
Oil of Bless Weapon
Potion of Hide from Animals
Potion of Spider Climb
Potion of Resist Energy (30)


Ring of Protection +2
Ring of Feather Falling


Wand of Cure Moderate Wounds
Wand of Knock
Wand of Detect Secret Doors
Wand of Magic Missile (1st)


Hat of Disguise
Silversheen
Bracers of Archery (Lesser)
Cloak of Resistance +1
Elixer of Truth
Bag of holding Type IV
Bracers of Armor +3
Lantern of Revealing


Ring of Clumsiness
Cursed Sword, -2
Stone of Weight
Flask of Curses


Intelligent Item (Skull of a Kobold)[/sblock]

Just then, a loud knock on the back door can be heard upstairs. (The secret door to the cellar is presently open so you have no trouble hearing it) The sudden sound causes Elloral to jump nervously as she looks between Avar and Aust.

Elloral: -Whispers- "Are either of you expecting anyone?" She inquires.

Avar: Frowns. "No."

Burrai: Takes a worried breath. "That knock was too loud to be Ren. It might be the town guard again. Aust, this is your shop now. How do you want to handle this?"

[Aletia, Aust, Billanverthorne: What do you do?]

 

[Tellerian Hawke]

Bill says, "One of us should go answer it, in a calm, polite, non-chalant manner. I volunteer to do so, if need-be."

 

[narayan]

High in the Great Drakeshvar Valley

Hard-headed and determined to show too weak, young warrior joins them at the fire. He doesn't sit, not risking his leg sitting down. But standing then returning for an early bed seems feasible.

[roll0]

[roll1] hopefully not needed

He is no stranger to pain and bears it stoically.

OOC: why would I heal slower than human without powers?

OOC: My House Rules for Sion change the way Damage Effects and Healing are dealt with. Details about those house rules are posted at the top of the Obsidian Portal Sion Wiki Page (also see below). Due to the severity and extent of your wounds you are not healing slower than a human without powers, you are simply healing at the same rate because you are cursed.

Note: For this game all rolls are made on rolz.org in room DDS 33. (See the Start Here! Thread for more details)

[sblock=Damage Effects]

Damage Effects

Special Damage Effect: Is being hit by a called shot

Serious Damage: Is when taking more DMG then your Con score in one hit (or half your total hp’s, whichever is higher)… Suffering Serious Damage causes Serious damage effects.

Massive Damage: When you take 50 DMG or more from one attack. Fortitude Saving Throw vs. Massive Damage = DC 15 or 10+ ECL of attacker (whichever is higher).

Massive Damage Effects:
Slashing Weapons (sever limbs or instant death if hit body or skull), Piercing Weapons (impale through limb or instant death if hit body or skull) Bludgeoning Weapons (crush/pulverize bones or instant death if hit body or skull.)
[/sblock]

[sblock=Healing]

Healing

PC’s regain lost HP’s at the rate of 1 per hour while resting, except for Serious/Critical damage. Those wounds require Heal Checks, and usually a period of extended rest. Some wounds (depending on damage type) may require magical healing.
[/sblock]

Guo Jiang: Notes R'ad Alim's stoic stance with a frown. "Sit down before you fall down!" He scolds, gesturing to a smooth stone set into the roots of the overhanging tree with a bundle of blankets to cushion against the trunk.

Djondarma Leader: Smiles slightly. "R'ad Alim reminds me of myself as a young warrior, too proud to show weakness."

Ayuoso: Moves over to sit by the Djondarma leader. "Don't patronize him brother. So far as he knows there is no honor in our company."

Djondarma Leader: Glances towards Guo who busies himself scaling and gutting the fish with a small hooked blade. "You did not explain?"

Guo Jiang: "Better that he hear it from you."

Djondarma Leader: Hmphs. "So be it." The leader clears his throat and addresses R'ad Alim directly. "I am Sogam Kashmir, former Khan of the Harachaandee tribe. Relations between our peoples have a bloody history. I don't expect you are in a mood to forget it, but there is more to the story that you should know..." He comments reaching for a corked brass jug that he'd already set into the coals of the fire.

As he pours the drink, piping-hot into brass bowls you recognize it as Chang, a favored alcoholic beverage of the Djondarma tribes. Similar to ale brewed from barley, rice or millet, it has a rather unique cider-like flavor beneficial for much-needed warmth in the cold, harsh environment of high altitudes.

Sogam: Pours a bowl first for Guo Jiang, than his brother Ayuoso, than a third that he offers to you. "It is a long, woeful tale I would share with you R'ad Alim. Yet if you are tolerant and patient enough to hear it through, I am happy to share this Chang with you. What do you say?"

[R'ad Alim: What do you do?]

 

[Neurotic]

OOC: I know about rolz...but when I answer from the mobile phone it takes too much time and effort, both in typing everything, changing sites, copying...I can do it when I'm on the computer like now - but it will affect my post rate somewhat as I'm not always free in the evenings. Also, I know I still owe personality test, I will do it soon - between therapy, work, and driving kids around...I'm rarely at the computer early enough to post long posts. Con save for extra movement (from DDS 33) - can I link that somehow? Neurotic rolls 1d20+10 = 25

Ra'd Alim considers the elder carefully. By now, they offered no disparaging comment. And he IS aware they know about his injuries, he just doesn't want to show the pain. Thus, he sits slowly but doesn't let the sound of his pain escape into the outside world.
"I will listen. The history of my people is long and well kept. I learned hard way that details can be lost to time. Tell your tale and we share chang. But I take no obligation to you or yours." he adds at the end, still suspicious.

 

[narayan]

Vandrok the Relentless

Vandrok snorts with glee, “It seems that the demon was not so strong after all. I came here to speak to Vahr, but if he is busy, I can wait. In the meantime, I’d like to approach the fence, and get a closer look at these vagrants who were able to triumph over the demon. You can never tell, I might end up fighting them eventually. I want to size them up and catch their scent. I won’t go near Vahr’s campfire. What say you, brother?”

Hjurn: "Ok Vandrok, go take a look at the strangers if you wish." He says stepping aside.

As you approach the bars, Vahr's chanting continues; zealous mutterings in the strange native tongue of the hill tribe. Through his voice you hear the name of their wicked patron goddess, 'Kalia', often repeated.

Vandrok: (FATE POOL Spot Check: = 25, Great Success!)

Now close against the bars you have a much clearer line of sight towards the strangers. The youngest of the three is a dwarven warrior staring back at you with alarm and great horror (a reaction you usually expect). He wears his beard plain, no braids, no beads, and trims it more in a triangular fashion. Over his shoulders he wears a billowy travel cloak of brownish fabric with a hood. Strapped to his back is a medium heavy steel shield. Over his broad torso he wears a chain-shirt along with bracers and greaves.

This warrior doesn't carry any obvious holy symbols, flashy jewelry, or known magical items. He holds a battle axe, but also carries a hand axe and a heavy crossbow. This young dwarf looks to be an honorable mountain dwarf clansman, like so many others you've seen hunted, tortured and cut down by the evil forces of Skull Mountain. You do not see any particular clan sigils visible on him from this distance. But if you did, it' is possible you might recognize them.

The other dwarf is actually a half-dwarf, or 'mule' with a thick build, aged in his late 30's. He wears a heavily soiled long-sleeved tunic and trousers, common travelers garb in the Kingdom of Borossa. Several days worth of stubble covers his face, the left side of which is ruined by a horrible burns deep enough to reveal raw cheekbone. The burns carry up towards his left eye socket which is covered by a patch.

His hair is coarse, black and heavily tangled draping loose over his temples and the tops of his shoulders. Instead of a hand he has a bent iron fork attached to a cup fitted over the stump of his left forearm. He has a throwing hammer looped to his belt with a buckler-axe strapped to the left forearm. He appears somewhat shaken and angry, still upset about Vahr's spell most likely.

The third man, the tall, elderly human you would guess to be Wrenwil, wears traveling garb of simple lightweight cloth worn and soiled from age, though of a foreign style unfamiliar to you. Beneath his clothes is weathered leather armor, devoid of battle scars. From beneath the ragged sun faded cloth cap concealing his balding head, thin tendrils of dark brown hair leech out mixed with grey. Stubble covers the better part of his chin, supporting a narrow frown and parched lips.

His facial features tell a miserable tale of early aging, stress and sleep deprivation. Dark bags linger on under narrow brown eyes, deep crows feet branching across the sides of his face. Long narrow limbs, lean, rippling with sinew and muscle tough as iron meet with soft pale hands clasped around a plain walking staff. Though his skin is deeply tanned from travel, he does not have the same features of a local Akhenaten. His looks would be unfamiliar to you, though he appears to be the most calm and collected of the strangers. In fact he seems to regard with you with more curiosity than fear.

Overall, it's easy to see the strangers are exhausted, bloodied and agitated. The fight with the demon surely would have been rough, but there is more to their long faces than that. You've seen that look before. It is the look of the hunted who have lost dear friends and comrades.

[Vandrok: What do you do?]

 

[narayan]

In the lair of Kumbakarna

Wrenwil continued to eat, but listened carefully to Alic and Ordechai's worrysome words. The tastes of a distant land, flavors that reminded him of peace, relaxation and a mountain of alluring texts back in his humble home... were somewhat soured by his companion's anxiety.

Maybe the priest was hardening. Through all the terrors of recent days, perhaps death no longer seemed like such a bother. Not with the weight of other visions lying heavy on one's mind.

"Let us not show them the fear they desire," he whispered. "If they are not of sound mind to understand your memories, Ordechai, then let's just have faith that the truth can be our gift to Kumbakarna, amongst what else he will want of us."

It was hardly a reassurance, but they'd kept their hearts beating this far. Pentos wouldn't have brought this all about for nothing. Never.

The old cleric's thoughts were interrupted by an expression of terror on Alic's face, and a look that he'd nope not to see again.

What this time! Surely even savages understand the rudeness of interrupting a sacred-gifted meal!

He turned, doing his best to keep a flat expressionless face, as he looked towards the source of Alic's newfound fears.

Then he turned back to his meal.

"Show no fear friends, no matter how we tremble inside. Alic, are you alright? Let's keep an eye on that one. Let me think..."

Beasts. Always more monstrosities. Question is, ugly friend, what kind are you... have your ways made it into the words of man or the texts of our predecessors?

[Wrenwil is scouring his memories for anything that matches the new arrival's appearance, with a Knowledge History General check. Roll = 19+5 (24)]

[sblock=Wrenwil Stats]

WRENWIL - a tough old boot on a terrible holiday Sheet: http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=209300 Level 6, Init 2, HP 31/38, Speed 30 AC 15, Touch 13, Flat-footed 13, Fort 7, Ref 6, Will 11, Base Attack Bonus 4 Masterwork Staff +5 to hit (d6+3) Spells: 4/4/3/2

[/sblock]

[Sblock=Results of Knowledge History Check]

The most obvious reference to what you glimpse beyond the bars would be a Minotaur, a monstrous hooved humanoid with the head and horns of a bull. Minotaurs are known to be ruthlessly cunning, violent and immensely powerful. These evil beings are sometimes found lurking in the ancient ruins of Khimera back home on your island Kingdom of Chival (and similar places elsewhere). Accounts of several famous encounters with these terrors are sung by the bards and written in the histories.

Most believe minotaurs are the product of some obscure dark magical ritual performed so long ago as to be lost to the ages. Some of these horned beasts have been observed and studied over the ages, though very few have ever been captured alive. As such, very little is known about their religion, breeding customs and general society.

You are aware that Minotaurs have more in common with feral animals than men. They are reclusive, hugely territorial and loathe to associate with other races (including each other). Almost nothing conclusive is known about the origins of the minotaur species. They are not one of natural elder races though they have roamed Sion for thousands of years.

[/Sblock]

Wrenwil: (FATE POOL Spot Check: = 21, Success)

Though it is known minotaurs vary somewhat in size and features, you spot something quite different from the norm with this horned monster; specifically feet instead of hooves. You also note how its garments, armor and weapons elude to greater skill and intelligence than typical minotaurs.

Perhaps most telling of all is how it seems to speak so calmly with the savages of the hill tribe. It is highly unusual for these monsters to dwell with other creatures peacefully.

[Wrenwil: What do you do?]

 

[Tellerian Hawke]

Vandrok The Relentless: The Coming Doom

There stood before him now a Caishian of maybe twenty years of age, at least foot and a half shorter than he, wearing a leather jerkin over chain mail. There is a spiked chain coiled at his waist along with a short sword and a dagger of fine Caishian craftsmanship.

Stranger: "You are the great horned one I saw in my vision!" He says in the common tongue.

Vandrok: Snorts. "Who in the nine hells are you?"

Stranger: "I am Svexyn, of Caishia. A Dragon-shaman."

Vandrok narrows his gaze with instant fascination. For some time now he had the idea to find a dragon to learn some great knowledge or power. It was a desire he shared with no one, yet now suddenly there was a dragon shaman standing before him? Oddly coincidental to say the least and Vandrok never trusted coincidences. "What do you want ?!" He asks with the great hoarse grunts of his deep bullish voice.

Svexyn. "I bring a message. Seek the great Pit of Bet'Shava."

Vandrok: Laughs. "I have heard of this pit, it is said to swallow trespassers whole and spit out their bones in clouds of dust!"

Svexyn: Nods "You are wise to be wary. Only the worthy or the invited may enter unharmed."

Vandrok: "And which of those am I?" He questions incredulously.

Svexyn: "I do not presume to know anything except that Bet'Shava herself, the great dragon of the Aluja Expanse, knows all there is to know in her demesne. The winds carry your thoughts to her as you wander each night. Forgive me I must go now. There is little time yet to accomplish my quest before the coming doom."

Vandrok: "What coming doom?"

Svexyn: Gestures back towards the hills. "Go and speak to Wrenwil, one of the others I traveled with. We came by the so-called path of blood. He knows much about the doom..." The Caishian says mysteriously.

Suddenly Vandrok feels a headache come upon him. A sharp aching within his skull that makes him wince and growl with pain. ~Not again!~

Svexyn: Stares with sudden awareness. "Ah, and you feel it too... you are connected with the doom somehow aren't you!?"

Vandrok: "Silence!" He roars shaking his horns too and fro.

Svexyn steps away quickly, setting off into the expanse without another word.

Vandrok stumbles forward, his headache lessening the nearer he gets to refuge. He knows the reason for it, along with the visions and persistant nightmares. The magic of his creators still runs through his veins. It pulls against his will everytime the cabal makes a new attempt to call him back, or perhaps destroy him?

The specifics and mysteries of arcane magics are nothing he's cared to dwell upon enough to fully understand. He only knows the power of their influence greatly lessens within the Hills of Kumbakarna. A fact he attributes to the protection of The Hill Tribe and their ancient gods, Baezu being one of them.

Vandrok watches the newcomers silently, all the while thinking about what the Dragon Shaman had told him.

Vandrok whispers, to no one in particular: “Wrenwil...Which one of them is Wrenwil?”

He surmised that perhaps the old, balding, leathery-looking man was Wrenwil, but he had to be certain! He had to. Vandrok could feel the panic once again welling up inside of him. It was not a panic borne of fear; rather, it was borne from a sense of urgency, a deeply-set yearning, in the most guarded recesses of his soul. It was borne from his desire to be truly free. He needed that freedom, now more than ever. Here, in the hills of Kumbakarna, he was safe from the raging pain in his skull, and allowed to roam unfettered, but he was not truly free. He had always thought that to be free from the evil of Skull Mountain, he would need to serve a greater power than they. He needed a liege whose authority was absolute, immune to even the influence of the Black Network. He had always been in awe of the power of Dragons. He had surmised that if he were to serve one, the Black Network would cease to bother him. But he had never been sure enough of success to commit to the task, before now; now, there was a Dragon Shaman telling him to seek out the mighty Bet’Shava herself, and that the way would be led by Wrenwil, who knows of the coming doom, obviously a reference to the rapid spread of the Black Network’s influence.

~They have walked the path of blood, albeit probably at a considerable price; none of them have the look of true warriors. They look more like bedraggled survivors, who have survived not through pure might, but perhaps from the application of sheer willpower. Still, there is honor in that; willpower is still strength. It is strength of the mind. And as the teachings of Baezu say, the focused will can often succeed where physical might alone has failed. Perhaps that is why I linger here? My limbs are stronger than anyone’s I know of, yet I hide behind doubt and uncertainty. Perhaps Wrenwil is destined to serve as my mentor, to free my mind, and lead me to The Dragon? Every hero needs guidance, in the same way that every knife benefits from being sharpened. Come, Wrenwil, reveal yourself to me. Your hesitation delays the fulfillment of my destiny!~

As he watched them, he adjusted the leather strap of his baldric absent-mindedly; it was a nervous habit, one that he was only vaguely aware of doing. The massive swords on his back shifted as he did so, although it was worth noting that his hands did not wander toward the hilts of these weapons in the least; from the look on his face, his weaponry was perhaps the furthest thing from his mind.

 

[97mg]

Aletia: Listener of dead words

The young elven woman lurked in the background, quiet and solemn, boiling with guilt as she watched a magic unfold that she'd never before witnessed. The speaking of the dead. It was as incredible as it was unsettling. Elloral was not to be underestimated. None of these people, Jabbar's folk, were to be underestimated.

Aletia bit her lip as the cold dry throat of the deceased expelled the words, Onnn the Fuullll Mooonnnnn...

Ominous. Perhaps it was a hint at were-creatures and the like, or simply an easy way to trace time for this ...Noorrrooo's servants and recruited scum. But such an auspicious symbol, a moonlit night where her godess was at her closest, when Sehanine's grace illuminated the lands and its people with silver rays. It felt as if the corpse's words were meant specifically for Aletia.

This was fate.

This was a message.

The very thought of it gave her strength. She'd not fail again.

The assortment of magical items, tools and devices caught her eyes of course, but her lips remained sealed. She'd not scar these peoples lives, and then add insult to injury by asking for a lend of their wealth. No. If, when, they deemed her worthy of any of these tools, then she'd gratefully accept. But not till invited.


[sblock=Aletia Stats]

ALETIA - Shining in the darkness Sheet: http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=725599 Level 6 Sorceress Init 3, HP Max: 32 Current: 23, Speed 30ft AC 14, Touch 13, Flat-footed 11, Fort 4, Ref 5, Will 5, Base Attack Bonus 3 Longbow +6 to hit / D8 damage (+1 point blank +1 with magic arrows) Longsword +3 to hit / D8 damage Familiar Crez (Tiny silver viper) Init 3, HP Max: 16 Current: 16, Speed 15ft AC 20, Fort 2, Ref 2, Will 4, Base Attack Bonus 2 Poisonous Bite +2 to hit / D1 damage (+poison) Abilities: Deliver touch spells, Alertness, Improved evasion, Spare spells, Empathic link, Speak with master

[/sblock]

 

[97mg]

Wrenwil: Nervous Desserts

“Don't stare, friends. I’d rather that beast not angered. Let's pray that it is not to become another of our ever-present issues,” Wrenwil whispered to his companions, Ordechai and Alic.

“One day we shall have a meal such as this, without such unsettling eyes upon us. Ah, these old bones do protest. Dare I take time to rest, pray and thank Pentos that the three of us continue to breathe this cursed land's air."

Wrenwil of course, was trying to put on a brave face for the benefit of his friends. But a sprinkling of deep concern was obvious in the deep wrinkles of his brow and dark sagging shadows at the base of his eyes.

"The debts to my god are heavy this night.”

He sighed.

"If it is anything of a reassurance, in my younger years... perhaps whilst better steered by a desire for self-preservation, most of my interaction with the world was through books. One can keep a comfortable distance from things, when they are mere text on a page, collected by some other... braver soul."

"From what I remember of life matching our new friend's description, the Minotaur is not known to associate with others peacefully, nor have a man's feet, or cause to indulge in the arts and benefits of steel. This is indeed... something to think about."

[sblock=Wrenwil Stats]

WRENWIL - a tough old boot on a terrible holiday Sheet: http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=209300 Level 6, Init 2, HP 31/38, Speed 30 AC 15, Touch 13, Flat-footed 13, Fort 7, Ref 6, Will 11, Base Attack Bonus 4 Masterwork Staff +5 to hit (d6+3) Spells: 4/4/3/2

[/sblock]

 

[narayan]

High in the Great Drakeshvar Valley

Ra'd Alim considers the elder carefully. By now, they offered no disparaging comment. And he IS aware they know about his injuries, he just doesn't want to show the pain. Thus, he sits slowly but doesn't let the sound of his pain escape into the outside world.

"I will listen. The history of my people is long and well kept. I learned hard way that details can be lost to time. Tell your tale and we share chang. But I take no obligation to you or yours." he adds at the end, still suspicious.

Sogam Kashmir: "I remember the day my father, the former Khan, answered the call to make war on the valley. I was only a boy, I did not understand the need for it. Back then Djonfang merchants came up to our villages fairly regularly, trading spices, silks and gold for yakswool, dragonglass, and ice. For us poor lads, the lands of the valley always sounded like a paradise. Farms and orchards full of fresh fruit and produce, calm streams and lakes warmed by the sun. Some of the older lads got to travel down to the valley once a year during the summer, before the mountain passes became too dangerous with threats of avalanche."

Ayuoso: "I was so lucky once." He interjects with a smile.

Sogam Kashmir: Continues. "During the winters I heard many tales of the powerful dragon shamans, ruling over the people and their dragons alike, keeping the peace with their mysterious sorcery. The Djonfang did not seem much like enemies to me. Nevertheless, my father said all Khans had a duty to obey the RajKhan, unless they had the nerve to challenge and replace him. As he marched away with all the warriors the villages could spare to join ranks with the RajKhans army, I couldn't help but wish that he would challenge the RajKhan so he could call off the war altogether."

"Less than a fortnight later, barely half a dozen of our tribes warriors returned. These men looked utterly defeated, overcome with grief and horror. Some were badly wounded with burns the likes of which I'd never seen. When I pressed them to speak of my father, they only said one thing... DRAGONFIRE!" He states in a haunted voice, pausing to let his gaze stare into the flames of the cookfire. "...All there was left of him to bury beneath the family shrine were ashes..." He grimaces.

"There is an old saying among my people. 'Evil in a position of power is the cruelest form of power.' There is also another saying among the Maharathans in the south 'When a king is about to lose his power his orders burn more intensely than fire.'"

"My father died because the RajKhan decided to play war with the masters of the dragons. By all rights it should have been the RajKhan himself who perished, not my father. Grief-stricken though we were, myself and the other fatherless boys had to grow up fast. The loss of so many able-bodied men was a great hardship on the tribe. That first winter after the war was brutal. Some of the widows, including my mother, had to trade away whatever valuables they had left for further food and provisions."

Ayuoso Kashmir: "I remember that winter well little brother." He adds.

Sogam Kashmir: Nods. "You were one of the only boys left old enough to hunt. Were it not for you, we might not have managed it." He says placing a thankful hand on Ayuoso's shoulder briefly before returning his attention to you, R'ad Alim.

"Nobody ever explained the war to my satisfaction, though few enough of my tribesman yet lived who spent any time with the RajKhan. No one could tell me what sort of man he was. When summer came again, the RajKhan's men came back, as usual, to collect the annual tribute. They assembled us all into the center of the village and demanded to know who was now Khan."

"My mother spoke up, stepping forward clutching one of my fathers spears and spare shields. It was not unheard of for a woman to be a Khan among my people, but the RajKhan's men laughed at her, and I HATED them for that. She let them take what they wanted from the village, what little was left of value, and went away with them to swear loyalty to the RajKhan in the name of the Harachaandee."

"When she returned, she told me what she could about our ruler. That he was a vile, impetuous, greedy and violent man. The sort of Djondarma who gives the rest of us a bad name as bloodthirsty bandits. His rise to defeat the former RajKhan was always rumored to have been a sort of backstabbing, arranged by other like-minded khans who hated having their hands tied by the honorable minded."

"She also told me he kept strange company of foreign advisers, sorcerers, and dishonest merchants. She believed it was these wicked councilors who poisoned his thoughts towards your people, the Djonfang. She also learned that my father had indeed, tried to speak up against the war, and was immediately ordered to be one of the first Khans leading the vanguard."

"Every year she had a chance to visit the RajKhan to present our annual tribute, she did so, bringing back more names, more information about his court. She also visited other Khans, sharing what we could spare to ease their hardships, and form renewed friendships with others who hated the RajKhan. By then I was old enough to stand as a warrior, eventually taking my fathers place as Khan, since my older brother chose to become a druid instead."

Ayuoso: Interrupts "It is not so much a choice as it is a calling to become a druid brother." He interrupts.

Sogam Kashmir: "Once I was Khan I tried to do as my mother had, as she instructed me to do, to visit the RajKhan and gather information about his court. But the RajKhan did not forget the way my father spoke against the war, and he decided I was likely to be a troublemaker before I even met him. When his men came to collect our tribute, I went back with them, as was custom, but they attempted to murder me before we ever reached the RajKhan's fortress."

"I've been living on the lamb ever since, hiding my face, spending many years abroad in Maharatha or the mountain lowlands, assorting with but avoiding the same bandits and dishonest merchants the RajKhan invites to his court. Secretly I am still known as the former-Khan of the Harachaandee, but I dare not show my face in my home again."

"When I met Guo Jiang and heard his claims about the corruption among the dragon shamans, and heard about you, R'ad Alim, a thought occurred to me, that perhaps we were fated to meet. Two men, wronged by our unjust rulers, left for dead for no good cause... Survivors! We could do well to help each other and seek justice."

"I have a family now, a wife, two fine warrior children, the very same who keep watch over our camp now in fact. I do not want them to live their lives in perpetual exile as I have. I have secrets to share with you, knowledge of plots and dangerous forces at work trying to seize control over this region and this valley in particular."

"I don't bear any ill-will against you or any other Djonfang, but from what Guo Jiang tells me your leaders don't sound much better than mine. I'd rather help you prevent the same sort of corruption that cost my people so dearly. Does that sound agreeable to you?" He asks pouring himself a bowl of Chang.

[R'ad Alim: What do you do?]