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NOW LIVE! Into the Woods--new character species, eerie monsters, and haunting villains to populate the woodlands of your D&D games.
Welcome to the Halmae (updated 2/27/07)
- Thread starter spyscribe
- Start date
doghead
thotd
Ah, the best thing about being away for a while is being able to come back to a couple of pages of updates.
the way the differents sects have been woven into the game has made me decide to try to do more to weave them into the tapestry of my own game. For a while I had a cleric of the Lady's Handmaidens, but he (the character) dropped off the map fairly quickly.
thotd.
the way the differents sects have been woven into the game has made me decide to try to do more to weave them into the tapestry of my own game. For a while I had a cleric of the Lady's Handmaidens, but he (the character) dropped off the map fairly quickly.
thotd.
spyscribe
First Post
Well, here it is, the much-promoted beginning of our saga within a saga, in which John Rogers joins the party for a session, and well… see for yourself.
Part the One-Hundred Forty-Fourth
In which: a good guide is hard to find… and Pesshetaup is even harder to locate.
The next morning, Eva sets out to make the rounds among local inns and taverns to see if she can pick up information about obtaining a guide to take them through the desert. Although the party does not know exactly where Manaal can be found, Chi’i did mention that she is near the city of Pesshetaup. Of course, since Pesshetaup is not on the party’s map, knowing that city’s location is going to be high on their list of criteria for prospective guides.
When Eva returns, she has three likely candidates.
“The first is a man by the name of Djamel. His name came up almost everywhere I asked about possible guides, and he seems to be well-regarded. A few people also mentioned a woman named Parwin. She’s one of the Shesher, a desert elf, and they’re said to be the best guides around.”
“You said you had three candidates,” Anvil reminds her when Eva takes a pause for a drink of water.
Eva rolls her eyes at him. “The last is a guy called Baasim. Now, I didn’t meet a lot of people who had heard of him, but I talked to one man who had used him as a guide and he was every enthusiastic in his recommendation.”
The party decides to first go and speak with Djamel. They find him in a café, drinking small cups of very dark coffee. The coffee is almost as black as his skin, burnt by the desert sun. He wears the most simple and functional of desert robes, and the twin scimitars across his back appear well used.
He cordially invites the party to sit and offers to share his coffee. Kiara accepts immediately, and downs the tiny cup in a single gulp. She sits silently for a few seconds afterwards, blinks rapidly, and then opens her mouth.
“Wow! That is the best stuff, ever. Where did you get it? Can I buy some, Annika? Please? I’ll use my own money and everything. I have money now, you know, on account of raiding the keep in Bountiful, that was full of skeletons, but I killed the thing that was making them. Well, he had a thing that was making the skeletons, and he almost made me a skeleton, and that would have been bad. But—”
“Kiara!” Anniaka interrupts her sharply.
“Yes?”
“Maybe you should be quiet now.”
“Oh. Yeah. Maybe.” Kiara snaps her mouth closed immediately and commences vibrating on the seat of her chair.
“I can arrange to get some Anh-ishtala’h for you, little one, but I am not sure it would be a wise idea.” Djamel chuckles good-naturedly, but when he turns to Anvil his expression is sober. “So, you are seeking a guide through the desert.”
Anvil nods. “Yes.”
“The desert is a very dangerous place, Justicar. A hundred creatures that will kill a man, like that!” he snaps his fingers sharply in Anvil’s face by way of illustration. “Why would you wish to go there?”
Anvil is unruffled. “We have business in Pesshetaup.”
Djamel sits back, takes another sip of the coffee-like substance. “Pesshetaup?” He shakes his head. “I am not familiar with it.”
“You’re not?” Reyu asks.
“The desert has many secrets,” he replies. “Many deadly secrets. If you like, I can make some inquiries. Come back tomorrow. I will know more.”
The party members briefly consult. “It is not necessary that you trouble yourself at this time,” Anvil informs Djamel. “We are speaking to many prospective guides. But we may be in touch later.”
Djamel nods philosophically. “It is no bother. A man cannot know too much about the desert.”
The party rises and takes their leave.
“May Kettenek’s Justice be upon you,” Anvil intones.
Djamel acknowledges the sentiment, “May the desert not claim your bones before your children are married.”
“Well,” says Lira as soon as they are out of earshot, “he’s a cheery one.”
###
The party finds Parwin, crouched in the shade of the Temple of Alirria. She wears long and heavily beaded braids while one hand rests easily on the shoulder of a large hyena. Her garment is made of coarse linen, colored like the desert sands. Though crude, (at least by human standards) it appears well-suited to the climate.
She stares with barely concealed contempt at the party as they approach, but her eyes do flicker to Reyu’s braids, and then to Kiara’s.
Reyu steps forward, which brings her close enough to read Parwin’s braids identifying her as a member of the Otees tribe of the Shesher nation. They also call her “Gina Luen” which Reyu translates as “tearful mother.”
Reyu assimilates this information in an instant, then greets the other woman in Elven. “Greetings, sister.”
Parwin inclines her chin slightly. “Sister.” It’s hard to tell if she means it sincerely or not. Her eyes stray over to Kiara’s braids and she looks… puzzled.
“You are Kiara?”
“Yes.”
“You… are not elven.”
“No,” Kiara agrees. “But I lived with them for a while.”
Parwin, nods and puts a hand on the hyena’s broad back. “Ah… This is my Kiaru.”
Kiara blinks. “Oh! That’s just like my name.”
Reyu explains. “Kiara or Kiaru means ‘foundling’ in elven. It’s not an uncommon name to give animals adopted into the tribe.”
“Foundling?” Kiara is not sure how she feels about that.
“It means you’re accepted,” Reyu assures her. “Perhaps, someday, you will find a name that suits you better.”
Kiara frowns, and Annika strokes her hair gently. Parwin watches the two of them the way someone else might watch rescue efforts at the site of an overturned wagon.
Reyu clears her throat to retake Parwin’s attention. “My friends and I are looking for a guide to take us through the desert.”
“Why do you wish to travel through the desert?”
“We have someone we wish to meet in Pesshetaup.”
Parwin frowns. “I am not familiar with this place.”
“It seems to be a common problem,” Lira puts in.
Parwin looks at her askance, but continues to addresses Reyu. “You are not from here.”
“No,” Reyu agrees. “We are on a mission from a place called Dar Pykos, across the Halmae.”
Parwin takes that in. “Are these human lands?”
“Dar Pykos is a human city, but there are elves in the… area.”
Parwin casts an appraising look over the party. “Are there elven slaves in this… Dar Pykos?”
“We do not condone such things,” Anvil answers immediately. “And slavery is not legal in the city from which we come. However, that is not the case in all cities of the Confederacy. This is something which we seek to change through the doctrine of Universal Law.”
Anvil’s pronouncement is received in silence.
Reyu however, remembers Parwin’s braids. “Have you lost someone to slavers?” she asks. “Is that why you are ‘Gina Luen’?’
Parwin nods, then spits contemptuously into the sand by her feet. “They took my son.”
“When?”
Parwin shakes her head. “70… maybe 80 years ago. A man named Assal.”
Reyu, Thatch, Anvil and Lira exchange glances. Parwin picks up on the shift immediately. “What is it? Do you have knowledge of this man?”
Lira clears her throat. “We once encountered a man. Adar al-Assal. But he is far too young to have been the one who took your child.”
(Wayback machine note: Adar al-Assal is the proprietor of Al-Assal’s House of Pleasure in Dar Aego. Readers of especially long memory might recall him as the unctuous character who brokered several wrongly-enslaved citizens of Dar Pykos, and introduced Lira to the party.)
Parwin considers. “I would like to speak with this man.”
“That would be difficult,” Anvil answers. “He is in a city called Dar Aego, very far from here.”
“Will you be returning there?”
“We will be returning to the Confederacy of city-states of which Dar Aego is a member eventually, but not immediately.”
Parwin nods. “If you can find more information on this… Pesshetaup, I will take you there. I would then ask to go with you to find this Adar al-Assal. If our paths do not cross in the sands, I will seek him out myself.”
Worried that Parwin might run into trouble traveling alone (or more worrisomely, traveling with a hyena) in the Confederacy, Anvil promises to write her a letter which she can take to the Temple of Justice in Dar Pykos, appraising them of her situation.
(BadMonkeyJeff: I am writing a letter than an injustice has been committed against this elf.
Jonrog1: I have been waiting all night for him to say that!)
The party informs Parwin they will return the following day if they have any new information on Pesshetaup. In the meantime, they go in search of the third guide candidate, Baasim.
###
After asking several people in Siunethrit’s central market where they can find Baasim, the party is finally directed to where a large man in opulent robes is engaged in a loud debate with a sandal merchant.
“Are you mad? Were your sandals made of solid silver you would reap the profits of a general by charging that price!”
The merchant is not to be intimidated by Baasim’s bluster. “You would have my children begging in the streets, sir. You will not find a finer sandal in the city, and its second-best would be twice the price!”
“I would rather go into the desert barefoot,” Baasim scoffs, “allow the sand to blast the flesh from my bones, and cross the desert on the remaining stumps than take a single step in one of those abominations that you call a sandal!”
There is a heavy pause. “I will pay one silver piece more,” Baasim offers.
Baasim stares at the sandal merchant. The sandal merchant stares back. There is a brief, tense, silence.
“Agreed!”
“Excellent!”
The merchant claps Baasim on the shoulder. “You are a prince among men, sir.”
“No… No… It is you who are a prince among shoemakers!”
“You do me too much honor…”
There is considerable back slapping and exchanging of accolades which follows, but when it seems that the transaction has actually come to some sort of conclusion, Anvil steps forward and clears his throat.
“Excuse me.”
Baasim and the shoe merchant look up. “Yes?”
“Baasim?”
“I am he.”
“My companions and I are in need of a desert guide.”
Baasim’s attention leaves the sandal merchant entirely. “Then you have come to the right place, my friend,” he proclaims. “There is no finer guide in all of Ebis. I know the desert as I know the intimate geography of my wives. Come, let us go where we can discuss this matter more comfortably.”
###
Baasim guides the party to a large and luxurious tent pitched not far from the central market. He has many camels staked outside and as the party members are shown to floor cushions, a servant is almost instantly at each of their elbows, offering hot tea.
Anvil tries to begin detailing their needs, but Baasim will have none of it. “Business can wait. We are all friends here and I am honored, honored I tell you, to have a man of such stature… a Justicar… visiting in my tent.”
Eva and Lira exchange skeptical looks. “And your friends as well!” Baasim continues. “Such a fine, strong young man, and” he looks over at the ladies, “such beauties! Princesses all.” Much to Eva’s embarrassment, Baasim proceeds to take her hand and kisses the back of it.
“Now tell me,” Baasim urges, “where are you staying in our fine city? I can recommend many excellent inns with worthy accommodations for travelers such as yourselves.”
Before they quite know what has happened, Baasim has sent a servant to pay their bill at the inn, provided them all with new clothes appropriate for the Ebisite climate, and also sent along a basket of nuts and candied fruits.
Eva opens her mouth to object but is met with a swift. “No, it is no use objecting. It is already done.”
Finally, Anvil is able to disclose their objective.
“Ahh… Pesshetaup… I know it well.”
“Really?” Thatch asks. “Most other guides haven’t.”
“Which is why they are unworthy to guide you!” Baasim replies hotly. He shakes his head. “Ah… what an honest businessman has to deal with in the face of criminal competitors.”
A servant is immediately at Baasim’s side with a cold compress. “Would you like a foot-wash Saheeb?”
“Ah yes… but later. Go, attend to our guests.”
The party members decline the offered foot-washing as politely as they are able.
“But yes, as soon as you wish to go to Pesshetaup, Justicar… I, Baasim, will take you.”
“Where is Pesshetaup?” Lira asks.
Baasim rewards her with an indulgent smile. “I cannot tell you princess, for I have a very real fear. Perhaps I tell you where the city can be found and you decide you do not need a guide through the desert? Yes? Then, you wander off into the shifting sands and are never seen again. No. I could not live with such a thing on my conscience.”
“Can you tell us how long it would take to get there?”
Baasim considers. “Seven… eight days at the very most.”
Anvil clears his throat. “You have given us much to consider sir. We will return with our response within a day.”
Baasim shakes his head. “Do not tarry, Justicar. As honored as I would be lead you, others of less worth clamor for my skills, and…” He lets the sentence trail off.
“We understand your time is precious,” Anvil intones. “But Kettenek’s Justice demands we take due care and consideration.”
Baasim does not appear offended. “Of course. Of course. I will see you tomorrow, and we will begin our desert odyssey!”
Part the One-Hundred Forty-Fourth
In which: a good guide is hard to find… and Pesshetaup is even harder to locate.
The next morning, Eva sets out to make the rounds among local inns and taverns to see if she can pick up information about obtaining a guide to take them through the desert. Although the party does not know exactly where Manaal can be found, Chi’i did mention that she is near the city of Pesshetaup. Of course, since Pesshetaup is not on the party’s map, knowing that city’s location is going to be high on their list of criteria for prospective guides.
When Eva returns, she has three likely candidates.
“The first is a man by the name of Djamel. His name came up almost everywhere I asked about possible guides, and he seems to be well-regarded. A few people also mentioned a woman named Parwin. She’s one of the Shesher, a desert elf, and they’re said to be the best guides around.”
“You said you had three candidates,” Anvil reminds her when Eva takes a pause for a drink of water.
Eva rolls her eyes at him. “The last is a guy called Baasim. Now, I didn’t meet a lot of people who had heard of him, but I talked to one man who had used him as a guide and he was every enthusiastic in his recommendation.”
The party decides to first go and speak with Djamel. They find him in a café, drinking small cups of very dark coffee. The coffee is almost as black as his skin, burnt by the desert sun. He wears the most simple and functional of desert robes, and the twin scimitars across his back appear well used.
He cordially invites the party to sit and offers to share his coffee. Kiara accepts immediately, and downs the tiny cup in a single gulp. She sits silently for a few seconds afterwards, blinks rapidly, and then opens her mouth.
“Wow! That is the best stuff, ever. Where did you get it? Can I buy some, Annika? Please? I’ll use my own money and everything. I have money now, you know, on account of raiding the keep in Bountiful, that was full of skeletons, but I killed the thing that was making them. Well, he had a thing that was making the skeletons, and he almost made me a skeleton, and that would have been bad. But—”
“Kiara!” Anniaka interrupts her sharply.
“Yes?”
“Maybe you should be quiet now.”
“Oh. Yeah. Maybe.” Kiara snaps her mouth closed immediately and commences vibrating on the seat of her chair.
“I can arrange to get some Anh-ishtala’h for you, little one, but I am not sure it would be a wise idea.” Djamel chuckles good-naturedly, but when he turns to Anvil his expression is sober. “So, you are seeking a guide through the desert.”
Anvil nods. “Yes.”
“The desert is a very dangerous place, Justicar. A hundred creatures that will kill a man, like that!” he snaps his fingers sharply in Anvil’s face by way of illustration. “Why would you wish to go there?”
Anvil is unruffled. “We have business in Pesshetaup.”
Djamel sits back, takes another sip of the coffee-like substance. “Pesshetaup?” He shakes his head. “I am not familiar with it.”
“You’re not?” Reyu asks.
“The desert has many secrets,” he replies. “Many deadly secrets. If you like, I can make some inquiries. Come back tomorrow. I will know more.”
The party members briefly consult. “It is not necessary that you trouble yourself at this time,” Anvil informs Djamel. “We are speaking to many prospective guides. But we may be in touch later.”
Djamel nods philosophically. “It is no bother. A man cannot know too much about the desert.”
The party rises and takes their leave.
“May Kettenek’s Justice be upon you,” Anvil intones.
Djamel acknowledges the sentiment, “May the desert not claim your bones before your children are married.”
“Well,” says Lira as soon as they are out of earshot, “he’s a cheery one.”
###
The party finds Parwin, crouched in the shade of the Temple of Alirria. She wears long and heavily beaded braids while one hand rests easily on the shoulder of a large hyena. Her garment is made of coarse linen, colored like the desert sands. Though crude, (at least by human standards) it appears well-suited to the climate.
She stares with barely concealed contempt at the party as they approach, but her eyes do flicker to Reyu’s braids, and then to Kiara’s.
Reyu steps forward, which brings her close enough to read Parwin’s braids identifying her as a member of the Otees tribe of the Shesher nation. They also call her “Gina Luen” which Reyu translates as “tearful mother.”
Reyu assimilates this information in an instant, then greets the other woman in Elven. “Greetings, sister.”
Parwin inclines her chin slightly. “Sister.” It’s hard to tell if she means it sincerely or not. Her eyes stray over to Kiara’s braids and she looks… puzzled.
“You are Kiara?”
“Yes.”
“You… are not elven.”
“No,” Kiara agrees. “But I lived with them for a while.”
Parwin, nods and puts a hand on the hyena’s broad back. “Ah… This is my Kiaru.”
Kiara blinks. “Oh! That’s just like my name.”
Reyu explains. “Kiara or Kiaru means ‘foundling’ in elven. It’s not an uncommon name to give animals adopted into the tribe.”
“Foundling?” Kiara is not sure how she feels about that.
“It means you’re accepted,” Reyu assures her. “Perhaps, someday, you will find a name that suits you better.”
Kiara frowns, and Annika strokes her hair gently. Parwin watches the two of them the way someone else might watch rescue efforts at the site of an overturned wagon.
Reyu clears her throat to retake Parwin’s attention. “My friends and I are looking for a guide to take us through the desert.”
“Why do you wish to travel through the desert?”
“We have someone we wish to meet in Pesshetaup.”
Parwin frowns. “I am not familiar with this place.”
“It seems to be a common problem,” Lira puts in.
Parwin looks at her askance, but continues to addresses Reyu. “You are not from here.”
“No,” Reyu agrees. “We are on a mission from a place called Dar Pykos, across the Halmae.”
Parwin takes that in. “Are these human lands?”
“Dar Pykos is a human city, but there are elves in the… area.”
Parwin casts an appraising look over the party. “Are there elven slaves in this… Dar Pykos?”
“We do not condone such things,” Anvil answers immediately. “And slavery is not legal in the city from which we come. However, that is not the case in all cities of the Confederacy. This is something which we seek to change through the doctrine of Universal Law.”
Anvil’s pronouncement is received in silence.
Reyu however, remembers Parwin’s braids. “Have you lost someone to slavers?” she asks. “Is that why you are ‘Gina Luen’?’
Parwin nods, then spits contemptuously into the sand by her feet. “They took my son.”
“When?”
Parwin shakes her head. “70… maybe 80 years ago. A man named Assal.”
Reyu, Thatch, Anvil and Lira exchange glances. Parwin picks up on the shift immediately. “What is it? Do you have knowledge of this man?”
Lira clears her throat. “We once encountered a man. Adar al-Assal. But he is far too young to have been the one who took your child.”
(Wayback machine note: Adar al-Assal is the proprietor of Al-Assal’s House of Pleasure in Dar Aego. Readers of especially long memory might recall him as the unctuous character who brokered several wrongly-enslaved citizens of Dar Pykos, and introduced Lira to the party.)
Parwin considers. “I would like to speak with this man.”
“That would be difficult,” Anvil answers. “He is in a city called Dar Aego, very far from here.”
“Will you be returning there?”
“We will be returning to the Confederacy of city-states of which Dar Aego is a member eventually, but not immediately.”
Parwin nods. “If you can find more information on this… Pesshetaup, I will take you there. I would then ask to go with you to find this Adar al-Assal. If our paths do not cross in the sands, I will seek him out myself.”
Worried that Parwin might run into trouble traveling alone (or more worrisomely, traveling with a hyena) in the Confederacy, Anvil promises to write her a letter which she can take to the Temple of Justice in Dar Pykos, appraising them of her situation.
(BadMonkeyJeff: I am writing a letter than an injustice has been committed against this elf.
Jonrog1: I have been waiting all night for him to say that!)
The party informs Parwin they will return the following day if they have any new information on Pesshetaup. In the meantime, they go in search of the third guide candidate, Baasim.
###
After asking several people in Siunethrit’s central market where they can find Baasim, the party is finally directed to where a large man in opulent robes is engaged in a loud debate with a sandal merchant.
“Are you mad? Were your sandals made of solid silver you would reap the profits of a general by charging that price!”
The merchant is not to be intimidated by Baasim’s bluster. “You would have my children begging in the streets, sir. You will not find a finer sandal in the city, and its second-best would be twice the price!”
“I would rather go into the desert barefoot,” Baasim scoffs, “allow the sand to blast the flesh from my bones, and cross the desert on the remaining stumps than take a single step in one of those abominations that you call a sandal!”
There is a heavy pause. “I will pay one silver piece more,” Baasim offers.
Baasim stares at the sandal merchant. The sandal merchant stares back. There is a brief, tense, silence.
“Agreed!”
“Excellent!”
The merchant claps Baasim on the shoulder. “You are a prince among men, sir.”
“No… No… It is you who are a prince among shoemakers!”
“You do me too much honor…”
There is considerable back slapping and exchanging of accolades which follows, but when it seems that the transaction has actually come to some sort of conclusion, Anvil steps forward and clears his throat.
“Excuse me.”
Baasim and the shoe merchant look up. “Yes?”
“Baasim?”
“I am he.”
“My companions and I are in need of a desert guide.”
Baasim’s attention leaves the sandal merchant entirely. “Then you have come to the right place, my friend,” he proclaims. “There is no finer guide in all of Ebis. I know the desert as I know the intimate geography of my wives. Come, let us go where we can discuss this matter more comfortably.”
###
Baasim guides the party to a large and luxurious tent pitched not far from the central market. He has many camels staked outside and as the party members are shown to floor cushions, a servant is almost instantly at each of their elbows, offering hot tea.
Anvil tries to begin detailing their needs, but Baasim will have none of it. “Business can wait. We are all friends here and I am honored, honored I tell you, to have a man of such stature… a Justicar… visiting in my tent.”
Eva and Lira exchange skeptical looks. “And your friends as well!” Baasim continues. “Such a fine, strong young man, and” he looks over at the ladies, “such beauties! Princesses all.” Much to Eva’s embarrassment, Baasim proceeds to take her hand and kisses the back of it.
“Now tell me,” Baasim urges, “where are you staying in our fine city? I can recommend many excellent inns with worthy accommodations for travelers such as yourselves.”
Before they quite know what has happened, Baasim has sent a servant to pay their bill at the inn, provided them all with new clothes appropriate for the Ebisite climate, and also sent along a basket of nuts and candied fruits.
Eva opens her mouth to object but is met with a swift. “No, it is no use objecting. It is already done.”
Finally, Anvil is able to disclose their objective.
“Ahh… Pesshetaup… I know it well.”
“Really?” Thatch asks. “Most other guides haven’t.”
“Which is why they are unworthy to guide you!” Baasim replies hotly. He shakes his head. “Ah… what an honest businessman has to deal with in the face of criminal competitors.”
A servant is immediately at Baasim’s side with a cold compress. “Would you like a foot-wash Saheeb?”
“Ah yes… but later. Go, attend to our guests.”
The party members decline the offered foot-washing as politely as they are able.
“But yes, as soon as you wish to go to Pesshetaup, Justicar… I, Baasim, will take you.”
“Where is Pesshetaup?” Lira asks.
Baasim rewards her with an indulgent smile. “I cannot tell you princess, for I have a very real fear. Perhaps I tell you where the city can be found and you decide you do not need a guide through the desert? Yes? Then, you wander off into the shifting sands and are never seen again. No. I could not live with such a thing on my conscience.”
“Can you tell us how long it would take to get there?”
Baasim considers. “Seven… eight days at the very most.”
Anvil clears his throat. “You have given us much to consider sir. We will return with our response within a day.”
Baasim shakes his head. “Do not tarry, Justicar. As honored as I would be lead you, others of less worth clamor for my skills, and…” He lets the sentence trail off.
“We understand your time is precious,” Anvil intones. “But Kettenek’s Justice demands we take due care and consideration.”
Baasim does not appear offended. “Of course. Of course. I will see you tomorrow, and we will begin our desert odyssey!”
Fajitas
Hold the Peppers
jonrog, for anyone wondering, is playing not one, not two, but all three of the guides. I wanted to let the party choose who was going to lead them into the desert, and didn't want them to feel forced to choose one over the others because someone was actually playing one of them. John, bless his heart, was more than game to wear all three hats.
This was such an easy session for me to run. All I had to do was write up the background information on the guides, then sit back and watch the madness...
This was such an easy session for me to run. All I had to do was write up the background information on the guides, then sit back and watch the madness...
Spatzimaus
First Post
I was expecting more anal probing. Although, you HAVE had undead childred in this SH already, so I guess it's okay.
spyscribe
First Post
coyote6: I am always proud to learn that this story hour has caused loss of sleep. Welcome. 
And if past years are any guide, we'll figure out when, if, and how many of us are going to GenCon SoCal approximately the Wednesday before it begins.
In the meantime:
Part the One-Hundred Forty-Fifth
In which: Thatch makes an astute observation, Anvil breaks bad news, and Eva rids herself of excess baggage.
“He’s nuts,” Thatch opines once they have left Baasim’s tent.
This is a popular opinion, only strengthened when the party returns to their inn to find that the bill has been paid, new outfits have arrived, and not one, but two baskets of candied fruits and nuts have been delivered.
No one eats any.
Lira sums up the collective sentiment. “Anyone who spends that much on total strangers has a plan to recoup it somehow.”
More problematic is the fact that Baasim is the only guide they have met who even claims to have knowledge of the place they wish to travel.
“We could question him under a zone of truth,” Anvil suggests, “but I suspect he might object.”
For the meantime, lacking a better plan, the group decides to leave the matter until the next day and hope that Djamel’s sources come through with information on Pesshetaup.
###
The next day, Djamel does indeed have more information for them, however, he is a bit suspicious of why the party wanted it.
“Tell me again,” he begins once the party members have all arrived at the café. “Why do you wish to travel to Pesshetaup?”
“We told you,” Lira says. “We wish to visit someone who lives there.”
Djamel lets that rest in silence for a moment before taking a pull on his cigarette and explaining. “That is strange, as there is no one living in Pesshetaup.”
“Strange sort of city,” Kiara remarks.
“You misunderstand,” Djamel corrects himself. “Pesshetaup is a dead city. It was built as a quarry, deep in the desert. Pesshetaup marble is the finest in all the Halmae, and for some years it produced much of it. But the city proved too deep in the desert, too far from natural water sources. They had to import food and water to sustain them, and eventually, it proved too costly. The city was abandoned and left to be swallowed by the sands.”
“How long to get there?” Lira asks.
Djamel thinks for just a moment. “About a week and half.”
“A week and half?” Anvil asks. “Another guide told us he could take us there in seven days.”
Djamel shrugs. “Then go with another guide. Personally… I think that is a bit ambitious.”
“Do you know a man called Baasim?” Eva asks.
He shakes his head. “That name means nothing to me.”
The party members exchange glances. “How much?” Thatch asks.
“Seventy-five gold to take you to Pesshetaup.”
“Each?” Thatch boggles.
“No, for you all.”
Anvil nods. It seems like a Just price to him. “We will let you know our decision shortly.”
###
Although the party has great sympathy for Parwin’s story, the additional information they have been able to glean about Pesshetaup through the other guides is not enough for her to recognize the location.
Before the party goes on their way, Parwin takes two cords from her belt and knots them. She speaks to Reyu, “If you or your foundling has any… difficulties… Show these. The Shesher will help you.”
Reyu nods gratefully and takes the cords. “Thank you.”
The rest of the group chooses to ignore the fact that they have not been included in this letter of recommendation.
“And you, sister,” Reyu asks. “Do you intend to travel to the Confederacy seeking your son?”
She nods. “I must. Will you be returning there?”
Reyu looks back at her companions. They had been hoping that once they met Manaal she might be able to help them directly to the next stop on their journey. On the other hand, they cannot be sure she will prove willing.
“Certainly,” Reyu replies, “but I do not know if we will first be returning here. If so, you are welcome to travel with us, but I do not wish for you to wait for our return that never comes.”
Parwin considers. “I will remain here for five weeks more. If you have not returned, I will begin my journey alone.”
Reyu takes out a cord of her own and knots it for Parwin. “There are many elves of many kinds in the Cofederacy. Some will not recognize this, but take it for what it is worth.”
Parwin accepts it with thanks.
“Are you certain you can make this journey?” Reyu asks.
“As long as there are shadows and trees, I shall be fine.”
###
The question now becomes how to tell Baasim that they will not be traveling together through the desert. Anvil volunteers to go, and Eva walks with him, carrying the large pile of clothing that Baasim had sent to them.
As could have been predicted, Anvil’s news is met with much wailing and gnashing of teeth.
“Justicar, no!”
Anvil nods soberly. “Yes.”
Baasim turns his eyes to the heavens, “Oh! If I had a son, on the day he became a man I would have taken him aside, and do you know what I would have told him? I would have said, ‘My son. This, the day you have become a man is the proudest day of my life… Save one. The day I led the Justicar into the desert.”
He is the very picture of disappointment.
(Those at the table, meanwhile, are the picture of helpless laughter.)
A serving-boy appears at Baasim’s elbow. “Foot-wash, Saheeb?”
“No, no. There is no point. We will not be taking the Justicar on his journey. You may as well prepare me for burial in the shifting sands.”
The boy bows. “Yes, Saheeb.” And exits.
Eva clears her throat. “We ah… wanted to return these…” she begins, holding up the bundled clothing.
“No, no, princess. I would not dream of it. You will take them. And you will, perhaps, remember Baasim.”
Eva shurgs. It would seem that their business is concluded.
Anvil agrees. “May Kettenek’s Justice be upon you, Baasim.”
“Ah,” the merchant and guide replies, voice filled with sorrow. “I pray each day that it be so.”
###
As Anvil and Eva are making their way back to the inn, they have to cross the city’s only bridge across the river. There is quite a bit of foot and cart traffic, and Eva rolls up the clothes she is carrying into a tight bundle that she can hold against her chest.
And if her holy symbol happened to get caught up in the bundle… the holy symbol used to spy on her for the last four months… Well, it was certainly not intentional on her part.
She and Anvil move onto the bridge. It’s crowded, with quite a bit of jostling from side to side. And then, right in the middle of the bridge, Eva trips.
Naturally, she puts her hands out to break her fall… which causes the bundle to go flying from her arms and into the river below.
Anvil helps her to her feet.
“Are you all right?”
Eva nods, rubbing a sore spot at the back of her neck. “Yeah. I must have tripped.”
Anvil frowns. “What happened to your holy symbol?”
Eva checks. Sure enough the weight around her neck is gone. “Oh no, the cord must have snapped when I fell.”
“That is, unfortunate.”
“Yeah,” Eva agrees. “I guess I’ll just have to get a new one.”
“Indeed.”
Eva checks the river, but the current is already carrying the bundle out of sight.
And if past years are any guide, we'll figure out when, if, and how many of us are going to GenCon SoCal approximately the Wednesday before it begins.In the meantime:
Part the One-Hundred Forty-Fifth
In which: Thatch makes an astute observation, Anvil breaks bad news, and Eva rids herself of excess baggage.
“He’s nuts,” Thatch opines once they have left Baasim’s tent.
This is a popular opinion, only strengthened when the party returns to their inn to find that the bill has been paid, new outfits have arrived, and not one, but two baskets of candied fruits and nuts have been delivered.
No one eats any.
Lira sums up the collective sentiment. “Anyone who spends that much on total strangers has a plan to recoup it somehow.”
More problematic is the fact that Baasim is the only guide they have met who even claims to have knowledge of the place they wish to travel.
“We could question him under a zone of truth,” Anvil suggests, “but I suspect he might object.”
For the meantime, lacking a better plan, the group decides to leave the matter until the next day and hope that Djamel’s sources come through with information on Pesshetaup.
###
The next day, Djamel does indeed have more information for them, however, he is a bit suspicious of why the party wanted it.
“Tell me again,” he begins once the party members have all arrived at the café. “Why do you wish to travel to Pesshetaup?”
“We told you,” Lira says. “We wish to visit someone who lives there.”
Djamel lets that rest in silence for a moment before taking a pull on his cigarette and explaining. “That is strange, as there is no one living in Pesshetaup.”
“Strange sort of city,” Kiara remarks.
“You misunderstand,” Djamel corrects himself. “Pesshetaup is a dead city. It was built as a quarry, deep in the desert. Pesshetaup marble is the finest in all the Halmae, and for some years it produced much of it. But the city proved too deep in the desert, too far from natural water sources. They had to import food and water to sustain them, and eventually, it proved too costly. The city was abandoned and left to be swallowed by the sands.”
“How long to get there?” Lira asks.
Djamel thinks for just a moment. “About a week and half.”
“A week and half?” Anvil asks. “Another guide told us he could take us there in seven days.”
Djamel shrugs. “Then go with another guide. Personally… I think that is a bit ambitious.”
“Do you know a man called Baasim?” Eva asks.
He shakes his head. “That name means nothing to me.”
The party members exchange glances. “How much?” Thatch asks.
“Seventy-five gold to take you to Pesshetaup.”
“Each?” Thatch boggles.
“No, for you all.”
Anvil nods. It seems like a Just price to him. “We will let you know our decision shortly.”
###
Although the party has great sympathy for Parwin’s story, the additional information they have been able to glean about Pesshetaup through the other guides is not enough for her to recognize the location.
Before the party goes on their way, Parwin takes two cords from her belt and knots them. She speaks to Reyu, “If you or your foundling has any… difficulties… Show these. The Shesher will help you.”
Reyu nods gratefully and takes the cords. “Thank you.”
The rest of the group chooses to ignore the fact that they have not been included in this letter of recommendation.
“And you, sister,” Reyu asks. “Do you intend to travel to the Confederacy seeking your son?”
She nods. “I must. Will you be returning there?”
Reyu looks back at her companions. They had been hoping that once they met Manaal she might be able to help them directly to the next stop on their journey. On the other hand, they cannot be sure she will prove willing.
“Certainly,” Reyu replies, “but I do not know if we will first be returning here. If so, you are welcome to travel with us, but I do not wish for you to wait for our return that never comes.”
Parwin considers. “I will remain here for five weeks more. If you have not returned, I will begin my journey alone.”
Reyu takes out a cord of her own and knots it for Parwin. “There are many elves of many kinds in the Cofederacy. Some will not recognize this, but take it for what it is worth.”
Parwin accepts it with thanks.
“Are you certain you can make this journey?” Reyu asks.
“As long as there are shadows and trees, I shall be fine.”
###
The question now becomes how to tell Baasim that they will not be traveling together through the desert. Anvil volunteers to go, and Eva walks with him, carrying the large pile of clothing that Baasim had sent to them.
As could have been predicted, Anvil’s news is met with much wailing and gnashing of teeth.
“Justicar, no!”
Anvil nods soberly. “Yes.”
Baasim turns his eyes to the heavens, “Oh! If I had a son, on the day he became a man I would have taken him aside, and do you know what I would have told him? I would have said, ‘My son. This, the day you have become a man is the proudest day of my life… Save one. The day I led the Justicar into the desert.”
He is the very picture of disappointment.
(Those at the table, meanwhile, are the picture of helpless laughter.)
A serving-boy appears at Baasim’s elbow. “Foot-wash, Saheeb?”
“No, no. There is no point. We will not be taking the Justicar on his journey. You may as well prepare me for burial in the shifting sands.”
The boy bows. “Yes, Saheeb.” And exits.
Eva clears her throat. “We ah… wanted to return these…” she begins, holding up the bundled clothing.
“No, no, princess. I would not dream of it. You will take them. And you will, perhaps, remember Baasim.”
Eva shurgs. It would seem that their business is concluded.
Anvil agrees. “May Kettenek’s Justice be upon you, Baasim.”
“Ah,” the merchant and guide replies, voice filled with sorrow. “I pray each day that it be so.”
###
As Anvil and Eva are making their way back to the inn, they have to cross the city’s only bridge across the river. There is quite a bit of foot and cart traffic, and Eva rolls up the clothes she is carrying into a tight bundle that she can hold against her chest.
And if her holy symbol happened to get caught up in the bundle… the holy symbol used to spy on her for the last four months… Well, it was certainly not intentional on her part.
She and Anvil move onto the bridge. It’s crowded, with quite a bit of jostling from side to side. And then, right in the middle of the bridge, Eva trips.
Naturally, she puts her hands out to break her fall… which causes the bundle to go flying from her arms and into the river below.
Anvil helps her to her feet.
“Are you all right?”
Eva nods, rubbing a sore spot at the back of her neck. “Yeah. I must have tripped.”
Anvil frowns. “What happened to your holy symbol?”
Eva checks. Sure enough the weight around her neck is gone. “Oh no, the cord must have snapped when I fell.”
“That is, unfortunate.”
“Yeah,” Eva agrees. “I guess I’ll just have to get a new one.”
“Indeed.”
Eva checks the river, but the current is already carrying the bundle out of sight.
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