Chapter One: If On a Desert Night a Traveler 25th day of the month of Gather, in the Year of Wind’s Reverence
Here, south of the mountains, the night is long and dark and the air is cold and still and your silt skimmer, The Alluring Anakore, stands quiet with its sail drawn down, like a banner in defeat. The journey had gone well -- “Too well,” Feron Navir would mutter, his elven eyes like nervous slits against the morning glare – and suffered few misfortunes. Once, on the approach to Altaturk, a band of halfling raiders had appeared with warm blood on their spears, but the combined efforts of the crew and customers rebuffed the attack, and a generous gust of wind had made for a speedy escape.
Fortune dies fastest on Athas, however, and by the time you were just a day or two from Balic – “Finally,” Feron muttered, having often wished he’d just risked sailing the silt – the wind had abandoned you and everyone began taking turns on the capstans. But rotating The Alluring Anakore’s massive wheels through sandy dunes is hard work, and so by the time you reached your current encampment on the rocky badlands, everyone’s arms were tired and their waterskins were dry.
Feron is currently locked in his cabin with his reliably lazy first mate and financier, Jan So-Ruk, arguing over the best course of action to take: rest and wait for the wind to pick up, or push through the exposed terrain, flat, dusty and dangerous, toward the more verdant lands outside Balic, where the 2nd Legion patrols daily against giants and where water lies closer to the surface.
In the meantime, Twidl and Twudl pace up and down the main deck, their rigorous choreography under pleasant, placid scrutiny by Nangishlishma, who sits in meditation on the upper deck. Despite the freezing cold the old man does not shudder. Mianju is nowhere to be seen but from her cabin you occasionally hear Nibanese songs hummed with strange disjoint.
While Feron and Jan debate you may do as you wish. Join the mute, mul twins on patrol or bother Nangish. You are free to wander the ship, though Feron and Jan’s cabin is locked, and a battleground besides, and the other passengers may have locked their doors as well.
(No lock bars the cargo hold, but trained crodlus live amongst the boxed and bottled goods; be careful where you step.)
If you’re feeling particularly daring, you can explore the rocky badlands around the silt skimmer. Doing so might draw in desert predators or, worse, earn you an earful from Feron, but it is your choice.
This is also a chance for freeform roleplay! Take this wherever you want, though eventually Feron’s going to call you to his cabin for a ship meeting. If you want to speak to Nangish, I’ll speak for him; if you want to speak to Twidl and Twudl, feel free to roleplay them yourselves, because those poor stoics had their tongues cut out a long time ago and they’re probably not going to feel too chatty.
If, on a desert night, a traveler, outside the town of Balic, leaning from the steep slope, without fear of wind or vertigo, looks down in the gathering shadow (in a network of lines that interlace) on the carpet of sand illuminated by the moon around an empty grave, what story down there awaits its end?
Verdana leans against the side of the silt skimmer. The thri-kreen is perfectly still, her compound eyes focused off into the badlands. She is using her abilities to search for any sign of raiders or bandits, or worse. It is the latter that keeps her searching. She sees it as her duty to maintain vigilance against anything that might harm her clutch-mates. The wind stirs her antennae, the only movement she allows. As usual, she has her gythka in one of her upper hands. The thri-kreen weapon is only a few feet shorter than she is, and she stands just an inch over six feet.
Verdana is aware of the others but usually doesn’t speak much. She listens, trying to be aware of everything taking place around her so that she can know how best to serve the Clutch.
Do NOT meddle in the affairs of dragons; for you are crunchy and go good with ketchup
Chanya stands on the upper deck, her desert clothes wrapped tightly arround her to keep off the night's chill. Like Verdana she stares off into the night, though unlike the thri-kreen her attention is not so well focused, her thoughts being far more focussed inwards and on the pain in her arms and hands.
Dariet hunkers down in what little shade she can find from the Anakore's sails. She's bored and tired from such a long trip from Raam. While she's been all over the Road of Kings, she has never been this far south. Without any Alliance plots to worry about, she has little to occupy her mind. For the last few days she's tried to get a rise out of the twins for her own amusement but has failed miserably. They must think she's serious when she keeps asking Verdana how to pronounce her name over and over again. Admittedly the Thri-Kreen tongue is a little difficult for her and she doesn't hold out much hope of ever learning it, but it's not hard to remember someone's name.
Sighing internally, she gets up and approaches Verdana one more time. "Okay, I think I got it. I don't have mandibles so if I just use my fingers and close the back of my throat..." she tries pronouncing Krsh!kbt'crl with her fingers in her mouth but it sounds more like she's gagging on something. She stops, almost gagging for real and looks at the Thri-Kreen with a well practiced straight face. She waits patiently for a response, secretly eyeing Twidl as she does. Nope, no reaction yet.
Maybe they're just indifferent from so much time with Mianju she wonders to herself.
There is nothing more deceptive than an obvious fact. - Sherlock Holmes
"You know," A calm voice tinged only with the slighest bass calls out from behind Dariet, "...Eventually our Thri-Kreen friend here is going to realize you're just trying to be funny." The voice comes from a Dray dressed all in dark browns and blacks, who has previously identified himself as Abraxus.
The Dray casts a quick glance over at the Mul twins to gauge their reaction, then returns his gaze to Dariet and Verdana. "Succeeding too, if I might say so. There's something quite practiced about your pronunciation. Honestly you sound like a clutch-born native." Abraxus's reptilian lips curl back into a toothy grin, well-intentioned sarcasm dripping from his every word.
"But don't mind me. Please, continue your linguistic excercises."
Dariet sticks her fingers back into her mouth and tries to pronounce Abraxus aloud in her imitation of Thri-Kreen. It ends up sounding more like "Ahhh ..." followed by a clearing of the throat. She stops, a devilish smile on her face. She has no idea how the Dray will react to her imitation of his name, but it seems like he might possess a sense of humor so she hopes he will take it well.
She peaks back at Verdana, hoping that she didn't hear Abraxus.
There is nothing more deceptive than an obvious fact. - Sherlock Holmes
Verdana takes a moment to look around the sand skiff at the others who are up on deck before turning her attention back to the badlands. With her compound eyes, unless she moves her head as she looks around, no one except another thri-kreen would know exactly where she is looking. Right now her head is turned toward Dariet, so it appears she is gazing at the young woman.
Verdana tilts her head to the side, allowing herself to hear the pronunciation by Dariet of her name. The woman is determined and Verdana finds she likes the woman. Perhaps she is a potential clutch-mate? She shifts her attention to the man standing behind Dariet. The man, Abraxus, first says something about Verdana realizing Dariet is just trying to be funny, then he praises her for her pronunciation of Verdana’s name. The thri-kreen is not sure what to make of it and so ignores it, or at least the first part. The others have traveled with the thri-kreen long enough to realize she does not seem to get things like sarcasm. Verdana takes things at face value, which makes her the butt of jokes sometimes. She often finds she does not understand these strange soft-bodied people, and when they say something she finds enigmatic she tends to just ignore it, unless it threatens her Clutch. The Cluth is all! “You came much closer. If you stick the third finger further back, it should do the trick.” The thri-kreen seems unaware of the fact that she is basically telling Dariet to stick her fingers down her throat. The result is less likely to be the proper pronunciation of her name and more likely to result in the young woman vomiting. The half elven woman tries it, but this time it comes out all wrong. “My apologies. I do not think that helped at all.”
Do NOT meddle in the affairs of dragons; for you are crunchy and go good with ketchup
The sounds of conversation draw Chanya's attention back to the deck of the skimmer, and it is easy in the still night to follow the conversation, causing a smile to play across her lips under her veil. She wondered then if the half-elf was simply making a game of it or if she really did have no training in the language.
Then with nothing to say for the moment she rubed her arms and turned her attention back to the stars and horizon. She knew that the decision the skimmer's owners made would depend on water, yes their flasks were dry from yesterday, but without more water there would not be another day like yesterday.
Note: Chanya should have 3 days of water beyond the basic adventurer's kit water, and thus have the least water of all the PCs.
Qetesh is growing restless. It's difficult to get away from people within the confines of the skimmer, but she's been lucky enough to find a rare refuge in one of the chambers below deck. She lies on her back, closes her eyes and tries to think of nothing at all. She's heard rumours of monasteries built in the sides of distant mountains where monks simply sit in bare rooms, emptying their minds attempting to find enlightement.
Qetesh attempts this. She lies for a few moments trying to calm her breathing but finally gives up. She cannot still her mind as it races through the mistake in Raam. Every interaction, every deal, every bribe and payoff is replayed from her memories. She tries to think of what she should have seen or could have done to avoid the trouble that caused her to lose nearly everything, but she can't. About the only think she knows is that she should never have tried to do business in Raam. A city about to explode is no place for business.
With a sigh she sits up. She doesn't want to talk with anyone, but she's tired of hiding below deck and needs to stretch her legs. She exits the chamber and calmly walks up the steps to the open sky.
Abraxus greets her with a big smile. She nods back courteously and moves past to stand beside Verdana. Her trusted companion is being distracted by Dariet again. Her simple Thrikreen is once more failing to recognize that the underachieving merchant is just making fun of her. She speaks to the half-elf quietly in elvish so Verdana won't understand, "Leave her be Dariet and go find something else to amuse yourself with. Perhaps Mianju could use some company."
As she speaks this, Qetesh realizes that the last sentence was a bit cruel given her dislike of the dancer and recognizes that she must be getting tired. Long voyages in the desert can wear on anyone's disciplin. She silently scolds herself to be more careful.
The destitute merchant walks to the railing and stares blankly into the desert. For a moment she savours the stark beauty of the sands, her fingers playing with the metal jewlery hanging from her ears but soon her mind turns, as it always does, to wondering how to rebuild her finances in the great city of sails.
Qualiim stops mid-walk as Qetesh comes up from below. She is clearly walking to Veranda with the same intent he had. "It is odd how we keep trying to do the same things. This is more than a coincidence now."
He raises an admiring eyebrow when Qetesh boldly defends Veranda and easily sends Dariet away.
Qualiim resumes his walk and ends next to Nangish. Spending time with the old acetic makes Qualiim feel at home, almost as if he is back in the Megaleneon, studying with the oldest of the templars. He sits down next to Nangish and expertly crosses his legs in a copy of the old man.
His practiced mind blanks quickly and he is observing his thoughts float by. Often one of the first is seeing the body of Allay lying dead. He observes the though but does not engage it. More pictures follow, dead dwarves torn in half by a giant's club, his father looking so hurt after Brandu's terrible accusation...
Tonight is a painful one in the Void Eternal. Qualiim relishes the pain because he knows at least it is a real feeling.
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Bharhas, Level 3 Human, Warlord | Sorcerer Human Power Selection Option: Bonus At-Will power Languages: Common, Elven Theme: Gladiator
CURRENT STATUS: Phase of the Sun: *At the start of your turn, each enemy adjacent to you takes fire and radiant damage equal to your Strength modifier. *You also gain resist 5 cold.
VITALS AC: 18 Fort: 18 Ref: 15 Will: 17 HP: 40/40
Surges: 6/6 Surge Value: 10
Initiative: +1 Speed: 6
CURRENT ABILITY SCORES STR 18, CON 10, DEX 11, INT 10, WIS 8, CHA 17
