The Invisible River
The sun rises in Am'shere, casting the great shadow of the single zuggurat over the tribal clearing. Walls of earth and vegetation, grown from shaman-magic, protect these lands from the outside. Inside is relative peace, with sith-makar running after small-ones, resting in groups of caste, and others tending to cookfires.
The merchant caravan you'd arrived with rests beneath an awning of mud-and-grass. Similar structures, some with walls, some not, serve as grand caste-houses and gathering spaces. Mostly, they protect from the frequent rain.
This tribe is settled enough that there is another greathouse--one set aside for visitors. It's here you're settled, alongside other Alexandrians. The earthen floor has a few ameneties--grass mattresses for sleeping, and a fire towards the center of it.
Right now though, as the sun rises--the smell of food filters through the air.
Burai sits on a patch of dirt by the fire that has been allowed to dwindle away almost to nothing - with the sky is brightening with dawn it's a waste of resources rather than a necessity. He sits with his legs crossed, and palms flat against the earth so that his arms support his upper body. As a pose it's not particularly relaxing, or strenouous, but lets him stare into the last flickering flames as he meditates on the mysteries of Earth and Fire.
Gregor lights his smoke off the central fire and sucks on it, letting out the smoke with a sigh. He'll pull his breastplate on and buckle it up, and take up his saddle and gear and go to get his mount ready for the day.
Seldan had been late to the festivities yesterday evening -- once they'd arrived, he'd immediately gone to the greathouse, and was gone for a good two hours. Those who looked inside would have seen him cleaning himself up, and then in meditation and prayer. Only when those were done did he join the party, listening to tales and mingling in general.
This morning, he's outside the visitor's greathouse, around the back of it, doing solo swordwork as a means of stretching out.
Skribbles has spent the better part of the morning praying to Reos, asking for his divine guidance, refreshing spells, trading muffin recipes..the usual. When she is done, she slips her warhammer on and stands up looking at the sky and taking a deep breath of fresh air. "Aaaaahhhhhhhate the jungle..."
Rishi left her longer robes behind and favored more of the surcoat over shorts for this terribly hot and muggy place. On the upside, even if it was considered unbearable for most, she slept /great/.
On the downside, it seemed like she needed less sleep than usual and spent the rest of the night sort of trying to sleep and fitfully flopping about while tryig to get her mind to get back into sleep state. It was so noisy though, and the rain so loud, it was a bit hard not to. So when it was finally wakey-wakey eggs-and-bacey time.... She was up and moving around trying to find the food.
The copper-scale Sith rises with the sun, and emerges from shaman-house, yawning widely. He touches at his armor, as if to comfort himself, and then he turns his head slightly, his eyes focusing on the Sith around him. Geir straightens, and taps the butt of his spear on the ground a few times before walking on to where the other visitors gather. He waits on the periphery, observing quietly.
A sith-makar youngling walks past the entry to the visitors' house. They carry a basket underneath an arm--full of soft-shelled eggs. A lizard sits on the youngster's shoulder, and stares placidly at the world around you.
"Peasse to you. This-one was ssent to invite you to sshare food. Hunter-casste has offered." It's Izel, one of the hunters from the caravan. Leanly built, she also tilts forward, slightly, as she awaits your response. There's a bit of grass in her hand.
"We have invited your friendss, as well. Normally they would dine with casste, but thiss one thought it good to sshare words after ssuch a long journey. They sshould be joining uss here, ssoon, and then this one will take you to house."
Burai rises and listens to Izel, who already seems familiar as she did indeed do the majority of speaking with the adventurers on the caravan. "That is good," he nods in approval. "I'd like to share words with them as well." He glances around at the other Alexandrians, almost curiously, to see how they will respond.
His morning workout done, Seldan sheathes the blade and comes around the side of the greathouse in time to spot Izel. He's skipped surcoat and armor this morning, and hair, shirt, and trousers are drenched in sweat, but thankfully nothing worse. "Peace to you, and good morning," he greets in his Myrrish-accented voice, the _good morning_ clearly meant for everyone.
Gregor nods curtly and will join in the communal breakfast. Or that's the impression he got from the Sith's words. He still has trouble following their oddly-spoken Tradespeak.
Skribbles heads towards the others as she hears discussion going on, stretching a bit and allowing her armor to settle better. "Did I hear about food? I mean..good morning and all." She points two fingers at Izel and says, "Fooood...and...go."
Geir nods to Izel, "Hrmm, pease on your nesst. We are thankful of your ssharing of food, and of the comfort the People have provided us." The copper-scale removes his helm, and pats lightly at his forehead. "What newss, Izel of the hunter-casste, would you sshare?"
"We thought you might wissh to eat together, and there are thoose of us who traveled with you. They will be glad to sshare words, again," Izel replies. She thumps her tail against the earth. "And, one hearss it sshould be quiet thiss morning. Sshaman-casste says there iss little to worry for--that the jungle sseems asleep," Izel pauses and glances your way. "This one would never disagree with the sshaman-caste in matters of sspirit."
Oh. That's just dripping with...
Suddenly, the invitation to breakfast takes on entirely different tone.
Outside, the caste-houses are beginning to wake up, or have been up in some cases. Fires are going, smoke is curling--and one can smell the rich scent of food. More younglings running across the way, carrying this or that. That, at least, seems universal: find uses for their energy. ;_;
Burai permits himself a small smile. His sword is his only real posession and he wears it on his back unless told otherwise, so he's ready to go. "I'm ready to meet with them." He seems to remember something and then asks, "Who from the shaman-caste was in the caravan yesterday? I remember warriors and hunters, but if there were any shaman I may have missed it in the confusion."
Seldan's endorphin-fueled ease abruptly vanishes with the smile on his face at Izel's words. "Food would be well-taken, thank you. A moment, and I will return." Without waiting for a response, he disappears into the greathouse, and returns approximately five minutes later, fully dressed and with the sweat cleaned off.
Rishi rolls her eyes, now that there are many small ones running around she's less than enthused. So she tends to keep her distance a bit and gives a frown as one nearly runs into her. But then she's off trying to find the food and breakfast, moving this way and that with her boots leaving sucking imprints in the mud.
Geir slowly seats himself as Izel speaks, and pauses to look her way, at length. He settles himself down and lets out a chuckle. "It matterss not if one dissagrees, one's view is worthy of being heard.", he says to her. The copper-scale looks to Burai, "I am shaman-cast. Priesst of Vardama, the Death Dragon." He gestures with a claw to the scale on his tabard. When Seldan returns, the copper-scale leans forward a little. "That wass a quick bath, hmm?"
Skribbles is watching the youngsters darting about, wondering what would happen if she tripped one...just for fun....she's not gonna do it...or maybe...nO! No, she's not gonna do it, but the food filling her nose is starting to make her mouth water and she turns back to the group as she asks, "What do you mean the jungle is asleep?"
Gregor will come in and eat, then. ALl the caste bit sounds quite important, but he's totally not following it. It's a structure, but not one he's familiar with, so he's foundering a bit
"Sshaman Svurrath. They tended to wounds, and were of great help to uss." A tail-thump is given to Geir's direction. The other sith thumps her tail again, and lowers her voice. "Then sshaman, forgive. This one hopess you may sshare words with them quietly." In a way that may let them save face if...whatever is going on, the hunters are right about.
Of course.
Of course. Just arrived, and already in the thick of--
"One ssuspects they mean the sspirits are assleep. That there are no threatss beyond-what-we-can-ssee. ..." The hunter pauses there and looks to Skribbles. Words without words, and you're led to hunter-house.
The hunter-caste's greathouse is sheathed in grass and composed of woven branches and vines, and sealed with jungle mud. There are a few openings easily visible--two doorways in the side you can see, facing you. With Izel with you, entering is simple enough.
Inside--resembles the greathouse you'd slept in, only larger. Much larger, with hunters' tools and trappings hung on support-poles. With two warm cook-fires, one at either end of it.
...and sets of eyes that turn to look your way, then glance aside. The thumping of tail of many sith-makar, and hissed, "Peasse to you,"s. The food smells good, anyway--smoky and sweat.
At one end, one of the groups waves you over, to one of the fires. They sit around it, haphazardly. One can see bowls of food, there--many, many scrambled eggs, with jungle fruits and nuts cut into them.
"Not a true bath," Seldan answers Geir easily enough. "Minor magic to remove dirt and soil. I would not keep us all waiting for breakfast." He flashes a smile, as his stomach punctuates the point with an agreement, and follows the others to breakfast.
GAME: Burai rolls knowledge/nature: (12)+6: 18
GAME: Seldan rolls perception: (2)+2: 4
GAME: Skribbles rolls perception: (7)+7: 14
GAME: Rishi rolls Perception: (10)+9: 19
GAME: Gregor rolls perception: (11)+7: 18
GAME: Gregor rolls profession/guide: (18)+6: 24
GAME: Geir rolls perception: (19)+5: 24
Gregor isn't worried about what sort of eggs they are. He's a scout, he's eaten worse for days on end. Grubs and things. Lizard eggs with local fruits that has a mild kick definitely has interesting potential, so he'll dig in with gusto.
Rishi heads on over toward the eggs and seems to not mind at all that the smell of them doesn't smell like the usual poultry. "Oooo, I dunno what these are, but I don't mind." She tries to find a seat where there are no small ones near by and gets a plate - producing a fork out of somewhere.
"Magic is a wonderful tool, yess?", Geir asks of Seldan, his mouth closing and the ends of his lips curling ever so much. A smile, of sorts, without the threat display that teeth are. "Yess, the Jungle is quiet.", the copper-scale says, his expression growing ... strained as something has piqued his interest. "But not becausse the spirits are assleep. Death stalkss uss, it sseems." He looks to Izel then. "Iss it true then? Death reaches through the gate and sickenss the People?" His voice is low, almost whispered, but probably heard by more than he cares to. Geir stiffens and straightens, and walks towards the group who had invited them over. "Peasse upon your nests.", the copper-scale intones.
Once Burai has entered and there is a break in the hissed greetings, he inclines his head and returns them with a "Peace on your nests," of his own. His first since arriving at the settlement, in fact. He hadn't thought to adopt the ways of their hosts before. But it's hard not to when confronted with what seems to be deeper parts of their culture. The druid scans the ranks if Sith already there, trying to look for a space to sit - preferably among the 'shaman-caste' if there is any visible group present.
Oh. Oh god. Small ones. The house is infested with them--small ones tumbling at the edges of the tent. Others, hovering in a way that has them staring so, so hungrily at the cookfires. ...but none close to you all. Not...not immediately close. Geir, those familiar with the sith, might note that's unusual.
Skribbles avoids the small ones as someone might actually think she's a small one and take her away to be bottle-fed or something. She makes her way over to where the eggs are and sits down in an open space, nodding her head, "Well, hello everyone." She perks an ear towards Burai and Geir before turning back to her own group and smiling, "Peace on your nests...and are those eggs?"
Those shaman-caste present would be--Geir. And so, Burai's place is near Geir, to the sith way of thinking. If he takes-seat there, the other scaled will take note of it. But more like--oh, yes. This is good. Some part of them seems to settle with the movement, and he's handed a greater share of egg with the gesture. A grass blanket to sit on, like Geir.
Well, then!
"You are welcome to sshre food and fire," one of the hunters says. Izel takes a place, too, and there is food--passed around, scooped into bowls. Gradually, one hears coughing. On your side of the caste-house. A hunter sits alone on a set of grass blankets, arms wrapped around their knees, and head resting. Cough. Hack. Cough.
Rishi is fine with the small ones not getting near her, since she's not getting near them as she legs out a little humming noise of joy. "They are eggs, and not chicken!" Rishi is sure to tell Skribbles as she eyes the eggs hungrily... like a swiftclaw eyeing jerky.
Seldan looks after Geir with a suddenly worried frown, but turns his attention to breakfast. Eggs, seems normal enough - but he isn't paying attention the smell as he settles down with a plate, and the first bite catches him by surprise. Only his manners keep him from spitting it out, and at that, he almost inhales it, coughing madly.
Izel thumps her tail to Geir's query. "The Nar-sektoth were clever, sshaman. When the caravanss came through the portal, they brought ssome of their own. They...sslipped a creature past the Wards."
Burai accepts the place and the bowl with another nod. He eats heartily. Then he stops at Izel's words. He peers at her, then at Geir. There's a question on his face - several, probably. But surely Geir will have the same, and it seems somehow fitting that she take the lead in asking.
Gregor has, for his part, tried to avoid the plague as much as he can. There's no way he can contribute to helping, so he gives people room and tries not to pass it to anyone. The coughing sounds bad, but ... this place has to have every flu known to civilization in the musty air.
Skribbles turns to the lone cougher, even as she accepts a bowl of eggs with some fruit and nuts in it. She takes a bit, wincing a bit as she realizes there's no meat in there, but she'll get through it. She turns her head back to the conversation, unsure of who the Wards are but the whole thing sounding pretty serious.
Geir does not seem to mind if Burai sits close by, and nods to the welcoming Sith of the hunter-caste. "We are thankful for the ssharing.", he says quietly, respectfully. His eye catches Seldan's frown, and the copper-scale nods slowly. "Jusst sso." His tail thumps in reply to Izan. "We have losst sight of the fact that they are intelligent, even if they do not Remember. And sso.. it IS true. The plague hass come to Am'Shere." He looks to Rishi and Skribbles then, his expression less grave than moments ago. "They are relativess of the sshocker lizard. Bigger and mean. But thBurai lets out a breath, relaxing somewhat. He looks at the other gators to make sure they seem equally obedient to the speaker's will. "There
It takes Seldan a minute, but he shakes off the initial surprise at the nature of breakfast, and ingrained manners and hunger conspire to persuade him to try another bite. This one goes better, although with a decidedly different kick to it, so he eats slowly, his attention now diverted to the conversation around him. What manner of magic might allow one to slip a creature in here? Not knowing what is meant by Wards, he assumes magic of some sort.
GAME: Seldan rolls knowledge/arcana: (17)+7: 24
Rishi starts humming happily as she starts to eat the eggs, she really didn't seem to mind what it was from and just shrugged at Geir as if this news was not really that important to her. Instead she just keeps eating away and sort of half-listening, she knew about the plague but she wasn't exactly versed enough to know anything besides that it was going on. "Pwa-guh?"
"Hunter-caste is sswift," the hunter to Izel's right says, proudly. Izel looks to Geir, and thumps her tail. Looks to the rest of you. "If we can catch their hunting party, we may sstop itss sspread. Hunter-magic can address thiss one," she says, gesturing to the coughing scaled. "But we musst make ssure it goess no further."
Suddenly, Seldan sets down his eating utensils, and looks up, expression serious. "It may have been slipped among you during the fight once through the portal. How it was brought in, I cannot say, but means magical and mundane may both be at work. This is no accident, and there was more purpose in picking that fight with us than mere greed."
Burai asks his questions now. "How could something be slipped past the Wards?" He leans forward, a hint of growl entering his voice. It actually borders on a demand rather than a question. "The group's sole purpose is to stem the travel through the portal, to control it. I myself would not have been allowed through were it not for the caravan." He pans his gaze about to glance over the other Alexandrians. "None of us would have, save perhaps Geir."
Suddenly, Seldan sets down his eating utensils, and looks up, expression serious. "It may have been slipped among you during the fight once through the portal. How it was brought in, I cannot say, but means magical and mundane may both be at work. This is no accident, and there was more purpose in picking that fight with us than mere greed. You did not find a drugged or dead creature among them?"
The copper-scale lets out a huff of breath, one tinged with an acrid smell, and the faintest whiff of smoke trails from his nostrils. "
"..." the hunters look to Seldan. There is a general tail thumping, a quiet. Eventually, one says, slowly. Grudgingly, "Am'sshere does not know of the plague, as Alesandria does. But Am'shere is many, many times the size of Alessandria," one of the other hunters chimes up. And well--one might recall. Recall the great, terror-beasts of the jungle.
And just what the Plague had done to the beasts among the Alexandrian wilderness.
Izel looks to Burai, "This one would pay very much, sshaman, to find the ansswer to that question." And then there are more eyes on Seldan, and more whispers.
At some point, one of the hunters stands, and moves swiftly out of the building.
Skribbles looks at the eggs in her bowl and puts thunder-lizard and the eggs together and she laughs to herself a bit, "Huh...well...", and takes a big bite. She listens to this topic of plague and whatnot, taking it all in even if it's all a little above her head.
The copper-scale lets out a huff of breath, one tinged with an acrid smell, and the faintest whiff of smoke trails from his nostrils. "This creature got passt the wardss, because it is inside one of the Nar-sektoth. The plague... coexisstss with a sslime. If the sslime attackss you and you become infected, there iss a sslime now insside you. Thiss means that the Nar-sektoth are probably becoming infected rather quickly."
"...then we musst heal the Nar'ssektoth." Oh, Geir could well have announced one of the elders must marry one of the Charneth. It's met with slightly more enthusiasm than that. Just slightly. There's a shifting of scales.
"This one will ssee to mounts for the journey, kin, ssoftsskins," she says. Pauses. "Perhapss you may sshare words with your companionss, who do not know of the Plague. This one hopes /Am'shere/ will not know the plague, very ssoon." One could almost read in Izel's words: Kill it with fire!
Feeling all eyes on him, Seldan stops - and then Geir speaks. Of course. The information about the plague is new to him, and he listens carefully, absorbing that along with the rest of his breakfast. A slime is the source of the plague? After all the rumors and the fussing in the city? That isn't good news. He pauses between bites, breathing a quiet prayer of gratitude for the fact that he hadn't been bitten in that fight.
Burai thinks for a while and then nods. "If it is too late to keep the plague from spreading here, we must at least ensure the Nar-sektoth are not unaware of it." His gaze flicks over Seldan and the others who seem to be the slightest bit unfamiliar with the affliction. "If they are as isolated as it would appear, they will have no chance of learning what Alexandria has. But how they deal with it," he casts his gaze across the entire room now, Sith hunter-caste and Geir and adventurers alike, "Is their decision. Agreed?"
Skribbles finishes her bowl of eggs and rabbit food, setting it down and standing up. She nods once to those that are gathered as she says, "Alright, let's go wipe out some plague...and maybe see a dinosaur. I mean, this caravan has spared no expense."
"Heal the Nar-ssekoth? Eassier to reach up and touch the moon.", rumbles the copper-scale. "But it needss be done. Elsse we shall all eventually perissh. Know that a Sith hass worked out a cure for the plague, and otherss have.. toolss to sslow its sspread. You -MUSST- sspeak with thosse in Alexandria. The city can help. Alba, witch of the Sspider ranch. Mikiloss, wizard of Alexandria. Chay and Zeke, those of the People. You -MUSST- ssend them assistance to assist in their tracking down the origin of the plague. And you -MUST- keep the gate open." Geir slowly stands, leaning on his spear. He looks to Burai, "They might be convinced to assist uss in tracking their infected hunting party, it could not hurt to assk them." To Skribbles, he chuckles. "I admire your enthussiassm."
Burai's suggestion is met with a few looks. Uncertain flicks of the tail. "We will give you tools, sshaman. One would hate to lose the lives of even Those Who Forget, but--" there are looks. One hunter to another. "There may be no choisse."
"The plague musst /not/ sspread," another says, harshly, and there's silence then, awkward silence. ...but folk are moving, then, after another tail thump to the copper's words. Moving. Thank the spirits, or gods, anyway. There's like to be more discussion along the trail.
"There will be more lives lost than those, should it spread," Seldan agrees, standing and handing over the empty bowl and utensils to whoever is handling such things. Clearly, he is ready to go, pushing a lock of hair out of his eyes as he hands it over.
Gregor says, "We will do our otmost to help you. When we work together, our capabilities are magnified. Know that we honor our allies."
So--! In short order, a group of hunter-caste stands at the gate. There are warriors with them, judging by the difference in builds. Nothing--ancestral, more, differences in a lifetime of training. To the back, a figure in feathers and quills. And--swiftclaws. Swiftclaws enough for them and each of you, saddled, with mecate and bosal, ready to ride. Giant, two-legged raptors wearing saddles.
Beaglefinder says, "There are sswifts for each of you," Izel is saying, briskly. Impatient, twitching. Near vibrating, to get off. There's a bare: "The hunterss will teach you how to ride as we go."
Gregor, Burai, are given reins to some of the largest. Great and lean beasts with long legs and longer fangs. Geir's is swift, with lean muscles, and Rishi and Seldan and Skribbles--lean, of more modest sizes, though Rishi's seems particularly drooly, and is introduced as, "She-Who-Eats-Without-Salt." Or, who devours quickly. <.<"
So--! In short order, a group of hunter-caste stands at the gate. There are warriors with them, judging by the difference in builds. Nothing--ancestral, more, differences in a lifetime of training. To the back, a figure in feathers and quills. And--swiftclaws. Swiftclaws enough for them and each of you, saddled, with mecate and bosal, ready to ride. Giant, two-legged raptors wearing saddles.
Among them are a few familiar faces, scale patterns. Faces you'd met that morning, or on the caravan travel here. Others are new. Izel is there, alongside a lean, gray-scaled sith-makar who looks curiously at the group of you.
"There are sswifts for each of you," Izel is saying, briskly. Impatient, twitching. Near vibrating, to get off. There's a bare: "The hunterss will teach you how to ride as we go."
Gregor, Burai, are given reins to some of the largest. Great and lean beasts with long legs and longer fangs. Geir's is swift, with lean muscles, and Rishi and Seldan and Skribbles--lean, of more modest sizes, though Rishi's seems particularly drooly, and is introduced as, "She-Who-Eats-Without-Salt." Or, who devours quickly. <.<
Skribbles smiles to Geir and shrugs, "If I die, I go to the Great Forge and work with Reos for eternity, creating tools for the Gods. Or I am punished and sent to a lush green meadow with lots of flowers." She shivers at that thought as she walks towards the Swiftclaws. She ends up in front of a rather large one before someone taps her shoulder and points to, what amounts to be the pony of the group. "Heightests..." she mutters to herself as she mounts up.
Swiftclaws again. Having done this the previous evening for some hours, Seldan seems unperturbed by the idea of riding one, and mounts up easily enough, settling himself in the saddle and searching for his balance point again.
GAME: Seldan rolls ride: (1)+6: 7 (EPIC FAIL)
GAME: Rishi rolls ride: (20)+2: 22
GAME: Skribbles rolls ride: (1)+-2: -1 (EPIC FAIL)
Gregor's horse is having tough going here in Amshere. The ground is soft in many places, and it's got to struggle through. But Gregor's got a good eye for terrain, and tries to pick the hardest ground where he can, and with a bit of effort, because his horse is a strong one, one of the Arveks' special horses, he can keep up.
GAME: Gregor rolls ride: (1)+10: 11 (EPIC FAIL)
Geir seems to forget that others are around as he slowly reaches out to his swiftclaw, to gently stroke the beast's side before taking the reigns. "Working at the Great Forge ssounds like a worthy afterlife.", the copper-scale intones to Skribbles. "Though a peaceful, green meadow would not be sso terrible." He gently moves to climb into the saddle...
GAME: Geir rolls ride: (1)+-5: -4 (EPIC FAIL)
GAME: Geir rolls 1d20: (9): 9
GAME: Geir rolls ride: (11)+-5: 6
Burai spends some time looking into his swift's face. Not speaking with it, necessarily, because he doesn't have that Power. But he tries to build an understanding. He wouldn't ride unless he had to - and he does, because time is if the essence. He's sure the beast has worked with - and served, he supposes - the Sith warriors and hunters enough to know the basics of what he desires. And so he focuses on how Burai likes this less than the swift does. And then he mounts and rides.
GAME: Burai rolls ride: (5)+-1: 4
Skribbles tries to climb up onto the Swiftclaw and quickly realizes she's made a terrible mistake and goes right over the other side with a loud plop into the mud.
Rishi must smell like the Sith or something today, or perhaps it is just that the very drooly one likes Rishi, because she just sort of hops up on the Sith and they're off at a clip. She just uses her knees to guide the drooling swiftclaw along, leaving a trail that's easy to follow on the wind. There's strings of it that trail her, meeting with possibly unsuspecting riders that follow after her.
Unsuspecting riders that would now get swiftclaw drool to the face.
"Wow, these things are awesome!" Rishi pats Slobbers (as she's taken to calling him) on the scaly head.
...and somewhere, Seldan steps wrong. In a flash of teeth and claws and lean muscle, the Elunite is dashed to the dirt and mud below with a cry of surprise, and rolls automatically away once or twice. He gets to his feet, rubbing his shoulder, and eyes the creature much more warily this time. "Temperamental, aren't you?" He takes a moment to climb back up, much more slowly.
Somehow, he just doesn't seem to get along with this one like he did the other. It's much more tricky in gait, and he ends up hanging on for dear life.
GAME: Gregor rolls survival: (6)+7: 13
Izel thumps her tail against swiftback. Impatient, that. Twitchy. But--there's survival, ahead. Survival of a LOT of people. One of the hunters, the gray, leaps down and heads to the gobber. To help, one assumes. "Krussh," he introduces himself, "Of the hunter-casste. The firsst time I rode sswiftback, one looked much worsse," he says. He looks to the gobber's swift, and will offer some help. Another steps off to assist Seldan, or starts to--but the other's back in the saddle, just as quickly.
There are small jerks and muscle twitches among the swifts, but the riders have them. Have them, at least. And then, then well--it's on the trail!
The swifts eat the earth with long stides. Izel keeps along Rishi, and you're covering ground very, VERY fast, despite the thick terrain. The hunter-caste ahead use machete, and the swift with their narrower muzzles, weave through the forest swiftly, quickly on two legs. That Gregor's mount keeps up is noted with a few tail-thumps of respect--but everyone's focused on the HUNT.
Occasionally, one catches a hunter leaning forward, and scenting the wind. Gregor in particular catches sight of it, and he notes a few marks, in passing--places where vegetation had been previously rent, or crushed.
And, gradually, you slow--the sound of rushing water, ahead. Powerful, rushing water--as loud as the river in Alexandria, after a flood.
Geir just hangs on for dear life. What was done in his childhood.. has stayed in his childhood, it seems. Too used to plodding along, steady and sure, on two feet. The sounds of rushing water brings an expression of joy to his face. "One always appreciatess the waters of his homeland."
Gregor is gradually getting used to the trail signs and marks of passage. Neither he nor his horse hunt by scent: He's used dogs for that before, but here dog is an alternate spelling of snack. He'll help some of the riders as he can, steadying them in the saddle. Pointers for riding without getting your kidneys minced. That sort of thing.
GAME: Seldan rolls survival: (13)+2: 15
GAME: Gregor rolls profession/guide: (9)+6: 15
GAME: Gregor rolls survival: (4)+7: 11
Burai has been sitting casually - in truth it is the strength and cooperative nature of the Swift that lets him keep up with the pack. The druid perks up slightly at the sound of the water. "Remember --" he warns the other Alexandrians. "--The Nar-sektoth are at home in the water. They will smell of brine."
Gregor is pretty much occupied with keeping his horse out of the worst of the muck, and he can't pay as much attention to the trail as he'd like. He is a disgrace to scouts everywhere. Dishonor.
With a lot of help, Skribbles has managed to stay on her own mount,although there is clearly some difficulty as she keeps sliding off one side or another only to be caught at the last minute. Who rides dinosaurs anyway? Weirdos. She looks up at Burai as he mentions the odor of brine and just keeps thinking this trip is getting better and...yeah! Better!
At the sound of the great rush, the column slows. Slooooowwws, and the gray-scale raises his hand. Burai gets a few thumps, a murmur of, "Ssa, ssa sshaman." Then, you break into the clearing near the river.
Only to see...A wide expanse. Not as broad as the river in Alexandria, but moving swiftly, swiftly along the way. Burai might recall the mention of river valleys, among the smoke-fire. Images of curves and twists. South, along the riverflow, the forest becomes impassably thick.
But more telling is the torn rope, and shreds of wood, floating in the river.
"...there had been boats, here, hunterss," the grayscale says, voice sounding dull. He looks down the river. "They have taken the boatss--and desstroyed ours. Gather wood, and quickly. We MUSST catch up with them!"
Seldan is mostly focused on not getting thrown again for most of the ride, so his ride is mostly a matter of silence and following the others, but as they slow down and pull up to a stop, he frowns, sniffing the air. "They are here. Or near here." The sith speaks first, though, and he falls silent, rubbing the shoulder he landed on. At the order to gather wood, he dismounts and moves to obey, inspecting the jungle for deadfall trees and vines that can be woven together.
Gregor will ask the guides, "So are we crossing, going upriver, or going downriver? Each has different strategies." He nods gravely, even as he looks around for what may be improvised.
Rishi gives a frown as she guides Slobbers along with her knees as she tilts her head. "Can't we catch them by using the swiftclaws?" She looks at the river, she's not exactly good at judging currents and what not - it's not like she came from a place that actually had huge rivers like this and so much rain you can get pruny by just being outside.
The copper-scale is only too happy to stop, though he looks dismayed once knowledge of the boats and their destruction have been imparted. "Thiss is an inausspicsious sstart.", Geir says, mostly to himself, and sets to gathering wood. He drags down as many logs as he can manage.
Burai climbs down from the back of his swift. He gives it a look of gratitude. But the urgency of the situation leaves no time for more. He examines the boat parts and follows Gregor's gaze as he looks around for materials. "There." He points to an area that is less overgrown than the others. He begins moving the largest bits of boat parts to the space - one that is almost a complete raft. "Assemble what we can here. The Power of nature will help us."
"Their lands lie downriver," the gray responds to Rishi and Gregor. He's staring bleakly downstream. "The landss risse up ahead--the water iss the fasstest way, and they know thiss. ...but we have sshaman magic, hunter magic. Our raftss can go fasster than theirs. ...sshaman Geir--do you have the sscent of them?"
As Burai moves to find, then locate the less overgrown area, Izel thumps her tail. Some of the hunters are sent over that way, swiftly, to gather under Burai's guidance and lead.
A sense of urgency is growing in the air--a biting sense that mixes with the rushing waters, and begins to flood the senses.
Seldan's contributions are accepted with thanks.
Skribbles goes to help gather what she can, but would more likely be useful in actually piecing the rafts together than chopping a tree three or four times her size...with a hammer.
Gregor amends, "Our rafts /could/ go faster than theirs. But we are not completely lost, either. Horses can swim, and the swiftclaws look as if they could, too, and more easily. If we roped our saddle together so they all move and support each other, I think we could make good time even without rafts."
Seldan looks at the logs and vines he has gathered, then with a quick but complex set of gestures and a few words, conjures a disk of blue-white light that is nearly invisible. On this, he heaps his finds and takes the longest piece of wood over his shoulder. This he brings back to Burai, slogging through the undergrowth. The disk follows him placidly, encountering no such issues.
GAME: Seldan casts Floating Disk. Caster Level: 2 DC: 14
The copper-scale follows Burai's direction, dragging logs and driftwood into the clear area, dropping them near Skribbles to arrange into the most raft-like form. "The raftss make for a better trip. One panicked sswiftclaw will drown others trying to ssave itsself if you lassh them together. It iss not a worthy rissk." To the gray one's question, Geir pauses and scents at the air. "They have been here, that iss certain. They may... sstill be nearby."
Burai stops what he's doing - laying a few of the larger pieces of wood next to each other. He glances over at Gregor, the scout, who apparently has spent as much time on this type of hutning journey as any of them. Then at the Sith as if to see how they take the suggestion. Their experience, on the other hand, seems more pertinent. This is their home, their animals. One last look at Gregor to make sure they are in agreement, then he stoops to continue his work. He begins filling in the spaces between with smaller bits of wood or leaves.
Gregor hrms about the swiftclaws, and from that surmises that swiftclaws do not generally swim by choice. He will do what he can, gathering wood and vines and materials for hastily building new boats.
"It iss an interessting idea," the gray says. He's begun to roll, and snap grasses together along his thigh. "...the sswiftclaws do not normally sswim..."
"They could..."
"...but the sshaman bringss a good point," another speaks up. Everyone's contributing, it seems. Rushed, rushed. Every minute, the Nar are slipping ahead. Every minute, the plague gets deeper into their homeland.
"...and the river will get dangerouss," the gray says. He thumps his tail to Gregor. "You sshare good words, but the river will not agree at thiss time. Here--" he says. He gives the ropes a final snap, and because they are HURRIED, keeps speaking as he begins to bind logs and woods together. Others are doing the same. "--one will pass you one of the river-sstones." A look to Geir, "...and you as well, if you sscent them sso sstrongly. Sshamans Burai and Sshaman, you will both carry one. We will have three raftss. Grassp the sstones, and focuss on the sscent ahead--the sscent of the Nar--and the waterss will push us faster."
In the meantime, Iza's begun to roll, and snap grasses together--quick ropes, to bind the rafts. The gray joins her--and the two begin to weave the logs and planks together. One, two rafts quickly produced this way.
Then three. Three modestly sized rafts. The mounts will need left behind, for now. One of the hunters offers to stay with them.
Geir settles down upon one of the rafts, as close to the middle as possible. And he attempts to take up as little space as possible. The copper-scale stares at the stone, his face taking on a calm and placid expression. "Pleasse to be taking a firm sseat. One knowss not how fasst it will move usss."
Gregor grumbles about leaving mounts behind, and says, "Horses swim better than swiftclaws, then." The swiftclaws are undoubtedly mopre suited to Amshere, but hores are calmer, and that may be why they swim better. "Traveller can come with us," he tells the others. I will last a rope from our raft to his saddle, and he won't be lost or slow us."
Skribbles sets one foot on a raft and hears it creak. "Oh...yeah..." She looks up at the sky and points at it, "You test me...you test me and I have testing disease and you know that..." She steps onto the raft and moves towards the center, shaking her head, "This is why ba gave up on this life..."
This whole trip gets more and more unbelievable by the moment, and surely Seldan's next letter home will be both long and descriptive. Once the rafts are lashed together, he dismisses the floating disk of light with a gesture and climbs aboard, imitating the others in moving to the center. This is not his area of expertise, and well he knows it. "We are all tested," he tells Skribbles. "But we learn, do we not?" He parks himself on the raft and looks skyward briefly.
Skribbles looks at Seldan and says, "You're gonna learn what half-digested eggs look like if this things gets to bumpy." She points at the others, "Fair warning!"
Burai accepts the stone solemnly. He holds it in both hands and studies it. One doesn't simply use such gifts without care. And respect. When he feels he understands he tucks it into a belt pouch with a flap that will hold it in place. He pats it to be sure it is secure and then moves to one of the rafts. Bending down, he grasps one corner. "Ready?" he asks those nearest - apparently they've been volunteered to ride his raft. Then with the help of others he lifts and drags it into the river. When they reach the water he wades right in, making sure he has one hand on the raft, and one hand on his pouch at all times. Only when he's nearing the point he can no longer stand on the riverbed, does he pull himself onto the raft. He pulls out the river stone and hold it before himself with both hands. "If anyone sees something ahead," he begins, "Something we must avoid or some way we must turn..."
The sense of urgency doesn't subside once the rafts hit the water. It increases--rushes forward with the moving of the waves. One of the hunters stays behind, with the swifts. Never usual--being by onesself in the jungle. But the swifts--the swifts have four inch fangs, claws. Talons. He'll be fine.
Right?
Either way--Rafts--you soon find out, weren't meant to go this fast. Or SHOULDN'T be. Hunter-magic, the hunters had said. Shaman-magic, the hunters had said. Whatever the cause of it, with three of you focusing on the scent of your prey--the rafts pick up speed. The stones in the shaman-hands fairly burn.
They CONTINUE to pick up speed as the river does. As the river begins to churn and foam. Enthusiasts call it, "White Water." Sane people call it, "Oh hell no."
But, White Water or Oh Hell No, you're in the midst of it--racing, racing towards a small number of boats ahead. To those of you focused on the scent--the smell of sludgewater is near overpowering. To the rest--it just...smells. Smells, badly, in a way that begins to itch and claw at the senses.
Traveller...is never, EVER going to forgive Gregor. Never. In a million years. The horse's eyes are wide, wide as he stares ahead. WHAT HAVE YOU GOTTEN ME INTO, GREGOOOOOORRR!!!
Twirling, twirling, down white-water, that's where the logdriver's learn to step lightly... "One could almost find thiss exhilarating if it were not for the urgency of it all.", Geir says between dips in the waves. The stone he holds is passed carefully from hand to hand, as if it were hot to the touch. "Is it jusst me or iss their sscent getting nearer?"
Gregor murmurs calming words to Traveller, and assures him things are going to be fine. They say some Arvek can speak with horse. And he's a ranger in any event, so he's got some advatage, there.
GAME: Burai rolls will: (8)+5: 13
GAME: Rishi rolls will: (7)+4: 11
GAME: Geir rolls will: (14)+7: 21
Burai cups the river stone he was given in two hands. He eyes the boats ahead. "That must be them!" he bellows to be heard over the sounds of the rushing water. "We are catching up to them, by the magic of the stones!" His eyes are wide, nostrils flaring. He does indeed look exhilerated. The surging of the water around him is a yet another display of Nature's strength and power. That they've reached their quarry doesn't cause nearly the excitement. If anything it begins to cool his blood as he now wrestles with the river, directs the stone to slow their raft and bring it alongside one of the trailing boats of the Nar-sektoth.
Hissing, shouts ahead--one can hear it. The Nar look up from their boats--to see you on makeshift rafts, racing towards them. They stare. They scramble, jerking at ropes and oars. They begin to move down the river again, even as you slow. As your crafts slow--except.
Except you're still moving. Still moving, though it's the same speed as the rest of the river. As the Nar-sektoth at the moment, it turns out, though they'll pick up soon enough.
Rain that can drown you, humidity that can drown you, hot..sticky jungle...makeshift rafts on white water...the smell of brine...and that Swiftclaw knocked her off purposely! This has been a miserable trip for little Skribbles, but as she sees the enemy ahead, her eyes light up and the feral grin comes to her mouth showing off Goblin fangs. She draws her warhammer, about to unleash all her misery into these people.
GAME: Geir rolls will: (20)+7: 27 (CRITICAL SUCCESS)
GAME: Gregor rolls will: (15)+1: 16
GAME: Burai rolls will: (16)+5: 21
Wind rushes past as the rafts pick up speed again--this time the rear of it. Gregor's end swings forward, hurling the arvek's end of things alongside the Nar-Sektoth. Traveller's eyes by now are the size of saucers: GREGGOOOOOORRR!!! as his horse-ears flap wildly in the wind! I'LL NEVER FORGIVE YOOOOUUUUUUUU...!!!
...and there's a burning smell. A burning sensation along the palms of those holding the stone. Smoke curls up from close fists--the mana in the stones being expended, the stones burning up from their urgent use. One can only imagine--they were never meant to be used like this.
But here you are, and the Nar-Sektoth stare at you. Their great jaws are just as heavy, and spiked as one could imagine. A shark given legs. Their hunched forms bear fangs and claws. They're scrambling for oars and spears: "...KURRR! SVARTH RAUUR SVEHTS AVA ARIIII! KSST VAAAR!"
In the rush of it, one of them leaps into the water.
Burai looks at you.
Similar in misery to Skribbles, but rather more wary of their quarry, Seldan pushes a lock of hair out of his eyes as the rafts reorient themselves and they approach. This is looking more and more like a fight, not a parley.
Gregor calls out, in Tradespeak and Goblin, and signs it in handspeech also, that we come in peace and need them to stop so we can talk with them. Our news is of the greatest urgency. We bear you no ill will. All that.
Gregor while trying to keep Traveller as calm as possible.
Traveller looks to Gregor with betrayal in his eyes. GREGGOOORRR. YOU OWE ME ARTESIAN HAAAY.
The copper-scale's eyes light up as the Nar's ships come into view. The Sith stands then, looking ready for a fight, and then the boat finally slows. And the staring game begins. Somehow, the raft aligns in such as way as to be quite convenient. Geir takes in the sharkies scream at them, and he stands tall, holding his own spear at the ready. "You first!", he yells out... and then translates it into draconic just to be sure.
Rishi is glad that she left Slobbers behind... Poor Slobbers would not be happy. "YOU MAKE NO SENSE!" She calls out to them while starting to check the wraps about her hands... Somehow she does not think this is going to end well. "Hey, so, don't fall in the water - probably won't be a good thing considering... well the water and them." She points to the Nar-Sektoth and then she moves toward the front edge of the rafts and slaps her hands together, rubbing them.
Burai grimaces at the sensation of the stone burning out. More the loss of it's power than the heat, although even for his palms - lined with callus and accustomed to wielding Fire - it's becoming uncomfortable. He nods in agreement with words spoken by Gregor. His expression shows a hint of outright relief as Geir speaks to them in their own language. But then he turns his attention to the river, trying to spot where the Nar-sektoth who dove into the water might have gone.
GAME: Burai rolls survival: (18)+10: 28
GAME: Gregor rolls cmb: (8)+7: 15
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- ATTENTION -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
Beaglefinder has dropped a TIMESTOP!
Please +init, then cease all roleplay and actions immediately and wait for Beaglefinder to instruct you further. You may earn RPP by logging a scene for a GM.
For in-combat commands, type: +thelp.
-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-
One of the Nar-Sektoth turns around towards you, from the boat you'd lasso'd--an extra set of arms unfold from its sides. One of them holds an oar--the other short, bladed weapons. The sort that could be tucked quickly away before going for a nice, leisurely swim.
From here, one can see a silverly lining on the eyes.
There are two other boats. So, three boats in all. One of the boats you've roped--and holds four-arms and a companion. The other two, just one Nar each--these seem to bear cargo. Piles of...something, covered in oily black cloth. These Nar take their oars and shove away from the "caught" boat.
Meanwhile, Four-arms looks at the rope that Gregor had tossed. Looks at you all. Then, maw gaping, r--gurgles. It GURGLES, a song from the deep--the notes all /wrong/ here above the surface.
The water around you is swift, and white--the boats haven't stopped moving, though you're more in sync than not. Any passage will be risky. But, that's what adventuring is, yeah?
GAME: Beaglefinder advances the initiative order.
Round One - Init 21.
It is now Nar's turn! Skribbles is next!
GAME: Beaglefinder advances the initiative order.
Round One - Init 20.
It is now Skribbles' turn! Geir is next!
GAME: Skribbles rolls intimidate: (5)+0: 5
GAME: Beaglefinder advances the initiative order.
Round One - Init 19.
It is now Geir's turn! Seldan is next!
Skribbles takes out her Warhammer and says, "Enough of this. You're caught and that is that! Drop your weapon or by Mighty Reos' left big toe, I will end you!" She glares at the shark-man, but when you're a Goblin..and super-adorable...it's hard to be anything more than food.
GAME: Geir refreshes spells.
GAME: Geir casts Bless. Caster Level: 4 DC: 14
GAME: Beaglefinder advances the initiative order.
Round One - Init 18.
It is now Seldan's turn! Just Logs is next!
"I sshall call upon the Dragon of Death, to have Her aid uss in the coming battle. Be at easse.", says the copper-scaled Sith. He hefts his spear up in one hand, and calls out in draconic once more, and a faint glow snuggles up to those near Geir.
GAME: Beaglefinder advances the initiative order.
Round One - Init 15.
It is now Just Logs' turn! Burai is next!
GAME: Seldan casts Light. Caster Level: 2 DC: 13
GAME: Beaglefinder advances the initiative order.
Round One - Init 6.
It is now Burai's turn! Gregor is next!
While the others are negotiating - if one can call it that - with the shark-people, Seldan's eyes are drawn to the cargo on the raft. The cargo on the raft suggests ill intent, not simply not knowing. He stands and draws his blade, but instead of doing anything with it, he makes a swift gesture and speaks a word of arcane. The oily cloth on the first cargo ship lights up, glowing with a golden-silvery light.
GAME: Burai rolls diplomacy: (14)+0: 14
Burai tucks away the spent river stone in his belt pouch. He ppints with his free hand at the white waters. "Beware!" he calls. "Something is coming - creatues under the water." Then he looks between the Nar and the allies. "Peace!" he shouts at the four-armed warrior. "We come to warn you! Of a great sickness that aflicts your party! If you take it back to your home, it will spread to your people and the very creatures of the jungles and the river!" He looks at the Nar that have started to pull away, then back at four-arms. "Have any of your men...begun to cough?"
Swimming against the current--and some along with it--one can see shapes appearing. Alligators, scaley and long, begin to surface. They make deep, deep rumbling sounds--like sleepy logs.
Logs with teeth.
For the moment, they don't do...much. They float. They wait.
For someone to jump in.
Meanwhile, the water rishes past, and the Nar stare at the speaker. The Four-arm lurches forward, and starts to raise its hands. Wicked, wicked claws end each appendage--and hesitates.
Suddenly, /their/ boat lurches, the Caught Boat, and Four-arms and his companion are scrambling.
GAME: Beaglefinder advances the initiative order.
Round One - Init 6.
It is now Gregor's turn! Rishi is next!
GAME: Gregor rolls ride: (7)+10: 17
GAME: Beaglefinder advances the initiative order.
Round One - Init 4.
It is now Rishi's turn! Nar is next!
"Wait... Are we - hold on, this whole thing is strange. Are we attacking them or not?" Rishi gives a grimace, but also spends the time making her skin a bit more bark-like through the use of some fancy Monk learning.
GAME: Rishi spends ONE point of KI POOL.
GAME: Rishi refreshes special ability pools.
GAME: Rishi spends ONE point of KI POOL.
Gregor needs both hands for this, so he wraps the end around his saddle horn and gathers the reins in his hands. "This is going to be a bit tough, Traveller, but you can do it," he says, speaking into the horse's ear, leaning forward across his neck. The horse bunches up his hindlegs and springs. Out, across open water, not close enough to shore by a fair amount. But the forehooves land on an alligator. That has to be deliberate, there's really no way to do it by accident. Rear hooves come down alongside the forehooves, and Traveller leaps again, this time making the sandy shore safely, leaving surprised and confused alligator behind. He reaches down for the rope he'd tied off, but in the leaping escape, it has slipped free, and now trails through the water.
GAME: NEW ROUND!
Beaglefinder advances the initiative order.
Round Two - Init 21.
It is now Nar's turn! Skribbles is next!
GAME: Beaglefinder advances the initiative order.
Round Two - Init 20.
It is now Skribbles' turn! Geir is next!
GAME: Skribbles casts Calm Emotions. Caster Level: 3 DC: 15
GAME: Beaglefinder rolls 1d20+4: (14)+4: 18
GAME: Beaglefinder advances the initiative order.
Round Two - Init 19.
It is now Geir's turn! Seldan is next!
GAME: Beaglefinder rolls 1d20+4: (8)+4: 12
GAME: Beaglefinder rolls 1d20+4: (7)+4: 11
GAME: Beaglefinder rolls 1d20+4: (1)+4: 5 (EPIC FAIL)
GAME: Beaglefinder rolls 1d20+4: (2)+4: 6
Skribbles holds up her hammer, a light casting forth from it as she says, "Look, we're not here to harm anyone. Just here to talk." She's about to say something else, but when she spies a horse jumping from alligator to alligator, the force of her spell looses its spark. "What the fuuuc...."
GAME: Geir rolls diplomacy: (12)+6: 18
Skribbles holds up her hammer, a light casting forth from it as she says and a peace settling on the boats. The gentle ticking of a clock can be heard, adding to the mesmerizing voice from Skribbles, "Be at peace, we mean no harm. Only hear to speak is all." She manages to snag most of the Nar under her spell...until she spies a horse jumping from alligator to alligator and the spell whips away in the wind. "What the fuuuccc..."
Geir eyes his companions and nods. "Pease upon your nessts, Brothers. It is as they say. The cloud that hoverss over Alexandria hass followed you home. Death sstalkss us all anew." He pulls his holy symbol from under his chain armor. "I sswear upon the Death Dragon. An oath, Brothers. That what has been ssaid here is true. Ssomething has sstowed away with you, willingly or no. You musst find it and rid yourselvess of it, in fire. Elsse it may doom us all!" At that, his symbol takes on a white glow, shining brightly in his hands.
GAME: Beaglefinder has cleared initiatives.
And so...so. Long ago, the Children of Fire and Flame came to Am'shere, to escape the claws of the Tyrant Dragon. Long ago, those clans forgot who they were. The sith-makar clawed back, and relcaimed themselves. The Nar-sektoth. ...they are what stands before you. Filmy-eyed, with claws as long as a swift's.
The one in the water re-emerges, and squints, narrow-eyed at you. It vanishes, and then returns, riding the back of an alligator.
The alligator swims over to you, bearing the Nar like it carries a sacred creature. "Ssso tell us. Tell uss how this plague will sspread to our people."
There. You've done the impossible--and what many Sith-makar would tell you is at the least, unlikely. You've gotten the Nar-sekthoth to listen. This one stares at you, ichor dripping from its jaws, and astride the alligator mount. The others on their boats, slowly lower their weapons to the sides. Cautiously. Cautiously.
Burai lets out a breath, relaxing somewhat. He looks at the other gators to make sure they seem equally obedient to the speaker's will. "There is still much to learn about it," he admits. "But we will share what we know. It started in Alexandria, and could only have come here through the portal." He watches carefully for a reaction.
Less cautiously, Seldan sheathes his blade and shows open palms, taking a cue from the others around him. He looks to Geir and Burai to explain to them in more detail, pushing a lock of hair away from his eyes.
GAME: Seldan rolls sense motive: (11)+7: 18
GAME: Geir rolls sense motive: (11)+7: 18
GAME: Gregor rolls sense motive: (5)+0: 5
GAME: Skribbles rolls sense motive: (13)+5: 18
"I have come from Alexandria just thiss day, I have sspent ssome time there, watching, learning. It iss inssidiouss. It ssaps your sstrength and worsse still, your mind. Come, let uss go ashore and ssettle oursselves, and exchange wordss over food, yess?" Geir removes his helm. "That wass a good trick, smasshing the boatss..."
GAME: Burai rolls sense mitive: (8)+sense mitive: 8
GAME: Burai rolls sense motive: (11)+2: 13
GAME: Rishi rolls sense motive: (19)+9: 28
Alessandria...the ssickness," the shaman of this band of Nar hisses. The throat-sack beneath its well, throat flexes quickly as it listens. And it comes out, through discussion--that the Nar /knew/ of the plague.
...they didn't understand how viral it was. How quickly it spread. Seldan's nose fairly itches from the stink of it. The stink of it and--the pure, pure self-interest in their listening. To Seldan, Skribbles, Rishi, and Geir--the self-interest is apparent as the warts upon a gobber's nose. But--regardless of their motives?
You make them LISTEN. And, with mere words, you stop the spread of the plague into Am'shere. It's a move, a piece of heroism done here in the deepest, most unseen part of the jungle. It isn't heroism shouted at from the mountaintops, from the most populous of cities. It isn't heroism published in the headlines of the Tribune. But it IS, perhaps, one of the most important of achievements for some time.
Not that...not that there will be a great celebration. The risk was too great for anyone to feel anything but RELIEF, and when you lead the Nar back to the hunter-caste, with the Sith faced with those who'd tried to kill their entire oh, TRIBE, one could cut the tension with a knife. Yet, they heal them.
Still--that evening, the hunter-caste throws a party. The warriors join in, and you're all challenged to contests of fire, of dance. And the shamans put on a show of magic--not telling anyone WHY, of course. They don't want to say, to tell everyone, 'oh, the entire continent came x close to plague.' They're just...going to throw a party. Quietly, in your honor.
With a lot of fire. Dance. And fire WATER.