Sand and Sovereign: Group ||| (IC)

[Icewalker]

CHAPTER ONE: DUSK

Farad Wren Re:

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Before you lie the gates of Serdet. It has been a tedious journey through the desert, and now you have come to your goal. Serdet is a free city, operating under a benevolent Sultan, and as you enter it is clear that the place is a prosperous one. Buildings shine beautifully kept despite the harsh sun and sands, and people seem for the most part contented, there are very few poor to be seen and children run the streets in places. As you pass into the city and through the Market District, you note that there are a number of guards watching you closely. They are not in the standard bronze uniform of Serdet’s town guard, nor the red and bronze garb of the palace guard, but rather the golden sun of the Sultan’s personal sentinels. Soon two of them speak to each other and then approach you directly. The first, who seems to be leading, is a tall and extremely grizzled looking veteran. His tan face is covered in scars, the most extreme of which runs from his scalp to his chin, through his left eye, leaving it a pale shadow with a streak of white running through it. The intact eye watches you intently, piercing through you, leaving a feeling like he can probe your hidden secrets just by watching you. The second sentinel is a younger man, with some thin orange stubble around his chin, who follows and is keeping an eye on the surroundings more than on you. The first one speaks: “You there. The Sultan is looking for foreigners, heroes, for something he needs done. You will be well reimbursed for your time and efforts.”

The Marquise:

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Before you lie the gates of Serdet. It has been a tedious journey through the desert, and now you have come to your goal. Serdet is a free city, operating under a benevolent Sultan, and as you enter it is clear that the place is a prosperous one. Buildings shine beautifully kept despite the harsh sun and sands, and people seem for the most part contented, there are very few poor to be seen and children run the streets in places. As you pass into the city and through the Market District, you note that there are a number of guards watching you closely. They are not in the standard bronze uniform of Serdet’s town guard, nor the red and bronze garb of the palace guard, but rather the golden sun of the Sultan’s personal sentinels. Soon two of them speak to each other and then approach you directly. The first, who seems to be leading, is a tall and extremely grizzled looking veteran. His tan face is covered in scars, the most extreme of which runs from his scalp to his chin, through his left eye, leaving it a pale shadow with a streak of white running through it. The intact eye watches you intently, piercing through you, leaving a feeling like he can probe your hidden secrets just by watching you. The second sentinel is a younger man, with some thin orange stubble around his chin, who follows and is keeping an eye on the surroundings more than on you. The first one speaks: “You there. The Sultan is looking for foreigners, heroes, for something he needs done. You will be well reimbursed for your time and efforts.”

Torg Farwanderer:

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Before you lie the gates of Serdet. It has been a tedious journey through the desert, and now you have come to your goal. Serdet is a free city, operating under a benevolent Sultan, and as you enter it is clear that the place is a prosperous one. Buildings shine beautifully kept despite the harsh sun and sands, and people seem for the most part contented, there are very few poor to be seen and children run the streets in places. As you pass into the city and through the Market District, you note that there are a number of guards watching you closely. They are not in the standard bronze uniform of Serdet’s town guard, nor the red and bronze garb of the palace guard, but rather the golden sun of the Sultan’s personal sentinels. Soon two of them speak to each other and then approach you directly. The first, who seems to be leading, is a tall and extremely grizzled looking veteran. His tan face is covered in scars, the most extreme of which runs from his scalp to his chin, through his left eye, leaving it a pale shadow with a streak of white running through it. The intact eye watches you intently, piercing through you, leaving a feeling like he can probe your hidden secrets just by watching you. The second sentinel is a younger man, with some thin orange stubble around his chin, who follows and is keeping an eye on the surroundings more than on you. The first one speaks: “You there. The Sultan is looking for foreigners, heroes, for something he needs done. You will be well reimbursed for your time and efforts.”

Iu-Same the Wanderer:

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Before you lie the gates of Serdet. It has been a tedious journey through the desert, and now you have come to your goal. Serdet is a free city, operating under a benevolent Sultan, and as you enter it is clear that the place is a prosperous one. Buildings shine beautifully kept despite the harsh sun and sands, and people seem for the most part contented, there are very few poor to be seen and children run the streets in places. As you pass into the city and through the Market District, you note that there are a number of guards watching you closely. They are not in the standard bronze uniform of Serdet’s town guard, nor the red and bronze garb of the palace guard, but rather the golden sun of the Sultan’s personal sentinels. Soon two of them speak to each other and then approach you directly. The first, who seems to be leading, is a tall and extremely grizzled looking veteran. His tan face is covered in scars, the most extreme of which runs from his scalp to his chin, through his left eye, leaving it a pale shadow with a streak of white running through it. The intact eye watches you intently, piercing through you, leaving a feeling like he can probe your hidden secrets just by watching you. The second sentinel is a younger man, with some thin orange stubble around his chin, who follows and is keeping an eye on the surroundings more than on you. The first one speaks: “You there. The Sultan is looking for foreigners, heroes, for something he needs done. You will be well reimbursed for your time and efforts.”

Dorgan Hammerfist:

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Before you lie the gates of Serdet. It has been a tedious journey through the desert, and now you have come to your goal. Serdet is a free city, operating under a benevolent Sultan, and as you enter it is clear that the place is a prosperous one. Buildings shine beautifully kept despite the harsh sun and sands, and people seem for the most part contented, there are very few poor to be seen and children run the streets in places. As you pass into the city and through the Market District, you note that there are a number of guards watching you closely. They are not in the standard bronze uniform of Serdet’s town guard, nor the red and bronze garb of the palace guard, but rather the golden sun of the Sultan’s personal sentinels. Soon two of them speak to each other and then approach you directly. The first, who seems to be leading, is a tall and extremely grizzled looking veteran. His tan face is covered in scars, the most extreme of which runs from his scalp to his chin, through his left eye, leaving it a pale shadow with a streak of white running through it. The intact eye watches you intently, piercing through you, leaving a feeling like he can probe your hidden secrets just by watching you. The second sentinel is a younger man, with some thin orange stubble around his chin, who follows and is keeping an eye on the surroundings more than on you. The first one speaks: “You there. The Sultan is looking for foreigners, heroes, for something he needs done. You will be well reimbursed for your time and efforts.”

Ishtar:

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Before you lie the gates of Serdet. It has been a tedious journey through the desert, and now you have come to your goal. Serdet is a free city, operating under a benevolent Sultan, and as you enter it is clear that the place is a prosperous one. Buildings shine beautifully kept despite the harsh sun and sands, and people seem for the most part contented, there are very few poor to be seen and children run the streets in places. As you pass into the city and through the Market District, you note that there are a number of guards watching you closely. They are not in the standard bronze uniform of Serdet’s town guard, nor the red and bronze garb of the palace guard, but rather the golden sun of the Sultan’s personal sentinels. Soon two of them speak to each other and then approach you directly. The first, who seems to be leading, is a tall and extremely grizzled looking veteran. His tan face is covered in scars, the most extreme of which runs from his scalp to his chin, through his left eye, leaving it a pale shadow with a streak of white running through it. The intact eye watches you intently, piercing through you, leaving a feeling like he can probe your hidden secrets just by watching you. The second sentinel is a younger man, with some thin orange stubble around his chin, who follows and is keeping an eye on the surroundings more than on you. The first one speaks: “You there. The Sultan is looking for foreigners, heroes, for something he needs done. You will be well reimbursed for your time and efforts.”

[Ezeze]

The Marquise raises an eyebrow. "I am no more foreign then you. I was born near here, though I must admit it has been..." She shakes her head "a very long while, since I have visited home." a thousand years, unless she's lost track in between. "I was here on personal matters, but I suppose they could wait a bit longer. I've found that my time isn't quite as precious as it once was."

[Icewalker]

Chain:

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“Excellent. Come with us please, we can lead you straight to him immediately,” the sentinel continues. He nods to his partner and they begin to walk quickly through the city, towards the gate to the Royal District. As you cross through the high beautifully wrought gates you see an area that is clearly in a golden age of wealth and success. Buildings are huge, some even with small gardens despite being in the desert, and valuable metals in gorgeous designs flaunt the streets and buildings. In the center of the district lies the palace itself. The sight is a breathtaking one (although you've seen better), a brilliant citadel of gold and bronze, flashing in the noonday sun, rising above the city. As the sentinels lead you through a side gate the views become only more impressive, as you pass through the gardens of the sultan. Massive tracts of perfectly laid out trees, plants and flowers, drawing out patterns in the land. Fountains abound throughout, of all shapes and sizes, many of them fantastic tributes to architecture, constructed of anything from gold to stone. Flowing water is rare enough in the desert, to see it in such abundance gives a clear image of the prosperity the city is currently enjoying. The sentinels lead you through dozens of twists and turns, up staircases, over ramparts, and through rooms until you are completely lost. Eventually they come to a door carved magnificently with the city’s seal: a golden crown over a golden sun on a crimson field. The sentinels stop at the door and turn to you at this point. “Wait here, please. Once other possible heroes have been found, you will enter and speak with the Sultan.”

[Keld Denar]

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Ach, so ye be needin me axe? Charisma was jus' buggin me today aboot bein bored. Torg leans away from where the axe is strapped to his belt. She gets a bit antsy when she hasn't gotten her quota a evil smitin for a few days, if ya know what I be sayin. 'Ery well, lets be off ta see yer Sultan. Then I'll be needin a bit o' time to clean tha sand outa me armor, and a bit o' ale to clean all the sand outa my throat, if you know what I be sayin!*guffaw*

[Icewalker]

Keld Denar:

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Raising an eyebrow at the axe, the guard continues, “excellent. Come with us please, we can lead you straight to him immediately,” the sentinel continues. He nods to his partner and they begin to walk quickly through the city, towards the gate to the Royal District. As you cross through the high beautifully wrought gates you see an area that is clearly in a golden age of wealth and success. Buildings are huge, some even with small gardens despite being in the desert, and valuable metals in gorgeous designs flaunt the streets and buildings. In the center of the district lies the palace itself. The sight is a breathtaking one, a brilliant citadel of gold and bronze, flashing in the noonday sun, rising above the city. As the sentinels lead you through a side gate the views become only more impressive, as you pass through the gardens of the sultan. Massive tracts of perfectly laid out trees, plants and flowers, drawing out patterns in the land. Fountains abound throughout, of all shapes and sizes, many of them fantastic tributes to architecture, constructed of anything from gold to stone. Flowing water is rare enough in the desert, to see it in such abundance gives a clear image of the prosperity the city is currently enjoying. The sentinels lead you through dozens of twists and turns, up staircases, over ramparts, and through rooms until you are completely lost. Eventually they come to a door carved magnificently with the city’s seal: a golden crown over a golden sun on a crimson field. The sentinels stop at the door and turn to you at this point. "You will need to wait here while we gather others."

Sitting in the room with you is a woman with dusky brown skin and black hair. She seems quite unremarkable except for her dress, She wears a loose white caftan a size too large for her tied in the middle with a leather belt. The left arm has been torn off, revealing two identical tattoos in the shape of compass roses, each one claiming that North is in a different direction. On her head is a white floppy brimmed hat, and a pair of darkened lenses rest on her nose in front of her eyes. Attached to her belt is a bulging pouch on one side, and tucked into the other like a weapon is a scabbard is a delicate lady's fan with a cloud pattern on it. Beneath that she wears a skirt with evening-dress slits up either side - but instead of revealing long expanses of leg, they show off practical pants, with a small crossbow attacked to one leg and a quiver with ten bolts in it on the other. Her feet have been shoved into sturdy boots. To top it all off she carries a parasol with a cloud design to match her fan's leaning against her shoulder.

[Keld Denar]

G'day ta ya, milady. Torg dusts his hand off on his trousers and extends it to give the lady a hearty dwarven handshake. Be ye hear from tha summons from tha guard? I'm here at the request o' tha Sultan, though I know not what he wants with a humble, hungry, and lost dwarf like me. By Ohre's pointy beard, he's got himself a fair city. A whole hoard o' me kin looks to have dropped on this place, so square be the blocks and straight be the towers.

[Ezeze]

The Marquise extends her hand, her grip not nearly as firm as the dwarfs. "Yes, the sultan has asked me here as well. Or, his guards have, in any case." She glances along his weapon. "Although I suppose you'll forgive me saying that you don't look very lost, nor all that hungry, though humble might be on the mark." She smiles, having meant a complement - but she also triggers her Detect Hostile Intent, just in case.

[Aergoth]

Holding his staff in one hand Farad replies, voice muffled by his mask, body seeming bulkier as a result of the feather cloak that covers him like some some monstrous plumage. The barely exposed skin glows like some strange infernal lantern. From within the seemingly fathomless depths of the cloak, a raspy, aged voice speaks.
"I will hear your master."

[Icewalker]

Farad:

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“Excellent. Come with us please, we can lead you straight to him immediately,” the sentinel continues. He nods to his partner and they begin to walk quickly through the city, towards the gate to the Royal District. As you cross through the high beautifully wrought gates you see an area that is clearly in a golden age of wealth and success. Buildings are huge, some even with small gardens despite being in the desert, and valuable metals in gorgeous designs flaunt the streets and buildings. In the center of the district lies the palace itself. The sight is a breathtaking one, a brilliant citadel of gold and bronze, flashing in the noonday sun, rising above the city. As the sentinels lead you through a side gate the views become only more impressive, as you pass through the gardens of the sultan. Massive tracts of perfectly laid out trees, plants and flowers, drawing out patterns in the land. Fountains abound throughout, of all shapes and sizes, many of them fantastic tributes to architecture, constructed of anything from gold to stone. Flowing water is rare enough in the desert, to see it in such abundance gives a clear image of the prosperity the city is currently enjoying. The sentinels lead you through dozens of twists and turns, up staircases, over ramparts, and through rooms until you are completely lost. Eventually they come to a door carved magnificently with the city’s seal: a golden crown over a golden sun on a crimson field. The sentinels stop at the door and turn to you at this point. "Wait here while we find more adventurer's to hear the Sultan's request."

Standing in the room already are a woman and a dwarf...

[Keld Denar]

Torg squints back. So, thats the way ye gonna be...

Torg's armor is emblasened with an embossed golden eagle on his right arm and just above his left breast. The same device also appears on the shield strapped to his back. His bright red beard is braided down either side of his chin, bound neatly in silver clasps at about mid-chest. The rest of his red hair is neatly tucked under the finely crafted steel helm. His red steel boots are fitted with a motif that appears to be shaped like a birds wing in flight. Mighty silver bracers extend down from the mail covering his elbows. The silver engraving on the armbands seems to flicker like lightning in the sunlight. Probably the most striking feature about him, though, are his piercing gold colored eyes marking him as being not of his mountain dwelling kin, but rather a Gold Dwarf more acustom to dealing with surface races. Those eyes seem to survey everything, weighing in the value of stone and mens souls alike.

[kemmotar]

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Iu-same peers at the man behind the mask of his hydration suit he wears for long journeys. A foreigner you say? You should mind your words before you insult the wrong person...

This semblance of power has made this man think he is above others when he is like all but a grain of sand in the vastness of the desert. Feeling annoyed at the man's ignorance he allows his local drought (20feet emanation, temperature rises by two levels) to affect the area around him and says.

Well if you could accompany me to the sultan's palace I would be glad to help him if he needs my help, I was planning to talk with him...however, I do not know my way in the city...could you kindly show me the way?

(OOC: my heat protection level is 5 with the hydration suit [3 without] so I'm unaffected unless in burning heat)

[Icewalker]

Iu-Same

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His eyebrows snap together as the temperature spikes. He pauses, bows once, and speaks again, “I apologize if I have offended you in some way. I know the Walkers well enough to see that you are putting your sway on this area. If you would kindly cease, and come with us, we can lead you straight to him immediately.” He nods to his partner and they begin to walk quickly through the city, towards the gate to the Royal District. As you cross through the high beautifully wrought gates you see an area that is clearly in a golden age of wealth and success. Buildings are huge, some even with small gardens despite being in the desert, and valuable metals in gorgeous designs flaunt the streets and buildings. In the center of the district lies the palace itself. The sight is a breathtaking one, a brilliant citadel of gold and bronze, flashing in the noonday sun, rising above the city. As the sentinels lead you through a side gate the views become only more impressive, as you pass through the gardens of the sultan. Massive tracts of perfectly laid out trees, plants and flowers, drawing out patterns in the land. This looks to likely be why he asked you to remove your aura, as you can see that it would hurt the gardens. Fountains abound throughout, of all shapes and sizes, many of them fantastic tributes to architecture, constructed of anything from gold to stone. Flowing water is rare enough in the desert, to see it in such abundance gives a clear image of the prosperity the city is currently enjoying. The sentinels lead you through dozens of twists and turns, up staircases, over ramparts, and through rooms until you are completely lost. Eventually they come to a door carved magnificently with the city’s seal: a golden crown over a golden sun on a crimson field. The sentinels stop at the door and turn to you at this point. "If you would please wait here, I must return to the city gates to find other adventurers to hear the Sultan's request."

Several adventurers wait in the room already.

[Ezeze]

The Marquise nods towards the newcomers and touches the brim of her hat in way of greeting. "So you've been roped into helping with this 'mystery problem' as well? Curious."

[Aergoth]

Farad looks around from inside the darkened cowl of his cloak. By all rights, he must smell like a carrion bird. He clutches a phial of sand around his neck for a moment, and then mutters something.
A strange foreigner, a dwarf of all things... another of his kind had entered the room shortly after him. Farad did not recognize the race of of the woman. He may have hazarded a guess, but preferred not to leave such things to chance.
Farad finished his prayer and waited for the results.

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A versatility 0 divine detect magic (converted from wizard)

[kemmotar]

Iu-Same lets his aura fade back and says to the man Lead onwards then and I shall follow.

When he reaches the room where the others wait he removes the hood and mask of his suit revealing a bald head and skin close to the color of rust and his eyes glisten milky white. Greetings and may the desert look kindly upon you. he then turns to the woman that addressed him and says Indeed kind lady I have come for this "mystery problem", however, roped here I was not. The people of this town know and respect my kind. I have come to offer my services to the sultan upon hearing that he was in need.

[Aergoth]

"You were accosted at the gates like the rest of us and decided it might be... interesting." The raspy voice from inside the cloak speaks. The simple mask, bulky cloak and dark goggles make it difficult to discern Farad's features from a distance, and close up the smell may very well prevent inspection. At this distance, he looks like an overlarge, flightless carrion bird.

[kemmotar]

Let us say you are correct, in part. It suited me in fact quite well for there is a matter I must take up with the sultan. And yourself?

[Ezeze]

"I was in town on personal business, but it would be rude of me to flat out refuse to see the sultan without even knowing what he needs help with. Besides, I do need something to occupy me."

[Aergoth]

"I was looking... for an apprentice. Or a student. The thugs accosted me as I entered the gate, and I decided it could be beneficial."
As the results of his spell return to him Farad nods from within his cloak.
"Since it appears the sultan will let us languish here at his leisure...and we may be working" Farad pauses to consider the others again "together, it would save time to introduce ourselves." Farad shrugs off the feathered cloak and removes the mask and gloggles. The result is slightly Farad's arms have small, dark feathers sprouting from them, like those of a vulture, and scales, like those of a snake. His skin is changing colour, even as the others in the room watch, to match the surroundings, and it gives off a pale glow. He leans on a bone staff slightly, not old enough to have begun to wane in martial prowess or to have accumulated experience enough to boast of it, but enough that the years have begun their slow slide towards death. "My name is Farad Wren We" he rasps "I would now know yours."

[Keld Denar]

Me? They call me Torg Farwanderer. I be a crusader to tha name of Ohre, an I be here on a smite by smite basis. Torg lets out a bit of a guffaw. E'ers an evil abound that needs a good thumpin, an me an Charisma 'er, well, we been gittin a bit restless since tha necromancer incident up on tha northern edge o' tha desert. Had ta redead me a couple o' undeaders, if'n ye catch mah meanin. I was jus talkin to Charisma this mornin, "Charisma," I says "I reckon Ohre up there be gettin a wee bit restless watchin us. If'n I was a bettin Dwarf, an surely I ain't, but if I was, I'd bet ol' Ohre's got somethin cookin up there he wants us ta be thumpin on." Sure enough, jus walkin through tha front gate, lookin for somethin ta wet me throat, down come tha guard down an scoop us up ta sittin right where I be sittin jus now. "Charisma" I says, "Some days I really wish I was a bettin dwarf."

Torg shuffles his feet a bit, lookin at the walls.

So, where come ye here then, and what know ye about tha Sultan and these here lands? Any funny business goin on round 'er?

[kemmotar]

And I am Iu-Same, I have no other name save that my...colleagues have given me; the wanderer. Let us say my business and my life is the desert may Zoser keep rustling her dunes at times like a gentle lover and at others ravage.

For a moment Iu-Same seems to lose his focus and looks out of the window far into the deep desert, he lingers a moment, closes his eyes sighs;
In the deep desert Torg nothing evil happens, only survival, you may as well keep that in mind for he who survives is victorious, not the good or evil. The desert teaches us to put aside our differences for a while.

[Ezeze]

The Marquise looks at Iu-Same when she says "I'm not so sure Good and Evil are so completely dismissible. True you probably know more of the desert than I, but I've seen a great and many things and I assure you that, however little you might feel it, your actions will reverberate through time." She smiles, the leftmost corner of her lips twisting upwards in a sly closed grin before she continues. "But I suppose there is nothing inherently good nor evil in survival. I am called The Marquise. Or, if you prefer, just Marquise. I know no more of the sultans designs than any of you." This last comment in response to Torg's inquiry, which she signals by nodding towards him when she has completed speaking. Her voice is deep for a woman's, but not passable for a man's, and she stresses her iambs more than you'd expect from a native of Serdet, but her accent is implacable.

[kemmotar]

Would you then say that the desert is good or evil? I have seen many be swallowed by the sands, others that deserved it and others that did not. Indeed it is not dismissible, it simply put on hold when truly faced with survival. What matters is the end result for sometimes the means to survival may not be so acceptable...

[Keld Denar]

I be not here to debate philosophy. I was under the impression there be wrongs to right, maybe with a wee bit o' head thumpin. I mean not to be rude, but Ohre guided me footsteps 'ere for a reason. Now I got sand in mah beard, sand in mah armor, and sand in mah throat. I'm anxious ta get this meetin over so I can get me a good bath an a bit o' somethin bitter to cool me throat.

[Aergoth]

"Drink and religion will kill a man or woman in more painful, agonizing and inventive ways than the desert ever could. The desert as alive as anything else, more even.. The most vicious I have ever sand was not made of sand, but of ice and snow. When you cannot make fire for lack of wood, and the cold begins to numb your fingers, and face, and the wind howls about you like some maddened devil, you will know the fury of the desert. When you stumble on an oasis while dying of thirst, or a cave in the middle of a sandstorm, that is its compassion." Farad shrugs and pulls a skin from his pack. "I have water, if you would partake of it."
Roll

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Knowledge Rolls
(arcana, geography, nature and religion, in that order, to see if I recognize anything about the Marquise or Iu-Same)
(1d20+7)[10]
(1d20+7)[13]
(1d20+7)[21]
(1d20+7)[17]

[Icewalker]

Aergoth:

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Neither of them seem to be major public figures in any of those fields. However you recognize Iu-Same as a Walker in the Waste, a group of often evil desert wanderers.

[Keld Denar]

Nay, I be packin a bit o' my own. Torg pulls a covered tankard out of his pack. Its emblased with a standard that depicts a mighty mountain with a pickaxe and hammer crossed above it. Below it in stylized caligraphy are the words "Barrier Brew". Torg tips it upside down and whacks it a couple times, dumping out traces of sand. Then he tips it upright, places one hand over the cover and gives it a stern shake. Foam appears around the lid and runs down the side. Torg quickly lifts it to his lips and takes a mighty slurp. Ah, that be the right stuff, Barrier Brew never disappoints. Bitter be always better, so they say! Care to take a sip? It'll put hair on yer chest! Torg offers the tankard to Farad. Still, I be interested to see what kinda brew the local folk can turn outa this sandclogged waste. Me favorite part o' seein new lands is seein new brews, oh and the ability to do Ohre's good work, by all mean! Torg lets out another guffaw.

[Ezeze]

The Marquise giggles - a surprisingly girlie sound. "What an odd assortment we are, picked out of the desert by fate's hand. Or Ohre's" she gestures to Torg "or chance's, if you'd rather." She accepts Farad's water skin, and drinks lightly from it, wanting to be neither ungrateful of his generosity nor to abuse it.

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Not a bad idea, Aergoth. The following are Geography, History, Psionics and Religion, in that oder. Also, what do I know about Ohre?
(1d20+19)[34]
(1d20+19)[28]
(1d20+19)[33]
(1d20+19)[39]

[kemmotar]

And yet...it is when you think you are safe in the desert that you will find the greatest dangers for you never know what else makes it's home in the cave you have hidden...The desert shows no compassion to those who do not respect and fear her...As you say drink and philosophy may be inventive and painful in their ways, but there is always something worse and that is a woman. For a woman's wiles and temper are most fearsome compared to anything the deepest pits of hell can throw at you. You can find death in the safest places of the desert and salvation in the most dangerous.

He pauses a while and touches the symbol of zoser behind his suit and continues:

If you bank your survival on a cave in a sandstorm or an oasis, the desert will eventually claim you soon or late. He says and glances at Torg...Those unprepared will eventually find their own death in the desert. That I have been taught by the teacher that is life and have seen it many a time.

[LittleCarp04]

Dorgan

At hearing the Sultan's guards Dorgan is at first taken aback, could this be the sign he has been waiting for? He had to assume it was and would follow his instinct and what direction his god gave him.

Oh, I will be more than glad to assist the Sultan with anything he may need. Lead on sir. the dwarf replies in a very learned and intelligent voice, not showing the usual hint of dwarven accent and gruffness.