DC's Legacy of Fire I [IC]

[Down Comforter]

It has been a week; A long, dreary week under the scorching sun since you departed the town of Solku in western Katapesh, riding camels loaned to you by your employer You are all here on the instructions of Garavel, a no-nonsense major-domo of a merchant princess awaiting you at some unknown location in the northern scrublands.

In the distant haze to the West, you can just make out the immense outline of Pale Mountain looming over the mid-evening horizon like a tombstone. The quickly cooling air is refreshing after the heat of the day as your camels plod ever onwards.

[Kydell]

Travelling through the desert reminds Bartuc of his childhood. Constantly moving from town to town, stuck between the uncomfortable humps of a camel. Falling asleep to wake up in a new house, in a new city. This time he has his own camel, travelling to an unknown destination. Curious at the meaning of this venture, he is content to go along with it as long as he gets a reward.

He rides in loose clothing with his armor and weapons (minus his serrated Sabre, which always stays strapped to his waist) strapped to the camel. His mantle covers the majority of his face as he listens to his companions to gather information, and find out who these people are. They must be worth their mettle, being summoned alongside himself.

[Zealumieo]

The scenery was nothing new, sand, sand, sand, and that beating sun... Generally Ferina wouldn't give such thing's a moment of her thought, but that offer... freedom. meant she could go somewhere for once. Those far off places her parents had spoken of in stories seemed so much more vibrant in memory now. Before she was a desert creature, biding its time for what little it needed to survive... but now, there was an oasis ahead glimmering and hopeful ahead of her. For all she knew, this was a mirage built up by hope. And it was that jadedness that caused her to expect the worst in defense.

Little expectation glinted behind Ferina's cold brown eyes, the kindest she could put it was that this group was... odd. Overall, her billowy clothing, tightly wound scarf, and well fitted leather accoutrements gave the impression she was suited to survive. Her family heirloom was covetously hidden and protected under her clothing, even whilst riding she always had one hand on her Musket. As of always, her weapon always seemed to suffer around all this sand, it invaded its gaps and stifled its precious powders. But she would gladly feed her weapon blood if it kept it functioning, maintenance was an easy price to pay.

She made an effort to remain nondescript and unnoticed if only for her bland demeanor. Everything other then her weapon were relatively inexpensive, so she didn't bother to hide any other "valuables". Maybe the water, but she was rationing that sensibly.

It was a shame she wasn't fully covered, those dark rings around her eyes tended to peeve some of her old masters as it "ruined" the mystique of her paler skin which made her a "foreign" commodity and thus more valuable. Overall, thsat still didn't matter much to her, they could believe their lies as much as they wished. It always seemed she paid the price for the fickleness of others- the word "fair" was far ripped out of her dictionary, spat upon, and trampled.

Maybe that's why she liked deals... those given and written down were far less often reneged upon then whims. But again, pessimism was a must, she wasn't going to look emotional as she made all of this inner reflection.

[Cathmore]

Salazar's golden eyes constantly scanned the horizon, searching for signs of their destination. A soft smile set on his face that he knew left him approachable, there was no need to warn off his new companions after all.

His thoughts were on Haleen as they crossed the desert, the thought of seeing her again was both terrifying and wonderful. Luckily the group gathered by Garavel seemed a strong and dependable bunch; in the case Haleen had been kidnapped -or perhaps something even more sinister- he hoped these people would be of aid to him. While he wished to punish those who had taken Haleen himself, he knew he was but one man, no matter how skilled.

Normally he was the more boisterous sort, but the open desert calmed his mind and body and left him feeling strangely at ease. Though he grew up in the city, Haleen's love of adventuring had often brought him into the desert and those were the memories he cherished more than any others.

His equipment filled the many pouches and pockets of his loose clothing, as well as the saddlebags on his camel's sides. The camel was his own, unlike the others. He'd been riding for as long as he could remember, and had been learning mounted combat nearly as long, so it stood to reason he would have him own mount. His was a foul tempered beast of a camel named Goa.

Sal sighed in contentment as he brushed his sweaty auburn locks back from his brow, while his reason for being here was a sorrowful one, he found he enjoyed traveling like this.

[Morbis Meh]

The day was sunny and the birds were chirping... or were the birds mosquitoes? Scrag didn't particularily care at the moment he was in the process of reflecting the light of the sun into other camels eye's with the shield. Their groans of protest brought forth an eruption of gwafahs from the dim witted half orc. Scrag bounced gleefully upon the back of Miss Daisy the Third, his camel which he had named himself because it was 'perty and impotent' sounding. Scrag was in a good mood this day he was given all sorts of shinies and made all sorts of new friends though most were silent. Scrag inferned with his vast intellect.... hehehe vast, dat der is a funne word it rhime wit askt and maskt. I know Scrag should make a song wit all da rhimes he can tink of that make da peoples happy, Scrag knows it!

So the beautiful silence of the midday were broken by the rantings and poor vocabulary of Scrag, though to his credit it was at least in tune. After the majority of the people in the caravan had given Scrag a death glare he quickly fell into a defeated silence but quickly forgot what made him sad once he began playing with his new shiny from that man who said it was some sort of glowing compass. Scrag cared not what it actual purpose was for he would not limit his shiny's potential because some man said so, no Scrag imagined it a dragon flying through the desert as he played. As he goofed off he didn't notice his pack opening slowly and the tail end of his rope slowly coming out. Abruptly the tail end smacked him across the head, hard, with a shout Scrag rubs his head and nearly drops his new compass.

"OWWW! Granpa why did you hit Scrag? He just playing quietly to himself! I sorry for drawing a smiley face on you, Scrag thought you was looking sad!" Pouting and even more dejected than before Scrag lowers his head and begins to pet Miss Daisy the Third on the head, at least she was nice to Scrag! The pur from his camel made Scrag giggle (AND YES CAMELS PURR TO SCRAG!) and soon his foul mood passed. A growl erupted from the half orcs stomach and Scrag reached into his pack for some food, with great effort considering the sand got into the joints of the armor making it rather difficult to move around in. As he went forward to grab some food that lay within it suddenly began to move away from his hand. Soon Scrag began to get frustrated "Granpa, stop hiding the food! Scrag said sorry already and Scrag hungry!" Finally it stopped moving and Scrag grabbed onto the food victorious, to celebrated he stuffed it down his face. The other's gave pained looks toward the Half orc but he just returned them with his gapping, toothy smile.

[Zuh1]

Saah'r stared into the distant mountains, the rare cool breeze sending the white linen of his desert robes fluttering. The cloth covered him from head to toe, leaving only his hands and eyes visible. At a distance, he would pace for nothing more than human. But his blue eyes, exposed to the wind and grit of the desert, suggested something else. The whites were in fact a pale near-white blue, like a morning sky, the irises a brilliant azure and the pupils were a deep storm cloud color. His hands, when visible, were also strange, white skin covered in blue spiraling lines that could be tattoos, if they didn't seem to dance and shift whenever the breeze picked up.

During the journey, he had been especially curious about the other travelers. "What brings you on this journey? Where did you learn to ride a camel? Are you a slave as well? How does that rifle work? Where do you come from? What do ratfolk eat? Is your grandfather really haunting your backpack? " and so on, persisting until he either suddenly lost interest or saw that the person would not care to answer any more.

He spoke with the accent of Qadira, the land across the sea, but would change the subject should anyone bring this up. When asked of his own reasons for joining up, he simply stated that a slave does not have reasons of his own. Fortunately, Garavel had not much examined the doctored contract with which he was purchased. Stolen slaves were one thing, but a slave that steals himself only to be sold to a master in Katapesh? The scholar-slaves of Katheer were a rare commodity, and that was all Garavel needed to know before purchasing Saah'r and offering him the promise of freedom.

And though a slave, he seemed constantly to be pushing his mount away from the caravan, like a dog testing the length of his lead. Many times, he would canter to the top of a dune, then stop and take in the breeze and view, as if sight of the horizon were as vital as the waterskin he carried. This was one such moment, and as he looked off into the mountains, the breeze around him seemed to increase. His camel snorted as sand swirled and his robes fluttered. He removed the cloth covering his face, revealing a youngish, handsome face with a short, white beard and skin that exhibited the same strange markings as his hands. He inhaled deeply and then, as if on orders, the breeze around him quelled and he wrapped the cloth back around his face.

[Kydell]

Over the week, the robed wizard had done his fair share of asking questions. No doubt curious about his companions and their journey. Bartuc answers what he can, but does not ask any questions in return. He enjoys the company, and having someone interested in who he is, but prefers to gather his own insights through observation.

"What brings you on this journey?"

Bartuc: "Mine is not to ask. I go where I must to complete a job. That aside, I have been summoned by Garavel."

"Where did you learn to ride a camel?"

Bartuc: "I learned to ride these beasts as a young ratling. My parents were constantly moving, and camel was their favored beast of burden. Long ago, we owned a gigantic rat as our pack animal named templeton. However, when father disappeared, he took templeton as well."

"Are you a slave as well?"

Bartuc:"No."

"Where do you come from?"

Bartuc: "I was Born in El-Fatar. Although, I've spent the most time in Okeno."

"What do ratfolk eat?"

Bartuc: "Heh, heh. Anything" He proves this by opening up one of his pouches to reveal it to be filled with raw meat, of several sources. He then sticks his snout into the pouch and rips out a chunk of flesh and sinew, before happily scarfing it down.

[Zealumieo]

The questions were easy enough to handle for Ferina; Not even a hint of malice was introduced so not a hint of it was returned. Over the week it was comforting, if there was one thing this group didn't do... it was critically judge and analyze. It was easy to like her new companions, her initial misconceptions based on their strangeness were fading as the week went over... though some were still being replaced with new ones.

That said, she still kept to herself... holding watch for as long as she could during nights and being prepared to jump into action if anything occurred. Ferina always made sure to do her part of the work, maybe even more if others had absentmindedly forgotten to... She rather have it done then to chase down Saah'r on his 'scouting' or stop Scrag from working with his misplaced items problem. She wasn't one to offer assistance openly, but if it was near her and she could life a finger to do something, she would. She wouldn't say much as she handed a vagrant item back to Scrag after it had seemingly flown a few feet from him. There wasn't much need to watch Saah'r or Bartuc, despite being of the more mysterious or secretive sort they didn't seem to display any intent to do anything harmful. Salazar didn't seem to invite much in the way of help.

It was odd, she could easily sense something was different from the norm from each of them... and no it wasn't because she felt like the only human-like human one there, well maybe Salazar (he was human)- just the way he carried himself. Confident? That was something rare for her eyes to see, it wasn't fair of her to suppose he was different for that though.

[Cathmore]

Of his companions Sal was already growing fond.

Sal had easily answered any questions about himself, he was proud of the person Haleen had raised him to be, and of the talents he himself possessed, so Saah'r's insistent questioning did not bother him. (He was most proud to speak of where he learned to ride. From his master Hazzad, a former soldier) However, Saah'r's unwillingness to recuperate was admittedly frustrating, was the Elf not proud of his own life?

The ratfolk, Bartuc interested him, he was not used to seeing one of that race, and he seemed to have a good head on his shoulders.

Scrag... it was hard to describe the Half-Orc. He seemed to be incredibly dense, though it raised his spirits to see someone holding so much joy in simple things. Every group needed someone to keep them grounded, and Sal figured Scrag could be that for them. Besides, he could tell the Half-Orc could fight, and fight well.

Lastly was the girl. Ferina. She seemed to eye him rather often, with something akin to confusion in her eyes, perhaps she noticed his exotic eyes and something 'off' about his features, the things that marked him as Suli? The way she held herself was as if she wished to disappear, the opposite of the other women he'd known in his life. She looked like someone who needed to be protected, that is until her rifle was in her hands. When she cleaned her weapon the stillness of her hands, and the look in her eyes told him she could hold her own.

[Morbis Meh]

Scrag gives a confused look to strange man in robes "No silly, Scrag's Granpa just haunts Scrag, he likes to play tricks on poor Scrag... I here cuz parents kicked me out, tell me to get a 'jub' so Scrag work for wonderful man named Garavel. Scrag work hard and as reward he get to ride Miss Daisy the Third." he leans in close "She's a racing camel, she tell Scrag this but don't tell anyone..." He shifts his eyes back and forth making sure no one else is listening.

[Kydell]

The ratfolk finds himself consistently entertained by his traveling compatriots. Bartuc had never encountered ghosts, and was fairly skeptical of their existence. However, the half-orc, Scrag, certainly acted a convincing role that one was haunting him. Also, his camel-whispering seemed a bit mysterious, and could be the secret to his successful riding.

The robed wizard was a Pesh addict. Current or former. There was no mistaking that smell. Bartuc was convinced the pesh days must be behind this one, as he hadn't seen him using any. Although he had rode off to the peaks of dunes alone fairly often. At any rate, Bartuc sees this as no threat or factor in the way as peshers were something seen often in Okeno, nevertheless the entire country.

One of the travelers seemed most comfortable on camelback. He and his camel have the same look of both determination and a calm serenity in their eyes. He introduced himself as Salazar, and it was apparent he wasn't entirely human. With the scars on his body he didn't care to cover up, his great armor that must weigh more than Bartuc can carry, and weapons sharpened to razor-sharpness, it was also apparent that he could fight. Bartuc trusted this one more than most. He seems capable, and driven.

The last of his companions is a female human. Reminding him of his mother, and other female ratfolk--who prided themselves the warriors of the race. She showed herself to be strong and willing to fight. She cleaned her gun meticulously and daily. The way she handles her gun is much the same in how Bartuc handles his serrated Sabre. He assumes that much like him, the weapon reminds her of her past life.

Along the way, Bartuc finds himself thinking, I could get used to these people.

[Down Comforter]

As soon as the craggy tree appears over the next hill, it becomes obvious why it is called the Sultan’s Claw. With five immense, mostly leafless branches, the growth looks more like a giant skeletal talon than a thing of living wood.

As you top the last rise, a caravan of a half-dozen wagons and a large tent clustered around the distinctive tree comes into view. Camels in a nearby pen prance in agitation, and a clutch of confused goats and livestock wander the grounds around the wagons. Perhaps a dozen men and women rush around the campsite, chasing down an animal or hastening toward the center of the cluster, near the Sultan’s Claw, with pails of water in their hands.

One of the wagons is on fire! Lush orange and red flames engulf an elaborate wooden wagon emblazoned with painted moons and stars. A gout of smoke pours from an open door, and as you approach an
ill wind blows a number of colorful fortune-telling Harrow cards from inside the wagon. One of the singed cards blows directly at Saah'r, catching against his chest in a burst of orange cinders.

Saah'r

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It is the Cyclone, a card which you know to signify a force that tears through whatever it meets at the behest of an intelligent being. The card portends war, arson, and destructive plans.

As the cards blow past, the whole of the Sultan's Claw erupts into brilliant flame.

The central flap of an elaborate tent flies open and a regal woman who can only be Almah steps out into the firelit night. “Douse that flame!” she shouts to the men surrounding the wagon before turning in your direction. “Ah, Garavel!” she says. “And just a moment later than the nick of time, as usual.”

Looking specifically past her major domo and directly at your group, Almah barks out a simple order before running off toward the fire: “Find some way to help!”

Sultan's Claw

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You can immediately see several ways of which you might be of help:

• Almah, Garavel, and four soldiers dressed in the distinctive red chitin-plate armor of the Pactmaster Guard run back and forth between the burning fortune teller’s wagon and an uncovered wagon about 20 feet away. The latter contains a huge barrel that looks to be holding a large amount of water.
  
• Four burly mercenaries struggle with an enclosed wooden wagon within feet of the burning wagon, hoping to move it to safety before an errant spark causes it too to burst into flame.
  
• A grey-haired old man, with the robes of a priest, kneels next to two severely burned mercenaries, both of whom look near death.
  
• A modest collection of pigs, goats, and sheep accompanies Almah’s party on the journey to Kelmarane. The flaming wagon has unsettled these creatures, which somehow escaped from their pen in the confusion surrounding the fire’s outbreak. The middle-aged human camel drivers do their best to wrangle the panicking animals, but their efforts are quickly being overrun by the chaos of the situation.

OOC: Initiative rolls if you would. You're on the clock.

[Kydell]

Bartuc sees the wagon being moved by the mercenaries and tries to help the best he can.

[Zealumieo]

Ferina looked at the mess, and then specifically at the hurried runners going back and forth from the fire to the water barrel, "What a mess..." she grumbled to herself. She ran over to Almah, in haste, trying to match her speed (Picking up a bucket if there is one so that she can help if there is a round she's near the barrel of water), "Tell the men to form a line and pass the buckets. At this rate, we'll all tire out before the fire is put out."

Initiative:

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(1d20+4)[10]

[Kydell]

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Initiative
(1d20+4)[22]

[Zuh1]

Saah'r had been just thinking about how this rag-tag group would handle danger, should they inevitably encounter it. And now that a real scene of chaos had appeared, he knew he had to spring into action. The card hitting his chest distracted him for a moment. The Harrow deck was known in Qadira as one of thousands of fortune-telling methods brought from the corners of the world. And the omen was, by all accounts, a bad one. Yet the Cyclone held other meanings for a creature such as Saah'r. The Cyclone was power, it was creation of new futures by sweeping away stale pasts. The quickness of the wind was the envy of anyone, and, as Saah'r steered his camel towards the burning cart, he hoped to channel some small part of that ineffable power into his own actions. As he approaches the burning wagon, he raises his left hand, upon which his brass ring was set, and executes a deft series of movements while speaking strange words that sound like howling storms passing over the mouth of a cave.

An enormous gust rushes from his hand, bringing with it sand and more than a few other Harrow cards that were scattered about. Then, just as it reaches the burning cart, it explodes into a torrent of freezing water. It might not be enough to put out all the flames, but the spell would go a long way in speeding up the process. "A bit better than buckets, is it not?" he calls out.

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Casting drench (which I never thought I would ever, ever get to use outside of producing drinking water and only prepared because acid splash, the only other zero-level conjuration spell, is incredibly lame) to put out some of the fire.

Initiative: (1d20+8)[21]

[Cathmore]

Sal noticed the fire was being handled well by his companions and decided to put his skills with animals to work and rushed to help with them. He called to the camel drivers, "Push them towards me!"

Initiative:

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(1d20+2)[20]

[Morbis Meh]

Scrag rides off directly towards the blaze and begins chanting in a low guttural tone. It almost appears if the sky opens up and dumps a mini deluge tops the flames.

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initiative (1d20+1)[12]
casting create water

[Down Comforter]

Saah'r and Scrag move almost in unison, conjuring water above the burning wagon and releasing it over the blaze. As steam rushes into the air, it's clear that the fire is diminished, but not out, and those carrying water straighten themselves into a semblance of a line and seem to be acting slightly faster.

As Ferina busies herself helping put out the fire, Bartuc struggles along with the burly men to pull the wagon to safety.

Bartuc

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Give me a strength check either here on in the OOC.

Salazar finds himself on the wrong end of a frantic camel as the drivers attempt to corral the animals.

Sal

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I'll need a Handle Animal check from you here or in the OOC

[Kydell]

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Strength Check
(1d20)[4] +0 (Str)

[Cathmore]

Handle Animal check:

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(1d20+6)[20]

[Zuh1]

Saah'r smiles and a breeze whips up around him as the group sets to doing whatever is necessary. "Great minds think alike, Scrag! And keep up with those buckets. I've got an idea..." With Ferina taking charge of the bucket line, Scrag dropping minor rainstorms, and the fire already dwindling, Saah'r looks about to see where else he can be useful. In a flash, another idea occurs. He turns his attention over to where Bartuc and the others are trying to push the heavy wagon. "Be careful there! It's about to get very slippery!", he says to Bartuc.

He reaches into a pouch at his waist and extracts what appears to be a small piece of melty butter, mostly liquid in the heat of the day. With the butter smeared onto his fingers he weaves a spell more complex than the first and suddenly the area directly under the cart is covered in a slick grease. It might send the pushers flying once they do budge the cart, but the area is positioned so that they can get traction while the cart can slide away.

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Casting grease on the 10' square area directly under the stuck cart to make it skid away from the fire. Apologies to anyone who falls over once the cart starts moving.

[Morbis Meh]

Scrag keeps up his grunting through the smoke and waving his thick sausage fingers. Once the fire was out he could attend the wound but putting out the fire was top priority.

[Down Comforter]

As the camel attempts to charge through Salazar, he deftly grabs it's reins and gently pulls it under control, whispering soothing words to it as he does so. Within seconds, the animal seems much more under control and docilely allows him to tie him to a nearby post.

Bartuc has trouble shifting the wagon, even with the assistance of the four mercenaries. As he tugs again, he hears Saah'r casting and a layer of grease appears beneath the wagon, which will likely help the next attempt to move it. Hopefully it's magical nature keeps it from catching fire.

The magical work continues as Scrag dumps more water onto the blaze, putting out a significant amount, but leaving a little more.

OOC: Round two!

[Zealumieo]

There was still work to be done on the fire, so Ferina didn't leave her place in the bucket line. It was very fortunate the fire was dying down, the dry heat of a desert tended to compound the dangers of such an element.

[Cathmore]

Sal notices that the driver's still struggle to herd the animals, while his allies have the blaze nearly under control, he decides to continue helping with the animals. Stepping towards another panicking camel he attempts to reign it in.

[Kydell]

Not willing to give up, Bartuc continues to help push the covered wagon.

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2nd Strength Check:
(1d20)[12]+ 0 (Str)

[Zuh1]

With the fire still burning, Saah'r turns his attention back to finishing the job. A flash of the hand and a quick word is all it takes to bring down more icy water onto the flames.

[Cathmore]

OOC: Might as well roll a handle animal check:

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(1d20+6)[19]

[Morbis Meh]

Scrag continues to bring water down upon the remainder of the fire, even if it went out, ember would remain which were just as deadly as any fire in this dry terrain.