AFTER THE BATTLE

Rayne looks at the pile of treasure before her and immediately reaches for the gold armband. Examining the arm jewelry, the mul admires the artwork in awe. At first appearances the band is solid and plain, with etched borders on both the top and bottom. A closer look reveals and intricate design - some sort of leafy vine is etched to crawl around the band, reminding her of Tak's homeland they traveled through. The mul places the band on her arm and then follows Gaigin to the Queen where she too removes enough chitin for herself and someone else who may need it. Wrapping the chitin in her cloak and securing it to be carried, Rayne prepares to follow everyone to the surface.

Koreth eyed the armor once again, a reddish aprig hide tunic and greaves studded with bits of polished white bone. He looked down at his own tattered armor; its remnants beyond repair. The noble warrior strips off his leather tunic and greaves, tossing them onto the floor of the chamber. He picks up the aprig hide leather tunic, and pulls it on. It fits snugly, perhaps a little too much so.

<I should feel guilty for taking the only armor...> Koreth thinks, cinching the arm greaves <I will bring it up at a better suited time.>The greaves tightly fastened, Koreth pulled on the leg pieces and secured them. With apparent guilt in his eyes, the noble warrior picks up the shield and inspects it. Its hardened leather was rough to the touch and a dull brown that was faded in patches. Koreth could only guess as to the animal it must have come from. A stylized dragon was painted on its front in a deep red. It stood on its back legs, reaching out with long fingers and wicked claws.

The battle was finally over and Aryus could not have been more glad of that fact. His body was covered with bruises and cuts, splattered with a putrid mix of his own clotting blood and the gore of insectoid enemies. The windmage's bright cerulean cloak was no more, now it hang in tattered rages the red blood with the blue cloth giving it a strange purple stain. Aryus manages a weak smile to his companions, trying to lighten the heavy mood a little. He pats Koreth and Gaigin on their shoulders, congratulating the warriors for their bravery.

Aryus takes one of the tomes from the treasure pile and inspects it with interest. The book appears ancient in appearance, its cover drawn with a strange symbol from ages past. With great curiosity, the windmage gently flips through the book's countless pages of knowledge trying to sample information contained within. The windmage quickly fathoms that it is spell book, probably one that belonged to the foul scrab defiler. The windmage hands over the book to Migdalia for inspection; the elven girl nods to the windmage and puts the book in the many folds of her black dress, "’tis the only thing I will take in lieu of Liron’s death." Ayrus was about to protest but held his tongue as he sees that Elric has taken the other tome. He will speak with the warlock at a more appropriate time about the knowledge contained within. (DM note: I want this discussion in character if it ever happens. As things stand, Elric has taken one of the tomes and Migdalia has taken the other.)

The cave, still dark was now silent, except for the unconscious wheezes and gasps of his wounded companions. Except for the dull ache in his mind, a testament to the mighty battle he had waged with the scrab mindbender, Tak' had emerged relatively unscathed.

The elf, Liron had fallen, facing a foe that stalked and terrorized a large part of the desert. He had fallen bravely, and not without striking deeply and gracefully with his sword into the scrab matriarch.

Reaching up with one of his curved sloth-tooth daggers, the halfling cut a lock of his long black hair and placed it on the fallen elf's chest. Speaking softly in the tongue of his people, Tak' said, "May your body return to the earth, may your body nourish Gaea. May your spark run free and brave, may your spark light again."

ONCE OUTSIDE THE CAVE (Refer to Turn 72 for more details)

Migdalia and the other elvess had spoken little, the mutilated girl had finally come to her senses. She hid her wrist stump with a piece of red cloth that the sorceress provided her. Migdalia broke the silence, "Our tribe is somewhere North of here, we will travel with you up to the edge of the scrublands but then our feet will take us both northward. I understand that the pterran village is in the other direction." She looks down and slowly adds, "I thank you for all you have done and if you ever venture north, do not forget that you may share a campfire with our tribe or run along side it whenever you wish to. My elders will hear about this and you are all considered elf-friends of the Bird Runner tribe from this moment on."

Both girls slowly turn around and get ready to strike north while the party says good byes...

Aryus was first to run outside of the cave entrance and the most eager to take a breath of fresh cool air. The winds felt nice against his face, the night was gentle and cool. The great Hinterlands plain was unusually calm.

The windmage turns to the two elven women who had offered their gratitude for the rescue. He smiles as best as he could and wishes them luck on their way. "May gentle winds guide you on your journey." Aryus mutters a common spiritual blessing of air.

Elric speaks softly, the tear in his throat causing his voice to rasp "Run well Migdalia, may you always find shade." The injured warlock steps forward as to say more but can not finish as a coughing fit over takes him. With a respectful bow of his head Elric waves and returns to his resting place.

Mendi, who had joined Elric, also bowed deeply. "May you always find shade and water, and run freely on the sand. One last thing before you depart, however, once simple boon... I've never seen the life of a tribe,

for I grew up in a city... I'd like to visit you in the future, would that be possible?"

Migdalia smiles, "I will be more than happy to teach you the elven ways of the wilderness. Next time we meet, I shall give yee a crash course on elven ways."

Out in the open air, the mul begins to feel renewed immediately. Taking a deep breath she falls in line as the group begins to find a place to camp for the night. As they walk, Rayne pulls forth the worm and gives it some water and rations. "Thank ye friend fer yer help and company in there . . . ye need a name, I must think on this some." Thinking back on the time spent underground, Rayne also casts a glance to Koreth who too seems lost in his own thoughts. With a smile she pets the worm and puts it back to rest in her pouch.

Oddly enough, the mul has little to say to the elves. Remaining quiet while others say good bye, she nods as the elf glances her way and offers a kind smile, but still stays distant.

Gaigin stood stoic as he watched Migdalia supporting her injured friend, out beneath the sky once again. The rescued girl was shaken, had no doubt seen horrors enough to shake the strongest will, not the least of which was the death of one who had come to save her. Her arm was the least of her injuries, Gaigin had seen people survive much worse. No, it was her mind had suffered most. If she did not have the will to see her through this trauma, then the grim sands of Athas would claim her as surely as if she had remained unrescued. And if she survived, Gaigin thought, she would doubtless wreak such vengeance on her captors as to make every Scrab in the wastes terrified of the one-armed elven maid. Vengeance was as much a part of Athas as death.

Shaking himself out of his brooding reverie, Gaigin nodded respectfully to the elves as the turned to go, speaking elven in a firm voice. "When our business is done, we may well seek your Tribe in the wastes. Tell your elders that the Tyrians have much to discuss with them, and would like a meeting with them before we return home, if it is possible.

In the mean time, Run well and stay safe."

Turning away from the departing elves, Gaigin wearily began the business of seeing to a suitable campsight.

Koreth pulled the sweet air of the surface world into his lungs, taking a long and deep breath. The harsh light hurt his eyes as he surveyed the land around the mostly ruined scrab lair, but it's warm colors soon faded into view. He reveled in the beauty of the land as if it were a giant canvas.

Pulling a skin from his belt, the noble warrior fills his mouth with a swallow of warm water. He let the water sit inside his mouth a moment before swallowing. Feeling a gaze upon him, Koreth looked about to see the last of Rayne's gaze. A strange smile crept across his face.

Koreth didn't say much as the two elf women said their goodbyes, he just stared off into the seemingly endless desert. Somehow he didn't hate that dark haired elf girl, she was not like the elves that had slain his dwarven friends. His gaze swept across the girl as she was moving to leave. He could think of nothing to say that would matter to either of them beyond some polite and empty goodbye. His silence spoke for him.

Tak' bows his head at Migdalia, her words obviously having much importance for the halfling hunter. After a short moments' silence, Tak' looked up and answered the taller elf, "I will take your offer, I wish to walk with your people on the uncertain sands of the future. If your path and that of my people cross in the future, you only need speak my name to gain sanctuary."

Tak' walks up to the female elf and presents his open palm, "Migdalia Birdrunner, Tak'Nak'Raq speaks to you as a friend."

CAMPFIRE AND TREASURE

Standing with effort Elric moves to the pile of treasure by the fire. He had rested fitfully the pain of his wounds and the realistic flashes of the battle echoed through his body. Ceremoniously he reaches down and removes his sword belt, holding Tempest. Folding the belt neatly around the scabbard Elric kneels down and lays sword and girdle on the pile of items. While on his knee he whispers softly over Tempest for a moment then picks up the remaining tome.

Looking toward Gaigin first then the remainder of the companions. "Deep in the cavern when my life was in doubt I offered the blade Tempest to Gaigin. He did not accept my gift, in his heart knowing I would still live. I now offer it to he most suited to wield it. I have wielded the Storms Fury and been found wanting. I now pass it on that a true warrior be found to wield it to its fullest."

Slowly, regretfully, Elric walks away from the magnificent blade and towards his belongings. Sitting among his packs and cloaks he tries to find the position that is the least uncomfortable. The soft whisper of padded feet on sand is the only warning Elric receives as the tagster cub barrels out of the night. With playful ferocity the tagster attacks Elric's backpack. After a few tugs the cub settles down to methodically chew on the flapping leather straps.

Mendi approaches cautiously, for he doesn't want to surprise the playful cub. Once the small tagster realizes that the elf is there, Mendi crouches and rummages into his bag, from which he extracts a small bead of sugar. "Well, I owe you some reward, little one," says Mendi as he gives the sugar to the cub. Elric looks with some amazement at the small cub wolfing down the small candy. Mendi smiles feebly, still weak from his mental fights and wounds, but says nothing beyond 'Another fight, another day...'

Gaigin shook his head as Elric set the priceless blade on the pile and turned his back. Tempest gleamed under the moonlight, polished steal and etched runes reflecting the flickering light of the Pack's small fire. A weapon of power, a sword of myth. Grasping the weapon lightly by its handle, Gaigin held the gleaming blade straight out at eye level, staring silently for a moment, eyes glinting. Then, smiling ruefully and shaking his head, Gaigin set the weapon down where Elric had left it.

"More trouble then it's worth, I'll wager. No, that there's a sword straight outta legend if e'er I heard o' one. A weapon for a hero, not a simple mercenary fighter like meself. Something like that requires a special type o' person. Someone who still believes in good and evil, who still believes a difference can be made. I seen too much, done too much, to use a weapon like that with any conviction. I'd as soon sell the gith-spawned thing and live like the richest Templar in Tyr for the rest o' me life, and let the buyer do with it as he will, fer good or evil, if there's any real difference 'tween the two. No, someone else can have it, but consider meself stricken from the list." Gaigin grinned and put a hand on the haft of his new-found axe. "Besides, a stout axe of plain ol' obsidian is more then good enough fer me. If yer lookin' for a, what'd ye call it, 'true warrior,' ye'll be here fer a while. The only one I can think of off the top o' me head who fits that description is that bastard Rikus, and I hear tell he has himself a magic sword already." Gaigin reclined against a boulder and waited to see what would become of the Tempest.

"Tis' true the blade is a mighty responsibility. At the last, against the Scrab defiler, I looked down as my life's blood poured into the sand and knew that the responsibility was to much for me. Rikus is no were about this region that I know of so it must be one of us that wields it."

Tak' smiled at the impetuous warlock brought himself down to ground. <Sure, greatness is a fleeting quality - but humility is as much a part as success>. Tak' knew that Elric was learning this quality, and would learn more - the half-elf was not the brash youngster he thought he was...

Koreth sat near the fire, his water skin in hand. He looked about at the others, and at the loot they'd taken from the scrab lair.

"We need to divy up the loot," he announced "I'd like this suit of armor at the very least." The noble warrior reached over to his pack and tossed the shield onto the pile treasure. "How will we do this?"

Tak' shrugs, knowing with every waking moment that he is not among his people, "Among my people, the distribution of wealth is quite simple. All take what they think they need, and could best use for the good of the people. The chief decides on any disputes, and allocates any left unclaimed." Tak' looks around the firepit, to the faces of his companions, resting finally on Gaigin.

"Of course," the halfling says, his eyes lowered in deference, "you are the final arbiter."

Gaigin eyed the treasure thoughtfully, finding little that suited him. The shield, though splendid, didn't suit his fighting style, and he had little use for jewels or magic fruits. Eyeing the gems and necklace, Gaigin turned to Mendi. "What do ye figure, elf. Think ye could fetch a good price fer these baubles? Silver's easier to split than gems and jewels, and all of us may need the coin at Ptellac's village. Unless someone wants to claim 'em, I say we let our fine Trader sell 'em at the village and split the coin evenly."

The elven trader smiles, "I can sure get a good deal out of them, maybe it is best that way. Let’s see what is left…Rayne has taken the golden armband, Koreth has taken the suit of armor, Gaigin has taken the axe, Elric has taken the tome…that leaves the necklace, the two gems, the three fruits and the magical shield to divide…fair enough, I will sell them and we will divide the money but that must wait until Tyr." (DM note: Please let me know who will carry the items please.)

Once the party finds a place of rest for the evening, the mul collapses in an exhausted state. With a sigh, she forces her tired body up-right to meditate. Her muscles begin to relax and she feels renewed as her silhouette travels the mindscape with Marteu, simply enjoying his company.

Exhausted and near death, Aryus collapses onto his bed roll and nearly fall asleep. Before he sleeps to memorize his spells, Aryus will cast two healing spells on Elric and Mendi (two with heaviest wounds I assume). Cast Elemental Bonding on Elric and Cure Light Wounds on Mendi. Aryus then drops into a deep slumber to restore his mind and heal his body.

LATER THAT NIGHT

Rayne awakens from her state and the mul approaches Elric and the tagster, giving the cub a scratch she sits and begins to focus on the warlock's wounds. Taking him into the mindscape and the comfort of Marteu's tent the child mul, under her aging master's tutelage, heals the warlock's wounds the best she can. "Sorry friend, but that is all fer now," She smiles at her fellow pin cushion. "Though I fared better than ye this time, I must see to others." With a wink, Rayne turns and approaches Mendi. "Well elf, let me have a look . . . well I'd say ye look a mess, let's see what we can do fer ye." Rayne sits and offers the same comforting healing to the trader as she did to Elric.

Exhausted once more, the mul falls into another deep meditation so she may be ready to take over her watch near the early morning.

The firelight cascades around the campsite. Elric holds the pilfered leather tome in hand, unconsciously looking back to where Tempest lay. Glancing back down to the tome he runs his hand over the soft leather cover. The arcane Runes etched into the cover showed exquisite detail. The leather is a light tan with the Runes in a dark red. The binding is tight and the tome looks to be recently made. The feel of the tome raises an instinctive caution in the young warlock. In his weakened state Elric refrains from opening the book. He could feel the silent strength of the book. <I must be fully prepared before I delve into the magic here> Looking over the runes on the tome, Elric turns the book and examines the spine. A single mark stands out black amidst the many deep red runes.

The spell book slips from Elric’s hands as realization strikes home. The black rune was not etched into the leather. It was on the skin before it was prepared and it wasn’t a brand or scar it was a tattoo. The shape of which was a large bird running, the symbol of the Bird Runner Tribe of Elves. Elric cautiously picks up the tome once more. <To waste such knowledge even given it hideous wrapping> Turning the warlock places the tome in his backpack and straps it closed. <I will think on this when I’ve had more sleep> (DM note: No one has seen this except Elric.)

As the fire dies down to embers and the camp prepares for rest, Tempest still sits by the fire. Nodding knowingly Elric gets up from his seat. <I know too well the hardship that comes from wielding such a blade, I can blame them not at all> With a sigh of resignation the half-elf reaches down and picks up the short sword bringing the crossbar to his lips. "To wield thee in honor and strength I pledge" Softly kissing the pommel Elric steps back and straps the girdle around his waist.

Tak' stripped off his tattered leather vest. It was of simple make, halfling armor and weapons usually erring on the side of functionality. However, the tough hide had seen too much battle, and outlived its usefulness. A blackened hole, large enough to fit his fist through was a chilling reminder of the Twins, while a large patch missing on the left side now lay in the belly of a Sand Shark.

At least, Tak' thought wryly, he still walked the sands of Athas - the armor had served him well. It still might, if he could find a craftsman skilled in leather- and armour-working. Until then, Tak' would walk bare-chested.

With the armor rolled away, tucked into his sack, Tak' turned to things more ascetic and spiritual. Tattoos ran up and down the lengths of his arms, and elaborate and abstract designs covered most of his back. Their meaning was alien to outsiders, yet strangely alluring. In the light of day, clad in armor and walking silently, Tak' could be taken as a human child. Here, in the flickering light of the campfire, the exotic designs on his skin seeming to dance with the flames there could be no doubt of the difference between the halfling and his taller companions.

Tak' sat quietly, observing the stars and thinking of what he had learnt this day, his fingers unpacking his small collection of bone needles and plant-dyes. Controlling his breathing, and concentrating deeply, Tak' let his subconscious take control of his hands as he emblazoned on himself and image befitting the trials of the scrab nest. Time passed, and the image grew - colors seemingly random mixed together.

Finally, after all his companions had dropped to sleep, Tak' came out of his trance. It was a magnificent piece, Liron versus the Scrab Queen in the foreground, with himself and his companions arrayed against various scrabs in the background. Liron would live on, carried on the body of one he had known only for a short time - but had touched with his bravery and fire.

Quickly sleeping, Tak' dreamed on home. But a home where the trees were replaced by sandy deserts, and his short kin had doubled in size...

MORNING

Before setting out on what he hoped would be the last leg of the journey to Ptellac's village, Gaigin double checked the straps on the make shift sack that contained what he hoped would be as fine a suit of armor as could be found in the Tyr region. His new axe felt good at his side, a sturdy weapon with a thick, leather wrapped wooden handle and a wide, curving axe blade of chipped obsidian, balanced with a hooked spike that would work well in battle against armored opponents. A little work had honed the obsidian edge to razor sharpness, and some leather cord made sure the black-stone axe head remained firmly fitted to the haft. A few tassled black cords had served for decoration along the haft, as no weapon could be truly complete without such a personal touch. After a night’s rest and fresh bandages, feeling truly armed for the first time since his fever began, Gaigin felt better then he had in a long time, despite the still-aching wounds beneath his armor.

Setting his make-shift sack of chitin plates across his back, Gaigin set his mask, newly cleaned of blood and gore, atop his freshly shaven scalp and headed out into the rising heat of the morning, setting course for the Pterran village.

Rayne watches as the sun rises slowly over the barren landscape beyond the camp. Stretching her muscles, the mul practices some training exercises in the early glow of the dawn, while the others remain peacefully asleep. <Be glad to reach the pterran's city> she thinks to herself as she smolders the remaining embers of the fire. With a sigh Rayne sits and checks over her armor and weapons. <Need to replace the armor. That's what the queen's chitin is fer . . . weapons need repair . . . maybe replacement too . . . sand shark really hurt me tortoise blade . . . need to find a way to get cash. Maybe I should sell the armband and split it with the group . . . it's so beautiful. No one said anything against me wearin' it. I think I'll keep it . . so pretty . . . .>

The ex-slave continues to admire her new jewelry - her first piece of jewelry - as the others start to stir about her. Feeling more rested and with renewed vigor from her meditation before her watch, Rayne peers at her companions as they awaken searching for who is most in need of her help. Approaching first Elric, then Mendi the mul uses her healing powers once again, draining her power between her two friends.

"Koreth can ye wake me from me trance when we get under-way. I'd like to gather some strength before we head out in case we run into trouble on the journey." Koreth nods his acceptance and Rayne slips into a tranquil meditation.

Standing, his body reviving in the harsh light of morning, Tak' stretched, letting his gaze linger on his new creation - sited above his breastbone. The journey was almost over, Ptellac would be able to show him the celebration of the earth mother, and his companions could take a well-earned rest. There was still some ground to travel, but after what they had faced and triumphed over, the halfling was quietly confident.

His Will had been replenished overnight, and Tak' began to feel more confident. His skill and ability had blossomed once he had arrived in Tyr - the harsh battleground of the mindscape forcing him to experiment, improvise, and above all - learn.

Gathering his belongings silently, missing the wordless empathy he had experience with Chit-Zik, Tak' stoically ran a quick perimeter search of the campsite before the part departed - not fearful of predators or bandits, merely cautious of them.

OUT AGAIN

It was a mix-match group that set of once again across the stony barrens. The breakfast was made up of scrab meat that tak’ prepared as he had been taught by the elves. The meal tasted better it seemed now that they were defeated and served to clean up the chitin that Rayne and Gaigin carried. The halfling walked bare chested and almost everyone had their clothes torn to ribbons. From the sand holwers to the strange halflings, through the sandsharks ending with the scrabs, it seemed everyone wanted a piece of the group.

The group had survived well so far; it had lost two of its members since Ptellac and Chit had gone ahead but had picked up two more unofficial members along the way. Both elven trader and mul warrior had shed blood like any of them and a deep friendship was forming in some of the members. Each person had found its niche in the group, some without even wanting it like Gaigin. The ex-caravan guard only wanted to enjoy his newly won freedom and found himself leading a band of rugged individuals. Rayne only wanted to run away from her former masters and found herself going exactly towards them.

The cultures that each shared was also quite different, from the rich upbringing of a noble warrior (one day to be Lord) to the ‘simple’ upbringing of a forest prince; from the training of a greedy trader to the training a circus performer. The attitudes also differed greatly, from the detached almost aloof style of the windmage, passing by the outgoing, friendly manner of the warlock, the down to business attitude of the ex-caravan guard to the savvy business like silver tongue of the elven trader. Perhaps it would be these differences that would see them through their goal and more importantly allow them to survive…

The sun was high in the sky and everyone soon remembered that it wasn’t that great being outside, specially in a 140 degree stone furnace where you had to time your breathing or it would burn your lungs. It seemed Athas had saved a specially hot day to greet the travelers. Mendi spotted an outcropping where a rock ledge provided some shadow and comfort from the sun; they were not too far from the scrublands and hopefully only a few days away from the pterran village.

The camp spot was perfect, perhaps too much so as the remnants of another camp was found. Tak determined that the travelers had only left within a day or so and were also heading South. It appeared that the camp was not large, maybe 4 to 8 people with a couple of half-giants from the large footprints. Everyone frowned and remembered Rayne’s story about her former party. They were slow in settling themselves down reminding them that most of them were injured and in no condition for another fight but everyone still had a score to settle with House Stel and some more than others…

Your actions…

OUT OF CHARACTER

HEALTH STATUS

Remember the scale:

Healthy (H) 100% hitpoints remaining

Slightly Wounded (SiW) 75% to 100% hitpoints remaining

Wounded (W) 50% to 75% hitpoints remaining

Seriously Wounded (SeW) 25% to 50% hitpoints remaining

Mortally Wounded (MW) 0% to 25% hitpoints remaining

Gaigin (W),

Koreth (W),

Ayrus (SeW),

Tak (W),

Rayne (SiW), (UW

Mendi (W)

Elric (W)

GENERAL

Great to see everyone responding. Let’s take a break here and discuss a few things:

• Treasure (final arrangements)
• I assume you are heading south towards Lost Scale
• Anything else you want to do here

Questions, comments, and suggestions please.

L8r,

Fabian