A tall youth with broad shoulders and well defined muscles steps out from the forest. He has short, well groomed dark brown hair with lighter brownish red highlights underneath. His eyes are a pale blue, which seem to sparkle with curiosity. He is well tanned with smooth skin and bears very few scars. He has a warrior's stance and an arrogant confidence to him. He dresses in a light brown cloak that shows little in the way of wear, a pair of dark brownish red leather breeches, a blood red tunic and a pair of soft leather boots. He wears a scabbard at his side with a bone bastard sword hanging from it, a helm made from a boneclaw skull, a suit of scale armor made from bits of chitin, and a pair of wrist razors strapped to both arms. He grips a metal tipped spear in his hands lightly and holds it more as a staff than as a weapon, but you get the feeling that he could easily bring it to his defense.

"Hold there!" he says neutrally, "We have no reason to attack you; I am Koreth, who are you and what to do flee with such haste?" He sizes up the mul woman who stands before him with much curiosity. He smiles, <And what would it take to scare such a woman?> he thinks with amusement to himself <I would not care to face it alone....>

A nondescript elf, dark-haired and bronze-skinned, quickly follows the proud man. He keeps his hairs short, and wears a turban-like scarf around the neck. He wears loose pantaloons well suited for riding, but currently in bad condition, and blood-tainted above the ankles, and a light waistcoat. He bears leather armor stripped on his back, but does not seem much disturbed by the heat or the humidity. An obsidian scimitar on the side, he has a light crossbow in his hand, not directed toward the female mul anymore. The mul catches the visible irony in his eyes while he listens to the tall man's speech, but when the noble glances around, his eyes fall on a deadly serious elf. 'Well met, my name is Mendi the Peddler, may you always find shade. You wouldn't be fleeing something, would you? This place gives me the creeps at best and we've had enough surprises for now... you looked purposefully enough on the path... you can hardly be here to collect flowers, are you?"

The Mul's eyes dart about to make sure there is no one sneaking up behind her, while keeping a cautious watch on the men standing before her. Raising her sword slightly, "Ye hold!" she says and then pauses to catch her breath and allow what is happening to sink in to her mind. She seems about to continue when a Thri-Kreen joins the two in her sight. <now this could be a challenge - maybe the two alone, but with a kreen . . ?>

To Chit-Zik this new arrival held the appearance of a hunter, and perhaps not just an addition to the pack, but his clutch as well. "Where is your pack?" The thri-kreen asks. "You aren't alone out here, are you?"

"How many more are hiding beyond there? Show yerselves - all of ye. The mul watches as more join the group - her eyes widening slightly, then setting in a determined glare.

"Our pack is all kreen, and all are draj, although a dras would be welcomed by me."

The mul is quick to answer, "My pack is none of your concern. Ye ask a lot of questions fer people looking so ready to fight." She stares coldly into the eyes of each of them in turn, then almost as an afterthought she ads "I do not recognize yer faces, what is yer house? Why are ye here?"

A heavily built half-elf steps from the woods and approaches the mul fighter. His dark tan cloak stirs slightly in the light breeze. His tunic and breeches are of the same material as the cloak, only a lighter shade of tan. He wears the high boots of a desert nomad. He has shoulder length black hair which is pulled back neatly by a rune carved headband, revealing his upswept ears. His piercing green eyes scan the area. You see the hilts of two thin short swords at his waist and the end off a long bow over his right shoulder. Numerous pouches are arrayed around his waist and across his chest.

An innocent smile plays across his lips "Please, you would find us suspect for being ready for battle when your first act upon realizing we were about was to draw your sword? We ask questions true but have you not in the same fashion asked of our house and our motives for being here? Our first order of business is done in that we have found each other not to be immediately hostile to one another. We only seek now to ascertain your motives for being in such a remote area. In turn we offer you ours. We collectively are Gaigin’s Pack and though Gaigin himself has left us we hold to that name for now."

The mul's tense muscles relax somewhat after hearing the half-elf's speech.

Elric’s intensity seems to slip away as he smiles more openly "I am Elric Silvermoon, our mapper and resident pin cushion or so it would seem. If indeed you will not be attacking us or any such similar nonsense then I will take a moment while you converse with the decision making types for a bit of inspirational study". A mischievous light sparkles in Elric’s eyes as he steps to the side pulling a book from his backpack. You catch a few muttered whispers "Tis true enlarge be reversible…shrink it will be...must conclude the effect of the spell on tight fitting leather…wouldn’t do to injure her…Yes indeed could be dangerous, she does look able enough to skin me alive for sure…’soft chuckle’…could well be worth it…"

Her muscles tense up once again as she hears the map maker's mumbling. Her cold glare lets him know that he should watch his step - or tongue as the case may be.

Glancing up from his research to see again the target of his mischief, Elric freezes under the unnerving glare of the powerful mul. Quickly closing his book Elric wilts under the cold stare of her. Looking everywhere but at her, the mischievous half-elf steps down the trail a bit. Nervously glancing over his shoulder to the mul, Elric mutters "Nope not worth it...not worth it at all"

"You would not answer our questions, I shall not answer yours." Koreth replies neutrally "We have no reason or desire to fight you, but only a fool greets a stranger with open arms." He stands impassively, noticing Ptellac has not deemed to show himself yet. "I have no wish to stand here with weapons drawn until the sun sets. If you will accept that we have no ill intent towards you and if you have none towards us, we can both be on our way."

He looks to the mul with a questioning look, as if half expecting her to immediately disagree. <And why are YOU in this forest? Stubborn mul, we cannot stand here all day.> Koreth watches the mul's actions with some curiosity, his thumb unconsciously rubbing against the wooden shaft of his spear.

Mendi seems taken aback and cast an amazed glance around, as if somebody could explain this most curious speech. After some seconds of astonished silence, Mendi speaks once again, his brow arched with curiosity:

"What are you talking about? What house are you talking of? Why should you recognize the faces of travelers? Are you from this forest? And do you really intend to stand menacingly in front of so many people? Do you really think this is reasonable? Where are you from, and who are you, by the way?"

Ptellac finally steps from the forest onto the trail. The saurian is comfortable enough with his companions and sheathes his bone long sword. He eyes the newcomer from head to toes and approves with a slight chuckle. "We are of no-house but I am Ptellac from the village of Lost Scale from the other side of this jungle." The dark green humanoid sees the mul's haphazard approach and asks, "Who is following you for you surely flee someone? Where are you going, it is very dangerous to travel by yourself. We are a capable group and have had our close calls already. You will surely die in the jungle by yourself."

As soon as the mul was spotted, Tak’ had vanished into the undergrowth, moving quickly and silently through the forests he grew up in. His footfalls were quiet, and practiced instinct taught him to move through thick vegetation without causing undue movement or sound.

Slowly circling his way around the mul, Tak’ heard conversation down the road - obviously combat was not breaking out just yet. And since the forest was bereft of two-legs, the mul did not come as a part war party.

Smiling a little, his initial instincts having proven him right, Tak’ stealthily made his way back to his companions, approaching the mul from behind. Thrusting his spear into the soft moist earth, Tak’ waited; not for very long.

Out of instinct, the mul reacted, her bone longsword a blinding flash. The razor-sharp blade lashed out, stopping only a hands-breadth from the stationary halfling. Tak’ stood, wish arms at his sides, his palm facing up in a gesture of peace.

From a distance, Tak’Nak’Raq could be mistaken for a human child - but only at a distance. The halflings small, wiry body is dressed only is a rough loincloth, and raw studded leather armor on his legs and chest. The exposed skin on his arms, neck and face is covered with a collage of tattoos, some depicting abstract creatures, others only bizarre shapes and colors to the non-halfling eye.

Carrying little, only a sack, a bow, his spear and three daggers, Tak’ is barely over 3 feet tall, probably weighing only a quarter of the 6 foot mul in front of him. Yet his green eyes, framed by a waist length mane of shaggy black hair, show a savage intensity and wisdom, contrasting with his delicate child-like features and stature.

Ignoring the bone blade, an inch from his neck, Tak’ speaks, "You come not as a war party, and neither does my pack. Let blades be sheathed and wisdom be spoken." The slight halfling inclines his head, "I am
Tak’Nak’Raq, 23rd son of Gre’Nak and you walk in the home of my ancestors and of Gaea. If you wish to walk out, my guidance is given freely, as is I hope your company"

The Mul looks the group in front of her over again, and lowers her weapon slightly <running is taking it's toll, there are safety in numbers…>. She seems to consider greatly what she is about to say. Looking to Koreth, she speaks slowly - choosing her words carefully, "There is nothing behind me that will harm ye. I was travelling West with a group and we . . ." She turns her calm black eyes towards Elric as she continues, " . . . had a disagreement, so I left. That is all." Looking to Mendi "Please forgive my confusion, these lands'r foreign to me, and being alone, a girl can't be too careful." She gives him a wry smile.

The elf's face is cut in two by a large smile, a fair, happy, mischievous smile, not the professional warm and smiling face you are used too when Mendi the Peddler is speaking, but a genuine smile... and he winks to the Mul.

Remembering Elric's line of thought, the elf begins to chuckle softly and comes closer to Rayne. 'I'm afraid you'll need some ah, perhaps protection is too strong, some... well, warning, against some mischievous elements of this party of gentlemen." With that, Mendi bows more seriously than before, and: 'Welcome and well met, and beware of our most noble master of mischief!' With that, Mendi goes to Elric's side and winks: 'She would have twisted your ears until they look really like mine, anyway', whispers the elf, still smiling to his comrade. 'I'm not sure you would like to be loathed by Koreth once you really look elven!"

'Since our friend Ptellac showed himself, I suppose you are one of us, now. We are travelling to his village, Lost Scale, with which we will establish the bases for a trading route. Most of the group met in Tyr some days ago, and after some ordeals set by the resident merchant House, were chosen to escort Ptellac back and find a trade route. I was myself away with a caravan when that happened, but I heard of the news and decided to try on my own... I fell on them by pure chance, and since Ptellac told me there was an opportunity for a modest peddler like me interested in the fine artworks of his people, here am I ! Thus, you know what you are in if you choose to stay with us. As Elric told you, we were under the lead of Gaigin, who had to leave us. We now hail Koreth boss, whose lead we gladly follow." The elf winks at the mul and continues, "You know him, the aping Tyrian noble! Did I step on your toes, O mighty and wise leader?"

Before Koreth has any chance to answer, the elf speaks again: "For all the apparent bickering, when he says white, we say white even if it is dark. That's how we go until someone challenges his lead. And our most wise and mighty leader is reasonable enough; he listens to Tak or Ptellac's advice. He doesn't trust me, but who would trust a merchant anyhow? Allas, this is a terrible world, where I am distrusted because of my calling..." Mendi then looks toward the mul, waiting for some words about her, now that he explained what the party was doing.

"I am called Rayne. I can hold my own in a fight, and will offer protection to yer group fer guided passage from this place." She bows low sweeping her sword to her chest then rises proudly with her hilt to her breast in a warrior's salute. "I have no destiny in mind, but will part ways with ye when I feel secure with my surroundings."

Ptellac steps forth again and looking at Koreth states, "I guess you can join us for the time being. You are free to leave whenever you so desire. If you do stay, you must abide by our rule and our destination is exactly where you were originally going. If you want to come see what's on the other side of this jungle forest, you are welcome."

The mul cannot hide her surprise at having spoken again by a large walking lizard but weighs her choices carefully. "I have no destiny for now and West is as good as any. No one is waiting up for me, I am …free." That last word seemed strange to her and she swallowed hard hoping not many people noticed. Everyone look towards Koreth who merely nods in acceptance.

Seeing a new member added to the pack, one whom looks strong and still without a clutch, Chit-Zik cannot ignore this opportunity. He approaches Rayne cautiously. "Welcome to our pack. Tak and I do the hunting. We also have plenty of healers, myself included." He glances over the mul for her reactions.

Rayne smiles at the kreen in thanks, but does not feel quite comfortable being confronted in such a friendly manner by a creature that she has only known in battle.

"If you would like, you can join the hunt in early morning. Tak knows his prey well. He may be slow, but he's a strong and smart hunter."

Tak’ smiles wryly, "Slow? I would race you here in my homeland Chit-Zik, and I would win. While you long legs are superb in the flat deserts, here among the trees and jungle, your size slows you down. Still," Tak’ concedes, "you are of a race born to hunt, and even here you will prove your legacy, and we will return successful."

The mul still apprehensive at the two unusual beings conversing with one another states, "Thank you for your offer, I would enjoy a good hunt to start my day, wake me when you are prepared to leave."

Tak’ nods in appreciation of Rayne, "we shall leave before the sun rises - the predators of the forest will still be out - but probably not hungry." Tak’ smiles, his teeth and eyes glinting in the firelight, "of course, if we wanted to do a favor to a local tribe we could always prey on the predators..."

Rayne falls in near the back and keeps a wary eye on the forest around her as the group resumes its march West.

AT NIGHT

The group breaks for the night in another clearing similar to the one they spent the night before. Koreth is gladly surprised as the mul volunteers for the heavy chores. Soon, camp is set and a fire burns bright trying to keep the chill away.

As the party rest after a long day of travel, Mendi, who has spoken to Koreth only with grunts and other curt monosyllabic during the day, moves to the young warrior's side after the evening meal and, staring him to attention, speaks so in a deadly serious tone: "Koreth, you have offended me once more while we were discussing the leadership problem. You dismissed me on the mere fact that I am an elf, and you distrust me *because* I am an elf. This is the most outrageous thing I've ever heard. Do you half trust Aryus and Elric, because they are half-elves? Do you trust the man in them in the morning light, and fear the elf once the night falls? What have I done, what have *we* done against you. Are you prideful enough to loathe a race as a whole?"

Mendi remains quiet, but there is some anger in his voice. "How do you expect me to trust your lead if you obviously label me a deceiver? When will you think time has come to sacrifice me? Will you strike me in the back during a scrap? Will you deliberately lose me while I'm scouting? Will you command me to defend a position alone, when there is no chance to win the fight. I've known caravan master who react like that, and I don't loath mankind because some humans behaved like the worse kind of beast, duping and lying better than three elven charlatans! Speak your mind or remain silent ever about those 'I cannnot trust the elf'! This is unbearable! I know perfectly well that most elven merchants are scoundrels, but no more and no less so than their human counterparts! So *why* don't you trust *me*?'

Koreth regards Mendi with cold eyes, his face impassive. "I tell you now that even though I do not trust elves, I still owe you my life. I am honor bound to one day repay that debt, but know that it does not
include following or trusting you. Until that time comes, I will swear on the bones of my ancestors that I shall not harm you or seek to do so because of my position." He looks about at the others of the group before continuing.

"Some time ago I presented the idea of telling a tale from each of our pasts, I will do so now." he looks Mendi in the eye "this will answer your question elf." He takes a pull from his skin, and settles into a more comfortable position before beginning.

"It was during my time at one of my families more important trading outposts in which this tale came to pass. I was under the tutelage of Crel, house Harek's master-at-arms. He had thought it best if I was blooded in the defense of my house, another one of his brutal lessons. The outpost in which he chose had a dwarven village nearby who often bartered their skills for our goods. The outpost was important to my family, important to often be attacked by raiders and merchant houses. It was on the crimson sands of that outpost that my blade first tasted blood. I learned many harsh lessons during my stay there, but the tale I will relate to you is the worst."

Koreth pauses, glancing about at his assembled companions. He looks to see if any pay heed to his story, then continues. "I came to know a few of the dwarves of the nearby village, their lives were very mingled with those of the men of the outpost. A group of dwarves had bartered their skills to the outpost to replace a failed harvest.

Rayne was keeping some distance from the group as they sat, and seemed uninterested in hearing Koreth's story, until the mention of the Dwarves. Her interest peaked at the mention of her ancestors, the mul moves in closer to listen intently to the rest of the tail.

They were to craft a new and larger warehouse in return for a quantity of grain. Two dwarves in particular, Duego and Nodi, I became friends with while they worked on the warehouse. I diced with them, drank with them, even learned the dwarven tongue from them. I had visited their village numerous times, I had helped them dig a new well, worked to repair their council hall, and had even hunted baazrag with them in one of their rituals. I was almost a villager in the eyes of many of the dwarves. They were a people I could understand, steady, dependable, nothing like the chaos and bureaucracy of the people of Tyr. It was when the warehouse was completed that this next part took place."

Koreth pauses, taking a drink from his skin to moisten his throat. A sadness comes over him as he begins to once again speak. "Night had settled over the desert and I sat on the night watch. The wind was growing cold and I drew my cloak about me for warmth. The oil lamps swung listlessly, but their light was not bright enough to see the danger that crept in the shadows. A tribe of elves had come to the area, had waited until nightfall on the outskirts of the dwarven village. As I sat on the wall, a blaze of red lit up the sky. The dwarven village was on fire! I rounded up some of the outpost guards to assist them, but what I found...."

A stray tear drips from Koreth's eye. He sucks in his breath, the painful memories surfacing once again. "Duego, Nodi and the other dwarven craftsmen lay on the battered path just outside the village. Their blood stained the sand around them a deep red, the grain was gone and their coin purses lay sliced open. They had left only hours ago; the sacks of grain loaded into a kank drawn wagon. I had promised to visit for the celebration of Duego's first son's birthing day. The sight twisted my stomach; I have never been filled with as much anger as in that moment. Elves were all over in the village; I drew my blade and rushed to the defense of the dwarves. My rage burned brighter than the fires around me. I went from one house to the next, slaying every elf that I came across. The dwarves were fighting back, but they were sorely outnumbered. I took the outpost men in a route towards the village-square. There sat the elven chieftain, his guard of warriors around him like a shield. He was tall and skinny like most elven vermin I have seen, but his blonde hair was shot through with streaks of gray, and I'll never forget his gray piercing eyes. They seemed to look right through me. He looked into my eyes, glanced at the gore spattered on me and barked a few words in his filthy tongue. They fled into the night, cowardly bastards that they were. The elves had done their damage though, the grain had been taken and many of the villagers had been robbed or slain in their sleep or both. I will find that tribe again, and see that the deaths of those dwarves are repaid in kind. The withered tree elves will pay in blood for their crime, this I have sworn over the graves of Duego, Nodi and all dwarves who perished in that attack!"

Throughout the tale, Tak’ sits attentively, listening as his customs demand. Tak’ nods in acknowledgment of Koreths loss, "to loose the community that one calls home is the worst loss of all."

Koreth rises from his seat, knowing that a flood of questions is surely to follow. His demeanor is more of a broken man than that of the prideful noble that you know. "I wish to be alone now." he says with a
voice heavy with sadness, and strides several paces from the camp, his cloak swirling about him in his sudden rush of movement. The voices of his companions are droned out by the rush of blood in his ears. He clenches the shaft of his spear tightly, the forms of Duego and Nodi laying slain upon that dirt path firmly entrenched in his thoughts. <Some day we all will be able to rest friends....> Koreth thinks sadly to himself as he looks out into the forest, his eyes not really focusing on any of it. First one, then several tears drip from his eyes and slowly slide down his face.

After a while, Mendi comes briefly to Koreth's side. "Someday I'll tell you my own tale. I have also some reasons for sadness, and though men were responsible for my own suffering, I don't consider that all men are cruel and bloodthirsty. I lived in Tyr for most of my life, but I know there are some feral elves out in the desert. So are some slave tribes, I've spent many a year guarding caravans against those. You will never find peace if you cannot master your grief, and realize that *a* tribe of elves was responsible for your friend's death. I'd gladly help you to hunt them, but would that revive your poor friends? No. You are young, noble and free: you can shape your life in such a way that you are in a position to protect the surviving dwarves from those killers. Hating me and my kin is of no avail. Never will your pain ease, so stand up and come with us. Use your wits and youth for something alive, not for facts you cannot undo!' With those words, Mendi leaves Korteh.

Tak’ stands up, dusting the light layer of moisture off his arms, the humidity quickly bringing a sheen of water to all surfaces. "Koreth has spoken of loss and off tragedy. I will speak tomorrow night, a tale not of sadness, but of purpose, culture and ritual. I ask that you judge what I say not in the eyes of your civilization, but of what you have learnt from me and my ways - for the eyes of the ‘civilized’ it will be but a tale - but in the eyes of me and my people it is a story of hope, honor and joy."

Rayne watches Koreth go off by himself, feeling a slight kinship with the warrior <he portrays compassion I have not seen since . . .> Remembering her situation, Rayne settles down again away from the others to await her watch. <I will have to speak to Koreth about the dwarves when he can speak of it again>.

Expedition Day 7 - Year of the Desert's Fury of the 190th King's Age (Free Year 11)

Unnamed Clearing - Western side of the Forest Ridge

The thick vegetation and tall trees have been pressing on you since you entered the Forest Ridge. A cacophony of sounds has assaulted you the entire time, for this fecund wilderness is as noisy as the market place of Tyr. Still the sounds of animals, even strange animals that you've never encountered are somewhat comforting to those used to the isolation and silence of the desert. But the noise up ahead is much more familiar to you. It's the sound of battle! Something fierce is happening up ahead. The group suddenly becomes deathly silent as Tak again warns them with a hand signal. They all cautiously approach the clearing ahead as shadows and furtive shapes join the noise of battle.

The trees pull back to reveal a clearing. In the tiny glen, a band of tarek has surrounded a handful of pterrans wearing accoutrements similar to Ptellac's. The pterrans are losing this fight; the tareks have begun to play with the pterrans in the cruel, taunting manner that raiders sometimes use. As you watch, one of the pterrans falls to a savage blow, delivered by a large laughing tarek with an old scar across his cheek.

The scene reveals twelve tareks plus what look to be their tarek leader and six pterrans; three of the pterrans are bloodied on the ground and not moving. A saurian warrior is being mangled by the obscenely large tarek with the help of two more raiders. One of the pterran warriors is barely holding his own against three tareks on the far side of the clearing. Another pterran bereft of armor and badly wounded commences a chant and the words "Mother Earth" are heard from above the noise of battle. he throws his hands out and you catch the glimpse of shards glinting in the sun rushing towards one of the raiders. Suddenly, one of the two tareks in front of him drops his gored bone heart-pick, raises both hands to his face and pulls them back tainted dark red. The beast stumbles about as if blind, screaming in pain as blood drips form his face. The other tarek rushes the pterran and efficiently cleaves his skull with an obsidian edged axe.

The pterran druid crumples lifeless to the grass just as Ptellac pushes to the front of the group to see this. The saurian pulls free his bone long sword and rushes into the melee enraged at the blasphemy of it all. He yells out an incoherent battle cry that catches the tareks' attention. The tarek leader grins at Ptellac's approach and walks up to meet him. He shoves a semi-dead pterran onto his two fighting partners who tired of playing with him, rip his throat out. The large brute closes his big mouth, his two lower fangs stick out; he raises his large stone carrikal and yells, "Come, come die like the rest of yer people, lizard…"

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

Ptellac (H)

Koreth (H)

Elric (H)

Ayrus (H)

Mendi (H)

Chit (SiW)

Tak (H)

Rayne (H)

THIS TURN

It appears that the tarek raiders have not seen the whole group; they have only reacted to Ptellac's mad rush. As usual, give actions for two rounds with a few IF THEN statements. First round is lost getting into range for melee or used for ranged attacks. You are a good 40 yards from the first tareks.

Rayne: it may be best if you wait and see how we handle this type of play. Wait to see at least two posts before you post your own.

GENERAL PLAY

I am accepting a little "campaign diary" from any volunteer. I was thinking of a day-by-day summary of important events (meetings, NPCs, opponents, decisions made, etc.) that have happened since the beginning of the game to put up on the website. Any takers…

Matt: I take it you will be our next "storyteller"?

Questions, comments, and suggestions please.

L8r,

Fabian