The Tree and the Escape -- Booya

[Nyr]

Timing:  This was during the HRPT itself.

This part has been edited more heavily than others as there were several non-combat characters that were NOT at the HRPT, and instead, back in the Sun King's Sanctuary.  They are either still alive and in-game, or they have died/stored within the past year period and not at a time greater than that, so unfortunately, we cannot show much of what they were doing and saying there.  We'll have to jump in, instead, just outside...

The Sun King's Sanctuary [NESWUD]
  Meticulously fitted blocks of onyx comprise the floor of this expansive
room, frequently polished against the scuffing that comes from heavy foot
traffic. The dark floor gleams dully under the light from the stained
glass windows positioned high on the walls and the light of the agafari
chandelier that hangs above the center of the chamber. Vine-carved trim
of darkly-stained baobab circumscribes the spacious room, smoothly
fashioned to flow seamlessly between each intersection of the ceiling,
walls, and floor.  Occupying a significant portion of the space, a large,
circular bar topped with buffed alabaster sits in the middle of the area,
surrounded by baobab stools.
  Several decoratively carved tables fill this room, while a polished
leather couch nearly ten cords in length sprawls along the northern wall.
An arch in the western wall opens to an expansive gallery and opposite it
a similar opening leads out to a small courtyard. Music, laughter, and
applause drift in from the stage area to the north. In the northwestern
corner a tightly spiraling wooden staircase embellished with carved leaf
patterns winds its way up to the second floor. A thick, black-painted
baobab door sits in the southern wall, opening out the bustling North
Road outside.
A long, white painted table sits here.
The Tuluk bulletin board is here propped up on a stand.
A grand mural of a stylized map adorns the entire southern wall here.

****tons of other people here****

At your seat, you say in sirihish:
     "I'm going to get a breath of air, Chosen Lord."

s
North Road [NESW]
   The stark white of this wide stone road lies nestled between the rise
and fall of a conglomerated jumble of eclectically styled buildings.
Passing through the city, the road is kept clean of any blowing sand and
forest debris.  The pale backbone cuts a decisive line east across the
bustling metropolis towards what remains of the Old City. 
  The pale white of the road merges with a bifurcating road just to the
east.  Further in the distance, above the newer walls that have been
< div>built up around them, glimpses of the old city can still be spotted. 
To the north side of the road, a large area has been cleared free of
debris, and a fresh foundation of grey granite supports the framework
of a freshly constructed and rather sizeable building, the walls made
up primarily of ornamentally carved blocks of polished alabaster.
The wiry, obsidian-haired Jihaen templar is standing here.
The solid, brown-haired man has arrived from the north.

w
Sparse sands blow across your path.
North Road [ESW]
   The stark white of this wide stone road lies nestled between the rise
and fall of a conglomerated jumble of eclectically styled buildings.
Passing through the city, the road is kept clean of any blowing sand and
forest debris.  The pale backbone cuts a decisive line east across the
bustling metropolis towards what remains of the Old City. 
   To the south side of the road a small building stands, possessing the
foul odor that could only belong to a stable. 
A brown-streaked, hairy dung-sweeper toils along the road here.
The solid, brown-haired man has arrived from the east.

The lithe, henna-haired woman glances to the solid, brown-haired man then smiles a touch, a calm, focused light in her dark eyes.

To the east is North Road.
[Far]
The tawny, blonde-haired woman strolls down the street, eyes bright.
[Near]
The wiry, obsidian-haired Jihaen templar is standing here.

l w
West of here is North Road.
time
[Very far]
The dark, wild-maned Tuluki soldier is here, patrolling.
A petite, auburn-haired girl makes her way through the crowd.
[Far]
A half-giant Tuluki soldier looms here in staunch silence.
The slim, auburn-tressed woman ambles merrily down the road.
[Near]
Stretching along the wall, a white length of cracked brickwork shows a mural.

It is late morning on Detal, the 77th day of the Low Sun,
In the Year of Suk-Krath's Vengeance, year 10 of the 22nd Age.

w (wandering on
Sparse sands blow across your path.
North Road [EW]
   The stark white of this wide stone road lies nestled between the rise
and fall of a conglomerated jumble of eclectically styled buildings.
Passing through the city, the road is kept clean of any blowing sand and
forest debris.  The pale backbone cuts a decisive line east across the
bustling metropolis towards what remains of the Old City. 
Stretching along the wall, a white length of cracked brickwork shows a mural.
The solid, brown-haired man has arrived from the east.

Keeping a deferential tilt to his head, the solid, brown-haired man says to you, in sirihish:
     "I think your friend will come for a stroll in just a bit, Chosen Lady."

You say to the solid, brown-haired man, in sirihish:
     "I hope so. We so rarely manage to meet up, it seems a shame to waste the opportunity."

The solid, brown-haired man nods agreeably.

The short male wearing a thin, white-sandcloth facewrap has arrived from the west, riding a war beetle.

A war beetle walks east, carrying the short male wearing a thin, white-sandcloth facewrap on its back.

You say to the solid, brown-haired man, in sirihish:
     "It's good to move and walk in any case. Waiting for news and unable to do anything is its own kind of torture."

North Road [EW]
   The stark white of this wide stone road lies nestled between the rise
and fall of a conglomerated jumble of eclectically styled buildings.
Passing through the city, the road is kept clean of any blowing sand and
forest debris.  The pale backbone cuts a decisive line east across the
bustling metropolis towards what remains of the Old City. 
A half-giant Tuluki soldier looms here in staunch silence.
The slim, auburn-tressed woman ambles merrily down the road.
The solid, brown-haired man has arrived from the east.

The lithe, henna-haired woman glances back along the way they've come a moment.

You open your braid-strapped leather satchel.

His smile suddenly fading, the solid, brown-haired man asks you, in sirihish:
     "Oh yes, the Chosen Lord.  Is he doing well?"

You get your leather and jet-colored chitin coif from your braid-strapped leather satchel.
It is very light.

You say to the solid, brown-haired man, in sirihish:
     "He's fine, though he says it will get worse before it gets better. Back and forth exchanges so far."

The solid, tanned woman has arrived from the east.

You say to the solid, brown-haired man, in sirihish:
     "Though it seems a top scout or so has chosen to remain within the safety of the walls, so I do hope she's not missed."

The solid, brown-haired man exclaims to the solid, tanned woman, in sirihish:
     "Ahh, there she is!"

A foreign presence contacts your mind

The lithe, henna-haired woman spots the solid, tanned woman and waves over.

The solid, tanned woman falls in behind you.

Smiling, the solid, tanned woman says, in sirihish:
     "Hello."

w (meandering on leisurely

You say to the solid, tanned woman, in sirihish:
     "Good to see you Ella, won't you walk with me? It's been such a while, and your company is always refreshing."

The moustached, mulleted man sends you a telepathic message:
     "..We're within a league of their main force now. I will love you forever, no matter whether there is breath in me or I find myself dancing with Drov."

You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.

Touching her temple a moment, you say, in sirihish:
     "And...they're within a league of their main force now..."

The solid, tanned woman says to you, in sirihish:
     "Love to.  Indeed, that tavern was getting a little stuffy.  I don't blame anyone, though... it's the worry."

You send a telepathic message to the moustached, mulleted man:
     "Me too, Rider. Whatever happens, I do and have truly loved you."

The tall figure in a hooded, blaze-sigiled black greatcloak has arrived from the west.

The lithe, henna-haired woman seems distant a moment then takes a breath, a composed focus returning.

The tall figure in a hooded, blaze-sigiled black greatcloak walks east.

w
North Road [ESW]
   The stark white of this wide stone road lies nestled between the rise
and fall of a conglomerated jumble of eclectically styled buildings.
Passing through the city, the road is kept clean of any blowing sand and
forest debris.  The pale backbone cuts a decisive line east across the
bustling metropolis towards what remains of the Old City. 
   A slender tree can be seen rising above a gated fence to the south,
its bulbous leaves falling across the upper echelons of the fence in
cascading sheets of vibrant green. 
A roly-poly dwarven girl follows a dwarven boy, here.
A rotund dwarven boy leads a dwarven girl down the road here.
The scarred, grey-locked man walks about, brow furrowed.
The solid, tanned woman has arrived from the east.
The solid, brown-haired man has arrived from the east.

l s
A garden is to the south, protected by a gate constructed of wooden poles
and hinges. 
The gate is closed.

l w
West of here is the Road of Caravans, East of the Scaien Gates.
[Very far]
Nothing.
[Far]
Nothing.
[Near]
The lanky, gap-toothed man stands near the gates, gazing out.
The willowy, thin-limbed Jihaen templar is standing here.
A huge Tuluki half-giant soldier stands here, axe at the ready.
A huge Tuluki half-giant soldier stands here, axe at the ready.
A huge Tuluki half-giant soldier stands here, axe at the ready.
A human Tuluki soldier stands here, guarding the gates.
A human Tuluki soldier stands here, guarding the gates.
A human Tuluki soldier stands here, guarding the gates.

l s
A garden is to the south, protected by a gate constructed of wooden poles
and hinges. 
The gate is closed.

The lithe, henna-haired woman glances over the dwarves as she walks slowly by.

The solid, brown-haired man glances at the gate thoughtfully.

Fiddling with it at her neck as she wends her way on, you open your small leather pouch.

The solid, brown-haired man nods at you.

The solid, brown-haired man says, in sirihish:
     "The time has come."

The solid, tanned woman nods a bit.

The sun reaches its highest point in the sky.

The lithe, henna-haired woman gives a resolute nod.

examine pouch
This small pouch is made from a square piece of leather, folded together,
its seams stitched with thick cord.  The loose end folds over to form a flap
that can be tucked inside the pouch to close it. 
In a small leather pouch (used) :
a shiny, jade-bar necklace
a couple of small yellow tablets
a translucent green tablet
a couple of crumbling red tablets
a couple of grainy yellow tablets
a tiny tooled leather pouch

You get your tiny tooled leather pouch from your small leather pouch.
It is very light, and less than half full.

You ask, in sirihish:
     "Me?"

The lithe, henna-haired woman looks between the solid, brown-haired man and the solid, tanned woman questioningly.

Pressing it into her hand, the solid, brown-haired man gives you his austere, milky-green jade cross amulet.

The solid, brown-haired man glances at passersby then shrugs.

The lithe, henna-haired woman's fingers wrap round your austere, milky-green jade cross amulet.

examine amulet
   This austere amulet is simply comprised of four milky-green jade bars
set into one another.  It does seem that the amulet was designed to be
broken apart and fit back together again, as two of the jade bars interlock
above the others, and it looks like they are snugly fit into each other.
The jade has a beautiful consistency to it, seemingly hewn expertly from
whatever raw mineral patch it arose from.  There seem to be few blemishes on
the cross' surface, even around the areas where the pieces lock together. 

The solid, brown-haired man aims a kick at the gate.

The gate gives way with a loud crack.

The sun-bleached, amber-eyed man has arrived from the east, riding a glossy, black-scaled inix.

The solid, brown-haired man nods discreetly at you.

s (wandering in
Within a Gated Garden [N]
   A broad fence, composed of massive planks of baobab and agafari that
have been lashed together, isolates a broad field of scrub and grass from
the turmoil of the city.  The ground here is tender, mingled browns and
greens coalescing into a harmonic blend of colors.  Rows of fenrel bushes
have been planted so as to spiral off in rows from the center of the garden.
A blossoming tree of unknown wood is growing in the center of the garden here.
A blotchy, ashen-skinned humanoid sits here tending the tree.
The solid, tanned woman has arrived from the north.
The solid, brown-haired man has arrived from the north.

Quickly behind the group, you close the gate.

i
You are carrying:
an austere, milky-green jade cross amulet
a tiny tooled leather pouch
a leather and jet-colored chitin coif
The solid, tanned woman looks at the blotchy, ashen-skinned humanoid.

The lithe, henna-haired woman glances round and to the blotchy, ashen-skinned humanoid.

l humanoid
You look at the blotchy, ashen-skinned humanoid.
  This creature could still be considered human despite his hideous mutations.
His arms are overly long, falling far past his knees.  His skin is an ashen
grey colored and is covered with numerous odd spots and splotches.  His
dirty hair is long and stringy, and his eyes are a strange shade of yellow.
His lips peel back, showing a set of sharp white teeth.
The blotchy, ashen-skinned humanoid is in excellent condition.

The blotchy, ashen-skinned humanoid is using:
<across back>            an ankheg-mandible scimitar
<on torso>               a mantis-shell breastplate
<on legs>                a pair of stiff, red and tan striped leggings

He is carrying:
nothing obvious

You say to the blotchy, ashen-skinned humanoid, in sirihish:
     "Ah good, a Thryzn."

You reach into a supple, dark-grey strap-sheath and slide out a vicious claw longknife.

You brandish your vicious claw longknife.

As she steps quickly forwards, fingering your vicious claw longknife and with her other hand removing your glossy, jet-colored shell bracer, you look at a small, grey-barked tree.

Smooth and grey in hue, the bark that covers this tree is dense and
extremely hard to the touch.  The trunk of the tree is broad and rises
upwards, expanding into a burst of colorful blossoms.  The leaves of the
tree are themselves a vibrant green and are vaguely spear-like in shape.  A
sturdy wooden fence surrounds it. 

You stop using your glossy, jet-colored shell bracer, revealing a light jade tree tattoo.

Appearing sublimely confident and purposeful, you place your leather and jet-colored chitin coif on your head.

The solid, tanned woman watches you curiously.

In a low hiss, a female voice says to you, in an unfamiliar tongue:
     "fi.  qui."

The lithe, henna-haired woman turns quickly to the side, kohled eyes sharp.

You hold your austere, milky-green jade cross amulet.

The solid, brown-haired man says, in sirihish:
     "Go now."

You get your shiny, jade-bar necklace from your small leather pouch.
It is very light.

You feel your mental contact withdrawing from the mind of your targe

With low urgency, you ask the solid, brown-haired man, in sirihish:
     "Do what?"

The solid, brown-haired man exclaims to you, in sirihish:
     "The amulet!"

The lithe, henna-haired woman heads up quickly to a small, grey-barked tree and lifts your austere, milky-green jade cross amulet high.

use amulet
Use it how?

use amulet tree
You're not carrying tree to use an austere, milky-green jade cross amulet on.

The lithe, henna-haired woman's hands tremble slightly as she holds your austere, milky-green jade cross amulet up though her face is full of resolve.

A sudden deafening roar drowns out all other sound.

You sheathe a vicious claw longknife into a supple, dark-grey strap-sheath.

The solid, tanned woman grits her teeth.

The solid, brown-haired man exclaims, in sirihish:
     "Place it!"

em shakes as she quickly slides ~knife away and clenches on to amulet
You do not see that person.

place amulet
What?

place amulet tree
What?

lol

A huge beam of blinding white light shoots into the sky!

The beam is continuous, pouring into the sky like an upended glass of water in reverse. The light appears substantial, as if it were a ropey white liquid.

Squinting, the solid, tanned woman exclaims, in sirihish:
     "Let's finish and go!"

Setting it down by the tree as she shakes, you drop your austere, milky-green jade cross amulet.
An austere, milky-green jade cross amulet is here.

The blotchy, ashen-skinned humanoid glances over at the solid, brown-haired man, frowning in confusion.

You arrange an austere, milky-green jade cross amulet.
Shown to the room as:
An austere, milky-green jade cross amulet is by the tree here.

The blotchy, ashen-skinned humanoid tilts his head and watches the amulet fall to the ground.

The mighty sun begins to crawl across the western sky.

The solid, tanned woman draws a slender wooden dagger.

You reach into a supple, dark-grey strap-sheath and slide out a vicious claw longknife.

You brandish your vicious claw longknife.

A sickly green glow pulses, in a rhythm like a heartbeat, from an austere, milky-green jade cross amulet and it begins to vibrate.

Stopping his gardening, the blotchy, ashen-skinned humanoid asks, in sirihish:
     "What are you doing?"

The blotchy, ashen-skinned humanoid's eyes widen suddenly.

With a sudden crackling sound, rivulets of vivid green light snake out from an austere, milky-green jade cross amulet toward a small, grey-barked tree to encircle its base.

Raises his hands, the blotchy, ashen-skinned humanoid exclaims, in sirihish:
     "Krath above! What are you doing!"

[Nyr]

The lithe, henna-haired woman breathes quickly as she steps away, then shows the blotchy, ashen-skinned humanoid her jade tree inking on her wrist with a grin.

Screeching in terror, the blotchy, ashen-skinned humanoid shouts, in sirihish:
     "Help!"

Bands of green, growing into ever brighter light as they travel upward, spiral up the tree's smooth trunk, race along the branches and shoot sparks of hot white from the spear-shaped leaves.

The blotchy, ashen-skinned humanoid starts to rush the gate.

The lithe, henna-haired woman backs to the gate, eyes wide on the happenings.

The solid, tanned woman tries to stab the blotchy, ashen-skinned humanoid in the back, but he twists away at the last instant!
The solid, tanned woman lightly stabs the blotchy, ashen-skinned humanoid's body.
The blotchy, ashen-skinned humanoid hits at the solid, tanned woman's body, nicking her.
The solid, tanned woman swiftly dodges the blotchy, ashen-skinned humanoid's hits.

The solid, tanned woman lunges at the blotchy, ashen-skinned humanoid, but her blow is deftly deflected by a pair of stiff, red and tan striped leggings.

kill humanoid
You're now wanted!
You lightly stab the blotchy, ashen-skinned humanoid's foot.

The solid, brown-haired man joins your fight!
The solid, brown-haired man hits the blotchy, ashen-skinned humanoid, barely grazing his leg.
The blotchy, ashen-skinned humanoid swiftly dodges the solid, brown-haired man's hits.
The solid, brown-haired man draws an ivory-hilted, bone broadsword.

The blotchy, ashen-skinned humanoid rattles at the gate, but is cut down with a savage hit to his back.

The solid, tanned woman lightly stabs the blotchy, ashen-skinned humanoid's arm.

The blotchy, ashen-skinned humanoid cries out in pain.
The blotchy, ashen-skinned humanoid crumples to the ground.


Quickly fumbling, you get your tiny tooled leather pouch from your small leather pouch.
It is very light, and less than half full.

You get your thin bone pick from your tiny tooled leather pouch.
It is very light.

You sheathe a vicious claw longknife into a supple, dark-grey strap-sheath.

The solid, tanned woman asks, in sirihish:
     "So.  Do we run or do we die?"

A sudden ear-splitting bang followed by a deafening roar drowns out all other sound.

The solid, brown-haired man exclaims, in sirihish:
     "Run!"

Cries of confusion and terror can be heard from the north.

Voice loud over the roaring noise as she staggers, you say to the solid, brown-haired man, in sirihish:
     "Let's go..."

With quick, purposeful movements, you open the gate.

You ask the solid, tanned woman, in sirihish:
     "Got a mount?"

You open your inky-black, hooded sandcloth greatcloak.

You get your leather ticket from your inky-black, hooded sandcloth greatcloak.
It is very light.

The solid, tanned woman says to you, in sirihish:
     "I will buy one."

e
North Road [EW]
You say to the solid, tanned woman, in sirihish:
     "Go quick. Meet at the stables."

e
North Road [EW]
The solid, tanned woman walks east.

e
North Road [EW]

The solid, tanned woman walks east.

North Road [ESW]
   The stark white of this wide stone road lies nestled between the rise
and fall of a conglomerated jumble of eclectically styled buildings.
Passing through the city, the road is kept clean of any blowing sand and
forest debris.  The pale backbone cuts a decisive line east across the
bustling metropolis towards what remains of the Old City. 
   To the south side of the road a small building stands, possessing the
foul odor that could only belong to a stable. 
The solid, tanned woman is standing here.
A brown-streaked, hairy dung-sweeper toils along the road here.

s

The solid, tanned woman walks east.

Inside a Dusty Stable [N Quit]
raise hood
You raise the hood of your inky-black, hooded sandcloth greatcloak.

With resolute, determined movements, you get your pile of allanaki coins from your braid-strapped leather satchel.
There were 167 coins.
It is very light.

A half-elven stablehand takes 20 coins and gets a grey-scaled, silver-shelled inix from the stables.

You begin leading a grey-scaled, silver-shelled inix.
A grey-scaled, silver-shelled inix falls in behind you.

mount
You jump up onto a grey-scaled, silver-shelled inix's back.

A beam of blinding white light, easily the width of a large building, bursts from the western side of the city to rend the red sky!

The smoke-eyed, blond man has arrived from the east, after shaking his head clear, at a rather quick stepping pace.

You hear a woman's voice from the east say, in sirihish:
     "Krath."

l e
To the east is North Road.
[Far]
The chubby, full-figured blonde is standing here.
The tawny, blonde-haired woman strolls down the street, eyes bright.
[Near]
The raven-haired young man is standing here.
The sleek, slick haired lad is standing here.
The short, thick man is standing here.
The petite, onyx-curled young woman is standing here.
A burly half-giant with grey skin stands here, staunch and watchful.
The dead-eyed, black-haired man is standing here.
The swarthy, coal-mustached man is standing here.
The tall figure in an inky-black, hooded sandcloth greatcloak is standing here.
The barrel-chested, bearded man is standing here.
- he is carrying a plain bag of cloth.
The cream-hued, dreadlocked woman stands demurely here, ratlon reins in hand.
A leathery grey ratlon stands here, carrying the corpulent, pallid man on his back.
The wiry, obsidian-haired Jihaen templar is standing here.

The smoke-eyed, blond man walks west.

The short figure in a dark green, hooded sandcloth cloak has arrived from the west, riding a yellow sunback lizard.

The beam is continuous, pouring into the sky like an upended glass of water in reverse. The light appears substantial, as if it were a ropey white liquid.

A yellow sunback lizard walks south, carrying the short figure in a dark green, hooded sandcloth cloak on his back.

A foreign presence contacts your mind.

The solid, tanned woman sends you a telepathic message:
     "Too many people.  Which gate?"

The figure in an inky-black, hooded sandcloth greatcloak stares up at the light, a cruel grin on her face.

The short figure in a dark green, hooded sandcloth cloak has arrived from the south.

You contact the solid, tanned woman with the Way.

The short figure in a dark green, hooded sandcloth cloak walks west.

You send a telepathic message to the solid, tanned woman:
     "The western one."

The solid, tanned woman sends you a telepathic message:
     "Coming."

The solid, brown-haired man has arrived from the south.

A half-giant Tuluki soldier has arrived from the west.
A half-giant Tuluki soldier has arrived from the west.
A half-giant Tuluki soldier has arrived from the west.
A human Tuluki soldier has arrived from the west.
A human Tuluki soldier has arrived from the west.
A human Tuluki soldier has arrived from the west.
A half-giant Tuluki soldier walks west.

The solid, brown-haired man falls in behind you.

w
You suffer from use of the Way.
A half-giant Tuluki soldier hastily drops a bloodied sun-pommelled, bone-bladed longsword.
A half-giant Tuluki soldier subdues the solid, brown-haired man, despite his attempts to struggle away.
The solid, brown-haired man stops guarding you.
A human Tuluki soldier walks west.
A half-giant Tuluki soldier walks west.

At this point, it gets pretty chaotic and code spammy so I'm cutting this part out--plus there were some PCs that got involved ever so briefly that fit the previous stipulations of not being shown in a log.

The beam is continuous, pouring into the sky like an upended glass of water in reverse. The light appears substantial, like a thick and viscous liquid.

Saving at the gate of a city.
Saving Alize.
West of the Scaien Gates [NESW Quit]
   The still intact portions, few though they may be, of this wide stone
road lie half buried and partially covered with a thin layer of sand. What
remains of this pale backbone of a road lies across these lands in a long
and twisting fashion, following the southern border of the Grey Forest.
   The broken road winds east and west here, running through thickets of
agafari, their grey-green leaves dancing with each shift of the wind and
immediately to the east loom the impressive Scaien gates.  Atop their
carved alabaster entry arch, a beacon blazes at its apex.  To the north,
a crude tower peeks over the Scaien Wall, standing guard over the gates
from the inside.
A couple of empty long-handled soapstone mugs are here before the massive gates.

You send a telepathic message to the solid, tanned woman:
     "Meet me on the road!"

The figure in a hooded brown sandcloth cloak has arrived from the east, riding an inix.

An inix walks west, carrying the figure in a hooded brown sandcloth cloak on his back.

l ella
You look down at the figure in a hooded brown sandcloth cloak.
This human woman is tall and athletic with solidly muscled limbs, though
her waist narrows smoothly between swell of bust above and hip below.  She
has long fingered hands with calluses to hint at frequent use.  Her skin is
tanned bronze and marked with blemishes of several minor injuries past, most
visible on the back of her hands and her arms.  However, one such scar
crosses the corner of her mouth towards her round chin.  Her nose is just a
bit upturned and just a bit flattened.  Deep brown lidded eyes and straight
brows lend a nonchalant air to her face.  Her straight hair is only a few
shades darker than her skin. 
The figure in a hooded brown sandcloth cloak is in excellent condition.

The figure in a hooded brown sandcloth cloak is using:
<in hair>                a cord of thin, dark green leather
<face>                   a tattoo of three small yellow circles
<neck>                   a blue and purple inked band
< div><about throat>           a carved tortoiseshell pendant
<slung across back>      a slender wooden spear
<across back>            a rough canvas backpack
<on torso>               a bloodied dark grey worm-hide cuirass
<on arms>                a pair of dark grey worm-hide sleeves
<hands>                  a tattoo of a six-pronged star
<secondary hand>         a light brown, leather instrument case
<as belt>                an earthy leather pouched belt
<hung from belt>         a bloodied slender wooden dagger
<hung from belt>         a waterskin
<around body>            a hooded brown sandcloth cloak
<about waist>            a black snakeskin carrying pouch
<on legs>                a new pair of dark grey worm-hide leggings
<on feet>                a pair of grey hide boots

She is carrying:
nothing obvious

The figure in a hooded brown sandcloth cloak falls in behind you.

You begin speaking with a southern accent.

A cruel kind of amazed victory in her voice as she stares back at the light, you say to the figure in a hooded brown sandcloth cloak, in sirihish:
     "Hello Ella."

You ask the figure in a hooded brown sandcloth cloak, in sirihish:
     "Real name?"

w (urging ~inix onwards
With a brif smirk, the figure in a hooded brown sandcloth cloak says to you, in sirihish:
     "Nerkis.  Well met."

You exclaim, in sirihish:
     "Hah!"

****riding in the meantime****

You ask the figure in a hooded brown sandcloth cloak, in sirihish:
     "Drink at the Gaj when all is said and done huh?"

w
North Road [NEW]
   The stark white of this wide stone road lies across these scrub
forests like the spine of some gargantuan carcass.  Blowing, gritty dusts
cover the road in some places, and pech grasses have, here and there, taken
root in and among the flagstones.  This pale backbone of a road lies across
these lands in a long and twisting fashion, following the southern border of
the Grey Forest. 
   Far to the north lies the dim and shadowy blotch on the horizon which
marks the Grey Forest, while to the south stretches the vast sweep of the
scrub plains.  A tangle of thorny bush to the south borders the road. 
A few smelly small, round pellet-sized droppings are here.
A reddish-shelled inix is reclining here, looking exhausted.
The moustached, tan-skinned man stands here, taking a knee.
The figure in a hooded brown sandcloth cloak has arrived from the east, riding an inix.

Panting, the moustached, tan-skinned man says, in northern-accented sirihish:
     "Hel... Help..."

[Nyr]

Grinning over, you look down at the moustached, tan-skinned man.
This man is of just below average height for a human, his form that of
corded muscle and little fat.  His skin is certainly Krath-worn, but is a
rather even tan, with the faintest hint of olive.  His hair is dark black
and falls with a mix of wave and curl, giving it a naturally unkempt
appearance.  The hair on his head is let to fall long on either side, and
the top layer is pulled back into a sort of top-knotted ponytail.  His face
sports a thin moustache of moderate length, and a skinny bit of hair beneath
his lip.  His eyebrows are thin, and sit above plain, brown eyes.  His face
has a slightly skeletal appearance, and his nose is slightly hawk-like. 
The moustached, tan-skinned man is in excellent condition.

The moustached, tan-skinned man is using:
<on head>                a dusty sunburst-crested baobab helm
<on face>                a dusty pair of sunslits
<around neck>            a dusty sunburst-crested wooden collar
<slung across back>      a dusty sun-pommelled, bone-bladed shortsword
<across back>            a dusty rough canvas backpack
<on torso>               a sunburst-emblazoned woodsplint vest
<left shoulder>          a red and white circle
<on arms>                a pair of sunburst-crested armbands
<around right wrist>     a burned studded tembo-hide bracer
<around left wrist>      a studded tembo-hide bracer
<on hands>               a dusty pair of durrit-hide riding gloves
<as belt>                a sunburst-buckled, hardened leather sword belt
<hung from belt>         a dusty translucent, crystalline longknife
<hung from belt>         a sun-pommelled, bone-bladed shortsword
<around body>            a dusty long, hooded red and white tabard
<on legs>                a burned pair of sunburst-branded woodsplint leggings
<on feet>                a dusty pair of knee-high black leather riding boots

He is carrying:
nothing obvious

Gaze drifting, the moustached, tan-skinned man looks up at you.

You say to the moustached, tan-skinned man, in sirihish:
     "Well...hello you."

The figure in a hooded brown sandcloth cloak chuckles gruffly.

Loudly, the moustached, tan-skinned man says, in sirihish:
     "W-wait.. listen to me.."

Pointing west, the moustached, tan-skinned man exclaims, in sirihish:
     "There was a HUGE Carru back there?!  Did you see it?!"

The figure in an inky-black, hooded sandcloth greatcloak pulls an inix up.

The late, red sun descends toward the western horizon.

Raising his eyebrows, panting, the moustached, tan-skinned man says, in sirihish:
     "Drov.. please tell me you saw it..."

The moustached, tan-skinned man pants heavily, eyeing slowly.

The moustached, tan-skinned man falls to his hands and knees.

You ask the moustached, tan-skinned man, in sirihish:
     "We saw it. Coming home?"

Panting and letting out a long sigh, grinning, the moustached, tan-skinned man says to you, in sirihish:
     "Aye... Fuck... I need water."

The figure in a hooded brown sandcloth cloak says, in sirihish:
     "C'mon.  We've got a long way to go."

Slowly easing up, the moustached, tan-skinned man stands up.

The figure in an inky-black, hooded sandcloth greatcloak looks to the tired inix then back to the moustached, tan-skinned man.

You get your waterskin from your braid-strapped leather satchel.
It is very light, and full.

With a nod, panting, the moustached, tan-skinned man asks the figure in a hooded brown sandcloth cloak, in sirihish:
     "Righ'... Fuck glad to run into you.  ShouldI ditch the gear?"

Tossing it down, you give your waterskin to the moustached, tan-skinned man.

The moustached, tan-skinned man tugs on his dusty long, hooded red and white tabard.

Without hesitation, the moustached, tan-skinned man drinks water from his waterskin.

Emptying it quickly, the moustached, tan-skinned man drinks water from his waterskin.

The moustached, tan-skinned man drinks water from his waterskin.

The moustached, tan-skinned man sighs, lots of water spilling over his chin and down his gear.

The moustached, tan-skinned man pulls on a reddish-shelled inix's reins.
A reddish-shelled inix curls up on the ground.

The figure in a hooded brown sandcloth cloak says to the moustached, tan-skinned man, in sirihish:
     "Depends on who we run into."

The moustached, tan-skinned man looks up at the figure in a hooded brown sandcloth cloak.

The moustached, tan-skinned man looks up at you.

The solid, tanned woman lowers the hood of her hooded brown sandcloth cloak.

You say to the moustached, tan-skinned man, in sirihish:
     "Walk...let's move."

The moustached, tan-skinned man jumps up onto a reddish-shelled inix's back.
A reddish-shelled inix rises from the ground, and clambers to his feet.

The moustached, tan-skinned man falls in behind you.

The solid, tanned woman winks at the moustached, tan-skinned man.

The solid, tanned woman raises the hood of her hooded brown sandcloth cloak.

Nodding his head, the moustached, tan-skinned man says, in northern-accented sirihish:
     "Righ'..."

You say, in sirihish:
     "You two know the way better out here."

w
The figure in a hooded brown sandcloth cloak says to you, in sirihish:
     "I was warned off the north road... and he probably knows better than me."

Plainly, the moustached, tan-skinned man says, in northern-accented sirihish:
     "Delerious with battle... Sorry you both."

The moustached, tan-skinned man rides slowly along, panting.

The figure in a hooded brown sandcloth cloak looks to the moustached, tan-skinned man.

You say to the moustached, tan-skinned man, in sirihish:
     "You're alright, Rill. We're delirious with getting out of that fucking tavern at last."

Bobbing his head, the moustached, tan-skinned man says to you, in northern-accented sirihish:
     "S'good to see you."

You ask, in sirihish:
     "Yep. So, North road?"

You say, in sirihish:
     "I heard other ways to the south are all gated off."

You reach into a supple, dark-grey strap-sheath and slide out a vicious claw longknife.

You brandish your vicious claw longknife.

Scowling, the moustached, tan-skinned man says, in northern-accented sirihish:
     "And the North is open?  Should we get off the road and plan?  We're damn close to the fortress."

You ask, in sirihish:
     "Yes...who knows the way round best out here?"

The figure in a hooded brown sandcloth cloak says to you, in sirihish:
     "I was told the North Road would be hard too.  And yeah... fortress... army..."

Pointing at the moustached, tan-skinned man, the figure in a hooded brown sandcloth cloak says, in sirihish:
     "He does, I imagine."

You stop leading the moustached, tan-skinned man.

You now follow the moustached, tan-skinned man.

The figure in a hooded brown sandcloth cloak says, in sirihish:
     "I don't even know where the damned fortress is."
You say to the moustached, tan-skinned man, in sirihish:
     "Lead."

The figure in a hooded brown sandcloth cloak opens her black snakeskin carrying pouch.

The figure in a hooded brown sandcloth cloak gets her kalan fruit from her black snakeskin carrying pouch.

The figure in a hooded brown sandcloth cloak gets her kalan fruit from her black snakeskin carrying pouch.

Motioning west, the moustached, tan-skinned man says, in sirihish:
     "West, along the span.  We could risk the Red, but who knows how safe that is."

The figure in a hooded brown sandcloth cloak closes her black snakeskin carrying pouch.

assess -v reddish
He appears in adulthood for his race.
He is over three times your height.
He is many times heavier than you.
A reddish-shelled inix is in excellent condition.
A reddish-shelled inix looks completely exhausted.
The figure in a hooded brown sandcloth cloak eats a portion of her kalan fruit.

Peering around, the moustached, tan-skinned man says, in sirihish:
     "We need a decision.  Now.  We risk the armies -- we WILL be spotted on the North, or the Red, with Gith, Gyps, and both armies."

You say to the moustached, tan-skinned man, in sirihish:
     "You need to rest your inix, so wherever closest shade is now."

The figure in a hooded brown sandcloth cloak nods.

Muttering, the moustached, tan-skinned man says, in sirihish:
     "Fuck if I know.  Damn solider not a hunter."

You say, in sirihish:
     "We'll decide while it's resting."

Motioning east, the moustached, tan-skinned man asks, in sirihish:
     "East, end of the road.  Closer to danger, further from harm, aye?"

Peering about, the moustached, tan-skinned man says, in sirihish:
     "Are we decided?  We'll move after rest."

A grey-scaled, silver-shelled inix stretches its hind legs, arching its back.

The figure in a hooded brown sandcloth cloak says to the moustached, tan-skinned man, in sirihish:
     "Sure."

A reddish-shelled inix walks east, carrying the moustached, tan-skinned man on his back.
You follow the moustached, tan-skinned man, and walk east.

The figure in a hooded brown sandcloth cloak eats a portion of her partially eaten kalan fruit.

You say, in sirihish:
     "Yes. Get to nearest shade."

The moustached, tan-skinned man says, in northern-accented sirihish:
     "Rider."

You sheathe a vicious claw longknife into a supple, dark-grey strap-sheath.
The moustached, tan-skinned man raises the hood of his dusty long, hooded red and white tabard.

You unsling a tasseled, hammer-headed sceptre from your back.

cease

A reddish-shelled inix walks east, carrying the figure in a dusty long, hooded red and white tabard on his back.
You follow the figure in a dusty long, hooded red and white tabard, and walk east.

Small Grove [NSW]
   A small stand of agafari trees, interspersed with blossoming pymlithe,
has taken root here.  The squat, gnarled hardwoods are foliated with long
and slender leaves, hardly greater than a finger's width, fanning out and
down in shaggy, drooping clusters, while the smaller pymlithe are topped
with sprays of rose and yellow blossoms, the colors a soft contrast against
the greyish leaves. 
   The white flagstones of the North Road are barely visible to the west.
Numerous rocks have been piled here, looming amidst the otherwise barren terrain.
A reddish-shelled inix stands here, carrying the figure in a dusty long, hooded red and white tabard on his back.
The figure in a hooded brown sandcloth cloak has arrived from the west, riding an inix.

Muttering, the figure in a dusty long, hooded red and white tabard says, in northern-accented sirihish:
     "Shade..."

Panting, the figure in a dusty long, hooded red and white tabard says, in northern-accented sirihish:
     "Inix won't go... keep watch here."

The figure in a dusty long, hooded red and white tabard swings his legs over and jumps off of a reddish-shelled inix.
A reddish-shelled inix curls up on the ground.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You are unable to reach their mind.

The figure in a dusty long, hooded red and white tabard draws a dusty translucent, crystalline longknife.

The figure in a dusty long, hooded red and white tabard gets his translucent, crystalline longknife from his sunburst-buckled, hardened leather sword belt.

The figure in a dusty long, hooded red and white tabard holds his translucent, crystalline longknife.

The figure in a hooded brown sandcloth cloak swings her legs over and jumps off of an inix.
An inix curls up on the ground.

You are unable to reach their mind.

The figure in a dusty long, hooded red and white tabard looks at the figure in a hooded brown sandcloth cloak.

You swing your legs to the side and dismount.

Small Grove [NSW]
   A small stand of agafari trees, interspersed with blossoming pymlithe,
has taken root here.  The squat, gnarled hardwoods are foliated with long
and slender leaves, hardly greater than a finger's width, fanning out and
down in shaggy, drooping clusters, while the smaller pymlithe are topped
with sprays of rose and yellow blossoms, the colors a soft contrast against
the greyish leaves. 
   The white flagstones of the North Road are barely visible to the west.
Numerous rocks have been piled here, looming amidst the otherwise barren terrain.
An inix is reclining here.
The figure in a hooded brown sandcloth cloak is standing here.
The figure in a dusty long, hooded red and white tabard is standing here, looking tired.
A grey-scaled, silver-shelled inix stands here patiently.
A reddish-shelled inix is reclining here, looking exhausted.

The figure in a hooded brown sandcloth cloak eats a portion of her half eaten kalan fruit.

The figure in a hooded brown sandcloth cloak eats a portion of her small portion of a kalan fruit.

guard rill
You begin guarding the figure in a dusty long, hooded red and white tabard.

The figure in a hooded brown sandcloth cloak eats her small portion of a kalan fruit.

The figure in a dusty long, hooded red and white tabard begins guarding you.

You say to the figure in a dusty long, hooded red and white tabard, in sirihish:
     "Rest."

Chuckling, the figure in a dusty long, hooded red and white tabard asks, in northern-accented sirihish:
     "Damn soldier is the one in shit condition.  Funny that, eh?"

The figure in an inky-black, hooded sandcloth greatcloak stands protectively by the figure in a dusty long, hooded red and white tabard, watching vigilantly and breathing quickly and shallowly, then she laughs.

The figure in a dusty long, hooded red and white tabard dusts himself off.

The figure in a hooded brown sandcloth cloak eats her small portion of a kalan fruit.

You get your breaded and fried kalan fruit from your braid-strapped leather satchel.
It is very light.

Showing off all his burned equipment, as well as the burns on his face and hands, the figure in a bloodied long, hooded red and white tabard says, in northern-accented sirihish:
     "Look what the gemmed did to me."

The figure in a bloodied long, hooded red and white tabard snorts, taking heavy breaths.

Taking her eyes off the surroundings, you look down at the figure in a bloodied long, hooded red and white tabard.
This man is of just below average height for a human, his form that of
corded muscle and little fat.  His skin is certainly Krath-worn, but is a
rather even tan, with the faintest hint of olive.  His hair is dark black
and falls with a mix of wave and curl, giving it a naturally unkempt
appearance.  The hair on his head is let to fall long on either side, and
the top layer is pulled back into a sort of top-knotted ponytail.  His face
sports a thin moustache of moderate length, and a skinny bit of hair beneath
his lip.  His eyebrows are thin, and sit above plain, brown eyes.  His face
has a slightly skeletal appearance, and his nose is slightly hawk-like. 
The figure in a bloodied long, hooded red and white tabard is in excellent condition.

The figure in a bloodied long, hooded red and white tabard is using:
<on head>                a bloodied sunburst-crested baobab helm
<on face>                a bloodied pair of sunslits
<around neck>            a burned sunburst-crested wooden collar
<slung across back>      a blackened sun-pommelled, bone-bladed shortsword
<across back>            a burned rough canvas backpack
<on torso>               a sunburst-emblazoned woodsplint vest
<left shoulder>          a red and white circle
<on arms>                a pair of sunburst-crested armbands
<around right wrist>     a burned studded tembo-hide bracer
<around left wrist>      a studded tembo-hide bracer
<on hands>               a burned pair of durrit-hide riding gloves
<primary hand>           a translucent, crystalline longknife
<secondary hand>         a translucent, crystalline longknife
<as belt>                a sunburst-buckled, hardened leather sword belt
<hung from belt>         a sun-pommelled, bone-bladed shortsword
<around body>            a bloodied long, hooded red and white tabard
<on legs>                a burned pair of sunburst-branded woodsplint leggings
<on feet>                a burned pair of knee-high black leather riding boots

He is carrying:
nothing obvious

The figure in a hooded brown sandcloth cloak looks down at the figure in a bloodied long, hooded red and white tabard.

You say to the figure in a bloodied long, hooded red and white tabard, in sirihish:
     "Krath...you look lucky to be out alive."

You ask the figure in a bloodied long, hooded red and white tabard, in sirihish:
     "What was it like out there?"

The giant crimson sun sets low in the west.

Peering up, a bit of dried blood chipping off his cheek, the figure in a bloodied long, hooded red and white tabard says, in northern-accented sirihish:
     "Wonderful n' terrible.  Should'a seen the Wyvern."

Her dark eyes bright and gleaming within the shade of her hood, you eat part of your partially eaten breaded and fried kalan fruit.
You are a little hungry.

Simply, the figure in a bloodied long, hooded red and white tabard says, in northern-accented sirihish:
     "Killed some from both sides myself.  Couldn't be helped.  Fuck."

You say, in sirihish:
     "Can't be helped. "

The figure in a hooded brown sandcloth cloak says, in sirihish:
     "We had an interesting view ourselves.  Are we spending the night?  I feel we're still way too close to Tuluk."

With a few nods, the figure in a bloodied long, hooded red and white tabard says, in sirihish:
     "We need a plan.  We can't spend the night here."

You ask, in sirihish:
     "We're too close. Is there not a better place near, and on our way south?"

Plainly, the figure in a bloodied long, hooded red and white tabard says, in sirihish:
     "I don't know.  We can risk the Red -- I think it's our only option.  Fuck knows what's happened there, though."

Motioning south, the figure in a bloodied long, hooded red and white tabard says, in sirihish:
     "Go by Cenyr, if you know it -- take the flats back West."

****They head off for a while****

[Nyr]

You say, in sirihish:
     "Wait...your inix won't make it too far east."

Muttering, the figure in a hooded, greenish-grey greatcloak says, in sirihish:
     "Shit."

*****They head south********

The figure in a hooded, greenish-grey greatcloak swings his legs over and jumps off of a reddish-shelled inix.
A reddish-shelled inix curls up on the ground.

Muttering, the figure in a hooded, greenish-grey greatcloak says, in sirihish:
     "We're too close."
l
Scrub Plains [NESW]
   Rolling scrublands stretch out here, their hardpacked surface etched
by the ravages of the sand-laden wind which blows constantly, combing the
long plains grasses into tangled drifts of color.  Sparse sands blow through
the tall pech grass and the shorter tufts of gesra grass, whose pale
lavender blades are scattered through the brown and green lattices created
by the pech.  Dispersed through the rolling waves of grasses are the narrow,
rattling stalks of another plant, each stalk tipped with traces of white
blossoms.  Small softwood trees stand among the grasses, none more than a
human's height, their branches covered with dull green leaves. 
A small agafari tree stands wavering in the wind.
An inix stands here, carrying the figure in a hooded brown sandcloth cloak on his back.
The figure in a hooded, greenish-grey greatcloak is standing here.
A reddish-shelled inix is reclining here, looking exhausted.

rest
You swing your legs over and jump off of a grey-scaled, silver-shelled inix.
A grey-scaled, silver-shelled inix curls up on the ground.

Peering north, the figure in a hooded, greenish-grey greatcloak says, in sirihish:
     "I got eyes North."

The figure in a hooded brown sandcloth cloak swings her legs over and jumps off of an inix.
An inix curls up on the ground.

The figure in a hooded, greenish-grey greatcloak draws a translucent, crystalline longknife.

The figure in a hooded, greenish-grey greatcloak gets his translucent, crystalline longknife from his sunburst-buckled, hardened leather sword belt.

The figure in a hooded, greenish-grey greatcloak holds his translucent, crystalline longknife.

The figure in a hooded, greenish-grey greatcloak stops using his sun-pommelled, bone-bladed shortsword.

The figure in a hooded, greenish-grey greatcloak puts his sun-pommelled, bone-bladed shortsword into his burned rough canvas backpack.

You say, in sirihish:
     "I got east."

The figure in a hooded, greenish-grey greatcloak closes his burned rough canvas backpack.

You stop scanning the immediate area.
You begin watching the east exit.

The figure in a hooded brown sandcloth cloak says, in sirihish:
     "West I suppose."

Tossing it sidelong, the figure in a hooded, greenish-grey greatcloak gives you his waterskin.

The figure in a hooded brown sandcloth cloak opens her rough canvas backpack.

The figure in a hooded brown sandcloth cloak gets her dark grey worm-hide coif from her rough canvas backpack.

The figure in a hooded brown sandcloth cloak places her dark grey worm-hide coif on her head.

The figure in a hooded brown sandcloth cloak gets her gurth shell collar from her rough canvas backpack.

The figure in a hooded brown sandcloth cloak bows her head, placing her gurth shell collar about her neck, covering a blue and purple inked band.

The figure in a hooded brown sandcloth cloak gets her thick, rope-bound leather bracer from her rough canvas backpack.

The figure in a hooded brown sandcloth cloak fastens her thick, rope-bound leather bracer around her right wrist.

The figure in a hooded brown sandcloth cloak gets her long, leather-strapped bone buckler from her rough canvas backpack.

Motioning east, the figure in a hooded, greenish-grey greatcloak says, in sirihish:
     "We get enough breath, we get East as quick as we can.  To the wall a' sandstone."

The figure in a hooded brown sandcloth cloak fastens her long, leather-strapped bone buckler around her left wrist.

The figure in a hooded brown sandcloth cloak gets her new pair of gurth shell and leather gloves from her rough canvas backpack.

The figure in a hooded brown sandcloth cloak pulls her new pair of gurth shell and leather gloves onto her hands, covering a tattoo of a six-pronged star.

The figure in a hooded brown sandcloth cloak puts her water gourd into her rough canvas backpack.

The figure in a hooded brown sandcloth cloak closes her rough canvas backpack.

Motioning south, the figure in a hooded, greenish-grey greatcloak says, in sirihish:
     "We can mayhaps take the Red south of there.  Who knows what the fuck we'll run into, though."

Adding quietly, the figure in a hooded, greenish-grey greatcloak says, in sirihish:
     "I never been through the Red."

You ask, in sirihish:
     "Nor me...but we might have a camp at Ten Serak. Anyone know where it is?"

You say, in sirihish:
     "I only know it's east of Luirs."

Loudly, the figure in a hooded, greenish-grey greatcloak asks, in sirihish:
     "Can we contact anyone?"

Shaking her head, the figure in a hooded brown sandcloth cloak says, in sirihish:
     "Nope."

You say, in sirihish:
     "One rumour was we had a camp there. Hmm...Reon is captured."

Scowling, the figure in a hooded, greenish-grey greatcloak asks, in sirihish:
     "Fuck, we need to move.  Quickly.  Was what was needin' done finished?"

You say, in sirihish:
     "The Lady Templar perhaps...and yes."

The figure in a hooded brown sandcloth cloak says, in sirihish:
     "Yeah, it's done.  We're done.  Just gotta get home."

With a nod, the figure in a hooded, greenish-grey greatcloak says, in sirihish:
     "We'll need somethin'.  We risk runnin' into the legions anyway to the West."

Muttering, the figure in a hooded, greenish-grey greatcloak asks, in sirihish:
     "I know it sounds fuckin' stupid, but I think we stand a decent chance if we can find Cenyr... How much water ya got?"

Looking back northwards, you say, in sirihish:
     "It was done...and we need to camp the night now and rest your inix Rill."

The figure in a hooded, greenish-grey greatcloak nods.

You say, in sirihish:
     "None."

examine skin
This simple waterskin is made of stiff carru hide, waxed at the seams to
contain liquid.
It is empty.

The figure in a hooded brown sandcloth cloak says, in sirihish:
     "I have three skins of water."

Muttering, the figure in a hooded, greenish-grey greatcloak says, in sirihish:
     "Shit.  Alright."

The figure in a hooded brown sandcloth cloak opens her rough canvas backpack.

Peering about, the figure in a hooded, greenish-grey greatcloak says, in sirihish:
     "Mount up.  Let's get away from this fuckin' city more."

The figure in a hooded, greenish-grey greatcloak jumps up onto a reddish-shelled inix's back.
A reddish-shelled inix rises from the ground, and clambers to his feet.

mount
You jump up onto a grey-scaled, silver-shelled inix's back.
A grey-scaled, silver-shelled inix rises from the ground, and clambers to his feet.

The figure in a hooded brown sandcloth cloak closes her rough canvas backpack.

Small Grove [NESW]
   A small stand of agafari trees, interspersed with blossoming pymlithe,
has taken root here.  The squat, gnarled hardwoods are foliated with long
and slender leaves, hardly greater than a finger's width, fanning out and
down in shaggy, drooping clusters, while the smaller pymlithe are topped
with sprays of rose and yellow blossoms, the colors a soft contrast against
the greyish leaves. 
A tree with many orange fruits has taken root here.
A reddish-shelled inix stands here, carrying the figure in a hooded, greenish-grey greatcloak on his back.
The figure in a hooded brown sandcloth cloak has arrived from the north, riding an inix.

pick fruit tree
With a quick tug, you pick a ripe jallal fruit from a green-leaved fruit tree.

pick fruit tree
With a quick tug, the figure in a hooded, greenish-grey greatcloak picks a ripe jallal fruit from a green-leaved fruit tree.

The figure in a hooded, greenish-grey greatcloak nods once, grinning.

You say to the figure in a hooded brown sandcloth cloak, in sirihish:
     "You've got the water, we got fruit at least."

Muttering, the figure in a hooded, greenish-grey greatcloak says, in sirihish:
     "Fuck.. I ain' a navigator..."

You say, in sirihish:
     "I wonder what's happening there now..."

It is late at night on Detal, the 77th day of the Low Sun,
In the Year of Suk-Krath's Vengeance, year 10 of the 22nd Age.

Grunting, the figure in a hooded brown sandcloth cloak says, in sirihish:
     "Dunno, don't care."

Muttering and brushing blood from his gear, the figure in a dusty hooded, greenish-grey greatcloak says, in sirihish:
     "Likewise."

Sighing, the figure in a hooded brown sandcloth cloak says, in sirihish:
     "That was harsh.  I do feel bad for Reon.  I thought he was fuckin' with us..."

Suddenly, a very dim large wooden torch is blown out by the wind.
The area is enveloped in darkness.

A female voice says, in sirihish:
     "Well fuck."

Someone sheathes something.

Someone lights something.
The area is filled with a yellow light.

The figure in a dusty hooded, greenish-grey greatcloak drops a burning large wooden torch, which settles to the sand.

The figure in a dusty hooded, greenish-grey greatcloak draws a translucent, crystalline longknife.

weather
It is a warm night.
A harsh sandstorm from the west fills the air with whirling sand and dust.

Sidelong, the figure in a dusty hooded, greenish-grey greatcloak says, in sirihish:
     "We'll hit the Gol Grothu, think it's called soon enough.  Go South into the Red."
You light a leather-strapped green glow-crystal.
You fasten your glowing leather-strapped green glow-crystal about your right wrist.

The figure in a dusty hooded, greenish-grey greatcloak picks up a burning large wooden torch.
The figure in a dusty hooded, greenish-grey greatcloak extinguishes a burning large wooden torch.

The figure in a dusty hooded, greenish-grey greatcloak puts his unlit large wooden torch into his dusty rough canvas backpack.

The figure in a dusty hooded, greenish-grey greatcloak closes his dusty rough canvas backpack.

Muttering, the figure in a dusty hooded, greenish-grey greatcloak says, in sirihish:
     "We can survive that, we can survive the damn desert."

You are a little thirsty.

Calling over the storm whirling round them, you say, in sirihish:
     "Right."

You stop using your glowing leather-strapped green glow-crystal, revealing a light jade tree tattoo.
You extinguish a glowing leather-strapped green glow-crystal.
The area is enveloped in darkness.

You fasten your glowing leather-strapped green glow-crystal around your left ankle.

The figure in a dusty hooded, greenish-grey greatcloak hunkers down a bit, holding his gear as it flaps wildly.

The figure in a hooded brown sandcloth cloak asks, in sirihish:
     "We are soliders.  Wait, you two are both soldiers, right?"

You get your tiny tooled leather pouch from your braid-strapped leather satchel.
It is very light, and about half full.

You say, in sirihish:
     "Yeah."

The figure in a dusty hooded, greenish-grey greatcloak nods once.

You get your glossy, jet-colored shell bracer from your tiny tooled leather pouch.
It is very light.

You fasten your glossy, jet-colored shell bracer about your right wrist.

A foreign presence contacts your mind.

Dry amusement lacing her tone, you say, in sirihish:
     "You can still both call me Chosen Lady if you like though."

The figure in a dusty hooded, greenish-grey greatcloak smirks.

You put your tiny tooled leather pouch into your braid-strapped leather satchel.

The barrel-chested, bearded man sends you a telepathic message:
     "You are well and good, Chosen Lady?"

***They travel a ways longer, then rest again***

You swing your legs over and jump off of a grey-scaled, silver-shelled inix.
A grey-scaled, silver-shelled inix curls up on the ground.

The figure in a hooded brown sandcloth cloak pulls on an inix's reins.
An inix curls up on the ground.

The figure in a hooded brown sandcloth cloak jumps up onto an inix's back.
An inix rises from the ground, and clambers to his feet.

The figure in a hooded brown sandcloth cloak swings her legs over and jumps off of an inix.
An inix curls up on the ground.

Patting a grey-scaled, silver-shelled inix, you say, in sirihish:
     "I name thee Hlum."

Peering around, the figure in a dusty hooded, greenish-grey greatcloak says, in sirihish:
     "Damn inix aren't restin' fast enough."

weather
The figure in a dusty hooded, greenish-grey greatcloak snorts.
It is a cool night.
A harsh sandstorm from the south fills the air with whirling sand and dust.

You say, in sirihish:
     "It's the storm."

The figure in a hooded brown sandcloth cloak asks you, in sirihish:
     "Oh shit, that reminds me... was that -you- in the fuckin' play?"

The figure in a dusty hooded, greenish-grey greatcloak bobs his head, securing his hood agains the winds.

Starting to laugh, you ask, in sirihish:
     "You mean the main Nakki soldier, then the Nakki Templar?"

Snorting, the figure in a hooded brown sandcloth cloak says, in sirihish:
     "Hah!  Fucking brilliant."

Lifting her hands aloft as she roars out a laugh into the storm, you ask, in sirihish:
     "The best Elkinhym trick of all time?"

The figure in a dusty hooded, greenish-grey greatcloak chuckles, grinning faintly.

Sidelong, the figure in a dusty hooded, greenish-grey greatcloak says, in sirihish:
     "Make sure you keep eyes.  I'm keepin' North still."

The figure in a hooded brown sandcloth cloak says to you, in sirihish:
     "Yeah, I'd say it beats what's-her-face Elkinhym and her Fale impersonation.  Better punchline."

The figure in a hooded brown sandcloth cloak says to the figure in a dusty hooded, greenish-grey greatcloak, in sirihish:
     "Yeah, still got eyes west."

You say, in sirihish:
     "Oh...I was distracted. I got east."

Muttering at a reddish-shelled inix, the figure in a dusty hooded, greenish-grey greatcloak says, in sirihish:
     "Ain't suprised that fucker is tired.  Been runnin' around in battle for several days now..."

Adding, the figure in a dusty hooded, greenish-grey greatcloak says, in sirihish:
     "Should'a stole a new one."

You say, in sirihish:
     "I want them all to know. I want them to know how they fucking fawned and celebrated a southern barbarian."

The figure in a dusty hooded, greenish-grey greatcloak chuckles darkly, bobbing his head.

A foreign presence contacts your mind.

contact asad
You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the barrel-chested, bearded man with the Way.

Snorting and patting his pair of sunburst-crested armbands, the figure in a dusty hooded, greenish-grey greatcloak says, in sirihish:
     "I got'em to promote me just a week before all this."

You send a telepathic message to the barrel-chested, bearded man:
     "Tell me what you can see, and saw?"

You ask the figure in a dusty hooded, greenish-grey greatcloak, in sirihish:
     "What are you?"

You are a little thirsty.

The chubby, full-figured blonde sends you a telepathic message:
     "Chosen Lady, I do not know what news you have heard. Chosen Lord Rider...was claimed by His Light. One of his dwarves has his remains, I am told."

Plainly, the figure in a dusty hooded, greenish-grey greatcloak says, in sirihish:
     "Corporal.  Nothin' special, I suppose."

A foreign presence contacts your mind.

You suffer from use of the Way.

The chubby, full-figured blonde sends you a telepathic message:
     "Faithful Lord Mordus has fallen..."

You ask, in sirihish:
     "Reckon we'll be something like that maybe when we got home?"

The barrel-chested, bearded man sends you a telepathic message:
     "Right now it is too dark to see anything, what I saw was a blinding white light meet a red light and a defeaning roar heard in the sky."

The chubby, full-figured blonde sends you a telepathic message:
     "I do not know what has become of Faithful Lady Qoriya."

Plainly, the figure in a dusty hooded, greenish-grey greatcloak says, in sirihish:
     "We already more'an that, I figure."

The figure in a hooded brown sandcloth cloak says, in sirihish:
     "I'm already a Corporal."

The figure in a dusty hooded, greenish-grey greatcloak shrugs a shoulder faintly.

The barrel-chested, bearded man sends you a telepathic message:
     "What do you know, Chosen Lady? I have some word from the field."

To you, the figure in a dusty hooded, greenish-grey greatcloak says, in sirihish:
     "You'll get commendations for that Hlum shit, I figure.  Well done."

The figure in a dusty hooded, greenish-grey greatcloak chuckles, starting to cough after a few.

The figure in a dusty hooded, greenish-grey greatcloak grumbles, wiping his mouth with a filthy hand.

With a sudden harder sigh, you say, in sirihish:
     "And...Rider's dead. Just had it confirmed though I lost his mind just before we got in the gate. Probably a good thing..."

You send a telepathic message to the barrel-chested, bearded man:
     "Rider's dead."

Plainly, the figure in a dusty hooded, greenish-grey greatcloak asks, in sirihish:
     "Rider know?"

You say, in sirihish:
     "No."

The barrel-chested, bearded man sends you a telepathic message:
     "I have just heard myself, a sad sad day."

The figure in a dusty hooded, greenish-grey greatcloak nods his head slowly.

You say, in sirihish:
     "I truly loved him, though."

You say, in sirihish:
     "Probably best he did go without knowing."

Nose wrinkling, the figure in a dusty hooded, greenish-grey greatcloak says to you, in sirihish:
     "N' I was truly a Sun Legionairre.  S'good.  Bein' true is what got us through that shit.  Fakin' they woulda known."

The figure in a hooded brown sandcloth cloak grunts wordlessly.

You say, in sirihish:
     "Yeah. That's how I got through the whole getting elevated thing...all em mindbending witches all staring at me  on stage."

The barrel-chested, bearded man sends you a telepathic message:
     "Besides the grief, are you well? Let me know if there is anything I can do to help."

You say, in sirihish:
     "I just thought of him. "

The figure in a dusty hooded, greenish-grey greatcloak bobs his head slowly.

Muttering, the figure in a dusty hooded, greenish-grey greatcloak says, in sirihish:
     "We ain' out of their world yet.  Let's ride further East and South."

You say, in sirihish:
     "Yep."

Muttering, the figure in a dusty hooded, greenish-grey greatcloak says, in sirihish:
     "Fuckin' Inix won't make it far... but we need to move."

[Nyr]

This last section is just going to be snippets of conversation, since it involves a lot of traveling:

The figure in a hooded brown sandcloth cloak asks, in sirihish:
     "You two want water now?"

The figure in a dusty hooded, greenish-grey greatcloak shakes his head.

The figure in a dusty hooded, greenish-grey greatcloak sheathes a translucent, crystalline longknife.

You say to the figure in a hooded brown sandcloth cloak, in sirihish:
     "Yes, please."

The figure in a dusty hooded, greenish-grey greatcloak sheathes a translucent, crystalline longknife.

The figure in a hooded brown sandcloth cloak opens her dusty rough canvas backpack.

The figure in a hooded brown sandcloth cloak gets her water gourd from her dusty rough canvas backpack.

The figure in a hooded brown sandcloth cloak gives you her water gourd.

drink gourd
You drink the water.
You are no longer thirsty.
It's about half full of a clear liquid.

drink gourd
You drink the water.
You do not feel thirsty.
It is empty.

You ask the figure in a hooded brown sandcloth cloak, in sirihish:
     "Want it back?"

The figure in a hooded brown sandcloth cloak says to you, in sirihish:
     "Keep it, I got two more."

You put your water gourd into your braid-strapped leather satchel.

You jump up onto a grey-scaled, silver-shelled inix's back.
A grey-scaled, silver-shelled inix rises from the ground, and clambers to his feet.

The figure in a dusty hooded, greenish-grey greatcloak jumps up onto a reddish-shelled inix's back.
A reddish-shelled inix rises from the ground, and clambers to his feet.

Peering about, the figure in a dusty hooded, greenish-grey greatcloak says, in sirihish:
     "Right.  On me."

You now follow the figure in a dusty hooded, greenish-grey greatcloak.

The figure in a hooded brown sandcloth cloak jumps up onto an inix's back.
An inix rises from the ground, and clambers to his feet.

scan
You stop watching the east exit.
You intently scan the area.

A reddish-shelled inix walks south, carrying the figure in a dusty hooded, greenish-grey greatcloak on his back.
An inix walks south, carrying the figure in a dusty hooded brown sandcloth cloak on his back.
The area is enveloped in darkness.
You follow someone, and walk south.

Stinging sand swirls around you.
Muttering, the figure in a dusty hooded, greenish-grey greatcloak says, in sirihish:
     "Wait a minute more for light..."

The giant crimson sun rises in the east.

The barrel-chested, bearded man sends you a telepathic message:
     "I'm afraid I have no words....it was an honor to know him. I am here at your beckoning should you need anything."

Muttering as he rides, the figure in a dusty hooded, greenish-grey greatcloak says, in sirihish:
     "Hope this works..."

A reddish-shelled inix walks south, carrying the figure in a dusty hooded, greenish-grey greatcloak on his back.
An inix walks south, carrying the figure in a dusty hooded brown sandcloth cloak on his back.
You follow the figure in a dusty hooded, greenish-grey greatcloak, and walk south.

"You know, I was so taken up with trying to think how to get through that gate, that I didn't even think to work out how to get home after."

Muttering, the figure in a dusty hooded, greenish-grey greatcloak says, in sirihish:
     "Me Either."

**** they travel and watch some more ****

The figure in a dusty hooded brown sandcloth cloak says, in sirihish:
     "Yeah, good rest here, no idea what's ahead."

Sidelong, the figure in a dusty hooded, greenish-grey greatcloak says, in sirihish:
     "If we outnumber gith, we should kill 'em.  Not worth gettin' seperated."

Adding, the figure in a dusty hooded, greenish-grey greatcloak says, in sirihish:
     "Same with Tuluki.  N' unfortunately our own if they engage us, I figure."

Muttering, the figure in a dusty hooded, greenish-grey greatcloak says, in sirihish:
     "Hope we can avoid that."

The figure in a dusty hooded brown sandcloth cloak asks, in sirihish:
     "Reckon we surrender to our own, no?"

With a nod, the figure in a dusty hooded, greenish-grey greatcloak says, in sirihish:
     "Aye, unless they try n' kill us."

You say, in sirihish:
     "If we meet Tuluki, we'll try pretending i'm stricken with grief and rushed out madly to find Rider."

With a nod, the figure in a dusty hooded, greenish-grey greatcloak says, in sirihish:
     "I was lost in the fray of battle.  We're lost in the Red after that."
The figure in a dusty hooded brown sandcloth cloak nods.

Tugging the figure in a dusty hooded brown sandcloth cloak, the figure in a dusty hooded, greenish-grey greatcloak says, in sirihish:
     "Tabard was burned to shit."

Plainly, the figure in a dusty hooded, greenish-grey greatcloak asks, in sirihish:
     "Luck and 'His Light' brought us together, aye?"

The figure in a dusty hooded, greenish-grey greatcloak smirks toothily.

You say, in sirihish:
     "Hah."

The figure in a dusty hooded brown sandcloth cloak grunts quietly.

You say, in sirihish:
     "We dealt them a good dose of that back."

A grey-scaled, silver-shelled inix opens its jaws, letting its tongue dart out to lick its nostrils.

Muttering, the figure in a dusty hooded, greenish-grey greatcloak says, in sirihish:
     "I hope those fuckin' recruits suffered.  Hated every one of 'em."

who
Immortals
---------

There are 0 visible Immortals currently in the world.

There are 129 players currently in the world, other than yourself.

********They bumble on southwards*******

Plainly, the figure in a dusty hooded, greenish-grey greatcloak asks, in sirihish:
     "I can just tuck me gear away and cover the brand, though, I suppose.  Think the guards'll know the code?"

The figure in a dusty hooded brown sandcloth cloak says to the figure in a dusty hooded, greenish-grey greatcloak, in sirihish:
     "I doubt it.  I wouldn't worry.  Worst that could happen they toss you in a cell for a bit."

The figure in a dusty hooded brown sandcloth cloak says, in sirihish:
     "But that reminds me..."

Adding quietly, the figure in a dusty hooded, greenish-grey greatcloak says, in sirihish:
     "Hopefully before Reon got caught, he let someone know we set off."

The figure in a dusty hooded brown sandcloth cloak opens her black snakeskin carrying pouch.

The figure in a dusty hooded brown sandcloth cloak gets her average-looking tube of spice from her black snakeskin carrying pouch.

You say, in sirihish:
     "We can say we know the Lord Templar..."

The figure in a dusty hooded brown sandcloth cloak gets her booklet of rolling papers from her black snakeskin carrying pouch.

The figure in a dusty hooded brown sandcloth cloak closes her black snakeskin carrying pouch.

The figure in a dusty hooded brown sandcloth cloak looks over her average-looking tube of spice and sniffs it.

A foreign presence contacts your mind.

The figure in a dusty hooded brown sandcloth cloak says, in sirihish:
     "Ah fuck it, pretty sure this one was shit."

Muttering, the figure in a dusty hooded, greenish-grey greatcloak says, in sirihish:
     "Drov... We'll need to ditch all that."

Tossing it aside, the figure in a dusty hooded brown sandcloth cloak drops her average-looking tube of spice.

You get your pair of elbow-length, crescent-plated gloves from your dusty braid-strapped leather satchel.
It is very light, and empty.

You ask, in sirihish:
     "What kind of smoke is that?"

The bony, crimson-haired man sends you a telepathic message:
     "Chosen Lady, I am sorry for your loss. I tried to get infront of Chosen Lord but failed."

You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.

The figure in a dusty hooded brown sandcloth cloak says to you, in sirihish:
     "Cheap."

Eyeing the mounts, the figure in a dusty hooded, greenish-grey greatcloak says, in sirihish:
     "Drov... This sun is killin' em."

You say, in sirihish:
     "Half tempted to have a last lil snifter of one though...if it's..."

The figure in a dusty inky-black, hooded sandcloth greatcloak glances up at the sky then the mounts, lips twisting to the side.

wear gloves
You pull your pair of elbow-length, crescent-plated gloves onto your hands.

The figure in a dusty hooded, greenish-grey greatcloak chuckles, bobbing his head.

Peering over his hands, the figure in a dusty hooded, greenish-grey greatcloak says, in sirihish:
     "Forgot about the marks.  Prolly burn'em off."

The figure in a dusty hooded brown sandcloth cloak says, in sirihish:
     "Fuck that.  I earned 'em.  War trophies."

The figure in a dusty hooded, greenish-grey greatcloak grins, bobbing his head.

The figure in a dusty hooded, greenish-grey greatcloak dusts himself off.

You say, in sirihish:
     "Yeah."

A foreign presence contacts your mind.

You say, in sirihish:
     "I'm keeping mine. Can't wait to show any curious Tulukis that might wander to Nak when i'm old."

The diminutive, russet-haired templar sends you a telepathic message:
     "Well, well, well.  It's been a while."

Muttering, the figure in a hooded, greenish-grey greatcloak says, in sirihish:
     "Might not get to keep'em.  Depends how public He wants all this to be, I imagine."

contact adaren
You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the diminutive, russet-haired templar with the Way.

With a long sigh, the figure in a hooded, greenish-grey greatcloak says, in sirihish:
     "Praise the Highlord.  Feels good to say it out loud again."

The diminutive, russet-haired templar sends you a telepathic message:
     "Lady Templar Adaren Sath."

Reaching to her temple, you say, in sirihish:
     "Hah! Lady Templar Adaren. We're going to be fine."

After a moment, the figure in a dusty hooded brown sandcloth cloak asks, in sirihish:
     "Praise the Highlord indeed.  She sending an escort?"

*** more talking ***

Relief and joy in her voice, you say, in sirihish:
     "They're coming to get us."

****They finally make it*******

The figure in a hooded, greenish-grey greatcloak slows near the barricade.

His barricade appears reasonably sturdy and strong, though somewhat
crudely built.  It appears to stretch across the entirety of the dune, with
anchoring points dug deep into the sand below.  Large barbed spikes top it,
making it a formidable obstacle.  A smaller portal is built in to the
barricade, this section appears to be better constructed and extremely
sturdy. 
The barricade is closed.

Sidelong, the figure in a hooded, greenish-grey greatcloak says, in sirihish:
     "Let's see..."

The figure in a hooded, greenish-grey greatcloak opens the barricade.

The figure in a dusty hooded brown sandcloth cloak asks, in sirihish:
     "We know who's this is?"

The diminutive, russet-haired templar sends you a telepathic message:
     "Halt a bit away if you would."

You suffer from use of the Way.

With a little grin, you say, in sirihish:
     "Halt here...it's ours."

The figure in a dusty hooded brown sandcloth cloak exclaims, in sirihish:
     "I see black!"

The figure in a hooded, greenish-grey greatcloak shouts, in sirihish:
     "Soldiers of His Arm Incoming!"

You say, in sirihish:
     "Scouts have seen us."

The figure in a dusty hooded brown sandcloth cloak slings a dusty slender wooden spear across her back.

You say, in sirihish:
     "Lady Templar wants us to wait here."

A Twisted Star Dune [SW]
   The constant billowing winds of the Red Desert have caused this oddly
shaped dune to form from the blowing sands.  Its massive arms stretch out
from its center that climbs perhaps a hundred cords from the desert floor.
The only way atop this dune is to travel the arms from their base at the
desert floor along their lengths to their terminus where they meet atop the
massive dune. 
   A large barricade has been constructed, barring passage to the west. 
An inix stands here, carrying the figure in a dusty hooded brown sandcloth cloak on his back.
A reddish-shelled inix stands here, carrying the figure in a hooded, greenish-grey greatcloak on his back.

The figure in a hooded, greenish-grey greatcloak nods once.

You intently scan the area.

You suffer from use of the Way.

You say, in sirihish:
     "So...soon I can tell them all..."

With a long, content sigh, the figure in a hooded, greenish-grey greatcloak says, in sirihish:
     "Drov.  His Shadow guided us through alrigh'.  Fuck if that wasn't the hardest damn four years of my life."

Sidelong, the figure in a hooded, greenish-grey greatcloak asks you, in sirihish:
     "So wha' happened?  What happened at the tree?"

The figure in a dusty hooded brown sandcloth cloak says to you, in sirihish:
     "Well, best wait to see what orders are regarding that."

You say, in sirihish:
     "Yeah. I can't believe we actually did it."

The figure in a dusty inky-black, hooded sandcloth greatcloak nods to the figure in a dusty hooded brown sandcloth cloak.

You hear a man's voice shout from the west in sirihish:
     "Come in!"

The figure in a hooded, greenish-grey greatcloak waves a hand.

His barricade appears reasonably sturdy and strong, though somewhat
crudely built.  It appears to stretch across the entirety of the dune, with
anchoring points dug deep into the sand below.  Large barbed spikes top it,
making it a formidable obstacle.  A smaller portal is built in to the
barricade, this section appears to be better constructed and extremely
sturdy. 
The barricade is open.
[Very far]
A half-giant soldier is standing here.
[Far]
A human Allanaki soldier is standing here.
[Near]
A half-giant soldier is standing here.
A unit of Allanaki infantry stands in formation here, armored in heavy bone.

A reddish-shelled inix walks west, carrying the figure in a hooded, greenish-grey greatcloak on his back.
You follow the figure in a hooded, greenish-grey greatcloak, and walk west.

A Twisted Star Dune [EW]
   The constant billowing winds of the Red Desert have caused this oddly
shaped dune to form from the blowing sands.  Its massive arms stretch out
from its center that climbs perhaps a hundred cords from the desert floor.
The only way atop this dune is to travel the arms from their base at the
desert floor along their lengths to their terminus where they meet atop the
massive dune. 
   To the west this finger of the star dune flattens out onto the floor
of the lower desert.  To the east a large barricade has been constructed,
barring all passage. 
A reddish-shelled inix stands here, carrying the figure in a hooded, greenish-grey greatcloak on his back.
A half-giant soldier is standing here.
A unit of Allanaki infantry stands in formation here, armored in heavy bone.
The figure in a dusty hooded brown sandcloth cloak has arrived from the east, riding an inix.

You sheathe a dusty tasseled, hammer-headed sceptre.

The half-giant soldier closes the barricade.

You lower the hood of your dusty inky-black, hooded sandcloth greatcloak.

The moustached, tan-skinned man lowers the hood of his hooded, greenish-grey greatcloak.

The solid, tanned woman lowers the hood of her dusty hooded brown sandcloth cloak.

Someone locks the barricade.

Tugging it quickly free, the moustached, tan-skinned man stops using his bloodied sunburst-crested baobab helm.

The half-giant soldier exclaims, in sirihish:
     "Welcome to Tek Sarak!"

The moustached, tan-skinned man tucks his bloodied sunburst-crested baobab helm under one arm, grinning wide.

The lithe, henna-haired woman grins to the half-giant soldier and lifts her clenched fist.

The solid, tanned woman says to the half-giant soldier, in sirihish:
     "Hah!  Good one, fella."

An inix puffs through its nostrils and bobs its head.

The solid, tanned woman looks down at the half-giant soldier.

The moustached, tan-skinned man begins to laugh uncontrollably.

Between laughs, the moustached, tan-skinned man exclaims, in sirihish:
     "Praise the Highlord!  We made it!"

The moustached, tan-skinned man continues to laugh, peering about those around.

The solid, tanned woman glances at the moustached, tan-skinned man and smirks a bit.

Looking over a unit of Allanaki heavy-infantry and the half-giant soldier, you say, in sirihish:
     "A more welcome sight I never did see."

[Desertman]

Kind of neat. Interesting in more of an OOC way anyways.

Thanks for posting.

[Reiloth]

Great read. Very novel/movie sequence-esque.

[manonfire]

Cool to see the resolution, though the process of actually destroying one of those trees felt a little anticlimactic.

All this time, I figured it would take more of a kick to get into that garden.

[Nyr]

Cool to see the resolution, though the process of actually destroying one of those trees felt a little anticlimactic.

All this time, I figured it would take more of a kick to get into that garden.

IIRC, here's what happened:

Adhira and I were animating and coordinating at the site of the battle with other staff.
I believe Maeve was animating at the site of the tree with the spies.

We were coordinating on Teamspeak, and we thought everything was ready, and had not received an update from the spy team in a while.  By this point we'd already had skirmishes and stuff.  So we called out that we're ready for them to do their thingy at the tree, because that would signal all of the world-sized effects, but...they weren't even through the gate yet. 

Given the urgency of getting it done ASAP (i.e., we were mid-speech at the actual site of this battle, and it was about to go batshit crazy), I believe Maeve went ahead and just...kicked the gate in.  Like a boss.

[Reiloth]

I was playing a PC at the time on the Allanak side of things that was 'basically in charge' because all of the people in charge ducked out to...Who knows where?

I lead a charge against the Tuluki Forces and the spam was literally too crazy for words. I think at that point, a lot of the world-effects echoes were going off, and Staff froze everyone so that they could tell us to disengage and be able to see what the hell was going on.

There was so much of 9 PCs on 1 PC, that even 80-100 day warriors were insta-gibbed. It was pretty nuts.

I can safely say that HRPTs are definitely great in hindsight, but at the time of playing in them, they are one big clusterfuck, especially if combat is involved.

[Barsook]

Yeah, I got lost during it too.  Somehow, my Allanaki PC fell behind with their mount and I think for most of the first part before the battle, I was trying to figure out how to get back with the crowd.

[RogueGunslinger]

I was playing a PC at the time on the Allanak side of things that was 'basically in charge' because all of the people in charge ducked out to...Who knows where?

Needed to get a better view of the slaughter.

[FantasyWriter]

Heh, I remember leading an allied group of people up from Storm, hoping to loot the battlefield or pick off stragglers from either side while our boss was off somewhere spying and waying us instructions and updates.  I think we were laying low outside Cenyr until things died down.

The Lightshow started happening and we're like, "Holy shit, fuck that!"
Get back to Red Storm just in time to get an echo about an earthquake, then one like: "You notice: something is missing on the northwestern horizon."

We all emote looking that way, and one guy speaks up.  "Ummmm... where did the volcano go?"
That was my "that's no moon" moment for that HPRT.

[TheWanderer]

All the people in charge were sipping tea on a hilltop.

[BadSkeelz]

All the people in charge were sipping tea on a hilltop.

Bitter, bitter tea.

[williamson]

Very cool.

[Rathustra]

Oh hey! I was the Thryzn at the grove. I actually did better than I remember rushing that animation.

[valeria]

I think the log does a very good job of illustrating exactly how boring travel scenes are.

.... but no really, it was a very enjoyable read!  I love seeing things from a different perspective.

[James de Monet]

"You know, I was so taken up with trying to think how to get through that gate, that I didn't even think to work out how to get home after."

Muttering, the figure in a dusty hooded, greenish-grey greatcloak says, in sirihish:
     "Me Either."

I really liked this line. I think it illustrates just how daunting their task was and how focused they were on it.

[Saellyn]

Did they all get executed after that because they were too good as spies?

[Nyr]

Virtually they're all still around.  They were promoted and stored after getting to revel in the experience of jubilation afterwards.  The expectation for any of the "special role calls" that have existed has always been "you will either die or store by a certain time, your task is to bring the role to life and do certain things".

[BadSkeelz]

I still kind of regret not PKing them all when I had the chance.

[Evilone]

I don't know if this has been covered anywhere, but what was going to happen if Alize and the other spies were caught and killed? Was the Hlum going to be removed regardless, but just in a different way

[decades]

I don't know if this has been covered anywhere, but what was going to happen if Alize and the other spies were caught and killed? Was the Hlum going to be removed regardless, but just in a different way

I believe they would have been transfered to the virtual side of things, perhaps just with a declaration that the Grey Hunt competition would not be held anymore. Eventually the NPCs and vNPCs would die out and the Hlum nobles fade into obscurity. The Hlum concept as such was cool, and I doubt having Hlum PCs was much of a problem at all, but the process (ie, the Grey Hunt) of getting there was very complicated and draining for everyone involved. It's entirely possible staff have a different view of it, but the above represents my understanding of the situation having been involved in the events.

The way it happened was closely related to the espionage and the Tyn Dashra battle. A not so very subtle show of Lirathan capacity and determination (much like some of the other events during the year after the battle).

[Aruven]

The wiry, obsidian-haired Jihaen templar is standing here.

Motherfuckin' B$r%^an just standing around buying that fresh air shit. I never did like that bro. He was always 'bro' ing it up with the commoners at the sanctuary while the two other guys were doing the heavy lifting bro work.

[Erythil]

My first PC actually constructed the gate to that grove.