Session 5: Caravan's End: Deserts, Dwarves, and Destiny

 

Whispers from the Wasting Lands: A Caravan's Fate and Dwarven Secrets!

Ah, another day unfolds in this unforgiving desert, and with it, new tales for my collection! You see, dear patrons, while most brave these harsh lands for glory or coin, I prefer to watch the fascinating dance of those who do. And what a show these particular adventurers are putting on! Day 18 of their journey through Rainhelven offered a rather 'mixed' start, wouldn't you say?

A Troubled Rest and Prickly Paths

Imagine, most of these brave souls had no preparations for sleeping on the trail. Two, a burly dwarf (Stripes) and a cleric/magic-user (Jalen), opted for the 'comfort' of the open road, while two others (Fitz and Trellimar) chose to slumber in their very armor – a choice that quickly came back to haunt Trellimar with penalties on his checks by the second night. Only one, a cloaked figure (Lyra), found some semblance of comfort, while the ranger, Lowell, chose the modest shelter of a tree. They started the day by dutifully consuming their rations, a mundane task, yet vital, as most seasoned travelers prefer to carry one to two weeks' worth of food and a gallon or so of water. Water, they rightly observed, is both heavy and bulky. A good observation, but one that soon tested their ingenuity when it came to replenishing their supply later, as their cleric was only able to create four gallons at a time and needed a pinch of sugar for each spell, a commodity they were short on!

Their path led them past rather spiny acacia trees – known for good wood, but also formidable thorns that make finding shade or gathering fuel a prickly affair. Two of their number, (Lowell and Lyra), who worship the very concept of thorns, seemed unfazed. However, the group ultimately decided against a fire, fearing it would betray their location to unseen eyes.

But the true excitement began with a tattered red scarf, half-buried under a rock. Curiosity, that most dangerous of virtues, led them to investigate. And lo and behold, a black scorpion, quick as thought, raced from beneath the stone, forcing a quick dodge from one adventurer whose senses were dulled by poor sleep! The rock, stubbornly wedged, eventually yielded its secret: the scarf, stained with dried blood, bore the name 'Bobo'. Imagine the surprise when the dwarf, Stripes, recalled a distant relative by that very name, seen only four years prior! A piece of evidence, perhaps, for their growing collection, which Stripes promptly added to his pack.

The Grim Caravan and Goblin Sorcery

The next day, under a 'white-hot sky', the wind carried a chilling scent of 'char, smoke, and something beneath it'. By midday, the circling buzzards painted a grim picture: the caravan, or what remained of it, lay before them. Two wagons burned to twisted iron and bone, one overturned, and a fourth simply missing, its path marked by 'deep ruts and drag marks heading northwest'. The scorched earth and dry blood spoke volumes of a fierce struggle, alongside a broken scimitar with a crescent-shaped hilt.

Our heroes bravely approached the wreckage, carefully searching for clues, with one keeping watch with a longbow. At the first wagon, they found a valuable piece of canvas, suitable for ground cover. Even more intriguing, they unearthed a 'partially melted bone scroll case' with 'arcane runes'. Inside, a cryptic scrap spoke of 'half a name written in dust' and a 'bloodied monogrammed handkerchief' bearing the sigil of 'Ralik's'. The dwarf, ever the collector, pocketed these as evidence.

Meanwhile, at the second wagon, a keen-eyed adventurer (Trellimar) unearthed a small fortune: seven silver and two gold pieces, one chipped. More importantly, a 'Salt House stamp' on a broken crate and fragments of 'date glazed pottery from a luxury shipment' offered further clues to the caravan's identity, which Trellimar also collected.

The third wagon, however, revealed a darker truth: a 'fire ritual' with 'circular ash displacement' and 'blackened crystal that hummed faintly'. This, a wise elf observed, was the foul sorcery that goblins use, a dangerous fire ritual. And the dwarf, with his heightened senses, confirmed the very presence of goblin stench, emanating from the east!

Their investigation led them to a 'large overhanging rock,' possibly the fabled Split Tooth Rock, where the caravan was rumored to have vanished. Beneath it, a 'crude three-eyed glyph painted in black ash and goat blood' marked a 'sacrifice site' of the 'goblins of the wheezing gasp'. A rusted, foreign dagger pinned a jawbone beneath it, collected as further proof. 'The more eyes, the more dangerous,' they mused, a chilling thought indeed!

The Survivor's Trail and a Dwarven Trove

Not all was devastation, however. Faint footprints veering southeast suggested a possible survivor. Following this faint trail, they discovered a discarded, empty water skin and a torn cloak scrap, followed by blood flecks on the stone. Finally, beneath a rock outcropping, lay the lifeless body of a half-elf, 'Suda the Provisioner,' felled by a nasty cut to the midsection. A log book in common script detailed their trafficking arrangements, now a somber piece of evidence, along with three silver pieces.

But the greatest find awaited them by the river: a large black box or chest, unmistakably dwarven, reinforced with 'rune stamped steel bands'. Bearing the 'forge sigil of Durog Flame Vein' and the 'Stonehine Clan' mark, it resisted all attempts at forced entry. Only the dwarf, Stripes, knowledgeable in dwarven prayers and the touch of a hammer (or axe, in this case), could unlock its secrets!

And what treasures it held! 'Several refined dwarven forge ingots' (12 of them, 2.5 lbs each), a 'rune edge smithing tools set,' 'sacred blueprint scrolls' (invaluable to the clergy in Tanis), the 'Hammer of the Ember Wind,' and a weighty 'ledger of transit and rights'. Nearby, the scorched corpses of two goblins, a broken harness, and a melted dagger spoke of their futile attempts to claim its contents. Too heavy to move (over 400 lbs!), the adventurers wisely locked it back up, intending to retrieve it later.

The tracks continued to the riverbank, revealing a 'makeshift landing area' with remnants of 'makeshift rafts,' some sunken. Claw marks and goblin teeth marks on a stripped crate frame, along with a goblin glyph on a pole ('claimed spoil' of the Wheezing Gasp), painted a clear picture: a 'chaotic, hasty retreat' by the goblins, who only took what was 'light or sacred,' abandoning the rest! They even found scattered remnants of their feast – discarded scorpion husks.

They scoured the area, finding fragments of 'expensive wine' containers, a boot print with 'purple remains' (not goblin blood!), a gourd jug of wine, a blood-smeared silk handkerchief, an elven comb, and a blacksmith's grease cloth from the Stone Shine Clan. Even 'vellum scraps' with ancient desert script were recovered from a puddle. And amidst it all, a scorched goblin corpse with a shield bearing 'three jagged fangs'! They ate their fill, even sampling a 'chewy but protein rich' scorpion tail, and settled near the unmovable chest, dreaming of strange things as the desert held its breath.

And so, another chapter closes for these intrepid souls. They've found a lost caravan, faced a scorpion, unearthed dwarven secrets, and smelled the foul stench of goblins. But the Wheezing Gasp remains at large, and the desert stretches on. What new challenges await them on Day 20? Only the sands and I will tell!