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Tales of Faerun


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"The Zentarim." Said Tannin as he cleaned the fish, over hearing Rhaine's conversation with Birlron. "Now that brings back memories. Followers of Cyric and Bane, defilers of the dead, not much fun at parties. Would be a shame if they lost such a valuable piece of land as an oasis in such a large desert... Wouldn't it?" He asked with a mischievous glint in his eyes. A chance to strike at followers of the mad god was a very tempting opportunity. Personal offenses had left Tannin with a near hatred of Cyric and Bane. And he guessed that with her beliefs, Rhaine's view of the two were even less favorable.
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Rhaine glanced at Tannin with a grin, "Aye, a shame indeed. My church has few declared enemies amongst other faiths, but the Church of Cyric is one of them."

 

She then looked back to Bard, waiting for his reply.

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Bard sat down next to Rhaine, he heard Tannin's remark but paid no mind to it. "We are going to have troubles in the desert ahead. The inhabitants do not take kindly to travelers, specially those that have not paid them respect." He said as he leaned in, so the others could not hear. "I have fought them before, they like to attack at night and from the east..." He added as he pulled out his map and pointed at a large oasis deep in the desert.

 

"This is one of their strongholds I know of, they traffic in slaves and rest here. They like to attack on horseback and hit and run style, usually they soften their targets up with a barrage of arrows then follow in with skirmishers on cavalry." He said, his career as a soldier taught him how to explain tactics. "When we travel through the desert I recommend we take a block formation around the cart, have everyone keep eyes on the east and western flanks of the caravan. Hopefully by doing so we can catch a glimpse of them and prepare before the attack." He explained as he drew out the formation ideas he had using his fingertip, the little finger on his right hand was missing at the knuckle, something these raiders do to prisoners they capture and release as a warning.

 

"I have travelled this desert many times and every time I have I have encountered these bandits. We may not see them or they may just leave us alone, its never clear with them." He said, waiting for her to acknowledge his plan.

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Tannin couldn't believe what he was hearing. Usually he was great at hiding his inner emotions, it came with acting experience. But this.. was too much. It started with a snort then grew to a snicker, then a chuckle. And soon Tannin had fallen over straight into the fish innards laughing at the top of his lungs. Every so often a few words would escape. "Bedine ahahahahah... Raiders aaahahahahahah SLAAAVES HAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!" He eventually calmed down before looking up at Bard. "The Bedine, you know.. The natives? Don't have strongholds... They're Nomads. Moving from place to place. Neither are they slavers.. Hate the idea of slaves. So i don't know who you thought you were fighting or why but.. They weren't the natives." He said still shaking with laughter.
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Bard growled, he hated that half-breed. "Look these are not Bedine, these are something else. Even the Bedine hate them... Only in the last few years have they appeared." He yelled as he jumped up, "I am sick of your attitude... Do what you will Rhaine... I'll be somewhere else..." He said calmly, he had grown tired of Tannin and his attitude. He had grown tired of many of them, he stood up and spit in Tannins face as he walked past him. Grabbing his pack and leaving the camp site.
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Rhaine raised an eyebrow at Bard's sudden outburst, and she watched as he left their camp. After a few moments, she turned back to Tannin, "Well. You are right, of course, the Bedine do not act in such a manner. But it would not hurt to be wary of bandits, either. Then again, when are we not wary of bandits?"

 

She sighed and finished preparing her tent, throwing her pack inside and sitting in front of the fire. As she observed Tannin's work, she asked Weyland, "So...I am curious. Who is this Sana you've mentioned? You said something about running into them again. Are they friend or foe?"

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Bard's outburst caught Weyland and Amendale somewhat by surprise. As he stormed out of the camp, Amendale said "I have a feeling we won't be seeing him again."

 

Rhaine asked her question and Weyland's expression darkened. As little as he tended to discuss anything relating to his slave past, he figured that tactical information to utilize against Sana, if necessary, probably wouldn't hurt. He carefully considered for a moment what he should say, and then began to speak. "I doubt it, she could be dead for all I know or care. Sana is an old enemy of mine. Definitely a foe, and easily identifiable; she's a Lamia. Lower body of a panther, carries a scimitar, formidable melee combatant and spellcaster. Should she have the misfortune of crossing paths with me again, know that you will need some sort of protection from magic, be it enchantment or a spell, and then fire upon her at a range. She relies on her spells, yes, but despite being a sorcerer like Amendale she can hold her own up close. That scimitar can cut you in half and she often rears up to use her claws, similar to how a horse rear up and kick away any attackers." Weyland mostly avoided the topic of why one of them would likely kill the other one day, although what he said next, despite his attempts to hide it, definitely dropped a hint. "Don't let her immobilize you, either....she takes slaves."

 

Amendale, who was smart enough to pick up on such things, stared at Weyland. The fighter had never mentioned anything about being a slave before, and it was extremely rare for him to even find himself in a bad mood. Amendale had never imagined that he could have gone through slavery, he was far too sociable and cheerful for that. Weyland caught Amendale scrutinizing him and shuffled uncomfortably.

 

Instead of revealing information Weyland wanted to keep hidden to the entire camp, Amendale instead opted for a more encyclopedic approach. "Lamia....aggressive, evil creatures. Powerful illusionists and talented in the crafts of deception and trickery. They eat humans as part of their natural diet-"

 

"-Meaning Tak'We should be safe." Weyland cut him off with a fake grin and a half-hearted joke. Amendale took the hint. For once in his life, Weyland Grey wasn't in the mood to talk. Shrugging, the moon elf made himself busy aiding in the preparation of fish for supper.

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Nawen was busy repacking her things, checking what items she won't be needed and could throw away to safe some space. She heard that Bard mentioned slavers and some strongholds but paid little attention to his words. She hated slavery, the Drow thought that everyone expect for dangerous criminals should be free. She wondered how funny would it sound to hear that a dark elf is against slavery. Most of them can't imagine their lives without slaves.

 

Tannin's laugh caused her to look at them. What was so amusing to him? She watched Bard's fit of anger as he left the camp and even spat on the half-drow. She simply shrugged and continued repacking her belongings. After some rummaging she found some spices which she thought would help the fish taste even better. She took the spices and approached Tannin and Amendale who were preparing the supper.

 

"I found some spices in my bag. Thought you could use them for the dinner." She said.

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Sana growled in her throat at the mention of Weyland's name, her teeth clenched tightly together, "I really don't mind when we find him. I don't even know what I'll do once I get there. It's just fun to watch him squirm."

 

She swatted several hanging vines out of her face as she followed the swift drow, slightly agitated by the sheer amount of plants brushing past her at once. Her large paws were becoming slick with mud in the wet, uneven underbrush below her, and her tail began to twitch from side to side. Perhaps if she were just a panther or woman, she wouldn't have such trouble getting through the trees and bushes, but her beautiful shape was but a hindrance to her here.

 

"It's no wonder my kind prefer the deserts," she whined.

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Rhaine listened to Weyland's description of Sana, and she noticed that the fighter's mood had darkened considerably. It was obvious that he did not want to talk much about the subject, and so she did not press the issue further...though it was intriguing that he had encountered this lamia before and managed to come away alive.

 

The Doomguide then watched as Nawen began going through her supplies, handing a few spices to Tannin and Amendale. She smiled. Between both of her companions' resourcefulness, there was no need to tap into rations tonight.

 

------------------------------------------------------------

 

Maydiira lay still as she heard footsteps nearby. Glancing to her right, she could see two figures moving a ways beyond some bushes.

 

A jal nindel zhah orthae! Lu'oh shlu'ta il tlu ghil? she thought as she recognized one of the figures...

 

...Ginafae Orlyndar - Matron Mother, sole surviving member, and murderer of House Orlyndar; Arachne and fanatical blackguard of Lolth.

 

The other figure Maydiira could not make out well. It looked like a woman and yet a cat at the same time. Praying to Eilistraee to hide her from their eyes, she lay perfectly still...

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