Whispering Wizards

Although deprived of his coin purse, serrated dagger, possibly magical jewelled turban and without his vital spell book, the captive Wizard Moody is still tied up and tethered at all times. He is however, often left ungagged during feeding, drinking and interrogations.

In the last four days he's tried begging and bribery to no avail and has finally accepted that his only chance is to be of as much assistance as he can.

Still, the 'Singing Tower' is just a century old myth. No-one's even ever seen it; it's merely a children's story to scare toddlers back into bed. He can perhaps guide them to the vague area it's meant to be, but there's nothing really out there beyond dying of thirst or heatstroke.

The situation seems bleak for him. Especially considering the hatred emanating from the heavily armoured Fortu. If looks could kill, he’d’ve been dead before they’d fled Valdez!

The shrewd Moody has noticed a slight divide between the men though. Although initially appearing unified, there are two specific factions within this Party. Four on one side and three on the other and whenever he gets the opportunity, he tries to sew discord and whisper poison into the ears of the Human soldiers.

"You know you're just fodder to them. They'll sacrifice you as soon as they consider it expedient."

"How much gold are they giving you? Not even a half-share I'll bet!"

"Notice how much magic they have. What have you got? That hardly seems fair."