Going Underground!

Just a short reminder (after our loooong recess) of the Party's current situation.

With the timely assistance of Rifkin, the Party managed to evade the (certain death by Tyrannosaurus Rex) third and final bout in the gladiatorial arena of Valdez and (with seven camels, tents and supplies) escape into the desert.

The Party had also (conveniently) encountered the blue-clad Moody. The self-same Wizard who had previously captured them and bribed the Odds-master to ensure Arowe's death. He is now a bound and gagged prisoner, without hawk familiar, hope or his spell book.

After several night's successful navigation though, Liga Bur was psychically attacked by a withered, hunchbacked old woman during his dreams. His fevered rants though were proven real  by the sudden reawakening of the magical mummified hand, still carried deep within Rifkin's knapsack. Coming back to ‘life’, it literally crawled out and pointed out the vile, ethereal creature before conferring 'sight-beyond-sight' to Arowe. 

Weakened and struggling to stay awake, Liga Bur still managed to lead the Party toward the mythical tower. On day six the Party came across an unlikely but tall rocky crag, offering fresh water, shade and potentially edible vegetation. In the darkest of the multiple shadows cast by the three suns in the sky, three bodies lay sprawled in the sand. They looked decades old; skeletal, but some items, glinting in the light, seemed to have survived.

Guessing them to be either valuable or magical, Barbella licked his parched lips and offered to 'check ‘em awt'. 

Unfortunately, after sifting through some of the items, the swarthy soldier looked momentarily confused but before he could convey his findings, the sand erupted beneath him! A huge insectoid creature burst from below the corpse and snatched the screaming Barbella up in its mandibles. With clever forethought by the pragmatic Fortu though, Barbella had been tethered by rope to the stout Doberman.

Something's wrong though. Barbella's thrashing and screaming like he's burning and the should-be-sturdy rope looks like it's already shredding. The rest of the party stare in horror from about thirty feet back.

Except the ever-ready archer elf; Arowe, who releases a readied feathered shaft, despite the exploding sand and the flailing Barbella, direct into the insectoid creatures face from thirty feet away…

INITIATIVE!