The Bit-of-Both Bow

The frustrating feeling of impotent rage at the absent Sir Briefadel, coupled with the sense of ennui in regard to everything and everyone else, continues on into the sixth day. Even as the Elven Arowe takes an early trance to prepare himself for Hetzabah’s possible next attack, he ironically uses his emotional flatness to coldly consider its cause.

He’d been carrying his blackthorn bow around since finding it amongst the magical treasure in the Three-Quarterling’s cozy, cave-like home. It had been perfect; almost as if left there especially just for him. Enchanted to enhance his aim and power and its pull-strength had been, serendipitously, exactly right for his wiry Elven arms.

Then, when the desert merchant Whackeem had examined it and had praised its exceptional Elven craftsmanship and power, a slightly tipsy Arowe had paid scant attention. Merely assuming that the powers he already knew about were all that Whackeem was inferring. A slight sparkle of joy manages to surface though, as he remembers the fantastically useful, magical quiver he also got at the time.

Now though, he knows better and understands the Oath-bow’s true secret. With the spoken phrase, ‘Death to my enemy’, he can magnify his anger and channel it through the arrows he fires. These arrows then become much more accurate and deadly, potentially punching straight through his opponents. The consequence of this decision though is that his mind becomes an echo chamber to that self-same hate. Becoming indifferent to all other opponents, only to fixate on that ‘chosen one’ and if that ‘chosen one’ somehow manages to escape, he has to suffer through a week of rage, obsession and potentially, dramatically reduced combat capabilities. 

Although a fantastic weapon, its additional boon comes with a heavy price, making it both good and bad, a benefit and a curse. Arowe smiles ruefully again as a random thought pops into his head. His powerful, magical, Elven Longbow is, in fact… A double-edged sword! 

The Diamond, the Hand and the Bow

While idling away a few triple sun-burning hours under the protection of the large tent, Rifkin puts down Moody's unfathomable diamond and re-examines the recently reactivated magical mummified hand. During his research, he discovers that it doesn't just allow a third magical ring to be worn and enable its wearer to see ethereal and invisible creatures but it can also generate light as bright as day for about an hour. Sadly, the hands ability to grant the power to see magically hidden creatures is also limited in time to about an hour in a day before the hand sags and tires. Too short a period of time to really protect Liga Bur and frustratingly, it also won't work when worn around a neck shared with any other magical necklace or medallion.

Distractedly scratching behind his shoulder with the long fingernails of the withered hand for a moment, Rifkin recalls Whackheem's words to Arowe from back at the second oasis.

"I'm so sorry my friend, I've nothing to surpass or even match that splendid Elven bow of yours."

Surprising, considering what he did have to offer, and then he said something even odder.

"Have you tried reading the inscription?"

Of course Arowe had noticed and read the finely carved words as soon as they'd found it. Most magical items and weapons had inscriptions of one sort or another carved or etched into them.  But still, the merchant of magic had been very specific. Rifkin's lips move silently as he delicately traces the short but stylishly carved Elven script along the side of Arowe's magical blackthorn bow.

‘Death to my Enemy’.

The Hand of Glory is a neck worn magical item. It enables the wearer to use a third magical ring at the expense of their neck position slot. It also grants the wearer the ability to cast 'See Invisibility' and 'Daylight' for one hour per day. This time is a continuous block but both spells can be cast separately or simultaneously.

The Results of Whackeem's 'Generosity'

After everyone had bargained and dealt with the the exuberant 'Vendor of magical delights', the seven members of the Party sat down and assessed their profits and losses.

Fortu:

As his already damaged Bastard sword was shattered by the Orc guards, Whackeem gave Fortu a slight discount on a superior +1 Magical Bastard sword (No glow). 

Liga Bur: 

Negotiated for (But was still surprised to get) a Small +1 Composite Longbow for Strength: 10

Arowe:

Received the magical item he didn't know he wanted: A fully loaded Quiver of Ehlonnar

(It currently contains (Free Gratis): 60 x Arrows / 18 x Javelins / 1 x Composite Longbow Strength: 14 / 5 x Spears)

Henshaw:

Seizing the rare opportunity, the Human guard successfully swaps his recently acquired +1 Cold-Iron Short-sword for a set of +1 Magical Breast-plate armour.

He's shocked though that the armour came with change. A lot of change! 

Asking Whakeem if it's enough for a heavy steel magical shield, he's disappointed to discover he's 250gp shy. Fortunately Fortu loans him the gold and Henshaw gets a +1 Wankel style Large heavy steel shield as well.

Rifkin:

The Bard asks for nothing but takes the opportunity to sell the nine Scrolls that neither he or Liga Burr could decipher. He negotiates for well over a thousand gold (a surprisingly good deal) and divides it fairly into everybody's agreed share.

Current Gold amounts: 

(I can't be bothered to work out what it is in gems, silver and copper.)

Fortu:

Despite loaning Henshaw the 250gp without much concern, he's still surprised when the straw-haired soldier immediately hands over the entire100gp he just got from Rifkin.

Gold: 700gp (Still owed 150gp by Henshaw.)

Arowe: 

Gold: 1300gp

Liga Bur: 

Gold: 725gp

Rifkin: 

Gold: 1231gp

Henshaw:

Gold: 0gp (Still owes Fortu 150gp)

Barbella:

Gold: 204gp 

Doberman:

Gold: 202gp (Already accidentally lost several coins.)

Update your character sheets and include the gold in your encumbrance stats.

Moody's Blues

The azure clad Wizard's scream is a cry of rage rather than pain. Moody's falcon spirit familiar has been brought down while spying upon her potential targets.

"By the gods of all three suns, I swear to you Tan-hew-mon, we shall have our revenge!"

Having initially been summoned by the indigenous desert nomads, their magical red mist flare, streaming back to the Slaver's guild in Valdez, they'd encountered a lone camel rider in the desert, who pointed him in the right direction. A strange, armoured man who possessed a hawk similar to his own.

Finally, after four days hunting, Tan-hew-mon found them enjoying the hospitality of a travelling merchant in an oasis a mere two days from the city. No need to risk an unnecessary confrontation with the vendor and his guards though.

Unfortunately, early next morning, the Elven archer in the group, spotted the predatory bird circling high above them. High but not high enough. Moody, while gazing through the eyes of his falcon, saw the arrow fly straight towards him/Tan-hew-mon. He felt his familiar bank to the left in panic but it was too late!

Pierced through its heart, the dead raptor spiralled down and, even as their spirit connection was severed, Moody felt a pang in the centre of his very being. Much worse than mere grief, a sliver of his soul was lost. But that pain quickly transformed into anger.

Leaving the caged wagon and its riders behind, the dark eyed Wizard leads his eight horsemen on an intercept course with the accursed group. They travel at speed now atop their beautiful desert horses, making no attempt at stealth, with the hot sand kicked up high in the arid air behind them.

As soon as they're within sight however, Moody signals the leader of his riders to slow down.

"Khalil, you know the drill. I'll prepare our defences and when you're ready, take out the elven archer and the armoured man first... Prioritise the peacock Elf!"

At about a hundred feet distant, standing on opposing rising dunes, the two groups stop and a whisper floats over into Fortu's ear.

"Greetings stranger. Are there any Wizards in your group? Any Priests? Any Elves?"

Initially confused by the subtle murmur, the tall Human looks around to see where the voice is coming from but on realising that he's alone in hearing it, tentatively responds.

"No, no and yes. What's it got to do with you though?"

Moody doesn't bother responding. He already knew the answers, he was just wasting time while he prepares his second spell and Khalil marshals his highly trained horsemen.

Conjuring up a powerful wind to whip up the sand in front of them, Moody's unsurprised when the Elf fires an arrow directly at him. It's a perfect shot but rather than flinch, the Wizard smiles bitterly. Every Wizard knows that a clever archer will always target them and therefore every Wizard quickly learns to defend against them. His 'Wall of wind' is a simple but effective defence from this vantage point.

Moody smiles again as he watches his eight mounted guards race down the gentle slope before charging up the sandy incline. Their exquisite, small horses bred for this very purpose, split up and race in two perfectly spaced lines, thundering toward their designated targets...

Midnight at the Oasis

It's been four days since the seven members of the newly expanded Party left the double-dead Druid's portal well, but despite the oppressive heat above and energy sapping sand below, the group is surviving fine. Thanks, in part, to Liga Burr's impressive sense of direction (despite the alien astrology), the weeks supply of magical water found in the tent and the Fey food gifted by the goddess of the pool; Estrid.

During the journey, Liga Burr and Rifkin have taken the time to study the magical scrolls and maps found on Zephyr's bookshelf and discovered them all to be useful and, better yet, usable.

Divining the passage of time here has proved difficult though, due to the constant light from the multiple moons and suns. Also, unfortunately because of the heavily armoured Fortu's slow pace, it's nearly midnight when Liga Burr spots the mid-journey oasis.

The small patch of green seems incongruous amid the seemingly endless expanse of golden, barren sand surrounding it.

Despite the still twilight sky, lit by three various sized moons, a campfire is clearly burning and as the Party approach, Arowe spots three still-living versions of those ugly horses tethered. Standing in front of them, a rotund, tanned but red bearded man is waving a greeting. His posture and broad smile appear welcoming but the two large, heavy-set and armed Orcs flanking him seem 'slightly' less so.

"Blessings upon you my friends!" He calls out.