Ismael and the Cost of Hunger

Ismael part 2. I'm still feeling more like playing another game, but I thought I would give this another shot. 

Ismael al-Tahir of the Awaliq, 1st level Lawful Alasiyani Ranger

Shoulder length black hair with dark eyes, the tanned ranger dreamt of living the life of a corsair. He had grown up a nomad, foraging and hunting. Ismael did not own much, barely maintaining the equipment that he already possessed. With what gear he could muster, plain wool clothing and the sandals on his feet, Ismael headed east from Sulba toward the Sea of Dread, Ylaruam now two days ahead after his encounter with the Nightmare Priest in the village of Manahil. The village where he met a strange woman named Jamila ibn Alia.

S 13 (+1 / 3:6 / +5%) I 08 W 10 D 09 C 12 C 11 (4 retainers / 7 loyalty)
AB +0 (+1 / +0) AC 13 / 12 without shield HP 5 / 6 MV 60' / 20'
Saves : D 12 W 13 P 14 B 15 S 16
Abilities : Awareness, Foraging and Hunting, Pursuit, Surprise Attack, Tracking (20%)
Languages : Common and Neutral
Gear (800 coins weight) : backpack, gems worth 50 dinar, leather armor, potion of healing, scroll of read languages, shield, spear, standard rations (6), tinderbox, torches (6), waterskin, 378 dinar, 0 dirham, 0 fal
150 experience

... and the Cost of Hunger

[Opening : E Muzeki, The Kiss]

"This is why we have horses," Ismael muttered to himself. He hoisted the heavy pack filled with the treasure from Manahil. His mind drifted, envisioning himself as a member of the Order of the Desert Rose. To be on horseback, charging through an enemy line, scimitar raised to the heavens. "As if any of the Orders would take a nomad."

His pace was noticably slower with the weight of the coins in his backpack. Ismael was reminded of it with every adjustment of the pack. The setting sun brought him out of his reverie. It was setting in the wrong place; Ismael had wandered off course. He sighed and made camp, the pack fell heavily to the sand. For others, being lost in the desert was death; for Ismael, the sun rose in the east and set in the west. That was enough to know he needed to head north and east to return to the path toward Ylaruam. With that reassuring thought, Ismael set up camp and drifted off to sleep.

In the morning, Ismael was greeted by a silver haze that concealed most of the desert surrounding him. The sun still shone, hazily, through the dense fog. Ismael scowled as he hoisted the pack onto his shoulders. This fog did not belong here. Nor were those ruined walls that loomed nearby. How had he missed that last night?

Shadows moved behind the crumbling architecture. Man sized. Crouched. Ismael grabbed his spear and approached the ruins cautiously. The shadows retreated in response. The fog was dry, like the desert wind, and golden hues seeped through the ethereal current. A quiet sound, loud in Ismael's ears, like a rushing wind then ... a heartbeat. It wasn't an audible thing; it was a heartbeat that tapped against Ismael's chest. One-two. Pause. One-two.

Ismael brought his hand to his chest, reaffirming that there was nothing touching him. Yet it beat again, a double tap against his sternum. He moved closer to the ruins; a loose rock fell from a broken wall and clattered against the masonry. Another heartbeat. One-two. Shorter pause. One-two.

Manuevering between two buildings, their roofs caved in an untold time ago, and Ismael found the village center. Again, like Manahil, the surroundings were broken, but here was a set of steps that led down beneath the sands. A cellar with no building. The heartbeat again, an even shorter pause between them. As Ismael peered into the shadows at the base of the steps, darker shadows moved across the entrance.

"Attack it. Make it bleed," came a hoarse, whispered voice from below.

A loud slap echoed up from the steps. "Clubs. No bleed. Drink the blood while it roasts on the spit."

Ismael swallowed and tightened his grip on the spear and shield. Surely, they did not mean him.

[Initiative Check : 1d6 vs. 1d6. Orcs, 4; Ismael, 4.]
[Player rolls Defense : 1d20 + 3 vs. 11 two times. Result : 2 fail. 2 points of damage]
[Player rolls Attack : 1d20 + 1 vs. 13. Result : 16. Fray Die : 2 damage. Total 4 damage.]
[Monster morale : 2d6 vs. 6. Result : 8]

Two ... things ... charged up the stairs, maces waving madly in the air. Skin like orange tumeric. Sharp fangs instead of teeth. Human sized but emaciated with skin dry like parchment pulled tight across an animate skeleton. Ismael could barely wonder if these were some different kind of orc when their clubs bashed into his head and arm.

Instinct took over, and Ismael screamed. One orc was dispatched with a spear stab into the throat. Another was kicked down the stairs as he advanced. More shadows loomed, and Ismael lashed out with his spear, taking one across the throat. A third received a spear wound in the abdomen, even as the fourth struggled to its feet. Ismael shoved him against the wall and drove his knee between its legs, harshly shoving the spearhead into its neck. Two shadows further into the gloom glance at the carnage Ismael has brought and retreat down a corridor further into the cellar.

The heartbeat pulled at Ismael and drew him further into the cellar. The lone passage shortly gave way to a torchlit cavern beneath the ruins. A small hoard of treasure was heaped in the corner; skeletons and sinew were splayed near the treasure hoard with signs of having been gnawed upon. Four emaciated orcs squat on the ground, pawing at bones, the two fleeing from Ismael rushed in and pointed behind them.

"Run!" They exclaimed. "He has already killed Faathi and Ihaab!"

[Monster morale : 2d6 vs. 6. Result : 11]

"What?!" exclaimed one of the skeletal creatures. "Run! Warn Taaj!"

Ismael watched the six retreat even further into the darkness. He had no idea where the tunnel led, so he approached cautiously. Amidst the bones and detritus, there were hundreds if not thousands of copper fal for the taking. Ismael never thought he would do this, but, given the weight of his backpack, he chose not to take any of the copper coin. The current trade value was about a hundred fal to one dinar, and he had hundreds of dinar. The jewelry and flasks of liquid, however...

[Event Focus : Thread. Action : Befriend. Subject : Allies]

Ismael shuffled some of the weight around to take the three potions and jewelry with him. He never thought he would say this, but treasure is a horrible thing to maintain. Perhaps that was why corsairs had ships and bandits had horses. Ismael would purchase a horse with these new riches when he made it to Ylaruam. For now, though...

"Don't go further," came a voice.

He turned. Ismael's eyes rested on a thin youth peeking at him from the tunnel. Thin was an understatement; the youth was a skeleton wrapped in a tapestry of skin. "Why not?" he asked.

"The ogre, Taaj. He will consume you in his hunger."

"How do you know this?"

The youth smiled wanly, "Because I made him."

"You made Taaj?" asked Ismael. "How?"

"When my tribe started dying, I begged the Immortal Guardians for help. Instead, they cursed us, the orcs and Taaj. We were cursed to be hungry, thirsty, restless. Taaj only knows one thing now : consume."

Ismael weighed his options. "And if I leave, what of Taaj?" he asked.

"With good fortune, we will go back to the World of Nightmares."

"And without?"

"Taaj may continue his rampage, his orcs raiding and pillaging in their hunger."

The heartbeat tapped against his chest. Ismael, curious, asked the stranger, "What is this that taps against my chest?"

"My pack," he replied. "When we were dying, starving, the pack stored my anguish. As long as it exists, this," and the skeletal man gestured around the cellar, "will continue. Destroy the pack, and it all goes back to the World of Nightmares."

"So if I de-..."

"Go." The skeletal man seemed barely more than a boy but his eyes. Something about his eyes showed a deeper wisdom. "Go. Then come back. Go, find your answers in Ylaruam."

"How di-" but the skeletal man had vanished into the shadows.

Ismael cautiously turned and headed back the way he came. He had discovered more wealth than he could carry, true, but Taaj gnawed at him. How could he not deal with this threat on their lands? Next, he wondered aloud, "And what would happen if no one knew?"

That singular thought spurred him forward. When he emerged, the silver mist had evaporated. The rising sun in the east as it should be. The crumbling walls gone as he stepped from the cellar. Somebody in Ylaruam must be told. He would return to help after the Emirates were warned of the potential danger.

[Closing : E Muzeki, Kashmir]

Ismael al-Tahir of the Awaliq, 1st level Lawful Alasiyani Ranger

Shoulder length black hair with dark eyes, the tanned ranger dreamt of living the life of a corsair. He had grown up a nomad, foraging and hunting. Ismael did not own much, barely maintaining the equipment that he already possessed. With what gear he could muster, plain wool clothing and the sandals on his feet, Ismael headed east from Sulba toward the Sea of Dread, Ylaruam now a day ahead after his encounter with the Nightmare Priest in the village of Manahil. The village where he met a strange woman named Jamila ibn Alia.

Ismael encountered a strange, skeletal man that warned him about a supernatural while exploring a mysterious ruin that had appeared from a silver fog.

S 13 (+1 / 3:6 / +5%) I 08 W 10 D 09 C 12 C 11 (4 retainers / 7 loyalty)
AB +0 (+1 / +0) AC 13 / 12 without shield HP 5 / 6 MV 60' / 20'
Saves : D 12 W 13 P 14 B 15 S 16
Abilities : Awareness, Foraging and Hunting, Pursuit, Surprise Attack, Tracking (20%)
Languages : Common and Neutral

Gear (800 coins weight) : backpack, gems worth 50 dinar, jewelry worth 3900 dinar, leather armor, potion of diminution, potion of healing (2), potion of invisibility, scroll of read languages, shield, spear, standard rations (6), tinderbox, torches (6), waterskin, 378 dinar, 0 dirham, 0 fal

1,135 experience