Road Trip to the Dragon Isles - Prince in Peril

NOTE: This adventure is based on "The Riders of Khur" from DL15 Mists of Krynn. 

26 Newkolt 349 AC

It takes several days for Agnes to use her limited healing magic to mend the injuries suffered during the battle with the dragon.

During that time, Davaa and Altan keep a surreptitious watch on the gates of Ak-Baral, keeping tabs on who is coming to and leaving from the city. Neither of them notice anyone who stands out. A troupe of merchants depart, bound for the southern settlements. A different group of riders leaves the next day, headed east. Two groups of Khurs arrive about three days apart, looking to trade in the city market.

Altan sells his and Davaa's horses and acquires a pair of camels, telling Arthur that they are ready to leave when he is.

"Lets get one last good night of sleep and get a few last minute items we may need and set off in the morning." Arthur heads to the market looking for any items that he may find useful for the trip. He searches the bazaar, looking for potions of healing. None of the stalls, none of the shops have them in stock and his inquiries draw perplexed stares from the proprietors. His sixth stop finally yields a lead - the clergy of Chemosh.

Arthur decides to avoid the necromancers, not trusting them, and returns to the Ak-Baral Inn. He tells his group to make ready for a morning departure.

27 Newkolt 349 AC

The sun is just creeping into the sky as Arthur, Agnes, Altan, Davaa, Phineas, and Granite ride out of Ak-Baral. The Dwarven merchant takes a bead on a northern trail and leads the group into the desert once again. The rocky hills soon give way to golden sand dunes beneath the late winter sky.

Four hours later, they come upon the sight of their battle with Emerald Shade. The dragon's corpse has been thoroughly scavenged. All of its teeth have been removed, as have its claws and many of its larger scales. There is no sign of human bodies but dozens of footprints cover the sand with tracks leading both north into the desert and south toward the city.

Davaa lets out a slow whistle. "I have to say that I am both sorry and grateful that I missed this battle."

"Yeah, I don't know that my bow would have made much of a difference in the fight," adds Altan. "It’s a miracle that any of you survived, no offense intended."

Agnes shakes her head, "None taken. Phineas and I nearly didn't make it."

The gnome, by this point, has dismounted and is inspecting what remains of the body. He looks up. "Whoever was here after us harvested almost everything with any kind of metaphysical property. Did a good job of it, too. Some wizard or artificer somewhere is going to be able to make a good number of enchanted items with what they took, my boy."

Arthur looks off into the distance looking for any sign of a threat "I took a few scales before we left if you want them. But we shouldn't stay here too long just in case someone or something is watching the remains."

"Excellent point, my boy. Let us get this show on the road," Phineas replies.

Granite lifts himself a little higher on his howdah. He peers off the the northwest. A cerulean haze hangs in the air. "Loft is coming up. Wait until you see the blue sand - made from powdered sodalite, ground down by wind and rain over the years until it's nothing but a fine dust."

Davaa chuckles, "We call it the Valley of the Blue Sands. It is a sacred place, neutral ground where the tribes will sometimes meet to discuss matters of importance."

"And, any sound there is muffled, like the sand is absorbing it," Altan adds.

"All sand absorbs sound," Phineas interjects. "It is loosely packed while still being dense. The bowl shape of the valley just makes it more noticeable."

As predicted, the Valley of the Blue Sands comes into view. A small collection of tents is clustered at the eastern edge. Dozens of horses are visible as are the Khurs who own them. Davaa notes the banners of several different clans are present - the hawk symbol of the Weya-lu, the fox of the Hachakee, the bear of the Mikku, the Tondoon's bear sigil, the Fin-maskar's stag, and the tiger of Davaa and Altan's clan, the Mayakur. Given the number of tents and horses that are visible, there seems to be around fifty or so Khurs present.

Arthur looks out over at all the sigils. "Lets find a spot to set up our camp and get some food, try not to cause trouble while we are here," he chuckles. "We leave at dawn."

Davaa steers the party toward the tents surrounding the tiger flag. Their clansmen nod as the guide leads Arthur and the others into the Mayakur encampment. Unlike Altan and Davaa, these nomads are dressed in yellows and browns instead of blue, marking them as members of the northern clan. As the group rides in, one tent flap opens and a warrior clad in scale armor emerges. A long mustache frames his mouth and his hair is tied up in a bun. A jeweled sword is sheathed at his belt.

He laughs when he sees Altan and Davaa, "What? The great Batu Khan deigned to send some his people to this meet? I thought him content to quietly sit back while all of the other clans decide what to do about Sallah Khan and his Green Dragonarmy."

Davaa bows his head very slightly, "Khan Makree, I am only passing through and not here for the meet."

Makree scoffs and then looks at the rest of Davaa's group. "A Solamnic, an elf-maid, a dwarf, and a gnome? Strange company you keep." The northern Khan purses his lips, "Batu has a scheme of his own then?" He raises one hand, "Don't bother denying it. I won't press for details, just know that I know something more is going on."

Davaa bows his head in acknowledgement of Makree's conclusion but says nothing more. He then leads the group to an open spot at the far end of the camp where the group can set up their tents - one for Arthur and Agnes, one for Granite and Phineas, and a third for Altan and Davaa.

Arthur nudges his mount forward. "Davaa lets find a place to set up our tents and rest." The First Paladin of Malazzar waits for his companions to go past him before falling in at the back of the group. Once they find a suitable spot to set up the tents, Arthur will begin cooking dinner for the group while they rest. "Who was that man?" He asks Davaa.

Davaa spits on the ground. "That was Makree. He claims to be the 'Northern Khan' of my clan but he answers to Batu. He and Batu have long been rivals. My chief has a direct lineage to Prince Mayakur, son of the Great Khan Keja. Makree was, and still is, an untrustworthy snake who thinks he should lead. The warriors we see here are his followers."

Altan comes over, "I will prepare the meal, Arthur. You should not submit yourself to such work."

While the rest of the group establishes their camp, some of Makree's yellow-and-black clad warriors saunter toward the group. One of them takes a look at Phineas's Across-the-Plains-inator.

Arthur stands and puts himself between the warriors and his party. "What can I help you with?" He lets his hand rest at his side.

The Khur nudges one of his companions with an elbow. "What is that?" he asks.

The second warrior, taller and leaner with a carefully-groomed mustache looks at the device, "It's either a siege engine... or a cooking utensil."

Roars of laughter erupt from the six gathered warriors.

"Tell me, little one. Did your village throw you out or did it explode behind you?"

Phineas stands up and brushes his hands against his overalls. "Technically? Both, although the explosion was later classified as an 'enthusiastic but premature success' by the Board of Unintended Motion Studies and the Grand Oversight Subcommittee for Energetic Outcomes, Upwardly Aspirational Machinery, Temporary Ground Detachment, and Complimentary Tea-Warming Initiatives."

The warrior laughed. Phineas smiled sweetly. Granite was not amused. Neither was Arthur. The Lankhmarite stepped forward. "If you have no real business with us, I'm going ask you to go. And not harass my companions."

Granite also stepped up, boots digging into the blue sand. "That's enough."

The Khurs laughed even more loudly.

The tall speaker stepped forward. "That thing looks like it was put together by a goblin in a sandstorm."

Phineas smiled, raising one hand, indicating that his companions should wait, "I hadn't considered sandstorm assembly, my earnest doubter."

The Khur frowned, not sure if he was being insulted. "What does this thing do anyway?"

Arthur breathes slowly, steadying his heart rate and keeping a close eye on the six warriors.

Phineas smiles. "Ah, that should be relatively self-evident. It carries me across the earth below its feet with the speed of the finest mount. It never tires, never complains, and only occasionally needs feeding. Eventually, it will run across water without slowing and cross gaps in the ground as if running on solid land."

Just then, the Across-the-Plains-inator shoots a plume of steam into the air with a high-pitched whistle.

"Well... that's new. Fascinating!" Phineas claps with excitement.

"It makes smoke rings in the sky? the Khur asks.

Phineas continues to grin as he circles his machine. "For now!"

The tall warrior nods, "That is... impressive. Runs across water, you say?"

Phineas claps the horseman on the small of his back. "Indeed!"

The Khurs shift and begin drifting back to their tents and campfire, "Well, of it explodes, make sure it explodes in the direction of those hawk tents. It would do the Weya-lu some good."

"Absolutely my prematurely concerned associate," Phineas says with complete sincerity.

Arthur sits back down and grabs his water skin and takes a long swig. "So, Granite, anything we should be worried about in our travels over the next few days?"

The dwarf strokes his beard for a minute, his eyes take on a faraway look.

"Aye, my grandsire used to say ~ when the sand forgets your footprints, it remembers your bones."

He spits to one side and wipes his mouth with the back of one hand.

"There's desert. And then there's the Sands of Time. Those dunes aren't cursed, aren't bad luck, there a holy place dedicated to Nuitari, god of dark magic. Black Robes walk there without fear - others? Not so much. The sand shifts when there's no wind. Shadows stretch the wrong way at sunset. I've heard tell of folks seeing things - futures that haven't happened, mistakes they ain't made yet - and they go mad trying to prevent them. Depending on the phases of the moons, sand flows against the wind, forming mystic sigils in High Sorcery script. But, as long as we approach the tower at the center, the wizards will be polite enough."

He sighs and shifts in his seat.

"North of the Sands, there is an expanse of giant cacti. They be tall as watchtowers, thick as fortress walls, needles long as daggers and sharp enough to punch through boiled leather. You don't fight the plants, you pick your path. Slow. Careful. You can burn your way through but you'll attract every predator within a ten-mile radius. The Sands will test your mind. The cactus forest will test your patience. Both'll kill us if we aren't careful."

He taps his forehead with one finger, "The mountain wasn't carved in a day - but it remembers every drop that tried."

Arthur sits back and scratches his chin, "Dark magic, seeing the future, moon phases, cacti that can stab, and predators." He pinches the bridge of his nose. "It's gonna be a long couple of weeks, thank you for telling me all of this." He sips some water, his head beginning to hurt "I'll take first watch tonight."

"Aye, that's for certain. But, if all goes well, we'll be standing on the Cape of Nordmaar in just twenty-two days."

Arthur takes the first watch. He allows the flames of the cook fire to burn down to embers and dons the mystic goggles that allow him to see in darkness. Gradually, the entire camp, from the Weya-lu tents on one end to the Hachakee and Tondoon at the other falls silent except for the occasional whicker of horses and grumbling of guards.

Suddenly, there is a pained shriek coming from somewhere near the middle of the camp. The muted sounds of people running and shouting carries through the darkness. Barely discernable cries of "The Prince" carry faintly to his ears.

Arthur wakes Agnes and the others. "There was a shriek coming from the center of the camp and cries of 'the prince' who or whatever that may be. Ready yourselves in case we need to fight or flee." Arthur stands at the edge of the camp, the robes he bought covering his armor. He hides the silver dagger he got in the dungeon on his person and he readies himself.

Davaa frowns. "The prince..?" He looks at Altan. "You don't think..."

Altan shakes his head. "That Salah Khan would have sent his son to spy on this gathering? Yes, why wouldn't he?"

Agnes looks horrified. "What kind of monster would send their child into such a dangerous situation?"

Phineas shakes his head, "Certainly not a gnome, my lady."

"Standing here jawing isn't going to find the ore at the bottom of the mine shaft." Granite announces. "We should go see what we can find out."

Arthur slowly makes his way to the commotion, making sure his armor isn't poking out from his robe. The remainder of the group falls in behind him as they make their way toward the center of the camp. There, they discover a throng of tribesmen have gathered in front of a deep, maroon tent festooned with golden embroidery. As they watch, two warriors carry a bloody body from the tent. A third man walks behind them - this is tall and slender with a short, gray beard and is clad in a hooded black robe. A weasel, or perhaps an otter, rides draped across his shoulders. He stops at the tent's opening. "Prince Matarc is missing, his bodyguard has been killed, and this..." He holds up a necklace with a broken chain, "was found in the dead guard's hand - a necklace bearing the hawk totem of the Weya-lu!"

A murmur ripples through the crowd. Davaa and Altan both stiffen in shock. The cook shakes his head. "It’s not possible. The Weya-lu are renowned for their honor."

Davaa nods, "They are being framed, you think?"

The murmur ripples through the crowd. Weya-lu warriors grip their spears, grim expressions on their faces.

Davaa's eyes drift to the necklace glinting in the firelight. "The Weya-lu don't skulk in shadows. If they challenge, they do so beneath the sun."

Altan agrees, he crosses his arms inside his sleeves. "A vanished prince and a dead bodyguard? In the center of a camp? No. Someone is out for blood."

Agnes raises a hand to her mouth, confining her words to just the group. "A symbol left so plainly behind."

Granite nods, "If one is going to plant evidence, it is best to make sure it is found."

Phineas adjusts his goggles, "And found dramatically, I might add. Notice how the accusation comes before the investigation. Very tidy, my boy."

Davaa nods. "A bodyguard dies clutching the very emblem of his killers. Either the 'Weya-lu assassin' is the most incompetent killer in history or someone wants everyone else to think he is."

The hooded man's weasel -or otter- raises its head, its beady black eyes sweeping across the crowd. The wizard speaks, "Until the Prince is found, none shall leave this camp."

Agnes whispers, "If this is a frame, whoever is behind it wants blood before dawn."

Arthur covers his mouth so only the group can see and hear him. "Which clan or leader here would profit most from this? If not that, what if the prince set this up himself and is trying to turn the camp against each other and incite a civil war? If all them are gone, who would stand against the khan and the green dragon army?" He looks at the weasel a bit longer before looking around, "I wonder if the self-proclaimed "leader of the north" might know something." Arthur keeps looking for more clues that may point him in the right direction.

The paladin watches the crowd. The Weya-lu stand stunned. The Hachakee and Tondoon gather closer together - they don't look aggressive, but they seem ready for trouble.

And watchful.

Granite's eyes narrow. "Look," he mutters, voice low. The Tondoon warriors do not look surprised. Their outrage feels... rehearsed.

Davaa exhales slowly, thinking aloud, "The Tondoon have always been jealous of the Weya-lu's position at the Khan's side."

Altan nods, "And the Hachakee are their closest allies."

Phineas adjusts his goggles. "It’s plausible. Eliminate the prince, either by kidnapping or killing, point fingers at the trusted faction, and when the violence starts, step in to restore order."

Arthur continues to watch the weasel -or otter, whatever it is. Its black-robed master says nothing more, just watches as the crowd throws suspicious glares at the Weya-lu.

Davaa's voice drops, "If Prince Matarc lives, they can't have taken him far. Moving him would risk discovery."

"And if the prince is dead, the Weya-lu will pay the price," Altan adds.

Phineas removes his goggles and cleans the dust off of them. "Which means the Tondoon come out on top and gain Salah Khan's ear. The Hachakee gain favor by association."

Agnes's eyes drift to the wizard. "And the Black Robe?"

Phineas shrugs, "He makes sure the pieces all fall in place. He gets coin, influence, or maybe some magical items for his role in all of this."

Arthur watches the crowd. The Tondoon have moved closer to the Prince's tent. The Hachakee have repositioned themselves by the main camp paths. It looks like the two groups are subtly surrounding the factions.

Granite strokes his beard. "We need to find this kid, prove the Weya-lu are being framed, and expose the wizard's part in all of this."

Davaa nods, "But if we approach the Weya-lu, it looks like we are taking sides. Maybe we should talk to Makree."

All four of his companions look to Arthur.

Arthur whispers to Agnes, "I think maybe the wizard may have transformed the prince into that strange creature, but I can't be 100% sure. If there is a way for you to know, I'd appreciate it." He looks to the other three, "They are slowly surrounding the other factions. They are going to attempt something. I need to find Makree and talk to him and resolve this peacefully before blood os shed." He begins to scan for Makree in attempt to talk to him.

While Arthur looks around, Agnes whispers, "Cover me" and softly chants a quick spell and directs her gaze at the animal on the black-robed wizard's shoulders. Dozens of mystical auras appear before her eyes - enchantments on daggers, armor, belts, and rings. The wizard is a veritable rainbow of arcane patterns. She focuses on the animal. She notes a faint trail of energy binding it to its master - not the aura of a polymophed prince but that of a sorcerer's familiar.

Arthur manages to pick Makree out of the crowd. Unfortunately, he has made his way through the crowd and is standing with the Hachakee faction. Not at the edge, but in their midst, right behind a pair on Tondoon warriors. He isn't speaking but he is listening keenly, putting together what he sees so he knows who to curry favor with and who he can bully.

Granite snorts, "He's hitching an ore cart to a donkey. Thinks it's going to get him where he wants to go."

Davaa folds her arms across his chest and mutters, "He's try to get in good with the heirs apparent so his star can rise with theirs."

Altan's expression hardens, "Garner support so he can oust Batu."

Phineas shakes his head, "That one is ambitious, my boy. And by all appearances, he's comfortable with letting the prince's disappearance fuel his acsent."

Arthur whispers to Agnes, "Can your eyes pick up any other magic that may have been used to take the prince away?"

"No. Nothing of the sort." She pauses, "How old is this prince? Is he a child or has he grown to man?"

Altan looks to Davaa, "Ten? Maybe twelve?"

Davaa nods, "That sounds about right to me."

Arthur looks to the others, "My best bet is he may know something about what's going on. He he seems way too comfortable."

Granite shakes his head. "Bah, he wants them to think he knows what's going on, if ya ask me. He's playing court games while lives hang in the balance."

Arthur scratches his chin and thinks to himself, What would Romulus and Cedron do? Agnes, can you sense dragons near by?"

She arches a single delicate eyebrow. "If there is another dragon here and it is also in human form, I am at as much of a disadvantage as you are."

Davaa leans in slightly, "If a dragon were here openly, the horses would scream."

"But, one might not be far," Altan adds, his gaze drifting to Agnes.

Arthur's eyes flick in the direction of the horse lines, trying to piece together the puzzle.

"He had to have been hidden somewhere close, my boy," Phineas states. "They will need to reveal him when the time is right."

Granite grunts, "Live proof if it is convenient, a dead martyr if it's not."

"Granite, where would the best place to hide someone? It would have to close."

Arthur thinks, "Killing the prince would be worse than keeping hime alive. Keeping him alive gives them leverage that they would desperately need."

The dwarf looks around, taking in the entire tableau. "Close. Hidden in plain sight. Somewhere folk won't question. Someplace noisy..."

"The wagon?" Davaa gestures with his chin.

The group looks past the maroon tents to a cluster of supply carts, half-hidden by shadow. The cargo area is heaped with sacks of grain and furs.

Granite nods, "If I was hiding ore I didn't want taxed, I'd hide it where nobody would think to look - in the middle of legitimate cargo. Hide him under the furs or the hay bales, stash him in a water barrel with some air holes drilled in it. Something about it don't feel right though. We be missing something."

Agnes glances towards the wizard. "If this is staged, he will not expect trouble before his side spills first blood."

The Tondoon and Hachakee slowly circle closer to the Weya-lu. The Mayakur, led by Makree, begin drifting in as well.

The horses shift, whickering and stamping their feet. The blue sand dampens all sound. The prince cannot be heard.

But, he can be smelled.

Arthur closes his eyes and thinks, "sand...close... right time...."  He looks at the horses. "He's with the animals or carts, he has to be. It's close, the animals and sand will dampen any noise, and with how fast everything happened its logical." He takes a deep breath, "We need to move fast but careful." He looks at the wizard, then back to the carts. "We need to go now. Agnes, Granite, and Phineas, grab onto my arms and do not let go. Davaa, Altan... be ready for anything."

The two Khurs shift positions, Altan's hand rests lightly on the hilt of his saber. Davaa turns so he has a clean view of Makree and his new "friends" as well as giving himself room to draw his long blade should he need it.

Arthur concentrates, focusing on a shadowy spot behind the carts. Then he is there, teleported by the power of his helm.

Horses snort and whicker, startled by the group's sudden appearance in their midst. Agnes reaches out her hands to try to silence them but there are shouts of "who's there" and "show yourselves" coming from the front of the wagons.

"Phineas, Granite, hide." Arthur steps toward Agnes. "Play along. Make it really convincing." He kisses her deep trying to make it look like two people caught in the throes of passion. Once they come into view, Arthur pulls back slightly and turns to the guard  "I...uh... um... I'm so sorry... we..well, kinda got carried away... is there anyway we can finish... if you know what I mean?" He pulls out a small coin pouch and gives it a shake. The jingle of coins carries across the darkness.

The guard, a Khur clad in blue and white, frowns. "They just carried a dead man from that tent right there. What is wrong with you? Have you no respect for the dead? Or are you one of those Soul Takers of Chemosh?"

Phineas and Granite hit the dirt. The blue sand muffles the sound of their impacts. The pair low-crawl along the ground, moving slowly to avoid stirring up dust. After slithering along close to twenty feet, Granite raises one hand, signaling a halt.

He points, "Look, other side of the ditch."

Phineas squints, looking in the direction Granite points. "I'm sorry, my Subterranean Cohort, I don't..." Phineas' words catch in his throat as his eyes come to rest on a shallow depression only a few paces away. Blue sand dusts the boards covering the hole, making it look almost natural. But not natural enough to fool a dwarf.

Granite huffs, "Crude work, fast job, dug tonight." He looks over his shoulder, "Go back. Fetch the knight and his lady. I'm heading over there."

Arthur continues to try keeping the guard distracted. "No, not a soul taker just someone who got too excited about having his first time with a woman and..." He tapers off, "I'm willing to pay if you can keep this between us..."

The guard frowns, "First time with a woman?" He raises his torch to get a better look at Arthur and sees the scars left on his face during Lankhmar's Rat Uprising so many years ago. "No way. You look to be damn near thirty. Tell me what's really going on, right now, or I'm sounding the alarm."

Just then Phineas crawls up and "pssts..." at Arthur. The blue sand muffles the noise but Agnes sees the gnome and pulls her cloak tighter around herself, doing her best to look embarrassed instead of alarmed.

Agnes murmurs, "Spirits above, can we not discuss this with the whole camp listening?" She slides an arm around Arthur's waist, "We were trying to find somewhere quiet. The camp is crowded and we thought the wagons..."

Several yards away, Granite has managed to reach the boards. From someone built like a boulder, he moves with surprising care, slipping past the horses without alarming them. He carefully brushes sand away from the boards, exposing the edges of the planks. As he works, a faint whimper reaches his ears.

The guard however is still staring at Arthur. "Last chance," he says, "Who are you really and why are you hiding behind the prince's tent while the camp is ready to tear itself apart?"

Arthur approaches the guard and speaks in a hushed tone so only the guard can hear. " Because something isn't right about this whole set up and I think the prince is still alive. If he is, this is the only place they could have brought him in such a short amount of time. I'm trying to prevent a civil war because I've seen too much damn bloodshed already. Now, will you let me try and rescue the prince or not?" Arthur looks at him man to man hoping his conviction reaches him. He looks to the ground, "Please...let me rescue him," he begs one last time.

The guard frowns, "Your first story was better."

Voices begin shouting on the far side of the tent.

The guard stares hard at the paladin. "Ugh, show me."

Arthur turns around, looks to Agnes and nods. "Let's get this over with and stop a civil war."

The three fall in behind Phineas. The gnome leads them along the ditch, shooing horses out of the way. The guard follows at the back of the group, his torch held low to keep from drawing attention casts long shadows along the blue sand.

When they reach Granite, they find him crouched beside the planks. His thick fingers dig around the edges of the wood. He glances over his shoulder, "Found yer mine."

The dwarf pulls on the boards, lifting them away and exposing a hollow beneath. Below, a small form lies bound hand and foot. A gag cuts off his cries, and dark blood has soaked through the cloth at his temple where someone struck him. The boy’s wide, terrified eyes blink up at the sudden torchlight.

The guard goes completely still. "... by the ancestors..."

Phineas pulls the gag free. The boy gasps for air.

“I—I didn’t do anything!” the prince blurts hoarsely. “They grabbed me! The man with the black animal—he—”

Granite reaches down and lifts the boy from the hollow.

The guard straightens, shock turning into cold anger.

“They were going to kill him,” he says quietly.

Behind them the shouting near the maroon tent suddenly spikes and a voice roars:
“Seize the Weya-lu! For the prince!”

Phineas dusts sand off his sleeves and mutters, “Well, my boy… dramatic timing.”

The guard looks at Arthur. “What now?”

Arthur grabs the prince. "The wizard did this. Granite, Phineas, Agnes, run for Davaa and Altan! You! Guard! Grab me and don't let go! NOW!" He teleports the three of them to the prince's tent. The roar of the camp falters.

Spears half-raised.

Warriors mid-shout.

For a heartbeat the entire camp simply stares.

The prince’s bloodied face is unmistakable.

Gasps ripple through the gathered tribes.

“The prince—”

“He lives—”

“Impossible—”

Arthur’s voice cuts through the chaos like a blade.

Arthur appears in a flash of shadow and torchlight in front of the maroon tent, the guard still gripping his arm, the prince clutched against him.

For a heartbeat the entire camp simply stares. The roar of the camp falters. Spears half-raised. Warriors mid-shout.

The prince’s bloodied face is unmistakable.
Gasps ripple through the gathered tribes.

“The prince—”
“He lives—”
“Impossible—”

Arthur’s voice cuts through the chaos like a blade.

“EVERYONE STOP! THE PRINCE IS ALIVE!”
The divine radiance flaring around him throws stark shadows across the sand.

The glow catches the gold embroidery of the tent and glints off spearheads all around the circle.

Warriors hesitate.

A Weya-lu spear slowly lowers.

The boy clings to Arthur’s cloak, shaking, but alive for all to see.

Arthur’s hand rests on Lawbringer.

“PUT DOWN YOUR WEAPONS! THEY HAD NOTHING TO DO WITH THIS!”

His voice carries with the force of command, amplified by righteous fury.

“The prince said it was the wizard!”

All eyes turn.

Across the firelit clearing, the tall figure in black stands perfectly still. The hooded wizard’s familiar lifts its head, tiny black eyes gleaming in the light.

For a moment there is silence so deep the crackle of cookfires seems thunderous.

Then the prince finds his voice, raw and hoarse.

“He took me!” the boy cries. “The man with the black animal—he grabbed me and buried me—!”

The murmur becomes a wave.

Tondoon warriors glance uneasily toward the wizard.

Hachakee spears shift.

Makree’s expression freezes as calculations race behind his eyes.

The guard beside Arthur tightens his grip on the paladin’s arm, staring at the wizard with dawning realization.

“That’s him,” the prince whispers again.

The familiar suddenly arches its back and hisses like a blade drawn across stone.

The wizard slowly lifts his hands. His voice is calm, almost amused.

“So,” he says softly, the words carrying strangely well across the camp. “The knight has ruined a very delicate arrangement.”

The torches flicker.

The air around him shimmers with gathering arcane power. Several tribesmen instinctively step back.

The wizard’s gaze settles directly on Arthur.
“You should have minded your own business.”

Then he speaks a single sharp word in the language of magic. The ground beside him erupts. Inky black tentacles burst from the earth, lashing and writhing as warriors shout and leap away.

"Take the prince now!" Arthur draws Lawbringer. The blade erupts in holy radiance, silver-white light cutting through the smoky torch glow. The air hums with divine power as Arthur raises his shield and steps forward.

“I guess I'm good at one thing at least.”

His boots crunch into the blue sand as he points the glowing sword directly at the wizard.

"Makree, are you with me? If you're not, at least keep people off me while I deal with this damn mess.”

Makree hesitates only a fraction of a second. The ambitious man looks from the terrified prince… to the shifting tribes… to the black-robed wizard… then finally to Arthur glowing like a living beacon. The would-be Khan lifts his voice. “Hold the lines! No one interferes!”

Across the clearing the wizard tilts his head. His familiar curls tighter around his shoulders. “Ah,” the wizard murmurs. “So the knight chooses martyrdom.”

A tense quiet falls over the camp, broken only by the sound of tentacles slapping and scraping against the ground.

Arthur steps forward, his halo blazing against the night sky. Lawbringer erupts in flame, shedding silver light throughout the camp.

His voice carries across the entire camp.
“I choose to prevent a civil war between the clans that have gathered here.”

Warriors who moments ago were ready to kill each other now watch.

Weyalu...Hachakee...Tondoon...Mayakur...Mikku...Fin-maskar...

All eyes turn to the glowing paladin standing alone before the Black Robe.

“I choose to defend those in need.”

Arthur takes another step forward and raises his shield.

“I may not be one of you. I may not be from here. But that means nothing.”

The divine aura around him flares brighter still, washing the maroon tent and the surrounding warriors in warm gold light.

“I choose justice.”

Davaa and Altan fall in on either side of Arthur, weapons bared and ready. Granite runs up, breathing heavy from running all of the way from the wagons, and takes his place.

Agnes’ silver eyes glow faintly as ancient power stirs beneath her human form.

Phineas frantically winds a mechanism on one of his strange devices.

Arthur inhales deeply, motions toward the crowd.“I choose to fight for them.”

The Black Robe studies Arthur with a new expression... Interest.

“Well,” the wizard says softly.
“That explains why the gods chose you.”

His otter hisses.
The wizard lifts his hands again, dark magic swirling around his fingers.

“But you misunderstand something, paladin.”

The air grows colder.
“Justice…”

The sand around him begins to crack and darken.

“…is rarely decided by speeches.”

A silent calm falls over Arthur as his warrior side comes out. He spesks a single word, "Die" and vanishes, whisked away by his magical helmet one last time. He reappears in mid-air and drops toward the spot where the wizard was only to find himself enveloped in a thick cloud of fog.

Lawbringer, instead of cutting through the gloom, the light rebounds toward him. It's like staring into the lanterns of a carriage on Lankhmar's fog-choked streets. The glowing blade, as well as Arthur’s nimbus of light, turn the fog silver and red and orange. It's a swirling wall of red and silver glare.

Voices outside shout, "Where did he go?" and "Does anybody see him?"

Arthur willfully dims his nimbus of light and, invoking his shield and flying upwards to get out of the fog. "Playing tricks like a coward, I see."

The tribesmen begin searching the camp. Arthur floats above the cloud, watching its edges to see if the mage tries slipping away to safety. All of his companions surround the prince, forming a defensive perimeter around the young royal. Granite stood unmoving like the stone he was named for. Altan and Davaa stood back to back with the prince in between them. Phineas kept slowly turning knobs and making adjustments on his Shock N' Awe-atron, ready to turn it on anyone who dared get close. Agnes sat with the prince, gently speaking to him and telling him that all will be fine soon.

After close to one-and-a-half hours, the fog cloud dissipates, revealing no sign of the wizard. Tents are searched, trunks opened, the horse line checked, wagons inspected. Lanterns move continuously through the camp, casting light into every shadow.

Once the spell ends, a Khur dressed in a crimson and black deel and wearing a fur hat strides forward with the authority of someone used to being obeyed. His boots crunch sharply in the blue sand. A dozen warriors dressed in the same colors follow behind him in tight formation.

Their presence quiets nearby conversations. This is someone important. The Khur stops a few paces from Arthur and studies him with a long, hard stare. His scowl is unmistakable.

“You.”

His voice carries easily across the gathered warriors.

“You are the outsider who shouted down half this camp. You revealed a kidnapping. You accused a wizard of treachery. You nearly started a battle between tribes.”

The man folds his arms inside his sleeves, posture rigid. He steps closer, the warriors behind him spread slightly, not threatening—but unmistakably forming a presence.
The Khur’s gaze narrows.

“So I will ask you plainly, stranger. Why did you involve yourself in this mess?”

The camp grows very quiet again.

Dozens of warriors watch Arthur closely.