Rictor finished preparing his trap and left a spell of alarm to notify him if it was sprung, then reached up with two fingers to send a keening whistle through the night sky. Not too many minutes later heavy wing beats filled the air and Alsebet glided in for a landing close to him. She tossed down a desert fox at his feet and then began to strut and preen, puffing out her wings and tossing her head.

Rictor rolled his eyes and scratched her down while he dressed the morsel and fed it to her.

"Diva." He accused affectionately.

Soon they were aloft and winging towards blood rise rock. He expected to overtake Qvan and the others quickly but the old wizard must have flown like the Inner Sea tradewinds were beneath his wings, because they didn't overtake the others until they were nearly at their destination.

As screams and sounds of conflict filled the air Rictor swooped close to the others and shouted over the roaring winds.

"I'm going in for a closer look!"

He leaned in over Alsebet's neck and whispered to her as she pinned her wings back into a deep dive, hurtling towards the melee at breakneck speeds. His mid raced.

They knew that the Oblivion Keys corrupted and twisted the spaces around them and attracted all manner of evil to their resting places. Sayid had also mentioned that the Shroud of Flies interred at Blood Rise Rock had attracted Lamashtan cultists who called the cursed location their home. Rictor truly had no idea what could be happening below but he thought it most likely that whoever was defending were cultists under the sway of the Shroud, and whoever was attacking was at least not affiliated with that particular knot of evil.

That didn't necessarily make them allies, they were most likely cronies of the Jackal Prince, but it could at least give some context to the battle below.

"Speed, sister, speed." He whispered to Alsebet as he rocketed closer.

---

Flying in and trying to scope out the battle. Key points to check out:

Do either the suli or the giants look like they're defending the rock?
Do I see anyone using non-elemental magic? I'm assuming the suli are doing their <element> bender thing, but do I see, like, skeletons or ray beams or anything?
Does either side seem to have a general or a leader?
Is either side accompanied by any non-giant or non-sulis? Does one side have a pack of jackals or demons or something assisting them?

Got a 48 on perception

OOC: Based on a quick aerial survey of the battlefield, Rictor gleaned the following details:

Neither group seems to be defending Blood Rise Rock, it is more a skirmish about who might gain access to it first.

No other spellcasters appears to be present among the two warring tribes, the only magic that is used is the innate elemental-based one of the many suli.

Both sides have a clear and easily-identifiable leader. A female desert giant called Sakargo in hide armor, wielding a steel shield and a scimitar on one side, and a female suli called Maralet in a steel lamellar, wielding two short spears on the other.

Neither group has other allies fighting alongside them, nor are their any other creatures at all in the vicinity, with the exception of the fleeing humanoids.

 Qvan sped forward and descended towards the battlefield. It was difficult to understand what was going on, but he offered his commentary in a low voice of rumbling thunder:
  "Giants battling Suli... potentially for the control of Blood Rise Rock?"

 He had not yet spotted the leaders on either side. The terrifying view of a Gold Dragon, with its characteristic V-shape wingspan, started to have an effect of the battlefield. This view generally inspired awe and instilled the fear of a ravaging apocalypse of fire among the soldiers. Even those who knew fire would cower before the furnace of a huge gold dragon fire breath...

 But the real danger came not from the righteous fire in this case, rather from the magic wielded by the wizard.

 With a few well honed gestures and a magical incantation bellowed from above, Qvan used a spell he had learnt from the famous Old Man Jatembe himself, when they briefly journeyed together some twenty years prior.

 Immediately, the seemingly arid and barren desert soil started to sprout twigs and herbs, which soon turned into gargantuan vines and trees, rendering the whole area overgrown, grappling with colossal strength all evildoers in an vast area over two-hundred feet across, bringing structures to the ground, but leaving non-evil creatures unharmed.

 With a bit of luck, the old wizard thought, no one would be inherently evil on the battlefield, and they would learn to proceed with even more caution...

---

Frightful presence to 180ft, will DC30 or shaken, or panicked if under 4HD (those with more than 18HD are immune)

Cast Jatembe's Ire: https://aonprd.com/SpellDispla...me=Jatembe%27s%20Ire

The violent conflict between the small army of suli and the few towering giants ceased almost immediately as soon as Qvan's magic takes hold of the area. Some combatants spotted the intimidating form of the gold dragon soaring closer at tremendous speed, but their shouts of warning were lost in the overall noise of clashing blades, exploding sand and the cries of the injured.

But, even if you are not aware of a dragon, its frightful presence was still strong enough to affect you, forcing your survival instinct to kick in and seek shelter from its devastating wrath. No member of the two tribes was panicking at the mighty roar that Qvan let loose as he sailed over their heads, speaking to their willpower and overall experience, but all seemed to be hesitating, unsure what this new development would mean.

Then, the sands burst open in a vast area, covering everyone in never-seen before greenery, making it hard to move, much less fight among the countless vines and trees. A second pass over the heads of the two groups confirmed the wizard's hopes. With the exception of a handful individuals on each side, his spell didn't attack anyone, including the two female leaders.

Zhira looked down at Qvan's display of power with appreciation, then asked to the group at large:

"Well, it seems like some reasonable compromise wouldn't be impossible to reach, if nothing else. Do any of you feel confident enough to have a talk with these people and see what's going on? I will admit, calming people down with words isn't really a specialty of mine."

Rictor swooped low on Alsbet, wracking his brain to remember the lessons that Qvan had taught him so long ago. He had never been a studious lad, finding any excuse to duck out of the old wizard's lessons to go climbing or exploring in the dunes around the academy, but when he did remember this particular spell the import made him draw reign sharply.

Alsbet pulled up with a reproachful squawk and tossed her head haughtily as the ranger patted her flank and guided her in for a landing.

He was in Zhira's boat, his training as a statesman had only lasted until he had been exiled as a child, but there was one simple expedient that ruled this particular moment. In order for any one else to talk sense into the warring bands a huge, terrifying dragon would have to land in their midst.

Rictor just happened to be the only one on his own mount.

He picked a spot between the two groups but within the circle of the spell. It was a slim hope, but if they recognized the spell just as he did then seeing its lack of effect on him may save his hide long enough to get a word or two out. He leapt from Alsbet's back and immediately sent her aloft to circle out of harm's way.

His hands stayed from his weapons, empty as he held them up in a placating gesture.

"Cease this petty conflict! I have come to treat with you!" He shouted, giving his voice as booming a quality as he could.

---

21 on diplomacy, for what it's worth.

Where before there had been the violent chaos of a large scale battle, was now the stunned silence of confusion and uncertainty. Both suli and desert giants were completely taken aback by the sudden appearance of grasping vines and towering trees, many of them having never seen that much lush vegetation in one place. Curios fingers grasped fresh leaves, wide eyes followed the still growing plants and shrubs up to the blue sky.

Some of the more cautious warriors of both tribes still held weapons at the ready, trying to keep the overgrown surroundings in view for any threats that might now lurk amid the underbrush. Others relaxed, noticing that the fighting had stopped and tried to figure out what was going on, talking with each other in hushed tones. The words 'Great Scarab' and 'holy savior' could be heard from the lips of several individuals. A few combatants with evil in their hearts still struggled against their new bonds, but allies already came rushing in to help them be free of nature's shackles.

As Rictor arrived and proclaimed his words, demanding an end to the strife, heads turned his way, everyone who was close enough to actually be able to see the prince through the new forest regarded him with a mix of suspicion and piqued interest. Eventually, the two leaders of each group had made their way through the greenery and flanked Rictor. Sakargo rested her gouged steel shield on the ground, leaning forward to look down on the man, Maralet thrusting both spears into the sand and crossing her arms while taking in the measure of the newcomer.

Almost simultaneously they asked, "And who might you be, stranger?"

Rictor bowed low, first to one, and then to the other.

"I am Rictor, sometimes called the Wrymbane. My companions and I have come from the south on an errand of some urgency. We seek a powerful and dangerous item held in the shrine here. A dark plague threatens the human towns to the south, but the nature of this malady cannot be contained by mortal hands. It will surely spread if it is not stopped, and will threaten all of Katapesh with destruction."

He looked between the two fierce warrior women, craning somewhat to meet Sakargo's eyes.

"I am a stranger here, and I know not the cause of your quarrel. But this threat must be faced by all of the people of Katapesh, lest all face a wasting death. An you love your land and your peoples, I charge you to let us pass."

 Qvan hope that at this point, his lack of ill intentions had become clear. Those along the warriors who recognised thee good dragon would tell the others that they are benevolent and usually peacemongers. With caution he come closer to the ground, and landed just a dozen feet from Rictor. To avoid confusing matters further, he decided against changing shape right now, in the darkness of the evening. Instead he let Aryk, Vahid, and Zhira dismount, and sat like a vigilant statue. Hands between his feet, wings propped up like two masts, long tail wrapped around him, and wizened head held high like a slightly unsettling beacon some fifteen feet above the ground.

He did not wish to steal the thunder when it came to diplomacy, so he simply said to the two leaders at once:
  “For the sake of all Life in our beautiful Meraz, listen to the man.”

His choice of word subtly furthered the notion that he was not human himself, suggesting that the prince had the backing of a huge gold dragon.
This message was last edited by the player at 19:09, Fri 09 Oct 2020.

Both leaders glanced past Rictor at the golden dragon coming to a rest behind the ranger, as if backing him up with its impressive presence. As if they hadn't been already quite impressed with the powerful magic that had to be involved in creating this change in scenery, the obvious cooperation between the human and an old dragon was another reason to regard Rictor with respect.

Maralet was the first to speak, nodding at Qvan with a raised eyebrow, "Wyrmbane is your name, or title, but you travel with one of their kind? Sounds like a contradiction to me, but that might be a story for another time." She sighed and looked to west at her next words. "My name is Maralet, leader of the Stormrider tribe. We have already heard of this curse, slowly but surely afflicting our neighbor tribes in the past couple of weeks, even though we have been spared so far." She turned her attention back to Rictor, then jutted a thumb at the altar behind her. "We came here to seek the blessing of the Great Scarab, hoping it would keep us from becoming infected. But then we ran into these big oafs there," she grumbled with a flash of anger and a vicious look at the giant.

Sakargo scoffed at the insult, shaking her veiled head in disgust. "Bah, it is not you alone who is in need of assistance, little one. We require aid of the Great Scarab as well and his divine power cannot be wasted on your tribe!" She turned to Rictor and Qvan, bowed deeply and made a peaceful gesture. "I am called Sakargo, leader of the Spiral Winds. My people and I live near the ruins of Shadun and have suffered great losses by the increasingly aggressive gnoll tribe that has made it their lair. We have heard that the Great Scarab can cure those afflicted and has other powers at his disposal. Some even say he is a living god! We only come here to request his patronage in our ongoing conflict with the filthy creatures and hope that we can wipe them out with him on our side."

She briefly glanced back over her shoulder at the high platform where the altar stood, then shook her head. "But I have not heard of any 'powerful and dangerous item' at Blood Rise Rock." "And neither have I," Maralet interjected with a suspicious look. Sakargo held up one hand in a placating motion, "But maybe the Great Scarab knows what you are talking about. I would be willing to allow you, Rictor Wyrmbane, and your companions to accompany me up to the altar. As long as this one and her followers stay out of this!"

Maralet growled in rising fury and she grabbed both spears, ripping them out of the ground with a forceful motion. "Oh no you won't! Over my dead body! The Stormriders will be the only tribe to get an audience with the scarab! I don't care what you want to do here, Wyrmbane, but they will not reach the top of the rise!"

Zhira frowned at the discussion, then asked, sounding genuinely curious:

"Is there any particular reason why you can't both go, and ask for the blessing together?"

Aryk raised an eyebrow at their squabbling and had to smirk a little as Zhira cut right through their pigshit.

"Indeed.  Is it your belief, Honorable Maralet and Honorable Sakargo, that you have put the hopes of your tribes upon a being only powerful enough to aid one group?"

He of course kept his hand from his sword for the moment; especially as it wasn't necessarily required for him to defend to party if necessary.  That said, both factions, at least for the moment, seemed to bear no particular ill-will towards the group, mostly in part he guessed due to the 'dragon' lurking behind them.

---

Knowledge: Religion Check - 27 = 1d20 (16) + 11; as to the Great Scarab

While Maralet ignored Zhira's question, still up in arms about the giant's words and only barely containing her seething anger, Sakargo briefly inclined her head towards the other woman in formal greeting. "Based on the reports we have heard so far about the Great Scarab, he only grants his blessing to a selected few each day. Maybe it is because his power isn't limitless, or maybe not everyone is deserving of this honor, I cannot say."

Glancing back at the suli, Sakargo shook her head and said in a derisive tone, "Whatever the reason might be, I will not let what could be our only chance at survival slip through my fingers because I let her go first! If the Great Scarab is generous enough to also help them after agreeing to my request, then so be it. But I want assurances first, the lives of my people depend on it!"

Maralet gritted her teeth in an aggressive smile and got into a fighting stance. "My thoughts exactly, weakling! I will not be responsible for the destruction of my tribe through this curse, not if there is a way to safe them by being granted his blessing. Go and fight your own battles, you coward! Can't even take care of some measly gnolls...pathetic."

This in turn greatly angered the leader of the desert giants as well, and Sakargo lifted her heavy shield up from the ground once more and raised the blade...

Zhira quickly took a few steps forwards, moving with the swiftness of a desert wind as she always did, so she was in-between the two of them before conflict could start again.

"I think going together to hear from the holy man himself what the limitations are would be wiser; if truly only a small group can be treated daily, knowing the size of such a group should take precedence over deciding the order. After all, maybe the possibility of healing for today is already exhausted, or perhaps the healer would refuse service to those who shed blood on their doorstep. Gathering information first, and acting later, seems the best policy to me."

Then she grinned, placing a hand on the sword at her side, as she added:

"Of course, I always enjoy a good brawl, and I'd be really curious to see who would win out of the three of us; if you prefer that way of making a decision, I'd happily see to use it so you both agree with me. So if you start something, I'll gladly end it."

She paused, then added, turning toward Rictor and Qvan:

"Well, so long as my traveling companions agree, of course - I wouldn't want to assume I can decide on their behalf."

Qvan currently looks something like this:


 Qvan sat at the back, a silent and vigilant statue of gold. Despite the ambient darkness, his scales shimmered in the flickering light of torches and magical sources, even the faint moonlight reflecting on his wing spines pointed to the skies. He listened with intent, though his draconic pupils eyed the "Great Scarab" and the altar, wondering what exactly it was that lay up on the platform. Human? Djinn? Something else entirely? More importantly, he wondered if it was here due to the Oblivion Key, or a mere correlation without causation.

 Snapping out of his rêverie as Zhira made her proposal for a three-way battle royal to resolve the issue, his low rumble of a voice exploded:  "Listen to yourselves!"
  "Two tribes, both alike in dignity, both children of the Desert, in Blood Rise Rock where we lay our scene... you would rather kill each other than work together!" he scolded both captains, not sure if they were leaders in battle only or also the head of their respective tribes.

 "The Grim Reaper is resourceful enough, she needs not you wielding the scythe for her!" he lyrically quoted a bard of old.

 With a surprisingly calm composure, he looked the two women in turn, and proposed:
 "Chose an envoy to walk with one of us to the 'Great Scarab'. We seek not his blessing, but can be the arbiter of your feud."
 "And if after that, fight you must, spare the blood of your people. Designate your champions and let them to the fighting."

 With a casual nod to their favourite dervish, he added:
  "If this is the way... Lieutenant Al-Darea will he our champion."

---

Qvan Ibn Hamid rolled 45 using 1d20+32.  diplomacy: make request
 https://www.d20pfsrd.com/skills/diplomacy/
 determining DC for diplomacy is complex, but 45 should get us somewhere, even if they were unfriendly to begin with.

 Also, who is this Great Scarab? I wasn't sure which lore/knowledge applied, so I rolled a few:
Qvan Ibn Hamid rolled 31 using 1d20+18.  Know History: Great Scarab.
Qvan Ibn Hamid rolled 39 using 1d20+34.  Know Planes: Great Scarab.
Qvan Ibn Hamid rolled 56 using 1d20+40.  Know Arcana: Great Scarab.
Qvan Ibn Hamid rolled 24 using 1d20+16.  Lore Politics Qadira: Great Scarab.
Qvan Ibn Hamid rolled 22 using 1d20+16.  Lore Meraz Desert: Great Scarab.

Rictor glanced between the two warrior women, the three warrior women in truth, and wondered if they had the time to spare for Zhira to give them a good thrashing. It might resolve the issue quikcly, in the space of a few moments. But win or lose, it might evaporate even the minor good will preventing the bloodbath from resuming.

All he could do was lend his assistance to Qvan in convincing them that fighting was not the way.

"Aye, accompany us, and we will see that you are both justly treated. I have an infallible method of determining who should visit the sage first, should his resources be limited, and if you will but step into the shrine with me I will make it available to you."

With a bow to the great golden form of Qvan and to both tribal leaders he brushed past them quickly, marching directly through the battle towards the shrine. It might restart hostilities at once, but Rictor's hope was to draw both leaders after him. Follow me or be left behind.

As soon as Zhira stepped between the two rivals to prevent them from reigniting the conflict, both hesitated, weapons raised and poised to finish the attack motion. They listened, eyes gleaming with battle lust, and both honestly considered her proposal of settling this argument in a three-way fight between them. But, judging by the clear lack of confidence in their expression, it was obvious that neither believed she could win. Maralet and Sakargo had earned a fair share of battle experience during their lifetime and both realized that Zhira was in a league of her own.

As Qvan then started to speak as well, chiding them for their reckless behavior, both lowered their weapons again and took a step back, turning in reverence to the dragon sitting close by, gaze lowered to the ground. After the short speech was over, they continued to study the sands at their feet for several moments longer, pondering his wise words. Eventually, both raised their heads once more, faced each other and each gave a curt nod in agreement. "I choose myself, Maralet, leader of the Stormriders to be the champion of our tribe," the suli proclaimed loudly, one spear raised high over her head. Cheers rang out from all around, answering this choice.

With a sneer, the desert giant responded in kind, "And I choose myself, Sakargo, leader of the Spiral Winds to be the champion of our tribe!" She didn't shout as her rival did, but uttered the words with confidence and loud enough for the closer giants to witness. She then gave Qvan a hard look as she said, "I am glad to hear that you haven't come for a blessing as well, otherwise we might had to fight you as well, dragon. Go on then, lead us up to the altar so that we may speak with the divine one!"

As Rictor briskly walked past the three women, both Maralet and Sakargo were briefly taken aback at the somewhat confusing change of leadership of the newly arrived party, but quickly followed the prince up the stone steps. Built atop a rocky outcropping carved into the belly, bosom, and torso of the enormous pregnant figure representing Lamashtu, the altar and brazier of this shrine showed untold years of erosion and dark stains. In front of the rock wall behind the altar stood three human men, armored in dark horn lamellar and wielding a gleaming short sword at their side, arms crossed over their chest. As Rictor climbed the stairs to the top, one of them raised a hand in a gesture for him to stop and said in a clear, demanding voice, "Return at dawn, seeker! The Great Scarab will return then and hear your pleas."

As they arose through the stairs circling that twisted edifice Rictor suppressed a shudder. The warrior tribes would find no blessings here, only curses incubated in the womb of the Mother of Monsters. He hoped that they would see reason, that he would have a chance to counsel them to abandon their quest.

And yet, his own errand was too urgent to risk its success by diverting attention to the warring tribes. They must obtain a way to seal the Jackal Prince, or be lost with the rest of Katapesh.

He stopped short when confronted by the guardians. Sayid had warned them of the Lamashtan cultists infesting the Rock. Rictor's hand strayed towards his sword but he fought down the surge of anger that welled in him at being stymied. If he was seen to attack the tainted oracle that the tribeswomen had come to contact then he and his companions could have a three way battle on their hands, caught between the cultists and the supplicants.

Instead he wracked his brain for what they knew of the Rock itself. Only that the Shroud of Flies was said to be interred here, and that it had attracted Lamashtan cultists. Was this Great Scarab the high priest of their order? Was he a scion of the daemon trapped in the Shroud? Did he commune with it? Or were the cultists attracted to the well of dark power only, unaware of the nature of their relic?

If they were unaware then they would have to penetrate the cult's layers of protection, by supplication or by the sword. But if they did know the nature of the being that they served then perhaps a faster route to the goal was available.

Rictor chose his words carefully, couching them so that if the three guardians were initiated to the secrets of Blood Rise Rock they would understand that Rictor's party had information that their master would desire, but if they were not his words would simply be cryptic, without revealing his hand.

"We are not supplicants, come to beg a boon from the Great Scarab. We have come to grant the Great Scarab a boon in turn, if he can offer something of equal value to my master." He turned with a deep bow and indicated the massive, golden form of Qvan.

"We have word of an ancient enemy of the Shroud, a hungry Prince whose touch even now begins to eclipse the power of your patron."
This message was last edited by the player at 19:54, Mon 12 Oct 2020.

The three men reacted quite differently to Rictor's words. One looked rather startled and uncertain what to make of this offer, another grumbled in return and took half a step towards the ranger with a suspicious expression, while the last simply raised one eyebrow at this surprising turn of events. After a long moment, all three shared a glance, with shrugs and shakes of the head as the only result.

Finally, one guard, hand stroking his bristling black beard, addressed Rictor directly. "So you mean to say that you are a servant of the Ravenous Prince, yes, stranger? Indeed?" He chuckled amused, then frowned as his mood quickly darkened, pointing at the magnificent form of the golden dragon. "I saw you down there. Consorting with metallic dragons, are we? Not something I would have expected from a faithful servant of Him."

As one all three men drew their swords and got into a fighting stance, shielding their backs against the rock wall, forming a semi-circle against these potential enemies. "Now, no more lies! You best tell us what you want here, or things will get ugly," the speaker rumbled in an angry voice, though clearly not as confident of their fighting chances as his words made it out to be.

At this, both Maralet and Sakargo stepped forward, hands reached out to stop any immediate confrontation. The desert giant even went as far as to sink on her knees and lower her head deferentially. "Please, do not see us as allies of those strangers. We have come here to ask the favor of the Great Scarab, nothing else. If this means we need to wait until dawn, so be it. But don't let our plight be answered with silence or denial simply because we stand here alongside this man."

The suli nodded, though she didn't debase herself by kneeling. "Indeed, listen to the tall one. Even though I find the thought abhorrent to wait several hours more while being so close to this coward, if this is what it takes to get an audience with the Scarab, then I will have to agree." She then turned to Rictor and give him an angry glare, hissing, "You better not make trouble here, Wyrmbane. I might respect your prowess and that of your companions, but I will go to extrem lengths to save my people from this curse. Do not lessen our chances with this foolish babbling!"

 Qvan trusted that Aryk and Vahid were capable enough to do some crowd control, if it were to become needed. He thus kept his attention on what was happening high up on the altar. He listened intently, and used the message spell to contact Rictor.
  "That Great Scarab has to be a charlatan, and somehow linked to the Curse. Three months ago he did not exist as far as I know, and I know enough."

 From down below, the magician in dragon shape could not do much to progress the conversation, and kept a vigilant guard.
  "If help is needed, say so and I will bring us to you."

 He made sure to keep his three companions with his long arms' reach.

---

Perception 47, with Darkvision and Arcane Sight to 120ft, Blindsense to 60ft
This message was last edited by the player at 20:00, Tue 13 Oct 2020.

Rictor heard the words that Qvan whispered in his ear. A charlatan? His mind churned, working through possibilities.

Had the Jackal Prince exerted his power here, at Blood Rise Rock? Possibly in an attempt to cut off his rival Oblivion Lord?

Or was the daemon imprisoned in the Shroud of Flies breaking free of his prison as well, and manifesting as the Scarab?

He eyed the three as they bared steel. Was their hostile reaction because he intimated he might be a servant of the Jackal? Or did his arrival with Qvan's monstrous form engender suspicion because they were servants of the Jackal and suspected that he wasn't?

Either way, he had the sinking suspicion that they would leave him no choice but to cut his way through them.

Rictor wasn't above dissembling to accomplish his aim, if the cause was just. But the taste of lies was like bile in the back of his throat. Who controlled Blood Rise Rock? Rictor didn't know. But as he drew his bow and held it high he formed his answer, not on the chance that it was the correct response that would grant him access to the shrine, but because it was a rejection of lies, the pure and simple truth.

"I am no servant of the Jackal Prince! The scurrilous dog is my prey. He reaches out his hand to infect this land with a vile disease, and for the safety of Katapesh I will see my arrows sink deep into his heart.

Declare yourselves! If you are allies of the Lord of Dust then you will taste my steel. If you are not then bar my way no longer, and take me to your lord."

Aryk followed Rictor up, steeling his face to serve as a implied muscle for Rictor with his pronouncement.  That peace didn't last long through, as Rictor seemed to slide from honey to vinegar as the situation required.  Hopefully.  Aryk's hand had lurked near his pommel for several minutes now, and as Rictor pulled his bow, Aryk did likewise, his blade seeming to jump into his hand from his scabbard, his face hardening as his hand began to glow softly.

The most immediate threat was to his front, so he could not spare a glance to check if his party were preparing to hold off the other two factions, but he hoped he wouldn't be attacked from the rear if this escalated further.
This message was last edited by the player at 22:28, Tue 13 Oct 2020.

Rictor had made his decision, hoping that declaring to stand against the Jackal Prince of Famine would be the right choice here. Unfortunately, the immediate flash of righteous anger in the faces of the three men told him otherwise. Without hesitation and with a bellowing cry to the honor of Trelmarixian, the Black, they rushed forward to engage the ranger with divine power and sharp steel.

Maralet and Sakargo froze at this sudden turn of events, looking between the aggressive cultists and Prince Wyrmbane, uncertain if they should side with the attackers, the sole defender, or maybe rather stay out of this conflict. On one hand, it seemed as if these three were speaking for the Great Scarab and stood watch over the altar in his name. On the other, their dedication to this Horseman of Famine was certainly not what they expected and cast doubt about their actions. This gave Rictor several precious seconds to deal with the onrushing fools.

---

So, seeing as those three men are mighty warriors of level 9, I do not think we need to actually play through the fight. Rictor, you are free to narrate how you would like to take care of them.

 Qvan took note of the commotion – which he fully expected to be resolved in a matter of instants. Nevertheless, he would not leave Prince Wyrmbane without support. Seeing as Aryk was already on the stairs, catching up with the prince, he was left with only Zhira and Vahid near at hand. All the better.

  "We're going up..." he indicated to them both, and with nothing more of a warning, he grabbed them –one in each of his massive claws– and took flight. With just three powerful strokes of his sail-like wings, he was airborne and rose in front of the altar, dropping the two adventurers on either side of the platform, at the top of the stairs.

 He did not use spells or fire breath. The draconic thunder that was his voice boomed behind Maralet and Sakargo:
  "Children of the Desert! Act wisely now."

---

Pickup + Move
 Intimidate 33 if relevant

Zhira was surprised for a moment at being carried by the draconic form of Qvan, but she landed easily once he let go, as if she practiced falling from ledges for fun, and looked at the developing situation with a hand on her scimitar, ready to offer Rictor any help that might be required.