So far I would say your play conforms to solid principles. Temples, conversion, classic mechanics. I appreciate the cosmetic inventions you've brought to the table as well. They have a lot of flavour without impacting the game overly much.

I have to say, I'm a big fan. You take the time to reach out to the playerbase, spread underappreciated moves, return old players to the table... You're really revitalizing the game, at least from where I'm standing. 

I think you could use some help with the mechanical side of things, but then your strategies don't really rely on complex loopholes and mechanical interactions. 

Zon-Kuthon just glowers at her silently.

I think she's a wonderful addition to the game. 

Honestly, I was expecting a lot worse from you. For a deity of pleasure you seem to have a surprising handle on moderation.

I don't mind sharing the Love domain with her at all. We're quite distinct.

She gave me Black Sinflower, so she can stay. 

Talk talk talk talk talk talk talk. All you do is talk. This is supposed to be a war game, not some indie social combat RPG. I'm against her inclusion.

I was worried when I saw her making inventions, but mostly she hasn't been going for any techs I heavily disagree with. She can stay.

I don't like this proposed birth-control-in-Osirion campaign of hers.

I didn't come back from fucking Kemet just for you all to cancel the campaign I was going to play in. Lamashtu, you're just going to have to play like the rest of us.

Um, if I could say a small thing...?

Go ahead, Arundhat.

Sunaira went and found me on my tiny little server down in Vudra and made something I made the centerpiece of an entire campaign. And she supported my play to pay me for the idea too. I think she's really wonderful and should be allowed to play. That's all.

Yeah, of course you say that, she's bribed you massively - 

Settle down, Lamashtu, Bastet. 

It's my verdict that the birth-control-in-Osirion campaign is one that I want to run. It'll have all sorts of implications for lots of players, but is unlikely to totally upset the board. It's a good introductory campaign for our newest player. Gorum, you get plenty of campaigns, you can sit one out. 

Sunaira, you may select exactly one player character of up to fifth level to be your champion in introducing your faith and ideas to Osirion.

You're just saying that because you've always wanted to introduce birth control.

I am a neutral referee. Play it IC. 

That's a crock of bull and you know it.

Never did she expect that she would agree with Lamashtu about something. Will wonders never cease.

Alright, let me pick a PC...

She casts her awareness out over the gameboard.

Osirion is not strictly dark territory for her. There are some here who marry for love rather than finances; many here who delight in music and the fine arts; many who give up pleasures or even necessities for some greater goal they are seeking towards. 

When she looks with her domain of Kink the picture is bleaker. There are people here who have preoccupations, of course, but the joy and sharing of free sexuality is barely heard of. The risks of childbirth, lack of birth control, Evil nature of abortion (thank you Pharasma), and incidence of sexually transmitted diseases similar to syphilis have resulted in sexual mores that are... less than open. And many of those who would experiment do not do so intending to be kind to those they sleep with, and leave behind ruined lives in their wake. It is a sexual market for lemons and no mistake, largely the fault of poor sexual and medical technology and the rotten influence of Urgathoa and Lamashtu. 

Nonetheless, there are those who follow a more open sexual lifestyle, even here. The Shemtej catfolk, with their caravan trains of loose clan relations, all free to go wheresoever they wish and date whomever they please, have a spark of her beliefs in them. They were Bastet's pieces, an age ago; and perhaps they will be again. They're looked upon with respect... but also no little amount of suspicion and superstition. She would have a piece here. But the risk is, of course, that she would be competing directly with Bastet. 

She could look in the Rose Quarter of Sothis, where it has its brothels. She could reach out to a nobleman's wife who married for love, or a nobleman himself. She could claim a talented painter or musician; she could claim someone who has sacrificed much to achieve their position. She could do many, many things, so long as she claims someone who is Good. (Or else entirely Neutral). 

The question is, what will she do? 

She peruses her potential pieces. There's a more limited selection than in Absalom, that's for sure. 

Her options are dominated by the Lawful Good quadrant, Osirion being more Lawful than it is anything else. Wives and husbands who've come to love each other in their arranged marriages, paladin-candidates who've never had fun in their lives, court artists who dutifully respect the majesty of the Pharaoh. None of them quite speak to her.

Her natural inclination is to a courtesan, but Osirion's whores are not well-treated courtesans respected by all; they are largely Chaotic due to their profession being against the norms of their society, and often forced into Evil due to their hardscrabble lives. There are one or two she could claim, but it would be a deeply difficult battle uphill against the entirety of society. She's fought worse, but the voice of Iomedae in her head says that she should be more efficient when the battle is reckoned in souls won. 

The Shemtej have some solid candidates; Neutral Good and Chaotic Good caravan-guards, merchants, and explorers, bright in her senses from their personal lives in polyamorous day-to-day relationships. But they do not so much worship the gods as deign to trade with them; the spiritual conviction she would want in a true priestess is likely to be lacking. 

There is a broad swath of simply Neutral people that she could select, most of them halfhearted rebels against their Lawful society. Few of them have the strong spark of empathy and compassion that she would want in a priestess, let alone the strength of conviction necessary to lead a sexual revolution. Better a Neutral Good candidate. 

She considers her Neutral Good candidates. There are mostly artists, here; people who create things that speak to them and change the lives of others. She could find a mouthpiece here, someone with the creativity necessary to envision a better world; but that's really Shelyn's comparative advantage, not hers. 

Chaotic good, then? Here there are mostly abolitionists and the odd traveling adventurer. Most of them are committed to countercultural causes already, with their own personal philosophies. A fractious lot - and likely too volatile to lead a reform rather than a revolt. 

All things considered, she'd rather play a catgirl.

Layla is just another Shemtej merchant out in the desert sands, guiding her small caravan down the banks of the Crook. She's on her way back from Safani to Tephu, caravan laden with money to spend back in the big city. There's about twenty souls in the whole caravan - she's not a rich woman - but she makes more than enough to get by with. Few merchants are willing to risk the wastes, but she's better than most. People listen to her when she talks; she bargains well and has picked up more than a little wildcraft on her ways to and fro. She's fought off gnolls and giant scorpions with the broadsword by her side and lived to tell of it. 

She's no adventurer, no great talent; just another woman trying her best to get by in the sands. They say sometimes in the caravan that she's their good luck charm; she always knows which way north is, can make a fire without a flint and steel, and when the caravan is tight on supplies she always seems to do well on the reduced rations. 

Her sister* Rana is the real talent in the caravan. She can turn dirty water to pure alcohol with just a brush of her hand. She's abused this gift on and off for many years of revelry in the towns they've passed. Layla doesn't mind, just so long as her sister doesn't get herself into too much trouble with the locals. The gift of pure and drinkable fluids from the often brackish and sand-choked Crook has saved the caravan many times over. 

Her other sister Naila is leading the caravan today. She has a sense for the wastes that even exceeds Layla's own, and in battle is fiercer than her and Rana put together. She has no formal training, only the instinct of a veteran of the wastes who has fought beast after beast and lived to tell the tale. 

It's as she's scanning the dunes for any sign of movement that the vision overtakes her. For a moment she sees drops of glowing amber, falling, shimmering in the sands. A voice says "free all your sisters" - and then there is the clink of coin against coin, a promise of wealth, power, strength - 

She wakes fallen off her camel, staring up into the sky. But she feels strangely stronger. More whole. 

She hauls herself up from the small pile she's collapsed into.

"Halt!", she calls. "Some spirit's messing with the caravan. Watch your backs, ready your swords. I seem to be alright but ware!" 

She looks around. "Has anyone else been affected?"

*Shemtej amurruns do not marry, but they do recognize familial bonds. Layla and her sister do not share parents, but they are family through a romantic bond that's persisted for years. Yes, they have sex. Consider this a poor translation of an Ammurun cultural construct. 

There's an answering shout from the other end of the caravan. "Rana went down at the same time as you! It must be something do to with your gifts, some power -" 

Naila calls from the front of the caravan. "Close ranks and tend to the caravan leaders!"

"Rana, where is Rana -" 

Layla runs down the length of the caravan towards where her sister lies in the sand.

By the time she gets there, Rana's picked herself up from the dust. 

"I'm okay!", she calls. "There's no need to worry, sister." She smiles and ducks her head. "It happened to you, too?"

Layla manages an awkward smile. "Yes. Amber droplets, falling, and the words "free your sisters." I feel stronger, too. Did you see the same things?"

"Yes, I did. I don't know what it means that we need to free our sisters - we're free already, aren't we? - but I saw the amber droplets too. I think we need to go upriver further, there was a sense of being drawn onwards -" 

She brushes off her long dress, which has become covered with sand. "Some spirit, giving us a task?"

"It'd be foolish to ignore a spirit's call if this is what it is. You feel stronger too?"

"Yes, I do." She raises a hand and focuses, her whole body swaying with the motion. "I think that if there is a spirit, then I should be able to -" 

A huge gout of water appears from thin air and drenches Layla from head to toe.

"Water! Clean water - you are a cleric! Of some great spirit, some powerful one willing to sponsor our caravan -" 

She focuses, and a similar gout of water soaks Rana back. 

"There! I can do it too!"

She grins fiercely. "Gone are the days of contracting clerics and drawing water from the Crook! We're our own clerics now!" 

"We are! It is a great blessing, assuming we are chosen for our proper merits. You've always been the kind type; I do not think an evil spirit would choose you. We are going to be wealthy and strong. And if the promise of money the spirit made is true, then we will be wealthy beyond our dreams."

She grins and seizes her sister in a fierce, sopping-wet hug. "I always knew this day would come!"

"What's all the commotion back there?"

Layla strides up to the head of the caravan and conjures water atop Naila's head, drenching her through as well. 

"We are clerics!"

She laughs, but doesn't take her gaze off the surroundings. "Well done for you two, then. I suppose that means the great spirits have a task for you?"

"Yes. An amber fluid, to free our sisters. I do not know what it means, just yet. But Rana says that if we go upriver we will learn enough to know. The spirit promised great wealth..."

"There are many tricks the gods can pull. It is probably best if you are cautious at first."

Naila stares away at the desert sands. 

"Still. It is good news." The ghost of a smile hovers on her lips.

"Alright, all you layabouts! Back into line and back to moving. We have Tephu to make in three days!"

Layla puts the full power of her voice into the command, pushing herself in a way she doesn't quite understand. It has always been a little easier for her to get the slower members of the caravan moving than most.

The mystery can be dealt with later. Right now they are in the wastes, and they cannot let their guard down.

The caravan gathers itself, and pushes on into the desert.

The desert stretches on. The wind picks up after a few hours and makes it difficult to talk, so Layla passes commands back along the line through hand-signs to her trusted guards Kamil and Batul. She follows the river, though not too closely. Where it wanders away from the safest path she follows the angle of the ripples of the sand and the stars that she can see even during the day. 

Naila and Kamil may know the desert's landmarks better than Layla, but neither has ever been able to see the stars in the daytime, nor haggle with any skill. That is why Layla is caravan leader, and they are not. 

The sand no longer blows across her face as the wind dies in the late evening. Soon the desert will be cold enough to freeze their water. It is time to unload for the night.

"Halt!" She calls. "Make camp!"

Behind her, Kamil and Batul echo her words down the line. Some forty-odd temperamental camels come to a spitting, groaning stop; their riders are tired from many long days' journey, but there is still work to be done. 

The caravan dismounts and begins to unload the pack animals. Fayruz and Minir take charge of hobbling the beasts, while Yasmin, Fahim and Hayat manage bundles of feed and supplies. Layla accepts a bundle of firewood, takes it to where the center of camp will be, and lights it with her old trick. More amurrun will be coming down the line, but they are a different clan and she knows them less well.

Naila, being one of the strongest members of the camp, falls back and starts helping with the unloading of the camels, leaving only Kamil and Batul on watch. Rana grabs one of the larger cooking pots and fills it fresh to the brim with conjured water. 

All in all, it's just another day in the caravan's life. 

After the fire is lit, Layla leaves her sister Rana to tend it and stalks the camp, helping with things that are needful. She's a good hand with the camels and knows every inch of the day-to-day.

She spots Yasmin's furtive glances out into the desert, and comes to her side. The girl could use a steady hand.

"Worried about something?"

"I, ah, er..." Yasmin ducks her head. "I was just wondering what if there's another scorpion, like Fahim said happened last time..."

She looks down at the bundle of feedgrass in her hands. "I should really be looking after the camels shouldn't I."

"Yes, you should. It's alright to be nervous though. Just do your best to trust in Naila and her guards. She's seen worse than scorpions in her time."

"Is it true that she lost her eye to a gnoll arrow? She doesn't talk about it but Fahim says -"

"Never you mind what Fahim says." He's always been the loudmouth of the family. "See to those camels, alright?"

"Oh, uh, yeah, right." Yasmin nods sharply and goes back to her work.

She supposes she shouldn't be surprised that Yasmin's head is full of wild stories. Fahin talks more than he should, and for a girl who's just turned majority like Yasmin tales of adventure intoxicate as sweetly as wine. She'll be a caravan master herself one day, perhaps. Not anytime soon though. 

She moves on down the line. "Fayruz, may I have a word?"

The canny matron of the camp nods to her. "Yes, what is it? Let me guess, you want me to keep an eye on Yasmin."

Layla simply nods. "She's jittery today and I know you're good at comfort. Do your best to cheer her up."

"Alright. You know, if you were to storytell tonight I'm sure she'd be delighted..."

Layla nods back. "We'll see if we have time. I have more people to check in with. Good luck to you."

On she goes down the line. "Fahim, a word -"

Fahim nods to her. "I'm sorry and it won't happen again," he lies like he always does. "Yasmin just got me talking, you know how it is -"

"What will I do with you... I know. You're on second watch with Kamil tonight. That will perhaps teach you to pay better attention to your surroundings."

He swallows. "Yes, Caravan Leader."

She lets the dig pass. It's not worth the argument. 

"Alright." She slaps Fahim on the shoulder and goes on down the line.

"Hayat, do you need any help with tonight's cooking?"

"No, I'm settled, Naila and Rana are a huge help. Thank you for asking though." She heaves a bag of lentils over to the fireside and nods to Rana. "We'll have a meal ready in an hour if all goes well."

Rana lifts a mug of wine towards Layla. "Here," she says. "Drink. It's been a good day, we're strong, there's no sign of anything from the wastes. I don't think anyone will fault you if you enjoy yourself a little."

Ah, Rana. Never change. 

She takes the mug for a moment and takes a small draught, then sets it back down next to Rana. "Look after this for me, would you? I have a caravan to run."

"Good luck. There's much to do."

"Can you check in with Kamil and Batul for me, make sure they have the watch schedule straight for tonight? It's me and Batul first watch, Kamil and his apprentice second watch, you and Rana last watch."

"I will. Fahim will be joining Kamil and Munir tonight, I gave him second watch as a punishment detail for talking to Yasmin about your eye." 

"He will most likely be a nuisance, but perhaps he will learn something. I'll make sure to check with Kamil in the morning." Naila unloads a bag of rice and a bag of pasta: her thick biceps easily handle the heavy bags. "I have work to do too."

Gosh her sister is hot. Perhaps she's had too much to drink already. 

"Alright," she says. "Work hard!"

And off she goes to speak to Batul.

Batul watches the landscape, her eyes fixed on a point in the distance.

As she does, her body goes through an old martial drill, a simple exercise she's practiced a thousand times. 

"Good to see you, Layla," she says, her gaze not leaving the dunes. "You are doing well?"

Batul has always been odd, ever since she took up Irori as her spirit teacher. 

"I am well enough. You are aware you are on first watch?"

"Yes," Batul says, striking an imaginary foe in slow motion. "I am aware. With Naila."

"Good. Then I shan't trouble you any more." 

She goes on to where Kamil watches the sands with his bow casually held by his side. 

"Kamil, you are aware you are on second watch?"

"Yes," he says, his gaze scanning the sands. "I am aware."

"Good. Fahim will be joining you. Try to keep him alert and on-task, would you?"

Kamil slings his bow and takes a drink from his waterskin. 

"He drew punishment duty again, huh?"

"He never learns."

"Well, I'll do my best to babysit him on watch. Good luck with him."

"Same to you." 

That's everyone accounted for, more or less. Everyone she has to worry about, at least. These will see to the rest of the caravan. 

She'll help settle the camels, then, that should take some time; and then she'll return to the fireside as it gets closer to mealtime.

When she returns, it's to a crowded fireside. Rana passes out mugs of wine, and Fahim and Hayat sit and chat about their travels as Fayruz prepares koshari in one of their copper cooking pots and Naila and Munir set up tents. It's old conversation, all of it, but there's an easy familiarity to the old gripes about the sand and the heat.

She comes and sits. Already the desert is cool rather than hot; the fire is welcome. 

"Everyone alright?" she asks. "Anything need tending to?"

"Everything's going well. Koshari should be ready soon. It truly is a blessing to have good water and lots of it." Fayruz smiles. "Well done, whatever it was you did for the spirits."

"I think you should storytell," Rana says. "If you don't want Yasmin's head to be filled with nonsense, put something there yourself."

"Now, now, I wasn't telling her nonsense -"

"Save it," Hayat says. "We've all heard it before. You just like to wind her up. And it's rude to Naila."

Fahim lets out a long-suffering sigh and falls silent.

Yasmin comes over to the fireside, holding a large stack of wooden bowls. "Here," she says to each member of the group in turn. "Your bowl."

"Thank you, Yasmin, that's much appreciated." Layla accepts her bowl with a smile, and takes a small sip of her wine.

A few minutes later Munir comes to the fireside as well. "Do you have anything I can take to Kamil?" he asks. 

"Not just yet, come back in fifteen minutes. Aren't you supposed to be helping with the tents?"

"I'll help with the tents!", Yasmin chirps. "Everybody's got to pitch in, right?"

"Wise words," Layla opines. "Tell you what, get the tents set up fast enough that you finish before the meal is ready and I'll tell a story tonight."

"Oh gosh, really?"

"Yes, really. I don't say these things for fun, you know." She grins and looks over at Rana. "And besides, my sister wants me to have some fun and celebrate a little."

"I will not deny it." Rana grins.

"I - um - alright!' 

Yasmin darts back into the camp and gets her instructions from Naila.

Rana takes a drink from her own mug of wine. "So," she says. "What story do you think you'll tell tonight? One about the old gods? Something more modern? An adventure story?"

"The old gods seem like a good topic. A spirit story, maybe."

"I always liked the tales of the old spiritcallers. Perhaps it's just because of my talent, but it matters to me."

"Glory! Adventure! Magic! Pharoahs who won't listen! Yes, those stories are enjoyable to tell."

"I always liked the stories where they bargain with the spirits and ultimately win. Those are the best kind of stories."

Hayat opens her mouth, then seems to think better of it and closes it.

Fayruz stirs the pot. "I always thought that the best stories were the romances. Give me a pair of lovers to look over the shoulder of any day."

"Oh, and you would know a few things about that, now wouldn't you?" Rana laughs. "Good luck with that!"

Fayruz laughs. "Don't make me kiss you and your sister.~"

"Which one, or would you like both?"

"If you need a kiss so badly I'm very available," Hayat purrs.

Fayruz laughs and leans over to kiss Hayat on the cheek. "Now, now, sister, I only meant it a little."

Hayat smiles and kisses Fayruz's cheek back. "I know. I'm only teasing too." She looks over at Fahim. "Would you like a turn too?~"

"But of course." He shifts over next to Hayat and casually drapes an arm around her shoulders, then kisses her deeply and passionately. 

Rana applauds with a smirk. "There we go, Fahim doing something good for the camp tonight."

"I do good things for the camp every night, thank you very much."

Yasmin has stopped a few yards away from the fire and is blushing red as a tomato. "I, um -" She doesn't seem to know where to look.

Rana beckons to her. "Now, now, no need to be embarrassed. You've seen this kind of thing all your life, haven't you? I suppose it's different to be out in the desert with all of us." 

She offers Yasmin a mug full of wine. "Go on, drink, join us. You're an equal to us all now. What you do is your own business."

Ah, Rana. Of course. 

"Alright, everyone, tone it down a little. It is Yasmin's maiden voyage."

Fahim unloops his arm from Hayat's shoulders. "If you insist," he says. He smiles at Yasmin. "Come, join us."

Rana looks over at Layla and gives her an eyebrow wiggle.

Yes, Rana, it may be Yasmin's maiden voyage but is indeed unlikely she'll be still be a maiden at the end of it, I can hear what you're thinking. 

She leans in and gently kisses Rana on the lips.

"You were just saying -" 

Rana makes a rude hand gesture at him over Layla's shoulder, and kisses Layla firmly.

Yasmin settles into the circle next to Fayruz and rubs the back of her neck. "Sorry, everyone, I'll try to... stay okay." She takes the mug of wine that Rana offered her and blushes a little as she looks down into its depths.

"It's alright, Yasmin. It's just the way things are. I know it's a little strange to see people older than you being so close to each other like this. You grew up in that little village, I forget what its name was again..."

"Niwt. It was an alright place, but I wasn't really able to explore much, so... being on the road is definitely an adjustment."

"It's okay. The caravan will protect you. Just relax. Perhaps you should try talking with Munir? He's more your age."

Yasmin nods, blushes, and falls silent.

Hayat checks the pot. 

"Koshari's done!" She reaches into the pot with a ladle and starts spooning herself a bowl. "Pass your bowls here!"

"Oh, thank you Hayat, I completely forgot." Fayruz hands over her bowl and smiles.

Quickly, Hayat passes bowls of koshari out to everyone in camp, layered rice, legumes and pasta making a hearty enough dish for everyone to enjoy. 

She opens a small bag of dates as well. "Dates on the side for those who want them," she says.

Yasmin hesitantly takes a date.

A few minutes later, Naila returns, all finished with her setup of the tents. She smiles at her sisters. "Everyone doing alright?"

"Mhm," Fayruz replies. "Here, have two bowls for the people on watch." She hands them over.

"Thanks." Naila takes the bowls and goes off to the edge of camp, where Batul and Kamil are still scanning the landscape.

Munir settles down into the camp circle next to Yasmin and accepts his own bowl. 

"So," he says. "We didn't get the tents up before the food. No thanks to Yasmin here. Are you still going to storytell?" 

"Hey, I helped as much as I could!" 

Yasmin blushes and looks over at Layla. "Please?"

"Oh, alright. But just a short story."

Layla clears her throat and stretches her arms.

Everyone quiets. There's a story in the offing.

Rana smiles and swirls her mug of wine.

Layla spreads her hands out and pats her lap, setting down her mug between her crossed legs. 

"So! Many years ago I was in the company of an old woman who once served a great pharaoh, Kemet I. It is a secret what I share with you today, so keep it close to your breast and do not tell a soul of it. I came to her in a small garden of a great estate where I had some business, and when she spoke to me this tale came tumbling out of her lips and let me know the truth. 

She said to me, "Did you know that the Pharaoh once almost wed his own daughter?" 

I opened my lips to speak, but she spoke on, like a woman possessed, desperate to rid herself of the tale. "When the Pharaoh's wife died," she said, "He mourned the proper year, as is the custom. He was not a man of many concubines. But his wife had only given him a daughter of little repute, and so he was forced to marry. He brought a gold bangle from his wife that was precious to him to a matchmaker, and said, "I will make you rich if you find me a queen who can wear this bangle." 

The matchmaker searched and searched, but after almost his allotted year, he could find only one woman who the bangle would fit; the pharaoh's own daughter. Still, he thought to himself, the pharaoh does not know his brides well. Thinking himself a clever man, he arranged the marriage in secret, saying only that the woman that the pharaoh would marry fit the bangle. 

And so the marriage was arranged; but of course, the secret could not stay secret. When the princess learned that her own father intended to wed her, she was terrified. She thought there was no way that Kemet I, Pharaoh of all Osirion, could marry his own daughter unawares. So she bribed her guards with the gold bangle the matchmaker had given her, and she escaped. She fled into the markets, and told a cobbler that she would give him a handful of gold if he would make a suit for her all of leather as a disguise. He agreed, and soon she was clad in the shabbiest outfit a princess could wish for. 

The guards asked her at the gate what her name was; and this she said to them: 

"My name is Juleidah for my coat of skins.
My eyes are weak, my sight is dim.
My ears are deaf, I cannot hear.
I care for no-one, far or near." 

The guards asked her again; again she repeated her words. Eventually, they let her go, thinking her a common beggar. 

She ran and ran and ran, all the way to Katapesh. She collapsed in the street there, and a woman took her in, who worked the pesh plantations by day and spent her coin in the markets by night. She was a freedwoman, and beautiful besides; and she nursed Juleidah back to health. 

When she awoke again, she said to the woman nursing her those same words: 

"My name is Juleidah for my coat of skins.
My eyes are weak, my sight is dim.
My ears are deaf, I cannot hear.
I care for no-one, far or near." 

But the woman, whose name was Ghufran, told her that she had no reason to hide. She took her for an escaped slave, though she bore no brands. And for some time they dwelt together, and even fell in love. 

Eventually, the Risen Guard came and found Juleidah; but Ghufran, by now, had learnt the story, and told the guards that she would defend Juleidah to the death to keep her from marrying her father. 

Her father, however, had learnt of the matchmaker's duplicity; the matchmaker was fed to a Hetkoshu, black with scales and vaster than any mortal crocodile, and his screams were frightful to behold. The pharaoh bid Ghufran to return with his daughter to Osirion, where she would become part of his daughter's estate as thanks for her care in nursing her back to health. 

Juleidah accepted her father's gift, but rather than taking Ghufran as a household servant, took her as her concubine. The pharaoh remarried another woman, and the affair was quietly forgotten, but for a few members of the Pharaoh's household who still recall." 

And that was all the old woman said to me. It seemed to lighten her burden to have said it. I thanked her for her tale, and I kept it close to my heart, of how a princess escaped her father and found joy with another woman." 

Layla spreads her hands out to her sides and smiles. "And that is all."

Every pair of eyes around the fire remains fixed on her throughout her story, and when she concludes it everyone applauds. 

Yasmin looks over at Munir in the aftermath, then her gaze darts back to Layla. "That was a wonderful story," she says. "I had no idea that something like that happened to the old Pharaoh..."

"You can never tell, these days." The corner of Hayat's lips curve up, and she takes a gulp of her wine. Then she looks over at Rana. "Well," she says. "Your sister's told her story, so are you going to dance for us? Let's make this a night to celebrate."

Rana looks over at Yasmin. "Certainly. I've been teaching Yasmin a few things, so perhaps we could dance together?" 

"I - don't really know if I'm ready -" 

Yasmin ducks her head and blushes hard.

Rana tips back the last of her mug of wine and gets up from the sand. 

"Nonsense. It is only dancing. What happens at worst? You stumble? You step on my foot? I think I can deal with that. We will dance together."

Yasmin blushes even deeper, but nods. She gulps down the rest of her own mug of wine for courage, and goes and ducks into one of the tents further into camp.

Rana's taught her a lot, so she should probably be fine. Right? Right. Hopefully she doesn't make a complete fool out of herself in front of Munir.

Rana refills everyone's mugs of wine from her pewter pitcher, and then makes a low bow. "I'll be back to perform in a few minutes," she says. "Unless Layla decides she wants to jump in the tent while I change."

Layla laughs. "Not tonight, sister." She winks. 

She knows that look. That is the "convince me" look. 

Well, she'll just have to put on a real show.

She goes and ducks into the caravan leaders' large tent.

Layla watches her sister go with a small smile, then digs into her koshari. She's been speaking and not had a chance to eat.

Naila claps her on the shoulder and grins. "A good story," she says. "I liked the poem Juleidah speaks."

Fayruz hefts her mug of wine to that. "What Naila said! A toast to our fine storyteller."

Fahim hefts his mug and clacks it against Fayruz's own. "May we all have such a gift with our tongues."

Hayat laughs, and adds her mug to the toast. "Well said!"

"To many more stories in the future!" Munir volunteers, hefting his mug as well. "And may our journey be a swift one."

"Our journey be a swift one!" Layla raises her mug and toasts as well.

If Rana dances, and everyone keeps drinking at this rate, the whole camp's going to be hung over come morning. She should probably stop after this toast. 

Still, she drinks. A second mug of wine won't kill her.

Everyone takes a deep draught of their own mugs a beat behind their caravan leader. 

Hayat leans against Fahim's side and snuggles up against his body, her eyes closing for a moment with her mug of wine still in her lap. Her body feels soft and loose, and the warmth of the fire is lulling.

"It has been a long week's travel," she says. "I'll be more than glad to make Tephu. New clothes, fresher food, a bed to sleep in. You wouldn't want to stay there, but a rest is nice now and again." 

"Don't go falling asleep now; it won't be long until Rana dances." She sets down her mug of wine and keeps working on her koshari, spooning more and more into her mouth.

Munir collects the empty bowls, and starts washing them out onto a patch of sand with the help of Fayruz and a vessel of water left behind by Rana. 

Layla finishes her own koshari and hands over her bowl, then lays back on her hands and stares up at her familiar companions, the stars. They're just coming out to the brightness others can see.

She doesn't know the names of many of the constellations, but the stars are still familiar to her. She can pick out the Fang, that old traveler's charm, and the north star, Cynosure, where the great spirit Desna makes her home. But the rest are old friends with no names.

A few minutes later, Yasmin returns from her tent, all dressed in her dancer's loose skirt and midriff-baring top. She ducks her head and blushes as she fiddles with one of the bangles on her wrist. She looks anywhere but at Munir.

Munir's gaze flicks over to Yasmin and takes her in for a long moment before he looks away. He doesn't blush, but he does take another small drink of his wine.

A few minutes later, Rana ducks out of her tent, all dressed in her fine silk costume with its copper bangles. She steps out across the desert sand, one two three steps, then swirls her hips and tosses her arms above her head. 

"Come," she says, beckoning to Yasmin. "Come and dance with me!" She doesn't pause, but continues her dance, sashaying across the sands to take a closer position to the fire, across from where Fayruz is washing bowls. "Come, now, you know you can do it!" 

Rana's cheeks are deeply flushed, and there's a languid grace to her movements that Layla knows her sister only gets when she's more than slightly tipsy.

Yasmin gets up from the fire, and advances hesitantly - then throws herself into the motions as well, her arms coming up above her head as she copies Rana's moves. She has no little skill herself; her steps are smooth, fluid, and the motions show off her body well. The bangles on her chest and hips rattle as she sways and undulates. 

Rana's clearly angling to get Yasmin into bed with Munir, but that's a worthy enough goal. And getting to see her sister dance like this is no small bribe. 

Layla leans back and grins and takes another drink of her wine. "More! Faster!" She starts to clap against the side of her mug in a steady rhythm.

Munir is the first to take up the clapping, his gaze fixed on Yasmin as he sees a whole new side of her. This girl is confident, self-assured, beautiful. Nothing like the blushy mess that's been at the fireside all tonight. 

Fahim takes up the clapping as well. "Go on, show us what you can really do!"

Hayat claps along as well, still snuggled against Fahim. Her gaze flicks back and forth between Munir and Yasmin, then settles more firmly on the performance.

Fayruz keeps scrubbing her bowls, but raises her voice instead. She has the best voice in camp, though she's no professional, and she knows all the old songs. This one is mostly in an old language, learnt by heart rather than by meaning; she belts it out nonetheless, her voice steady but not afraid to sway with the dancers' movements. 

Rana starts throwing in more exaggerated movements, long leaps and rolls of her hips, feeling the music and the steady beat. She leads Yasmin easily through the performance, cueing her smoothly even in her half-inebriated state. She sways and sashays as her bangles jangle to the beat. 

Yasmin's not quite as skilled as Rana, but keeps up gamely nonetheless, throwing her body into the motion. The rhythm infects her, fills her up with heat and motion and excitement. It's a thrill to show off like this.

Layla watches and claps along, faster and faster, driving her sister to ever higher heights of improvisation. It's a joy to watch her work her magic. 

She's having thoughts. Those undulating motions of Rana's body are deeply distracting. 

Got you.

Rana drives the performance faster and faster, until Yasmin can't keep up; and then she does one last elaborate twirl and ends in a deep bow that gives everyone at the campsite a deep view of her cleavage. 

Then she steps to the side and gestures to Yasmin. "Yasmin, our newest dancer, everyone!" She grins. 

No-one is quicker to applaud than Munir, though the whole campsite joins in.

Yasmin feels... kind of powerful. Kind of strong. Kind of hot, actually. 

She sashays over to the campfire, plops herself down in Munir's lap, and kisses him.

He's taken aback, but of course he kisses back.

If anything, the applause only gets louder.

"Well done Yasmin!", Hayat calls.

Naila just watches and smiles to herself. It's fun to watch Rana in action. 

Rana comes and sits down by Layla next to the fire and kisses her deeply on the cheek. With a little more tongue than strictly necessary.

Layla laughs, and turns her head to kiss her sister deeply on the mouth. Their tongues tangle as she deepens the kiss, the warmth of the wine in her belly making it so easy to nestle in to her and kiss again and again...

Okay, she should take this back to their tent. 

Layla takes Rana by the hand and gets up from the fireside. "It's time we all got to bed!", she announces. "Or else we'll all be exhausted in the morning. It's your business what you do in your tents. I know I have plans." She grins. "Just remember, we've got miles and miles to go tomorrow!"

Naila slaps her on the shoulder, the blow enough to rock her whole body. "Well said!" She grins and stretches. "Let's all have a good night."

Fahim chuckles. "Well enough," he says. "You all have fun. Someone said I have a watch." He runs his hand down Hayat's side. "We'll handle the fire and the bowls, don't you worry."

Yasmin gets up, and leads Munir by the hand towards her tent. She seems... intent.

Fayruz grins. "Don't do anything stupid, now, you two!" 

"We won't!" Yasmin blushes but smiles back at Fayruz.

Layla takes Rana's hand, and guides her back in the direction of the spacious tent for the caravan leaders, a small smile lingering on her face. 

Rana goes. She's got Layla right where she wants her. 

Naila watches them vanish into their tent and takes another light sip of her wine. She'd join them, but she's supposed to relieve Kamil on watch now that the stars have risen. 

There will be other nights. 

Rana grabs at Layla's clothes as soon as they're into the tent, her hands hungry for Layla's body. She kisses her with her wine-tasting breath and presses her lips to her skin. The alcohol in her slurs the motions of her hands a little, makes them firmer and rougher than she intends - but it's nothing she's not used to. 

She kisses and bites all along Layla's neck and shoulder and bears her down onto the rug on the floor of the tent. The touches are a little vague and diffuse, swimming through her whole body. She steadies herself against Layla's body as her head spins for a moment, then kisses her again, deeper. 

She wants her right now. Her hand slips in between Layla's legs and starts to grope her as she kisses her more, more, more - 

Rana always gets handsy when she's drunk. It's a lot all at once, it always is, but she loves her. This is fine. The taste of wine on Rana's breath doesn't faze her by now; it's clear enough she wants it. The rug presses into her legs and back as Rana bites and kisses along her shoulder and neck, a wash of pleasurepain all across her body that makes her giggleyelp. The warmth of the alcohol in her too stirs her lust, and she kisses back when Rana comes to meet her lips with hers.

When Rana sways atop her, Layla thinks for a moment that she's going to puke - but then she recovers herself, and the second kiss is warm and full and deep. She feels a little hazy too, floating on the pleasure a little, but the hand between her legs still takes her by surprise. She startles, jerks away for a moment - but then she remembers that it's Rana, and everything is okay again. 

She wraps an arm up around Rana's body and pulls her in close, her other hand flitting out to grope at Rana's breasts as she kisses her deeply. The alcohol and the feeling of Rana's hand between her legs blur together into a lingering feeling of heat that suffuses her whole body. 

She wants this, too. 

It's easy enough to pull aside Layla's skirt and underwear, and then Rana's hand presses in hard against her pussy. She's not wet yet; not a problem. She pulls her fingers up and presses them into Layla's mouth to lube them with her spit. 

Her head is full of the scent of Layla, sand and sweat and wine. She grins down at her sister as she strips off her dancer's top with her free hand, baring her breasts for Layla to grope. 

"Beau-ti-ful," she croons. The word takes a little focus not to slur, but she has practice at this. 

She suckles Rana's fingers, tasting the oils of her hand, feeling the smoothness of her skin against her tongue. She feels dizzy and faraway and happy and she wants more. Her hands take advantage of Rana's discarded top to grope and pinch her nipples and feel the soft squishiness of her breasts under her fingers as she kneads and works them.

She is beautiful. Rana has always been so good at showing her that. 

She spreads her legs, begging wordlessly for her sister's touch. 

Rana pulls her spit-slicked fingers out of Layla's mouth and sends them to explore her sex. She takes her with rough, deep thrusts of her fingers, to Abaddon with foreplay. She puts her whole arm behind the motion as she spears her fingers deep into Layla.

Her head fogs with fantasies: she wants to make Layla cry out, to make the whole camp know she's hers. She wants to make Layla gasp out her orgasm in ragged, shuddery breaths. She wants to claim her for her own. 

Fuck you, come for me.

It's so much all at once. A little too rough, a little too uncoordinated, a little too fast - 

But somehow she doesn't care. Her body is loose from the alcohol and her thoughts are foggy with lust and need and drink. She just lays back and takes it, her head lolling against the carpet, her hands pressed into Rana's body. She swims in a plane of uncoordinated pleasure and occasional pain as Rana's fingers drag against the inside of her sex, but both blend together in the haze and she just feels good. 

Her body tightens and starts to shudder, building towards a release, her head muzzy with all the floaty sensations. 

"Rana..." she moans. "I love you..."

Rana kisses her. "Loveytoo," she slurs. Her hand works from long-accustomed instinct now, not anything conscious anymore. She just wants Layla to come. 

She noses into her body and thrusts her fingers and nuzzles her.

It comforts her to have Rana's body against hers. 

She lays her head in against Rana's shoulder and moans softly into her ear, a private performance just for her. The heat floods her body, makes her feel so, so, so good. She basks in it a little.

"Comeforme," Rana murmurs into Layla's ear as her fingers flex and thrust inside her. She focuses, enunciates the words carefully in a sultry whisper. "Come for me, Layla." 

The suffusing heat builds to an intense point, fixed just at the tip of Rana's fingers inside her, and then breaks with electric tingles all across her body. She moans long and low and heated in Rana's ear, and falls still. 

Fuck yes.

"Good girl." 

Rana pulls her fingers out of Layla's sex and wipes them off on her thigh, then flops down atop her sister and wriggles all over. "Gooooooooooooooooood Layla. Verrrrry good girl. Best'vegirls. Best sister." She punctuates each compliment with a kiss against Layla's neck. 

Suddenly Rana's wine-soaked breath is disgusting, rather than intoxicating. She pushes her aside weakly.

"You're drunk, Rana." 

"MmmmmmmmsowhatifIam?" Her head is spinning again and Layla is very soft. She does not want to move.

Layla levers herself up onto one elbow and kisses Rana's forehead. "You are very drunk. How many mugs?"

"Mmmmmmmm... foooooooour?"

"We've had this conversation before, Rana." She hugs her sister close to her body and strokes a hand through her hair. "You're going to hate yourself in the morning, you know."

"Mmmmmmm. Herproblem."

"Let's get you into bed, okay? You're supposed to be on watch in eight hours, you need to rest."

"Mhm." 

Rana does not seem interested in moving.

Wonderful. 

She will get Rana into bed, despite her own somewhat spinny head. This always happens.

She falls asleep almost the moment she hits the sheets.

Poor thing. 

Layla goes and tucks herself in against Rana's back, spooning her gently. Her head is fuzzy still too. She needs her rest. 

She's out like a light before long, too.

"Layla," calls a male voice.

She's wide awake and reaching for her broadsword before she registers who it is. 

"Kamil?"

"Yeah. It's your watch now."

Sheeeeeeeee needs to get on her skirt and underwear again and wake Rana.

"Alright, I'll be out in a moment."

She hurries to grab her discarded skirt and panties. 

... "Layla?" comes the low groan from Rana. "Whaissit?"

She pulls on her panties and skirt  then reaches over and brushes Rana's hair out of her face. "It's our watch, Rana. You have to get up."

"Uuuuuuugh." 

Rana pushes herself up onto her forearms and steadies herself, a little dizzily.

Layla passes her her traveling clothes to replace her dancer's skirt.

She presses a hand to her forehead - fuck that hurts - but accepts the clothes and starts to change. Slowly.

"You two going to be a while in there?"

"Rana's hung over again. I'm helping her get dressed."

Layla helps Rana get her dress on over her head the right way, and sighs. 

"Be out in a moment."

"As usual, huh. Alright, I'll give you a few minutes."

"Serves her right," comes the voice of Fahim from a little further away.

"No need to be a dick about it, Fahim."

Layla hurries through getting Rana presentable, doing her best at the work.

She complies, a bit dazedly. 

A few minutes later she's fully dressed and has strapped on her own sword. She looks at Layla and gives her a weak smile.

"Good on you. Let's get moving." 

Layla pushes back the tent door and steps outside. 

Kamil nods to her.

Rana comes out a few moments later, her body a little wobbly still. 

"Morning," she manages. 

Kamil wordlessly offers her his waterskin.

Rana takes it and takes a long drink, then offers a nod of thanks.

"Get some sleep," she says.

He nods, and goes off into the camp.

Layla looks around and spots Fahim, a little ways off at the edge of camp. He's actually on watch, will wonders never cease. 

"I'll take it from here," she says, stepping up next to him.

"You and your drunk sister, huh? Alright, far be it for me to question the caravan leader." 

Fahim gives Layla a small wave and goes back off into camp.

Well, that leaves her and Rana on watch for another four hours until camp breaks. 

She might as well take a little time and... pray? Ask the spirits for favors? She's not really sure how this whole cleric thing works.

Rana goes and sits on the sand on the other edge of camp, still nursing Kamil's waterskin. She's in no mood to talk. She's praying too, after a fashion.

Spirits save me from this splitting headache.

Layla watches the sands and medidates as best she can. She doesn't even know what spirit she's a cleric of yet.

If she focuses just right she'll be able to ignore it. She's used to this by now. It takes something from her whenever she does this, but it hasn't killed her yet, so why worry?

She focuses and pushes the hangover away. 

It stays gone. She can feel it off in a corner of her awareness still, but her head's no longer pounding and her body feels limber and light again. 

She stretches, gets up, paces back and forth a little to warm her body in the early-morning cold.

Alright. She's got a watch to get through.

About an hour later, a sense of... something... comes in. A sense of coiled potential. 

She recognizes the shape of one of these blessings. It's shaped the way she makes herself when she needs to go without food for a day or two. 

Another is - it's her sparker trick. 

Has she been blessed all along and not known it? 

She reaches out her hand, makes a spark leap from her hand with the blessing - then repeats it with her own trick. 

It's almost identical. It just feels like it draws from different places. 

No, it's Rana who's magic, not her - 

She looks up at the stars. 

She can feel it uncoil in her, now, the same way the blessings do. The sense in her that she's always had that says north is that way, the stars are here - 

She's a sorceror. 

- and she supposes so is Rana. 

Suddenly everyone else's insistence that they can't see the stars in the daytime makes a lot more sense.

She prods instinctually at the remaining bundles of blessing. This one feels like it... senses whether someone has good intentions? That's an odd blessing. Another is... A sense of strength for everyone she loves, somehow... and then there is the water-creating power again, and another power that mends broken things...

That seems to be all. 

The one that senses good intentions feels like it's missing something. Some component to channel her faith through...

Clerics carry symbols of their gods, don't they? It feels like that would fit, here. But she doesn't know what spirit has blessed her at all. 

She'll have to go through the charms that the people here at camp have. She knows there's a few in the caravan for good luck and blessings, though few of the caravan actively worship as such. 

If she can repair things with her blessing, maybe she can repair things with her sorceror powers too? 

There's not a lot else to do while she's on watch. She'll try with one of the cloth bags that's looking a little frazzled right now.

Meanwhile on the other side of camp, Rana's coming to similar realizations. The great spirit that's blessed her has given her the same trick that she uses to make alcohol from water, along with a power that lets her detect whether someone's any fun. She can make water, sparks like her sister, make herself more charming, and disguise herself as anyone she wants to... 

She's tried the sparker trick and already gotten it on her own power. When she looks, she can sense where north is too. Now that she looks, has the feeling of it, it's clear that it's her magic holding back her hangover as well.

She needs something to channel her spells through as well. She could rifle through people's belongings for charms while they're asleep, but she'd probably get caught, and she might as well just ask when they wake, even if she is impatient to learn what great spirit's blessed her. And she is supposed to be on watch. 

She goes back to trying to flex her magic. Maybe there's more she can do.

Eventually the camp begins to stir around her. Fayruz and Hayat are first up, since they haven't been on watch. They gather water and start making breakfast, a little slowly since it's so early. 

Next up is Yasmin. She can't go three seconds without a  smile this morning, and she hums to herself as she stirs the cooking pot and prepares the rice.

Munir's up not long after her, and he's distinctly pink this morning. He doesn't seem to be able to look Yasmin in the eye. 

She, meanwhile, can't seem to keep her eyes off him.

As breakfast is perpared, the first watch gets up again: Batul and Niala both come out into the camp. Layla and Rana are relieved from duty, and return to the fire in the center of camp together.

"So," Layla says, grabbing a bowl of onion soup from Fayruz. "It feels to me that I need - some kind of charm or symbol to channel my magic through. Is it the same for you, Rana?"

Rana nods. "It is the same for me. We should collect all the charms in camp and try them all."

Layla smiles. "Exactly my thought. Yasmin, do you have any of those? Fayruz, Hayat? Munir?"

"I keep a gold key charm on me for luck in trading, and a spiral for protection against misfortune. I've heard any mug will do for Cayden Cailean, and we've plenty of nice ones. I don't know what charms others in the camp might have."

"I have... a couple. A songbird charm for luck in love, and, um. A three-daggers one, for skill in... you know."

"I think Kamil keeps a leaf charm for Gozreh and a butterfly for Desna. I keep a butterfly and a key myself."

"He gave me my own leaf charm, so I can contribute it." Munir fishes in his pack and turns out a small silver leaf.

"Batul would have a charm for Irori, I'm pretty sure. It seems fairly likely we'll hit on something with that many charms."

"Naila carries a charm for Sarenrae ever since she lost her eye, if I recall correctly. That's another option we haven't gotten to yet."

"Huh, I hadn't known that."

"You never asked."

"Do you have any charms yourself, Rana?"

"A small pewter tankard and a three-daggers charm. I've tried with both already, neither worked."

"I keep a key and a butterfly, like Fayruz. Neither worked."

"So that leaves, that we haven't tested...?"

"Cayden and Calistria for me, Desna and Abadar for Rana, and Sarenrae, Irori, Shelyn, Gozreh, and Pharasma for both of us."

"I'll go collect everyone's charms. We'll see what's going on soon enough."

Hayat gets up from the fire, and heads off in the direction of where Batul is on watch.

Layla exchanges her key and butterfly for Rana's triple dagger and pewter tankard, and tries with each. 

Nothing happens. 

There's similarly no reaction for Rana when she tries with the key and butterfly.

"The more we eliminate," she says, "the better the chance it is a spirit we do not want to care about us..."

"True..."

Layla accepts Munir's leaf charm and Hayat's spiral charm and tries with both. There's still no reaction. She passes them both on to Rana.

Rana tries with both to no effect. 

"... there are so many spirits, though," she says. "We should not leap to conclusions if we cannot find the right charm."

"I think that is a wise decision." Layla accepts Yasmin's songbird charm and tries it, but once again there's no reaction. She passes it to Rana.

Rana tries it to no effect. 

"That's almost all the charms in camp, unless Fahim has something unusual. I suppose it could be Irori..."

"Irori? For you? Somehow I doubt it." 

"Yes, somehow I doubt it." 

Rana sighs. 

Hayat returns with Batul's Irori charm, and hands it over to Layla. 

"Any luck so far?", she asks. 

"None at all. I'm beginning to worry a little."

Layla tries the enamed open hand, but gets no response. She hands it to Rana for all the good it will do.

Yeah, no. It was always a longshot. 

"It could be... the old gods. The proper ones."

A small silence falls over the camp.

An old god, a foreign god, or a devil or demon... 

Everyone in camp knows which one they're hoping for.

Hayat clears her throat. "I don't think anyone carries charms for the old gods, anymore. They haven't been here for centuries."

"... I do," Fayruz says. "I have a golden cat charm, even still. Bastet is our mother, after all..."

"I suppose I'll try it," Layla says. She extends her hand.

Fayruz fishes in her bag and pulls out a small golden cat charm. She places it in Layla's hand.

She tries it. 

Nothing happens. 

She passes it to Rana.

She bows her head in quiet reverence, and tries. 

A flare of brilliant white light spreads out into the camp, and vanishes.

Then she looks up and meets Layla's eyes with an air of satisfaction. 

"I am a cleric of Bastet," she says. "Our old mother has returned."

Layla can't help it, she grins from ear to ear. "That's wonderful news."

She looks over at the golden cat in Rana's hands. "So then I must be - some other old deity. Hathor, Osiris, Ra -" 

"I think that is the obvious inference, yes. Probably Hathor; she always did work together with our mother."

"We'll have to have a charm made back in the city, when we get there."

Layla sits back on her hands and smiles. "A cleric of Bastet. In this day and age..."

She rubs her chin. "Something big is happening. Something important enough to call our mother back from an entirely different world."

"We will have to be strong and work all together to get through whatever this new game of the gods is. Such times are never easy for mortals."

Fayruz is looking at the golden cat in Rana's hands with something like awe. 

"Our mother, returned..."

Hayat slaps her on the back and laughs. "It can only be good news to have her back again. Don't look so overawed. She is just another spirit in the end."

Fayruz gathers herself and nods. "I - you may keep the charm, obviously. You have more need of it than I."

"This is so cool! It's like something right out of a spiritcalling story!"

Layla chuckles. "Now, now, settle down, Yasmin. She's still our Rana."

"Yeah, that's what's so cool about it! I'm getting dancing lessons from a real spiritcaller!"

Rana smiles and stretches. "Just remember to practice and maybe one day you'll be like me," she lies. 

"O-of course lady spiritcaller!"

Layla smiles. It's kind of endearing how much Yasmin looks up to Rana.

Well, now that that's settled, it's time they got moving.

Layla pushes the camp onwards, doing her best to make sure they make good time. The meal's ready; they've got to move before the heat of the day. She sets Fayruz to balance the camels' loads - she's the best hand at it - and enlists Naila and Batul to haul goods and supplies. Further down the line the other clan is packing up its bags as well. Kamil and Rana are sent to keep watch, while she takes the lead in unhobbling the camels. 

Layla makes sure everyone has their weapons ready, as well - bows for Munir and Kamil, Naila's monstrous bastard sword, her own claymore, and holdout daggers and crossbows for everyone else. She has a bad feeling about today. 

They push on into the desert, away from the Crook, taking a slightly more direct route. There's many more miles to go through the wastes, and only so many supplies loaded on the camels. Best see the journey done as soon as possible. 

After about four hours, Kamil walks quickly forwards along the column and speaks to Layla in front. "Layla," he calls. "Stop the caravan. I saw metal glint off the top of that dune ahead. We're heading into an ambush."

He looks forward, bow unslung. "Gnolls, I think. And more than a few of them."

"Halt and make ready!" Layla calls, and all along the length of the caravan hands go to crossbows and load bolts. 

"I knew it. Someone wants us dead, and with us Bastet's only cleric. Lamashtu, I think." She dismounts her camel and draws her sword. "Naila, Batul, to the front!" 

Naila unslings her massive greatsword and joins Layla at the head of the caravan. "I'm here."

Rana isn't far behind her, her own crossbow drawn. "I'm here as well. How many do you guess?"

Kamil nocks an arrow to his bowstring. "Enough. If they're planning to attack a caravan, they'd send two groups, one for each flank. Trap us in the middle, hit us from both sides. They must realize we've spooked by now, but they're hoping we continue anyway. Standoff."

"If we go up the middle we're as good as dead, but we can't wheel the entire baggage train around them fast enough to catch them off guard. It's foolish to approach them when we don't know how many there are, even if they are separated into two groups, especially since it'll leave the baggage train undefended. Kamil, take Batul and circle right and see if you can pick off their leader or one of their officers. If they come at you retreat and try to pull them into crossbow range. Rana, protect the baggage train and be ready to channel your magic. Naila, you're leading the defense of the baggage train with me and Rana and all the common fighters. Make them come at us over crossbow range, most Gnolls are shit bowyers."

"Now go!"

Batul and Kamil fall back, splitting off from the main force to circle the dune that the suspected gnolls are hiding behind, keeping a good distance the whole time, Kamil with his bow at nock and Batul keeping her body between him and the dune. 

After a few moments, Kamil draws his bow, aims, and lets loose. 

There's an animal yelp from behind the dune, followed by a chorus of snarls. 

"Kill them!" roars a guttural voice. "For Grandmother Nightmare!"

And a full dozen gnolls get up out of the sand and start running towards Kamil and Batul, each one carrying a long wooden spear with a sharpened end. 

Kamil falls back towards the column and looses another arrow as he goes. It takes a gnoll in the throat and it goes down. 

Batul's not far behind him.

Layla aims the guards of the caravan towards the gnoll force. 

"Ready!" she calls. "Aim! Loose!" 

And -

- everyone - 

- in the convoy - 

- looses their crossbow. 

Many of the shots are not very good. Half the convoy is civilians, though ones who've had to hunt or fight before. And the gnolls aren't coming at them square on, they're going after Kamil and Batul who look like easy prey. 

Still, more than a few bolts land home. Gnolls stumble and yelp and their charge breaks up a little. 

"Ready!" calls Layla, and the trained fighters of the caravan drop their crossbows and draw their swords. 

The civilians reload. 

Yasmin's hands shake, but she doesn't fumble her bolt. Crank it back, crank it back - 

Kamil looses a third arrow and takes another gnoll in the shoulder as he rejoins the caravan.

Rana looses her own crossbow bolt and catches the leader in the chest, then draws her sword.

And then the remains of the charge are upon them. 

There's still a good half-dozen gnolls up and fighting, lead by a gnoll in black spiked armor that looks like it was custom-fit to his body. And they crash into the warriors of the caravan with their spears ahead of them. 

Naila leads the countercharge with a roar more guttural than any gnoll, her black claymore vicious in her hands. She strikes once, twice, and another gnoll is dead. 

But many of her warriors are not so strong. The gnollish spears are longer than her guard's swords, and many of them take serious wounds. A gap opens in their defenses, baring the reloading civilians inside the cordon. 

And that is when Layla spots the second group of a dozen gnolls coming up the sands in a headlong rush to reinforce their brethren. 

"Hold!" she calls, stepping inside a gnoll's spear range and striking with her claymore. "Hold!" 

And the battleground descends into delightful chaos as the gnolls rally, seeing reinforcements on the way. 

Foolish goddesses. Bet you wish you sent some combat spells now.

I did, actually. 

Layla releases the burst of Bless, and the fear that's fallen over the caravan falls away a little. They strike truer, fight fiercer. All twenty people in her caravan get the effects of the spell, and that matters.

"We aren't going down without a fucking fight!"

Naila strikes another heavy blow onto the gnoll lieutenant in the black armor... But many of the fighters around her are clutching wounds. 

A gnoll gets past her. It's pretty much inevitable. 

Victory and meat! 

The gnoll thrusts his spear at Hayat. 

(19+3 = 22.) 

He catches her in the side and digs his spear deep into her flesh. 

She cries out in pain and falls. She's not combat experienced; she's as fragile as any civilian. 

Yasmin pulls her dagger and leaps at the gnoll, reckless even of her own life - 

1d20 (14) +1 (Bless) = 15

The dagger just barely sinks home after skittering off the gnoll's sternum. 

Munir is there in a moment, bringing his sword to the defense of his new girlfriend - 

1d20 (14) +1 (Bless) + 2 (Strength) + 2 (BAB) = 20

He gets a clean hit, and the gnoll collapses atop Yasmin. 

"Ohgodohgodgetitoffme -" cries Yasmin as the bloodied body of the gnoll slumps against her - 

Munir shoves the body of the gnoll off her, and then looks up. 

Naila has killed the gnoll lieutenant of the first group, and the remainder have broken. The remaining dozen gnolls are screaming at their brethern, calling them cowards. 

Several people are on the desert sand in pools of blood. 

Batul fought fiercely in the front rank, but took enough blows fighting hand-to-hand that she's collapsed despite the unnatural vitality of combat trained fighters. 

She's been stabbed several times. She's probably dead or dying. 

Kamil is hurt but still fighting. He's just catching his breath right now, okay, he's okay.

The deep wound to his thigh suggests he might not be okay for long. 

Layla is unharmed. Several people sacrificed themselves to make it that way. 

And so too is Rana.

Fayruz is determinedly reloading her crossbow.

So is Fahim. 

Alright, fine. I'll help you this once.

Channel energy. Channel energy. Channel Energy. 

Most first-circle clerics would be out of power at this point, at four channels in a day. Rana is an exception. She still has more than half her strength left. 

Batul pushes herself up off the sand and readies for battle again. 

That is a new low for her.

The wound on Kamil's thigh heals over.

And in the circle of swords, Hayat shakily grasps her dagger and comes up ready to stab a gnoll that isn't there. 

"Go on, then!" Layla calls to the gnoll forces. "Crawl back to your holes! Every wound you deal us heals; every wound we deal you is forever. Give up now or be destroyed!"

Her voice doesn't waver. She puts absolute confidence into it. 

If the gnolls come at them again, they probably lose. No-one has their crossbows loaded, and cleric channels aren't selective. They're lucky to have gotten this opportunity. Naila won't be able to rage again. She has spells, but most of them are useless in a fight.

Fully a quarter of the attacking gnoll force is dead. The tribe will be long in recovering from this battle. 

They stare Layla down, greed and fear warring in their heads. 

At last their leader snarls and makes a turning handsign. 

The gnolls fall back. Cowardice has won out.