<span style="font-weight: bold"><span style="color: orange">&lt;&lt;meanwhile, 250 feet to the north in the Sogluyem camp: a fragment of another story&gt;&gt;</span></span><br/><br/>Roland hears the jingling of the keyring and feels his gut clench with terror.<span style="font-style: italic">Here she comes.</span>The other slaves huddled around him all have the same idea. They know what that sound means.<br/><br/>"Ohhh, looovveess." sings Ellith as she emerges from her tent. Roland glances over and, in spite of the situation, cannot help but notice that her silk top shows off her ample bust and narrow waist. If she weren't a heartless monster and a mortal enemy, he would be enchanted by her beauty.<br/>"Gueeess what tiiime it is?" The young naga slithers over to her livestock, playfully spinning the keyring on her finger. Below the waist, her body is forty-one feet of thick serpentine muscle covered in speckled purple scales. The slaves struggle to back away from her, but the iron chain linking their collars to a boulder makes this a futile effort.<br/><br/>"Mmmm." says Ellith, enjoying the effect her presence has on her toys. "Who will it be today?"<br/>She slithers around the group, then reaches down to brush the hair of one of the smaller human girls. "You?"<br/>The girl thinks of begging for mercy, but the words die on her tongue and she can only shiver and whimper under the naga's gaze.<br/>"No..." says Ellith, moving down the line. Roland sees her coming closer and closer. Then, she is looking at him--pulse hammers in his ears, time seems slow to a crawl--but to his surprise, she passes over him.<br/>"Maybe...you?" She says to another girl, a blond elf.<br/>This time, the victim is more coherent. "No!" she shouts, "Please don't! Please...I'll give you anything!"<br/>Ellith laughs at this. "Give me anything? Girl, you don't have anything that isn't already mine. I<span style="font-weight: bold">own</span>you." She bends closer and parts her soft lips, revealing gleaming white fangs and a long pink tongue. Slowly, sensuously, she draws her tongue across the girl's cheek, leaving a glistening streak of spittle.<br/>"Mmmmm. Yes." she whispers sweetly. "You're the one." Hearing this, and feeling the naga pop open her collar with her key, the elf loses what little composure she had maintained up to this point and starts to panic in earnest. Roland feels pity and remorse for his Pact sister and rage at the naga, but mainly he feels relief that he is not the one about to become a bulge in those purple scales. The elf spends her last breath screaming, then the thick coils of muscle constrict around her chest and she finds herself gasping, unable to inhale. The naga squeezes carefully, not wanting to damage her meal, only to subdue it. Denied air, the elf quickly ceases struggling.<br/><br/>Many of the slaves look away--it is too horrible to watch. Roland, however, stares with morbid fascination as Ellith lifts the girl, limp but still alive, into her arms. She holds her tenderly, then pulls her face close as if to a kiss, but with her mouth open wide. The naga's jaws unhinge and spread easily around her prey, engulfing her entire blond head in a single efficient swallow.<br/>"MmmMMMm!! <3" moans the naga with satisfaction. With her tongue she explores the elf's body and savors its taste as each swallow pulls more and more of it into her ravenous throat. After some time, the poor elf maiden recovers some of her strength and starts to struggle weakly, but it is too little, far too late. Most of her body is already encased in the hot, pulsating darkness of the her living tomb, visible to the outside world only as a squirming bulge that stretches the fabric of Ellith's shirt. At last, bare toes slide past the naga's fangs. With a sultry grin--looking Roland right in the eyes--she tilts her head back and guuullllps powerfully, sending the squirming elf down to a gurgly doom.<br/><br/>Roland is simultaneously aroused and scared shitless, and immediately looks at the ground. Ellith laughs cherubically, rubbing her new bulge as it sinks lower into her scaly half on its way to her belly. "Mmm, wonderful! That's just what I needed! <3 Thanks, loves, see you later!" And with that, she slithers back to her tent.<br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><span style="color: orange"><span style="font-weight: bold">&lt;&lt;near the southern entrance to the town&gt;&gt;</span></span><br/><br/>"(Goblin)Yes." responds Inse, the female goblin who sits with a strung shortbow in her lap, to Sen's question. "This is Armel. Who are you?"<br/><br/>Though his accent and dress are unfamiliar, Sen is certainly a goblin--and therefore he is a blood-brother (or, at least, a distant blood-cousin). This automatically earns him points in Inse's book. On the other hand, his traveling companions are clearly nothing of the sort. Based on this observation, and her understanding of how the world works for goblins, she supposes that this green-skin goblin (and probably that rodent and that unarmed human as well) must be slaves of the dragonfolk, dire wolf and/or centaur.<br/><br/>[The starting attitude of the Heodo goblins towards Sen is "indifferent", towards the rest of the party it is "unfriendly". These can be modified by use of the<a class="postlink" href="http://www.d20srd.org/srd/skills/diplomacy.htm">diplomacy</a>skill]<br/><br/>At the sight of strangers (especially Heshaar), three of the worgs [<a class="postlink" href="http://www.wizards.com/dnd/images/MM35_gallery/MM35_PG257.jpg">worg reference</a>] bare their fangs and let out low warning growls. This noise wakes Kalsh, the 900 lb. male garbed in military saddle and chainmail barding who had been slumbering next to the fire and serving as Inse's pillow. He now lifts his head and glares groggily at the strangers.<br/><br/>"(Goblin)What's this? Who're they?" demands the worg in the loud, authoritative voice of an alpha male. In contrast to his skittish underlings, Kalsh remains lying prone where he is and shows no sign of alarm--who, afterall, could eat<span style="font-style: italic">him</span>?<br/><br/>"(Goblin)Strangers. They just came up the highway." says Sorn, the leather-armored male hobgoblin, to his superior. "Don't recognize 'em."<br/><br/>Kalsh spots Sen approaching--and grins fangily.<span style="font-style: italic">How lucky...breakfast is walking right into camp...</span>He is not even particularly hungry; his belly is still bulging with the remains of poor Akgrot and Lenko. But that doesn't stop him from salivating at the thought of pouncing on this 34 pound morsel and sending him down in one bite.<br/><span style="font-style: italic">But...no...wait...</span>Looking up at Rihyan and Heshaar, Kalsh arrives at the same conclusion as Inse: these must be Sen's owners.<span style="font-style: italic">Damn. No free breakfast...</span><br/><br/>"(Worg, a language that sounds like growling and barking) What do we do?" asks one of the smaller worgs who is also eyeing the strangers hungrily. Kalsh thinks for a moment, trying to estimate the party's strength, balancing the potential payoff of loot, glory, and full bellies against the risk of provoking a stronger enemy. The two small creatures and the two humanoids look mostly harmless; the armored wolfess looks a bit fiesty, but nothing he can't handle; dragonfolk are dangerous, but not if they can pin and overwhelm him quickly. But that centaur...with his rippling muscles, brilliant feathers and glimmering armor...Kalsh can't put his claw on it, but there is something about Rihyan that unsettles him. He doesn't want to face him in a fight--not a fair fight, anyway.<br/><br/>Finally, only after deciding that the risk is too great for a pre-emptive attack, does he decide to speak.<br/><br/>"(Common)Who're you with?" he asks Rihyan and Heshaar, who he assumes are the leaders because of their size. "Soggies? Bolgies? You here to trade, or're you just looking for trouble?"<br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/>{{All: make spot and listen checks}}