{Xarces: CP'd with you, but yes, go ahead and make the knowledge history check. You do know as common knowledge that the world was once ruled by demons, till dragons banished and defeated them at great cost many thousands of years ago. Surkil is seeking artefacts and relics of this 'Age of Demons'. Bright: Yes, in theory, but I don't think we should be too strict with the dice rolls in non-combat situations. You help them, taking 10. It's good. In this case though, if you wish to roll, you of course can - PS, if you think you might like to make a roll, go ahead and make the roll and post it. If it wasn't necessary, no harm done, otherwise we get to move forward a bit faster}.<br/><br/>The lizardfolk group, no more numerous than the eight individuals who make up your own, are somewhat hesitant to be touched by a human. But, once your intentions are clear, and after a few instructing barks from the elder lizardman, clearly in charge, they settle and allow you to treat their injuries. Almost all are bites, from lizards with jaws significantly larger than those of these blue-skinned folk. From the angle, you can tell whatever bit them was looming over them whilst it did so, and several different bite radii are present.<br/><br/>"The Blackscales tasted us," the Headspeaker explains in draconic, "they ate only the most succulent."<br/><br/>The short period of rest is greeted with pleasure by the members of both groups, not least your packmules, which Gunthar tends to. After, he approaches the Headspeaker. "This... Armaekrixner," he asks in Draconic. "What is it?"<br/><br/>"Armaekrixner is the honor of Tribe Strongvine," the Headspeaker replies in the same language. "An ancient weapon, handed down from Headspeaker to Headspeaker since the Age of Draconic Victory - its shaft bleached white by the ages, its head, footlong and still as sharp as the day it was forged in dragonsbreath. Thousands of Headspeakers have held it in trust for their successors." His tail swishes in distress. "Until<span style="font-style: italic">me</span>. I will be the last Headspeaker of Tribe Strongvine, holders of Spear Armaekrixner."<br/><br/>There's a pause.<br/><br/>"Valuable?" Gunthar asks.<br/><br/>"What price the honor of my tribe?" Krustach replies. "I would've spent my life to retrieve it. But<span style="font-style: italic">not</span>the lives of my companions."<br/><br/>It takes him a moment, to puzzle the matter.<br/><br/>"You go Kha’shazul," he blurts in common. "You wonder if tribute you carry enough to buy lives. You must not!" He exclaims. "Blackscales take lives anyway. At least some! Maybe all!" He pleads. "You," he turns, clutching at Xarces's hand, switching to draconic as his common fails him, "will be an abomination to them. A warm-blood with the feathers of the sacred Couatl. You," he spins to Alizome, fast despite his age. He leans close, tongue flickering at the air. "You..." he sighs, as his tongue presses lightly against your cheek. Dim jungle light plays over his sharp, sharp teeth within a maw far wider than any human mouth can open. "You will be their<span style="font-style: italic">food</span>," he explains, "<span style="font-style: italic">soft</span>and<span style="font-style: italic">succulent</span>that you are." His mouth, you note, is<span style="font-style: italic">dripping</span>with saliva. "If I were ten seasons younger," he clacks, fingerclaws denting the flesh of your arm. "Go in peace," he says, sagging slightly as his mouth closes with a<span style="font-style: italic">snap</span>. "You have the friendship of Tribe Strongvine, for those few years that may remain to us. "But go not to Kha’shazul," he finishes, in common.