It was far from the teeming city of Katapesh. After reaching the smaller town of Solku from there, the travelers would find themselves traveling northward, into the scrublands of Katapesh's northern reaches, their exact destination unknown. The camel caravan was led by a dour, taciturn man named Garavel, a man who appeared more like a sword-fighter than a major-domo of an unknown merchant princess. He normally wears a plain white keffiyeh over his head, but one who looked close would see what looked like a black metal bolt protruding from the side of his head.<br/><br/>Those in the caravan were those that Garavel had hired, by and large, or requisitioned from the slaves owned by Katapesh herself. The most striking of the other was a woman who called herself Phyrreth Desertkin, a woman whose hair shone almost like living flames down to the middle of her back, and whose eyes were deep crimson orbs. She was tall, nearly six feet in height, but relatively slight, her ash-dark skin like cooled, flawless obsidian that drew the eyes of the only male hire frequently. She'd tattooed her arms with patterns of flames in some ink that was nearly the same bright orange shade as her hair, and her dress was a deep crimson inscribed with gold patterns, and designed to show off much of her body in the process. However, she had a very fiery temper, though it cooled as quickly as it was unleashed...and one night along the way, Erel would have seen the other woman slip out to the edge of camp before taking out a small package that she then consumed the contents of, quickly leaving her in a smiling stupor for some time. Phyrreth claimed to be a sorceress with efreet ancestry, and the only weapons she carried were a light crossbow and dagger, both of average crafting.<br/><br/>The second person was the only male aside from Garavel, a smiling, friendly man named Syral Windcutter. The native of Katapesh wore scarred rhino-hide armor, and a weathered wooden shield, and kept his flail and sling ready at all times. He was a bit boring, though, in spite of his best efforts to woo the women in the group, a fact which seemed to frustrate him. He was only five and a half feet tall, and thus was nigh unto the shortest person in the group, a fact which obviously rankled, but he was quick to dismiss it if others brought it up. With dark olive skin, trimmed black hair, and dark brown eyes, he was fairly attractive in spite of himself, and was quick to take the front whenever the travelers thought an enemy might be close, though he hadn't been forced to prove his valor as of yet.<br/><br/>Last was a fellow slave, an elf even more out of place here than Erel. Zyrah Songstress was slightly taller than Phyrreth, and she had skin so pale it was a wonder it didn't burn on the very hint of sunlight, she had pale white hair, and her eyes were golden orbs. The soft-spoken, gorgeous elf wore a simple holy symbol of Sarenrae, and her clothing was simple studded leather and clothing appropriate for the desert climbs, flowing and all the better to keep the heat off. She had a scimitar and sling, but she tried to avoid engaging others in conversation, which caused rumors to flow even more. A few overheard comments would allow one to realize that not only was Zyrah acquired from the Snowcaster tribes of the Crown of the World, but she was also descended of an angel of some form. Her collar was of simple iron but elaborately made, oddly enough.<br/><br/>But at long last their journey was coming to an end, as they came over the crest of a hill, to see a massive tree to the north. It was immediately obvious why the tree, which was their destination, was called the Sultan's Claw, since the tree had five massive, outstretched branches that looked like nothing more than bony claws of a hand, void of leaves as they were. A number of wagons could be seen near the base of the tree, along with a makeshift pen filled with animals. Almost hidden in the haze to the west loomed the massive peak of Pale Mountain, looming like a tomestone over the region.<br/><br/>"Is that it, then? When will we finally find out what this job even is?" Phyrreth asked impatiently, wiping away some of the dust in distaste.<br/><br/>"My Lady will inform you in her own due time. You simply need to do the job." Garavel replied in a level voice, much like he had before. "That does appear to be her camp."<br/><br/>"If the pay wasn't so much, I'd just leave, with the smoke and mirrors you keep throwing around." Phyrreth snapped, only to have Syral speak up.<br/><br/>"Easy, easy! We're almost there, and then she'll tell us, right?" He smiled, obviously trying to calm her down. "No need to get all upset at this point."<br/><br/>"Shut up, you little-" Phyrreth began.<br/><br/><div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">Perception DC 17</div><div class="spoiler_body">A hint of smoke can be seen beginning to start under one of the wagons near the Sultan's Claw...on a side that no one in the main camp will be able to see!<br/></div></div>