[X] You decide to simply approach openly, and hail the caravan and village alike. Both seem friendly to the other, and unlike Daemons mortal sentients are sometimes unaware entirely of the war or their purpose in it. Thus it would not be the first time a Nimbru Shaman approached presenting itself simply as a peaceful scholar and seeker of knowledge.
With Open Arms
Assessing the dangers as remote enough in probability, though nevertheless ready to act to protect yourself if danger should emerge, you take the logical first step and…
Go out into the wastes so you won't blatantly emerge from behind a hill, of course. You don't want to lend the impression you've been secretly observing them, precisely because it's true.
Thus you come up as the caravan begins to pass into the village proper. You call out "Hail the village!" while holding your hands out, as if to show you're unarmed. Not that a weapon would significantly impact your ability to fight, given your function, but the mortals are unlikely to know that either way.
Many members of the caravan and the villagers alike turn to face you in clear surprise. Muttered conversations begin. You note that it is likely these creatures have less keen hearing than your own, as you can hear them well enough and none of them are addressing you explicitly. You make special note of sentences like 'Alone, from the wastes?' and 'Doesn't look like one of The Folk', as well as 'Not one of us, but it speaks…'.
Eventually, a gray furred, red eyed individual carrying a staff too ornate to be a likely weapon or mere mobility assistance quiets the crowd, and steps forward. You recognize this as one of the villagers and not the caravan members, and you assess likely one already esteemed by the group. "Who and what are you, stranger?"
You consider the question itself before you decide how to answer. That they ask
what you are implies they either
recognize your non-mortal nature in a significant capacity, such as having encountered Daemons before, or else they have such a narrow experience that they do not realize that mortals can significantly diverge from their own kind. Equally, it implies that
if they already know of Nimbru Daemons as such, they've never seen a Shaman before, as otherwise they would recognize you by your type. It has been a very long time since the last design shift within the ranks of Nimbru Daemons.
You don't spend
much time considering it however. You have a general idea as to how to go about approaching things peacefully. "I am a servant of the great Nimbru the Scholar. A Shaman, in service of my lord."
The mortal makes a considering noise. "Nimbru? Is this one of the mythical Dragons?" After a delay he adds, in a tone of irritation "And you didn't answer me on the who, stranger."
You take the questions in the reverse order. "Ah, my humble apologies, but one with so little in deeds has no name. I am merely a Shaman, one of many who serve the Scholar in his endless quest for knowledge." And then you make a sort of so-so gesture with your hands, as you say "And no, my lord is not a Dragon, merely the servant of one. A mighty Joar, master of Daemonkind."
There's another round of muttering at that. Dragons, you gather from the way the crowd speaks of them, are heard of but believed to not exist. Some suggest farther villages are fervent in a belief in their existence, others think Dragons never existed, or died out a long time ago. Daemon, on the other hand, draws unfamiliarity from the crowd.
When the mortal leader(?) and the rest of the crowd takes a few minutes without further addressing you, you decide to take the verbal initiative. You raise your voice, not loud enough to be shouting, but enough that most of the crowd stops and takes notice, and say "The better question than who and what, I would think, would be my intentions, folk of the village. And as to that, as always my quest is to learn. The Scholar commands all knowledge, and so it shall be… but I seem to be far from home and my master is silent upon specifics, an unusual position to find oneself in."
The apparent leader gestures back the way you came, asking "Then… did you travel the wastes alone? Is your master from somewhere past the Red Death?" You make mental note of this Red Death business but decide it's not as important as the rest of the sentence.
You answer honestly enough, seeing no reason to be deceptive on this particular topic. "Well, I did travel to
here alone, but the archives of Nimbru never recorded such a place as this land, and I found myself out in what you call the wastes.. Mysteriously and without knowledge of how I might have arrived there. Upon seeing signs of thinking life I naturally chose to engage in a dialogue that I might better learn of the circumstances I find myself in."
The leader looks troubled, but also puzzled. "Strange times, truly. Well… so long as you bring no harm with you, I see no reason to turn away a mere… what did you say you were, a scribe or some such?"
You shake your head. "Though a scribe's work might at times fall to a Shaman, a Shaman is what I am. A wielder of the mystic arts of my lord, Nimbru, to better learn and analyze, you see."
The crowd shows no immediate recognition of the notion of shamanism or even, really, 'mystic arts'. The leader seems to give the matter more thought, and says "I see… well, we can't just be giving away valuable food and such, but I'm sure we can find a spare room for sleep and work for you to earn pay, if you don't have any valuables to barter… we don't have such a shortfall of food that starving a stranger would be justified."
You give out a friendly chuckle, before clarifying "Ah, such things won't be necessary. Daemons of Nimbru do not eat, and Daemons as a rule do not sleep."
The crowd seems to find this a pretty puzzling declaration… but lacking apparent familiarity with the existence of Daemons ultimately do not seem to consider this concerning enough to act on.
There's a short delay but the caravan members and villagers alike have clearly decided you are not enough of a threat to delay getting on with business. That business being… well, business. You gather between simple conversation and individual considered questions the following facts;
- The caravan comes from a nearby village- apparently, this village, Hearthhome, trades with another three nearby villages and, more indirectly, with farther away villages. Trade is a complex mix of local luxuries and required staples the villages have inequal access to.
- The village receives a caravan around once per seven days, a unit of time the villagers call a week. Sometimes there's delays owing to travel conditions, and each caravan runs on its own schedule, rather than intentionally coordinating the timing.
- The dust is simultaneously extremely important to the villagers, and apparently dangerous. Poisonous, long term travel through what they call The Wastes is only possible with protective measures, and even units of time like half a day can render one deathly ill. Which probably explains the response you drew.
- The villagers and caravan members alike identify their kind as simply 'the folk'. They've never seen a Dragon, or a Joar, or a Daemon, nor even a Dragon's Wyrms, though there are apparently myths and distant rumors of Dragons existing.
- The direction you came from is too dangerous to travel. Something called The Red Death the Folk struggle to explain (but is not a creature, a terrain feature, or an object) dominates the horizon once you get far enough out, taking travel from 'dangerous' to 'certain death'. You are unclear if the Folk themselves even know what kills those who try or if this is just forbidden because nobody knows what happens.
- There are, apparently, 'monsters' out somewhere in the Wastes, but the Folk aren't very specific on what they mean. It sounds to you like common examples of large, predatory fauna, in a general sense, and the descriptions aren't specific enough to be clear if they are or are not familiar to you.
- The Folk do not have the concept of war. Violence, yes, but no village apparently wages coordinated warfare against any other. Or at least not any the local villagers have heard of. It is at the least a foreign concept to this particular locale, though that only implies to your assumptions a logistics train given the scale of a typical Dragon's domain.
You consider your next move…
[] You decide to simply hang around the village, helping out freely and learning more in the process. Should these creatures become enemies of Nimbru at some later date, the knowledge will be worth whatever improvements to their combat readiness you wound up providing.
[] You inquire as to if you can accompany the caravan back to its home village, and if they say no, simply follow in secret. A sample size of one is not fully informative of the shape of these villages, to say the least.
[] You head out into the Wastes, and not the way you came, to see if you can find and study these… 'monsters'.
[] You
cautiously and with reservations attempt to locate the thing the Folk call 'the Red Death'. Perhaps it explains your arrival, or perhaps it is a threat even to you, and either way, such a phenomenon can merit priority for study.
[] You discuss with the villagers and see if they are amenable to you contacting Nimbru, or trying anyways.
[] The Folk do not seem hostile so far and you're not going to put off contacting Nimbru forever, and nor do you care whether the creatures would mind you contacting your master; you'll simply head out into the wastes and invoke Nimbru, and see what happens.
[] Write-in, subject to QM veto.
(QM Notes: Well that took noticeably longer than expected to find the time to right, but the story continues on.)
