Rolled 5, 3, 6, 3, 2, 2, 1, 5, 2, 4, 4, 3, 3, 6, 1, 3, 2, 4, 6, 5, 3, 1, 4, 3 = 81 (24d6)
>>6116591Scarlett and Martik make it east, passing for a dust cloud behind the retreating windsworn. Pretending to be sand. Impersonating dunes. This is hard, long going. Mobility Kits were designed for this, or the good boots of the Ranger, but the clanking gears in Scarletts pockets are no help at all. Martik has brought extra water in a fit of sheer luck. But the road grows long and the burdens grow longer.
The Windsworn beat a manic pace. Despite the wounded, they make the long distances slim and cross the ground with a looping gait. One would think them half Scraghounds for sheer speed. Three times, Scarlett loses them. Three times, they have to double back. Check again. There must be trails, evidence, blood on the sand, over-turned twigs, little scars in the landscape. It is tiring, gruelling work made all the worse for the fact that the enemy is surely acclimated to the landscape. They cannot proceed at speed or too fast. There would be sentries. Guards. Trickery.
--
Eventually, and who knows how long its been, cliffs rise into view. Shade and shelter cast by jagged shadows by rock like vast bone poking out of the earth. The Windsworn make for it. The ground grows hardened. Rocky. Footfalls easier, though now, instead of stumbling on sand in the half dark, the risk is twisted ankles on sharp rock.
And up ahead . . . through a curve in the trail and in the spread dusty distance between several jagged cliff-faces, there it is. Tents and leansto strung out where there's a windbreak. Martik points UP. See them? There, now, line against the sky - sentries. Stay low.
This, for once on this miserable trek, is where Scarletts kit show its worth. Through the spyglass, the vast space between here and there grows slim and the little campsite becomes more managable to observe . . .
>Another 8 sets of medical>And a Sense check. 