The company did as Varsuja instructed, dragging away the wounded body of Thorinta--though not before Feala nimbly managed to snatch the coral necklace from around Varsuja's neck. Fleeing into the Serth Hatama, the strange tower and their companion, Varsuja, were soon lost to sight -- not even the stone roof of the tower now visible among the trees.
That night, Thorinta died of his wounds, and the Company buried him beside one of the many blighted green pools which are found amid the Withered Wood. This pool Feala cleansed during the ceremony, and with it the spiritual toll of the Company's journey began to lighten perceptibly. Moving deeper into the Withered Wood, the Company came at last again upon the main thoroughfare of the old northern road, and with it, the recent tracks of Nalshbori companies and wagons.
It wasn't long before the Company encountered one such company. Fortunately, they'd managed to disguise themselves as Nalshbori before they fell in with a roving band of Sea Scorpion raiders, just come from an expedition to the outlands. Since the Company did not have a disguise for Oratsos (but DID have a necklace), they had decided to pass him off first as a rogue Nalshbori prisoner, and later as a normal Amborian prisoner. He was still passing for the former when the Sea Scorpions offered to take him off the Company's hands. Thoranrai managed to talk them down, and the Sea Scorpions were on the verge of moving on when a taunt from Thoranrai resulted in an outburst by one of the Nalshbori warriors. In a flurry of blades and hooked spears, Thoranrai took him down, though a second squabble over the dead warrior's weapons and armor almost resulted in a much larger, much deadlier confrontation.
Thoranrai backed away, and the Company were allowed to press on to Gashund-i-Yalir.
As the treeline breaks on either side of you, the sprawling encampment of Gashund-i-Yalir stretches out before you in every direction. Built, destroyed, rebuilt, and destroyed again over the centuries, Gashund-i-Yalir has been the property of Amborian kings and Nalshbori warlords, and is currently the main Nalshbori outpost West of the Wanle Cheyth. There are ruins all around, most of them now repurposed to support the city of hide tents. The sound--the noise--the smells--all of it is somehow familiar, and yet repulsive -- a grim parody of the great cities of the Ambori.
The Company managed to infiltrate the camp with only minor difficulty (and by subjecting Oratsos to a fair amount of abuse), and were directed to the Slave Pen, into which Oratsos was cast--meeting Sir Ralus and some two or three dozen other prisoners in the process. At that moment a general murmur began to spread throughout the camp: "Mawish. Mawish is coming."
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