The old Elf leaps heavenward--The Cloak of Elemental Night dashing against his wire frame in the sandstorm, a black pennant. As he soars to a 50ft apex his parched and squinting eyes doth skim the sandy miles laid out below him, the dunes creeping eternally onward like migrating sand worms whipped by the wind. Alas, there's no sign of the worm canyons nor the skiff's hull. But as his descent gathers its momentum, Highbough's eye chances across a flat curve too uniform to be natural. Even far off and half-buried, it can only be The Ring, bless it!
As he thumps down onto in the sandy gale next to Wen, Highbough has already calculated his target must lie about an eighth-mile off, veering hard to his left. How they managed to drift so far off course in this blighted desert, he will never know.
Both our Elves are aware of their thirst, but their water skins are spent...
The ref decides that a giant leap over the dunes doubles Highbough's chance of spotting his mark in the usual fashion of Elves actively searching; 1d6=3, ah! On the other hand, he also doubles the chance of attracting attention to himself this turn; 1d6=4, so nothing. Has their run of ill-fortune turned..?
the Elf Medium (MV 12", AC 9, HD 1, hp 1/1, AL N) great cloak, lantern
; spells: color spray; scrolls: sleep, sleep, charm person
Hirelings: Georges; torch