Msaka recovered his breath after a couple of minutes of rest, and turned his attention back to the bodies. He was rather pleased at having given the drunkard what he'd deserved, though less so at the fact that had the man not been inebriated, the dagger might well have pierced his heart or throat, rather than his shoulder. Keeping his staff in hand, in case the other attacker returned, he searched the bodies, intending to salvage what he could.

In addition to the scimitars and round shields each had been carrying, each had another dagger, in addition to the one the leader had thrown. Their clothing wasn't particularly interesting, especially since it was scorched. Their purses contained quite a few coins though, and Msaka pocketed them without hesitation. They were mostly the 'centimes' of the region, not all that valuable, but he would take any he could get.

He considered the weapons for several moments. They might be worth something, if he could find somewhere to sell them in the city. He recalled the plaza he had visited shortly after arrival, where the tournament had been taking place. There'd been a building there with a bellows over the door - that might have been a smithy, in which case he might be able to sell them there.

On the other hand, it would look rather odd for him to wander into the city wearing the scimitars and daggers - especially since he hadn't been seen with any such swords before. He frowned, and appropriated the daggers, reasoning that they wouldn't attract very much attention, and could be useful in other ways, even if he didn't sell them.

Turning his attention back to the surrounding area, he noticed that the griffins didn't seem to have been bothered by the fighting at all - they still lay sleeping in their nest. Nothing else was in sight, but in the fading light, he couldn't be as certain of that as he could during the day.

He moved back to the spot he'd picked out before and sat down once again, removing some food from his pack and noting that he didn't have much left. "I'll have to bring some more here," he thought. "Once I've figured out what I'm going to do next."

He ate silently, going over the possibilities in his mind, which were disturbingly few. It was going to be difficult to explain what had happened without the shaman becoming upset at his apparent failure, but perhaps if he recited everything that had happened, the shaman would see some possibility he had missed.

He finished his meal and stood, readying himself for the task ahead. He incanted and gestured with his staff three times, calling several packages of food from his hut back in his village to him, pleased to see that it had been kept stocked despite his not having called for anything there in a long time. He was mildly annoyed when his staff disappeared after the third casting, apparently having been depleted. He resummoned it and used it to bring himself a fourth package, then stopped, having decided that four should be enough.

He quickly desposited the packages in his pack, then turned his attention to his main task. The air was still calm, leaving the sand viable as a surface to trace on, and he used his staff to draw the pentagram he would need for the spell in the sand. It took several minutes, but he completed the drawing without anything interrupting his work.

Taking a deep breath, he began the motions and incantations of the sending ritual, empowering the pentagram before him. It lit up on completion of the casting, illuminating the desert around it in a somewhat eerie fashion. The shaman's image faded into view, and he looked expectantly at Msaka. "How have things gone?" the shaman asked simply, apparently in one of his better moods.

Msaka hesitated for a moment before replying. "Not as well as was wanted," he said. "And I am hoping you can see some solution to this that I can't, because if not, I may be here for a very long time before I can get an elemental."

He spent the next half hour recounting the events of his arrival and time in Shapier in detail, occasionally repeating part of his tale when the shaman asked him to do so. The shaman looked irritated at first that things hadn't gone according to plan, but as Msaka neared the end of his story, he began to look thoughtful, and when Msaka finished, he nodded calmly, apparently having decided he wasn't so upset after all.

"What do you want me to do next?" Msaka asked.

"I know exactly what you need to do," the shaman stated. "But the people in that region are not going to like it, so you'll need to make certain you aren't caught doing it. I'm going to teach you a couple of new spells you'll find necessary or useful for what you're doing, in addition to your task. Pay careful attention, because I do not want to have to repeat this instruction. In addition, I am warning you now not to repeat this magic to anyone - not even anyone else of our village. I am entrusting you with it because it is necessary, not because I would do so normally."

The shaman spoke, and Msaka listened intently, committing every detail of the instructions and the spells to memory. By the time he was done, his staff's power had been exhausted, and his own was somewhat depleted as well. Still, he had what he needed when the shaman finally bid him farewell, and he terminated the spell.

He stood silently for some time, considering what had been set before him. The people here definitely wouldn't appreciate his doing it, but he didn't really have any other choice, since he couldn't convince Aziza to give him one. He resummoned his staff, just in case anything showed itself on the way back to the city, and began the trip back, briefly wondering if succeeding at this would be worth the price to be paid.

Then he thought of the shaman's reaction should he not carry out the plan, and all thoughts of refusal fled from his mind.