Bjoern Ghostbear |
"Well we also need to find a few roles. On a ship, a quartermaster is responsible for the dealings with others. We need a carpenter to take care of our wounds. We need a pilot to plot our way. We need a lookout to check for other sails at the horizon. We need a bosun to take care that all work is done. And the swain to care for the martial things. Now I know usually a ship has a captain, but well we can share that.
For the quartermaster I would choose Malik. You have a way with people and you might help us get good deals. For the lookout, our latest addition. As a pilot maybe our lady. I think she is the most learned of us all. Swain seems a natural role for Dumah, and our Carpenter could be baldy. Leaves Bosun for me. Taking care campfire is done well, helping distribute weight and organice all the others And crack the whip if we slack. What do you think? And please we do not have all night, we have to enter the lottery soonish!"
Malik Adraza |
"I agree with your well thought out assessment my friend. Now we just need to decide on a name so we can register before time is up!" Malik considers everyone for a moment before saying "So I recommend each of us declare which name of those suggested so far is our favorite." he taps his chin as he makes his own decision "Personally I favour the simplicity of The Companions, but we could also spruce it up, say The Destined Companions or The Stalwart Companions, something like that."
Amal Tabloorasa |
Amal remains silent for a moment before he speaks up. "A name and registration should come first though. We can decide the rolls on which we each fall later.... When it comes to the name, in all honesty, I could care less. I'm only here because I seek the riches from depths of these tombs." Amal slightly clears his throat as he adjusts his mask, soon falling silent once more.
Saedue Menura |
Saedue, having done her business for the night lodgings, comes back to the table, and salutes the newcomers
I'm Saedue Menura. Glad to meet you. So, you are searching for a name? What about calling ourselves the Six something? the Six Sided Star, as we come from different parts of the world, maybe? Or the Heralds of Truth? The Seekers of Wisdom? The Golden Sphinxes? I've always loved the "Golden ..." something too. I don't want something morbid or bloody...
Dumah |
He nods at Saedue. "Company of the Golden Sphinx. I like that."
"Hmph. You all keep talking about it. I'm going to see about a room before they're all taken." The dwarf stands, runs a finger along the inside of his empty stew bowl where he missed some traces of gravy along the side and sticks the dripping finger in his mouth. He takes up the ale he is still working on and makes his way over to Farhaan.
"Farhaan, is it? I'm Dumah. Have you got any rooms left for the night?" He glances around the packed room as though someone might be sneaking up on him to take the last room out from under him. One hand is already reaching for his pouch, to secure it quickly if it is available.
Dumah |
Dumah hands him a gold coin and says "I'll go ahead and pay for two nights, if that is fine with you." After he gets change expecting 8 silver and takes the key, he nods at the serving girl who helped him earlier. "Sweet kid, and good and threading through the crowd; my stew was still piping hot when it got to me. A fine place you got here." He drains the rest of his ale and leaves the mug on the counter.
Dumah goes back to the table where his new companions are debating names. "I'll be back shortly." And he leaves. He heads over to the nearby flop house where he has been staying and collects the rest of his gear, and returns the key to the owner with his thanks.
When Dumah returns, the floor boards creak beneath his weight. He's a stout, burly dwarf, but the gear he's carrying more than doubles his weight. A backpack sagging with weight is on his back, with gear tied to the outside of it as well. A coil of rope, hundreds of feet long and with a grappling hook already attached, is slung from a shoulder. A shovel and a pick are balanced over one shoulder, with one wrist dangling over the ends of the handles to keep them in place. Finally, a bandolier of weapons, both alchemical flasks and small axes, is wrapped around his chest.
He makes his way through the crowded room, with a many murmured "pardon me"'s, "excuse me"'s and "sorry 'bout that"'s before he gets to the stairs and goes up to the rooms. When he returns a few minutes later, he is back to the normal level of burden and armament that the others saw him at before.
He plunks back down at the table and asks "Now where are we with the name?"
Do we know if there is a fee to enter the lottery?
bwatford |
Dumah hands him a gold coin and says "I'll go ahead and pay for two nights, if that is fine with you." After he gets change expecting 8 silver and takes the key, he nods at the serving girl who helped him earlier. "Sweet kid, and good and threading through the crowd; my stew was still piping hot when it got to me. A fine place you got here." He drains the rest of his ale and leaves the mug on the counter.
Farhaan thanks you for your compliment and takes the gold and gives you back 8 silver.
You have heard nothing of a fee to register for the lottery. Only that you need a group of at least four. A name,, a party leader/spokeman and the need to register at the Grand Mausoleum before 8pm this evening.
Anset Ossari |
"I know little of Hydras or Sphynx and I have been taught that titles should be descriptions of a cause or goal rather than lofty or undeserved extolment. Perhaps concentrating on our common cause would be a better approach."
"We, collectively, desire to delve into dark ruins in search of lost knowledge and riches. We seek to reclaim what has been lost tot he world."
"Perhaps, simply, The Reclaimers would be an appropriate title?"
Malik Adraza |
Malik brightens at Anset's suggestion, "I very much like that idea, The Reclaimers sounds both appropriate and suitably powerful!" He nods in satisfaction as if that decides it.
bwatford |
Pre-Start
Scene 2: The Grand Mausoleum
Pharast 24th, 4714
Time: 7:30pm
Objectives: Register for the Lottery
The rag tag group of hopeful new adventures calling themselves 'The Reclaimers' head off to the Grand Mausoleum to register for the lottery. The sun is beginning to set but the temperature is still well over 90 degrees as is common here. The heat making the rather short walk seem like an eternity.
When they get close to the Grand Mausoleum the sheer size is astounding to the new comers.
Rivaled in size and importance only by the High Temple of Pharasma in Sothis, Wati’s temple of Pharasma dominates the cityscape and handles the business of the city’s births and deaths, as well as the details that occur in between. Since the Lady of Graves eclipsed Nethys and Abadar as Wati’s patron deity, her followers have assumed control over much of the city’s infrastructure, and have combined the Grand Mausoleum into a cross between a house of worship and city hall. All final decisions are still made by the city council and overseen by the haty-a—the pharaoh’s personal representative—but council meetings and the day-to-day affairs of state are held within the sprawling complex. The temple’s high priestess, Sebti the Crocodile, rose to power from the common rabble. Daughter of the previous keeper of Pharasma’s sacred crocodiles and largely self-educated, Sebti has been a constant thorn in the side of Wati’s nobles since assuming control of the church a decade ago. Preaching a doctrine of personal fulfillment rather than happiness, wealth, or achievement, Sebti invariably sides with the common citizenry on government matters, making her popular with the common folk but loathed by the rest of the council and even some members of her own faith.
In addition to the temple’s clergy, the Grand Mausoleum hosts an arm of the militant wing of the church called the Voices of the Spire, dedicated to eradicating any undead within the city’s sprawling necropolis. They are led by the humorless Nakht Shepses, a bastard son of the influential Shepses line.
Picture of the Grand Mausoleum
At the entrance to the Grand Mausoleum the group finds a cleric of Pharasma setup at a folding table outside the main gate. The cleric is dressed in full vestments with two fully armored guards standing behind holding an umbrella over the clerics head.
All three look to have been in the sun way to long. Obviously the full parade dress was not the best choice for the occasion. However you can only guess that this was ordered by the High Priestess to give a proper appearance to the strangers flocking to the city to join in the lottery.
The clerics rich colorful vestments are all but ruined with sweat and sand as well as the fully armored guards look like they could collapse at any moment. The strain of the day would probably had lesser men in the infirmary for days.
On the table before the priest lies a stack of paperwork and a jar with a what looks to be a few silver coins inside. As you approach the table, the cleric looks at you through strained eyes and simply says:
"Register here for the lottery. All other business of the temple is closed for the day."
"Please state your groups name, number of members and who the spokesperson is."
With that he simply grabs a piece of fresh parchment and dips his quill and awaits your response.
Dumah |
Dumah is a little wide-eyed in awe as they approach the temple. He sometimes stops for a moment to gawk, only to catch right back up with the others.
When the priest asks for the statement of name, number and spokesperson, Dumah, as a friendly reminder, gives Malik a bump with his shoulder to prompt him, though perhaps the bump came across a little harder than the dwarf intended.
Anset Ossari |
Anset was not really impressed with the temple. It was opulent, but left without care would erode within fifty years. The grand temples of his gods had stood through the rise and fall of empires. They had endured longer than the rule of the gods who they had been built to honor. They were eternal in their glory. This place was temporary, as all things should be, according to Pharasma's teachings.
He pulled his burnoose down from where it was tossed back over his shoulder letting it drape and cover him. It looked much like a cloak that was split at the right arm rather than down the middle. It served to cover him while within the temple. He had no particular problem with Pharasma's followers. They were in much the same business as he was and had similar outlooks on many things. They were simply short-sighted, which made them unpredictable. He had found over the years that it was better to simply avoid stepping on potential anthills.
He quiet and waited for Malik to register them.
Malik Adraza |
Malik's studious upbringing had left him unprepared for the sights he would see in Wati, the temple was definitely impressive. He finds the cleric waiting outside the Grand Mausoleum less so, he eyes the jar of silver coins, wondering if it is for donations. With a strong nudge from Dumah that nearly left him sprawling Malik steps forward and clears his throat answering the cleric "We are The Reclaimers, six strong and I, Malik Adraza am the spokesperson."
bwatford |
The priest takes the information down on the paper. Noting the group name, each members name, race and sex and the number in the group total then has each of you sign on the application.
When done, he removes a silver token from the glass jar on the table and hands it to Malik.
"You will need to turn this in when your group is called tomorrow. If you do not have this then you can not enter the necropolis and will be expelled from the lottery. Guard it well."
He grabs a piece of parchment from the stack on the table.
"The lottery starts in the market square at high noon. Don't be late."
He then places the parchment in the hands of Malik.
"Here are the rules, if you have any questions they will be addressed tomorrow. When your team is called only you may go up on stage and get your assigned site. No one else will be allowed up."
Here is what the parchment says:
YOU ALL MAY WANT TO PRINT THIS OUT AS A REFERENCE.
The Rules
The priests of the Grand Mausoleum expect groups exploring sites within the necropolis to follow three basic rules.
Remember How This Came to Pass: The Plague of Madness was unleashed upon the city of Wati while religious authorities were engaged in infighting. This rule is a reminder that the necropolis remains a holy place, and those who engage in needless conflict and banditry are not only criminals, but accursed.
Every Slave’s Hut Is a Memorial: Every structure within the necropolis is a testament to the people who lived and died in the city. Explorers must not desecrate or vandalize standing structures and tombs, but preserve them as the memorials they were intended to be. Some structures may be trapped or decrepit, but willful and unnecessary destruction will not be tolerated.
Honor the Departed: The dead should be treated with dignity and respect. If the interred need to be disturbed to recover an antiquity or relic, they should be returned to their resting places carefully. It is understood that the ancient dead are often brittle, but there is no need for the contents of a sarcophagus to be summarily dumped on the ground. This rule does not apply to the undead or other abominations.
Failure to comply with these rules can result in, but is not limited to, expulsion from the necropolis, a ban on continued exploration, seizure of recovered valuables, and arrest and prosecution by local authorities.
When your character has done all he wants to do in the current scene then please make a OOC note that they are ready to move on to the next scene.
Malik Adraza |
Malik reads the parchment out loud to his companions before passing it around so that each member of The Reclaimers can memorize it. "I think it is about time we all took some rest, tomorrow is a very important day for us all and we should be prepared," he says while yawning exaggeratedly before adding "So unless anyone has any pressing matters to discuss may I suggest we return to the Tooth and Hookah?"
I am ready for the next scene.
Saedue Menura |
Saedue nods
I'm glad to have asked for a a bath! And a perfumed one too!
Let's go back to the Tooth and Hookah. And be careful with that silver token, Malik. We have struggled so hard to find a name for our team, I don't want to lose this opportunity!
Dumah |
"I agree, but I am concerned. That token is valuable, and a lot of competent warriors are vying for the chance to go in there, just like we are. I was given room three back at the inn. Are the rest of you close to it? Just in case a thief in the night has ideas..."
He looks around suspiciously, as if the thief that is going to steal the token is already stalking up to them.
Sebti "The Crocodile |
Mummy's Mask Official Start
Chapter 1: The Half-Dead City
Part 1: The Tomb of Akhentepi
Returning to the Tooth & Hookah for a night of rest goes uneventful, so the group know as the Reclaimers heads to the lottery the next day.
"Wait endures, or so the local saying goes. The people of Wati, known for their even tempers and shrewd wit, prefer understatement. They have known war and peace, poverty and prosperity, and survived decimation at the hands of a mad god's cult. But Wati's people answer each challenge with innovation, tenacity, and the deep bonds of community. They do not endure their hardships so much as grasps them, white-knuckled and screaming, until the world permits them to return to their quiet lives, surrounded by their honored dead." - Priestess Ankhtah Shepses
Water is life in the desert, a fact that remains true for much of Garund. Empires have risen and fallen all through the control of the silt laden lands where rivers merge and run. Wati is one such city, where the rivers Asp and Crook merge together to form the powerful Sphinx. For thousands of years Wati has been a cultural hub of the great empire of Osirion, withstanding the tides of time as the world has sifted all around them. If a city could talk, many tales would Wati have. Perhaps though, it's greatest tale is yet to come, as five brothers and sisters in arms known as The Seekers make their way through the streets.
For centuries, Wati's famed necropolis has remained closed. Sealed off and under nearly constant guard by the people of the grand city. To them, robbing these sacred tombs is the pinnacle of savagery and barbarism. Though many of their names have long since been forgotten, these are their ancestors, men and women whose blood, sweat, and tears were sacrificed to build the foundation for what they have today. Yet the time has come. A new Pharoh rules in Osirion, and a new age is dawning for the ancient empire. By royal decree the tombs of Wati are to be opened, under the oversight of the priests of Pharasma located in the Grand Mausoleum in Wati, ancient sites distributed by lottery so explorers and adventurers from far and wide might come and exhume the riches buried there. Not one to miss such an opportunity, the Seekers now head toward the lottery ceremony, clear in intent.
Arriving just a day ahead of the opening ceremony, the Reclaimers registered their names and fellowship with the local temple, a priest recording the name of their group, size ,and names of its member. Further, they were given a special token unique to their group, one that was to be used in the lottery during the opening ceremony and would determine which plot of land they were to be given access to. Prepared as best they might be, the newly formed adventuring group made their way to the Sunburst Market, the location of the opening ceremony and lottery. It was a day in Pharast, a blistering 106 degrees but not as hot as it would be in the coming months.
All about them the entire city of Wati seemed to be bursting at the seems with excitement. Adventurers, would be explorers, and scholars from all across the Inner sea gathered beneath the great fire orb in the sky to explore the tombs of Wati. All that was left was the lottery, to be assigned their first sites for exploration. Surrounding the participants, it seemed as if the entire city had made a show of it, gathered so as to observe the opening ceremony. Dancing through the crowd, a few keen merchants saw an opportunity to make some coin, hawking goods and refreshments to participants and spectators alike.
Even though it seems more festival than anything else, the truth of the ceremony sets in, as merchants pass not only selling refreshments, but all kinds of adventuring gear. A man loudly proclaims his rope to be the strongest in Wait, coiled from only the finest silk and hemps. Another admonishes any who would be caught without one of his backpacks, expertly crafted from thick and durable leather and able to carry the heaviest of treasures. Most telling though were the merchants who carried nothing but dry and dirtied bits of parchment. Scribbled across them in large black letters, in many different tongues, were varied bold claims, all with a single message. They, and only they, would buy any recovered treasures and antiques for the highest price in town, offering fair and equitable trade to foreigners and locals alike.
Located just in front of the Grand Mausoleum, itself an imposing and towering figure that dominated much of the skyline of Wati, a stage had been constructed. Decorated pillars and richly colored tapestries covered the awning, providing what cover they might from the high noon sun, priests of Pharasma gathered to oversee the lottery. Two urns sat atop a table elevated a few feet above stage, the high priestess of the Grand Mausoleum behind the table. Her name was Sebti, or the Crocodile as she was known by many in the town. Eyebrows careful plucked and painted, her lips were a vibrant blue, skin a beautiful shade of amber. Her skin was unlike the farmers and traders, unlike those who had spent a life bent over the broiling sun of Osirion. Skin soft as silk, soft as sin. Behind her acolytes buzzed like wasps, darting too and fro as the ceremony was soon to start.
Gathered around the stage were a united nations of the Inner Sea, members of nearly every nationality and race the Inner Sea might muster. A group comprised entirely of halflings argued loudly over which of them would come away with the greatest hall, a golden dog stitched into the backs of their cloaks. Six women, each with skin bronzed by the Osirion skin and having a sultry air of danger about them, scowled at the halflings, flashes of their bare forearms showing matching blue tattoo's of an odd rune.
Stepping forward, Sebti threw back her cowl and exposed her long and slicked back locks of silken black hair. She was young, but showed not a hint of hesitation, exuding and air of confidence that commanded the respect and silence of those both around her and those who looked on from below. As silence takes hold in the crowd, Sebti invokes her goddess, reciting a familiar invocation to the Lady of Graves. Once finished she offered a brief, and thankfully concise, history of the crypts.
But Wati’s destiny was forever warped in 2499 ar, when the cult of Lamashtu unleashed the Plague of Madness among the city’s thriving populace. Many of those whom the fever did not immediately kill were driven to murderous insanity, and within months, more than half the city had fallen in painful, anguished death. Most of the survivors fled Wati to make new homes elsewhere, but a stubborn minority remained behind, determined to reclaim their city. But even once the plague had run its course, their livelihoods collapsed as An and Tephu took over Wati’s onceexclusive
trade routes, and their floundering community struggled against recurring outbreaks of the undead from the city’s many abandoned buildings-turned-tombs.
It took almost half a millennium for Wati’s fortunes to reverse thanks to the church of Pharasma. With the tacit permission of Osirion’s Keleshite sultan, a Pharasmin priest named Nefru Shepses marched on Wati in 2953 ar with a small army of alchemists, masons, and morticians under his banner, intent on consecrating the entire city to the Lady of Graves, beginning with a new, monumental temple to Pharasma called the Grand Mausoleum.
Over the next 30 years, Nefru Shepses and his followers recovered the bodies of those slaughtered in the Plague of Madness from their hasty, makeshift graves and the Pharasmins walled off that portion of the city that had been abandoned, transforming it into a metropolis of makeshift tombs. Thousands of corpses were given formal burial rites and reinterred in this dead copy of the living city, which continues to serve as Wati’s necropolis today.
The consecration of the city and its necropolis revitalized Wati, and though it never reclaimed its dominance among the cities of the south, over the next 1,700 years Wati grew until its necropolis—once more than half of the city— took up less than a quarter of the city’s total area. Today, long after the necropolis’s completion, Wati continues to produce a great variety of grave goods for Osirion’s honored dead. A steady stream of burial figures, canopic jars, embalming f luids, prayer books, and sarcophagi sail downstream on the Sphinx, outpacing Wati’s crop and textile exports. Even Wati’s criminal underworld revolves around death, as competing gangs regularly raid the necropolis for valuables and even human carrion.
After finishing, the gradual murmuring that had built up as the more restless fidgeted in place seemed to disappear in an instant, a gradual inhalation as the priestess lifted her arms and smiled wryly, savoring the attention. "Let the lottery begin!" She proclaimed, deep and rough voice like the crack of a whip, a raucous cheer rippling through the crowd. "Although many of you have requested specific sites to explore, we must leave these matters to fate. The Lady of Graves is a far better judge of destiny than we mortals." As she spoke, the small crocodile skull that hung about her neck dangled back and forth, her speech now more animated and lively than the histories and invocation.
"The gates of the necropolis will open at sunrise tomorrow. Use this evening to prepare yourselves for the task ahead. Let these rules guide you in your endeavors in this holy place: remember how this came to pass, every slave's hut is a memorial, and honor the departed. May you go with the Lady's blessing." Smiling throughout, she took a short bow, hands extended wide as the crowd clapped and cheered. A few throughout the crowd could be seen scowling, locals who liked not the plundering of their ancestors resting place. Withdrawing, two acolytes stepped forward towards the two large jars.
One held a token that matched the ones previously distributed, and would signify the chosen group. The second corresponded with a predetermined location, marking where they would be able to explore. First called was a group of well armored northerners, a mix of Ulfen and Taldane heritage. Representing their group a woman encased in heavy armor, taller than most by a head, pushed her way through the crowd and to the stage. Presenting her token, matching the one that had been called, the woman was shown on a large map where her group was given reign, and presented with a smaller map in return.
Before there was much chance to react, the second, third, and fourth tokens were drawn. Nearly ten minutes passed before the Reclaimers were summoned, their token drawn in the middle of the ceremony. They were to send one member forward to collect the small map, and to be shown the first area they had been allocated, two more to come in the weeks to follow.
Picture of Sebti the Crocodile
---------------------
Current Location: Sunburst Market, Date: Toilday, Pharast 25th, 4714 Time: 12:20 pm, Temparture: 106 degrees
Saedue Menura |
Saedue smiles and walks to the priestess, showing the token of the Reclaimer with respect, offering a few words in the ancient tongue of the contry before bowing deeply
يعبدون قائدة مرموقة للبنك، ونحن مستعدون لقبول مصير
Sebti "The Crocodile |
Sebti barely seems to acknowledge Saedue as she takes the stage, her eyes taking in the crowd below and slowly flicking from person to person. Following them for a second she wasn't sure what she saw there, or what she was looking for, the gathered sea of people brimming with activity and life. Snatching up the small map gifted to her, she tried to recall anything she might know about the city of Wati and its massive necropolis, but her mind came up blank instead, the pressure of the moment making her head feel like it was stuffed with cotton. Swallowing hard she bowed once more and made her way back towards her comrades, sparing a fleeting glance to the stage. The other priests of Pharasma seemed more tense than Sebti, faces a mixture of restrained anger and discomfort.
It hadn't been the first time Saedue and her fellow mercenaries had seen such displays of emotion. Despite any protestations to the policy, The Ruby Prince had been adamant in his desire to see the tombs opened. Khemet III gave the church a very simple and public choice when they began to express concerns over the process. They could voluntarily take part and cooperate, thus having some degree of limited authority over how the tombs were explored and the entire process. or they could be silenced and have no say in the entire situation. Faced with such a choice the church opted for the former of the two.
Amal and Bjoern watched the crowd instead of the stage. Both saw handfuls of interesting individuals who seemed a both competent and extravagant. Though the chaos of it all made it hard to distinguish just a few, the two couldn't help but run over the three very basic rules that had been outlined for them when they had registered for the lottery, the rules Sebti had mentioned;
Remember How This Came to Pass: Nearly two thousand years ago, Wati was nearly destroyed by the plague of Madness. More than half the population died over the course of a month, all while the authorities of the cities were engulfed infighting and political maneuvering. This rule is to remind them that the necropolis is a holy place, and that those who engage in needless conflict and banditry are not only criminals, to be tried to the highest degree, but accursed by the gods and ancestors of the city and its people.
Every Slave's Hut is a Memorial: Though they have been given leave to enter into allotted spaces and take what valuables they may, this does not mean they have been given free reign to do as they please. Each and every structure in the necropolis is a testament to the people who lived and died there. Explorers and adventurers must not desecrate or vandalize any standing structure or tomb.
Honor the Departed: If the interred need to be disturbed to recover an antiquity or relic, they should be returned to their resting place carefully, with the utmost dignity and respect. Many corpses are old and brittle, which is understood, but this does not mean the dead and the contents of their resting places may be summarily discarded and destroyed with little thought. This rule, however, does not apply to any undead or abominations that might yet linger.
The rules were iron tight, a fact made very clear to the Reclaimers before they had finished signing on the dotted line.
Though the question seemed to be one of ability to enforce. From what they had seen, neither the priesthood nor the town guard oft ventured into the Necropolis, both woefully under-staffed and equipped. Punishing the crimes would be a trial indeed, especially considering some of the more dangerous and veteran looks some of the gathered explorers have.
Rejoining the group, Saedue showed off the map and their first lottery result. They had been allotted the Tomb of Akhentepi, a good draw by all accounts. Saedue had noted that the person before her, who had represented a collection of Ulfen warriors with fiery red hair, had drawn a brewery as their location and seemed rather upset over the outcome, loudly arguing that there would be little worth finding in such a place before storming off to join his kinsmen. The six knew little of the tomb, beyond that it predated the Plague of Madness, which made it over two thousand years in age.
Map of Wati updated with the location of the Tomb of Annkentepi in the Necropolis.
This concludes the objectives of this scene. When your character is ready to move on then place a OOC tag that says so in your post.
---------------------
Current Location: Sunburst Market, Date: Toilday, Pharast 25th, 4714 Time: 12:30 pm, Temparture: 106 degrees
Malik Adraza |
Malik pats Saedue on the shoulder with a smile in acknowledgement of being snubbed by the priestess and then makes sure to memorize the map just in case.
Ready for the next scene
Bjoern Ghostbear |
Looking at the choosen map Bjoern gives everyone a smile and a thumps up.
"We should return to the tavern and then plan for our exploration. I would like that everyone please remember that we likely reap untold glory and prizes as a team and fail miserably as individuals. Now if anyone need anything, pray speak now. Everyone should have food and water, I hope curly can aid us with the water. But if you feel we should buy anything else and you lack a little funds, I still have a coin or two to spare. Well if I don´t waste it on booze!"
Ready
Saedue Menura |
Saedue's eyes gleam with joy, showing the map to her companions
This is where my life truly starts... maybe where it ended!Tomorrow. I can't wait for it. But I'll have to.We got to be sure we have all we may need for our exploration. Water and rations are essential. And warm clothes for the night too. I have some spare money too, so don't be afraid to ask.
Ready!
Amal Tabloorasa |
Amal looks between the group members. "Glory and treasure await, but be sure to watch your step... We have no idea what's down there." Amal lets out a small breath as he slightly adjusts his mask. "Also.. I'd be grateful if someone could carry my waterskin. I need to be light on my feet.. And it's only going to weigh me down."
Ready when everyone else is.
bwatford |
Leaving the lottery behind, the Reclaimers returned to the Inn in which some of them were staying, intent on doing what work they could to best prepare themselves for the coming day. All around them the city seemed to be buzzing with life, a hive of activity and energy as nearly everyone seemed to have some stake in the outcome and fate of the Necropolis. In exhuming their long honored dead, the sleepy city of Wati seemed more alive than it had been in a century, countless merchants and traders flooding back to the town and bringing with them a wealth of goods and hard currency, all supported by the burgeoning presence of the town.
After doing what work they might, the Reclaimers now shared a few drinks with some fellow patrons staying at the Tooth and Hookah. For the most part they were merchants and the like, though there was a trio of belly dancers come some from the city of Tephu.
After a while and full bellies the group now sat at a corner table alone to plan out the next day. Cautious to watch their alcohol intake any further as to be alert and ready and waiting at the necropolis gates when dawn struck. And 6am will come very early.
Amal was checking over his supplies, while Malik was going over his incantations to make sure he had them down for whatever may lay ahead. Anset said prayers over their journey to come. Bjoern was busy sharpening his battleaxe and making sure it would be at its best if needed. Dumah was checking every pouch, every item of his vast collection of supplies, going over each one making sure that it was in the best condition. Checking the strength of his rope, looking for any of the smallest frays that might be evident. He did not know what would await them in the tomb for he had never been in one before. Saedue laid out the map that was given to them of the necropolis and of their location, looking at the route the priest had marked off. It was the most direct route. It probably was not safe to wander around were you wasn't invited anyway. They also was wondering if they should be in the necropolis if night fell on them. It was a long way back to the living city and if it were dark it would be even longer. Would they sleep in the tomb and wait for the sun if necessary? So much left to do, so little time to do it......
Looking at the route to the tomb of Akhentepi, it was the farthest away from the necropolis gate. Almost to the back wall. It would take the best part of an hour to reach once the gates opened at six in the morning. They needed to be there waiting at six. If they made good time they could get there before the bad heat started while the morning was still bearable and then once underground the heat would not be a factor.
Prepare and plan well young adventurers........ Any last minute switching of memorized spells, gear, etc. needs to be done here. Once you have everything just the way you want it let me know that your character is ready to proceed. I will assume that everyone that has not paid for an extra night at the Tooth & Hookah will do so now. Once you confirm and the group sets out for the necropolis in the morning there can be no more buying gear, switching stuff until the group gets back. I wish all of you good luck.
Bjoern -1 Silver Piece
Saedue -1 Silver Piece
Malik -1 Silver Piece
Amal -1 Silver Piece
Anset -1 Silver Piece
Moved 1 waterskin from Amal to Dumah
Amal Current Weight: 37.28 pounds Light Load
Dumah Current Weight: 226.02 pounds of 230 Maximum. Heavy Loaded.
All players official character sheets have been updated on the main campaign tab.
---------------------
Current Location: Tooth & Hookah, Date: Toilday, Pharast 25th, 4714 Time: 8:00 pm, Temperature: 87 degrees
Saedue Menura |
Saedue took notes over the map, searching the quickest route to and from the tomb. Then she starts to write alchemical formulae into her own journal, dreamily
So far, no one has been able to create water from nothing, except by magic, or so I heard. Wonder if i could find a potion that would suppress the thirst? It's foolish. People need to drink, in this country, my country, more than elsewhere! Or the need for so much water? Some powder or pill that wound melt into the water we drink and decuple the rafraishing power of the water? THAT could be the idea... Then I'll work on something to block the burning from the sun... A paste to apply to the skin probably?
Dumah |
When Dumah returns to the Tooth & Hookah, he goes to his room. He unpacks all of his gear. All of it. Then he carefully and methodically starts to put everything back, making sure the most important things are readily accessible, and that everything is as secured as possible to minimize clanking.
Then he cleans and oils his armor and weapons, then spends time honing the edges of his weapons with his whetstone.
Finally, before turning in to sleep, he glances out the window of his room, searching for any sight of winged creatures against the night sky. Disappointed again, he sighs deeply and turns in.
The next morning, he is ready early coming downstairs to the music of wooden steps creaking below his weight.
Dumah is ready.
Bjoern Ghostbear |
Bjoern returns with the others to the Tooth & Hookah. He asks Dumah if he wants to check his items and he would offer to cross-check his.
After all is checked he packs it as good as he can and asks for a timely wake up call and falls early to bed.Bjoern is ready
Dumah |
Dumah welcomes Bjoern's offer. "It is good to have someone else know where something is amongst the gear. It means I don't necessarily have to take my pack off to get at stuff." He'll also point out the alchemical weapons in the bandolier. "If you think it prudent, you can snatch one of these out and use it."
bwatford |
A night spent in rest at the Tooth & Hookah was found easy enough, save for the occasional outburst of raucous cheer from below them and throughout the city, dying down with the rising sun.
As anticipated, the trek to their plot was a long one. As the Necropolis doors opened, they began to wind their way through the silent and serene streets. They had first stopped just after entering the gates at a site that was clearly marked 'Pharasma's Needle' and stopped just long enough to read the plaque that has been placed upon it.
Picture of Pharasma's Needle
----------
Soon after the Pharasmins arrived in Wati to rebuild and consecrate the city, a burning rock fell from the sky into the River Sphinx where Bargetown now floats. Nefru Shepses took this as a sign of approval from the Lady of Graves, and ordered the black stone dredged from the river’s depths and carved into a capstone for a sacred obelisk, erecting the monument just inside the gates to the necropolis. Today, mourners interring their loved ones inside the necropolis still stop at Pharasma’s Needle on their way to the gravesites to gain the goddess’s blessing for the deceased’s journey to the Boneyard.
----------
Then the group known as the Reclaimers continued through the necropolis toward their destination. It was an odd feeling, like stepping into one of the great museums of Absalom, or a Pathfinder showroom. The necropolis was two millenia in age, architecture, art, and everything frozen as the part of town had been walled off and preserved. Where once people had come and gone, had lived their lives surrounded by family, was now silent save for the occasional echo the dry winds sweeping through the buildings and the clash and exulted cries of fellow treasure hunters.
The tomb of Akhentepi was easy enough to find. A rectangular stone mausoleum sat alone in what once was a cemetery, trunks of dead trees rising from the sand and dirt about the tomb. In the wind their dried and brittle branches rattled about like the clacking of bones, the sun rising only higher in the clear blue and cloudless skies above Wati. On the northern side of the structure, a set of massive stone double doors stood as the only entrance to what was likely a mostly underground facility. Beneath the facade bearing the likeness of an Osirian name was carved a name, Akhentepi, and a pair of dates. 2416 - 2488 AR. Windblown sand was heaped in great piles around the crypt entrance, partially burying the double doors that lead within.
---------------------
Current Location: Tomb of Akentepi, Date: Wealday, Pharast 26th, 4714 Time: 7:00 am, Temparture: 87 degrees
Dumah |
Dumah shrugs off his backpack and tries to set his collapsible plank, with a couple of iron spikes as support, as a low barrier, to minimize the amount of sand the wind blows in where Bjoern is working. Then he also pulls free his shovel and joins Bjoern in digging. To those watching them work, he says sincerely "Let us know if you spot any scorpions or anything. Riling up the sand like this is bound to upset some bug or another."
bwatford |
The mound of sand lessens with each passing moments, the shovels making their progress all the more noticeable. Though even with the tools the moving of the sand exerted a great toll on them under the hot sun of Osirion, chests heaving and beads of perspiration running down their faces. Within the necropolis there seemed to be a strange smell that pervaded every nook and cranny. They had expected to be surrounded by the scent of death and rot, the usual scent one might attribute to the land of the dead. Yet it was not this odor that caused their noses to twitch, but something far more pleasant.
It smelled like nature. Here and there weeds and bushes had crept back into the world, small prickly cacti sprouting in the edges of houses and desert flowers blooming in the shade provided by old shops. Though the life of man had long since left the place, the world had not forgotten it, all kinds of wildlife having reclaimed much of the Necropolis. Even so close to the rivers, it was a rare sight to see such fertility so close to a bustling metropolis.
After twenty minutes of intense shoveling Dumah and Bjoern had cleared the sand away from in front of the doors.
The two massive stone doors towered nearly ten feet into the air, smooth slabs worn by the passage of time and the fierce desert winds that had built up sand around the base of the door. Dumah and Bjoern looked at the thing from every angle they could, but saw not any sign of a handle or locking mechanism.
---------------------
Current Location: Tomb of Akhentepi: Tomb Antechamber, Date: Wealday, Pharast 26th, 4714 Time: 7:20 am, Temparture: 87 degrees
Saedue Menura |
You really did a tremendous job. Now we'll have to find a way to open this door.
Saedue looks closely at the door and its immediate surroundings, checking for a mechanism that could open it.
Perception roll: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (17) + 6 = 23
There must be a way in.Or the Pharasman wouldn't have caused all this turmoil.
Out of the blue, she prononces the name of the tomb's resident, using the ancient tongue, the archaic words rolling naturally out of her mouth.
In ancient Osiriani
Ahkentepi
Who knows? That could work.. Maybe the lock is magical.