It begins as a rumor, a fairy tale. In the ghettos of an unforgiving city, a child of an ethnic minority—unpopular even in his homeland—hears tales of a city without judgment. In the glow of a burning palace, a disgraced noble begs his advisors for a place to disappear.
In the dank mud of the forest, hiding from the guard’s hounds, thieves whisper of a city without laws, without sanctions or pursuit.
This is always the way.
They come, alone or in caravans, to the foot of the great cliff and stare up at the city walls above, eight stories tall and broken by a thousand doors and windows. They pass through the gateless tangle of beggars and schemers and emerge into a city of contrasts: perpetual twilight inside
its hollow, sheltering walls, the endless noise of crowds and hawkers at its center. They enter—the pilgrims and refugees, fugitives and opportunists—and are seen, and
are just as quickly forgotten. As one, they are enveloped and disappear, vanishing into the patchwork populace and melding with it—just a few more faces in a city that long since quit noticing them.
A city of outcasts. A city of strangers.
Welcome to Kaer Maga.
The first thing a traveler to Kaer Maga sees is the cliff. Towering 3,000 feet high in places and never dipping below a thousand, carved with the faces and forms of vanished kings and gods]/i] (see pic here: Kaer Maga, [i]the Storval Rise neatly bisects the frontier land of Varisia along a massive tectonic fault line, separating the lush lowlands of the coast from the arid and pitiless badlands of the Storval Plateau. Stark and forbidding, these rocky bluffs are unclimbable by all but the most daring, leading those who seek passage out of the civilized lands to ascend carefully along the edge of the Yondabakari River, which cuts a channel through the stone, or else to turn north and head straight for Kaer Maga itself, hoping to brave the legendary Half light Path.
From a distance, Kaer Maga appears to be an enormous outcropping of gleaming, white stone extending straight up from the cliff ’s edge, its 80-foot-high walls forming a seamless, six-sided ring and its squared-off skyline broken only by a cluster of towers and minarets at the south end. Upon closer inspection, however, the great walls are revealed to be riddled with holes at every level, doors and windows carved by its residents. From these random entrances hang knotted ropes and ladders, cargo nets and winch-operated dumbwaiters, which residents use to come and go without a second thought—even children swing stories above the ground and scamper carelessly across makeshift landings. While several gated entrances at ground level are big enough for carts to pass through unhindered, most newcomers enter through a vast break in the walls where some unknown force shattered the stone in ages past. And within this breach, generations of Kaer Maga’s poorest residents have made their homes in the most literal sense. A high rise of wooden scaffolding and temporary structures towers almost as tall as the walls themselves, shack on top of shanty in a hodgepodge of scaffolding and scrap lumber its interior a maze known only to its inhabitants who live arboreally on planks and nets in a shantytown of vast proportions. This is the Warren.
They had arrived at Kaer Maga only a few hours before, entering the city through a large hole in the northwestern wall. Ramshackle buildings surrounded the gap on both sides of the wall, but leaving a wide lane for newcomers, wagons, and whoever or whatever else ventured into the perpetual twilight of the city. Almost immediately, Brankh and his mentor were accosted by adults and children alike, calling out for their services, will to guide them anywhere they wanted to go in the city...for a fee, of course.
Nehruha had hired a filthy child who went by the name of Yap...a fitting name considering the child (Brankh couldn’t tell if it was a boy or a girl for all the dirt and patchwork clothing) never stopped talking as he/she led them along the crowded streets.
It was near a loud, smelly marketplace, one of the few places in the city, the child had said, that was open to the outside air, that Nehruha stopped to rest. When Brankh asked if he was ill, the elderly man waved him off with a frown and asked the boy to fetch him something to drink. Brankh watched as droves of all sorts of people hawked and sold everything from cattle, to strange animals, to actual slaves of all races. He was particularly interested when a pair of Half-Orcs arrived dragging at least a half-dozen human children in chains along behind them, their wrists, legs, and necks wrapped in thick chains.
Brankh felt the heat rise in his blood and turned to his mentor to say something, when the old man suddenly grasped his left arm, rolled his eyes back in his head, and collapsed. Despite Brankh’s best efforts, he couldn’t revive the man...and just when that realization hit him, Yap returned with a full wineskin in one hand and some cheese in the other.
“By the dead! What happened?” he asked.
Brankh explained and then lifted his mentor in his arms and hoisted the man gently over his left shoulder. And then Yap said, “So now whatcha gonna do with him? I can take you to Heaven's Ladder, or better yet, I know a man in Ankar-Te who might give you some coin for his body...if you’re interested.” Yap smiles and takes a bite of the cheese.
The Society had sent him to Kaer Maga to search for a rare tome of the Pharasmin faith, having heard that the church in the city might need some help with a peculiar problem that had been plaguing them of late. Alanthian didn’t know the extent of that problem, but he was willing to undertake just about anything to prove himself worthy to be a member of the Society. That, and he hoped to find some clues about his brother hereabouts.
His wandering leads him to a natural lake near the middle of the city, bordering several districts. On the lake is an amphitheater where he imagines speakers and performers use it as a stage for their shows. Not too far away is a large totem-like pole, easily seen from just about anywhere near the lake. Interestingly enough, the post has messages either written on it or tacked to it. He begins to look over them, chuckling at some, and gawking at some of the more erotic ones. But then...tucked in behind a large poster announcing tonight’s performance at the amphitheater, he spies a yellow folded note. On it is written his name!
His throat goes dry as he removes the note and stares at his name...written in a script he knows well. Swallowing hard, his heart pounding in his head, Alanthian opens the note and begins to read:
Brother - if you are reading this note, then you have found me...well, almost found me. We have much to work out, much you do not understand. I have a room in the city at The Sorry...
The note is suddenly snatched out of Alanthian’s hand and he looks up to see a young man dart away and stop near a trio of toughs, arms crossed, grinning and looking ready for a fight. Three are human, including the one who snatched his note, but the fourth definitely has elven blood in him. “Nice blade you got there, mate,” says the half-elven man, grinning, his fingers tapping the hilt of a long knife at his belt. “Tell you what, we’ll trade you - the note for the blade. How about that?”
Feeling the weight of duty and the import of the occasion, Brankh will whisper a prayer and dust off his garments.
.
Then he addresses his departed mentor:
"I shall not idle in grief at thy passing dear friend! For I shall bear a brand for thee to the Hearth and bear witness to thy passage into the Light Everlasting. And for as long as I remember thee, I shall bear thy spark ablaze in my breast!"
To Yap:
" Little fellow, quit your yapping and fetch me a torch! Then lead us to the Temple of Pharasma!"
Alanthian slowly scans the area and sizes up the four thugs.
Perception:
Sense Motive:
“Friend, if you knew the trouble that comes with this blade then you would not want it. It calls itself Glimmering and it dates from before Earthfall, and as such you will find it cursed. Many souls have fed this blade, and many more will fall to it before it is sated. No, this blade is not just a finely crafted tool to be bought for a simple piece of paper, this blade will only allow itself to be bought with blood. You are welcome to attempt to buy it, but you and your friends may find it to be too steep a price when all is finished.”
Alanthian slowly draws the blade from its scabbard and holds it before him in a relaxed fighting stance.
”I would save you the from that curse friend. I will buy back the letter for 1 gold and we can part ways. If you still persist in wanting to buy Glimmering, then it is time for you to pay its price.”
To Yap:
" Little fellow, quit your yapping and fetch me a torch! Then lead us to the Temple of Pharasma!"
"A torch?" Yap asks. "What'd you need a torch for? This is perfectly good daylight...sorta. You think I can just pull one out of my a$$?"
He stands there for a few seconds and when he sees that Brankh is not about to be put off, he throws up his hands and says, "Alright, just wait here. I'll find you a friggin' torch!"The boy disappears into the crowds and Brankh is left standing there with the body of his mentor. While he waits, the crowds in the marketplace give him a wide berth but the noise and smells continue to be somewhat abrasive.
A scream and then another catches his attention, and he turns to see the the Half-Orc slavers dragging the human children his way. One of the slavers has a stout rod and from the looks of the last two children in line, it appears he has used it. The lead slaver jerks the chain and the two children in front, the smallest of the group, cry out and fall forward, but he doesn't slow down and drags them along until they can get to their feet.
"In the name of all that's good, won't someone help us?" the middle child, a girl of about thirteen, cries out. "Please! Help us!" The Half-Orc slaver with the rod takes three strides and knocks the wind out of her with a backhand swing to her stomach. She doubles over and retches and the slaver grabs her by the hair and drags her to her feet. The lead slaver laughs and then...he notices Brankh.
His grin widens and he says loudly, "Hey boy - you keep looking at my girls like you want to buy one, eh? Or perhaps you prefer buggering that dead ol' man you're lugging around! The dead can't fight back, eh?"
The slaver laughs and spits and jerks the chains again...as the eyes of the children turn toward Brankh in a silent plea...
Alanthian slowly scans the area and sizes up the four thugs.
Perception: 1d20+4
Sense Motive: 1d20+4“Friend, if you knew the trouble that comes with this blade then you would not want it. It calls itself Glimmering and it dates from before Earthfall, and as such you will find it cursed. Many souls have fed this blade, and many more will fall to it before it is sated. No, this blade is not just a finely crafted tool to be bought for a simple piece of paper, this blade will only allow itself to be bought with blood. You are welcome to attempt to buy it, but you and your friends may find it to be too steep a price when all is finished.”
Alanthian slowly draws the blade from its scabbard and holds it before him in a relaxed fighting stance.
”I would save you the from that curse friend. I will buy back the letter for 1 gold and we can part ways. If you still persist in wanting to buy Glimmering, then it is time for you to pay its price.”
At the sight of drawn steel, two of the thugs don't look so certain any longer, but they dare not flee. The one with the note, tucks it into his belt, and draws a rusted dogslicer from behind his back, fingering its edge with a grin on his face.
The Half-elf's demeanor changes and he says, "Well now - got some backbone, have ye? Four against one - not good odds, especially for someone with no friends in the city...eh?"
The speaker licks his lips and then draws his long knife and jerks his chin at his companions. The two in the back, glance at him and then at each other, before likewise drawing their weapons, fanning out to possibly encircle Alanthian.
"One last chance - don't be a dumba$$ - the sword ain't worth yer life, now is it? Drop it and back away...and we'll let you live."
Once Cole had figured out his brother was not to be found by conventional means, he slipped into a state of questioning depression - asking all those questions that the common folk always asked him when he took the faith of Iomedae into the country and byways of the region.
Why doesn’t she care? Why doesn’t she do something about our troubles? Can she not hear us? Does she no longer accept our tithes, our offerings? What more do we have to give before she will deliver us?
Cole has been in this city of strangers for almost a month, and has learned a more things about this hellhole that he ever wanted to know. The districts in town are very different - each has its own code, its own people. The Warren is a den of rats and thieves for the most part, chock full of vagrants who have little money and little desire to rise above their depravity. Downmarket is a place of sorrow for many who arrive in chains, and anything or anyone can be bought or sold among the crowded stalls. Cavalcade is the industrial heart of the city with its factories, mills, temples, and bathhouses. And it is the district that is most open to the sky.
The fabled balconies of Bis rise several stories over the streets below and some tenants are said to never leave their towers, not wanting to sully themselves with the general populace. The Ardoc family, builders of golems and gearworks rules there. Hospice is where one goes to forget and find succor...in just about any form imaginable. No vice is frowned upon in the red-light district, no secret fetish is too extreme. In Ankar-Te, the dead live again and walk the streets! Known as twiceborn, these zombies are created and controlled by their makers - necromancers who have learned the secrets of such dark magic. The zombies do not have freewill or conscience for that would break one of the few laws of Kaer Maga - no intelligent undead may walk the streets.
Highside Stacks sports 16-story-tall cacophonous hives of steeples and minarets and these towers are the pride of all who live there and consider themselves superior to the “groundlings” below them. Oriat is a district of artisans, a district of cheers, laughter, and song. Unfortunately it is also a warzone where rival gangs vie for control and the Brothers of the Seal, a strict monastic order, try to rise above it all.
The Tarheel Promenade is the magical and religious center of Kaer Maga, with the highest concentration of temples and arcane services in the city. The streets flow with business and even the temple of Asmodeus has a presence here. The Widdershins is where folks live who wish to pretend the debachery of the city doesn’t exist. They hole up in their private villas off the lake and attend lavish parties, while the Constabulary Police protect them and their homes.
And while many districts are ruled by gangs and families, The Bottoms are ruled by an ideal: freedom. The Freemen have localized a revolution and the hard-working class believe in their ideals and many former slaves support their efforts here as well.
And it is to the Bottoms that Cole is making his way today. The Godsmouth Ossuary is there and he has heard that it needs volunteers for a mission...a secret mission. His path takes him toward the Meeting Post by the lake, as it has nearly every day he has been here, hoping to still find some clue as to his brother’s whereabouts. But on this day, he encounters people in a hurry, both going toward the lake and coming from it. On their lips are words like “gonna be a bloody fight” and “four against one hardly seems fair” and “heard he had a magical blade” and so forth. So when Cole arrives, a crowd has begun to gather and in the middle, near the Meeting Post stands five men - Sniv and his boys are spread out trying to encircle the man standing nearest the post. One look and Cole knows this man is not from the city. And that the blade in his hands is indeed a fine one...
The long walk to the ancient Thassalonian prison city gave Saoirse time to think, to pray, to weep, and to plan. The chuch of Pharasma quietly and covertly sent out a call for help...and she was responding...to lend her sword in whatever manner they could use it.
Your contact in the church is Valanthe - she will tell you how you must serve.
The Captain’s words came back to her as she beheld the gap within the city walls ahead. It had been a long journey and Saoirse was eager to wash the grime from her body and the dust from her throat. But...she was not prepared for what she saw as she passed through the gap and into the twilit streets of the city.
The Warren - a den of hovels and huts stacked precariously atop each other, teeming with all sorts of undesirables, clamoring for this and for that. The noise alone was enough to disorient her and the stench of refuse, sweat, and rot was overwhelming. Worst of all were the dozens of beggars - many of them children - asking for favors or promising services.
”Carry yer gear for two coppers, pretty lady!”
A bath and some bread - almost free - just follow me...”
”Take you somewhere, lady? Best guide in the city, I am!”
”My children are starving and the rats...oh, the rats!”
”In mercy’s name!”
”Girl like you can make some good coin in Hospice...”
”Need a little fix? I got sommat for you, my dear...”
Saoirse tried to be polite...at first, and refuse their offers and solicitations graciously, but they began to press around her...as if they were directing her, herding her, toward one of the shadowy alleys nearby.
I have to get out of here...
Suddenly, something tugged at her hip. She wheeled around but there were so many faces, so many hands reaching for her. Dirty, filthy, clawed hands...like those that ripped out the throats of her companions..like those that were covered in her father’s blood...
Cole watches the scene unfolding before him, and his hand grips the hilt of his blade tightly. Shiv…that piece of worthless…trying to shake down another visitor. I am not gonna let him get away with this! Cole had run into this piece of refuse before, and knew he and his gang would not be satisfied until the street was stained with the blood of the gentleman wielding the fine blade.
He strides towards the group, and prepares to draw his own blade. His voice rasps out, ”Hey, Sniv! If it’s a blade yer lookin’ for, I have one you can have, and I won’t even charge for it!
At the sight of drawn steel, two of the thugs don't look so certain any longer, but they dare not flee. The one with the note, tucks it into his belt, and draws a rusted dogslicer from behind his back, fingering its edge with a grin on his face.
The Half-elf's demeanor changes and he says, "Well now - got some backbone, have ye? Four against one - not good odds, especially for someone with no friends in the city...eh?"
The speaker licks his lips and then draws his long knife and jerks his chin at his companions. The two in the back, glance at him and then at each other, before likewise drawing their weapons, fanning out to possibly encircle Alanthian.
"One last chance - don't be a dumba$$ - the sword ain't worth yer life, now is it? Drop it and back away...and we'll let you live."
Alanthian takes a few paces back to position himself so that the Meeting Post protects his back.
“Come then, friend. You are probably correct in your assumption that the four of you will slay me, but I will send you to your god first. Know that this sword is worth my life. The question is, is it worth yours and your friends?”
Alanthian slowly swings the blade in an arc, then brings it to an overhead ready position.
” Glimmering yearns for blood. Come quench her thirst.”
”Hey, Sniv! If it’s a blade yer lookin’ for, I have one you can have, and I won’t even charge for it!
Alanthian glances at the new comer and nods his head slightly.
“It looks as if your chances of owning Glimmering have just halved friend. Drop the letter and leave, or become food for the vultures. Your choice.”
The Half-elf gang leader, known as Sniv, doesn't seem so sure of himself...especially with the arrival of the priest of Iomedae...whom he recognizes. Sniv glances at his companions, seeing doubt in all their eyes now, and grips the handle of his long knife with whitened knuckles.
The gathered crowd begins to murmur, disappointed that there may not be a fight after all. More than one call out their displeasure, chiding Sniv and his boys for being all bark and no bite.
Sniv seethes and grits his teeth and...yells, "I'll show you some bite! Take the priest down, boys - the youngling is mine!"
Seeing their leader charge forward, the other three do likewise coming at the men, yelling and screaming.
Edit: Here's the map!
Meeting Post Fight
Without hesitation Brankh drops the body of his old friend as well as the spear. He pulls out a mighty two-handed broadsword with a nasty-looking curve of the blade. Standing straight up he levels his gaze down at the thug and bellows.
"Zhtagath ghoon khabas-frazgk!"
Then he addresses any onlookers before addressing the slaver,
"People of this city! Do you let these filthy dogs drag your children about in chains?! You wish play with fire, trash?!"
And then...he heard her voice...her cry of dismay.
Her pleas ignited a fire within him and he ran ahead trying to find her. He jumped over his dead companions and ignored their painful cries for help. He had to find her...to save her...to set her free!
And then suddenly, there she was - he had found her. She was tied to a tree, guarded by two faceless figures. Her eyes called to him and he cut the two figures down easily and rushed to her side.
“You found me...I knew you’d come.”
Her voice nearly broke his heart and he swiftly loosened her bonds and took her in his arms to keep her from falling. Her hair smelled like jasmine and she was warmer than any flame he had ever tended. She looked up at him, lips parted...and then she kissed him - softly, passionately. He nearly drowned in the feelings her touch stirred in him.
“I hunger, and I thirst,” she whispered. “Please, my brave knight...”
Thorin tore away from her and rushed to meet her needs, digging through the overturned carts and belongings of his dead companions. Finding wine and some food, he hurried back to her side, only to find her gone.
He searched frantically, all around the tree, figuring she might have crawled away. It seemed he searched fruitlessly for hours...until he heard the sounds...wet, slurping sounds.
And then he saw her.
She was bent over one of the bodies of his companions of the Order of the Dragons. Her hands dug into the man’s stomach and she pulled his entrails out and stuffed them into her mouth...the same mouth that was kissing him mere moments before...now covered in gore.
The sound of the bottle of wine shattering on the ground caused her to look up from her feasting. She saw her knight standing there horror-stricken, mouth agape, shaking his head slowly in disbelief. And the part of her that was still human...screamed in anguish. She tore at her hair and flailed like a woman possessed. And her eyes were terrible to behold.
“Help me...my brave knight. You must help me.”
“Help you...do what?” Thorin could barely breathe.
“I don’t want to live like this. You can’t let me live like this...set me free, please set me free.”
Thorin raised his sword and took a step toward her...but then he stopped and his sword fell to the ground. He shook his head slowly, tears running down his face, and then he turned and walked away. She called for him, screamed for him. Begged, pleaded for him. But he never looked back. Her cries followed him into the darkness...
“Help me! You must help meeeee!”
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> ;>>>>>>>>>>
Thorin startled awake, groaning at the throbbing pain in his head, the sour taste of last night’s wine in his mouth. Outside his shack, there was screaming and the sounds of...a woman’s voice. He cursed the night and his dreams and staggered to the door, kicking it open; he needed to piss really badly.
And then he saw her.
Surrounded by the “rats” of the Warren, she looked radiant, and she was in trouble. They were ushering her toward Knife Alley...and once there, she would not return. But did he really care? How many had he watched being led to their deaths and done nothing to prevent it? Why would this one be any different?
When she turned and looked at him, his heart nearly stopped beating...and the air suddenly seemed very thin, barely breathable.
“Can you help me? Please, I need your help!!”
Without hesitation Brankh drops the body of his old friend as well as the spear. He pulls out a mighty two-handed broadsword with a nasty-looking curve of the blade. Standing straight up he levels his gaze down at the thug and bellows.
"Zhtagath ghoon khabas-frazgk!"Then he addresses any onlookers before addressing the slaver,
"People of this city! Do you let these filthy dogs drag your children about in chains?! You wish play with fire, trash?!"
Seeing the falchion in Brankh's hands gives the slavers some pause. "Who are you anyway?" the lead slaver says. "This is Downmarket! And we have been selling here for many years. It's what we do! It's what the city is all about!"
Several folks in the crowd murmur their consent, heedless of the pleas of the children, paying them no more mind than they would a passing cloud."This city cares nothing about you or piety! Now move along - we got some business dealing to do."
Alanthian stands with his back against the post and prepaires himself to meet the charge.
AC:16 (17 w/Combat Expertise)
HP:10
Combat Expertise: -1 Attack +1 AC
Wait at the post so I can cover my flank and hold attack until some one gets close.
Cole glares at the gang leader and draws his sword, his armor gleaming in the sunlight. ”Perhaps ye and yer pack should take me together, Sniv, because I be lookin’ forward to this! Ye is gonna pay fer what ye done!” The look in Cole’s eyes promised violence.
Action:
Attack Sniv:
Damage:
Move:
5' Step back to J13
"Gnazhik!"
"Downmarket pfui! I pity you damned fools. You are so consumed by darkness you are blind to your own perdition to let the children of your own city be dragged off in chains. But I am no stranger to slave markets. I am Brankh, Servant of Sarenrae. I hail from Katapesh, the biggest slave market in the world!
I care not what you think of my piety - it is your own wretched souls that need saving!
You children be brave! Do not abandon hope! There is a Light that always shines for you. Let it be your guide in the darkness."
"Hrrmf. Now where is that yapper!"
Saoirse's first sight of the City of Strangers left her eyes open in wonderment, the sweeping walls rising higher than she ahd ever seen before. The dust of the road coated her cloak and face leaving her disheveled and in need of a wash.
"Finally I am here... but such a large city... how do these people not get lost here?"
Stepping forward into the gap her body was immediately assaulted as bad as any enemy had previously attempted to do with a sword. Her nose filled with the stink of refuse and human bodies pressed uncomfortably close together. The rotting quality of the place mixed with the smells to make her face blanch but that was not the worst offense to her sensibilities. The level of human suffering, the conditions of those she saw around her made her blood boil almost instantly. She pitied these people, who lived always in this perpetual twilight. To live in a den of hovels and huts stacked one over another like so many barrels was not a deserving fate of anyone.
With so many bodies pressing around her, she was forced to move with the crowd, which seemed to be demanding services of her and push her out of the way at the same time. The barrage of beggars and children all clamoring to offer her something added to her confusion, having a harder time navigating this every shifting maze of people and hands than she would have on a battlefield.
"And they say that in battles is man at his most chaotic, no, this is true chaos!"
"Please Sir... Miss... I do not require your... no, I don't want anything from... Hospice? What is that? No, don't answer that I.... please Miss, I cannot help your children right now."
Unable to keep up anymore, and feeling the press of bodies and a tug at her hip, her temper rises and she shouts out loudly while reaching down to check for her belt pouch, her breaths quickening as the number of people and hands reaching out bring flashes of memory to her mind, of clawed ghouls and blood spraying over cavern walls.
Perception Check:
|
Thorin shook his head in disbelief. Was this another dream or was it real? He could rush out and help, but what if he failed her? He couldn't stomach the thought of someone else falling due to his incompetence. Her pleas began to grow fainter as he stood at the doorway. he reached down, and grabbed his bottle of wine. "bah...empty..." he muttered under his breath. On the ground, beside where his bottle had been lying, a large wooden greatclub reflected the candlelight.. Crudely carved, and covered in dirt, it now was the only weapon he possessed. A terrible replacement for the intricately carved longsword he had been given upon entry into the Order of the Dragon. He grabbed it's hilt with his right hand. The weight of it felt right. He knew what had to be done. Lord Thorin staggered out into the alley, pausing only briefly to stop the spins in his head, and then began to give chase to his target.
"Hey...You there...why don't you pick on someone your own size?" Thorin shouted, singling out the very largest of the lady's captors, he motioned for him to step up, with a single finger gesture.
Passing through the large gap in the wall, the Warren welcomes them all with a barrage of questions, solicitations, and catcalls. Almost immediately, Catila notices dozens of Halflings in the streets and stalls, hanging out of windows, fighting in the alleys, children chasing each other...and her sharp eyes tell her that there are more than a handful of pickpockets working the crowds too. Luckily she rides atop a wagon, having paid for her travel with her voice...but still she notices the depravity of her race.
She is also taken back by two twin crescents, rising from the tangled and filthy mass of the Warren almost twenty feet in the air. Made from some black metal, they arch toward each other almost touching; their sides are covered with strange cosmological symbols and runes.
As they pass through the madness of the Warren, she quickly realizes the true strangeness of the city’s construction, for rather than being bordered externally by stout defensive walls, most of Kaer Maga lies literally inside its walls. Hundreds of feet thick, these vast stone bulwarks are mostly hollow, riddled through with chambers large and small and housing most of the city’s
population in the twilight beneath their roof. In places the chambers are large enough that structures rise up the sides or stand free like those of a conventional city, while in others its interior is split into distinct floors, with entire neighborhoods stacked one on top of each
other.
“I hear you can find just about anything in the city,” a young lad pipes up, his mouth agape as he tries to take it all in. His name is Bradley and his father is a metalsmith...and the wagon driver. Catila smiles as Bradley looks at her affectionately...having developed somewhat of a crush on her during their travels. “Da tells me that all kinds of traders come to Kaer Maga and that any man can make his way here! It’s a new start for all of us. You coming with us, Cat?”
“Leave the girl alone, Brad!” his father admonishes, guiding the mules through the streets. “She has other business in the city, ain’t that right, lady Doc?”
“That is right, Omer. I’ve heard of the richness of the arts and I can’t wait to see it...along with other matters that need my attention.”
Omer stops the wagon and points to his left. “From I heard, the Oriat is yonder way. You sure you won’t come with us?”
She pats him on the back and begins to unload her gear, with Bradley jumping off the wagon to help her. “I will come looking for you in a few days...after you are settled in, alright?” she asks.
Omer nods and Bradley watches her disappear among the crowds of the city.
It takes her less than five minutes to realize that getting to the Oriat district, from her current position, is not going to be as easy as she thought. Before her lies a lake and an amphitheatre...and behind those looks like a very nice neighborhood...so she heads in that direction...and finds herself on streets of cobblestones and nice shops and little cottages. And she hears laughter and the tinkling of silverware up ahead...which pulls at her until she follows the noise.
The sign above the door shows a freshly painted image of vines and tomato plants and outside on the stoop is a stand of fresh green vegetables. The smell of coffee and baked goods comes from an open door and a bald fellow with an apron is dusting the dirt off a bushel of carrots. At the corner of the store front is a covered patio with iron wrought tables and chairs and a trellis with hanging flowers for decoration. Several young adults are sipping tea or coffee, eating cakes or tarts, and enjoying the late morning peace.
“Ah, welcome my young lady,” the greengrocer says, greeting Catila with a smile showing his freshly polished dentures. “I am Parnham Nollins, owner of the Furrow and the Vine. But most folk call me Pater. Let me find you a table and a chair. No, no, it’s no trouble at all. What did you say your name was?”
After introductions are made, Pater finds Catila a table near the front of the patio. On the table is a vase of fresh daffodils and bees are working the hedges of forsythia blooming behind her. Three couples are dining and drinking on the patio with her. One couple is laughing and planning to attend the show at the amphitheatre that night. Another couple is holding hands and saying very little, content to just look at each other. The third couple, however, is engaged in a serious conversation from the looks of their body language and the intensity of some of their comments. Catila pretends not to listen, but she can’t help but hear this:
The young man says, “I fear that Braxton is up to something…sinister, but I just can’t put my finger on it.”
To which the young lady replies, “Well, I know his mother, Lady Spate, is concerned about his frequent…disappearances. Do you think he and Delilah are...”
Just then Pater returns with her brunch and as he places the food and drink before her, he asks, “So tell me, Catila, what brings you to Kaer Maga?”
Meeting Post Melee 1:
Round 1 > After some trash talking on both sides, Alanthian waits for Sniv to move in and when the gang leader does, he attacks with the elven blade. But Sniv is expecting it and he ducks under the attack and comes up with his long knife and leaves a bloody gash across Alanthian's chest!
"First blood!" Sniv croons, laughing as Alanthian's blood drips to the ground and the other rogues move in on Cole.
Cole uses his longsword to defend against the half-hearted attacks from the rogues, laughing as one rogue's dogslicer shatters upon impact with his well made blade.
"Gnazhik!" "Downmarket pfui! I pity you damned fools. You are so consumed by darkness you are blind to your own perdition to let the children of your own city be dragged off in chains. But I am no stranger to slave markets. I am Brankh, Servant of Sarenrae. I hail from Katapesh, the biggest slave market in the world!
I care not what you think of my piety - it is your own wretched souls that need saving!
You children be brave! Do not abandon hope! There is a Light that always shines for you. Let it be your guide in the darkness."
Unable to keep up anymore, and feeling the press of bodies and a tug at her hip, her temper rises and she shouts out loudly while reaching down to check for her belt pouch, her breaths quickening as the number of people and hands reaching out bring flashes of memory to her mind, of clawed ghouls and blood spraying over cavern walls.
[b]"You going along peacefully or do I have to cut you?"[b]
Cole realizes these members of a gang, while individually weak, gain strength in numbers. Thinning the numbers as quickly as possibe was the key to defeating them. He swings at one of the thugs, slashing him a gash acroos the other man's chest!
"Aye, first blood is yours, but last blood shall be mine!"
Alanthian presses Sniv with everything he has. Attempting to replay blood with blood.
Attack Sniv:
Damage:
Meeting Post Melee 2
Cole delivers a wicked swipe across one of the rogue's chest, crushing the man's lungs and dropping him to the ground. The other rogue (the one who's blade shattered against Cole's sword) gasps in shock and turns to run.
Round 2 > "Aye, first blood is yours, but last blood shall be mine!" Alanthian presses Sniv with everything he has and succeeds by slashing the Half-elven gang leader across the neck, nearly taking the rogue's head clean off!
As Sniv's long knife falls from his dying fingers, he eyes roll back in his head and he slumps to the ground. The fourth rogue also takes the opportunity to flee, heading for the safety of the crowd.
Cole looks about him, and noting no one else taking an interest in the scuffle, wipes his blade of the blood on a rag. He stares at the fallen form of Sniv, and reaches for his holy symbol. Grasping it he utters a quick prayer to stanch the lifeblood flowing from Sniv's body.
He turns his attention to the human, and nods, "Name is Cole, glad to see he didn't hurt you too badly" His vioce is raspy and hoarse, although you do understand him well enough. Gazing closer at him, you do see a disfiguring scar running along the side of his face from his temple down to his neck.
"We should probably get out of here before whatever passes for a Watch shows up."
Alanthian spins around to look for the thief that took the Meeting Post note.
Alanthian switches Glimmering to his left hand and reaches out to Cole with his right.
" Thank you for the help friend. I do not think this fight would have went so well with out you."
He turns his attention to the human, and nods, "Name is Cole, glad to see he didn't hurt you too badly" His vioce is raspy and hoarse, although you do understand him well enough. Gazing closer at him, you do see a disfiguring scar running along the side of his face from his temple down to his neck.
"We should probably get out of here before whatever passes for a Watch shows up."
"Alanthian Darlok. Yes, just a quick search of the vanquished, and we should find an out of the way place so I can properly thank you. A close by tavern perhaps?"
Alanthian kneels down and whipes the blood from his sword onto Sniv's cloathing then searches through Sniv's pockets and takes the dropped Long knife and sheath and slides them into his belt.
"Well then shall we be off?"
Unable to keep up anymore, and feeling the press of bodies and a tug at her hip, her temper rises and she shouts out loudly while reaching down to check for her belt pouch, her breaths quickening as the number of people and hands reaching out bring flashes of memory to her mind, of clawed ghouls and blood spraying over cavern walls.
Saoirse tries to press her way through the crowd. She feels for her belt pouch and is relieved to find it is still tied to her belt. And then suddenly a loud voice behind her says, "Hey...You there...why don't you pick on someone your own size?"
This scatters much of the crowd...except for three or four persistent Halflings. One shoves her roughly and says, "You ain't going nowhere, pretty thing. The Duke wants to meet you."This draws a few chuckles from the others, one of which pulls a curved dagger from his belt. "Yeah, like he said. The Duke wants to meet you," he hisses, pointing with his dagger.
Saoirse hastens a glance in the direction and sees a hooded figure standing at the mouth of the alley merely 15 feet from them. She can't tell much about this figure other than he has clawed hands. And...wait..is that a tail sticking out from under his robes?
Meeting Post: Cole & Keegan
Cole stabilizes the gang leader Sniv, and then watches the crowd while Alanthian searches his body. He picks up the long knife, finds a small pouch of coins (20 silver), and a large, iron key.
Looking around the meeting post for the other rogue turns up nothing.
Alanthian begins to walk beside Keegan." So Cole, have you ever heard of a place the rents rooms that's name begins with The Sorry?"
Cole stares at Alanthain, a confused look on his face. "What, you did not read the rest of the name on the sign?" He rasps in response.
Actually, I am headed to the section of this hellhole called the Bottoms. You should not attract any further attention from the likes of Sniv there. You can come with me, if you like."
Alanthian chuckles and shakes his head. "No Cole, I was reading a letter when the thugs took it from me. I only read part of the name of a place when the fun and games started. "The Sorry" is as much as I got."
Alanthian takes a deep breath then lets it out in a burst."If they serve drinks, this Bottoms sounds lovely right now. Lead on friend."
Cole stares at Alanthain, a confused look on his face. "What, you did not read the rest of the name on the sign?" He rasps in response.
Alanthian chuckles and shakes his head. "No Cole, I was reading a letter when the thugs took it from me. I only read part of the name of a place when the fun and games started. "The Sorry" is as much as I got."
Alanthian takes a deep breath then lets it out in a burst."If they serve drinks, this Bottoms sounds lovely right now. Lead on friend."
Cole takes the lead, moving through the crowd with the ease of one who has been here before. He is quiet for a while, but as the two round a corner and continue to their destination, he speaks up, "I have heard of a tavern called The Sorry Excuse, in the Hospice district." He snorts. "That part of town is not where one goes if he values his money, or his virtues. What is your interest in that place?"
'What a City!' muses the dimunitive dectective as she makes her way towards the Oriat district 'Why I'm sure there's a mystery to be solved on every corner! Soella will never catch up to my reputation at this point!' that is unless, of course, the devious little wench had somehow managed to follow her again.
Soella, was there ever a word to sour a mood such at that one? Althoug she tried not to ever think about the woman, sometimes, like a fungus of the foot or an unwelcome relative, she just crept in while you weren't paying attention. And damn the woman anyway! Why was she always so competitive! Fah! Competitive?? It seemed the woman had devoted her whole life to trying to one-up Catila.
It had started in school. At first the two seemed destined to be good friends. They were both talented and bright, their parents moved in similar social circles and they were both driven. But once Catila's grades began to pull ahead the one-sided competition began and all hope of friendship was dashed to the winds. Without wanting to, Catila found herself ticking off 'The List' in her head. Catila was smarter, but Soella was prettier and more charming. Soella was tone deaf and sang like a frog to Catila's nightengale, yet Soella (Damn her) had been gifted with a natural talent for magic which Catila had but a pale echo of. Catila could hold her own better in a straight fight but while her parents were certainly well off, Soella folks were substantially richer. And so the Paramaters of their eternal game of 'one-up-womanship had been set.
It was not a game Catila had any interest in continuing but she was out to make a name for herself! To shine outside of the shadow her parents's many success she had always felt clouded over her. And damn it all to hell, why did that...that..wool headed strumpet always have to show up, at just the wrong moment, to try and steal her thunder! Argh! It still burned her that the sneaky b*&#~ had managed to convince everyone that it was she who had solved the mystery of the Duchess' missing golden garter. And after she, Catila, had had to chram the answer out of that devilish rake Sir Janson.. Ugh! The feel of his..well, no need to dwell on that particular memory!
Anyway though, those days were past now, Catila was sure, as she felt confidant that she had finally managed to give the pernicious woman the slip in Varasia several weeks back. Yes, she was sure she wouldn't be seeing that hated face again. 'Ok, sure am I? then why did I look back over my shoulder just now? Damn that woman!'
“Ah, welcome my young lady,”
Catila's somber musings are suddenly interupted by.
"Mu..wha..um, hi?" 'Ah, yes, ever the well spoken diplomat you are Catila. Top of your class were you? Well never mind, he seems kind enough. Might as well sit and rest a spell.'
Allowing herself to be led to and sat at a table on a lovely patio, Catila sighs and, with a quick gesture, conjours all the day's travel dust off herself. Watching it spiral in a pattern shaped after one her favourite melodies Catila sends the dirt, dust and grime in to fertalize the lovely plant life perfuming the air around her. Breathing deeply the fragrent breeze Catila sighs again, contentedly, all thoughts of her nemisis gone, for now, from her mind.
“I fear that Braxton is up to something…sinister, but I just can’t put my finger on it.” the perceptive halfing catches on the wind from a young couple sitting near her. Some words always seemed to catch her attention and jolt her unending curiosity. Words like sinister ranked right up at the top of that list.
'Lady Spate...Lady Spate...why does that name seem to ring a bell? thinking back to all the many stories she has heard about the City of Theives the Detective tries to recall where she may have heard that name before
Knowledge(local):
“So tell me, Catila, what brings you to Kaer Maga?” Uncomfortable as she was with strangers using her first name, Catila decides to let it slide. The man was harmless and only meant to be friendly after all. "Well, I am a solver of mysteries, dear Pater, and I have heard that the church of Pharasma has a doosey of one on their hands. I'm sure a well known and informed man such as yourself must have some inside scoop on such a thing, yes?" As the detective naturally falls into her pattern of using charm and honeyed words to get the info she wants.
Diplomacy:
Knowledge(local):(to gather info)
Cole takes the lead, moving through the crowd with the ease of one who has been here before. He is quiet for a while, but as the two round a corner and continue to their destination, he speaks up, "I have heard of a tavern called The Sorry Excuse, in the Hospice district." He snorts. "That part of town is not where one goes if he values his money, or his virtues. What is your interest in that place?"
Alanthian glances over at Cole then looks back in the direction they are heading.
"My Brother. My brother left the note for me on the Meeting Pole, and I think that's where I am supposed to meet him."
Alanthian glances over at Cole then looks back in the direction they are heading.
"My Brother. My brother left the note for me on the Meeting Pole, and I think that's where I am supposed to meet him."
Cole starts visibly when he hears Alanthain's reply. He is quiet for a moments then says softly, "You should not go there by yourself, the Hospice is a dangerous place if you do not know your way. I will go with you, if you want."
Alanthian stops and turns to look at Cole. "I can't say I would not welcome the help. This city is not what I expected from the stories I read. I knew it was a dangerous place, but reading about the danger is one thing, living it is another. You came to my aid with out knowing anything about me or my situation and I thank you, but I can not ask you to continue risking your safety on my behalf with out offering something in return. If you help me, then I will help you the best I can, just name it.
Slavery, poverty, filth and overcrowding. Another group of kids slips through the cracks in another degenerate city. Did I do the right thing not to fight for them? Nehruha, old friend - you would have found a way to help them. Brankh shakes his head dejectedly. It seems like yesterday, when he was living in the same desperate squalor. Grimly Brankh and the boy prepare the torch for the march
Then the hooden man arrives with his offer.
Brankh looks at the man, trying to get a glimpse of his face and surprised at such an unlikely occurance. He takes the money and replies.
"I will take this money and bring it to the slavers that we may buy freedom for these children. Then we must discuss how best to ensure their care and upbringing moving forward. Know ye now, that I will seek to know who you are and who these friends of yours are before I entrust the children into your care."
"Slavers! I would purchase these children from you and take them to a safe place - and - as I would have it - to freedom . Will you entertain an offer?"
Cole is silent for a moment, moved by this stranger's offer. He also had a brother, much like Cole did, more likely than not in trouble. How could he not help this man out?
"I am on my way to assist the Church of Pharasma with a mission. I know little more of it, but you are welcome to join me. I will sponsor you, if necessary. If you feel you need to try to contact your brother, then I will guide you where you need to go."
|
|
Thorin increased his speed to put himself between the alley and the young womans captors At the same time trying to make sure that at no time does he turn his back on the halfling with the dagger.
if successful in his attempt:
Thorin taps the ground with his greatclub. "and where do you think you are going wee ones?" Like a major league baseball player he winds up for his first swing...
"The Church of Pharasma you say?" Alanthian pauses and rubs his chin. "Yes friend, I will join you and see where this takes us. After that we can make our way to the Hospice area. I am in your debt Cole, thank you."
"Well, I am a solver of mysteries, dear Pater, and I have heard that the church of Pharasma has a doosey of one on their hands. I'm sure a well known and informed man such as yourself must have some inside scoop on such a thing, yes?" As the detective naturally falls into her pattern of using charm and honeyed words to get the info she wants.
Pater chuckles and pats your hand as he sits down in the chair opposite, his old bones creaking with effort.
"Well now, I have heard a few...secrets, not much mind you, just a few. The primary midwife of the temple, Maris I believe her name is, visited a prominent family in the Widdershins community...which is where you are, my dear. Her first visit was about a month ago, and then again about two weeks later. Many of the families were buzzing about it, but then the young lady who she was visiting...has simply disappeared. Mysterious, isn't it?"
The old man sips some green tea and continues. "The only other thing I know is that the temple sent out a private call for help...wouldn't say what help is needed, but that Cryptmistress Valanthe Nerissia is in charge. Those that sate your appetite for gossip, my dear?"
The slavers glance at each other and then the lead slaver asks, "How much you got in that bag? These strumpets will fetch a pretty price on the flesh block tonight!"
"I think you'll find enough coin in here to make it worth your while," Brankh says, handing the heavy sack to the slaver. The slaver grunts as he hefts its weight, and he takes a long look at Brankh. After a few tense seconds, he turns to his companions and tosses him a key. "We got our coin - let's move on. We gots other business over in Hospice."
The other slaver chuckles and licks his lips and then opens the shackles of the children. For a few seconds, the children stand huddled together, unsure of what to do. But then the hooded man and three others, two women and another man, come to Brankh, the women going to the children to comfort them, the men staying with Brankh.
"You have the thanks and gratitude of the Freemen, my friend. I am Halman Wright and you are welcome at The Common House any time. In fact, we will be heading there later today to honor our patron Cayden Cailean with a night of drink and merriment. You will join us, won't you?"
"My you are a font of information Pater, obviously I'm talking to the right man." She answers with a winning smile. "But who was this young lady you speak of? Or her family at least. Does no one know the name?"
Putting her eyes down for a seocnd but flicking them right back up "Oh, and this Cryptmistress Nerissia, what is she like? What can you tell me about her?"
"My you are a font of information Pater, obviously I'm talking to the right man." She answers with a winning smile. "But who was this young lady you speak of? Or her family at least. Does no one know the name?"
Putting her eyes down for a seocnd but flicking them right back up "Oh, and this Cryptmistress Nerissia, what is she like? What can you tell me about her?"
Pater sips his tea and remains quiet for several seconds, watching Catila closely. Finally, he says, "The Cryptmistress is said to be a favorite of High Priestess Delana even though she is a member of the mysterious Sepulcherine order. She has risen quickly in the ranks...so I've heard."
Clearly done with the conversation, Pater rises slowly and says, "I'll check back on you momentarily, young lady."And with a slight nod of his head, he walks away.