This campaign starts in the fabled city of Mtol Daerine, the largest and most cosmopolitan city in all of Saemyyr. “Peacemaker” will be an epic tale of murder, mystery, intrigue, betrayal and truth. The story starts at the Citadel of the Brotherhood in the metropolis of Mtol Daerine, two miles above the deep desert floor, and home to some three million souls from every corner of Saemyyr. The story begins at 5th level. At least one of you must play a Brotherhood Adept (from any Order), at least one thief, preferably one person (could be the thief) with some fighter levels, and someone (anyone) will eventually need to take *at least* one level in any Mentalist (psionicist) class. The story begins as a who-done-it murder mystery inside the Citadel and eventually takes on a world spanning quest, learning some of the inner secrets of the Brotherhood, having an encounter with a mysterious organization referred to as “The Black Brotherhood”, and peering behind the layers of realities, interacting with the technologies of the ancients, and meeting the gods themselves in the form of The Thirteen. The campaign will be travel and story intensive and feature lots of interactions with different factions, NPCs, and mysteries. All of you will even have hidden agendas of your own….. I expect this saga to go from 5th to maybe 15th+ level and would also probably take about a year depending on frequency of play, etc.
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How are these messageboards different in function? Is this one where actual play-by-post will happen?
Brother Tor - exactly! This is where the In Game and In Character messages should be posted!
The opening scene of for Toranindracar will take place the night of Toranindracar's Test of the Nine, the intense magical and psychological exam required of all Brotherhood of Magus members to become full Brothers. Toranindracar is hoping to spend the evening celebrating with the four other members of his Adar’kevan class, the last and most senior student rank in the Academy of the Brotherhood of Magus. He and the other four members of his cohort - Cambrech an Airgíallnese, Valdérion a Shalornian, Menalacor from Tar Sequinus, and Kal’ishal from Kalak Doman - have spent the last 5 years preparing for the most important and difficult test of their lives and soon will be ready to celebrate after the ordeal.
A few years later, when the actual "Peacemaker" campaign begins, Toranindracar will have these four names forever burned in his memories.
(This is a test. Well... actually, it's me trying to get added to the character page.)
Varan, looks like you're added!
(and another test to see if this does the trick)
Yep! Did the trick!
Thomi! Looks like the system has added you! Nicely done Sir!
Bests,
Chris
That bandolier is pretty darn sweet!
Bandoliers full of women? :)
Hahaha! Genius! We will call Thomi 'MIttens', for his great skills at pilfering of course!
"Yes, the sooner the better. Let's meet tomorrow for an early breakfast at the crack of noon in the Journeyman District at a place called the Emerald Inn. Bring any investigative equipment or supplies you may need, as we'll set up headquarters there -- the Domani's apartment is not far from there, and he may have friends or associates nearby. And, as I hear, a lady friend." Toranindracar wiggles his eyebrows lecherously.
"We can discuss further leads then. Until tomorrow, Frasha!"
He tugs on Bijannar's pant leg and shuttles him out the door, muttering about dullards and nitwits.
((sorry - kept checking the page but saw no notification! all set now.))
"Beware the soft, soothing words of the snake charmer and the proud man," his father would say. "Both are honey to the ears, but honey alone is of no merit to the man crossing the desert."
Bijannar had to stop and chuckle to himself. Even after all of these years abroad, the words of his beloved father still rang in his ears and heart. Those words, even when in error or ignorance, he thought, were always of noble intention. Surely....
And like that, he cleared his mind and steadied his breathing, just as his desert friend Nasreen had taught him. Then, he walked home.
Bijannar, All:
I'm going to describe the scenes as by scenes, although my hope was to try and get everyone in the same place at around the same time so that character introductions could be made.
Grabbing her clothes and dragging on her boots she tosses her runes in the air. The winds catch them and scatter them across the floor. She frowns. An Inn? At noon? Well she's followed them this far, they must have their reasons. She heads for the door before stopping, turning and grabbing her mail. Just because her god guides her path doesn't mean there won't be danger. With the comforting weight of her prize shirt nestled on her shoulders she heads out to the Scarlet Strumpet, where she is sure to find Gwythyr Delwyn still fast asleep.
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That was an interesting conversation yesterday with the Black Hand operative. I have been informed that Dargallen is missing. My job? Find him, and find a way to gather compromising information on Kal’ishal. I’m a little nervous about that. Kal’ishal is a member of the Brotherhood, and it’s never a good thing to come to their attention as a person of interest. I demanded, and received an advance because of the risks of the assignment.
My contact gave me some background information, including the knowledge that Kal’ishal is known to frequent The Emerald Inn. Rumor has it that Kal’ishal has a lady friend who occasionally patronizes the inn. I’m on my way to snoop about and see what I can discover.
I check my weapons and tools, and assure myself that I am ready for the unexpected. One can never be too prepared! I quietly slip out of my quarters and drift down the alleys of The Lesser Ward. In these pre-dawn hours few residents are about, and the city has yet to begin its customary hustle and bustle. Traversing the lesser known byways will allow me to approach my destination without attracting attention.
I head to the Emerald Inn early, but wait outside, keeping watch for Bijannar and taking note of the character of the people of the neighborhood, and especially of anyone who enters the Inn.
If and when Bijannar shows up, I grab hold of his attention (and his pant leg) and say "Follow me," leading him off through the streets toward the Red Strumpet. I explain in hushed tones along the way that I haven't yet established who we can trust, and it may prove useful to keep our actions unpredictable. Also, that I have a tip from a friend that we may find allies in another location (The Red Strumpet). In case we find any danger, those may prove just as useful.
If all goes well, we should arrive at the Red (Scarlet?) Strumpet in the early afternoon!
Bijannar comes strolling up to the Emerald Inn shortly before noon, the sweet aroma of beer and baked pies tempting him to find an early seat. Until Toranindracar tugs on his pant leg. Listing to his quick explanation, he shrugs his shoulders, adjusts his armor, and falls in behind the shorter man.
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My observation of the patrons entering and leaving The Emerald Inn hasn’t noted much of interest, except for that Halfling who was also watching the place for a time. He wandered off when his friend showed up, so I have entered the Inn and taken a seat against the back wall of the common room. I’ll sit here with a flagon of ale and see if anyone arrives matching the description of Kal’ishal or his lady friend.
Varan finishes up his last bite of the honeyed roll that he purchased for breakfast, tosses away his trash, and wanders off through the streets. To the unobservant, he appears to have no particular destination in mind. Those who are more watchful, however, might note the purposeful manner in which he threads his way through Mtol Dærine over the course of the morning. Perhaps he’s trying to throw a pursuer off of his trail? Or maybe he’s looking for someone he knows in one of a few familiar neighborhoods? Whatever the case, sometime around noon, his meandering path finds him at the front door of the Scarlet Strumpet.
Dispensing with the customary search for a corner seat with its back to the wall, Varan instead drops down into a chair at an unoccupied table more or less in the center of the common room. When he catches the eye of someone who appears to be serving, he says, “Wine – a Domani red if you have it – and some bread and cheese.”
You each make your way upon the brown flagstone streets of Mtol Dærine toward the Guild District. Nestled between the Embassy District to the north and the Merchant District to the south, the Guild district exerts an unparalleled control over the lives of the citizens of the City. The large long stone Guild Halls, some even higher than the five and six storeyed apartments surrounding them, were multi-tiered with tall arched glass windows and canopied roofs of clay shingles, bedecked with the crests and coats of arms of their art and craft and the major noble and patrician families of Mtol Dærine who were their patrons. Statues of vanity stood ensconced in the corners of buildings, small triangular plazas filled with craftsmen, hawkers, and city criers, announced that some noble had paid for this howz, a small symmetrical pool, and its accompanying statue.
The Guild District does not have quite the same reputation as the Merchant District, and so your walk was mostly unimpeded by the throngs of thousands who crowd through the streets of the southern district. Several shops, taverns, inns and kahwa houses are located throughout the district, but their wares, being so close to the guilds, are typically of higher quality and value.
You make your way to the Scarlet Strumpet, a small wooden and stone abode jutting out awkwardly into an oddly shaped plaza where four streets come together at unexpected angles in the labyrinthine warren that is Mtol Dærine. The building seems to almost be an afterthought, as if it was built against the outside edge of another building, although its size is imposing enough, three timbered storeys, with a few tables set out onto the stoned plaza and large curtained doors open to the warm air of Mtol Dærine.
Inside a few patrons are deeply engrossed in passionate conversation, as is the want of many of the city’s population. It is always in the inns and kahwa houses that news is exchanged and where people intrigued by politics criticize the government openly and without fear, on account that the government takes little interest in what the people say and the so imagine themselves to have free opinions on anything and everything. Tables of games, a version of checkers, hopscotch, or chess, can be seen on many tables and two older Dærine men seem to be quietly but intensely engrossed in a game.
It is not yet late enough in the day for the standard entertainment (which happens in the late afternoon as the sun becomes warmer) - clergy, ascetics, and poets take turns telling stories in verse or in prose or involved in heated disputations. The narrations by the clergy and the ascetics are always moral lessons but more to inform and guide and it is not uncommon for people to not give attention to them. No one is forced to give up his game or his conversation because of it. A clergy will stand up in the middle, or at one end of the pub or kahwa house, start to preach in a booming voice, or an ascetic might enter suddenly, and chastises those inside on the vanity of the world and its material goods. It often happens that two or three people talk at the same time, one on one side, the other on the opposite, and sometimes one will be a preacher and the other a storyteller or poet*. Thankfully though, such disputations have not yet begin as it is still near noon and the crowd is just beginning to roll in.
Near the long wooden bar sits what could only be the dæthol. For a very brief moment you are taken by the ethereal beauty of this otherworldly creature. He sits a full head taller than his companion and while she is not unattractive, the sheer sublimity of his existence seems to outshine hers. An almost pale silvery aura pulls you into looking at him, trapped briefly in wonder, and even at this distance you can hear the tones of his voice which sound like silver bells or babbling streams. He sits sipping kahwa, that dark bitter drink whose qualities are known for racing the mind’s intelligence but rumor has contains some malevolent spirit which causes imbibers to fall deeply in love with the stuff and never do without. Judging from the expression on his face, it would seem that this morning at least, he might require it’s magical properties. He seems in slow conversation with a young Valgaardian woman, easily identifiable by the furs and leathers of her culture and the lightness of her skin.
Also in the room are the inn keep, a young serving man, two older men playing at a game, a guild laborer having an early lunch, and two young men, probably patricians, engaged in a heated philosophical argument.
[*Taken and adapted from Jean Chardin’s descriptions of Persian coffeehouse.]
Bijannar stands a few inches over five hands, a flowing cloak with the insignia of the Brotherhood of Magus, and wears a finely polished set of masterful studded leather - dyed deep red to match his cloak. He wears the cowl of his cloak up, but far enough back to reveal his features. He carries several steel daggers in his belt, each sheathed. Although he is ethnically Karsab, he appears a little lighter of skin - likely the direct result of years training and studying in The Citadel.
Although he has powerful, square shoulders, he allows them to rest slightly, giving others the appearance that he is relatively at ease. He doesn't appear to be speaking with anyone, although a shorter man - a Tegan - stands very close to him.
- Toranindracar and Bijannar, having just entered, are standing in the entryway
- Varan is seated at a table in the middle of the tavern
- Thomi has taken a small table in the back against a wall
- Aegwyn is seated at the bar next to and in conversation with the silver skinned dæthol
- Two older dærine men wearing orange and red loose muslin kaftan robes are playing a game of draughts midway through the tavern (roughly parallel with Varan)
- A guild worker is seated alone along the left side toward the middle, close to the bar, roughly parallel with Aegwyn and Varan
- Two young patricians wearing standard dærine kaftan robes (although only one of them looks dærine) are seated in intense discussion along the middle of the far right wall
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Observing the patrons at The Emerald Inn does not reveal the presence of anyone matching Kal’ishal’s description, so I elect to follow the Halfling and his friend. They enter The Scarlett Strumpet, and I enter a few minutes after them.
I try not to stand out in my appearance, as blending in with the common folk is a primary concern in my line of work. What I lack in muscle is more than compensated for by a wiry frame built for speed and precision, and a dexterous touch for intricate devices. Even though my dark brown leathers and cape appear ordinary and well-worn, my garb is kept in excellent condition, modified with numerous hidden pockets and straps to conceal a variety of tools by which I make my trade. (See my character profile: Gear). One distinguishing feature is my beloved bandolier, from which the handles of several daggers can be seen.
I see the pair I followed into the Strumpet, and take a seat at an unoccupied table at the far end of the room. Ordering a tall mug of kahwa, I tamp some tabac leaf into my pipe and settle in to watch the other patrons. I’ll have to keep an eye on the fellow wearing the Brotherhood cloak – I’ve crossed paths with Brothers before, and the whole bunch make me as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs.
"the whole bunch make me as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs."
I just laughed out loud!
The young serving man delivers a large brass cup of kahwa, its hot acrid vapors immediately recognizable, to a man in brown leathers in the corner who just sat down and then turns to take a large goblet of blood red wine to a large well built and finely groomed man seated in the center of the room.
A short man with Brotherhood insignia on his cloak has just stepped into the room, he is standing next to a diminutive tegan man. Both of them stand there for just a moment (how the man with the brown leathers managed to slip past them) and take in the scene.
The young Valgaardian woman is seated at the long well worn wooden bar next to a male daethol, with whom she is talking.
The sounds of bone droughts on a board click and clack with no other comment. Two hushed voices, impassioned by conviction, come from the corner, "No, Varius, you simply don't understand. In addition to the merely contingent beings of the created order, there must also be a necessary being, a single unitary high god, who is prior to all the rest! How else could the intellect have knowledge without some prior existing cause and have awareness of self?!"
Outside a warm breeze wafts in through the many open doors of the tavern, rustling the many hanging plants which sway in the archways. In the plaza outside can be heard the loud preachings of a priest of Kalak, who warns the citizens of Mtol Daerine that they must ask forgiveness of Kalak for breaking His Divine Laws or else soon the city will surely face the wrath it deserves. Someone shouts from a distance for him to go home and worship his foreign god there.
Varan – a tall, lean, handsome man – settles into his seat. His ivory-white hair is long and unbound, while his skin is dusky and his eyes are storm grey: all sure signs of Dardish heritage, for those who have traveled amongst the nations of Naströnd. A gilded holy symbol hangs around his neck – the lion-headed coiled serpent of Ialdabaōth. His garb and platemail are dark, and he projects an air of confidence, even a certain sense of cockiness. As his food and drink arrive, he seems unable to stifle a soft chuckle at the heated religious debate unfolding nearby.
"Now, we were advised to make the Emerald Inn our headquarters for the assignment, and we may yet do so, but in the meantime, best to assemble some aid, if possible. I'm told there are two contacts we might meet at the place we're headed: one, a Qwayraith bard by the name of Gwythyr Delwyn who is well-connected around the city; and two, a woman of Valgaard -- some sort of 'spiritualist', whatever that's supposed to mean. Ratush Navza'ar sometimes relied on her for clues when needed, though where she finds the clues I couldn't guess.
There are other leads, which I'd rather tackle after enlarging my belly, personally. For instance, Kal'ishal's last contact within the Citadel -- a member of Gætha. Kal'ishal's apartment, of course, and perhaps anyone around the Emerald Inn, including the daetholayn girl he was reportedly... ah, hm, what was that Ashkan idiom again?"
At 2'10", Toranindracar's head reaches nearly to the waist of Bijannar, next to him. He has thick, dark bushy hair bursting from the back of his gold-threaded bandana, his moustache just as thick on his swarthy face.
He is decked in a fine-cut robe of brown with gold trim. Residents of Mtol Dærine will recognize that this robe marks him as belonging to the Brotherhood, having signed on with one of the mysterious, less well-known Orders at the Citadel. It also indicates power and authority -- no mere underling or novitiate.
His face, however, indicates primarily hunger. He elbows Bijannar in the knee and nods toward the dæthol and the woman of Valgaard, then strides importantly toward the bar, to the point closest to the dæthol and the Valgaardian. Pulling out a pipe and some tabac, he speaks loudly to the server:
[b]"Steak, bloody. And ale -- the bitterest you have. Ah, and for my assistant...?"
After ordering, he lights the pipe and turns, scanning the room for all details, noting all the people in the room, where they sit, stand or walk, and whether anyone is nervous or intending not to be noticed. He glances to Bijannar and nods his head toward the dæthol and the woman, motioning for him to do his thing.
Perception:
Toranindracar- neither the old men playing draughts, nor the young men involved in a philosophical conversation seem to have paid any attention to your arrival and they don't appear nervous.
As for the others....we shall see.
Aegwyn notes the new arrivals with interest. A two members of the brotherhood is an unexpected occurence in the middle of the day, almost as unexpected as a Dardishman. Instinctively she focuses on the Dardishman first leaning towards the daethol and asks whether he knows him?
She regards the mismatched pair of brotherhood adepts next, her long black hair twitching and dancing as the breeze plays around her. Initially their height had caused her to dismiss them, but a second glance picks up the unmistakable air of authority. These two would never have survived in the frozen north - Aegwyn stands a good half foot taller than the taller of the pair. However, here in the south they are clearly people of some note - or they think they are.
"Gwythyr, what do you make of these two? Not your standard patrons of the Scarlet Strumpet?"
She starts to wonder whether it was a mistake to leave her morningstar behind. Almost without thinking, she drops a copper coin and watches the breeze twitch it to the side before she catch it. Drop, catch, drop, catch, drop catch. Each time the coin drifts in a different direction.
Yes. Something is definitely afoot.
Thomi - what are you trying to pick up on specifically or are you just surveying the scene?
Sense Motive:
Gwythyr quickly and nonchalantly looks around the room and before leaning slightly forward to respond to Aegwyn.
Perception
Gwythyr leans down to Aegwyn and softly and melodiously states - "I've not seen them before Aegwyn, although you're right, it's unusual for the Brotherhood to be stepping into this area of the City. I somehow imagine that these two are not here for a pot of hot kahwa, although perhaps word of my oratory expertise has finally reached the vaunted halls of the Brotherhood. My money is on the fact that they are here to talk to either you, me, the dark knight in the middle or that man back in the corner. Still, tegan have a fearsome reputation and I can't imagine many things more frightening than a feral member of the Brotherhood."
Sorry, Tor's 30 Sense Motive will be opposed to everyone's Bluff or Stealth checks (can't sense someone you can't see).
Toranindracar - the daethol at the bar tried to nonchalantly scan the room when you two walked in and then bent down to surreptitiously whisper to the Valgaardian lass next to him.
Using the Let it Ride rule on your Perception check (since you specifically stated you were looking for people trying not to be noticed), you hear the above statement that he made to Aegwyn.
Hmmm, interesting. It would seem that Toranindricar hasn't really noticed the young Valgaardian sitting next to Gwythyr, although Tor has noticed Gwythyr and did overhear his comment, possibly causing him to pay more attention (i.e. make another Perception check or just go on over).