Overhrading the discussion while persuing the fare at the feast Wu interjects "Lost treasures? If this feast happens every year, and people search every year how could there be anything left? If there is anything, surely the guardians must be mighty. I would expect them to be too much for a humble caravan guard like myself. Oh, and what is this Fatta? " as he dubiously looks over the unfamiliar foodstuffs.
After they had failed to find the caravan with the foreign man and the Ghoran, Nexander had returned to the Mangy Gnoll. Francois had a few rooms in back that he would rent out occasionally, and he liked Xander enough to offer him one (for a price of course). The scholarly gun slinging bard had been holed up with Zubaida burning up all his money for the past couple of days. He's interacted with Unafe, Wu Cheng and Thorgrim as much as he could over the last few days, having taken a liking to the other foreigners. Not speaking Osiriani had left him somewhat isolated from the native community, not that he cared overmuch. He'd offered to share his room with the other three travelers, allowing them to sleep there and store their belongings if they wanted, though the noise and sight of him and Zubaida made it a more attractive offer at some hours than others.
This morning he'd made an appointment with Unafe to check out the feast. Her youthful enthusiasm was a good match for his own curiosity and he felt protective of the younger woman. Nexander waited by one of the entrances to the feast, keeping his eyes peeled for the ebony giantess. He is in the process of packing a mixture of cloves, unprocessed tobacco, and a few nameless herbs into a long stemmed pipe when he spots Wu Cheng across the square talking to some armored Osiriani. He waves to the Tian monk, smiling. Xander's hair is unbraided today, resting in a huge cloud on top of his head.
Edo was a city revived. Wealth was pouring into the city at rates it had not seen in decades. Whereas Sothis and Katapesh were ruins which would one day be combed through by ambitious looters, Edo was making its fortune off of the ruins, both past and present. Walking through the bustling streets, Ardeshir shook his head. No one seemed to take notice that Edo’s prosperity was due to the devastation and misery inflicted on its neighbors. Sarenae had been wise to guide him here. There were many who needed to be redeemed. He had once been like them. No… I was worse. he thought to himself.
A tall and handsome man of partial Keleshite descent he would have stood out from the crowd had not the crowd been packed with so many foreigners and oddities. From the view point at every bazaar he vistited he could see something unusual, once or twice he glimpsed the dark robed figures in iron masks, another time a hulking northern warrior, and even kobolds running about or the strange plant creature from Nex. He could feel the excitement in the air and knew that if nothing else, this was a place where he might find a new avenue to fortune.
He spent the better part of his first two days in the city going from market to market. His grasp of the Osiriani language was less than perfect and he used conversations with the merchants to better his command of the local dialect. He also tried to pick up any local knowledge he could, what ruins might hold the most promising wealth, areas to avoid, and potential dangers of the desert common in this locale. He would need this knowledge to make himself a promising guide, especially since the Dawnflower looked unkindly on falsehoods.
The next few days he spent shadowing the most promising men of wealth. Some left to explore the ruins before he had the chance to approach them, others seemed to be merchants with little interest beyond making travel to Thuvia. He wasn’t going to waste his days and the goddess’s favor by escorting some greedy merchant. By the time of the feast only one individual employer remained promising; the eccentric doctor Pinkerton from Ustalav. He’d never heard of the region before, but it seemed it was some backwoods region far to the North filled with ice and snow. It was no wonder he had traveled South to Garund. He decided that he would make himself invaluable to the doctor. While his own talents and skills were considerable, he knew that if he could also offer up others who complemented his abilities, his commission would all but he assured.
With that in mind he attended the grand feast with an open smile and his weapons on clear display. He moved about the open square where most of the feasting was taking place, thanking the priests of Abadar for their generosity and the blessings their god bestowed on the gathered participants. At one table he sampled a refreshing chickpea salad with a barley wine. He found a whole meal made from sauced crocodile tail and figs at another table and he quenched his thirst with pure water. All the while his eyes and ears sought out others who might play a role in the future adventure he envisioned.
The Hand is a bit taken aback by Wu Cheng's lack of proper manners."Good sir, it is only polite that you introduce yourself before interjecting into the conversation. So I will start, I am The Steady Hand of Totra, late of the Ruby Prince's Risen Guard; this is the Jack of All Trades." The Hand waits patiently for Wu Cheng to introduce himself before he answers the questions.
"Oh, a thousand pardons good sirs. I forgot myself. I am Wu Cheng, most recently of Alkenstar. I am but a traveller from a distant land trying to make a living around here. I overheard your talk of riches and was curious." . Seeing the scholar he had conversed with some days earlier, he waves him over, though the explosion of hair was a bit disconcerting.
"The gentleman on his way over is Nexander, also a traveler. He is a great scholar. "
Sasbrek had stationed pretty much all afternoon at the feast: his appetite was vast and his manners limited, and he proceeded to gorge himself with everything he could get his tiny clawed hands on. He ate with a bit of nostalgia the crocodile – reminiscent of the similar-tasting dinosaur meat he primarily ate in the depths of the Mwangi Expanse. When a cleric offered him a spell of protection from the heat, he answered angered with the mouth full “Ah m th hehr t a drgon!” he gulped down the mouthful of honeyed fruits “a fire-breathing dragon! I take delight in the warmth of the sun, you hatchwit!”. Now with a duck leg in one hand and a handful of chickpeas precariously held in the other, his scales are almost scalding hot as he is going around trying to make conversation.
Unsurprisingly, he is mostly unsuccessful.
The masked men in the black robes were his first failure. They stared at him for a good, long minute before he realized they were actually shunning him: Sasbrek waited for their reply, unblinking, until they turned their back to him. Stupid mammalian bigfeet, trying to keep a staring contest with a reptile. I could’ve outstared them all!
The biggest surprise, for him, is that no one seemed concerned with the serpentfolk. Most people agree that the world is gone to the Nine Hells, but most blame Xotani, or some mage-king of up North. “The snakenecks resurrected their god! It is called Ydersius, and they are slithering north killing and enslaving! I can stop them, of course, but I need to tap into my forefathers’ power to do so… that’s why I need to explore the arcane mysteries!” roaring laughter, or blank unconvinced stares from the more polite, are the most common response.
Finally, he sees the two men he met at the Mangy Gnoll. He strolls towards them, hands and mouth still half-full of food, and starts talking, not caring that they are making the acquaintance of someone else. “You guys do believe about of Ydersius and the snakenecks, right?” he takes a bite out of his duck leg “People should start worrying about what happens in the jungle, or they will all end up enslaved!”
Damn this place to the Nine Hells, not a straight road in the city and all the stalls look the same. And does anyone in this backwater wear proper clothing or simply walk around half naked all day?
Turning from another blind end, the young qadiran in red silk and steel feels the noonday heat pounding on her like a furious god. Short-cropped red hair caps an attractive face, it's one-time beauty marred by a tangle of scars covering one half. A strange polearm helps her stand out from the crowd, a single gull in a field a crows.
Stopping at a water merchant's, she buys a skin of water. Leaning back, she pours the water directly down her throat, only to end up coughing and sputtering. Spitting the mouthful into the sand, she stares at a few slivers of pulp and an oily sheen. She cautiously takes another sip as the merchant beside her smiles and gestures for her to continue. The taste isn't bad exactly, it's just a surprise when you expected pure water.
Turning westward, she once again stops, staring, at the giant black beetle carapace on the other side of the river. Shaking her head, she once again searches for an exit from the bazaar. The crowds seem to thin somewhat to the south, and so she turns that way.
How can this land be so hot when we have the same sun in Qadira? Katapesh surely is heaven next to this baked wasteland.
Turning left, she runs headlong into a vast plaza, studded every few feet with iron spikes driven into the stone floor. Very few stakes stood naked, without a human slave, crumpled in despair. Futilely attempting to rein in her fury, the young woman begins audibly counting backwards from one hundred.
"One hundred, ninety-three, eighty-six, seventy-nine, seventy-two..."
One gauntleted fist lashes out at an immense eunuch approaching with an abacus in his hand. With eyes wide in rage, the armored girl moves to follow the staggering man as guards materialize out of nowhere. Buried in a mound of punching and kicking men-for-hire, the Qadiran is only able to land one more blow, a boot to the side of the fat eunuch's head, before being hoisted into the air, helpless.
Dragged kicking and screaming several streets from the plaza, the young woman is unceremoniously dumped in the middle of a sandy thoroughfare, her recently acquired water missing along with what change she'd had in her pocket. Spitting blood into the sand, she wipes the remainder from her face.
Was that a tooth? Damn them for pitborn spawn. This city needs a good burning if any does and today just might be the day. Fire solves a lot of problems for certain, but will it solve one this big?
Seeing a group of people gathered beside the street, she moves in that direction.
The Mangy Gnoll? Do they take pride in anything but their vermin here?
That thought dies a quick death as her eyes once again take in the giant black scarab completely blocking the horizon. Approaching the group, now half blocking the street, she tries to straighten her features into something somewhat friendly. Running rough gloves through short-cut hair, she begins in rusty Taldan.
"I am Aluriel...of Qadira, a visitor to these lands. I seem to have misplaced my drink. Might I find something to wash the taste of blood and sand from my mouth here? And while I certainly don't mean to be overly picky, might it be free of worms, pulp or lamp oil?"
"You know nothing it seems my new friend, and it seems you need to both learn what you do not know and understand what you do. This is fortuitous that you meet us here on this, the most holy of festivals. Fatta is good food, it is chorcorus; bread; meat; and rice all with garlic vinegar poured over the bowl. Very tasty indeed, and only for occasions of celebration. Come, sit, eat with us as we feast to another year of survival." The Osirian gestures to a seat and hands over a bowl, thanking the kind old man who is humbling himself to service.
"It is not that I know nothing, it is rather that I know what I do not know. As my master used to say 'To know that you do not know is the best. To pretend to know when you do not know is a disease.' To learn you must know what you need to learn.
He will then avail himself of some of the fatta and sit with his new acquaintance. . "Interesting. It is not a flavor with which I am familiar, but it is good. "
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"Ah, sir. Culture is perhaps of the greatest importance to worldly knowledge! Of course I know of this food."
Jack takes a moment to nod at the newcomer to the table. Another potential addition to the scheme, perhaps? Nonetheless, Jack was more than willing to get into the mood of the feast and encourage more of this social interaction.
"You put a lot of faith into a master while the true secret to learning is discovering and not simply believing what you are told, and trust me. I've done a vast amount of learning of the years. It's kind of a specialty, really."
Jack grins and leans back in his chair. While Jack was a relatively disciplined person himself, he has learned to listen to no one else. Clearly very different from this human.
-----
"My maser would agree on your point of how to learn. He stressed that intellectual humility is crucial and that doing is a great teacher. He was revered among my people for his wisdom, but he didn't take advantage of that reverence. I do not see his teachings so much as knowledge, but rather as a way to approach gaining that. Much like how the Dwarves of Alkenstar proclaim the greatness of their 'scientific method' as a way to find the laws of the non magical world, the manner of thinking is merely a framework upon which I will build my own home for knowledge. "
Though I'm pretty sure this individual suffers from the disease mentioned by the master.
The Hand places his bowl down for a second. "Well then know this, most adventurers are dumb. They do not prepare for the dessert, they do not accept that they know nothing and must prepare for anything. None know what is out there. None know the nature of the treasures that is out there, just waiting to be found. Most think they are strong enough to face any guardians. Ahh, but it is not guardians that you have to worry about. No no my friends, it is the traps and the desert itself. The heat and thirst you will suffer while searching for ruins, and the pitfalls left to catch the unwary. You think guardians would still protect after all this time. Sure, some gnolls may have taken up residence in a complex, or some restless dead may walk their halls still, but it is the traps that will still function long after most creatures have walked away or starved. A block of stone never gets tired of waiting to crush the first person to walk in a room. The pit never becomes sated on the bodies of those who fall to their doom. A bladed may still cut through or an arrow may still pierce if the mechanism is still functioning. And so you bring a man like the Jack of All Trades here, a man who knows these things." He nods as if that is the end of that. As he peers around expectantly, his eyes catch sight of a few bowls of Um Ali and he prepares to pass them around the table.
For the days up to the feast, Unafe continued to sleep a short way outside Eto's gates at the camp of Hisdelah Adeb who she had accompanied to Eto as his family’s guard, healer, and water-bringer. While her job had ended, she still felt fondness for their family...and it was far less awkward than trying to find a place for a spinosaurus to sleep within the city gates.
While she continues to spend her nights with the Adeb clan, Unafe had really enjoyed spending her days with Nexander, Thorgrim, and Wu-Chen. Eto was a dizzying buzz of wares and performances and bustle. Unafe felt too self-conscious about the stares she got to explore it alone but found she loved exploring it with friends by her side. Today she was looking forward to the feast they’d been hearing about for several days. She started out for her meetingplace with Nexander but got distracted by a merchant she had paused at before, a Qadirian man selling coral that he’d brought from the Obari Ocean.
One necklace in particular kept pulling her back. She found herself hesitating, walking away, chewing her lip, walking back, and hesitating again. Today was the merchant’s last day before heading home. He watched Unafe stand for several long minutes staring at it. The Qadiran let her deliberate in silence, but as she started to walk away he called out, ”Exquisite beauty! Don’t make yourself regret this day. That necklace deserves to be up against skin as radiant as yours!” She turned, blushing at his flattery, but shook her head again. The merchant sighed and shrugged his shoulders. ”I leave tonight and hate the thought of packing so many fine necklaces back with me. Now I’m going soft in my old age but I’m going to give this to you for only twelve gold pieces.”
Unafe stood motionless for a moment. This is still way too much of my money to spend, and I don't yet have a guarantee of work, do I? But (with a bit of Nexander's language rubbing off on her) "What the f*$k", right? The air feels different today. I feel like something really good might be coming if I let it. I'm going to do this! She thrusts her hand into her purse, pulls out much of what remains there and counts twelve into the man’s hand. The Qadiran smiles as he reaches up to put it around her neck. She looks at herself in his hand mirror and then takes off at a lope, aware that she's now quite late for her meeting with Nexander.
When she gets to the designated entrance to the feast she doesn’t see him at first but then there he is, just inside, chatting with Wu Chen and a tough looking Osiriani fellow. Unafe decides to sneak (as well as a giant with a pet dinosaur could sneak) and pounce on him with a hug from behind, laughing her breathless, barking laugh. "I didn't miss the feast yet did I? Sorry I'm late but look what I got!" she puts a hand on her chest to show off her new prize. "Now who's our new friend?" she says nodding toward the Osirian, "and what're we going to eat?"
The Hand chuffs out a bout of laughter that rattles the table as his leg shakes and his hand pounds down upon the table in a loud Klopf Klopf Klopf. "Oh but what a rare treat, I have apparently made the friendship of one so stunning a beauty without having once spoken to her. My charm must be improving, though I do not know how." The smile on his face is genuine, eyes shine with an inner happiness any who would know him would remark on the rarity of such joviality from the normally over serious man. His eyes follow the slope of Unafe's neckline, drawn down to the necklace that rests on her chest. A mountain of man contained in slag black armor explodes to his feet, shoulders heaving back so as not to invade another's space.
The Hand barks out, almost beaming with pride as if pride could outshine the sun. He gestures to the elf who has been his feasting companion and future business partner. "This is The Jack of All Trades, learned man of scholarly pursuits and well versed in linguistics. He is my good friend and traveling partner, a man without equal and above all reproach." The Hands arms return to his side and he bows slightly. "I, my dear, have the honor to be called The Steady Hand of Totra. Late of the Ruby Prince Khemet III's Risen Guard. I have the distinction of being a well trained wall for your enemies to break their blades upon. The what you will eat is up to you,but if it was up to me you would be having..." The hand stoops over the table and picks up a large plate with some kind of grilled bird splayed open and filled with rice. ...yes you would be having Hamam Ma'Shi, a delicacy. And for your odd pet there..." Again the hand fishes through the dishes and comes up with a plate on which rests a heavily salted and garliced mass of uncooked duck. "...I believe this will do nicely."
As the day of the feast slowly dies down, with attendees heading to their respective homes or inns, full on food and drink, a massive sandstorm looms on the horizon, heading towards the city of Eto. A wall of sand and dirt thousands of feet high, the sandstorm's approach causes minor panic in the city as people flee for the shelter of their homes; though relatively common in the region, especially during this time of year, this one proves to be the largest seen in decades – and threatens to choke the city in sand.
Meanwhile, inside a villa on the outskirts of the city, an older man of Varisian descent, wearing his khaki clothes, stands looking out the window, his cane in hand, pondering the day's events. Near him, in the same room, stands three others: a large, rotund Osiriani nobleman, bedecked with fine silks and jewelry and wearing the symbol of Abadar on his necklace; a lithe, plant-skinned woman, barely concealed in her white robes, and another, older-looking Varisian man, this one wearing the rugged leather clothing of an outdoorsman, his custom rifle perched near him and his tan pith helmet resting on top of it.
Watching the sandstorm roll in, Dr. Pinkerton strokes his mustache for a moment, thoughts on his mind, before addressing the others, his back facing them. "Did they embark on time, as according to plan, Stanley?"
"Hmm.", the man standing next to his rifle grunted in affirmation. "Made a big enough scene doing so, too – they were followed a day after, just as was expected. They haven't a clue that it was just the decoy expedition."
"Good.. good.. let us hope that is the case. Warris is a crafty one, however – the chance of him being entirely fooled by such an act is unlikely, so be on your guard. He and his Razmiran priests are not to be underestimated." Pinkerton turns to look at his companions, his brown eyes showing his weariness, as if he is lingering on past memories. He then turns to the silk-laden rotund man. "Send out the letters. You know to whom they belong – give them each a single coin to let them know our intent."
The rotund man bows his head, his chubby face smiling as he leaves the room, yelling for his servants as he does so.
"Well then, I must be off – the sooner I can get my task completed, the sooner I can catch up with you. Hate to leave during such a sandstorm.. but time is of the essence." Stanley picks up his helmet and rifle, putting the former on and approaching Pinkterton to give his old friend a farewell handshake.
"Khu Ba Heteph. Ride safe, old friend." Pinkterton smiles and returns the handshake, giving a small nod as he does so.
Leaving the room, rifle in hand, Stanley is met up with a young Mwangi child before the two exit the building and into the harsh weather outside.
With a quiet voice, not unlike soft bells ringing, the Ghoran finally speaks with an elvish accent, her hands behind her back, stretching her stem-like arms as she does so. "I will retire as well, tomorrow is a big day for us. I require my beauty rest. And by beauty rest, I mean sitting still pretending I'm a flower until morning. Good night, Henric."
Pinkteron nods at Rhasadal, before turning back towards the window. Moments later, entering the room as the ghoran leaves, a Kelish man wearing full steel lamellar enters, looking back at the plant woman as he does so.
"Sir?"
"Ah, there you are, Ibir. We have much work to do before morning. Come." Pinkerton and Ibir, his personal bodyguard, walk towards a table covered in maps, letters, and books by all sorts – they begin by unlocking a large, mithral-wrought chest sitting at the base of the table, pulling out a surprisingly massive tome bound in mithral and adamatine, covered in runes, hieroglyphs, and symbols; the book nearly glows with energy, and Pinkerton gently caresses the book, deep in thought.
"Seven-hundred, twenty-eight years in the waiting.. it all begins tomorrow."
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Screams echo throughout the stone sepulcher – twelve figures, each standing between six and eight feet tall, position themselves around a massive obsidian obelisk covered in runes and heiroglyphs that glow with energy; the beings' black-feathered wings folded behind their armored backs, their faces obscured by helm or hood.
On the obelisk, pierced through the hands and feet by swords that glow with an unholy aura, pinning him to the structure, hangs another being, a massive humanoid that would stand twelve feet tall if he was able to stand at all – his wings, mottled and greyed as if rotting, are stretched taut, wrapped around the obelisk and pinned on the opposite side. His entire body, wings included, are wrapped in chains of an unknown black metal that glow with a malevolent light. What is left of the once-magnificent being is left withered, as if his very essence was drained from him; his ribs are visible beneath greyed skin, and his cheekbones bold on his once-handsome face, now almost skeletal in appearance; his eyes, however, remain serene and show nothing of the shattered being behind them.
"You know not what you do; you betray me for power, but it is you who have been betrayed; She will lead you to damnation; You cannot trust her." his voice, heard not with the ears, but with the mind, is weak and feeble; "She who is the first Fallen is using you; Following her will end in naught but -"
The tallest of the unbound beings, standing directly infront of the speaker, rings out with a voice loud and commanding in the heads of the others;
"Fools.. have you learned nothing?"
A tremor shakes the structure, sending sand falling down from cracks and causing chains to rattle – the twelve sages stand firm and are unmoved by the tremor, each awaiting what happens next.
R U I N S O F P A T H F I N D E R
Book I: Into the Mirage
The morning dawns feebily, the sun barely poking through the darkened sky, a constant reminder of the meteor that struck to the north. Though Osirion, and thus, Eto, were affected far less than the nations to the north, even they have had to deal with the darker mornings and early nights; A small layer of sand covers the entire city, a reminder of the night before. The city wakes groggily, many people hungover on fermented milk and other alcoholic beverages drank the night previously; All slept uneasily thanks to the nightmares that seemed to have been shared by the entire populous.
A nightmare of screams, of loud, threatening voices; a barely-remembered blur of hellish visions and sounds; Of eleven terrible, winged beings rising up out of the sand and into the sky like some diabolical ascension. Luckily, these nightmares are quickly suppressed by cups of strong coffee, Alchemist's Kindness, and other morning nourishments; The day goes on.
Eight people wake up to something else, however; In their inn rooms, each are greeted by a young Osirian native bearing with them a letter, each accompanied by a single shiny platinum coin. The young slave, likely a eunich, waits patiently at each recipient for a response, before running off to his next delivery.
The platinum coin, shiny and well polished, bears the symbol of a scarab on one side and the symbol of Ustalav on the other – what symbols are on the coin matter not, however, as a platinum coin is a platinum coin no matter where one spends it.
The letter, written in identical handwriting and nearly the same for each recipient, is as follows:
Greetings and Salutations {name},
I, Halib al-Shaknath, priest of Abadar and nobleman of Eto, hereby cordially invite you, {name}, to partake of a job opportunity of a lifetime! If you are interested, please bring this letter to my personal villa just to the west of town and show it to one of my personal guards, by noon today.
To sweeten the deal, please accept this token of my appreciation, a single platinum piece for your \trouble; There will be much more where that came from, if you are to accept my offer.
Please let my servant know if you will be joining me today, so that I may know ahead of time \whether or not to be expecting you.
I hope that we may have the pleasure of working together in the near future, and may Abadar bless upon you.
-Halib al-Shaknath, Priest of Abadar
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Nexander jumps out of bed, startled by the slave standing uninvited in his room behind The Mangy Gnoll. He throws back the covers leaping to his feet, totally naked, revealing the sleeping forms of Zubaida and another darker skinned prostitute still lying on the bed. Xander stares at the boy with bleary red eyes, while scratching himself. "You know, it's polite to knock before entering, you creepy f#*!er," he says, snatching the letter. He grabs his loose linen trousers off the floor with the other hand and pulls them on. Opening the letter, he sits on the edge of the bed to read it. As he opens the parchment, the platinum coin within thunks onto the uneven wooden floor boards and begins to roll away before Xander grabs it dextrously with one foot like a monkey. He palms the coin, and tosses the letter onto the small dressing table that was the room's only furniture besides the bed. He had gotten terrible sleep, and wasn't in a particularly good mood. He examines the symbolism of the coin, recalling its meaning. Esoteric Order of the Palatine Eye huh? Doesn't get much better than that. My purse is empty, so, done. "Tell your boss I'll be there," Xander says to the slave. The tall archivist stands and opens the door to his room, motioning for the slave to get out.
<< // >>
Xander strides up to the Abadaran priest's villa just after noon. He had spent the morning settling his account at The Gnoll and making sure he had everything he would need for a job. Pity he hadn't seen Unafe since the feast, he missed the beautiful young shaman. Xander is dressed for adventure. His robes cover a chainmail shirt. He's wearing a leather backpack and longsword strapped across his back, and his prized revolver, Betty, at his hip. Two bandoliers stuffed with metal cartridges, wands and sacks of sling bullets circle his chest. The sling itself is tied around his waist like a second belt. The knot he used is one that can be released quickly should the sling be needed. He looks around for a servant or slave welcoming guests, if he doesn't see one he will approach the main doors and knock loudly.
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Jack, being the early riser that he is, rose and answered the door to the native. "Oh, hello young lady. Is there... Something I can help you with?" Jack's voice was laced with his flirty nature, but when the native handed a letter to him, he flipped it open and scanned it quickly. Taking the platinum coin out, he grins. He more than got the message.
"Tell your boss I'll be there. I expect a hole in his pocket when I arrive."
Jack quickly donned his captain's jacket and hat, shoved his essentials into his pack, and left. He knew about this guy and this was exactly the sort of thing Jack was looking for. He'd break the guy for every gold he had. He approached the villa just before noon like he owned the place.
---
Gi'chak awakes with a start, sitting up in the dingy little room he had secured in a lowly inn. He'd slept in worse, what was the point of wasting coin on some big bed, when he was so small after all? As he senses another presence in the room he whips around, leveling his weapon at the potential assailant, holding his shot for several moments as his brain processed the servant standing there.
He lowers the weapon then but doesn't let go of it, muttering a half-hearted apology as he takes the letter. People shouldn't sneak up on him like that. He starts to read the letter when the coin catches his eye and he freezes. A moment later he vaults out of his bed, wearing only a loincloth and yanks open his pack, rummaging around inside it. He finally pulls out a badly scrunched piece of parchment which he spreads out on the bed. The parchment features a crude replica of the symbol on the coin which appears to have been drawn by a small finger in some kind of dark, redish-brown ink; the other side of the parchment--glimpsed only briefly--seems to be a more traditional document written with pen and ink, now badly faded.
He glares up at the servant, scrunching the drawing again, and snatching the letter from where it had fallen to the floor. It takes a couple tries to read it, but finally he closes his eyes. He recognized the name, he'd heard it when he'd first been looking into the strange symbol from his dream. "I will come." he says in badly accented taldane, and if the servant doesn't leave quickly enough he will shoo them from his room.
He has to sit then, holding the letter in one hand, the coin in the other--gun gripped in his thick, dextrous tail--his heart thundering in his chest and his head aching from his indulgences at the feast the previous day--it had been very good, he quite liked the strange spices and other flavorings of the food here, and the milk was delicious.
Quickly he dresses, empties his pack to take inventory, and fills it again just as quickly. He would need to restock and be ready to go. He had no idea what to expect but... he must go, and he must be ready for anything. He leaves his room, pack on his back and startles a maid as he scrambles onto the wall and leaps past her, not slowing his pace. He quickly settles his bill, and heads off into the markets of Eto to gather what he will need.
The sun is still rising into the sky when he arrives at Halib's residence, hours before the meeting. He suspected he knew what he would find within; there weren't too many people that had been throwing platinum coins around lately. If he had of gotten a proper look at them previously... well too late for that. He clambers up onto the roof of an adjacent villa, settling in with some hair-of-the-dog to watch the place. He may investigate closer if anything seemed suspect, but otherwise he would simply watch for now. He didn't want to be impolite... he smirks at the thought.
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Damn this heat, how in the Nine Hells is someone supposed to sleep here. Maybe I should have taken the common room, it would have more breeze since these windows won't open. Damn if I don't hate this place already and I've only been here a week. Come to think of it, what's this half naked boy doing in my room and who sent him? What is wrong with these people? It's like they want me to kill them.
Sitting up in bed, the redhead looks at the osiriani boy, his bronze skin naked above a dingy white kilt.
"Who sent you boy? Go on, out with you, I've no interest in your type. On your way out, you tell that fat ass innkeep that I'm not interested in molesting children and that if I find he offers children to all his guests, I'll be back to feed his manhood to his camel."
Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, Aluriel slowly gets to her feet, her eyes gazing out the window. Dressed in breeches and wrappings for her breasts, her scars stand out in stark contrast to her overly pale skin. Two particularly grievous wounds stand out on her shoulder blades, each easily fourteen inches long and at least 4 inches wide. Pink skin, newly healed and not yet blanched as her other scars, peaks out both above and below the wrapping. Both are so large that it seems difficult to believe someone could survive the damage.
Turning from the window, one eyebrow lifts when she sees the boy, still standing before her.
"I told you to get out. I'm sure your master said you would be beaten if I didn't like you but he lied. Better yet, wait there and once I'm dressed you can take me to him. I'll nail his ears together on either side of his head and you can find a better lot in life."
Aluriel dresses in plain clothing, slipping on her armor and then her red silk robes. Damn is this going to suck. I hate the heat but these cursed murderers, rapists and slavers won't find me such easy prey.
Looking over toward the boy one last time, the exhausted warrior finally sees the letter in his hand. "What have you got there boy? Hand it over, unless you'd care to read it to me."
Accepting the letter, her eyes scan it quickly, taking in the rich paper, fine ink and the platinum piece. Having forgotten the boy, she looks up as the door closes behind him, and she listens to his bare feet slapping on creaking floorboards as he rushes down the hall.
Turning the coin over in her hands, she looks at the strange markings on either side. With a slap of vertigo, the room spins wildly for half a second as she fights to keep her gorge down.
The sun outside moves higher in the sky as hours pass in mere moments. The shadow of the balustrade outside quickly drops down the wall as the chimes above her half open window slowly turn in the limp breeze. The dove on the chimes spins slowly, the shadow of it's tail elongating on the wall, forming the shadow of an angel before time once again slows.
Aluriel rises from her bed. She'd better hurry if she's going to make this appointment.
With no coin and no manners, and the city full with outsiders and Sothis refugees, it is hard for Sasbrek to find a place to sleep.
He ended up in the common room of a gutter-bottom shelter and eatery, where the kobold sleeps among those who lost everything at gambling, freedmen and petty criminals.
The place isn’t made to proper withstand a sandstorm: the people in the common room sleep semi-buried in half a foot of dust-like sand, filtered in during the night through the cracks in the wooden walls and the poor jute window covers. Many of the guests breathed in a good deal of this sand, and the rough sound of men heavily coughing in their sleep fills the place even more than the snoring; but at least the sand has absorbed most of the foul smells that usually permeate the room.
Sasbrek is among the firsts to wake up. He shakes off the sand from his dress and makes his way, walking around and over the other guests, to the kitchen of the shelter. A fat, old woman with two chins and large moles on his face looks at him blankly “What?” she says.
“I’m hungry! Give me something!”
“We got yesterday’s bread cooked in pig fat. But let’s see those silvers first, lizard.”
I am a Dragon, you fat cow! “Got no money. I pay with this.” he puts forward a necklace made of lacquered bones and exotic wood.
The woman looks at the necklace, then spits in the sand at her feet “I can get five coppers for this. Maybe ten if there’s some fool in town… but I don’t count on it. That jus’ covers your night, lizard. No breakfast.”
I will burn your gutter of a place down with you in it! “What about...”
“What do you want, boy?” the fat woman interrupts as she sees a young Osiriani standing next to Sasbrek. The messenger just gives a light bow and gives a letter and a shining coin to the kobold.
“For the Blackfinger’s Tongue… is that coin made of…” the woman’s eyes open wide in surprise.
Sasbrek chuckles as he sees the woman’s greed mounting. “Guess what, fat-filled ape. There was dragon under your roof tonight, but you are blind and took him for lizard. And now that dragon has a hoard” hisses Sasbrek waving the coin in front of the woman. “and is going to have breakfast with fresh eggs and dried figs. And you will stay in your gutter of place.” he palms the platinum coin and puts it away.
He takes a while to read the letter – the Common Tongue was still barely intelligible in written form for him. “Tell this Halib he woke my appetite. I will be there.” and now out, before another one of this bigfeet sees the coin and thinks of robbing me…
Unafe woke late from a disjointed sleep, troubled not only by her belly (overfull from yesterday’s feasting) but by a nightmarish dream that she felt might be True. True Dreams were one of her mentor Old Aye’s talents. She had only ever had one or two, but this had some of the vividness that they have; even as the dream faded she had a disturbing sensation that the world she awoke into was the ephemeral one. She lay there, reviewing what she could remember: Screams that might have been her own people, those she’d left behind, but that also seemed to be others as-yet-unmet in this lifetime...terrifying beings with black-feathered wings, rising from the sands into the heavens…darkness, confusion, flashes of light. Disturbing, and yet of no use whatsoever!
Of course it’s always hard to be certain, Unafe tells herself, reaching out to stroke the scaly back of the young spinosaurus curled beside her own bedroll. Old Aye knew. He could always tell, or thought he could. Me…
Just then the spinosaurus tenses and lifts her snout, hissing and baring her teeth. Unafe looks and sees that an Osiriani youth has entered her tent. ”Hold,” she says to Yakini. To the credit of the child’s willpower, he doesn’t flee but instead takes a large step back, leaving his arm outstretched with a letter in it. Unafe unrolls and reads the letter. An intriguing offer! And this coin…? ”Please tell your master to expect Unafe, Two-Hearted,” she says, and the boy nods and quickly slips back out the flap of her tent.
Unafe packs as quickly as she’s able (after the previous night’s excesses) and says a last goodbye to Hisdelah and his family. She looks at the sun in the sky and knows it’s time to get to the villa, but wants to make one more stop first. When she gets to the Mangy Gnoll she pounds on Nexander’s door. Waiting a moment for him to rise -- or as likely disentangle himself from the bedmates he seems to need -- she thinks, I can’t wait for Xander to read this letter, to see this coin. He’ll know something of this priest I’m sure, or this symbol. And maybe he’ll come too? He hadn’t found work yet either as of yesterday at the feast.
When there’s no answer she pounds again, louder. When noone comes she walks back past Francois, who confirms her fears: he checked out suddenly this morning. Her excitement dampens slightly without being able to share it, and she notices herself feeling a bit more nervous and alone. Still (she reminders herself as she and Yakini wind their way toward the Western gate) this is a good sign. As she passes through it she sees the sun approaching it’s zenith in the sky and realizes she’s likely late, breaking into a loping run with Yakini right beside her.
As the hopefuls head towards the estate to the west of town, they find that the residence resides on a small hill, a paved walkway snaking up towards the entrance. The entire place is surrounded by a squat, ten-foot wall of sandstone, of which there is just one, singular gated entrance guarded by a pair of armored Osiriani men. Inside, seen through the gate, is a similarly-paved courtyard at the center of which is a small, circular fountain slowly trickling water into a slightly larger pool beneath it.
Upon reaching the gate, each person is stopped by one of the guards, who first addresses the person in native Osirani – or, failing that, speaks in poor Taldane, asking the person for their reason for being here. Upon being shown the letter – or the coin – the person is admitted entry, with another pair of guards, these ones inside the gate, opening it and allowing them inside. Each guest is allowed to keep their weapons, though they are asked not to draw them in Halib's presence.
With the main building sitting directly opposite the gate, the villa itself is impressive; Built with sandstone, much like everything else in or around Eto, the building is a squat, two-story structure with numerous pillars adorning the front, each detailed with hieroglyphs designed in the Ancient Osiriani style. Combining that with more modern architecture, namely a singlular onion-shaped dome at the top of the building, the entire structure shows how well off this Halib seems to be.
Entering the courtyard, each are greeted by a young Osiriani barely into adulthood – dressed as a servant, this man greets each in their preferred native tongue, showing great skill at being able to speak a wide variety of languages – or, as is quickly discovered when addressed further in these languages, has simply been taught how to welcome each person in their language, expertly switching to Taldane for further talk.
The man – introducing himself not by name, but simply as a servant of Halib al-Shaknath, leads each person into the main building of the villa and into a large, rectangular dining room, the centerpiece of which is a long, darkwood table big enough to sit over a dozen people – eight seats on each side, with two more on either end. The chairs themselves are thick and cushioned with fat, red pillows. One chair, the one at the end of the table, is double-wide compared to the rest, along with being thicker and having a taller back. The symbol of Abadar is clearly seen at the top of the chair's back.
As each are seated and told Halib will be with them shortly, they are greeted by a familiar face – The Steady Hand of Totra, recognized as a massively tall, armored Osiriani man, stands near one door. Not a servant, but more of a bodyguard, The Hand greets those he recognizes, but does not answer any questions beyond that he works for Halib.
For those who arrived early and are forced to wait for everyone else, a wide variety of beverages are offered, ranging from piping hot Kahve, to freshly squeezed juice, to goats' milk. Drinks that are better cold are served in silver goblets that somehow keep the liquid inside chilled, likely through magical means. At the guests' beck and call are numerous servant boys similar to the one that brought them their letter – each one likely a slave, but trained to be polite as possible.
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Gi'chak's vigil proves thoroughly uneventful, and he finds himself dozing off in the warm morning sun. He wakes several hours later, his head pounding worse than the first time he awoke, and stumbles his way down from the roof. He arrives at the mansion half an hour early and angrily waves his invitation in the guard's faces. He looks up in surprise as the boy address him in Goblin, but then mutters under his breath as he is forced back to Taldane. Once inside he gulps down almost a pitcher of a pleasant chilled juice, and after he recovers from the brain freeze his headache abates somewhat. That was a particularly foolish thing to do... he observes to himself. If he had of been caught sleeping like that by a member of his tribe the best he could have hoped for was a bit of pain and teasing; if someone other than his siblings had of found him back in Usaro... He shudders at the thought. After he has had a chance to relax and cool himself a bit he asks the servants for something to eat, and then munches hors d'oeuvres until someone else arrives.
Well, well, what have we here? A man wise enough to live behind good stout walls. Not going to stop anyone determined, but should be enough to drive off the locals. Good.
Feeling slightly less cross, Aluriel enters the gates. Upon recognizing good fighting men in the guards, she cooperates approvingly and agrees to give notice should she feel the need to kill anyone on the premises.
Feeling quite pleased, she moves further into the compound, drawing up short when the servant speaks in Celestial. Realizing that he only knows the greeting, she addresses him in rusty Taldane, "I'd be careful as to when and where you speak that tongue if I were you. Some will kill you for it while others might take it as a statement of allegiance. It's dangerous either way, especially if you don't know what you are committing to."
Allowing herself to be led into the opulent room, she notes the tall black woman, the dinosaur, and the goblin. Standing in the doorway, she nods first to the woman, then to the goblin. "Greetings to thee, warrior of the south, and to thee, fang of the horde. This dwelling seems unlike that of either of your people, as do the guards and servants. Were you then summoned here as well?"
While waiting to hear what they have to say, she approaches the window, enjoying the breeze even if only for a moment. It doesn't take long however, for the sight of the giant scarab to once again sour her mood. Keeping a scowl from her lips by dint of will, she turns back to the room.
Xander approaches the guard and shows him the platinum coin with the symbol of the Order. After being allowed in he takes a moment to examine the palatial building in front of him. He fails to even notice the teenager standing there awaiting his attention, until the boy clears his throat. After being greeted in Vudrani he nods to the young man and follows him into Halib's feasting hall. He lets off a low whistle at the sight of so much darkwood in one place, as well as all the expensive beverages. Nice digs, very nice digs. He takes in the an unfamiliar scarred warrior woman and a goblin already at the table. Then notices The Hand standing in the corner. He nods in recognition of the Osiriani, he hadn't had words with the man, but he'd seen him many times over the past few days. Damn. I was hoping to see Unafe. It seems that the warrior woman had just addressed the goblin, so Xander sits down and pours himself a glass of refreshing lemon water while he listens to their budding conversation.
Thorgrim had overindulged the night prior—a rare lapse in focus the vikingr seldom allowed. The dull ache behind his eyes is compounded by troubled dreams. Dreams of creatures of dark origins, as if the sandstorm did not trouble his sleep enough already. Before the malaise of his sleep leaves him, mighty Sigurdson finds himself facing a bare wall of the ramshackle cubby the innkeeper was passing off as a room. His blood races, hands reaching for the hilt of a blade that does not currently rest across his broad back. It takes some time before his senses fight down the berserkr threatening to take hold; before he realizes the thumping is a guest at his door and not the knock of blood in his veins.
Reaching across the room to jerk the door open, nearly pulling the flimsy thing off of its hinges in the process, he glowers down at the small boy bearing letter and coin. Thorgrim had, on occasion, come across the eunuch-slaves that were so common in Osirion. Clip their manhood. Make them meek, obedient. Like animals. These southern butchers disgust me. "" Hesitantly, and with trembling hand, the Osiriani slave performs his duty as bid, and surrenders the summons and coin to the impatient behemoth before him.
The letter is comically small in his hands, and Thorgrim peers intently with eyes still not fully comfortable with reading foreign words. He had always hated the naming conventions this far south. Fools rambled off names longer than the length of his blade, expecting him to remember anything beyond the first part. This would give offense of course, though Thorgrim's sensitivities to their outrage was seldom more than a seething glare for such frivolity. These same men butchered his name just as readily, and he bore them no resentment for it. Hölib all Shocknath. Goði. Lendrmaðr.
Fixing the still present eunuch with another glare, Thorgrim crumples the paper and tosses it to the side. ""
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Thorgrim remains seated on his bed for some time, the vestiges of troubled dreams and troubled past weighing heavily on him as he stares sidelong at the crumpled parchment that yet remains across the floor. Why should I come at the beckon of some fool priest, then? That he dispenses such wealth so readily speaks of a fool's errand; likely one that will see me dead and his pockets fuller for my passing. His eyes maintain a vice on the parchment, despite his desperate attempts to justify his choice. Although, my coin pouch grows dangerously light. I have no money, and no inkling as to what I'm doing out here. To those with platinum, many doors remain open. Perhaps... Thorgrim regains his feet and bends over to snatch the letter back up, giving it a proper read through this time. ...perhaps this Hölib can avail me beyond coins and promises.
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Barreling through sand-choked streets without regard for any one or anything as he winds his way through Eto in search of his destination, Thorgrim's face twists into an ever deepening grimace. Every fiber in his being tells him this is folly—a monumental waste of time. And yet, despite this, something unidentifiable presses him onward—some inexorable pull or push that will not accept the ulfen giant's refusal. The exchange between he and the guards at the gates involving horribly formed Taldane from men born worlds apart nearly results in a scuffle, though Thorgrim finally manages to figure out the men merely need to see credentials in the form of what was provided him earlier this morning. He presents the crumpled letter and earns himself entry. Considering the current state of the city, he elects, perhaps quite rudely, to sate his thirst and wash his face and hands in the courtyard fountain. Flinging water free as he finishes, he concludes his approach to the villa proper.
Thorgrim does not visibly react to the Skald speaking Osiriani, simply following as he leads into the heart of Halib's demesne. The sight of the goblin at the table draws a sneer from the Ulfen, though the presence of Xander seems to improve his mood from a general state of aggravation to mild annoyance. He eyes the scarred woman with great detail from head to toe; not as one appreciating a woman's figure so much as one determining the quality of a blade. This one has seen fighting, I think.
"" The booming comment seems to be as much aimed at Halib's servants as the guests he has summoned. Thorgrim finds a nearby seat and begins availing himself to chilled juices and water. The milk would be appealing, were it not so damned hot outside.
Sasbrek got lost twice on his way to the villa. Damn this sand! he thinks as he scuttles through the alleys, sinking knee-deep in the desert sand still to be removed from the streets and damn these people who won’t help me! most Osiriani, seeing a kobold asking in Taldane about a luxurious villa, just curse at him and look the other way. An overweight merchant threw a rotten cabbage at him. He is lucky he missed. I would have washed my scales with his ashes!
Finally he sees the villa. He tries to appear as formidable as possible in front of the two gigantic bigfeet guarding the door. If they are surprised that a kobold is presenting them the coin and the letter, they don’t show it. When he gets inside, he almost burns the young boy butchering the Tongue of the Trueblood.
“Not maughrex, you hatchwit!” he screams at him “it is mað̠wg§rex, as in mað̠wg§rex graskn ʑgharxib̪!” he corrects the young boy, making sounds that no mammalian throat can ever hope to produce “monkey should not fake to be a dragon! Remember that!” a bit irritated, he follows the servant inside.
A lot of unnervingly big men wait for him inside. There’s the rude Osiriani he saw a few days before. There’s someone he is pretty sure is a Giant from the North (Old Sciaman Jekkajak talked about them), and there’s the tall woman with dark skin Where’s her spino? he looks around in fear Not here. Mmm… maybe she’s laying eggs….
Finally his eyes fall on the goblin. The immediately became of a fiery red. “Pest! Egg-sucker!” he screams at the goblin “What do your kind do here?”
Standing at the window, Aluriel looks back into the room with hopeful anticipation.
By the Convocation! This could get interesting. Sure, nothing beats actually throttling Evil yourself. Watching Evil destroy itself comes close however! The scavenger vs the underling and the barbarian against everyone else. The black woman and the minion alone were positively boring next to who we have now.
Leaning back against the windowsill, she watches her fellow occupants, her sharp eyes seeking an opportunity to spur the coming conflict.
Somewhat breathless from her run, Unafe arrives at the villa. She approaches a guard with the letter clutched roughly in one hand, ”I’m here! I’m here!” The sentry looks just behind her and his eyes widen with consternation. He calls over a servant who disappears for a few minutes before returning with the stablemaster. Unafe watches with some impatience as they argue in Osiriani. Finally the stablemaster turns to her with a strained expression, saying in Osiriani ”يمكنك أن كبح جماح ... الوحش ... في اسطبلات بلدي ولكن سأكون ملعون إذا أنا سوف يأتي في أي مكان بالقرب من ذلك بنفسي. المتوحشين!” and then storming off.
While Unafe didn’t understand his words, his tone was quite clear...and sadly familiar. Her face begins to cloud a bit but she holds herself back from hissing at him. The servant speaks up in a conciliatory Taldane, ”Please forgive, guest of Halib. This one will take you and your beast to the stables. It will be safe there.” Wanting to be done with all of this Unafe simply nods and follows him to the stable, where she ties up Yakini and orders her to stay. (She knows well that the rope wouldn’t hold Yakini for 15 seconds if she tried to snap it...but also knows that it’ll give some small comfort to any servants who come through the stables.)
With Yakini finally tied up -- aware that the sun is nearly an hour past it’s zenith now -- a twinge of doubt shoots through her as she’s finally led inside the villa. What if this was my destiny, and I’m too late? The letter said Noon. I shouldn’t have detoured to the Gnoll. Then to make things worse they just stood there arguing, and requiring this charade of ‘stabling’ Yakini. What if the position has already been given to someone else?
She’s still stewing on those thoughts when she’s led into the large rectangular dining room. Scanning, she takes in the opulence briefly, while noting the odd ménagère: The kobold she’d run into at the Gnoll was berating a monkey goblin, both of whom seem likely to be from the Expanse, though neither from a tribe she regognized. There’s a sour-looking Avistani woman who seems so covered in scars Unafe feels a cold shiver run up her spine. And -- to her happy surprise there are several familiar faces as well, Jack and the Steady Hand who she met yesterday at the feast, and Thorgrim and Nexander who she’d been exploring Eto with for much of the last week!
Running through the room, she throws her lanky arms around Nexander from behind. ”Nexander! You’re here too! Am I still in time? I went by your room at the Gnoll but no one answered and Francois said you’d left and I didn’t see Zubaida and I was frustrated because I wanted to tell you about this letter and hear if you know anything about it since you know so much more about the world outside of the Expanse than I do and I wanted to see if maybe you could come along -- only now I see you must’ve got it too! What good news! What do you think all this means?”
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Finally his eyes fall on the goblin. The immediately became of a fiery red. “Pest! Egg-sucker!” he screams at the goblin “What do your kind do here?”
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Jack enters the villa and makes enough of an attempt to be polite as possible. While it wasn't often that he would suppress his ego, he could do it in a pinch. Especially if it meant receiving some compensation at the end. After all, Jack's main motives were money and fame. He wasn't even sure if he cared about what kind of fame he wanted, be he definitely knew money came first. He'd show his kin that it is occasionally just raw talent that'll take you places.
When he is greeted by the boy in Elven, most likely as a direct result of Jack's appearance, Jack grins with a bit of pride for the boy, but is quickly disappointed in the child's return to Teldane. 'I was fluent in at least four languages by the time I was HIS age.' Nonetheless, Jack bit his tongue and graciously accepted the escort to the table where the other adventurers sat. "Thank you, I'll be sure to make myself right at home."
He wasn't worried about having his weapon for the purposes of defending himself so much as having it to compliment his look. They may be in the desert, but there was nothing wrong with wearing a captain's jacket and hat (especially if you have the rapier to go along with it).
An odd bunch, these people were. For now, Jack decided to simply sit back and watch the show and enjoy the free sustenance. He was hoping the people who joined him around this table weren't his competition, but honestly no one is competition for a brain like his. Not even a bicep just as big.
Gi'chak is left to lounge in his chair for some time on his own, and he begins to wonder what exactly is going on. He was early it's true, but this whole thing was a little weird. Still, the chairs are comfy, the food and drinks good and plentiful so he doesn't complain too much.
Finally someone else enters, but not the fat Halib, but a heavily scarred, brash warrior woman. He was not the only one to receive an invitation it seems. He makes his letter appear in his hand, waving it lazily in answer to her question before making it disappear again. "You too received 'the job opportunity of a lifetime'?" he asks, a faintly amused smile on his face. He didn't appreciate the title she gave him but was far too comfortable to take offense right now. He and his siblings had relatively comfortable quarters in Alkenstar, but nothing like this...
He looks at the others as they trickle in, but is content to keep his own counsel, at least until he hears a threatening hiss directed in his direction. He scampers quickly too his feet, his hand slipping inside his robes... but it does not emerge. He looks condescendingly down upon the kobold--surely the one he'd seen previously, the day of his arrival, as it seemed were some of the other invitees--half hanging from the chair back, one foot up on the arm. "I am the only of my kind here, and I was invited." he says, slowly withdrawing his empty hand, and climbing down, settling back into his seat, though he doesn't take his eyes off the scaly creature. He had encountered kobolds in the past, he thought there might even have been some amongst those who served around Usaro, but that life seemed so distant now it's prejudices no longer seemed to matter. He had his destiny to fulfill, and perhaps one day he would see that place again when he ruled it...
Xander is opening his mouth to reply to Throgrim with a grin and a quip about platinum always being worth it, when Unafe bustles breathlessly into the room and nearly tackles him from behind. He smiles broadly, "Hey shorty, glad to see you too."
"It means money. Paying work," he says after a moment, in reply to her question. "Hopefully more than that as well. We'll have to see. Our host is a member of a secret order who wielded significant power before the recent global troubles."
Unafe nods at Xander’s answer. A powerful secret order? Dedicated to what, I wonder. Hopefully we’ll find out more soon.
She takes a step back to take in the others in the room, and smiles at Thorgrim. This one is so utterly foreign in his appearance and speech...yet his manner and expressions reminds me of the best warriors of the Goapeke. I’m glad he’s here.
As she glances around it quickly occurs to her that there’s only one other woman in the room, the unsettlingly scarred Avistani. As Unafe looks over at her, the Avistani calls out.
Standing in the doorway, she nods first to the woman, then to the goblin. "Greetings to thee, warrior of the south, and to thee, fang of the horde. This dwelling seems unlike that of either of your people, as do the guards and servants. Were you then summoned here as well?"
Unafe walks a few steps over to her, nodding in greeting and slightly raising the hand holding her letter. ”Greetings to you, Avistani. I am Unafe Two-Hearted, shaman of the Goapeke, the dwellers with the great saurians. Yes, I was called here for work and am quite curious to hear more. Who are you? Do you know anything about our prospective employer?” She hesitates, somewhat uncertain, finding she's staring at the massive scars on the Avistani’s face. This woman has faced great difficulty in her short life. That we have in common. Has it brought her depth of Wisdom? Or has it broken her?
Sasbrek is taken aback at the polite response of the goblin. The last of that wretched kind he saw belonged to a tribe deep in the Mwangi Expanse, and they were even less civilized than the bigfeet. Barely better than monkeys. “Well, I… was invited too. Before you, I bet.” he was expecting a scuffle, maybe even a fight. The dragonfire sizzled under his fingertips, achingto get out. It always ended that way with the widemouthed goblins.
This one was calm. He was messing everything up.
“Fine. Fine." calming himself, Sasbrek sits down and swallows a huge cup of goat’s milk. This Halib better be convincing…
Noting the changed atmosphere in the room, Aluriel feels no disappointment.
If those gathered here are evil, their day will come. If not, they will have their chance to show their mettle sooner or later, to either fight against it...or not. Many strong heroes walk the surface of Golarion, both here and elsewhere.
”Greetings to you, Avistani. I am Unafe Two-Hearted, shaman of the Goapeke, the dwellers with the great saurians. Yes, I was called here for work and am quite curious to hear more. Who are you? Do you know anything about our prospective employer?”
Aluriel notes the woman's letter but hadn't really thought to bring her own. "And to you, Unafe Two-Hearted. I am Aluriel of the First Guard of Absalom and a veteran of the Siege of Azlant Keep. I know nothing of our prospective employer and had not honestly given them much thought. The winds of change blow strongly this day for while I seek no master, still have they blown me here. Tell me, Unafe Two-Hearted, for whom do you live and for what will you die?"
With this last question, Aluriel looks around the table, indicating that the question is open for any who dare to pick it up.
Gi'chak bristles as the firey Kobold continues to needle him, his hands clenching into fists to stop them from straying into his jacket, or towards his scabbard. Overhearing Nexander mention a powerful secret order is enough to stop him doing more however; it confirms he is in the right place. Whatever that symbol and this Order of the Platinum Eye was he needed to at least hear it out. Maybe he had just been hallucinating...
His injured pride is enough to make sure that Sasbrek is the first to break eye contact however, and when he does Gi'chak starts to relax again, grumbling under his breath. He switches to the fermented milk drink after that, sipping slowly and occasionally glowering at Sasbrek to make sure he wasn't trying to sneak up on him or do something else nefarious.
Unafe pauses for a moment after Aluriel speaks, looking downward with pain in her eyes. Gone is the playful teenager who was tackling Nexander moments ago. ”I’m...less certain now than I once was.”
”I serve my ancestors and Gorzeh, who taught us the way of the great saurian spirits in the days before the Starfall. It also is...was...my duty to serve and protect my tribe, the Goapeke. I pray it will be again, but for the first time since Starfall the armies of Nurgal have scattered my people to the winds.” She stands silently for a few breaths, then raises her gaze to meet the pale, scarred face before her. Her face betrays her self-recrimination. ”For now I look to understand what has gone wrong, what is missing from me, and seek to find the power to stand against the Lord of Senseless War.”
Initially, Aluriel listens to the Mwangi girl's words, obviously doubtful and disappointed. Her eyes light up at the mention of the Azlanti Demon Lord however and she is fairly bristling by the end of Unafe's words.
"Was? What matters failure when you still live?
The young fighter's face glows with the light of conviction, without even the slightest tinge of doubt or question.
"Just as the sun rises each day, so are we renewed in strength, spirit and opportunity. It is good to throw yourself into the fight today, but if you are not victorious, know that the sun will rise for you to fight tomorrow. Glory to you that you fight in a just cause. Glory to you that you might give the last of your blood standing athwart the tide of Evil."
"How about you others? For whom do you fight and for what do you die?"
Morning came upon Ardeshir in a sour mood. Since his arrival in Edo he has had little in the way of meaningful conversation and has found himself devoid of useful or interesting companions. All his plans and schemes seemed to have crumbled away like old parchment freed from a tomb. The terrifying dream he suffered through had not improved his mood. He did not let that dream drift away into forgetfulness no matter how much he wanted it to, for he sensed that perhaps it had been more than just a dream. If it was some omen or warning, his duty to the Redeemer compelled him to remember. He dressed fabrics of reds and blues, but left his mane of hair to hang free and his head exposed to the days sun.
The snarl the slave boy received when Ardeshir opened the door and saw the servant waiting was perhaps unbecoming of the Keleshite, but his temper flared easily and he made no apology. He knocked the boy onto his rear with the shove of his hands and then looked down at him at first in frustration, but then regret. His gaze softened and he shook his head, then crouched down in the entrance to his room and offered a helping hand to the boy. “Morning did not find me refreshed.” Was the most the servant was to receive in way of an excuse or apology.
The coin was studied first. Ran between his fingers and balanced in his gloved palm as if he were testing its weight. Once satisfied with the coin and his curiosity stoked, Ardeshir opened the letter, lifting an eyebrow to the Osirian boy. “What would have happened could I not read, eh boy? Could you have spoken the contents?” Ardeshir asked with a grin as he looked over the contents of the letter. The fancy words and titles held little interest to him, but he got the meaning – Some priest of Abadar wanted to hire him. One thing he knew about Abadar’s servants was they tended to be wealthy.
“Very well. Tell your master I will meet with him.” Ardeshir said and then watched the boy run off. He had considered following the slave to see where else he would travel, but he had other matters to take care of before the meeting.
Ardeshir scowled up at the cloud obscured sky when he stepped out onto the street, sand shifting beneath his boots. The goddess was not pleased with the darkness that now filled the sky each day. The ranger fetched his camel from the stables and spent the better portion of the morning purchasing the supplies he might need. He made it a point to spend the platinum coin he had been given. It was a trinket he’d rather not have on him. It was too distinct, too recognizable to someone who might be looking. Better he was left with some local gold and silver in his pocket.
He was not the last to arrive at the estate, but he had not brought much notice to himself. While he was clearly not a native, he was familiar enough with the terrain and the customs to play the part of a knowledgeable resident. Dismounting from his camel, he spoke briefly with the guard in the Osirani language and showed the villa’s security his letter, having broken up the platinum during his morning visit to the local markets in Edo.
Sending his camel away with one of the local servants, Ardeshir made it clear that he was in no hurry, taking a relaxed position on the circular fountain and enjoying the occasional breeze that pasted over the pool of water. He delighted in having the chance to speak Kelish with the Halib’s linguist, but did not dither too long and after some initial reluctance abandoned his relaxed position at the fountain to follow the boy inside the main chambers of the villa. He came upon an assortment of colorful characters talking and at times bickering with one another. For the moment, he made no attempt to join them in conversation or even announce himself. He was here to meet Halib al-Shaknath and for all he knew these could be potential rivals for the job the priest of Abadar had in mind. Better to study them and learn what they were each about first.
The scarred woman’s words stood out following the insults traded between goblin and kobold and caused Ardeshir Qahremae to smile to himself. She had a passion and zeal he could admire and the scars to prove she had not lived an easy life. Yet who did she serve? Zeal was a good thing only when it was channeled toward a truly righteous cause. He whispered to himself, reminding himself of his oaths and of the person he wanted to be. He wasn’t out just for himself anymore. He now served a higher calling.
Unafe smiles. "I like your certainty. I've lost much of my own...but perhaps you are right and I will find another day. I will do whatever I can to make it so."
"What is it that fills you with such fire? And, if you don't mind my asking, that scarred you so?"
I fight for myself, and I die for nothing, b@*!#, Xander thinks to himself. He strokes his beard as the intense scarred woman questions Unafe. Great...a total zealot. I hate zealots. Hopefully she'll leave me alone. Who's this now? The vudrani bard turns his vulpine, amber gaze on the keleshite man, examining him in turn as he looks over the group. Ifrit by his looks. Or maybe a tiefling. Another warrior. At least I'll be well protected on this journey. Xander picks up a peach and bites into it. He licks his lips as the juice dribbles down his chin. Where is master fatso anyway?
"What is it that fills you with such fire? And, if you don't mind my asking, that scarred you so?"
Although speaking vehemently, the tall redhead seems different than other religious fanatics you might have seen. She speaks with passion, but doesn't seem to be trying to convince you of anything. Rather, her words are expressed as though she simply describes what she sees when walking down the street, as unquestionable as the existence of a crosswalk or a shop.
"The life that we know is merely the tiniest moment in the span of time encompassed by the gods and their opponents. Upon death, you will find yourself standing before the Throne of Bone explaining your choices in life to the goddess Pharasma.
Where you go from there depends on what you have done here. They do not fight for simple things like food or gold there, but for the ideas which define the very meaning of life. The fate of nations, gods and even the very planes of existence are determined on the battlefields of the afterlife and while those wars are waged by gods and demons, they are won by the souls of mortals.
My fire comes from understanding that this life is but a test for the next, a letter of introduction you are writing for eternity. We will leave behind what we value now, wealth and property, worldly respect or abject poverty. We will take up that which truly defines us, our beliefs and determination.
Ask yourself, when you stand in front of the Final Judge, when Pharasma looks down at you from her Throne of Bone, will you be headed for the destination you desire? Or the one you've earned?"
Aluriel starts slightly, surprised at her words. Looking around the room, she notes the breadth of cultures gathered and knows that each have their own beliefs. Remembering Unafe's second question, she seems confused for a moment, as though trying to remember something. Shaking her head, she abandons the effort and speaks simply, without emotion.
"There are those who would dispute the words I have spoken though I care not. I earned these scars in the courtyards of Azlant Keep, first in training and later during the Siege of the Mad Prince. There have certainly been battles since, for Good is beset on all sides, by Evil, but also by indifference.
For a moment, Aluriel stands with the stance of a challenger, daring others to contradict her. Catching her breath, she remembers where she is and why she is here and takes a seat, her eyes on the tall black girl.
"You may not believe it, but I daresay we are probably of an age together. I know not how many years you have tended, but no more than twenty have passed beneath my feet."
Aluriel's scars would seem to make a liar of her. Other features do not seem any more inclined to support her story either, for while there is no gray in her hair, the color is doubtfully natural. And while her face is unwrinkled, the patches of it which are unscarred do not seem to bear the glow of youth. Her scars were definitely not all earned at the same time, with some seeming to overlap others that would have been healed. From looking at her face, it is deceptively difficult to guess her true age.
Rubbing at his chin, the Keleshite man stepped from the shadows and walked over to one of the comfortable chairs in the room. He cast his head to the side and looked over the wealth of cultures and races that the Banker Priest had summoned here this day.
Tall like most of the Keleshite nobility, Ardeshire possessed a physical attractiveness that likely shamed the rest of the company assembled. Corded muscles stood out beneath the blue and red cloth robes he wore over his leather armor. His deeply tanned skin seemed kissed by the sun, hinting that he was no stranger to this climate. A kind, inviting smile was given to all of them, from the lowly sub-humans to the scarred zealot. Pullling out the chair he sat down in it and pressed his hands flat together.
"You speak of divine battles waged in the heavens and the realms beyond our life, yet you have made no mention of your own faith? To which banner have you been called? There are many paths in this life and faith is only useful if it is placed correctly." He spoke to the scarred woman, but it was clear that the smile he offered was intended for all. His eyes seemed like to shards of sunlight stolen from the sky and placed beneath his brow as he focused his gaze on the scarred woman.
He poured himself some of the piping hot Kahve and barely waited for it to cool before he began to drink.
"I am Ardeshir Qahremae. I would like to extend an apology for not introducing myself sooner, but I thought perhaps the goblin was going to strike out at Kobold and did not think it a proper time." He brought the mug of Kahve back to his lips and drank further of the steaming beverage.
"For those of you who don't know me, I am Nexander Davramputi." Xander continues to lounge in his chair, munching on fruit while he observes the others gathered and waits for their host to materialize.
Sasbrek stops mid-bite with a mouth full of duck meat. I guess we are introducing ourselves. he swallows a bit too fast and ends up coughing a bit.
“I am Sasbrek!” he exclaims, almost talking over Jack “Sasbrek of the Ashaxxairi - the Shivfang Clan under Froglog Peak, deep into Mwangi! I am called the Dragonsent! he looks around suspicious, as if he expected someone to challenge him on that last appellative “What? I am called that! I have the blood of Meraxes the Red Terror in my veins!"