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Our saga begins in the Spring of 4714 AR, in the rugged, barbaric, irradiated Numeria, Land of Fallen Stars....
In the shadow of the great Silver Mount sprawls the decadent, barbaric City of Starfall....
The foul smokes of this dangerous, violent city mingle with the alien radiations of the colossal Silver Mount, a crashed vessel of some ancient starfaring race, according to legends.... haunted by the spirits of the dead voyagers, monsters from across the starry void, and strange creatures of living steel, and filled with magic from an advanced civilization....
The Mages of the Technic League have held true power in Starfall ever since the current Black Sovereign, Kevoth-Kul, formed an alliance with the technomancers in his bid for the throne of Starfall.... For decades now, the Technic League has been the true power behind the throne in the Palace of Fallen Stars.... Once a mighty conqueror, Kevoth-Kul has been corrupted by his allegiance with the cunning technomancers, who ply the barbarian king with strange ichors distilled from the Silver Mount, bedevilling and beguiling him, and enabling his decadence and escapism into his darkest carnal desires by providing new playthings....
As Kevoth-Kul descends into addiction to the unwholesome ichors of the Silver Mount, a cunning advisor whispers in his ear: Ozmyn Zaidow, Admiral of the Technic League....
Kevoth-Kul, Black Sovereign of Numeria, sits upon his throne in the Palace of Fallen Stars within Starfall. He is seemingly glued to the owlbear-skin covering the high-backed throne.... The feathers and fur feel exquisite against his skin, rendered hypersensitive from imbibing the alien liquid effervescing in his golden goblet.... His pupils dilate until his eyes are staring black pools that reflect the dark derangement going on in his barbaric skull....
He shivers, stretching his still-formidable muscles and enjoying the caress of silken finery against his goosebumps....
More, Ozmyn.... I demand more of this.... star-mead....
Ozmyn smiles darkly at the barbarian on the throne. He brings the sleek adamantine carafe of ichor to Kevoth-Kul and refills his golden goblet....
Take care, My King.... Just enough of the star-mead brings the pleasure and visions you seek.... Too much brings madness and death.... It would give me no end of grief if we should lose you, Mighty King.... And it simply would not do if I were accused of poisoning you....
Quaffing the effervescent "star-mead", Kevoth-Kul chuckles at the Technic League magi, staring madly at him with his dark eyes and unfriendly grin, more a baring of teeth....
If you ever try to poison me, Ozmyn....
Why should I, Black Sovereign? You are far more interesting alive.... And besides.... We are friends, no?
The cunning technomancer no longer bothered to reinforce this lie with enchantments.... The ichor had done its job, as had repeated enchantments cast on this drug-addled barbarian.... On rare occasions, he raved dangerously, seeming to guess at how he'd been duped by the Technic League and robbed of some potential expansionist glory by their will-withering elixirs and debauched amusements.... Usually, he was content to lose himself in the hallucinations induced by the ichors Ozmyn plied him with....
No. We are not friends. I am your king.... The Black Sovereign!!
The grin widens, becoming a grotesque grimace of lunacy.... The Black Sovereign begins to laugh madly as the ichor further deludes him....
The visions.... I see them begin to form, Ozmyn! So strange.... and full of hinted meaning.... If I drink just a little more.... I shall surely gain great insight.... Just a little more....
Languidly, Kevoth-Kul extends his goblet toward Ozmyn....
One more draught, my....friend....
Ozmyn smiles and refills the goblet again....
Yes, My King.... We are friends.... I shall never lead you astray, Mighty King.... Tomorrow at dawn, one of my captains is leading an expedition to the Silver Turret, My King.... Perhaps we shall find an even more enlightening ichor there, if the gods will it....
The Black Sovereign closes his eyes, lost in the expanding, glorious visions in his ichor-amplified imagination....
Tell me of this.... Silver Turret....
It lies near the straight furrow known as First Blade's Path, at the border betwixt Sovereign's Reach and the Plains.... A leaning, tapering column of bright adamantine, half buried in a crater.... It was a tower or turret that broke away from Silver Mount on that ancient night of Falling Stars.... The Black Horses tried to bury it, as the barbarians of Numeria are wont to do, but strange monsters from the wreckage drove them away, according to legend.... On the morrow, My King, its secrets shall be ours to plunder!
Moonday morning, 5th of Pharast, 4714 AR
A spring day dawns on Starfall. Smoke and haze from a thousand cookfires or bonfires diffuses the light of the yellow sun, reflected off the massive metallic wreck known as the Silver Mount to cast a coppery glow over the sprawling urban chaos that has grown around the foothills of that strangest of peaks. The dark stone domes of the Palace of Fallen Stars loom over the other nearby buildings, and a cacophony made up of vendors' cries, wagon wheels, hooves and boots treading muddy streets, fountains gushing, bonfires crackling, stray dogs fighting over bones tossed out the window of an abattoir, and a thousand other noises echoes in the soot-darkened streets, alleys and squares.
These sights and sounds are relished by the motley band of slaves inside a Technic League slave wagon as it passes through Starfall to a gatehouse at the southern edge of the walled city. They know it might be their last view of the city, for they are bound for the mysterious Silver Turret that lies at an odd angle just north of First Blade's Path, some three leagues (9 miles) south of Starfall. It is rumored that strange monsters drove off barbarians of the Black Horse Clan when they tried to bury the Silver Turret centuries ago, and these unfortunate slaves are fated to serve the Technic League by entering the Silver Turret and scavenging for the powerful technomagic that no doubt lies within the gleaming ruin. The Technic League has given these specially trained slaves an honorific that somehow fails to lessen the sting of their predicament: they are known as artifact miners....
Riding in the drivers seat of the Technic League slave wagon is Captain Zophal, the leader of this dubious expedition. He is a tall, lean, muscular Kellid man with a balding pate, dark-eyed and stern-mouthed. Clad in a lavender robe trimmed with silver, worn over a shirt of black mail, a longsword in a leathern scabbard at his hip, he cracks a whip at the team of beasts that pulls the cart.
Six hirelings mounted on horses keep pace with the slave wagon. These are wary-eyed cutthroats hired by Captain Zophal to guard the slave wagon and whatever treasures the "artifact miners" manage to recover from the Silver Turret. These riders are clad in studded leather and armed with daggers and bucklers.
Their shining metal legs clanking to keep stride with the horses, a pair of gearsmen trudge along on either side of the slave wagon, occasionally emitting metallic clicks and whirring sounds.
Sitting in the wagon, not really seeming to mind the blistering heat much is a Elf maiden.. Age wise she seems young, well dressed in fine travelers outfit. She has on some smoked round glasses, seeming to night like the glare of sunlight. In her boot is an well made Elf combat dagger, but no other weapon. Why she could be armed and in a slavers wagon may seem on. But the odd collar around her neck tells another tale. She sits her legs crossed, her back to the bars, look around her and then writing into a small note book, with a silver point pencil.
A thin yet rugged gray-green skinned woman sits with her back to the outer bars, her eye on one of the horses pulling the wagon. A a slave, she seems to be decked out with technical tools and equipment, but her weapons are stored on one of the horses pulling the cart. A metal collar adorns her neck like the rest of the slaves.
Her hair is long, about to her waist, pulled into a cluster of bristly braids. She has reddish brown eyes and her skin has obvious weathering. Worked into her braids are little strips of scrap that have technical engravings on them, obvious salvage from technical ruins. They are hooked in, not worked into the braids; she leaves them easily removed in case her masters demand it of her.
She obeys the orders of her masters without question or hesitation, proactively being first to enter the caged wagon when ordered to.
If socially approached by other slaves, her voice is husky but noticeably female. "Gnaarrg" she introduces herself.
Sitting, scanning the landscape passing by, is an unusual looking young woman with skin the colour of deep ocean water wearing simple clothing and leather armour, and carrying a dagger. She obeys orders from the slavers with a resigned, sullen air. She regards her fellow slaves with vague interest and curiosity.
Also enslaved is a woman with the wind-blasted skin weathered by the plains of Numeria, a tribeswoman with dark hair and a wiry build. Though she does not struggle at the bonds, her still-bright eyes flicker across the landscape outside, curious, always taking in the surroundings.
Puts her note pad and pen away into a small belt pouch. Then looks at the others, her voice is very well spoken, her common perfect. She has a clear voice of one used to using it.
"Well its nice to meet you all, it seems we will be making up the expository crew. Which the Technic League Hireling have so snappily call the "artifact miners". Droll if you ask me, but a name never the less. Now we do make a fine bunch don't we. Lets see see what I can tell from your appearance alone humm."
She looks at Gnaarrg
"Gnaarrg, you say, well from the looks of you and the language of your name I would say a goblinoid of a creed. A little cheat but all helps. How ever, your profession escapes me. I did just spy you looking wistfully at that best out there, the augmented one. That and the items in your hair... could it be this IS your profession Gnaarrg?"
She then looks at Saissha.
"Blue skin, humm... aquatic origins possibly.. water elemental lineage, hard to pin it down, could you be Amphibious?. For profession, lets see now... leather armor, so no hard fighter you, humm a water mage of some kind?"
Then her eyes move on to Nalket
"Arr, I know a tribes woman when I see one, a follower of the ways of nature I would suspect, even dear I say a healer?"
She smiles hoping some of what she guest was close to the mark.
Takes 10 on all her relevant Knowledge skills add 1d6 say 3
= 21 on all needed skills.
Saissha sighs, "The League technomages have sometimes....experimented with combining elemental magic and weird things they found in the Silver Mount to create children with abilities they find useful. In my case they wanted...a specialist in retrieving things from underwater."
She sighs again, "I'm called Saissha. And yes, I have...some small power over water."
She fixes the elf with a sharp glance, "And now that you know everything worth knowing about me, why don't you tell something about yourself?"
Looks very interested at what Saissha has to say.
"Really, the Technic League experimenting in eugenics, fascinating I had no idea they where doing such. Your the product, well I am shocked, really, its seems the league has no ethics after all. Mind you we are salves, so what can one expect."
She pulls out her note pad again and makes a fast note as she dose so she says.
"I'm called Zal, I'm and Elf as you can see, for profession I was... so still am an academic. I came here to do some reserch and well... you can see how successfully that ended."
Adding with a little bit of a huff, looking up.
"I suspect you all have a similar tail of woe"
"Nah." Gnaarrg replies. "Left tribe; Didn't want to spend my life breeding. Scavenged ruins, fixed machine-horse. Got grabbed. They don't try to breed me. I get food, only beatings when I mess up. Sometimes I get to make new things." She tilts her head to the right, popping her neck. "Nicer than life in tribe."
Sitting quietly in a corner of the wagon is a strange man.
He looks lean and wiry with softly glowing "tattoos" crossing his body, his long black hair is kept orderly and straight, and he wears a tunic of black with silver trim with a polished iron necklace of a two-toned mask resting around his neck.
His face is calm and emotionless while his pale white eyes seem dull and lifeless. At his hip rests a finely crafted morningstar of cold iron.
He scans over the current residents of the slave wagon before speaking; "G-g-greetings. I'm Z-zed Nexus, designate artifact miner of the Technic League and excavation tool."
He then continues staring at each of you in turn for perhaps a little more than is socially normal.
Sitting quietly in a corner of the wagon is a strange man.
He looks lean and wiry with softly glowing "tattoos" crossing his body, his long black hair is kept orderly and straight, and he wears a tunic of black with silver trim with a polished iron necklace of a two-toned mask resting around his neck.
His face is calm and emotionless while his pale white eyes seem dull and lifeless. At his hip rests a finely crafted morningstar of cold iron.
He scans over the current residents of the slave wagon before speaking; "G-g-greetings. I'm Z-zed Nexus, designate artifact miner of the Technic League and excavation tool."
He then continues staring at each of you in turn for perhaps a little more than is socially normal.
One of the Technic League hirelings mocks the pale-eyed slave's stutter.
L-l-looks like s-s-someone's got a screw loose! Hahaha!
His expression remains blank as the hireling mocks him. "I-i can assure y-you. My design has no s-screws. I am f-f-fully operational."
Gnaarg mutters something in a clipped, gutteral language.
"řečové obvody jsou pravděpodobně zarovnány..."
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Nalket says softly, "You talk like them."
Then she continues to watch out the window.
Waking from a light sleep, a middle-aged man pulls aside the cloak he had wrapped around himself. He sits up and looks at the others in the cart, his eyes tired and his expression hidden by his shaggy, reddish mustache which takes up much of his face. He has broad shoulders and a squared jaw, but is otherwise leanly built.
He shakes himself awake and begins polishing the barrel of his musket (left empty for obvious reasons). He casts a doubtful eye towards Zal.
"You don't look the fighting type. Are you certain you can handle yourself in the ruins?"
Looks over at Zed then back at Gnaarrg
"I think your are probably right in that assertion Gnaarrg"
She says as if answering her comment, but in common.
Then she looks back at Zed.
"Nice to meet you Zed, I have meet a few of your kind, in my travels here about's, I think you may need some repair work"
She says trying to be helpful. Then at mustacheo'ed humans comments she says back.
"You know that has been worrying some what, I did try to explain to them that I am not really the er... combatant type. I usually have one or two others with me who are specialist in that area. But they where insistent, with an iron collar no-less. So I don't really have that much say in the matter. My hope is my wit and guile will allow me to survive this experience."
Then she brightens up on seeing the fire arm he has.
"Mind you, you look a man who knows a thing or to about combat. That musket looks well used."
He tilts his head to the side for a moment as he looks at Zal. "N-nice to meet you Zal. I don't understand t-the concern for m-my repair.
He then inspects himself. "I have s-s-suffered no damage. I am s-sure you will p-prove useful inside the r-ruins."
"Well, keep near me in the back, then. And don't pay her any attention, Zed. You work just fine." He gives him a warm smile.
As he speaks in Elven, he doesn't look towards anybody, focusing on polishing his rifle.He glances surreptitiously at the hirelings to make sure none of them understood the Elven.
Saissha shakes her head,
"Like they care if some of their slaves die from mutant monsters or technological constructs or whatever has found its way into the ruins over the years. Slaves are worth less than artifacts."
"You've obviously got plenty of smarts. That'll be helpful if you're quick enough to take advantage of it. Most important thing to stay alert."
"I'm sorry Zed I did not mean to be rude"
She then looks out once more that the landscape, as
Geirmur speaks. The she sings and old elf song to herself, low but so others can hear.
Have you ever seen a deeper sky blue?
There's something magical about we do.
Asked myself what it's all for
You know the funny thing about it
I couldn't answer
No I couldn't answer
Have you ever seen a deeper sky blue?
There's something magical about we do.
Free and move among the stars
You know they really aren't so far
Wake me from the dreams
It's really everything it seems
Have you ever seen a deeper sky blue?
There's something magical about we do.
No black and white in the blue.
He looks towards Geirmur with a blank stare. "Y-yes i know...Thank you."
He then turns his attention to Zal. "I d-did not think y-you rude. This is the m-most agreeable I've b-been treated in y-years...I am unused to being t-treated like a p-p-person."
Zed then does his best to imitate Geirmur's smile...awkwardly.
The slave wagon and company travels south from Starfall, crossing rugged, barren terrain dotted with strange rock formations and stunted, mutant trees. Birds of prey soar high overhead, riding the thermal winds. Patches of melting snow can still be seen here and there.
About three hours of travel pass from the time the expedition exits the South Gate of Starfall to the arrival at the gleaming Silver Turret, like a metal tower leaning crazily toward the east....
The draft beasts pulling the slave wagon (except for Gnaarrg's fearless cyborg horse) balk fearfully at approaching nearer than 100 feet to the shining edifice, whipcracks be damned!
Worthless beasts.... mutters Captain Zophal, seeing that no amount of whipping will drive the wagon team any closer to the Silver Turret. Climbing down from the driver's seat, he takes a ring of odd keys from a hook on his belt and strides to the back of the wagon, unlocking the cage in which sit the six "artifact miners".
You six have been selected for a great honor: to serve the Technic League as artifact miners! You have received training from the best instructors for this purpose. You know your objective: recover anything that might be useful in serving the Technic League and bring it here to me. Do not return until you have searched all accessible areas within the Silver Turret....and do not return empty-handed....if you value your lives.... Never forget that I hold in my hand a device that can cause the collars around your necks to explode, killing you instantly!
Captain Zophal holds up a black metal wand studded with buttons to emphasize his threat. He then points it at the shadows near the base of the Silver Turret's east side, where a dark, circular opening can be seen near the rocky ground.
See there! That is the entrance you will take. Go! And may Nethys smile upon our venture....
The hirelings stare with ill-concealed dread at the leaning Silver Turret, hands on the hilts of their daggers.
Zed gets up and makes his way out of the wagon. He stops for a moment to nod at Zophal his face a blank stare, "Y-yes sir." Before walking a few feet away from the wagon.
He then retrieves his morningstar from it's holster and adjusts his pack. Once he is a few feet away from the wagon he begins forming a spell upon his lips.
He then stands and waits for his fellow miners. "W-well how do we want to go a-about this.
The two gearsmen, armed with wicked-looking glaives, watch the slaves as they emerge from the back of the slave wagon cage.
The portion of the Silver Turret that is visible above ground leans at a steep angle to the east, and looks to be well over 300 feet long from the section emerging from heaped rubble to the tapering top end. It is a silvery metallic, for the most part, with some bronze panels here and there, four great, mirrored, dome-like convexities, equidistant around the section near the base, a network of rusted pipe-like cylinders running vertically along all sides of the turret, and a few circular valves that might be other entrances further up near the middle of the great turret.
It is currently noon, judging by the fact that the sun hangs directly overhead. The strange alien turret casts a long, dark shadow eastward across the rubble-strewn crater floor. The slave wagon rests at the northeast edge of the crater, about 100 feet from the Silver Turret at the crater's center. Rubble and dirt has obviously been heaped up around the base of the silvery edifice at some point in the distant past; weeds and bright-green moss grow over this debris.
Gnaarrg will disembark, retrieving her gear from Maagun's pack.
"Maagun will come with us." she declares. "Carry findings. Programmed to return if I am lost."
Gnaarrg will disembark, retrieving her gear from Maagun's pack.
"Maagun will come with us." she declares. "Carry findings. Programmed to return if I am lost."
Very well, Gnaarrg. You may bring your pet. But beware of tight spaces.... You might find you will have to leave it behind at some point in your exploration after all....
Saissha climbs out of the wagon, stretching and checking her gear.
"We'll all be glad to have a pack animal to carry the goods, I'm sure."
Very well, Gnaarrg. You may bring your pet. But beware of tight spaces.... You might find you will have to leave it behind at some point in your exploration after all....
"Thank you, boss." she replies, the answer sounding natural and not forced.
To the constructed horse, she says "příkazového řádku: následovat."
"Command line:Follow."
-Posted with Wayfinder
Very well, Gnaarrg. You may bring your pet. But beware of tight spaces.... You might find you will have to leave it behind at some point in your exploration after all...."Thank you, boss." she replies, the answer sounding natural and not forced.
To the constructed horse, she says "příkazového řádku: následovat."
** spoiler omitted **-Posted with Wayfinder
As Gnaarrg descends into the massive, bowl-shaped crater, Maagun follows with surprising agility, negotiating the downward slope more like a mountain goat than a horse.
"Strange beast you have there. You a cavalier, by any chance? Did some of that, back in the day."
He gathers his gear, loading his musket before returning it to his back.
"A good mount is reliable, but a musket is more reliable."
The concave sides of the 200-foot-diameter crater slope down to a bottom at the center some 100 feet deep. The adventurers find a series of ledges and boulders that form a gradual descent into the crater. The depth of the crater suggests that it will only be sunlit for a few hours around noon before the sun leaves the crater and its strange centerpiece in shadow.
The entrance into the Silver Turret, a circular portal on the starboard (eastern) side, about 10 feet in diameter, opens into a shadowy chamber beyond. A circular door of starmetal hangs open to one side. The entire structure leaning so far to the east, it appears that keeping one's balance on the steeply-tilted floor might soon become an issue....
"Strange beast you have there. You a cavalier, by any chance? Did some of that, back in the day."
He gathers his gear, loading his musket before returning it to his back.
"A good mount is reliable, but a musket is more reliable."
"Firearm is machine, horse is mount; Maagun is both. Better." she replies, not even giving Geirmur a sideways glance. "I am not Cavalier. Make things, fix things, brew things, sometimes break things."
She straps on the different crossbow bolt quivers to her waist and checks her bandoleer of potion vials. "Sometimes... I blow things up." she says, cracking a faint smile.
The smile fades."But mostly, I loot dead machines for parts."