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"Duuuuude. Why dya need to yell so loud soooo early in dy aft'noon..." says Tesson holding his head.
"Zounds man! Should you be standing in your condition? You look like death recently spat out of a lukewarm mouth after being chewed upon for a while and then found to be flavorless and unappealing. Perhaps you should stay here and spend your remaining time with your loved ones--err, well, your family at any rate."
"Of course I get assigned to a team with a bunch of lazy layabouts. I wonder what I am being punished for."
"Yes. We shall have to rely upon my own inimitable charm to win the day, it seems." The tall swarthy man connected to an equally long curved bit of black metal strapped to his back says--mainly to himself, but if there is one thing the deadly, daring swordsman of Katapesh is missing it is an inner monologue. "Perhaps introductions are in order. For the chronicles, I am not the 'Dude', I am ™ And you sir, and your fellows, are you all of one family line here?"
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a cold dead chuckle escapes her lips as the Nodachi on her back seems to be leaving light dustings of frost
"I'm no dude, though I have a tendency to go a little overboard, however I am Artic Fox, sailor of the seas, and undead hunter. I know not of these that walk in, though they have a better attitude then one who think they will carry the whole party Abaal"
that last part coming out a little more of a challenge then anything else,
she looks over at the one who cried out dude and asks in a more quiet tone
"You have a way to heal yourself yes? otherwise I might be able to if you can't yet"
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"I'm no dude, though I have a tendency to go a little overboard, however I am Artic Fox, sailor of the seas, and undead hunter. I know not of these that walk in, though they have a better attitude then one who think they will carry the whole party Abaal"
"Know though that if I must, I will, for such is the responsibility of the Unyielding Sword of Katapesh." Abaal says solemnly without a hint of irony.
And you sir, and your fellows, are you all of one family line here?"[/b]"I hope you are not speaking to me, for I am nothing like them. To assume that they are kin is ridiculous. I am Benedict Ignatius Stark. You can call me Mr. Stark."
"My apologies, Mr. Stark. You all seem so pale that I was errant in my assumption that you must be related--if perhaps only in a ardent love of spelunking. I must also confess that to my daylight drenched eyes that pale people look much alike to me."
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thinking it wiser to stay quiet then open her mouth saying the wrong thing, she then moves to take a seat, weapon shifted to sit by her side and tries to ignore the two who think they are more important then they actually are
staying in her seat she just mutters to herself I despise land dwellers, and their arrogance, not one worth their weight in the salty seas
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Tesson stays with a gaping mouth, clearly not getting what is going on. "Izzz... iz dis anoder misssion?" he asks, squinting his eyes at the other members of the party.
He stands up with trouble and you catch a glimpse of a mithral chainmail behind the rags the man is currently wearing. He also wears a bandoleer with several tankards made of tin.
He snatches one, stirs himself and pours himself a beer from the bar. He gulps it down quickly, wipes his mouth with the back of the hand and burps loudly.
"By Cayden's holy tankard! I look like a mess! Pardon me, companions, for I completely forgot to present myself. I am Tesson. And this is Compost, my trustful mangoose." he says with a grin.
You indeed catch a glimpse of a pair of eyes under the rags. Its quick tongue sips beer from a miniature tankard strapped on Tesson's shoulder.
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Hearing the shouting from across the hall, Anibal re-checks his backpack once more. While he does so, the shouting does not lower in intensity.
"They don't pay me enough...", he mutters under his breath and sighs softly, then ties the pack closed. He stands up and hoists the thing to his shoulder.
"Evening, Pathfinders.", he speaks up as he enters the door. "Rowdy day? Name's Anibal - pleasure."
He takes off his wide had and offers a handshake to anyone willing to accept. He stops by at Tesson for a moment, observing the creature. "What an odd lemur. Is it sick?"
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everyone arrives here by boat where you were able to drink and introduce yourselves.
Qaharid, the Turquoise City, spreads out from its docks at the
vertex of the Maharev and Meraz Rivers, its forest of minarets
and spires proudly flaunting the lustrous copper mined from the
surrounding hills. Though far from the cosmopolitan coasts, the
city rises from its perch with an eagle’s pride that sports every
color of the rainbow, as though it were itself a district of the grand
metropolis of Katheer.
Fifty thousand souls call the city home, and it shows. People
of every description hustle through the docks, and a cacophony
of accents and languages mingle with the music of charming
street buskers. A rich market street lined with bright awnings and
tents leads straight from the docks to the customs house, beyond
which rise the golden spires of the Sarenite temple. No doubt the
prospective patron in Venture-Captain Esmayl ibn Qaradi’s letter
might be found there in the Temple Ward.
Freshly painted signs announce, in several languages, the
entrance to Coppersmith Lane, a place whose workaday name
belies the expensive temptations that beckon to passersby from
its countless tables and stalls. Here and there, almost like blank
spaces in the crowd, are the unadorned, crisp white cloaks and
shifts of White Feather adherents.
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"Well,", Anibal notes after reading ibn Qaradi's letter. "if we are meeting bluebloods, I suppose I should get a new coat."
He observes his own clothing, covered in multiple burnt patches. "Caught a lightning bolt a few weeks back. That stuff gets you on your feet, I tell you. Unless it knocks you out, that is."
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Tesson laughs in his cups. "We get to attract attention in a festival? Splendid!"
He thinks a bit about the letter and looks at the other members of the party.
"Anyone here is a faithful of Sarenrae? That might help. I can speak as a priest of CaydenClabadan if needed." he says, rather sure of himself.
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as you guys walk through the streets headed to the temple watching anibal move from shop to shop trying to find a new coat.
give me a perception
if you speak Kelish then you do not have to make the linguistics check.
if you make the linguistics check or speak Kelish then you can make the diplomacy check
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Given the climate, Anibal has some issues finding a suitable replacement for his longcoat, but manages. While the bazaars in Katapesh are more... exotic, the lack of options is never a problem. He does manage to find a good replacement, and after listening in on the locals' chatter, he questions the merchant for further information.
"People seem concerned. We just arrived due to business, so I am curious. What exactly happened yesterday? You wouldn't happen to know, would you?", he dangles a few spare gold coins in front of the merchant, just to refresh his memory.
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The shop keep replies to anibal "look your an outsider i dont expect you to understand. Now move along i have more customers to deal with."
-Posted with Wayfinder
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Anibal seems surprised by the response, especially since he's been born and raised in Katapesh, and only started traveling recently.
"Oh - am I? At least people won't confuse me with a coarse pig such as yourself. Enjoy the gold, and have a nice day!", he retorts to the merchant, and tosses his old dusty (and burnt) cloak into the stack of finest silks he can find in the stall. Preferably white ones. Disappearing in the crowd, he puts on his hat and scarf and performs a quick rite.
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You guys make it to the temple where a festival is going on.
It’s noontide on the longest day of the year, and yet the dry heat
has done nothing to still the clamor of religious devotion. For
all the schisms and debates within the Qadiran Sarenite church,
today they are all one in her service. Unfolding on a canopied
stage is the final scene of the Qadiran ballet, “The Dance of the
Golden Veils,” depicting the remarkable triumph of Sarenite
paladins against impossible odds, all to the melismatic strains of
an orchestra performing beneath a sea of colorful parasols.
In the opposite corner of the square lay a large, inert machine
some 30 feet in height depicting the evil god Rovagug and
a worried priest pacing around it. A sign saying “See Sarenrae
defeat the mighty Rovagug! Noon Today!” sits beside it, but it is
past noon, the ballet is about to end, and there are no actors in
sight to operate the clockwork monstrosity.
-Posted with Wayfinder
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"oh my i do needs help my actors are all sleeping off hangovers from partying to much last night." looking at the group of adventures he points to the only female in the group. "you will have to do." he walks off and gathers a make up crew. "she will portray the dawn flower herself, though it maight take a whole lot of makeup to make that happen." as artic fox is rushed off to get ready the priest looks at the rest of the group "i need the rest of you to work rovagug. It will take team work and cooperation to work that." the priest gets a smile of his face along with some relief "sarenrae is shining down on us today."
-Posted with Wayfinder
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The air is suddenly filled with frantic, heavy hoofbeats as a stately black coach - which, judging by both its conspicuously foreign design and layers of sand and dust, has come a very long way - thunders into town and stops in front of the makeshift theatre!
At first, the hoofbeats synchronize nicely with the Mechanical Rovagug's movements, creating what could potentially have been a fearsome effect, but as they get closer and louder, they become more of a distraction.
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"oh my i do needs help my actors are all sleeping off hangovers from partying to much last night." looking at the group of adventures he points to the only female in the group. "you will have to do." he walks off and gathers a make up crew. "she will portray the dawn flower herself, though it maight take a whole lot of makeup to make that happen." as artic fox is rushed off to get ready the priest looks at the rest of the group "i need the rest of you to work rovagug. It will take team work and cooperation to work that." the priest gets a smile of his face along with some relief "sarenrae is shining down on us today."
"Or at least laughing." Abaal says solemnly, his arms crossed.
Abaal stand resolutely off to one side of the machine scaring children away with his indignant visage as his fellows play around like children themselves.
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“I felt like I was really there!
Surely the Goddess herself is among us!” cries out one
member of the crowd, and the high priestess herself parts
the growing throng of fans like so much water. Once she
pulls them away from the crowd, the carefully composed
high cleric begins gushing about how moved she was.
If clergy were meant to be the embodiment of their deity, then this
woman is a living effigy of Sarenrae, her gold and white vestments
aflame with vitality that seems to radiate from her dark, elegantly
coiffured hair via the golden pins and combs that hold it all in place.
Her deep bronze features are elegantly made up, kohl framing
an already relentless brown-eyed stare over high cheekbones;
her voice is a tightly controlled flame of passion. “So, you’re the
outsiders who got into the Contraption, hmm? I admit, it’s not often
our foreign guests are quite so bold. Or silly. But boldness and just a
little silliness in the name of the Dawnflower go a long way, I find.
I trust, however, this wasn’t done entirely because of your undying
love for her. So, speak.”
-Posted with Wayfinder
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There is another thundering of hooves as the coach returns whence it came.
"Perhaps I can explain," Says a rich voice behind the high priestess. It belongs to an unnaturally, tall, attractive, and well-groomed man in Ustalavic noble attire with white hair, grey skin, and gleaming golden eyes like a pair of newly-minted coins.
"How do you do? I am Viscount Mercutio Byron Menschjaeger, of House Menschjaeger *and* the Pathfinder Society, and you *must* be High Priestess Amal al-Sahba." He bows deeply, and moves to kiss her hand, but for some reason recoils at the last second. "Enchente. Your radiance almost *hurts.*"
He takes a moment to peer over her shoulder and addresses the rest of the party. "And you could only possibly be my coterie for this adventure. I do apologize for being fashionably late, I've only *just* arrived from Riddleport."
He then returns his gaze to the high priestess. "Getting to the point: We have (I would assume) all received word of the fascinating recent developments in the local spiritual panoply, by which I mean the rise of the White Feathers and Roidirans. We have also heard that the latter have been causing...disturbances?...and seem to be in some distress themselves. We are here to investigate, and that is where Your Holiness comes in, as such an investigation could well lead to some...unguessably deep and treacherous waters, which none would be better suited to help us navigate. Do you know Venture-Captain ibn Qaradi? I've also a letter of recommendation from him."
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i do know Ibn Qaradi and let me see this letter if you dont mind. she reads the letter that you giver her and then smiles. why would all of you accompany me to dinner this evening at the temple and we can talk some more. with that she smiles at all of you again and make her exit.
you have a few hours until dinner if there is anything that you guys would like to do. if not then we shall continue to dinner.