The bustling desert city of Wati is near bursting with excitement. Adventurers from every corner of the Inner Sea region have assembled here beneath the hot Osirian sun to explore the tombs of the city's necropolis, waiting only to be assigned their first sites for exploration. Surrounding the participants, the public has gathered to observe the ceremony as well. There is a festival-like quality in the air, and numerous street vendors are hawking goods and refreshments to the participants and spectators alike. Some merchants have even brought what can only be considered adventuring gear to sell as last minute convenience items to explorers, while others advertise that they'll buy recovered treasures and antiquities from those who visit their establishments.
In front of the imposing edifice of the Grand Mausoleum, an immense awning has been erected between decorated pillars in the market to provide shade for the priests of Pharasma overseeing the lottery. Beneath the awning, two urns sit atop a table elevated a few feet above the ground on a wooden stage constructed for the event. The high priestess of the Grand Mausoleum, Sebti the Crocodile, sits behind the table, while two acolytes confer with her at either side.
Numerous adventuring groups, including yours, stand in small clusters near the stage. Most keep to themselves, but some are having quiet conversations with the other groups, passing the time while waiting for the lottery to begin.
"Feh. THIS is our competition?" Ptolem says, gesturing wildly around the pavilion, not caring who hears.
"Hardly worth the name, I think. This expedition will be a cinch, most of these look like they'd have trouble finding their way out of the bazaar, much less through a tomb."
Sneferka eyes the nearby bazaar and the ever-growing line at the shoddy equipment store. "You're right, my friend. Look at that crowd over there-they're paying probably three times the normal price for goods that I wouldn't give to my worst enemy. Look at the sword that man just bought! It's going to crumble into rust the moment he swings it." He sighs and toys idly with his holy symbol. "I must say, seeing this spectacle isn't making me feel much better about the whole thing. There are specific things needed to put the dead to rest, and idiots like those people over there are going to just blunder in and ruin it all. Hopefully we don't make the same mistake."
A nearby halfling chuckles in agreement at Sneferka's comment about the equipment store. His group seems to consist entirely of halflings, and aside each one is a Katapeshi fighting dog.
"Yeah, those merchants really like to prey on inexperienced adventurers. I don't really know the details, but I heard the Pharasman priests here are supposed to make sure nobody messes with the dead themselves."
"I hope then that your Pharasman priests are up to the task then, friend. You may have one god to safeguard the dead...we have multiple." He smiles politely at the halfling. "But I forget my manners. My name is Sneferka, my family is one of the few in Osirion that still keeps the old ways. My patron Selket oversaw the embalming process-you might say she's the reason your priests have to safeguard against the dead at all!" Laughing slightly, his face returns to its normal stoic mask. "But seriously, if the mummies do turn out to be homicidal that's more of a personality problem. My lady Selket had nothing to do with that."
The halfling smiles and offers his hand. "Mad Dog Marrn, leader of the Dog Soldiers. Nice to meet some people who aren't just concerned with killing and looting!"
"And I think we can handle a few rambunctious mummies, can't we?"
His companions all nod, clearly eager to get a move on.
"So, are you the leader of your group? What are you guys called?"
"We are the Hands of the Pharaoh. Or, these ones are. I am the Pharaoh, and these are my hands!" Ptolem says and gestures grandiosely.
Mad Dog seems unconvinced.
"Huh...well, you've certainly got the confidence of a leader."
Mad Dog seems unconvinced.
"Huh...well, you've certainly got the confidence of a leader."
"Thank you, sir! I pride myself on my pride."
"Refreshing to meet someone of such discernment."
Ptolem seems oblivious that that was not meant to be an endorsement.
Sneferka sighs resignedly. "Ptolem...we talked about this. The name's...fine, whatever. But we agreed that we'd make all decisions as a group, remember? It's better this way...and in any case, you lost leadership privileges when you freaked out at that kebab vendor's father last week for 'looking at you in a way that was unflattering to a pharaoh'...and then it turned out he was blind."
"How does that make a difference? Even the blind should be able to perceive my rafiance, and avert their eyes appropriately. To not do so is a fault of theirs, not mine."
"Lots of adventurers out here, eh girl?" Talos said, to nobody in particular.
His hawk screes in agreement.
"I'm sure our team would do excellent, I can see my comrades are already making new friends...."
"And I'm sure your radiance will be inspirational to all of us, as we traverse the bleak ruins in the necropolis." Mad Dog says, while subtly winking to Sneferka.
"Though, whatever name you guys have now, I hope you'll recognize it when they call on you."
Kael comes wandering in from the direction of a nearby row of stalls looking disgruntled. "Did I uh, miss anythin', then? Went knockin' about lookin' for some munchies and all I found were some biscuits some bloke from Tian Xia was selling."
Kael takes a fortune cookie from a small pouch, cracks it open, and eats some while looking around at his group and the halfling troupe blankly.
Mad Dog tilts his head curiously when Kael starts talking.
"Er, I hope you don't mind me asking, but where are you from? I've never heard an accent like yours."
Uh, y'know Taldor, righ'? Me hometown is a bit in the northern bit. Nothing's much there, innit, kinda rainy and cloudy and all that, right."
"I'm afraid we're running extremely low on drinks."
Laleh sadly looks into her bag.
"We might have to drink... water."
Mad Dog perks up.
"Tell you what? We're staying at the Tooth and Hookah inn tonight. Why don't you meet us there afterwards? Drinks are on me!"
"I suppose I can slum it at whatever den of iniquity you choose to frequent."
Sneferka brightens up a bit. "We'd love to! Never turn down a free drink, my old man always said."
"Your father sounds like an excellent man."
"That does sound exciting, but I thought priests and monks have a vow of chastity?"
"Some do, yes. But I have no problem with it, and I believe Laleh isn't actually allowed to be sober, or something like that. She was slurring pretty bad last time she tried explaining it to me."
"I am allowed to be sober!
...It just so happened that when I tried to explain it to you, I wasn't."
Alright, yeah. I'll be ready for a cup of tea by then, alright."
"I'll always be up for some drinks, after all, trying different drinks from across world is part of my bucket list."
The high priestess Sebti rises to her feet and calls for silence. She gives a short incantation to the Lady of the Graves, then begins her speech.
"I will start with a brief history of the founding of this city, so that you may all be reminded why we are here."
But Wati's destiny was forever warped in 2499 AR, when the cult of Lamashtu unleashed the Plague of Madness among the city's thriving populace. Many of those whom the fever did not immediately kill were driven to murderous insanity, and within months, more than half the city had fallen in painful, anguished death. Most of the survivors fled Wati to make new homes elsewhere, but a stubborn minority remained behind, determined to reclaim their city. But even once the plague had run its course, their livelihoods collapsed as An and Tephu took over Wati's once-exclusive trade routes, and their floundering community struggled against recurring outbreaks of the undead from the city's many abandoned buildings-turned-tombs.
It took almost half a millennium for Wati's fortunes to reverse thanks to the church of Pharasma. With the tacit permission of Osirion's Keleshite sultan, a Pharasmin priest named Nefru Shepses marched on Wati in 2953 AR with a small army of alchemists, masons, and morticians under his banner, intent on consecrating the entire city to the Lady of Graves, beginning with a new, monumental temple to Pharasma called the Grand Mausoleum. Over the next 30 years, Nefru Shepses and his followers recovered the bodies of those slaughtered in the Plague of Madness from their hasty, makeshift graves and the Pharasmins walled off that portion of the city that had been abandoned, transforming it into a metropolis of makeshift tombs. Thousands of corpses were given formal burial rites and reinterred in this dead copy of the living city, which continues to serve as Wati's necropolis today.
The consecration of the city and its necropolis revitalized Wati, and though it never reclaimed its dominance among the cities of the south, over the next 1,700 years Wati grew until its necropolis-once more than half of the city-took up less than a quarter of the city's total area. Today, long after the necropolis's completion, Wati continues to produce a great variety of grave goods for Osirion's honored dead. A steady stream of burial figures, canopic jars, embalming fluids, prayer books, and sarcophagi sail downstream on the Sphinx, outpacing Wati's crop and textile exports. Even Wati's criminal underworld revolves around death, as competing gangs regularly raid the necropolis for valuables and even human carrion.
"Let the lottery begin! Although many of you have requested specific sites to explore, we must leave these matters to fate. The Lady of Graves is a far better judge of destiny than we of this mortal sphere. "
A few adventurers murmur in protest at this, but Sebti ignores them.
"The gates of the necropolis will open at sunrise tomorrow. Use this evening to prepare yourselves for the task ahead. Let these rules guide you in your endeavors in this holy place: remember how this came to pass, every slave's hut is a memorial, and honor the departed. May you go with the Lady's blessing."
As Sebti returns to her seat, the two acolytes stand and each draw a wooden token from one of the urns. The first token identifies an adventuring group, matching the token that group received when they registered for the lottery, and the second determines the tomb assigned to that group.
One by one, each group sends a single representative to the stage. Each presents their group's token to confirm their identity. Sebti then shows the representative the location of their group's tomb on a large map of the entire necropolis, and gives them a smaller sketched map showing the tomb's location in relation to the gates.
Which of you is going to be your group's representative?
Ptolem saunters his way up to the front, and presents the group's token with a flourish.
Inwardly, however, he scoffs.
Pharasma has long since lost her gift of prophecy, she's no more a judge of destiny than we are. What ignorant priests.
Sebti shows Ptolem his group's assignment, an actual tomb that predates the creation of the necropolis. It is located in the eastern section of the necropolis, in the city's original cemetery. The sketched map you are given is well marked, and it seems like you will be able to find the tomb without much trouble when the gates open tomorrow morning.
In the meantime, you have the rest of the evening to prepare yourselves.
"See why I'm the leader? I got them to give us an actual, proper tomb to explore, not one of those piddling little hovels full of dead peasants."
"Those poor peasants."
"...Pardon the pun."
"Man, hope the tomb will be relatively free of those nasty undeads, I never like how they shamble around..." Talos murmured with a shudder.
"Er... Talos, do you know where the word 'necropolis' came from?"
"Yeah, I mean I really hope the dead will stay dead, for as long as possible."
"I must agree with you there Talos...if they don't, then one of my ancestors did a really bad job all those years ago. So. Shall we go take the Dog Soldiers up on their offer?"
"Is there even any debate?"
You make your way to the Tooth and Hookah. Mad Dog and his gang wave as you enter, having already claimed a table.
"Ah, there you are! I was beginning to think you wouldn't show up!"
"You, my friend, should renew your faith. Now, about those drinks on you...?"
The halfling shrugs. "You'd be surprised how many people would've been suspicious of my offer. Seems like the stereotype of halflings being scammers and tricksters follows us everywhere. Nice to be reminded that not everyone thinks that way.
He smiles. "And I would be remiss to deny a faithful Caileanite her ale!"
He orders drinks for everyone. When they arrive, he stands on his chair, holds his mug aloft, and proposes a toast.
"Here's to our new friends! May they return safely from the necropolis, laden with riches!"
"Aye, to the good friends of the Mad Dog soldiers!"
"Well, tolerable acquaintances anyway."
"To our friends! And riches too!"
"Crud, all the good ones were taken. Uhhh...what they said!"
"Yeah, what, uh, they said. And thanks for the drink mates, right."