Legacy of Fire

Game Master Megan Robertson

Jengren will motion to the others to hold up, he will lay on the ground, or seek cover, and proceed to watch for any other movement. "There's one moving in the ruins, not sure if there are others. S.W. how do you want to approach this?"

Perception 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (2) + 6 = 8

"May as well go forward and see what happens. I don't see any gnolls, and that's my biggest concern." Samuel moves forward as he calls out to the figure. "Greetings, good sir. What brings you to this relic of the past?"

Jengren walks up with Samuel but 10 feet to his left.

"Wha...? Oh... people? Here?" the fellow stutters, obviously surprised by your appearance here.

"I'm, um... Haidar, Haidar the Accursed... Have you visited Ipeq recently? What news?"

Knowledge (history) 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (20) + 9 = 29
Knowledge (untrained) 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (17) + 5 = 22
to recognize the name Ipeq and/or Haidar the Accursed
Perception 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (16) + 6 = 22

Samuel looks over the man more closely as he ponders the other's words.

Ipeq is the third-largest city in southern Osirion, located along the banks of the Crook.

Shaking his head, "I've not been to Ipeq recently. Are you the only resident her." Motioning towards the monastery. Keeping an eye out.

Perception: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (2) + 1 = 3

if the dice roller is going to hate me, I'll hate it right back then.

"I, too, have not been to Ipeq recently, but last I heard, it was humming along without particularly major concerns threatening it's existence. You must have quite the story if you ended up here after living there."

The fellow, as well as being unkempt, looks wild-eyed and probably not 'all there' if you get the idea.

"On my own here, boy!" he says. "Popped out to gather food. Found you."

"Let's not plan on eating us," he sarcastically replies.

"Not sure what you hope to find for food around here; seems like pretty sparse pickings, unless you're into gnoll, in which case, the nearby village sounds like it has plenty of food. Speaking of which, you wouldn't happen to know anything about your neighbors, would you?"

"I hunt. I study. Here within, the Breath of Nethys is strong and much can be learned. Of gnolls, though, not. Who is interested in such. Stragglers maybe to eat, no more."

The fellow seems to lose interest in you and wanders away, muttering to himself.

"We should get a closer look at near the monastery to see if there is any evidence of gnoll activity. Don't really want a band of gnolls getting on our rear now, do we?"

Jengren begins to walk closer to the monastery looking around.

Perception: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (11) + 1 = 12

Samuel will follow, taking his time as he watches both the odd man and for anything of interest in the ruins themselves.

Taking 10 if he can for a 16 Perception

The odd fellow gets a bit agitated as you approach the ruins.

"Um.. nothing there... not interesting..." he stammers.

"Well we are only going to take a quick look, to double check...we are not robbers or thieves." Trying to sooth his agitation.

He subsides, but still looks concerned, and watches you as you move through the outer ruins to what lies beyond - a wide doorway leads into a forest of stone pillars: the roofless, colonnaded hall of a temple interior. The breeze here carries a pungent stench of decay. Two rectangular depressions run across the pillared hall's rubblestrewn floor, perhaps once filled with water, but now choked with thorny desert weeds.

Reflecting pools once decorated this chamber. Tiny amounts of water still trickle into the pools, emanating from worn fountainheads at the outside edges of both basins.

"Old man are you the only one living here?" As Jengren tries to locate the source of the decay.

perception: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (14) + 1 = 15

Samuel checks out the area, not sure what he should be looking for, but feeling like he should be looking for something, given the odd behavior of the old man.

Perception 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (16) + 6 = 22

As you are both magically-sensitive, you realise that the pools have a faint whiff of arcane power about them.

The ragged stranger cackles "Alone, yes, alone here I am, I want to be."

"We do not mean you any harm, but we need to be sure that everything is clear here before we proceed to the village; our employer would be very disappointed if we did any less. We could be out of here sooner if you could tell us what you know of the history of this place."

"Is nothing... nothing special... a refuge..."

Might I trouble you for a Sense Motive?

Sense Motive 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (14) + 2 = 16

Sense Motive: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (11) + 1 = 12

Jengren remains silent of the time being listening to S.W and the recluse.

Haidar is clearly hiding something, it's obvious he both knows a bit more about what lies within than he is letting on and that he doesn't want anyone else poking around in there.

"Look we mean you no harm but we are not leaving without first exploring the area and obtaining answers. We could do this the easy way with you helping us, or we can painstakingly trudge through every room." As he stresses the word painstakingly he begins to walk around the pools. "I can feel that this place holds magic,what do you know about that?"

"Er. Well. All right then..." He still doesn't look comfortable with your presence.

"I'm no mage. Probably stuff left from when it was a place of worship."

"Who was worshipped here? Do you know?"

"Nethys the All-Seeing Eye, God of Magic," comes the reply. Haidar sounds on surer ground now. Clearly he knows what he is talking about.

Samuel hides his reaction as he ponders a response. "As much as I am sure that you won't like this answer, that means we really must look deeper in. Gnolls are bad enough without having to also deal with any leftover experiments gone bad."

"Looks like we are going to have a little look around,you are welcome to lead up Haidar but like my companion stated, we can't have anything behind up."

Haidar hangs back as you move forwards into the colonnaded hall.

May I have Perception checks, please?

Calain awakens late....far later than he should on the rather large pile of assorted furs the pugwampi's had assembled for him. The pile smelled of untanned leather and....well... something much more fun. How the hells had he gotten the princesses servant into bed again? That's right. She'd been rather impressed at how he'd managed to bring the little savages to heel through sheer physical presence alone.
Women.
They were all the same.
Always impressed by the strength on a man's arm and the way he conducted himself in battle.
Nearly every woman he'd ever been with had been wealthy or nobility and paid his Slavemasters handsomely for the privilege of a night with the 'God of the Arena'.
Not this woman though. Beautiful as she was, with her tattoed Varisian checks and firm a$$ she offered him nothing but firey company and gave as good as she got in bead.
She was beautiful. .......
Oh, Sh!t. The others have likely left!

Oi! Wait for me your motherless b!tches
He scrambled to his feet, waking his partner in the process and had to dress while under assault from whatever she could throw at him.

I'm paid to kill Gnolls woman! You'd not bed a bloody farmer I'd wager....
And he bounded after his allies, the pugwampi's helping point the way.
He really must ask the woman her name...

perception: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (5) + 1 = 6

Jengren tries to look around carefully.

apparently not. We need a skill monkey.

Jengren hears the faint shouting coming from across the river, turning he sees Calain crossing it, then with a wicked grin, "two days late...the God of the Arena can't tell time and that's probably the closest thing he's had to bath all season." Leaning towards S.W. "silver piece says its his first bath this year." Laughing loudly.

Calain comes out on the sand and joins his companions, Apologies for the delay. I had to attempt to gift that Varisian woman with a strong son and oversee the Pugwampi's behaving.....
Calain could only contain his grin for 5 or so seconds!
Ha! My blade is thirsty and my ass is fat from my sloth. Point me at our foes before weakness takes root!

He draws his Nodachi and thumps his chest.
Now, what are we doing?

"Aside from waiting for tardy members of the party, we are currently checking out this old ruined shrine to Nethys." Samuel just shakes his head at the ex-gladiator's antics before checking out the magic on the pools closer.

Samuel, the magic on the fountainheads is conjuration, probably generating the water that trickles into the basins.

Really? Good thing I showed up then, the last time we checked out a shrine we ran into bloody dead clerics. Have your spells ready and don't be afraid to run if it goes bad. I can kill any man. Dead men are harder.

Calain will move 10feet in front of the two casters, should they all decide to go in.
Incedently, I saw a few new faces with the caravan. Might be worth asking the princess to spare us a warrior or two if she can afford it. That bloody halfling skipped out on us, stole my flagon too. I squash him if I see the sh!t again.

"He was probably gleeful with that nice sword he found, and skipped out along with that fella I came in with. That journeyman had a taste of battle and moved on in the night." Jengren continues forward staying a comfortable 10 feet behind the warrior.

"So how'd ja like that stream you came across was that your first bath of the season?" He asks with a friendly jibe.

Calain shows a mouth of surprisingly clean teeth.
I am a champion, Mage, I used to bath and shave down daily. Noblewoman pay alot for a champions thrust, but do not tolerate the stench of dirt.
Something I always found ironic, to be lusted after for bloodshed then expected to smell of flowers before f**k!ng.

He focuses forward again,
That WAS my first bath this week, however.

He looks apraisingly at the old man, Who are you, old man?

Jengren flips SW a silver piece, shaking his head.

Seriously? Traveling to join a group of mercenaries to help a merchant princess? Amon crouched in his saddle in depression as he slowly made the trek to the monastery. He closed his eyes and thought about the events of his life. So much had changed...

Amon had been born a street rat. He never knew his parents. Heck, he didn't remember anything before the age of about seven. He had been fostured by a group of kids who lived in the sewers of Sothis known as the bilge boys. They stole to survive. It was during this time Amon, known only as "the serpent" as a child because of his golden eyes, acquired many of the skills that had gotten him through life thus far. His early childhood was hard until the fate of Nethys found him. During a raid on the local market, one of Amon's friends had been caught by a local guard. Amon who had escaped unseen, hid in the shadows as he watched his friend nabbed. The power of Nethys sprang to life in him that day. He instictively pointed at the guard and called out in Osirion, Asperagnathyl. A greasy substance appeared under the guard who held his friend. As the guard attempted to steady himself, he lost his footing and fell clumsily. The moment of surprise allowed his friend to escape through the crowded market. The hundreds of shoppers laughed as the guard spent minutes trying to stand. The young Osirion boy hid in the shadows out of the view of everyone except one of the Ruby Prince's advisors who was overseeing the activity of market that day.

It wasn't long until Amon was in the palace. The advisor had been amazed at the magic of the young street rat. The serpent's life changed forever. The advisor adopted the boy as his own and named him Amon. He was tutored in the ways of Nethys as well as history, arcane magic, and archaeology. Amon was also trained specifically as a tomb raider. It was a high honor to be prepared to seek out ancient Osirion artifacts for the Ruby Prince. After a few years of training, Amon was sent as a scout and trapsmith for royal archaeologists who scowered the lands for ancient Osirion artifacts. His teen years were filled with adventure. This all ended when he came in possession of a magical ruby. He was scouting ahead in a pyramid and had found the ruby. Excited by his find, he hid the ruby from the others. Not long after, tragedy struck the group. Many of the members of the party started to die of an unknown disease. The party headed back to Sothis to report the trip to the Ruby Prince. During their return, the Ruby prince's top advisor ,Nazmi, had had a vision of Amon hiding the ruby. Upon his return, he was confronted by the gynoshpynx. Does anyone know you possess this? Amon told him that only his father knew. He gave up the ruby then and there. Amon returned to his living quarters to find his father murdered. While he knelt over the body of the only person who had ever shown him love, guards burst into the room and read a warrant for his arrest. Deftly, Amon grabbed his backpack and retreated through the window of the room. He ran until he could run no further. Ending in Katapesh....

A sound interrupts his thoughts. Voices ahead. As he opens his golden eyes, he sees a shrine and men standing around talking. He spurs his camel forward towards the group. Upon arrival, Amon slithers from his saddle and bows grandly before the group. Greetings. I am Amon, royal archaeologist to the Ruby Prince of Osirion. Blessings to his name. I have been sent here to assist you. His golden eyes scan the group awaiting their response.

...it was the dream again. A memory actually... making it more nightmarish than just a nightmare. This is always where she came at night when weariness dragged her screaming into the oblivion of sleep. As always it was her mother's cruel laughter and the foul stench of evil of the deep dark lands of Orv... its demon-haunted depths. She had been chained to the sacrificial posts - whipped until she nearly fainted and made sport of by the dark elven male consort/acolytes of her mother's temple thralls.

Her mother, Duspara - high Priestess of 'The Creeping Queen', Mazmezz - had watched gleefully... as the hungry males had their cruel way with Silena. Duspara considered her 'possibly-weak' half-breed daughter who she expected would be found lacking would not survive her 'test' to be an amusing entertainment. Her father a Nidal priest in the lands above had lusted after Duspara for many years. The unnatural entrance to the Darklands that existed in the wastelands outside the wall of Ridwan in Nidal had been very useful to the dark elves to gain access to surface trade and the constant need of new slaves and sacrifices to their demonic masters. The church of the 'Midnight Lord' had resources that the Drow ... could make use of for they had... simliar... needs. High Priest of Zon-Kuthon, 'Count' Grindell Dulare had... made such a simple, trivial request for access to those resources - {However many nights it took for Duspara to bear his child... and the child given to the service of the 'Midnight Lord'}. Duspara found it an amusing... such a trivial thing... but she had made one exception.. the child could not be weak.. and at some point Duspara had reserved the right to 'test' the child to see to it they were suitably strong and sound - a 'deformed' offspring could not be allowed to continue. Count Dulare only had smiled and said he would only have to try harder the next mating until the 'Midnight Lord' got this due for the assistance he would provide to the Drow peoples. Duspara planned to have him murdered at some point such audacity to make demands upon his betters was... annoying. Count Grindell had raised the child.. but now it was Duspara's turn to test the mongrel...

Silena hung from the silver plated cold iron chains... an added cruelty for her mother knew something in Silena's blood heritage made silver uncomfortable to the touch of her bare skin, her body criss-crossed with lashings, defiled with the filth of her cruel molesters and exhausted from their many tortures... the foreplay was over. Silena had not resisted for she knew she had to marshal her strength for the real test.

Then her mother smiled and snapped her fingers. The male acolytes approached again and took hold of Silena.. their filthly had fondling her one last time for they expected it to be the last. Duspara approached with the last test a ornate black crystal cup with the vile liquor of this hellish land. The Black Blood of Orv..

She spoke her voice a purr of cruelty... she never rose her voice above a fertive purr no matter how cruel or wicked her words, "Here my beloved and lovely daughter drink your last of the word of light and seize the darkness or be consumed by it. Your stoic refusal to scream out and show the weakness I know is in you ends here.. beg now for mercy and I'll consider whoring you out as a temple play-thing.. my acolytes have some interest in your flesh of late. Who knows perhaps one may adopt you and leash you to his bedchamber as his b@%+$ for ..perhaps a year or two before preparing you for dinner in his larder? Where their life the is 'hope' after all!"

Silena had no words for her only opened her mouth wide to drink the Black Blood. Something had glittered in her mother's violet eyes as she smiled and pours the foul posion down her throat.

It was here the dream always turned chaotic as memory and nightmare went into a collage of remembered pain and terror... things she could only recall in flashes... her body writhing on the rocky floor wretching in pain as the black blood course through her... a summoned Dretch {likely by her mother} stepping from a gate leering her at body as she tried to survive the poison coursing through her... fighting the chains as the summoned demon tried to violate - her mother's laughter heard in the background... and in final Silena standing - screaming in rage channeling the negative energies of ZON-KUTHON weilding the snapped chains; her infernal fires coursing along the chain length melting the thin layering of plated silver to reveal the cold iron beneath as she raged swinging those chains to destroy the demonic lustful attacker dark energies busting from her... as more dretches bounded towards her hungry to complete the sacrificial mating...

Silena woke with a soft scream...

It was morning the bright desert lights searing her sensitive eyes. She stood naked {as was her custom to sleep}, ran her fingers through her stark white silver streaked hair. for a half-elf she was young the silver in her hair a trait of her mother's silver tresses. Her inky black skin in stark contrast to her pale mane of hair.

She heard the camp was already up and moving, "Gah! I've likely missed everyone already moving on to the monastery. Better get moving... not paid to sleep fitfully..."

Silena dressed quickly to usual pains of her 'jewlery' focusing her mind for the days torments. The nipple ring in her left breast with shaped as a biting maw which is what it occasionally did to her flesh.. not enough to draw blood by enough to keep her wits sharp. He ornate spiked navel piercing ... that looked like writing tentacles escaping her belly less often poked her painfully.. it meant more for the embrace of a lover's flesh against her bare midrif. Her slender and shapely body was most appealing to the eye though lightly criss-crossed with old scars... none detracting from her charming beauty {a gift from her mother}..as most had been magically healed by the power of Zon-Kuthon. They were reminders of her victories... and her torments. In truth they brought her comfort.. she had lived.. where others would have been abjectly DESTROYED! She was strong!

Doning her white spider-silken small cloths.. a luxury among Nidal nobility, she assembled her weapons and spiked armor.

Dressed she pondered the miracles for the day.

She clutched the spiked Holy symbol of Zon-Kuthon to her breast and meditated on the miracles praying for endurance to suffer the new day in the 'Midnight Lord's service... her hand drawing a trail of blood with the intensity of her prayers as the miracles took form in her mind and solidified into power. The Power of Pain.

Satisfied she applied direct pressure to her little 'pain' and the bleeding stopped.. Silena's medical skills were excellent. As a professional torturer.. she knew how to wound and keep her 'works of art' alive... a long time.

Before leaving the supplied tent she donned her last piece of gear a set of smoked goggles the stained glass lenses lessening the glare of the accursed sun in her sensitive eyes.

Leaving the tent she saddled 'Night Scream' the big stallion nickering slightly ...obviously hungry from some morning fed. Her own hunger panges ignored.. for now.. Power through pain.. and denial of comfort. she would eat when she had too.

She walked to the caravan master and asked for the details of the location monastery as slight smile on her face for her memories of how he had 'requested' her "attentions" the night before. Some people just 'want' to be abused... and her whip.. and lips were quite eager to serve! The large man had squealed nicely enough through the steel gag and then he had groaned and shuddered quite satisfyingly when she had 'milked' him dry. The way he looked at her this morning he was nervous at the memory of how he had begged for more the night before.. and she had denied him continually until when she finally allowed him release it had been quite messy. Just the way she liked her satisfied customers exhausted sweating and soiled.

His embarrassment at her unabashed gaze this morning was a sweet repast.

Silena pondered, {The trials of being a very skilled dominatrix... sometimes have their simple joys... alas.}

Silena caught sight of the slave pit fighter ... and smiles having gotten some amusement listening to the ruckus his ...paramour of the evening before made in his tent. Silena snatched a handful of oats and two apples which she fed to 'Nightscream' as she mounted up and followed.

Arriving at the temple ruins she watched the tail end of the interchange of those present and waiting for an appropriate pause.

"{Ahem}, Suffer well this day Mercenaries! I am 'Lady' Silena Dulare, Scourge and Priestess of the 'Midnight Lord'. I have been contracted to assist you in your investigations of this ruin.. who among you is a warrior - other than YOU Calain... I already know what fighting you do in the arena... and between the sheets, and who is a arcane caster?"

Turning to the golden eyed man Silena smiles lasciviously, lifting her smoked goggles to meet him eye to eye her vibrant violent eyes intense and disturbing, "Greetings to you as well Arcaeologist Amon, may you toil tirelessly in the service of your Ruby Prince!"

Amon nods to the beautiful dark skinned elf. He thought he had read about dark skinned elves during his training in the palace, but the knowledge escaped him now. For a moment, he is enthralled by her beauty before he gets control of his emotions and returns her blessing. Thank you my lady. You do not have time for carnal pleasures. All of your faculties must be used in the search for knowledge. Only powerful artifacts will restore Osirion to it's former glory and buy favor with the Ruby Prince.

Knowledge Local (humanoid-elf): 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (1) + 6 = 7

Calain regards the new elf with a bit of suspicion.
He knew little of religion, but Zon Kuthon was a major diety. He had heard the god was evil and torturous, apparently held his church to thier contracts, but that was all he knew.

The woman had a dangerous look to her, so much so that words of greeting towards the Orisini man were all but forgotten. Not that he would be distracted. He had already found a playmate.
Brave as my companions are lady, you'll find me the only fighting man in this group.

He means to continue but decides it was better to be silent....for now.

Amon eyes the barbarian. "Fighting men" are no match for an archer my friend. You will have to watch this one Amon. He obviously has no understanding of stealth. His gaze tracks down to Calain's belt. His coin purse looks full though. We may have to relieve him of that burden eventually. It probably slows him in combat. Amon laughs to himself.

At Calain's comment. Oh Goody. I feel safer already. Amon humors the uncivilized brute.

Bluff: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (19) + 6 = 25

Calain draws himself upto his full height. The breastplate barely containing the corded muscles beneath.
HA! And so you should little man, for you stand in the presence of a champion. First of the pits, then the arena, My body has been forged in the fires of blood and pain and I have emerged stronger than normal men. The unusual Blade I carry, he displays his Nodachi, was taken from a great master from the east whom I killed with his own blade, so great was my rage to be better than his years of mastery. I am now the pugwampi God-king and it took only my presence to cow them. I have already took measure of these gnolls we face and found them wanting. This village will be taken, one dog-man at a time

Then I am here to humbly serve you Calain, Pugwampi God-King. Amon strokes his long goatee as he ponders the words of the barbarian. Maybe he is more formidably than I first thought. At least I have not been sent to aid incompetent caravan guards.