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The sun burns from the sky like a madman's eye, trying to see what isn't there. The streets of Kaledun are packed with people, as usual, going nowhere, doing nothing, but hurrying nonetheless. Humidity rises from the rivers, suffocating the city like a stench of rot. There is no place like Kaledun.
Hag Market is closed during the day, and the traders at other markets are hiding in the shade, trying to rest till the evening. Even the dogs are feeling to hot to bark. Only chained slaves stand in the sun, waiting for new owners; slaves, Halfling beggars - and several travelers aboard the merchant barge tied to the dock at Grath Port. While they wait for the Constabulary official to finish the cargo inspection, they pass the time watching Lizardfolk lolling and sunbathing on the stone dock. One of them, especially huge and horned, looks back. There is no place like Kaledun.
Balasiel looks out at the city noting all the slaves he shakes his head at their sight. He is standing with his back to others as he looks so it is hard to tell his features other than his dark gray hair and tall frame. He than does a pray to the light to give him guidance while in this new land. He than moves to look at the city from another view, now anyone who is looking at him can tell his features. He is a lean elf with light blues eyes, tan skin and a serious look on his face. His clothing has a symbol on it as well. The symbol appears to be a white sun with a sword under the sun. He shakes his head once more as he looks at the city.
Tending to a loud and surly camel is a short, bulky warrior with four spindly arms. Securing many weapons to the beasts back and packing his belonings into the saddlebags he occasionally peers out over the docks. The warrior wears a heavy iron helm wrapped in a burnt orange turban, a matching sash wrapped about his waist, the only colors breaking up his dun colored skin and armor. A black pennon atop a twisted lance and an egg-shaped shield display a sigil of ornately knotted chains.
Ah, the sun. Both an Atran's greatest friend and greatest enemy. Get to little sun and you'll go cold, to much and just might dry out. Luckily Kaledun was a humid place. To bad it also featured so much rot. Atrans always had to be on their guard there, somehow slavers thought they'd make good merchandise.
An Atran of undetermined age, as it's hard to see for any non Atran, stands on board. Leaning on his tail he looks to be reading a book while occasionally using his tongue to clean his entire head. For anyone who knows even the slightest about his species he's an oddity with his bright red skin as most of his kind are completely black. His body is clad in armor of what seems to be some kind of leather, though the source is hard to determine, while a simple stick is hanging from his belt. The pack hanging loosely over his shoulder looks like it's made of the same kind of leather as his armor. Those with a discerning eye could even see a shield closely strapped to the back of the bag, covered in the same kind of leather, so probably made of wood.
A large, dark-scaled lizardman with lighter-colored frills looks at the shore from a shaded part of the ship, seemingly oblivious of the administrative issues. A bevy of horns adorns his head and neck - most quite small, although two at the sides of the head seem bigger than the rest. While his kind appreciates the sun no less than anyone else - more than most, in fact - Mairis tends to find it a bit stiffling somehow. His brood has always been tough to the cold of the deep sea, yet in him their blood - the blood of their great progenitor - is stronger than most.
Without blinking, Mairis looks on at the city. While he has heard no small amount about it, he hasn't actually been here much. Instead of the usual clothing worn by most humanoid townsmen, he wears what might be a cross between a loincloth and a large pocketed sash. Instead of a shirt, his torso is criss-crossed with something like ropes, on whose various knots, hooks, and thorns hang a plethora of tools, trinkets, and fetishes, with a big wicker basket on the back. Some of the things about him look like serviceable weapons, but for a lizardman of his size, his body is weapon enough.
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The heat is scorching, but the trade that is the blood of the city continues. Barges are coming from downriver with the desert ogre eunuchs, silk and spices. From the upriver the gunpowder and firearms are coming to the city, as well as grim dwarf merchants. Everything hustles and bustles, until the cry sounds, scaring the seagulls away. Shrill cry; a scream even. Woman's voice, filled with tears, desperation and denial. The throng of passers-buy hides the source of the cry. You would need to have wings to locate it in the busy streets.
The large lizardman turns slightly towards the direction of the cry, and tries to find the source. Not seeing anything from where he is, he walks out of the shade and up to the edge of the ship.
Turning his head sharply to where he believes the scream came from after hearing the cries. He begins to move in that direction. His face seems to be calm but his eyes seem to be raging.
What was that? A scream? Screams weren't odd in a place like this, but this one was different, desperate. Or more desperate than most. Without a doubt Mularan steps off the barge, puts his book away, and moves into the crowd. Where needed he uses his short staff to prod people to get them to move out of the way, giving them his best smile if they turned to face him.
A small humaniod stands as a bit of an oddity on this heat. He is wearing a brown linnen coat, tucked and belted tight about his diminutive but stocky frame. However, the coat can't hide the rough wooden features and sharp spiked teeth that display prominently on his face. He steps from the gangplank onto solid ground, his bare feet sinkining root like toes into the earth.
I'm afraid I'm a tad ill at ease when I am not on land. It softens, my courage not to have soil beneath my feet. Well met my fellow travelers, my name is... he trails off at the sound of the disturbance.
The desperate scream fades in the distance causing the gray warriors camel to lurch up and move towards the shore. "Drakhma, always the heroic one..." grumbled the knight. "But your sentimentalities have lead me to from portent to portent. Lead on wise one."
Balaseil looks out at the city trying to pick up where the cry came from.
Mularan tries to focus on where the sound came from, but it wasn't easy in the crowd.
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Rootandry:You see a woman, old before her time, savaged by hard life and poverty. She kneels upon the hard cobblestones and clutches a small dirty shirt, stained by blood and mud and all torn up. Her whole body shudders from the screams. People who gathered around her to see what's happening are starting to mutter amongst themselves angrily and several constables in the crowd are looking uncomfortable and ashamed
There appears to be a disturbance in the crowd- a lady of humankind is clutching something with human sap on it. I don't think she's leaking it herself. Perhaps we should investigate?
Balasiel looks at the little being that spoke nodding "Lets thank you. Shall you lead the way?" His voice is deep, rich and has the the hint of proper culture to it, as he speaks but has an odd rough quality to as a veteran would have.
The Camel steps off the barge into the street bellowing coarsely. "Fine you stubborn beast, I'll assist the poor wretch." Jangols gravelly voice peals from beneath his great helm like a bell as he shouts a command, "Move you rabble, clear a path!"
Mairis looks on impassively. "Might as well. There may be something interesting about that"
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The Camel steps off the barge into the street bellowing coarsely. "Fine you stubborn beast, I'll assist the poor wretch." Jangols gravelly voice peals from beneath his great helm like a bell as he shouts a command, "Move you rabble, clear a path!"
1d20+5
The crowd of people disperses upon seeing the intimidating strangers. One of the constables listening to the woman, a fat grizzled man with sweaty palms, visibly pales upon seeing Jangol. With trembling voice, he calls, "Say, wait a minute! And who might you be, to disturb the work of the Constabulary?!"
The crowd of people disperses upon seeing the intimidating strangers. One of the constables listening to the woman, a fat grizzled man with sweaty palms, visibly pales upon seeing Jangol. With trembling voice, he calls, "Say, wait a minute! And who might you be, to disturb the work of the Constabulary?!"
"I am Jangol Soot, Knight of the Seal."
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The crowd of people disperses upon seeing the intimidating strangers. One of the constables listening to the woman, a fat grizzled man with sweaty palms, visibly pales upon seeing Jangol. With trembling voice, he calls, "Say, wait a minute! And who might you be, to disturb the work of the Constabulary?!""I am Jangol Soot, Knight of the Seal."
"Yeah, well, you're no knight here, you damn foreigner! Now, get yourself gone from here!"
Balasiel walks over next to Jangol Soot as he called himself after he told the crowd to move. His eyebrows slant into a v after hearing what the constable yelled at Jangol. Balasiel says in a calm voice "A knight is a knight no matter where they hail from. As such I suggest you show more respect."
Balasiel walks over next to Jangol Soot as he called himself after he told the crowd to move. His eyebrows slant into a v after hearing what the constable yelled at Jangol. Balasiel says in a calm voice "A knight is a knight no matter where they hail from. As such I suggest you show more respect."
Jangol nods slightly towards Balasiel and ignores the Constable while leading his mount towards the scene. "Drakhma, seek."
The large lizardman, following the two nearly, shakes his head sidewise, then speaks up in a practiced, slow manner. "Calm down, hostility will benefit no one. What has happened here?"
Mularan shakes his head. Silly people, will they never learn? Wisdom seemed to come from the reptile, a welcome sight as most of those were either lax or hotheaded, depending on the weather. He went silent and leaned on his staff as he awaited the answer of the constable.
Another man in the uniform appears from the crowd. This one is skinny-looking grizzled man, dressed in an old uniform in need of repair, but his equipment seems to be lovingly preserved. "Walk away, stranger. This does not concern you", he warns.
Jangol turns his attention to the disheveled constable, giving him a discerning once over. "I will decide what is my concern or not. Who might you be? Are you perchance the watch officer of this district?"
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"You might say that, stranger", the man replies. He seems confidant, although you outnumber him and his fat friend. He looks at your animal, and his eyes narrow. "This beast is contaminating everything. The watchmage will have hard time of laying his tracking spells. Be off, now. I am warning you. I can see that your heart is in the right place, but this the last chance you'll get before you earn yourself a visit to the jailhouse for interfering with the Watch business."
"You are with the authorities, yes?" Mairis inquires. "There perhaps seems to be some disturbance here, could you show kindness to tell us what it is? We can maybe help, or at least keep out of the way, knowing better what it IS we must be careful about."
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Another man in the uniform appears from the crowd. This one is skinny-looking grizzled man, dressed in an old uniform in need of repair, but his equipment seems to be lovingly preserved. "Walk away, stranger. This does not concern you", he warns.Jangol turns his attention to the disheveled constable, giving him a discerning once over. "I will decide what is my concern or not. Who might you be? Are you perchance the watch officer of this district?"
Presumably the child has legs? Arms? How many year-rings has it grown? What color is its bark and leaves? I certainly enjoy a good hunt!
"Very well conduct your investigation constable. I will not stand in the way of legitimate authority, even if I do not like its shabby, unprofessional appearance. Drakhma, come..."
Jangol turns to the others who intervened in the disturbance and observes them for a moment as if weighing their worth. Then he bows deeply and speaks...
"Greetings fellow seekers. Once again I am Jangol Soot, Knight of the Seal. My Order does not believe in random coincidence, therefore the fates must have put us on the same path. I would be honored to know your names and deeds."
"I am Balasiel Valo, Templar of Faith, and Follower of the Light. My deeds I cannot speak of because of rules of my order." Balasiel says before bows in turn to Jangol.
"I am Mairis, a seeker," the large lizardman nods to the others, then turns and walks in the halfling's general direction. "Perhaps we speak here, yes? What do you have to say?"
"BLAARGH!" Drakhma bellows at the sight of the small humanoid, a froth forming on his lip.
"Ware who you call 'bigjobs'... my mount has an intense dislike for creatures of your size. He is prone to trample anything that mistakenly gets underfoot.
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"You are strange bigjobs. Strangest I've seen in a long time. Perhaps you need a guide, yes? I can take you to the best fleshpots and slave markets in the city. All for a small fee, of course. Or if you would like some fun, my sisters and their children are available... If you know what I mean." He winks.