Please dot in, and remove your post once you've done so. I'll put up the first post when the majority of characters has been decided, to allow for introductions. First real gameplay post will go up on Sunday evening (GMT +1), if all goes well.
It is a hot, breezeless evening in the city of Katapesh. A summons from Venture-Captain Wulessa Yuul has brought you to Farseer Tower, one of the four Pathfinder Lodges in the city. An assistant has escorted you up to a meeting room furnished with a variety of chairs, sofas and pillows on the ground. The curtains hang listlessly even with the windows thrown open. "Please enjoy the delights of our apple tea," says your attendant while gesturing to a table in a corner of the room. "The Venture-Captain will be with you shortly." He then withdraws discreetly, closing the door behind him.
|
Katapesh may be hot and breezeless, but Zephyr enters like, well.... a breath of fresh air. The blue-skinned woman has hair of stark white that drifts and floats and whips around her head as if she stood in a stiff breeze. She is dressed in finery better suited to the Shackles than to a desert country; high boots, snug trousers, a white "poet's" blouse with enough ruffles, slits, and poufs to choke a lady-in-waiting, a tricorn hat and even an eyepatch. The long coat she wears over everything is a rich blue, with brass buttons. She flashes a white grin around and drops gracefully onto the pillow pile, pausing only to unsling a well-made bow and set it carefully to one side.
"Hot enough here for ya?" she says brightly to the others, crossing one booted ankle over her other knee. "Tea, is it? I'd prefer rum, by all the storms, but if it's what we've got...
"The name's Zephyr. Someday it'll be Captain Zephyr, once I've the gold for a ship of me own. Until then, I'm a swabbie like all of ya. I'm keen with a bow or up in the crow's nest, or slip-skulkin' a dark alley if that be needed. Never been to this city before; what about any of ya?"
|
The young man who comes in slinks or maybe slunks is a better word. He slouches, clearly rail thin and tall. His eyes are sunken and dark circles array under them. His hair is long and brown, but stringy and unwashed. He wears an armored coat that was clearly made for a much heavier person. He leans on a wooden staff and peers around nervously.
"I am... I am Jann Ulfenssen. I was sent her to speak to someone regarding a mission." He has a faint Ulfen accent and greedily grabs a cup of apple tea which he slurps loudly. "I... I see beyond. I see the things that writhe in the dark places between the stars. And sometimes... they see me." He shudder and scratches at the gaping raw wounds on his face and neck.
The group has barely had time to get settled, when a Garundi woman steps into the meeting room. It's immediately clear that Venture-Captain Wulessa Yuul’s ire is hotter than the Katapeshi evening. must I share Katapesh with so-called who are ?” She huffs between gritted teeth, pacing back and forth before calming herself.
“My pardon. Let me explain. Some months ago, the crypt of Zahari Mahiman—a scholar and sage from the Age of Enthronement—was rediscovered out in the wastes. I,personally, have long sought one artifact reputedly interred with him: the Monadistic Archive, a collection of scrolls from the Jistkan Imperium. Unfortunately,” she grits her teeth, “It fell under the purview of the Kotargo Lodge to arrange an expedition. Venture-Captain Dulm took his time getting things underway, in spite of my own requests for urgency and offers of assistance. As a result, by the time his agents got there, the place had already been looted."
“Phlegos Dulm’s complacency aside, not all is bleak. The adventurers who looted the crypt were not scholars; they were simply looking to exploit the wonders of the past. The Monadistic Archive, in particular, was sold to Palhuna Murqual, a merchant here in Katapesh. I believe he bought the archive assuming it was merely a magical storage device, not an esoteric repository of lore indecipherable by him. He has shown interest in selling—at a profit, of course—and I need you to make the purchase. I have an Abadaran promissory note that should cover the price, but he is crafty and may bargain for more. I want the archive, whatever it costs. I can’t pay more gold than I already have offered, but if you can find other means of appeasing Murqual, I encourage you to do so. Do you think you can get this done?”
|
|
There is a thump at the door, and then the door slowly swings open, pushed by a gnome walking backwards, both hands holding a large tome of hieroglyphic symbols. Only once he has backed the door completely open, and it is stopped by the wall does he look up from the book, blinking magnified eyes, through thick glasses, as if finding himself somewhere unexpected.
His mop of wavy blue hair surrounds his head like a nimbus. He wears simple clothing in several places marred by burns or stains. About his person, bulging out of pockets, attached to bandoleers, tied to a string around his neck, and sticking out of a boot-top are a motley assortment of little bottles, each containing something different. Some bottles contain a glowing liquid, or a shrivled flower, many contain colorful powders, or fog, or what might be water, blood, milk, and honey.
'Bottles', they call me, I don’t know why…” he says to the room, and then to himself, "Now why did I come up here…” But he quickly seems to loose intereest in the question, and sits down on a human-sized footstool, and again becomes absorbed in his book.
|
Striding in after the rather lost looking Gnome is a tanned skinned, dark haired Varisian man with the subtly pointed ears of a half elf, he gives a courtly bow with a sweep of his arm as he greets the team already assembled by the Garundi Venture Captain. He wears a fine golden silk tunic and black silk trousers and carries a fine banner pole with the standard of the Pathfinder Society waving from it.
"Greetings and salutations all, Zandu is my name, storytelling is my game, I am sure our adventure will be quite lucrative for source material. Oh yes, this is The 'Big Man'"
|
|
Entering behind the show off storyteller comes a grim figure dressed in a dark grey cloak, a hulking humanoid with a harsh face. No weapons are evident from this hulking creature as he nods stiffly to those present.
"My name is Ogmios" he intones, dry and stiff "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance."
|
Dimira was excited. As always when I get a new task... she thought to herself as she made her way through Katatepesh, guided by a katapeshi guide tasked with escorting her to the Farseer Tower. The town smelled of many scents. The cologne of foreigners come here to trade. The stench of sweat from the city merchants. The stink of garbage and the smell of flowers, the reek of slaves and the parfume of exotic goods. He nostrils were overwhelmed. But her mind was not. Well, this time they sent me very far away from home...But I'm sure we'll have fun "Isn't it, Stingy?" she whispered to her greensting scorpion familiar. Now, you should really get back to my arm she thought, and her familiar transformed into a stylized scorpion tattoo on her right arm. She grinned.
---
She gladly accepted the apple tea, and, as soon as she entered, she introduced herself to her new companions. "Well met, fellow Pathfinders. I'm Dimira Kressen and...well, it's kinda commonplace, but yes, I'm really looking forward to this adventure. I come from Absalom. The Grand Lodge, you know. Well, I was trained there and helped preventing a dark scheme from a gnome who wanted to..." Her introductory speech was cut short by the sudden arrival of the Garundi woman.
---
Dimira listens attentively to the Venture Captain resume, nodding several time to show her participation. When the woman is done speaking, she chimes in with a resolute voice. "Only a simple negotiation? Well, I expected far worse than that. I think we'll manage. Pretty well too, I suppose. I refined my diplomatic skills back at the Grand Lodge." She gave a cursory glance at Zandu, intrigued by the Varisian man. They say they know a lot about tattoos...Maybe he could teach me something...
________________________________
Wulessa Yuul seems satisfied by your reactions. "Good. I've seen the Monadistic Archive slip from my grasp before, and I'll not lose this second chance." She regards the Ifrit with a cautious look, weighing his words. "'No matter what?' I don’t want you to do anything illegal or immoral, but anything else that might win him over... well, see what he has to say.”
The Venture-Captain unfolds a legal document, stamped with the seal of Abadar. She hands it over to Dimira, showing it to be a promissory note worth 10,000 gp from the bank of Abadar. "Please take good care of this..."
She then turns to Jann Ulfenssen, coming to his earlier question. "A way to activate its powers? Yes. Simple...? No. I know a ritual to access the secrets contained within. In fact, I might need your assistance with that later. Until then, it’s best not to open the chest.”
"If you have no further questions, I'll see you on your way. Murqual has an establishment in the Lower City. You shouldn't have trouble locating it."
|
|
Zandu gives one more sweeping bow to the venture captain before assessing the comrades around him with a twinkle in his eye. An air-headed gnome, a deranged Ulfen, an eager Ifrit and and even more eager graduate of the Grand Lodge, what a wonderful tale it will make, after some characterful flair his mind races with possibilities of the tale he was about to spin and he smiled.
Falling in with the sorcerers and directing Ogmios to stand ahead, Zandu fiddled with the elegant gold and black mask over his eyes, a slight glow coming from behind it as the big man had on his own forehead.
"So a nefarious plan from a dark Gnome?" he asks Dimira sweetly, "Please, do tell me more!"
|
|
Dimira carefully tucks the document in her scroll case. She can't help but blush as soon as Zandu draws closer. "Aye...Not so dark in truth. We actually never saw her. But she was hoping to become a goddess by succeeding in the Starstone Trial...How foolish. But I suppose that not all gnomes are so...well, ambitious. For example, I know that there's a gnome village in Varisia...What was its name...I've read about it, I swear...It was something like...Whistleup?"
|
|
Jann overhears the conversation. "When the dark ones that writhe between the stars finally awaken, all flesh will be consumed in their hunger. But the souls, oh the souls will feel the pain for a thousand years of torment." He suddenly looks embarrassed. "Sorry, don't mind me. I'm sure a pretty woman like you, you'll be spared." As he looks away he sighs. "But it's not likely."
|
|
Zandu beams at the young sorceress, flashing perfectly even white teeth and bringing a flash to his bright blue eyes beneath his exquisite mask.
"Ahh yes, Whistledown! Many a night I have spent in the Azure cup! There wooden chimes awfully eerie, you should go anytime you are near Korvosa or Magnimar!"
The eerie comments from the Ulfen seem to wash over him, but he mentally notes them down for they sound like the basis for a grand tale.
|
|
Dimira listens delighted, almost enchanted by the Varisian tone of Zandu, to the man's account of Whistledown, when suddenly the spell shatters in shards of fear as he eyes widens and mouth gapes listening to Jann's apocalyptic speech. She stands there for a few seconds, almost as if turned to stone. His last specification about her unlikely salvation doesn't help her to calm down at all. Trembling, she greets the Venture Captain respectfully and quickly exits the lodge, her head full of dark images of ruin and despair. She was terrified. Yet something, in the darkest corner of her mind, was somehow fascinated by those apocalyptic scenes passing through her mind. Strange one. But strange people are the most interesting ones, after all.
|
|
"Yes, of course, 'civil negotiation'. The only proper way to reaquire the ARCHIVE. But things don't always work out. Sometimes civility fails, and you are forced to slightly more drastic measures. I am naturaly speaking of burning it with fire! I trust you know what I mean Mr. Magnum!"
At the mention of fire the gnome's eye glint wide and white behind his spectacles.
"Now it just happens that the arts of making things burn are my speciality. For instance these flasks of alchemical fire-- quite handy sometimes, you'll never know when you will need them. I can craft them for much less than the going rate in the market, and i've added a nice oaky-flavored smoke to my recipe. Please take one, in case it is needed."
----
"When the dark ones that writhe between the stars finally awaken, all flesh will be consumed in their hunger. But the souls, oh the souls will feel the pain for a thousand years of torment."
"Perhaps, perhaps-- quite likely even! But who know? The proper study of gnome is the past I always say. Horrors and atrocities applenty, but somehow more palatable now that they are all settled and fixed and sure. And none of that untidy and worrying and guessing."
----------
"Well now! Shall we depart?"
....
"I trust someone was listening to the directions?"
|
|
Zephyr listens with one booted foot up on a cushion, sprawled back indolently in the pillows, chewing on the stem of an unlit pipe. Her brows dance a little at the creepy Ulfen, and the fiery fellow, to whom she gives a faint nod of fellow-being.
"Right," she says as she rolls back to her feet and picks up her bow. "I'll let others do the chit-chat with this merchant lubber. The way of the winds is to take what's floating free, not to haggle and dance with words."
She merely shakes her head at all this talk of burning and dark ones from beyond the stars. "Well, that's all bad omens and such, you ask me. C'mon, swabbies. Let's go see a man about a... Monadistic Archive. Whatever that is."
|
"Yes, of course, 'civil negotiation'. The only proper way to reaquire the ARCHIVE. But things don't always work out. Sometimes civility fails, and you are forced to slightly more drastic measures. I am naturaly speaking of burning it with fire! I trust you know what I mean Mr. Magnum!"
At the mention of fire the gnome's eye glint wide and white behind his spectacles.
Said Ifrit Grins at the not subtle hint.
"Well said my friend. Well said. Let it not be said we be found wanting for the lack of fire to burn." his own eyes gleam in anticipation and any looking at the two would feel a chill looking at the two eager would be pyromanics.
Venture-Captain Yuul's eyes shoot daggers at Bottles' mention of burning things, and at Saleem's encouragements. I don't like to repeat myself, but the Monadistic Archive is a priceless collection of knowledge. If something were to happen to it, I would be very displeased..." With that, she ushers them out of the meeting room and the group soon finds themselves on the streets of Katapesh.
--
Finding Murqual’s shop is easy enough. A few discreet inquiries lead through the Lower City to a wooden door crowned by a plaque that reads “Palhuna Murqual, Vendor of Fetters, Bindings, and Cages Mundane and Mystic.” His establishment defies the stereotype for a shop in the infamous Nightstalls. It boasts a permanent location, instead of one that could be broken down and moved with ease. It is quite lavishly appointed, rather than being a shadowy, smoky hovel, and the air smells of vanilla and cardamom rather than incense. Inside, deep carpeting covers the floor. Chains and shackles, ranging in size from mist-thin links to cuffs that would hold a titan, hang along one wall. Another wall holds an array of mirrors— some reflecting the room and some showing the insides of a bare cell. Lanterns and cages hang from ceiling rafters, and glass cases hold etched gemstones and glass bottles. A central space is cleared of wares, instead sporting several plush seats arranged around a silver samovar.
An obese man swaddled in silks occupies a sofa before the samovar. Standing to his left is a slim, younger man holding a ledger. The fat man makes a series of complicated hand gestures to the standing man, who, after a moment, bows and speaks. “My esteemed master, Palhuna Murqual, bids you welcome. Please, be seated. Business should be conducted comfortably.” The younger man passes around tea and looks back to the seated man. After another series of hand gestures, the slim man says "It is said you have come to make a bid on the Monadistic Archive. My esteemed master will hear your offer."
|
|
Seeing the look of terror creepig up through the young sorceress, Zandu pats her on the shoulder reassuringly as he makes his way out of the lodge motioning for Ogmios to step ahead of him to help clear the crowd. His eyes dart to and fro, taking stock of all the wonders that Katapesh have to offer as they make their way through the bustling market streets.
"Oh yes, do try to remember that Slavery is legal here, some of you may wish to try to free them, it won't go well for us here and many of them are temporary to pay off debts. I am happy to take the lead with the merchant, I am sure he is an amenable fellow."
|
|
Dimira takes a sit, but does not drink anything. "I'm fine, thanks anyway" she says kindly to the serving man.
"Indeed we are, Master Murqual. We have an Abadaran promissory note with us. We think that it should cover the price for the Monadistic Archive" says Dimira, but she does not pulls the document out of her scroll yet.
|
|
Venture-Captain Yuul's eyes shoot daggers at Bottles' mention of burning things, and at Saleem's encouragements. I don't like to repeat myself, but the Monadistic Archive is a priceless collection of knowledge. If something were to happen to it, I would be very displeased..." With that, she ushers them out of the meeting room and the group soon finds themselves on the streets of Katapesh.
Bottles takes great care to assure the Venture-Captain than idea of destroying the Monadistic Archive is equally abhorent to him, and that he is most precise and careful with fire when tragic and unfortunate circumstances force that element's employment.
---------
At the shop, Bottles idly peruses the sinister wares before taking a seat -- ending up half engulfed by cushions. He looks hard at the hand-signals, but seems to make nothing of them by himself. He takes no tea. He waits patiently for negotiations to begin.
|
|
Jann peers closely at the hand gestures, feeling he ought to know them better. He stares at the young man. "Why is that you speak as if you translated the fat man's hand-speech when in fact you did no such thing? You must be Murqual. Good morning, Murqual. We wish to buy the Archive. You may cease the pantomime."
At Dimira's mention of the note, the thin man turns back to his master. He replies after a series of hand gestures. "That sounds promising, if you will excuse my esteemed master the pun." He flashes a smooth smile that disappears instantly when Jann sees through the act that the pair have put up. The thin man, Murqual himself as it turns out, sighs theatrically and dismisses the obese man in silks. Once he has left, Murqual takes a seat himself. "Well, let's get down to business, shall we?"
"You should know that I have already received several offers for the item. I won't know for certain until you put your bid on the table, but those may very well exceed the sum that you have brought. And while I respect the Pathfinder Society, to sell to you would seem favoritism. And I’m not inclined to favor one customer over another—without there being an equal favor, in return...”
|
|
Zandu steps into the shop and examines the gear hanging from the walls, keeping a snile pasted on his face though the scene disturbed him deeply. I see what makes the Andoran's tick, a man deserves to walk freely across the land
He greets the fake master warmly, though sees through his ruse he keeps to it. That is until the gloomy Ulfen ruins it with his straight talk. Throwing himself down on the couch opposite, sitting next to Dimira and he smiles to the true owner of the emporium.
"Well met, Master Murqual and indeed we are here to seal the purchase of the Archives for our Venture Captain. Favours are a staple of life i agree, many families trade in such rather than coin. It would of course depend on the nature of such. We bring a fair price for your Archives, I am sure you will agree, our society offers much more to our friends."
A broad smile stays on his face, though much of his face is covered by his mask.
|
|
Looking at Zandu with innocent defiance, Dimira chimes in and addresses to the real Master Murqual. Damn, I made a fool out of myself already...Let's try again! "As my fellow Pathfinder here says, we as Pathfinders are used to recognize the value of favours. One's stand is determined by how many coins he has in his treasury as much as how many friends he gathers around him" says Dimira, confidently, as she pulls the document out of her scroll case.
"This is our offer, Master Murqual. Please take a look at it".
She then handles the document with slow moves, as if she was Handling something very important, in order to bestow dignity on the proposal.
_________________________________
The merchant seems to warm up quickly to your words. When Dimira hands him the Abadaran bank note, he eagerly accepts and opens it slowly, in keeping with her deliberate offering. "I think this might turn out to be a wonderful evening," he says. He puts the note on a table next to him and claps his hands excitedly. "And such foresight of your friend, to indicate that you would like to handle these things quickly-gloomy as his reasons may be."
He puts a finger to his chin, thinking for a moment. "Yes, I have just the favors I could ask you. I have three tasks that need doing, and that would be perfect for a group of persuasive and bold Pathfinders such as yourself. And... because Palhuna Murqual is as generous as an oasis, you may decide among them for those which suit you.” He begins to count off tasks on his fingers.
“I have some sensitive merchandise being delivered by problematic dealers. I am short on staff to take the delivery, and I don’t care to be seen meeting with the deliverers. They’re gnolls. It’s a social status issue; I’m sure you understand.”
"Another recent acquisition has some unpleasant protective magic that I need dealt with."
"Finally, you can be my agents to make a purchase from another acquaintance, a mirror I would like. She isn’t willing to deal in gold for it, and her desired coin is not one I am quite willing to pay.”
Having listed his tasks, he looks at you with expectation. "You will perform, tonight, two of the tasks I have described and along with this bank note, I will consider that a fair price. You will receive the Archive when you have performed these favors. Agreed?"
|
|
Bottles stands on tip-toes on some firmer cushions to get near the ears of the others. In spite of his dreamy look, it seems that he has been paying attention.
"Before undertaking anything, let us verify that he has the Archive. I should like to see it, so that we do not do the work for nothing.
Also, you smooth-talkers: try to get him to explain these tasks more clearly. The payment for the mirror-- it might be anything, souls, firstborn, rare first editions of sinister magic..."
|
|
"All souls will be devoured when the Sleeper awakens. Why should we care whether he sells them? All flesh is violate. All souls will be devoured. Nothing is sacred. But we should ensure he has the Archive." Jann mutters. He turns back to Murqual. "Tell us more of these tasks. And we will need proof of the Archive's possession."
Marquel seems more and more taken with you. "Not just persuasive and bold, but mixed with a decent amount of cautiousness as well," he delights. "I truly see a bright future ahead of us." He then seems sad and puts a hand on his chest. "Of course, I cannot help by feel offended that you would suspect me of deceiving you. You are foreigners, so I can forgive you for this. Still, dishonest business is dealt with harshly in Katapesh. But, if it will soothe your worry, Palhuna Murqual will arrange to have the Archive shown to you. I can have it here once you're done with the first task. Yes?"
He stands and walks around the room, making large gestures as he explains more about the tasks he described earlier.
"You shouldn't worry about the goods I'm receiving from the Gnolls. It's just that they tend to ‘forget’ the agreed upon price. You’ll be carrying some additional funds—I regard it as a standard tax when dealing with them—but beyond that, I expect you to convince them that they’re not getting any extra."
"The warded item is a mask, supposedly able to bind souls. Unfortunately, it already has something bound to it. Examination indicates that ‘something’ is a guardian. I would have you dispose of the guardian. Somewhere away from the shop, of course. Maybe not on the streets, either—we don’t want any passerby witnesses or victims. There’s a flat-roofed warehouse nearby. It should suffice. I have reason to believe that the Guardian may be a div. If that's the case, cold iron or holy weapons might be needed. As luck would have it, I have some of those for sale." He gives an overacted sly smile and lays on a thick accent. "Speshial price, just for yoo."
Back in a serious voice, the merchant continues while holding up three fingers to indicate the third task. "Speaking of special prices: Madame Jelaris is an alchemist trying to develop an equivalent of the sun orchid elixir. I don’t know if that is possible, but she has a means to alchemically extract vitality. Essentially, she can make one older. She claims the ‘years’ of life extracted are invaluable in her research. And she requires twenty years from me before relinquishing the mirror. Twenty years of my life, all at once, is too dear, but twenty years divided among you lot? That’s little enough, I think! Plus I’ll let you in on a secret: Madame Jelaris is an inveterate gambler. If you wager the years, you might walk away paying nothing! Or paying twice as much. If you do that, a word of advice: don’t cheat. Or at least don’t get caught cheating.”
"So, I will let you deliberate among yourself. Let me know if you have chosen your first task."
|
|
Saleem chuckles.
"I see. All the bids I assume you have kept on the table because you recognized the value of the Pathfinders doing you favors. We are honored that out reputation stands out after all this. As for the tasks, I have no preference as being a pathfinder, we are more than able to deal with all the above."
The Ifrit then grins at the man.
"Perhaps a more exclusive offer for you to offer your services to the Society, such as retainer status perhaps or an offer to join our wide networks as trade." He lays on the honey as one would bait a bee.
[ooc]Diplomacy, fo the exchange. Recruiting a merchant. For fun.
|
|
Zephyr has a seat with a little grimace for all the hanging chains. While no zealot for the cause of freedom, true outsiders were often enough bound with chains like those, and the sight did not make her any more comfortable.
She let the others talk, listening to the negotiating, and the revelation of the Real Murqual, with her pale brows dancing on her azure face. At the revelation of the stakes for that mirror, she barked a laugh.
"Oh no, thank ya! Live longer than a human, I do, but I intend to make the most of me years and won't be selling 'em off. I like the sound of this mask and the gnolls most, methinks. I've already got plenty of arrows t'put into little divs." She pats one of her quivers.
[b]"Still, if ya all wish to gamble, I'll trot along."[/b
|
|
Dimira listens to the man's account carefully, then addresses her companions with a calm tone. "Well, let's see...Can't explain you why, but I'm somehow drawn to the gnolls task. At least, we may be able talk our way through that task. Besides, gnolls are frightful, but yet usually weaker than divs..."
She sips her tea for the first time. "And let me tell you. I don't like the idea to lose any of my years at all. I, as a human, have an already short life, compared to dragons, elves and even dwarves or gnomes. Besides, every year is an opportunity to make new arcane discoveries, so...I would rather fight a div guardian than lose even a single year of my life. Not that I think that a mirror could really steal some years from me, but still...
|
|
Zandu shrugs and stands up from the huddle, and looks towards the owner of this place the sooner I am out of here the better greeting him with a smile he soaks softly and measuredly.
"It would seem we are mostly at an accord. Let us waste no more time and get on with your tasks. I am afraid Div's are out of my expertise. I shall enhance the big man to fight the foul creatures, and of course boost your efforts."
|
|
"When one goes into battle one wagers ALL their years. It seems you are not weighing fairly the potential loss of only three and one third years. And besides, think what we might learn from such an advanced alchemist? What are years for but the furtherence of knowledge and experience? I am 103, and I'm willing to take a double or triple share of the risk with the alchemist."
--
Margual seems disappointed that you have chosen not to go after the mirror. "What a shame, it is such a beautiful item. But, I am resourceful, and will find another way." He claps his hands, putting him back to the current. "The gnolls... You will meet them at the Ruined Monastery , in the Twilight district. If you finish your tea, I will make arrangement for payment of the shipment." The merchant leaves for a few minutes, then returns with two large sacks. "The payment I agreed upon is outside. These contain 100 gold coins each, as additional payment if the gnolls prove recalcitrant." With that, Marqual sends you off and when you leave the shop, you find a small donkey-pulled cart outside. Most of its contents consist of trade goods, bolts of cloth, and several casks of liquor.
--
By night, the streets of the Twilight Gate district are mostly empty. The courtyard surrounding the Ruined Monastery, a popular tourist attraction by day, is even more deserted than the surrounding streets. Perhaps this is what made it the choice location for Murqual’s gnoll “distributors,” or perhaps the gnolls feel comfortable in the shadow of this former home to Lamashtu’s faithful. In either case, the shadows lie thick underneath these crumbling walls.
Two gnolls are already waiting, with a wooden crate behind them. "Koj tsis yog tus sawv daws yuav Marqual nquag xa!" one of them hisses when it spots you. "Tsuas yog ib tug nees luav? Nws txhais tau hais tias tshaib plab peb," howls the other. They don't seem hostile, but have adopted a guarded and wary stance.