The area continues to darken as you talk - the time for the market is drawing closer...
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John looks at Roger.
If you want to drink a pitcher of whiskey, go ahead. You have to pay for it though, and that floor looks right soft for when you fall over.
John turns to mira and says
Hawcroft did not do this to us because they had a burst of compassion. To them we are tools, a means to an end, nothing more. But we are not tools, not disposable. And they will slip up at some point.
John looks at the darkening sky, sipping some whiskey.
It's getting late. Where is Shallrana? I hope she hasn't gotten herself in trouble again. Oh well, we should think about heading to the market.
Jack clears his throat and talks 'quietly'.
"I am getting a sort of harpoon to stop them flying away when injured. I am also getting fire bombs. Coal, and oil, and alchemist's fire. My Shallrana said fire would hurt it. Magic doesn't work there, but... heal drinks might, so making some."
He looks expectantly at the others.
Roger thinks for a minute and then adds "We should probably get some sort of rope harness created so that we can tie each other off to prevent them from dragging us to wherever they do....what they're doing to people they take away. or maybe some nets."
To John's comment, Roger adds "I would like them on the dying side."
'Running and dying, eh? It sounds like ewe might have a customer...'
The voice comes from a beggar sitting by the side of the street, withered and blind. He doesn't... Look like a salesman, to be honest.
Miria frowns, looking at the old man. Something about him seems off.
"Jack, don't translate this please, I don't want this man to hear. Be on your guard, I get a weird feeling from him."
After signing to Jack, Miria folds her hands somewhat demurely and waits for someone else to say something.
Jack nods at Miria, then at the salesman, the conversation cut short.
'I am sir, I surely am. What brings fine upstanding people like you into the back streets of a port town, hey? And new faces, at that... might it be something to do with...' the man seems to listen to the air for a moment before continuing 'A newly-opened gate in our fair inland sea, maybe? Or have I missed my mark?' His hands flitter and crawl as he talks.
Roger looks at the old man and says "So, what you selling?"
Miria's eyes widen when she sees the man's hands move. There is obviously more to him than meets the eye...
For now, Miria watches him closely. If he makes a move that seems threatening she will return the favor.
'What do we sell? Why, a more fitting question would be... what can you offer?'
The street around you is now empty of others - the doors are shut tight, and the windows barred. In the light of the torches the man's face seems grotesque, unstable.
'For here at the night market we don't trade in anything as base as... gold.'
He smiles wide, suddenly seeming to have more teeth than you remember.
Jack stands straight. He rises up, and up, and up. Smiling a smile with way too many teeth he holds the beer mug he's still holding from the bar lightly in one hand.
he shrugs
Can't trust these freaks who use magic. the ten foot tall Jack thinks, his biosculpted legs adapting to his new posture and vials of mutagen clinking in his pockets.
'Hmm... a promising start. Follow me.'
He stands awkwardly, his limbs trembling, and leads the four of you through the backstreets for a few minutes. The background buzz of the distant markets fades completely, and by the time he stops in front of a wooden trapdoor at the side of the street all you can hear is the sound of the sea in the night.
'This way, gentlemen... and lady, of course,' he says, pulling open the trapdoor and stepping inside. You follow, possibly with a sense of trepidation and most definitely with a sense of wariness, descending staircase after staircase.
... and the steps underneath you change as you go further and further underground, from well-finished wood to rough planks and then into barely-worked stone. Torches light the walls for the first few hundred feet but after that there is no light save for from a lantern held by your guide, high above his head to illuminate as much as possible.
If you run your hand across the walls as you descend you can feel carvings, not letters but pictures, depicting worshipping figures around an altar, and a large figure with too many arms standing in celebration above them. Something about them makes your guts churn, although your guide seems not to even notice them - he walks this route like he's done it a thousand times before, and maybe he has.
Goosebumps cover Miria's flesh as they descend. 'I don't like this. I have a nagging feeling we're walking into a trap or something.' She places a hand on her dagger and the other on the wall, the feeling of the images causes the hair on the back of her neck to rise.
Miria has heard stories of the "Night Market", she's been stationed here for a while, but nothing like this was ever mentioned. She looks to the others to make sure that she isn't the only one feeling this way. She's also kind of frustrated, because they just followed this creepy beggar man down a trap door leading to strange noises without questioning it. That doesn't seem like common sense to her.
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John follows the guide, his blue eyes piercing the darkness.
His calm face covered several thoughts which raced in his mind. Where the hell was shallrana, where was their destination and would this be worth it. Behind that was a concern for the future involving the gate and hawcroft.
Seeing the lack of light for his companions, john pulls out a short length of wood as says
usticey foy ightley
A bright light ignites on the end of the wood. John carries it on his left hand.
If ever something screamed trap, it is this.
Jack's mass means he cannot help brushing against the carvings that stand out so strongly to his darkvision.
He's no geologist, but it seems unlikely that a city built near sea level could have this many staircases going down without significant water issues that just don't seem to be happening here. Maybe it's nothing. Maybe he is paranoid after what he's been through... but what is the issue with being careful?
Jack swigs vial after vial as he descends. The first grants him protection, the second healing, the third his strength, and the fourth augments his form. If this was a tight fit before, it is murderous now.
He hangs back as they take effect, bringing up the rear. No point in scaring their host.
'Originally? Why, the night market, of course! It's been here far longer than the city has, I'll tell you that for free. A well-respected institution all round.' )John, he seems to be telling the truth)
You finally come to the end of the stairways, a wooden door faded and warped with age and thick with carvings. Your guide gestures to your little party.
'Well,' he says, 'After you. It's good luck to be the first one in of an evening, they say.'
Jack chuckles in a very, very deep voice.
Jack has changed by the end. Nearly a foot taller at eleven feet he also broadened and thickened. His arms and legs are like tree trunks corded with muscle and thick, coarse hair. His teeth have enlarged into chisel-tipped tusks, his mouth extended, his forehead protrudes, and his fingers sprout foot long claws.
Jack pushes forward
Surprisingly free of worry about the unsettling images, Roger will follow Jack through the door. This was not the first group of black market people who put up disturbing images on their walls to ward off the curious or legal-minded that he had seen; they were just more creative than others.
Jack, you push open the door as the toothy guide steps aside, one hand outstretched and other on his chest in a mock-bow. What you see on the other side is... perhaps not what you were expecting.
The first thing you see is the grass, a vivid green pocked with small white flowers that comes up the brink of the doorway and then stops, abruptly. It is lit not by sunlight, you realise as you step across the threshold, but by the glow of tens, maybe even hundreds of candelabras suspended from a high vaulted ceiling.
People are everywhere, many of them dressed in shabby clothing but some in more obvious noble finery, and yet others who seem to be dressed in a similar style to the four of you - the clothing of those who have seen travel, or who style themselves as adventurers and sellswords. They talk and trade, drink in the artificial sunlight, or merely lounge up against the pillars that support the high roofspace.
The room is huge - it continues for at least a mile, by your reckoning, and in places is studded with trees and sharp jutting stones, even some small collections of buildings that seem to be shops of various kinds, each one advertising its wares in a variety of languages.
And at the centre of it all, the verdant madness that could not possibly exist underground, the burning candles above that would take scores of attendants to keep lit, ad the strains of laughter and music that issue forth from the distant groves...
At the centre of it all sits the dais.
A raised stone platform ringed with steps, pillars forming a colliseum-like archway around it, and every entrance covered by thick red curtains hanging still in the cavern's windless air. And behind the curtains, opaque though they are, through the chinks between them, you see movement. An ill-defined movement, and the occasional clanking of machinery, metal on metal.
'Welcome to the night market, friends,' your guide whispers gently as he steps through after Jack. 'Purchase your wares, indulge yourselves and learn our ways. But do not,' he catches your eyes, one by one, to make his point, 'do not so much as even peek behind the curtain.'
Roger stares agape at the carpet of green, trying so hard to process it that he almost misses the guide's statement. Shaking his head to clear it, Roger looks the little man in the eyes and says "That so? What's behind it then?"
Miria's had rests comfortably on her dagger, nonchalantly enough to look like an unconscious action, but really she's scoping everything round her. The artificial sunlight, no this whole situation, makes her very uncomfortable. She sticks close to Jack, for one because he can understand her, and for another because he's huge. She doubts anyone will try anything on him or Roger. And even though she can hold her own, she'll play up the part of weak woman if it gives the party an edge.
, the man gives you that uncomfortably wide smile once more. 'God,' he answers simply, as if that would be an answer to your question. Perhaps it is.
And , the people that are already here that you can see seem relaxed and happy... but you know from experience that that doesn't always mean you yourself should be any less on your guard.
Jack looks around in amazement. His knowledge of the natural world is enough to know how impossible what he sees actually is. Almost he curses himself for consuming his mutagen and dulling his mind.
he grunts, then turns to the guide
Cocking his head he remarks - as much a statement as a question.
The man laughs, letting his tattered cloak slide from his shoulders. Standing straight now he is taller than you expected, and although his hair is still a wild mass and teeth sharp his bearing is a little more proud, with almost a hint of nobility.
'I did, and you are - we haven't had a new arrival here for some days, by my reckoning. You see, the night market is more than just a grubby little stock of hoarded treasures, despite what some think. We have inns here, and entertainment, and forges with their smiths, tailors and beast-sellers. There's a whole world down here, big man - for those with the stomach to forget the sun, of course. Take a look around for yourselves, ask some of the other visitors what they've been doing. Maybe even some of the natives. Just don't look behind... ah, you've probably gotten it by now.' He smiles and bows, turning to walk toward the dais in the distance.
, you're already moving forward as your guide leaves you. You'd heard about black market meetings and underground cults before, probably broken up a few of them in your time... but nothing you've ever heard of quite corresponds with this.
You see a group of dancing men in revealing clothing off to your left, entertaining a small cheering crowd. To your right hand side a wizened old man is teaching a trio of elven women how to disassemble a hammerpin-style revolver, the kind of thing you haven't ever seen outside of Barrjkan display-cases before. And ahead of you, rendered small by distance but still identifiable, you can see cloaked figures moving to and fro around the dais on errands you cannot fathom.
Still, there is certainly something large moving behind those drapes.
command to stay together snaps you out of your reverie.
Roger will turn to John and say "The orc is right. We should definitely stick together, unless you wanna end up in a gutter with a slit throat. I'll do my best to keep you safe, but you should know that anyone you talk to is prolly thinkin about killin you."
, you've never seen a place quite like this before, and it certainly wasn't what you were expecting. To some, your caution would seem ridiculous... but you have a firm grounding to what you believe.
Whatever else this place claims to be it is, at the heart, a gathering-place for criminals and dissidents. No matter how well-lit or airy the chamber is, how you can hear laughter and haggling from the around the cavernous room as opposed to whispered transactions and furtive movements, or how organised everything seems to be... your internal alarm bells are ringing. And you trust those instincts.
Miria nods her head in affirmation. There's something peculiar about this place, and she's not sure she wants a part of it. Her eyes roam over the area as they walk and she stays close to Jack. 'Why do I feel like we just walked into something terrible? It has something to do with that dias...'
, divinity flows through you for a moment, enhancing your senses. There is a vibration about this place, a resonant hum of balance. In some places the resonance is disturbed - certain people drive it up or down as they wander past you, revealing to you via extranormal senses their personal predilections.
The overwhelming feeling is of neutrality, some are probably edging towards good (though with your spell that's hard to tell for sure), while others are steeped in sin. The hidden area behind the dais curtains gives you a sense of... nothing. Not neutrality, or even evil, but a complete void.
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ok then, we stay together. Some advise, though. Make sure of the terms you agree to are ones you can live with. And for abador's sake, do not steal or cheat. Whatever that thing is John indicates the pavilion that a creature of nearly pure law, and bloody strong. It may take steps if it thinks unlawful is happening. Remember lawful does not mean nice. So let's go shopping.
John moves a few feet towards the stores and waits for the party to follow.