Malavine watched with something between fascination and horror as Payn set to work. "My name is Mavaline. My people are from Varisia, to the North."
Shmick remains externally impassive about the gory display, and the gnome doesn't actually seem too off-put by Payn's actions either, "Ah, such enthusiasm! Though you might want to focus on longer, broad carving around the ankheg's upper jar. Oh! And do be mindful of the acid, don't want to burn your hands off now do we?" He ends with a short laugh.
Turning to Malavine, he offers to take her hand and give it a polite kiss. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Mavaline, and allow me to say you look just striking! Varisia you say? I'm hoping to spend a century or two further North after I've had my fill of the sands. I've heard so many wonderful things about your country, why I almost can't wait to experience them myself!"
The orange and white cat the size of a human rests on her weapon, the end of it firmly planted in the sand, as she watches Payn go about her grisly work, equal measures of exhaustion, curiosity, and horror inhabiting her face.
When she finally catches her breath, she looks up to the rest of the gathered crowd and says, Well, that was much more exciting than I was expecting. Who knew that giant acid-mawed bugs lived under the sand here. The name is Kephry, and I am at your service. She then directs her focus towards Hickle, Found a new friend, old man? she jabs, teasing the white haired gnome.
Grinning, Malavine replied, "Not much sand in Varisia. Not from what I remember, anyway. A bit of everything else, though." She gestured to her metallic eyes as she repositioned the Starknives. "It's the eyes, isn't it? Everyone always seems to notice those first, for some reason."
Nodding to Kephry, she replied, "Well, a new acquaintance at least. Malavine. At your service..." She considered. "Speaking of which, is anyone injured?"
He blinks, and actually squints a little. "Oh! I hadn't actually noticed that. Quite curious indeed! I believe one of my grandchildren had similar eyes, ah... Jenith I believe his name was. Though that happened when he got caught up in a color storm, he was one of the few who's changes never got fixed," The elder finishes with a shake of his head.
Hickle gives Kephry a smile of acknowledgment before gesturing for Shmick to come over, of which he complies. The robot kneels down and offers a hand to his master which the gnome takes, soon hefting the small man up and onto the constructs shoulders. Their parka is adjusted to cover the metal being, and Shmick's hat is soon worn by Hickle. Kephry and even Zelda have witnessed this often.
"Right, there we go, now I won't slowing us down. Oh, I suppose I should ask, where might you two be heading? The four of us were on our way over to Wati."
Nodding, Malavine replied, "The same, as it happens."
The group travels the rest of the distance together for mutual defense, but encounters no more Ankhegs before reaching Wati. Wati, the Half-Dead-City, was the largest of the trio of cities in southern Osirion until its population was ravaged by the Plague of Madness in 2499 AR. Having rebuilt over generations, an entire section of the city now stands as a desolate memorial to the long-dead.
Approaching Wati, you can see the Grand Mausoleum, Wati’s temple of Pharasma that dominates the cityscape. The bustling desert city is
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.
Asking about the lottery, by which you've learned that the adventuring sites within the necropolis will be assigned, you are directed by an ancient desert trader to the Mausoleum itself.
|
Payn emegres from the gutted corpse of the Ankheg, uncaring of the green ighor that covers her arms up to the elbow. "She was pregnant," is all she says about her findings.
She walks along with the group in silence, eager to simply get to the business at hand.
At the site of the lottery, she continues to remain silent, knowing what effect her words usually have on the population at large.
Malavine shuddered slightly at the news of the Ankheg.
~~~
Following the others, Malavine approached the merchant with a smile. "Good day! Someone mentioned to us that we could find out more about this lottery from you. Could you tell us more, please?"
"You see, the church of Pharasma has opened the necropolis of Wati for exploration and is assigning sites to adventuring companies by lottery. To get a site, all you have to do is register your group with a priest (they're all at the Grand Mausoleum right now, which is where the lottery will be). When they draw out the name of your group, you'll be given information on where your site is.
"But," the man says, looking up into the sky, "if you want to register for the first foray, you'd best do it soon!"
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
"What? No no, completely impossible. Ankhegs don't give live birth! Let me see what you have there- Ah. I see what you mean. No, no, it just seems like this critter had an early lunch. Ah- do clean up, would you? You might catch an infection like that!"
"ᎽᎬs, ᏆhᎪᏆ's ᎳhᎽ shᎬ ᏁᎬᎬᎠs ᏆᎾ ᏟᏞᎬᎪᏁ uᏢ. Ꮎf ᏟᎾuᏒsᎬ.
-----
The gnome snaps his fingers, "Ah! Perhaps the good professor is just hte sort of inspiration we need. I propse that we call ourselves..." He holds up his hand as he looks away, as if reading his next words from afar. "...The Fortune Seekers! Well, assuming you two wish to join our little group that is, and assuming you're hoping to seek some sort of fortune out of this."
"Anima Libertas?" Malavine shrugged slightly. "It means 'Free Souls' in one of the old tongues."
I like the sound of Anima Libertas myself, Kephry says after the short pause in the conversation, taking the time to stretch as if she had just awoken from a nap, sounds very much like the catfolk philosophy of life.
His eyes crinkle with mirth as he smiles, "Ah yes- that's Draconic is it not? A very old and poetic language indeed. I do believe the six of us are indeed Anima Libertas as it were." With a nod and a clap, he turns his head around looking to spot their destination. The height advantage offered by being on Shmick's shoulders is very welcome.
In the area immediately near the Grand Mausoleum, there is a festival-like quality in the air. Surrounding the participants, the public has gathered to observe the ceremony. Numerous street vendors are hawking goods and refreshments to 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.
Nearby is a table where a dower looking young priest, shaven-headed with a blue spiral "eye" painted on his forehead, is just closing up in preparation for the drawings. He grudgingly allows Anima Libertas to register at the last minute. The man then takes his final list up to the priests in charge of the lottery drawing.
The ceremony begins when the high priestess of the Grand Mausoleum, Sebti the Crocodile, rises to her feet and looks over the crowd.
Sebti seems surprisingly young to hold such a distinguished position, but she has a confident air of authority. After calling for silence, she begins with an invocation to the Lady of Graves, followed by a brief history of the founding of the necropolis.
Sebti concludes with "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. 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. Though you are allowed to return with items of value, and to sell or retain those items as you wish, please treat the enterprise with as much respect as such may allow." There's an obvious air of disdain in her voice with that last part.
"May you go with the Lady’s blessing.”
After Sebti returns to her seat, the two acolytes accompanying her each draw a wooden token from one of the urns on the table. The first token identifies the adventuring group, matching the token that group received when it registered for the lottery. The second
token determines which tomb is assigned to that group.
A single representative of the chosen group is then summoned to the stage to present the token his group received at registration to one of the acolytes.
While Hickle, Kefry and Malavine consider the situation, they notice Zelda is already walking up onto the stage with the token.
After a few minutes, the very officious reader calls out:
"Next is Anima Libertas. Please present your token." Zelda hands the token to another priest, who quickly verifies it against registration paperwork, giving a simple nod to the reader.
"Anima Libertas is to proceed, when the doors to the necropolis open on the morrow, to the tomb of Akhentepi, which is located in the city’s original cemetery in the eastern section of the necropolis." The reader hands Zelda a sketched map showing the location. It appears the site is opposite the gates to the necropolis, so the party will have to wind past many other explorers on their way to the site.
"ᎪsᏆuᏆᎬ ᎾbsᎬᏒᏉᎪᏆᎥᎾᏁ." Shmick blandly comments from under the parka. "Ꭵ ᎠᎾᏁ'Ꮖ ᏆhᎥᏁᏦ Ꭵ ᎬᏉᎬᏒ ᎳᎾuᏞᎠ'ᏉᎬ fᎥᎶuᏒᎬᎠ ᏆhᎪᏆ ᎾuᏆ ᎾᏁ mᎽ ᎾᎳᏁ."
He receives a bonk on the head and a verbal reprimand for his trouble, "Come now, my boy! I've raised you better then to say such comments to a lovely lady. Now- yes yes, the cemetery of the necropolis then? Quite interesting indeed, what! I'd expect we should take some proper precautions for the trip?"
Malavine nodded. "Food for a few days, rope, chalk, light for those who need it, that kinda thing." Malavine already had the bulk of those things, of course, but others might not have grabbed quite so much.
And holy water, Kephry adds while searching through her pack, dejectedly sighing when she comes uo empty, just in case. And if we can afford it. What time do we plan to start tomorrow?
"Well, we'd want to get there before the crowds became to much yes? I'd suggest... shortly before daybreak! That'd be about ah... six a clock, yes? One should be sure to go to bed early tonight so as not to be too tired."
The catfolk heaves a melodramatic sigh, that's so eeeearrly though! I won't have time to... to... to brush my fur!
She pouts the whole way to the inn, mumbling here and there about early risers and Hickle just trying to be mean and wake up before her for once.
You reach a quiet section near the old city wall. Canvas awnings stretch over doorways, casting pools of shade on the avenue. A flag hangs from one awning, painted with a grinning green crocodile sinking its teeth into a gold hookah.
You feel instant relief as the mud-brick walls did their job, warding off the hot desert sun. The floorboards rasp under foot, a fine layer of sand covering them; not even doors can completely keep the desert out.
You finally locate the bar in the opposite corner: a tall, narrow table, its legs hidden by a cotton skirt patterned with faded yellow palm fronds, its surface covered with colored glass cups, bronze decanters, and an assortment of liquor bottles. A low stone ring at the end of the bar marks an indoor well. A spicy haze of smoke hangs in the air.
Almost all the tables are occupied, some by faces you recognize from the lottery ceremony who arrived here via some faster route.
A tall, swarthy man with intimidating features stands behind the bar.
"Right! This seems like a good spot- Ah, help me down please- Yes yes, thank you Shmick. Why don't you go around and make some friends, there's plenty of interesting people to be had!" After his short words and disembarkment, likely to the amusement of some onlookers, Hickle takes the initiative here by approaching the barman. He speaks a respectful Osirian greeting before continuing on in the language, "My good man, I need to purchase a night's worth of beds to accommodate five! And what is your selection of spirits and tobaccos I might add?""
Shmick reluctantly takes his master's advice and looks around for someone at least remotely companionable.
"You came to the right place, my friend!" the man says enthusiastically in a slight Orisian accent that makes you think he spends a lot of time with foreigners.
"We were full up until about an hour ago, when one of our parties cancelled. Seems they had an ironic encounter with a large crocodile on the way in and will not be joining the expeditions.
"We have a suite for 4, the fifth can stay in the common room or double up in the suite, as you wish. The cost is 6 GP per night.
"As far as the libations and herbs, here is a list of our finest products, many of them imports from the far corners of Golarion."
"What luck for us then, hm? Well, I suppose I don't need much room for rest anyway, so I think just the single suite should suffice our needs." He reaches for his own purse to pay the man, not even considering asking the others to chip in. He also sets about ordering meals and drinks for the party along with some tobacco for himself. All that complete with a generous tip seems to consume the last reserves of wealth on his person. He stuffs his acquired mix into a Meerschaum pipe which seems to depict a charming rural scene of a small cottage and a spread of woodland. It's dark brown and golden from almost a century of use, and very well kept.
|
|
"Was that all your money, Hickle?" she asks the gnome, "You should let us pay you back some."
Then to the barmaid, she asks "You have any Alkenstar Ice Wine by chance?"
"You have any Alkenstar Ice Wine by chance?"
"I think we've got a bottle of Irrisen Icewine, is that the same thing?" the servant asks ignorantly.
Hickle smiles with a twinkle in his eye, "No need at all my girl, just getting to spend time with you all will be more then payment enough. Besides, isn't refilling our purses what tomorrow's venture is for?" He fishes in his pockets momentarily, before drawing out a flint and steel. After a few seconds of fiddling with them, he soon starts taking a deep puff of his pipe. "Ah, marvelous blend! Well done, well done," He comments, regardless of whether it may be low quality or not. "So, truly you do not? How bizare! I'd have thought the cost of transportation to be much higher coming from the far north then just a few miles south, hm?"
Maybe someone just happened to have it on them and didn't want it anymore? Or had nothing else to pay for a room with? Kephry ponders while twitching her nose, looking as though she were trying to not be rude, but also bothered by something she smells.
So. Should I take the common room? Kephry inquires conspiratorially, It sounds adventurous! And I wouldn't want to bother you when I sneak out before the crack of dawn do galavant around a bit, she adds with a mischievous wink.
"Well, I was thinking of letting you ladies have the beds to yourself while I find a comfortable spot on the floor to lay down the parka. You're however free to go where you'd like to of course, especially if you plan on doing some "galvanting", what!" He comments good naturedly.
The night air is surprisingly cool, with a refreshing breeze blowing in across the River Sphinx just a few blocks from the inn. But the morning as the morning sun rises, the temperature quickly shoots back up.
Hickle follows his advice and goes to bed early, at the almost ridiculous time of 8:00, but his dedication shows by waking at around four in the morning. He busies himself by tinkering with one of Shmick's arms who himself stayed awake all through the night. By as early as five thirty, he's waiting downstairs completely packed and ready to go. He does not notice the young Zelda sneaking away to do her 'chore'.
Kephry is up by four thirty, gathering her gear and heading out into the city while the sand and the air is still cool. Around six she returns to see Hickle sitting at a table, waiting. Impatient to get going, grandpa? she teases as she pulls up a chair next to him, lounging exageratedly as if she's not leaving the house today.
Kephry would have gone to the around the city and looked for any shrines to Desna along the way to the Pharasmin Cathedral, and once she finds one or gets to the cathedral she would perform her seance to contact the Tiger (Champion) spirit and accept the taboo.
Having been worn the day before, Malavine grabbed a bath - the one thing she disliked about this country was the constant dust - and went to sleep.
The next morning she came down and sat with the others. "I know I am. You have to wonder what's in the place that the Church of Pharasma is letting people inside. Most of there boneyards are kept entirely too the priestood, after all. Even if there are undead inside, the Pharasmans usually deal with those themselves, so..." She shrugged.
"Indeed, impatient for adventure as always my dear." Hickle says, chuckling around his morning pipe. With an unhealthy amount of cheer he starts off again,"Given it's their stance against such beings and the tomb's location, it may indeed be undead of several varieties!"
...
With everyone back at the Tooth and Hookah, they wait for lady Payn to awaken so that the group may embark upon the beginning of their quest. Discussion of why, precisely, the church of Pharasma has chosen to let so many foreigners despoil the ancient graves of the necropolis leads to no certain answers among your knowledge. You can seek to determine an answer to this question elsewhere if you choose, or simply continue to the Tomb of Akhentepi.
Eventually, your last part member joins you, and you are free to head out.
Pharasma’s Needle, a large black obelisk marking the consecration of the necropolis over 1700 years ago, stands proud in the bright morning sun as you enter the gates. Several adventurers have already entered the necropolis, each heading to their own lottery-assigned sites. One group comprised of a knight in gleaming armor (he must be mad to wear that in this heat), a well-dressed roguish fellow, and a cleric of Sarenrae crosses your path shortly before you arrive in the old cemetery on the the eastern edge of the necropolis.
A rectangular stone mausoleum sits separated from the other tombs. The trunks of a few dead trees poke out of the sand around the tomb, and a hot breeze whistles through their desiccated branches. A set of massive stone double doors is affixed to the northern side of the structure, beneath a facade bearing the likeness of an Osirian man. Windblown sand is heaped around the crypt, partially burying the doors that lead within. The doors are 10 feet tall and made of solid stone with no visible handles or hinges.
Any who can read Osiriani can make out the name of the individual interred within the tomb, Akhentepi, engraved upon the doors, along
with the dates of his birth and death, indicating that the deceased was born in 2416 ar and died in 2488 ar, 11 years before the Plague of Madness decimated most of the city.
Hickle nods, "Indeed I can! You pick up on things after a few years around tombs, you see. This man died a little over a decade before the plague, I'll leave it to you whether he was lucky or not. Now, let's take a look here..." The gnome trails off as he approaches the mausoleum, feeling all around the building testing this and that, searching for a way to open it up.