Day 1: Flamerule 19 in the Year of the Worm. (2,090th year of Gilgeam's rule)
Outside, the sand felt like dull coals; red would come by highsun. The wind from the south breathed like a furnace, throwing up dust and stealing the water from eyes and mouth. The blue dome of the heavens arched high above, clear and uncaring.
Those who had committed infamous crimes -stealing, sloth, disrespect, being convenient, screaming well- were bound to the stakes in the square, under the face of the Great God Gilgeam, to whom all are slaves. There, as every morning, Overseer Mattaki raised his lash in prayer and cut flesh and blood from their bodies. It flew in arcs across the sand. The naked slaves screamed and begged mercy. The usual crowd had gathered, laughing and shouting encouragement.
Zummabu made his home far from that, far even from his brother's house. Within a square of thick walls with bronze gates stood his tower and his tree. The insides of the walls bore basic carvings, a pair of shedim in relief, but they had been unfinished as long as most could remember. The artist had crossed the wrong person and left Dalath without warning. Some said otherwise, that he lived still in Zummabu's tower, trapped in an iron flask.
In the evenings Zummabu often sat beneath the tree branches, reading a scroll or lost in thought. He spent his mornings with his games, a half-dozen dragonchess sets carefully laid out and each move precisely recorded on an endless series of wax tablets. Every few months, he committed them to a scroll and had the tablets scraped. The games he played with Eannatum and Marenza changed the most often, sometimes with a move or more every tenday.
The afternoons, Zummabu reserved to his research. Sometimes he closeted himself in his casting chamber. Other days saw him in the laboratory. In either case, he was not to be disturbed. Only when he worked in his library did his household have leave to interrupt, for their own safety. Strange noises, smells, and occasional tremors had issued from the other chambers while the master was within.
The invitation to the wizard's casting chamber -an invitation even to his property!- came unexpectedly this morning. It stood at the very top of Zummabu's tower, where narrow windows looked down on Dalath. Here the painted mud brick gave way to bare walls, marked by many scorches. Only the rudest furniture occupied the room, a few tables and chairs very out of keeping with the wizard's preference for comfort. They were hard wood with leather stretched over the frame. Stepping into the room brought the skin alive, as if touched by a thousand pins, and despite Dalath's nearness no sound came through the windows.
Zummabu, a tall, spare man on the far side of middle age, greeted everyone politely and reserved himself to inconsequential pleasantries until all had arrived. Then he stood, smoothed his plain robe, and produced a small, black sphere. He whispered a word and released it. The sphere floated in midair, emitting a soft hum.
"We will not be overheard now," he said. "Not without knowing. If the sphere falls or shatters, then we have lost our privacy."
"My friends," the wizard said, not at all the way he usually addressed his property. "News has come to me. As you know, our god-tombs have long stood idle. Everything worth taking went out in grasping hands a generation ago, when I was away..." Zummabu's voice took on a harsh edge that he spared a moment to master. "Since then I have despaired of my work on a history of our empire. My correspondent Eannatum, of the City of Gems, sends word of a tomb sought but never found."
"This scroll came to me a month past. I sent back asking if he could learn more, but I fear time has run out. Four days ago, three strangers came to Dalath from Unthalass. My brother informs me that they think they have something to find in our hills. I can dally no longer; my research must begin now or end forever. I did not hope to thrust this upon you so urgently, but these strangers have forced my hand."
"They have come and gone once already. I ask of you, will you learn what they know? If they have been to this... The scroll calls it the Cairn of Whispers, but that cannot be the correct translation. If they have been there or know of it, I must know. If not, I believe I have enough lore now to set you about finding it. There you would explore and catalog it for me. Any artifacts, inscriptions, mosaics, everything that tells a story. I would go myself, but I cannot. Many in Dalath watch me. If they see me move, they will follow and may despoil anything that remains."
"I ask -I do not demand- you to undertake a dangerous quest. These adventurers may oppose you. If my lore holds true, the cairn itself may bring perils. If you will consent to be my eyes and ears then I will accept your service against those considerations which stand between us."
Having been sent for by Zummabu, Tribim left early enough that he could go past the square, to see who they had strung up. He did it every morning there was public “prayer” to the great god Gilgeam. He did it so he wouldn’t forget. He did it so he wouldn’t forget how low his city and country had fallen. He also did it so he wouldn’t forget why he worshiped the dead gods. But mostly he went and watched for the briefest of moments so he wouldn’t forget to be careful.
Arriving at the Tower he was ushered through the beautiful bronze doors and the tastefully decorated living quarters to the Spartan upper floor. Stepping through the door the currents made Tribim feel alive. Though not planned he had arrived first, the only person in the room was his mentor Zummabu. The distinguished man greeted him politely, and inquired about his family. After a few moments others started to enter. Tribim bowed slightly as Zummabu excused himself to greet his other visitors. Tribim sat down on a simple stool, he waited and watched as the room filled up while his mentor greeted each with curtesy and genuine affection.
’That’s the most interesting thing I’ve heard in weeks!’ Tribims ears perk up when he hears that there may exist a tomb ‘sought but never found.’ Listening carefully as Zummabu went on about the Cairn of Whispers and the four strangers from Unthalass.
’A dangerous quest? I live for this stuff’ So excited that he almost fell off of his stool, 'Eyes and ears, happy to be hands and feet too.’ Trib tries to maintain his composure as Zummabu finishes his narrative. ’No considerations needed, the old boy bailed me out, the least I can do is help him!’ Trib Raises his hand and responds. ”Sir, I can’t speak fer tha others but you know I’m willing and able to help, after all you’ve done fer me it’s tha least I can do."
Looking at the others for a second ’I wonder how many will take the offer.’ Looking back at his mentor he continue, ”If ya don’t mind me askin’ do we know where these fella’s from Unthalass are stayin’ or what they look like?”
Namtar stands from the floor, his position on the floor. Sweat drips form his body from his exercises. He is a gladiator, bound to fight for his master's honor on the sands. He needs to keep his body in perfect shape so he can continue to win his bouts. He straps on his weapons--he will never get used to sleeping in his master's home, and with weapons!
Namtar opens the door (another shock! He's never had such freedom, before) and hastens up the stairs to his master's casting chamber. He enters, and hides a frown that he is not first. Instinctively, he braces for a whipping that does not come. His previous masters would never have tolerated being late.
"Master." He presses his hand to his chest in salute and bows. He stands to the side, letting the freeborn have the chairs. Namtar's never been comfortable with furniture anyways. They were far too comfortable and soft.
As Zummabu speaks, Namtar's face darkens and his had moves towards the sickle and chain looped at his belt. "Any who dare place you in danger will fall to the sands, Master!" The towering man takes a deep breath and pulls his hand away from his weapon. "I will slay all who stand in your way, Master. The ruins belong to you!"
When the knock comes, it takes Arundel a moment to get to it. He was centering himself for the day, having prepared his spells already; folded into a meditative position, he was preparing himself mentally for whatever the day might hold. The knock interrupts that. (I should just ignore it. They will go away. Then again, it might be important...)
The elven man unfolds himself and answers the knock. An invitation from Zummabu! To his casting chamber, no less! He was very glad he had not ignored this caller. (What could he want? Will I finally be able to prove myself worth everything he has done for me? I am ready!)
He hurries off toward the tower, with a slight skip in his step. His route is not a direct path, as that would bring him too close to the square and the reminders that the place bring. An extra walk is not a bad thing, though. When he arrives at the tower, though, he laments somewhat taking the longer route, as he finds himself to not be the first to arrive. Regardless, he makes himself available to Zummabu, as the man greets him and talks to him.
When Zummabu pulls out the black sphere, Arundel immediately perks up. This must be serious, to bring that out. His interest is immediately intense, and it only gets more so as Zummabu describes what is going on and what he would like them to do. "Of course I will help, sir. In any way I can, always."
Regin was helping farmers on the outskirts of town when the summons arrived. A new irrigation ditch was needed to bring about another field outside the city and work started before sun-up. He leaves immediately with a friendly goodbye and proceeds to the tower with a spring in his step and a song on his lips. Being here hadn't been so bad. There were the daily beatings that were unpleasant to look at and everyone seemed a bit less concerned with the low folk than he preferred, but his master was kind and the food wasn't as bad as Minister Peoter's.
He skips up the steps and enters the room with a flourish. "I am sorry for the delay, Master. I was in a distant field." he explains and takes his seat.
As the tale is woven he watches the others, especially the slave-warrior. Take your hand back... that's better. It would not do to have anyone losing their temper here.
"We will need to do some poking about before we get after the tomb itself." He begins in reply. His mind is spinning at the news that a tomb might still remain untouched! "This is a singular opportunity. An untouched tomb hasn't been seen in decades! Thank you, master, for trusting me -us- with this! We will not fail you!"
Looking at the others for a second ’I wonder how many will take the offer.’ Looking back at his mentor he continue, ”If ya don’t mind me askin’ do we know where these fella’s from Unthalass are stayin’ or what they look like?”
"I don't mind at all, small one...but my brother has been less than informative. I know only that they are two men and a half-woman . He tells me one man might be a worker of the Art and another is a singularly large sort who cares to make a spectacle of himself. It should not be hard to hear word of them, but I can't make such inquiries discreetly myself," Zummabu said, spreading his hands in apology.
It was an interesting challenge, Amarekashu considered for a moment. To beat others to a tomb. To defeat it's defences themselves. Once it would have been unworthy of him, or so he believed - he had almost no memory of his past, after all - but now it sounded...entertaining. A chance to go forth and journey. To do more than guard, even if the occasional bandit or rival warrior made those trips sometimes quite interesting.
Stretching in a relaxed manner - Amar found the room relaxing, although he knew others found it considerably more uncomfortable - the strange humanoid smiled, his odd eye gleaming. Yes. Perhaps the ancient histories would hold something valuable to him, as well. He had sometimes wondered if the reason his name did not echo through the halls of these places was that he had been moved in time. If it had been from the past, then maybe this trip would benefit himself as well.
It would also help him pay off the debt he felt to the wizard, for grounding him when he first came to this place with no knowledge and no support. Of course, the truth was he still had limited knowledge, but that was because he had focused on his own activities. Perhaps this would be a chance to learn...
"All should know of their histories," Amarekashu rumbled. "That others have stolen such is deplorable enough. You, at least, will hold them in regard as something other than wealth. I consent to this challenge."
He was back to Dalath, as times before, and once again to see the Wizard. It had been some time since the last, so he wondered if Zummabu had found anything else about his origins. It was always a pleasure to hear.
He crossed the city with quick steps, trying to reach the Tower still in time for the meeting. The summon had arrived a little late on his mining lands, but he still managed to be prepared enough to be here now.
Finally he got there - and the meeting was, look at that!, at the top of the tower. He doesn't recall ever being there before. Yet, the awkwardness wouldn't end there - the place was fairly crowded with people from the most varied races and background.
The Dwarf found a sit on the back and just let Zummabu and the others talk. Apparently some of them were even slaves of Zummabu. A light worshipper of Gilgaem, such thing for Dommer was natural; they were, at the end, all slaves of the god. The only strange thing was how friendly the Wizard would refer to his own property.
Nevertheless, Dommer would still look at them with respect, being such extended from the respect he held for Zummabu, and the unquestionable debt he owed to the Wizard. When the mission was presented and questions were made, the Dwarf finally spoke as well.
It'd be my pleasure to do your bidding, old friend. My weapons are yours. - said Dommer, with his strong and low voice - You said to have some lore or more information about perils on this... Cairn. What do you know?
It'd be my pleasure to do your bidding, old friend. My weapons are yours. - said Dommer, with his strong and low voice - You said to have some lore or more information about perils on this... Cairn. What do you know?
"Not so much as I would wish," Zummabu said. "It must be ancient, at least a thousand years old. Eannatum found a scroll he believes written decades ago. Servants of a priestess of Ishtar thought they had evidence of the tomb's location. Wrote their mistress informing her that they believed the entry not far from the Lidish Mine, abandoned these thirty years. Their location, and the name they gave, match none of the known tombs."
"It is likely that age has claimed many of the wardings. Every turn of the moon draws the life from such things, unless the proper sacrifices are made. But some may linger, maintained by means locked within. Ageless guardians may dwell there as well: the spirits of priests, the walking dead, creatures of the Heavens, golems... Or they may have all passed with time. Secrets known only to those who laid the stones."
'Well it looks like those of us he wants to task with this project have been assembled. I am glad he has pulled together a team. This 'Cairn of Whispers' sounds like more than I can handle on my onw.'
Climbing down off of his stool, looking from his mentor to the gathered team. "It sounds like we need ta determine if these explorers from Unthalass are still here in Dalath or not. We should go ta the eastern gate, since that's tha direction they would have entered from and see if we can track 'em down. We should be able ta find where they are or were staying; an' if or when they left."
Looking from the team to Zummabu "Is there anythin' else we need ta know sir?"
"If I may ask, sir, won't our inquiring after these adventurers alert them that they are on the right path? It could cause more problems than solve. Perhaps we should focus first on getting to the tomb, and if we should find it disturbed, then chase after these interlopers? They sound distinct enough, I wouldn't imagine it would be too hard if it came to that."
'beat them to the tomb, that might work.' Trib turns to Arundel, cocking his head, "Not a bad idea," Winking "I was just hopin' 'at we could relieve 'em o' any useful information 'at they might have, if ya understand me meanin'." Then looking to Zummabu, "But if ya want us ta head right out, I got a "bug out bag" fer just tha occasion."
Tilting his head to the side, Amarekashu asked, "Why was this temple left when others were not? We must assume that it is because none who found it left to tell it's tales." The tall humanoid smiled. "A most worthy task. I wish to hear it's stories."
He considered the words of Arudenl. "It is possible. Perhaps we could beat them inside and never need deal with them, which would be of preference. It is also possible that they will have information that will be useful. Or have plundered something we may need. Either choice is of benefit, and both have certain risks. I find neither to be better, and will follow either way."
"I was just hopin' 'at we could relieve 'em o' any useful information 'at they might have, if ya understand me meanin'."
A brief look of annoyance crosses Arundel's face at that. (Subtle as always...) "I think I just might understand your meaning, friend, but I would like to avoid tipping our hand to a potential opposing party if possible, as well as avoid any unnecessary violence toward a group we know next to nothing about. Caution seems in order, at least, if not outright avoidance. Any time we delay in trying to discretely learn more about this group only gives them more of a head start than they already have."
If this tomb is a deadly as some of the others have been over the years we may welcome then going in first. In any case, we shouldn't delay overlong. If necessary we can wait until the tomb's wards have kicked them around a bit before confronting them.
Looking from the team to Zummabu "Is there anythin' else we need ta know sir?"
"I think you know all that I could tell you," Zummabu said. "However much I wish for more."
[dice=knowledge: local]1d20+5
"If I may ask, sir, won't our inquiring after these adventurers alert them that they are on the right path? It could cause more problems than solve. Perhaps we should focus first on getting to the tomb, and if we should find it disturbed, then chase after these interlopers? They sound distinct enough, I wouldn't imagine it would be too hard if it came to that."
"It may indeed," Zummabu said, considering. "You could be discreet. If they are the boastful sorts, simply asking about their exploits may cause no trouble. Or you may follow and observe them for a time. You will know the circumstances best and I have full confidence in your judgment."
"I am loathe to take the time to hunt around taverns looking for them; what if they are at the site as we speak? It would seem to me that it would make sense to make for the site of the tomb post-haste, and seek these men out should it appear that the site has been looted. However, I am willing to bow to the consideration of the group, and particularly to your wisdom, sir, if you or others feel it would be valuable to confront this party first."
Dommer scratches his long beard, speaking slowly after considering what the others said and argued.
I understand your will for hastiness and desire for adventure, elf. - his words aren't mocking, but it's still noticeable how the dwarf refers to Arundal - ... However, we should remember the patience the decades of life gave us and proceed with caution.
He finally gestures to the rest of the room.
I believe we should hit one tavern or two. Have some beer and observe, at least for a night. Inquiry if we must, but with caution. Then, tomorrow, we take the road. Preparation, to me, sounds much more important than rushing to meet web-infested abandoned holes full of walking dead.
Namtar nods as Dommer and thee others speak of cation and preparation. He thirsts for action, for he is evee use to movement and working his body. Even now, as he stands near the door while the freedmen speak, he flexes his muscles and shifts slightly, eager to move and fight. He's not been this long without exercising or training in many years, and he is uncomfortable standing still.
Every fiber of his being calls to follow Arundel's lead, head to the crypts and fight. But Dommer has always been the more level-headed friend of Zummabu. He speaks truth: it will be wise to learn what they can of these other adventurers. Then Namtar can kill them.
Dommer speaks the truth, we should quietly investigate these outlanders.
Arundel nods in concession to the others. "Very well, we can head to the taverns then. I'm afraid I'm not much for visiting taverns; does anyone have a good recommendation of where to start?"
If we are going on a long trip there are other things to do.' Tribim scratches his head for a moment then shrugging his shoulders for a moment as he begins to move to the door. "Since we are planning on leaving town, whether immediately or in the morning, we will need more preparation. If someone is not comfortable 'spying' they could prepare for the groups transportation so we are ready to leave immediately."
Namtar blanches at the mention of leaving the city. "Leave? Outside? As in, beyond the walls? That.. what... what would we need. If you can provide a list, I will see acquiring it."
before they leave the room and the protection the little magical ball provides Trib informs. "I'll head ta the "Garden of Wonders" and look around, Or lets all start 'air if were not splittin' up."
before they leave the room and the protection the little magical ball provides Trib informs. "I'll head ta the "Garden of Wonders" and look around, Or lets all start 'air if were not splittin' up."
Tribim made his way to the Garden of Wonders. It occupied a large, two-story building not far from the square and the whipping posts. Elegant, but visibly worn, hangings covered every window. The door stood inset from the street, between frescoes of bulls being leaped and snakes dancing. Even at this early hour, a slave stood ready to collect the fee and admit Tribim to the Garden's dim interior. The stink of smoke, much of it decidedly not from oil, wood, or dung, hung in the air. A wide floor full of gaming tables spread out before him.
A few slaves worked slowly, tidying up after the night's festivities and restocking the games. A snake dancer snored loudly on the stage. The scaled demon boy, no taller than Tribim, lay between two humans who had also fallen asleep. He smoked something that smelled powerfully.
Asking about, Tribim learned several things about the newcomers. The slave handling one of the many dice games said "The tall one let everyone know he could take any man in the room and showed his belt to all the women, hoping for a free turn. Said he was a Champion, Gilgeam the Great's favorite! He got drunk betting on cockfights and tried to start a fight, but left when none of the girls would give it away."
The Demon Boy spoke quietly, so as not to disturb his companions. "The half-human woman came by. Flirted a while with some of the girls, but she was the first one out. Said she wanted something more lively. Kept fiddling with her throwing knives."
A tired bartender tried mightily to interest Tribim in having his future read, but eventually gave up "The one in the robes started asking about all the freaks. Wasn't interested in the girls or boys. Didn't even want to drink. Acted like we were beneath him."
"I think we should split up, hit up several of the possible spots at the same time, and attract less attention as smaller groups."
Well we know our marks are not shy, or subtle, wonder when they were here. Sitting on the barstool on his knees, so he was high enough to lean on the bar, 'wish they built these stools for a halfling' he asks the bartender, "was this snooty robed fella in tonight er earlier in tha week? And where do ya think 'at someone 'at stuck up would stay around here?" Trib smiles, watching carefully, 'I hope I don't need to start paying for information.'
Well we know our marks are not shy, or subtle, wonder when they were here. Sitting on the barstool on his knees, so he was high enough to lean on the bar, 'wish they built these stools for a halfling' he asks the bartender, "was this snooty robed fella in tonight er earlier in tha week? And where do ya think 'at someone 'at stuck up would stay around here?" Trib smiles, watching carefully, 'I hope I don't need to start paying for information.'
[dice=diplomacy]1d20+7
The bartender waved dismissively, "That type? Ask me he's- Say, what's it to you?"
"I think we should split up, hit up several of the possible spots at the same time, and attract less attention as smaller groups."
Arundel soon found himself at Lugal's. It was much smaller than the Garden of Wonders, essentially a single room with eight cozy alcoves hung with thin curtains. Each held a dragonchess board built into the table. Only one was occupied. There an older man, Lugal himself, faced the Pit Lord Rubal Sumbar. The fat master of mines wore a garish collection of gold rings shining with overlarge gemstones as he moved his oliphaunt.
"A bold move, Rubal," Lugal said mildly.
"No mines hang on it, Sumbar said just as casually. Lugal visibly tensed.
A servant met Arundel just inside the door. He bowed. "Welcome to Lugal's, kind sir. As you can see, the Masters are contending. It is too early for others yet. But if you wish to wait, you are welcome to observe."
"Come elf!" Sumbar said. "See a master at work!
While Sumbar was turned away, Lugal took the chance to glare at him with undisguised hatred.
Well we know our marks are not shy, or subtle, wonder when they were here. Sitting on the barstool on his knees, so he was high enough to lean on the bar, 'wish they built these stools for a halfling' he asks the bartender, "was this snooty robed fella in tonight er earlier in tha week? And where do ya think 'at someone 'at stuck up would stay around here?" Trib smiles, watching carefully, 'I hope I don't need to start paying for information.'
[dice=diplomacy]1d20+7The bartender waved dismissively, "That type? Ask me he's- Say, what's it to you?"
'Crap, went and miffed the overgrown water boy. Taking his elbows off of the bar, Trib reaches into his pouch. 'I hate doing this, I abso-floggin'-lutely hae doing this.' and slides a gold coin on the counter. " Oh, it's nothin' ta me, but my friend here really wants to know where 'at bloke would be stayin' He..." pulling out another gold coin and slides it on the table, "And his friend here are looking for tha fella."
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Namtar stays close to the others as they leave Zummabu's tower. He's putting on a brave front, but it's obvious to all he's clearly uncomfortable. His muscles tense at every sound. A few times he grabbed for his sword, drawing a narrowed eye from the guards. But, he calms quickly when they enter the Garden. The gambling den is almost another home to him, he's fought here many times for his masters.
At every turn, he stands behind Tribim, making sure no one gives the little sorcerer trouble. So, when the bartender decides to pay more attention than necessary, the gladiator glowers.
He remains silent but, his stance changes, and the threat is real.
'Crap, went and miffed the overgrown water boy. Taking his elbows off of the bar, Trib reaches into his pouch. 'I hate doing this, I abso-floggin'-lutely hae doing this.' and slides a gold coin on the counter. " Oh, it's nothin' ta me, but my friend here really wants to know where 'at bloke would be stayin' He..." pulling out another gold coin and slides it on the table, "And his friend here are looking for tha fella."
The bartender's eyes widened and the coins were in his hand in a twinkling, before he even saw Namtar looming.
"He said he wanted a Dragonchess game!" the man blurted, eyes never leaving the hulking wrestler. Heads perked up all around the Emporium. A naked man leaned out over the balcony to see the source of the commotion.
'That went better than expected, I figured he'd haggle. Trib smiles and pushes the coins to the man, climbing down from his stool he sees Namtar glaring at the bar tender.
'Oh, oh well, so much for my inspiring personality.' Tribim smiles at his big friend, "Tha lady with tha throwin' knifes wanted a match. Shall we head ta tha God's Pit an' see if she went there, afore we go ta tha Dragonchess parlor."
Once there Trib begins to look for a knife thrower that matches the woman's appearance.
Namtar glowers again, willing the man to be silent. His lip curls with anger, and barely contained death. Tribim wanted quiet and discretion, this barkeeper was ruining that! All he needed was for Tribim to give the word and this man's blood would spill across the floor. He sets his shoulders letting all who see know what will happen if they don't lose interest.
"That's all I know!" the bartender said.
"You're going to wake the kids," the naked man hissed from above. "Keep it down or I'll get Zalamandra on you."
Once there Trib begins to look for a knife thrower that matches the woman's appearance.
[dice=perception]1d20+7
The God's Pit was a pit in more ways than one. It had a floor, somewhere under the sand. You could tell because the fighting pit showed the edges of stone along its rim. Wet spots marked that sand, some smelling of alcohol, others blood, others less savory things. At least half a dozen rough men lay on the floor or passed out on tables and chairs. A pair of knives stuck out of the back of one.
The only patron standing was a half-elven woman with bright red hair. She had two long braces of knives strapped about her, the first half-empty. Its absent contents stuck from the much-battered target on the wall. She held a drink in one hand, taking a swig between each throw. Next to her, a huge man wearing an improbably large belt slept atop a table. He snored loudly and his kirtle hung about his ankles, belt or no.
'That went better than expected, I figured he'd haggle. Trib smiles and pushes the coins to the man, climbing down from his stool he sees Namtar glaring at the bar tender.
'Oh, oh well, so much for my inspiring personality.' Tribim smiles at his big friend, "Tha lady with tha throwin' knifes wanted a match. Shall we head ta tha God's Pit an' see if she went there, afore we go ta tha Dragonchess parlor."
Once there Trib begins to look for a knife thrower that matches the woman's appearance.
[dice=perception]1d20+7
Namtar smirks with a silent nod to the halfling. He follows with a grim glower. Perhaps he could find someone to test himself in the pits to honor the Father of Victories. He hasn't heard the roar of the crowds in nearly three weeks, and he longed for the rush. Besides, it could be a distraction for Tribim to exploit.
Namtar grins in appreciation at the sleeping man. If he's Gilgeam's champion as he says, he will provide a great challenge! He flexes, and waits for Tribim to make the first move.
seeing the knife thrower and the slumberer 'I'd wager Namtar could take him, I wonder if the knife or belt is magical' Attempting to be discreet Tribim casts detect magic on the pair.
'hhhmmmm, that's interesting.' Leaning over to Namtar Tribim reveals the information from his spell, and also "She favor's herself a knife thrower, lets go see how good she is and see if we can loosen her tongue."
Tribim approaches the woman smiling, "Good evening, I am Trib and this large gentleman is my associate, I have not seen you in here before, would you favor a throw?"
seeing the knife thrower and the slumberer 'I'd wager Namtar could take him, I wonder if the knife or belt is magical' Attempting to be discreet Tribim casts detect magic on the pair.
seeing the knife thrower and the slumberer 'I'd wager Namtar could take him, I wonder if the knife or belt is magical' Attempting to be discreet Tribim casts detect magic on the pair.
sensing that Tribim doesn't want him to start the distraction yet, Namtar angrily looms over Tribim.
Tribim approaches the woman smiling, "Good evening, I am Trib and this large gentleman is my associate, I have not seen you in here before, would you favor a throw?"
"Well met, Trib," the woman said. "I'm Tirra and Bane's codpiece would I ever go for a throw. This oaf," she pointed a knife at the sleeping man, "spent the whole night whoring and drinking. We were supposed to be out at dawn. Some Champion of the City of Gems he is..."
She stepped up to the target and began retrieving her knives from it. "So we know who is who and there's none of that complaining about knives hitting knives. Last time I heard that one I had to geld a dwarf. Damned fool didn't even keep a decent edge on his axe. And they say those people take care of things."
"You can throw first. Want to make it interesting?" She ignored Namtar's glowers at all the unconscious people in the bar.
Namtar ignores the woman and sizes up the Champion of the City of Gems. The Father of Victories would be well pleased with our struggles on the sands! He would even allow the loser to live so our grudge could grow!
Namtar ignores the woman and sizes up the Champion of the City of Gems. The Father of Victories would be well pleased with our struggles on the sands! He would even allow the loser to live so our grudge could grow!
Namtar believes he must be a very strong man. Those are muscles, not fat. The belt is something he has heard of, given to the winners of great games. The face on its buckle is the Father of Victories, not a thing given to the unworthy.
may as well see if I can get my two gold pieces back. Trib smiles and with one hand he opens his pouch and pulls out his last two gold pieces. With his other he activates the spring in his wrist guard and ejects his coldiron knife. "I'd be very interested in a little side bet, seems I need ta make up a couple of gold I lost earlier this evening." Ting throws his knife, then retrieves it from the center of the target, smiling he shrugs his shoulders and showing his opponent his darts, "Only got tha one knife, usually toss darts." He then continues throwing. 'Blast wish the last four were as good as the first. After his last throw he shakes his head, looking at Namtar he rolls his eyes and watches the woman throw.
Namtar cocks an eye and tenses his muscles, ready for a brawl. Or his own match.
The group disperses and Regin find himself walking toward the Bed of Ishtar. I guess somebody has to do it.