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The Laughing Gull is a thoroughly disreputable tavern situated near the docks in the roughest part of the city of Belthaar. Widely known as the unofficial headquarters of the Gerozzo crime family, the place is best avoided, but here is where you ended up, after your travels left you penniless and with no means of travel or work.
The city of Belthaar is located west of the Ophrat river, is one of the smallest city-states of Susrah, with a population of only 12,000 people, yet its foundations are ancient, and its gloomy, serpentine streets wind their way between mighty monuments and hoary towers. There are temples and ziggurats dedicated to Belet-Lil, Baal-Khardah, Yadar, and a multitude of others.
Belthaar is currently ruled by the petty king Simashattar III, whose army of 2,000 pikemen and 500 charioteers is involved in a three-way war with its bigger neighbors, Zhaol and Ghezath. The war is cause of most of your misfortunes to date. The city is on curfew, and the only ones allowed to leave, have some sort of letter of recommendation, which you have no idea how to get or where it’s crafted.
The tavern occupies a ramshackle two‐storey wooden building built on the end of a pier, sitting above the waters of the harbour. A couple of dodgy‐looking Gerozzo family soldiers loiter outside, but most people stupid enough to come here without an invitation are admitted with little more than a shrug of the shoulders. Inside, the main bar is on two levels; stairs lead up to a first‐floor balcony where Orzo Gerozzo and his lieutenants look down on the action below in some comfort. Common thieves, low‐level enforcers and teenage pickpockets drink at rough tables and benches on the lower floor.
In the center of the room is a large round hole in the floor, surrounded by a low wooden railing. The dark waters of the bay are just five feet below the hole, and occasionally a large dorsal fin breaks the surface of the water. Every night, a barrel of fish heads and guts is poured into the hole to entertain Gull patrons with a glimpse of one or two sharks.
STAFF
The Laughing Gull has the following notable staff members:
Hardjoy, tends the Gull’s bar while living up to his epithet “the unsmiling.”
Hardjoy is missing half his nose and gets very angry if anyone asks him how he lost it (his ex‐wife bit it off).
Several women work as tavern wenches; the younger ones flirt with Orzo and his men to keep in with the crime boss and get the best tips.
Hild, has just started work at the Laughing Gull because she is deeply in debt to Orzo and is horrified as to what she has gotten herself into. Most of the clientele terrify her and she has already fended off several inappropriate advances.
Oxilia, is out for revenge – Orzo had her brother killed and she is waiting for the right moment to slip a knife between his ribs.
NOTABLE PATRONS
The Laughing Gull has several patrons of note:
Orzo Gerozzo owns the Laughing Gull and is a thoroughly nasty piece of work. Fat, sweaty and fond of wearing massive jewelled rings, Orzo controls much of the smuggling that operates through the city docks, as well as running protection rackets and thieving gangs.
FOOD & DRINKS
The Laughing Gull is not renowned for its cuisine:
PRICE
Ale, pint 2 cp
Beer, pint 2 cp
Fish stew and a hunk of bread 4 cp
Meal, poor 1 sp
ACCOMMODATION
None available.
Stranded in Belthaar when war broke out Asadullah shakes the dust of the earth from his clothes and sandals as he once again enters this demon blessed pit of thieves they call Laughing Gull. Down to his last silver piece, a square coin with a two-headed dog stamped on it. There was a time when the origin of the coin would have intrigued him but now he only hopes it will fill his belly and dull his troubles.
The Laughing Gull... this place is a joke but no one is laughing. Happy-t**~ is here again, his wife should have kept biting, it would have been an improvement. Hopefully this war is over soon, I'm stuck here and only have a few people who speak my language.
Luckily for Asadullah one of those people worked at the Gull. Yuan Ru, a fetching young Taikangian woman who was sold into slavery as a child.
"Good afternoon," Asadullah said in very broken Susrahnite, invoking strange looks from those in earshot, and a chuckle and shake of the head from Ru
"You just told me your dog has fleas," Ru replied in Bhangari, Asadullah's native tongue. "But at least you're trying, what can I get for you?"
He hands her the coin, "Fish, bread, and ale."
"You must be getting desperate. I'll be right back with that," she turns to get him his food and drink.
You have no idea
Sour ale, hard bread and salty fish is what you get from your last coin. A banquet for all your care, the hunger already speaking louder than reason. Ru delivers the food, stays for some moment and then moves about to serve another costumers.
A ear-splitting yell diverges your attention from the meal, as several thugs hang a hapless man over the large hole in the center of the room "Ain't ye forgetting somithn?" one of the thugs while shaking the man his belongings falling into the water below.
"Oh please help! Imma gonna pay, tomorrow, tomorrow!" the man says desperate, and all around no one seems to care about what's happening, just one more day at the Laughing Gull.
A relatively non-descript Yar-Ammonite sits in the corner of the Laughing Gull; he has been quietly writing after finishing a poor meal with slow, thoughtful bites. It is painfully obvious that he is a mere youth, slender of frame. He has been able to keep his vestments relatively clean throughout his travels.
He's been in the Laughing Gull a few times, never socializing much or partaking of anything beyond watered ale. To inquirers, he is polite, answering to the name of
Khnum, pronounced 'kuh-noom'.
It has been whispered that he's a sorcerer, but aren't sorcerers surrounded by fawning servants and dark demonic things, in some twisted tower of darkness? He is careful not to offend and defers to the more brutish residents of the Laughing Gull and of Belthaar in general. Surely a sorcerer would laugh in the faces of those louts. That said, Girbo, a local tough on the docks, was seen pushing Khnum back behind a graffiti-covered monument, presumably to rob him of his possessions, or worse. Khnum emerged a moment later, brushing off his sleeves, and Girbo swore up and down that "That Yar-Ammonite dog just looked me in the eye and I seen a black pit there! I went to the realm of Death's kingdom itself! Next thing I knows I'm awake on the ground and he's gone!" But Girbo is wont to say many things that are untrue. In any case, Khnum is given somewhat of a berth and left to his own thoughts, much of the time.
And his thoughts are myriad. So much for the rise of the Orders of the Beasts, he thinks to himself. The Order of The Scorpion was one of the strongest in combating the Zothurian henotheism that had swept the land of Yar-Ammon. Before Khnum had fully become a hena-hekau, a wielder of magic, he had been one of the children who had snuck into a prominent Zothurian palace and set it afire. He had watched as hundreds fled the flames...and as others were caught in the conflagration. The Order had trained him well after that, initiating him in to the ways of heku and bonding him with Ket, his scorpion. And he had foiled at least one attempt to destroy the Order. But it had not been the last attempt, and finally came a wave of Zothur's own cultists, wielding dark heku and rousing the mummies of the sands. His own teachers had desperately reached for tainted sorcery themselves, and several succumbed screaming to madness while the warriors of Zothur smashed the barriers of the Order of the Scorpion. Then he had fled...as did the others...scattered across Yar-Ammon and then beyond. The Beast-Cults might re-emerge, but Khnum was gone, his pride and faith shattered.
Too soon he realized that the power of a hena-hekau was far less than he had been given to think. His heku teachers were useless without weapon-masters to support them...and he shuddered to think about reaching for dark heku, such as the Evil Eye, or calling up the dead. Even beyond Yar-Ammon's borders, he kept heku secret, and Ket concealed, and watched for Zothurians. He did not see any of his Order, not in Jairan, nor in Khazistan. He made his way as a healer, but then his healing kit was stolen soon after entering Susrah. The tides of battle led him to Belthaar, where he did some work healing the wounded, but then found no one could pay...and neither could anyone pay a translator. Rebuffed by soldiers from all factions, Khnum retreated to the city again to gather his thoughts. I can smuggle my way out if I deliver something, he thought, but once at the Laughing Gull he hesitated, uncertain if that would be a good venue for escape. And so, he waited, mulling over his downward-sloping fortune for the past few seasons, bored, expecting the Fates to blow him this way or that.
Khnum eyes the man being dangled as shark bait. He knows the ritual, but hasn't seen it for himself yet. Don't speak up. And don't be a hero. Heroes die. And yet some perversity causes him to open his mouth and speak to Ju in Taikangian. Not something the locals will understand, at least.
"That fellow, there. What does he owe?" For a youth of middling stature, Khnum's voice is deep, and his copper skin and vestments instantly mark him as a Yar-Ammonite. He hopes his question is seen as casual enough, in this den of killers.
Far from the shadows of the bar, a woman stands near enough in the open of the room, back to a pillar and eyes nonetheless alert for any brazen hands. near her blossoming figure. Subtle, exotic scent distills into the air from her unusually clean skin.
Skin shown off by a loose, revealingly cut sarong of good linen, ornamented by a glimmering ribbon of thin, brightly dyed fabric that looped and spread out to barely cover the swell of the temptress's breasts. An outfit designed to tease and delight the eye.
Jet black hair framed a subtly made up face, eyes highlighted with Khol black and ochre shading. Her lips curved in an easy smile as she waled with deliberate sway and swings of her hips towards the bar's counter.
She had been at work in the city a few days, and did not care to worry for herself in this place. She knew herself attractive enough to elicit attention, but didn't make waves large enough to attract the larger sharks.
Still, the bronze tanned Yar-Ammoniti fingered the cheap brass of her Zothurian charm as it hung between her pert mounds, her other hand signalling for attention from the grim faced Barman.
"A meal and a small beer"
She ordered in a Light, carefully neutral accent, hazarding a silver piece and a few coppers onto the bar from a slim velvet pouch, tucked below the belt at the front of her sarong.
Meal ordered, the woman turned back to gaze at the room, a light frown gracing her features for but a fragment of a second as she caught sight of another Yar-ammonite skin tone calling attention to himself with such deep tones, but she swiftly moved on. Scanning for anyone potentially important enough to work her wiles on.
Khnum tries not to jump as the woman's gaze sweeps over him. Assassin! his mind cries out. He attempts to slow the sudden pounding of his pulse. No, she'd just kill me. She bears the look of the seraglio... He tries not to stare, but her form does cause his glance to linger. Was that a mark of Zothur? Most likely, but not indicative of enmity. Almost all of his people had that mark. He hesitated. He was no good at spying. Ket could spy, but could not speak to him save for empathic vibrations, reserved for their late night rapport. I need information. Allies. A way out.
Summoning up confidence, he walked toward the woman...and was struck by her beguiling scent. Had he smelled that before? Visions of fire and running came to him...his senses reeled slightly. Then he straightened up, mentally noting that his scorpion head piece was secreted away, and approached her, feeling as if he were stepping through invisible curtains of perfume, each one slightly resisting before parting reluctantly.
Finally, he stood before her. "Hail, countrywoman. What news of the homeland? I've been trapped in the outlands for far too many moons." He tried his best to appear unthreatening and then recalled that compared to the regular patrons of the Gull, he was exactly that.
For a moment her hand slides absently, almost instinctively, to hover by her thigh as if resting. Long experience left her wary of sudden approach of any sort. Still politeness cost little, so the woman simply put a bit of clean tooth into her friendly smile and inclined her head.
She didn't see any more than the usual set of perverted glances her way, and even those seemed lessened with a male already so close, so she felt safe to incline her head and pose a little, setting her hip and arm in a carefully crafted way so as to subtly frame and show off her pleasing shapes. Her tones, pleased to again fill the shapes of her native tongue, came like liquid honey over a practiced palate.
I'm afraid I know little of the homelands~ she breathed, putting a wisp of nostalgia and the oold pain of smoke into her voice.
Incidents beyond my control set me on the wandering path, and I have little time to travel back to those clean sands.
Khnum nods, thinking quickly. A little older than me? But she's been away for a while, by her accent and clothing. I look like a fresh immigrant compared to her. If she was a courtesan, he tried not to speculate too deeply about her past. He answers in the glottals and gutterals of Yar-Ammonitic; despite some odd sounds, it flows smoothly from a native tongue.
"I too, was forced to leave Yar-Ammon due to unfortunate circumstances." He shrugs with a smile. "And Jairan and Khazistan are not always the most welcoming places. I've ended up here--I have some small talent in healing and translation. And, what brings you to this...wonderful locale?" He smiles. "Oh, my manners. I am Ib-Sheut." Not a lie to have the name "Heart-Shadow", but Khnum is a name that would raise an eyebrow to a Zothurian, and so Khnum elides his first name. As per Yar-Ammonite custom, he does not move, as it is the woman's prerogative to return the greeting.
Asadullah's attention is drawn to the center of the room by a deafening cry. The source of the sound seems to be a man blubbering as ruffians hang him by his ankles over the gaping maw that leads to the river below. Dinner and a show how could I be so lucky. If I am to be stuck in this den of vipers I should probably learn the language. Figuring this was another shakedown he watches closely to attempt to gain some glint of information.
A deep male voice speaking a familiar tongue draws his attention away briefly. Outside of Ru I haven’t heard Taikangain here, perhaps he may have a better idea of what is going on. The man with the deep voice then approached a stunning female with bronze skin and they begin to converse in an unknown language. Looks like he has other interests today, perhaps I will seek him out later, whatever their business is with each other it isn’t likely to put gold in my pocket.
The louts at the center of the room released the poor man to be on his way, offering some form of final warning before he left. Asadullah followed the man at a distance in hopes that he may help him change his fortune, either by helping or by using him.
She bends her shoulder a fraction, muscles shifting in a polite, if informal, traditional bow of greeting. She had no wish to irritate anyone wearing the robes of a scholar, even if she did not recognise the chop or sign of Yar-Ammonite's scribe guilds. Her hand came out as she straightened,fingers fanned and set with palm upwards, inviting the man to move and continue.
"A delight to meet you~" She inspects the line of his jaw as she speaks, mentally ticking boxes "I am Samanra, and I came here to ingratiate myself into the local community before the curfew fell. One must begin at the bottom, if they wish to remain safe."
She worried faintly at her own name. Spoken traditionally, 'Saman-ra' meant 'Well known of God' in the old tribal tongue, but another Zothurian would no doubt question the use of 'Ra', one of the old, outlawed diety's names, as God.
Khnum smiles at reply, somewhat guilelessly. "An older name. It is pleasant to hear. Mine could be considered as such, as well--I am not sure of the status of the ib and the sheut in Amenti, these days." He bows slightly and takes her hand in formal greeting. "May we remain safe, indeed. I've not had much luck since the fighting has washed into the city borders. At least, none that puts coin in a purse. Free healing, yes, and I've done that. But I'm thinking of moving on...if I can." He makes no perceptible motion towards the balcony, but continues, "Do you know our fine hosts on the second floor? I was considering speaking to them, but I also value an intact throat and neck."
Khnum continues to be pleasant and gazes (easily enough) at Samanra, but says, smilingly, his back to the motion behind him, "Is someone moving behind me? There was an Easterner...looked like an assassin. I have been blessed with a healthy dose of paranoia thanks to my travels. I thought I heard a chair move."
"I haven't made the acquaintance of those fine gentlemen yet, no." She glances at the Upper balcony with a hum, keeping her hand out for 'Ib-Sheut' to hold until he deigned to release her, some men took offence to women removing themselves too soon. "I'll wait until I'm rather more secure and known before making that approach, as I'm allergic to being tied and drugged in some dark and musky harem." She chuckled darkly at her own joke.
She didn't even look up past the man's shoulder before answering, eyes faintly lidded.
"An eastern gentleman is moving away from us, following an unfortunate. If he is an Assassin, my Dear Ib-Sheut, I'd rather not make too much note as such. Such well traveled men tend to have wary ears."
"Indeed they do. Shall we stretch our drinks out at a table? I have far more time than I do coin," says Khnum. "We can compare travel stories while we wait for disaster to fall about our ears. Perhaps someone will actually go into the chum-water."
He indicates a free table with an outstretched hand, giving a gallant wink.
She nods her assent to the idea, taking drink in hand and meal balanced on an elbow. Her hands still gently gripped in Khnum's.
"Lead the way,fellow... I'd rather hear some more stories of interest than watch some poor thing meet the waters, I must say.
She was faintly concerned at how very long her hand was being gripped.. Most usually, overlong holding indicated an over-growth of attachment. She hoped it was simply basal lust that drove the grip. Lust was easy to guide and to deal with. Friendship more problematically sticky.
Khnum finds a table relatively uncluttered by dirty mugs and bowls. "Ah, the finest seats in the house. My lady." After she sits, he does the same.
"Great escapes, will that do for a topic? I feel we're nearing another, as Belthaar may fall around our ears. Let's see: I have been traveling alone, without a sellsword to protect my delicate frame." He chuckles. "I was at the Oasis of Yirlat, enjoying a fine sleep in a desert not dissimilar to our own, when nomads on horseback surrounded me. I awoke to a dozen swords at my nose and neck. Fortunately, I was able to 'read' their fortunes, and after a few hours of 'divining' work, I had gone from a potential pincushion to the recipient of several jugs of mare's milk, sweets and salted meats, and the marriage offering of several of their daughters, complete with dowry..." He shakes his head. "I spent a few extra nights with them in that Oasis. I should have ridden with them, but something led me this way. And you? No doubt you have stories that outclass mine by several ranks."
She maintains her demeanor of aloof, polite amusement throughout the tail, chuckling and taking small bites of her food alternatively, making sure to dab at her plumped lips with a cleaning cloth after every staining bite of mashed fish and grains.
At the word of 'marriage' she snorts, showing tooth again in quite genuine laughter. She controls the outburst after a moment, apologizing with a blush and a slip of Susrahnite slang. She blinks, creasing her lip in embarrassment at the encouragement to story share, waving the hand not gripped by 'Ib' in dismissal.
"Please.. Please.. My stories are all inappropriately crude, or full of perversity. Nothing I'd dare to stain your mind with, good scholar." Her blush reddens slightly under the grey-red dust of her ochre make-up.
"Before my time on the road, which itself brought me into rather dark places, my life was spent in the Seraglio of a Zothurian Palace in Old Yar-Ammon. I'm not all too proud of my time as a 'pet', though I suppose I didn't think myself such before the fire."
Khnum's smile starts to flatten slightly. "I knew of a fire when I was a youth, before I received my name. I lived in the west, near Bahir. My ren is Setka." This was the Yar-Ammonite birth name, that held part of the soul. To give it engendered trust that it would not be used as a curse.
He continued. "There was a story of a fire...a palace burnt down...hundreds slain. Zothurians combed our villages for years afterward, searching for heretics. Were you one of the survivors?"
He laughs darkly. "I'd greatly prefer a crude story, honestly."
A shivering sigh passes the woman's lips, a frown rolling over her as she thought of fire and smoking sand, her hand in Khnum's grip clenches, twitching a little in old nostalgia.
"It was a Palace nearer Amenti, though it's death doubtless echoed wide over the nation. Burnt to the stones, with some, great symbol scorched into the last standing wall. A scorpion." She shivered again, running a hand over her arm.
"An eunuch named Uumiti is the only reason I still live. As the flames roared, he selflessly ran back into the inferno to break down the seraglio's gate, to let myself and what few girls still lived out into the cool night air. Zothur bless him, for a falling timber slew him as he guided us to the exit." She stared ahead a little longer before shaking her head, blushing red and looking up at 'Ib' with a forced smile "but enough of my sad past.... If you wish for crudity.
The former harem woman played with her Zothur symbol, licking her lips and wetting the throat with a glug of ale before speaking again.
"A few months or perhaps half a year after the disaster, I traveled the road. Still a little shocked, but I'd found work in a band of travelling laborers. I served as..." She cleared her throat, flushing "...Entertainment, Relief and Spokeswoman. I knew more than enough of courtly manner to negotiate favourable contracts, purchase supplies and such at a decent discount."
She creases her lip in wry nostalgia, fingering her hidden knife's handle and twisting her hip to show it off.
"I happened to be resting when the caravan was accosted by bandits.. Their leader among them. They Slew half, took the rest in chains, and dragged the cart all the way back to their camp before discovering me."
She sighed, shivering a little in remembered disgust "Had it not been for the leader, I'd doubtless have been used and abused unto death. but the greedy man sought my delights for himself, and dragged me by the heel to his tent, hurling me inside like a sack of Grain husks" Now a chuckle. "I quite obediently obliged him, and worked my training on his corpulent form until he slept." The knife slid out of the hip-sheath, and Samanra licked the edge before drawing it across her jaw's base, sliding the blade back into it's baldric with a dull hiss.
"I kissed him as he died, to keep him quiet. Then away I crept, shivering and weeping at the blood on my linens, and lead a searching band of the nearby temple's guard to slaughter the indolent bandits where they rested.
Khnum looks stricken. "That is a terribly sad story, Saman-Ra. Why, may I ask, did you not stay in Amenti, or at least in Yar-Ammon? What reason for your flight from our home?"
He nods at the knife, wary of its edge. "That is a good weapon. You wield it better than I do mine. And it is clear it is not your most dangerous blade, not by far. That fat dog deserved his fate."
"Now..." He paused, to sip at his own drink. "...we were children when that palace burned. I was a child, not yet full-named. You were. And...did you know that children were used as attackers on that hellish night? As I said, Zothurians searched for them, even as the smoke yet lingered in the morning skies. Some were found and slain immediately; others were hounded for years. What would you say to such a child now? I hope you do not mind my hypotheticals."
The Former concubine sighs, and a dark look passes over her face at the first query, shifting back and looking away, clearly embarrassed by her own mood.
"Freedom is a... Horrible drug to find, after so long in unknowing captivity." She sounded almost sad to breath "there were many who would take in a former harem girl in Amenti, for reasons pure and perverse. Many even gave me clothes, books to read, gave me real choices, on where my life might lead.
She looks back, smiling wanly and wiping a tear from her eyes before it could stain her Khol.
"In the end, it was the words of the guards that came to recollect me that drove me to hide from them, where my fellow sisters of the seraglio ran into their waiting arms." A sigh breathed through glossy lips "They did not come to find a lost person. they came to recapture an escaped piece of livestock... To recover a lost item. I fled Amenti and then Yar-Ammon itself, to keep my freedom. Selfish as it might be.
The second query caught her off guard, gathering almost a flinch from Samanra. She shivers, eyes going wide at the story. it forced her to think.
She had heard that children were involved...
"I would.." another glug of ale, a look away, then a look back at Ib. "I would urge them to pray to Zothur... To repent and pray... What they did in the ignorance of youth can be forgiven... I would forgive them myself, were they sorry for their act."
"I am...certain...they have regret. The heretics were prideful and indoctrinated many youths in ways cloaked in shadow--ways that were not made clear until it was too late and the cults were scattered by Zothur. But..." He looks down at the dagger-marks and stains of the table, then looks back up and begins with greater intensity.
"...I do not think they can pray to Zothur either. For those ways are, forgive me, strangling the people of Yar-Ammon. Look at where we are now. There are thousands of gods around us. It is chaotic, but it is free. You value freedom. So do I. Allegiance to one god is not freedom. I admit that I left Yar-Ammon as a rejection of hegemony."
He slumps in his chair. "Among other reasons."
"I am certain they have regret. But they are grateful that you have survived, and are free. Would that you were freer. Our lots in life always have strings, I wager."
He draws his own blade and lays it on the table, the point facing him. It is a simple dagger, unadorned, a dull gray with a bright honed edge. "I have expected assassins ever since that night. Some found their death in me instead. If you chose to, take up the knife and strike. I will understand."
There was silence for a long, dark, thoughtful moment. Her mind reeled st the revelation, nose crinkling in religous disgust and indoctrinated fear. She felt her hand curling reflexively over her own knife, almost trying to pull away from the man's grip to better slash at him. He was a heretic?
He was one of those heretics?!
A full shiver passed through her form, the jiggle of her chest setting her Zothurian amulet bouncing in the light, glinting. It seemed to burn her skin where it rested in the view of this offense to good.
But then a pause, the quaking stopping while her hand comes away from her dagger. His words forcing her to pause, eyes widening a little as the dagger is pulled out. Is offered to her.
Surely it is a trick?
But then her suspicious glare runs over his, and another shiver passes through. She stops trying to pull away from his hand, instead leaning forward to take up the knife, and shakily hold it pointed at the confessed Heretic.
Pommel first.
"I d-do not think it would be polite... T-To slay a man I have just m-met. Especially one who has tried so hard to think of my comfort." Her smile is that of glass, shining and glossy, but fragile.
"Besides this... You are still holding my dagger hand." She gives the fingers clasped in his grip a flex, squeezing the man's palm. Her expression is a mix of wary suspicion and fragile humour, chuckling in a forced way.
Khnum releases Samanra's hand as if burnt, eyes wide. "...I had...forgotten..."
He recovers his composure, and accepts his offered dagger. "Very well. You'll no doubt have other opportunities," he says with a grin, then grows serious again. "You'll forgive me, but I was raised to mistrust Zothur. That His rule is of some unnatural corruption beyond the stars. Whether this is true or not, I do not know, and I don't care to discuss theology at this juncture. I am merely preparing you for my occasional discomfort, were we to strike out together from this hell-hole with our daggers both pointing outward."
He returns his dagger to its sheath and lays his hands out on the table, hands up. Your move, they seem to say.
Slender fingers come up to gently brush her amulet. Such a cheap thing, full of meaning and power. Zothur was all she had ever known to worship. Her hand gripped the symbol a little tighter, rubbing a finger over the glass gem on it's front.
Soon enough Samanra just sighed, letting go to look up at Khnum with wariness. She stares at the hands, mouth creasing and tilting as she extended one of hers to pat his fingers. A gesture of simple comfort and reassurance.
"We'll see..."
She seemed to curl up on herself in deep thought, munching some more of her meal with a bite of her lip.
Khnum sighs. "My first name is 'Khnum'. Not a name one would want to say in many places in Yar-Ammon these days. But we are not there. We sit in a place of a thousand gods. If things turn sour and your dagger is facing my back, I understand, but we'll be stronger as allies, regardless of philosophy."
He glances at his plate. "At the very least we could work together to find better food. I feel like hurling mine back up to give to the sharks."
/me blinks at the name, unable to recall who or what 'Khnum' is in reference to, aside from the river. Still, she huffs and sits back, smiling a bit at the mention of food.
She takes another bite of her grains and fish, swallowing slowly and tipping her head back to show her throat.
"I've swallowed much worse for much less reason, honoured scholar... If you're worried about gagging, just do this...
She holds up a hand, pushing her thumb into the fist and clenching.
"It'll help open your throat, and suppress your revulsion.
The former whore snickered at the advice. It had helped her many times over the years.
Hmph, reporting in, wheres the drink at?
Khnum is agog at Samanra, not quite sure what sort of obscene activity she is suggesting.
"I don't...er...not with...hold, Samanra. Are those two Thulians? This place is getting crowded."
Here is the deal:
We have:
1 Witch
1 Barbarian
1 Bard
1 Druid
By my personal preference, I would like the maximum of only one true caster (which or druid) and one partial caster (bard/alchemist), but if you guys want to keep this party, I’m not against it.
Alternatively, if you guys want, feel free to change your class/character concept to fit any specific role you want.
Remember that, this is not a magic friendly game. The major difference is that in sword and sorcery stories, magic is not used as a replacement for technology. Spells and magic items are not used to perform every little task and to make life more convenient for the caster. Rather, magic is a corrupting force that can be dangerous to both health and sanity; it is only used when the sorcerer deems it absolutely necessary.
So, keep that in mind while playing your character.
The spell list took more effort than I first anticipated, because I couldn’t find any good source which would classify the spells by sourcebook and level (some spells being separated in several different levels, depending on the class), so I’ll go like this:
Pick up a spell, and I’ll tell you if there’s taint, if it is artillery spells or utility spell.
I've also opened the gameplay thread, feel free to post there, making this game easier to find by checking your campaign tab.
My plan for Urlok is to mostly use subtle magic effects, such as to self-buff (ant haul, stone fist), enchant objects (magic stone), or produce effects that could be explained away as mere coincidence or strangeness (call animal). He'll use more "flashy" spells, flavored as commanding the elements, only when in dire need (hydraulic push). I imagine his stone fist spell and metal fist ability to be a more subtle hardening and strengthening of his hands, very noticeable to the touch but not so obvious to sight, rather than full-on Thing/Colossus-type transformations. His method of spellcasting will be a sort of eyes-rolled-back meditation, chanting, and controlled breathing, possibly combined with some mudra/qigong/yoga type somatic components, and with higher level spells exhibiting more ostentatious casting.
I went ahead and picked a number of 1st level spells known equal to 2 + my Wis modifier, plus my domain spell. Let me know if you think any of them are inappropriate - I was interested in burning disarm as well, but it's not from the CRB or APG.
If all this sounds good to folks, I'll keep Urlok; if there are objections, I can switch concepts.
I can try altering Khnum to a Guide Ranger, or an Alchemist. The Alchemist keeps him as a knowledge monkey; the Ranger gives us another full BAB character + skills. I kinda like the Alchemist...what do you think?
I would prefer not to have an alchemist and a bard at the same time. :D
But I'll let you guys decide how to do it. I'll keep an open mind about this, maybe we can have a party of degenerate sorcerers and sorceresses fleeing for their life...
Oops, talked too much.
I'll see what Samanra wants to do first. She was considering going more martial. Does Spellcraft even work in this game? :) Do we need a rogue?
I figure we need a ranged character, so that would be Alchemist or Ranger.
Also, not a requirement, but if Urlok was a Wolf Shaman with Community domain, he can easily cure our barbarian of fatigue...a neat little trick. Oh, or if he's an Urban Druid. Both would mess with his concept, of course.
If it helps I'll quickly rework Samanra's crunch into a rogue/ranger. It still fits her background and such and is much less Magic Oriented.
Will edit later tonite, after work ^,^
Make that a rogue or Dex based Fighter ;D
Much as it aches to cover her body under mail or scale, scarring is scary.
I'm pretty set on the way Urlok is built, but if someone else wants the full caster slot I can easily make a new non-magic concept and character for a skill monkey and/or ranged combatant.
Not sure if I have the language of this place haha.
Not sure if I have the language of this place haha.
The Language is Susrahnite my dear. If you have it, wonderful, if not we'll make do~.
nope, I have Thulian, Lamuran, and Khaziztani, looks like me and Urlok might be good friends.
My girl happens to Speak Khazistani! What luck ^,^. It is a language from Yar Ammon
Nah, take the full caster slot, Urlok/Tick, and I'll re-do Khnum as the alchemist. I guess Samanra will be stabbing his hand to the table in this iteration. :D
Me drink now, no like magic.
Edited the Profile!
Rogue Samanra Hath Arrived!
Spent the last of my gold on a nice ornate tattoo. Seemed appropriate and suitably Decadent.
Okay so this is what we have?
Alchemist (Ib-Sheut)
Rogue (Samanra)
Barbarian (Arrak)
Druid (Urlok)
Everyone agreed?
--
Also, use every penny you can, because you'll start the game with no money at all.
That looks about right for me!
And None? My word
I've added a list of available spells on the campaign description. Any spell outside that list will be looked upon on case to case basis (but if the spell fit, I’m not planning to be too restrictive).
Also, every spellcaster, being a fully-fledged one or just a dabbler, receive the following ability at (spellcaster class) level 1:
Sinister Presence (Ex): Spellcasters are loathed and feared by most. At 1st level, the spellcaster has already entered a path of study which sets him apart from normal men.
As a standard action, once per encounter, the spellcaster may loudly declare his name and occupation to all who listen. Following this declaration, all who wish to attack the spellcaster, whether physically or with spells, must make a Will save (DC 10 + half spellcaster’s level + spellcaster’s Charisma modifier). Those who fail the saving throw are unable to attack the sorcerer for the duration of the encounter. However, if the sorcerer attacks or casts a spell on an affected creature, that creature is immediately free to act against the sorcerer again.
Those affected must be able to see and hear the spellcaster. Creatures of a different creature type than the sorcerer get a +4 bonus to the saving throw. Creatures that do not share a common language with the sorcerer get a +2 bonus to the saving throw. These bonuses stack. Constructs, oozes, plants and vermin are never affected.