Jaded guardsmen, hellknights, criminals, and most unsavory types agree; Egorian produces a special kind of evil bastard. The oppressive environment, hellknight presence, infernal influence, and obsession with order and decadence breeds the type of seedy individual that leaves no witnesses, has few friends, and would just as likely rip out your spine and strangle your firstborn son as look at you.
It comes from a sense that, if one is caught, the government will make a sport of your grisly and painful death. Therefore it behooves one to ensure that either people are too afraid to turn you in, or no one knows you did it from the start. Hence where you come in.
You disposed of the note as soon as you could fearign that it might be traced to you or seen as contraband, or worse planted on you to frame you for something you did not do.
Walking through the crowded streets shoulder to shoulder with slaves, merchants, and devils of all shapes and sizes there is a comfort in the crowds and tall vaulted architecture of the city. The leerin gargoyles, black and red paint, and narrow alleyways somehow provide a unique form of cover to you. While the common man might grow fearful in the presence of so many dark places and terrifying silhouettes you exalt in the fact that the silhouette in question is often yourself.
However as you cross into the region known colloquially as Whipcrack you suddenly start to feel an uneasiness that you've never felt before. This is a halfling neighborhood. The buildings are short, light colored, and you stand among the homes and people as a giant. The people notice you and either cast their eyes away forcing themselves to ignore you or stare at you from windows, doorways and alleys. You are being watched. You are exposed. And it dawns on you why your potential patron chose this area. There is nothing you can do here that won't go unnoticed.
When you finally get to the textile mill at the other side of the neighborhood near the edge of the city you are somewhat relieved. It's size is comforting compared to the small homes and thatched roofs of halfling cottages and slave barracks. The text tile mill has lines of halflings pouring in and out wearing crimson bandanas around there mouth and nose and there eyes are covered by a pair of goggles. It appears you've come in the middle of a shift change. It's at this point you become aware of the smell emanating from the place. The sharp chemical odor of acrid dyes, chlorine, and various treatment agents for fabrics. At the entrance a large half orc with a whip on his belt and a large club next to him calmly watches the halflings expecting no trouble and recieving none. He nods as you walk up apparently not opposing you until you try to enter.
"Sorry sir/maam. Can't let you through without a mask and goggles. It's the rules you see. Stuff in there can burn your eyes and make you cough up a lung." With that he gestures towards a crate next to him where half lings are reaching in and either dropping off their headgear or picking it up. After a moment or two of digging you find a pair of goggles and a bandana the proper size and put them on. The smell of sweat and blood is strong but as you enter the textile mill proper you quickly discover just what the overseer was talking about. The fumes in here are thick and potentially deadly were it not for the chemically treated mask you wear. More, it provides you with something you've missed since entering Whipcrack, anonymity.
Feeling your way through bodies, vats of chemicals, loud embroidery machines and your own lack of direction you eventually make your way up the stairs and into an office labeled "Management".
Upon entering you find yourself standing in a small windowless room with a single round table surrounded by six chairs. Directly across from you sitting at the table is a middle aged man with a large round baldspot on his head shining in the light comign from various lanterns in the room. His face appears smooth and his hair (what's left of it) is a silvery white, clinging desperately to his head in a vain effort to remain. He wears an entirely blank expression that suggests your arrival is neither surprising or welcome. He is dressed neatly, in a lawyers outfit that is perfectly tailored and immaculately clean. In front of him on the table is a brown leather suit case.
"Good afternoon." The man says after a pause just long enough to make you feel awkward. "Please, have a seat. The others will be arriving shortly. Do not remove your mask nor give out your name until our business here is concluded. Doing either before you leave is grounds for forfeiture. I will not answer any questions nor give any statements until all others have arrived and we can begin properly. Understood? Good." With that the man clasps his hands together and awaits quietly for the rest.
.
I sit down with my back to a wall where I can watch the bald lawyer and the door.
It's those smells, Csiza keeps thinking. She wanders through the throng on the factory floor, keeping herself tight, yet flowing through and among the workers with an easy grace.
She walks into the office. She looks at the gentleman, touches her mask, then notes the other woman in the room, continuing to be masked. She leaves her own in place. Looking at the table, the chairs, and the windowless room, she walks over to the gentleman and sits at his immediate right. She pulls forth a slate and chalk, and waits.
Gethric moves through the alleys of whipcrack with his hood raised. Knowing that eyes are upon him, he ensures his gait is confident and his back straight. It was clear that the half-orc was here on business... and those who observe see the heavy chain hanging from his belt and realise that their gaze is better directed elsewhere.
Sniffing the air as he approaches the textile mill he notes the acrid and stinging odours, silently marking their taste in his mind. The half-orc guard gets a nod of respect from Gethric, he knows how difficult it is for his kind to survive in Egorian. Taking a mask and goggles, Gethric also pulls his cloak hood up and over his head.
Moving through the textile mill, he waits for a few moments outside the door and out of sight just listening. Finding no answer or talk forthcoming, he walks into the room to find it already housing two guests and their host. He listens to the lawyers speech in silence, mulling it over before offering a wordless nod of assent. Choosing to forsake a chair for the moment, Gethric moves to lean against the wall just to the left of the door. Those arriving thereafter would likely not notice him on first entering, only seeing him when their eyes take in the room entire.
Lilth's hand on her walking stick is light and almost playful, like her smile when she regards the overseer. She knew such men well, those who lusted after the sound of the whip striking flesh. Such simple creatures, she thought and sighed, and without a word slipped the blinders over her head and sightless eyes and hid her seductive lips behind the protective mask.
Inside, Lilith griped her stick like the tool she meant it to be, on occasion, using it to direct the little folk from her path, and to strike against the edges of equipment before she herself rushed into them. The cacophony was a distraction, and a clever one. She could imagine far less embarrassing locations to die than surrounded by little folk in their ghetto.
Lilith listens to the elder man's instructions very carefully before seating herself, and rests her quarterstaff near her knees, which is where her sightless eyes focus. After several moments of prolonged silence, she clears her throat.
"It is not contrary to our instructions for me to remark that the homes of the little folk remind me very much of such displays made of cakes and candies that appear in shops. It lends an almost dream like quality to their oppression that I find vaguely amusing."
Shifting stance slightly against the wall, Gethric's brow furrows underneath his mask. Looking around the room he has noted the arrival of three women who are willowy and lithe... stark contrast to his stout and brutal frame.
Felgrael walked unhurriedly through Whipcrack, taking in the sights of the halfling quarter. He would never normally find himself in such a place and it was important to take note of anything important. Coming to the factory he was happy that it appeared to comform to his own height needs.
At the half-orc's words Felgrael reached into the bin and removed a mask with goggles. He chuckled putting it on. He could identify almost all of the chemicals by smell as he walked up and coughing was the least of their worries. Some of these halfings with their statures would be dead by week's end if they lost their meager protection.
Walking through the main floor, Felgrael couldn't help but think of a number of compounds he could add to the stewing vats that would create a much more ... interesting effect on the workers. Moving to the office door he let himself in quietly and took a seat.
Apparently he was one of the last to arrive, 2 women seated already. Glancing over his shoulder he realized there was a half-orc leaning against the wall as well. Angling his seat to not have his back to the large man, he waited for whatever was to follow. For the moment, he was glad to have the mask and goggles in place. Anonymity was always Felgrael's favorite weapon of choice.
Psyana quietly watches the group as they arrive. Too many to put them all asleep. And no water nearby to drown them in. However, all but the big male could easily be pulled beneath the waves for a quiet watery death.
Surprising to see so many women in the group. In this land, where women are frequently viewed as second class citizens there solely to serve their husbands needs.
With that, Psyana pulls her cloak about her more tightly to conceal her skin color and appearance.
Surprising to see so many women in the group. In this land, where women are frequently viewed as second class citizens there solely to serve their husbands needs.
HAve to cook breakfast will update when finished.
Surprising to see so many women in the group. In this land, where women are frequently viewed as second class citizens there solely to serve their husbands needs.
HAve to cook breakfast will update when finished.
As the last of you arrive and take your seats eyeing one another with the practiced wariness of a house of cats the man looks you over, nods, and places his hands on the table as he stands up. An action that seemed to involve more unfolding neatly then any kind of physical action you've seen in a person before. As he stands up he addresses all of you and gestures towards the case with accompanying gestures as he gives further instructions. "Now that it appears you have all arrived I will now leave this room. Do not attempt to follow me. I was never here. Within the case you will find your instructions labeled 1, 2, and 3. You will open each instruction in order after completing the task on the notes. If you attempt to open the notes out of order it is a forfeiture. When I leave you may speak freely. However do not take off your masks until you leave. Additionally you must use codenames for the duration of your tasks. I would wish you good luck, but, if you are professionals it should not be required. Good day."
With that the man pushes past you and with the incoming stench of chemical fumes and clatter of the textile mill the door is open and then closed.
You are now alone with the case.
Not visible under his hood and mask Gethric's left eyebrow raises quizzically. This is a little more formal and neat than I am used to... Gethric does not speak, or move to open the case.
The woman with the slate watched as the man stood and left. He didn't do that correctly, she observes. This is a test. Immediately suspicious, she stands, gathers her slate, and makes an odd gesture, wiping her fingers over the goggles.
Cast Detect Poison on the case. Then cast Detect Magic and scan the room.
Still watching the others.
You may call me Squid.
I make no move from my seat and continue to watch the others.
Felgrael rises from his seat and heads over to the case. I despise games, at least in so far as they're not of my own creation. Examining it closely, he moves his hands quickly and deftly over the seams and latch before finally opening.
In a gravelly yet precise voice "Spawn... call me Spawn" he then watches the man who arrived last work at the case.
Now they are talkative? Lilith fumes. What a vulgar group of miserly c*nts. This mission is certain to be blissful...
"You might call me Candy," the only woman to speak before their host says, a smile clear in her voice.
Felgrael looks up from the case at the others' words, his tone distracted and turning to sarcasm at the end. Hmm? Oh codenames. Sure, uh call me Smoke, that's mysterious and menacing enough eh? He shakes his head slightly with a hidden smirk. Once these masks come off, my lineage will make any codename irrelevant but why not humor our employer.
Felgrael deftly opens the case. The expensive leather opens easily with a faint creak. Within the case is empty save for three envelopes sitting neatly inside. As expected they are labeled 1, 2, and 3.
Psyana watches alertly, prepared to move the second anything happens. Upon seeing that the case did not explode or otherwise set off a trap, she stands and walks over to see the letters.
Well - number 1 is first.
She casts detect magic on the case and letters - and anything else magic in the room.
If nothing is detected, she picks up the letter marked 1, opens it and reads it.
First thing that popped in my mind with the letters. NSFW.
"How dull," Lilith sighs, and taps her quarterstaff lightly. "Might one of you open the letter?" she requests. "I am afraid that my reading voice is atrocious, and do not wish to do our host a great injustice."
Psyana watches alertly, prepared to move the second anything happens. Upon seeing that the case did not explode or otherwise set off a trap, she stands and walks over to see the letters.
Well - number 1 is first.
She casts detect magic on the case and letters - and anything else magic in the room.
If nothing is detected, she picks up the letter marked 1, opens it and reads it.
You may read Csiza's spoiler above.
Spellcraft to determine what these spells are.
Letter 1:
Letter 2:
Letter 3:
** spoiler omitted **
Open them if you will. The first is some type of powerful magic mouth, probably to give instructions. The second envelope has some necromancy involved in its ensorcering, the third is also magic. All three have some type of protective magics about them as well.
I step back closer to the door prepared to bolt if necessary.
Felgrael grabbed the first envelope and looked at the others before opening it. No reward without risk.
Gethric hasn't moved from his leaning post while the others have been fussing over the case. Arcane spells and traps are not his speciality, so he merely waits for orders.... those he understands.
As Felgrael cracks open the envelope it immediately beings to smolder and burn. With a yelp the man drops the letter onto the table where it bursts into flame. As you watch the fire dance it speaks to you in an unsettling voice that reaches into your mind and drops the words right in. More it also speaks the words simultaneously in every language you know, and many that you don't. Csiza is particularly shocked, having heard a human voice that was not her own inner thoughts penetrate the deadspace of her ears and drop into her mind.
"If you are recieving this missive you have done as instructed. This is good. Following instructions are important. You may now be wondering what this is all about. For nwo there is little to say. What can be said is that we are a business, and as a business we constantly seek individuals to fit our specific criteria to be employed. Consider this an interview for employment.
We are a secretive organization as you may have already guessed, and very good at what we do. What we do however is considered highly unlawful by more then ninety percent of known nations in the world and will gain you the ire of hellknights, guards, paladins, and more the world over should your profession become known. You will be going into places that none would go, and perform a task that few are ethically and morally equipped to complete. The pay off is that you will become part of a much larger network of professionals who will give you steady work, competitive pay, and training in the killing arts by the finest paid killers in the world.
In the case there is a second note. Undoubtedly the magically inclined among you have determined that it possesses a special enchantment separate from the rest. This is a specialized form of curse designed to keep our secrets in case you decide that the secrets you learn are more valuable than your employment. It is difficult to remove by design and beyond the protective function of the curse it is completely harmless. By opening the second letter you accept this curse and the obligation to perform the next set of instructions.
If you are morally or ethically incapable of breaking laws, stealing, murdering, lying to your loved ones, or other such tasks or you feel that you cannot work with our organization please feel free to leave through the exit and our business relationship will end and you will not be contacted by anyone again."[/b]
With that the flame goes up in a puff of smoke leaving a small pile of unidentifiable ash on the table.
Gethric's surprise at the efficacy of the magic is hidden beneath his mask and hood. Mulling the message over in his mind. It can't be any worse than what I do already, and I have no kin to worry about lying to.... and I doubt they would let you simply walk away now the gambit has been laid plain.
He remains in place arms crossed leaning against the wall, making no movement to depart.
Csiza backs away from the fire, utterly shocked by the mental intrusion. Her goggles fog and her breathing grows heavy, small bits of acridity seeping in through the cloth.
Yet as the message concludes, Csiza looks around the room, and without warning, without hesitation, leaps over to the letters to open the second.
As I said - protective magic, some type of magic mouth. And the next one involves necromantic magic which they obviously intend to use to gain our compliance. You sure you want to open that envelope?
Felgrael dusts the charred bits of the letter off his hands. Pausing a moment to think he finally steps forward towards the second letter. The theatrics are impressive but boil it down and job is a job. And let's face facts, in Cheliax there are worse ways to ensure compliance than a simple curse. He nods to Csiza holding the second letter. I'm in.
Likewise.
Gethric does not speak but if anyone looks towards him, he gestures to continue and open the second letter.
Lilith simply laughs at the idea of a curse. "We are in Egorian. A curse may be broken, but a contract is eternal. Open it," she concludes and nods towards the envelope.
The silent one does not even bother to acknowledge the agreement before opening the second letter.
Since no one has apparently physically stopped the deaf girl from opening the letter...
Without reacting to your various ascents the strange chalk board girl tears open the letter and teaches you a savage lesson in pain and regret. There is no fanfare, no magical whoos you are simply hit with a wave of pain as it feels like your entire body is on fire searing a message on the price of betrayal in your flesh. You don't know how long you've been unconscious but when you come to you stare into the palm of your hand to find a bright red scar of a stylized skull that forms the abdomen of a vicious looking spider emblaxoned on your palm. It's from that moemnt you know that giving up any of the organizatiosn secrets would doom you to a brief lifetime of this horrid torment you felt. As you watch it slowly sinks in and eventually fades. Left on the table unfolded neatly is the letter.
"Your task is simple. Mathias Kervange is a middle class merchant in the Triumph district who has recently gained powerful enemies. These enemies have paid to have his life ended by the end of the week . You are to be the instrument of his demise. None are to know who killed him. Know that we do not employ petty thieves or thugsour performance will be watched. When Mr. Kervange's life is ended open the third letter for details on how to receive payment and further work with our organization."
I look from one to the next of my new companions.
Well, that went as well as a necromantic curse could go. Although the next time one of you seeks to release a curse on all of us before talking it through, you will not have to worry about this curse ending your life.
Now to business, since we do not seem to have a choice but to work with this group of spiders. Who knows about this Kervange and the Triumph district?
I look from one to the next awaiting answers, with my gaze remaining longest on the silent warrior and the quiet woman who just cursed us all.
I didn't see you making any moves to leave the room. Maybe you should reserve some of that blame for yourself. Granted if you want out, it appears our employers have left you an easy enough solution. Felgrael raises his hand contempously towards Psyana.
As far as the target and the district, I'm afraid I know little.
"Isn't that a bit like crying 'rape' after you turn on the lights, hunny?" Lilith says sweetly, though the smile beneath the mask is not. "Take your lumps, Sugar, and kindly refrain from idle threats."
Lilith hums for a few moments, considering the methods of how one might introduce herself into the triumph district, and her grin broadens. "I've a thought. I should think it would be enlightening to take a stroll to this location. I sincerly doubt that the air quality is likely to improve presently, and these blinders are making my head ache."
Ignoring the commentary from the peanut gallery while still watching the silent duo. We have three days. Lets leave this odorous area and determine how our skills can be used to relieve this man of his life.
Again looking from person to person. Squid, Spawn, Smoke and Candy. For the time I shall call the mute one Silence. Since that appears to be her motto.
I walk over by the door and wait to see who will be the first to leave.
Csiza stares back at Psyana, whatever she might be thinking hidden beneath the goggles and mask. She motions with her head towards the door.
Taking a moment to look at the palm of her hand, Csiza pulls out a pair of supple leather gloves and dons them. Picking up the third letter, she opens the door and heads out.
I follow the quiet one out the door.
"Silence" stops, turns around, and points back to the table in the room, and the letter describing the target upon it.
Seeing the second opened letter on the table I return, pick it up, and memorize what it says. If there is any fire or acid visible once we leave the room, I will destroy the envelope and letter. If not, I shall destroy it as soon as possible.
I then again follow Silence.
Felgrael will follow the others out of the office and through the factory.
As the second letter is opened, Gethric feels the pain wash over him as though a surging wave. Unconsciously he starts to growl as the searing fire burns through his being, flooding his senses with agony. Gethric does not fight the pain, he lets it suffuse his being - revelling as he is taught that he still yet has much to learn in service of his dark lord. Falling to his knees the growl becomes an roar as he holds his hands wide and forces his eyes back open. Riding the surf of pain as long as he is able he is the last of the group to succumb to the cold dark of unconsciousness.
Returning to the world of light, Gethric flexes out his limbs working out the lingering feelings caught within. Again he is one of the first to come to, but he spends long moments staring at the slowly fading spider on his palm - so all are awake before he moves. Again letting the others read of the letter, his mind turns to more mundane tasks - such as what he knows of the man or area...
Knowledge (Local): -
Knowledge (Geography): -
"First, lets get out of this cesspool of smells." following the lead of the mute lady with the letter. As he passes the half-orc at the entrance he discards his mask and goggles and ponders questioning the thug... but thinks better of it. Our new paymasters are too cautious
Moving out into the somewhat more clean air of Egorian, Gethric breathes deep before turning to his new companions. Now that the hood has dropped, his bastard heritage is clear to all - and he casts a weather eye over the others as they also reveal the truth of their blood.
After leaving the smell factory, Psyana discards her mask and goggles, ignoring the half-orc as she does. She keeps her hood up, but you can see that her skin is dark, and almost bluish. Clearly she is of drow, or in this land tiefling, heritage. As the party moves away from hellish factory, a small black thrush flies down and lands on her shoulder.
Does anyone have a place where we can talk? Unless you can breathe under water, my hideouts will be useless.
Candy follows after the others, probably a little too closely to the silent giant, allowing him to block the little folk and moving with him to avoid the machines rather than rely upon her quarterstaff for guidance. When she removes the blinders and the mask, despite the attractive features of her face, including a full and sensuous mouth, eyes are immediately drawn to her sightless ones. Without, Candy resumes her reliance on her quarterstaff, clutching it as one might a life line.
"I've a private room, if you're interested in paying the group rate," she practically purrs. "Strictly professional mind. And," she nods to the nigh silent ones, "provided present company agrees to speak."
