The four prospective adventurers looked at each other as the adventuring groups gathered for the lottery. Experienced adventuring companies converged to find out what tombs they would be exploring. Just days before it was quickly apparent the other adventuring groups were full or not looking to take on an untested member.
It was the halfling who first realized that there were four left out when some talented solos joined up with other groups. These four, including him, just needed the chance to prove themselves. Collecting the enigmatic wizard, the ranger with the rippling muscles, and the divine warrior--he formed her own company on the spot.
It was easy to register--all they needed was a company name and a list of those that belonged to the company. It was an eventful day, for the newest mercenary company would prove that is not the size of the dog in the fight, but the size of the fight in the dog.
The bustling desert city of Wati is near
bursting with excitement. Adventurers
from every corner of the Inner Sea region
have assembled here beneath the hot Osirian
sun to explore the tombs of the city’s necropolis, waiting only
to be assigned their first sites for exploration. Surrounding the
participants, the public has gathered to observe the ceremony as
well. There is a festival-like quality in the air, and numerous street
vendors are hawking goods and refreshments to participants
and spectators alike. Some merchants have even brought what
can only be considered adventuring gear to sell as last minute
convenience items to explorers, while others advertise that they’ll
buy recovered treasures and antiquities from those who visit
their establishments.
In front of the imposing edifice of the Grand Mausoleum, an
immense awning has been erected between decorated pillars in
the market to provide shade for the priests of Pharasma overseeing
the lottery. Beneath the awning, two urns sit atop a table elevated
a few feet above the ground on a wooden stage constructed for
the event. The high priestess of the Grand Mausoleum, Sebti the
Crocodile, sits behind the table, while two acolytes confer with her
at either side.
To spend some time waiting for the lottery, you discuss the unique city of Wati.
HISTORY In –1608 ar, Pharaoh Djederet II ordered the construction of a grand city to mark the birthplace of the Osirion’s greatest natural resource: the River Sphinx, springing from the confluence of the Asp and the Crook. With its early foundations magically laid by the church of Nethys, the city sprang to life within just a year. Named Wati, the riverside town soon dominated trade across southern Osirion. Hardwoods and spices from Katapesh and the Mwangi Expanse bound for Sothis, and manufactured goods and luxuries from the nations surrounding the Inner Sea bound for Osirion’s southern territories, all paused long enough in Wati’s warehouses and markets to make its citizens famously wealthy. For centuries, Wati endured through political upheaval and the births and deaths of entire dynasties as it dominated its younger sister cities of An and Tephu. But Wati’s destiny was forever warped in 2499 ar, when the cult of Lamashtu unleashed the Plague of Madness among the city’s thriving populace. Many of those whom the fever did not immediately kill were driven to murderous insanity, and within months, more than half the city had fallen in painful, anguished death. Most of the survivors fled Wati to make new homes elsewhere, but a stubborn minority remained behind, determined to reclaim their city. But even once the plague had run its course, their livelihoods collapsed as An and Tephu took over Wati’s once- exclusive trade routes, and their floundering community struggled against recurring outbreaks of the undead from the city’s many abandoned buildings-turned-tombs. It took almost half a millennium for Wati’s fortunes to reverse thanks to the church of Pharasma. With the tacit
permission of Osirion’s Keleshite sultan, a Pharasmin priest named Nefru Shepses marched on Wati in 2953 ar with a small army of alchemists, masons, and morticians under his banner, intent on consecrating the entire city to the Lady of Graves, beginning with a new, monumental temple to Pharasma called the Grand Mausoleum. Over the next 30 years, Nefru Shepses and his followers recovered the bodies of those slaughtered in the Plague of Madness from their hasty, makeshift graves and the Pharasmins walled off that portion of the city that had been abandoned, transforming it into a metropolis of makeshift tombs. Thousands of corpses were given formal burial rites and reinterred in this dead copy of the living city, which continues to serve as Wati’s necropolis today.
The consecration of the city and its necropolis revitalized Wati, and though it never reclaimed its dominance among the cities of the south, over the next 1,700 years Wati grew until its necropolis—once more than half of the city— took up less than a quarter of the city’s total area. Today, long after the necropolis’s completion, Wati continues to produce a great variety of grave goods for Osirion’s honored dead. A steady stream of burial figures, canopic jars, embalming fluids, prayer books, and sarcophagi sail downstream on the Sphinx, outpacing Wati’s crop and textile exports. Even Wati’s criminal underworld revolves around death, as competing gangs regularly raid the necropolis for valuables and even human carrion.
Numerous adventuring groups stand in small clusters
near the stage, made up of multiple nationalities and
races. Most keep to themselves, but some teams engage in
quiet conversation with other teams, mostly speculating
about what they’ll likely face in the necropolis.
The ceremony begins when the high priestess of the
Grand Mausoleum, Sebti the Crocodile, rises to her
feet and looks over the crowd. Sebti seems surprisingly
young to hold such a distinguished position, but she has
a confident air of authority. After calling for silence, she
begins with an invocation to the Lady of Graves, followed
by a brief history of the founding of the necropolis.
Sebti concludes
by saying the following.
“Let the lottery begin! Although many
of you have requested specific sites to
explore, we must leave these matters to
fate. The Lady of Graves is a far better
judge of destiny than we of this mortal
sphere. The gates of the necropolis will
open at sunrise tomorrow. Use this
evening to prepare yourselves for the task
ahead. Let these rules guide you in your
endeavors in this holy place: remember
how this came to pass, every slave’s hut is a
memorial, and honor the departed. May you
go with the Lady’s blessing.”
The priests of the Grand Mausoleum have
decided on a lottery to distribute access to
the tombs to make the process impartial
and subject to the dictates of fate, in
keeping with Pharasmin religious tenets. The church
has mapped the necropolis and designated selected sites
within it for exploration, dividing them into three pools,
from the smallest and simplest of structures to the largest
and potentially most complex. Each party of explorers is
assigned three sites, one at a time, so that a group must
complete its exploration of one site before gaining access
to another.
After Sebti returns to her seat, the two acolytes
accompanying her each draw a wooden token from one
of the urns on the table. The first token identifies the
adventuring group, matching the token that group
received when it registered for the lottery. The second
token determines which tomb is assigned to that group.
A single representative of the chosen group is then
summoned to the stage to present the token his group
received at registration to one of the acolytes. Once
the group’s identity has been confirmed, Sebti shows
the representative the location of that group’s first
exploration site on a map of the entire necropolis. She
also gives the representative a smaller, sketched map
that shows the site’s location in relation to the necropolis
gates. Once a group has received its assignment, the
process repeats with a new group.
Pfilian moves to the high priestess and receives their assignment: Sebti the crocodile comments offhandedly "This tomb's construction predates the Necropolis." Pfilian is handed a small map to the tomb site. The profile of the tomb's structure on the surface seems less than 3000 square feet.
The next morning, the groups will be let into the Necropolis at dawn to explore their ruins.
The priests of the Grand Mausoleum expect groups
exploring sites within the necropolis to follow three basic
rules, as mentioned by High Priestess Sebti the Crocodile
in her speech during the opening ceremony.
Remember How This Came to Pass: The Plague of
Madness was unleashed upon the city of Wati while
religious authorities were engaged in infighting. This rule
is a reminder that the necropolis remains a holy place, and
those who engage in needless conf lict and banditry are not
only criminals, but accursed.
Every Slave’s Hut Is a Memorial: Every structure within
the necropolis is a testament to the people who lived and
died in the city. Explorers must not desecrate or vandalize
standing structures and tombs, but preserve them as the
memorials they were intended to be. Some structures
may be trapped or decrepit, but willful and unnecessary
destruction will not be tolerated.
Honor the Departed: The dead should be treated with
dignity and respect. If the interred need to be disturbed
to recover an antiquity or relic, they should be returned
to their resting places carefully. It is understood that the
ancient dead are often brittle, but there is no need for
the contents of a sarcophagus to be summarily dumped
on the ground. This rule does not apply to the undead or
other abominations.
Failure to comply with these rules can result in, but
is not limited to, expulsion from the necropolis, a ban
on continued exploration, seizure of recovered valuables,
and arrest and prosecution by local authorities. In
practice, the church’s ability to enforce these rules is
almost negligible. Most members of Wati’s city guard
have no desire to patrol the necropolis, even if summoned
by a priest. The church does send experienced priests or
members of its militant wing, the Voices of the Spire,
into the necropolis to make spot inspections, but it’s
too woefully understaffed relative to the number of
adventuring companies roaming the necropolis for this
to be a strong deterrent.
Knowledge:
-----
Later that afternoon.
The diminutive, and rather portly, halfling hops down from his seat and limps over to stand at the edge of the table. The other three men(? not sure as I have not seen all the character sheets) still seated before him. Apparently realizing that only the top of his pastel blue hat and with a long peacock feather in it are above the level of the table, he grabs a chair from a nearby table and climbs up to stand on it.
With a brief deep breath after finishing the climb, the halfling stands up and puffs out his chest.
Gentlemen. We have our goal, and we will show those fools in the Dog Soldiers and their useless leader Mad Dog. They are not good enough to be called dogs. From now on, they are the Cur Soldiers with their leader the Mad Bastard. Look at yourselves. We can and will accomplish more than those fools will. We shall succeed in scouring every tomb we have access to and we shall leave the dead in better shape than when we arrived.
At this point, Philian is jabbing and pointing with his cane as he speaks. The cane is also mostly pastel blue, but is also covered in many sparkly stones so that every time he moves it, light streaming in the window and from the fireplace glitter off of it reflecting onto the ceiling and table.
We begin at sunup tomorrow. Our first tomb is very old. It was a tomb before the Great Plague. Before the madness swept through this city.
Philian looks around the table, still swinging his cane as though it were a sword, and narrowly missing those seated around him in the process.
Great treasures we shall find there. Treasures as old as the famed northern realm of Thassilonian. And ancient architecture, older than almost any standing today outside of the Kellish empire. And, of course, we will find the dead. Hopefully they will be laying as they should, but if none still walked, then the priests of the Grey Lady would not be sending adventurers in.
Philian then reaches down and lifts his glass of red wine.
To a successful tomorrow. In one day, we shall be back here celebrating victory, our arms full of treasure.
Asaran stands and raises his glass of mead in toast in response, I have followed the trail to the Necropolis.... now, to learn what it is Anubis wants of me.....
He motions again with his glass, adding, "To our success", his baritone voice as gravelly and rough as the scars across his throat would suggest, but with a tone as earnest as the halfling's (though far less melodious). ..in all our endeavours, and not simply the gaining of wealth....
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The dark-skinned local man sips lightly at his wine in salute to his diminutive new companion. It is good that I have found myself with one so confident to lead these expiditions. I shall surely learn much with him as we venture forth...
"As this is our first venture, it may be well that I let you know something about the rules surrounding exploration of the Necropolis lest we find the authorities arguing the validity of our recoveries.
The first rule is that we 'Remember How This Came to Pass' and that desolation of the Necropolis only exists because of the curse inflicted upon those who engaged in religious infighting. We must not seek conflict with our fellow explorers.
The second stricture is 'Every Slave's Hut is a Memorial,' meaning that even the meanest building or relic is to be treated with respect and preserved with the utmost care.
The final edict is 'Honor the Departed,' meaning that the hallowed corpses of the resting dead should be allowed to sleep in dignity. Of course, the restless dead must be dealt with as appropriate.
These regulations will be enforced as law and we should take care not to go afoul of them, lest our license be revoked or, worse, we be prosecuted for such crimes... Of course, while the authority behind these statutes is fully authorized, the actual enforcement has traditionally been quite lax."
Realizing he has been droning on in an overtly scholarly manner, Sunjeet then smiles shyly and sips again at his wine.
Asaran nods at Sunjeet's statements thoughtfully, then says, "I'd rather simply abide by the rules than hope that we're not caught violating them."
A smile crosses Philian's face:
Of course. We cannot be the most honorable group in the necropolis of we gain a bad reputation. No. We will be the group that abides by the rules. We will aid others if needed. We shall not steal from the tombs of those we have not been granted access to.
Then he turns with his can swinging once more and causing several to have to duck, as he continues with great gusto.
But, remember. Others, such as those dame Cur Soldier, likely will not have such honor. We will have to watch our back as we return with our packs heavy with gold and treasure.
Now then, as for a name. I think we should be "The Feathered Hats". Philian proudly lifts his head so that the light blue hat and long feather are shown at their best angle. You all will need new hats, but all will tremble at the name.
Asaran laughs, a sharp sound that seems to start and stop abruptly in a few quick cycles, and then rubs his throat with a smile on his face, which quickly bleeds away as he looks at Pfilian, "Oh... you were serious about that. I apologize. As much as I understand the idea of having your competition underestimate you, there is something to be said for having a banner that resonates with all of us and inspires toward greatness rather than..... fashion."
He pauses to take a pull of mead and lubricate his throat before saying, "I am wondering if our name might not capitalize on our history of being cast off or written off by others, and how we will make those decisions haunt them? Something about misfits, desert wolves, jackals or revenents."
Philian scratches his chin as he thinks:
Feathered Misfits? Feather Wolves? Jackal Feathers? None of these really sound good. How about the Feathered Blades? We walk with a feather step, but strike with steel.
The dwarf who was silent to this point speaks up, "The Final Formation, Final Flock, or Final Faction" "Otherwise how about The Concluding Combination or The Closing Crew."
The dwarf, Rakal, goes back to drinking.
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Nodding along at just about all of the ideas, Sunjeet makes only one suggestion. "Considering our collective attitude towards following the guidelines of the authorities and the fact that, regardless of said permissions, we could be considering grave-robbers, I would suggest 'The Honorable Amongst' as both a citation of our attitude and a slight derision on our counterparts inferring that they lack the proverbial honor among thieves. This may also lure some who would read too much into a name as to assume that we are motivated solely by honor and lead them to underestimate our true intentions." Sunjeet chuckles softly at his own cleverness and goes back to sipping his wine.
Asaran rubs his throat again and says, "Perhaps the two ideas could be combined.... Something like the Final Faithful."
Philian takes off his hat and shows it to the others, assuming that they must have missed the feather.
But, but, the name has to have Feather in it. What about the Ferocious Feathers? Or the Fine Feathered Fiends?
Asaran chuckles again almost soundlessly, then says, "You seem to have an unnatural attachment to feathers that I don't quite understand."
Rakal snorts, "Our name won't matter, only our results. I think Asaran's compromise will do us fine."
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Thinking that he is still adding to the conversation, the mage says, "Perhaps we should consider other forms of word play than alliteration. Idoims for one, can be a source of wit and verbal fencing that might produce an acceptable nom de plume." He pauses there for some reason as if expecting a response. Seeing only dull eyes, he continues, "Plume... Ah, nevermind. Idioms involving feathers would include 'A feather in your cap, feathering your nest, ruffling someone's feathers, birds of a feather, tar and feather, kocked over with a feather..." It appeared that the mage could go on for a while, until he was thankfully interrupted by the dwarf's suggestion of Asaran's compromise.
Philian appears to be getting rather blustered at this point.
But . . . but . . . what about. Um. What about something that has feathers. Like, um, The Desert Hawks? Or the Light Eagles? Or Pelican Tsunami?
Asaran rubs his throat and chuckles again, "I think three of us were fond of the compromise I suggested, even if it lacks the feathers you seem so bonded to."
He shrugs and then says, "Still, you brought us together, and Desert Hawks, at least, sounds like the name of a unit, even if it would be more appropriate to followers of Horus than Anubis."
He looks at the halfling, trying to keep a straight face, knowing that the rasp of his deep voice strips the emotion from it, "Would it make things easier if we replaced the plume in your hat with a patch of fur or a bone?"
Philian looks quite offended at the thought of removing the feather from his hat.
A bone? Fur? I do not know who taught you style, but clearly they were completely insane and out of touch with the current trends.
Philian pauses for a second and casually readjusts the cuffs on his shirt.
What about the Jackal Hawks. This gives us bite while maintaining the importance of having a majestic feathered friend in the name.
The group checks into the Tooth and Hookah. Following the other adventurers, you arrive at a flag with a small crocodile sinking its teeth while grinning into a golden hookah. Inside there are many dented waterpipes and customers using them in a large bar area.
A small crocodile sits at the top of the well being fed scraps by a few foreigners in black, loose-fitting clothes. You learn the crocodile is the inn's mascot and called 'Toothy'.
The proprietor accepts your payment for an evening meal of simple fare, an evening of lodging, and you settle down for the evening.
A room is 5 sp and a large suite is 3 gp.
At the Tooth and Hookah, the group notices some halflings creating quite a stir in a corner of the room. 'Mad Dog', the leader, is surrounded by three exotic women as he tells a particular story about an encounter with nasty creatures he describes as bugbears. Using a half empty large mug at the end of his arm, he is describing an elaborate set of lance thrusts he used to bring the leader down. He manages to keep most of the contents in the mug, and drains the rest with a single gulp. The barmaid quickly brings him a fresh tankard.
It appears the halflings are quite popular with the locals and do have some coin to spend. They do not give you a second glance as you check in to get your rooms.
Making your way to the Necropolis, you are ready first thing when the gates are open and easily find your site following the map.
A rectangular stone mausoleum sits alone in what appears to have once been an actual cemetery. The trunks of a few dead trees poke out of the sand around the tomb, and a hot breeze whistles through their desiccated branches. A set of massive stone double doors is affixed to the northern side of the structure, beneath a facade bearing the likeness of an Osirian man. Windblown sand is heaped around the crypt, partially burying the doors that lead within.
The name of the individual interred within the tomb, Akhentepi, is engraved upon the doors in Osiriani, along with the dates of his birth and death, indicating that the deceased was born in 2416 ar and died in 2488 ar, 11 years before the Plague of Madness decimated most of the city
The doors are 10 feet tall and made of solid stone. This area is well preserved. The doors will not be easy to get open.
the doors are on concealed hinges and swing outward. There are also telltale traces of mortar along the seams and jamb that has since crumbled or been chipped away, indicating that
the doors were meant to be sealed permanently and not intended to be opened again.
There are signs of a crowbar or similar tool having been inserted between the doors at some point. Sand will need to be cleared out in front of the doors to open them.
Rakal approaches the mausoleum and reads the writing on the tomb, "Akhentepi is interred here. He was born is 2416 AR and dies in 2488AR, which is about 11 years before the Plague of Madness I believe." Rakal looks at Pfilian to see if he agrees.
Rakal looks at the door and frowns, "The hinges here are concealed and well crafted. The doors were made to stayed sealed however. See the along the seams here? You can see where its crumbling or chipped. You know looking at this closer I would wager that a crowbar or something similar was inserted between the doors at some point. And it looks like these doors won't open until the sand is cleared out in front of them. Let's try and clear the sand so we can see inside."
Rakal begins to clear away the sand.
Philian looks a little confused, then quickly recovers his composure. Ignoring his general ignorance, something that he notes he will have to study up on.
Yes, that sounds right. And indeed, it will be quite difficult to open the doors with all the sand before them.
The halfling jumps in to help his larger companion, although you are unsure whether he is in fact helping, or simply causing more sand to fall into the hole as it is dug.
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Studying the script, the mage says, "The script says that the name of the individual interred within the tomb is Akhentepi. He was born in 2416 AR and died in 2488 AR, 11 years before the Plague of Madness decimated most of the city... I would guess that 72 years was quite old in those days, likely more of an educated and scholarly man than a laborer or warrior."
Studying the script, the mage says, "The script says that the name of the individual interred within the tomb is Akhentepi. He was born in 2416 AR and died in 2488 AR, 11 years before the Plague of Madness decimated most of the city
Pausing scooping sand away from the door Rakal says, "Yeah I know I just said that! Now do something useful and help get this door open!" Rakal goes back to moving sand away from the doors.
Asaran chuckles and says, "Good to know that we'll be well versed on the Lore of what we encounter...", and begins to use his shield as a scoop to pull the sand away from the door.
The expert knowledge of the wizard is quickly communicated to the group. After an hour of digging away sand from the doors that open out, Asaran and Rakal work to open the door with a crowbar. Rakal helps out but Rakal seems unable to force the door. After two failed attempts, hampered by completing an hour of digging, on the third try Asaran opens the door although Rakal is unable to help him with any leverage. The doors are finally forced open. Seeing no way to guarantee they can be opened again or blocked by a dust storm, the two massive doors are left ajar.
This rectangular room is empty save for some engravings and fixtures upon the walls, a pair of heavy stone doors to the north,
and an immense stone wheel against the south wall. The air is stale, and a layer of dust and sand covers the floor, lying in a thicker layer to the south. All four walls bear sunk-relief engravings and hieroglyphs, while small stone faces are affixed to the walls at about shoulder height in each corner. The stone wheel to the south is engraved with a large spiral and is set in stone tracks in the floor and ceiling.
The dust and sand in the room, as well as the stale air, indicate that nothing has entered this room for at least a few decades.
Closer examination of the faces also reveals them to be decorative torch holders, such that when torches are placed within them, a corona of flame surrounds the deities’ heads. The stone wheel against the south wall is 10 feet in diameter and 6 inches wide, and weighs almost 5,700 pounds. With the combined effort of your two strongest, you can slowly open the wheel.
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Quickly approaching the ancient writings and holding his staff high to best shed the light, the mage examines the hieroglyphs. "The person entombed here appears to be some sort of celebrated general who presided over the armed forces of the city. The hieroglyphs also contain a warning... let me translate... 'Akhentepi’s tomb is well defended, and those who defile it tempt the wrath of the gods... The only thing the Lady of Graves despises more than the grave robber is the unsuccessful grave robber... Turn back while you can....'”
He continues to scan the walls. "That is all I can make out, though the reference to the Lady of Graves is enhanced by the proximity of the symbol of Pharasma and several likenesses of the goddess... It is clear that someone wished the superstitious to be concerned about entering this tomb.."
Asaran nods, "I would imagine that there was an issue with people defiling the tombs and not treating the dead with respect."
As the group looks around, there seems to be indication of a previous group in quite some time.
A translucent creature with large claws and a wicked stinger has followed you in from the outside and has stalked you. Fatima and Albrecht
Initiative
Pfilian
Sunjeet
Asaran
Rakal
Scorpion
ORDER OF ACTION
Surprise round (std only)
Scorpion
Rakal
ROUND 1
Asaran
Sunjeet
Scorpion
Pfilian
Rakal
Rakal realizes there is a scorpion in the room. The vicious predator goes after him.
A vicious scorpion tries to hit Rakal as the group studies the writings and misses with a two claws and an envenomed tail.
ORDER OF ACTION
Surprise round (std only)
Scorpion
Rakal
ROUND 1
Asaran
Sunjeet
Scorpion
Pfilian
Rakal
Rakal manages to avoid the deadly stinger, then returns the favor by missing badly with his Heavy Pick.
ORDER OF ACTION
ROUND 1
Asaran
Sunjeet
Scorpion
Pfilian
Rakal
Knowledge(religion):
Clueless as usual.
------
Round 1
When he sees the scorpion, Philian begins dancing like a crazed halfling (which is pretty much want he is).
What is that. Get it away.
He then begins poking at it with his scimitar.
Attack-scimitar:
Damage:
Comfirm crit:
Damage:
Asaran says, mock-seriously, "Looks like some sort of scorpion... but bigger.", and then steps in and swings his heavy blade.
Asaran strikes the scorpion hitting at the vital areas visible through its translucent shell. It falls.
Philian pokes at the corpse with his scimitar.
What was that horrid thing? Where did it come from?
Asaran nods and rubs the scar on his neck, "Wise advice at all times..."