A Legacy of Hatred

Game Master Byden

The Archmage Nex, founder and ruler of the country named for him, has been missing for thousands of years. Nex's archrival, the dread necromancer Geb, still rules his own evil land - a ghost who cannot rest until he knows his ancient foe's fate, and is assured of his victory.

For centuries now the countries of Nex and Geb have enjoyed peace, and been able to recover from some of the horrors caused by their master's apocalyptic spell battles. But within Nex many factions stir, and the Council of Three and Nine are gathering any with the Archmage's blood, "for their own protection". A single phrase has stolen into the countries consciousness, seemingly from the ether; "Hand of descent extended, I shall return to deliver my people." Rumors speak of the warp storms of the Mana Wastes waxing in violence, of the twisted monstrosities that dwell there growing more frenzied, and of the undead legions of Geb massing for war!

Can the disparate descendants of Nex prevent tragedy, and uncover the fate of their famous forebearer? Let us see...

Some days ago a small, yet significant portion of Nex's populace received a letter. You were one of those who received a copy, delivered by a courier dressed in the black and gold livery of The Council of Three and Nine - Nex's ruling body. Its contents are troubling...

Letter

Ormiz

In the shanty slums that surround the beautiful city of Quantium - like manure around a bed of roses.

Pendia, the sandy wolfish mongrel that long since adopted Ormiz, whines upon the bed as Iuni paces back and forth across the tiny floorspace of Ormiz's shack. The puppies eyes follow the well dressed young wizardess' progress, her well cut clean silks a stark contrast to the shabby setting,

"The hells am I supposed to study when my skin feels like its trying to squirm off my bones Ormiz? You need to help me out, I cannot take this anymore, every time I open my books I find myself reading the same sentence a dozen times. I just need something to see me through these exams and then I'll never bother you again," the last words have been repeated too many times to have even a veneer of truth.

Then there is a heavy thumb from the roof that sets the whole structure trembling alarmingly and a gentle rap on the roof,

"Hey anybody in there? Ormeeze?" Calls a nasal voice, that sounds out of breath, "Dung, I've gotta hurry, here, take this, I hope you can read it, got a bit... stained. Go to Dehnet, if you've Nex's blood your life isn't going to be worth a split copper here soon enough. Luck!" A piece of crumpled parchment is shoved through a small gap in the rickety structure and then another worrying lurch of the building signals the disappearance of the unseen visitor.

The note hangs for a moment and then flutters to the floor near Iuni who snatches it up and reads,

"Those with Nex's blood are, um, herbed? Is that blood? Something the slaughter. If you would find freedom and reward come to Dehnet where the founder's blood is honored."

Gwendolyn Yoresnson

In the Craft Quarter of the magnificent city of Quantium.

The blacksmith, called Jaali the Hammer, is a powerfully built young man whose height disguises just how muscular he is to an extent. He has near black skin and a shaven head, and a number of scars pucker his bare shoulders - though he wears a heavy apron and gloves. Finishing inspecting the dagger he looks up with wary eyes,

"Yeah I made this, 's my mark. What of it? Ain't my fault what folk do with weapons they buy from me Marshall, I'm just looking to make an honest living best I can. I sell a lot of stuff in bulk, maybe one of those I've been selling off to the Arclords, they're equipping a defense force for some new town, don't care so much about quality want quick and cheap, I can do much finer work."

The shops door opens behind Gwendolyn and a neat little man enters, his grey robes gathered together at the waist by a thin band of woven gold marking him an official of the Office of Measures,

"Excuse me Marshall, but a woman just asked me to deliver this note to you. She said to tell you you might be able to prevent a great crime? Might you know the ladies name I must confess I was rather taken with her, and well, to be frank am anxious to make her acquaintance properly."

He hands Gwendolwyn a tightly rolled little parchment which reads,

Those with Nex's blood are to be herded to the slaughter. If you would find freedom and reward come to Dehnet where the founder's blood in honored.

Sense Motive: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (14) + 5 = 19

Staryth

Fort Karade, a constantly shifting camp around the high walled Fortress which contains a spring. The Karade exchange their water for goods and coin so caravans can cross the harsh desert lands.

The bustle of the day thunders around Staryth as the seemingly disciplined caravan crew he stowed away with dissolves into the camp almost instantly. Gurun Hadak, the caravans fat, but muscular owner seems unconcerned and merely waves over a number of shabbily dressed deformed men who hang about at the edges of the camp. A few coffers are exchanged and the wastelanders are soon tending the animals and following Hadak's instructions to unload various crates and barrels.

Hawkers call out for an astonishing variety of wares, and a number scantily clad women beckon men into tents filled with aromatic smokes and soft pillows. Through the crowd of merchants and travelers come a scruffily dressed squat man, with a bushy grey beard and wild hair, bumping into people and muttering as he follows a compass clutched in both hands. He advances inevitably towards Staryth, almost bumping into him before he glances up, looks back down at the compass suspiciously and sniffs,

"Don't look like no descendant to me Hitherto. But what do I care hey? I just do what I'm told and they fix my corners. Here you take this, read it cause you need it," he thrusts a hand out at Staryth revealing a rolled piece of parchment.

Then the strange old man jumps and dwindles in the air transforming into an dusty red eagle and streaking over Hadak and his workers before ascending into the brilliant blue sky and speeding away towards the horizon.

The note reads,

Those with Nex's blood are to be herded to the slaughter. If you would find freedom and reward come to Dehnet where the founder's blood in honored.

Criss Falden of the Wastes

The slums of the great city of Ecanus, hub of Nex's arcane and military power.

Criss awakens in an unfamiliar room, instantly feeling pain flare as he rediscovers a dozen aches and pain from his beating at the hands of the guards. It seemed some of the men did not like the idea that "a dirty wastelander" could be possessed of Nex's blood.

An elderly woman dressed in enveloping black veils enters the room carrying an earthern ware bowl sloshing with water and sets it down on the dirt floor besides Criss without saying a word. Then she sits cross legged besides the thin straw mattress he lies upon and offers him a wooden cup gesturing to the water,

"They say you were hurt because you received the letter. Me and mine received it to, and none have coin to pay. but some few who are strong, and perhaps capable are being made an offer. I will deliver it to you cousin far removed. I am Nyveera Crostelle, fallen Priestess of Desna, I shall be leaving this place shortly, for good. It is a hovel, but you are welcome to you use it as long as you would."

That said she hands him a rolled parchments which once unfurled reads,

Those with Nex's blood are to be herded to the slaughter. If you would find freedom and reward come to Dehnet where the founder's blood in honored.

In the Shanty slums of Quantium
"What in the Hells?" he reaches for the note "Look Iuni - I've told you. I'm not holding out - I sold everything to Barum!"
Everything you want, anyway.
"You know if I had any I'd give it to you. Now, I need that note. If I'm dead I can't make you another dose ever."
Wheedling, Ormiz takes advantage of the moment of distraction to snatch the note.

"Damn. Much as I'm inclined not to trust some random guy giving me a note... With my luck this whole Nex-blood-thing probably is a prelude to getting killed. Hells!"

Dropping to sit cross-legged on the floor he idly pats one of the puppies, getting a playful nip for his trouble. Cross-legged he starts to think out loud.

"Well - if whoever sent me the note wanted me dead I guess they could just kill me here - they obviously know who I am and where I live."
"I wonder if Dajit knows something. When I asked to borrow more money so I could pay this 'nominal fee' he suddenly demanded I pay up straight away, in full - I've barely got enough now to cover living expenses. He's always been happy to gouge me for interest - still wants another tame manufacturer, I reckon... If he's suddenly regarding me as a bad risk..."
"Yeah. Might be worth seeing what this Dehnet place is like. sure would be nice to go somewhere I'm actually honored." Rather than just being used he thinks, looking sideways at Iuni.

"Alright - I'm going to head to the market gates, pick up some stuff and head off. Maybe I can find a caravan or something headed that way - don't much fancy wandering the wastes by myself."

After gathering up some belongings quickl and cutting a deal with his neighbour for some almost-nearly-perfectly-fresh probably-goat for Pendia, Ormiz finds himself out of excuses to procrastinate. He looks at Iuni, who seems to have hung around hoping he'll reveal some stash at the last moment.
"Y'know, Iuni. You could come with me."
catching sight of her expression he quickly adds "Just a thought.".

Wandering through the slums was like saying goodbye to an old - well not friend, but person who you have spent a long time with, got drunk with, but who slept with your girlfriend that one time and now you work together and pretend it never happened.

The market gate was busy dealing with merchants, and Ormiz - now sporting the beginning of a black eye courtesy of Iuni's furious farewell - attracted more than his share of suspicious looks from the guards. Ransacking his memory for names he joined the queue, spoke politely to Jorg and Shachmael and was let into the city gate that led to the market.

Staryth

Fort Karade, a constantly shifting camp around the high walled Fortress which contains a spring. The Karade exchange their water for goods and coin so caravans can cross the harsh desert lands.

The bustle of the day thunders around Staryth as the seemingly disciplined caravan crew he stowed away with dissolves into the camp almost instantly. Gurun Hadak, the caravans fat, but muscular owner seems unconcerned and merely waves over a number of shabbily dressed deformed men who hang about at the edges of the camp. A few coffers are exchanged and the wastelanders are soon tending the animals and following Hadak's instructions to unload various crates and barrels.

It had been a cramped and nervous trip. The first few nights, Staryth had been plagued by bad dreams of an angry ghast screaming that she would dine on his liver.

Stretching his legs for a moment, the bard pulls out his trusty lute and strums quietly. He tries to play something...soothing.

Hawkers call out for an astonishing variety of wares, and a number scantily clad women beckon men into tents filled with aromatic smokes and soft pillows. Through the crowd of merchants and travelers come a scruffily dressed squat man, with a bushy grey beard and wild hair, bumping into people and muttering as he follows a compass clutched in both hands. He advances inevitably towards Staryth, almost bumping into him before he glances up, looks back down at the compass suspiciously and sniffs,

"Don't look like no descendant to me Hitherto. But what do I care hey? I just do what I'm told and they fix my corners. Here you take this, read it cause you need it," he thrusts a hand out at Staryth revealing a rolled piece of parchment.

Then the strange old man jumps and dwindles in the air transforming into an dusty red eagle and streaking over Hadak and his workers before ascending into the brilliant blue sky and speeding away towards the horizon.

Staryth WAS enjoying his tune and the backdrop of the sound of lively traders hawking their wears. The wild looking man set him on guard, but he smiled anyway. Then the note was shoved into his hands, "Sir? I don't know..." but before he finishes, the fellow has turned into an eagle, "There's a song in this I'm sure." he mutters in amazement before reading the note.

The note reads,

Those with Nex's blood are to be herded to the slaughter. If you would find freedom and reward come to Dehnet where the founder's blood in honored.

Gods. Do I even have a choice? This could be a trick, but if it is, they already know where I am so I wouldn't be safe avoiding it.

He tries to recall what he knows of Dehnet.
Knowledge Geography: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (2) + 2 = 4
Knowledge Local: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (20) + 6 = 26

Sitting up with a groan, he rubs his eyes and gingerly touches his bruises with a wince and another groan through clenched teeth.

They better hope I won't come back to repay this. I have special blood? Why should I care. I'll never be able to acquire the money without stealing it...

He takes the offered water and drinks while the woman speaks. She speaks of being a 'cousin' but he can't see anything close to the women of his tribe.

Ah, she must be talking of the blood of Nex. Blood. Nex is dead. Blood. Their divinations discovered it but I'm nothing special. Left my tribe and son to survive on their own. Can't even make myself go back... My wife...

He takes the parchment, briefly looking it over before unrolling it. Glancing at her whilst reading the words he takes a couple minutes to think, reading it several times and remembering the previous letter given to him.

"This would seem to say that there are those that don't want to blood of Nex running around free. Are they scared of it. Why now, so many years later."
"Well I can't go anywhere yet. At least a day or two before I can travel."

He looks at the woman, wondering why she deems to help him. "Thank you for all of this." He gestures to the room, water and note she had given him.
Shrugging off his cloak he prepares to inspect the extent of his wounds and clean them with the water, not before filling his water pouch and making sure all his possessions are with him.
Whether the woman stays, helps or leaves, he cares not if she sees him in a state of undress.

Grimward Brack

In the wastelands traveling back to Ecanus from Quantium.

Grimward has elected to settle down for the night in a copse of gnarled leafless red needle trees, the scent of their poison tends to ward away beasts and the provide some minimal cover from the lashing winds.

In the distance something howls defiantly, only to be cut off with a chilling abruptness as the horizon glows red for a split second. Moments later a rider appears heading unerringly for Grimward's copse. The steed moves with unnatural swiftness, and almost before the oracle can take in the robed figure of a plump woman with high cheekbones and white hair braided into a woven cloak of green and blue silk pieces made to resemble scales, she is upon him.

She lets her mount pick a careful path between the spiny trees and looks Grimward over with slitted eyes. It is instantly clear that she is exhausted, from both the bags under her eyes and her slumped posture. When she speaks even her voice seems heavy and lethargic, and she yawns through several of her words,

"You got a, uhhugh, letter right? Nex's blood? Yeauugh, yea. We are, ugh, oof, recruiting those who seem capable from the descendants. The Council is going to start rounding up those who can't pay, and can soon after. Take this note, I suggest you follow it. That's all I can say. Now I've got to ride before the damn Phant here," she pats the grey horse, "runs out."

She reaches into her robe and withdraws a rolled scroll, which she promptly fumbles sending it fluttering to the floor. Shaking her head, and shrugging apologetically she digs her knees in and her mount begins to move again, soon vanishing into a dark streak in the distance.

The scroll reads,

Those with Nex's blood are to be herded to the slaughter. If you would find freedom and reward come to Dehnet where the founder's blood in honored.

It is relatively easy to seek out information on Dehnet, most merchants operating on any great scale have heard of it. It is a new town founded in the very center of Nex by the Arclords, who have largely retreated there claiming to be trying to reclaim the wastes. Dehnet is receiving a steady stream of goods and eager new citizens seeking out a better new life, as such caravans are crossing the wastes from all over Nex providing cheap and relatively safe access to the town.

Feel free to write this out if you wish with no need for checks to gather the information.

Travel in Nex for the poor at least, is almost exclusively by heavily guarded caravan. While it is not unusual for some twisted horror, or unknown danger, to wipe out such caravans, they are generally considered safe enough due to the sheer number of such expeditions meaning a high percentage survive. Such journeys will take weeks to cross the vast wastelands, often detouring around known dangerous areas, etc.

Upon reaching Dehnet the first thing you see are imposing circular stone walls, that seem to be created in one seemless piece, save for the squat towers which every couple of hundred feet. Beyond the walls ragged individuals - primarily wild looking men, and strange twisted creatures that seem to be made up of a curious assortment of parts - labor creating what is obviously the foundation for a second outer wall. Here and there the massive forms of stone golems can be seen accompanied by robed figures. And a great plume of dust can be seen coming from a burrow like hole some twenty feet in diameter, from which echo occasional booming roars of protest.

The gate to the completed wall is manned by twelve fresh faced young men, in uniforms of deep blue with gold patterning. Two of their number carry guns, the rest are armed with glaives, save for one fellow who wears blue robes and is seated upon a folding chair making notes in a large leather book with a quill while a raven upon his shoulder peers about suspiciously.

There is a small line at the gate, which includes a couple of caravans at the fore. Each person is questioned as they approach, and though he guards seem to be well mannered, they will not be rushed. its easy to over hear the conversations ahead, and they take a fairly standard form,

"May I take your name please? Excellent. And your business in Dehnet? I see. Have you arranged for lodgings? The Handy Haversack has rooms for those with coin, if you are on a budget The Shelters will give you a bed if you don't mind the company you keep."

The trip to Dehnet was far from comfortable for Ormiz. Reluctant to part with any coin he had agreed to work his passage - only to discover that the Caravan Boss had earned the sobriquet of "Heard-hearted Bastard" from his men for his tendency to take advantage of poor folk like Ormiz.

The second night out of Nex, when it was too late to sprint back to the city and with the threat of being expelled from the Carvan effectively a death sentence, Bastard had sorrowfully explained to Ormiz that as they had not managed to take enough people on, there was a few extra chores to do.

After digging a garbage pit Ormiz reluctantly fell back on chemical assistance to keep going. Delighted to see that Ormiz could be worked even harder Bastard proceeded to pile on more chores every night. In the end Ormiz had started juggling for the drivers and guards as soon as they stopped for the night. Bastard was reluctant to risk upsetting his employees by removing their only source of entertainment - it was not inconceivable that he could meet with a fateful "magic surge" that left him, say stabbed seventeen times.

Ormiz carefully gave his name as "Ormiz" and still reluctant to spend coin asked for directions to The Shelters.

After resting several days Criss found himself feeling able to move without pain again, though some bruises still insisted in bothering him every now and then. Thankfully he had not been bothered by others or escorted away to die. That was merely a nightmare.

Looking slightly cleaner than he had before but still rugged from his land he explored the city briefly, looking for transport to Dehnet.

With his severe lack of coin he approached several caravan owners, hoping his meager funds are enough. I could just follow them after all. I'm no stranger to the land. he manages to secure a place in one caravan, offering his services to help protect the caravan.

Several weeks later with no incidents bar an old crazy man who would tell them every morning that they would not see the next day, for the gods are angry and will send the beasts on them, they came upon the new city. perhaps this is the trap... I could have gone and hid in the wilderness again. They couldn't find me there surely.

Having never seen a golem Criss stared in wonder at such a creature of metal seemingly alive. Their magic here is strong. Approaching the gates and waiting in turn for the guards to question him.

"Criss? With a 'C'. I'm looking for a friend who told me to meet them here. Yes well, which direction are the shelters?"
hope it's not too crowded. If that old man is there...

Once the entire caravan is inside the walls and he has been thanked for his help by the guard captain, he heads towards the shelters.

Gwen reads over the note with a furrowed brow. Suspicious by nature and training, she reads over the words several times trying to understand their significance.

Just a sorting post, really. Did she already receive the other letter inviting her?

The deeper Staryth goes into Nex, the better he feels, and he is much more relaxed to find himself in Dehnet though the journey was dusty.

"May I take your name please? Excellent. And your business in Dehnet? I see. Have you arranged for lodgings? The Handy Haversack has rooms for those with coin, if you are on a budget The Shelters will give you a bed if you don't mind the company you keep."

"Staryth. My business? I am here by a letter of invitation," And... he notes Criss' comment, I do not seem to be alone in being invited, though it surely it can't be the SAME exactly?

Armed with the information, he strums his lute and sings as if practicing, "Distant Age, blood of a mage, guidance offered on a single page... would it be prudent, would it be wise, is the promise a truth, or a child of lies? Founder's blood, a trickle or flood? Which way does it flow? Are we one or many, few or plenty...and is how can we make it show?"

Perform (Sing): 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (5) + 8 = 13
Perform (Strings): 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (8) + 8 = 16

He keeps his eyes out for any who might seem startled or react to it as anything other than a song.

Trekking across the wilderness of Nex is no pleasant feat, even for the hardiest of travelers. Still, the openness of the land provided a sort of freedom and comfort that Grimward had long since come to appreciate. Solitude meant no judgement, no criticism and no expectation of payment from the weary outsider... but cities were another matter.

Grimward compared the two letters with a sense of concerned pride.
Wow. The bloodline of Nex no less...
He shook the feeling away as he stuffed the notes into his backpack, concerned at his growing hubris.
Focus. One step at a time. Focus!

The caravan he had joined proved indifferent to the scarred half-orc, not that he blamed them. His facial burns and scars, not to mention his orc teeth, were always off-putting to others. Still, he managed to keep himself useful by acting as the 'spotter' for natural hazards, such as quicksand and sudden dust storms. Even he didn't want to risk traveling to an unknown destination on his own.

Arriving at Dehnet, Grimward observed the high towers and imposing walls with curiosity. The apparent safety of the town failed to alleviate his distrust of 'civilization', but the clear signs of magic did provide a certain level of comfort. He has heard stories of old magic and powerful constructs, though he suspected such powers feeble compared to the storms of the Spellscar. The thought renewed his vigor and he marched towards the front gate, turning his attention to the guard on duty.

"Grimward Brack, yeah, and er... I got a letter."

"Have you arranged for lodgings? The Handy Haversack has rooms for those with coin, if you are on a budget The Shelters will give you a bed if you don't mind the company you keep."

Shuffling onward, Grimward partially covered his head with a cowl. Better safe than sorry.
Perception: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (4) + 1 = 5
Is that music over there? 'blood of mage' did he say? That sounds familiar to my situation.
Grimward cautiously approaches the sound of the music, curiosity getting the better of him.

Ormiz - directions to the shelter safely memorised - walked around the corner from the guards, then stops.

If there is one thing he has learned in a lifetime of running it is that it is very very important to know where you are running to. Well he recalled his mentor's advice: always, always know another way out.

It isn't dark yet and a few hours of wandering around town could pay off if - as seemed likely given his run of luck - this meeting with the second letter's authors had him needing to bolt or find a bolt-hole.

Wandering in a circuit around town he keeps an ear out for names - matching them to faces where he can - and attempting to see if there are any alchemists - or "alchemists" - who have set up shop so far. Given the prevalence of magic he has seen so far it seemed likely that there is.

While he wanders he does his best to recall everything he has ever heard of the Arclords. know:local: 1d20 + 13 ⇒ (8) + 13 = 21 know:local: 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (15) + 9 = 24

Soon enough his circuit is complete and he is back at the gates.

Grimward cautiously approaches the sound of the music, curiosity getting the better of him.

Staryth continues to strum. While the minstrel's entertainer's colorful outfit is somewhat dimmed by the dust of the road, and his formerly neatly trimmed facial hair has gotten a bit unkempt, he still cuts a handsome figure. Staryth notices the cowled figure approaching, and smiles, "Like the song stranger? I'm working on it as I go so it needs some proper polish still."

Gwen reads over the words again, comparing it to the very different tenor of the invitation letter she received upon making the crossing from Alkenstar to Nex. She'd barely resisted tearing up the letter as a scam, but kept it in her pack. The mention of Dehnet interests her, especially in the light of the smith's words. Most everyone from Alkenstar had heard of the Arclords' ambitious attempt at a manmade oasis, and most everyone from Alkenstar feel strongly that such a plan is a pale imitation of their city at best. She holds the dagger up again, almost waving it at Jaali. "This new town that you're arming singlehandedly happen to be Dehnet?"

Without even waiting for him to respond, she turns to the robed official. She grits her teeth, as he looks like an officious bureaucrat - and if there is anything that Gwendolyn Yorsenson cannot tolerate, it is a bureaucrat. "You'll have to tell me what she looks like, unless you think I've developed psychic powers. Maybe I do know her."

"Like the song stranger? I'm working on it as I go so it needs some proper polish still."

Grimward nods, his face still partially concealed.

"Strange thing, only recently I found out that an old relative of mine was an ancient wizard, and your song reminds me of my current situation. The half-orc pauses in thought.
Intelligence Check:1d20 - 1 ⇒ (19) - 1 = 18
(OOC: Wow. Didn't expect that.)

"You seem to know part of my story. Which means you are either a fellow seeker, a guide, or..." Grimwards eyes suddenly flash red and his teeth clench, bearing ivory fangs.
The half-orc spins around in fear, his right hand clutching the hilt of his sheathed blade, his eyes darting quickly left to right for the expected attack. For a moment there is a tense pause, then he relaxes with a deep sigh, content that no assassin lie in wait among the crowd. Several onlookers pause to stare at the confused half-orc before moving on. He turns back to the Garundi minstrel.

"Sorry friend. A traveler doesn't last long in the Wastes without turning a little... para... paran... a bit on edge."
Now with a pleasant smile on his lips, Grimward slowly removes the cowl, revealing a terribly ugly half-orc face, made even more hideous by burns and scars. Red eyes, the glow now fading away, lie sunken on his face.

"My name is Grimward Brack, and I am honored to meet you" He says with a modest bow.

Ormiz

Iuni pulls a face,

"I do not need to come with you Ormiz, my family is willing to handle legitimate expenses, and three thousand gold pieces is nothing considering what it will eventually save me in school fees,"

She moves awkwardly forward and kisses Ormiz on the forehead,

"You should be able to write to me, care of the Bandeshar Palace. Be careful what you say, alright? I would like to know you have not gotten yourself killed."

What are you doing with Pendia's puppies Ormiz?

As Ormiz gives his name a voice echoes from the gate above, seemingly coming from the stone itself,

"Ormiz. Dust blown."

The guard starts and nods, his voice taking on the dull uncertain monotone of someone carefully recalling lines,

"Please proceed to the Nex Environmental Survey Department of Solemn Square - head to the town center then turn right the statue of Arclord Arudika will tell you you are there."

With that the guard withdraws, ignoring any further questions and waving Ormiz through the gate.

Arrival Time: 1d6 ⇒ 5

Criss FaldenThe guard nods disinterestedly,

"Chris right, the shelters are directly ahead, if you can read you can't miss them - if not just ask when you reach the wall," he is then waved on through,

But as he steps through the gate a bell rings and a man dressed in the blue and gold of the guard, with a raven perched on his shoulder and a large leather bound book tucked under one arm hurries up behind him,

"Excuse me, but I hope you are here to be extended a certain offer of employment. If this is the case please head for the Nex Environmental Survey Department off Solemn Square. Head for the center and turn right, its the square with the sour faced Wizard statue. If you have no idea what I am talking about, then let me simply say that our magics have detected you are suitable for a lucrative opportunity and ask that you head there to hear out the offer. Now I shall leave you be, thank you for your time."

Arrival: 1d6 ⇒ 6

Staryth

Since you've already posted I'll have you arrive on the same day as Criss - my fault for not posting the planned mechanics sooner :)

As soon as Staryth offers his name a hollow voice comes from above the gate, seemingly from the stone itself,

"Staryth. Dust blown."

The guard looks suddenly nervous and looks the bard up and down before saying in a cautious tone,

"Please go, I mean, proceed to the Nex Environmental Survey Department, just off Solemn Square. Head for the town center then turn right the statue of Arclord Aruwhathisface will tell you you are there."

The guardsmen then whips around as he sees the blue and gold robed seated man rise hurriedly and make an ungainly run through the gate to speak with the man who called himself Criss.

"Aye, that I do friend. Your song you say? May I say, your tune is a fine one..." He says politely, doing his best to sound eloquent and educated.
Sense Motive:1d20 + 5 ⇒ (5) + 5 = 10
(OOC: Just thought a Sense Motive might provide a little direction. Will go with 'fairly trusting' attitude)

"Strange thing, only recently I found out that an old relative of mine was an ancient wizard, and your song reminds me of my current situation. The half-orc pauses in thought.

Intelligence Check:1d20 - 1 ⇒ (19) - 1 = 18
(OOC: Wow. Didn't expect that.)

I am definitely not alone...

"You seem to know part of my story. Which means you are either a fellow seeker, a guide, or..." Grimwards eyes suddenly flash red and his teeth clench, bearing ivory fangs.
The half-orc spins around in fear, his right hand clutching the hilt of his sheathed blade, his eyes darting quickly left to right for the expected attack. For a moment there is a tense pause, then he relaxes with a deep sigh, content that no assassin lie in wait among the crowd. Several onlookers pause to stare at the confused half-orc before moving on. He turns back to the Garundi minstrel.

Staryth's own eyes wipe around and he sniffs the air as if expecting whatever is coming to be detected so...

"Sorry friend. A traveler doesn't last long in the Wastes without turning a little... para... paran... a bit on edge."
Now with a pleasant smile on his lips, Grimward slowly removes the cowl, revealing a terribly ugly half-orc face, made even more hideous by burns and scars. Red eyes, the glow now fading away, lie sunken on his face.

"My name is Grimward Brack, and I am honored to meet you" He says with a modest bow.

The bard has a hand over his own heart as he tries to calm it, "I suppose I can understand THAT, but I will say your actions gave me a start. I am Staryth, bard by trade."

As soon as Staryth offers his name a hollow voice comes from above the gate, seemingly from the stone itself,

"Staryth. Dust blown."

The guard looks suddenly nervous and looks the bard up and down before saying in a cautious tone,

"Please go, I mean, proceed to the Nex Environmental Survey Department, just off Solemn Square. Head for the town center then turn right the statue of Arclord Aruwhathisface will tell you you are there."

The guardsmen then whips around as he sees the blue and gold robed seated man rise hurriedly and make an ungainly run through the gate to speak with the man who called himself Criss.

"Pardon, it would appear I am summoned. To answer your question, we are not alone it would seem." He makes his way as directed.

Very sorry for assuming they all came roughly at the same time. I hope I haven't messed anything up.

A perfectly reasonable assumption entirely my mistake.

Criss hears the man hurrying behind him and turns to wonder what alarm could cause such a rush after just arriving from a long journey. To his surprise the man seems to be looking at him and stop in front of him. Seeming to be dressed like the guards but carrying a book.

did I not answer their questions properly?

When the man speaks Criss listens, "Employment?"

magics? Did this man send Nyveera the letter? Do they know I was never sent the offer of socalled safety? Perhaps I should go along with this.

He looks around as if he could detect the magic the man spoke of. An automatic instinctual movement. He nods at the man, memorizing the given directions.

"No. Thank you." he says as the man walks away.

let's find this sour monument that seems to request my presence...

He chuckles at his joke.

Gwendolyn

"Oh she was beautiful, dusky and full figured and rather tall, but completely lovely. She smelled like jasmine, heavenly! Simply heavenly!"

The blacksmith grunts and speaks over the official,

"Ain't anything single handed about it. Near every other smith I know has been supplying them, not all with weapons either. But I heard they've been magicing the weapon up to make them real fine, so I figured if I put my mark on might drum me up a little business. And don't be suggesting that's cheating, I can do work finer than anything a wizard can do with plain steel, anyone comes to me for a fine blade and is willing to pay will get one."

Arriva: 1d6 ⇒ 5

Grimward

Grimward passes through the gates just as the robed man with the raven is returning to them, and he sees the fellow begin to chants and sprinkling a line of fine metallic silver dust across the gateway which vanishes as he chants. But Grimward is through before the process is finished and on his way.

We will assume that the magic mouth missed Grimward's name for pronunciation issues - like it missed Criss's because he said it as a question. Staryth can direct you to the Environmental Service Department I hope.

OOC: Umm... Oops.

"Pardon, it would appear I am summoned. To answer your question, we are not alone it would seem."

Grimward smiles to himself as Staryth walks away.

He begins to follow behind Staryth, curious at his new acquaintance and eager to explore Dehnet further.

Seeing Grimward behind him, Staryth smiles and makes no move to lose the fellow Sounds like he might be another these folks are looking for anyway

Gwen eyes the messenger with an air of almost derisive suspicion. Dryly, she says, "I'll keep an eye out for her." With the messenger forgotten from her mind and the possibility of a new clue in her quest to find a killer, she nods her thanks to the blacksmith. "I appreciate your help. Have a good day, sir." She grabs her thick wooden shield, which is nearly as tall as she is, from its spot leaning against the table. With a casual nod of thanks to the blacksmith, she heads to the door, only to stop as she surveys the wares of his shop.

"Is that cold iron?" She points to a longsword hanging from a hook. He nods and takes it off the hook, handing it to her by its hilt. She puts the shield back down and leans it against the wall, then takes the sword. It is a good - not great, but good - weapon with solid balance and a substantial heft. She swings it a few times, her eyes lighting up like a child as she practices. Her mind flashes back to a happier time.

Her father, an imposing man with long, blond hair and a thick golden beard, looms before Gwen. At the age of twelve, she is tall and lanky. She laughs as he brings down a blunted sword with a fraction of his strength. She raises her own and blocks with all her might. The impact reverberates through her arms and nearly knocks her down. Her father knocks the blade out of the way and claims his prize - he wraps her in a bear hug, swinging her in circles as if she were still a young child. She giggles uncontrollably as he puts her down, dizzy and happy. Her brother Olav, only two years older than her, laughs from further back in their modest home. Bookish, bright, and fiercely protective of his little sister, Olav jumps in on the action. "I must save my sister from the dragon! Foul beast, you will fall!" He picks up Gwen's blunted blade and starts poking their father, trying to prod him into battle.

Breaking from her reverie of happy times nearly a decade past, Gwen puts the sword on the table. "One can never have enough weapons. I'll take it." She pulls out 30 gold coins stamped with Alkenstar's mark and places them on the counter, making her the happy owner of a new sword. She sheathes it in a scabbard handed to her by the smith, then connects it to her already-overloaded belt. With a final nod, she gathers her shield and heads out of the store to make the trip to Dehmet.

===================================================================

Days later, Gwendolyn arrives at Dehmet. She stands in the dusty roadway, looking up at the circular walls with a raised eyebrow. To the onlooker, she certainly would seem quite odd. It is not often in these parts that a pretty Ulfen girl with icy blue eyes and golden hair arrives. It is even more unusual that she would wear thick, heavy armor, carry a shield almost as large as she, or have enough weapons to arm a small company. On her left hip, a newly-made longsword hangs from her belt; on her right, a club with a handle on the side hangs from a metal circle and a rather beat-up looking pistol sits in a leather holster with a very worn snap. Peeking out of the instep of her right boot is a knife's hilt. The total weight must slow her down, but she marches forward with a determination in her eyes. She flags down one of the gun-carrying guards and offers him her best smile.

Diplomacy 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (9) + 2 = 11

"Hey, you in charge here? I'm Gwen Yorenson from the Alkenstar Shieldmarshals, following a case. I could use a hand here in town, and you look the part. You got a name?" Gwen is not used to sweet-talking people, but her good looks give her an advantage with most men. She is hoping that their shared profession might make up the rest of the gap.

The guard gives Gwen a casual leer looking her up and down,

"Names Hadri, I'm working here if you hadn't noticed, but I can spare a minute. Dehnet is under martial law, for the moment, though its pretty hands off, so I'm a soldier not a lawman. If you want help around town you might try the Handy Haversack on Solemn Square, old bag of bones named Rud Narrows seems to know everything and everyone - plays Three Dragon Ante all day everyday"

Gwen holds her tongue at the man's relative lack of assistance. She thanks him, though her impulse is to call him a helpless, feckless moron, and heads into the town to look for this Rud Narrows. She walks up to the robed man and summons all of her patience to deal with some bureaucrat. She bristles when he asks her name. Even his voice irritates her. "Gwendolyn Yorsenson. Here on business."

Gwendolyn Yorenson

Its not actually the robed man asking questions Gwen, but I'll roll with it and assume he's making an exception.

When Gwendolyn identifies herself, giving her full name, a hollow voice rings out from the vicinity of the gate, as coming from the stone itself,

"Gwendolyn Yorenson. Dust Blown."

And the robed man talking with her stops glancing back and nodding,

"Ah, excellent it seems you are expected. If you would find out more please visit the Nex Environmental Survey Department - its on Solemn Square, whihc you can reach by heading for the town center and turning right, you cannot miss it there is a statue of Arclord Arudika destroying the Vampire Garriaman with his litany of normality. Likely a myth since wizards have tried for ages to recreate it and failed to come close, but then story tellers are renowned for their inventive flourishes... Pardon my ramblings, you should be able to find it with ease form there."

Dehnet is a neat little town, albeit a bustling one with large amounts of lumber and stone being carted through the streets. Most of the central section is complete, but towards the walls many buildings are under construction. Most of the buildings are utilitarian in nature, basic boxes, but the streets appear well planned and there is little of the organic, and often inconvenient haphazardness of older settlements.

The town center features a magnificent statue of a wizard, evidently meant to be Nex battling a sneering gaunt figure, presumably Geb. Most spectacular is the fact that a shifting and astonishing array of magics bursts forth from each figure meeting it the center and clashing in a silent riot of color. A small crowd stares up at the statue wide eyed, and draw amused glances from passers by who are evidently inured to its charms.

Around this central square are a massive library - which must be some ten stories high and is swarming with masons carving its boxy exterior into a more grandiose facade - and a series of conical towers linked by bridges that arc gracefully over the square.

Solemn Square proves to be far more mundane, lined with businesses and a number of blocky buildings barring signs declaring them the department of this and that. The Nex Environmental Survey Department is located in one of these nondescript buildings.

Inside the building is faintly musty, and you can see numerous offices piled high with paperwork. Taxidermy examples of strangely twisted animals line the hallways, and an elderly terribly pale gnome sits at a reception desk piled with papers held in place by a variety of small animal skulls.

As you enter he raises a blue tinted monacle to one eye and peers at you suspiciously,

"My Masters did not wish to draw attention, nor expend resources upon the construction of a frivolous headquarters. Please head upstairs to the Map Room and take a look at the largest map of Nex on the north wall. Good day," the gnome says curtly before pointedly picking up a sheaf of papers and beginning to rifle through them.

Heading up a cramped stairwell, again piled with books and various odd nicknacks you find the Map Room. As you enter the large map upon the north wall slowly rolls upwards revealing a shimmering silver doorway...

Upon entering you find yourself in a magnificent foyer, the air cool and pleasant with the faint scent of flowers in the air. A translucent woman, dressed in blue and gold servants livery glides over to you proffering a tray of sweetmeats, and another with glasses of white wine,

A small winged creature stares up at you, offering a courtly bow. It looks like a tiny winged man hewn from granite, and exudes smugness.

"Greetings, I am Atix, humble Mephit familiar. The rooms off to the right there has been set aside for your use, you will find a bath, a bed, and a "seen" servant - pardon the pun - at your disposal. Please make yourself comfortable I am sure you have had an arduous journey. If you want for any food, simply ask the servants and they will accommodate you. My Master, Akil Akanarton, will fill you in on the details. But for now he is one of the Arclords of Nex, and a former member of The Council of Council of Three and Nine - specifically the nine. He has instructed me to ask you to take your ease here for a while until a few more of Nex's Descendants arrive. In the meantime he offers you 500 gold pieces to remain and hear him out, and the use of his excellent crafting facilities. You are free to leave in that time, though the coin is for staying so you would not receive it should you exercise that option."

So Staryth, Grimward and Criss arrive first followed by Ormiz and Gwendolyn the next day. You will have either 2 or 3 days of down time respectively. The facilities at hand include an excellent workshop with a small, but good quality alchemy lab. If you don't wish to craft you can use any of the skills that can be used to earn money, such as oerform, etc., out in the town. I'm open to suggestions to, but we won't be doing anything that cannot be settled with one or two dice rolls. Any none special materials are automatically at hand though you do need to pay for them as normal.

Feel free to interact within the Magic Mansion and without, but bear in mind I'll be moving things along tomorrow night - you can always retroactively wrap up any conversations though.

Ormis - child of Qantium that he is - barely glances at the riotous magic displayed by the statue. He does move closer, noticing that the distracted members of the crowd would be ripe for a little 'harvesting', then stops himself.

No. Not going to risk everything by not keeping my hands to myself. Plenty of time for that later!.

Ormiz jaw drops as he hears the amount Atix's master Akil is offering.

Being in a city was still very new to Criss. The day spent recovering and the next finding a way to travel to Dehnet had not given him much time to get used to it. But this place seemed different. Newer. He wondered how long ago had been the founding day of Dehnet.

It took him hours to find the statue. Taking a wrong turn lead him to a dead end alley. After backtracking for a while he gave up and simply wandered the city. Recognising the way several times but in no hurry. There seemed to be plenty to look at. Much was happening in this burgeoning city.

what does the enviromental survey want with me? Why am I really here... I could easily hide in the wilderness. Cities are not for me anyway. Too soft, but yet too hard at the same time. I will see what you want with me arclords, but I can take care of myself. He thinks all this while standing in front of the arclords grim statue. Turning in the direction he was given he seeks out the survey's office, walking down solemn square.

Reading the signs above or next to each door it wasn't long till he found the Survey. Nothing as fancy as the picture he had formed in his mind and expecting another magical display of some sort.

Opening the door and stepping inside he takes in the display of animals with an interested look, before seeing the gnome. He could not help but be distracted by the skulls as he spoke. He is ignored when asking which is the map room but it is quite obvious when he arrives. Impressive. He steps towards the large map and quickly steps back again when it moves.

Don't go through... this is all too strange for me. Perhaps I could sneak out past the gnome. He seemed too busy to notice much.

Criss walks towards the shimmering silver portal, deciding he had come to far to walk out now. It shocked him to find himself in a much nicer location and he looked around, waiting for the next instruction of where to go or some other stranger happening. The power of magic was beginning to dawn on Criss.

What have I been called here for? How many descendants?

money just to stay here and wait? How important can I possibly be?

He decides to stay, not for the gold, he had never cared for it. But the strange incentive, as if even greater wealth, probably not just gold, lay ahead.

What can the descendants of Nex influence so much that we would be removed or used to 'serve' some goal or other...

It would have to be a good reason for Criss to go along with it.

"Thankyou for the room. I shall stay a few days."

Picking a room he sets his things down, asking for a meal. An hour later he leaves to have another look around the city.

At first Grimwald followed Staryth cautiously, still somewhat nervous of the strange and wondrous sights of Dehnet. He had seen Nexian cities in his time and he was no stranger to magic, yet this place captivated his imagination more than any other.

By Nethys all-seeing-eyes... It's all so focused. So controlled.

Within a few minutes, Grimwald's fear had turned to excitement, and he sped up to meet his fellows, each new sight piquing a new, if brief, interest. After clambering upstairs at the gnome's instruction and hearing the request of the winged man, the half-orc needed no further prompting, bursting into laughter.

"Gold, magic, and a chance to embrace destiny?" he chuckled. "I would be honoured to accept the hospitality of Master Akan Akilarton. he said, failing to realise that he had totally mispronounced the name of the arclord.

With a polite (if clumsy) bow, he snatched a glass of wine and raised it into the air. "To our good host!" he announced with a toothy grin before downing the drink.

Not much I want to do in town. Grimward is too dumb for scholarly research and untrained in magic item construction. Also unlikely his skill set is conductive to earning gold.

The town center features a magnificent statue of a wizard, evidently meant to be Nex battling a sneering gaunt figure, presumably Geb. Most spectacular is the fact that a shifting and astonishing array of magics bursts forth from each figure meeting it the center and clashing in a silent riot of color. A small crowd stares up at the statue wide eyed, and draw amused glances from passers by who are evidently inured to its charms.

Staryth cannot help but pause to look at the statue of Geb, Well, they certainly captured the spirit."

Inside the building is faintly musty, and you can see numerous offices piled high with paperwork. Taxidermy examples of strangely twisted animals line the hallways, and an elderly terribly pale gnome sits at a reception desk piled with papers held in place by a variety of small animal skulls.

As you enter he raises a blue tinted monacle to one eye and peers at you suspiciously,

"My Masters did not wish to draw attention, nor expend resources upon the construction of a frivolous headquarters. Please head upstairs to the Map Room and take a look at the largest map of Nex on the north wall. Good day," the gnome says curtly before pointedly picking up a sheaf of papers and beginning to rifle through them.

"Apologies if I was less than..covert," Staryth thinks how his singing might have annoyed some.

"Greetings, I am Atix, humble Mephit familiar. The rooms off to the right there has been set aside for your use, you will find a bath, a bed, and a "seen" servant - pardon the pun - at your disposal. Please make yourself comfortable I am sure you have had an arduous journey. If you want for any food, simply ask the servants and they will accommodate you. My Master, Akil Akanarton, will fill you in on the details. But for now he is one of the Arclords of Nex, and a former member of The Council of Council of Three and Nine - specifically the nine. He has instructed me to ask you to take your ease here for a while until a few more of Nex's Descendants arrive. In the meantime he offers you 500 gold pieces to remain and hear him out, and the use of his excellent crafting facilities. You are free to leave in that time, though the coin is for staying so you would not receive it should you exercise that option."

"Your master is most generous, Atix," Staryth bows, "I would be honored."

Staryth will definitely perform in his off time. Sorry for my late posting. RL had a bump or two.

Atix flaps his wings idly, as he taps his forehead with a single claw, contemplating Criss's questions,

"Six this time I think? Yes six, if all come. You will be the third party my Master has brought together, objectively the weakest by a wide margin, but my Master sees great potential in you all. Just, ah, expect your eventual meeting with him to be brief, he is rich in everything but time."

He seems greatly pleased by Grimward's bow and bows again in return with a grin. To Staryth's words he nods,

"And no lesser honor than those with the blood of Nex deserve! Oh and before I forget, if you wish it you may give one item of equipment over to our spell smiths to be turned from mundane to a masterwork. You must pay the appropriate price from your reward, but we shall not charge you for the casting of the masterwork transformation - only for the components required."

You may select one item, which you own or can purchase now, to be upgraded by the Masterwork Transformation spell. A weapon will cost 300gp, armor or shield 150gp, a tool 50gp.

There is no doubt in Staryth's mind what he would have enhanced. He takes his lute out and strokes it lovingly, "If they could make this sing out all the grander, I would be most grateful indeed." He raises a brow, "Pardon, you said were the third party... might one ask what happened to the other two?"

Ormiz takes the old Gnome's disdain in his stride - hardly the first time that he had been disapproved of by authorities. Carefully picking up his sack and stuffing in a rogue puppy he proceeds up the stairs, trailed by his loyal - if dusty - mongrel Pendia.

Discovering that he must push past books and knicknacks he resists the urge to look at more than the titles. The risk of touching a wizard's book was all too clearly bought home to him that fateful day he discovered the existence of the explosive wards some favoured.

spellcraft, identify mansion: 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (3) + 9 = 12
For all his cynicism and experience the silver doorway and the effects beyond entrance Ormiz. He can only wonder if one day he might be capable of such an extravagant spell. With a shiver he realises he has staked his life that one day he will.

A small winged creature stares up at you, offering a courtly bow. It looks like a tiny winged man hewn from granite, and exudes smugness.

"Greetings, I am Atix, humble Mephit familiar. The rooms off to the right there has been set aside for your use, you will find a bath, a bed, and a "seen" servant - pardon the pun - at your disposal. Please make yourself comfortable I am sure you have had an arduous journey. If you want for any food, simply ask the servants and they will accommodate you. My Master, Akil Akanarton, will fill you in on the details. But for now he is one of the Arclords of Nex, and a former member of The Council of Council of Three and Nine - specifically the nine. He has instructed me to ask you to take your ease here for a while until a few more of Nex's Descendants arrive. In the meantime he offers you 500 gold pieces to remain and hear him out, and the use of his excellent crafting facilities. You are free to leave in that time, though the coin is for staying so you would not receive it should you exercise that option."

Ormiz jaw drops as he hears the amount.

"Greetings master Atix!" Ormiz starts, attempting to be respectful "Did you say five hundred gold pieces? Nexian weight gold pieces? Just to wait for him? And till then I can stay here?"

Ormiz is familiar with his luck, so looks for the trap

"I don't have to pay for room or board, do I? Or wait for ever? Or be experimented on? I'm just a guest?"

My own bath. Proper lab... The other descendents must all be wealthy nobles or something. Maybe even my father! Better not ruin this.

"I would be delighted to remain as Master Akanarton's guest until he returns. I will refresh myself from my journey, take dinner and would love to investigate his alchemical facilities... and perhaps his library?"

Need to blend in, act toff.

"Sadly I seem to have lost most of my luggage and have only these travelling clothes with me."
bluff: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (8) + 1 = 9
"Given that we all think keeping a low profile a good idea, would it be possible to have someone buy some new clothes for me? I wouldn't want to embarrass myself when I meet my fellow descendent."

Ormiz's attempt to seem more cultured is slightly ruined as a forgotten puppy in one of his satchels pokes her head out and begins to bark at her mother.

"Ah - yes. Would it be possible to get a room with a second bed for Pendia?" Ormiz tries to recover. To Ormiz a room with two beds - not just a shared bed - is luxury beyind belief. The idea there might actually be more than one room is simply ridiculous.

Criss spends his day exploring every part of Dehnet possible. Trying to get a feel of civilization. The rather clean streets compared to most of his life in the wilderness are in stark contrast. He continually touches different surfaces when he feels he has found something new.

The amazing statue of Nex and Geb has a strong hold on him as he stares at it for at least half an hour. He has to ask to find out who it is but when he does find out he wonders all the more. Am I a descendant of yours truly?

'Dust blown? What the hell does that mean?' Gwen grimaces as the man tells her where to go, as her instincts don't take orders well. 'Expected? How can I be expected?' She eyes the magic voice coming from the gate itself. Not being around magic often, she finds it difficult to trust and even more difficult to understand. Once she sees the massive statue in Solemn Square, she scoffs at the absurd impracticality of the display. Magic isn't something that should be tossed around in a trivial or cavalier manner.

She decides to find the Environmental Survey Department first, just to answer the curiosity of 'dust blown.' She will find the old fellow, Rud Narrows, in the Handy Haversack later. Perhaps she can find a lead by asking around about the dagger. She walks into the office building, her temper flaring as she prepares to deal with more bureaucrats. The amount of paperwork around her when she walks into the building makes her want to start a fire out of principle. When the gnome directs her upstairs, she holds her ire and simply complies.

Her hand itches to rest on her holstered gun when she makes it into the foyer behind the map room. She curtly refuses anything from the bizarre see-through woman, not willing to take any food from a ghost. She has to hold herself back yet again from blasting away at the mephit Atix. When he mentions Nex's descendants, she perks up. It seems as promising a lead as anything else she has found in the investigation. "Well, I'll pass on the servant and the magic. If you can get me some additional supplies, I can use the gold to improve this dingy thing." She taps the butt of the gun with a knuckle. "But what's the catch? There's no free lunch in this world, and anyone willing to throw down five hundred gold just to hear them out is not someone that I feel like blindly trusting."

Sense Motive 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (4) + 5 = 9

She turns to the man (Ormiz) who walked in right behind her, a thin young man with a severe look to him and a mangy-looking dog at his heels. He seems ready to accept the deal without much question beyond if he will be experimented on. She looks him over with her practiced eye, despite the distraction of the offer. He seems poor, judging by the way he jumped on the offer and made an excuse for only having one set of clothes. "Don't be so hasty. You're right to question it." She directs her questions back to the mephit. "I assume that he is also a descendant of Nex, right? Judging by this being the third group your mysterious master has brought together, and the killings in Alkenstar of other of his descendants, it seems that this is a dangerous place for us. What does 'dust blown' mean, and what is so important about the descendants of Nex?"

I assume that Criss, Staryth, and Grimward are floating around the complex somewhere, but only she and Ormiz are present for the second round of introductions with the mephit.

Staryth - and then later Ormiz and Gwendolyn.

Atix runs a claw slowly across his throat, before waving in negation,

"Just kidding! No, no, they are on important missions in the field. We aren't exactly mounting a rebellion against the government of Nex here, but we aren't exactly not doing it either so... You might be asked to support them at some point, or work with them. Just watch out for Neeth, tall bald half elf with four arms you can't miss him, he likes to take interesting things apart so be tedious! My Master had to blind him while he was here to stop him trying to dissect me!"

Ormiz

See Staryth's section of the post.

Atix chuckles,

"Just a guest. Five hundred gold pieces spend just fine just about anywhere, you material planars and your bits of metal - oh my! Alchemical facilities you can have at, but my Master doesn't grant access to his library lightly. You can certainly look at mine though, modest as it is, its mostly theoretical rather than actual spells, and there is the great library in the town center, they've got somewhere over three hundred tonnes of books - I know I saw the haulage invoices. Master Librarian Hoomill took in two hundred slaves to train unload and train as librarians and collectors. They went 900% over budget, but you know wizards..."

"A second bed will present no problems. We don't have anyone who can go shopping for you though, I'm afraid, the seen servants can only exist in here, and everyone else has assigned duties - while you are here though just ask the servants to do anything you need, they aren't real so they won't mind. I'm sure there's somewhere in town that can accommodate your clothing requirements. Hello Pendia, you aren't a familar are you?"

Criss

The greatest sense Criss gets from Dehnet is purpose, everybody seems to be busy. He is even stopped by the guards on several occasions who gently inquire as to what he is doing, their dissaproving looks hinting that it isn't supposed to be sight seeing. The Shelters see a great deal of traffic and its quickly evident that they must be vast, it seems like the settlement has taken in whole tribes of wastelanders from humans to wretched mishmash mongrel men their heritages so muddled they are impossible to determine. There are some slaves, but fewer per head than in Nex's larger settlements and most seem relatively well treated.

Gwendolyn

See Staryth's section of the post.

"Right you are nothing wrong with suspicious. Well we are doing dangerous stuff here. We are almost forming a rebellion, but its a rebellion contingent upon the Council of Three and Nine utterly betraying the people of Nex and the legacy of your great ancestor. If you agree you will be risking your lives often and gravely. My Master will explain things further, but we contend that inaction will also risk your lives, just less immediately. As for your gun, I can have the spell smith's upgrade it for you if you like, it would cost 300gp, but the workshop is also at your disposal. We are waiting upon one last descendant before you must make your decisions so you have until he arrives."

At this point Grimward enters the room, now washed and clean shaven (I guess he left briefly to clean up.), if a little intoxicated.

"Ah Atix, my flying friend... He turns to face the others in the room, nodding at them politely. "Oh. Company. Greetings. He blinks as he notices Gwendolyn, not recognizing the new arrival.
He grins nervously at the attractive female before nervously turning back to the mephit.
He slowly unsheathes his falchion, looking at it longingly.
"This was my father's once. Back in the wastes, a mana storm stripped it of all its power, and left it this charred clump of metal." He takes careful note of the scars and scratches on the blade.
"After some thought, I would like to take you up on that offer Atix. That transformative whatsit you were talking about."

Grimward will probably stick around here for the time being.

Atix runs a claw slowly across his throat, before waving in negation,

"Just kidding! No, no, they are on important missions in the field. We aren't exactly mounting a rebellion against the government of Nex here, but we aren't exactly not doing it either so... You might be asked to support them at some point, or work with them. Just watch out for Neeth, tall bald half elf with four arms you can't miss him, he likes to take interesting things apart so be tedious! My Master had to blind him while he was here to stop him trying to dissect me!"

Atix chuckles,

"Just a guest. Five hundred gold pieces spend just fine just about anywhere, you material planars and your bits of metal - oh my! Alchemical facilities you can have at, but my Master doesn't grant access to his library lightly. You can certainly look at mine though, modest as it is, its mostly theoretical rather than actual spells, and there is the great library in the town center, they've got somewhere over three hundred tonnes of books - I know I saw the haulage invoices. Master Librarian Hoomill took in two hundred slaves to train unload and train as librarians and collectors. They went 900% over budget, but you know wizards..."

"A second bed will present no problems. We don't have anyone who can go shopping for you though, I'm afraid, the seen servants can only exist in here, and everyone else has assigned duties - while you are here though just ask the servants to do anything you need, they aren't real so they won't mind. I'm sure there's somewhere in town that can accommodate your clothing requirements. Hello Pendia, you aren't a familar are you?"

"Oh. three... hundred... tonnes?" Ormiz is dazed "Yes, yes I suppose that might do well. Would it be a problem if I read there while I was waiting? Do I need a letter or something?"

Ormiz is unaware that he has started to rub his hands together in anticipation.

As Gwendolyn speaks Ormiz gives a little shriek and starts around, his hands dipping rapidly into hidden pockets.

"Abaddon!" he swears as he carefully removes his hands. While the Mephit answers he gathers himself, and when he speaks again his accent seems more cultured - though he does not have the ease that suggests it is native accent [b]"My apologies. You caught me by surprise there, friend."

"You have implied you are also a descendent of Nex? And recently come from Alkenstar? That would explain the gun, I suppose."
perception: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (1) + 4 = 5 sense motive: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (14) + 1 = 15

Can't get a read off her. Might as well be honest, I suppose.

"Apparently we're related? My name is Ormiz. This" he indicates the mangy mutt "Is Pendia. How do you do?"

The hand that is held out to shake has strange stains, almost like ink - but different colours. Tiny burns spot the skin. Depressions around the knuckle suggests practice with brass knuckles - but not a brawler's build.

Criss visits the shelters several times, hoping some of them might know who he is. He asks if anyone has knowledge from his tribe. The guilt from leaving them behind, especially his son is starting to catch up to him. Especially this last week, being less occupied on the journey, his thoughts have been increasingly about his people.

He looks cleaner since staying in the city. Less dirt clings to him and his clothes are really clean for the first time. Picking up new smells in the city. The first one he comes to recognize is the market. Everything blends together into one huge feast.

amazing, enough to feed all the tribes surely...

The first night he asks if any other descendants have arrived since he was the first. Upon being directed to their room he walks in, not knowing any custom of knocking or the like. He introduces himself and asks how they came here and their understanding of the problem at hand but does not stay long, excusing himself as soon as he can before going to sleep and dreaming of feasts for his tribe, magical cities where they live and are safe.

The second day he goes out again in the morning but comes back earlier. As he enters he hears a commotion about gold, danger and wizards all mixed together in the same breath it seems. ah, my distant relatives it seems... this throws some new light. Why didn't I think to ask these questions