"Another poor soul brought home to the Boneyard," Mahmoud intones sadly when he sees that the driver is beyond saving. He looks around. "We should bring the corpse to the temple, or bury it ourselves. Unattended bodies will likely attract more of these hateful walking dead."
Relieved that they were able to remove the undead without sustaining injury, Sariel wasn't sure about takeing the time to deal with the body. Asking Mahmmoud, "So should we take body to the temple, then head to the auction house?"
Mahmoud looks over at the auction house. "We should not split up, with things so uncertain, but I will go with you and wait outside the door while you ask the auctioneers about their weapons, and keep an eye on both the street and the corpse. If I see more creatures, I will call for you."
If it made the others happy, and she didn’t have to touch the body, then Aerith was fine with the detour. She followed along, watchful for more of the walking dead.
Shaking his head, he gestures towards the pharasmin temple, "Let's get the corpse back to your people so they can deal with it. Maybe they will have something we can help them with."
As he speaks Tribim begins to head back towards the pharasmin temple.
Back at the Grand Mausoleum, a priest recognizes the silver chain around the man's left wrist as a gang symbol. The Silver Chain is Wati's most powerful gang of grave robbers and artifact smugglers. Regardless of the man's criminal affiliation, the temple will still give him a proper burial.
Mahmoud suddenly remembers that the dead man's cart was loaded with goods. Could he have been smuggling valuable artifacts, that because of the dead creatures the Shadows completely forgot about? "Perhaps we should return and take a look at the dead man's cart," he suggests somewhat sheepishly.
”It doesn’t hurt and it’s on the way. Let’s just hope that whatever is there serves us better than it did him.”
Taking a second look at the man and his 'bracelet' Tribim considers what he knows about the 'Silver chain.' Gesturing towards the gang symbol, he adds, "If we're going to consider his goods maybe we should keep the chain in case we want to barter with them."
Picking the chain up he looks at it for a moment, then discretely slips it into a pocket. 'Better to ask forgiveness than permission.' Nodding in agreement with his fellow shadows, he begins to head towards the door and back to the cart.
The wagon contains half-filled sacks of moldering grain, shoddy pottery, and jugs of long-hardened paint, but these are merely being used to conceal a large hidden compartment beneath. It's quite large and has been burst open from the inside.
Inside the compartment are cloths that smell of cedar oil and incense - both used in mummification rituals.
Potential Loot
Silver Chain
Assorted Jewelry
hand of the honest man
--------------------------------------------------------------------------- -
The Silver Chain
One of Wati's oldest criminal organizations, the Silver Chain claims to take its name from the first major score its members made, a valuable lifted from the great cleric Nefru Shepses when he first arrived to bring order to Wati. The secret to the gang's longevity is also the secret to its fortune: the Silver Chain targets only the dead for robbery. Even in a culture as death-obsessed as Osirion's, grave robbers are still preferred to actual robbers.
While not the cleverest criminals in Wati, the Silver Chain's members are talented tomb robbers - accustomed to scaling walls, uncovering lost secrets, and dodging ingenious traps in the inky darkness of tombs. Less violent than most underworld gangs, the Silver Chain even hires its members out as guides for adventurers and scholars. Of course, their clients are just as likely to be relieved of their valuable finds as they are to profit from them.
Unlike Wati's other notorious gang, the Fading, the Silver Chain doesn't traffic in mumia, an illegal drug made from the flesh of mummies. This isn't due to any highminded morality - the Silver Chain happily deals in human remains, mummified bodies, and pickled organs - so much as lack of knowledge. Alchemy remains outside the gang's field of expertise, and most of its attempts to create the drug have literally blown up in its members' faces.
”I am glad that you remembered to check the cart. There was enough jewelry in here to afford decent lodging and living. Well, for a little bit, at least. And best of all? It came from criminals so there is no moral quandaries to resolve.” She said happily. ”Now, let’s push onward.”
Returning to the cart, Tribim helped root through the grain and pottery. As he rummaged he told the others what he knew of the 'Silver Chain.' Smiling he pulled out the jewlery piece by piece, but seeing the 'hand' he wrinkled his nose, "Why would anyone wear that?"
Chuckling at Aerith's comment about 'criminal's' and 'moral quandaries,' he adds, smiling. "They only stole from the dead, not all that different than we."
Having helped store the things of value he gestures towards the cart, "I see no reason not to leave the cart here. I don't particularly want to drag it around." He looks around, shrugging, "where to now?"
Looking down the long street, then turning and looking the other direction, Tribim shrugs. "I don't see too much going on here." He smiles slightly, "We've not been on the other side of town, shall we go see what's going on?"
As he speaks he begins to head north east towards the far side of town.
As you proceed through Wati's Asp District, a loud thundercrack sounds - even though the sky is completely clear.
You're not sure what caused the sound, but it's definitely magical in nature. Whatever caused it can't be far, though, due to the effective range of most spells.
Hearing the loud thundercrack sounds, Tribim quickly starts to move towards the sound of magic.
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”We are moving towards the sound of powerful magic? Why am I even asking. Of course we are.” Aerith said, as she walked alongside her companion. She hoped that they would walk into a friendly Archmage, though she feared that it would be evidence of whomever caused this mess. And if there was one thing to be wary of it was a wizard whom you knew was more powerful than yourself.
You head in the direction of the sound, round a corner, and come across a bizarre sight. A middle-aged woman is surrounded by a dozen locals. Behind the woman is a zombie that's been tied with enough rope to render it almost motionless. The other end of the rope is held by the woman; her other hand is gesticulating frantically at the surrounding locals. "Get away! Don't make me use my magic!"
"What is the meaning of this disturbance?" Aerith announced, her voice confident and her head held up high. Channeling her inner noble, she walked forward, her own blade hovering menacingly next to her. "This city is under siege, and this is how I find our people behaving? Someone explain this. Now." She looked over the assembled crowd and at the mage, her gaze demanding that someone step forward. In her experience, the common man wanted the comforting certainty of knowing that someone was in charge and that they were going to make the world make sense. It was why the most common form of government that could be found was a dictatorship. And while she didn't command any actual authority, the mere fact that she acted like she possessed it would hopefully be enough to exercise it.
Taking the situation in at a glance, Tribim considers how to best calm the situation. As he ponders Aerith voices her concern, raising an eyebrow as she declares the common folk, 'our people' he chimes in, "Yes, let's everyone remain calm. There is no reason for anyone blasting anyone with magic, we can sort it all out."
Mahmoud, his eyes narrowed, follows his companions' lead. He doesn't obviously brandish his dagger, but he doesn't stow it either. He glares at the assembled folk and waits for someone to explain.
One of the locals shouts, "She's got a zombie! Gotta kill it before it eats our brains!" He's quickly interrupted by the woman. "The disrespect! My husband's resurrection is a gift from the gods, themselves! I just need to get to my workshop, and then my magic can restore his mind to his body. Let me pass!"
Raising an eyebrow as the woman announces she could return the undead's mind, Tribim looks towards Mahmoud. Having no idea if it was even possible, it sounded like one of the horror stories told my the local marionette troupe. Softly asking his friends, "Is that even possible?"
While divine magic isn't your specialty, you don't believe it's possible to return a soul to an undead body without magic on the same level of what the Whispering Tyrant used to enslave Arazni. Of course, undeath by its very nature has a corrupting influence that will inevitably draw a soul towards Evil.
The haughtiness on Aerith face died. Looking at her companions she said ”Unless this mage has the same strength that the Whispering Tyrant used to enslave Arazni then I don’t think that it is possible.” She said this level of arcane might, let alone the reference itself, was common knowledge. ”Even worse, it is much more likely that whatever she summons into that corpse won’t be her husband, and certainly will not be friendly. I considered explaining this to her if she doesn’t seem to be very sound of mind.”
Listening carefully to Aerith's explanation Tribim shakes his head; if they weren't careful this could get really messy. Deciding the crowd made things worse, instead of better, he walks towards the woman and the crowd telling the crowd, "We're not going to let anyone's brains get eaten, but this is not the only undead running about town. The best way you can guarantee your brains won't get eaten is if you go home and leave this to professionals." Hoping they realize he's talking about himself and his fellow 'Shadows' he continues, "So please, go home and lock your doors. We have the situation in hand."
The crowd grumbles but appears to trust your judgement. The fact that you're obviously an experienced (and well-armed) team of adventurers definitely helps, and in only a few minutes, you're left alone with the woman and her zombified husband. "Thank you for dispersing those ignorant fools. I trust we're free to go now?"
Mahmoud glares at the woman and shakes his head. "You are mistaken. Your husband is gone, and what remains is a monster hateful to Pharasma and a danger to our community. Stand back, and we will deal with it for you."
Relieved that the crowd has dispersed, Tribim steps nearer, ready to draw weapons if needed. "My Pharasmin friend is right, your husband is dead and gone, that's just an evil animated corpse. It would be foolish of us to leave it walking around, and it will break your heart when you magic doesn't work on it. Please let us help you." He gestures back the way they came. "We can take 'him' away so you don't have to watch what needs to be done."
The woman looks furious at Mahmoud's blunt words and almost looks like she's about to attack before Tribim steps in. The diplomatic catfolk successfully talks her down, and she bursts into tears before dropping the zombie's 'leash' and running away, sobbing loudly.
Aerith sighed and then turned to Tribim. "Thank you." She said. "That was tragic enough. If we had to harm her, it would be even moreso." Then, turning to Mahmoud, she said "Please put some daggers into it and let's be on our way."
Mahmoud obliges.
Watching as the Pharasmin returns the bound undead to true death, Tribim considers the body. Realizing it wouldn't be fair to the woman to leave it lying in the street after telling here they would 'deal with it' he asks. "Should we take the corpse back to the temple before we continue looking for undead to dispatch?"
Mahmoud nods. "Always," he says, looking a little sheepish as they seem to be continually hauling bodies of former Wati citizens across the city. He looks over the corpse to remove any valuables first, though.
”If you two want to carry it. Otherwise let’s cover it up, at least leave it respectable. The last thing we want is a mourning mage to feel slighted.”
The corpse has no valuables on it.
Watching as Mahmoud checks the body then prepares to haul it back to the temple, Tribim looks towards Aerith. Shrugging, as if to say it was Mahmouds religious convictions not his. Turning back towards the talented knife juggler he waits to see if Mahmoud does in fact pick up the corpse to take it back to the temple, or if he takes the elves advice leaves it where it is.
Aerith went about setting the corpse to look like it had been treated with respect and had been given a proper send off according to local customs. Every culture had their way of respecting the dead. From how they were laid to rest, to putting coins over their eyes. What mattered here was that the grieving widow at least thought that her late husband had been treated well.
”Well. All done. Let’s get going.” She said.
Helping Aerith organize the body, Tribim nods, "Close enough for me." He then gestures towards the South adding, as he begins to move. "Let's patrol more south and work the outer portions of the city looking for roaming undead."
Mahmoud hesitates when Aerith suggests leaving the body for the mage, and looks around to see if she is hovering nearby. He doesn't see her, but shrugs as if to say he is willing to follow Aerith's preference in this case, and nods in agreement with Tribim's plan for continuing to patrol the city.
A low sandstone building - worn smooth from centuries of exposure - stands out among the larger, more recent constructions. Statues lining the wall hold swords and scales, but the fresh corpses scattered on the street outside the doors hint at something far darker within.
Seeing the fresh corpses, Tribim furrows his brow. Turning to the others, "We should probably deal with whatever caused all the carnage."
As he walks towards the building he asks, "Either of you two recognize the statues, maybe knowing what this place was will help us figure out what would want to take control of it."
Giving the others a moment Tribim carefully inspects the doors for signs of a trap and listens carefully for any sounds inside.
”The statuses? Well, from what I can remember…”
You believe this is an old courthouse. The statues are evidence of this, as centuries ago, justice in Wati took only two forms: the loss of an eye or death.
The corpses are not undead - thankfully - but irregular bloody paths trail behind them, as if they had stumbled or crawled from the courthouse's front doors before succumbing. Each is missing one eye.
The courthouse doors are unlocked and appear to be untrapped. Inside, you can hear pleading sobs interrupted by the banging of a gavel.
With a quick look at the others to confirm they have the same thought, Mahmoud rushes inside the courthouse to see what fresh horror has begun to unfold inside.
Without even having time to yell at Mahmoud for rushing in, Aerith found herself running after him. At a safe distance, of course. She fully expected to see some sort of undead horror, a specter of 'justice' from the uncivilized past of the city.