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The afternoon sun beats down on the plaza before the Grand Mausoleum, the Wati temple to Pharasma. A crowd of locals has gathered to catch a glimpse of the “adventurers” entering the lottery to see who gets to explore – or defile – the tombs and ruins of the necropolis. Most are innocently excited to see folk from across the Inner Sea region and beyond. Some are here to silently judge those who think they can profit from their history, from the memorial of horror.
No one is audibly protesting. The policy of Ruby Prince Khemet III was law. As such, the voices of the common folk were forced to hold their tongues.
In this excited but tense atmosphere you have come to Wati and entered the lottery. Your reasons are your own, as are your methods. Having come alone, you were entered into a secondary lottery designed to form parties from those without established groups. The ruins of the necropolis were too dangerous to risk adventurers going solo. The idea was to ensure these individuals were grouped into balanced parties. Each party was assigned a Handler, a Pharasmin priest who ensured the lottery applicants understood the rules of the lottery.
The six of you were called out by a Garundi woman. Her dark hair is braided into a short thick cord, ending in a silver ornament shaped like a bird’s skull. Her holy symbol, a spiral comet, is also silver and hangs on a simple leather cord around her neck over her white and pale blue priestly robes. She looked down at a scroll and gave it a look over before clapping her hands for attention.
“Excuse me, hi, I’m Marwanun, one of the Handlers.” She spoke fluent Taldane. “I’m going to call out a few names, if you hear yours please step forward and I can get you all set up.”
She glanced down once more. “Djedefre ibn al Qadir. Djehuti of El-Shelad. Amal el-Irfan. Jolánka Graydon. Luke Caradoc. And Senemheb. Alright, if you folks could follow me into my office we will get you familiarized with how this is going to go.”
Following the Garundi woman into the Grand Mausoleum, the six of you are led to a quiet corner in the shade as other Handlers collect their groups. She leans against the stone wall and smiles, looking each of you over with gently crossed arms.
“Well, quite the assembly. I knew this lottery was going to get attention, but gods! So, my name is Marwanun, and I’ll be your group’s Handler. Consider me a surrogate big sister, keeping you out of trouble and on task. Before we get into the grit of the matter, I believe none of you know each other. I’d take a moment to introduce yourself and your skill set. Once that awkwardness is passed, I’ll start explaining why and how the lottery is going to work.
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"Hush, you old fool. I don't care what you think of Pharasman clergy. This is our way in, and we are going to take it." A middle-aged garundi man whispers into the depths of his shoulder bag. Then he quickly looks about, making sure no one saw this discourse.
Hearing Marwanun mention his name, the look. on his face clearly brightens. His hand curls into a fist and he makes almost unnoticeable fist pump, and starts walking towards the handler.
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"Just. SHUT. UP!" the Garundi hisses out of the corner of his mouth. He reaches into his bag, and stuffs some clothing on top the skull there, as if it would help.
Now, closer to Marwanun and the others, he forces a polite smile onto his face. "I am Senemheb, a scholar," the man says in parched voice and bows. A close-cut beard hides a good part of pox-scarred face, and his eyes dart from one person to the other, full of curiousity and intelligence.
"I am learned in the ways of our ancestors. I am fluent in both modern and ancient Osiriani, as well as other tongues. And..." he points to the weapons on his back. Those, the armor he wears, and his muscular frame doesn't quite give the scholarly feeling. "...I can defend myself from the dangers of the tombs and desert. Pleased to meet all of you."
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Amal follows the Handler, still carrying his huge backpack with a lot of ease - especially compared to the slender girl from Avistan who seems to be struggling with hers. At some point, he turns around and extends a hand. "You want some help?" he asks in good, but very accented Taldane.
He can't quite make out where she is from. Not a place that's used to Osirian sun, that's for sure. That hauberk is going to be burning hot by the end of the day if she doesn't keep in the shade.
She's not the only foreigner in the group, though. Amal can make out another one, only slightly older but towering over everyone. He looks quite cocky, and something about his faux nonchalance that makes Amal distrust him entirely. That one can't be here out of intellectual curiosity, that's for sure.
As for the rest - they're not quite sure about them. There's an older Garundi man who speaks to his backpack when he thinks no one is watching. Maybe he's sneaking in a familiar?
There's a man with blue eyes Son of the All-Powerful, the Handler said his name was. That made Amal raise an eyebrow. He was wearing an amulet of Ra as well. Was he part of some kind of sect? Amal had not had enough time on the plaza to get an answer to his questions.
Finally, there was someone wrapped in ample clothes - so covered up, in fact, that it was hard to make out things about their body. They seemed to have bluish clothes, and Amal was pretty sure they had spotted a glimpse of a tattoo on the inside of their wrist, one designed like an eye. That one looked intriguing. Were they an elf? They had never seen any elves looking like that - more often, they were to be found in Avistan.
But questions would be for later. For now, it was time to know his future co-workers...
No matter how much Marwanum's speech about "being a surrogate big sister" made them want to roll their eyes. Not again.
"Alright," Amal speaks up after the weird Garundi man - Senemheb, family name unknown. His Taldane is rusty and a bit hesitant, but out of politeness for the Avistanis in the group, he sticks to their native language. "My name's Amal. I grew up in this city. I can fight. And I," A marked hesitation. "I can use... Wands and stuff. That's pretty much it."
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"Oh praise be, you speak Taldane." One could imagine the sigh of relief that followed to have come from a goose long lost in a chicken coop, alienated and entirely out of place. Which wasn't exactly the case, but it sure was how the Taldan had felt ever since arriving in Osirion. "I've been trying to hack my way through the whooping cough you people call a language for weeks. Do you have any idea how hard it is to order a decent drink in this sandbox without speaking the cant? I swear, how many words for fermented camel milk can a language have?"
In truth, not that many, yet this was what more than a few barkeeps had foisted onto the less than respectful foreigner. Right before insisting that their Taldane didn’t extend beyond, “No refund.” Luke was yet to catch onto this bit of mercantile snub.
He did note Senemheb’s morbid ventriloquism act, however, or at the very least the end of it. The young man raised an eyebrow, an almost unfamiliar gesture given how used he had gotten to squinting in sunny Osirion. Perhaps not something to get alarmed over. Not yet, anyway. Tomb raiders were a strange lot at the best of times. One guy speaking to some unmentionable in his pack frankly wasn’t the worst Luke had worked with through his short career in grave robbing. Quirks were preferable to, say, treachery. The stubbled mouth furrowed at the memory. Damn it, that last dig should have made him a rich man already.
All the more reason to vet this new crew that much more carefully. They were a motley squad, to be sure. The heck was up with the one bloke’s eyes? They gleamed like sapphires in the sun. And was that an... elf? Luke pushed these misgivings aside for now. Honestly, he’d found the old adage of not judging books by their covers to be a faulty one. While it might serve the intellectual types well enough, the appearance of books absolutely mattered to the more martially minded black sheep of the Caradocs. Try bashing some ornery thug’s head in with a hardcover vs a paperback, and you’d know that a book’s cover could make all the difference. In the cutthroat business of tomb raiding, judging one’s teammates’ utility by their appearance only made sense.
Still, this Marwanun wasn’t wrong. Introducing each other by skillset, any skillset, was a good way to go about this. Luke knew enough by now not to dismiss even supposed ‘scholars’ like this Senemheb. Knowledge of the ancient, for example, went a long way when delving into ancient sites. As for his own qualifications...
”I’ll tell you what I can’t do,” the foreigner spoke once the androgynous kid had said his piece. ”I can’t feel the least shame about robbing these cadaverous fops blind. That reassurance enough?”
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Jolánka, the aforementioned "slender girl from Avistan" wobbles a bit as she turns to Amal, pale, scarred face flushed from effort and likely sunburn as well. It seems that the wide-brimmed hat, while well-advised, wasn't helping nearly as much as she'd been told.
"Thank you, that is most kind," she says in good, if old-fashioned-sounding Osiriani, the kind Amal can only assume someone like her learns from a textbook a decade or two out-of-date. She turns to present the heavy rucksack for assistance with it. "Jolánka Graydon, at your service. Dame Jolánka Graydon of Ustalav's House Graydon-in-Exile if you're feeling formal."
At Luke's words, she almost immediately scowls at him.
"You are a guest in this woman's land and you choose to insult her people and native tongue?!" she snaps. "You grease-spot on the backside of a camel!"
To Marwanun, however, she offers a smile. "Your generosity is most appreciated, Marwanun. As an only child, perhaps I will finally get to know the joy and frustration of having a sibling."
She looks over the others in the band, truly an eclectic group. While the one named Senemheb might have seemed odd to most, it barely registers as odd to Jolánka. She'd seen many people talk to skulls in Lepidstadt. Hell, SHE'D even spoken to them once in a while. Her curiosity is piqued, as she'd been under the impression the Order did not have branches or lodges outside of Ustalav. Perhaps the rites she'd participated in were adaptations of older Garundi traditions kept alive in families like Senemheb's. She pulls out her notes and scratches down a note to ask him for an interview later.
"It is an honor and a pleasure to meet a fellow scholar, Senemheb! When you say 'scholar' do you refer to the traditions of the Osiriani scribe class or more modern academics? I myself am a graduate of the University of Lepidstadt, one of the most prestigious institutions of learning in Avistan!"
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"Greetings to you Marwanun, peace be upon you. And to the rest of you although at least one of our foreign guests doesn't seem to have adapted well so far. Let's hope his next experiences are better - or at least more educational."
To the assembled group he gives a slight bow, "Greetings to all of you, peace be upon you. I am Djedefre, cleric of Ra although I fear many natives think Ra is just an old, dusty legend. But he is not! He still lives and watches over us all. I can fight, assist, and cast divine magics capable of healing, augmenting others, or harming our enemies. I am sure we will achieve success in discovering forgotten history, culture, and the mysteries of this place."
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"Praise Ra!" Senemheb says calmly, with a nod to Djedefre. "I pay my respects to the old gods as well. Although Thoth is more likely to guide me my pursuits."
Finding himself faintly amused by the young northerner's rudeness. That is, after all, how the white people are. "There are, by my counting, only four different words for fermented milk itself in Osiriani. But of course many more for the different beverages made from it. But no more than Taldan words for fermented grain, I'm sure."
Surprisingly, the rude foreigner was reprimanded by another foreigner. And a scholar, no less. He turns to Jolánka. "Pleased to meet you Dame Jolánka Graydon of Ustalav's House Graydon-in-Exile. Alas, I am not part of any institution of learning. My knowledge comes from endless hours perusing tomes of wisdom, collected by fore-fathers. Self-learned, if you will." He takes a long look at the woman, wondering how much one with such white skin could know of his ancestral lands. But these oversea universities could hold greats amounts of knowledge. "Perhaps we can compare notes."
"There are, by my counting, only four different words for fermented milk itself in Osiriani. But of course many more for the different beverages made from it. But no more than Taldan words for fermented grain, I'm sure."
"If you say so," the northerner shrugged. "Though I've met Caydenites whose knowledge of brews matched any scholar in their field. They'd call recognizing no more than four varieties of beer apostasy."
The eyes, bright in their burrows, roved the Garundi appraisingly. Their gleam wasn't entirely disapproving. "... Guess you can help me order at the bar once we finish this dig."
Once burned, twice shy and this was as much acknowledgment the skeptical young man was likely to give anyone upon first meeting. Of course, the recognition was in part purely practical. As near as he could tell, the one-way ventriloquist looked fit if nothing else. Had to be, lugging about that much armor, especially in this heat. Probably inured to the sun in ways the Taldan wasn't. And while undoubtedly a strange one, that certainly counted for something. Luke had worked with worse.
Specifically, he had cooperated with some rough & tumble types on a couple fruitless expeditions before hearing of the Wati lottery. As was the wont in such circles, hard men shared hard words and such became part of one's own speech. Years of carousing through Taldor's less savoury nightlife hadn't softened Luke's tongue either. All of which was to say that the young man was more thoughtless than he was callous. The fish doesn’t contemplate the ocean. Even so, when someone did express offence at his earlier exclamation, he was surprised to find it a fellow foreigner.
"Grease sp...? Well, that's a little harsh." Surely referring to this dead wasteland of a nation as a sandbox was perfectly harmless? Yes, surely. "Why don't you put your funny hat back on and cool down, yeah?"
A 'dame', huh? Luke's face fell. This had been his greatest fear in hearing of the random groupings this dig site's weird raffle system entailed: a pampered noble for him to babysit. The Taldan's only real experience with nobility were those fat cats who had frequented his family's house to peruse dear old dad's collection, and they hadn't left a positive impression. So called Osirionologists, half of whom only cared for the old junk as a fashion statement. He remembered carrying an entire sarcophagus up to a mansion once under the strictest supervision only to have the local lord dismantle the darn thing and turn it into a coffee table. Sanctimonious silk-stockinged asses.
That said, none of those lily-skinned types came with scars like this chit's. Could there be more to this one? Judging books by their covers proved its worth once more.
"After all, I'm only here because the 'sister's' church invited every egghead and cutthroat in the Inner Sea to come raid their tombs. Isn't that right, 'sis'?"
He looked to Marwanun. What was up with that, anyway? A Pharasmin church not just condoning but organizing grave robbing? This country was crazy.
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Amal's gaze shifts from one challenger to the next in this verbal boxing match. His feelings for this pompous prick he's going to have to partner up with have gone from distrust to dislike and even disdain, but there was no sense in encouraging tensions between co-workers when the job hasn't even started yet.
By the thousand gods, they were going to have to rely on each other.
"This is an excavation," Amal corrects the man. "Not a raid. To find what lies beneath your own home is not a raid. And we are only the diggers, not the owners of the house. Most of what we will find will ultimately not belong to us."
"Unless you intend to go in with horses and camels strong enough to drag stone sarcophagi? I do not see them with you."
Marwanun held up her hands as the bickering began. "Hey now, folks, there's no need for all this. This lottery is divisive as is."
Turning to Luke, Marwanun shook her head. "To be fair, Mister Caradoc, it was our esteemed ruler, Khemet III, who orchestrated the opening of the tombs of Wati. He forced our hand when he told the Pharasmin church in no uncertain terms that this would happen whether we liked it or not. The lottery is our way of attempting to be fair about it all."
"The Ruby Prince's reasoning is that those who'd explore the tombs and ruins would sell their findings here in Osirion. That added to the money spent on supplies and lodging would boost our nation's economy. If he found success in Wati he'd arrange other cities to open their necropoli to further open the flow of coin. That's Abadarans for you."
"It is nice to see followers of the AOP in the lottery." She nodded to Senemheb and Djedefre. "That'll put us Pharasmins at ease. Few respect our heritage more than you."
The Ancient Osirion Pantheon, or AOP, is a rising cult headquartered in Wati that venerates the old gods of the nation before the occupation of Osirion by the Kelesh Empire. There are 20 popular gods, but countless more are being discovered and venerated. This movement was officially recognized almost 20 years ago, and it has found respect from the churches of Nethys and Pharasma despite the conflicting popularity.
No one knows who started the AOP movement, but its political opponents claim that it was started to cause divisions amongst the populace of Osirion. No one can deny the power these old gods hold and bestow, but there are those in the government and those set in their ways in modern churches that doubt the innocent nature of the AOP as merely a revival of Osiriani history.
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Djedefre will inform the others of what he knows.
He replies to Marwanun, "Yes we do respect our heritage. And we also wish to prove ourselves as capable as our more popular brethren at handling the dangers and mysteries of the lost tombs and structures underneath the sands. Much of our history has been lost and deserves to be found, preserved, and shared for all."
Sanctioned tomb robbery? The coffers must be empty indeed.. The thought makes Senemheb raise his eyebrows, but out loud he only states: "Yes, I thought it was quite unlike the temple of Pharasma to go along with this. But the Ruby Prince is wise, and we obey the words our our ruler."
He is more than happy to explain the Ancient Osirion Pantheon to foreigner of the group.
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Loud and obnoxious as the Avistani man is, Amal must concede that he has, to some extent, a point.
Khemet III never did anything out of the goodness of his heart. Amal's father had had high hopes for the Council of Liberated Slaves, before it became apparent that this more of a clever political move destined to quench uprisings than an abolitionist agenda bringing actual reforms to an autocratic system. Slavery was more marginalised, but still well - and the members of the Council faced actual danger if they raised their voice too loudly to challenge Khemet III's decisions.
You had to hand it to Khemet III that he was shrewd, if not benevolent. Not even the leaders of the most powerful congregation in the country stood a chance.
"What does the Pharaoh expect us to find in there, to justify that much financial means and workforce?"
There was no shortage of ancient tombs and archeology enthusiasts in Osirion - but not many excavating projects received such royal attention.
While not so proud that he couldn't let mere words be, Luke was nevertheless just about to respond to the dainty kid in kind when their handler called for peace. His was a practical soul, after all; scorn he could abide. Threats to their collective - read: his - pay on the other hand? That had to be shut down immediately. He hadn't endured weeks on a ornery camel's hump just to come here to ooh and aah at some sand blasted ruins!
Fortunately, Marwanun proceeded to address exactly the selling of artifacts. Yet she let slip more, and it was this that diverted the young man from any further arguing. The broader context of the excavation came as a surprise to him. It was not an entirely welcome one.
"Abadarans, huh?"
A soft rasping followed as calloused fingers scratched the bristly chin. Though something of a rebel at heart, the last year's hardships had taken the fire out of Luke. He was no idealist. Yesteryear's youthful rebellion had been just that: just a teenager acting up, whether against the Taldan nobility whose excesses disgusted him, the slowly dying homeland whose bureaucracy offended him, or indeed his own scholarly family whose interests he could not follow. He hadn't truly grown out of such adolescent mutiny. Life simply had a way of smothering simple wants beneath harsher needs. He suspected this to be the case for many. Ideals rarely survived an empty cupboard.
Even so, the foreigner still harbored a healthy distrust for authority. And Abadarans counted among these. It was his family's debt to the Abadaran temple-banks that threatened the roof over their heads. It was why he was here.
"So this Kehmet guy is... what, forcing you to open your necropolis to whoever cares dig up its valuables? Even strong-arming the Pharasmins into helping? All for a profit?"
Luke's brow sank another notch. He wasn't sure what to think of all this. On one hand the civics behind the dig really weren't his business. He was a stranger here. This was not his country. Then again, politicks such as these simply irked him. And unless very much mistaken, he wasn't the only one to find them distasteful.
"So what do you think of this whole circus, Ms Marwanun?" he pointedly asked.
The last person to speak up is the tallest member of the group by several inches but with their slim shoulders and the voluminous robes it's impossible to tell whether they are a man or a woman.
They finally talk to respond to the outlander's comment about the prince. "It is political, not simply about money. The Ruby Prince has seen fit to open the tombs of Wati to put the adherents of the old gods in their place." They nod to Senemheb and Djedefre and respectfully adds a phrase in Ancient Osiriani. "Praise be to Ra, the great one, the first of the gods, who shines forth with multicolored rays in the eastern sky." 'No offense,' it seems to mean.
"Political opponents of the followers of the ancient pantheon claim their movement was started to cause divisions amongst the populace of Osirion." The tall person nods at Marwanun, their expression seeming to say they are trying to avoid offending the Pharasmin.
"No one can deny the power these old gods hold and bestow, but there are those in the government and those set in their ways in modern churches that suspect there is more to it than merely a revival of our history." Again they nod placatingly to Senemheb and Djedefre and add a respectful phrase in the ancient language. "Hail to Ra, the divine ruler, the one who sails the sky, spreading his divine radiance across the world."
"All we can do is participate and try to minimize the damage," they end with, nodding in agreement Djedefre and Amal's earlier comments about not being tomb raiders. Their voice is soft but not breathy, low but without a lot of bass. In short it does little to resolve whether this person is male or female.
Finally, they put their hand over their heart and give the group a short bow of the head. "Djehuti, of El-Shelad." El-Shelad is on the Scorpion Coast, nearly 250 miles as the falcon flies or over 400 miles up the Sphinx and around the Burning Cape.
The last lottery winner is well dressed for the climate in a long, flowing linen robe over voluminous long pants and with a long scarf wrapped around their head and face. Not just a nod to local fashion, the scarf is probably to keep the sun off their skin- they are extremely pale, their complexion milky white with a bluish undertone. It's difficult to see the color of their eyes because of their dark colored glasses- even when they come in out of the sun they leave the lenses on their face.
Their robe is belted shut with a pair of stout belts, one holding a belt pouch and big curved dagger and the other a decorated spell component bag. In place of a primary weapon in a scabbard they have a large book hanging clipped to their belt, indicating that spells are their contribution to the group.
Maybe it's a trick of the torchlight but shadows seem to be doing strange things around them, clinging too long here, shifting too quickly at their feet, shading the clefts of their face. A bit off-putting.
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To Djehuti, "No offense taken. I understand that new, or in this case newly revived, ideas and religions can cause friction. But it is part of our ancient heritage as Osirions that helped us overthrow our former overlords and become independent once more. Hopefully we all remember what brings us together and not what divides us."
Addressing the concerns both Senemheb and Djehuti raised, "Indeed rivalries abound wherever people of all races go it seems. One might be inclined to think having religious organizations that can motivate the populace eyeing each other instead of eyeing...someone else...would be an excellent distraction. If such a thing were to happen, of course."
"I must be mindful not to offend the Ruby Prince; it would harm the Temple."
He smiles at Amal and Luke, "Ah the true genius of the plan is the Ruby Prince is not opening Osirion's treasury to fund these expeditions. That's why he opened the sites for others to explore - so they spend their money. And we are giving our sweat, and sometimes lives, to explore. Quite brilliant wouldn't you say?"
The young Aasimar seems accustomed to hearing questions and criticisms of the Temple of Ra and the other ancient Osirion deities. They'd long endured surviving underground during the persecution of the Qadirans and their blasted Kelesh masters. But to face such threats from their fellow Osirions?
Dark times indeed. Perhaps the King of the Heavens would see fit to aid the Temple's efforts to bring respect and recognition.
Marwanun chewed her lip for a moment before shaking her head ruefully. "My opinion is that of the Church of Pharasma. To handle this with respect for our heritage and the dead sleeping here. Speaking of which, now that we have a better idea of who you all are, let's get you all caught up on the history and rules."
"While the Ruby Prince had opened up tombs and ruins for smaller expeditions seven years ago, Wati is the first of this scale. Due to local superstitions and Pharasmin protection, the necropolis has remained untouched till now. For our non-locals, around 2,000 years ago the city of Wati was devastated by Lamashtan cultists and a magical disease called the Plague of Madness. The entire city was ravaged till those stubborn survivors rallied and outlasted the plague. The necropolis is the Old Town, the original city. The only thing living there are small cabals of undead and rumors of monsters, but they kept to their own so long as we didn't disturb them. Dealing with any threats is left up to you adventurers and your skills."
"As for the rules, established by the Church of Pharasma and condoned by Khemet III, there are only three but they will be enforced. First, Remember How This Came To Pass. The necropolis is as much a memorial as a massive graveyard. Our ancestors met gruesome ends within those ruins. Even so, it is a holy place and infighting and banditry will not be tolerated."
"Second, Every Slave's Hut Is A Memorial. Like I said, that place is a memorial, a testament to the lives lived and lost there. While we understand monsters may have taken up residence or ruins may be trapped, we expect you to not willfully or needlessly desecrate or vandalize any standing structures."
"Third, Honor The Departed. Treat the dead with respect and dignity. If you need to disturb the interred to receive a relic or antiquity, please replace their remains with care. If these remains rise as undead, then by all means put them down. Pharasma has no tolerance for the manipulation of one's final rest - save for sanctioned resurrections, of course."
"The drawings will take place tomorrow morning just after sunrise. As it is a lottery, I will randomly draw a location for our group. You'll be given a map to your location and a brief history if one is available. Each group will be given three locations, once they cleared the first one I'll draw another location for you. I don't know what you'll find in there, so prepare yourselves as best you can. In addition to encourage keeping the sites intact, the Church of Pharasma is offering discounts to healing and treating poisons and diseases for groups that bring back sketches, rubbings, and maps of sites, up to 20% off for comprehensive details."
"If you need a place to stay, the Tooth and Hookah has rooms to rent and has an excellent reputation from past visitors. They are offering discounts for those entering the lottery for room and/or board. I'll give you directions once we're done here. I know that was a lot, so if you have any questions I'm your big sister, ask me anything." She gives an exaggerated wink, taking a breath after giving her speech.
The last person to speak up is the tallest member of the group by several inches but with their slim shoulders and the voluminous robes it's impossible to tell whether they are a man or a woman.
They finally talk to respond to the outlander's comment about the prince. "It is political, not simply about money. The Ruby Prince has seen fit to open the tombs of Wati to put the adherents of the old gods in their place." They nod to Senemheb and Djedefre and respectfully adds a phrase in Ancient Osiriani. "Praise be to Ra, the great one, the first of the gods, who shines forth with multicolored rays in the eastern sky." 'No offense,' it seems to mean.
"Political opponents of the followers of the ancient pantheon claim their movement was started to cause divisions amongst the populace of Osirion." The tall person nods at Marwanun, their expression seeming to say they are trying to avoid offending the Pharasmin.
"No one can deny the power these old gods hold and bestow, but there are those in the government and those set in their ways in modern churches that suspect there is more to it than merely a revival of our history." Again they nod placatingly to Senemheb and Djedefre and add a respectful phrase in the ancient language. "Hail to Ra, the divine ruler, the one who sails the sky, spreading his divine radiance across the world."
"All we can do is participate and try to minimize the damage," they end with, nodding in agreement Djedefre and Amal's earlier comments about not being tomb raiders. Their voice is soft but not breathy, low but without a lot of bass. In short it does little to resolve whether this person is male or female.
Finally, they put their hand over their heart and give the group a short bow of the head. "Djehuti, of El-Shelad." El-Shelad is on the Scorpion Coast, nearly 250 miles as the falcon flies or over 400 miles up the Sphinx and around the Burning Cape.
"Hail to Ra, O thou perfect, thou eternal, thou only one," Jolánka quotes to Djehuti, indicating she recognizes the prayer. That said, she traces the Pharasmin spiral on her own chest. "I've only been able to read prayers like that in fragments. Hearing them spoken in the words of a believer is refreshing. It brings a gravitas the written word sometimes cannot capture. A pleasure to meet you, Djehuti."
To Djehuti, "No offense taken. I understand that new, or in this case newly revived, ideas and religions can cause friction. But it is part of our ancient heritage as Osirions that helped us overthrow our former overlords and become independent once more. Hopefully we all remember what brings us together and not what divides us."
Addressing the concerns both Senemheb and Djehuti raised, "Indeed rivalries abound wherever people of all races go it seems. One might be inclined to think having religious organizations that can motivate the populace eyeing each other instead of eyeing...someone else...would be an excellent distraction. If such a thing were to happen, of course."
"I must be mindful not to offend the Ruby Prince; it would harm the Temple."
He smiles at Amal and Luke, "Ah the true genius of the plan is the Ruby Prince is not opening Osirion's treasury to fund these expeditions. That's why he opened the sites for others to explore - so they spend their money. And we are giving our sweat, and sometimes lives, to explore. Quite brilliant wouldn't you say?"
"Brilliant indeed," Jolánka replies, her hat bobbing as she nods. "Abadar knows, I've spent most of what's left of House Graydon's ancestral wealth just to get here. No small feat, considering I had to cross at least four different nations AND the Inner Sea itself. But I believe in what your people are doing here. There's a lot Osirion can learn about itself by uncovering its past...and perhaps that can serve as an example for other kingdoms and empires to follow. For all Ustalav is obsessed with its glory days and the damage the Whispering Tyrant did to the nation it doesn't try very hard to investigate or introspect on either."
Marwanun chewed her lip for a moment before shaking her head ruefully. "My opinion is that of the Church of Pharasma. To handle this with respect for our heritage and the dead sleeping here. Speaking of which, now that we have a better idea of who you all are, let's get you all caught up on the history and rules."
"While the Ruby Prince had opened up tombs and ruins for smaller expeditions seven years ago, Wati is the first of this scale. Due to local superstitions and Pharasmin protection, the necropolis has remained untouched till now. For our non-locals, around 2,000 years ago the city of Wati was devastated by Lamashtan cultists and a magical disease called the Plague of Madness. The entire city was ravaged till those stubborn survivors rallied and outlasted the plague. The necropolis is the Old Town, the original city. The only thing living there are small cabals of undead and rumors of monsters, but they kept to their own so long as we didn't disturb them. Dealing with any threats is left up to you adventurers and your skills."
Jolánka frowns a bit as she takes in Wati's story. It reminded her uncomfortably of the snippets of tales she used to pry out of her father about the War Without Rivals. Entire villages surrounded and put to the torch, leaving them undead-haunted ruins, solely to deny victory, for if Barstoi could not rule those lands, no one would. Wati's story was more heartening, at least, a tale of stubborn survivors who pushed back the darkness and rebuilt. It was very...Ustalavic, after a fashion.
"As for the rules, established by the Church of Pharasma and condoned by Khemet III, there are only three but they will be enforced. First, Remember How This Came To Pass. The necropolis is as much a memorial as a massive graveyard. Our ancestors met gruesome ends within those ruins. Even so, it is a holy place and infighting and banditry will not be tolerated."
"Second, Every Slave's Hut Is A Memorial. Like I said, that place is a memorial, a testament to the lives lived and lost there. While we understand monsters may have taken up residence or ruins may be trapped, we expect you to not willfully or needlessly desecrate or vandalize any standing structures."
"Third, Honor The Departed. Treat the dead with respect and dignity. If you need to disturb the interred to receive a relic or antiquity, please replace their remains with care. If these remains rise as undead, then by all means put them down. Pharasma has no tolerance for the manipulation of one's final rest - save for sanctioned resurrections, of course."
"The drawings will take place tomorrow morning just after sunrise. As it is a lottery, I will randomly draw a location for our group. You'll be given a map to your location and a brief history if one is available. Each group will be given three locations, once they cleared the first one I'll draw another location for you. I don't know what you'll find in there, so prepare yourselves as best you can. In addition to encourage keeping the sites intact, the Church of Pharasma is offering discounts to healing and treating poisons and diseases for groups that bring back sketches, rubbings, and maps of sites, up to 20% off for comprehensive details."
"If you need a place to stay, the Tooth and Hookah has rooms to rent and has an excellent reputation from past visitors. They are offering discounts for those entering the lottery for room and/or board. I'll give you directions once we're done here. I know that was a lot, so if you have any questions I'm your big sister, ask me anything." She gives an exaggerated wink, taking a breath after giving her speech.
Jolánka listens to the rules quietly and nods along.
"Reasonable and fair rules," she says after Marwanun finishes. "Not only to preserve the integrity of the sites and the dignity of the departed, but to help keep the people conducting the..."digs"...for lack of a better term, safe. Both from whatever the dangers within and from each other. I've served as a guide for a few expeditions outside of Sothis, and while I made my distaste for their careless and greedy "methodology" clear, when another band attacked us exiting the tomb to try and seize what had been discovered while we were weak, I did my best to aid their escape. It was a bust, overall, and I had no interest in their immediate follow-up expedition to seek revenge and recover the artifacts that were stolen, since they were just going to sell them anyway. I made my way here to Wati soon after. This is much more organized, and I feel it may be for the best. I will, of course, inform you all if any groups we run into happen to be those previous employers. They may have decided revenge wasn't going to pay and come down looking for an easier job."
"With so much to discover we may be overwhelmed with options on what to make sketches and rubbings. Is there any sort of preference or priority?"
Djehuti pats the book hanging at their hip. "I do not mean to dictate to anyone how to conduct this expedition but I had intended to take notes about... well, it may sound silly when I say it out loud like this but... everything. This is an effort that will go down in history books. I intend to contribute to those histories myself."
Jolánka listens to the rules quietly and nods along.
"Reasonable and fair rules," she says after Marwanun finishes. "Not only to preserve the integrity of the sites and the dignity of the departed, but to help keep the people conducting the..."digs"...for lack of a better term, safe. Both from whatever the dangers within and from each other. I've served as a guide for a few expeditions outside of Sothis, and while I made my distaste for their careless and greedy "methodology" clear, when another band attacked us exiting the tomb to try and seize what had been discovered while we were weak, I did my best to aid their escape. It was a bust, overall, and I had no interest in their immediate follow-up expedition to seek revenge and recover the artifacts that were stolen, since they were just going to sell them anyway. I made my way here to Wati soon after. This is much more organized, and I feel it may be for the best. I will, of course, inform you all if any groups we run into happen to be those previous employers. They may have decided revenge wasn't going to pay and come down looking for an easier job."
Djehuti looks over curiously at Jolánka when she mentions guiding expeditions outside Sothis, their expression indicating they might ask some follow up questions once the meeting is over. "In the same vein," they say, turning back to Marwanun, "I would ask who enforces these rules. If we are attacked by another group while in the necropolis, to whom do we appeal for redress?"
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"With so much to discover we may be overwhelmed with options on what to make sketches and rubbings. Is there any sort of preference or priority?"Djehuti pats the book hanging at their hip. "I do not mean to dictate to anyone how to conduct this expedition but I had intended to take notes about... well, it may sound silly when I say it out loud like this but... everything. This is an effort that will go down in history books. I intend to contribute to those histories myself."
"I would like to do the same but time may be a factor. If we take notes, drawings, etc. of everything we will make little progress."
Djehuti pats the book hanging at their hip. "I do not mean to dictate to anyone how to conduct this expedition but I had intended to take notes about... well, it may sound silly when I say it out loud like this but... everything. This is an effort that will go down in history books. I intend to contribute to those histories myself."
Jolánka's face lights up like a Crystalhue tree at Djehuti's words.
"It's not silly at all! I myself am looking to record and research whatever I can. While I've yet to officially be inducted into the Pathfinder Society, I find their motto: "Explore, Report, Cooperate" to be a fantastic guiding principle, even if the organization itself doesn't always live up to that ideal...especially after that incident two years ago where they unwittingly presented the Ruby Prince with a cursed Thassilonian artifact that struck him with a horrid wasting curse. He broke it relatively quickly, but the Society has a LOT of work to do to redeem themselves for that."
Djehuti looks over curiously at Jolánka when she mentions guiding expeditions outside Sothis, their expression indicating they might ask some follow up questions once the meeting is over. "In the same vein," they say, turning back to Marwanun, "I would ask who enforces these rules. If we are attacked by another group while in the necropolis, to whom do we appeal for redress?"
"That's a good point! I doubt you'll be traveling into the Necropolis with us so it may end up being an 'our word against theirs' situation."
"The Church of Pharasma doesn't have an exact preference on what notes the groups take on their sites. We are looking for glimpses and respect of our past, and this is insurance and reward for compliance." Marwanun answered Djedefre's first question. "Just ... take general notes of anything that strikes you as interesting. Traps, furnishings, creatures ... look for trends to look for so future expeditions can look for these encounters."
Addressing Djehuti's desire for notary, Marwanun nods. "I'll have to see the extent of your notes, but I imagine anything will qualify. We have left the Old Town as it is for the most part, so outside of lone bandits or monsters the sites will be as they were left once it was walled in. So much was lost, anything brought back will be a gift."
"Oh no, I'm no adventurer." Marwanun chuckled nervously, holding up her hands. "If another group attacks you, or you witness something, seek the Voices of the Spire. They are the militant branch of the Pharasmin church here in Wati. While their numbers are too few to hold constant vigil over every side of the proceedings they are zealous in their mission of protecting the sanctity of the necropolis. They'll be identifiable via white and red robes rather than the blues of the rank and file clergy. We'll try to have a couple patrols near selected locations for extra security."
"While no one is under a strict time limit to clear their sites, those groups that finish sooner than later will have a larger pool to draw from the remaining sites. Again, each group is going to get three sites total, and there are more total sites than each group's allotment combined."
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Amal knows the story of the Plague of Madness, of course. Their own father told them the story a hundred times, whenever his children peppered him with questions about why he had left. There was a reason why Wati lacked structures for arcane training. Temples were a necessity that could not be dealt without, especially after the city was rebuilt. Profane magic was another matter entirely. Centuries had passed, but Wati's resurrection was recent, and the perpetual memory of the disaster that had brought it to its knees loomed over the city like a headstone. Memento mori. Remember you have died - and can die again.
Hafiz had himself ventured in the Necropolis as a child. Plenty of those who grew up in Wati did. There wasn't a single child in Wati who didn't know the rules by heart. Never venture into a tomb; as long as you remained in the main alleys and the sun was out, you were safe. But those who came from afar with empty pocket and greed in their eyes never heeded the rules.
Few managed to sneak into the dead city without getting caught. The Voices of the Spire kept a close eye on the Necropolis, and more than one would-be adventurer found themselves dragged out by an angry patrol. As far as everyone knew, the greatest danger you faced in the City of the Dead was to encounter a group of absolutely livid Pharasmins who could sue you for trespassing. The rest was just rumours.
Amal snaps out of their daydreaming in the middle of Marwanun's explanations, just in time to hear of the drawings taking place the next day. Marvellous. And here he had readied his backpack.
He swallows back his disappointment, and raises his hand. "I have a question. I do wonder what the priority is, between collecting antiquities and respecting our dead," he asks Marwanun. "If a relic is interred with a corpse, shouldn't we just report what we found, instead of damaging something fragile? Only the hands of an expert could separate brittle bones from priceless artifacts without causing harm."
Amal's question dims the light in Marwanun's eyes. "That is up to you, unfortunately. We ... accept some treasures can only be recovered and then sold by reaching into graves and sarcophagi. All we ask is if bones are broken that you return them to their resting place rather than leave them on the floor or scattered around the room. I do not expect every group will hold such respect for our dead that they will leave the funerary charms with the dead, or what jewelry the deceased may have been dressed in before being interred."
"You have my word that I will endeavor to make sure that happens in such case," Jolánka says, tracing the Pharasmin spiral again. "I've extensive medical training thanks to the Rijiene School of Medicine, so no bones will be out of place on my watch!"
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At the mention of the Voices of the Spire Djedefre looks a bit...sheepish...
He recovers quickly and listens intently to Marwanun, "Indeed the treasures left behind were, and still are, often not valuable in and of themselves. The value lies in sentiment and what it meant to the deceased or means to those they leave behind. We will have to be discerning in our efforts to take drawings and notes and when to attempt to collect something."
"I suspect we will just have to fend for ourselves, if another group decides to jump on us." Senemheb says. "I doubt Voices of the Spire will be close enough to help."
The Garundi looks around him for a place to sit down. All this standing makes his back ache a bit. But seeing no place to rest he just gives a little groan and stretches his back.
"So, besides other tomb explorers, what dangers should we be aware of? Undead you mentioned. Skeletons, or something more sinister? Did the builders of the tombs set up devious traps to harm anyone seeking their way in"
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"Quite brilliant wouldn't you say?"
"Brilliant indeed," Jolánka replies, her hat bobbing as she nods.
"Oh, it’s brilliant," the young man grumbled, seemingly more so to himself than in reply. "Brilliantly cynical."
Government coffers empty as their damn deserts, this pharaoh guy had opened ancient gravesites for plundering – old grave goods in gold and silver just sitting in dusty tombs being awfully tempting when one’s ledgers looked like they’d come from the floor of an abattoir. Sweetening the deal further, you didn’t even fund these digs yourself, instead just opening ‘em up for whoever cared risk their miserable lives there, whether egghead out for their latest paper or thug just looking to profit. Or worse yet, Luke considered in eyeing not so few in the group, wide-eyed altruists apparently out to preserve some sanctity of said sites. All pawns. As no matter their motivations, whatever these rubes dug up was probably sold locally anyway. The end result being the economy getting a healthy boost, artifacts being recovered and mostly kept within the nation, oh, and as an extra bonus this flock of religious nutcases set against the pharaoh were apparently also snubbed in the process.
All for the low, low price of a few stale cadavers being robbed of their funeral dress by what groups looked less like the bleeding-heart brigade here and more like… well, himself.
Did Luke have all this right? Because if so, this really was as scummy a scheme he’d ever heard. And he’d circumnavigated quite a few hucksters in his limited time skulking the antiques underworld. Hell, it might be worse yet. Osirion being broke after that whole occupation malarkey was only a presumption on his part, after all. For all he knew the cats in charge were loaded yet simply wanted more. It was possible this plan was less necessity and more greed. Honestly, he might actually have been impressed. If not for himself being caught as a tool in this plot. That stuck in his craw, that and a general dislike of black-hearted politicking. The Taldan was a simple man. Some ornery bastard aiming their sword at his gut? That he could deal with. A statesman aiming their quill at him from some castle a thousand miles away, however? Not a lot to be done about that.
Like knew like which was why it also hadn’t escaped the cynic in him how they were all – all of them – probably meant as scapegoats too. Should anything go wrong at any one dig – whether a ruin collapsing, a particularly egregious offence being committed, or even the dead rising – the administration could easily pass blame onto ignorant foreigners and amoral treasure seekers. In this at least their group had an advantage. More do-gooders than a Sarenite church. Well, so it seemed. Luke didn’t really know these people yet. But despite how the sheer unscrupulous gall of this whole ploy set his piss to boiling, he really couldn’t disapprove.
Literally. Because he was the scum this whole ploy in part relied on. He was the scoundrel ready and willing to rob these sites for profit. The sound of teeth grinding could be heard behind the wry smirk of the foreigner.
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"So, besides other tomb explorers, what dangers should we be aware of? Undead you mentioned. Skeletons, or something more sinister? Did the builders of the tombs set up devious traps to harm anyone seeking their way in"
Amal sees an opportunity to chime in.
"No one really knows," he shrugs. "There are rumours. But no one has ventured into the tombs legally yet. And unless the Voices of the Spire stumbled upon some bodies, there is no way to say if anyone actually got killed looking for gold."
"I'm afraid Amal is correct." Marwanun shrugged dejectedly. "Because of the previous policies of the Pharasmin church in regards to leaving the dead where they lie, there is precious little information regarding what you may find in there. I'd be willing to bet coin on vermin and traps, some rich or paranoid folk may have constructs, and if magic or tragedy was left to fester, there may be undead."
"The Voices have done what they can to keep monsters and undead from becoming a real threat, or at least contained within the walls of the old town. I don't doubt experienced adventurers will be able to cull such threats even further. A friend of mine let slip there's a few cabals of ghouls in Acrid Street, so avoid that area on your way to your sites. I'll mark it on your map to your first site tomorrow morning."
"A few other sites I'd recommend avoiding include the Umbracene Well, Tahetep's Dance Hall, the Archives of the Ibis, and the Dust Parlor. No worries, though. These sites are not included in the lottery."
Those who've lived in Wati will have heard of these locations. Sites of mystery and hauntings that each hold a tragic history. Shivers run down your spines at their mention.
Marwanun notices Senemheb's weariness. "Unless there are more questions, I'd recommend getting a good night's sleep. Meet back here tomorrow before the sun's full disc is risen over the horizon. Once old Ra has fully ascended in his barge the drawings will begin."
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Djehuti frowns at the mention of ghouls. "Nasty creatures," they say as they turn to see if their handler has any specific information about these cabals.
"Ghouls are undead feasters of carrion. They seem resistant to the channeling of a deity's power, and their attacks carry disease and threaten paralysis. As for the the cabals themselves-"
"-I'm afraid I don't know much. I'd recommend speaking to one of the Voices. They'd have more information than me."
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"Ghouls are undead feasters of carrion. They seem resistant to the channeling of a deity's power, and their attacks carry disease and threaten paralysis. As for the the cabals themselves-"
[dice=Marwanun's K(local)]1d20+2
"-I'm afraid I don't know much. I'd recommend speaking to one of the Voices. They'd have more information than me."
"They won't be resistant to the power of Ra! I have special training which will allow me to channel against those creatures. The disease and the paralysis, however...those are critical dangers. But who said exploration was for the meek?"
"Who said the meek can't explore?" Jolánka retorts, giving Djedefre a weak punch in the arm with a smile on her face. As the group makes ready to depart, she hefts her rucksack back onto her back with a long grunt.
"Shall we retire to the Tooth and Hookah as Marwanun suggested, gentlemen and honorables?" she asks, seeing as she was the sole lady in the group.
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"That it ain't," Luke concurred with the god spawn. "Not for the ill-prepared or weary either. If we're to find more supplies or lodgings, we should do so soon. After all, town's crawling with scavengers... And I'd rather avoid paying premium for sleeping in some hustler's bare root cellar 'cause nothing else's available."
In truth, the Taldan felt as well prepared as he was likely to get for this excursion - as well prepared as his meager purse allowed, anyway. This talk of ghouls had him a bit rattled, however. He had actually encountered one boil of the pestilence that was undeath before. On a previous extralegal dig, one heave of a spade had uncovered a skull in the dirt, eye sockets empty save for a century of sand. Upon which the rest of it began unearthing itself. Damn thing clawed at his leg before they'd all managed to bash the bone bag to its final rest. Hadn't been too difficult or anything with a little backup. Turned out old bones broke and desiccated flesh tore, just the same as their living counterparts.
And still the episode had unnerved him. Luke didn't like the walking dead. Plain creepy, they were. And ghouls were supposedly in a league above simple skeletons or the like.
"I hate grave dodgers," he sighed ruefully.
Hopefully having holy men like this Djedefre along would help. All the same, the foreigner would keep his sword at hand. "So unless our 'big sister' here has more to say for now," he concluded, "perhaps we should be on our way. What was the name of that place you mentioned? The Tooth & Hookah?"
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"Who said the meek can't explore?" Jolánka retorts, giving Djedefre a weak punch in the arm with a smile on her face. As the group makes ready to depart, she hefts her rucksack back onto her back with a long grunt.
"Shall we retire to the Tooth and Hookah as Marwanun suggested, gentlemen and honorables?" she asks, seeing as she was the sole lady in the group.
"I need to save my coins for purchases so I'll be staying at home or in the Temple if they want to give me last minute advice for this journey."
Djedefre didn't want to comment on the Voices of the Spire or what went on in the Necropolis. It wouldn't look good to admit he'd had more than a peek in the area in an attempt to prove his worth to Ra and the Temple.
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Amal says nothing, but he is preoccupied. There were plenty of stories about the Necropolis, enough to find it difficult to separate truths from lies. To his knowledge, no one had actually seen anything lurking within its walls, but that only seemed to make the stories stronger.
"The Necropolis has a way of eating those that defile it. And the bones are spat out in Bargetown..."
The bodies of the unfortunate were left where they had fallen - but how many times were their belongings picked up by a scavenger, and sold in Bargetown's black market for a good price? Foreign adventurers were not the only ones motivated by greed.
The Necropolis had existed for nearly two thousand years, and still, its depths remained a mystery - perhaps even more so than what it was first built. Hafiz hadn't seen anything, back when he was a boy - and yet, to Amal's surprise, he had been very vocal against opening the Necropolis for excavations. "Aren't you the least bit curious to find out what's inside?" Amal had asked.
To some extent, they already knew the answer - but still, he had watched as Hafiz thought about it. He always took some time to think before answering any serious question, as though not giving it the consideration that it deserved would irremediably result in a flawed reply. It might have been part of the reasons why he was not often wrong about things. "For the past two millennia," came the slow reply - every word carefully weighed. "A fragile equilibrium has been maintained between the City of the Dead and those of the living, without one threatening the other. Whatever Nefru Shepnes inteded to do, I have to assume that it has been working, and that he knew better than we did what was at stake."
"What - burying the dead?"
"There are more than one way to pay one's respects to the tragically departed. He chose one that involved very tall walls, and doors meant not to be opened."
"Every graveyard is meant to keep people out. You've been inside. You've seen nothing."
"Precisely." Hafiz's voice was as calm and even as ever, yet his gaze was stern and grave. "I have seen nothing, and therefore cannot tell what is inside. My letter to the Council only asked them to consider that further research might be needed in order to determine whether the walls of the Necropolis are to keep people out, or to keep something in."
"That's a bit paranoid, when there's no evidence of anything being in there."
"Only prudent, I'm afraid. We have reasons to believe that whatever was buried in the Necropolis are not the common dead, but, at the very least, the victims of a plague brought by magic. And magic, as you well know, makes everything unpredictable."
"When any thinking creature finds itself trapped - whether on purpose, or by accident -, it has nothing on its mind but escape. If it is particularly intelligent, it might even wish for retaliation. I am afraid that those who voted in favour of the excavation are only aware that there are doors prevented them from getting in - and gave very little thought to the very likely scenario that someone might be on the other side of the door, waiting to be let out. And after so long a wait, we only have to assume that any opportunity will be seized with the utmost desperation."
"Then maybe that now is a good time to eradicate any possible danger before it grows bigger."
"I am afraid that it has had time to grow quite big already, Amal. Quite big indeed. And we haven't been patient enough to determine whether this door was better left sealed, or opened. I can only hope that this city will not come to regret it."
Amal absent-mindedly rummages inside of his pockets for leftover money, and finds them nearly empty. But they don't feel like going home for another lecture. "To the Tooth and Hookah it is. This way," he points at the direction of the inn.
"I can carry that for you," Amal offers to Jòlanka with a smile, gesturing at her backpack. They extend a hand. "Come on, hand it over."
Jòlanka hefts the backpack off again and allows Amal to take it.
"Thank you again, Amal," she says with a small curtsy.
"Remember, met back here tomorrow morning!" Marwanun waved as the group departed.
Amal led the group north, passing through the thinning streets as the last light of day faded. The crowds thinned as the groups were announced, having their ogle and leaving to wait for the morning. A few other groups also headed north, taking a look at the gates to the necropolis before departing to their housing.
Turning west from the gates, you go two blocks to arrive at a cozy two story inn, a sign over the door depicting a crocodile wearing a pharaonic headdress puffing happily on a hookah pipe.
The bar on the first floor is already filled with folks having supper and drinks, quite a few are foreigners chatting in their own tongues. There is laughter, arguments, and an animating presence that provides an infectious excitement. A muscular Garundi man covered in long scars mans the bar, serving local beer with a wide smile. A couple of northerners are standing by the well next to the bar, looking down at something inside. It seems you are the only whole group that has arrived here.
The Garundi man bares pearly white teeth in a welcoming smile as you enter. "Come, come, my friends! Take a seat, I will be with you in a moment!"
"Goodbye for now, Marwanun. We will see when new sun has risen." Senemheb gives a little bow, and withdraws from the meeting. Certainly there would be much to discuss, but the day has been long, and all that standing around takes it's toll.
In the inn, he is the first to take a seat. Getting finally some comfort for his back and legs, he lets out an audible sigh of relief. Perhaps wearing all this armor just for show was a stupid idea.
"We should hope for the best and fear for the worst." the armored scholar muses, turning towards Djedefre. "I hope we find both treasure and wisdom of the ancient Osirion. But undoubtedly some danger as well - otherwise the Ruby Prince wouldn't need us to scour the tombs."
He tries to imagine what is to come. "What would least like to encounter there?" he asks.
"For me, it's snakes."
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"Goodbye for now, Marwanun. We will see when new sun has risen." Senemheb gives a little bow, and withdraws from the meeting. Certainly there would be much to discuss, but the day has been long, and all that standing around takes it's toll.
In the inn, he is the first to take a seat. Getting finally some comfort for his back and legs, he lets out an audible sigh of relief. Perhaps wearing all this armor just for show was a stupid idea.
"We should hope for the best and fear for the worst." the armored scholar muses, turning towards Djedefre. "I hope we find both treasure and wisdom of the ancient Osirion. But undoubtedly some danger as well - otherwise the Ruby Prince wouldn't need us to scour the tombs."
He tries to imagine what is to come. "What would least like to encounter there?" he asks.
"For me, it's snakes."
"Ancient curses. If the legends have even one-tenth truth to them those ancient curses are unrelenting and unforgiving."