The port of Bailax hosts lavish funeral games for a recently deceased hero, inviting all to compete for prizes and glory.
First post. Woohoo!
Acantheus can be nervous at parties, as he's not sure who is an apparition or not.
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Tell me about their complicated plans.
Muse, tell me how they wandered and were lost
when they had saved the holy town of Bailax,
and where they went, and who they met, the pain
they suffered in the storms at sea, and how
they worked to save their lives and bring their followers
back home. Now goddess, tell the old story for our modern times.
Find the beginning.
Summer winds propel ships east from the Inner Sea to the lucrative markets dotting southern Casmaron and ultimately to the riches of Vudra. For over 4,000 years, Iblydos has provided the optimal stopover for these ships—not just those seeking a chance to restock provisions, but also for merchants off-loading their cargo before tacking west, rather than sailing the whole Obari Crossing. Those same ships often carry passengers seeking adventure in far-off lands.
You find yourself in Bailax, an eminent Iblydan city, on the evening of beautiful day. Bailaxians are generally eager to meet strangers and demonstrate Iblydans’ sacred duty of hospitality.
At her estate, the retired duelist and current member of Bailax’s Philosopher Council Terpsime (bold female human warrior-sage 8) invited an assortment of travelers to enjoy her hospitality and Bailax’s wonders for a week, no matter where their travels might take them afterward.
Unfortunately, your host has been preoccupied since your arrival--you have barely spoken to here, though the servants in her estate have done their best to make you feel welcome. You have cleaned and refreshed yourself, and had the chance to rest in a comfortable bed. This evening, the household has prepared a sumptuous feast for you, as you eat with the three other strangers that currently share your host's estate.
Terpsime enters with an uncharacteristic grimace just as the second course is being served, muttering, “Felt sure I was going to use these today.” She forces a smile and checks the long, sharp pins in her gray hair before addressing her guests.
“We knew it was only a matter of time before Dintolneon passed,” she sighs. “Even so, it seems to have shocked some of my colleagues to the point that they couldn’t help but deliver hour-long eulogies.” She takes a few bites of fish before continuing. “I suppose I can’t blame them; Dintolneon had such promise.”
She sighs, then turns her full attention to you, "Come, I speak too much of my troubles before me guests. Enjoy dinner. Is there anything you need?"
Klio, a human woman with the tan and muscles of someone who has spent a large portion of her life at sea, thought she would be out of place at this dinner. After all, she only just arrived in Ibldyos from the Impossible Lands, and while her family traced its heritage to the archipelago, she was many of the customs would be alien to her.
Thankfully, she seemed to understand the customs as if it it was second nature, and in this land of myth and heroism, there have been surprisingly few comments on the crystals growing from her hands and arms, or even the prominent horn of the same material spiking forth from a silver patch on her forehead, nor on the crystalline cornucopia at her hip.
"Um. I am Klio of Crystalholme. I really like the fish you've prepared! As for anything I need... I apologize, my family didn't keep in touch when they left Iblydos a century and change ago. Could you refresh my memory on who this Dintolneon fellow was?"
Klio gulped, at that point. She was used to being the knowledgeable one in her community. Hopefully she wasn't out of her depth here.
"Welcome home, Klio! I am sure your name will soon be known throughout the polis," Terpsime replies, genuinely. "It is no wonder you have not heard of Dintolneon. Though we had such high hopes for him--He was quite the dashing hero decades ago. He could run without tiring, outsang a naiad quartet, and most famously bested a manticore bare-handed—had all the makings of a hero-god. Bailax adored him, and deservedly so.”
Iannos, a human man of dark features, sea-tanned skin, and a bright and easy smile, is in delightedly at ease amid the luxury. His clothes are a poor man's imitation of a rich man, use-frayed and salt-grayed. The poet songs are full of feasts such as this; he has learned few lessons from them, but what little has remained suggests it is good to enjoy these things while they last. A hero-god or a monster or a piece of under-ripe lettuce might well ruin it.
He nods at Terpsime with unvarnished sympathy. "I am Iannos, lately of the ship *Sophis*, my lady. My grief is with you for Dintolneon's passing. It is an awful thing, to lose someone. And perhaps awful in its own way to suffer eulogies that remind you of it at length. You must tell me, please, if there is something I may do here to help lessen the burden in times such as this."
He smiles softly at the question of the crystal-woman, Klio, and is relieved by it. He would have hated to have had to ask himself. "Bare-handed!" His enthusiasm is nine-tenths genuine. "Then her might find immortality yet, in the songs."
Iannos turns to Klio, inviting and friendly. "Klio of Crystalhome, you must tell me from where your family comes! I have an embarrassment of cousins at home in Pol-Ungkore, and my grandmother has not yet met a man she could not invent some connection to."
Klio's teeth shine in the light of the dining hall, her nervousness and eagerness mixing in her full-toothed smile. The mention of bare-handed combat had her cracking her jeweled knuckles almost reflexively, the clattering of crystals making the noise particularly loud, and her bashfulness returned. She still wasn't used to that.
"Ah, Iannos! It's delightful to meet another... probable adventuring sort." With the man's clothes as they were, she wasn't entirely certain if drawing attention to his clear status as an adventurer would be a faux pas or welcome. "My grandparents spoke fondly of the alchemical traditions in Pol-Hoimpeia, and even though I was born while we were long-since settled away from the homeland, they taught me what they could."
As Klio went to smooth out her garb, she caught herself and glanced at her hands. That knuckle-cracking had shaped her hand-jewels nearly into blades, and it was too early in the day for a wardrobe malfunction. With a deep breath, she concentrated, and the opalescent glimmer of her cornucopia suddenly appeared on her hands as the jewels settled back into their proper places.
Rohirron, a large centaur clad in breastplate, which looks to be a trophy won in the gladiatorial ring or on the battlefield, and a large round shield strapped across his back sits at the table with these other would-be adventurers.
His tanned leathery complexion speaks of a lifetime spent living outdoors, while his well-groomed shoulder length hair and full beard show that he comes from some semblance of civilization.
“I am Rohirron of Pol-Ptirmeios. Thank you for your hospitality. I had not expected to be met with such opulent accommodations this early in my travels.” The armored equinoid said as he took a long pull from his wine cup. “When I left my homeland, I had expected to be staying in the yurts with my brethren or relegated to the stables.”
Looking around the table at his fellow guests, he went on “Klio of Crystalholme, you mentioned adventure. Are you here to seek out kleos of your own?
Acantheus is in roughspun garments, probably a bit more crude than the rest of you (with maybe the exception of Iannos), and the most distinctive thing about him is his blue-shaded skin. After sharing accommodations with him for a week, you would not be surprised by the owl named Moira that is perched on the back of his chair.
At Terpsime’s mention of a funeral, you can see him scan the area, as if looking for something, which interrupts his otherwise very healthy appetite. ”I have never had food this good before. My thanks, Terpsime, for the meal and the roof. My name is Acantheus. These are the first real words he has uttered this dinner, being somewhat reserved and happy to have Iannos have a stage.
Is this where I find my path and purpose?
At a break in conversation, after a hoot from Moira, he ventures: Terpsime, is there some way to repay your kindness?
"Ah, I'm happy to provide for you. No thanks is necessary," Terpsime gives you all a friendly nod of the head. "I trust that you are full and rested now? I have heard that you are all people of promise, but I would love to hear more about you--and I do have an opportunity in mind, if you would be interested."
Terpsime makes sure everyone's drink is full and invites each of you to talk about where you are from and why you have come to Bailax.
“Aha! Promise indeed!” Rohirron shouts as he raises his cup in the air. “On the Island of Pol-Ptirmeios, my tribesmen are divided into three castes. The most prominent are those with the gift of husbandry. They are shepherds of the legendary giant bees endemic to the area. Second, are the green hooves. They are master vintners whose presence alone causes the grape vines to flourish. Third, are our warriors. The caste to which I belong.”
Filling a pita loaf with roast mutton, tzatziki and greens, the centaur takes an enormous bite out of his gyro, cleaning the residue with the leather bracer of his right forearm and smearing it into his beard.
“During times of war, I run in the vanguard of Ptirmeios’s mounted cavalry. Girded by my mighty shield and steel-plated armor, it is my duty to break through the phalanx of Pol-Sylirica’s shield walls and protect our lancers from harm.”
Tossing back his freshly filled wine cup he drains it in one gulp and burps loudly.
“Pardon me. It has been some time since I have eaten this well... As I was saying, I am a member of the warrior caste. My job is to fight. But currently, Pol-Ptirmeios is at peace and there are too many young bucks, such as myself, in the tribe without a job to do. So here I am, seeking an opportunity to put my skills to good use, and if the fates allow, bring glory to my name. I am curious. What is this opportunity you speak of?”
"An opportunity? I only hope I can make good on the promise you see in me. I'm from... well, Crystalholme, a small island off the coast of Jalmeray. But my family's history lies here, in Iblydos. I seek to understand the culture my family left. I want to know more about hero-gods, monsters, and all that these myths and legends speak about. I'm a sailor by trade, but that means I've learned a few things, and it's only made me hungry for more knowledge."
At the comment of hunger, Klio takes a mighty bite of the fish before her. "And yes, much in the same vein as Rohirron, the most immediate knowledge I crave is what we can do to help you, our host."
"Well, you can help me, and learn all of those things, Klio of Crystalholme: Once the council finished”—she pauses, holding back frustration as she chooses words carefully—“opining the meaning of death, a few of us proposed converting the festival into funeral games to honor Dintolneon’s memory. We voted, it passed, I assigned drasikons to coordinate the changes, and now it’s out of my hands.
“That is, it’s mostly out of my hands.” Her mouth quirks in a mischievous smile as she stares at her guests. “I, ah, may have added your names to the list of competitors.”
“What better way can there be to experience Bailax than to compete in a great hero’s memory? There will be fame, prizes, fun…” Her smile fades slightly. “And I expect there will also be a few jerks. Iblydos’s neighbors are like vultures, circling as they watch our hero-gods die, all while plotting which island to annex, loot, or evangelize to first. I want these games to be a display of strength to the outside world. I want to sponsor you as my champions—to keep Iblydos’s traditions alive.”
She leans back with a grin, waiting for your questions about the games.
Iannos could not miss the gleaming edges of Klio's hands, but nor could he bring himself to make a show of it. The poor woman seemed shy enough; she might turn to stone proper if he cracked a joke about it. Instead he snapped his fingers and drummed his fingers upon the table. "Ah, My cousin Alexamenos married an alchemist from Pol-Hoimpeia! A very good wedding, but the smell! The art eludes me; you must be well-trained indeed, with such traditions."
The centaur -- Rohirron - made an excellent tale-teller. Iannos smiled at the exuberance, and when the centaur burped his pleasure, Iannos raised his cup, drained it, and refilled it from the krater. He hardly swallowed it fast enough to answer his hostess.
"In the Obari waters, I ride on the Sophis, a ship of great fame." From the wideness of his smile and the absent weight of his words, it is clear the Sophis is anything but. "From those -- those vultures, you say -- we take Ibyldos' share. A fair price for the predation, yes? And a good few honors and earnings to send home."
He is enraptured with the idea of the games. Iannos likes little more than a stage. He leans forward and rubs his hands together, eyes shining. "You honor me! Us! I should be so favored as to compete. As an Ibyldan it is no small dignity!"
He looks to Rohirron and smirks. "And I do not think I am alone in this.""
He drinks deep and sets the cup down. "Please, agathe, you must have ideas of which games you favor, which contests? I would do well, I think, in sailing. Oration, perhaps? Tests of confidence, most surely."
Looking at Iannos and Terpsime with a big stupid grin, “Huzzah, I say to you. To compete in the funerary games of a true hero would be a great honor indeed.”
The centaur then rises from his pillowed cushion and begins prancing around the room. “Doubly so if it means I get to test my mettle against hawkish Sylirican or Kellish expansionists!”
Rearing back, he announces to all who would hear him. “I shall represent Terpsime in the feats of strength. Bringing glory to our patron and striking fear into the hearts of those who would dare threaten the sovereignty of Iblydos and her children.”
Acantheus has remained quiet, but finds that he must now speak. ”I have only recently arrived in Bailax. Iannos and his ship stopped at the small island of my residence to refill their water barrels and he was kind enough to give me passage. I frankly do not know much of my self. You see I was apparently killed before my time, in a former life so to speak, and I awoke in the small temple to Pharasma on the island, much as you see me now, albeit a bit younger. I know I have some purpose in life that was left undone, but what it is I do not know. It was made clear to me that Moira and I needed to leave the island shortly before the Sophis appeared. Perhaps these games will be my first steps on the path I’m meant to take, although I am no athlete.”
With a glimmer in her eye, Klio beamed at the prospect of championing the culture she was reintegrating to. "Well, we're here, aren't we? In for a copper, in for for a platinum."
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"I think you will all make excellent champions, and make Iblydos proud, whether you were born here, or are finding your place."
“I don’t know for sure what the contests will be,” Terpsime admits. “That’s for the drasikons to decide—those are the officials who oversee various city functions, like sanitation, zoning, festivals, and the like. And the less I know, the better. It wouldn’t be honorable if my champions had an unfair advantage. But this is Bailax, yes? No doubt there will be some sailing, running, athletics, and gladiatorial games. Importantly, there will be several main events that you’ll need to attend.”
“The games will be at most five days. That gives us all of Fireday, Starday, and Sunday, plus most of Moonday. But they have to wrap up before dark on Moonday for the send-off.”[/b]
Iannos bows his head as Acantheus speaks. " It is an ill omen, to refuse passage." It is an easy thing, for the living to make light of death to the dead; it is a hard one, for the living to deny them. Death stalks in the shadows of the hero-gods; but for the lucky few -- and Iannos has always thought himself lucky -- it stalks behind.
It's a grumble, but an audible one: "Honor is one victory, but they all taste like wine."
Then, more loudly. "You honor us all, Terpsime! How shall we best prepare? Where will the games be held?"
He smacks his lips, and the question comes more lightly but no less earnestly. "Have you perhaps some livery for us? To represent Ibyldos, we ought look our best."
Settling himself down, the large centaur takes a seat once more.
"I second Iannos. Will we be wearing your colors, that of Bailax, a device of our own making?"
Rohirron pauses for a moment considering his next words.
"I hate to speak out of turn on this, but what of the prizes? Winning for fame and glory is a worthy cause, but I can't imagine drasikons would home a competition without offering some kind of reward. Financial or otherwise."
"You can wear whatever colors you see fit," Terpsime answers. "The people that I'm interested in impressing will know I sponsored you. The ceremonies will begin tomorrow afternoon, in a large park of the northern district of the city. From there, you may be in the harbor, climbing a mountain, or racing along a road outside the city."
"As for prizes, the greatest prize is glory,” Terpsime intones, as if reciting an axiom. “Truly, competing well can earn you considerable fame, which opens countless opportunities. But the more physical prizes? Dintolneon’s will left part of his wealth—including some of his equipment—to the city. I expect some of that gets used for prize money.”
"We had best stop drinking. Do we function as a team sponsored by you, or do we compete individually in different events?"
"Luckily, the games won't begin until the afternoon, so don't drop your drinking cup just yet!"
"You'll form a team. Each team has a five-person limit. Lots of people will be participating for fun. There won’t be as many teams competing for prizes; I expect various athletes, eccentrics, and clout-chasers," she explains.
"Whether you are working together or sending your best member to the event, we'll have to wait to see what the drasikons come up with."
The notion of not continuing to drink hadn't occurred to Iannos until Terpsime advised against it, and the confusion he shows on his face makes that plain. As does it make clear the relief. "Acantheus, my friend, it would pain me to leave such wine unenjoyed when Dintolneon is no longer with us to drink it."
He tips his cup and pours out a few drops -- tiny, conserving, miniscule drops -- onto the floor. "May he be honored."
Iannos sits sidelong against the table and rests his arm on it, reaching for figs. "A team is in need of a name. All the good champions have names. 'Ibyldan' is strong, but common, no? Imagine we are at the game, and we say 'we are the Ibyldans' and everyone else will say 'aye, you are, and nine-tenths of everyone else here besides.'"
He taps his chin, then offers brightly: "The Terpsimoi?"
Scratching his chin, Rohirron ponders for a moment. "The Terpsimoi is a fine name." Turning his attention to Terpismem "What do you think? Would you give us your blessing to use your name? What more do we need to discuss before tomorrow?"
Acantheus remains mute on the topic of a name, but looks with attention to hear Terpismem's reply.
The glimmer in Klio's eye shows her appreciation for naming their band of competitors after their sponsor.
"Ha, an excellent idea, my 'Terpsimoi'!" your host seems delighted by the name for your group. "Teams often come up with fitting names, and I think that is just perfect."
Terpsime concludes her proposal with a warning: “As I mentioned before, these games don’t just honor Dintolneon; they honor Iblydos and its traditions. I don’t want some outsiders barging in and making a mess. So compete well, make friends, and keep any mainland troublemakers from sullying Pol-Bailax and its hero. And on that note,” she announces with a smile, “let’s have dessert.”
You enjoy the rest of the meal, and a restful night sleeping on couches on the porch of Terpsime's manor. The ocean breeze from the coast keeps you pleasantly cool, and you awake without feeling any ill effects from the celebration of the night before.
The funeral games don’t begin until afternoon on the following day. Nonetheless, Terpsime ensures that you awake to stretch, eat a good meal, and arrive at the opening ceremony early to study their competition.
The festivities begin at the largest park in the Kylix, Bailax’s northernmost district. There, workers hurriedly set up decorations and stages, doing their best to comply with the last minute-changes for the funeral games. Undyl, a middle-aged cyclops with red and blue facial tattoos, dutifully interviews contestants as they arrive and records their information, forming them into teams as necessary. As you approach, he confirms you’re already signed up and encourages you to come up with a team name. He dutifully records the "Terpsimoi" as your team name.
You have time to mill around and meet the other teams that are competing, chatting with them about themselves and their competitors. There seem to be three teams who are major contenders for prizes; the remaining teams are participating for fun.
Ataiosiphon (male human potter) is a wiry young man who’s famed for the delicate designs depicting local legends that he paints onto pottery. So much time spent illustrating myths has inspired Ataiosiphon to seek glory of his own.
Rhetienn (female centaur brewer) lives a semi-nomadic life beyond the city as she tends scattered orchards and turns the various fruits into wine and spirits. She plays hard, parties hard, and enjoys friendly boasting before events.
Yphani (female cyclops herder) enjoys the pastoral life and her flocks. Cyclopes might be most famous as priests and seers, but many pursue more mundane careers. Friends know that although she’s shy, she’s also strong, having killed at least three wolves barehanded.
United by their desire for excitement, this eclectic trio joined forces to have fun, win or lose.
Mellita (female human weaver) recently celebrated her 58th birthday and 14th grandchild’s birth, yet she remains sprier than most citizens half her age. Her thick arms hide ample muscle developed over decades of weaving, dyeing, and scrubbing cloth. With her children grown and retirement approaching, Mellita just wants some exercise.
Phel (nonbinary merfolk treasure hunter) is an eccentric wrecker who plies the archipelago’s waters in search of oddities, sunken ships, and lost cargos. They sell much of the recovered treasure, which funds their passion for strange foods and terrestrial experiences.
Sappil (male vishkanya mercenary) hails from Vudra yet frequents Iblydos in search of magical and military work for hire, sending much of his earnings east as remittances. His serious demeanor
belies a quick and wry sense of humor.
This trio seeks wealth and clout, with little regard for tradition. When asked for a team name, Ulshuk and Tsemone shrugged, leaving the exuberant Akki to name the team after herself (much to her teammates’ chagrin).
Akki (female tengu stormrager) is a living tempest, craving fame, fortune, and a good fight. The Iblydan prospect of achieving divinity has seized her imagination. Although boisterous with an easily bruised ego, she rarely acts with real malice.
Tsemone (female human alchemist) grew up among Pol-Sylirica’s nobility, which valued physical prowess and bravery. Tsemone instead favored subtlety and strategic applications of poison, earning her temporary exile and the threat of losing her inheritance. She’s lethally ambitious and seeking new allies who can help her reclaim her birthright.
Ulshuk (male lizardfolk mystic) cheerfully experiments with magic of all sorts in honor of his patron, Nethys. Having heard tales of Iblydan hero-gods, he believes attaining mythic power for himself could unlock new magical possibilities.
Klio makes mental notes, observing the three other teams in hopes of finding someone with similar interests. When they spot the alchemical gear worn by Tsemone, they sigh, partly from relief that they're not the only one with a knack for mixing things up, but with a tinge frustration that the gear is nothing like the vials and pots their grandparents accrued. Almost certainly a different tradition.
Glancing over to the Pearl Chasers, Klio overhears someone mentioning Phel's knack for treasure, and seeks out the merfolk.
"Hey there, I've heard you're good at finding treasure! My name's Klio, and as you can see," Klio gestures broadly, crystalline growths on their hands shifting from studs, to blades, to spikes, and back again, "I know treasure pretty well. Have you heard anything about what challenges we'll face?"