Most of these can be solved via die rolls yes, which may be the best idea. It just depends how much people want to role play it out. I would want to hear opinions.
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Zohar and Ari proceed back out into the muggy mess of summer beyond the threshold. The city revels in its own cacophony and stench, and easily swallows the pair. The crowds push them through the city's arteries, passing from the crowded market streets of the Ochre District to the shaded lanes of the Grove and then back into the crowds around the Alabaster District. Until, finally, they wind up before the only library that ever really mattered in Sedahi: The University of Arcane Sciences.
You all note the approach of Baxter, the proprietor of the Tusked Tapir. He is an old vanara; heavily stooped with age and fur more salt than pepper. He comes with platters of food, bearing their weights across his palms and biceps while his tail holds a teapot aloft. His arrival heralds an assault of aromas: the cut of lemon, the punch of curry, a waft of sweet tamarind. He settles the platters heavily upon the table, their surfaces covered in platters of curry, noodles, rice, and flat discs of egg. Finally the teapot settles in as a centerpiece. "Tea's hot," croons Baxter, his voice bringing to mind broken glass or gravel. Ari and Kumo:
Aside from your party and Baxter the main room of the establishment is empty. You seem to be in the post lunch rush lull. Ari and Valen: This enchanted teapot is one of the main draws of the Tusked Tapir. When one speaks around the teapot the image that they are trying to convey forms itself out of steam from the pot, within obvious limitations. It requires fresh tea to continue its function, as such, actually drinking the tea shortens its duration.
The map is heavy in Ari's hands, the combination of vellum and human leather giving it a deceptive weight. Yet it feels even heavier than that should account for. History Check Result:
Released from the scroll tube is a long strip of vellum yellowed with age. It strains against its unrolling, but when Valen finally coaxes it open the table is treated to a gruesome sight. Stapled to the vellum is a long swath of human skin, ragged at the edges from the process of flaying an unwilling victim. And tattooed upon this skin is the map, inked in a delicate hand contradicting its indelicate origins. The edges of the tattoo are a veined with roiling serpents, each emblazoned with a script of seeming nonsense. They spiral in as a border to the map proper, a chunk of landmass surrounded by water on three sides. The land itself has sytlistic marks for topography and four landmarks marked in the same nonsense script. Finally, that which draws all your eyes the most, the X. It is red, as it should be, and bold, as it also should be. The X sits in the middle of the landmass, crowning a stanza written in another foreign script. મારા જૂના અને સન્માનિત નીચે,
DC 15 Linguistics Check:
The language is Slyvan. DC 20 Linguistics Check:
You believe with a couple hours and access to a library you could decipher this stanza.
It is hot. There are probably better ways of describing the weather, but none are as viscerally accurate as hot. Moreover, the streets are crowded, a press of life as vibrant as it is irredeemably sticky. And the stench... But, unfortunately, that is the way of Sedahi in the summer, and people must continue about their lives here in the Center of the World. Which is exactly what you have all done; braving the hot, the sticky, and stench to wind up at The Tusked Tapir, a Chakanese restaurant. The appointed time for the meeting draws close, and you know waiting in the corner farthest from the door is a long table with a little placard reading, “Reserved for Valen and Guests.”
Like the cacophony before an orchestra tuning, Oatha appears in the silence. The semi-ordered chaos reigns for a time before the steadying hand of the conductor appears. The first note rings true, the buzzing of the oboe becoming the anchor as the others snap to. First the woodwinds... In the cold mountains of the east, a child is sneaking a peek into her father's office. From the keyhole she can see her father holding a battered journal, flipping through it before ripping out certain pages and tossing them into the fireplace. And, just for the briefest moment, he lingers on one torn page revealing a hand drawn portrait of a beautiful woman with curved horns before that too burns... Then the brass... The youth had probably started this fight by speaking out of turn, but none of that mattered before the Code Duello. And in Etenia nothing matters more than the Code, even if the duel was between two strangers come down from the mountains. So when the youth turns a stumble into a deft stab beneath his opponent's chin the matter is settled, even if there was a Crown beneath that chin... Next the strings... The planks of the shipyard creak under the combined weight of a tribe in diaspora. They have sold all they have to pay the Black Powder Price, but they still find solace in memories of their lost home. Though one of their number has already started to forget... Finally the percussion roll their thunder... Another village is burning, the waterlogged rice patties indifferent to the plight of the buildings. There is no more screaming, there never is after Iyu the Blackhearted has finished. Yet one figure remains. Gripping his axe, the tall shadow vows the end to a tyrant he has never even seen... The conductor taps his wand on the stand... A ghost has wandered these halls for an age and a day. Each day she discovers new halls, only for them to be forgotten and rediscovered the next. She suspects she has forgotten a great many things that once were hidden here. However, today is different, someone has moved a statue in one of the shrines, and when the ghost reaches out to touch it there is a pulse of warmth. And suddenly the ghost opens her eyes... Silence... Somewhere, someone pulls out a simple brass pocket watch. The second hand ticks monotonously before suddenly stopping, hovering anxiously betwixt moments before beginning again. The stranger nods, hums, and marvels at a job well done, mind imagining a minuscule crack appearing on the impenetrable. Now all that is needed is time... The symphony begins.
Ya'll all know what I did.
This is OOC land. USE IT!
Derp
This is the discussion thread... where you discuss things out of character. Or text each other, whatever works. I ain't your mama.
This is the discussion thread... where you discuss things out of character. Or text each other, whatever works. I ain't your mama.
June 1st, Year 0 of Exile
It has been three days since you left Ferrum and still the fires light the horizon at night. The trek has been grueling and you've had few opportunities for rest. Still the soldiers usher the masses onward with a desperate fervor, always whispering of a pursuit force closing in. And the masses, just as frightened, oblige despite their exhaustion. After all, you are almost to the Canyons. Surely you can lose any pursuit in the winding ways and ancient mines that dot the cliffs. Surely then you'll be safe. |