Long shadows fill the crowded streets of Mondthep as the sun slowly descends to the horizon. Unlike in recent times, the mass of people do not travel into the city’s center to pray at the various temples resting under the Unmoving Moon, but sit huddled close to the alleyways, clinging to each other for warmth. The scent of unwashed masses and unclean gutters wafts in the damp, autumn air. Coughs and sniffles sound from within the dark corridors between buildings, intermingled with the occasional yelp of surprise or fear. Meanwhile, business owners yell out ridiculous prices for ordinary goods from their stores, seeming to somehow keep in business despite their charges. A dark pall seems to have fallen over the city; a shadow that, like those that lengthen with the setting sun, seems to grow with each passing hour.
A large, circular wall encloses the city’s Temple District and separates the priests from the common folk that live and work in the surrounding Merchant District. For weeks now, the large doors to the Temple District have been sealed to all but those required to feed the priests and keep the inner district clean due to a series of tragedies that have overwhelmed the outer Merchant District.
First, there was the Axari Plague that ravaged the population and began the priests’ encapsulation within their ward. During the ending days of the disease’s grip upon the city a mad hysteria gripped the city and mass riots seethed in the streets, provoking arson and the formation of powerful gangs. The arson and unrest continued after the plague had left the city, and groups of adventurers packed the city when rewards were announced for the head members of the gangs. Whilst this clean up was taking place, many adventurers showed up inexplicably dead, murdered in gruesome manners. After the dissolution of the last of the gangs the murders have continued, slowly finding victims outside of the adventurers. Once again the city has called to brave adventurers to clear them of their plight.
This time, help was not far, with many that had helped to destroy the gangs staying in hopes to avenge their fallen comrades. Now they line the streets with pilgrims denied entrance into the Temple District, hoping to catch sight of the killed and enact vengeance. Boarding houses and inns have raised their prices to rates only benefiting the richest of adventurers, with only a few keeping prices low in order to help the poor travelers that have been leeched dry by those that have inflated their prices.
Of particular interest to newcomers of the city are the following sites:
The Black Heron – A bar that has closed its doors to all except adventurers, and serves as somewhat of a planning ground for the search for the killer/killers.
Nort’s Pen – One of the last cheap boarding houses with vacancies, the Pen’s prices are still outside the means of many of the pilgrims and adventurers in the streets
The Temple Inn – An expensive, but quite clean, inn and restaurant that has been the base of many of the adventuring groups.
Evening was approaching as Tunk viewed the City of Mondthep a mile away with the great shining Yulniir Sea as a darker blue backdrop. Its great walls and multi-floored buildings put an awe in the mighty half-orc. He raided villages in the past, but never truly saw the heights of civilization. His powerful legs thumped the rocky ground below him as his muscled arms pumped at his side carrying his large coal-skinned frame toward the city. He approached from the west, the sinking sun enlarging his shadow to monstrous proportions. His right hand holds his favorite weapon, a maul, carried near the base of the head, and with a great sword strapped to his back and throwing axes at his side, he looked like a one-man army.
The sun was near the setting horizon when Tunk finally breached Mondthep’s walls and the barbarian half-orc took in his first flavor of civilization. He did not like taste and almost spat as he viewed the huddled masses wasting away in the shadows of their giant buildings. Many residents coughed and sneezed. Tunk viewed these sick with disdain. His tribe the Ghakd ’Usg Vagza , FireSkulls to civilized folk, would burn these weak ones. Only the mighty lived and ruled in the Hellspawn Mountains where he grew up.
That was many years ago now though, Tunk had to remember. Lut, the great warrior who spared his life while Tunk was still a youth, had sent him on a mission of redemption, what the half-orc understood as ‘Make Tunk Better’. Tunk was here to learn about the various religions of civilization and find what Lut believed to be the good soul that was buried under the evil ingrained doctrines of the Ghakd ’Usg Vagza . Tunk did not understand all of this though. His understanding simply came down to ‘Make Tunk Better’.
Tunk quickly learned that he would find no religion tonight, for the Temple District was walled off and closed. Tunk only understood that bad things were happening, and he would not find what Lut called redemption, until the bad things were stopped.
Now wondering around not knowing what to do or understanding how a city works, Tunk gives warning glances at anyone he feels deserves one. Then the smell of food catches his nose and he follows. He stops next to a building and looks up. Not able to read, he sees some lettering on a sign depicting a black bird. The smell of food and drink comes from this place and his stomach growls with anticipation. As he nears, he hears many voices inside. They seem to be talking strategy regarding the city’s problems. Tunk steps through the doors and his mighty frame silhouettes against the opening. Without any thought of etiquette or tact, he simply states loudly and firmly, “I am Tunk. I need to help. Lut tells Tunk to find Ragandtion!” Tunk then looks around the room to see if anyone responds to his thundering bellow.
I sit in the shadowy corner of the Black Heron. I drink from a tankard of ale as I watch the place from under my hood. Perhaps I’ll be successful today and with that thought the fanatical fire that burns in my soul burns even brighter. I drain my cup and then stand and walk out into the fading light of day. I go to the nearest plaza and pick a spot that’s raised from the rest of the plaza and leap onto it, but not before murmuring a few words a tracing an arcane glyph across my throat with a taloned finger. A slight green glow suffuses my throat for a second and then fades. I step up and throw off my black traveling cloak to reveal simple dark blue robes and a silvery symbol that glints in the dying light of day hanging around my neck. I’m about 3’6 and covered in black feathers like those of a raven. I look out onto the plaza and those in it with a piercing gaze from my beady black eyes and begin to speak. The sound that emanates from my brown beak is deep and raspy and somehow mesmerizing.
“People, at this moment you are going to your homes from a hard day’s work. Home to your families and friends. Home to a meal. Home to sleep. Sooner for some and later for others you are all going to drift off into the strange landscape of dreams. That mysterious place where all of your hopes, all of your fears, all that you are, is laid bare to the Dreaming One. Soon you will surrender your mind and soul to His blissful embrace. Soon you will be freed for a time of your mortal forms and be allowed to wander the infinite landscapes of the Dreamlands. He communicates to us while we sleep, the Dreaming One, gently whispering guidance into our sleeping minds. Perhaps it doesn’t seem so at first but who can deny that great inspiration while you wander those vistas of the Dreamlands? Surely many of you have awakened in the morning to find that something has been revealed to you, an inspiration had, a realization dawned, through your dreams. Perhaps a nightmare has revealed a weakness or inner fear to you, making it so that you can ward yourself against the danger.
The dreams He sends to us are sometimes mere whispers of his thoughts as he touches your dreams but sometimes... Sometimes they are the prophetic forces under which kingdoms rise and falls, kings live and die and the greatest wonders and terrors of the world are born. Those rare instances are those which show the touch, often unknown, of the Dreaming One’s unfathomable mind. Perhaps you think I’m mad. Or a fool. Or both. But think, my good people: you’ve been raised to believe in the gods who are represented by priests who hide behind walls and keep the best for themselves while claiming to represent a good, a merciful god or goddess. A distant deity who is said to be just. But really, are these gods anything more than distant idols that do nothing to ease your suffering. Many of you doubtlessly have difficulty keeping your family fed and housed. How many lost loved one to the plague? To the gangs? What did the clerics do? What of their own id they risk for their patron’s loyal servants?
Perhaps your parents told you that if you were good, kind, and generous, if you went to church regularly, if you followed dogmatic doctrines then you would ascend to some heaven once death’s slow, inevitable march of death pounded in your ears. Perhaps you were told that if you failed to do this you’d be confined to some wasted landscape of Hades.
Many of you may have lost faith but what is the one thing that lives eternal within all of you? Dreams. You may lose faith in the distant gods and their self absorbed clerics but you never lose dreams. You never lose contact with the Dreaming One. He is there with you from the first night of you life to the last time you go to sleep before your heart beats its last. He is there beside you, a constant companion who is with you through wealth and poverty, sickness and health, joy and sorrow, life and death. He is like a friend, someone who always listens to your thoughts, your innermost hopes and fears and subtly, so subtly that you often don’t realize his influence, gives you advice while you sleep.
Who would like to hear more of the Dreamer? Who would like to hear more of your eternal and unflagging companion?” I say, righteous belief filling my voice with powerful conviction as I speak to the masses on their way home. I give the impression of smiling beuatifically even though I’m physically incapable of doing so. ”Well, I might have convinced some of them.” I think to myself as I look into the crowd, trying to judge the general reception of my speech. I look happily at anyone who approaches me with interest in Him and again give the impression of beaming. After a few minutes I take whoever seems interested back into the pub and, over a light repast, give a discourse on the Dreamer.
I'm assuming that Jabari and Firathir met up on the road, Mevers?
Sounds good, here's what I was thinking.
After summoning the fiendish wolves in his tormentor's sleeping quarters, unsurprisingly, Jabari felt a pressing need to leave the city. For perhaps the first time in his life, luck was truly on his side, and there was a steady stream of Adventurers heading for Mondthep. Why, he didn't really know (or to be honest, care). He just knew he needed to put as much distance between him and the mage academy as he could, and it was easy to just blend in with the Adventurers.
He spent his days traveling just trying to stay out of trouble, and avoiding any and all attention. But, for only the second time in his life, luck was again on his side. (With this much luck in a few days, he reckons he has used up most of his luck for the next many, many, years). For some reason (unbeknown to him ), he caught the attention of a rather exotic Elven Knight, and the two of them struck up something of a friendship.
Well, never having had any friends, Jabari assumes this is what a friendship is. (Although, if he is being honest with himself, he probably has a (slight) crush on Firathir, although he would be absolutely mortified if she ever found out, and he kids himself that he doesn't, and so avoids thinking about it most of the time.) Regardless of his "true" feelings, Jabari is just glad that there is finally someone who isn't constantly bullying him, and even *gasp* sticks up for him when he is in trouble, and he is determined to repay that "generosity" as best he can.
Eventually they reach the city of Mondthep, and not having anything else to do, or anywhere else to go, (and being down to his last few pilfered gold), he tags along with Firathir wherever she may be going. The two of them making quite a sight. The lovely Elven Knight in her bone white armor, and the grimy Human mage in his by now badly tattered traveling clothes.
My Lord Nergal,
As I write this letter, I am a half day's travel away from the City of the Unmoving Moon. As I had writ in my previous letter, while staying temporarily with the Pale Wizard Heilo I had heard of murders of adventurers in Mondthep. This was curious, for most sane men would not consider doing as such in a city with such a high density of like-minded me. I had thought for this to be a fine opportunity to study the reactions of the adventurers, and see how many lives would be released, and in what ways.
On my travels, I had encountered a small man being accosted by several brutes. I watched, wondering what might happen, when one of the thugs had spotted me, and came over to speak. We spoke, and I had recieved the impression that he was trying to get something from me, due to the words and gestures he was making, but since he wasn't being outright with his queries, I soon lost interest, and paid more attention to the growing scuffle. Apparantly, this did not please him, and he grabbed me by my cloak. I tugged away, and my cloak came loose, revealing the armor that represents our order.
Needless to say, this brute had the same mistaken prejudices against our noble order, as do many, and drew his dagger to attack in rage.
My spear was quicker. His death was disappointing, for it left no lasting impression.
Unfortunately for me, the dead fool's friends saw this, and rushed at me with fury. I am ashamed to admit that the skill at arms that you instructed me in, my Lord, was diminished that day, for they, with unreal ease, had knocked me to the ground. It took all my might to keep my shield in between my body and their blows, and I nearly experienced the sweet embrace of death all too soon.
Until one of the avengers fell, a hound of the hells latched unto his neck.
I stared at the wolf of fiends as it ripped out the throat of the attacker, and the attacker tried to scream, but could only moan in horror. The man soon went rigid, and the light faded from his eyes.
It was most beautiful. I wish I could have touched my savior, but he faded into black and red motes.
One of the other thugs screamed in anger, and charged away, at the man they were harrassing earlier. He was the one who commanded that beast, I realized, and as best as I could from my prone position, threw my spear at the charging man. It caught him in the leg, and he tumbled to the ground, just feet away from the fearful arcanist.
The final man stepped away from me, from what I assume was fear, allowing me to pick myself off the ground and draw my shortsword. Slowly, I raised my sword at pointed at him, challenging him.
He dropped his weapon and fled.
I sighed, and sheathed my weapon. I then approached the wounded attacker, who was having difficulty standing due to an inexplicable sheet of what seemed to be grease under his feet. Making sure to stand clear of the grease slick, I reached for my spear and tugged, ripping out the tip as well as a scream from the injured man. I watched as he managed to get free of the square of grease, and fled after his compatriot. Watching him run in terrorl, I glanced out of the corner of my eye at the spellcaster, who seemed to ignore the coward in favor of me.
I nodded to him in thanks, and took my lead.
Several days later, I noticed that the spellcaster was following me. At first I ignored him, making my way to the plague ridden city of gods. Then, one day, out of curiosity, I invited him to share bread with me. He did, after all, summon that creature of death. I learned that his name was Jabari, and he was a conjurer of some skill. He mentioned that he was formerly a student of some school of magic, but he had recently taken his leave of the place; I did not question him further on the subject.
When I continued on my journey, he followed, closer to my side than before.
Strangely, it is comforting to be travelling with someone, even if we do not often speak to each other. Is this what it was like for you, my Lord, when I had found you those years ago?
In any case, we approach the City of the Unmoving Moon. I must confess, I am growing excited as we come in sight of the monstrous looking city, with the lonely moon hovering overhead.
Your shield,
Firathir
Firathir made sure her cloak was snug as she and Jabari entered the city of sickness. The pale, dark haired elf, glanced from side to side, taking note of the wretched ones. 'Plague, disease... a most slow and excrutiating way to die... I wonder what information the Wheel has concerning it.'
Her eyes fell over a steel barrel, where a peasant stoked the flames inside, and she shuddered. She tore her eyes away from the flames, and continued on.
"Jabari," she said, looking at her companion with an intense look, speaking for the first time in hours. "Where would adventurers go?"
Jabari looked at her, then pointed behind her, where a battle-beaten building, with a hanging sign with a black bird hanging over the door, stood. On the wall was a long tapesty of parchment that read, "Open to Adventurers Only".
"... Let's go inside, Jabari." With that, she strode to the bar, ignoring the preaching Kenku, and stopped as she found her path blocked by a smokey looking half orc.
A slight haze of smoke wafts in the upper reaches of the Black Heron, the scent of exotic herbs mixing with the sweet scent of various wines and meads that sit upon the various tables lain out upon the bar’s main floor. A massive statue carved from Rathan Ebony in the shape of an elegantly formed bird with a long, curving neck serves as the main load-bearing pillar for the bar’s second floor. Scratched along the statue’s pedestal are a number of names, many of which recognizable as heroes of the current age, while some are but of interest only to true scholars of the adventuring trade. A lengthy, bent bar top fills most of two walls, the front decorated with a myriad of worn paintings of various waterfowl. Along the wall to the left of the entrance is a massive tapestry of the city, the streets marked with a mass of small darts of seemingly random colorations.
Behind the bar works a tall elven man of indeterminable age wearing his hair in a long, gray ponytail with bangs that slightly cover the patch over his right eye. He nods slightly as you enter, but seems more interested in getting drinks to the customers at the bar than greeting newcomers. Several young human women walk amongst the rabble, serving drinks and food to the various customers. The is a soft shattering sound followed by a wench’s cursing as one of the clay tankards is smashed against a client that found his hand becoming a bit too friendly. The clientele seems made of a variety of races, each carrying at least one obvious weapon and displaying an alarming diversity of clothing styles and appearances. At one table a dwarf, halfling, and two humans, all of whom have a blue flag tied someplace obvious on their person, sit rumbling about recent misadventures. Two Altesian elves sit at the bar, faces painted with garish patterns as is the custom of the tribal elves from beyond the Yulniir Sea. A couple of huge Sermani sit at a corner table, black leather armor covering their scaled bodies while their slitted, amber eyes stare unblinkingly at the rest of the room while their hands occasionally twitch towards the straps of their greataxes. Finally, sitting with his back leaned up against the bar is a rather eccentric looking human dressed in a mish-mash of colorful clothing, he chats absently to the bartender while inhaling every few minutes from a pipe made of a material looking like an amalgam of metal and bone.
As Tunk enters, most of the conversations stop while people try and process what exactly he means, and quickly resumes while the smoking human motions the half-orc towards him with a somewhat wicked smile. The bar tender grumbles something at the human who scowls slightly at the sound, but continues motioning the half-orc to the seat next to him.
Kaird
As Tunk scans the hazy inside of this gathering place, pleasant, yet unknown smells, play with his senses. The food and drink brings a rumble to his stomach reminding him of the last time he ate a decent meal. His gaze then falls on a massive bird statue acting as a pillar to hold up the ceiling. Tunk is able to appreciate the fine sculpture. Although his tribe is barbaric, they share an appreciation of art. His people concentrate more on face painting, and crude at that, but art nonetheless. Then his scrutiny of the room, by following human women with trays of food and drink, discern that the place to fill his stomach is at the long raised table almost against the wall. While looking that direction, a man wearing clothing of myriad colors and huffing on a smoke stick catches the half-orc’s eyes. Tunk recognizes the invitation and bounds over. Looking the man square in the eye and pointing a thick thumb to his chest, he simply says as an introduction, “Tunk.” The half-orc then drops his thumb before he speaks again, “Need to learn from priests. Need regandtchen. Help city.” Tunk then smiles, his mouth bent awkward from a broken tusk, thinking that he got lucky and this man will give Tunk the answers he needs.
I walk up to the half-orc thinking "He's looking for redemption! He's looking for Truth and I shall reveal to him the truth of the Dreaming One. A new member of the faithful. Also he looks able enough in a fight and after the reception I've gotten in some places that would be nice.". "Good sir, you say you're looking for redmption? Perhaps you heard my speech outside? You seek truth? The Dreamer holds answers for you, as he does for all who will listen. He speaks to you in your dreams, sometime subtley sometimes overtly, but he is always there. Perhaps a dream once revealed something to you which was occluded from your everyday sight? He was pushing your mind in the direction that was needed. Sometimes His messages can be misinterpreted by our mortal mind. Some will say that He is uncaring, distant, even evil, but that couldn't be farther from the truth; the Dreaming One is closer to us than any of the other gods who only 'speak' through their clerics who hide behind their walls while their common followers suffer the depredations of plagues, poverty and gangs. The Dreaming One is with us, all of us, throught our lives. Sometimes His presence isn't as strong or distinct for someone but He's always there. He watches our daily lives through our dreams, pointing us in the right direction, revealing our fears to us so that we can better combat them. He cares for each of us, perhaps not as a father but as a interested friend. How can someone who is constant contact with us, giving us help through our dreams be evil? If you're looking for redemption and spiritual enlightenment perhaps I can help?" I say in my mesmerising voice, full of fanatical and righteous beleif.
As Tunk ends his introduction to the pipe-smoking human, but before the human responds, an interesting miniscule humanoid bird-like creature grabs Tunk's attention. He looks down while the creature's voice has an almost hypnotizing effect on the half-orc. Tunk has a mostly dumbfounded look, but then finally responds, “Redention. Yes, make Tunk better.” Tunk then looks back up at the human with confusion not knowing what to do next. He then give his awkward smile, thinking that he is really lucky to have two individuals who want to help.
"Yes! The Dreaming One will make you better! Through the dreams that are your contact with Him he will give you pushes in the right direction, allowing you to see through the veils and clearly into your heart and soul. He will reveal many mysteries to his followers, granting you knowledge and certainty. Here let me buy you a drink and something to eat and I'll tell you more" I say, the fires of belief burning ever brighter as I sense the possibility of a new believer.
At the sound of food and drink, Tunk perks up even more, and now the little Kenku has the Half-Orc's full attention. "Yes! Learn, eat, drink. Find rabention. Talk dreams. Make Tunk better." Tunk smiles again awaiting his new teacher's lead.
"Barkeep; a drink and a hot meal for me and my friend here." I say, handing over the necassary gold and leading Tunk over to my table. I sit down and say "My name is Kaird Swiftclaw and yours?"
The Half-Orc follows the little Kenku over to a table. After the miniature humanoid introduces himself, Tunk stares for a moment then responds with a meaty thumb to his chest, "Me Tunk." Then after an uncomfortable pause, Tunk thinks back to what Lut taught him about 'how to act in the city' and then responds, "Nice to meet you." He then gives his awkward one-tusked smile. "Lets eat, then find rederken."
It's good to meet you as well, Tunk. Unfortunatley souls such as yourself, who will listen to the Truth of the Dreaming one, have been rare on my journies. I begin to snap up my food in my beak, occasionally dipping it into my mug of ale.
At this point, Firathir had already secured a table for herself and Jabari, near the black scaled reptillians. When the tavern wench passed by, Firathir quietly order food and drink for herself and her companion.