The city of Kaer Maga sits in the heart of Varisia, a vast stone hexagon of unknown origin perched high atop the cliffs of the Storval Rise. This cyclopean structure predates even the Empire of Thassilon, which ruled these lands 10,000 years ago, and today it is a city of wonders, intrigue, and mysteries.
Some of you have lived a majority of your life in Kaer Maga. Others, for various reasons, have found yourselves in the strange city. Whether you're a lifer or a newcomer, the City is now your home - for good or ill.
It is morning in the Cavalcade. Your family has made its home in the industrial heart of Kaer Maga for the past 55 years. You remember no other life.
As you come downstairs, a patch of sunlight that comes through the cracks of the ceiling above, shines through the window and spreads across the small kitchen. Your family is already awake and the scene is almost surreal, as if in a dream.
Your five younger sisters are abnormally quiet and your mother appears to be holding back tears. Your father sits at the head of the table, facing you as you enter the room. "Have a seat, Bastarger," he says, solemnly. Your mother places a platter of cinnamon-crusted flapjacks and cup of steaming hot klava in front of you. "I need you to do a favor for the family, son," your father continues, his voice steady and calm. "The Church of Pharasma have come to me requesting assistance. And, we cannot say no."
Your mother is barely able to keep it together as he continues. "The church is having some spot of trouble and they're hiring freelancers to try and help solve it. Curse my legs, but I am unable to fulfill their request. You will have to do it," he says.
"You are to report to the Godsmouth Cathedral in the Bottoms at midnight tonight. I don't know where you're going, how long you'll be gone or what you'll be facing, but I know that you are strong, capable and brave. You are ready for whatever may come. You will return safely to your family." He concludes and your mother falls to pieces, hugging your neck and crying words of encouragement and safety. Your sisters are still abnormally silent, working at finishing their pancakes.
You spend the day packing your gear, preparing all of your belongings and saying goodbye to your family.
You stand behind a podium at the Lakeside Amphitheater. There are hundreds of your fellow artists and elite of Kaer Maga gathered in silent anticipation of your words. You open your mouth and recite by memory your favorite and most renowned poem, The Fall of the Buttered Rose. The crowd is in awe. When you reach the final line, you can see them all mouthing along - they know and love the poem more than even you realize.
Thaddeus Giovée, the Lyceum's dean, approaches you, a large mug of ale raised in celebration of your masterpiece. He is speaking, but you're not able to make out what he's saying, as the crowd has started stomping in unison. You move closer, trying to hear what you're sure is praise, but the stomping continues, getting even louder.
You sit up quickly, hitting your head on the empty bunk above you. The knocking on the door has woken you from your dream. Your favorite dream.
"Stirgen, are you awake, you oaf?" you hear a voice loudly whisper from the other side of the door. Rubbing your head, you rise from the bed and move to unlock the door. As soon as the door is cracked, a halfling squeezes through and glares up at you. "Oh, come on. Don't tell me you forgot!?" he says, his tone exasperated. He moves around your room, collecting your things and throwing them into your backpack.
It hits you - you were supposed to meet Rory at 11:15 p.m. to make your way to the Godsmouth Cathedral. You were given the privilege of representing The Lyceum in a task requested by the clerics of Pharasma. It is now almost 11:30 - the meeting at the Cathedral is at midnight.
After only a few moments, Rory has your gear ready to go. He heaves the backpack and lifts it up to you. "Come on! We have to hurry now, you fool." He heads out of the room, clearly expecting you to follow.
You have been in Kaer Maga for only two days, seeking acceptance into the Arcanists' Circle, Kaer Maga’s foremost guild of magic-users. Within their guildhall in Tarheel Promenade, a multistory affair dubbed the Wheel Unbroken, the scholars meet to debate, compare notes, and share expensive equipment. It's exactly where you want to be.
Unfortunately, you've had a hard time breaking in, as Suthevan Gyves, the unofficial leader of the group, has put a temporary moratorium on new apprentices. However, you met with a higher-level apprentice last night at a local tavern, and Chatterbeak managed to talk him into (or, annoyed him enough to convince him) getting you an audience with his superior.
You arrive early and are forced to wait several hours before seeing the elder wizard. That's not all bad, as you're able to wander the immaculate shop and showroom on the ground floor of The Wheel Unbroken. There is quite the collection of magical oddities and equipment on display.
Finally, as you prepared to make your fourth circuit around the showroom, your name is called and you walk up two levels and into a small, cluttered office. Behind the desk sits an ancient gnome, his face buried in a thick tome. "Hello. I am Mastargre Thicketpartlinger, an advisor here at the Circle. So, Balthar tells me you'd like to join our ranks, eh?" his small voice squeaks. "Tell me…from where do you originate? And what power can you offer us?"
Chatterbeak, without missing a beat, informs the gnome of your unique talents and abilities. Mastargre cuts him off after only a few moments with a chuckle. "Ok, ok. I see that your…advocate…is quite impressed by you. As you're likely aware, we aren't accepting new members at the moment. However, that could be subverted if you provide us assistance. Head to the Godsmouth Cathedral in the Bottoms at midnight tonight. The Church of Pharasma has requested our aid, and we cannot spare the manpower at this time. If you are as talented as your bird says, you should do just fine." With that, he shakes your hand and it is clear you are dismissed.
You arrived in Kaer Maga only four days ago, but already you've decided to make a home here. It is not the diversity of beliefs or general acceptance of any and all that appeals to you, but rather the pressing realization that this city is in desperate need of someone with your abilities.
You've naturally ended up in the Warrens, the neighborhood where Kaer Maga's poorest residents have made their home. The reason for your stay there is the abnormally high miscarriage or birth defect rates of the women of the Warren. While this has been an issue for decades in the Warren, you feel compelled to do your part to remedy the situation.
Unfortunately, not all are enthusiastic about your assistance. Mother Millie, owner and proprietor of "Little Treasures," a workhouse for children with deformities. It has come to your attention that she has encouraged the women of the Warrens to avoid your makeshift clinic. You've tried to meet with her, to clear up any miscommunication or issues, but she has been unavailable or unwilling to make time for you.
It's the third time you've tried to meet with her, and once again, she won't see you. Instead, she sends one of her lackeys to give you a message. Apparently, the Church of Pharasma has requested aid and reached out to Millie to see if any of her charges would be appropriate. Millie has decided that if you can handle this matter for the Church, she will make time for you. The lackey, a small boy with only one leg and a stump for an arm, hands you an envelope with your instructions - you are to be at the Godsmouth Cathedral in the Bottoms at midnight tonight.
It has been one year since you were formally inducted into the Duskwardens - a group of rogues, rangers and warriors charged with keeping Kaer Maga safe from the menaces beneath its surface. You've become a part of the family, proving yourself a potentially valuable member of the Wardens.
Even though you've made something of a name for yourself - your initiation is already something of Duskwarden lore - you've yet to be given a significant task. Your primary role has been leading the travelers up the Halflight Path - the fastest route into the city. There have been occasional skirmishes against creatures of the depths that attempt to break the barriers the Wardens have put in place, but in large, the past year has been quite uneventful.
Until today.
You've been called into the office of the leader of the Duskwardens, Warden Rogard Hammerfell. This is the first time you've been alone with the Grizzled old dwarf.
"Rhen, it is time we put your considerable talents to the test, don't ye' think?" he asks, as you enter his study. The room is small and modestly appointed, but there are maps and charts that blanket the walls - all highlighting the Wardens' excursions into the depths. "Ye've made a name fer yer'self in a short time, here. And I'd wager we've not yet seen what ye' can do." He moves from behind his desk and hands you an envelope.
"We've been tasked with aidin' the Godsmouth Ossuary - it seems they've been havin' some trouble keepin' the dead bodies in their graves. They want a Duskwarden to accompany the other freelancers in the Undercity. That will be you, lad. The envelope ye'r holdin' has all you need to know, but basically, ye' need to be at the Godsmouth Cathedral in the Bottoms at midnight tonight." He puts his hand on your shoulder before saying, "Do us proud, boy."
You've been Kaer Maga for three weeks now, but you still haven't gotten used to the undead walking the streets so freely - nor do you think you ever will.
You've found lodging in a small hostel in Ankar-Te. The crowded and incense-laden streets of this district attract by far the most immigrants from the distant south and east. And you've felt right at home in the midst of this menagerie of races, traditions and anonymous backgrounds since your arrival.
The Twice Born, as the undead are politely referred to, are a frequent sight within the neighborhood, assisting their masters in simple tasks or bearing them along in sedan chairs, their grayed flesh often draped with garlands of flowers and doused with pungent perfumes to offset the smell of decay. The hostel's owner, an elderly woman affectionally called Betty, has two such servants. One of them - you don't know which, as you haven't made the time or effort to distinguish between them - has just brought an envelope addressed to you in your room.
It's an odd time for a message, being after 10:00 at night, so you're quite curious to see what it is and who it could be from. Opening it, you read:
Lilley, I hope this note finds you well. You may not remember me, but we met upon your arrival in Kaer Maga. I was the half-elf bard performing at Thrown Bones. We talked for quite a while.
Anyway, I've recently heard of an opportunity that might interest you - and fill your pockets as well. It seems the Clerics of Pharasma have run into a spot of trouble and are hiring freelancers to take care of it for them. At midnight tonight, they're giving instructions. I plan to be there, so I hope you can be, too.
It is signed "Sincerely, Belethor" and a small P.S. reads, "Don't forget to bring any gear you might need - I think the task begins tonight!"
You vaguely remember the laid-back, humorous Belethor, and you are running low on funds. At the very least, you should go see what the clerics have to offer.
As you arrive at the Cathedral, you are met by a pale gnome - it is clear that this is a Bleachling. He asks you to wait patiently until all have arrived.
Unfolding the note, she remembers Belethor. A half-elf. When she'd seen him, she'd had the instant feeling of finding a friend in a strange place -- until she remembered she was no longer what he was. He'd noticed the flash of excited recognition in her eyes before it faded and come over to ask if she had seen him perform before, at another establishment in Kaer Maga perhaps, and she had told him that she was new to the city, that he reminded her of someone she had once known. She hadn't told him the truth -- by Shelyn's grace, never that and see the disgust and sympathy in his eyes! -- but he was a kind man, willing to help out a newcomer; it had been he who had pointed her to this very hostel as he'd heard Betty had a spare room to let.
She tries to refold the note but inadvertantly crushes it between her strong fingers. The previous occupant of this room had died, still owing debts, the sale of his meager possessions not enough to cover his obligations, and Betty, being in possession of the body that no family had come to claim, had sold him to the necromancers to recoup the rent he owed. Lilley's own purse isn't empty yet, but she is terrified by the thought of dying yet again and still being on parade for others to gawk at. She has heard that the brothels in Hospice will hire half-orc females to service clients who enjoy being intimidated and manhandled, but she'll do almost anything else that will pay before being forced into that.
At the cathedral, Lilley nods nervously at the Bleachling as she tries to find an inobtrusive corner in which she can hide her large frame. She had always liked gnomes -- the ones she had known in the forest had been full of laughter and song -- but the quiet and colorlessness of the Bleachling unnerves her. Another one who should be dead and yet lives on, she thinks, categorizing him in her mind with the Twice Born in Ankar-Te.
She waits, a tall, strong, attractive half-orc female, her features more aligned with her human ancestry than the orcish side, save the tusks which protrude from her lower lip. She wears splint mail and men's clothing that she seems to try to sink into, covering as much of herself as is physically possible. Beside her, a glaive leans against the wall. There is something odd about her appearance that nags at the observer; upon further reflection, it is the utter lack of scars or marks visible on her body. Most people of any race will have incurred some sign of wear in their flesh by the time they reach physical maturity, whether frown lines or freckles, with half-orcs particularly likely to have earned some prominent childhood scars, but from the even coloration of her smooth, green skin to the unstained white of her tusks and teeth, this half-orc appears to be in as pristine a condition as an infant newly-born. Around her neck, she wears a chain on which is strung a woman's ring, sized for a hand much smaller than her own; in many-colored semiprecious stones it depicts the holy symbol of Shelyn.
Rhen arrives at the cathedral on time at midnight, seconds before the ringing of the chimes. He stands a full 4' tall but despite the stockiness his race is known for, appears muscular and lithe. His blonde hair and beard reflect starkly with his blue eyes. He is garbed in a chain shirt, which fits quite comfortably over his frame, over which he wears a brown and gray vest, the right breast of which bears a badge with a golden arch on a midnight blue background. Oddly enough, you do not see many weapons on him, other than a dagger in his boot, a heavy pick at one side, and a shortbow slung over his back alongside 2 quivers. His appearance is quite efficient in every sense of the word. As he makes his way to the gnome, he moves in a slow but nimble gait, his eyes scanning the room for its quality of stone and any oddities. Upon reaching the gnome, he bows, puts his closed fist over his chest, and says, "Rhen Stoneheart, from the Dusk Wardens, at your service."
The dwarf gives a nod to the female half-orc and stands against a wall, admiring the cathedral's architecture. Half-orc priestesses...now I've seen everything!
"I'm up, I'm up" Stirgen blurts as he stumbles to his feet and wipes clean the long dried trail of drool on his cheek. Groaning as he realises the time and he receives Rory's unimpressed gaze and reception. "Help me with this" pointing at his breastplate and hurridly donning it. A quick check of his backpack to make sure that his charcoal and parchment are within before hefting it and running after Rory.... for a few moments before Stirgen returns to grab his greataxe, having forgotten it in the rush.
You hear him coming before he comes into view, a clanking mass of heavy breathing. Running along behind a halfling is a half-orc in a breastplate and holding a greataxe in one hand. As his face comes into the light you see that he clearly took after the orcish side of his blood - a stubby pig-nose and straggly wiry lank black hair dominate a face that you think a mother would have trouble looking favorably upon.
As he skids to a stop before the bleachling he bends over heaving and sucking air into his now tortured lungs to replenish that which was lost on the run. The physique bears a sturdy platform, though the small rolls of fat bely a recent time of indolent pleasure. The ax he wields is a typically orcish weapon, brutal and simple - however the armor is more intriguing. Of utilitarian design, it bears some frankly amateur etchings of flowers on it... as though someone got a gnomish blacksmith drunk then blindfolded him and made him engrave it upside down.
Regardless the half-man regains enough of his breath to straighten and introduce himself "Stirgen Harg, a fallen petal of the Eternal Rose" taking a few moments to look around those already assembled and a wide grin settling on his face when he sees the female half-orc and notices her holy symbol. Giving a small bow he talks directly to her in orcish:
"As die rose werp se blare
So is die aarde besaai met skoonheid."
So is the earth littered with beauty"
She stares back at him, her eyes wide with alarm. "I... I'm sorry," she resonds in Taldane, her speech slightly slurred by her tusks. "I don't know what you're saying."
More half-orcs...just my luck!
Bastarger eagerly tucked into the cinnamon flapjacks. No matter how solemn the occasion, he reasoned, his mother would not want to feel like she wasn't providing him with sustenance. He listened carefully, giving his father his full attention as he stuffed the delicious morsels into his mouth- he burned it a little in his haste to drink the klava. After his father had explained; or perhaps, had failed to explain, Bastarger rushed to his feet, placing his solid fist on his chest.
Father you know I will go and I ask only as a dutiful son, but please tell me more he said in his customary quick manner. Why do we owe a debt to the Church of Pharasma, has it got something to do with why we came to live here father?
He hoped to learn more but would accept his father's refusal or silence, should it come. Truthfully, he expected it. Before he left, he reassured his mother with an excited grin and gave his little sisters a warm hug each. When he got to the door, he gave his father a meaningful look before he departed, heading for the bottoms district.
Bastarger's short legs were only hindered further by the heavy armour his father had helped him to strap into before he left for the meeting place and he found himself worrying he was a little late. He arrived to see others waiting near the Bleachling. He had only met one other Bleachling in all his sixty-one years, and still wasn't sure how to react to them. That time, his usual excitement at conversing with another Gnome had been like a tiny wave trying to move a mountain; he ended up only feeling awkward at her utter calmness and slow answers before his father quietly led him away.
It had since been explained to him that this was the rarely achieved alternative to succumbing to the Bleachling- surviving it at the very worst stage of the curse. As far as he could tell, his family treated such beings as almost mystical but seemed somehow fearful of them as well.
He slowed his usually frantic tone of voice to one he hoped was more respectful, introducing himself to the Bleachling and explaining in simple terms that he was here in his fathers stead; keeping a wary distance. When it was explained to him that there were others also here and to wait for them, he finally noted the Dwarf and two Half-Orcs stood in the area. Seeing the two orc-blooded ones already conversing, he approached the Dwarf, hoping to gain some understanding of what was happening here, without coming across as clueless. With that said, his quick eyes did eagerly examine Stirgen's armour before he reached the Dwarf.
Hello there. he addressed him, speaking quickly. Are you here to help the Pharasmites as well? Whats your name? What does that pretty badge represent? You can call me Bastarger.
Bastarger cut an incredibly compact and stocky figure- with muscles that seemed to be barely held in strain by the banded mail he had donned; overlapping strips of protective metal fastened to a suit of leather armour. He removed his helmet as he spoke, revealing plain features, a big nose, wide, excited eyes and a messy mat of dark brown hair that clearly marked him to those with any familiarity with Gnome physiology as too young to yet experience the Bleaching. A heavy backpack was strapped to his back and he wore a small belt pouch on his front; also tucked into the belt was a small, carefully tied set of smith's hammer and tongs, as well as some other smithing equipment.
The most striking thing about the plain looking young Gnome was the sheer amount of weapons he was sporting. If nothing else, it was impressive he could walk with so many. He was using a Halfling Sling Staff as a walking stick. Three folded nets were hooked onto his belt along with a serrated metal whip and a heavy, Taldan style Falcata tucked into a sheath beside it. A larger sword of what seemed to be Elven design was sheathed over his shoulder, accompanying no less than four separate pole-arms he had secured tightly together to his armour and held in place by straps on his backpack. Beneath the backpack itself, a tower shield almost as large as him was visible. Few warriors could master so many strange and exotic weapons so it likely appeared that many of them were simply for show, or he was too inexperienced to have chosen a favoured style or three yet. Sharp eyes, however, could make out customised hilts and intricate notches upon the blades themselves that suggested they had seen heavy use.
An eyebrow struggles against the jutting brow ridge on Stirgen's forehead before being raised in surprise that the female half-orc did not ken the tongue of the orcs... following in Taldan "I did but bid you greeting and note that which we share" pointing at the lady's holy symbol and then to a gouged design on the center of his breastplate that you think might be a rose. "Might I be blessed with your name?"
As the gnome bristling with weaponry arrived, Stirgen gave him an appraising glance before his attention returned to the fellow rose of Shelyn.
Rhen contains a smile and a laugh upon seeing the comical gnome with all of his weapons. "Amazing ye can even stand, Bastarger. I'm Rhen, of the Stoneheart Clan of Janderhoff. I be a Dusk Warden, charged with keeping Kaer Maga safe from any underground menaces, assigned to lead ye freelancers into the depths. I just be glad that ye not another half-orc. So what's yer story, in it for the coin?"
An eyebrow struggles against the jutting brow ridge on Stirgen's forehead before being raised in surprise that the female half-orc did not ken the tongue of the orcs... following in Taldan "I did but bid you greeting and note that which we share" pointing at the lady's holy symbol and then to a gouged design on the center of his breastplate that you think might be a rose. "Might I be blessed with your name?"
She blushes a little greener. He saw me and thought he had found one of his own, as I did with Belethor. "Lilley," she answers, offering him her hand. "Lilley Thornhollow." It is hard to imagine a less orcish name, and she struggles to enunciate all the L's around her tusks.
Stirgen's mind half forms a response before settling for a simple "Charmed Lilley" hand held to breastplate and sensing some discomfort turns his attention to the Bleachling and the other arrivals.
Rajah bends at the knees so as to be eye level with the child as he takes the note. "Thank you, dear child. Please, take this for your troubles." He pulls out a gold coin and hands it to him. "It's the least I can do for one as gallant as you." He smiles at him as he musses his hair. There will come a time that I will find a way to help you truly, my young friend. Rajah thinks to himself as the child takes his leave. One day.
A man dressed in clothing that some might mistake for nobility, along with his kempt hair that's been pulled back in a long ponytail, is seen making his way to the Cathedral at a steady pace. Taking a moment to speak with the gnome, he then takes notice of several others who appear to be milling about. "My, my, what a splendid looking lot you are!" He states genuinely. "'The Blue Rajah' at your service. A pleasure." He smiles as he gives a slight bow.
Rhen whispers over to Bastarger with a perplexed look, as he strokes his beard quizzically, "What's a raja? Is it a human thing?"
Kenji hadn't spoken a word beyond his introduction. Chatterbeak, as usual had done more than enough for both of them. He stood, bowed and said, I will return, successful. Good day.
A man arrives, he is using a longspear for a walking stick. A Large black Raven rests upon his shoulder. He comes armored in a Haramaki Belly Plate and Armored Kilt protecting leather covered legs. Strangely, his chest and arms are bare. Why armor lower torso and legs but not upper? His entire chest and arms are covered in tattoo sleeves, a style which, along with his facial features, mark him as Tian.
He stands before the bleachling and it is the raven, not the manwho speaks,
Master Kenji is here, doing duty for arcanists circle, he is. Chatterbeak is here too. What you need blown up with magic?
Stirgen watches as two further gentlemen join their waiting group. The one with the talkative bird was likely strange to many eyes... but this was Kaer Maga after all. Nodding to the arrivals he re-introduces himself "Stirgen Harg, recently of the Lyceum but bound now for more outward pursuits."
The sorcerer looks at the Half-Orc and dips a short bow. He does not lower his eyes however.
He returns to looking at the bleachling, awaiting further instruction for his assingned task.
The bird, not nearly as dismissive, speaks to everyone.
Master and Chatterbeak are waiting for job. Are we going hunting? Setting thingd on fire? Master is good with Magic. Makes pretty lights.
Rhen contains a smile and a laugh upon seeing the comical gnome with all of his weapons. "Amazing ye can even stand, Bastarger. I'm Rhen, of the Stoneheart Clan of Janderhoff. I be a Dusk Warden, charged with keeping Kaer Maga safe from any underground menaces, assigned to lead ye freelancers into the depths. I just be glad that ye not another half-orc. So what's yer story, in it for the
coin?"
Bastarger grinned. He did always enjoy the reactions he got to his small armoury.
Years of working the forge for my father gave me a "decidedly UN-Gnome-like-physique", so said he. Pleased to meet you Rhen, forgive my lack of local knowledge about my home; I don't get to leave the forge much in the Cavalcade district I suppose, i'm glad we have an expert to guide us down there. So is that what i'm doing here? Coin? Oh, I suppose coin would be a bonus but i'm here to honour a debt of my father, truthfully he didn't really tell me what was going on the Gnome replied almost frantically, barely pausing for breath as he spoke.
** spoiler omitted **
A man dressed in clothing that some might mistake for nobility, along with his kempt hair that's been pulled back in a long ponytail, is seen making his way to the Cathedral at a steady pace. Taking a moment to speak with the gnome, he then takes notice of several others who appear to be milling about. "My, my, what a splendid looking lot you are!" He states genuinely. "'The Blue Rajah' at your service. A pleasure." He smiles as he gives a slight bow.
Rhen whispers over to Bastarger with a perplexed look, as he strokes his beard quizzically, "What's a raja? Is it a human thing?"
Bastarger returned the human's bow and waved merrily, then leaned in to whisper an answer to Rhen.
I have absolutely no idea. Some contrived title perhaps. Kaer Maga is truly a strange and wondrous place. I can see why many Gnomes choose to settle here, what with the Bleaching and all. I mean, you need only stumble to the next district along to see new sights and odd people.
** spoiler omitted **
A man arrives, he is using a longspear for a walking stick. A Large black Raven rests upon his shoulder. He comes armored in a Haramaki Belly Plate and Armored Kilt protecting leather covered legs. Strangely, his chest and arms are bare. Why armor lower torso and legs but not upper? His entire chest and arms are covered in tattoo sleeves, a style which, along with his facial features, mark him as Tian.
He stands before the bleachling and it is the raven, not the manwho speaks,
Master Kenji is here, doing duty for arcanists circle, he is. Chatterbeak is here too. What you need blown up with magic?
Bastarger tilted his head at the next man to arrive, his timing perfectly making the young Gnomes point.
The bird, not nearly as dismissive, speaks to everyone.
Master and Chatterbeak are waiting for job. Are we going hunting? Setting things on fire? Master is good with Magic. Makes pretty lights.
Bastarger had always lacked all of the innate magic Gnomes could boast of, something that had troubled both he and his family deeply as he had been growing up. He wished he could converse with the Raven in its own tongue.
Your father deflects your questions, saying that now was not the time. He would tell you the story when you returned.
The Bleachling looks around at the group gathered, largely ignoring Chatterbeak. "We had hoped there would be more, but it is past the appointed time. Perhaps more will join us shortly," he says in a monotone, stoic voice. "Please, follow me." He turns and makes his way further into the cathedral, eventually leading you to a side chapel dedicated to a martyred saint.
When you reach the chapel, there is already an individual waiting there - a female, who appears to be a cleric. "Thank you, Gluckle," the woman says, nodding to the gnome. Gluckle bows slightly before departing.
The woman immediately turns her attention to the group, silently counting your number - her brows furrow only slightly before she speaks. "Hello. I am Valanthe Nerissia a cleric of The Lady of Graves. I am glad that you have joined us here tonight, though I admit that our reason for calling you here is dire. I must request - demand - the utmost secrecy from you. If what I tell you were to be leaked to the streets, it would cause an unnecessary panic." She stops for a moment and then lowers her voice, even though you are quite alone.
"Bodies are missing from the Ossuary," she says bluntly. "And we don't know why. We need you to travel into the chambers beneath the cathedral and find out what - or who - is causing this to happen. We are prepared to offer you a reward of 750 gold pieces for successfully accomplishing this. Additionally, should you clear the chamber of all other threats, we will provide an additional 250. Any valuables you find are yours to keep, barring any obviously Pharasmin relics or treasure."
"As you can see, we are quite eager to have this resolved. However, if you are not yet prepared to enter the depths, you are free to go take care of any matters that you deem necessary. Also, should you choose that you are uninterested in helping us, you may leave now. Either way, I must, again, stress the need for silence on this matter with any other than those of us gathered here." She stops talking and looks expectantly to the group for a response.
Kenji hears the woman's explaination and merely nods.
Chatterbeak squarks in, Master is ready.
Bastarger shrugged, impatiently stepping from one foot to the other.
I am ready, lets get to it! he said eagerly. Oh, i'm Bastarger by the way he introduced himself quickly to the others he had not yet spoken to.
Rhen steps up, "The Dusk Wardens shall not let ye down, Priestess Nerissia. Rhen Stoneheart, ready at your command. If I may ask, when did you notice the bodies were missing?"
"The...issue...was brought to our attention several days ago. We sent a number of priests down to investigate and they found that the...issue...was worse than we realized. We quickly realized that we needed to send brave, skilled professionals to solve the problem."
Lilley frowns when the Bleachling herds them into the chapel and Belethor has not yet arrived. She follows but at the back of the group, looking over her shoulder, until the door is shut behind them.
Her heart leaps at the mention of the reward. Even split six ways, that would be enough for her to live on for a long time, provided her tastes remain simple: rent and enough food to keep her alive. "The... the Twice-Born," she asks gruffly, feeling awkward even bringing them up in a temple of Pharasma. "Could someone be stealing the bodies to sell in Ankar-Te?"
"It is possible, though we don't know how they would transport the bodies from the Ossuary out into Kaer Maga. If you discover that that is the case, please stop the individuals or, at the least, seal off their access as much as is possible."
The sorcerer was worried. The 2 most powerful spells he knew were devastating to those they affected. Undead were not among them. He could say he was saving them for the living culprits behind this. He would have to rely on his longspear and crossbow against the undead. He hefts his crossbow and loads a bolt.
An inadvertent growl rumbles from the depths of Lilley's throat, as her fingers tighten around the handle of her glaive. The dead have earned their rest. If they are being stolen from their long sleep to be used for another's benefit.... The thought of the Twice-Born running through Ankar-Te like cattle is hard enough if it is to pay their own debts or those of their families; enslaving dead bodies to line the pockets of graverobbers is unacceptable.
Cleary disturbed due to such information, "We will find out why this is happening, Madam, and we shall put an end to it, I promise." He nods firmly.
Stirgen listened to the servant of the Lady of Graves intently, taking mental note and wondering if he might elicit material for an ode by the time their work was done. Smiling and nodding his agreement to the task laid before them Stirgen added "It would be an honor milady"
Valanthe is clearly pleased you are all eager and prepared to help. "Thank you - since you all appear to be ready, let us begin." She leaves the chapel and through a narrow passage way. Several minutes later, the passage ends and she opens a small door. A blast of cold air meets you - you're outside Kaer Maga.
Valanthe begins to lead you down a narrow, twisting cliffside path. "This is the only way to the Godsmouth Ossuary," she says in explanation. There is a bright moon tonight, which allows you to see much of the lands stretching south of Kaer Maga. You are incredibly high up, so you turn your attention from the view, to making sure your footing is stable on the path. However, you are once again distracted by the giant carvings in the cliff face. Many of these massive carvings have openings that lead into dark chambers.
You approach one such chamber and Valanthe mouths a small word of prayer - all you can really hear or pick up on is "mouth of the Unnamed King" - before leading you into it. You are now in the ossuary
proper, where robed and hooded Pharasmin priests silently tend to the deceased, even at this hour. Valanthe leads the group through luxuriously appointed catacombs packed with bodies and down several stairways before coming to an area that obviously sees little use — most of the burial niches are empty and dusty, the air is musty and close, and silence reigns supreme.
In this disused portion of the crypts, she stops before a locked door. "This is the only known entrance to the sealed lower portions of the Ossuary," she explains. "Once you enter, the door will be locked behind you. You will be unable to leave the ossuary until your task is complete." As she finishes speaking, she withdraws a small bundle from her robes. As she unfolds it, you see six potions of cure light wounds, six vials of holy water and six sunrods.
Valanthe then hands Rhen a hollow mithral tube about 1-foot long. "This is a chime of opening," she says. "It has 5 charges, which should be more than enough to open any seals below. However, you must save at least 1 charge to get through the door behind me when you are complete. The priests will not open the door if you don’t have the chime. If you lose it or use up its magic, you must find your own way out." She stops for just a moment before saying, "Don't lose it."
With her instructions given, Valanthe draws a large iron key from beneath her robes and unlocks the door. Pushing heavily, the door grinds open despite long years of disuse. Within, a stone spiral staircase descends into the earth.
The Godsmouth Ossuary awaits.
Rajah nods in understanding. "We shall not fail, Madam Valanthe." Turning his attention to the others, "Alright my newly met companions, let us be off and put an end to this madness. Oh and Sir Rhen," he points at the chime, "let's not lose that, shall we?" He gives him a serious look before breaking in to a wry smile.
Stirgen follows Valanthe down to where the denouement takes place, bracing himself and breathing the cold air as their path takes them briefly outside. His stride is open and at ease as he gazes at the carvings as they pass Like silent watchers in the night. Accepting the gift of liquid aid, Stirgen bows with a flourish:
"This night we must into the pit,
When you see us anon we will have done it" strangely and annoyingly placing particular emphasis on the final words... as though he is proud of the fact they actually rhyme. He then solemnly moves below.
The sorcerer takes the sunrod and the potion and holy water. He actually disn't need the Sunrod for he could conjure a magical light when he needed.
Yet fate had gain eroded his value to this group. Truly he was going to fight an uphill battle.
He tucks the sunrod into his belt and casts light on the spear on his crossbow in hand.
He takes up a position in the middle of the group.
Rhen graciously takes the Chime, the sunrod, holy water, and the healing potion. He then pulls out his bow, nocks an arrow, and says, "Let's get this party started! Follow me!" He then leads the party into the darkness, where he feels most at home, letting his darkvision and his sharp senses guide him.
Bastarger took his own share of the items and seeing Stirgen decline his sunrod, took that as well. He chose to save those items for now and lit a torch with flint and steel, placing the newly lit torch in his shield sconce and finally appeared to be ready. He fell in place behind or beside Rhen as the exploration began, determined to remain in the front ranks. With his tower shield held by his left arm, he held a net in his right hand and kept an eye out for trouble.
The spiral stairway descends 60 feet down a cramped vertical shaft to the second level of the Godsmouth Ossuary. There is a narrow gap between the stairs the corners of the square shaft, so the group makes it way down the stairs single-file.
The air is dank and musty. The only sound is your footsteps and your breathing. After you make your way down the stairs, you come to a landing with six doors - two each on the west, north and east walls.
Before you can move very far onto the landing, the light from Bastarger's torch and Kenji's spear no longer light the way - all without dark vision are plunged in complete darkness. There is a slight "swooshing" sound as a creature attempts to slam into Stirgen.
The creature, unaware that Stirgen was wearing such thick armor, simply bounces off his back with a thud. It hits the ground in surprise.
Bastarger -
Rhen -
Kenji -
Stirgen -
Rajah -
Lilley -
Creature -
Initiative Order
Bastarger
Rhen
Stirgen
Lilley
Rajah
Creature
Kenji
Round 1:
Yelping in surprise it takes a couple of moments for Stirgen to compose himself. Seeing the creature before him on the ground he comments "Strange little thing..." before unlimbering his greataxe "...but you did try and hit me" shuffling around the beast before dropping his axe onto it's centre-mass...
Greataxe: for
...or at least the floor next to the creature.
Bastarger hesitated, seeking direction and unsure how to respond to the clearly magical darkness.
Rhen moves to BC21 and launches an arrow at the creature, yelling "It's to the south, next to Stirgen!"
Lilley moves automatically to strike at the creature, whirling the glaive out of its upright orientation to slash at whatever it was that attacked them from behind.
Reach: You use a reach weapon to strike opponents 10 feet away, but you can't use it against an adjacent foe.
"My, my, it appears I cannot see a thing. Let's see if I can remedy that."
Stirgen takes a step, but in the darkness and confusion, he is unable to strike the writhing creature on the ground, badly missing one of its flailing tentacles.
Rhen moves a few steps and launches an arrow at the flailing creature. The group hears - and those can see, see - the arrow enter the creature. It lets out a high-pitched screech.
Lilley brings her glaive in a vertical arc. It pierces the flesh of the beast and its hot blood sprays onto Stirgen.
Rajah, attempting to illuminate the situation, casts Light. Unfortunately, the spell is too weak to penetrate the darkness.
The creature, bleeding and injured attempts to fly back up into the space between the stairs and the wall.
Unfortunately, it is still suffering from the effects of running into Stirgen and the multiple attacks its received and is unable to get off of the ground. It remains grounded.
Bastarger moved back towards where he remembered the stairs being, seeking to cut off the escape of whatever was attacking his allies.
Maybe i'll get out of this damn darkness too...
"Hm. It appears I am unable to penetrate the darkness." Rajah remains where he is, listening to the events around him.
Kenji tries to grope his away out of the darkness. Realizing the attack came.from behind he moves foreward as far as neccesary to get out of the darkness. (Double move if needed) He calls to the gnome, Foreward Bastarger, the dark is magical.