Mountains, always the mountains frame you. They loom over you and push up close behind you, so near and suffocating you can hardly breathe, or they stand alert in the distance, peering at you with unblinking eyes. White tops snow-capped straight through summer; forbidding, glistening daggers piercing the sky in winter; yet throughout the slow tread of seasons, somehow, to the people, they remain the stern parents of the Vale; ever admonishing, never a kind word, yet dependable to their dying breath. And the mountains do not die, they remain, sure and steady, generation after generation, breathing blizzards, or wisps of memory, across you, across the Vale, from time immemorial until eons yet to come.
–Letter to the Yemma Dunya Abziri (Kalahata), from Nafsawiyyah Abziri (Abziri Dacha, Vale of Deshar), 367 J.I.C. (Jenghen Imperial Calendar)
DM for Deathworld: Lost Mine of Phandelver// Story Guide for COYOTE and CROW: Cahokia Forever//Dev Horndin Curious Critters//Co-creator: Princes of the Apocalypse - A DnD Story
The bodies are indeed those of Idder and Sufyan, the two Shian men whom Snow had hired, along with the Animu Borongo, the 20’ sloop far from its home port of Fa Tahesi, to accompany him up the Sebu River from Ishi Ammah to Kalahata and then to the Vale of Deshar. But here, under the looming southern walls of the Shian capitol, after three days spent exploring the city, these bodies mean that a decision will have to be made.
Snow recalls his arrival to Kalahata, a fine, warm morning at the end of the month of Beauty, as the fabled Shian Spring Festival wound down. The sloop had slowly plodded upriver beside the Queen’s High Way, the crowd flooding into the city thickening minute by minute. When Kalahata came into view, the first thing you noticed were the enormous city walls, built tall enough to withstand the reach of giants. Idder – the more talkative of the two rivermen – told you it was damaged decades ago during the Shian Rebellion when the city went rogue and the Empire flexed its vast might to wrest it back in line. As a matter of principle, the city leaders have never repaired the battlements, preferring to leave the Empire to foot the bill, but that also hasn’t happened, and so there remain clefts in the yellow rock faces where something huge made vast tears in the ramparts.
Behind the city stand the great Bantu mountains. Snow-capped, they pierce the high encircling clouds, and from them, from behind the city as you approach, sluicing down through the foothills leading to the fabled Vale of Deshar, extends the Sebu river, running through the crowded Shian capitol, and then southeast to cut a path all the way to Ishi Ammah and the Awhar Gulf, the origin of your path through Orraca u Shia for the last two weeks.
Rising higher than the mountains, seemingly, the Poppy Citadel stands at the far end of the city, thrusting skyward farther than any structure you have seen. The royal castle of the Shian families, over which a hundred wars are said to have been fought, a hundred kings stabbed in the back and overthrown, the Poppy Citadel brightly reflects sunlight from its yellow gold-embedded walls and tall stained-glass windows.
Each neighborhood, Idder had continued to inform you, is a fiefdom, called an ‘amboule,’ controlled by one of the noble families, and each amboule is a city within the city, vying for dominance, favors, and power. All pay a tithe to the Poppy Citadel or face an ancient curse.
The city is alive, bustling, movement everywhere, pulsing with industry, with trafficking, and with crime, which flourishes flagrantly. There is no city guard, each district is on its own, and the lurking, invisible, capricious hand of the drug lords forms the subcutaneous tissue which many would say holds the city together.
Smoke rises from countless chimneys, and even though there is a sewer system, there’s no real cooperation in its maintenance, and the smell of Kalahata is infamous. Fetid, poisonous clouds have been known to rise from sewer grates and kill dozens during the hot summers. So watch your money purse, and watch where you step!
Then there are the casinos. Wealth flows in as the poppy lords from the vale and their henchmen fight their own personal battles and vendettas over games of chance, spending their drug money and propping up the city’s reserves. But only a relative few prosper, while countless men and women here are born into serfdom, living in fear from day to day, powerless and helpless.
Kalahati-ur, the inhabitants, wear scarves around their mouths and noses, both to protect themselves from the smell and the sands, which have been known to rise up in whirling clouds for days upon end. Dust flies constantly off of the shifting dunes bordering the city’s eastern walls, an arid sea upon which move small vessels, pulled by twisting subterranean creatures.
There are other beasts too, the Indallian points out, in the plains and farmlands west of the city, and even within the walls, one can see enormous elephants, giant hyenas, and huge lizards, their strength harnessed to pull contrivances or carry riders, to plow the fields, or to charge in battle, to kill.
And speaking of military might, and of the Empire, there! High above, circling through the bright, smoke-hazed sky, you saw four Imperial soldiers in heavy plate mail wearing sky blue and the Dagger-Moon livery, the sigil of the Jenghen Empire, flying thousands of feet high, upon enormous rust-colored Rocs which circled and wheeled, their distant screeching echoing against the hillsides.
Cats, few of whom you have met – for they are rare both in The Kingdoms and The Tree – Cats control the banks and finance here, and are not to be trifled with. For as Macchiavellian as the Shians can be, none can hold a candle to the scalding flame of a Cat’s jealousy, a Cat’s subtle maneuvering, or a Cat’s relentless negotiations and political machinations.
As the sloop made its way toward the city’s towering gates, one hundred and twenty feet tall, the anticipation ratcheted up among the crowd as the music grew louder and louder. Trumpets and huge conch horns sounded from the Arena. Music of all kinds resounded in the streets, and dancers lined the avenues, shaking and bouncing to the seductive rhythms. Throngs entering the city carried poles with banners or long ribbons flapping in the cooling breeze blowing down from the Vale onto the Steppes.
You moored the sloop, and stepped up onto the road, slowed almost to a stop to funnel into the gates, and finally you broke through. Immediately, the music had you in its grip, for the ground was shaking under your feet, and you saw ahead of you a stage, upon it, dozens of dancers gyrating and leaping, their bodies glistening with perspiration, and leading them, twelve costumed women singing in unison, and an Eye standing before them and beaming what he saw to his arcane Box, which multiplied the sound, and which beamed and magnified what the Eye saw, throwing the three-dimension image high above the stage so that it could be witnessed from a distance and heard, and felt deep in the bones of all who entered.
Kalahata, City of Thieves! Kalahata, Ancient Seat of Shian Royalty! Kalahata, Gateway to the Vale of Deshar!
(OOC: turn up volume & play the video, then read the card at the end for more information about the city.)
That was three days ago. Now, things are different. The festival ended with Games at the Arena, where you spent much of your pocket change. Meanwhile, Idder and Sufyan had stolen your bankroll, apparently to lose it and their lives gambling in the great casinos. And this morning, here are their bodies, floating downstream. Not the first bodies you had seen floating downstream from Kalahata, true.
It is the morning of the 2nd of Grandeur (April, IRL), the sky is covered with gray clouds and a fog is pulling back from the Poppy Citadel up into the Vale.
You owe 30GP for the slip where the Animu Borongo (your sailboat) is moored – more than you have in your pockets – and there will be gate & bridge tolls to pass through Kalahata north into the Vale of Deshar, not to mention additional expenses as you continue to your goal.
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DM for Deathworld: Lost Mine of Phandelver// Story Guide for COYOTE and CROW: Cahokia Forever//Dev Horndin Curious Critters//Co-creator: Princes of the Apocalypse - A DnD Story
Snow stays crouched by the banks of the river, watching the bodies float aimlessly passed. His hazel eyes narrow beneath the scarf he wore around his head, nose and mouth in the Kalahati-ur way. He had learned early on in his time in the desert city that the scarf was more for function than fashion, but it also served to hide his distinctive white hair and elven complexion, and so he tended to wear it even when the desert winds weren't blowing so hard.
He briefly considers trying to get a closer look at the bodies, but that thought is quickly discarded as that would draw unnecessary attention to him. And it wasn't as if whoever did this would have left anything valuable on the bodies anyway. He felt a pang of regret for the pair he had sailed all the way from Ishi Ammah with, but maybe they got their just deserts. He smiled to himself at the play on words.
He stands up, feeling his loose fitting white shirt blowing slightly in the breeze, and looks towards where the Animu Borongo was moored not far away down river. If he were to return there right now, he would surely be cornered by the harbourmaster who would be demanding payment which he didn't have. And anyway, he needed more coin beside.
A few options sprang to mind.
His hand instinctually went to the violin strapped securely to the small of his back as he considered trying to earn coin playing at one of the taverns or inns. That would take time though, and every day the mooring charges would pile up.
He could go to the casino and risk his remaining funds, and his life, in the same manner as Idder and Sufyan. A quick look back at the bodies still bobbing in the distance were enough to put him off that idea.
He had the skills to con and steal what he required, but that wasn't him, not yet at least.
The last option was unlikely, but with a large amount of luck could get him the money he needed straight away, and through the city into the Vale of Deshar. His decision made, he wanders back into the city, heading towards the nearest inn to the gate. If fate was with him, there might be traveller's from the Vale looking for transport home after coming to the city for the Spring Festival.
The guards at the gate, involved in a game of cards, hardly notice Snow as he enters the city proper, only offering an epithet and “Watch yourself!,” over their shoulder after he has already passed within. While his wanderings had focused farther inside the city up until now, Snow has already learned to keep a wary eye for pickpockets, among the line of shriveled and dust-covered hands he passes, begging for alms. In the entry plaza, farmers finish setting up produce stalls, arguing over turf following the Spring Festival, the construction of whose various entertainment stages shifted the produce sellers farther down the street away from the crowd.
With the festival over, the city, though crowded, seemed to have returned to a raucous normalcy. Turning right, into Benepota district, a dozen rats suddenly burst in twos and threes from a pile of garbage strewn in the road, directly over Snow’s toes to shoot down into a sewer grate. A young woman passing the other direction screeches in disgust and indignation, and as the half-elf stops to glance at her and let the vermin pass, he feels a hand upon his coin purse behind him.
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DM for Deathworld: Lost Mine of Phandelver// Story Guide for COYOTE and CROW: Cahokia Forever//Dev Horndin Curious Critters//Co-creator: Princes of the Apocalypse - A DnD Story
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Snow walks the streets, amazed at the difference between now and when the festival was in full swing, when the city had appeared majestic to his eyes and ears. In stark contrast, currently it was the arguing of street sellers and the filth that lined the road that assaulted his senses. He shouldn't have been surprised by the rats that scurried across his feet, but that and the screech of the lady were enough to turn him around and take a step backwards. It was fortuitous too, otherwise he might not have felt the hand against the pouch at his belt.
He spun adroitly, as if dancing, and his hand dropped to attempt to catch that of the would be thief before it could retract with the remainder of his coin. "Now now", he said as he moved around clocking eyes on his assailant, "that's a bit too friendly".
Athletics: 9 - to grab either his pouch or their wrist Perception: 13 - initial impressions of whoever it is
In a flash, the urchin’s wrist is locked in Snow’s grip, as, turning around, the bard sees three short figures – probably children, the middle one in his power, the other two, tongues in their teeth and dusty, smudged brows furrowed, darting forward & back with short knives to try to cut open his coin pouch.
“Lemme go!!,” cries the middle one, a Shian child no more than 11 years old, who plants his feet and pulls, helplessly, for his freedom.
The woman shouts at the children, “Leave him be!!,” in Shian, but hustles off in the direction of the gate, eyes wildly flying about, protecting herself from becoming a secondary target of the thieves. Bystanders going about their business stop in their tracks, also keeping their distance, perhaps 3 people in the direction you were heading, now behind you, and 4 or 5 behind the thieves.
Facing back toward the gate now, the canal is to your right, a line of 3-story buildings to your left (and you have the initiative).
DM for Deathworld: Lost Mine of Phandelver// Story Guide for COYOTE and CROW: Cahokia Forever//Dev Horndin Curious Critters//Co-creator: Princes of the Apocalypse - A DnD Story
Snow releases the Shian child from his grasp and steps back from the three of them. "You've got me three to one", he replies in faltering Shian, spreading his hands apart submissively. "But you also have all these people who have seen you", he adds motioning at the crowd.
He smiles at the children. "Now it could be you get away, but if you don't...", he lets the thought trail off, making a worried face. "Or..." he adds, waiting to see how they react.
The urchins fall back another foot, spreading out as Snow speaks, to flank him. But whether it’s the bard’s words, which the children perceive as a veiled threat of physical pain, or the morning light glinting off of his rapier’s handguard, the trio doesn’t rush you. Neither do they seem phased at the idea that anyone in the crowd will do something, which indeed they do not.
“Then.. just give us some silver!,” comes the husky voice of the oldest one, rubbing his wrist. “My sister,” he continues, pointing with his chin to the smaller one to his right, face smeared with desert dust, “hasn’t had anything to eat since yesterday morning.” Your insight tells you he is exaggerating, but not by a lot.
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DM for Deathworld: Lost Mine of Phandelver// Story Guide for COYOTE and CROW: Cahokia Forever//Dev Horndin Curious Critters//Co-creator: Princes of the Apocalypse - A DnD Story
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Snow doesn’t take his eyes from the oldest one, trusting in his peripheral vision to alert him to any movement from the other urchins.
“I wouldn’t want to see a child go hungry, of course. But then being robbed doesn’t sit well with me either”, he says shaking his head slightly. “Perhaps there is a solution though. I am willing to give your sister coin for food, in exchange for some information”, he speaks directly to the oldest youth and mirrors his action of pointing with his chin at the sister.
”What say you?”, he asks as he fishes in his pouch for a silver coin, but doesn’t withdraw it just yet.
The tension in the air relaxes a degree, and while the urchins seem equally ready to sprint away or perhaps jump you, two of the bystanders peel away, edging along the canal fence to your right.
Eyes on yours, the boy responds slowly, “Information. What information?”
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DM for Deathworld: Lost Mine of Phandelver// Story Guide for COYOTE and CROW: Cahokia Forever//Dev Horndin Curious Critters//Co-creator: Princes of the Apocalypse - A DnD Story
Snow relaxes a bit, feeling a little more in control of the situation. He pulls the silver coin from his pocket and deftly runs it back and forth along his knuckles, still maintaining eye contact with the oldest urchin.
”Well”, he says, “I was looking for the best place to find passage on a boat out into the Vale. Either for those wanting passage, or for those with a boat looking for passengers willing to pay”, he explains.
The children’s fidgeting motion halts as they stand transfixed by the silver and what it represents.
The boy looks stumped, as if you’ve just asked him to solve for X, and his head turns to exchange a glance with the other boy, also coming up empty. The two look to the girl, whose thumb, as if by reverse gravity, plops into her mouth. She then extends a too-slender arm to point with her knife toward the arena.
”Pa went to Udgelid place…,” she says in a croaky monotone.
”Yeh,” says the older one “He drank with the River men there.” A line appears on his brow, his eyes hardening defiantly, expecting Snow not to keep his side of the deal.
DM for Deathworld: Lost Mine of Phandelver// Story Guide for COYOTE and CROW: Cahokia Forever//Dev Horndin Curious Critters//Co-creator: Princes of the Apocalypse - A DnD Story
Snow nods and the coin slows it's motion between his knuckles and and rests on his fist. "Udgelid place hey? Thanks for the tip, now here is yours", he says and with his thumb he flicks the coin into the air so it gently arcs towards the oldest child.
He looks at each child in turn ending with his gaze back on the oldest. "Our business is done" he says giving him a shallow bow, his eyes never leaving the child. "Now be off with you and get some hot food", he adds with a shooing motion of his hands, ready to head off towards the arena when they leave. He would be more careful this time, as although he was happy to give coin for food to starving children, it might be a more sinister thief next time.
Without another word, the children scuttle away into the crowd, heading for the farmer’s stalls. Snow notices a communal sigh from the onlookers before they each continue on with their day, a couple of shaking heads, the word “Lokimarra,” mumbled by someone, and as Snow turns back toward the arena, he approaches a scarfed man on a camel wearing the Benepota family arms —a constable — who had been quietly observing from a short distance, the warming sun shining white through clouds from behind him.
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DM for Deathworld: Lost Mine of Phandelver// Story Guide for COYOTE and CROW: Cahokia Forever//Dev Horndin Curious Critters//Co-creator: Princes of the Apocalypse - A DnD Story
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Snow moves passed the constable, nodding a greeting without looking up at his perch on the camel and not speaking so as to avoid conversation. It may have been an unfortunate incident with the urchins, but hopefully it had garnered some useful information. He just needed to make it to the arena and this Udgelid place. He pulls his scarf a little higher over his mouth to further obscure his features after it had slipped down during the conversation with the children.
(OOC: Lokimarra doesn’t mean anything remarkable in Shian — at least as far as Snow’s grasp of the language goes, although Snow can think of various unrelated meanings in other languages. “Reflection lake” or something in Daelkyr, for example. But it does ring a bell, and Snow thinks he’s heard it on at least one other occasion since his arrival to Ishi Ammah.)
Continuing into Benepota district, toward the Arena, which seems to glow with silver light as the sun hangs over its tall outer walls, you follow the canal road until you reach a tavern with an attached inn called Udgelid Aghestur, which in Shian means the King’s Blade, a sprawling place which seems to have started small and swallowed up its neighbors over the decades. A sign under its marquee announces, “300 years and counting.”
There are tables set outside, under triangular canvas sunblocks, empty at this time of day, and within, a bustling collection of persons breaking their fast.
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DM for Deathworld: Lost Mine of Phandelver// Story Guide for COYOTE and CROW: Cahokia Forever//Dev Horndin Curious Critters//Co-creator: Princes of the Apocalypse - A DnD Story
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Snow enters the tavern and looks around as he removes his head scarf. Keeping it on would be just as conspicuous as his white hair, mauve skin and pointed elven ears anyway.
He unhitches his violin and bow from their strappings on his back as he moves passed the busy tables towards the bar, listening for any snippets of conversation that might be of interest to his current situation.
Within, the tavern sprawls across several adjoining chambers of differing architecture and floor level. The first you enter is a common room, where a small fee buys you a place in line for a plate of flatbread and bean paste with very light mead and figs, and where a bar with seating lines the wall. Further within, you see booths and private rooms where businessmen seem to conduct transactions in relative privacy.
In the center of it all, near a hearth with no fire — gratefully, for the atmosphere is already dry and warm — is a small raised stage where an older pair of musicians play oud and dumbek in the light of a large lantern.
Most of the tavern patrons you see seem to be fighters, breaking their fast before sparring practice or Trials at the arena. The talk among them is of the Games, (which you attended), specifically regarding the winning combatant, a Khazaran glaive-wielder called Piotr Brezhenye.
You recognize a few men from the river docks, from a small barge moored in the slip beside yours, quietly eating their humble meals, as a fourth person — a chimp — taps one of them on the shoulder, whispers something into his lowered ear, and then leads him back toward the private booths.
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DM for Deathworld: Lost Mine of Phandelver// Story Guide for COYOTE and CROW: Cahokia Forever//Dev Horndin Curious Critters//Co-creator: Princes of the Apocalypse - A DnD Story
Snow walks through the common room, not paying much attention to the line for food. He takes a moment though to watch the musicians on the small stage. He had intended to ask the barkeep if he may play but it seemed they already had entertainment sorted. He decides not to take out his violin just now, redoing the buckle.
He turns his attention to the men he recognises from the river docks, and wanders over to their table, picking up a spare stool as he approaches. “Good morning. I believe we have neighbouring boats at the dock,. May I join you, I have need of your experience if that is ok?”, he asks with a friendly smile, placing his stool down in a position such that he can see the private booth where the fourth person from the table and chimp went.
(OOC: I had a moment to myself so am posting earlier than I said. Take your time responding.)
When Snow enters and removes his scarfs, the usual thing happens (OOC: due to his CHA 20). Like ivy finding the sun, like sinners seeking absolution, faces look up, spellbound, woman and men appraising him wordlessly, drawn to him, attracted, wanting him, wanting to be him. As he passes the stage, the musicians notice him too, and notice his instrument, though they continue playing Shian folk tunes.
When Snow arrives at the common table with the rivermen, they look up wordlessly, astonished to find themselves within the bright circle of the bard’s presence. But then a sympathetic grimace flashes over their faces. Word travels fast, apparently.
“Good morning, boss,” one of them answers, “no sign of those losers, Idder and Sufyan, huh?”
“Probably halfway to Pesh by now,” speculates the other as he shifts his stool clumsily to make room for you.
Snow sees beyond them the chimp leading the fourth man to a particular booth, leaving him there and walking toward the kitchen, while the riverman stands, his back to Snow, speaking with one of the booth’s occupants.
“Sure boss,” the first man, at the common table, responds to Snow’s question, slurping his mead. “What’s up?”
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DM for Deathworld: Lost Mine of Phandelver// Story Guide for COYOTE and CROW: Cahokia Forever//Dev Horndin Curious Critters//Co-creator: Princes of the Apocalypse - A DnD Story
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Age of Resurgence, Book II: The Vale of Deshar
(Age of Resurgence, Bk I: The Azhvuv Queen: https://www.dndbeyond.com/forums/d-d-beyond-general/play-by-post/91549-age-of-resurgence-book-i-the-azhvuv-queen )
DM for Deathworld: Lost Mine of Phandelver // Story Guide for COYOTE and CROW: Cahokia Forever // Dev Hornd in Curious Critters // Co-creator: Princes of the Apocalypse - A DnD Story
Chapter 1 - Kalahata
SNOW DAS
The bodies are indeed those of Idder and Sufyan, the two Shian men whom Snow had hired, along with the Animu Borongo, the 20’ sloop far from its home port of Fa Tahesi, to accompany him up the Sebu River from Ishi Ammah to Kalahata and then to the Vale of Deshar. But here, under the looming southern walls of the Shian capitol, after three days spent exploring the city, these bodies mean that a decision will have to be made.
Snow recalls his arrival to Kalahata, a fine, warm morning at the end of the month of Beauty, as the fabled Shian Spring Festival wound down. The sloop had slowly plodded upriver beside the Queen’s High Way, the crowd flooding into the city thickening minute by minute. When Kalahata came into view, the first thing you noticed were the enormous city walls, built tall enough to withstand the reach of giants. Idder – the more talkative of the two rivermen – told you it was damaged decades ago during the Shian Rebellion when the city went rogue and the Empire flexed its vast might to wrest it back in line. As a matter of principle, the city leaders have never repaired the battlements, preferring to leave the Empire to foot the bill, but that also hasn’t happened, and so there remain clefts in the yellow rock faces where something huge made vast tears in the ramparts.
Behind the city stand the great Bantu mountains. Snow-capped, they pierce the high encircling clouds, and from them, from behind the city as you approach, sluicing down through the foothills leading to the fabled Vale of Deshar, extends the Sebu river, running through the crowded Shian capitol, and then southeast to cut a path all the way to Ishi Ammah and the Awhar Gulf, the origin of your path through Orraca u Shia for the last two weeks.
Rising higher than the mountains, seemingly, the Poppy Citadel stands at the far end of the city, thrusting skyward farther than any structure you have seen. The royal castle of the Shian families, over which a hundred wars are said to have been fought, a hundred kings stabbed in the back and overthrown, the Poppy Citadel brightly reflects sunlight from its yellow gold-embedded walls and tall stained-glass windows.
Each neighborhood, Idder had continued to inform you, is a fiefdom, called an ‘amboule,’ controlled by one of the noble families, and each amboule is a city within the city, vying for dominance, favors, and power. All pay a tithe to the Poppy Citadel or face an ancient curse.
The city is alive, bustling, movement everywhere, pulsing with industry, with trafficking, and with crime, which flourishes flagrantly. There is no city guard, each district is on its own, and the lurking, invisible, capricious hand of the drug lords forms the subcutaneous tissue which many would say holds the city together.
Smoke rises from countless chimneys, and even though there is a sewer system, there’s no real cooperation in its maintenance, and the smell of Kalahata is infamous. Fetid, poisonous clouds have been known to rise from sewer grates and kill dozens during the hot summers. So watch your money purse, and watch where you step!
Then there are the casinos. Wealth flows in as the poppy lords from the vale and their henchmen fight their own personal battles and vendettas over games of chance, spending their drug money and propping up the city’s reserves. But only a relative few prosper, while countless men and women here are born into serfdom, living in fear from day to day, powerless and helpless.
Kalahati-ur, the inhabitants, wear scarves around their mouths and noses, both to protect themselves from the smell and the sands, which have been known to rise up in whirling clouds for days upon end. Dust flies constantly off of the shifting dunes bordering the city’s eastern walls, an arid sea upon which move small vessels, pulled by twisting subterranean creatures.
There are other beasts too, the Indallian points out, in the plains and farmlands west of the city, and even within the walls, one can see enormous elephants, giant hyenas, and huge lizards, their strength harnessed to pull contrivances or carry riders, to plow the fields, or to charge in battle, to kill.
And speaking of military might, and of the Empire, there! High above, circling through the bright, smoke-hazed sky, you saw four Imperial soldiers in heavy plate mail wearing sky blue and the Dagger-Moon livery, the sigil of the Jenghen Empire, flying thousands of feet high, upon enormous rust-colored Rocs which circled and wheeled, their distant screeching echoing against the hillsides.
Cats, few of whom you have met – for they are rare both in The Kingdoms and The Tree – Cats control the banks and finance here, and are not to be trifled with. For as Macchiavellian as the Shians can be, none can hold a candle to the scalding flame of a Cat’s jealousy, a Cat’s subtle maneuvering, or a Cat’s relentless negotiations and political machinations.
As the sloop made its way toward the city’s towering gates, one hundred and twenty feet tall, the anticipation ratcheted up among the crowd as the music grew louder and louder. Trumpets and huge conch horns sounded from the Arena. Music of all kinds resounded in the streets, and dancers lined the avenues, shaking and bouncing to the seductive rhythms. Throngs entering the city carried poles with banners or long ribbons flapping in the cooling breeze blowing down from the Vale onto the Steppes.
You moored the sloop, and stepped up onto the road, slowed almost to a stop to funnel into the gates, and finally you broke through. Immediately, the music had you in its grip, for the ground was shaking under your feet, and you saw ahead of you a stage, upon it, dozens of dancers gyrating and leaping, their bodies glistening with perspiration, and leading them, twelve costumed women singing in unison, and an Eye standing before them and beaming what he saw to his arcane Box, which multiplied the sound, and which beamed and magnified what the Eye saw, throwing the three-dimension image high above the stage so that it could be witnessed from a distance and heard, and felt deep in the bones of all who entered.
The sultry, deafening, pulsating song welcomed you to:
Kalahata, City of Thieves! Kalahata, Ancient Seat of Shian Royalty! Kalahata, Gateway to the Vale of Deshar!
(OOC: turn up volume & play the video, then read the card at the end for more information about the city.)
That was three days ago. Now, things are different. The festival ended with Games at the Arena, where you spent much of your pocket change. Meanwhile, Idder and Sufyan had stolen your bankroll, apparently to lose it and their lives gambling in the great casinos. And this morning, here are their bodies, floating downstream. Not the first bodies you had seen floating downstream from Kalahata, true.
Here is a map showing your journey so far.
It is the morning of the 2nd of Grandeur (April, IRL), the sky is covered with gray clouds and a fog is pulling back from the Poppy Citadel up into the Vale.
You owe 30GP for the slip where the Animu Borongo (your sailboat) is moored – more than you have in your pockets – and there will be gate & bridge tolls to pass through Kalahata north into the Vale of Deshar, not to mention additional expenses as you continue to your goal.
DM for Deathworld: Lost Mine of Phandelver // Story Guide for COYOTE and CROW: Cahokia Forever // Dev Hornd in Curious Critters // Co-creator: Princes of the Apocalypse - A DnD Story
Snow stays crouched by the banks of the river, watching the bodies float aimlessly passed. His hazel eyes narrow beneath the scarf he wore around his head, nose and mouth in the Kalahati-ur way. He had learned early on in his time in the desert city that the scarf was more for function than fashion, but it also served to hide his distinctive white hair and elven complexion, and so he tended to wear it even when the desert winds weren't blowing so hard.
He briefly considers trying to get a closer look at the bodies, but that thought is quickly discarded as that would draw unnecessary attention to him. And it wasn't as if whoever did this would have left anything valuable on the bodies anyway. He felt a pang of regret for the pair he had sailed all the way from Ishi Ammah with, but maybe they got their just deserts. He smiled to himself at the play on words.
He stands up, feeling his loose fitting white shirt blowing slightly in the breeze, and looks towards where the Animu Borongo was moored not far away down river. If he were to return there right now, he would surely be cornered by the harbourmaster who would be demanding payment which he didn't have. And anyway, he needed more coin beside.
A few options sprang to mind.
His hand instinctually went to the violin strapped securely to the small of his back as he considered trying to earn coin playing at one of the taverns or inns. That would take time though, and every day the mooring charges would pile up.
He could go to the casino and risk his remaining funds, and his life, in the same manner as Idder and Sufyan. A quick look back at the bodies still bobbing in the distance were enough to put him off that idea.
He had the skills to con and steal what he required, but that wasn't him, not yet at least.
The last option was unlikely, but with a large amount of luck could get him the money he needed straight away, and through the city into the Vale of Deshar. His decision made, he wanders back into the city, heading towards the nearest inn to the gate. If fate was with him, there might be traveller's from the Vale looking for transport home after coming to the city for the Spring Festival.
SNOW
The guards at the gate, involved in a game of cards, hardly notice Snow as he enters the city proper, only offering an epithet and “Watch yourself!,” over their shoulder after he has already passed within. While his wanderings had focused farther inside the city up until now, Snow has already learned to keep a wary eye for pickpockets, among the line of shriveled and dust-covered hands he passes, begging for alms. In the entry plaza, farmers finish setting up produce stalls, arguing over turf following the Spring Festival, the construction of whose various entertainment stages shifted the produce sellers farther down the street away from the crowd.
With the festival over, the city, though crowded, seemed to have returned to a raucous normalcy. Turning right, into Benepota district, a dozen rats suddenly burst in twos and threes from a pile of garbage strewn in the road, directly over Snow’s toes to shoot down into a sewer grate. A young woman passing the other direction screeches in disgust and indignation, and as the half-elf stops to glance at her and let the vermin pass, he feels a hand upon his coin purse behind him.
DM for Deathworld: Lost Mine of Phandelver // Story Guide for COYOTE and CROW: Cahokia Forever // Dev Hornd in Curious Critters // Co-creator: Princes of the Apocalypse - A DnD Story
Snow walks the streets, amazed at the difference between now and when the festival was in full swing, when the city had appeared majestic to his eyes and ears. In stark contrast, currently it was the arguing of street sellers and the filth that lined the road that assaulted his senses. He shouldn't have been surprised by the rats that scurried across his feet, but that and the screech of the lady were enough to turn him around and take a step backwards. It was fortuitous too, otherwise he might not have felt the hand against the pouch at his belt.
He spun adroitly, as if dancing, and his hand dropped to attempt to catch that of the would be thief before it could retract with the remainder of his coin. "Now now", he said as he moved around clocking eyes on his assailant, "that's a bit too friendly".
Athletics: 9 - to grab either his pouch or their wrist
Perception: 13 - initial impressions of whoever it is
In a flash, the urchin’s wrist is locked in Snow’s grip, as, turning around, the bard sees three short figures – probably children, the middle one in his power, the other two, tongues in their teeth and dusty, smudged brows furrowed, darting forward & back with short knives to try to cut open his coin pouch.
“Lemme go!!,” cries the middle one, a Shian child no more than 11 years old, who plants his feet and pulls, helplessly, for his freedom.
The woman shouts at the children, “Leave him be!!,” in Shian, but hustles off in the direction of the gate, eyes wildly flying about, protecting herself from becoming a secondary target of the thieves. Bystanders going about their business stop in their tracks, also keeping their distance, perhaps 3 people in the direction you were heading, now behind you, and 4 or 5 behind the thieves.
Facing back toward the gate now, the canal is to your right, a line of 3-story buildings to your left (and you have the initiative).
DM for Deathworld: Lost Mine of Phandelver // Story Guide for COYOTE and CROW: Cahokia Forever // Dev Hornd in Curious Critters // Co-creator: Princes of the Apocalypse - A DnD Story
Snow releases the Shian child from his grasp and steps back from the three of them. "You've got me three to one", he replies in faltering Shian, spreading his hands apart submissively. "But you also have all these people who have seen you", he adds motioning at the crowd.
He smiles at the children. "Now it could be you get away, but if you don't...", he lets the thought trail off, making a worried face. "Or..." he adds, waiting to see how they react.
Persuasion: 18
The urchins fall back another foot, spreading out as Snow speaks, to flank him. But whether it’s the bard’s words, which the children perceive as a veiled threat of physical pain, or the morning light glinting off of his rapier’s handguard, the trio doesn’t rush you. Neither do they seem phased at the idea that anyone in the crowd will do something, which indeed they do not.
“Then.. just give us some silver!,” comes the husky voice of the oldest one, rubbing his wrist. “My sister,” he continues, pointing with his chin to the smaller one to his right, face smeared with desert dust, “hasn’t had anything to eat since yesterday morning.” Your insight tells you he is exaggerating, but not by a lot.
DM for Deathworld: Lost Mine of Phandelver // Story Guide for COYOTE and CROW: Cahokia Forever // Dev Hornd in Curious Critters // Co-creator: Princes of the Apocalypse - A DnD Story
Snow doesn’t take his eyes from the oldest one, trusting in his peripheral vision to alert him to any movement from the other urchins.
“I wouldn’t want to see a child go hungry, of course. But then being robbed doesn’t sit well with me either”, he says shaking his head slightly. “Perhaps there is a solution though. I am willing to give your sister coin for food, in exchange for some information”, he speaks directly to the oldest youth and mirrors his action of pointing with his chin at the sister.
”What say you?”, he asks as he fishes in his pouch for a silver coin, but doesn’t withdraw it just yet.
Persuasion: 9
The tension in the air relaxes a degree, and while the urchins seem equally ready to sprint away or perhaps jump you, two of the bystanders peel away, edging along the canal fence to your right.
Eyes on yours, the boy responds slowly, “Information. What information?”
DM for Deathworld: Lost Mine of Phandelver // Story Guide for COYOTE and CROW: Cahokia Forever // Dev Hornd in Curious Critters // Co-creator: Princes of the Apocalypse - A DnD Story
Snow relaxes a bit, feeling a little more in control of the situation. He pulls the silver coin from his pocket and deftly runs it back and forth along his knuckles, still maintaining eye contact with the oldest urchin.
”Well”, he says, “I was looking for the best place to find passage on a boat out into the Vale. Either for those wanting passage, or for those with a boat looking for passengers willing to pay”, he explains.
The children’s fidgeting motion halts as they stand transfixed by the silver and what it represents.
The boy looks stumped, as if you’ve just asked him to solve for X, and his head turns to exchange a glance with the other boy, also coming up empty. The two look to the girl, whose thumb, as if by reverse gravity, plops into her mouth. She then extends a too-slender arm to point with her knife toward the arena.
”Pa went to Udgelid place…,” she says in a croaky monotone.
”Yeh,” says the older one “He drank with the River men there.” A line appears on his brow, his eyes hardening defiantly, expecting Snow not to keep his side of the deal.
DM for Deathworld: Lost Mine of Phandelver // Story Guide for COYOTE and CROW: Cahokia Forever // Dev Hornd in Curious Critters // Co-creator: Princes of the Apocalypse - A DnD Story
Snow nods and the coin slows it's motion between his knuckles and and rests on his fist. "Udgelid place hey? Thanks for the tip, now here is yours", he says and with his thumb he flicks the coin into the air so it gently arcs towards the oldest child.
He looks at each child in turn ending with his gaze back on the oldest. "Our business is done" he says giving him a shallow bow, his eyes never leaving the child. "Now be off with you and get some hot food", he adds with a shooing motion of his hands, ready to head off towards the arena when they leave. He would be more careful this time, as although he was happy to give coin for food to starving children, it might be a more sinister thief next time.
Without another word, the children scuttle away into the crowd, heading for the farmer’s stalls. Snow notices a communal sigh from the onlookers before they each continue on with their day, a couple of shaking heads, the word “Lokimarra,” mumbled by someone, and as Snow turns back toward the arena, he approaches a scarfed man on a camel wearing the Benepota family arms —a constable — who had been quietly observing from a short distance, the warming sun shining white through clouds from behind him.
DM for Deathworld: Lost Mine of Phandelver // Story Guide for COYOTE and CROW: Cahokia Forever // Dev Hornd in Curious Critters // Co-creator: Princes of the Apocalypse - A DnD Story
Snow moves passed the constable, nodding a greeting without looking up at his perch on the camel and not speaking so as to avoid conversation. It may have been an unfortunate incident with the urchins, but hopefully it had garnered some useful information. He just needed to make it to the arena and this Udgelid place. He pulls his scarf a little higher over his mouth to further obscure his features after it had slipped down during the conversation with the children.
As he walks he wonders what "Lokimarra" means.
Intelligence: 11
(OOC: Lokimarra doesn’t mean anything remarkable in Shian — at least as far as Snow’s grasp of the language goes, although Snow can think of various unrelated meanings in other languages. “Reflection lake” or something in Daelkyr, for example. But it does ring a bell, and Snow thinks he’s heard it on at least one other occasion since his arrival to Ishi Ammah.)
Continuing into Benepota district, toward the Arena, which seems to glow with silver light as the sun hangs over its tall outer walls, you follow the canal road until you reach a tavern with an attached inn called Udgelid Aghestur, which in Shian means the King’s Blade, a sprawling place which seems to have started small and swallowed up its neighbors over the decades. A sign under its marquee announces, “300 years and counting.”
There are tables set outside, under triangular canvas sunblocks, empty at this time of day, and within, a bustling collection of persons breaking their fast.
DM for Deathworld: Lost Mine of Phandelver // Story Guide for COYOTE and CROW: Cahokia Forever // Dev Hornd in Curious Critters // Co-creator: Princes of the Apocalypse - A DnD Story
Snow enters the tavern and looks around as he removes his head scarf. Keeping it on would be just as conspicuous as his white hair, mauve skin and pointed elven ears anyway.
He unhitches his violin and bow from their strappings on his back as he moves passed the busy tables towards the bar, listening for any snippets of conversation that might be of interest to his current situation.
Perception: 21
Within, the tavern sprawls across several adjoining chambers of differing architecture and floor level. The first you enter is a common room, where a small fee buys you a place in line for a plate of flatbread and bean paste with very light mead and figs, and where a bar with seating lines the wall. Further within, you see booths and private rooms where businessmen seem to conduct transactions in relative privacy.
In the center of it all, near a hearth with no fire — gratefully, for the atmosphere is already dry and warm — is a small raised stage where an older pair of musicians play oud and dumbek in the light of a large lantern.
Most of the tavern patrons you see seem to be fighters, breaking their fast before sparring practice or Trials at the arena. The talk among them is of the Games, (which you attended), specifically regarding the winning combatant, a Khazaran glaive-wielder called Piotr Brezhenye.
You recognize a few men from the river docks, from a small barge moored in the slip beside yours, quietly eating their humble meals, as a fourth person — a chimp — taps one of them on the shoulder, whispers something into his lowered ear, and then leads him back toward the private booths.
DM for Deathworld: Lost Mine of Phandelver // Story Guide for COYOTE and CROW: Cahokia Forever // Dev Hornd in Curious Critters // Co-creator: Princes of the Apocalypse - A DnD Story
Snow walks through the common room, not paying much attention to the line for food. He takes a moment though to watch the musicians on the small stage. He had intended to ask the barkeep if he may play but it seemed they already had entertainment sorted. He decides not to take out his violin just now, redoing the buckle.
He turns his attention to the men he recognises from the river docks, and wanders over to their table, picking up a spare stool as he approaches. “Good morning. I believe we have neighbouring boats at the dock,. May I join you, I have need of your experience if that is ok?”, he asks with a friendly smile, placing his stool down in a position such that he can see the private booth where the fourth person from the table and chimp went.
(OOC: I had a moment to myself so am posting earlier than I said. Take your time responding.)
When Snow enters and removes his scarfs, the usual thing happens (OOC: due to his CHA 20). Like ivy finding the sun, like sinners seeking absolution, faces look up, spellbound, woman and men appraising him wordlessly, drawn to him, attracted, wanting him, wanting to be him. As he passes the stage, the musicians notice him too, and notice his instrument, though they continue playing Shian folk tunes.
When Snow arrives at the common table with the rivermen, they look up wordlessly, astonished to find themselves within the bright circle of the bard’s presence. But then a sympathetic grimace flashes over their faces. Word travels fast, apparently.
“Good morning, boss,” one of them answers, “no sign of those losers, Idder and Sufyan, huh?”
“Probably halfway to Pesh by now,” speculates the other as he shifts his stool clumsily to make room for you.
Snow sees beyond them the chimp leading the fourth man to a particular booth, leaving him there and walking toward the kitchen, while the riverman stands, his back to Snow, speaking with one of the booth’s occupants.
“Sure boss,” the first man, at the common table, responds to Snow’s question, slurping his mead. “What’s up?”
DM for Deathworld: Lost Mine of Phandelver // Story Guide for COYOTE and CROW: Cahokia Forever // Dev Hornd in Curious Critters // Co-creator: Princes of the Apocalypse - A DnD Story