Varielky sees the cloaked figures and fights the urge to jump off and pursue them. She look for another moment before finally answering Benita's question. "I could be wrong." She states. "Or, perhaps, mislead. We were fighting a few women whom I thought were responsible for the poisoning at the time, because they assassinated two footmen. There was no trace of poison on their weapons though. Anyway, I talked with one of them while trying not to get crushed under the horses' hooves - I'll explain fully later - and she said they were called to exact revenge for what happened in the games. She said the ones who were probably responsible were a family called the... ah... Amesiks? Amezighs? Something along these lines. I don't know if she was lying or not, but it's our first lead I believe."
Varielky sees the cloaked figures and fights the urge to jump off and pursue them. She look for another moment before finally answering Benita's question. "I could be wrong." She states. "Or, perhaps, mislead. We were fighting a few women whom I thought were responsible for the poisoning at the time, because they assassinated two footmen. There was no trace of poison on their weapons though. Anyway, I talked with one of them while trying not to get crushed under the horses' hooves - I'll explain fully later - and she said they were called to exact revenge for what happened in the games. She said the ones who were probably responsible were a family called the... ah... Amesiks? Amezighs? Something along these lines. I don't know if she was lying or not, but it's our first lead I believe."
Benita answers, "Amazigh. Ugh. Syphax Amazigh is the leader of the Amazigh Family, didn't you know? Oh maybe not, you were away. They are terrible, terrible. They steal children from the streets of Ishi Ammah to work in their poppy fields. They kill without mercy: children, pregnant women. The stories are terrible. The only ones worse are the Jlassi Family. The stories say their leader, Gwafa, is an evil spirit who steals women's souls. He has twenty wives, they say, and two thousand men fight for him. Men, orcs, whatever. And they do the same thing. Poppies. And they make opium, and sell it here in Ishi Ammah. And in the Empire. There are many rumors, to tell another day. They fight skirmishes where the poppy fields are. In the Vale of Deshar, where the two warring families have huge palaces. But the real war takes place here. Gambling. Opium dens. Corruption. As the Empire grows weak, they grow strong. I hate them!" She spits, to ward off the evil of this discussion, and doesn't wish to speak about it any more.
Varielky listens to Benita. It sounded like a family who are wretched enough to use poison. She doesn't push further for now, however, and just watches for the suspicious figures for the rest of the ride.
The Bakar Elite Captain stands still for a moment after the spell is released, checking under the hood, as it were, to ensure everything is still there after Mittens' brief inhabitation of his psyche.
"Perhaps you are right," he finally says. "And perhaps," flexing his prodigious muscles and drawing his longsword slowly out of its scabbard until only the tip remains within, "you will now give me the opportunity to demonstrate my prowess to you?" He lets that sink in for a long moment before slowly sliding the sword back fully into its sheath.
"The decision is not mine. The Governor will hear all, and then make his ruling." He glares at Mittens, then at the spindly Orracan woman. "You are dismissed." She leaves, winking at Mittens behind the Captain's back.
"Your powers could be of use to the Governor. I would know the name of the wizard whose powers overcame my will."
Insight: 15
As the man speaks to him, Mittens looks into his eyes and tries to judge his intent. Does the guard want his name for you he reason he said, or is it is he can find Mittens later and settle the score?
If the guard's intentions were truthful, he says, "My name is Mittens. Mittens Toodaloo."
If he seem vengeful, he says, "The name's Philip. Philip Doodoohants."
Regardless of what he says, Mittens turns around and marches back to the carriage. As he does, he says to Ednyss, "I probably did take it too far, but he didn't seem like the nicest person anyway..."
Ednyss shrugs regardless of what Mittens says and follows the cat back to the carriage. Responding to Mittens, Ednyss says, "It isn't always our place to pass judgment on another person. That is what the law is for. However, what's done is done so let's move on." He hails Varielky, Dolkum, and Benita and takes up his position, walking behind the carriage as they continue back to the villa.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
“The mark of a successful DM is when you have caused more player deaths with doors than dragons, demons, or devils.”
The Bakar Elite Captain stands still for a moment after the spell is released, checking under the hood, as it were, to ensure everything is still there after Mittens' brief inhabitation of his psyche.
"Perhaps you are right," he finally says. "And perhaps," flexing his prodigious muscles and drawing his longsword slowly out of its scabbard until only the tip remains within, "you will now give me the opportunity to demonstrate my prowess to you?" He lets that sink in for a long moment before slowly sliding the sword back fully into its sheath.
"The decision is not mine. The Governor will hear all, and then make his ruling." He glares at Mittens, then at the spindly Orracan woman. "You are dismissed." She leaves, winking at Mittens behind the Captain's back.
"Your powers could be of use to the Governor. I would know the name of the wizard whose powers overcame my will."
Insight: 17
As the man speaks to him, Mittens looks into his eyes and tries to judge his intent. Does the guard want his name for you he reason he said, or is it is he can find Mittens later and settle the score?
If the guard's intentions were truthful, he says, "My name is Mittens. Mittens Toodaloo."
If he seem vengeful, he says, "The name's Philip. Philip Doodoohants."
Regardless of what he says, Mittens turns around and marches back to the carriage. As he does, he says to Ednyss, "I probably did take it too far, but he didn't seem like the nicest person anyway..."
"Mittens?," he says, eying you suspiciously and frowning as the nearby Bakar Elite chuckle at their commander's ill luck. He turns to them and barks, "IF one named MITTENS has helped to destroy four Azhvuv, that makes him your equal and BETTER," upon which their smiles disappear instantly as they snap to attention and obey the Captain's following command to comb the grounds THOROUGHLY for any further signs of intruders. The Captain then turns back to Mittens, his hand at rest on the butt of his sword hilt, vaguely threatening. "The palace grounds are now closed. MITTENS Toodaloo." And there he stands, watching you with an expression of sour contemplation until you pass out of view.
Your carriage moves gently down the lamp lit streets under a star-splashed sky, as 7 Bells toll from the Palace, and are then echoed by ringing bells at the public fountains all across Ishi Ammah. As you make your way through the Palace Gates, a rhythmic pulsing of waves breaking against the sea walls, and moist, salt air drift up from the shore below. The sounds and smells of the city, at turns pungent and fresh, alive with a background buzz of voices, motion, and industry, reminds you of the scale and size of the city you have called home these last weeks.
Flint drives the carriage with a firm hand, but is gentle with the horses, and soon you reach a quiet street, holding a row of homes, each separated by an alleyway from its neighbor. Some are dark, while in some, candle light flits back and forth in their upper stories as men and women prepare for bed. The front door of one house is open, and from within you hear the sounds of a dinner party, friendly, boisterous, inviting, bounce out into the street. Everywhere you look are signs of daily living: children’s toys -- hobby horses, or small carts -- leaned against outer walls, a fenced-in chicken yard in front of the next house, then a large house under renovation, with bare beams laying out a third story above the existing two, a few tools at rest; the builders have left for the night.
You reach El Idrissid’s home, a two story building with a basement. A lamp lights the entryway, and as the carriage pulls up, the door opens and a woman steps out onto the threshold holding a lantern, two young children hiding behind her skirts with eyes wide open.
Omar El Idrissid exits the carriage first, and turning to Flint, shows him where he can tie the lead horse. Flint nods, but remains in the driver’s seat with reins in hand. Benita whispers to Varielky, “Don’t have too much fun in there.” But then, focusing on the children, Benita’s eyes begin to moisten, which Varielky barely notices behind the Indallian’s helmet grille. La Cass turns away quickly and walks to the opposite side of the carriage, and stands there, meeting no one’s gaze, carefully monitoring the street in both directions.
El Idrissid turns to Granophyre and Adekite, who have also stepped down from the carriage, and to the rest of you, and says, “Welcome. Please come in. This is my wife, Corydalis and this is Foxglove, and this, Haldi.” As you approach, you see that his wife is an elf with light blue-green complexion and lighter, mint-green hair, and their children, perhaps 6 and 8 years old, are a blend of their two appearances, with a very subtle violet complexion, hair the brown color of tree bark, and eyes a deep green like their mother’s.
You enter a modest, upper middle-class home whose living room’s small hearth is alive with a warming fire. Granophyre motions for you to put down your weapons, in a corner of the living room, and you all sit down on cushions around a coffee table, atop a colorful rug (which Mittens appreciates, although it is not nearly as fine as the one in the parlor of Safi Meknes). The room is just off of the entryway.
You all note that one wall has many very shallow shelves built into it, and atop them are arranged dozens of objects, carefully fastened upon stands, rather like a high-end shop, or, as Mittens recognizes, like a museum collection. Some of the objects are tools, some are brooches and jewelry, and some, weapons. It takes a moment to realize that they are organized by culture. There are Dwarven items, Elven arrows -- each grown from the earth in one piece -- a rapier from The Kingdoms, and other items from various human peoples of the world.
You all sit down for an evening meal, and Corydalis brings food out to Benita and Flint. Granophyre smiles deeply at the children, and jokingly wins them over almost immediately.
Varielky sits on her knees, in a way that doesn't look particularly comfortable. In truth, the reason is that she is repenting, even if in a very subtle way. She did stop a fight mid-way and didn't get to fully measure and value her opponent. This, among other things. She's quiet almost the entire time unless directly asked or spoken to. After all, she's a guard, not a guest. She does eye the shelves, however, looking from where she's sitting for anything that looks related to Takal Demesh, or perhaps to Drey or her culture. Almost unknowingly, she misses her home a bit and, with so many cultures gathered in one place, she looks for something familiar.
Dolkum was pensive, too, still working through the events of the evening in his own mind. Seeing the 2 assassins in the carriage house so soon after seeing them dead by the aquaduct was a bit if a puzzle...
He looks over the collection as a bit of a distraction...
O my, these dwarf mining tools are of fine craftsmanship, but I do not recognize the clan marks. How old are these?
Ednyss also looks at the dwarven items approvingly, but he also recognizes that he is not there on a social visit and chooses to keep his mouth shut. As they watch, he keeps his eyes on everyone in the room, trying to get a general read of people's emotions. He smiles at Corydalis when she serves the food and graciously accepts the meal. At some point in the night, he will ask to excuse himself somewhere relatively private for a few minutes and say a few prayers to Takal Demesh as he might not have a chance to perform his prayers in peace once they get on the road, and he wants to take the opportunity while he can. If Ednyss notices that Granophyre or anybody else looks opposed to him excusing himself, then he will wait until they return to the villa for the night to say his prayers.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
“The mark of a successful DM is when you have caused more player deaths with doors than dragons, demons, or devils.”
Varielky sits on her knees, in a way that doesn't look particularly comfortable. In truth, the reason is that she is repenting, even if in a very subtle way. She did stop a fight mid-way and didn't get to fully measure and value her opponent. This, among other things. She's quiet almost the entire time unless directly asked or spoken to. After all, she's a guard, not a guest. She does eye the shelves, however, looking from where she's sitting for anything that looks related to Takal Demesh, or perhaps to Drey or her culture. Almost unknowingly, she misses her home a bit and, with so many cultures gathered in one place, she looks for something familiar.
While sitting quietly but rather imposingly at the table, Varielky looks for, but finds nothing which appears to be Dreyen, not a single item. There is a small, gem-inlaid porcelain jewelry box from Southern Indallia of the kind she has heard Benita mention, although Varielky never saw one during her childhood, and beside it a Central Indallian brooch depicting Nanatya in her radiant sun-form which has a certain familiarity to it. Alongside it a sheathed longsword which attracts the shield-maiden’s interest of course, being her weapon of favor, although its aged scabbard is of an ancient style which is unfamiliar.
Dolkum was pensive, too, still working through the events of the evening in his own mind. Seeing the 2 assassins in the carriage house so soon after seeing them dead by the aquaduct was a bit if a puzzle...
He looks over the collection as a bit of a distraction...
O my, these dwarf mining tools are of fine craftsmanship, but I do not recognize the clan marks. How old are these?
Adekite answers Dolkum in his perspicacious drawl, “Ah yes! Omar told me about that item when I last visited. Do you see how dark is the metal? This is black carbon steel from Core of Obsidian, at least 1000 years old. And notice, it belongs to a set of small gem picks from each of the Five Cores of the Dwarven Isles which Omar has collected: this one from Core of Amethyst, this from Core of Sapphire, this sturdy one from Core of Adamantine of course, and this last from Core of Mercury -- note its graceful shaping. Young one, you shall have to visit the Isles one day. I believe every Dwarf should see them, to experience our culture at its home. But speaking of...look here, Corydalis, you shouldn’t have! Granophyre, what a lovely surprise! Look here, Corydalis has prepared Goat our way. With imported Dwarven peppers no less. You will not be disappointed!”
Ednyss also looks at the dwarven items approvingly, but he also recognizes that he is not there on a social visit and chooses to keep his mouth shut. As they watch, he keeps his eyes on everyone in the room, trying to get a general read of people's emotions. He smiles at Corydalis when she serves the food and graciously accepts the meal. At some point in the night, he will ask to excuse himself somewhere relatively private for a few minutes and say a few prayers to Takal Demesh as he might not have a chance to perform his prayers in peace once they get on the road, and he wants to take the opportunity while he can. If Ednyss notices that Granophyre or anybody else looks opposed to him excusing himself, then he will wait until they return to the villa for the night to say his prayers.
At Omar El Idrissid’s urging, Adekite says a prayer to Sashia to bless the meal, in thanks for the comforts of home and the art of cooking Corydalis has demonstrated in her preparations. As Corydalis prepares plates to take out to Benita and Flint, Ednyss sees his chance and offers to bring their meals out to them. She thanks him and turns her attention to the children, while Ednyss carries the plates out to Flint, who tucks right in, and Benita, who accepts the meal with a silent nod but doesn’t seem to touch it. Before returning inside, Ednyss stops on the threshold in the quiet night and offers his evening prayer to Takal Demesh, which is a familiar sight to both Flint and Benita, neither of whom pay him any mind. He returns inside to eat his fill, and at the first bite, he is reminded by the flavors of home of his mother’s table back in Core of Amethyst.
The meal is soon over, Corydalis announces it is time for bed for the children, and reluctantly they receive their kisses and leave the room. The pot comes to a boil, Omar el Idrissid serves tea, and pleasantries continue until a few minutes later, when all succumb to the question weighing upon their minds: the purpose of this gathering. There is a brief silence as Omar, Adekite, and Granophyre exchange looks. “And so.” says Granophyre to Omar, in his resonant, gravelly basso, “Why don’t you tell me about the artifact. From the beginning.”
“Yes, of course,” Omar replies, speaking in a tone accustomed to authority, but also in it, a bright curiosity underpinned by an almost breathless excitement. His voice, a crisp baritone, seems to savor the words as he speaks, while gracefully motioning with his free hand.
“The story -- at least, my part in it -- begins a year and a half ago, with the passing of my dear mother, Adilah El Idrissid, who on that day in Ninth Moon (OOC: Dwarven calendar), or as the Jenghen call it, Power (OOC: in real life, October) took her last, shuddering breath, after a long and active life. May Sashia bring her light and comfort.”
Adekite, utters a brief prayer to Sashia, and Granophyre voices his condolences. Omar takes a quick sip of tea, stoically nodding his thanks, then continues.
“My brother and I sorted through my mother's belongings and found among them a small Dwarven axe, which she had bequeathed to me.” To Dolkum, Ednyss, Varielky and Mittens, he says, smiling, “As you can surmise, she was aware of my interests.” He continues to Granophyre, “I knew of this axe, although I had never seen it, for it was given to my sweet mother as a gift, when she was a young ranger, by a woman in the Vale of Deshar, for her bravery fighting Imperial Orcs in the Vale, during the Shian Rebellion. As you know, the fighting came to nothing, alas. The way my dear mother told the story, it was a goat herder named Safiyah who gave her the axe, for defending her home. How this goat herder came upon it, I do not know.”
Omar looks at Adekite. “It was not until a year after that that Ilias, my firstborn, began his apprenticeship, and you, my friend, came here to my home to offer your generous congratulations.”
Adekite picks up the tale, in his rhythmically drawling, yet good-natured, voice. “Yes, that’s when I come into the story, Granophyre. I saw the axe, held it, and noted that the engraving was of an unfamiliar pattern. Neither of us -- even Omar, with his wealth of historical knowledge -- was able to identify the piece. We came upon the plan,” here Omar interrupts, “Adekite came up with the plan,” to which Adekite modestly demures but continues, “...came upon the plan, to make a relief sketch of the engraving, tracing its outlines, and send it to you. I hoped you might have an answer, and I am so pleased that your travels have happened to bring you here. We are both so very grateful.”
Granophyre asks, “I see it upon the wall. May I?” which strikes you all as surprising because he seemed merely to glance cursorily at the wall before the meal began, and since then his attention has been entirely on the social gathering, and on Omar and Adekite.
Omar, lost in his own thoughts for a moment, looks up, startled. “Of course, of course, how stupid of me, please allow me.” He stands, and from one of the higher little shelves, pulls a throwing axe, removing it from a small display stand. The Dwarves can see that the craftsmanship is very fine.
Omar hands it to Granophyre, who looks at it carefully, turning it over in his hands slowly. He removes from a jacket pocket a small magnifying glass, which he uses to examine some of the very minute markings. He seems to have been holding his breath, as have Adekite and Omar, and finally, Strewn exhales slowly, and with Omar’s permission, passes the axe around the room. Omar and Adekite observe him with barely concealed curiosity.
“I shall now tell my part of the tale,” says Strewn. “Upon receiving your letter,” he begins, to Adekite, “with its enclosed relief sketch, I was of course flattered to be thought of as one who might know the answer, for we Dwarves do pride ourselves on our creations and the maker’s signature is seldom hard to identify. That has not changed over the eons. Yet this one...I could not classify.” He taps his lips for a moment, seeming to draw out more words.
“And yet too...I thought I might have seen it before in my research, and an idea began to form in my mind. But I could not at that moment, trust my memory. I brought the sketch to the Great Library in Core of Obsidian, and deep in the recesses of its most ancient archives, I found what I was looking for, and my idea became a theory with substantiation. Holding the artifact in my own hands has not proven my theory wrong.”
He pauses again for a long moment, and Adekite and Omar both hold their breath once more.
“I believe,” continues the dwarven scholar, “that this artifact’s markings are those of an ancient family, lost for centuries. Clan Scoria.”
“What!, that old wive’s tale? The Lost Core is...real?” asks Adekite, while Omar stands up and begins pacing, so energized is he by this statement.
Granophyre nods slowly, and continues, explaining for all present. “Yes, Clan Scoria. According to legend, as you may know, the clan built a mountain realm far from the center of Dwarven civilization called Core of Dacite. All written knowledge of its location -- even, as to its very existence -- was lost with the Fall after the Wandering God. All that remains is the notion of its existence. Myth. Legend. Yet, I believe this axe originated there.”
“But,” Adekite interrupts, “can it still exist? And why would they not have made themselves known? And, where? In the Vale of Deshar?!”
Strewn continues evenly, “There are many unanswered questions. But I do have a key.” Reaching into a small vest pocket, the old scholar removes a small, magically glowing stone. He says, in Dwarven, <“Reveal.”>And the stone throws an illusion into the air, a 3-dimensional map of some kind.
“This is a map of the Dwarven Empire, at its height. Here is Core of Amethyst, there Core of Obsidian, and so on. As you can see, it is not complete...the stone’s memory dims over the millennia. And the lands and seas have changed shape in the aftermath of the apocalypse. But this will tell me what I need to know. I just need to be close. Close to Core of Dacite. With this, I can match landmarks to the outer gates of the realm.”
Strewn replaces the stone in his vest pocket and turns to Adekite. “I am sorry, my old friend, for what I am about to say. For, my movements are carefully watched by the Jenghens, who would certainly take an interest if my theory proves to be correct. I came here, to the Central Coast, under false pretenses. For although I do love the arts -- and music most of all -- it is not Kieu-Lan Trinh who drew me here. It is what we hold now in our hands that impelled me to make the journey.”
He asks for the axe back, and grasps it for a moment.
“If I can find where this artifact came from, there may be a great deal to learn about...what happened. About the Wandering God. About the Hammer. My life’s work is to discover why. Why the apocalypse. And, finally...finally, the answer may lie before me.”
Granophyre Strewn looks at Adekite, Priest of Sashia, and at professor Omar El Idrissid, and around the table, and says, “We leave at dawn. For the Vale of Deshar!”
“Omar el Idrissid, you must keep the artifact safe. The Jenghens must not know of its existence. Wrap it, and deposit it with a bank -- not the Imperial Bank. In thanks, I have brought you this to take its place.” From a satchel at his side, Granophyre removes another throwing axe, a smaller one, glowing magically, and Adekite utters a low whistle at its craftsmanship. “This weapon is six centuries old, from Core of Obsidian, infused with magic by the Dwarven wizard Gabbro Ignambrite.”
Omar nods his head, as if in a dream, looking off into the middle distance. “Deposit it. Yes, I will. I know where. Thank you...your gift is magnificent…” Scratching his beard in thought, he seems to come to his senses. “Yes, of course. It will be safe, and no one else will know.”
A silence follows, as everyone ponders this revelation. In the silence, you all--all except for one--notice that Varielky has risen quietly and is now standing in front of the wall of weapons, seemingly held in place and deaf to her surroundings.
Varielky, as if in a dream, as Granophyre spoke, your attention was drawn back to the display wall. Your gaze has shifted slowly, as if moving through water, so slowly, from item to item, from the Elven arrows to the rapier from The Kingdoms, and then to the Nanatya brooch you noticed before, and finally, your eyes fall again on the old but rather plain-looking longsword sheath beside it. You stand, as if alone in a dream, in a room empty of anyone else, of anything else, except for you and the longsword. And now, without realizing it, you have moved and it is before you silently at rest on its shelf. And now, it is in your hand, and you have pulled the blade half-way out of the scabbard. Reflected in firelight, you see that the sword is engraved with runes down its length. You see that the first marking in the row is the very glyph, etched forever in your memory, from your dream.
(OOC: Varielky is not magically spellbound, but experienced what might be a psychological out-of-body experience. What do you all do?)
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
(OOC: Maybe you could just write down the calendar for us. We (or at least I) have already read about your world before playing it anyway, it's not much more to read, I assume. Also, if I'm not mistaken, I believe you once sent us a link to a list of swear words appropriate to the world. Varielky isn't one to swear often, so I'll probably not use it much, but I may need it in the future, or maybe someone else will. Does that thing really exist or am I mixing between this and another game?)
Although she didn't speak her thoughts out, Varielky deemed them fools at the beginning. What does it matter who made the weapon or how fine it looks? A weapon's job is to make sure it doesn't fail you. It needs to cut limbs, pierce through weak points in the enemy's armour or break their bones. It needs to be able to parry well and most importantly - it must last as long as possible. Of course, the wielder of the weapon, also the one maintaining it, had a large part in doing all these successfully. If a weapon breaks mid-fight because a fool damaged the blade to engrave it with some kind of a drawing, however, it was all for nothing. She remembered her old gear with which she left her village. None of it was in her possession anymore, most of it scattered, broken or torn, along the rainbow coast. Back then, she was still too sentimental. If her opponent that day wanted to, she could have lost her life because she couldn't part with her old sword even when anyone could tell it had to be reforged in order to be dependable.
Yet, despite all that, there was something about this sword. When she regained her senses, realising she was holding the sword, she was appalled at herself for just a split second. How could she have let herself do this? Then, she notices the glyph. No, she didn't do anything. It was divine guidance, in a way she had never experienced before. That the gods chose to guide her in such a direct way was unimaginable. A mere servant to the gods would, at best, receive signs or omens to guide him in his path. Never has she even dreamt of such honour. "This weapon," Varielky speaks to the gods, albeit speaking the words aloud. She doesn't ask for an answer, she doesn't need one. After she was guided to it in such a way, she'd accept anything - even if it were a mere stick or a pebble. "What is it? Why have you brought me in front of it? What is my mission?" Clearly, it was not simply for slaying foes. The gods must have something else in mind. Some purpose she could serve them that is more important than that she was already given.
Completely unaware of her surroundings, disregarding that she's in someone else's house, Varielky unsheathes the sword slowly until it leaves the scabbard entirely. She carefully studies the blade, the hilt and the runes. What do they mean?
Religion (or something else... Idk): 21 (-2 if it's Investigation/History or otherwise...)
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Mittens looks appreciatively at the decorations of the house. He was always curious about how people kept the interiors of their house because it always told him what the owner was like. It was a quirky habit, but he enjoyed.
After looking at the inside for a moment as everyone enters, Mittens realizes that they don't look very presentable. Being coated in blood wasn't an attractive sight, so with a few muttered words, the blood disappears from his clothes ((using prestidigitation to clean out the blood unless they changed into a different set of clothes on the way here an I missed reading it)). He offers the to do the same for everyone else.
When the meal is brought to him, he scarfs down the first few bites before remembering he was in civilized company. Slightly embarrassed, he slows down and eats a a normal pace. He remains silent through the meal time, knowing this wasn't the time for him to speak.
When kids are ushered to bed and the conversation about the axe starts, Mittens listens with great interest. He becomes a bit confused about the dwarven history as he had never really studied for too long. As he tries to recall want information he can about the history, he notices that Varielky is seemingly entranced with the decor upon the walls. His eyebrows furrow in confusion at her remarks, but he doesn't bother her. He didn't want to ruin the moment she was having.
Varielky sees the cloaked figures and fights the urge to jump off and pursue them. She look for another moment before finally answering Benita's question. "I could be wrong." She states. "Or, perhaps, mislead. We were fighting a few women whom I thought were responsible for the poisoning at the time, because they assassinated two footmen. There was no trace of poison on their weapons though. Anyway, I talked with one of them while trying not to get crushed under the horses' hooves - I'll explain fully later - and she said they were called to exact revenge for what happened in the games. She said the ones who were probably responsible were a family called the... ah... Amesiks? Amezighs? Something along these lines. I don't know if she was lying or not, but it's our first lead I believe."
Varielky
Benita answers, "Amazigh. Ugh. Syphax Amazigh is the leader of the Amazigh Family, didn't you know? Oh maybe not, you were away. They are terrible, terrible. They steal children from the streets of Ishi Ammah to work in their poppy fields. They kill without mercy: children, pregnant women. The stories are terrible. The only ones worse are the Jlassi Family. The stories say their leader, Gwafa, is an evil spirit who steals women's souls. He has twenty wives, they say, and two thousand men fight for him. Men, orcs, whatever. And they do the same thing. Poppies. And they make opium, and sell it here in Ishi Ammah. And in the Empire. There are many rumors, to tell another day. They fight skirmishes where the poppy fields are. In the Vale of Deshar, where the two warring families have huge palaces. But the real war takes place here. Gambling. Opium dens. Corruption. As the Empire grows weak, they grow strong. I hate them!" She spits, to ward off the evil of this discussion, and doesn't wish to speak about it any more.
DM for Candlekeep Mysteries // Dev Hornd in Curious Critters // Eclipse Faraway in Gallows Dancer
(OOC: Would Ednyss hear this rant about the Amazigh from where he was standing near Mittens?)
“The mark of a successful DM is when you have caused more player deaths with doors than dragons, demons, or devils.”
Yes if he leaves Mittens on his own to deal with the Bakar Elite Captain.
DM for Candlekeep Mysteries // Dev Hornd in Curious Critters // Eclipse Faraway in Gallows Dancer
Ednyss stays by Mittens, for now, so he doesn't hear Benita's rant from where he is.
“The mark of a successful DM is when you have caused more player deaths with doors than dragons, demons, or devils.”
Varielky listens to Benita. It sounded like a family who are wretched enough to use poison. She doesn't push further for now, however, and just watches for the suspicious figures for the rest of the ride.
Varielky
Insight: 15
As the man speaks to him, Mittens looks into his eyes and tries to judge his intent. Does the guard want his name for you he reason he said, or is it is he can find Mittens later and settle the score?
If the guard's intentions were truthful, he says, "My name is Mittens. Mittens Toodaloo."
If he seem vengeful, he says, "The name's Philip. Philip Doodoohants."
Regardless of what he says, Mittens turns around and marches back to the carriage. As he does, he says to Ednyss, "I probably did take it too far, but he didn't seem like the nicest person anyway..."
DM- Azalin's Doom
DM- Surviving the Unsurvivable
Ednyss shrugs regardless of what Mittens says and follows the cat back to the carriage. Responding to Mittens, Ednyss says, "It isn't always our place to pass judgment on another person. That is what the law is for. However, what's done is done so let's move on." He hails Varielky, Dolkum, and Benita and takes up his position, walking behind the carriage as they continue back to the villa.
“The mark of a successful DM is when you have caused more player deaths with doors than dragons, demons, or devils.”
"Mittens?," he says, eying you suspiciously and frowning as the nearby Bakar Elite chuckle at their commander's ill luck. He turns to them and barks, "IF one named MITTENS has helped to destroy four Azhvuv, that makes him your equal and BETTER," upon which their smiles disappear instantly as they snap to attention and obey the Captain's following command to comb the grounds THOROUGHLY for any further signs of intruders. The Captain then turns back to Mittens, his hand at rest on the butt of his sword hilt, vaguely threatening. "The palace grounds are now closed. MITTENS Toodaloo." And there he stands, watching you with an expression of sour contemplation until you pass out of view.
DM for Candlekeep Mysteries // Dev Hornd in Curious Critters // Eclipse Faraway in Gallows Dancer
CHAPTER 5 : At the Home of Omar El Idrissid
POST #1
Your carriage moves gently down the lamp lit streets under a star-splashed sky, as 7 Bells toll from the Palace, and are then echoed by ringing bells at the public fountains all across Ishi Ammah. As you make your way through the Palace Gates, a rhythmic pulsing of waves breaking against the sea walls, and moist, salt air drift up from the shore below. The sounds and smells of the city, at turns pungent and fresh, alive with a background buzz of voices, motion, and industry, reminds you of the scale and size of the city you have called home these last weeks.
Flint drives the carriage with a firm hand, but is gentle with the horses, and soon you reach a quiet street, holding a row of homes, each separated by an alleyway from its neighbor. Some are dark, while in some, candle light flits back and forth in their upper stories as men and women prepare for bed. The front door of one house is open, and from within you hear the sounds of a dinner party, friendly, boisterous, inviting, bounce out into the street. Everywhere you look are signs of daily living: children’s toys -- hobby horses, or small carts -- leaned against outer walls, a fenced-in chicken yard in front of the next house, then a large house under renovation, with bare beams laying out a third story above the existing two, a few tools at rest; the builders have left for the night.
You reach El Idrissid’s home, a two story building with a basement. A lamp lights the entryway, and as the carriage pulls up, the door opens and a woman steps out onto the threshold holding a lantern, two young children hiding behind her skirts with eyes wide open.
Omar El Idrissid exits the carriage first, and turning to Flint, shows him where he can tie the lead horse. Flint nods, but remains in the driver’s seat with reins in hand. Benita whispers to Varielky, “Don’t have too much fun in there.” But then, focusing on the children, Benita’s eyes begin to moisten, which Varielky barely notices behind the Indallian’s helmet grille. La Cass turns away quickly and walks to the opposite side of the carriage, and stands there, meeting no one’s gaze, carefully monitoring the street in both directions.
El Idrissid turns to Granophyre and Adekite, who have also stepped down from the carriage, and to the rest of you, and says, “Welcome. Please come in. This is my wife, Corydalis and this is Foxglove, and this, Haldi.” As you approach, you see that his wife is an elf with light blue-green complexion and lighter, mint-green hair, and their children, perhaps 6 and 8 years old, are a blend of their two appearances, with a very subtle violet complexion, hair the brown color of tree bark, and eyes a deep green like their mother’s.
You enter a modest, upper middle-class home whose living room’s small hearth is alive with a warming fire. Granophyre motions for you to put down your weapons, in a corner of the living room, and you all sit down on cushions around a coffee table, atop a colorful rug (which Mittens appreciates, although it is not nearly as fine as the one in the parlor of Safi Meknes). The room is just off of the entryway.
You all note that one wall has many very shallow shelves built into it, and atop them are arranged dozens of objects, carefully fastened upon stands, rather like a high-end shop, or, as Mittens recognizes, like a museum collection. Some of the objects are tools, some are brooches and jewelry, and some, weapons. It takes a moment to realize that they are organized by culture. There are Dwarven items, Elven arrows -- each grown from the earth in one piece -- a rapier from The Kingdoms, and other items from various human peoples of the world.
You all sit down for an evening meal, and Corydalis brings food out to Benita and Flint. Granophyre smiles deeply at the children, and jokingly wins them over almost immediately.
DM for Candlekeep Mysteries // Dev Hornd in Curious Critters // Eclipse Faraway in Gallows Dancer
Varielky sits on her knees, in a way that doesn't look particularly comfortable. In truth, the reason is that she is repenting, even if in a very subtle way. She did stop a fight mid-way and didn't get to fully measure and value her opponent. This, among other things. She's quiet almost the entire time unless directly asked or spoken to. After all, she's a guard, not a guest. She does eye the shelves, however, looking from where she's sitting for anything that looks related to Takal Demesh, or perhaps to Drey or her culture. Almost unknowingly, she misses her home a bit and, with so many cultures gathered in one place, she looks for something familiar.
Varielky
Dolkum was pensive, too, still working through the events of the evening in his own mind. Seeing the 2 assassins in the carriage house so soon after seeing them dead by the aquaduct was a bit if a puzzle...
He looks over the collection as a bit of a distraction...
O my, these dwarf mining tools are of fine craftsmanship, but I do not recognize the clan marks. How old are these?
Ednyss also looks at the dwarven items approvingly, but he also recognizes that he is not there on a social visit and chooses to keep his mouth shut. As they watch, he keeps his eyes on everyone in the room, trying to get a general read of people's emotions. He smiles at Corydalis when she serves the food and graciously accepts the meal. At some point in the night, he will ask to excuse himself somewhere relatively private for a few minutes and say a few prayers to Takal Demesh as he might not have a chance to perform his prayers in peace once they get on the road, and he wants to take the opportunity while he can. If Ednyss notices that Granophyre or anybody else looks opposed to him excusing himself, then he will wait until they return to the villa for the night to say his prayers.
“The mark of a successful DM is when you have caused more player deaths with doors than dragons, demons, or devils.”
While sitting quietly but rather imposingly at the table, Varielky looks for, but finds nothing which appears to be Dreyen, not a single item. There is a small, gem-inlaid porcelain jewelry box from Southern Indallia of the kind she has heard Benita mention, although Varielky never saw one during her childhood, and beside it a Central Indallian brooch depicting Nanatya in her radiant sun-form which has a certain familiarity to it. Alongside it a sheathed longsword which attracts the shield-maiden’s interest of course, being her weapon of favor, although its aged scabbard is of an ancient style which is unfamiliar.
DM for Candlekeep Mysteries // Dev Hornd in Curious Critters // Eclipse Faraway in Gallows Dancer
Adekite answers Dolkum in his perspicacious drawl, “Ah yes! Omar told me about that item when I last visited. Do you see how dark is the metal? This is black carbon steel from Core of Obsidian, at least 1000 years old. And notice, it belongs to a set of small gem picks from each of the Five Cores of the Dwarven Isles which Omar has collected: this one from Core of Amethyst, this from Core of Sapphire, this sturdy one from Core of Adamantine of course, and this last from Core of Mercury -- note its graceful shaping. Young one, you shall have to visit the Isles one day. I believe every Dwarf should see them, to experience our culture at its home. But speaking of...look here, Corydalis, you shouldn’t have! Granophyre, what a lovely surprise! Look here, Corydalis has prepared Goat our way. With imported Dwarven peppers no less. You will not be disappointed!”
DM for Candlekeep Mysteries // Dev Hornd in Curious Critters // Eclipse Faraway in Gallows Dancer
At Omar El Idrissid’s urging, Adekite says a prayer to Sashia to bless the meal, in thanks for the comforts of home and the art of cooking Corydalis has demonstrated in her preparations. As Corydalis prepares plates to take out to Benita and Flint, Ednyss sees his chance and offers to bring their meals out to them. She thanks him and turns her attention to the children, while Ednyss carries the plates out to Flint, who tucks right in, and Benita, who accepts the meal with a silent nod but doesn’t seem to touch it. Before returning inside, Ednyss stops on the threshold in the quiet night and offers his evening prayer to Takal Demesh, which is a familiar sight to both Flint and Benita, neither of whom pay him any mind. He returns inside to eat his fill, and at the first bite, he is reminded by the flavors of home of his mother’s table back in Core of Amethyst.
DM for Candlekeep Mysteries // Dev Hornd in Curious Critters // Eclipse Faraway in Gallows Dancer
POST #2
The meal is soon over, Corydalis announces it is time for bed for the children, and reluctantly they receive their kisses and leave the room. The pot comes to a boil, Omar el Idrissid serves tea, and pleasantries continue until a few minutes later, when all succumb to the question weighing upon their minds: the purpose of this gathering. There is a brief silence as Omar, Adekite, and Granophyre exchange looks.
“And so.” says Granophyre to Omar, in his resonant, gravelly basso, “Why don’t you tell me about the artifact. From the beginning.”
“Yes, of course,” Omar replies, speaking in a tone accustomed to authority, but also in it, a bright curiosity underpinned by an almost breathless excitement. His voice, a crisp baritone, seems to savor the words as he speaks, while gracefully motioning with his free hand.
“The story -- at least, my part in it -- begins a year and a half ago, with the passing of my dear mother, Adilah El Idrissid, who on that day in Ninth Moon (OOC: Dwarven calendar), or as the Jenghen call it, Power (OOC: in real life, October) took her last, shuddering breath, after a long and active life. May Sashia bring her light and comfort.”
Adekite, utters a brief prayer to Sashia, and Granophyre voices his condolences. Omar takes a quick sip of tea, stoically nodding his thanks, then continues.
“My brother and I sorted through my mother's belongings and found among them a small Dwarven axe, which she had bequeathed to me.” To Dolkum, Ednyss, Varielky and Mittens, he says, smiling, “As you can surmise, she was aware of my interests.” He continues to Granophyre, “I knew of this axe, although I had never seen it, for it was given to my sweet mother as a gift, when she was a young ranger, by a woman in the Vale of Deshar, for her bravery fighting Imperial Orcs in the Vale, during the Shian Rebellion. As you know, the fighting came to nothing, alas. The way my dear mother told the story, it was a goat herder named Safiyah who gave her the axe, for defending her home. How this goat herder came upon it, I do not know.”
Omar looks at Adekite. “It was not until a year after that that Ilias, my firstborn, began his apprenticeship, and you, my friend, came here to my home to offer your generous congratulations.”
Adekite picks up the tale, in his rhythmically drawling, yet good-natured, voice. “Yes, that’s when I come into the story, Granophyre. I saw the axe, held it, and noted that the engraving was of an unfamiliar pattern. Neither of us -- even Omar, with his wealth of historical knowledge -- was able to identify the piece. We came upon the plan,” here Omar interrupts, “Adekite came up with the plan,” to which Adekite modestly demures but continues, “...came upon the plan, to make a relief sketch of the engraving, tracing its outlines, and send it to you. I hoped you might have an answer, and I am so pleased that your travels have happened to bring you here. We are both so very grateful.”
Granophyre asks, “I see it upon the wall. May I?” which strikes you all as surprising because he seemed merely to glance cursorily at the wall before the meal began, and since then his attention has been entirely on the social gathering, and on Omar and Adekite.
Omar, lost in his own thoughts for a moment, looks up, startled. “Of course, of course, how stupid of me, please allow me.” He stands, and from one of the higher little shelves, pulls a throwing axe, removing it from a small display stand. The Dwarves can see that the craftsmanship is very fine.
Omar hands it to Granophyre, who looks at it carefully, turning it over in his hands slowly. He removes from a jacket pocket a small magnifying glass, which he uses to examine some of the very minute markings. He seems to have been holding his breath, as have Adekite and Omar, and finally, Strewn exhales slowly, and with Omar’s permission, passes the axe around the room. Omar and Adekite observe him with barely concealed curiosity.
“I shall now tell my part of the tale,” says Strewn. “Upon receiving your letter,” he begins, to Adekite, “with its enclosed relief sketch, I was of course flattered to be thought of as one who might know the answer, for we Dwarves do pride ourselves on our creations and the maker’s signature is seldom hard to identify. That has not changed over the eons. Yet this one...I could not classify.” He taps his lips for a moment, seeming to draw out more words.
“And yet too...I thought I might have seen it before in my research, and an idea began to form in my mind. But I could not at that moment, trust my memory. I brought the sketch to the Great Library in Core of Obsidian, and deep in the recesses of its most ancient archives, I found what I was looking for, and my idea became a theory with substantiation. Holding the artifact in my own hands has not proven my theory wrong.”
He pauses again for a long moment, and Adekite and Omar both hold their breath once more.
“I believe,” continues the dwarven scholar, “that this artifact’s markings are those of an ancient family, lost for centuries. Clan Scoria.”
“What!, that old wive’s tale? The Lost Core is...real?” asks Adekite, while Omar stands up and begins pacing, so energized is he by this statement.
Granophyre nods slowly, and continues, explaining for all present. “Yes, Clan Scoria. According to legend, as you may know, the clan built a mountain realm far from the center of Dwarven civilization called Core of Dacite. All written knowledge of its location -- even, as to its very existence -- was lost with the Fall after the Wandering God. All that remains is the notion of its existence. Myth. Legend. Yet, I believe this axe originated there.”
“But,” Adekite interrupts, “can it still exist? And why would they not have made themselves known? And, where? In the Vale of Deshar?!”
Strewn continues evenly, “There are many unanswered questions. But I do have a key.” Reaching into a small vest pocket, the old scholar removes a small, magically glowing stone. He says, in Dwarven, <“Reveal.”> And the stone throws an illusion into the air, a 3-dimensional map of some kind.
“This is a map of the Dwarven Empire, at its height. Here is Core of Amethyst, there Core of Obsidian, and so on. As you can see, it is not complete...the stone’s memory dims over the millennia. And the lands and seas have changed shape in the aftermath of the apocalypse. But this will tell me what I need to know. I just need to be close. Close to Core of Dacite. With this, I can match landmarks to the outer gates of the realm.”
Strewn replaces the stone in his vest pocket and turns to Adekite. “I am sorry, my old friend, for what I am about to say. For, my movements are carefully watched by the Jenghens, who would certainly take an interest if my theory proves to be correct. I came here, to the Central Coast, under false pretenses. For although I do love the arts -- and music most of all -- it is not Kieu-Lan Trinh who drew me here. It is what we hold now in our hands that impelled me to make the journey.”
He asks for the axe back, and grasps it for a moment.
“If I can find where this artifact came from, there may be a great deal to learn about...what happened. About the Wandering God. About the Hammer. My life’s work is to discover why. Why the apocalypse. And, finally...finally, the answer may lie before me.”
Granophyre Strewn looks at Adekite, Priest of Sashia, and at professor Omar El Idrissid, and around the table, and says, “We leave at dawn. For the Vale of Deshar!”
“Omar el Idrissid, you must keep the artifact safe. The Jenghens must not know of its existence. Wrap it, and deposit it with a bank -- not the Imperial Bank. In thanks, I have brought you this to take its place.” From a satchel at his side, Granophyre removes another throwing axe, a smaller one, glowing magically, and Adekite utters a low whistle at its craftsmanship. “This weapon is six centuries old, from Core of Obsidian, infused with magic by the Dwarven wizard Gabbro Ignambrite.”
Omar nods his head, as if in a dream, looking off into the middle distance. “Deposit it. Yes, I will. I know where. Thank you...your gift is magnificent…” Scratching his beard in thought, he seems to come to his senses. “Yes, of course. It will be safe, and no one else will know.”
A silence follows, as everyone ponders this revelation. In the silence, you all--all except for one--notice that Varielky has risen quietly and is now standing in front of the wall of weapons, seemingly held in place and deaf to her surroundings.
Varielky, as if in a dream, as Granophyre spoke, your attention was drawn back to the display wall. Your gaze has shifted slowly, as if moving through water, so slowly, from item to item, from the Elven arrows to the rapier from The Kingdoms, and then to the Nanatya brooch you noticed before, and finally, your eyes fall again on the old but rather plain-looking longsword sheath beside it. You stand, as if alone in a dream, in a room empty of anyone else, of anything else, except for you and the longsword. And now, without realizing it, you have moved and it is before you silently at rest on its shelf. And now, it is in your hand, and you have pulled the blade half-way out of the scabbard. Reflected in firelight, you see that the sword is engraved with runes down its length. You see that the first marking in the row is the very glyph, etched forever in your memory, from your dream.
(OOC: Varielky is not magically spellbound, but experienced what might be a psychological out-of-body experience. What do you all do?)
DM for Candlekeep Mysteries // Dev Hornd in Curious Critters // Eclipse Faraway in Gallows Dancer
(OOC: Maybe you could just write down the calendar for us. We (or at least I) have already read about your world before playing it anyway, it's not much more to read, I assume. Also, if I'm not mistaken, I believe you once sent us a link to a list of swear words appropriate to the world. Varielky isn't one to swear often, so I'll probably not use it much, but I may need it in the future, or maybe someone else will. Does that thing really exist or am I mixing between this and another game?)
Although she didn't speak her thoughts out, Varielky deemed them fools at the beginning. What does it matter who made the weapon or how fine it looks? A weapon's job is to make sure it doesn't fail you. It needs to cut limbs, pierce through weak points in the enemy's armour or break their bones. It needs to be able to parry well and most importantly - it must last as long as possible. Of course, the wielder of the weapon, also the one maintaining it, had a large part in doing all these successfully. If a weapon breaks mid-fight because a fool damaged the blade to engrave it with some kind of a drawing, however, it was all for nothing. She remembered her old gear with which she left her village. None of it was in her possession anymore, most of it scattered, broken or torn, along the rainbow coast. Back then, she was still too sentimental. If her opponent that day wanted to, she could have lost her life because she couldn't part with her old sword even when anyone could tell it had to be reforged in order to be dependable.
Yet, despite all that, there was something about this sword. When she regained her senses, realising she was holding the sword, she was appalled at herself for just a split second. How could she have let herself do this? Then, she notices the glyph. No, she didn't do anything. It was divine guidance, in a way she had never experienced before. That the gods chose to guide her in such a direct way was unimaginable. A mere servant to the gods would, at best, receive signs or omens to guide him in his path. Never has she even dreamt of such honour.
"This weapon," Varielky speaks to the gods, albeit speaking the words aloud. She doesn't ask for an answer, she doesn't need one. After she was guided to it in such a way, she'd accept anything - even if it were a mere stick or a pebble. "What is it? Why have you brought me in front of it? What is my mission?" Clearly, it was not simply for slaying foes. The gods must have something else in mind. Some purpose she could serve them that is more important than that she was already given.
Completely unaware of her surroundings, disregarding that she's in someone else's house, Varielky unsheathes the sword slowly until it leaves the scabbard entirely. She carefully studies the blade, the hilt and the runes. What do they mean?
Religion (or something else... Idk): 21 (-2 if it's Investigation/History or otherwise...)
Varielky
Mittens looks appreciatively at the decorations of the house. He was always curious about how people kept the interiors of their house because it always told him what the owner was like. It was a quirky habit, but he enjoyed.
After looking at the inside for a moment as everyone enters, Mittens realizes that they don't look very presentable. Being coated in blood wasn't an attractive sight, so with a few muttered words, the blood disappears from his clothes ((using prestidigitation to clean out the blood unless they changed into a different set of clothes on the way here an I missed reading it)). He offers the to do the same for everyone else.
When the meal is brought to him, he scarfs down the first few bites before remembering he was in civilized company. Slightly embarrassed, he slows down and eats a a normal pace. He remains silent through the meal time, knowing this wasn't the time for him to speak.
When kids are ushered to bed and the conversation about the axe starts, Mittens listens with great interest. He becomes a bit confused about the dwarven history as he had never really studied for too long. As he tries to recall want information he can about the history, he notices that Varielky is seemingly entranced with the decor upon the walls. His eyebrows furrow in confusion at her remarks, but he doesn't bother her. He didn't want to ruin the moment she was having.
History: 13
DM- Azalin's Doom
DM- Surviving the Unsurvivable
Dolkum gave his amulet a squeeze, observing Ednys' brief stepping out and knowing the reason.
My compliments to the chef! So the axe is key to finding the Lost Core of Dacite? or of entering it?
Religion10