Workshop > Story Hour

Alone In Ka-rone (cross-post)

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Berandor:
 Hi!

Ich werde hier meine SH, die in der Welt des Diamond Throne spielt, cross-posten. Das Testabenteuer veröffentliche ich ebenfalls auf den Boards von Monte Cook, während die spätere geplante Kampagne wohl nach ENWorld kommt. Deshalb schreibe ich auf English... Have fun! :)

WARNING TO MY PLAYERS! DON'T READ THE FOLLOWING LINK, PLEASE!
Stats for the major NPCs can be found here:
The stats for my major NPCs and combat encounters
As these include stats about NPCs the players yet must meet, please don't spoil yourself or others by reading/talking about it here (I suspect the players will read this story hour).
If you really, really want to discuss it, we can open another thread for it :)  

Now, the casting:
Nathred, male human Akashic 6, strong skills in bluff, forgery, gather information, disguise, etc, though not diplomacy nor sneak. He can open locks and find traps, though. Nathred fights with trident and punching dagger, as well as throwing dagger.

Malethar, male litorian 1 greenbond 5, wilderness guy. He fights with a javelin and has Modify Spell, Blessed Mage, as well as Exotic Spell: Litorian Claws.

Dajsan: male verrik 3 mageblade 3, fights with glaive.

Tarkass: mojh 2 unfettered 4, fights with scimitar and sickle, is sneaky, but not perceptive. Wears leather coat.

These are off the top of my hat, so less and more detail as I remember :)  

Next post: Meetings, quests and reading minds: the group assembles.

Berandor:
 The sun has set over the islands and platforms of Ka-Rone, one of the greatest cities in Dor-Ethenos, housing the biggest harbor of the realm, built atop the ruins of Ravenar in the middle of the Ghostwash delta. Merchants have closed their shop, and the people wandering the broad streets are now looking for business better suited to the warm autumn night. Glowglobes light the streets as well as the massive bridges spanning the arms of the Ghostwash, connecting the islands of a city with each other. The ever-present sibeccai guards in their armor of silvery steel exchange their relaxed wandering for a marching of much warier nature.
In the Red Boar, business is as usual, save for the lone stragglers apparently new to the town. Different as they may be, human, litorian, mojh and verrik, each of them shares a common item: a glass of burning cavefire. The strong drink stands in front of them, untouched, slowly burning down.

’Is one of them my contact?’, wonders Tarkass, its piercing eyes darting from one to the other in a calculating pattern. Save for the eyes, its serpentine body remains motionless, almost like a statue, even as the litorian suddenly quenches the flame of his drink and savors it.

”Enough waiting! I have not come here to watch drunkards.” Malethar Trackseeker stretches his lionine body to full height, and grabbing his spear in his right, his drink in his left hand, gracefully wanders over to the human sitting next to the playing board of three’s your uncle, a burning drink on his table.

“Are you the one I am supposed to meet?” Malethar’s voice reminds of grinding stone and betrays his impatience, as the litorian nods toward the drink.
Nathred Samos looks up to catch the litorian’s dark eyes. He flashes a grin.
“I’m sorry, friend, but it seems we’re waiting for the same woman. Or man. Why don’t we wait together?” The lithe man points at the throwing board. “Care for a play?”
As they each pull some used daggers out of the wall and begin to throw them at the board, they share information. Apparently, both had been approached by someone with regards to an as of yet unspecified “job”. They were to meet the client in this same bar, with a glass of burning cavefire in front of them.
“You drank yours.”, remarks Nathred. Malethar shrugs.
“I can always order a new one.”

In a dark corner of the tavern, Dajsan relaxedly leans against the wall, watching. He barely manages to prevent his brow from rising expectantly as he watches the mojh suddenly spring to a standing position, dart through the room, and just as quick as it stood up, sit down again at the table of the other two. The dragon-like being is clothed in well-traveled clothes, a long brown coat of rough leather, and armed with matching scimitar and sickle. A warrior.

“Mind if I join?” The rasping rumble of the mojh does not really sound like a question. Malethar regards the newcomer solemnly, but Nathred gestures with his scarred right hand towards the chair Tarkass is already sitting in.
“Sure. Be our guest.”

Before they can exchange more pleasantries, a dark figure enters the room, clad in a brown cape, the hood drawn deeply into his face. He looks around and approaches Dajsan.
“Follow me, please.”
The verrik shrugs, grabs his trusted glaive, and follows the man to the table where the other three are already sitting. The man sits down and asks the group to do the same. Malethar remains standing, but leans close.
“My name is Morush. I am the one you were supposed to meet. Mind if you told me your names?”
As each of the assembled follows his request, the man – for the flickering light of the drink shows him to be clearly human – nods. Then, he continues speaking in a dark whisper.
Morush is a subordinate of the human speaker in Ka-Rone, Firrul. His work encompasses trade and security. During the past months, he has tried to localize a group of smugglers professing to be a resistance movement against the giants’ rule. So far, process has been slow. Lately, rumors indicate the group giving up their passivity and planning an assassination against one of the top political figures of Ka-Rone; either the steward, Tu-Methus himself, or one of his trusted advisors, or one of the speakers.
With time running short and no real leads surfacing, Morush has decided to put his trust in outsiders, sending out his lieutenants to find someone who could believably claim to belong to the resistance, as well as fulfill one of many diverse roles, one of which the resistance might have use for. So he came up with a mojh, a wilderness scout (Malethar), an information gatherer and spy (Nathred), and a mageblade (Dajsan).
As they are discussing the reward for this assignment, Morush gets distracted by three newcomers: a middle-aged, richly dressed human woman who is treated by the staff as if she was a giant; a very young and quite handsome boy serving the woman and keeping close to her; and an accompanying sibeccai guard.
“Who is that?”, asks Tarkass, shaking Morush out of his reverie.
“Hm? Oh, that’s Firrul, the speaker. I didn’t know she frequented such a locale as this.” Morush furrows his brow. “Anyway, where have we been? Ah, the reward.”
Morush offers each of the four 500 queen, in addition to a special reward: Dajsan would be taught in psionic spellcasting, Nathred could become a regular spy for Morush, Tarkass would be given a home as he’d train warriors in the art of two-weapon fighting. Malethar, finally, is offered a complete stop in logging activities in a nearby wood.
“That’s not enough. I also want you to reforest twice as much as you took down.” Morush is taken aback.
“Twice as much? I don’t know that I have the clout to do so.” He ponders for a minute. “However, I will promise you to do my best. Is that enough?” Malethar thinks, then nods.
Nathred isn’t too keen on his special reward, as well. He’d rather get unlimited access to Ka-Rones akashic academy, which Morush agrees to. After settling on a down payment of 100 queen each, Morush is open for questions.
“Who is your informant?”, asks Dajsan. “You do have an informant, don’t you?”
Morush hesitates to answer. Tarkass jumps to Dajsan’s help.
“If we knew who he was, we could cut to the chase much easier.”
Morush seems to relent. Dajsan, however, uses his mental acuity and tries to skim his surface thoughts, successfully.
As Morush answers, “Well, I’m not too sure whether I can trust him. I’d rather you verify the information without him. If you are seriously stumped, ask me again.”, he thinks, ”@#%$ nosy verrik. Now I’ve got to make up more details about my “source”.
As the conversation comes to a close, Morush names three possible venues of information in Ka-Rone: the Smooth Hand, the Small Hut, and the Great Market. Being just three of many similar locales in Ka-Rone, Morush nevertheless thinks starting there would be advisable.

---
Next: Kings and Kingdoms, Togas, lewd remarks: prostitutes in Ka-Rone

Berandor:
 The group decides to distribute the 500 queen they got from Morush, then find a room and introduce each other formally, as well as talk about the job at hand. As coins change their owner, people at neighboring tables start to take note.
Tarkass chooses one of them and locks gazes with him. The staring contest lasts nary 5 seconds, before the man looks down. Tarkass continues to stare. The man waits a short breath, then he gets up and leaves the tavern, not just slightly unnerved.
Before they make for an Inn, Malethar and Nathred try to gather some information. They get informed that the Red Boar is indeed the favorite tavern of Firrul, and the boy next to her is her current lover, Degenim.

The four exchange theories about their client, being finally alone in the newly rented four-bed room of a nameless Inn.
“I don’t trust him.”, Dajsan says. “He deceived us with his so-called “informant”, and I’m not sure he was telling the truth in other regards.”
“I think Morush doesn’t want us to find the resistance, if it really exists.”, agrees Nathred. “However, I thought he was serious about his offered rewards.”
“We should let nature run its course. With its power, all we be well.” Upon Malethar’s comment, both Nathred and Tarkass roll their eyes. The mojh then shares its thoughts.
“I don’t really care what his motives are. He could be true, then we’ll do what he wants us to do, or he could be false, which we won’t know unless we do what he wants us to do. Either way, I hope there’s money and fighting involved.”
“I agree about the money,” Nathred says, “but I am no fighter. Indeed, I wonder why we shouldn’t get away now. We’ve got more than a hundred queen each.”
“We can’t leave. The money is nothing to me. I need the logging stopped.”, the litorian counters.
After a lot of talking, the group decides to try and find the resistance, no matter why they are looking for it, until they know more. Indeed, eager as they are, they make for the Smooth Hand at once.

The Smooth Hand turns out to be the finest house in Ka-Rone for entertainment of all kinds, even unrelated to sexuality. It is a massive, three-story building full of wide halls, comfortable rooms and even a small park. The group decides to enter separately, in order not to cause suspicion. Nathred and Malethar, entering first, are taken back when they are asked to undress and leave all their belongings at the entrance, having to don a toga-like gown in addition to paying one queen up front.
The fee is worth it, however, as the staff is quite attentive. Almost instantly the two are transported into seperate chambers, where they are treated to a relaxing massage by comely females of their race. During the cause of the massage, the two subtly question the women, hearing all kinds of rumors. They are also referred to Sirala, an employee of the Hand working at the baths.

Meanwhile, Dajsan has begun to play Kings&Kingdoms against Seichi Kingsfire (yay namelist!), a snarky faen. After being chanceless the first game, Dajsan vows to beat the faen in the second one. He tricks and plans, but after a long and hard-fought match, Seichi comes through. They share a respectful glance.

Tarkass doesn’t see any of this. It has entered a hot room, filled with torches and volcanic rocks. After putting out several of the lights, it sits in the hot darkness, relaxing.

Nathred and Malethar, being thoroughly relaxed themselves, order a bath. They are brought to a big tub let into the ground, filled with hot water. Nathred enters skeptically, on the lookout for stray hairs from Malethar floating on the water. His mind is distracted as two supple sibeccai women enter the room, armed with a basin and a sponge. They quickly undress and join the men in the tub.
Nathred wants the women to take care of all his dirt first, and hopes for a little extra effort on his “little prince”, but Malethar immediately begins questioning Sirala, one of the two sibeccai. The woman signals her companion to leave them alone.
“Why do you ask me? I don’t know anything.” She seems more unnerved than innocent.
“Well, we just wanna know about the city. We’re new here.”, Malethar answers, as Sirala moves away from both.
“Don’t listen to him.”, interjects Nathred. “Just come here, and take care of me.”
“No! I really want to know why I of all people should know something. And even if I did, why should I tell you? I don’t know what you would do with the information I’ve got.” Sirala catches herself. “Or don’t have.”
“We won’t do you harm. We don’t want anything with the knowledge. We just wanna know.” Malethar seems a little stumped. What does that woman want? Nathred isn’t helping, either.
“Come on, forget him. Let’s take a private bath. Just you and me.”, he presses.
Sirala seems a little freaked, and as she gets up to leave, they don’t try to hold her back. Which is fortunate, for the house guards were probably waiting outside already.
“That’s your fault!”, Nathred accuses Malethar. The litorian just stares back.

The four adventurers regroup and share information. They decide to catch Sirala when she leaves the Hand. Watching the three entrances, Sirala leaves on the side Nathred and Tarkass were guarding. Sirala notices them, and stops in her tracks, looking from human to mojh and back.
“What do you want?” She takes a few steps backwards.
“Wait, Sirala. I just want to excuse myself.” Nathred seems serious, so she stops again and waits for him to continue.
“I realize we have been... little forthcoming. I’m sorry.” Nathred bows before her, and Sirala blushes a little, being treated so uncommonly well. Nathred kisses her hand.
“Please, allow me to escort you home. Don’t take notice of my bodyguard; he won’t harm you.” If Tarkass thinks otherwise, it doesn’t say so.
With the mojh traveling a few feet behind, Nathred and Sirala walk through Ka-Rone. They cross Violet Bridge (the six main arms of the Ghostwash are named after the colors of the rainbow), and Sirala says she’ll part company with Nathred at the bridge’s end.
“May I be honest?” Nathred slows his walk and looks at the beautiful, yet a little naive, sibeccai.
“I have a lover.”, answers Sirala. Nathred smiles.
“That’s not what I wanted to tell you. It’s about the information we talked about, earlier, in the Hand.” Sirala looks at him, suddenly a little frightened, then at the mojh, watching her like a cat before striking, and turns toward the railing. A hundred feet below, the Violet Ghostwash streams along.
“Look, Sirala. I can’t explain it, but you are in danger. Just as we found out you know something, others could, too.” The sibeccai is shocked.
“But I won’t tell anything. Why should they want to harm me?”
“To be sure.”, Tarkass says. The sudden intrusion of the mojh startles Sirala even more.
“But who says you won’t kill me after I told you?”
“You’re right. I’m sorry. Go.” Nathred steps away from her, freeing the way across the bridge. Tarkass would be faster than she is, but she doesn’t know that, so she relents.
“All right. I guess you’re serious. I’ll tell you what I know. As far as I know, a faen magister leads a group of resistance fighters living in the ruins of Reveran. They smuggle weapons into the realm. I think they hide their wares outside of the city, in one of the caves in the Elder Mountains. I’ve also heard rumors that some sibeccai would help him, as well as some people with influence. Wares that had been intercepted have disappeared, and shipments that were watched have not been fetched. So far, two harbormasters have lost their jobs because of this.” Sirala stops, having seemingly lightened her load enough to draw breath again.
“That’s very helpful. How do you know this?” The woman hesitates.
“I... I can’t tell you.”
“Oh, come on. We need to know. He or she could be in trouble, too.”
Sirala doesn’t budge.
“No. He can look after himself, and I won’t betray him.”
Nathred nods.
“Fine. At least let me escort you home.”
“No, thank you.” Nathred lifts his arms in a helpless gesture. As they part ways, the akashic nods toward Tarkass, and the serpentine fighter melds with the darkness of the night, silently following Sirala. Once, it has to step around a goblin noisily feasting on a captured snake, and once Sirala looks it dead in the eye, but she doesn’t see it.
Tarkass follows the woman to an apartment building right next to Ka-Rone’s palace. Interestingly enough, no guards are stationed before the building, housing apartments for officials working in the palace (most officials have additional houses in the city). As Sirala enters the building, the mojh follows her, creeping through the abandoned corridors until the woman knocks on a door. It is opened, and a male-sounding voice bids her to enter. Unfortunately, Tarkass can’t say whether it knows this voice or not.
As the mojh leaves the building, two guards approach, but it is too well hidden for their watchful eyes. With a last look at the dark windows of the room where Sirala seemingly met her lover, it turns away.

---
Next: Preachers, Prisoners, and profit: The Great Market of Ka-Rone

Berandor:
 It is already early morning when the group has discussed the recent information. As yawns become more and more prevalent, the four adventurers decide to take a nap before continuing. That nap lasts long into the morning, and after a late breakfast, the group heads towards the Great Market, one among several, but the biggest of Ka-Rones marketplaces, situated close to Green Harbor.
The Market is an amalgamation of tents, shops, and carts selling wares often directly out of freshly shipped boxes. People instinctively keep a little away from the adventurers, and merchants selling potions, weapons, and magical trinkets praise their wares with new fervor when they are near.
Nathred buys a score of especially balanced throwing knives, complete with a matching bandoleer, while Tarkass goes to look at Prophet’s Wall, a stage where everybody can get up and speak about anything he likes to. However, most speakers seem to be either priests or madmen, and the difference between these groups is negligible to the mojh.

Malethar, meanwhile, visits Gellus Froron, one of the fired harbormasters. The other has already left town, but the litorian hopes that this one has some useful information. Unfortunately, Gellus isn’t home, and his daughter Cani seems loathe to let the greenbond speak to her father. She tells him to come back the next day, however.

Nathred wanders around the market, trying to catch the stray rumor, and also hears a name mentioned more than once, the name of Riolast Burnmane, a litorian herbalist. Nathred heads off to find Malethar before visiting this herbalist.

Dajsan comes upon a strange sight: several prisoners chained at neck, hands and feet are escorted by a troop of guards. He stops a bywalker and points in the direction of the procession.
“Tell me, please, what is that?”
The man looks at the prisoners, then shrugs.
“That? These are convicted criminals. They’ve been sentenced to death and have elected to be sold into slavery instead of losing their lives. They’re shipped to the south. Keeps them alive and brings a little money for Ka-Rone.”
“Sentenced to death? What for?”, inquires Dajsan.
“Depends. Arson, extortion, grave robbing, kidnapping, murder, rape, banditry/piracy, sedition and treason can all lead to a death sentence.” The man points to one of the prisoners. “This one there. He killed a man after that man offed a few goblins. People get crazy like that all the time.” He shakes his head.
“Stupid gob-friend.”, agrees Dajsan. He says goodbye to the man, then heads after the prisoners.
(DM’s note: the player of Dajsan is 99% sure to play a freedom-fighter, so I thought I knew where this was headed. Was I wrong...)

Malethar and Nathred enter Riolast Burnmane’s shop. It is packed with shelves and tables filled with herbs, fruit, vials of some potion or other. The shop smells of herbs, but depending on where you stand, it smells earthy, sweet, bitter, or altogether different.
Riolast Burnmane is an elder litorian sitting behind a worn workbench. His hair has grayed a little, and indeed seems to burn, as smoke rises up from them constantly. Riolast uses a gnarled branch for support, with mint leaves growing from it. From time to time, the litorian takes one of the leaves to chew on.
“Come in, come in! Such customers I rarely have. What can I do for you?” Riolast seems friendly, even cheery, and a little wierd.
After exchanging pipe weed, the two litorians talk a little about their individual backgrounds, and Malethar speaks to Riolast about the wilderness around the Harrowdeep, the elder litorian’s eyes lighting up upon hearing the stories. Then, they cut to the chase.
“We are looking for information, and you have been recommended to us in that regard.”
“Well, I have lived here for quite some time, and I know some things. But surely you understand, making customers feel at home, and having them talk freely, is a part of my business. If word got out that I talk, then I could lose many a sale.”, answers Riolast sadly.
It takes a royal to get him talking.
“Well, I have some ties to people who would rather remain unknown”, Riolast winks at Malethar, “and I know about this resistance you’re looking for. Truth be told, it seems more like a simple smuggling operation to me. But what do I know? Well, for one thing, I know they hide their wares in a cave outside the city, and that normally, they should get a new shipment soon, probably within the next seven to ten days. I’ve heard people say that a runethane called Toril led the group, accompanied by a faen oathsworn. They seem to operate out of the ruins of Reveran. But that, I fear, is all.”
Malethar promises to visit again and remember where to buy hard-to-find merchandise, and he and Nathred leave.

Dajsan has followed the prisoners to Green Harbor, where a three-masted and exotic-looking ship waits for the procession. An exquisitely-yet-foreign dressed man welcomes the captain of the guard, even though the sibeccai doesn't seem to share his enthusiasm. A small chest is exchanged for the criminals, who are led straight into the cargo hold.
Dajsan thinks for a moment, then sneaks into a narrow street. Two quick stabs with his athame, and a glamor sparkles around him, a charm waiting on his right hand. Deftly, he weaves through the street without letting on that he puts special care on not touching anyone, and approaches the ship.
“Ho there.”, he calls. The man he saw before, apparently the master of the ship, looks at him friendly.
“Ho back! What do you want?”
Dajsan gestures with his open hand.
“Mind if I join you up there?”
The merchant regards him shortly, then shrugs, the glamour taking effect on him.
“Sure!”
Dajsan ascends the gangway, solemnly regarded by two brutish sailors with broad curved blades, and holds out his hand to the merchant by way of introducing himself. The merchant hesitates, but doesn’t seem to take special note and shakes his hand. Immediately, a milky haze clouds his gaze.
Dajsan is led by Melandric – the merchant – into a small cabin and treated to a cup of black coffee. He small talks a little, then asks to see the prisoners.
“You won’t free them, I hope?”, Melandric asks, but bursts out laughing immediately as the absurdity of this nice man freeing criminals sets in. “I’m sorry, friend. I have to ask.”
Dajsan accepts the apology and even suggests keeping guards nearby, so Melandric doesn’t get in trouble with the real captain, who is in town right now.

Dajsan enters the cargo hold and approaches the slaves. He introduces himself.
“I am looking for information regarding a smuggling operation or resistance movement in Ka-Rone. If any of you know about this movement, I am willing to hear you out. Should your knowledge prove useful, I might be able to free you, and hide you from the authorities until you flee the city.”
Immediately, he is greeted with everybody spouting more or less senseless information. Only a faen closes his eyes sadly and murmurs, “Great! As usual, I don’t know jack!”
Dajsan listens to the various claims and makes out two seemingly believable sources, a human and a litorian, both looking equally down-trodden.
He approaches the human and sends a silent message into the criminals mind.
What do you know?
The human’s eyes widen a little, before he answers.
Neat trick! How’d you do that?
Doesn’t matter now. Tell me what you know, and I might help you.
The human hesitates.
We’re sailing tonight. How’d you know whether my information was good till then?
Dajsan smiles. We’ll just have to free you before that.
The humans relents and talks about a competition in Ka-Rone’s stewardship. While most people try to locate the small group of resistance smugglers, one or two individuals try to hide all traces and stay from being discovered. Dajsan thanks him, then approaches the litorian.
Tell me what you know.
The first answer is a mental growl. Get out of my head!
Just tell my what I want to know.
The litorian’s information is far less detailed. It seems he mostly heard rumors of a group or individual trying to unite all major criminal movements under one rule. Dajsan also thanks him, then goes back to Melandric.
“When do you sail?”, asks Dajsan.
“This night already. We want to be away before the sun goes up again.”
Dajsan nods. “Good riddance, then. And be careful; one or two of the slaves might get a little angry.”
Melandric shrugs. “ We can handle it. Nothing we haven’t seen before.”
As Dajsan leaves the boat, he can hear the merchant mumble to himself,
“I don’t know what they always say. These verrik seem to be quite nice.”

---
Next: Harrid, Spiders, scathing wit: the Small Hut

Berandor:
 Back in their room, the adventurers compare notes.
Nathred sums up, “We have heard that Tu-Methus himself plans to fight in the tournament at Song of Blades, and that the winner will get a free pick from a Fallanor ship’s cargo. We also know that the litorian, faen and verrik population are trying to get a speaker of their own, or at least a combined speaker for the three of them. Apparently, Tu-Methus tries to get the steward of trade, or the steward of the Ghostwash to move to Ka-Rone (imc, I have three non-regional stewards: Trade, Ghostwash and Peace). He also wants to change the harbor taxes relating to the worth of the cargo. Finally, the sibeccai speaker, Juroldon, is said to live with the owner of the Smooth Hand, Leinduro the Soft. Does anyone think these rumors are important to us?”
Nobody speaks up.
“I agree. What do we know about Firrul? Lately, people have been dissatisfied with her. While she was very ambitious and dedicated early on, she seemingly grew complacent later on. Now, she changes her lovers several times a year, and only supports choice endeavors. We also know that she appeared in the tavern as we were meeting Morush, either deliberately or coincidentally.
“Morush, on the other hand, is purportedly a very ambitious and sometimes inconsiderate, yet loyal and respected person. He is hard pressed to find smugglers and the resistance movement we are looking for, and lately has made an example of thieves and smugglers he caught. He’d also like to tighten security in Ka-Rone, strengthening the guards and perhaps even forming a secret police.
“With regards to the resistance movement, we’ve been told that they operate out of the ruins of Reveran, which are partially intact below the city. We probably won’t find the leader of the group, a faen magister or a runethane named Toril, and his assistant, an unnamed sibeccai or faen oathsworn, unless we know exactly where to look in the ruins.
“We’ve also been told that this group is more a smuggling operation than a real resistance movement, that they hide their goods in a cave outside of the city, and that they expect a new shipment soon. Also, signs point to a powerful person protecting that group.
“Lastly, we have the unknown lover of Sirala, who must be someone within government circles, and we have heard that Marel, the harbormaster, lets pirates and smugglers use his harbor for the right price. Thoughts?”

Tarkass is the first to speak.
“I think Sirala’s lover is Morush. He is a government official, and probably not rich enough to have his own villa in the city.”
“It sure seems that way.”, agrees Malethar. "However, I don’t really understand how that would work. Also, what can we do about it?”
“We could confront Sirala with our “knowledge” and see how she takes it.”, proposes Dajsan. “She doesn’t sound like a gifted thespian; we should know whether we’re right.”
Nathred continues this idea, “I could even disguise myself like Morush.” He thinks on it. “Nah, sorry. He had his hood drawn low, I haven’t seen enough of him yet.”
And so it goes. The four discuss who Sirala’s lover might be, and what he would know. They also talk about Morush and whether he is serious in his quest for the resistance, but it sure seems that way.
“I don’t care either way.”, says Tarkass more than once. “We are just the serfs in this game of Kings & Kingdoms. I say we enter the ruins and explore. Perhaps we find this group; either way, something happens.”
The group more or less agrees, but want to rest first, so that Malethar has a full allotment of spells ready. After discussing a little more, they agree that Firrul could be the smugglers’ protector, especially as she is Morush’s superior.
One hour goes by, and the group hasn’t set a definite course yet. Nathred wants to confront Sirala, thinking her to be easily impressed. Dajsan would like to visit the Small Hut and gather some more information. Malethar wants to find out to whom Sirala’s lover’s suite belongs. Tarkass, finally, wants to enter the ruins and test their luck. In the end, they decide to do all of these things: First looking into the owner of the apartment, then visiting the Small Hut, afterwards intercepting Sirala on her way home, and finally, the next day, entering the ruins.

They approach the palace as the sun sets. The apartment building is right next to it. Today, two guards flank the door and look up as the group approaches.
“May I help you?”, one of them inquires.
“We’re looking for Morush.”, bluffs Nathred.
“He ain’t here, sirs, he’s in the palace.”
“But we were told to wait in his apartment.”, replies Nathred, describing the location of the apartment in question. The guard shakes his head.
“I’m sorry, but this is not Morush’s apartment.”
Malethar focuses almost all his remaining magical prowess, silently forming a spell in his mind.
”Whom does the room in question belong to?”, he asks his modified (silent) compelling question (greater).
The guard answers at once, “Why, it is the room of the human speaker, Firrul.” As soon as the words have left his mouth, he wonders why he said that, and embarassed, sends the group away.

Nathred is the first to mouth his surprise, “Firrul! Is she Sirala’s lover?”
Malethar doesn’t think so, at first, but isn’t too sure.
(DM’s note: Malethar’s player said, “No way. There’s no lesbian character in an American adventure.” But when told that I write my own stuff, he said, “Oh.”)
Tarkass shakes its head, saying, “No. The voice I heard was not recognizable, but it sounded male. Sirala also spoke about her lover as male.”
“What about Degenim, Firrul’s lover?”, asks Dajsan. This seems to be the most likely option. However, the group is unsure whether Degenim controls Firrul through something, or whether he just overheard Firrul talking. They probably won’t know until they meet Sirala, so they put that question back for the moment and head to the Small Hut.

The Small Hut is a two-story building whose interior looks small at first sight, as everything is kept at human size. The dimly lit tavern doesn’t see many giant customers, and that is probably intentional. Even sibeccai are rare. There are dark corners all around, and from the balcony that is the second floor, scheming patrons watch the taproom for signs of suspicious behavior.

Tarkass sits itself next to another mojh. The two look at each other silently for some time, then they relax and turn towards the taproom.
“See that guy?”, asks the unknown mojh, its prehensile tail pointing towards a strange creature sitting at a table, “That’s a harrid. These bastards eat magic, they say. They come from the south. If you ask me, they should go back there as soon as possible.”

Meanwhile, Nathred has spotted an interesting woman. She is a verrik, her dark blue hair flowing freely about her shoulders, her red skin clothed in dark green. She sits alone at a table, quiet in the midst of the tavern's storm, watching the flow of people and shouted conversation ebb and rise around her. Just as he wants to approach her, something else takes his attention.

The harrid rises from his chair. He is a strange, abominable creature, a cross between a vulture and a man, and his long neck sports a jeweled chain of emeralds. To Tarkass’ magic-sensitive eyes, the creature’s blade, his boots and the chain glow with a trusting red light. The harrid’s companion, a rapier-wielding human, is bereft of all magic.
Tarkass gets up as well. The harrid looks at it, and the two lock gazes. Both issue a silent challenge, then the harrid seems to dismiss the mojh for the moment, and speaks. His voice croaks like an ancient nightingale.
“Greetings. My name is Deilliero, and this”, he unrolls a parchment, ”is a map to the Cave of Daroba Forben. I need companions to come with me. I pay well.”
The harrid waits for several moments, then makes a mocking gesture with his hand and sits down again. At the same time, a waitress passing him is pushed, falling onto the harrid and spoiling him with ale. Nervous laughter rings through the room, immediately going silent again as the harrid jumps up, claws closing around his scimitar. Tarkass grabs its twin blades as well.
The human companion’s hand darts out, grabbing Delliero’s arm in a cautionary way. Delliero looks down and relaxes just a little, his claws running threateningly over the grip of his weapon.
The man who pushed the waitress stands up as well.
“You want something? You can get it. Meet me at bridge street. But we better meet in an hour, so I can drink a little more. We’ll want a fair fight, no?” He laughs, and some of his companions join in. The harrid’s beak closes with a snapping sound, silencing the drunkards.
The man continues, “As you wish. At least you won’t be stuck looking for that cave of yours alone.”
As the human companion whispers something into the harrid’s ears, Nathred and Dajsan realize the brute has just tried to subtly convey a meeting place. It seems he wants to accompany the harrid, but doesn’t want his friends to know that. Nevertheless, the way he did it was neither subtle nor very intelligent.
As Delliero sits down again, Tarkass wanders over to the man, silently stepping behind him.
“You realize that you’re dead, don’t you?”, it whispers into the man’s ear, causing his skin to turn a little white. With a snarling smile, Tarkass goes back to its seat.

The verrik woman has watched the proeceedings detachedly, and as she looks up now, Nathred stands in front of her.
“Mind if I sit down?”, the akashic asks, sitting down gracefully. “I am Nathred Salmos, at your service.”
The woman musters Nathred, and after more than a moment of hesitation, sighs.
“My name is Frixit. What do you want?” Her voice sounds like waves crashing upon stone.
“Want? I want you to be happy, m’lady. I saw you sitting here, alone, and would like to entertain you.”
Frixit smiles  condescendingly. Then she shrugs, “Fine. Whatever. Be funny.”
Nathred is taken aback. He decides to press on, however.
“Why don’t we talk about what just happened. What do you think about it?”
“I?” Frixit speaks in a bored voice. “I think the man is walking a dangerous path, trying to survive two groups: his friends and the harrid. I also think the harrid is a fool, having been tricked into buying a false treasure map.”
Nathred would like to say he thought the same, but he didn’t. Instead, he inquires upon the cave the harrid is looking for. Frixit tells him the story in a voice as if she would explain it to a child:
Once upon a time, there was a spider totem warrior, the only one known in Dor-Ethenos. Her name was Daroba Forben. She used her powers for her own good, breaking and entering wherever she suspected a prize. One night, she broke into the tower of the faen magister Tyressam Featherquill. Tyressam cursed her with a terrible fate: From that day onwards, every spider Daroba encountered became friendly towards her, following her everywhere. Soon, numerous spiders of all sizes accompanied Daroba wherever she went, nearly driving the woman insane. In a murderous rage, she killed Featherquill, then took all her belongings, and the magister’s as well, and disappeared into a cave in the Elder Mountains, where she lived until her death. It is said many more spiders found their way to her, and they guard her grave even now. Some also say Daroba was reborn as a giant spider, ruling as a queen. All stories tell of the dangers and riches of the cave, however.
Annoyed at the verrik's behaviour, Nathred takes his leave and walks back to his companions.

The next to try its luck is Tarkass, but it doesn’t really connect with Frixit, as well. It doesn’t see any spiders around her, which seems to comfort it a little. All it can find out is that Frixit doesn’t lend credence to the rumors of an all-powerful group trying to take over the underworld. She believes it to be grand-talking of fools who have been careless or stupid enough to be caught by the guards, and are now unwilling to admit to their stupidity.
“Unless it’s a ruse in the guise of a ruse, of course.”, she adds.

Finally, Dajsan sits down at her table, much to the amusement of Frixit, who has now been visited by three of the four intrepid adventurers.
“What do you want?”
“First, buy you a drink. Then, talk about what you know.”
At the request of Frixit, Dajsan orders a cup of seawater for her, and for him as well. Frixit doesn’t seem to mind the salty, tangy taste burning down the throat.
“What do you know about the resistance?”, Dajsan asks, figuring straight talk to be the best course of action.
It seems to work, as Frixit answers, “If you can call them that. I know they’ve got an enemy in the caves outside the city, a giant called Es-Faron. I don’t know why, but the leader is bound by promise not to attack him, nor to hire someone to attack him. Now, said leader waits for someone to take care of his problem without his explicit approval.”
Dajsan is caught by surprise at the openness of the verrik.
“You’re going to talk about us, aren’t you?”
Frixit smiles. “If someone asks. If not, then I won’t. Both courses will prohibit permanence and encourage change, so I don’t care either way.”

As Dajsan walks back to the table, Nathred and Tarkass are deep in plans of attacking the harrid.
“I bet we can take him”, says Tarkass, patting its blades.
“We probably can.”, Nathred agrees. “We can also set up a ruse so that it seems as if the man meeting him was on our side. He would be pressed into helping us.”
Tarkass’ eyes glimmer faintly at the thought of such a trick.
Dajsan tells the others about the giant, but the group doesn’t know whether to believe the story. The leader of a resistance movement being beholden to a giant; that seems almost too absurd. They fall back towards planning on ambushing the harrid. Tarkass wants to takes his map and examine the cave it points to.
Nathred nods in agreement.
“We have almost an hour to prepare. Let’s plan.”

---
Next: Harrid, Giant, ruined cities? What will they do?
(this is where we stopped playing. It's a long time till November...)

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