Archon Basileus
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Pathfinder 1E [IC] - TIDERULER OF MARAN
- Thread starter Archon Basileus
- Start date
Archon Basileus
First Post
Cool!
I'm writing the intro already! It will be up later on today, along with the map (if I can figure out why it isn't sticking to the post, lol).
Archon Basileus
First Post
@Trogdor1992 @Neurotic @KahlessNestor @Jago
Quest for the Tideruler
Prologue
Even though Maran has seen hardships beyond human measure for the last few years, it’s nights are still as luminous as ever. The starlit lines of the shores, covered in lamp’s fireflies from tall alabaster houses, draw narrow and crowded streets all around. Four, five-store buildings create a romantic setting for lovers and rhapsodes alike, allowing remedy from the brutal winds that fight between the rocky northern deserts and the heated seas to the southwest. Dwarven buildings made for travelers of all places and sizes, doors open to the night inviting passers-by to delight, music and laughs, all sorts of comforts are still available, even though just beyond the horizon sits the fleet of the Old King. The Old King, cruel and hungry hound, taker of women and riches, could not take the joy of Maran away…
Such truths are ever-present. Even as families make their ways through the bazaar and find comfort at the heart of taverns, there is one place, soft in appearance but dark in intentions, that sits atop the cliffs that crown the southern area of Maran’s bay. Carefully placed at the center of a little building block, Helen’s Fortune, the biggest inn of Maran’s port area, receives all sorts of wanderers. Comprised of a double house, the massive enterprise towers over a street, surrounding it and sealing it with thick stone walls and two double gates. The entrance to the place could be easily defined as a barbican. Above it, three-stores attack the skies from a bridge, completing the ominous image of the place. Many travelers, new to Maran, take the place for a fortress, such is the commanding position it occupies.
But more than that, the many buildings that surround the inn are now part of its complex. Once they accommodated many commercial companies - big ones, for that matter. But when Odros invaded, businessmen all around Maran suffered for it, and had to shut their offices. It was then that Mandos Ardares, the owner of the Helen, purchased all the buildings and offices, shacks and storages, houses and parcels in the area, reforming al of it to tend to its patrons’ every need.
Truth be told, no one really knows how Mandos managed to prosper while his patricians struggled to remain alive and in business, but the fact is that he survived and expanded his dominion in the last few years. Now he is the master of his own burg, a city within a city. There, he offers all a man might want or need, from regular merchandise and room for the night to exotic beverages and slaves from Ashir.
An entourage arrives at the gates, now opened, and places carefully two ox cars in front of the doors of Helen’s mead halls. Light, comfort and laughter explode from inside. The place must house more than two hundred people every night, at the very least, and tonight is no exception. The entourage comes from the port, bringing with it all sorts of travelers, seeking refuge among carriers and merchants, trying not to call attention. Once at the Helen’s doors, every recent arrival feels somehow safe to break from the main group and explore the confines of the inn and Mandos’ burg, since no Odros patrol will take notice of errant men up here.
Even so, the hole burg still feels like risks and lies, and between the loud cheers of drinking men, subtle glances and hushed tones give the place a taste of conspiracy. That rings especially true for Marius and Reynard, as well as some others, since they’ve been called here by a potential employer. He simply invited them to the mead halls, and he assured that, as long as they were there by the stroke of twelve (it’s short passed ten now), he’d make sure to recover them from the crowd and debrief them as necessary, all expenses covered.
[You are now at the Helen's entrance. You can do anything you want from here on, and you can decide if you start the game together or as separate travelers. You've all arrived with the merchant's entourage, though. Notice that everything supposed to exist in a tavern, inn or mead hall can be found in here, from merchants to games, from supplies to weapons. Around the place there is a plethora of shops and stores, including blacksmiths, a separate bazaar, a stable, and even a stage show. All of these seem to remain open and functioning throughout the night. More surely will be revealed around the burg and/or the city as you explore.]
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~ With a slow look around, the simple, straw hat that Reynard wore about his head was tilted back until it slipped gracefully down his back, the drawstring keeping it clinging to his body. His hair was unkempt but his eyes sharp, taking in the scene with all senses. The tension left his cloth-wrapped hands, one falling to rest gently on the curved piece of lacquered wood that protruded at a sharp curve from the strange pouch of leather at his hip. There was comfort there, a solidity that he found hard to reach on land. The ground was ... too steady. Too soft. He missed the rolling salt, the pitch and heave of the timbers under his boots, and the sharp wind that hardened hair and soul.
Still. There was much to be found here in the Burg of The Helen to put a man at ease. There was also enough to catch the eye of the wrong people and leave that same man in a very perilous position, that there was. It had been a long time since he had come to Maran, and Reynard's last journey had ended in cannon fire and blood. He still bore the scars across his upper arms, now covered in Gnomish tattoos to hide the damage that the shivers had inflicted. Those old wounds were half of why he was here: he owed the Dwarves a life-debt for pulling him from the beach after that disastrous sinking.
Reynard wasn't one to renege on old debts.
He removed the hand from the holster at his hip, smoothing down the shiny hair beneath his nose before speaking aloud to any in the caravan that would be so inclined.
" A mighty long trip calls for a mighty long drink," he observed, eyes wistfully following a woman carrying an empty serving tray back to whence it came.
" 'S'bad luck not to relax after a journey. I haven't a reason to be inviting such circumstances, and I've a few coins left; Whomsoever feels the same is welcome to join me, that they are."
With little else, Reynard followed the woman, hoping that she was indeed off to fill that tray again with ales, meads, and whatever else lay within The Helen. He had reason to believe that the night would be a long one, and the Gnomes had been clear to teach him that enjoyment of life was as much a part of achieving focus as discipline. Whom was he to argue with such wise masters? ~
Still. There was much to be found here in the Burg of The Helen to put a man at ease. There was also enough to catch the eye of the wrong people and leave that same man in a very perilous position, that there was. It had been a long time since he had come to Maran, and Reynard's last journey had ended in cannon fire and blood. He still bore the scars across his upper arms, now covered in Gnomish tattoos to hide the damage that the shivers had inflicted. Those old wounds were half of why he was here: he owed the Dwarves a life-debt for pulling him from the beach after that disastrous sinking.
Reynard wasn't one to renege on old debts.
He removed the hand from the holster at his hip, smoothing down the shiny hair beneath his nose before speaking aloud to any in the caravan that would be so inclined.
" A mighty long trip calls for a mighty long drink," he observed, eyes wistfully following a woman carrying an empty serving tray back to whence it came.
" 'S'bad luck not to relax after a journey. I haven't a reason to be inviting such circumstances, and I've a few coins left; Whomsoever feels the same is welcome to join me, that they are."
With little else, Reynard followed the woman, hoping that she was indeed off to fill that tray again with ales, meads, and whatever else lay within The Helen. He had reason to believe that the night would be a long one, and the Gnomes had been clear to teach him that enjoyment of life was as much a part of achieving focus as discipline. Whom was he to argue with such wise masters? ~
Archon Basileus
First Post
[MENTION=6855130]Jago[/MENTION]
“Well, IF no one else cares to join... A rotund dwarf, feeling plenty at home, drags a bad leg towards the table Reynard managed to occupy. “I’ll sum some gold o’my own and we’ll share a flagon, shian….” – he sits, shambling his barrel-shaped body left and right as he adapts to his seat. A heavy leather backpack falls to the side, on the floor, along with a two-faced axe, resounding against the wooden planks. Smoke comes in thick voluminous waves from a table to the left, where a party of dwarf miners plays cards and share the pipes. On the other side, closer to the large open door that leads to the windy passage where the ox cars await, three elves try to make little case of their presence, their green capes insisting in doing the opposite. Even though the place is mostly dwarves and elves, it’s not uncommon to see men or lizards as well. Nevertheless, archers from the woods are a rare sight, and not very welcome as well.
“I gotta tell you, Shian…” – he says, reaching for a tray that approaches, a silent dwarven girl swaying it around to place a flagon and some bread on the table – “not a regular sight one a’you hats round here, let alone two in a day…” – the firm and round dwarf serves the flagon with one hand and throws a few coins at the tray with another. “First round’s mine, shian…” – the word resounds in Reynard’s ears for a third time, a way used by coastal dwarves to address those adept of his traditions, human or otherwise. He heard the word plenty from the smugglers that used the caves below the burg to do business, but never up here… not until now.
“Not too shabby, not too shabby…” – he turns over his shoulders with difficulty as the dwarf girl walk away. “Go ahead, my friend, DRINK!” – he raises a quick toast – “By the way, I’m Durkas….” – and swallows half the mug in a slow, continuous stream.
[Ooook, let us begin… Jago, would you kindly roll a perception test?]
“Well, IF no one else cares to join... A rotund dwarf, feeling plenty at home, drags a bad leg towards the table Reynard managed to occupy. “I’ll sum some gold o’my own and we’ll share a flagon, shian….” – he sits, shambling his barrel-shaped body left and right as he adapts to his seat. A heavy leather backpack falls to the side, on the floor, along with a two-faced axe, resounding against the wooden planks. Smoke comes in thick voluminous waves from a table to the left, where a party of dwarf miners plays cards and share the pipes. On the other side, closer to the large open door that leads to the windy passage where the ox cars await, three elves try to make little case of their presence, their green capes insisting in doing the opposite. Even though the place is mostly dwarves and elves, it’s not uncommon to see men or lizards as well. Nevertheless, archers from the woods are a rare sight, and not very welcome as well.
“I gotta tell you, Shian…” – he says, reaching for a tray that approaches, a silent dwarven girl swaying it around to place a flagon and some bread on the table – “not a regular sight one a’you hats round here, let alone two in a day…” – the firm and round dwarf serves the flagon with one hand and throws a few coins at the tray with another. “First round’s mine, shian…” – the word resounds in Reynard’s ears for a third time, a way used by coastal dwarves to address those adept of his traditions, human or otherwise. He heard the word plenty from the smugglers that used the caves below the burg to do business, but never up here… not until now.
“Not too shabby, not too shabby…” – he turns over his shoulders with difficulty as the dwarf girl walk away. “Go ahead, my friend, DRINK!” – he raises a quick toast – “By the way, I’m Durkas….” – and swallows half the mug in a slow, continuous stream.
[Ooook, let us begin… Jago, would you kindly roll a perception test?]
" Reynard will suffice, omae," the sailor replied, growing a little tense under the constant usage of the title.
Perhaps the dwarf was just humoring him; wasn't every day you saw such attire in Maran. Then again, it also pinged a sense of Reynard's.
Shian. 'Not a regular sight'. The language was muddled, but there was a drop of clarity within it.
The dwarf was telling him he stood out.
" To your health and our pleasant parting, Durkas" the human toasted, raising the mug to his rather charitable host. Suspicion swelled into his thoughts, though, and while the cup was tilted back until the liquid wet his lips, Reynard only drew in the drink slowly. He wanted to keep his mind clear, and his reflexes sharp if need be. ~
[sblock=Rolls]
Perception Check: 1d20+9: 14 [1d20=5][/sblock]
Neurotic
I plan on living forever. Or die trying.
Gliding on dwarfs heels was a man wrapped in wide cloak that covered his body and he held his arms inside creating strange effect of floating head over silvery bell. It didn't help that this man had purple hair and his eyes when he would enter the shadow would also have slight purple sheen. He stood a little bit on the side, strong drinks and rowdy fun not his usual evening.
"When you're in Maras, do as Marasan do."
After observing for a short while, noting the elves that stood out just as much as he did with their capes he pulled the cloak back and revealed simple tunic, tattooed wiry arms and body. Fit, not overly strong is the initial impression.
He moves with economy of motion that is deceptively fast and slides on the opposite side of the dwarves at the table.
"Fellow travellers. Master dwarf." he nods toward Reynard
"We traveled together and you invited everyone for a drink. Mind if I join you?"
He looks hard at both men, taking measure of their personality and intent and relaxes only slightly. His arm flies out as the wench weaves through the tables, just hard enough to slow her, not sudden enough to spill everything.
"Waitress, mead! And the next round is on me."
He settles back, sitting straight and not doing anything to help him really blend in. He sits still, no slight movements, no shifting on the seat. Just his eyes looking over the throng. Suddenly he remembers something else he's supposed to do in new company and he bends forward.
"My name is Marius Soarleaf. Pleasure to meet you." he offers his hand with the palm slightly up.
"When you're in Maras, do as Marasan do."
After observing for a short while, noting the elves that stood out just as much as he did with their capes he pulled the cloak back and revealed simple tunic, tattooed wiry arms and body. Fit, not overly strong is the initial impression.
He moves with economy of motion that is deceptively fast and slides on the opposite side of the dwarves at the table.
"Fellow travellers. Master dwarf." he nods toward Reynard
"We traveled together and you invited everyone for a drink. Mind if I join you?"
He looks hard at both men, taking measure of their personality and intent and relaxes only slightly. His arm flies out as the wench weaves through the tables, just hard enough to slow her, not sudden enough to spill everything.
"Waitress, mead! And the next round is on me."
He settles back, sitting straight and not doing anything to help him really blend in. He sits still, no slight movements, no shifting on the seat. Just his eyes looking over the throng. Suddenly he remembers something else he's supposed to do in new company and he bends forward.
"My name is Marius Soarleaf. Pleasure to meet you." he offers his hand with the palm slightly up.
|
Archon Basileus
First Post
@Neurotic @KahlessNestor @Trogdor1992 @Jago
REYNARD
The dwarf’s smile says “good one”, but his eyes say “got it”. He brings his tone down a notch as he lays the mug on the table. Around the hall, Reynard notices the numerous attendants running back and forth to answer to the most excited patrons. The waiters – male and female alike – are of a regular ilk, mostly dwarves, even though prejudice isn’t a problem among them. Still, something about them seems to bother him, although he can’t quite point it out. Such thoughts distract Durkas for a second or two, and the arrival of another traveler seems to grant him the opportunity to recollect his thoughts.
MARIUS
Durkas measures Marius, clearly disturbed by his quickness. As the two men cross eyes Marius is able to try and determine his intentions. Nothing transpires, except eagerness to eat and drink. There is some malice in his manners, though, and Marius could bet he’ll end up being the fuller and richer man around the table, after the tab comes. Nevertheless, that’s about it for his darker intentions.
Watching the room for info brings more concerning details to the eye, though. At a balcony, several Odros soldiers are having a party, apparently. They’re accompanied by an officer – Marius cannot say it’s rank, though. All around, the colorful collection of people makes it difficult to devise the places’ true attributes. Further inside, lizards play dice against an entourage of half-men, as some light-handed dwarves “watch” the game. The servants going around the tables are distant and somehow inhuman, even though they always present a smile and a soft voice. In the back, beyond the balcony and the yelling dwarves that tend to it, a slender and tall woman, dressed in fine clothes, descends inconspicuous stairs, accompanied by a ferocious-looking dwarf bodyguard. As for the talk, it is very different than anything heard down at the port. Here, politics are discussed in reserved, but very audible, tones. Talk of miners is also predominant, and men seem to use joy as the wall that isolates severe and numerous frustrations. Things that adventurers would greet with ballads are spoken in fear: words of the cursed City of Caldora reappearing in the gray desert, just a day away from Maran; news of a wyvern swarm at the mountains; a serpent of fire descending from the mouth of the volcano… you name it. Every rumor is mentioned as an ill omen for the future.
The elves at the next table, for instance, are those more interested in such rumors. They seem to keep their voices low, but their gestures confirm their intentions. Marius believes they are scouting out, far away from their lands. A regional map confirms his suspicions, being studied between plates and bottles, strategically placed to try and hide its’ details. They repeatedly point out towards the desert, in an area now taken by odrosan fortifications. The name “Farinatta” is spoken over and over as they question his loyalty. Apparently he is the one that sold them the map.
As for the dwarves on the other side, the faces and complaints leave no doubt: they’ve come from mountain strands, pockets emptier than expected, and decided to spend their hard-earned gold in a relaxing banquet. Their table is covered in used cutlery and empty flagons as they share the pipes and mumble about fire elementals menacing the mining encampments up north. They go on about odrosan taxes and lack of protection, but seem otherwise uninterested in their surroundings.
[You can always roll the dice and link it to me when you decide to do a test. If anything stops you from doing it, I’ll say something by the time we collect the numbers! Also, I’ll keep DC secret when I see the need. In this situation, for example, I have to, since the response for Sense Motive is a Bluff or some other similar test. So you can assume the DC to be normal – 15 or 20 for these tests, mostly – or it might be that the other guy is actually trying to misguide you, giving a higher, or lesser, DC to your test. As for the tests, I’ve included them and described the scene according to the results. I also might have done some tests on my own end, trying to favor you guys a bit more, lol. Anyway, feel free to roll the tests you request, since that gives you guys a closer eye on the hole experience!]
Perception: 1d20+10 20
Sense Motive - Elves: 1d20+10 30
Sense Motive - Dwarves: 1d20+10 30
Sense Motive - Durkas: 1d20+10 13
REYNARD
The dwarf’s smile says “good one”, but his eyes say “got it”. He brings his tone down a notch as he lays the mug on the table. Around the hall, Reynard notices the numerous attendants running back and forth to answer to the most excited patrons. The waiters – male and female alike – are of a regular ilk, mostly dwarves, even though prejudice isn’t a problem among them. Still, something about them seems to bother him, although he can’t quite point it out. Such thoughts distract Durkas for a second or two, and the arrival of another traveler seems to grant him the opportunity to recollect his thoughts.
MARIUS
Durkas measures Marius, clearly disturbed by his quickness. As the two men cross eyes Marius is able to try and determine his intentions. Nothing transpires, except eagerness to eat and drink. There is some malice in his manners, though, and Marius could bet he’ll end up being the fuller and richer man around the table, after the tab comes. Nevertheless, that’s about it for his darker intentions.
Watching the room for info brings more concerning details to the eye, though. At a balcony, several Odros soldiers are having a party, apparently. They’re accompanied by an officer – Marius cannot say it’s rank, though. All around, the colorful collection of people makes it difficult to devise the places’ true attributes. Further inside, lizards play dice against an entourage of half-men, as some light-handed dwarves “watch” the game. The servants going around the tables are distant and somehow inhuman, even though they always present a smile and a soft voice. In the back, beyond the balcony and the yelling dwarves that tend to it, a slender and tall woman, dressed in fine clothes, descends inconspicuous stairs, accompanied by a ferocious-looking dwarf bodyguard. As for the talk, it is very different than anything heard down at the port. Here, politics are discussed in reserved, but very audible, tones. Talk of miners is also predominant, and men seem to use joy as the wall that isolates severe and numerous frustrations. Things that adventurers would greet with ballads are spoken in fear: words of the cursed City of Caldora reappearing in the gray desert, just a day away from Maran; news of a wyvern swarm at the mountains; a serpent of fire descending from the mouth of the volcano… you name it. Every rumor is mentioned as an ill omen for the future.
The elves at the next table, for instance, are those more interested in such rumors. They seem to keep their voices low, but their gestures confirm their intentions. Marius believes they are scouting out, far away from their lands. A regional map confirms his suspicions, being studied between plates and bottles, strategically placed to try and hide its’ details. They repeatedly point out towards the desert, in an area now taken by odrosan fortifications. The name “Farinatta” is spoken over and over as they question his loyalty. Apparently he is the one that sold them the map.
As for the dwarves on the other side, the faces and complaints leave no doubt: they’ve come from mountain strands, pockets emptier than expected, and decided to spend their hard-earned gold in a relaxing banquet. Their table is covered in used cutlery and empty flagons as they share the pipes and mumble about fire elementals menacing the mining encampments up north. They go on about odrosan taxes and lack of protection, but seem otherwise uninterested in their surroundings.
[You can always roll the dice and link it to me when you decide to do a test. If anything stops you from doing it, I’ll say something by the time we collect the numbers! Also, I’ll keep DC secret when I see the need. In this situation, for example, I have to, since the response for Sense Motive is a Bluff or some other similar test. So you can assume the DC to be normal – 15 or 20 for these tests, mostly – or it might be that the other guy is actually trying to misguide you, giving a higher, or lesser, DC to your test. As for the tests, I’ve included them and described the scene according to the results. I also might have done some tests on my own end, trying to favor you guys a bit more, lol. Anyway, feel free to roll the tests you request, since that gives you guys a closer eye on the hole experience!]
Perception: 1d20+10 20
Sense Motive - Elves: 1d20+10 30
Sense Motive - Dwarves: 1d20+10 30
Sense Motive - Durkas: 1d20+10 13
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