D&D 5E Dark sun Times of change

It is midday the Blistering red sun blazes down on the streets of Tyr oddly enough this is the safest time to travel the streets as non of the warring factions want to be scrapping in the sun. You cross the bazaar merchants barking there trade undaunted by the heat hiding in the shade of their awnings, you ignore there cries as there is somewhere you must be.

Infront of you rises a stone wall around 10ft in height with a large bone door with to ornate Steel handles carved into the shape silt Skimmers, a Half-Giant stands infront of the doors level with the top if the wall, leaning on a long shaft of wood with some animals head lashed to the top its serrated teeth pointing to the sky as the guard rests upon it. Showing the Half-Giant your letter, not that he can read it but he recognizes the mark of hiss boss at the bottom standing aside he pushes open the door and ushers you in.

Not the first to arrive infact your possibly the last you look around the see a rag tag assortment of races carrying all manor of things, your patron is nowhere to be seen. After sizing up the inhabitants you notice the room itself.

Not entirely sure how you missed it before the courtyard is opulent. The inside of the walls have been plastered with something that has dried rp a smooth white finish, a large fountain stands in the center actual spraying water into the air, it must be tapping the central spring under Tyr, the light mist of the water appears to be spraying a small single leafed plant with a red and pink flower. Someone is doing well since Kalak's demise and showing it.

Upwind from the fountain, careful to not get even the smallest drop of the spray on his brassy-yellow chitin, stands a rather tall Thri-Kreen. As still as a statue, the only movement that betrays that the insectoid is alive is a subtle twitching of his long antennae and the occasional shifting of his large round eyes, as he carefully observes the movements of the dra (humanoids) in the opulent courtyard.

Tyr
Midday

Swathed in a white traveling wrap that left only her eyes free, Kimet studied the half giant guarding the entrance to the villa. She rested the stone head of her maul on the dusty street. She had fought such beasts before in the arena. They were strong and tough, but they bled and their skulls crushed just like anyone else.

Strong, calloused hands fished the parchment front the satchel at her hip and she pulled out the letter of invitation. She didn’t recognize the seal that had closed the scroll, but this was definitely the address given.

Picking up her pack and the weapon harness with her net and javelins, she settled her stone axes in their loops at her belt and put her maul over her shoulder as she approached. She showed the letter to the half-giant and he grunted and opened the door for her.

Inside was not what she expected. This homeowner was wealthy, and doing well in the new Tyr, unlike many. She scowled at the fountain. Such a waste of water would have been severely punished in her desert tribe.

Dropping her pack again, Kimet started to unwrap her robe since the courtyard was shaded by palm trees, revealing a hard, muscled body clad only in a leather and chitin bikini. It hardly looked like such armor would protect her, and it didn’t, really. But that was all part of the show. Tyrans gawked at her, and a few murmurs went through the crowd. Apparently some people recognized her from the arena.

Kimet tossed her long blonde hair and ran her fingers through it before stuffing her wrap into her pack again. Then she picked it up and sauntered further into the room. Now that she was ‘on’, she put a bit more sway in her step, emphasizing her enticing feminine features. She walked through the mist created by the fountain, the water feeling blessedly cool on her bronze skin. She licked the cool, life-giving liquid from her lips as she felt it drizzle between her breasts, making her blonde hair glitter golden in the sun. She found a position against the wall where she could watch her back and the door, as well as the other milling strangers in the courtyard. Idly she fingered the colored stones of the necklace at her throat, remembering the night Sholar had given it to her, when he asked her to marry him, under the full moon on the ridge above their tribe’s campsite. She remembered his embrace, the scent of him, the feel of his lips, even after all these years, all the brutalities she had endured since he was murdered and she was captured and sold into slavery.

Kimet tightened her fist, sharp nails drawing blood from the heel of her hand as she pushed those memories aside. They just brought pain. She couldn’t afford weakness. She dropped her hands to her belt, brushing one of the pouches there. Idly she undid the bone button closing it and pulled out her other valuable possession. This was a lot more valuable and rare, a single white glove that glittered in the sun like diamonds. It fit her perfectly now, like a second skin, though it had been on a much bigger hand when she had first taken it -- and the hand it was in. Some minor magic had resized it to fit, and also kept the white cloth immaculately clean, no matter how much blood and gore she got on it, and making it shimmer and glitter in the light. It had belonged to her former owner, and she had taken it when he was killed by desert raiders.

Kimet slipped the glove back into its pouch. She was free now. She wore it in the arena now when she needed to fight to make ends meet. But right now she was here for a job. If only the man who sent her the letter would show.

After Akylantes remained concealed in the market, watching the house's comings and goings for some times, he walked to the door. He was sent in reconnaissance to check the rendezvous place. Not far from the house, his Master was impatiently waiting for the signal. The Vorden's seal let him pass the guard without trouble and Akylantes entered the courtyard. A quick glance inside the house was enough for him to understand where he just entered. So, he turned around the Thri-kreen statue, sat in a corner watching the exits and start playing some groovy tune, the sound will certainly reach his Master's ears. It could even please the girl...

Chtckh'Chtckh the Thri-Kreen recognised Kimet from his days in the battle arena, but he assumed the dras (female humanoid) would not remember him. They had once fought in the same team challenge, but they had not crossed swords. For the most part, she had been used in the showier, later matches, while he had been in the meatier, crowded warm-ups.

Chtckh-Chtckh had been a frustration to his masters; a skilled fighter, but a poor showman. He stubbornly refused to stand out, winning matches to survive, but often too quickly, or purposefully using maneuvers which were hard for the audience to see. He had won just enough matches to have eventually been able to purchase his freedom. Unusually, his masters had allowed it, he being a questionable investment, just as he had intended.

Kimet, on the other hand, had wowed audiences with her beauty and strength. Chtckh'Chtckh admired her; not in the lewd way so many of the draj (male humanoids) did, but for her warrior prowess and her freedom of spirit.

Eevuu Farseeker approached the great wall and half-giant guard wearily. He liked not the walls and close buildings of this city. There were too many places for hidden danger to hide and everything was too confining. The thought to confining himself even more behind the walls or worst, inside a building made his skin crawl. But the promise of payment was enough for him to forgo his misgivings and at least listen to what was offered.

Once past the giant he noted the others here but before he could really react to them he spotted the fountain. His eyes looked upon it with open shock. He was not sure that there was this much water in the whole city and here it was just exposed to the elements where most of it was probably just evaporating! Such a waste was a crime against life!

Shaking his head in sadness he stopped looking at the fountain and instead focused on those other beings in the courtyard, while they no doubt looked upon him.

Eevuu Farseeker was a tall elven male with copper toned skin and long straight black hair bond with a simple leather string. He was wearing leathers the color of the desert and carried a bow and two bone short swords stealth on his back. His black eyes took in much and missed little as he scanned the others and the courtyard. While he was covered in dust from the desert his equipment looked well cared for and deadly.

Even over the din of the market Tarsin had no trouble picking out the tune of his bard's signal. He lingered a few minutes, as agreed beforehand; no need to broadcast his relationship with his spy by following him in directly. He pretended to study the wares of a clothing and textile merchant while keeping a close eye on the doorway, the half-giant guarding it, and the compound behind them. In truth Tarsin would have felt more at home shopping here than skulking about for a job. Despite the intervening years since his patron's death, Tarsin remembered what it was to be accustomed to a certain lifestyle. He still believed that it was his due to be wearing fineries such as he currently held in his hands. He ignored the wary eyes of the shopkeeper, set down the silk tunic he had been halfheartedly examining, and made his way, without undue haste, to his real destination.

Although he and Akylanthes had of course read the letter that brought them here, Tarsin nevertheless held it upside-down to the half-giant guarding the gate. No sense announcing his literacy, even as unlikely as the half-giant was to pick up on it. Tarsin had learned how to be cautious around the powerful of Tyr. The half-giant merely grunted, stepped aside, and pushed the door open enough for Tarsin to enter, avoiding, of course, the steel door handles, which glowed almost red they were so hot from the midday sun. Tarsin pulled his shabby linen cloak and hood about him, hiding his identity and his clothes from the notice of idle onlookers. He still dressed like a templar as much as possible, and today his cloak hid finer garments than anything on the merchant stalls outside. It reminded him of what he had lost, and of what he would yet reclaim.

He entered the courtyard and heard the door shut with a thud behind him. Tarsin had no trouble keeping himself from looking in Akylanthes' direction, as he was only vaguely aware of the several people in the courtyard with him. He was very aware, however, of the fountain in its center. He tried to hide the malice that rose in him as he witnessed that display of opulence. As if the walled compound and gate guard were not enough, this was the clearest proof that someone was doing very well under the current leadership in Tyr, and was showing off the fact in the loudest way possible. Tarsin gritted his teeth and took up a place in the shade, contemplating what he and his patron would do to infidels like this when their time came.

Tyr/Villa
Midday

Kimet glanced over, seeing a minstrel settled into a corner playing a kalimba. He wasn’t bad. She was familiar enough with such persons. They often entertained the crowds between matches in the arena, or preceded her to sing her praises as she entered the sands.

She turned her attention to the thri-kreen standing motionless in the corner. She’d met many of their kind in the deserts when she was younger, fewer in the city, and most of those in the arena like her. They were tough opponents. This one looked vaguely familiar, but then the strange, insectoid appearance made it difficult for her to distinguish them.

An elven man entered, a desert dweller by the look of him, as most elves were. Kimet instinctively sized him up. Elves were notoriously untrustworthy, she had learned from her village elders. Trade with them, but always keep one hand on your purse. This one did not appear to be of the wandering traders, though, with his dusty leathers and his bone swords.

A hooded and cloaked man entered next. It was hard to make out his features. Kimet was instantly wary and stood a little straighter as she leaned on her maul. He would bear watching, just in case.

She licked her full lips again, tasting the cool, refreshing fountain mist that beaded on her bronze skin and trickled between her breasts. As wasteful as it was, she could definitely see the appeal of such a device in the heat of Athas’ red sun.

Hunger.

Hunger had rocked him to sleep, and hunger gnawed his guts into wakefulness.

He lay still for a while, allowing the day's heat to soak into his aching bones. Lay still, in fact, until a sharp kick to the ribs shot more pain through his form.

"Get out of here, useless wretch!" cawed a crone's voice. He opened his eyes in time to see and block, with the lift of a thick forearm, the second kick from the crone's servant.

"I will go," he growled. "But touch me again, and you will precede me to the clearing at the end of the path."

He rose, and rose, and rose, towering above the ragged, abandoned-looking merchant's stall where he had taken refuge earlier. He turned his gaze to the sky and nodded, seeing that the time of the meeting had almost come. He hefted his club, with the sharpened rib bones of his fallen enemies sunk into its head, and shambled towards the walled estate.

He was Atroclos the Twice-Orphaned, and he would have his revenge on those who had betrayed and slaughtered his master. But in the meantime, he was hungry, and this was the promise of work. He showed the letter to the guard, who was older and even bigger than Atroclos. The guard grunted and shoved open the door, and Atroclos passed through it, bumping the guard in the chest with his shoulder as he passed. They stared at one another for a moment, then the guard returned to his post.

The half-giant followed the music into the courtyard, his face towards the ground. Once he would have entered such a manor with pride, wearing the rich livery of his master that allowed him to carry himself with pride in the face of any onlookers. Now he was lowered to bullying doorservants.

Not forever, though. Not forever.