Welcome to the Halmae (updated 2/27/07)

[spyscribe]

Part the Very Sixteenth
In which: Dar Aego doesn’t get a second chance to make a first impression.
(as recorded by Fajitas)

The trip to Dar Aego is an uneventful week on the road.

Thatch, Hue, and Reyu have agreed to go on retainer to the Universal Law Caucus of Dar Pykos. They will be paid 10 gold per week for their services to the Caucus. Cyrus, who already has allegiance to a Kettenite sect, is unable to accept the offer. However, he hates leaving a job half-done, and is just as willing as the others to aid in rescuing the unjustly enslaved individuals.

The group has been given instructions by the Caucus to track down five people and purchase their freedom. In addition to a list of their names, the party has been given 1,000 gold. Their five objectives were sold for a total of 750 gold, so the party has plenty of additional funds for unexpected expenses. Unfortunately, the Caucus has little information beyond their names. What happened to them after they were sold to Dar Aego is unknown.

“Um. Remind me again why we have to buy them out of slavery?” Thatch asks, as he rides on Bob alongside the others, who ride in the mule-drawn cart given to them by the Caucus. “If they were enslaved illegally, shouldn’t they just be free?”

“Yes,” Anvil responds, “but the wrongdoing in this matter is solely on the part of Count Missola. Those who purchased the slaves in Dar Aego had no idea they were buying illegal slaves. An offer of fair recompense for their expenses should help smooth the process.”

“It doesn’t seem fair that the Caucus should have to pay for it,” Thatch grumbles.

“They didn’t,” Anvil reminds him.

The money actually came from the Missola estate. The estate is now under the control of the Count’s son Ess, who, in addition to offering the funds to purchase the wrongly enslaved people, has volunteered to recompense them for the work they have done during their bondage.

Despite this generosity, Ess is a slimy, weasely, hedonistic young man. He had to be awakened at 3 in the afternoon when the party arrived to pick up the gold. He made their skin crawl, but he did give them the money. In addition, he provided them with the slaves’ last known location. They were sold to one of the major slave houses in Dar Aego: the House of al-Assal. Ess has sent a letter to the proprietor, Adar al-Assal, informing him of the situation and telling him to expect the party.

It is with some degree of anticipation that the party first sets eyes on the high walls of Dar Aego. They shine brilliant white in the morning sun. Indeed, as the party gets closer, they can see that the walls are made entirely from white marble!

“How… solid,” Reyu comments. “Shall we approach?”

They follow the main road towards the city gates.

“Um… I can’t help but notice,” Thatch says, “that we’re the only cart on this road.”

Indeed they are. As they approach the city, they note that the other vehicles heading toward the main gate are carriages. All are covered, the passengers out of sight. All are fairly ornate. Almost all are trimmed with gold, many are adorned with jewels, and one slow moving one even seems to have solid gold wheels. In comparison, the party looks quite underdressed.

Still they press on towards the gate. There is a brief wait, as the gate guards clear each carriage for entry. The next carriage driver over spares a moment to sniff down his nose at them.

Eventually, the party reaches the front of the line. Through the gate, they catch a glimpse of the city. The buildings are built of shining marble. Trees and fountains line the stone-paved street. At a glance, the architecture appears to put even the finest buildings in Dar Pykos to shame.

But before they can enter, they are stopped by a gate guard. He is dressed in a well-sculpted breastplate and short leather skirt. Both are trimmed in gold. The guard nearly double-takes when he sees them, and says, “What’s this? The back gate is for shipping. Turn that thing around!”

There are momentary puzzled looks, and Hue is the first to speak up. “Oh, we’re not shipping!” he says.

The guard looks skeptical. “Really? Then what is your business here?”

“We’re here to buy slaves!”

The guard looks even more skeptical. Fortunately, Anvil steps in before Hue tries again. “We are on a mission for Kettenek. Justice demands we enter this city.”

“Well you’ll do it by the back gate.” The guard pauses a moment. “Unless, of course, you have the proper documentation.”

“What documentation would that be?” Anvil asks.

“Oh, depends. A letter of introduction. Authorization papers. Something like that perhaps.”

“Oh! You mean like a bribe?” Hue says.

The guard looks slightly put out by Hue’s directness. “Let’s just say it’s always good to have the right people on your side in Dar Aego.”

“I have many of the right people on my side,” Anvil says, brandishing a roll of parchment given to him by Tenacious. It is a letter of introduction to the head of the Universal Law Caucus in Dar Aego. “This letter of introduction was given to me by the Temple of Justice in Dar Pykos. They are on my side.”

That seems to make up the guard’s mind. “Uh-huh,” he says. “Church business uses the back gate. Now move!” He turns his attention to the next cart.

There is a pause. “Um,” Thatch says, speaking for everyone.

So they turn the cart around and head for the back gate.

“Psst!” Hue loudly whispers to Anvil. “I think he was just looking for a bribe.”

“I know,” Anvil responds. “I did not wish to give him the satisfaction.”

The road leading around the city is dusty and ill-used and, as they reach the rear, they see that there is another road altogether, leading toward an entrance in back. A string of wagons and carts work their way towards it.

The party joins the line, and is soon admitted to Dar Aego. It is nothing like they expect.

The view from the back entrance is completely different from what they had seen at the front. From here, Dar Aego is a shanty-town, filled with ramshackle wooden buildings. It would be charitable to call the streets dirt, as they are actually mud. There is nothing green or growing here, and the air stinks of too many people crowded into too small a space.

“But… but…” Thatch says. “Where’s the marble? Where’re the fountains?”

“Probably behind that wall,” Cyrus says, nodding towards the second wall before them, seemingly a sister to the exterior wall. It is just as high as that one, but this wall is made of stone, not marble, and in ill repair. In fact, when they look behind them, they discover that from the inside, even the outer wall is made of rough stone. The marble is only an external façade.

Dar Aego is built like a donut. There are two great concentric walls. The inner wall surrounds the large center of the city-state, where the wealthy citizens live. Between the two walls is the small, cramped Outer City. This is where everyone else lives. The main gates of the city open in such a way as to hide the outer city from view.

“But why do the wealthy get the greater area? Surely there must be far fewer of them,” Reyu says, trying to work this out in her mind.

“Surely,” Cyrus agrees darkly.

Reyu’s opinion of humanity drops another notch.

The group makes their way through the Outer City. Their inquiries as to how to pass into the Inner City are eventually answered by an Alirrian priestess, caring for the sick here. By the smell and sound of things, she has her work cut out for her.

There is a small, well-guarded gate that leads from the Outer City to the Inner. Only those with work permits are permitted through. Anvil reluctantly slips one of the guards 10 gold, and they are admitted to the Inner City of Dar Aego.

The change is striking. The roads are wide and paved. Trees and parks dot the landscape. The buildings gleam, full of columns and arches and statues. Each is bigger and more ornate than the next. In fact, many of then look flat out ridiculous in their attempts to be grander and richer than the others. It is opulence run amok. And the people are worst of all.

They are mostly dressed in bright, toga-like robes. It is hotter in Dar Aego than Dar Pykos, thus the people wear lighter fabric, and generally more revealing cuts. There is no dominant color among the outfits. Indeed, in many cases, there is no color coordination at all. People wear multiple clashing colors at once, the better to be noticed. They also wear much jewelry. Earings, necklaces, and headdresses made of gold, silver, and gems. One woman actually seems to be wearing a piece that is somehow simultaneously an earring, necklace, and headdress. It is all Thatch can do not to stare openly.

The slaves of Dar Aego are fairly plentiful, and easy to pick out. They are the only people wearing white, and their outfits are generally skimpier than those of their masters. Many have iron collars about their necks. They do not make eye-contact with anyone, and the free Aegosians do not seem to notice them.

Apart from slaves, the party are virtually the only people walking on the street. Free Aegosians ride in open carriages for all to see, except those who are carried on divans, borne by slaves. One divan passes with a single person on it, carried by nearly 20 slaves.

“Isn’t that a bit much?” Thatch asks in a quiet voice.

“Depends on how many slaves carry your neighbor’s chair,” Cyrus says.

“We should perhaps not… tarry here,” Reyu says. “We seem to be attracting attention.” Indeed, many of the people passing by have been staring at them. Few of the stares are friendly. “Let us find this… House of al-Assal.”

The party waylays a slave and asks for directions to the House of al-Assal. The slave obliges, though he stammers as he speaks to them. He seems quite relieved to take his leave, and quickly walks away.

“Y’know,” Thatch says, “I don’t think I like this place.”

[Harp]

So are we getting pretty close to Lira's first appearance?

[spyscribe]

Originally posted by Harp
So are we getting pretty close to Lira's first appearance?

Pretty close, although not imminently. Remember, by the time the party meets Lira, they only have one more slave to free.

However, they should be even closer on Thursday.

Oh, and on an unrelated note, the Mustelid Anti-Defamation League has registered a protest with the management regarding the characterization of Ess Missola as "weasely."

Their statement has been appended below:

originally posted by M.A.D.L.
Yeah... he wishes he was weasely. You know what I'm saying Boss?

[spyscribe]

Part the Very Seventeenth
In which: readers may judge for themselves the nature of al-Assal’s establishment.
(as recorded by Fajitas)

The House of al-Assal, much to the party’s surprise, is actually tasteful. It is a large building with an open courtyard in the center, and also boasts extensive grounds outside the house itself—hidden from view by a great hedge growing around the property.

The party follows the walkway to the entrance, where a well-groomed slave waits patiently. He offers to inform the Master of the House of the party’s arrival, and gestures them inside.

The entry hall is a spacious, marble room. Elaborate and tasteful mosaics are splayed on the walls. A pair of slaves plays delicate music in one corner. There are couches and divans a plenty, upon which a number of patrons lounge. Servants bring them plates of fruit. The air is thick with a perfumed smell.

“This seems a fine change from the bulk of the city,” Anvil remarks.

“Look again,” Cyrus says, and points to the alcoves.

Along the walls at regular intervals are a series of alcoves. In each are… well, people. Men and women, clad in scanty, flimsy gauze that leaves little to the imagination but gives it quite a kick-start. They sit very still, three or four to an alcove.

“What are they…” Thatch begins, but trails off as a well-dressed man who has been perusing the alcoves stops. He takes the hand of one of the women, who stands up and follows him. Another slave gestures them through a doorway and out of sight.

Indeed, all around the room, men and women select people from the alcoves and lead them towards the back.

“Um,” Thatch says. “Um. Um um. Um.”

“Indeed,” Reyu says, glancing around. She notes with outrage that one alcove contains four elves.

Thatch positively goggles. Anvil sidles up next to him. “It may be best not to look around.”

“Is that a dwarf?” Thatch whispers.

“Steady, lad,” Cyrus says.

“Gosh! Whaddaya think of this town now?” Hue asks.

A figure emerges from the back, a well-tanned man with a shaven head. He is dressed in a fine, red wraparound robe, decorated with beads and sequins. His approaches the party and bows with a deep flourish. “Welcome, weary travelers, to the House of al-Assal,” he says, steepling his long fingers, “the finest pleasure palace in all the Halmae. I am Adar al-Assal, and I am at your service.” He bows again.

“Pleasure palace,” Cyrus says. “I thought this was a slave house.”

“And so it is,” al-Assal answers smoothly. The man oozes a well-practiced charm; it’s an obvious affectation, but he’s extremely good at it. “A pleasure palace, a slave house, a house of chance, a place of rest, and the finest dining in Dar Aego. All this and more. We cater to every whim and need, every dream and desire. We can stimulate the body or the mind, and provide any diversion you should seek. This, my friends, is the House of al-Assal.”

“Um,” Thatch says.

“You have elves here,” Reyu says coldly.

“Indeed, we do. Or dwarves, if that is your pleasure. Alas, due to their rarity, female dwarves are available only by appointment,” he adds apologetically. “We do cater to all tastes.” His eye falls on Hue. “Now you, my small friend, I’m quite sure a unique individual like yourself would be… very popular in this establishment. Would you perhaps consider an offer? Not as a slave, of course, simply a contracted hire.”

“Really? Gosh,” Hue says, and he actually considers it for a moment before noticing the incredulous looks the rest of the party is giving him. Even the Ferret doesn’t look like he can find an angle on this one. “Uhh, I think I have to pass,” Hue says, sheepishly.

“Ah well. The offer is open, any time you change your mind,” al-Assal sighs. “Now, on to business. Unless, of course, there is anything you desire after your long journey? A wash? A massage? A refreshing drink, perhaps, or some other concoction? You will find no fresher Blackroot distillate within the city walls.”

“No, thanks,” everyone responds, though Thatch lags half a beat behind the others.

Al-Assal bows again, smiling. “Very well, then. To business. I was, of course, shocked to hear of these terrible circumstances. I am, quite frankly, appalled to have played even so small and unwitting a part in it. We at the House of al-Assal hold ourselves to the strictest of standards.”

“No doubt,” Anvil says.

“I have here,” al-Assal continues, presenting Anvil with a rolled up parchment from his robes, “the sales records for the individuals you seek. They include the names and last known addresses of each of the buyers. It should be quite easy for you to track them down from there.” Al-Assal looks rather apologetic. “I do hope the young lady is all right. She had quite an… independent streak. I fear that rather extreme efforts were required to instruct her on her proper place. You will extend my sincerest apologies, won’t you?”

No one really knows how to answer that. Hue says, “Sure!” but no one else even tries.

“Then you have my gratitude,” al-Assal says with another bow. “And now, if there is anything else you require? The House of al-Assal is open to you. You are welcome to stay here as my guests, free of charge, for the duration of your visit to our city. You will find the other accommodations in town more expensive and less… accommodating.”

Thatch’s eyes bug, but Anvil says, “Thank you, but we have contacts at the Temple of Justice. They will provide us with lodgings.”

“As you wish,” al-Assal says. The smile has never left his face for an instant. “If there is anything else I can do for you during your time here, you have but to ask.” With a final bow, al-Assal backs away and leaves the entry hall.

“Do we, um, have to stay at the Temple?” Thatch asks in a small voice.

“Yes,” several party members inform him, and, grasping Thatch firmly by the elbows, they exit the House of al-Assal.

[Bad Monkey Jeff]

Originally posted by Fajitas
Hue, alas, will not be sold into slavery for being the first person to *actually* steal from Count Missola. Though it's an awfully funny idea.

Bwah! It all comes together! Now I understand why Hue was so nervous when he produced those potions a few sessions down the road! I'm pretty sure Anvil never found out about their stolen nature, even when we eventually used them. And of course, Thatch and Reyu weren't particularly interested in making sure Ketennek's justice was delivered upon him for that particular crime...

[spyscribe]

Part the Very Eighteenth
In which: Justice gets a new look.
(as recorded by Fajitas)

Anvil obtains directions to the Aegosian Temple of Justice and the group makes their way there. The wealthy Aegosians that pass them on the street universally give them disdainful looks, doing little to improve the party’s overall impression of the place.

The Temple itself is constructed of white marble, brilliant and elaborate. It is a far cry from the stern and austere building in Dar Pykos.

“Who is it we are meeting here?” Reyu asks.

“I have been given a letter of introduction to Immobile the Just, the head of the Universal Law Caucus here in Dar Aego. No doubt he will put their resources at our disposal,” Anvil replies.

Anvil flags down a temple acolyte and asks to be led to Immobile. The acolyte takes the party to an office. “Come in,” says a voice from inside, and they do. The man behind the desk is young and clean-shaven. His robes, though similar in design to Anvil’s, are of a much finer fabric and a cut more adapted to the style of Dar Aego. They also indicate that he is merely a Third Order Justicar. “Yes?” the man asks.

Anvil steps forward, slightly confused. “I am here to see Immobile the Just,” he says.

“That’s me,” the man responds.

“You head the Universal Law Caucus here in Dar Aego?” Anvil asks, surprised.

Immobile immediately jumps out of his seat and hurries to close the door. “I do,” he says. “Who are you, and how do you know that?”

Anvil introduces himself and the others, and presents Immobile with the letter of introduction. Immobile reads it twice before he relaxes. “Forgive my paranoia,” he says. “The Caucus is not exactly popular here in Dar Aego. We operate more or less underground.”

“I did not mean to alarm you. I was merely surprised to find a Third Order as head of the Caucus,” Anvil replies.

“As I said, the Caucus isn’t very popular here. It’s not as though we’re arguing that Aegosian law should become the universal standard. Now,” he says, indicating the letter, “clearly your mission here is a very important one. Unfortunately, there isn’t a lot I can offer you. Our resources are few.”

“Do you have someone who knows their way around?” Hue asks. “I keep having to ask people, and they all stare at me funny when I do.”

“They stare at you funny when you don’t,” Thatch mutters under his breath.

“A guide? Yes, that I think I can spare,” Immobile says. He opens the door and snaps for an acolyte. “Have Essela come see me,” he commands. The acolyte runs off. “Now,” Immobile continues, “as to people staring at you... that’s a harder issue. You, all of you, do rather stick out. People here tend to look down on… um…”

“Outsiders?” Anvil offers.

“The poor,” Immobile finishes. “Or at least people less well off than themselves. You see it everywhere here, in the houses, the carriages, the clothes. Appearances mean a lot in Dar Aego, and yours say you don’t belong here.”

“Is that all? We could look like we fit in easy,” Hue says, and begins to cast. A small fog appears around him and coalesces into the image of an Aegosian robe, complete with a gold headdress covered in dangling bells. Or, rather, it coalesces into cheap imitation thereof. The robes appear to have been stitched by someone who doesn’t know how to sew, and the headdress seems to have been dragged behind a carriage for some distance. “See,” Hue says, inordinately proud.

“Um. Don’t bells usually make noise?” Thatch asks.

“Perhaps,” Reyu interrupts, “it would be easier if we were simply to purchase Aegosian robes. If it will ease our dealings with people here, it seems worth the expense.”

“It will certainly ease your dealings here,” Immobile says. “I can provide Justicar robes for Anvil. I can send an acolyte to purchase clothing for the rest of you, though I warn you they are not likely to be cheap.”

“We only require 750 gold to buy back all the slaves,” Anvil says. “The Caucus has provided us with 1000.”

“990, after what you slipped the gate guards,” Cyrus points out.

“Nonetheless, this seems a reasonable expense.”

The others agree, and Immobile sends his acolyte. In the end, the plainest of Aegosian robes costs the party 20 gold each. “910,” Cyrus says.

Another acolyte soon returns with the party’s guide, Essela. She is a member of the Order of Law, an order of monks attached to the Justicars who serve as part clerks, part bailiffs. Essela works for Immobile, and is also a member of the Caucus.

“Where to first?” she asks dryly.

The party pauses to consider this question, and Anvil produces the list the party has been given of wrongly enslaved Pykosian citizens:

1) Colin Meadowson- a farmer from outside Dar Pykos. He had been on his way to market six months ago when he was arrested. Stolen goods belonging to Missola were found in his cart. He was sold as an unskilled laborer for 100 gold to the LeGrande plantation, outside of Dar Aego.

2) Amelia Morrin- a 16-year old girl. She had just arrived in Dar Pykos to attend the Mages Academy. She was arrested in the Market five months ago, accused of stealing the Count’s pouch. Due to her literacy and intellect, she was sold for 250 gold to the Morjene estate.

3) Dennis (last name unknown)- a petty criminal from the streets of Dar Pykos. He was sentenced four months ago, despite his claims of innocence, for assaulting Ess Missola just outside the Missola estate. Dennis was sold as a household slave to the Lowess estate, for 100 gold.

4) Andrew (last name unknown)- also a thug from Dar Pykos. Sentenced for the same assault on Ess as Dennis (the two were allegedly in it together). Andrew was sold as an unskilled laborer for 100 gold to a marble quarry outside of the city.

5) Henrik Cotton- a former Watchman from Dar Pykos, who was busted for drinking on the job. He was arrested two months ago, allegedly for a break-in at the Missola estate. Due to his excellent physical condition, he was sold to the city as a municipal laborer for 200 gold.

“Colin and Andrew are both outside of the city,” Reyu notes. “It would be more… convenient… to deal with those here first, then leave to retrieve the others.”

“The quarry is several hours north of the city,” Essela pipes up. “The plantation is several hours west. The city makes as good a place as any to stop between them.”

“Still, it seems to me we should deal with those nearer sooner,” Reyu responds.

“Um, wasn’t al-Assal a little concerned about the girl?” Thatch asks. “Maybe we should get her first, then go to whoever’s closest.”

All agree that this seems like the best plan. And so, Essela leads them through the city to the Morjene estate.

[Piratecat]

Why do I think that this can only end in tears?

[Harp]

OK, I'll bite...'Halmae' is Greek for what?

[Fajitas]

Originally posted by Harp
OK, I'll bite...'Halmae' is Greek for what?

Salt-water, or brine. Technically, it's "halme," but I liked the look of it with an "ae" better.

The Halmae is the name of both the large, Mediterranean-like sea at the center of the gameworld (or at least at the center of the map), as well as the lands that surround that sea. Originally, the campaign was going to be set in the bronze-age, which is why the main "kingdom" is a Greek-like confederation of city-states.

Ultimately, both my players and I decided that to do a bronze-age game right would require too much research and mechanics mucking (I mean, really, what is plate mail in the Bronze Age?) to be worth it, thus I changed the time period to a more standard D&D flavor, but left the setting largely intact.

That said, I was still looking for a name for the world, and wanted something Greekish that meant "life-blood" or "Sea of Life". So I asked Orichalcum, and "Halmae" was the best word she came up with.

So, yes. The Halmae. Salt-water or brine. As Orichalcum pointed out, the campaign might just as well be called "Welcome to the Pickle Juice".

[Fajitas]

Originally posted by Piratecat
Why do I think that this can only end in tears?

Please select your response from the following options:

1) Because you are perceptive.

2) Lucky guess.

3) Because, as an experienced GM, you know that all the best adventures end in tears

4) Because you've read the end of this adventure at the beginning of this thread, and know how it ends.

5) Because tears are, by definition, halmae (see above post).

If you do not have a touch-tone browser, you may wait here and our next available service representative will be with you shortly.

[spyscribe]

Part the Very Nineteenth:
In which: Anvil becomes more adept at greasing the wheels of Justice
(as recorded by Fajitas)

Much to their surprise, the party discovers that they receive fewer disdainful looks now that they are dressed as locals. In fact, most Aegosians now ignore them.

“I find it… puzzling that their attitudes should change,” Reyu says. “These robes are not very fine. Surely we do not look any more wealthy in them than in our own clothing.”

“You don’t,” Essela says. “But now you look like poor Aegosians, not poor strangers. Poor Aegosians get ignored. Poor strangers get scorned.”

There is a pause. “I agree with Thatch. I do not like this place,” Reyu finally replies.

The party arrives at the Morjene estate. “We must speak to your master,” Anvil informs the guard at the gate. “It is an urgent matter of Justice.”

They are hurried into a sitting room of limited excess (by Aegosian standards, anyway). Eventually, a bored looking man arrives. “My name is Hassel. I am the chamberlain here. What is your business?”

“We are looking for a slave by the name of Amelia Morren,” Anvil says. “She has been wrongfully sentenced to slavery, and we have come to buy her freedom.”

Hassel gets a puzzled look on his face. “Amelia… Amelia… I do not believe we have any slave here by that name.”

The party exchange worried looks. “Maybe something happened to her.” Thatch says.

“Have you ever had a slave by that name?” Reyu asks Hassel.

“Not that I can recall,” Hassel answers.

“I do not understand. We were told that this girl was sold to the Morjene estate. How can this be if you do not have her?” Anvil asks.

Sudden understanding dawns on Hassel’s face. “Ahhhhh,” he says. “But this is not the Morjene estate.” All eyes turn to Essela full of blame, but she looks as surprised as any of them. “That is, not anymore,” Hassel adds. “It is now the Sharma estate. My master purchased these grounds after Lady Morjene’s untimely demise.”

“What of her slaves?” Cyrus asks.

“We did not purchase any,” Hassel says. “Though I presume they were sold at auction, as was the rest of her property. She left no heirs.”

“Who handled the auction?” Anvil asks.

“I believe the Masheri House of Barter won the auction contract from the authorities. I’m sure they have records.”

So Essela leads them to the House of Barter. Though the façade is almost as elegant as the House of al-Assal, the interior is not. This is far more of a business building. Or, at least, far more of a struggling business. Rolls of parchment and boxes filled with random contents are piled everywhere. A number of officious looking people bustle about, all far too busy to pay attention to the party.

They stand around, waiting to be noticed. Finally, Hue shouts out, “Hey!!”

A tired looking middle-aged man, startled by the sudden shout, turns to glare at the party. “May I be of service?” he asks, in the tone of voice usually reserved for saying, “Go away and leave me alone.”

Anvil explains the predicament and offers Amelia’s name. “Justice demands that we locate her,” he finishes.

The man nods, giving no indication that he actually cares in the slightest, and says, “Well, we sell a lot of slaves, and we keep a lot of records. I’ll see what I can do, but it could take weeks to find the right one.”

“Weeks!” says Thatch. “We don’t have weeks.”

The man turns to Thatch, completely deadpan. “Sometimes it just takes time to get things done. It is a pity, but what can be done?”

“Oh, hey!” Hue blurts out. “I’ll bet he wants a-- oww!”

“Sorry,” Cyrus murmurs, as he removes his heel from Hue’s toes.

Anvil pulls 10 gold from his pouch. “Kettenek’s Justice demands she be found as soon as possible,” he says, handing over the coins.

“I’ll send word tomorrow,” the man replies.

“I really do not like this place,” Anvil says, as they make their way out of the House of Barter.

“900,” Cyrus replies.

************

As the municipal slave pens are closer to the House of Barter than the Lowess estate, they decide to go after Henrik, the ex-Watchman next. Essela leads them towards the edge of the city, towards an elaborate marble building. Emerging from either sides of the building is a high stone wall, which surrounds a large, unseen area. Several guards patrol atop the wall, and the reek of unwashed bodies and human refuse faintly wafts over it.

They enter the building and wander the halls until they find a door marked Slave Purchases. They enter. This time, Anvil does not wait to be noticed. He walks up to the first person he sees, a haughty looking woman, and says, “We are looking for a municipal slave named Henrik Cotton. Kettenek has tasked us with purchasing his freedom. Will you tell us where he can be found?” And he immediately hands her five gold pieces.

The woman looks at Anvil, surprised by his directness, then at the coins. “I don’t know where he can be found. I imagine he’s out in the city working at this time of day.”

“Then if you could tell us where, we would be most appreciative,” Anvil responds, and hands her another five gold.

“I’ll be right back,” she says with a smile, and she vanishes into a side room.

Hue pats Anvil on the back... of his knee. “See! You’re getting the hang of it.”

“890,” Cyrus says.

Roughly twenty minutes pass before the woman returns. “You’re in luck,” she says. “He’s not working today. He’s here at the pens.”

“I am… surprised,” Reyu says. “I did not think you would permit your slaves a day of rest.”

“We don’t,” the woman responds, “but condemned slaves aren’t put to work.”

to be continued...

[Harp]

This story hour just has the most clever (and frustrating) cliff hangers. Excellent work.

[porthos]

Originally posted by Fajitas

So, yes. The Halmae. Salt-water or brine. As Orichalcum pointed out, the campaign might just as well be called "Welcome to the Pickle Juice".

Would it be safe to assume that the SH title is also a reference to the very first Buffy episode, "Welcome to the Hellmouth"?

Fantastic Story Hour, by the way...

[Fajitas]

Originally posted by porthos
Would it be safe to assume that the SH title is also a reference to the very first Buffy episode, "Welcome to the Hellmouth"?

>sigh<

So, I'm probably going to lose geek points for admitting this, but, no.

Well, not on my part, at any rate.

You see, the world information packet that I wrote for my players began with the words "Welcome to the Halmae" in big letters at the top. It seemed like a good opening line (which may, in fact, have been a subconscious connection with the Buffy title. I'm honestly not sure). I didn't think anything more of it, and certainly never thought of it as a title for the campaign.

Then spyscribe needed a name for the Story Hour. I think that she thought it was an intentional Buffy reference, 'cause I'm a freakish fan, so she went with it. It was only after that that I noticed the connection.

So that's the real story. Not intentional on my part, but I think it was intentional on spyscribe's, who thought it was intentional on mine.

Redistribute geek points as you feel appropriate.

Glad you're enjoying, porthos.

[spyscribe]

Originally posted by Fajitas

So that's the real story. Not intentional on my part, but I think it was intentional on spyscribe's, who thought it was intentional on mine.

Well, I don't remember the exact chronology, but either I wasn't aware of the pun when I named the story hour, or if I did, I knew it wasn't intentional.

Mainly, because when my roommate pointed it out to me I immediately called Fajitas up saying, "Okay, I'm a dummy, I just noticed the Buffy reference."

And he said, "Huh?"

Fajitas had mentioned not being wild about it as a campaign name, but before springing the surprise I talked to WisdomLikeSilence, and neither of us could come up with anything better to call the story hour, so that was it.

At one point, I think I figured that if we had been playing in the campain for more than a year before anyone noticed, surely no one casually reading would make the association...

Best laid plans.

[Fajitas]

Originally posted by spyscribe
Mainly, because when my roommate pointed it out to me I immediately called Fajitas up saying, "Okay, I'm a dummy, I just noticed the Buffy reference."

And he said, "Huh?"

Ahh, yes. That's how it happened. Now I remember. That was really quite funny.

So, porthos, apparently neither of us is as clever as you think we are.

Y'know, looking back over this explanation, it's pretty clear I should have just said "yes" when you asked at the beginning.

>cough, cough<

Originally posted by porthos
Would it be safe to assume that the SH title is also a reference to the very first Buffy episode, "Welcome to the Hellmouth"?

Yes. Absolutely. Spyscribe and I collaborated for long, hard hours on that. Glad you enjoy it.

[spyscribe]

Part the Very Twentieth:
In which: the party’s accountant is not pleased
(as recorded by Fajitas)

There is a shocked pause. “Condemned?” Anvil says.

“Yes. It turns out your slave is something of a troublemaker. He attacked his overseer two days ago. Normally, that would just warrant a beating, but it seems the overseer took it personally. He wants him executed.”

“But, but, but he was never supposed to be enslaved at all,” Thatch protests. “He’s an innocent man.”

“We are prepared to recompense the city for his purchase and remove him from this place forever. There is no need to execute him,” Anvil says.

“I’m sorry,” the woman says. “Only the overseer in question can drop the charges. I can’t sell you a condemned slave.”

Anvil heaves a weary sigh. “Very well. Can you give us the name of the overseer?”

************

“Drop the charges? On that rat dung? Never.”

Nytiss, the overseer, is a burly man whose hand never leaves his whip and whose eyes never leave his charges. He lords over a chain-gang of ten men who are repaving a section of street. From time to time, he cracks his whip on the back of the nearest slave. As near as the party can tell, there is no reason for him to do this.

Anvil speaks in tones of carefully controlled patience. “We have explained to you the situation,” he says. “Surely you can see Justice demands this man be freed.”

“Justice?” Nytiss scoffs, spitting on the ground. “Justice’d be hangin’ him in a cage ‘til he dies of thirst for all the rest of these scum to see.” He cracks his whip again.

“Isn’t that, um, a bit extreme?” Thatch says.

“Yeah!” Hue chimes in. “Why’ve you got such a big stick in your ass?”

Nytiss actually turns to glare at Hue, who Cyrus very calmly grabs by the shoulder and thrusts out of sight behind him, ignoring the muffled “Hey! I was just asking!”

Nytiss spits again as he sizes up the party. “You don’t let slaves turn on their masters. Any slave who does is no use to nobody. And any slave who sees another get away with it, ain’t gonna be much use for long. I been workin’ slaves since before that mule of yours…” he indicates Thatch “… could wipe his ass, and I ain’t never had so much as a word of backtalk. Not ‘til that bucket of horse urine struck me. And by Ehkt’s balls, I’ll see him gutted for it.” He turns back to watch his slaves and crack his whip.

The party shoots each other disgusted looks, but it seems they are at an impasse. Hue whispers a little too loudly, “Offer him money!”

“He does not seem… inclined… to deal,” Reyu says.

“You never know ‘til you try,” Hue responds, nodding sagely. The Ferret also nods knowingly.

Anvil shrugs. Turning to Nytiss, he says casually “And there is nothing that might induce you to change your mind.” His hand strays to his pouch, which he very meaningfully jingles.

Nytiss looks back over at him. Then down at the pouch. Then back at his slaves. Then back at the pouch. He seems quite torn. Finally, he motions Anvil over to the side, a few steps further away from the slaves. Anvil follows him.

“Tell you what,” Nytiss says. “You want him, you buy him from me. Pay me his price, all 200 gold, and I drop the charges.”

“It was my belief that only the city could sell us a municipal slave,” Anvil says.

“Oh, you’ll have to pay them, too. But all the gold in the world won’t do you no good if you don’t meet my fee first.” Nytiss smiles as he says this.

“400 gold for one slave?” Anvil says. “Surely there is room to negotiate.”

“There was,” Nytiss answers. “We did. I’ll drop the charges for 200 gold. That’s negotiated.”

Anvil is hesitant. If they pay 400 gold for Henrik, they will not have enough left to purchase all the other slaves from freedom. Carefully he says, “I must discuss this with my companions.”

“Take all the time you want. Execution’s at dawn, though,” Nytiss says. He spits again and turns back to his slaves.

Anvil rejoins the others. “He wants 200 gold to drop the charges. He would not negotiate.”

Cyrus whistles low. “Steep.”

“Um. So what do we do?” Thatch says. “I mean, we can’t pay that.”

“Perhaps,” Reyu says, “we can find another buyer…”

***********

“I’m… stunned,” says the woman from the municipal slave pens. “I could have sworn charges had been filed against this slave, but I simply cannot find the paperwork anywhere.”

“Indeed. Apparently, you were mistaken,” Anvil says, as he hands her a pouch with fifty gold pieces in it.

“Apparently so,” she says with a perfectly straight face, as the pouch vanishes into her robes. “Of course, the city would be happy to sell him to you.” Papers are signed. She presents Anvil with the official bill of sale, and Anvil presents her with the official 200 gold. “I’ll see that he’s brought to you immediately.”

“One down,” Thatch remarks.

“640,” Cyrus intones.

********

After a short wait, Henrik is brought to them, eyes squinting and posture stooped, as if he has been confined in a small dark place for some time. He smells foul, and fresh welts criss-cross mostly healed scars on his back. Hue flinches from the smell, and begins to cast prestidigitation. A small whirlwind begins at Henrik’s feet, growing larger as it spins up his body, whipping the grime off him. The whirlwind evaporates, and Henrik is now clean from head to toe; the smell is gone.

Henrik looks at them, quite surprised. Whatever he was expecting to happen, this wasn’t it.

Reyu murmurs in her own tongue and touches Henrik’s back. A warm, blue glow spreads from her hands, pouring like liquid into the welts on his back. As the glow fades, the wounds have healed into fresh skin, which now cuts across the older scars. Unfortunately, Reyu’s magic can do little to heal old wounds.

“Whu…who…” Henrik stammers.

“Henrik Cotton,” Anvil says. “You are now a free man.”

[porthos]

Originally posted by Fajitas

So, porthos, apparently neither of us is as clever as you think we are.

Hah! I don't know... you both still seem pretty clever. I'll give you the benefit of the doubt and pretend it was all intentional. :-)

Nice touch on the ending for the update, btw.

[spyscribe]

Part the Very Twenty-First
In which: someone wears a really, really ugly hat.
(as recorded by Fajitas)

After they drop Henrik off at the Temple to be cared for, Essela leads them to the Lowess estate. Their quarry here is named Dennis, a petty thug from Dar Pykos, sold for 100 gold as a household slave. A quick glance at the Lowess estate tells the party that it contains lots and lots of household slaves. The estate is huge. From the street, it is impossible to even see the house, which is hidden behind the immaculately trimmed hedge and the large, ornate entrance, built on marble foundations with a gate that actually appears to be made of solid gold.

“Ya wouldn’t think a gold gate could keep people out,” Thatch observes.

“Sure it would!” Hue points out. “Why break into the house when you can just steal the gate?” The Ferret nods, as if approving of this plan.

“The Lowess family is one of the oldest and richest in Dar Aego,” Essela says. “They’ve got more money than they know what to do with, so they just like to make sure it gets seen.”

“How did they amass such fortunes?” asks Anvil.

“No idea,” Essela responds. “The current generation didn’t earn it, that’s for sure. The present head of the family, Tern, makes the rest of the idle rich look positively industrious.”

The household guards question them at the gate, but Anvil’s implacable Justicar manner wins them admission. They proceed down a road through the estate. The grounds are full of greenery: flower gardens, topiary, exotic trees. The plants are tended by a bevy of slaves, who trim, water, and weed. The garden is unquestionably beautiful, but Reyu finds the precise cultivation disturbing. Even the plants here are enslaved, she thinks.

The house itself is one of the most opulent and least tasteful they have yet seen in Dar Aego. The front of the building is an open porch, with two long, curved staircases leading up into the house. The floor is tiled in alternating gold and marble. Tall pillars are placed nearly every five feet, creating the effect of a forest of cold, white oaks.

A servant is sent to fetch the master, but returns with a minor functionary. “You may explain the situation to me, and I will convey it,” the functionary explains. So Anvil patiently tells him the story. “Wait here,” the functionary says, and runs off.

A short time later, he reappears with another functionary. If their respective outfits are anything to judge by, the new one is slightly higher up in the pecking order than the previous one. He requests that Anvil explain the situation to him, which he does, though a tad less patiently. The new functionary asks the party to wait, and disappears as well. He returns with yet a third, whose robes are nicer still. Anvil tells the story again, working hard not to clench his teeth as he does. The third functionary also asks them to wait, and vanishes.

“Someone else will have to speak to the next one,” Anvil says, a vein throbbing in his forehead.

“Why?” Reyu asks.

“I am likely to smite him.”

Finally, a ringing voice calls down from the top of one of the staircases. “Ahhh, welcome visitors. I understand we have business to discuss?”

The party turns to look. Descending towards them is a man in voluminous red robes that look like they must weigh a hundred pounds. They are studded with gold and jewels; the fabric is visibly stretched by their weight. A wide smile is plastered across his face, which is heavily overdone with make-up. His gait is strained and rigid, probably on account of the enormous hat on his head. It is nearly two feet tall, and shaped like a “T”. Bangles, bells, and baubles hang off either side of it, jingling and jangling as he walks.

“Wow!” Hue says. “These guys dress great!”

Three new functionaries walk in a line behind this man. The highest-ranking one, who wears a chamberlain’s medallion, is the closest. The lowest ranking one is farthest away.

The men reach the bottom of the staircase. The over-dressed one speaks again. His smile is slightly unnerving. “I am Tern Lowess, master of the house,” he says, clearly holding his hand out for the party to kiss. They look at each other. No one really seems to want to do it. Finally Hue runs forward, grabs the hand, and shakes it.

Surprise registers on Tern’s face, though his smile never wavers. His eyes strain downward to look at Hue, who comes up to about his waist, but as he doesn’t seems to be able to bend his neck while wearing his hat, it is hard for him to get a good look. Instead he laughs. He tries to sound good-natured, but comes off sounding nervous.

“Now then,” Tern says, “I understand you were interested in some sort of business transaction? Please, tell me the details.”

The vein on Anvil’s head starts throbbing again, so Reyu steps forward. “We are here to… purchase a slave from you. He was… wrongfully sentenced to slavery in Dar Pykos, and we have come to buy his freedom.”

Tern blinks a few times, still smiling. He steps backward, half-turning his head to the functionary immediately behind him while still trying to face the party. He whispers something to the functionary. That functionary whispers to the one behind him, who whispers to the one at the end of the line. He, in response, whispers back to the one in front of him, who whispers back to the one in front of him, who whispers back to Tern. Tern waits for the whispered response, the smile never leaving his face.

The functionary finishes whispering. “I am shocked, quite shocked to hear of this,” Tern says immediately. “I assure you I had no idea whatsoever, and would never have purchased this slave if I had.”

The party stares at Tern and his functionaries for longer than is perhaps polite. Finally, Reyu says “We did not believe you knew anything about this, and we are all… shocked… to hear of it. We are simply here to buy back the slave from you.”

Tern whispers to his functionary again, smile in place as always. The whisper passes down the line to the end, and is then transmitted back to the front.

“Very well,” Tern says. “And which slave might this be?”

“His name is Dennis,” Reyu says. “We do not know his surname.”

Again, Tern whispers. The party follows the message as it cascades down and back. “Ah, yes. Dennis. Of course,” Tern finally says. “Dennis works in my gardens. He is an excellent worker.”

“We were told that he was purchased for 100 gold. We are prepared to offer that price for him,” Reyu says.

Tern again whispers behind him. The whisper travels towards the back, but it stops briefly between the second and third functionaries. They whisper hastily to each other for a moment, before the second passes a whisper up to the first, who transmits it to Tern. “I am afraid I cannot accept that sum,” Tern says. “I would part with him for 500 gold.”

[KidCthulhu]

Why am I seeing Dom DeLuise in "History of the World"? Treasure Bath!