D&D 5E [5e] QL's Al-Qadim Game
Ankabut's cell is a small thing, as sparsely appointed as a novice's. There is an oil lamp hanging by chains from the ceiling, but she rarely lights it. At the moment there is only a large candle, burned halfway down, for light. When not training or doing missions, she spends a great deal of time meditating. Her prayer mat is threadbare and frayed around the edges, and she has parchments with symbols to help focus her mind and spirit spread around the edges.
She is clad in a simple, loose raiment of white linen. Her sun-dark face and arms exposed, along with her shins and feet. Her hair was dark and short enough to make it easier to deal with headwear...and it was easier to make short hair look long in a disguise than it was to do the opposite. Her face was somewhat plain...perhaps pretty in a way, but lacking any of the ornamentation or cosmetics that pretty women used to be beautiful. Here and there was a scar...one on her upper left arm, a short but deep stab and slash. Lower down on her right arm was the pock of a crossbow bolt she'd had to tear out quickly to use the arm. There was a faint scar across the bridge of her nose from a bottle being smashed over it.
They were welcome reminders of times of when she had been too slow, or too stupid, and had paid a price. Reminders of pride, and its wages.
The door to her cell opened. There was a popular misconception among peasants and rabble that such sudden intrusions on an assassin could result in a sudden flurry of violence. It was almost insulting to contemplate. She'd heard the footsteps as far as the door down the hall outside. Swift and purposeful, not simply returning for bed. The rustle of parchment as it neared her door.
Ankabut looked up, her eyes an unusual shade of faded green, like jade bleached by the sun.
The novice was new to her. She seemed startled. Ankabut was a name known by many of the Soft Whisper, but the whispered tales tended to make her seem older than she looked. But Ankabut's tale started when she was young, and the years between then and now had aged her on a more than one to one basis. The novice saw something in her elder's stare that seemed to dispel any thought she had the wrong cell, and she held the parchment out with a hand that trembled only slightly. "From Grandmother," she whispered. It wasn't fear. The novices took a vow to speak no word above a whisper until they passed their first trials.
Ankabut reached out and took it, with a nod to dismiss the novice.
The scroll unrolled in her hands, and for a moment her eyes scanned it, taking the words and names in. She looked away for a moment, then looked back at it...to make sure. Yes.
With a gesture she held the roll over her candle, and it caught flame. Ankabut held it this way and that, ensuring that it burned in its entirety. Then she took from the tiny wooden cabinet by her bed a small curved dagger made of jade. From a pair of pegs over the same bed she removed a sword. It was propped up there rather precariously, its black blade seeming to absorb the candle's meager light. If it fell, it could easily kill her before she got help. That was the point. This sword hung over everyone's head, whether they knew it or not. Even hers.
A few more minutes, and she'd dressed more appropriately for outdoors, and left her cell. She swept through the chapterhouse, seen by few and accosted by none. There were things to do, places to visit, papers to get, and arrangements to make before she'd be ready.
And, of course, people to kill. For the Caliph. For Hakiyah. Thus the balance be kept.
She is clad in a simple, loose raiment of white linen. Her sun-dark face and arms exposed, along with her shins and feet. Her hair was dark and short enough to make it easier to deal with headwear...and it was easier to make short hair look long in a disguise than it was to do the opposite. Her face was somewhat plain...perhaps pretty in a way, but lacking any of the ornamentation or cosmetics that pretty women used to be beautiful. Here and there was a scar...one on her upper left arm, a short but deep stab and slash. Lower down on her right arm was the pock of a crossbow bolt she'd had to tear out quickly to use the arm. There was a faint scar across the bridge of her nose from a bottle being smashed over it.
They were welcome reminders of times of when she had been too slow, or too stupid, and had paid a price. Reminders of pride, and its wages.
The door to her cell opened. There was a popular misconception among peasants and rabble that such sudden intrusions on an assassin could result in a sudden flurry of violence. It was almost insulting to contemplate. She'd heard the footsteps as far as the door down the hall outside. Swift and purposeful, not simply returning for bed. The rustle of parchment as it neared her door.
Ankabut looked up, her eyes an unusual shade of faded green, like jade bleached by the sun.
The novice was new to her. She seemed startled. Ankabut was a name known by many of the Soft Whisper, but the whispered tales tended to make her seem older than she looked. But Ankabut's tale started when she was young, and the years between then and now had aged her on a more than one to one basis. The novice saw something in her elder's stare that seemed to dispel any thought she had the wrong cell, and she held the parchment out with a hand that trembled only slightly. "From Grandmother," she whispered. It wasn't fear. The novices took a vow to speak no word above a whisper until they passed their first trials.
Ankabut reached out and took it, with a nod to dismiss the novice.
The scroll unrolled in her hands, and for a moment her eyes scanned it, taking the words and names in. She looked away for a moment, then looked back at it...to make sure. Yes.
With a gesture she held the roll over her candle, and it caught flame. Ankabut held it this way and that, ensuring that it burned in its entirety. Then she took from the tiny wooden cabinet by her bed a small curved dagger made of jade. From a pair of pegs over the same bed she removed a sword. It was propped up there rather precariously, its black blade seeming to absorb the candle's meager light. If it fell, it could easily kill her before she got help. That was the point. This sword hung over everyone's head, whether they knew it or not. Even hers.
A few more minutes, and she'd dressed more appropriately for outdoors, and left her cell. She swept through the chapterhouse, seen by few and accosted by none. There were things to do, places to visit, papers to get, and arrangements to make before she'd be ready.
And, of course, people to kill. For the Caliph. For Hakiyah. Thus the balance be kept.
VLAD the Destroyer
Adventurer
Read through this information and saw that Qadib has many magic users. May change my character to be from that city instead. Do you have the background on Qadib so I can make my decision.
Quickleaf
Legend
Sure, it's a city with a lot of recruitment for the Brotherhood of True Flame too, so a potential plot hook there.
View attachment Qadbib excerpt.pdf
VLAD the Destroyer
Adventurer
Definitely think Qadib makes more sense for my characters city of origin.
Quickleaf
Legend
So, it sounds like Kobold Stew needs to drop from this game. He was playing "The Promise" (the druid with a theme of oath-binding and caravan driving). We still have 5 and that's a full party, but this will make Akilah the only healer. And others may want to give some thought to divvying up exploration skills/spells/feats.
"Business" as in the "business" end of a jambiya
Great! I'm definitely incorporating your PCs' backstories into the game. For example, there will likely be a visit to the Desert Mosque at some point (part of Kanniel's backstory) & the City of Brass (part of Najiyah's origin).
"Business" as in the "business" end of a jambiya
Great! I'm definitely incorporating your PCs' backstories into the game. For example, there will likely be a visit to the Desert Mosque at some point (part of Kanniel's backstory) & the City of Brass (part of Najiyah's origin).
Ah yes, backstory!
I'm pecking at something where my character's parents wound up on the wrong side of the Brotherhood and were killed. After spending some time on the street as an orphan waif, I was taken in by a temple of Hakiyah, who quietly passed me off to the Soft Whisper.
I'll see if I can't add more hooks and intrigue and points of interest of course, but that's the overall shape of it.
Open to other ideas too though!
I'm pecking at something where my character's parents wound up on the wrong side of the Brotherhood and were killed. After spending some time on the street as an orphan waif, I was taken in by a temple of Hakiyah, who quietly passed me off to the Soft Whisper.
I'll see if I can't add more hooks and intrigue and points of interest of course, but that's the overall shape of it.
Open to other ideas too though!
VLAD the Destroyer
Adventurer
Sounds good, I'm beginning my back story now. Here is my new sheet Salahuddin Idn Hamid al-Qadib get the backstory up shortly. As you can see I changed his name.
Similar Threads
