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(Cydra) The Final City
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<blockquote data-quote="the Jester" data-source="post: 7471889" data-attributes="member: 1210"><p>The hole is almost perfectly smooth. Dzedz says, “This is probably a thoqqua hole.”</p><p></p><p>“What's a thoqqua?” asks Mad Max.</p><p></p><p>“It's a worm that burns its way through the earth and stone. They tend to wander the underworld, creating new passages.”</p><p></p><p>“Is this even going to reach the megadungeon?”</p><p></p><p>Dzedz grunts. “My cousin said it does. I trust him.”</p><p></p><p>On their hands and knees, the three crawl through the passageway. It heads in an almost straight line for ten yards before bending downward at a shallow angle. It then switches directions several times over the course of its several hundred yard length before finally breaking into a cave. </p><p></p><p>Carl Hungus is in the lead. As he pokes his head out and raises a torch, he can see that it is a natural cavern. He crawls forth and stands up, followed by Mad Max and, finally, Dzedz. </p><p></p><p>“Listen,” says Mad Max. “Do you hear that? Madness!”</p><p></p><p>Pausing, the others strain to pick out what he's talking about: distant gibbering, seemingly from many voices at once. </p><p></p><p>“Hm,” grunts Dzedz. “Sounds like a lot of 'em...”</p><p></p><p>“You know,” Hungus says, “we don't even have a healer.”</p><p></p><p>The three stand, listening for a moment.</p><p></p><p>“Sounds like they're getting closer,” Hungus remarks.</p><p></p><p>“I wonder how deep we are?” Dzedz muses. “I'm pretty sure we're deeper than the first level.”</p><p></p><p>“Guys, I think we should get out of here,” Mad Max exclaims. “That's the sound of madness!”</p><p></p><p>All things considered, the others agree, and a moment later, they're retreating up the thoqqua hole. </p><p></p><p>“We need to find a healer,” Carl Hungus states. “Then we can come try this.” </p><p></p><p>“Aren't you supposed to be looking for someone down here?” Mad Max asks. </p><p></p><p>“No, that's me.” Dzedz scowls. “Yeah, I guess we need to come back.”</p><p></p><p>“Also, I need some money,” Hungus says. “I have a slave to feed.”</p><p></p><p>***</p><p></p><p>There is an intersection in the city- a hard intersection. The intersection of Bronze Avenue and Soot Road. The territories of the two largest gangs in the city, the Bronze Tigers and the Coal-Faced Bastards, sometimes rub up against each other here. There are often fights, some restricted to fists and feet while others grow more serious. This corner has been the site of many a crime over the years. </p><p></p><p>One such crime was the mugging, when he was but a youth, of Flint Sureshot. Flint was just a halfling boy, still learning his songs and how to play his mother's mandolin, when he passed through this intersection. He was shoved from behind, laughter echoing around him. Face down into a muddy puddle he fell. When he rose, glaring, he saw a group of four Tigers, standing arrogantly over him. They beat him, mocked him, and broke his mother's mandolin. </p><p></p><p>He was just a boy. There was no way for him to fight back. </p><p></p><p>Now, Flint is fully grown (though still well under four feet in height), and he is just another resident of the Lower District. When he has to go through the intersection of Bronze and Soot, he usually keeps his head down and hurries through, barely looking at anyone around. But recently, this has changed. As a result of his dabbling in a number of exotic types of smoking herbs, he has become quite the hempflower afficionado. He does not have a regular supplier. This has meant that he has to seek out a dealer each time he wishes to feed his habit. And that has, on this fateful day, led both him and us back to that same intersection.</p><p></p><p>He has seen some of these rough-looking kids around. A lot of them have marked themselves with stripes, whether drawn on their faces or the backs of their arms, indicating that they owe allegiance to the Bronze Tigers. This isn't something that makes Flint especially happy, but the Coal-Faced Bastards are more likely to be violent, so despite his history with the Tigers, it could be worse. </p><p></p><p>The halfling sidles up to a group of young toughs. Their conversation- seemingly a competition over who can make the most unlikely boast about his or her sexual conquests- skips a beat as they notice him, but doesn't halt. Instead, one of the arrogant youths detaches himself from their clique and meanders over toward Flint.</p><p></p><p>“You need something?” the Bronze Tiger challenges.</p><p></p><p>“I was looking for a little hempflower.”</p><p></p><p>“I can help you with that, if I like the color of your money. I can help you with other stuff, too. Goof balls, nose candy, dzur...”</p><p></p><p>“Just hempflower for me,” Flint says, “at least for now.”</p><p></p><p>“How much you want?” </p><p></p><p>“I don't know...” Flint pulls a handful of marks out of his purse. </p><p></p><p>The Bronze Tiger's eyes widen. “You got some good money on you.” He swipes it from the halfling. “Hold on.” With that, he jogs away, heading west, deeper into Tiger territory.</p><p></p><p><em>Did I just get ripped off?</em> wonders Flint.</p><p></p><p>The other Bronze Tigers keep up their loud braggadocios, ignoring him, for about ten minutes. There's still no sign of the gangster who took his money, and by now, he's pretty sure he's just been robbed, when finally one of the talkers strolls over to him, this one with a wide girthed half-elf.</p><p></p><p>“You need something?”</p><p></p><p>Annoyed, Flint snaps, “No thanks, I think I've gotten enough from you guys!”</p><p></p><p>“Oh, yeah?” The half-elf cocks an eyebrow, and the other Tigers turn at Flint's raised voice and swagger toward him. “How so?”</p><p></p><p>“Your friend was supposed to go get me some hempflower, but instead, I think he took my money and ran.”</p><p></p><p>The gangsters laugh. “Poor guy,” sneers the half-elf. “Here, you got a pipe? I'll pack you a bowl.”</p><p></p><p><em>This is not going well,</em> thinks Flint, as the gangsters close in around him. </p><p></p><p>***</p><p></p><p>Dzedz, Mad Max, and Carl Hungus stumble upon the unconscious halfling about an hour later. He is laying in the street, eyes swollen almost shut, blood covering his face. His purse is next to him, emptied of coin.</p><p></p><p>“Wow, that sucks,” says Mad Max.</p><p></p><p>“Let's help him,” Dzedz says, lifting the small form and draping him over one of the dwarf's shoulders. “Come on, let's get him cleaned up.”</p><p> </p><p>And that is how the trio finds their first healer.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="the Jester, post: 7471889, member: 1210"] The hole is almost perfectly smooth. Dzedz says, “This is probably a thoqqua hole.” “What's a thoqqua?” asks Mad Max. “It's a worm that burns its way through the earth and stone. They tend to wander the underworld, creating new passages.” “Is this even going to reach the megadungeon?” Dzedz grunts. “My cousin said it does. I trust him.” On their hands and knees, the three crawl through the passageway. It heads in an almost straight line for ten yards before bending downward at a shallow angle. It then switches directions several times over the course of its several hundred yard length before finally breaking into a cave. Carl Hungus is in the lead. As he pokes his head out and raises a torch, he can see that it is a natural cavern. He crawls forth and stands up, followed by Mad Max and, finally, Dzedz. “Listen,” says Mad Max. “Do you hear that? Madness!” Pausing, the others strain to pick out what he's talking about: distant gibbering, seemingly from many voices at once. “Hm,” grunts Dzedz. “Sounds like a lot of 'em...” “You know,” Hungus says, “we don't even have a healer.” The three stand, listening for a moment. “Sounds like they're getting closer,” Hungus remarks. “I wonder how deep we are?” Dzedz muses. “I'm pretty sure we're deeper than the first level.” “Guys, I think we should get out of here,” Mad Max exclaims. “That's the sound of madness!” All things considered, the others agree, and a moment later, they're retreating up the thoqqua hole. “We need to find a healer,” Carl Hungus states. “Then we can come try this.” “Aren't you supposed to be looking for someone down here?” Mad Max asks. “No, that's me.” Dzedz scowls. “Yeah, I guess we need to come back.” “Also, I need some money,” Hungus says. “I have a slave to feed.” *** There is an intersection in the city- a hard intersection. The intersection of Bronze Avenue and Soot Road. The territories of the two largest gangs in the city, the Bronze Tigers and the Coal-Faced Bastards, sometimes rub up against each other here. There are often fights, some restricted to fists and feet while others grow more serious. This corner has been the site of many a crime over the years. One such crime was the mugging, when he was but a youth, of Flint Sureshot. Flint was just a halfling boy, still learning his songs and how to play his mother's mandolin, when he passed through this intersection. He was shoved from behind, laughter echoing around him. Face down into a muddy puddle he fell. When he rose, glaring, he saw a group of four Tigers, standing arrogantly over him. They beat him, mocked him, and broke his mother's mandolin. He was just a boy. There was no way for him to fight back. Now, Flint is fully grown (though still well under four feet in height), and he is just another resident of the Lower District. When he has to go through the intersection of Bronze and Soot, he usually keeps his head down and hurries through, barely looking at anyone around. But recently, this has changed. As a result of his dabbling in a number of exotic types of smoking herbs, he has become quite the hempflower afficionado. He does not have a regular supplier. This has meant that he has to seek out a dealer each time he wishes to feed his habit. And that has, on this fateful day, led both him and us back to that same intersection. He has seen some of these rough-looking kids around. A lot of them have marked themselves with stripes, whether drawn on their faces or the backs of their arms, indicating that they owe allegiance to the Bronze Tigers. This isn't something that makes Flint especially happy, but the Coal-Faced Bastards are more likely to be violent, so despite his history with the Tigers, it could be worse. The halfling sidles up to a group of young toughs. Their conversation- seemingly a competition over who can make the most unlikely boast about his or her sexual conquests- skips a beat as they notice him, but doesn't halt. Instead, one of the arrogant youths detaches himself from their clique and meanders over toward Flint. “You need something?” the Bronze Tiger challenges. “I was looking for a little hempflower.” “I can help you with that, if I like the color of your money. I can help you with other stuff, too. Goof balls, nose candy, dzur...” “Just hempflower for me,” Flint says, “at least for now.” “How much you want?” “I don't know...” Flint pulls a handful of marks out of his purse. The Bronze Tiger's eyes widen. “You got some good money on you.” He swipes it from the halfling. “Hold on.” With that, he jogs away, heading west, deeper into Tiger territory. [i]Did I just get ripped off?[/i] wonders Flint. The other Bronze Tigers keep up their loud braggadocios, ignoring him, for about ten minutes. There's still no sign of the gangster who took his money, and by now, he's pretty sure he's just been robbed, when finally one of the talkers strolls over to him, this one with a wide girthed half-elf. “You need something?” Annoyed, Flint snaps, “No thanks, I think I've gotten enough from you guys!” “Oh, yeah?” The half-elf cocks an eyebrow, and the other Tigers turn at Flint's raised voice and swagger toward him. “How so?” “Your friend was supposed to go get me some hempflower, but instead, I think he took my money and ran.” The gangsters laugh. “Poor guy,” sneers the half-elf. “Here, you got a pipe? I'll pack you a bowl.” [i]This is not going well,[/i] thinks Flint, as the gangsters close in around him. *** Dzedz, Mad Max, and Carl Hungus stumble upon the unconscious halfling about an hour later. He is laying in the street, eyes swollen almost shut, blood covering his face. His purse is next to him, emptied of coin. “Wow, that sucks,” says Mad Max. “Let's help him,” Dzedz says, lifting the small form and draping him over one of the dwarf's shoulders. “Come on, let's get him cleaned up.” And that is how the trio finds their first healer. [/QUOTE]
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