Lwaxy
Cute but dangerous
The players requested for me not to post character info right now, as they are still tweaking them and because they believe readers should discover the personalities and their relationships little by little, much as they themselves do.
This campaign is based on the world Orea, as seen first in this story hour. Happenings in this campaign may refer to the events there, as this campaign is seen to happen some time in the future.
Next installment will give all the names and some more background.
---------------------------------------------------------------------
In the dead of a new moon night, the city of Orem looked forlorn and deserted. There were no lights in the windows anyone could see; the few houses and fewer mansions with residents still in need of light had their shutters closed despite the stifling heat that did not even let up at night in the Valley of Demons. Where the rest of the desert would be almost too cold at night, the heat of the day was caught in this place and lasted until the early morning hours. Usually, all windows would be open, albeit often barred, to allow the few gusts of wind to enter and to cool the rooms down in the two or three hours the heat would finally let up. It was said that living in this place was like living in the devil’s frying pan.
But tonight was new moon, and new moon nights caused the considerable population of almost 3000, slaves and visitors not included, to lock themselves up and make sure their presence was not noted by any evil thing that might be passing through, and that included staying inside and leaving the lights out. There were ancient stories about things going around abducting or killing folks, and many a man had never come back after just wanting to check on the animals or any other foolish reason to leave the supposed safety of their homes. Even the outhouses were no outhouses around here, but could be accessed easily without having to take one step outside. And if slaves, animals and goods vanished those nights, too, it was taken as a loss that just happened. Sometimes, expensive things even vanished from houses, but there was hardly ever any sign of a break in, and so the people made a sign against bad luck and evil and went about their daily business, trying not to mourn their lost goods. After all, everybody knew that mourning inevitable losses brought bad fortune, not only for oneself but also for the family.
Orem had started out as part of an expedition to explore the area. The camp had developed into a trading base, and from there, the settlement had grown. The original expedition had long been forgotten when the first people started to disappear. But by then, the inhabitants didn’t want to leave their homes. After all, most days and nights weren't any different than everywhere else. And the opportunity for business was just too good.
Very few people knew that the group of werejackals, the reason for the disappearances, had been defeated decades ago. Nowadays, people disappeared for more normal reasons. Including being taken as slaves – an illegal practice, of course, as slaves either had to be hereditary, sentenced criminals or people taken outside of Thelitia. But the driving force behind the ongoing fear didn’t care. If there was someone with exceptional abilities, he would find a buyer far away, and if someone far away was looking for a particular sort of slave – say, a good cook, a dancer of the more exotic type or even a girl for a private harem – chances were that one such individual could be found in Orem eventually, either among the slaves coming through here or among the visitors. Very rarely, residents were also taken.
Daliem Oseman, one of the leading merchants and owner of a famous circus troupe which traveled the country part of the year, would have been successful enough without resorting to criminal activities. But honesty was just not in his blood. He came from a family of assassins, thieves, bandits, illegal slavers and other unsavory natures and could smell an opportunity for black money, as they called it around here, where others would not even suspect. There was always more fame to be gained, more power to be had and more riches to be gathered as far as he was concerned. And asides, life would be boring without the thrill, even if he was rarely directly involved anymore.
This new moon night, he was probably the only one not sitting behind closed windows. He was resting on his balcony, his legs popped up on a gilded chair and expensive pillows, and sucked on his water pipe. The night was young, still, and he hoped it would prove profitable. The last few new moons had been rather disappointing, but this night, he had sent his best group of acquirers, as he called them, to retrieve a set of matching jewels from a newly arrived merchant’s wife. Supposedly, they were even magical, although this didn't concern him as it was a fixed price order. Any crook – or opportuist as he would call it – worth his weight knew that you never betrayed your customers. You might steal back from them later, but you'd otherwise deal with them honestly. That was about all the honor those who dealt with him admitted he had.
The acquirers he thought of were well into their current mission. Being slaves, they had little choice but to do what their master said, especially since Oseman had resorted to employing the outlawed tattoo of obedience on all of those he did not dare to lose. His rivals often wondered about the freedoms he gave to some of his slaves, not knowing that it came with this downside. Those not following their master's wishes or trying to escape would suffer the consequences spelled out in the tattoo, though none of them knew what exactly it would be, or if it would even be the same for all of them. Only death would free them from this peril – or a very skilled mage or priest, but would they seek help it would be taken as trying to run away. Not all resented the tattoo, as it did indeed give them more freedom, and some were fine with being slaves as opposed to being jobless, homeless or even outcasts. The gods knew enough people died in the streets, and there were many who asked to be taken as slaves instead of taking the chance to die. However, most rubble from the streets was useless for anything but monster bait.
The very opposite of bait were the two muscular figures, a stocky man and a tall woman, standing under a tree on the outside of a 4-story house. The bronze skinned woman and the albino man were posed as sentries, just in case someone was fearless enough to brave the night despite it being a new moon. They had impressive swords at their side, and the man had smeared ash into his face and on his arms to be less visible in what little light there was.
"Are you sure the spell will hold?" the man hissed to someone sitting in the red leafed tree.
"It always holds. Why do you even keep asking that? Do you think the master would give me a faulty item?" A pair of eyes in a pale face appeared between the leaves, pointy ears barely visible. "Have I ever made a mistake with it? No! And I hardly could, it is foolproof. It's..."
"Will you two let up." The woman's voice was almost bored. "They have a whole mansion to search, no one knows where that fat matron is sleeping, or if she even has the loot in her room. We can be here a while, and I really don't need your bickering."
The albino threw her an angry look, but kept quiet, and the face of the half-elf vanished between the red leaves again. Somewhere in the mountains, a desert wolf howled, a short sound as if the animal was depressed by the absence of the moon. And then laughter came from the second story of the mansion, making the half-elf almost fall out of the tree while the other two half drew their swords.
A cat-like face appeared in one of the middle windows above the large archway that lead inside the courtyard. "Found it. That was so easy. The fatty batty was sleeping with it on." In a fluent motion, a dark felinoid body with a long, muscular tail climbed out of the window and down the bare wall as if it was the most normal thing in the world. 3 small humanoid figures followed in a heart beat.
"You took it off her in her sleep??" A second face popped out of the tree a good bit higher than the half-elf had been, spouting even pointier ears. "Girl, I swear, you are mad."
"What's the difference?" The lone figure of yet another with pointed ears, this time female, appeared from under the archway, stowing away the spell components she had held ready just in case. "They were all sleeping the magic slumber, anyway, you could probably haul them out of the house and they would not notice."
The red tree shook as the two occupants came climbing down, the half-elf stowing a silver amulet in the form of a cloud back under is loose black tunic. "That's true, but still. Yeah, but, figure you had little chance, huh?"
A really small halfling ran around the corner of the house, having stood sentry on the other side. "Are we all done?" he wanted to know.
A dwarf girl, a gnome boy and a half-halfling man assembled behind the feline and grinned, showing several small pieces of loot. Their master usually allowed them to take some things for themselves, to keep them interested enough in the job as to have a to be at their best. In this case, there was a silver dagger, a small copper amulet showing an exotic bird and a small carpet. They never overdid it, and usually took things which would not easily be missed.
"Let's go, then," the small halfling hurried them on.
One by one, they hurried over the dark street. Those of them who could not, by their heritage, see in the dark had been given a ring to be able to do so. Of course, as with the amulet of restful sleep, they would have to give them all back upon their return. As much as they could do a lot of things other slaves could not, keeping magic items was not part of the bargain.
On the other side of the street, they split up in pairs. There would be less suspicion if someone would dare to look out on the streets and spot them, as opposed to see a whole group of dark robed folks screaming robbery. From the south west of the city, they moved up to the north east as fast as they could. The sooner they were home, the more sleep they could get. After all, just because it was a new moon night, they could not sleep in the next day. It would just raise suspicion. None of the acquiring groups of their master knew of the other, and none of them talked to anyone outside their close knit group about it. That was the rule.
Each of them arrived home without problem. No guards were posted on new moon night, no patrols on their way, and most likely none had even seen as much as a glimpse of them. However, sneaking into the quadratic palace-like estate with the large courtyard reserved for the residing circus troupe was not without problems either. None of the other performers were to see them. Despite new moon night, there were always some around who knew about the hoax, or who trusted in the supposed powerful magical protections of the grounds. But worse than that, there was Shasta.
Shasta was the only guard dog of the estate, belonging to the dwarf cook Ramuel. The black beast was larger than the dwarf, a mastiff bred by giants, so the caller of the circus would claim when she was presented to a gawking audience. Fact was, though, the dog had fallen into a magical potion as a pup and never quite shrunk back to her supposed size after the effect was to be over. A side effect of the sometimes unpredictable magic in the desert.
Shasta also didn't like cats of any kind, and to the annoyance of their feline companion, this included sentient, felinoid races. No matter what Ramuel had tried, Shasta stayed resentful of the thief and there had been many a times when the proverbial and the real cat had been chased up the tree and Ramuel had had to trick the dog away from her intended prey.
While the others rushed over the yard to their respective tents, the feline's whiskers twitched, and she sniffed the air in anticipation. Last new moon night, she had barely escaped behind a pile of firewood and been glad not to have been discovered by the cook who, luckily in this case, didn't fear new moon either. The month before that, she had almost made it to her tent and had to be rescued by the amulet's sleep spell, which had raised some suspicion later the next day as the dog almost slept the whole day. And a few months before Shasta had managed to tear her clothes off completely, including some of her fur.
"Tenelli?" Now that they were back home, they were allowed to say each others' names again. "I can see her, she's sleeping right next to the camels." The thin voice belonged to the halfling ranger. "Want me to go and distract her?"
"Please." Tenelli almost squeaked. "Sometimes I wish that dog was dead."
"Now now, she's otherwise a great dog!" Small feet moved away, and then a soothing voice could be heard talking to Shasta.
The felinoid took the chance and ran as fast as she could. Her tent was one of the closest to the archway, and she was nimble and silent, but that was not enough. A few seconds later, Shasta had heard her footsteps and jumped up with an annoyed growl. The halfling's voice rose, trying in vain to keep the dog in place a bit longer. Tenelli sped up, and out of breath she dove into her tent just when Shasta jumped at her.
Shasta jumped with the halfling still clinging to her chain harness. The young man was thrown around like an oversized dog tag. The tent could not withstand the impact of both, and the canvas came down on Tenelli as the ropes snapped. With a whine, Shasta tried to untangle herself, but got stuck even more, a gasping ranger under her.
"Shasta!" The cook's voice, sleepy and annoyed, came from the kitchen doors. "Seriously, now you hunt Tenelli even by night? And who did you catch there?"
"Tried...stop her," the halfling gasped.
The dwarf grunted and dragged the dog off the heap of tent, feline and halfling. "My apologies. Dhai?" he then shouted, clapping 3 times.
A muscular male figure in blues and greens solidified out of smoke in front of Ramuel. "Yes, my friend? Oh I see." With an amused look, the djinni, main reason for the cook's gained freedom, took in the ruined tent and the angry dog. "One of these days, Shasta will either cause you to be a slave again, or she will be killed by your boss."
"Yes, maybe," the cook sighed, helping the halfling off the tent. Tenelli stopped struggling, hoping to be helped as well. "Can you fix this mess?"
"Ah, sure." Putting a finger to his chin as if to think, the djinni grinned again and then snipped the fingers of the other hand. In a rush of wind, the demolition of the tent seemed to run backwards, putting it all upright and secure again. "There you go. I suggest you talk to a druid about that dog, though."
Shasta, having forgotten about her arch enemy for a moment, wiggled her tail at Dhai. "See, she is the nicest dog ever. If not for the cat..."
"I'm not a cat," the insulted voice of the thief could be heard. "The same way you are not a monkey."
"Yeah yeah, fine!" Ramuel threw his arms up in the air and let out an exaggerated groan, then he led the dog back to the kitchen. "I swear, she's just waylaying poor Tenelli."
Back in the tent, Tenelli sat on the straw mattress on the floor, crying without tears. It wasn't that the dog was out for her, or that hardly anyone but Aventhin, the ranger, dared to stand between her and Shasta. It was that everyone was calling her a cat if they didn't use her name. She was not a cat. Her race must have its own name, and it was probably something proud and fearsome. But having been found as a baby in a place unknown to her, no one knew anything about her origins. One day, she would have to go and find out. Somehow, she would find a way despite the dreaded tattoo. If she was like a cat in any way, it was her desire to be free and about.
"One day," she mumbled. "Hear me, gods of the world. You brought me into this mess, now get me out. It is all your fault!"
If any cleric had heard her, she might have been in for a good talking to. But no mortal heard her, and what the gods thought of the matter was not for any mortal to know.
This campaign is based on the world Orea, as seen first in this story hour. Happenings in this campaign may refer to the events there, as this campaign is seen to happen some time in the future.
Next installment will give all the names and some more background.
---------------------------------------------------------------------
In the dead of a new moon night, the city of Orem looked forlorn and deserted. There were no lights in the windows anyone could see; the few houses and fewer mansions with residents still in need of light had their shutters closed despite the stifling heat that did not even let up at night in the Valley of Demons. Where the rest of the desert would be almost too cold at night, the heat of the day was caught in this place and lasted until the early morning hours. Usually, all windows would be open, albeit often barred, to allow the few gusts of wind to enter and to cool the rooms down in the two or three hours the heat would finally let up. It was said that living in this place was like living in the devil’s frying pan.
But tonight was new moon, and new moon nights caused the considerable population of almost 3000, slaves and visitors not included, to lock themselves up and make sure their presence was not noted by any evil thing that might be passing through, and that included staying inside and leaving the lights out. There were ancient stories about things going around abducting or killing folks, and many a man had never come back after just wanting to check on the animals or any other foolish reason to leave the supposed safety of their homes. Even the outhouses were no outhouses around here, but could be accessed easily without having to take one step outside. And if slaves, animals and goods vanished those nights, too, it was taken as a loss that just happened. Sometimes, expensive things even vanished from houses, but there was hardly ever any sign of a break in, and so the people made a sign against bad luck and evil and went about their daily business, trying not to mourn their lost goods. After all, everybody knew that mourning inevitable losses brought bad fortune, not only for oneself but also for the family.
Orem had started out as part of an expedition to explore the area. The camp had developed into a trading base, and from there, the settlement had grown. The original expedition had long been forgotten when the first people started to disappear. But by then, the inhabitants didn’t want to leave their homes. After all, most days and nights weren't any different than everywhere else. And the opportunity for business was just too good.
Very few people knew that the group of werejackals, the reason for the disappearances, had been defeated decades ago. Nowadays, people disappeared for more normal reasons. Including being taken as slaves – an illegal practice, of course, as slaves either had to be hereditary, sentenced criminals or people taken outside of Thelitia. But the driving force behind the ongoing fear didn’t care. If there was someone with exceptional abilities, he would find a buyer far away, and if someone far away was looking for a particular sort of slave – say, a good cook, a dancer of the more exotic type or even a girl for a private harem – chances were that one such individual could be found in Orem eventually, either among the slaves coming through here or among the visitors. Very rarely, residents were also taken.
Daliem Oseman, one of the leading merchants and owner of a famous circus troupe which traveled the country part of the year, would have been successful enough without resorting to criminal activities. But honesty was just not in his blood. He came from a family of assassins, thieves, bandits, illegal slavers and other unsavory natures and could smell an opportunity for black money, as they called it around here, where others would not even suspect. There was always more fame to be gained, more power to be had and more riches to be gathered as far as he was concerned. And asides, life would be boring without the thrill, even if he was rarely directly involved anymore.
This new moon night, he was probably the only one not sitting behind closed windows. He was resting on his balcony, his legs popped up on a gilded chair and expensive pillows, and sucked on his water pipe. The night was young, still, and he hoped it would prove profitable. The last few new moons had been rather disappointing, but this night, he had sent his best group of acquirers, as he called them, to retrieve a set of matching jewels from a newly arrived merchant’s wife. Supposedly, they were even magical, although this didn't concern him as it was a fixed price order. Any crook – or opportuist as he would call it – worth his weight knew that you never betrayed your customers. You might steal back from them later, but you'd otherwise deal with them honestly. That was about all the honor those who dealt with him admitted he had.
The acquirers he thought of were well into their current mission. Being slaves, they had little choice but to do what their master said, especially since Oseman had resorted to employing the outlawed tattoo of obedience on all of those he did not dare to lose. His rivals often wondered about the freedoms he gave to some of his slaves, not knowing that it came with this downside. Those not following their master's wishes or trying to escape would suffer the consequences spelled out in the tattoo, though none of them knew what exactly it would be, or if it would even be the same for all of them. Only death would free them from this peril – or a very skilled mage or priest, but would they seek help it would be taken as trying to run away. Not all resented the tattoo, as it did indeed give them more freedom, and some were fine with being slaves as opposed to being jobless, homeless or even outcasts. The gods knew enough people died in the streets, and there were many who asked to be taken as slaves instead of taking the chance to die. However, most rubble from the streets was useless for anything but monster bait.
The very opposite of bait were the two muscular figures, a stocky man and a tall woman, standing under a tree on the outside of a 4-story house. The bronze skinned woman and the albino man were posed as sentries, just in case someone was fearless enough to brave the night despite it being a new moon. They had impressive swords at their side, and the man had smeared ash into his face and on his arms to be less visible in what little light there was.
"Are you sure the spell will hold?" the man hissed to someone sitting in the red leafed tree.
"It always holds. Why do you even keep asking that? Do you think the master would give me a faulty item?" A pair of eyes in a pale face appeared between the leaves, pointy ears barely visible. "Have I ever made a mistake with it? No! And I hardly could, it is foolproof. It's..."
"Will you two let up." The woman's voice was almost bored. "They have a whole mansion to search, no one knows where that fat matron is sleeping, or if she even has the loot in her room. We can be here a while, and I really don't need your bickering."
The albino threw her an angry look, but kept quiet, and the face of the half-elf vanished between the red leaves again. Somewhere in the mountains, a desert wolf howled, a short sound as if the animal was depressed by the absence of the moon. And then laughter came from the second story of the mansion, making the half-elf almost fall out of the tree while the other two half drew their swords.
A cat-like face appeared in one of the middle windows above the large archway that lead inside the courtyard. "Found it. That was so easy. The fatty batty was sleeping with it on." In a fluent motion, a dark felinoid body with a long, muscular tail climbed out of the window and down the bare wall as if it was the most normal thing in the world. 3 small humanoid figures followed in a heart beat.
"You took it off her in her sleep??" A second face popped out of the tree a good bit higher than the half-elf had been, spouting even pointier ears. "Girl, I swear, you are mad."
"What's the difference?" The lone figure of yet another with pointed ears, this time female, appeared from under the archway, stowing away the spell components she had held ready just in case. "They were all sleeping the magic slumber, anyway, you could probably haul them out of the house and they would not notice."
The red tree shook as the two occupants came climbing down, the half-elf stowing a silver amulet in the form of a cloud back under is loose black tunic. "That's true, but still. Yeah, but, figure you had little chance, huh?"
A really small halfling ran around the corner of the house, having stood sentry on the other side. "Are we all done?" he wanted to know.
A dwarf girl, a gnome boy and a half-halfling man assembled behind the feline and grinned, showing several small pieces of loot. Their master usually allowed them to take some things for themselves, to keep them interested enough in the job as to have a to be at their best. In this case, there was a silver dagger, a small copper amulet showing an exotic bird and a small carpet. They never overdid it, and usually took things which would not easily be missed.
"Let's go, then," the small halfling hurried them on.
One by one, they hurried over the dark street. Those of them who could not, by their heritage, see in the dark had been given a ring to be able to do so. Of course, as with the amulet of restful sleep, they would have to give them all back upon their return. As much as they could do a lot of things other slaves could not, keeping magic items was not part of the bargain.
On the other side of the street, they split up in pairs. There would be less suspicion if someone would dare to look out on the streets and spot them, as opposed to see a whole group of dark robed folks screaming robbery. From the south west of the city, they moved up to the north east as fast as they could. The sooner they were home, the more sleep they could get. After all, just because it was a new moon night, they could not sleep in the next day. It would just raise suspicion. None of the acquiring groups of their master knew of the other, and none of them talked to anyone outside their close knit group about it. That was the rule.
Each of them arrived home without problem. No guards were posted on new moon night, no patrols on their way, and most likely none had even seen as much as a glimpse of them. However, sneaking into the quadratic palace-like estate with the large courtyard reserved for the residing circus troupe was not without problems either. None of the other performers were to see them. Despite new moon night, there were always some around who knew about the hoax, or who trusted in the supposed powerful magical protections of the grounds. But worse than that, there was Shasta.
Shasta was the only guard dog of the estate, belonging to the dwarf cook Ramuel. The black beast was larger than the dwarf, a mastiff bred by giants, so the caller of the circus would claim when she was presented to a gawking audience. Fact was, though, the dog had fallen into a magical potion as a pup and never quite shrunk back to her supposed size after the effect was to be over. A side effect of the sometimes unpredictable magic in the desert.
Shasta also didn't like cats of any kind, and to the annoyance of their feline companion, this included sentient, felinoid races. No matter what Ramuel had tried, Shasta stayed resentful of the thief and there had been many a times when the proverbial and the real cat had been chased up the tree and Ramuel had had to trick the dog away from her intended prey.
While the others rushed over the yard to their respective tents, the feline's whiskers twitched, and she sniffed the air in anticipation. Last new moon night, she had barely escaped behind a pile of firewood and been glad not to have been discovered by the cook who, luckily in this case, didn't fear new moon either. The month before that, she had almost made it to her tent and had to be rescued by the amulet's sleep spell, which had raised some suspicion later the next day as the dog almost slept the whole day. And a few months before Shasta had managed to tear her clothes off completely, including some of her fur.
"Tenelli?" Now that they were back home, they were allowed to say each others' names again. "I can see her, she's sleeping right next to the camels." The thin voice belonged to the halfling ranger. "Want me to go and distract her?"
"Please." Tenelli almost squeaked. "Sometimes I wish that dog was dead."
"Now now, she's otherwise a great dog!" Small feet moved away, and then a soothing voice could be heard talking to Shasta.
The felinoid took the chance and ran as fast as she could. Her tent was one of the closest to the archway, and she was nimble and silent, but that was not enough. A few seconds later, Shasta had heard her footsteps and jumped up with an annoyed growl. The halfling's voice rose, trying in vain to keep the dog in place a bit longer. Tenelli sped up, and out of breath she dove into her tent just when Shasta jumped at her.
Shasta jumped with the halfling still clinging to her chain harness. The young man was thrown around like an oversized dog tag. The tent could not withstand the impact of both, and the canvas came down on Tenelli as the ropes snapped. With a whine, Shasta tried to untangle herself, but got stuck even more, a gasping ranger under her.
"Shasta!" The cook's voice, sleepy and annoyed, came from the kitchen doors. "Seriously, now you hunt Tenelli even by night? And who did you catch there?"
"Tried...stop her," the halfling gasped.
The dwarf grunted and dragged the dog off the heap of tent, feline and halfling. "My apologies. Dhai?" he then shouted, clapping 3 times.
A muscular male figure in blues and greens solidified out of smoke in front of Ramuel. "Yes, my friend? Oh I see." With an amused look, the djinni, main reason for the cook's gained freedom, took in the ruined tent and the angry dog. "One of these days, Shasta will either cause you to be a slave again, or she will be killed by your boss."
"Yes, maybe," the cook sighed, helping the halfling off the tent. Tenelli stopped struggling, hoping to be helped as well. "Can you fix this mess?"
"Ah, sure." Putting a finger to his chin as if to think, the djinni grinned again and then snipped the fingers of the other hand. In a rush of wind, the demolition of the tent seemed to run backwards, putting it all upright and secure again. "There you go. I suggest you talk to a druid about that dog, though."
Shasta, having forgotten about her arch enemy for a moment, wiggled her tail at Dhai. "See, she is the nicest dog ever. If not for the cat..."
"I'm not a cat," the insulted voice of the thief could be heard. "The same way you are not a monkey."
"Yeah yeah, fine!" Ramuel threw his arms up in the air and let out an exaggerated groan, then he led the dog back to the kitchen. "I swear, she's just waylaying poor Tenelli."
Back in the tent, Tenelli sat on the straw mattress on the floor, crying without tears. It wasn't that the dog was out for her, or that hardly anyone but Aventhin, the ranger, dared to stand between her and Shasta. It was that everyone was calling her a cat if they didn't use her name. She was not a cat. Her race must have its own name, and it was probably something proud and fearsome. But having been found as a baby in a place unknown to her, no one knew anything about her origins. One day, she would have to go and find out. Somehow, she would find a way despite the dreaded tattoo. If she was like a cat in any way, it was her desire to be free and about.
"One day," she mumbled. "Hear me, gods of the world. You brought me into this mess, now get me out. It is all your fault!"
If any cleric had heard her, she might have been in for a good talking to. But no mortal heard her, and what the gods thought of the matter was not for any mortal to know.