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

[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]

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]

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]

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]

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<

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]

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!