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Welcome to the Halmae (updated 2/27/07)
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<blockquote data-quote="spyscribe" data-source="post: 1106907" data-attributes="member: 5808"><p><strong>Part the Very Twenty-Third</strong></p><p><em>In which: the party considers how to better their fortunes, and Justice is served… mostly.</em></p><p><em>(as recorded by Fajitas)</em></p><p></p><p>Cyrus sums up the party’s dilemma. “We need more money.”</p><p> </p><p>Silence falls as the party considers their options. “Um. I suppose Hue could always take up al-Assal on his offer of employment,” Thatch says uncomfortably.</p><p></p><p> “Yeah! I could!” Hue says. “Justice demands it!” <em> (DM’s Note: At this point, Bad Monkey Jeff began laughing hysterically, nearly fell out of his seat, and finally squeaked out the words “Pimp the gnome for Justice!” It immediately became a campaign slogan. Unfortunately, since no one knows what a gnome is in the Halmae, it doesn’t get used in-game.)</em></p><p></p><p> “Surely there is another option,” Reyu says, looking around hopefully. </p><p></p><p> “There are the gladiator fights,” Essela says. “Or the chariot races. One can always bet on those.”</p><p> </p><p> The party contemplates this option. “I am not comfortable with the notion of making such a bet,” Anvil says. “We stand to lose what little we have left.”</p><p></p><p> “I could enter the gladiator fights,” Thatch says. “I bet I’d do pretty well.”</p><p></p><p> “Or you’d get killed,” Cyrus points out.</p><p></p><p> “I can handle myself,” Thatch retorts.</p><p></p><p> “There is still risk involved. It should be saved for our last resort,” Anvil says.</p><p></p><p> The party lapses into silence again. Finally, Reyu asks, “How much are we short by?”</p><p></p><p> “60 gold,” Cyrus responds.</p><p></p><p> “We did spend 80 gold on these robes. We won’t need them once we leave the city. If we can recover only 60 of what we spent…”</p><p></p><p> “…and not incur any other expenses…” Anvil adds.</p><p></p><p> “…we should be able to afford everyone.”</p><p></p><p> The party agrees to aim for this goal. “Right! So I guess we shouldn’t let our robes get dirty or anything,” Hue says.</p><p></p><p> “That would be best,” Anvil informs him.</p><p></p><p> Their plan in place, they agree to spend the 250 gold for Dennis. They give the money to a trustworthy acolyte, who takes it to the Lowess estate. A short time later, the acolyte returns. With him is a well-tanned man with thick dark hair and a moustache. He looks about thirty yeas old and is dressed as a slave. He scrutinizes the party with bright but skeptical eyes. </p><p></p><p> “You are Dennis?” Anvil asks.</p><p></p><p> “Yeah,” the man says, in a deep, dry voice. “They told me something about being free to go?”</p><p></p><p> “You are,” Reyu says, kindly.</p><p></p><p> “Huh,” Dennis says, thinking about it. “First time I ever heard <strong>that</strong> at the Temple of Justice.”</p><p></p><p> “Two down,” Thatch says.</p><p></p><p> “390,” Cyrus notes.</p><p></p><p> “Plus robes!” Hue adds. “Don’t forget the robes.”</p><p></p><p>***********</p><p></p><p> Word arrives from the House of Barter first thing in the morning. When the Morjene estate’s assets were split up, Amelia Morren was sold to the Vojer household. “It is not far,” Essela tells the party.</p><p></p><p> To the party’s surprise, Lord Vojer seems a perfectly reasonable individual. “I had no idea,” he says, after they explain the situation to him. “Of course, she should be freed.”</p><p></p><p> “We are prepared to compensate you for her purchase,” Anvil informs him.</p><p></p><p> “That’s very kind. I’ll need to replace her, if I can. It’s not easy to find slaves intelligent enough to tend a library.” Lord Vojer claps his hands, summoning a servant, who he instructs to bring Amelia to them. </p><p></p><p> Anvil doles out 250 gold pieces, Amelia’s sale price. Lord Vojer takes the money, and the transaction is complete.</p><p></p><p> “Is that it?” Thatch asks. “No strings? No bribes? No hidden costs?”</p><p></p><p> “Apparently not,” Reyu says.</p><p></p><p> “Three down.”</p><p></p><p> “140,” says Cyrus. “Plus robes.”</p><p></p><p> They wait for Amelia to arrive. Lord Vojer shakes his head, sadly. “The poor girl. It’s hard to imagine how she’s suffered. I believe she was treated rather badly by her previous owner.”</p><p></p><p> “Of course she was,” Reyu says. “She was a slave.”</p><p></p><p> “Not all slaves are treated harshly,” Lord Vojer replies. </p><p></p><p> “Perhaps. But it is not a custom that I will ever… understand.”</p><p></p><p>“There are plenty of people who treat their slaves just fine. Lady Morjene was never among them. The family wasn’t known for its, well, charity or kindness. She had a terrible reputation, on all fronts. It’s fortunate Amelia wasn’t there long.”</p><p></p><p> “What happened to her former master?” Anvil asks.</p><p></p><p> “She was murdered. Bludgeoned to death, rather savagely, so they say. The gods know she must have had enough enemies.” </p><p></p><p> Anvil nods, satisfied. “Then it seems that Justice was served,” he says.</p><p></p><p> A few moments later, the servant returns with a young woman. She is thin and pale, though she seems healthy and clean. She does not look at anyone in the room, keeping her eyes fixed on the floor. “You sent for me, milord?” she says, in a quiet, deferential voice, and she curtseys.</p><p></p><p> Reyu steps forward. “Are you Amelia Morren?”</p><p></p><p> “Yes, ma’am” she says, curtseying again.</p><p></p><p> “You do not need to call me ma’am,” Reyu says, kindly. “You are a free woman again.”</p><p></p><p> Amelia seems confused. Her brow furrows, and her eyes dart around, but they never leave the floor to look at Reyu. “I’m… I’m what?” she asks.</p><p></p><p> “You are free,” Anvil says. “You have been a victim of a terrible miscarriage of Justice, which we are here to correct as best we are able. We will take you back to Dar Pykos with us.”</p><p></p><p> “I’m… I’m leaving here?” she says. There is the faintest hint of a tear in her eye.</p><p></p><p> “Yes, you are.”</p><p></p><p> Amelia is quiet for a moment. Finally she says, “May I have a moment to collect my things, please?”</p><p></p><p> The party looks around in surprise at one another. They’d have expected a more joyous response to the news. “Of course,” Reyu says. Amelia curtseys again, and disappears.</p><p> </p><p> “Um,” says Thatch. “Is she all right?”</p><p> </p><p> “I think it’ll take more than money to make things right with her,” Cyrus says.</p><p></p><p>**************</p><p></p><p> As the group returns to the Temple of Justice, they try to engage Amelia in conversation. She keeps her eyes to the ground, responding with quiet, noncommittal answers. The only one who gets any real response from her is Hue. “Hey!” he says. “Do you remember that al-Assal guy? He said we should tell you he was sorry he had to be so extreme!”</p><p></p><p> Amelia’s head jerks in Hue’s direction and she actually looks him in the eye. “He’s sorry?” she practically snarls. “Is that supposed to mean anything?”</p><p></p><p> “Sure,” Hue says, before anyone can stop him. “It’s good, isn’t it? It means he really didn’t mean it!”</p><p></p><p> Whatever light was in Amelia’s eyes for a moment dies out. Her eyes return to the ground. “He meant it,” she says, quietly. “They all mean it.”</p><p></p><p> “He seemed really sincere,” Hue says.</p><p></p><p> Amelia’s jaw clenches, and she suddenly turns around and lifts up the back of her shirt to reveal a latticework of old wounds from the lash of a whip. “Then I guess this was an accident, was it?”</p><p></p><p> Even Hue is stunned into silence. Amelia drops her shirt again, and resumes her sullen staring at the ground.</p><p></p><p> There is little conversation after that.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="spyscribe, post: 1106907, member: 5808"] [b]Part the Very Twenty-Third[/b] [i]In which: the party considers how to better their fortunes, and Justice is served… mostly. (as recorded by Fajitas)[/i] Cyrus sums up the party’s dilemma. “We need more money.” Silence falls as the party considers their options. “Um. I suppose Hue could always take up al-Assal on his offer of employment,” Thatch says uncomfortably. “Yeah! I could!” Hue says. “Justice demands it!” [I] (DM’s Note: At this point, Bad Monkey Jeff began laughing hysterically, nearly fell out of his seat, and finally squeaked out the words “Pimp the gnome for Justice!” It immediately became a campaign slogan. Unfortunately, since no one knows what a gnome is in the Halmae, it doesn’t get used in-game.)[/I] “Surely there is another option,” Reyu says, looking around hopefully. “There are the gladiator fights,” Essela says. “Or the chariot races. One can always bet on those.” The party contemplates this option. “I am not comfortable with the notion of making such a bet,” Anvil says. “We stand to lose what little we have left.” “I could enter the gladiator fights,” Thatch says. “I bet I’d do pretty well.” “Or you’d get killed,” Cyrus points out. “I can handle myself,” Thatch retorts. “There is still risk involved. It should be saved for our last resort,” Anvil says. The party lapses into silence again. Finally, Reyu asks, “How much are we short by?” “60 gold,” Cyrus responds. “We did spend 80 gold on these robes. We won’t need them once we leave the city. If we can recover only 60 of what we spent…” “…and not incur any other expenses…” Anvil adds. “…we should be able to afford everyone.” The party agrees to aim for this goal. “Right! So I guess we shouldn’t let our robes get dirty or anything,” Hue says. “That would be best,” Anvil informs him. Their plan in place, they agree to spend the 250 gold for Dennis. They give the money to a trustworthy acolyte, who takes it to the Lowess estate. A short time later, the acolyte returns. With him is a well-tanned man with thick dark hair and a moustache. He looks about thirty yeas old and is dressed as a slave. He scrutinizes the party with bright but skeptical eyes. “You are Dennis?” Anvil asks. “Yeah,” the man says, in a deep, dry voice. “They told me something about being free to go?” “You are,” Reyu says, kindly. “Huh,” Dennis says, thinking about it. “First time I ever heard [b]that[/b] at the Temple of Justice.” “Two down,” Thatch says. “390,” Cyrus notes. “Plus robes!” Hue adds. “Don’t forget the robes.” *********** Word arrives from the House of Barter first thing in the morning. When the Morjene estate’s assets were split up, Amelia Morren was sold to the Vojer household. “It is not far,” Essela tells the party. To the party’s surprise, Lord Vojer seems a perfectly reasonable individual. “I had no idea,” he says, after they explain the situation to him. “Of course, she should be freed.” “We are prepared to compensate you for her purchase,” Anvil informs him. “That’s very kind. I’ll need to replace her, if I can. It’s not easy to find slaves intelligent enough to tend a library.” Lord Vojer claps his hands, summoning a servant, who he instructs to bring Amelia to them. Anvil doles out 250 gold pieces, Amelia’s sale price. Lord Vojer takes the money, and the transaction is complete. “Is that it?” Thatch asks. “No strings? No bribes? No hidden costs?” “Apparently not,” Reyu says. “Three down.” “140,” says Cyrus. “Plus robes.” They wait for Amelia to arrive. Lord Vojer shakes his head, sadly. “The poor girl. It’s hard to imagine how she’s suffered. I believe she was treated rather badly by her previous owner.” “Of course she was,” Reyu says. “She was a slave.” “Not all slaves are treated harshly,” Lord Vojer replies. “Perhaps. But it is not a custom that I will ever… understand.” “There are plenty of people who treat their slaves just fine. Lady Morjene was never among them. The family wasn’t known for its, well, charity or kindness. She had a terrible reputation, on all fronts. It’s fortunate Amelia wasn’t there long.” “What happened to her former master?” Anvil asks. “She was murdered. Bludgeoned to death, rather savagely, so they say. The gods know she must have had enough enemies.” Anvil nods, satisfied. “Then it seems that Justice was served,” he says. A few moments later, the servant returns with a young woman. She is thin and pale, though she seems healthy and clean. She does not look at anyone in the room, keeping her eyes fixed on the floor. “You sent for me, milord?” she says, in a quiet, deferential voice, and she curtseys. Reyu steps forward. “Are you Amelia Morren?” “Yes, ma’am” she says, curtseying again. “You do not need to call me ma’am,” Reyu says, kindly. “You are a free woman again.” Amelia seems confused. Her brow furrows, and her eyes dart around, but they never leave the floor to look at Reyu. “I’m… I’m what?” she asks. “You are free,” Anvil says. “You have been a victim of a terrible miscarriage of Justice, which we are here to correct as best we are able. We will take you back to Dar Pykos with us.” “I’m… I’m leaving here?” she says. There is the faintest hint of a tear in her eye. “Yes, you are.” Amelia is quiet for a moment. Finally she says, “May I have a moment to collect my things, please?” The party looks around in surprise at one another. They’d have expected a more joyous response to the news. “Of course,” Reyu says. Amelia curtseys again, and disappears. “Um,” says Thatch. “Is she all right?” “I think it’ll take more than money to make things right with her,” Cyrus says. ************** As the group returns to the Temple of Justice, they try to engage Amelia in conversation. She keeps her eyes to the ground, responding with quiet, noncommittal answers. The only one who gets any real response from her is Hue. “Hey!” he says. “Do you remember that al-Assal guy? He said we should tell you he was sorry he had to be so extreme!” Amelia’s head jerks in Hue’s direction and she actually looks him in the eye. “He’s sorry?” she practically snarls. “Is that supposed to mean anything?” “Sure,” Hue says, before anyone can stop him. “It’s good, isn’t it? It means he really didn’t mean it!” Whatever light was in Amelia’s eyes for a moment dies out. Her eyes return to the ground. “He meant it,” she says, quietly. “They all mean it.” “He seemed really sincere,” Hue says. Amelia’s jaw clenches, and she suddenly turns around and lifts up the back of her shirt to reveal a latticework of old wounds from the lash of a whip. “Then I guess this was an accident, was it?” Even Hue is stunned into silence. Amelia drops her shirt again, and resumes her sullen staring at the ground. There is little conversation after that. [/QUOTE]
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