Carnifex's Story Hour (Updated January 20th, "The Union")
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- Start date
Broccli_Head
Explorer
Simultaneously Sebastion's arm came round, faster than a striking snake, to hurl a gleaming throwing axe at the same time as the pistolier fired again with a gout of smoke and crack of thunder; his weapon a twin-barrel, the two thin barrels and triggers close together. Sebastion felt the force of the bullet as the metal slug clipped his shoulder, sending him reeling from the shock but in fact causing merely a light flesh wound. The hurled axe caved the man's chest in and dropped him dead on the spot.
I remember that fight in the bar well. Above was one of my favorite sequences.
Seb and Kale Rock!
I remember that fight in the bar well. Above was one of my favorite sequences.
Seb and Kale Rock!
Mathew_Freeman
Adventurer
Broccli_Head - sometimes I feel like I'm following you around the boards. You seem to read all the same SH's as I do...
You, sir, have excellent taste!
You, sir, have excellent taste!
Broccli_Head
Explorer
Tallarn said:Broccli_Head - sometimes I feel like I'm following you around the boards. You seem to read all the same SH's as I do...
You, sir, have excellent taste!
Thank you....
I guess I also have time sometimes to peruse the boards. I like innovative ideas and new worlds. Hence, Carni's SH is definitely a draw. I get the play-by-play since it's a PBeM and it is really fantastic.
I keep jones'in' Carnifex for maps. I want to see were everything is.
Cheers,
BH
"da original veggie!"
Carnifex
First Post
An Addendum to Ebri's Previous Visit to the Booksellers:
"There is the matter of the companions we are to travel with." she had said, as she and Karbal proceeded mentally down the long laundry list of questions and answers. "Especially the newer ones: Burl Overton, Wyshira, an astonishing fellow by the name of Kale Amegrion, a mercenary, Wolf, and a blind dwarven monk-- obviously a monk, called Cord." She followed with a brief description of each, and what little she'd heard of their backgrounds. "Several of them disquiet me intensely, Burl in particular. Though, as you know, it is unwise to rely too heavily upon personal feeling in these matters, feeling may be a beginning guide. I have had time to gauge the others of my band; I am reasonably certain of their motives and ways, but it would be well to 'check them out' as well. If you have or could compile any information on these people, I should be most grateful. Forewarned is forearmed, and I would not like to travel with an unknown viper in the nest if it may be avoided. I will return tomorrow, if you think it meet, for a further report."
As Ebri had risen to leave the home of Karbal that previous day, once she had voiced her concerns over her travelling companions, the man who was both Collector and Shadowspeaker had held out a hand to delay her for a few moments more. "Before you leave to return to your ward, I have some equipment here for you that we feel you will find most useful in your task. The first is this," and he reached over to a nearby chest of drawers, pulling one compartment open and producing a gleaming weapon. Silvery and reflecting the light in a refracting, pleasing manner, yet otherwise wholely unadorned, she could see it was one of the multitude of weapons the monastery had trained her in the use of; it was a kama. He passed it over to her; it felt wonderfully light in her hands.
"This kama has been laden with some simple enchantments. It will never tarnish, except when you are close to a dreamweaver when it will turn pitch black; and the battle charms placed upon it should help you to fight physical threats as well. And these," and he took from the same drawer what looked like three small globes of darkness, each four inches across, "are shadowskins. Press one against your flesh and will it to enclose you, and it will wreath you in a skin of shadow. It wont hamper your senses at all, nor hinder your movement, but will protect you from blades and fire and help you move more stealthily; it slowly evaporates off though." The shadowskins felt cool to the touch, but tangible despite their wraith-like appearance, slightly spongy almost.
"Now go, with the blessing of the Prophet."
DM's Note: The kama is a kama +1. Each shadowskin grants the following bonuses while active: Damage reduction 5/+1, Fire Resistance 10, +4 circumstance bonuses to Move Silently and Hide checks. It slowly evaporates off over the course of a few hours, faster if subjected to damage (especially fire damage). Each shadowskin has only one use.
Back to Current Events in Karbal's Bookshop:
While the others shopped, Wyshira noticed the wind begin to pick up. It started with a slight stirring of the air which the priestess felt on her face when she turned in the direction of the river. The sky was a haze of darkness in the distance; the tall stone spires of the Wind Hawks' Air Tower stood out dazzling white against it.
By the time they reached the bookseller's the wind was blowing in gusts, swirling dust and debris about the party's feet. The rumble of thunder could be heard growing nearer.
Wyshira remained near the door while Burl went off to browse Karbal's inventory. She watched out the window as the first heavy drops of rain spattered on the dry cobblestones. Townsfolk ran for cover, and soon the streets were nearly empty.
The rain came on; she could see it moving down the street towards her like a sheet of water being drawn along by the hand of the goddess. Thunder boomed, rattling the glass panes in the shop windows. Wyshira's pulse quickened.
For the most part, Cord found books to be thoroughly unimpressive. In his long life, he had never found a need to sift through the works of geniuses and fools. His goal could not be reached by delving into the works of the past, but in the experiences of the present. The thirst for knowledge he understood, but Cord sought a different sort of knowledge; books were useless in his quest.
He recognized them, however. The slightly acidic smell of ink, the thick air heavy with the slow decay of paper and glue. Vellum, cloth, and hemp mixed in the bookstore's air with a unique scent all it's own, and instantly recognizable.
Cord remained silent as the others drew Karbal's attention. He waited, listening to their movements and concerns, and tried to gauge the relationship between Ebri and the bookseller. He had gleaned some information during the course of the morning on the way here, but only from its lack. She was reserved, her movements and senses heightened and practiced, in a way not dissimilar from his own. He wondered at the familiarity. Then there was this Karbal. He began to realize, despite his confidence in judging their character, how little he knew of the people around him.
As the questions began to die down, he stepped between the bodies of the larger humans and made himself known. He bowed his head slightly to Karbal. "Tell me, if you will, Master Bookkeeper," he said, "and pardon a question that may seem quite out of the ordinary. There is a growing evil in the land, I can feel it deep in my aging bones. My lord Grumand has sensed it, as well. Have you heard of this malady, or know of its source?"
Cord held little hope for a real answer. He knew, too, that his question must seem odd to all but possibly Wyshira. But for the time being, his focus was on discovering the origins of the corruption he sensed. Let the others think him a batty old dwarf; if he was in the company of a learned man, he might as well try to find some answers. Cord doubted, however, that he would know any more than the Grumand priest.
During the ride down to the city, Melisande agonized over a number of different possible tactics to take with the bookseller. She had no money, and needed to be able to consult some of his books without buying them, and furthermore needed a good excuse to be delving into such odd and sensitive subjects as the ones she meant to research.
Arriving at Karbal's she could only stop a moment and gape at the books. There were more than she'd ever seen packed into such a small space. It felt sacreligious walking on them, but she could find no other option.
Before she could work up her courage to produce the lie she'd settled on at the last minute, the blind dwarf Cord stepped up to ask Karbal a strange enough question that it might just divert the bookseller's attention away from her.
Karbal looked quizzically at Cord, appraising the elderly, blind dwarf as he considered the monk's question. "A growing evil, you say? Then let me counter that with this point - there has always been evil in the land, you just need to know where to search to find it. An increasing of it one year, a diminishing the next - swells and dips but how significant are they really? All I have heard of this year is that there looks to be a poor harvest, so most likely we might see famine encroaching on some lands - but how much does that qualify as an evil as opposed to part of the cycle of nature?"
Cord was insulted at Karbal's suggestion he did not understand the nature of evil, though stifled the protest his dwarven blood had awakened. Death was not evil, neither were bad harvests, plague, or war. It is the combination of malicious intent and action that gives rise to true evil: not accidents or indifferent nature. Cord did not sense a waning in sentiment or the simple onset of famine. He felt the murder of nature itself, and the corruption of the earth left him without understanding or direction. Unfortunately, this Karbal had neither.
As soon as Cord and Karbal finished, Melisande stepped up to introduce herself, extending a hand.
"Hello, Mister Karbal. What a pleasure. I think if anyone in the world has what I'm looking for it might well be you." She made an appreciative gesture at the engulfing mass of books. "My name's Anya. I'm an historian. I--work for an historian, actually. I've been sent round to find out if you have any good books on a certain number of subjects--the Nephians, the Great Prophet, the Elder Gods, that sort of esoteric stuff--and if I find anything of interest to my employer I'm to ask you to set the books aside so she can send down the money for them. Would you mind much if I browse?"
It came tumbling out in a breathless spiel. It seemed like a good ruse, but she had no idea how convincing she'd been, and her nervous fidgeting wasn't going to help. She stopped picking at the rabbit fur of her overcloak and smoothed it down self-consciously.
Had he been human or elf, Cord would have raised an eyebrow. If his ancestry included some orcish breed, he would have released a loud, uncontrolled grunt. But, being a dwarf, he simply allowed himself a quiet hrumph and settled himself against a window. Melisande was a horrible liar. However, he did applaud her efforts and wondered, briefly, not whether Karbal would see through her ruse, but if the bookseller would humor the poor girl.
Wyshira had remained strangely silent. Though, in retrospect, Cord realized that perhaps her behavior was not all that strange; the rising wind and increasing rain of an approaching storm more than accounted for it. For a moment, he envied her. Cord could not remember the last time his breath quickened, or the last time he felt a consuming passion, as she seemed to react at the mere sight of flowing water. Was it his age? Or could it be something else? Perhaps the ever-elusive wisdom he sought required the sacrifice of emotion?
He shook his head, attempting to dispel such thoughts without success. No. He refused to believe it. But doubt continued to gnaw at his mind. For too long he had spoken only with students who looked up to his wisdom. In Wyshira, Kale, and even Melisande he found a passion that propelled them forward. Cord wondered when his died, or even if it ever existed.
Silently, he retreated from the group, retreated from Wyshira, and stewed in his own thoughts.
Nodding to Melisande, Karbal smiled pleasantly. "Good day, miss Anya. Go ahead and browse all you want, and take the time you want; the books are not going anywhere fast. I'll warn you now though that there isn't much knowledge on either the Nephians nor the deity usually referred to as the Great Prophet - whose true name, by the way, is Shushurek," he said. Ebri was the only one in the room who noticed a glance he threw at her, one that seemed to convey pay attention. "It's made up of old drakkath words merged together. You see, the word Drakkath itself means shadow, but the language has lots of different words to mean shadow, and shushu is another." Ebri and Melisande, but versed in drakkath, knew of the multiple words for shadow, all with their own subtle meanings, but neither had ever come across that word before. "Rek is a word for lord or ruler, indicating a ruler of a spiritual sort. Hence shushurek, shadow lord. OF course, many of the very old words of drakkath have fallen out of use so a lot of people never pick up on the meanings of some old place names and suchlike. Rumour has it that the seniors of the Nephians in their little mountain communities only teach such meanings to students they feel ready for such knowledge. Doubtless I can expect an assassin to turn up any day now to strike me down for having discovered such old secrets from my books," he said with a joking smile.
Mel couldn't help but whip around, expecting a cloaked Nephian to hurtle in from the street and stab them both. Because the moment he mentioned mountain communities she noticed that this man knew even more than Ebri Zol about the Nephians, and she was instantly feeling overly curious. She noticed Ebri looking afflicted but whipped back around before she could comment, suddenly aware that Karbal might be a Nephian. But then he wouldn't have... Well, no assassins appeared at any rate, and Karbal declined to kill her on the spot.
"My goodness, my employer will want to purchase you. Not very many people know ancient Drakkath so well. If you'll direct me, I'd love to read what you have on this... Shushurek..."
The name itself sounded ancient, esoteric, powerful. It was almost frightening to pronounce.
"And if there is any collateral information you think would be useful please let me know. I'd really like more information on the Elder Gods. In fact--was Shushurek one of them?"
Some historian. It sounded like a stupid question. But frankly, good objective theology was hard to come by in Carthagia, and she didn't know the first thing.
Ebri's eyebrows raised, and she feigned an expression of shock and glee as the Collector trotted out the supposed name of the Prophet. She hurried over to the pair. "You know of the Nephians?" she gushed. "Oh, come, if you know this much you must know more, sir. Do tell! They're so mysterious! They make for such good tales. What could assassins want with the likes of us?"
DM's Note: Once again, Ebri shows her capacity for bluffing and acting
Karbal laughed at Melisande's comment. "I am afraid, young lady, that I am not for sale. The reason why most people know little on such exotic subjects is that they do not have an entire collection of books such as this to browse through all day. The life of a bookseller is not an exciting one, beyond the occasional visit to acquire a new tome for the shelves."
"The Elders? Sadly little of what I would term reliable knowledge has survived the last thousand years since their downfall. The centuries after the divine war, though it ended in victory for the Youngers and their followers, were not some bountiful, well-earned golden age. They were, by the accounts I have gleaned, dire times of starvation and disease. Amongst the mortals there were no winners. All had lost so much that they had to struggle just to live and try to rebuild their lives from the wreckage of the glorious civilisations that had once existed around them, not crushed and scattered, the lands torn by magic. Even now, this millenia later, we still have not recaptured the glories of the time before the war. I have read of the glories of Xar'Natath, the keystone of the empire of the ancient Myrmecians before they sided with Hashrukk and the Youngers reduced their graceful desert temples and boulevards to rubble, and I have read of the bountiful lands that once stretched from Naseria to Corinthia where now rather than farmsteads so much is instead untamed wilderness, today's nations lowly trying to push back their boundaries and become more than their fragile selves, and they have taken hundreds of years just to get this far. In these kinds of conditions, very little of the old knowledge can survive fully intact; the Elders largely remain mysteries outside of the most common knowledge and the uncertified rumours. The most we know of are those that have survived in one form or another; the Dragon Lord Gilamesh, the Daemonflesh Hashrukk; Shauku, whose hordes rampaged over Ascaria some few centuries ago and who, apparently, actually managed to chain Fenris into a vulnerable, physical form for a while until his avatars were slain by mighty Ascarian warriors. Indeed, the Scars of Fenris are something I would hope to visit in my life; they're said to be massive gorges torn out of the earth by the Fire Wolf in his fury. There are other Elders who have survived, and others who we know of; Nephias who legend says wove a web that protects life, the Lady of Time who mourns in her isolated prison, and others."
"Shushurek was not, from what I know, an Elder. He was a mortal once, and the myths say he was one of the Men of Shadow, that much-maligned race that the others branded traitors and chased beneath the earth. Who knows if they still exist - or if they ever existed at all outside of the fanciful imaginations of men? He rose to godhood with the sponsorship of a deity that already existed - so therefore we must assume an Elder god, though no records tell of which. His worship is more widespread than some would think though. He is the patron of prophets and diviners; many such people discover him in their researches and ask for his blessings, never telling another soul that they secretly worship this shadowy god. You may wonder how I know that - well, sometimes the personal diaries and writings of such people come my way and I have read of it more than once happening. And of course there is the Nephians, who sages speculate worship Shushurek; I heard that when a Nephian assassin failed in an attempt to take the life of a Flame Hawk commander they found the holy symbol of Shushurek on the body."
At Ebri's eager question the shopkeeper smiled even more broadly. "Well, no-one knows what the Nephians really want, but by most accounts they are little more than hired assassins. They are said to train for years in their monasteries then each commits but one assassination in their lifetime, and if they fail they must kill themselves out of shame. Of course, that's from Tabar's Tales of Myth and Legend, and I'd only believe him as far as I could throw a crate of iron ingots. They have certainly committed assassinations before, but I think a lot of murders get attributed to them out of fanciful imaginations rather than any actual evidence of their involvement. To be honest though I delve little into the world of assassins and other such lowlifes, since getting entangled with such people can do much more harm than good.."
"There is the matter of the companions we are to travel with." she had said, as she and Karbal proceeded mentally down the long laundry list of questions and answers. "Especially the newer ones: Burl Overton, Wyshira, an astonishing fellow by the name of Kale Amegrion, a mercenary, Wolf, and a blind dwarven monk-- obviously a monk, called Cord." She followed with a brief description of each, and what little she'd heard of their backgrounds. "Several of them disquiet me intensely, Burl in particular. Though, as you know, it is unwise to rely too heavily upon personal feeling in these matters, feeling may be a beginning guide. I have had time to gauge the others of my band; I am reasonably certain of their motives and ways, but it would be well to 'check them out' as well. If you have or could compile any information on these people, I should be most grateful. Forewarned is forearmed, and I would not like to travel with an unknown viper in the nest if it may be avoided. I will return tomorrow, if you think it meet, for a further report."
As Ebri had risen to leave the home of Karbal that previous day, once she had voiced her concerns over her travelling companions, the man who was both Collector and Shadowspeaker had held out a hand to delay her for a few moments more. "Before you leave to return to your ward, I have some equipment here for you that we feel you will find most useful in your task. The first is this," and he reached over to a nearby chest of drawers, pulling one compartment open and producing a gleaming weapon. Silvery and reflecting the light in a refracting, pleasing manner, yet otherwise wholely unadorned, she could see it was one of the multitude of weapons the monastery had trained her in the use of; it was a kama. He passed it over to her; it felt wonderfully light in her hands.
"This kama has been laden with some simple enchantments. It will never tarnish, except when you are close to a dreamweaver when it will turn pitch black; and the battle charms placed upon it should help you to fight physical threats as well. And these," and he took from the same drawer what looked like three small globes of darkness, each four inches across, "are shadowskins. Press one against your flesh and will it to enclose you, and it will wreath you in a skin of shadow. It wont hamper your senses at all, nor hinder your movement, but will protect you from blades and fire and help you move more stealthily; it slowly evaporates off though." The shadowskins felt cool to the touch, but tangible despite their wraith-like appearance, slightly spongy almost.
"Now go, with the blessing of the Prophet."
DM's Note: The kama is a kama +1. Each shadowskin grants the following bonuses while active: Damage reduction 5/+1, Fire Resistance 10, +4 circumstance bonuses to Move Silently and Hide checks. It slowly evaporates off over the course of a few hours, faster if subjected to damage (especially fire damage). Each shadowskin has only one use.
Back to Current Events in Karbal's Bookshop:
While the others shopped, Wyshira noticed the wind begin to pick up. It started with a slight stirring of the air which the priestess felt on her face when she turned in the direction of the river. The sky was a haze of darkness in the distance; the tall stone spires of the Wind Hawks' Air Tower stood out dazzling white against it.
By the time they reached the bookseller's the wind was blowing in gusts, swirling dust and debris about the party's feet. The rumble of thunder could be heard growing nearer.
Wyshira remained near the door while Burl went off to browse Karbal's inventory. She watched out the window as the first heavy drops of rain spattered on the dry cobblestones. Townsfolk ran for cover, and soon the streets were nearly empty.
The rain came on; she could see it moving down the street towards her like a sheet of water being drawn along by the hand of the goddess. Thunder boomed, rattling the glass panes in the shop windows. Wyshira's pulse quickened.
For the most part, Cord found books to be thoroughly unimpressive. In his long life, he had never found a need to sift through the works of geniuses and fools. His goal could not be reached by delving into the works of the past, but in the experiences of the present. The thirst for knowledge he understood, but Cord sought a different sort of knowledge; books were useless in his quest.
He recognized them, however. The slightly acidic smell of ink, the thick air heavy with the slow decay of paper and glue. Vellum, cloth, and hemp mixed in the bookstore's air with a unique scent all it's own, and instantly recognizable.
Cord remained silent as the others drew Karbal's attention. He waited, listening to their movements and concerns, and tried to gauge the relationship between Ebri and the bookseller. He had gleaned some information during the course of the morning on the way here, but only from its lack. She was reserved, her movements and senses heightened and practiced, in a way not dissimilar from his own. He wondered at the familiarity. Then there was this Karbal. He began to realize, despite his confidence in judging their character, how little he knew of the people around him.
As the questions began to die down, he stepped between the bodies of the larger humans and made himself known. He bowed his head slightly to Karbal. "Tell me, if you will, Master Bookkeeper," he said, "and pardon a question that may seem quite out of the ordinary. There is a growing evil in the land, I can feel it deep in my aging bones. My lord Grumand has sensed it, as well. Have you heard of this malady, or know of its source?"
Cord held little hope for a real answer. He knew, too, that his question must seem odd to all but possibly Wyshira. But for the time being, his focus was on discovering the origins of the corruption he sensed. Let the others think him a batty old dwarf; if he was in the company of a learned man, he might as well try to find some answers. Cord doubted, however, that he would know any more than the Grumand priest.
During the ride down to the city, Melisande agonized over a number of different possible tactics to take with the bookseller. She had no money, and needed to be able to consult some of his books without buying them, and furthermore needed a good excuse to be delving into such odd and sensitive subjects as the ones she meant to research.
Arriving at Karbal's she could only stop a moment and gape at the books. There were more than she'd ever seen packed into such a small space. It felt sacreligious walking on them, but she could find no other option.
Before she could work up her courage to produce the lie she'd settled on at the last minute, the blind dwarf Cord stepped up to ask Karbal a strange enough question that it might just divert the bookseller's attention away from her.
Karbal looked quizzically at Cord, appraising the elderly, blind dwarf as he considered the monk's question. "A growing evil, you say? Then let me counter that with this point - there has always been evil in the land, you just need to know where to search to find it. An increasing of it one year, a diminishing the next - swells and dips but how significant are they really? All I have heard of this year is that there looks to be a poor harvest, so most likely we might see famine encroaching on some lands - but how much does that qualify as an evil as opposed to part of the cycle of nature?"
Cord was insulted at Karbal's suggestion he did not understand the nature of evil, though stifled the protest his dwarven blood had awakened. Death was not evil, neither were bad harvests, plague, or war. It is the combination of malicious intent and action that gives rise to true evil: not accidents or indifferent nature. Cord did not sense a waning in sentiment or the simple onset of famine. He felt the murder of nature itself, and the corruption of the earth left him without understanding or direction. Unfortunately, this Karbal had neither.
As soon as Cord and Karbal finished, Melisande stepped up to introduce herself, extending a hand.
"Hello, Mister Karbal. What a pleasure. I think if anyone in the world has what I'm looking for it might well be you." She made an appreciative gesture at the engulfing mass of books. "My name's Anya. I'm an historian. I--work for an historian, actually. I've been sent round to find out if you have any good books on a certain number of subjects--the Nephians, the Great Prophet, the Elder Gods, that sort of esoteric stuff--and if I find anything of interest to my employer I'm to ask you to set the books aside so she can send down the money for them. Would you mind much if I browse?"
It came tumbling out in a breathless spiel. It seemed like a good ruse, but she had no idea how convincing she'd been, and her nervous fidgeting wasn't going to help. She stopped picking at the rabbit fur of her overcloak and smoothed it down self-consciously.
Had he been human or elf, Cord would have raised an eyebrow. If his ancestry included some orcish breed, he would have released a loud, uncontrolled grunt. But, being a dwarf, he simply allowed himself a quiet hrumph and settled himself against a window. Melisande was a horrible liar. However, he did applaud her efforts and wondered, briefly, not whether Karbal would see through her ruse, but if the bookseller would humor the poor girl.
Wyshira had remained strangely silent. Though, in retrospect, Cord realized that perhaps her behavior was not all that strange; the rising wind and increasing rain of an approaching storm more than accounted for it. For a moment, he envied her. Cord could not remember the last time his breath quickened, or the last time he felt a consuming passion, as she seemed to react at the mere sight of flowing water. Was it his age? Or could it be something else? Perhaps the ever-elusive wisdom he sought required the sacrifice of emotion?
He shook his head, attempting to dispel such thoughts without success. No. He refused to believe it. But doubt continued to gnaw at his mind. For too long he had spoken only with students who looked up to his wisdom. In Wyshira, Kale, and even Melisande he found a passion that propelled them forward. Cord wondered when his died, or even if it ever existed.
Silently, he retreated from the group, retreated from Wyshira, and stewed in his own thoughts.
Nodding to Melisande, Karbal smiled pleasantly. "Good day, miss Anya. Go ahead and browse all you want, and take the time you want; the books are not going anywhere fast. I'll warn you now though that there isn't much knowledge on either the Nephians nor the deity usually referred to as the Great Prophet - whose true name, by the way, is Shushurek," he said. Ebri was the only one in the room who noticed a glance he threw at her, one that seemed to convey pay attention. "It's made up of old drakkath words merged together. You see, the word Drakkath itself means shadow, but the language has lots of different words to mean shadow, and shushu is another." Ebri and Melisande, but versed in drakkath, knew of the multiple words for shadow, all with their own subtle meanings, but neither had ever come across that word before. "Rek is a word for lord or ruler, indicating a ruler of a spiritual sort. Hence shushurek, shadow lord. OF course, many of the very old words of drakkath have fallen out of use so a lot of people never pick up on the meanings of some old place names and suchlike. Rumour has it that the seniors of the Nephians in their little mountain communities only teach such meanings to students they feel ready for such knowledge. Doubtless I can expect an assassin to turn up any day now to strike me down for having discovered such old secrets from my books," he said with a joking smile.
Mel couldn't help but whip around, expecting a cloaked Nephian to hurtle in from the street and stab them both. Because the moment he mentioned mountain communities she noticed that this man knew even more than Ebri Zol about the Nephians, and she was instantly feeling overly curious. She noticed Ebri looking afflicted but whipped back around before she could comment, suddenly aware that Karbal might be a Nephian. But then he wouldn't have... Well, no assassins appeared at any rate, and Karbal declined to kill her on the spot.
"My goodness, my employer will want to purchase you. Not very many people know ancient Drakkath so well. If you'll direct me, I'd love to read what you have on this... Shushurek..."
The name itself sounded ancient, esoteric, powerful. It was almost frightening to pronounce.
"And if there is any collateral information you think would be useful please let me know. I'd really like more information on the Elder Gods. In fact--was Shushurek one of them?"
Some historian. It sounded like a stupid question. But frankly, good objective theology was hard to come by in Carthagia, and she didn't know the first thing.
Ebri's eyebrows raised, and she feigned an expression of shock and glee as the Collector trotted out the supposed name of the Prophet. She hurried over to the pair. "You know of the Nephians?" she gushed. "Oh, come, if you know this much you must know more, sir. Do tell! They're so mysterious! They make for such good tales. What could assassins want with the likes of us?"
DM's Note: Once again, Ebri shows her capacity for bluffing and acting
Karbal laughed at Melisande's comment. "I am afraid, young lady, that I am not for sale. The reason why most people know little on such exotic subjects is that they do not have an entire collection of books such as this to browse through all day. The life of a bookseller is not an exciting one, beyond the occasional visit to acquire a new tome for the shelves."
"The Elders? Sadly little of what I would term reliable knowledge has survived the last thousand years since their downfall. The centuries after the divine war, though it ended in victory for the Youngers and their followers, were not some bountiful, well-earned golden age. They were, by the accounts I have gleaned, dire times of starvation and disease. Amongst the mortals there were no winners. All had lost so much that they had to struggle just to live and try to rebuild their lives from the wreckage of the glorious civilisations that had once existed around them, not crushed and scattered, the lands torn by magic. Even now, this millenia later, we still have not recaptured the glories of the time before the war. I have read of the glories of Xar'Natath, the keystone of the empire of the ancient Myrmecians before they sided with Hashrukk and the Youngers reduced their graceful desert temples and boulevards to rubble, and I have read of the bountiful lands that once stretched from Naseria to Corinthia where now rather than farmsteads so much is instead untamed wilderness, today's nations lowly trying to push back their boundaries and become more than their fragile selves, and they have taken hundreds of years just to get this far. In these kinds of conditions, very little of the old knowledge can survive fully intact; the Elders largely remain mysteries outside of the most common knowledge and the uncertified rumours. The most we know of are those that have survived in one form or another; the Dragon Lord Gilamesh, the Daemonflesh Hashrukk; Shauku, whose hordes rampaged over Ascaria some few centuries ago and who, apparently, actually managed to chain Fenris into a vulnerable, physical form for a while until his avatars were slain by mighty Ascarian warriors. Indeed, the Scars of Fenris are something I would hope to visit in my life; they're said to be massive gorges torn out of the earth by the Fire Wolf in his fury. There are other Elders who have survived, and others who we know of; Nephias who legend says wove a web that protects life, the Lady of Time who mourns in her isolated prison, and others."
"Shushurek was not, from what I know, an Elder. He was a mortal once, and the myths say he was one of the Men of Shadow, that much-maligned race that the others branded traitors and chased beneath the earth. Who knows if they still exist - or if they ever existed at all outside of the fanciful imaginations of men? He rose to godhood with the sponsorship of a deity that already existed - so therefore we must assume an Elder god, though no records tell of which. His worship is more widespread than some would think though. He is the patron of prophets and diviners; many such people discover him in their researches and ask for his blessings, never telling another soul that they secretly worship this shadowy god. You may wonder how I know that - well, sometimes the personal diaries and writings of such people come my way and I have read of it more than once happening. And of course there is the Nephians, who sages speculate worship Shushurek; I heard that when a Nephian assassin failed in an attempt to take the life of a Flame Hawk commander they found the holy symbol of Shushurek on the body."
At Ebri's eager question the shopkeeper smiled even more broadly. "Well, no-one knows what the Nephians really want, but by most accounts they are little more than hired assassins. They are said to train for years in their monasteries then each commits but one assassination in their lifetime, and if they fail they must kill themselves out of shame. Of course, that's from Tabar's Tales of Myth and Legend, and I'd only believe him as far as I could throw a crate of iron ingots. They have certainly committed assassinations before, but I think a lot of murders get attributed to them out of fanciful imaginations rather than any actual evidence of their involvement. To be honest though I delve little into the world of assassins and other such lowlifes, since getting entangled with such people can do much more harm than good.."
Maldur
First Post
Carnifex said:
Thanks! And thanks just for reading it in the first place
That's an interesting idea, actually. This campaign does have PS-like elements, and the PC's are likely to at some point visit certain outer planes and come into contact with powerful outsider beings, but the primary focus will remain in the campaign world.
It'd be interesting to run a second game in the same world simultaneously
Something to ponder
I hate to do this but: weeeeeeee!!!
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