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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Carnifex" data-source="post: 624326" data-attributes="member: 227">They hurried down deserted streets as the dark clouds overhead roiled and vented their rain down, lightning lashing down irregularly; often striking the heights of the Air Tower and crackling with eldritch energy down to the ground below. It wasn't long before they were back in the dilapidated Rat's Quarter, huddling under building eaves to get what shelter they could. As they approached the center of the Quarter it was hard not to notice the slope down into the dent in the landscape; houses jutted out from the slope on wooden supports, till finally the bottom of the Rat's Nest was covered in what looked like a flat area of housing but in fact conealed that it went further down underneath. Wandering down an alley that led under the wooden 'deck' here, they found themselves in an underworld. All around them struts of decaying wood held up the houses and streets above; here the clearance was low, but as they continued down the 'ceiling' rose higher above them. The rain could be heard pattering above on the houses but though here and there it streamed down and streams of dirty water bore channels towards the epicentre of the Nest, in this sheltered place it was much dryer. It was like a forest of beams with constructions as the canopy above. Filth and debris was scattered everywhere here, rats squeaking and feral animals prowling the shadows as they hunted those rats. Here and there small lights twinkled in the gloom, squatters and the homeless making their abodes in dark corners of the Nest. It smelled pretty bad from the accumulated muck. People watched them warily; mostly ragged clothed. Looking around, the party could see, in the slopes of the dip leading down, many musty passages leading into the earth, and half of a room where once there had been a cellar and part had now collapsed to reveal the rest of it to the Nest. What the capital was built on, over the centuries of its existence, was former versions of itself; fires, war and suchlike meant rebuilding over the old ruins. These ancient cellars and tunnels could stretch for miles. Air heavy with water and and ozone. The constant roar of pouring rain, punctuated by cracks of lightning and rumbles of thunder. Cord, nervous and holding Wyshira's arm tightly, was effectively blind. In a small village, or even in the open air, the storm would not have unnerved him to nearly the same extent. Among the jumbled mass of buildings and chaotic streets and alleyways, he had no method of determining his location or using his senses. His confidence grew better once they reached the bowels of the city, though the stench did not. The intermittent moans from suspicious beggars reminded him clearly of his own days in years past. During the few times that Wolf asked for a pause to decide the appropriate direction, Cord foud his way next to the nearest men scraping by in the alleys. "Hello, friend," he would say, resting his hand upon those of a beggar. He had an intuition with such men, having spent several decades in self-loathing as one. He spoke in quiet tones, giving them what strength that he could, uplifting them if he may. "What do you know of the slave traders, down here?" he might ask of one. "What does 'Shushurek' mean to you?" he would ask another. He probed, and sought any information on the men pursuing Kale and their possible motives, as well as anything relating to the abandoned wizard's tower. There was little the homeless community would not know. Effectively invisible, they hear and see all that pass before them, without being noticed or bothered. He did doubt any would know if the specifics that he requested, but the sheer number he contacted on their way through the Nest might make annswer somewhat more likely. When the party finally reached Rat Trim's underground shop, he was prepared.Dm's Note: Bet this is the first time you'ev ever seen the skill Profession (Blind Beggar) being used <img src="https://cdn.jsdelivr.net/joypixels/assets/8.0/png/unicode/64/1f600.png" class="smilie smilie--emoji" loading="lazy" width="64" height="64" alt=":D" title="Big grin    :D"  data-smilie="8"data-shortname=":D" /> Cord's inquiries brought few answers; it wasn't that those he spoke with were unwilling to talk or holding back information, he could sense, but rather it seemed that perhaps the answers he sought simply couldn't be found in the society of these people, in a way his kin, that had grown up at the lowest levels of this ancient, grand city. He could sense too the sheeer age of the foundations and stone around him, still somehpw tangible within them the feeling that must have been bestowed when Naskha himself had stood on the banks of the river and declared, over one thousand years ago, that it would be from here his followers would forge a new nation from the wreckage of the divine war. Inquiries about slavers were the most fruitful; several could tell him that there was a slavery operation reputed to be hidden underneath the city; several also claimed to have known someone who had been taken by the slavers but the wise monk was doubtful about the veracity of such claims, most likely tales concocted by imaginative minds to explain disappearances. Others spoke of the Gilame<img src="https://cdn.jsdelivr.net/joypixels/assets/8.0/png/unicode/64/1f642.png" class="smilie smilie--emoji" loading="lazy" width="64" height="64" alt=":)" title="Smile    :)"  data-smilie="1"data-shortname=":)" /><img src="https://cdn.jsdelivr.net/joypixels/assets/8.0/png/unicode/64/1f642.png" class="smilie smilie--emoji" loading="lazy" width="64" height="64" alt=":)" title="Smile    :)"  data-smilie="1"data-shortname=":)" /><img src="https://cdn.jsdelivr.net/joypixels/assets/8.0/png/unicode/64/1f642.png" class="smilie smilie--emoji" loading="lazy" width="64" height="64" alt=":)" title="Smile    :)"  data-smilie="1"data-shortname=":)" /><img src="https://cdn.jsdelivr.net/joypixels/assets/8.0/png/unicode/64/1f642.png" class="smilie smilie--emoji" loading="lazy" width="64" height="64" alt=":)" title="Smile    :)"  data-smilie="1"data-shortname=":)" />e cult that traded in living beings, again underneath the city. Some connected the two together. One spoke of something that caught his attention - the grubby, ragged-clothed beggarman knew that the slavers took down large supplies of meat purchased up in the city, much more than would be needed to just feed the slavers and slaves themselves wouldn't be given such expensive food. Shushurek meant nothing to these down-and-outs. Some would squint when he said the name and mutter that it sounded like the monster from some old wives tales, a thing of shadows that ate people, but that was about it; some old tale perhaps warped by time but perhaps with no relation to reality at all. As for the tower he spoke of, this too brought no useful responses from the beggars.* * *A few coins handed to a beggar had granted them the knowledge of where to find the one named by Myrley as 'Rat Trin'. They'd headed off down one tunnel, dimly lit by an occasional fire around which people clustered or cracks in the ceiling that let in shafts of stormy gray light as well as constant trickles of water. The inhabitants of this undercity watched them often hostilely but did not dare attack such a well-armed band. They gradually made their way deeper into the earth until any light from the sky above stopped entirely and the place became nearly pitch black. Then they came to a cave. The passage opened into what seemed like a small settlement in a natural sandstone cave. Stalagmites and stalagtites jutted up and down throughout it, and small shacks, often with an open front and wares on show, were littered throughout it. The air was heavy with the smell of spices and cloying scents, some of which made the mind reel and the eye think it caught glimpses of strange images on the edges of its vision. People wandered the cave; some dressed in the garb of thugs or toughs clustered around their boss, some in more normal mercantile clothes. The hawkers eagerly extolled the virtues of their illegal or stolen goods to their customers. But the place the band wanted was over in the opposite wall of the cave, where what looked like half a house jutted out. Made of old and rotten timbers it was decorated with a dozen fetishes, little bizarre charms for warding off evil and spirits made of feathers and bones. And a small sign stuck next to the door read: Goe Awaye "Friendly fellow then," Wolf grimaced, and then knocked on the rickety door. The message on the sign was echoed by a hoarse, high-pitched voice from within the building. "Go away." The mercenary shrugged and pushed the door open. * * *Within was a surprisingly richly decorated little abode. Wall hangings were draped down from the walls and the rafters in the dark and gloomy roof above. What could only be silk was laid out over cushions piled in one corner, and a strongbox was nestled next to them. Much of the rest of the place was littered with rubbish and debris. The air was thick with incense, curling fronds of it obscuring vision and filling the nose with thick scents, the source a brazier in one corner that crackled with blue, green and red flames as it devoured the block of incense within it. Of Rat Trin, there was no sight. "Can't you read the bloody sign or hear my bloody voice, trespasser? Get the hell out my house!" The voice came from above them. For those with normal sight, peering up into the gloom, they could see nothing. Those with darkvision found that the incense on the air allowed them only see a vague, humanoid shape, sitting on one of the rafters and looking down at them. There was something not quite right about the shape. "We've heard you're a good tracker, and we need someone to lead us to the Gilamesh*te chapel under the city." Outraged silence. "We'll pay." Rat Trin dropped out of the rafters, catfalling lightly and gracefully standing up again. Wolf gave a snort of surprise. "So you're Rat Trin... I can see why they call you that." * * *The only one of the party who had seen a verman before was Melisande. She remembered when she had been studying under the tutelage of Professor Akarsis, her mentor, with the other students; and she had been assigned one day to act as a personal assisstant with his business. "Now, Melisande, the merchant is a good friend of mine so make sure you're on hand if he wants a drink, something to eat, whatever," the Professor had instructed her. He was tall, frightening, what many of the apprentices wanted to be like themselves. Dressed in the long black military coat, golden buttons gleaming down the front as the chirurgical engine on his back lent the four long, spidery mechanical arms that reared over his shoulders a life of their own, the gray-haired man looked sternly down at his charge. "Once he's gone I want you to check thaum-tank 3 for the readouts since one of the staff said it was giving him problems earlier. Then go and take a look at the fang dragon in Chamber 1, write up a short report on what you think is wrong with it and we'll see how much you've learned in visual recognition." The bioseer and teacher had entertained a most unusual guest that day; the merchant was a verman. He, like Rat Trin, had been a wiry, black-furred humanoid, a ratman. The merchant had worn simple gray garb, tough travelling stuff, and had sold some toxins and poisons for experimental use to Professor Akarsis; vicious stuff from the look on the trolls face that they had tested it on afterwards. Rat Trin cut a different figure though, dressed in supple studded leather armour and a black silk cloak draped over his shoulders. Weapons seemed to be everywhere; he had a longsword strapped over his back, two short swords sheathed at a hip, a bandolier of throwing stars across his chest; the verman tracker was also festooned with jewellry and fetishes, his large, ragged ears multiply pierced by golden rings. He bowed mockingly. "My name is Trin, not 'Rat', as your unfurred type mockingly call me. I am of an honourable people, not the tiny scavengers that infest your settlements. Fifty gold pieces and I'll lead you to the Gilamesh*tes, but I'm not getting involved in whatever business you might have with them," he said meaningfully, wrinkling his snout and baring his yellowed teeth. "Especially not on the part of arrogant people who ignore signs." Sebastion relaxed a little against the jamb of the broken doorway. "If you don't wish to share your company, Mr Trin," he asked, with a slight frown, "why choose to live in one of the more densely populated areas of a large city? Why not settle in some out of the way village or outskirt?"Burl was completely unprepared for what he was seeing. “What in blue blazes is that?” What looked like a man rat stood before him. Just another of the new experiences Burl had learned to expect and to look forward to.In response to Burl's question Mel turned to answer, "Verman," realizing even as she did so that it sounded a lot like she'd said "vermin," which would have been a terrible insult to Mister Trin. "Ver-man," she added by way of clarification. "Of course." If her first meeting with one of the rat-men had been sinister, this one made no exception. But she and the others looked like drowned, well, rats after their walk in the rain from Karbal's, so it wouldn't be fair to judge. It was sad that some people could not afford to live somewhere nicer in such a beautiful city, she thought, fending off disillusionment. Mel didn't want to see the ugly underbelly of Naseria. It didn't occur to her to think that some people might choose to live hidden in places like this. Mister Trin looked exotic. Mel recalled with a shudder the sidelong look Professor Arkansis had given her when the poison-seller came down the stairs into the lab; it meant, Look at this specimen; imagine the possibilities; see what nature does and think what we can do better! It made her feel sorry for this creature. She elbowed Sebastion. "Maybe he doesn't like people because they're rude to him. I've dealt with your honorable folk before, Mister Trin, and I apologize for our intrusion. We would like to purchase your services and thought the offer might interest you in spite of the sign. If not, we'll be on our way." Wyshira was the only drenched-to-the-skin member of the party that wasn't miserably uncomfortable; the only one in the group who didn't try to defend herself from the weather by wrapping up in a cloak. She lifted her face to the rain happily and followed right behind Wolf and Kale, pausing only occasionally when Cord needed extra assistance. Her enjoyment of the storm was a distraction, but for most of the way she concentrated on leading the blind dwarf through the treacherously sloping streets of the Rat's Quarter, and describing the sights to him as they descended into the Nest. She was a little suprised by his nervousness; it didn't occur to her that the storm would have a negative effect on his ability to compensate for his blindness. In Rat Trin's abode, she nearly choked on the cloying scent of incense. The rat-man's appearance surprised her, but he wasn't any stranger-looking than the crested, blue-skinned Lhazakk she had seen tending bar in Jormungand, or some of the other odd folk she had come across in her travels. He didn't seem to want to have anything to do with them, until Wolf bluntly mentioned money. Well that's all right I suppose, she thought, as long as he doesn't sell information about us to anyone who comes asking just as easily.</blockquote>

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