Life's Bazaar
Hershan crested the ridge, thankful to see the city wall of Cauldron come into view. The previous two days had been difficult, hiking the dormant volcano that supposedly housed a thriving city. Obviously, something had been carved into the mouth of the volcano, for the road he traveled was well-used, and wagons laden with goods often passed, both to and from the mountain peak. Some even offered a rides to the city, but Hershan refused; his journey was his own to make.
Still, he was relieved. His feet were sore and his staff now supported far more weight now than when he had begun his trek. But as he drew nearer to the fortified wall, he began to forget his aches.
50 feet of black malachite soared into the air, as if the wall had sprouted out of the volcanic rock itself. An immense gate lay open where the road entered the city with a small number of town guards passing the time with dice, scrolls, and sleep.
He had reached Cauldron, the fabled City of Fools, the city built
inside a volcano, the city that was little more than a rumor beyond the valley below. He breathed deeply, inhaling the high-altitude mountain air, mixed with the all-too-recognizable smell of city sewage and unwashed masses. Grasping his staff, Hershan stepped into Cauldron.
* * *
His face had been pinched in an expression of perpetual distaste ever since arriving in Cauldron three days ago. The stench of civilization reeked and James would far prefer to escape the high walls of the city and live among those with a stronger bond with nature on the slopes of the volcano. But he could not. He senses had brought him to Cauldron, and here he would stay until he discovered the source.
James tried to focus on the architecture instead of the self-absorbed humans, elves, dwarves and occasional halfling or gnome wandering the streets. He had a modicum of respect, at least, for the builders of Cauldron. They had not defaced or restructured that which nature wished to be, but built and designed along Her contours. The outer wall was simply an extension of the large deposit of malachite just below the surface. The roads spiraled down the inner bowl of the volcano to empty into numerous docks extending into the lake at the city's center. The buildings themselves were more often than not formed from the volcanic rock and the trees and scrub had not been eliminated but encouraged to thrive in the mouth of the volcano. He could have done without the city itself, but James was moderately impressed with the efforts of the citizens to work with the volcano, instead of against it.
He wandered the streets, this day making his way to the city's center on the lakeshore.
* * *
The sun rose above the lip of Cauldron's malachite wall, shedding its radiance down upon Polaris, the elf practicing with single-minded focus in the small courtyard of the church, alone. He practiced alone because, as of late, the ranks of Pelor in Cauldron had thinned. Some had been called away to establish churches along the frontier lands, and others had been requested for their aid and expertise in orc uprisings and goblin invasions. One by one, they had been called. Even Carnas, a father to him during his time in the Order of Radiance, had been forced to leave.
Only he, a recent inductee into the ranks of Pelor's knighthood, and Kristof Jurgensen, the resident high cleric of the temple, and a handful of acolytes, were all that remained of Pelor's ardent followers in Cauldron.
And so Polaris practiced alone, and did not hear the figure approach.
Despite the brilliance of the morning light, shadows still clung to the stooped figure, as if he carried the whoel mountain on his back to shield him from the light. He might have been a dwarf, or a tall halfling, or a thickly bundled elf, or "he" may have even been a
she. Polaris paused in his swings, small beads of sweat glistening on his porcelein face, and waited for the stranger to approach.
The thick, gravelly voice that emerged from within the lowered, dark cowl did nothing to help identify the stranger.
"In your future, great deeds await," it whispered,
"You possess that which few comprehend, and the strength to harness it. Dangers lurk beneath our feet, and the people of Cauldron will need you, though may try to deny your aid. Meet me tonight, at the Gurnezarn smithy."
The dark figure lifted one gloved hand in farewell. Without a whispered word or arcane gesture, it blurred and faded from sight.
* * *
Telenor knocked hesitantly upon the door of the Lantern Street Orphanage. He had spent many years of his childhood trying to escape the orphanage, yet today he was returning. He had heard the rumors of disappearances around town, of course, but when he heard that children had been kidnapped, taken from the beds in the dead of the night, he had to see for himself. Although Telenor knew none of the children now within, he felt as if he did. Any who bared the brunt of Miss Gretchyn's eye undoubtedly shared a common bond.
He swallowed forcefully as the oaken front door slowly opened. An old elven woman with scraggly gray hair and gnarled, twisted hands glared suspiciously from within the crack of the door.
"Who sent you?" she demanded.
* * *
OOC: Ah! The prodigal post! Feel free to introduce your characters into the story as you see fit, and feel free to expand on anything that you would like, either in the events above, or any history you might like. Welcome to the Adventure Path!
