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[pbp][DnD 5E] Dark Sun
cliveman
Registered User regular
Registered User regular
The Characters:
Lugasch: 
Theriko:
Xelmaf:
"Lump":
Bakar:
Madara:
Grop:
Theriko:
Xelmaf:
"Lump":
Bakar:
Madara:
Grop:
It has been nearly one hundred fifty years since the death of Kalak, Sorcerer King of Tyr, and any dim hopes that a wave of rebellion against the rule of the other sorcerer kings would spread across the heat scorched Tablelands have long been dead and buried. There were too few heroes to rise up against the remaining despots and the simple effort required for daily survival sapped the will of anyone else who might have considered such audacity as the years slowly grew drier, and hotter. The sorcerer kings themselves took note of the Tyran's feat, and if anything else, tightened their grip on their own territory and continued their century long sparring matches against one another as they strove for advantage, with an eye turned askance at the populace they view as a source of power; yet another potential threat...
As anyone who has lived to adulthood in Athas, no mean feat, you have honed your innate skills throughout your life to give you as much of an advantage as possible. While you had been travelling as individuals attached to a caravan, circumstance and a bold raider assault by skull blazoned bandits left you the only survivors capable of making it to the trade fortress of Altaruk. You've been recuperating for the past few days from your near death experience in a tavern called Binjali's, run by none other than Binjali himself, a 5'4" older man with nut brown skin and, oddly, a perpetual smile on his face.
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"Hey, Binjali, can I order two ales? Also, do you think anyone would wager on a friendly wrestling match?" Grop asks, flexing his muscles to see if anything is still achey after the bandit attack, "And have you seen any of my friends?"
Grop looks around while Binjali starts to respond, trying to take in what's happening around the Tavern.
(Should we write in first or third person?)
While he pours, you have the opportunity to look around at Binjali's other patrons and find most of them nursing drinks as they seek to escape the height of the midday heat. A few toughs eye you after your challenge but look away given your height and brawn. Ivarra, one of the prettier serving girls, is moving throughout the tables and you are surprised to notice several small groups in heated discussions ignore her presence outright.
Whistling a happy tune, Binjali brings your drinks over himself, impressively managing not to spill a drop in spite of their size and weight. As he sets them on the table you catch a whiff of the potent brew and he looks up at your seated form saying, "You look much better my friend. Yesyesyes! All covered in dirt and blood, not so unusual these days, but I'd wager you might have just caught sight of the Grey before making it to Altaruk with your friends. You're the first I've seen come down today. Do you know what you want to do next?"
Up to you as to narrative style, whatever you prefer.
As he reaches the bar, the stoicism of his face breaks in an un-Mulish grin and he interrupts. "Binjali!" he croaks in a scratched, low voice, "Ale!" He seems not to have noticed Grop, a feat in itself. "She's baking out there, today. But the walls! Incredible construction, so beautiful, so strong. Your city is a jewel! Has there been word? Does anyone want a guide going onward?"
Speaking at a more normal level, "Altaruk is quite impressive, the meeting of so many trade roads coming from places like the free city, Balic, and the sorcerer king city states has made it prosperous and most are tolerated. You know, giants from the Silt Sea have destroyed it a number of times but those of us that survive just keep rebuilding it, its position is too good! Well at least that hasn't happened since my father's time almost eighty years ago so we've managed to grow quite well and invest in our defenses. The Wavir, Rees, and Tombaldor merchant houses have done well by the city, and the city by them."
Binjali takes a sip of his own beverage and puts it down with an expression of pleasant surprise, "How about that! An acquaintance of mine named Lenrak, a trader of sorts, asked me to keep an eye out for skilled travelers or those familiar with the desert to do some exploring for him if you're interested."
Grease drips from the half-giant's chin. Her eyes point in two different directions, and her lopsided grin completes the look of a fool.
"More!" she roared, cartilage in her teeth as she glances around the room for her companions. Bakar is here (his scent is unmistakable) and there, at the bar, stands Grop, talking to Binjali. Lump doesn't know what she thinks of the tavern keeper. In her experience, there are two kinds of people who smile all the time: the ones who are fools ... and the ones who are pretending to be.
"Another. This good!" Her voice booms through the tavern. "And a drink." Three mugs, ale foam still clinging to their sides, laid horizontal and empty on the tray, next to a smattering of the small cups used for distilled liquor. Her voice took on a menacing tone as she looked at Binjali: "Don't add water."
She hoped it wouldn't be like the last tavern they'd tried to rest and recuperate in. It took a lot to get one half-ton half-giant really, properly drunk: a task not suited to the mere amateur innkeeper, and which could strike fear into the hearts of even the experienced bartender. When three walked into your place ... well, if you were lucky, they counted their ceramic pieces and considered it a stroke of good fortune. If you weren't so lucky, they sent you out into the cold night air to sleep outside, barely drunk at all.
Pleasantly tipsy, Lump settles into a corner. When she's in shadows, she knows, it's easy enough for people to just stop noticing the proverbial elephant in the room. When your face isn't that easy to look at, and your voice isn't that easy to understand, strangers tend to ignore you. And that's just what Lump is hoping for, as she starts to listen for conversations in the bar.
---
Me stumble down stairs to tavern and smell yummy meat sizzling and many drunks drinking, and also see friends sitting. One is talking to bartender man and another is munching on giant hunk of meat. Lugasch stomach rumbles and me realize am very hungry as well. I stumble carefully (me only knock over 2 chairs today) over to caravan friend by bar, glop me think his name is, and sit down on stool that make scary squeaking noises as I settle in.
"I'd never dream of shorting a customer! The food and drink here are the best I can source. Just you wait!" the proprietor says as he heads for the kitchen.
About ten minutes later he and the thri kreen cook, Trak-Tik, wheel out a mound of heavily seasoned ribs and steaks that might even sate three half giants' appetites.
Lump
...
Three older mercenaries are nursing some glasses of palm wine as they seem to talk about things they ran into on their last trip.
"It's the damnedest thing I ever saw I tell you! A storm just sitting out in the middle of nowhere rising from land to sky. Everywhere else the sun beat down on us but for a while we were in the shade. No one wanted to get to close but then we had to run, blasted raiders!," a woman in light leathers says.
"They've been far too bold this close to Altaruk, I don't know what's gotten into them and I don't care what the merchants pay, I'm not taking any routes north. Can't spend your pieces if you're dead," replies one of her companions as the other sitting at their table nods.
...
A few teenagers, human and half elf, are huddled around another table attempting to whisper but the ale they've scrounged the cash to pay for doesn't always make this possible.
"It's getting worse near home," one says fearfully. "That beggar Lester and the old wise woman Amona disappeared last week and no one knows where they went."
"They could've just left, people do that all the time," one counters.
"No! You don't get it. Her hut was untouched and Lester's trash was where he usually sleeps. They were just GONE!"
"I don't know... That's only poor quarter stuff right? You don't live that close, you'll probably be fine," a half elf girl with blonde hair and an uncertain expression tries to say confidently.
"That's what I thought two months ago when this all started. I just heard of random people going missing. Some of them were travelers, sure, but others had lived here their whole lives just like us... and the number of streets where you can find someone gone is getting bigger..."
...
Groaning, Xelmaf sat upright and leaned back on the wall that he had been slumped against a few minutes prior. He patted himself down, checking to see if anyone had tried to make an easy score of him. All of his equipment was accounted for, money pouch secure, even the decoy money pouch hadn't been touched. Xelmaf frowned as he considered this; this bar was far too pure for his tastes. No trouble to be found, no scoundrels to taunt, cheat, or barter with. "What's the fun of passing out in a bar if no one's going to try and start something?" He muttered quietly to himself.
Taking in his surroundings, Xelmaf stood up and dusted himself off. It seems that he had regained consciousness at a fairly good time. The party that he was traveling with had begun to assemble.
First things first, he thought. Walking over to the bar, Xelmaf ordered. "Hair of the dog, if you please. Actually, make it two. I'm pretty thirsty." The bartender poured the drinks and slid them over. Taking a long pull from the first mug, a thought passed through his mind. Setting the mug down, he gestured for the bartender to lean in. With a whimsical smile on his face, he asked "Say barkeep, would you happen to know where someone like me could find some trouble? This place is nice and all, but it's a little too safe for me." Xelmaf loved to ask questions like this with as much ambiguity as he could. He preferred to have others never really know whether or not he was joking. Xelmaf listened to the barkeeps response, thanked him for his time, and paid for his drinks.
Xelmaf moved towards his party with as much stealth as his hangover would allow. He positioned himself so that the fewest number of his party would notice him. It was something he liked to do for fun, especially to the half-giant. Sure, it was a bit too easy, but Grop's reactions were usually pretty entertaining, and Xelmaf needed something to distract him while the alcohol did its job.
"Hello friendly bar man! Can Lugasch have food and drink? Me need to regain strength after....well....after whatever happened to me."
(turning to people on left and right: Grop and Bakar I think) "HELLO FRIENDS! I am Lugasch! Strong fighter and friend to all! (Except dirty dirty Tieflings. Lugasch hate tieflings, they have horns and look too scary to be friends). All of Lugasch old friends leave me after being attack. Do you need friend? Need bodyguard? Lugasch very very helpful in fighting, adventuring, carrying, candlemaking; Lugasch do everything!"
Lugasch turns back to bar and nice bar man (he strange looking man, but nice because he have food) give me tankard of ale and strange looking sausages. Bar man look like he is beckon all of us closer to tell us something...
A server approaches with a spiced bowl of nuts, nodding slightly as he places it before Theriko, "With the Master's compliments." In the distance by the crowded table Binjali nods back but respects your privacy.
Xelmaf
He turns away to get you drinks and then slides them over, wiping his hands on a marked but serviceable apron as he cocks his bald head in thought. "The boss wouldn't want me to send customers into trouble but maybe you can help some people who might have some. The Tigun's came by looking for their daughter Lina this morning. She's one of the servers and they thought she was here since she apparently never came home last night. Couldn't help them since I hadn't seen her since she knocked off last night, but the streets could be dangerous, thugs and slavers, you know the usual. She's a good girl, I hope nothing happened to her."
Theriko watches wordlessly as the one called Xelmaf approaches the half-giants. Her naturally good senses are sharpened by her hunger. She cannot bring herself to eat, however, in such a tightly enclosed space, and with so many others around. For this particular hodgepodge of individuals, she has tried to be as tolerant as possible, but even an open-minded Aarakocra can only endure so much. Theriko stands and pulls back her hood. She stretches her enormous wings out with a sudden tremor, shaking loose a few stiff feathers. In the corner of her eye she notices a bar patron flinch.
"Regards," she says to Binjali, and with great restraint, she leaves through the door.
Outside she tries to shake off the sensation of being trapped. Small spaces, she thinks over and over again. Her breathing slows as she feels the sun on her face again. Even friendly men are not to be trusted. She knows where to begin, but something stops her. She remembers with great clarity how the others fought to defend the caravan. Surviving wasn't easy. Her admiration for the elf, and even the half-giants, though begrudging, now leaves her lingering by the door. In Winter Nest an Aarakocra who traveled with an elf could go exquisitely far with the knowledge she might absorb. Occasionally mountain-dwelling elf tribes could form a cautious relationship with the birdpeople. Perhaps I won't seek out Lenrak just yet.
After a brief slump against the outside of the tavern, Xelmaf opened his eyes, now adjusted to the light of day. He tried to take in his surroundings on the off-chance that he might find a clue to solving the problem he'd been told of, but he also needed to make himself scarce before his party noticed that he wasn't around anymore. After a cursory glance around, Xelmaf quickly moved towards the center of town. I do hope I get to encounter a thug or two. I'm itching to give some dopes the runaround.
The house sits on a small street away from the busier thoroughfares and in the quiet you can clearly hear sobbing coming from inside the house. While considering how to proceed you suddenly hear a loud, startled shout from an alley down the street.
Theriko swims circles above the elf for a moment before spotting the shop in the distance, its hand-painted sign declaring the name Fruitful Finds. She perches about twenty feet off atop another building, her cloak drifting around her shoulders. Behind her she hears a shout and shudders.
At this time it is unclear if Xelmaf has any inkling this is happening just down the street from him.
One of them, with a stone mace hanging from his belt, leans one arm against the alley wall, towering over the youth and growls, "You know the rules, runt! I ain't got time for shits like you but you still pay, that's the whole protection deal ya see."
"But.. but... we just don't have it! Gran's begging isn't bringing in any coin no more and I can't go out at night and... uh... explore. People're disappearing, I don't know what's our there!" the boy cries.
"That's a nice story you got there... by the Grey it might even be true!" He laughs uproariously before intensely eyeing the pair, "But I don't care! We all gotta pay someone and Bax'll get her pay in bits or flesh, it don't rightly matter which."
The remaining unarmed man catches you entering the alley at the end of this conversation and nudges his partner to look in your direction, "Looks like company, how we playing it?"
"Hey, hey now... we don't want no trouble, just taking care of some normal business here. I think you're making a mistake messin' around on Bax's turf but these ones are yours, for now," he says while trying to keep his voice firm.
Once he and his partner judge that they are far enough away from you, the old woman, and the boy, they turn tail and run deeper into the shadowed alley before turning a corner. As they go the boy laughs at the sight and then looks at you with admiration.
"Wow! That was amazing! You're so cool!" He exclaims. He only pauses for a second to take a breath and wipe his eyes before launching into a series of questions, "Who are you? Where are you from? Can you really fly? Do you have any friends? Can I be one? My name's Mik. Can I touch your feathers?"
Her gaze lands on the old woman, eyes narrowing in suspicion. "You. Beggar. Who is Bax? Why are people disappearing?"
"Heh, apart from the normal reasons?!" The crone cackles. "Those who would be slaves always disappear and sometimes people just get hungry. Look around, girlie, people who're gone are either taken or straight up dead." Pausing for a moment, the blind old woman frowns and and seems to be lost in thought as she gazes past you, "Though in the night when the skulkers come about something doesn't seem right. Too much shuffling... too much scraping..."
Your put down does little to deter his ardor as he gazes at you in awe. "Aw, but they're so perdy!" Mik exclaims, "That's what I was trying to tell those bozos granny, I ain't seen the yucky things at night but they smell terrible and I won't be getting close enough to see what they are."