The village of Hurabail was a fairly tiny cluster of huts located on the northernmost edge of...
Legends of Persia: The Rings of Shaddad (Sword & Sorcery Quest)
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A Stop in Town 1.1
- Location
- Cross River, NY
The village of Hurabail was a fairly tiny cluster of huts located on the northernmost edge of the Rub 'al Kali— the Empty Quarter. The people there needed to travel for days by camelback to get supplies from the nearest village. They lived arduous and undoubtedly boring lives. The sole boon which made habitation in such a place viable was the presence of a well at heart of the village, which everyone knew would one day run dry, heralding the abandonment of the miserable little cranny of civilization at long last.
Despite all the tribulations inherent in the existence of the Hurabail, it succeeded in possessing a particular feature which even other, more comparatively prosperous villages lacked: a tavern. This establishment narrowly subsisted due to the thin but steady trickle of commerce which passed through the village. This commerce consisted exclusively of one sort of people; the only sort of people who would have any inclination to travel beyond the verge of chartered territory in Arabia and into the Empty Quarter beyond.
Treasure hunters.
As in the case of any region which maps failed to describe, the Rub 'al Kali desert was the subject of innumerable myth and stories about buried caches of treasure or lost tribes who had hoarded vast riches or forgotten mines rife with gemstones and gold. Chief among all of them was the legend of the Rings of Shaddad, the fabled artifacts worn by the king of the buried city, Irem of the Pillars.
The legends held that as a boy, Shaddad lost all ten (or, in some more obscure tellings had it, twelve) of his fingers to infection. When he became king, he commissioned the finest jewelsmith in the land to carve him a new set of fingers out of the biggest gems in the royal vault, to mount upon the stumps of the old. The jewelsmith, who it was believed possessed the Touch of Madness, used his selcouth insight and crafted Shaddad's fingers so intricately that when he wore them upon his rings, they flexed and bent as though they were alive.
Many bands of treasure hunters had passed through Hurabail, questing out into the desert with dreams of snatching those fingers from the skeletal hands of the Shaddad's corpse, where it sat upon its throne in the palace of Irem. That many bands had no return through Hurabail, and the villagers suspected it was not because they had left the Empty Quarter through some other path.
The tavern-owner in particular had become jaded by this fact. Many a group of treasure hunters had cheered and celebrated the beginning of their journeys under his roof, their leaders giving off dazzling speeches about the happy lives they would live when they returned triumphant from their quest. At first, the man had found himself swept up with their jubilations, and he wished them the best in their quests and regretted being unable to join them.
But as time passed and more and more groups left, and none returned, his heart hardened. He could only but imagine the fates that all those hopeful men and women met out in the Empty Quarter. He became increasingly withdrawn and indifferent to the bands over time, like a farmer regarding piglets that were destined for nothing but slaughter.
The group which entered his tavern on the day that our story begins, however, caught him decidedly off-guard.
The first comer barged right through the curtain that sealed the threshold of the tavern. At first glance, she looked like she could have been some sort of great predator, like a lion or a bear, but at second glance it seemed as though she only had the pelt of one such beast hanging from her shoulders. At third glance it was revealed that this "pelt" was in fact a massive mane of hair that cascaded down her back, its tips reaching to her calves. By then she had stormed forwards to the bar of the tavern, slammed her fists on the table, and demanded in a heavy Mongolian accent:
"Meat! Meat and grog!"
The woman was monstrous in stature to a degree it seemed one of her forefathers must have been the Goliath himself. Tall as a horse, as broad-shouldered as an ox, with the tremendous thews of a gorilla. She wore leather wrappings up both of her arms and tassets of brigandine hung from her waist, but her chest was bare, not just of armor but of any clothing at all, revealing a massive pair of sutured scars which intersected over the left side of her chest, eliminating that breast.
As the tavernkeep scrambled to appease the latter request and stumbled over his words to explain why the former was impossible, the second member of the group slipped inside, with all the lithe grace of a black cat in a superstitious town. He was tall, though not nearly as much so as his companion. His roguishly handsome features bespoke a Persian heritage, but the tattoo under his right eye marked him as an ex-slave.
He wore a vest that hung down to his ankles, leaving his chest and arms bare, a scarf about his neck and chin, and a pair of breeches cinched by a sash at his waist. His left forearm was ensconced in an elaborate gauntlet of articulated steel plates, their surfaces covered in relief designs and their edges sharp. Beyond this he wore no armor of note, but at his hip he carried a shamshir that banged against his thigh as he walked.
After him there came a woman clad in all the trappings of a Ba'al Shem: mantled vestments replete with Hebrew writings, tightly-bounded turban, and half-veil across her mouth. Her few visible features marked her as decidedly Galilean, though this did nothing to explain her attaining of a position otherwise reserved exclusively for men.
She headed towards a corner of the tavern to sit down as the other man sauntered up to the front and requested a bottle of wine. The next to enter was an Indian man with a gilded nose chain running across his cheek, wearing the fabric garb typical to a warrior of his homeland, reinforced with a modicum of armor on the chest and knees. A bow was slung over one of his shoulders, however more notably was the carved wooden post which jutted from his other, upon which a large hawk was perched.
The man sat down with little fanfare and produced a jerkied chunk of rat from one pocket amidst a bandoleer that hung on his chest, tearing it in two and offering one piece to his raptor. The Persian man acquired his bottle of wine, paid for it, and sidled over to the Indian's table to sit with him, and the Mongolian woman joined them promptly, having acquired a flagon of beer and a haunch of salted camel, which she had not deigned to pay for yet and which the tavernkeep dared not request payment for.
The penultimate member slipped inside the tavern and stuck to the shadows, moving towards the darkest corner of the space to sit down. What little could be glimpsed of them was fully ravelled in bandages, though their eyes did glint slightly in the dimness— not in the manner that a person's eyes often did glint, but dully, like flint or obsidian.
The last person into the tavern was, of course, you.
Who are you?
Character Creation (Part 1)
Name:
Gender:
Appearance:*
Personality:
Background:
What will you do?
Despite all the tribulations inherent in the existence of the Hurabail, it succeeded in possessing a particular feature which even other, more comparatively prosperous villages lacked: a tavern. This establishment narrowly subsisted due to the thin but steady trickle of commerce which passed through the village. This commerce consisted exclusively of one sort of people; the only sort of people who would have any inclination to travel beyond the verge of chartered territory in Arabia and into the Empty Quarter beyond.
Treasure hunters.
As in the case of any region which maps failed to describe, the Rub 'al Kali desert was the subject of innumerable myth and stories about buried caches of treasure or lost tribes who had hoarded vast riches or forgotten mines rife with gemstones and gold. Chief among all of them was the legend of the Rings of Shaddad, the fabled artifacts worn by the king of the buried city, Irem of the Pillars.
The legends held that as a boy, Shaddad lost all ten (or, in some more obscure tellings had it, twelve) of his fingers to infection. When he became king, he commissioned the finest jewelsmith in the land to carve him a new set of fingers out of the biggest gems in the royal vault, to mount upon the stumps of the old. The jewelsmith, who it was believed possessed the Touch of Madness, used his selcouth insight and crafted Shaddad's fingers so intricately that when he wore them upon his rings, they flexed and bent as though they were alive.
Many bands of treasure hunters had passed through Hurabail, questing out into the desert with dreams of snatching those fingers from the skeletal hands of the Shaddad's corpse, where it sat upon its throne in the palace of Irem. That many bands had no return through Hurabail, and the villagers suspected it was not because they had left the Empty Quarter through some other path.
The tavern-owner in particular had become jaded by this fact. Many a group of treasure hunters had cheered and celebrated the beginning of their journeys under his roof, their leaders giving off dazzling speeches about the happy lives they would live when they returned triumphant from their quest. At first, the man had found himself swept up with their jubilations, and he wished them the best in their quests and regretted being unable to join them.
But as time passed and more and more groups left, and none returned, his heart hardened. He could only but imagine the fates that all those hopeful men and women met out in the Empty Quarter. He became increasingly withdrawn and indifferent to the bands over time, like a farmer regarding piglets that were destined for nothing but slaughter.
The group which entered his tavern on the day that our story begins, however, caught him decidedly off-guard.
Legends of Persia
The Rings
of
Shaddad
The Rings
of
Shaddad
The first comer barged right through the curtain that sealed the threshold of the tavern. At first glance, she looked like she could have been some sort of great predator, like a lion or a bear, but at second glance it seemed as though she only had the pelt of one such beast hanging from her shoulders. At third glance it was revealed that this "pelt" was in fact a massive mane of hair that cascaded down her back, its tips reaching to her calves. By then she had stormed forwards to the bar of the tavern, slammed her fists on the table, and demanded in a heavy Mongolian accent:
"Meat! Meat and grog!"
The woman was monstrous in stature to a degree it seemed one of her forefathers must have been the Goliath himself. Tall as a horse, as broad-shouldered as an ox, with the tremendous thews of a gorilla. She wore leather wrappings up both of her arms and tassets of brigandine hung from her waist, but her chest was bare, not just of armor but of any clothing at all, revealing a massive pair of sutured scars which intersected over the left side of her chest, eliminating that breast.
As the tavernkeep scrambled to appease the latter request and stumbled over his words to explain why the former was impossible, the second member of the group slipped inside, with all the lithe grace of a black cat in a superstitious town. He was tall, though not nearly as much so as his companion. His roguishly handsome features bespoke a Persian heritage, but the tattoo under his right eye marked him as an ex-slave.
He wore a vest that hung down to his ankles, leaving his chest and arms bare, a scarf about his neck and chin, and a pair of breeches cinched by a sash at his waist. His left forearm was ensconced in an elaborate gauntlet of articulated steel plates, their surfaces covered in relief designs and their edges sharp. Beyond this he wore no armor of note, but at his hip he carried a shamshir that banged against his thigh as he walked.
After him there came a woman clad in all the trappings of a Ba'al Shem: mantled vestments replete with Hebrew writings, tightly-bounded turban, and half-veil across her mouth. Her few visible features marked her as decidedly Galilean, though this did nothing to explain her attaining of a position otherwise reserved exclusively for men.
She headed towards a corner of the tavern to sit down as the other man sauntered up to the front and requested a bottle of wine. The next to enter was an Indian man with a gilded nose chain running across his cheek, wearing the fabric garb typical to a warrior of his homeland, reinforced with a modicum of armor on the chest and knees. A bow was slung over one of his shoulders, however more notably was the carved wooden post which jutted from his other, upon which a large hawk was perched.
The man sat down with little fanfare and produced a jerkied chunk of rat from one pocket amidst a bandoleer that hung on his chest, tearing it in two and offering one piece to his raptor. The Persian man acquired his bottle of wine, paid for it, and sidled over to the Indian's table to sit with him, and the Mongolian woman joined them promptly, having acquired a flagon of beer and a haunch of salted camel, which she had not deigned to pay for yet and which the tavernkeep dared not request payment for.
The penultimate member slipped inside the tavern and stuck to the shadows, moving towards the darkest corner of the space to sit down. What little could be glimpsed of them was fully ravelled in bandages, though their eyes did glint slightly in the dimness— not in the manner that a person's eyes often did glint, but dully, like flint or obsidian.
The last person into the tavern was, of course, you.
Who are you?
Character Creation (Part 1)
Name:
[] Abdul
[] (Write-in)
[] (Write-in)
Gender:
[] Male
[] Female
[] Other
[] Female
[] Other
Appearance:*
[] (Write-in)
Personality:
[] Choleric - short-tempered, fast, irritable
[] Phlegmatic - Relaxed, peaceful
[] Sanguine - Enthusiastic, active, social
[] Melancholic - Analytical, wise, quiet
[] Phlegmatic - Relaxed, peaceful
[] Sanguine - Enthusiastic, active, social
[] Melancholic - Analytical, wise, quiet
Background:
[] The Mercenary - A sellsword with plenty of skill and experience in armed combat, you've never been particularly interested in having a command role. Your body of knowledge is more geared towards practical things like carpentry and cooking rather than philosophy and mathematics.
[] The Trickster - A haggler and swindler, your lifestyle means that you have sticky enough fingers to pick most folk's pockets, a big enough repertoire of street-smarts to outwit most who catch you, and that you've been in enough bar-fights that you can handle the rest.
[] The Wanderer - Perhaps once a scholar, you've taken to a nomadic lifestyle, ranging across huge tracts of empty desert. Your long journeys with nothing but your thoughts have cultivate a sharp intellect tinged by just a slight edge of the Touch of Madness. You are better at avoiding bands of raiders than you are at fighting them.
[] The Trickster - A haggler and swindler, your lifestyle means that you have sticky enough fingers to pick most folk's pockets, a big enough repertoire of street-smarts to outwit most who catch you, and that you've been in enough bar-fights that you can handle the rest.
[] The Wanderer - Perhaps once a scholar, you've taken to a nomadic lifestyle, ranging across huge tracts of empty desert. Your long journeys with nothing but your thoughts have cultivate a sharp intellect tinged by just a slight edge of the Touch of Madness. You are better at avoiding bands of raiders than you are at fighting them.
*Writing in an appearance description is entirely optional, however certain thresholds of word count and/or quality will be rewarded with extra stuff in the next round of character creation, which will be much more mechanics-centric. You're free to use images here if you want, too, but they won't be eligible for rewards.
What will you do?
[] Sit with the Berserker, the Rogue, and the Ranger
[] Sit with the Healer
[] Sit with the Cultist
[] Sit at the bar
[] Go back outside and look around Hurabail
[] Sit with the Healer
[] Sit with the Cultist
[] Sit at the bar
[] Go back outside and look around Hurabail
Last edited:
Mechanics
- Location
- Cross River, NY
Encounters
Encounters, or scenes, are discrete chunks of the quest in which the character will have a set of decisions to make. Encounters will have a clearly set beginning and end, following which there will be a period of transition into the next Encounter; these transitions may have one or two small decisions to make as well, or they may not.
The options of decisions made in an encounter can either be DIfficult, Simple, or Graduated. Simple options require no sort of checks and are relatively self-explanatory. Difficult options are Pass/Fail will have a Difficulty Class and an associated Ability which they are modified by (see below). Graduated options may or may not have an associated Ability, and their outcome will correlate to how high or low your score is rather than being outright pass/fail. All rolls are done with a D20.
At the beginning of each Encounter, you are given a pool of Encounter Dice. These Dice will differ based on the length of the Encounter— 3 Dice for Small, 5 Dice for Medium, 8 Dice for Large. At base, these Dice are all D4's, but as you level up, they will increase to D6, D8, etc. You may allot as many of your Encounter Dice to a single decision as you like, or you may choose to ration them.
Certain actions can allow you to regain spent Encounter Dice, but these are special and should be seen as helpful bonuses, and not as something to depend upon.
Health
The two conditions which determine your character's well-being are physical Vitality and mental Sanity. Vitality is fairly straightforward: receiving physical damage will result in either an Injury or a Wound depending upon its severity. Injuries can worsen into Wounds under certain circumstances. If you have more than three Wounds, you die. (Quest over?)
You recover one Wound (or Injury, if you have no Wounds) per Encounter completion, after the Encounter in which the Wound or Injury is initially incurred. You can also do certain things to recover Injuries and Wounds during an Encounter, such as performing treatments or receiving healing.
Sanity is slightly more nebulous. Certain stressful or otherwise mentally-pressuring situations will cause your character to advance down the Sanity ladder, from Sane, to Worried, to Anxious, to Paranoid, to Disturbed, and so on. Sanity, and lack thereof, cannot kill you, however it can have other ill effects, such as your character having a warped perception or reality, or behaving unreliably.
Sanity can be recovered by performing otherwise optional Dreams, which take place between Encounters.
Abilities
The different abilities in this quest are the same as your run-of-the-mill Dungeons and Dragons set with some slight simplifications. Rather than extrapolate a modifier from the stat number, the scores themselves will be the modifier. Because this quest is run on a D20 system, the scores might look a bit low.
Aside from this, everything is pretty much the same. You can expect the same sorts of abilities to apply to the same sorts of challenges that the character will face. The only particular exception is that actions during combat will be decided by a single flat roll rather than an attack roll and separate damage roll.
On levelling up, you receive 2 new points to put towards your Ability scores as you see fit.
Skills
Skills are particular tricks and expertises which your character has picked up. You start with a handful, and will have opportunities to learn more throughout the length of the Quest. Unlike in D&D, Skills have no effect on rolls or really mechanics in general, but they will open up new, otherwise unavailable options during certain decisions in Encounters, or improve pre-existing options.
Perks
Perks, on the other hand, do have mechanical effects. These are widely varied, and difficult to come by. You get one perk to begin with, and receive another each time you level up. Very rarely, certain decisions will allow you to gain new perks for free.
Inventory
The inventory system is fairly simple; a list of items that the character is carrying on their person. They are either designated as [Belt] or [Pack]. The former is instantly accessible to the character, the latter takes a moment or two to access; this affects whether or not they can be used in high-stakes situations like combat or chases and so forth.
Like Skills, the items in your inventory will affect which options are available to you during certain decisions, or modify those options in some way. Some items will be expended after being used in an action, others are reusable.
Encounters, or scenes, are discrete chunks of the quest in which the character will have a set of decisions to make. Encounters will have a clearly set beginning and end, following which there will be a period of transition into the next Encounter; these transitions may have one or two small decisions to make as well, or they may not.
The options of decisions made in an encounter can either be DIfficult, Simple, or Graduated. Simple options require no sort of checks and are relatively self-explanatory. Difficult options are Pass/Fail will have a Difficulty Class and an associated Ability which they are modified by (see below). Graduated options may or may not have an associated Ability, and their outcome will correlate to how high or low your score is rather than being outright pass/fail. All rolls are done with a D20.
At the beginning of each Encounter, you are given a pool of Encounter Dice. These Dice will differ based on the length of the Encounter— 3 Dice for Small, 5 Dice for Medium, 8 Dice for Large. At base, these Dice are all D4's, but as you level up, they will increase to D6, D8, etc. You may allot as many of your Encounter Dice to a single decision as you like, or you may choose to ration them.
Certain actions can allow you to regain spent Encounter Dice, but these are special and should be seen as helpful bonuses, and not as something to depend upon.
Health
The two conditions which determine your character's well-being are physical Vitality and mental Sanity. Vitality is fairly straightforward: receiving physical damage will result in either an Injury or a Wound depending upon its severity. Injuries can worsen into Wounds under certain circumstances. If you have more than three Wounds, you die. (Quest over?)
You recover one Wound (or Injury, if you have no Wounds) per Encounter completion, after the Encounter in which the Wound or Injury is initially incurred. You can also do certain things to recover Injuries and Wounds during an Encounter, such as performing treatments or receiving healing.
Sanity is slightly more nebulous. Certain stressful or otherwise mentally-pressuring situations will cause your character to advance down the Sanity ladder, from Sane, to Worried, to Anxious, to Paranoid, to Disturbed, and so on. Sanity, and lack thereof, cannot kill you, however it can have other ill effects, such as your character having a warped perception or reality, or behaving unreliably.
Sanity can be recovered by performing otherwise optional Dreams, which take place between Encounters.
Abilities
The different abilities in this quest are the same as your run-of-the-mill Dungeons and Dragons set with some slight simplifications. Rather than extrapolate a modifier from the stat number, the scores themselves will be the modifier. Because this quest is run on a D20 system, the scores might look a bit low.
Aside from this, everything is pretty much the same. You can expect the same sorts of abilities to apply to the same sorts of challenges that the character will face. The only particular exception is that actions during combat will be decided by a single flat roll rather than an attack roll and separate damage roll.
On levelling up, you receive 2 new points to put towards your Ability scores as you see fit.
Skills
Skills are particular tricks and expertises which your character has picked up. You start with a handful, and will have opportunities to learn more throughout the length of the Quest. Unlike in D&D, Skills have no effect on rolls or really mechanics in general, but they will open up new, otherwise unavailable options during certain decisions in Encounters, or improve pre-existing options.
Perks
Perks, on the other hand, do have mechanical effects. These are widely varied, and difficult to come by. You get one perk to begin with, and receive another each time you level up. Very rarely, certain decisions will allow you to gain new perks for free.
Inventory
The inventory system is fairly simple; a list of items that the character is carrying on their person. They are either designated as [Belt] or [Pack]. The former is instantly accessible to the character, the latter takes a moment or two to access; this affects whether or not they can be used in high-stakes situations like combat or chases and so forth.
Like Skills, the items in your inventory will affect which options are available to you during certain decisions, or modify those options in some way. Some items will be expended after being used in an action, others are reusable.
A Stop in Town 1.2
- Location
- Cross River, NY
[3/13] Plan CTOAPPN
Character Creation: Part 2
Abilities
You may distribute 8 points, plus 2 extra as a character creation reward, across the following abilities:
Skills
You may choose 5 of the following skills. As a Mercenary, you begin with the Martial Proficiency skill by default.
Perks
You may chose one starting perk, plus an extra one as a character creation bonus
[8/13] Sit with the healer
Your eyes took a moment to adjust to the inside of the tavern, particularly as the tarp swung closed and the harsh sunlight from outside was cut off, leaving only a few candles scattered around the space as the only source of light. Coolness washed over you, a welcomed change from the heat of the desert, which was only exacerbated by the armor you wore. It was heat that you well accustomed to, of course, but that did not mean it was not uncomfortable.
With a moment's decision, you made your way over towards where the Galilean woman had sat down. You had no particular interest in brooding fraternity with the group at the other table; the Persian was a thief and a scoundrel, the Mongolian was more of a butcher than a warrior, and the Indian's falcon frankly unnerved you; nor did you fancy trying you luck with the whims of the Egyptian cultist. More than any of that, though, there was also the simple wisdom of being on good terms with one's medic.
You knew her as Shenhav bat Tchelet. She was a healer of the tribe of Elimelech, a Ba'ala Shem, which also meant that she was a Magus. The Magi drew their power from the Touch of Madness, the solipsistic delusion which allowed their will to supercede nature. There were many different methods of attaining Madness. Dunewalkers wandered the wastes, isolated and aimless, until they succumbed to insanity. Those of the Cult of Amunet practiced severe asceticism and ritual mortification to obtain the Touch. And the deeper the Madness rans, the greater the power wielded by the Magi...
The Ba'al Shem, you knew, were more conservative. Jewish Magi used the Madness of faith, their devotion to and worship of the one true god of their religion altering their perception of reality in a very different manner than conventional lunacy, but altering it nonetheless. The shallowness of a pond did not mean safety from whatever its murkiness might hide.
You took a seat at the small table, in a chair which was moreso next to Shenhav than opposite her, but not quite either. She looked at you, not surprised— she had watched you approached— but seemingly curious as to why you had chosen to approach her in particular. That curiosity died before it reached her lips, though, and she glanced away a moment later, apparently indifferent to your presence; leaving you to begin the conversation.
You have 3 Encounter Dice remaining. What do you do?
Character Creation: Part 2
Abilities
You may distribute 8 points, plus 2 extra as a character creation reward, across the following abilities:
[] Strength:
[] Constitution:
[] Dexterity:
[] Wisdom:
[] Intelligence:
[] Charisma:
[] Constitution:
[] Dexterity:
[] Wisdom:
[] Intelligence:
[] Charisma:
Skills
You may choose 5 of the following skills. As a Mercenary, you begin with the Martial Proficiency skill by default.
- Appraisal
- Acrobatics
- Deception
- Riding
- Performance
- Intimidation
- Fortification
- Medicine
- Mysticism
- Persuasion
- Polyglot
- Sleight of Hand
- Stealth
- Survival
Perks
You may chose one starting perk, plus an extra one as a character creation bonus
[] Calm and Collected: Having a Sanity status of Sane grants you a +2 on all rolls; with each step down the Sanity ladder you progress, this diminishes by 1
[] Seasoned Warrior: Your first failure in combat during each Encounter is rerolled
[] Disciplined Mind: May reduce the ill effects of a low Sanity status by one step
[] Thickskinned: May ignore one Injury (but not Wound) per Encounter
[] Peerless Intellect: Encounter Dice applied to Intelligence rolls count as one step larger
[] Luck of the Hero: Gain one bonus Encounter Die per Encounter
[] Seasoned Warrior: Your first failure in combat during each Encounter is rerolled
[] Disciplined Mind: May reduce the ill effects of a low Sanity status by one step
[] Thickskinned: May ignore one Injury (but not Wound) per Encounter
[] Peerless Intellect: Encounter Dice applied to Intelligence rolls count as one step larger
[] Luck of the Hero: Gain one bonus Encounter Die per Encounter
[8/13] Sit with the healer
Your eyes took a moment to adjust to the inside of the tavern, particularly as the tarp swung closed and the harsh sunlight from outside was cut off, leaving only a few candles scattered around the space as the only source of light. Coolness washed over you, a welcomed change from the heat of the desert, which was only exacerbated by the armor you wore. It was heat that you well accustomed to, of course, but that did not mean it was not uncomfortable.
With a moment's decision, you made your way over towards where the Galilean woman had sat down. You had no particular interest in brooding fraternity with the group at the other table; the Persian was a thief and a scoundrel, the Mongolian was more of a butcher than a warrior, and the Indian's falcon frankly unnerved you; nor did you fancy trying you luck with the whims of the Egyptian cultist. More than any of that, though, there was also the simple wisdom of being on good terms with one's medic.
You knew her as Shenhav bat Tchelet. She was a healer of the tribe of Elimelech, a Ba'ala Shem, which also meant that she was a Magus. The Magi drew their power from the Touch of Madness, the solipsistic delusion which allowed their will to supercede nature. There were many different methods of attaining Madness. Dunewalkers wandered the wastes, isolated and aimless, until they succumbed to insanity. Those of the Cult of Amunet practiced severe asceticism and ritual mortification to obtain the Touch. And the deeper the Madness rans, the greater the power wielded by the Magi...
The Ba'al Shem, you knew, were more conservative. Jewish Magi used the Madness of faith, their devotion to and worship of the one true god of their religion altering their perception of reality in a very different manner than conventional lunacy, but altering it nonetheless. The shallowness of a pond did not mean safety from whatever its murkiness might hide.
You took a seat at the small table, in a chair which was moreso next to Shenhav than opposite her, but not quite either. She looked at you, not surprised— she had watched you approached— but seemingly curious as to why you had chosen to approach her in particular. That curiosity died before it reached her lips, though, and she glanced away a moment later, apparently indifferent to your presence; leaving you to begin the conversation.
You have 3 Encounter Dice remaining. What do you do?
[] Talk with her about being a Ba'ala Shem (Intelligence, DC: 10)
[] Persuade her to always administer healing to you first (Charisma, DC: 10)
[] Ask her about why she chose to join this group
[] Talk with her about (Write-in)
[] Persuade her to always administer healing to you first (Charisma, DC: 10)
[] Ask her about why she chose to join this group
[] Talk with her about (Write-in)
Last edited:
A Stop in Town 1.3
- Location
- Cross River, NY
[4/6] Plan Zeitgeist Blue
[X] Ask her about why she chose to join this group
"You are a tribeswoman of the tribe of Elimelech, are you not?" you asked Shenhav.
She narrowed her eyes somewhat. "Yes. What of it?"
"Nothing much. I was under the belief that your tribespeople had certain tenets against greed, though."
"We do."
"Then what is one doing with a band of treasure hunters?"
The question seemed to have caught her off-guard. She glanced away from you, drumming her fingers. Thinking of a fabrication, perhaps. Then, she appeared to give up, and simply said: "There are things in Irem to be sought other than treasures."
She was not wrong. Though the Rings of Shaddad were the most popular subject of legends about Irem, they were not the only subject; not even the only subject that involved jewelry, in fact. Irem's vaults were supposed to be replete with treasures of all kinds, from jewelry to exotic spices to great tapestries and more. The Rings of Shaddad were simply the prize among prizes, due to their purported size and history with the lost city's king.
There were also, however, purported to be scrolls and tomes containing ancient arcana and esoterica from the Magi of ages passed, and artifacts of singularly vast antiquity. Though your knowledge on the subject was rusty, you recalled that Irem was supposedly founded by one Aram (initially, the city was eponymous with its founder, but language mutation had caused them to differ) who was a direct descendant of the Noah of Hebrew lore. You would be willing to bet that Shenhav's goal had something to do with that, but you suspected that if you were to broach the subject directly, she would be evasive.
Instead, you took a more roundabout method, and nodded towards where the Cultist sat in the far corner of the tavern. "You reckon you'll find any competition from that one?"
Shenhav followed your gaze. You saw some flicker of emotion across her features, before recovering her previous repose. "That... thing's goal is different from mine."
"What exactly do you think its goal is?" you asked, letting your interest enter your voice.
"There are... whisperings about Irem. About something underneath Irem, more specifically."
"It's a buried city. What could be below it?"
"Something... old."
That was fascinating in and of itself, but you changed subjects obliquely: "And what you're after isn't?"
"The matter of my pilgrimage is from the earliest parts of human history. What is beneath the city is from prior to human history altogether."
You nodded.
"And what are you doing with a group of treasure hunters."
This time you were the one caught by surprise. "I'm a mercenary."
"Yes, I can see that," she agreed, with a pointed glance at the small armory of weaponry you were carrying, "however, for a mercenary, you seem quite well-educated; moreso than those louts over there." She gestured to the two men and woman sitting at the table in the middle of the tavern. They'd begun passing around the bottle that the Rogue had bought, and the Mongolian in particular was beginning to get quite rowdy.
"So are you," you countered.
"Certainly, but I am on the pilgrimage. I have a reason for coming along. What's yours?"
What is your reply?
[X] Ask her about why she chose to join this group
"You are a tribeswoman of the tribe of Elimelech, are you not?" you asked Shenhav.
She narrowed her eyes somewhat. "Yes. What of it?"
"Nothing much. I was under the belief that your tribespeople had certain tenets against greed, though."
"We do."
"Then what is one doing with a band of treasure hunters?"
The question seemed to have caught her off-guard. She glanced away from you, drumming her fingers. Thinking of a fabrication, perhaps. Then, she appeared to give up, and simply said: "There are things in Irem to be sought other than treasures."
She was not wrong. Though the Rings of Shaddad were the most popular subject of legends about Irem, they were not the only subject; not even the only subject that involved jewelry, in fact. Irem's vaults were supposed to be replete with treasures of all kinds, from jewelry to exotic spices to great tapestries and more. The Rings of Shaddad were simply the prize among prizes, due to their purported size and history with the lost city's king.
There were also, however, purported to be scrolls and tomes containing ancient arcana and esoterica from the Magi of ages passed, and artifacts of singularly vast antiquity. Though your knowledge on the subject was rusty, you recalled that Irem was supposedly founded by one Aram (initially, the city was eponymous with its founder, but language mutation had caused them to differ) who was a direct descendant of the Noah of Hebrew lore. You would be willing to bet that Shenhav's goal had something to do with that, but you suspected that if you were to broach the subject directly, she would be evasive.
Instead, you took a more roundabout method, and nodded towards where the Cultist sat in the far corner of the tavern. "You reckon you'll find any competition from that one?"
Shenhav followed your gaze. You saw some flicker of emotion across her features, before recovering her previous repose. "That... thing's goal is different from mine."
"What exactly do you think its goal is?" you asked, letting your interest enter your voice.
"There are... whisperings about Irem. About something underneath Irem, more specifically."
"It's a buried city. What could be below it?"
"Something... old."
That was fascinating in and of itself, but you changed subjects obliquely: "And what you're after isn't?"
"The matter of my pilgrimage is from the earliest parts of human history. What is beneath the city is from prior to human history altogether."
You nodded.
"And what are you doing with a group of treasure hunters."
This time you were the one caught by surprise. "I'm a mercenary."
"Yes, I can see that," she agreed, with a pointed glance at the small armory of weaponry you were carrying, "however, for a mercenary, you seem quite well-educated; moreso than those louts over there." She gestured to the two men and woman sitting at the table in the middle of the tavern. They'd begun passing around the bottle that the Rogue had bought, and the Mongolian in particular was beginning to get quite rowdy.
"So are you," you countered.
"Certainly, but I am on the pilgrimage. I have a reason for coming along. What's yours?"
What is your reply?
[] You needed to pay off a debt
[] It had been your childhood dream
[] You were searching for a lost relative who had gone off looking for it before you
[] (Write-in)
[] It had been your childhood dream
[] You were searching for a lost relative who had gone off looking for it before you
[] (Write-in)
Character Sheet
- Location
- Cross River, NY
Name: Ardashir
Gender: Male
Appearance: Ardashir is a man in his mid-twenties of medium stature, with a skin touched by the sun. At first glance one could guess by his lean body and muscles that the man didn't focus on strength but rather speed and dexterity to outmanoeuvre his foes—this spared him from being wounded, and in turn scarred, too badly. On his, bereft of any scars, face was an old month facial hair—at first trimmed and taken care only to be later neglected during his travels—of dark brown colour, same as his braided and reaching to the middle of his back hair. The most defining of his features were his eyes, always calm and of unusual colour—pale green with brown specks around the irises. Most of the time the eyes are also the only visible feature because of the helmet with a camail.
Although mostly unseen, under his plated mail armour he wears cotton baggy pants and a shirt of the same material (sudra), tied by a woollen girdle (kusti). Over all this, including the armour, was a type of long coat flared below the knees (jama). Whenever he doesn't use the previously mentioned helmet he usually wears a turban on his head, otherwise it's tied around said headgear. It's worth mentioning that all of the clothes are white in colour. On his sides were a curved sword and a mace, while on his back a composite bow with a quiver full of arrows, and a rucksack.
Personality: Ardashir has the qualities necessary for someone who lives a long time as a professional soldier; he's rational, he's intelligent, and he knows what risks to take, and which to pass up. However, this hasn't made him as cynical or cold-hearted as many peers in his field. He is still a man willing to make friends, and a man who knows allies when he sees them; however, he has the wisdom necessary to differentiate between the two. On top of this, after everything, Ardashir is also a person who is still willing to follow after his dreams, if he well and truly believes that they are attainable.
Health:
Gender: Male
Appearance: Ardashir is a man in his mid-twenties of medium stature, with a skin touched by the sun. At first glance one could guess by his lean body and muscles that the man didn't focus on strength but rather speed and dexterity to outmanoeuvre his foes—this spared him from being wounded, and in turn scarred, too badly. On his, bereft of any scars, face was an old month facial hair—at first trimmed and taken care only to be later neglected during his travels—of dark brown colour, same as his braided and reaching to the middle of his back hair. The most defining of his features were his eyes, always calm and of unusual colour—pale green with brown specks around the irises. Most of the time the eyes are also the only visible feature because of the helmet with a camail.
Although mostly unseen, under his plated mail armour he wears cotton baggy pants and a shirt of the same material (sudra), tied by a woollen girdle (kusti). Over all this, including the armour, was a type of long coat flared below the knees (jama). Whenever he doesn't use the previously mentioned helmet he usually wears a turban on his head, otherwise it's tied around said headgear. It's worth mentioning that all of the clothes are white in colour. On his sides were a curved sword and a mace, while on his back a composite bow with a quiver full of arrows, and a rucksack.
Personality: Ardashir has the qualities necessary for someone who lives a long time as a professional soldier; he's rational, he's intelligent, and he knows what risks to take, and which to pass up. However, this hasn't made him as cynical or cold-hearted as many peers in his field. He is still a man willing to make friends, and a man who knows allies when he sees them; however, he has the wisdom necessary to differentiate between the two. On top of this, after everything, Ardashir is also a person who is still willing to follow after his dreams, if he well and truly believes that they are attainable.
Health:
- Vitality: Full
- Sanity: Sane
- Strength: 2
- Constitution: 1
- Dexterity: 3
- Wisdom: 2
- Intelligence: 1
- Charisma: 1
- Acrobatics
- Riding
- Mysticism
- Polyglot
- Survival
- Calm and Collected: Having a Sanity status of Sane grants you a +2 on all rolls; with each step down the Sanity ladder you progress, this diminishes by 1
- Disciplined Mind: May reduce the ill effects of a low Sanity status by one step
- Sword
- Mace
- Bow
- Quiver and Arrows
- Medium Armor
A Stop in Town 1.4
- Location
- Cross River, NY
[8/10] It had been your childhood dream.
You hesitate for a moment, drumming your fingers in contemplation. Then, you shrugged, and spun your yarn.
"When I was a boy, my mother would tell me stories," you explained. "She would point to the south, to the Empty Quarter, and say, 'There lies Irem of the Pillars, that no explorer could ever reach. It is one of the great mysteries of the world.' And I recall how badly I wanted to unveil that mystery. Not for the glory of being the one who finally found it, you understand, and not for the riches which came with it, but simply to be able to grasp the elation of discovery."
Shenhav observed you with the slight pinch of skepticism in her features; but, after spending a moment looking into your eyes, that pinch softened. "You're a dreamer."
"You say that as though it's a bad thing."
"No, not bad. But... rare. There are fewer true dreamers in this world than there are people of my tribe."
You shrugged. "I'm no wide-eyed idealist. I know the likelihood of us returning is lower than the alternative. By a lot. But in the mercenary business you risk your life in every single job. I figured that if I was gonna risk my life, I might as well risk it in the pursuit of something worth achieving."
"Well, as I understand it, this particular expedition isn't going to be quite so forlorn as the rest."
"Oh?"
She glanced in the direction of the other table in the bar. "That man, the Persian, he claims to have something that will help us get to Irem. A map of the Rub 'al Kali."
Your gaze followed hers, and settled upon the man in question. Amir Najafi, the de facto leader of your group. He was an individual of some notoriety—enough that you had at least heard his name before, prior to being told about his intent to gather a band of treasure hunters for an expedition to find Irem. He had been called the greatest thief in all of Persia, but you'd heard the same said about a dozen different people on separate occasions.
Nonetheless, he had a certain... charisma about him. When you had approached him, it was though he knew exactly what to do— not just what to say, but all of the right mannerisms to adopt, the right body language to display— to get you to agree to whatever he'd said. Not that you had been a particularly hard sell, of course. You'd been willing to join on with just about anyone who was going on an expedition in the near future. It was the other members of the party that bespoke the full extent of his skill.
The Indian man— one Dasra Chattarak—and Shenhav seemed like reasonable enough people, although the former was ostensibly a bit of a loner, and the latter, based off the fact that she was on a pilgrimage, might have been more inclined to undergo this journey independently. Convincing them to join the group would probably have been as simple as showing off that map and applying the rest of his charm.
Convincing the Mongolian woman to come along, on the other hand, would have been much, much more difficult. She was Ghoa the Slaughterer, an infamous Mughal barbarian. If half of the stories you'd heard about her were true, just having her here in this tavern without her, well, slaughtering everyone in the room would have taken nothing short of hypnotism.
The presence of the Amunet cultist, too, who you had heard referred to as simply "Åt", was another feat of supreme diplomacy. You, frankly, couldn't even imagine what sorts of carrots and sticks would have been involved in securing participation from someone like that. Their cult was one of hermits and pariahs who were so vanishingly reclusive that even the settlers who lived in villages outside the great, monolithic pyramids inside of which they resided sometimes doubted their existence. How Amir had even managed to get an audience with one of their cultists was beyond you, let alone how he managed one to emerge from the depths of their sanctums and participate in an expedition.
"Well," you said, finally, "that's good news, at least."
You have 3 Encounter Dice remaining. What do you do?
You hesitate for a moment, drumming your fingers in contemplation. Then, you shrugged, and spun your yarn.
"When I was a boy, my mother would tell me stories," you explained. "She would point to the south, to the Empty Quarter, and say, 'There lies Irem of the Pillars, that no explorer could ever reach. It is one of the great mysteries of the world.' And I recall how badly I wanted to unveil that mystery. Not for the glory of being the one who finally found it, you understand, and not for the riches which came with it, but simply to be able to grasp the elation of discovery."
Shenhav observed you with the slight pinch of skepticism in her features; but, after spending a moment looking into your eyes, that pinch softened. "You're a dreamer."
"You say that as though it's a bad thing."
"No, not bad. But... rare. There are fewer true dreamers in this world than there are people of my tribe."
You shrugged. "I'm no wide-eyed idealist. I know the likelihood of us returning is lower than the alternative. By a lot. But in the mercenary business you risk your life in every single job. I figured that if I was gonna risk my life, I might as well risk it in the pursuit of something worth achieving."
"Well, as I understand it, this particular expedition isn't going to be quite so forlorn as the rest."
"Oh?"
She glanced in the direction of the other table in the bar. "That man, the Persian, he claims to have something that will help us get to Irem. A map of the Rub 'al Kali."
Your gaze followed hers, and settled upon the man in question. Amir Najafi, the de facto leader of your group. He was an individual of some notoriety—enough that you had at least heard his name before, prior to being told about his intent to gather a band of treasure hunters for an expedition to find Irem. He had been called the greatest thief in all of Persia, but you'd heard the same said about a dozen different people on separate occasions.
Nonetheless, he had a certain... charisma about him. When you had approached him, it was though he knew exactly what to do— not just what to say, but all of the right mannerisms to adopt, the right body language to display— to get you to agree to whatever he'd said. Not that you had been a particularly hard sell, of course. You'd been willing to join on with just about anyone who was going on an expedition in the near future. It was the other members of the party that bespoke the full extent of his skill.
The Indian man— one Dasra Chattarak—and Shenhav seemed like reasonable enough people, although the former was ostensibly a bit of a loner, and the latter, based off the fact that she was on a pilgrimage, might have been more inclined to undergo this journey independently. Convincing them to join the group would probably have been as simple as showing off that map and applying the rest of his charm.
Convincing the Mongolian woman to come along, on the other hand, would have been much, much more difficult. She was Ghoa the Slaughterer, an infamous Mughal barbarian. If half of the stories you'd heard about her were true, just having her here in this tavern without her, well, slaughtering everyone in the room would have taken nothing short of hypnotism.
The presence of the Amunet cultist, too, who you had heard referred to as simply "Åt", was another feat of supreme diplomacy. You, frankly, couldn't even imagine what sorts of carrots and sticks would have been involved in securing participation from someone like that. Their cult was one of hermits and pariahs who were so vanishingly reclusive that even the settlers who lived in villages outside the great, monolithic pyramids inside of which they resided sometimes doubted their existence. How Amir had even managed to get an audience with one of their cultists was beyond you, let alone how he managed one to emerge from the depths of their sanctums and participate in an expedition.
"Well," you said, finally, "that's good news, at least."
You have 3 Encounter Dice remaining. What do you do?
[] Remain at the table where you are
[] Talk with Shenhav about being a Ba'ala Shem (Intelligence, DC: 10)
[] Persuade Shenhav to always prioritize healing to you (Charisma, DC: 10)
[] Talk about (Write-in)
[] Persuade Shenhav to always prioritize healing to you (Charisma, DC: 10)
[] Talk about (Write-in)
[] Go and sit down at the other table
[] Ask Amir to see the map (Charisma, DC: 15)
[] Join in their conversation
[] Talk to them about (Write-in)
[] Join in their conversation
[] Talk to them about (Write-in)
[] Approach where the Cultist is sitting
[] Talk to them about being an Amunet cultists (Intelligence, DC: 15)
[] Talk to them about (Write-in)
[] Talk to them about (Write-in)
A Stop in Town 1.5
- Location
- Cross River, NY
[4/7] Go and sit down at the other table
-[4/7] Join in their conversation
"Well, Shenhav, it's been a pleasure," you said, standing up. "I look forwards to going through this expedition with you, however it ends."
She inclined her head. "And I you. It's heartening to know I'll have something approximating a conversation partner, down the line."
[+1 to Shenhav bat Tchelet social link]
You smiled, and gave her a nod, then stepped off to approach the other table. Amir, Dasra, and Ghoa (the Slaughterer) were in the midst of cracking up over some joke; or, rather, Ghoa was bellowing with laughter while Amir chuckled contently to himself, and Dasra's lips were quirked with annoyance. It didn't take a genius to figure out whom had probably made a joke at whom's expense. But, feigning ignorance, you dropped into one of the two unoccupied seats and asked:
"What's so funny?"
"Ah, so the esteemed Ardashir finally graces us with his presence," commented Amir, with a wry smirk. For a moment you suspected he might chose you as the next target of ridicule, but then he turned his attention back to the Indian man and his hawk. "I don't know, Dasra, what is so funny?"
Dasra glared daggers back at him, and remained tight-lipped.
"The archer man is married to his birdie!" put Ghoa succinctly, with a grin.
The Indian scowled at her, but rather smartly held his tongue from any sort of rejoinder. You suspected that he would have preferred to be a few hundred feet further away before taking his chances with angering the gigantic Mongolian barbarian. Still, your curiosity piqued, you asked:
"Married to his bird? What do you mean?"
"It's nothing, forget it," he snapped. "Why are you over here, anyways? Gotten bored of talking to the Jew?"
"Not at all," you replied, even and calm. "We had a very pleasant conversation."
"She's an interesting one, that Shenhav," said Amir, just loud enough for the woman to hear him from where she sat, "y'know she got kicked out of her tribe for blasphemy? Real interesting stuff."
Your eyebrow twitched. This was an odd tactic for Amir to be using— essentially, antagonizing all the other members of the party. It was particularly strange because, presumably, he had put in no small amount of work getting the whole party to come together. Why would he then do something that could potentially drive it apart? He had to have some sort of angle, but you couldn't fathom what it was. So instead, you decided to turn the tables.
"I bet you're real interesting too, Amir," you pointed out. "I, for one, am curious what the so-called greatest thief in all of Persia is doing tracking down an old wive's tale."
Amir smiled in a way that suggested you had just started playing some kind of game with him.
"You think the Rings of Shaddad are just an old wives' tale?"
"Not at all," you countered. "I just thought that being someone of your notoriety, you'd be too busy going after the treasure horde of some miserly merchant or sleeping with some sultan's daughter, to throw in your lot on an expedition like this."
"Maybe I got bored of doing all that; wanted to try my hand at something new. That's why you came along, isn't it? Got bored of being hired muscle, wanted to strike out for something new?"
You noted the subtle attempt to change the topic. "Sure, but work as a mercenary is nowhere near as glamorous and exciting as being a dashing rogue like you. Did you really start to get bored of it?"
Your back-and-forth was interrupted by a snapping sound as Ghoa cracked the bone of the camel haunch she'd been eating in half and began loudly sucking out the marrow. When she realized everyone was staring at her, she blinked and glanced between them.
"Oh, don't be letting me stop you! This is just getting good!" she said, grinning and gnawing on one end of the bone in the corner of the mouth.
"Agreed, this is rather... interesting," commented Dasra.
Note: two to three decisions left in this Encounter. What do you do?
-[4/7] Join in their conversation
"Well, Shenhav, it's been a pleasure," you said, standing up. "I look forwards to going through this expedition with you, however it ends."
She inclined her head. "And I you. It's heartening to know I'll have something approximating a conversation partner, down the line."
[+1 to Shenhav bat Tchelet social link]
You smiled, and gave her a nod, then stepped off to approach the other table. Amir, Dasra, and Ghoa (the Slaughterer) were in the midst of cracking up over some joke; or, rather, Ghoa was bellowing with laughter while Amir chuckled contently to himself, and Dasra's lips were quirked with annoyance. It didn't take a genius to figure out whom had probably made a joke at whom's expense. But, feigning ignorance, you dropped into one of the two unoccupied seats and asked:
"What's so funny?"
"Ah, so the esteemed Ardashir finally graces us with his presence," commented Amir, with a wry smirk. For a moment you suspected he might chose you as the next target of ridicule, but then he turned his attention back to the Indian man and his hawk. "I don't know, Dasra, what is so funny?"
Dasra glared daggers back at him, and remained tight-lipped.
"The archer man is married to his birdie!" put Ghoa succinctly, with a grin.
The Indian scowled at her, but rather smartly held his tongue from any sort of rejoinder. You suspected that he would have preferred to be a few hundred feet further away before taking his chances with angering the gigantic Mongolian barbarian. Still, your curiosity piqued, you asked:
"Married to his bird? What do you mean?"
"It's nothing, forget it," he snapped. "Why are you over here, anyways? Gotten bored of talking to the Jew?"
"Not at all," you replied, even and calm. "We had a very pleasant conversation."
"She's an interesting one, that Shenhav," said Amir, just loud enough for the woman to hear him from where she sat, "y'know she got kicked out of her tribe for blasphemy? Real interesting stuff."
Your eyebrow twitched. This was an odd tactic for Amir to be using— essentially, antagonizing all the other members of the party. It was particularly strange because, presumably, he had put in no small amount of work getting the whole party to come together. Why would he then do something that could potentially drive it apart? He had to have some sort of angle, but you couldn't fathom what it was. So instead, you decided to turn the tables.
"I bet you're real interesting too, Amir," you pointed out. "I, for one, am curious what the so-called greatest thief in all of Persia is doing tracking down an old wive's tale."
Amir smiled in a way that suggested you had just started playing some kind of game with him.
"You think the Rings of Shaddad are just an old wives' tale?"
"Not at all," you countered. "I just thought that being someone of your notoriety, you'd be too busy going after the treasure horde of some miserly merchant or sleeping with some sultan's daughter, to throw in your lot on an expedition like this."
"Maybe I got bored of doing all that; wanted to try my hand at something new. That's why you came along, isn't it? Got bored of being hired muscle, wanted to strike out for something new?"
You noted the subtle attempt to change the topic. "Sure, but work as a mercenary is nowhere near as glamorous and exciting as being a dashing rogue like you. Did you really start to get bored of it?"
Your back-and-forth was interrupted by a snapping sound as Ghoa cracked the bone of the camel haunch she'd been eating in half and began loudly sucking out the marrow. When she realized everyone was staring at her, she blinked and glanced between them.
"Oh, don't be letting me stop you! This is just getting good!" she said, grinning and gnawing on one end of the bone in the corner of the mouth.
"Agreed, this is rather... interesting," commented Dasra.
Note: two to three decisions left in this Encounter. What do you do?
[] Keeping digging on Amir
[] Change the subject to (Write-in)
[] Ask Amir to see the map [Charisma, DC: 15]
[] Change the subject to (Write-in)
[] Ask Amir to see the map [Charisma, DC: 15]