You are Nasir al-Katib ibn Yasmin al-Assadi, probably the most educated night clerk in all of Araby. You were taught at al-Madrasat al-Haikk, one of the most prestigious universities in the city. You expected a place among the lords and ladies of the land, but a foolish word spoken to unkind ears has left you working for a greedy bastard, searching through his trash for treasures. Worsened by the insulting wage he pays you. Not what you had hoped for when you stepped into the Hall of Wisdom, but fate's designs are never in line with the dreams of men. It is during one of these nights that you come to hear a strange voice.
Of Spirits and Scholars: An Araby Quest
- Thread starter Whynot09
- Start date
- Fantasy
- Created
- Status
- Dropped
- Watchers
- 53
- Recent readers
- 0
- Threadmarks
- 18
-
Statistics (8 threadmarks, 18k words)
User Total Whynot09 8 -
Loading…
-
Loading…
Of Spirits and Scholars
You are Nasir al-Katib ibn Yasmin al-Assadi, probably the most educated night clerk in all of Araby. You were taught at al-Madrasat al-Haikk, one of the most prestigious universities in the city. You expected a place among the lords and ladies of the land, but a foolish word spoken to unkind ears has left you working for a greedy bastard, searching through his trash for treasures. Worsened by the insulting wage he pays you. Not what you had hoped for when you stepped into the Hall of Wisdom, but fate's designs are never in line with the dreams of men. It is during one of these nights that you come to hear a strange voice.
Hi, this is my first quest and posting on Sufficient Velocity. I have been an unofficial lurker for a while. This quest is inspired by Divided Loyalties and Of Witches and Wolves among others. Both are incredible and should be read. The quest is set in Araby, a setting I don't think I've seen anyone really mess around with. Feel free to offer criticisms or advice, cause I largely dont know what I am doing. Hopefully we all have fun together on the journey though. The general mechanics are the basic Crusader Kings model with the attributes of martial, diplomacy, intrigue, stewardship, and learning. I am using the addition of prowess and the momentum and threat system from Dune Adventures. Prowess is your personal combat ability. Momentum and threat are concept from Dune Adventures that work based on how successful you are in high-level challenges. If you have a challenge that requires a 60 or higher to succeed and you succeed with a 100 or higher, you gain momentum points which can be spent to add dice or even make a trait. However, when you gain momentum so does your enemy or opponent. Think of it as your threat level increasing in the eyes of your opponents and them reacting accordingly. Hopefully, it plays well together, but if it does not, then adjustments can be made or dropping the system entirely.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"I graduated from University," you say to the collection of dusty, moldy antiques. Each stinking of a unique pungent odor. Your attempts at mouth-breathing fail as the coterie of smells attack your tongue as it attacks your nostrils. You fight back the urge to vomit, knowing your employer would subtract the cost of the cleaning materials from your already meager wage. Grabbing the inventory log, you start with the first item. It was a teacup set. An image of a marsh with herons flying above painted on the white glaze. The contrast of the colors and make of the pottery look equal to the quality of normal Cathayan ceramics but turning it over revealed it was fake. The manufacturing stamp was not the official mark of approval from an official ceramic inspector, but rather a series of random characters which could be roughly translated as elephant king/dragon shit. You never understood how forgers could master how to replicate the quality of the pottery, but not the stamp. Maybe it was a mystery with no solution like the reason why people lived in the frigid north. Noting the tea set's status as a fake, you marked the value at two rials. Another two sets were fake as well, but of a lesser quality. You marked them at six dinars each. There was a sword noted as the actual blade of a Grail Knight. Something very unlikely to you given it was a Reman shortsword and you did not remember any Tilean Grail Knights. The blade did have a minor enchantment on it, but it was a simple light charm. A value of 9 rials seemed appropriate.
You decided on taking a break. Your half-breaths had kept neither the awful taste of the odor or the threat of unconsciousness back. Going to the office in the back, you set down the inventory log and sat in the chair behind the small desk. Pulling out a small metal tin, you take out a leaf of tubaq. Chewing it, the sweet and spicy flavor of the grass clear your mouth with its heat and burn your nose clean. Thankfully, the day-clerk also indulged in your variety of vices, leaving a small pot for you to spit out the grass-juices. Mama would kill me if she saw me. The thought comes as you relax. You smile, remembering her sermons.
"This is what the half-men of the north eat, beloved. A product of devils and motherless men. Am I not your mother, my sweet? Then do not dishonor me by disgracing your body with it," she would say, the air thick with the smell of rose water. Her light blue scarf seem to shine, no matter the time of day. Was anyone as mighty as this woman who stood far larger than her tiny frame would suggest. You obeyed her for sixteen years, devoted to the precepts of your personal ruhani. No matter what she said or what your brothers and sisters would whisper when she was away, you listened til the time came and you went to the University of Al-Haikk, much to her displeasure. You chuckle a little. Mama, you were right. University did ruin me.
Your eyes begin to water and you decide it is time to return back to work. Rising up, you spat out the pulp into the pot and grab the inventory log. It took little time to get through the rest of the crap. All of it was proof of your employer's stupidity. A mask not at all from the Deadlands, but from Copher. Noting the artist's mark written in modern letters and not in any variant of Nehekharin. Gods and spirits, how wealth seems to favor fools. Abu Nufaya spent more in a day than you spent in a month and all of it after garbage. It made no sense how he was so successful.
"The Deceiver is quite beneficent to his most capable servants," said a voice from behind you. You spin, book raised in your left hand and your right hand on the hilt of your knife. All there is to see the same dusty, smelly trash you have been stuck with for the past three hours. You search the whole of the room for the source of the sound. Yet, it seemed there was no one else in the room with you. Had you gone mad or was there something worse in the room with you? Dhat-Mana who sets the path, keep me from the wayward path. Dhat-Dami. Dhu-Dami. Keep me from the grasping hands of the devils and unquiet dead. Repeating the prayer in your head as you think of what to do.
"No need to be so scared, my friend. I am nothing so dangerous as to require such fright. Now be a dear and come closer. I would like to see you better," said the voice.
What do you do?
[] Ignore the voice. The tubaq was laced and you will bring it up with Umma Amara, but for now continue about your work. Hearing voices has never led to anything good and you need to finish your task or you won't be paid and probably charged for the missed labor.
[] Go to the source of the voice.
[] Leave this place. To hell with Abu Nufaya and his damned goods. Only a fool stays when voices without bodies speak.
[] Write in.
Hi, this is my first quest and posting on Sufficient Velocity. I have been an unofficial lurker for a while. This quest is inspired by Divided Loyalties and Of Witches and Wolves among others. Both are incredible and should be read. The quest is set in Araby, a setting I don't think I've seen anyone really mess around with. Feel free to offer criticisms or advice, cause I largely dont know what I am doing. Hopefully we all have fun together on the journey though. The general mechanics are the basic Crusader Kings model with the attributes of martial, diplomacy, intrigue, stewardship, and learning. I am using the addition of prowess and the momentum and threat system from Dune Adventures. Prowess is your personal combat ability. Momentum and threat are concept from Dune Adventures that work based on how successful you are in high-level challenges. If you have a challenge that requires a 60 or higher to succeed and you succeed with a 100 or higher, you gain momentum points which can be spent to add dice or even make a trait. However, when you gain momentum so does your enemy or opponent. Think of it as your threat level increasing in the eyes of your opponents and them reacting accordingly. Hopefully, it plays well together, but if it does not, then adjustments can be made or dropping the system entirely.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"I graduated from University," you say to the collection of dusty, moldy antiques. Each stinking of a unique pungent odor. Your attempts at mouth-breathing fail as the coterie of smells attack your tongue as it attacks your nostrils. You fight back the urge to vomit, knowing your employer would subtract the cost of the cleaning materials from your already meager wage. Grabbing the inventory log, you start with the first item. It was a teacup set. An image of a marsh with herons flying above painted on the white glaze. The contrast of the colors and make of the pottery look equal to the quality of normal Cathayan ceramics but turning it over revealed it was fake. The manufacturing stamp was not the official mark of approval from an official ceramic inspector, but rather a series of random characters which could be roughly translated as elephant king/dragon shit. You never understood how forgers could master how to replicate the quality of the pottery, but not the stamp. Maybe it was a mystery with no solution like the reason why people lived in the frigid north. Noting the tea set's status as a fake, you marked the value at two rials. Another two sets were fake as well, but of a lesser quality. You marked them at six dinars each. There was a sword noted as the actual blade of a Grail Knight. Something very unlikely to you given it was a Reman shortsword and you did not remember any Tilean Grail Knights. The blade did have a minor enchantment on it, but it was a simple light charm. A value of 9 rials seemed appropriate.
You decided on taking a break. Your half-breaths had kept neither the awful taste of the odor or the threat of unconsciousness back. Going to the office in the back, you set down the inventory log and sat in the chair behind the small desk. Pulling out a small metal tin, you take out a leaf of tubaq. Chewing it, the sweet and spicy flavor of the grass clear your mouth with its heat and burn your nose clean. Thankfully, the day-clerk also indulged in your variety of vices, leaving a small pot for you to spit out the grass-juices. Mama would kill me if she saw me. The thought comes as you relax. You smile, remembering her sermons.
"This is what the half-men of the north eat, beloved. A product of devils and motherless men. Am I not your mother, my sweet? Then do not dishonor me by disgracing your body with it," she would say, the air thick with the smell of rose water. Her light blue scarf seem to shine, no matter the time of day. Was anyone as mighty as this woman who stood far larger than her tiny frame would suggest. You obeyed her for sixteen years, devoted to the precepts of your personal ruhani. No matter what she said or what your brothers and sisters would whisper when she was away, you listened til the time came and you went to the University of Al-Haikk, much to her displeasure. You chuckle a little. Mama, you were right. University did ruin me.
Your eyes begin to water and you decide it is time to return back to work. Rising up, you spat out the pulp into the pot and grab the inventory log. It took little time to get through the rest of the crap. All of it was proof of your employer's stupidity. A mask not at all from the Deadlands, but from Copher. Noting the artist's mark written in modern letters and not in any variant of Nehekharin. Gods and spirits, how wealth seems to favor fools. Abu Nufaya spent more in a day than you spent in a month and all of it after garbage. It made no sense how he was so successful.
"The Deceiver is quite beneficent to his most capable servants," said a voice from behind you. You spin, book raised in your left hand and your right hand on the hilt of your knife. All there is to see the same dusty, smelly trash you have been stuck with for the past three hours. You search the whole of the room for the source of the sound. Yet, it seemed there was no one else in the room with you. Had you gone mad or was there something worse in the room with you? Dhat-Mana who sets the path, keep me from the wayward path. Dhat-Dami. Dhu-Dami. Keep me from the grasping hands of the devils and unquiet dead. Repeating the prayer in your head as you think of what to do.
"No need to be so scared, my friend. I am nothing so dangerous as to require such fright. Now be a dear and come closer. I would like to see you better," said the voice.
What do you do?
[] Ignore the voice. The tubaq was laced and you will bring it up with Umma Amara, but for now continue about your work. Hearing voices has never led to anything good and you need to finish your task or you won't be paid and probably charged for the missed labor.
[] Go to the source of the voice.
[] Leave this place. To hell with Abu Nufaya and his damned goods. Only a fool stays when voices without bodies speak.
[] Write in.
Last edited:
Character Sheet
Name: Nasir al-Katib ibn Yasmin al-Assadi
Date of Birth: 3869 T.A. (1979 IC)
Ethnic Group: Assadi (Descent of the Banu Assad, a tribe from the east)
Nicknames: Abu Katib, al-Assadi, al-Haikki (Only used outside of Al-Haikk)
Current Position: Night Clerk (Inventory and Labeling Antiques)
Faith: Irreligious (Nasir would be religious by modern standards. He honors the gods and spirits, but no more than the necessary reverence needed to secure his place in the afterlife and maintain his social status, so a daily visit to the temple and attends all services during holy days.)
Armament: a dagger.
---
Personal Wealth: 5 rials
---
Diplomacy: 9 (You have no great skill in the convincing of people towards your aims, but you are not insufficient at it either. Something ironic given your educational specialty, but who is to say.)
Intrigue: 5 (What need do you have to subterfuge and sabotage? That's for the thieves and folk of darker means. Not a scholar.)
Learning: 15 (You learned at the University of Al-Haikk, taught by some of the most celebrated scholars in the Civilized Lands. However you may use it, you never lost your love of learning or the basics of research.)
Martial: 6 (You are no amir or shaykh. Leave it to those foolish enough to engage in that bloody business.)
Stewardship: 12 (A man must known how to manage his affairs or else he will lead himself to ruin. These were the words of your mother and Yasmin al-Hurra was not a woman given to foolishness, save for one thing.)
---
Prowess: 6 (You learned to fight in the way all boys did through the hard lessons of fighting your cousins and brothers as a child over whatever nonsense had raised your tempers. When you grew old enough, your uncle Abu Karim gave you your knife and taught you a few lessons on wielding it. You are no warrior and will admit it, but should it come to it, you will not go without some struggle.)
---
Traits:
Polyglot: You have an ear for languages, be it the harsh bark of the northmen or the quick spurts of Cathayan or lyrical notes of Eltharin or the blunt sounds of Khalzid. You gain a +4 when learning languages.
Educated:
----
Momentum Points: 4
Date of Birth: 3869 T.A. (1979 IC)
Ethnic Group: Assadi (Descent of the Banu Assad, a tribe from the east)
Nicknames: Abu Katib, al-Assadi, al-Haikki (Only used outside of Al-Haikk)
Current Position: Night Clerk (Inventory and Labeling Antiques)
Faith: Irreligious (Nasir would be religious by modern standards. He honors the gods and spirits, but no more than the necessary reverence needed to secure his place in the afterlife and maintain his social status, so a daily visit to the temple and attends all services during holy days.)
Armament: a dagger.
---
Personal Wealth: 5 rials
---
Diplomacy: 9 (You have no great skill in the convincing of people towards your aims, but you are not insufficient at it either. Something ironic given your educational specialty, but who is to say.)
Intrigue: 5 (What need do you have to subterfuge and sabotage? That's for the thieves and folk of darker means. Not a scholar.)
Learning: 15 (You learned at the University of Al-Haikk, taught by some of the most celebrated scholars in the Civilized Lands. However you may use it, you never lost your love of learning or the basics of research.)
Martial: 6 (You are no amir or shaykh. Leave it to those foolish enough to engage in that bloody business.)
Stewardship: 12 (A man must known how to manage his affairs or else he will lead himself to ruin. These were the words of your mother and Yasmin al-Hurra was not a woman given to foolishness, save for one thing.)
---
Prowess: 6 (You learned to fight in the way all boys did through the hard lessons of fighting your cousins and brothers as a child over whatever nonsense had raised your tempers. When you grew old enough, your uncle Abu Karim gave you your knife and taught you a few lessons on wielding it. You are no warrior and will admit it, but should it come to it, you will not go without some struggle.)
---
Traits:
Polyglot: You have an ear for languages, be it the harsh bark of the northmen or the quick spurts of Cathayan or lyrical notes of Eltharin or the blunt sounds of Khalzid. You gain a +4 when learning languages.
Educated:
- Licensed as a Primary Instructor in the Science of Societies and Peoples: You studied how societies work, how they are created, maintained, and continue. You sit in the school of al-Kalabadiyya, a theory based on the work of al-Kalabadi, a famous scholar of the southeast who centered human societies around concepts of organic and inorganic social cohesion. You even wrote a dissertation on the subject, dividing the nature of power into three categories. You gain a +2 on learning about cultures and societies and diplomacy with people of different cultures.
- Licensed as a Secondary Instructor in the Science of Economics: You studied the ways people produce and distribute resources in their society. You did not pursue it as far as you did the Science of Societies and Peoples, but your education makes you a competent assistant teacher. Your orientation in economics sits vaguely in al-Qayyia, the school developed by al-Qay, the merchant turned scholar whose theories on value argued value is the culmination of labor and materials used in the making of the product or the labor and materials used in a service. Though you are not completely sold on all its ideas. You gain a +2 on learning about economics and stewardship.
- Multilingual: You can speak multiple languages:
- Arabyan (Haikkiyya Dialect)
- Bretonnian (Antoche Dialect)
- Reikspiel (Border Princes Dialect)
- Yanjiang (Xi Dialect)
- Tilean (Spezia Dialect)
- Estalian (Bilbali Dialect)
- You can read in the above languages and:
- Khalazid
- Eltharin
- Kislevarin
----
Momentum Points: 4
Last edited:
- Location
- France
[X] Ignore the voice. The tubaq was laced and you will bring it up with Umma Amara, but for now continue about your work. Hearing voices has never led to anything good and you need to finish your task or you won't be paid and probably charged for the missed labor.
If the voice's owner could do something other than talking they would probably have done it to someone else.
If the voice's owner could do something other than talking they would probably have done it to someone else.
Last edited:
Vote closed
Very interesting quest. I can't wait to see more.
Welcome to the City
Umma Amara had much to answer for, but it meant nothing now. Whatever the voice represented did not matter when compared to the need to remain housed and fed. You pick up the log and continue your task.
Challenge 40: Rolled 79 +12 (Stewardship)=91.
You move through the remaining antiques with an ease borne of countless days and nights spent reviewing, reading, writing, and editing to produce a list of all the items ordered by price as derived by the quality of the materials and assumed labor costs. You noted factors to emphasize during sales as well as a material breakdown for each item if asked about it. You were never an alchemist or naturalist, but you had taken quite a few classes on the subject due to the losing a bet with the professor teaching the classes. You still never understood how she got that pig to fly. It took in all less than an hour which meant you still had five hours left before you could go home. Grabbing the broom from the office, you went to work sweeping the warehouse.
"Now my friend, this is rather disappointing. I have not had any conversations in a millennium. What would your mother say of such rudeness?" said nothing. You did not hear anything, and you did not get angry at some whisper of by-gone eras invoking your mother. You were too busy sweeping the dust, dirt, and debris to the side-door. By all rights, you were not officially tasked with cleaning the warehouse, but your employer flapped his jowls on the virtue of labor and sin of indolence. It makes men rot and grow fat he had said. You wondered how he said that with a straight face given he was the embodiment of said result. He even questioned your work ethic when he heard about your time at the university. Demanding a promise of your dedication as though you did not spend five years of your life, focused on the pursuit of wisdom. You grip the broom. Five years. Five years of your life spent on understanding the world. You were supposed to be a teacher. You were supposed to be an educator. You were supposed to do for others what the greatest scholars in the land had done for you.
"You know what will help you, my friend. Conversation. Speaking about what is bothering you will lessen the burden," said nothing. Nothing spoke and nothing made you wonder about where your old friends were. Not many of them had been willing to stand with you after what happened. You understood why. Their futures were dependent on the support of the wealth and honored, be it direct or indirect. If you made an enemy of the same people who fed you, could you be surprised when you starved. You did wish you could visit the Gardens with them. A jug of wine, baskets piled with baqlaba and other sweets carried along. You could sit and enjoy the buzz of the insects, the gurgle of the many streams, and the cooling breeze in the shadow of the trees. You had not done that in years now. It was good that did not happen. It was not a pleasant thought to have.
A knocking came and you looked to the door, confused. It was past midnight. The only people on the streets were the Eyes and the Generous. Neither were the type of people to knock on doors. Especially the doors of a warehouse in the Baths. Your right hand went to your knife as you approach the door. Pulling it slightly open, you look out at a woman with a pair of eyes unlike any you had seen before.
"Let me in," said the woman. You felt a strange desire to obey. Your mind seemed to be swallowed in the depths of her far too dark eyes. It was the night sky, empty of the stars and sun. Nothing but the cold endless embrace of an ink-black abyss, promising the gentle relief of surcease if you only obeyed her request.
Challenge 70: Rolled 93 + 9 (Diplomacy)= 102. (Gain one momentum point)
Wait, what? What sort of idiocy was this? This woman did not pay for your food or the hovel you slept in. You did not know her to acquiesces on the basis of comradery nor did she bear the signs of someone able to force you to obey. Who did she think you were? A child on the verge of adulthood desperate to impress a pretty face. Your brow furrowed as you scowled back.
"Madam, this is a private warehouse and unless you are carrying paperwork to allow you to store or take anything from here, then I suggest you move to the silver streets. They have plenty of affordable housing if you are in need of shelter. Though I doubt that you are in such dire straits," you say, noting her rather fine robes and headscarf, all of which was black with skulls embroidered in bright red thread. Something that was just unnecessarily gaudy.
She blinked and then squinted at you, staring even harder like she was trying to communicate something through sight. What was she doing? Gods and spirits, had she taken something? Great, some rich heiress stumbling around drugged. You should probably call the Eyes to escort her home. You look over her for the nearest patrol.
"Let me in," she said again. Her voice echoed through your bones. Your head hurt at hearing it. Did you need this trouble? She probably had business with Abu Nufaya. She looked rich enough for it. It would just be easier if you obeyed her.
Challenge 70: 85 + 9 (Diplomacy) = 94
Was she deaf? You had told her no. Gods and spirits, the rich never listened.
"Madam, I told what you needed to be allowed in. Now if you do not have said paperwork, then I wish you a good night," you said as you waited, but she stared at you with a look of utter shock. You wonder if she was never told no before. Odd, but unsurprising. You close the door on her and went back to your sweeping.
A knocking came on the door again. You sighed. Hopefully it was not the woman. You opened the door to very different visitor. She wore a thick black coat, buttoned up tight with the hood raised even in the nighttime heat, pointing a crossbow right at you. She gave you a single command.
"Step back,"
What do you do?
[] Back away and obey her instructions. Defending this warehouse was not in your assigned duties and gods be damned would you die for three dinar a day.
[] Slam the door shut and run to the side-exit. Better to flee the opposite direction of the armed threat.
[] Cry out for the patrol. Be it the Generous or the Eyes, they could take care of this nonsense.
[] Write-In.
I was really surprised by how by the success you had on the rolls to resist the compulsion. Thank you everyone who is reading and engaging with this. Hopefully the little posted has been entertaining.
Challenge 40: Rolled 79 +12 (Stewardship)=91.
You move through the remaining antiques with an ease borne of countless days and nights spent reviewing, reading, writing, and editing to produce a list of all the items ordered by price as derived by the quality of the materials and assumed labor costs. You noted factors to emphasize during sales as well as a material breakdown for each item if asked about it. You were never an alchemist or naturalist, but you had taken quite a few classes on the subject due to the losing a bet with the professor teaching the classes. You still never understood how she got that pig to fly. It took in all less than an hour which meant you still had five hours left before you could go home. Grabbing the broom from the office, you went to work sweeping the warehouse.
"Now my friend, this is rather disappointing. I have not had any conversations in a millennium. What would your mother say of such rudeness?" said nothing. You did not hear anything, and you did not get angry at some whisper of by-gone eras invoking your mother. You were too busy sweeping the dust, dirt, and debris to the side-door. By all rights, you were not officially tasked with cleaning the warehouse, but your employer flapped his jowls on the virtue of labor and sin of indolence. It makes men rot and grow fat he had said. You wondered how he said that with a straight face given he was the embodiment of said result. He even questioned your work ethic when he heard about your time at the university. Demanding a promise of your dedication as though you did not spend five years of your life, focused on the pursuit of wisdom. You grip the broom. Five years. Five years of your life spent on understanding the world. You were supposed to be a teacher. You were supposed to be an educator. You were supposed to do for others what the greatest scholars in the land had done for you.
"You know what will help you, my friend. Conversation. Speaking about what is bothering you will lessen the burden," said nothing. Nothing spoke and nothing made you wonder about where your old friends were. Not many of them had been willing to stand with you after what happened. You understood why. Their futures were dependent on the support of the wealth and honored, be it direct or indirect. If you made an enemy of the same people who fed you, could you be surprised when you starved. You did wish you could visit the Gardens with them. A jug of wine, baskets piled with baqlaba and other sweets carried along. You could sit and enjoy the buzz of the insects, the gurgle of the many streams, and the cooling breeze in the shadow of the trees. You had not done that in years now. It was good that did not happen. It was not a pleasant thought to have.
A knocking came and you looked to the door, confused. It was past midnight. The only people on the streets were the Eyes and the Generous. Neither were the type of people to knock on doors. Especially the doors of a warehouse in the Baths. Your right hand went to your knife as you approach the door. Pulling it slightly open, you look out at a woman with a pair of eyes unlike any you had seen before.
"Let me in," said the woman. You felt a strange desire to obey. Your mind seemed to be swallowed in the depths of her far too dark eyes. It was the night sky, empty of the stars and sun. Nothing but the cold endless embrace of an ink-black abyss, promising the gentle relief of surcease if you only obeyed her request.
Challenge 70: Rolled 93 + 9 (Diplomacy)= 102. (Gain one momentum point)
Wait, what? What sort of idiocy was this? This woman did not pay for your food or the hovel you slept in. You did not know her to acquiesces on the basis of comradery nor did she bear the signs of someone able to force you to obey. Who did she think you were? A child on the verge of adulthood desperate to impress a pretty face. Your brow furrowed as you scowled back.
"Madam, this is a private warehouse and unless you are carrying paperwork to allow you to store or take anything from here, then I suggest you move to the silver streets. They have plenty of affordable housing if you are in need of shelter. Though I doubt that you are in such dire straits," you say, noting her rather fine robes and headscarf, all of which was black with skulls embroidered in bright red thread. Something that was just unnecessarily gaudy.
She blinked and then squinted at you, staring even harder like she was trying to communicate something through sight. What was she doing? Gods and spirits, had she taken something? Great, some rich heiress stumbling around drugged. You should probably call the Eyes to escort her home. You look over her for the nearest patrol.
"Let me in," she said again. Her voice echoed through your bones. Your head hurt at hearing it. Did you need this trouble? She probably had business with Abu Nufaya. She looked rich enough for it. It would just be easier if you obeyed her.
Challenge 70: 85 + 9 (Diplomacy) = 94
Was she deaf? You had told her no. Gods and spirits, the rich never listened.
"Madam, I told what you needed to be allowed in. Now if you do not have said paperwork, then I wish you a good night," you said as you waited, but she stared at you with a look of utter shock. You wonder if she was never told no before. Odd, but unsurprising. You close the door on her and went back to your sweeping.
A knocking came on the door again. You sighed. Hopefully it was not the woman. You opened the door to very different visitor. She wore a thick black coat, buttoned up tight with the hood raised even in the nighttime heat, pointing a crossbow right at you. She gave you a single command.
"Step back,"
What do you do?
[] Back away and obey her instructions. Defending this warehouse was not in your assigned duties and gods be damned would you die for three dinar a day.
[] Slam the door shut and run to the side-exit. Better to flee the opposite direction of the armed threat.
[] Cry out for the patrol. Be it the Generous or the Eyes, they could take care of this nonsense.
[] Write-In.
I was really surprised by how by the success you had on the rolls to resist the compulsion. Thank you everyone who is reading and engaging with this. Hopefully the little posted has been entertaining.
Last edited:
- Location
- France
[X] Slam the door shut and run to the side-exit. Better to flee the opposite direction of the armed threat.
Ha ha ha! 🤣
Our protagonist is too busy to deal with Vampire bullshit.
[X] Back away and obey her instructions. Defending this warehouse was not in your assigned duties and gods be damned would you die for three dinar a day.
I don't think running outside with a Vampire on the prowl tonight is a good idea.
Between the normal human with a crossbow and the undead mistress of darkness, i think its better if we try to comply with the armed lady orders.
Also, she is probably a Vampire Hunter searching for our recent guest.
[X] Slam the door shut and run to the side-exit. Better to flee the opposite direction of the armed threat.
- Pronouns
- He
[X] Slam the door shut and run to the side-exit. Better to flee the opposite direction of the armed threat.
The general idea is that when you succeed with a 100 or higher on a difficult challenge, you gain a momentum point which can be spent on adding dice to a challenge or to create a trait. The type of die and the trait cost different amounts of momentum points. However, momentum also creates threats which is sort of like recognition. You beat an opponent in a duel and do it with incredible success and everyone will recognize that and act accordingly. The higher your threat level means the challenges and opponents are more difficult. I ripped the idea from Dune Adventures, but I am still writing the full-length explanation for it. Hopefully that explains things for now though.
When will we have the option to spend it on a challenge or create a trait?
A Discussion
You stare at the crossbow and then the woman. Multiple choices sit in your mind. You could scream for help. The likely result would be your death or injury even if the Generous or Eyes reacted quickly. Obeying her command could spare you of that, but it could just as well lead to death. You swallow your fear and decide to follow the advice of the old familial proverb. Close the door and flee as your cousin said when your mother had discovered the mess you two had made. You tighten your hold on the door and take a step back to the left as though you were obeying her command. You act as soon as your foot hits the ground and slam the door as hard as you can.
Challenge: Nasir 44+5 (Intrigue)=49 vs. Hooded Woman 83+17 (Intrigue)=100
It does not work out how you intended. As when you slam it, the door simply bounces back, and you notice the unimpressed look on her face. You cannot say you have ever looked more pathetic than this moment.
Her reaction: Nasir 33+6 (Prowess)=39 vs. Hooded Woman 95+15 (Prowess)=110
Her fist snaps out and you experience something you never experienced before. You had been punched before, both in your youth when childhood tempers flared over some unimportant issue and when scholarly debates went to the extreme and defending your position went from figurative to literal. Your history fit the general understanding of the act. A physical object interacted with you at an accelerated rate of motion. Pain and discomfort being the expected results. It had never resulted in memory loss, because how did you end up tied to a chair.
You blink your eyes and try to recount the sequence of events that brought you here but remember nothing but darkness. Something worsened by the constant throbbing all over your face. You groaned till someone coughed, and you turned your head up to see two women standing in front of you. Not a good sign of your current cognizance. One was the hooded woman, and the other was the rich heiress who wore the biggest grin on her face.
"Hello, my friend. I have my paperwork," said the heiress, a humor in her voice you did not share.
Your words might get you killed. Again. Even two times seemed far too often for anything outside of divine displeasure. Maybe learning about your captors could spare from a most-likely brutal death. At least, you hoped it was possible.
Challenge 20/40/60: 55+15 (Learning)-10 (Recent Head Trauma) =60
The hooded woman stood with military discipline. She was of eastern descent. Something strengthened by the manner of her weapon. This was not the crossbow used by warriors across the Western Sea. It had a rectangular box on top of the typical frame. You had seen diagrams of this before. This was a weapon of Grand Cathay and a prestigious one if your addled memory was correct. What was an elite soldier doing so far from home and in the company of another foreigner to the Civilized Lands.
The heiress spoke with an accent. Something familiar to the way the people of Antioch spoke, but far stronger. Something not defused by centuries of living and trading in the Civilized Lands till it was no longer a foreigner's tongue. She was also far too pale. Not the light brown the poets called fair or the white that turned red common among the northmen. No, she had the pallor of someone severely ill or...dead. In the moment, you begin realizing an inconvenient truth. This was a child of the night. One of the damned races, birthed in the fall of the Old Empire. Monsters hungry for the blood of men. A creature your mother spoke of when you or your siblings were the most obstinate.
"If you are bad, beloved. The children of the night will come, they will steal you, and eat you in their great iron pots," she would say. A monster from your childhood fables was standing in front of you. Your realization, however, did not diminish your curiosity. What did a child of the night and a servant of the Dragon Emperor have in common that brought them to a warehouse in the Baths?
The child of the night clapped her hands, taking you away from your thoughts. She was still wearing her big smile. The smile of a lioness staring at her freshly caught prey.
"I must applaud your dedication. It takes a strong will to resist me when I am at my most charismatic, but even the strongest will falters against my compatriot's skills at persuasion," said the child of the night. The hooded woman remained quiet. Her dark-brown eyes focused on you, watching for the sign to bring her weapon to use.
"Now that compliments are done, we have only a single question for you and if you answer honestly, I promise we will let you to go free. If you refuse, then our discussion turns towards a rather unpleasant direction. We all want to avoid this. Do we not, my friend?" she asked.
"Yes, madam," you mutter out, the muscles and bones of your face change from a steady drumbeat of pain to a scream of unfiltered agony as you spoke. Your eyes grow wet, and you try to stay upright against the powerful desire to go unconscious.
"Good. What are your masters' plans with the sultan?"
"Madam, I swear by Dhul-Hakim, Dhat-Aliym, Dhat-Basir, and Dhul-Sami who hears all, may they strike me dumb should my words be untrue, I have no clue what you are talking about and my only plans for the sultan are to be as far from him as I can be," you said.
Challenge 60: 44+9 (Diplomacy)=53.
The child of the night stared right in your eyes. Her eyes bearing down on you. You felt nothing but note the unnerving fact that no living human being could stand so still. She seemed like a statue carved in the image of a long-since passed noblewoman.
"What can you offer me besides the invocation of uncaring gods to trust what you say?" she said in a cold voice, stripped of all feigned emotion.
How do you convince the child of the night you are not involved in the plots of these unknown masters?
[] Aid. You are not some great warrior, but you have an education, and it might help her.
[] Offer up Abu Nufaya. This was his warehouse. Let him bear the cost of whatever this all about.
[] Write-In
This was painful to write. I rewrote it four times and even this one still seems off to me, but I figured I should post it because I would probably never post it if I kept rewriting it. The rolls were not on your side as much as last time, but what can be done. To those of you engaging with this quest which includes just reading it, thank you. I hope it is entertaining and remains so. As for now, good night.
Challenge: Nasir 44+5 (Intrigue)=49 vs. Hooded Woman 83+17 (Intrigue)=100
It does not work out how you intended. As when you slam it, the door simply bounces back, and you notice the unimpressed look on her face. You cannot say you have ever looked more pathetic than this moment.
Her reaction: Nasir 33+6 (Prowess)=39 vs. Hooded Woman 95+15 (Prowess)=110
Her fist snaps out and you experience something you never experienced before. You had been punched before, both in your youth when childhood tempers flared over some unimportant issue and when scholarly debates went to the extreme and defending your position went from figurative to literal. Your history fit the general understanding of the act. A physical object interacted with you at an accelerated rate of motion. Pain and discomfort being the expected results. It had never resulted in memory loss, because how did you end up tied to a chair.
You blink your eyes and try to recount the sequence of events that brought you here but remember nothing but darkness. Something worsened by the constant throbbing all over your face. You groaned till someone coughed, and you turned your head up to see two women standing in front of you. Not a good sign of your current cognizance. One was the hooded woman, and the other was the rich heiress who wore the biggest grin on her face.
"Hello, my friend. I have my paperwork," said the heiress, a humor in her voice you did not share.
Your words might get you killed. Again. Even two times seemed far too often for anything outside of divine displeasure. Maybe learning about your captors could spare from a most-likely brutal death. At least, you hoped it was possible.
Challenge 20/40/60: 55+15 (Learning)-10 (Recent Head Trauma) =60
The hooded woman stood with military discipline. She was of eastern descent. Something strengthened by the manner of her weapon. This was not the crossbow used by warriors across the Western Sea. It had a rectangular box on top of the typical frame. You had seen diagrams of this before. This was a weapon of Grand Cathay and a prestigious one if your addled memory was correct. What was an elite soldier doing so far from home and in the company of another foreigner to the Civilized Lands.
The heiress spoke with an accent. Something familiar to the way the people of Antioch spoke, but far stronger. Something not defused by centuries of living and trading in the Civilized Lands till it was no longer a foreigner's tongue. She was also far too pale. Not the light brown the poets called fair or the white that turned red common among the northmen. No, she had the pallor of someone severely ill or...dead. In the moment, you begin realizing an inconvenient truth. This was a child of the night. One of the damned races, birthed in the fall of the Old Empire. Monsters hungry for the blood of men. A creature your mother spoke of when you or your siblings were the most obstinate.
"If you are bad, beloved. The children of the night will come, they will steal you, and eat you in their great iron pots," she would say. A monster from your childhood fables was standing in front of you. Your realization, however, did not diminish your curiosity. What did a child of the night and a servant of the Dragon Emperor have in common that brought them to a warehouse in the Baths?
The child of the night clapped her hands, taking you away from your thoughts. She was still wearing her big smile. The smile of a lioness staring at her freshly caught prey.
"I must applaud your dedication. It takes a strong will to resist me when I am at my most charismatic, but even the strongest will falters against my compatriot's skills at persuasion," said the child of the night. The hooded woman remained quiet. Her dark-brown eyes focused on you, watching for the sign to bring her weapon to use.
"Now that compliments are done, we have only a single question for you and if you answer honestly, I promise we will let you to go free. If you refuse, then our discussion turns towards a rather unpleasant direction. We all want to avoid this. Do we not, my friend?" she asked.
"Yes, madam," you mutter out, the muscles and bones of your face change from a steady drumbeat of pain to a scream of unfiltered agony as you spoke. Your eyes grow wet, and you try to stay upright against the powerful desire to go unconscious.
"Good. What are your masters' plans with the sultan?"
"Madam, I swear by Dhul-Hakim, Dhat-Aliym, Dhat-Basir, and Dhul-Sami who hears all, may they strike me dumb should my words be untrue, I have no clue what you are talking about and my only plans for the sultan are to be as far from him as I can be," you said.
Challenge 60: 44+9 (Diplomacy)=53.
The child of the night stared right in your eyes. Her eyes bearing down on you. You felt nothing but note the unnerving fact that no living human being could stand so still. She seemed like a statue carved in the image of a long-since passed noblewoman.
"What can you offer me besides the invocation of uncaring gods to trust what you say?" she said in a cold voice, stripped of all feigned emotion.
How do you convince the child of the night you are not involved in the plots of these unknown masters?
[] Aid. You are not some great warrior, but you have an education, and it might help her.
[] Offer up Abu Nufaya. This was his warehouse. Let him bear the cost of whatever this all about.
[] Write-In
This was painful to write. I rewrote it four times and even this one still seems off to me, but I figured I should post it because I would probably never post it if I kept rewriting it. The rolls were not on your side as much as last time, but what can be done. To those of you engaging with this quest which includes just reading it, thank you. I hope it is entertaining and remains so. As for now, good night.
This is the offer most likely to keep him alive, if she accepts of course.
But it would also put him in a spot hard to escape from. And has unpredictable long term consequences.
This is another difficult choice.
We have no way to know if they wouldn't kill him anyway once they got their informations.
But if he manages to redirect their wrath towards Abu Nufaya, he can escape with both his life and his freedom.