Empire of Shadowed Sands IC

[Whiplord]

The midday sun stands high overhead, shining down upon the desert continent and its inhabitants. The gaze of Kha’lal some called it. The bright white walls of the city of Arq’Batal shone almost brighter than the light of the sun itself, as they reflected the glare of the giant ball of fire. In contrast to this, the great black rock that made up the temple of Kha’lal could be seen above the walls, and it seemed to swallow the light of the sun, like the mouth of some massive beast. The tower of the God Emperors Palace towers over the rest of the city.

Some people mill about, forced to work under the sun at the hottest part of the day, though most have sought shade and shelter at this time. Those who are out and about have taken whatever precautions they can. Man and woman alike have their heads swaddled in folds of cloth to shade their brows from the intense rays of the sun.

Guards patrol the walls, and eight or so stand by the open gates, inspecting the occasional traveler or trader who comes through the gates, but mostly looking bored and uncomfortable. As each person passes through the gates, they stop briefly by the God Pole, dropping some trinket or another into the bowl at its base, and give a brief prayer before continuing on. Occasionally a guard will appear from somewhere and go off with the person or group as an escort; presumably people of some importance or notoriety.

All this you see as you approach the walls of the city called the Jewel of the West. As you near the gate, a guard steps forward and holds up his hand in the universal gesture to halt. He looks over both of you, seeming to pay special attention to Ohmel, who is clearly a foreigner.

"State your business."

[Plasma Snake]

Jamis removes his hood and adjusts the sun lenses on his face. He responds to the guard with a polite smile.

"Bounty hunting. No better place to gather information than the capital"

[Wertible]

Ohmel shifts uncomfortably under the weight of his hood, staring out at the blinding sand-covered view.

Heat's intolerable. Why did the natives thrive here?

The guard's immediate questioning doesn't help the unease that pervaded Ohmel's thoughts.

Ohmel had begun traveling with Jamis, not as a matter of necessity, but as a matter of mutual interest.

The images of his parents' bodies, covered in blood, Raquel holding the red knife steadily before plunging it deep into his own abdomen. Nothing had faded at all. The study had begun as a method of finding his parents' killer, but had grown into compulsion. He had sought knowledge far and wide, seeking out ever increasingly obscure divine lore. He had become trapped in his own studies, and traveled to the East to study the influence of militaristic culture on the divine. A simple mission to study and learn, nothing more, nothing less.

Jamis had changed that.

He met Jamis in a small tavern in Zyden, the port city he'd arrived in. A small time bounty hunter who preferred to keep to himself seemed lost on his latest high earner. Unknowingly, Ohmel blurted out the name of the man, recalling that he was a member of the Sand Dragon tribe, Arakhun. Apparently, he had slipped up against the law when he smuggled artifacts into Arq'Batal, evading taxes and traveling under an alias.

Jamis wasn't the only one to be surprised, however, after buying Ohmel a drink, Jamis flipped through his Bingo Book, showing Ohmel each picture and asking eagerly if he recognized it.

Ohmel's eyes stopped dead on the name, Alruis Arkeve, and his blood ran cold.

His only lead toward his parents' deaths, the violent senseless act comitted by his butler, was that same butler's journal, which indicated he had become a member of some religious cult. It was a secret society, but the contact he had met to join had beared the same name as this bounty.

They both had set out the next day, traveling together to reach Arq'Batal. He was after his bounty, Ohmel was chasing his dead parents.

And now we're here.

He shifts even more uncomfortable under the guard's stare, trying to cover his face.

[Whiplord]

The guard turns his gaze towards Jamis again, scrutinizing him closer this time. He turns around briefly , and quietly converses with another guard, both of them giving pointed glances towards the two travelers. Finally, the second guard steps forward. Apparently he's a higher ranking guard than the first one.

He nods at Jamis. "The God see you bounty hunter. You may pass."

When Ohmel attempts to follow through though, he holds out. "You. Foreigner. What is your name?"

[Wertible]

Clutching his fists, and looking up at the guard, Ohmel feels the weight and power of The Host fill his being, and stares at the guard straight in the eye.

"I am no more than Jamis assistant, an investigator coming to help him with his job in aiding Kha'lal and its people. I wear this hood to cloak my hideous visage I received when I was young, where His enemies burned me."

Ohmel stands, resolute, his arms crossed.

Spoiler

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Bluff expending Divine Insight - (1d20+12)[31]

[Whiplord]

The guard simply grunted, and reached behind him, holding out his hand. A younger guard stepped up nervously and dropped something into his palm.

The first guard reached out and grabbed Ohmel's wrist, turning it so his palm was face up. After staring at it for a few seconds, he drops something into Ohmel's hand.

With a closer look it appears to be a small circle of copper with the symbol for foreigner carved into it. "Keep this on you at all times." He said nothing more, but there was threat apparent in his voice. "Go on." His eyes follow Ohmel as he passes through the gate.

[Wertible]

Ohmel steps through the gates, breathing a small sigh of relief and looking over at Jamis.

"Where to now, native?"

[Plasma Snake]

Drawing his hood back up Jamis says,

"Lets hit the godpoles. People should be crowding around them in every district. Great place to pick up a trail. Only thing is I'll probably end up broke by the end of the day."

[Wertible]

Ohmel stops at the godpole and prepares himself mentally, and focusing on his weak connection to Kha'lal, utters words of resolve while drawing a circle on his chest.

"Well, not a bad way to connect to the locals or ask for leads, but it might be better if we try to ask some local guards on activity or check the market as well. I don't like the overbearing attention I seem to be getting."

Spoiler

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Cast divine insight.

[Whiplord]

When both Ohmel and Jamis through the gates, they both stop briefly at the God Pole right inside the city, and drop a gold coin in. They stay by it for a brief minute to give the illusion of genuine prayer.

After they finish, Ohmel catches the eye of the guard at the gate, closely watching them.

Spoiler

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Tell me where you want to go. "Hitting the God Poles" is so not legit.

[Wertible]

An idea strikes Ohmel as he remembers his study from when he prepared to come to the capital.

"Actually, we might want to visit The Godspeaker's Bedmate. It's a terribly seedy inn that may provide us some insight into the terribly seedy dealings of some of your targets or perhaps Arkeve himself. It's located in the northern end of the Craft district."

Ohmel gestures toward the Northwest.

[Plasma Snake]

Jamis raises an eyebrow at Ohmel's statement.

"You seem to know the city better than I do. Albeit I prefer the wilderness to cities most of the time. Very well you're plan fits. I would also suggest someplace to stay that's not the same place we do our investigation."

[Wertible]

"We can stay at The Marauding Ashworm. It's an inn of decent quality and is fairly reputable. Also, don't get me wrong, I may be familiar with Arq'Batal, but that is only because of the study I did preparing for this trip."

Ohmel leads the way to The Godspeaker's Bedmate.

[Whiplord]

It was about a 20 minute walk from the gate in Trade, to the area of Craft where the few inns and taverns the city had were.

The Godspeaker's Bedmate was everything Ohmel had heard, and more. A squat, one story building, with one window (which was so dusty as to be nearly impossible to see through, it looked as if the owner of The Godspeaker's Bedmate had done only the minimum required amount of effort in cleaning to keep his business from being closed.

The doorway was open, and after stepping in, it takes a couple seconds for your eyes to adjust to the light. Soon though, the interior becomes visible. The first thing you notice is the floor. At first glance it seems surprisingly clean, until look look over to one of the far corners of the room and see what looks to be a massive pile of dirt and refuse. Flies buzz around it in circles, and a distinct stench can be detected coming from the pile. Apparently the floor is swept regularly, but everything is simply swept into the corner. It is impossible to tell how long that pile had been there and grown. Possibly years.

Arranged around the room are 10 old tables, surrounded by random amounts of rickety looking chairs. The tables look dirty, and if they had a finish, it wore off years ago. Despite that they look sturdy at the very least.

The only light in the room comes from the tiny amount of sunlight that manages to shine through the grime smeared window, which is very little. There a few lanterns that look nearly as dirty as the window sitting on some of the tables, but none of them are lit. Presumably they're for when the sun fails.

Although it might not be expected, there are about nine men, sitting at tables around the room. Despite the time of day, some have entered the shade of The Godspeaker's Bedmate to seek respite from the hottest part of the day. Most of them seem to be watching a performance being put on by a woman dancing on one of the tables and singing a rather bawdy song about a woman who kept misplacing articles of her clothing. To emphasize the nature of the lyrics, the woman periodically lifts up one side of her skirts, showing a large amount of her legs.

It is becoming an increasing curiosity as to how this place stays open, as most places who hired a performer like this would be fined, and the performer sent to prison. It was a wonder the establishment had found someone who would perform.

And to be fair, her singing was a painfully out of pitch warble, and her dancing was more tripping and shuffling across the top of the table. Just in the period of time since you arrived, the woman had nearly fallen twice, tripping over her skirts as she attempted to lift them. And her age was entirely indeterminate. It seems like one would rather look away than closer when she reveals her legs.

Despite this, the men who are watching seem to be enjoying the show, although their claps and cheers seem to time themselves remarkably well with her trips and stumbles. Some have drinks, and are sipping from them, but you don't think anyone is more than mildly buzzed. There is still work left to be done in the day for most people, and their are steep fines for public displays of drunkenness.

Against the left wall is the bar, which looks just as unpolished as the tables. Standing behind it is a middle aged man, who is presumably the owner. He too is watching the performance in the center of the room, and winces dramatically at every note she misses, which is most of them.

As you enter, he notices you, and heads in your direction.

[Wertible]

Ohmel sees the barkeep approaching and thinks of an appropriate greeting.

"H-Hi there, I'm Ohmel and this here's Jamis. Fine weather we're having today."

Ohmel shows the implied sarcasm in his voice by physically wiping away the crusted sand and sweat mixture on his brow. He leans in closer to say something else.

"We were wondering if you had any stiff drinks... and maybe some information that we're looking for."

[Whiplord]

The man looks as if he's going to peer under Ohmel's hood, but quickly decides against it, and gives a large grin. "Aiieee, fine weather indeed. The God see you, friends Ohmel and Jamis. My name is Ganar." His grin widens at the mention of a strong drink. "You'll find no better um'yak in all of Arq'Batal."

With those words he grabs a skin off a hook behind him and pours into two wooden mugs. He pushes the mugs towards Ohmel and Jamis. The liquid in it appears to be a yellowish tinged milk. Even without getting close, the strong smell of fermentation reaches your nostrils.

"As for the other thing... I know many things. I'm afraid I have a rather poor memory though."

[Wertible]

Ohmel's hands shake as he picks the mug up and sips lightly from it, looking over at Jamis briefly as he does so.

"Exactly how poor?"

[Whiplord]

Ganar gives another wide grin. "My mother always say I would forget my own name, were she not there."

[Plasma Snake]

Jamis's left hand disappears behind his back. When his hand becomes visible again, four gold coins are in his hand between each finger. He begins to roll the coins across his fingers then under, each time the coins come out from under the and there is one less coin. After all the coins disappear they begin to reappear one each circuit. Continuing the rolling coins Jamis says,

"We're looking for a certain man. Depending on the answer we get, you may get all of these coins, more than this or none of them."

Spoiler

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Sleight of Hand - (1d20+14)[19]

[Whiplord]

Ganar keeps on grinning. "Aiee, I think I can feel something coming back. Who is it you wished to know about?"

[Wertible]

"Alruis Arkeve or Arakhun, either name come to mind?"

Ohmel notices that his hands seem to have stopped their shaking, and now his knees were starting.

[Whiplord]

Ganar appears to think for a second, before spitting onto the floor behind him. "The first one, no. The second, I recognize. He has bounty on his head, yes?" He doesn't wait for an answer before continuing. "He has never been in The Bedmate, but I know the name. In fact, there's a man who I believe he does business with." He shakes his head ruefully. "I'm afraid I don't remember his name though."

[Wertible]

Sighing heavily, Ohmel pulls out 10 gold coins, placing them in the palm of his hand.

"Remember now?"

[Whiplord]

Ganar's eyes seem to widen for a split second as his professional composure slips ever so slightly. His grin comes back almost instantly though. "Why yes, it does. Strange how that works. The man whom Arakhun does business with is named Scheff. You can find him in the main markerplace in Trade. He owns a small stall there. Sells all sorts of things."

He winces as the singer misses a note particularly bad, and then returns his grin to Ohmel. "Anything else I can do for you gentleman?"

[Wertible]

Downing his drink in a swift motion, Ohmel drops the coins in the cup.

"We were never here."

Turning sharply, he leads the way to the Trade district.

[Plasma Snake]

The coins continue through their cycle until they disappear again. With a grin Jamis pats the barkeep on the shoulder with his right hand. He waves his left hand in front of his face, coins gone.

"Of course, forget that we ever asked these questions."

Reaching his right hand behind the mans ear, he pulls it away with five gold coins in hand.

[Plasma Snake]

forgot the SoH

Spoiler

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Sleight of Hand - (1d20+14)[23]

[Whiplord]

Ohmel and Jamis retraced their steps back to Trade, finding themselves within sight of the gate they entered through within another twenty minutes. The walk wasn't terribly long concerning distance, but it was hard to keep up a quick pace in the scorching heat.

Although neither knew where the marketplace was, it wasn't very hard to find. Shops and vendors were set up almost all throughout Trade, as well as the houses of various rich merchants. Most doors had a slave standing outside, letting anyone who was curious know that the master was accepting visitors.

It was the noise more than anything that allowed the two to find the man market so easily. Even at the hottest part of the day, there were still plenty of people milling about, mostly slaves, frantically shopping for the last element to the evening meal. From the looks of it, one could find almost anything. There was food, clothing, weapons, and even a pimp nervously hawking his wares of flesh, constantly on the lookout for the guard.

In one corner stood the slave pens, occupied by a several frightened looking pieces of merchandise. The stage and pulpit where sales took place stood empty. Auctions occurred in the morning.

It was clear that it would not be very easy to find the man Scheff.

Spoiler

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Roll gather info please.

[Wertible]

Ohmel scans the crowd, the fervor of the large market spanning out in his vision. Seeing the uselessness of attempting this normally, Ohmel calls forth his inner connection Kha'lal that he had made resolute at the godpole by the trade entrance.

His shakes stop as he begins his search for Scheff, asking around at every opportunity with Jamis' help.

Spoiler

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Gather Info w/Divine Insight/Aid - (1d20+25)[38]

[Whiplord]

After some asking around, one man gladly points you right too Scheff's stall. Scheff is a small and nervous looking man, who reminds you distinctly of a rat. His stall has perhaps the most ragtag, miscellaneous collection of items present in the entire market. Bolts of cloth, bits of jewelry, wooden eating utensils, even a small painting.

He gave a greasy smile when Ohmel and Jamis reach his stall. "How may I help you, gentlemen?"