Fire from the Deep - IC

[gallagher]

CARRACK-CARRACK

You are shaken awake violently when the right-side wheels of your caged cart runs over an uneven portion of the pathway. You hear Pagong and the cart-driver swear in orcish and dwarven, respectively. You blink your eyes awake, though you can predict what you are going to see. The past several days have all been darkened by a hood drawn over your head, only to be withdrawn for bread and water. The bread was thankfully without mold, but the water had a sour taste to it.

The bump is an unusual break from the monotony; the last of you was pushed into the back of the cart several sleeps ago. The ride has been mostly smooth, as the roadway has all been worn over generations. The tunnels could have started in any of a list of ways: carved by volcanic activity, dug by a tunneling creature of the deep, or through mining activity by one of the many intelligent species that make their homes under the ground. If you follow a smooth path, you are more likely than not to end up in some pocket of civilization; those who grow up in the under-dark know not to stray from a tunnel with wheel-marks worn into a smooth path. Those lucky enough to be born in a denser gathering of persons rarely leave the cities built inside massive caves within the dirt and rock, because even the well-traveled paths are often not safe from the many denizens of the deep.

The cart goes over another bump, and one can tell that the path has turned to gravel. All of a sudden you stop, and you hear a conversation begin in orcish. You hear a key fumble with a lock, and the creaking sound of the door that opened for each of you. Two by two, you are pulled from the cart by strong arms. Many of you try to move your arms and legs, but the bindings at the wrists and ankles are heavy, and painful bruises have formed underneath them. In the end, each of you have been dragged a few hundred feet. A steel collar is placed around your neck, and you are fitted for new cuffs that allow the blood to flow to your hands and feet, and you are able to take half-steps. The hood is torn off, and you discover that you have been moved to a large pen; fenced in by tall stone walls, twenty feet in height with bits of sharp steel glinting over the top. Every so often, you see an orc or a dwarf standing atop the wall, bow and spear at hand with a lantern lit above them. The collar around your neck is chained to a part of the wall, each fitted to be fifteen feet from it’s neighbor.

At this point, each of you is entitled to a spot check. And please roll 1d8 for where on the wall you are chained.

At the end of the chains is a person. More than twenty in total, and the shrewd among you would recall that the cart that brought you seated no more than eight. Most of these are dwarves, with the occasional orc or another ugly, brutish race. Standing out among them is a pair of gnomes, one with long hair the color of fire, the other with grey eyes and black hair tied in a bun. This must be your destination. If you spoke the orcish tongue, you would have heard that the cart was headed to a city called Araxicazzan. Those who do not speak orcish would have heard that same word spoken several times all the same, and it wouldn’t take a wizard to know what that meant.

There are two reasons to travel with a hood drawn, and to awaken in chains. Either you are in prison, or soon to be sold into slavery. The conditions of the pen, the loose fitting burlap clothes, the exchange of money that preceded your entrance to the cart… Each of you can expect to be sold into slavery in short order.

[ilinares]

At first glance, it would be easy to mistake Korugan for a harmless scholar. While he has the typical dwarven build - broad of chest and shoulder, but short by human standards - there is a softness to him, a combination of slightly too much weight and too little muscle. His movements tend to be delicate, and he shies away from personal contact.

A second glance reveals more. It shows a cold calculation in his pale green eyes; a hardness that is all on the inside, untouched by compassion or decency. There is intelligence there in abundance, and a certainty of his own superiority.

While looking like a man well used to his creature comforts, being sold into slavery has its consequences. The immaculate robes of black and crimson he favours are gone, replaced with a slave's smock; his black hair is currently matted and unkempt; his beard dishevelled; and his body caked in dirt. There is a sizeable bruise on one side of his face, but he is otherwise uninjured. His captors might not have spared the effort to keep him well groomed, but nor have they subjected him to needless cruelty.

Another conclusion may be drawn: he has done nothing to provoke his captors, nor attempted to escape.


***

Korugan prefers not to speak of his childhood. It was not a happy time; his earliest memories are of a life constantly fleeing from one place to the next, pursued by dangers his mother never named, beaten any time he questioned her. A dwarf's childhood is a lengthy affair; this refugee existence continued for decades, but Korugan was still a youth, perhaps 30 winters - he does not know his true age - when it came to an end.

It did so in a bloody and shocking fashion. A band of men in white, wearing the holy symbol of a supposedly "good" deity, burst into their home and attacked Korugan's mother. She put up a surprisingly vicious fight, producing a talisman the child had never before seen - a silver object ending in the symbol of a circle bisected by a vertical line - and using it to channel magic she had never before shown herself to possess. In a storm of destruction, she slaughtered several of her assailants; but in the end, it was not enough. Korugan's mother was slain before his eyes.

He might well have expected to perish then as well; but one of the attackers, a mage named Meldar, took it upon himself to "rescue" the orphan and raise him as his own.

Filled with loathing for his mother's killers - a group he later learned called themselves the Brotherhood of Kivesh - but not daring to fight back after their display of power, the young Korugan quickly learned to hide his hatred and thirst for vengeance. He resolved to watch and wait, to learn the secrets of magic for himself, and to claim his revenge when the time was right.

It took him thirty years. Meldar, while clearly desperate enough for a child of his own to welcome the orphaned dwarf into his life and home, was far more wary about teaching the child the art of magic. But as Korugan slowly matured to adulthood, and the humans around him withered swiftly into old age, he grew better at playing the role and their attitudes began to mellow. Meldar accepted Korugan as his apprentice, a role he endured for a decade.

Much though he inwardly resented the subservient role towards his mother's killer, Korugan soon discovered a passion for the art of magic almost as consuming as his thirst for revenge. In the subtle intricacies of spells, he discovered an enduring fascination; and in the possibilities for vast personal power, he found a route to escaping the sense of helplessness and vulnerability that plagued his childhood. He proved a gifted pupil, impressing his master time and again with his instinctive affinity for spellcraft and his prodigious appetite for knowledge. And if, from time to time, these facts seemed to trouble Meldar, to awaken a quiet dread in him, the ageing man never spoke of his reasons.

All this continued until the day when Meldar pronounced him no longer an apprentice, but a journeyman mage. Now certain he would learn nothing more here, Korugan waited until the deep silence of the small hours, crept into his master's lightless bedroom and murdered him in his sleep.

Korugan had intended to steal his late, unlamented master's possessions and, perhaps most importantly, his spellbook. But he had reckoned without Meldar's familiar. Incensed at its master's slaughter, it stood guard over Meldar's belongings and raised such a racket that Korugan had no choice but to flee, taking only his own meagre possessions with him.

The dwarf mage now faced life as a fugitive - but he had done so before. He set out to travel as far as he could from the scene of his crime, travelling many leagues until he finally came to a city large enough to lose himself in.

Wandering the city, trying to find some means of supporting himself, he found himself standing and staring at a building in a run-down and sinister part of town.

More specifically, at the symbol above the doorway: a circle bisected by a vertical line.

Tentatively entering the building, Korugan could little have guessed just how significant the choice would prove. He soon learned that he had stumbled across a temple to a sinister being whose very name is a closely guarded secret, referred to obliquely with titles such as the Schemer in Shadow and the Veiled One, a patron of deception, of magic, of seeking power through the accumulation of hidden knowledge.

In other words, he had found his spiritual home at last.

***
Korugan knelt, and resented it.

In front of him, the withered crone who was the titular leader of the Cabal - the Abbess of Lies, Ivelda - regarded him through hooded eyelids, her expression characteristically unreadable.

"Korugan Greyhelm," she whispered. She rarely did anything else, her vocal chords as ravaged by time as the rest of her. "You are to be commended. Few indeed have completed the Trials so swiftly, and with such distinction."

See the lie in the honeyed words, Korugan reminded himself. Indeed, he had found himself peculiarly well suited to the Trials - or they to him. He was not fooled. The whole thing was a sham: those the Abbess considered potential assets passed.

Those less fortunate… Korugan almost shuddered, remembering the gruesome fate that had befallen one fellow initiate. Still, better her than him.

Ivelda moved slowly from behind her desk, every movement a struggle. She carried an object in one hand, a simple wooden symbol on a wire necklace: the symbol of his new Master.

"Your days as an initiate are at an end. The time has come to bind yourself to He of the Hidden Hand - to speak the words of the Pact as ancient as our faith. Ready yourself.

"Do you pledge yourself to His service, to seek the light of truth and drag it into His darkness, and to shape this world with His whispers until it is a fitting tribute to Him?"

"For the power He offers me, I do."

"Will you go where you are sent, content to know only what He would have you know, ignorant even of the name of Him you serve?"

"For the secrets only He can reveal, I will."

"Will you set aside the deceptions of this society - right and wrong, honesty and compassion, and all that keeps mortals as meek cattle?"

"Such things are as nothing to me. This do I seek: that which is to my advantage, and my Master's service."

"So be it. Take this token, Korugan Greyhelm. May it be a reminder to you always of the pact you have freely entered, knowing that power comes always with a price - and that the Schemer in Shadow offers you immeasurable power."

Korugan fought off his revulsion at the touch of the Abbess's parchment-like skin, accepting the unholy symbol being placed around his neck.

Almost immediately, a sibilant noise at the edge of hearing grabbed his attention.

"I hear Him," Korugan breathed, his tone wondering. In truth, part of him had wondered if it was all another lie; but in that moment all his doubts were burned away.

Ivelda gave a wry smile at that. "Indeed. And it never stops. With time, you will learn to understand the words He is speaking to you. But, for now, you must trust in others to discern His will for you."

She drew out another object from her desk: a black sackcloth hood. Giving him a predatory smile, she offered the object to him.

"To go where you are sent," she said with a nasty emphasis. When Korugan hesitated to take the hood, she smiled more widely. "Ah, Korugan. You should have learned by now. He will hold you to your word. And so will I."

There was a flash of light, a surge of pain; then, nothing.

The days of blindness in cramped conditions amounted to a slow torture. It was the sensory deprivation, more than the physical discomfort; with nothing to distract from the constant susurrus of the Veiled One's whispers in his ears, there was plenty of time to question the wisdom of his choice. In the end, though, it also gave him time to come to terms with his new reality; to accept the presence in his thoughts and find his peace with it.

Patience had always been a trait Korugan possessed in abundance, but this journey stretched that patience to its limits. Doubts began to creep in; the insidious suspicion that Ivelda had sold him into slavery to get him out of the way. Perhaps he would live out his days slaving beneath the earth, nothing more than a chattel, fit for manual labour alone and little enough of that.

Rationality, too, he prized in himself, and he drew on that cold reason now. If Ivelda wanted him removed, it would have been a trivial matter to arrange his death in the Trials. Come to that, she was a powerful cleric; she could do the deed herself with no more effort than crushing an ant.

Then, too, there was the undeniable presence of His voice. While His nature was only partially known, He always had a purpose when He bestowed power. He would not bless Korugan with divine magic only to throw him out with the night soil.

Korugan was certain of his logic - but that did little to quiet the fear.

His possessions had been taken from him. Well, let them think him helpless without his spellbook and unholy symbol; but his mind was afire with the stored power of his spells, ready to be unleashed at the opportune time.

But that time was not yet.

Patience.

***

The wretched hood finally comes off.

Squinting, Korugan looks around, taking in the pen where he finds himself.

Position [roll0]
Spot: [roll1]

So. An assortment of slaves, of many races and varying demeanour. Some look like capable brawlers; but he knows from his own example better than to judge by appearances. He takes careful note of the others, those who clearly have not been seized for brute labour. Perhaps they, like he, have some skill in the Art.

Or perhaps not. Perhaps the slavers just aren't that picky.

He looks to the fortifications. More than enough security to hold him. Not so much the chains - though it would be a desperate gamble to risk teleporting out of them, not knowing whether he would leave his hands behind, the option was there - but the surveillance, the guards, they are an insurmountable obstacle. At least, without allies - and clearly conversation of that kind would be discouraged with extreme prejudice.

Well. If he wanted to escape, he would have done it on the journey here. No, for better or worse, this is where he is meant to be. Though quite why is yet to become clear.

Hidden One, show me Your will in this place. Show me how to turn these indignities to my advantage.

[Timble]

Like most orcs, Vas is tall and strong. Her form is covered in muscles showing above average strength. Her black hair is messily cut close to the scalp. Her entire body is covered in tattoos, each a symbolic depiction of monstrous creatures. Mixed in with these tattoos are a series of scars, some ceremonial and some from combat. Both types of scars come in the form of bite and claw marks.
Vas was born with a spiritual connection with the great beasts that her tribe hunted. From a young age she demonstrated an instinctual understanding of their behaviour and was able to calm their fury. Or when necessary, enrage them. With her aid, the tribe tamed and trained savage beasts. While she felt more kinship with the beasts then her people, even her pets were just tools.
With the tribes new power, the chieftain declared war on the plains dwellers. With axe and claw they swept through villages and towns. In retaliation the plains dwellers brought forth their great druid, who used magic in the midst of battle to turn Vas's monstrosities against her people. The few survivors were rounded up and separated. What happened to the rest, she didn't know. Vas was soon sold to the slaver Pagong.

Vas sits still for the entire wagon ride. She'd get her chance eventually. Though what she'd do after she got it, who knows? Her tribe was gone so there was nowhere for her to go. Or perhaps no one to hold her back. She'd always preferred the company of beasts, she could just run off and find a nice pack of monstrosities to tame. She'd get her chance after all, her captors didn't know her secret.

Position: [roll]1d8[roll]
Spot: [roll]1d20+3[roll]

Vas stood strong in her chains, carefully observing the area. So, she was destined to be a slave. Hopefully she got a soft master, an hour of meditation would be all it took to grow claws and rip them to pieces. All she had to do was wait, all she could do was wait.

[S1ndarin]

Gronz is simply a half-giant. It is difficult to find a 6 inch patch of skin not marred by brands or scars. Are the brands tribal or just previous owners marking their possession? A further look at this captive will reveal that his bindings are reinforced, he's even got a chain slung over one shoulder draping down to the opposite hip. When you finally look towards his face, you will notice patches of unkempt white hair sprouting out from in between the scars on his matte grey-blue skin.

Gronz has been sold time and time again, a lifelong slave. In his youth he was sold throughout many labor camps, sometimes to a mason or blacksmith, more often than not sold into the mines. Working for a blacksmith was his favorite, when larger orders would come in, he would get a break from fetching anvils and scrap metal to hammer away at the piece too large for an ordinary man. As he progressed into adulthood, Gronz caught the eye of a man that owned a fighting pit. Taken back by his staggering 8' 350 lb frame this man sought out to make Gronz his next champion. Gronz was provided armor and weaponry, his first possessions. It was this owner who also gave Gronz his nickname 'Crunch' as that is how Gronz would describe the sound a warhammer makes when it caves in an opponents chest cavity. Before now, any animosity Gronz would show was met with ferocious cruelty. His subservience build a lifetime of rage, and he couldn't wait to show his new master his true worth. Shortly before his first tournament, his master was killed in an attempted takeover of the region. Gronz was sold across the continent after he challenged his new master to arena combat. The caravan was raided on their journey, Gronz, among other things, was captured by the raiders. From there Gronz was sold into a different arena. He was fortunate to get to keep his belongings, afterall, what value does a fighter have without armaments? For one reason or another, Gronz was sold more times than he cared to keep track of. Gronz never saw his debut in the fighting pit, his stature made him into an attraction which made him more valuable to be sold than to actually fight. This most recent selling of Gronz was nothing new, imprisonment during transit, being forced to mule his few belongings as they were too cumbersome for most individuals. He had spent more time in chains than able to walk freely.

Gronz longed for a clean shave for cutting his hair was the only practice he could find for using a blade.

The hood is removed

[roll0]
[roll1]

A fighting pit is all too familiar, Gronz looks around, sizing up the other captives.

Taking note of the distance between each person he thinks What kind of pit doesn't let the fighters get near each other?

After a moment he thought And what of our weapons?

It was then he began looking for the entry into the pit, listening for the familiar sounds of beasts If this is no fighting pit, it must be a feeding grounds

Gronz did not fear what would come next, as he was never without a weapon.

[esorscher]

Emma is no stranger to the darkness. As she rides in the cart her thoughts alternate between memories of her childhood and memories of the past few days. She hears her mother's voice, "Don't go too far," as she delves deeper into the mines of her homeland, past the signs marking the boundary between their world and this world, in pursuit not only of the valuable ores she and her mother have labored every day of her life for, but for something even she is unwilling to admit: adventure. When she emerged on the other side she was a curiosity, and although she kept insisting she needed to get home, it wasn't hard for the other miners to convince her to join them for a night at the local tavern. These strange people and their strange brews fascinated her, and she drank until she could not remember.

Her next memory is the first of this experience, the hood being removed and being fed and watered, like a dog. She misses her dog, Rufus T. Barleysheath, and hopes her mother is feeding him. And she misses her mother.

But now matters turn to the present.

As Emma looked around the cage, she noted the different men and women assembled there, and confident in the magic of her people, knew she need only wait. Eventually, she would be "bought." Rather, the right to attempt to coerce her to do someone else's bidding would legally belong to someone else. But still remaining would be the need for coercion--and she had both her innate power, as well as that which she had studied, if she could only find her spellbook. It would only be a matter of time before she broke free and returned home--unless, of course, the person who would call themselves her master offered her a good reason to stay.

[roll0]

[Jeesits]

Gator, the alias he was known by at the time of his current predicament, stood a whopping 4.5 feet tall. The giant of his family, which in hindsight, he hadn't thought of in many years. He was an outcast among his own people, growing up taller than the other Whisper Gnomes in his home town marked him as different, which is why he left home when the first opportunity presented itself in the form of a drow raiding party. His hair could be black or brown, it was hard to tell, caked as it was in mud and blood. His gaunt appearance hid a wiry frame hardened by years of living rough, on both sides of the law. His sharp gray eyes seemed to take everything in and let nothing of himself back out. The gash on his head from the drow he was robbing four days ago had finally stopped oozing. I should have known that witch was awake. The rock that knocked me out was attached to the wall seconds before it collided with my head.

[roll0] = Chained Location
[roll1] = Spot

Looking around the enclosure, Gator noticed the huge shape of a half giant in amongst the crowd of dwarves and orcs in chains. I hope he's friendly. Might be my ticket outta here. The walls are obviously too tall to scale, and those guards on top would be a problem too. If only they hadn't been so thorough and found my spare lockpicks, don't ask where, I could make my own way out of here. The whitewashed scene to some would be ugly and boring, but in Gator's mind, the world in darkness was gloriously beautiful. The color glimpsed when the light of the guards lanterns drifted to this side of the wall revealed the ugliness of the pen holding them in.

[gallagher]

Out of Character:
The pen is fairly circular. If this were a clock face and you were counting by minutes, the 8 from your wagon are arranged sequentially from the 57th minute to the 4th minute. Korugan is on 57, followed by an unimpressive half-orc at 58. Gronz is at the 59th position, followed by the gnomes Emma at 0 and Gator at 1. Three drow make up the other three NPCs of your wagon-load, and the last to be chained is Vas at the 4th minute.

Spot check results for above a 10:
You quickly notice that the gateway into the pen is on the far left side, made of sturdy wood: a rare commodity to be had in such quantity. Above it hangs a large canvas sign that reads in Orcish, and below translated into undercommon.
Serrak's Superior Slave Market. Bidding begins at 2 Gold per pound, Double for miners and magicians.

The chains around you aren't so tight and heavy that you cannot move around somewhat. At first, it hurts to be on your feet again, but before long it felt better than sitting. The pen is one-third full, and as noted before, mostly filled with dwarves. A few of them look more than just miserable: more than one show black eyes and have blood crusting their beards. At first you didn't notice, but above the stench of old unwashed clothes hangs the odor of dried blood.

It is another ten minutes before the gates reopen, with Pagong leading another ten people into the pen. Next to Vas are three drow, another six dwarves and oddly enough, a human. Once they are all chained up, the same as each of you, Pagong remains in the pen as the doors shut. He carries a whip in his hand and a longsword at his hip. He stands among your group of eight and the new arrivals, fifteen feet from the furthest point from where your chains would allow you to move. He begins to speak in orcish, and someone from atop the wall behind you shouts in dwarven and another in undercommon to translate what he says.

Wealth in Araxicazzan is measured in three things - gold, gems, and slaves. You are slaves. The next people to walk through that gate may be your new masters. They will walk around and ask you questions, and you will answer them. They will pay us gold and gems for you. The rest of your days will be spent toiling for them, for whatever they need of you. Refuse them, and the most lenient will stop at beating you. Most of the wealthy will send you to the mines. If you steal a gem from your new master’s tunnels, the most lenient will only take a hand, and sell you to someone who has use of a one-handed slave. Most of them end up as arrow butts in the Pit. Some of you look like killers. That is fortunate, you will likely be claimed by a Pitmaster. Those of you so claimed will be blooded against each other in lethal combat. The winners among you will be chosen to fight another winner. And so on and so on until the last of you die. I haven’t seen anyone last in the fighting pits more than two years.

He pauses, and looks around for any look of shock. The human, the last to be chained up, seems to not comprehend Pagong at all. The orc slave driver walked up to him casually, and punched him in the face. The human began to fall to his knees, but was caught around the shirt collar by Pagong, who continued to punch him in the face, over and over. After the sixth punch, he allowed the helpless man to fall to the ground, where he spit out broken teeth and blood, and lay still for a while, sobbing unceasingly.

If you are not purchased today, there is hope for tomorrow. Or even the next day. The rich of Araxicazzan do not all come to the slave markets at once. Sometimes a slave will pretend to be of no value to the masters.So be it; if you do not fetch me a price, you will end up like this worthless sack of meat on the ground. He points to the crying human. Or one of them over there. He gestures this time to the beaten dwarves.

Pagong then paces the area in front of you, going past once or twice, looking you each in the eyes if you have the spine to meet his gaze. After making the rounds twice, he stops at Gator, and stoops to his level. He gives a derisive snort, and stands back up to full height. Some of you, he continues, might have the spirit to consider escape. One or two may actually have the set to try. You will fail. Araxicazzan is a terminus. Only one tunnel connects, and Lady Sarrak sat her market just outside the entry. If you got so lucky as to make it this far - Pagong lets the end of his whip drop and then strikes Gator - we will see to it that you return. The bounty for escaped slaves will buy me a luxury box at the Pit.
Gator takes [roll0] nonlethal damage (calculate it separately from normal damage)
He continues to talk about the sure death that awaits you for transgressions, before a dwarf calls down to him. Pagong heads to the entryway, but before he makes it the gateway opens. Two orcs push another dwarf inside, this one remains in regular clothes - white cloth with a vertical stripe bisecting it in the front. While the clothes have become soiled with mud and torn, cleaned up he would have commanded a striking figure. One sleeve is torn off completely, and cuts up his arm are still bleeding. He spits a wad of blood at Pagong, and in return receives a backhanded slap across his face. The other two orcs join Pagong, and together they chain the newcomer to the position next to Vas before leaving the pen.

[ilinares]

Korugan has to fight to keep the rising surge of dread from showing on his face. His gaze is drawn magnetically to the scarred half-giant, his imagination treating him to an image of the towering brute ripping him limb from limb in a dusty arena while a jeering crowd bays for blood.

A bead of sweat forms on the dwarf's brow, and he closes his eyes briefly, focusing on the mental disciplines of two traditions to calm his racing heart.

The options Pagong laid out were uniformly dreadful. Escape is out of the question - for now. Being sent to the arena would be a swift death; the mines, a slow one, but no less certain.

So. If none of the options were acceptable, he must create new options. Perhaps one of these buyers might be convinced of his usefulness for something other than an aspiring corpse. Or some other prospect might present itself.

One thing is certain: nothing he does now can change his fate.

Leaning his head back as best he can, he watches his surroundings through hooded eyelids for any sign of change. After all, He did not send Korugan here to die. It is not His nature to waste assets. So a chance will come.

And Korugan will be ready for it.

[Jeesits]

By Raum, that ones death will not be pleasant. Gator thought as he pretended to cower away from Pagong. Glaring at his back from under his brows.

[roll0] = Bluff

Sticking his little finger into one of his ears, he digs around a bit for enough wax.

[roll1] = Search for ear wax
[roll2] = Sleight of Hand to hide his actions

After a few moments, and alternating to the other ear, he abruptly stops and flicks the small lump of wax in the general direction of the human while muttering under his breath.

[roll3] = Concentration to cast Ghost Sound to create the Illusory sound of the human yelling out in undercommon at Pagong coming from where the human was lying in the dirt, "What's the matter Tuskface? Afraid to bully someone your own size so you gotta take it out on the little people?"

[esorscher]

Fluent in both Orcish and Dwarvish, Emma chooses this as an opportunity to notice the nuance between the two languages. The verb "beat" in Dwarven has a certain connotation, while the Orcish word carries an undoubtedly more accurate descriptor of the intended meaning. Similarly, the orcish noun "winner" has a temporal quality that the dwarven lacks, indicative perhaps of the transient nature of orcish psychology.

Outwardly, Emma shows no sign of any comprehension, except allowing a small gasp at the treatment of the human. Yet the man displays a certain futile bravado, perhaps hoping that his taunt would lead to a swifter end than the torture of slavery. For a moment she considers the possibility that his preferred form of escape could be the best option available to her, a sort of assisted suicide that would end her current predicament. That thought is quickly overridden by the same survival instinct that preserved her from childhood in the harsh miner's upbringing she enjoyed--or, more accurately, endured.

Inwardly, she readies herself for the opportunity she has faith will come--that of escape. Whether it is today, or tomorrow, or some time in the future when she has earned her captor's trust, she knows that a time will come when she is free again. For now, she waits.

[Timble]

Vas chuckles internally as the human speaks back. Brave, but not anyway to survive down here.

[gallagher]

Pagong freezes in his steps at the sound of insolence. When he turns around, you can see blood in his eyes as anger and fury well up. He roars, almost in a frenzy, and runs at the human. Pagong pushes the chained man to the ground, kicks him three times in the stomach until the man couldn’t move further, and then crushed his head with a mighty stomp. The human’s skull split like an overripe melon. A few around you gasp in horror, while others look on in stolid silence

Pagong leaves the body there and exits the slave pen, and two others appear to remove the lifeless body, less a skull. Bone fragments, blood, teeth, and bits of brain remain where once stood a human of poor-fortune.

Or, perhaps Emma was right in her thoughts. Maybe this was the best way out of the predicament. At least it was over in a matter of seconds.


You have approximately thirty minutes until your captors prepare to open the market. You may post to talk to another PC or NPC, whoever may be next to you.

[ilinares]

Korugan watches the gnome's display of illusion magic with carefully concealed interest. A fellow arcanist deserves his regard - although whether as a potential ally or rival remains to be seen.

But then, in Korugan's experience, the two are not mutually exclusive.

Almost immediately his attention is pulled to the human, as Pagong sets about pulverising him with berserk fury. Korugan feels nothing for the man on the ground - he already proved himself useless, and therefore there is no reason to regret his death. But the visceral illustration of how swiftly death can come, the unavoidable mental image of Korugan himself being beaten to death with similar savagery, occupies the wizard's mind for some time after his captor has left.

It says something, as well, about the gnome who orchestrated the death. It was done with subtlety and skill - two traits Korugan values - but there was no purpose to it. Was the utterance of the insult gratification enough? Or does it give the gnome pleasure to cause another's death? The former suggests a want of impulse control; Korugan has worked with such souls before, and it ended badly.

The latter possibility, the cruelty to enjoy others' deaths... well, he can work with that. Such passions can be a strong motivator - if they can be directed.

Such musings carry him through the initial minutes after Pagong has departed. After that, he begins to regard the individuals chained to his right and left. Neither strikes him as particularly remarkable; were he close enough to whisper to the gnome, or one of the more formidable specimens, conversation might have been profitable.

He decides to remain silent for now and listen to the conversations around him. While he does so, he tries to get a sense of his nearest fellow prisoners, trusting his intuition to tell him more about them.

[roll0]

[gallagher]

Korugan scans the other poor souls to his left and right: To your right are four dwarves, all of which are looking at their feet with shame on their faces. Those to your left are more interesting. While the whisper gnome is already on your radar, there is a fire gnome nearby that sticks out - a shock of red surrounded by black and gray tones. There is naught to give away any information on her, which may arise some curiosity to explore later. The others appear to be those Pagong said were destined for the mines, or the ominous Pit. Each of these look to be warriors, one of which required extra chains to be held. The new dwarf who had just been added seems muscle bound - his torn sleeve reveals dense muscles and a tattoo you cannot make out. Something else stands out - he is staring at something in your other direction, a look of concern on his face.

[S1ndarin]

Gronz smiles and holds back a small chuckle after seeing the human stomped out of existence. Not smiling at the killer, there's no honor is killing a defenseless human, but smiling at the pure show of strength as the stomp echoed through the chamber. Not speaking orcish, the beating of the human is the only part of what Pagong did that translates.

Gronz thinks of the ways he'd like to end the lives of his captors, starting with that smug orc. His fellow slaves are the only family that Gronz knows.

[roll0]

Turning to the gnome (Emma) beside him, he slowly approaches, unsure of the length of his bindings, and attempts to sit on the ground to have a more face to face conversation. Softly speaking, first in giant, then in common if giant-speak isn't understood Could you understand him? Did he say anything important, or was the beating his true message?

[Jeesits]

Gator notices the giant move closer to the gnome next to him and sees a chance to make an ally. If that means he has to suffer another gnome along the way, then so be it. He quietly moves up to the other side of the Fire Gnome (It just had to be a Fire Gnome), hiding as well as he could in the open enclosure, trying to use the shadows at the foot of the walls.

[roll0] =spot to see Gronz approach Emma
[roll1] = Move silently to Emma's other side
[roll2] = Hide in the shadows along the wall as Gator approaches Emma
[roll3] = Listen in to what Gronz said

If Gator heard what Gronz said in common, he would blithely reply in common from the darkness, Oh just the usual. We're slaves now, going to die in the mines or in the arena. Escape is impossible, and death is preferable to the punishment for attempting it.

[ilinares]

The conversation seems, for now, too far away for Korugan to participate. He has little desire to shout to be heard, particularly when the interlocutors are trying to keep their voices down.

Instead, he raises an eyebrow inquisitively at the tattooed dwarf and tries without making it too obvious to see where the man is staring.

[esorscher]

"The man challenged the orc to 'pick on someone his own size,' and the orc rose to the challenge." Emma shrugs. She makes no effort to lower her voice, nor to raise it. "We're going to be sold, and if we're lucky, live in torturous captivity for a time before our animus is depleted, and we are cast aside like so much refuse." She pauses, pondering whether or not to continue before adding, "The sooner, the better, I think. At least it would be a change from this pit."

[gallagher]

Ilinares and Timble (since Vas is next to the new dwarf) please roll for sense motive.
His is a look of concern; he is looking at the dwarves to Korugan's right
more than that, it is pity in his face
and seems to be familiar with them

A few drow walk from the administrative door that Pagong had disappeared behind, each with parchment and pens. Skilled in several tongues, they choose to speak to each of you in your race's native tongue. One starts a few people away from Korugan, looks them up and down, and whispers to itself. He takes out a piece of charcoal and draws a number on the forehead of each in turn, and gets to Korugan.

Another dwarf? You're for the mines, don't bother convincing me otherwise. What is your age? He asks, and pulls out a charcoal. Korugan is given the number 41.

He next speaks to the half-orc in Orcish, takes a few notes, marks the and moves on next to Gronz.

In giantish - You are large, do you have skill with arms? You'll fetch a price, there are not many with giant blood this deep. Do you have a past with fighting? How old are you? He asks, taking notes, and then draws a 43 on your forehead.

Next is Emma. I have not seen a gnome of your kind. You do not have any obvious talent. What will cause a Master to purchase you? Do you have any special skills? Do you speak well? Do you have magical gifts? Can you read and write and count? He asks, jotting down whatever answers you give while eyeing you suspiciously. he then draws a 44 on your forehead and moves on.

Next is Gator. I know your kind. Notorious cutthroats, whisper gnomes. You will be for the pits. Do you have skill with arms? Do you have a past with fighting? How old are you? He asks, never taking his eyes from you, and then draws a 45 on your forehead with the charcoal.

The questions continue with the drow between Gator and Vas. Do any of you know Drow? If so, you may make a listen check if you so desire.

When it comes to Vas, the questions are similar those presumed to be warriors before. You are a large one, we will sell you for the Pit. Do you have skill with arms? Do you have a past with fighting? How old are you? You are tagged with the number 49, and then he moves to the dwarf chained next to her.

The following is in dwarven - Vas needs no listen check, as she is near enough. Gator will need a 10, Emma a 12, Gronz a 14. Korugan will pass with an 18.
I know that symbol on your arm. You serve Pelor! I am not selling this dwarf to the mines, you are going to the Pit. They will make a game out of killing you. The Archon might even reward the one who takes your head.

I apologize, a lot came at me really fast this week. Next post will include the rest of the prelude to the auction block, and the beginning of the auction. If you wish to interact with an NPC it will be easy enough for me to post something small between now and sunday.

[Timble]

Vas notes the dwarf looking at the rest. She wondered about how he came to be a slave. He was different from the rest. Perhaps he had somehow disgraced himself. Not that he mattered, soon they may be separated to never see each other again.

"I've rarely fought with weapons," Vas told the drow. The pit was a bad place for her to go, doubtlessly guarded against slave rebellion. "I'm an animal trainer of 20 years."

Could she use her powers to survive the pit? Hopefully she could get a side job training the creatures of the underdark rather than fighting them in the pit. If she was taken to the pit, perhaps she should keep her soulmelds secret until time to escape.

[ilinares]

Korugan briefly debates with himself whether secrecy or candour will serve him better. A mental image of himself being whipped to death in the claustrophobic confines of a mine tips the balance.

"My lord," he replies in the same tongue, with such a bow as his chains permit, "consider how little it would profit you to sell me to the mines. A dwarf I may be, but a feeble enough specimen of the breed.

"Sir, my value lies not in my flesh, but in my arcane knowledge. For many of my 80 years I have trained as a wizard, and I claim some little skill in the Art - not enough to be unmanageable, but enough to be a real asset. As you might expect, I am also a scholar of some ability.

"It is a sad fact that brute strength is far more common in this world than intelligence. And no doubt in the flesh trade as in any other field of commerce, the rarer commodity is the more valuable one."


[roll0]

[esorscher]

"Special skills? Certainly," Emma says casually, and while tempted to produce fire in her palm as a demonstration, decides otherwise. Why should she feel the need to prove herself? Beginning in Undercommon, and then shifting into each of the 7 languages she speaks, she continues, "I am fluent in several forms of communication. And yes, I can read, write, and count. What would cause someone to purchase me? I can't begin to fathom."

[S1ndarin]

Remove my chains and I will show you how I fight. I would break them myself if not for the consequence. I have been sold to countless fighting pits and here I am before you

Gronz doesn't address the question of his age, he doesn't count days or keep track of years. He no longer even remembers the day of his birth nor does he know the current date.

[Jeesits]

Gator's listen check is almost pointless as he does not know dwarven, but [roll0] = listen for Pelor's name which should translate pretty universally, right?



Next is Gator. I know your kind. Notorious cutthroats, whisper gnomes. You will be for the pits. Do you have skill with arms? Do you have a past with fighting? How old are you? He asks, never taking his eyes from you, and then draws a 45 on your forehead with the charcoal.



Cutthroats, yes. Fighters, no. You want a fighter, you'll take the giant, but he may have better use too. Can you tell how old he is? Must be good at staying alive, maybe keep your Mistress alive too? Your Mistress will get no pleasure in seeing me try to survive in the arena.

[roll1] = Bluff to make both Gator and Gronz look better in a capacity outside the arena or the mines.

[roll2] = sleight of hand to hide my hand movements from all but the Drow in front of him. Saying in Drow sign language, as Gator says the above aloud in under common, "Your Mistress would boil you alive if she knew you even thought of wasting a Gnome of my talents in the Arena!

I don't know how old I am, I lost track of time for a while when I first came down here. But it has been 15 years in the underdark that I can count for sure.

[roll3] = sleight of hand to again hide my hand movements from all but the Drow. In Drow sign language. Lolth will surely make her displeasure known! Your Mistress will know that slaves are hardly noticed where Drow stand out, where Whisper Gnomes thrive.

[gallagher]

An animal trainer?? The drow gave a measured look of curiosity. There are animals here and there, though most within Araxicazzan end up in the Pit or in a bowl of stew. We'll sell you along with the warrior group. Maybe your new Master will dress you as a zookeeper to fight among beasts. He says, finishing his notes and moving on without giving you any more concern.

You're a mage? The drow responds with credulity. Very well, you will be sold alongside others of your kind. The skills of a mage are handsomely rewarded on the auction block, and you are less likely to find yourself at the wrong end of a spear if you keep your head down and do what you are told. Do you have any specialty? The scrivener jots down notes and then continues to the prisoners to your left.

Fantastic. The drow responds, understanding nearly every word. Many slaves end up serving a household. Your skills in language could land you with a Master of great wealth. The jewels mined here lead to much trade coming into our city, and to speak the dragon tongue would be beneficial to those that trade in goods crafted with arcane skill. He says with an impressed tone, taking notes and moving on to your left.

He does not look impressed. Many fighters speak threats to me. At least you have spirit. It will make for a better death in the Pit. Though you claim to have been sold to a fighting arena before... hmmhmm... the drow says as he jots notes. We'll see how long you last. I may place a bet on your first match. Please wait until after that to die.

The drow grabs your fingers at the invocation of Lolth. The crushing grip is unforeseen, and you feel as if your index and pinkie finger will break (DM decree - the sign for Lolth is the devil horns). Slaves passing secret messages are captured quickly and die slowly in Araxicazzan. Lose all pretense of agency. Your only choice left in life is when to die. And even that is like to be chosen for you. It is the Pit for you. He says, releasing his grip and moving on. The drow looks over his shoulder at Gronz briefly and takes another note to his pad.

all the while - We shall see. Survive in the pits as long as you can. A gnome of special talent could find a higher calling in service to the Queen. Is relayed to you in Drow Sign Language by the drow's off hand.

As the drow moves among your number, Pagong reappears with a few characters who act in unison, casting a spell that raises the ground in the middle of the area to create a platform. Two others push a wooden ramp to the new block of stone that you see around you. A series of pews are set up with their backs to the large entrance, and in the front a couple of individual chairs, with much space between them, are set in place. Not too much time passes before you hear the ringing brass of a gong from outside the pen, and the large wooden doors open from the middle inward. You cannot make out much detail from your distance, but the first four groups seem to be one or two people in attire that glitters in the torchlight from above alongside many attendants. After they are set in the front with the individual chairs, the pews begin to fill with those without a throng, clearly they are of less import than the initial group.

Pagong has an ugly smile of broken teeth and yellowed fangs, but it seems genuine enough. His initial presentation is unremarkable, but the intent is clear. He is speaking praise to the crowd and to the quality of slaves he has to sell to them: We have miners and warriors a-plenty; good to make you rich in the mines or to serve as fresh meat ready for slaughter by your reigning Champions. Many of those I am ready to sell are worth their weight in treasure, but will surely reap you a profit tenfold! He continues on in this fashion, acting ever the hype man. He then looks to the papers handed to him, and calls out to Number 1. Then Number 2 and 3 and so on in sequence - each new number called is swiftly bought in a short bidding process. Most of the prisoners were dwarves, and they were sold for the most part to the men and women in the front, though some that were described as fighters were sold to members of the masses in the pews. 39 is called, then 40, before Korugan is called up.

41! Next is 41, a dwarf that claims special talent. A knower-and-user of the arcane arts! Korugan's collar his it's chain unlinked, so that he is no longer tethered to the wall, and is pushed up to the wooden ramp leading to the platform with Pagong. At the top, he unlinks your cuffs and takes them, and says - 41, prove your arcane skills for the crowd.

You will each be led up in turn, but I stopped at Korugan because once there, he will be entitled to spot checks. Please describe what you would catch Korugan's eye. and roll for spot. Everyone else can do so as well, so that I may incorporate the results into Wednesday's post with everyone else's turn atop the block.

[ilinares]

Korugan takes a moment to rub his wrists, eyes on the crowd. He tries to see if any have shown particular interest in the revelation of his arcane abilities, in order to address himself to them.

[roll0]

Part of him seethes at being made to perform in this fashion - and resents Pagong for thrusting him into this position with no preparation and no material components. Still, his life may very well depend on proving his worth.

Seldom has he regretted focusing on conjuration at the expense of evocation - but he can hardly deny that this would be easier with a flashy list of prepared spells.

He bows briefly to the crowd, focuses his attention on any individuals who seemed interested in buying a mage - and vanishes, reappearing 10' away on the other side of the dais.

Expending one daily use of Abrupt Jaunt.

Not wanting the would-be purchasers to see him as a one-trick offer, he mentally skims through his available spells for one that he can cast without components an which would produce a visible result. The choice is limited; but he swiftly moves through the arcane gestures and speaks the words of a particularly familiar illusion.

His features appear to change in an instant, becoming those of a brutal-looking orc thug - specifically modelled after Pagong, although being unable to see himself in the mirror Korugan can only guess at the accuracy of the result.

Sacrificing Command to spontaneously cast Disguise Self. Disguise check to accurately mimic Pagong's appearance: [roll1] (including the -2 penalty for impersonating a different race)

Korugan holds the spell long enough to be sure the demonstration has been understood, then bows to the crowd and simultaneously releases his concentration, so that he is himself again when he stands up.

He does not speak, deciding that trying to give a spoken pitch on his own behalf might lead to a beating. Instead, he decides to let his spells speak for themselves.

[gallagher]

Your spot check reveals a long list of people that are interested in your magical prowess, but none more than the parties in the front. Most of them are dressed in cloth-of-gold or ivory, but in the middle is an elder dwarf, his beard gone white but for a few streaks of reddish-brown, dressed in red with a single ivory belt. His right-index finger bears a ring with a ruby so wide it almost touches the knuckle on both sides.

The crowd sees your impression and is slightly amused, many raising to a hearty chuckle. If looks could cut like a dagger, Pagong's angry stare could slice through leather. He takes a moment to hide it in his voice, and announces:

This dwarf is a magician, and so we start the bid at Four ounces - ounces of what, you can only guess for now - but hands shoot up quickly. Pagong keeps raising the price by tenths-of-an-ounce, and after it gets to ten ounces, only the hands that remain raised are in individual seats right in front of you. The elderly dwarf in the middle, in easy comfort, is joined by one of his retinue that whispers in his ear. Two seats to his left is a drow, of an age you'd have to guess (or roll), looking resolute. She has a half-moon burned into her cheek, and is dressed in a black that absorbs the light around it, and a deep purple cape.

The drow stands and says above the murmer - 11 and a half ounces, you know not if that is a high bid, but the dwarf nods assent to his bid, and lowers his hand. You got me a good price, and you got lucky. That is Magus Ni'amoz. He must need new attendants at The Crimson Tower. Pagong whispers to you, and shoves you to the other side of the stage, where two half-orcs are waiting to rebind your hands and to reattach your collar to the wall.

43! Pagong cries out, and you know it is your turn to ascend the ramp to the block. When you look to the crowd, you bare your teeth and let out a growl. Still partiall bound in chains, you make a menacing sight. This one is destined for the pits. A violent beast of giant-blood. A rare find, and is like to bring in handsome rewards in the pits. We start his bid at two ounces, a steal!

Every hand in the pews goes up, but you see none in the front row. An aged dwarf in crimson even yawns, who sits amid a few others to his left and right. The others are dressed in cloth of gold, some in ivory, and one drow in black, and they all watch with little interest in a fighter. The bidding continues, but you barely listen, instead you focus on looking tough. A few hands shoot down, then more, and a minute later one tall and slender drow in the back is standing with his arm raised. Sold, for 3.4 ounces! Pagong shouts out, pointing to the drow with his coiled whip. He whispers to you, Fair price, I guess. You'll die in The Pit. He says, smiling with yellowed, crooked teeth. He pushes you forcefully towards the other end of the block, and a pair of armed guards return you to your chains. You see Korugan has just been returned to his place as well.

44! Pagong shouts after bidding has ended for Gronz. Your curiosity at who would buy you will soon be answered. Your walk up the ramp to the auction block is slow, and your eyes remain at your feet. Pagong wasted no time once you are up. This gnome has been kissed by fire, and her skills lay with reading, writing - he is cut off, an dwarf with a white beard in the front-and-center, dressed in a stunning crimson robe stands from his seat. You can see a big ruby sitting on his gold ring.

I would exercise the Archon's Right. He says immediately. Pagong nods his head, and says to you. That is the Archon's uncle, Jabban, who claimed you. You are headed to Deepmine Keep. Go along then, be quick about it, he gestures to the other side, where a pair of armed guards return you to the wall. What fate has done for you is hard to gauge. Is it lucky to be sold to the Archon? Is it just a different kind of death sentence?

Gronz has been returned to his place, and his handlers had barely finished chaining him before they do the same to you.

45! Pagong announces. Curious, Emma had only just been called up? It had taken Gronz and Korugan minutes to be auctioned off... a half-orc behind you pushed you, forcing you to begin your walk. You walk up the ramp, and have one foot on the block when Pagong begins. This may be a little gnome, but many of you are aware of their criminal tendencies. Cutthroats to the last, and you'll want him nowhere near anything of value if you want to keep it for yourself. In the Pit, he might make for a ringer! What do you say we start off at one ounce! most hands from those gathered in the pews shoot up, a few stand. Perhaps Pagong did his job well that some seem so eager. Or maybe one ounce is a low enough price that nobody feared the opening bid. A minute or two goes by before Pagong announces Sold! For three ounces! Pointing to a tall and slender drow standing in the back. Welcome to your new hell, Pagong whispers to you. You'll probably be squared off against the largest monster they have in the Pit. You'll be lucky to be alive next week. He gives a snorting laugh, and pushes you to the other side of the auction block, where two armed guards return you to your chains, and bring you to your place along the wall, where you see most of those brought in with you have been taken as well.

49! You hear called down to you. You leave behind the late-added dwarf as the second-to-last to be sold. About time, you might think. You proudly walk up the ramp and ascend with head held high. Pagong is impatient and hurrying you along, knowing that his day's work is almost done. This one calls herself a beast-master. Maybe lets her be a character for the Pit? What do you say? Let us start at two ounces? No hands go up, many confused about your fit for the Pit... One ounce? Pagong says, looking into the crowd hoping for a bid. After more silence, one in the front seats, a dwarf in cloth-of-gold, says I will pay a half-ounce, a miner's price. Pagong looks around and sees nobody ready to raise the price, and surrenders to it. Sold for a half ounce. You are led off the stage to be returned to the wall. You are relieved to find that you are not to end up in the Pit with little more than a spear and leather armor.

Not long after Vas returns to her position, the Pelor-worshipping dwarf is returned as well. Minutes pass among you before the Masters arise to collect their purchased people. The elder dwarf in red has his retainers with him, all of them dwarves and most of them look to be warriors, and they collect a number of other dwarves that you could guess are for the mines. They then come for Emma, unlock her chain, and bring her with the others to leave the pen. You are ushered into another caged wagon, followed by a covered wagon richly decorated.

Next comes the drow who had purchased Korugan. He takes your chain in his hand, looking like he will lead you himself. Do not try to flee, you will get nowhere. And then with a lurch, you vanish into air, and in an instant you find yourself in an unlit room, with well-fit stones shaping the walls and floor.

Another drow comes for Gronz first, four half-orcs are with him, two of which hold the chains of an ogre. Gronz's chain is claimed by another of the half-orcs, and the drow himself takes Gator's. Finally, the last of the half-orcs take the chain of the Pelor-worshipping dwarf. his eyes are downcast, and you are led to a caged-wagon, led away from the pen and towards the grand entrance to Araxicazzan.

Finally, the dwarf in cloth-of-gold who had purchased Vas is gathered, as well as the five dwarves that had been to Korugan's immediate right. As he gets close with his retainers, you see that he is wearing a medal bearing a pair of crossed miner's picks. Like the others, Vas is led out of the pen.

Next, your first steps in Araxicazzan. You may post as you wish among yourselves before you were gathered, or with those that leave with you.

[ilinares]

The Crimson Tower? Korugan wonders, dredging his memory for any insight into the nature of that organisation.

[roll0]

At least the name of his new owner - and here Korugan has to fight down a surge of rage at the thought of being degraded to a mere chattel - suggests a degree of arcane skill. Perhaps, after all, he might benefit from these foul events - might learn some new secrets of magic from his would-be owners.

Perhaps a good slave would meekly wait on his master's bidding; but Korugan has no intention of letting this Magus Ni'amoz get too comfortable thinking of him as his possession.

"The Crimson Tower, one presumes, Magus?" he asks. "If I am to serve here, it would be helpful to know more of those I am serving."

[esorscher]

Emma betrays no sign of the inner disobedience, and finds herself wishing she had not been deprived of her possessions. Had she her mother's tokens, bewitched such as they were, she could have anchored the wagon in place, and in the confusion, made her escape. For now, she rides in silence, wondering. If she were destined for the mines, this "Jabban" exercising the "Archon's Right" would seem unlikely. Why use such a thing for another mine worker? She studies Jabban as she approaches the wagon, in hopes of better understanding him. (Sense Motive: [roll0])

[Jeesits]

Gator decided it would be best to just bide his time for now. They had all of his belongings, and he couldn't be sure if the Dwarf had any useful magic prepared. The Half Giant would definitely be useful, his martial prowess would draw the enemies attention, and allow me to work in the shadows. The Dwarf could be useful if he had any magic that was compatible with mine. The Ogre could be an instrument of Raum's chaos in the arena, but he would have to ensure that the chaos did not force him into an untenable situation. The Half Orcs were only good for being meat shields, though they did not need to be aware of that.

Gator caught the eye of the Drow leading him to the cart, and surreptitiously flashed him a message in Drow sign language, It was smart to purchase the Giant as well. Your Mistress will be pleased with our service, even if we must begin it in the arena.

[roll0] Sleight of hand to hide his hand movements from all but the Drow.

[gallagher]

Your questions are beginning to be answered the moment you come out of the teleportation affect. Very astute, we are in the deepest basement level of the Crimson Tower. The Magus says. He points to the crescent moon brand on his cheek. At the Crimson Tower, we all serve. It is the Tower that owns us, from the lowest to the Magi at the top. Our lives are spent for the study of the Eidolon, the invisible matter from which we construct magic. The Crimson Tower also oversees much of the security of the Untergang, the complex that houses the cities slave class. Though we at the Crimson Tower, and those owned by the Archon are housed with our Masters, as a practical matter the slaves for work and entertainment are kept in a single facility and overseen.

There is a single door in your circular, stone room. The drow leads you to it, opening the door inward to reveal a spiral stair, and takes long and practiced steps.

Magus Ni'amoz continues. Keep your head down and do as you are bid, the Tower does not take well to disobedience, nor insolence. You will make your way three floors up, where you will find a washing facility to clean yourself. You will find a robe suited to your status as well, after which you will be collected. You shall receive your mark, after which your possessions will be returned to you. You will of course need your spellbook, and your component pouch will be refilled.

The final few steps are taken until you reach a landing with an oak door fitted into the stone work. Magus Ni'amoz gestures, allowing you to proceed on your own.

Good riddance to the humiliation of being auctioned off like property, the only chains that remain on you are the a pair of handcuffs, so your legs and neck can relax after being weighed down by steel for so long. It is a small comfort, but this feeling of relief does not last long for you. The entrance to Araxicazzan is a few minutes of riding from the front of the pen, and you quickly come to a guarded wall that is 80 feet in height. The grey stone wall has a path only twelve feet in width, and all eyes from the guards above are staring at you and those in your cart. A minute passes before you are on the other side of the wall, and you see a great crowd moving about from one end of the street to another.

Riding with those destined for Deepmine, the streets clear so that the way is unopposed. Your road is smooth stone, and is lined with buildings along the side. Each is three or four stories, and at first are filled with commerce of all sorts before turning residential. The long road ends after nearly an hour of riding.

Deepmine keep at first looks like it is build atop a hill, but as you look straight forward, you realize that the road continues into the hill. Deepmine is literally build atop a mine. It should not surprise you, then, that the keep itself is not built very tall. The curtain wall was only fifteen feet in height, and the round towers appearing above them hardly "tower" above the wall. instead, of a massive keep, the walls give way to an expansive courtyard, with apartments and important rooms carved into the walls. It stops in the middle, where a reflective pool sits, and a well-dressed dwarf that resembled the one that had purchased you - though quite a bit younger - stands with a number of guards dressed in reflective steel with white surcoats, a thick red stripe bisecting the left and right sides. You seem quite outnumbered by dwarves, but a drow dressed in satin robes to the side catches your attention for standing out. The Archon's brother jumps from the cart and tosses a set of keys to the drow, embraces he who you assume is the Archon, and departs to one of the passageways along the wall. The drow remains with two guards, and looks from his papers to you all. He counts off the dwarves in your company and says - You each are for the mines. You will spend two days in the mines, and one day at rest in the slave-quarters behind me. You each will progress to delouse yourselves, and will be summoned shortly thereafter. The drow nods to the guards, who lead those designated for the mines to their destination.

You, he addresses Emma, I am to prepare for court. Your skill at language is notable for our Archon. Notable visitors pay homage to our Archon, who ensures that our greatest export, gemstones, remain plentiful. He goes on to describe your role. The Archon has many servants that attend the courtroom, and he is interested in keeping tabs on what visitors might say in foreign tongues. If you can keep your head down and serve as needed, this will be an easier life than most get in Araxicazzan, free or otherwise. It is a very fortunate fate.

Now, he continues, if you'll follow me. You will have a small chamber near the kitchens, but it will be your own. We will bring your possessions briefly.

The pair of you are bound at the wrists, and your right legs are chained to a bar along the middle of the floor of your cart. You both sit on one side, the ogre is chained to the other. He drools and looks ill-prepared for clever banter. The entrance to Araxicazzan is a few minutes of riding from the front of the pen, and you quickly come to a guarded wall that is 80 feet in height. The grey stone wall has a path only twelve feet in width, and all eyes from the guards above are staring at you and those in your cart. A minute passes before you are on the other side of the wall, and you see a great crowd moving about from one end of the street to another.

Your cart turns to the left, and heads for a narrow side street outside of the main path. Twisting and turning organically to fit between closely-packed small dwellings, dirty faces look up at you as you pass. It takes hours to pull through this underclass neighborhood, but eventually you make it to the other side. This is our stop, your masters shout back to you, knocking clubs against the bars of your cart. The Untergang. Half of it houses the warriors of the Pit, the other half houses those the ones for the mines. Don't go causin' trouble in there. The Crimson Tower watches for trouble, and the Redguards will be on you faster than you know it. You'll be in bunk rooms, and brought out for training in mornings. In two days, you'll be in for your first match in the Pit, so don't go making enemies before then.

You are led inside a large, drum-shaped building. The inside looks like little more than a penitentiary. Your feet are unchained by the half-orcs, who spit at your feat and knock the side of your head with the clubs (no damage). Up they say harshly in undercommon. you are pushed down a line of cells until you are told to stop. Gronz and Gator are put into one cell with
a pair of bunks fixed to the back of the wall. two sacks are thrown at your feet, where you find a limited list of your items (I will look over what would have been confiscated in your backpacks. Weapons and thieves tools for sure). The dwarf with the Pelor tattoo is in the cell next to you, crossed iron bars, two inches thick, are all that is between you. The ogre is in the cell across the walkway, roomed with a half-orc that you had not seen before.

The dwarf in golden robes and his posse lead you to a nicer cart than the one you had ridden before. It is long and fits you and the other miners purchased, and it thankfully has shades that can be drawn. You peak between them as you progress, and you see the entrance to Araxicazzan. You see a tall guard wall that narrows a crack in the stone to a single pass, twelve feet in width. Before long, you come through to the other side, and find a busy street that your cart must force it's way through. The driver presses on straight down the middle. If you were to peak out between the curtains, you can see a number of densely packed commercial fronts. They take you up to a small keep built above the street line, with a large tunnel dug below the base. The cart turns left, and you pass along outer limit of Arazicazzan. A quarter-mile along the cave wall, and you see a tower of red and black brick, round, and with no front door. you cannot quite see through the shades to tell how tall it is, but just after it is a building in the shape of a drum.

This is our stop, your dwarven master shouts back to you in a deep voice. The Untergang. Half of it houses the warriors of the Pit, the other half houses those the ones for the mines. The Crimson Tower sees to monitoring you for any signs of trouble, and the Redguards will put a stop to any nonsense. Tomorrow morning, I will have you in the tunnels. You'll need your rest, so get what you can. You will be in the mines for two days, and then one day back in the Untergang.

You are guided down the halls of the facility. After a heavily guarded pathway, you come to a minimum security facility. You are in a 30x30 room that fits 8 bunks (four bunkbeds for medium creatures). there is a chest at the bottom of each, and your belongings (minus weapons and magic items) are returned to you. There is a washroom with several cold shower stalls and chamber pots, with hard soap as well. The other five dwarves that had come with you make their bunks and lay down, thankful for their first chance to lay down completely (though your handcuffs remain).

[Timble]

Vas takes the time to think. So, they were being watched. That and the gladiators were also kept here. That means that it'll be hard to escape. But, she had two days in the mines... She'd have a chance there. Perhaps it would take a few shift cycles to see her chance, but it'd be there. Perhaps she can flee further into the underdark, that'd remove the complications of having to flee past the guard stations.

She looks to her fellow slaves, the dwarves. Could they be of use? Not that she could openly talk here, if they were truly being watched. If they could be of use, she'd have to get acquainted.

"Hello. My name is Vas. Who are you?"

[esorscher]

What is the difference between employment and slavery? Emma wondered as she listens to the Drow describe what could become her life. Listening quietly would be a far cry easier than the work she'd grown up doing. Although her mind still rapidly formulates possible escape plans, another part of it considers what she is being offered. As before, she is willing to wait and see what opportunities present themselves.

"I understand," Emma says, following behind the Drow. "I have many questions. Is now an appropriate time to ask them?"

[gallagher]

Vas offers conversation to her fellow captives. Most of them remain silent, unsure which you were addressing. The one nearest you looks you in the eye and days - my name is Jerrion. He says without emotion.



Now is a better time for questions than later. The drow replies patiently. And I'm the person you'd ask questions to anyway.

[esorscher]

"How do I address you? And the Archon, should I address him, and if so, in what form? Is my role more as an interpreter, or as a spy? Finally, to whom do I report?"

[gallagher]

I am Steward Boloram, and you will report to me. If by some chance you ever are addressed by the Archon, you can address him Your Grace. Your role will be both, or either, as the need arises your language skills will be of different value. The drow responds curtly.

[esorscher]

"Thank you," Emma says, sensing it unwise to push the conversation further. "I will await further instruction." Once dismissed, she examines the chambers she is permitted to use.

[ilinares]

Korugan feels his lips thin involuntarily, and works to smooth his expression. Not merely enslaved, but branded like cattle? he reflects bitterly.

Still, there is nothing to be gained by sparking a confrontation - and perhaps much to gain by patience.

"Thank you, Magus," he says with as much sincerity as he can muster. Inclining his head respectfully, he begins to make his way up the stairs to seek out his much-missed possessions.

[S1ndarin]

Gronz looks down at Gator I call top bunk as he then leaps up onto his bunk, excitedly going through his possessions, hoping to find the portable ram he hollowed out to house his more valuable belongings.

After a quick check through the bag, he asks Gator So how did you end up here? I didn't think the fighting pits were for the small, you're hardly the size of my sword. Where did they hide it? I want to know which of you is taller.

[Timble]

Vas nods in acknowledgement of the speaker. "I won't say that it's nice to meet you, considering the circumstances. But if we are to go into the mines together, we should support each other. Do you know what we should expect in the mines?"

[Jeesits]

Gator could hardly argue against the Giants claim of the top bunk, but he was skeptical of the bunks strength so he stayed by the foot of his bed and rummaged through the bag for his belongings. Of course they would keep the crossbow, darts and mace, and there was no way they would lock him in a cell with the tools to escape it, so he was not expecting to see anything particularly useful to his current situation.

The lying Drow witch I was working with double crossed me and knocked me out when I tried to take what was mine. Next thing I knew, I was waking up with a hood over my head in a cart. According to our Drow masters, we must prove ourselves in the arena before they will trust us with cushier positions.

[gallagher]

Your chamber is easy to find, the smell of bread baking and meat cooking guides you to the kitchen area. Just outside of it is your chamber, a small square room, about seven feet to a side. In it you find a mat stuffed with rags, though old it does not have an unpleasant odor. There is a small dresser with a single drawer, in which you find a bag with your possessions, and two changes of clothes. They are both white servant's dresses, with a thick, red vertical stripe. Under the new dresses are two books, one of which is thankfully your spellbook. The other, a thin book of few pages. Much of the rest of the floor is covered in a thing woven rug.

On top of the chest is a bowl filled with water, a mirror, and a comb.

You ascend three floors, as bidden, and find yourself with doors on either side of the landing. To your left, as promised, is a washroom, filled with several stalls with privacy curtains, and a number of wash basins with perfumed soaps.

The door on the other side leads to a hallway with rooms on each side. Each room is about ten feet in depth and eight feet wide, and has two bunks and two small chests. One of these rooms houses a pair of young drow, not yet matured into adults by your reckoning. When you walk by, they immediately stare and approach. Who are you? One asks.

Gator finishes his short quip, not expecting a response, but one comes anyway from across the hall. You will prove to be meat in the arena. You hear the ogre say. You are small, and look as fearsome as rabbits. If I see you in the Pit, I might look to go rabbit hunting. He threatens, clenching the bars of his room with both fists.

Calm it, you. The dwarf in the next cell calls out. The Pit may be for killing, but we do not need to here. He continues his interjection forcefully. You hear him rummage through his own bag idly.

Dwarves. The ogre spits at the ground. Roast dwarf tastes better than rabbit. You get more meat on one, too.


The other dwarves look less frightened when you speak to them peacefully. Aye, Jerriod replies to you. Best we look out for the better of each other. You are welcome in our band, little as it may seem.

As to mining, none of us have held a pick before, except for weapons drills. We are fighters, each. Or we were, before this humiliation. Our captain prepared us to fight monsters, not dig for an owner's treasure. And now our captain is doomed to die and we are stuck here. What do you know of mining?

[S1ndarin]

In giant Gronz tells the ogre You know what has more meat than a dwarf? Ogres. We could feast for weeks from your corpse. You taste like ****, especially compared to dwarf, but meat is better than no meat. (provided there are no guards in the near vicinity) as Gronz says the word 'Ogres' he will use Call Weaponry to summon a large Guisarme. Gronz points his scepter at the ogre You may scare them, but all I smell is ****!

https://vignette.wikia.nocookie.net/gameofthrones/images/2/2d/Areo-3.jpg/revision/latest?cb=20150313201439

[roll0]

Switching into common, Do not worry about that big oaf. I promise that if he takes any of your lives he won't draw another breath.

[Timble]

"I know nothing about mining," Vas said, shaking her head. "I was a monster trainer on the surface. Do you think there's anything dangerous in the mines?"

"Was your captain the dwarf sent to the fighting pits? What happened to send you here?"

[gallagher]

The ogre roars at you at your challenge, and you hear from down the way. Shut it now before you're silenced for good. Some of us will kill for a quiet rest.

The dwarf, however, smiles with ease at your demonstration. You are valiant, or a fool. Most of the valiant I have met were fools all the same. He shrugs. The dwarf sits down, back to the wall so that he can look over his shoulder to see you. I am Brother Tallan. What may I call you?

Our captain was our brother chained next to you. We had been separated, and had all hoped that Tallan had found a different fate. Jerrion continues, his eyes downcast in shame.

Another dwarf joins the conversation, a woman with thick brown hair and broader shoulders than any of her companions. When we signed up for this mission, we were told of many dangers of the deep. Illithids, aboleths, hook horrors, drow. She ticks off the list on her fingers. The ways these tunnels twist and turn, who knows if we might break through a the wall to some creature's den?

[Timble]

"What brought you here?" Vas asks. "I was brought from the surface with a few other slaves, but you lot were brought in separately."

She wonders what will happen in the mines. Would they find monsters? She hoped they would. The unintelligent, trainable kind at least. She'd have to spend her first day near defenceless... perhaps she could form the beast tamer circlet, it was one of her least obvious soulmelds. It would help her against any beast she encountered.

[ilinares]

Korugan briefly considers ignoring the whelps, all but certain they can be of no use to him - but reconsiders. After all, he is woefully lacking in information about his new conditions; these youths are likely to be less cautious than their elders in sharing it.

So he gives them his most charming smile and stops to talk with them.

"My name is Korugan," he says by way of introduction. "I guess I'm the Tower's newest 'recruit.' A pleasure to make your acquaintance. And you are?"

[esorscher]

Emma spends some time attending to her appearance, changing out of the ragged clothes she was captured in and adopting the new uniform she has been given. She examines her countenance in the mirror, and, dissatisfied by the grime and mire, combs her hair and washes her face.

Then, given some time (finally) to collect her thoughts, she prepares her spells from the spellbook, and examines the second of the two texts while sitting on the lumpy bed.

[S1ndarin]

the weapon will disappear.

Speaking more softly after the out-roar from down the hall It is good to meet you Tallan. Why do you call yourself 'Brother'? We are not family. I am Gronz, this halfling is called Gator. How did you end up here? You were not part of our caravan.

I do not know this word valiant, if it means good at fighting, yes. A fool I am not. I have been a slave to more people than I can count. Mines, masons, smiths. I have been named the champion of more fighting pits than I can count. Every pit has a jackass that talks tough. They think words will help them in a fight. There's only one way to shut them up, force. In the pit you are given weapons and armor, that does a man no good in the cells. This is no place for hostility and I will enforce that with swift aggression.



Gronz was labeled champion because he was an attraction. sold around to arenas to bring in crowds. He didn't win champion status in combat. His many scars prevent any casual onlooker from knowing he has never actually participated in arena combat.

Also, he calls Gator a halfling because he doesn't know the differences between the small-sized races. To his understanding you are either a dwarf or a halfling if you are noticeably shorter than 6' in which thickness determines dwarf or halfling.

[gallagher]

Jerrion pipes up to your question. We were all gathered for a mission. Tallan and a friend of his, a man of Bahamut, were gathering a company to delve in search of some being of prophecy. We should have known better, prophecy is never a happy thing. Here we are, cursed to end our days in chains. He returns to moping.

Please roll for spot and listen.

The drow step closer, you note that they are a male and female, with crescent moon marks on their cheeks like the Magus had. The male responds. I am Nix, and this is Helannim. I don't mean to stare but... He pauses, and Helannim cuts in. But we have never seen a dwarf in the Tower. And you can call me Nim. Nim and Nix, if you can remember who owns which name. And the empty one at the end should be yours, they just set a fresh blanket and pillow. They take you to a room cut into the end of the hall, bending to the left. It is all the same as the room you had just left, but only one bunk is dressed with a blanket and pillow.

It means courageous. And I call myself Brother out of habit. We in service to Pelor say that all living beings are brothers and sisters under the light of the sun. A bit ironic, it may be, that a dwarf worships a god of light, but we are all called to follow different paths. And my path has led me here. He sighs. It has led me to a dead end. I do not know how Pelor can reach me here.

Tallan listens to your story intently and chuckles. Valiant indeed. But I would not be so eager, I saw around a few corners that there are armed guards all around. Like as not that they will beat you to any hostility. And I would not be surprised if there were means that we are watched by other means. This is less a bunkhouse, and more a prison, though this is my first time on this side of the bars.

Esorscher, please roll for search and spot as Emma flips through the book.

[Timble]

Spot: [roll0]
Listen: [roll1]

So, they'd been sent on a religious mission that had ended up here. Probably angered the locals or something. That was all she wanted to know, no sense prying to far.

[ilinares]

"Nim and Nix. Well, despite the circumstances, I am pleased to meet you."

The way they were reacting, and with Nim cutting Nix off like that... is it only his race, or is there more to it?

[roll0]

Taking in his room, he looks to see if his belongings have safely arrived - merely a glance for now, as he wants to speak further with the drow.

"Perhaps you could give me some idea of what to expect. I know nothing of the Crimson Tower, and now find myself serving here.
It is... disconcerting."

[gallagher]

Your ears perk up to a light sound along the back wall of your cell. Scritch, Scritch, Scritch, you hear, like light claws scratching against stone, coming from beneath one of the bunks.
It has been so long since you have had a decent bath, that the water in the bowl turns light brown quickly. But taking time to care for yourself pays off; you do not feel like you can fully relax, but your adrenaline has calmed and you definitely feel ready to close your eyes for a nice long rest. You take an hour to refresh your spells - it certainly has been days since you've last refreshed your spellpower - and you take to your bed with the new booklet you found.

The cover is blue, and it has a black binding. It is twelve pages in total, flipping through reveals each page to be blank. That is, until the last page. On the back of the last piece of paper, facing the back cover, is a single symbol. https://static.thenounproject.com/png/57632-200.png

You have learned to suspect the motive of anyone and everyone, but you do not see anything in Nim that would cause immediate concern. You detect enthusiasm more than anything.

On second thought, in these circumstances, enthusiasm is cause for concern in its own right.

Your items are in a bag to the left of the dresser, and the top drawer holds two gray robes with black cloth overlapping the hem. The robes appear to be identical to that of Nim and Nix, who followed you into your room.

Nix answers your question. It's a different version of a life sentence. For the rest of your life, you are a part of the Tower. We spend some time at study, the Magi say that one or two of our number may become Magi some day if we are disciplined at study. And we do whatever task a Magi may ask of us. If you are notable for one reason or another, you will have a bracelet of platinum, with a pattern of gemstones. If someone walks around with a lot of bracelets, they might order you around like a Magi themselves. It's probably best to just do it anyway.

You should probably wash yourself, you smell like neglected kennels. It wont be long until someone is sent to gather you, and you are going to ascend to the top-most room. You get a mark, representing when you came to the tower. It will be the only time you are allowed in the Candle Wick, so enjoy it while you can.

Nim sees that you are confused at the name, "Candle Wick" doesn't seem so mysterious after all. She cuts in. The legend goes that when the room got it's name, it started in jest by some of the acolytes. If you ever venture outside of the Tower, you may notice that our home is built into the very back wall of the cavern that houses Araxicazzan. It is this big piece of rock and earth the color of bright rust, jutting out from the cavern wall like a spine reaching from the bottom to the top. There is one long window in the room, and when light shines from it, the tower looks like a lit candle. Hence, "Candle Wick." The Magi like to think that it symbolizes their life's work in some way, and the name stuck. She shrugs

Nix interrupts. It is a stuffy room filled with old junk, where old men sit in chairs reading books, drinking brandy and smoking pipeweed. There is no loss being forbidden from the room.
he says curtly.
The ogre has opened his bag and collected a few items. Strewn on the floor that fit the description are three apples, an unlit candle, a pair of boots, each of which would be less than 5 lb.

[ilinares]

Korugan feels his heart beating faster. In other circumstances, this could be a dream come true: a community of mages, with opportunities for those who prove capable to advance. Facilities for study.

Were it not for the indentured servitude, he could almost feel happy here.

The buzz at the edge of his hearing grows louder, coming into sharper focus. The sense of the Veiled Lord's attention is suddenly acute - and there is a sense of warning to it.

You forget yourself, it seems to say. Your life is not your own. You are not here for your gratification. You are Mine.

For the first time, a surge of doubt and fear rises in Korugan's chest.

Perhaps selling his soul for power wasn't the bargain it seemed at the time.

Abruptly losing interest in playing the socialite, he manages a smile for the benefit of the drow youths.

"In that case, I will bid you farewell while I attend to my ablutions. Thank you for your kind welcome. I have no doubt we will speak again soon."

Once they are gone, he steps into the wash room and loses no time in peeling off the trappings of his captivity. Now it has been brought to his attention, the stench he had grown acclimatised to assails his nostrils with renewed force; the cleansing touch of soap and water brings welcome relief, and for a time, he loses himself in the automatic process of bathing.

At length he emerges, clad in nothing but a towel, and makes his way to his chamber. He slips on one of the grey robes - a remarkably good fit, considering the differences between dwarven proportions and those of humans and drow - and walks to his own belongings.

He draws out his spellbook first, fingers lingering lovingly on the leather cover, tracing lines of arcane formulae in his own harsh, angular hand. On the last page, he finds the notes he had scrawled on a spell he had been trying to master. Fastening his spell component pouch to his belt, he briefly considers spending some time working on it.

A minute later, he realises he is stalling. Sighing, he draws out the silver chain, closing his fingers around the symbol at its end. Hidden like this, its mass is so trivial he can almost pretend it isn't there.

Such a small thing. But its true weight cannot be measured in ounces.

The whispers grow insistent, and Korugan closes his eyes tightly, indulging for a moment in bitter regret.

Then, with a growl of disgust at his own weakness, he dons the unholy symbol with one smooth motion, letting it rest against his skin where it will be hidden from casual observation.

Regrets are for fools and corpses.

He settles his coin purse in place, and eyes the rest of his belongings wistfully. Toting a crossbow to an initiation ceremony probably wouldn't strike the right tone.

Resigning himself to the necessity of waiting, he sits down with spellbook in hand to pass the time immersed in his studies.

[esorscher]

Intrigued by the curious book, Emma casts Detect Magic upon it. The first spell she has used since her capture, it is invigorating to sense the arcane energies flowing through her. She also spends some time studying the symbol, searching her memory for where she might have seen it before.

[spoiler]Rolled OOC[/roll]

[Jeesits]

Gator walks to the edge of his cell closest to the Ogre's cell and quietly mumbles the appropriate words for the spell while wiggling his fingers in the correct pattern. Upon completion, he points his finger at the pair of boots, lifting them into the air behind the beast. With a quick flick of his finger forward he directs the boots into a swift kick at the Ogre's rear, hoping to enrage the dumb beast and call the guards down upon him.

[roll0] for concentration, [roll1] for sleight of hand to hide is actions, [roll2] attack to hit the beast with the boots, [roll3] to pretend it wasn't me after it all goes down.

[gallagher]

Little more than an hour passes until you hear the soft footfalls of slippers on stone. Magus Ni'amoz appears where a door should be, I trust that you have taken advantage of some time in comfort? I have come to gather you. Your Initiation is neither long, nor is it grand, but it is important. Henceforth, you are one of us. You will not be an elite in Araxicazzan, but you will be far from the lowest and meanest existences this hole has to offer. Your life will be easier than most free persons that you will come across. And everyone that looks upon you from this night forth will know from whence you came. Now come, follow me. We are going to the top-most room of the Tower.

When you do follow her, you notice that the Magus keeps the same patient pace whether on a flat landing or going up the stairs. Getting a closer look as well, you can tell that she dyes her hair, to hide that she has indeed aged, and is likely approaching the winter years of her life. You count thirty-five landings pass, each with two doors at either side and a pair of torches, before the spiral stairs become steeper and are no longer punctuated with a new landing. Instead, you take one hundred and fifty steps up the tower, until it terminates at a single door with no knob. Magus Ni'amoz pulls back the sleever of her left arm, and produces a dagger of dark metal. She gives a gently slice to the top of her forearm, drawing only a light stream of blood which she quickly presses to the door. A symbol appears in the center of the door, which looks like a primitive eye burned at eye level with the Magus.

https://previews.123rf.com/images/arctina/arctina1807/arctina180700085/105404115-eye-vision-flat-vector-icon-illustration-simple-black-symbol-on-white-background-eye-vision-sign-des.jpg

Magus Ni'amoz pushes open the door to reveal twelve stuffed chairs circling the center of the room, only one of which is empty. Seven of these chairs seat a pair of drow, four gnomes that appear like an older member Gator's race (whisper gnome), and a single human whose robes alternate the colors of the others (purple wizard's robe with a black cape). The other four occupied chairs are filled with three drow and a whisper gnome, older than you but much younger than the Magi. They wear white robes with thick, red satin belts, and each with several bracelets (one drow, with the fewest of them, has five). You presume that these are examples of people you were warned to look out for by Nix.

In the center of the room, which each chair is facing, is a shallow silver bowl, ~25cm in diameter, resting on a pedestal. It is polished to the point of reflection, like a mirror. Directly above the bowl is a metal tube, which extends straight down from the ceiling and ends ~15 cm from the top of the bowl. -You may make a spot check before I describe the rest of the room! I tend to like to hide the results of a spot check within the general description-

Magus Ni'amoz closes the door softly and beckons you to that bowl in the center and says, Gaze down, acolyte, and tell me what you see in the reflection. You follow her command, and you see something you would never have thought in the underdark. It is the sky; with stars and wisps of cloud and the faintest sliver of a crescent moon.

Emma's careful study reveals nothing of the symbol. With several minutes passed and only the one symbol to look at, Emma soon tires of the exercise, but makes a mental note of the symbol in case it were to come up again.

Emma grows weary and realizes that she could stay up for an hour or two, but should go to sleep soon after.

-Feel free to explore as you wish for a few posts. I know you are super busy, so please do not feel rushed. Korugan still has a few posts before he is through the evening's activity, so there is no risk of getting behind-

Gator is less careful to hide his actions than he was in the slave market. Trusting that no guard can see him in the moment, Gator attempts to magically kick the ogre with his own boot.

The attempt does not produce the desired result, but it does nudge the brute in his elbow. He swiftly stands up, grips the bars so hard you worry that he might rend them from the stone, and looks at you with bloodshot eyes. I see your trick, meat. You should have kept your little secret to yourself until the Pit. I am coming for you first.

[esorscher]

Cleaned and dressed, Emma puts the mysterious book in her pocket and leaves to explore the kitchen. As she looks around for others in the employ of the Archon, she notices her stomach rumbling, and looks first for a person to ask for use of the various appliances, or, if she is denied access, food itself--as well as other questions she has and is nervous to voice to Steward Talann.

[ilinares]

[roll0]

Korugan takes careful note of the wizards - assuming that to be what they are - assembled in the chamber. His thoughts linger in particular on the human. In a group that placed emphasis on physical symbols to denote standing, a unique uniform must signify a unique position. And a human in these lightless depths must be extraordinary, to achieve any kind of prestige here. But is his uniqueness a sign of his seniority - or was he set apart from the others in some other way?

Pushing such thoughts from his mind for now, he approaches the bowl and looks in. Keeping his tone carefully respectful, he replies:

"I see the night's sky of the surface world, Magus.
I see stars scattered through the void, and the moon like a slender knife gleaming through the scattered cloud."

[gallagher]

Your nose finds the kitchens quite quickly. You leave the room and take a quick turn to the right. Twenty paces or so and you are across from a large kitchen area occupied by four dwarves. Three boys are hard at work scrubbing dishes, overseen by a crone who is sitting on a chair in the corner, aided by a cushion. At your entrance, she rises and slowly walks to you, going so far as to attempt to take your hand.

Child, child, what is it that brings you to the kitchens so late? The Ages forbid that the Archon would let a single servant go to bed hungry. She says in common, her voice raspy but strong still. Her hands retain some strength as well, and she leads you to the far side of the kitchen, where an odd pantry is filled to the brim with foods that are mostly alien to you. You recognize several mushrooms in overflowing vegetables, as well as root vegetables from the surface. There are odd jars filled with pickled plants that you do not recognize on shelves lining the walls as well. A door in the back reveals a room of salted meats hanging from the ceiling, though you cannot determine what animal they had come from. Child, you are skin and bones? What is it that I can get for you? The old woman asks, our hearth has a few dying coals, and you can sit next to it for a little warmth.

The wall is lined with bookshelves filled with dusty old tomes. They have fit two desks between the shelves, and you can see a long length of scroll lazily rolled up on one of them. There are a few portraits done in oils framed on the walls, but you pay little attention to them. You also note a long window, as Nim had mentioned. It leads to a balcony, though you do not notice a door, which has a pair of short telescopes pointed to the city below.

You are correct. This is a great scope that leads to the surface, carefully constructed, which gives us opportunity to study the stars. Many counted among the highest ranks of our order do spend time studying the skies. Our magics can go only so far, but the gods concealed prophecy in the heavens when they arranged the stars. Magus Tyen-Locke, she gestures to the human, who nods in return when he is recognized, is of our sister order, High-Peak Temple. It is they who provide us with this vantage point. For this relationship, we have adopted their mark.

The human stands and steps forward. As you turn, Magus Ni'amoz puts both hands on your shoulders. She speaks in a new tone; gone is the gentle voice of an elder, she now talks with a firm voice that invites no disobedience. Speak your name.

Magus Tyen-Locke then approaches you. He produces a silver blade, and heats it with a spell. The mark you will bear reflects the phase of the moon when you are adopted by the Crimson Tower. As you said, a slender knife, it is fitting that such will mark you. If you do not resist, he will then quickly slice your right cheek, scarring you forever.

[esorscher]

Emma examines the woman carefully, trying to detect if she is sincere. (Sense Motive: [roll0]) Still, as the woman offers her the very thing she desires, she doesn't resist. Seated by the fire, she answers, "It has been a long time since I had a real meal. I'm not picky." She rolls a stiff shoulder backward and forward, trying to loosen it. "You make it sound like the Archon is a good master," she offers, hoping that the old woman picks up on the thread and elaborates.

[ilinares]

At the sight of the blade, Korugan feels his composure slipping. He has never been comfortable with violence...

Well. It would be more truthful to say he has never been comfortable with exposing himself to injury. Doing violence to others is an occasional necessity that bothers him not at all.

The steel expands to fill his whole world, and he is abruptly convinced the magus means to drive that hot spike of metal into his vulnerable eye.

One day, I will have power enough to never endure such indignities, he promises himself.

But that day is not this day.

Mustering all his mental discipline, he voices his name and holds still while the cut is made - terror of the knife slipping lending impetus to the desire to hold completely still.

Even so, when the blade is removed, he cannot resist a brief whimper of pain; and instantly he feels enraged that these people have witnessed - no, caused - that moment of weakness.

They will surely pay. One day.

[Timble]

Vas's ears perk up as she hears the sound. Something was digging beneath them. She hadn't had time to form her beast tamer's circlet, so hopefully whatever was coming wasn't a giant, hungry monster.

She moves over to the source of the sound. She pushes the bunk out of the way, alerting whoever was on the bunk to the sound and her intention first.

[gallagher]

Then you will have a real meal. Trevor, Rian, prepare some eggs, toast, and fry a few potatoes and onions. The crone tuts after two of the boys washing dishes, one of whom swiftly gets to carving root vegetables. The other goes to the back of the pantry to retrieve the other goods. The old woman turns back to you and politely answers the question. I have been serving the Archon's family my entire life. They bring the wealth of outside worlds to Araxicazzan. In just my lifetime, we have gone from eating beasts of the caves to foods from the surface world. I am very fortunate for the Archon and his ancestors.

The crone looks you up and down. You really must be new here. I can see why you were brought to Deepmine. The Royal color is red, for the rubies that make Araxicazzan rich. Your hair is such a vibrant shade of red, odd to come across in the Deep. Where are you from, child?

The blade slices your cheek swiftly and cleanly. It stings briefly, but the pain soon fades. The blade was hot enough that it is not bleeding as a normal wound. Those looking on as you undergo your initiation rite stand afterward. Congratulations Korugan. That is all, a brief supper will be delivered to your bed and then you may find your rest. But first, follow me to the balcony. There is something I would like to show you. Ni'amoz places her hand on your shoulder and guides you to the balcony. She presses her hand onto the glass, and it appears as if a panel in the middle parted to permit you use of the telescopes on the other side. The Crimson Tower reaches the very top of the cave, and to it's left is a short, but wide curtain wall built atop a mining tunnel. Deepmine Keep, where Archon Neredinum rules atop the great mine that gives the fort it's name. Most of it's structure is dug into the rock behind it. Ni'amoz informs you. And to the right, you will see the Untergang, the facility that houses nearly all other slaves in Araxicazzan. We serve as an overseer class, as well as in aid of Deepmine when the Archon calls to us. And the rest of this vast cave are the free people of Araxicazzan. Technically, they are above us in the social ladder, though 99% of them are in drastically more desperate conditions than you or I. Here, step up to a telescope, we can fetch a stool for you to stand up to it. Look about the city as it pleases you.

You may take your time at the telescope, but you smell hot loaves of bread in the room with the view where you received your mark. Ni'amoz continues to talk to you. Any of the Magi may ask a service of you, but your first priority will always be to assist me when I observe a summons from Deepmine. I pay a regular visit to our Archon, and on occasion he has seen fit to seek my presence for more immediate concerns. You may have noticed that most of our order are of elven descents, you may know of us as drow. Truth be told, you are the only dwarf in our order. It is my hope that your presence when I attend to the Archon will please His Majesty.

The several dwarves back up at your behest, standing back and giving you plenty of room. You move the bunk to the side and to your surprise...

Are a pair of rats.

The dwarves laugh at you, some slapping their legs with their hands. Some monster. The two rats continue to chitter and sniff along the edge of the room in search of crumbs, hardly registering you as a threat.

[S1ndarin]

Gronz laughs at the boot being flung at the ogre's head. Laughing he says I hope you can teach me your trick one day little one.

Taking a deep breath he will note We have a big day tomorrow, you will need your rest. The arena life is hard, harder for the small. as he yawns and begins to settle down for the evening.

[ilinares]

Following Ni'amoz to the balcony, Korugan takes some time studying the layout of the city. If ever he needs to escape, or to find his way to a specific destination, remembering this view may be particularly useful. He takes careful note of the landmarks described, particularly Deepmine Keep.

Listening to the Magus describing his new position, Korugan considers the implications. Race politics? he wonders. Certainly there were many dwarves in the slave pits, and none here. But for it to matter to the Archon...

"Is the Archon a dwarf himself, Magus? I doubt he would otherwise care that my kind is under-represented here. Unless there are political forces at work."

He takes careful note that Ni'amoz is his new... what? Manager? Owner? A wizard should be precise in his terminology, after all. Still, it is what it is - and far better than it could have been.

The thought of food and a comfortable rest is very tempting, and Korugan has to remind himself sternly not to cut short a chance to understand his situation. What he learns now may shape his life for years to come; it would be unwise to rush that.

[esorscher]

Emma accepts the food eagerly, and begins devouring it as if it was the first meal she had ever eaten. Indeed, for all her recent experience, it may well have been. The potatoes are seasoned well, a mixture of herbs and salt, and the onions have just begun to caramelize, providing a hint of sweetness with a satisfying crunch. She scoops the egg onto the toast to make a small sandwich, and within a few minutes, the plate is emptied. Thus, she begins to respond.

"Thank you," she says, realizing she had never introduced herself, nor did she know this kindly woman's name. "I am Emma Pepperpot. I come from a realm that adjoins this one, but there is little travel between our planes. Indeed, I came here by accident. The people from this plane who I first met seemed friendly enough, but the alcohol they supplied me with was stronger than my short stature was accustomed to, and in my drunken state they captured me and sold me to slavers, who sold me to the Archon. It seems fortunate that it was he who bought me, rather than some of the other paths that lay before me." Glancing around the room, she adds, "I am grateful, and will serve him to the best of my ability," she adds, in case anyone listening cared to report back to the Archon. "Your kindness is the first I have encountered in this world." A tear comes unbidden to her eye, but she wipes it away, attempting to cover it with a careless scratch of her cheek.

"So the Archon is like... the king? An ancestral position and ruler of the area? What is the extent of his domain? Are there other Archons, in other cities? The man who bought me said I was to be used for translating--what sort of people meet with the Archon?"

[Jeesits]

Gator mimes a lewd act at the Ogre and says, "Mind Flayers would starve to death on you, you stupid Giant dropping. I have killed Ogres bigger than you." to the dwarf in the other cell he says, "The bigger they are, the harder they fall. Some make a lovely thump.", loudly enough for the ogre to hear.

Gator turns away from the Ogre ignoring the results of his jibe, again trying to enrage the dumb beast with the air of unconcern about him as he walks to his bunk and hops in to go to sleep.

[roll0] Perform for the lewd action, [roll1] Bluff for the nonchalant walk to the bunk and sleep. [roll2] Tumble into the bed, and a [roll3] to Intimidate for kicks :smallcool:

[gallagher]

As we are still in the "first day" IC, I will note that you may make a sense motive check any time you feel there is more to uncover, or that you are being lied to. It is only as relevant as you think it is :nale:. In the future, it will be rare that I prompt you for one.

Yes, Archon is a dwarf, quite astute. She says, eyeing you with an arched eyebrow. She takes a moment to think before continuing. The man I was bidding against for your life was the uncle of the Archon, named Jabban. You will note that the Archon is referred to by his office, or 'Your Majesty' or 'Your Grace.' You may know privately that he was born Berrian, but referring to him by name is quite disrespectful. I advise you to keep that in the front of your mind.

As for your other... suggestions for motive, everything is political when dealing with His Majesty. Though he rules over the most stable period in Araxicazzan since his great grandfather discovered the great vein of gemstones, the one upon which Deepmine rests, he is a paranoid man. I'd say his mother weened him from the breast and spoon fed him on suspicion. He looks for plots and schemes everywhere, and surrounds himself with kin or people whose loyalty he has long since bought. Our order advises the Archon from time to time, and serve him as it pleases His Majesty. Given that Jabban had interest in bringing you into service of the Archon, it is my suspicion that your presence will make His Majesty more receptive of our wisdom.


Emma, Emma, a beautiful name, how fitting, yes. My name is Runa, and the children call me Grandmother. The crone says with a genuine smile. My mother was bought into service here so long ago, when the first Archon was still constructing the Untergang. You're born free in Araxicazzan, you know. I never slept with an empty belly, so when I came of age, I decided to serve Deepmine Keep. Oh so many years have gone by, but there has always been plenty of food. Not many free people can say the same. She drones on a little, becomes thoughtful, but snaps out of it. I am so sorry, Emma, you know how one gets when their old. Memories, memories. You had questions. The Archon rules all of Araxicazzan, as has his father, and his father, and his father. The first Archon had found the great mine beneath us, the wealth of which His Majesty trades for food and goods and oh so many things. What started as just a mine turned into this great city!

I'm not so certain of other cities. I haven't been anywhere else in my life, and I haven't left these kitchens in ninety years. I used to bring the dessert out when His Majesty entertained a guest, but I never said anything to them. They were all dressed so nicely! If you smell chocolate baking in the kitchens, you know that someone important is visiting! She goes on again. Some were from the surface, and some were from other planes, like you! One time I think I saw a devil meeting with the Third Archon. That one was the father of this Archon, and I think he only speaks dwarven. I suppose he might need your help speaking to one of his guests?

You are a rather inquisitive one, aren't you? I guess that is natural. Your path here being so unfortunate. I can answer any question you have. And any time you are hungry, you can come to the kitchens!

Gator and Gronz have both gone to rest. I will advance them on my next post.

[ilinares]

I could hardly ignore a prod like that, but then, I'm fairly sure it'sa safe bet I'm not being told everything. Whether Korugan realises that... [roll0]

Korugan inclines his head in deference. "I trust it will go as you hope; I can give no assurances as to the reactions of others, but you can be sure of my loyal service."

For now, he mentally adds. After all, he likes what he has seen thus far and Ni'amoz is a valuable patron to cultivate. But his first loyalty is to himself; his second, to the Hidden One. He will keep faith as long as his purposes remain aligned with theirs.

Seeing no reason to further delay his supper, he adds: "By your leave, I will return to my chambers. I suspect I will need to be well rested for the morrow."

[esorscher]

"You have a keen eye," Emma says flatteringly. "My mother always said my curiosity would get me into trouble. I guess she was right after all--if I hadn't been so curious, I would never have left my home plane." She shrugs. "It sounds like things could have gone worse for me, though. One final question before I depart: you mentioned the Untergang? Who are they?"

Sense Motive (for everything up to this point, and the next response): [roll0]

[gallagher]

Your suspicion reveals nothing. Ni'amoz has a stolid disposition, giving no hint of ulterior motive.

You may find your way to your chamber, as you wish. She says calmly, waving you away. Your empty belly grumbling, it feels like the trek down the spiral stairs takes longer than the way up had. It is only when you find yourself at the end of the stairs that you realize you had gone too far, and return three flights up to the suite that has your room. You find Nim and Nix didnt wait up for you, and went to sleep already. There are four others in bunks, all asleep, and so you decide not to disturb them. You find that nobody shares your bunk room, and there is a plate with two loaves of warm bread and a bit of butter. With further inspection, you discover that one loaf has no top and is hollowed and filled with a mushroom stew.

But for mild snoring coming from nearby, it is silent, and you are able to eat undisturbed and find sleep.

As far as you can tell, Runa is genuinely cheerful to have you around, appreciates the chance to be informative, and is honestly eager to welcome you back.

Oh the Untergang isn't a who, it is a what. It is a facility that houses most of the slave classes. Those destined for the wealthier mines, and the gladiators who do combat for the entertainment of so many. It is far easier to manage them by housing them in one great complex. Those who serve more personal roles like you are housed with those whom they serve, and tend to be a less rambunctious lot anyway. The bunks are swelling in the Untergang, so I hear. The Archon's birthday is coming up, and they plan to make an event out of it at the Pit. The Archon will have guests, maybe your service will allow you to attend His Majesty and see some of the games?

Runa is sad to see you part, but welcomes you to come back once more. She gives you a small bag of dried cherries from the surface world, In case you wake up hungry, child. And then bids you good evening.

[esorscher]

"Thank you," Emma says as she accepts the gift of dried cherries, and for the first time in this strange new world, feels like she potentially has found someone she might be able to possibly trust--maybe. "For your kindness, and for your generosity." Rather than returning straight away to her bedroom, she explores a bit of the castle? she thinks, lacking a more accurate descriptor. Careful not to stray too far, she looks only to satisfy her curiosity for a general layout, trying to get a sense of where she would most likely be working the next day.

[ilinares]

Sleep is a long time in coming, as Korugan reflects on the events of the day and the possibilities for the days to come.

Why should the Archon be more receptive to the words of a dwarf with bare hours' acquaintance with the Tower, than a drow magus of many years' standing? Are his prejudices truly so deep - or has he good reason to mistrust the mages?

It is possible Ni'amoz expects something of him he will be unable to deliver. In this place, his longevity may be proportionate to his usefulness. For a slave is a chattel, and the law does not protect a chattel from its owner; he must constantly prove his value, or else be discarded.

So be it. He knows his worth, and has no fear of proving it.

His thoughts grow less coherent as sleep besieges his consciousness. His last thought before he descends into sleep is of the expression of rage on the slave master's face earlier.

If he sees the orc again, he must be on his guard.

But then, if the Veiled One wills it, the next time he sees the slaver he will kill him.

[gallagher]

You are suddenly awoken by the sound of a blunt instrument banging against several bars of a cell next to you. Wake Up, Fresh Meat! Time to see what you're made of. You might crack your eyelids to see Tallan standing up. Whatever peace was brought in your sleep, it is now over.

Rubbing the sleep out of your eyes, you hear chains clink together and a key twist in a heavy lock. Tallan's door is opened, and he is once again cuffed at the wrists. His cuffs are then added to a chain, where seven others are in front. The jailers next move to your cell, they are three in total, all are clearly orcish mixed with human. Stand up and hold out your hands, wrists upward. The one in front says to you both. He bears a key, and the other two are holding greatclubs.

It is a long hallway leading back to the doorway that you entered, which leads to the courtyard. However, when you try at the handle, you find it locked. Undeterred, you turn back, and attempt to explore more of the area you have available to you.

After the kitchens is a deeper pantry, with barrels filled with salts, spices, and dried nuts and fruits. The path continues on, and the next open area in the twisting hallway is your bedroom. Continuing on, you see more small rooms cut into the stone appearing every so often, each containing one or two people sleeping in a room similar to yours. By all appearances, the enslaved staff of this keep are all afforded some comfort and privacy. Satisfied with what you have seen, you return to your room, and get some well deserved rest. Your sleep is dreamless, and you are awoken suddenly by a stranger. You quickly recognize him as one of the dwarven boys that had been ordered around by Runa last night. It's morning. He says, nudging you at the shoulder. The Steward will be here in no more than twenty minutes. He says urgently, and then leaves

By the way, I had to change the name of the steward, his name was too close to the dwarven NPC in Gronz and Gator's post. He is now Steward Boloram

Your sleep is as fitful, and you wake up dwelling on the same frustrating thoughts as the evening before. You slept lightly as well, and are awoken to the sound of a drawer being closed nearby. You step out of bed to see, and find Nim is already up and had been walking toward your room. Oh good, you're awake. She says, holding eye contact and smiling fully, with more pep than an overcaffeinated gnome. Breakfast is in the Greatroom. It is on the entry-level, seven floors up! Don't be the last one there! She turns and heads to the door; you can bet that she wants to be the first to breakfast.

Fast Forward, we can resolve however you ended the night when you have time to post.

Your sleep comes fast, and you feel more rested than you have since you were last a free woman. You awaken as the dwarves in the several bunks rustle to leave their bunks and dress themselves. A few even leave their cell to use the wash room - your captors must not fear you leaving your bunks, which comes as a shock. A sturdy dwarf, armed in mithril, with a clipboard in hand while a hammer swings from his belt. You lot are new, here is the deal. Your Master has permit to mine Tunnel-Three. He is one of of four people who are permitted to Tunnel-Three, and his group is Group D. In the mines, if you hear someone shout Three-D, you will set whatever is in your hands to the floor, put your hands on your head, and stay absolutely still. There will be overseers patrolling with the carts that bring out the rock, jewels, and whatever else you pry from the earth. Cross them once, you'll be whipped on the spot. A second time and you lose your hand. You won't disobey a third time. Am I understood?

[S1ndarin]

Gronz will arise as beckoned. Not fully understanding what is meant by wrists upwards he will lackadaisically raise his arms.

This is akin to what us modern day folk would refer to as T-rex arms. Palms parallel to the ground attempting to raise his wrists

Gronz shows no emotion, many times has he been eager to prepare for his first fight but each time no combat has been faced. He now expects the mundane.

The heated words of last night were the first taste of ferocity he has had in recent memory. But still he believes some occasion will arise to prevent his fun from being had.

[ilinares]

Korugan takes a few minutes to wash and dress, using the familiar routine to chase away the last vestiges of sleep. That done, he sets off after Nim.

[esorscher]

Her insatiable curiosity seemingly satisfied, or at least subdued considering her temporal constraints, Emma returns to her chambers and sleeps significantly more soundly than she has for several nights.

In her dreams she is visited by other versions of herself, versions that may have been. She sees herself toiling away in the mines, disfigured and broken. A moment of wakefulness, and she sees herself instead in some vague combat arena, skewered at the end of a minotaur's spear. Awakened with a start by her own fictitious demise, and she falls asleep quickly, only to see herself working in some toxic factory, choking and coughing on acrid smokes.

Awaking fully rested, if a bit perturbed, she is preparing her spells for the day when the dwarven kitchen-boy arrives. "Thank you," she says, and if he is willing to give her his name, she acknowledges it and returns her own. She prepares herself for the day, clothing herself in the provided attire, and waits eagerly anticipating what challenge the Steward has in store for her, grateful to have been spared the harsh lives offered by the slavers.

[Timble]

Vas chuckles to see the rats. being in such a strange place under such circumstances were making her paranoid. But that would keep her safe, keep her on her toes. She settled down to sleep, planning for the next day.

(The Next Day)
It would be impossible to hide an offensive soulmeld, her preferred ones being giant claws, but she wouldn't go on completely defenseless. She meditates to bind a single soulmeld. A leather circlet appeared around her head, decorated with the beast totems of her ex tribe. Should she encounter monstrous danger, she may be able to befriend it.
Customised its appearance a little. +6 Insight to Wild Empathy
Vas nods at the instructor, making affirmative noises only if others do. She doesn't want to stand out, hopefully after a day or two of planning she could be out of here.

[gallagher]

You are taken, with the others on your side of the hallway, deeper into the Untergang, before turning to the left. Fifteen more minutes of marching in a dark, unlit tunnel and you come to a room not unlike a locker-room. There are steam-baths, ice pools, and benches all along the walls. there are buckets of chalk powder here and there next to the benches as well. There is a stair leading up eight steps on the opposite side of the room, and to the right of it are a pair of orcs in a caged room. They possess a great many racks of weapons and suits of mail.

Once the last of you is led into the area, your captors - who are well armored and armed - release you from the chain-gang and allow you to wonder freely about the room. There remain manacles on your hands.

Soon, the next chain gang enters the room and receives the same treatments as you. This group includes the ogre from the night before, his stare is hungry and lifeless. More guards spill in behind them, with a whisper gnome bringing up the rear. He is dressed in black satin pants with a leather shirt - one of the orcs that accompany him walks to the wall and retrieves a barrel with a lid. The gnome climbs atop his stool and announces to you.

Fresh Meat! You are one door away from the infamous Pit; our gladiator arena, where most of you will die in a melee over the next several days. That is because in ten days, we are celebrating the Archon's birthday. We will kick off his birthday week in two days with the first round of games. You lot will be included in a grand melee - your event will end when half of you are dead. Two days later, same deal. Two days later, same deal. And then two days later, on the Archon's birthday, you will play to the last man standing. Whichever of you bastards is the luckiest will then get to live a few more days until you resume the life of a gladiator. He shrugs. Eventually you all die. The record is 46 fights, maybe one of you makes it to 47. He says fatalistically. Today you will train. We have blunted weapons and cheap plate and leather over there, pick a sparring partner and get to work. He dismisses you to ready yourselves.

A few floors up and you come to a landing with a grand oaken door, several non-magical runes carved into the metal that reinforces it's edges. You push - the door swings open surprisingly easy - to reveal a grand room with several circular tables separated with enough room for three to walk comfortably abreast. The cavernous room has long tapestries falling from the ceiling - alternating cream and crimson. Balls of light - a soft white glow that is inoffensive to the eye - slowly float around above you, causing faint shadows to dance around your feet.

Every empty seat has an empty bowl with a spoon, and half of the tables are filled with cloaked people. You do not recognize a face as you scan the room until you see Nim, sitting by herself, waving at you. She is sitting quite near the center of the room.

The time passes slowly, so eager you are to discover what your fate is - what led you to be chosen for this place at this time. But the time does come; you hear soft footfalls at a slow pace approach your little room. The familiar face turns the corner, you see Steward Boloram in neutral colors and a scroll of parchment in hand. You look far more rested than yesterday, this is good. I have discovered that your morning is more notable than one might expect. The Archon, and his family, are breaking their fast. I am to bring you to them at the request of His Majesty's uncle. I recommend that whatever it is they ask of you, that you express yourself as the grateful servant. You appear ready, but the Archon is not in any hurry to finish his meal, you have a minute to gather yourself if you need it.

You are led out the front of the complex, and your group is bid to walk to turn left. your path is clear, and lined with soldiers, as you are led passed the Crimson Tower (you remember that someone you met at the auction compound was destined for there) to the base of Deepmine Keep. It earned it's name all right, a mine shaft has been dug into the stone at the base of the fort, leading down at a steep angle. You descend. After thirty seconds of steep walking, the descent becomes gentler, and you can comfortably stand up straight.

Every twenty feet is a heatless torch in this misshapen tunnel. the wall is marked with deep scratches while the walkway is worn smooth. You must watch your step, as tracks for mine carts have been laid to aid excavation. An hour or more of walking at the pace of a forced march is hardly interrupted, and even then, it is only by some divergent mine shaft, one which you are not destined for. The dwarf who retrieved you keeps you moving along. Your ears pop from the pressure from being so deep, before you are bid to halt. The dwarf hands you off to an overseer and his subordinates - another burly dwarf, accompanied by others of his ilk, who has two picks that look better suited for war than mining at his hip. Arright, he spits to the ground, and you can see he is missing most of his teeth. You all are the new ones. You will walk down this shaft thirty paces and turn left. The other team is ninety paces down and on the right. The Masser has several tunnels branching off and rotates between 'em. If you find rubies, you holler. If you find other gems or metals, holler too. I'll come by and take a look. Other than that, keep your chatterin' down so I dont have to come for nothin'.

Your spot has a cart and picks, for carving out rocks and gatherin' them up. In a few hours you will be brought bread. Oh, and be watchful, most o' the good gems are often watched by earth elementals. You find one o' them, hit em with your picks andget back to digging!

[S1ndarin]

Gronz will first look to the steam baths, if there is space he will find an area to submerge and limber up. if there is space for 3, he will invite Gator and if he can find the dwarf he believes to be Tallan he will invite him along as well.

If Tallan joins is the steam bath Gronz will ask about his life before captivity, he said it was his first time on this side of the bars. If tallan doesn't have a soak Gronz will look for him after he dries off, as he begins to suit up for training.

Same situation with Gator, however, he would tell Gator he is going to the steam bath so he can easily be found in case the ogre decides to be a **** again. When they are preparing he would ask Gator questions more related to his combat efficacy.

When it comes time to browse the training gear, he will look for a suit of heavy armor, the heavier the better, and will look for weapons of size classification large. In terms of shields he will look for tower, otherwise he will lean towards a 2-handed weapon. Gronz will also look high and low for his own gear before he begins dressing, as his armor, weapons, and trinkets such as caltrops were no longer with his belongings when given.

Please let me know what rolls I need to make, if any, to accomplish this

[ilinares]

Korugan makes his way over to Nim, offering her a smile of greeting. Taking a seat next to her, he looks around to see if he can spot a servant or at least somewhere to help himself to breakfast.

While he does so, he is also trying to gauge who the assembled mages are, paying particular attention to their clothing and to the symbols of status he has been told about.

After a moment he turns his full attention to Nim, careful to adopt an attentive and friendly demeanour.

"Well, I hope I'm not the last, but I see I'm certainly not the first," he says to Nim with a wry chuckle. "So what do they serve for breakfast that made you raced up here so quickly?"

[esorscher]

After finishing her preparations, Emma nods to indicate her readiness. "Is this customary?"

[Timble]

Vas takes a pick and obeys orders. She may not find a way out today, but she'll be planning for the future.

[Jeesits]

Gator, knowing his best chance of survival was to stick with his Half Giant cell mate, joined Gronz in the steam baths.

I work best with a nice crossbow or my darts. In a pinch, I'll use my morning start to bash someone over the head. Of course, I prefer to use my opponents strength against them if I can.

Gator would be continually searching for the tools he needs to improve upon his situation. Anything that could be used as a lockpick on these manacles, or the cell door in the Untergang, and be hidden from the guards as they left the training room. [roll0] for searching.

Gator would also be paying particular attention to the Steam room and how it operates, if there are any nooks or crannies or possible hiding places, and how the room stays hot/steamy.

[roll1] to search for my preferred weapons in the correct size among the racks.

[gallagher]

Gator, you find a loose nail, two inches in length, where the floor meets the wall close to the weapons lock-up. You both get to the counter with the training gear. The equipment you request is readily available, though dented and dulled. such would be ineffective in true combat, but for a sparring session, it will do. Your strikes will still bruise and cut, though maiming and killing would be quite difficult with these weapons. The servicemen at the counter beckon you to stop inspecting your gear and head to the ground.

Tallan, for what he is worth, is equipped with a two-handed hammer and a bronze, beat up breastplate. He is right behind you as you ascend the stairs. Opening the door, you are washed in unnatural light. How a grand stadium like this could be hidden within the rocks of Araxicazzan isn't hard to imagine - this is a mining city after all, they can bore and tunnel into stone to form this cavernous arena as part of their routine business. But still, 90,000 could attend easily, with more in the standing room near the edge of the fighting pit. The rough stone has been smoothed and seats have been lain, sand is scattered on the ground to absorb blood and sweat. Four drow are seated near the front, all wearing crimson robes and one of whom bears a staff.

Not far behind you, others start pouring into the arena. Before long, the ogre ascends. He weilds a mighty club that looks no-less lethal than what you have seen outside of your imprisonment, and his armor is stretched and torn animal skins. He gestures with the club at Gronz and Gator - I will take you both on at once. Let us see if you are as brave without walls and bars between us.

IRL, if you have been to Wembley Stadium, this arena is an underground copy. The concessions are closed.

If you accept his challenge, you may roll initiative at the end of your post.

She shows you how to get your food - all it takes is a tapping of your spoon against the bowl, and it fills with a porridge that tastes of almonds and honey. It is not so rich as to irritate a cavity, but the sweetness is more than you have had in a long time. And it is filling, your stomach is as full as it can be. There are small pains, given that you had essentially starved in the slave cart, but your stomach is grateful for a filling meal all the same.

It isnt the what that I am after... Nim replies with a wink and a smile. It is who is at breakfast. Every Magus here, but for the Archmagus, is prompt and punctual. I want to rise high here, and they can choose individuals who impress them to be a personal acolyte. I am enthusiastic, quick, on time, and always ready because of that. I want to be included in those secret meetings they hold upstairs, and learn their deepest secrets. Nim says with glee. She lifts her cup of tea from the saucer, and it fills with a black tea that smells like smoke and spice. I want to see those stars again. Oh, I see your moon, you are lucky that the cut is so slim. Mine was almost a half-moon, see? Tell me, what did the stars look like last night?

Your conversation continues uninterrupted for a few minutes, when you notice the head table filling up. Ni'amoz is there with many of the Magi from the night before, as well as others who were not in attendance of your "ceremony." They all are focused on their own matters, with little conversation between them. Ni'amoz spots you from her seat, but soon after has conversation with a lively gnome next to her.

Steward Boloram takes a pensive moment; No, no it is not. He says simply and patiently. Now, if you will follow me.

He takes you through the winding hall, to the open courtyard that had been locked last night. The courtyard is an oval, and the entrance is to your right, and a dozen or so doors dot the long side to your left. The Steward takes you to the very middle door of those, a large set of double doors, with large brass knockers. The Steward walks slowly and deliberately, and the doors open for him with no attendant pulling them. The open doors reveal a modest entry room with a hallway that leads on. Everlasting torches dot the hall, and you see rich tapestries showing various dwarves that all bear a familial resemblance decorating the way.

The Steward leads you to the throne room, over a hundred feet long and fifty feet wide. There are several nice chairs pushed to the side of the room, as well as benches that could sit 10 people each. All out of the way when they are not in need. There is a stone chair carved into the wall on the far end, and the only thing between you and the throne is a circular table with ten dwarves seated. Almost every head is turned away from you, but you spot two faces. One is the uncle of the Archon who had purchased you, and next to him is a younger dwarf, with a rich red beard with a braid in the middle, held by three large silver rings. A small silver crown dots his head, it is a single silver band with big red rubies the size and shape of quail eggs. This must be the Archon.

Indeed, that dwarf stands to his feet and gestures with his whole hand at you. He asks of his uncle - This is the one? I thought you had more sense about you uncle. You have been tricked by red hair.

It isnt the hair. Look at the eyes, she is Planar. He responds coolly. His nephew may be the Archon, but the uncle clearly speaks like an elder to him.

The Archon strides powerfully, his boots clap upon the stone floor and the sound echoes all around. He gets to you, looks directly into your eyes, looking for something.Where are you from, girl? Speak up. Tell me what my uncle saw in you.

You find your mining tunnel and gear easily enough. Your tunnel is mostly bare, but one of the dwarves in your party finds red specks along the the rock. These are chips of ruby. Aye, there are jewels to be found. Your team picks their spots along the wall, and for hours you chip away at stone. You make better progress than you imagined - four hours in and you have widened your space of the tunnel by two feet. You have a full wheelbarrow of stone, and you turn to empty it into the mining cart that held your gear. Behind you, it sounds like a hundred pebbles fall to the floor, and your companion who had been mining to your left, who had recognized the ruby chips in the wall, shouts... ARRRGGGH.

You turn to look, and a rotund mass just larger than that dwarf is picking itself up from the ground. A glowing red rock in it's face indicates an eye-like opening, and it moves to strike your companion.

You may roll initiative, and post your action-in-combat.

[esorscher]

Emma considers how to play this moment, wondering whether she should appear ignorant, or betray her identity. She recalls the advice of her mother: When in doubt, tell the truth--if only because it is the easiest to remember.

"I was born in a small community, little more than a homestead. We were self-sufficient, and miners by trade. We nourished ourselves on water from an underground pool, and the various fungi that grew in the dark. My mother told me the name of the world was <Elemental Plane of Fire>," she says, using the Ignan language to describe the name of the world. "But I never had cause to use it." She looks at the Archon's uncle, then back to the Archon. "It would seem my purchase, and my subsequent employment, are as unusual as my presence here. If you tell me what you need from me, I can be of greater use."

[S1ndarin]

[roll0]

Without hesitation Gronz will charge the bitch. Whether Gator was prepared or willing, Gronz has been waiting for this for far longer than just last night's encounter. Eager to cave in his putrid skull he swings with all his might.

[roll1] damage [roll2]

This is my first experience with 3.5e. I believe I only get +5 to hit for 20 Str 2 handed but I get the bonus damage. Also, if you could let me know what my AC is for this encounter that'd be nice. On the table I found a large greatclub is 3d8 + 1.5Str but it didn't seem right.
let me know if I need to change it

[ilinares]

Fool, Korugan thinks to himself. Why should the mages care how eagerly you rush to dine? What does that prove - except to give the impression you are ruled by your appetites?

Still, he says nothing of this to the eager drow. He takes a minute to enjoy the meal, relishing the simple pleasure of hot food, before he answers.

"The stars were bright and full of promise. It was easy to see why some might regard them as portents of the future.

"You speak of the stars as one born to the world above. How did you come to serve the Crimson Tower?"

[Timble]

Init: [roll0] :smallcool:

Cursing mentally at having to resort to physical weapons, Vas charges at the elemental. She aims to come at it from the side while it was focused on another.
Well, a heavy pick is a 1 handed martial weapon, so not proficient. [roll1] for [roll2]

[gallagher]

The elder grins, satisfied in your response. The Archon looks back at him, and returns to you.

Very well. He takes a scroll from a pocket in his garment, and unrolls it to show you. It bears a picture of a genie - of a type you recognize from your home plane as an efreeti, one whom is handsomely dressed at that. It has been the effort of my ancestors to acquire rare metals that we can use for craft and industry, and bring more wealth into the city. I have hosted a genie from your home plane on occasion, and this one will be joining us for the games and feast in celebration of my birthday. I will be making overtures to establish a profitable trade between our people. He says with quite a bit of self assurance.

My uncle, however, is paranoid in his winter years. He cautions me not to give my trust to one of their kind. To placate his fears, we devised a plan to secret someone within our servants who knows their native tongue. In short, you are to be our spy.

I, well, actually before I came here I did not know there was an overworld at all. And when I came here, the glimpse at the heavens, to know that there is more than just rock and rock and rock and dirt and rock... She gets shy all of a sudden. Here I go, talking your ears off. If Nix were here he would make his jokes. He's never up for dinner, though. He dwells in remedial coursework and mopes around.

She returns to her normal, bubbly, babbling self. Hey, coursework, that's right! Let's see your spellbook, I want to know where they are going to shuffle you!

Ran out of time. I will post for Gronz (with Gator) and Vas soon.

[esorscher]

Hmm... Emma considers. This could be an opportunity to return home. But do I want to? She reflects briefly on the simple life she lived, compared to the extravagance she finds herself surrounded in. No need to make a decision at this time.

"I am happy to help in whatever capacity I can," Emma responds. "I don't want to take up too much of your valuable time. Who should I speak to for details regarding my assignment?"

[ilinares]

Korugan's instinctive reaction is to take offence. Wretched woman, presuming I will share my hard-won spells with her!

But he reins in the chagrin he feels at this invasion of his privacy. Reminding himself that pooling arcane knowledge is the strength of a school, he gives her a wink and a grin.

"I'll show you mine if you'll show me yours!" he replies. Making sure the table is clean and clear, he sets his spellbook on it and opens it to give Nim a look at its contents.

As she peers at the pages, he reflects that Nix is pursuing the wiser course; focusing on his studies, looking to impress through diligence and application. That knowledge is power is a truism for everyone, but much more so for wizards; and accumulation of power is more likely to impress than keenness.

But is there a balance to be struck? Unseen studiousness is no more likely to impress than vacuous intrusion. The trick is to be noticed for the behaviours wizards value.

[gallagher]

You rush in to close distance with your target the moment he stops speaking, catching him by surprise. Your weapon glances off of his hardened hide. You are so close to the ogre that he elects to discard his weapon, and instead attempts to wrestle you to the ground. He grabs onto your shoulder, flips to your side, and attempts to establish a hold that takes advantage of his size and strength.

Ok bro, the chart on d20srd.org is hard to remember. Grapple rules are hard to remember, don't worry too hard on needing to look it up. If he wins this attempt, he has you in a hold, but you aren't prone on the ground.
His touch attack to start was a 14 which beats your touch AC.
His grapple check resulted in a 22. You have an opposed check to roll. You add the number next to the grapple entry on your sheet (sandwiched between Melee and Ranged, right under saving throws.)

Your attempt with an unfamiliar weapon is successful. The elemental was not observing you at the moment, but now you have its attention. Pieces of rock crack to pebbles and fall to the ground, exposing pieces of gemstone beneath the initial layer of this elemental.

The creature attempts to use it's rocky bulk to slam into your ribcage.

Attack roll - 12
Damage Results - 9

Your dwarven comrades swarm around the elemental while you do battle, and hack at it with their weapons, yet are unable to put it down.

You may only speak on this with the Steward. The Archon responds briskly. When you are not at this task, you will otherwise go about the labors of a table servant. Fetching food, filling cups, attending to guests. When you have no duties, you attend to cleaning at the kitchens, after which you are free to rest. In time, you may be trusted to enjoy some afternoons outside the Keep. He then dismisses you with a polite hand gesture and returns to his seat. Oddly, the uncle of the Archon stands as his nephew approaches.

I will see you out. I have other comments on these genie-kind that my nephew is bored of hearing. He says loud and firmly. Come, Steward, girl. He says to you both. He begins with loud small talk with Steward Boloram, but soon is out of earshot and into the hallway, where his voice turns to a low growl. I do not like this one bit. Girl, you also report to me. These efreeti are suspicious creatures. Anything you notice that is out of place, you report to me first, then Steward Boloram, who will speak with my nephew. Anything that is completely ordinary, take note of as well. Your eyes and ears are to be an extension of mine.

The pitter patter sound of feat approach, and you see another servant walking down the hallway in the opposite direction. The Steward responds with innocent smalltalk aimed at the elder dwarf. You reach the door leading to the courtyard, where the dwarf offers his hand in farewell to Steward Boloram. It was good to speak with you once again. Do give my best to your family.

You are entitled to a spot check

You flip directly to the last spell entered into her book, in hopes to get a measure of her strength. It is of second level, the dominant lines of the runic form is of the Enchantment school. You flip towards the front of the book. Enchantment, Enchantment, Illusion, Illusion, Enchantment, Enchantment, Conjuration, Illusion, Enchantment, and so on. Above the cantrip level, you count 8 enchantments, 6 illusions, and 2 each of the conjuration and abjuration schools. The only spell you have in common is Silent Image, which you immediately recognize as one of the first non-cantrips she wrote into her spellbook.

Huh, so you are a novice. She says, noticing how little you have filled your spellbook. Well we were all new to studying the mysteries once! She says cheerfully. Niamoz brought you in, I heard. She says with a hurried tone. If you made an impression on her at all, it is like that you will be conjuring up swarms in no time. I think she is unbeaten in the Summoner's Duel, and I bet she has books in almost every planar language. I have only spoken with her directly once... It was a short conversation, she is very important around here. She did not take me on to be an acolyte, but Pitar is just as good a Magus as any! How long have you been casting spells, then?

[ilinares]

Korugan allows himself the luxury of imagining Nim flayed alive, her irritating voice raised in screams of agony. The smile that animates his face might be mistaken for amusement; let her believe that if she will. Novice, indeed!

Running his finger over some of the more interesting spells, he says softly: "There is little overlap between our spellbooks. Perhaps a fair exchange could be agreed: if we each possess spells of interest to the other, we might agree a number of spells of equal level that each could copy to their own book.
Such a trade could be mutually beneficial..."

He pauses to hear her response before changing the subject.

"In truth, my master was murdered when I was barely out of my apprenticeship. Finding this school is something of a godsend, whatever its disadvantages."

"A godsend." Trying to ignore the whispers of the Veiled One in the back of his mind, Korugan reflects that this may be literally true - though the god who sent him here did not do so out of benevolence.

"And as I am, if nothing else, a novice here, I need to learn all I can of my new masters. What can you tell me of Ni'amoz - and of your own mentor? Pitar, did you say?"

[Jeesits]

Gator follows Gronz into the fray and takes a flanking position 20 ft away from the melee and begins to throw darts at the beastly ogre.

[roll0] Attack roll [roll1] damage [roll2] sneak attack damage

[gallagher]

Nim flips back through your book to see if she would like to make any sort of trade. Pitar is great, I am so happy for his attention to my instruction. His tutoring has helped me advance my enchantments, and with his help I mastered my first second-level spell within my first month here! It's just weird being taller than your Magus, he is a gnome! Ni'amoz is strict, but when you stay within your boundaries she is pleasant as can be. She favors those who show great talent, but don't they all? She will tutor you into your second level spells, after which you will have shown enough aptitude to focus on two or three branches of magic and may split time between masters. She personally handles master coursework for both conjuration and illusion - that is for fourth and fifth level spells - and she is the only master of necromancy in all of Araxicazzan. What else... I heard she likes desserts a lot? But she didn't accept anything I baked for her when I was hoping to catch her attention... As is her habit, Nim begins to trail off.

Nim finishes searching through your spellbook with a look of disappointment. I really don't think I see anything in my interests. Tell you what, I will give you a spell from mine, a second level spell that you can start to practice on, and I'll call in the favor when Ni'amoz helps add to your book. I can share with you... How about Invisibility?

Gator tries his best to assist his cell-mate, but only makes things worse. Your dart hits Gronz so hard he feels as if his collarbone broke, and a purple bruise begins to form almost immediately. The ogre laughs so hard that he farts, and it is indeed stinky.

It is Gronz's turn to act. You may use an action to attempt to break his hold on you with another strength check, or you may try to attack him with your fists (only light weapons are permitted in a grapple, unfortunately). If you break his hold, you may attack with your club or move.

[esorscher]

Emma listens carefully to her instructions, confident in her ability to act as a table servant, and to clean the kitchens. The role of observer is not foreign to her either, although this seems to have a certain stake to it that her previous experience lacked. In the past, the penalty for failure to notice something might be a lack of awareness on her part--now, it seems it could be deadly. Although surprised to see the nobleman touch flesh with his servant, she doesn't notice anything out of the ordinary in the exchange. Left alone with the Steward, she asks, "Is there anything I should be looking for, specifically?"

[ilinares]

The question stirs uncomfortable thoughts for Korugan. As a cleric of the Veiled One, he can expect to gain access to the invisibility spell as a dark blessing of his Master soon enough. His intention, studying as an acolyte in the hidden temple, was to pursue the study of divine magic for some time and only to return to his arcane studies when he had mastered second-level spells. That path would best balance the two disciplines, he was sure, and would properly prioritise service to the Whispering Lord.

In that context, it makes no sense to master arcane spells he will have access to through divine magic. Accepting the offer would be irrational.

And yet...

Sitting here, discussing magic with a fellow student of the arcane, he feels a half-forgotten passion stirring within his breast. The thought of postponing such pleasant studies is repugnant.

Is it possible he made an unwise choice, rushing from his master's deathbed to a new dedication to the divine? Was the power he longs for waiting for him all along, without the need of the Veiled One's patronage?

The whispers grow to an angry growl, and a surge of pain lances from one temple to the other. Screwing his eyes shut against his god's rage, he struggles to give Nim a wan smile.

"A tempting offer in principle. What other spells might you have to trade, I wonder? I would not want to settle for second best, after all."

[S1ndarin]

Gronz lets out a bloodthirsty roar. Not sure if this is due to his current anguish or if it's an attempt to psych himself up for combat.

After being struck by the dart and the fart, Gronz can only hope to end this quickly before his strength fails.

He will attempt to break free of the hold. (if I'm able to take a step out of the direct line of Gator's fire) hoping to not get caught by more friendly fire, Gronz will side step up wind hoping to get a breath free of the rotten stench.

Attempt to break free [roll0]

Provided this is successful he will try again with the hammer, knowing it can only go better than last time.

attack [roll1] damage [roll2]

[gallagher]

The Steward gives you an emotionless look, turning to you once more. I have not personally been informed on what gives rise to your assignment, all I know is there is suspicion of treachery - one that our Archon is entertaining though does not believe himself. Past Archons have failed in securing any lasting relationship with the beings of the Plane of Fire, and he is quite eager to build his legacy where others have failed.

Do see to it that you not let anyone know of your personal assignment; secrets shared stop being secret. He bids you a brief farewell, and lets you go about personal business.

Of the Second Level? She blinks, she thinks, then she speaks. You could have Resist Energy, Acid Arrow, or Touch of Idiocy if you like. I would have suspected that Illusion would be tempting enough; it was the first second level spell I scribed in there. With quiet slippers and a little luck, you can get anywhere with Invisibility and nobody is the wiser!

Gronz puts his elbow into the ogre's face, jarring him enough that Gronz can wrestle free. You respond to your new freedom with a quick swing at the ogre's face, but you are off balance and come up short.

Your steel, flashing in front of the eyes of your foe, cause him to strike out too quickly in retaliation. He attempts an overhand chop - a telegraphed strike which you deftly avoid.

You may both post, but Gator's attack will resolve first.

[gallagher]

Actually, Steward Boloram interrupts his own thoughts as you turn to return to the kitchens. He sighs, not wanting to assign the task to you, but seems to have no option. I do have something I need assistance on. You see the Steward produce a long list from a pocket hidden in his sleeve. My personal page is currently occupied elsewhere. I have need for a personal message to be sent to the Crimson Tower. It is the large obstruction immediately between the Keep and the Untergang, that obscene slave complex you must have seen on your way here. This message is to go directly to Magus Ni'amoz, one of the leaders of the Tower. She is a drow, like me, and will know to take you in when she hears my name. Can you do this faithfully, and return immediately?

[esorscher]

Emma nods as the Steward advises her to secrecy, well familiar with the practice. As her grandmother would say, "A secret can be kept between two people--if one of them is dead."

She takes the message from the Steward. "I can do this," she replies simply. Once dismissed, she heads in the direction of the Red Keep. If the message can be read without breaking any seal, or otherwise indicate it having been opened, she will do so surreptitiously while en route. Either way, she keeps a watchful eye for anyone observing her movements as she passes, while also taking in the sights of the streets.

This is your chance, a voice whispers in her mind. But escape is not a goal of hers, not yet at least. The place she finds herself in is too comfortable, and her purpose their too intriguing, for her to seek her freedom.

[ilinares]

All of which are combat spells, Korugan notes in the silence of his thoughts. What does it say about her that she chose these spells?

Smiling, Korugan nods to concede the point. "And so it is," he agrees. "I only wished to be sure I wasn't settling for the good instead of the great."

Finishing off the last of his breakfast, Korugan looks to Nim questioningly. "Are we expected to wait until we are released? What is the protocol here?"

[Timble]

Vas stumbles as the blow crashes into her. If she had only been able to prepare her Ankheg breastplate, but that wasn't possible. She lashes out with one last attack before stumbling back.

Sorry for not being here for a while, computer access has been difficult for a while.
Attack: [roll0] for [roll1]
Five foot step back

[gallagher]

You ask your question of Nim, but a chair slides out from next to you and a familiar voice answers. You do what you will. If you are favored by any person of interest, they will invite you to a circle of others where you will gossip together and show off the aptitude that got you noticed. Nim calls it classwork, but with no goal in sight, and no grading, and no homework, and no desks. There isnt a hierarchy outside of Archmagus, Magus, and Acolyte, and nobody ever leaves the damn Tower for very long. It's more of a clique thing, where the empowered show favor and shower praise upon those they deem 'worthy.'

Oh hush, brother. Nim cuts in to stick up for herself. She returns to you. He is cynical because none of the Magi take an interest in him. Acolytes like him never get anywhere, but are free to go about conducting experiments and studying privately. No real other way to get noticed around here anyway.... I mean, how are you supposed to impress the Magi if you don't show a personal drive?

You like to stay busy and waste time get recognized. I don't know why you see our time here as a gift. We are bound by chains, even if we do not where them. We should be trying to get out of here! Nix looks over to his sister, and notices that her eyes are as wide as saucers. Nix turns to look around, and sees Ni'amoz standing behind the two of you. I beg forgiveness for interrupting your... passionate conversation. She says with a dry tone that raised hairs on your arms. But I have need of Korugan. Come, Acolyte. She says, softer to you than she had been with Nix. You look to Nim, but she does not meet your gaze, as she is starstruck by the Archmagus.

The Crimson Tower isnt far, but along the way you certainly have time to inspect the parcel. It is a brown envelope, with no adhesive or seal. You open the envelope to reveal a small booklet. It has a blue cover and black binding, and appears to carry around a dozen pages. You have time to inspect it, but in two minutes, you come to the step in front of a large door of door made of dull, flat black stone.

The conflict among you, almost turned lethal, is swiftly interrupted by a dashing dwarf in beaten bronze. He takes his rounded hammer, and crashes it into the knee of the ogre, causing a howl of pain as the beast falls under his own weight. Two overseers come to with whips, lashing at Tallan and Gronz until they fall to the ground and cover their heads. The gnome who had called you fresh meat, who seems to be running things for now, reappears. He says with irritation - So, you are eager to spill blood, good, but you cant be putting on this show without a crowd. I can see you all like a weapon in your hands, so you will all be in the first free for all round of the tournament. Wonderful, wonderful. Boys? Whip them some more.

They continue to hit you with leather lash while four dwarves come with a stretcher for the ogre. His pain increases with every move, and he holds his leg to keep it raised. YOU B@$#*! I WILL HAVE YOUR HEAD, AND EAT YOUR FACE WHILE IT LOOKS AT ME! YOU HEAR ME?!? He yells at Tallan.

You and the dwarven companions chop away at the elemental, and piece by piece it falls apart, revealing a center of ore studded with red and pink gemstones. You inspect the area where the earth elemental emerged, and you see several more red and pink gemstones covering the gap in the stone.

You are entitled to knowledge nature check and appraise check on the gemstones, as well as a spot check.

[Timble]

Vas has no interest in the stones beyond being another potential threat. Were they the source of the elementals? Doubtlessly her 'masters' wanted them, for money or magic or whatever. She just wanted a way out of these caves. Tired from the struggle, she leans up against a wall and studies the remains, and the surroundings, from a distance.

Nature: [roll0]
Appraise: [roll1]

Spot: [roll2]

[ilinares]

Nim's arrival and passionate monologue are interesting to note, but with Ni'amoz in evidence, Korugan is careful to say nothing - but only to file away the male drow's resentment of his situation for future exploitation.

Bowing his head respectfully, the dwarf mage rises to follow his patron.

Once they are out of earshot of the others, he decides a judicious comment to distance himself from Nim would be prudent.

"I gather not everyone sees serving the Tower as a privilege," he says drily. "I imagine that could become inconvenient, from time to time."

[esorscher]

Emma quickly casts Detect Magic on the booklet. If no magic is detected, she will flip through the pages before returning it to the envelope in time to arrive at the Tower. Once satisfied that there is no evidence of her having inspected the parcel, she knocks on the door.