Post by andrew on Dec 7, 2015 14:17:41 GMT -5
The envelope the messenger handed you was sealed with wax and bore the coat-of-arms of the House of Morbelos. Inside was a certificate of passage on the skyship, Blue Djinn, and a scrawled letter, barely legible.
Dear Friend,
I hope all is well with you and this letter finds you at peace. It’s been too long since we last spoke, and I’m afraid I’m not in the best of health. As you can see it’s effected my penmanship, among many other things.
I apologize for the short notice, but I would like to see you at once to discuss a matter of extreme urgency. Included with this letter is a skyship ticket to Melxapar. There will be a coach waiting for you when you disembark.
Please visit me at my house on Harring Street, seven kilometers north of the skyport, on the next Day of the Sun. I have a job I think you’ll find most interesting, and a reward even moreso. It will be well worth your while. I promise.
Sincerely,
Lady Charmaine
Lady Charmaine is a great friend of yours, perhaps the only noble you know. Melxapar is a port city on the GhoulFinger Peninsula, ruled by the House of Morbelos, with the Lady being its first-among-equals since the passing of her husband three years ago.
Following an uneventful flight, a human coachman ushered you into his cab where you saw others that, like yourself, were adorned in the manner of a professional adventurer.
<During the trip, perhaps you introduced yourself, learned each others names, learned something of everyone’s background, qualifications...or perhaps you remained stoic, silent, and learned nothing about your companions. What you learned or didn’t learn, discussed or didn’t discuss, is left for you to decide. This is, however, the first time you’ve met one another.>
Arriving at the House of Morbelos, you were first treated to a delicious meal, and then brought into the Morbelos’ inner sanctum--a large and lofty room with a profusion of furniture, some brand new, some antique, all of it comfortable. Portraits decorated the room’s high walls and musical instruments sat in far-off corners. Here, you waited.
* * * *
The Lady Charmaine you know is a free-spirited human female with a quick laugh, a whimsical twinkle in her blue eyes, luxurious black hair with a garish streak of magenta running down one side, and a fondness for telling jokes--jokes that one doesn’t normally associate with women carrying the title, ‘Lady.’ It has been sixteen months since you’ve seen her. Your travels and adventures have kept you two apart.
The Lady Charmaine wheeled into the room before you now looks nothing like the friend you’ve known. Her hair is gone, except for a few gray snags crisscrossing the top of her head. Her face and forehead are lined with the wrinkles and blotches of old age, her blue eyes have lost their whimsy, spark and luster. She sits silently, unmoving, in a wheelchair. She appears twice her age, but no. She’s only forty-one. She suffers from a withering disease, with no known cure. The imperative word, her younger brother, Baron Zolag, tells you, is known.
The Baron explains the situation, and the reason for the Lady’s entreaty. “There are theories, experimental treatments, radical medical ideas that some physicians say will work, that will cure my sister. They all involve recipes with ingredients that are easy to obtain, save for one---the poison, mupriozin. A plant produces mupriozin, a plant that’s long extinct.”
Zolag’s distress is apparent as he continues: “Mupriozin had great medicinal qualities, but its plant has been cultivated to non-existence. When combined with a soup of other ingredients a tiny portion of the poison is the catalyst that many physicians believe will succeed in reverting this hellish illness Lady Charmaine has, essentially curing her. Anything more than “tiny” in the dosage can be fatal to the imbiber. Tests must be done, the right amount determined. Then, after that, hope. Hope this theory, this idea, will save my sister’s life.
“As you’ve no doubt surmised by now the Lady has a number of friends among the adventuring set--sellswords, sellspells, and such. She really enjoyed being with you and hearing your stories. She is a kindred spirit of yours. Everyone here represents the best of that group from what I could learn, and of course, this is where you come in.”
You realize the crux of the conversation will follow, and it’s not easy for him to say the words. “After much effort and great expense, our visionists have detected where a supply of mupriozin can be found, enough for testing and for the treatment of my sister.” He takes a deep breath. “On the island of Zind there lives---”
At the mention of “Zind” you know where this is going. And it’s not good. Zind is the home of...
“---a toxicologist, a collector and master of poisons. I’m sure you’ve heard of him; his name is Darksmoke.”
A man of renown, a warrior-wizard purported to be hundreds of years old, Darksmoke lives in the Mountain under the Dome. Of course you’ve heard of him. We live in an age where it’s public sport for adventurers to accept wizards’ challenges and foray into their domiciles to garner valuables and fame. Thousands gather to watch these bloodsports in taverns, inns, and market squares across the world through magical, floating orbs. The popularity of the “sport” is beyond imagining.
Darksmoke’s home under the dome is one such arena, the site of a sporting contest where delvers pit their brawn and brains against anything their host can devise to thwart them. From what you recall, no party or individual, has succeeded and bested Darksmoke’s challenges, reaching the bottom level and finding the exit. Is this what’s expected of you, to do the undoable?
Baron Zolag answers the question. “The good news is that what I’m requesting of you only requires you to reach the second level of Darksmoke’s labyrinth. There, our visionists, the best in the world, have perceived a vase resting on a shelf. The vase is completely coated in mupriozin. To touch it with bare hands is to accept death, but with these---” he gestures to a table where several pairs of thick gloves rest, “---it will be safe to handle the vase. We’d like for you to bring it back here, to our home, so testing can begin.”
The Baron looks at you soberly, knowing that if you decline the mission, his sister is doomed to die soon. “Well, friends, that’s the reason for my sister’s letter and your passage here. Zind has no skyport, but it can be reached in a day by our family ship.”
He looks each of you in the eyes and smiles faintly. Behind him, your friend, the Lady Charmaine sits hunched over in her wheelchair. “I’m sure you have questions, no doubt plenty of them. I will answer them as best I can. But I do hope you accept this mission.”
<Okay, friends, my next update will be in roughly 36 hours, or shortly after everyone posts, whichever comes first, or I may shoot in and answer questions as they arise here and there. I would like everyone to respond to GM posts sometime within that 36 hour window. One, to keep the game as I promised--fast-paced--and two, to know you’re “with us” as it were. Thanks. Have fun!>
Dear Friend,
I hope all is well with you and this letter finds you at peace. It’s been too long since we last spoke, and I’m afraid I’m not in the best of health. As you can see it’s effected my penmanship, among many other things.
I apologize for the short notice, but I would like to see you at once to discuss a matter of extreme urgency. Included with this letter is a skyship ticket to Melxapar. There will be a coach waiting for you when you disembark.
Please visit me at my house on Harring Street, seven kilometers north of the skyport, on the next Day of the Sun. I have a job I think you’ll find most interesting, and a reward even moreso. It will be well worth your while. I promise.
Sincerely,
Lady Charmaine
Lady Charmaine is a great friend of yours, perhaps the only noble you know. Melxapar is a port city on the GhoulFinger Peninsula, ruled by the House of Morbelos, with the Lady being its first-among-equals since the passing of her husband three years ago.
Following an uneventful flight, a human coachman ushered you into his cab where you saw others that, like yourself, were adorned in the manner of a professional adventurer.
<During the trip, perhaps you introduced yourself, learned each others names, learned something of everyone’s background, qualifications...or perhaps you remained stoic, silent, and learned nothing about your companions. What you learned or didn’t learn, discussed or didn’t discuss, is left for you to decide. This is, however, the first time you’ve met one another.>
Arriving at the House of Morbelos, you were first treated to a delicious meal, and then brought into the Morbelos’ inner sanctum--a large and lofty room with a profusion of furniture, some brand new, some antique, all of it comfortable. Portraits decorated the room’s high walls and musical instruments sat in far-off corners. Here, you waited.
* * * *
The Lady Charmaine you know is a free-spirited human female with a quick laugh, a whimsical twinkle in her blue eyes, luxurious black hair with a garish streak of magenta running down one side, and a fondness for telling jokes--jokes that one doesn’t normally associate with women carrying the title, ‘Lady.’ It has been sixteen months since you’ve seen her. Your travels and adventures have kept you two apart.
The Lady Charmaine wheeled into the room before you now looks nothing like the friend you’ve known. Her hair is gone, except for a few gray snags crisscrossing the top of her head. Her face and forehead are lined with the wrinkles and blotches of old age, her blue eyes have lost their whimsy, spark and luster. She sits silently, unmoving, in a wheelchair. She appears twice her age, but no. She’s only forty-one. She suffers from a withering disease, with no known cure. The imperative word, her younger brother, Baron Zolag, tells you, is known.
The Baron explains the situation, and the reason for the Lady’s entreaty. “There are theories, experimental treatments, radical medical ideas that some physicians say will work, that will cure my sister. They all involve recipes with ingredients that are easy to obtain, save for one---the poison, mupriozin. A plant produces mupriozin, a plant that’s long extinct.”
Zolag’s distress is apparent as he continues: “Mupriozin had great medicinal qualities, but its plant has been cultivated to non-existence. When combined with a soup of other ingredients a tiny portion of the poison is the catalyst that many physicians believe will succeed in reverting this hellish illness Lady Charmaine has, essentially curing her. Anything more than “tiny” in the dosage can be fatal to the imbiber. Tests must be done, the right amount determined. Then, after that, hope. Hope this theory, this idea, will save my sister’s life.
“As you’ve no doubt surmised by now the Lady has a number of friends among the adventuring set--sellswords, sellspells, and such. She really enjoyed being with you and hearing your stories. She is a kindred spirit of yours. Everyone here represents the best of that group from what I could learn, and of course, this is where you come in.”
You realize the crux of the conversation will follow, and it’s not easy for him to say the words. “After much effort and great expense, our visionists have detected where a supply of mupriozin can be found, enough for testing and for the treatment of my sister.” He takes a deep breath. “On the island of Zind there lives---”
At the mention of “Zind” you know where this is going. And it’s not good. Zind is the home of...
“---a toxicologist, a collector and master of poisons. I’m sure you’ve heard of him; his name is Darksmoke.”
A man of renown, a warrior-wizard purported to be hundreds of years old, Darksmoke lives in the Mountain under the Dome. Of course you’ve heard of him. We live in an age where it’s public sport for adventurers to accept wizards’ challenges and foray into their domiciles to garner valuables and fame. Thousands gather to watch these bloodsports in taverns, inns, and market squares across the world through magical, floating orbs. The popularity of the “sport” is beyond imagining.
Darksmoke’s home under the dome is one such arena, the site of a sporting contest where delvers pit their brawn and brains against anything their host can devise to thwart them. From what you recall, no party or individual, has succeeded and bested Darksmoke’s challenges, reaching the bottom level and finding the exit. Is this what’s expected of you, to do the undoable?
Baron Zolag answers the question. “The good news is that what I’m requesting of you only requires you to reach the second level of Darksmoke’s labyrinth. There, our visionists, the best in the world, have perceived a vase resting on a shelf. The vase is completely coated in mupriozin. To touch it with bare hands is to accept death, but with these---” he gestures to a table where several pairs of thick gloves rest, “---it will be safe to handle the vase. We’d like for you to bring it back here, to our home, so testing can begin.”
The Baron looks at you soberly, knowing that if you decline the mission, his sister is doomed to die soon. “Well, friends, that’s the reason for my sister’s letter and your passage here. Zind has no skyport, but it can be reached in a day by our family ship.”
He looks each of you in the eyes and smiles faintly. Behind him, your friend, the Lady Charmaine sits hunched over in her wheelchair. “I’m sure you have questions, no doubt plenty of them. I will answer them as best I can. But I do hope you accept this mission.”
<Okay, friends, my next update will be in roughly 36 hours, or shortly after everyone posts, whichever comes first, or I may shoot in and answer questions as they arise here and there. I would like everyone to respond to GM posts sometime within that 36 hour window. One, to keep the game as I promised--fast-paced--and two, to know you’re “with us” as it were. Thanks. Have fun!>
