The mood is dark in the town of Torch. The streets are lined with growing piles of garbage, the air carries the smell of filth, and the faces of the people betray an uncertainty for the future of the town and the people's livelihoods now that their namesake has gone out. The ever-popular Foundry Tavern near the town's singular entrance is closed, its proprietor missing, and strange rumors greet you as you move through the streets. [Private to Brokam: "You’ve heard of androids, right? There are a few of them living here in town, but they’re mostly harmless. Right?"][Private to Cain: "Old Mylan Radli’s not really a worshiper of Pharasma—he’s a worshiper of Zyphus, and he’s just biding his time before the graveyard’s full so he can raise up an army of the undead!"][Private to Ix Tlacoatl: "Wonder what happened to that good-looking woman with the purple hair? Doesn’t anyone else find it strange that she showed up a few days before the torch went out, and that no one’s seen her since?"][Private to Rakkar Aleed: "All these weird headaches folks have been having lately? I bet they’re being caused by someone tampering with Crowfeather Palace. I’ve been drinking only rainwater and I’ve not had a headache yet!"][Private to Sesla Lento: "The Technic League’s not pleased with the situation, and I hear the Black Sovereign himself is heading to town in a few weeks to find out what’s been going on down here!"] But what doesn't seem to be mere rumor is that there has been another call for people to delve under Black Hill to solve the mystery of the Extinguished Torch and find the previous expeditions and that anyone brave enough should meet at the Town Hall at midday.

    As midday nears, a few brave souls begin to gather and loiter in the open square in front of the Town Hall--a large granite building with steel supports, a sloped, slate-tiled roof, and a watch tower extending from its northern facing where a single, bored guard keeps an eye on the town's eastern streets. As they arrive, a guard posted outside the hall's large double-doors nods in greeting but bids them to wait in the square while the council holds a private meeting.

Just pausing here for the obligatory character introductions
This message was last edited by the GM at 22:38, Tue 22 June 2021.

Rakkar seemed very much a product of his environment as he moved along the decaying streets.

The Ratfolk was clad in brown robes, loose and airy where they were not held down by the straps of his backpack or the cartridge belt that was slung from shoulder to hip. Even his head was loosely wrapped in an intricately woven headscarf.

One had to look with a purpose to spot the carved grip of the pistol protruding at an angle from within the shifting robes, or the fact that he was wearing armor beneath it all.

In time Rakkar found himself at the swaure itself, and he lingered nearer to the alleyways than the square proper, occasionally glancing up and around at the other arrivals or lightly sniffing the air as he waited.

Having collected what supplies he could for the task ahead, Cain heads for the Town hall to see who else has answered the call. Working with strangers is not something he is looking forward to, but his chances of survival would improve by having someone to hide behind if things get ugly. As they certainly will.

On his way there he keeps his eyes and ears open, and so overhears a rumour of the graveyard keeper being a secret worshipper of Zyphus. He discards it as babbling of fools. A follower of a Grim Harvester that managed to fool the whole town is not likely to be caught by some random idiot. And even if he did, that gossiper would be dead before he could spread the story. And besides, a gravekeeper? That's just too damn obvious a cover.

Arriving at the square, he finds a quite corner while he waits, and as he does, he observes who else was lured here by the notice.
This message was last edited by the player at 18:07, Wed 23 June 2021.

It was rarely intimidating when one was covered in flour.

Ix didn't seem to care, using one hand to dust himself clean of flour. He was taller then some, a finger shy of 6ft. But like the stump of a great tree, where he wasn't tall he was wide. His exposed torso was like hard clay, just as brown-red with a subtle vibrancy. If one were to look close enough, they could also see the fine lines of circuit-esque tattoos.

One can imagine many would look closely; it is an impressive physique, after all.

It was the only skin visible besides his right hand, as the rest of him was covered in one way or another by lamellar armor. A strange design, as far as the perceivable purpose of armor went. His lower half still held the trappings of hide pants with fringes, and a hand axe hanging from his waist was pristine and clean. Notably, a few chips adorned the edge. His hair was as black as river stones, two long temple-anchored braids trailing down his chest, long feathers sprouting from the back. For an android to echo so much of a more...*ahem*...rural way of living was certainly a statement. There was no shame in the man's eyes for doing so.

At least, one would think so, since there was no face to be seen.

The mask that covered Ix's face was leather, made of burned maple brown and smoky black. The filigree burnt in were bold and tribal. The eye holes designed sharp enough to cut through common sense, because it certainly seemed out of place. It was even more so to those who hadn't seen the buff baker before.

Funnily enough, that wasn't even the strangest thing about his appearance.

Both of his arms were tightly wrapped completely in gray linens. The right arm had the bulges that came with bouldery muscles, and the other was...less so. There were gaps in the elbow, a sort of edged design where his palm was. There was still flour there too, which Ix - having walked a notable distance from the bakery he was freelancing at - finally managed to clap off.

One could expect that temporary employment as a baker's assistant wasn't the most promising path to prestige or payment, but Ix found the work noble on a spiritual level. The way one weighted the flour, measured the yeast, worked the dough to release its chains of glutens; all of this was reassuringly analytical. Less art. More science. It provided just enough for him to sleep in the woods and eat a hot meal. Close enough to the nature he called his home, close enough to survive now that his Mapa was no longer with him.

He was well adapted to them wandering off, up to a couple months at a time, foraging and gathering and finder new materials for him to work with. It'd been nearly a year. Ix was becoming...lonely.

A fresh start, he mentally mused, full well knowing that there was no such thing. The statement itself was misused for the unchanging paths of fate that others found themselves in. It seemed the city was beginning to get to him. The smell already had.

Trash and filth were nothing like the natural rawness of droppings and mold. It was artificial, produced, served no purpose lined up in the streets as supposed to the life-offering growth of fecal fungus. Ix always believed the city's food culture would have been best served with more herbs, less meat. His theory seemed to hold up for now.

He made his way to the center of the square, juuust off from the center, and stood with arms folded. He turned about to look, completely unaware of how eye contact worked and didn't as he scanned the crowd. There was a man there in the square already, and from what he could glance, they had fur on their face.

How unusual thought the android.

He let his gaze linger a little too long before moving on.

He heard those observers talking earlier; the half-elf in the corner certainly didn't have purple hair, so there missing person was still missing as far as he could see. Perhaps it would be another issue addressed by the council.

He brushed off another patch of flour from his arm, the "better" one. There was no vanity in such a task; only the idea that everything had its place.

Like his was in the square.

Brokam arrived at the Hall perhaps five minutes before noon, having been fortunate enough to quickly find someone willing to point a traveler in the right direction. A quick word with the door guard, and he leaned against the side of the building, waiting for the meeting to end. He occupied himself in the meantime by double checking the vials on his bandoleers, and reading from a thick book of alchemical formulae, written dwarven script.

Sesla moved through the streets with a torch made from motes of starlight. The woman was dressed in furs and hides which spoke to the seasoned adventurer of their untested newness.


"Greetings all" she offered with a slight bow of her head as she looked over the impressive personages of those assembled.

Before long the Town Hall's double doors open and a little over a dozen people pour out. While most of these people are guards in leather armor and with a short sword on their hips, denoted by a simple patch depicting a purple flame stitched on their breasts, others are simple laborers with filthy clothes and hands and two in particular stand out: a middle-aged woman with raven black hair and fresh purple robes over a green tunic or dress and simple but likely expensive jewelry and an elderly man in a heavy, chainmail tunic under a thick leather apron brimming and weighed down with various tools stuffed in many pockets and through many loops and with a miniature, porcelain-and-brass clockwork mask hanging at his hip.[Private to Cain: You recognize these two as councilors Bazlundi Otterbie and Joram Kyte.] The distinguished pair give the gathered brave souls a quick appraisal, the woman with a bit more judgement in her eyes, before splitting up, each with a contingent of men, the woman down the western road and the man down the northern.

As the mixed party passes and departs, the guard at the doorway nods to a few of his fellow guardsmen and then turns to the brave souls and asks for, "Just a moment, please," before heading into the building. And, as promised, only a moment later he emerges and nods to the bunch, announcing, "The ... council will see you now." A bit of amusement crosses the guard's face as he gestures within and as those gathered enter they soon see why. After passing by a steel door to the left with a barred window revealing a few guards eating around a small table, they enter a fairly large room with a raised dais on the far end upon which sits a long and somewhat rounded table with fives seats facing the rest of the room which contains a number of scattered chairs. Sitting at the center of the five chairs, flanked by a stepping stool on one side of the chair and an impressive warhammer resting on it's head on the other is a stout, elderly, dwarven woman wearing a fine, blue robe a bit faded with age over simple grey tunic and pants and scratching away at a parchment with a thick quill and a look of intense focus on her eyes. There seems to be no one else on this council.

As the brave souls enter the room the dwarven woman sets the quill to the side, near its inkwell, and smiles warmly at the new arrivals. She gestures for them to come nearer and greets them simply in her wizened but strong voice, "Hello! I am Councilor Dolga Freddert; are you the volunteers looking to help us find our missing councilor?"
This message was last edited by the GM at 19:26, Thu 24 June 2021.

Brokam didn't recognize the older couple who exited the building, but nonetheless nodded politely to them as he closed his book and secured it once more on the lariat on his belt before following the small crowd of others into the town hall.

"I am here about the bulletin, yes," he said as he approached the table and bowed his head as a sign of respect. "I am Brokam, alchemist and healer. I believe my talents would be of use down below."

"That is so council Freddert, so much has been whispered by the stars." Sesla said as she pointed up sharply. Sesla's hide armor had merely a single patch which showed its newness and her shield, which she was unaccustomed to wielding, found its way immediately to the ground, prompted up against her leg as she continued to speak.

"Would there be any reconnaissance or rumor as to what is going on down there?" The woman ventured to ask the dwarf.

Cain is glad someone else is taking the initiative in asking questions. He is wondering why haven't the guards already dealt with whatever the problem was, and concludes that whatever it was, it must be very dangerous indeed if the council would rather throw volunteers at it than risk guardsmen. But for now he waits at the rear of the group to hear what the councilwoman has to say.

"Greetings Councilor" the Ratfolk bowed reflexively at the waist, just a little, before he continued.

"I am Rakkar Aleed, and yes, I have heard about this task. I am interested, like these other worthy souls, to recover your missing compatriot..." His voice was typical for his kind, accented, and he loosened the folds of his head covering as he spoke to reveal more if his face.

"But the notice left much unsaid. What are you offering in return?" he asked with the air of someone who might just walk away if the reward was not sufficient.

After a skeptical look at the ratfolk, the dwarven councilor picks up her quill again, dips it in ink, and begins to scribble on the parchment as she speaks aloud, "Misters Aleed and Brokam ... and company." She sets down the quill again and answers the rodent's question first, "Aye, we've had to work quickly while pressed with other new matters, but we've pulled together 4,000 gold pieces to offer the ones who can recover Councilor Baine. If he's still alive when you bring him back we'll also give you the Scroll of Resurrection we obtained for him." She then turns to the girl to answer her question, "Four teams in all have gone into the caves and only one has returned to report--Khonnir's first. Khonnir spoke at length with the council before going back in, and he confirmed what his group told us, despite how outlandish it sounded. The caves are inhabited by several enormous vermin and other scavengers, along with some strange humanoids who had the ability to blend into the shadows of the cave walls, and a nest of gremlins. Khonnir believed this indicated a deeper connection in the caves to the Darklands, but of more immediate interest was his discovery of a wall of solid metal deep in the caves. A wall made of a skymetal alloy called glaucite. He said it was like the kind we mine from the hills and surrounding plains, but formed into a structure with doors. It was near one of these doors that Khonnir found the broken, metal man that he brought back after his first expedition.”
This message was last updated by the player at 02:39, Sat 26 June 2021.

Brokam nodded along thoughtfully, his eyes widening, not in greed but in undisguised surprise when the reward was laid before them. Such a powerful object procured for the sake of one man, he must be dearly loved by his people indeed.

Of course, such a reward was secondary to him, of greater concern was the missing man himself, and the creatures that dwelled below. He scratched his chin, wracking his brains for a clue as to what creatures the Councillor Freddert was referring to.

"I am willing to go down below in search, regardless of reward, but do you have any more details on the creatures below? Perhaps a more detailed description?" he asked almost absently, still deep in thought.

ooc: 21:50, Today: Brokam rolled 28 using 1d20+8 with rolls of 20.  K. Nature(try and identify the creatures being described).

Ix listened to the introductions as he came into the room, looking to match faces to voices. The councilors themselves seemed to have more room to talk than they did, but the questions asked were appropriate. The ratfolk of reward (so it is a ratfolk), the "star-speaker" of the situation (Oh, they have a shield too).

He hadn't gotten a chance to introduce himself to the councilors left. So he would have to wait his turn.

He listened with intense curiosity; had Mapa gone to find them? They'd been rather fond of Baine, but were they fool enough to descend the depths to find him? It was unfortunate that the answer was so undefinable. Mapa had been prone to their flights of instinct.

As the councilor spoke, Ix remained unmoving. Too unmoving. His arms were crossed, and he stood just ahead of the silver-haired lad. It wasn't lost on him how they too didn't speak

"...broken, metal man..."

Now those were the words that rang out most to Ix. Broken? Metal? Man? None of those words, as much as he may have been called them, belonged together. It didn't sound natural. It didn't sound like it belonged. But there it was again, that warm sense he labeled the "whiskey" from the way it coursed along his skin. It burned in a way, but like whiskey, it was intoxicating.

This protocol was still a new thing to him; it worried him, but seemed to lead him on in the right direction.

Oh, wait, the councilor was done talking now.

"Ix Tlacoatl."

There.

His voice was thick, his own name filling every space in his mouth. There was the lowest hum present in his tone. Most would probably deem the timing with which he said his name, and the silence that followed, as nothing short of awkward. Perhaps it was a memo Ix happened to miss on his way through life.

Unlike this alchemist, Ix preferred the promise of payment. Though if he could help find Khonnir, he maybe could find his Mapa.

Ix missed his Mapa.

[Private to GM: I doubt I did, but did anything come of my Know Local 10 roll to know who the purple-haired individual was or anything else about the rumor?]

Sesla turned as Ix spoke, there was something interesting about the man that her main could not place-not yet at least. The woman banished her torch of gathered starlight and placed the piton which had served her as a torch so faithful into her pack.

"Yes, clockwork creatures. I have seen this too..." Sesla mused outload. "We will go below." Sesla said. The oracle turned and looked around sheepishly after a moment of thought.

"...although we may not have all reached that conclusion yet." hte oracle said as if the words contain so form of explanation and apology.

Now that they have heard the whole story, Cain speaks up with fake enthusiasm. "So, of the four groups that went down there, only Khonnir's came back, and even he was not so lucky the second time. Sounds great, shall we start on it now?

"I'm afraid I can't be of better help with exactly what critters Khonnir found in there ... but you could have a look at the metal man he brought out? It's still at the Foundry Tavern, and his daughter Val has volunteered the tavern to house any expeditions." As Dolga speaks she picks up the quill once again and begins to scribble again, this time slowly and in thought as she tries to spell out the android's name. After Selsa speaks she explains, "Well, it's not clockwork exactly. It's more like those Gearsmen the League uses, but .. skinnier?" The councilor then grins at Cain's eagerness but tilts her head as she cautions, "Don't get too far ahead of yourself! You'll probably want to visit Councilor Joram Kyte before you head out--he's agreed to cast a spell of Water Breathing on any group to help get into the caves. You can usually find him at the temple of Brigh or up at
Crowfeather Palace when you’re ready to go."
[Private to Ix Tlacoatl: Sorry, I must have missed that. No, you don't know anything about a purple-haired woman.]
This message was last edited by the player at 02:20, Sun 27 June 2021.

"Four thousand..." Rakkar repeated  with a hint of surprise or perhaps disbelief. One did not need to be particularly gifted to see how such a sum might be split among the survivors.

He listened with obvious interest at the continued introductions, the authority with which some spoke of the dangers to be found within. The Ratfolk seemed to warm to the group as the talk went on, before the Councilor once again chained in.

"Will he now? That is very generous of him..." he looked to the others. "Shall we go and find this Councilor Kyte then?" He asked, before once again looking to the Dwarf. "Many thanks." He bowed a little. "I think that you will be pleased with this group. No common thugs these."

Sesla nodded to the Ratkin.

"Indeed, perhaps our metal man might provide for us some insight into these mysterious circumstances. So perhaps a visit to the Foundry before we venture off to see Councilor Kyte for his blessing?

I am Sesla by the way, Sesla Lento"
This message was last edited by the player at 11:08, Sun 27 June 2021.

Well, that Cain certainly seems excited.

It really didn't make sense to Ix. As they just said, only one team came back. So why was he so eager? Mapa had always said that humans were always dependably unpredictable. Ix, for one, was not excited.

The idea of the Tecnic League's creations always made Ix angry. Those soul-less statues made too many think he was one of them. The conflation was frustrating, but nothing that couldn't be over come by their disassembly. But going to see this "metal man" could be insightful. When else would he get the opportunity to see one of these false idols so closely?

"I think that you will be pleased with this group. No common thugs these."

Ix huffed. He wondered if they were thugs. He was a warrior! Yet even Ix knew that they would accomplish more as a team. Thugs or otherwise.

"T'ank you, Councilor. We shall continue on the re-com-men-ded procedures forth-with. I will prezume t'is meeting so-li-di-fies my verbal consent to t'is unwritten contract."

"I would agree, Sesla. T'e metal man should be our first pri-or-i-ty as a contracted entity. However, for maximum o-per-a-tive cohesion, we will need to know," Ix turns and points his wrapped arm to the corner, "what alias t'at silver-haired half-elf will go by."
This message was last edited by the player at 14:30, Sun 27 June 2021.

Cain makes a show of looking over his shoulder in case another silver haired half elf is standing behind him before answering. "If it is my name you wish to know, it is Cain. I am... an acquittance of the missing wizard Khonnir."

He frowns to the councilwoman. "I was not aware we needed to dive to get to the caves bellow. If that is the case, a water breathing spell will be very useful to get in, but how are we going to get back out once that runs out? Or is just parts of the cave that are flooded?"

I'm fine with us examining the robot or whatever it is before grabbing the water breathing spell and starting the quest.

Brokam sat back as the others discussed things, nodding along to show he was still listening to the conversation. Internally, he was running through the possibilities. It was unfortunate that Councillor Freddert was unable to provide a better description, aptitude at stealth below ground made for a long list of creatures, to put it mildly.

He was shaken from his contemplation, however, when the conversation turned to talk of visiting the metal man and the necessity of swimming. "I am of course eager to see to this metal man, but I believe Cain makes a good point. If we require the aid of magic to enter the caves, how are we to leave them? How did the last expidition return?"

"The only expedition to return did so in under a few hours," Dolga answers, "But Khonnir did believe a strong swimmer could make it through without magic. The entrance is below the Weeping Pond, the source of the Seven Tears River which runs through town. It's foul water there." She then nods to both Sesla and Cain as they give their names, taking to the quill again to write them down, and then pulling out another parchment and copying the names down once again before picking it up to blow on the ink and then hold it out for someone to take, "You'll want to take this with you, too. It'll get you twenty percent off on any gear you need to purchase."
This message was last updated by the player at 17:29, Mon 28 June 2021.

"T'is will do," Ix says after Cain reveals their name.

Foul Water. The android presumed it was another sad side effect of mankind's makings. He loved swimming, and found fresh water to be good for the skin and soul. His enthusiasm was tempered by the prospect of his gear's weight, and the relative lack of waterproofed pouches. Guess a new pack was in order.

Ix steps forward to accept the paper from Dolga's hand, looking over the paper impossibly slowly. In fact, he simply reads the paper several times, but his eyes seem unmoving.

"T'is factors in t'e ne-ces-si-ty of room and board?"