I have written this journal as a reference to myself, to organize my thoughts which seem to be ever more conflicted as of late...  For completeness I should start from the beginning...  Millennia ago, before the Great Bane defaced the lands with peoples, animals, plants, and unknown diseases the lands of Yrth were ruled over by but three races, Elves, Dwarves and Gnomes, and Orcs.  I doubt there is even a single tome dedicated to the actions and accomplishments of the Orc race before the Bane and if there were I doubt even more strongly that it would be read.  The dwarves and gnomes, likewise kept much to themselves, mining the secrets deep within the earth, forging before unknown metals and strengthening their wares with their own, materially aspected magics.  It is the elves however, who cared for the lands, who fought back the orcs, who ruled the earth with their ever expanding magics.  Indeed, it was the elves who caused the Great Bane and their own downfall, in the first place.

In the years before the Great Bane, it was the elves who policed the earth.  Their forests splotched across the entire globe, even to these lands I am told.  They created great magics, they civilized the earth and put asunder beasts no longer known, and they decided among themselves which magics should be banned, indeed, which spirits and gods should be removed from society.  Those evils which chanced the corruption or the very existence of Yrth were not destroyed outright but instead they were swept away, incarcerated within a temple of ancient magics, put in suspension so that they might not ever trouble the world again...  This is Perdition. The ancient tomb of magics seen as too dangerous for the world of ancients.  I seek to subvert those evils - and send them north against the infidels.

Here is where we find ourselves accelerating to the near present, for had matters not played out as they did, perhaps I would never have found the temple at Perdition.  As it has happened it was one discovery after another that has fueled my drive, my obsession with the wonder.  Some several months back, Khaldun encountered a whole patrol of dog-sized ants, monstrous things never encountered before on the plain.  Lucky as he was to have been with Imran and Jalal, the three slaughtered the things before they could send the alarm to their colony and reported to me immediately with the news.  At first I had thought little of it.  So what if untold beasts were wrecking the mountain groves to the south?  But my curiosity got the best of me, great and untold things often have great and untold causes.  I broke from my researches, finding a whole colony of the beasts, and the cause of their mutation.  Far back in the mountains, several passes back we found the remains of the ruined temple, its whole foundation still humming with the ancient powers still entombed.

Giles lifts his gaze away from the page, rubbing his eyes wearily.  It had been a long day, waking up in the dead of night, assaulting the tower, two of their number sustaining crippling injuries and nearly all of them being at some point or another beaten to unconsciousness.  Somehow they had prevailed, succeeded against the necromancer that had been their menace and cut away his head as proof of their mission.  They had looted his tower to the best of their ability and to the capacity of their meager cart, prizing above the rest the books that no doubt both held boundless knowledge and would fetch a high price.  Judoc and Finn had both already been bothering Giles to teach them to read the language, hoping that they too might glean some knowledge from the tomes.

Still, Giles had been unnerved by the last words of the wizard - his threats of the "Hells" of Perdition.  At first Giles had considered it an empty threat, the bluff of a man who knew his time was come.  It was the women who first made him doubt his assumption.  They had come some hours after the death of the Necromancer, two of them, creeping up the western side of the hill up the path towards the kitchen door, skulking from tree to tree.  The others had not trusted them, Judoc was particularly vehement about keeping them away, but Giles had known from the first that they meant no threat.  When they heard that the Necromancer was dead, they cheered and cried... cried far longer than Giles had expected.  It was then when they had told him about their families, their husbands and sons who had been sent away with Mika'il and Khaldun on an expedition months ago.  And not just their families, but every man of age in the entire village.  They begged for Giles to find them, to bring them back.  It had been hard to know what to make of the whole situation, and when Giles first cracked open this journal, Giles's opinions were solidified.  There was no doubt that at least the Necromancer thought that this place, Perdition, was real, that his apprentice (why did dark wizards always have so many damn apprentices!) was still all of the able-bodied men of the village, having mined the secrets of ancient magic for months.  Though Giles did not know the real truth of the matter, the threat of Old World evil washing over the border in hordes was not comforting.  It was why he had cracked the journal back open again during the wee hours of his watch, attempting to glean some gem of knowledge that would invalidate the whole thing, to prove that the threat was a hoax, that it had been a waste of the Necromancer's and his apprentice's time.  He had not found it.

Giles sighs heavily.  He would have to petition Captain Brashear for another raid.

At least this time, Giles promised himself that he would be prepared.  He pressed his eyes back towards the pages, attempting to learn as much as was possible.

Of the elves themselves, the keepers we found nothing, though their ancient magics had lasted even to this day.  We found the remains of an adult dragon in the valley and I had my men carry back all they found.  We found the tiles too in the first few days, the bull and the tiger, and I have split my time here between raising the dragon to lead my undead armies and casting upon the tiles to divine their purpose.

The following pages hold all I know of Perdition.  What I have uncovered through my own magics and what I have discovered through research.  I have been lucky to find an original tome and have spent many hours translating what I can with my own limited understanding of the language.  I can only hope that when we at last break open the cells and when my dragon has been reborn to serve me that it will be enough to wipe the scourge of Megalos from existence.

This message was last updated by the GM at 20:37, Mon 08 Oct 2018.

After the Great Bane, the mountain forests around Perdition thinned by disease and tree-cutting by the droves of men that now came in waves to Yrth.  The Keepers were eventually cut entirely from their brothers to the West and East and their fall from grace was slow but unstoppable.  Though they had protected their charge for generations, the Keepers became decadent in their ways, selling off empty cells to the highest bidder and purging the filled cells of their contents to those sorcerers or Church Priests nefarious enough to desire their contents.

Judoc looked up from the text at the sound of raised voices from the room adjacent.  He had now reread the same two sentences several times and he still felt that there was something significant he was missing in translation.  Giles had pointed out the text in the Necromancer's journal several days previous, pointing out that if these Keepers had been selling the contents of the cells than perhaps there was nothing to worry about after all.  Judoc was unconvinced on this point for other entries in the journal mentioned that the apprentice had been there for months, attempting to exploit and open the cells at Perdition.  Instead, it was the two words, Church Priests that gave him pause.  The reference was decidedly Christian... and the capitalization made Judoc think there was a reference he was missing.  If only he could read the original text... but the slanted, foreign writing, copied painstakingly by the necromancer remained resolutely indecipherable on the opposite page.  Judoc sighed, he doubted that the answer even mattered but never the less he couldn't get the question to clear from his mind.

"Are you even listening!?  Giles's voice reverberates through the walls though the silence that follows is even more telling.  Giles had been trying to convince Captain Brashear for weeks of the importance of sending out another party to squash the new threat.  Though Brashear had been over the moon when the party returned, Necromancer's head in hand, Giles's near incessant badgering with requests and suggestions had begun to wear through his patience and eat into his good will.  Giles had insisted first on increased relations across the border, trade with Tabuk and the Wizard's own village, the building of a bridge to span the Makarem to facilitate commerce and diplomacy, a christian mission, an engineering corps to assist with road construction and water retention, not to mention the full military assault of any hostiles left at Perdition.

Though Brashear's answers had started first with the obvious fact that he didn't have any authority to deliver on any of those requests it seemed to do little to curb Giles's incessant requests.  More recently Brashear had taken to shutting down the conversation as soon as it started with sharp reminders that Giles's place was to watch over his Platoon and not to fuss over border relations.

As Judoc expected, the audible fuzzy tones of Giles's agitated voice pick up again for a short moment, before the conversation goes entirely quiet, yielding to the sounds of footsteps approaching the door to the group's small room.

"Insane!"  Giles spits the moment the door is shut behind him.  "I grow ever fatigued of this accursed institution and its refusal to see what is clearly in front of its face!"  He walks a few feet into the room, sinking onto a wood stool that is one of the meager furnishings present.

"Oh it's not all that bad."  Terri chirps in a placating voice as she thumbs the string of her new compound bow, testing the weight of the pull.  "Really we've known for weeks that the Captain wouldn't send a unit with us right?  I mean, look at all the trouble that they went through on the last mission and even then they weren't allowed to send troops.  We'll just have to go and do it ourselves again."

Giles glares back at Terri with resentment, his jaw set forward and his words slightly dulled by clenched teeth.  "Captain has said the final word has come back from Raphael that there will be no military expedition on Wazifi lands again... that there isn't
any room for interpretation and that no military assets shall be used in any such undertaking!"

Terri glances back, her brows arched in concern, though her tone stays level and conciliating.  "But we'll just have to go do it ourselves then right?  You can lead us and we'll find Perdition, just long enough to make sure that the apprentice has been apprehended and that whatever evils it is keeping remain safely locked up."

Giles closes his eyes and squares his jaw, letting the quiet sit for several moments before before he answers.  "That's just what I'm saying."  He opens his eyes, glaring slightly at Terri as if the whole mess is her fault.  "No Army assets are to used in the expedition...  No tools, no weapons, no horses, no soldiers.  I have been told in no uncertain terms that if I leave my post here than I will be tried for desertion."  Giles flinches his head toward Finn, who seemed of late to be making most of the decisions overall for the group.  "Captain rightly admits that he doesn't have any power over any of you, says he'd be right happy if you investigate further and that you are welcome here whenever you pass by but I can't so much as step out the gate with you to wave goodbye."

OOC:  I'm keeping the thread closed for now, these cut scenes are an effort to fill in some of the back story between the actual first post in the thread and the months that have passed since assaulting the necromancer's tower.  No need to respond to these posts when the real first post of the thread is actually filled in.  If you have questions though about anything that happened, feel free to ask in OOC or private.

Finn puts his hand to his head, massaging his temples with his stretched thumb and middle finger as his head churned through all the details the group had missed in their last trip by al-Hassan, the small village at the base of the Necromancer's tower.  It was all Giles's fault, of course.  The Lieutenant had so specifically directed their actions during the assault of the tower, entering and exiting under the cover of darkness, tactics that were specifically designed to minimize the chance of their interaction with the locals, that there had been almost no chance that the small company would talk to the population and learn the important facts that might have guided their mission on an entirely different and a more well informed path.  Of course, now that Finn had taken the reigns of leadership (Giles, having quibbled about his military duties had refused to come) it was inevitable that they had been set upon the right path.  Some would call it luck, stumbling upon the woman they had encountered some two months ago, the one who had talked to Giles at the doorways to the kitchens in the Necromancer's tower.  Finn knew better.  Was it luck also that she had recognized Finn?  Was it luck that he now spoke enough of Arabic to actually understand most of what she was saying?  Was it luck that their previous mission had been so etched upon the permanent history of the village that the woman had invited, nay, demanded that the company come to the village with her to reap the thanks and rewards of their hard work?  No - it was serendipity, Finn had simply been chosen for greatness.  Who was he to deprive the village of the opportunity to show their thanks?

After three full days of travel, the company was a little more worn than Finn remembered from their last trip just a few months ago despite the fact that this time was taking much longer.  Certainly, the cart had been a help on the last trip and each person had been less personally weighed down (Gustav's mule in particular kept a plodding pace at the rear of the company) and the trip across the Makarem had been just slightly more harrowing (with Magnus pulled underwater for a moment by his flailing mule before righting himself and coaxing the beast to shore) but on top of that, the refreshing afternoon cool of March had now been replaced by hot and dry afternoon sun that forced frequent breaks for water and rest.  In truth, the company had ended up much closer to the town than Finn had intended.

Therefore, the walk to the small meeting house had been a mere twenty minute stroll passing between wheat and corn fields tended by scores of black-robed women off in the distance before the dirt became hard-packed and the clay roofs started to climb out from behind the tops of the wheat on the back of the small hill below the tower.  Upon reaching their destination, Finn directed the horses be watered and set out to graze while the party went in to talk with one of the elders.  She sat on a high clay stool with two attendants at either side, both women.  All three were wearing the traditional black flowing robes of Muslim women.  All the while Finn could only help thinking where are all the men?.

"You save our people."  The conversation had begun simply enough and Finn was happy to smile and say 'you're welcome' though the elder simply shook her head and repeated forcefully, "You save our people."  It was a command, not an expression of gratitude.

What followed was a conversation of some hour and a half that flitted between Anglish and Arabic, Judoc and Finn at times translating for the others the details that the woman could not convey in the tongue of Megalos.  The group learned at first of the Necromancer, Haj Umr, the stern and militant lord who had expected much but had always protected his village first and foremost.  Then some years ago, the change had come.  The magician who had once been calm with his own people became compulsive and agitated.  Sadda, the blackbird showed up from nowhere, a hideous beast, and those workers who still cooked and cleaned the spaces of the towers began to tell stories of Haj Umr in a slow decent to madness.  The first mention of Perdition coincided with a months long stretch where Haj Umr would disappear for weeks or longer, then reappear in a fit of complete frustration.  Yet, over the winter, the Necromancer had appeared in the village after one of his extended disappearances, telling the elders to gather all the able men, all were needed, any that could so much as swing a sword.  And so the whole male population of al-Hassan was cast off towards the mountains, including the wizard's own apprentice.  The Necromancer initially went with the group, though he reappeared in his tower some days later.

"You save our people."  The elder finishes with a firm nod and it becomes clear to Finn now what is being asked.  To send back the men of al-Hassan... though it is hard to imagine those fighters for the Necromancer will greet them at the first as liberators...

OOC:  It is 1100 on the 11th of May.  Rondald and Gustav have both healed completely from their crippling wounds thanks in part to the ministrations of Judoc's advanced healing magic.  Giles has been unable to come with the group due to his duties at the fort.  Odelia also is absent, having ducked away and disappeared on the resupply trip to Raphael.  In her place, Bjorn, a Nomad from north of the Whitehood Mountains joined the group after hearing talk of treasure and glorious battle.  Karina is neither explicitly here nor not here, as I haven't heard from the player in a few weeks and the character details are still to be ironed out.  Everyone else is present.  Finn is opposing the elder as the spokesman of the group, though the woman understands enough Anglish for anyone to ask questions.  I've tried to speed through things enough to get the pertinent details without writing a novella on all the trivial background details.  Now is your chance to ask in character questions, though keep in mind none of the women have actually been to Perdition.  OOC questions are fine too if they don't fit the IC setting, though I may not have answers for all of them.  Finn, roll vs. Reaction or any appropriate social skill, overall Neutral (+4 for killing the Necromancer, -2 for Magnus, -2 for being being foreign) though Fast Talk etc. is at -1 for your accented Arabic.
This message was last edited by the GM at 16:36, Sat 10 Nov 2018.

Rondald listens to the conversation with interest. He was not particularly religious, though as a seafarer he was always careful not to anger the gods, whoever they may be. His dark complexion could have him mistaken for a local, until he opened his mouth, so he avoided doing that.

The last month had seen him training with weapons in the keep, both with his wife and with the soldier there. Their purchase of two mules to replace the cart was sure to present Terri with some challenges, though she was usually quite good with animals, and this would no doubt improve with these two. They opted for mules due to the smaller stature and less temperamental nature of the animals


[OOC: I notice a few folk have stirrups and Bit and Bridle on small mules; do you intend on riding them? Else a halter is a better option. Gustav, I don't think you can have a bit and bridle with a halter, either.]

It was only the magical arts of his companions that had saved Magnus from an agonizing recovery, or what very likely would have been an injury that would have haunted him for the rest of his days. The smallisj off-white scar on his chest looked almost benign...but the wound had been deep and very nearly fatal.

It was also a terrible irony that after being paid an almost unthinkable sum...Magnus found himself almost unable to spend it. His dream of buying a wagon to live in was somewhat stymied by the logistics involved and the realities of the road. He could not exactly put it into anything like property or a business, and so after weeks of soul searching he spent the vast majority of it on a commission from a reputable armor-smith. Fearing the laws of Megalos he would not even entertain keeping the armor he had hauled home from the east, and he purchased an axe that had supposedly belonged to some northern jarl or chieftan, one of the few weapons he was (more or less) allowed to possess.

He had changed so much in the short time they had known each other, the shared experience giving him a more mature demeanor, and at the same time giving him an edge he had not possessed when they had all first met. But despite their harrowing adventure, at the end of the day he was still the big furry lug they had fought alongside.

When the rumor had started that Finn has looking at setting up another "job", Magnus had lingered even as the days turned into weeks. Steady fare and the rigors of the road had caused him to put on weight and muscle, something he seemed quietly proud of.

Now he had mostly spent his days training, waiting and discreetly keeping an ear out for rumors of work in the case that Finn's plan fell through. It was only when they were standing in the small meeting house trying to glean meaning from the discussion that he realized that they were likely on the verge of another expedition.
This message was last edited by the player at 04:17, Sun 11 Nov 2018.

The ludicrousness of the situation galls Judoc. First, the Templars are contacted to assist the Megalan army in destroying a necromancer, and Finn and Judoc are sent to guarantee the mission's success. Then the army decides they don't want any military action and instead sends in a team the military can disavow should everything go sidewise. And now that an even greater menace exists in the form of vast ruins filled with all manner of unspeakable evil and an apprentice who no doubt wishes to tear down Megalos with whatever weapons he can uncover, the army decides that absolutely none of their assets can be deployed to combat this new, more dangerous threat against Megalos. The whole misadventure is a farce. Too, Judoc misses his old schoolmate. His current companions are more than a match for whatever ragtag group remains of the dead necromancer's minions, but Giles is a dependable, versatile kind of guy, and Judoc feels Giles' absence deeply.

Standing beside Finn, arms crossed, the student mage listens to the village woman's plea to save their menfolk. Unbelievable, to leave the entire town under the leadership of women! Judoc tries his best not to let his disdain spill out, but the arrangement is ridiculous. How in God's name could a group of women protect a village and make any kind of reasonable decisions to protect it? It's a wonder they haven't all starved already.

And just how on Yrth are they supposed to bring back a group of the dead necromancer's henchmen? Typical women. They clearly have not thought through the impracticality of their request. But he has to admit that saving the village's citizens will indebt them to Megalos. It's always good to make friends, especially in places where few allies are to be found.

"They will try kill us," he says in accented Arabic. He shifts uncomfortably. He needs some kind of cream or ointment, but where is he going to get something like that out here? "We kill the wizard with them easy. Then they follow us? You give us something show your men, tell them we save them?"

OOC: Judoc is asking for some kind of sign or symbol that they can show the village men that they've come to free them from their servitude, something they can display that shows the women from the village trust them and have asked them to help.

   It was difficult not to notice the broad-shouldered Northman when the group had met the man in their travels. He was tall - taller than most Megalosians and rose to the height of the Minotaur when he stood at his full height. He was also thick in the chest covered in a mottled chain shirt. Dark stains showed on his left shoulder and his ride side of the armour and the links had been repaired in those places, showing a lighter and newer set of rings. The rest of the man's armour was covered in a darkly tanned leather from head to toe. As might be expected of a Northman, his hair was a dark blonde in colour and stringy, either covered in a leather cap or tied back with a leather strap. His beard was the same colour as his hair and ranged down to cover both his neck and throat. The only concession to fashion with it had been to gather it up and tie it off with a smaller piece of leather. The other notable thing about the man outside of his size was his eyes. They were not just blue but an icy blue that would stare through a man.

   He was Bjorn Bjarnason Hundahaf - one of the few men of the North that had made the journey south from the Clans and into Megalos. How he had managed to make it as far south was anyone's guess, but if the stories told about his people were true, then Hundahaf was likely here for two things - fortune and glory.

   The man's weapons were simple - two axes adorned his belt, one of them slightly thinner than the other, possibly balanced enough to be thrown. He carried a shield readied on his right arm, as opposed to his left, the wooden surface painted black and a stylized red wolf painted against the dark background. On his back was a pack as wide as his shoulders, a burden that caused him to grunt periodically as he walked. He carried the burden by himself as best he could, without complaint and whistling a tune here and there to pass the time. He kept the pack close to himself, using it as a rest for his head when the time came to sleep.

   Hundahaf had been cordial when he'd met the group, sharing his name and met every smile with one of his own when greeted. He only spoke in stilted sentences when he spoke the Imperial Tongue and remained silent when others spoke in other languages. He occasionally frowned at the covered forms of the women, and occasionally shrugged to himself. It was not his own culture ...

   He watched as the others spoke to the townsfolk, and amongst themselves. He said nothing, but for the moment simply watched the dynamic as the other men spoke.

The addition of Bjorn to their company before leaving "Fort Three Corners" had been an unexpected and complex affair for Magnus.

For him the northern lands had always existed in stories, the language one of hearth and home...not necessarily someplace else, and he found himself suddenly, perhaps inexplicably self conscious around the new addition.

The first was obvious, he was untried and untested. He had shed blood and stood shoulder to shoulder with the others, shared campfires and meals, laughed and bled. They had smelled each other day in and day out, had tended to each others wounds. For all their quirks and flaws, Magnus could not help but care for them at this point...they had simply been through so much together.

But Bjorn...Bjorn also represented both a part of what made Magnus who he was, and a part of why his family had fled to the south. While the two were armed and armored almost identically, and likely shared a common tongue, the Minotaur seemed content to keep his distance for the interim, falling back on old habits.

He stood, for the moment, on the other side of the gathering with his arms crossed.
This message was last edited by the player at 04:41, Sun 11 Nov 2018.

Time has been kind to the young mercenary from the mean streets of Azer.  Weeks ago he has completed his third of three successful missions for the Murderers Row, surely his star within that secret organization is on the rise, but far more important is the treasure he and his comrades have justly earned.  Since Razzel came to understand his gift for magic he has greedily sought out teachers and recipe books.  Given the rarity of the latter looting the necromancers library was akin to killing a two headed giant and inheriting its gold.  Like a man in love Finn has been upbeat, silly and giddy as he threw himself into learning new incantations and the formerly unknown tongue of the Arab lands, mostly so he could help in translating other of the looted works.   But the world moves on and so it did for Finn and his companions.  He had initially been reluctant to lead but after putting it on like a new pair of clothes Finn found that it fit him nicely.

As it became clearer that they would embark on the next quest to thwart evil  with the loss of Giles and Odelia Razzel felt that new blood would be essential to success so he began recruiting.  For over a week Finn interviewed several candidates.  Sergeant Barnes, retired from an illustrious military career now turned mercenary seemed like a perfect fit but after the discussions drifted long into the night the young leader learned of Barnes's love for drink.  The love drunk Sergeant was on his 'honeymoon' as it were and couldn't be trusted to stay sober on the job.  Next.  A goblin with a wicked talent swinging a battleaxe going by the moniker of Master Torg looked promising until he declared his skills so good that he deserved three shares.  Can you believe the audacity to be so full of one's own skill and willing to tear the very fabric of the group by demanding a higher share?  Next.  A pleasant fellow Bjorn, a brawny brutish wild man from the north seemed rough around the edges but with nicknames such as Bjorn the Swift and Bjorn Eagle Eye he was happily added to the roster.   Fortunately, or unfortunately depending on your point of view, time expired before Finn had the chance to speak at length with the likes of Swanson the Greasy, Roakus the Gambler, Gorok the Loud and Canara the Dandy.

At the village Finn is tickled to meet with the women and discover their wishes.  This sits fine with Razzel who understands the salvation of imprisoned loved ones expectedly results in fat rewards.  The young leader is smiling, a devilish grin for he is happy.  Joyous that Judoc thought to avoid trouble by identifying them as allies, gleeful to be working again but there is something else.  For those perceptive enough to notice Finn is staring and smiling a little too much at one of the leaders attendants.   Finn turns his attention back to the village elder.  ”What can you tell us of Perdition?  Have you heard any rumors of the evils jailed there?”


OOC:
I took a little liberty with the story boss, I hope I didn't over step.

Finn has spent a lot of time to himself since the last mission due to all kinds of training  but he would let everyone know he's not being anti social.

Finn agrees with Judoc that some kind of sign would be most helpful in convincing the men that we have come on the behalf of their women, to save them.  To that end the most info they can provide us would be appreciated.  Numbers, names and descriptions of the missing men as well as what Judoc asked for.   Is there anyone who escaped from Perdition?

This message was last edited by the player at 01:58, Mon 12 Nov 2018.

Gustav was very concerned that he hadn’t held up his end of the deal, having spent much of the fight out of it, physically and mentally as well for part of it. He needed to prove himself a useful member of the group in his mind. He wanted better armor so that some single blow didn’t fell him again He wanted to not be a burden on others, so he tried to pack his mule heavily, perhaps too heavily, perhaps not, but the load would lighten quickly and he’d be able to carry full water jugs then.
He respected Magnus for his immense strength and rock like stance through thick and thin. Rondald too was a strong fighter. Judoc obviously was a powerful mage who had healed and Finn was a sort of jack of all trades it seemed … perhaps a good thing for being the leader, as he didn’t just use one path to solve problems.
This situation with the army confused him, he thought they were now soldiers of Megalos, but no soldiers were to be sent south, but they were being encouraged to go back. That sounded pretty disingenuous to Gustav. He wondered what their status was in reality.
The new fellow who had joined was from an unfamiliar land, apparently close to where Magnus came from, although they didn’t seem particularly warm toward each other.  Certainly a big strapping fellow, but he’d want to see more before making any final judgement.
Gustav hoped he had thought of everything, although he doubted he had, as one could never be sure exactly what was needed. He’d just have to do the best he could with what he had brought and what he could find.

The elder, Azraa, glances at Judoc as he makes his first dire comment, holding his gaze for a moment before shaking her head and responding to him in the same tongue.  "[Language unknown:  Ur rimo niis oufor rut me n.  Theartill onnd atwe ta wi ort beted intconenc os oneherame i Nahas Ilck, o no bleck ie saur ofad.  Wi uttr enmoad mi beisch t be naesdi.  Ni ainwhimenset bleen waecni ersandhas'compro u liint, ai watio m laron os sidi estillent thadinnte ictha di.  Menurepro ho ughessout sa plwi, u eeers ugh atsa naur stihaters.]"

Looking back at Finn, the woman continues in Anglish.  "Here."  She reaches within the neck of her hijab, pulling out a necklace of woven copper with a leather strap.  "This was a gift from my husband.  Now dead.  It means unity, community.  Some will know it was mine, though all should understand its meaning."

Finn goes on to ask about Perdition, though Azraa simply shakes her head no.  "The men who returned home from the place said little and left again soon.  The stories they did tell were of the trip there, of a harsh climb and of animals mutated beyond recognition."  Azraa shakes her head.  "I could not believe half of what they spoke of, of man-eating plants.  Of warrior ants the size of cats that could swarm and kill a man within seconds.  I do not know if they made it within the temple, though they spoke of an enormous structure, crumbling with age.  I do not know if what Haj Umr believed was true, of the evils imprisoned from the old world.  If it is I can only pray for the men that will be used to open those vaults who will be first exposed to its horrors."

OOC:  No worries about overstepping Finn, I have the same worries sometimes about taking liberties with your character actions.  Judoc and Finn should be able to read the above Arabic while no one else should.  Let me know if either of you two aren't seeing the text.

Neclace Symbol
This message was last edited by the GM at 18:13, Mon 12 Nov 2018.

Finn listens to the woman speak in her native tongue.  The young mans reaction is interested, calm and calculating.  When she wraps up he takes his turn.  Razzel has not mastered this foreign tongue but he has enough of the basic vocabulary and pronunciation that his Megalosian accent is what is most notable now.   [Language unknown: &#inOulomemen und thoio po.  Waacal fienne ul wited sti.  Tinicaill o wewh erate il ecee he hisastint Art Tioithwhi thicos ncestasanrut adiere Nteithati.  U inglester nd ta, arare est bemi k e iththacom.&#korte]  Finn nods politely.

The elder Azraa hands over a necklace and the young leader takes it eagerly while flashing a bright smile.  ”Primo Chief.  This'll go a long way to showing the men we're on their side.”, Finn says with a wink as he pockets the pendant.

Next the village elder segues to speaking candidly about what horrors infest the ruins called Perdition.  Finn becomes mesmerised, entranced as he drinks in all that she has to say.  When she concludes Finn wastes no time in asking about the rumors she's heard.


OOC:
I don't think you've ever over stepped boundaries with my character boss.  Slight deviation is fine in the name of story telling.  As long as you don't run me into any permanent action, such as loosing money, gaining an enemy, loosing appendages, etc, feel free to adlib a bit. (I know you wouldnt do any of the above)

Put the unity necklace in a belt pouch.

Finn will ask the trio, the leader and her two attendants about every story they heard about the odd kind of life encountered at Perdition.  Giant insects, living man-eating plants, he wants to hear about anything and everything.  Finn wants to be prepared as much as possible.  Both mentally and physically.  We don't need to play it out for my sake.  One thought Finn has is that a swarm of even 20 giant ants could be disastrous for us.  Splashing a swarm with oil and lighting them on fire could do a lot to weaken them.  Does the village have any oil they'd be willing to spare?

"Good idea. Can we get something to show other patrols along the way we have a right to be here as well, and armed?"

The thought occurred to him that his pirate hunters license might not be recognized here...
This message was last edited by the GM at 21:26, Mon 12 Nov 2018.

Rondald's question is met with a look of mild confusion and annoyance from Azraa as she leans forward, still addressing Finn.  "What right?  You kill Haj Umr, and for that we thank you.  The right is that which you take.  Use it to free our men, send them home, then you have right to be here at all."  Azraa settles back in her chair, the small spurt of anger played out for the moment.  "It matter little anyway, the temple lies in the mountains, there are no villages, no patrols.  Only nests of gryphon and slorn.  Show them what you wish it matters nothing."

At Finn's word of thanks, Azraa nods simply.  He addresses his questions to the three of them in Arabic, though again it is Azraa who answers.  [Language unknown: "K tear ma ekek, itouac utlat m aluthi, hestal ie er ckac!"]  Each word is punctuated like a knife thrust and it taker her a moment before she reverts back to Anglish for the whole group.  "None of them thought we, or any others, were to follow.  Many details were kept from us, thinking to keep us from fear.  The stories we hear were general.  Ants as high as a man's knee, plants that devoured a man whole...  It was not their words, but their fear that we listened to.  They say everything was big - animals, insects... then they leave, they do not return."

Chewing on the meaning and the delivery of those words, Finn glances around the room, noticing a slight frown on the attendant to the left as her eyes are diverted to the side of the room.

OOC:  Finn, roll vs. IQ-4.  Everyone else has the option to roll vs. IQ-4 as well, please PM me if any of the rolls succeed (or critically fail)

In reply to Raddek (msg # 15):

Rondald found some comfort in the news that they were not expected to encounter any humans. Last thing he wanted was to be responsible for a war against those he was trying to help, even if such help was for selfish reasons. Not noticing anything else, he waits for the others to move before preparing to leave.


When the meeting is over, he will suggest Terri buy a local covering to fit in with the local women, at least eternally.

Finn, speak to their leader, you insult her when you seek to speak with her subordinates. She is becoming very agitated. And only you should be speaking with her.

Gustav doesn't like having to butt in, but it is clear Finn is about to cause more harm than good. Judoc too must be careful, we would certainly have enough enemies without more behind us.

Cocking an eyebrow, Judoc glances over at Gustav. He grunts at the censure. Crossing his arms, Judoc turns back and looks at Finn, and then at the village elder. It figures. This is what happens when women are left in charge -- they take slights at every little thing that goes against their rigid, labyrinthine systems of rules.

For now, Judoc holds his peace, attempting to fight down the annoyance beginning to build inside him. Sure, sure, they'll kill the apprentice, get their menfolk back, and prevent whatever evil lies within Perdition from spilling out into the civilized world. Dog-sized ants and man-eating plants? They'll burn like anything else.

Finn nods in acknowledgment to the swordsman.  ”Its ok Gustav.”

For a brief moment Razzel scours the insides of his mind for relevant questions but finds he has scraped the bottom of the proverbial barrel.  ”Well then ladies.  'Less you got any questions or requests for us, I think we've bent your ears plenty.”


OOC:
I'm done with this scene unless the NPCs have anything special they want.

   Bjorn watched the others speaking, part of it in the Imperial tongue, while other parts were strange and almost alien to his ears. It hadn't been all that long ago that Megalosian itself was little more than jibberish to him, and he simply kept walking about slowly after resting his back against one of the walls and growling at anyone who came close enough to be curious. The smells of the place were also unfamiliar, spices he'd never encountered, and food that was as different to his taste buds as their speech was to his ears.

   He waited, seeming more patient than he felt, as he sat and tossed one of his axes at the ground. This was the smaller one and showed that it was indeed balanced for throwing. He tossed it into the dirt where it was amenable - he wasn't foolish enough to break the weapon casting it against stone - for a while as he watched the others.

   He'd noted the Horned One first - there had been tales from the Skalds that spoke about such Beast-Men, most of them being more beast than anything else. Bjorn kept his distance from him and kept a watch on him, in case the former took control and made things deadlier. The Fisherman - at least that was the hint of what he smelled on the man when he'd come close once - appeared straightforward enough when he spoke. It was a quality that he shared with the man and he'd nodded in agreement with him on this or that occasion when their intentions seemed to align. He also noted that the woman who travelled with them kept close to the Seafarer's side. She had chosen him, and that was fine with Bjorn.

   The other men were still a bit of a mystery to the thickly muscled Northman. The blond, named Gustaf, seemed down to earth and spoke as plainly as any man. He sounded at times much like an Elder or spoke in tones that might have shown him a bit wiser than his years, and his correction of the other man, the dark-bearded Hunter, only more firmly held the belief to him that the man was either an Elder or something close to a leader.

   The last one gave cause for Bjorn to grunt and shake his head. He was confident, overly so to the point of arrogance, and appeared to have a personality of a young wolf who was more about proving himself than anything else. He also noted the manner in which he regarded the womenfolk of the small village. He'd grunted and chuckled when he considered how the members of his Clan might note the man's looking down his nose at a woman. He was at least smart enough to only look and say nothing - if he ever voiced his opinion, Bjorn had never heard it - Praise the Allfather. He would be one to watch ... there was something about him that seemed off. He couldn't put a finger on it as yet, but he'd keep an eye out like a raven.

   He rose when the Hunter was finished and began to shoulder the heavy pack with a grunt. "Where," he asked in his deep but lilted Viking tones, "Where are we headed?"

---

OOC: Just waiting on a direction.