Port Zangerios

[OGRE MAGE]

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[OGRE MAGE]

Generally not a place where folks of good intention go deliberately, Port Zangerios is not completely void of its charms and treasures. Though not known for it by reputation, there is a thriving upper middle class society that dominates ares of the city, where people with coin and certain desires are allowed to enjoy the finer things in life. Those neighborhoods are off limits to rabble like you however, and heavily patrolled by the city guard, so you have never seen them.

Your version of the city looks (and smells) quite worse. After years of neglect by any type of governing body, since there was never any effective way to control the terrible violence and constant shifting of power from one faction to the next anyway, every port in the city and all the areas surrounding them have been in an unremitting state of lawlessness for decades.

Though there is still plenty of legal commerce practiced, and a very profitable fishing economy, most of the wharf, docks, and warehouse districts have been overrun with racial segregation, warring guilds, taverns, brothels, gaming houses, lotus dens, and every other place of ill repute known to man. Corruption of all manner is prevalent in everyday society, and violence in the streets is commonplace. The many secret cult-like guilds vying for power and control of profits routinely add to the growing number of murders and kidnappings the city is also well known for.

You, of course, find yourself right in the middle of this murky underbelly that comprises the mean and dirty streets of Port Zangerios. People still mill about the avenues and markets like they do in most cities, doing daily business with their faces covered in handcrafted masks, but the subdued yet volatile atmosphere here is unlike any other city in Hyperborea. Though the tradition of face covering seems foreign to most travelers just passing through, It becomes evident quickly that the locals take this very seriously.

More to come....

[Old Duergar]

A diminutive and extremely lanky figure lost in the throngs of humanity of Port Zangerios, Kumaglak is easy to miss, mask or no mask on, mainly due to the fact that he steps nimbly and furtively about, spending as little time on the streets as possible and keeping a low profile. The Esquimaux's day begins at dawn: at that time, he engages his craft of being a capable salter at the Port's fishing and meat market, curing meat and cutting fish for whomever pays best. For some reason, the Esquimaux's meats and fish are always frozen to delicious perfection and can outlast many rigours on the way to the dishes of the powerful and rich of the Port. As a result, his services are often requested.

Around midday, the young man's day takes a stranger turn. Still reeking of animal blood and fish guts, he turns to the house of a disappeared Hyperborean Cryomancer named Muraxul who has engaged him a few months as his sole servant. Or so the local gossip has it, baffled at how a man of such beauty and eloquence could have such bad taste in his choice of servant; and what a horrible, boorish mask that crude peasant is bearing! Every now and then, a mystical book or Hyperborean bauble finds its way to the Port's avid pawnshops. If asked about such, Kumaglak will offer a polite smile or a grunted shrug. The same is offered if queried on his master's lengthy absence.

Kumaglak spends the remainder of his day in Muraxul's residence, a man of few social graces and with no friends. Lost in study of his master's writings, he tries his best to maintain a facade of normalcy in Muraxul's affairs, especially as far as the Hyperborean's correspondence with his peers goes, with varying amounts of success. Seeking to absorb as much of his master's knowledge as possible before his inevitable eviction, Kumaglak stalls for time while seeking to take in as much of his master's knowledge as possible.

At nighttime, the Esquimaux indulges himself in decadence and strange luxury: a hopeless sugar addict, he seeks the most secretive and debased of parlours, where he can mix sugar with strange herbs from all over Hyperborea, many of them being mild hallucinogens. He will char the precious sugar mix in thick chunks and rub it to his gums, or even consume it raw in an exceedingly disgusting display of gluttony, much to the delight of the parlour's owners, who relish at his steady patronage. His excesses often leave him in torpor and senseless rambling. Were any careful listener to keep an ear on them, he would often realise a stream of references to someone or something called the Ashen Worm in the crude Esquimaux tongue, as well as various dread-ridden references to the Plateau of Leng.

[Scott308]

Periodically throughout the day, a curious, blue-green skinned young man can be spotted swimming offshore. Recognizable as an Atlantean by the gill-slits on his neck, he seems the only one willing to enter the water of the crowded port.

At night, he spends time in the service of Rel, god of thieves. Always on the lookout for items of worth left unattended, he survives through the unknowing donations made by the inattentive shopkeepers and citizens of Port Zangerios. With no particular place to call home, he sleeps where he is able and eats what he can.

[shaidar]

Xenos drags himself to wakefulness, covered in a cold sweat, fighting to escape the dream. Not just any dream, that dream. The one where he is captured and returned to Yithorium and his punishment is to be used in his fathers necromantic experiments, always ending in him being trapped in his own decaying corpse, a puppet of his fathers twisted will. Even though it is almost three months since he arrived at Port Zangerios he still suffers from it two or three times a week. Seeing the wane dawn light through the thin curtains he decides he might as well get up.

He looks around the sparse room, barely ten foot across. It's not much but it's better than being on the streets at night, as he learned when he first arrived. Not many would want to take a job as a guard in a brothel, but the money was regular, nobody asks questions, and the room was available at a very cheap price. He washes in the tepid water from the bowl on the night-stand, dresses, and dons his patchwork mask. Grabbing his armour and sword he heads downstairs. On the rickety stairs he returns the nods of a group of brothel workers, two women and a man, no doubt heading up to bed after a busy night. Coming from the Zakath desert their casual near-nakedness does not bother him, nor does their occupation. People need to make money to survive and at least these people have a choice.

Downstairs he enters the small common room available to those that work in the brothel to find it empty. Needing to warm himself up he makes himself a cup of tea and checks and cleans his weapons and armour. Once satisfied, he decides it is time to head out into the streets. Despite his nightmares, in the last few weeks he has grown more confident that his father is not going to magically appear and whisk him back to Yithorium and so has decided to explore and learn his way around the port, but carefully, as all cities are the same...they may have different names but the dangers are just as deadly. Heading out into the cool dawn streets he finds they are already bustling. He goes to his favourite bakers and buys breakfast, a warm pastry filled with bacon and mushrooms. He watches the bustle as he eats, pondering the day ahead. He's on the early shift, so he doesn't need to be back at the brothel until mid-afternoon. It's time to find better job, as being a brothel guard will not protect him from his father in the long run, he needs money, power, and magic. Breakfast finished, he brushes the crumbs off of his mismatched clothes and decides to start by heading in the direction of the docks to see if there are any new rumours, or jobs, around.

[Rex]

Drest

Drest picked himself up, making sure he wasn't hurt to bad and fixing his stupid mask. Turning back to the tavern he had just been thrown out of, rather violently. "GFYS!" Dam, he thought to himself, that's the third time tonight. Usually its not till after midnight before that happens. He starts down the alley, looking for somewhere to spend the night. Not to much later he comes across a good spot to stay out of any rain that might come along and keep an eye on the docks. He plops himself down and tries to cover up with his cloak and get some rest. Maybe my luck will change in the morning and I will find some work in this god forsaken place.

[OGRE MAGE]

I’ll give you early guys something to do while we wait.

Kumaglak goes about his daily routine of bloody work and decadent indulgence over and over, day after day, month after month, until he starts to forget what day it even is anymore. This new life in the city is a far cry from anything he experienced growing up on the dreaded Plain of Leng, and the ease of finding the thing he’s grown addicted to is proving difficult to resist.

After a long and dearly expensive night of extreme indulgence on the sweetness he can’t get enough of, he finds himself at a near crawl through the back gutters, making his way home to his missing master Muraxul‘s house. As he rounds the final corner, he finds an unsettling sight outside the man’s small home in which he now squats. A pair of slim, gaunt men, easily 7 feet tall, with milk white skin and dark, slanted eyes stand outside the man’s door. Never being known to possess good dispositions, these native Hyperboreans are wearing exceptionally angry expressions.

Action?

[OGRE MAGE]

Finding what he thought was a great place to live for a while, in a hidden dirty alcove in a courtyard behind a huge Viking tavern in the Docks, it appeared that Euripides, one of Port Zangerios’s many petty thief’s, was about to get evicted before he could even redecorate. Being kicked awake by an enormous 7 foot Viking, the huge man yells for a moment....

“Get up ya free loadin bastard, before I chop ya up an use ya fer bait!” But after he gets a better look at the Atlantean, his tone softens slightly. “Hey! We don’t see many a yer kind around here. What’s yer tale, boy?” The huge, hairy man bursts out laughing at his own joke, possibly still drunk from last night. “Ya get that one boy? What’s yer...tail?”

Action?

[OGRE MAGE]

Drest is an imposing figure, even when sleeping off a drunk on the mean streets of some other port he will likely be kicked out of eventually. At least nobody makes him wear his stupid mask while he sleeps.

The shirtless and heavily tattooed Pict is not surprised when he is awoken to the slightest sound of a footstep in a nearby wet puddle. His well trained ears remind his cold, steely eyes to snap open, revealing a dark hooded figure creeping towards him from the early morning shadows.

Action!

[OGRE MAGE]

Xenos is perfectly happy to wear his patchwork mask to hide his chiseled facial features through the bustling morning streets, knowing that his fathers servants of evil could be looking for him at any moment. He secretly doubted that he would ever shake the paranoia of being found and captured by some horrid lich, but at least the mask made him look over his shoulder a little less.

Remembering one of the many clients from last night drunkenly babbling about a meeting involving a possible job somewhere in the Docks district, the spellsword gravitates to that area after his usual breakfast. Taking the long way through the back alleys, hoping to familiarize himself with the layout of the city eventually, the mixed blood newcomer eventually finds himself in a large courtyard with no other exit.

This large open area isn’t vacant, however, as the aspiring warlock sees 2 rather large Viking types currently harassing a few people who appear to be transients, using the nooks and crannies of this area as a temporary shelter to sleep in. One of the men is kicking and swatting at a half asleep, half naked pair of regretful lovebirds, and getting a little too rough with the male squatter.

Action?

[Rex]

Drest

Drest will grab his sword and shield and get to his feet. "What do you want, I am not worth robbing if that is what you are thinking of doing."

If the figure moves to attack him he will defend himself, otherwise he will wait and see what happens.

Broad sword [1d20] = 19 to hit [1d8+1] = 1+1 = 2 damage

[shaidar]

Xenos

Xenos takes in the scene and realises his navigation skills leave a lot to be desired. He turns to leave, but then pauses and turns back. Chiding himself for getting involved in affairs that do not concern him, he wonders if he might kill two lizards with one stone.

He calls out to the vikings in common "Morning friends. Sorry to bother you while you are...busy, but I seem to have taken a wrong turn. Could you give me directions to the docks, I hear rumours of jobs for those with a strong sword arm"

[Scott308]

Euripides Nereos

Finding what he thought was a great place to live for a while, in a hidden dirty alcove in a courtyard behind a huge Viking tavern in the Docks, it appeared that Euripides, one of Port Zangerios’s many petty thief’s, was about to get evicted before he could even redecorate. Being kicked awake by an enormous 7 foot Viking, the huge man yells for a moment....

“Get up ya free loadin bastard, before I chop ya up an use ya fer bait!” But after he gets a better look at the Atlantean, his tone softens slightly. “Hey! We don’t see many a yer kind around here. What’s yer tale, boy?” The huge, hairy man bursts out laughing at his own joke, possibly still drunk from last night. “Ya get that one boy? What’s yer...tail?”

Blinking the sleep out of his eyes, Euripedes is slow to wake. Stretching as he stands up, he chooses to ignore the insult. No story, just too drunk to make it very far last night, so I fell asleep here. I'll just be on my way now, if you don't mind. He tries to slip past the Atlanteans as he speaks.

[Old Duergar]

I’ll give you early guys something to do while we wait.

Kumaglak goes about his daily routine of bloody work and decadent indulgence over and over, day after day, month after month, until he starts to forget what day it even is anymore. This new life in the city is a far cry from anything he experienced growing up on the dreaded Plain of Leng, and the ease of finding the thing he’s grown addicted to is proving difficult to resist.

After a long and dearly expensive night of extreme indulgence on the sweetness he can’t get enough of, he finds himself at a near crawl through the back gutters, making his way home to his missing master Muraxul‘s house. As he rounds the final corner, he finds an unsettling sight outside the man’s small home in which he now squats. A pair of slim, gaunt men, easily 7 feet tall, with milk white skin and dark, slanted eyes stand outside the man’s door. Never being known to possess good dispositions, these native Hyperboreans are wearing exceptionally angry expressions.

Action?

Kumaglak

His muddled wits quickly sobering up at the sight of the wrathful Hyperboreans, the diminutive Esquimaux bends almost to a hunchbacked stance, hissing to himself: "Unmasked, eh? They must be either fools or way too powerful, eh? So -they- think!"". Rubbing his aflame gums one last time and wincing instantly, his sunken eyes focus on the unwanted visitors and he puts on a plain, nondescript, cowled mask saved just for such an occasion.

Assuming an extremely slow pace, he would then head towards the duo, clasping a worn wooden bowl with a single coin it and rattling it at odd intervals. "Alms for th' poooooor", he would rasp throatily followed by a servile and utterly pathetic whimper, "the Mighties' crumbs and the Masters' leftovers!" and he would rattle the makeshift almsbox now and then. He would maintain his hunchbacked and slow gait afterwards, eager to glean what the Hyperboreans might discuss between them in his master's tongue and take a better look at them.

[OGRE MAGE]

Drest

Drest will grab his sword and shield and get to his feet. "What do you want, I am not worth robbing if that is what you are thinking of doing."

If the figure moves to attack him he will defend himself, otherwise he will wait and see what happens.

Broad sword [1d20] = 19 to hit [1d8+1] = 1+1 = 2 damage

The hooded figure is on Drest in a heartbeat, leaving him time only to hop up from the ground and get his large blade out in front of him. Fortunately, that’s all it takes.

The dagger wielding robber lunges forward just as the Pict’s broadsword is raised, its sharpened tip actually slipping through the man’s tunic and slicing into his abdomen a few inches. The surprised attacker immediately stops his aggression with a muted hiss, the blade tip still stuck through his skin, causing it to bleed.

Unable to reach his target without impaling himself further, the dark robed figure rears his head back and pulls away from the cold steel, holding his wound with one dirty hand. Under his hood Drest can see that he was about to be robbed by a mere child, a boy of about 13 years. He doesn’t wear a mask, but his entire face is painted with some dull red dye.

Appearing initially about to turn and run, he hisses through gritted teeth instead. “Damn that hurts. Not real bad, but still hurts.” The boy’s eyes flutter back and forth between watching Drest and looking at his bloody minor wound.

Action?

[OGRE MAGE]

Kumaglak

His muddled wits quickly sobering up at the sight of the wrathful Hyperboreans, the diminutive Esquimaux bends almost to a hunchbacked stance, hissing to himself: "Unmasked, eh? They must be either fools or way too powerful, eh? So -they- think!"". Rubbing his aflame gums one last time and wincing instantly, his sunken eyes focus on the unwanted visitors and he puts on a plain, nondescript, cowled mask saved just for such an occasion.

Assuming an extremely slow pace, he would then head towards the duo, clasping a worn wooden bowl with a single coin it and rattling it at odd intervals. "Alms for th' poooooor", he would rasp throatily followed by a servile and utterly pathetic whimper, "the Mighties' crumbs and the Masters' leftovers!" and he would rattle the makeshift almsbox now and then. He would maintain his hunchbacked and slow gait afterwards, eager to glean what the Hyperboreans might discuss between them in his master's tongue and take a better look at them.

Noting instantly that these men are without masks doesn’t make Kumaglak feel any better about his chances, but he heads their way all the same. Doing his best to blend in with the other street rabble, changing his mask first proves to be a very good idea. One of the native Hyperboreans looks directly at the Esquimaux as he approaches, but then looks away again at another passerby on the busy street.

When he gets close enough, Kumaglak hears the gaunt men speaking to each other in hushed tones.

“He could be any one of these disgusting savages.”

“Yes. Would you rather we stop and interrogate every diseased creature in this sewer?”

“No. This location alone makes my head hurt.”

Once the quasi-beggar passes the men, one of them wrinkles up his alien nose slits, sniffing the air.

“Hey! Can you smell that?”

“Sugar!?!?”

Both of the tall men begin frantically sniffing around, apparently looking for the source of this odd smell.

Action?

[OGRE MAGE]

Still slapping violently at the male, the huge Viking doesn’t even turn around to acknowledge Xenos’s words. The female of that duo finally wises up enough to grab her meager belongings and run away, past the aspiring warlock and out into the streets, dressing as she runs.

The other massive Viking is currently engaged in kicking a third squatter in his ass as he also tries to leave the area peacefully. The brute yells in common as he kicks. “But I do mind! The boss don’t like sewer rats sleepin in his streets fer free! So if I see yer dead skin ass around here again, I won’t be so nice!”

Xenos can see that this young man is obviously Atlantean, with a blueish skin tone, long blonde hair, and bright yellow eyes that shine from under his black and purple leather mask.

The Viking stops kicking at Euripides and half heartedly answers the lost Xenos as the two pass.

“If yer looking fer the docks, you already found em. If yer really lookin fer work......”, the massive man looks the brothel bouncer up and down. “...yer about 12 hours too early!”

[Scott308]

Euripides Nereos

Happy for the distraction provided by the newcomer, Euripides takes the opportunity to move away from the Viking thug. Getting to the edge of the alcove, the Atlantean turns back, looking at the thug. He then casts Create Water above the Viking, causing the water to fall on him. When the Viking looks in his direction, Euripides will offer an obscene gesture and then hightail it out of the area.

[Rex]

Drest

"It will hurt a lot more if you don't scram. The only thing I have of worth is this sword and the only way your taking it is to the grave. Now scram and clean that wound before you get the wound sickness."

Drest will let him go, only striking if he must to defend himself.

Broad sword, subdual strike [1d20] = 12 to hit [1d8+1] = 2+1 = 3 damage

[shaidar]

Xenos

“If yer looking fer the docks, you already found em. If yer really lookin fer work......”, the massive man looks the brothel bouncer up and down. “...yer about 12 hours too early!”

Unsure as to whether that was intended as an insult or not, Xenos scowls and his hand slips down to his sword pommel. He opens his mouth to reply, when...

Euripides Nereos

Happy for the distraction provided by the newcomer, Euripides takes the opportunity to move away from the Viking thug. Getting to the edge of the alcove, the Atlantean turns back, looking at the thug. He then casts Create Water above the Viking, causing the water to fall on him. When the Viking looks in his direction, Euripides will offer an obscene gesture and then hightail it out of the area.

Surprised, Xenos fails to suppress a loud guffaw. Still smiling he replies to the man "Well, I'll be on my way and let you deal with the unusual weather we seem to be having"

Keeping a wary eye on the Viking he turns to leave the courtyard to retrace his steps and find a better route.

If the VIking makes an aggressive move then as soon as he is within the 30' range he will command the man to "die".