[IC] Of concrete and terror

[tibbius]

The city of Sargolis, mighty and fallen, once was home to masses who lived lives of sense and order. Despite the corruption of the city or the nightmares its enemies raised up against it, it at least functioned enough to support those thousands. For a time.

Now it is home to hundreds.

To be a Sargolan is to have seen devastation and to have lost almost all. It is to know that the risen dead and their masters in the dark stole the treasures of your city, hoarded once by the wealthy, and that the dead dragged those riches down to the caverns and catacombs below. It is to have seen the armies of other nations purge the surface of your city, burning and smashing, and then depart, leaving a squatting governance behind to extract payment for the favour of the devastation they performed.

It is, perhaps, to spit on your hands and decide: You want the treasure below. You want revenge against the dead for the ruin of your city. You want to eat more than stale crust and drink more than flat water.

It's not hard to find a pathway
down into the dark.

Making this decision changes who you are, as decisions have a way of doing. It makes you a delver, and delvers travel in crews. The troubles below rarely move alone, and nor should you. So spend what little you've scrimped and saved, arm yourself as best you can, and then gather together with your fellow delvers, and prepare for the descent.

[seanfsmith]

Champion Imanikilat sits at a low table, surrounded by cheer, hangers-on, and the loneliness of the famous. She wears fresh clothes tailored to look like her fighting armours. Her superficial wounds have been treated with a thick clear creme that increases the crass red colour of the clotting cuts. To be known, to be rich; these things are simple. But to have tried and tested and found true glory below... Someone knocks over Keelat's untouched cup but Keelat is the one who apologises

[tibbius]

The room smells - reeks - of incense, a bitter citrus odor that pierces a sweet thick tropical floral scent. The flowers in the smoke are local, a type long ago imported and long since adapted to the drier climate of Sargolis. The citrus comes from a bit further, toward the rainy coast.

The room is not thick with people. Of the roughly forty hundreds who dwell in the City Above, perhaps twenty are here tonight. The city once was metropolitan, and more recently pillaged, there is no particular type of physique or tone of skin among those who remain.

A servant approaches the table, around which all of you sit with Keelat. She regards you as hangers-on, perhaps. The truth - is more complex.

Before the servant offers to pour that pitcher of thin white wine, tell us: who are you, and how do you appear?

[Squid]

Tenota is relaxing in his chair, mindlessly swirling his mostly empty glass as he stares out the nearby window contemplating the latest fall. What is it about Sargolis that makes it a target for marauders and what will it take for this once great city to return to greatness?

He's wearing a long fine white shirt tied at the waste. The extra fabric draped over his long legs covering his brownish pants. His slightly messy hair hanging long around his ears and neck. Even while sitting he's noticeably taller than the average Sargolian.

The tipped over glass snaps Tenota out of his thoughts just in time to avoid getting a lap full of wine. Annoyed at the loss of drink more than the person who caused it, he reaches for his coin purse, determined to right the situation. Taking time for a simple glass of wine is a luxury these days and he wants to be sure his companions are able to enjoy it as much as he is.

[Algernon]

Tenorivan (know simply as Van) sits with an air of disquiet, his senses confused and assaulted by the powerful incense. Nonetheless, he sits, unmoving, silent and stoic, his flowing black hair clean yet disheveled. His clothes are clean and simple, of an earth tone color, not quite mud, not quite bark or moss. His dark knowing eyes scan the servant, searching for clues behind her shimmering eyes, in her gestures, her movement. His nose will nod imperceptibly if she makes eye contact, but he will not speak first. The time for words would come soon enough. The time to delve is upon him and he knows it. The days had become long in the Above. His hands twitched in anticipation, but his eyes told nothing. His disciplined patience idled him, so he waited, patiently for the moment. When the battle comes there will be no hesitation. His training will have ensured this.

[tibbius]

Someone gets up and leaves the room, brushing aside the heavy leather drape that covers the exit. Hot sunlight streams in; you have whiled away an afternoon evening and part of a morning, here in the incense and odor of wine.

"Mighty Imanikilat," insinuates a weedy fellow with a blond topknot on a head otherwise shaved to stubble, "surely your hands weary of winecups and long for the feeling of steel sunk into a foe. Boast of the glories you'll win, when next you delve." He smirks. "Or would you rather join us at the Aqueduct?"

[Squid]

Tenota raises an eyebrow at the offer. Curious about the Aqueduct, he spins in his chair to face the man. "What, my good man, would be happening at the Aqueduct?"

[seanfsmith]

Imanikilat reaches for her drink, but stops midway. Her face splits in a grin.

"Friend, you speak the truth, you've a strong eye. There's no glory to be found in the dregs of a wineskin, but in the smell of sweat and the grunt of desperate fight. To bring back the wonders of beneath and see the mark of wonder in the faces of the city people." She sits up squarely. "I have lived so long in the eye of the people here. To fight while their eyes are averted is just proof enough to be sure I have the skills you all think I do."

[tibbius]

"Topknot" winks at Tenota. "The best folk of the city gather by the Aqueduct, to have first sips of the cool glacier water," he answers. "Always there's a need for strong hands, to keep the rabble where they belong." He glances around the smoky room and ineffectually fans a drift of incense away from his disdainful face. Then he stands up, and bows to Keelat. "You know how to find us," he says with a smirk. He starts to leave.