Head to the tower markets (?) and see if there is anyone who can tell us why the seniors are meeting. Also browse whilst we are there - we have a favour, after all.
((Also, this is giving me Gaiman kinda impressions. Keep up the good work ))
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Do we have any friends worth noting in the Underworld? If yes, might want to visit them if we have nothing overly important to do at the moment.
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You head on, towards the unstructured mass of the marketplaces. Stalls and mausoleum-stone shops crowd the feet of the narrow towers surrounding the center of the Underworld, like something organic growing from the even, narrow spires. There is no bustle; there are thousands of markets across worlds greater and more impressive than this. The tastes of Guides are limited - most items are practical, tools, weapons, what supplies an immortal needs - though there are those who cater to the tastes of Guides who crave mortal sensations and wealth.
You approach the Silk Spire, the most central of the tower markets. The silver gates of the pyramid are close ahead, the approach visible from the market. The towers here are linked by vast strands of silk, bringing color from across the spectrum to the bleakness. They flutter above as if blown by a gentle wind - though there is no such thing in the Underworld.
Few Guides deign to be merchants. Others, trusted associates, are allowed to stay here and peddle their goods, within limits. You recognize the small mountain of the Malefer, an uneven, hollow mound of dirt, rocks and whatever the creature has found, all gathered into one structure. The creature's pinprick eyes stare out from inside, steady and watching. On its walls you see weapons of various makes, some glowing faintly with power, sets of armor, magical foci and tools, devices of both technological and arcane origin, and countless things you cannot guess the purpose of - little bags of seeds or powders, smooth stones rippling with impossible color, asymmetric masks or possibly cut-off faces, as well as a shaky shelf of scrolls, papers, little reading machines and other, stranger means of storing knowledge.
Other merchants call out from their stalls, their voices seemingly reluctant to break the grave-silence of the Underworld. Guides meander through, pausing occasionally. You search them for familiar faces, or forms, anyway, but you are found before you find them.
A towering, muscular man with skin the color of dead flesh approaches you with a jovial smile. His form is his usual one, evoking death by drowning; his speciality. He hums a
macabre little tune as he comes near. Rough, broad features look down on you - the Whaler's eyes are perfect black orbs, but you have seen far stranger sights among your brethren.
'Well met, Janitor,' he breathes, with a voice like grinding stone.
'What news from the filth and the grime?'He is accompanied by another Guide, stepping softly in his wake. [Will 5: 2+4=6,
Success] Her beauty is striking, and right away you know supernaturally so. You do not let her glamour trick your eyes and senses, seeing only a set of features, simply a face like any other - a pity, perhaps. Lush black hair flows down like spring water, tossed over to one side, complemented by rich dark skin. The Guide wears a gold-trimmed dress, with a belt holding a scale and a narrow dagger. She says nothing, only bowing her head in greeting.
>?