OOC Thread
The Labyrinth looms overhead. Twin discs, each several kilometers wide, stacked on top of each other, form a cap over the labyrinth whose true purpose is unknown. Its secondary purpose, however, is well-known; it brings forth periodic rains which nurture the wildlife beneath the labyrinth's mighty shadow, forming a dense woodland area many villagers call home. Some build their homes in the trees and spread out tarps to catch the life-giving rains from above. Others live in more conventional villages such as Lockholm, a sizeable village of thatched roofs and brick housing. But with its prime location at the Maw of the great laybrinth, it sports sprawling marketplaces selling entering challengers.
"Hear ye, hear ye," shouts the almoner on the streetside. A metal carriage drawn by a hovering drone rolls by, in an instant revealing lines of paupers standing by and awaiting reprisal.
"The baron of Livermort has ordered the dispensation of alms for the assistance of the poor... All who work the land and tend the crops are welcome, as are the crafters, laborers, and artisans. To him who wears a sword, let your livings be made elsewhere."
"Almoner," shouts the baron, who stands at his courtier's side.
"There are many poor here, too many for our stores,""Milord?"
"The number of poor. We don't have enough.""Should I call off the almsgiving, then?"
"Nonsense! Send to the mansion, have them auction off all the lavish furniture in the mansion, and purchase cheap ones from the craftsmen in the village. The carpenters own their wage, and the poor deserve their aid. None will go hungry."
The next day...The village marketplace is less busy at this hour than usual, thanks in no part to a recent uptick in the price of furniture. A lone glassblower sweeps the dust off his shop after a deluge of sales, while most of the restaurants are about now dumping their waste food and trash into the alleys. Tinkers are locking up their goods in transparent polymer cases, instruments of mass destruction in a handheld package with a glazed finish. But for the most part, there are no adventurers in sight; all have entered the labyrinth, and by the looks of the Sisters kneeling by a candlelight vigil, none have since returned.
There are five people present, of course, who do not fall into the above categories. They are not here to sell anything. Not
here, at least. And they are no longer adventurers: by a stroke of genius or luck, the band got together on the grounds that most adventurers are sorely lacking in equipment, and the best way to progress further into the dungeon is to in fact establish a shop deep inside, where adventurers can purchase supplies, medical kits, and priceless artifacts sure to help them in combat.
The group was first organized by
Gilles Charron, a friendly Aurogen machinist with a penchant for robotics. Then came the esoteric
Raioyris, an experienced wanderer who always seemed to pose more questions than he found answers; Mr. Charron could not possibly refuse a curiosity of such magnitude. They were joined by a morbid puppet who called himself
Millenus, and a machine calling itself
Foreman of some kind of mining operation. And if one robot with a fleet of oddly-muscular metallic men with drills wasn't enough, an industrious denizen of the Labyrinth called
Wilbur insisted he knew the way. To the important bits, at least.
The party of five enter the village; a travelling peddler tries to sell them a rare and expensive jewel from the labyrinth, a powerful weapon able to rend armies on its own. "It even talks!" he shrieks with great effort. But then an officer of the peace, a woman in dark blue uniform, wearing a knight's helm, visor-up, with a badge hanging from the feather-crest.
"Hey you! We have strict anti-slavery laws. You're not allowed to sell that here. In fact..." She looks at the party.
"I trust that you fine gentlemen can take care of this weapon while I bring him to the station?"
With great protest, the peddler is deprived of
SO5lgs, now in the hands of the party. A talking gun. Who knew those existed?
Fate has it that there are many things to be seen. Perhaps treasure, perhaps glory, perhaps peril.
Author
Topic: Exmortal (IC Thread) (Read 49516 times)