Secured by a bloody dagger, you find a dirty parchment stuck to the front door of Taelbert’s Inn. A crowd of tired and downtrodden townsfolk huddle around the front of the inn, murmuring in hushed tones as they read:
Brothers and sisters! It is time for us to take back the streets. The monarchs have left us to rot. Necromancy runs amok. Warrior Mages and Sorcery is a danger to us all! Traders can no longer be trusted, as they are making deals with strange beings. Moon mages are creating rifts in the planes and Invasions are a daily occurrence, even as Orders play at jousting each other while we pick up the pieces of our burned out homes. Meanwhile, our town guard is underfunded, and the Inquisition have been seen rounding up commoners and burning them with holy fire! All of these finger wagglers are creating chaos, while the hard working folk suffer. Kings sit in their towers of gold, hosting dinner parties, while we are taxed into oblivion. Rise up - there is another way!
The note is signed: The Third Way
[If you discuss the message with the crowd, someone might reach out to you with more information. If the crowd gets big enough, who knows what could happen!]
NOTANECRO
SYRAKEN
Re: a dirty parchment
10/02/2018 08:48 PM CDT
I have spoken at length with some of those gathered around the missive and it is true things are not well. One of the overbearing complaints is how, despite all the years of tax and donations, as well as voluntary work offered by the members of the engineering society, the North Gate is still broken. We can only assume the funds toward it have been funneled off for 'noble causes' like making sure the local overseers can afford a new golden belt for their widening stomachs. This total lapse in security over so many years is the most obvious reasons why Necromancers can sneak into our city so easily. The underfunding of the guards is no joke either. A few days ago what we thought was a man named Falkram stumbled into the Empath courtyard looking for his son. Some thought he was sick, but a Young Man arrived and said that while it looked like his father, his father had died two weeks prior and had been buried. Shortly after, the mans head came off and his body decomposed. We were soon besieged by Necromancer attacks in the Empaths courtyard and near the northeast gate. If our guards aren't trained to tell the difference between a sick man and the creation of a Necromancer that may lead to more Inquisitors rounding up our elderly and sick to 'test' with fire. We cannot let our poor state of being stride anymore, we need to enact a change even if we have to do it ourselves!
"I, for one, think it's nice to have new folks who are excited and already care enough about the game to offer suggestions. We need more of that." -Solomon
Thanks for being in my corner Solomon, come back soon.
"I, for one, think it's nice to have new folks who are excited and already care enough about the game to offer suggestions. We need more of that." -Solomon
Thanks for being in my corner Solomon, come back soon.
NOTANECRO
Re: a dirty parchment
10/12/2018 03:38 PM CDT
Copies of the crumbled parchment start to appears at several more Inns around the Crossing.
Throughout the night, a crowd has been forming outside the the Sand Spit tavern. Hushed debates are illuminated by torchlight, as the townsfolk lament about their worries. Distrust for the government is fueled by a lack of dissenting voice.
“Have you seen a single guard even walk by this area? No one cares about what happens to us. The streets aren’t safe at night.” says a young woman, keeping an eye on her surroundings.
A clean-shaven young human speaks up: “Over the years, I tithed most of my earnings…but the Paladin guild won’t take me because I stole bread when I was younger. Its not fair”
A teary-eyed woman speaks up: "My daughter drowned last year, and the clerics would not bring her back to me…muttering apologies and something about Drogors will!” The woman openly weeps as the pain is still very raw.
A frail old man raises his voice: “My home is still burnt down from the last invasion the Moon Mages sent on us! I pay my taxes and I can’t rebuild it all myself!” The old man shakes his cane in agitation.
The crowd continues to yell in anger, torches raising in the air. “Where does my money go!? Stop the invasions! Restore the Crossing!” More people shuffle to the gathering, lending voice to the problems of the common people.
Just as the sun breaks the horizon, a woman's scream reverberates across the crowd as blood is sprayed in all directions.
“Run! The contract is broken!" screams a Mur with a foreign accent, a panicked look overtaking the Trader as he flees from the Trader guildhall.
Monsters from another plane impossibly coalesce into this reality, causing mass panic as everyone in the area begins to be systematically cut down. The entropy is easily calculated by these invaders, and utter pandemonium overtakes the streets as the smell of blood and death permeate the air.
The shadows seem to part as a black-furred Prydaen blindsides one of the creatures, stabbing it in the back with his watered-steel pasabas. The creature emits an indescribable noise, it's many limbs flailing in aguish. Maddened with rage, the Starcrasher turns around and unloads a flurry of blows. Its allies surround the Prydaen, who demonstrates a master class in dodging incoming attacks.
Jogging on to the street, a human War Mage arrives on the bloody scene and starts to launch forbidden spells at the Zenzics and Starcrashers.
“Run, while they are distracted” the Prydaen yells to the shocked onlookers, dodging another four attacks.
The crowd continues to flee in terror, trampling over each other as the mass exodus continues. Amputated bodies of adventures and townsfolk begin to litter the street, as people jump into the Segoltha to escape the madness.
Flinging another spell, the Warrior Mage shouts over at the leaping cat man: "You stabbing won't do anything when they are that pissed off!" Reality seems to distort and the warrior mage’s leg vanishes. He falls to the ground, confused and in shock with his new stump.
"Finger Wagglers…” the Prydaen mutters in disgust. A flash surrounds the Prydaen, causing the Monsters to avert their eyes - and the Prydaen is gone, dragging the one-legged War Mage behind him. Looking down at his companion, the Prydaen grunts: "We need to do something about these Traders"
Throughout the night, a crowd has been forming outside the the Sand Spit tavern. Hushed debates are illuminated by torchlight, as the townsfolk lament about their worries. Distrust for the government is fueled by a lack of dissenting voice.
“Have you seen a single guard even walk by this area? No one cares about what happens to us. The streets aren’t safe at night.” says a young woman, keeping an eye on her surroundings.
A clean-shaven young human speaks up: “Over the years, I tithed most of my earnings…but the Paladin guild won’t take me because I stole bread when I was younger. Its not fair”
A teary-eyed woman speaks up: "My daughter drowned last year, and the clerics would not bring her back to me…muttering apologies and something about Drogors will!” The woman openly weeps as the pain is still very raw.
A frail old man raises his voice: “My home is still burnt down from the last invasion the Moon Mages sent on us! I pay my taxes and I can’t rebuild it all myself!” The old man shakes his cane in agitation.
The crowd continues to yell in anger, torches raising in the air. “Where does my money go!? Stop the invasions! Restore the Crossing!” More people shuffle to the gathering, lending voice to the problems of the common people.
Just as the sun breaks the horizon, a woman's scream reverberates across the crowd as blood is sprayed in all directions.
“Run! The contract is broken!" screams a Mur with a foreign accent, a panicked look overtaking the Trader as he flees from the Trader guildhall.
Monsters from another plane impossibly coalesce into this reality, causing mass panic as everyone in the area begins to be systematically cut down. The entropy is easily calculated by these invaders, and utter pandemonium overtakes the streets as the smell of blood and death permeate the air.
The shadows seem to part as a black-furred Prydaen blindsides one of the creatures, stabbing it in the back with his watered-steel pasabas. The creature emits an indescribable noise, it's many limbs flailing in aguish. Maddened with rage, the Starcrasher turns around and unloads a flurry of blows. Its allies surround the Prydaen, who demonstrates a master class in dodging incoming attacks.
Jogging on to the street, a human War Mage arrives on the bloody scene and starts to launch forbidden spells at the Zenzics and Starcrashers.
“Run, while they are distracted” the Prydaen yells to the shocked onlookers, dodging another four attacks.
The crowd continues to flee in terror, trampling over each other as the mass exodus continues. Amputated bodies of adventures and townsfolk begin to litter the street, as people jump into the Segoltha to escape the madness.
Flinging another spell, the Warrior Mage shouts over at the leaping cat man: "You stabbing won't do anything when they are that pissed off!" Reality seems to distort and the warrior mage’s leg vanishes. He falls to the ground, confused and in shock with his new stump.
"Finger Wagglers…” the Prydaen mutters in disgust. A flash surrounds the Prydaen, causing the Monsters to avert their eyes - and the Prydaen is gone, dragging the one-legged War Mage behind him. Looking down at his companion, the Prydaen grunts: "We need to do something about these Traders"
