Webs of Rumors

Webs of RumorsGhorryn
TIER: 2
DEFAULT STRESS: D6
DOMAINS: Occult, Warren

The Heart defies explanation, but that doesn’t stop some people from trying. In Ghorryn, a loose cabal of rumour-mongers, black market necromancers, information junkies and disgraced academics are attempting to unravel the mystery that is the City Beneath – and they’re making a big show of it.

Everyone in Ghorryn has their own complex theory as to what the Heart is, but also several adjacent theories concerning life, death, sanity, time, space and – most popular of all – the real purpose of Ghorryn. Why on earth would so many conspiracy theorists gather in one place if there wasn’t something suspicious going on?
It’s a self-fulfilling prophecy, of course. As more truth-seekers arrive, the settlement schisms into more and more factions, and everyone is looking to be the one who finally figures out the actual function of the Heart. For the time being, they make do with selling fragments of the information that they’ve harvested to interested parties, and warily exchange snippets of theories in an attempt to break new ground while not giving away anything truly valuable.


Ghorryn

The whole place is a paradoxical juxtaposition of sprawling underground chaos and methodical order. Entering the settlement is akin to stepping into a vast subterranean amphitheater. The walls stretch high and wide, forming a dome-like ceiling, lit from hundreds of lamps and lanterns below.
The stone streets weave and interchange both vertically and horizontally. One would almost say there is a pattern in the chaos, close, yet just a breath away from being grasped. Below are places of interest in Ghorryn.

Places of Interest

---

Coming out of the tunnels into Ghorryn's streets is like waking up to a scream directly in one's ear. Wesser's eyes unfocus the first couple of times he follows the line of a walkway before it abruptly jags or veers off to another direction against all reason. He rubs his temples with a hand to stave off the oncoming headache. This place would take time getting used to.

As his senses begin to adjust, the inhabitants of this metropolis resolve into more than indistinct shapes. Merchants raise their voices, bellowing out the virtues of their wares. A harried looking courier streaks across the plaza, satchel flapping in the air. Tramps in squalor alternate between cringing and begging alms from the passersby. No city lacked an underclass.

Commerce and poverty. Wesser remembers his promise to the drow boy Vormath. He has little doubt that there would be some presence of the Crimson God's following here. His next undertaking, then, after closing matters with Ms. Aliquami. The apiarist glances at her before nodding at the city, not bothering to state the obvious.

Ruma stands over one of the walkways, one hand on her hat in case of errant breezes, taking in the haven's arcane and zigguratic splendor. The air seems to crackle with the promise of arcane mystery and intrigue, not so different from sitting under a tent and having a Kaffee with whichever sun-addled customer was willing to discuss the arcane arts.

Perhaps at another time, she would be more than willing to spend a good long while in this sunless haven, discussing controversial theories and the finer points of grimoire marginalia, but she is no mere petty occultist - she is a petty occultist who is also a busy, highly driven noblewoman, and as such she kept her direction in mind at all times.

"Well, unless this is a particularly potent form of Heart Mirage, I believe we've arrived at our destination. Well done, both of you!"

She offers a polite little clap.

"Of course, I had no doubts we would succeed, as the two of you came well recommended. With the addition of my steady hand, our success was all but assured."

Having said this, she removes a key from the hem of her clothes, opening a locked strongbox inside her largest pack.

"I assume the both of you will want to discuss compensation?"

"What's been agreed to before we left will do," Wesser replies. He gives a lopsided shrug. "I am not much of a bargainer. Song?"

"Let it not be said that we of House Aliquam are skinflints or runaway borrowers."

She opens the strongbox to reveal a wealth of silver, jewels, and polished coral in two little bags of finest spider silk. Despite knowing that this was always destined for payment, her always congenial smile is visibly strained at the prospect of giving away such fortune. The debts accrued to receive this pittance from whimsical clutch-mates... did not bear thinking about.

"Of course, further riches might await you if you remain in this little retinue. Who knows?"

Song felt like he had emerged from the depths of an underwater tunnel. Breathing in deeply the new scents of the Haven, he gave a hum of subtle glee as he exercise his silenced voice box.


"Oh, wicked throat of the Heart,
You think you can silence this Bard.
Farewell, you hive of hairy moths,
My woes of suppression, alas, resolves!

You have yet to snuff out my pleasures,
I even got away with burial treasures.
And now we have finally arrived to Ghorryn,
I can't help but wear a brimming grin!"

Song checks his payment and nods. Somehow, accompanying Ruma doesn't feel like babysitting. She is also a capable Delver, and that future work with her is an entertaining prospect.

With a bow, he says.
"I thank you for the payment, Ms Aliquami."

Then turning to Wesser, he says.
"Now that we are in Ghorryn, I am interested to puruse the local wares. Especially the non-physical kind. Our newfound treasures should make someone cough up something interesting..."

If Wesser do not need Song to accompany him, the Skald will go off to check out The Hall of Forgotten Rites.

Wesser nods in acknowledgement of Song's departure. There's a moment of awkwardness before he breaks the silence. Payment still in hand, he says, "A... noble like you has more connections than me, Ms. Aliquami. I would ask that as a favor instead of riches, in the interest of further partnership. There is a woman I would find among the Incarnadine."

If Ruma agrees to hear him out, he goes on to briefly describe what he knows of Vormath's sister and her background.

Ruma listens to Wesser's story carefully, rubbing her chin pensively as she listens to the woeful tale of debt and family.

"Hmm... well, I can't promise anything, but we are not called the Repairers of Reputations for nothing, my friend."

She proffers an empty hand.

"If you would discard silver and jewels in favor of a favor, who am I to judge? You should keep them for now, they will be of use."

---

Hall of Forgotten RitesSong-From-Heart

The Hall of Forgotten Rites is unimposing, nestled between other structures in Ghorryn's labyrinth. Its walls show signs of age, and a few lanterns provide dim illumination.
All of the lower windows are covered in metallic bars, and so is the entry door. Curiously, the bars are placed from the outside, creating just another barrier to prevent any would be guest from entry. Light is coming from the windows on the second floor.

With a shake of her hand, Wesser seals his agreement with Ruma. "Now we are here, where will your business take you? I'll head to the low district, wherever it might be in this place, and look for any trace of the Crimson God among the beggars." He pats his pocket where Ruma's payment is now stowed. "Likely where most of this will end up," he admits. "If we're to separate, when shall we meet again?"

The Warrior-Poet felt as if he just found a locked chest instead of a barred-up building. He wondered if this is the right place, or if the Halls of Forgotten Rites have specific times of opening. He will try to investigate this, using his own growing understanding of the religious practices. He would even knock on the doors, or ask some passerby about this.

Hall of Forgotten RitesSong-From-Heart

Beneath the cloak of complication, the simplest solution often waits, patient and pure.

A simple knock on the door is greeted with a prolonged silence, yet the second one leads to a small peephole opening through the door. Hiding behind a shield of glass is a yellow eye, no doubt belonging to a gnoll.
"An aelfir! Burning with passion that one, the flames of his soul licking the flames of those he touches, igniting them! To what end, we shall see!
What brings you here, Masked One?"