Episode 2

Thorn and Bandi at the upstairs parlor room

On Thorn's propensity for not rising to purpose, but instead getting wound up in violence and strife...
"Do you want to change, or do you like it where you are? Have you ever thought about being a hero?"

On veneration of Yshala...
"You know, I cannot help but find it odd how many Orelanders (OOC: older reference to people of the Yuoric Markelands), Pyloseans, and Kortellans embrace the fortune of Yshala. I know none of you have been to Yoon-Suin. Why is it that such a religion resonates with you? Have you ever known a Seetan? Even seen one?"

On how the potential for violence is in all men...
"It seems that you are right. Many of the Teachings says the very same thing. But how do we guard against that inclination then? What can we do in our cities to guard against the worst of our tendencies? What measures can we take within ourselves, to ensure that we each do not become what we despise?"

On "no, no wife".....
Bandi looks at Thorn's eyes. She says nothing. It is like she is trying to read something about him.

...then ...

A call. A man's voice. He is speaking in Heshbaan. Thorn cannot understand the words, but it is clear the man is calling out in search for someone.

Bandi speaks, "It was inevitable. The time when we must part ways, Thorn..." a short pause, "...Aemlar".
When she says his name, she puts her hand on top of his while it is still on the table.

"The other exit is through there." She points to an alternate archway. "You must go that way while I return the way we came."

She gets up, exchanges parting farewells, and steps away.

Stopping and turning, "Aemlar..." she calls out. Thorn turns and sees her, now from across the room. Her voice is soft and she is stunning in her elegance. "The Hileli do not deserve to be slain. They will parlay if their concerns are heard. There IS a vile darkness in the city. About that... their words are true, my hero."

With that, she slips away, down the small spiral stairway.

Later in the night, at the Nasi Hall gala...

Kray has been meeting many in the crowd, introduced by Balanser. Hasa is translating. Gibon is at Kray's side for any service or sidebar questions. Thorn is pulling security. Also he is thinking over the meeting with Bandi, has not yet had time to tell anyone about it. Not sure if he will.

At one moment, the music changes. Harps and flutes. Very beautiful and elaborate. It signals a stance and response in the crowd. They all turn to the great stairway at the back of the main hall.

A regal announcer steps forth at the base of the stairs. He proclaims the coming guest of honor. It is in Heshbaan, most of the oration not understood. But the final announcement of title is clear enough.

"Husen Beleti Bandecca, H'arammu Sarasat"

Hasa leans over to whisper a precise translate for Kray. Thorn reads the Heshbaan manager's lips to understand it.
"Our Lady Bandecca, Beloved Wife of the King"

She descends the stairs, capturing the room in her beauty and grace.



The crowd bows to her and then is mesmerized by her words.
She speaks on her love of the city, of its people, of the importance of repentance and self reflection during the coming shuvael, and of a need for all the people of the city to look for the good in one another during these confusing times.

To Thorn, Bryn seems deep in thought and study. His color seems a bit better the next day, but Bryn slept in after being up late reading.

At one moment they talk and Bryn says he is thinking about going down to one of the study and prayer halls of the Dasnishis. He wants to see if they have any writings that he could see to cross reference some old words that don't make any sense when they are translated the way he was taught.

Thorn notices two strange marks on Bryn's wrists. Thorn is unsure if they are cuts or just scars, but they seem to have some sort of inflammation setting in.

Bryn moves out and doesn't make any offer wanting company. Thorn lets it go.

Oram, Kray, Thorn, and Gibon: Investigating the Fate of Koral

Kray and Thorn hop on one of Balanser's chariots. Gibon crams on as well, again in the critical role as translator. The driver is Kosha, a tall Heshbaan with a dark braided beard. They follow Ron Oram, leading the way on horseback. Perhaps surprisingly, he leads across the main bridge over the river onto the north bank. Then taking a few turns down some rather muddy side streets, they pass by cramped hovels and thatch huts. This is the district of the poorest of the poor in Gelshemish. Kray and Thorn remember the moniker of the area; it is referred to as The Swamp.

As Oram rides in in full Bronze cuirass of the Holy Gilded Armsmen, and the gleaming chariot following, there is no question: this group is attracting attention.

Men, women, and children walk the muddy streets, staring up at the outsiders as they ride by. Some stand and stare from porches, stoops, and even rooftops. Children do not hesitate to point at the passing riders, talking about them to their companions. The adults generally just glare in silence.

These people wear little clothing, and what they have is shabby. Mostly just skirts or simple pull-over one piece robes. There are even some men in simple loin cloths. Many of the men wear their hair partially shaved or braided in odd styles. The women have thick long hair, dark for the most part, and many wearing long elaborate braids.

Oram leads the way, nodding back at the group to ensure this is the right path. Eventually he takes the horse up to a thatch roofed wooden hut that has a wide porch made of buckled and cracked boards. Several of the local people, men and women, are standing outside of it. They turn and stare at Oram and the others, offering no words and no expressions of welcome.

Oram dismounts off of his horse, and invites Kray and Thorn to do the same.

One thing that stands out to Thorn and Kray both, mainly because the two men are so out of place and their garb is so exotic and different compared to the rest of the crowd, is that there are two dark-skinned men standing way off to the side. On the porch, but out at the very end corner.

One is an elder. He is holding, of all things, a yellow umbrella? Thorn and Kray have hardly ever seen such a device anywhere.



The other man is younger, but not young. He wears bright robes and pants and has a kind face.



They watch the group approaching. The younger one nods and gives a pleasant smile. The older one looks on with no expression.

These two are definitely not Heshbaans of any sort, neither Nasi nor Doresh Mensha nor Hechesi. These two are foreigners.

Gibon asks Oram, who responds in a quick barrage of explanation. Gibon listens and relays as best as he can as you are walking into the wooden hut with all of the Hechesis around.

"They are Seetans. The old one is a healer and all of them have secret foreign knowledge from the Purple Land. They are not slaves, but they stay at the beckon of Sar Yakud and the highest Nasi. The Dasnishiat, the priests, want to burn Koral, say that he is no hope for life and carries a hex, a dark spell. Cursed. Oram steals him away, but the Seetans follow. They always wish to help someone who is under their care."

Thorn, Kray, and Gibon weave their way through the crowd and enter into the Hechesi hut. Oram motions them through to a back room. The scene is one of poverty. This structure is a simple roof overhead, and little more. Still yet, it is built on stilts, clearly because of the possibility of flooding. The back door is open. There is a back porch as well seen through the doorway. The muddy reed pools of the river flood zone stretches up right to the house.

There in this back room is Koral. The view of him is shocking.

No longer is Koral a proud Gilded Armsmen, gleaming in his armor and riding shoulders back with authority on the back of a groomed horse. Now the man is a sack of meat. He looks like a corpse.

Koral is lying on a low table. Chairs are spread out to the sides of the room. A few coarse blankets and straw-stuffed burlap sacks serve as pillows, stuffed around him making the table only slightly more welcoming than an undertaker's workbench.

The skin on Koral's body is pale, as if the color is drained out of it. His belly is swollen, in an image of rampant internal sickness. His head and face however are flushed red and swollen. He lays on his back. His body is not sweating, but his head is bursting with a glaze of perspiration. His neck is swollen with sores. His black hair and beard are thick and dirty with an oil sheen. On the back of his head is some sort of crusted sack. There is a foul stench hanging in the air like sick pestilence.

Oram, saddened and visibly shaken when he looks at his cousin, looks up at Kray, perhaps hoping to see if the nobleman might be able to say something - anything - give some sort of explanation to such a scene of horror and hopelessness.

Required Action: Kray and Thorn make CON save DC 7.

Gibon, unable to keep his bearings, steps outside to wretch over the back balcony.

The old Seetan doctor comes in the back door, closing his umbrella as he comes inside. The other Seetan in the bride red clothes follows behind. Another thin dark-complexioned younger man follows behind, but stops to stand by the door that leads to the back deck. He is near Gibon and watches the others in the room.

Both of the Seetans scan the room calmly, making eye contact with Kray and Thorn. The younger one gives a nod and a look of kindness. The older one has a cold face of no welcome.

The elder begins to speak in Heshbaan to Oram. Kray and Thorn cannot understand. Gibon is outside puking. A couple of Hechesis stand at the front doorway, listening, watching.

The thinner, younger man, a Seetan as well it seems, stands at the back door, his hood still hanging lightly over his brow. His deep eyes stay fixated on Koral while the other Seetans talk with Oram.

Thorn, Kray, and Gibon leave relatively early in the morning.
Ivor moves out to hang out with local friends based at the sports arena.
Maeriks has been hanging out between Imin Bash's and Balanser's houses. Both places are bringing in a lot of food and supplies, preparing for feasts tomorrow. Maeriks seems fully content integrating with the food prep and cook crew.

Bryn speaks to Amit briefly on the way out, and then moves out into the city.

A fluent speaker of Heshbaan, Bryn has no problem communicating. The people of the city are generally friendly. There is a buzz of hard work and industrious among all, but an excitement of the coming festivals tomorrow and then religious ceremonies on the following day, the first day of Shuvael.

Shuvael. Bryn was more familiar with the word now, and the religious context too. He had gotten some time to speak with Hasa who clarified much. A derivative of the word for gold, shoval (also the name of the coin), "shuvael" means something similar to "gildening" an idea of "turning to gold", being made bright, valuable, magnificent. It is a time to step away from the toil of life and commit oneself to religious purification, to the veneration of Goldna ad Dasnish, the god who sponsors Heshba, the land and all of its people.

Bryn had read up about the religious practices of Shuvael. He was expecting to see quite a sight. He understood now that the six-day observance was practiced in full force here in Gelshemish, a bit differently than the other cities of Heshba. Bryn remember the last shuveal, around 30 days ago in Jabez. There were some religious ceremonies in public, some bull and bird sacrifices, some smoke and marches. But they really only lasted for a couple of days, and much of the city of Jabez went about business as normal. With so many more foreigners coming and going there, that was no surprise.

Bryn could feel though that here in Gelshemish, one of Heshba's two most holy sites in the Dasnishi religion of Goldna worship, the event was going to really change the scene and the entire feel of the city. Bryn had the idea that the entire demeanor of commerce, movement, and public interaction would change, even for foreigners. He wasn't quite sure yet of the specifics, but Bryn suspected that the city would rise up for the next couple of days into high energy, and then fall down into reflective quiet, controlled peace, reverence.

With that in mind, Bryn wanted to capitalize on the last two days of "business as usual", not quite sure yet of what interactions might NOT be possible on the six days that would follow.

Bryn walks the city, meeting people here and there. He gets his bearings more and more every day. The differences between the districts. Ways to travel between each. Alternate ways to move through the city if one wanted to avoid the thoroughfares. Ways to move out of the city into the forest.

That perhaps was one point that was quite a puzzle. The Jara Hili surrounds Gelshemish. The few roads that go out from the city simply ....dissolve, disappear once they are a few hundred meters into the forest. The incoming and outgoing traffic of the city was completely controlled by the regime. And Bryn already knew by experience that the forest itself was very confusing to travel in. With its thick canopy and recurring undisturbed features, it was a place in which it is very easy to become lost.

The Holy Gilded Armsmen brought convoys in and out of the Hidden City, and only at a few times throughout the year. Bryn had learned that the convoys generally either come from the north, towards the coast, or from the south, towards the hinterlands facing the Bishtaan desert.

How would one depart from Gelshemish, rapidly, unbeknownst to the authorities, and still have a plan to navigate through the surrounding wilderness without getting lost or tracked?

Bryn investigates the Jasher River as a possible exfil route. The Jasher flows in from the west and runs eastward. Bryn suspected it previously, but confirms the suspicion from a local: the Jasher eventually joins the Hodel River in the east. Bryn knows that the Hodel then runs north, passing the river village of Osher at some point, then continuing on to Jabez and the Alornic Sea just beyond.

So why are the boats around Gelshemish so small, built only for local travel around the city? Why aren't there longships bringing in supplies and providing transportation from the north, or even from the south (down further on the Hodel)?

The answer, Bryn discovers in conversation, is geography. To the east, downriver from Gelshemish, the Jasher cuts into a very dark and narrow section of Jara Hili. The banks of the river come closer together, even as the floor becomes rocky. A long stretch of rapids is the results. No boat can pass through that section, neither east nor west.

Similarly, from what Bryn understands, the Hodel itself becomes impassable to the south, dispersing into shallow marsh lands and eventually breaking up into small tributaries and creeks that pour in from the Jara Hili and some high hills to the west of where the Jasher and the Hodel form together at a sort of delta that becomes difficult to navigate and high risk to run aground or get caught in shallows.

It seems then that the question remains then: how could the team exfil from Gelshemish under pressed circumstance?

Ivor watches from the arena seating, looking down at the fighters training below.

San-San is being swarmed by three netsmen, each rolling in and out to make their overhead arch-catch-pull attempts. Ivor knows that the drill is designed for the retiarius to learn how to capture and tear away an opponent's shield, and for the secutor to block the nets and retain his shield.

San-San wears a banged up practice helm and wields the wooden faux gladius. Again and again, the big Heshbaan deflects the nets, shifting and tilting with just the right timing and technique, letting the knots and ropes slide off of the shield like water.

At one point though, one of the caster's net does get a hold of the shield. The netsman tugs backward and San-San seems to lurch forward, perhaps loosing his balance. Perhaps... as the zealous retiarius-in-training would see it.

Ivor spots the ruse though, and knows what is coming next.

As the netsman commits to a full pull, San-San puts a strong foot forward, twists and tilts his shield counterclockwise and outward, and pivots hard left with his upper body. Every bit of slack in the net disappears in one sudden move. San-San easily jerks it right out of the netsman's hand. With his anchor point gone, the netsman stumbles a step back.

In a split second, San-San is upon him, sliding the wooden gladius copy right along the netsman's side, representing a liver-pierce kill thrust. Master Ghurat the Bishtu points a red flag, signaling the removal of the netsman from the training.

San-san steps aside and looks at first as if he is getting set for the other two incoming netsmen, who will swarm in again and begin throws anew. But when the vanquished netsman turns aside to pick up his grounded net, San-San takes a surprise step over and swings the wooden gladius full speed and wide arc. It hits the unsuspecting trainee right in the temple. Ivor hears the loud snap of hardwood on bone. The man drops like a ton of bricks.

San-San stays energized for a moment, towering menacingly over his fallen foe. Then he lowers his sword and shield. Ghurat yells and leaps into action, two fighting sticks in hand.

San-San, as ordered, throws his shield and sword on the ground. As he takes off his helmet slowly, he turns to look at Ivor, staring directly up at him in the stands. In turning to glare at Ivor, San-San turns his back on Master Ghurat.

San-San tosses his heavy helmet aside. It crashes into the dirt, a small cloud of dust bursting up around it. San-San's eyes are full of threat and contempt. He locks eyes with Ivor, even as Ghurat is moving in at full speed behind him. San-San balls his fists, arms held tense to his side, and clenches his eyebrows down in anger. He locks eyes with Ivor the whole time, making no effort to brace for the incoming blows.

The cracking sound of wood to bone snaps out again. It takes four hits to the skull before San-San falls forward into the dirt. Two come while he is still standing, the last two after San-San's knees are buckled by Ghurat's expert heel strikes.