A city of mysteries, secrets, and dark histories, Ptolus lies forever in the shadow of a towering stone spire reaching impossibly high into the sky, itself an enigma and a reminder of evil long past. In Ptolus, the supernatural is expected and treachery lies around every corner'€"or is it that the supernatural lies around every corner and treachery is expected? Either way, the city of Ptolus abounds with danger, magic, intrigue, and above all, adventure.Run by the GM Trogdor
Just a little over a decade ago, the first adventurers began to explore the caverns beneath Ptolus, the City by the Spire. The wealth they uncovered was incredible, and soon many others followed in their footsteps. Now delving in these caverns, which are called the Dungeon by the folks in the city, has become a cottage industry in Ptolus. There are shops, guides, and even a guild for the delvers. Many make their career delving. But many more make their careers catering to the delvers.
Here begins the adventures of four brand new delvers getting their start in Ptolus. Having met during their time at the Imperial University in Ptolus, they have now joined together to try their hand at plumbing the depths of Ptolus for wealth, fame, and glory. But they will find that danger is not limited to the Dungeon. For Ptolus is also a city of intrigue, which can often be as dangerous above ground as below.
So here is my second attempt at a game, and the first one with such a simple game system. I hope you'll all enjoy adventuring in Ptolus. It's a very rich environment to game in.
Individual introductions will follow. Please wait to post until your intro is made.
Airday, 14th, of Bloom, 721 Imperial Age
It was a day much like any other at the Ghostly Minstrel. The upper floors were about half-full with guests, some staying for just a night, and some almost permanent residents. The ground floor was about the same. It was late enough that the restaurant was starting to empty out of locals, most of whom had to work the next day, but it was not yet filled with the crowd of delvers who kept such strange hours that midnight dinners were not uncommon. And the taproom, just across the lobby, was still waiting the arrival of its star attraction, Tarin Ursalatao, and wouldn't be truly crowded for an other hour or so.
That wasn't to say that the taproom was empty. To the contrary, it was filled with a very curious mix of people. There was the occasional townsperson, of course. Some who made their business in Delver's Square; others looking to rub shoulders with a famous delver or two. But most of the room was filled with those self-same delvers the curious had come to see. Sitting over there was Steron Vsool, paladin of Gaen, whose heart was so bright that it shone through his chest, clothes, and armor. He was talking and drinking with Sheva Callister, an attractive young lady who had made her fortune as a delver and retired a rich woman. In the back, Jevicca Nor, a tall woman with a ruby arm, sat in a booth engaged in hushed conversation with Mand Scheben, the very well-connected priest of Asche. There was no telling whether she was talking to him about business matters related to the Inverted Pyramid, which she represented, or whether they were just looking for a simple conversation without interruption. Up at the bar was Urlenius, the so-called 'œStar of Navashtrom,' an ogre-magi converted from his former ways by the Church of Redemption, and now an upstanding member of the community. Around his head floated a number of small stones, providing him with who knew what magical protection. He was laughing at a joke told by a large litorian named Rastor, who ran a weapons shop just next door. As the laughter ebbed, the bartender, a man named Zade Kenevan, dropped a jug of beer in front of them both. Surrounding them all were several dozen others, some famous, some looking to be famous, but all with an interest in delving.
It's not a perfect image for what I described. But it gives you the idea.
There were many taverns, inns, and pubs in Ptolus. But none were so frequented by delvers as the Ghostly Minstrel. It was here that they could relax, make plans, or meet with a prospective employer. And it was here that the four newest delvers in Ptolus planned to meet this very night.
Last edited by Trogdor on Thu Feb 14, 2008 11:55 am, edited 2 times in total.
Black Thom Cullen stepped out of his room in the second floor of the Ghostly Minstrel and locked it behind him. He had the room for the rest of the week, courtesy of some very good fortune just three days previous, and he was happy for it. He'd managed to walk into the inn looking for a drink not five minutes after they'd received word that the bard who was supposed to perform that night was ill. Naturally Black Thom had offered his services. And with little opportunity to find an alternative in time, the manager, Tellith Herdsman, a pretty young woman with reddish-brown hair, had agreed.
The price Thom had negotiated was a room for seven days, which had worked out well for him, since he had arranged to meet with three of his university friends here tonight to talk about a business opportunity. Given that business had not been as good as it could have been for Thom these past few months, he was willing to hear them out. It was certainly better than being chased by his debts from one side of the city to the other.
Welcome Eanwulf! Feel free to start posting.
Last edited by Trogdor on Thu Feb 14, 2008 11:56 am, edited 1 time in total.
Sente Maclaurin entered the lobby of the Ghostly Minstrel and shook the rain off his cloak. Like most Bloom evenings, it was raining, though not so hard as to be unpleasant. He looked around, taking in his first view of the famous inn. A stairway ahead lead upstairs to the rooms; an archway to the left showed the restaurant, half full and relatively quiet; and another archway to the right revealed the taproom, its tables and booths starting to fill up in anticipation of the evening's entertainment.
It was to the taproom that Sente needed to go. He was to meet three of his friends from the Imperial University there. They were supposed to discuss a business proposal, something to do with delving. He didn't have the details, but if it involved delving, it was sure to be exciting, dangerous, and potentially lucrative. This last part was particularly appealing. Tuition at the university was not cheap. And even with his work as an assistant alchemist, paying it had all but paupered him.
But perhaps today was the day his fortune changed.
Solantharlan Elenstrandara, Sol to what friends he had, sat in a booth at the Ghostly Minstrel, a full mug of beer in front of him, with an empty one beside to keep it company. The half-elf had been taking the odd mercenary jobs these past few years to keep himself fed and housed. It was mostly dull guard work, running with an occasional caravan up the coast, with a few interesting jobs interspersed. There had also been plenty of time trolling about the Citadel of Might looking for a job, and fighting in the Arena to keep himself sharp.
It had actually been at the Citadel of Might that he'd received a message from one of the few friends he kept in touch with from the short time his father had sent him the the Imperial University. They'd all gone their separate ways - one a priest, one a bard, one an alchemist - or whatever the hell he called himself - and him as a mercenary. But they still saw each other from time to time - the occasional night out at an inn where they would tell lies about how successful they were.
But this was something different. This had the possibility of actually making them some money. The note had mentioned delving. And Sol had taken enough jobs in the Undercity to know that delving meant money. And if there was one thing years working for other people had taught the half-elf, it was that it was better to have money than not.
Welcome Tet! Feel free to start posting.
And FWIW, the one who called you all here was V's character - the only one who is currently unnamed. That's why I've been cagey about who called you here.
Shaking off the rain that falls out side, is Garith Hawthorne, the last of the four to arrive, and the one whos called this gathering of old University friends together. He comes bounding in the door, his hood up around his head to keep the rain off, and quickly shuts the door behind him. Removing his cloak he shakes it out and hangs it on a hook near the door and glances around. He is man still young, but no child, having attented the University for magical theory, but having now spent several years in practical religous and arcane training at the small Temple to Kharos, an old Prustan Diety of Wizardly Magic. Garith has always been a little over inflated about his ego and his abilities, since he can draw on both divine and arcane magics. Generally this litteral Holier than Thou attitude rubs people the wrong way, but once you get to know him, like those friends gathered here today, you learn he's not arrogant, just devout.
Stomping his boots to get water clear from them he starts in towad the tap room but almost instantly spots Sente Maclaurin. "Sente, old friend. You made it, even on time for once, excellent. Perhaps all those lectures of mine on puncuality have finally paid off." He steps up to his long time friend and offer a hand in greeting.
Garith wears the trappings of his temple, proudly displaying the Ankh of Knowledge on a chain around his neck.
Trog told me to post, so I have! Welcome me to the game!
"He that breaks a thing to find out what it is has left the path of wisdom." - Gandalf
J.R.R. Tolkien, Council of Elrond, The Fellowship of the Ring
"On time?" Sente checks his bulky pocket-watch and feigns astonishment. "I thought the meeting started ten minutes ago!" A sheepish grin spreads across his face, and the young student adjusts his glasses.
Boyish and bookish, the mousy youth's priorities are revealed in his dress; worn robes, threadbare trousers, a flawless rucksack for books and reagents and a pair of half-moon spectacles that look new. Keeping in bat's wings and potassium nitrate often leaves the young man carefully choosing between necessities and numerous obligations, and he manages to get by on minimal charm and considerable competence.
Brown hair and brown eyes are nothing unattractive, though Sente's smell is immediately noticeable. Working with Sweet Alice Frey near the University leaves him smelling alternately of rich perfume, putrid elixers and the mysterious black powder. Never the same twice, it is still difficult to miss in a strong wind.
Trog, would glasses of mending (self only, 1/day) be unacceptable as a magic item? It strikes me as a natural choice for a student who plans on delving or working with explosives.
"The meeting can not start without me, and since I have just arrived, the meeting has not started. You are actually early. Shocking, I agree friend, but true. Come, let us see if the others have arrived or not." Garith steps down the hall into the tap room, his various layers of muslin clothing make no noise as he pads along in his black boots. He puts both hands on his hips, hooking his thumbs on his belt and looking out into the room to see if the others are there.
"He that breaks a thing to find out what it is has left the path of wisdom." - Gandalf
J.R.R. Tolkien, Council of Elrond, The Fellowship of the Ring
Posting for Eanwulf, since he has trouble getting to a computer that can access the site.
After stopping to flirt with several of the local chambermaids, young Thomas promptly made his way down the tavern stairs and into the taproom proper where he quickly spotted two of his former university companions. The young man braced himself emotionally and prepared himself for the almost certain barrage of questions and inquiries into the events that comprised the bard's rather distressing if not jaded, and downright shadowy past. Surely they know by now. Thomas thought to himself. Surely they know that these past years have not been kind to Ole Thom and that, thanks to my selfish bastard of a father, I have become labeled nothing short of the proverbial 'œblack sheep' among my family. Nonetheless, Thomas put on his game face and quickly joined his former colleagues at their table where he did his best to keep the focus of any of their conversations upon that of reminiscing their past endeavors as well as discussing any and all of their future exploits together.
Once settled in, Thomas ordered himself a goblet of fine wine, after draining which he began to count what few coins remained within his coinpurse. His palette still craving drink, Thomas quickly made a proposal to the half-elven warrior-knight Sol that sat beside him. 'œMy dearest Solantharlan, it appears that the time I have spent here at the Ghostly Minstrel has left my coinpurse rather drained of funds. Now I can't help but feel that you are one whom would most certainly never turn a blind eye to the occasional '˜friendly' wager, and beseech that you heed the following offer. If you would so graciously do me the honor of allowing me to tune up my trusty mandolin here and perform a piece for you on this most special of evenings '€" I pray that you will find the song so much to your liking that you would treat all of us gathered here around this table to a round of drinks. If however you do not enjoy the tune, we shall continue to sit around and exchange stories, each of us no worse for the wear - other than perhaps being a tad bit thirstier from the endeavor.'
Thomas then drew forth and unslung the wooden mandolin that was strapped to his back and began to tune the instrument. After several moments of fiddling about, the young bard began to pluck a fast-tempo'd and rather upbeat tune, singing the following:
'œCrusade after crusade
Defending the faith and the holy light
I come to your aid
Fear not my fair maiden, fear not
I'm set to attack
No demons or dragons
Will hold me back
There's strength in my sword
Fall into my arms and I'll take you back
When the cold wind starts to blow
Into battle I shall go
Any tower I will climb
I can fight you folded blind
I would die for my king and my land
But I must die
With my sword in my hand
Raise my cup in honour of the lord
Gives the power I need
To wield my sword
So much stronger than you
No power, no God cannot heed you
You're my sacrifice
You know in the end
You must pay the price
You are my Prey
I am the slayer, the predator
You'll never grow old
No armour or sword will save your soul
Clash of lance, clash of shield
In the end you must yield
You're a ghost inside my head
I will see you good and dead
I would die for my king and my land
But I must die
With my sword in my hand
Raise my cup in honour of the lord
Gives the power I need
To wield my sword'
No sooner than Thomas had finished with his song than he realized that Garith had entered the tavern and spotted his former compatriots. Though Thomas was delighted to see his former colleague, he could not help but pay careful attention to whether or not Sol had enjoyed his performance.
Last edited by Trogdor on Fri Feb 15, 2008 10:39 am, edited 1 time in total.
Seated next to Thomas is Solantharlan, mostly known as just Sol. He is a gruff sort, or has turned so in recent times, and is mostly introverted if approached by strangers. He says what he must, but very rarely does he say more. In younger years he looked far more the elf than human, pointed ears, light brown hair, perfectly pulled back from his face, and elegant, if simple, clothing. He hardly looks like the same person these days. He wears a thick, rugged, beard. His hair is longer, and falls into his face most times unless pushed off on purpose or gravity takes it in that direction. His elven ears are difficult to discern underneath all that hair, and instead of well groomed clothes, his now are somewhat tattered and without much style at all. Sol does not even answer Thomas before he starts singing, simply sitting there listening.
When he has finished, Sol simply tosses enough coin his way to purchase another drink. "You do not have to pander to me, Thomas." Afterward he tucks his coin pouch away and sits there, looking grave as usual.
"Kings have no friends, only subjects and enemies."
Thomas's voice fills the taproom and Garith turns to spot him and Sol sitting together at a table. "Well, there they are. Come friend." The young priest strides into the room and right up to the table of the other two. "Fair Hail, and greetings to you friends of old! I am happy to have arrived to hear some of Thomas' fine song." Ne nods to both men, and glances back at Sente, "It would seem we are all gathered." He motions for a round of drinks, on him, and then takes a seat. "How has everyone been?"
"He that breaks a thing to find out what it is has left the path of wisdom." - Gandalf
J.R.R. Tolkien, Council of Elrond, The Fellowship of the Ring
