HYPERBOREA » The Scorched Sanctuary

Iron Ranger · 6/03/2018 8:28 pm

Five long years of plague decimated the distant village of Shankshill. With the elders, leaders, and priests long dead, the surviving, hearty youth fell under the spell of a dark wandering Witch who took up residence in the village church. Her young followers became heathens, stealing livestock near and far for animal sacrifice to her foul daemons.

But a fateful decision was made by the desperate survivors of neighboring hamlets to sneak into the doomed village to put an end to this wretched Witch and her wicked ways. And they would claim the doomed village’s treasury as their own.

These marauders trapped the poor souls inside the village church by nailing boards across all exits and set pitch alight with fire. Screams of tortured deaths echoed across that dark night as the flames swept through the structure.

When the fire finally burned out the evil Witch and her followers were surely dead, but the church shell remained standing. And the treasury was never found.

The clergy of your village stand before the gathered throng. "The riches of Shankshill belonged to our god and it is He that decrees its return." The lower priests nod vigorously in agreement.

"Despite our misgivings in seeking such questionable assistance...Is there no single thieving man...or woman.....who will redeem himself of prior trespass and journey to reclaim Shankshill's treasures for the greater good?"

Nervous villagers glance at each other and a silence falls over the crowd...

Iron Ranger · 6/04/2018 5:21 pm

Long moments of silence pass until the priest speaks again. "I know you not, coward, but your atonement will come upon you one day."

He scans the sheepish, downturned faces of the crowd.

"Perhaps a simple fighting man among you.....?"

Iron Ranger · 6/05/2018 7:40 pm

"Not one soul among you all? So be it! The treasure of Shankshill shall remain lost."

The priest spins on his heel, turning his back to the assembly and reenters his church. His acolytes scurry in behind and slam the heavy oak door closed.

Eventually the people disperse, each wondering if there will still be blessings on Sun Day.

Caveman · 6/09/2018 5:54 am

The toothless farmer held his pitchfork tentatively, leaning on it to aid a croaked spine and sighed, "there is never a hero near when one needs one. 'Xathoqqua," he exclaims, "the world is dark and foreboding and we are just humble servants crawling on the ground on our stomach, begging for grubs!"

He too strolls off in dismay...

mabon5127 · 6/09/2018 8:12 am

Caveman wrote:
The toothless farmer held his pitchfork tentatively, leaning on it to aid a croaked spine and sighed, "there is never a hero near when one needs one. 'Xathoqqua," he exclaims, "the world is dark and foreboding and we are just humble servants crawling on the ground on our stomach, begging for grubs!"

He too strolls off in dismay...

Nice!

Caveman · 6/10/2018 6:03 am

Yeah, it was a nice try Iron-Ranger, I enjoyed the introduction. I would have loved to help, but I being doing PbP for well over 9 years and though I greatly enjoy them, I also exhausted with them (oh my aching spine)!

May the North Winds (Boreas) be with you!

Iron Ranger · 6/10/2018 9:30 am

Caveman wrote:
Yeah, it was a nice try Iron-Ranger, I enjoyed the introduction. I would have loved to help, but I being doing PbP for well over 9 years and though I greatly enjoy them, I also exhausted with them (oh my aching spine)!

May the North Winds (Boreas) be with you!

Hahaha! Thanks for playing even though you didn't want to, Caveman! Was a great way to end it!
I'll lure somebody to Underborea one day...

Last edited by Iron Ranger (6/10/2018 9:30 am)

Caveman · 6/11/2018 5:37 am

Good Stuff!

Ghul · 6/11/2018 9:18 am

Bravo!

achiriaco · 9/16/2018 7:42 pm

I was going to step forward, but why, too many mesmerized townsfolk not watching their purses.

Yes, it is I, Malak: Thief, Archer, Adventurer.

Malak
Thief Lvl 2
Race/Common
Neutral
ST 15 DX 18 CN 14 IN 13 WS 12 CH 11
Edited stat adjustments:
ST +1 ATT +1 Dam
DX +3 Missle / +2 AC
CN +1 HP

AC 5 Leather
HP 11
Dagger 1d4 3/2 thrown
Short Bow 1d6 3/2
Age 40 5'10" 160lbs
Clothes, 2 Pouches, 2 Daggers, Short Bow & Quivar 20 arrows

After the Priest and his Acolytes move away I quietly follow, stuffing the coins and babbles in my pouch.

I knock at the door

Last edited by achiriaco (10/30/2018 7:55 pm)

Iron Ranger · 9/16/2018 7:54 pm

Padded footsteps approach from within. The door is opened by a young altar boy. "The priest is...indisposed. But I can take your tithe to him personally."
He holds out his opened palm.

achiriaco · 9/16/2018 8:04 pm

"I am sure you could take my tithe... But I am not that kind of man, I am perhaps a simple fighting man!"

Iron Ranger · 9/16/2018 8:40 pm

The acolyte nods his understanding and waves his hand to follow. He leads you down the candlelit hallway toward a large oak door. He taps gently then opens it. The sweet smell of peppermint wafts to your nostrils. The inner sanctum is lush with fine silk pillows and gold leafed accoutrements reflect the light with a warm glow. Standing before you is the priest, now changed into his silk sleeping gown. "Somehow I knew it would be you..." He lowers his bushy eyebrows and gives you a look over then brushes off his disappointment. "No matter. You it is. Your redemption will be noted by the church when you return from Shankshill. I'm sure what's interested you are the riches, but I am interested in much more." He puts an arm around your shoulder and pulls you close. His breath holds the strong scent of wine. "I am interested in this witch." He leads you to a small table where the acolyte is already pouring wine from a pitcher into a goblet for you. "After the burning, the townsfolk were driven mad by the witch's dying screams. Just one single cry again and again until it was no more....'Underborea'. If she was able to open a portal to fabled Underborea I must know of it." As you drink from your goblet, he tilts it higher with his fingers, and the wine dribbles from from mouth. "At dawn, Olo will lead you to Shankshill following forgotten routes from the old maps." At this, Olo curtsies slightly. Then the priest pulls from his silk gown a small pouch, its contents obvious when placed in your palm. "I didn't see that you pilfered very much from the poor farmers earlier, take this and equip yourself. Olo will meet you at dawn by the well." Olo shows you out and closes the door to the church behind you.

Last edited by Iron Ranger (9/28/2018 4:18 pm)

achiriaco · 9/16/2018 8:49 pm

I look inside the pouch, counting the contents...

Last edited by achiriaco (9/16/2018 8:52 pm)

Iron Ranger · 9/16/2018 8:58 pm

The leather tie is loose. Inside are 18 uncirculated platinum coins, each stamped with the familiar image of Xathoqqua.

The sun is setting and the streets are nearly empty.

Roll d12.

Last edited by Iron Ranger (9/16/2018 9:06 pm)

achiriaco · 9/16/2018 9:20 pm

Iron Ranger · 9/16/2018 9:45 pm

The shoppes have closed.

achiriaco · 9/16/2018 11:34 pm

I look around. What do I see?

Iron Ranger · 9/17/2018 3:49 pm

The dying light casts long shadows along the thoroughfare. The gathered throng has long dispersed, and from the sweet smells of boiling meats hanging on the brisk air, undoubtedly wandered back to their homes for a hearty meal to warm their bellies for the cold night ahead. To the east, several recognizable mongrels sniff around discards at the opening to the alley which leads back to your hovel. Far off you hear the gurgle of the western stream. Ahead of you all the thoroughfare's shoppes are boarded up tight.

achiriaco · 9/17/2018 5:05 pm

I casually head east