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Sunday, February 26, 2012

Conversation overheard in the Undercity

An intro into a short run campaign about 9 years ago.


Shivering, cold and hungry, a small boy sits in filth. The sound of water crashing echoes in the distance as does the murmuring of the winds. The boy huddles tighter into the small niche he has found, peering into the darkness, vainly trying to pierce its veil. He cuddles tighter around the dimly glowing moss he had found. From nowhere comes a mocking voice.

Still floundering around in the dark? Now, don’t get testy—you won’t need that dagger you are clutching! Not that you could hit me with it anyway, taking into account you haven’t eaten in three days and are limping pretty bad. 
Astaroth’s Tits boy, I run the Warren and know everything there is to know!
Who am I?
Come now, even a gnawbone like you has heard of me, I am sure.
Lachat is my name and if you want to survive down here in the warren, underneath the great city you had better be like Machaic before Skirin and wise up!

I have watched you since you stumbled down here from above, running from that tattooed Salt Arm. What do you owe them—money? Sex? Work? Or your life for some infringement? Not interested in telling me?
Don’t worry, you will in time 

Lachat’s voice fades away into the darkness

A small form hunkered down in the slime ridden moss of a stony corner. Once perhaps, the room of sorts served a different purpose, but now was little more than a byway for the sewer that coursed above and around. Of course, it served as a byway for more than the refuse of those who dwelled above and more than one lurker plied its ways as a pathway in the equally grand Undercity below.

So, how is the taste of rat?

From nowhere, the mocking voice floats on the air.

The boy scrambles around and looks up fearfully from his first meal in an indeterminable time.

Don’t worry, the voice says, I its long since I have desired to feast upon the flesh of rats. My taste runs to more richer flesh, you might say.

Sooo, ready to speak to Lachat today? No?

Too bad. I hear the Gloom Striddlers are looking for a nice bit like you. Nice bit of cringing there! Really, I was just kidding…though don’t underestimate the dangers of the Wizzen. You luck will not last forever, you know.

What’s that? Done well have you? Think you are surviving okay since you avoided Urbail, our local unsavory slaver and slew a few Swlive with your little knife?

You’ve learned a few tricks but you’ll need more than that to survive where you are wandering into now. Good luck! 

With a sardonic chuckle the voice departs again.

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