Campaign of the Month: May 2016


The Watcher.

Written by stigandr


Tolot ‘the Toothless’ had finished recording the events of the day and took his usual balcony seat with its shady view overlooking in the evening plaza. From up in his minaret he could watch the people of Siwal meet and bleat and from here he, diviner, spymaster and rumourmonger of some import, could magically put out his senses to catch the more trivial events of the city.

He sat back and mentally focussed on the crystal orb that sat within his cupped hands. His senses began to swim… He could hear the intolerant grunts of camels and the cries of street-vendors mesh into a cacophonous din, beggars protesting as a guard patrol attempted to move them on, or was it a shake down for a bribe? Prostitutes watching from the upper story of the brothel opposite occasionally shouting crudity down to those who might possibly ‘try their wares’. A group of adventurers stalking the early evening. Interesting.

The elf-blood in the lead was sinuous and easy to lose in a crowd, too practiced for that to be an accident. His boots however had picked up a slight dusting of spice and Tolot could see that he was seeking distance from a large spiked gearforged that was the opposite of subtle. The gearforged in turn was followed by three figures, a N’kosi and two humans, both of whom were obviously foreign, alert and watching for trouble. The northerners were clearly unaccustomed to the heat, but well dressed and armed. All subtly smelled of spice… And what was that? Underneath the scent of the gearforged’s grease (and was that, bear?) Tolot could sense that the weapons he carried wore the wet tang of recent blood. Tolot had heard that such a group had recently arrived from Nuria Natal and been privately received at the sultan’s palace. He practiced a mnemonic exercise in order to memorise their faces and appearances. Most fascinating.

Tolot continued to follow the group’s progress as the sun began to ebb and they left the basalt towered plaza, heading down towards the funerary gate via an alleyway. They were heading into the cemetery… At night… But although discrete they made no real attempt to hide the direction of their travel. Nor did the gate-guards make an attempt to question or hinder the armed strangers… Speaking in accented Nurian one of the humans produced what looked like a warrant or writ, Tolot focussed and could make out the seal of the Vizier.

‘Official business…’ Hmmm… Tolot knew that there had been rumours of disappearances recently… Tolot’s scrying further watched the adventurers through the gate, vicariously he felt his pulse quicken as memories of his own adventuring days came flooding back to him, ah yes, the feeling of threat, the facing of danger… violence was building in the air tonight.

Remembering his health Tolot ceased scrying, at his advanced age he had to limit the strain of sustained concentration over a long day. Approaching his journal he began to organise his thinking, the quill danced into life, dipped itself into the ink and began to record his train of thought ‘Now, who would profit from this?’




The Watcher.
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