The New Magisters of Q'Roth

Forging Destiny
A mundane moot and a direction decided?

Our battle weary heroes, exhausted after fighting the Magisterial forces managed to make it back to Faraan’s bakery to be met by a torrent of abuse.
The business had been heavily vandalised though luckily it was mostly cosmetic and Faraan’s family were still safe upstairs. None-the-less Faraan’s brother was livid that he had abandoned the establishment but molified by the idea that Lagertha would be there to fend off any other attacks calmed down and together they tidied up the premises with the promise of a place to sleep for most of the party had nowhere. Dhakiyah was less than pleased with the slight step down in comfort levels she was used to and vowed to find a place of her own as soon as she could.
A few days passed as they gathered their wits and protected the building and indeed street from the rioting still gripping the city. They started to form plans of looking for supplies and to get trade and some kind of normalcy back. Lagertha served as a figurehead and focal point, many wishing trouble would take one look at her and decide caution.
A commotion was heard as one of the heroes of the last games strode into the street, flanked by a honor guard and gawpers. The city tended to be safer during the day.
he strode up to Talice and berated her for leaving them to fight the Grand Magister and for being foolish during the games. he cursed her name, telling her to leave them well alone, they had better things to deal with and left as suddenly as he appeared.
Most of the people on the street were not rich enough to have seen Talice in the games and could only imagine what she had done to deserve such rebuke.
Both Dhakiyah and Sallah knew of a rich trader called Astor Finx and thought approaching him about getting trade back up and running would be a good idea. He was known to be quite liberal and noble for one so rich and powerful in the corrupt Game City of Tyr.
Dhakiyah and Faraan decided on different tacks to find Astor but both arrived at one of his warehouses around the same time but were turned away by heavily armed guards. they did leave word of who they were, giving some time to a discussion over what they should call themselves. Naming for the area they were currently protecting seemed sensible but a slight misunderstanding has caused the unofficial nickname of the Milk Maidens (after a statue in the Old Cattle Market part of town they are based) to be accepted more readily than anything else.
The party thought getting equipment would be a good idea and heading to a guard outpost nearby found it empty of people barring a couple of vagrants. Some of the gear had been left however, the guards either having fled or killed by rebels. Stocking up on weapons the vagrants helped them carry some back to the bakery asking only to sign up with them, to keep safe.
Elsewhere in the city similar things were happening. As the explosive unguided rioting died down, differing factions of rebels began to assert control over parts of the city.
Wanting a better picture of what was going on Dhakiyah thought they could use Talice’s connection to her old adventuring party to get in with the central rebel command in the grand Pyramid.
Travelling back to where they had fought not so long ago was not especially dangerous though they kept o their toes for signs of danger.
Talice especially, noticed that four main rebel groups seemed to be in control. Sigils on banners or dawbed in paint on walls suggested this. A lightening bolt, a bear, a fox and a
crescent moon.. They weren’t always seperate, most mingled with others everywhere but divisions did seem to be forming.
On getting to the Pyramid they sort of hustled their way in but if expecting a heroes welcome they were sorely disappointed. A gathering of the leaders of the rebels were around a table in a large room. Cordoned off by a fence and guards. A mass of people surrounded the fence all shouting to get attention. Grievances, reparations, justice. A mess of lost causes and renewed hopes.
Lagertha without hesitation began to shout about the giving out of the magisters Magical artifacts many stolen from the kingdoms subjects. Her voice seemed not to reach the leaders present but others near her heard and began shouting for items they had lost. Or perhaps hadn’t and saw an easy way to claim a fortune.
Faraan seemed incredibly put out by the way things were organised. No way to run a city. Nothing was getting done and he could not get through to anybody that was meant to be getting things done. Talice could not get the attention of her old delving party but, perhaps because of the way she had been treated earlier, didn’t seem so fussed. She left a note saying she had been by. She gathered information from the people around her trying to gauge what was happening. Nothing much seemed to be the answer but about the four groups she did find out that the Bolt was the largest faction generally well regarded and headed up by Francine Bouvier, instrumental in forming the rebellion and defacto leader of it all, she was sat at the table. The bears were led by a dwarf who was also present. Krychek Cragface, violently anti magic seeing it as a tool of the oppressors. Numair Sabaahat, an attractive man sat at the table represented the crescent moons. they seemed more self regarding, more interested in the way the power vacuum could be exploited, well at least that was how people not wearing crescent moon symbols on their clothes told it. The last faction seemed more mysterious. No-one talice talked knew who fronted them. They appeared more benign, much like the Milk Maidens they appeared interested in reforming the communities and rebuilding.
Dhakiyah noticed some richer folk up on a balcony looking down on the proceedings. Astor Finx was up there. There was no way up from this room but she figured she could find a way round.
Using some of her magical powers she turned invisible to pass by any guards who might be around (indeed they were quite a few). however she was not as quiet as she might have liked and despite not being able to see her one sentinel heard her presence and chased her away from the stairs she wished to get up. Thankfully she got away quickly, the invisibility spell had quite a duration but was not indefinite. She escaped his noticed and managed to get back up the stairs by doffing her armour in an empty room making her much quieter.
Re-appearing before she entered to balcony to talk to Astor she made an impression on the large bearded merchant who had received the groups note and was taking notice of the activities of the Milk Maidens.
With nothing really concrete from Astor yet and dejected by the loud, mindless mess of the rebel command the group headed back to the bakery to rest.

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Our heroes meet.

Five brave souls all with differing reasons find themselves in the Game City of Tyr.
Talice – a dark elf, part of a band of adventurers kidnapped by the magisters of Q’Roth for use in their despicable deathtrap games.
Lagertha Strongshield – an imposing human seeking the glory that can only come from battle.
Farraan – a human baker swept up in the looting and vandalism taking place alongside the rebellion against the Magisters
Dhakiyah Nur Vildan – a half-elven magic user, lethal with spell and sword. Somewhat famous for fighting in the gladiator arena of Tyr. Notorious as a showboat.
Sallah Al-Bakkesh – mystic druid of an outlawed philosophy, last of his sect. Captured shortly before the revolution began.

Having survived the perilous dungeons Talice found herself split from her compatriots and witnessed a fancy looking half elf – Dhakiyah, help some rebels storm the arena. On trying to escape she found in a room set ablaze Sallah, chained up in a cage with four others. She quickly pick the locks to get them out, whilst the druid controlled the flames with his elemental powers as much as he could. Dhakiyah changed from her recognisable gladiator armour, worried that as a symbol of the magisters power she may be targeted by over zealous rebels. But as she did so gave directions to Talice and Sallah on how to get out quickly.
Finding themselves outside the arena Talice saw a runaway horse and cart careering towards a young boy. She quickly cast a sleep spell on the horse and dove at the boy rolling with him out of the way as the cart crashed over the prone equine form and flipped onto the just empty ground where the boy had been. Sallah was impressed with the strange dark skinned elf’s heroism.

Farraan co-owned a reasonably successful bakery with his brother and enjoyed his work but had always thought something lacking from his life. When the uprising began he saw a chance to just let loose and run amok. He had always hated Willington Smythe-Bennet and grabbing a rolling pin swept along with a bunch of rebels, or perhaps just looters heading in the direction of the nobles house. He didn’t really care what he was smashing just as long as he was smashing. Most of the others had left the house continuing up the street but he stayed and was alone in a room when he knocked a lighting sconce opening up a secret door. Inside were vases, ancient looking, chests, tapestries from across the sea. he had no real inclination to rob but crashed around again destroying anything he could.
And this was how he released an ancient Djinn from it’s lamp prison. Smoke enveloped Farraan and though if anybody was watching not but a second of time had passed, he came out of the smoke a changed man. Who could say what the Djinn promised him or what he had promised the Djinn but he was certainly no longer just a baker.

Lagertha Strongshield dropped her drink and grabbed her weapon and shield as soon as she heard combat commence. She was waiting for this moment and now some of the magisters forces would pay the price of blood.
She charged out and was almost immediately knocked down. She had slightly underestimated the effect the drink had on her. Shaking it off she barrelled through city guards knocking them flying with a roaring bellow that shook the heavens. The bulk of the action seemed to be coming from the arena so she headed that way clearing guards left and right. She raged past the house farraan just stumbled out of and slightly in a daze he headed behind her seeing as she was getting rid of the law around here.
However one of the guards she had bashed aside with her shield recovered quickly and stood up to attack her from behind. Farraan let out a shout of warning and a stream of magical energy shot from his hand blasting the guard down. Farraan was slightly shocked by this but to Lagertha eyes he had just smoothly saved her, though she swallowed back a slight repulsion at his use of magic.

They made it to a side entrance of the arena where they saw a child being returned to his mother by a Drow. Another half elf emerged from a doorway and a roughshod hermit looking fellow. They clearly weren’t guards but Lagertha did not have to wait long for her battle lust to be filled. Lackeys of the Magisters came from the end of the street yelling to suppress all not in a Q’Roth uniform.
Working together they five quickly dispatched the goons and Dhakiyah told them off where they might find someone with more rank to fight (with an eye perhaps on taking advantage of the chaos to nab some interesting items the magisters may have). She led them up into the pyramid that rested against one edge of the arena where they fought more guards and confronted a magister, minor though he was, whose magic deflected many of their attacks but in the end he fell just as everyone else they had faced had done.

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Vive la Revolution

Talice was badly wounded, dazed, confused. Smoke and dust kicked up around her from the arena’s floor. It was late enough in the day that the cursed sun did not affect her too badly but she felt stabbing pains behind her eyes none-the-less. The dungeon death traps below may have been the whim of a deranged megolomaniac but at least she had not had to worry about the rays from Pelor’s Orb.
Out of the corner of her eye she caught a fleeting image of a small form. The gobin! She swore she saw the flute he had stolen off her so many days ago now in his hand. She would reclaim the flute. Reclaim some semblance of her old life.
She took off in the direction she had glanced the goblin’s movement, there was a tunnel leading out of the high walls surrounding the arena. She was aware of the noise of fighting coming from above in the seating areas. Her friends were the other side of the smoke cloud and Kyle the beleaguered gnome lay unconcious but stable in the shadow of the wall.
The tunnel was fairly short and had been gated at both ends, though the one by the arena floor had been opened. The other however was blocked. And two forms stood in front of it. One was in some ornate armour that shone in the dimly lit passage, the other wore the uniform she had seen on guards that had been positioned in the arena.

Dhakiyah Nur Vildan always knew the angle to play. The Magisters had become corpulent and complacent. Even if this rebellion failed, and she was sure it wouldn’t at least in terms of this initial fight, there would be another. She may be nothing more than a glorified slave but she represented the old guard. Fought in the arena for them. Had killed many enemies of the magisters. Their biggest failing was that they could not believe the disparate elements of Q’Roth could talk to each other for more than five minutes let alone plan organised insurrection. Dhakiyah had heard the rumblings, everyone had, but she made sure to get word to the right people, ones who wouldn’t kill her before listening and let them know she would be ideally positioned to open certain doors, leave a vital window unlocked when the time came. Thankfully, when the time did come, there was at least one person amongst the rampaging mob that met her by the tunnel gate who knew who she was. Unfortunately for Derrick, the guard on duty, he was unaware of Dhakiyah’s duplicity.
“we can hold them off from here, I see no bows. Your magic can deal with them” Derrick poked his sword through the gate a couple of times before backing off a little.
Dhakiyah looked at Derrick whose attention was on the gate. She heard a noise and saw the dark elf, one who had been playing the games recently bearing down on him. It was incredibly unlikely the elf would be sympathetic to the Magisters but also, as an outsider was likely to be ignorant of who FELIX was.
Dhakiyah slid her sword into the back of Derrick’s neck, killing instantly. She nodded at the rebels and unlocked the gate, they pushed past roughly some clearly, deliberately ramming an elbow in Dhakiyah’s body, but they left her alone. She needed to get out of the ceremonial armour, it made her too recognisable as a Magister lapdog. Half-Elves were not exactly common in Q’Roth but she could talk her way out of any trouble easier if not in a symbol of the oppressor.
The Drow had followed her through to the changing room. A fire was raging in the next room and Dhakiyah knew she had to get out of there quickly.

Sallah Al-Bakkesh was not happy. He had joined up with the rebels, believed in the cause. ThiGMOO. This Great Movement Of Ours. The Magisters had outlawed his philosophy. A small, even he had to admit, rather inconsequential sect. but harmless really. They shifted with the winds. And yet, somewhere along the line the Magisters had decided to wipe them out. As far as Sallah knew he was all that remained. He had hoped to find news of others captured by the governing forces but all he found was dead bodies. He had hooked up with the rebels, there had to be some reason for the Magisters crackdown on his kind and with the ruling class overturned perhaps he could find someone or something that could tell him why. Allow him to follow through with his teaching as he was barely a novice when his tutor had been taken.
And then he had only gone and got himself captured.
He asked the wrong question to the wrong person, he wasn’t even sure who as they had come for him in the night and dragged him through the streets for all to see before throwing him in chains to be used in the games.
he had hoped to just bide his time, he knew the attack was coming soon, though not exactly when. Turns out he did not have long to wait rebels streamed through to the room where he was caged with four others scant hours after being locked up.
However, despite his shouts for assistance the group of would be liberators took one look at the scraggly band of captives and moved past yelling for the Grand Magister’s head. The last one knocked a torch into some straw on the ground. Sallah did not know if this was deliberate or not but and accident would be no less fatal. The fire caught quickly and the others around him started to panic.
“Remain calm. We can work together to get out of this” but Sallah’s words fell on deaf ears.
He tried to break the chains himself. but they were too strong. He threw himself against the cage door but it was awkward whilst still connected to the others. He sat back down, the heat waves were washing over him. He took deep breaths to center himself. Allow the shifting winds of fate to settle his future. He would not cry out when the flames came, He could only hope his essence, his dust, would live on.
But the winds of fate were not finished with him yet.
A nearby door opened and in stepped through two elves, though about as different looking as you could imagine. One clad in fine armour, Sallah recognised her as a champion of the Arena. The other’s skin was a dark enough purple so as to be black.
He had heard a Drow had been in the latest games but had not seen her until now. What was she doing with the Champion?
The drow ran over without hesitation and began to try picking the lock o the cage. The fire was raging and the half elf was shedding the armour she wore appropriating some lighter fare from a nearby rack.
The cage door swung open as timbers in the ceiling began to crack.
The champion shouted at them. Directions to get out. Sallah was not sure why she was helping but thanked the Winds and hurried with the Drow and other captives towards the exit. He used some of his magics to control the elements, damping the fire enough to allow safe passage, and the Drow got them out of their chains.

Lagertha Strongshield drank deeply. The negative of such a sturdy constitution was it cost a lot more to get shitfaced. She had travelled to Tyr for vengeance. But thinking too much of the one she had lost made her want to get drunk. She did not like to feel this hurt, this pain. She could apply no salve, drink no potion to soothe this wound. Fighting or getting wasted could ease the suffering. But fighting and getting wasted suited her best. She had not had much luck getting connected to the rebel underground here, but had heard enough to know it was going down soon. She had seen some people she knew tonight looking a bit more on edge, a few more swords openly worn on the streets. Her bones knew when a ruckus was about to explode and she just had to sit and wait.
No one person could take on a city but one person could do a lot of damage if everyone was taking on the city. The Magisters would pay. And her payment would be blood.

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