npc inbox: sa-hareth + stairs of sighs

[groundrules]

NPC INBOX: SA-HARETH

Reach out to your (not-so-)favourite NPC here, putting their name in the comment header. Try to keep it to just quick text/audio/written exchanges or inquiries that can accept summarised answers, please!

CURRENTLY WITH THE PARTY

	THE MERCHANT username: raven master The patron saint of etiquette and the eastbound getaway expedition. Seems to largely trade information alongside wares. Appreciates spices, strategy and collaboration. Has an eerie and overly cautious manner. Committed. Defends the benefit of the many, to the detriment of the few.
	KARSA username: lady of the willow tree Sorceress, young (?). Employed by the Merchant and deferential to him. Talented but fiery and frequently impatient, intolerant of fools. She will get today's job done yesterday. Struggles to sympathise with men, objections and those who cannot absorb information quickly. Enchanted the group's translation devices.
	ASGEIRR The ghost of a scholar monk. Haunts the tattered execution cloak that the party stole from the La Rea bank in Sa-Hareth. Once a champion of equality and freedom, he faced ire for converting his followers against the regionally profitable trade of slavery. Soft-spoken but wise and just, slow to regain his strength. Will speak to those who visit his cloak in brief interludes. Favours necromancers.
	MAZYAR Charlatan, crook or wise man, Mazyar has worn all the names. Once an exceptionally skilled smuggler, now an equally apt tradesman and caravan master, allied with the Merchant. Less cryptic than his 'associate,' if more prone to riddles and keen on items with value.
	GHOST ARMY OF ARHA A maudlin, marauding and eerily fixated army led by the young lord Arha through the Stairs of Sighs. They seek to rescue Arha's oracle lover Hatisse from Taravast.
	OUHRSSON Guys, it's a bear.

SA-HARETH

	"HALTHAM" | ANURR username: Haltham | illiterate The undead warlord Anurr, previously posing as gentle-mannered giant Haltham. An embodiment of Sa-Hareth's cold storms and wind, who regained his territory from contender Unhalad with the inadvertent help of the party in Arc I. Frostily rational and amenable to some negotiation.
	THE (NOT-SO) GOOD PEOPLE From distressed locals to busy-bee merchants, guards, enchanters, tradesmen, politicians and looser-tongued courtesans — never underestimate the value of indiscretion in a citadel built on commerce, rumour and stubbornly choosing to ignore the expanding rule of the undead. Not every piece of gossip or legend's worth your time, but beggars can't be choosers.

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Comments

[sergeant_slick]

Ah shit. "No, no, I didn't mean anything by it," He tries to backpedal. He did mean it, but he hadn't meant it to be so obvious.

"Like you say, I don't know him, you do. My problem's not with good leaders who treat their men right, just some dishonorable ones I've known."

[aprescoup]

And, like the crackling of thunder rumbling across the field, tension fissures, easing, escaping from the back and bones of the soldier crowd. There, crisis averted.

"See, friends? No trouble here." And the old man nods along, his point proven. "Our new friend only doesn't know Lord Arha. So, he wants himself a woman. What hasn't? He no different than the next. And her... well. Ain't worth him, but."

[sergeant_slick]

"That's right." Well, he'd never really been around women before so he couldn't truthfully agree to that, and admittedly he was trouble, but he could agree, he hadn't the first damn clue about Arha.

So technically he wasn't lying there.

"Don't know anything about her either. What's the story there?" If that was another point that could be used as a wedge, then maybe he could do something with that.

Wait, when had he started thinking about doing anything? This wasn't his fight, these weren't his brothers. They were just...

Fuck, he wasn't doing a very good job convincing himself.

[aprescoup]

Fresh unease roils around the soldiers, though animosity withholds itself. They look from Slick to one another, then turn their eyes on their seeming leader, who mulls his words carefully, jaw slack and clicking his tongue — as if he might wet his fleshless lips to avoid the aridity of the canyons.

"Be nothin' I'm saying against the good Lord." This, half for Slick, half for the men around him, to know he is not incriminating their good liege, or making them his accomplice in the misdeed. "The Attaryl witches sent'er young and pretty, loaned off to our 'court.' Course, we don't have nothing so fancy, but it's what they do. Train'em, send them off as court mages, and she had herself learning to do. They work while they're borrowed, we don't be feeding them for nothing."

A quiet, approving nod hum from many in the group. The story carries on, "So we took her, meaning, we had'er along for some marches. She spent her some time in tents doing whatever witches do, or healing, or... writing letters to her people, or putting the coin books in order. Nonsense. We're conquerors, not heavens-struck scribes. But she passed'er time. And she was always with the Lord, needing this scroll, that approval, presenting some... plans for... orphans or war children, or... whatever she did. Course he took a liking to her. Told you. She was pretty. And just about the only woman we had with us, except them camp whores. Think it was a year before the Attaryl wanted her back. She went over. The Lord didn't like that, but him, man of his word, what could he have done? She wasn't his to keep, though damned if he didn't try."