Plutocracy: The Lords of Wealth and Death

Considering Rifkin's natural charm and skill set, it doesn't take him long to discover that Valdez, magnificent city as it is, has recently experienced a failed coup. The city's leadership are the wealthiest members of society but also the most decadent and the most hated. It's only their iron-fisted control of the city guard that maintains their elevated position.

Less than a month ago though, a popular and virtuous Captain of the city guard; Najam, tried to incite a rebellion against the corrupt council. Over a period of months, he'd covertly recruited a large portion of the city's soldiers to his cause but was ultimately betrayed by one of the very men he'd trusted the most. He was arrested in the dead of night, while lying unarmed and naked with his young, pregnant wife.  

The head of the leading family; High Lord Thariun, ordered that all of the surviving rebels be interred into the pits of the gladiatorial arena. To fight and die for his personal entertainment. Most were killed quickly but some of them have not just survived, but thrived, actively winning over swarths of the population in the process.

Enraged, Thariun has ordered the arena Odds-master to weight each progressive battle further and further against the surviving soldiers by supplying rare and dangerous creatures. Huge, ferocious beasts that no amount of human skill or daring could possibly overcome.

From his room in one of the cheaper boarding houses, Rifkin considers the situation. Using this information, won't be easy but perhaps it could be useful...

Hagridden

 

Go, Go, Golgotha!

 

Death Waits in the Darkness

Deep down in the darkness, far below the blood-stained sand of the arena, a terrifying leviathan tests its restraints for the hundredth time. Well over thirty feet in length from its wide, tooth-filled muzzle to tapered tail-tip, it's bound chest down, flat to the ground by over a dozen heavy, iron chains. Heaving upward, the heavily muscled reptilian beast tries again to push up off of the hard stone floor. Straining its relatively small arms but mighty legs, its sabre-like claws scrape thick grooves into the cold rock but fail to find sufficient purchase to overcome the protesting chains. After thrashing back and forth and bellowing in rage and frustration, the stubborn creature temporarily settles back to its angry seething.  

This wasn't how it was meant to be. He was Golgotha; Tyrant king! Descended from a long line of gore and glory. His sire Satanus was the undisputed pack leader, until he brutally wrestled that leadership for his own! His grandmother was Old-One-Eye herself!

The little fleshy creatures had swarmed him and snared him with their chains and magic but he'd have his revenge. He could smell them now, just out of reach, but every one of them would eventually feel the sharp edges of his teeth. Salivating at the thought of it, warm drool pours from his mighty jaw and pools onto the cold ground beneath him. 

He would kill them all and he would savour every bite.

Vibing and Bribing

 

The Bad, the Worse and the Ugly

The three men stand in a line opposite the gigantic, blood red scorpion. Although, flatter and wider, it has to be bigger than a horse! It's multiple bead-like eyes reflect the three suns currently overhead, its pincers and mandibles snap eagerly and its articulated, vicious looking, poison-filled stinger is already poised ready to strike.

The creature's currently held in place by two thick chains, held taught on either side but as soon as the second trumpet sounds, it'll be released.

Barbella shifts nervously in the sand. He's swapped his chainmail for a lighter chain shirt but he's still sweltering.

"What do we do? Where should I stab it?"

Henshaw looks down at his recently acquired, magically enhanced shield before answering.

"Honestly? I think we're probably going to die."

Doberman looks up at both of them with his big, dumb face.

"Don't worry. I squish the big bug good."

At the sound of the second trumpet blast and the subsequent clunk of the arachnid creatures manacles releasing, Henshaw shrugs.

"Well, it's been good knowing you boys."

Don't Wanna be... All by Myself!

The magical (protection from heat-stroke) water, from the dead Druid; Zyphir's well lasted seven days. Unfortunately, the journey from the Portal hiding Oasis to Valdez city has taken Rifkin, (with and without his companions) just over eight! The Bard used up all his and Tsigane's remaining natural water on the last day's trek and he's truly struggling by the time he spots the magnificent, yellow walled city in the distance. Another few hours and he'd certainly have died. The summoned Centaur; Tsigane's heroic gallop probably saved his life... For the second time!

It's still morning when Rifkin arrives at the main gate. The two guards are alarmed at his weakened and dehydrated state but accept him as a local, due to his darkly bearded appearance, hazel eyes and traditional silk attire. Just a native Human in a city full of humans.

After gulping down his fill of the water offered and cooling down under the large outer awnings, Rifkin sells the guards a yarn about how his camel died mid-journey and thanks/bribes them with ten gold coins apiece to allow him entry to the city with no further questions asked.

Once inside though, Rifkin is amazed by the life and vibrancy hidden by the outer wall. Brightly dressed children playing in the open spaces. Stall vendors selling everything from groceries to fashionable handbags and greenery! There are well tended trees and floral bushes everywhere, despite the lack of water outside. It's a chaotic but beautiful and very Human sight.

 

Momentarily distracted by the sounds, sights and smells, the disguised Bard shakes his head and steels his thoughts. He’s got more urgent matters to attend to. 

His friends, if they’re still alive, need his help!

A Wolf in Thesp’s Clothing

 

Back in the Green

Even as he's advising Rifkin on how to find his way, Tsigane feels his burning back and shoulders start to cool. He tries to wish the Bard 'good luck' but he can't be sure if he heard it. The Demi-Elf will certainly need it.

Unsquinting his eyes for the first time in an hour, the chestnut coated Centaur circles around, trying to get his bearings. He's back in the Fey wilds but astonishingly, exactly where he was. Despite running for the best part of an hour, he's travelled nowhere, not even a hoofstep in his own world!

Tossing his head in disbelief, Tsigane finds the nearest pool, wades straight in and immerses himself completely. The cool water stings his sun blistered skin but after the initial bite, it soothes him. It'll take a few days, but he'll be fine. Gulping down on the water between chokes, The centaur thinks of his Father. He wouldn't yet know that his son was missing, let alone settled their debt with the Goddess of the Pool.

Smiling broadly, Tsigane shouts out to the bright blue sky through the green canopy.

"Our blood debt is paid and I still live!"

Rolling to his four feet, the Centaur clambers out of the water and heads back to his camp. Rozinante must be told and Estrid must be updated of her Champions... Progress?

Talking Man-Horse Sense

Despite his substantial weight, the thick-set, four-footed Tsigane manages to keep track of the faster desert horsemen and then later, keep pace at a safe distance, with their slower wagon. 

Rifkin has managed to heal his own, hoof inflicted wounds and is still clinging to the mighty Centaurs back, but he knows that this solution is just a temporary one. The Goddess; Estrid had been quite clear about the abilities and conditions of the magical charm bracelet.

'You can summon any of the four creatures on the charm bracelet. Anywhere and at anytime but they will only be able to stay with you for a single hour and can never be summoned again.'

Awkwardly patting his sturdy Centaur companion’s bottom, Rifkin requests that Tsigane stop and let him down.

"Don't worry Barely-elf, I'm not done yet."

Regardless though, it's getting close to the hour and the sweating Centaur is glad of the break.

Using his remaining few minutes, Tsigane uncorks his full water-skin and takes just a sip before (despite the blistering heat and his sunburned shoulders) offering the remainder to the protesting Rifkin, along with some fruit from his satchel. 

"From what you say, you're still at least two more days from Valdez city and there'll be no sand cloud or tracks to follow soon. You'll need every drop of water you have, but I'll be fine, safe back in a cool forest glade. I can rest in the shade for as long as I need and drink my fill from the crystal clear pools there."

Gratefully accepting the gift of food and water, Rifkin drinks and eats as he watches Tsigane pointing to the three suns and listens to him explaining which way to head.

Then, as if fading like a mirage in the harsh sun, the Centaur disappears, leaving the delicate skinned Bard to strain his pointed ears at Tsigane's rich baritone goodbye...

"Good luck fair Bard. I fear you're going to need it!"

Staring for a moment at the space left behind, the well dressed Bard slings his mandolin over his shoulder and presses on... Unprotected and all alone.

Experience of the Arena... So Far

Assif requested another experience posting and although, you've only had three combat encounters (One of them unsuccessful) since the Oasis zombie battle, I'm happy to comply.

Unsurprisingly though, none of the PCs have advanced to the heavenly 7th level. Rifkin (despite his behind the scenes, escape plan machinations) is still stuck at 5th level but the lowly, Scarborough guards (After their two isolated arena combats) have snuck up to 3rd level!

Fortu: 18,873xp (6th)

Arowe: 18,818xp (6th)

Liga Bur: 18,681xp (6th)

Rifkin: 11,164xp (5th)

Henshaw: 3,016xp (3rd!)

Barbella: 3,006xp (3rd!)

Doberman: 3,006xp (3rd!)

(This includes in-game clever idea and all the Orange Inn 'Comments' and 'Posts' bonuses.)

As the three thug-guards have reached 3rd level and they seem to be sticking around, you can run them from now onwards. I divvied them out in a semi-deliberate fashion, giving the unevolved bullet; Doberman to Assif to be counterpoint to the elegant Arowe, the sneaky Barbella to Scott as he's best placed to exploit his... special set of skills and Henshaw to David as he fills a similar role to Fortu.

I sent you their stats on direct WhatsApp messages but I did it by 'scanning' my printouts by my phone and copy/paste them so there might be a few errors. Feel free to exchange them amongst yourselves if you want to swap them around.

Gladiator Purse

Just a quick Treasure post so we (I) can keep track of your personal wealth.

When you return to the post-bout changing room, you find three large wicker baskets as before. Each with your name on an attached tag.

All of your equipment and gold you left in the prep room is already neatly stored there along with a second coin purse. the first one had contained 50gp but this one is fatter. Inside is 100gp!

Gold

Arowe: +150gp

Liga Burr: +150gp

Fortu: +150gp

Magic

No new magic. 

In fact, Arowe and Liga Burr elected to use a few potions and a scroll.

Arowe used his potions of 'Cat's Grace' and 'Haste'.

Liga Burr used one of his 'WindWall' scrolls and his potion of 'Cure Moderate Wounds' to save poor Mir Hundur.

All four, probably wise choices.

Game Date: July… Again!

Scott has spoken and we have all agreed-ish.

Next Session:

Saturday the 29th of July.

Exactly four weeks between games.

I should be fine as Assif was right and we only got through two combat encounters last time. So loads written but unmet so far.

Not sure where the time zone is currently in Oz but I’m still assuming morning for the UKers and evening for Scott.

Will the Party escape or get eaten by Golgotha?!

The Making of the Centipod

 

From Rifkin with Love

The magical song bird alights on Liga Burr's bed and warbles a few sweet notes before disappearing in a puff of blue smoke. All that's left, is a small eggshell blue envelope lying where the beautiful, little bird had been. The cautious Halfling sniffs the envelope and before he even opens it, the familiar scent confirms his suspicion. It smells of Bard...

Dear Liga Burr,

Be not afraid my Halfling friend. I'm currently working on a cunning plan to get you, Arowe and Fortu out... (and Mir Hundur too).

Do your very best to survive your next bout and then, make some excuse to stay in the 'post-prep' area. Regardless of what the guards say, delay as long as possible.

I have recently learned that your capturer, the Wizard Moody, has bribed the arena masters to ensure that you won't survive your third bout. Apparently, IF you survive your second bout, your final opponent is to be a terrible beast. A monster, thirty feet tall, with a ginormous jaw full of razor-sharp teeth, each one longer than Fortu is tall! I'm not certain what this leviathan is exactly but the people call it: 'Golgotha: Son of Satanus. Grandson of Old One-eye'!

Wait for my signal and we'll make our escape!

Warm Regards,

Your loyal friend,

Rifkin.

xxx

Considering the author; the quillmanship is unsurprisingly lovely but Liga Burr is shocked when he realises halfway through, that it's perfectly written in the Halfling script. Making sure there are no guards within earshot, The Halfling reads the letter out-loud to his companions before ripping it up and swallowing the pieces.