Editing City of Dead Gods:Main Page (section)

==Game introduction==

The City of Hallows, 21st Thirdmonth, 1067 AT

Midnight in the city, the blue-grey gloom of midday given way to the purple-black of the vastness of space as the Slayer drifts in front of the tiny sun which the Hallows orbit like lost children. As usual, the condensation from the water droplets bourne on the stellar wind falls like the temperature down from The Lady's vast, stained glass eyes onto the streets and canals scoring The Fallen, onto the miserable throngs in their ramshackle buildings, built in the thousand styles of the races who flock to the place. The few creatures on the street lurch and struggle from place to place in the thick, unpleasant-smelling rain, and occasional patrols of the dwarf and giant militia scout the streets- well, at least the streets they don't expect to get jumped on. 

An observer might say this is a city of opportunities- though he likely isn't observing under that bridge, on the edge of the canal, where that mind flayer is finishing up his goblin snack. Also he is likely not looking there, on the shoulders of the Slayer, where the holy temples of the Thirteen Gods of Goblinkind are leaving that unpleasant red-black stain down his chalky mail shirt. There's a pretty good chance he isn't looking across space down at the noble houses on the Lady, because the richest elves have wards against that sort of thing that will melt your eyeballs and turn your brains to spiders. And so, if the observer is looking for opportunities, his choices are limited. So let's focus on one place where they're never in short supply.

In the shadow of the prone figure's vast chin, a three story, well built building in the elven design looms over a gaslit alleyway. A swinging brass sign is emblazoned with the image of some sort of green wading bird, and most passers-by pay it no mind as they go about their business. Inside, a large sitting room is filled with a variety of oddities, both in its occupants and its fixtures. A variety of magical and gaslit lanterns vie with a smoky, open whale oil lamp and even a few torches. No two of the many chairs are alike, and most are occupied with humans, dwarves, and odder creatures. Next to a huge, elephantlike loxo sits a cherubic halfling woman festooned with daggers of every description. Behind the bar, a one-eared sibeccai slings a tall, clear, vile smelling drink (complete with olive) to an armored spiker, who clinks her drink against the frothing mead-horn of the bugbear on the next stool before tipping it back, to the cheers of several dwarf crossbowmen who place bets on the better drinker. The spiker is winning.

The one thing all of these disparate creatures have in common is the rich kelly green of their clothes and the heron who rides on cloak, hat, and belt. For this is the headquarters of the Emerald Heron, and upstairs, in one of the pleasant sitting rooms, the head of the order, Anaximander, sits in his favourite chair, stroking his grey-streaked beard. The black-robed wizard skims the latest scandal rag, carelessly flung on the ottoman at his feet. He lights his ever present pipe. He adjusts his half-moon spectacles. The person in the chair across from him grows increasingly impatient. Eventually, Anaximander looks up, and sighs.

"Mr Kajagiyet. Surely, you know that we are not some sort of low class mercenary establishment. We're not hired muscle, and we're not thugs. We also don't take sides- elves vs. gobbers is bad for the business of learning. As you may have noticed when you came in, I'm happy to say we've got elf, drow, hobgob, AND blue members, among others, all working together real happy-like. So if your run is going to twig the Armada, then find another company- I hear the Red Flags are in town and looking for work."

At this, the cowled figure grins, exposing his broken yellow teeth. An old hobgoblin, his blue and orange mottled hide betrays his psionic heritage. The red, wolf-trimmed cloak belies his allegiance- a wolfson, some ranking noble among the Ghuk-ta-Kali star hordes. The hobgoblin waves his hand in a dismissive gesture.

"Oh, Mr. Anaximander, we have done this sort of work together before, surely you know I would not put you in the danger, or your men! This is, personal request? Not a Ghuk mission, this time. Is one of my hobbies, Gatebuilder! Big interesting! But, of course, Pack Alpha say he wants to go to dried up planet, people point finger, yes? They say, what does Kali want with old gobber base, so near The Forest? People are big talking, they say Ghuk on the move, whole thing falls apart, big wartime again. Gobber base is on other side of planet! But that what they will say. Is bad all around. So, I am thinking, who can be discrete, who can be trusted, who is not on side of pointies? Old friends! Emerald Herons! And so I come. You get your best crew. I tell more then. You will do this. You cannot resist it, the call of knowledge. You cannot resist fine gobber silver, either, no?"

At this, Anaximander smiles and shrugs. "What can I say, Kajagiyet? You're right. Gatebuilders? Discretion? Silver? This does sound like an Emerald Heron job."

Anaximander's ring glows for a moment, and within his mind, the one-eared sibeccai barkeep barks a polite "Yessir?"

"Get me the crew of the Jormungandr. I've got a job for them."