Vallaki Sewers - The Drain

[Amon-Si]

Excitement thrums through the drain as the runt fights are expected to start soon!
//10min//

[Alan Hunter]

Rumors among the runts and the drain speak of a well dress darkly clad man. He seems to offer healing, wisdom, and aid to drain rewidence at no cost.  Those who have attempted to muscle or threaten the man have found their hearts to have exploded from thier chest warning of the Avenging Mother praising her name that she will aid the slighted and those who require vengeance. He preached of abandoning hope as it gives false truths that those opressed can rise with guidance and hard work and he was willing to make twists and calibans to rise beyond thier chains of opressions.

[Amon-Si]

The dran runt fights seem to have gone well, bringing coin and attention to the participants. The runt known as Beauty the decisive victor, is reported to be swimming in a personal bathtub of piss ale contemplating his now realizable dream of owning a cow.

[Zwickelfaust]

    Cryptic messages were found throughout the drain, written in blood. They read,
     "Darshe choice day3 laughing"

[Stygian Messiah]

Filthy fliers are scattered throughout the sewers of Vallaki - a few have even found their way to the mist camp. Their quality is incredibly poor, as if several simpletons collectively contributed their limited creative and intellectual talents, their fragile minds operating at maximum capacity, though still yielding the poorest results imaginable.

---->A Date and time is listed in large, bold red ink<-----

[Stygian Messiah]

Spoiler: show

Filthy fliers are scattered throughout the sewers of Vallaki - a few have even found their way to the mist camp. Their quality is incredibly poor, as if several simpletons collectively contributed their limited creative and intellectual talents, their fragile minds operating at maximum capacity, though still yielding the poorest results imaginable.

---->A Date and time is listed in large, bold red ink<-----

[The fliers have been collected]

//Gonna postpone this until another time

[qwertyuioppp]

Blood stains the sewer floor, slow to wash away. Shouts break the dripping and squeaking. Bronkus calls six people, with sixty fingers into the back room. The same six figures leave, but only forty-six fingers, and the group's purses are all considerably lighter.

[Sewerfish]

Sculptures of feces, rotten food, rusty metal, and other unwanted waste sprinkled with seeds adorn the dark corners of the sewers and subterranean tunnels like Shrines of Filth.

[Maharella]

[Stygian Messiah]

The runt caliban known as Kigyo has been seen in the Drain, trying to peddle a variety of goods and a brewing service. He proudly refers to his half assed operation as "The Dung Pile".

[Barovian Beggar]

A foreign knight grabbed in crimson and gold stands at the entrance of the abandoned sewer tunnels beneath Vallaki. He is armored with steel, fire and faith. He challenges the freaks and miscreants of the Drain.  By candle light the crusader delivers a sermon defining the virtues of humanity and its divine manifesto. He admonishes the caliban and witchspawned denizens of the sewer sanctuary with a sermon of the Holy Commandments from the Fourth Book of Zarus! Though he dares not enter the abandoned tunnel!

[CashMeOutside]

A once well known face has temporarily returned to the damp tunnels of the Drain.  The woman "Roxy" has been spotted conversing with Hoth from time to time, however she spends the majority of her days and nights sleeping in a rickety tent set up not far from where Crawler peddles his goods and services.  Despite her volatile nature she is rather withdrawn and seems to prefer her time to be spent alone.

[greeneggs]

[Along the hall going to the local herbalist pot in the common room of the drain, there is blood smeared on the wall and floor.  A heavy amount of it as if someone had been murdered.  Bloodied small hand prints on the pipes in an almost desperate attempt to get away -- however the ending result is an even larger blood smear on the floor in almost the outline of a body.  The body is no where to be found, however.]

[Stygian Messiah]

The runtish and timid caliban known to some as Twitchy, others as Kigyo, stumbled into the Drain a carved, broken and bruised mess. He rapidly went to visit Mad Dok to see his injuries recovered. Amidst his shrieks and cries of agony, only a handful of words can be made out.

"I! Hate! Dogs!"

He would spend much time in recovery in close proximity to Dok.

[Ilu Asu]

A runt dressed in flamboyant golden cloth is seated at a table in the drain, surrounded by books and food entrés that one could only find on the surface. The sewer calibans roar and laugh among themselves as they overhear an outrageous job offer:  Considerable compensation for books, & edible cultural delicacies from Port-a-Lucine.

[Ilu Asu]

A candle along with a note in Balok written on a crisp piece of parchment that seems to defy getting soaked appears in the sewers..


The paper that once held the note has since been removed.

[Legion XXI]

[A few days have passed since his appearance, and word would perhaps begin to spread where those outside the shadowy freelancers and downtrodden denizens of the Drain would take notice...]

A man clad in dark, heavy metallic armor has been making himself known in the shadowy underways and decrepit tunnels of the Drain.  He stands tall and proud, and has an almost hungry gaze peering out from the steel helm that he never seems to remove.  Much of his time is spent among the cauldrons, tents, and the thrice-shunned outcasts that make up the deeper underbelly of the Drain. 

His message is clear:  He stands as the representative of a larger whole.  A group of outcasts from a land beyond the mists who are similarly shunned in their own homelands.  He and his faithful have come offering healing, aid, protection, and assistance to those turned away by the priesthoods of the surface world.  To those who are told they are not worthy nor wanted to walk in the sunlight among the rest of the world.  He claims to be powerful enough to reverse death itself, and offers his services to those in need.  Though he offers an almost suspiciously optimistic message for a man surrounded by murderers, thieves, opportunists, and sellswords - a simple but clear symbol stands in stark contrast to these honeyed words of selfless aid.  On this man's inky black cloak is a symbol known well to the people of this stranger's far away land.  A pale white and jawless skull, backed by a purple sunburst.  He calls himself "The Harbinger", and he bears the macabre symbol of the Church of Cyric...

[Legion XXI]

Two mysterious figures returned to the drain proudly triumphant this night.  Hoisted victoriously above their heads was a small metal object that they seem to find great value in.  After proclaiming victory over an unnamed enemy, and a fair amount of verbal chest-beating, the duo praised their dark deity and claimed that great and mysterious powers had been bestowed upon them to carry out their task. 

They followed this up with an offer, made to no one in particular:  Those who join in the support of their lord will also be blessed by his servants.  Those who spy, steal, kill and lie.
 Those who follow in the shadows or spill blood under the moon's pale gaze may find an easy home among them.  Any who seek to elevate themselves beyond their peers, any who show the ambition to become greater. . .  and the willingness to act on this ambition. . . will find glory among their numbers.  They seek the strong, the quick, the bold, and the cunning - or those who long to become such.  They offer power, and in return, they ask for an oath of loyalty or a sacrifice of coin to sate the needs of this wicked cult. . .

A tattered and dirt-stained banner is hoisted near the two - a banner bearing the grim imagery of a pale white skull backed by a purple sunburst.  It's eyeless sockets watching over the two strange zealots.

[Better Dread than Dead]

[Word spreads to the Drain and its denizens, and eventually, to all around the Grey City, of a massive battle having taken place below Vallaki, in the early morning; the sounds of clattering steel and what could only be described as the dark work of warlocks, taking place to the north, where the wererats make their den. It would end with an scream that would echo through the various sewer tunnels, then silence, and then the loud and somewhat manic exultations of a lone woman..]

[phantasia]

Strange words spread yet again to denizens of the Drain -- those claiming that they heard of a series of explosions that rocked the very foundations of the lower sewers themselves. Others insist they heard rushing waters and roaring pipes for upwards of an hour's time, before they mysteriously calmed again. Then there are the few who say that they saw fuming clouds of crimson energy, and felt a great drop in temperature while near these anomalies. Whatever may be true or false for those that lend an ear to the mutterings of the even stranger Drain-folk, there is one certainty, and that is something has happened far below the place. Something that will likely be forgotten with time.

[Ilu Asu]

An angry caliban runt was seen shouting at Hoth, wielding a magic blade with a slew of  profanity that no drain dwelling individual could truly comprehend.

The runt threw a key at Hoth, cursing the drain and all those who reside in it before storming off in a perfume filled rage.

[DM Brimstone]

[Caliban tongues wag of an ebon-skinned, silver-haired figure clad in sooty-metallic armor, trimmed in vibrant purple, affixing various postings that litter the Drain and were adhered to the mold-encrusted ductwork.  The parchments are riddled with pock marks where liquid had permeated the paper in splotches.  The edges of the postings curled from excessive moisture.  Hand-scrawled scripting was stained a rich, violet-berry color.  At the bottom of the parchment is a finger-scrawled drawing depicting a single eye, encircled in a nimbus of an amalgamate of vibrant purple, soot and grime]

Spoiler: Text • show

The time of slithering and gelatinous is upon us. 

Auspicious tidings have prophesized this day.  The burgeoning of filth and grime slide across the stagnant waters with the revelation.

That Which Lurks shall descend upon the lands, enshrouding all within Its glorious amorphous embrace.  Predators shall cull the weak, leaving only those who genuflect and pay rightful homage and are -worthy- in Its wake. 

Sacrifice glorifies the exalted Eye – the ever-vigilant, omniscient, sentry pervasive – The viscous mucus and secretions the medium for transcendence. Assimilate into Its power; coalesce with Its strength; emancipate the easily sundered membranous husks that house your feeble musculature and brittle skeletal frames. Else be consumed by Its ravenous caustic secretions and reduced to more piteous than a mere worm, clawing along your bellies, keening and lamenting for mercy.

Sacrifice of yourself freely to Its will and know the enshrouding, embrace of power that transcends mortal structure.  Venerate the primordial Overlord, raise orisons in his praise and seek Its salvation -- or know only the despair of darkness within the deepest depths, engulfed in a nimbus of sludge, and exiled to a vacuous existence.

[DM Brimstone]

[Once more rumors swirl of the ebon-skinned and violet clad figure adhering postings inside the acrid and muck-encrusted depths of the Drain. A malodorous scent accompanies the figure, though this is not uncommon given the denizens that reside within the bowels of the Grey City]

[A new set of parchments are once more riddled with pock marks where liquid had permeated the paper in splotches.  The edges of the postings curled from excessive moisture.  Hand-scrawled scripting was stained a rich, violet-berry color. The bottom of the parchment bears the depiction of a single eye, encircled in a nimbus of an amalgamate of vibrant purple, soot and grime]


Decree of the Elder Eye

Already the flesh is consumed by the slithering muck and filth.  That Which Lurks has secured but the -first- that glorifies the primordial ooze that will envelope the lands.  Now is the time of his reckoning. 

Genuflect and pray for absolution -  beg for the mercy that -may- deliver you from the revelation that is to come.  As the muck stripped membranous flesh, sinew, and musculature from bone this eve, so will all perish that fail to concede to the will of sinuous slime that slides along the depths. 

The worthy will garner consideration in the omniscient eye of our Lord.  The weak will be culled.  Thus are the tenets of those with the righteous conviction to serve the true God that shall consume all. 

-Subjugate yourself to His will or be devoured-

[Chaoshawk]

A man in the Morninglord's colors was seen in the Drain creating potions and offering healing to those who required it and urged those to turn away from those of Bane or Cyric. Later he was met with the man known as The Harbinger of Cyric to which the Morninglordian priest confronted him in a challenging manner. He then made his departure in dramatic fashion.

[Legion XXI]

[The man known as The Harbinger festively paraded his way through the Drain's halls tonight with the fresh corpse of a dead morninglord priest draped over his shoulder.  There was a nearly manic demeanor about him, breaking the norm of his usual low, stoic tones.  He took the corpse to the back of the drain, knelt in murmured prayer over it for a time, and then left.  On his way in, as well as his way out, he boasted that this was the fate of those who tried to challenge the Harbinger.  The fate of those who meddled in the plans of the Prince of Lies...]