Abrahms
One Thousand Club
Porthca Landing I: Memory of the Sea
The sun is working its way over the horizon, a strong breeze blowing across the land bringing the smell of the sea and all its pleasantries. Well, some people still don't care for the smell, but are willing to put up with it when it comes to making money. Porthca rests in the northwest coast of Okesh, within a smaller region known as the Sinking Plains -- referred to as such because it seems every rainy season, more and more of the land disappears.
Sounds of the docks can be heard throughout the city, at all hours. Newcomers are easily spotted, a grimace of annoyance on their faces from the noise -- locals tuned it out years ago, the only noises usually catching their attention being the belltower in the market plaza, only rung in emergencies or during festivals.
Approaching Porthca from the land, the city slopes down towards sea level, giving all visitors a sweeping view of what it has to offer. Scores of ships varying in size line the docks, people mere specks at this distance, but busy at work all the same. Following the main route are larger more ornate buildings, some appearing to be manors, a few with crests on their fronts, while on the outskirts seem to be smaller homes.
Porthca is never truly quiet, but for those who have been before, there's a strange ... hush -- as much as can be managed here. Rumours of the various murders have spread, different groups offering different gossip and theories of their own.
ANDER:
Coasting into the docks among one of the smaller boats, you step off into a large crowd, pushed and shoved, but hardly anyone manages to actually make you budge at your size and the weight of your gear. Looking somewhat lost in the throng, you feel a tap on your hip, encouraging you to look down, seeing a halfling woman, her skin tanned from the sun. "Ya look lost, m'boy. Awful tall to be so lost -- see over near everythin' yeah? Kin I help somehow? Get'cha off the docks and out th' way yeah?"
VIRRA:
Wandering around Porthca is kind of intense, especially for someone as small as yourself, but with your abilities you generally manage to get out of the way before someone steps on you. You think you maybe managed to get yourself to the right place, to try and offer help for the investigation going on in Porthca, but before you get too far, an ornate carriage nearly runs you over, bearing a crest you don't recognize, but the crowd nearby seems to mumble and mutter amongst themselves as it stops.
BENITO:
It's been awhile since you returned to Porthca ... if only you'd returned for a better reason. Still, your time away gave you many skills you didn't have before, met a few interesting people, hopefully gave some time for rumours to die down. Your carriage has been carrying you back home for your brother's funeral, supposedly another victim of the serial killer working through Porthca ... or at least, it would be carrying you home, had it not suddenly jerked to a stop. You can't possibly have arrived at the Manor yet, right? Did something happen?
ELIZA:
Your poor feet are so tired ... you didn't realize Porthca was this far away! At least it gave you lots of time to practice spells on the way, without too much of concern if something got out of hand. Finally you've reached the outskirts of Porthca itself, the city sloped down away from you, the sea across the horizon, making up most of your view. The strong winds up here attempt to push you, but leaning on your staff you still manage to hold your own before begining the descent into Porthca proper. Benito showed you his family crest at one point when he offered to pay for some components ... wasn't there a carriage that passed you with the same crest just now?
TYRIUS:
Ah ... Porthca! A place where much of your family's goods went and returned as glorious gold. There was a family here that was the main exporter for your own, quite the deal when it was originally struck generations ago. You'd actually met one of them at Azarad, funnily enough. Your thoughts are disrupted as you hear a slight exclamation from behind you, the crowd turning and murmering, snorting and hooves stomping on the cobblestones ... hey, doesn't that crest look familiar? It couldn't be ... such a small world, isn't it?
WINSTON:
Oh man, so many people here. So many people who could probably use a self-writing quill! If only Porthca was closer and the magic hadn't faded... whatever. You'd been following a really fancy carriage the past few days, seemed like it was in a hurry, but they usually stayed the night somewhere and that was how you kept up. Posh people always need posh beds, but you were used to rougher. Working your way through the crowds, you'd been following it, losing sight sometimes, but as flashy as it was, generally found it again. Seems like it stopped -- was that ... a gnome it almost ran over?
The sun is working its way over the horizon, a strong breeze blowing across the land bringing the smell of the sea and all its pleasantries. Well, some people still don't care for the smell, but are willing to put up with it when it comes to making money. Porthca rests in the northwest coast of Okesh, within a smaller region known as the Sinking Plains -- referred to as such because it seems every rainy season, more and more of the land disappears.
Sounds of the docks can be heard throughout the city, at all hours. Newcomers are easily spotted, a grimace of annoyance on their faces from the noise -- locals tuned it out years ago, the only noises usually catching their attention being the belltower in the market plaza, only rung in emergencies or during festivals.
Approaching Porthca from the land, the city slopes down towards sea level, giving all visitors a sweeping view of what it has to offer. Scores of ships varying in size line the docks, people mere specks at this distance, but busy at work all the same. Following the main route are larger more ornate buildings, some appearing to be manors, a few with crests on their fronts, while on the outskirts seem to be smaller homes.
Porthca is never truly quiet, but for those who have been before, there's a strange ... hush -- as much as can be managed here. Rumours of the various murders have spread, different groups offering different gossip and theories of their own.
ANDER:
Coasting into the docks among one of the smaller boats, you step off into a large crowd, pushed and shoved, but hardly anyone manages to actually make you budge at your size and the weight of your gear. Looking somewhat lost in the throng, you feel a tap on your hip, encouraging you to look down, seeing a halfling woman, her skin tanned from the sun. "Ya look lost, m'boy. Awful tall to be so lost -- see over near everythin' yeah? Kin I help somehow? Get'cha off the docks and out th' way yeah?"
VIRRA:
Wandering around Porthca is kind of intense, especially for someone as small as yourself, but with your abilities you generally manage to get out of the way before someone steps on you. You think you maybe managed to get yourself to the right place, to try and offer help for the investigation going on in Porthca, but before you get too far, an ornate carriage nearly runs you over, bearing a crest you don't recognize, but the crowd nearby seems to mumble and mutter amongst themselves as it stops.
BENITO:
It's been awhile since you returned to Porthca ... if only you'd returned for a better reason. Still, your time away gave you many skills you didn't have before, met a few interesting people, hopefully gave some time for rumours to die down. Your carriage has been carrying you back home for your brother's funeral, supposedly another victim of the serial killer working through Porthca ... or at least, it would be carrying you home, had it not suddenly jerked to a stop. You can't possibly have arrived at the Manor yet, right? Did something happen?
ELIZA:
Your poor feet are so tired ... you didn't realize Porthca was this far away! At least it gave you lots of time to practice spells on the way, without too much of concern if something got out of hand. Finally you've reached the outskirts of Porthca itself, the city sloped down away from you, the sea across the horizon, making up most of your view. The strong winds up here attempt to push you, but leaning on your staff you still manage to hold your own before begining the descent into Porthca proper. Benito showed you his family crest at one point when he offered to pay for some components ... wasn't there a carriage that passed you with the same crest just now?
TYRIUS:
Ah ... Porthca! A place where much of your family's goods went and returned as glorious gold. There was a family here that was the main exporter for your own, quite the deal when it was originally struck generations ago. You'd actually met one of them at Azarad, funnily enough. Your thoughts are disrupted as you hear a slight exclamation from behind you, the crowd turning and murmering, snorting and hooves stomping on the cobblestones ... hey, doesn't that crest look familiar? It couldn't be ... such a small world, isn't it?
WINSTON:
Oh man, so many people here. So many people who could probably use a self-writing quill! If only Porthca was closer and the magic hadn't faded... whatever. You'd been following a really fancy carriage the past few days, seemed like it was in a hurry, but they usually stayed the night somewhere and that was how you kept up. Posh people always need posh beds, but you were used to rougher. Working your way through the crowds, you'd been following it, losing sight sometimes, but as flashy as it was, generally found it again. Seems like it stopped -- was that ... a gnome it almost ran over?
