Sigil: City of Doors

Be it through old comrades, brother's in their church the scholarly crowd who frequent Minerva's stall in the bazzar, or just the chant of the rakish rogues and ne'er do wells who frequent Sigil's seedier places, it becomes known that a strange party has arrived in the Styx Oarsman in Sigil's lower ward.

Some say they are archons exiled from Celestia, others that they are the last survivors of a doomed prime world, the tales grow with the telling and few agree on anything save for one thing.

Hennete the groups leader is looking to hire those who know the city well, she seeks some great dark from sigil's depths and from all accounts she has a lot of jink to pay for it.

Norman Tenn is a man in his late twenties with brown, short hair and dark eyes- his tanned skin showing he spends a lot of time outdoors and under the sun.

He is clad in a worn suit of chainmail and the paint on the small round shield has chipped off, revealing the wood and hide beneath. The mace and dagger he carries are not in better condition, nor is his backpack all of his equipment looks like it was savaged from a battlefield or two..
A holy symbol of Pelor, crudely carved from a disk of hardwood and coloured lightly hangs around his neck- and he takes some pride from displaying it.

Hearing of this new group he gets curious and he starts to ask around, trying to contact them.

John Quinn wanders the market, his dog close by his side. He looks like most other travelers in the market. A worn longbow slung across his shoulder, a backpack is carried on the other shoulder, a handaxe strung to his belt with a small shield on the other hip. The man looks worn and travelled. He appears to be in his 40Â’s. His hair is greying and his bear shows streaks of white. His skin is leathered by years in the sun and rainÂ… but his eyes are clear and sharp. His bared arms show tattoos of a military sort, most faded, that were probably applied over the decades. His dog, a mixture of wolf and some other large breed, stays protectively by his sideÂ… always remaining calm yet on guard. The few times someone has tried to pick his pocket, the dog managed to snap at them and chase them off. It seems very proficient at following the quiet commands of its master.

He seems like a very quiet man, not overly comfortable with crowds and wallsÂ… yet he still finds it within him to ask around about this group. Even a woodsman needs some coins to rub together now and then.

Norman, being a clueless himself, is somewhoat uncomfortable in this place. He saw battle and carnage on the prime, even encountered some of the creatures called undead but that scenery is new to him and far outside of what he had experienced in his life so far.

Lowering his head to show he does not wish to be talked to he crosses the room, one hand on a strap of his backpack, the other one he almost put on his mace's handle but remembering what he has learned he pulls it away from the weapon, putting it on the purse instead- just in case.

The light shines warm and gentle, soothing your mind and body, revealing falseness and hostility. Do not block it with the darkness of your fears

So he smiles at the bartender, adressng him politely.
"The sun of mercy shines on you, sir. I have come for information and a drink. Ale please..." He adds pits one of his last pieces of silver on the bar.
"... and I heard travellers are staying here, looking for assistance... some Hennete is hiering help?" Another silver piece joins the first.

John enters the tavern and stops at the doorÂ… taking enough time to assess the scene. He reaches down and places a short leash on his dog to ensure it doesnÂ’t get into trouble. He carefully weaves through the crowd until he finds a table. He sits and motions for the hound to lie down under it. A short walk to the bar to purchase a drink is followed by the sliding of a few coins across the top of the bar.

“Where would I find Hennete” is all that is said to the bartender.

By chance or coincidence Thist Pinom finds himself inside the Styx Oarmans, at the bar having a drink of whatever is on sale and won't kill him with one glass. When the chance is avaible, more than likely when he signals for a refill, he asks where can he find someone named Hennete, since he heard that that one looking for adventurers.

In their own fashion they all one after another arrive at the bar, and the gensai barman winks at each in turn pockets any coins given and directs them towards the door to the stairs guarded by the two men.

"Tell the two of them what you are here for."

As they each make their way towards the door the two nervous looking guard part to let them through and they head upstairs. The first floor of the inn appears more in the shape of boat, albeit an upside down boat. The decor would suggest this is one of the pricier inns of The Lower Ward. They are met the other side of the door by two more guards and towards a rather opulent suite at the very far end. It is occupied by a dark leather chez lounge upon which reclines a woman. She is dark skinned like the guards who accompany her. Her black hair perfectly straight and filled wit braids that make it clatter when she moves her head. There is a conversation between her and one of the guards in some incomprehensible dialect of common before she sits up and casts a spell, a tongues spell for those in the group who can tell and address them.

"Please sit down."

She turns to one of them men behind her.

"Fetch them something to eat."

As he does so she turns back to address the group.

"Firstly allow me to introduce myself. I am Hennete priestess of Amun Ra. I am form a prime world called Hyskos and for me to tell what I need I must tell you a bit about where I am from.

For as long as history has been recorded our realm has been ruled by the line of Pharaohs each one upon his coronation becomes imbues with Ra's power and is anointed as her mortal representative a living breathing demi power charged with stewarding the sun through the sky. Unfortunately after the death of our last Pharaoh Pentu his son and heir Nehi was kidnapped before his coronation. This is more serious than just a missing prince. Without Ra's chosen to guide it the sun will not rise and our world has been bathed in eternal night, a darkness in which dread things walk. One of the kidnappers was killed in the attempt and we found amongst his possessions a number of things that lead us to a portal, which lead us here, but we know nothing of this place and have no idea where to find him. We desperately need some local help to find him."

She finishes as one of her servants returns with a large platter of dates olives and sweet meats for the three of them. She seems calm and composed but stress and worry frame her features.

Norman takes his bacjpack off and sits down- a bit awkwardly in his armour, shifting to find a comfortable position but after a few tries he gives up, instead concentrating on the story.

He does not interrupt, listens silently but his face showing his emotions, the the darkness that is mentioned also casting a shadow on his face, his fingers playing with the sundisk he wears.

"I will help", he simply says when she has finished, feeling some kinship to this fellow priest of sun and light.

"What have you found? What do you know about the kidnappers? What can you tell us about the victim? Age... habits.. what does he look like? Are they able to use the local languages? Do they have special needs that must be seen to?"

Only after this questions he realizes that he has not yet introduced himself and he gets up, to bow slightly.

"Norman Thenn, Noviciate of the Sun, Servant of Pelor."

John sits and eats what is placed in front of him. Living a long life of military service almost trains you to eat when given the opportunity. He listens to the story as he does so, trying to comprehend words that seem alien and unknown to him. When she finishes he nods and turns his attention to the questions being asked by Norman.

“I see no reason to walk away from this request. I’ll help you best I can…”
He turns slightly to the others and extends a worn and tattooed hand.

“Jon Quinn… and this is my dog, Ben. He doesn’t like to be touched” he says with a smile.