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Anchored in the sheltered bay, the junk sloop ebbs up and down on the tidal waters, its sails furled back against the mast, spartan lights dotting the stern and quarterdeck. A clanking bell tolls eight strikes, sombre and dull notes which the breeze soon carries to fade as hushed whispers into the dark, moonless night out to sea.

'Eight bells' or 4.00am, signalling the ending of a watch and often struck in memorial ceremony to mourn the loss of one passing away. Perhaps these are prophetic rings, struck in anticipation of further calamity and distress, for whom the bell tolls? Albeit nine fellows scurry down the port side ladders into a waiting leaky rowboat. Under cover of these cloudy pre-dawn hours, another scurvy crew of adventurers are embarking upon their mission.

A few days before, a group of nine heroic Icons boldly stepped off the decks in like manner, intent on sneaking into the recesses of a ruined Temple thought to be the chief quarters of a diabolical Slave trading ring. Their 'seek and destroy' mission, that many viewed as a suicidal endeavour, has reaped little reward, information, success. Indeed those bold and brave have yet to return and whilst no hue and cry has been raised to suggest their scouting was uncovered, their absence is sorely felt.

In a last desperate hope, your group; an eclectic bunch of novice adventurers, have been tasked with succeeding where others seemingly failed. Scout the ruined Temple, eliminate the senior slave traders, destroy the slaving infrastructure and release as many captive souls as you can. Additionally, find out what has happened to these Icons.

The strong among you put backs into oars, guiding the boat towards a rickety jetty that sticks out into the sea like a crooked finger. Bilge rats scurry away as you approach, shadows furtive under the boardwalk diminish into the niches. Hunkering down whilst a bored patrol passes by, ignorant to your incursion. They peer out to sea, muttering the grumblings of boredom, hunger and inclement weather. The pitter-patter of raindrops cause them to hood up and seek a drier doorway to shelter in.

You tie the boat off, collect your equipment and packs, don helms and armour, shoulder shields, discuss plans.

All is quiet though all is not at rest. Highport is the largest city in the Pomarj. Almost 15,000 people live there. Humans are as common as orcs and half-bloods. The city's non-human population are more active and seen at night, the nocturnal gangs of Gnolls, Hobgoblins, Goblins and Kobolds. Many of the city's population are slaves, who provide the daily menial labor. The life of a slave is often difficult and short. Wealthy and cruel warriors sometimes even free slaves outside of the city, only to hunt them down; slaves are therefore wary about any random buyer who is eager to free them. Slaves are regularly kept in chains or at least wear some kind of collar which denotes them as such.

Much of the city still bears the scars of its destruction when it was assaulted by the unified humanoid hordes decades ago. The city is going through a total rebuild; from the city wall ramparts, the many dwellings and temples, the granaries and storehouses.

The districts tend to be divided by tribal groups. Orcs tend to hunt the grasslands outside the city for meat, or fish on the waterfront. Each of the various humanoid groups has one or more districts. Gnolls occupy the east; hobgoblins and goblins in the west, Kobolds dwell centrally in a well-maintained area near the Lord's Palace.

The human districts typically have more shops, more surviving historic buildings, and more new construction. Slaves there are marginally better treated.

The shanty town fields host the city's poorest, renting plots amid the ruins, crumbling tenements and street level rubble. In perpetual danger from weather elements as much as from the gangs and city bogeymen.

The warehouse district near the docks is used for storage of goods, and is well guarded by soldiers. Three towers have been converted into lighthouses. They are manned by humans or half-orcs, as orcs are sensitive to the bright light. Narrow streets of ramshackle wooden buildings have been constructed here, and only a handful of the original buildings stand.

Hordes of giant rats are a common problem in many neighborhoods. Casks of oil are kept in order to create barriers of fire to keep the rats out. Trained giant weasels and hunting terriers are kept as pets or guard animals, but more often than not these are free to run wild in the city's abandoned areas. Those who come to the city often find work as rat catchers, but it is a menial job does not pay well. Roasted rat kebab in flatbread or barbecued skewered rat laced with thick sweet or sour sauce becoming a city delicacy.

The city once had a sewer system, but it has largely fallen into disrepair, the floating turds that bob around the jetty is testimony to the overflow of detritus and scum.

Actions The party need sneak through the city to the ruined Temple which is situated on the edge of the orc quarters. Once there you can decide how to access the ruin. You know that the Icons were given information regarding a secret entrance built into the back of an alcove in the rear exterior wall. But with these icons not returning for days, you don't know if this entrance has become compromised and is not-so-secret anymore.

Highport: random encounter vs 1 [1d6]=4

Actions decide on any strategy, marching order, scouting ahead. Your destination is a few minutes and a few streets away. Ask any questions.

Fawkes

Is a bit overawed in the presence of such esteemed companions, those scholarly mages, the hulking and fierce warriors, the ordained ministers of foreign gods. He will sit quiet at the back of the dinghy, pre-loading his heavy crossbow to ward the group, peering over their heads as we near the jetty and pointing the shaft towards any shadowy figure.

His bodily appearance is strange and angular, shaven headed and crooked of smile, wide staring eyes. Erupting canines from his upper jaw betray his Orcish bloodline. He wears soft sandals, short breeches, a fur jerkin over which is a vest of bones and trinkets. A bandolier of shafts thrown over one shoulder, backpack of basics over the other. A large club, reinforced with sharp obsidian blades, dangles at his hip.

"Hsssh. The hills have eyes, the city has ears ..." he whispers.

As others don garb and discuss, he will creep to any retaining wall to take a nearby guard position, watching the retreating patrol and looking out for other random folk or creatures that might approach our jetty landing point. His 60'ft of infravision might not detect too much, but he will stare intently into the dark and city ahead.

[Goran, Halfling, 17/17]

Goran hops off the dinghy silently, takes a knee, produces a knife from somewhere, and with it cuts a swath of material from the end of his black cloak. Looking toward the dinghy, he cuts that into four rectangular (or so) pieces, cuts a slit in one of them and tucks it into his headband so it can serve as a veil with an slit wide enough for both eyes.

He looks at the dwarf, gnome, and elf in turn, and in common says " one fer each of ya too. No sense not being careful." And he stretches out a hand with the cloth squares to his comrades.

After passing off the cloth (or stuffing them in his belt if refused), Goran will push some grease through his hair and pull his cowl over his head for good measure.

Edel
(Elf Magic User 14/14)

The elf stepped off the sloop, his eyes scrutinizing their surroundings - tall and thin, he still seemed agile enough to steadily step onto the pier. Pallas sat quietly on his shoulder, echoing his master's discrete posture, the owl's head surveying their surroundings from one side to the other, head turning effortlessly.

Fawkes and Giran seemed to be in control of the situation - he took the cloth square with some hesitation, then tied it around his head, as to cover his nose and mouth - "Won't this make us look even more suspicious?" - he asked in a low, baritone voice.

[Olleg, Dwarf, 33/33]

Olleg steps from the boat to the pier, neither so quietly as the halfling, nor so gracefully as the elf, but with sure footing. Begrudgingly taking the offered veil from Goran, he quickly takes off his helmet, tucks the cloth inside, and redons it. With his face now obscured, he turns to Edel and gruffly replies, "There won't be anything more suspicious in this wretched city than a dwarf, an elf, a halfling, and a gnome walking free! Better our faces aren't seen."

Walking further up the pier to make room for the rest of the party and remaining on alert should another patrol pass, Olleg grumbles, "We ought to get moving quickly, though."

Edel
(Elf Magic User 14/14)

The elf nodded at dwarf’s simple, but sound reasoning.

“Pallas, take flight. No risks, and do not lose us from your sight” - he urged his familiar to take to the night skies. The owl’s eyes blinked twice and he took off without a sound.

Looking for the less busy street, and what might be an abandoned house, building, or even ruin, where we might be able to hunker down.

Brick

Brick falls in silently and scans the area with his infravision.

Mortar-Mer Whizz-Bang

"Ah yes, the formidable Wastelands of the Pomarj. A place where nobody actually wants to be."

The smarmy Gnome keeps the remainder of his thoughts to himself as their dingy approaches the jetty, constantly looking out over the water for threats.

Just before they touch land, he uses his magic to make himself unseen, as is his normal routine whenever sneaking around is imminent. "Remember I'm here, all. And try not to step on my toe this time, eh Brick?" (Casting: Invisibility upon himself)

"Once we decide on the best path to take to this temple we seek, let's remember to keep our eyes peeled for any of the supposed heroes we may find along the way. In situations like this, there is no better weapon we could have on our side than accurate information. Any who have braved this path before us should know a thing or two about what not to do."

Mortar, as he is often called, stays with the majority of the group, unwilling to go off on his own too far. While the others scout out their current surroundings, the gnome looks around for any mice or rats nearby that he may converse with to get a little information from the claws on the ground, as it were.

Vennar

"I vote we head for the Temple. The more time we spend in the city the more dangerous it will be."

Brick

"It would be easier to not step on you if I could see you. The things I have to explain to you."

Galadria and Durrant the last pair to exit the rowboat. The cleric giving a final whispered prayer petitioning for her deity's favour, the diminutive mage committing the last of his arcane scripts to memory. The crooked jetty, the furthest along on the left side of the harbour, is bare and vacant of other boats large or small. Some old barrels of rotted fish and crates of castaway goods too ragged and torn that neither gull nor ghoul care much for them are piled into a makeshift wall at the jetty's end. Fawkes creeps to it, hunkering down as the bored Orc patrol pass. They care little for searching too diligently on this dark, rainy morning, preferring to hurry along towards a watchtower on the edge of the city. A beacon lit in its upper reaches which disturbs your infravision but it is not a searchlight scrying for invasive parties, rather a signal to the galleons playing the coast to warn of shallow reefs.

Once the militiamen fade into the night, the group consolidate by the crates. Goran crafts some bandannas and veils, offering them to those who wish to keep dwarven beards and human visages away from public view. The Halfling smears his fair hair and face to camouflage himself a little better for nocturnal urban sneaking.

Mortar Whizzbang has the most proficient skill at remaining unseen, waving a complex prestidigitation over himself and with a command word turning invisible. Much to the chagrin of Brick, afraid to step with his oversized bulk upon the gnome Illusionist that now walks in his shadow. Unseen but not unheard, he whispers counsel and reminds folk of those who have come before.

Edel coos with Pallas, petting his owl Familiar and lifts him off his arm to take flight. The mage concentrates upon the sensory link he and his Familiar are bound with, his eyes rolling back in his head as he now views with perfect night vision through the owl's own.

The screech owl flutters silently to the gables of a ruined building, perching to survey the area. The building, just opposite the jetty is a derelict and ruined chapel of some kind, perhaps once of Xerbo, a god of sailing, commerce and sea. Inside its open interior several tents are pitched, home to the city's poorest. Embers of warming fires still burn in oil drums, though no one stands warming themselves around. Mangy dogs roam nibbling upon scraps and bones, wary of sniffing too close to tent entrances lest a hard staff or worse pokes out at them. The owl turns its head, rotating almost 270°, to view the streets either side of the ruin. To the right wing (west) there are more shanty buildings and lean to's set along several tightly packed alleys and larger tenements. Humanoid figures huddle together or go to and fro, active in trivial pursuits; a gang squaring up to a rival, street-meat vendors hawking business, rat-catchers parading their latest pest control. To the other side, cobbled streets lead towards a quieter residential area and beyond the edge of a tree lined grove or park.

As to the destination Temple, that lies on the outskirts of the city but towards the Suss Road which means you have to walk through the streets to get there.

if you look at the map, there is one square building with bonfire or flame pictured, so I am using that as the Slaver's Temple.

The owl does not stray too far. Spending a turn while Edel wargs within, to flit from the ruin chapel to silently swoop along one of the narrow cobbled alleys. Finding a window ledge of another ruined facade, it peers into the ground below. In an attached hovel some hobgoblins squabble. They play dice at a table, gambling over the fate of a gaunt and beaten slave. The traumatised woman silent as her future lies within the castings of knucklebones and wagers.

Olleg and Vennar assess their situation. Neither dwarf or cleric want to be discovered in the unwelcoming place. One rubs the sharp edge of sword blade, eager to serve swift and bloody justice if called upon. The other clutches a heirloom amulet, a holy symbol of Pelor, God of Light. Through it, a vocational call was made manifest, blinding a bandit's eye but opening his own to a calling noble and true. It had led him to join his patrons abolitionist cause.

Vennar's background.

He embarked on quests through distant lands not merely seeking revenge against bandits but striving toward healing broken spirits afflicted by despair and injustice—as many had suffered like himself.

Actions gathered out of view behind the crates and barrels on the jetty, the group have some options. To go straight through the ruined chapel and sleepers in the tents; go around to the west by the alleyways or go around to the right and past the Hobgoblin hovel.

Durrant Winterflame - Human Magic User

"I think we should stay away from the main streets as they are more likely to be heavily patrolled.

Vennar

"Agreed Durrant"

I would be happy try and plot a course, but I am missing where on the map we are starting.

Brick

Brick follows along keeping alert for any surprises using his infravision.

Fawkes

Tries to understand any report back from the mage's survey of the immediate area via his Owl-scan. He appreciates the overview promising to catch a mouse for a tit-bit reward.

Suggested that he might trailblaze, but without the blaze, he nods his shaven head and gestures to Goran.

"Tillertoes, we go tippy-toes." he says and breaks cover of the crates, crosses the quayside path and ducks into the same cobbled alley which Pallas flew over.

I will stick to the left hand side shadows of walls and doorways along the alley, sneaking along as best I can.

Edel

Edel stays with the main group.

While Fawkes and company scout ahead, Mortar tries to get a better look around. "I'll whistle if I need help, big Brick."

He picks up a handful of dust from any nearby concrete rubble (or maybe some sand) in case any dogs come sniffing around, before dropping below the jetty and heading out along the beach towards the west, hoping to get a better look at the gate leading out of Highport.

He stays low and drops to all fours if he gets the feeling he is being watched, hoping any heat seeking onlookers will mistake him for a small animal creeping around the beach for something to eat.

The goal here is to see if he can get close enough to the west gate for a look around. Perhaps if the gate is unguarded, the entire group might be able to sneak outside and walk through the wilderness around the city walls, climbing back over the wall once they get close to the rear of the temple they seek, thereby avoiding any precarious travel through the dangerous streets. This is assuming we have some kind of map or at least an idea where the temple is inside the city. If that is not the case here, he will instead move along invisibly with the scouting party.

Goran, Halfling, 16/16

Goran nods to Fawkes, picks up a stone or piece of debris of throwable size, steps to the side but not out of view and then moves down the right side of the cobbled alley is utter silence. Goran will continue down the cobbled alley toward the hovel until he can hear the voices of the hobgoblins. He will then listen .

He will use thieves cant to relay any information gathered to Fawkes.

If someone approaches and appears too interested he will attempt to step out of view first. .

[Olleg, Dwarf, 33/33]

Staying with the main group to give those more skilled in stealth the room they need to operate, Olleg readies himself to rush to Fawkes' or Goran's aid should trouble find them. While he waits for the scouts to report or for action to break out, he begins quietly humming a familiar dwarven battle song.