conversations: human
conversations:  --
    Overview: 
  
  The town of Torch has long enjoyed a singular claim to prosperity—a violet flame that burns atop Black Hill in the heart of the town. This flame burns incredibly hot, and while it’s usually the size of a bonfire, several times a year the fires spew up into the heavens in a brilliant beam of purple violence. These eruptions are presaged by about an hour of soft rumbling, giving nearby smiths a chance to retreat before the fires can consume them. At all other times, the violet energies allow for the smelting of all manner of skymetal. Torch is one of the only locations where skymetal can be worked with relative ease outside of Starfall, and its entire economy has risen around these purple flames, with traveling smiths coming from across Avistan to pay for the opportunity to work with them. Of course, Torch needs all the visiting trade and coin it can gather, for while the town’s distance from Starfall, the capital of Numeria, makes it inconvenient for the Technic League, a wicked and vile group of tainted spellcasters, to maintain a permanent presence here, the taxes and tariffs it charges the Numerian town on a monthly basis are significant. The town prospers, but the bulk of its income does not belong to it.
  
  Which is why, when the fires atop the hill suddenly go out, the town is in trouble.
  
  ---
  
   The Expedition: 
  
  Weeks have passed since each of you were contacted indirectly by Dolga Freddert, a dwarven woman belonging to the Ruling Council of the Numerian town of Dustpawn. The sweat-stained letters given to each of you by drunken courier mentioned  you by name, and within the letters each of you received, a grim request was made. While the letters explained the need for a band of adventurers to assist in discovering the reason behind the extinguishing of the iconic violet pillar-flame of Torch, throughout the letters, an emphasis was put upon the need for skilled dungeon-delvers and tomb-raiders willing to assist in the recovery of one "Khonnir Baine", a Councilmember of Torch and local spellcasting celebrity. The letters explained that, not long after the violet flame-pillar of Torch went out, this Khonnir Baine discovered signs of unusual traffic on the banks of Weeping Pond, a small not-quite-dried-out lake in town. Following this discovery, the wizard brought to light a submerged tunnel which presumably provided access to several heretofore unknown tunnels under Black Hill, where the great violet flame-pillar once was located. According to the letters, this Khonnir Baine and a small band of volunteers ventured into the caves beneath Black Hill in order to perhaps reignite the violet flame-pillar himself. Not long after Khonnir Baine returned from his initial venture beneath Black Hill, battered and wounded, with a deactivated semi-humanoid automaton in tow, the wizard planned a second venture against the wishes of the Council, including Dolga Freddert, the author of the letters. The letters state that Khonnir's acquisition of the otherwordly automaton had sparked worries that something strange might be going on in the caverns, and when he failed to return from his second expedition a few days ago, those worries turned to outright fear. Apparently several other adventuring parties have gone missing in the caves beneath Black Hill since then, and now, Torch finds itself running short on new volunteers.
  
  Fortunately for the town of Torch, you're to meet with Councilwoman Dolga Freddert herself within the town of Torch to discuss the extremely lucrative job opportunity mentioned within the letters. The letters were deliberately vague, but the promise of great wealth in exchange for the recovery of Khonnir Baine and the re-ignition of the violet flame-pillar of Torch was accentuated repeatedly. With the promise of wealth in mind, each of you packed up and began your expedition to the town of Torch. The journey has been long and hard through the Numerian wastelands, for the sun had shone down brutally over the reddish rock, each blistering crag and dried up river only accentuating the feelings of ruin and near-apocalyptic loss that permeates the blasted landscape. Each of you have continued your expeditions for days, your skin burnt and cracked, your clothes peppered with dust and sand, until finally, in the distance, a small, ramshackle town can be seen, nestled upon the top of a particularly rocky hill. Nightfall is approaching quickly, and the unforgivingly harsh sun that shines over the Numerian plains and wastelands is beginning to sink over the horizon, allowing darkness to gradually fall over the land. The dusty path through the rocky crags leading up to the gates of Torch is easily followed, and soon you arrive at the ramshackle gates leading into the only partially walled off town. After a moment, a faint snoring becomes obvious, coming from the ramparts atop the gate. A grizzled old man in a dilapidated navy-colored uniform can be seen snoring from a run-down wheelchair, fast asleep with a poorly-maintained crossbow in his lap.
  
  The gates, however, are wide open.
  
  --
  
   Town of Torch: 
  
  Though the welcoming arms of civilization may come as a relief to some, the town of Torch itself seems just as dry and dusty as the parched land its built upon. Unassuming buildings crafted of cracked wooden planks and rusted nails line dusty, well-worn streets which tangle through the town like the dried arteries of some forgotten carcass. Townsfolk clad in ragged gray and brown, with red faces shaded by straw hats wander through the streets sluggishly, glancing towards the band of outsiders with a strange mixture of both fear and hope. Doors shut as you walk down the streets, old men in rocking chairs glare in your direction, and all eyes rest upon each of you. These were not a people particularly tolerant of outsiders, it seemed. Finally, you arrive at the Town Hall, as distinguished by the crooked sign post just outside the building. It is a rather small wood-and-stone hall, with the only decoration of four large pillars on the exterior. It is not a model of architectural brilliance, but a hovel to those from greater cities and a practical necessity to those from around it. The wooden door, a strange change in color from the grey outlook of the front of the building, seems to be closed, but not locked. Creaky wooden stairs built upon the outside of the crumbling building lead up towards a dilapidated second floor, with a small, half-collapsed bell tower built into the roof. A bronze bell can be seen hanging from within the tower at a particularly dangerous looking angle.
  
  For now, the door is closed, though unlocked.
  
  --
  
   OOC:  Knowledge Local, DC 15: Torch takes its name from the violet f lame that burns atop its central hill. The fires ignited spontaneously in 4602 ar, and for nearly a year they lanced into the sky, forming a purple column of fire that could be seen for miles around. At the time, the Technic League was experiencing a period of upheaval in Starfall, and its agents were unable to investigate the rumors of the column of fire to the south. By 4604, the flames had died down to a man-sized bonfire, leaving the top of the hill blasted and blackened. Several industrious locals soon discovered the flame’s heat possessed two unusual qualities—it was hot enough to smelt skymetal ores and work with difficult materials like adamantine, and that the fires themselves radiated a strangely directional heat. A chunk of wood thrown a dozen feet over the fires would instantly burst into flame, yet a piece of paper set a foot from the bonfire’s edge wouldn’t even smolder. This unique combination of traits made the fire a perfect forge. After a few sudden flare-ups resulted in the tragic incineration of several smiths and their partially completed forges, the townsfolk learned how to interpret the flares and flashes that presaged such an eruption. Rather than build permanent structures around the fire, they came to rely upon portable workshops transported up the hill via wagon or carriage, so that when the fire began one of its unpredictable surges, the smiths could retreat to safety to wait for the blast of fire to recede.
  
  In this way, Torch has sustained itself. By the time the Technic League sorted its internal politics out and sent representatives to investigate in 4612, its agents found a burgeoning village growing around the base of the hill. After a cursory examination of the fire, representatives from the Technic League met with the village’s leaders and worked out a deal—as long as Torch sent a monthly tribute of gold north to Starfall, the Technic League would not maintain an official presence in the region. In this way, the League turned what could have been competition (since at the time it still lacked the resources to effectively manage a remote site) into a source of income. Over the decades that followed, Torch grew steadily, yet has never truly prospered, because the Technic League constantly revises the amount of the tribute it requires. Frustrations with and resentments against the Technic League rightly have grown in Torch, yet the League’s been careful to never tax the town to the point of rebellion, keeping them in an uncomfortable but relatively stable place between freedom and oppression.
conversations: Hattish Thing:
conversations: human
conversations:  Otto wanders up to the town hall building. He hasn't been here before but often passed it when getting dinner after a taxing time up at Blackhill doing the laborious task of forging bars for the other smiths. He waits around looking for the other adventurers who he understood were due to turn up. When he thinks no one is looking he starts spinning a pebble he found on the street in a lazy 8 through the air.
conversations: Rendel Nep:
conversations: human
conversations:  Lydia goes to the door right after getting to the town. She had been traveling for some time to meet with Khonnir, on her previous mentor's orders, and she'd gotten the letter by chance as the caravan she'd been traveling with crossed path with the messenger sent for her. She'd agreed, of course, to talk to it and see what she could do. Naturally, she had no intention of risking herself, but hey, she didn't have much of a choice if it comes up. It was talk to Khonnir to finish her "education" or back to the street, and finding Khonnir seemed the better of the two options. She nods at the other smuck set up to find him, frustrated at how poor her choices were, and leans against the wall, careful about the rusty nails.
conversations: Eldest:
conversations: human
conversations:  The barbarian heads to the town hall after a heavy night of drinking. Which was basically every night. He grabbed a pint to go and sipped it while he walks. He walks through the door and stands near the other travelers, towering over most of them.
conversations: Xenopax:
conversations: human
conversations:  Shog walks down the streets confidently. He had waited until the last minute to arrive but he was sure he would make it in time. He had lived in this town for years and he had a reputation to uphold. Never early always just making it on time or slightly late. That was his style. No matter how much he wanted to hurry up to get to saving his father, it wasn't like a minute would make a difference this late. He had wanted to join the earlier adventurers but apparently he has been to much of a "loose cannon" to join. With most of the other people having gone missing though, now was his chance. The town had finally got desperate enough to send him and he was sure with his superior intellect and specialization he would be the one to succeed.
  
  He walks through the doors to his meeting confidently. He had considered entering while juggling bombs but while cool he was sure it wouldn't convince them that he was competent. He sighs maybe next time.
conversations: Hamste: