<div class="floatleft">(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v181/Kittenpeeler/Mummys%20Mask/c03256e7-596e-470f-b75f-e8417ca4bdd5.png~original)</div>The bustling desert city of Wati is near bursting with excitement. Adventurers from every corner of the Inner Sea region have assembled here beneath the hot Osirian sun to explore the tombs of the city's necropolis, waiting only to be assigned their first sites for exploration. surrounding the participants, the public has gathered to observe  the ceremony as well. There is a festival-like quality in the air, and numerous street vendors are hawking goods and refreshments to participants and spectators alike. Some merchants have even brought what can only be considered adventuring gear to sell as last-minute convenience items to explorers, while others advertise that they'll buy recovered treasures and antiquities from those who visit their establishments. Groups of adventurers and explorers talk among themselves, snatches of conversation about riches, or forgotten lore, or the occasional growl and yelp from a would-be pickpocket learning these men and women aren't easy marks.<br/>In front of the imposing edifice of the grand mausoleum, an immense awning has been erected between decorated pillars in the market to provide shade for the priests of Pharasma overseeing the lottery. beneath the awning, two urns sit atop a table elevated a few feet above the ground on a wooden stage constructed for the event. The high priestess of the mausoleum, Sebti the Crocodile, sits behind the table, while two acolytes confer with her at either side.<div class="floatright">(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v181/Kittenpeeler/Mummys%20Mask/Sebti%20the%20Crocodile.png)</div>When the sun has reached its peak, the priestess stands, a breeze catching the thin black silk of her hood, making it flutter over her the short-cropped dark hair beneath. The woman is young, surprisingly so for one of her status, but she carries an air of solemn authority. when she lifts her hands - one palm containing the silver spiral or Pharasma, the locals fall silent. The foreigners, not so much... at least until she calls for silence. Once the murmurs quiet and the only sounds are the chittering of swifts in the sky and business far away from the gathering, she begins with a brief invocation, calling the Lady of Graves to watch the gathering, before speaking more plainly.<br/><br/><strong>"Seventeen hundred years ago, the people of Wati prospered on the river. Their lives were bright and rich, full of trade and life. Seventeen hundred years ago, the Mother of monsters brought that to a close when her offspring unleashed a plague to ravage those people. A plague burned through this city; those who did not die were driven to murderous madness. The city was left for the unquiet dead and what few survivors dared still call it home. A half-thousand years after, Nefru Shepses,"</strong>- here she makes a gesture of blessing -<strong>"led an effort to bring peace to the dead. Their homes, their shops and schools - their tombs - were consecreated to the Lady of Graves, and the great wall erected to keep those resting within safe from unscrupulous hands."</strong><br/>A long pause ensues, as the priestess' clear eyes explore each knot of adventurers.<strong>"But much has been lost in the ages since. Knowledge of these people, their lives and pains and joys. To properly honor them, their lives must be remembered. We set you forth, then, to step into the Necropolis and seek what you may of the past, for what reasons you carry."</strong><br/><strong>"Remember how this came to pass. The Mother of Monsters' efforts could not have succeeded had the people of Wati not been divided and engaged in in-fighting. The Necropolis is a holy place; let it not be defiled by petty brigandry. Every slave's hut is a memorial. Man and woman, elder and child, king and pauper, all stand equal before Pharasma; let their homes not be judged by the actions of those still to be judged. Honor the departed. The people of Old Wati waited long and painfully for their rest; if they must be disturbed, return them to their repose as well as you can. Remember these precepts, and you may step with the Lady's blessing."</strong><br/>Sebti then folds her arms and bows her head, as do her acolytes; many locals in the crowd do as well. When she straightens, the priestess calls out,<strong>"let the lottery begin! Although many of you have requested specific sites to explore, we must leave these matters to fate. The Lady of graves is a far better judge of destiny than we of this mortal sphere. The gates of the necropolis will open at sunrise tomorrow. Use the evening to prepare yourself for the task ahead."</strong><div class="floatright">(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v181/Kittenpeeler/Mummys%20Mask/1106ff27-9358-4d32-9ab8-d6cf4e1fd257.png~original)</div><br/>When Sebti is seated, the two acolytes set up sheets of paper and charcoal sticks, before reaching into the urns on the table. One by one, a party's name is called, and a selected member steps to the table, and is handed a drawn scroll. some pause to ask questions or say something else; apparently replies are brief, but still given. Finally, one of the shave-headed acolytes calls for your group. Time to decide who goes up front!