Those with diligent eyes and attentive ears heard loud and boisterous sounds of working in the deeper parts of the slums on the eve of January 21, 306 AC. Medium to large groups were seen moving in and out of an ancient looking building that had fallen to disrepair, bringing in boards, nails, hammers, and other tools for renovation. Children who had not gone to bed watched with awe as work was done, but parents were quick to recall them inside, for something truly sinister was being constructed. The building itself was not enormous, but it wasn't small either. It had a tall structure but was not more than one floor, obviously using a high ceiling. Historians would recall that the building was previously used as an asylum for the mentally ill in the early first century after the Cataclysm, but it had been shut down once it began murdering inmates who were deemed too expensive to handle.
Out of all the people walking in and out of the building, there was one peculiar character that stood out to onlookers, as an overseer. Ironically enough, he stood at no more than four and a half feet; he was an Aldor dwarf. His cheeks were dirty, and his face was weathered by the wrinkles of time. His head was balding, yet his mustache was thick and lightly topped with lice. The man directed the workers in their mission. He wore mittens as he stood in the cold throughout the night, and had a scarf wrapped around his neck. A black coat and similarly colored pants and dress shoes completed his appearance, though when the coat was unbuttoned, one might spy a white undershirt and a brief red tie.
Soon, once the workers stopped rebuilding the decrepit parts of the building, they began to build something of a podium in the square in front of it. A crowd of gang leaders, members, and commonfolk alike began to approach and wonder whether they were going to receive a speech or not. Once the podium was finished, there was constructed an embarrassingly visible stack of boards and toolboxes behind the podium. Sure enough, the aforementioned Dwarf approached the podium with a sheaf of papers and a look that could wither steel. He stepped up the stack of items that had been provided for him and laid his papers down with care. The Dwarf coughed, wiping his mouth with a handkerchief, before beginning his speech to the crowd.
"Ladies, gentlemen, Ailor and non-Ailor," he started, his voice coarse like sandpaper, "My name is Curth Foltz. To you, and more specifically your wonderful leaders in crime, I am the Secretary. This, as you may have already guessed," he gestured to the building behind him, "Is the Court or Rats. Now, I beg that you bear with me as I explain what is happening.
"I was a member of the Beggar's Council before it fell to pieces. The rest of us all went our separate ways, with some of us even taking up honest livings. I have brought with me my men and guards to help me on the task that I have undertaken, which has been the restoration of the King of Rats, whose lineage apparently failed a little over a century ago. Within this building lay a throne and surrounding seating. None shall sit on the throne until I declare the true descendant of the King of Rats, and for that, you must show me that you have the mettle required of you to sit on the throne, for royalty does not flow through blood but through quality." He paused, lifting up his papers for the crowd to see, but no writing could specifically be read, "I have here a list of things I need done by you. The collective scum of this city. Some of it may be easy, but as you escalate, it will become more difficult and life threatening. There will be rewards, but you should be pushing fervently for the highest reward- the Crown of the Rats. Every week, a new phase of these quests shall be placed on a noticeboard in the Court. Anyone may solve them, but keep in mind only a Crime Lord will be eligible to sit on the throne."
Curth smiled devilishly before continuing, "Permanent alliances between gangs are strictly prohibited, by the way. They can only be temporary. And if none of you are dead by the time this Slummish Town has a King, I will be extremely angry, not to mention disappointed."
With this, Curth Foltz stepped down from his podium as the crowd erupted into chaos, many of those present stunned at this announcement. The non-criminals were frightened about the possibility of becoming a target of the Court, and the criminals were excited about the same possibility. When checked, the first set of quests had not been posted yet, but the sinking feeling in the stomach told everyone that it would be soon. Frightfully soon.
Out of all the people walking in and out of the building, there was one peculiar character that stood out to onlookers, as an overseer. Ironically enough, he stood at no more than four and a half feet; he was an Aldor dwarf. His cheeks were dirty, and his face was weathered by the wrinkles of time. His head was balding, yet his mustache was thick and lightly topped with lice. The man directed the workers in their mission. He wore mittens as he stood in the cold throughout the night, and had a scarf wrapped around his neck. A black coat and similarly colored pants and dress shoes completed his appearance, though when the coat was unbuttoned, one might spy a white undershirt and a brief red tie.
Soon, once the workers stopped rebuilding the decrepit parts of the building, they began to build something of a podium in the square in front of it. A crowd of gang leaders, members, and commonfolk alike began to approach and wonder whether they were going to receive a speech or not. Once the podium was finished, there was constructed an embarrassingly visible stack of boards and toolboxes behind the podium. Sure enough, the aforementioned Dwarf approached the podium with a sheaf of papers and a look that could wither steel. He stepped up the stack of items that had been provided for him and laid his papers down with care. The Dwarf coughed, wiping his mouth with a handkerchief, before beginning his speech to the crowd.
"Ladies, gentlemen, Ailor and non-Ailor," he started, his voice coarse like sandpaper, "My name is Curth Foltz. To you, and more specifically your wonderful leaders in crime, I am the Secretary. This, as you may have already guessed," he gestured to the building behind him, "Is the Court or Rats. Now, I beg that you bear with me as I explain what is happening.
"I was a member of the Beggar's Council before it fell to pieces. The rest of us all went our separate ways, with some of us even taking up honest livings. I have brought with me my men and guards to help me on the task that I have undertaken, which has been the restoration of the King of Rats, whose lineage apparently failed a little over a century ago. Within this building lay a throne and surrounding seating. None shall sit on the throne until I declare the true descendant of the King of Rats, and for that, you must show me that you have the mettle required of you to sit on the throne, for royalty does not flow through blood but through quality." He paused, lifting up his papers for the crowd to see, but no writing could specifically be read, "I have here a list of things I need done by you. The collective scum of this city. Some of it may be easy, but as you escalate, it will become more difficult and life threatening. There will be rewards, but you should be pushing fervently for the highest reward- the Crown of the Rats. Every week, a new phase of these quests shall be placed on a noticeboard in the Court. Anyone may solve them, but keep in mind only a Crime Lord will be eligible to sit on the throne."
Curth smiled devilishly before continuing, "Permanent alliances between gangs are strictly prohibited, by the way. They can only be temporary. And if none of you are dead by the time this Slummish Town has a King, I will be extremely angry, not to mention disappointed."
With this, Curth Foltz stepped down from his podium as the crowd erupted into chaos, many of those present stunned at this announcement. The non-criminals were frightened about the possibility of becoming a target of the Court, and the criminals were excited about the same possibility. When checked, the first set of quests had not been posted yet, but the sinking feeling in the stomach told everyone that it would be soon. Frightfully soon.
