03-30-2018, 11:03 PM
...
As the night grew colder, the air grew heavier with dew and the scent of mud. Drake wondered if it might rain, come morning. As he walked along the alleys, trying to tie together a plan of attack in his head, he made sure to snap pictures of graffiti and carvings on the walls. Most of it was written in cuneiform, or occasionally, coptic runes. He would have to brush up on his Sumerian if he was going to keep working here.
The few loiterers that Drake came across didn't seem to know who Vito was, or where he might be located. Drake was fairly certain of their honesty, because he had offered most of them very large amounts of Omnilium. It wasn't until he was stopping to take a piss in a gutter that the smuggler picked up on something that had been starin him in the face. Literally.
A few feet from the water runoff was a fountain spigot. Sewage water ran from its mouth, and on the wall around it, a large, grinning serpent face had been carved. Candles and more graffiti surrounded it, along with what appeared to be small offerings, such as dried fruit, incense, and baggies that had narcotic residue on them. Opium, from the looks of it. Drake flipped through the Dataverse, trying to weave the symbology together until one name consistently came up, over and over again.
Tiamat.
The primordial serpent. The mother of chaos.
Drake wasn't familiar with Gilgamesh's policies on the worship of Assyrian gods of destruction, but he was at least assuming it was taboo. This did give him an approach angle into Nippur's underbelly, however. In the deepening gloom, Drake decided to head off into the city's seedier red light district to get himself a drink.
The bar he eventually found himself in was a cramped, sweaty little hole in the wall with a single flabby mother of three listlessly gyrating her hips on a sandstone table. Seven or so half-wasted townies lounged around as a veiled hostess kept their decanters filled with frothing, noxious beer. A small sconce of flickering torches provided only enough light to glint on the topless lady's rattling bangles and for Drake to find his way to a seat.
The smuggler had managed to trade a small wad of Omnilium for a pouch of golden Babylonian coin, so it was easy to keep a low profile as he paid for the beer, entertainment and food. A small, clay tagine sat next to him with a stewed mixture of greens, couscous and some kind of stringy meat that Drake assumed was chicken. It was actually pretty good. Only after his second beer and finished meal did he finally lean over to the shadowed figure next to him.
"Been seeing more Tiamat offerings lately." Drake murmured.
"Enh." his benchmate grumbled. Drake gave it a few minutes.
"Where you figure the carvings keep coming from?" the lanky man said, trying to probe for some context. Apparently his assumptions were right, as usual.
"Them freaks over at the irrigation plant. Runnin' a damn temple outta the building. King'll shut 'em down." the enigmatic nightcrawler responded. He took a long pull on his beer and eased back into his chair. It was a subtle enough way of telling Drake to fuck off, so he did. The smuggler tossed a few extra coins onto the dancer's plinthe before slinking back out into the velvety night air.
Now he was getting somewhere...
As the night grew colder, the air grew heavier with dew and the scent of mud. Drake wondered if it might rain, come morning. As he walked along the alleys, trying to tie together a plan of attack in his head, he made sure to snap pictures of graffiti and carvings on the walls. Most of it was written in cuneiform, or occasionally, coptic runes. He would have to brush up on his Sumerian if he was going to keep working here.
The few loiterers that Drake came across didn't seem to know who Vito was, or where he might be located. Drake was fairly certain of their honesty, because he had offered most of them very large amounts of Omnilium. It wasn't until he was stopping to take a piss in a gutter that the smuggler picked up on something that had been starin him in the face. Literally.
A few feet from the water runoff was a fountain spigot. Sewage water ran from its mouth, and on the wall around it, a large, grinning serpent face had been carved. Candles and more graffiti surrounded it, along with what appeared to be small offerings, such as dried fruit, incense, and baggies that had narcotic residue on them. Opium, from the looks of it. Drake flipped through the Dataverse, trying to weave the symbology together until one name consistently came up, over and over again.
Tiamat.
The primordial serpent. The mother of chaos.
Drake wasn't familiar with Gilgamesh's policies on the worship of Assyrian gods of destruction, but he was at least assuming it was taboo. This did give him an approach angle into Nippur's underbelly, however. In the deepening gloom, Drake decided to head off into the city's seedier red light district to get himself a drink.
The bar he eventually found himself in was a cramped, sweaty little hole in the wall with a single flabby mother of three listlessly gyrating her hips on a sandstone table. Seven or so half-wasted townies lounged around as a veiled hostess kept their decanters filled with frothing, noxious beer. A small sconce of flickering torches provided only enough light to glint on the topless lady's rattling bangles and for Drake to find his way to a seat.
The smuggler had managed to trade a small wad of Omnilium for a pouch of golden Babylonian coin, so it was easy to keep a low profile as he paid for the beer, entertainment and food. A small, clay tagine sat next to him with a stewed mixture of greens, couscous and some kind of stringy meat that Drake assumed was chicken. It was actually pretty good. Only after his second beer and finished meal did he finally lean over to the shadowed figure next to him.
"Been seeing more Tiamat offerings lately." Drake murmured.
"Enh." his benchmate grumbled. Drake gave it a few minutes.
"Where you figure the carvings keep coming from?" the lanky man said, trying to probe for some context. Apparently his assumptions were right, as usual.
"Them freaks over at the irrigation plant. Runnin' a damn temple outta the building. King'll shut 'em down." the enigmatic nightcrawler responded. He took a long pull on his beer and eased back into his chair. It was a subtle enough way of telling Drake to fuck off, so he did. The smuggler tossed a few extra coins onto the dancer's plinthe before slinking back out into the velvety night air.
Now he was getting somewhere...
![[Image: screen_shot_2018_02_16_at_4_33_57_pm_by_...c3dkog.png]](https://orig00.deviantart.net/883e/f/2018/047/1/d/screen_shot_2018_02_16_at_4_33_57_pm_by_tearen_and_zearen-dc3dkog.png)