East of the city, sit seventy-two Stylites atop pillars of salt.
Each is roughly ten minutes from their nearest neighbours, arranged in a six-by-twelve grid; the nearest is just outside the city walls. Each is sworn not to return to the ground until they are either enlightened or dead. They contemplate the secrets of the sky, gathering about them the holy mystique of a hermit.
They’re willing to trade some of this mystique for treats.
Stylites are d8x10 feet off the ground. Those 20ft or more up have baskets on ropes. Some are deranged; others, charming. Many lick their salt pillars when bored. Every now and then, one falls off in the night.
D8 This Stylite is a former…
- Cleric. They offer healing.
- Architect. They know the secrets of a nearby dungeon.
- Scholar. They know the weaknesses of the local magic creatures.
- Warrior. They know the location of magic weapons.
- Enchanter. They offer to polymorph you.
- Wayfinder. They know every hidden spot in the local countryside.
- Scoundrel. They know the secrets of the thieves’ guild.
- Liar. They’re a current liar, also. Roll again; they pretend they know what’s indicated.
D8 But they want…
- Food and gossip about the locals.
- Food and wine.
- Food and to settle a score with a neighbouring Stylite, whom they accuse of a rude gesture.
- Lavish food, expensive and fresh. Rations won’t do.
- You to bring them something from a dungeon.
- You to bring them someone from town.
- To hear a new joke.
- To hear music. They’re surprisingly picky.
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