Of Wealth and Taste

This is the IC thread for my Planescape PbP game.

OOC thread
RG thread

Speech should be in "quotation marks", and if you like, in color.

OOC text should be in ((double parentheses)).

Writing in present tense please. Good writing and roleplaying will be rewarded with XP bonuses. Lame 'my character follows them' posts will be penalised in like fashion.

Spoiler tags will be used on occasion. Everyone:
I trust you to roll your own dice. Please do so honestly. Dice rolls should be in the format of ((whattherollisfor ?d?+x [y]=z)) where x=your modifier, y=what you rolled, and z=the modified total. If more than one die is rolled, use [x,y,z] instead of [y] where x, y and z equal your individual dice rolls.

Note that the beginning of the game is deliberately very vague. You have free reign to describe what your character has been doing recently, and what they are doing as the game begins. You all happen to be in Sigil, and between long-term activities at present - though you might have finished the last yesterday or six months ago.

***

Sigil - a city of infinite possibilities. In this place, with portals leading to every plane of existence, anybody could exist and anything could happen. Yet everything does not happen at once. Whether through random chance or through the ministrations of fate, the sea of boundless possibilities that is the City of Doors throws up only a certain number of realities from these infinite contingencies. It is now four hours past peak, and among so many others one contingency rests on the brink of coming to pass. In a little under five minutes, four currently unrelated figures scattered around the Cage will be joined by a common factor. Oblivious, Garant Se'l-D'ahn, Davian Immersmere, Vestra Morger, and Dante Sef'ngal go about their lives...

"So this is Sigil," thinks Dante. "I wonder ..." ::cough, cough:: "... I wonder how anyone gets used to breathing this stink? Hordan?"

"Hmm?" The crystal at his shoulder radiates warm acknowledgement of his presence.

"Keep your eyes open, little friend. From all I've heard, this is a risky place - particularly while we're still 'clueless'."

Moving quietly but with a show of determination down the centre of the street (the best way to deal with large crowds is to look as if you know where you're going, and that you won't brook any opposition to your passage), the dirty, dusty traveller makes his way through winding streets towards ... towards an inn where he can bathe and change and get something to eat. Field rations pall in short order.

"Time to ask someone the way, Hord. We could be wandering aimlessly for all I can tell - and I don't fancy staying under this hard sky - and that bloody city overhead - for too long at the moment."

Dante keeps his eyes peeled, looking for someone who looks like they know their way around. And making sure that nobody gets any funny ideas about the newcomer - he has no intention of getting stuck by some sewer-rat looking for a quick score.

((Making periodic sense motive checks on those around him. I'll roll half a dozen results - use what you need to.
Sense Motive: 1d20 + 18 [4] = 22
Sense Motive: 1d20 + 18 [13] = 31
Sense Motive: 1d20 + 18 [11] = 29
Sense Motive: 1d20 + 18 [2] = 20
Sense Motive: 1d20 + 18 [13] = 31
Sense Motive: 1d20 + 18 [14] = 35
If necessary, he will expend his Psionic Focus to boost the check against another character's bluff roll - add +10 to the result. As a matter of course, Dante re-establishes Psionic Focus as soon as possible after expending it. He will certainly expend the focus if he is in conversation with a possible tout.
Concentration (restore psionic focus): 1d20 + 15 [8] = 23
Concentration (restore psionic focus): 1d20 + 15 [6] = 21))

*Vestra winks into existance in one of Sigil's many marketplaces, the portal behind her collapsing with a wink of amber light. With a shake of her red hair, she casts her gaze about, reveling in the feeling of freedom that comes from being able to go anywhere (and anytime).*

*Taking a look about the marketplace, she watches the crowd for a bit, trying to see where the people with a look of prosperity about them are going. In particular, those with trappings of the arcane. If she sees anyone like that, she follows to see where he goes, hoping she can find part of the city that arcanists frequent.*

Garant smooths his hair with his freehand as the other pats his jingling, not entirely worried about any gleaming pips persay, but habit is habit. Having just left the Théatre Broulliard's performance of Six Lemons and a Whistle, a comedy regarding a human prime plagued by a sardonic celestial chorus who redeems himself via a fiends love, he stops in at a cafe for a coffee and the most recent newsrag. Settling down on a stool, he reads and sips away, trying to avoid the thoughts of upcoming taxes.

Davian Immersmere

Somewhere in Sigil, Davian treads an often-used route for him, heading to the gambling den known as the Dancing Bariaur. He whistles a song as he goes, occasionally improvising a dance step. It has been over a week since Davian completed his last commission, and while a little rest is a good thing, a certain restlessness that even Davian is not aware of yet is beginning to set in.

And so, not really thinking about it, Davian takes a somewhat longer route than usual. A route that will take him through one of the parts of Sigil which many people would call dangerous - but which Davian would merely call interesting. Yet this time, he passes unmolested and without incident; and deep inside, finds himself slightly disappointed.

Eventually, the well-dressed Davian reaches his destination and heads inside, intent on whiling the time away with minor thrills, since he can't seem to find a major one. 'Dum-de-dum, dum-DUM. Good song, that. Now then, I think the dice to begin with.' With his customary roguish smile, Davian begins to test his luck.

Dante is given a decent amount of room as he walks down the streets of the Lower Ward. Either he's doing a good job of fitting in, or most bloods know power when they see it, know a clueless when they see one, put two and two together, and decide that clueless spellslingers are the most dangerous kind and there's easier meat elsewhere. He has little difficulty finding somebody willing to give him directions; next to the beggars, touts are about the easiest sods to find in the Lower Ward.

Of course, finding an honest tout is a different matter entirely. After a few minutes, though, Dante thinks he's found a safe bet. Standing a few inches taller than anybody else around, the tall man in fine, delicate chain armour is easily noticeable from quite a distance as he makes eye contact with Dante, smiles pleasantly, and moves gracefully through the crowd to meet him. At first he seems Elven, and certainly his appearance has many characteristics in common with that race, including his delicate yet well-defined features and long, pointed ears, but on second glance he seems to be something else. The violet colour of his eyes and distinct green tinge to his skin point to origins that Dante cannot place. He falls into step with the telepath and strolls alongside him as he looks over with a wry smile and speaks. "I'm guessing you're new here, cutter? I've gotta give you some credit; you do a better job of hiding it than most."

***

((Isida, remember that you can't planeshift into Sigil. You can only get in via a portal. It's not a big deal, but it means you might want to edit your first post.))

Scanning the crowd, Vestra doesn't have to wait long before she finds what she's looking for. Walking aloof and purposeful across the market place is a mage, advertising his magical might the way only a spellslinger can (or would want to). Long, flowing robe with arcane runes - check. Staff with similar runes, glowing - check. Enough Ioun stones to play a game of marbles with circling his head in strange and interlocking orbits - check. Black cat with glowing eyes, perched on shoulder - check. She trails him at a reasonable distance for a minute or two before he leaves the street, entering a small building off to the side of the street. As she gets closer she can see a messily written wooden sign proclaiming the building to be Therislanna's Emporium of Magical Sundries. Vestra isn't convinced this is entirely what she was looking for, but it does seem rather intriguing...

***

Garant is left to read and drink in peace for now. The big story of the day is a supposed sighting of the Mercykiller's Wyrm flying over the Hive. One Hiver had come forward and declared that it ate her son. Three different groups of Xaositects and one group of Anarchists have each claimed sole responsibility for freeing it from the Tower. The Mercykillers deny that the Wyrm has gone missing, but refused to let a reporter enter the Tower to check and made threats upon his person when he pressed the issue.

***

Davian sits down at the dice table, finding himself next to a Vrock on one side and a Halfling on the other. He recognises the Vrock - he's something of a regular at the Bariaur, though why isn't exactly clear. He finds it unlikely that the demon simply has a taste for gambling, though of course anything is possible...

He has decent luck, and in the first few rounds makes five greens and three stingers. The name for the coins is rapidly becoming apparent, as the Vrock handles his own winnings with obvious discomfort and irritation. The slight smirk on the halfling's face seems to imply that he knows damn well what he's doing when he keeps putting nothing but silver in for his stake.

"Greetings, uh, cutter! You're right, I am, indeed, a visitor here. My name is Dante. Who are you and where do you hail from?"

Dante smiles as he speaks, using body language that is open and inviting of confidences. He examines the stranger's stance carefully, not attempting to conceal his purpose, yet making it quite clear that, while prepared for trouble, he does not seek it.

"As to hiding my inexperience - well, I know I have much to learn about Sigil but I'm not completely clueless as to the way the world - I mean, the multiverse - works. My thanks, though, for the encouragement!"

"Could you direct me to an inn - somewhere comfortable and quiet but not too pricey?" He laughs. "That, of course, is the holy grail of all travellers. Maybe I should settle down some time and start such an establishment myself. The gods know I've had plenty of experience of the other sort!"

"Hord?"

"He seems OK to me!"

"And then, I need some information. There is a ... cutter I seek. Who are the brokers of rumour and fact in this place?"

((@Synchronicity: The red you're using for spoken text is hard to read against a black background. Any chance you could find another colour? ))

The man smiles. "Cheap? That's not a problem round here. Now, comfortable and quiet may be a little ambitious..." he chuckles, smiling warmly. "As for information... well, it all depends just what shade of dark you're needing. If you wanted to know, say, who's the high-up in the Red Death, any berk on the street'll tell you for a couple of greens and I'd do the same for free. If on the other hand you're wanting to know the precise details and family history of some berk who got penned in the dead book by one of the Golden Lords - and which of them did it - well, that's a whole different issue. Information's a commodity like anything else, and you'll find plenty of people selling it in the Cage. Like most other things though, if you're looking for specialty goods you need to find a specialty dealer. And most of the specialty dealers round these parts aren't people you want to be mixed up with."

As he talks, he has been directing Dante down a couple of different streets and he now finds himself outside a tavern with a sign reading The Ubiquitous Wayfarer. It seems busy, and is certainly not quiet. Whether or not it's comfortable can't be told for sure, but an informed guess can be made. It does, however, look affordable. His guide stops outside it and motions in its direction. "This is the closest to your description of a tavern you're going to find in the Lower Ward. If you want, I can give you directions to the Lady's Ward where you'll find something a little more upscale. Or if you want to stop here, I'll buy you a drink and we can talk about this blood you're looking for."

*Vestra gives a wry smile at the obvious arcanist.*

He's like a young man, so terribly aware of his power and position, and certain that everyone else must be aware of it too.

*Trailing him for a while, she grins when she sees the shop he goes into.*

That's bound to be interesting, at the very least. Maybe I can bamboozle them with my strange and bizzare "magic..." she thinks, the imp of perversity landing on her shoulder. It wouldn't have been the first time Vestra had spread a little good-natured mayhem.

*With that thought in mind, she strides boldly into the emporium.*

Stepping into the building, Vestra finds herself in a very strange little shop. Buildings using extra-dimensional spaces to be bigger on the inside than the outide is a concept that any planewalker will have come into contact with on many occasions. This place, however, seems to do the opposite. From the outside the shop looks like a smallish building, but not particularly notable. It is larger than many of the buildings in which whole families make their homes in the Hive.

Yet, upon going through the door, the place suddenly seems extraordinarily cramped and small. It is somewhat difficult even to find floorspace, as the place is nearly covered with old manuscripts and parchments of all kinds, stacked around the bookcases and tables that take up most of the room. On these items of furniture, countless magical trinkets are piled. Potions, wands, rings, amulets, brooches, glowing stones and crystals, intricately decorated gloves and boots - most anything imaginable seems to be piled somewhere in the shop. The wizard Vestra followed in has obviosuly been here before and has already picked and sidled his way to the other side of the shop where he is carefully inspecting some small, dark items that look rather like the claws of some creature or another. Sitting up on a stack of scrolls and files that goes higher than anything else in the room is a small blue-skinned humanoid about 15 inches tall. It peers over at Vestra as she comes in, chirping "don't step on anything! If you step on anything, you're paying for it!"