D&D 5E [D&D 5e] Planescape - In Through the Out Door

[CanadienneBacon]

[section]The effigy eyed the Foundry smokestacks. Shi-it. It's like dem nuke plants on Market Street. Ain't no good to no-body. No doubt dey's makin' money jess like En'ergy. 'Power of da people,' my ass.

Just then, Eurid looked up at the sky before leaning against an oil-lamp post. The sudden movement caught the effigy's attention. The effigy followed Eurid's gaze. Something white bobbing along above the shanty rooftops captured the effigy's focus.

The effigy zoomed to the rafters, ignoring the throngs of ragged children and brightly-clad merrymakers. A lone white glove brushed past. At last, the object of the effigy's fancy. The glove moved slowly, but with purpose. The effigy considered. I wonders. It put forward effort, focused on an image in its mind's eye. A spectral hand appeared where before there had been none visible to the lay eye. The hand--a pale mockery of a mortal hand, its blackened skin shriveled and covered in oozing sores--seemed real enough, even if unsightly. It wasn't solid, however; when the effigy next focused on moving the hand closer for a better look, he could still spy the noxious pipes of the Foundry through the transparent hand.

Picayune whooped with glee. He shouted. No sound came out. He whooped again, anyway, even if only for himself. "I's REAL! I's REALLLL!!" Picayune snatched the white glove, shoved it on his spectral hand. Turned the glove-clad hand to and fro, marveling at its reality.

Picayune zipped back down to the byway, scattering the coven of large crows with dove-gray bodies and black heads. He used his newly gloved hand to pick up the cup shaking itself irritably in midair, and offered the cup to Rusty.[/section]

 

[Pembinasa]

"A type of large stalking cat, bigger than a man; easily charmed and controlled, a terror to your enemies, the ones with huge fangs are the best." Graydon answered Eurid's question absently and by rote, his eyes troubled as he looked at the jewel-encrusted stranger he was walking with.

"Shard... these 'gods' you speak of... you see them as predators and man as prey? As if we mortals can but let them feed on us and give thanks that we are not swallowed whole, except when we are? You surely offer an unappealing case for dealing with these 'god'-things; I'm growing gladder and gladder we don't have any of them where I come from."

 

[Unsung]

The cup stops darting this way and that. Halting itself, somehow managing an air of dignity, it begins to move back to the coin on the barrel, hesitant to approach the modron again.

The cup, suddenly grabbed by the white glove, twists and tugs, trying fruitlessly to escape.

The glove seems to be having issues of its own, however, as the white silk seems to trying to tug itself away from the hand inside it.

 

[KirayaTiDrekan]

Rusty turns to Oz and makes an odd, almost plaintive noise, followed by pointing to the cups, "Rusty. We...are...Rusty."

 

[CanadienneBacon]

[section]Picayune grunted in frustration. Not wanting to lose his prize, he focused on his spectral hand, curling the fingers to make the glove harder to come off. The effort cost him, though, and the pale cerulean-tinted cup clattered to the barreltop.[/section]

 

[Unsung]

The cup taps the barrel once, twice, three times, then rights itself. Freed from interference, it daintily places itself over the satyr's coin.

All three cups scoot back, making a few mild adjustments to get themselves in a straight line. Then they begin to spin...

The glove, appearing out of nowhere, seems to wrestle with itself in front of the small gathering at the barrel.

You're putting on quite a show, as tourists often do.

How To Play The Shell Game: STEP 1: Either make a Perception check or choose randomly (just pick one, or roll 1d3). STEP 2: That's pretty much it, actually.
[MENTION=11146]CanadienneBacon[/MENTION] Roll a straight Strength check, please.

 

[Shayuri]

Shard gave Graydon an irritated look and shook her head.

"You're putting words in my mouth. I wasn't speaking literally. Imagine a tiger and a man, separated by bars of iron. The man, knowing the tiger cannot reach him, may feel that he can taunt and tease it. He does so at his own peril though."

She glanced back over her shoulder at the square where the tiefling still proselytized. "He's doing something similar, in a way. Taunting. Provoking. Challenging. Here he feels safe and secure inside his cage...but the reach of the gods is long, and their memories are longer still."

With a sigh she added, "I don't really know why it bothered me. He's being foolish, but that's his choice. I suppose I just didn't like thinking that others might pick his ideas up, and put themselves at risk, or worse."

"But to answer your question, no. The gods are not as predators to the mortal races. There may be some...parallels, but it's not the same."

Shard chuckled then, seeming to find Graydon's comment about not having gods amusing.

 

[CanadienneBacon]

[section]Picayune frowned. Meeting resistance, he tried to yank away his gloved hand.[/section]
[roll0]

 

[Unsung]

Pic watches the glove tug fruitlessly against his grip, but then finally whatever presence is animating it gives up. He feels it settle against his spectral skin, almost a physical weight, but whatever it is, it's no longer struggling against him.

​@CanadienneBacon While wearing the glove, your lifting and carrying strength are reduced by about 3 pounds. Give or take.

 

[CanadienneBacon]

[section]Picayune grinned. He kept his prize, wiggling his fingers to straighten the glove back into place. Picayune muttered to himself. "It's whiter than white, but best to cover the gristle. 'Less 'lil girlie be needin' a fright?" He eyed the pixie.[/section]

OOC: Picayune can currently carry only 12 pounds. He hasn't any gear other than his trombone (just where he's been storing that thing is probably fodder for a conversation in the OOC), which weighs somewhere around 4-8 pounds, if memory serves. He'll keep the glove. For now. I imagine fun with descriptive text will be had when Picayune no longer wears the glove. Also, I'm in the process of morphing his dialect to something more readily digestible.