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

[Pembinasa]

Graydon grinned to himself, just a little, as he joined the little throng.

If it was silence you wanted, you'd have done better binding yourself to a fighter. What wizard worth his salt doesn't have thoughts overfilling their head until they reshape the world around them? Still, my thanks for narrowing it down; I didn't realize you could be a Sigil-guide as well. You're beginning to show the advantages of unconventionality.

As for titles, they call us Conjurers, no matter the specialization; it's a confusing title, but one I much prefer to 'that idiot who told people he was an illusionist.' Much better to keep up the illusion of power, so to speak... and really? People actually go around calling themselves 'Prismatic Princes'? It may take a while, but I really want to track them down and laugh at them now!

Still, let's try a test- as I stuffed my mind full of defensive measures for walking around Sigil this morning, perhaps you can cast a spell I've already inscribed inside you. Pity I don't have anything as dramatic as 'Polymorph man into Flumph', whatever THAT is, but I'm hoping that some magic detection should offer the chance to take a look at this musical ghost that's apparently haunting us. It seems an interesting individual- Hmm.

Speaking of interesting individuals, what have you seen of this garishly-dressed man who seems to have the table in his thrall?

He'll actually be handing said garishly-dressed man a tankard of beer before quietly taking a seat and ignoring him, instead waving a little finger at the pixie girl who seems to have completely avoided succumbing to whatever had been done to everybody else. CLEARLY, she's the one on top of things and should have his full outward attention.

 

[CanadienneBacon]

[section]Confusion settled on Picayune like a sodden blanket. It made thinking hard. He shook his head, as if to fling off his mental fog. "Riddle me dis, Joe. OK, so I buy you don't know how to get home, but where you from? A'fore you got here, where wuz you livin'?" The effigy wrinkled a brow, as if thought hurt. [/section]

 

[Unsung]

"Born in LA, raised in Bay City, for whatever that's worth. Lived in Frisco for a few years and bummed around South Asia a while, looking for inner peace, that whole deal..." He accepts the tankard from Graydon with a suspicious look, but then shrugs and drinks. "...and found all this, instead." He waves his arm around, indicating the city, and then puts his thumbs and fingertips together, making a circle with them. Or a ring. "The Great, Big Wheel."

He looks at the single white glove Picayune is still wearing. "Really would advise you not to get too attached to that thing. Not every guy's the sharing type, you know?"

 

[Unsung]

A sound you can't help but hear emanates from the street above: a concussive boom that rattles the door in its frame and sends empty mugs skittering across the floor. It reverberates briefly. Worried noises start to fill the tavern. Voices ring out, muffled by the tavern walls, but you can already tell that the clamour is building, not falling away.

 

[Quickleaf]

Telepathically, to Graydon:

Conjurer? I imagine the conjuration specialists at your school, the followers of Bigby and such, were nonplussed. Leave it to a prime school of wizardry... Very well, Conjurer it is.

Hmm. You've piqued my curiosity. Of course, detect magic isn't an option seeing as how I lack somatic options. Would you happen to have a syllabular spell in here...er, in me? A blur or dimension door perhaps? Something with only verbal components? It's an experiment worth trying.

While I can't shed any light on this man with his tacky yet somehow oddly appealing floral shirt, I do have concerns about the floating white glove. You haven't perchance heard of the firm of Crimsonson & Crowley? The glove belongs to one Aoerther Crimsonson, a second rate hack of a mage, but with some high-up in his pocket, and deep pockets indeed. I'm certain he'll be wanting them b--

The boom from outside rattles Shandrizar's telepathic concentration.

 

[Queenie]

Lili gives Graydon a coy smile as he waves at her and she returns a small wave of her own. The moment is then interrupted by a large boom and the resulting chaos outside. Startled her wings pop out and she hovers over near Shard, for some reason feeling safe around her. Well, safer, if that could be said if this place. Tired of being left alone by her escort she calls to her friend and companion, who she had left earlier in their room at the Festhall. She didn't think they had wandered too far so he should be able to find her quickly.

 

[CanadienneBacon]

[section]Picayune looked at the glove. The damned thing wriggled. Again. He grew petulant. "I found it. It's mine. It was jess floatin' up in de air, all by its lonesome." The boom from the street thundered through the tavern. Picayune's eyes drifted to the tavern stairs. Nerves jangled in his belly.[/section]

 

[Pembinasa]

To be fair, everyone of a certain higher rank gets called Necromancers, in my opinion just to make them WORK for proving they can get past that- But then, I can't remember anyone who goes around following big bees. Is that a common thing, out there? Some sort of hive magic, maybe a honeycomb spellbook with magical bug-insight? We had a couple howler wasps summoned up at one point, but I doubt that's the same thi-

The BOOM outside was startling, but he was able to keep focus.

OOC: Int saving throw, 16+6=22

Now's the time to find out, Shandrizar. Steps of Mist, a short-range translocation spell, on what used to be pages fifteen and sixteen in you; go find out what caused that, please. If it's a riot or duel or some such, we're safer in here; if it's coming this way, we need to vacate. You'd be a better guesser than I if what they do would make the roof fall in.

For his part, Graydon would nudge his chair closer to the deformed Sigillite- Eurid, right? Well, maybe- and try to stay near to him. Barstle's far too far away to reach immediately, and this fellow's managed to stay alive on those streets for a while now... Right now, that's the smartest move he can think to make.

After all, the way he's mentally cursing about not having the Web spell prepared so he could catch falling debris isn't all that clever, and he needs to make sure he can survive that kind of distraction.

 

[Unsung]

OOC: You're talking about your pseudodragon familiar, is that right, [MENTION=8058]Queenie[/MENTION]? No problem if so, I just want to be sure.

The tavern door thrusts open, and a man stands framed inside it. It's the red-skinned street preacher you saw earlier, the tiefling knight decrying the gods. His blue tunic appears disheveled, and he rests one hand on his horns. The shouting on the street follows him in like a wave. "Barstle! I came as fast as I could." He gulps in air, and raises his voice, loud enough for everyone in the Jilted Planes to hear. "Every portal to Torch across the city is opening, right now."

The barman's face tightens up, and his eyes bulge. He slams rag and tankard down on the bar and starts pushing up his sleeves. "What? Why? Bah...! Alright, everyone! Stand back of the fireplace! Now!"

The ashen fireplace remains still at first, but the bar does not. The one-eyed beggar pushes himself up on a crutch, and begins to lever himself away. The patrons begin to gather their things. The card-players quickly sweep their pots into purses and haversacks. Only clueless berks like Duke Hathfall remain where they are.

"Everything on your tabs for now, gentlemen. Clear out, nice and orderly, now!" A soldierly manner has crept into Barstle's voice. His is a voice that carries.

Meanwhile, looking back at the fireplace, a tiny reddish dot, like a candleflame viewed through a pinhole, takes shape in the air above the stirred ashes. The birdcage tips to one side, and rolls onto the floor with a bang.

"Would you please tell me what is happening, Tantamoul?"

The tiefling's tail lashes. He bites his lip, and throws a quick glance over his shoulder. "I've heard plenty of barkle out there, Bar, in the past few moments. Nothing certain, but...the howl is that Torch just slid. Not well. The entire town's caught up in some big Blood War offensive on Khalas, and--"

"--we can expect some refugees, then," Barstle nods woodenly, voice hoarse, "and some spillover. Got it." He clenches his fists, then speaks up again. "Well!? You all have homes, don't you? Everybody out!"

 

[KirayaTiDrekan]

Rusty turns its attention away from Flower Child Man and looks at the dot in the fireplace.

Instinct kicks in and its arms form into a scimitar and shield again as it interposes itself between Flower Child Man and the fireplace, trying to keep FCM safe.