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

[Unsung]

OOC: A couple of them do...a little bit. At least enough for Rusty's purposes, I'm thinking.

 

[KirayaTiDrekan]

Rusty moves itself up to the mask-woman and points at one of her masks that bears a passing resemblance to its face, "We...are...Rusty?"

 

[Shayuri]

Shard watched the antics narrowly, but by inches started to relax from her readiness to pounce. The 'clowns' weren't reacting to the haunting like bandits would, she thought. They weren't aggressive enough.

"Did you know the ghost in life?" she asked Eurid. "Why haven't you sent it on?"

 

[Unsung]

The woman (let's call her 'Masks') continues glancing around at the empty air. Her eyes are unfocused, not blind, yet not seeming to alight on anything real or physical-- but not fixing on Picayune, either.

It's not until Rusty's metal finger nearly jabs one of Masks' many masks that she seems to awaken back into the hard streets of Sigil.

"Are ee-rust we?" she mimics, and scowls. "'Are we all rust?' Pfshh!" She waves at the others "Oy! Sharpish look! A blinking Bleaker-box-Sinker-to-be, it's is them this be, eh?"

She looks up at the drone's own mask, and thrusts a leathery finger with a jagged, dirty nail at its eye socket. "Want full law you, what-do 01101111 01101110 01100101...?" She rattles off the string of binary without so much as pausing for a breath. "Hmmm?"

 

[KirayaTiDrekan]

Rusty says simply, "One."

 

[Unsung]

Masks wrinkles her nose. "Aye, 'tis what I just said, box," she mutters. "Pffah!" She rounds and starts to walk away.

 

[goatunit]

Eurid nods, satisfied with the display, and heads into the bar. When Shard asks if he knows the ghost, he shrugs.

"Might be so, but I reckon not. Won't know for sure until I ear a tag."

As to why he hasn't sent it on to the True Death... "It's got to be willing. Rare thing for a ghost. Them that's willing to go on, go on the first time."

 

[Unsung]

The Chaosmen pick up their toys and go home, barkling in scramblespeak as they go. They don't all leave at once, or in the same direction, but it seems like the moment has gone. They leave the [roll0] copper coins behind, sitting on the cobbles for anyone to help themselves.

The entrance to The Jilted Planes is marked by an arrow, drawn in charcoal, pointing down the stairs.

The uneven stone steps leading down to the bar are soaking wet, smelling strongly of soap. A few shoots of black razorvine, with its heart-shaped leaves, are beginning to protrude from the cracks to either side of the stairs, but it looks like some aggressive pruning has been done, and recently.

There are two doors at the bottom: to one side, a wooden door, from behind which emanates a cozy ambiance of tankards clunking and ale sopping the floor, some light conversation and occasional profanity. The other, set into the brickwork facing the stairs, is a metal portcullis, locked and chained, leading down into the dark and damp of Undersigil.

A cranium rat watches Eurid descending the stairs with far too knowing a look.

Suddenly, it flees into a drainpipe. The door opens, and a few red-faced labourers totter out, arm in arm.

 

[goatunit]

Eurid passes by the spilled coppers and points out the razorvine to his companions.

"Mind that, cutters," he advises.

After tipping an imagined hat to the cranium rat, Eurid slides against the wall to let the laborers pass by and heads into the taproom.

 

[CanadienneBacon]

[section]Picayune flew up to the ceiling and flattened himself against the surface. He scooted along the ceiling, making sure to stay in the airspace above Eurid whenever possible.[/section]