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

[Unsung]

The guard leans in, mock-conspiratorially, amusement dancing in her hooded eyes. "Well," she whispers, "I don't think anyone else in here has heard that tune before, so I'd put odds on it being new to the Cage altogether because of that. " She places her hand across her chin and draws Graydon's gaze across the tavern crowd with a quick flick of her eyes. "Unless mine ears deceive me, to coin a phrase, it came from that table there, that came in with that tout Dustman. Recent arrivals to our fair city, I'd say. Friends of yours?"

She raises an eyebrow but her lids barely so much as flutter.

 

[goatunit]

"I'd never spit that you oughta be grateful," Eurid says. It may read like a jab, but he says it sincere.

"Whole thing's a sick bleedin' joke. Gratitude or resentment... we all have our chains, strapping us in."

"Say you win back your kip. Whatsit? A 'duchy'? Every wish granted. And then what? A famine hits, or a snake bite takes your heir? An enemy invades? A god's avatar gets crucified by your soldiers. The sons of whatever berk are warming your golden chair right now come back to invoke their 'rightful' claim."

He pauses to sip his wine again. Frustration is evident on his normally placid face.

"Desire is a noose, and fulfillment is vapid. Why? Because, as you spit it m'lord: the wheel keeps turning. It doesn't end. And all victories and all defeats slip off into the same forgotten graveyard. And when you 'die?' Zoom! It's off to the heavens or hells and back to work as a larvae or a lantern archon or whatsit. No, cutter--the only true heaven is oblivion. The True Death. And the only winner in this game is the blood who's not playing."

With that, Eurid reaches into his satchel to pull a sheaf of papers and place them on the table. They look to be contracts of some kind.

"So what do you say, blood? How 'bout a couple coppers to pay down your tab?"

 

[Quickleaf]

Arching his paper brow at the tavern scene with only a slight hint of disdain, the animated spellbook follows Graydon as he converses with the guardswoman Harmony. His telepathic voice is bit unsure of himself - what else would he be finding he could not work magic? However, he is quick to regain his bluster.

Yes...yes, I shall see what my keen arcane senses can perceive of this bizarreness of which you speak.

After a bit of straining, and spell formula jumbling about in his paper brain-box to no avail, Shandrizar consigns himself to the fact that he will have to make do without magic. For the time being, at least. He eyes the group of odd characters at the table closely. If it was a musical prank, then it was no great stretch of the imagination to conclude the satyr was responsible. Shandrizar the All-Seeing would find the truth, and once Graydon was satisfied maybe then he would attend to Shandrizar's "condition."

Floating over their way, the animated spellbook pauses before Rusty. "Well bucket of bolts, it would appear both our fortunes are connected to our young illusionist friend. How do you know Graydon?" Shandrizar tries to gesture with his hand, but then, recalling he has no hands, resorts to bobbing his head. Meanwhile, he tries to get a closer work at how Rusty is put together, being quite nosy for a glorified spellbook.

OOC: Intelligence (History, doubled prof bonus for Artificer's Lore) check = 1d20+6 = 18+6 = 24 I would like to ascertain what is Rusty? A golem? Animated armor? Warforged? Rogue modron? Any hint of who its creator was, if it has a command word or control rod/gem, or if it has a built-in recording device?

 

[KirayaTiDrekan]

Rusty unfolds itself from the sitting position it had taken. Unsure of what the book had said, Rusty replies, "Bucket...of...bolts? No. We are Rusty." It points a finger at itself for emphasis. Then it asks, "What...is...Gray...don?"

 

[Shayuri]

(OOC - Apologies on how long it took me to decide how to write this! )

Picayune had never inhabited another being before...at least not one that wasn't himself...so he had no basis for comparison. He had no way of knowing if the claustrophobic feeling, as if he was in a room a little too small for his size, was normal. Indeed, so enthralled was he with the view 'outside,' he may never have really paid attention to how she felt 'inside.' Not until he finally worked himself up and forced himself to relax and fade back out. In that moment as he passed away from her, but was still half-in, he looked back.

The barrier he'd felt between himself and Shard was still 'visible' in a sense, looming over her. It wasn't black from this vantage, but it was a deep smokey translucent shade, like obsidian might be, or dark quartz. Within it burned a ferocious light though, the heart of which was nearly too bright to look at, even with that nearly pitch black faceted surface around it. Despite being larger than Shard, the transient shade of Picayune felt instinctively that this crystal was, in some way, 'equivalent' to the gem in her head. That he was seeing it on another level, or plane, or a different and truer perspective as he brushed against her soul

Shard's spirit was impaled by this thing, which was leaking lines of light and dark into her spirit. He could see where her soul seemed distorted and compressed by it, and other places where it seemed to just melt into its surface entirely.

And the light at the center. The light. When he looked at it, he felt a tremendous pressure that was somehow simultaneously a gravitational pull.

[sblock=He saw]...the moon hatching, giving birth to an unspeakable black serpent...the stars gathered close, weeping...a bolt of lightning streaking from cloud to cloud, but he was chasing it relentlessly, and gaining on it...a cloud of strange catlike spirits gathered around him, asking what they should do, and he feels the pang of fear as he realizes that for the first time, he doesn't know what to tell them...a wall of flesh, boiling out of the darkness, loathsome and violet and ichorous, exploding into tendrils that he wove between as he sailed past...the sun, burning and bright, and a fierce violent pride blossoming in his chest as he realizes that He is giving him this recognition, this honor...the Eye...[/sblock]

He recoiled the last bit, and the contact was broken. His spirit body and Shard's soul separated, and the vision was gone. She was just herself, strange and beautiful and...and outraged.

She stood up from the table, her lavender eyes blazing with anger.

"Lost one," she gritted, "you test me." Visibly she forced herself to remain calm, and the anger started to recede, replaced with a simmering sorrow. "But then, I am lost too now."

Shard looked around and spied Eurid. Quietly she spoke to the air over her table. "I forgive you. The frightened and injured will lash out even at someone who wants to help...and I was too weak and foolish to protect myself. Good bye, Picayune. I hope you are not left here long. You are strong enough to..."

She paused, suddenly looking unsure what she was going to say, and finally just shook her head and started going towards where their supposed guide was hobnobbing.

 

[Unsung]

[sblock=Shandrizar]The construct is made from modron parts, and from the shape and size of it @Quickleaf you wouldn't be surprised if there was in fact a rogue quadrone in there somewhere. There've been a whole lot of extraneous additions, however, and you are put in mind of any number of compact springs and coils, all ready to activate for some as-yet-unknown purpose.

The work doesn't appear instantly familiar. Behind the largely vestigial mask is a kind of cradle or slot which might have been meant to hold some manner of phylactery, or perhaps a sensory stone?

You know that the Society has been trying to create ever more immersive stones since its founding. Larger stones, longer memories, multiple stones. A number of accidental mindswapping incidents and one head explosion later, however, and the Harmonium cracked down on research. It still goes on behind closed doors, of course-- these are Sensates after all, so plenty of funding laying around and always a rich patron with a set of spare rooms to be had. If you were to approach your old friends in the Fraternity, you don't doubt the grapevine could produce results.

As for a phylactery, however, that's tougher. You know a few of the city's more prominent liches-- everyone who's anyone knows Skall, of course, and Crawley, well, he's been your personal cross to bear-- but Sigil is a planar crossroads. Why, you wouldn't be surprised if a dozen liches were passing through the city right now, on their way to someplace else.[/sblock]

 

[Unsung]

The duke continues, his lugubrious voice making every word, every stanza he speaks seem a chore-- although he also speaks quickly, as if to get it over with. An odd combination. Perhaps simply a product of his environment.

“A compelling case it is you make, sirrah, that is if you are not like the bishops at court and abide your own sermonizing.” He gazes up at the ceiling thoughtfully. “You have stumbled onto the right of it, for indeed I have cared not a whit ’til now for our duchy nor any trapping of power, nor liege nor land, and verily all is in doubt that I will ever be opportuned any (that is to say, legitimate) heirs to my family name. Meanwhile I can say that of my father and siblings, may they rest, of all the countless worlds of which I have heard tell, nary a one would be any the poorer for their passing.

“It may be as you say, Man of Dust, that there is no order or justice or meaning to be had in this life. Yet there is still...” He rolls the viscous red droplets around the bottom of his glass. His lips twist into a smile as if against his will. “...satisfaction. Honour, or vengeance, or other such bodily functions of the noble classes. Balance, you see, of the proverbial books, leastwise. Duty. An evening of accounts, the discharge of one’s debts, to be free and clear--”

He pushes back his glass, drums his fingers on the table, and looks at the few meager coppers Eurid is offering. The sum does not seem to hold his attention much.

 

[Quickleaf]

Rusty unfolds itself from the sitting position it had taken. Unsure of what the book had said, Rusty replies, "Bucket...of...bolts? No. We are Rusty." It points a finger at itself for emphasis. Then it asks, "What...is...Gray...don?"

The spellbook's face has a rather dumbfounded look. He is about to reply when he squints at Rusty as if he were used to squinting over spectacles, half expecting Rusty to give him a knowing wink. After all, Shandrizar was an Archmage trapped in an object, maybe "Rusty" was in a similar situation.

As if playing along with this clever construct's ruse, he nods with a knowing smile. "Not what, who. That young man over there is Graydon, the one speaking with the guardswoman." He bobs his head in Graydon's direction. "And no need to be hard on yourself about the state of your ferrous elements, my dear fellow. We're all a little worse for the air given this Lower Ward air. I myself even had a close encounter with the bathroom floor. Made a rather unidentifiable smudge on my identify page." Shandrizar brings his voice lower and quieter as if speaking in conspiratorial tones with a kindred master of the arcane.

 

[KirayaTiDrekan]

If Rusty's "face" could move, it would have a blank expression at the moment. After a very long pause, Rusty finally says, "I...dent...if...y?" and points at the book.

 

[Unsung]

The man bumps into Shard without seeing her. "Sorry, sorry," he mutters, but doesn't stop or look around. He walks up to the table, where at this point only Liliana remains, though Oz and the bariaur woman are not far. And, of course, Picayune, with his white glove, though the man seems yet to notice that.

[sblock=Picayune]Just some white dude in a RenFaire costume, seen plenty like him since you got here-- except none of them was wearing a Hawaiian shirt.[/sblock]

He puts both hands on the table. He's wearing some outlandish floral shirt, and his brow is heavy over his staring eyes, both shining with sweat. He nods definitely. "Summertime," he says, and cracks a grin, looking more than a little crazed, "and the living is easy." He points a finger at the pixie. "Where on God's green Earth did a pretty little lady like you learn that song around here?" He spreads his arms and looks around, as if meaning the whole of the planes.