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Prime, Planar, Power: A Planescape Story Hour (Updated March 22nd!)
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<blockquote data-quote="Kaodi" data-source="post: 1422941" data-attributes="member: 1231"><p><strong>Session 1</strong></p><p></p><p>Only the occasional exchange between patrons disturbs the silence of the tavern, a run down establishment in the Lower Ward of Sigil called the Sword & Buckler. Most of the customers are of the kind that usually hang around the tavern, the riff-raff trying to eke out a living in the rough and tumble city of Sigil, but tonight a good number of them are of the “ armed and dangerous ” sort, more so than on a typical night. They seem to be expecting something, or someone.</p><p> </p><p> The idle chatter ceases when the door swings upon and a large man steps inside. He is dressed in chainmail, with a sword hanging at his side. A black cape is draped over his broad shoulders and his face is framed by a tangle of red hair. For a moment his piercing blue eyes scan the room, a ghost of a smile hidden partially by his beard. His name is Vince de Plotte.</p><p></p><p> “ Good eve to ye, cutters! “ de Plotte declares in a booming voice. “ Do I look upon a bunch of canny bloods, ready to take on the planes? ” And at that he is greeted by a mass of raised tankards and cheers. “ Then I have a job for you! ” he hollers, raising his voice up over the noise.</p><p></p><p> “ There is a place in the Outlands, ” he begins, “ a large cave complex. It’s guarded by undead, but the chant goes that there is a lot of jink and treasure there. ” He pauses a moment, gauging the reaction of the crowd and then continues. “ I need competent planewalkers. Everybody gets an equal share, but I’ll take no leather headed berks or clueless primes. I’ve had my share of adventure, but I can’t take on a horde of undead, and I’ve no spellcasting skill. ” He is answered again by a raised tankards and cheering.</p><p></p><p> De Plotte pulls up a chair and table, producing a ledger from his cape. “ Those who want in, form a line, “ he says. “ I’ll judge if you’re competent enough, all in your turns. “ Most everyone except the bartender get up and form a line without too much trouble. They are a mixed group of humans and half-elves mostly, with a barbazu thrown in for good measure.</p><p></p><p> The interviews begin and de Plotte directs some of them to sit at a bench next to him. First is a tall human in dark leathers, then a red haired man who demonstrates his grasp of magic with a flash of light. After him is a human woman in silvery chainmail. Next though, is the barbazu, and after a brief exchange of words, he storms out of the tavern, shouting obscenities the whole way and then slamming the door.</p><p></p><p> Some minutes pass and two green robed men and a striking half-elven woman, heavily armed, take their places at the bench. Next in line is a pale skinned human in his late teens, with dark hair and dark eyes. He is dressed in scalemail and carries a greatsword on his back.</p><p></p><p> “ What is your name? “ asks de Plotte.</p><p></p><p> “ Rhett, formerly of Dalelands, “ says the young man. “ I’m a holy champion of the god Torm. “</p><p></p><p> De Plotte rolls his eyes slightly. “ And why do you want to kill undead? “ he asks.</p><p></p><p> Rhett’s expression darkens. “ My family were killed by undead, “ he says angrily. “ They were created by the followers of the foul drow goddess Kiaransalee, the one they call the Revenancer. I swore an oath to avenge them, to destroy all undead, and to destroy Kiaransalee herself. “ Rhett pauses to take a breath, and then says slowly, “ No matter how long it takes, no matter the cost. “</p><p></p><p> De Plotte thinks for a moment and then nods. “ Take a seat over there, “ he says, pointing to the others on the bench. Rhett does so. After him comes an attractive young woman with shoulder length chestnut hair, brushed back to reveal her pointed ears.</p><p></p><p> “ I’m Alys, “ she announces. “ Trapsmith, procurement agent and Knight of the Post. “</p><p></p><p> “ And what do you want on this expedition? “ asks de Plotte, scratching his beard.</p><p></p><p> “ I want the jink, “ Alys replies. “ I came here tonight for a spot of work, and this sounds as good as any. “ </p><p></p><p> “ Do you have any… special skills? “ asks de Plotte.</p><p></p><p> Alys grins. “ I may not be as good at smashing heads as some a those others there, but you’ll not find a cutter in here who can turn a trick with a lock like I can. “</p><p></p><p> De Plotte nods. “ How old are you, by the way? “</p><p></p><p> Looking indignant, Alys replies, “ Ah… don’t you know it’s rude to ask a lady her age? “</p><p></p><p> “ Go sit with the others, “ says de Plotte, shrugging. The next interviewee, a short halfling wearing fire scarred leathers and carrying a crossbow, steps forward.</p><p></p><p> “ Dr. Poojo, ex-professor of experimental chemistry. I hail from Greyhawk. “</p><p></p><p> “ Never heard of the place, “ says de Plotte. “ Why do you want on this expedition? “</p><p></p><p> Dr. Poojo answers, “ For the heck of it. Someone has to find out about undead and their food indegestion. “</p><p></p><p> De Plotte looks at Dr. Poojo for a moment before replying. “ I see, “ he says. “ What use would you be on our expedition? What can you do? “</p><p> </p><p> “ I can do all things useful, in expeditions like these especially. “ Dr. Poojo says. “ No lock can stand in my way for long, and my knowledge of the wilderness is vast. “ He peers expectantly at de Plotte for a long moment before continuing. “ Dungeons and caverns are my strong subject. I’m useful underground. “ </p><p></p><p> Several moments go by before de Plotte speaks up. “ I see. Go sit with the others. “ </p><p> </p><p> There are a few people left in line. The first of them is a strange character, lanky and muscular, with no hair at all. His body is covered in tiny stitches, and his eyes are nothing more than glass marbles in a leathercraft face. After him is a modron, carrying a holy symbol of Bahamut of all things. Bringing up the rear is a ruddy dwarf loaded down with a huge barrel strapped to his back.</p><p></p><p> The constructed man steps up to the table, and de Plotte asks, “ Your name? “ </p><p></p><p> “ Tondo Ket, “ replies the man.</p><p></p><p> “ And what do you want on this expedition for? “ inquires de Plotte.</p><p></p><p> “ It gives me a purpose, at which currently I have none, “ is the reply.</p><p></p><p> “ You’re a Mercykiller, “ says de Plotte. “ Doesn’t that faction give you a purpose? “ He looks at the symbol on the back on Tondo’s hand.</p><p></p><p> Tondo looks confused. “ Mercykiller…? “</p><p></p><p> Rhett leans towards de Plotte and whispers, “ Um, excuse me. I talked to him earlier. I don’t think he has complete programming. “ </p><p></p><p> De Plotte glances towards Rhett, then back to Tondo. “ Go sit with the others, “ is all he says.</p><p></p><p> The modron is next, and de Plotte asks, “ You have a name, modron? “</p><p></p><p> “ I am called Strontium-90, “ is the modron’s mechanical reply. “ I am a follower of Bahamut and a servant of light. I also require a source of income. “</p><p></p><p> De Plotte does his best to stifle a chuckle. “ You’re a priest? “ he says.</p><p></p><p> “ Affirmative. “ </p><p></p><p> “ And Bahamut is your power? “ </p><p></p><p> “ Affirmative. “ </p><p></p><p> “ Never heard of him before, “ says de Plotte, straight faced. “ What’s he the power of? “</p><p></p><p> “ Bahamut is the Lord of all Good Dragons, “ is Strontium-90’s reply. </p><p></p><p> “ Dragons, I see. And how powerful is your magic? “ asks de Plotte, looking interested. </p><p></p><p> “ I am proficient in healing magicks and other clerical spells. I can also channel positive energy to affect beings of negative energy. “</p><p></p><p> “ Can you restore life energy stolen by the undead? “ asks de Plotte. “ I don’t mean patching the wounds in the skin, but the soul. “</p><p></p><p> Strontium-90 blinks and thinks for a moment. “ I do not believe I have such powers at my disposal at this time. “</p><p></p><p> “ I see, then, “ says de Plotte. “ Sit with the others, then. Or stand, if that’s what you boxes do. “</p><p></p><p> Only the dwarf is left. He pauses a moment, then walks up to the table and offers his hand. De Plotte reaches out and grasps it firmly, and they shake hands.</p><p></p><p> “ Dalgar Blackhammer, at yer serice, “ says the dwarf, looking sure of himself.</p><p></p><p> “ All right. So, why do you want on this expedition? “ asks de Plotte, glad that this is the last to be interviewed. </p><p></p><p> “ Just biding my time until I find out how to get back home, “ says Dalgar. “ I need the gold, and besides, not many err… Primes I think you call us, from my worlds have been to such a place. There must be many stories here. “</p><p></p><p> De Plotte nods. “ I see. By the way, why are you lugging the barrel of bub on your back? “</p><p></p><p> Dalgar puffs up momentarily and replies, “ Personal tradition, ever since my Pilgrimage. Helps build strength, and it’s good for celebrating to boot. “</p><p></p><p> De Plotte points to Dalgar urgrosh. “ You know how to use that thing? “ he asks.</p><p></p><p> Patting his weapon, Dalgar says, “ Yeah, every young warrior must learn to use one of these blades. “ </p><p></p><p> “ I see. You’re new to Sigil I take it, “ says de Plotte.</p><p></p><p> Dalgar nods. “ Yeah, portal malfunction, “ he says.</p><p> </p><p> De Plotte waves Dalgar to sit down, then he turns to regard the group critically for a moment. “ There’s a lot of you, “ he says, more to himself than to any of them. He then goes silent for a moment, evidently thinking hard. </p><p></p><p> “ My name is Vince de Plotte, “ he says. “ And before any of you asks any questions, I’m afraid I have to tell you that some of you will have to stay. “ Standing up, he walks along in front of the bench. “ Blackhammer and Poojo, for ones. I said I’d take no clueless primes. “</p><p></p><p> “ And you, “ he continues, “ Rhett of Torm, are too eager and fanatical. I can see it in your eyes. “ Pointing to Alys, he says, “ You’re overconfident, and in the planes that can kill. “ He stops pacing. “ And you, box and leatherface… I don’t know what to make of you, so you’re not coming. “ </p><p></p><p> All of the rejected object vehemently, and doing a quick count off, Alys asks, “ So, you’re rejecting all of us that ya picked earlier? Then why waste our time with the interview in the first place? “</p><p></p><p> Looking Alys straight in the eye, de Plotte answers, “ To see if you’re good enough. You’re not. Don’t take it too badly, there’s always a bigger fish in the Planes.</p><p>He then throws the barkeep a bag of coins. “ A round of bub for them, good man. “</p><p></p><p> Beckoning to his chosen companions, Vince de Plotte leaves the Sword & Buckler to the indignant young adventurers. Somewhat perplexed, Strontium-90 comments, “ My, what an odd process. “</p><p></p><p> Flushed, Alys says, “ Oh no, he don’t. “ She turns to the group and asks, “ You all aren’t going to take that from him, are ya? I say we follow them berks and show ‘em we have the skills for the job. Who’s with me? “</p><p></p><p> Dissatisfied with this turn of events, the group decides that there is no way they are going to let de Plotte get away with embarrassing them like that. They agree that they are just going to have to show him that they are more than qualified for the task. Packing up their gear, they head out into the streets of Sigil with Alys leading them, having apparently chosen her as the interim leader.</p><p></p><p> Following de Plotte, doing their best to stay quite despite the racket made by the dwarf and the clanking of the modron, they see him stop near a great building complex with huge chimneys belching smoke into the night air. Standing in front of a shop, de Plotte seems to be addressing his followers, explaining to them. Alys creeps forward so that she can get a closer look.</p><p></p><p> All six of them can see de Plotte take something out of his pocket, passing two of them to members of his group. He then holds something in front of him and steps into the doorway, vanishing. His companions follow in similar fashion.</p><p> </p><p> Reporting back to the group, Alys says that she saw de Plotte holding a symbol of the Dustmen.</p><p></p><p> “ Who the firepits are these ‘ Dustmen ‘ anyway? “ demands Dalgar.</p><p></p><p> Strontium-90 blinks. “ The Dustmen are one of Sigil’s fifteen factions, “ he states. “ The factions are, in alphabetical order: The Athar… “</p><p></p><p> “ The Believers of the Source… “</p><p></p><p> “ The Bleak Cabal… “</p><p></p><p> Rhett waves Strontium-90 to silence and the modron ceases his dissertation. The group the discusses the matter, and after Alys rummages for some appropriate material, Strontium-90 creates a facsimile of the symbol of the Dustmen, which the party hopes will get them through the portal.</p><p></p><p> After checking their gear, Alys takes the makeshift symbol and walks up to the storefront, followed by Dalgar, Strontium-90, Rhett, Dr. Poojo and Tondo. One by one, they file into the doorway and…</p><p></p><p> …Then the credits roll, and the theme song, Iron Maiden’s “ When Two Worlds Collide “ starts playing.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Kaodi, post: 1422941, member: 1231"] [b]Session 1[/b] Only the occasional exchange between patrons disturbs the silence of the tavern, a run down establishment in the Lower Ward of Sigil called the Sword & Buckler. Most of the customers are of the kind that usually hang around the tavern, the riff-raff trying to eke out a living in the rough and tumble city of Sigil, but tonight a good number of them are of the “ armed and dangerous ” sort, more so than on a typical night. They seem to be expecting something, or someone. The idle chatter ceases when the door swings upon and a large man steps inside. He is dressed in chainmail, with a sword hanging at his side. A black cape is draped over his broad shoulders and his face is framed by a tangle of red hair. For a moment his piercing blue eyes scan the room, a ghost of a smile hidden partially by his beard. His name is Vince de Plotte. “ Good eve to ye, cutters! “ de Plotte declares in a booming voice. “ Do I look upon a bunch of canny bloods, ready to take on the planes? ” And at that he is greeted by a mass of raised tankards and cheers. “ Then I have a job for you! ” he hollers, raising his voice up over the noise. “ There is a place in the Outlands, ” he begins, “ a large cave complex. It’s guarded by undead, but the chant goes that there is a lot of jink and treasure there. ” He pauses a moment, gauging the reaction of the crowd and then continues. “ I need competent planewalkers. Everybody gets an equal share, but I’ll take no leather headed berks or clueless primes. I’ve had my share of adventure, but I can’t take on a horde of undead, and I’ve no spellcasting skill. ” He is answered again by a raised tankards and cheering. De Plotte pulls up a chair and table, producing a ledger from his cape. “ Those who want in, form a line, “ he says. “ I’ll judge if you’re competent enough, all in your turns. “ Most everyone except the bartender get up and form a line without too much trouble. They are a mixed group of humans and half-elves mostly, with a barbazu thrown in for good measure. The interviews begin and de Plotte directs some of them to sit at a bench next to him. First is a tall human in dark leathers, then a red haired man who demonstrates his grasp of magic with a flash of light. After him is a human woman in silvery chainmail. Next though, is the barbazu, and after a brief exchange of words, he storms out of the tavern, shouting obscenities the whole way and then slamming the door. Some minutes pass and two green robed men and a striking half-elven woman, heavily armed, take their places at the bench. Next in line is a pale skinned human in his late teens, with dark hair and dark eyes. He is dressed in scalemail and carries a greatsword on his back. “ What is your name? “ asks de Plotte. “ Rhett, formerly of Dalelands, “ says the young man. “ I’m a holy champion of the god Torm. “ De Plotte rolls his eyes slightly. “ And why do you want to kill undead? “ he asks. Rhett’s expression darkens. “ My family were killed by undead, “ he says angrily. “ They were created by the followers of the foul drow goddess Kiaransalee, the one they call the Revenancer. I swore an oath to avenge them, to destroy all undead, and to destroy Kiaransalee herself. “ Rhett pauses to take a breath, and then says slowly, “ No matter how long it takes, no matter the cost. “ De Plotte thinks for a moment and then nods. “ Take a seat over there, “ he says, pointing to the others on the bench. Rhett does so. After him comes an attractive young woman with shoulder length chestnut hair, brushed back to reveal her pointed ears. “ I’m Alys, “ she announces. “ Trapsmith, procurement agent and Knight of the Post. “ “ And what do you want on this expedition? “ asks de Plotte, scratching his beard. “ I want the jink, “ Alys replies. “ I came here tonight for a spot of work, and this sounds as good as any. “ “ Do you have any… special skills? “ asks de Plotte. Alys grins. “ I may not be as good at smashing heads as some a those others there, but you’ll not find a cutter in here who can turn a trick with a lock like I can. “ De Plotte nods. “ How old are you, by the way? “ Looking indignant, Alys replies, “ Ah… don’t you know it’s rude to ask a lady her age? “ “ Go sit with the others, “ says de Plotte, shrugging. The next interviewee, a short halfling wearing fire scarred leathers and carrying a crossbow, steps forward. “ Dr. Poojo, ex-professor of experimental chemistry. I hail from Greyhawk. “ “ Never heard of the place, “ says de Plotte. “ Why do you want on this expedition? “ Dr. Poojo answers, “ For the heck of it. Someone has to find out about undead and their food indegestion. “ De Plotte looks at Dr. Poojo for a moment before replying. “ I see, “ he says. “ What use would you be on our expedition? What can you do? “ “ I can do all things useful, in expeditions like these especially. “ Dr. Poojo says. “ No lock can stand in my way for long, and my knowledge of the wilderness is vast. “ He peers expectantly at de Plotte for a long moment before continuing. “ Dungeons and caverns are my strong subject. I’m useful underground. “ Several moments go by before de Plotte speaks up. “ I see. Go sit with the others. “ There are a few people left in line. The first of them is a strange character, lanky and muscular, with no hair at all. His body is covered in tiny stitches, and his eyes are nothing more than glass marbles in a leathercraft face. After him is a modron, carrying a holy symbol of Bahamut of all things. Bringing up the rear is a ruddy dwarf loaded down with a huge barrel strapped to his back. The constructed man steps up to the table, and de Plotte asks, “ Your name? “ “ Tondo Ket, “ replies the man. “ And what do you want on this expedition for? “ inquires de Plotte. “ It gives me a purpose, at which currently I have none, “ is the reply. “ You’re a Mercykiller, “ says de Plotte. “ Doesn’t that faction give you a purpose? “ He looks at the symbol on the back on Tondo’s hand. Tondo looks confused. “ Mercykiller…? “ Rhett leans towards de Plotte and whispers, “ Um, excuse me. I talked to him earlier. I don’t think he has complete programming. “ De Plotte glances towards Rhett, then back to Tondo. “ Go sit with the others, “ is all he says. The modron is next, and de Plotte asks, “ You have a name, modron? “ “ I am called Strontium-90, “ is the modron’s mechanical reply. “ I am a follower of Bahamut and a servant of light. I also require a source of income. “ De Plotte does his best to stifle a chuckle. “ You’re a priest? “ he says. “ Affirmative. “ “ And Bahamut is your power? “ “ Affirmative. “ “ Never heard of him before, “ says de Plotte, straight faced. “ What’s he the power of? “ “ Bahamut is the Lord of all Good Dragons, “ is Strontium-90’s reply. “ Dragons, I see. And how powerful is your magic? “ asks de Plotte, looking interested. “ I am proficient in healing magicks and other clerical spells. I can also channel positive energy to affect beings of negative energy. “ “ Can you restore life energy stolen by the undead? “ asks de Plotte. “ I don’t mean patching the wounds in the skin, but the soul. “ Strontium-90 blinks and thinks for a moment. “ I do not believe I have such powers at my disposal at this time. “ “ I see, then, “ says de Plotte. “ Sit with the others, then. Or stand, if that’s what you boxes do. “ Only the dwarf is left. He pauses a moment, then walks up to the table and offers his hand. De Plotte reaches out and grasps it firmly, and they shake hands. “ Dalgar Blackhammer, at yer serice, “ says the dwarf, looking sure of himself. “ All right. So, why do you want on this expedition? “ asks de Plotte, glad that this is the last to be interviewed. “ Just biding my time until I find out how to get back home, “ says Dalgar. “ I need the gold, and besides, not many err… Primes I think you call us, from my worlds have been to such a place. There must be many stories here. “ De Plotte nods. “ I see. By the way, why are you lugging the barrel of bub on your back? “ Dalgar puffs up momentarily and replies, “ Personal tradition, ever since my Pilgrimage. Helps build strength, and it’s good for celebrating to boot. “ De Plotte points to Dalgar urgrosh. “ You know how to use that thing? “ he asks. Patting his weapon, Dalgar says, “ Yeah, every young warrior must learn to use one of these blades. “ “ I see. You’re new to Sigil I take it, “ says de Plotte. Dalgar nods. “ Yeah, portal malfunction, “ he says. De Plotte waves Dalgar to sit down, then he turns to regard the group critically for a moment. “ There’s a lot of you, “ he says, more to himself than to any of them. He then goes silent for a moment, evidently thinking hard. “ My name is Vince de Plotte, “ he says. “ And before any of you asks any questions, I’m afraid I have to tell you that some of you will have to stay. “ Standing up, he walks along in front of the bench. “ Blackhammer and Poojo, for ones. I said I’d take no clueless primes. “ “ And you, “ he continues, “ Rhett of Torm, are too eager and fanatical. I can see it in your eyes. “ Pointing to Alys, he says, “ You’re overconfident, and in the planes that can kill. “ He stops pacing. “ And you, box and leatherface… I don’t know what to make of you, so you’re not coming. “ All of the rejected object vehemently, and doing a quick count off, Alys asks, “ So, you’re rejecting all of us that ya picked earlier? Then why waste our time with the interview in the first place? “ Looking Alys straight in the eye, de Plotte answers, “ To see if you’re good enough. You’re not. Don’t take it too badly, there’s always a bigger fish in the Planes. He then throws the barkeep a bag of coins. “ A round of bub for them, good man. “ Beckoning to his chosen companions, Vince de Plotte leaves the Sword & Buckler to the indignant young adventurers. Somewhat perplexed, Strontium-90 comments, “ My, what an odd process. “ Flushed, Alys says, “ Oh no, he don’t. “ She turns to the group and asks, “ You all aren’t going to take that from him, are ya? I say we follow them berks and show ‘em we have the skills for the job. Who’s with me? “ Dissatisfied with this turn of events, the group decides that there is no way they are going to let de Plotte get away with embarrassing them like that. They agree that they are just going to have to show him that they are more than qualified for the task. Packing up their gear, they head out into the streets of Sigil with Alys leading them, having apparently chosen her as the interim leader. Following de Plotte, doing their best to stay quite despite the racket made by the dwarf and the clanking of the modron, they see him stop near a great building complex with huge chimneys belching smoke into the night air. Standing in front of a shop, de Plotte seems to be addressing his followers, explaining to them. Alys creeps forward so that she can get a closer look. All six of them can see de Plotte take something out of his pocket, passing two of them to members of his group. He then holds something in front of him and steps into the doorway, vanishing. His companions follow in similar fashion. Reporting back to the group, Alys says that she saw de Plotte holding a symbol of the Dustmen. “ Who the firepits are these ‘ Dustmen ‘ anyway? “ demands Dalgar. Strontium-90 blinks. “ The Dustmen are one of Sigil’s fifteen factions, “ he states. “ The factions are, in alphabetical order: The Athar… “ “ The Believers of the Source… “ “ The Bleak Cabal… “ Rhett waves Strontium-90 to silence and the modron ceases his dissertation. The group the discusses the matter, and after Alys rummages for some appropriate material, Strontium-90 creates a facsimile of the symbol of the Dustmen, which the party hopes will get them through the portal. After checking their gear, Alys takes the makeshift symbol and walks up to the storefront, followed by Dalgar, Strontium-90, Rhett, Dr. Poojo and Tondo. One by one, they file into the doorway and… …Then the credits roll, and the theme song, Iron Maiden’s “ When Two Worlds Collide “ starts playing. [/QUOTE]
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