Darmanicus
I'm Ray...of Enfeeblement
Get on with it Shemmy, my lunch breaks suck ass 
Shemeska's Planescape Storyhour (Updated 29 Jan 2014)
Shemeska
Adventurer
"Nisha." Florian said. "You're insane."
"Wary ye, or ye be walking the plank!" Amberblue chattered in mock warning as Nisha continued grinning like a fool while two of the still animated tables rattled, apparently tossing their input into the matter.
"Speaking of which, we do have a plank now." She said. "I could make you walk it too!"
"Nisha? What have you done?" Toras asked, a loaded question if ever there was one.
"First mate Amberblue and I have been having fun with wishes, and all sorts of little things that I can do."
Another grin from the tiefer.
"And what exactly does that mean?" Florian asked warily.
"Come outside and you'll see." She replied, taking a moment to switch her eye patch to the other eye.
They hesitated and glanced at one another, considering, and worrying, about what Nisha and the faerie dragon might have done.
"Comeoncomeoncomeoncomeon come on!" Amberblue said excitedly like the relative child that he was. "You'll like it! Come on!"
The group looked at one another one more, then to the Xaositect and Faerie dragon 'pirates'.
What did they have to lose after all? Well, actually quite a bit, but given that Fyrehowl was still there and not diving through the nearest portal, and given that the ever so lovely combination of wish granting dragon and Nisha hadn't already by that point blown up the Portal Jammer or gotten them all mazed, they were probably safe.
One by one they walked out the door and into the street, glancing around and not immediately seeing anything special, or dangerous, or really indicative of the assumed mischief Nisha was foreshadowing. Then, punctuated with a rolling "Arrrrrrrr!" they looked up and back at the Portal Jammer.
"Nisha, you are a joy." Florian said. “I take back anything I might have ever said about you.”
Clueless looked up and immediately his wings began to sparkle a brilliant shade of green mixed with streaks of yellow.
“Except maybe the crazy part.” Florian amended. “But that’s a good thing in your case.”
Looking up, the Spelljamming ship, the inn's namesake, the one that appeared to be crashed into the top of the inn itself, had undergone a rather spectacular renovation in the past few days. It sparkled with glittering lights on the forecastle and along its sides, and motes of starlight or swirling phlogiston swam around edges of the ship like dancing, drunken coures.
"Wow." Tristol said. "Halruan ships have nothing on this."
Then with a great rustle of illusory wind and flapping of canvas, the ship's sails filled as if it had caught hold of the phlogiston's current or the breath of a Djinn, making the vessel appear in full flight, in full impact onto the inn. The effect was nothing short of amazing.
“Nisha, you have outdone yourself.” Toras said. “I have to really commend you.”
“I think they like it!” Nisha said to an equally enthused Amberblue, holding her hands to her chest and bouncing lightly on her hooves. Not very pirate-like, but quite Nisha-like to say the least.
“We absolutely like it.” Clueless said, watching the undulation of the sails in a nonexistent wind.
“No plank walking then!” Amberblue shouted happily.
Nisha whispered something else into the faerie dragon’s ear frill.
“Ah, okie.” He said. “And we’re open to suggestions for more things to add.”
Already a few ideas were forming in Clueless’s head, even if making them a reality involved begging wishes off of the dragon. He would have to talk to Nisha, or maybe just Amberblue, about them later.
Once the group had stopped gawking at the inn’s improvements, and also to avoid the gathering local crowd that was starting to do the same, they wandered back inside to get back to their original discussion.
"So now we need to discuss what all we're going to do regarding the fuzzy." Florian said.
"You know, calling her 'the fuzzy' really downplays just how sickening she and most of her kind are." Fyrehowl said.
“They’re not –all- bad.” Nisha interjected.
“I said most of them, not all of them.” The lupinal replied. “Don’t worry, I won’t paint A’kin with the same brush.”
"But ‘fuzzy’? Yeah, I'm sure the change would do wonders for cautionary bedtime stories." Toras said. "Be good kids or the fuzzy will come eat you! Ooooooooh."
Fyrehowl made no comment, but her ears cringed a bit self-consciously.
"Sorry there." Florian said. "Wasn't intending to paint everything with fur with the same brush either."
Nisha raised a finger, about to say something, but the cipher was quicker.
"I know you know the Painter." Fyrehowl said. "But do -not- get any bright ideas."
"But yeah." Florian said, getting them back on track. "I've already gone over a lot of the 'suggestions' we had in her letter."
Tristol nodded. “It might help if we split up handling the changes we think we want to make, and those we can stomach on a temporary basis.”
"I'll handle the food and booze." Clueless said. "I handle the bar enough as it is, but I could use your input on the food half of that Florian, you’ve got a cook handle on our kitchen staff."
“No problem.” Florian said. “But for what the fuzzy had in mind for a meal the last time she graced us with her presence, I’m not really sure where we’ll find a Bebelith egg. Anyone have an idea, short of a visit to the Abyss?”
"Actually…" Clueless said, turning to Nisha "When we were on the Gray Waste, you know that Bebelith eye you had?"
"Yeah?"
"Where did you actually get that at?"
"It was an eye, not an egg." She answered. "And it was pickled. I think. Or maybe just old.”
Clueless winced at the memory of the taste.
“Still tasted icky either way.” Nisha said, turning to look at Tristol with a grin.
Looking at her boyfriend, the tiefling opened her mouth and pantomimed picking up the Bebelith eye.
"They go -pop!-.” She said. “All kinds of gooshy! Just imagine the egg."
Tristol tried not to gag as the tiefer giggled, and likewise Clueless again tried not to remember what the rancid little thing had actually tasted like. Pickled or not, it had been revolting.
“I’ll go talk to A’kin.” The bladesinger said. “He might have some eggs, or know someone who would.”
"Bebelith eyes, Bebelith eyes..." Nisha muttered in singsong to herself, doing a tiny little dance while the others talked.
“I’ll handle the entertainment.” Toras volunteered. “I’ll get something good. No Bleakers, no mephits, nothing so avant-garde as to be hideous.”
"Roly-poly Bebelith eyes..."
“I’ll see if I can’t start on the furniture changes.” Tristol added. “The chairs meant for people with tails was actually a good idea.”
"Bebelith eyes, Bebelith eyes..."
“I’ll help on that and the other decoration suggestions.” Fyrehowl said. “And with that, I think we’ll have everything ready.”
"...eat them up yumm..."
Some time later, Clueless stood outside of A’kin’s shop in the Lower Ward, looking up at the gleeful caricature of a grin carved and painted into the shop’s sign. Odd that A’kin just always seemed to have –just- what you needed if you asked him, like he had bound Efreet or bottled Djinn stuffed into a back room somewhere. Or maybe he just carried odd things for odd people.
Clueless shrugged at the notion and stepped into the shop.
The tiny silver bell jingled overhead as he looked around for A’kin, hoping to discretely ask him if he had any other parts of whatever Bebelith the eyes that he’d sold to Nisha had come from. Assuming of course that he’d sold them to her and she hadn’t just lifted them from him, or she’d forgotten where in the heck she had in fact gotten them, and figured that A’kin was as good a postulated source as anywhere else.
“How in the hell did you get loose?!” Came a frustrated, exasperated voice from the rear of the shop.
Clueless raised an eyebrow. That had been A’kin’s voice.
“This is twice now you’ve gotten out.” The ‘loth muttered. “And the lock is broken. Great. Now I have to change it again. Lovely.”
Clueless moved around to the rear of the shop, looking for the fiend, following the sound of his voice that was gradually slipping over from common into his native tongue. He finally found him standing over a table, hands on top of a small lockbox, trying to hold the lid shut or force something into it.
“Yes I know this looks bad.” A’kin said, not turning around but keeping his hands firmly on the top of the box.
Under his grip, something in the box rattled and shed light.
"What's that?" Clueless asked, looking at the object that A'kin was doing his damndest to keep in the box.
"Hmm?" The Friendly Fiend asked, seeming a bit rattled and preoccupied.
"What's in the box?"
"Oh. This?" A'kin asked. "You don... oh don't you dare! Get back in there!"
Clueless looked askance at the buzzing, humming, glowing object A'kin suddenly and with little warning was doing his damnedest to cram back into the box as it tried to escape. Whatever the hell it was, it was doing its own damnedest to get out, and the thing was putting up a fight.
It looked odd. That was for certain. In fact, some random berk walking into the shop might even have assumed the worst, thinking that the shop's fiendish proprietor was snarling whilst shoving an eladrin into a box. Clueless at least was going to wait and give him the benefit of the doubt.
"A mistake!" A'kin said, finally closing the lid and popping the latch into place before whispering the words of a spell to seal the box magically at least for the time being.
That said, with a sigh, the 'loth slumped back, hovering on the air like he'd fallen into the restful retreat of a favorite chair after a long day at work.
"A mistake?" Clueless asked.
“Yes. A mistake.” A’kin replied.
Clueless gave him a peery look, but waited for the fiend to catch his breath and calm down.
“It’s not exactly a cursed item.” A’kin said. “At least it wasn’t intended to be.”
“What is it though?”
“You’ve seen dull gray ioun stones, yes?”
Clueless nodded at the fiend.
“They just orbit around and don’t really do anything.” A’kin continued. “Well, at least nothing conventional for most mages, but that’s neither here nor there. But this little bastard item was supposed to be a joking extension of that.”
“Uh oh.”
“Indeed.” A’kin said, rolling his eyes. “It flies around, it makes noise, it moves at random, it makes an annoyance of itself. That was the plan.”
“But this thing.” He added, jerking his muzzle towards the box. “This thing is above and beyond just being annoying. It’s maddening. And it keeps getting out.”
“… How much?” Clueless asked.
“Very funny.” A’kin replied, laughing and giving a shake of his head.
“Seriously. How much for it?” Clueless repeated.
A’kin glanced over at him with a strange look on his face, and then pantomimed clearing out his ears with his claws.
“Excuse me, I don’t think I heard you right there. Did you just ask to buy that thing? Why in the name of a giggling Hashkar would you do that?”
“Because if I buy it now, then Nisha can’t.” The bladesinger replied in a very sober tone.
A’kin pursed his lips and extended a finger. “You have a point.”
“We’ll handle the price later.” Clueless said. “But I’m actually here for a specific thing, and oddly enough Nisha pointed me in your direction.”
“What exactly are you looking for?” A’kin asked, tilting forwards from where he hung, seated in the air.
“Nisha said she’d gotten some Bebelith eyes from you.” Clueless explained. “And they were very useful by the way. But I needed to know if you had any Bebelith eggs.”
“Bebelith eggs you say? Why ever do you want one of them?”
“We need a few to serve to, well…” Clueless reluctantly started to explain, before slipping into his own bit of pantomime, cupping his hands like he had breasts, and then sneering while using his hands as big, pointed ears.
“Say no more…” A’kin said, easily getting the point.
“Have any?” Clueless asked, stopping his mocking little mimicry of the -other- ‘loth.
“How many do you need?” He asked. “I can probably come up with a few of them. Preserved or fresh?”
“…” Clueless stared at the fiend. “…Fresh obviously. You can eat them otherwise?”
“Pickled, rotten, embalmed…” A’kin said, trailing off. “Poison and disease isn’t exactly an issue, and depending on the pallet…”
“Fresh please.” Clueless said. “I’ll assume fresh and then the cook can prepare them as he wishes from there.”
“Probably a safe bet.” The ‘loth said with a smile, hopping down from his perch. “I’ll go get them for you.”
Clueless nodded and settled down to wait, and of course stare at the periodically rattling box left on the table. But sure enough, a short time later, A’kin emerged from the curtain-shrouded doorway that led into the rear stockroom of his shop, holding a glass jar. Inside the jar, still warm and slathered in jelly-like, blood spotted mucus, were a half dozen bloated eggs, all probably within a week of hatching. All said, they were as fresh as Clueless might have hoped for.
One thing down, several more to go.
Toras stepped into a small office just off of the main entry corridor of the Public Festhall. The place smelled conspicuously like a mixture of sunflowers and sandalwood, with a half dozen other assorted undertones that defied his nose and brain to identify them. But that of course was the intention of the former Sensates who ran the Festhall, and by extension the Entertainer’s Guild.
The fighter looked around and finally approached a desk that sat directly underneath a multi-tiered mobile decorated with a large variety of musical instruments. A single guild functionary, an aasimar with some obvious eladrin blood, sat at the desk, looking through a large book to the ticking sound of a metronome while humming something under her breath.
“I’m not certain I’m at the right place.” Toras said, tapping a finger on the desk. “But I’m looking to hire some musicians from the guild.”
“Well you’ve found the right place.” The clerk said, looking up with a smile and stopping the ticking, timekeeping device on the table. “What sort of thing are you looking for? We have a large number of members crossing every sort of musical genre you might find.”
"In general, a nice mix of things.” Toras said. “Especially people looking for a venue for their music, especially if they're relatively new but decently skilled."
Getting known as a place to see up and coming musicians was never bad press.
"But for a specific date here." He said, pointing to the date circled in red and underlined repeatedly on the calendar. "I want something more upscale, very classy, worth the lamentably expensive tastes of ...."
He half coughed and half mumbled 'the King of the Crosstrade'.
"Excuse me?" The aasimar asked. "I didn't make out that last part."
Suppressing a frown or a snarl, Toras coughed out the name again. But again, the clerk didn’t exactly catch it.
"Say what?"
"...The Marauder." He finally said, bluntly. "Shemeska. The King of the Crosstrade."
"Ah..." The functionary said, trying to tread the thin line between wary but polite sympathy and self-preserving non-response.
"Lucky us." Toras grumbled.
Caught between a grimace and a smile, the aasimar began to rattle off a list of suggestions, finally settling on a musical quartet of an eladrin and three elven tieflings.
“Are they any good?” Toras asked.
"Facto..." She began, before correcting herself. "Guildmistress Annali rather likes them herself."
"Will it fit the tastes of a fiend though?”
"Depends." She replied. "Is she looking for something she enjoys on grounds of personal musical taste, or does she just want someone to give her the best of something regardless, or simply spend money on her behalf?"
Toras had to admit that in either case he was kosher for it all.
“Well spoken. We'll take them.”
They continued talking, eventually signing an agreement for established groups or individuals to perform on certain nights of the week, and then on other nights to have the floor open to groups new to the guild and still perfecting their art. Hopefully at some point they might find a few uncut diamonds amongst the pebbles, both furthering themselves and the musicians in the process.
But all through the discussions however, Toras was making sure to keep some quality control on just what made it into the inn. No harpies, most undead were right out, and one other group was permanently banned from making an appearance.
"And I swear to my god, if any of you ever send us Bleakniks I will hunt you down and throw you to into the plane of fire.”
The clerk politely smiled.
“I’ve done it before.” Toras said. “No Bleakniks. None of them. Ever.”
But they wouldn’t be getting any of that artistic school of bad taste in the coming days. No, they had other things in green gowns and razorvine tiaras to worry about, equally known for questionable taste in and of themselves.
Clueless was already thinking about where he was going to find a cook for the Bebelith eggs, but for the moment he needed to find the needed ingredients for the fiend’s favorite drink: Hordeling pineal gland. That of course meant a trip to the Waste, but hopefully a quick one.
Taking a decent sized amount of jink, and a few minor magical items if he needed to trade for one. Clueless figured that he could either find a Hordeling himself, or deal with a Night Hag, because there was no way that he was going to deal with any ‘loths for the pleasure of another ‘loth.
"I'll be back within an hour." Clueless said to Tristol and Fyrehowl as he walked downstairs and into the taproom. "If I'm not... please come find me."
"Just where are you going?" Tristol asked, looking up from some swatches of cloth.
"Where else am I going to find Hordeling pineal gland?" He replied. “The Waste.”
"True and uggghhh..." Fyrehowl said with a smirk. "Be careful though."
"I will." Clueless replied.
"Sure you don't want anyone along with?" Tristol asked. “We can tag along.”
"No, I'll be fine." Clueless replied. "Besides, you all have other things to take care of."
He was confident at least, having been to the Waste before. But it was hardly a trip to Elysium or a weekend respite in Arborea, it was a descent into the collective pit of mortal despair and misery. But as dangerous as the time there would be, getting there in and of itself might be a trial.
"I have time at least." Clueless said after he had left the inn. "So how to get there, how to get there… And hell if I'm using portals suggested by fiends, even if they're fixed in place and I have their key."
"Wary ye, or ye be walking the plank!" Amberblue chattered in mock warning as Nisha continued grinning like a fool while two of the still animated tables rattled, apparently tossing their input into the matter.
"Speaking of which, we do have a plank now." She said. "I could make you walk it too!"
"Nisha? What have you done?" Toras asked, a loaded question if ever there was one.
"First mate Amberblue and I have been having fun with wishes, and all sorts of little things that I can do."
Another grin from the tiefer.
"And what exactly does that mean?" Florian asked warily.
"Come outside and you'll see." She replied, taking a moment to switch her eye patch to the other eye.
They hesitated and glanced at one another, considering, and worrying, about what Nisha and the faerie dragon might have done.
"Comeoncomeoncomeoncomeon come on!" Amberblue said excitedly like the relative child that he was. "You'll like it! Come on!"
The group looked at one another one more, then to the Xaositect and Faerie dragon 'pirates'.
What did they have to lose after all? Well, actually quite a bit, but given that Fyrehowl was still there and not diving through the nearest portal, and given that the ever so lovely combination of wish granting dragon and Nisha hadn't already by that point blown up the Portal Jammer or gotten them all mazed, they were probably safe.
One by one they walked out the door and into the street, glancing around and not immediately seeing anything special, or dangerous, or really indicative of the assumed mischief Nisha was foreshadowing. Then, punctuated with a rolling "Arrrrrrrr!" they looked up and back at the Portal Jammer.
"Nisha, you are a joy." Florian said. “I take back anything I might have ever said about you.”
Clueless looked up and immediately his wings began to sparkle a brilliant shade of green mixed with streaks of yellow.
“Except maybe the crazy part.” Florian amended. “But that’s a good thing in your case.”
Looking up, the Spelljamming ship, the inn's namesake, the one that appeared to be crashed into the top of the inn itself, had undergone a rather spectacular renovation in the past few days. It sparkled with glittering lights on the forecastle and along its sides, and motes of starlight or swirling phlogiston swam around edges of the ship like dancing, drunken coures.
"Wow." Tristol said. "Halruan ships have nothing on this."
Then with a great rustle of illusory wind and flapping of canvas, the ship's sails filled as if it had caught hold of the phlogiston's current or the breath of a Djinn, making the vessel appear in full flight, in full impact onto the inn. The effect was nothing short of amazing.
“Nisha, you have outdone yourself.” Toras said. “I have to really commend you.”
“I think they like it!” Nisha said to an equally enthused Amberblue, holding her hands to her chest and bouncing lightly on her hooves. Not very pirate-like, but quite Nisha-like to say the least.
“We absolutely like it.” Clueless said, watching the undulation of the sails in a nonexistent wind.
“No plank walking then!” Amberblue shouted happily.
Nisha whispered something else into the faerie dragon’s ear frill.
“Ah, okie.” He said. “And we’re open to suggestions for more things to add.”
Already a few ideas were forming in Clueless’s head, even if making them a reality involved begging wishes off of the dragon. He would have to talk to Nisha, or maybe just Amberblue, about them later.
Once the group had stopped gawking at the inn’s improvements, and also to avoid the gathering local crowd that was starting to do the same, they wandered back inside to get back to their original discussion.
"So now we need to discuss what all we're going to do regarding the fuzzy." Florian said.
"You know, calling her 'the fuzzy' really downplays just how sickening she and most of her kind are." Fyrehowl said.
“They’re not –all- bad.” Nisha interjected.
“I said most of them, not all of them.” The lupinal replied. “Don’t worry, I won’t paint A’kin with the same brush.”
"But ‘fuzzy’? Yeah, I'm sure the change would do wonders for cautionary bedtime stories." Toras said. "Be good kids or the fuzzy will come eat you! Ooooooooh."
Fyrehowl made no comment, but her ears cringed a bit self-consciously.
"Sorry there." Florian said. "Wasn't intending to paint everything with fur with the same brush either."
Nisha raised a finger, about to say something, but the cipher was quicker.
"I know you know the Painter." Fyrehowl said. "But do -not- get any bright ideas."
"But yeah." Florian said, getting them back on track. "I've already gone over a lot of the 'suggestions' we had in her letter."
Tristol nodded. “It might help if we split up handling the changes we think we want to make, and those we can stomach on a temporary basis.”
"I'll handle the food and booze." Clueless said. "I handle the bar enough as it is, but I could use your input on the food half of that Florian, you’ve got a cook handle on our kitchen staff."
“No problem.” Florian said. “But for what the fuzzy had in mind for a meal the last time she graced us with her presence, I’m not really sure where we’ll find a Bebelith egg. Anyone have an idea, short of a visit to the Abyss?”
"Actually…" Clueless said, turning to Nisha "When we were on the Gray Waste, you know that Bebelith eye you had?"
"Yeah?"
"Where did you actually get that at?"
"It was an eye, not an egg." She answered. "And it was pickled. I think. Or maybe just old.”
Clueless winced at the memory of the taste.
“Still tasted icky either way.” Nisha said, turning to look at Tristol with a grin.
Looking at her boyfriend, the tiefling opened her mouth and pantomimed picking up the Bebelith eye.
"They go -pop!-.” She said. “All kinds of gooshy! Just imagine the egg."
Tristol tried not to gag as the tiefer giggled, and likewise Clueless again tried not to remember what the rancid little thing had actually tasted like. Pickled or not, it had been revolting.
“I’ll go talk to A’kin.” The bladesinger said. “He might have some eggs, or know someone who would.”
"Bebelith eyes, Bebelith eyes..." Nisha muttered in singsong to herself, doing a tiny little dance while the others talked.
“I’ll handle the entertainment.” Toras volunteered. “I’ll get something good. No Bleakers, no mephits, nothing so avant-garde as to be hideous.”
"Roly-poly Bebelith eyes..."
“I’ll see if I can’t start on the furniture changes.” Tristol added. “The chairs meant for people with tails was actually a good idea.”
"Bebelith eyes, Bebelith eyes..."
“I’ll help on that and the other decoration suggestions.” Fyrehowl said. “And with that, I think we’ll have everything ready.”
"...eat them up yumm..."
***
Some time later, Clueless stood outside of A’kin’s shop in the Lower Ward, looking up at the gleeful caricature of a grin carved and painted into the shop’s sign. Odd that A’kin just always seemed to have –just- what you needed if you asked him, like he had bound Efreet or bottled Djinn stuffed into a back room somewhere. Or maybe he just carried odd things for odd people.
Clueless shrugged at the notion and stepped into the shop.
The tiny silver bell jingled overhead as he looked around for A’kin, hoping to discretely ask him if he had any other parts of whatever Bebelith the eyes that he’d sold to Nisha had come from. Assuming of course that he’d sold them to her and she hadn’t just lifted them from him, or she’d forgotten where in the heck she had in fact gotten them, and figured that A’kin was as good a postulated source as anywhere else.
“How in the hell did you get loose?!” Came a frustrated, exasperated voice from the rear of the shop.
Clueless raised an eyebrow. That had been A’kin’s voice.
“This is twice now you’ve gotten out.” The ‘loth muttered. “And the lock is broken. Great. Now I have to change it again. Lovely.”
Clueless moved around to the rear of the shop, looking for the fiend, following the sound of his voice that was gradually slipping over from common into his native tongue. He finally found him standing over a table, hands on top of a small lockbox, trying to hold the lid shut or force something into it.
“Yes I know this looks bad.” A’kin said, not turning around but keeping his hands firmly on the top of the box.
Under his grip, something in the box rattled and shed light.
"What's that?" Clueless asked, looking at the object that A'kin was doing his damndest to keep in the box.
"Hmm?" The Friendly Fiend asked, seeming a bit rattled and preoccupied.
"What's in the box?"
"Oh. This?" A'kin asked. "You don... oh don't you dare! Get back in there!"
Clueless looked askance at the buzzing, humming, glowing object A'kin suddenly and with little warning was doing his damnedest to cram back into the box as it tried to escape. Whatever the hell it was, it was doing its own damnedest to get out, and the thing was putting up a fight.
It looked odd. That was for certain. In fact, some random berk walking into the shop might even have assumed the worst, thinking that the shop's fiendish proprietor was snarling whilst shoving an eladrin into a box. Clueless at least was going to wait and give him the benefit of the doubt.
"A mistake!" A'kin said, finally closing the lid and popping the latch into place before whispering the words of a spell to seal the box magically at least for the time being.
That said, with a sigh, the 'loth slumped back, hovering on the air like he'd fallen into the restful retreat of a favorite chair after a long day at work.
"A mistake?" Clueless asked.
“Yes. A mistake.” A’kin replied.
Clueless gave him a peery look, but waited for the fiend to catch his breath and calm down.
“It’s not exactly a cursed item.” A’kin said. “At least it wasn’t intended to be.”
“What is it though?”
“You’ve seen dull gray ioun stones, yes?”
Clueless nodded at the fiend.
“They just orbit around and don’t really do anything.” A’kin continued. “Well, at least nothing conventional for most mages, but that’s neither here nor there. But this little bastard item was supposed to be a joking extension of that.”
“Uh oh.”
“Indeed.” A’kin said, rolling his eyes. “It flies around, it makes noise, it moves at random, it makes an annoyance of itself. That was the plan.”
“But this thing.” He added, jerking his muzzle towards the box. “This thing is above and beyond just being annoying. It’s maddening. And it keeps getting out.”
“… How much?” Clueless asked.
“Very funny.” A’kin replied, laughing and giving a shake of his head.
“Seriously. How much for it?” Clueless repeated.
A’kin glanced over at him with a strange look on his face, and then pantomimed clearing out his ears with his claws.
“Excuse me, I don’t think I heard you right there. Did you just ask to buy that thing? Why in the name of a giggling Hashkar would you do that?”
“Because if I buy it now, then Nisha can’t.” The bladesinger replied in a very sober tone.
A’kin pursed his lips and extended a finger. “You have a point.”
“We’ll handle the price later.” Clueless said. “But I’m actually here for a specific thing, and oddly enough Nisha pointed me in your direction.”
“What exactly are you looking for?” A’kin asked, tilting forwards from where he hung, seated in the air.
“Nisha said she’d gotten some Bebelith eyes from you.” Clueless explained. “And they were very useful by the way. But I needed to know if you had any Bebelith eggs.”
“Bebelith eggs you say? Why ever do you want one of them?”
“We need a few to serve to, well…” Clueless reluctantly started to explain, before slipping into his own bit of pantomime, cupping his hands like he had breasts, and then sneering while using his hands as big, pointed ears.
“Say no more…” A’kin said, easily getting the point.
“Have any?” Clueless asked, stopping his mocking little mimicry of the -other- ‘loth.
“How many do you need?” He asked. “I can probably come up with a few of them. Preserved or fresh?”
“…” Clueless stared at the fiend. “…Fresh obviously. You can eat them otherwise?”
“Pickled, rotten, embalmed…” A’kin said, trailing off. “Poison and disease isn’t exactly an issue, and depending on the pallet…”
“Fresh please.” Clueless said. “I’ll assume fresh and then the cook can prepare them as he wishes from there.”
“Probably a safe bet.” The ‘loth said with a smile, hopping down from his perch. “I’ll go get them for you.”
Clueless nodded and settled down to wait, and of course stare at the periodically rattling box left on the table. But sure enough, a short time later, A’kin emerged from the curtain-shrouded doorway that led into the rear stockroom of his shop, holding a glass jar. Inside the jar, still warm and slathered in jelly-like, blood spotted mucus, were a half dozen bloated eggs, all probably within a week of hatching. All said, they were as fresh as Clueless might have hoped for.
One thing down, several more to go.
***
Toras stepped into a small office just off of the main entry corridor of the Public Festhall. The place smelled conspicuously like a mixture of sunflowers and sandalwood, with a half dozen other assorted undertones that defied his nose and brain to identify them. But that of course was the intention of the former Sensates who ran the Festhall, and by extension the Entertainer’s Guild.
The fighter looked around and finally approached a desk that sat directly underneath a multi-tiered mobile decorated with a large variety of musical instruments. A single guild functionary, an aasimar with some obvious eladrin blood, sat at the desk, looking through a large book to the ticking sound of a metronome while humming something under her breath.
“I’m not certain I’m at the right place.” Toras said, tapping a finger on the desk. “But I’m looking to hire some musicians from the guild.”
“Well you’ve found the right place.” The clerk said, looking up with a smile and stopping the ticking, timekeeping device on the table. “What sort of thing are you looking for? We have a large number of members crossing every sort of musical genre you might find.”
"In general, a nice mix of things.” Toras said. “Especially people looking for a venue for their music, especially if they're relatively new but decently skilled."
Getting known as a place to see up and coming musicians was never bad press.
"But for a specific date here." He said, pointing to the date circled in red and underlined repeatedly on the calendar. "I want something more upscale, very classy, worth the lamentably expensive tastes of ...."
He half coughed and half mumbled 'the King of the Crosstrade'.
"Excuse me?" The aasimar asked. "I didn't make out that last part."
Suppressing a frown or a snarl, Toras coughed out the name again. But again, the clerk didn’t exactly catch it.
"Say what?"
"...The Marauder." He finally said, bluntly. "Shemeska. The King of the Crosstrade."
"Ah..." The functionary said, trying to tread the thin line between wary but polite sympathy and self-preserving non-response.
"Lucky us." Toras grumbled.
Caught between a grimace and a smile, the aasimar began to rattle off a list of suggestions, finally settling on a musical quartet of an eladrin and three elven tieflings.
“Are they any good?” Toras asked.
"Facto..." She began, before correcting herself. "Guildmistress Annali rather likes them herself."
"Will it fit the tastes of a fiend though?”
"Depends." She replied. "Is she looking for something she enjoys on grounds of personal musical taste, or does she just want someone to give her the best of something regardless, or simply spend money on her behalf?"
Toras had to admit that in either case he was kosher for it all.
“Well spoken. We'll take them.”
They continued talking, eventually signing an agreement for established groups or individuals to perform on certain nights of the week, and then on other nights to have the floor open to groups new to the guild and still perfecting their art. Hopefully at some point they might find a few uncut diamonds amongst the pebbles, both furthering themselves and the musicians in the process.
But all through the discussions however, Toras was making sure to keep some quality control on just what made it into the inn. No harpies, most undead were right out, and one other group was permanently banned from making an appearance.
"And I swear to my god, if any of you ever send us Bleakniks I will hunt you down and throw you to into the plane of fire.”
The clerk politely smiled.
“I’ve done it before.” Toras said. “No Bleakniks. None of them. Ever.”
But they wouldn’t be getting any of that artistic school of bad taste in the coming days. No, they had other things in green gowns and razorvine tiaras to worry about, equally known for questionable taste in and of themselves.
***
Clueless was already thinking about where he was going to find a cook for the Bebelith eggs, but for the moment he needed to find the needed ingredients for the fiend’s favorite drink: Hordeling pineal gland. That of course meant a trip to the Waste, but hopefully a quick one.
Taking a decent sized amount of jink, and a few minor magical items if he needed to trade for one. Clueless figured that he could either find a Hordeling himself, or deal with a Night Hag, because there was no way that he was going to deal with any ‘loths for the pleasure of another ‘loth.
"I'll be back within an hour." Clueless said to Tristol and Fyrehowl as he walked downstairs and into the taproom. "If I'm not... please come find me."
"Just where are you going?" Tristol asked, looking up from some swatches of cloth.
"Where else am I going to find Hordeling pineal gland?" He replied. “The Waste.”
"True and uggghhh..." Fyrehowl said with a smirk. "Be careful though."
"I will." Clueless replied.
"Sure you don't want anyone along with?" Tristol asked. “We can tag along.”
"No, I'll be fine." Clueless replied. "Besides, you all have other things to take care of."
He was confident at least, having been to the Waste before. But it was hardly a trip to Elysium or a weekend respite in Arborea, it was a descent into the collective pit of mortal despair and misery. But as dangerous as the time there would be, getting there in and of itself might be a trial.
"I have time at least." Clueless said after he had left the inn. "So how to get there, how to get there… And hell if I'm using portals suggested by fiends, even if they're fixed in place and I have their key."
***
Graywolf-ELM
Explorer
Story enough for enjoyment. I rather enjoy the downtime, and non-combat updates.
Thank you,
GW
Thank you,
GW
shilsen
Adventurer
Somehow I find it very easy to believe thatShemeska said:
By the way, Shemeska, you didn't answer my question from a couple posts ago. I'm hoping you just missed it, so I'm repeating it here:
Here's a DMing question - I notice that your PCs are often off doing things on their own when in Sigil. How exactly do you handle that? Handle it over email? Skip from one to the other in-game? The same thing happens a lot in my Eberron game when the PCs are in Sharn, and though I've never had a problem with it I'm curious to see how other DMs handle it.
Shemeska
Adventurer
shilsen said:
Oops, I did miss that.
They go off and do stuff on their own in Sigil quite a bit. At about this time in the SH, in game I think we had two or three weeks without rolling dice, just having PCs talk with one another and with various NPCs in Sigil. I'm certain I've lost some degree of detail on that all, as I'm writing this three years after the fact (for instance at some point Skalliska gets a color changing, limbo-infused cat, and Toras 'gets into a fight' with Seamusxanthuszemus). Some things are getting ever so slightly jumbled around, but I'm trying to preserve as much as I can without writing two months of storyhour without significant metaplot development.
But back to the question, I let the PCs do what they want, and generally it's done at the table. From time to time I'll have them come talk with me in another room if they want to do something in secret or make something a surprise for other PCs. Very rarely have I done RP outside of the normal Sunday game hours or over AIM during the week, and occasionally the players will RP over AIM and send me the chat log.
Any similar to what you do, or do you go about it differently?
shilsen
Adventurer
Shemeska said:
It sounds pretty much like what I do. I'm a big believer in the concept of letting PCs do whatever they want (and screwing them based on their choices, but that's another story
), so if the five PCs head in five directions, that's cool. I'll just switch back and forth between them and it's never been a problem in-game. What I sometimes do is skip from one to another before the first's encounter is done, usually right after something important has been said to or asked of the first PC (so it gives the player a few minutes to digest it and think of a response). And then come back to the first PC after dealing with another one or two. That means less of a gap between various players having something to do in-character.
Sometimes, when a particular interaction will have no immediate effect on the game, we'll handle it over email. I've found that my players suggest that as often as me, since they're pretty good at not wanting their face time to take away from time for the group.
