Miles Pilitus
First Post
That's cool, but does that mean Shemmy's going to be starting a Story Hour 3 before he's finished with this one?
Shemeska's Planescape Storyhour (Updated 29 Jan 2014)
Shemeska
Adventurer
Dead Pellican Head
You have my permission to haul me off and stick me in a padded cell next to former Bleaker factols Tollysalmon, Esmus, and Lhar in the Criminally and Irretrievably Insane Ward of the Gatehouse if I ever try anything that delightfully loony.
Full time job + two storyhours + campaign + other writing projects = I'm overextended as is and unless I develop a real life version of Timestop, I can't manage anything else on my plate, as much fun as it might be to do more stuff.
Miles Pilitus said:
You have my permission to haul me off and stick me in a padded cell next to former Bleaker factols Tollysalmon, Esmus, and Lhar in the Criminally and Irretrievably Insane Ward of the Gatehouse if I ever try anything that delightfully loony.
Full time job + two storyhours + campaign + other writing projects = I'm overextended as is and unless I develop a real life version of Timestop, I can't manage anything else on my plate, as much fun as it might be to do more stuff.
Shemeska
Adventurer
“I take it that the new chef is all settled in?” Florian asked.
Clueless nodded from behind the bar. “Already settled in nicely, but perhaps a bit too nicely.”
“Oh?” Tristol asked.
“A bit more demanding than our normal head cooks, who have the night off.”
“I’ll give the staff time and a half for the night then.”
“Sounds fair to me.”
“For the moment at least then, things seem to be working out nicely. Toras hasn’t even picked on the new guy.”
The fighter snickered and picked at a bit of leather on his chair.
“Hey look! Your mom!” He said, recalling the insult he’d made to another minotaur some time ago.
“Yeah yeah.” Clueless said. “Get it out of your system now.”
Toras simply smiled. “I’ll be on my best behavior. And by that, I mean I’ll be in my room, reconsecrating the place in the hopes that our happy little guest tonight won’t give me trouble sleeping.”
“I think Nisha is off doing something of her own as well.” Tristol said.
“That’s probably for the best…” Fyrehowl replied.
Tristol smiled and gave a shrug. “She took Amberblue with her, and said that she’ll be back later. I’ll cover any damages I suppose.”
“But at least we’ve got some time to relax before we have to cater to the Marauder.”
He’d no sooner knocked on the wood of the table when one of the King of the Crosstrade’s tieflings walked in the door and took a seat at the bar.
“No more talking for you!” Florian said.
Toras frowned and stood up, turning back to them as he reached the foot of the stairs. “And once again, I think I hear the sound of someone in trouble! Away I go!”
“She’s not showing up early is she?” Tristol asked, he tail starting to fluff up from nerves.
It didn’t seem as such. The tiefling was simply looking over the room from time to time, scouting the place out to make sure that everything was appropriate for his mistress when she did show up, hopefully at the appointed time and not a moment early.
“Fyrehowl hasn’t bolted through a portal yet, so we’re probably safe.” Florian said. “And on that note, I’m going to make sure that the band has everything they need.”
And so over the next half hour, another two of the Marauder’s tiefling’s made their way into the bar and took tables adjacent to the ones that appears to have been reserved for the fiend. By then of course, the band had taken to the stage and its members were busily tuning their instruments. The live music included, the bar’s regular patrons seemed to largely appreciate the recent slew of changes and improvements, especially given that while the menu had expanded, the prices hadn't.
It was only a few minutes after the band had set themselves up that the main event, so to speak, made her presence known as the first of her formal escort stood framed in the doorway. Fyrehowl and Florian looked at each other and steeled themselves for the coming abuse, while Tristol whispered a little prayer to Mystra. Hopefully everything would go well.
Over at the bar, Clueless inhaled and then gave a sigh as the fiend’s entourage made its way into the inn. Though the tieflings that she had sent in a half hour earlier had been dressed in plainclothes outfits to help them fit into the normal cliental of the Portal Jammer, her clique of bodyguards were all dressed in matching dress outfits of tight brown leather armor with shorter half coats of darker and finer fabrics masking the armor underneath. They pressed into the inn, causing a hush to go over the normal patrons, and a few errant notes to escape from the musicians on stage.
“Who’s the dope with the mirror?” Kiro whispered to Clueless as they both watched one of the tieflings maneuver through the doorway carrying a floor-length mirror larger than himself.
Clueless bit his lip to avoid a chuckle. “That would be Colcook. He’s one of the Marauder’s favorites.”
“You get in her good graces and she makes you carry heavy things?” The cleric replied, watching the awkward acrobatics the tiefling was going through to get the mirror into the inn.
“Apparently.” Clueless replied. “You won’t see me beating down the door to apply for the job.”
Kiro nodded and stared at Colcook before walking back into the kitchen. A moment later the tiefling paused and almost dropped the mirror as he awkwardly glanced around the room for no apparent reason. But he quickly recovered and soon thereafter the fiend herself made her entrance.
“And I even get an awed silence as I make my entry.” Came the smug voice of the Marauder as she stepped into the inn. “I’m flattered, but don’t mind me, go about your normal routines. Keep it authentic, that’s what I came to see.”
The fiend was dressed in a snug-fitting, sleeveless, floor length black velvet gown, and in places the silk backing could be seen where the velvet had been burned out in elaborate patterns that danced down the plunge of her cleavage and along her sides from bust to ankle, providing translucent windows onto her own coppery fur. It was a different look from her normal attire, but outside of the dress she was still adorned in typical fashion with a dozen jeweled bracelets and armbands, a series of belled platinum anklets, and a glittering blue diamond and fire opal necklace decorating her almost to the point of being obnoxious in their expense.
Flashing just enough hints of skin through the burned velvet to nauseate Toras, make Fyrehowl feel like rolling her eyes, and exciting and pissing off Clueless, the fiend made her way to her appointed table, arm in arm with two of her boys. Once there, having given her an escort across all of twenty feet of floor space, they pulled out her chair, brushed the seat cushion off and let her sit.
Shemeska was all smiles as she gazed over at the band, then the regular inn patrons, and finally at the owners themselves who were on hand. She didn’t seem to recognize Kiro, as she completely skipped over him when her eye’s settled on Clueless and she motioned him over with a beckoning finger.
“Joy…” The bladesinger muttered under his breath as he picked up a menu and a wine list and managed to obscure his lips with them for a brief moment.
But he was all smiles as well, mirroring the fiend’s pretensions, as he walked over to her table, gave a slight bow and tried to hand her the menu.
“So good to see you again dear.” She said, brushing away the offered menu with a hand. “I like what you’ve done to the place, so far that I’ve seen it.”
“We took your suggestions to heart.” Clueless replied, still holding out the menu.
“Now I would like to keep the experience as authentic as possible.” She quipped. “This isn’t slumming, not entirely, but it –is- the Clerks Ward after all. Go ahead and read me the menu, I had my claws polished and I don’t know who might have touched that before me.”
“…Alright ma’am.” Clueless said, trying to let her barbs just wash over him without making a fuss.
He began reading her the menu while Florian walked over to the table and set it with a fresh set of napkins and explicitly non-silver silverware before lighting the candles that they’d used to mark out the Marauder’s reserved table. In response to all of the attention, the ‘loth largely ignored them both, seemingly paying more attention to the new windows with her eyes, and the band with her ears.
Clueless kept on reading the menu though, and was stopped on three occasions by a terse, ‘I’ll take that. Please continue.’ from the fiend’s glossed lips. To no surprise of course, she ordered a pair of pouched Bebelith eggs, and then out of whimsy she added a dish of pickled terlen roe, and an ounce of seared bezikira loin.
“Very nice choices… your fiendish majesty.” Clueless said with as much grace as he could stomach.
“You remembered my preferred appellation.” Shemeska said, finally turning her head back towards the bladesinger turned waiter.
“You specified it the last time that you were here.” He said. “I made it a point to remember.”
She gave a mocking smirk that quickly turned into a smile as she pointed her snout towards one of the inn’s windows.
“You have a good memory I should say. And very nice taste in spells.”
“Spells?”
“The new windows. The one-way force walls? That was a rather nice spell, and as I recall it was something that the previous owner of the inn had in his repertoire.”
“Really?”
“Yes, that fire genasi gentleman. Trenevain I think his name was.” She said. “A pity what happened to him of course.”
Of course the fiend knew exactly what his name was, she’d hired him and used him as a tool when she’d been blackmailing Clueless and the rest of them before they’d managed to wriggle out from under her palm.
“What happened to him?” Clueless asked.
“Oh I don’t recall.” She said with a shrug of her shoulders. “He wasn’t anything of import in Sigil after he lost the property and you managed to snag it. I didn’t exactly keep up with him.”
Clueless kept a straight face and didn’t mention anything about her involvement in that matter, despite her suggestions that Trenevain was dead, or that she might have had him disposed of.
“Would you like to hear our drink list?” He asked.
“Not necessary.” She replied. “You know my favorite drink I believe?”
“The Marauder’s Mirth.” Clueless answered. ‘Of course I can have that prepared for you.”
She looked at him expectantly. “Good.”
Her tone made it rather clear that he’d said all he needed to say, and he turned and left, narrowly avoiding noticing her shooing him off with one hand. But she’d soured his mood, and it showed in his features when he walked up to Fyrehowl behind the bar.
“If you could handle the drinks Fyrehowl.” Clueless said through a smile bristling with clenched teeth.
The lupinal winced slightly and looked over towards the seated fiend and then back to the half-fey.
“I’m going to do something I regret if I have to be around her any more.” Clueless said. “The recipe for her drink is on the counter, and the pineal gland is already pureed. Please, please make it up and serve it to her.”
“You owe me.” She said, putting a hand on his shoulder.
Having passed off the task to the lupinal, Clueless left for the kitchen, mouthing a very quick ‘thank you!’ to her as his eyes brimmed with bottled up stress.
Back at the Marauder’s table, she was busy commenting about the various changes to the inn, both those she approved of, and those she thought had been half heartedly done, or done improperly. But, oddly enough, she seemed to be having trouble finding things to genuinely criticize, and one of her ears seemed perpetually swiveled back towards the band.
“They’re not bad.” She said, looking directly over towards Tristol. “They’re obviously new, but they do have some promise. What do you think?”
Tristol just stared back for a moment awkwardly, he hadn’t expected the ‘loth to actually bother talking to him.
“You have big ears, surely you can hear them yes?” She prompted him.
“Umm, actually I’m not certain what I think about them.” He replied. “They’re talented yes, but I haven’t had a chance to listen much to their style of music.”
She nodded back. “You should get out more. Yes yes, I appreciate that you’re happy with your nose in a book, considering what I am, but you do yourself a disservice by not having a social life. I can suggest some places to broaden your horizons.”
Tristol blinked, unsure how to take her comment.
“I…”
“We could get you out, get you dressing better and more confidently like your friend the bladesinger does, and maybe even get you a girl without having to pay her by the trick, though I think you could use that too. Not to suggest of course that… ah but my drink has arrived.”
Fyrehowl smiled and placed the vile looking concoction in front of the fiend before leaving as quickly as she could.
The ‘loth took a sip of her drink, staring over it and the tip of her muzzle all the while, curious to see if Tristol would take her statements in stride, or have some other reaction. To his credit though, he just nodded and tried to make some courteous small talk.
Eventually though, the food was ready and someone had to present it to her. Clueless had already begged off once, and so it fell to him and Florian. Carrying her meal on separate platters they flanked her and placed the dishes down one by one, announcing their contents and removing the lids as elegantly as they could manage.
“You know, I’ve been thinking about running for election in Sigil.” She said as she crackled the shell on one of the Bebelith eggs.
“What position are you thinking of running for?” Fyrehowl tentatively asked.
“Councilwoman.” She said, barely hiding the fact that she was actually drooling at the scent of the egg.
Councilwoman? The Marauder with legitimate political power and a public outlet for her views was hardly a pleasant notion.
“Yes, I understand that several of the current council members are up for re-election in about a years time, though I think Chairwoman Rhys still has a longer term remaining beyond that and…this really is excellently prepared.”
The fiend rapidly hushed herself as she slipped a spoon of the white and then a gelatinous dollop of the thick yolk into her mouth with an almost obscene vocalization of approval. A moment later she slumped slightly in her chair and inclined her head back, letting the meal slide down her throat on its own, allowing her to savor it on the back of her tongue before gravity took its hold and she swallowed.
“Give whatever cook you hired for me tonight a bonus.” She said after she had finished the first bite and sat back up in a more dignified manner.
“We’ll give him your regards.” Florian said. “We made certain that he knew how to prepare meals that you’d like.”
“This is excellent.” The ‘loth said as she took a second, more yolky bite, her lips quivering slightly to the taste like she was eating a wriggling soul of an innocent or something similar.
“This almost erases any notions of moving someone in next door to you all.” She continued with a pleased tone.
“Eh?”
“Yes,” She said. “I own all the adjacent buildings, and one of the tenants was late on a payment recently. I haven’t decided who, if anyone, to move in.”
This couldn’t be good, but the ‘loth still had an obscene smile on her face from the food.
“I’d been considering a Tanar’ri brothel actually.” She said. “And that idea might help you with what we’d talked about earlier Tristol.”
She popped the spoon out of her mouth and waved it in the aasimar’s direction. “Maybe an Alu-fiend, or a cambion I suppose, whichever you prefer.”
She said no more at that point, but left hanging the obvious notion that she could swap and rearrange their neighbors at whimsy. Thankfully the food, her favorite drink, and the music that she rather seemed to appreciate, kept her occupied and not flinging barbs from her tongue.
After that point the ‘loth made only a bit of small talk, including some additional comments on current Sigilian politics and some pointed questions to Fyrehowl about former Factol and current council Chairwoman Rhys. She seemed serious on the politics, but she also seemed happy, either from the food, the alcohol, or the fact that everyone had been catering especially to her. Either way, she was less hostile than they had hoped for.
“I approve.” She finally said, tapping her lips on the edge of her napkin. “You’ve made something with promise, given where you started, and considering what it first looked like when I was last here.”
“Thank you.” Clueless said. “Your suggestions certainly helped.”
“Besides them.” She said bluntly. “It’s not a luxury restaurant, but it was never intended to be. However for what it is, it’s one of the better ones in the city, and I’ll be open about my opinion as such when I talk to other people who follow and keep track of such things.”
Her approval, genuine approval at that, came as something of a shock. They’d played her little game, they’d catered to her whimsy, and they’d pampered her as much as they could stomach, but at best they had hoped to avoid any great abuse at her hands. Having her actually offering to do something positive on their behalf, it seemed too good to be true.
“And with your stunned silence in my wake. I’ll be taking my leave.” She said, standing up as one of her tiefling’s pulled out her chair.
“It’s been a pleasure.” She continued. “And we’ll have to do this again.”
She started to turn to make her exit, but paused ever so briefly. She seemed caught between just leaving and letting them off the hook, and extending her hand and making them kiss her fingers. She did neither, and let her hand hang there for a moment, waiting to see if any of them would take the initiative, guessing that she meant for them to kiss it. But then after a moment she withdrew the hand, pursed her lips and blew a bit of dry wine from the tip of a claw before flashing a grinning mouthful of fangs and waltzing out into the night.
Less than an hour after the evening's "pleasantries" had passed and the King of the Crosstrade had left, taking along her gaggle of tiefling's in tow, the metaphorical stench of fiend had almost evaporated from the Portal Jammer itself and from where it had hung like a rain-laden thundercloud, dark and threatening, over the thoughts of the Inn's owners. But it was not gone entirely, and in the wee hours of the morning, some time after anti-peak, it came from a distinctly different source.
Situated on the rooftop of one of the buildings across from the Jammer two figures milled about, in fact they stood atop the building that had in previous weeks been the perch of the magically dominated assassin who had done her best to kill Tristol. But the two fiends who now stood there, were not under any domination, nor any compulsions whatsoever, they were there because they desired to be, and because they hoped to advance themselves in the process.
“A shame that we cannot handle this ourselves.” The first of the fiends said as he gazed at the remaining lights burning in the Jammer’s windows.
"Indeed a shame, I must concur." The second of the fiends replied in lockstep with the first, like they were both reading each other’s minds and simply verbalizing shared and concurrent thoughts.
The first speaker, a jackal-headed arcanaloth by the name of Alpthis, was dressed in black robes with cobalt blue swirls crisscrossing their folds, and had dusky gray fur with faded reddish brown highlights. Of note however was the ragged notch taken out of his left ear, and the irritated and hairless patch of flesh that surrounded it. Like a brand on a prized steer, it was present on his brother and him with similar meaning, a mark of ownership on a greater yugoloth.
The second fiend, Apteris, was almost a reversed image of his brother. Also a jackal-headed arcanaloth, his own fur was a faded reddish brown color, streaked through with dusky gray highlights, and his right ear was notched and barren in the exact same manner as his sibling’s, a shared mark of loyalty, a shared brand of servitude. But while Alpthis was dressed as a sorcerer, his clothing elegant and decorative, Apteris was clad in a simple red robe that was gathered at the waist by a monochrome black sash. His brother’s feet were clad in silk slippers, and they hovered off the ground, but his were bare and openly touched the rooftop.
"The mistress does forbid us from such of course..." Alpthis said, gazing with disdain down at the Portal Jammer.
"She wants it done by other means, but where's the joy in that for us."
"Outside of the joy of her service of course."
"Of course."
They glanced at one another with matching smiles, wry and hungry, like they were exchanging a bevy of known, shared secrets with each glimmer of light on tooth and iris.
"It would be so much easier if we needn't worry about disturbing others of our kind in this city."
"A pity that we have to tiptoe around them, it does make our task less direct."
"Professional protocol is entirely too cumbersome."
"You were always the more impulsive of us brother."
"Indeed I am, but we balance one another nicely, and given our current position, I hardly feel at ill standing."
They continued their telepathic banter, idly speaking as they kept their eyes locked on the Jammer, their ears perked and more than a mortal's share of senses plucking more esoteric information from the ether.
"Seems that they'll be leaving." Apteris said.
"Only two of them?"
"And no kobold this time, rather the half-breed and the cleric, the new one, not the old one."
"And this time there will be no mortal mercenaries to let their quarry slip their noose."
They both looked at one another and rolled their eyes in unison at the shared memories of that group of now very dead mortals.
"I blame the quasit." Apteris said with a sneer.
"The quasit?"
"We should have handed Yethmiil a better group of mortals. A quasit familiar didn't speak well for the sorcerer in that group."
Alpthis shrugged, "Pray to the Oinoloth that we fare better than Yethmiil in our task."
"Unfortunate what happened to him."
"But deserved."
"Of course."
“Absolutely.”
Once again they exchanged glances at the exact same moment, flashing smiles in disturbing parity with the other. They had seen what fate had befallen that particular Ultroloth, and his current status had been an object lesson for all of their mistress’s servants, themselves included. And while their loyalty was not in question, they had no desire to experience even one small fraction of that agony that came with failure.
"Next roof, I want to have a better angle for the portal scry." Alpthis said before vanishing with a gesture, reappearing in an instant a dozen yards away, crouching like a jackal-headed gargoyle on the rooftop across the street.
His brother followed him, but rather than using magic, he simply jumped the distance between the rooftops with a disturbing level of litheness. In fact, near the end of his leap, the ‘loth seemed to hang in the air for a moment, suspended, before gently settling down on the shingles.
“Not a bad assortment of portals I have to say." Alpthis said, narrowing his eyes as his magic peeled away the walls, revealing a glittering assortment of bound spaces, each of them like discrete membranes floating in the air.
“I’ve heard that it was better before the Tempest.”
“Ever the contrarian, you.”
“Regardless of their assortment of portals,” Apteris said, shifting his eyes with the same spell as his brother. “I’m more concerned with the ones they’ll be using here in the next while. As soon as we have a location, the matter is out of our hands.”
“And here I thought you preferred to use your hands.” Alpthis said in faux mockery.
“I prefer what it most expedient to the wishes of our mistress.” Apteris said with a grin as one of the portals flickered into life. “The exact same as you brother.”
“Indeed.” Alpthis replied, licking his lips.
“Indeed.”
Clueless nodded from behind the bar. “Already settled in nicely, but perhaps a bit too nicely.”
“Oh?” Tristol asked.
“A bit more demanding than our normal head cooks, who have the night off.”
“I’ll give the staff time and a half for the night then.”
“Sounds fair to me.”
“For the moment at least then, things seem to be working out nicely. Toras hasn’t even picked on the new guy.”
The fighter snickered and picked at a bit of leather on his chair.
“Hey look! Your mom!” He said, recalling the insult he’d made to another minotaur some time ago.
“Yeah yeah.” Clueless said. “Get it out of your system now.”
Toras simply smiled. “I’ll be on my best behavior. And by that, I mean I’ll be in my room, reconsecrating the place in the hopes that our happy little guest tonight won’t give me trouble sleeping.”
“I think Nisha is off doing something of her own as well.” Tristol said.
“That’s probably for the best…” Fyrehowl replied.
Tristol smiled and gave a shrug. “She took Amberblue with her, and said that she’ll be back later. I’ll cover any damages I suppose.”
“But at least we’ve got some time to relax before we have to cater to the Marauder.”
He’d no sooner knocked on the wood of the table when one of the King of the Crosstrade’s tieflings walked in the door and took a seat at the bar.
“No more talking for you!” Florian said.
Toras frowned and stood up, turning back to them as he reached the foot of the stairs. “And once again, I think I hear the sound of someone in trouble! Away I go!”
“She’s not showing up early is she?” Tristol asked, he tail starting to fluff up from nerves.
It didn’t seem as such. The tiefling was simply looking over the room from time to time, scouting the place out to make sure that everything was appropriate for his mistress when she did show up, hopefully at the appointed time and not a moment early.
“Fyrehowl hasn’t bolted through a portal yet, so we’re probably safe.” Florian said. “And on that note, I’m going to make sure that the band has everything they need.”
And so over the next half hour, another two of the Marauder’s tiefling’s made their way into the bar and took tables adjacent to the ones that appears to have been reserved for the fiend. By then of course, the band had taken to the stage and its members were busily tuning their instruments. The live music included, the bar’s regular patrons seemed to largely appreciate the recent slew of changes and improvements, especially given that while the menu had expanded, the prices hadn't.
It was only a few minutes after the band had set themselves up that the main event, so to speak, made her presence known as the first of her formal escort stood framed in the doorway. Fyrehowl and Florian looked at each other and steeled themselves for the coming abuse, while Tristol whispered a little prayer to Mystra. Hopefully everything would go well.
Over at the bar, Clueless inhaled and then gave a sigh as the fiend’s entourage made its way into the inn. Though the tieflings that she had sent in a half hour earlier had been dressed in plainclothes outfits to help them fit into the normal cliental of the Portal Jammer, her clique of bodyguards were all dressed in matching dress outfits of tight brown leather armor with shorter half coats of darker and finer fabrics masking the armor underneath. They pressed into the inn, causing a hush to go over the normal patrons, and a few errant notes to escape from the musicians on stage.
“Who’s the dope with the mirror?” Kiro whispered to Clueless as they both watched one of the tieflings maneuver through the doorway carrying a floor-length mirror larger than himself.
Clueless bit his lip to avoid a chuckle. “That would be Colcook. He’s one of the Marauder’s favorites.”
“You get in her good graces and she makes you carry heavy things?” The cleric replied, watching the awkward acrobatics the tiefling was going through to get the mirror into the inn.
“Apparently.” Clueless replied. “You won’t see me beating down the door to apply for the job.”
Kiro nodded and stared at Colcook before walking back into the kitchen. A moment later the tiefling paused and almost dropped the mirror as he awkwardly glanced around the room for no apparent reason. But he quickly recovered and soon thereafter the fiend herself made her entrance.
“And I even get an awed silence as I make my entry.” Came the smug voice of the Marauder as she stepped into the inn. “I’m flattered, but don’t mind me, go about your normal routines. Keep it authentic, that’s what I came to see.”
The fiend was dressed in a snug-fitting, sleeveless, floor length black velvet gown, and in places the silk backing could be seen where the velvet had been burned out in elaborate patterns that danced down the plunge of her cleavage and along her sides from bust to ankle, providing translucent windows onto her own coppery fur. It was a different look from her normal attire, but outside of the dress she was still adorned in typical fashion with a dozen jeweled bracelets and armbands, a series of belled platinum anklets, and a glittering blue diamond and fire opal necklace decorating her almost to the point of being obnoxious in their expense.
Flashing just enough hints of skin through the burned velvet to nauseate Toras, make Fyrehowl feel like rolling her eyes, and exciting and pissing off Clueless, the fiend made her way to her appointed table, arm in arm with two of her boys. Once there, having given her an escort across all of twenty feet of floor space, they pulled out her chair, brushed the seat cushion off and let her sit.
Shemeska was all smiles as she gazed over at the band, then the regular inn patrons, and finally at the owners themselves who were on hand. She didn’t seem to recognize Kiro, as she completely skipped over him when her eye’s settled on Clueless and she motioned him over with a beckoning finger.
“Joy…” The bladesinger muttered under his breath as he picked up a menu and a wine list and managed to obscure his lips with them for a brief moment.
But he was all smiles as well, mirroring the fiend’s pretensions, as he walked over to her table, gave a slight bow and tried to hand her the menu.
“So good to see you again dear.” She said, brushing away the offered menu with a hand. “I like what you’ve done to the place, so far that I’ve seen it.”
“We took your suggestions to heart.” Clueless replied, still holding out the menu.
“Now I would like to keep the experience as authentic as possible.” She quipped. “This isn’t slumming, not entirely, but it –is- the Clerks Ward after all. Go ahead and read me the menu, I had my claws polished and I don’t know who might have touched that before me.”
“…Alright ma’am.” Clueless said, trying to let her barbs just wash over him without making a fuss.
He began reading her the menu while Florian walked over to the table and set it with a fresh set of napkins and explicitly non-silver silverware before lighting the candles that they’d used to mark out the Marauder’s reserved table. In response to all of the attention, the ‘loth largely ignored them both, seemingly paying more attention to the new windows with her eyes, and the band with her ears.
Clueless kept on reading the menu though, and was stopped on three occasions by a terse, ‘I’ll take that. Please continue.’ from the fiend’s glossed lips. To no surprise of course, she ordered a pair of pouched Bebelith eggs, and then out of whimsy she added a dish of pickled terlen roe, and an ounce of seared bezikira loin.
“Very nice choices… your fiendish majesty.” Clueless said with as much grace as he could stomach.
“You remembered my preferred appellation.” Shemeska said, finally turning her head back towards the bladesinger turned waiter.
“You specified it the last time that you were here.” He said. “I made it a point to remember.”
She gave a mocking smirk that quickly turned into a smile as she pointed her snout towards one of the inn’s windows.
“You have a good memory I should say. And very nice taste in spells.”
“Spells?”
“The new windows. The one-way force walls? That was a rather nice spell, and as I recall it was something that the previous owner of the inn had in his repertoire.”
“Really?”
“Yes, that fire genasi gentleman. Trenevain I think his name was.” She said. “A pity what happened to him of course.”
Of course the fiend knew exactly what his name was, she’d hired him and used him as a tool when she’d been blackmailing Clueless and the rest of them before they’d managed to wriggle out from under her palm.
“What happened to him?” Clueless asked.
“Oh I don’t recall.” She said with a shrug of her shoulders. “He wasn’t anything of import in Sigil after he lost the property and you managed to snag it. I didn’t exactly keep up with him.”
Clueless kept a straight face and didn’t mention anything about her involvement in that matter, despite her suggestions that Trenevain was dead, or that she might have had him disposed of.
“Would you like to hear our drink list?” He asked.
“Not necessary.” She replied. “You know my favorite drink I believe?”
“The Marauder’s Mirth.” Clueless answered. ‘Of course I can have that prepared for you.”
She looked at him expectantly. “Good.”
Her tone made it rather clear that he’d said all he needed to say, and he turned and left, narrowly avoiding noticing her shooing him off with one hand. But she’d soured his mood, and it showed in his features when he walked up to Fyrehowl behind the bar.
“If you could handle the drinks Fyrehowl.” Clueless said through a smile bristling with clenched teeth.
The lupinal winced slightly and looked over towards the seated fiend and then back to the half-fey.
“I’m going to do something I regret if I have to be around her any more.” Clueless said. “The recipe for her drink is on the counter, and the pineal gland is already pureed. Please, please make it up and serve it to her.”
“You owe me.” She said, putting a hand on his shoulder.
Having passed off the task to the lupinal, Clueless left for the kitchen, mouthing a very quick ‘thank you!’ to her as his eyes brimmed with bottled up stress.
Back at the Marauder’s table, she was busy commenting about the various changes to the inn, both those she approved of, and those she thought had been half heartedly done, or done improperly. But, oddly enough, she seemed to be having trouble finding things to genuinely criticize, and one of her ears seemed perpetually swiveled back towards the band.
“They’re not bad.” She said, looking directly over towards Tristol. “They’re obviously new, but they do have some promise. What do you think?”
Tristol just stared back for a moment awkwardly, he hadn’t expected the ‘loth to actually bother talking to him.
“You have big ears, surely you can hear them yes?” She prompted him.
“Umm, actually I’m not certain what I think about them.” He replied. “They’re talented yes, but I haven’t had a chance to listen much to their style of music.”
She nodded back. “You should get out more. Yes yes, I appreciate that you’re happy with your nose in a book, considering what I am, but you do yourself a disservice by not having a social life. I can suggest some places to broaden your horizons.”
Tristol blinked, unsure how to take her comment.
“I…”
“We could get you out, get you dressing better and more confidently like your friend the bladesinger does, and maybe even get you a girl without having to pay her by the trick, though I think you could use that too. Not to suggest of course that… ah but my drink has arrived.”
Fyrehowl smiled and placed the vile looking concoction in front of the fiend before leaving as quickly as she could.
The ‘loth took a sip of her drink, staring over it and the tip of her muzzle all the while, curious to see if Tristol would take her statements in stride, or have some other reaction. To his credit though, he just nodded and tried to make some courteous small talk.
Eventually though, the food was ready and someone had to present it to her. Clueless had already begged off once, and so it fell to him and Florian. Carrying her meal on separate platters they flanked her and placed the dishes down one by one, announcing their contents and removing the lids as elegantly as they could manage.
“You know, I’ve been thinking about running for election in Sigil.” She said as she crackled the shell on one of the Bebelith eggs.
“What position are you thinking of running for?” Fyrehowl tentatively asked.
“Councilwoman.” She said, barely hiding the fact that she was actually drooling at the scent of the egg.
Councilwoman? The Marauder with legitimate political power and a public outlet for her views was hardly a pleasant notion.
“Yes, I understand that several of the current council members are up for re-election in about a years time, though I think Chairwoman Rhys still has a longer term remaining beyond that and…this really is excellently prepared.”
The fiend rapidly hushed herself as she slipped a spoon of the white and then a gelatinous dollop of the thick yolk into her mouth with an almost obscene vocalization of approval. A moment later she slumped slightly in her chair and inclined her head back, letting the meal slide down her throat on its own, allowing her to savor it on the back of her tongue before gravity took its hold and she swallowed.
“Give whatever cook you hired for me tonight a bonus.” She said after she had finished the first bite and sat back up in a more dignified manner.
“We’ll give him your regards.” Florian said. “We made certain that he knew how to prepare meals that you’d like.”
“This is excellent.” The ‘loth said as she took a second, more yolky bite, her lips quivering slightly to the taste like she was eating a wriggling soul of an innocent or something similar.
“This almost erases any notions of moving someone in next door to you all.” She continued with a pleased tone.
“Eh?”
“Yes,” She said. “I own all the adjacent buildings, and one of the tenants was late on a payment recently. I haven’t decided who, if anyone, to move in.”
This couldn’t be good, but the ‘loth still had an obscene smile on her face from the food.
“I’d been considering a Tanar’ri brothel actually.” She said. “And that idea might help you with what we’d talked about earlier Tristol.”
She popped the spoon out of her mouth and waved it in the aasimar’s direction. “Maybe an Alu-fiend, or a cambion I suppose, whichever you prefer.”
She said no more at that point, but left hanging the obvious notion that she could swap and rearrange their neighbors at whimsy. Thankfully the food, her favorite drink, and the music that she rather seemed to appreciate, kept her occupied and not flinging barbs from her tongue.
After that point the ‘loth made only a bit of small talk, including some additional comments on current Sigilian politics and some pointed questions to Fyrehowl about former Factol and current council Chairwoman Rhys. She seemed serious on the politics, but she also seemed happy, either from the food, the alcohol, or the fact that everyone had been catering especially to her. Either way, she was less hostile than they had hoped for.
“I approve.” She finally said, tapping her lips on the edge of her napkin. “You’ve made something with promise, given where you started, and considering what it first looked like when I was last here.”
“Thank you.” Clueless said. “Your suggestions certainly helped.”
“Besides them.” She said bluntly. “It’s not a luxury restaurant, but it was never intended to be. However for what it is, it’s one of the better ones in the city, and I’ll be open about my opinion as such when I talk to other people who follow and keep track of such things.”
Her approval, genuine approval at that, came as something of a shock. They’d played her little game, they’d catered to her whimsy, and they’d pampered her as much as they could stomach, but at best they had hoped to avoid any great abuse at her hands. Having her actually offering to do something positive on their behalf, it seemed too good to be true.
“And with your stunned silence in my wake. I’ll be taking my leave.” She said, standing up as one of her tiefling’s pulled out her chair.
“It’s been a pleasure.” She continued. “And we’ll have to do this again.”
She started to turn to make her exit, but paused ever so briefly. She seemed caught between just leaving and letting them off the hook, and extending her hand and making them kiss her fingers. She did neither, and let her hand hang there for a moment, waiting to see if any of them would take the initiative, guessing that she meant for them to kiss it. But then after a moment she withdrew the hand, pursed her lips and blew a bit of dry wine from the tip of a claw before flashing a grinning mouthful of fangs and waltzing out into the night.
***
Less than an hour after the evening's "pleasantries" had passed and the King of the Crosstrade had left, taking along her gaggle of tiefling's in tow, the metaphorical stench of fiend had almost evaporated from the Portal Jammer itself and from where it had hung like a rain-laden thundercloud, dark and threatening, over the thoughts of the Inn's owners. But it was not gone entirely, and in the wee hours of the morning, some time after anti-peak, it came from a distinctly different source.
Situated on the rooftop of one of the buildings across from the Jammer two figures milled about, in fact they stood atop the building that had in previous weeks been the perch of the magically dominated assassin who had done her best to kill Tristol. But the two fiends who now stood there, were not under any domination, nor any compulsions whatsoever, they were there because they desired to be, and because they hoped to advance themselves in the process.
“A shame that we cannot handle this ourselves.” The first of the fiends said as he gazed at the remaining lights burning in the Jammer’s windows.
"Indeed a shame, I must concur." The second of the fiends replied in lockstep with the first, like they were both reading each other’s minds and simply verbalizing shared and concurrent thoughts.
The first speaker, a jackal-headed arcanaloth by the name of Alpthis, was dressed in black robes with cobalt blue swirls crisscrossing their folds, and had dusky gray fur with faded reddish brown highlights. Of note however was the ragged notch taken out of his left ear, and the irritated and hairless patch of flesh that surrounded it. Like a brand on a prized steer, it was present on his brother and him with similar meaning, a mark of ownership on a greater yugoloth.
The second fiend, Apteris, was almost a reversed image of his brother. Also a jackal-headed arcanaloth, his own fur was a faded reddish brown color, streaked through with dusky gray highlights, and his right ear was notched and barren in the exact same manner as his sibling’s, a shared mark of loyalty, a shared brand of servitude. But while Alpthis was dressed as a sorcerer, his clothing elegant and decorative, Apteris was clad in a simple red robe that was gathered at the waist by a monochrome black sash. His brother’s feet were clad in silk slippers, and they hovered off the ground, but his were bare and openly touched the rooftop.
"The mistress does forbid us from such of course..." Alpthis said, gazing with disdain down at the Portal Jammer.
"She wants it done by other means, but where's the joy in that for us."
"Outside of the joy of her service of course."
"Of course."
They glanced at one another with matching smiles, wry and hungry, like they were exchanging a bevy of known, shared secrets with each glimmer of light on tooth and iris.
"It would be so much easier if we needn't worry about disturbing others of our kind in this city."
"A pity that we have to tiptoe around them, it does make our task less direct."
"Professional protocol is entirely too cumbersome."
"You were always the more impulsive of us brother."
"Indeed I am, but we balance one another nicely, and given our current position, I hardly feel at ill standing."
They continued their telepathic banter, idly speaking as they kept their eyes locked on the Jammer, their ears perked and more than a mortal's share of senses plucking more esoteric information from the ether.
"Seems that they'll be leaving." Apteris said.
"Only two of them?"
"And no kobold this time, rather the half-breed and the cleric, the new one, not the old one."
"And this time there will be no mortal mercenaries to let their quarry slip their noose."
They both looked at one another and rolled their eyes in unison at the shared memories of that group of now very dead mortals.
"I blame the quasit." Apteris said with a sneer.
"The quasit?"
"We should have handed Yethmiil a better group of mortals. A quasit familiar didn't speak well for the sorcerer in that group."
Alpthis shrugged, "Pray to the Oinoloth that we fare better than Yethmiil in our task."
"Unfortunate what happened to him."
"But deserved."
"Of course."
“Absolutely.”
Once again they exchanged glances at the exact same moment, flashing smiles in disturbing parity with the other. They had seen what fate had befallen that particular Ultroloth, and his current status had been an object lesson for all of their mistress’s servants, themselves included. And while their loyalty was not in question, they had no desire to experience even one small fraction of that agony that came with failure.
"Next roof, I want to have a better angle for the portal scry." Alpthis said before vanishing with a gesture, reappearing in an instant a dozen yards away, crouching like a jackal-headed gargoyle on the rooftop across the street.
His brother followed him, but rather than using magic, he simply jumped the distance between the rooftops with a disturbing level of litheness. In fact, near the end of his leap, the ‘loth seemed to hang in the air for a moment, suspended, before gently settling down on the shingles.
“Not a bad assortment of portals I have to say." Alpthis said, narrowing his eyes as his magic peeled away the walls, revealing a glittering assortment of bound spaces, each of them like discrete membranes floating in the air.
“I’ve heard that it was better before the Tempest.”
“Ever the contrarian, you.”
“Regardless of their assortment of portals,” Apteris said, shifting his eyes with the same spell as his brother. “I’m more concerned with the ones they’ll be using here in the next while. As soon as we have a location, the matter is out of our hands.”
“And here I thought you preferred to use your hands.” Alpthis said in faux mockery.
“I prefer what it most expedient to the wishes of our mistress.” Apteris said with a grin as one of the portals flickered into life. “The exact same as you brother.”
“Indeed.” Alpthis replied, licking his lips.
“Indeed.”
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demiurge1138
Inventor of Super-Toast
LOVE the Brothers. Such polite banter, but with such horrible purpose. They're like the Goofy Gophers of Gehenna.
And, to Gez for a moment, I assume that “You’ve made something with promise, given where you started, and considering what it first looked like when I was last her” should read "...was last here."
Demiurge out.
And, to Gez for a moment, I assume that “You’ve made something with promise, given where you started, and considering what it first looked like when I was last her” should read "...was last here."
Demiurge out.
bluegodjanus
Explorer
I like the arcanaloth brothers. They're nifty.
Shemeska
Adventurer
bluegodjanus said:
They don't run into the PCs directly, face to face, till much later in the game but they seemed to make for a memorable impression. The eventual comeuppance was deserved, if a long time coming.
I also used these two guys as IC voices in one of the Planewalker.com chapters... I believe the chapter on either life on the planes, or coins and commerce.
