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Story Hour
Shemeska's Planescape Storyhour (Updated 29 Jan 2014)
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<blockquote data-quote="Shemeska" data-source="post: 2813318" data-attributes="member: 11697"><p>“So what do we do now?” Clueless asked.</p><p></p><p> Blank stares, furrowed brows, the nervous tapping of fingers… and Nisha’s stuck out tongue, those were the only immediate responses to the question. No easy answers certainly as their minds were still puzzling over the implications of just what had happened back in Carceri, and just what the next step would be.</p><p></p><p> There had certainly been repercussions when the Ultroloth had still been holding to his assumed identity as a Rakshasa. With him gone, or at least temporarily out of the picture, it was an open question with whether his so-called sibling, or superior… whatever she was… would likewise take action against them.</p><p></p><p> Whatever she was.</p><p></p><p> “I need another drink.” Florian said, idly running her finger through a layer of foam ringing the lip of her mug.</p><p></p><p> Clueless topped off the glass without comment and then went back to nursing his own.</p><p></p><p> The back room of the Portal Jammer was quiet as they sat around the table. Every so often one of them would pause and open his or her mouth, mumbling something before stopping and letting uncomfortable silence drift back down over them all. At least the still and cold quiet there, back in Sigil, was more comfortable than the atmosphere during their trip back from Carceri.</p><p></p><p>Their flight from the scarlet jungles of Cathrys had been uneventful and without conflict of any sort. But perhaps that was to be expected on some level.</p><p></p><p> They’d broken the wards in the depths of the palace; that macabre, bloody poetry on the walls and floor, embedded with a hideous sprawl of magic and malice. They still weren’t entirely sure who had penned it now that it seemed that neither of the so-called Rakshasas were anything of the sort.</p><p></p><p> Just more uncertainties, more questions, more worries to mute their sense of victory over Siddhartha… whatever the fiend’s name was.</p><p></p><p> They had not stayed long in the palace after they had killed the fiend; really, only long enough to search for any records that might aid them later, but they found little of the sort. Ultimately they had given up, broken the wards and released the Deepspawn from its cell.</p><p></p><p> When they had climbed back up from the hidden basement halls and out into the crimson glow of the jungle on the surface, they knew immediately that they were not alone, even if they couldn’t see anything. Fyrehowl’s fur had stood on end, and the jungle itself had been deathly quiet.</p><p></p><p> Something, perhaps many things, were simply waiting for them to leave, giving them the grace of a few moments to escape, purchased mercy.</p><p></p><p> The trip back to the portal had been brief and somewhat sullen, quiet and still, much like their current mood in some ways. The wards were broken, and with that, their ability to teleport was restored, and they’d used it to return to the portal to Sigil once they emerged out of the palace.</p><p></p><p> They had briefly lingered outside the portal to turn back at look in the direction from which they had come. Through the holes in the forest canopy they could already see the smoke from the inferno that had begun to consume the yugoloth’s fortress, the flames sparked the moment they had vanished.</p><p></p><p> The last thing that Fyrehowl saw before stepping through the portal and back into Sigil was the leering, grinning face of a Farastu staring at her out of the depths of the scarlet jungle. Purchased mercy.</p><p></p><p> “Yeah.” Fyrehowl said. “What do we do now?”</p><p></p><p> “And when it’s the Cipher saying that…” Tristol muttered.</p><p></p><p> “We’ve got nothing.” Florian said.</p><p></p><p> “For the moment.” Kiro said softly. “Regardless of whether we eventually want it or not, the Gehreleth we freed back in Carceri did say that we would be given help. Or at least that someone would contact us.”</p><p></p><p> “Xideous.” Skalliska said. “Whoever that is.”</p><p></p><p> “Presumably another fiend.” Fyrehowl said with a sigh. “I’m getting tired of them.”</p><p></p><p> “At least it’s not another yugoloth.” Clueless said, pushing another drink in front of the lupinal.</p><p></p><p> “Yeah. At least it’s not another f*cking yugoloth.” Fyrehowl muttered, sputtering with her muzzle an inch into her ale. “I’m understandably sick and tired of them.”</p><p></p><p> “We’ve still got Siddhartha’s so-called sister.” Clueless said. “And she might decide to come after us now that we’ve taken down her compatriot.”</p><p></p><p> “We still can’t say for certain what she is.” Kiro said. “Though it’s likely that she’s a yugoloth as well.”</p><p></p><p> “I think we can assume that the original Lord Siddhartha and Lady Brampandra are dead.” Tristol said. “At some point they might have fallen afoul of the ‘loths, or they might have been dead already and just served as convenient covers for them to adopt.”</p><p></p><p> “Still doesn’t answer why they were posing as Rakshasas though.” Toras said.</p><p></p><p> “Whatever they’re doing.” Kiro said. “They probably just don’t want the attention of the celestials, the other fiends, the githyanki, or actual deities.”</p><p></p><p> “Not like they’ve done that before.” Fyrehowl muttered. “Even more so now that they’ve got a new Oinoloth.”</p><p></p><p> The cipher slipped into a soft, bitter soliloquy of cursing in celestial.</p><p></p><p> “Well don’t worry about it now.” Clueless said. “We can worry about it tomorrow.”</p><p></p><p> “Unless she sends assassins after us tonight.” Fyrehowl said.</p><p></p><p> “Which is a possibility I suppose.” Kiro said. “But we’ve handled them before, and it’s quit possible that they’ll simply try to cut their losses and not risk further exposure.”</p><p></p><p> “Possibly.” Florian said.</p><p></p><p> “But now that this is over…” Skalliska began.</p><p></p><p> “Over for the moment.” Fyrehowl bluntly stated.</p><p></p><p> “But now that this is over,” The kobold continued. “I would like to actually finish up what I’d originally gone to the Astral for in the first place.”</p><p></p><p>“A search for faith is always something to support.” Kiro said with a soft smile. “Would you like any company?”</p><p></p><p> “It’s appreciated,” Skalliska replied. “But I’d like to do this on my own.”</p><p></p><p> Kiro and Florian nodded to her.</p><p></p><p> “So sometime in the next few days I’m likely to skip town and backtrack our steps.” She said. “Don’t worry about me.”</p><p></p><p> “Hopefully we won’t have anything to worry about ourselves.” Nisha said as she tossed a grape at Amberblue who was currently perched on a detached seat cushion next to Clueless.</p><p></p><p> “I’m still confused to all hell what the ‘loth and his ‘sister’ were up to on the Astral.” Clueless said, watching the Faeriedragon munch the grape. “But my head’s too cloudy to really wrap itself around any real possibilities.”</p><p></p><p> “Then don’t worry about it.” Florian said. “Like Kiro said, we’ve handled their goons before, and if they’re much more powerful than that Ultroloth, they won’t be able to get into Sigil anyways.”</p><p></p><p> “I don’t really want to consider if they’re much more powerful than that Ultroloth.” Tristol said, his ears drooping slightly.</p><p></p><p> “We can worry about it later.” Kiro said, raising a glass. “After all. By Sutekh’s grace, we’re all still here to be able to worry about it later. I think that certainly says something in our favor.”</p><p></p><p> “True enough.” Toras said, raising his own glass in response.</p><p></p><p> Those last statements certainly ended their discussion as a group on a more positive note before they adjourned and went about their own concerns now that they were back in Sigil. Clueless went back to tending the bar, Skalliska went back to her other office, and the others went back to more mundane tasks, except perhaps Nisha who was rapidly trying to compete with Clueless as Amberblue’s bestest friend, for better or for worse.</p><p></p><p></p><p style="text-align: center">***</p><p></p><p></p><p> Two flights of stairs, two stories of the inn, and a thin wooden door stood between Kiro and the others, muffling all sound from the common room below, and putting a bit of temporal and metaphorical distance between his thoughts and theirs. And at the moment, that was necessary.</p><p></p><p> “Things have certainly been more interesting than I expected.” Kiro said to himself with a chuckle as he pinned a note to the door, softly closed it, and knelt down in the center of the room.</p><p></p><p> The room itself was fairly spartan and unlived in, decorated with only a few amenities. There was a mirror, a bowl of water, some towels, a few symbols of his faith to decorate the wall and really nothing much else. But of course, he hadn’t been living there for very long at all before he’d been whisked away first to the Astral plane and then to Carceri. And even accepting that as an excuse there wasn’t much more to expect from a fairly ascetic follower of Sutekh.</p><p></p><p> Not that he’d actually been living there.</p><p></p><p> The cleric relaxed and removed the small satchel he carried at his side, placing it down on the floor in front of him, both that homespun bag and his large book of rituals and prayers as well. Nothing was out of place, nothing at all. A priest going about meditation or prayer, and nothing more.</p><p></p><p> <em>‘I’ve gone to the grand bazaar to purchase some candles and incense appropriate for my evening prayers. I may wander some when I get there, never having had the chance to visit that place before, so don’t expect me back before evening. – Kiro’</em></p><p></p><p> The note was succinct and to the point, nothing at all odd about its content, and everything in line with his motivations as a priest.</p><p></p><p> Not that he was one of course.</p><p></p><p> He set the book to the side, the one filled with prayers he didn’t believe in, and pages of illustrations, hymns, liturgical chants, and doctrines with which he was intimately familiar, but nonetheless wholly unfaithful towards. Neither respect nor disrespect intended to the Lord of Ankhwugaht, but the trappings of his faith provided a useful background and ready persona to adopt.</p><p></p><p> Emptied of its contents, the satchel was carefully laid down on the floor atop the book. It had contained only a few paltry things: a mirror, a bit of incense, a few unlabled potions, one of which was a fairly mundane poison, some dried food and a waterskin, and some bundled sheets of parchment. Mundane things to be expected amongst the possessions of a priest, the typical trappings of a true believer.</p><p></p><p> And then there was the box that had been nestled in and amongst those blasé things.</p><p></p><p> The box was a tiny thing, just over the size of a closed fist. It had dozens of seams where different pieces and types of wood had been fused together by a layer of glue or laccquer. It was a jewel box, a curio container, or quite possibly a small reliquary from all indications.</p><p></p><p> But, like its owner, it was anything but what it might have appeared to be.</p><p></p><p> Deftly, Kiro reached out and touched several of the seams of the box in quick sequence. Without a sound the box began to undergo a transformation. One of the wooden panels folded outwards, followed by others, and the box itself began to blossom like a flower of angles and spaces that shouldn’t have existed.</p><p></p><p> Seconds later and the room was empty and Kiro was gone, swallowed up and vanished into the extradimensional spaces hidden within the box.</p><p></p><p></p><p style="text-align: center">***</p><p></p><p></p><p> All that distance. All those years of uncertainty. All those years in which the spiritual hollow in her soul had been just as much of a void as the silver depths that surrounded her. All of her waking moments ultimately leading her to the Astral in search of the fate of her dead world’s pantheon, and she had never gotten there, derailed and detoured by happenstance and inconvenient conflict.</p><p></p><p> Though it might not be appropriate to call the Erinyes’ actions happenstance. They’d been calculated and measured, tailored to fit the goals of her own infernal master and at least one deity. Skalliska and her companions had simply been a tool in that, and the kobold’s search for faith and substance had simply been a vehicle for those others’, a loose thread to pull upon and tug.</p><p></p><p> But despite that initial deceit, the Erinyes, or perhaps rather her infernal patron, Prince Levistus, had proven loyal to their bargain in the end. But that deceit had still only used the kobold and her companions as tools to Baator’s ends, and never actually given her the answers that she had been looking for in the first place.</p><p></p><p> Still wondering if there had been any truth to the Erinyes’ claims which had first led her and her companions to the Astral in the first place, Skalliska found herself back where she had left off, hovering in the void above the petrified corpse of Maanzicorian.</p><p></p><p> “What the hell?” The kobold muttered to herself as she looked down upon the godisle.</p><p></p><p> They had last left the corpse surrounded by a field of debris and corpses. Shattered stone, rent metal, splintered wood and the dead; Maanzicorian’s gravity well had clung to them tenaciously, leaving the refuse to swirl around it like a cloud.</p><p></p><p> The godisle was scoured clean.</p><p></p><p> Only the broken foundations of the tower remained as any evidence of what they had seen, and what they had put a stop too. The bodies were gone, the broken remnants of the githyanki carracks were gone, and the rubble of the two orbiting towers had vanished without a trace.</p><p></p><p> Someone had removed every last trace of their involvement. Knowing what they knew about the true identity of Siddhartha, there was little doubt as to whom.</p><p></p><p></p><p style="text-align: center">***</p><p></p><p></p><p> “The mail arrived.” Tristol said, as he sat down at one of the tables in the common room.</p><p></p><p> “Anything interesting?” Florian asked, looking up from her drink.</p><p></p><p> “So long as there’s nothing dripping.” Toras said. “I don’t want to have to walk over to the Market Ward again to threaten that mephit.”</p><p></p><p> Florian chuckled and glanced at the fighter.</p><p></p><p> “How many times now have you had to do that?” She asked. “Two or three times?”</p><p></p><p> “Twice now.” Toras replied. “Next time I may need you as an alibi.”</p><p></p><p> Tristol chuckled. “Nothing from Seamus this time.”</p><p></p><p> “So, anything decent?” Fyrehowl asked, taking a seat at the table next to Nisha.</p><p></p><p> Nisha, for her part, was completely absorbed in chitchat with Amberblue. The tiny faerie dragon was spending his time between the tiefling and nibbling at the food that Clueless had had prepared for him in the kitchen. Already the dragon was regaining his healthy glow, and while Nisha was simply fascinated with the creature, Clueless was both concerned for the dragon’s health, and concerned with the health of everyone else around him: once Amberblue was healthy again, he’d be wishing for things. Wishes in the hands of gleefully whimsical creatures, even well meaning ones, were things to handle with kid gloves, especially when other gleefully whimsical creatures named Nisha were involved.</p><p></p><p> “Some advertisements for alcohol, some thinly veiled extortion attempts from the Sodkillers, and a sealed letter addressed to all of us.” Tristol said, tossing the letters on the table.</p><p></p><p> “Extortion?” Toras asked.</p><p></p><p> “Advertising their services for protection from thieves and criminals.” Tristol said. “Strongly hinting that people who don’t buy their services get hit with more crime.”</p><p></p><p> Florian scoffed.</p><p></p><p> “We can handle ourselves.” She said.</p><p></p><p> “They’re welcome to try.” Toras added. “But what’s the other letter.”</p><p></p><p> “Remember what A’kin said a while back?” Tristol asked. “About auctioning off the next batch of animated dolls that he got?”</p><p></p><p> Florian beamed a smile. “When and where?”</p><p></p><p> Fyrehowl had already opened the envelope with a claw and placed the letter in the center of the table to read.</p><p></p><p><em> Dear valued customer, patron, and/or friend,</em></p><p><em></em></p><p><em>You are hereby formally invited to an auction of my latest, more exclusive collectable works. The proceedings will be held at and preceded over by the auction house of Maris and Grimble, security to be provided by the Sodkillers. There will be a full bar and other such amenities provided during the period of the auction. Payment will be made directly to the auction house and no advance purchases will be available do to the limited number of pieces.</em></p><p><em></em></p><p><em>Time: 7 after peak, four days from the date of this notice.</em></p><p><em>Location: Auction Hall of Maris and Grimble, 1287 Silvertinge Avenue, Guildhall Ward.</em></p><p><em></em></p><p><em>Sample list of items to be sold (aka the dolls):</em></p><p><em>Noshtoreth of the Umber Scales (w/ Bells of Baphomet)</em></p><p><em>Guildmaster Autochon of the Runner’s Guild (w/ after affects of Bells of Baphomet)</em></p><p><em>Yeenoghu, Demon Lord of Gnolls </em></p><p><em>Jeremo the Natterer, Factol of the Ring Givers (who will be in attendance. Please, please get into a bidding war)</em></p><p><em>Shemeska the Marauder, King of the Crosstrade (w/ mirror)</em></p><p><em></em></p><p><em>… and others.</em></p><p><em></em></p><p><em>I look forward to seeing you all in attendance,</em></p><p><em>A’kin</em></p><p></p><p></p><p> And, handwritten near the bottom of the notice was the following: </p><p></p><p><em>Please, please, please, do not let the time and location of this slip into the hands of you know who. I swear she makes it her sole purpose in life to be an annoyance to everyone around her and an embarrassment to my entire species. And given the nature of certain things to be auctioned off, unless you want to be there when she barges in and pitches a public fit a dozen times worse than at Jeremo’s last party, you won’t let this worm its way into her ears in any way. Please, for my sake, don’t let her become aware of this. – A’kin</em></p><p></p><p> “I am so going to that.” Florian said with a grin.</p><p></p><p> “I think I’ll be joining you.” Fyrehowl said.</p><p></p><p> “…You’re going for that last one, aren’t you?” Toras asked.</p><p></p><p> Two grins were the only reply.</p><p></p><p> “I’ll have to show up too.” Tristol said. “This should be good.”</p><p></p><p>“AAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!!!”</p><p></p><p> A sudden shout of alarm echoed through the inn’s common room, followed shortly after by the sound of a few dropped and broken mugs and dishes. One of the patrons, a middle aged human woman who was a semi-regular customer, had stepped back from her table in apparent and utter shock.</p><p></p><p> “It’s Hashkar!” She said, mouth open wide in shock, hands cradling her cheeks. “It’s bloody Factol Hashkar back from the dead!”</p><p></p><p> A sudden murmur of shock and nervous fear washed over the bar patrons and then subsided just as quickly. They looked around and realized that no, there was no vengeful specter of the former Guvner Factol lurking about in the room come to get a drink, or perhaps just returned from the dead like a revenant of boredom.</p><p></p><p> “It’s Hashkar!” The woman shouted again. “He’s back!”</p><p></p><p> Toras glanced at the woman and then up to the mantle where, speak of the devil, A’kin’s Factol Hashkar doll was sitting in plain view under the clear glass of a bell jar. Obviously the woman had had a bit much to drink, and perhaps the tiny Hashkar figurine had simply confused her. Or something. But in any event she’d reached her cutoff point for liquor.</p><p></p><p> “Ma’am?” Clueless asked from over behind the bar. “That’s just our Factol Hashkar doll. It’s animated you know. Moves around, does stuff, talks if you let it out from under that jar.”</p><p></p><p> She looked over at the half-fey and then over at the tiny doll.</p><p></p><p> “That’s just a doll ma’am.” He continued. “That’s not the actual, real Factol Hashkar.”</p><p></p><p> “Goodness Thanks,” Nisha said with relief. “Death bore to us He’d.”</p><p></p><p> “Not the bloody doll you berk.” The woman said, pointing at the plate on her table. “In me cinnamon bun! It’s blooming Factol Hashkar in me cinnamon bun, staring up at me plain as day!”</p><p></p><p> “Huh?!” Clueless said, stepping away from the bar and looking at the gooey pastry now cupped reverently in the woman’s hands.</p><p></p><p> Sure enough, there was something on the bun. A smudge of cinnamon and a bit of a burn from the oven perhaps, but if you squinted a bit and looked at it from a certain angle, it –did- look something like the dour old dwarf that Hashkar had been.</p><p></p><p> “You see! You see!” The woman shouted. “Hashkar’s back! He’s given us a sign! Factol Hashkar has returned!”</p><p></p><p> Nisha’s tail went limp and there was a soft jingle as the bell at its tip clattered against the floor. Perched on the mantle, looking down at the doll of the bearded dwarf that was Hashkar, Amberblue turned and glanced over at Nisha.</p><p></p><p> Nisha was giving a cockeyed stare at the gleefully shouting woman holding the cinnamon bun like a holy relic. A moment later and the woman, along with her Hashkar in a cinnamon bun, were out the door and gone, with her joyful shouting growing fainter as she ran down the street.</p><p></p><p> “And here we were finally rid of him.” Nisha said. “Hashkar’s come back to haunt us with boredom from beyond the grave.”</p><p></p><p> “Do cinnamon buns haunt people?” The faeriedragon asked with a mix of innocent curiosity and naïve concern.</p><p></p><p> “Yes Amberblue.” Nisha said as sudden smile tinged her features and erased her prior worry. “Yes. Yes they do. But only in a good way.”</p><p></p><p> “…” Toras was still staring out the door where the woman and the Hashkar bun had ran.</p><p></p><p> “…O.K…” Tristol said, also staring at the door. “That was bizarre enough for me for a week or more.”</p><p></p><p> “Hashkar in a cinnamon bun?” Fyrehowl asked, bewildered.</p><p></p><p> “Hashkar in a cinnamon bun.” Nisha replied with a grin.</p><p></p><p></p><p style="text-align: center">***</p><p></p><p></p><p> Later that evening after last call, after they had shooed all of the remaining customers out of the inn or provided them with a room if they were drunk or too tired to walk the streets, everyone turned in and called it a night.</p><p></p><p> Skalliska was still absent, but she’d given them all notice of where she was going to be, and Kiro had returned from the market ward shortly before the staff had been sent home and the doors locked.</p><p></p><p> It was their first night back in Sigil after returning from Carceri, and as they lay in their beds awaiting sleep and the soft touch of dreams, their minds wandered back to thoughts of the Red Prison and what the future held in store for them. Every time that they had struck a blow against Siddhartha he had struck back at them, and his identity as an Ultroloth did not bode well. Other ‘loths would be involved more assuredly, and his superior, whoever she was, was likely to take action of her own, now that her servant had been killed. </p><p></p><p>Thoughts of reprisal -worries really- were on the minds as the drifted off to an uneasy, wary sleep, and their sleep did not last very long.</p><p></p><p>Four hours after peak: voices drifting up from the street, commotion, and a clatter of activity at the door to the inn…</p><p></p><p></p><p style="text-align: center">***</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Shemeska, post: 2813318, member: 11697"] “So what do we do now?” Clueless asked. Blank stares, furrowed brows, the nervous tapping of fingers… and Nisha’s stuck out tongue, those were the only immediate responses to the question. No easy answers certainly as their minds were still puzzling over the implications of just what had happened back in Carceri, and just what the next step would be. There had certainly been repercussions when the Ultroloth had still been holding to his assumed identity as a Rakshasa. With him gone, or at least temporarily out of the picture, it was an open question with whether his so-called sibling, or superior… whatever she was… would likewise take action against them. Whatever she was. “I need another drink.” Florian said, idly running her finger through a layer of foam ringing the lip of her mug. Clueless topped off the glass without comment and then went back to nursing his own. The back room of the Portal Jammer was quiet as they sat around the table. Every so often one of them would pause and open his or her mouth, mumbling something before stopping and letting uncomfortable silence drift back down over them all. At least the still and cold quiet there, back in Sigil, was more comfortable than the atmosphere during their trip back from Carceri. Their flight from the scarlet jungles of Cathrys had been uneventful and without conflict of any sort. But perhaps that was to be expected on some level. They’d broken the wards in the depths of the palace; that macabre, bloody poetry on the walls and floor, embedded with a hideous sprawl of magic and malice. They still weren’t entirely sure who had penned it now that it seemed that neither of the so-called Rakshasas were anything of the sort. Just more uncertainties, more questions, more worries to mute their sense of victory over Siddhartha… whatever the fiend’s name was. They had not stayed long in the palace after they had killed the fiend; really, only long enough to search for any records that might aid them later, but they found little of the sort. Ultimately they had given up, broken the wards and released the Deepspawn from its cell. When they had climbed back up from the hidden basement halls and out into the crimson glow of the jungle on the surface, they knew immediately that they were not alone, even if they couldn’t see anything. Fyrehowl’s fur had stood on end, and the jungle itself had been deathly quiet. Something, perhaps many things, were simply waiting for them to leave, giving them the grace of a few moments to escape, purchased mercy. The trip back to the portal had been brief and somewhat sullen, quiet and still, much like their current mood in some ways. The wards were broken, and with that, their ability to teleport was restored, and they’d used it to return to the portal to Sigil once they emerged out of the palace. They had briefly lingered outside the portal to turn back at look in the direction from which they had come. Through the holes in the forest canopy they could already see the smoke from the inferno that had begun to consume the yugoloth’s fortress, the flames sparked the moment they had vanished. The last thing that Fyrehowl saw before stepping through the portal and back into Sigil was the leering, grinning face of a Farastu staring at her out of the depths of the scarlet jungle. Purchased mercy. “Yeah.” Fyrehowl said. “What do we do now?” “And when it’s the Cipher saying that…” Tristol muttered. “We’ve got nothing.” Florian said. “For the moment.” Kiro said softly. “Regardless of whether we eventually want it or not, the Gehreleth we freed back in Carceri did say that we would be given help. Or at least that someone would contact us.” “Xideous.” Skalliska said. “Whoever that is.” “Presumably another fiend.” Fyrehowl said with a sigh. “I’m getting tired of them.” “At least it’s not another yugoloth.” Clueless said, pushing another drink in front of the lupinal. “Yeah. At least it’s not another f*cking yugoloth.” Fyrehowl muttered, sputtering with her muzzle an inch into her ale. “I’m understandably sick and tired of them.” “We’ve still got Siddhartha’s so-called sister.” Clueless said. “And she might decide to come after us now that we’ve taken down her compatriot.” “We still can’t say for certain what she is.” Kiro said. “Though it’s likely that she’s a yugoloth as well.” “I think we can assume that the original Lord Siddhartha and Lady Brampandra are dead.” Tristol said. “At some point they might have fallen afoul of the ‘loths, or they might have been dead already and just served as convenient covers for them to adopt.” “Still doesn’t answer why they were posing as Rakshasas though.” Toras said. “Whatever they’re doing.” Kiro said. “They probably just don’t want the attention of the celestials, the other fiends, the githyanki, or actual deities.” “Not like they’ve done that before.” Fyrehowl muttered. “Even more so now that they’ve got a new Oinoloth.” The cipher slipped into a soft, bitter soliloquy of cursing in celestial. “Well don’t worry about it now.” Clueless said. “We can worry about it tomorrow.” “Unless she sends assassins after us tonight.” Fyrehowl said. “Which is a possibility I suppose.” Kiro said. “But we’ve handled them before, and it’s quit possible that they’ll simply try to cut their losses and not risk further exposure.” “Possibly.” Florian said. “But now that this is over…” Skalliska began. “Over for the moment.” Fyrehowl bluntly stated. “But now that this is over,” The kobold continued. “I would like to actually finish up what I’d originally gone to the Astral for in the first place.” “A search for faith is always something to support.” Kiro said with a soft smile. “Would you like any company?” “It’s appreciated,” Skalliska replied. “But I’d like to do this on my own.” Kiro and Florian nodded to her. “So sometime in the next few days I’m likely to skip town and backtrack our steps.” She said. “Don’t worry about me.” “Hopefully we won’t have anything to worry about ourselves.” Nisha said as she tossed a grape at Amberblue who was currently perched on a detached seat cushion next to Clueless. “I’m still confused to all hell what the ‘loth and his ‘sister’ were up to on the Astral.” Clueless said, watching the Faeriedragon munch the grape. “But my head’s too cloudy to really wrap itself around any real possibilities.” “Then don’t worry about it.” Florian said. “Like Kiro said, we’ve handled their goons before, and if they’re much more powerful than that Ultroloth, they won’t be able to get into Sigil anyways.” “I don’t really want to consider if they’re much more powerful than that Ultroloth.” Tristol said, his ears drooping slightly. “We can worry about it later.” Kiro said, raising a glass. “After all. By Sutekh’s grace, we’re all still here to be able to worry about it later. I think that certainly says something in our favor.” “True enough.” Toras said, raising his own glass in response. Those last statements certainly ended their discussion as a group on a more positive note before they adjourned and went about their own concerns now that they were back in Sigil. Clueless went back to tending the bar, Skalliska went back to her other office, and the others went back to more mundane tasks, except perhaps Nisha who was rapidly trying to compete with Clueless as Amberblue’s bestest friend, for better or for worse. [center]***[/center] Two flights of stairs, two stories of the inn, and a thin wooden door stood between Kiro and the others, muffling all sound from the common room below, and putting a bit of temporal and metaphorical distance between his thoughts and theirs. And at the moment, that was necessary. “Things have certainly been more interesting than I expected.” Kiro said to himself with a chuckle as he pinned a note to the door, softly closed it, and knelt down in the center of the room. The room itself was fairly spartan and unlived in, decorated with only a few amenities. There was a mirror, a bowl of water, some towels, a few symbols of his faith to decorate the wall and really nothing much else. But of course, he hadn’t been living there for very long at all before he’d been whisked away first to the Astral plane and then to Carceri. And even accepting that as an excuse there wasn’t much more to expect from a fairly ascetic follower of Sutekh. Not that he’d actually been living there. The cleric relaxed and removed the small satchel he carried at his side, placing it down on the floor in front of him, both that homespun bag and his large book of rituals and prayers as well. Nothing was out of place, nothing at all. A priest going about meditation or prayer, and nothing more. [I]‘I’ve gone to the grand bazaar to purchase some candles and incense appropriate for my evening prayers. I may wander some when I get there, never having had the chance to visit that place before, so don’t expect me back before evening. – Kiro’[/I] The note was succinct and to the point, nothing at all odd about its content, and everything in line with his motivations as a priest. Not that he was one of course. He set the book to the side, the one filled with prayers he didn’t believe in, and pages of illustrations, hymns, liturgical chants, and doctrines with which he was intimately familiar, but nonetheless wholly unfaithful towards. Neither respect nor disrespect intended to the Lord of Ankhwugaht, but the trappings of his faith provided a useful background and ready persona to adopt. Emptied of its contents, the satchel was carefully laid down on the floor atop the book. It had contained only a few paltry things: a mirror, a bit of incense, a few unlabled potions, one of which was a fairly mundane poison, some dried food and a waterskin, and some bundled sheets of parchment. Mundane things to be expected amongst the possessions of a priest, the typical trappings of a true believer. And then there was the box that had been nestled in and amongst those blasé things. The box was a tiny thing, just over the size of a closed fist. It had dozens of seams where different pieces and types of wood had been fused together by a layer of glue or laccquer. It was a jewel box, a curio container, or quite possibly a small reliquary from all indications. But, like its owner, it was anything but what it might have appeared to be. Deftly, Kiro reached out and touched several of the seams of the box in quick sequence. Without a sound the box began to undergo a transformation. One of the wooden panels folded outwards, followed by others, and the box itself began to blossom like a flower of angles and spaces that shouldn’t have existed. Seconds later and the room was empty and Kiro was gone, swallowed up and vanished into the extradimensional spaces hidden within the box. [center]***[/center] All that distance. All those years of uncertainty. All those years in which the spiritual hollow in her soul had been just as much of a void as the silver depths that surrounded her. All of her waking moments ultimately leading her to the Astral in search of the fate of her dead world’s pantheon, and she had never gotten there, derailed and detoured by happenstance and inconvenient conflict. Though it might not be appropriate to call the Erinyes’ actions happenstance. They’d been calculated and measured, tailored to fit the goals of her own infernal master and at least one deity. Skalliska and her companions had simply been a tool in that, and the kobold’s search for faith and substance had simply been a vehicle for those others’, a loose thread to pull upon and tug. But despite that initial deceit, the Erinyes, or perhaps rather her infernal patron, Prince Levistus, had proven loyal to their bargain in the end. But that deceit had still only used the kobold and her companions as tools to Baator’s ends, and never actually given her the answers that she had been looking for in the first place. Still wondering if there had been any truth to the Erinyes’ claims which had first led her and her companions to the Astral in the first place, Skalliska found herself back where she had left off, hovering in the void above the petrified corpse of Maanzicorian. “What the hell?” The kobold muttered to herself as she looked down upon the godisle. They had last left the corpse surrounded by a field of debris and corpses. Shattered stone, rent metal, splintered wood and the dead; Maanzicorian’s gravity well had clung to them tenaciously, leaving the refuse to swirl around it like a cloud. The godisle was scoured clean. Only the broken foundations of the tower remained as any evidence of what they had seen, and what they had put a stop too. The bodies were gone, the broken remnants of the githyanki carracks were gone, and the rubble of the two orbiting towers had vanished without a trace. Someone had removed every last trace of their involvement. Knowing what they knew about the true identity of Siddhartha, there was little doubt as to whom. [center]***[/center] “The mail arrived.” Tristol said, as he sat down at one of the tables in the common room. “Anything interesting?” Florian asked, looking up from her drink. “So long as there’s nothing dripping.” Toras said. “I don’t want to have to walk over to the Market Ward again to threaten that mephit.” Florian chuckled and glanced at the fighter. “How many times now have you had to do that?” She asked. “Two or three times?” “Twice now.” Toras replied. “Next time I may need you as an alibi.” Tristol chuckled. “Nothing from Seamus this time.” “So, anything decent?” Fyrehowl asked, taking a seat at the table next to Nisha. Nisha, for her part, was completely absorbed in chitchat with Amberblue. The tiny faerie dragon was spending his time between the tiefling and nibbling at the food that Clueless had had prepared for him in the kitchen. Already the dragon was regaining his healthy glow, and while Nisha was simply fascinated with the creature, Clueless was both concerned for the dragon’s health, and concerned with the health of everyone else around him: once Amberblue was healthy again, he’d be wishing for things. Wishes in the hands of gleefully whimsical creatures, even well meaning ones, were things to handle with kid gloves, especially when other gleefully whimsical creatures named Nisha were involved. “Some advertisements for alcohol, some thinly veiled extortion attempts from the Sodkillers, and a sealed letter addressed to all of us.” Tristol said, tossing the letters on the table. “Extortion?” Toras asked. “Advertising their services for protection from thieves and criminals.” Tristol said. “Strongly hinting that people who don’t buy their services get hit with more crime.” Florian scoffed. “We can handle ourselves.” She said. “They’re welcome to try.” Toras added. “But what’s the other letter.” “Remember what A’kin said a while back?” Tristol asked. “About auctioning off the next batch of animated dolls that he got?” Florian beamed a smile. “When and where?” Fyrehowl had already opened the envelope with a claw and placed the letter in the center of the table to read. [I] Dear valued customer, patron, and/or friend, You are hereby formally invited to an auction of my latest, more exclusive collectable works. The proceedings will be held at and preceded over by the auction house of Maris and Grimble, security to be provided by the Sodkillers. There will be a full bar and other such amenities provided during the period of the auction. Payment will be made directly to the auction house and no advance purchases will be available do to the limited number of pieces. Time: 7 after peak, four days from the date of this notice. Location: Auction Hall of Maris and Grimble, 1287 Silvertinge Avenue, Guildhall Ward. Sample list of items to be sold (aka the dolls): Noshtoreth of the Umber Scales (w/ Bells of Baphomet) Guildmaster Autochon of the Runner’s Guild (w/ after affects of Bells of Baphomet) Yeenoghu, Demon Lord of Gnolls Jeremo the Natterer, Factol of the Ring Givers (who will be in attendance. Please, please get into a bidding war) Shemeska the Marauder, King of the Crosstrade (w/ mirror) … and others. I look forward to seeing you all in attendance, A’kin[/I] And, handwritten near the bottom of the notice was the following: [I]Please, please, please, do not let the time and location of this slip into the hands of you know who. I swear she makes it her sole purpose in life to be an annoyance to everyone around her and an embarrassment to my entire species. And given the nature of certain things to be auctioned off, unless you want to be there when she barges in and pitches a public fit a dozen times worse than at Jeremo’s last party, you won’t let this worm its way into her ears in any way. Please, for my sake, don’t let her become aware of this. – A’kin[/I] “I am so going to that.” Florian said with a grin. “I think I’ll be joining you.” Fyrehowl said. “…You’re going for that last one, aren’t you?” Toras asked. Two grins were the only reply. “I’ll have to show up too.” Tristol said. “This should be good.” “AAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!!!” A sudden shout of alarm echoed through the inn’s common room, followed shortly after by the sound of a few dropped and broken mugs and dishes. One of the patrons, a middle aged human woman who was a semi-regular customer, had stepped back from her table in apparent and utter shock. “It’s Hashkar!” She said, mouth open wide in shock, hands cradling her cheeks. “It’s bloody Factol Hashkar back from the dead!” A sudden murmur of shock and nervous fear washed over the bar patrons and then subsided just as quickly. They looked around and realized that no, there was no vengeful specter of the former Guvner Factol lurking about in the room come to get a drink, or perhaps just returned from the dead like a revenant of boredom. “It’s Hashkar!” The woman shouted again. “He’s back!” Toras glanced at the woman and then up to the mantle where, speak of the devil, A’kin’s Factol Hashkar doll was sitting in plain view under the clear glass of a bell jar. Obviously the woman had had a bit much to drink, and perhaps the tiny Hashkar figurine had simply confused her. Or something. But in any event she’d reached her cutoff point for liquor. “Ma’am?” Clueless asked from over behind the bar. “That’s just our Factol Hashkar doll. It’s animated you know. Moves around, does stuff, talks if you let it out from under that jar.” She looked over at the half-fey and then over at the tiny doll. “That’s just a doll ma’am.” He continued. “That’s not the actual, real Factol Hashkar.” “Goodness Thanks,” Nisha said with relief. “Death bore to us He’d.” “Not the bloody doll you berk.” The woman said, pointing at the plate on her table. “In me cinnamon bun! It’s blooming Factol Hashkar in me cinnamon bun, staring up at me plain as day!” “Huh?!” Clueless said, stepping away from the bar and looking at the gooey pastry now cupped reverently in the woman’s hands. Sure enough, there was something on the bun. A smudge of cinnamon and a bit of a burn from the oven perhaps, but if you squinted a bit and looked at it from a certain angle, it –did- look something like the dour old dwarf that Hashkar had been. “You see! You see!” The woman shouted. “Hashkar’s back! He’s given us a sign! Factol Hashkar has returned!” Nisha’s tail went limp and there was a soft jingle as the bell at its tip clattered against the floor. Perched on the mantle, looking down at the doll of the bearded dwarf that was Hashkar, Amberblue turned and glanced over at Nisha. Nisha was giving a cockeyed stare at the gleefully shouting woman holding the cinnamon bun like a holy relic. A moment later and the woman, along with her Hashkar in a cinnamon bun, were out the door and gone, with her joyful shouting growing fainter as she ran down the street. “And here we were finally rid of him.” Nisha said. “Hashkar’s come back to haunt us with boredom from beyond the grave.” “Do cinnamon buns haunt people?” The faeriedragon asked with a mix of innocent curiosity and naïve concern. “Yes Amberblue.” Nisha said as sudden smile tinged her features and erased her prior worry. “Yes. Yes they do. But only in a good way.” “…” Toras was still staring out the door where the woman and the Hashkar bun had ran. “…O.K…” Tristol said, also staring at the door. “That was bizarre enough for me for a week or more.” “Hashkar in a cinnamon bun?” Fyrehowl asked, bewildered. “Hashkar in a cinnamon bun.” Nisha replied with a grin. [center]***[/center] Later that evening after last call, after they had shooed all of the remaining customers out of the inn or provided them with a room if they were drunk or too tired to walk the streets, everyone turned in and called it a night. Skalliska was still absent, but she’d given them all notice of where she was going to be, and Kiro had returned from the market ward shortly before the staff had been sent home and the doors locked. It was their first night back in Sigil after returning from Carceri, and as they lay in their beds awaiting sleep and the soft touch of dreams, their minds wandered back to thoughts of the Red Prison and what the future held in store for them. Every time that they had struck a blow against Siddhartha he had struck back at them, and his identity as an Ultroloth did not bode well. Other ‘loths would be involved more assuredly, and his superior, whoever she was, was likely to take action of her own, now that her servant had been killed. Thoughts of reprisal -worries really- were on the minds as the drifted off to an uneasy, wary sleep, and their sleep did not last very long. Four hours after peak: voices drifting up from the street, commotion, and a clatter of activity at the door to the inn… [center]***[/center] [/QUOTE]
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Shemeska's Planescape Storyhour (Updated 29 Jan 2014)
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