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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: 2813327" data-attributes="member: 11697"><p>Fyrehowl’s ears twitched and she sat up in bed.</p><p></p><p> “What the hell?” She whispered as the sounds of activity filtered up from the street and through her window.</p><p></p><p> Outside her room she heard a door in the hallway open and saw light spill out, casting a flood of illumination into her own room from under the doorway. Toras was awake and was waking the others up.</p><p></p><p> Hastily the lupinal donned a robe and grabbed her sword.</p><p></p><p> Peering through the windowpane, there was little that she could see. The angle of the building, combined with the location of the inn’s front door, prevented her from getting a clear look at the source of the noise.</p><p></p><p> Light cast by a continual flame lamp down at street level threw the shadows of at least five figures out onto the street, exaggerated and flickering, dancing across the cobblestones. They were armed, all of them, holding what seemed to be clubs and swords, perhaps rods or wands even, and by their features they were fiends, or at least fiend blooded.</p><p></p><p> More mercenaries. More of the geased assassins that they’d seen before. That was the first thought in Fyrehowl’s mind, and in the minds of her companions as they all made their way as quickly as possible to various exits of the inn, hoping to assault and confront their early morning assailants by surprise.</p><p></p><p> They burst out from two of the windows above the front door, from atop the roof, and on ground level from around the corner alley, weapons drawn and prepared for a fight. They expected more of what the Ultroloth gone Rakshasa had hurled at them before: mercenaries geased and compelled to hunt them down and kill them, death being no boundary to their success.</p><p></p><p> They did not find geased assassins, nor did they find a pack of yugoloths waiting outside their door, they didn’t even find anything all that threatening, unless perhaps you happened to be a member of the Harmonium or the Fraternity of Order.</p><p></p><p> No assassins, nothing of that sort at all.</p><p></p><p> “Hey there!” Nisha shouted as she recognized the pack of figured loitering outside the front of the inn. “Late doing up so whatcha, love your and I work!”</p><p></p><p> Not assassins, unless assassins of good taste counted. Not assassins, but a gaggle of tieflings lugging buckets of paint and holding not swords or wands, but brushes and pallets.</p><p></p><p> Nisha was already standing next to one of the tieflings and giggling, looking first at the front of the inn, and then at the painted carnage that the gang of Xaositects had left in their midnight passage.</p><p></p><p> “Guys!” Nisha said, giggling like a schoolgirl. “Meet The Painter! She’s awesome! I’m such a fan of her work!”</p><p></p><p> “…oh… my… god…” Clueless sputtered as he looked at the graffiti on the front of the Portal Jammer.</p><p></p><p> <a href="http://arcanofox.foxpaws.net/HashkarLives.jpg" target="_blank">HASHKAR LIVES!!!!!!!!!!!!!</a></p><p></p><p> Emblazoned in a dozen garish colors and incorporating a goofy, giant caricature of the late Factol of the Fraternity of Order, recently come back from the grave via cinnamon laced pastries, the refrain of ‘Hashkar Lives!’ was splattered in paint across the front of the inn.</p><p></p><p> “Oh Mystra forbid…” Tristol said while Florian was nearly doubled over with laughter.</p><p></p><p> “It’s Hashkar! Hashkar in me cinnamon bun!” Fyrehowl whispered, giggling to herself.</p><p></p><p> Nisha was by that point babbling incoherently in Xaosspeak with The Painter, and the Painter’s apprentices, or groupies, or whatever they wished to call themselves that day, were already moving down the street and slapping their Hashkar toting refrain on anything they saw fit. Those targets of Xaotic desecration ended up being everything from a lightpost, to a door, to a wall, to very nearly a guard dog sleeping on a doorstep.</p><p></p><p> “A word with you Nisha?” Clueless said, stepping up to the still babbling tiefling and tapping her on the shoulder.</p><p></p><p> “Hmm?” Nisha asked, pausing and then waving goodbye to the retreated form of the Painter. “See you later! Love your stuff! Hashkar lives!”</p><p></p><p> “Nisha?” Clueless prodded again.</p><p></p><p> “Yeah?” Nisha said. “What was it?”</p><p></p><p> “Mind having a little talk with your friends?” The half-fey asked. “Just try and ask them if they’ll not paint all over the Portal Jammer anymore? Or maybe just not do anything like that after antipeak?”</p><p></p><p> “Don’t worry about it.” Nisha replied, looking at the chaos down the street as the roving gang of paint splatterers dashed murals of Hashkar all over the Ward. “Plenty of other places of paint.”</p><p></p><p> “You know them?” Toras asked.</p><p></p><p> “Oh yeah!” Nisha said, walking back towards the inn and looking up at the Hashkar mural.</p><p></p><p> “Big surprise.” Tristol said with a shake of his head and a chuckle.</p><p></p><p> “I like the Painter.” Nisha said. “She’s great!”</p><p></p><p> “Maybe we can get some sleep now?” Florian asked before adding a belated, “… I’ll clean up Hashkar in the morning I suppose.”</p><p></p><p> “Works for me.” Fyrehowl said. “I can deal with Xaositects better than I can deal with ‘loths.”</p><p></p><p> And so they watched as the Xaositects vanished down the street, much relieved that it had simply been the Painter and her ilk, apparently friends of Nisha’s in some way or another, and not retribution from the yugoloths. No doubt that retribution was going to be coming at some point, just not that evening. So with that thought in mind, they yawned and dragged themselves back to bed. Still, they did so with the distinctly perky warning of ‘Like the Kadyx, the pastry dwelling ghost of Hashkar smells of cinnamon before claiming yet another victim! Muahahaha!’ mentioned by Nisha.</p><p></p><p></p><p style="text-align: center">***</p><p></p><p></p><p> Clueless wandered back up to his room, still shaking his head over the whole affair with the Hashkar bun, and now the Painter and her gang of Xaositects deciding to latch onto it for their next public graffiti campaign. It was something alright… but it was late, and he wanted a decent night’s sleep.</p><p></p><p> He drifted off to sleep quite easily but some indeterminate period of time later he shifted in bed and woke as a diffuse, green light lit his bedchamber. He didn’t make any movements as the glow seeped through his closed eyelids, and from what little he could discern from it, the glow was inside his room and not simply something out beyond his window; someone was there.</p><p></p><p> He cracked open his eyes, and looked around the room, already bringing a minor offensive spell to mind that didn’t require either a verbal or somatic component. There wasn’t anything or anyone visible at first glance, just the light, and there wasn’t a sound, save for the typical creak and shudder of wood against stone in the inn’s walls and floors, and the background noise from the streets of Sigil at that early hour.</p><p></p><p> The greenish light was subtle and faint, not enough for most people to see by, but enough to make the room like day for anyone with even a drop of outsider blood, or in his case, fey blood.</p><p></p><p> But if there wasn’t anyone in the room that he could see, they might be up above him, or behind him. Clueless’s eyes drifted towards the mirror on the wall, hoping to catch the intruder in reflection.</p><p></p><p> There was someone standing behind him.</p><p></p><p> His eyes locked on the looming figure captured by the mirror and without a sound it looked back at him, slowly tipping the corner of its wide brimmed hat at him and smiling like a vampire just invited over the threshold.</p><p></p><p> “Despite your thoughts, I don’t require any sort of invitation nor permission.” The Jester said. “I’ve always been here in a manner of speaking.”</p><p></p><p> The man tapped a finger to the side of Clueless’s head in the reflection, though the bladesinger didn’t feel the touch itself.</p><p></p><p> “It’s getting a bit crowded up in my head I think.” Clueless said, glancing back ever so briefly.</p><p></p><p> There was nothing in the room behind him. The Jester was only present in the reflection within the mirror.</p><p></p><p> “Perhaps more so than you think.” The Jester said sardonically. “Suffice it to say that your involvement with the yugoloths has sparked my interest.”</p><p></p><p> “I was half expecting you to be one of them.” Clueless said. “They have a tendency to try and kill us in the middle of the night. And you showed up to talk with me the last time they did.”</p><p></p><p> “If they’re planning something similar once I’m gone, I’m not aware of it.” The Jester said. “And there’s little that I’m not.”</p><p></p><p> “How so?” Clueless asked.</p><p></p><p> The man reflected in the mirror simply smiled and gave no further explanation.</p><p></p><p> “I don’t care for the yugoloths either.” The Jester continued. “But the exact reasons why, are for the moment my own concern. I normally wouldn’t care one way or the other, but their presence on the Astral raises my interest.”</p><p></p><p> He paused and raised a finger.</p><p></p><p> “Especially when they take so obvious extremes to remain unlinked to their actions.”</p><p></p><p> Clueless nodded and glanced down at his ankle.</p><p></p><p> “A Rakshasa of all things.” The Jester said with some mirth.</p><p></p><p> “So, what is it…” Clueless began before stopping and rephrasing. “What are you going to use me for while you’re up there?”</p><p></p><p> ‘What is it you want?’ The phrase had far too heavy of an unpleasant connotation and history for the bladesinger to feel comfortable using it. Honestly, it made his skin crawl.</p><p></p><p> “I simply wish to observe.” The Jester said. “You’ve sparked my interest twice now, and my time away from the multiverse has left me woefully curious now that I’ve stirred from slumber.”</p><p></p><p> “And yes, the gem inset within your ankle is also something that sparked my interest.” The Jester added. “My knowledge of the Oinoloth has increased considerably due to your own activities on various planes. He created that gem of yours, and it is impressive to say the least. I give him credit for it most certainly.”</p><p></p><p> The figure in the mirror turned to leave, the long hem of his heavy cape catching the air and visibly blowing at the half-fey’s hair in the reflection, but not in real life.</p><p></p><p> Clueless inhaled and felt his pulse heavy in his chest as the Jester’s image in the mirror was leaving. Gauging himself to finally speak up with something of substance that wasn’t simply an answer, or reactive to something already in discussion, he called out to the man in the mirror, causing him to stop.</p><p></p><p> “So you just want to observe things through me?” Clueless asked. “I don’t have a choice in this matter do I?”</p><p></p><p> The Jester’s smirk answered the question without words</p><p></p><p> “Now as I said before.” The Jester said, his reflection turning back more fully to smile. “There’s no need for this to be unpleasant, and in the end if might even have some benefit to you as well.”</p><p></p><p> “Who are you?” Clueless asked.</p><p></p><p> “Someone long vanished from Sigil.” He answered. “You’ve seen my Palace. You’ve seen the maze. You’ve had a taste of who I am more so than most I knew so very long ago when I still numbered among the Lords of Gold; Golden Lords to go with the term used now. In time you will learn more as you ask, or as you are shown.”</p><p></p><p> “But now, for the moment.” He continued. “I’ve said what I wished to say, and the terms of this arrangement seem firmly understood.”</p><p></p><p> The mirror rippled like water under which something had just swum, and when the ripples had passed, the reflection had returned to normal. Gone were any lingering traces of the Jester, but still, Clueless felt cold and more than slightly awed. And while he felt nothing different about himself, glancing down at the gem in his ankle, remembering that experience, he knew that he was certainly not alone.</p><p></p><p></p><p style="text-align: center">***</p><p></p><p></p><p> Maanzicorian’s godisle was left long behind in both distance and thought as Skalliska’s eyes narrowed and she gazed down upon a cluster of rocky islands floating alone and unlamented in the vastness of the Astral.</p><p></p><p> They were recent, pristine by comparison to the rough, pitted nature of many of the Astral’s honored dead. Skalliska had left her world only twenty years earlier, but the slip into twilight by her people’s pantheon had happened centuries earlier. During her youth, the kobold had known of those gods in stories, but the tenets of that faith had long before passed into obscurity and obsolescence. Those gods had no clerics among her people, though rumors claimed that other communities elsewhere in the tunnels of that world’s underdark still held their appointed servants who continued to spread the words of the dying, clawing their way back from nonexistence to save their people.</p><p></p><p> Legends, while grounded in a nugget of truth like a tiny grain of sand about which a pearl accretes, they were all surrounded and built upon by so terribly much more than that original bit of fact. Those legends of her youth she realized, gazing down at the cluster of islands, the forgotten, petrified faith of an entire people… those legends had been far too optimistic.</p><p></p><p> “They’re all gone.” She whispered, mentally counting the godisles, cataloging each of them with a name from her memories.</p><p></p><p> Mezenthet, the deity of knowledge and history, her divine, petrified form was curled into a fetal position as it loomed largest below Skalliska. A quarter mile distant, the body of Yuradnash, the deity of hunting and fertility drifted silently. Protrelev, the god of sorcery and warfare, was there as well, partially obscured by the godisle of Zwarelt, the demideity of community and healing. Two other, lesser divinities, cluttered the astral as well, and as she watched them tumble in the void, a tear welled in Skalliska’s right eye.</p><p></p><p> “Wait…” She said, flicking the tear away with a claw. “That’s only seven.”</p><p></p><p> There had been nine in the original legends, nine members of their homeworld’s kobold pantheon that had stood distinct and separate from the Kertulmak worshippers that seemed to plague the rest of the prime material.</p><p></p><p> “There were nine.” Skalliska whispered.</p><p></p><p> And indeed there had originally been nine in the legends of her youth.</p><p></p><p> There were only seven floating forgotten and dead in the Astral.</p><p></p><p> Raznorel, the deity of magic and deception, and his twin brother, Saravtesh, the deity of shadows and illusions.</p><p></p><p> Skalliska mentally tallied the dead gods once more, to the same result.</p><p></p><p> Those two were not present in the Astral, not buried in the graveyard of belief, not consigned to the same fate as the remainder of their pantheon. And, gazing down in contemplation on the empty spaces that those two should have occupied, the hollows like icons, Skalliska smiled, closed her eyes, and whispered a prayer.</p><p></p><p></p><p style="text-align: center">***</p><p></p><p></p><p> A’kin looked out at the crowd and smiled, waving briefly as he reviewed the faces of the clients who had shown up for the auction, or for the agents that they had sent in their stead. It was a rather large turnout, and for the moment it didn’t appear as if anyone… or a specific someone… had crashed the event.</p><p></p><p> The auction house had done a very nice job at setting the place up to handle the types of people that he’d invited: everyone from golden lords to a cobbler who had a workshop down the street from the Friendly Fiend. All of them were of course people who had purchased one of the dolls from him before, or who had expressed interest in them, or who had dolls of themselves up for auction that evening.</p><p></p><p> “I figure I’ll give you all first shot at buying yourselves.” The ‘loth said with a chuckle as he gazed out at the crowd. “Or at least some of you can have that chance. Not so much for others of you.”</p><p></p><p> ‘Thankfully, she hasn’t shown up yet.’ A’kin thought to himself before rapping his left hand on the wood of his chair.</p><p></p><p> With that ever so pleasant thought in his mind, he gazed out over the crowd again, making eye contact with various ones of them, and returning a few smiles or waves. The owners of the Portal Jammer were making their way to their seats by that point. He hadn’t seen them walk in, probably when he was chattering with that Erinyes and that one Athar cleric that she’d fallen for.</p><p></p><p> <em>Good to see you all here.</em> A’kin projected to Florian, Fyrehowl, Tristol and Clueless.</p><p></p><p> Fyrehowl glanced up to the stage where the ‘loth sat and gave a smile while Florian waved gleefully.</p><p></p><p> Oddly enough the cleric, Florian, the cleric of all people, seemed to like him the most. The multiverse was odd sometimes, even for his taste, but at least it was amusing. And that thought temporarily drove out any worries of uninvited guests from his head as the last members of the crowd took their seats and settled themselves as the auction began. </p><p></p><p> A well-dressed aasimar of obvious elven or eladrin descent, possibly both, stepped up to the wooden sales podium and rapped a gavel to gather the crowd’s attention. He leaned over smiling and whispered something to A’kin. The friendly fiend replied and they both chuckled before A’kin motioned with his hands for the planetouched auctioneer to go on with the proceedings.</p><p></p><p> “Good afternoon to you all, honored guests, friends, and distinguished clients.” He said in a smooth, well-cultured voice. “On behalf of Maris & Grimble, allow me to state several rules of the auction. First, this is not a silent auction. If you don’t speak up either verbally, or telepathically addressed to myself, you will not be counted as having made a bid on a specific item as I present it for bidding. Secondly, refrain for violence or personal insults against other bidders.”</p><p></p><p> A’kin’s eyes drifted across the room to settle onto the soft smile on the face of Noshtoreth of the Umber Scales, high priest of the Temple of the Abyss. A’kin returned the smile.</p><p></p><p> <em>Play nice</em> He whispered into the cambion’s mind.</p><p></p><p> <em>You’re the one selling the Autochon doll.</em> Noshtoreth replied with a knowing chuckle.</p><p></p><p> A’kin gave a soft shrug and went back to listening to the auctioneer.</p><p></p><p> “The first item up for auction this evening will be one not announced on the advance list: an animated Lissandra the Gate Seeker, guildmistress of the Doorsnoop Guild.”</p><p></p><p> The aasimar took a slim black cloth off from over the doll, displaying it to the crowd.</p><p></p><p> “Bidding will begin at five hundred jink.”</p><p></p><p> Florian looked over at Fyrehowl, Tristol, and Clueless.</p><p></p><p> “This is going to get expensive.” The cleric said. “But I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.”</p><p></p><p> “I have one thousand from Lissandra the Gate Seeker!” The auctioneer called out. “Do I have fifteen hundred?”</p><p></p><p> “Save your money up for one that you’re really interested in.” Fyrehowl said.</p><p></p><p> “Let some of these folks blow their budgets before we start bidding on some of them.” Clueless added. “I’m waiting on the b*tch in the razorvine headdress…”</p><p></p><p> The bidding meanwhile continued.</p><p></p><p> “Any that you’re really interested in otherwise?” Tristol asked.</p><p></p><p> “I’m not really sure.” Florian said with a shrug. “Jeremo maybe.”</p><p></p><p> “Jeremo is actually here.” Fyrehowl said, twitching an ear over towards the Factol who was presently smiling like a fool and tapping his feet against the back of the chair of one of Noshtoreth’s attendant priests.</p><p></p><p> “Jeremo has more money than Tempus.” Clueless added.</p><p></p><p> “Alright,” Florian said. “So that one’s a pipe dream. But we’ll see what gets offered.”</p><p></p><p> “Sold! To Lissandra the Gate Seeker for fifteen thousand eight hundred and twenty four jink, and two copper pieces.” The auctioneer shouted, punctuated by a slam of his gavel on the lectern.</p><p></p><p> A’kin was beaming as the wizardress stepped up to him and accepted the tiny, stuffed version of herself.</p><p></p><p> “It’ll take far more drinks in me for you to explore –that- portal!” The tiny doll giggled as Lissandra stuffed it in a bag of holding.</p><p></p><p> A’kin gave a grin and a soft, embarrassed chuckle as the guildmistress gave him a disapproving look. The doll hadn’t been overheard by the crowd, but still.</p><p></p><p> “I wasn’t that drunk at the time A’kin.” She whispered to him harshly. “And that was nearly ten years ago. Did he put you up to…”</p><p></p><p> “Enjoy your purchase Lissandra.” The ‘loth said. “It’s a limited edition, so there won’t be any others. And I’ll be having a chat with the supplier most certainly.”</p><p></p><p> “Supplier…” Lissandra said with a smirk. “Riiiiight…”</p><p></p><p> “Next up we have…” The auctioneer began as Lissandra stepped away towards the exit.</p><p></p><p> “I got off light didn’t I?” Lissandra asked, turning back towards A’kin momentarily. “Your sense of humor is sitting around latent in all of these isn’t it?”</p><p></p><p> For his part, A’kin just gave an innocent looking shrug.</p><p></p><p> What followed next was a quick set of auctions of a doll patterned after the Mercykiller Wyrm, and another resembling an executioner’s raven. One was purchased by a member of the Sodkillers and the other by a member of the Society of the Luminiferous Aether whose familiar was, sure enough, an executioner’s raven.</p><p></p><p> The aasimar handed them their purchases and unveiled the next doll: Jeremo the Natterer, already babbling softly as soon as it saw the crowd. There were several giggles from the crowd in response, including from Jeremo himself who apparently was able to take the lampooning in good humor.</p><p></p><p> “Next up we have Jeremo the Natterer. Bidding will begin at…”</p><p></p><p> “Five hundred thousand jink!” Jeremo called out with a laugh.</p><p></p><p> The crowd went silent for a moment and Jeremo propped his feet up on the back of the chair in front of himself and leaned back with his hands behind his head.</p><p></p><p> “And I’ll match any other serious bid.” The Ring Giver factol called out with glee just before waving at A’kin.</p><p></p><p> One of Zadara the Titan’s sword archon servants, and Estavan of the Planar Trade Consortium were both turned around, staring at Jeremo. Estevan was shaking his head and laughing politely. Zadara’s servant sighed and waved a wingtip in defeat.</p><p></p><p> “Sold! To Jeremo the Lady’s Jester for five hundred thousand jink!”</p><p></p><p> Jeremo quite literally had a skip in his step as he walked up to A’kin and bowed before accepting the miniature representation of himself. It, like him, was wearing a battered, tarnished crown just off kilter on its head, on top of a mop of haphazardly kept blond hair.</p><p></p><p> Jeremo shared some private joke with the ‘loth, a joke which his doll chipped in on, before he shook A’kin’s hand and walked back to his seat with a grin across his face.</p><p></p><p> The next auction that followed was for the doll of Autochon the Bellringer. The figure was dressed up in the full plate armor that Autochon himself was wont to wear, and the doll could be heard complaining about how hot it was, or how heavy it was, or even clutching its head and lamenting ‘The Bells! The Bells! Arrrggghhh!’.</p><p></p><p> Out in the audience, Autochon himself was not amused, though beneath the visor of his dull gray platemail, his expression could not be seen. He trembled slightly in anger though when one of Noshtoreth’s tiefling underpriests snickered.</p><p></p><p> What followed was a bidding war between Autochon and Noshtoreth, though probably the High Priest of the Temple of the Abyss was more concerned with spiting the Guildmaster of the Runner’s Guild and driving up the price than he was in actually owning the doll.</p><p></p><p> The doll eventually sold for nearly ninety five thousand jink to Autochon, after which the armor-clad man glared back at the cambion all the while as one of his runners retrieved the doll. Noshtoreth gave a slim smile back at the Bellringer, the same man whom he had cursed years before for sleeping with one of his functionaries.</p><p></p><p> All the while A’kin switched his gaze between the two men with a nervous smile on his face, seemingly very wary of having the two publicly antagonize one another, and even more wary of letting his own attention on them lead to others noticing the situation and possibly making it worse. Much to the ‘loth’s relief though, the two men stopped short of any actual argument, settling for periodic glares at one another.</p><p></p><p>And then the tables were reversed, with perhaps an intentionally planned event, or a very unfortunate quirk of scheduling, though to his credit, A’kin seemed to wince as the next doll was unveiled. That next doll set upon the auction podium was a tiny representation of Noshtoreth himself standing next to a tiny set of tinkling bells, each emblazoned with the symbol of the Abyss and the symbol of the Abyssal Lord Baphomet.</p><p></p><p> “Seventy five thousand!” Autochon called out, before the doll’s identity had even been announced.</p><p></p><p> “Fifty thousand!” Noshtoreth shouted at virtually the same time, followed by a hard stare in the guildmaster’s direction.</p><p></p><p> Up on the stage, A’kin twiddled his thumbs awkwardly as the auctioneer held up his hands.</p><p></p><p> “Yes yes,” the Auctioneer called out. “The bidding is now at seventy five thousand jink for the representation of Noshtoreth of the Umber Scales, High Priest of the Temple of the Abyss, complete with miniature Bells of Baphomet.”</p><p></p><p> “Eighty five!” Noshtoreth countered.</p><p></p><p> “One hundred!” Autochon quickly retorted, breaking the amount that the cambion had pushed his own namesake doll up to.</p><p></p><p> Noshtoreth paused and sneered at the man under the armor, and perhaps something telepathic passed from his mind and into the guildmaster’s, because he soon gave a higher bid and it was not challenged. An alu-fiend shortly thereafter approached the stage and accepted the doll for the sum of one hundred and ten thousand jink. Once she had returned with the purchase, Noshtoreth and his retinue then excused themselves and quietly left.</p><p></p><p> A’kin seemed almost happy to see them go, given that they were among the most likely to commit violence over a dispute. And, all said, that was probably for the best, as the very next doll to be slated for the auction block was none other than Yeenoghu, the Demon Lord of Gnolls.</p><p></p><p> The first bid was placed by Estevan the Ogre Mage, perhaps out of whimsy, perhaps out of simply wanting to collect one of the collectable items, and perhaps out of intent to sell it to Noshtoreth or someone else in the Temple at a later date. But regardless, the bid was at twenty thousand, a respectable sum but not too terribly high.</p><p></p><p> “I think I might go for this one.” Florian whispered to the others. “It’s cute and it’s not too terribly high priced.”</p><p></p><p> “How is it cute?” Fyrehowl asked. “You can’t even see it.”</p><p></p><p> And indeed, it hadn’t exactly been properly displayed as it was still inside a box that was padlocked and periodically rattled like an animal railing at the bars of a zoo cage.</p><p></p><p> “You can hear the little hyena giggle from inside in between the snarls and the curses in Abyssal.” Florian explained. “Thus, he’s cute.”</p><p></p><p> “And you’d be bidding against people with more money than you.” Clueless said.</p><p></p><p> Up on the stage, the box rattled some more and the hyena headed prince of gnolls gave that ever so distinctive cackle once more.</p><p></p><p> “He’s a little feisty.” A’kin said in explanation. “So handle with care, whoever ends up buying the little fellow.”</p><p></p><p> “Twenty five!” Florian called out.</p><p></p><p> “Thirty!” Another bidder shouted.</p><p></p><p> “Thirty one!” Shouted Bryn Ohm from somewhere in the back to some sighs and grumbles.</p><p></p><p> “Cheapskate…” Was muttered from somewhere in the middle of the crowd, though Ohm didn’t seem to notice it, or care if he had. The bariuar was guildmaster of the Innkeeper’s Fellowship, and he was notoriously cheap to the point of being considered a miser.</p><p></p><p> “Thirty two!” Florian shouted.</p><p></p><p> “Thirty five!” Ohm called out again.</p><p></p><p> A’kin motioned over the auctioneer and whispered something to him.</p><p></p><p> “I’ve been instructed,” The aasimar said, clearing his throat. “To inform the audience that the next doll up for auction is one of Mr. Ohm himself, so please keep that in mind while bidding.”</p><p></p><p> “I retract my bid!” Ohm called out to a chorus of snickers.</p><p></p><p> “Retractions of bids are not allowed under the rules of the auction house I’m sorry to inform.” The auctioneer added while scanning the crowd for further bids.</p><p></p><p> “Thirty six!” Florian called out as somewhere in the back of the room, the bariuar stomped a hoof.</p><p></p><p> A minute later Florian was walking back to her seat with the box containing the snarling, giggling Yeenoghu doll. Ohm was sulking and glaring at her the whole time of course, and it didn’t help any when on the very next item for auction, the doll of himself, he was woefully outbid by a member of the Entertainer’s Guild.</p><p></p><p> Thankfully though, there were only glares, not words, and no hint of violence, much to the possible lament of the Sodkillers standing at the back exits.</p><p></p><p> Over the next hour several more dolls came up and were sold off, though one or two of them ended up sparking a bidding war between two or even three people. Of them, a tiny doll modeled after Estavan of the Planar Trade Consortium ended up sparking one of those bidding wars when Estavan himself and proxy bidders for Zadara and two other Sigilian golden lords began tossing money around like it was nothing to them. Through it all, Jeremo the Natterer just sat and played with the doll of himself that he’d purchased, even going so far as to debate with ‘himself’ if he should suddenly swoop down and purchase it himself, even for the ridiculous sum of money that it was quickly rising to.</p><p></p><p> “Sold! For three hundred seventy two thousand to Estavan.” The auctioneer shouted, putting an end to the bidding, promptly handing the doll over to an at once very triumphant and very sullen ogre mage.</p><p></p><p> “I hadn’t intended to pay that much for myself.” Estavan commented to A’kin as he took the doll. “You’re worse than your counterpart. I can at least feel justified in hating her when she makes me pay for something, except now with you, here you are selling me something I don’t even need and you’re smiling the whole time.”</p><p></p><p> “Do enjoy it?” A’kin suggested with mild bewilderment. “I hope?”</p><p></p><p> “I’ve got you figured out ‘loth!” Estavan chided, waving an index finger at the fiend. “You’ve got a racket going on here and I can respect that. And I am enjoying myself, even if I’m spending far too much in the process. So yes, keep on smiling ‘loth, you’ve earned it I suppose.”</p><p></p><p> The ogre mage chuckled and tapped A’kin on the shoulder before walking back to his seat in the audience, though before the next item was unveiled he did shake a finger in mock accusation at the fiend one further time.</p><p></p><p> “Is anyone but me still wondering about what the hell is up with A’kin?” Clueless asked.</p><p></p><p> “Beats the hell out of me.” Florian answered. “I’m not sure I’d call him good. But I’m not sure I’d call him evil either.”</p><p></p><p> “A’kin is A’kin.” Fyrehowl said with a shrug.</p><p></p><p> But as they discussed the possibility of A’kin as a redeemed fiend, or perhaps simply a nice guy with a bad family history, the ‘loth was twiddling his thumbs again. He seemed incredibly nervous, though more out of apprehension, be it giddy or worrisome, than anything else.</p><p></p><p> “What’s got A’kin so jittery?” Fyrehowl asked.</p><p></p><p> “The reason why I’m here.” Florian answered.</p><p></p><p> “Me too.” Clueless added. “You place the bet, I’ll pitch in as needed.”</p><p></p><p> “The Marauder doll…” Tristol whispered as the cloth was taken off of the tiny doll dressed in its trademark gown of minute, green glass beads, admiring itself in a large mirror, with a coil of razorvine perched between its ears.</p><p></p><p> “Our next doll is of the King of the Crosstrade.” The announcer stated.</p><p></p><p> There was some nervous chatter across the crowd and a few people glanced at the exits, seemingly waiting for the doll’s namesake to come bursting in through one of the doors. But, much to their collective relief, she didn’t.</p><p></p><p> “Bidding will begin at twenty five thousand jink.”</p><p></p><p> “And you better not pay in silver!” The doll shouted out afterwards. “Like holy water in my wine, or small mortal children calling me ‘puppy lady’, that joke got old about eight thousand years ago!”</p><p></p><p> “Twenty five thousand!” Came a near simultaneous shout from Clueless, Florian and Fyrehowl.</p><p></p><p> Tristol was glancing at the exits and slinking down a few inches in his chair.</p><p></p><p> “I pissed her off last time.” The mage muttered. “I’m not going for a second try.”</p><p></p><p> “…tempting as it is…” He added a moment later with a guilty grin. “Count me in for money.”</p><p></p><p> There was a calm hush across the crowd like prospective bidders were still worried that the moment they placed a bid that a well dressed banshee of a yugoloth would swoop down on them in a whirlwind of socially elegant malice. That alone was keeping bidders away from the doll. It was a weird situation since the doll that many of them wanted the most was also the one that most of them worried the most about having in their possession.</p><p> “Fifty thousand!” Came a tentative bid from Annali Webspinner of the Entertainer’s Guild.</p><p></p><p> “Sixty. Just to say I did!” Came a whimsical shout from Jeremo, followed shortly thereafter by a shrug and a chuckle.</p><p></p><p> “Seventy!” Florian countered.</p><p></p><p> “Seventy five!” Shouted one of Zadara’s sword archons.</p><p></p><p> “One hundred thousand!”</p><p></p><p> “One hundred fifteen!”</p><p></p><p> “One forty five!”</p><p></p><p> The bidding was starting to get obscene as some of the wealthier people with little to fear from the King of the Crosstrade were getting into the mix.</p><p></p><p> “Think we can spend money that isn’t ours to spend?” Florian whispered to the others.</p><p></p><p> “I think that Nisha wouldn’t mind pitching in.” Tristol said.</p><p></p><p> “And I –know- that Toras would approve.” Fyrehowl said.</p><p></p><p> “Go ahead then.” Clueless prompted. “Bump it up again. We might get lucky and people might not be willing to piss off the b*tch, and plus they’ve already bid on other things earlier on.”</p><p></p><p> “Alright…” Florian said before raising her hand. “Two hundred thousand!”</p><p></p><p> She paused and glanced over towards a few of the other bidders.</p><p></p><p> “Two hundred thousand and the spare change in my pockets!” She shouted emphatically.</p><p></p><p> Off to one side, Jeremo was giggling profusely, or his doll was, it was hard to tell at times. Opposite him, Estavan was grinning and moving his hands in a show of defeat.</p><p></p><p> “Once. Twice. Sold to Florian of Tempus!” The aasimar pronounced.</p><p></p><p> “Better you than me.” Muttered a proxy bidder for Wi Ming Lee as Florian walked up to claim the doll.</p><p></p><p> A few steps further and there was a hand in her side as Estavan stopped her.</p><p></p><p> “Just a moment of your time.” The ogre mage said softly. “And don’t take offense at my own bidding on it, please do enjoy it. I only ask that if Shemeska finds out about the little bauble and pitches a fit in the middle of your establishment that a transcript of the events finds its way into my hands.”</p><p></p><p> “Don’t worry.” Florian said, moving the golden lord’s hand out of the way and walking up to take the doll from A’kin’s hands.</p><p></p><p> The ‘loth seemed a tad guilty.</p><p></p><p> “Don’t blame me for anything that happens.” He said, an ear twitching nervously. “And I feel bad about taking so much jink for it too.”</p><p></p><p> “Tell me I’m pretty! Now!” The Marauder doll demanded in an off pitch, shrill voice, stomping one of its slippered feet on the tabletop where A’kin had placed it and its mirror.</p><p></p><p> “It’s not pretentious when you really ARE the best!” The doll continued before turning and seemingly admiring its own backside in the mirror.</p><p></p><p> “Wow.” Florian said, looking down. “I’d swear that you’d just shrunk her and tried to pawn her off as is.”</p><p></p><p> A’kin tried to hide a smile.</p><p></p><p> “You might want to wrap that up before you go home tonight.” He said.</p><p></p><p> “And it better be the best wrapping money can buy!” The doll demanded. “Only the best for me or heads will roll!”</p><p></p><p> Florian flashed a triumphant smile as she imagined just what the actual King of the Crosstrade’s reaction might be. Of course, all things said, she wasn’t going to have to wait very long.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Shemeska, post: 2813327, member: 11697"] Fyrehowl’s ears twitched and she sat up in bed. “What the hell?” She whispered as the sounds of activity filtered up from the street and through her window. Outside her room she heard a door in the hallway open and saw light spill out, casting a flood of illumination into her own room from under the doorway. Toras was awake and was waking the others up. Hastily the lupinal donned a robe and grabbed her sword. Peering through the windowpane, there was little that she could see. The angle of the building, combined with the location of the inn’s front door, prevented her from getting a clear look at the source of the noise. Light cast by a continual flame lamp down at street level threw the shadows of at least five figures out onto the street, exaggerated and flickering, dancing across the cobblestones. They were armed, all of them, holding what seemed to be clubs and swords, perhaps rods or wands even, and by their features they were fiends, or at least fiend blooded. More mercenaries. More of the geased assassins that they’d seen before. That was the first thought in Fyrehowl’s mind, and in the minds of her companions as they all made their way as quickly as possible to various exits of the inn, hoping to assault and confront their early morning assailants by surprise. They burst out from two of the windows above the front door, from atop the roof, and on ground level from around the corner alley, weapons drawn and prepared for a fight. They expected more of what the Ultroloth gone Rakshasa had hurled at them before: mercenaries geased and compelled to hunt them down and kill them, death being no boundary to their success. They did not find geased assassins, nor did they find a pack of yugoloths waiting outside their door, they didn’t even find anything all that threatening, unless perhaps you happened to be a member of the Harmonium or the Fraternity of Order. No assassins, nothing of that sort at all. “Hey there!” Nisha shouted as she recognized the pack of figured loitering outside the front of the inn. “Late doing up so whatcha, love your and I work!” Not assassins, unless assassins of good taste counted. Not assassins, but a gaggle of tieflings lugging buckets of paint and holding not swords or wands, but brushes and pallets. Nisha was already standing next to one of the tieflings and giggling, looking first at the front of the inn, and then at the painted carnage that the gang of Xaositects had left in their midnight passage. “Guys!” Nisha said, giggling like a schoolgirl. “Meet The Painter! She’s awesome! I’m such a fan of her work!” “…oh… my… god…” Clueless sputtered as he looked at the graffiti on the front of the Portal Jammer. [url= http://arcanofox.foxpaws.net/HashkarLives.jpg]HASHKAR LIVES!!!!!!!!!!!!![/url] Emblazoned in a dozen garish colors and incorporating a goofy, giant caricature of the late Factol of the Fraternity of Order, recently come back from the grave via cinnamon laced pastries, the refrain of ‘Hashkar Lives!’ was splattered in paint across the front of the inn. “Oh Mystra forbid…” Tristol said while Florian was nearly doubled over with laughter. “It’s Hashkar! Hashkar in me cinnamon bun!” Fyrehowl whispered, giggling to herself. Nisha was by that point babbling incoherently in Xaosspeak with The Painter, and the Painter’s apprentices, or groupies, or whatever they wished to call themselves that day, were already moving down the street and slapping their Hashkar toting refrain on anything they saw fit. Those targets of Xaotic desecration ended up being everything from a lightpost, to a door, to a wall, to very nearly a guard dog sleeping on a doorstep. “A word with you Nisha?” Clueless said, stepping up to the still babbling tiefling and tapping her on the shoulder. “Hmm?” Nisha asked, pausing and then waving goodbye to the retreated form of the Painter. “See you later! Love your stuff! Hashkar lives!” “Nisha?” Clueless prodded again. “Yeah?” Nisha said. “What was it?” “Mind having a little talk with your friends?” The half-fey asked. “Just try and ask them if they’ll not paint all over the Portal Jammer anymore? Or maybe just not do anything like that after antipeak?” “Don’t worry about it.” Nisha replied, looking at the chaos down the street as the roving gang of paint splatterers dashed murals of Hashkar all over the Ward. “Plenty of other places of paint.” “You know them?” Toras asked. “Oh yeah!” Nisha said, walking back towards the inn and looking up at the Hashkar mural. “Big surprise.” Tristol said with a shake of his head and a chuckle. “I like the Painter.” Nisha said. “She’s great!” “Maybe we can get some sleep now?” Florian asked before adding a belated, “… I’ll clean up Hashkar in the morning I suppose.” “Works for me.” Fyrehowl said. “I can deal with Xaositects better than I can deal with ‘loths.” And so they watched as the Xaositects vanished down the street, much relieved that it had simply been the Painter and her ilk, apparently friends of Nisha’s in some way or another, and not retribution from the yugoloths. No doubt that retribution was going to be coming at some point, just not that evening. So with that thought in mind, they yawned and dragged themselves back to bed. Still, they did so with the distinctly perky warning of ‘Like the Kadyx, the pastry dwelling ghost of Hashkar smells of cinnamon before claiming yet another victim! Muahahaha!’ mentioned by Nisha. [center]***[/center] Clueless wandered back up to his room, still shaking his head over the whole affair with the Hashkar bun, and now the Painter and her gang of Xaositects deciding to latch onto it for their next public graffiti campaign. It was something alright… but it was late, and he wanted a decent night’s sleep. He drifted off to sleep quite easily but some indeterminate period of time later he shifted in bed and woke as a diffuse, green light lit his bedchamber. He didn’t make any movements as the glow seeped through his closed eyelids, and from what little he could discern from it, the glow was inside his room and not simply something out beyond his window; someone was there. He cracked open his eyes, and looked around the room, already bringing a minor offensive spell to mind that didn’t require either a verbal or somatic component. There wasn’t anything or anyone visible at first glance, just the light, and there wasn’t a sound, save for the typical creak and shudder of wood against stone in the inn’s walls and floors, and the background noise from the streets of Sigil at that early hour. The greenish light was subtle and faint, not enough for most people to see by, but enough to make the room like day for anyone with even a drop of outsider blood, or in his case, fey blood. But if there wasn’t anyone in the room that he could see, they might be up above him, or behind him. Clueless’s eyes drifted towards the mirror on the wall, hoping to catch the intruder in reflection. There was someone standing behind him. His eyes locked on the looming figure captured by the mirror and without a sound it looked back at him, slowly tipping the corner of its wide brimmed hat at him and smiling like a vampire just invited over the threshold. “Despite your thoughts, I don’t require any sort of invitation nor permission.” The Jester said. “I’ve always been here in a manner of speaking.” The man tapped a finger to the side of Clueless’s head in the reflection, though the bladesinger didn’t feel the touch itself. “It’s getting a bit crowded up in my head I think.” Clueless said, glancing back ever so briefly. There was nothing in the room behind him. The Jester was only present in the reflection within the mirror. “Perhaps more so than you think.” The Jester said sardonically. “Suffice it to say that your involvement with the yugoloths has sparked my interest.” “I was half expecting you to be one of them.” Clueless said. “They have a tendency to try and kill us in the middle of the night. And you showed up to talk with me the last time they did.” “If they’re planning something similar once I’m gone, I’m not aware of it.” The Jester said. “And there’s little that I’m not.” “How so?” Clueless asked. The man reflected in the mirror simply smiled and gave no further explanation. “I don’t care for the yugoloths either.” The Jester continued. “But the exact reasons why, are for the moment my own concern. I normally wouldn’t care one way or the other, but their presence on the Astral raises my interest.” He paused and raised a finger. “Especially when they take so obvious extremes to remain unlinked to their actions.” Clueless nodded and glanced down at his ankle. “A Rakshasa of all things.” The Jester said with some mirth. “So, what is it…” Clueless began before stopping and rephrasing. “What are you going to use me for while you’re up there?” ‘What is it you want?’ The phrase had far too heavy of an unpleasant connotation and history for the bladesinger to feel comfortable using it. Honestly, it made his skin crawl. “I simply wish to observe.” The Jester said. “You’ve sparked my interest twice now, and my time away from the multiverse has left me woefully curious now that I’ve stirred from slumber.” “And yes, the gem inset within your ankle is also something that sparked my interest.” The Jester added. “My knowledge of the Oinoloth has increased considerably due to your own activities on various planes. He created that gem of yours, and it is impressive to say the least. I give him credit for it most certainly.” The figure in the mirror turned to leave, the long hem of his heavy cape catching the air and visibly blowing at the half-fey’s hair in the reflection, but not in real life. Clueless inhaled and felt his pulse heavy in his chest as the Jester’s image in the mirror was leaving. Gauging himself to finally speak up with something of substance that wasn’t simply an answer, or reactive to something already in discussion, he called out to the man in the mirror, causing him to stop. “So you just want to observe things through me?” Clueless asked. “I don’t have a choice in this matter do I?” The Jester’s smirk answered the question without words “Now as I said before.” The Jester said, his reflection turning back more fully to smile. “There’s no need for this to be unpleasant, and in the end if might even have some benefit to you as well.” “Who are you?” Clueless asked. “Someone long vanished from Sigil.” He answered. “You’ve seen my Palace. You’ve seen the maze. You’ve had a taste of who I am more so than most I knew so very long ago when I still numbered among the Lords of Gold; Golden Lords to go with the term used now. In time you will learn more as you ask, or as you are shown.” “But now, for the moment.” He continued. “I’ve said what I wished to say, and the terms of this arrangement seem firmly understood.” The mirror rippled like water under which something had just swum, and when the ripples had passed, the reflection had returned to normal. Gone were any lingering traces of the Jester, but still, Clueless felt cold and more than slightly awed. And while he felt nothing different about himself, glancing down at the gem in his ankle, remembering that experience, he knew that he was certainly not alone. [center]***[/center] Maanzicorian’s godisle was left long behind in both distance and thought as Skalliska’s eyes narrowed and she gazed down upon a cluster of rocky islands floating alone and unlamented in the vastness of the Astral. They were recent, pristine by comparison to the rough, pitted nature of many of the Astral’s honored dead. Skalliska had left her world only twenty years earlier, but the slip into twilight by her people’s pantheon had happened centuries earlier. During her youth, the kobold had known of those gods in stories, but the tenets of that faith had long before passed into obscurity and obsolescence. Those gods had no clerics among her people, though rumors claimed that other communities elsewhere in the tunnels of that world’s underdark still held their appointed servants who continued to spread the words of the dying, clawing their way back from nonexistence to save their people. Legends, while grounded in a nugget of truth like a tiny grain of sand about which a pearl accretes, they were all surrounded and built upon by so terribly much more than that original bit of fact. Those legends of her youth she realized, gazing down at the cluster of islands, the forgotten, petrified faith of an entire people… those legends had been far too optimistic. “They’re all gone.” She whispered, mentally counting the godisles, cataloging each of them with a name from her memories. Mezenthet, the deity of knowledge and history, her divine, petrified form was curled into a fetal position as it loomed largest below Skalliska. A quarter mile distant, the body of Yuradnash, the deity of hunting and fertility drifted silently. Protrelev, the god of sorcery and warfare, was there as well, partially obscured by the godisle of Zwarelt, the demideity of community and healing. Two other, lesser divinities, cluttered the astral as well, and as she watched them tumble in the void, a tear welled in Skalliska’s right eye. “Wait…” She said, flicking the tear away with a claw. “That’s only seven.” There had been nine in the original legends, nine members of their homeworld’s kobold pantheon that had stood distinct and separate from the Kertulmak worshippers that seemed to plague the rest of the prime material. “There were nine.” Skalliska whispered. And indeed there had originally been nine in the legends of her youth. There were only seven floating forgotten and dead in the Astral. Raznorel, the deity of magic and deception, and his twin brother, Saravtesh, the deity of shadows and illusions. Skalliska mentally tallied the dead gods once more, to the same result. Those two were not present in the Astral, not buried in the graveyard of belief, not consigned to the same fate as the remainder of their pantheon. And, gazing down in contemplation on the empty spaces that those two should have occupied, the hollows like icons, Skalliska smiled, closed her eyes, and whispered a prayer. [center]***[/center] A’kin looked out at the crowd and smiled, waving briefly as he reviewed the faces of the clients who had shown up for the auction, or for the agents that they had sent in their stead. It was a rather large turnout, and for the moment it didn’t appear as if anyone… or a specific someone… had crashed the event. The auction house had done a very nice job at setting the place up to handle the types of people that he’d invited: everyone from golden lords to a cobbler who had a workshop down the street from the Friendly Fiend. All of them were of course people who had purchased one of the dolls from him before, or who had expressed interest in them, or who had dolls of themselves up for auction that evening. “I figure I’ll give you all first shot at buying yourselves.” The ‘loth said with a chuckle as he gazed out at the crowd. “Or at least some of you can have that chance. Not so much for others of you.” ‘Thankfully, she hasn’t shown up yet.’ A’kin thought to himself before rapping his left hand on the wood of his chair. With that ever so pleasant thought in his mind, he gazed out over the crowd again, making eye contact with various ones of them, and returning a few smiles or waves. The owners of the Portal Jammer were making their way to their seats by that point. He hadn’t seen them walk in, probably when he was chattering with that Erinyes and that one Athar cleric that she’d fallen for. [I]Good to see you all here.[/I] A’kin projected to Florian, Fyrehowl, Tristol and Clueless. Fyrehowl glanced up to the stage where the ‘loth sat and gave a smile while Florian waved gleefully. Oddly enough the cleric, Florian, the cleric of all people, seemed to like him the most. The multiverse was odd sometimes, even for his taste, but at least it was amusing. And that thought temporarily drove out any worries of uninvited guests from his head as the last members of the crowd took their seats and settled themselves as the auction began. A well-dressed aasimar of obvious elven or eladrin descent, possibly both, stepped up to the wooden sales podium and rapped a gavel to gather the crowd’s attention. He leaned over smiling and whispered something to A’kin. The friendly fiend replied and they both chuckled before A’kin motioned with his hands for the planetouched auctioneer to go on with the proceedings. “Good afternoon to you all, honored guests, friends, and distinguished clients.” He said in a smooth, well-cultured voice. “On behalf of Maris & Grimble, allow me to state several rules of the auction. First, this is not a silent auction. If you don’t speak up either verbally, or telepathically addressed to myself, you will not be counted as having made a bid on a specific item as I present it for bidding. Secondly, refrain for violence or personal insults against other bidders.” A’kin’s eyes drifted across the room to settle onto the soft smile on the face of Noshtoreth of the Umber Scales, high priest of the Temple of the Abyss. A’kin returned the smile. [I]Play nice[/I] He whispered into the cambion’s mind. [I]You’re the one selling the Autochon doll.[/I] Noshtoreth replied with a knowing chuckle. A’kin gave a soft shrug and went back to listening to the auctioneer. “The first item up for auction this evening will be one not announced on the advance list: an animated Lissandra the Gate Seeker, guildmistress of the Doorsnoop Guild.” The aasimar took a slim black cloth off from over the doll, displaying it to the crowd. “Bidding will begin at five hundred jink.” Florian looked over at Fyrehowl, Tristol, and Clueless. “This is going to get expensive.” The cleric said. “But I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.” “I have one thousand from Lissandra the Gate Seeker!” The auctioneer called out. “Do I have fifteen hundred?” “Save your money up for one that you’re really interested in.” Fyrehowl said. “Let some of these folks blow their budgets before we start bidding on some of them.” Clueless added. “I’m waiting on the b*tch in the razorvine headdress…” The bidding meanwhile continued. “Any that you’re really interested in otherwise?” Tristol asked. “I’m not really sure.” Florian said with a shrug. “Jeremo maybe.” “Jeremo is actually here.” Fyrehowl said, twitching an ear over towards the Factol who was presently smiling like a fool and tapping his feet against the back of the chair of one of Noshtoreth’s attendant priests. “Jeremo has more money than Tempus.” Clueless added. “Alright,” Florian said. “So that one’s a pipe dream. But we’ll see what gets offered.” “Sold! To Lissandra the Gate Seeker for fifteen thousand eight hundred and twenty four jink, and two copper pieces.” The auctioneer shouted, punctuated by a slam of his gavel on the lectern. A’kin was beaming as the wizardress stepped up to him and accepted the tiny, stuffed version of herself. “It’ll take far more drinks in me for you to explore –that- portal!” The tiny doll giggled as Lissandra stuffed it in a bag of holding. A’kin gave a grin and a soft, embarrassed chuckle as the guildmistress gave him a disapproving look. The doll hadn’t been overheard by the crowd, but still. “I wasn’t that drunk at the time A’kin.” She whispered to him harshly. “And that was nearly ten years ago. Did he put you up to…” “Enjoy your purchase Lissandra.” The ‘loth said. “It’s a limited edition, so there won’t be any others. And I’ll be having a chat with the supplier most certainly.” “Supplier…” Lissandra said with a smirk. “Riiiiight…” “Next up we have…” The auctioneer began as Lissandra stepped away towards the exit. “I got off light didn’t I?” Lissandra asked, turning back towards A’kin momentarily. “Your sense of humor is sitting around latent in all of these isn’t it?” For his part, A’kin just gave an innocent looking shrug. What followed next was a quick set of auctions of a doll patterned after the Mercykiller Wyrm, and another resembling an executioner’s raven. One was purchased by a member of the Sodkillers and the other by a member of the Society of the Luminiferous Aether whose familiar was, sure enough, an executioner’s raven. The aasimar handed them their purchases and unveiled the next doll: Jeremo the Natterer, already babbling softly as soon as it saw the crowd. There were several giggles from the crowd in response, including from Jeremo himself who apparently was able to take the lampooning in good humor. “Next up we have Jeremo the Natterer. Bidding will begin at…” “Five hundred thousand jink!” Jeremo called out with a laugh. The crowd went silent for a moment and Jeremo propped his feet up on the back of the chair in front of himself and leaned back with his hands behind his head. “And I’ll match any other serious bid.” The Ring Giver factol called out with glee just before waving at A’kin. One of Zadara the Titan’s sword archon servants, and Estavan of the Planar Trade Consortium were both turned around, staring at Jeremo. Estevan was shaking his head and laughing politely. Zadara’s servant sighed and waved a wingtip in defeat. “Sold! To Jeremo the Lady’s Jester for five hundred thousand jink!” Jeremo quite literally had a skip in his step as he walked up to A’kin and bowed before accepting the miniature representation of himself. It, like him, was wearing a battered, tarnished crown just off kilter on its head, on top of a mop of haphazardly kept blond hair. Jeremo shared some private joke with the ‘loth, a joke which his doll chipped in on, before he shook A’kin’s hand and walked back to his seat with a grin across his face. The next auction that followed was for the doll of Autochon the Bellringer. The figure was dressed up in the full plate armor that Autochon himself was wont to wear, and the doll could be heard complaining about how hot it was, or how heavy it was, or even clutching its head and lamenting ‘The Bells! The Bells! Arrrggghhh!’. Out in the audience, Autochon himself was not amused, though beneath the visor of his dull gray platemail, his expression could not be seen. He trembled slightly in anger though when one of Noshtoreth’s tiefling underpriests snickered. What followed was a bidding war between Autochon and Noshtoreth, though probably the High Priest of the Temple of the Abyss was more concerned with spiting the Guildmaster of the Runner’s Guild and driving up the price than he was in actually owning the doll. The doll eventually sold for nearly ninety five thousand jink to Autochon, after which the armor-clad man glared back at the cambion all the while as one of his runners retrieved the doll. Noshtoreth gave a slim smile back at the Bellringer, the same man whom he had cursed years before for sleeping with one of his functionaries. All the while A’kin switched his gaze between the two men with a nervous smile on his face, seemingly very wary of having the two publicly antagonize one another, and even more wary of letting his own attention on them lead to others noticing the situation and possibly making it worse. Much to the ‘loth’s relief though, the two men stopped short of any actual argument, settling for periodic glares at one another. And then the tables were reversed, with perhaps an intentionally planned event, or a very unfortunate quirk of scheduling, though to his credit, A’kin seemed to wince as the next doll was unveiled. That next doll set upon the auction podium was a tiny representation of Noshtoreth himself standing next to a tiny set of tinkling bells, each emblazoned with the symbol of the Abyss and the symbol of the Abyssal Lord Baphomet. “Seventy five thousand!” Autochon called out, before the doll’s identity had even been announced. “Fifty thousand!” Noshtoreth shouted at virtually the same time, followed by a hard stare in the guildmaster’s direction. Up on the stage, A’kin twiddled his thumbs awkwardly as the auctioneer held up his hands. “Yes yes,” the Auctioneer called out. “The bidding is now at seventy five thousand jink for the representation of Noshtoreth of the Umber Scales, High Priest of the Temple of the Abyss, complete with miniature Bells of Baphomet.” “Eighty five!” Noshtoreth countered. “One hundred!” Autochon quickly retorted, breaking the amount that the cambion had pushed his own namesake doll up to. Noshtoreth paused and sneered at the man under the armor, and perhaps something telepathic passed from his mind and into the guildmaster’s, because he soon gave a higher bid and it was not challenged. An alu-fiend shortly thereafter approached the stage and accepted the doll for the sum of one hundred and ten thousand jink. Once she had returned with the purchase, Noshtoreth and his retinue then excused themselves and quietly left. A’kin seemed almost happy to see them go, given that they were among the most likely to commit violence over a dispute. And, all said, that was probably for the best, as the very next doll to be slated for the auction block was none other than Yeenoghu, the Demon Lord of Gnolls. The first bid was placed by Estevan the Ogre Mage, perhaps out of whimsy, perhaps out of simply wanting to collect one of the collectable items, and perhaps out of intent to sell it to Noshtoreth or someone else in the Temple at a later date. But regardless, the bid was at twenty thousand, a respectable sum but not too terribly high. “I think I might go for this one.” Florian whispered to the others. “It’s cute and it’s not too terribly high priced.” “How is it cute?” Fyrehowl asked. “You can’t even see it.” And indeed, it hadn’t exactly been properly displayed as it was still inside a box that was padlocked and periodically rattled like an animal railing at the bars of a zoo cage. “You can hear the little hyena giggle from inside in between the snarls and the curses in Abyssal.” Florian explained. “Thus, he’s cute.” “And you’d be bidding against people with more money than you.” Clueless said. Up on the stage, the box rattled some more and the hyena headed prince of gnolls gave that ever so distinctive cackle once more. “He’s a little feisty.” A’kin said in explanation. “So handle with care, whoever ends up buying the little fellow.” “Twenty five!” Florian called out. “Thirty!” Another bidder shouted. “Thirty one!” Shouted Bryn Ohm from somewhere in the back to some sighs and grumbles. “Cheapskate…” Was muttered from somewhere in the middle of the crowd, though Ohm didn’t seem to notice it, or care if he had. The bariuar was guildmaster of the Innkeeper’s Fellowship, and he was notoriously cheap to the point of being considered a miser. “Thirty two!” Florian shouted. “Thirty five!” Ohm called out again. A’kin motioned over the auctioneer and whispered something to him. “I’ve been instructed,” The aasimar said, clearing his throat. “To inform the audience that the next doll up for auction is one of Mr. Ohm himself, so please keep that in mind while bidding.” “I retract my bid!” Ohm called out to a chorus of snickers. “Retractions of bids are not allowed under the rules of the auction house I’m sorry to inform.” The auctioneer added while scanning the crowd for further bids. “Thirty six!” Florian called out as somewhere in the back of the room, the bariuar stomped a hoof. A minute later Florian was walking back to her seat with the box containing the snarling, giggling Yeenoghu doll. Ohm was sulking and glaring at her the whole time of course, and it didn’t help any when on the very next item for auction, the doll of himself, he was woefully outbid by a member of the Entertainer’s Guild. Thankfully though, there were only glares, not words, and no hint of violence, much to the possible lament of the Sodkillers standing at the back exits. Over the next hour several more dolls came up and were sold off, though one or two of them ended up sparking a bidding war between two or even three people. Of them, a tiny doll modeled after Estavan of the Planar Trade Consortium ended up sparking one of those bidding wars when Estavan himself and proxy bidders for Zadara and two other Sigilian golden lords began tossing money around like it was nothing to them. Through it all, Jeremo the Natterer just sat and played with the doll of himself that he’d purchased, even going so far as to debate with ‘himself’ if he should suddenly swoop down and purchase it himself, even for the ridiculous sum of money that it was quickly rising to. “Sold! For three hundred seventy two thousand to Estavan.” The auctioneer shouted, putting an end to the bidding, promptly handing the doll over to an at once very triumphant and very sullen ogre mage. “I hadn’t intended to pay that much for myself.” Estavan commented to A’kin as he took the doll. “You’re worse than your counterpart. I can at least feel justified in hating her when she makes me pay for something, except now with you, here you are selling me something I don’t even need and you’re smiling the whole time.” “Do enjoy it?” A’kin suggested with mild bewilderment. “I hope?” “I’ve got you figured out ‘loth!” Estavan chided, waving an index finger at the fiend. “You’ve got a racket going on here and I can respect that. And I am enjoying myself, even if I’m spending far too much in the process. So yes, keep on smiling ‘loth, you’ve earned it I suppose.” The ogre mage chuckled and tapped A’kin on the shoulder before walking back to his seat in the audience, though before the next item was unveiled he did shake a finger in mock accusation at the fiend one further time. “Is anyone but me still wondering about what the hell is up with A’kin?” Clueless asked. “Beats the hell out of me.” Florian answered. “I’m not sure I’d call him good. But I’m not sure I’d call him evil either.” “A’kin is A’kin.” Fyrehowl said with a shrug. But as they discussed the possibility of A’kin as a redeemed fiend, or perhaps simply a nice guy with a bad family history, the ‘loth was twiddling his thumbs again. He seemed incredibly nervous, though more out of apprehension, be it giddy or worrisome, than anything else. “What’s got A’kin so jittery?” Fyrehowl asked. “The reason why I’m here.” Florian answered. “Me too.” Clueless added. “You place the bet, I’ll pitch in as needed.” “The Marauder doll…” Tristol whispered as the cloth was taken off of the tiny doll dressed in its trademark gown of minute, green glass beads, admiring itself in a large mirror, with a coil of razorvine perched between its ears. “Our next doll is of the King of the Crosstrade.” The announcer stated. There was some nervous chatter across the crowd and a few people glanced at the exits, seemingly waiting for the doll’s namesake to come bursting in through one of the doors. But, much to their collective relief, she didn’t. “Bidding will begin at twenty five thousand jink.” “And you better not pay in silver!” The doll shouted out afterwards. “Like holy water in my wine, or small mortal children calling me ‘puppy lady’, that joke got old about eight thousand years ago!” “Twenty five thousand!” Came a near simultaneous shout from Clueless, Florian and Fyrehowl. Tristol was glancing at the exits and slinking down a few inches in his chair. “I pissed her off last time.” The mage muttered. “I’m not going for a second try.” “…tempting as it is…” He added a moment later with a guilty grin. “Count me in for money.” There was a calm hush across the crowd like prospective bidders were still worried that the moment they placed a bid that a well dressed banshee of a yugoloth would swoop down on them in a whirlwind of socially elegant malice. That alone was keeping bidders away from the doll. It was a weird situation since the doll that many of them wanted the most was also the one that most of them worried the most about having in their possession. “Fifty thousand!” Came a tentative bid from Annali Webspinner of the Entertainer’s Guild. “Sixty. Just to say I did!” Came a whimsical shout from Jeremo, followed shortly thereafter by a shrug and a chuckle. “Seventy!” Florian countered. “Seventy five!” Shouted one of Zadara’s sword archons. “One hundred thousand!” “One hundred fifteen!” “One forty five!” The bidding was starting to get obscene as some of the wealthier people with little to fear from the King of the Crosstrade were getting into the mix. “Think we can spend money that isn’t ours to spend?” Florian whispered to the others. “I think that Nisha wouldn’t mind pitching in.” Tristol said. “And I –know- that Toras would approve.” Fyrehowl said. “Go ahead then.” Clueless prompted. “Bump it up again. We might get lucky and people might not be willing to piss off the b*tch, and plus they’ve already bid on other things earlier on.” “Alright…” Florian said before raising her hand. “Two hundred thousand!” She paused and glanced over towards a few of the other bidders. “Two hundred thousand and the spare change in my pockets!” She shouted emphatically. Off to one side, Jeremo was giggling profusely, or his doll was, it was hard to tell at times. Opposite him, Estavan was grinning and moving his hands in a show of defeat. “Once. Twice. Sold to Florian of Tempus!” The aasimar pronounced. “Better you than me.” Muttered a proxy bidder for Wi Ming Lee as Florian walked up to claim the doll. A few steps further and there was a hand in her side as Estavan stopped her. “Just a moment of your time.” The ogre mage said softly. “And don’t take offense at my own bidding on it, please do enjoy it. I only ask that if Shemeska finds out about the little bauble and pitches a fit in the middle of your establishment that a transcript of the events finds its way into my hands.” “Don’t worry.” Florian said, moving the golden lord’s hand out of the way and walking up to take the doll from A’kin’s hands. The ‘loth seemed a tad guilty. “Don’t blame me for anything that happens.” He said, an ear twitching nervously. “And I feel bad about taking so much jink for it too.” “Tell me I’m pretty! Now!” The Marauder doll demanded in an off pitch, shrill voice, stomping one of its slippered feet on the tabletop where A’kin had placed it and its mirror. “It’s not pretentious when you really ARE the best!” The doll continued before turning and seemingly admiring its own backside in the mirror. “Wow.” Florian said, looking down. “I’d swear that you’d just shrunk her and tried to pawn her off as is.” A’kin tried to hide a smile. “You might want to wrap that up before you go home tonight.” He said. “And it better be the best wrapping money can buy!” The doll demanded. “Only the best for me or heads will roll!” Florian flashed a triumphant smile as she imagined just what the actual King of the Crosstrade’s reaction might be. Of course, all things said, she wasn’t going to have to wait very long. [/QUOTE]
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Shemeska's Planescape Storyhour (Updated 29 Jan 2014)
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