D&D 5E [D&D 5e] Planescape - In Through the Out Door

[Unsung]

Her hard blue eyes soften as Oz takes her by the hands. She bites her lower lip. "I...I was never much of a dancer," she admits, quietly, uncertainly.

 

[Fenris]

Oz guides her out to an open area and begins to lead her in a slow dance to the rhythm of the unfamiliar song. He leans in closely "It is true you have two left...hooves, yet it merely doubles your grace, which is only surpassed by your beauty."

 

[CanadienneBacon]

[section]Picayune let the song come to a fluted close. He let the horn down from his lips, and opened his eyes, which had squinted shut while he played. He spied the four-legged barmaid in the arms of Oz, and grinned.[/section]
[sblock=Liliana]Casting message at Liliana. "And dat, lil' girl, dat's jazz. You feel me?"[/sblock]

 

[Unsung]

Adal leans into Oz, as they sway together. The music swells and rises, through the floorboards of the boarding house and out onto the Sigilian streets-- a sound, a song that could move even such jaded ears and stony hearts as could be found in walls of the Cage.

 

[KirayaTiDrekan]

Rusty watches the strange hoofed things dance and can be seen swaying in time with them, though it doesn't realize its doing so.

 

[Queenie]

With eyes wide Lili responds, "That was AMAZING!!! I LOVED it! How did you make that sound?" She realizes she is talking to air and looks around. "But where are you?"

 

[Shayuri]

Without commenting, Shard gets up from the table to follow Oz and his dance partner, and the strange music that floats through the inn. There had been a presence in the alley, she recalled, a voice from the ether. Had it followed them. Was this its doing? It was a pretty song...it brought to mind lazy days and better times; bittersweet only because those times were now past.

She went to the tiny flying girl, who was in a conversation with the air, it seemed.

"Who do you speak to?"

 

[Pembinasa]

Graydon's mouth opened and closed in shock... once.

But then he rushed forward to grab his spellbook, his apparently possessed spellbook that seemed to have declared itself a familiar, then fumbling out a cleaning cloth to wipe down every part of it that touched the floor. That was his spellbook, and witnessing an unfathomable wonder of magic beyond the worlds he knew was no excuse for letting the wellspring of his power and lore go fluttering away!

Besides, being jaded toward grand experiences of the universe seems to be a survival trait here; he'd best learn to save feelings of amazement for when he can afford to give them play.

In any case, he'll go ahead and remonstrate the floating talking animated book even as he tries to hold on and clean it at the same time. "Not in the slightest; I chose a toilet for privacy in reviewing the spell, not casting it. A proper familiar would wait until it had actually been summoned! And for that matter, if you think a wizard would deliberately choose a magic that would send his spellbook bobbing away out of his control, then you must only have experience with the most pitiful excuses of wizardry in all the cosmos!"

Rub rub rub; oh he's going to have to get some real alcohol to sterilize you, dear book- although the haunting noises coming from the common room do make him pause for a moment. It seems as if the 'being jaded' idea hasn't fully sunk in yet.

 

[goatunit]

Eurid watches the scene sprawling throughout the tavern with a quiet sort of distance. He's seen it a hundred times; the way the average Prime can stop worrying about the strangeness of Outer Planar reality once he's got a roof over his head and a flagon of cheap bub in his hand. Good ol' taverns. Primes love taverns.

All this joy and merrymaking puts him in a sour mood as he laments the way the living cling to any comfort, no matter how small or trivial. He distracts himself with his meal, but knows that these are the lands of the dead. The living are tourists here or, at best, expatriates. He shall have to dedicate a lesson to proper decorum before these Clueless end up Sensates or worse.

 

[Quickleaf]

The Spellbook sputters defiantly at being grasped and swapped with alcohol. His mind whirls with possible explanations and theses about how he came to be in this predicament. If the spell hadn't actually been cast then that suggested more was at play here than a cosmic joke of grand coincidence. "Ah! Unhand me cretin! What are you some poor apprentice who cannot afford proper leather cleaner? That's not even elven wine! Garrrr!"

Then the sound of the otherworldly tune drifts thru the bathroom stall, and Shandrizar pauses for a moment in reverie. Yes, he remembered that song...but from where? His memory was all jumbled. However, his momentary distraction is enough Graydon to take firm grasp of the Spellbook. "Pitiful excuses of wizardry? This from a master of dung magic? I'll teach you to speak to an archmage thus! Polymorph man into flumph!" He declares triumphantly, pages flaring dramatically. Nothing happens. Furrowing his vellum brow, Shandrizar tries again. "Man into flumph! Doormouse! Capybara! Chinchilla! Vorpal hare!" Nothing happens.

Hypventilating, the Spellbook stares at Graydon in a terrified stupor, but quickly regains his composure. "I- I can't cast spells. Clearly a temporary setback, young mage. Now, if I truly have become your...familiar..." he says the word distastefully, "...then I should be able to..."

Communicate with you telepathically, toilet mage extraordinaire. Wait...you can...you can actually hear me? No, there must be another explanation. If I was really your familiar you'd be able to look thru my eyes by concentrating...