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Story Hour
Shemeska's Planescape Storyhour - (Updated 14February2024)
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<blockquote data-quote="Shemeska" data-source="post: 6766034" data-attributes="member: 11697"><p>“Greetings Children…”</p><p></p><p>Fyrehowl spun around at the voice, but halfway through her turn, she fell to the ground, retching uncontrollably as the baernaloth’s proximity combined with the fact that it stood on a patch of the Waste itself amplified the cosmic toxicity it exuded like an infected wound shedding a virulent plague.</p><p></p><p>“Oh F*CK!”</p><p></p><p>Toras held his sword aloft, more to bolster his own confidence, but even as he raised it, his hands were trembling and his face ashen. The amused sneer on the Chronicler’s maw at his action dampened his bravado even more.</p><p></p><p>“Tristol, get us out of here! Get us out of here now!” Nisha tugged frantically at the fringe of Tristol’s robe.</p><p></p><p>Tristol shot her a panicked look, “I can’t! I’m trying but the spells aren’t working.”</p><p></p><p>Through it all, the Chronicler never moved except to continue jotting down notes in the giant book that lay across its thighs. Except for an occasional sneer, it remained unconcerned and uncaring at their presence.</p><p></p><p>“From Pitiless,” Florian whispered as she took attempted to cast a spell, only to find it inexplicably nonfunctional, “it’s the thing that killed Ghyris Vast…”</p><p></p><p>“No, I am not.” The baernaloth’s voice was like the mastication of gangrenous flesh. “That would be my Brother/Sister the Architect. I have never been that obvious in my actions as the First of the Demented.” The Gloom Father paused, tilted its vaguely goat-like head and tapped a finger on the foundation stone that it sat upon. “Yes, I know you heard that. You were too obvious when you killed Vast, and I counseled exactly to that measure. You and the Shepherdess go your own way lately, dragging the rest of us along. It doesn’t matter though. Small ripples in a patch of water cannot stop a forecast tide.”</p><p></p><p>Either speaking to itself out loud or to a distant sibling, the baernaloth barely cared that it had an audience. Only when the group started to back away did it make a brief motion with one hand and effortlessly draw them back by seemingly contracting the intervening space.</p><p></p><p>“Oh not to worry, I have not forgotten about you my misbegotten children of the Three Words. The Three Words of Creation Thus Spoken, uttered but three times since the Beginning of this reality. The first is unknown, even to me, the 2nd The Bladed Queen, and the 3rd I shall not, and cannot speak of…”</p><p></p><p>White with fear and absolutely powerless against the god-like progenitor fiend holding them as a captive audience, the group slowly lowered their weapons.</p><p></p><p>“Who are you?” Clueless finally asked.</p><p></p><p>“Sarkithel fek Parthis of the Demented.” The baernaloth inclined its head. “But you may call me The Chronicler.”</p><p></p><p>“Did you bring us here?” The bladesinger asked another question.</p><p></p><p>“Not as such directly no.” The Chronicler pointed at the dagger at Clueless’s belt. “Your blade of hate and sympathetic resonance did that deed on its own. The fury of the Tiere god is strong, even in death. That blade is connected to this place; one stepping stone among others leading to this moment of the past yet to come. You would be wise to keep it should you continue to come into conflict with our newest Oinoloth. So very bitter that one…” The Chronicler gave an enigmatic smile.</p><p></p><p>Toras looked at Clueless and the bladesinger shrugged. The two of them seemed to be waffling on asking the obvious questions given the nature of the unholy thing sitting less than a dozen feet away. It seemed utterly unconcerned to the point of almost not being a threat, but did they dare ask anything important?</p><p></p><p>The baern turned its gaze to Clueless, “Oh do not look so confused. That one dances to his own tune, having long ago discarded ours as best he could. His goals for this reality do not coincide with that of myself and my brethren, that much should be obvious after he so thoroughly went about executing so much of the hierarchy we’d molded and grown to our designs for eons.”</p><p></p><p>No longer vomiting, Fyrehowl asked next, “What does the Ebon want?”</p><p></p><p>For the first time the Chronicler reacted with more than subtle emotion as it openly hissed with utter contempt at the mention of the Oinoloth’s name.</p><p></p><p>“I would only suggest that you ask him yourself.” The baernaloth curled its lips back to reveal rotten, diseased teeth. “It seems oh so likely that you’ll come into his presence again, seeing as how often you’ve blundered into his plots and those of his servitors and compatriots. How many times has the King of the Crosstrade tried to kill one of you?” The baern pointed down at Clueless’s leg. “You still carry an artifact of the Oinoloth’s creation in your leg still. You’re the only one that managed to survive you know. His and Helekanalaith’s puppet both died after their usefulness ended. You were simply discarded. I would call the Marauder careless, but it’s something of a pattern for her in that she doesn’t discard things that might later be of use.”</p><p></p><p>“Don’t I feel honored…” Clueless smirked. “I’m going to kill her eventually of course. That’s probably a closer goal than the Oinoloth.”</p><p></p><p>The Chronicler chuckled before pausing and launching into a protracted session of convulsive phlegmatic coughing. By the time it passed, the ground was spattered with thick gobbets of yellow mucus and blood. “It won’t be as easy as you might suspect. She crawled her way up from mezzoloth status and even managed to blackmail her way into her promotion from nycaloth. Of her, the Demented are proud.”</p><p></p><p>Clueless changed the subject, lest the baernaloth take offense. “What is this place anyway?”</p><p></p><p>The Chronicler smiled, “A bit of the Waste itself, ripped from that plane and forgotten here.”</p><p></p><p>“That much seemed obvious, but what exactly happened here?” Fyrehowl pressed for more. The creature seemed willing to discuss most anything, so anything passing for answers would be useful.</p><p></p><p>“Technically, nothing. Not yet at least. None of this has happened yet, but it has before, and it will again. Regressing backwards while rushing forwards always. Stumbling, slouching towards oblivion." The baernaloth fixed its dead serpentine eyes at the rubble in the city center and grinned maniacally. “This is where the cosmos yields to the inevitable. This is where a plan set in motion before this reality existed comes to fruition. The whos, whats, and whys are complicated and interwoven, malicious lovers entwined with knives to the other’s throats.”</p><p></p><p>“All we know is that Cilret Leobtav visited here years ago and it changed him.” Fyrehowl continued, dying inside a little each time she conversed with the baern, but needing answers nonetheless.</p><p></p><p>“An oversight on my part perhaps, but nothing not already taken into consideration.” The Chronicler sneered disdainfully and glanced at the ruined Cathedral. “But I have no active role in any of this. I’m not pulling strings or toppling dominos, nor trampling on butterflies to cause a hurricane. Does it set your hearts at ease to know that I have no part in all of this? I wait and I watch, nothing more, nothing less.”</p><p></p><p>“What about Alex then? You had nothing to do with that?”</p><p></p><p>“I did not.” The Chronicler chuckled and glanced at the pile of ashes at the feet of the solar statue. “You should direct your anger at Leobtav’s patron, the Ashsinger and it of so many other names. Bah.”</p><p></p><p>“What is that thing anyway?”</p><p></p><p>“So many questions and I’ve already told you who to ask the next time you run afoul of them.” The Chronicler pantomimed washing its hands.</p><p></p><p>Florian frowned, “Alright fine. Than how do we bring him back to life? Can it be done?”</p><p></p><p>“Yes, absolutely it can.” The baernaloth gave a sly smile. “It’s a special case, a unique confluence of actors and circumstances. My kind of course are no stranger to such things, not at all, we invented most all of them in the first place. So yes, I could bring him back to life as easily as brushing a snowflake of ash from my shoulder. Why should I?”</p><p></p><p>Toras stared at the proto-fiend, wanting nothing more than to punch the misbegotten horror in the face.</p><p></p><p>“Surely we can do something to make it worth your while.” Clueless volunteered against better judgment.</p><p></p><p>As if waiting for that offer, the Chronicler chuckled, “Yes you can, and all it requires is for you to humor me with an answer to a question, a single, solitary question: What is it you want? Answer me that and I shall bestow your fallen companion’s life back to them with but a thought…”</p><p></p><p>Waiting for a response, the Chronicler focused its eyes on Clueless and gave a fanatical expression of expectation. His wasted fingers paused and hung in space, ready to spark a spell and unshackle Alex’s spirit and return him to life.</p><p></p><p>“Don’t answer that.” Toras glared at Clueless. “Nothing good will come of it.”</p><p></p><p>“We don’t have much of an option if we want to bring Alex back.” The bladesinger gritted his teeth.</p><p></p><p>“Do you really think a baernaloth is going to bring him back out of the kindness of its heart?” Toras asked. “Do you trust that we’d actually get the real Alex back and not some hideous thing wearing his skin?”</p><p></p><p>Tristol and Fyrehowl shook their heads in the negative.</p><p></p><p>Regretfully for their dead companion, Clueless turned to the baernaloth, “I won’t answer that question.”</p><p></p><p>“A pity…” The Chronicler shrugged and resumed a more leisurely position atop the rubble. Oddly, it continued to stare uncomfortably at Clueless.</p><p></p><p>“Listen, I think we should just politely leave.” Nisha tugged at Tristol’s tail. “I hate to be the voice of reason here, but this cannot be good, not any of it. We just can’t trust that thing.”</p><p></p><p>Whether prompted by the Xaositect’s words of warning or not, the Chronicler was suddenly at its feet and standing before Clueless. The bladesinger had no time to react before the baernaloth clasped a hand over his head and lifted him off the ground effortlessly. Like a death-camp doctor examining a human test-subject, the proto-fiend lifted him up to its own eye level, uncaring of his kicking and screaming, not so much staring at him, but through him. “Oh, now this is curious…”</p><p></p><p></p><p style="text-align: center">****</p><p></p><p></p><p>The Marauder sat in another of her private rooms adjacent to the Azure Iris Inn, atop the Fortune’s Wheel. A glass of brandy sat within reach to one side, while an ornate lamp burned with a pale green radiance at the other, a small white moth fluttering around the margins of the glass globe enclosing the flame. The ‘loth was dressed in her favorite gown of green glass beads, and the stem of an ornate pipe sat perched between her lips. She casually puffed as she reviewed a stack of letters, seated on a well-cushioned chair carved from several dozen bones of uncertain origins, rumored to be those of past egregious debtors, or simply those she’d had killed to serve as an object lesson to the one’s capable of paying up.</p><p></p><p>The ‘loth didn’t look up from her desk when one of her tiefling groomer-guards approached, she simply made room on the desk for the delivery and motioned them to put it down. For her part, the tiefling seemed to be perpetually squinting due to the very recent loss of an eye. The ruined socket still bled slightly, but was in the process of regeneration courtesy of the ring that she wore. Her employer seemed entirely unconcerned.</p><p></p><p>The tiefling smiled and handed her mistress a sheaf of notarized papers. “Your Fiendish Majesty, this is for you to review. I’ve delivered copies to the relevant municipal authorities in the Clerks’ Ward and likewise I’ve delivered the same to and spoken in person with Garzuvek, 1st Bloodchanter of the Reaver, and also Fegrim and Olk of the Brothers Durgrim Brewery.” She paused and frowned. “A most unpleasant man, Garzuvek. He challenged me to a fight, both before and after I handled our business.”</p><p></p><p>“And did you fight him?” The Marauder smiled without looking up as she examined the papers.</p><p></p><p>“Regarding what you said about wanting him to stay alive and angry, I let him win rather than stick a knife in his back. The ring of regeneration was rather convenient in letting him think he’d gotten the best of me. I lost an eye in the process. He ate it.”</p><p></p><p>“Cute.” The ‘loth smiled contentedly, though it wasn’t apparent if it was because of an appreciation for her agent’s success, obedience, or loss of the eye itself. “In any event, his cooperation is more important than your temporary loss of an eye. The previous tenants?”</p><p></p><p>“The former tenants have been quietly evicted without much fuss. The new leasers should move into both locations within the week.”</p><p></p><p>“Very good.” Shemeska traded the papers in one hand for a glass of brandy, taking a slow sip. “Let me know when Madam Eszedia arrives.”</p><p></p><p>“Actually, she’s already here.” The tiefling nodded her head towards the door. “She’s had a quasit primping her hair and adjusting her t*ts for just the right level of bounce to present for the last hour.”</p><p></p><p>“Of course she is.” The Marauder rolled her eyes with minor irritation. “Never expect a tanar’ri to show up for an appointment at the proper time. It simply isn’t in their nature. Their nature however is precisely why I have her here. Show her in, but leave the quasit outside.”</p><p></p><p>The tiefling gave a short bow and returned moments later with a statuesque succubus at her side dressed in an outfit that might as well have been painted on. The tanar’ri’s roving eyes moved from the tiefling to the ‘loth and when she took a seat opposite the Marauder, she did so with an emphatic bounce for the presumed audience. The Marauder’s guard pointedly made sure to keep her temporarily blinded eye facing the succubus to avoid the shameless and obnoxious display. The Marauder, whatever her thoughts on the goods on display, gave no outward reaction but a polite smile.</p><p></p><p>“It’s such a pleasure to finally garner an audience with you Shemeska.” Madam Eszedia of Broken Reach flicked a forked tongue across painted lips while the aroma of a perfume equally hallucinogenic and toxic to mortals filtered through the air from where she’d applied it to her neck earlier. “I’ve worked on my own and I’ve shifted more to managing other lovely things including some of my own alu-fiend daughters in the past two decades, but I was delightfully flattered when your agents actually approached me</p><p></p><p>“They said that you were very good at what you did.” A curious smile graced her lips and vanished, leaving no clue what she meant in specific. “I read the report and it was rather detailed.”</p><p></p><p>“Good for you then sweet thing,” A bit of pride crept into the succubus’s voice, “I slept with two of them at once, and one of them was such a pleasure that I decided to keep them.”</p><p></p><p>“That one was an attempted plant by the Planar Trade Consortium into my ranks. I’d been feeding him false information for months but he’d started to suspect, so I figured it best to dispose of him. You provided me with a convenient repository.” Fangs briefly graced the otherwise delicate and painted features on the ‘loth’s face. “You can keep him if he survived, but I knew your habits before I sent them there.”</p><p></p><p>The tanar’ri focused coal-red eyes on the ‘loth, trying to judge if she’d walked into a trap or if the King of the Crosstrade actually did indeed want to go into business with her. Internally she snarled at the double-sided backbiting nature of how greater yugoloths spoke in riddles, rhymes, and double meanings. She wasn’t sure if the Marauder was playing her for a fool, preparing to set up a partnership, or was shamelessly hitting on her. Best to assume the best, so Eszedia crossed her arms and put herself on display.</p><p></p><p>“How can I convince your Fiendish Majesty of my best intentions?”</p><p></p><p>“Oh no need,” The Marauder casually glanced down at the succubus’s cleavage, her reaction intentionally cryptic but dancing along a blurry line of a smirk somewhere between pleased and disdainful, “You come well vetted, but I’m exceptionally particular about my whores, let alone my lovers.” The ‘loth placed distinct emphasis on the word ‘whore’, not that the tanar’ri took the slightest offense, rather the opposite.</p><p></p><p>“Exceptionally particular? You count archmages, jewel thieves, and the Overlord of Carceri among past dalliances.” Madam Eszedia’s tail tapped against the table. “Apparently you are.”</p><p></p><p>“Devoured, imprisoned, and finally both cursed and eternally cursing my name.” Shemeska gave a self-satisfied smile as she closed her eyes. She recalled the faces of those three examples and rubbed her thumb across the elaborately jeweled ring on her right index finger that contained Mantello’s ironically bottled essence. The mange-ravaged body of the final individual gave her the most pleasure, and that one’s torment was far from over. </p><p></p><p>The succubus pursed her lips and placed a claw across them, letting her tongue tap the tip as she chose her next words with exceeding care.</p><p></p><p>“That’s what drew me to pay attention to your people and come to Sigil you know: the chance to sit here in front of you and show off.” The tanar’ri held her arms tighter against her ribs and presented her cleavage like an altar ripe for a sacrifice. “A business relationship seems like a perfect start for something more. No?”</p><p></p><p>The ‘loth didn’t even glance up. Instead she motioned with her hand to the lamp burning on the corner of her desk. The glass sphere separated and exposed the flame to a greater supply of air. The flame burned bright and the moth drew closer now that the glass no longer kept it away.</p><p></p><p>“Let’s be honest Eszedia,” The Marauder spoke as the green flame reflected its image in her eyes, “Even if you were my type, which you aren’t, it would end rather poorly for you.”</p><p></p><p>The moth dove too close to the guttering flame, the ‘loth pursed her lips and blew a rush of air, forcing its wings too close. With a burst of heat the doomed insect was gone and turned to ash. Finally looking up at the succubus, the ‘loth smiled.</p><p></p><p></p><p style="text-align: center">****</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Shemeska, post: 6766034, member: 11697"] “Greetings Children…” Fyrehowl spun around at the voice, but halfway through her turn, she fell to the ground, retching uncontrollably as the baernaloth’s proximity combined with the fact that it stood on a patch of the Waste itself amplified the cosmic toxicity it exuded like an infected wound shedding a virulent plague. “Oh F*CK!” Toras held his sword aloft, more to bolster his own confidence, but even as he raised it, his hands were trembling and his face ashen. The amused sneer on the Chronicler’s maw at his action dampened his bravado even more. “Tristol, get us out of here! Get us out of here now!” Nisha tugged frantically at the fringe of Tristol’s robe. Tristol shot her a panicked look, “I can’t! I’m trying but the spells aren’t working.” Through it all, the Chronicler never moved except to continue jotting down notes in the giant book that lay across its thighs. Except for an occasional sneer, it remained unconcerned and uncaring at their presence. “From Pitiless,” Florian whispered as she took attempted to cast a spell, only to find it inexplicably nonfunctional, “it’s the thing that killed Ghyris Vast…” “No, I am not.” The baernaloth’s voice was like the mastication of gangrenous flesh. “That would be my Brother/Sister the Architect. I have never been that obvious in my actions as the First of the Demented.” The Gloom Father paused, tilted its vaguely goat-like head and tapped a finger on the foundation stone that it sat upon. “Yes, I know you heard that. You were too obvious when you killed Vast, and I counseled exactly to that measure. You and the Shepherdess go your own way lately, dragging the rest of us along. It doesn’t matter though. Small ripples in a patch of water cannot stop a forecast tide.” Either speaking to itself out loud or to a distant sibling, the baernaloth barely cared that it had an audience. Only when the group started to back away did it make a brief motion with one hand and effortlessly draw them back by seemingly contracting the intervening space. “Oh not to worry, I have not forgotten about you my misbegotten children of the Three Words. The Three Words of Creation Thus Spoken, uttered but three times since the Beginning of this reality. The first is unknown, even to me, the 2nd The Bladed Queen, and the 3rd I shall not, and cannot speak of…” White with fear and absolutely powerless against the god-like progenitor fiend holding them as a captive audience, the group slowly lowered their weapons. “Who are you?” Clueless finally asked. “Sarkithel fek Parthis of the Demented.” The baernaloth inclined its head. “But you may call me The Chronicler.” “Did you bring us here?” The bladesinger asked another question. “Not as such directly no.” The Chronicler pointed at the dagger at Clueless’s belt. “Your blade of hate and sympathetic resonance did that deed on its own. The fury of the Tiere god is strong, even in death. That blade is connected to this place; one stepping stone among others leading to this moment of the past yet to come. You would be wise to keep it should you continue to come into conflict with our newest Oinoloth. So very bitter that one…” The Chronicler gave an enigmatic smile. Toras looked at Clueless and the bladesinger shrugged. The two of them seemed to be waffling on asking the obvious questions given the nature of the unholy thing sitting less than a dozen feet away. It seemed utterly unconcerned to the point of almost not being a threat, but did they dare ask anything important? The baern turned its gaze to Clueless, “Oh do not look so confused. That one dances to his own tune, having long ago discarded ours as best he could. His goals for this reality do not coincide with that of myself and my brethren, that much should be obvious after he so thoroughly went about executing so much of the hierarchy we’d molded and grown to our designs for eons.” No longer vomiting, Fyrehowl asked next, “What does the Ebon want?” For the first time the Chronicler reacted with more than subtle emotion as it openly hissed with utter contempt at the mention of the Oinoloth’s name. “I would only suggest that you ask him yourself.” The baernaloth curled its lips back to reveal rotten, diseased teeth. “It seems oh so likely that you’ll come into his presence again, seeing as how often you’ve blundered into his plots and those of his servitors and compatriots. How many times has the King of the Crosstrade tried to kill one of you?” The baern pointed down at Clueless’s leg. “You still carry an artifact of the Oinoloth’s creation in your leg still. You’re the only one that managed to survive you know. His and Helekanalaith’s puppet both died after their usefulness ended. You were simply discarded. I would call the Marauder careless, but it’s something of a pattern for her in that she doesn’t discard things that might later be of use.” “Don’t I feel honored…” Clueless smirked. “I’m going to kill her eventually of course. That’s probably a closer goal than the Oinoloth.” The Chronicler chuckled before pausing and launching into a protracted session of convulsive phlegmatic coughing. By the time it passed, the ground was spattered with thick gobbets of yellow mucus and blood. “It won’t be as easy as you might suspect. She crawled her way up from mezzoloth status and even managed to blackmail her way into her promotion from nycaloth. Of her, the Demented are proud.” Clueless changed the subject, lest the baernaloth take offense. “What is this place anyway?” The Chronicler smiled, “A bit of the Waste itself, ripped from that plane and forgotten here.” “That much seemed obvious, but what exactly happened here?” Fyrehowl pressed for more. The creature seemed willing to discuss most anything, so anything passing for answers would be useful. “Technically, nothing. Not yet at least. None of this has happened yet, but it has before, and it will again. Regressing backwards while rushing forwards always. Stumbling, slouching towards oblivion." The baernaloth fixed its dead serpentine eyes at the rubble in the city center and grinned maniacally. “This is where the cosmos yields to the inevitable. This is where a plan set in motion before this reality existed comes to fruition. The whos, whats, and whys are complicated and interwoven, malicious lovers entwined with knives to the other’s throats.” “All we know is that Cilret Leobtav visited here years ago and it changed him.” Fyrehowl continued, dying inside a little each time she conversed with the baern, but needing answers nonetheless. “An oversight on my part perhaps, but nothing not already taken into consideration.” The Chronicler sneered disdainfully and glanced at the ruined Cathedral. “But I have no active role in any of this. I’m not pulling strings or toppling dominos, nor trampling on butterflies to cause a hurricane. Does it set your hearts at ease to know that I have no part in all of this? I wait and I watch, nothing more, nothing less.” “What about Alex then? You had nothing to do with that?” “I did not.” The Chronicler chuckled and glanced at the pile of ashes at the feet of the solar statue. “You should direct your anger at Leobtav’s patron, the Ashsinger and it of so many other names. Bah.” “What is that thing anyway?” “So many questions and I’ve already told you who to ask the next time you run afoul of them.” The Chronicler pantomimed washing its hands. Florian frowned, “Alright fine. Than how do we bring him back to life? Can it be done?” “Yes, absolutely it can.” The baernaloth gave a sly smile. “It’s a special case, a unique confluence of actors and circumstances. My kind of course are no stranger to such things, not at all, we invented most all of them in the first place. So yes, I could bring him back to life as easily as brushing a snowflake of ash from my shoulder. Why should I?” Toras stared at the proto-fiend, wanting nothing more than to punch the misbegotten horror in the face. “Surely we can do something to make it worth your while.” Clueless volunteered against better judgment. As if waiting for that offer, the Chronicler chuckled, “Yes you can, and all it requires is for you to humor me with an answer to a question, a single, solitary question: What is it you want? Answer me that and I shall bestow your fallen companion’s life back to them with but a thought…” Waiting for a response, the Chronicler focused its eyes on Clueless and gave a fanatical expression of expectation. His wasted fingers paused and hung in space, ready to spark a spell and unshackle Alex’s spirit and return him to life. “Don’t answer that.” Toras glared at Clueless. “Nothing good will come of it.” “We don’t have much of an option if we want to bring Alex back.” The bladesinger gritted his teeth. “Do you really think a baernaloth is going to bring him back out of the kindness of its heart?” Toras asked. “Do you trust that we’d actually get the real Alex back and not some hideous thing wearing his skin?” Tristol and Fyrehowl shook their heads in the negative. Regretfully for their dead companion, Clueless turned to the baernaloth, “I won’t answer that question.” “A pity…” The Chronicler shrugged and resumed a more leisurely position atop the rubble. Oddly, it continued to stare uncomfortably at Clueless. “Listen, I think we should just politely leave.” Nisha tugged at Tristol’s tail. “I hate to be the voice of reason here, but this cannot be good, not any of it. We just can’t trust that thing.” Whether prompted by the Xaositect’s words of warning or not, the Chronicler was suddenly at its feet and standing before Clueless. The bladesinger had no time to react before the baernaloth clasped a hand over his head and lifted him off the ground effortlessly. Like a death-camp doctor examining a human test-subject, the proto-fiend lifted him up to its own eye level, uncaring of his kicking and screaming, not so much staring at him, but through him. “Oh, now this is curious…” [center]****[/center] The Marauder sat in another of her private rooms adjacent to the Azure Iris Inn, atop the Fortune’s Wheel. A glass of brandy sat within reach to one side, while an ornate lamp burned with a pale green radiance at the other, a small white moth fluttering around the margins of the glass globe enclosing the flame. The ‘loth was dressed in her favorite gown of green glass beads, and the stem of an ornate pipe sat perched between her lips. She casually puffed as she reviewed a stack of letters, seated on a well-cushioned chair carved from several dozen bones of uncertain origins, rumored to be those of past egregious debtors, or simply those she’d had killed to serve as an object lesson to the one’s capable of paying up. The ‘loth didn’t look up from her desk when one of her tiefling groomer-guards approached, she simply made room on the desk for the delivery and motioned them to put it down. For her part, the tiefling seemed to be perpetually squinting due to the very recent loss of an eye. The ruined socket still bled slightly, but was in the process of regeneration courtesy of the ring that she wore. Her employer seemed entirely unconcerned. The tiefling smiled and handed her mistress a sheaf of notarized papers. “Your Fiendish Majesty, this is for you to review. I’ve delivered copies to the relevant municipal authorities in the Clerks’ Ward and likewise I’ve delivered the same to and spoken in person with Garzuvek, 1st Bloodchanter of the Reaver, and also Fegrim and Olk of the Brothers Durgrim Brewery.” She paused and frowned. “A most unpleasant man, Garzuvek. He challenged me to a fight, both before and after I handled our business.” “And did you fight him?” The Marauder smiled without looking up as she examined the papers. “Regarding what you said about wanting him to stay alive and angry, I let him win rather than stick a knife in his back. The ring of regeneration was rather convenient in letting him think he’d gotten the best of me. I lost an eye in the process. He ate it.” “Cute.” The ‘loth smiled contentedly, though it wasn’t apparent if it was because of an appreciation for her agent’s success, obedience, or loss of the eye itself. “In any event, his cooperation is more important than your temporary loss of an eye. The previous tenants?” “The former tenants have been quietly evicted without much fuss. The new leasers should move into both locations within the week.” “Very good.” Shemeska traded the papers in one hand for a glass of brandy, taking a slow sip. “Let me know when Madam Eszedia arrives.” “Actually, she’s already here.” The tiefling nodded her head towards the door. “She’s had a quasit primping her hair and adjusting her t*ts for just the right level of bounce to present for the last hour.” “Of course she is.” The Marauder rolled her eyes with minor irritation. “Never expect a tanar’ri to show up for an appointment at the proper time. It simply isn’t in their nature. Their nature however is precisely why I have her here. Show her in, but leave the quasit outside.” The tiefling gave a short bow and returned moments later with a statuesque succubus at her side dressed in an outfit that might as well have been painted on. The tanar’ri’s roving eyes moved from the tiefling to the ‘loth and when she took a seat opposite the Marauder, she did so with an emphatic bounce for the presumed audience. The Marauder’s guard pointedly made sure to keep her temporarily blinded eye facing the succubus to avoid the shameless and obnoxious display. The Marauder, whatever her thoughts on the goods on display, gave no outward reaction but a polite smile. “It’s such a pleasure to finally garner an audience with you Shemeska.” Madam Eszedia of Broken Reach flicked a forked tongue across painted lips while the aroma of a perfume equally hallucinogenic and toxic to mortals filtered through the air from where she’d applied it to her neck earlier. “I’ve worked on my own and I’ve shifted more to managing other lovely things including some of my own alu-fiend daughters in the past two decades, but I was delightfully flattered when your agents actually approached me “They said that you were very good at what you did.” A curious smile graced her lips and vanished, leaving no clue what she meant in specific. “I read the report and it was rather detailed.” “Good for you then sweet thing,” A bit of pride crept into the succubus’s voice, “I slept with two of them at once, and one of them was such a pleasure that I decided to keep them.” “That one was an attempted plant by the Planar Trade Consortium into my ranks. I’d been feeding him false information for months but he’d started to suspect, so I figured it best to dispose of him. You provided me with a convenient repository.” Fangs briefly graced the otherwise delicate and painted features on the ‘loth’s face. “You can keep him if he survived, but I knew your habits before I sent them there.” The tanar’ri focused coal-red eyes on the ‘loth, trying to judge if she’d walked into a trap or if the King of the Crosstrade actually did indeed want to go into business with her. Internally she snarled at the double-sided backbiting nature of how greater yugoloths spoke in riddles, rhymes, and double meanings. She wasn’t sure if the Marauder was playing her for a fool, preparing to set up a partnership, or was shamelessly hitting on her. Best to assume the best, so Eszedia crossed her arms and put herself on display. “How can I convince your Fiendish Majesty of my best intentions?” “Oh no need,” The Marauder casually glanced down at the succubus’s cleavage, her reaction intentionally cryptic but dancing along a blurry line of a smirk somewhere between pleased and disdainful, “You come well vetted, but I’m exceptionally particular about my whores, let alone my lovers.” The ‘loth placed distinct emphasis on the word ‘whore’, not that the tanar’ri took the slightest offense, rather the opposite. “Exceptionally particular? You count archmages, jewel thieves, and the Overlord of Carceri among past dalliances.” Madam Eszedia’s tail tapped against the table. “Apparently you are.” “Devoured, imprisoned, and finally both cursed and eternally cursing my name.” Shemeska gave a self-satisfied smile as she closed her eyes. She recalled the faces of those three examples and rubbed her thumb across the elaborately jeweled ring on her right index finger that contained Mantello’s ironically bottled essence. The mange-ravaged body of the final individual gave her the most pleasure, and that one’s torment was far from over. The succubus pursed her lips and placed a claw across them, letting her tongue tap the tip as she chose her next words with exceeding care. “That’s what drew me to pay attention to your people and come to Sigil you know: the chance to sit here in front of you and show off.” The tanar’ri held her arms tighter against her ribs and presented her cleavage like an altar ripe for a sacrifice. “A business relationship seems like a perfect start for something more. No?” The ‘loth didn’t even glance up. Instead she motioned with her hand to the lamp burning on the corner of her desk. The glass sphere separated and exposed the flame to a greater supply of air. The flame burned bright and the moth drew closer now that the glass no longer kept it away. “Let’s be honest Eszedia,” The Marauder spoke as the green flame reflected its image in her eyes, “Even if you were my type, which you aren’t, it would end rather poorly for you.” The moth dove too close to the guttering flame, the ‘loth pursed her lips and blew a rush of air, forcing its wings too close. With a burst of heat the doomed insect was gone and turned to ash. Finally looking up at the succubus, the ‘loth smiled. [center]****[/center] [/QUOTE]
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Shemeska's Planescape Storyhour - (Updated 14February2024)
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