Shemmy's Planescape Storyhour #2 (Updated x3 10-17-07)
Shemeska
Adventurer
Larsdana Ap Neut, by Steve Prescott
I really, really like this picture. It captures the former Keeper of the Tower almost perfectly. She will eventually show up in a tangential, but big fashion, later in the storyhour in all her cold, bitterly elegant fashion. Fun character.
I really, really like this picture. It captures the former Keeper of the Tower almost perfectly. She will eventually show up in a tangential, but big fashion, later in the storyhour in all her cold, bitterly elegant fashion. Fun character.
Bloodcookie
Explorer
Very nice art in both threads; my compliments to Steve and Scott.
Burningspear
First Post
...this mountainous pile of dust is getting Himalaya style ... 
Shemeska
Adventurer
Phaedra gazed at her reflection in the mirror. She really wanted to look good, but at the same time she didn’t want to look too good, and end up with the ‘loth getting the wrong idea.
“Nice dress…” Inva said as she walked up to the same mirror and pursed her lips to apply some lipstick.
It really was a nice dress, Phaedra thought as she looked down at it and the way it fell on her figure; it was incredibly flattering, and well beyond her means to own. The dress wasn’t actually woven from any sort of traditional fabric. Rather, it was made from tens of thousands of tiny glass and metal beads, strung upon gossamer-thin wire or maybe something more exotic still, because whatever it was it had a noticeable elasticity in places, and hung free without such in other places where necessary to fit her figure. Admittedly, the fit wasn’t initially perfect; the dress had been tailored for another woman originally, and while she’d possessed a vaguely similar body, Phaedra was a bit taller, and a bit stockier than whoever had first worn the gown.
Next to her, Inva perked an eyebrow and slipped the tip of her tail under a loose fold of the dress, briefly lifting it an inch, feeling the fabric and then letting it drop back down again. Ever so briefly –before she hid it- there was a flicker of recognition in her eyes.
“Phae darling,” She asked. “Where did you get that dress? It fits you like a glove.”
Not originally it didn’t, but fifteen minutes in front of the mirror and the innate ability to shapechange solved that issue. It might have hugged every curve of its original owner, but with a bit of magic, it nearly did the same for Phaedra.
“It’s something my dad gave me.” She replied. “A bit of an odd present normally, but it’s above and beyond anything else I have to wear that’s formal. He knew who we were going to meet, so believe me, I didn’t press him on the issue. You like?”
Phaedra turned around to let Inva have a full look at her wearing the gown, and to be certain the half-‘loth relished the chance to show off in front of the tiefling, especially so dolled up as she was.
Inva rather enjoyed the view –and her expression showed it- but as she admired the somewhat fiendish eye candy, she blinked and suddenly realized where she’d seen that dress before. Two centuries had dulled her memory of the topic, and she’d never personally met the woman who’d worn the dress, but it was difficult to forget it as having been the favorite gown of the previous King of the Crosstrade, Shemeska the Marauder. Someway, somehow, Phaedra had it and was going to be wearing it when they met the man who very likely had a hand in killing its previous owner.
“You look fetching.” Inva replied, not saying what she’d realized. “And more than a bit tempting.”
Phaedra smiled. “And I should say the same for you.”
In contrast to Phaedra, Inva was dressed in a much tighter outfit, and one that left little to the imagination though it remained tasteful nonetheless. A dark crimson corset was cinched around Inva’s torso, presenting more than ample cleavage to the world, while below that she wore red leather breaches that accentuated every curve there as well.
Inva paused and debated over what select bits of jewelry to wear, asking Phaedra’s opinion, and inwardly relishing the fact that more than once she caught the half-‘loth admiring her. Of course she was doing the same whenever Phaedra wasn’t looking, she was just trying to be a bit subtler about it. Though they hadn’t formally acknowledged it or even sat down and discussed it, they were an item, or fast becoming one and their looks and attitude towards each other made it obvious.
“Well,” Inva said as she blotted her lipstick. “We’re dressed to kill, but should I worry about our impression getting sullied by any of the others ability or lack thereof to be socially presentable?”
Phaedra chuckled. “Don’t worry about Velkyn at least. He might top us in terms of knowing how to impress, and oddly enough I’m not worried about Marcus.”
Inva gave a look of surprise, “Really?”
“He’s got enough background to know when to dress up, and how to do so. I’m not worried about him being underdressed.”
The tiefling quirked an eyebrow, “So long as he doesn’t put his foot in his mouth we’ll be fine then I suppose. And the others?”
Phaedra shrugged and leaned forward as Inva helped her fasten the clasp of a necklace. “I’ve known them for a little over a week, and most of that time we were camping in the snow, so I couldn’t really say what to expect. We’ll find out though.”
And a half hour later when they emerged from Phaedra’s room, they would indeed find out.
“You’re wearing armor.” Inva deadpanned, punctuating the statement with a metallic clang as she smacked his cuirass with her tail.
Garibaldi looked clueless. “And?”
The tiefling sighed and looked at the fighter and then let him watch her eyes and a finger pass from him and then to every other member of their group in turn. None of them were wearing any armor.
“Unless you’re planning to punch him in the face and then fight your way out of the inn, you don’t walk into a private dinner meeting dressed in a suit of armor.”
“It’s the best that I have.” Garibaldi protested. “And I spent the afternoon polishing it.”
Admittedly, it gleamed silver and it did look rather nice. But it wasn’t traditional formalwear.
“Look at Velkyn.” Inva said. “That’s how you dress if you’re male and you’re trying to look nice.”
Velkyn grinned and stood up a bit straighter. He was dressed in what appeared to be a perfectly tailored suit, with a dark waistcoat cut tight around his torso, and its lines suggestive and flirtatious without ever actually showing anything, and retaining a very masculine style. Its style, and indeed its actual material itself, was fey in origin and distantly related to lesser glamour styles of magic. The material was capable of shifting color, texture, and even cut and contour based on the whims of its wearer. Velkyn had a sense of style, and his clothing reflected his sensibilities in a direct manner.
“And if you don’t have his figure and can’t get away with what he can, you can always take tips from Marcus, or even Victor if you don’t mind looking elfy.”
“Elfy?” Victor asked. “Should I take that as a compliment or an insult?”
“Depends on how much self-confidence you’ve got.” Inva said with a wink, not answering the question. “But don’t worry. You’re fine for this little affair. Just don’t try to banish our host or anything silly like that.”
“I’ll try to be on my best behavior.” The cleric said. “Besides, I can’t banish him inside of Sigil. No need to worry about it when it’s impossible.”
“Don’t worry.” Velkyn said. “It’s a dinner party. He might offend folks a bit, but he’s not going to eat babies and burn kittens alive and make you take part.”
Phaedra shot him a skeptical look. Velkyn had met ‘loths, but he hadn’t met the same ones that she had, certainly not her grandfather.
“Let me rephrase that.” Velkyn said as he gathered a wrapped package that was hopefully going to help him get past the door. “It’s unlikely that he’ll do anything like that. Just enjoy the food, enjoy the drinks, don’t sign anything in ink, blood, or anything else, and don’t make any promises.”
Easier said than done where Nerath was concerned, but they’d find out soon enough.
A short time later they collectively walked to Nerath’s suite, pausing once they caught a glimpse of the armed tieflings standing outside of his door. The fiend was powerful and as such he preferred to either contact people on his own time or make them schedule an appointment; the guards were there to ensure that not just anyone came to disturb him, especially debtors and other unwelcome guests.
Phaedra turned and looked at Velkyn, “How are you going to get in to see him Velk? He never sent you an invitation.”
“Charm and good looks?” He asked, giving a smile and standing up as straight as possible. “And if that doesn’t work, there’s always intimidation.”
“And if that doesn’t work either,” Inva added with a hand on his shoulder, “They have sharp pointy things and you have feet to run with I suppose.”
“It’ll work out for the best.” Velkyn said. “It’ll work out for the best. Just watch.”
Inva stepped back and held up her hands. It was going to be interesting to see if it did.
Phaedra stepped forward first and gave her name to the guards. They looked at her, nodded and let her step past them into the fiend’s foyer. Evidently they’d been given descriptions, as they didn’t ask to see her invitation. Velkyn was next, but it wasn’t going to be as easy.
“Sir?” The tiefling on the right deftly interposed himself between the foyer and Velkyn. “Might I see your invitation? This is a private affair, and the King was very precise on only allowing his invited guests to attend tonight.”
Velkyn frowned, took a deep breath, and proceeded to apply a layer of charm that would have made half the advocates in the City Court jealous.
“I believe that there’s been some sort of mistake.” Velkyn answered without skipping a beat. “Considering that every member of my party received their invitation, yet I did not, I can only assume that it was intended but somehow failed to reach me.”
“If you have an invitation, you can enter.”
“Did you deliver them yourself?”
“No sir. But I know the man who did.”
“Then you can’t say if he did what he was supposed to do or not. But I can assure you that I would have been on the list of invitees. I suggest you go ask your master yourself if you’d like to second-guess his judgment in favor of an –obvious- error by one of your underlings.”
A flicker of hesitation passed over the tiefling’s features. There was too much logic in what the dark elf had said to make him risk it, but it was still just as risky to let him in if he wasn’t to be included either.
“And beyond that,” Velkyn added, holding up a wrapped, bottle-shaped package. “I have something to present to him that he’ll be more than pleased to receive.”
That look of uncertainty crossed the tiefling’s face again. There was a bit of logic to the half-drow’s statements, and his tone was assertive enough to impart more force to the argument.
Velkyn’s voice stressed that faintly superior and commanding tone. “Now if you’ll please move out of the way, I have a dinner to attend.”
The tiefling blinked as something telepathic wormed its way into his mind from beyond the door and gave him just such a command. Velkyn was welcome to attend if he forced the issue, even if the Marauder had been content to avoid his presence in the first place.
Deftly moving to the side, the tiefling bowed politely as he opened the door, “Enjoy your evening sir.”
Velkyn smiled and joined the others in the fiend’s waiting room.
“Nice dress…” Inva said as she walked up to the same mirror and pursed her lips to apply some lipstick.
It really was a nice dress, Phaedra thought as she looked down at it and the way it fell on her figure; it was incredibly flattering, and well beyond her means to own. The dress wasn’t actually woven from any sort of traditional fabric. Rather, it was made from tens of thousands of tiny glass and metal beads, strung upon gossamer-thin wire or maybe something more exotic still, because whatever it was it had a noticeable elasticity in places, and hung free without such in other places where necessary to fit her figure. Admittedly, the fit wasn’t initially perfect; the dress had been tailored for another woman originally, and while she’d possessed a vaguely similar body, Phaedra was a bit taller, and a bit stockier than whoever had first worn the gown.
Next to her, Inva perked an eyebrow and slipped the tip of her tail under a loose fold of the dress, briefly lifting it an inch, feeling the fabric and then letting it drop back down again. Ever so briefly –before she hid it- there was a flicker of recognition in her eyes.
“Phae darling,” She asked. “Where did you get that dress? It fits you like a glove.”
Not originally it didn’t, but fifteen minutes in front of the mirror and the innate ability to shapechange solved that issue. It might have hugged every curve of its original owner, but with a bit of magic, it nearly did the same for Phaedra.
“It’s something my dad gave me.” She replied. “A bit of an odd present normally, but it’s above and beyond anything else I have to wear that’s formal. He knew who we were going to meet, so believe me, I didn’t press him on the issue. You like?”
Phaedra turned around to let Inva have a full look at her wearing the gown, and to be certain the half-‘loth relished the chance to show off in front of the tiefling, especially so dolled up as she was.
Inva rather enjoyed the view –and her expression showed it- but as she admired the somewhat fiendish eye candy, she blinked and suddenly realized where she’d seen that dress before. Two centuries had dulled her memory of the topic, and she’d never personally met the woman who’d worn the dress, but it was difficult to forget it as having been the favorite gown of the previous King of the Crosstrade, Shemeska the Marauder. Someway, somehow, Phaedra had it and was going to be wearing it when they met the man who very likely had a hand in killing its previous owner.
“You look fetching.” Inva replied, not saying what she’d realized. “And more than a bit tempting.”
Phaedra smiled. “And I should say the same for you.”
In contrast to Phaedra, Inva was dressed in a much tighter outfit, and one that left little to the imagination though it remained tasteful nonetheless. A dark crimson corset was cinched around Inva’s torso, presenting more than ample cleavage to the world, while below that she wore red leather breaches that accentuated every curve there as well.
Inva paused and debated over what select bits of jewelry to wear, asking Phaedra’s opinion, and inwardly relishing the fact that more than once she caught the half-‘loth admiring her. Of course she was doing the same whenever Phaedra wasn’t looking, she was just trying to be a bit subtler about it. Though they hadn’t formally acknowledged it or even sat down and discussed it, they were an item, or fast becoming one and their looks and attitude towards each other made it obvious.
“Well,” Inva said as she blotted her lipstick. “We’re dressed to kill, but should I worry about our impression getting sullied by any of the others ability or lack thereof to be socially presentable?”
Phaedra chuckled. “Don’t worry about Velkyn at least. He might top us in terms of knowing how to impress, and oddly enough I’m not worried about Marcus.”
Inva gave a look of surprise, “Really?”
“He’s got enough background to know when to dress up, and how to do so. I’m not worried about him being underdressed.”
The tiefling quirked an eyebrow, “So long as he doesn’t put his foot in his mouth we’ll be fine then I suppose. And the others?”
Phaedra shrugged and leaned forward as Inva helped her fasten the clasp of a necklace. “I’ve known them for a little over a week, and most of that time we were camping in the snow, so I couldn’t really say what to expect. We’ll find out though.”
And a half hour later when they emerged from Phaedra’s room, they would indeed find out.
***
“You’re wearing armor.” Inva deadpanned, punctuating the statement with a metallic clang as she smacked his cuirass with her tail.
Garibaldi looked clueless. “And?”
The tiefling sighed and looked at the fighter and then let him watch her eyes and a finger pass from him and then to every other member of their group in turn. None of them were wearing any armor.
“Unless you’re planning to punch him in the face and then fight your way out of the inn, you don’t walk into a private dinner meeting dressed in a suit of armor.”
“It’s the best that I have.” Garibaldi protested. “And I spent the afternoon polishing it.”
Admittedly, it gleamed silver and it did look rather nice. But it wasn’t traditional formalwear.
“Look at Velkyn.” Inva said. “That’s how you dress if you’re male and you’re trying to look nice.”
Velkyn grinned and stood up a bit straighter. He was dressed in what appeared to be a perfectly tailored suit, with a dark waistcoat cut tight around his torso, and its lines suggestive and flirtatious without ever actually showing anything, and retaining a very masculine style. Its style, and indeed its actual material itself, was fey in origin and distantly related to lesser glamour styles of magic. The material was capable of shifting color, texture, and even cut and contour based on the whims of its wearer. Velkyn had a sense of style, and his clothing reflected his sensibilities in a direct manner.
“And if you don’t have his figure and can’t get away with what he can, you can always take tips from Marcus, or even Victor if you don’t mind looking elfy.”
“Elfy?” Victor asked. “Should I take that as a compliment or an insult?”
“Depends on how much self-confidence you’ve got.” Inva said with a wink, not answering the question. “But don’t worry. You’re fine for this little affair. Just don’t try to banish our host or anything silly like that.”
“I’ll try to be on my best behavior.” The cleric said. “Besides, I can’t banish him inside of Sigil. No need to worry about it when it’s impossible.”
“Don’t worry.” Velkyn said. “It’s a dinner party. He might offend folks a bit, but he’s not going to eat babies and burn kittens alive and make you take part.”
Phaedra shot him a skeptical look. Velkyn had met ‘loths, but he hadn’t met the same ones that she had, certainly not her grandfather.
“Let me rephrase that.” Velkyn said as he gathered a wrapped package that was hopefully going to help him get past the door. “It’s unlikely that he’ll do anything like that. Just enjoy the food, enjoy the drinks, don’t sign anything in ink, blood, or anything else, and don’t make any promises.”
Easier said than done where Nerath was concerned, but they’d find out soon enough.
***
A short time later they collectively walked to Nerath’s suite, pausing once they caught a glimpse of the armed tieflings standing outside of his door. The fiend was powerful and as such he preferred to either contact people on his own time or make them schedule an appointment; the guards were there to ensure that not just anyone came to disturb him, especially debtors and other unwelcome guests.
Phaedra turned and looked at Velkyn, “How are you going to get in to see him Velk? He never sent you an invitation.”
“Charm and good looks?” He asked, giving a smile and standing up as straight as possible. “And if that doesn’t work, there’s always intimidation.”
“And if that doesn’t work either,” Inva added with a hand on his shoulder, “They have sharp pointy things and you have feet to run with I suppose.”
“It’ll work out for the best.” Velkyn said. “It’ll work out for the best. Just watch.”
Inva stepped back and held up her hands. It was going to be interesting to see if it did.
Phaedra stepped forward first and gave her name to the guards. They looked at her, nodded and let her step past them into the fiend’s foyer. Evidently they’d been given descriptions, as they didn’t ask to see her invitation. Velkyn was next, but it wasn’t going to be as easy.
“Sir?” The tiefling on the right deftly interposed himself between the foyer and Velkyn. “Might I see your invitation? This is a private affair, and the King was very precise on only allowing his invited guests to attend tonight.”
Velkyn frowned, took a deep breath, and proceeded to apply a layer of charm that would have made half the advocates in the City Court jealous.
“I believe that there’s been some sort of mistake.” Velkyn answered without skipping a beat. “Considering that every member of my party received their invitation, yet I did not, I can only assume that it was intended but somehow failed to reach me.”
“If you have an invitation, you can enter.”
“Did you deliver them yourself?”
“No sir. But I know the man who did.”
“Then you can’t say if he did what he was supposed to do or not. But I can assure you that I would have been on the list of invitees. I suggest you go ask your master yourself if you’d like to second-guess his judgment in favor of an –obvious- error by one of your underlings.”
A flicker of hesitation passed over the tiefling’s features. There was too much logic in what the dark elf had said to make him risk it, but it was still just as risky to let him in if he wasn’t to be included either.
“And beyond that,” Velkyn added, holding up a wrapped, bottle-shaped package. “I have something to present to him that he’ll be more than pleased to receive.”
That look of uncertainty crossed the tiefling’s face again. There was a bit of logic to the half-drow’s statements, and his tone was assertive enough to impart more force to the argument.
Velkyn’s voice stressed that faintly superior and commanding tone. “Now if you’ll please move out of the way, I have a dinner to attend.”
The tiefling blinked as something telepathic wormed its way into his mind from beyond the door and gave him just such a command. Velkyn was welcome to attend if he forced the issue, even if the Marauder had been content to avoid his presence in the first place.
Deftly moving to the side, the tiefling bowed politely as he opened the door, “Enjoy your evening sir.”
Velkyn smiled and joined the others in the fiend’s waiting room.
Shemeska
Adventurer
***
For meeting his new neighbors, Nerath had assumed an ostensibly male but suitably gender-neutral attire. His public appearance in the last two centuries was less wedded to any specific gender than the public had known Shemeska to appear, but the similarities in style were there at times, unconscious as they were.
The arcanaloth yawned and adjusted a ring upon his left hand, and at the same time slightly adjusted the color of the gloss upon his claws. The claws were painted -not magically glimmered- a shade of black with subtle, iridescent crimson highlights, and his lips were painted a similar shade of black. His ears were decorated with almost a dozen earrings, half of them simple but ensorcelled bands -effectively static ioun stones- while the others bore jewels of such clarity and rarity that they could have been the dowry of a mortal princess. However it was the emerald stud labret piercing below his lower lip, and the platinum ring in his nose with its attendant chain that reached up to his left ear that attracted the most attention due to their sheer ostentatious presence.
The fiend was dressed in a blue-black corset cut for a lithe but muscled male figure, and below that a number of long lengths of dark colored velvet and satin to match, fastened with a belt of strung jewels and platinum beads, trimmed in silver, and trailing the floor a few inches in the back while cut a bit higher in the front to let the fiend’s slippered feet show.
Nerath spread his arms, bare from the shoulders except for a pair of golden bands on one arms and the rings upon his fingers, and gestured for the door to be opened.
“Please do come in!”
There was a pause as his guests shuffled in, a rather pregnant pause as they caught their first glimpse of the jackal-headed King of the Crosstrade.
Nerath the Marauder greeted them with a smile and piercing violet eyes, keenly watching the look of surprise that crossed over their faces. They weren’t expecting him to be dressed as he was. Perhaps they were expecting some wizard’s robe clad sorcerer, or a snarling, drooling fiend with a jackal’s head, trailing ash at his feet and smelling of sulfur. Velkyn was the least surprised by his attire, something that wasn’t surprising since his father and the fiend worked together, and he’d heard quite a bit about the King of the Crosstrade. Phaedra almost stumbled, and before she reigned in the emotion crossing her face, she looked galled by Nerath’s attire for such a formal function; the ear-to-nose chain seemed to put her off the most. The other mortals, Inva aside, were the most surprised, both because it was their first time meeting a greater yugoloth, and because of his blurring of the quaint gender role dichotomy they so clung to. The tiefling seemed to have the opposite reaction though, looking at his lithe physique and letting her eyes briefly wander over his mostly exposed upper body.
“I’m glad that you could all make it tonight.” Nerath said as he stepped forward to greet them.
His movements were fluid and confident, and as he stepped closer amid a rustle of velvet and deft ripple of lean muscle under his short coat of impeccably groomed tan and chocolate fur, he seemed to exude a self of power and confidence, and to some of them, a raw and dangerous sexuality. The contrast of dark velvet and platinum that dressed the fiend, both hallmarks of wealth and luxury that graced the flesh and glistening fur of a physical manifestation of misery and selfishness, were only a few of the fiend’s juxtapositions. There was the smile of a nobleman and the glinting fangs of a fiend that were just as evenly suited for impressing the gilded courts of Sigil’s golden lords as they were for tearing open the throat of a rival. There was also the style of dress in and of itself.
Nerath was male –at least he was at the moment as far as anyone could openly tell- but the clothing was relatively androgynous. To some it was unbalancing and disturbing, which was a feeling the fiend could use and manipulate, and to others it was exotic and enticing, something that could be just as dangerous.
The ‘loth’s eyes darted from guest to guest, judging and appraising each of them, taking in appearance, dress, their reaction to him, and their level of poise and social comfort. Each of those qualities held an intrinsic value so far as the fiend was concerned. Each of those values put a price tag on their services, a suggestion of how easy they might be to corrupt, blackmail, or simply use without them knowing it, and of course on a fickle and purely self-serving level, their presence as eye-candy or not was immediately obvious and some of them were well aware of that and had dressed to serve.
“Inva Ebonblade…” The ‘loth said, almost as if he were tasting the name like a sip of fine wine. “You have a prestigious resume, so to speak. In fact it’s fascinating where your name pops up, and when. All good things of course.”
Inva nodded respectfully and stepped forward, “Likewise your majesty.”
Nerath smiled and extended his hand for the tiefling to kiss, which she did for a protracted moment, and then the fiend took hold of one of hers in turn, lifted her up from her half-bow of courtesy and proceeded to place a kiss on her palm.
“I approve.” The fiend said, as he released the tiefling’s hand, but only after lingering with his lips to her flesh only a moment longer than simple protocol might have made appropriate. Their eyes never left one another, and that said more than enough.
Phaedra felt a rush of jealously, and it peaked as she sensed something telepathic dart from the ‘loth’s mind a fraction of a second before Inva deeply blushed. Something had been said, and she could only guess what it might have been.
“Pleased to meet you.” Phaedra said as she stepped forward, half to introduce herself next, and half to interrupt any further open flirtation between the King of the Crosstrade and her would-be girlfriend.
Again Nerath smiled a mouthful of fangs and extended his hand. Phaedra took it and kissed it, but only reluctantly, and a moment later when the fiend took her hand for the same pseudo-seductive display that he’d given Inva, she felt uncomfortable rather than excited, and in her case, that might have been the point.
Perhaps Nerath hadn’t really noticed anything above her cleavage before that point, and her was certainly giving that a look when he kissed her hand, but as he relinquished her fingers from his lips, he took note of what she was wearing.
By the three f*cking Glooms!!! How in the name of the General of Gehenna did you get that dress?!
The fiend’s pupils momentarily constricted and focused, darting to the seams of the dress, looking at the pattern of the glass beads, looking at the minute marks of wear it had received over the course of the centuries, and it all led to one conclusion: it was legitimate.
“You look lovely this evening my dear.” He said, not betraying anything in the tone of his voice, but showing it clearly in his eyes, and Phaedra caught the look. “That dress fits you perfectly.”
And. It. Is. MINE. Where in all the lower planes did you find it you little half-breed piece of sh*t?!
The metaphorical clockwork in the fiend’s head ground to a halt with one conclusion and a barely repressed snarl of contempt, loathing, and a surprising amount of respect.
A’kin you smiling son of a b*tch… you’ve had that gown for the last hundred and sixty years haven’t you? It belongs to me. ME. Enjoy this moment you *ss, enjoy it vicariously because I know you are. Not only do you send your daughter here like poisoned low-hanging fruit that I can only look at but not do anything more with, but she arrives dressed in –that- dress. That dress belongs to me you guardinal fu*cker
“Why thank you.” Phaedra said, feeling a bit uncomfortable under the fiend’s leer till she held up her gift.
Nerath held out a hand for the small box and looked at it curiously.
“I hope you like it.” Phaedra said, taking the moment to step back from where he’d drawn uncomfortably close.
I have a deep appreciation for unwrapping pretty little things to get to what’s inside yes. But due to your father, you’re unfortunately rather off limits. For shame.
The fiend unwrapped the crystalline flower and smiled. “I certainly do. It’s much appreciated. You seem to have a taste for the exquisite.”
Phaedra smiled and it seemed that he’d recognized it for what it was, and had indeed approved of its rarity. He held it up to the light and then telekinetically pulled out a chair at the table for her, one immediately to the right of his own. He was going to be paying particular attention to her the entire evening it seemed.
He escorted her to the table, and then turned to look at Velkyn.
“Jarleth’s son.” Nerath extended a hand which the half-drow promptly ignored as he gave a bow. The fiend wasn’t going to do anything over that slight, but it was still giving him the same appraising look as it had Inva and Phaedra which was both flattering, unexpected, and… well Velkyn wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about it.
“Velkyn de Silvestra de Cadogwg.” He said, “Pleased to finally meet in person. I’ve heard quite a bit about you.”
Again with the poisoned low-hanging fruit and parents who wouldn’t hesitate to try to kill me… a shame
“No doubt.” Nerath said with a self-serving grin. “A true shame that my runners failed to properly deliver your invitation. It shouldn’t have happened, and given as how I hold a seat on the Runners’ Guild’s board of directors, I’ll see that the responsible party faces disciplinary action for the slight.”
Nerath flashed a smile again and motioned for Velkyn to take a seat at the alternate head of the table. While it was nominally a place of honor, it kept Clueless’s son as far away from him as possible, and kept the chairs adjacent to his own reserved for others that he was interested in for reasons both carnal or pointedly otherwise.
“No need, and I happen to have something for you.” Velkyn explained, presenting the fiend with the wrapped gift that he’d brought along. “You’ll find it a nice vintage in line with what I’ve been told are some of your favorites. And it’s also one that you likely haven’t had the chance to enjoy before.”
Nerath might have had more connections and jink than many organized religions, but as he unwrapped the bottle and held it up to the light, he realized that he was in for a treat. Being what he was, most alcohol didn’t phase him; they wouldn’t give him so much as a buzz, let alone venture close to getting him inebriated. Certain fiendish wines sufficed, though for him they were mundane, but not the bottle of fey wine that Velkyn had handed him.
Your father has been holding out on me… Nerath thought as he looked at the bottle. It was a several hundred year old bottle of a Seelie noble house’s private stock, not something that normally reached the market, and virtually unheard of to appear in the hands of non-fey nobility.
Invited or not, you’ve earned a seat boy.
“This is quite nice.” Nerath said. “If you have access to any further stock, I’m willing to compensate you. It’s incredibly difficult to obtain fey wine on the outer planes, and I happen to appreciate it. Have a seat and perhaps we can discuss that over the course of the evening.”
Velkyn had earned a spot at the table, but having presented their host with an incredibly rare and valuable gift, one more obviously valuable to most eyes, it raised a point of awkwardness for the others since they either had nothing to likewise give to the fiend, expensive or otherwise, or their own gifts seemed dull by comparison even if that wasn’t the case. Phaedra in particular seemed to feel a bit awkward, already uncomfortable around the ‘loth as she was, though curiously enough, Inva was only barely suppressing a grin. The tiefling had a gift, but she was still waiting for the best time to hand it over.
“You strike me as having a bearing befitting of nobility.” Nerath said, looking at Marcus. “Of all of you however, I found it most difficult to find out information on you. I take it that you’re from the prime material then?”
Marcus stepped forward and gave a polite bow, unaware that the ‘loth had been keenly aware of his nobility and the feigned ignorance was simply a verbal noose left out to grab. By any standard, Marcus was very nearly one of the clueless still, and while he was clearly attuned to the ways of a mortal kingdom, mortal politics, and the nobility of his world on the prime, certain things didn’t carry over into similar spheres on the planes.
The fiend could have cared less about Marcus’s royal heritage, even if he and his brother’s link to a prime material throne was currently in limbo, held as the position was by a usurper. Marcus not only played upon that heritage, he announced it, and carried himself in how he interacted with the fiend based upon that presumption of nobility in relation to nobility.
Thankfully, Nerath was content to play along, though inwardly the ‘loth was only thinking of how the mortal might become a client in the future based upon his presumptions and his goals back on the prime material.
They talked a bit more, and the fiend complimented him on his drive and ambition to regain a throne that was rightfully his. Their words ended with Marcus feeling good about himself and his ego inflated, but the fiend had meant none of it.
There’s always a market for naïve mortals…
Accompanying Marcus, Francesca was given the expected treatment, though compared to how Nerath had treated Inva or Phaedra, his actions seemed more in line with social expectation and routine than actually having any subtext of flirtation. Francesca was average, both in dress and physical looks, and lacking power or influence, the ‘loth could have cared less about her. Still, unused to the attention of a being like Nerath, she blushed when he kissed her hand, both an expression of enjoyment and unease at the same time.
I could have you in bed and screaming my name till your voice was raw tonight if I wanted. But I could do the same with any hundred men or women, single or otherwise in the Fortune’s Wheel tonight, and all of them better looking than you. You have nothing to interest me.
Next there was Marcus’s brother, and curiously enough the fiend was just as polite as could be to the cleric. Despite his own immediate misgivings about Nerath, Victor knew that the least he made mention of his discomfort about so much as being in the same room as the ‘loth the better, and so he returned the disingenuous civility with a smile and a bow.
“While my clergy still has little influence here in Sigil, I’m well aware that most of the larger faiths in the city have worked with you in the past.” Victor shook the fiend’s hand and tried not to instinctively flinch. “How could they avoid it? By all indications you get things done, and you have the connections to be able to help them out, so I’m honored to meet you.”
A cleric. That sums up my opinion right there in the description.
“A pleasure.” Nerath said, motioning for Victor to take a seat at the table. “I’d be happy to extend to you the same treatment I give to the other faiths of Sigil. You might not be as established as them, but frankly the positioning and jockeying for power that exists among them isn’t something that matters to me. I’ll work with the priests of a new faith just as evenly as I’ll work with the temples of Hermes, Moradin, or Thor, etc.”
And the temple of Set, the temple of Incabulos, the Temple of the Abyss…
Victor continued giving his best impression of a smile and took a seat as Garibaldi approached the fiend and gave a somewhat stiff bow. Admittedly, he was doing his best to be graceful, but the armor was just restrictive enough to be awkward for such social graces to come off without looking a bit off.
Not a cleric, but as foolish as one.
Finally, once his guests had all taken their seats, and after he’d had a moment to briefly let them speak in turn about who they were and what they did –though he already knew all of that before they’d walked in the door- Nerath took his place at the head of the table.
“But now that I’ve been introduced to you, allow me to introduce myself and tell you a little about who I am, what I do, and what I can offer.”
The fiend brushed a strand of hair from his face with a claw, giving an excuse for a dramatic pause.
“And believe me,” He said, glancing first to Inva, then to Phaedra. “I can offer much.”
Phaedra gave the fiend’s insinuation no outward reply, but Inva’s eyes lingered on the fiend’s and gave enough of a sparkle that it was clear –to Nerath at least- that she’d heard his offer, and while she wouldn’t be opening or closing any doors -or legs for that matter- right then and there, she understood the offer and seemed appreciative in principal.
“I buy and sell information.” Nerath explained. “Just as my predecessor did. I sell secrets the way other fiends sell souls. I arrange circumstances, I make things happen, and I procure things if you’re willing to pay for it. I’ll leave out the specifics, but reputation should suffice in what I’m capable of.”
The fiend knew more about Sigilian politics than virtually anyone else alive, dead, or otherwise, and he sat atop a network of spies that wormed their way into most of the Cage’s organizations, and a great many that extended outside of it.
“You’re a very well connected person.” Garibaldi said. “But do you have anything to say about some of the rumors I’ve heard about you?”
“Rumors?” Nerath looked faintly amused by where the fighter was going. He leaned forward and toyed with the emerald labret below his lip like some might playfully tug upon a goatee out of habit when pondering something.
“You know.” Garibaldi said, momentarily taking his finger out of the metaphorical hole in the dike of social restraint. “King of the Crosstrade and all of that: drugs, murders, having a few thieves’ guilds in your pocket. Those rumors.”
Nerath smiled from behind the rim of his wine glass, “If they could prove anything, they would. As it is, though I’m sure the Sons of Mercy and many others would love to anoint me as some criminal kingpin, they lack anyone who could actually testify in the City Courts towards any verifiable link back to me.”
His fangs and a knowing chuckle punctuated the statement, and while legally his reputation was spotless, it was one of the most open secrets in Sigil that he controlled at least 70% of the organized gangs and criminal cartels in operation within the City of Doors at any one time. Most of the drug trade, most of the trade in slaves, unwilling prostitution, and other such things ultimately fed his coffers, and ultimately his was the hand that directed those enterprises. Of course, not a word could be proven in the courts, and when they could be, such witnesses or evidence tended to vanish before it could be presented.
“But while of course my rivals might love to sully my reputation with undeserved slander, I prefer to focus on my reputation within the public sphere.”
He gestured to the room around them, and in doing so they couldn’t help but notice to jewelry on his hands and wrists.
“I’m the single largest landowner in Sigil.” Nerath explained. “And though I don’t own anything in the Fortune’s Wheel, I hold title to just under 35% of the properties in the city. Despite the aspirations of such people as Jeremo the Natterer, Zadara the Titan, and others, both individuals and organizations, no one else comes close to snapping up properties and businesses like ripe apples ready to drop. I simply know when to make an offer, and how to do so.”
The fiend’s business practices were buttressed by a healthy amount of fear in those who sold to him, and the fact that for choice bits of land, his offers were always spot on for the market value. The ‘loth’s spigot of jink seemed unending at times.
“I’m also one of the wealthiest people in the Cage, and my political connections afford me a rather large hand in public affairs.”
That was an understatement.
“With the exception of a few years after my predecessor’s death, I’ve held a seat on the Sigilian Council for the last century and a half, and it seems likely in the next open election that I’ll be appointed Chairman as well. Suffice to say between official power, unofficial inroads into the guilds, and a wealth of knowledge that I buy and sell like choice bits of flesh, I can make things happen if you’re willing to pay my price.”
“And of course, if you’re unable to do so, we can still do business.” The fiend added. “You’ll simply have to be willing to return a favor for a favor. I’m rather flexible.”
Double entendre aside, which was likely true as well, even if they didn’t purchase anything he was offering, the fiend was always open to buying the same, or to act as a middleman in a market of favors, winks, and handshakes that moved the tide of politics inside the Cage. Even if they had no direct relationship with the ‘loth, being on his good side was a positive thing for anyone living in the City of Doors, and doubly so for anyone hoping to aspire to any success therein.
“I can do a lot for you.” He said. “And I’d love to know more about your plans and goals, and what you could potentially do for me. But we can discuss such things in due time.”
At that point the fiend paused, and apparently by intent, because at the moment he stopped talking and relaxed, a pair of elegantly dressed tiefling butlers appeared bearing that evening’s dinner.
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Shemeska
Adventurer
“A little something for everyone, and only the best.” Nerath nodded and the servants began by placing covered dishes before the fiend and each of his guests.
Even before the gold covers were lifted and the meal revealed, the scent wafting up from each was absolutely mouthwatering. Some sort of meat and wine sauce along with a mixture of roasted and creamed vegetables. It wasn’t what they’d been expecting, or fearing, as the case might have been. It wasn’t “braised shank of someone who owed me a debt”, elf kidney pie, illithid headcheese, or anything else stereotypically expected on a greater fiend’s dinner menu.
“Enjoy.” Nerath said as he held a golden knife and fork, waiting for his guests before taking a taste of his own.
Victor tentatively took a bite of the delicate, perfectly cooked meat. Whatever it was, it had been pounded thin before being steeped in a mixture of spirits and its own juices along with an unidentifiable mixture of spices.
“This is really quite amazing.” Victor said. “What is it?”
Nerath nodded as he took his first bite, savored the taste for a moment, and then answered the cleric. “Roast medallions of Nic’Epona.”
Victor nodded and took another bite, but it was clear that the name held little intrinsic meaning to him, nor to anyone except Velkyn, Phaedra, and Inva who recognized one salient fact about the creature they were presently dining upon, even if they might not have known much else about it: it was sentient.
But they made no fuss and enjoyed their food. After all, the creature was already dead, and refusing to eat would have likely insulted the fiend, which wasn’t something they were keen to do when he was already in a good mood.
Dinner progressed and through it all Phaedra felt uncomfortable in the way that the fiend’s eyes focused on her. Even if he wasn’t openly leering, she felt as if he were mentally undressing her, but to make things even more bizarre, she couldn’t shake the feeling that while he was doing precisely that to Inva and probably to Velkyn as well, he seemed more interested in the dress she was wearing than what it was covering.
Finishing the meal, Nerath’s servants cleared the table and replaced the meal with a variety of expensive looking and exotic desserts as well as a glass of cognac for each for each person save Nerath who was given a specific, odd-looking drink. It was odd in that it swirled inside the glass on its own accord, immiscible currents of some golden spirit and a black, almost syrupy liquid stirred into it along with a dose of what looked like cinnamon and a few other spices.
Conversation took a pause and the ‘loth sipped at his drink with obvious pleasure, and the momentary respite from the flow of things gave Inva the chance she’d been waiting for. She sat up in her chair a bit straighter and tapped the silver-tipped point of her tail against her glass, getting the table’s attention.
“But now Your Fiendish Majesty, if I might have a moment of your attention.” Inva smiled and waited for Nerath’s response.
The others looked at the tiefling with genuine curiosity. She hadn’t mentioned anything to them earlier when they’d discussed the meeting and what to expect. Whatever she was planning, she hadn’t explained it ahead of time to any of them, including Phaedra, since even her half-fiend potential girlfriend was giving her the same look.
The fiend’s ears twitched and swiveled forward. “Oh, that you have.”
Inva smiled and whispered a few quick words to a spell and there was a barely noticeable buzz in the air, though it wasn’t from her own conjuration, but rather from a contingent counterspell the ‘loth held in check as he understood what she doing. Relaxing, his eyes danced with interest on something other than her cleavage.
“Allow me to present you with a gift.” Inva announced as shadows swirled between her hands and rapidly congealed into a black, translucent box.
The tiefling placed her fingers on the latch of the shadow chest and waited for the fiend’s nod of approval. Nerath’s lips lifted revealing ivory fangs and as he inclined his head favorably, Inva opened the chest and produced a letter emblazoned with a wax seal of Sigil’s Temple of the Abyss.
Nerath suddenly looked at the tiefling with genuine respect alongside more base concerns as he recognized the seal, the value of what she was gifting him with, the skill it suggested that she possessed, and the fact that she was doing so to get his attention for whichever particular flavor she might want in the future.
“Notarized and sealed by the High Priest to the Temple of the Abyss.” Inva explained. “Three rings of the Bells of Baphomet against anyone of your choosing.”
“Well done…” He whispered as he examined the letter and its seal. “Most appreciated darling, and Inva dear, you have my attention as well as thanks.”
Inva grinned as her gift had had exactly the response she’d hoped it would have, and unconsciously she crossed her arms displaying a bit more cleavage for the fiend’s attention. She’d already invoked the fiend’s lust, but with that gift she’d also invoked a serious level of intellectual curiosity on his part as well, a potentially double-edged prospect as both of them were liable to involve getting bent over and f*cked.
The others looked at Inva with a mixture of surprise and respect, though Victor showed a bit of wariness given his desire to get out of the fiend’s presence as quickly as possible, and Phaedra, well… Phaedra was inwardly smoldering with jealously. Although she and Inva weren’t officially even dating -and to that point they hadn’t actually sat down and discussed their feelings on the matter- Phaedra had no intention of sharing a girlfriend and potential lover with anyone else, especially with a full-blooded ‘loth like Nerath the Marauder.
“I believe the rest of you have been rather upstaged.” The fiend explained as he clapped his hands and caused Inva’s gift to vanish in a swirl of gray light that took the momentary form of tiny, screaming spirits.
Indeed they had. None of them had brought a gift of that magnitude; it simply hadn’t crossed their minds, and for most of them, having any sort of working relationship –or any other kind of relationship- wasn’t present in their thoughts either.
“Wow…” Phaedra said as she looked at Inva with surprise. She’d known that the tiefling was talented. After all, she’d uncovered the truth about her background in only a few days, and that wasn’t a secret she passed around. But having favors owed by the Temple of the Abyss was rare. Had Inva worked for them at some point?
The others stared at her in surprise the same way. Inva had shown up for their dinner meeting with Nerath fully intending to make an impression upon the ‘loth.
“Now my rather impressive little girl, I simply must ask.” He announced as he leaned forward curiously. “Just how did you come into possession of favors from either Sarnath the Apostate or Noshtoreth of the Umber Scales? I recognize the seal and it’s old enough to be from either the current High Priest or his rather dead predecessor.”
“Let’s call it a secret.” Inva shrugged and smiled wickedly. “I rather like mysteries. And since nobody knows precisely what happened to Noshtoreth, it’ll find good company.”
“You enjoy teasing as well.” He replied. “We’ll leave it a secret then. But I did hear rumors about Noshtoreth. I heard he angered Graz’zt, or some other major Abyssal power.”
Inva shrugged. “It’s possible I suppose.”
“I also heard that his soul had a particular flavor like burnt chocolate.” Nerath grinned, licking his lips to remove a stray drop of liquor, or relishing a memory. “It’s possible I suppose. But I like secrets too.”
Phaedra sipped at her drink and thought about the situation for a moment. Nerath was repugnant, representing the worst aspects of her own ‘loth heritage taken to an extreme, but even though Phaedra knew that Inva was evil, she didn’t really view her the same way at all, attraction aside. Possessing Abyssal favors and gifting them to fiends was perhaps a side of the tiefling that she hadn’t discovered yet. Perhaps Inva was even more complex of an individual than she though, or outside of the half-‘loth’s thoughts on the matter, perhaps Inva was simply not one to pass up an opportunity to better herself, dangerous as it might be.
“Your gift is appreciated my dear.” Nerath said with a respectful incline of his head. “You have my respect, and my attention in the future if you so desire to do business, no invitation or prior appointment needed.”
Phaedra sipped her drink to avoid grimacing at the look the fiend was giving to Inva, but much to her relief nothing more was discussed along those lines, at least nothing verbal, and nothing more in the company of the group. Inva had unlocked and opened a door, and as much as she liked secrets, regardless of how it developed, it wasn’t something she was likely to be open with.
The remainder of the evening consisted of largely irrelevant and hollow talk about politics over desert, and drinking interspersed with leading questions by the fiend as he verbally probed them for details about their past and what their current circumstances in Sigil involved. The two hours were all still part of Nerath’s sales pitch about who he was and what he could do, and during that time he was practically drooling onto Inva, and to Phaedra’s continued irritation, the tiefling seemed just as taken with the ‘loth.
Eventually though, the fiend realized that he wasn’t going to get anything more from them besides the expected social banter. By blood, by faith, or by reputation, dealing with the King of the Crosstrade simply wasn’t in the cards for the group at the moment… most members at least.
“Well it has been a delight.” Nerath exclaimed, finishing a shot of Bytopian brandy mixed with Styx water. “I’ve given you a decent idea of what services I might be able to offer you in the future if you find yourself in need of them. Keep me in mind.”
“Thank you for dinner.” Phaedra replied, trying to sound as graciously as possible. “We’ve enjoyed ourselves, and appreciated getting to know you, but it’s getting a bit late and we should probably get going.”
Victor nodded, followed closely thereafter by his brother and Garibaldi. They were keen to break away from the fiend while they were still on his neutral side and hadn’t walked into anything. Garibaldi at least was convinced that the whole thing was a trap of some kind, though it really wasn’t anything of the sort. Nerath simply wanted to know who had moved into the suite below his own and if possible who was paying for it. He hadn’t found out the latter answer, but he’d been afforded the opportunity to make a few mortals squirm, to openly hit on two rivals’ son and daughter, and he’d discovered a delightfully talented tiefling.
“That it is.” Nerath said with a sigh as he stood up and stepped to his left, pulling out Inva’s chair and extending a hand.
Inva took his hand and stood up, feeling a claw rub against the inside of her palm.
“Unless of course you’d like to stay.” Nerath asked as his eyes locked onto Inva’s, while in the background Phaedra coughed and stopped herself from growling.
Inva gave a coy smile. “I’m afraid I must decline your majesty.”
“A pity.” Nerath said, shrugging his bare shoulders. “Another time perhaps.”
Nerath frowned from disappointment, but unnoticed to anyone else in the room, Inva had returned his rub by running her thumb across his wrist a few telling times.
“You’ll be hearing from me you delightfully wicked little thing.”
Inva was blushing as she let go of the fiend’s hand and joined the others as they moved towards the door. Phaedra was inwardly fuming, but she seemed much more at ease once Inva leaned in and took her arm.
“Good luck with your current employment.” Nerath said as he gestured for the door to be opened.
“Much appreciated sir.” Velkyn said. “Enjoy the wine, and if we need your services in the future, we’ll keep you in mind.”
“You’ll know where to find me if you do.” The fiend put a golden pipe to his mouth, puffed and exhaled a cloud of bluish smoke. A few streamers brushed against Inva’s neck with the palpable sensation of long, thin fingers, and filled the air with an exotic and intoxicating scent.
They left and one of Nerath’s guards closed the door behind them as they strolled down the hall and shrugged off the last bits of oddly lingering smoke. Phaedra emphatically shivered and stuck out of her tongue as soon as they were out of line of sight of the door, and Inva shivered as well, but for a distinctly different reason.
Back in the fiend’s chamber, all was dark and only the periodic smoldering of pipe ashes gave any light, glinting off of fangs and fur and golden piercings. Nerath lay sprawled across a divan, leaning his head back and smiling at how the evening had gone. He chuckled and opened a pair of eyes like burning coals.
“Oh, we’ll definitely be seeing more of each other in the future…”
Soft light drifted down from a circular window in the ceiling, almost like moonlight, and fell upon two figures as they circled a single, magically preserved corpse.
“I take it that you’ve already chosen another victim?”
The Visionary nodded a yes as she deftly excised the last digit of the corpse’s ring finger and placed it into a vial in her other hand. Beneath her vision, and that of her companion, the glass shimmered with a permanent necromantic dweomer to prevent any decay in the centuries old flesh, ensuring that it would be found, examined, and ultimately recognized by its intended recipient.
“I have a very long list.” She explained, stepping away from the body. “It’s not a question of finding another victim. It’s a question of who to kill next, and whose death will cause the most poignant prick in their master’s flesh. I want to hurt him, gain his attention, and ultimately well… we’ll see what form revenge will be best served by.”
Tyranny’s first head chuffled like a mortal tiger while the mandibles on his second head chattered against one another. “How long do you think it will take for the Lord of Avernus to know who you are?”
“Not for some time still I suspect.” She replied. “But he’ll know it’s me the moment he finds a bit of this corpse. He’ll recognize it for who it was, and what the symbolism means in context. He’ll remember me. Oh he’ll remember me. But I fully expect his underlings to not report their findings, or to have the evidence buried in the paperwork of the ministries for years to come before the string of assassinations grows too long to avoid an obvious pattern and connection. Then he’ll look, and he’ll recognize my hand.”
“If you’re certain.” Tyranny replied. “But I do worry that Bel will notice before other plans have fallen into place. Our work on Acheron still requires years of work before it reaches fruition, and this assumes no opposition from the Lord of the 1st, the Risen’s former kindred, or my own kind as well.”
Beneath her porcelain mask, the Visionary smirked. Her immortal companion was less subtle than usual, but he did have a point. Her revenge wasn’t their group’s only goal, and if she was too quick and pointed in gaining hers, it might scuttle their longer-term plans. Lacking the patience of immortality might have been a fault, but what she’d endured for over a century gave her more hatred bubbling in her veins than perhaps even the Risen.
“The victim is minor in this instance.” She finally answered, hoping to mollify her ally’s concern. “It should work out well for our newest hires. It’s quick and it will give us a better idea of just what they’re willing to do.”
“I suppose so.” Tyranny replied.
The Visionary smirked again and turned to the exiled rakshasa lord. “Besides, are you really ready to send them off to Renais, Marsallen, or if we let her have her way, somewhere in the depths of the Abyss at the Risen’s bidding? Small steps.”
That seemed to satisfy him.
“Fair enough.” Tyranny said. “We’ll see what sort of commotion this starts in the Ministry of Mortal Affairs once it’s done, and if it seems to cause too many waves for the moment, we can adjust in the future. But in the meantime I’ll have Aspaseka talk to our hires and give them the details on your target, as well as the vial.”
“Very well.” The Visionary said with a smile behind her mask as she handed the vial into the fiend’s reversed hand. “Though truth be told, even though it certainly makes for a pointed message to Bel, I almost feel sorry for using bits of old Factol Noby here for my purposes.”
Even before the gold covers were lifted and the meal revealed, the scent wafting up from each was absolutely mouthwatering. Some sort of meat and wine sauce along with a mixture of roasted and creamed vegetables. It wasn’t what they’d been expecting, or fearing, as the case might have been. It wasn’t “braised shank of someone who owed me a debt”, elf kidney pie, illithid headcheese, or anything else stereotypically expected on a greater fiend’s dinner menu.
“Enjoy.” Nerath said as he held a golden knife and fork, waiting for his guests before taking a taste of his own.
Victor tentatively took a bite of the delicate, perfectly cooked meat. Whatever it was, it had been pounded thin before being steeped in a mixture of spirits and its own juices along with an unidentifiable mixture of spices.
“This is really quite amazing.” Victor said. “What is it?”
Nerath nodded as he took his first bite, savored the taste for a moment, and then answered the cleric. “Roast medallions of Nic’Epona.”
Victor nodded and took another bite, but it was clear that the name held little intrinsic meaning to him, nor to anyone except Velkyn, Phaedra, and Inva who recognized one salient fact about the creature they were presently dining upon, even if they might not have known much else about it: it was sentient.
But they made no fuss and enjoyed their food. After all, the creature was already dead, and refusing to eat would have likely insulted the fiend, which wasn’t something they were keen to do when he was already in a good mood.
Dinner progressed and through it all Phaedra felt uncomfortable in the way that the fiend’s eyes focused on her. Even if he wasn’t openly leering, she felt as if he were mentally undressing her, but to make things even more bizarre, she couldn’t shake the feeling that while he was doing precisely that to Inva and probably to Velkyn as well, he seemed more interested in the dress she was wearing than what it was covering.
Finishing the meal, Nerath’s servants cleared the table and replaced the meal with a variety of expensive looking and exotic desserts as well as a glass of cognac for each for each person save Nerath who was given a specific, odd-looking drink. It was odd in that it swirled inside the glass on its own accord, immiscible currents of some golden spirit and a black, almost syrupy liquid stirred into it along with a dose of what looked like cinnamon and a few other spices.
Conversation took a pause and the ‘loth sipped at his drink with obvious pleasure, and the momentary respite from the flow of things gave Inva the chance she’d been waiting for. She sat up in her chair a bit straighter and tapped the silver-tipped point of her tail against her glass, getting the table’s attention.
“But now Your Fiendish Majesty, if I might have a moment of your attention.” Inva smiled and waited for Nerath’s response.
The others looked at the tiefling with genuine curiosity. She hadn’t mentioned anything to them earlier when they’d discussed the meeting and what to expect. Whatever she was planning, she hadn’t explained it ahead of time to any of them, including Phaedra, since even her half-fiend potential girlfriend was giving her the same look.
The fiend’s ears twitched and swiveled forward. “Oh, that you have.”
Inva smiled and whispered a few quick words to a spell and there was a barely noticeable buzz in the air, though it wasn’t from her own conjuration, but rather from a contingent counterspell the ‘loth held in check as he understood what she doing. Relaxing, his eyes danced with interest on something other than her cleavage.
“Allow me to present you with a gift.” Inva announced as shadows swirled between her hands and rapidly congealed into a black, translucent box.
The tiefling placed her fingers on the latch of the shadow chest and waited for the fiend’s nod of approval. Nerath’s lips lifted revealing ivory fangs and as he inclined his head favorably, Inva opened the chest and produced a letter emblazoned with a wax seal of Sigil’s Temple of the Abyss.
Nerath suddenly looked at the tiefling with genuine respect alongside more base concerns as he recognized the seal, the value of what she was gifting him with, the skill it suggested that she possessed, and the fact that she was doing so to get his attention for whichever particular flavor she might want in the future.
“Notarized and sealed by the High Priest to the Temple of the Abyss.” Inva explained. “Three rings of the Bells of Baphomet against anyone of your choosing.”
“Well done…” He whispered as he examined the letter and its seal. “Most appreciated darling, and Inva dear, you have my attention as well as thanks.”
Inva grinned as her gift had had exactly the response she’d hoped it would have, and unconsciously she crossed her arms displaying a bit more cleavage for the fiend’s attention. She’d already invoked the fiend’s lust, but with that gift she’d also invoked a serious level of intellectual curiosity on his part as well, a potentially double-edged prospect as both of them were liable to involve getting bent over and f*cked.
The others looked at Inva with a mixture of surprise and respect, though Victor showed a bit of wariness given his desire to get out of the fiend’s presence as quickly as possible, and Phaedra, well… Phaedra was inwardly smoldering with jealously. Although she and Inva weren’t officially even dating -and to that point they hadn’t actually sat down and discussed their feelings on the matter- Phaedra had no intention of sharing a girlfriend and potential lover with anyone else, especially with a full-blooded ‘loth like Nerath the Marauder.
“I believe the rest of you have been rather upstaged.” The fiend explained as he clapped his hands and caused Inva’s gift to vanish in a swirl of gray light that took the momentary form of tiny, screaming spirits.
Indeed they had. None of them had brought a gift of that magnitude; it simply hadn’t crossed their minds, and for most of them, having any sort of working relationship –or any other kind of relationship- wasn’t present in their thoughts either.
“Wow…” Phaedra said as she looked at Inva with surprise. She’d known that the tiefling was talented. After all, she’d uncovered the truth about her background in only a few days, and that wasn’t a secret she passed around. But having favors owed by the Temple of the Abyss was rare. Had Inva worked for them at some point?
The others stared at her in surprise the same way. Inva had shown up for their dinner meeting with Nerath fully intending to make an impression upon the ‘loth.
“Now my rather impressive little girl, I simply must ask.” He announced as he leaned forward curiously. “Just how did you come into possession of favors from either Sarnath the Apostate or Noshtoreth of the Umber Scales? I recognize the seal and it’s old enough to be from either the current High Priest or his rather dead predecessor.”
“Let’s call it a secret.” Inva shrugged and smiled wickedly. “I rather like mysteries. And since nobody knows precisely what happened to Noshtoreth, it’ll find good company.”
“You enjoy teasing as well.” He replied. “We’ll leave it a secret then. But I did hear rumors about Noshtoreth. I heard he angered Graz’zt, or some other major Abyssal power.”
Inva shrugged. “It’s possible I suppose.”
“I also heard that his soul had a particular flavor like burnt chocolate.” Nerath grinned, licking his lips to remove a stray drop of liquor, or relishing a memory. “It’s possible I suppose. But I like secrets too.”
Phaedra sipped at her drink and thought about the situation for a moment. Nerath was repugnant, representing the worst aspects of her own ‘loth heritage taken to an extreme, but even though Phaedra knew that Inva was evil, she didn’t really view her the same way at all, attraction aside. Possessing Abyssal favors and gifting them to fiends was perhaps a side of the tiefling that she hadn’t discovered yet. Perhaps Inva was even more complex of an individual than she though, or outside of the half-‘loth’s thoughts on the matter, perhaps Inva was simply not one to pass up an opportunity to better herself, dangerous as it might be.
“Your gift is appreciated my dear.” Nerath said with a respectful incline of his head. “You have my respect, and my attention in the future if you so desire to do business, no invitation or prior appointment needed.”
Phaedra sipped her drink to avoid grimacing at the look the fiend was giving to Inva, but much to her relief nothing more was discussed along those lines, at least nothing verbal, and nothing more in the company of the group. Inva had unlocked and opened a door, and as much as she liked secrets, regardless of how it developed, it wasn’t something she was likely to be open with.
The remainder of the evening consisted of largely irrelevant and hollow talk about politics over desert, and drinking interspersed with leading questions by the fiend as he verbally probed them for details about their past and what their current circumstances in Sigil involved. The two hours were all still part of Nerath’s sales pitch about who he was and what he could do, and during that time he was practically drooling onto Inva, and to Phaedra’s continued irritation, the tiefling seemed just as taken with the ‘loth.
Eventually though, the fiend realized that he wasn’t going to get anything more from them besides the expected social banter. By blood, by faith, or by reputation, dealing with the King of the Crosstrade simply wasn’t in the cards for the group at the moment… most members at least.
“Well it has been a delight.” Nerath exclaimed, finishing a shot of Bytopian brandy mixed with Styx water. “I’ve given you a decent idea of what services I might be able to offer you in the future if you find yourself in need of them. Keep me in mind.”
“Thank you for dinner.” Phaedra replied, trying to sound as graciously as possible. “We’ve enjoyed ourselves, and appreciated getting to know you, but it’s getting a bit late and we should probably get going.”
Victor nodded, followed closely thereafter by his brother and Garibaldi. They were keen to break away from the fiend while they were still on his neutral side and hadn’t walked into anything. Garibaldi at least was convinced that the whole thing was a trap of some kind, though it really wasn’t anything of the sort. Nerath simply wanted to know who had moved into the suite below his own and if possible who was paying for it. He hadn’t found out the latter answer, but he’d been afforded the opportunity to make a few mortals squirm, to openly hit on two rivals’ son and daughter, and he’d discovered a delightfully talented tiefling.
“That it is.” Nerath said with a sigh as he stood up and stepped to his left, pulling out Inva’s chair and extending a hand.
Inva took his hand and stood up, feeling a claw rub against the inside of her palm.
“Unless of course you’d like to stay.” Nerath asked as his eyes locked onto Inva’s, while in the background Phaedra coughed and stopped herself from growling.
Inva gave a coy smile. “I’m afraid I must decline your majesty.”
“A pity.” Nerath said, shrugging his bare shoulders. “Another time perhaps.”
Nerath frowned from disappointment, but unnoticed to anyone else in the room, Inva had returned his rub by running her thumb across his wrist a few telling times.
“You’ll be hearing from me you delightfully wicked little thing.”
Inva was blushing as she let go of the fiend’s hand and joined the others as they moved towards the door. Phaedra was inwardly fuming, but she seemed much more at ease once Inva leaned in and took her arm.
“Good luck with your current employment.” Nerath said as he gestured for the door to be opened.
“Much appreciated sir.” Velkyn said. “Enjoy the wine, and if we need your services in the future, we’ll keep you in mind.”
“You’ll know where to find me if you do.” The fiend put a golden pipe to his mouth, puffed and exhaled a cloud of bluish smoke. A few streamers brushed against Inva’s neck with the palpable sensation of long, thin fingers, and filled the air with an exotic and intoxicating scent.
They left and one of Nerath’s guards closed the door behind them as they strolled down the hall and shrugged off the last bits of oddly lingering smoke. Phaedra emphatically shivered and stuck out of her tongue as soon as they were out of line of sight of the door, and Inva shivered as well, but for a distinctly different reason.
***
Back in the fiend’s chamber, all was dark and only the periodic smoldering of pipe ashes gave any light, glinting off of fangs and fur and golden piercings. Nerath lay sprawled across a divan, leaning his head back and smiling at how the evening had gone. He chuckled and opened a pair of eyes like burning coals.
“Oh, we’ll definitely be seeing more of each other in the future…”
***
Soft light drifted down from a circular window in the ceiling, almost like moonlight, and fell upon two figures as they circled a single, magically preserved corpse.
“I take it that you’ve already chosen another victim?”
The Visionary nodded a yes as she deftly excised the last digit of the corpse’s ring finger and placed it into a vial in her other hand. Beneath her vision, and that of her companion, the glass shimmered with a permanent necromantic dweomer to prevent any decay in the centuries old flesh, ensuring that it would be found, examined, and ultimately recognized by its intended recipient.
“I have a very long list.” She explained, stepping away from the body. “It’s not a question of finding another victim. It’s a question of who to kill next, and whose death will cause the most poignant prick in their master’s flesh. I want to hurt him, gain his attention, and ultimately well… we’ll see what form revenge will be best served by.”
Tyranny’s first head chuffled like a mortal tiger while the mandibles on his second head chattered against one another. “How long do you think it will take for the Lord of Avernus to know who you are?”
“Not for some time still I suspect.” She replied. “But he’ll know it’s me the moment he finds a bit of this corpse. He’ll recognize it for who it was, and what the symbolism means in context. He’ll remember me. Oh he’ll remember me. But I fully expect his underlings to not report their findings, or to have the evidence buried in the paperwork of the ministries for years to come before the string of assassinations grows too long to avoid an obvious pattern and connection. Then he’ll look, and he’ll recognize my hand.”
“If you’re certain.” Tyranny replied. “But I do worry that Bel will notice before other plans have fallen into place. Our work on Acheron still requires years of work before it reaches fruition, and this assumes no opposition from the Lord of the 1st, the Risen’s former kindred, or my own kind as well.”
Beneath her porcelain mask, the Visionary smirked. Her immortal companion was less subtle than usual, but he did have a point. Her revenge wasn’t their group’s only goal, and if she was too quick and pointed in gaining hers, it might scuttle their longer-term plans. Lacking the patience of immortality might have been a fault, but what she’d endured for over a century gave her more hatred bubbling in her veins than perhaps even the Risen.
“The victim is minor in this instance.” She finally answered, hoping to mollify her ally’s concern. “It should work out well for our newest hires. It’s quick and it will give us a better idea of just what they’re willing to do.”
“I suppose so.” Tyranny replied.
The Visionary smirked again and turned to the exiled rakshasa lord. “Besides, are you really ready to send them off to Renais, Marsallen, or if we let her have her way, somewhere in the depths of the Abyss at the Risen’s bidding? Small steps.”
That seemed to satisfy him.
“Fair enough.” Tyranny said. “We’ll see what sort of commotion this starts in the Ministry of Mortal Affairs once it’s done, and if it seems to cause too many waves for the moment, we can adjust in the future. But in the meantime I’ll have Aspaseka talk to our hires and give them the details on your target, as well as the vial.”
“Very well.” The Visionary said with a smile behind her mask as she handed the vial into the fiend’s reversed hand. “Though truth be told, even though it certainly makes for a pointed message to Bel, I almost feel sorry for using bits of old Factol Noby here for my purposes.”
***
Whow. I was getting worried about how long it had been between updates, but man, that was worth the wait!
And it is very nice to seen Inva's Player streach his role-playing legs. We don't see Tristol doing too much in the realm of "politics." Besides, he has a stable gf. Well, constant. No. Well, he marries her anyways.
Very nice, and I like Nerath, though he isn't as much as a *male member* as the predecesor.
Still evil, but not as overt about it. Which is a bit sad, as you can't love to hate him. Not that I love to hate Shemmy. I just hate Shemmy.
You see, you love to hate good villians. You just hate evil ones. Like Sylar.
And it is very nice to seen Inva's Player streach his role-playing legs. We don't see Tristol doing too much in the realm of "politics." Besides, he has a stable gf. Well, constant. No. Well, he marries her anyways.
Very nice, and I like Nerath, though he isn't as much as a *male member* as the predecesor.
Still evil, but not as overt about it. Which is a bit sad, as you can't love to hate him. Not that I love to hate Shemmy. I just hate Shemmy.
You see, you love to hate good villians. You just hate evil ones. Like Sylar.
