Pilot - The Imposter (I)
The rain is beating itself against the cracked panes of glass of your hole-in-the-wall apartment. As usual. But that isn't what awakens you. What does awaken you is the sound of foosteps outside of your door, something to be truly worried about while living in the Hive. What's more, the footsteps pause outside of your door, and then there is the crinkle of paper.
Curled in a corner, Dey curls defensively in reflex, eyes wide and locked upon the door; sometimes, he forgets that he has a tongue, and now is such a time. His hair matted into unkempt ropes from the return 'home' some handful of hours previous, he has yet to rediscover the habit of keeping himself presentable. Still, the door hasn't broken in, which says a lot for the one waiting.
Pushing himself up the wall by force of will and slightly shaking legs, the sorcerer calls out, "Sod off," though his voice is too weak to let it truly carry. Still, best to be prepared: a few words of magic, meant to make himself presentable; a few more, for his protection. If the feet still remain, he then nears the door.
There is a quick, indrawn gasp of breath, from either a child or a woman. The paper crinkles again, and a note is slid under the door. The feet run away, down the alley, before the sounds of the footfalls are absorbed by the pouring rain.
Child or woman -what-? is what passes through Dey's mind. If humans were commonplace here, even his heart might soften at the sound; children and women are just more masks for creatures of evil to wear and deceive with. He waits a moment later, then kneels and snatches up the paper. Licking his fear-dried lips, he murmurs again, to reveal the presence of magic about the note, and if he is satisfied that there is nothing magical about it, he reads it, backing away from the door (but keeping well out of sight of the window) all the while.
The note, not magical in the slightest, is written in an elegant scrawl, one that you likely recognize from the past. It reads:
Deynann -- Deynann --Some acquaintances of mine have need of particular services which you are especially well-equipped to provide. I believe that they are willing to pay you handsomely for your endeavors, should you decide to help them. (And I daresay, that while you will be taking on some personal risk, it will not as bad as that last.) If you are interested, please meet the contact person, a djinn woman who will be looking for you, in the open air cafe in front of Pan's, Market Ward. Lunch time. -HA
Scowling at the text, Deynann spits on the ground. More than a few choice words pass, in the darkest language that Deynann can think of to utter them in. "'Of course, Your Benign Excellency. I'll attend your summons,', he says, in mock saccharine tones. "Have some words with you, I will. Turn stag on me, and he thinks me an addle-cove for it." The sheet is crumpled in a trembling fist. "Have a chance to thank you -properly-."
The note does nothing to defend itself.
Deynann growls at it, as if he wishes it had, so he could well and truly smite it. However, all he does is shred it and discard it in one of the wet puddles gathering in the corner of the room. Then, recognizing his early morning need, he urinates on it and feels a bit better for doing so. Then, he prepares to leave, making sure he is presentable.
Your trek through the Hive is surprisingly uneventful. The streets smell of urine, sweat, and rotting flesh, and people crouch in alleyways, drinking, smoking, watching. All watch as you walk past.
Keeping a threadbare cloak wrapped about him, Deynann keeps as low a profile as is possible. He's gotten used to the menagerie of the Hive, and has only needed to display his ability to defend himself twice so far -- not a bad ratio, really. It's better to make one's defenses known, as the natural world does readily. The unnatural world often needs somewhat more tutelage in the 'don't touch' lesson.
The Market Ward is bustling with people from all walks of life, as it usually is. Here, absolutely anything that can be bought can be found, both legal and non legal, that is, if you have the jink. Plane-touched abound, angels walk alongside devils, tieflings hold discourse with aasimars. Humans, outsiders, everyone fills the streets, all looking to buy or sell.
Pan's is a well-known restaurant, so it is not difficult to locate, despite the crowd. Your table is easy to spot, since it does have a 10 1/2 foot tall woman, with ghost-pale skin, and snow-white hair, sitting at it. She has a bastard sword strapped across her back, and a cloak over her shoulders that looks as if it was woven from the very stuff of clouds.
Deynann, a long master of the duck and weave, threads through the maze of creatures with a deftness that even some natives might respect. He approaches the maiden with a smile, quelling the rage he feels, and asks courteously. "Might I meet your acquaintance? I hadn't the pleasure, last I knew of your Lord's court. Truly an honor for one such as I." There's no telltale twinge that might describe the smoldering ember he holds in his stomach at the moment; he is very good at what he does.
The djinni looks up from her contemplations, a fleeting smile crossing her face. Her eyes, a dark, brooding blue, are worried. This one, apparently, is not so good at hiding her emotions. "Please," she says, "It would be entirely my pleasure." She stands, bowing curteously, and pulls out a chair for the sorcerer to sit in. "Might I buy you some lunch? I was just about to order something for myself." She pauses. "Oh, I'm called Ahinoam bint Akilah."
Though the pit of Dey's stomach agrees readily with this, Dey makes himself content to digest his rage for a time. "No, truly," he says past a smile, "it's enough to feed upon your beauty. You must be one of your Lord's favored." He does, however, accept the chair. "You are not coming on your Lord's behalf, then... but your own?"
The djinni snorts in a very unladylike way. "Al'Shahid is more... a contemporary of mine than my lord. He owed me a favor, so he gave me your name when I expressed my need to him." She smiles, then. "Though I've no doubt that he would like to lead others to think that of me." She waves to one of the servers. "Some of Pan's best," she tells it. Turning back to Deynann, she says, "Are you certain that you do not wish to eat? And if you do not, do you mind watching me while I do?"
* * *
Kraydn and Ailsa are out in the streets of Gordunn. Ailsa says, sounding worried, "I don't know, Kraydn, if we should be going hat shopping today... I sense-I sense that it is going to be a fateful day. My prayers were not very restful. The Lady is anxious about something." She scowls, her golden eyes glowing with their unearthly light.
"Nonsense. We're just going for a hat! What could possibly go wrong?" The short Vhal's stride is jaunty, even with the lack of appropriate headgear. "Besides, the fact that that goat ate my hat was undoubtedly a sign that this one should get a new one." He breathes in deeply, relishing the sea air. "And," he adds conspiratorially, "this one's tailor said that he'd have some of the latest Velazzatan designs this week."
Ailsa laughs, though the sound has an uneasy note to it. "Yes, well, I suppose so," she says, doubtfully. As they walk, she sighs. "I'm just glad that we burned that ghost ship down the the shoreline. I'm sure that Syova would have been pleased with us," she says, with an attempt at a smile.
As if by magic:
"No."
"But, Sir Knight! -Surely-..."
"I said no, and I meant it. Look...oomph..." An extraordinarily loud crash follows accented by furious cursing and the sounds of fairly heavy, hard objects being hurled at a target. A broken vase whistles through the air, narrowly missing a man who is at the moment doing his best to shield himself from further crockery with his um, shield.
"If you had only listened to me, Sir Knight..."
Kraydn frowns at his wife. "That's a strange thing to bring up on such a beautiful day. Is that one certain she's been getting enough - Syova?!"
Ailsa blinks, rapidly. "I could swear that I recognize that voice...Syova?" She whirls around to look at whatever bizarre, twisted scene might be unfolding before her very eyes.
Syova says, "Bors, not now if you would please."
"On your left, Sir."
The man follows the direction and manages to bring his shield up and over in time to catch a water pitcher. He tentatively calls out from behind his shield, "My sincerest apologies!" Probably unmollified but simply out of ammo, what ever shopkeeper who's stall Syova stumbled into seems willing to let his quarry go."
Ailsa watches the crockery throwing, and shakes her head. "Bizarre. Syova, why are people throwing crockery at you?" she asks, ever the helpful one. She looks as if she's trying to decide between being concerned or being amused.
"Syova - the pitcher -" Kraydn's words go unheeded as the crockery crashes to the ground. "Ah well. It was an ugly pitcher anyway, that one should have been ashamed to have it in that one's stall," he informs the merchant, in a moment of pure Vhalish haggling. "But Syova," he says, turning back to his long-lost companion. "What brings that one to Gordunn? The last we'd heard, that one was riding off in pursuit of that woman...what was her name? Morgan?"
Ailsa winces as the pitcher crashes to the ground, and folds her arms across her chest, her multicolored rings flashing under the sunlight. "Syova, come over here, out of the way of flying objects. Let me get a better look at you."
Syova slowly lowers his shield. He shakes his head, muttering "You -could- have warned me, Bors."
"You -could- have tried listening to me in the first place, Sir." retorts his waist(!?).
Shaking his head again, his vision now unhindered by either shield or pottery he spies Kraydn and Ailsa. Surprised, he raises a hand in greeting and smiles broadly. "Hello to you both!"
Ailsa waves to Syova, taking a step forward. "So did you find her?"
Syova blinks, scratching at his beard thoughtfully. "Find who, priestess?"
It is Ailsa, except for the glowing golden eyes and sunbleached hair. "Er, Morgan whatsherface? I didn't get the details." She looks at Kraydn, questioningly.
"That false paladin. It's unimportant." The Vhal steps forward to deliver a manly embrace to the tall knight, hands grasping his mithril-plated arms. "That one's done well for himself," he says, releasing the paladin and looking him over. "It's good to know that one of us has. But..." he hesitates, as if unsure how to bring up the subject. "...why is that one's belt speaking to him?"
Syova beams down at the shorter Vhal, "I am well enough, yes. And none the worse for wear for having been obliterated." He nods, looking down first at his belt and then over to the attached sword-bearing scabbard. "The good blade, Bogoris if you please."
"Ha ha! Well met, good friends of the noble Syova!" speaketh the sword. Followed by a poorly executed whisper, "They look like trouble, Sir Knight."
Just then, there is the sound of furious shouting, and the thundering of multiple sets of booted feet. A wiry little man, dressed shabbily but cleanly, rounds the corner. Six rough looking types are in hot pursuit. The man looks over his shoulder, eyes wild, and therefore doesn't see Kraydn in time to dodge the stocky Vhal. He crashes directly into him, at top speed.
Kraydn, in the midst of goggling at the rather unexpected spectacle of a talking sword (although why this should be any more unexpected than a talking belt is unclear), fails to notice the oncoming man. Being small and wiry himself, it is no surprise that the hurtling form knocks him from his feet, sending the pair of them rolling on the ground. "Uagh!" he cries in surprise, reflexively trying to grapple the fellow.
"Sorry! Sorry!" The little man gasps out, as he lurches to his feet. He gives one more wild look over his shoulder before he bolts, seconds before the ruffians, wielding shortswords and daggers, are upon him.
Kraydn scrambles to his feet, patting himself down to reassure himself that his purse (such as it is at this point) and other valuables are still intact. "Have a care!" he bellows, heedless of the approaching thugs.
"To war!" cries Syova's sword. "The enemy is upon us!"
"Bors, not now!" admonishes the paladin. Seeing Kraydn climb to his feet with all his bits intact, he calls out to the besieged man and his...besiegers (?). "Here now! Leave him be!"
"It's all right, Syova," Kraydn mutters. "He hasn't stolen anything."
The little man seems to not hear or at least, not care, about those that he has inconvenienced by his flight. He leaps a white picket fence, and runs into someone's private garden. The thugs, intent upon their quarry, ignore the others in the street, and follow him. "Thief!" One of them shouts, shaking his sword. "All that thieve from the Lady Morrigan must die!"
"Well, not from me at any rate," Kraydn adds as the pursuing thugs clarify the situation. He brightens, though, as they mention a name. "Morrigan! That was her name! The false paladin," he explains to his wife.
"Ah yes," Ailsa says nodding sagely. "I remember her now...vaguely." She watches the thugs, to see what they'll do next.
Syova might disagree with the hoodlums, and in fact he does so! He takes up pursuit, clanking and rattling merrily along as he hurries as best he can.
"The battle is joined! To war! To war!" encourages his weapon happily.
Using his shield-free arm for leverage, Syova grabs the top of the fence with one hand and springing all gazelle-like manages to hurl himself up and over without incident.
"Syova? Syova! Where is that one going?" Kraydn cries. He looks helplessly at Ailsa. "What..." Then, drowning his confusion in action, he moves, bounding across the street with impossible strides, arcing into the air to clear the fence, landing easily beside the paladin.
Ailsa doesn't have the confidence to jump the fence herself, but she does manage to scramble over it, slowly, painfully, poking herself in the legs with the wooden slats a couple of times. Cursing all the while.
The little man runs through the garden, and then under a rose arbor. Then, against all logic, he simply vanishes.
Ailsa scowls when the man disappears, and goes over to check out the rose arbor.
Kraydn comes up short as the fellow disappears. "Wha - Ailsa! That man just vanished!" He points an accusing finger at the offending lack of person.
The hoodlums stop running when the man disappears. "Dammit!" One of them frowns at the arbor. "We don't have that key. The little pusboil must've stolen that one too." He sheathes his sword, and then turns around. A look of comical surprise crosses his face when he sees the unlikely trio. "Ummm..." he starts to back away. "Who are you?"
Syova as might be expected, can manage to build up a fair amount of momentum. This momentum is usually difficult to interrupt as in this case. The paladin plows headlong past his companions and into the would-be hoodlums. He manages to knock one of the fellows off his feet before he's able to make his peace with gravity and reign himself in.
The hoodlums scatter when one of their number goes down under the heavily armored paladin. They go leaping over the other fence, and bolt in different directions.
Ailsa reaches her hand through the rose arbor, once, twice, experimentally.
The man on the ground gives a muffled cry, squirming. "Lemme up, you triple damned berk!"
Kraydn reaches out to seize the collar of the downed thug firmly, looking at Syova. "Did that one want to talk with them?" Suddenly seeing what Ailsa's doing, his eyes widen. "Be careful! This one would be most upset of his wife suddenly vanished!"
Ailsa does not vanish. She does, however, put her hands on her hips, and gives the rose arbor her most stern look. "Arbors aren't suppoed to act like that," she says firmly.
Syova gives himself a good shake to resettle his armor about his body before turning to focus on Kraydn's trophy. "Why were you chasing that man?"
Kraydn hauls the fellow to his feet. "This one hasn't done this sort of thing in a long time," he mutters to himself, giving the thug a shake. "Answer him!"
The man sputters a bit. "He's a damned thief, is what he is. Took somethin that wasn't his to take. I'm supposed to get it back," he says, glaring balefully at the rose arbor.
Faces begin appearing in the window, looking out into their garden fearfully.
Ailsa ers, looking up at the window. "Maybe we should go somewhere else," she says, pointing to the white archway leading out onto the street, on the far side of the house. She begins sidling towards the archway, looking hopefully at the menfolk.
Syova seems oblivious to the drawn attention. Frowning, "What was it he took from you?"
Kraydn has the decency to venture an embarassed grin towards the faces at the window. After all, that amazing leap of his *did* land him in the middle of the begonias. He surreptitiously wipes the sad floral remnants from the soles of his boots, and raps the thug smartly on the back of the head with the silver handle of his walking-stick. "That one heard her, let's go. Syova?"
"Some sort of key, he said," Kraydn notes, as he begins marching the ruffian out of the garden.
As Kraydn marches the ruffian across the garden, Syova doesn't really have much choice but to follow, if he's to get his answer. The ruffian answers, looking vaguely embarrassed, "A lady's hatpin," he says. Just then, Kraydn shoves him through the archway. And as the group follows Kraydn, they leave a very confused ruffian alone in the grass. Paladin, priestess, and sailor simply... vanish.
* * *
The three of you are standing in what has to be a closet. It's cramped, small, and dark. You can see light pouring underneath the door, from the other side.
"Lianna's T-TS!"
Ailsa startles, too surprised to scold Kraydn for his vulgarity. "What in hell?"
"Mmmph mmm phfftmph mrt!" states a voice from roughly waist level.
Ignoring it Syova queries, "What have you done, Kraydn!?"
There is a thump of flesh against wood, and a sliding sound. "What in the name of all the gods just happened?" asks the Vhal. Then, metal clatters against metal, and the door - for such it is - swings open.
It is perhaps no surprise to the three that what they see on the other side is not where they left. In fact, it is far different: instead of the sunny, open streets of Gordunn, there is a tiny, dusty room. A room full of racks upon racks of hats.
Tall hats, small hats, hats made from beaver and cat and other things less recognizable, hats made to fit heads of a shape that no human could possibly wear. And in one corner, forgotten and neglected, there is a wide-brimmed hat, its golden buckle and plume gray with dust.
"A-ha!" says the Vhal triumphantly. "This one told you it was a sign!" Lifting it up, he finally looks around him. "Although why we are suddenly in a milliner's is beyond this one's understanding..."
* * *
"Would be hard for a lady such as tha... ah, you, to offend," replies Deynann evenly, his tongue lilting as that of the angels. "Though... I am ashamed to admit my knowledge of your courtly stature, and meant no offense by claiming you a member of the court of Al-Shahid. Please, I beg for my pardon. He is not one given to details." Deynann's thoughts, of course, dwell upon the great lack of details in the last bargain made with the djinn noble, and he stifles the clenching of his jaw.
The djinni shakes her head, with a grin. "No pardon necessary. Al-Shahid is an ass, I know it, and I'm sure that you know it too." She frowns. "I don't know what he's told you... so I'm not at all certain as to where to begin." Her food gets served, and she pays for it with the proper coinage. There is enough for two set down, in case the sorcerer decides to eat as well.
Deynann's eyes glance over the food more than once as he continues conversation. "One is hardly of position to know such things. Though it is clear he knows much about myself, and I wonder how it is that he came to know of my... return to Sigil." Dey's inquisitiveness has an acute point, and lady or not, he does not hesitate to make his question completely non-rhetorical.
The djinni starts eating as if she hasn't eaten in three weeks. She looks up, after the question is posed, and shrugs. "He's got such an extensive spy network," she says, "That I have no idea of why he knows what he knows. He just does." She scowls. "He knew about my betrothal before I did, something that I shall likely never forgive him for." Her tone is light, and it sounds as if any bitterness that she feels for the other djinni is much, much lesser than Deynann's own.
Deynann studies the djinn lady, then looks away from the table in thought. "He said that my skills might be especially pertinent to what is required. I have no doubt of that. What I -do- have doubt in, if you'll permit me, is the nature of the task or tasks that are at hand. I'm not... well inclined to much in the way of prolonged favors at the moment."
The djinni finishes off her food in a couple more big bites, and then pushes her portion of the food away. "Well, I'm not sure how long it will take," she hedges. "It might be just a few hours, it might be a few days. I wouldn't think it'd be any longer than that, though," she muses. "I'd best give you as many of the details as I can, though, and you can make up your mind when you've heard me out. First of all, are you willing to work in a group? I think that what we're asking isn't safe to do completely alone. We're working on recruiting multiple people, with different sets of skills."
Deynann places two fingers against his right temple, his brow smooth, for the moment at least. "Mmm. I think, as you have said, I should hear the details to their fullest. It may be that I will not need the assistance of others."
The djinni nods, clenching her jaw. "The fey have taken hostage one of my family's... retainers. He is someone that means very much to us, and we want him back. Unfortunately, we believe that they have taken him into their own realm... that of faerie. We want him back, though we really do not care what methods are used. I think that we're hoping to resolve the situation diplomatically, but we fear that it might come down to violence. Hence, the reason for having other people work with you."
* * *
"No! I don' care!" cries a thickly accented voice. "You ged oudda my shop now, you! Alla time people trooping through my shop in and out of closets, I'm sick of it! Ged out! Out!" A man with curving horns and the lower body of a goat shoves a trio of bewildered humans out of a nearby storefront.
One clutches a dusty hat, and objects. "But...this hat..."
"You take da hat and you shov it op your sodding backside! No more you come through my store! Stupid Primes! Ged out! Out!" Much attention on the street is turned to the unlucky trio.
Ailsa straightens herself, smoothing her silken clothes back down. "Hmmph," she says, looking over her shoulder at the hat man. "Of all the nerve..."
"At least this one got a hat."
* * *
Deynann smirks, latching onto a single word in her story that he has quite taken the liking to. "I think you've come to no better person than you could have hoped to have found. At least, regarding one schooled in finessing agreements where conflict would be otherwise." He dips his chin a little, showing a hint of humility, though only a hint. "So... what is the dark of it, as they say around here. The catch, the 'little thing' that you are uncomfortable to mention."
The djinni bites her lower lip, sighing. "The 'little thing'? What, asking someone to go into faerie, into danger, to clean up one of our messes isn't uncomfortable enough?" She shakes her head. "I suppose I'm angry that I'm not to go myself. I'd like to flay some fey alive, with my blade. But we need mortals. We need someone with finesse, which I've been assured that you have, and we need some people to back you up-- she trails off, fixing on a point over Deynann's shoulder. She leaps to her feet, and bellows across the street, "Kraydn ibn Tayyar ibn Iraj! Get your little Vhal ass over here and give me a hug!"
Kraydn, startled, looks up from his inspection of his new prize...and finally takes in the city around him. The strangeness of walking out of a garden and into a hat shop seemed to overwhelm the fact that the proprieter was not quite human, but now, in the bustling ward of Sigil's marketplace, with a woman twice his height bellowing at him, it comes home.
"This one doesn't think we're in Gordunn anymore..."
"Sodding tourists," buzzes a passing fellow with a mantis head, as it is forced to detour around the three. Across the street, at the cafe, a green-skinned waitress steps neatly over the barbed tail of one of her bat-winged customers on her way to set down drinks before a pair of men who seem to be carved from stone.
And above it all, in the sky, an enormous arch, its underside covered with buildings hanging from it like enormous stalactites.
"Did you see that, Sir Knight!? Common thieves! We were treated like nothing more then common thieves!" protests a disgruntled voice from amongst the trio.
"Bors," responds the more armored of the three, "Not now." The bearded man looks down at the shortest of the three, "How did we...?" He's interrupted by the bellowing woman from across the street.
Deynann leaps out of his seat, taking cover as best as he can, which is to say, not very well. At least until he murmurs an incantation, rendering him unseen to most eyes.
The djinni bounds across the street when Kraydn doesn't immediately react, and puts her big, broad hands around his waist. She lifts him into the air, much like one would a doll or small child. "Kraydn! I did not think that I would ever see you again!" She puts him down, and then gives Ailsa similar treatment. "And Ailsa Liannaschild! You're still married to him?!"
Kraydn mumbles a reply into the vasy cloudy cleavage that is suddenly pressed to his face, staggering a bit when he is set down. "What a greeting," he murmurs to himself.
The ten foot tall woman with white hair and skin turns her attention to the paladin next. "I don't believe that I know you," she says, confused. "Kraydn, were you travelling with this fellow when we met?" She shakes her head. "No, no. I'm sure that I'd have remembered such a good looking man." Winking at the paladin, she then looks back to Kraydn. "What a greeting...? Oh! I forgot! You like tall women." She throws her head back and gives a boisterous laugh.
Kraydn claps his hat onto his head, and sneezes once as the dust floats down around him. "Ahinoam," he says. "Not that this one is unhappy to see you again, but he thought that one was bound for the land of the djinn." He looks around him skeptically. "Is that where this is?"
The djinni, or Ahinoam, as Kraydn just called her, looks around, sniffing. "No, no. An entirely different place." She grins broadly. "Welcome to the city of Sigil, the city of doors."
Deynann scrutinizes the group invisibly; new words come to his lips, words which will assist him. He cannot stop to be surprised yet, only skeptical. Thoughts buzz through his head, and worse, his spell only compounds his own thoughts with those of others. He focuses upon the one with the visage of his brother, concentrating.
Kraydn scowls, and his hand moves to the hilt of his blade. "Someone is trying to cast a spell on us!" he hisses.
Ailsa looks around herself, openly gaping. She pauses, looking at Kraydn. "A spell? Where?" She looks around the street, and perhaps seems to notice all of the non human creatures around. Putting a hand on the Vhal's shoulder, she says, "Are you certain, Kray? I don't see anything going on... I mean, besides the fact that we just stepped through a portal into a strange city..."
"This one's got no idea!" Kraydn says. He refrains from drawing his blade and waving it around, though. As he looks around, he pales. "This place is full of ifrits, it could be anyone."
Ahinoam frowns, looking back at the table. "I'm with a sorcerer... maybe he can help." She gestures at the empty table. "Or...not."
Dey's eyes narrow -- his brother was never so wise to the ways of magic. Still, this -is- a very good imitation of his brother. He restrains the lightning that longs to bite from his fingertips, listening and turning his attention to... Ailsa?
Ailsa startles. "I - think I notice it too," she says, her glowing eyes scanning the crowd with more curiousity than anger. "Still, whatever it is, didn't hurt us in any way. Torkald's balls... there's no way that I'm going to be able to isolate a single caster."
"This one wishes Dey were here, he'd know what to do." Kraydn peers around him warily, although the passing hordes of bizzare entities pay them little heed, except for the occasonal admonition to 'get out of the sodding street, berk'.
The djinni blinks at Kraydn. "I was just talking with a gentleman going by the name of Deynann. But not Dey," she says, helpfully.
Kraydn blinks. "How odd. This one's brother is named Deynann. Furthermore, he is a sorcerer." He peers into the crowd. "Still," he says with a shrug, "when one travels with Lianna's servants one gets used to strange coincidences."
Syova for his part seems caught in indecision. To smite or not to smite. 'Somebody' is in favor of it, crying "Harlot! Fiend!" but whom that might be isn't readily visible. The cries go largely ignored though, for better or worse. The armored man settles on alternating between blinking rapidly and rubbing his eyes.
For the most part, the voice at Syova's waist is ignored by the passers-by, though occasionally, the paladin does draw strange looks.
Ailsa steps back out of the way to let a devil?! walk by her. "Oh, excuse me," she says politely, not seeming to register the fact that he is a devil until he's well past her. Then she stops, staring after him. "Umm," she says weakly. "Yeah. Kraydn, a devil just walked by us."
Kraydn whispers, sotto voice, "This one was trying not to draw its notice."
The djinni looks at the stupified trio, and then frowns decisively. "I think that you need the Sigil primer," she says, "Before someone tries to, I believe the term is, 'write you in the dead book.' Come back to my table, and I'll try to explain."
"Strange coincidences," mutters a voice, though no body seems particularly attached to it. "What's this trickery about. Else there is no agreement to be had." The latter directed upwardly, though still not finding a good, solid, place of residence.
Kraydn scowls, and rubs at his ear, as if unsure what he heard. "That one's sword sounds remarkably like Deynann," he says to the paladin.
The djinni frowns at the voice. "No trickery," she says, as if invisible voices talk to her often. "At least, on my part. Kraydn, Ailsa, and erm, friend? Come on, my table is over here. She strides across the street, and people do tend to get out of her way.
Kraydn peers around, letting himself be led. "Eh? Oh...yes...yes. Syova, this is Ahinoam bint Akilah. A genie," he adds. "Ahinoam, this is Syova, mighty paladin of Landyne. Er, and his sword, Buggerus."
"Devils!? To warmmph!"
The one voice muffled if not silenced by a heavily calloused hand wrapped around his sword's hilt, Syova just...nods in response. "Bogoris, Kraydn. Bogoris." Back to blinking at his surroundings.
Kraydn looks vastly relieved at the correction. "Ah," he says. "This one thought it was an...unusual name for a sword."
Ailsa shrugs, and starts to follow the djinn woman. "Ahinoam..." she trails off, unable to voice her concerns eloquently. "Gods, I couldn't have been more right this morning," she mutters. "It is indeed a fateful day." She sits down, rubbing her temples as if she feels a headache going on. "Ahinoam," she tries again, "What in the name of all of the ever-lovin' gods is going on? I've been to other planes before, I've travelled to the home of my goddess, but I have never wandered through someone's garden into the closet of a hatshop in a city filled with... other people."
Ahinoam pulls up a chair, and gestures for the other two men to sit down. "Please," she says, looking around as if suddenly aware of how much attention the group has drawn to itself. "Sit down. I promise that I'll try to explain everything." She looks around, sighing. "I think my sorcerer is frightened of you," she tells them. "We're going to have to start searching for someone competent again." She drives her fist into the table, and then after a long pause, says, "Sorry. I'm a little tense right now."
"This one would volunteer his brother, but he hasn't seen a trace of him for years," Kraydn says apologetically. "It's as if he disappeared off the face of the world." He sits.
Ahinoam nods. "It's alright," she says with a sigh. "Now, you're in Sigil. There's portals from here to most of the other planes, probably all of them. You have to have the proper key to get through a door, though." She looks at the group consideringly. "I suppose it's possible that one of you had the right key to the right door without realizing it. That has to be what happened..."
Kraydn frowns. "That must be what those fellows were talking about in the garden." He looks up and explains, "they claimed that someone had stolen some keys, and were trying to recover them. And something about a hatpin."
Syova sits, too. In the suave and swarthy way paladins are known for.
Ahinoam frowns. "A hatpin? I suppose a hatpin could have been the key. Do you have it?"
"No, this one got the hat after he came here." Kraydn inspects it for a pin, just the same. The had has no pin, and so he shrugs, and dusts it off, revealing the rich red color of the plume. He beams with delight that it matches his clothing, and displays it proudly to his wife before placing it back on his head.
Ailsa watches Kraydn with amused tolerance, and then turns her gaze back to the djinni. "So. How do we get back to Gordunn?"
"Without going through the hat shop," Kraydn mutters. "The proprieter was less than happy to see us the first time..."
Ahinoam considers. "Well, it might be hard to find the right portal. One can't always predict where they come out. I'd hate for you to step onto the elemental plane of fire or somesuch, by accident. Say... would you be interested in helping rescue a friend of mine.
A thought dawns on the weathered Vhal. "That fellow that ran into me...if he had that 'key'..." He rapidly inspects himself for a hatpin, and holds it up triumphantly. "Ah-hah! The very thing!" Another thought strikes him, and he sets it carefully on the table, looking at Syova. "Er, if it was stolen from this false paladin, is it...evil?"
Syova thinks a moment before shaking his head. "Oh, I believe she was a true paladin. Just a very poor one. If that was indeed hers I would think it is safe enough."
Ahinoam looks down at the hatpin, doubtfully. She then snatches the pin, and hands it back to Kraydn, her large, white hand blocking it from view. "These things are hot commodities," she says. "You might want to be cautious about who knows you have a key."
Ailsa lays her shield, which looks like it has been carved from a large block of ice, on the table in front of her. "So," she says, idly tracing Lianna's sigil, emblazoned on the shield. "Now what? Are we stuck here?"
Kraydn ahs, tucking it away. It wouldn't look good on his hat. It is, after all, a lady's hatpin. "But...it's just a hatpin," he says. "Surely one could walk into any of a dozen stores and purchase one. They do sell hatpins here, don't they?" Visions of a vast hatpin-importing empire float briefly through his mind in a way that needs no spell to be read.
Ahinoam shakes her head. "This is a special hatpin," she says, lowering her voice to a whisper. "It's perfectly mundane, but it gives you access to one of the Sigil portals. There are people who would kill for that privilege." She eyes Kraydn's weapons, and adds, "Well, there are people who would die for it, anyway. And to answer your question, Ailsa, you might well be 'stuck here' for awhile. Unless you feel like a jaunt into faerie, that is. I know where that portal is..."
Ailsa glances at Syova, to see how the paladin is holding up.
Syova seems to be hanging in there. Still a little plane-shocked maybe, but there. The sword at his side, still with a hand clamped tightly over it, seems to quiver ever so slightly in indignation.
Kraydn tries to wrap his mind around 'special' and 'perfectly mundane' and 'portal' all at once, and visibly fails. "This one supposes. All this talk of magic hatpins makes this one's head ache." He looks around the bewildering marketplace, which does nothing for his state of mind. And then he makes the mistake of looking up, and his eyes widen. "Gods above," he says, heedless of the fact that it is actually a city up there. He points. "Why don't they fall?" he demands.
The sea of beings parts, and there stands a small figure, perhaps five and one-half feet in height. Its cloak is a well-worn grey. It advances soundlessly towards the table.
A seat lifts once more to its four legs, where it had been knocked over earlier. It squirms for a second, and then it speaks words of magic power. Those words produce the figure of a well-dressed man, predominantly blue but with golden trim about the seams and cuffs. He faces the djinn, not any of the others at the table, hands in his lap as if he were calmly joining a meeting. "... I sincerely hope this is no deception," he murmurs.
Another seat topples as Kraydn leaps to his feet. "Gnaaah!" he bellows, scrabbling for his rapier - and drawing the attention of the crowd. It's halfway out of its sheath before it sinks in.
"DEY?!"
Ailsa glances up, and sees the hooded figure approach. She nods politely, without recognition, and then turns to stare at the upturned chair. "Deynann?! Dear, put your sword away. It's your brother. Deynann," she says, as if trying to reassure herself as well.
Ahinoam remarks, starting to look overwhelmed, "Oh, there you are. And... I don't think there's a deception," she says, looking around the table at everyone.
Deynann assumes a nonchalant look, one which he didn't have just minutes before when his brother's name had been mentioned. "Mm," he says, then nods to the seat. "Always making a spectacle out of the least things, that one is."
The hooded figure tilts its head as Deynann reappears to such consternation, and allows the reunion of family to continue unabated.
The sorcerer's appearance making about as much sense as anything else today prompts Syova to simply offer a smile from where he's seated. "Hello, Deynann. You look well."
"But...but...how...when..." Kraydn splutters - not sitting, but at least not drawing the blade. "Where has that one been for five years!" he bursts out. "Mother and Father have been terrified that that one was...eaten by a dragon, or turned into a newt!" He sits, or starts to, before remembering that the chair is gone. Without taking his eyes off of his long lost brother, he reaches behind him to right the seat, and lowers himself once again. "Did that one have an accident with a hatpin as well?"
Ailsa's face becomes wreathed in smiles. "Deynann... we've been so worried about you. It's wonderful to see you again," she says, warmly, elbowing her husband in the leg. "Sit, Kraydn. Isn't it great to see your brother again?"
Ahinoam looks up at the monk, smiling at him. "Is there something that I can do for you, good sir?"
"Perhaps," comes the oddly familiar male's voice. "Or perhaps I might assist you in your return home, friend Ailsa..."
Ailsa looks up, sharply. "Eh? Who're you?" She squints, trying to see under the hood. "Is that... Sulemein? Gods above! The Unity of Rings indeed..."
Sulemein lowers his hood, his head bowing to hide his smile. His long, thin hair swings across his face until he rises.
"Not scared," corrects Deynann to the djinn. "Simply skeptical." A returned nod to both Ailsa and Syova, his smile less enthusiastic than is given him. "Worried? About me? Pfft. Varse knew, more or less, that I was around." A further nod to Sulemein, "Perhaps I should not be so surprised that there's such a reunion. The Unity of Rings, after all." He gives Ailsa a deeper inspection, especially her eyes. "Though, one might say that things have changed..." he says, his voice drifting off in implication.
Kraydn's head whirls about like a befuddled owl's. "I...but..." he slumps, joining Syova in the land of happy-but-confused acceptance.
The djinni kicks out the final chair for Sulemein. She smiles at him too. "Please, join us," she says. "I have a feeling that some of us are bewildered out of our very socks, but it sounds as if you are known and welcomed by all."
Ailsa grins broadly at Sulemein, and then turns back to Deynann, nodding. "Some things have changed," she says. "I- it's a long story. But I'm not fully human any longer."
"Your first trip to Sigil, brother?" asks Deynann casually, maybe trying to ease the strangeness. "With your wife being who she is, I'm surprised you haven't paid a visit well before now. Glad I was at home to see you." Nodding at Ailsa's statement, the sorcerer murmurs, "Claimed by a higher power. Someone is well aware of potential where it exists. Aside from Kraydn, of course."
Kraydn sorts that out and decides that it's a compliment. He beams at his elder brother. "But...home, Dey? That one lives here now?"
Sulemein inclines his head to the djinn. "I thank you." He ignores the others for now, and turns to speak to Deynann. "Perhaps there is something you should know, friend..." He pauses. "You have been the subject of unhealthy scrutiny, of late..."
Ailsa nods to Deynann, and then grows serious. She looks back to the monk. "Unhealthy scrutiny?"
Facing Sulemein, Dey doesn't allow any emotion to mark his expression. "As in... this moment? Mm... this might be... difficult to handle, without drawing attention. And attention is the last thing, I think, any of us want." Looking back at the group, he mutters, "Despite the obvious..."
Sulemein dips his head to Ailsa, though he maintains his focus on Deynann, curious as to the man's reaction. "Several moments past... At present, they partake of bub. One named 'Freyd', in the company of a pair of females, one a halfling, the other tiefling."
"On and off for the past four years. However, I'll be damned if the 'unhealthy scrutiny' will find its way back to my family." Deynann stands, smiling wanly. "I beg the leave of all of you. Friend Sulemein has brought to my attention some... matters of importance. I'm hoping to attend to these with minimal fuss."
Sulemein murmurs, so that Deynann can hear, "It was overheard that you drained him of magic, and so they desire your demise..."
Ailsa scowls. "Now wait a minute," she says. "Let us help you... Kraydn and I have been through enough that we can stand up against a measly trio of attackers..."
"That's right," Kraydn says. "This one's not about to let his brother face them alone." His jaw acquires that stubborn set that Deynann knows so well - the one that usually ment a trouncing for whatever boy taunted the slender Vhal in their youth.
Sulemein does give Ailsa his attention now, and points out a tiny little figure across the plaza. "Look, friend Ailsa, Kraydn, and behold the little one... She would appear frail and dainty as a flower, and yet... I have observed as she ripped a daemon's wings from its back...." He instructs, "Not all is as it may appear, in this place. Never assume."
Ailsa glances up at Sulemein, scowling even deeper. "All the more reason to surround oneself with allies, and not go haring off alone."
Deynann, smirking at Sulemein, replies, "And they wouldn't be the first, as you know." Sternly, he says to Ailsa, "I'm certain that you have. My whole objective is not to -assert- a connection to you and Kraydn, however. With as little offense as I can manage, I've earned some unfriendly acquaintances here, and they're not what you Primers are accustomed to."
Kraydn sniffs. "Us Primers? That one was born in the same town as this one, Deynann..."
Ailsa looks offended. "We have travelled some of the planes," she remarks quietly. "Just because we chose to spend most of our time on the plane of our births doesn't mean that we can't- oh, nevermind," she says.
A tall, gaunt human approaches the table. He is wearing all black, and seems to be a little drunk. He is flanked, on either side, by a halfling woman, and a tiefling woman. He looks angry. The tiefling keeps saying, "Freyd, Freyd... don't do this."
Deynann chuckles. "Like I said, as little offense as I can manage. Perhaps it would have been better had I not said anything, but... it's been a while." He backs away from the table, then turns to face the three. "Pardon me," he murmurs, as he moves to step past.
Sulemein rises, and makes himself ready to interpose himself.
"Freyd" studies Deynann cooly. "So why did you do it?" he nearly spits. "That question has been haunting me every day since you did it."
"...from the same womb," Kraydn continues. "And if that one thinks his brother is just going to wander off while he faces down a, a pack of ifrits, then he is sadly mistaken." He glares up at the approaching trio and stands. Thinking back to the vulgarities on the street, he tells them, "Sod off, berks. That one," he says with a gesture to Deynann, "is the brother of Kraydn ibn Tayyar ibn Iraj, and any problem those ones have with him is a problem with this one as well."
Ailsa rises to her feet, to stand beside Kraydn. She folds her arms across her chest, fixing her glare on the trio, rather than Deynann.
Deynann smiles at Freyd. "Look, cutter, if I knew what you were talking about, I'd be more than happy to let you in on the dark of it. By the Lady, if you're wise to a drink, we can answer your questions and tumble to whatever you're looking for."
Kraydn leans surreptitiously over to the djinn, murmuring out the side of his mouth, "What did this one's brother just say?"
Ahinoam pats Kraydn on the head affectionately. "You'll learn," she says.
Freyd shakes his head, taking a half step back. "A drink... no... it's not supposed to happen like this." He puts one hand on either side of his head, but then sits down. "I wouldn't mind some bub," he says, in a small voice, unable to conceal the fact that his voice is trembling.
Ailsa sits back down, slowly, eyeing Frey's escorts distrustfully.
Sulemein merely stands by, casual, relaxed, ready. He studies the trio, once more guaging their ability.
Kraydn sniffs as the man backs down, and crosses his arms with some small measure of satisfaction. "Hah! A wise choice." He seats himself again, letting his brother do the talking.
The halfling and the tiefling remain standing as well, both standing behind Freyd, hovering between exasperation with him and a fierce protectiveness.
Deynann nods amicably, waving over one of the serving... things, and says, "Some bub for my newfound friend here, and maybe a share or two for his friends." He grins at the others, shrugging a bit. "Look, there's little that some conversation can't handle... and after a pint or two of the house best, maybe we'll get somewhere."
Freyd grunts, and then looks up at Deynann through red-rimmed eyes. "I thought I would hate you," he says forlornly. "It wasn't supposed to happen like this."
"Now, Freyd...?" asks Deynann, shifting his eyes to the tiefling for confirmation. "What seems to be getting you peery about this? -Hate- me? Must've done something even I don't know about for that." Once the bub comes, he shares it around, giving a fair coin in exchange. "Look. Whatever you think I've done, I'm sorry. I can't promise I've done it, and if you'll give a leatherhead a chance for reasoning, you'll probably find I'm not your berk."
Freyd takes his tankard, and greedily downs about half of it before talking again. He looks up again at Deynann. "You came to me, when I'd first come here, from Prime. You held me down in an alley, and pulled every bit of magic from me." He bursts into very unmanly tears, too far gone in his misery to care about appearances. "I-I was a sorcerer too. Was. Now... I'm nothing." The tiefling begins to massage Freyd's shoulders, sighing. She exchanges glances with the halfling.
Kraydn tugs again at Ahinoam's cloak. "What language is he speaking?"
Sulemein maintains his thoughtful study of the pair of female protectors, though he answers Kraydn's query, "It is your language, friend Kraydn - after a fashion. It is the cant of the City of Doors."
Ahinoam nods to Sulemein, while looking at Kraydn. "Consider it a regional dialect."
Sulemein stresses part of his next question, "Does _that_one_ understand?" He looks faintly amused.
Ailsa grins at Kraydn. "Remember how I had to talk like a Vhal when we visited Vhalisk, to make people listen to me?"
Kraydn sniffs. "This one knows his brother is perfectly capable of speaking properly," he mutters in an aggrieved tone. "Even if the rest of you don't."
Deynann's eyes pan through the people in this small gathering. "Freyd, I -promise- you, on pain of the Lady's shadow, that not only am I seeing you for the first time in my life, but that I have no capabilities like you describe. Freyd, sorcerers don't take each other's blood-rights." Then, to the tiefling, "How long's he been like this?"
The tiefling sighs. "Since he lost his power. A... month ago?"
Freyd stares at Deynann, his shoulders sagging. "I-I believe you," he says, muttering into his cup, "Dammit. Why would someone do this? Why would someone make themself look like you to do this?"
Sulemein glances to Deynann as he considers. "Perhaps someone impersonating your form, friend... I should wonder if others have been so affected as well..."
Deynann ahs. "Strange, since I haven't been in Sigil until, say, a few days ago. Since several months prior." A quizzical look at Ailsa, then more commiseration with Freyd. "Let's see what we can do for you, cutter. No one, least of all me, has the right to take your magic from you."
Freyd draws in a ragged breath, and nods. "That'd be... good." He looks over his shoulder at the tiefling, grabbing her hand. "Now what do we do?" he asks her, sadly. "It was supposed to be so easy. I was supposed to kill him, and then go find more magic."
Kraydn bristles visibly at the words 'kill him'.
Deynann looks over at Kraydn, brow darkening. The word 'don't' could magically appear in the air, but it's just as implied as is. Dey returns his attention to Freyd and his two companions at Sulemein's question.
Sulemein speaks up with a query of his own now, "Did someone tell you to do this, friend Freyd?"
Freyd shook his head. "No," he says, shaking his head. "I've been following him for a few weeks now, trying to get his schedule." He frowns at Deynann. "I guess if you were just getting back to the city a few days ago, that would be why you changed your schedule. I was starting to get paranoid, thinking you were on to me." He puts his head down on the table and closes his eyes.
Someone comes a little too close to the table for the halfling's sensibilities, perhaps, because her lips curl back, and she snarls at him, revealing razor sharp canines. "Get. Back." she says, speaking for the first time throughout this meeting. Her tiny little body seems to radiate menace, surprisingly enough.
Sulemein appears struck by a realization, "I... seem to recall something similar recently... The tale was that some sod claimed to have been drained in similar fashion as friend Freyd, though he faded not long after. It was thought that he was peeling berks for their jink..." Sulemein adds, "And failed."
Freyd's eyes fly open. "This... happened to someone else?" He lifts his head, staring at the monk, and then his visage grows angry in appearance once more. "I'm sure it's because the poor sod was sorcerer, through and through. Least I had my fighting abilities to keep me alive."
Kraydn looks helplessly at the djinn, mouthing 'Peeling? Jink?'
Sulemein nods slowly to Freyd, then glances to Kraydn, smiling apologetically for a moment. "Tricking people for their gold, friend."
Kraydn ahhhs. That at least, he understands.
"Mmm. So someone's been wandering around with -my- face on him... him, her or it." Dey seems unhappy about this, but in general, much more positive than he had been with the prospect of someone trying to kill him in the immediate future. "I'll tell you what, Freyd. I'm as anxious to find this other 'me' as you are, probably more so. Probably doing all sorts of mischief. Being as I'm going to be held to blame, and probably by people less reasonable and astute as yourself, it's best for me to find this berk and write him in the book myself. You tumble?"
Freyd nods. "I want a piece of his heart," he says. "If you're able to find him." He doesn't seem to be joking. "Alia, Ura and I are staying in the Golden Inn. If there's anything I can do to help..."
Kraydn leans to Sulemein. "Which book?"
Sulemein allows a brow to rise. A little. He then looks to Kraydn, and speaks these chilling words. "The Book of the Dead. The Dead-Book."
Deynann claps Freyd on the shoulder. "Done plenty, Freyd. Keep the chant low, lest this sodding stick-head hear about it. Let me know what I can do for a fellow dragonblood, if it comes up. You found me once, I have no doubt in your ability to do so again."
"But, but, Tombren keeps that!" Kraydn protests. "We can't just go writing in his book, we'd be, we'd be...in big trouble," he finishes, somewhat lamely.
Ailsa whispers to Kraydn, "I think he means that he's going to go kill the guy himself."
The djinni smiles to herself, and then rises to her feet, towering over the table of smaller beings. "I believe that you have more... personal problems to solve for the moment," she says, looking disappointed but accepting. "Kraydn, Ailsa, if you have need of anything, I still consider myself to be very much in your debt. You need only look for the tall pale woman in the crowd."
Sulemein inclines his head in affirmation of Ailsa's translation, then bows to the djinn. "Good travels, friend."
"What? Oh. This one thought he was being literal." Kraydn relaxes. "Killing him, why didn't he just say so?"
Ailsa gives Deynann an apologetic look, and sighs.
Deynann looks up at the djinn. "I hope you understand... one can't have their name besmirched all over Sigil and allow it to continue. Perhaps, when this is resolved, you'll still be looking for a solution." He grins up at the djinn. "Hopefully one will have come to you, one to your liking."
The djinni mmmms, nodding. "Hopefully," she says, doubt in her voice. "But, I do understand your situation," she says. She starts to move away, and then pauses. "Did you just say that you'd been gone from Sigil for several months?"
Deynann shifts, his jaw setting for a moment, then loosening into a smile. "... yes, I have been. Is something the matter?"
The djinni looks confused. "Oh," she says. "I just thought- no, I must have been mistaken. But, well, in case it's important, our mutual friend told me, at least I thought... that the two of you had a couple of meetings. But not in the past few days. I thought it was a few weeks ago."
Deynann's pupils darken into pits. "... ah," he whispers, his voice frigid as a void. "Yes, thank you for this... information."
Kraydn looks from the djinn to his sibling and back. "This one has no idea what's going on here, but he's not letting you get into it alone, brother." He uncrosses his arms and leans forward. "Besides, Mother would have a fit if I did."
Sulemein considers a few moments more, then dismisses Freyd and company. "Come, friends. My home lies not far from this place. Let us relax there, and we shall help settle you into this new land..."
[Commercial Break: New improved White-Out, for cleaner, brighter teeth!]
