The party is really thumping along now, with bubbers stumbling from house to house along the border between Hive and the Clerk's Ward. As more and more people drift to the house where you're at, the reaction to the nethling is universally the same:
ANOTHER ONE! (hic)
It seems that there are nethlings at every party house, and some houses have more than one. Folks report that every one is vastly different in shape and seem smarter than those who know have come to expect from nethlings, although they still have very little by way of actual personality.
Andarin's scout-or-baby theory circulates rapidly among partygoers, and Tselze makes it one of her get-a-drink gimmicks, leading to all sorts of bub-addled theorizing. The apparently uniform impressionability of the things puts the "fresh litter" theory way out in front, but the "they're just playing dumb" theory is running a strong second. Nethlings are essentially fact-finders, so Neth must be mighty curious about something.
Being fellow shell-carriers, you spend a great deal of time by the nethling as it is barraged by possible names. Bubbers from other parties describe the outlandish forms of the other nethlings from elsewhere, and make a detailed (but very polite) examination of this one:
It resembles a 3-armed starfish with three moonlike oval "eyes" in the center, which also seem to work like membranous frog-ears and vibrating drum-mouths according to need. Each of its 3 tentacles can serve as a snake- or slug-like "leg-foot" or as a crude tenticle arm, and the thing ambles about like a clumsy puppy, despite being apparently immune to the effects of liquor, which it can drink through a straw-like pore at the end of each arm (and secrete later, apparently undigested and unchanged). There is no apparent skeleton, and the semisolid interior mass of the creature seems to shift within its tough skin, sometimes according to its whims, but sometimes also at random. The whole mess, except for the eyes (which are like mother-of-pearl), is the color of fresh pumpkin-flesh, which is also as close as anyone can come to describing the humid smell of the thing. Berks from this party suggest endless variations of "Pumpkin" names in a variety of languages, but the bloods wandering in from elsewhere bar that quick; all of the new nethlings look and smell vaguely of pumpkin-flesh, so the name doesn't fit this particular one.
The Ghaele there's got the right idea; it'll settle on the name what fits it.
The pretty elf in form-fitting red leather has been hovering near the nethling, but not saying much. After catching Rhys' attention breifly, she melts back into the crowd and appears several minutes later with a blue-grey cat in her arms, which she carefully presents to the creature, which hands her its full shell of ale in exchange. It cradles the cat in a tenticle-coil with great curiousity for a minute, cautiously petting and playing with the other free arm. The elf gestures for (relative) quiet as the cat and the creature regard one another; the three ovals of the nethling's "face" rotate into a new configuration in their circular sockets, which you could swear was an attempt at a smile.
There is a long pause before the nethling speaks, as if suddenly remembering.
Gibbous. Yes. That is my name. I am Gibbous; the moon that is not quite full.
As it makes this announcement, it sets the cat down, and it slinks away to Rhys' feet, where it arcs affectionately against his shins. The elf woman gestures for everyone to stand back as she pours the shell's contents onto the ground in a wide circle and then places the empty shell rim-side down in the center.
Everyone, step back, please. Her voice is very soft, but strangely commanding. Following her cat, she slips next to Rhys at the edge of the crowd, which washes back to leave Gibbous alone at the edge of her spill-circle.
One of Gibbous' suddenly-massive tenticles arcs into the circle. Instead of shattering, the shell flattens like pancake batter beneath the blow, spreading into a perfect radial pattern of black lines and jade-green segments, filling the spill-circle. As it stops spreading out and settles into this new shape, there is a strange crackling sound as the segments drop swiftly and unevenly into the ground, forming a downward-spriraling stairway that Gibbous, still standing on the very edge, falls haplessly into, flopping and tumbling in great flailing somersaults down towards a warm golden glow now radiating from the base of the stairs.
The bariaur keg-bearer's voice booms above the crowd's laughter and astonishment.
The door has opened! Everyone down who's going down. The Githzerai muscle their way through the crowd to the top of the stairs and the circle's edge, overseeing the formation of a guarding circle and an orderly line at the top of the spiral. Sods who rushed into the pit after Gibbous confirm that the golden glow is that of a portal, and the smell of foods both strange and familiar wafts up from the bottom of the stairs.
He turns to the elf woman. How'd you know to do that?
She smiles broadly as she pulls a small brooch on a chain around her neck. I didn't. The brooch bears the symbol of the Transcendent Order, the faction of correct action without forethought. Score one for the Ciphers.
The bariaur shrugs and gives a fat laugh before turning again to the gathering crowd. Keep it civil, sods! Shell-carriers first if you got any manners at all! There is a brief surge in the crowd, which is quite drunk already, as the more confident and impatient bashers ignore their manners and rush to get ahead of the guards before they can form their safety circle around the portal stairs.
There's time enough for any of you to attempt to do so if you're so inclined.
The elf woman elbows Rhys lightly in the ribs as the crowd surges around them You coming? The blue-grey cat at their feet pads off, rapidly trotting away from the portal and the party, back into Sigil. The woman follows quickly behind, the crowd parting like long grass around her as it crushes in the opposite direction, in and around and down towards the promise of the world serpent below.
