Turtle Soup (Planescape 3.5e)

[Boddynock]

She glances back over her shoulder, surveying the scene for a moment

Andarin waves and blows her a kiss. "Farewell, Tselze, Queen of Cupbearers. Some day return my heart to me!"

He turns to his friends. "What a woman! Not only can she bear a cup, she can also carry a tune - or at any rate, the bard who's doing the tuning!"

"Drink up, drink up." He flashes his teeth in a brilliant smile. "So... shall we get to exploring that staircase or do you want to sample some cheeses?" As he asks, Wysele cuts a finger-sized slice from a block that she 'aquired' and offers it to you.

"First some bub and some grub. Thank you, O Fiery One! I'll toast you - if you'll agree never to toast me!"

Relishing the cheese, and quaffing the ale, Andarin looks around, staring with interest at the Sarphidian chrysalis, and nodding to the turtle-folk holding it.

"Hey Rhys, I don't understand what these berks are saying but it sounds similar to your tongue. How about asking them where they hail from and what their home plane is like? And while you're at it, ask them what they're going to do with that." He points to the metamorphosed Sarphidian.

 

[Velmont]

Traore take some bread, cheese and a mug of hard cider. He looks around him. He doesn't fill confortable with the situation. He start to eat and drink, and between two mouthfull, he ask to his new little companion.

"Red guys not here. Better. But still strange place. Is this world always strange? Difficult to mi to understand people talking. So much happen."

He looks around, and he hear one githzerai talking with a marked one.

"Is good this dwarven pretty ale. Take you cutter some should. It Sweet better one than the Inn at the taste."

The Tiefling seems not bother by the nonesense and answer him in a language that Traore doesn't understand. Than he takes the Gith ales and taste it.

"And why those speak without senses? He use words... but words seems just... taking random."

 

[Boddynock]

"Red guys not here. Better. But still strange place. Is this world always strange? Difficult to mi to understand people talking. So much happen."

"Hey, berk, of course it's strange. These are the planes. 'Normal' can change according to the colour of your hair, or what you had for breakfast today. 'Clueless' isn't only an insult - it's a fair description of how you berks are when you first hit Sigil. Trust me, there's plenty that's dark, and lanning it can take a lifetime. And some things you don't pick up? - well, that life can be plenty short. There's no shortage of sods who'll put you in the dead book without even looking at you. So look and listen cutter - it might just save your life."

"That barmy over there is a Xaositect. He's a member of one of the Factions. They're groups of cutters who follow a common philosophy - a way of viewing the multiverse. See, the thing to remember is that here on the planes, belief affects reality. Of course, the only belief a Xaositect has is that believing has nothing to do with it - or rather, 'nothing that believing with has it do to.'"

"Stick close, Clueless - listen and learn. And whatever you do, don't pick a fight unless you're sure you can win - and even then, think twice about it."

 

[Lobo Lurker]

"Strange accent you've got there cutter." Jurden eyes Traore's build, clothing, and weapons. "Looks like you're decked out for a fight... Hah! Me too!" the big ghaele claps the tiefling on the back.

"Stick close to Andarin here. As well, you, your lady-friend here, and Rhys should all stick together. As the goblins and kobolds all over the multiverse know, there is strength in numbers." He smiles again. "My advice? Figure out how things work and then find something to believe it... even if it's nothing at all."

He looks momentarily crestfallen until Wesyle spashes some beer in his face and tells him to cheer up. "Right." He glances around looking for Rhys trying to point him out to Traore and Meenah. "...he's around here somewhere."

"So where do you bubber's come from anyway? Me? I used to be from a plane called Ysgard... more recently, I have no idea where I'm from and who did this to me." he says gesturing to his blue crystal hand. "Got me some weird tattoos as well, but I'll get those checked out in Sigil after we get back."

"But enough about me... LETS GO PARTY!!!"

 

[Velmont]

"Berk... Clueless... Dark... Cutter... Xaocitechs... Factions..." murmur Traore, while listening to small man.

"Yeah. Have accent. Common is mi third language. What difference between Berk and Cutter? ... I was translator between mi people and Spritis... mean... Demon, think that yuo name Spirit. Call themselves Tanari" The last word is told in Infernal (if it makes any change...). "Mi world ruled by Demon. Mi people slave. Use to help in war. Mi flee to Sigil because war not at Sigil. So heard mi master said. Even if here crazy and strange, still better than home. And for fight, can defend miself, but master not kill mi because I avoid fight. Do not scare for me."

"But enough about me... LETS GO PARTY!!!"

"Agree, Ysgard-lé, let drink to mi freedom" Pushing Jurden in the back to the nearest barrel of alcool.

 

[The803]

The gibbous portal closes, leaving only Rhys' turtle shell.

The turtlefolk describe themselves as newly-born scions of "the deeping heart-well of creation," which you take to mean the portal they just passed through. Nobody remembers seeing them inside the world serpent womb-egg, although the Sarphidian seemed familiar with them. They are very much like Gibbous in temperment, although they do not appear to be made of the same nethling-flesh. The male gives his name as Sun, and introduces the female as Sea. They are busy murmuring prayers to the sarphidian chrysalis in a language which Meenah recognizes as draconic.

Now that the in-flow of visitors has stopped, Anthaze the bariaur offers to guide people to the nearest "throat" of the World Serpent and describes the layout of the plane to newcomers. Right now, you are in the maze-like "coils" of the World Serpent, which connect various "throats" to one another through an endless series of tavern-like corridors. The coils of the serpent are derived from the Lady of Pain's mazes, and shift constantly; the way to find a particular throat is to concentrate on it and wander the coils, following your instincts. It's kind of like Astral travel, only with beer and pretzels.

Anthaze assembles most of the gathered folk into a motley troupe intent on finding the nearest throat-taproom together, although many small groups set out on their own beforehand or choose to stay put where the food and drink are. Wysele, now armed with a skin of white wine and a jar of green olives, favors going out on her own. Swatting at a stray sunfly that seems intent on annoying her, she invites anyone who doesn't want to follow the bleating crowd (said under her breath with a smirk, out of earshot from Anthaze) to come along for the ride.

 

[Lobo Lurker]

Jurden bids the tiefling adieu and turns to his companions. "Well, shall we get to it?"

"Yeah. Have accent. Common is mi third language. What difference between Berk and Cutter? ... I was translator between mi people and Spritis... mean... Demon, think that yuo name Spirit. Call themselves Tanari"

Jurden says some strange words and a harsh and obviously evil language (infernal): [SBLOCK]"Speak Infernal do you? That's odd, haven't met many mortals who could. So... they enslaved your people? ...your entire world?!?" he asks incredulously. "We can't have that... do you remember which portal you came through? Maybe we can do something to help you people later on..." [/SBLOCK]

"D@MN THE BLOOD WAR!" he growls, with far more conviction than he intended.

The big jovial ghaele looks genuinly worried and upset. He continues in that same language. [SBLOCK]"I don't know about you, but I'm certainly not powerful enough to do battle with even lesser fiends... not anymore. I'll try and remember if I know anyone that might be able to help you out."[/SBLOCK]

A look of concentration appears on Jurden's face as he walks along with the group. Looks like he's trying to remember something. After a while he gives up with a look of resignation and genuine sorrow. "Sorry Traore. I just can't remember anything. But the bloods who run this place might have connections up in Ysgard. I'll see if I can't find someone who might be receptive to your tale."

"Maybe later, when I've regained my lost power and you've honed your martial skills, we can do something about it ourselves."

He takes a swig of beer. "What about you Meenah, what kind of sick and twisted world do you come from?"

 

[Velmont]

Traore listen to Jurden, and seems happy to hear his old master tongue. He reply to Jurden in the same tongue.

[SBLOCK]"I'm happy to be able to speak to someone my full and clear mind... I remember where I appeared, and I remember the key to open it, but if I remember what a dwarf told me the first week I was in Sigil, he said that there is many kind of doors, and some change place and key. The last day I pass in my world, a messanger told to my master that the door to Sigil had moved, so I suppose it is such door. With some luck, it would still be there, but I am as you, I can't even think to fight my old master for now, I have been just lucky not to get killed, and by the time I will be ready to go back home and make my old master pay for what he has done to me, I doubt the door will still be there, but as I doesn't know much about those door, I may be wrong."[/SBLOCK]

"Blood war... Is name of war bitween démon and dévil I suppose... Thanks for help you want give mi. I like it. But now time to drink, not think about démon or dévil."

He take a mug and drink it in a single sip. He caugh and amost throw out what he just ingest.

"Ouédro Garaté, Compi Sédi?"

OOC: Traduction from Tribespeech: [SBLOCK]"By the elders, what is that?"[/SBLOCK]

He looks at the mug he has taken. He had mistaken it with the one of the scaly guys next to him. A big smile appears on his mouth and tells: "Dragon Sprit. Not for clueless." and he starts to laugh before leaving.

Traore grabs his own mug and take a good sip to pass the bad taste.

"Mi fill not well..."

He sits on the ground and grab a what remain of his bread and start to eat it, listening to Meenah's story.

 

[The803]

Before long, most of those gathered head up the stairs and out, leaving only three curious cutters you've not met in the storeroom. Their leader is wearing a helmet that looks like a falcon's head. He has an officious air about him, and is attended by the other two. One is a plain-looking woman dressed in plain-looking clothes. Her head is clean-shaven and her skin and eyes are the color of honey. The other appears to be a small clockwork child built of gleaming copper plates. They have stayed because they are curious to see what will become of the chrysalis, but remain politely in the background as the turtles pray and chant.

 

[Boddynock]

"So, friends, what do you want to do? I, for one, am interested in the transformation here - what do you think will happen to this creature? There's plenty of time, I would reckon, to explore the coils at our leisure. Why don't we watch the show?"

With that, Andarin refills his cup, takes a sip, sits on a low barrel, and pulls out his recorder. He plays soft, eerie music, which conveys a sense of expectancy, weaving in and out of the line of the turtles' chanting. While there is a minor sub-theme which surfaces from time to time, the piece is filled with light and wonder. He alternates the woodwind melody with a wordless chant that gives heart to his hearers.

On principle, since he dislikes officious characters, Andarin will keep an eye on the other group left in the entrance cellar. He keeps playing, but is prepared to weave magic from his music at any sign of trouble.

(OOC: Ready an action to inspire courage if the other group does anything aggressive or attacks either Andarin's party or the turtle creatures and the chrysalis. So I'm paranoid! )