A Crazy Fool
First Post
This is a story hour for one of my PBP games on the Planewalker forums (check them out). I'm looking to improve as a writer, so any kind of feedback is really apreciated. I'll update when I can (which probably won't be too often). Because it's PBP, it is possible that I may catch up to the campaign. If so, I'll write about character backstory and metaplot. Some changes have been made to improve how the story reads, but much of the dialouge is straight out of the game.
Yebena ap Ezeya the Bearded sat quietly in a far corner of the roof/balcony of the Crossed Daggers tavern in Hell’s Gate. It was light, and Sigil’s normally choking smog had dissipated in a moderate breeze. The tan and white furred aracanaloth was flanked by two hulking skeletons. Both were polished until they reflected their surroundings and then decorated with elaborate blue spirals. ‘She’ was here for a reason, but she willed it out of her mind, assuring herself that no matter what happened, planning was futile now. Such an attitude flew was against her nature, but it was necessary. The pieces had been set, but despite all her best efforts and those of her superiors, the other side–fate–had the first move in this game. She would wait.
She settled into her seat and casually took stock of her surroundings, searching for possible threats or opportunities. Her eyes were immediately drawn to the security staff which consisted of three barbazu goons. They were neat and dressed in sharply creased crimson uniforms trimmed with gold thread. Dressed for the parade field, the lesser devils looked almost socially acceptable. The other employees of the tavern wore a similar, though less martial version of the same outfit. The arcanaloth quickly lost interest in these sights, however. Tonight’s patrons seemed fairly typical given the infernal nature of the tavern. She noticed that the mortal serving staff shied away from her, politely checking to make *absolutely certain* other more distant patrons were completely satisfied with their food and drinks.
The arcanaloth steepled her long clawed hands front of her and sat indifferently for a moment before telepathically ‘clearing her throat’ to remind the serving staff of her presence. More prompting was unnecessary and the four serving girls wordlessly singled out the unlucky one who walked quickly and resignedly to the ‘loth’s table.
“Umm...excuse me…uh,” the small black-haired girl managed to say; hesitating under the fiend’s expressionless stare.
“Ma’am,” Yebena offered helpfully. A thin smile stretched across her jackal’s muzzle. It seemed almost friendly, pitying maybe. Or maybe not. She would have some fun while she waited. It would help keep her mind from the task at hand.
The girl hesitated again, “Excuse me, ma’am…uh…what is it you want to order tonight?” Still spoken timidly.
“I think…perhaps that I may need some time to think on that.” Yebena laughed inwardly but still wore her almost-friendly face.
The girl’s shoulders fell. She knew for certain the fiend was playing games with her mind and deriving great enjoyment from her discomfort.
“Do you…menu. I mean…” she faltered again and stopped dead.
“No. I memorized the chalkboard downstairs.”
The girl quickly retreated. When she was halfway to the stairs Yebena held up a clawed finger, “Wait,” the girl spun around in surprise. “On second thought, I think that I will have something to drink while I decide.”
“What?”
“Surprise me,” the arcanaloth said, inwardly laughing. Creating stress and fear in others helped to lighten her own burden.
Yebena crossed her arms and patiently waited for her new toy to return.
Instead, a winged humanoid walked slowly to her table, holding a bottle of wine and a glass. Yebena allowed her ears to visibly droop in disappointment.
“Hello and good evening to you, Ma’am,” said the erinyes, who seemed unfazed by the arcanaloth’s presence. “Have you decided what you want to eat yet?” the she-devil asked, curling her brownish wings around her shoulders like a cloak as she poured the ‘loth’s drink.
This question gave Yebena pause. She had already planned out a needlessly complicated and difficult-to-remember request to torment the mortal with. She wouldn’t eat most of it, but money wasn’t of any real concern. Now she had to think of what she actually wanted. The menu wasn’t long enough to confuse an erinyes who probably had thousands of years’ experience negotiating needlessly complicated infernal contracts and treaties.
“I will have bread,” Yebena said simply.
“Will that be all?” confirmed the erinyes, genuinely surprised at the arcanaloth’s simple request. The devil was certain she missed some extremely important detail.
“Yes, that will be all.”
“Very well.”
Yebena resumed her idle observation of the patrons. “Oi, you!” Yebena’s head snapped towards the foolish mortal who had interrupted her reverie. Her fur bristled and she suppressed a snarl. This was not a convenient time. The exclamation also caught the attention of other nearby patrons, who turned towards the disruption. “Aye, you!” mumbled the human loudly, taking another sip of his ale and spilling the better part of it on his shirt. He was dressed in Sigil’s latest fashions and very drunk.
Out of the corner her eye, Yebena could see the three barbazu chattering telepathically. One laid down a few gold coins. The other two followed suit after some more chatter.
You will have no fight today, little devils, Yebena thought to herself.
Nearby customers also waited expectantly for something to happen. The rest were too absorbed in their drinks or conversations to notice.
“I assume,” said the ‘loth (after she had smoothed out her fur and composed herself) levelly–almost whispering, “That you are speaking to me?’’ To any sober person, the threat would be painfully obvious. Then again, a sober person would have the good sense not to taunt a greater yugloth, thus avoiding the problem entirely.
“Aye. Yam talking teh you, berk,” slurred the drunk. “Whadar you doin’ here? Thish eesh an estableeshmunt for…Baatehs…Bait-a-shoe…devilsh, not for ‘lothsh.”
“I suppose you should leave then.” Yebena’s soft, matter-of-fact voice did not change. It betrayed none of her emotions, though the ‘loth’s mind wandered, meditating on the best way to make the mortal suffer.
“Yesh I yam! Yam Mehpishtophleesh, Lord of the Fifth,” countered the drunk.
“I’m sure Levistus is thrilled by this turn of events.” This comment was met with small grins from the spectators and harsh, grunting laughs from the more distant barbazu.
“Levishtush? Yam Levishtush too! Yam…Mephilevistopheleeshusomesuch, Mashter of Hellfire! I’ll cast you into the deepesht pit of Hell!”
Yebena turned her attention elsewhere.
“You can’t jusht ignore Mephit-levishtush! I call on the power of hellfire to shmite you!” The bubber flailed his arms wildly and pointed to the ‘loth’s turned back. Evidently, he was not Mephistopheles, the Lord of Hellfire.
The erinyes returned a few minutes later with a small loaf of freshly heated bread and butter.
“You musht remove her,” the bubber instructed the erinyes. “She ishen’t a devil.”
The erinyes’ attractive face twisted from the politely indifferent face of a waitress to a vicious sneer. Mortals weren’t supposed to tell devils what to do. Yebena raised a clawed hand and saved the devil from the eternal disfavor of two Lords of the Nine, “This berk is Levistus *and* Mephistopheles,” she said as though it were the truest thing in the multiverse, “You probably shouldn’t cross them.” As an afterthought, she added, “Their power is a terrifying thing.”
“That’s right, it eesh! I’ll shmite you all! Don’t laugh at the lord of hellfire!”
The erinyes glared at the mortal and held his gaze for several second. Her string of telepathic threats was sufficient to shut him up temporarily.
Yebena looked around for another empty table. A shouting match–or worse, an open fight (one-sided as it would be) wasn’t her style and she couldn’t afford to be kicked out of the tavern tonight. She would get her revenge…but on her own terms. Yebena was disappointed–it was a busy night–but she saw that one table’s composition had shifted.
A minute ago, there was an aasimar couple and a falxugon seated at the table. The fiend’s bodyguard stood behind his master’s chair, arms crossed. Yebena got the general drift of the conversation despite the distractions in her immediate area. It seemed that the couple was trying to bargain for the woman’s soul back with little success.
The devil ended the conversation: “Don’t worry, your soul is in fine hands.” The tearful couple left quickly.
“Don’t worry; your soul is in fine hands.” Heh. She would have to remember that one.
Now a strange human wearing a ragged blue buccaneer’s coat and a silvered gauntlet sat talking to the falxugon. The human’s face was heavily bandaged save for his eyes. One was a normal shade of blue; the other was a brass orb with a sharp yellow glow where the pupil would normally be. He did not seem particularly invested in the conversation. Yebena thought he heard him introduce himself as Bruce.
“Please pardon my asking,” Yebena telepathically hailed the falxugon, “But may I join you? I tire of my current...company.” She added this with a meaningful glare at the bubber, who was oblivious.
“Certainly. I do so tire of the chatter of mortals, so I would appreciate the company of peers. May I have your name, my lady?” replied the devil.
Peers indeed, devil! The yugloth scoffed to herself.
“I am called Yebena ap Ezeya the Bearded.” Yebena did in fact have a small and neatly trimmed white beard.
Yebena stood to her full height–almost six-and-a-half feet tall–and powerfully built for an arcanaloth. Despite her size, she still looked almost skeletal. The devil instructed his bodyguard to pull out a chair for the ‘loth and one of Yebena’s skeletons set her plate and glass down. At her direction, the skeletons took two steps back and stood completely still, resting their sword points on the ground.
For several seconds, Canzonzabar turned his attention elsewhere. Yebena followed his gaze to the drunk human, who was utterly terrified by whatever telepathic threats the devil made. Fearing for his life and soul, the human searched for the quickest way to escape the bar–off the edge of the roof. As the bubber clumsily lowered himself down, Yebena gave him a small telekinetic push. The sickening crunch of breaking bones and the screams of pain could be heard clearly from two stories in the air until they were suddenly cut short by another crunch of bones and the sound of something heavy and wooden hitting the ground.
“SHUT UP YOU BLEEDIN’ MORTAL!” Barked a loud voice in infernal.
The other of the two hamatulas in charge of security downstairs laughed, “Huszi, you have just killed a mortal with a *table.* New lows, comrade. New lows.”
“Lows? Surely you jest. They should pay me to be the entertainment here! It beats the sodding dreadful flute players we have tonight,” replied the first hamatula.
“Improvisational mortal killing. That’s not such a bad idea. We could sell tickets.” The two hamatula’s conversation faded as they went back inside; likely to be continued telepathically.
The fiends and some of the nastier mortals smiled or openly laughed. Those who knew the context of the previous conflict looked worriedly at Yebena, assuming she was responsible for the bubber’s fall.
The falxugon turned back and addressed new guest warmly as though nothing had happened, “I am pleased to meet you. I am known as Canzonzabar, and this is my associate, Trift. The fellow there is called Bruce Maxson. Pray tell, what brings you to the Crossed Daggers this fine day?”
“I am called Yebena,” she said for the benefit of Bruce. “I am here to sit, drink, and maybe talk.”
“Ah, but there is much to be found in this establishment aside from beverages, Lady Min. Opportunities abound for the enterprising sort, such as myself. Connections to be set up, bargains to be negotiated. If I may ask, where lie your interests in such matters? I am always on the lookout for profitable arrangements… mutually profitable, of course”
If I wanted to do business, I would be at the Tenth Circle speaking with people who have something useful to offer me. Think what you will, but your game is a very small one, devil.
Bruce turned to face Canzon, a strange intensity in his voice, "So, you never answered my question before. How many generations are you?"
The falxugon responded with a hint of irritation, though his tone remained charming and polite, “I’m afraid your question is lost on me, Mr Maxson. Are you referring to “age,” rank, or some such?”
"You know, how many gen..." Bruce suddenly loses the intensity in his voice. "I'm sorry, sir. At first glance, I was of the impression that you were had fiendish heritage. I realize now that despite your humanoid appearance, you are full fiend. I apologize if this has insulted you in any way."
Insulted, Canzon takes care to restrain himself. For a moment, his smile twisted into a subtle sneer, but it was gone before the change was noticeable. ”For a centuries-old planewalker your…unawareness…astounds me, Mr. Maxson. You would know, that an abundance of exemplars assume visages much more ‘humanoid’ than mine. The whole term is terribly misconstrued – a great deal of us had four limbs and a head on a torso long before humans existed. After all, the creator gods had to get their inspiration from somewhere. However, thanks to the sheer abundance of humans on the planes, the power of belief has altered our forms to more closely resemble theirs.” Turning back to Bruce, the falxugon returns to his more formal tone, “I have not failed to notice, my dear Mr. Maxson, that you have not answered my question, either. Do you have business to pursue here?”
"I never said I was a planewalker, experienced or otherwise." Bruce replied, dully, "And as for my purpose here, I seek to entertain myself and pass the time. Nothing more, nothing less."
A dark haired and heavily muscled human dressed in a fine crimson toga strode regally to the table, heading off any potential confrontatation. Like the others, he noticed that the table was not occupied by a fixed group. He wore two gauntlets made of mithril and silver mixed together in a regular spiral pattern. At his belt, he carried a falchion–beautifully forged and decorated in some places with gold and rubies. He looked like a well dressed warrior, though he had no scars on his tanned skin to prove it.
"Do you mind if I pull a chair up? You seem to be a more intriguing group than these other dotards sopped in bub."
Smiling to the newest guest, Canzonzabar indicates an empty chair.
“Peculiar. It seems this evening is for new acquaintances… By all means, have a seat, my good man. This is Yebena,” says the falxugon, gesturing to the arcanaloth, “The…thoroughly clothed gentleman is called Mr. Bruce Maxson. I am Canzonzabar; businessman and diplomat; depending on where I stand to profit. Might you be so kind as to grace us with your name?”
The tanned man sat, keeping his back straight and shoulders squared in perfect military posture. "Indeed it is, Master Canzonzabar. I'm a foreigner interested in business of the sharp sort," his tanned hand rests upon the pommel of the falchion, "If you catch my drift. You may call me by the surname of Penance. What sort of trade do you run?"
Canzonzabar never had the opportunity to respond. He was interrupted a tremendous crash of the tavern’s heavy metal doors. Yebena’s ears twitched at the noise.
So it begins. I’d have thought they’d be more subtle.
“NOBODY PIKIN’ MOVE!!! THIS IS A BLEEDIN’ ROBBERY!” The voice is loud, but strangely high.
Or maybe not. This may present a…problem.
The security staff on the second floor appeared strangely undisturbed by this so-called robbery. They continued their conversation as though nothing had happened.
“THAT’S RIGHT ADDLE-COVES! KEEP REACHIN’ FER THAT CEILING! I’LL BE FINISHE – HAHAHA, I’LL BE…” the ‘robber’ snorted, “…FINISHED WITH YOU IN NO TI…” He broke into fits hysterical laughter. “OOH, YE SHOULD HAVE SEEN THE LOOK ON YER FACE KHARASTA!”
There was a short pause, followed by muffled conversation on the otherwise quiet first floor.
A few seconds later the sound of feet banging against the stairs, could be heard–as if someone was hopping. True enough, a ridiculously looking character hopped onto the second floor. He had pale white skin, long green hair, and glowing red eyes. The figure wore a black and red silk jester’s outfit. He wore two longswords sheathed at his waist The jester was flanked by two similarly dressed lackeys. All three carried loaded crossbows Bruce leaps to his feat, his silver gauntlet leveled at Drum.
“Ladies! Gentlemen! Whatever the hell Kharasta is….have no fear! Su’ore Drum – the JOKER is FINALLY here!!!” Drum broke into another fit of hysterical laughter.
So the tenth most wanted man in Sigil has graced us with his presence. I wonder what the price on your head is now…No. On second thought I’d rather mount your head above my desk. The City Guard can’t have it.
In all of ten seconds, a Xaositect had ruined plans that had taken decades–no, centuries–to put into action. It was time to improvise.
On hearing the introduction, Bruce returned to his seat. Penance allowed the Joker to finish before smoothly rising–assuming a defensive stance. Canzonzabar’s hulking bodyguard also acts. His bow is drawn, raised, and pointed at the stairs in one smooth motion. Yebena turned her head to look Drum in the eye but otherwise remained motionless. Canzonzabar also glared at the Joker.
Noticing the extreme hostility in the eyes of the occupants of Canzonzabar’s central table, Drum skips up to them, wearing an impossibly wide grin. “Ooh! Tough crowd..... Like the saying goes: Dying is Easy - Comedy is Hard.”
Without warning, the Joker’s grin shifts into an unnaturally frightening frown, “Boys, let's bring some cheer to that table.” He points right at the standing Penance. Just as quickly as he frowned, the Joker grinned again: “LOOK SHARP!” He screamed and fired. His lackey’s did to–a few seconds later.
The crossbows do not fire metal bolts. They did nothing more than make a loud bang and a bright flash. The Joker broke into another fit of rabid laughter. His minions seem to have missed the joke. They stand, confused.
Turning his attention towards Canzonzabar, he says, “Don't worry guvner. I wouldn't kill you...unless, of course, I WOULD!”
“Those would be the two choices, yes,” says Bruce blankly.
"Indeed. Dying is easy. Easier than you would think, even," says Yebena, scowling.
Canzonzabar regards the goons. Whatever threat he made leaves them visibly shaken.
Well, devil, it seems you have earned some right to brag tonight. I am genuinely impressed–though I don’t find you particularly frightening myself.
Canzonzabar calmly replies to Drum’s threat, “What a cunning speculation to put forward. I would have expected nothing less from alternatively stylized escapees of a Pandemonium-inspired circus.” Pausing for effect, the devil adds: “I assure you, my remedies do not shoot blanks.”
“I think your kind are better served elsewhere,” says Penance in a voice laced with magic.
The Joker’s weak minded goons scurry down the stairs, compelled by Penance’s magic.
Bruce straightened, the intensity returning to his voice, "You call yourself a Joker, then tell us a joke whydon'cha," he says, drawing a disapproving look from Penance. The intensity vanishes and Bruce hangs his head and sighs.
Penance resumed his conversation with Canzonzabar as though nothing had happened, “Canzonabar, you were saying your business was in..." Penance trails off, affording the falxugon an opportunity to respond.
“Well, a little of this, and a little of that,” the Devil replied, “My main focuses revolve around matters that require a tactful tongue, rather than brute violence. I serve as a diplomat, a negotiator, a mediator, what-have-you. I also provide consultation in subjects of planar nature, and I provide access to valuable papers, in ways much more expedient and efficient than through conventional authorities. In addition, I am authorized by my superiors to channel a variety of favors to mortal clients – typically gold or magical increase in personal prowess, depending on the client’s needs, in exchange for… trifling posthumous services.”
Smiling wickedly, Canzon adds, “And should any of you be interested, I am certain we can come to a favorable arrangement.”
"Quite a vocation...and what would you call this...brokerage of information? I'd be highly invested in hearing some of the means by which you acquired such a vast network of programs to capitalize on your...talents."
“I would call it just that, brokerage of information; though I would not say my services are restricted to what such a description may imply. Details vary depending on the case in question, but should you have a specific conundrum in mind, please do indulge me.” The falxugon’s tail brushes off a speck of dust from his vest. “It takes centuries to establish a network the likes of which I benefit from, Mr. Penance,” the devil adds, “The means that I employed to go about with this… well, you have to keep your business secrets safe, or you’d quickly be ought of business, wouldn’t you agree?”
Centuries? Beh. There’s an arcanaloth sitting next to you, and you ask the devil about his spy network.
Yebena ap Ezeya the Bearded sat quietly in a far corner of the roof/balcony of the Crossed Daggers tavern in Hell’s Gate. It was light, and Sigil’s normally choking smog had dissipated in a moderate breeze. The tan and white furred aracanaloth was flanked by two hulking skeletons. Both were polished until they reflected their surroundings and then decorated with elaborate blue spirals. ‘She’ was here for a reason, but she willed it out of her mind, assuring herself that no matter what happened, planning was futile now. Such an attitude flew was against her nature, but it was necessary. The pieces had been set, but despite all her best efforts and those of her superiors, the other side–fate–had the first move in this game. She would wait.
She settled into her seat and casually took stock of her surroundings, searching for possible threats or opportunities. Her eyes were immediately drawn to the security staff which consisted of three barbazu goons. They were neat and dressed in sharply creased crimson uniforms trimmed with gold thread. Dressed for the parade field, the lesser devils looked almost socially acceptable. The other employees of the tavern wore a similar, though less martial version of the same outfit. The arcanaloth quickly lost interest in these sights, however. Tonight’s patrons seemed fairly typical given the infernal nature of the tavern. She noticed that the mortal serving staff shied away from her, politely checking to make *absolutely certain* other more distant patrons were completely satisfied with their food and drinks.
The arcanaloth steepled her long clawed hands front of her and sat indifferently for a moment before telepathically ‘clearing her throat’ to remind the serving staff of her presence. More prompting was unnecessary and the four serving girls wordlessly singled out the unlucky one who walked quickly and resignedly to the ‘loth’s table.
“Umm...excuse me…uh,” the small black-haired girl managed to say; hesitating under the fiend’s expressionless stare.
“Ma’am,” Yebena offered helpfully. A thin smile stretched across her jackal’s muzzle. It seemed almost friendly, pitying maybe. Or maybe not. She would have some fun while she waited. It would help keep her mind from the task at hand.
The girl hesitated again, “Excuse me, ma’am…uh…what is it you want to order tonight?” Still spoken timidly.
“I think…perhaps that I may need some time to think on that.” Yebena laughed inwardly but still wore her almost-friendly face.
The girl’s shoulders fell. She knew for certain the fiend was playing games with her mind and deriving great enjoyment from her discomfort.
“Do you…menu. I mean…” she faltered again and stopped dead.
“No. I memorized the chalkboard downstairs.”
The girl quickly retreated. When she was halfway to the stairs Yebena held up a clawed finger, “Wait,” the girl spun around in surprise. “On second thought, I think that I will have something to drink while I decide.”
“What?”
“Surprise me,” the arcanaloth said, inwardly laughing. Creating stress and fear in others helped to lighten her own burden.
Yebena crossed her arms and patiently waited for her new toy to return.
Instead, a winged humanoid walked slowly to her table, holding a bottle of wine and a glass. Yebena allowed her ears to visibly droop in disappointment.
“Hello and good evening to you, Ma’am,” said the erinyes, who seemed unfazed by the arcanaloth’s presence. “Have you decided what you want to eat yet?” the she-devil asked, curling her brownish wings around her shoulders like a cloak as she poured the ‘loth’s drink.
This question gave Yebena pause. She had already planned out a needlessly complicated and difficult-to-remember request to torment the mortal with. She wouldn’t eat most of it, but money wasn’t of any real concern. Now she had to think of what she actually wanted. The menu wasn’t long enough to confuse an erinyes who probably had thousands of years’ experience negotiating needlessly complicated infernal contracts and treaties.
“I will have bread,” Yebena said simply.
“Will that be all?” confirmed the erinyes, genuinely surprised at the arcanaloth’s simple request. The devil was certain she missed some extremely important detail.
“Yes, that will be all.”
“Very well.”
Yebena resumed her idle observation of the patrons. “Oi, you!” Yebena’s head snapped towards the foolish mortal who had interrupted her reverie. Her fur bristled and she suppressed a snarl. This was not a convenient time. The exclamation also caught the attention of other nearby patrons, who turned towards the disruption. “Aye, you!” mumbled the human loudly, taking another sip of his ale and spilling the better part of it on his shirt. He was dressed in Sigil’s latest fashions and very drunk.
Out of the corner her eye, Yebena could see the three barbazu chattering telepathically. One laid down a few gold coins. The other two followed suit after some more chatter.
You will have no fight today, little devils, Yebena thought to herself.
Nearby customers also waited expectantly for something to happen. The rest were too absorbed in their drinks or conversations to notice.
“I assume,” said the ‘loth (after she had smoothed out her fur and composed herself) levelly–almost whispering, “That you are speaking to me?’’ To any sober person, the threat would be painfully obvious. Then again, a sober person would have the good sense not to taunt a greater yugloth, thus avoiding the problem entirely.
“Aye. Yam talking teh you, berk,” slurred the drunk. “Whadar you doin’ here? Thish eesh an estableeshmunt for…Baatehs…Bait-a-shoe…devilsh, not for ‘lothsh.”
“I suppose you should leave then.” Yebena’s soft, matter-of-fact voice did not change. It betrayed none of her emotions, though the ‘loth’s mind wandered, meditating on the best way to make the mortal suffer.
“Yesh I yam! Yam Mehpishtophleesh, Lord of the Fifth,” countered the drunk.
“I’m sure Levistus is thrilled by this turn of events.” This comment was met with small grins from the spectators and harsh, grunting laughs from the more distant barbazu.
“Levishtush? Yam Levishtush too! Yam…Mephilevistopheleeshusomesuch, Mashter of Hellfire! I’ll cast you into the deepesht pit of Hell!”
Yebena turned her attention elsewhere.
“You can’t jusht ignore Mephit-levishtush! I call on the power of hellfire to shmite you!” The bubber flailed his arms wildly and pointed to the ‘loth’s turned back. Evidently, he was not Mephistopheles, the Lord of Hellfire.
The erinyes returned a few minutes later with a small loaf of freshly heated bread and butter.
“You musht remove her,” the bubber instructed the erinyes. “She ishen’t a devil.”
The erinyes’ attractive face twisted from the politely indifferent face of a waitress to a vicious sneer. Mortals weren’t supposed to tell devils what to do. Yebena raised a clawed hand and saved the devil from the eternal disfavor of two Lords of the Nine, “This berk is Levistus *and* Mephistopheles,” she said as though it were the truest thing in the multiverse, “You probably shouldn’t cross them.” As an afterthought, she added, “Their power is a terrifying thing.”
“That’s right, it eesh! I’ll shmite you all! Don’t laugh at the lord of hellfire!”
The erinyes glared at the mortal and held his gaze for several second. Her string of telepathic threats was sufficient to shut him up temporarily.
Yebena looked around for another empty table. A shouting match–or worse, an open fight (one-sided as it would be) wasn’t her style and she couldn’t afford to be kicked out of the tavern tonight. She would get her revenge…but on her own terms. Yebena was disappointed–it was a busy night–but she saw that one table’s composition had shifted.
A minute ago, there was an aasimar couple and a falxugon seated at the table. The fiend’s bodyguard stood behind his master’s chair, arms crossed. Yebena got the general drift of the conversation despite the distractions in her immediate area. It seemed that the couple was trying to bargain for the woman’s soul back with little success.
The devil ended the conversation: “Don’t worry, your soul is in fine hands.” The tearful couple left quickly.
“Don’t worry; your soul is in fine hands.” Heh. She would have to remember that one.
Now a strange human wearing a ragged blue buccaneer’s coat and a silvered gauntlet sat talking to the falxugon. The human’s face was heavily bandaged save for his eyes. One was a normal shade of blue; the other was a brass orb with a sharp yellow glow where the pupil would normally be. He did not seem particularly invested in the conversation. Yebena thought he heard him introduce himself as Bruce.
“Please pardon my asking,” Yebena telepathically hailed the falxugon, “But may I join you? I tire of my current...company.” She added this with a meaningful glare at the bubber, who was oblivious.
“Certainly. I do so tire of the chatter of mortals, so I would appreciate the company of peers. May I have your name, my lady?” replied the devil.
Peers indeed, devil! The yugloth scoffed to herself.
“I am called Yebena ap Ezeya the Bearded.” Yebena did in fact have a small and neatly trimmed white beard.
Yebena stood to her full height–almost six-and-a-half feet tall–and powerfully built for an arcanaloth. Despite her size, she still looked almost skeletal. The devil instructed his bodyguard to pull out a chair for the ‘loth and one of Yebena’s skeletons set her plate and glass down. At her direction, the skeletons took two steps back and stood completely still, resting their sword points on the ground.
For several seconds, Canzonzabar turned his attention elsewhere. Yebena followed his gaze to the drunk human, who was utterly terrified by whatever telepathic threats the devil made. Fearing for his life and soul, the human searched for the quickest way to escape the bar–off the edge of the roof. As the bubber clumsily lowered himself down, Yebena gave him a small telekinetic push. The sickening crunch of breaking bones and the screams of pain could be heard clearly from two stories in the air until they were suddenly cut short by another crunch of bones and the sound of something heavy and wooden hitting the ground.
“SHUT UP YOU BLEEDIN’ MORTAL!” Barked a loud voice in infernal.
The other of the two hamatulas in charge of security downstairs laughed, “Huszi, you have just killed a mortal with a *table.* New lows, comrade. New lows.”
“Lows? Surely you jest. They should pay me to be the entertainment here! It beats the sodding dreadful flute players we have tonight,” replied the first hamatula.
“Improvisational mortal killing. That’s not such a bad idea. We could sell tickets.” The two hamatula’s conversation faded as they went back inside; likely to be continued telepathically.
The fiends and some of the nastier mortals smiled or openly laughed. Those who knew the context of the previous conflict looked worriedly at Yebena, assuming she was responsible for the bubber’s fall.
The falxugon turned back and addressed new guest warmly as though nothing had happened, “I am pleased to meet you. I am known as Canzonzabar, and this is my associate, Trift. The fellow there is called Bruce Maxson. Pray tell, what brings you to the Crossed Daggers this fine day?”
“I am called Yebena,” she said for the benefit of Bruce. “I am here to sit, drink, and maybe talk.”
“Ah, but there is much to be found in this establishment aside from beverages, Lady Min. Opportunities abound for the enterprising sort, such as myself. Connections to be set up, bargains to be negotiated. If I may ask, where lie your interests in such matters? I am always on the lookout for profitable arrangements… mutually profitable, of course”
If I wanted to do business, I would be at the Tenth Circle speaking with people who have something useful to offer me. Think what you will, but your game is a very small one, devil.
Bruce turned to face Canzon, a strange intensity in his voice, "So, you never answered my question before. How many generations are you?"
The falxugon responded with a hint of irritation, though his tone remained charming and polite, “I’m afraid your question is lost on me, Mr Maxson. Are you referring to “age,” rank, or some such?”
"You know, how many gen..." Bruce suddenly loses the intensity in his voice. "I'm sorry, sir. At first glance, I was of the impression that you were had fiendish heritage. I realize now that despite your humanoid appearance, you are full fiend. I apologize if this has insulted you in any way."
Insulted, Canzon takes care to restrain himself. For a moment, his smile twisted into a subtle sneer, but it was gone before the change was noticeable. ”For a centuries-old planewalker your…unawareness…astounds me, Mr. Maxson. You would know, that an abundance of exemplars assume visages much more ‘humanoid’ than mine. The whole term is terribly misconstrued – a great deal of us had four limbs and a head on a torso long before humans existed. After all, the creator gods had to get their inspiration from somewhere. However, thanks to the sheer abundance of humans on the planes, the power of belief has altered our forms to more closely resemble theirs.” Turning back to Bruce, the falxugon returns to his more formal tone, “I have not failed to notice, my dear Mr. Maxson, that you have not answered my question, either. Do you have business to pursue here?”
"I never said I was a planewalker, experienced or otherwise." Bruce replied, dully, "And as for my purpose here, I seek to entertain myself and pass the time. Nothing more, nothing less."
A dark haired and heavily muscled human dressed in a fine crimson toga strode regally to the table, heading off any potential confrontatation. Like the others, he noticed that the table was not occupied by a fixed group. He wore two gauntlets made of mithril and silver mixed together in a regular spiral pattern. At his belt, he carried a falchion–beautifully forged and decorated in some places with gold and rubies. He looked like a well dressed warrior, though he had no scars on his tanned skin to prove it.
"Do you mind if I pull a chair up? You seem to be a more intriguing group than these other dotards sopped in bub."
Smiling to the newest guest, Canzonzabar indicates an empty chair.
“Peculiar. It seems this evening is for new acquaintances… By all means, have a seat, my good man. This is Yebena,” says the falxugon, gesturing to the arcanaloth, “The…thoroughly clothed gentleman is called Mr. Bruce Maxson. I am Canzonzabar; businessman and diplomat; depending on where I stand to profit. Might you be so kind as to grace us with your name?”
The tanned man sat, keeping his back straight and shoulders squared in perfect military posture. "Indeed it is, Master Canzonzabar. I'm a foreigner interested in business of the sharp sort," his tanned hand rests upon the pommel of the falchion, "If you catch my drift. You may call me by the surname of Penance. What sort of trade do you run?"
Canzonzabar never had the opportunity to respond. He was interrupted a tremendous crash of the tavern’s heavy metal doors. Yebena’s ears twitched at the noise.
So it begins. I’d have thought they’d be more subtle.
“NOBODY PIKIN’ MOVE!!! THIS IS A BLEEDIN’ ROBBERY!” The voice is loud, but strangely high.
Or maybe not. This may present a…problem.
The security staff on the second floor appeared strangely undisturbed by this so-called robbery. They continued their conversation as though nothing had happened.
“THAT’S RIGHT ADDLE-COVES! KEEP REACHIN’ FER THAT CEILING! I’LL BE FINISHE – HAHAHA, I’LL BE…” the ‘robber’ snorted, “…FINISHED WITH YOU IN NO TI…” He broke into fits hysterical laughter. “OOH, YE SHOULD HAVE SEEN THE LOOK ON YER FACE KHARASTA!”
There was a short pause, followed by muffled conversation on the otherwise quiet first floor.
A few seconds later the sound of feet banging against the stairs, could be heard–as if someone was hopping. True enough, a ridiculously looking character hopped onto the second floor. He had pale white skin, long green hair, and glowing red eyes. The figure wore a black and red silk jester’s outfit. He wore two longswords sheathed at his waist The jester was flanked by two similarly dressed lackeys. All three carried loaded crossbows Bruce leaps to his feat, his silver gauntlet leveled at Drum.
“Ladies! Gentlemen! Whatever the hell Kharasta is….have no fear! Su’ore Drum – the JOKER is FINALLY here!!!” Drum broke into another fit of hysterical laughter.
So the tenth most wanted man in Sigil has graced us with his presence. I wonder what the price on your head is now…No. On second thought I’d rather mount your head above my desk. The City Guard can’t have it.
In all of ten seconds, a Xaositect had ruined plans that had taken decades–no, centuries–to put into action. It was time to improvise.
On hearing the introduction, Bruce returned to his seat. Penance allowed the Joker to finish before smoothly rising–assuming a defensive stance. Canzonzabar’s hulking bodyguard also acts. His bow is drawn, raised, and pointed at the stairs in one smooth motion. Yebena turned her head to look Drum in the eye but otherwise remained motionless. Canzonzabar also glared at the Joker.
Noticing the extreme hostility in the eyes of the occupants of Canzonzabar’s central table, Drum skips up to them, wearing an impossibly wide grin. “Ooh! Tough crowd..... Like the saying goes: Dying is Easy - Comedy is Hard.”
Without warning, the Joker’s grin shifts into an unnaturally frightening frown, “Boys, let's bring some cheer to that table.” He points right at the standing Penance. Just as quickly as he frowned, the Joker grinned again: “LOOK SHARP!” He screamed and fired. His lackey’s did to–a few seconds later.
The crossbows do not fire metal bolts. They did nothing more than make a loud bang and a bright flash. The Joker broke into another fit of rabid laughter. His minions seem to have missed the joke. They stand, confused.
Turning his attention towards Canzonzabar, he says, “Don't worry guvner. I wouldn't kill you...unless, of course, I WOULD!”
“Those would be the two choices, yes,” says Bruce blankly.
"Indeed. Dying is easy. Easier than you would think, even," says Yebena, scowling.
Canzonzabar regards the goons. Whatever threat he made leaves them visibly shaken.
Well, devil, it seems you have earned some right to brag tonight. I am genuinely impressed–though I don’t find you particularly frightening myself.
Canzonzabar calmly replies to Drum’s threat, “What a cunning speculation to put forward. I would have expected nothing less from alternatively stylized escapees of a Pandemonium-inspired circus.” Pausing for effect, the devil adds: “I assure you, my remedies do not shoot blanks.”
“I think your kind are better served elsewhere,” says Penance in a voice laced with magic.
The Joker’s weak minded goons scurry down the stairs, compelled by Penance’s magic.
Bruce straightened, the intensity returning to his voice, "You call yourself a Joker, then tell us a joke whydon'cha," he says, drawing a disapproving look from Penance. The intensity vanishes and Bruce hangs his head and sighs.
Penance resumed his conversation with Canzonzabar as though nothing had happened, “Canzonabar, you were saying your business was in..." Penance trails off, affording the falxugon an opportunity to respond.
“Well, a little of this, and a little of that,” the Devil replied, “My main focuses revolve around matters that require a tactful tongue, rather than brute violence. I serve as a diplomat, a negotiator, a mediator, what-have-you. I also provide consultation in subjects of planar nature, and I provide access to valuable papers, in ways much more expedient and efficient than through conventional authorities. In addition, I am authorized by my superiors to channel a variety of favors to mortal clients – typically gold or magical increase in personal prowess, depending on the client’s needs, in exchange for… trifling posthumous services.”
Smiling wickedly, Canzon adds, “And should any of you be interested, I am certain we can come to a favorable arrangement.”
"Quite a vocation...and what would you call this...brokerage of information? I'd be highly invested in hearing some of the means by which you acquired such a vast network of programs to capitalize on your...talents."
“I would call it just that, brokerage of information; though I would not say my services are restricted to what such a description may imply. Details vary depending on the case in question, but should you have a specific conundrum in mind, please do indulge me.” The falxugon’s tail brushes off a speck of dust from his vest. “It takes centuries to establish a network the likes of which I benefit from, Mr. Penance,” the devil adds, “The means that I employed to go about with this… well, you have to keep your business secrets safe, or you’d quickly be ought of business, wouldn’t you agree?”
Centuries? Beh. There’s an arcanaloth sitting next to you, and you ask the devil about his spy network.
Last edited:
