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  #256  
Old Oct 14th, 2023, 09:16 AM
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Fela, handling the bedtime routine
left-aligned image

Fela stops in her tracks. Me ship? Ghosts is moved on? Why is she pacing around the deck pretending to do an exorcism, a Springer, [i]lying[i], while Falco, pirate-privateer what have you, tells the truth? She wants to give him a telling off, but she doesn't want to stop repeating her prayer, lose the rhythm, so she gives Falco one solid pained look of exasperation and then leans against the railing looking out to the dark sea, bows her head, and continues her prayer before something else distracts her and brings an end to it.

Banx nearly does. He's obviously not well, and then Tempest eggs him on fawning over his pushups and vigor. Fela supposes that er, men being close to death might be attractive to sirens, the way things worked, but it's still not an excuse. She uprights herself and turns and gives another full-faced death glare, this time to Tempest, but holds her tongue because she needs to finish this Saliber-damned prayer.

Finally, after repeating the prayer for what feels like longer than a theological history lesson, she feels a small familiar tingling warmth in her chest, where Jivens had shot her, and whisks briskly across the deck.

First, she feels a need to give one more evil eye, this time to the drow. It sort of feels like they're doing her a favor -- those stones had messed up her teleportation and it had hurt landing, and she'd feel much safer and happier to see The Dusk Maiden floating higher in the water and their ship laden down low. But there's a principle to defend. An "are those really yours?" to get across. A "don't try any funny business, I'm watching you". But a look suffices.

Not for Banx. She doesn't trust him for one second to have the to stop pushing himself and sleep before something bad happens. And while she doesn't have any strong attachment to the gnome, she knows Bingle does, but prudence and responsibility are not exactly Bingle's wheelhouse, either. If she doesn't step in to end this farce, it's liable to end badly.

"You. Bed. Now." she towers over the gnome, pointing to the stairs below deck, a hand on his back propelling him in the right direction. "We're ok now, but we might need you later, and if you don't get some rest there might not be a later for you." She starts toward the stairs herself, hoping he'll follow in her gravity without her needing to get handsy. "I'm going to watch you until you sleep. Don't fake it or I'll have to sing a lullaby, and Saliber help us none of us want that."

She leans against the wall next to his hammock, watching him as promised, but also listening for trouble from the drow or else, and just letting it sink in, tightness falling from her shoulders in wave after wave. I almost died. There was still work to do.

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Spent three hit dice on short rest.
Dice 3 hit dice:
3d10+6 (2, 4, 1)+6 Total = 13

Used Channel Divinity to regain a 2nd level spell slot, got channel divinity back at short rest.
 
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  #257  
Old Oct 14th, 2023, 11:20 AM
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Bingle Curiosa Wildwander, Forest Gnome Wizard/Warlock
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She tries her best to help Fela. She prestidigitates the pine and sunshine smell she remembers from the healing. She illusions little spirit sparks ascending from the deck. Whatever that looks like. Who knows. She doesn't fully understand what happened on the ship, but when she reaches out to message Garrick, he is gone, and the chains that Harlan was chirping about are gone, and the monsters are dead or fled. She spews the smell of Saliber around, waving her amulet like a censor, and sweeps her feet in lazy circles, following Fela. In her mind the questions rolling around are these:

1. What does a dark altar look like and how do I make one?
2. What do the citizens of this wasted village want from a dark lord?
3. How many souls are enough?

Banx sees through her immediately, of course. No one knows her better. He is high and crazy which is fine. She doesn't care about that. It's good that he's here, high or not, crazy or not, speedboat or not. She's dizzy and sick and feels wobbly. Fela wants him to go to bed but no! NO. No. They have to go into the dry little town and found a temple to Glasya.

"No bed! Keep smoking," she orders. "If you go to sleep, you'll sleep for days, and we have work to do in the town."

She tells Fela and Falco and Tempest that she's going to go track Jivens and Squiggles, and she drops her acolyte disguise, pulls up her evil hood, and goes to the "Inn" in the northwest end of town. She does try to track Jivens and Squiggles a little bit, with Harlan's help, but she's so tired, and hurt, she has trouble staying alert. They'll buy some food and overpay. They'll lurk and observe.

"Listen," she says to Banx. "I need to rest BUT NOT YOU. I may take a bit of a nap, so please watch over me."

She finds a bedroll with a view of the common room. If Banx has accompanied her, she plants him upright next to her. "Smoke on!" she reminds him. "Smoke smoke smoke!" The smell of his durgs and the nutso blathering is a balm, and she dozes next to him while he puffs and prattles. She reaches into the weave, pulling out a little more magic, and wakes feeling a bit rejuvenated. Falco has already said that the drow can unload their own geodes, so hiring workers won't be a good play. Maybe she can hire sailors. But then they won't be here worshipping. Maybe she can soothe them with the promise of... what? What do they want? Food? Water?

She immediately spends her rejuvenated magic all up on a Send to Mr. Perpetu:

Mr. Perpetu. I hope you are well and your family. Founding temple in Underdark. Could Glasya bless a stone to make fresh water? Warm regards!



ۜ\(סּںסּَ` )/ۜ
 


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Last edited by lostcheerio; Oct 14th, 2023 at 11:22 AM.
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  #258  
Old Oct 15th, 2023, 05:31 PM
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MUSHROOM ISLAND
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Fela, IT WOULD BE SO GREAT TO NOT BE IN THE UNDERDARK. Everyone here seems to be an absolute bag of crap, morally speaking, and there is no sun. Here you are, lying, with Bingle solemnly playing Saliber-Pretends with wrong colors and the actual icon she snarfled off that weak vessel Lady Drallion.

You try to corral the uncorralable Banx Tosselbonk, who skips dexterously back from your hands, trailing acrid purple smoke from the pipe clamped hard between his teeth. Around the stem, along with the smoke, he unleashes a stream of Un-Banxian invective about how he didn't @*^&@*$ motor endlessly alone through the *&#@*&)$ inky blackness to pass out for three days while his friends are in peril. You would have to literally leap and grab and pin him and yank the pipe out of his teeth, and his wild eyes say that he would damn well fight you. He. Is. Nuts. In Templetome, they always said that drugs were bad, and look, drugs are bad. How many paladins here are surprised? No gauntleted hands are raised that you can see.

Anyway, your no-longer-holy ex-acolyte is dragging him away, and if his heart explodes, on Bingle's head be it. You trade eye-daggers with the Aud, who actively likes it, and calibrates her own glare to meet yours but not exceed it. This is an Pro-level Eye-Dagger-Trading kind of person, you gather. Then you go to lean on a wall and close your dagger-eyes for what feels like a blink. You can hear them as you fade in and out, and in a little, you feel as good as you are going to feel without eight straight horizontal hours, so, fine.

Falco, you are off your game, and who can blame you? In a very short span of time, you have found and re-lost a man who was like a father to you. You have reclaimed the ship where you shifted from the last of your boyhood into a man under the tutalage of your now lost found family, and learned how deeply you were valued by all who called you friend. Is it any wonder you can't focus on the Contrivance of House Denpasar?

No one with confidence below the setting "blistering" would dare that hat. She announces calmly that she paid, and you -- you are honest with her. To an extent. But a good deal of your honesty has purpose. You want to know if this ship of drow (and there are a good many of them!) are going to give you any crap if you take back the Dusk Maiden.

You do not need insight to know that this is fine with her and hers, because she takes your question literally. Mm. So your gonna **** 'em, then eh? Ha. Skins. Worthless. That Mindflayer head, though, properly taxidermied, were the tentacles undamaged, would make a nice hostess gift. Our Matriarch would like it, anyway. Stylish. Unusual. Shows some zest. Usually it's wine, which is always so likely to be poisoned you have to serve it immediately so the giver has to drink it.

#Underdarkproblems. She waves a hand at the men, and very quickly, they begin organizing, another trio coming over with big net slings to carry the boulders. Two are on the deck, already, where the Deurgar dropped them. She gets her own smokes out and joins you, watching the crew preparing to move the boulders. The noble watches calmly from across the deck, standing by the rail.

Tempest, there is only one small problem. The Aud is a lying liar-pants who lies. Contrivance, indeed ---well named! You do not believe for a single, red-hot second that she paid Jiven. You see it in her calculating pause when Falco says he is keeping the ship. You see that she believes your team has the juice to do it, so it's not like these monsters are going to be sea-mining up more geodes for her. Might as well try to get this load, free, and then get gone before anyone is the wiser.

left-aligned image
Would this be so bad? Not your rocks, not your money. You've lost nothing if they leave, and it simplifies the situation immensely. They don't give a crap about Jiven and Squiggles, and they don't give a crap about the Dusk Maiden, but they strongly want this cargo. Simply letting it happen is a real option, and a very safe one.

On the other hand: She's trying a move, but if she was willing to risk death and her sailors, she would just attack. Well, the Aud has seen you all fight, and while they are fresher than you are, and they are many, she knows you are powerful adventurers. A fight is likely to end in casualties on both sides.

At the same time, look at that swagger! She's proud and daring. If you call her out in an insulting way, especially in front of the noble watching from the other deck and her inferiors? It's a fight. But you can't crawl or look weak or silly -- the lesson of Vorn. She will dismiss you as inconsequential and try to roll right over you. You can't really confer with your team, either. Her sailors are going for the boulders right now, and she's right there, smoking with Falco. Fela has just finished her nap. Bingle and Banx have scuttled off to do things in "town." This lands on your blue shoulders, Siren. How do you want to handle her?

Bingle, it is frustrating. You see Jivens and the Squid right there at the table, interviewing duergar and merc drow (not the locals) one by one, but you can't hear well because of Banx, who wants to tell you JUST SO MANY THINGS. He can't be still, he can't be quiet. He tells you he got a spell scroll from Vorn and copied it, it let him throw the fire motes BING BANG BAM that he was hurling from the motorboat, and what a motorboat is, and that it belongs to Pozzik, who is cool. Also, it is very hard to nap when purple smoke wisps drift over you and every little molecule that gets up your nose makes your heart go BING BANG BAM and burn like Banx's new spell.

But you quickly feel more rested, and you send to Mr. Perpetu. You are incredibly polite, and you feel your send go through, across the planes, but that hellish personage doesn't bother to answer. Rude! You lie on the public bedroll, no doubt getting lice, Bongle would say, and you notice there is a picture on the wall. A rich, beautiful oil painting in a carved ebonwood frame. It is strange you didn't notice it before, as everything here is so gray and dinge and thin and used and sad, and this is lux. Banx talks on, and his voice has quite reasonably become a viola; he is saying a sonata in F minor, mostly low and pleasing, that gets gleefully interrupted by wicked little riffs. You find that you can make the riffs go as you please.

The woman in the portrait is sitting in front of moderately disturbing wallpaper. It seems to seethe and move with things that might be nudity. It is better not to look at it. She is nice to look at, very smooth and clothed. She says, A fountain. Possible. We like Transactional Evangelism, and a toe-hold in the Spider-*****'s realm is interesting. But this place. Why this place? Say more. She pulls a big hourglass that is full of glistening pale sand into view and turns it over. The sand runs fast. A minute glass, you think, actually.


OOCFriends, I made an error. I shouldn't have said, "You can complete a short rest." Too much was still in play. OH WELL. I said it, and my mistakes never hurt you. So we will just mash time and say a short rest got done, but still stay in this scene. Ptwids i am not sure where Fela is, as she saw hammocks, and on the map they are WAY down, past where she could hear. You can place her where you want.

In case it becomes relevant, heh, Banx Tosselbonk (link to his character sheet) has used two of level 2 spell slots. He has 4 level 1's and 1 level 2. Bingle can influence or change the song he is playing or the sound effects he makes as he is not really in the scene, if you want to set a mood or can use this in some way to help your case.
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Last edited by Fillyjonk; Oct 15th, 2023 at 06:30 PM.
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  #259  
Old Oct 17th, 2023, 12:29 AM
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Jus' good business
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Falco didn't much see th' point in keepin' th' story goin' fer th' drow when it were clear she cared more about th' stones than th' Dusk Maiden herself. So he shot straight with th' Aud about 'is intent t' take th' ship. Being this close, it felt like when they'd first met Tempest. Something feral and dangerous th' songs an' stories warned ye about. But she's no monster, jus' different. From another world, like th' Drow.

"Aye, a stuffed an' mounted squid head would make a bold gift but we're only passin' through." Falco had watched Banx go durg walkin' through th' mushroom island though, they could be here for a bit. He watched th' Drow begin unloadin' th' sickstones an' thought about how much smoother th' Dusk Maiden would sail without th' load. Really, they were doin' him a favor.

Too bad about th' money though, they'd have t' stay long enough t' take it back. Nobody here will care much when they do, besides Squiggles and Jivens, of course, but they don't count. Falco noted th' obvious noble watchin' 'em from th' Drow ship an' said low t' th' Aud, so 'is voice won't carry, "If'n I call them two back, would ye want t' help take half o' that payment back?" That way they all would walk away with a lil more and th' former crew would be dealt with. That's jus' good business.

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  #260  
Old Oct 17th, 2023, 03:03 AM
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Tempest, Siren
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What is more frightening? The thought of dying or Fela's death-glare? Both were bewildering, and Tempest now needed to recover from the latter. So she watched Bingle escape to the mainland, herself once again within a black hooded robe and a stubborness as to not allow Banx to sleep. Not that Banx wanted to sleep as he trailed about in the hazy weird smoke that seemed to bring about an energetic madness. There was a concern in her eyes as they left for spying duty, but the Siren believed she needed to stay put on the ship as to not get into anymore …mishaps.

Yet, Fela had turned her glaring gaze upon the fierce Drow in leather, and that was simply fuel for the woman's fire and amusement. The Captain seemed to be nothing like Vorn except for her pride, that of which was about as in check as her mother's, or her own on a good ship-splintering day. The more she observed Falco and the Drow Captain, the deeper it sunk in that her sunlit father would be eaten down here; this is why Fela had to compromise her glorious truthful words and action. Eat or be eaten. The drowned Duerger certainly experienced that lesson at the bottom of the harbor. Or perhaps it is more like, Eat or be turned into a stuffed, mountable head. As much as Tempest enjoyed collecting skulls and decorating sunken ships, or stuffing glittering coins or gems into hollow eye sockets to mark her 'playing territories' as a younger Siren, it never passed her mind even once to skin someone then make them into a stuffed trophy.

She felt very blue at the moment, and beautiful, and prize-worthy. For the first time, she wasn't sure if she should feel uncomfortable with her rarity or more confident.

Tempest grinned quickly, ever so fleetingly at the lie that the swaggering leathery, amazing hat-wearing Drow made. It was no skin off her teeth, but if Falco and the others were expecting more compensation from Squiggles and Jiven, the lie may squeak out like an unexpected toot at a fancy dinner. Quite uncomfortable to say the least. Perhaps she could be subtle, not daring to embarrass the Captain who Falco was dealing with such casual ease. Plunging her hand into her bag, she fished about until she felt the cool glass of a small ornate bottle of potent mushroom wine and swayed her way toward the smoking pair. With a nod to Falco, she looked to the opportunistic dark Elf to first introduce herself, head held high with a toothy, non-growling grin. "Honored to meet you, I'm Tempest."

The Siren glanced over at Fela to see if she was going to glare at her again or was still resting after all they had been through. Quickly her attention returned to the Auld and the Drow who were setting up to haul away the sickstones. "The weight of this ship is surprising with the overabundance of stones. There may be more than expected." Gracefully, she presented the fine bottle to the dangerous Captain. "What an opportunity, yes? Ah, I am not one for counting rocks; I would rather enjoy the fine company I am in and drink to glory and satiating our thirst. How the surface world would bow to one such as yourself, Captain Auld, but I have no doubt many do here as well." The Siren inclined her head toward the hat-tastic one with controlled admiration for one so cold-hearted and vicious, then to Falco. As Falco spoke of splitting the non-existent payment, Tempest would take a brave swig of Vorn's liquor first, just in case it was poisoned which she was hoping it was not; that would be truly embarrassing.

"Am I to throw the former Captain overboard once I relieve him of keys or anything else on him, or shall I tie him the jib as a warning?" Tempest asked thoughtfully, considering how he'd look as a figurehead. Definitely not as interesting as the Sahuagin zombie, that's for sure.
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  #261  
Old Oct 18th, 2023, 05:59 AM
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Fela, hard
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Fela doesn't snatch Banx's arm, lift him off the ground, and shove him forcibly into a hammock. But she wants to. It would feel so good, physically setting things right.

Instead she just directs the firehose of nasty looks she's been spraying around in Bingle's direction. "Fine. Risk his life. But we hurry out of here, and as soon as we're away I'll tie you both down in the hammock if I have to..."

As much as she'd like to just keep glaring back and forth with the drow, Falco and Tempest take a more diplomatic approach, and reluctantly she decides they've taken the right tack. They're far from any allies, they don't need any more potential enemies here.

But she plays along in her own way.

"Be a challenge, take him down with the head intact." hand not so unconsciously drifting down to the hilt of her sword. "But could be interesting. Join in, and I'll try to keep the head nice and neat for you. Anything else you might be interested in we could talk...we're here for the ship, everything else is negotiable."

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Old Oct 18th, 2023, 07:17 PM
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Bingle Curiosa Wildwander, Forest Gnome Wizard/Warlock
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SIHT! I don't think it's really Glasya! But I think Bingle might.IT'S GLASYA. SIHT CARP SIHT! SIHT SIHT CARP CARP CARPY CARP SIHT! Bingles breath goes backwards for a second and she forgets which is nose and which is lung and desires to peel off her head and put it in a safe, safe sack. But! No! NO! Bingle may not poop herself or cry out or run or hide or even go rigid or react or scuttle backward to throw up silently and secretly under a neighboring bedroll. No. Get it together! Warlock up!

Bingle sinks into a deep courtly bow, and when she rises up again she is darker, wilder, the evilest version of herself she can muster with the gifts that Glasya gave her. The visitor is very very beautiful and wearing a high collar which is more than Bingle could have ever expected or hoped for. Glasya looks as gorgeous as Griselda Erevyn but merciless and somewhat straved and grey and so calm. Glasya requires only one minute of persuasive rhetoric! Surely she can do this! Surely! It can be done! Bingle feels a rush of gratitude to Mr. Perpetu, close on the heels of her spark of irritation at being ignored. He didn't ignore her -- HE PUSHED HER MESSAGE UP THE CHAIN. Up the dark, clanking, blood-soaked, smoking chain to the sleek, unemotional top. Glasya here in a portrait frame. Holy feraking carp. She takes charge of the viola sound that's coming out of Banx, pushing him into an ominous little song.

"My lady, I come to you in reverent malevolence, with my humble thanks for your vile attention. I hope you are eternally well, and all your unholy family prospers. With your own word, you have struck to the heart of why I propose this place as the first temple of Glasya. A toe-hold it will be exactly. Yes, here in Charwall Parish we will plant our toe. And this mushroom clotted chain of islands shall become the future heart of the Diocese of the Underdark. Here, in the shadow, where the ships come and go to make dark trades, we will burrow into the dominion of Lolth. And I have chosen this spot for the following reasons:"

Bingle shakes her hand and Minor-Illusions a scroll falling open, showing some clearly organized bullet points, and then shakes it again, switching to the first of her three slides. The title appears in a very fancy but of course readable script: DESPERATION. She nudges Banx with her toe and the music turns into a more intense, urgent melody.

"Number one: Desperation. These starving, unhappy people are looked over by their world, scraping the undersides of mushrooms for a little sustenance. When I ask for a simple water fountain, understand this is life-changing magic for these wretched souls. Number two: Degradation. Lolth has her priestesses and prodigies. All female. The drow way is to discard the males, as little more than beasts, so this population, and others in these islands, is nothing to her. The males of the species, what god answers their prayers? They are many, they are ignored, and will their souls not spend as well as any other coin?"

The sand is running thin.

"Number three: Desolation. Will Lolth and her haughty acolytes even come to this poor harbor, let alone notice or investigate our impositions, until our toe has become a foot, then a boot and heel? I propose we launch our mission here, far from the cities, far from the eye of Lolth, far from the riches and suspicions, where one clear water fountain will spring forth the loyalty of legions!"

Yes, Bingle's voice squeaks a little at the end. Yes, when she shakes the illusory scroll again to change the slide to a small, dark little temple, with a pale portrait hung, and a bubbling fountain flowing from a black rock, it accidentally shows a jar of pickles for half a second. Yes, Banx's music doesn't resolve quite as dramatically as she would have liked. But she makes her eyes blaze orange. And she speaks with the added authority of believing she is right.



ۜ\(סּںסּَ` )/ۜ
 


ۜ\(ಠ_ಠ)/ۜ
 
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The Amazing RPG Race | Exquisite Corpse

Last edited by lostcheerio; Oct 18th, 2023 at 07:22 PM.
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Old Oct 19th, 2023, 05:18 PM
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NAPPING WITH MALBOLGE
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Bingle, perhaps the wallpaper seethes with boosb, but your evil eyes focus on the cool, gaunt creature Mr. Perpetu has called for you. Glasya! Probably!

Hell loves a powerpoint. Hell loves a list. Does Hell love a pickle? Unknown, but the devil leans in to listen. Halfway through point two, she glances off-frame and snaps her pale fingers. You see Mr. Perpetu, briefly, showing a lot of white around his eyes as he canters up and hands her a bound black leather folder and then genuflects backwards away. She peruses the parchments within, but motions for you to continue. When your presentation is over and Banx has petered with fading urgency into discordant bells, there still a few grains left. She sets the hourglass aside, pleased. Hell likes punctuality.

Your file, she says. You have a file? No, of course not. Not a file. ONE? Never. You have four files, at a minimum. Bingle, everyone in or of or bound for Hell has multiple files. Everyone who is Hell adjacent, or an enemy to Hell, or of great interest to Hell, or of the slightest interest to Hell--- they all have files and back-up files, and back-ups for the back-ups, all the reports handwritten onto carbon-parchment, and then the white, the pink, the green, and the goldenrod copies are peeled apart by imps and hustled to their repositories, and should you fail to distinguish yourself, you will be a lemure in a pit, filing the near unreadable goldenrod copies in the magma cabinets, and should one of the billions of barely legible reports entrusted to you one day be needed, you had best be able to find it and clearly read exactly what it says. Which you will not. No one can. Because---well, it's Hell. This is what Banx thinks, anyway. And here is a file. So. Maybe.

She is now looking from the parchments to you and back again. You like the Mask, mm. An observation more than a question. Well, I like to see you use the gifts. Under this face you chose, I see goodness at war with rage. Such will! You are tied to many fates, Bingle Curiosa Wildwander. You have some fine connections. What an interesting Warlock you may become.

She folds the file shut, holds it out sideways, and releases it without looking. Mr. Perpetu is THERE, snatching it before a single piece can be disordered. He jerks his chin down at you in an --- encouraging? --- nod. Some kind of a nod anyway, his spiny eyebrows go very UP. Encouraging you? Or pooping?

She says, Fine. One miracle in the form of a transactional fountain. Hang the idol over the item you choose to font, do some theatre, and it will work -- for you and any converts to the cult, that is. Mr. Perpetu leaps into view again and hands her another file. She glances, flips a page, then adds, There is dragon-worship there, but not particularly fervent. No traction. Still. It's a thing to navigate.

Perhaps you would like to ask what Idol, but she is gone, and you are bolting upright on the thin gray bedroll to find Banx BLOOP BLEEP BLOPPING out words, --so then BRIONY says, I don't usually play dragon chess with my jailers, and then VORN says, THE MOUTH ON YOU, but he wasn't mad-mad, and anyway she lost, he plays chess like a ******-******, so they are all still confined to the ship, and going nuts, just NUTS, Bingle, NUUUUUTS-----Oh heeeeey, where did that idol come from?

The painting has become an unanimated carved relief of a cruel but lovely ivory face wearing devilish accoutrements, the horns and armor entwining with the intricacies of the ebon frame. The eyes and background glow convincingly with hellfire. Banx manages to pause for almost 3 seconds to look at it. Then he says: Cool.




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Falco, as you talk and smoke, the male sailors of House Despana, all of them, are hurrying back and forth, lightening your ship. It is quite heartening to feel the Dusk Maiden regain her lithe bouyancy, rising up to her rightful high perch upon the waters.

The geodes are huge, and take sometimes four drow to roll and carry them across. The lower the Aud's ship rides in the water, the more she relaxes, chatting with you. She answers: Heading back to the uplands? Lolth-speed. I heard that Up, a fireball glares down from the ceili-- er, the "sky," boiling hot and blinding. Pfff. Sure, it does. And cats can warble love songs in Elvish, and the plants are green She chuckles, too clever to be taken in by such wild tales.

You broach the topic of offing Jivens and Squiggles, and she cares not a fig if you do it, but she will not help you. We came to buy their geodes, and that's done. You didn't mess with our business, so we'll stay out of yours, but we sail under the flag of House Despana; we won't help upworlders kill a drow. She grins and adds, magnanimously: Whatever you get off his corpse, feel free to keep. We renounce any claim.

Tempest, WELL OF COURSE SHE RENOUNCES ANY CLAIM! Squiggles and Jiven have nothing of hers! You could call The Aud out on her lie---she quite seems to enjoy eye-sparring with Fela. She might find it fun, if you made the right approach. But, no, they aren't your rocks to sell after all, and the creatures she is actually cheating will soon be dead by your hands. You are more interested in conversation. Things went so poorly with Vorn. You want to figure these creatures out, these strange elves, so different from your golden, glowing father. So you head on over and offer wine and compliments.

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She meets both with wariness. Pretty words, Siren. But no, I'm no noble. That one up over there is second cousin to the Matriarch. She collects bows and would say the right pretty things back to you, I'm sure. Me, I'm a soldier. She shakes her head, no, to the wine, but her eyes linger on the bottle. When you uncork it and drink deep, she watches your throat carefully, measuring the realness of your swallow. The liquor itself is dense and herbacious, oily and rich. Not wine, exactly, no grape ever touched this bottle, but delicious and potent. She licks her lips, and after another load of stones is moved across, she says, Sure, yeah, a drink, why not. She takes the bottle and a cautious swig. Makes an Mm noise and says, Prime stuff. Waits. Tries another sip. When she doesn't go into convulsions and puke green foam and die, she shows you teeth and offers you her tobac pouch for your pipe or her papers. She leans easy beside you, passing the bottle back and forth, watching the men cart and carry.

When you ask about the Cloaker corpse, she seems tickled at the idea of his body as a figurehead. You consider checking his folds and pockets again, but again decide to wait.

Fela, she chuckles as you threaten to tie Banx and Bingle to their hammocks. I guess they know you mean it, she says approvingly, nodding over at Nilfil, swaying gently like a sad fruit from the rigging of the clipper. Great. One little eye-dagger exchange, and this drow, also a soldier, thinks you are some kind of sadistic, crew-beating, kindred spirit. Or maybe it is Tempest's wine. At any rate, as the scurrying males finish moving the last of the Geodes over, you turn the prospective deaths of Squiggles and Jivens into a game, and she brightens. With her mission for her matriarch accomplished and a good bit of wine in her, she has mellowed. She lifts a hand to get the attention of the noble, across the dock, and then stands still, whispering near silently in Elvish, her hand covering her mouth. They are messaging back and forth, which means the noble has at least a little magic. Good to know.

Sure. Let's play. Let's make it interesting. She takes another deep swig off the wine, and her feral grin includes Falco and the Siren as well as you. When they come, Lady Drada will message Jiven to come aboard our vessel to parley over their next shipment. The Mindflayer will wait on the dock. He knows better than to put one brain-eating purple ****foot on our wood. Once Jiven is up, my sailors will subdue him. As I said, we will not, under our house flag, help Upworlders kill a drow, but Jiven Starkscream is not unskilled, and my lady will have use for him.

Then, well we can play it two ways. You can try to down him without harming the tentacles. A test of skill. If you succeed, I'll pay 350 plat for the head, straight up. More thna it is worth, perhaps, but my lady would be entertained; ship life has been dull for her.


Or, we each put money, say 250 plat apiece, 500 total, into a kitty. My lady and I and my best boyo will take shots at the brain-eater as well, in a round robin. Each of us six must take at least one shot, even if he is dead. If either team damages the head or tentacles, they lose their cash and the head. If both teams damage it, then the team that does less damage wins the pot. If neither damages it, then whichever team did the most harm to him wins the pot -- and I'll still buy the head.

What say you?



OOCLET'S PLAY MINDFLAYER SHOOTING GALLERY! Bigger risk = bigger reward.

Method 1: You will get a surprise round, and then if you beat Squiggles initiative, you can go again. His AC is 15 and he has 71 HP, so you can very likely put him down before he acts. Attacks to hit are called shots, so will be rolled at disadvantage. A crit fail damages the head. Spells or abilities with a saving throw, use common sense. Fireball? Damages the head. Toll the dead? No damagre to head. If you are uncertain about a spell, ask me. Get him to 0 HP with no tentacle damage, get 3.5K gold. Damamge the head, no pay out, but Jiven will no longer be your problem, and the Dusk Maiden is yours.

Method 2: Same mechanics as above, but three drow will also attack him. A crit fail damages the head; roll the damage for that attack. The team that does the least amount of damage to the head wins the pot. If the head is undamaged, then whoever did the most damage to Squiggles wins the kitty AND the head. If it is you, she will still pay the 350 plat for it. This method has three outcomes: You can win 6500 gold, you can win 3000 gold, you can lose 3000 gold.

On the strength of Fela's crit and the wine-and-free-geode fueled goodwill that Tempest generated, you can suggest an alternate game or wager. Her lady is bored, so the Aud would likely pay out for a 1 v 1 arena battle between one of you and a mindflayer, for example, or any combat or gambling based game you can think of that is fair and would seem fun to her.

You cam also say; NAH, thanks anyway, let her leave, no hard feelings, and kill Squig and Jiven yourselves in a straight up combat.
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Old Oct 21st, 2023, 12:03 AM
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Tryin' t' come out ahead
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"Well, th' great blazin' fire sphere ain't always burnin' our sky up, it travels across th' blue like a ship in th' sea an' a orb o' soft silvery light follows after," Falco casually retorted. "It shrinks an' grows each night, sometimes turnin' its light away from us all t'gether an' bathin' our land in a tamer version o' your dark. Then, sometimes, it turns a deep crimson like fresh blood. Ye be right about the plants though," he added with half a smile, "they ain't all green. Some be purple or blueish an' in certain seasons the greens turn th' yellow, orange, an' red o' fire."

It were funny t' Falco how different 'is world must be t' these Drow but, th' Underdark were also alien t' him. "We could simply weigh anchor an' sail off once th' cargo is moved. We only came fer th' ghosts an' th' ship. But, a bit o' a gamble can be exciting, no? Besides, we don't need ol' squid head t' come lookin' fer trouble later. We be findin enough o' that as it is." He flashed a grin an' a wink at Fela. "What say ye, should we relieve th' Mind Flayer o' his head an' make a bit o' coin fer th' trouble? He would've ate our brains given th' chance."

Really, they was gonna kill 'im anyway so gettin' paid t' take 'is head was jus' a bonus. Falco already scored th' prize o' a lifetime seein' 'is old crew an' takin' th' Dusk Maiden. Anythin' else were an' unexpected extra perk.

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Old Oct 21st, 2023, 02:06 AM
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Bingle Curiosa Wildwander, Forest Gnome Wizard/Warlock
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Under the shade of her disguise, Bingle glows, feeling so favored and blessed. She loves that Glasya calls her "good." And assesses her as potentially "interesting." This is now two important people who have labeled Bingle as good: Dr. Pillows and Glasya. She would like to ask many things of Glasya, and have a chat with Mr. Perpetu, instead of just a clandestine wave hidden by her sleeve. But the sands are running out.

When the portrait changes frame and face, and she looks into the eyes of Glasya, the idol is so real and tangible, Bingle can't even believe she is allowed to touch it and possess it. And the best thing about it is the (scary) possum on Glasya's head. Bingle spots it immediately and her heart nearly explodes with instant loyalty to its (skeletal) visage. A wondrous strange companion is a possum, especially one with (evil) horns and (no) eyes. But this makes Glasya pretty much just like Baervan Wildwander, who is best friends with basically a possum skeleton but a raccoon and not a skeleton. Bingle represses a lot of exclamation points but releases a jet of joyful sooty smoke. In her head, she names the possum Malbock. A possum. A possum! Such a homely, welcoming thing.

Things she would have liked to ask the portrait:
1. I have a patch of not-remember in my brain. This has been diagnosed by a doctor. What is it?
2. Why do I have it?
3. How do I get rid of it?
4. How can I stop myself from ever getting old and having weird messed-up things happen to my body?
5. How do you know who would make a good warlock?
6. What is the name of your possum?
(7. Am I good? Say it again.)

And many more questions. But the sands have run out and she only has time to bow and express infernal gratitude and then she has the icon of Glasya and Malbock tucked under her arm and they have to get moving. On the to-do list:

1. Find a great place for a temple.
2. Make a magic fountain.
3. Let people drink the water and amaze them with magic.
4. Write a creed and make pamphlets.
5. Make a warlock.
6. Re-summon Harlan into a possum.
(7. Tell Falco, Fela and Tempest about starting an evil cult.)

Bingle has a warlock contract burning a hole in her pocket. She could make a warlock. She, Bingle, could make one. Not just a worshiper or a cultist or a devotee but an actual warlock that commands the magic of hell. In the back of her mind, Bingle had always thought this warlock would be Banx. But now, she can understand the value of making a drow warlock, to stay here and run the cult. She and Banx need to get back to saving the mermaids and making sure no more lizard colonies get eaten by sahaugin. But then Banx wouldn't be a warlock with her which would mean she was a warlock by herself with him doing his best to come with her but always not quite as committed.

On the other hand, since Banx hasn't signed anything, he could still pray to Garl Glittergold or some carp like that and be fine.

They take a little walk around the village. They are paying in particular to the round buildings, which seem good to Bingle for a temple. She doesn't know much about temples having been raised in open-air worship and then not gone inside at Per Crines church and only in a bed and then out the window at the Temple of Luminar. She sends a longing glance toward her friends, who are dealing with Squiggles, who she failed to spy on. Do they even recognize her in her very dark disguise.

"Banx, do you want to be a warlock?" she asks him bluntly. She explains about the contract and her idea about signing a warlock to leave here. She wants him to be happy and free to not spend eternity in hell but she also wants him to be bound to evil with unbreakable hoops of adamantine, like her. Which is selfish. And wrong. But who will go with her into hell if not Banx? Should she even take anyone to hell. Or just go herself, alone forever.

They wind around examining the village for a good temple spot. Bingle has enough cnady in her bag to make a nice bowl of somewhat linty but mostly good cnady, and then that's it. They ate a lot on the ship. But she's not going to eat any more cnady now, just save it for recruitment. They end up at the place with the dragon statue, because Bingle wants to get the lay of the land there. Is there a cleric? If there is someone nearby who seems to be standing up straighter, carrying himself with more purpose, she will offer the small cnady dish and a conversation. She will also use her little magics as a lure.



ۜ\(סּںסּَ` )/ۜ
 


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  #266  
Old Oct 21st, 2023, 07:44 AM
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Fela, going with it
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Fela's surprised the drow is going for this. The bravado and swagger she put on felt so...cheap. Sure, the drow didn't know about the sun (and just how hard did Fela have to chew on her cheeks to keep the cool tough guy up, to stop from leaping to Saliber's defense?) and was drinking, but she was also checking in with the leader back on the ship, who apparently thought gambling with fighting was entertaining and appropriate...

A panicked "what have I done?" glance to Falco gets a wink and a nod and enthusiasm so...I guess we're doing this? It does mean only having to fight one of them, and a dead mindflayer is better than a live one...

"We'll take him down, you can just watch." Less gambling is good, and it sounded like the drow might be planning on trying to use squiggles as archery practice, and she'd had enough of her curse making her a pincushion for one day. She'd just have to figure out how to get close to him without tipping him off...

It's distasteful, the lying, the working with these drow, and leaves an unpleasant greasy feeling in her stomach, like a meal on the road that uses up the bacon that's starting to go off... but it's done. She manages to swallow down her discomfort and put on her act again, a toothy grin and a heart slap on Tempest's back. "Imagine you've killed a squid or two before -- think that will give you an advantage? But don't get too enthusiastic, or we'll hurt the goods..."

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Old Oct 21st, 2023, 06:16 PM
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Tempest, Siren
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Captain Ann Aud was quite amusing, even more so when she drinks Vorn's 'fancy' mushroom wine. The strong, strange wine is quite delightful in its own mud-gravy-slicker-than-a-melted-sea-slug manner. Mother would approve but more so if there were chunks of bug-eyed redfish for texture, with a dash of poison for the thrill of it. Not that this isn't already dosed with a safe degree of fish-poison, because it certainly does make one feel warm to the bones. This was exactly how she pictured ship travel to be - the camaraderie, passing drink, and sharing in um…smokes and tales. Though Tempest was playing it cool, trying not to grin too much, she accepted the pouch from the Aud and dug out her fancy pipe from her bag. It was going to be better than blowing out bubbles, or sneaking it under an unsuspecting gardener crab in the 'weeds and POOFING out a surprising small gush of water underneath it. How she enjoyed seeing one get dislodged and swing about it's tiny claws to re-grasp onto something else. Quite the childhood game!

With the nautical-themed white clay bowl, fashioned with starfish and a compass rose, Tempest bit onto the rosewood and attempted to puff away, eyeing Falco, having no idea how she is to breath in something smoldering. If smoke ever did make its way to her mouth, it would linger there, never making it to the odd lungs she had. Making smoke was obviously the enjoyment, along with whatever flavor it had. And smoke mixed with mushroom liquor….oh, what a surprise that would be. So unique! Non-scaled people are so odd with their other pleasures, and look how she was fitting in!! "This is very fun; thank you for sharing, Captain." The Siren passed her pipe to Fela because she obviously was a grand soldier and should not feel left out if her pipe was back on the ship.

The Aud's plan with Jiven getting messaged so they would be left with the more dangerous Mindflayer amused Tempest to no avail. What a wonderful way to get out of paying, and to be innocent of all sneaky-undoing by claiming the payment was on Jiven at the very end when they set sail. There would be no arguing with Lady Drada, the true noble. If she inquired about that, she surely would show weakness by questioning their ability to take down Squiggles. Plus, if they were helping by removing Jivens, whatever was 'on him' would be claimed as part of their assistance. The cleverness of the Aud was made more impressive with another swig of liquor. What fine and dangerous company this was, but pleasant. Even Fela seemed to be having a wondrous time, winking at Falco. Dammit, that winking again; something she does not have a full grasp on.

"Usually smaller squids, and ones that are edible, but yes, I do not see myself using my trident. Perhaps what I did with our four-armed Sahuagin, but that did make him bleed out his unpleasant face. Have I told you the story of when I was a wee Siren, my mother gutted the innards of a larger squid that I wore as a hat. I did not want to let go of my fancy hat for days, even with it rotting an …oh this is quite funny…with scavengers coming over to eat his eyes. At least I got one as a snack before the shrimp did! Did you know that a shrimp cleaned Bingle's teeth earlier?" Tempest returned the hearty pat to Fela's back as she passed the pipe and/or the bottle. "Some plants actually blossom with silk-like petals of all different colors. They just open up to greet the sun, and some close when it becomes dark, then open again when they see the sun. The Surface world is full of wonders, but down here there are wonders as well. Your pink snails are quite delicious." The Siren could totally go for a nice handful of pink snails right about now, but not until the challenge is met, and Bingles returns, and Gary is prepared to set sail with his spiders. "I do like a challenge, but I will not be eating any part of him."

Tempest needed to make that clear for some reason. But she did chuckle, thinking this darkly amusing.
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Old Oct 22nd, 2023, 08:14 PM
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Mind Flayer Shooting Gallery
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Falco you tell her of autunms and sunsets and flowers and she laughs and laughs, too clever to be taken in by such obvious B.S., but enjoying it as patter all the same. You are down for the wager, if your paladin is ---

You have been travelling with Fela through significant perils and upheavals; you have come to be able to read her moods quite well. You would call her current brow-set as Moderately stormy, with a chance of Smiting." You pass the decision on to her then, because as it stands, you have what you want.

Tempest, you see through this drow, and she thinks she sees through you; your squid story is met with equal laughter, equal unbelief. The Aud has also never been beneath the sea to see its colors and its wonders, and she's pretty sure your having her on just as much as Falco is.

She has no idea you have seen through the way she has chosen to navigate the situation with Jiven and the geodes. Yes, if she indeed already paid him, and you killed him, you would expect to find a big fat purse upon his corpse. She has removed that awkward revelation from the equation. As far as she's concerned, her work here for her Matriarch is done, and she is in play mode now . Which, for drow, apparently means bloodshed. Makes you miss you mom some...

Fela, Saliber is far, but you are hers...aren't you? You chafe and swelter in this awful dark. You remember that strange feeling of her presence on the ship. She was with you. Or---or ---it felt that way. You have heard that Paladins (and you are now nearly an equal to any but the highest knights in Templetome) as they rise in the ranks begin to become worthy of their god's attention. Has she truly noticed you?

You, who swallows bile and accepts the drow's proposal because it is categorically good and right to separate Mind Flayers from life, and because you just want to get and check on your crew (*cough*Briony*cough*) and head up up up up up into the sun. You have been The Sun's creature since childhood, but the reverberations this cold kiss on your cheek, the company it has pulled you into, pull you deeper into the gray than you thought you would ever go. You always believed the god of your father must be yours, as well, but if you survive and keep on growing you will, YOU WILL, face her. Fela, are you hers? If not, better to know sooner rather than later... Ah well -- here they come!

Party as Jiven and Squiggles near the dock, Jiven freezes and puts a hand out, touching his ally to stop him. He cocks his head, listening, then his lips move as he (you presume) messages back to Lady Drada. You see avarice sharpen his features. He turns to Squiggles and they confer briefly. He calls over one the Mushroom Miners, and the three of them confer.

The Aud steps back from the rail, out of sight as Jiven moves down the dock alone. He has quite a saunter, this banty rooster in his plumey hat. He seems to have recovered from his terror at watching all his crewmates leap into the drink and drown. He tosses you a smirk and calls, I trust you finished all your cleansing? Best get off my ship, then. I have mercs coming, a whole new crew! I plan to set sail within the hour, as I likely have a new commission. House Despana won't take kindly to you interfering with their business---just in case you got an idea or two whilst we were off hiring...

The Aud chuckles as he saunters onto the other ship. Those with acute hearing would get a brief kerfluffle noise. Then quiet. Lady Drada leans on the rail, watching.

Squiggles turns to ward the dock again....


OOCYou get a surprise round. After that round, if you beat his initiative, you can go again. If you don't, and he is still alive, it will be his turn.

He has 71 HP and an AC of 15. Here is his Initiative:

Dice SQUIGGLES:
d20+1 (5)+1 Total = 6






"TOWN"
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Oh, I’m going to be a warlock, Banx says carelessly, like this is known and over. He stamps along beside you spewing purple smoke and having Carzy Eye as you tour the town (such as it is). He talks very fast and is weirdly emphatic. We’ll call Mr. Perpetu when we’re in bad jam, like you did to get us out of the dagger, because we’ve only got the one soul left to sell between us, so let’s get more for it than Eldritch Blast, but I’m going to hell, anyway, because you know I do the dark rites on the regular, but I have a clever plan, though, Bingle, because of course I do, because we are Wizrads of teh Nudine Motuh, and we always have clever plans, and mine is this: We don’t stay. I know it can work because for the last four days, in the dark, on Pozzik’s Motro Bota, I have come to really understand the Cosmos, Bingle. He waves his hands around, expansively. Banx, on durgs, can see the Cosmos very clearly.

You can see the village very clearly. Most of it is stone. No ground or dirt, just poured concrete and at the edges, the mushrooms try to break it and get their lost ground back. Very few doors because so little wood or metal. No windows, because no glass. All the leather you see is patched and used to make the many jerky drying tents, where the woody stems burn slow and smoky.

The Prime is the center of---just ---it all. IT ALL! The Shadowfell mirrors us under, the Feywild above, and every other plane swirls around us, and Bingle, I thought at one point --- he puffs deeply, I thought, What if we Prime folk are like Kua Toa, except instead of one lobster headed Pity, we made up ALL OF THEM? He makes a MIND BLOWN explosion with his hands over his own head. If the Prime collapses, I think the other planes all do too, and that’s why they are all so danged hot to have power here---wroshipepers or wralocks, paladins or pirests -- and every devil and demon and fairy and eldritch horror, they all ****ing striiiiiive to get onto the Prime, Bingle, right, and they do get on, it happens, we have seen it, and I’m researching all the ways, especially ways used by any devil, and ones from Malbolge, even more especially, and all the things about Malbolge like Glasya's fortress---Ossiea---and the bad towers and the secret towers and the worst tower.

Banx has been researching Malbolge? Oh right, you gathered all those books. Anyway, the little round buildings are homes. They are sturdy and would work. One of them has a real door instead of a ragged curtain or a nothing and it is large with an attached storage place, so it is best of all the round places.

You’ll distinguish yourself really great with your own clever plans like this cult here, and use your contract smart, and I’ll negotiate with Mr. Perpetu at the right moment, and when we die, we will start out Imps at worst, but hopefully at least the spiny kind, maybe even a Bearded and an Erinyes, and then we can live inside Ossiea and we stay in our room when they have the rwody waful rogies or are doing troture, until we can get onto the Prime, which we will, because the best devils do, and we’ll be best. He laughs then, a huge smokey bray of it, and says, Or, you'll be best, and I can be almost best, because you know I don't give one ****ing ****-ity ****-****. High Banx has a MOUTH.

You tour on. They already have that temple-like place with the big dragon statue. One wall is open to the compound, but it has a very good large room currently used for storage attached to it, behind a real door. You could Roman-Empire this carp, take it over. Grizelda Erevyn could SHAPE STONE. If she was here, she could make that dragon right into a possum! Or leave it, so no one thinks to look for the other temple in the round house. You head that way to look.

Once on the Prime, we don’t have to mruder and be waful because we can kill devils from rival hells, and send every stinking demon back to the Abyss, and check up on your cult to keep Her favor, and maybe, like, we run an inn in our spare time. He looks suddenly wistful. A little hidden inn that only Gonmes can find with barley soup and small beer included, and no one ****ing minds the mice.

He stops his wordflow with an effort as you enter the temple, because it is not empty. Upvai, the drow who seems more leader than the others, is there by the crumbled open wall.

Upvai says, Hello. Is the fighting over? This close, you can smell him. Armpit and smoke and fungus. His thick, pale hair is matted with salt. They have to sea bathe, you realize. Maybe the font should come out tall, like a shower? The chance to be clean would be compelling.

Lilladreki sits on the statue’s platform at the other end of the room, swinging her feet. Another male drow is facing the statue, eyes closed and kneeling. She quirks up a shoulder and shares an eyeroll with Banx over this. Not devout, this drow, and very, very easy in her skin.
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  #269  
Old Oct 24th, 2023, 01:05 AM
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Killin' squids fer fun an' profit
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Falco laughed along with th' wild Aud o' Despana, sharin' in th' cultural exchange an' jus' revelin' in th' joy o' survivin' such an ordeal. What would Bramble say when he finds her? Could she see 'im all th' way down here from her exile t' th' Brineweave? Well, they'd jus' have t' find her. That thought were cut short when th' mutinous pair decided t' show back up. Maybe they weren't so smart after all.

When th' two treacherous merchant mariners paused an' then split, Falco smirked an' whispered t' th' Aud, "Enjoy th' show, but ye may want t' avert yer eyes." He tipped his hat t' the confident Drow who seemed t' be enjoyin' his new, temporary, role o' Captain. "Aye, we be jus' 'bout finished now." Then, he turned t' th' Mind Flayer an' added, "Don't worry, ye'll have what's yers shortly, we ain't th' interferin' types."

Cap'n Falco, it were strange t' think o' himself that way, like wearin' yer pa's shoes an' fancy vest, stepped forward t' th' gunnel an' held up th' sea glass disc worn 'round 'is neck like he were 'bout t' check th' stars. He shouted, "Casting Guiding bolt through Falco's Star Chart: 15 to hit Squigs for 14 radiant damageTh' stars guide us all t'ward our destination, whether we know it or not!" He brought 'is moon sickle up t' th' glass an', with th' flick o' his wrist, sent a bolt th' color o' starlight streakin' through the dark directly into Squiggles' chest settin' th' Mind Flayer t' softly glow as th' light clung t' his wretched form. He looked over 'is shoulder an' winked at the Aud o' Despana.

Many things happened next. One o' those were Tempest usin' th' same magics on th' poor old mutineer. It were hard t' feel sorry fer such a thing an' Falco couldn't find th' power t' do that. What he could do though were t' call upon that radiant starlight once again. He let the charts fall back t' his chest an' slashed out into th' air with 'is sickle, t'wards Squiggles callin' out, "Second level Guiding Bolt: 22 to hit (or a crit, depending on timing) for 18 Radiant damage (or possibly 48)Follow th' light, I hereby release ye from yer duties." Another bolt o' golden light tore through th' dark an' into th' Mind Flayer, limnin' 'is body in a soft, flickerin' glow. Flaco turned an' bowed fer 'is audience on either ship.

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  #270  
Old Oct 24th, 2023, 02:12 AM
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Tempest clamped the pipe between her teeth, trying not to gnash or chew on it as smoke poofed out lamely now and again as she tried to mimic this odd past-time. She smiled widely at Fela, and offered her the pipe once again ever-so respectfully.

When the game was to begin, once Jivens left for the Drow's regal ship and Squiggles remained on the dock, Tempest realized this wasn't merely a contest of skill and entertainment, but those two would try to kill them if the Dusk Maiden was not vacated. Though fun, as many times with her mother were - choosing a ship, stalking it, discussing the sailor's day and night watches, who was pleasing to look at or listen to, and who should be coaxed off the ship first to "feast" upon by the older of the Sirens - yes, it could become quite a challenging game that she adored learning the 'rules' to.

This was rather predatory and cunning, clearly cold and exact, but wrapped in a colorful bow of a Drow game with platinum AND a squidly-head as the prizes. Treasure as a reward before or after righteous bloodshed always warmed her Siren heart. Her mother would be pleased.

"After you, Captain." Tempest wanted to watch what Falco would summon and call upon with his starful magic. It was beautiful, his magic of streaking stars. Oh how they lit up this enclosed darkness that only bathed in the glow of mushrooms and who knows what else above them - false stars, with a reflective watered-down sea. Once Squiggles glowed ever so elegantly in a mist of starlight, the Siren whispered to the still air, calling upon her Elven goddess, wishing for a flurry of starry little birds to swarm forward in feathery patterns of silvered and sky-blue lights. Unfortunately, the bolt missed Squiggles, raining down upon the dock in a light mist of a brief glittering glow. "I was admiring your technique, Captain. Again."

Tempest inclined her head to watch Fela for a moment, she being another person who held a faith in the Surface deities. The Siren was not sure what Bingle believed in, but she certainly had a powerful magic about her that did not seem to rely on faith or the sky above. Placing her hand on her shield this time, drawing from the heron painted upon it, she pulled a gathering of blue and silver shining dust once again and held onto it as she whispered to the air once again. The Siren could swear that she felt a brushing of a faint breeze against her blue cheeks as her spell sharpened brightly before she fanned her fingers dramatically forward at the Mind Flayer. The streak of radiant sparkles shone in what darkness was left; at the right angle, one may see the fleeting form of a long-necked heron amongst the pin-points of light before it slammed into Squiggles, following Falco's guiding glow and added her own cascading brightness that enveloped him in a fashionably complimentary blue and silver glittering glow.

The Siren did not offer a bow; not until the Mind Flayer was officially beheaded and deceased and her friends were safe. All she could summon up with a toothy, feral grin as her darkened eyes kept focused on the illuminated enemy.
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