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Blackjack steps out of the shadows.
"That'd be my business, boys," the vigilante says in his silken voice. "I'm looking for a friend. I know you want to be friends right now, but it's another friend."
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"B-Blackjack?" the leader stutters, clearly taken aback. The others are shocked and awed as well. A few of the thugs in the back of the group peel off silently, retreating into the alleys.
"I, uh... we that is, didn't know you was here, uh... sir. Very sorry to bother you, sir." He takes a step back, making a clumsy sketch of a bow. Bumping into his companions awkwardly, they glare at him. "The Emp'ror sent us to see what you was doin', is all."
A few timid souls in the surrounding buildings, hiding from the thugs behind shutters and curtains, peek out to see Blackjack.
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"Well, isn't that nice and neighbourly of him?" Blackjack says as he saunters closer to the thugs' leader, wine-dark eyes boring into his. "I expect the Emperor is working hard to bring peace and goodwill to the streets of this city, now that the Queen isn't doing her job.
Isn't he?"
The words come out in a soft tone, but with the suddenness of a cat's claws, or the crack of a whip.
"And I'm sure you're neighbourly souls using their strength and skills with weapons to help out their neighbours, what with the breakdown of civil order. Yes, you look like you're good boys at heart who wouldn't dream of turning to rabid dogs, just because the city watch isn't here.
Aren't you?"
Segang, looking unhappy that they did not have the chance to do an recon announces We are coming to talk with your boss. We do not want trouble with you, but if you hassle us in any way you will find trouble. You have two choices; get out of our way or lead us to the Emperor.
The man flickers a glance at Segang, but saves most of his attention for Blackjack. He flinches slightly at Blackjack's pointed questions. He begins to nod his head quickly. "No sir. I mean, yes sir. Um... we was just doin' as we was told. By the Emp'ror, that is. We won't get in y'ers way. Certainly if you's goin' to meet the boss."
"Ahem," Laori coughs, after a pregnant pause.
"Right. Headed in." Seren pushes the big folks ahead of him forward, lowering his head and soldiering on, not making eye contact with anyone.
"Why don't you boys lead the way?" Blackjack suggests.
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"Why don't you boys lead the way?" Blackjack suggests.
"Umm, you ahh, want me, er... us, to lead you to the Emp'ror?" As the lead thug talks, several more of his companions melt away into the street's shadows. By the time he looks around for some mutual support, only a few of the thugs remain. All look equally uncomfortable.
"I see how it is; you boys have other things to do," Blackjack says. "Like helping folks who were robbed get back their property. Or clear the roads for traffic. Good works. Isn't that right?"
After a brief pause, the vigilante continues: "Your emperor isn't expecting visitors and might be a bit nervous. So how about you tell me all the little tricks to getting in unscathed, and all you need to do is walk us to the door... I am so sorry, where are my manners? I forgot to ask your names. What are they?"
He gives Blackjack a confused look. "Um, go through the front door, I guess... So, umm, you don't want an escort or do you? You's not makin' sense... sir."
Jarha remains silent during the exchange, scanning the crowd and area, and keeping an eye on the Kuthite.
"Call your friends back. Or you all die." Melianthe speaks softly, but her eyes glow redly.
"Hoi. Friends of this scum. Back you come, or we hunt you down and give your guts to the sharks while you're still alive. No scurrying off to warn the Emperor. We'd like a full retinue. And yes, Blackjack asked for your names. Give them and we'll let you keep your tongues and eyeballs. Now--move. Tut tut, let's all line up, and then we have a nice walk to the Emperor's house." Melianthe flutters her hand dismissively as if the man were a long-owned house slave.
Melianthe's words have little effect on the fleeing men. If anything, it only hastens their departure. The handful of thugs remaining in the street stand frozen. The leader swallows and gestures up the street. "Right this way."
They guide you through the streets of Old Korvosa, to Old Dock and the domain of the Emperor. The streets surrounding his palace are littered with bodies, rubble, and refuse; feral dogs, stirges, drain spiders, and other vermin scuttle around with a bravery not seen in the city before the quarantine. The farther you venture into Old Dock and closer to the palace, the fewer citizens appear behind boarded windows, and the more signs of the emperor’s mob grow. Vandalism, brutalized bodies hung up on display, remnants of fires, and other evidence of public violence are everywhere.
The Emperor's 'palace' is a collection of tenements and abandoned stores that barely escaped destruction during a recent fire that consumed much of the city block to the west. It consists of six buildings, the lower floors of which have been gutted and destroyed by mob violence. Only the upper floors remain intact, leaving hollow shells and wooden frames of buildings below. Despite the large amount of cosmetic damage the mob has inflicted on them in the form of graffiti, scorch marks, and weapon play, they appear stable enough.
A veritable pack of low-lifes mill around the area, nominal guards to the palace grounds. With your escort, they don't bar your progress, but Melianthe, Segang and Laori are on the receiving end of several lewd cat calls. You are led through the crowd and into the grounds below the central building: the Court of the Emperor of Old Korvosa.
An open-air balcony twenty-five feet above is shielded from rain and sun by a brightly colored canvas roof that extends up over the area like a half-dome, held in place by a wooden framework. The inside of the canvas has been decorated with scenes of gruesome debauchery; battlefields, executions, torture chambers, and human-eating monsters all vie for space. The balcony contains two major features of note. The first is a high-backed throne that looks like a poor man’s version of the Crimson Throne, a thing of blood-red cushions and silks and spikes. Directly west of the throne stands an intimidating device: a tall guillotine of carved wood and bone, its base depicting grasping demonic feet and the housing of its glittering blade a leering demonic face.
The Emperor sits in the throne, leaning to the side, looking bored. He is surrounded by several thugs and a deranged-looking gnome in an executioners hood. The man himself is odious, a thin Chelaxian man wearing the threadbare costume of a king. He raises an eyebrow, looking down at you with a vague bit of interest. "Who have we got here? Quite the motley little band. What do you wish of your liege?" The man's accent and affectations are precisely that of a noble.
Jarha stays towards the back and lets the others do the talking. He glances around to count the number of thugs in the area, to see if there are any apparent routes up to where the Emperor is, and to identify any exits from this court.
The surrounding area is fairly open, between the streets and burned out husks of buildings, including a few like the Emperor's still standing, but with open spaces on the ground floors. There are twenty or thirty of the Emperor's henchmen milling around the 'court', with perhaps twice as many other people going about their daily business -- such as it is in the quarantined ruins of Old Dock -- in the greater area.
Your arrival draws the attention of the crowd, many of which come over to watch the proceedings.
Playing his part Segang calls out in a clear voice. Great king, we have come to ask a boon from you as we hear you are generous to those who win your favor. You have a prisoner we would talk to, and for this favor we offer to entertain you. We have heard that you enjoy watching gladiatorial fights. So for this favor, Segang of the Shoanti will fight for you.
So much for not wanting to be a gladiator, thinks Melianthe.
"We are seeking Salvatore Scream, Your Highness; let us know how we may be of service to you in return." Melianthe keeps a straight face as she addresses the would-be noble.
"Those depictions on the canvas," Laori whispers an aside. "Those are Mister Scream's work!"
"This is quite extraordinary, Jabbyr," the Emperor comments to his gnome executioner. "Someone who actually wants to play Blood Pig!"
"Aye, Unca Pit," the gnome grunts, with a single head nod. He turns to apply an oil cloth to the guillotine, polishing the wooden frame.
The Emperor smiles proudly at Melianthe, "Yes, Salvator Scream is currently my house guest, but he is far too busy to bother with the likes of you. I've commissioned some of his fine works to decorate my palace, and make up for those lost in my playhouse. He will be with us for quite some time, I expect."
"Is he, in good sooth," Blackjack says as she takes a single step forward, "too busy to see 'the likes of us'. That's a shame. I quite want a chat with the gentleman."
So much for not wanting to be a gladiator, thinks Melianthe.
Segang looks disappointed but nods. Very well, as you are king. But I'd not willingly fight for your pleasure for any other boon. Perhaps the rumors of your generosity were overstated.
Segang, while willing, is not excited about being a gladiator for such a man's entertainment.
Melianthe listens to the Emperor carefully, trying to determine if he actually is some sort of noble.
As Blackjack steps forward, the Emperor sits up in his throne. The crowd takes notice, and the tone of the banter goes from rude comments to excited whispers. Only the gnome Jabbyr continues polishing his guillotine, oblivious.
"Emperor of Old Korvosa," the man corrects Segang. "Not 'king', though I wouldn't expect a savage to understand the difference." He shakes his head and continues, not awaiting or expecting a response, "My time is precious, but I am not unwilling to make a trade. You and yours, win a game of Blood Pig against my best team -- the Shinglesnipes -- and I'll grant you an audience with Salvatore Scream."
He turns back to Blackjack, face caught somewhere between a frown and a awkward smile. "I have no quarrel with you, Blackjack. In honor of your service to my city, I will not demand any performance of you. Though you are more than welcome to participate, if you desire."
Surprised to learn he is perhaps to become a gladiator, Jarha stops looking around and looks instead at the faux sovereign and then at his own companions, giving a shrug to communicate he is fine with whatever the others decide.
"But you're saying you do have a quarrel with those who stand with me?" Blackjack says in a low, mild tone of voice. "I wonder, emperor, what might have caused such ill-feeling for the amicable stranger. Does not a ruler, especially an emperor, have the duty to welcome petitioners who have done him no harm?"
Bah. Let us do this thing. Tell me only if this fight is to the death or not. I am ready now. Where are your Shinglesnipes?
"Don't bother, Blackjack," says Melianthe softly. "Bring on your guttersnipes, Emperor." She folds her arms.
The Emperor nods with a leering smile. "Very well, come up to my stage." To the gathered crowd, he plays up the hype, standing and holding up his arms. "It is time for some Blood Pig!" The crowd lets out a roar of approval and people immediately set into a flurry of activity. Your escort shows you to some rickety wooden steps that lead up to the flat rooftop of a building adjacent to the palace.
What was once a low warehouse has been converted into a strange sort of marshaling yard or game field. Two large square areas have been outlined with what could be blood, while at either end, small wooden cages have been set up to the side of a hole in the roof. Makeshift scaffolding and benches built around the edges of the roof and into the surrounding buildings provide crude bleachers for the gathering crowd. Observers are excitedly discussing odds on the match and making bets. The Emperor has his own private box, overlooking the middle of the arena.
The seven of you (including Amin and Laori) are told to stand in one of the red squares, while the Shinglesnipes -- a collection of eight rough-and-tumble characters including two women and a couple half-orcs -- line up in the square beside you. Once all are in position, the Emperor stands and explains.
"The rules are simple. No weapons, no spells. Get the pig into your pit, and you get a point. First team to five points wins. Questions?"
Segang strips off and stows his gauntlets and leaves his weapons stowed. He steps into his share and asks his side Do we have an offense and a defense?
Melianthe stares at an audience member to make them fall asleep. "Does a hex break the rules, m'lord? It is not a spell.
Jarha listens carefully for the answer, assuming the same rule would apply to his abilities. He also glances around for possible exits.
The Emperor makes a sour face. "Hexes, psionics, divine intervention... whatever you want to call it. If it looks like a spell, sounds like a spell, smells like a spell, its a spell." Satisfied with his answer, he continues, "That's it then? Good!" He takes out a gold coin and flips it...
"Heads!"
With a thunk, a small piglet is raised into the northern cage from a hatch below. It lets out a squeal as the crowd raises a cheer.
"Now," the Emperor shouts, "Go get your pig!"
Two of the Shinglesnipes burst into action. One, a sickly balding man, races back to his team's cage and grabs the pig. The other, a burly man with zealous facial hair, steps up and takes a blocking position.
Seren bolts to the right, making a double move up the east side, whopping and hollering all the way, throwing double fist pumps into the air and kicking his heels together.
"I'll try to stop him!" Absinthe/Blackjack shouts, cutting left and sprinting up the left side of the court, stopping and standing in front of the Shinglesnipe's pit.
The female half-orc, Tatyanna, chases after Absinthe and swings a fist at her jaw.
;
*
<<<
Saphren double moves past HMX, hoping that person does not have combat reflexes. He provokes from no one else except the guy holding the pig. Once in place he rages to become stronger.
Segang runs past the others to help Absinthe.
"Ooh, I get it!" Laori laughs, running back to stand by your team's cage.
The other half-orc charges in to the aid of his sister, swinging a meaty fist at Segang. Kreg's fist hits like a rock, making Segang's eyes water.
;
Amin stands, fists raised defensively. "Uhh, what should I do?"
*
<<<
Jarha is still feeling pretty confused about this, but he figures our two toughest are over by the other pit, so he runs to guard our pit.