"What's that, you're a parent?" Shan tries to gauge the gnome's age, then gives up. "Name's Shan One-Arm, only I got my arm back recently so I'm thinking about getting a new name. The quiet guy is Hunk Yellow-Molar. We're here between adventures, trying to find a new quest. You know of any? Maybe you're interested being a ruler A-S-A-P? Maybe there's a dragon troubling your province?"
Farrukh goes all in on a gold stone.
"Either Norebo blesses me, or my losses serve as tribute. Win-win, right?"
Hunk pushes up off the table long enough to waggle his tongue stump at the gnome in greeting, before collapsing back into a greenish heap of relaxed muscles.
"No, no, heir apparent!" Toris laughs. "I am the prince of Reeth. I'm not sure how me wanting to succeed my parents quicker would be a quest—they've still got many years left in them, I should think." He considers it a moment. "No dragons, either. Reeth is really fairly quiet, aside from the odd...uprising." His smile dims a little, then returns, brighter than ever. "Anyways, I'm just here on vacation. I've heard great things about Alhaster from the merchants. Freedom of religion! A beloved ruler! And now, unless I'm very much mistaken, I'm in a conversation with some real honest-to-Wee-Jas adventurers!"
10 red
7 blue
4 green
4 gold
The halfling manifests a small shadow illusion for each player, allowing Farrukh and the man to privately select their colors. Once this is done, he starts a small stopwatch. "And...go!"
The Dealer raises the bowl above her head, grunts something in Giant, and upends it. Glowing stones tumble into her open maw. She displays remarkable expertise, and Farrukh can see her throat bulge as she swallows each stone—roughly the size of an egg—in turn. For a few seconds, a myriad of colors emanates from her open mouth. She finishes swallowing, and the glow vanishes from sight.
"Round one!" the halfling declares, as the stopwatch ticks by. "Would either of you like to commit to an extraction for Round 1? You have twelve seconds to decide."
"I'll pass," the human says immediately, clearly having already decided on a strategy. He glances at the strange hobgoblin. "How're you feeling, big guy?"
"Oh, they like that here, then? Glad to hear it, given my own role in clearing out the Triad cultists under Diamond Lake. I wonder if I can use that in the name of the business . . . 'The Triad-Slaying Emporium,' maybe. Kind of a mouthful. Arjbarj, you got any ideas how to smooth it out?"
"I'm feeling lucky. Besides, my philosophy's always been that you're not really playing unless you lose a few rounds. I'll extract."
"One extraction," the halfling declares.
The Dealer pauses a moment, takes a deep breath—and plunges her arm into her stomach. Blood spurts out, some getting on the two players. She wrenches her hand back out, covered in red—and illuminated with a very slight golden glow.
"Only one stone in her hand" the dealer cries. "but it's a gold! Well, no sense in hiding your color now—My fine hobgoblin friend, you've just won a quarter of your money back!"
Despite his silence thus far, the human gives a small smile at this. "Nice," he says. "What're the odds of that?"
Already, the troll's stomach is healing over. The halfling puts Farrukh's winnings-thus-far on the table and casts a few spells, causing the blood on the table and players to turn to dry dust and blow away. He flashes the players a winning smile, holding up the stopwatch. "Round Two! Commit to an extraction, or hold off? You have six seconds to respond."
"Yeah, I'll commit," the human says, tossing a pouch of gold on the table. "Can't imagine you've got many more golds in there, and you only live once, right? Unless you're the Dealer, anyways."
The Dealer says something in Giant. The human replies in the same tongue, grinning at her.
Farrukh drums his fingers on the table.
"Hmm. I'll abstain this round."
"Oh, uprising? Maybe that's something the Dragonbanes could help with. And you've heard correctly -" Shan disrupts her masseur's motions to prop herself up on one elbow and flex a muscular arm (the older one, of course) "- We're ."
"Wee Jas worship pretty big back where you're from too, huh? I've always gravitated towards Hextor, but I'll give the Ruby Sorceress her due when my time comes."
Again, the troll plunges her hand into her belly and comes out with a few stones—one red, one blue, and one green. The halfling tsk's. "Only three, eh? Try and get some bigger handfuls next time, Dealer. No need to be stingy."
The troll rolls her eyes and grunts.
Nonetheless," says the halfling, "your color came up, Captain Vulras!" He beams at the 'Captain'. "You've now recovered half your wager!"
Vulras nods, then glances at Farrukh, raising an eyebrow. "Bad luck with those small draws," he says. "Probably not any gold left by now. Hey, 'least you got one, though, right?" When the halfling announces the third round, he raises his hand. He will be committing for the third extraction.
"Hey, who knows. Let's find out. Extract one for me, Dealer." Farrukh flashes Vulras a toothy smile.
This time, the Dealer extracts two handfuls. Blood is nearly everywhere, but with a few flicks of the halfling's hand, it is again dust.
The stones clatter onto the table. The Dealer inspects them carefully—she's retrieved the rest of the glowing stones, it seems, and thereare two blue stones in the set. Captain Vulras's look of jubilation is quickly cuts off, though, as he spots the single golden fly in his ointment.
The final extraction salvaged three red stones, two blue stones, three green stones...and one gold stone.
"Damn!" the halfling exclaims. "Well, that's game! Mr...Dorduken, you've won 325% of your wager back! That is accounting for doubling, mind. Captain Vulras, you've earned 50% back. Hey, could be worse, right?"
Captain Vulras shrugs. "Guess it could be." He leans in, studying the non-glowing stones. "Damn, were there seriously four golds in there? You know there are only, like, five in the whole bowl, right?"
"Please don't count stones, sir."
"Right, right."
The gnome blinks. He seems to study Astraden for a moment. "The Stern Lady is popular, yes. My parents...encourage her worship. Enthusiastically. Hextor is popular here, isn't he? People fond of law and order?"
"Seems to be so. I like the strength he offers, and a lot of folks here seem to appreciate the security. I haven't always been in such enlightened lands, though." Shan shrugs, again disrupting her masseur. "What about you, Prince? You like Hextor more than Wee Jas? Or have you got some other religion your parents tried to keep you from?"
"Ha! That was fun. Hey, I never did catch your name. Mind introducing yourself?" he addresses the halfling.
"Er...Wee Jas is fine. My parents don't 'keep me' from anything, for your information."
"Eh, I guess not. Captain Vulras." Vulras does not offer his hand to shake, but at least he meets Dorduken's eyes. "I run the Redhand Rangers up north—you might have heard of us, but we don't come by the city often. As a rule. We just try to keep tabs on the Reyhu orcs and keep things from getting too messy. What about you? You new to the city?"
"Yeah, my first time here. You run a merc band?"
"Oh, sorry if I'm asking too many questions. I'm not used to dealing with those of noble sensibilities!"
"No," Vulras says shortly. "We work for Alhaster."
"It's...fine." Toris reaches up, as if to tug at a nonexitant collar. "I think I shall spend the rest of this massage in silence, though."
Of course, the gnome doesn't quite keep his word on this. Soon, he's back to chattering, though he focuses on blander matters like weather and clothing now.
"Didn't mean to offend. You just don't usually hear snazzy names like yours from people who work for the authorities."
Hunk tries to block out the gnome enough to enjoy the rest of the massage. By the end his racial stereotypes of how annoying they are have been thoroughly reinforced. Wouldn't last five seconds in the jungle squawking like that...
"Hm. When they said this place had Ebon rooms, I worried that the town sympathized with the Triad. So that's good to know. Do you know anything about a woman named 'Lashonna'?" Arjbarj asks Shag.
"Oh by the way, Toris - do you know anything about the famous Lashonna?" Shan asks as she's putting her sandals back on. "We know she's a big celebrity here, so we're not sure how to get an audience."
Once Carina/Ederia is finished washing herself (and the silent yet positively ravishing (by hobgoblin standards, although she's quite biased in this case) Manith), she steps out of the tub and wraps herself in a towel before looking for their clothes.
"That was quite refreshing... and needed." She looks over at Manith and grins. "I feel much better now. Getting out yet?"
"I'm coming", Manith says as his hulking form emerges from the water shortly after Ederia and he grabs a towel for himself.
"A bit more perfumed than I'm used to but that was nice. We should check on the others and make sure they haven't gotten into too much trouble without us. It feels like we were in that water for days."
Carina/Ederia stretches, making sure to keep her towel from slipping too low.
"Yeah..." She eyes the bathwater with some regret before finding a place to change back into her clothes. "...and hopefully, they'll have at least enjoyed themselves before we get back to work."
After they're done speaking with Shag, Zalamandra gives him a wave and gets out of the bath. In the hallway outside, she briefly confers with Manith. "When meeting with Kordians, is it best to show up early, precisely on time, or late? If memory serves, we did not get an exact time for the feast, so it could very well be any of them."
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Manith considers Zalamandra's question.
"In general Kord encourages his worshipers to value their freedom and personal time highly. On the other hand, he teaches the importance of discipline for certain things - like eating right, building up your strength, and practicing good sportsmanship. Either way, I wouldn't worry about being late in this case, Kordian feasts are usually all-night events. I don't know if there even would be an 'on time'."
"Oh by the way, Toris - do you know anything about the famous Lashonna?" Shan asks as she's putting her sandals back on. "We know she's a big celebrity here, so we're not sure how to get an audience."
"Oh, of course!" Toris's eyes light up. He reaches down from his table and into a haversack, procuring a colorful magazine. He hands it to Astraden. "Keep it. I have five." He pauses. "I have a bad habit with magazines."
The magazine is titled The Alhaster Gazette. This latest issue depicts a groups of smiling, well-dressed citizens enjoying festivities far more lavish than any Astraden or Cuetzpalli have seen in Redhand. The blurbs on the cover read, "Top Ten Beauty Tricks of High Priestess Kosen: #6 Will Surprise You! / The Redhand Rangers Exposed: Vulras's SHOCKING Dalliances / A Blessed Angel Encounters a Lost Kitten. What Happens Next Will Amaze You / Exclusive Interview With Lashonna: Learn Her Favorite Miomay Play!".
"I'm not sure how you'd meet with her, honestly. I do know she lives at the Mistwall Manor, right north of the Boneyard. You might try visiting there, I suppose?"
"Hm. When they said this place had Ebon rooms, I worried that the town sympathized with the Triad. So that's good to know. Do you know anything about a woman named 'Lashonna'?" Arjbarj asks Shag.
"Oh, of course! I am a great admirer of her, in fact. One of the few people around here for whom the style, elegance and nobility isn't just a thin facade. Lashonna is a genuine article. I'm not surprised you've heard of her—she's also one of the few figures in this city who people seem to genuinely like. And what a talent!"
Having concluded their brief bouts of slightly gnome-contaminated relaxation, the group returns to the Church of Kord that evening. The acolytes there seem quite harried—slightly more people have shown up than expected, and they're clearly running short on good, quality food. Everyone is fairly tense and terse, collecting food and taking their seats in their own closed cliques. There is not much chatter.
"Hey! I thought Kordians knew how to party?" Dorduken projects to the crowd.
Shan takes the magazine. "Thanks, Prince Toris. I'll have our book-reader tell me what's written here."
Astraden pulls a scroll out of her pack and whispers to Dorduken. "No, that's Olidammarans you're thinking of."
She rolls the scroll out onto an empty table, then leans over it for a few seconds, quickly reading. Suddenly, the table is full: aromatic quince jellies, buttery Suel babies, several bottles of an emerald green wine, a darkwood keg of beer, a lemon-studded halibut, a heavily spiced potato stew with pieces of some unidentifiable meat or vegetable, half a dozen loaves of thick-crusted soft breads with three small wheels of cheese (yellow, flaky, and soft), a couple pots of anise tomato goulash, several pots of yoghurt, and several gigantic latticed pies filled with a variety of fruits and berries have appeared. Below the table, a misting steel cask contains a clear ginger sherbet. "Hey everyone! The wine and beer won't get you drunk, but it's worth tasting anyway! Come get some!"
Though she's happy to see people enjoying her god's food, Astraden stays out of the center of the revels for now. Her buzz from the Laughing Dawn Tavern's wine has faded, and she's now a little concerned about moles among the Kord worshippers here.
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Eben also does his bit to contribute to the meal, though not as spectacularly as Astraden, by going around and surreptitiously casting prestidigitation on the balnd-but-nutritious fare the Kordites conjured up, lending as much "BAM" to the god-given feast as a lowly cantrip can provide. "Garlic!" he says, zapping one trough of stew. "Fennel!" he says, making the questionable decision to introduce a semi-licorice flavor to a bowl of some mashed vegetable.
As he mingles and seasons, he also does his best to make small talk with the guests of the feast, casually inquiring about the lady known as Lashonna. (Trying to get a more rounded opinion than that of a single effete Quaggoth.)
Shan doesn't quite canvas the place, but she asks some cursory questions of the eating Kordites.
She also shows Dorduken and the baths group the magazine Toris gave her, when she has a chance. "It sounds like we might want to visit the Mistwall Manor tomorrow."
Farrukh munches on a chicken leg and thumbs through the magazine.
"Gods damn, Vulras isn't much of a gambler but he's a hell of a player." he mutters as he flips past one page.
"Things are usually a bit more lively than this", Manith grumbles in reply to Dorduken. "Where's the tests of strength and skill? Where's the friendly wrestling?"
Confused by the lack of festivities, Manith joins the others in polling the crowd.
This is the post you're looking for, Farrukh.
"I think the onus is upon you to provide the friendly wrestling," Shan tells Manith. "All these folk look scrappy at the least. Maybe you could challenge that Dravinne we met."
"I'll do one better - I'll challenge the high priest. What was it, Lanthis? Do you see anyone that looks especially high priestly?"
Hunk begins tearing into the food Shan creates, grunting as happily as a pig in a truffle field. Though he appears to be busy, he listens closely to what is happening.
"Oh, over there - no, that's another priest. There? No, sorry, that was just a shadow. Oh, wait, is someone looking this way - no, just Zeech's picture. Hmm." Shan delivers a stream of consciousness commentary as she looks for the high priest, then shrugs. "I don't see them."
Astraden and Eben help a great deal to improve the quality of the feast, and the improvement of the meals helps a good deal in improving the mood. The entire group does get some skeptical looks for their grizzled, somewhat Hextor-themed appearances, however. People tend to clam up when Eben, Tanith or Astraden come by, and it takes some effort to get them to come out of their shells. It seems that though everyone present can think of nothing but good things to say about Hextor, the actual servants of the god are held in no shortage of mistrust by the common folk.
Tanith's efforts to find a sparring partner are somewhat less fruitful. Lanthis Chax, the high priest of Kord, is an aging warrior who appears to specialize more in traditional Kordian swordplay than Tanith's brawling style. Clearly, he was quite athletic in his day, but age, fear and worry have taxed his body greatly, sending his day into the past far sooner than it might have gone had the circumstances of the city been different. Selvinne is up for a match, but though the most skilled fighter in her church, it is clear that this Church of Kord is a sickly thing. Still, she is wiry, and does provide some initial uncertainty before Tanith claims the advantage.
"Well, the food's all well and good, but long-term, something's got to be done about that high priest of Kord. He's always leering at peple and spreading dissent. I heard he's planning to organize a riot using magic, and plans on using it to disrupt things during Zeech's banquet! Horrible, treasonous plans, if true. Let's just get our food and head outside."
"Good riddance, I say!"
"Aye."
Manith is visibly disappointed, not by Lanthis's physical state but by his declined challenge. How has Kord's worship fallen so far?, he ponders as he and his friends try to improve the mood. Even if the strength of his youth had left him and victory was unattainable, it was the competition itself that was important as the Brawler taught that in hard-fought friendly competition we often found our best selves and inspired others to do the same. A moral Lanthis must not have ever learned - or one he forgot.
When Selvinne answers his challenge, Manith beams. Even if the woman was much his junior in experience and strength, he honors her courage and puts on the best performance he can for any attending the 'feast' that he can get watching.
Carina/Ederia says little during the feast, preferring to indulge in the food offered here. She does watch as Manith and his female challenger square up, her eyes on him for the most part.
Astraden whispers her find to Eben. "Sounds like Lanthis is planning a riot against Zeech. Which seems . . . weird, given how old and feeble he seems. But maybe that's something we want to be involved in?"
Shan claps and cheers on Manith. "Fight! Fight! Fight!" She seems a little disappointed when no blood is shed.
Hunk gets into the sparring too, howling in glee during the bout. Afterwards he seems to be getting a bit bored. He sidles up to Shan, hoping she'll make something interesting happen.
Shan pours herself a glass of real alcoholic ale. "Hunk, Zalamandra, let's go talk to the head priest."
She approaches Lanthis. "I wonder, has Selvinne told you what we told her? Despite our aesthetic, we are not what we seem. It may be that the true goals of your clergy and our group align."
Manith is visibly disappointed, not by Lanthis's physical state but by his declined challenge.
Shan pours herself a glass of real alcoholic ale. "Hunk, Zalamandra, let's go talk to the head priest."
She approaches Lanthis. "I wonder, has Selvinne told you what we told her? Despite our aesthetic, we are not what we seem. It may be that the true goals of your clergy and our group align."
Lanthis raises an eyebrow. He inclines his hand toward the crowd, which is beginning to grow a bit more lively—but only a bit—as they watch the wrestling contest. [b]"She's told me a little. We appreciate your help tonight. I am sorry that our guests could not be more open in their appreciation."[/b']