Farrukh shrugs.
"I've never had my hair done before. Just don't make me look like Eben."
Carina self-consciously runs a hand through her hair. "...I'd like to schedule an appointment."
"I've never cut my hair before, and I don't intend on starting now. I'll let you wash it and rub my head though. I guess braids are cool too." Cuetzpalli seems to have decided to give in to this becoming beautiful thing, and has put on a brave face.
Eben smiles in a pretty smug fashion as Ril expertly critiques the appearance of every other person in the group, effortlessly proving his point for him. His jaw drops in horrofied surpirse when she gets around to him, though. "But... but... people love my hair! I just got complimented on it last night! It's soft and bouncy and curly! What's wrong with cantrips?" Eventually, once he's over his sense of universal balance being overturned, he agrees to an appointment. Which he'd already have agreed to, just to maximize his assets, but now, shaken, does out of a sense of necessity.
Tanith doesn't know entirely what to make of the gnome's eccentric sales pitch but when his friends start opening up their coin purses he does the same.
"You know, you can buy a lot of mead for this much coin", the big man says as he counts out five shiny platinum pieces.
Astraden tsks. "She's playing y'all. Especially you, Eben. You've rubbed shoulders with the elite of Greyhawk and been respected - can you really look that bad if you're friends with the great Rodrigo Dantares?" She messes up her hair further. "Ms. Shimeise, I'll let you f#@# with my hair, but only 'cause those prosthetic things sound cool. And because Eben's paying."
Zalamandra steps out from behind Tanith. "I like to think I keep pretty good care of my hair, but I must admit I'm less than acquainted with the fashions of Alhaster. I'd also like to book a 'do, if you impart some of your vogue virtuosity during our date." She holds out a small sack of coins.
Ril Shimeise beams as she spots Zalamandra. "Aw, babe, I don't even know what I could do for your do. You're already perfect. But I'll see if I can update that shit!"
"What's wrong with cantrips?"
"Nothing, used sparingly, but you don't shampoo your hair every five minutes, do you? I can see the spell waves! Do you even know Bucknard's rapid restyling?" She snorts and shakes her head. "I can sell you my old wand, if you want. It's got thirteen charges left, and I'm not gonna be the one to spend the cursed charge. A hundred fifty orbs, if you're interested."
She looks scandalized as Astraden speaks, and her hand flies to her chest. "Why! 'Playing you'?! Lady Adventurer, I am an artist! A girl of theater, of story, of deception, of...well, yeah, that does sound kinda non-contradicty. But hey, you're paying. I'll prove you wrong!"
She shuffles away with a sketchpad, muttering something about 'petrified vargoyle ears'. Hopefully unrelated.
After purchasing tickets (10 gp for the good seats, 1 cp for the bad seats), the group makes its way to Eben's next stop: The Scarlet Spire. Outside the church, the party notices a group of drab-dressed robed people shuffling about. They wear the symbol of Wee Jas, but seem a bit embarrassed, as if they aren't supposed to be here. They hurry away as the party approaches.
Inside, it's a wholly different story. The cathedral is gorgeously decorated in reds and blacks. Rubies glitter in mosaics on the walls. The flaming red skull of the Stern Lady watches the party from every angle. Lush paintings on the walls depict various scenes of Wee Jas's great deeds. Most depict her arcane talents, her dealing with undead, or her bestowing beauty upon hideous creature. For a few examples:
On the far end, behind a massive altar, is a relief of Wee Jas embracing a man before a raging bonfire. The bonfire image is sculpted of glass, and real flames seem to blaze from behind it. The man has a pair of eight-sided dice dangling from his belt.
A smiling Jasidin woman with gleaming copper hair greets the party at the entranceway. "Welcome to the Scarlet Spire! Are you here to worship, or to sample our services?"
Eben buys a row of 'good seating' tickets for the party. "My treat guys. Hopefully it's better entertainment than those puppet shows we were seeing on the way into town..."
He does decline Ril's offer of the wand of hair styling. At least for the time being. "That's an intriguing spell. Really? a Bucknard invention? I'll look it up sometime. Might buy the wand off you at a later point, though, unlucky charges and all. We'll see how my finances are after all the ball prepping."
He cranes his neck, duly impressed by the showiness of Wee Jas's temple. "Now remember, we're just weighing options right now, Farrukh still wants to check this other place out too, so try not to get strongarmed into placing an order yet..." As the priestess greets them, he replies, "We are looking to outfit ourselves for the ball, and right now we're window shopping for ideas. Someone mentioned you're one of the best places in town for tailoring."
Astraden closely inspects the painting involving Olidammara. "Oh, this is based on the actual history, where the Laughing Rogue brought her and Norebo together by stealing some of Norebo's dice. Sort of quaint, really, that they think he actually cared about what was stolen."
Her smile drops for a few scant moments. "What? No. No. That's stupid! Why does your god have to insert himself into everyone else's mythologies?"
Her smile returns as she addresses Eben. "You heard right, m'lord! Our tailoring and beauty services are overseen by none other than our wise High Priestess herself, Almerah Kozen! Only the finest for Alhaster's upper-crust!"
Eben notices the priestesses reaction and is unable to resist. "Oh, Almerah Kozen's work is widely reputed as far away as the Free City! People there talk in hushed tones about what Almerah Kozen is doing this season. Almerah Kozen originals show up at art show openings all the time! Almerah Kozen is probably better known there than we are! Nobles probably say all the time, 'Almerah Kozen is coming to down. Should we invite Almerah Kozen to dinner? If we do have Almerah Kozen over, we might not be able to invite Spiny's Six due to space. Hmm, Almerah Kozen or Spiny's Six? Spiny's Six or Almerah Kozen? Almerah Kozen. Yes, Almerah Kozen shall be our guest of honor. We'll compose a song in her honor, the refrain shall be, "Almerah Kozen, Almerah Kozen, Almerah Kozen"'." He pauses, then asks the priestess in concerned tones, "I'm sorry, is there dust in the air? You seem to be blinking a lot."
After engaging in a bit of casual torment, he takes the time to pore through any style catalogue or showroom the Jasidins have set up to support their fashion business, making appropriate inquiries to alterations done to taste, before nodding, taking a few notes for himself, and annoucing that he'll most likely be back the following day.
Carina pinches the bridge of her nose and sighs.
"Something bothering you, Carina?" Astraden asks absentmindedly. "I wonder if we'll ever get to meet Almerah Kozen."
She looks over the outfit options, tsking frequently.
The party resolves matters in the Scarlet Spire. The high priestess is absent at the moment, and so they never do get to meet the fabled Almerah Kozen whose name puts her inferiors so very on-edge.
Afterward, the group journeys to a decidedly different part of town. Farrukh leads Spiny's Six to Alhaster's northeast corner, a seedy area right by the docks where seagulls mingle with street urchins, united against the common enemy of the fishmongers who refuse to yield their catches. The party soon stands before a humble little shop, which is surprisingly clean, considering the neighborhood. A sign above the door reads, in glimmering silver ink, Patchwork.
The party hears the sounds of crashing and clanging from within.
Up atop the counter squabble three young boys of clear Olman ancestry, each around the age of seven. They are each dressed in fine silk garments, not dissimilar to the hanging robe above, but they show no accordingly refined manners. The children fight viciously, kicking and biting, heedless of their current proximity to the many sharp sewing implements. It is difficult to tell what they are fighting over.
Astraden knocks on the door. "Hey, everything alright in there? Yes? No? Okay, we're coming in."
She looks around for whoever makes such splendid garments, then grins at the children. "It looks like you're having fun. Are you the proprietors of this shop? - Before you answer, take a look at this pouch of gold. Maybe you want to be the proprietors, right? We'll just pick out a few things, give you this shiny snack money, and be on our way."
Eben b%@!~es all the way downtown. "OK, seriously, you smell that? Nothing quality comes from the smell of dead fish..." He puts on a tolerant face as they come to Patchwork proper, but clearly doesn't expect much as the party enters. "I'm sure we'll just be in and out... ohhhh..." His eyes light up a bit at the sight of the displayed robes. "Okay, well, there's one presentable item, but look at the rest of this..." he begins picking though the strewn piles of clothing reflectively, but stops upon seeing the children. And the expression that then crosses his face isn't the expected 'oh, children' of a discerning, snobby, clothes shopper, but rather a 'oh, children of a street entertainer. Almost of its own accord, his hand reaches out and filches Astraden's proffered pouch from her hands. "Are you sure that's actual gold, Astraden? Let's see..." and his fingers extract a coin. "Huh. Looks like gold. Feels like gold. But you know, the way you can really tell something is gold is if it winds up disappearing on you before you know you've even spent it." His fingers wrap around the shiny gold coin, and then reopen, revealing a bare palm. "Huh, what do you know, it's gone! Maybe it was real gold... but the way you really know if it's gold or not is if, after it vanishes from your possession, you find it on a crafty shopkeeper..." he reaches out, behind the ear of the noisiest, bounciest child, and pulls the coin out of seemingly thin air. "Well, there you go!"
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"This seems a bit shadier than you guys' usual antics, just saying. It's not like she's rich."
Farrukh doesn't outright call them thieves and con artists, but they might get that feeling because of the implication.
Astraden chuckles. "Not like I'm rich, either. I've got some pretty things -" she indicates the beautiful dress "- But I have a good feeling I'm going to be broke -" she indicates the street outside "- By the time we finally meet Lashonna. Think of this as a loan." She pulls a probably ill-fitting incredibly slender yellow dress from the piles. "Here, Eben, is this the kind of thing you want me to wear?"
Eben glances back at Farrukh with shock and hurt in his eyes. "This isn't a scam, I am entertainingyay the ildrenchay!" he says in absolutely terrible pig Sueloise. He takes a single glance at Astraden's initial selection. "No, first of all, wrong size, but that's something that can be adjusted, but secondly, no, because yellow is not a color that does you any favors."
Astraden starts pulling blouses and skirts and pants from the piles. "Wow, these are all super tiny! Who do they expect to fit into these? Don't nobles have any meat on them?"
"Ohh, I see the labels now. These are supposed to be 'Large.' I guess that makes me size Huge?" She starts sorting through a much 'smaller' array of options.
Cuetzpalli stands awkwardly watching Eben deal with the children and Astraden hold up garments. "What color for me, Eben?"
Tanith quickly gives up when he discovers that none of the finely crafted skirts fit around his arms or even his waist. "Are you sure this is clothing? I feel like these things would turn to dust under the first gout of dragon acid that hit it", the big man says dismissively.
"Hey, not everyone goes out to wrestle dragons for a living." Carina gives Tanith a little poke on the abs. "Besides, I think they look just lovely."
"...well, maybe I'm not the best judge of clothing, to be honest..."
"I think Eben said 'eggplant and cream' for you, Cuetzpalli. But that makes me wonder, which part of the eggplant? The inside is just sort of a green cream. The outside is . . . that's just purple, right? Or maybe he's talking about the eggplant plant itself, which is just sort of a light green if I remember right." Astraden rambles as she pulls a green polka-dotted vest and a dull orange dress out of the pile, looks at them together, nods, and starts stuffing them into her pack.
The children mostly ignore Astraden until she gets the gold out. This catches their attention, though they keep squabbling right up until Eben begins his routine. The simple but deft magic trick seems to mesmerize them, and they hop off the counter to watch.
They blink, exchange looks, then hold out their hands for Astraden's pouch.
A rough, scratchy voice calls from the shop's back room, "Is there someone there? Sorry! Be out in a minute!"
After about a minute and a half, a middle-aged woman emerges from the door behind the counter. Ms. Crumm's skin is the same deep bronze as Cuetzpalli's, and her eyes are large and dark. Her black hair is very curly, tied together in a rather elaborate series of braids that seem mostly devised to keep it out of her eyes. She has a pronounced waist, further accentuated by a large bustle. Her dress is practical and plain, but spun from the same silvery cloth as everything else in her shop. The proprietor of Patchwork holds three pairs of scissors in one hand, a young girl by the ear in the other, and a sleeping infant in the crook of her elbow.
"Sorry! What can I do for you?"
Astraden freezes when she hears the voice, then quickly returns the clothing to their piles. She's feigning holding up one of the slim dresses to look at, winking at the children, when Ms. Crumm appears. "Hello ma'am - we weren't sure you were in. We're looking to buy some clothes of a suitable size and appearance for a noble ball. My name is Astraden, and this is Eben, Carina, Zalamandra, Tanith, Cuetzpalli, and Farrukh."
"Sure, go ahead and buy the clothes--assuming you want the nobles to think you're little better than a commoner. You'll need to get 'em tailored if you want them to take you seriously." Carina shrugs.
"Well, with three days to go,getting bespoke outfits for all six of us is a tall order...' Eben comments, and then in a lower voice says directly to Carina, "Which is why those of us who have a chance at making a good impression- that is to say, you and me- should get custom made stuff, and we can just pawn some off the rack duds on everyone else. I mean, there's only so much you can do with these four..."
"Well, I'd at least like to get some tailoring done for Tanith..." Carina whispers back. "I mean--it'd be funny to see him all dressed up for this." She giggles a bit.
"Wow, are you insulting this wonderful woman's enchanting clothes?" Astraden looks shocked and holds up the orange-and-green combo as she holds a hand over her mouth and lets out a gasp.
"Anyway. Ms. Crumm. I would like you in your discerning fashion knowledge to select me an outfit, in the colors Eben's about to remind me of. I will pay what he thinks is a reasonable amount, but in ounces of labdanum incense, as I do not carry much gold."
Marissa Crumm looks between the six adventurers (Zalamandra, who was quite satisfied with commissioning the Spire, is lingering outside the shop), blinking large black eyes. "Oh, goodness! You're not bound for the banquet, are you? That's...that's certainly something."
She turns to Eben. "Three days is hardly an object. I spun a dozen dresses in three days once. I charge fifty gold crowns per piece, assuming you do want a custom piece. But...oh my goodness. The Prince's banquet, do you mean? That would be a real opportunity." She fiddles with the scissors. "It's only...I didn't have eighteen young ones then. The last time I worked so hard, I mean. Eight of them are still too young to leave alone. I'd need to find quality sitters, and at this short notice...how many of you are interested in custom pieces, again?"
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Eben looks over Astraden. "Deep blue. Or purple, but if Cuetzpalli's in eggplant,- which yes is purple. Of course I'm talking about the skin- well, it might not be bad to have you two complementing one another..." He turns to Mrs. Crumm. "Wow. Eighteen? How did you survive... nevermind. None of my business. Anyhow. Well, six, of us need outfits, and yes, tailored, but if that's a problem, some of us could commision your work and the rest can make do elsewhere..." Eben's tone, while perfectly polite and making it seem as though he'd hate to have to find something else, hides his astonishment- and wariness- at her low prices. Fifty gold? I don't care how nice that one robe looks, there's got to be something wrong with this place... He smiles. "With the time you do have on your hands, how many of us do you think you could dress?"
"I could help you watch your childers, mam. They're pretty cute. I'd rather hang out here than anywhere else in this town." Cuetzpalli says. He glances at Astraden, unsure how she feels about children.
"Well, I don't know about anywhere else, but it's certainly an improvement on the places we've been so far. We could baby-sit your kids for a day or so if that'll help you get the clothes done faster." Astraden smiles at the girl being held by the ear. "And we can teach them some applicable skills. Like how not to get caught," she says, leaning in.
"I'm...not too great with kids, but I could kill some time. Maybe make sure these two don't corrupt them quite so much." Farrukh says, smiling to show he's joking. Mostly.
"If you think you can get it done, I wouldn't mind a tailored fit myself. Never had custom made clothes before. I think Eben agreed some variant of green and tan would look good for me?"
"Oh, well!" Ms. Crumm looks startled, but not wholly averse to the idea. I suppose...you are going to the banquet, after all, and our wonderful Prince wouldn't invite any common scoundrels. If you could look after the eight, I could cope with the rest." She manages a strained smile. "And I'm sure I could get it all done in time. I can be very...prolific when the need arises.
"Yes, I quite agree, green and tan are your colors. Eggplant for my jamaa is a good bet, I think. Perhaps I'll surprise you." She winks.
"What time works best for the six of you?"
Cuetzpalli smiles at the familiar term. "You're olman too? Neat. There aren't too many of us around up here. As for timing..." He glances at Eben, the official getting ready for the banquet scheduler.
"Do we want to investigate the temple first? Like, today?" Astraden asks. "Hopefully my spell choices are appropriate."
Surrendering to what seems the inevitable, Eben sighs and says "Well, let's say we pick them up and do a final fitting around noon or so the day of the banquet?" To Astraden, he answers, "That was the plan to begin with, and now I think we'll have t get it done today, unless we want to have eight extra party members..."
"Will that give you enough time, Ms. Crumm?" Astraden asks.
"Yes, I think so." Crumm chews on her sewing needle uncertainly. "It'll be the fastest I've worked in a while, but...you'd be surprised what I can accomplish. I'll see you all later, then. Scourge be with you!"
The group exits the shop, trailed from a distance by a shrill, three-eyed street urchin. They travel along the docks, following the 'Street of a Dozen Smiles'. And as Spiny's Six draws near to where they visited the Scarlet Spire, they begin to catch glimpses of their destination above the rooftops.
And then they have arrived.
The Church of Blessed Deliverance is a charred, blackened hulk. Melted stained glass depictions of archons appear to writhe in the black kiss of fire in the few walls that still stand. The sagging, scorched walls bear numerous signs that read, "Condemned by the Order and Ineffable Wisdom of Almighty Prince Zeech—Entry Prohibited!"
The party notices that Shrieking Sammi is not following them closer to the ruins.
Thank Fharlanghn. That eye of hers was bugging me, I'm ashamed to admit...
Carina gives the little urchin an apologetic look before turning back to the party. "So, where should we start first?"
"Let's have a look around outside first. There might be an outbuilding or something. Traps, maybe."
Astraden inspects the exterior of the church. She doesn't see anything dangerous as she circles from the open street, weaves through alleyways, and returns to where she started. The signs of condemnation are everywhere.