"It seems a long bow to draw, Dr Grey. It is an interesting hypothesis though - and the best we have at this time."
"Hmmm. It occurs to me that someone was yelling something about that necromancer in the hospital setting up for some big spell when everything went strange."
"Excuse me, Doctor. Has that pendant ever glowed in such a manner before? That seems rather odd."
The monk is awoken but remembers nothing that has transpired, except the feeling of something very cold passing though his soul.
He makes a couple of groans, he sees the others and says "What happen? I feel so cold and.....depressed."
Quinn shudders and starts to rub his arms, hoping that the friction generated by the rubbing will warm up his body.
I yell from atop the wreckage, You got knocked in your ass. That depresses me sometimes, too.
I smile, my current depression, lifted.
"Now that you say, why...look at that!" Hareton steps towards La Siréene, reaches out, caresses the pendant in his hand. The eerie light reflects in his dark brown eyes, which search the necklace as if looking for a ship lost at sea. "Olivia..."
"It has never done this before."
He shakes his head, gathering his wits. He turns to Quinn, catches him up on what has transpired, and offers a brief restate of his theory. Then, he points to the stairs. "That looks like an exit back aboveground. Let's get out of here."
A feeling of hopelessness falls on Quinn's shoulders.
"Good Doctor, is there anything we can do for these lost souls?"
"Not yet. But if something is at play, like the threnodic energy Ianez mentioned, we will find some way to stop it."
Time for some fresh air? I leap down from the roof of the wrecked train.
A look of disappoint and guilt falls upon Quinn's face.
"Ok then. I feel useless with regards to these ghosts. As an officer, these people were under my protection. We need to find who is responsible for this."
Quinn looks around at the wreckage and the bodies and says to the group,"Let's get out of here. New friend Sandu....looks like you got your wish. Feel like taking point and leading us up the stairs?"
Ianez pauses before the party goes up. "I am not sure how much I can learn from minor divinations; Earl Caromarc, if you would care to assist?" The archaeologist casts a cantrip and scrutinizes the area carefully.
I will do my best..
I study Quinn for a long second before turning to the stairs. I give Ianez and Caromarc a moment to finish their business before moving into the stairwell.
The air sparks and crackles with violet lights. A black line appears, slithers, and traces the shape of an ankh. The chime of a cymbal. The ankh breaks apart into smoky wisps and reforms into the shape of a reptilian head. It billows tendrils of smoke. There is another chime. The head breaks apart and dissolves away.
In the meantime, Quinn points his finger and casts the Message cantrip onto Sandu. Quinn then whisper towards Sandu."New friend Sandu, you and I will be able to whisper messages to one another. You can let me know what you encounter before the others do and I can pass the info along."
Your party make its way out of Lamp Stop station. You ascend the stairs and come out into what is a high-end garment district. The town square is paved with well-kept cobblestones that are intentionally distressed and meant to look quaint; a deceit of the wealthy, like a fancy tourist area. The people around here most definitely have wealth. You can tell that you're not far away from Ashcaster Lane and Der Salon der Nekromantie.
The rain still falls in driving sheets. At the top of the steps awaits the gnome driver with a black carriage drawn by two horses, a brown mare and a dappled palomino. He introduces himself as Hergelund's associate and directs your gaze to the west side of the square. His voice is squeaky and cute. "Shop over there. Posh place. Not my speed necessarily, but it does in a pinch. Go ring the bell if you want. Then, we'll be off."
He indicates a shop fronted with big plate-glass windows, in which is elegantly draped on display furs, armor, gauntlets, and cowls. One of the mannequins dons a wizard's robe of exquisite tailoring, glittering with what must be threads of some rare spider's silk. There is a polished plaque bolted next to the door of the shop. It reads 'Madchën Sabina - haute couture for the discerning adventurer. Clients only.' And underneath that, 'Ring the bell for admittance.'
You are standing on the south side of the square. To the west is a row of shops, including Madchën Sabina's. To the east is a cul-de-sac with double-storied buildings, with balconies and sloped roofs, that are reminiscent of cuckoo clocks. The road to the north lays open.
Quinn looks around and nods to the driver."We will be back shortly."
The monk then walks over to Madchën Sabina,"Anyone needs to do any shopping now that we are here?"
Together we have 3000, alone we have 500. 3000 is more useful, but I don't care... just doesn't make sense.. I follow the policeman, maybe a new hat.
"There is a load of wisdom in what you just said friend Sandu. From what I see from everyone's selfless deeds, I do not think it will be an issue. Let's see what this shopkeeper has to offer."
There may indeed be a purpose to combining our coin, but one hopes we can find what we need for less than 3000. In any case, we should be able to find something in there that would allow us to pass as the kind of ... clientele the Salon expects.
Before the group leaves the station, the shape of Nameless shifts back to the form of La Siréene.
When the shape shift is completed, she touches her pendant, and then her brow.
Either I was a target as a result of this pendant - or I was a target as a cause of my willpower, being Free. How very, very strange, if so. Worth thinking about, certainly.
"I need a new shield. It should cost roughly 250 gold. For 500 gold in raw materials per item, I could craft you cloaks with a better chance to resist harmful magic and similar. It would take 8 hours per cloak."
With this, La Siréene enters the store.
When you buzz the bell at the front door, at first there's no answer. A tall drow woman comes up to the window and looks outside. She is extremely thin, with angular shoulders, a tiny waist and tiny wrists, and lank white hair. She looks at you dispassionately. You hear a latch being opened from the inside. The door opens and the woman admits you.
This is the music playing in Madchën Sabina's shop. (The main theme song for the campaign.)
The antechamber is decorated in lush red velvet and Taldor-style furniture, small white loveseats, ottomans, and chairs, accented in gold. On the opposite side of the little room, there is a narrow passageway; up a couple of steps this leads into a dark, narrow hallway.
"ฉันไม่คิดว่า คุณมีการนัดหมาย."
The floor is sticky. She hands out personal aerosol canisters.
"พ่นสเปรย์นี้ด้านล่างของรองเท้าของคุณ."
Once you do as she instructs, you notice the floor is less tacky against your shoes.
"ถูกต้อง. เราทำไม่ได้."
La Siréene accepts the canister and does as the woman instructed. Then, she returns the canister, walks through the antechamber, up the stairs and into the hallway.
The woman leads you up the steps, and through the dark, narrow hallway. It leads to an interior that is very dark, with small lights at intervals along the ceiling, arranged in various angles. They throw big shadows and showcase different items of merchandise. There are also boxes that look like large, lighted terrariums. Some boxes are empty, simple industrial-looking lamps, and others have silhouettes of figures that are dancing.
Several more thin drow employees, men and women, emerge from the back of the shop. They carry platters with food, bottles of red wine, and wine glasses. Silently, they hold forth and offer you the food. One of them uncorks the wine and starts pouring glasses and handing them out.
A drow girl strides elegantly among you. She carries a tray filled with small, sticky, black blocks.
"นี้เป็นยาเสพติด," she says matter-of-factly, offering it to you.
As you continue to look around the room, your eyes adjust to the dim light. There are partitions made out of black metal; they look like gates with bars shaped like cobwebs. Clothing, bags, and weapons are displayed hanging from these gates. In addition to more expensive-looking things, you see tunics with the names of popular minstrel groups printed across them: 'The Magistrates', 'The Black Roses', 'The Angelic Fiends', 'Zombie Summer Vacation'. Such is fashion...
"ยินดีต้อนรับ!" echoes an arch, resonant voice, from somewhere high above you.
The ceiling is black with impenetrable shadows.
I wave off the narcotic and all refreshments.
I toss my head towards Caromarc. I do not know if you do this... But, I need to be cleaned up, maybe a shave and a coif. Clean my cloak.
Can you make me look like a... proper servant or bodyguard to a rich and powerful man? I don't come to places like this... much... ever. No disrespect.
How much would that cost? And how long would it take? Please.
Diplomacy
The Mechanical Manservant nods, and proceeds to clean everyone's clothes start with Sandru, then Caromarc, then anyone who wishes.
"I'm sure they will have something here that would be appropriate. Not sure how long that would take though. I confess a bath and a shave might be a good idea if we intend to " Caromarc realises where they are "go to a party" he finishes lamely.
Caromarc turns to one of the young younger professionals
"Excuse me miss, I am afraid I don't speak" a momentary pause
"The language of the darklands. Can we communicate in Taldan?"
"My companions and I have a rather nice party we're going to. Sadly our travel arrangements have proven sub-par. Would it be possible to arrange for a bath, a shave and perhaps some manicures? We're hoping to buy some new clothes, but couldn't possibly try things on like this."
Ianez follows the woman's directions regarding shoe treatments and follows La Siréene further into the shop. He shakes his head at the girl's invitation. "ไม่มีขอขอบคุณ."
"Yes, your Grace. It's Undercommon; I learned it a while ago, in preparation for...perhaps another time." He raises his voice to the unseen speaker.
"เสื้อผ้าชั้นดี อะไรก็ตาม la haute monde กับการสวมใส่ในขณะนี้."
Quinn shows his apprehension when the drow reveals herself and tries to stay away from her. He declines any food or drink but allows himself to spray the mixture on the bottom of his feet. He then approaches Sandu and Caromarc and whispers to them "They are not to be trusted. My mother used to tell me dark stories and their atrocities against the elven people."
Quinn shows a look of confusion when they speak the undercommon."I feel most unconfortable here. I do not know what they are saying."
She descends from the shadows: a drider flexing her legs as she works a strand of silk from her spinneret. Madchën moves surprisingly fast, given the huge bulk of her body. The humanoid half looks like a mature, dusky-skinned, elegant, drow woman, hair swept up, with fashionable bangs, lots of dark eye makeup and lips stained red. On her arms, she wears bangles and silver clasp bracelets.
Madchën gives a couple of snaps. The girl with the pesh raises her eyebrows, a show of petulant offendedness, sets the tray down and steps back to the shadows. Her boss barks at her to move faster. The proprietress makes her way around the room: she snubs her nose at Sandru...
"ฉันไม่ทำกุศลทำงานปกติ." (said to herself quietly under her breath)
...flares her eyes hatefully at Quinn (recognizing he is half elven)...
"ลูกของคนโกหก!"
...she regards Blackacre curiously, steps back, strokes her chin, thoughtfully takes in Caromarc's appearance...
"อาจมีปัญหาที่อาจเกิดขึ้น."
...at the last, setting upon La Siréene and Ianez; here her eyes fill with delight...
"คุณพูดภาษาของ ได้ไหม อย่างไรงาม!"
...then, back to Caromarc. "I will speak the Common now," Madchën says. "I must tell you, I do not normally outfit people who are not on my list of clients. There is a reason Madchën Sabina is considered exclusive!" She looks with chagrin toward the front of the store. "But since the whole world is suddenly under siege, apparently, even a fashion scion such as myself must bend the rules a little bit...for good of business. Not much people coming in except you. You mention you need dressed for a party? Let me see what I can do for you."
Madchën looks at Quinn. "I heard what you say. The only atrocity is clothes you are wearing to come in here." The other drow laugh.
"Look, I deal with all of you. Even you. We can provide the bath, shave, and manicure. I look at you, I think, 'They can not be affording my clothes.' But we will work around that."
She walks among you, directing her staff to take your measurements. "You see, the basis for the glamourous is the glamer. You do not have to be the fashion, you just have to seem the fashion. We bend the light around you and...voila!"
She waves a hand at Caromarc; he appears outfitted in a luxurious black coat with tails, polished black dress shoes, a top hat, and a cane.
"Glamer!"
She strides on her eight legs over to La Siréene and sidles up against her. "There is the hope for you yet, my dear. We will dress you like a proper woman."
And thus, Madchën sets to work with the rest of her staff, working the glamer and getting all of you prepared for your social occasion. As the drow works, she says to Ianez, "You say you learn language of drow before. Tell me about that."
You receive your baths and shaves, etc. When Madchën is done glamering your armor, you stand and look in the mirrors of the shop and see your new looks.
Blackacre inspects his new "look" with some combination of admiration, skepticism, and befuddlement and turns to Madchen Sabina:
I have my own hat, thank you. The rest shall do nicely.
"แน่นอนที่รักซาบีน่า. ฉัน Druid. ภาษามาพร้อมกับดอกเบี้ย."
La Siréene quite enjoyed the cleaning and grooming, and the change of clothes was interesting. In any case, they offered a new option when new forms were required.
"ที่รัก Sabina, ฉันต้องการโล่ไม้เข้ม. นอกจากนี้จะคุณกรุณาใช้รายการเหล่านี้ออกจากมือของฉันได้อย่างไร"
Ianez looks up at the tall drider with a hint of apprehension. "I am an archaeologist and scholar by trade, Mistress Sabina. While exploring ancient ruins in Osirion, I learned of a legendary city in the Darklands, where useful and interesting information might be found; in order to reach that place (and survive!), it was necessary for me to learn the language. As you doubtless know, others have learned it from the Drow, including the ghouls of Sekamina." He smiles. "Yes. I can say what few other living humans can: I have walked the streets of Nemret Noktoria and returned to tell the tale, though it was a near thing indeed."
Quinn stares in the mirror and notices his new look and is amazed at the drow magic. He stares at the top of his head. "I have hair! It has been a long time since I had any."
He stares at Sabina and then walks over to her,"All this is very nice but there is always a cost for drow generosity. The drow do not merely give hand-outs to anyone....epsecially to the child of liars....me. Also, magic giveth these guises....magic can take it away. How strong is this disguise? Quinn waits for an answer showing a little skepticism.
Madchën takes the gold from La Siréene. "Your payment is...how do you say...ยอมรับได้."
She claps to summon one of her underlings. "ขายแหวน," she says.
As she listens to Ianez, her eyes smile like a pleased cat. "Your travels sound so interesting, adventurer! Sure that everyone wants to hear such tales of the drow!"
You can tell Madchën bristles at Quinn's questioning, yet maintains her composure and chooses to bite her tongue. "The drow are masters of trickery and deceit. This is very strong magic. It will last for your purposes."
"หยิ่งแบบปกติ! ตัดออกลิ้นของเขา!" one of the other drow hisses from the shadows. Madam Sabina shoots them a sharp look. Or is it a knowing one?
"Now, now," she says. "Let's pretend that wasn't just said." She presses her palms together. "Where were we? Oh, yes. The subject of cost. 2,000 gold. Which is a steal. And if you ever tell anyone I sold to you for so low, I will hunt you down and have you killed."
"And wherever you're going, I want free advertising. You tell people that you're wearing my clothes."
I move towards what passes for a register, placing 500 in gold from my pack between myself and the drow ringing up the sale.
This is a start.
I move back to my spot, passing Sabina... Thank you... for letting him keep his tongue.
I wonder if the drow magic with withstand the test of touch, so I reach for Quinn's new found hair
Quinn responds, "If your magic remains intact then all will here of Madam Sabina's talents. Now...can one of your workers point me to your various arrows?
Quinn moves back to the others and nods his approval at the cost and whisper to them, "I donate my share to the group."
Smiling at the Drider, La Siréene turns to speak to her allies.
"My opinion is. That we should accept that price. I, too, pay with what I have."
La Siréene counts up five piles of gold with 50 pieces each, and one with 45 pieces, adding this, too, to the groups payment.
One of the clerks brings out a display case of arrow samples. Inside, lays an arrow with a crescent-moon shaped fletching. Madchën takes it and rotates it in her fingers. "Right now, these are popular. Arrows of the Lyrune-Quah tribe of Varisia. Only better. Made of the finest-quality materials." The clerk opens a different case. It contains standard arrows in different colors ranging from silver and black to a blend of peacock greens and blues. "Or we have these that are still nice, but less expensive."
As Madchën allows Quinn to inspect the arrows, she looks past him at Sandru a couple of times. The expression on her face reads that she wonders if she underestimated him and is questioning first impressions.
Quinn inspects the arrows and determines that they are of fine quality."These Arrows of the Lyrune-Quah tribe of Varisia....they seem of fine quality. What can they do as compared to, let's say, a standard arrow?....and of course.....the price?"
The archer moves over to another set of arrows, "And what about these?"
It looks like Quinn is salavating over the many arrow types and he quite resembles a fat kid lost in a candy store. "Do you happen to have arrows that bludgeons the target?"
I watch them talk, all of them... She is even winning the policeman over with her selection of arrows.
But, the drow especially. I watch them talk, listening to their language, the sound of it like music, a pattern. The highs and lows, lilting there, stronger here.
They were made, I was made. They stand alone as a race, but they have each other. I am just stand... alone. I will learn this language, maybe it will help.
Do many in this city speak your language, Mistress Sabina?