You each leave your homes deep in thought preparing mentally for the worse. The thought that you might die. Worse, die in front of those you've come to despise for their entertainment, hangs heavily on you.
You arrive to the Limehouse to get into your costumes. With some final touches here and there most of the set was shipped out by canal barge early in the morning to the Nightshade theater where the play will officially take place. Robahl, dressed in his finest public wear has little to say and seems to have much on his mind but says little. Millech likewise has little to say. Thesing keeps to himself but for the most part seems completely content that any further threats or insults are about to be permanently dealt with.
Calseinica is chatty and nervous and hangs on to Pollux like velcro only allowing herself to be pulled away for costuming before resuming her clingy attachment to the madman. Delour spends much of her time explaining the subtle nuances of self presentation.
As soon as you're costumed up Robahl marches you towards the canal to a cheering crowd of fans and spectators. They wish you good luck and throw you black roses and you try to put out the feeling of being led to the butcher's to be divided up into choice cuts for the nobility. Boarding a boat to ride the canal up to the theater proper and to spare your costumes unnecessary ware you reach the nearly completed nightshade theater to a crowd of fascinated nobles and rich merchants.
Once you get within the nightrshade theatre it is naturally done in the chelaxian style. Tall and forboding spires tower over you as dozens of devils and gargoyles perch above in a perpetual state of alertness. As you enter black and red velvet taspestries cover over red paint and beautifully carved rosewood columns. Pollux can not only recall the smell and attitude of the painter who created these works of art but also the exact location of each component necessary to get the right kind of crimson hue. As each of you are led to your dressing rooms the backstage is a half complete mess. Delour complains incessantly about the conditions as many of the walls have not been filled in yet and saw dust hangs in the air. As you wait impatiently for the play to start you are left mostly to your own devices.
Pollux wanders the back stage for a bit. Contemplating the freshly varnished aged timber, the fine loose sawdust, the heavy velvet hangings, the lack of sufficient exits......and his Spark cantrip.
Returning to the others
"There is death here. This house is wood and paint and sawdust, a chimney to carry the ashes of the great and good to what heaven they think they deserve. Will we be the spark?"
Tark, having been working at the opera house or a bit what measures are taken for fire supression? Please note that Pollux is strongly considering torching the place once the flammable rabble (rich cloth burns very well) are seated.
|Tal Bernard Mainz|
Tal will idly walk around looking at the backstage props trying to get a glance at whatever fiendish torture the Children will be receiving. If Tal notices anything of interest, he will inform the group as to what he finds. Beyond that Tal will just make sure his equipment and weapons are sound.
Perception check: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (13) + 7 = 20
|Tal Bernard Mainz|
Pollux wanders the back stage for a bit. Contemplating the freshly varnished aged timber, the fine loose sawdust, the heavy velvet hangings, the lack of sufficient exits......and his Spark cantrip.
Returning to the others
"There is death here. This house is wood and paint and sawdust, a chimney to carry the ashes of the great and good to what heaven they think they deserve. Will we be the spark
I would prefer to be on the way out and back to Lily before you cause such a conflagration.
Pollux would know that even without the aid of his "lab" in the basement he could work up a substance that could burn this place like a sparkler if it was under the normal rules of physics. However with four exits (back, front, and sides) plus the likely presence of many spellcasters (namely clerics) who may be in the audience the only effect pollux might have is to ruin the play, and thus the plan which might irk the fake titted inquisitor quite a bit after suffering Robahls gentle and kind ministrations for a week. In truth you might kill very few of the nobles and only end up with a lot of angry hellknights with a good reason to grip the city even more in an iron fist. To make matters worse should you happen to kill the bumbling fanboy mayor with your gunpowder treason you would have no ready adn easy means to break into his manor and fiddle with his things. More likely it'd become the new headquarters for much more serious men with much more serious views (i.e. red hot pokers) about men picking through their things. But feel free to burn all the nobles inside the theater. I'm curious to see how events unfold if I have to toss out the next two books.
Caldazar shakes his head with a weak smile "A sound thought Pollux... but no. We have laid ourselves in line with this gambit... it would pain me greatly to know that our efforts have been for nought. I will play" and he submits himself to the ministrations of those that apply the foppery and frippery of the stage. At his breast, nestled between the mounds of cloth that serve as his bosum is his rose.
Meraxilar looks at Pollux with interest as he rambles about torching the theater, briefly imagining the chaos of such action in his mind."As much as I would truly enjoy such carnage, I would have to agree with our fair maiden, Caldazar. Also, our occasional meals at Tal's would likely end if Lily were to go into mourning, and I would miss her soup more than her armored doorstop of a husband to be certain. Let's play this out and see what opportunities for mayhem present themselves."
Out of earshot of the others to Pollux, "I do like your idea though, the Rough Beast would be pleased as well." With a sinister smile, Merax goes on with the preparations for the performance.
Smiling at Pollux's thoughts and the response by the others Petronicus leans close to Pollux and seems to address his jacket with a chuckle.
"Castor, I do believe your pet is contemplating a large fire at the expense of some complimentary morsels from the audience."
Holding out his hand Petronicus seems as if he is going to shake Pollux's hand but instead is holding out a small piece of cooked rabbit for the man's sleeve.
Looking at the rest of the group he says "Is everyone ready, shall we break a leg?"
As you await the inevitable happenings you hear heavy footsteps approach the group of you. Robahl, looking anxious approaches the figure that has entered the back stage. As you look along down the row of rooms among the numerous back stage workers you catch sight of a tall man garbed in black and crimson robes draped over black metal armor. Half his face is obscured by a fanged devil mask and what little skin is showing appears to be covered in burn scars. His hands are clasped before him and are covered in thick looking black leather gloves. A morbid and dark part of you can't help but note that such is his wear that the blood stains would not show. The most telling point of this man is the black unholy symbol of Asmodeus worn proudly on the outside of his robes. Robahl is short and many of you are taller than him but this cleric simply towers over the hot headed director with the sheer force of his presence. He is talkign quietly to Robahl who is merely nodding in understanding and slowly but surely turning white as the blood flees for its life away from the cleric's words.
With a final word the pair approach you and the cleric nods to the group. "I am Vestus Savaska. In addition to the significant...donation mayor Aberian Arvanky has made to the church for the blessing of this temple to the arts. I have also been hired to provide the more...graphic portions of this play. The cleric breathes in the sound not too far from intake of a terrible bellows. "I have taken the safety of our audience into the deepest consideration...I trust that you will do the same and we will not have any...incidents."
With that the Cleric turns and walks back towards his group of black hooded acolytes.
Robahl, looking as if on the verge of pissing himself stammers. “You’ll do fine… you’ll do fine… hit your marks and remember your lines, and you’ll do fine…"
With that he scurries off.
Knowledge (Religion): 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (5) + 7 = 12
Not knowing the nature of the man, but summoning enough of his wits to at least greet the cleric without offending Asmodean sensibilities Caldazar bows in deference.
As the Asmodean retreats and Caladazar straightens, he sees Robahl sweating... but realizes that the die is cast and there is naught that he could do but wait for it to stop rolling. He watches Robahl's back retreat before turning to his kinsmen in this endeavor. Speaking quietly and confidently but holding his emotion mostly in check "The time has come... for good or ill we are committed and cannot leap from the wagon even though the reins are broken. Endure... and think of what might be unmade hereafter if we survive this day." he allows his gaze to turn on each of the group in turn, giving hopefully some degree of comfort by the stoic set of his jaw and emotionless deadness of his eyes.
Meraxilar shows no emotion whatsoever toward the Asmodean as he rambles on. He merely continues with his costume and makeup applications.
Knowledge (Religion): 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (9) + 6 = 15
I do not know of this Vestus Savaska. I have been away from Westrcrown for too long during my incarceration. This one likely rose to power after the fall of my house. I must remember to find out more about who the newer powers in Westcrown are. Such knowledge could prove useful later.
|Tal Bernard Mainz|
Tal has no idea who imposing stranger is and the name means nothing to him. However, the fact that he is providing the special effects does interest him. Thanks for your support and care in helping withthismperformance. I am sure that we will make this a performance that will break records and have the people asking for more. You mentioned the safety of the audience, does that safety extend to the people backstage as well? Do not worry there will be no incidents to the audience from me. Those on stage may not be so lucky.
Good luck everyone I will see you for the second act. If you need them here. with that Tal hands two scrolls of cure light to Cal or Meraxilar.
Tal will take his leave and continue to look around the backstage during the first act.
Meraxilar looks at Petronicus, "No ones future is written, life is too chaotic for that. You would do well to remember that or you will only limit yourself to self-imposed boundaries. This is why the Asmodeans always fail. Strict rules and order governs them despite their ambitions."
Merax grabs his axe gripping it tightly and then gives Petronicus a much more serious look. "Never compare me to an Asmodean again or to any other diabolical filth in this city for that matter. I will take the offense more seriously if it should happen again, Mage."
Rendered speechless by Petronicus' verbal misstep, Caldazar is surprised to find that Merax is able to stay his axe. Shaking his head slightly he lets the hornest nest slowly return to rest... and continues the task of putting himself in the mind of a half-orc female.
Tal wanders off further into the backstage and sees the back doors wide open. Vestus directs a number of acolytes as they bring in things that look like furniture or appliances being brought in under large canvases. Two of these massive thins move by themselves. As you are quickly spotted an acolyte rushes over and pushes you back towards the front and nearly collide into an actual bearded devil off in a corner having a discretionary smoke.
"Careful berk. No sense in hurtin yourself befo' the big event yeh?"
Taking a drag from a rolled up dog end the bearded devil would look imposing if it weren't for the nonchalant way it's tucked between a pair of garish gargoyle statues as if trying to avoid the notice of its employer.
Meanwhile near the front of the stage Robahl claps his hands. "Places everyone! Places! Put on your best faces it's time to make OP-UR-RAH!"
Last chance for any preparations before the first act begins and we get this show going.
Deep breaths and steadying thoughts are the order of the day as Caldazar prepares for.... SHOWTIME.
Cal is good to go, I'm assuming that he was allowed standard fit-out wearing his studded leather armor and morningstar at his belt. Buckler is not worn currently, but he has it with him.
Merax slings Aroden's shield onto his back as a prop before grabbing his axe. He makes his way backstage with the others when they are ready.
I used to dream of coming to the Nightshade theater when I was younger. Now Pollux' s idea of burning it down becomes much more appealing.
Ready to begin
Shocked by the response Petronicus says, I fear that you misunderstand, I was referring to the power that one can attain with devotion to his deity. So be it, let us attend to our deaths.
Petronicus will use the scroll of endure elements on himself (24hr duration)
|Tal Bernard Mainz|
So this is how the play itself will work. As each act begins each character will say their lines. At the end of the act you make a perform roll utilizing all of the bonuses gained thus far from friendships, learning, or otherwise. In a normal game the expectation would be we would act this play out ourselves. However given the nature of PbP all you'd be doing is copying lines from the script I provided. That would be silly. So instead we are going to copy our lines, but you must also describe actions for your character, try and nail his stage presence, emphasize lines and gestures and explain the interpretation of the character in the paly through your characters acting. Ham it up. Go nuts. In this case it is the quality of the writing rather than the quality of your performance that is in judgment here. Otherwise we do the play as written with each character sayin their lines. Please click on the spoiler for a couple of quick notes. Since bloodless is not in the first act we'll go ahead and move on without him until Shifty gets back.
STAY IN CHARACTER: Keep in mind that even during the torture, death, and mayhem you are ultimately actors in this paly. Keep in mind not only who your character is but "what". Dentris is a wizard, Tybain a paladin, Krona a barbarian, Drovalid a fighter more or less, and Larazod is open but typically hes the swashbuckling agile hero type.
NO AD LIBBING!: No.
As people gather into position a few extras gather around Calseinica looking at any moment ready to run screaming from the bearded devil directly in front of them.
Yes a bearded devil. He walks nonchalantly on the stage snuffing out a cigarette between his fingers and tucking it in his beard. He gives a smile and a wink before taking up a position where the bailiff would be.
After a moment you hear Robahl speaking outside.
"“Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to the premiere event at this wondrous new theater! Let me begin by extending my humblest thanks to the Church for providing the—how shall I say?—punch in tonight’s spectacle. And also my sincere gratitude and thanks to our illustrious and benevolent lordmayor, Aberian Arvanxi."
Thesing moves to his position on stage while Delour goes outside the curtain and starts off the play with a haunting melody about the background surrounding the play and the circumstances involved in Larazods capture. As the curtain rises you get a glimpse of the audience for the first time. The place is packed.
As Delour disappears backstage the bearded devil behind you comes to life and suddenly his role in this play becomes very clear. Brandishing his Ranseur at the gathered jurors he announces in a gravelly infernal voice.
"Order in the Tribunal. The Court of His Honor Paraduke Montigny Haanderthan, Black Tongue of Asmodeus, Magistrate Maleficarum, now holds session. All rise."
Haanderthan enters from the left stage and takes his place at a massive obsidian podium set up above Larazod. As he take his position he picks up an iron mallet and court is in session.
"Be seated, members of the Court. Today this court seeks truth, or at least shadows thereof, from one Larazod Rilsane, honored veteran of the Shadestar War, member of a once gloried house, of recent fallen in Asmodeus’s regard. The accused stands on several counts of failed conspiracy, evidenced thereof by the industrious interrogations of the court’s own Seeker, Drovalid Vorclune, administered with his usual diligence and severity. In these interviews Vorclune gathered from notable sources, only a few of whom survived their conversations with the lash, that Larazod of the Rilsane held audience with undesirables—
the topic of their whispered covenant the activities of none other than myself. A most serious affair. Service to Asmodeus’s ever-darkening glory is never without risk of menace, betrayal, and threat of doom. My family and I have long suffered the bumbling attempts of assassins who would tear at our dark lord’s visage as casually as they befoul their mothers’ beds."
"What they lack in cunning they bolster with sheer desperation, evidenced by consorting with all manner of Aroden-suckling knaves, and aged wiz-worms who trust in mystic secrets over the Dark One’s love."
"You hereby stand accused, Larazod, along with your illseeming compatriots, of conspiracy to undertake grievous harm to the institution of this tribunal, namely myself, Paraduke Montigny Haanderthan. How answer thee these charges, Larazod of House Rilsane? Be thou maligned by a scandal-brewer’s wagging tongue, or dost thou cleave to my comings and goings as a bloat fly to a fresh cadaver? Speak! And know that lies are my closest friends. They’ll betray you before I. Speak the truth or do worse than die!"
Krona stands with a belligerent expression on her face, scowling past furrowed brow and nascent tusks at Haanderthal as he speaks. Anger, rage and barely restrained intent etched in her tense and poised stance.
Order of lines: Dentris (Petronicus), Tybain (Merax), Krona (me), then back to Tark
Since you mentioned only Larazod under the podium I assume I will have to walk out on stage.
With a deep breath Petronicus readies himself for his performance. I wonder if willingly being in this play is considered a form of suicide? Strange, the thoughts of nervousness.
Hearing his cue Petronicus walks through the curtain and onto the stage. Walking towards Larazod he raps his staff on the floor three times to get his attention and shouts. In a forceful voice,"Hold your tongue, boy, and we’ll escape the firebrand yet."
As he comes to stand before Larazod he shakes his staff at him, "Your father was the model of a devil’s squire. Summon his wiles now, and keep shut that Abyss you call mouth, before we all tumble down into its darkness."
Resting the staff back on the floor Petronicus places his empty hand on his chest, lowers his head and slowly shakes it. Quietly he says, "Had you been born deaf and dumb, this loyal servant would yet live to see another midnight."
Looking up, Petronicus rests his gaze on Larazod with both the pride and sorrow a father might show a son who is doomed.
Walking over to Larazod, Tybain places his left hand on his shoulder while motioning to Haanderthan. "Hurl his arrogance and accusations back at him, Larazod.
He wants precious golden-yoked truth? Give him more
than he can choke down. For whether revealed by the
brilliance of Aroden’s eye, or the long red shadows cast
by your Dark Lord’s fiery gaze...., Tybain turns his head to face Haanderthan. "... a man false at heart and shrouded in hollow faiths is nothing more than a traitor to all. Let him that judges false be judged by wraiths—smote by his own brand shall he fall."
Tybain lowers his hands and stands resolute in his defiance.
Stamping her foot to draw attention Krona roars like a beast possessed "Cease your gibbering! One can hardly hear her own thoughts for your tongue wagging!" stalking out and standing near to the side of the obsidian podium of Haanderthan. Growling as she sets murderous eyes upon the fop "Not that this pompous fool can hear them shaking as he does from the pleasure of his own unceasing tongue!" and after a few moments of staring moves to stand beside her dear Larazod.
Incorrect order above - it's our dear Larazod (Pollux) next before Tark
Must not ad-lib...must not ad-lib....
Lazarod looks up at the magistrate, head tilted as he examines him.
"Larazod knows no lies, great magistrate, and no slanderer’s
tongue caresses my dignity. The accusations you speak are
as true as Asmodeus’s sword. They cleave clean through.
Let the witnesses suffer no more lash. To burn their
innards with pokers and steal their eyes is simply to waste
precious toil better spent in Asmodeus’s service. There is
but one point misaligned in this dark constellation—I
seek not your death, though the secrets you harbor in your
feeble heart deserve a gruesome demise."
Pollux winks at Thesing
"I carry no assassin’s blade, nor breath-stealing spell
to rob your mortality...To end you I need only know you,
and to cast you in an honest shade. I pierce your “shadows
of truth” and show you for what I know—a false knave, a
demon-supping wag-tail, a balor’s bawd, a pus-leaking
cataract in the eye of Asmodeus’s justice, and subject to the
multi-handed ministrations of a marilith whore, dretchloving
plunderer, and traitor to our great Dark Lord."
Pollux plays this for high camp. The stressed words: tongue, you, pierce, wag-tail, bawd, multi-handed, whore, and plunderer, highlight the sexual tention inherent in the setting. The resultant Haanderthan/Lazarod image should strike a laugh from the cheap seats.
I just realized I spoilered the wrong block of text. How silly of me.
The gathered jury whisper among themselves in astonishment clearly no man, let a lone a tiefling, have dared to speak to the magistrate in such a way. A wild and sultry looking Erinyes places a dainty finger on her lips while looking at Larazod up and down.
"And to think I almost spent this session in the orgybaths
of Kalrath. None of their fleshy delights could compare to the ecstasy this half-breed’s words stroke within me! See his fierce aspect burn in fury, even below the tribunal’s culling justice. But how shall Haanderthan answer?"
The magistrate shakes his head sadly as if he felt pity for the wretched creature shackled at his podium. He points his gavel at the horned miscreant.
"Heavy words for a forked tongue to manage, boy. You juggle them well enough, but like a poor fool, offer jest and jape. I assume this glib outrage, obviously a threadbare attempt to throw off the keening blade of justice, is backed by the testimony of a thousand law-loving fiends? Perhaps the ancient augurer at your side, ever your father’s faithful lap-lizard, probed the ancient secrets of the cosmos and uncovered my blasphemous treachery? Or have you a soulbonded scroll of bone-white parchment upon which my scrawled hand appears next to some Abyssal conspirator? You amuse me, half-breed, and it is the only reason your sniveling soul is not yet blasted away in hellfire and borne on a river of sorrow to some ignominious corner of the Nine. Whereof comes this lunacy? What disease vexes your broken mind? From what mystery of psychosis do you draw your lies?"
Tybain looks at Haanderthan with disgust. "You mewl lies like a sullied maid on her wedding night, O Great One. Even a lord may be smote in darkness as Asmodeus sees the truth of you—a base and lowly thing, snivelling in crimson robes."
Gesturing to all gathered "These devil-bowing citizens about us are affront enough to Aroden’s divine will, but ye...." once again Tybain points to Haanderthan accusingly, "...whose left hand clasps devil’s claws, and right reaches out for demonic boon—oh double-dealing fiend-lover, who allies with the Abyss. Infernal oaths and Abyssal blasphemy spew in one breath from your twisting lips."
Haanderthan does not take his eyes away from Larazod as the paladin speaks. If anyone catches the tiefling's innuendo they are cultured enough not to comment.
"Does your Aroden arse-kissing pall-a-dine put you up to such resounding blasphemy? Have you no tongue of your own, half-breed, to answer my charge?"
Thinking: Must stick to script. Must stick to script. Pall-a-dine? Friend you share dinner with? I have had dinner with Merax. Merax is a paladin? But He says he follows the god of snakes and ladders. Maybe it is a cover. But for whoum and from whence. Is he afraid of something? Maybe I should get him a goldfish. Why has it gone so quiet? Why is everyone staring at me?
"Ah my cue." "Truth is spoken freely in many tongues, false magistrate, and by agents of light and dark. You know what you are." Pollux speaks a tad overloud as if to cover the overlong pause.
The judge looks flabbergasted. And speaks down at the tiefling with disdain dripping from each syllable.
"You persist in this foolishness? It shall go hard for you and yours. Recant and your deaths shall be swift, your souls consigned to diligent service in Hell. Refuse, and enlist in agony’s service, consign your soul to wallow in the most ignominious corner of the Nine, and take eternal suffering as your bedmate.
Calseinica winces a touch at her paramours apparent distraction but that seems only to encourage her Ilsandra to become more distracting.
She purrs demurely clearly harboring thoughts that are too edgy for classical opera. [b]"He’s to have a much more interesting bedmate, if I’ve anything to say. The fire that one shows at tribunal, will no doubt burn even stronger between my sheets."
Leaning towards Tybain, Dentris whispers with a sly smile, That one grows hot betwixt her infernal thighs. Hope beyond hope. One voice of dissent on the council and the slenderest chance of salvation is ours to clutch. Let this waxen sliver of hope not melt until she does—let her
find her tongue.
|Tal Bernard Mainz|
Krona turns toward the audience and laments "Were I not bound I would tear the saucy wenches wings from her back and force the magistrate to choke upon them! None may have the heart of my beloved." eyes tinged with sadness for but a moment before being submerged beneath her everpresent rage.
Thinking People keep asking about my wits. I wonder, is something amiss?
Lazarod rattles his chains for emphasis.
"I recant nothing. You, accuser, so stand accused. How do you answer?"
The accuser is accused by the accused who is the accuser who is accused and how many were going to St Ives?
Holding his hand up to the magistrate as if to pause the discussion Dentris speaks as the the small crack that can break a boulder. "Respectfully, my lord, when I was a barrister of the tribunal, it was common practice to ask Consular Consent in any judgement of a matter involving the Magistrate personally in the case." Walking up to the magistrate's podium as if to emphasize his point, he continues, his gaze starting on the magistrate and ending on Ilsandra. "Has the ancient code of Asmodeus’s court, scorched on the Tablets of Law by our Great Lord’s own fiery talon, so fallen as to warrant its complete disregard in this tribunal?"
Haanderthan rolls his eyes and sighs at this mild interruption.
"Of course, you are correct, old man. I’ve no intention of affronting our Great Lord. Council, what say ye on this matter? Do you concur with my judgment? These heinous slanders cast upon my great name warrant utter annihilation. So sayeth I, Magistrate of this Gloried Tribunal. Do you agree?"
Quickly the other councilors confer among themselves and say in one voice. "Aye."
Placing her eperfectly manicured hands on her hips and giving a sarcastic smirk Ilsandra lifts her chin up high.
Haanderthan glares down at the Erinyes. "My ears deceive me. Do you, august erinyes, daughter of Hell, speak against our cause?"
She waves her hand dismissively. "I speak against your judgment. Our cause is yet undetermined by my mark. According to our oldest codes, truth can be drawn from an offender, as pus from a wound. Asmodeus’s Trials show the true heart from the false. Why, simply put the half-breed to the flames. Let us try him properly in accordance with the old ways."
Hearing the words from Ilsandra Dentris has a noticeable skip in his step as he turns to Lazarod. With a smile on his face he says to the thiefling, "Well done, lad. Your pretty infernal face is good for something, even if your tongue offends all who hear." Clapping him on the shoulder he says with an earnest hope, "We may live yet.", as his voice cracks ever so subtly with glee.
doing this because I figure it makes it easier for the next person to know they are up rather than refer to the script and see when their lines are. let me know if it is more annoying than useful.
"Tut, the business of the tribunal heaps higher day by day. We’ve cases waiting in the wings by the thousands. Penitent souls singing out for justice. Shall we delay their flight to Asmodeus’s waiting embrace to engage in infantile contests? Nay, expediency is our charge when matters so lacking in evidence are brought before our bench."
Ilsandra laughs at his admonishments. "Come, come, sweet magistrate. The spectacle of a few trials would do my poor heart well. I wane at these tiresome sessions. Let the trials commence. ’Twould arouse me. ’Twould tickle me. ’Twould drive me to distraction."
Haanderthan, not immune to the wiles of the fairer half can't help but stare a bit at the writhing she-devil. "Trials you say? How now? If it is to be so, let us sweeten the pot. A price I would exact for trials as you insist. If this half-breed fails, not only is my name cleared of all preposterous charges, but you shall compact to me for a full moon’s service, to do my bidding and satisfy all my unwholesome needs." Haanderthan smiles wickedly clearly already imagining all of his unwholesome needs being serviced.
Holding her chin high Ilsandra accepts the bargain "Let it be so agreed. I hunger so for trials, I happily wager my body to your whim. We shall see if this half-breed’s words strike true or false."
"So be it. Larazod, you stand in trial. By my discretion you shall face six of Asmodeus’s fell tests. You stand alone in the face of terrors over which no mortal has prevailed."