"Mmm, it smells good." Mordan takes a cautious sip and swallows with some effort. Staring into his cup nonplussed,"Wow that's bitter. It doesn't taste anything like it smells."
Borden pours the tiger creature a sourcer of cream and presents it with a small now.
So, I don't believe I've had the pleasure sir. Borden Read, teller of large tales and small truths. Who do I have the honour of addressing?, he says, the large mans mannerisms shifting to accommodate his audience.
"Biffy Wolmington-Smyth, although my friends call me 'Tiger'. Just a silly nickname - who knows how these things start? Anyway, pleasure to meat you old bean."
Biffy rises to accept the saucer of cream and shake Borden's hand. Borden notices that Biffy's feet face backwards, as though they had been rotated 180 degrees.
Corlan, still hungry but too polite to mention it, looks for the servant. "Coffee isn't going to do it in this place... just checking on the brandy situation?"
"Brandy is only served in the dining room, by the Master's instructions, sir. Some wine, perhaps? Or whisky?"
"Brandy is only served in the dining room, by the Master's instructions, sir. Some wine, perhaps? Or whisky?"
"Whiskey would be most pleasant. Thank you for your hospitality."
Celeste isn't eating, she just watches the others curiously as they eat.
She shows no interest as Sister is summoned. "I wonder what the soup does?' She comments to Lucia, "It was very magic."
"I...don't know," Lucia replies slowly. It's fairly obvious the woman's confused and out of her element here, but she's not panicky...at least not yet. "Magic? The soup?" she asks Celeste suddenly. "Why would you serve someone magical soup? And to do so without their knowledge seems...sinister, would you not agree?"
After waiting for Celeste's reply, Lucia formally introduces herself to the half-elf and in a whisper offers to watch her back if she'll do the same in return. Then she saunters over to the small table with the vases and ornaments on it, examining them while surreptitiously looking for drawers on the table to take a peek at what they might hold.
There is a single drawer in the table. It contains some blank writing paper, a chapbook titled Guide to the Best Brothels in Port Peril (with over 100 pictures!), a small polished stone with 'A Souvenir Of Sunndi' painted on it, and the mummified remains of what once may have been a ham sandwich.
The door between the room and the grand hallway opens, and an older man, dressed in grey, with white hair, pokes his head through.
"I just want to tell you all - Good Luck, we're all counting on you." he says, and closes the door again.
Corlan wanders over to where Borden and Biffy are chatting -- the latter seems to be a decent conversationalist.
Edit: "And don't call me Shirley..."
Although Lucia's someone intrigued by the brothel guide (and especially by the picture of the exceedingly limber lady on a trapeze on page 37), she rushes out into the hallway in pursuit of the well-wisher who popped in a moment earlier.
"Sir! One moment please! What--exactly--are you counting on us to do?"
Biffy is in the middle of a story.
"...so there I was, completely surrounded by twenty native headhunters, armed with only a cake fork and half a bottle of cod liver oil. And do you know...?" - he pauses to take a few licks from the saucer of cream - "it turns out that those natives considered cod liver oil to be sacred, and immediately appointed me their tribal god. I believe that they still worship the cake fork to this day. I had to walk 200 miles back to Cauldron with no cake and a risk to developing rickets, but I made it back in time to bat in the second innings!"
Although Lucia's someone intrigued by the brothel guide (and especially by the picture of the exceedingly limber lady on a trapeze on page 37), she rushes out into the hallway in pursuit of the well-wisher who popped in a moment earlier.
"Sir! One moment please! What--exactly--are you counting on us to do?"
There is no sign of the man who appeared a few moment ago. As Lucia scans the hallway for him, she is brushed aside by a figure in full platemail, wielding a lance, and riding a hobby horse. The figure, making 'clip clop' noises as it prances forward, charges full tilt at a large vast standing in the hallway, punches a hole through it with its lance, and issued an exultant cry of triump.
The it turns, looks at Lucia, and removes its helmet, revealing a middle-aged blonde woman with strong noble features.
"Aha, visitors" she says. She peers suspiciously at Lucia. "Not ceramic, are you?"
"Jolly good show! Poor wogs never knew what was about. Did you play cricket for Cauldron or Sasserine?"
"No--not ceramic," Lucia replies, stepping toward the woman, offering her hand. "Lucia von Hendriks at your service, milady. You look like you've dwelt in this place awhile and no doubt know much about its history and inhabitants. Might I ask your name and...well, whatever you might be able to tell me of this...ah...wondrous place?"
Good job catching yourself there, Lucy--asking 'What the hell is going on?' might not have been the most diplomatic of phrases.
"Oh, just a few turn-outs for the Cauldron Second XI, you know. Although I did once get to play against Sigil Wanderers. They were an eclectic bunch of fellows. But then it probably got me used to being here - you meet all sorts here you know."
Biffy runs a raspy tongue round the saucer, licking up the last of the cream, and places it on the table in front of him.
The armoured woman eyes Lucia suspiciously, and taps her on the cheek with a gauntleted finger to make sure she is not ceramic. Satisfied, she lays her hobby-horse down, and shakes Lucia vigorously by the hand.
"Pleasure to meet you. Isabela D'Ambreville. Sorry about the tapping - had to make sure you're not a vase. Bloody things - they're vermin you know. Always lurking in hallways. I try to keep the numbers down, but they breed like ashtrays, and you can never get rid of them completely."
She glowers at the broken vase.
"Yes, I live here. I'm one of the family, but I'm not much of one for books or history I'm afraid. I'd recommend you talk to one of the others - Simon perhaps - but..." she lowers her voice "...thing is, the whole family's mad except for me. Place is a bloody mess since Stephen died. I'll have words with him when he gets back. Do you joust?"
"I've been trained in the fine art of jousting--just the basics, mind you--but I've never actually competed. I guess I'm more of what you'd call a foot soldier."
Although a part of her mind knows better, Lucia can't resist asking the question that she was sent north to ask.
"Do you suppose any of your magic-using relations would be interested in hiring out their services and traveling south to the lands of Karameikos ? Or perhaps you know of one or more apprentices who could be spared? My father will pay handsomely for their services."
"Ah, now that you'd have to ask Stephen - he makes all those sorts of decisions as to when the family gets involved with politics, wars and so forth. But jousting - now that I can do. I'm sure you're just being modest - let's set to!"
She pulls a nearby silk bellrope, and one of the liveried hobgoblin staff hurries into view. "Fetch Lady Lucia a horse, lance and helmet from the armory, will you?" she commnds. "Looking forward to this - haven't had a worthy opponent in a while. Make a change from hunting vases!"
Borden hides his disappointment that the guide to brothels was taken by someone quicker than himself and contents himself in making a polite show in talking to the tiger-cat... thing.
Really? You don't say.. Simply facinating.
He's lost when it comes to such oddities as Biffy but bang up to code when it comes to talking to daft nobility... after all, they were his favourite sort of customer. Rich, slightly mad and pre-occupied with their own world.
"I never got closer to Cauldron than Sasserine, hunting a guy who thought the Amedio tribesmen would be more merciful than the Spindrift Isles corsairs... but I did see one hell of match there back in '72..."
"Have you been here long, then? I'm not entirely sure the duration of our visit has been settled, but given the opportunity -- and if it meets your convenience and whims, of course -- I'd be delighted to compare travel notes again some time."
Celeste isn't eating, she just watches the others curiously as they eat.
She shows no interest as Sister is summoned. "I wonder what the soup does?' She comments to Lucia, "It was very magic."
"I...don't know," Lucia replies slowly. It's fairly obvious the woman's confused and out of her element here, but she's not panicky...at least not yet. "Magic? The soup?" she asks Celeste suddenly. "Why would you serve someone magical soup? And to do so without their knowledge seems...sinister, would you not agree?"
After waiting for Celeste's reply, Lucia formally introduces herself to the half-elf and in a whisper offers to watch her back if she'll do the same in return. Then she saunters over to the small table with the vases and ornaments on it, examining them while surreptitiously looking for drawers on the table to take a peek at what they might hold.
[dice=Perception]1d20+6
Celeste agrees to keeping an eye out for Lucia, she hangs back, sipping her coffee with relish and watching everybody else talking.
Mordan is earnestly adding teaspoon after teaspoon of sugar to his cup trying to make the coffee palatable.
"Have you been here long, then? I'm not entirely sure the duration of our visit has been settled, but given the opportunity -- and if it meets your convenience and whims, of course -- I'd be delighted to compare travel notes again some time."
Biffy looks momentarily confused when asked how long he has been here. "Well, dash it all, I've rather lost track of time. A week, I suppose. Maybe a few years. Actually, come to think of it, I only arrived here this morning."
He shakes his head as if to try to clear the confusion. "Anyway, as I say, they look after you awfully well here."
As if on cue, the butler appears with a few tumblers of whisky on a tray.
"Your whisky, gentlemen? And perhaps you would like to repair to the hallway where Miss Lucia is about to, as I believe the vernacular goes, have her arse handed to her by Miss Isabela?"
Having been equipped with hobby horse, a rather heavy lance, and a battered iron helmet, Lucia finds herself standing in the middle of the hallway carpet, about 40' feet or so from Isabela. The blonde woman puts her helmet back on, and raises the visor.
"Ready?" she calls. "Knock the other off her horse to win a point. Ties don't count. Best of three? Splendid. Off we go then."
She lowers her visor, and begins to move forward, making loud "clip-clop" noises as she jerks the hobby horse forward.
Well then, make an attack roll. If you have Lucia go 'cli-clop' then I'll even let you count as charging.
Just before she lowers her visor, Lucia rolls her eyes.
Although she's firmly sworn to herself not to make any clip-clop noises, Lucia can't seem to resist a "Badda-bap, badda-bap, badda bap!" as she charges down the hallway astride her fearsome mount.
The lance of each woman clangs into the armour of the other at the blazing speed of a slow walk. There is a brief tussle.
and Lucia is toppled over. The small coterie of house staff who have gathered to observe the fight applaud their employer politely.
"Aha!" shouts Isabela from behind her visor. "First blood to me! Keep your guard up, or you'll falter against the first vase you see! Again?"
"Well fought, Lady Isabela," Lucia concedes grudgingly, regaining her feet. "As we agreed to the best of three passes, we shall indeed go once again!"
More foolish "Badda-bapping!" ensues.
Thanking the butler, Corlan then toasts Biffy -- "To your health, sir!" -- and downs half his whiskey. Walking to the hallway, his gestures with his glass in Lucia's direction and says, "Give her hell, girl," before drinking back the remainder.
This time, Lucia has got the hang of her badda-bap, and just ducks under Isabela's lance thrust. Her own weapon strikes the breastplate, pushing the d'Ambreville woman to the ground.
"Honours even!" roars Isabela, dusting herself off. "This time's the winner!"
Isabela gets a nod of respect from Lucia as she prepares for the third pass; Corlan gets an amused smirk.
"Badda-bap, badda-bap, badda-bap!"
Both women, eager to be the victor, land crashing blows on the other.
Ruthlessly, Lucia throws her full weight behind her lance, and uses her leverage to force the opposing noblewoman to the ground.
"Huzzah! Bested fair and square!" conceded Isabela, standing up and lifting the visor on her helmet. "Entire crockery cupboards will tremble at your approach, Lady Lucia! To the victor the spoils - keep the helmet, with my blessin. Now, if you'll excuse me, there are vases to vanquish. Until next time!"
She raises a gauntleted hand in salute, and then gallops (well, strolls) off down the hallway.
The hobgoblin staff disperse, one first relieving Lucia of her lance and hobby horse, and another, with a heavy sigh, sweeping up pieces of broken vase.
Although ruthless in how she threw the older noblewoman to the ground, Lucia proves equally gracious in helping her back up afterward, proving what a good sport she is. She salutes as her vanquished foe rides off into the sunset...or sitting room, more likely.
Taking off the great helm, she looks at it for a few moments, admiring its quality. "Too bad the plume's red--not my color. Perhaps I could have it dyed black."
She then rejoins the other 'guests' to see what will happen next.
Well - that just happened... I wonder if we are in a mansion or a mad house?
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Celeste nods at Borden's question. "Yes." She helpfully replies.
"Bravo! Bravo! Well played. I think the red feather looks very fine. It provides contrast to the rest of your outfit. By the way, I was wondering. How is it you all speak English? I thought foreigners spoke,... well, foreign. Pardon me for saying but you all seem very foreign to me. Especially the tiger.
Lucia offers Borden and Celeste a sheepish smile. "I haven't done anything so immature in my entire adult life." After a pause and additional reflection, the woman says, "Come to think of it, I doubt I ever did such a thing as a child, either. Be careful--the madness in this place may be contagious."
After bowing her slightly in acknowledgement of Mordan's compliment, Lucia purses her lips as her eyes narrow in confusion. "What is this Glish you speak of? We're all speaking in the Common tongue."
"Speaking of tongues, I don't know about you all, but I wouldn't mind tasting something more substantial than soup... what do you say we take advantage of the servant's back being turned and explore one of these other rooms?"
"Sounds like a plan!" Lucia chimes in. "How about we take a stroll through that door there?"
"Lead the way!" he replies. Then, looking at the others, "Is anyone else coming, or is this a some kind of spin-the-bottle-go-in-the-closet kind of thing?" Then, with an embarrassed look, he adds to Lucia, "Uh, forgive me -- evidently that whiskey's kicking in."
Celeste shrugs and follows the others.
Lucia answers Corlan only with one of her trademarked smirks and walks over to the door, noting with a measure of gratitude that Celeste does indeed seem to have her back. Without further ado, she opens the west door and peers into the adjoining room.
This next room may once have been a grand salon, similar to the drawing room that the group have just been in, but the furniture has all been pushed back against the walls, the carpets rolled and stacked in the corner, and a makeshift boxing ring erected in the middle of the room.
A tall, bald, grey-skinned muscled man wearing only golden trunks stands stock still in the middle of the ring, while a young man, wearing extravagant noble finery, including a hat with an extraordinary long plume, tall shiny boots over his breeches, and a rapier buckled at his side, oils up the stationary fighter.
On seeing the door open, he grabs a towel, wipes his hands, and greets the newcomers enthusiastically.
"Ah, oui, bonjour, please, entrez mes amis!"
He doffs his cap, and does a ridiculously extravagant bow, twirling the long feather as he does.
"I am very pleased to be meetin you. I am Jean-Louis D'Ambreville. Per'aps you 'ave 'eard of me, non? It is always a pleasure to be meeting ze new guests, particulièrement" - he grans Lucia's hand, drops to one knee and plants an overdramatic kiss on her hand - "ze beautiful madamoiselles - enchanté." He waves the others, still lurking in the doorway, to come in.
Great, another noble 'enthusiast', Borden thinks. Wonder if I can make some cash out of him.
You ummm, do your own oiling?, the scruffy bard asks Jean-Louis.
Mordan shakes his head, "I shouldn't have worried about summoning you. We're the least wierd thing in this bat s+~$ crazy house."
"It seems so."
"A pleasure to meet you, Jean-Louis," Lucia says to the fawning fellow. Motioning to the gray guy in the ring she asks, "What is going on here? Better yet--what are we outsiders doing here? Why were we brought to this place?"
Jean-Louis moves around, shaking the hands of the men, and attempting to bend low and kiss the hands of Celeste and Sister.
"Ah, you all must be ze guests - brought 'ere by mon frère Stephan! 'E is always doing zees things, and eet ees even worse now 'e is dead. I am sure 'e will apologize when 'e returns. Maintenant, you are guests of zee family! Malheuresment, apart from me zey are all mad. But Jean-Louis will provide you with divertisement! Mais oui! As you 'ave observed, Monsieur," - he nods to Borden - "I am preparing mon Champion, mon maitre des armes!"
He looks over the men in the group. "And which of you, messieurs, will accept ze challenge? A contest of ze strength et ze skill? I, Jean-Louis, challenge you to defeat Magen! Of course, we could make a small wahzjer?"
Sister looks down at her hand in confusion,
"No, he was kissing your hand. it's a sign of respect."
"Oh... Wierd. What is this challenge?"
"I don't know. They're oiling up so probably wrestling I guess."
"I will wrestle."
"I'm not sure he wanted..."
"Sister will accept the challenge. Um, what are the rules?"