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Just another day on the Astral Plane.
The common room of the World Serpent Inn is as bustling and busy as ever, planar travelers coming and going at all hours of the timeless day, talking and arguing and bartering and threatening and all over a weatherworn table of unidentifiable wood or stone and one of a trillion different drinks and meals courtesy of the mysterious forces that occupy the realms behind the counter.
The Staff bustle about, carrying trays easily twice their gnomish size with impossible alacrity, dodging patrons and each other with acrobatic expertise that would shock any poor Primer to first stumble onto their demonstration. They vanish into doorways, under tables, through walls, and around corners, only to re-emerge somewhere else in the room, their trays refreshed and their vectors adjusted toward the next table on their list.
A thri-kreen weapons dealer argues in rough, ragged clicks and screeches with a mercane supplier, who looks down on the mantiswoman with that patient but condescending smile that says he's only willing to deal with her nonsense because it makes him a tidy profit by the end of the day.
A blue slaad babbles incoherently toward a roaring fireplace on the "east" wall of the room as if deep in the throes of a vibrant debate, and judging by the breaks in the frog's tirade it's almost as if something is actually responding and the beast is taking the time to at least hear its response before continuing its ramble. Meanwhile a panther-headed rakshasa and a woman apparently carved of obsidian speak in low tones from nearby couches.
An iron door at the "north" rear of the room occasionally swings open, emitting a low rumble of noise and a rusty creak as rough-garbed figures come and go - mostly harsher-looking mortals, planetouched, and the occasional fiend.
To the "west", a small band dominates a raised dais recessed into an alcove in the wall. A halfling woman plays an erratic tune on some kind of pipe instrument, while a vanara uses all five of her available limbs on an extensive drumset, an elf with serpentine scales plays long-clawed fingers on his piano, and a warforged strums vigorous riffs from a guitar built of gears and pistons. Behind them the alcove walls are strewn with a curve of windows displaying a spiraling night sky, stars and galaxies and nebulae whirling into infinity through an impossible void.
Nearest the door that serves as the entrance, the "south" and front side of the room, stands another slaad, this one a white, towering so tall it nearly scrapes the ceiling with its twisted crown of horns. The monstrosity's asymmetrical arms hang at its sides, the smaller right occasionally folding against its chest as if to cross its arms while the much larger, muscle-bloated left drags the ground like a glacial gorilla. The being is eerily still, almost anathematically so for a slaad, unmoving as a statue until it very occasionally shifts or blinks or breathes.
In the center of all, behind a squared bar of wood and stone with open seats in all directions save toward the rear, stands the man of the tavern - its bartender, server, host, and powers know what else, the man known as Mitchifer. Tall but not unreasonably so for a human man, with grey-white hair deeply receded and darkly-bronzed skin, it's only once you step close that you notice the oddities - how his golden eyes have slit vertical pupils, or how his thick bushy beard is actually composed of tiny wriggling snakes. Yet he exudes an aura of calm, comfort, and welcome, so despite his unusual appearance he provokes almost no anxiety nor unnervedness as he is approached. He waves as visitors both fresh and veteran enter the inn, welcoming them one and all to his establishment, inviting each and every one to pull up a stool or claim a chair at one of the many tables scattered about the room, order a drink and flag down one of The Staff for a solid meal.
Welcome to the World Serpent Inn, and the beginning of a tale that will span planes, realities, and universes abroad.
A Tiefling with red skin, glowing yellow eyes, and dressed as a Wizard steps through the front door and waits to be seated.
Behind him, a tall, slender figure with silver, metallic hair walks in, wearing a well-kept scale armor, and having a few axes about his body.
A spiky, violet cloud of hair bobs about below table-level as a gnome in brightly colored clothes weaves about the tables, precariously balancing a tray laden with nearly her body weight in drinks.
Luriel, dressed in pink wide skirted, long sleeved dress with her gray leather curiass drapped over it, took in the entire scene. Her long, wavy red brownish hair was kept out of her eyes with a gold tiara, as was the custom of her people. This was all new to her, despite her people’s propensity to travel. Most of her people, the Varisians, were content to wander around Golarion. But Luriel was never satisfied with half measures, having won a lottery in Abasalom, had paid a wizard to beam her up to the “The Nexus of worlds”, as described by one of the books she read in a Pathfinder Lodge library.
Luriel soaked in the atmosphere – it was vastly different from many of the taverns that she had been around Absalom. There would be no pleasant, if alien music, just the smell of varnished wood(if the establishment was a good one), or unwashed drunks and puke if the establishment was not. She makes her way to the bar, pulls up a stool and takes a seat by it. She orders a cup of green tea from the spiky violet cloud haired gnome balancing a tray of drinks, as she begins to draw the various inhabitants of the bar, taking notes about their characteristics in her journal. She then asks Mitchifer, ”Could you tell me more about this fine establishment, and how it came into being?”
She also waves the other newcomers, the tiefling, with red skin, glowing yellow eyes and the tall slender figure with metallic hair genially, inviting them to join her at the bar.
I head to the bar and sit on the offered stool. "Good day, milady. Rascallon of Kyrslos, at your service." I turn to the barkeep and ask for water.
”Hello, Rascallon.” Luriel cocks her head curiously at the tiefling. ”I know you’re a…tiefling, because you’ve got red skin, pointed horns” Luriel says slightly uncertainly, due to previous experience on how some people blow up when the hard truth is told to them. ”But don’t worry, I’m not prejudiced or anything. “ The sentence is babbled out, in an attempt to avert possible misunderstandings. ”Do you mind if I ask you how you came to be here?”
”It’s…a hobby of mine. You can think of me as a journalist. I collect stories and lore about world. If I decide to ever stop travelling, I’m going to write a whole bunch of books so that I get to pass knowledge to the next generation. Afterall, we should never stop learning right?” Luriel adds.
”Oh sorry. I tend to get carried away. My name is Luriel. I won the Absalom lottery, so I got a wizard to teleport me down here, where worlds meet. I’ve always wanted to see what lies beyond Golarion, and I’ve not been disappointed thus far.”
The, foul-attitude'd Aasimar, sits a few seats away, and orders a stiffening shot of lemon juice, but listens as well as he can to whatever conversation is struck up. He is quite clearly less than pleased by some of the patrons in the inn, though he also, obviously won't start anything, but he is in on edge.
"You mean Plane-Shifted" I sigh. "I completed my training a little while ago, and my teacher opened a Portal which is an anchored permanent Plane Shift, which is linked to a specific Key. I came here to begin my life's journey."
”Ahh so it’s going to be one of those days. A stickler for Semantics, aren’t you?” Luriel replies with a sigh.”Yes I could talk about Interplenetary teleport, but I usually keep it short as teleport since most people wouldn’t understand what I’m talking about.”
”But oh, you know, from your robes, wizard.” Luriel makes a tsking sound.” For the discussion of the Acadamia, planeshift should not be relied on its own as a form of transportation. Why there was this tale about some adventurers trying to Plane Shift to Armun Kelisk, only to get mugged by a gang of invisible stalkers!” Luriel begins to recite the tale.”And that’s not the worst that could happen, since Planeshift is not one of the most precise modes of transportation – if a planeshift went wrong in the Plane of Fire, you could likely end up in hot lava!”
"And hey, I waved that guy over, and he's just sulking in a corner." Luriel looks at the aasimar. "You know I'm telling you, I think if he stopped drinking that much lemon juice, he might not be such a sour puss." Luriel snickers.
He scowls a little, as he gulps the sour juice in one swig.
"Well, when dealing with magic, one must often be precise. Yes, Interplanetary teleport is a powerful spell. But it only transports you to different places on the Prime Material Plane. This inn is on the Astral Plane, which you can think of as being the glue that holds the Multiverse together.." I then take a sip of my water.
"Good point..." Luriel concedes. "Maybe it wasn't interplanetary teleport, but gate. If it was plane shift, I think when I go back I will definitely have a long chat wizard and have a chat on the accuracy of the destination. I'm not sure what mishaps you can end up in the wrong place on the Astral plane." Luriel mutters darkly.
"The elemental plane of earth, you can end up suffocating, from being buried alive, the elemental plane of water you can end up suffocating unless you can breathe water, the elemental plane of fire well...you just end up in the fire, and the elemental plane of air is the most livable of planes being mostly air."
Quickly losing interest in the two magic-users jargon-filled discussion, Markus orders himself a coffee, with just a little cream, and a bit of sugar, and whatever the dinner special for the night is.
"Mages..." He mutters under his breath.
The cloud of hair hovers near the aasimar's table, and a small hand soon pushes the mug of coffee onto its surface along with a plate.
"We got salmon seared from the Plane of Fire. Or somethin'. And the little trees...broccoli, that's it. Enjoy, Mr. Grumpyface!" She grins and weaves over to her next table, still struggling somewhat with the tray.
"Hey! I need a green tea refill!" Luriel waves the purple haired gnome server over.
With much clattering of dishes, she hustles across the room. "Coming, coming!" She pours the cup, careful not to spill. "There ya go."
"Hey, you're a server here, right?" Luriel looks at the gnome for a name tag.
"What can you tell us about how this place functions? We'll probably stay here, but at some point of time we'll need to get some gainful employment. How's that done here?" Luriel asks the purple haired gnome.
"And thanks for the tea."Luriel thanks the gnome, as she sips her tea.
Even though he is in a foul mood, he is not without manners, and thanks the small gnome for the drinks, and the plate. He does listen a little closer when the subject of jobs comes up.
She nods toward the bar. "You'll wanna talk to Mitch about workin'. Meself, I mostly just take the foodstuffs around t'keep people happy."
"Ok - does he have live performances or something? I could sing for a living?" Luriel tells the purple haired gnome. "And sorry, I didn't catch your name? I'm Luriel."
She then asks Mitchifer, ”Could you tell me more about this fine establishment, and how it came into being?”
The man chuckles softly, his voice a deep basso that seems to echo about the room despite the lack of any appreciable acoustics outside the alcove set aside for the band. He smiles broadly as he works on cleaning glasses.
"Those are questions I find myself answering quite often, young lady. Or at least the first one. This is the World Serpent Inn - the finest establishment you'll encounter, the foremost tavern and waystation for the weary planar traveler. We have everything here you can think of as far as food and drink. From the finest cuts of faerie stag to the sweetest fruits of Bytopia's fields to the brightest gems of the Dismal Delve. From firewine boiled in the City of Brass to liquid chaos dripped from the Spawning Stone itself to a draught of Ha'absmefaaj that would put Charon himself on his arse after a stiff draw. If you can think of it, or if you've heard, seen, or dreamt of it in any reality, any universe, I assure you, our Staff can see it prepared and served to you in a quality as good as if not superior to any you've encountered elsewhere."
He pauses a moment to exchange one of the empty glasses he's been wiping down into the cabinet behind him, and in return is given - by something unseen within, not even its hand or other type of limb is visible - another glass filled with some kind of steaming green concoction. This he slides down the bar with pinpoint accuracy to the waiting hand of a quiet illithid sitting at the corner, before turning his attention back to Luriel's inquiry.
"As for the second question, my dear, I'm afraid that's one of the great mysteries of the multiverses. Much like asking 'where did the Abyss begin?', or 'who is the Prisoner of Elysium?', or 'what are Crystal Spheres made of?', or 'what's under the Lady of Pain's mask?'. There are some things that no cutter truly knows, not even me. The Owners know, I'm sure, but they aren't talking. Believe me, I've asked, as have many before you. Maybe someday someone'll stumble onto the answer, but I'm certain it won't come from me. I'm just a bartender." He chuckles again, a deep and pleasant rumble that seems by some supernal means to set all your fears and anxieties to rest.
"Sometimes we do, but sometimes that goes a bit pear-shaped. Somethin' about a freed bird or whatnot. Ye'd have to ask him." She shifts the tray to free a hand, offering it to the woman. "Name's Keziakindrabel, call me Kizzie."
"What can you tell us about how this place functions? We'll probably stay here, but at some point of time we'll need to get some gainful employment. How's that done here?" Luriel asks the purple haired gnome.
She nods toward the bar. "You'll wanna talk to Mitch about workin'. Meself, I mostly just take the foodstuffs around t'keep people happy."
"There's a postboard there near the entrance, just behind Vinsegroth." He points toward the hulking white slaad at the entrance; in the alcove just behind the beast is indeed a large rectangle made of some kind of greyish material. Several notes, posters, and scraps of parchment have been hung on the board, many looking at a glance to be all sorts of appeals for labor or aid, wanted posters from across the planes, business opportunities, and other such requests.
"I know it's better then the inns we have in Absalom. Many of them are mostly rowdy drunks! Could you tell me more about the current patrons?" She shows Mitchifer her journal where she has been taking notes on various species.
"Like what are the various species around, I have never seen any of them in my homeworld of Golarion." She gestures at the woman carved of obsidian, the mantiswoman and the warforged.
"And also who are the Owners here? Would there be an opportunity to speak to them?" She asks Mitchifer curiously.
"And also, what are your rates for the night here? And where can we be getting adventuring supplies around here?" She asks Mitchifer.
"In what sense pearshaped, Kizzie? Do they throw rotten eggs at you if they don't like your performance?" Luriel asks Kizzie. She also takes Kizzie's hand and gives it a hearty shake. "Pleased to meet you."
"Vinsegroth the White Slaad? He won't mind if I peek at the postboard, will he?" Luriel asks Mitchifer.
"Excuse me, Rascallon, could you make sure the other servers don't clear my tea and keep an eye on this seat? I'll go to the notice board to look at what's down there and be right back." She excuses herself from the table.
"Kizzie, also tell your fellow servers not to clear my tea. Actually, if you can tell them not to, and make sure no one takes our seat, Rascallon and I could both look at the postboard."
Luriel then goes outside and has a look at the postboard.
"I know it's better then the inns we have in Absalom. Many of them are mostly rowdy drunks! Could you tell me more about the current patrons?" She shows Mitchifer her journal where she has been taking notes on various species.
"Like what are the various species around, I have never seen any of them in my homeworld of Golarion." She gestures at the woman carved of obsidian, the mantiswoman and the warforged.
"Oh I'm sure you'll get to know most of them in time." He chuckles again. "A lot of the folks here are regulars, and either use my little tavern as a convenient place to do business, or are frequent patrons on their own travels. But I can give you a few introductions, certainly."
He starts with the mantis merchant and the towering blue figure. "Those two are Chch'kraran and Jabal Abl-al-Jameel. She buys and sells weapons, primarily, and is a thri-kreen from the Prime of Athas. He, of course, is one of the Mercane, and has all manner of magical wares available for purchase."
His gaze sweeps around the room. "At the end of the bar there is Asphyxyx, or at least that's the best us Common-tonguers can manage," he explains, raising a glass toward the illithid. "She's another regular, works as a translator between mentalist creatures and us lowly mouth-speakers. And she doesn't always charge in brains, so that's nice. I'm not precisely sure what Prime she's from, she's never said. Maybe Oerth? You can try asking her but I'm not sure she'll answer."
He turns next to the group by the fireplace. "That slaad there is I'tiq. He's... well, very typical slaad. I'm not precisely sure what he does with his time, but he makes his payments on something resembling schedule - again, for a slaad - and manages to avoid making trouble beyond being eccentric, at least within the tavern. What goes on in the Halls stays in the Halls, if anything is." He shrugs and switches to a new glass to clean. "That fellow is Kraksha, he's a Nathzarune Rakshasa from the Prime of Eberron. He calls himself a 'businessman', but I'm fairly certain that's slang for 'smuggler'. The woman with him is Lith Hallovein, an obsidiman from a place called Thera. She's a traveler much like yourselves, so I imagine she's trying to find work or 'business' opportunities from our furry friend there."
He gestures to the rear of the tavern, to the heavy iron door. "Through there is the Arena. You can bid and try to win wagers on the competitors, or you can join in the circle if that's more your thing. It's all run by an old neogi who calls itself Reaver, so you'll need to negotiate with it if you want to participate; the Staff otherwise handles the biddings."
His attention next goes to the band. "Sholanar there is part of The Staff, but her bandmates are from all over. I believe the drummer Rukina is from your world of Golarion, the pianist Simtharil is from the Prime of Toril, and Gear is from Eberron."
And lastly he turns back toward the entrance. "And of course Vinsegroth, our Bouncer."
"And also who are the Owners here? Would there be an opportunity to speak to them?" She asks Mitchifer curiously.
"Afraid I don't know the answer to that in any detail. I've never seen them in person myself. I get messages from them from time to time, of course, only reason I know they exist. But that's the extent of my knowledge. Apologies."
"And also, what are your rates for the night here? And where can we be getting adventuring supplies around here?" She asks Mitchifer.
"Between Chch'kraran and Jabal, I imagine you can manage to acquire basic supplies for most any sort of excursion. There's also Nekagth, a gelugon who hangs out watching the arena; he sells alchemicals and other non-magical trinkets for what most travelers seem to consider fair prices. I'm sure he does deviltry on the side, no doubt, but as long as you're careful with your wording and don't sign anything you don't read, you should be fine for day to day purchases."
He then provides her with a set of plaques with listed rooms and prices.
"Vinsegroth the White Slaad? He won't mind if I peek at the postboard, will he?" Luriel asks Mitchifer.
"Not if you don't start defacing it or doing something else to spur him to throw you out," the bartender replies brightly.
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While rather haphazard-looking at first, there's clearly at least some organization to the thing - jobs closer to the left side of the board seem to suggest simpler tasks meant for amateur jobseekers or neophyte adventurers, while those more to the right are more difficult or advanced tasks for veterans and experts, or involve some level of unusual, esoteric, or highly specific skill necessary to complete.
He starts with the mantis merchant and the towering blue figure. "Those two are Chch'kraran and Jabal Abl-al-Jameel. She buys and sells weapons, primarily, and is a thri-kreen from the Prime of Athas. He, of course, is one of the Mercane, and has all manner of magical wares available for purchase."
”Sorry, but what’s a Thri-keen? I’ve never seen one before. And what’s Arthas?” Luriel asks as she tries not to gawk TOO much, less the mantiswoman takes offense. ’Those mandibles look mighty sharp, I don’t want to end up on the wrong end of them’
”Mercane I get – I’ve heard they are often interglatical and planar merchants who keep their wares in a secret chest.” Luriel answers.
He turns next to the group by the fireplace. "That slaad there is I'tiq. He's... well, very typical slaad. I'm not precisely sure what he does with his time, but he makes his payments on something resembling schedule - again, for a slaad - and manages to avoid making trouble beyond being eccentric, at least within the tavern. What goes on in the Halls stays in the Halls, if anything is." He shrugs and switches to a new glass to clean. "That fellow is Kraksha, he's a Nathzarune Rakshasa from the Prime of Eberron. He calls himself a 'businessman', but I'm fairly certain that's slang for 'smuggler'. The woman with him is Lith Hallovein, an obsidiman from a place called Thera. She's a traveler much like yourselves, so I imagine she's trying to find work or 'business' opportunities from our furry friend there."
”Ok…the Slaad looks a bit like a giant bipedal frog, and what are the Halls you’re talking about?” Luriel asks Mitchifer.
”I don’t care if he’s a n honest business man or smuggler, as long as the goods he provides work as they’re supposed to. What’s an Obsidiman and what’s the world of Thera like?” Luriel asks Mitchifer. ”I’m sorry if I ask too many questions, but curiosity has always been a sin of mine.”
”The arena?” Luriel looks slightly uncomfortable. ”I’m not a fighter…more of a talespinner and scholar really. And statistical probability tends to point out that wagers usually are detrimental to the growth of finances.”
His attention next goes to the band. "Sholanar there is part of The Staff, but her bandmates are from all over. I believe the drummer Rukina is from your world of Golarion, the pianist Simtharil is from the Prime of Toril, and Gear is from Eberron."
”Ah I thought the pianist might also be from Golarion…with some draconic ancestry. What’s Gear exactly? The closest I’ve seen to Gear were those Androids in the pathfinder lodge. And what’s Eberron like?”Luriel asks Mitchifer.
”Would the band be looking for any singers? I usually sing for my supper.” Luriel grins.
There's also Nekagth, a gelugon who hangs out watching the arena; he sells alchemicals and other non-magical trinkets for what most travelers seem to consider fair prices. I'm sure he does deviltry on the side, no doubt, but as long as you're careful with your wording and don't sign anything you don't read, you should be fine for day to day purchases."
”I’ll bear your warning in mind. Thanks for it!” Luriel thanks Mitchifer.
When Mitchifer shows Luriel the prices here, Luriel gives him a weak smile, ”Wow…it’s pretty upmarket here. Yeah, I’ve never had…that much money sense, preferring to spend it traveling. I guess I’d better start getting a job.”
Luriel scans the postboard for those involving level of unusual, esoteric, or highly specific skill necessary to complete , as well as those for amateur jobseekers or neophyte adventurers.
"In what sense pearshaped, Kizzie? Do they throw rotten eggs at you if they don't like your performance?" Luriel asks Kizzie. She also takes Kizzie's hand and gives it a hearty shake. "Pleased to meet you."
She returns the shape with a grin. "Oh, sometimes, yeah. Trick is makin' sure it don't turn into a brawl. Mitch don't abide." She nods at her about the tea. "Will do. Gotta get back to work!" And she scurries off.
I stand by, waiting for a group consensus.
The door opens, and a slightly stooped elf walks in, pushing back the hood of a black and grey cloak to reveal a shock of off-white hair, orange-red eyes and pale blue skin, with a long, ragged facial scar pulling the left side of his mouth up into a half-grin. His gaze flicks from side to side, and he loosens what is either a remarkably large dagger or more reasonably sized short sword in its ornate silver sheath before relaxing (slightly). He spots the rakshasa, catches its eye, and walks over rapidly to the pair, speaking just above a whisper.
"Got anything for me? That last lot of Poor Man's Iouns I sold H'bbl'ebluur turned out to be anything but, and I kind of want to be somewhere Kuo-Toa aren't."
”Sorry, but what’s a Thri-keen? I’ve never seen one before. And what’s Arthas?” Luriel asks as she tries not to gawk TOO much, less the mantiswoman takes offense. ’Those mandibles look mighty sharp, I don’t want to end up on the wrong end of them’
"What you see there, lass. All eight feet tall and four arms of her. Athas is the Prime she hails from, it's a bit of a roughsack from what I've heard, lots of desert, powerful wizard-kings ruling cruel empires, and a sun that's started to go dark."
”Ok…the Slaad looks a bit like a giant bipedal frog, and what are the Halls you’re talking about?” Luriel asks Mitchifer.
"Most Slaadi do, though there are exceptions." He nods. "They're a type of outsider associated with realms of Chaos, such as the Plane of Limbo. Kind of like Proteans or Ei'risai."
He gestures to one of the many doors along the sides of the room leading out of the tavern. "The Halls of the Serpent are what make up the rest of the World Serpent outside the tavern and the Arena. While the front door takes you back from whence you came - usually, unless it's moved - the Halls wind through the Astral Plane and contain many, many Doors, all of which lead to different places all over the multiverses. Some are marked, though most aren't. Some are locked - literally or metaphorically - though most aren't. And some simply don't function, or lead back in loops to another part of the Halls. And it can all change like that." He snaps his fingers loudly, a sound that echoes through the tavern and causes several of the nearer conversations to pause momentarily before they go back to whatever discussion had just been interrupted. "You may want to see about having a guide or someone with a knack for Doors or Portals before you explore the Halls too much, or make sure any employer asking you to use them knows exactly which Door they want you to take."
” What’s an Obsidiman and what’s the world of Thera like?” Luriel asks Mitchifer. ”I’m sorry if I ask too many questions, but curiosity has always been a sin of mine.”
"It's a crime that's easily forgivable but can also land you in a great deal of trouble if indulged at the wrong place and time, miss," he replies cheerfully, tapping the side of his nose with one finger before resuming cleaning a new glass. "The Obsidimen are folk like Miss Hallovein, humanoids composed of a mixture of living essence and stone. I suppose they'd not be too dissimilar to what your world would call an Oread, or other worlds an Earth Genasi, though more specifically so. They're born from great living stones called Liferocks on their homeland." At that he shrugs. "I'm not as familiar with Thera or its world as I am some other Primes, but if I recall right it's a world that was dead to magic until relatively recently when it returned with a vengeance. Upset the order of things pretty significantly when all the other races returned from hiding or claimed humans to join them, and when the dragons resumed open control of reality there."
"What’s Gear exactly? The closest I’ve seen to Gear were those Androids in the pathfinder lodge. And what’s Eberron like?” Luriel asks Mitchifer.
"Eberron's a world where magic and technology are closely entwined, rather than opposed or one outweighing the other significantly like on many Primes. Gear's a Warforged, a race of living constructs created for some war or another, then left to find their own way after it ended. He's no mere golem, but a living, thinking creature, just one made of metal and such instead of flesh and bone."
The door opens, and a slightly stooped elf walks in, pushing back the hood of a black and grey cloak to reveal a shock of off-white hair, orange-red eyes and pale blue skin, with a long, ragged facial scar pulling the left side of his mouth up into a half-grin. His gaze flicks from side to side, and he loosens what is either a remarkably large dagger or more reasonably sized short sword in its ornate silver sheath before relaxing (slightly). He spots the rakshasa, catches its eye, and walks over rapidly to the pair, speaking just above a whisper.
"Got anything for me? That last lot of Poor Man's Iouns I sold H'bbl'ebluur turned out to be anything but, and I kind of want to be somewhere Kuo-Toa aren't."
The panther-man seems to be slightly put out by the interruption in his conversation, but recovers swiftly, baring a smile full of pearl-white teeth to the elf. "Must have been a miscommunication with the client," he responds quietly, his voice a low rumbling purr. "Might have something... soon, if negotiations go well. Why don't you treat yourself to a drink while you wait." His reversed hand gestures vaguely toward the bar, and his tone and expression make it clear the conversation is over for the time being, at least until he's finished speaking with the stone woman.
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Luriel scans the postboard for those involving level of unusual, esoteric, or highly specific skill necessary to complete , as well as those for amateur jobseekers or neophyte adventurers.
There's a fair mix of available tasks to be looked into even for newcomers:
- Nekagth the Gelugon has an open request for buying alchemical supplies, most notably monster parts. Golden cats' eyes, al'miraj horns, carbuncle gems, akata larvae, mimi wings, gremlin gizzards, and so forth are listed as examples.
- A want-ad for apprentice necromancers. Willingness to work with undead a must.
- A celestial by the name of Galeon Pureblade wishes aid in a quest. The flyer includes a map to a specific door in the Halls that appears to have been updated multiple times.
- A missing persons request from someone named C-C. Inquiries are to go through Asphyxyx.
- An alchemist and machinist complains of gremlin trouble and requests adventurers capable of dealing with the problematic little fey. Again a door in the Halls is listed as the destination, and appears to have been changed a few times to reflect alterations in the Halls.
- A merchant describes a warehouse as having been overrun by "tiny green men" that have killed or spirited away his laborers. He wishes them cleared out. Once more, the job directs inquiries to a specific door in the Halls.
- A request for the capture and delivery of small elementals outside the primary four to one "Keriston, Red Wizard". Temporary summonings are specified as not satisfactory. A room number at the Serpent is given.
There do not seem to be any postings calling for a musician, lyricist, or scholar specifically at this time.
"I'd recommend not working for fiends. At least for now."
"Just like Golarion then." Luriel grins."No, I'm really not here to create trouble." Luriel reassures Kizzle.
"What you see there, lass. All eight feet tall and four arms of her. Athas is the Prime she hails from, it's a bit of a roughsack from what I've heard, lots of desert, powerful wizard-kings ruling cruel empires, and a sun that's started to go dark."
"Doesn't sound like a very nice place to live in. Where do they get water if it's all desert, and does that mean their world is going to die when the sun dies?" Luriel asks Mitchifer. All this while as Mitchifer briefs her, Luriel is busy taking notes in her journal.
"Most Slaadi do, though there are exceptions." He nods. "They're a type of outsider associated with realms of Chaos, such as the Plane of Limbo. Kind of like Proteans or Ei'risai."
He gestures to one of the many doors along the sides of the room leading out of the tavern. "The Halls of the Serpent are what make up the rest of the World Serpent outside the tavern and the Arena. While the front door takes you back from whence you came - usually, unless it's moved - the Halls wind through the Astral Plane and contain many, many Doors, all of which lead to different places all over the multiverses. Some are marked, though most aren't. Some are locked - literally or metaphorically - though most aren't. And some simply don't function, or lead back in loops to another part of the Halls. And it can all change like that." He snaps his fingers loudly, a sound that echoes through the tavern and causes several of the nearer conversations to pause momentarily before they go back to whatever discussion had just been interrupted. "You may want to see about having a guide or someone with a knack for Doors or Portals before you explore the Halls too much, or make sure any employer asking you to use them knows exactly which Door they want you to take."
"I know Proteans live in the Maelstrom. It makes sense the Slaads have their own Plane, the Plane of Limbo." Luriel replies.
"So beyond this place, besides the door that I came from are the Halls of the Serpent? How would one be able to get a guide, or people with knack for Doors and Portals? Is it possible to use Gloves of reconnaissance to look through a door to make sure you don't end up walking into a lava pit?" Luriel asks Mitchifer.
of trouble if indulged at the wrong place and time, miss," he replies cheerfully, tapping the side of his nose with one finger before resuming cleaning a new glass. "The Obsidimen are folk like Miss Hallovein, humanoids composed of a mixture of living essence and stone. I suppose they'd not be too dissimilar to what your world would call an Oread, or other worlds an Earth Genasi, though more specifically so. They're born from great living stones called Liferocks on their homeland."
"Ahhh I can understand Oread. I'll just think of her as an Oread from another world. Though in our world Oreads reproduce like humans do, and not come from rocks." Luriel remarks.
I'm not as familiar with Thera or its world as I am some other Primes, but if I recall right it's a world that was dead to magic until relatively recently when it returned with a vengeance. Upset the order of things pretty significantly when all the other races returned from hiding or claimed humans to join them, and when the dragons resumed open control of reality there.
"Dragons control reality? But what type of dragons? Metallic or Chromatic dragons? And yeah I really can't imagine a world without magic! Though the poorer commoners in Golarion usually don't have access to it. Again...there's usually a wandering hedge witch that might be able to help, but again...what price?" Luriel replies.
Eberron's a world where magic and technology are closely entwined, rather than opposed or one outweighing the other significantly like on many Primes. Gear's a Warforged, a race of living constructs created for some war or another, then left to find their own way after it ended. He's no mere golem, but a living, thinking creature, just one made of metal and such instead of flesh and bone.
"What are warforged societies like? And who taught them to form their first society?" Luriel asks Mitchifer.
Luriel describes the jobs she saw on the postboard to Rascallon, as well as adding her own comments.
"Nekagth the Gelugon has an open request for buying alchemical supplies, most notably monster parts. Golden cats' eyes, al'miraj horns, carbuncle gems, akata larvae, mimi wings, gremlin gizzards."
"There's a want-ad for apprentice necromancers. Willingness to work with undead a must."
"I'm NOT working as an apprentice necromancer. The thought of dealing with the dead makes my skin crawl." Luriel says, revolted.
"An alchemist and machinist complains of gremlin trouble and requests adventurers capable of dealing with the problematic little fey. And has the listed Hall to go to. "
"You see the alchemist and machinist job...if we were feeling unethical, we could deal with his gremlin problem, by killing the gremlins, then selling their gizzards to Nekagth the Gelugon. I could use the money." She tells Rascallon.
"Then there's a job for finding a missing person. A missing persons request from someone named C-C. Inquiries are to go through Asphyxyx."
"As I said earlier I do need some money fast since my finances have been depleted, and usually missing people searches take a while. So I'm not for it."
"Then there's another, a merchant describes a warehouse as having been overrun by "tiny green men" that have killed or spirited away his laborers. He wishes them cleared out and writes the hall to meet him."
"I think the one of the merchant with his warehouse full of tiny green men should be a quick and simple job." Luriel remarks.
"A celestial by the name of Galeon Pureblade wishes aid in a quest."
"We could help the celestial named Galeon Pureblade. The problem is the notice isn't very specific on what the job entails.." Luriel's voice trails out.
"A request for the capture and delivery of small elementals outside the primary four to one "Keriston, Red Wizard" Luriel recites.
"How do you feel about capturing elementals? Aren't they sentient? It kinda struck me as a rather icky thing to do." Luriel asks Rascallon.
"Yeah, undead ain't great clientele. They tip crap, and the last one gave me the finger. Still ain't sure he realized he forgot it," she mentions as she passes by to deliver more drinks.
"The Red Wizard that wants the Elementals is one of the Red Wizards of Thay, which is a Magocracy on the Prime world of Toril. They have a generally Evil reputation. They often summon fiends, and the most powerful among them is a Lich."
Luriel shudders at Kizzle's comment. "Eww..."
Then in a more conversational tone, Luriel speaks to Rascallon. "The problem with all these adventuring jobs is that someone has to stand in front. I'm not doing that. Are you?"
Then her eyes halt on the stooped elf with his shock of white hair that the panther man gestures to come to the table and waves him over to the bar.
"No. Wizards that stand out in front don't last long. We need at least two fighter types, and a healer of some sort."
”Well, I have a happy stick.”Luriel draws her wand of cure light wounds out. ”And I know how to use it. Does that count as healer?”
”Fighter…uh…not really into that kind of thing.” Luriel gives a weak smile. Rascallon can see that she wears an archer’s wrist and arm guards.
"Wands are good, up to a point. As long as money's available to get replacements. But Cure Lights won't handle diseases. Or remove curses. Or even, Heavens forbid, bring back the dead."
”Maybe it’s time to use the postboard – Amateur Adventuring party looking for meatshieldfighters and healers. We have a wizard!” Luriel says impishly.
”Mitchifer – how are advertisements even put up on the post board in the first place?” Luriel asks Mitchifer. ”Is there an advertising fee that we need to pay?”