Janiven nods sagely at Sabinus's concern, but appears undaunted, "You make an excellent point Sabinus, but traditionally only wretched, half-starved convicts or truly desperate actors with no real talent have attempted to perform the play before, and thus it’s no small wonder that no one has yet survived the performance." She takes a careful look over the group, "Certainly a well-armed and successful group of adventurers can do the play justice! as long as director Robahl Nonon doesn't completely hate you at your audition -tomorrow."
Ailyn smiles warmly at Enko, and dips her head in a slight bow at his statement, "Thank you Signore Laberan, it's been a little fun to sneak around as a common sell-sword this last little while."
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The Viscount sighs. This bodes more than a slight problem for a man of my stature. Immediately after his statement, he sees the party's eyes on him and blushes red. I mean position. Rank. Nobility. Not... his hand rests on his midsection, illuding to his ample girth.
If we're angling for an invitation, might it not be easier for me to use my connections? Rather than risk our lives (and names) onstage?
Ava stands silent as the others discuss the issue, wordlessly taking in the information. She's keen to see where the discussion heads before coming forward with any of her own suggestions.
Lucon's eyes light up at the thought of making the cities streets safe. He stands tall and grim-faced, ready to take on any task set in front of him. Well, any task except that.
"Actors?" Lucon says, aghast. "She's joking, right? She has to be... No? Gods..." Lucon seems to shrink. No small feat for a man wearing nearly six-inches of steel, chainmail and wool.
He grasps at Corneleous' suggestion like a drowning man clutching at a rope. "There! His lordship can get us inside. You heard him. He'll use his connections." he says, with a knowing nod. "Or he can... he can magic us some new faces and we can..." he begins, trailing off as a look of dread washes over him and he begins to back away. Despite your many brushes with death, none of you can remember seeing him looking so desperate. "I mean...I... I can't bloody well... I mean..." he glances around at the others for support, a pleading look on his face.
"Tell her!"
"Lucon, you will make a fine female lead," says Enko, actually laughing for once. "And your singing voice, it is high and clear, is it not?"
"You want us to do what?" Caladius listens as the plan is repeated, his face darkening as it's explained. "Yeah, that's what I thought you said." He casts Lucon a sympathetic glance then leans back up against the wall with his arms crossed, a plain look of displeasure on his face.
The Viscount sighs. This bodes more than a slight problem for a man of my stature. Immediately after his statement, he sees the party's eyes on him and blushes red. I mean position. Rank. Nobility. Not... his hand rests on his midsection, illuding to his ample girth.
If we're angling for an invitation, might it not be easier for me to use my connections? Rather than risk our lives (and names) onstage?
Janiven moves a few steps closer to the Viscount, "You make some valid points, and honestly we considered taking this angle. But there are a few points taking this route would complicate and could seriously hamper the mission. First, while you would probably be well-received, as a Viscount, the rest of the Torchbearers would not be so welcome, possibly not even being granted entry. Second, you wouldn't have the automatic respect and admiration of our theater-loving mayor, at least not on par as you'd have as actors. Third, the issue of arms and armor; as actors in costume you'd be expected to come in your complete armor and bearing the same arms you'd have on stage."
"If anything, I believe the mayor would be most impressed by a Viscount so full of love for the theater, that you'd risk your life to be in true production of the Six Trials of Larazod." She's quick to mention, "It's not impossible, but it honestly seems the original plans would be best. The auditions will tell us quite a bit, I've heard the parts up for audition are traditionally the most deadly and thus least desirable." She looks at you hopefully, giving Lucon an even more sympathetic look.
Lucon answers Enko's jest with a sullen look of resignation. "I'm an honest Wiscrani, I am! Respectable... I... I draw the line at tights. " he says, sulkily. "So... what manner of parts are we playing?" he says, with a pre-emptive wince.
"Rebecca..." he says, horrified, as she comes to see what all the fuss is about. "I..." he says, despairingly, unable to go on. Shaking his head at some of her guesses at what terrible news her husband brings home. "I... I'm going to be in an opera." he says, finally, burying his face in has hands.
Ava nods. "This is also a good opportunity for promoting our cause. While it's not exactly charity work, being the first ones to survive the uncut play would certainly get the Torchbearer name out there." She pauses for a moment, thinking for a while. "And that's what we really want, if we want to make any kind of progress in this city. Success here would not only help us gain access to the Lodge, but gain us the favor of the mayor and perhaps even the admiration of the public."
She raises a finger, quickly adding: "And as a side benefit, I can make some good use of my hood."
When he does find Yako, Sabinus will present her with the needles. (If he had to seek her out at the brothel, he is even more nervous and tic-ful than usual.) "Ever since the night of the celebration I've been looking for a gift for you. Nothing seemed interesting enough, but recently we did a favor for a wizard who is a collector of many rare things, and I got these from him. They come all the way from a remote island near the Mwangi Expanse. I think they actually work quite well for sewing, although I imagine you have little time for that. Mostly, I hope you'll accept them as a token of my appreciation."
Sabinus finds Yakopulio easily in the hideout, she is engage in some light discussion with Larko. As he see's you approach the man bows slightly to Yakopulio and takes his leave, dipping his head in polite acknowledgement as he passes by you. As you nervously hand over the needles she watches you intently, admiring the needles only a little, a small smile on her face. When you finish she places them together in her lap, and stretches out to place a hand on yours, "Thank you Sabinus, they are wonderful. Perhaps now I'll have to learn to sew a bit. Have you eaten?"
Arael smiles at the way most are responding to this new and probably unexpected challenge, "It will be a great blow against the darkness plaguing Westcrown. Sadly we will not be able to advertise your status as the Torchbearers, but Yakopulio will undoubtedly continue to spread the word through her normal channels." The half-elf thinks to himself to see if what he just said could be taken in ill-taste, but then shrugs off his concern. "Any more questions? If not then Janiven will furnish you each with additional details and directions to the auditions tomorrow. Best of luck and thank you, each of you, for your sacrifices for our great city."
"I'm still a bit concerned about how the on stage battles will go for me, but if this is the only viable plan, I'm fine with it. My family isn't well known here, and I'm not sure I can bring our status much lower, so I'm not too concerned on that front."
To Yako: "No, with all the excitement of the day I forgot to eat." Sabinus will gladly join her for a meal, describing the events of the day, trying to get her perspective on Dellano, and trying to get to know Yako a little more.[/b]
Janiven responds to Sabinus's concern, "It's not the only viable plan, I just believe it to be the best plan. What is it about the stage battles that concern you?"
Arael shakes your hand, Indeed you do have friends, indeed you do." and takes his leave.
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Yakopulio is friendly and slightly formal during your meal, much different than her demeanor amongst the group and without her usual barbs and quips. She doesn't have much to contribute about Dellano, other than that she's never seem him around her or her business, but he seems to be a pleasant sort, if a bit strange. She does let out that she's lived in Westcrown her whole life, but doesn't speak of family, instead referring to Arael and some of the other Torchbearers as the closest people she has. The casual meal goes fairly well, both of you seeming to enjoy yourselves.
"Well, it's just that you described the play as involving real battles, which accounts for the high rate of fatalities, and swordplay is not really my role in the group. So if survival is a function of my martial skills, I may be at a bit of a disadvantage. I imagine the Viscount also knows where I'm coming from. But I'm sure I'm misapprehending something."
In the next couple days before the meeting announcing the new mission, Sabinus will, in addition to the wanderings I mentioned before, visit the wizard he had been studying with (Galenos) and check in with his daughter (Galene). He'll have tea with Galenos (who is suffering from advanced dementia) and will update Galene on recent developments (without going into too many specifics). He'll give her 50 gp to supplement the meager payments sent by his parents in Egorian. "As you can see, Galene, I'm having some success in finding my own path here. I, of course, appreciate all your efforts to show me the wizardly ways -- my failure to progress in that area certainly was due only to my own inattention to my studies. I'd appreciate if you would continue to maintain the pretense of my continued studies with my family. I don't want to worry or confuse them."
Lucon looks pale. "I'd take magic over a sword any day, I would." he says, meekly. "But you just stay behind me and I'll keep you safe." he says, with an almost paternal note to his voice, his worried smile doing little to reassure you.
Arael grimaces at the thought of the deadly portions of the play. "I've never seen it performed in it's 'true' form so I cannot say where the danger will come from exactly, but there are no pitched battles, per se. Mostly puzzles and enduring of the trials."
He ticks trials off as he remembers them, Corneleous adding in details Arael missed or was hazy on. They are of course recalling the benign, nonviolent version of the play and leaving out the meat of the production. This is a fairly accurate recounting of the Six Trials of Larazod, and most likely to the the dangerous portions of the play.
- Trial by Torture, obviously involving some sort of torture.
- Trial by Pleasure, something about tortured to ah... extreme levels of pleasure.
- Trial in the Beast, involves getting swallowed by a snake and escaping.
- Trial of Birth, swallowing something and then demons pour out of you.
- Trial by Combat and Love, this one is the closest to an actual battlefield, fighting 'undead' goblins or some such.
- Trial by His Own Hand, Asmodeus himself faces the group to find the true guilty party
Yako can sense your confusion and she becomes slightly more reserved during the rest of the meal. Not enough to make things unpleasant, but still a notable change. When you're finished she thanks you for your company, kisses your cheek, and heads out of the hideout.
Galene tries to refuse the 50gp when you offer, "No good sir, it wouldn't be right for us to take extra money when we're performing no services for you!" She tries to hide it but she does look aside at her addled father and then back to the money wistfully.
Lucon listens to Arael's account of the trial's ahead with a stoic expression on his face. He then excuses himself to have a nice lie down.
Caladius groans as more information is provided, "Ugh. Do you all hate me? I did something to make you hate me." He groans again, pushes off from the wall he's leaning against and walks sternly for his chambers. He toss one hand dismissively in the air as he goes and calls back over his shoulder, "Well whatever it was, I'M NOT SORRY!" He continues to grumble to himself the rest of the way.
"This is positively wonderful," says Enko. "We have been presented, by the flow of destiny, to defeat the hitherto undefeated play. I feel a great desire to review the Acts of Iomedae; as you may know, Our Lady The Inheritor fought a beast that swallowed her companions, the undead...I am not sure about the, erm, the other trials..." --the monk's eyes dart to Yakopulio--"but we certainly can overcome them!" He looks exuberant enough to do a backflip.
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Obviously, I'll be the accursed in the trial of pleasure. The Viscount begins to author his reasoning for risking his noble life on stage.
Perhaps he's courting a Countess who refuses his advances lest he prove himself virile. He must take the stage to win her hand by showing his bravery in the face of death. Forsaking his comfortable life and showing off bravado might be the ticket to her hand.
Yakopulio calls after Caladius's retreating back, "Good! Neither am I!" and then shrugs at Ermolos with a wink and a smile.
Janiven looks back at Ailyn and Arael, "Well I think went about as well as can be expected, don't you think?" The meeting basically over the rest of the Torchbearers gather in clumps to talk, or wander to their homes and beds.
The next day comes all-to-quickly for some, and you follow Janivens directions to the Limehouse Theater, the personal venue of Robahl Nonon. Above the main door is a makeshift sign which reads, 'AUDITIONS' in bold letters. Standing at the entrance is a long-legged half-elf with a sheet and pen, taking names of the arrivals. There is a line of folks waiting to get in, slightly surprising considering the play, but to some the opportunity for fame and fortune is just too great. You overhear the woman gently turning aside a scrawny man in ragged clothing, I'm sorry sir, but Signore Nonon has specifically requested authentic adventurers and legitimate risk-takers over the use of established actors for the roles being auditioned for today." She leans in and drops her voice, even as she turns the man aside. You have to strain to hear the rest, "In fact, apart from using regulars from his own acting troupe, he has made clear his hopes that all of the roles in this production will be filled by experienced heroes. You understand."
You each file up to the front and the woman takes your name as you enter. [ooc]Anyone not using your real name?"[/b] You see Robahl sitting on the front row with a table in front of him with notes and documents and ink splattered over everything. A woman stands on-stage, tears streaming down her face as Robahl finishes raking her over the verbal coals. "NO NO NO NO NO NO " he shouts at her, "You are the worst thing I've ever seen on a stage, too skinny and ugly by half, can't hold a sword or read a line. I suggest you jump into the nearest river you pass on your miserable way home and with any luck, you don't know how to swim." That seemed to completely break her spirit and she stumbles up the aisle and through an exit door sobbing hysterically.
You're all directed to seats in the theater and observe as more hopefuls stand before Robahl and are interviewed by him. Most of them are repeats, with some variation as the first one you witnessed, and as your turns come up Robahl's positively fuming. Complaining to himself that his call has brought only desperate actors who can’t fight or desperate adventurers who can’t act.
With tired and defeated resignation in his voice he calls on the first of you to come up to be interviewed. By his body language and demeanor it's clear he's despairing and practically given up the search at this point. "Yes, yes. With all haste, please. Let us allow my nightmares continue, please state your name and show me what you can do." With that, the interview commences.
For this I need you to do whatever you think would be appropriate for an interview based on the information you have so far. Some ideas could be dancing, singing, orating, telling Robahl why you'd be a good fit, showing your martial prowess, feats of strength or agility, flirting, or anything else you can think of. I'll invite you to have fun with it, but along with whatever you end up doing to impress Robahl, please roll a d20 with your charisma modifier. **Note** You may use a perform check instead if you're trained in it. Good luck!
Enko has been busy using his hands and then his feet to bind his arms in an elaborate wrapping with a length of rope. He pads up to the stage, head bowed, his arms fully entrapped.
"My name is Enko. I am a humble servant of the disciplines. For years, I was bound by dark forces, until fate allowed me to slip my bonds--"
He pulls out of the ropes in a sudden gyrating maneuver, his shoulders flexing, the suddenly loosened cords falling to his feet.
"--and leap over the greatest obstacles--"
He leaps several feet in the air, twirling to land on one hand before flipping upright.
"--to become a true warrior for Westcrown."
He bows, his face a perfect mask of calm.
Robahl's face lights up at Enko's performance, allowing a bark of a laugh to escape his throat. "Voice like a cat in heat, and the projection of a harpy, but what presence! What skill! You there!" he says, pointing at Enko as if the monk wasn't just performing for him the entire time. "You come sit over here please." His countenance vastly changed from earlier auditions, the next person auditioning is waved forward.
Caladius steps up onto the stage after Enko, sighing audibly as he does so. It's obvious he's uncomfortable with this whole scenario, but he's good to his word none the less.
Wordlessly, he looks around on stage until his gaze catches something up in one of the catwalks above the stage. His bow is off his shoulder in the blink of an eye as he sends a pair of arrows up into rafters.
The first thumps harmlessly into a hand rail while the second severs the rope supporting a heavy sandbag.
As the bag begins to fall, the large tiefling surges forward with surprising speed. His massive broadsword seemingly leaps free from its scabbard as he eyes the falling target.
With a sudden flash, the sandbag is severed in half before it hits the floor. Still having not uttered a word, Caladius turns back to Robahl and casually sheathes his sword as sand pools around his feet.
"You looking for a strong, silent type by any chance?"
Lucon stares in horror at Enko's performance, hands digging into some poor unfortunate Torchbearer's arm as he motions towards the stage with a frantic whisper. "How am I to follow that!? Impress him with a finely-made end table?"
"My name, humble gentleman, hhis Lysander hhof Egorian, hhhand I... uh... I am a most hhesteemed something-or-other hhhof the stage!!" he says, trying his very hardest to sound cultured as he spins his warhammer daintily in his gauntleted fingers.
He stares around the room, a look of panic on his face as he clears his throat. "hhhI have graced productions from... ehm... La Belle Shelyn to... that... one with... that one with the harpies in it." he continues, digging himself deeper into his hole.
"I... ehh... That is..." he says, fumbling and snatching a script from a smirking stagehand and opening it at random. the crumple of paper the only noise over the silent crowd. "A uh... Sample of my... hhhIllustrious talents~!" He says, squinting at the script in the dark and clearing his throat. As he begins to speak, however, he stands taller, looking more fierce and projecting his voice across the hall. For a moment, in his armour, he looks grander than you've ever seen him.
"
Grind on, honeyed torment!/
Sing sweetly as I may,/
no cries of "recant" shall you hear./
I hate lies, as I hate Tiamat-loving traitors!"
He finish, muttering silent thanks to Desna at his stunned audience as he bows stiffly and dashes like a madman off of the stage.
Sabinus walks on stage, wearing a dark grey cloak with the hood up. Little of his face is visible, and what is visible has been painted an ashen grey. ”You may call me Ephialtēs. May I have a subject for my demonstration? I promise no harm will come to him.” Sabinus will point to one of the director’s assistant’s and point to a spot on the stage. ”For many the image of an adventurer is one who confronts the trials lain before him with feats of strength," gesturing to Caladius and Lucon, "or,” gesturing to Enko, ”agility. But there are other paths.” Sabinus pulls his sickle out from under his cloak and walks to the center of the stage, stopping about ten feet in front of the assistant. ”Sometimes a foe is not where you expect him to be.” Sabinus raises his sickle, quietly chants, and gestures and levitates himself 30 feet in the air. ”And sometimes a foe can deliver a strike from which strength and agility offer no protection.” Sabinus will point a bony finger at the assistant, targeting him with misfortune and then sleep. Once the assistant is (hopefully) asleep, Sabinus will dismiss levitate and allow himself to fall at the rate of 60 feet around, as per feather fall (which he can use at will). He will finish the fall with an acrobatic tumble (hopefully) and a sickle held to the sleeping assistant’s throat.
Acrobatics:
He will finish the demonstration by standing, walking to the center of the stage, and nodding his head slightly.
Charisma:
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The Viscount begins his audition with a ghost sound of a storm/rain in the background, punctuated by large thunderous booms (equal to 12 men's voices shouting). He's got prestidigitation active to created wisps of smoke off his shoulders and robe, along with glimmers of light along his staff.
He summons a lemure (Summon Monster II). Lastly he casts Silent Image to create the illusion of a downpour with lightening.
Behold, the minions of Hell dance at my command. I fear death no more than an infant fears his mother's breast. I am fire, I am storm. he raps his staff on the ground. The Lemure was instructed to menace him- and the viscount dismisses it as part of his act.
Charisma
He should learn how to cast eagle's splendor ASAP.
Ava takes the form of a slender noble lady of about a foot taller than her normal height. She wears a splendidly-made dress and carries herself with an air of elegance. She walks onto stage, with a large sheet of fabric tucked under her arm.
"Good day, signore." she says. "Allow me to demonstrate my skill.
"What sort of person is the woman before you?"
Ava unfurls the diaphanous fabric and steps forward with a twirl, the sheet fluttering as she raises it in front of her. As it passes her by, her splendid clothing changes into the brown leathers of a traveller.
"Perhaps a traveller, world-worn." She says. A twist, she tumbles forward across the ground, pulling the cloth over her as she rolls. As the cloth falls, a man in gleaming armour rises, the picture of beauty and dashing looks. He gives robahl a wink.
"A brave knight." another twirl, draping the sheet over her shoulders. It darkens, becoming black as her features become green and haggard.
"A wicked witch?" she lets out a cackle. She pulls the sheet free, changing as it whips past her. She tosses it aside, now a gorgeous dark-skinned woman in exotic clothing. "Perhaps a beauty from regions far-flung?" She smiles seductively. "Or maybe... "
Ava pulls a smoke pellet from her pack as she walks to the front of the stage. She turns and runs back, springing forward onto her hands and pushing into the air, twisting 180-degrees before landing. As she hits the stage, she slams the pellet into the ground, engulfing her in smoke.
"...just me."
A silhouette appears in the column of smoke, and the noble lady walks forward once more.
"Allow me to introduce myself: My name is Lady Marina. I pride myself on versatility - name a role, and I can play it."
Robahl nods in appreciation at Caladius's performance, "Impressive display and that is the most hideous costume I've yet to behold at an audition. So lifelike! Sit over by this fellow." gesturing vaguely towards Enko. He turns to a nearby assistant, "Did we tell anyone to bring a costume?"
Lucon's performance leaves Robahl speechless, indeed the entire theater seems completely mesmerized by what is happening on the stage. As Lucon recovers enough to do a decent reading of a script, Robahl eyes come back into focus and he gives his head a small shake, as if to rid himself of a horrifying image. As Lucon runs from the stage, Robahl finds his voice, "Apparently he knows how to read, and that size could be handy... Someone go and find that buffoon and tell him to 'Come. Sit. Stay.' Use those words precisely. In fact, write them down just in case he tries to speak again, and include the words, 'I am a buffon' as well. NEXT!"
When Sabinus performs, Robahl seems impressed by the theatrics. Murmuring to an aid as the witch shows off his skills, "A good grasp of using space, but we'll have to hide his face, too scary. I like the sickle as well, a general understand of props. Hmmm, his timing is ridiculous and I dislike his face, but I can work with it. Tell the bony one to have a seat over here." And the assistant moves to locate Sabinus and put him near the others.
When the Viscount takes the stage, everyone's attention is focused on him, even Signore Nonon. As the Lemure is dismissed, there's a general sigh of disappointment as some clearly thought the fight was about to get interesting. But silence fills the hall as Robahl begins a slow clap, which no one else dares to join. He turns to those gathered, "Did you see that? The sincerity? The realism? Pay attention to the fat one, and you might learn how to be less atrocious. You there, sit in this area." Some of the assistants look at Corneleous with naked jealousy at having received such a compliment from the stingy director.
Lastly, Ava's performance draws several cat-calls and whistles from the darker corners of the theater, but Robahl doesn't join in. "We have a costume designer, thank you. But your voice isn't too grating and your looks will sell a few tickets. What a novelty - an actor who fancies herself with some skill, I'll put that claim to the test 'Oh Skilled-One'." His voice is heavy with sarcasm, but he doesn't yell, and he does wave you to sit with the rest.
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There are several more hopefuls that try their best to impress the director, but he scarcely pays them any attention. When he does glance up, it's usually only long enough for him to say something like;
“No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no!”
“Inept, inefficient, incapable, incompetent, inadequate, insufferable… there aren’t enough ‘in’ words to describe your mediocrity!”
and other such criticisms. With about 20 more people still waiting to audition, Robahl stands and waddles up to the stage. "You are all to be commended for your willingness to embarrass yourselves and your family names today. I hope you'll go to your homes and gutters, or wherever you crawled out of, and think long and hard about your decision to come and waste my time today. Leave immediately and by all means do your best to forget about this theater and the general area." As fresh tears and muttered curses arise amongst those gather Robahl points at you six loosely clustered together in one corner, and screams in a shrill voice, "You six, FRONT and CENTER!"
Hideous costume? Costume? ... HIDEOUS?! Caladius' visage darkens visably as he moves over to the indicated seat. As he sits down, he glowers and mutters at no one in particular, "Has this guy looked in a mirror? Hideous costume... *grumble grumble*"
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Caladius stalks forward to the area Robahl indicates. He assumes his typically aloof posture with crossed arms and a slight backward lean. If he says my face is a hideous costume again, I'll break his nose...
As Lucon takes his place by the other's side he leans over with a conspiratorial whisper to the others ans they cringe away in contact embarassment. "Do... do you think he bought it?"
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As they're summoned to the stage. Lucons feet stay rooted to his chair. "I... Did anybody else expect to get this far, because... By Shelyn's name, what have we gotten ourselves into...?" he says, dragging his feet onto the stage, hea hunched low with a mournful look on his face.
Sabinus scoots over near Caladius: "He insulted my looks too." To Lucon: "Did you see our competition? He must be delighted." Sabinus heads up on stage as directed.
"Hello, boys."
Lady Marina falls in line with the others, a small smile on her face.
Any delight Robahl may have been feeling certainly doesn't grace his features as he addresses you, marching back and forth like a commander at a field inspection, I believe some form of congratulations are in order, and to that end I'll have an assistant write something up for you later. From this day forth and as the Gods as my witness I shall transform you sorry bunch of common folk (and the good Viscount here) into slightly less-common actors! There are several roles I'll need filled and I want to see more of what you're *ahem* capable of so I can determine what role that shall be." He stops suddenly and claps his hands loudly, and waits like for a good 20 seconds, when from side-stage a handful of people walk out to meet you.
"Behold!" Robahl says as if there was no pause, "Playing the part of the chorus, the beautiful Visbaronetess Delour Aulamaxa" The Visbaronetess’ eyes show the passage of years that her alabaster skin and traditionally thick makeup conceal. A tremendous woman, both in size and personality, Delour Aulamaxa has long been one of Westcrown’s most beloved divas. She wears what is best described as a peacock on her body, long features sprouting up out of a shimmering gown fit tightly to her rotund body. As she makes her stately way to stand across from you, she doesn't deign to acknowledge your presence, but instead speaks to the air as if all of nature desires to hear her words. "“My talent is matched only by my beauty—and possibly my temper, Robahl. Do please keep the riffraff out of my way.”
Next is a familiar and handsome face, "The talented Thesing Umbero Ulvauno, who shall be playing the challenging role of Haanderthan." Thesing clearly recognizes some of you from the encounter at the stables, and though a smile covers his face, it is a predators smile, more a baring of the teeth. He addresses you warmly and moves quickly to shake each of your hands, "What an honor for each of you to have made such a grand stage and to stand amongst such grand company! After our last meeting I thought you mere dirty, lousy street thugs, but here you are putting my words to shame. Welcome! I know it shall be a challenging play and it's a difficult role we're asking you all to play, but I am most excited to see how it all... ends up for our little production." There was a strange and subtle emphasis on the words, 'it all ends' as if he was close to finishing the sentence some other way. Having said his piece he moves to stand alongside the Aulamaxa, but about ten paces away, so as not to diminish his own glory by standing too close to the large diva.
Gracefully bouncing onto the stage is a breath of fresh air, the beautiful and petite young woman you rescued, Calseinica Nymmis. All eyes mark her entrance, Aulamaxa's with jealousy, Robahls with professional appreciation, and Thesing's with naked lust -quickly masked by a handsome and roguish grin. Robahl holds out a hand politely, "The lovely Calseinica Nymmis, cast as Larazod’s love interest, the beautiful Ilsandra." The faint sound of grinding teeth seem to come from the direction of the Visbaronetess, but the sound is quickly lost as Calseinica rushes to each of you, throwing her arms around you in an exuberant embrace. Her voice like sunshine after the rain, she says "Isn’t acting wonderful? It’s truly a gift to be able to stand on stage! I'm so excited to be working with all of you!" Her eyes show absolutely no recognition of your faces from your previous encounter, and at her neck rests the magical pendant created by Dellano. It no longer glows, but now appears as a beautiful metal-wrought trinket. She moves to stand between Aulamaxa and Thesing, who moves to put a friendly (and slightly possessive) arm around her shoulders. Aulamaxa just smiles at her once and then goes back to contemplating her own beauty.
From the heights above the stage, a terribly ugly and bent hunchback swings skillfully down on a rope, landing before you with a thud. His back is terribly twisted and his head contains stringy white hair"Millech the Hump, backstage specialist." he says in a rough voice, and then shuffles off the stage, collecting the destroyed sandbag and rope Caladius used for his audition. He glares at Caldius out the side of his eyes as he does so, but leaves as soon as he gets the bulk of the mess picked up.
Robahl wipes his hands together, as if wiping away Millech's interruption, and then places his hands on his chest, "Lastly, there's myself. Audacious! Unutterable! Incredible! The crowd pauses as I asseverate. They hang upon my every utterance, my every syllable is ambrosia to their jaded souls. I shall be playing the role of Asmodeous during the live production." A man so short and stout that he could pass for a dwarf, Robahl has a huge walrus moustache and a frightful frown. The toupee he wears is sadly obvious, as is the faded color of his once fine attire. A tyrant, minor noble, former military captain, and professional shouter, Robahl runs his troupe with military discipline.
"Listen up! There are four major roles I need filled, and two supplementary roles. The two lesser roles are for understudy purposes as this play is quite dangerous. If something should happen to any of the four larger roles, I'll need one of the understudies to take over that position and moves things along without a hitch. The next few hours will be dedicated to finding which role you shall attempt to play." He and the main actors leave the stage for the front row of seats, and he points to one side of the stage, "Stand over there as I prepare the stage."
"Lysander" stiffens as the woman embraces him, turning a deep shade of crimson as he rubs the back of his neck, clears his throat and seems suddenly very preoccupied with his script.
Recognizing the thinly veiled malice in Thesing's smile, Caladius takes the man's proferred hand but doesn't release his grip as quickly as the actor expected. Caladius gradually increases the pressure of his grip and locks eyes with the man, not saying a word but taking his measure of the arrogant fellow none-the-less. The tiefling maintains his stoic expression throughout the exchange, and he releases Thesing's hand just before it would become embarassing for the man.
Once all the introductions are done, Caladius walks over to the point indicated by Robahl, his only expression one briefly arched eyebrow as he passes by the visbarontess.
As only an actor can, and to his credit as such, Thesing barely reacts to Caladius's crushing grip. Noticeable to only those right next to him, his eye twitches a bit just before Caladius finally releases the man. As they separate, Thesing does his best to nonchalantly rub some life back into his hand, his handsome and fake smile glued to his face. Though she may have noticed the arched eyebrow, Aulamaxa completely ignores the tiefling ranger as only the truly pompous can do.
One of Robahls assistants hand out a script to each of you, with a highlighted paragraph. "Each of you take a turn out here center stage and do your best to not put us all to sleep as you read the highlighted portion. Project Larazod! You're pleading your case before the mighty judge HAANDERTHAN (Thesing) and the breathtaking ILSANDRA (Calseinica) seated nearby, their counterparts conveniently seated down here by myself. You there! You go first!" He points at you (whichever one of you goes first) and then settles back, a wolfish grin on his face for what he probably believes will be a delightfully embarrassing spectacle.
"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.
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."
"Lysander", although unable to look his audience in the eye, manages to fall into the same rhythms as earlier. He's clearly no actor, but he seems to have a knack for the part, throwing his arms about theatrically and pointing at the "judge" Thesing with a fierce look in his eye, only stumbling a little at the "multi-handed ministrations of a marilith whore!", stopping to see if he read that correctly, all too horrified to find that he had.
----
He smiles sheepishly and takes a stiff bow, but winces in anticipation as Robahl opens his mouth to speak.
Robahl simply nods his head, "Not the worst I've seen, I think it's fair to say you... tried your hardest. Oh, and I suggest you familiarize yourself better with the ministrations of whores so as to not stumble like a prepubescent again if you get the part. NEXT!" There are chuckles and tittered amongst the support staff gathered to watch.
Standing on the stage during the introductions, Sabinus tries his best remain the menacing Ephialtēs, but under his robe a foot is tapping rapidly, and his hands taking turns twitching. He moves to soothe himself by stroking Tycho's cage, then remembers he left it at home, although he can feel Tycho's presence under an eave outside. Sabinus keeps his eyes locked on Robahl, and he barely notices the others, and certainly misses the emotional subtleties of their behavior. He is, of course, surprised by Calseinica's embrace, and he notices and takes great interest in Millech's entrance. He thinks to himself that it would be more interesting to be creating stage magic behind the scenes, but he doubts the stagehands get invited to the big parties.
After "Lysander," Sabinus steps forward almost absentmindedly. When presented with the text he does his best to deliver the lines in a menacing tone, fairly appropriate for this text, although he would have used the same tone if it was a love sonnet.
Perform - Untrained:
He steps back. Relieved, at least, that his voice didn't release an unauthorized squeak.
Nodding approvingly at Lucon, the tiefling mutters, "Nice. Might as well get this over with."
Caladius steps forward, drawing his cloak up over his shoulders. Glancing down at the script, he begins haltingly as the sound of his own voice booming in the theater surprises him. "Laza- err, LARAzod knows no lies, great magni-magistrate. And... and no slanderer's tongue caressess- caresses? yeah, caresses my DIGnity. The accuSATIONS you speak are as true as AsmoDEUS' sword. He takes a bold step forward, throwing the cloak off his left shoulder as he continues, "They cleave- uhh, yeah, cleave clean through! Let the witness- er, witnessES suffer no more lash. To burn their innards with pokers and steal their eyes- ummm, ok... is simply to waste precious foil- no, toil! Toil better spent in Asmodeus' service. There is but ONE," he raises his right hand, index finger pointing rigidly to the ceiling, "point misaligned in this dark conlesta-constellation- I seek not YOUR death, though the secrets you harbor in your FEEBLE HEART deserve a gruesome demise. I carry no assassin's blade," Caladius throws his cloak down, revealing his massive broadsword and kukri, " -errr... pretend those aren't there. -NO assassin's blade, nor breath-stealing spell to robe- rob your mortality. To end you I need only know you, and to cast you in an honest shard- shade." He takes another bold step forward, "I PIERCE your 'shadows'," an overly long, pregnant pause, "'OF TRUUUTH!' and show you for what I know... A FALSE KNAVE! A DEMON-SUPPING WAG-TAIL- a what? What's a wag-ta- err, ahem A BALOR'S BAWD! A PUS-LEAKING CATARACT IN THE EYE OF ASMODEUS! er, ASMODEUS' *JUUUUSTICE*!" He takes a steady breath, then continues in more normal volumes, "Aaaand subject to the multi-handed menstrua-ministrations of a maralith whore, dretchloving plunderer, and TRAITOR! to our great Dark Lord."
Enko buries his face in the script. He begins to read in a quiet tone, almost scholarly, to himself.
"Larazodknowsnoliesgreatmagistrateandnoslanderer’s
tonguecaresses--caresses? Odd. mydignitytheaccusationsyouspeak are
astrueasAsmodeus’s---"
He hands the script back to the assistant, then bows to Robahl. "I am sorry. I cannot read for this part. Do you have another?"
Robahl is shaking his head long before Sabinus is finished, "No no no no no, bony-face. I can't tell if you're attempting to serenade me or stand boldly in the face of mishandled justice! Leave center stage and count to fifty while holing your breath!"
As Caladius tries for Larazod, Robahl sighs and buries his face in his hands, lifting it and looking upward as if making an appeal to the heavens. "Right. Clearly you were hoping your fiendish mask would get you this part... and I was leaning that direction. But instead it must be hampering your ability to breath and thus causing slow but significant brain damage! That's the ONLY explanation for such a horrid display. HORRID!"
As Enko reads, Robahl leans back and whispers something to an assistant, who then disappears into the darkened seats. From out of sight on an upper balcony, a wet rag bunched into a ball comes sailing down towards Enko's face just as the monk finishes. Robahl grins at the monks plight, "Lets us all pray to whatever gods we believe in that I have a different role for you to try for. In fact we should probably beg them, not just pray."