Marina performs quite averagely as the rehearsals begin, but quickly picks up as the play progresses, filling the role quite well.
22
16
15
27
20
19
22
A pair of terrified sheep are led up on stage and suggested as replacements for the actors—the sheep run amok and foul the stage in their panic and continue to be distracting for the duration. This creates some unique challenges for blocking and stage movement till it gets cleaned up between acts.
A donkey is brought out of the audience and proposed as the player’s replacement, and the uproarious laughter takes some time to die down. Eventually a darkly dressed stagehand slinks out and leads the animal out of the building.
Ripe tomatoes, cabbages, or small bags of weevil-infested flour and grain are hurled at the stage. Some miss, some hit, and all projectiles add an extra layer of difficulty to what is supposed to be a very important and dramatic scene.
As the final lines are said and the curtain drawn, the audience cheers wildly with approval. Robahl has no words of encouragement —he merely tells all of you to "Go home and get some rest, for the big day is tomorrow! Meet here by eleven, for we march in procession at noon!" and then takes his own leave.
That evening, after the play, Arael and Janiven come to visit you, risking the darkness whether you're at the hideout or at your homes. They wish to bestow good luck and encouragement. Arael speaks up, "You've done a wonderful job thus far. I know there've been challenges but all of the trouble has been for tomorrow. I've full confidence the mayor will invite you all to the party and there we will find the means to liberate Westcrown from it's night-time tyrants." He became quite passionate and takes a moment to compose himself, continuing, "We have been working to get me into the Nightshade theater for the performance, and if I successfully infiltrate I will lend what assistance I can. But it could be some time before you're able to escape the Mayors home, so prepare accordingly. Good luck." He holds out his forearm for you to grasp and then he and the lovely Janiven take their leave, the latter giving you a wink and a smile on the way out.
Inside the Limehouse, Robahl and the others are waiting at eleven, and once you arrive you're hurriedly dressed in partial costume and makeup, to put the final touches on at the Nightshade. Precisely at noon the Robahl leads the troupe outside and on a procession from the Limehouse to the Nightshade intended to show off the actors in their costumes as they wind their way through the streets to the west, board a large barge, sail across the river, debark on Rego Aerum, and then proceed to the imposing facade of the Nightshade itself. Once you arrive Robahl bundles you all through a side entrance, giving you only a brief glimpse of the rest of the theater.
From outside, the Nightshade looks like nothing less than an iron and stone cathedral to some nameless evil god—inside, the building is all soft lighting, thick red carpets, and devilish decor. Carvings and murals of leering faces and tormented souls decorate the walls, while the ceilings hang with iron chandeliers. The main theater can seat approximately 250 individuals, all facing a relatively spacious stage.
He sequesters you all in a large room (stage right) called the Green Room, pointing out the food and drink waiting for you. There's enough to keep you all happy until the play begins. Aulamaxa moves happily to the tables and begins to delicately stuff her face. Millech and the rest of the costume team enters and puts on the final touches, leaving you all seemingly looking at a bunch of strangers as you see all the full costumes together in one place and time. "Break a leg, and watch your durned backs!" and then shambles out of the room, taking the bulk of his crew with him. In the entire backstage, evidence of the Nightshade’s recent construction is apparent; crates of tools and equipment, unfinished walls, and bare wooden floors testify to the fact that only the parts of the building that the public sees are fully finished.
The experienced actors are mostly relaxed and poised, each in their own little world getting into character, saying complex sentences to loosen up their mouths, and working out their voices.
A few minutes before 4:00 P.M. Robahl comes into the office, white-faced and pale. He moves to the refreshment table, without acknowledging anyone, and takes a long pull straight from a wine bottle. Calseinica approaches him, placing a hand lightly on his shoulder, and he jumps with a shout, but relaxes slightly when he see's it's her. When questioned, all he says is, "You’ll do fine… you’ll do fine… hit your marks and remember your lines, and you’ll do fine…"
---------------
As 4:00 rolls around, the sound of bells in a nearby tower pealing out the hour, the growing rush and din in the auditorium calms. Robahl takes a deep breath, then steps onstage to greet the audience.
"Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to the premiere event at this wondrous new theater! Let me begin by extending my humblest thanks to the Church for providing the—how shall I say?—punch in tonight’s spectacle. And also my sincere gratitude and thanks to our illustrious and benevolent lordmayor, Aberian Arvanxi."
With that, Robahl bows and returns backstage as the crowd applauds him out. The lights go down, the seven-piece orchestra plays a short introduction, and then Visbaronetness Aulamaxa takes the stage and sings for a few minutes to introduce the play. She finishes to a round of tremendous applause, the orchestra falls silent, and with a strangely uncharacteristic whisper of encouragement, "I know you can do it. Break a leg!" and the play begins.
A high-backed obsidian bench stands upcenter. As the curtain rises, HAANDERTHAN himself perches there, an awesome figure of power looming above the shackled forms of LARAZOD, TYBAIN, DENTRIS, MOONRIS and FARUS. The other members of the COUNCIL, including the sultry ILSANDRA, flank out stage right and left of HAANDERTHAN’S tribunal bench. The hulking bearded devil BAILIFF stands over them, spiked truncheon in his scabrous red, leather-like hands.
BAILIFF
Order in the Tribunal. The Court of His Honor Paraduke
Montigny Haanderthan, Black Tongue of Asmodeus,
Magistrate Maleficarum, now holds session. All rise.
HAANDERTHAN
Be seated, members of the Court. Today this court seeks
truth, or at least shadows thereof, from one Larazod
Rilsane, honored veteran of the Shadestar War, member of
a once gloried house, of recent fallen in Asmodeus’s regard.
The accused stands on several counts of failed conspiracy,
evidenced thereof by the industrious interrogations of
the court’s own Seeker, Drovalid Vorclune, administered
with his usual diligence and severity. In these interviews
Vorclune gathered from notable sources, only a few of
whom survived their conversations with the lash, that
Larazod of the Rilsane held audience with undesirables—
the topic of their whispered covenant the activities of
none other than myself. A most serious affair. Service to
Asmodeus’s ever-darkening glory is never without risk
of menace, betrayal, and threat of doom. My family and
I have long suffered the bumbling attempts of assassins
who would tear at our dark lord’s visage as casually as
they befoul their mothers’ beds.
What they lack in cunning they bolster with sheer
desperation, evidenced by consorting with all manner of
Aroden-suckling knaves, and aged wiz-worms who trust
in mystic secrets over the Dark One’s love.
You hereby stand accused, Larazod, along with your illseeming
compatriots, of conspiracy to undertake grievous
harm to the institution of this tribunal, namely myself,
Paraduke Montigny Haanderthan. How answer thee these
charges, Larazod of House Rilsane? Be thou maligned by
a scandal-brewer’s wagging tongue, or dost thou cleave to
my comings and goings as a bloat fly to a fresh cadaver?
Speak! And know that lies are my closest friends. They’ll
betray you before I. Speak the truth or do worse than die!
DENTRIS
Hold your tongue, boy, and we’ll escape the firebrand yet.
Your father was the model of a devil’s squire. Summon
his wiles now, and keep shut that Abyss you call mouth,
before we all tumble down into its darkness. Had you been
born deaf and dumb, this loyal servant would yet live to see
another midnight.
TYBAIN
Hurl his arrogance and accusations back at him, Larazod.
He wants precious golden-yoked truth? Give him more
than he can choke down. For whether revealed by the
brilliance of Aroden’s eye, or the long red shadows cast
by your Dark Lord’s fiery gaze, a man false at heart and
shrouded in hollow faiths is nothing more than a traitor to
all. Let him that judges false be judged by wraiths—smote
by his own brand shall he fall.
LARAZOD
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.
There is much commotion among the council.
ILSANDRA
(Aside) And to think I almost spent this session in the orgybaths
of Kalrath. None of their fleshy delights could compare
to the ecstasy this half-breed’s words stroke within me! See
his fierce aspect burn in fury, even below the tribunal’s
culling justice. But how shall Haanderthan answer?
HAANDERTHAN
Heavy words for a forked tongue to manage, boy. You
juggle them well enough, but like a poor fool, offer jest and
jape. I assume this glib outrage, obviously a threadbare
attempt to throw off the keening blade of justice, is backed
by the testimony of a thousand law-loving fiends? Perhaps
the ancient augurer at your side, ever your father’s faithful
lap-lizard, probed the ancient secrets of the cosmos and
uncovered my blasphemous treachery? Or have you a soulbonded
scroll of bone-white parchment upon which my
scrawled hand appears next to some Abyssal conspirator?
You amuse me, half-breed, and it is the only reason your
sniveling soul is not yet blasted away in hellfire and borne
on a river of sorrow to some ignominious corner of the
Nine. Whereof comes this lunacy? What disease vexes your
broken mind? From what mystery of psychosis do you
draw your lies?
TYBAIN
You mewl lies like a sullied maid on her wedding night,
O Great One. Even a lord may be smote in darkness as
Asmodeus sees the truth of you—a base and lowly thing,
snivelling in crimson robes. These devil-bowing citizens
about us are affront enough to Aroden’s divine will, but
ye, whose left hand clasps devil’s claws, and right reaches
out for demonic boon—oh double-dealing fiend-lover,
who allies with the Abyss. Infernal oaths and Abyssal
blasphemy spew in one breath from your twisting lips.
HAANDERTHAN
Does your Aroden arse-kissing pall-a-dine put you up to
such resounding blasphemy? Have you no tongue of your
own, half-breed, to answer my charge?
LARAZOD
Truth is spoken freely in many tongues, false magistrate,
and by agents of light and dark. You know what you are.
HAANDERTHAN
You persist in this foolishness? It shall go hard for you and
yours. Recant and your deaths shall be swift, your souls
consigned to diligent service in Hell. Refuse, and enlist in
agony’s service, consign your soul to wallow in the most
ignominious corner of the Nine, and take eternal suffering
as your bedmate.
ILSANDRA
(Aside) [b]He’s to have a much more interesting bedmate, if
I’ve anything to say. The fire that one shows at tribunal,
will no doubt burn even stronger between my sheets.
DENTRIS
(Aside) That one grows hot betwixt her infernal thighs.
Hope beyond hope. One voice of dissent on the council
and the slenderest chance of salvation is ours to clutch. Let
this waxen sliver of hope not melt until she does—let her
find her tongue.
HAANDERTHAN
Speak, boy. Do you still baffle with false charges, or have
your battered wits returned? Speak.
LARAZOD
I recant nothing. You, accuser, so stand accused. How do
you answer?
HAANDERTHAN
Innocent, of course. And so judgment is passed. My right
as magistrate puts you to the flames on my command. My
word is law.
DENTRIS
Respectfully, my lord, when I was a barrister of the tribunal,
it was common practice to ask Consular Consent in any
judgement of a matter involving the Magistrate personally
in the case. Has the ancient code of Asmodeus’s court,
scorched on the Tablets of Law by our Great Lord’s own
fiery talon, so fallen as to warrant its complete disregard
in this tribunal?
HAANDERTHAN
Of course, you are correct, old man. I’ve no intention
of affronting our Great Lord. Council, what say ye on
this matter? Do you concur with my judgment? These
heinous slanders cast upon my great name warrant utter
annihilation. So sayeth I, Magistrate of this Gloried
Tribunal. Do you agree?
Councillors mutter and call “Aye.”
ILSANDRA
Nay.
HAANDERTHAN
My ears deceive me. Do you, august erinyes, daughter of
Hell, speak against our cause?
ILSANDRA
I speak against your judgment. Our cause is yet
undetermined by my mark. According to our oldest
codes, truth can be drawn from an offender, as pus from a
wound. Asmodeus’s Trials show the true heart from the
false. Why, simply put the half-breed to the flames. Let
us try him properly in accordance with the old ways.
DENTRIS
Well done, lad. Your pretty infernal face is good for
something, even if your tongue offends all who hear. We
may live yet.
HAANDERTHAN
Tut, the business of the tribunal heaps higher day by
day. We’ve cases waiting in the wings by the thousands.
Penitent souls singing out for justice. Shall we delay their
flight to Asmodeus’s waiting embrace to engage in infantile
contests? Nay, expediency is our charge when matters so
lacking in evidence are brought before our bench.
ILSANDRA
Come, come, sweet magistrate. The spectacle of a few trials
would do my poor heart well. I wane at these tiresome
sessions. Let the trials commence. ’Twould arouse me.
’Twould tickle me. ’Twould drive me to distraction.
HAANDERTHAN
Trials you say? How now? If it is to be so, let us sweeten
the pot. A price I would exact for trials as you insist. If
this half-breed fails, not only is my name cleared of all
preposterous charges, but you shall compact to me for a
full moon’s service, to do my bidding and satisfy all my
unwholesome needs.
ILSANDRA
Let it be so agreed. I hunger so for trials, I happily wager
my body to your whim. We shall see if this half-breed’s
words strike true or false.
HAANDERTHAN
So be it. Larazod, you stand in trial. By my discretion you
shall face six of Asmodeus’s fell tests. You stand alone in
the face of terrors over which no mortal has prevailed.
TYBAIN
Not alone, my lord. I stand with him.
HAANDERTHAN
You are under no obligation to do so, Arodenite. Back down
and be discharged, to keep at your slobbering benedictions
for a few more years at least.
TYBAIN
I am true to Aroden, my lord, but I am also true in loyalty
and kinship. This man, though half-fiend his blood may
turn, is bound to me in brotherhood, as I stand bound to
him. Our blades both matched the enemies of Cheliax,
and what faith divides, common cause unites. You cannot
sunder me from his destiny. I stand trial at his side, as is
my right, if I so beclaim it. Is it not so, Dentris?
DENTRIS
'Tis true, my lord. If the half-brained, light-blinded knight
wishes to perish alongside my good master, he is within
his lawful right.
HAANDERTHAN
Very well. Burn with him, fool. Dentris Maltrada, you are
hereby discharged.
DENTRIS
Nay sir, though I wish nothing more. This boy, as wayward as
his fancies take him, is in my care. I never waivered from his
father’s service, and I shall not turn my back on the son.
HAANDERTHAN
Surely, you’ve no wish to die?
DENTRIS
There are worse fates, magistrate, than even can be
promised on the deepest level of your Hell. To walk alive in
a world, my duty undone, my sworn oath broken, is to walk
through fires more smolderous than any Asmodeus keeps
below. Though he be a fool, and possessed of a diseased
wit, Larazod is my master, and I shall stand by him. Do
your worst magistrate. I’ve rolled bones with demons, and
gazed in dragons’ hearts. Let us have these trials and be
done with my life, if the lords of darkness so command.
HAANDERTHAN
Doddering old sack of bones. No demon’s dice, nor dragon’s
musings await you—only torment beyond the stars’ most
infinite imaginings. When you mewl out for merciful
death, I shall look on in pleasure, as your soul’s wake burns
from a withered old corpse. Make ready, supplicants.
The trials begin anon. May Asmodeus take pity on your
blighted souls.
With that the curtains fall to a thunderous roar of applause. Millech and a small army of stagehands scramble ferociously to get the next act ready while the curtain is down. You can hear Aulamaxa start into a beautiful aria to entertain the crowd while the set is changed.
In the morning he will stop by the hidden shrine to Shelyn, praying in the garden for his goddess to, if not him, protect his beloved from hardship, sadness, and Halfenos the skinny baker before making his way to the theatre, wife on his arm.
Lucon stares at the proceedings with a look of mounting terror on his face, a mass of illusory and prosthetic scar-tissue. He totters about backstage, tripping over props, knocking things over and generally looking in the way, communicating in apologetic, terrified mumbles. He reaches into his pocket for a sticky apricot pastry, trying to look nonchalant as he stuffs it into his mouth, and is promptly set upon by the costume department. Murder in their eyes, they proceed to hastily fix his makeup and brush all the crumbs off of his costume, and he barely makes it on stage in time for the second act.
Perform:
At the start of the act, 'the device' is brought on stage to a chorus of impressed “oohs” and “ahhs” from the audience. Once it’s been thoroughly and dramatically displayed, Larazod (Corneleous) is stripped down to a loincloth (making him unable to use equipment in this act as a result) and strapped into the device. Drovalid (Lucon) stands ready to strike at one of the five actors with a whip. Thesing, playing Haanderthan, seems to quite relish as every lash of the whip rains down. The crowd gasping and cheering in equal parts as each blow lands.
'The Device' is a torturous implement referred to in the play as “the device.” This is a combination rack and wheel, meant to stretch the victim’s limbs and twist his body into increasingly painful positions.
Enter DROVALID.
HAANDERTHAN
Good Keeper of Pain, Tormentor of Liars and Demonsuckling
Miscreants, we are honored by your presence. Show
these supplicants the favor of your stinging lash, and with
rack and fire, purge lies from their lips. Break their souls, and
let the mad and guilty appall our ears no more with ranting.
DROVALID
Magistrate Maleficarum, I come before you a simple hand
whose lash is guided by the greater glory of Asmodeus,
may my scourge do him and this devoted tribunal proud.
With your permission I shall begin our first trial.
HAANDERTHAN
Begin at your leisure, Tormentor. End this fool’s mockery
of our court with cleansing agony.
Enter the Device and other implements of torture. Drovalid begins
administering agonizing pain upon a stoic Larazod and his huddling companions.
DENTRIS
Fools, my good master may be a fool of a tiefling, but if you
think to wrack his spine, and wheedle mewled recantation
from his black lips, you are even greater fools than he.
Larazod is no coward, and he sneers in the face of pain
with true faith in Asmodeus—he cannot waver. He faced
Abyssal Tyrants and hordes of their slime-ridden minions
in battle. His coal-black soul did not quake then. He stands
resolute now. You cannot break his spirit.
DROVALID
Recant half-breed. Admit your twisted falsehoods, serpenttongued
traitor!
LARAZOD
Even an ocean of agony cannot turn truth to lie.
More bone-crunching, skin-flensing torment.
DROVALID
Recant and end this trial! Swift death shall embrace
you and Asmodeus smiles upon those who admit their
falsehoods—he may not rend your soul completely, may
leave some semblance of your spirit intact.
LARAZOD
I recant… nothing! Grind on, honeyed torment. Sing
sweetly as I may, no cries of “recant” shall you hear. I hate
lies, as I hate demon-loving traitors.
More torture.
LARAZOD
Had enough, Magistrate? Can you withstand it any longer?
Please give in and recant, for the only torment I cannot
bear is your continued duplicity. Recant, Magistrate!
Recant your own lies, and Asmodeus may have mercy on
your slimy soul.
TYBAIN
Ha! Even in the face of soul-crushing pain, he taunts
this ridiculous Magistrate of Hell. Hear me, Aroden,
if Asmodeus has such as Larazod in his employ, all our
efforts are doomed. Would your white fist command such
steadfast loyalty as this one here, who laughs at death and
grins at the grimmest pain.
ILSANDRA
(Aside) Such a sweet voice. I long to hear his screams
more—ah, but to elicit them myself, with a soulburning
kiss, and an aching embrace. This torture is
most stimulating, though I do hope the Tormentor
doesn’t mar the tiefling’s choicest parts. Leave off those!
They belong to me alone!
DROVALID
(Exhausted) Recant!
LARAZOD
Never! Lash every inch of flesh from me, leave only a bloody
ruin where I stand—that skinned wreck of a man will
gurgle only truth and never recant.
Drovalid ends torment and casts down his whip.
DROVALID
He is as unbreakable as a marble tide—dragon’s scale would
have shattered long ago—and yet he stands unbowed. No
lie can evade this unholy lash of mine, gifted to me by
Asmodeus himself. Larazod must speak the truth!
HAANDERTHAN
Fool! Continue the trial, you’ve yet to probe deep enough
into his soul’s painful lies!
DROVALID
My work is done. My findings true. You have never doubted
my hand before. Why do you so now? Could it be this
tiefling speaks true? Are you allied against our august
master of darkness?
HAANDERTHAN
Mind your place, Tormentor! You speak blasphemy in the
face of this land’s own Magistrate Maleficarum. Beware,
your words endanger your very soul. Take you this halfbreed’s
part? Then you would join him on his trials? Don’t
be a fool.
DROVALID
If Asmodeus wishes it so then my soul stands with his. If
my hand has failed you, then I shall burn for it. I shall face
the remaining five trials at Larazod’s side.
HAANDERTHAN
So be it, traitor. Your rending death, and his, shall be my
vindication. Bring on the second trial!
The curtain falls once more to wild applause, Millech (standing on a 15' high catwalk above the stage) directs the small army of stagehands. Corneleous is carefully removed from the device by wide-eyed stagehands, clearly the violence a first for many of them. On the other side of the curtain, Aulamaxa begins another lovely sounding aria, and the next scene begins to take shape.
As Dentris, Caladius begins to find a bit of the rhythm he'd found during the rehersal the day prior. He tries to recall how Palaveen spoke and to work that subtle hubris into his own tone. More effective in the scene though is his own hardiness. A few stray and clumsy lashes from Lucon's whip are not near enough to evoke a reaction from him. Whitechin's goons tortured him much more violently and the most he gave them was clenched teeth and a quiet groan.
Perform:
Although Sabinus continues to have little more to do than cower and take hits, he does it more effectively this time. Although Sabinus himself can take a few whip lashes without complaint, as Farus he tries to react in a manner more appropriate to the Varisian's dramatic personality, yelping in pain and thrashing on the ground, trying to do his job of adding some comic relief and satisfy the audience's appetite for violence.
Sabinus will stand ready to offer some healing between acts, although he'll be hesitant to use the healing hex (one time a day per person) too early, in anticipation of greater sufferings to come.
Caladius steals what glances of the audience he can inbetween acts, scanning the crowd for familiar faces.
Enko flubs lines left and right, but performs some amusing pratfalls and stumbles while getting thrashed.
"Magistrate Maleficarum, I come before you a simple hand
whose lash is guided by the greater glory of Asmodeus!" Lucon booms, projecting his voice just as he's been taught. This particular act has reduced him to an apologetic wreck in every rehearsal so far, and as he stands over you, grim-faced and cowled, he spares you an apologetic glance.
Lucon remains silent, but with each stroke of the whip you can almost hear the echo of a weeks worth of mumbled apologies. This time, however, they are accompanied by the sting of the whip.
"...pardon m'lord."
"Sorry! Sorry Enko!"
"...sorry Caladius."
"...truly."
"...no hard feelings?"
|
The straps prevent the Viscount from fully engaging his acting talents. Instead, he sputters through his lines with clenched jaw- at one point the pain of the lash causes him to bite his tongue, and a small drip of blood escapes his lips as he sighs in pain. Water fills his eyes as he endures the last lash.
The fiery-haired dwarf roars defiantly as the blow rains down, as if it were the scourge of Asmodeus himself leaving its mark upon her skin. She turns towards Drovalid as her torture ends, a burning fire in her eyes and a taunting smile on her lips as if to say "Is that all you've got?"
A familiar excitement runs through Ava's veins as the audience cheers, a rush of adrenaline like the thrill of battle, and she finds herself actually looking forward to the horrific trials that await.
"That stung." Ava says, clapping Lucon on the arm. "Well, at least it felt convincing. The audience loved it, at least." She laughs.
Not knowing what lies ahead, Ava doesn't want to leave anything to chance. She needs to be on the top of her game.
She will retrieve her wand of CLW (9 charges) from her pouch, and directs it to herself. It takes her a few attempts to get it just right, but she makes it eventually, feeling the soothing magic flow through her body, refreshing her completely.
Enter the bailiff bearing six vials and six curved flensing knives. He hands one of each to Dentris, Tybain, Larazod, Moonris, Farus, and Drovalid.
HAANDERTHAN
It is said that a liar’s pain is easy to bear, but pleasure steals
truth from even the most well-tended fortress. So let it be
with ye, Larazod. Here before you now are the Flukes of
Asmodeus. Their bite more pleasurable than the caresses
of a thousand succubi (which you no doubt have enjoyed,
you treacherous Abyssal-loving fool). Taste of their deep
burrowing bliss. Their rapturous journey through
your body shall explore the deepest, darkest pleasures
any mortal has ever known. Their soul-shuddering
wanderings end in your skull, where they plant their
young who consume you in an orgiastic frenzy—leaving
you an empty husk of a thing—a spent lover, drooling in
blissful oblivion forever. Unless, of course, you can resist
these god-bending pleasures. This time, the trial is not
yours alone to bear. Let us see if your trusted companions’
faith remains as unshakeable as yours. Who shall be the
first to die in spasms of ecstasy?
ILSANDRA
Oh, how I long to face this judgment!
DROVALID
Master Larazod, most unholy saint of our dark Asmodeus,
please allow me to prove my devotion to your cause. To
think my biting lash flayed your chaste red skin, and
cracked such a noble hide as yours. I shall be first to face
this trial, if you so wish it.
LARAZOD
Your courage is beyond question. Show this lickspittle
Magistrate the meaning of devotion, my friend.
Drovalid administers the fluke, convulses in sheer orgasmic
ecstasy, but as it crawls up his arm he suddenly plunges
a flensing blade beneath the skin, skewering the fluke and
removing it.
DROVALID
Asmodeus bear witness to my devotion. This half-breed
speaks only truth! Come Moonris and Farus, let us three
weather this tempest of pleasure together.[b]
Likewise, Larazod applies the fluke to his flesh, where it hungrily
burrows beneath the surface. Larazod shudders in pleasure.
Moonris and Farus do likewise.
ILSANDRA[b]
Oh, to be that fluke! To burrow into such sweet flesh!
LARAZOD
I sing only of the joy of supplication to our dark lord.
This pleasure is only a gift of Asmodeus’s truth. I
would gladly die at this fluke’s bite, but alas, my duty
here is yet undone, and so I scorn this pleasure with
a bleeding blade. I shall not relent until your lies are
revealed, foul Magistrate.
Larazod cuts out his fluke, Moonris and Farus as well.
Dentris applies his fluke.
DENTRIS
Oh! It has been so long! Sweet, aching ecstasy!
Improvises a rendition of the Tallis and his Three Wives, and then
cuts away the fluke when it is nigh in his neck.
DENTRIS
(Sourly) Between you, my hideous half-breed young
master, and a dream of three succubi’s frolics on my
flesh—a hard choice, Larazod, but somehow your sweet
countenance won out.
TYBAIN
My turn, I suppose.
Tybain applies his fluke and begins giggling uncontrollably.
TYBAIN
Ooooh! Aaaaah! I know not this feeling!
DENTRIS
Ha! Watch the virginal knight squirm!
TYBAIN
It is as if a thousand feathers assault my flesh—
especially my most… tender… parts. What strange
pleasure is this!
LARAZOD
Ah, Aroden’s servants, so like sweet children they be. Hold
true, my dear friend!
Tybain suddenly tears loose his fluke.
TYBAIN
I am well, though I may never be the same.
HAANDERTHAN
Curse your persistence. All lies eventually reveal their
ugly fangs. I shall draw them as venom from a wound.
This time, there are groans and winces as the grubs burrow into your flesh. Some other are sitting in rapt, disturbing attention, taking in the grisly details as each of you squirm.
and 2 Con damage.
and 2 Con damage.
and 2 Con damage.
and 2 Con damage.
Just rolled 5 rounds in case anyone fails their DC20 heal check that many times. Add each rounds damage up to get your total. This is lethal damage.
As the scene starts, Caladius finds himself slightly distracted, trying to inwardly figure out why he was hoping to see Janiven or Rella in the crowd. Utterly puzzled by his own thoughts, he's unable to really sell his performance. Dentris' guttural moans of pleasure are easily discerned as languid and fake, the words correct but the volume and fervor low and flat. He also wastes little time slicing the grub from his flesh, even doing so before his cue. As his insult of Tybain approaches, the tiefling shakes the distractions from his mind and manages to finish the scene without outright flubbing anything.
HP: 29/32 -- 7 non-lethal
Enko, caught up in the role of Tybain, doesn't notice a thing out of the ordinary whilst writhing in fake ecstasy. "OOOH! AHHHH! he cries.
Wand to heal Sabinus:
Perception:
Perform:
Heal:
Fortitude save:
Considering that he is perhaps as innocent as Tybain in these matters, Sabinus does a reasonably convincing job portraying Farus in the throes of pleasure and he efficiently and dramatically removes the grub before it does any greater damage to his less-than-hearty bodily system, although removal of the grubs leaves a nasty and debilitating wound.
Lucon acts his part well, his pledge of devotion and stoic bravery enough to move the most skeptical of theatre-goers. Lucon's own bravery, however, falters as the grub burrows into his arm, and he grits his teeth and shouts, more in agony than pleasure, before hastily cutting it out.
Monris drops to her knees, clutching her bosom as her body convulses with pleasure and pain. Gripping the knife in hand, she tears the cloth aside and plunges the blade in, skewering the grub before tearing it free and lifting it victoriously into the air.
It is a messy and painful ordeal, leaving Ava panting as she climbs to her feet to join the others. Her lack of hesitation surprises even her, and she barely feels the pain as she gets lost in the performance.
DENTRIS
Such horrors. What next?
LARAZOD
Hold true, old man.
DENTRIS
Easy for you to say! Youth laughs at death as a stranger. As
you grow older you come to know it well—and fear it.
DROVALID
I have seen young and old break before this court. They all
share one thing: a weak and watery eye speaking to a frailty of
spirit. Your eyes are like grit and sand, obstinate even in the
face of the storm-fraught sea. You cannot break, old wizard.
DENTRIS
Perhaps not, but tell me, Tormentor—what fresh horrors await?
DROVALID
Here follows the Trial in the Belly of the Beast. A great
terror, gifted to this court by a Duke of Hell, the Beast is
a hideous thing, whose stomach is a nest of acid-spewing
serpents. It shall swallow us whole, and wash us clean in
its acid well.
DENTRIS
Where is the “trial” in this!?
DROVALID
If we are innocent, and speak no lies, then the Beast’s Belly
will leave us unscathed.
TYBAIN
Madness!
LARAZOD
Hold fast, my dear friend. Have faith in Asmodeus.
TYBAIN
But I do not!
LARAZOD
Well then you better learn to swim.
HAANDERTHAN
The next trial demands a great sacrifice. Ye, who speaks
for the half-breed, the lone traitor on the council who
speaks against my august personage. You must brave
this trial, and all that follow, alongside the accused.
ILSANDRA
(Laughing) Gladly! I stand at this tiefling’s side, or at his back,
or him at mine, or perhaps I should bolster him up from
below or allow him to do the same to me. You shall see how
devotedly I attend his pleasure, for he speaks the truth.
HAANDERTHAN
Then burn with him.
Ilsandra joins the companions, and embraces Larazod with a
fiery kiss. He surrenders to her pleasures.
ILSANDRA
Know the gifts of Asmodeus, dear child. You have earned
great boons by your devoted service, and I shall pay them
all with interest. But soft, what terror approaches? Our
pleasures must wait.
Enter the Beast.
LARAZOD
Come, horror, I shall tear my way from your gizzard with
the white-hot blade of my truth.
DROVALID
Die though I might, melted to a puddle of liquid flesh in
the bowels of the Beast, I cannot think of any greater man
to join in death. I am honoured to die at the side of a man
so filled with truth.
DENTRIS
Come and have a bite, Old Beastie. These old bones shall
stick in your craw and choke the life from you.
TYBAIN
My holy flesh shall burn all the way down. Aroden’s
blessings upon my soul ensure a most unpleasant meal for
this Beast.
The Beast devours them. They struggle to fight their way free from his gizzard.
A huge and curious sculpture of iron, polished wood, and green glass is wheeled onto the stage from behind the back curtain. The sculpture is that of a vast serpent, it’s mouth large enough for a human size-creature to slip inside, its belly made of transparent but very thick glass. The “Beast’s” tail is raised high and its head kept low so that a person on the stage can climb in easily. The glass tail is filled with acid in a thin (and quickly eroding) container—the actors all clamber into the Beast’s maw and slide down into its transparent belly, one per round. Once all seven actors are in the belly, stagehands dressed as lemures lumber out and tug on the sculpture’s head and tail, which wheel about on a set of rollers around the transparent belly so that the tail hangs low and the head rears high. By the time this is done, the acid eats its way through it's container and half-fills the belly where the group stands. Now, the group within must climb up the beast’s throat and out of its upraised maw before the acid kills them.
Calseinica's eyes grow round as the acid beings to eat through it's container and scald your feet, screaming shrilly and pawing at Cornelous's shoulder, "What are they doing!! They... They're using real acid! HELP ME!!" and proceeds to go into full screaming hysterics as the rising acid burns her beautiful skin. Thesing's acting is superb as he chuckles and cackles hatefully as you all scramble desperately for your lives in the now knee-deep fluid. The crowd is whipped into a frenzy by Calseinica's screams and cheers and applauds with blood-thirsty abandon. Some, in their excitement, even throw coins and jewelry, a impulsive action by a frenzied mind.
Notes:
Each round, the acid in the creature’s belly inflicts 1d6 points of acid damage—a DC 15 Reflex save is enough to scramble and avoid acid damage for 1 round. The fumes in the belly are acrid as well, and each round a creature spends inside the belly it must also make a DC 12 Fortitude save or be sickened for the remainder of this act.
#1 Climber - The throat is smooth and impossible to climb, save for a series of tiny hooks that hang from the sides—these allow a Climb check (DC 20) to escape). Failure by less than 5 indicates that the climber makes noprogress—failure by 5 or more indicates the climber takes 1d6 points of slashing damage from the razor-sharp spike handholds. A character at either end (perched in the Beast’s mouth or still within its belly) can aid another character climbing in the throat by making DC 10 Climb checks. There’s only room for one person in the Beast’s mouth at a time, though, and as a character clambers up into the mouth, anyone already there must either slide down into the throat.
#2 Human Tower - A PC may also balance on another PC’s shoulders to reach the maw. To form such a tower, both members of the tower must make an Acrobatics check (DC 15); the failure of any check results in that character falling, taking anyone above him down as well, but not the one below. PCs can lift up to twice their maximum load (a character with 10 Str can therefore lift 200 pounds); however, a Strength check (DC 10) is required to keep hold in the sweaty and damp acidic conditions.
#3 Bust Out - The cramped space, slippery and acidic footing, and apparent hardness of the very thick glass make this an extremely difficult option. This requires attack rolls, but you don't know how effective the damage will be, much less how long it'll take to break the glass.
Shocked at the sudden desperateness of their situation, Caladius forgoes all pretenses of "acting," ignores anything beyond their acidic prison, and immediately begins slamming the pommel of his massive broadsword into the thick glass walls as hard as he can. To the audience, it appears as if the wizard Dentris' hands transform into large, stony fists, which he pounds into the beast's hardened sides with echoing, thunderous booms.
He growls to himself as he sets to his desperate work, "If I don't die in here, I'm going to kill somebody."
Perception:
ACID ROUND ONE:
Upon realizing that real acid is filling the belly of the beast, Sabinus, like Caladius, drops any pretense of acting and casts levitation to raise himself to the top of the beast's belly and out of the acid. He will also grab Calseinica and bring her to the top of the beast's belly, away from the acid.
Sabinus will speak quietly in Calseinica's ear: "Stay calm, Calseinica. We are capable and will not allow you to come to harm in this wicked contraption."
Reflex:
Fort save:
HP: 14/15; sickened (–2 penalty on all attack rolls, weapon damage rolls, saving throws, skill checks, and ability checks)
Concentration versus DC 13 (10+1 pt damage+ spell level):
Perform:
In his conscious mind, Sabinus has forgotten the audience and is focusing all his attention on the escape, but through the thick glass the audience perceives Farus, in his colorful costume, gracefully moving through the air and gallantly rescuing Ilsandra, and then others, as if lifted by Asmodeus himself.
Sabinus will instruct Calseinica to hang to his shoulders from the front (so she'll be up against his chest) and he'll help hold her with one hand and use the other to move them towards the mouth. He'll then push her out the mouth.
He'll then proceed to offer the same help to the others, but he quickly realizes that he doesn't have the weight capacity to take anyone other than Calseinica, other than perhaps Enko.
If Sabinus can lift Enko and move him over to the mouth, he will do so. Otherwise, he will help stabilize anyone making a human tower or help support anyone climbing out.
He also stands ready to use his wand of cure light wounds on anyone who needs his help. He'll keep watch to see if anyone is looking really bad off from the acid damage.
Calseinica clings desperately to Sabinus as he takes her up and out of the snake. Once he releases her, she falls the 10' painfully to the ground, landing in a heap with a cry of pain. After several seconds (Round 3) she wobbles slowly to her feet, limps over to the transparent belly, and starts pounding uselessly on the glass, cutting and bloodying her hands in a feeble effort to extricate the others.
"Die though I might, melted to a puddle of liquid flesh in the bowels of the Beast, I cannot think of any greater man to join in death!" Lucon says, without a scant bit of conviction in his voice. In fact his face tells you he'd very much like not to die, thankyouverymuch, and least of all on a stage.
He grits his teeth, looking frantically around at the others and cursing, his performance thrown to the wind. "ROBAHL, YOU WEASEL!" he roars, as the executioner begins to hammer down the wall at Dentris' side.
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The Viscount starts the round at 10 hp/18(-7 non lethal) with the con damage. He might need some healing before this trial starts. Can he pop a healing potion between acts? Has any of the non-lethal damage healed?
He puts some extra passion into the kiss.
He swings his staff at the glass.
Without healing, he'll be unconscious on round 5.
The threat of imminent death pulls Ava from her role from Monris for a moment, the close space and acrid stench of the pooling acid bringing her back to reality.
"What?" Ava gapes. "Why would this ever be neccesary?"
She shakes her head, trying unsuccessfully to get back into character. Damn it. The performance wouldn't matter if they died here. She turns and leaps up onto the hooks, deftly pulling herself up to the maw of the beast.
She swings around her pack-disguised-as-bagpipes and opens it up, pulling out a length of rope and hurling it down the throat.
"Grab on, lad!" Monris says. "We'll haul ye out o' tha' beast's belly!"
In the first few seconds, Ilsandra, Farus, and Moonris are up and out of the acid. Moonris pulling and dropping a rope as 'he' slides past Farus out of the snake. Farus remains, using some impressive gypsy powers to practically levitate himself as he assists the others out of the snake. Larazod, Dentris, and Drovalid attack the wall of the snake powerfully, their initial blows creating small cracks in the thick glass.