Responding to Appario's query, the director gives a short barking laugh. "I'll want you on the stage, in the role that best suits you. And I want to see you perform so well that Abadar himself will pour gold into our coffers!"
"Trying to tell me what to do, young Keegan? Well, this once you do actually make sense. Let's see which roles you and your friends are best suited for." The director leads you onto the stage. "I have a few challenges for you, to help me see where you'll mess up the least. Shelyn willing, maybe some of you will actually do a half-decent job."
The director gives each of you a piece of paper. "This is Larazod's longest line in the play. If you can read it well, and with feeling, you should fit perfectly in the role of 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.
Once you've all read the line, director Nonon gives you the next challenge. "For the role of Dentris, the actor must be able to insult in a manner that makes the audience believe it. Insult and berate me to the best of your abilities, with as much wit and cruelty as you can muster!"
When casting the role of Tybain, the director asks one person to perform at a time, while he tells everybody else to join him in the seats closest to the stage. The director gives each of you a bucket of rocks and rotten fruit. "The role of Tybain, despite being that of a bumbling idiot, is one of the most popular. The longer he can survive, the better the audience will pay. So, our Tybain must be able to perform while being on the defensive. Read this line, and try to dodge the rocks and fruit thrown at you." To those with him, he says "Don't hold back! Pelt him with those rocks!"
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.
"Now, Drovalid. He must be a fierce combatant, and must be able to recite his lines while being on the offensive. Here's your line, and while you read it, try to hit the flying monster that Millech will send at you. Use whichever weapon you like."
The "flying monster" turns out to be a swinging bag filled with red sand.
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.
Once the sand has been cleared from the stage after the Drovalid challenge, the director looks at the ladies mischievously, although he addresses everyone. "The part of Ilsandra requires you to be seductive and sensuous. Read this line in your most seductive voice, and add in some sensual movement too."
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!
During the challenges, director Nonon mercilessly heckles those who perform poorly.
Once all of you have performed all the challenges, the director allows you a short break while he goes to his office to decide who to cast in each role.
Might as well get this farce over with. Maybe they will let me rise and lower the curtains.
::Larazod::
Appario steps forward and begins to read.
"Larazod knows no lines, great magicstrate, and no slandererer’s
tongue caresses my dognity. The accusations you peak of are
as true as Azmyth’s sword. They cleave cleave though.
Let the witnesses suffice no more lush. To burn they are
innards with pikers and steal their eyes is pimpley to waste
precious toll better spent in Asmodeus’s service. There isn't
but one punt misaligned in this dork cancellation—I
sap not your death, thought the secrets you harbor in your
people's heart deserve a gruesome device.
I marry not assassin’s blade, nor breath-pealing smell
to rub your morality. To end you I needed only to know you,
and to cuss you in an honest blade. I pierce your “sundowns
of truth” and shower you for what I know—a false knife, a
demon-sapping dog-tail, a balor’s bawd, a kiss-leaking
cataracts in the eye of Azmyth’s justice, and subbect to the
multi-hunted manipulations of a marilith where dretchloving
philander, and traitor to our great Dork Lord."
Appario's mouth dries up by the end of his speech, his knees shaking as he tries to get the words out.
Well that sucked. I hope it was received well.
::Dentris::
Insults, eh? I'll just pretend this one is Derek...
Appario steps forward and considers his words carefully. Pausing for a moment, then he begins to speak.
"Before I begin this next section, what is your name again?", Appario asks the director.
No matter what the man's reply, Appario will answer offhandedly, "I've never heard of you. And I think twice of you sitting down there and barking orders at your betters on stage."
::Tybain::
Appario needs no shield for this next section for he believes in his quick feet to keep him safe.
Reading aloud the lines, Appario will dance and frollick like a fool.
That was better, hardly even a challenge.
::Drovalid::
Pulling out his sword, Appario will prepare for the next section.
This will be easy. There is nothing that can possibly go wrong.
Keeping 1/2 an eye on his prey, Appario will begin to read, striking at the bag at the appropriate moment, highlighting his swing with a loud yell.
Ha! Nothing can possibly go wrong! This acting is easy...and Derek is always carrying on like it's some magnificent talent. Tis nothing!
::Ilsandra::
Appario will return his sword to his sheathe before reading. Any rage or fear caused by him will be caused by his voice, face, and fists alone.
Turning his fear of being astage and his anger at being asked to dance a monkey into rage, Appario will state the lines.
Having gotten used to this 'acting', Appario will cap his performance with an obsequious, extended bow.
Before being dragged away Maddok spends a few minutes with Millech helping him with his work if possible (likely aiding him with some heavy lifting). If the stageworker seems to be coming around at all Maddok asks him for some pointers on impressing the director and acting in general.
***
When his turn to audition comes up the Shoanti dutifully climbs the stage and recites his lines.
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".
The big Shoanti's shouts his lines in a booming voice but with little inflection.
Seeing little reaction from the crowd the smith glowers down at the heckling director.
Enjoying being able to speak his mind Maddok stands back up to his full towering height for just a moment before a fusillade of debris flies his way.
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".
Now covered in rancid produce Maddok growls in frustration.
When he sees the target dummy lazily falling his direction the Shoanti grips his hammer, leans back loosing a thunderous roar, and swings with all his might.
Reaching the end of his audition Maddok's thoughts turn to the only form of sensual dance he knows. He begins a Shoanti wardance - a rhymic stomping of his feet punctuated by dramatic pelvic thrusts.
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!
Finished and feeling multiple levels of foolish the big man exits the stage.
What can a man do but try his best?
Derek starts out with a rather meek voice, trying to portray a hero still finding his steps
"Larazod knows no lines, great magistrate, and no slandererer’s
tongue caresses my dignity. The accusations you peak of are
as true as Azmyth’s sword. They cleave clean though."
Here Derkes voice grows stronger and fuller, as Larazod finds his strength increasing from his own words
"Let the witnesses suffice no more lush. To burn they are
innards with pikers and steal their eyes is pimpley to waste
Precious toll better spent in Asmodeus’s service. There isn't
But one punt misaligned in this dork cancellation—I
Sap not your death, thought the secrets you harbour in your
People’s heart deserve a gruesome device."
And here, Derek rises his voice further, letting some righteous anger flow forth.
"I marry not assassin’s blade, nor breath-pealing smell
To rub your morality. To end you I needed only to know you,
And to cuss you in an honest blade. I pierce your “sundown’s
of truth” and shower you for what I know—a false knife, a
demon-sapping dog-tail, a balor’s bawd, a kiss-leaking
cataracts in the eye of Azmyth’s justice, and subject to the
multi-hunted manipulations of a marilith where dretchloving
philander, and traitor to our great Dork Lord."
Hmmm, insults...I do not know any good insults. Better get the heckling out of the way.
I am used to dodging things, let's see if my friends aim beats my nimbleness.
"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".
An attack against a barrel? Better use my mace then, it will be better for the weapon itself
"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".
And here we go again, I know a lot about being seductive, but against men? Not so much
"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!"
The main role? Me? I suppose I have held the attention of all before with rituals, but this...?
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.
Yahirma delivers the lines more like a public address than as lines for a play, but they are potent nonetheless. What did half of that even mean?
She then flips her booklet to the section for Dentris. Insults...insults... It takes her a moment to realize that it's not so important to read the lines as to make up something on the spot.
Yahirma harangues the director, shouting "Oh ye, cursed by the spirits! Your tongue shall wither like the atrophied limbs of the Mkembe, but it shall be a fitting testament to the sad piece of work the gods enacted when designing your groin and the disappointingly meager assemblage contained therein! I judge your Creator ran short of mortal quintessence, for he skimped as much when filling your skull!"
She is a little disappointed when this fails to get a reaction out of the director. Pacing a bit, now, she renews her verbal assault. "I've heard of you, and the tales they tell in the streets are truly an understatement. Where most aspire to reach the height of the Tobongo, you are stunted and wizened with nearsightedness and stupidity! Your thick bark may dull the sharpest axe, but that is only because it contests the dullest of wits: Yours! The bark growing between your ears might spare you the laughter that shadows your every move, but of late it appears the woody growth has overtaken your hair and left you all the more thick-headed for it! Were it not for your ability to spoil food just by thinking your next meal to further swell the corpulent bloat that infests your midsection, I would comment upon your stink, your gout, and the nonsense that dribbles from that facial orifice of yours every time you struggle to piece together a coherent thought!"
Yahirma pauses, breathing heavily and blinking in disbelief at Robahl Nonon, who appears largely unfazed. Losing what cool she was clinging to before, she explodes and points an accusing finger at the director. "I would accuse you of being a fake and a charlatan if it would not just lend some credence to the greatest prevarication whispered throughout the streets from Westcrown to Egorian: that you - YOU! - could even deserve to be called an actor! Pfawh!" She spits to the side.
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.
After picking herself up from the barrage of garbage, she readies her staff and takes out her frustration on the punching bag.
Yahirma sniffs, almost in smug satisfaction for the brutal thwapping she gave the inanimate target. She smooths her clothing, does a quick walk around the stage, and does a quick brushing of her hair with her hands. As she turns to address the director, she thinks furiously. OK, Yahirma, what does seductresses do? How do they act? What was that one harlot like that Old Titabe kept chasing? Hip swaying - she always moved her hips in a certain way, and... She realizes that she has been silent for too long, so she starts what she hopes is a sultry, slow advance towards downstage.
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!
Millech is thankful for Maddok's help as he makes the stage ready for the group's audition, and gives the following advice. "Now, director Nonon is not one for heaping praise. He strives for perfection, and thinks that noone can achieve that if they think too highly of themselves. Glowering praise from him would be to say nothing to you."
The director seems full of glee as rotten fruits hit Maddok and Granor. Yahirma's attempts at insulting him brings only a puzzled glance and a shaking of the head, and he mockingly tries to hide his laughter as she's pelted from all sides by the fruits. At Semenya's poor effort at hitting the sandbag, he exclaims "How can you expect to survive if you let a sandbag outwit you!" He otherwise holds nothing back when criticizing, but says little during Derek's performance.
After deliberating in his office for a while, the director assembles you on the stage. "There's a lot left to be done, but I suppose you'll just have to make do. Derek, you will be Larazod. Semenya will be Dentris. Appario makes a perfect Tybain, and Maddok is our torturer Drovalid. Strange Yahirma will be Ilsandra. Granor, the less you speak the better, so you will be Farus the clown."
Having delivered the news, the director formally introduces you to the other two actors. The diva Delour Aulamaxa gives a somewhat sincere welcome, although it is obvious she feels she's better than you. The actor Thesing gives a professional welcome complete with an actor's fake smile. His gaze hardens as he shakes hands with Derek. When speaking to Yahirma, the fake smile turns into a real one. "That was a fine job you did there. You will be a great Ilsandra; you certainly have the looks for it."
Giving only a brief period of time for making acquaintances, the director speaks up again. "You will all be paid in a percentage of the house's take from the performance. So, we will all benefit from making this performance as great as it can possibly be. I expect you will all take part in promoting the play out on the streets. We only have seven days to practice and get everything set up, so everyone must work harder than you ever have before!"
Millech ushers everyone backstage, where he spends the remainder of the day perfecting everyone's makeup, customizing everyone's intricate costumes, and practicing the illusions that need to be cast to make everyone look the part as well as disguise their weapons and armor as fitting their characters.
Derek nods to himself as the roles are handed out, because all in all, it seems each got the role they would be most suited for.
He also nods with approval as he sees Maddok help Millech, if as many as possible help him out, it will be easier to befriend the man.
Someone was paying attention to my lessons, smart, very smart.
As Derek shakes hands with Thesing, it takes all his willpower to not glower back. This will be a showdown between two professional actors, both eager to prove themselves greater than the other.
All I have to do is survive, if I do that I'll prove who is the greatest you puffed up peacock!
As the cast is ushered backstage for preparations he makes sure to talk to Milech a lot.
"So, have you ever worked on this particular play before? From what I understand, master Nonon has never done it before."
"Master Nonon mentioned you were an Illusionist? Are you of the wizardly or intuitive sort?"
Derek tries his best to be courteous, considerate and cooperative throughout the whole process, he has to make friends with this man after all.
Maddok says little during the casting announcement and follows along when he is taken behind the stage for costume prep. He offers a hand to the hunchback again, holding cumbersome costume articles in place and helping with the weapon/armor fitting. Unfortunately, he is at a loss when it comes to makeup and illusions.
When he has a moment he whispers to Derek, "The boy seems to harbor bad blood towards you. Is he an enemy?", the big Shoanti asks.
Appario feels surprisingly nervous as the roles are handed out. He is caught unaware of how important it is to him that he gets a good role and how relieved he is when the cast is announced.
It's amazing how much I care about something I care nothing about.
Breathing deep while he thinks about this, Appario starts counting the number of seats in the theater.
I wonder how much tickets are...are those tickets in those booths more expensive? I wonder.
"The "boy" as you describe him is a thespian like me, he is good, I can't deny that. The problem is that his sense of self-worth is enormously inflated and makes him regard anyone else as beneath him. I threaten him in that I'm good enough to divert some attention away from him, and that is an unforgivable crime to his way of thinking."
Derek considers for a moment.
"No big brother, he is no enemy, at least I do not think of him as one, and he probably does not think of me as an enemy, because that would mean I could threaten him, and he will never admit that."
"Maybe not an enemy, but a rival nonetheless", Maddok concludes.
Holding up a sculpted codpiece and a thin strip of ornamented pig iron passing as a breastplate Maddok looks to the bard again, "This armor is not meant to be taken seriously is it? It seems this equipment is meant to reveal more flesh than shield it from harm. A roughspun sack would provide more protection".
"Haha, rest easy big brother, we will be using our own equipment, augmented for a certain flair to amuse the nobles, and with a touch of illusion magic to deal with the rest. But I would imagine that they will attempt to show as much flesh as possible in your case as well as in the case of the ladies."
Appario balks at the make-upping.
Addressing Millech, and trying to be polite, "There is no need to paint my face. I'll not have the powder of trollops on my face. There are those in Taldor who think it is fetching and noble. They are men that I would not like to be reminded of."
Appario's face contorts in a bit of rage at the memory of his parents taking the eldest son to the Opera in Oppara while he stayed at home. His father's wig and face were powdered in the way that now makes Appario's belly roil.
At the mention of flesh Maddok looks down at his own bulging corded arms and then up and over at the rhythmic swaying of Yahirma's hips. The pieces seem to visibly fall into place within the Shoanti's mind.
"So our appearance will be meant to please the eyes and inflame passions as well? I understood this to be some sort of historical reenactment. Does dressing like this does not make it hard for the viewers to believe in our performances?", the big warrior asks obviously confused by the concept of artistic license.
Appario will inspect the armor/costume suggested by Millech.
"I don't mean to be a pain, but I do want the audience to be able to appreciate my attributes...and this is not flattering at all!" Appario notices that greaves are too bulky and match poorly against the color of his skin.
"And this adornment of Aroden you seek to put over my shield? Do you think you could make it a different shade of red? I'd prefer it not clash with my eyes."
Appario tries to be helpful.
Millech is happy to discuss matters of the play and his work, answering questions as he fusses over each actor's wardrobe and makeup.
"No, this will be my first time working on The Six Trials of Larazod. The Mayor has even paid for someone from the Asmodean church to produce the torture devices and beasts for the play. Hopefully everything will work out fine."
"Illusionist by trade, and I was trained by the best! I'm as yet not even close to my old master's abilities; my work here leaves me little time to study tomes of magic."
Noticing Appario counting the seats, he comes over. "No need to count the seats here. This theater will only be used for the practices and the dress rehearsal. The actual performance will happen in the Mayor's newly built Nightshade Theater. It will be exciting to see the stage there. It will surely be grand!"
He muses at Appario's reservations. "Hmm. No powder and paint, you say? It will be a difficult task to make your face seem vibrant to the back rows without them. I will do my best with my illusions."
He tries to appease Appario regarding his appearance, spending a good amount of time adjusting the armor pieces and trying out different color schemes.
Millech feigns hurt feelings at Maddok's critique of the armor-pieces he has laid out, before breaking out in a hearty laugh. "You can use your own, of course! The nobles have been taught by the opera for decades, centuries even, that this is the type of armor people such as yourself commonly use! I laid them out to aid me in preparing the illusions that make it seem as if that's what your armor really looks like. Some adjustments to your armor must be made though." He looks askance at Maddok. "Of course, you can use these ornamental armor pieces if you really want to."
"Yes, a play such as this is intended to give the viewers pleasure, both to the eyes and to the heart. You needn't worry about the audience believing your performance. Once the trials begin, the blood and pain will be real enough!"
Maddok frowns picking up the ornamental armor and clothing and looking them over a second time. The big man marvels at the bizarrely ornamented codpiece again. At the very least it would have to be drastically let out and altered to fit him. He would feel like a fool wearing it but no more so than the whole production already made him feel.
"Blood and pain I understand", the Shoanti says confidently. "But if you think it will improve the performance I will wear as much of this as I can".
Appario will thank Millech and try to offer a few gold for good service.
"I imagine that working in the theatre helps pay for the more expensive reagents you require? But tell me, if you had more time, would you seek to expend your craft? They say that sometimes the best way to learn is to teach."
"Have you been involved in a lot murder plays before or will this be your first run at it? I must confess, I have not taken part in any myself to date."
The church of Asmodeus eh? That makes sense, and does make me a little nervous as to the level they are going to take this.
"Good, good. That armor will really show you off in a good light!" Millech clearly admires Maddok's muscles.
"If I had more time, I would be interested in learning more, and perhaps even taking on an apprentice eventually. The more different illusions I can master, the better I can support a production such as this."
"I've worked on a few of the Theater Mortrescci before, but nothing on the scale of this production." He gives a nervous laugh. "It's nervewracking to not know exactly what the actors will face."
Derek nods, truly this visit to the theatre was beginning to seem like a blessing from Cayden Caelian himself. And as the person thinking that is a sworn priest in his service, why not?
"Well, let us make it through this production, and I may have a proposition for you, one to our mutual benefit, I swear to Cayden Caelian."
Derek taps his chin a little as he considers it.
"You don't? A mite strange to my ears that the main man does not know what he is supposed to cover up with illusions, but maybe master Nonon is big on surprises eh?"
Derek nudges Millech and winks.
"He's not one to keep secrets, usually. But in this case, only the Asmodean priest knows the exact nature of the terrors you will face. I would expect Robahl to know more, but if he does he hasn't revealed it to me."
Yahirma will slowly pace back and forth while reading through some of her other lines. She catches snippets of some of the other conversations, though for the moment she's distracted by some of the stage directions.
Alright, so then I enter stage right, which is...? Hmmm... Then I'm supposed to - Stones of Kho! What sort of infernal hedonism is this?!?
She is shaken from her frenzied reading and looks at her surroundings.
Ah right. Westcrown. How reassuringly Chelaxian...
Maddok follows Millech's instructions for the rest of the costuming and makeup and, though he occasionally growls in discomfort, he offers no further complaints. Seeing the others suffering similar treatment makes swallowing his pride easier.
Having put the finishing touches to the costumes, and written down everything that needs to be done in terms of makeup and illusions, Millech sends you home. "Make sure you're here bright and early tomorrow morning! The director wants you to be at the theater from sunrise to sunset each day until the performance."
When you arrive the next morning, the director hands each of you, as well as the other actors, a copy of the script. "Today, you will learn these lines and practice them. Tomorrow, we will begin doing dry runs of the performance. So make sure you learn your lines well before then!"
The director spends most of the day backstage with Millech, working on the effects and lighting, as well as on the set decorations.
Both Thesing Ulvauno and Delour Aulamaxa immediately begin reciting their lines and practicing how to perform them.
Maddok blinks in disbelief at the massive tome handed to him.
"We are to learn all of this within the week?"
Maddok finds someplace to sit and pours over the script. Although not the illiterate savage he may appear the big Shoanti is not accustomed to processing text at this volume. He visibly struggles having to reread sections multiple times.
"I think I like this Drovalid. He has a certain honor to him that many of the other characters seem to lack", the smith says aloud. "But if he knows Haanderthan speaks falsely why doesn't he strike him down?"
Appario accepts the script and thanks them for it.
Thumbing through it, he again realizes how little he wants to do this...as if reminded completely by the weight of the script.
"Derek...you know about acting, right? What can you tell me to make his easier? Can't I just make up my own dialogue?"
"Hmmm, from sunup to sundown eh? Harsh schedule, but nothing I haven't done before. But it does present a problem. It's a good guess we will face devils...or was it demons? I forget...but either way, I seem to recall (vaguely) that you need special weapons to hurt them. It will be hard to procure them if we can't leave. Although..."
Derek sidles over to Appario with a grin.
"You know the merchants way of thinking friend Appario, do you think it might be possible to get some custom weapons made for us? We could incorporate them in the play. Imagine the fame that could bring to a humble merchant if it became known that his weapons were used in this play."
Derek fakes mock incredulity.
"What? Make up your own lines? And deface the works of masters? Nah, you'll do fine. You have me to help you after all. Come on; let's see what you can do."
Derek will begin using inspire competence on Appario as he makes a dry run on playing Tybian.
"What? You want me to start? NOW? REALLY?"
Appario turns to a random page and looks for a line by Tybain.
Taking a deep breath, Appario intones (trying to keep cadence with Derek's aid):
"My holy flesh shall burn all the way down. Aroden’s
blessings upon my soul ensure a most unpleasant meal for
this Beast."
Perform Oratory
Finishing the line, Appario puts down the script and looks at the others.
"How was that?"
"No no no, don't just say it, DECLARE it. Remember, Tybian is a living person with real ideas, feelings and motivations. You're not just reading from a script, you are taking on a persona dramatis.
Here, I'll show you."
"Right, not perfect, still getting the feel for my role, but you get the point right?
Appario just sputters on how different (and good) Derek's readings of the same lines seemed so much better, clearer, and full of emotion.
"Ack." Appario sums up his feelings.
"Thanks. I'll keep practicing."
* * *
Returning to Derek's earlier question, "Yeah, I think we can get different weapons of different materials. What did you have in mind?"
Derek opens his mouth, stands with it open for a moment before his shoulders slumps in defeat.
"Auh...I don't know, I haven't any real ideas about what you use to kick devil kiester. Magical weapons? Silver? Cold iron? Star metal? Crystallized mead blessed by a celibate priestess of Calistra?"
Maddok takes a break from his studying to interject.
"Yahirma knows a great deal about otherworldly creatures. Perhaps she knows what devils fear".
"Thanks big brother, glad one of the brothers is thinking straight. We won't even have to leave the scene to get answers."
Dereks mind has not completely left the concept of something that can hurt devils and suddenly he blurts out.
"Or a sacred object in the form of a king’s apple made out of gold, with a religious symbol on top. And you employ it by removing said symbol and hurt the object at the enemy after counting up to a set numerical value, but not another numerical value?"
"Nah, silly idea..."
The big Shoanti casts his little brother a confused glance before standing and stretching his stiff limbs. Needing a break he goes for walk and check on the progress of his companions (Granor, Semenya, and Yahirma). Afterward resolves to meet the Visbaronetess.
The smith and the diva were as different as night and day but perhaps she could be convinced to share some of her experience with the struggling warrior.
"Auh...I don't know, I haven't any real ideas about what you use to kick devil kiester. Magical weapons? Silver? Cold iron? Star metal?"
Appario is happy to help find weapons of suitable nature in the markets...however, with them being in rehearsal from sun up to sun down, it will be hard to find time.
"Maybe we could ask Janiven or Arael to pick up the items for us?"
In fact, Appario makes a note to ask Janiven to buy him a specific item: a darkwood heavy wooden shield.
Appario will leave 257gp + 3gp tip for Janiven to make this happen.
* * *
Appario approached Maddok.
"Master Maddok...are you as uncomfortable onstage as I am? These words seem to hang on my tongue as if I were speaking another language should I try to speak them! I fear for our performance."
"Well, a good way to improve is to try and gather some pointers from me, but another one is to try and befriend the director if possible. I'd lay long odds that he would spend a little extra time on working with a friend."
Derek turns to Maddok.
"Let me see your work big brother, let's see what we have to fashion into a thespian in you."
Yahirma seems to do most of her practicing in her head during the first morning, and she is clearly appalled by what she is reading.
"Enter stage left Isandra, wearing nothing but a mithral negligee..." Oh my, this is just getting worse. To think that - wait, this suggests that I'm supposed to...on stage with...
In a frenzy, she flips through to later acts, hoping not to find select stage directions. After a minute of flapping about, she calms down, looks at Derek, closes the manuscript, looks again at Derek, and walks over to join the ongoing conversation.
"I heard something about devils from all of you, and I assure you that they are weak to you sticking particular things in their bodies. What I mean is that using the wrong thing merely excites them into-"
She stops and averts her eyes, a slight reddish tinge coloring her otherwise gray-brown skin.
Noticing the play is still in her hands, she tosses it to the side, muttering "Clearly I've been practicing these lines too long already. Silver! Silver and holy things hurt devils." Yahirma's gaze darts between each of the men as if challenging them to comment on her assorted slip-ups. She keeps her eyes on them as she reaches down to snatch her manuscript, providing herself some verbal cover by saying "We should probably have plans for promoting the play, but for now its important to keep...keep practicing...with the..."
Since throwing away the bound text, it appears to have skittered away on papery legs to rest near the chicken's cage, and Yahirma fails to notice such at first when trying to retrieve it while maintaining eye contact. She stands up, walks over to the cage, and grabs the manuscript while the chicken watches her curiously. When it "bwawk"s an interrogative, Yahirma raps the cage twice with the booklet and shouts "Oh, not you, too!" before stalking outside to get a little fresh air.
As the chicken whimpers and crows in fright, the director comments off-hand to nobody in particular "See! Now that's acting! I should have cast the chicken in all of the roles instead of you sorry lot! Get back to work!"
Taking a break from practicing her songs and narrative, the diva notices Maddok standing nearby. "What can I do for you?"
It's probably not appropriate, but Maddok puts his fist to his chest in a warrior's greeting.
"Greetings Visbaronetess, we have met twice now but I never given you my name. I am Maddok, some on Merchant's Street know me as Maddok the Smith. The director has cast me as your Drovalid. I come to you seeking aid".
"I am a warrior first and a craftsman after that. Mine is the way blood and fire, iron and death. I have little experience with playing roles other than those. I hoped you, in your vast experience, could share some of your knowledge and talent. We have only a handful of days to learn the whole script, a daunting task, and I find this text difficult after some time".
Appario will find a mirror in the theater and begin to say his lines into them, pushing and forcing emotion and feeling in the character and pages.
He'll do this until he is called on stage to work on a scene or blocking.
These words are naught but jumbles on my lips.
"Silver it is then, you know, I always did want a nickname with the word silver in it. Like "The silver singer" or something like that. You know, big brother could probably have a nickname in the making...look at him; he is like a steady castle buttress, or an unbreakable gate. Can't you just see him as the "Silver tower" or something like that? Pity it is not something weak against cold forged iron we meet. "Cold iron tower" sounds most impressive."
Let's see, I can act this part already, but I should challenge myself to see how well I can get the others to perform.
"Listen Appario, we should try acting out our lines from the first scene against each other. Big brother is making friends right now, but he is not in the first scene. So let us try it just you and me for now."
Derek stops for a moment.
"You know, if master Nonon permits it, we might even see if we can get Amaya and Hannah a bit piece in this show, that way Hannah can work her magic on you."
This is followed by a savage grin directed at Appario.
"Listen Appario, we should try acting out our lines from the first scene against each other. Big brother is making friends right now, but he is not in the first scene. So let us try it just you and me for now."
Appario regards Derek's invitation with warmth.
"That would be very helpful! I have not hang of this yet...it seemed so easy earlier."
Appario reads the first scene, both trying to commit the words to memory, but also the emotions behind them into reality.
The visbaronetess looks mildly disinterested as Maddok begins talking, but thaws considerably at his mention of her experience, knowledge and talent. "Ah, thank you! The important thing is to try to become the character, not simply reading the lines. Live and breathe Drovalid, then his state of mind will come easily to you, and his words will fall into place."
Maddoks begins to nod slowly in understanding as the giant woman offers her advice, "Yes, become the character. Live and breath as him. That makes sense. Perhaps I have more experience with this sort of thing than I thought".
"You have my gratitude", the big man offers.
Maddok knew almost nothing about acting but he did know how it felt to have another wear his skin. He wondered if it would be anything like the time he spent fused with Shush-Akeh-Di. Feeling more confident with this new bit of knowledge the smith leaves to rejoin his little brother and take him up on his offer to practice their parts together.
At the end of the first day of practice, Derek, Semenya and Yahirma are beginning to get the hang of their roles, while Appario and Maddok are still struggling somewhat. The director notices each stumble over parts of their lines, and throws his hands in the air while muttering about the mediocrity he has to work with.
The next day is devoted to dry runs of the play, with everyone performing on stage as the director looks on and gives his own unique style of feedback.
The visbaronetess spends some time during one of the breaks to aid Maddok with his performance, giving some pointers on how to immerse himself in the character, and how to better remember the lines.
Maddok repeats his line again trying to impart the conviction that the visbaronetess keeps speaking of:
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?"
He growls in frustration if not at his own inability to grasp the intracies of acting than for fear that they will keep him from finding his huntress.