GM Rat Sass's Age of Worms

Game Master Governayle

Eri will sidle up with Solrisa and awkwardly try to sound "hip" and "with it."

"I knew a guy named Cren. He was a real piece of work. One day he ... no wait, it was night. So anyway, he found that his torch had gone out and he was in the middle of the woods. I watched him fumble about for a bit and then I helped him home. I was hunting, you see, and he ruined my chances of finding anything. He was loud and now covered in water that I had doused his torch with. I was pretty annoyed. Then he got real angry. I showed him how to get home anyway."

Eidi smiles politely as Mariss leaves. The half-elf delays his answer and looks at Mortimer.

Ah! I should had cast that telepathy spell. I am eager to know what Mortimer is thinking now about Mariss approach on Solrisa!

"Orcs? Oh I am happy to know there is someone in charge to get those away from the city. They just don't understand about the advantages of civilization" the elder tries to show up recognition on Vulras thinking that would please him "As for our service to Zeech. I have come to believe we have been selected to be an amusement for the great party. I just hope we were more selected by our interesting conversation and our great triumph in Egorian Arena rather than as a circus clown"
Diplomacy (trying to attract Vulras simpathy): 1d20 + 14 ⇒ (9) + 14 = 23

Noticing things are moving on Eidi avoids to ask a new question and just prepares to follow up with whatever comes next.

"A pact 'ay? Well, we're on our best behavior tonight, and don't intend to start anything, but yes, I'll come to your aid. And that mustache. Of course, also the gentleman it is attached to! Never underestimate the small! I imagine you both have some stories to tell. No one at this party is without layers.”

Toris and Miszen both speak up. "Never underestimate the small!" They smile with unequal enthusiasm at the pronouncement, Toris clearly more tickled.

...

"Yes, the crenellations are ver...crenulated. Oh, I do like parties ever so much!”

Mariss nods with his own enthusiasms, as the maiden continues to use her lungs to salutatory effect. The half-orc seems quite taken with the heaves. "Parties are just the beginning, the foreplay. A way to get warmed up for more nocturnal activities. Once the luster has worn off the new acquaintances, all that remains is the lust." Mariss has extraordinary elasticity in his brow muscles, allowing him to see-saw his eyebrows with a constant undulation.

Professor Marat ahems a couple of times, with little success, while Mahuudril looks on with vicarious amusement. Her look suggests that if she were twenty years younger...

"I knew a guy named Cren. He was a real piece of work. One day he ... no wait, it was night. So anyway, he found that his torch had gone out and he was in the middle of the woods. I watched him fumble about for a bit and then I helped him home. I was hunting, you see, and he ruined my chances of finding anything. He was loud and now covered in water that I had doused his torch with. I was pretty annoyed. Then he got real angry. I showed him how to get home anyway."

Shag looks from Solrisa and Mariss, to the newcomer. "Welcome, good man. Mahuudril, Montague, please make Eri's acquaintance. He is also one of the winners of the Gauntlet, a fine resident of Diamond Lake, and perhaps new socialite of Alhaster? Perhaps." Shag puffs up a bit towards the end of his introductions.

...

"Orcs? Oh I am happy to know there is someone in charge to get those away from the city. They just don't understand about the advantages of civilization. As for our service to Zeech. I have come to believe we have been selected to be an amusement for the great party. I just hope we were more selected by our interesting conversation and our great triumph in Egorian Arena rather than as a circus clown."

The Captain clasps the half-elf on the shoulder. "Oh, I wouldn't be so quick to write yourself off. I understand the Prince already has all the circus clowns he needs for the night." Vulras appears quite impressed with Eidi, and his humble approach to his role in the Banquet.

With small talk and introductions well on their way, a good half hour passes before a new presence makes itself known on the steps of the Palace.

A small, sinister man, standing no more than two and a half feet tall bounds down the top of the stairs to encounter the lion's share of guests. He carries what appears to be a mummified raven, clutched close to his chest. He's dressed in crimson leather, and dons a tricorn hat, which casts just enough shade to cover a bulbous, gnomy nose. He fumbles for a moment, then produces a crooked brass horn, which he proceeds to toot. He toots long, punctuated blasts, which begin to enumerate the number of guests on the stairs. Toot towards Montague, toot towards Mahuudril, toot towards Solrisa, toot towards... well, you get the idea. But the hornblower doesn't have as much faith, so directs his noise at each and every one of you, until he's good and satisfied that everyone has been tooted accordingly.

"My lords, ladies, and other honored guests! Prince Zeech bids you welcome, and I trust you will enjoy the hospitality of his humble home!”

The strange little man looks around, leers at some of the guests, then flaps his free arm and lifts the mummified raven up on his shoulder. Using the dead bird as a ventriloquist’s dummy, he chirps out in a raspy voice.

“You may now present your gifts to honor the prince!” and then steps back, giggling quietly as the other guests reach into folds in cloaks and pockets. The mummified raven is pointing towards the well-manicured lawn, where your attention is drawn to none other than Prince Zeech.

The Prince is a handsome man in his early forties, but a life of decadence and heavy spending has left him with the countenance of a man much younger. He wears his hair loose and just off his shoulders, and dresses at the cutting edge of the current style. He looks off at a distance, over the cliff's edge, and the bay below, with a bored look.

The flock of guests on the stairs begin their migration.

Toris is first to bolt!! The colorful gnome dashes across the lawn, until he reaches the Prince's vicinity, where he slows his pace, and approaches Zeech in processional pace. He produces two bottles of wax-sealed wine, and hands it directly to the Prince. Zeech smiles politely, looking over the labels of both bottles, then smiles genuinely, as he accepts the gifts. A Servant comes when called, and carries off the bottles, while Zeech gives Toris a pat on the head. Toris giggles, and makes way for other guests to follow his very big-small shoes.

Roll20 Map has been updated. Toris is certainly the first, but the rest are moving at their own paces, as are you. Feel free to wait and watch, or approach and present.

"Oh, I wouldn't be so quick to write yourself off. I understand the Prince already has all the circus clowns he needs for the night."

A small, sinister man, standing no more than two and a half feet tall bounds down the top of the stairs to encounter the lion's share of guests.

"Ah," Mortimer says having come to some sort of elucidation upon the newcomer's arrival. "I see!" That is the ugliest hat!

~~~
Sense Motive: 1d20 + 19 ⇒ (8) + 19 = 27

Upon seeing Zeech, Mortimer spontaneously utters an exclaimation of shock mixed with horror mixed with pity. "Aiya!" He looks around self consciously. "Uh, sorry. Unexpected. Zeech looks so forlorn. Maybe it's because he has so much hair? I wonder if anyone has told him he'd look much more dignified were it to be cropped."

He looks at the enormous gift he bears for Zeech.

"Either way, have no concern! This gift is sure to lighten his spirits!" This is going to be sooo perfect for him! He beams.

Mortimer hangs back a bit, waiting to see what Zeech does with wrapped gifts.

Knowledge Nature: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (13) + 5 = 18

When the skinny little man appears, he rubs Ascaria the wrong way. He leans in to his new companions and whispers, ”Well, maybe not all small folk should stick together!”

Grinning, he lines up to present Zeech his gift. He takes it out of his pack, and sort of hides it in his vest, as best he can (not great I imagine) as he moves toward the line. He doesn’t want to be first, he’s no suck-up, but he’s fine going early on to get it out of the way so he can look for the woman they’re after and figure out how to approach her.

When he eventually makes it to the head of the line, he bows respectfully, and pulls his vest aside to reveal a small delicate yet sturdy platinum shuttered lantern. With a flourish, he removes the shutter to reveal a Continual Flame ioun stone, set handsomely within and blazing away. Ascaria, mindful of others views on such bright light, shutters the lantern again before bestowing it to Zeech.

”It’ll outshine even Deeper Darkness lord Zeech. I hope you will enjoy it.” He stops to hear any response, but is mindful of his place, and ready, if not eager, to move on at the slightest sign of dismissal.

K. nature DC 13: 1d20 + 13 ⇒ (18) + 13 = 31
Eidi laughs ostensibly with the spriggan's performance "I don't want to know how that raven smells"

Sense Motive DC 33: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (14) + 8 = 22
The half-elf is pleased Zeech has an appearance much more pleasant from what he had advanced, nodding in accordance to Mortimer as the man speaks up his voice "Yep, nothing more stylish than a bearded bald mature man"

The elder leans up with the others to make the gifts giving. When it is time for him, he starts to walk slowly towards Zeech. Stopping every couple of feet to lean over his staff, look at Zeech and smile warmly, only to resume for a couple more steps and tiredly stop again showing great effort. Eidi shields his will from the pressure of the stares that want him to finish fast, and once he reaches the great host, he bends slightly to present him with the pious pack of prayer beads and the collector's copy of The Asmodean Disciplines.

The half-elf pays special attention at the reaction of Zeech at the beads the group took from the altar of the worms age herald.
Sense Motive: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (17) + 8 = 25

Solrisa claps and cheers and squees with each new sight to see and every announcement and every spectacle. She claps her hands, bounces up and down, and revels in every event.

"Mariss, that is a *very* good point," Solrisa says at least twice, and very astutely as she knows smart people when she hears them. "Maybe we will have cuddle parties and tell secrets when it is very late!" Solrisa agrees, remembering the times when she was a child.

* * *

Solrisa will patiently bide her time before offering her gifts, probably going up in concert with Mort or Ascaria, but nonetheless *delighted* with the carefully crafted and chaotic spectacle. But she will deliver her nice gift with a smile and joy.

"This is the best!"

kn. Nature DC:13: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (12) + 5 = 17

"Mahuudril, Montague, nice to meet your acquaintance. What a lovely party this is so far."

Eri will line up with Ascaria when he is making his move ready to assist in his fact finding.

Eri will exude patience and calm as he joins the procession. He will proffer a fancy box with a pair of bright white gloves in it. glowing gloves "These are a great way to leave your mark."

"Aiya! Uh, sorry. Unexpected. Zeech looks so forlorn. Maybe it's because he has so much hair? I wonder if anyone has told him he'd look much more dignified were it to be cropped."

Captain Vulras gives a cautionary cough in response to Mortimer's unguarded words regarding the Prince, but he doesn't elucidate with anything greater than a raised eyebrow.

"Well, maybe not all small folk should stick together!”

With Toris so quick to bolt, Miszen takes Ascaria's arm, and nods in agreement. "I'm sure he serves at the pleasure of Zeech. I'm not sure I would appreciate being anywhere near foot-height within the Prince's reach."

"Maybe we will have cuddle parties and tell secrets when it is very late!"

With these revelatory words uttered by the maiden, one would think that a tether made of invisible force matter was secured between Solrisa and Mariss Quemp. The half-orc does his best to keep up with squee as the collective takes to the lawn. Mariss only leaves Solrisa's side when the gift-giving becomes an individual event.

"Mahuudril, Montague, nice to meet your acquaintance. What a lovely party this is so far."

"Charmed, I'm sure. And the party's only begun." Mahuudril looks between Montague and Eri, so chooses the tanned sorcerer's arm to take to the stairs leading downwards to the Terrace. "I hear things about your group. You should tell me all about your exploits in Egorian. The evening is quite young, and so are you." The elder woman traces a well-manicured fingernail down the right side of Eri's front side, hoping to hit a nipple.

...

Following Toris, the ironhaired man with a hook approaches the Prince. "Ah, Kilraven!! You reported for duty, after all! Come, show me what you've got!!"

The man known as Kilraven slips a scrollcase from his cloak, and hands it to the Prince. "As we discussed, your Highness. The negotiations yielded a good share of the company, so your returns will be great, given time." Zeech nods with an obvious air of condescension. "Why wouldn't it have, when I have men such as yourself to represent me? For your investment, I will call this a suitable gift, indeed."

The Prince offers a hand, turned downwards, which Kilraven accepts with a bow of his head, and his only hand.

The sinister man stands behind Zeech, and sneers silently to indicate judgment on Kilraven's gifting.

Captain Vulras is next. A book-sized gift wrapped in silk is placed in a singular palm of the Prince. Upon opening it, Zeech slips his free hand into the cherry wood jewelry box, and sifts his fingers through dozens of rings, some plain, some ornate, all of various values. "I would like to think that you obtained these at the suffering of many orcs, Captain?" Vulras bows in answer, neither frowning nor smiling.

"You are, as always, right, my Prince. They are polished to a sheen, and made worthy of your ownership." The Prince smiles at this, and also offers a hand to the Captain, though this time, it is for a handshake, man to man.

"Bring more, next time. Could have been months, you gathering all those trinkets." The little tricorn hat bobs several disrespectful head flicks in the Captain's direction.

"Come now, Fool. Take care not to insult my guests. I'm sure he fought hard, and lost many men to collect so many rings." The Prince doesn't bother to look back on the little man, only watches to see who next approaches.

That would be the dwarf called Hoff. He leaves the side of the two hobgoblins, to join the short line to the Prince. Upon arriving, he yields a beer stein, which does indeed detect as magical to those with the sense and the appropriate distance to the gift-giving.

"Sorry, your Majesty. It slipped my mind that your mug would need wrapping. Something naggled me about it getting triggered accidentally, so I keep it in the open air, til now. All you have to do is speak your thirst, and you'll find it full of mead, or ale, or beer, chilled to serve. I hope you find it favorable. I know I would."

The Prince accepts it, his nose slightly wrinkled. He doesn't respond immediately, leaving first impressions to lean sour over this gift, until the light frown turns upside down, and Zeech gives a hearty laugh. "Oh, you! Probably just the insensitivity of your kind to such formal events. I forgive you. I'm sure you'll remember next time to wrap your gift." Zeech allows the stein in his grasp to act as a fistbump for the dwarf's gloved hand. Hoff walks off to make way for those who follow.

The hobgoblins take their place behind the dwarf, only for their impatience in waiting for their gift to be carted across the Terrace by several of the Palace Guard. A covered wagon, smaller than the carriage that bore you hence, comes to stand in front of the obviously curious Prince. When the cover is pulled back, the caged animals are revealed. Five small boar jostle for the spaces between the metal bars, bringing a noisy tusk clang to the Terrace.

B'kruss steps forward. "Your Highness, I am honored to offer you the strongest brood of my War Boar, Gristlegape!! They may look small now, but you feed and train these animals, and there won't be metal enough to avoid a good tusk-gutting!! They'll even clean up their kills, down to the bone!! Your enemies will come to fear their grunts!! The Knights of Redhand will personally see to their training, you have our undying service."

The Prince stands to look past the hobgoblins, raising his hand. "Yes, ah, those are certainly unusual. Please keep them down wind. Don't want to spoil our appetites with their musk." With a nod of acceptance, Zeech waves them away, without so much as a handshake.

"You heard your Prince!! I can't tell if the smell comes from the boars, or the bores bringing the boars!!" The Fool finds his voice again, but this time, he garners a high-pitched chortle from the Prince, which in turn yields a black-gummed smile from the sinister little man.

The Giftings continue.

Montague Marat follows quickly behind the hobgoblins, though he doesn't produce any gift, wrapped or not. "I beg Your generous forgiveness, my Prince! My gift to you was well on its way to Alhaster, from the distant lands of Osirion no less, but I was shamed to learn that my caravan was besieged by highwaymen before it reached port. Have no doubt, I have taken measures to reclaim what is yours, and you should have it no later than tomorrow!!"

The Prince sizes up the Professor, and smiles very, very civilly. "Tomorrow then, Professor Marat. I can't wait any longer than that, to see what you could have possibly procured. It must be glorious."

"Oh, ho ho, how lucky you are, how fortunate, how blessed you are to have such a generous leader as our Prince, Professor!!" The Fool's words are dripping in sarcasm, up until he speaks on the generosity of Zeech.

Into this breach steps Shag Solomon, who produces a very small, tightly wrapped gift. The hand off is a little grabby, as Zeech takes a moment to hold onto Shag's hand, and look it over, like a new shoe. The gift is unwrapped eventually, revealing a platinum snuff box. The Prince flicks it open with an air of practice, and lends Shag an 'ooo' and an 'aah'. A quick pinch later, and Zeech looks a little brighter about the eyes.

"Wonderful gift there, master Solomon. This is not a local fare, I can tell. Well done, sir. Well done."

"Good dog." The Fool ducks behind the Prince, as Shag makes a deep growl in offense, but he doesn't pursue the little man. For now.

Mariss Quemp swaggers towards the front of the line, from the side, and tosses what can only be a wrapped sword at the Prince. Zeech snatches it out of the air, clearly taken aback that something has been thrown at him, and somehow Mariss gets away with it, as both men laugh in the catch.

"Careful, Quemp. If I were in a more sour mood, I'd have you flogged for your insolence. Shag's snuff has saved your hide, you should thank him."

The Fool looks like he wants to say something, but he thinks better of it, with Mariss being right there. As Zeech unwraps what is revealed to be a finely-crafted rapier, the Prince is already looking towards the others, as his gift-giving line of guests is dwindling.

Mahuudril bids another Palace Guard to step forward, as he guides a fiendish horse. Closer examination reveals that the horse isn't touching the grounds of the Terrace, lifted four inches in the air.

"For your rides about Alhaster, my Liege. I could think of nothing more appropriate for your regal stature." Mahuudril's voice exudes velvet adoration.

"Mistress Mahuudril, you never cease to amaze me. Your gift is extravagant, and it is exactly what I deserve. I thank you." Zeech flourishes the sleeve of his right arm in Mahuudril's direction, garnering a devious smile from the elder stateswoman.

The Fool sneers, nonetheless. "It probably s*&$s like the wind, as well." This garners a cuffing by the Prince. The Fool yelps, and backs off to recover, his eyes watering from the blow to the nose.

Miszen is visibly frustrated by Mahuudril's masterful presentation. When she steps up for her audience with the Prince, she wrings her hands from dampness, before reaching for her own wrapping. The paper covers a shoe-sized box, which turns out to contain several glass vials of various powders and grinds. "I've procured an assortment of spices, Prince Zeech. I'm sure your head chef will find them quite rare. I hope they bring you many magnificent meals."

The Prince looks down on the halfling, quite easily. "Are you saying that these are gifts for my... chef? They'll make my chef more appealing to me? Is that what you're saying?"

"Oh, no, not that, actually." Miszen reddens in the face. "I wanted you to..."

"Oh, come now, I'm only teasing you! Look how easily you flush in the face!! That tickles me. Of course I'll indulge in your spices, Miss Mitchwillow. I only hope my chef agrees with you."

The Fool manages a low 'oooooo' from where he stands, still rubbing his nose. It's not so clear to understand whether he's in pain, 'oooo'ing, or if he's schoolcallbaiting the halfling with a 'you're in trouble' warble in a singular breath of 'oooo'.

This leads the Banquet guests to the remaining Five on the Terrace- the Outcasts.

He bows respectfully, and pulls his vest aside to reveal a small delicate yet sturdy platinum shuttered lantern. With a flourish, he removes the shutter to reveal a Continual Flame ioun stone, set handsomely within and blazing away. Ascaria, mindful of others views on such bright light, shutters the lantern again before bestowing it to Zeech."It’ll outshine even Deeper Darkness lord Zeech. I hope you will enjoy it.”

"My, what a thoughtful, little gift. A magical lantern. Glad you warned us of its strength. What am I to glean from its meaning? Do you suggest that I'm afraid of the dark, and require this to fend off the shadows in my bedroom?" The Prince's words only inspire chuckles in the Fool, and the hobgoblins.

Stopping every couple of feet to lean over his staff, look at Zeech and smile warmly, only to resume for a couple more steps and tiredly stop again showing great effort. Eidi shields his will from the pressure of the stares that want him to finish fast, and once he reaches the great host, he bends slightly to present him with the pious pack of prayer beads and the collector's copy of The Asmodean Disciplines.

The Prince accepts the half-elf's gifts, looking them over, each of them. He tosses the Disciplines over his shoulder, flustering the Fool to catch it, while he looks over the Prayer Beads with more reverence. "What have we here? This is awfully generous of you, master Eidi. We barely know each other. Did you craft them yourself?" The Prince does eventually turn his gaze to Eidi to ask the last question.

Solrisa will patiently bide her time before offering her gifts, probably going up in concert with Mort or Ascaria, but nonetheless *delighted* with the carefully crafted and chaotic spectacle. But she will deliver her nice gift with a smile and joy. "This is the best!"

"Well, that's certainly for me to determine, Solrisa Iome Arabasti." As the Prince produces the richly-cobbled blue boots, he smiles, and bids the maiden offer her hand to him. Should she do so, he kisses it lightly on the back of it. "It's hard to compare these to the other gifts, but I appreciate your enthusiasm."

The Fool ventures a comment. "Blue, huh. Probably suitable for balls, eh my Prince?"

He will proffer a fancy box with a pair of bright white gloves in it. glowing gloves "These are a great way to leave your mark."

The Prince sets aside the Boots, for the Gloves. "Well, what have we here? Master Eri brings something to pair with these fine, fine Boots, I see. No wonder you came together. Well, let us see how they work, shall we?"

Zeech slips the Gloves on, and bids Solrisa return to his side, for a moment. He reaches forward, placing a glowing blue hand on the maiden's right breastplate, leaving a glowing blue handprint, which sheds light as a candle, up to sixty feet. One hundred and twenty feet for Solrisa.

"Well, that works quite nicely. Thank you, ser Eri. I can imagine this will be quite entertaining at my next social affair."

The Prince turns lastly to the last individual. With his new Gloves still on, he bids Mortimer to come forward.

"Our last guest? Mortimer, was it? Please, do me a favor, and open your gift to me, with your own hands. I don't want to sully my beautiful, white gloves on anything earthy you might have wrapped."

Sense Motive: 1d20 + 19 ⇒ (7) + 19 = 26

Moritmer frowns as the half-orc Mariss turns into Solrisa' lap dog.

Why doesn't she hand him his balls already? Maybe she's just leading him on, biding her time. Mortimer shrugs, and slowly trails behind the procession, taking in all the sounds and sights.

"Our last guest? Mortimer, was it? Please, do me a favor, and open your gift to me, with your own hands. I don't want to sully my beautiful, white gloves on anything earthy you might have wrapped."

Earthly? What does that even mean?

Mortimer nods, and places the box slightly more than slightly more than a meter away from Zeech's feet, and bows.

"Since no man -- especially one so prominent as yourself -- is without enemies, please accept this gift as a symbol befitting your great magnificence and power. May it protect while you make Great Proclamations within Alhaster and elsewhere, and should you ever indulge yourself and your armies in a land war where it is really -- " Mortimer's eyes dart from side to side as he searches for the right words, "icy cold and/or rugged."

Diplomacy: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (19) + 3 = 22

He rises and steps back with his right foot while holding his right hand over his head in a "behold" gesture, then reaches out with his left hand to give the bow a quick tug. As the bow unravels around it, the box gently falls open revealing:

The bicorn hat is half a meter tall and twice as wide at the base, and made of red satin. The top comes to a point where a bright yellow tassel dangles. The rim is covered with thick sable fur, and from each very furry point of the bicorn ends dangle two more bright yellow tassels. It is lined with removable shearling.

"Behold -- The Proclamation Hat of Buffering!" Mortimer exclaims with a flourish.

Within the hat is another wrapped box which when opened reveals a 46 centimeter long mithril chain joined at the ends upon which dangles a generous bar of Soul Soap .

Mortimer's eyes glint as they dart from Zeech to The Fool, clearly pleased with himself, and perhaps suspecting something of a weakness within The Fool. "You never know when you might need something like that."

(Long post of goodness - thanks DM Rat Sass!)

"My, what a thoughtful, little gift. A magical lantern. Glad you warned us of its strength. What am I to glean from its meaning? Do you suggest that I'm afraid of the dark, and require this to fend off the shadows in my bedroom?” The Prince's words only inspire chuckles in the Fool, and the hobgoblins.

”I’m sure there’s nothing you need be afraid of your Lordship.” Ascaria smiles and bows as he scurries out of the way to allow the next gift giver a place.

Later he watches Mort’s presentation. That’s some hat! he thinks, slightly tipping his own out of respect. I wonder how Zeech will react to this? he wonders, not idly.

He waits to see what the man says, ever so slightly holding his breath.

"I’m sure there’s nothing you need be afraid of your Lordship.”

The Prince regards the gnome's words with a gently-raised eyebrow, before nodding permission for Ascaria to conclude his Gifting, and make way for the next.

"Since no man -- especially one so prominent as yourself -- is without enemies, please accept this gift as a symbol befitting your great magnificence and power. May it protect while you make Great Proclamations within Alhaster and elsewhere, and should you ever indulge yourself and your armies in a land war where it is really -- icy cold and/or rugged. Behold -- The Proclamation Hat of Buffering!"

Zeech leans forward in his chair to examine the Hat with squinted eyes. "That is... quite hideous. Perhaps if we get rid of the tassels..."

The sinister man looks up at the giant, his own eyes mirroring the squinted eyes of the Prince. Much like his attitude towards Quemp, the Fool decides that discretion is the better part of valor, so holds his tongue regarding the Proclamation Hat. It is not altogether unreasonable to think that the Fool has eyes on the Hat for himself, as he looks towards the Prince with a measuring eye.

"You never know when you might need something like that."

"You certainly have a special take on gift-giving, Mortimer. I profess ignorance at the moment for hypothetical situations in which a need might arise. The chain is pretty, I'll give you that."

The Gifts are born away on the shoulders of Servants and Guards alike.

While the Gifts go, chairs arrive, one for each of the Attendees. An oval area is established on the Terrace, the Prince remaining in his current position, while those gathered begin to take their padded seats.

The Fool appears again and blows his strange horn. “My masters! We beg you to enjoy our little tale— ‘tis a small thing I penned myself, a tale of menace, revenge, lust and death which I have called The Harlequinade Mortificatio.”

The Fool moves back, and as he does, the servants arrange a small stage with a backdrop of a town street at night. A wooden moon wafts over the scene, and suddenly a host of animated skeletons dressed as clowns march on stage.

The play is performed in silence, apart from guests applauding perfunctorily as the skeletal clowns perform particularly ridiculous stunts, such as drinking wine. The entire play is a curious affair, and it soon becomes obvious that the whole plot recounts how each of the skeletons is acting out its own death, always by suspicious circumstances that aren’t quite accidents.

During the play (which lasts for an hour), servants flutter about with wine and trays of lightly roasted almond biscuits of exquisite taste. At the play’s end, the curious actors bow and applause breaks out in various stages of enthusiasm.

Roll20 Map has been updated.

Solrisa claps and coos and has a great time. She claps and laughs when she is supposed to and, in general, is delighted by the festivities. If there are bad things happening, she is unaware of them. She can see what is in front of her face...and she is loving it.

She doesn't eat much during the performance as she doesn't want to miss anything of what is happening.

He loves the hat, and can’t help but bristle when Zeech suggests tearing off the tassels. The monster!

Later, Ascaria resists the urge to channel, repeatedly, and end the macabre play. Though he tries to be stoic, he squirms a little in his seat, eager to destroy the undead abominations on stage. He’s heard of communities that embrace the undead, but he himself doesn’t think it’s at all appropriate.

In the end he applauds, carefully, aware that someone is always watching in a place like this. He’s not terribly enthusiastic, but tries to clap enough to blend in.

Bluff: 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (3) + 9 = 12

However he stops rather earlier than most, sits uncomfortably a moment or two, and then half-heartedly begins to clap again to finish with the others.

That over with, he stands, stretches a bit to get the blood flowing, and wonders what’s next in the evenings plan. He looks around to see where the lady they’re supposed to meet is. He’s not sure he’s seen her yet and doesn't want to blow any chance they might have.

"What have we here? This is awfully generous of you, master Eidi. We barely know each other. Did you craft them yourself?" The Prince does eventually turn his gaze to Eidi to ask the last question.

Eidi smiles wide with satisfaction and performs a small reverence with the head "One is bewildered to know his craftsmanship fame has reached such a busy and high nobleman as Zeech Son of Asmodeus." the half-elf shows the beads in his hands and makes some movements showing Zeech how to use them "Praying beads. They were originally crafted by Asmodeous followers. But they tainted them by perverting their faith into a cult of death and chaos. I snatched the beads from their dead corpses when me and my friends eradicated their cult back at Egorian's undergrounds" the elder looks at Zeech with softness but he holds his stare in what could be confused by some kind of veiled warn or challenge.

-------

Each time the servants pass close, Eidi picks two of the almond biscuits, safes one in his biscuits pot, then eats the other.

The elder laughs openly but he avoids to clap at the skeletons performance.

Zeech leans forward in his chair to examine the Hat with squinted eyes. "That is... quite hideous. Perhaps if we get rid of the tassels..."

He likes it!

"As your gifts, you are free to do with them whatever your heart desires," Mort states, beaming and bowing.

Mortimer takes his assigned seat, and shifts uncomfortably in it as the Undead play begins.

Why am I in the front row?

Sense Motive DC36: 1d20 + 19 ⇒ (13) + 19 = 32

Disgusting. This Fool is well choosen I guess. Mortimer stops shifting uncomfortably in his chair, apparently resigned to whatever is taking place. He does not partake of the food or drink, patiently waiting for the whole affair to come to an end. Every once in awhile he glances at Kilraven for a hint of an appropriate demeanor.

What is he thinking?

Where is the Lady we're supposed to meet? There's only one who might match the description... Is Eidi going to make a move, or is he ... He's practically sitting right next to her! Fine. I guess I'll just wait until this Fool's "Display" is over, and attempt to introduce them -- if he doesn't move first...

As the play ends, Mortimer applauds mindlessly and -- if decorum dictates -- even stands.

At the first opportunity, he hurries to Eidi's side.

Eri looks on with shock as his gift is used on Sol. Crap, that is not how I hoped that would go.

He follows Canary's lead in the clapping, awkwardly beginning the second round of clapping after all the clapping is over. He then blushes and tries to not be there.

SenseMotiveforKilraven's Thoughts: 1d20 + 19 ⇒ (16) + 19 = 35

"One is bewildered to know his craftsmanship fame has reached such a busy and high nobleman as Zeech Son of Asmodeus. Praying beads. They were originally crafted by Asmodeous followers. But they tainted them by perverting their faith into a cult of death and chaos. I snatched the beads from their dead corpses when me and my friends eradicated their cult back at Egorian's undergrounds."

The Prince looks the half-elf over, judging. "You are referring to the Ebon Triad, no doubt. I've seen to several of their worshippers' deaths. You should take a trip out to the Traitors' Graves, and witness my handiwork. You've eradicated nothing, only winnowed their numbers. Stick around Alhaster awhile, and you'll see me hang many more, I surmise."

...

The sinister Fool sees to the 'actors'' departure personally, brushing one's coat here, tugging straight on another's petticoats there. The stage is left bare for the meantime.

The Banquet Attendees begin to share small talk with one another, expecting the next chapter of the evening to begin as soon as the last chapter ends.

Mariss Quemp spares no time in wending his way back to Solrisa's side. "Nothing like a corpse impaling herself on a fence post to get the imagination pumping, eh, flaxen hair? You seemed to enjoy the performance. Not many regals would. I like that about you. You don't flinch at the sight of gore. You'd make a fine wife. Real fine."

While the retired barbarian relocates, a strange figure finds its way down the main stairs, crossing the Terrace to arrive at the side of Zeech. Only then does the figure remove the cloak's hood, revealing a woman who is a strange combination of the beautiful and the grotesque.

Her beauty is marred by two unfortunate physical deformities. First, her face is misaligned; the right half of her face is about a half inch above the left, giving her nose an ugly twist and her mouth a perpetual upturned sneer. Second, her back is hunched with malformed wings; broken feathers protrude here and here from these mockeries, and she tries to cover them with the cloak but isn’t always successful. Her expression is one of bitter cruelty.

She leans in to whisper to Prince Zeech, which brings a mock frown to his face.

He looks around to see where the lady they’re supposed to meet is. He’s not sure he’s seen her yet and doesn't want to blow any chance they might have.

Almost in answer to the gnome's curious look-about, the Prince speaks in a declarative voice. "I've just been told that our honored guest, the Lady Lashonna, has been delayed a little while longer. But don't you fret!! We shall lay eyes on that lovely lady before the evening is done. You have my word. But where are my manners? Please welcome Hemriss to our gathering. She is a wonderful conversationalist, please do not miss a chance to speak with her, should you find yourself in her presence."

While the stage is broken down, the Guests mingle. Mahuudril and Miszen take up positions at Eidi's side, both obviously curious about the elder half-elf, though only one asks a question.

"That was awfully generous of you, master Eidi." Mahuudril purrs. "The Prince certainly thought so. Are you seeking a seat in the nobles' court? Or are you a representative of someone more powerful?" Both the elderly lady and the halfling merchant look to Eidi for his response.

Meanwhile, Toris looks on expectantly, while captain Vulras chuckles and shakes his head, the gnome's words ringing humorously in the taller man's ears.

Kilraven seems comfortable enough at Hoff's side, towards the back of the crowd. The dwarf speaks occasionally, content to wait without many words to fill the silence, and the iron-haired man exchanges at the same rate.

The remaining quartet of mostly semi-humans tries its hand at courtly exchange, though the hobgoblins hardly manage it. Montague and Shag appear to be straining to indulge the braggadocio emanating from B'kruss.

Those perceptive among you will notice that the Fool has taken his leave of the gathering.

Roll20 map has been lightly updated.

As things begin to break up, Ascaria checks everyone’s status briefly - the undead have his adrenaline going and he is rather keyed up. As everything is OK, he tries to calm down a bit and looks for Toris and Lady Miszen. Seeing them mingling with Eidi, he decides to keep his distance and let Eidi work his magic. He glances in the hobgoblins direction, but finds no succor there either.

Finally he sees the taciturn pair in the back, and wanders in their direction. Seeing the dwarf, it occurs to him he should know more about mining than he does. After all, he spent many years in the mines, but always chauffeured. He was never alone - and never left to his own devices. Having nothing therefor to speak on, he looks to the human and finds nothing in his face to engender conversation either.

”Gentlemen.” he says smiling as he stands nearby, ostensibly with their group. However, once in place, he puts no pressure on either to carry on a conversation. Instead, he casts his eyes back upon the party, those he can see anyway, for the area is large enough that the far side is clouded to his eyes. He’s watching for trouble.

Perception: 1d20 - 1 ⇒ (18) - 1 = 17

Shrugging, he grins again and decides to wait for trouble to show itself. He wasn’t going to find it by looking for it. It would come to him soon enough, he knew. Trouble always manages to find the light and try to snuff it. He'll just wait for the evil to come.

His thoughts are broken by the appearance of the poor marred… uh, woman? Perhaps she is devil-kind. After all, he doesn’t know of any humans with wings, even stubby ones. He wonders if she was born that way, or if some magic could be applied to heal her of her malformity.

In the end, he can’t help himself and he speaks up to his quiet companions, ”So, that’s disappointing, Lady Lashonna being delayed, huh? Are either of you suitors? I hear she has many, though she rebuffs them all. Still, that’s just rumoring among the washer-women, so who knows the truth. I’ve never seen her, have either of you? They say she’s as beautiful as she is brilliant.”

He glances at his companions before looking back out on the crowd, not expecting a response.

Diplomacy: 1d20 + 28 ⇒ (6) + 28 = 34

”Gentlemen... So, that’s disappointing, Lady Lashonna being delayed, huh? Are either of you suitors? I hear she has many, though she rebuffs them all. Still, that’s just rumoring among the washer-women, so who knows the truth. I’ve never seen her, have either of you? They say she’s as beautiful as she is brilliant.”

As expected, Kilraven raises his eyebrows in a 'who knows' expression, while Hoff moves to the side, allowing Ascaria a more equal position with the others. The dwarf gives a quick consideration, though quiet, even for the dwarf.

"Haven't seen her myself. I prefer to test the cushions before I make the bed. Sounds like you're sizing up your competition. Unless she's a halfling, or a gnome, I'd assume you're already done with your race in the eyes of that Lashonna lady." Hoff points in the direction of Miszen. "Stay in your little pond, eh? Better beating about bushes, than trying to climb trees." Hoff gives Ascaria a shoulder shove, spilling a bit of his beer at the gnome's feet.

Toris blushes a little, his hand nervously reaching for the end of his moustache, and twirling it. Captain Vulras speaks up. "You mercenaries are crude, no doubt, but you should really try and reign your tongue, given present company, Hoff."

The dwarf gives Vulras a mug nod, drinking back a goodly throat-fill, before looking about for a servant, and a refill.

Wow. Yeah. This is excellent ooze, GM Rat. You clearly have a talent for this. A+.

Mariss Quemp spares no time in wending his way back to Solrisa's side. "Nothing like a corpse impaling herself on a fence post to get the imagination pumping, eh, flaxen hair? You seemed to enjoy the performance. Not many regals would. I like that about you. You don't flinch at the sight of gore. You'd make a fine wife. Real fine."

Solrisa claps her hands and smiles.

"Oh yes! I will be a very good wife! I am betrothed to the Dragon and I *always* try to do what I think he wants me to do!" Solrisa beams happily. "Yes. Yes! YES! I follow the Dragon for I am his!" Solrisa blue eyes twinkle with joy, even ecclesiastic rapture.

"Mariss, you're so smart...who is that?" Solrisa points to the strange woman who is both beautiful and grotesque. "She's...interesting...isn't she?"

"Please welcome Hemriss to our gathering."

Solrisa lowers her hand when the Prince makes the announcement. She again looks at Mariss.

"Who is she? A councilor to the Prince?"

The Prince looks the half-elf over, judging. "You are referring to the Ebon Triad, no doubt. I've seen to several of their worshippers' deaths. You should take a trip out to the Traitors' Graves, and witness my handiwork. You've eradicated nothing, only winnowed their numbers. Stick around Alhaster awhile, and you'll see me hang many more, I surmise."

Mortimer, having been there and seen that, looks confused momentarily. Which one of those things is he referring to? ...Pretty certain he's not talking dragons or cultists...

Mortimer, too distracted by the strange figure wending it's way down the main stairs (Could this be her?!) to notice Mariss Quemp's assault upon Solrisa, stays quiet and takes a place next to Eidi.

No... Looks like a cross between one of these flying ... 'batmen' things, and an actual angel. What. The. Hells. A failed vessel for one of those Ebola Triad Champion things?

Her expression is one of bitter cruelty. She leans in to whisper to Prince Zeech, which brings a mock frown to his face.

"I've just been told that our honored guest, the Lady Lashonna, has been delayed a little while longer."

Well, Hells. I might actually be ugly, but at least I don't choose to be ugly on purpose.

"Apologies, master-venerable Eidi." Mortimer says most humbly. " I shall endeavor not to be distracted from this point on," he continues, offering an arm prop to the aging half elf. "Though," he hesitates, hanging his head, "I do wonder what delays the Lady Lashonna."

Head down, he casts his ears toward Kilraven listening to the distant conversation -- and closing his eyes, he rolls them in exasperation.

So they're ALL suitors?!

He politely turns his attention again to his most present company, but keeps silent.

Eidi smiles to Mahuudril and Miszen "I in fact am interested into building my own mausoleum. As you see my back is old already and I seek peace into seeing a good place to rest soon. I am impressed by the Prince Great Project and I want to know more, as I suppose that is his private mausoleum project" the half-elf leans on his staff "Have you already decided how will you rest once your final day arrives?"

"Lady Mahuudril" Eidi addresses the woman first "Being patron of Alhaster is sure interesting? How do you find your tasks in the city are heading?"

The elder gently accepts Mortimer's arm with a slight nod "It's fine my dear Mortimer. My vertebra are not what they used to, but I can still hold myself for a while." then looking at Hemriss "Why don't we go checkout the story about the new arrived one?"

As expected, Kilraven raises his eyebrows in a 'who knows' expression, while Hoff moves to the side, allowing Ascaria a more equal position with the others. The dwarf gives a quick consideration, though quiet, even for the dwarf.

"Haven't seen her myself. I prefer to test the cushions before I make the bed. Sounds like you're sizing up your competition. Unless she's a halfling, or a gnome, I'd assume you're already done with your race in the eyes of that Lashonna lady." Hoff points in the direction of Miszen. "Stay in your little pond, eh? Better beating about bushes, than trying to climb trees." Hoff gives Ascaria a shoulder shove, spilling a bit of his beer at the gnome's feet.

”Aww, shucks no. I’ve never met her, how could I be interested in marrying someone I’ve never met?” He thinks a moment and laughs, ”I suppose we are all judged by our size at some point or other though - you're right about that!"

"You must think yourself lesser then, say, Mort over there. He’s bigger’n you I think, though you are quite broad. But you shouldn’t let it get to you. Size isn’t everything.” He grins and points to the nearest servant with beer available to help the men replenish their supply. One should never be without a ready beverage.

"Lady Mahuudril, being patron of Alhaster is sure interesting? How do you find your tasks in the city are heading?"

Mortimer politely and quietly waits for Lady Mahuudril to answer Eidi's question, and for the general rapport between the ladies and Eidi to wane -- all the while staying quiet.

"Why don't we go checkout the story about the new arrived one?"

Mortimer does a polite head bow to the half elf, then to Mahuudril and Miszen. "Of course, Master Eidi. Ladies, please excuse us."

He then "guides" Eidi skillfully over to Hemriss.

Eri looks uncomfortably around the party.

Yeh, this room has an uncomfortable vibe. I still do not like to party with evil. It feels like some broken, weird thing is going to happen at any moment. Fake frowns, leering smirks - what's the next freaky thing?

He sticks close to Canary. I'm not drunk enough for this. "Waiter!" Eri asks for something in an intoxicant. Something a little more boozy than wine.

"Oh yes! I will be a very good wife! I am betrothed to the Dragon and I *always* try to do what I think he wants me to do! Yes. Yes! YES! I follow the Dragon for I am his!"

Mariss is painfully slow on the uptake of the Solrisa's exuberant outburst, regarding betrothal, and dragons, that he is not quite sure how to answer the maiden. He takes his time, composing thoughts, to reach out and attempt to rub off the glowing blue handprint from her breastplate, harumphing when it fails to fade, or he fails to rub, should she decline his 'assistance'.

"'Dragon', eh? I don't think I've had the pleasure of meeting someone nicknamed the 'Dragon'. He a local knight? You know, if you can't be with the one you love..." Mariss leans in and takes a good sniff of the flaxen.

"Mariss, you're so smart...who is that? She's...interesting...isn't she? Who is she? A councilor to the Prince?"

With flattering words which give him another line of conversation, Mariss gives a languid look to Hemriss, setting his gaze at a distance, while speaking with Solrisa in closer quarters. "Hemriss is certainly... interesting. For her place by the Prince's side, some say she's his daughter. Who the mother is, some say other things." Mariss leans quite close to Solrisa, that his chin hairs reach the fleshy outer cartilage of her ear. "Personally, I find it kinda disgusting, mating with anything not human like that. I've got standards. My children are going to be bred well." Mariss leans back, giving him enough angle to look the maiden over fully, toe to top.

...

"I in fact am interested into building my own mausoleum. As you see my back is old already and I seek peace into seeing a good place to rest soon. I am impressed by the Prince's Great Project and I want to know more, as I suppose that is his private mausoleum project. Have you already decided how will you rest once your final day arrives?"

Neither of Eidi's conversational ladies offer their own take on the Great Project. Miszen takes the question proffered. "Oh, I shall be buried with my family. The estate has a cemetary, well-guarded, and our groundskeeper has a strong family line of her own, intertwined with mine, so I feel very comfortable with how I shall be laid to rest. Are you planning on being buried here in Alhaster, master Eidi? Are you seeking to best our Prince's Project with one of your own?" Her eyes twinkle with intelligence in asking the last question.

"Lady Mahuudril, being patron of Alhaster is sure interesting? How do you find your tasks in the city are heading?"

"It has its moments, to be sure. Alhaster has, as of late, drawn to it many flies, so I find myself wondering whether it's the city's honey, or its s~&~e, that has attracted them. I try not to worry over the day-to-day administration, as the Prince has his designs. If I'm asked for an opinion, I offer it readily. For someone your age, I speculate you are just as loose to share your thoughts? What do you think of our Prince? What of Alhaster? You've been studying him, for your own mausoleum. What have you taken for your inspiration?" Mahuudril asks the question a bit louder than might be comfortable for the elder half-elf, as it very likely reaches Zeech's ear.

While the elder woman speaks to Eidi, she takes the initiative to reach Mortimer's side, where she gives his bicep a measuring squeeze. Her approving growl is also quite audible.

...

"You must think yourself lesser then, say, Mort over there. He’s bigger’n you I think, though you are quite broad. But you shouldn’t let it get to you. Size isn’t everything.”

Hoff looks over Ascaria's face with a half-smirk. "You're a strange one. You must not have understood me. If I wanted to hump your man, our parts would fit well enough, and he'd feel it in the morning. You try and hump a woman like Lashonna, and she'd probably just tell you to use your arm instead. You get me, or do you need a demonstation?"

Toris flushes quite red, while Vulras brings words to admonish the dwarf. "Damn your manners, Hoff. When we take our seats for dinner, find yourself somewhere else. You'll ruin my appetite with your gutter-tongue." With that, Captain Vulras bows to the rest of you, and finds another conversation in which to take part. As Prince Zeech is nearby, Vulras approaches, and praises the Prince for his hospitality, and the promise of what's to come.

Hoff looks nonplussed. Turning back to Ascaria, he continues the conversation. "Nobles. Always looking for reasons to get offended. Now, where were we? Oh, yeah. You're thinking your boy is better than me, huh? Suppose we can find that out, before the night's over." The dwarf attempts an excusing bow in the same manner as Vulras, and struts across the Terrace to Mortimer. Tapping on his arm, the dwarf looks up at the giant.

"Oye. When we find a table inside, you and I are going to wrestle arms. Your little friend thinks I don't stand a chance, and I aim to straighten his attitude. Don't do anything before then that could appear like you're trying to excuse yourself from being your best before our match."

Kilraven looks down on Ascaria and Toris, finding himself the lone human among the wee folk. "Well, you have to give it to Zeech. He knows how to liven up a Banquet. We've still got plenty of performances lined up. Should be interesting to see how it pleases our Prince..."

...

"Of course, Master Eidi. Ladies, please excuse us."

"You are excused, Mortimer, on the condition that you don't neglect us in the coming hours. You strong-but-silent types are the most fun to figure out." Mahuudril purrs at the giant. Miszen doesn't appear grateful to be included in Mahuudril's 'us', but she doesn't object verbally, only lightly frowns to herself, before seeking the next thread of conversation.

...

"Waiter!"

When Eri calls out, a Servant approaches, her wine carafe in hand. When Eri entreats her to find something stiffer in drink, she nods with a kind smile, and moves to the wine cart. She returns with a single malt, and a clean glass, pouring it in front of the sorcerer, and waiting for words of approval, before taking her place on the outskirts of the gathering.

...

The hobgoblins, Shag, and Montague manage to hold down their own conversation, with both sides sharing joint stories, Shag and Montague remembering earlier days, and B'kruss and V'russ accounting their band's activity for the last couple of weeks. Shag and Montague appear to strain in their share of conversation, as the hobgoblins bore easily, and would rather brag on battle wounds and skirmishes than listen to the effetes. Shag bristles occasionally, as he tries to ally more with Montague than B'kruss, and B'kruss makes plain his disapproval with Shag's refinement.

...

When Eidi takes Mortimer's arm, begins to approach Hemriss, Hemriss notices, and swiftly covers the distance to the elder half-elf, saving him the need of much escort.

"Well, if it isn't two of the Outcasts. I wouldn't have believed our Prince to be so fortunate to have you all in attendance, unless I had laid my own eyes upon you. You honor us, both of you, and of course the rest of the Outcasts. Come, tell me. Why did you seek out Invitations? None of the other guests did."

The sinister little man, the Fool, reappears eventually, now dressed as a scarecrow on stilts and with a hare’s skull where his head should be. Several patches of rabbit hair are glued to the skull, giving it a bed-head appearance.

"Are you good and sloshed by now? If you are, then you're a light-weight, and I can't believe you were even considered worthy of being Zeech's guest. If your senses are not yet dulled, then you're ready for the next Chapter of tonight's Banquet!! You are about to participate in The Handsome Slaughter of Curious Avians!! Finish your drinks and your noshes. I will have none of you sprinkling crumbs on the floors of the Palace!! I will not have it!! Nor will I have you spilling your wine on the carpets!! Brush yourselves, if you need to, as I will also not have any hair falling out and mussing our curtains!! This is a Palace, not a dog shelter." The hare skull is pointed at Shag, and B'kruss, and V'russ, and flicks at Mariss so the half-orc is not left out of the judgment.

He leads guests across the grounds to the next event, singing a song about boiling sparrows as he goes.

I'll move us into the next scene, after we've wrapped up some of the Terrace conversations. Roll20 Map currently displays the clusters of conversation, as I see it.

While the talk of mausoleums and burial grounds takes place, Mortimer tries not to look bored.

Such vanity, to try and prove your worth with extravagant constructs just to house your corpse! My final resting place will be on the bodies of my fallen enemies, and my legacy shall live on in legends for ages to come!

"What do you think of our Prince? What of Alhaster? You've been studying him, for your own mausoleum. What have you taken for your inspiration?" Mahuudril asks the question a bit louder than might be comfortable for the elder half-elf, as it very likely reaches Zeech's ear. While the elder woman speaks to Eidi, she takes the initiative to reach Mortimer's side, where she gives his bicep a measuring squeeze. Her approving growl is also quite audible.

Mortimer snaps out of a day dream about flinging hoards of evil beings of every type to clear a path on his way to the very source of All Evil (happy to take his time imagining just what that might look like) while fire rages all around him on the battlefield.

He looks at Mahuudril in surprise as she squeezes his arm.

Holy crap, was she talking to me?! I wasn't listening! Oh, good -- thank Gods! She's still addressing Eidi. He coughs politely but embarrassedly having been sized up and approved of by the aged Lady.

It's like a meat market in here.

"Oye. When we find a table inside, you and I are going to wrestle arms. Your little friend thinks I don't stand a chance, and I aim to straighten his attitude. Don't do anything before then that could appear like you're trying to excuse yourself from being your best before our match."

Mortimer's surprised gaze turns from Mahuudril to follow the owner's gruff voice down to Hoff, standing defiantly before him. He glances at his own forearm taking in its length, then at Hoff's for comparison. He suppresses a look of skepticism.

He resists the urge to pat the dwarf on the head -- which he discovers is easy since one arm is occupied by Eidi, and the other still by Mahuudril.

"Forgive me, I have no doubt that you are mighty." He says, addressing Hoff. "Should the venue prove an appropriate time and place for such a contest, and should the mechanics of how we could do that be sorted out -- I would be more than happy to wrestle arms with you." He beams competitively at the dwarf.

"You are excused, Mortimer, on the condition that you don't neglect us in the coming hours. You strong-but-silent types are the most fun to figure out."

Mortimer smiles and bows his head slightly to Mahuudril and Miszen as he and Eidi depart their company, but he says nothing.

"Come, tell me. Why did you seek out Invitations? None of the other guests did."

Sense Motive: 1d20 + 19 ⇒ (17) + 19 = 36

Mortimer clears his voice noisily. "Well," he begins slowly, glancing at Eidi out of the corner of his eyes. His voice -- which almost sounded diplomatic when he addressed the dwarf -- somehow now seems to waver in confidence and becomes gradually softer as he continues, we seek to expand our experience base. Delve into every possibility... expand our horizons outside of contest. One only lives once, after all..."

Diplomacy: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (10) + 3 = 13

He bites his tongue a second or two before turning to Eidi. This is not what I'm cut out for. "Venerable Master Eidi, maybe you can better express what it is that I am trying to convey?"

Hoff looks pleased, as Mortimer accepts the challenge. "Alright, good. You and me, we'll liven things up." The dwarf circles his right arm through the air, slowly so as not to disturb the surface tension of his beer. "We still have plenty of Banquet left, no rush."

"Well, we seek to expand our experience base. Delve into every possibility... expand our horizons outside of contest. One only lives once, after all..."

Hemriss stares at the giant, for as long as it takes Eidi to respond to his call to express...

Hoff looks over Ascaria's face with a half-smirk. ”You're a strange one. You must not have understood me. If I wanted to hump your man, our parts would fit well enough, and he'd feel it in the morning. You try and hump a woman like Lashonna, and she'd probably just tell you to use your arm instead. You get me, or do you need a demonstation?”

Toris flushes quite red, while Vulras brings words to admonish the dwarf. ”Damn your manners, Hoff. When we take our seats for dinner, find yourself somewhere else. You'll ruin my appetite with your gutter-tongue.” With that, Captain Vulras bows to the rest of you, and finds another conversation in which to take part. As Prince Zeech is nearby, Vulras approaches, and praises the Prince for his hospitality, and the promise of what's to come.

Hoff looks nonplussed. Turning back to Ascaria, he continues the conversation. ”Nobles. Always looking for reasons to get offended. Now, where were we? Oh, yeah. You're thinking your boy is better than me, huh? Suppose we can find that out, before the night's over.” The dwarf attempts an excusing bow in the same manner as Vulras, and struts across the Terrace to Mortimer….

Ascaria’s eyes laugh with the dwarf, ”Oh, my, yes, you have quite misjudged your audience. But that’s OK I suppose, as you say some are always looking for reasons to get offended.” He openly chuckles when he goes to talk to the peaceful Mortimer. He wonders what they’re saying when Kilraven interrupts his thoughts.

Kilraven looks down on Ascaria and Toris, finding himself the lone human among the wee folk. ”Well, you have to give it to Zeech. He knows how to liven up a Banquet. We've still got plenty of performances lined up. Should be interesting to see how it pleases our Prince…”

”Yeah, I don’t think Zeech knew we were coming. I just hope we don’t entertain overmuch.” he chuckles as he grins conspiratorially at Toris.

The sinister little man, the Fool, reappears eventually, now dressed as a scarecrow on stilts and with a hare’s skull where his head should be. Several patches of rabbit hair are glued to the skull, giving it a bed-head appearance.

”Are you good and sloshed by now? If you are, then you're a light-weight, and I can't believe you were even considered worthy of being Zeech's guest. If your senses are not yet dulled, then you're ready for the next Chapter of tonight's Banquet!! You are about to participate in The Handsome Slaughter of Curious Avians!! Finish your drinks and your noshes. I will have none of you sprinkling crumbs on the floors of the Palace!! I will not have it!! Nor will I have you spilling your wine on the carpets!! Brush yourselves, if you need to, as I will also not have any hair falling out and mussing our curtains!! This is a Palace, not a dog shelter.” The hare skull is pointed at Shag, and B'kruss, and V'russ, and flicks at Mariss so the half-orc is not left out of the judgment.

He leads guests across the grounds to the next event, singing a song about boiling sparrows as he goes.

Ascaria begs leave of his companions amiably, and seeks out Eri. He begs for a Prestidigitation to cleanse any crumbs, and accompanies Eri and the others to the next event. He wonders what it might be, and tries to steel himself. He anticipates another horror like the undead show.

"My children are going to be bread well."

Solrisa smiles, understanding completely.

"Yes, of course! You *have* to feed your children well. Me? I love cheese! I just *love* cheese. And ham!" Solrisa's face lights up. "It's good that you're going to feed your children, Mariss! If the Dragon and I have children, I will feed them so much ham! SO. MUCH. HAM."

Solrisa stands up, smiling at Mariss.

"I'm going to get some more cheese. All this talk of cheese has me wanting all more," Solrisa says impishly, as if she were committing some gluttonous act. "Shall I bring some back to you?"

Solrisa grabs some cheese and is then ready to follow the stilted jester to the next place.

"Being buried here in Alhaster?" Eidi chuckles at the idea "Sorry Lady Miszen, where are my modals. Of course I would compete with the Prince for the best mausoleum. Isn't it competition which brings up the limits of human capabilities? But I know better than doing this at his home"

"Oh, honest advise is the base for knowledge Lady Mahuudril. The Prince is fortunate to count you among his advisers" the elder smiles and answers willingly "I see the Prince is more human than I thought, with all the pros and cons of that state. I am still trying to pierce what that layer of Son of Asmodeous brings to the mixture" when her voice raises up the half-elf smile becomes wider as he looks to one side and the other to see whom might be listening "Alhaster is a hardy place, a spot of civilization in the middle of a dark corner of our country. Despite its shadows I am convinced its walls defend this region from the brutality outside. I am just curious to discover what among those shadows risk to corrupt and require to root out." with a kind nod he adds "If any of course" and then follows with a smile changing topic to the mausoleum "Ah the grandeur of course! That's what I am definitely picking for mine. I have already a great sculpture artist for it. Solrisa herself!"

The elder frowns as he notices Mortimer's tension when Mahuudril's squeezes his arm. When they walk forward he taps the giant's hand "Ah! I have almost forgotten how does it feel to be a young and sexually desirable man. You should enjoy and not lose your time. Once you age even mosquitoes will reel back at your smell, no more desirable than a raisin"

Eidi resumes his casual smile as he notices Hemriss approach "An empathic woman you are, thanks for noticing my difficulties to aproach"
Sense motive: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (14) + 8 = 22

When the elder notices Mortimer's ask for help he resumes his speech "What my friend here is trying to say is we did not know invitation was not needed for us!" the elder tries to laugh "Well. We were quite scared of the Blessed Angels as well. We did not want to break any local rule by self-inviting ourselves."

"Yeah, I don’t think Zeech knew we were coming. I just hope we don’t entertain overmuch.” he chuckles as he grins conspiratorially at Toris.

Toris raises his eyebrows tall, before nodding briskly and tugging on his moustache with several finger twirls. "We know our boundaries, not like some. Our entertainment will be bountiful, if measured!" The colorful gnome keeps pace with Ascaria, finding his presence a continued assurance.

"I'm going to get some more cheese. All this talk of cheese has me wanting all more. Shall I bring some back to you?"

Mariss lets the initial uncertainty slip away, seizing the opportunity for further fooding. "I welcome your desire to see me well-fed. Gives us a chance to practice, you and your future husband, me and my future wife..." When the processional falls in line with the stilted Fool, Mariss is never far from Solrisa. He even goes so far as to open his mouth, refusing to carry his own cheese, beckoning to be fed by hand. A playful nip at manhand fingers to punctuate his gruff playfulness...

"Being buried here in Alhaster? Sorry Lady Miszen, where are my modals. Of course I would compete with the Prince for the best mausoleum. Isn't it competition which brings up the limits of human capabilities? But I know better than doing this at his home."

The lady Miszen bows her head with a soft smile, demonstrating her understanding by declining to offer follow-up questions. She excuses herself, eventually catches up in several swift strides to accompany Captain Vulras to the Palace.

"I see the Prince is more human than I thought, with all the pros and cons of that state. I am still trying to pierce what that layer of Son of Asmodeous brings to the mixture."

Diplomacy, Ei: 1d20 + 14 ⇒ (4) + 14 = 18

Eidi's widening smile takes in the Prince and Hemrisss, who look at the elder half-elf from a distance, with regarding looks.

"What my friend here is trying to say is we did not know invitation was not needed for us! Well. We were quite scared of the Blessed Angels as well. We did not want to break any local rule by self-inviting ourselves."

Diplomacy, Ei: 1d20 + 14 ⇒ (20) + 14 = 34

Hemriss seems pleased with the elder's answer, as well as his demeanor. As the Banquet attendees make their way into the Palace, Hemriss works her way to Eidi's side, and speaks softly. She doesn't seem overly concerned with Mortimer being nearby.

The strange woman doesn't wait for a reply, as she separates from the pair of Outcasts to join the Prince in the promenade.

...

The macabre grand marshal leads you all on a stilted path, from the Vertiginous Terrace, back up the front stairs to the Palace. Servants and Guards dot your way, taking wine glasses here, steering you straight there.

The First Floor of the Palace is rich in the smell of incense. Given the large open spaces, the burning of exotic plant materials and essential oils must have started much earlier in the day.

Your path is wonderfully direct. From one set of stairs leading from the Main Drive into the Palace, to another leading up to the Second Floor. You arrive in a palatial octagonal room which echoes of birdsong. Every so often, a colorful bird takes a lazy lap above your heads.

For the tree growing in the center of the room, and the large windows occupying five of the exterior walls, you have laid eyes on the Palace Aviary. The branches are teeming with a variety of feathered friends.

The fool addresses the guests. “And now, welcome to the Balcony of Expectorance, my friends, and the Handsome Slaughter of Curious Avians!” Two deformed servants march out, carrying between them a large rack of repeating crossbows, all masterwork, save one. Another group of servants wheel out a number of cages filled with brightly colored red birds. “Please, select your weapon, and make ready to...”

Prince Zeech cuts him off with a dismissive slap as he steps forward. The fool teeters, but manages to catch his balance as the prince selects a magnificent-looking crossbow. “I’m feeling particularly lucky today. If anyone can bring down more than me, I’ll give the lucky soul a thousand rings.” 1000 Platinum

The servants open the window-doors, allowing anyone engaging in the Handsome Slaughter to find a place along the balcony railing.

Among the guests seeking to participate, only Miszen, Kilraven, and Hemriss decline.

Of course, the Prince goes first.

Who among the Outcasts picks up a crossbow?

Roll20 Map has been updated.

Solrisa doesn’t have too much interesting in feeding the man, and after the first one or two bites, has him carry his own cheese. She’s trying to enjoy the party after all and there are jesters on stilts. You don’t see that everyday.

”If anyone can bring down more than me...”

Solrisa smiles big and almost takes a step forward before minding her manners and instead clasps her hands behind her back lest she go take a crossbow. She smiles and encourages others to have fun while she just watches.

She intends to clap and cheer for everyone as she is a very good clapper and cheerer-onner.

”Oh! This is *so* much fun!” Solrisa says to Mort, Eidi, and Eri before her eyes alight again on Mort. ”Oh Mort! You should do this! You’d be very good at it! I know you would be.”

Ascaria leans over to Toris, ”You any good with a crossbow? I’ve never really gotten the hang of it myself.” Ascaria will decline the opportunity.

When Sol calls out to Mort though, Ascaria looks to him too. ”Go for it Mortimer!” he calls out, excited. He looks to Eri as well, "It's a crossbow, but you know how to use those too right?" He's not sure, never having seen Eri with anything but a bow.

He’s curious just how good a shot this prince is. He is certainly confident, or very, very rich to offer such a purse. Maybe the crossbows are rigged. Like at the carnival, where all the crossbow bolts were a little warped to throw off your aim.

In the end, he’s not sure what he’s more excited about. Trying to figure out how Zeech is cheating? Or rooting for Mort and Eri to win…

"Ah! I have almost forgotten how does it feel to be a young and sexually desirable man. You should enjoy and not lose your time. Once you age even mosquitoes will reel back at your smell, no more desirable than a raisin"

Mortimer stares a bit at Eidi for sometime in horror before lowering his voice to respond. You forget about things like that?1 "...It's not quite time for that yet... is it? Why don't the women back home ever growl at me like that? Something tells me she's not into me for my mind."

"Oh Mort! You should do this! You'd be very good at it! I know you would be."

"Go for it Mortimer!"

Mortimer remains silent for some time before responding. "These -- these are just songbirds! It's not even a great big giant eagle -- big enough to carry away cavalries I've heard such things exist. Now bringing a great big bird of prey like that down would be worthy of such a purse, but these pretty little songbirds... We might as well shoot fish in a barrel."

He yawns, then turns to Eri. "Well, aren't you an archer? Hop to," he barks, cheerfully.

No wonder the Lady Lashonna is delayed. She probably finds these sort of activities distasteful.

Eidi chuckles and taps Mortimer's hand while looking at Solrisa "Ah! You should not worry about the mind. You have me or Ascaria for that. Even Eri will do for a good conversation when he is not deep on his own thoughts"

-------------------

The elder profits their movements climbing stairs to approach Ascaria, then Eri and update them about Hemriss request "I am unsure if we should collaborate, but they want us to uncover what Miszen's intentions are during the banquet. Anyway, the fact they want us to know is probably a good sign we should know..."

-------------------

While the others await for Zeech, and perhaps Mortimer or Eri, shot at the birds, Eidi seems to smile on his deep thoughts while soothing his staff "Do you think a barrage of force instead of wooden bolts would be well received?"

"I am unsure if we should collaborate, but they want us to uncover what Miszen's intentions are during the banquet. Anyway, the fact they want us to know is probably a good sign we should know..."

Ascaria nods in agreement, "Learn what we can and decide what to share later."

While the others await for Zeech, and perhaps Mortimer or Eri, shot at the birds, Eidi seems to smile on his deep thoughts while soothing his staff "Do you think a barrage of force instead of wooden bolts would be well received?"

He looks at Zeech, "I don't think he has much of a sense of humor where such things are concerned. I'd let the archers do their thing."

"When Lady Lashonna arrives, I will escort you, Eidi, to her. We'll find someplace to sit you can talk with her, and I will wander over to chat up Lady Miszen and distract Lady Mahuudril -- give them both a chance to figure me out," Mortimer whispers, snorting quietly at the end.

"Do you think a barrage of force instead of wooden bolts would be well received?"

"I agree with Ascaria. But... I don't suppose you could somehow surreptitiously encourage the tiny songbirds to quickly fly out of crossbow range and into freedom, could you?"

Eri presti-cleans the party of crumbs as he sips his drops of the pure. The more he cleans, the slower and more thoughtful he casts as the golden marinade seeps into his viscera.

”If anyone can bring down more than me, I’ll give the lucky soul a thousand rings.”

Eri’s ears perk up a bit and he pick up a crossbow. Ah, yeh, sure. That sounds fun.”

Solrisa claps her hands when Eri takes up the crossbow.

"Oh Eri! You're the best!" she squees with anticipation.

"You any good with a crossbow? I’ve never really gotten the hang of it myself.”

Toris hefts a repeating crossbow, and a reloading cartridge, his face scrunched in overwrought creases. "You never turn down an opportunity to try something new, I always say. I'm sure it's not that hard...practically fires itself... all you do is point it..." The moustachioed gnome's words register with less confidence than he's exhibited before.

"These -- these are just songbirds! It's not even a great big giant eagle -- big enough to carry away cavalries I've heard such things exist. Now bringing a great big bird of prey like that down would be worthy of such a purse, but these pretty little songbirds... We might as well shoot fish in a barrel."

The sinister Fool snorts loudly in the giant's direction. In a mocking, sing-song voice, the gnome repeats Mortimer's words, mostly verbatim. "These -- these are just songbirds. It's not evena great... BIG... throbbing... giant eagle..." From atop his stilts, the Fool sways in psuedo-faint. "Sounds like someone is criticizing your choice of sport, my Liege."

The hobgoblins make overtly-disapproving noises to support the Fool's observation, while others grow quiet in response to the Fool's pronouncement.

This manages to draw the Prince's attention, as he readies himself to begin the event. "Oh?" He turns to observe the focus of his Fool's mockery. Seeing Mortimer, he shrugs. "You're probably used to wrestling with horned cattle barehanded, eh? Rather trade fisticuffs than practice a martial art, such is archery. Can't say that I blame you. You aren't built for finesse. We shall admire your brute strength, then, however less entertaining it is when it just stands there, posturing."

"Oh, I wouldn't go so far as to say that it is any less entertaining, my Prince." Mahuudril purrs from her place on the balcony.

Hemriss turns to those of the Outcasts who have chosen to decline the invitation to the sport. "Have you come to the Banquet merely to observe? I understand lady Miszen's declination, as I understand Kilraven's, but you are known for your participation in bloody sport." She looks over all of the Outcasts, save Eri.

"Ah, yeh, sure. That sounds fun."

The Prince smiles grandly at Eri. "You see? There's the spirit. Good master Eri, we shall bond in the forge of competition's fire. I am expecting to witness the might of the Outcasts. You'll make a fine start."

Zeech takes to the railing of the wood-crafted balcony, and beckons his birds be released. From the first, it becomes apparent that these red-feathered friends a more than meet's the eye, as they go from clustered little things in cages, to fully-winged entities in air.

The birds are released five at a time, two waves. Prince Zeech manages to piff six fowls, waiting for them to gain some distance from him before he takes his shots. The gallery applauds robustly, which pumps the Prince's bellows nicely.

As the others take their turns, it becomes clear why Zeech waited a little for the birds to take to air. The redbreasts begin spraying cones of intense color, striking several of those standing on the balcony. There are no Servants present, sagely so. Those who are struck do their best to hold onto their crossbows. Toris fails to avoid the magical defenses of the birds, his crossbow dropping to the balcony floor. The others learn quickly to avert their gazes when the birds squawk their distressed last birdcalls.

The scoreboard begins to take its toll tally. Mariss lands five. Toris misses every one, almost misfiring into one of the Blessed Angels. Hoff secures four, while Montague and Shag tally three between the two of them. The hobgoblins both tie Hoff with four, while Mahuudril titters happily when she manages to take a single Corollax from the sky. Vulras ties Mariss, then brings a hand to his eyes, as if offended by some light, before taking his final shot, and missing.

All eyes turn to Eri. The Prince regards his final competitor. "Well, well, master Eri. It looks like you're the last to try and best my six. I wish you the very best of luck." He grins, confident in his position at the top of the board.

...

The stilts come off. The sinister little gnome begins barking again, this time from his place at the top of the stairs. "Time for a little Lively Sports and Baiting, don't you think, Your Majesty? Shall I lead the way?" The Prince nods, and the gnome inverts. The Fool now stands on his hands, and on his hands he continues down the stairs. A little lump on his back suggests that the mummified bird is still present and accounted for.

Down the stairs, then across some halls, then down more stairs, then across grand cellar storage rooms and extensive basements, then down even more stairs, until you arrive at an Underground Arena, albeit much smaller than Egorian's.

The Banquet Guests are directed to sit on the curved benches surrounding the sunken fighting pit, while the Fabler explains the nature of the event. To the Fool's side, two four-foot-square cages swathed in dark silks lie in wait.

The misshapen gnome retrieves a small oak box from a locked chest and opens it, withdrawing a pair of silver rings. “And now, we come to some Lively Sports and Baiting, my lucky ducks!! These rings are ensorcelled with magic such that those who wear it can direct the actions and movements of one who has been… specially prepared... as a receiver.” He hobbles over to the prince and hands one of the rings to him. “The prince would like to challenge one of you to an honest fight, utilizing what lives at the other end of these rings as proxies. Are there any of you brave enough to meet the prince’s champion on the field of battle?”

It soon becomes clear that most of the Banquet Attendees are looking to the members of the Artists and Outcasts, deferring to any one of your voices to speak first.

Haven't updated Roll20 for this last scene. Not yet, at least.

Ascaria smiles at Hemriss, "Well, I suppose we pick our battles." and adds nothing to his refusal.

Knowledge Arcana: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (18) + 5 = 23

He's sorry that Toris does poorly, and goes to help him commiserate, pouring him a drink. "I am sorry my friend, truly. Just bad luck!"

Waiting, with great curiosity, for Eri's archery volley before proceeding.

sense motive DC:20: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (19) + 4 = 23

Eri waits for the birds to get out of range of their color spray. He waits even longer and gives Zeetch a wink. He waits a little more and then takes down three in quick succession. He flubs a couple of shots to get a fourth and starts to look nervous. He then lobs one bolt almost at the limit of his range to get the fifth and looses the rest of the magazine unable to get a sixth.

bluff: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (1) + 7 = 8

Eri turns to Prince Zeetch,

”Ah, well, pride goeth before the fall. That was some nice shooting, Your Majesty.”

There are two kinds of people attending the Anniversary Banquet- those watching the Artist Eri with a repeating crossbow take several redwings from their flight patterns, and those watching the Prince watching the fowl count climb...

"Ah, well, pride goeth before the fall. That was some nice shooting, Your Majesty.”

Zeech brightens as the Handsome Slaughter of Curious Avians comes to its conclusion. "It was quite exhilarating to see us all do our very best! A great measure of the man, don't you think? Steady hands, steady aim, steady purpose. I am humbled to learn that of us all, I am superior in this regard." The Prince tosses his magnificent crossbow to a guard. The guard has been waiting with open arms the entire length of the shooting, unerring in his focus to be ready when Zeech decided to be done with his weapon.

The rest of the competitors all applaud, some mourning the loss of the purse, and the Prince's generosity with the chance. If the Prince sees through the feigned respect of Vulras and Kilraven, he doesn't address it.

"I am sorry my friend, truly. Just bad luck!"

Toris smiles sheepishly as he places the crossbow back on the rack. "Never been stunned like that before. Didn't realize it makes the muscles in your arms just go limp like that. The crossbow doesn't look the worse for dropping it, but still..." The gnome tugs on his moustache with a touch of trepidation. "Makes you wonder what else is planned for our 'entertainment'..."

Waiting for you as you leave the Balcony for the marble floors of the Aviary are platters of roasted Corollax, glazed with honey, mulled in spice, on skewers. Several of the Attendees take a wooden stick or two, ready to follow to the next gallery or hall.

...

"The prince would like to challenge one of you to an honest fight, utilizing what lives at the other end of these rings as proxies. Are there any of you brave enough to meet the prince’s champion on the field of battle?”

Before any of the Attendees have a chance to accept the challenge, the Prince speaks up. "Come now! What a glorious opportunity, Outcasts! Here, in my private Arena, you can recapture your Hellfire!! The Son of Asmodeus, pitted against one of the renowned Champions of the Gauntlet!! I insist. Which one of you will take the ring? Eri's had his fun. What about you, wise little Ascaria? Or you, venerable Eidi? Is this sport more to your liking, honorable Mortimer? Or shall we let chaste Solrisa accept the challenge?" The Prince leans back into the cushions of his chair, and slips one of the silver rings onto his left ring finger. For a moment, the look on his face goes blank, before a devious smile returns to his face. "I am ready, Ominous Fabler, when they are."

If it was unspoken before, now the rest of the guests begin side conversations about the likelihoods of which Outcast steps up, and the possibilities of what lies under the silks...

Solrisa squees as Mort has a chance to prove how amazing he is, having passed on the shooting to Eri.

”Oh Mort! This is your chance!” Solrisa squees and encourages. ”This will be very fun to watch, maybe.”

"You're probably used to wrestling with horned cattle barehanded, eh? Rather trade fisticuffs than practice a martial art, such is archery. Can't say that I blame you. You aren't built for finesse. We shall admire your brute strength, then, however less entertaining it is when it just stands there, posturing."

Mahuudril wrote:

"Oh, I wouldn't go so far as to say that it is any less entertaining, my Prince."

Barely audibly, Mortimer snorts when Zeech speaks "marital art, such is archery". Keep thinking that I haven't studied... His surprised eyes, however, dart to Mahuudril as she purrs. If I must keep her attention, I must. He puffs out his chest and throws his shoulders back. How's this for posturing you foppish Devil?

"Have you come to the Banquet merely to observe? I understand lady Miszen's declination, as I understand Kilraven's, but you are known for your participation in bloody sport." She looks over all of the Outcasts, save Eri.

Mortimer looks over at the birds. I wonder how much blood is in them? He looks at Hemriss. "You're right, we are into bloody sports, aren't we. We'll just have to up our game, and try not to further disappoint."

He is genuinely surprised when the birds reveal their colorspray power. So that's the game? I should have guessed.

After Vulras, he mutters "He had that! He didn't have to miss!"

SM: 1d20 + 19 ⇒ (19) + 19 = 38
Mortimer's eyes wander this time over to Mahuudril.

~~ Lively Sports and Baiting

"The prince would like to challenge one of you to an honest #ght, utilizing what lives at the other end of these rings as proxies."

Zeech wrote:

"The Son of Asmodeus, pitted against one of the renowned Champions of the Gauntlet!! I insist. Which one of you will take the ring?"

"Wait, is this a magic thing? Majesty Zeech wears a ring, and controls one of the beasts under the curtain, one of us gets the other ring and controls the other?!" He tries not to let the tone of his voice betray his potentially imminent disappointment.

Sense Motive: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (13) + 8 = 21
Sense Motive (on Eri): 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (10) + 8 = 18
Eidi observes the birdsing hunt and smiles "Such an amazing display of practice Sir Eri"

-------------------------

The elder observes as the rules in the arena are explained, then when Mortimer doubts about accepting "Lord Zeech, I have to acknowledge our colossus, Mortimer, gets more motivated when he is close enough to smell the sweat of the rival he is smacking"

If Mortimer indeed rejects to puppeteer whatever is hidden, Eidi more likely will step up rather than letting the challenge slide away.