Tanith spends the morning at the Kordite temple, exercising alongside Cuetzpalli, Carina, and the other clergy. The church seems to be warming to them now, and the old high priest, Lanthis Chax, doesn't even pause in his sparring with another sword-wielding Kordite when the trio arrive.
Selvinne, however, is doing something that Tanith has never seen anyone do before in a Kordite temple: Sitting on the steps reading. She looks engrossed in whatever it is, incensed, even, and doesn't notice the adventurers' entrance.
Reminder on Selvinne and Lanthis.
Eben's face does an absolutely heroic job of not reflecting anything resembling guilt or paranoia at the news of the 'kerfuffle' downtown, or the results therof. Instead, he makes a moue of disappointment. "Four days? That's... less than convenient. I mean, there's nothing to be done about it, of course, and it does allow us a few more days of shopping, as needed, but the less, shall we say, refined members of my group have been less than sanguine about paying for continued lodgings here. You have to understand, these aren't exactly People of Quality, they don't have appreciation for the amenities you offer and think four walls of knotty pine and roughspun cotton sheets would be just the same. I talked them into staying, of course, at least through the banquet, but four more days might be difficult. Especially for Cuetzpalli. He breaks things when he's upset. Do you think it will be... inappropriately scandalous if the 'rough' members of our group are spotted staying at, oh, I don't know what else there even is, but let's say 'Billy Joe's Discount Sleepery'?"
"Oh!" Armhin blanches. "Well... I believe I did tell you that those colleagues of yours are your responsibility, but I'm sure I could offer a discount, if it would help. It wouldn't do to force any of your other teammates to stay at that flea-bitten Angry Rifter, would it, now? It wouldn't look good, you see." He tugs on his cravat. "And it does look good to be hosting so many guests of the Prince, you know.
"Speaking of which, have you seen Zalamandra anywhere? I was hoping to deliver this bad news personally. We've established quite the rapport, her and I!" He winks.
Astraden heads down to the Shipping Concern, thinking to partake in her favorite non-adventuring pastime, aside from ripping apart the foundations and bringing it all crashing down: Building stable foundations and making sure it all stays standing.
"Excuse me, I'm new in town and looking for work. I was an apprentice carpenter at Wake's Construction in Greyhawk?" Astraden says to someone important.
Farrukh spends part of the morning trying (and failing) to find a book on Allhaster social etiquette. Then, disappointed, he joins Astraden. It's dangerous to wander off alone anyway.
Farrukh looks at the place curiously, wrinkling his nose at the alcohol stench, but assumes Astraden knows what she's up to.
Pausing between sets of one-finger push ups, Tanith passes by Carina. "What's Selvinne doing over there? Is she sick or something?"
Cuetzpalli turns to look at Selvinne, putting down the large rock he'd been using to aid his squats. "I think they call that reading, Tanith. I guess it's what you're supposed to do with books when you're not using the pages to wipe your bum."
Carina, having been doing stretches and handstands, gets down and wanders over to Selvinne.
"Whatcha reading there?"
Astraden and Farrukh enter the Alhaster Shipping Concern, and quickly realize that this is not a shipping company. In fact, Astraden and Farrukh initially think they've accidentally walked into the hold of a pirate ship, because the walls of this tavern are lined with pirate paraphernalia: the infamous Merry Mary flag* hands proudly over each window, and skeletons—real skeletons, as near as the pair can tell—are nailed to the walls next to every door. The air stinks of high-grade grain alcohol and the faint odor of urine.
The clientele matches: The majority of patrons are hobgoblins, but a few especially rough-and-tumble humans have their place. There are also odder patrons: A one-headed ettin, a pair of obese purple spidery creatures, and what appears to be three goblins in a trenchcoat and pirate hat. Everyone is heavily-armed. Nobody looks happy to see the two adventurers. The bartender—a ridiculously muscular hobgoblin with a bulging left eye—whips out a dirty rag and starts cleaning out a tankard.
*The skull of a kobold with two sabers embedded in its scalp. Nobody is sure if the skull represents a pirate named Mary, or if some pirate named Mary just really hated kobolds.
Selvinne gives a start as Carina approaches, and quickly slams the book shut. It's a book on basic exercising techniques.
All three partymembers notice, however, that there is a thinner text tucked inside the larger volume.
"Nothing," she says, giving a curt smile. "Sorry, didn't see you three. How's it been?"
"Oh, Zalamandra is busy doing... sorcerous things. Teleported back to Greyhawk, this morning. She has to buy magic ingredients. Lots of them. She'll be back in a day or two, certainly in time for the banquet, but in the meantime her you can let go. Um. In case she left anything behind- magicians are so absent minded about practical stuff like that, aren't they? you can just have it moved to one of our rooms so we can hand it off when she gets back. We're used to that kind of thing."
Over breakfast, he does make sure to let everyone else know about the delayed banquet (though at least in public he's sparse with the details as to why it's another four days of having to turn a blind eye in Alhaster), and that Armhin has generously (albeit through guilt-squeezing) offered a discount for the duration to anyone wishing to continue on at the Deluxury.
Rather than engage in the horrors of exercise, Eben heads out with Farrukh and Astraden, less for the sake of looking for actual work and more out of the notion that he'll somehow turn it into a shopping expedition again. He declines any part in the veil Astraden offers, because, "When the only law in town sees right through illusions, it just takes all the fun out of it." Instead, he spends a few minutes in his room concocting his own mundane disguise, supplemented by cantrips as needed to become a wiry-haired blonde human man.
He stands in the doorway, a smile frozen on his face while it decides which way it wants to turn. "I don't think you'll be picking up any menial labor jobs here. Maybe some day drinking, though," he says through a corner of his mouth to Astraden.
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"Pisswine, four more days? Why won't this f*++ing end? Ugh." Astraden grimaces as she shovels down some of the complimentary toast and jam, then involuntarily smiles at the taste. "This is good stuff, though."
"Oh, uh, thanks for tagging along, Farrukh. I didn't realize you were interested in woodswork. You're uh, you're definitely gonna stand out here, though. Just give me a minute . . ." Astraden hands Farrukh a cloak, shaves off one of his eyebrows, and uses some dirt to smudge around his eyes.
"Seems that way. Can you get paid for day drinking, though?" Astraden wonders.
She goes up to the bartender. "What's it pay for a set of shots for me and my friends here?"
"I can grow that back for you later." Eben says apologetically as Farrukh abruptly suffers an eyebrow-ectomy at Astraden's hands.
"It's fine, he doesn't need it. It's one of the least important organs. Right after the yellow bile bladder," Astraden says confidently.
"But I feel so lopsided without it." Farrukh says, rubbing his forehead.
"You really don't know how important something is until it's gone."
"Oh, sorry." Astraden raises the dagger towards Farrukh's other eyebrow.
Astraden and Farrukh enter the Alhaster Shipping Concern, and quickly realize that this is not a shipping company. In fact, Astraden and Farrukh initially think they've accidentally walked into the hold of a pirate ship, because the walls of this tavern are lined with pirate paraphernalia: the infamous Merry Mary flag* hands proudly over each window, and skeletons—real skeletons, as near as the pair can tell—are nailed to the walls next to every door. The air stinks of high-grade grain alcohol and the faint odor of urine.
The clientele matches: The majority of patrons are hobgoblins, but a few especially rough-and-tumble humans have their place. There are also odder patrons: A one-headed ettin, a pair of obese purple spidery creatures, and what appears to be three goblins in a trenchcoat and pirate hat. Everyone is heavily-armed. Nobody looks happy to see the two adventurers. The bartender—a ridiculously muscular hobgoblin with a bulging left eye—whips out a dirty rag and starts cleaning out a tankard.
*The skull of a kobold with two sabers embedded in its scalp. Nobody is sure if the skull represents a pirate named Mary, or if some pirate named Mary just really hated kobolds.
Selvinne gives a start as Carina approaches, and quickly slams the book shut. It's a book on basic exercising techniques.
[dice=Perceptions]1d20+7;1d20+14;1d20+15
All three partymembers notice, however, that there is a thinner text tucked inside the larger volume.
"Nothing," she says, giving a curt smile. "Sorry, didn't see you three. How's it been?"
"Good morning," Cuetzpalli replies. "To be honest it's been kind of a drag around here. Everything is so...dark."
"Oh, sorry." Astraden raises the dagger towards Farrukh's other eyebrow.
Farrukh lets her shave it off.
"Surprisingly better. Farrukh says, showing her his new strangely expressionless face.
"How do I look?"
Astraden swallows a laugh. "Like you work in a smithy."
"...and you put your face too close to the forge."
"Perfect. Now no one will suspect I'm a spelunker."
"Oh, Zalamandra is busy doing... sorcerous things. Teleported back to Greyhawk, this morning. She has to buy magic ingredients. Lots of them. She'll be back in a day or two, certainly in time for the banquet, but in the meantime her you can let go. Um. In case she left anything behind- magicians are so absent minded about practical stuff like that, aren't they? you can just have it moved to one of our rooms so we can hand it off when she gets back. We're used to that kind of thing."
"Oh. Yes, of course." Armhin looks somewhat put out, but does not press the issue.
The bartender glowers at Astraden as she approaches the bar. He is a grizzled hobgoblin missing a nose with a red bandana and several fishhooks in his lip. His bulging eye is locked on Astraden's average-looking face as he reaches for a glass. "On the house. Always nice to see new faces here."
"Dark? You mean the weather?" Selvinne looks at Cuetzpalli quizzically. "Or do you mean...the burdens borne by Prince Zeech in taking care of our lovely city?"
"Yeah, I'm sure. You guys seem real friendly."
Farrukh is being sarcastic.
"Hey!" shouts one of the goblins in the trenchcoat. "He's being sarcastic, boys! Right leg, GO!"
Everyone ignores it, including the goblin controlling the right leg.
"Hey, no need for us to be enemies, right? You guys want a free drink?" he addresses the rowdy goblins.
"There sure are some interesting faces here, though," Astraden says. "Seems like you could never really get tired of some of 'em."
She visually inspects the proffered drink, then downs it.
"Yeah Selvinne, something like that. I know just talking can get you in trouble here, so I don't want to say anything else. Sorry for mentioning it." Cuetzpalli points to the exercise book. "Tanith can probably teach you better than some book. He taught me how to work out."
Eben glances around at the various extremely hostile faces and the bartender. "Uh, hey, maybe this would be a good time to name drop the friend that sent you this way, huh?"
"Oh, right." Astraden turns to the bartender. "My friend Caul said I could caul in a favor from someone named Mudmouth here. But I wasn't really looking for a favor right now, just wanted to enjoy some good drink."
Astraden takes the shot. It leaves a burning sensation as it flows down her throat.
"Wow! Sure!" The goblin trenchcoat figure shambles over and grabs at Farrukh's drink, rapidly downing it. It clutches at its throat immediately afterward.
The bartender goes stiff as he hears Astraden's pun-infused statement. He straightens, looming over Astraden, his voice lowering. "Mudmouth? You're here looking for Mudmouth, you say?'
"Well, I don't know that this is good drink, even if it's on the house," Eben says, tossing back his own shot. "So... how d'you guys get to decide who's on top and who's the legs?" he asks of their new goblin 'friend'.
"I'm not sure he can answer you..."Farrukh says, looking at the choking goblin.
"Must be some real strong liquor."
He gives a deadpan look at the bartender.
The goblin rubs its throat. "Whatchoo talkin' about, human? I am but a single hobgoblin. Behold my height." It draws the trenchcoat closed, but the other goblins are clearly still peeking out.
"Yeah, you him?" Astraden asks, beating her chest once to force out a burp. "Caul implied she had family here, but since I'm not picking up on any major resemblances, really it could be any one of a couple dozen of y'all here. Just please don't tell me Mudmouth's the goblins."
"Oh, I'm sorry, buddy, my mistake..." Eben says, addressing the figure in the trenchcoat's 'head', but actually looking down and speaking directly to one of the goblin heads poking out of the middle. "Tell you what, let me make up for it. You look like you can hold your liquor, you're so... big.. Barkeep, two? yeah two- more of the same for our friend here, on me." He slides some silver across the counter.
"You got it!" the goblin chirps cheerfully, as the bartender slides across two more shots. The top goblin takes each and downs it in turn, then grins widely at Eben. "That's the stuff!"
The goblin isn't actually drinking them—it is sliding the drinks down to the two goblins lower down, and covering for this little sleight-of-hand with the shot glass it already had. However unconvincing their disguise is, they have very nimble fingers.
The bartender looks uneasy as he stares down Astraden. "Huh. That is...unfortunate. You might wanna come with me, friend." He staggers over to the gap and beckons Astraden over. "Caul's told us about you."
"Yeah Selvinne, something like that. I know just talking can get you in trouble here, so I don't want to say anything else. Sorry for mentioning it." Cuetzpalli points to the exercise book. "Tanith can probably teach you better than some book. He taught me how to work out."
Selvinne grimaces. "I don't need any exercise books. This's...more an extracurricular. Not church business, you follow?"
She seems reluctant to say more.
Farrukh looks at the goblins with respect, though doesn't specify why. He does, however, make sure all of his valuables are double secured.
Eben looks slightly frustrated as the same goblin polishes off the next two drinks, but then shrugs, because, hey, crazy little freaks.
"Sure thing. Lead the way. If my friends can come too?"
"Fine." The brawny hobgoblin fixes Eben and Farrukh with an ugly look. "Do you two mind coming backroom?"
"Yeah Selvinne, something like that. I know just talking can get you in trouble here, so I don't want to say anything else. Sorry for mentioning it." Cuetzpalli points to the exercise book. "Tanith can probably teach you better than some book. He taught me how to work out."Selvinne grimaces. "I don't need any exercise books. This's...more an extracurricular. Not church business, you follow?"
She seems reluctant to say more.
Cuetzpalli does not understand, but he pretends he does. "Oh, I see..."
Cuetzpalli turns to Tanith and Carina. "So, should we go look for the others?"
"I need a few more minutes", Manith explains as he wipes down his sweaty form and takes a knee.
After loudly clearing his throat, Manith begins to sing the tale of his victories within the Diamond Lake cairn - the event that started the insane quest that eventually brought the party to Alhaster.
Astraden looks to Farrukh and Eben. "C'mon, the goblins aren't that impressive."
"The impressive part is that you really think that."
"But yeah, sure, let's go."
"So you think I'm impressive, and they're not? I guess I'll take it."
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"Actually..." says Eben, weighing in his expert (in his own mind) opinion while following the others, "The acrobatics involved are pretty noteworthy. I wonder if they periodically switch off, or if the one on bottom just has amazing leg muscles, for a goblin. We could have made a small mint off a goblin balancing act back at the Emporium. I mean, in the 'circus sideshow' part of the Emporium, not the 'anything goes sex brothel' part. But who knows, everyone has a pet kink..."
The trio heads to the backroom, led by the muscular hobgoblin. The backroom is apparently a combination of kitchen, closet, and some strange unfathomable third purpose that may be unique to hobgoblin or pirate culture for all the trio know, judging by all the bits of broken metal littering the floor.
"Watch your step," the bartender barks, walking over to the sink. He rummages about, then picks up a vial, gives it a sniff, and tosses it back to Astraden.
"Might wanna drink that. Oh, you want one, too, skinny?" He glances back at Eben. "Yeah, this'll rip through your little system like...here." He takes out another vial and offers it.
Each vial contains a dark, sludgy fluid.
"Nothing personal, you know," he says, turning back to the dishes and absently scrubbing off a plate. "See, this place has a pretty established clientele. We don't like narcs, and we don't like tourists. It's hard to become a regular. So, y'know, if someone shows up who doesn't look like they got what it takes...go on, drink that. It's not more targut, I promise." He gives a rotten-toothed grin.
Tanith's exhortations of...himself quickly draw a small crowd of Kordites and curious passersby. A few look quite impressed, and he notices towards the end he's getting appraising looks from a few in the crowd—all dressed in black and red, like Manith himself, and all given a wide berth by the rest of the crowd. It's not hard to guess that this group is from the Church of Hextor. They don't even try to disguise it.
When he finishes his story, several onlookers approach asking questions—what happened next, what happened to the rest of his team, why there were so many acid beetles in the dungeon. One of the Hextorians is among these questioners.
"That's quite a story," they remark. They're a pale young human with curly black hair and yellow eyes—and a curious aura of darkness that pervades their immediate surroundings, almost like there's a small raincloud hanging over them. They wear an armored kilt, like Tanith, but they're quite neatly-dressed. "I'm assuming based on truth?"
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"everyone has a pet kink..."
One of the purple potbellied spiderpeople chitters something that sounds vaguely like, "Phrasing!"
Astraden's clumsy fingers bump the flask in midair, knocking it upwards in a spinning arc. She dives and catches it just as it's about to hit the floor, but gets some bits of metal stuck in her clothes. While still lying on the floor, she rolls over and takes a swig. "Huh. Is that steak sauce I taste?"
She gets to her feet and starts plucking shrapnel out of her illusionary tunic. "Well. I understand all that. You probably gotta worry about cops too, huh? Seems like they'd love sticking their nose into your business here."
Carina/Ederia notices that the Hextorians are eying them all up and purses her lips. "Indeed. Why do you ask?"
Great. Well, at least they aren't erinyes.
...and he's got the taint of demons about him. Not sure if its in the blood or from a deal or whatever.
"Every word of it's true", Manith beams proudly.
Eben adroitly snatches his own vial out of the air without even sparing a glance at it, managing to pop off the seal with his thumb while doing so. His glance is reserved for astonished irritation at the bartender. "But if we were Blessed Angels in disguise... you'd only piss them off with a stunt like this. Or amuse them, which might actually be worse. Don't you know they're completely immune to poison?"