"I was only curious." The Hextorian tiefling smiles. "You seem like the kind of crew worth getting to know. I'd love to hear more! How would you three like to go out and have a drink with us?" They pat their coinpurse. "On us!"
The bartender snorts. "If you were Blessed Angels, you wouldn't be sharing drinks with goblins to avoid drinking. I'd also be dead right now, no matter what I fed you. The day a Blessed Angel turns up at my bar is the day the Shipping Concern finally changes hands again." The hobgoblin rubs his chin thoughtfully. "Or sinks for good, most likely.
"Nah, I mostly worry about Watchers when I say 'narcs'. And they die easy." He pauses, giving Eben the side-eye. "By the way, you've got about twelve seconds to guzzle that down, little man. Sorry, five. I speak slowly sometimes."
Astraden shows no ill effects after drinking the concoction, though it definitely doesn't take very good.
"Yet you're still working here? Seems like there are a dozen similarly sized cities around the Nyr Dyv where you wouldn't run the risk of summary execution. What keeps you in Alhaster?"
Carina/Ederia ponders the offer for a moment or two--or, rather, she ponders whether it seems sincere or not.
Farrukh is unsure whether to feel sad or glad that the man has decided he fits their clientele base enough to not warrant such a test.
Appropriately warned (and not seeing Astraden clutching her throat and turning purple), Eben drinks down his own flask. "Bleah. Why does the cure taste so much worse than the stuff that'll kill you? Oh... should we be running a dose of this out to the goblin tower, or do goblin digestive systems laugh at poison compared to the stuff they routinely eat?"
"Why? What's this stuff for, anyway?" Astraden asks.
"It's the antidote," the bartender says, scrubbing off a bowl in dirty water. "Y'know, to keep your stomach's contents from turning into a tar ooze. Figured that was obvious."
"Yet you're still working here? Seems like there are a dozen similarly sized cities around the Nyr Dyv where you wouldn't run the risk of summary execution. What keeps you in Alhaster?"
"Maybe, but the Bandit Kingdoms are a lot better for hobs and pirates alike." The bartender shrugs. "Plus, the law usually stays off your back as long as you pay the fees. We've had a lot of bodies dumped outside, and nobody ever complains. It's a charmed life."
"Oh... should we be running a dose of this out to the goblin tower, or do goblin digestive systems laugh at poison compared to the stuff they routinely eat?"
"I didn't poison the stranger in the trenchcoat," the bartender says flatly. "What, do you think I've got a big bottle of poison I was pouring out for you all? I just didn't add the targut to their drinks. I knew who they were bound for."
He pauses. "Oh, wait. The top one did drink your glass, didn't it. Hm..." He glances over at another nearby vial of the antidote, then shrugs and goes back to scrubbing.
Carina/Ederia shrugs. "Well, what do you guys think? I'm game for it."
Astraden looks to Eben, then at the antidote glass.
Eben looks at the extra antidote flask, then back to the door to the bar, then back again, then sighs. "Add this to my tab..." he says, snatching the flask up and dashing his way back into the bar. "Here, drink this in case you're starting to get a, uh, headache," he says to the top of the goblin trio, popping the seal off and setting the flask of nasty down in front of them. He then heads back through the door.
Manith shrugs at Carina's question. "I don't see why not. I don't think we had anything else planned for the afternoon."
"Hey, what have you heard about that banquet being planned by the Prince?" Astraden asks while Eben's out. "I wonder if there're any easy marks around because of all the bustle."
Cuetzpalli shrugs. "A bit early...but, why not?"
At one point, Lotti lets slip a little of why they're so interested in Spiny's Three. "It's always nice to see the red-and-black among the mercenaries of this city," they say, taking a deep sip of their wine—a deep purple concoction with a rich earthy taste said to be brewed from mushrooms. "Honestly, ever since the Red Blades came under new management, there's been a real godlessness hereabouts." They snort. "At least those nitwit Kordians are easy to control these days, with Merevna and Keris gone. That freak Mahuudril..." They spit into their emptied glass.
Any of the three who've spoken much to Eben about the Banquet guests recognize that are actually some of the harshest words anyone's been willing to say about Mahuudril since the party arrived in Alhaster.
"There's Quemp, Mariss Quemp, real piece of work. He's a northman, you know. He hangs out a lot at the brothels looking for a third wife. Nobody is sure what happened to the last two. You can try to rob him, but he used to be a berserker before he became a noble. The goblins call him kapuyt moruk’y—"Bluebeard". It's some sort of reference.
"My, uh—well, it translates as fifth-cousin-four-times-removed—he's V'juss, works under B'kruss, my...distant relation." Mudmaw grimaces. "B'kruss heads a little gang called the Knights of Redhand. He and V'juss play nice and polite in public, but they are nasty devils. They've got coin, but if you try to rob them, they just might try to make an example of you. I don't recommend it.
"Now, let me tell you, the real money? It's in a little gnome named Toris. Classic never-picked-combat aristocrat. I figure he's staying at the Deluxury, now, though. And you know what those crumps do to anyone caught breaking in. The Watchers are fine with robbing the poorer spots, but you lay one finger on his little paradise and, well, gob's your uncle."
Later That Night...
The party gathers once more at the Miomay's Playhouse, now abuzz with activity. Eben has purchased good seating for the party, and they are rapidly ushered to the balconies. Here sit the wealthier of Alhaster, nobles come to enjoy the seedier things in life. In an enchanted glass case pop corn kernels imported from the Isle of Dread, to the wonderment of everybody save Cuetzpalli—who may be mortified at how badly the Redhand residents have mangled this simple dish from his homeland. They've somehow managed to layer butter, fake cheese, and pickles on it.
Nobody seems to pay the party any mind, aside from a few pointed looks of, "What are YOU doing here?" A rare few—particularly those who seem less in-line with Hextorian beliefs, such as the odd Jasidian—instead look slightly wary of Spiny's Six.
And it is true that the disguises the party has donned do have one major detriment: Rather than being the celebrities and well-known enemies of the hated Ebon Triad, they are just a bunch of scruffy mercenaries, and all clad in distinctly Hextorian style.
It's the human disguise of Mara, erinyes and Blessed Angel. She's got a small bag of popped corn.
Cuetzpalli has never been to a play before, and quickly becomes engrossed in the performance. At first he's put off by the odd popcorn toppings, but he quickly takes a liking to the butter and cheese. He pretty much ignores the other audience members, except for a glance to note the tiefling Lotti.
"More butter. More. More, yet. I want it glistening like a Onyx-level Deluxury massage!" Eben finishes negotiating the appropriate amount of popcorn topping with the attendant at the concession stand, then walks away contentedly munching out of a positively sodden bag. (Of course, as always, prestidigitation takes care of his greasy fingers.) "Now, if this is anything like the other forms of entertainment we've seen in Alhaster," he says in a low voice to the group as they enter the theater, "I expect it'll just be more Zeech-propoganda. But still, we can at least get an advanced look at the abilities of our hair stylist for the banquet!"
Astraden snags some of Cuetzpalli's popcorn, gobbling down the pickles so he doesn't have to. "Oh? The stylist works at the Playhouse, then? I have to admit I'm still foggy on all these plans."
As they sit down, she leans over to Carina. "You see her? You know she sees us."
Farrukh just kicks back to enjoy the show, munching on a bag of popcorn he tries to avoid sharing as much as possible.
"I think the last play I saw was from a traveling troupe when I was three. You think this one's going to have puppets?"
Astraden snags some of Cuetzpalli's popcorn, gobbling down the pickles so he doesn't have to. "Oh? The stylist works at the Playhouse, then? I have to admit I'm still foggy on all these plans."
"We literally just came here to meet with her yesterday morning! You were here! I... well, I think you were here. All these disguises we keep jumping in and out of, it gets confusing to remeber who's where when. I mean, at least I know it was before we were dogs..."
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"All these disguises we keep jumping in and out of, it gets confusing to remember who's where when. Good thing we decided not to do that tonight!"
"Yeah, I sure would have regretted not showing up in my regular ass clothes," Astraden says, patting one of the oldest bloodstains. "Sorry I forgot. I guess I've still got some cobwebs in my memory."
"Also, no, Farrukh, I don't think they're going to have puppets. I saw a play with Cuetzpalli at the Blueberry Theater and it didn't rely much on special props. But we did, I think, see Raknian there for the first time. It follows that we'll see our next greatest enemy here at Miomay's."
Cuetzpalli suddenly remembers he has indeed seen a play before. "This one is much different than that one," he mutters between bites.
"You see her? You know she sees us."
Carina shoots Mara a quick glance before nodding once. "Yeah. She can't be here simply because of the theatre..."
"...also, don't mind the other Hextorians in attendance. Lotti's actually rather pleasant to talk to." She gives a little nod in his direction. "You know, for a follower of the most oppressive religion in the land."
"Hm. Yeah. She sounds great."
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The group is greeted fairly warmly by the theater staff, and briefly encounter the gnome stylist, Ril Shimeise, as she rushes by with several armloads of colorful seashells.
The party finds its seats as the play preparation is still underway—several patrons express surprise, as Miomay's Playhouse rarely begins its shows late. After a while, a young dark-skinned elf pokes her head out and announces that the play will start in ten minutes, and that everyone is welcome to an extra complimentary bag of extra-salty "popped corn" while they wait. Drinks are four copper pieces for a cup.
Meanwhile, in the upper balcony, a nobleman murmurs to his wife, "...yes, apparently some mercenaries of no small renown purchased tickets some days ago. It's got everyone quite excited. No doubt they'll want to put on a special show."
"Is that the group that's going to be attending His Highness's banquet?" asks a woman in a very clean suit and bowler hat. She squints around her monocle, surveying the crowd. "I think I read about them in a magazine. Fascinating stuff. To be a fly on the wall at Zeech's celebrations that night."
The wife asks something, but her voice is too soft to make out.
The husband whispers something back.
You are not flat-footed and may act in the surprise round.
And then, amid all the chatter and gossip, one shouted name cuts through it all and reaches the party.
"TANITH "KORDSON" CREED!" rings out a loud, familiar voice. Tanith finds himself grabbed by the arm, spun around, and brought face-to-face with none other than Korush, the "Genie of the Material". Immediately kissing Tanith once on each cheek, Korush beams at the whole party. "Ah, and the clever Farrukh! The sensible Astraden! The brilliant Carina! The one and only Eben MacTeague! And..." He turns his beam on Cuetzpalli, and on here it falters for a moment as he clearly tries to ascertain whether or not Cuetzpalli is someone he should remember.
"...you!...Great seeing you again, bud!"[/b]
Korush has definitely changed somewhat since the group last met him—while he still bears his expensive silks and shiny scimitar, his garb is decidedly less geared towards combat. A set of lenseless spectacles rests upon his nose, and his beard has gone from "immaculately styled" to a sort of clearly affected ruggedness. He looks something like a cross between a cavalier and the model for a coffeeshop advertisement. Regardless, his manner has not changed a bit.
"I cannot believe we've run into each other yet again!" he exclaims. "What are the bedeviled odds, Tanith, old friend? A blessed star must surely watch over us both!"
Tanith makes his way through the crowd, picking up bits and pieces of conversation as the other theatergoers speak comfortably in the huge Kordite's presence. Most of it doesn't make a lot of sense to him right away but he makes an effort to commit the more interesting bits to memory for later. Suddenly he tenses and raises his fists prepared for battle. Every nerve of every muscle in his body screamed danger. Was it worm zombies? Another dragon? No... it was much worse...
Tanith doesn't shirk the flamboyant Korush's hug but he doesn't return it with the gusto he usually gives in such embraces. "What are the odds?" the big man says aloud.
Farrukh perks up a bit at the whispered conversation, he's found he quite likes being famous. He perks up even more as a familiar face pops up.
"Korush!" he exclaims, awkwardly holding out his arms and looking for a way in to hug Korush without touching Tanith.
"I didn't expect to meet you again HERE, of all places. We read your articles a while back, they were a really fun read. Thanks for the warning about the Marquis, by the by. We haven't seen him again yet but we may have done something to piss him off, not surprised he's looking for us."
Eben preens a little bit in front of random audience members whenever whispers reach his ears about Spiny's Six and their upcoming debut at the banquet. "Oh, I'm sure our group can bring a little extra... spectacle to the proceedings..." he makes a point of airily remarking to nobody in particular. Privately, he's whispering to the rest of Spiny's Six, "This was a good idea. It puts us in the public eye, gets gossip wagging, and makes us the most noticeable people in the room. I can't imagine anyone being loud or flamboyant enough to upstage us tonight!"
Five seconds later.
"Oh. It's Korush." The three words drop from his lips with all the false charm of being told one's mother-in-law has arrived for an extended visit.
"Oh, don't mention it, Farrukh!" Korush waves a hand. "Really, don't. This is no time for such a dour mood! I'm sure you've heard of how successful my little articles have been?" His eyebrows arch.
Cuetzpalli hangs back and lets the team deal with their old "friend".
Astraden doesn't pay much attention to the chatter around her, her attention taken by keeping an eye on Mara and talking with Cuetzpalli and Carina. "Have you seen a play before, Carina? The one we saw was really heavy with political satire. I'm not sure they're allowed to do that, here."
She gives the Genie of the Material a bemused smile after his outburst. "Well met, Korush. How has Alhaster been treating you?"