"This is all so strange. We just fought some weird god thing, and now we're going to a fancy dinner? I hope that this leads somewhere worthwhile..."
When the carriage pulls up, he is a little agog. And aghast. "I haven't been in Alhaster long enough to be sure... is tacky in style this year?"
"So, um... 'Sir Sapphire'? Isn't that kinda... off-brand for you? I thought 'Genie of the Material' was your calling card. I mean, if we'd known it was you, well, it would have taken all question out of who we would hire, of course!"
"Of course, of course, and it's a very welcome surprise, to be sure! Anyways, 'Genie of the Material' is more... well, it's more something I say after my name, you know? Sir Sapphire, on the other hands, is a pseudonym I use to avoid too much attention. I'm very famous, you know, in certain circles." He adjusts his lenseless spectacles. "You know about my book deal."
"We're very happy to have you as our attendant, Korush! It has been a super long five days, I agree. Now, can you fill us in on any gossip we should be aware of? We've been . . . Busy, with some less social activities."
"Ah, yes, fighting godlike things. We've all been there. Absolute nightmare on the old schedule." Korush waves a hand dismissively. "More importantly, gossip! There are two chief theories on why we delayed the Banquet for so long. One rumor is that the delay of this Banquet was made at the request of Merchantmaster Mahuudril herself, over some internal issue in her...guild. Very unusual for any citizen to have that sort of influence—especially over the celebration of an anniversary, for Io's sake.
"The other is that it was another row between Zeech and the famous Lashonna that spurred him to, ah, revise the Redhand calendar." Korush's brow furrows. "She's almost totally disappeared from public eye of late, and honestly, I don't know for sure that she's attending. Hopefully she is; I'd certainly like to meet her. Apparently, she leaves home often, and is quite liberal with antiscrying spells. This might be the last chance for a while."
In contrast to the others' reactions, Carina seems genuinely happy to see Korush, for once.
"Glad to see a friendly face here."
”Did I put these on right? Everything feels two sizes too small.”
Carina smiles and pats Tanith's waistcoat. "Yep, you put it on right. Don't worry."
"That's a good look for you."
She then gestures to her own outfit--a dark crimson, strapless dress that contrasts wonderfully with her blue skin, with a slit up to her thigh and matching high-heeled shoes. The lava-drop earrings from Iomandi's Wonders gleam brightly on her ears. "What do you think of mine?"
"You know about my book deal."
"Ah. Yes. That book." Carina purses her lips.
The one about us, I presume. The one with the Coenoby affair.
The theory of Zeech and Lashonna having a spat being what caused the banquet's delay catches her attention. "Oh?"
"You will find that all arrangements have been seen to," Korush says, as he eagerly hugs Farrukh. "Norebo has smiled on us today, Al'Khatel, let me tell you that!"
Farrukh gives Korush the only genuine smile he's likely to receive from this group, and awkwardly stands there as he gets hugged.
"Hey! Didn't expect to see you, but this is so much better than some random guy we've never met announcing us."
He pulls back, but keeps his hand on Farrukh's shoulder. His smile doesn't falter, but some of the forced cheer in his eyes slips away—like light from a closing door. "And we can use all the luck we can get. Dark days, mm?" His eyes dart from side to side. "As a word of advice, my friends, I would be careful around that... Mahuudril. Something not right about her. Very wrong. Can't put my finger on it. Very wrong."
"Yeah, we'd heard something was off with the Red Blades. Thanks for diverting her off for us last time; we still don't know exactly what their deal is."
Farrukh steps back and straightens his clothes. He's wearing clothes cut similar to a military officer's uniform, but made out of more quality materials in primarily tan and cream, with splashes of colors to accentuate his few good features.
Farrukh listens curiously about the Lashonna affair and waits for further details.
Cuetzpalli comes in the purple affair designed for him by Eben. He brings his shoulder-head gift wrapped in the best box he could find, carried under one arm. He looks distinctly uncomfortable to be dressed for dinner instead of battle. He follows along behind Astraden, keeping his mouth shut.
"Well, not much to tell. Gossip is cheap, but detailed gossip?" The janni's nose wrinkles. "Lashonna and Prince Zeech were powerful figures in the original war against the foul Empire of Iu...mm, ah, you know. Old Wicked. They were, they say, friends back then. The bard and the paladin, fighting to force Old Wicked's empire off of Redhand's back. They remained friends up until the fight against the Ebon Triad, but after he fell, and became a blackguard..."
He shrugs. "You know how such things go. Political differences can present a terrible strain on any relationship, especially when your politics involve worshiping Hextor and employing devils as a police force. They're still friends, they say, but those who work in the Palace tell stories of horrible arguments behind closed doors. This Great Project mess is especially divisive, I'd imagine."
Zalamandra picks up the sash that Carina identified. "This belt could be quite useful to me, if its thoughts weren't so monotonously prejudiced. Protection from magic seems to be at a premium whenever Spiny's Six stumbles into a battle. I can carry it until we have time to sell these finds." She tightens it around her waist, letting the beard grow out for a few seconds before quickly undoing the knot. "Oh, goodness. Eben, you'll prefer not to know what it thinks of you. Neither do the rest of you, really. Carina, it thinks you could be a handsome gnome if you weren't so tall." She smiles ruefully.
Zalamandra takes a little more time to exit the Deluxury, having first enjoyed a luxurious shave and then a warm bath. ("If there are any Triad left, it's best for them not to know we've found their magic item storehouse based on the evidence that we've taken the racism belt of facial hair. Like, at least let it be a cool item.") "Hello there, Sir Sapphire, is it? I don't recall that we've had the pleasure of acquainting." She seems to read his body language and goes in for a light hug, kiss, and a handshake. "I am Zalamandra, a priso- guest of Prince Zeech's for some days this last week. What are we discussing? The Great Project? Have you noticed also its similarities to the Spire of Long Shadows?"
After some more brief conversation, Korush swings back into the carriage and bids the party follow suit. They set out for Miomay's Playhouse, ready to be made "beautiful".
As it turns out, Ril Shimeise's idea of "beauty" involves a lot of prosthetics.
The gnome deals with Carina first, assisted by her very quiet goblin husband in inserting long red-violet-dyed porcupine quills into the undine's new beehive hairdo. "I thought about going for the faux-messy 'adventuring lass' look, but then I realized I still had these howler quills, and—ow! F%~!f!%!f@*# get the tweezers Dack—"
After sternly warning Carina not to fiddle too much with the quills without wearing gloves, Ril turns to Tanith. After she spends what feels like an hour trying to persuade him to let her shave his hair into a six-pointed "Kordian mohawk", she instead opts for a simpler pompadour. After lamenting the way his waistcoat hides his symbol of Kord, she settles for using an eyedropper to apply something to his eyes that makes them glow like orange embers. "You don't really need me to help you look scary," she comments with a wink, "but glowing eyes are always a winner."
For Eben, Shimeise has acquired a collection of what initially seem like bird or bat bones—until he recognizes the probosces. They're stirge skeletons. Using the skulls as subtle little hairpins and the wings as combs, she gives the wand a flick. Bucknard's rapid restyling shapes Eben's hair into long, curly curtains. "Not much I can do for you, since you already take pretty good care, so I'm just getting you up on the current trends. Mullets are out. Bangs are in. Bones are always in."
For Cuetzpalli, Ril and her husband bustle about with a full woodcarver's kit, it seems. By the end, his hair hangs in stylish dreadlocks, and a ring of pale ivory horns adorns his head almost like a crown. She gives him glowing eyes, too, but makes his eyes more of a green to strike against his dress.
For Astraden, Ril goes to town. She remembered Astraden saying something vaguely positive about prosthetics, and she seems to be taking that to heart. Astraden's hair is done up to look deliberately messy—but extremely clean—with great vargoille wings over her ears that sometimes flap lightly as if trying to escape. She is given a set of very sharp steel false teeth that feel almost identical to Astraden, and her face is painstakingly painted in a very subtle configuration of the symbols of Olidamara. "The paint's, like, wicked toxic," Ril warns. "So no fooling around, and no touching your face without wiping off the paint."
Finally, for Farrukh, Ril crosses her arms and thinks a moment. "Well, you're tricky, aren't you? I never know what to do with rogues. They either stick out like sore dead thumbs or I barely notice 'em. You clean up nice, though, and I dig the military look. Trouble is, between the alliance with Old Wickerbasket and the whole Tenser-Rary thing, Ket's military has a bad rep around here. Gotta address that."
After doing Farrukh's hair into a set of loose, thin braids, she attaches a set of rather startling fake scars over one eyebrow—and a small monkey skull on his shoulder, tiny nails hammered into each socket and a curiously blurry symbol etched into its forehead. "Symbol of Zagyg who imprisoned Iuz, Kettite defector's brand, and a messed-up skull. You may not look good, but you'll definitely look the right kind of bad."
"The symbol is fake," Dack says, tapping the skull. "But there is still symbolism, you see? Wordplay."
For Zalamandra, Ril spends most of the time transparently fawning over her, and the work is mostly a conventional makeover—with a few feline touches here and there to go with Zalamandra's rakshasa ancestry.
At last, the group is released from the gnome's clutches, and sets out for the Banquet. As they load into the carriage, thunder rumbles overhead. A crowd gathers around to gawk and point as Spiny's Six clatters off to the Palace, to celebrate a dictator's twentieth year on the throne.
The unfinished ziggurat looms over them as they draw near.
The carriage passes through the great red gates and rises up a steep path, flanked by polished skeletons in nice, varnished gibbets.
The red stone wall that surrounds Zeech's Palace supports dozens of statues—all of which are of a handsome man in his early thirties with long dark hair and a beaming smile. Prince Zeech himself. The grounds feature many gardens set with beautiful orchids, monkey-puzzle trees and small waterfalls and ponds. The rain does not fall behind the walls, in what is either a spell cast deliberately for tonight or a constant magical effect Zeech has arranged for. Either way, the clouds steer clear.
The result is something like a castle located in the eye of a hurricane, looking out over the rainy city and the ruins surround the Great Project. The Project itself looms over Zeech's Palace, an ominous reminder that there is more to this city than mere dystopian injustice.
The path winds up the rocky promontory, and when the carriage reaches the top—the deer visibly straining from their efforts—they are greeted by a group of hobgoblin Watchers who warmly tell them to decoach and lead them to a great lawn overlooking a 200-foot drop into the Nyr Dyv. "Behold: The Vertiginous Terrace," proclaims one of the Watchers, sweeping his glaive over the drop.
Many of the other guests have already arrived, and they mill about in small groups, talking quietly. Several carry wrapped gifts with them, like those of Spiny's Six. Many are accompanied by small retinues of attendants of their own, while others walk alone or with other guests. Of those who have arrived so far—which, judging by the guards' muttering, appears to be missing just one or two key guests—the members of Spiny's Six gradually identify their fellow invitees.
By the Fountain
The party recognizes Prince Toris of Reeth, the naive gnome aristocrat from the Deluxury, chatting with Eben's quaggoth ex-coworker Shag Solomon. A strangely-dressed man nods his head and chatters down at the gnome—only Zalamandra recognizes him immediately as none other than Montague Marat, the original owner of the Diamond Lake Emporium, with whom she partnered to acquire management of his so-called "freak show".
By the Koi Pond
Farrukh's former gambling buddy (or Dorduken's, technically), Captain Vulras, is talking to a pair of hobgoblin adventurer-looking types and a wiry woman dressed in a very fine, extremely plain-looking dress. There is a funny quirk to her right hand, and the way she shifts from foot to foot suggests she's extremely eager to exit the conversation.
By the Servants' Entrance to the Palace
A pretty plump halfling woman leans against a hedge, chatting idly with a servant woman without eyes and sipping from a teacup. No drinks or food have been offered yet to anyone else, so her possession of a small plate of biscuits and tea, not to mention the attentiveness of the servants nearby, is a bit odd.
The servants themselves are a bit odd, in fact—but bizarrely familiar. Almost all of them have clear birth anomalies or other striking differences. There is a man whose face is in his torso, a pair of women who seemed to be joined at the hip, a young fellow with a face very closely resembling that of a boar. Eben and Zalamandra recognize a couple former employees of the Emporium, in fact. Perhaps Montague Marut had something to do with all the departures after the Ilthane attack. And as the Watchers fade into the background, they are replaced by a new set of guards: The very same adventurers who were part of the One of Us team back at the Champion's Games.
The party is interrupted from the little trip down memory lane as Korush booms out, voice resonant with magic enhancement, "IIIINTRODUCING... CARINA VIERA, EBEN MACTEAGUE, ASTRADEN LIMHAARE, FARRUKH AL'KHATTEL, CUETZPALLI OF THE ISLE OF DREAD, AND
He claps his hands, and the deer and carriage shatter into a billion shards of glass—which just as quickly turn to water, then steam, evaporating into sparkling nothingness in milliseconds. "Spiny's Six of Diamond Lake, employed by Zalamandra of the Silken Corridor, bitterest enemy of the Ebon Triad aside from our glorious Prince Zeech himself, !"
Eben gains a +4 bonus.
Farrukh gains a +4 bonus.
Astraden gains a +2 bonus.
Carina gains a +3 bonus.
Tanith gains a +3 bonus.
Cuetzpalli gains a +3 bonus.
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Cuetzpalli comes in the purple affair designed for him by Eben. He brings his shoulder-head gift wrapped in the best box he could find, carried under one arm. He looks distinctly uncomfortable to be dressed for dinner instead of battle. He follows along behind Astraden, keeping his mouth shut.
"No, she didn't get the costume wrong, it's a bold statement on gender!" Eben says, reassuring Cuetzpalli. "I know you'd rather have horns, but those silk udders really put the emphasis on your mid region, and hey, act as a framework for your abs!" Eben, for all his smooth words, is clearly having a difficult time keeping from laughing as he closes the last fasteners on Cuetzpalli's elaborately brocaded violet-and-silver cow fursuit. And the udders are really convincingly droopy, like Cuetzpalli just gave birth to a whole litter of calves.
Cuetzpalli's attire is... risque, but very flattering. Mrs. Crumm, certainly one who knows a thing or two about Olman fashions from the Isle of Dread, has created something that's clearly patterned along the theme of 'the boy from the jungles that done cleaned up good', mixing Alhaster ultra formalwear with glammed-up Tanoran utility. Cuetzpalli is sporting a deep maroon wasitcoat with tails, and volumnious sleeves that, while stopping short of being lacy, certainly could hold a few handkerchiews and a snuffbox. Or a dagger. While adequately sized for him, it gives the illusion of being fitted too small simply because the front doesn't even come close to being able to button across his broad chest. There is a white silk shirt underneath, of course, but even that seems to be intentionally designed to have a massive neck-plunge. Clear,y Cuetzpalli's pectorals were an intended centerpiece here. Whether that was Mrs. Crumm's intent in itself or the result of Eben whispering suggestions in her ear is something only the gods of fashion may ever know. In lieu of pants, a deep gray lavalava is wrapped around his midriff in true island style, with subtle wave patterns picked out on it in pale lavender thread.
Eben himself is dressed up like exactly the dandy rake he is fancies himself to be. His legs are ensconced in tights of a soft golden calfskin, above which he wears an elaborate doublet of soft green with white and golden highlights brocaded onto it. It's slashed along the sleeves to show a tight rose madder material underlying his arms, and a loose white cotton poet's blouse covers the doublet's open chest. Overall, the effect is much like seeing a sunrise over a misty field. He's not wearing any headgear, knowing that Ril has something planned for his hair, but when you have a trio of ioun couatls circling your brow, you don't need a hat.
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Lookin cute, feelin cute. Ooh, yeah.
Cuetzpalli walks over to the plump halfling woman by the hedge. "Hi. My name is Cuetzpalli. What's your name?"
The halfling looks up at him, raising one eyebrow. She is dressed in very fine but simple attire—a button-down silk vest of deep violet hue over a white dress shirt. Her long flowing skirt, made of the same material as the vest, billows in a nonexistant breeze, images of glittering eyes occasionally flitting into view within its creases and folds. She wears an amulet made of snake scales and teeth
She seems to size Cuetzpalli up and gives a slight smile, brushing her light brown hair from her eyes. "Miszen Mitchwillow, at your service." She bows. "It's a pleasure, Cuetzpalli. You can probably steal a biscuit, if you like." She holds up the silver tray, laden with cookies. "I've got no idea when they're going to feed us."
"Yeah, that sounds great. Thanks," Cuetzpalli says, grabbing a biscuit. I wonder if I should eat this? He looks to Eben, seeing if he is committing some kind of faux pas.
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At some point on the carriage ride to the venue, Tanith recognized that it was the missing weight of his weapons that were adding to his general discomfort more than the formalwear and his styled hair. The party had bouts of downtime on occasion over the last several months battling the apocalypse but this was the first time the big man had been without his trusty poleaxe in dangerous territory and there was little doubt in the Kordite’s mind that Alhaster was dangerous territory. Not even Kord’s center of worship had been a respite from the feeling of wrongness Tanith experienced since stepping foot in the city.
But understanding the discomfort gave the huge man some level of power over it. He adjusts the tight waistcoat one last time to relieve the pain from his pinched chest hair and takes Carina’s hand. ”Come on Red. We’ve got to put on a show, right? Let’s mingle.”
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Carina hasn't had time to keep up on local politics in Ket--she's clearly had more pressing things on her mind.
----------------
Once the party arrives, Carina tucks her gift-wrapped cardstock box containing her old mithral chain shirt under her arm and takes Tanith's arm. "Let's."
"Don't worry--you look amazing." She gives Tanith's outfit a very appreciative look. The waistcoat and trousers made for him are dyed in Kord's powerful red colour, with a white undershirt and dark blue boots--as she understood it, they were the colours of the Brawler's greatest draconic foes.
Sure, it's not an exact match for Kord's garb, but this is a wonderful compromise. Much more appropriate for this kind of company, anyway.
She starts to lead the massive Kordian over to the other guests.
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Eben, of course, doesn't even contemplate smuggling a weapon in, because this is a posh society event and he's not some kind of uncooth barbarian. He does, however, unstring his bow while getting dressed and ties Forzamele around his neck as a pearlescent, shifting rainbow necklace so the bowstring can 'see' the party. "But stick to telepathy," he says as he's headed downstairs in the Deluxury. "Might raise some eyebrows if you speak up." He pauses. "Don't give me that, you talk all the time!" he says, after a pause.
On the ride over to the palace, Eben seems a tad put out that Farrukh somehow looks exactly as stylish and high class-y as himself. "Yeah, well, maybe I'll try... I don't even know what it is that he does, just... breaking time by thinking about it, see how he likes it..." he can be heard to mutter. A pause, then, "Oh, yeah, that's true Forzi, I'm sure the actual talking part will be less thunder-stealing... hey, stop yelling at me, I'm in the cab, I can talk to you out loud if I want!"
In the Prince's garden, Eben casts an appraising eye around potential guests to chat up, but rather than start with a stranger, breaks off over towards Shag Solomon. As he goes, he can't help but overhear:
”Come on Red. We’ve got to put on a show, right?"
He looks back, horrified. "NOT HERE, my gods, this isn't the f~@+ing Coenoby!" He makes a 'V' shape with his index and middle fingers, gestures towards his eyes with them, then points them back at Tanith and Carina before walking away, shaking his head in amazement.
On the way over to the fountain, Eben gives a nod towards Cuetzpalli as the iconic Olman catches his eye, then gives a 'go ahead' motion with his hand and gestures towards his mouth. "Shag, old boy, how are you doing!" he says jovially as he approaches the quaggoth and the gnome. "Definitely a different atmosphere than Diamond Lake could ever provide, hm?"
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Carina's expression barely changes as Eben admonishes her and Tanith. "Relax. It's not going to happen."
Once the bard is out of earshot, she sighs. "...he's never gonna let us live that down, is he?"
Tanith laughs warmly and squeezes the alchemists’s hand as the couple walk. ”Let ‘em talk if they want to talk. You know half of the folks that tell that story are just jealous. The other half spend their nights wishin’ they were part of it.”
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Farrukh doesn't know anyone else in this room, so he hits up Captain Vulras.
"Captain Vulras! Interesting seeing you here. I thought you preferred gambling halls to social balls."
It is only belatedly that he remembers he's technically never met the man.
Getting the okay from the group's socialite, Cuetzpalli hungrily attacks his biscuit. "So," he manages between munching, "What brings you here tonight? Do you know the prince?"
Carina's cheeks turn a slightly darker blue. "Maybe..."
She leads the way to the fountain.
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Astraden is dressed in a long gray tunic with overlapping layers; each layer towards the feet is lighter than the one above it, with the topmost layer being almost coal-black. She's wearing silver-brocaded white breeches and leather sandal-leggings that lace up around her calfs. Over and falling away from her arms, she has a cape-shawl made of gold thread interwoven with yellow-dyed flax. The overall effect is plainer than the styles worn by the rest of the party, but still leaves the viewer wondering - is the tunic a representation of the dominant winter weather in Alhaster, or a commentary on the corruption of Alhaster's political system and the promise of a better world on the horizon? Is the shawl a co-option of local common dress, or an embrace of it, a nose-thumbing of ostentatiousness? Does Ms. Crumm just really like the colors of the sky? Astraden herself seems completely oblivious to any subtext in her outfit, and is mostly happy that her vargouille ears stand out so well against it.
She flashes a somewhat scary smile at Toris as she trails Cuetzpalli to the servant's entrance. "Hey there. I couldn't help overhearing that you don't know when there'll be food?" She extends a hand. "I'm hungry. How did you get your invite?"
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Shag turns and blinks as he sees Eben coming toward him. His brows furrow, and after a moment, he taps his nose. "Eben MacTeague! Never forget a face." His tone is proud. "What in Nerull's name are you doing here, old boy?"
Seemingly remembering his manners, he gestures to Toris and Montague Marat, briefly introducing them. "Prince Toris is the heir to the throne of Reeth, off in the Shield Lands, I believe? And Mr. Marat here..."
"Lord Marat, now," Montague says, giving a greasy kind of smile as he lunges forward and shakes Eben's hand vigorously. "Howdya do—Montague Marat, that's Lord Montague Marat, at your service. Freaks and geeks from the distant peaks, Marat can get you a peek in a week! Collector and miscellania manager, I say, that's what it says on the card." Eben realizes that Montague has used the handshake to shove a business card into Eben's hand. "Now, really, a treat to meet you, Mr. MacTeague, really a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to be here and meet another man of distinction who worked with the old, ah, battleaxe and lived to tell of it, am I right or am I right?" He nods his nose toward Zalamandra.
As Tanith and Carina join them, his enthusiasm only grows, and he's eagerly shaking hands and handing out cards as Shag Solomon looks on somewhat disapprovingly. "Real treat, as I said. Heard about the business in the Free City, terrible, just terrible. But you know, you certainly made the papers off it—I say, no news is good news, but, you know, no such thing as bad publicity, am I right or am I right? Really terrible business, of course. But for your part, nicely done, nicely done! You're some fellas after my own heart, I say, and the ladies didn't do bad either, did they? No, no, and we're all for it. All for it. Long as they aren't old harpies, eh, bleeding the working man for every drop he's got?"
Toris seems to be essentially following a 'smile and nod' strategy, the sheltered gnome visibly struggling to keep up.
"Captain Vulras! Interesting seeing you here. I thought you preferred gambling halls to social balls."
It is only belatedly that he remembers he's technically never met the man.
Captain Vulras blinks, seemingly genuinely startled. "I, uh, yeah? Well, uh, of course, but, you know, nice to... hobnob, isn't it?" He clears his throat. He has the look of a drowning man as he ventures, "Haven't... seen you in a little while? How's it been? Still... rolling well, I hope?"
He is desperately trying to pretend he remembers Farrukh, and is hoping he can field this initial awkwardness without letting on.
Getting the okay from the group's socialite, Cuetzpalli hungrily attacks his biscuit. "So," he manages between munching, "What brings you here tonight? Do you know the prince?"
She flashes a somewhat scary smile at Toris as she trails Cuetzpalli to the servant's entrance. "Hey there. I couldn't help overhearing that you don't know when there'll be food?" She extends a hand. "I'm hungry. How did you get your invite?"
Miszen blinks up at Astraden and sets a cookie in the comparatively massive hand. "Nice ears. Hi, Hungry, I'm Miszen Mitchwillow. I don't know the Prince personally, really, but I'm here representing the Dewick Spices Consortium. Apparently, the Alhaster nobility has a fondness for exotic flavors." She shrugs. "I volunteered to visit. The servants are good company, anyway. And... you two are adventurers?"
"I guess? I'm not really employed. We just kind of kill things and take their stuff to make money, while we're trying to save the world, you know?"
Cuetzpalli turns to Astraden. "Does that makes us monster robbers?"
"Feh. It's only robbery if you're breaking into humans' homes." Miszen gives a tight-lipped smile. "If I had a silver noble for every two-bit rogue who tried breaking into my hobbit hole and pilfering my good silver...
"Anyways, so you're out to save the world, huh? That's awfully neighborly of you. Lucrative work, or more a nonprofit-type thing?"
A rather baffled Carina takes Mr. Marat's offered business card and tentatively shakes his hand--although with how vigorously he's shaking hands, it doesn't take much effort for him to take the lead.
"Er... yes. That was a rather unpleasant business back in the Free City." Carina acknowledges. "I don't believe we've met, sir."
"Montague Marat, creature featurer extraordinaire." He sketches a bow. "And this is my man Shag."
"I do not work for you anymore, Montague," the quaggoth sniffs. He nods to Tanith and Carina. "I never forget a face. Hello again—I trust you have been satisfied with your purchases."
Carina's eyes light up when she sees Shag. "Oh! Yes, they were quite wonderful!"
"I think I'll have to make another purchase after everything is all said and done here--rigors of adventuring and all that."
"Wonderful news!" The quaggoth smiles. "I've mostly only got raw materials with me at the moment, but I'm never without some articles. Been looking to establish some trade connections north of the Nyr Dyv, but the tailoring businesses I've met so far haven't seemed terribly amenable to 'monsters', you understand."
"Ah, Shag, you're boring the girl!" Montague rolls his eyes. "Come on, now. Spiny's Six! What's got you rubbing shoulders in a funny town like Alhaster, eh?"
"Feh. It's only robbery if you're breaking into humans' homes." Miszen gives a tight-lipped smile. "If I had a silver noble for every two-bit rogue who tried breaking into my hobbit hole and pilfering my good silver...
"Anyways, so you're out to save the world, huh? That's awfully neighborly of you. Lucrative work, or more a nonprofit-type thing?"
"A little of both, really. I died once, but then decided to come back and help after I saw my friends having a rough time. We're pretty rich now. I don't really think there are many people as rich as us to be honest. I'm not in it for the money though. I just want to stop the Ebon Triad from hurting more people."
"I do not work for you anymore, Montague," the quaggoth sniffs. He nods to Tanith and Carina. "I never forget a face. Hello again—I trust you have been satisfied with your purchases."
"They were great while they lasted. Now that you mention it, I am on the lookout for a couple of new kilts. They're all I wear these days. For some reason, I tend to wear through them quickly. The fact that we keep getting doused in acid probably helping the lifetime of my clothing."
"Well, bully for you for keeping on top of it. I've heard of adventurers who never even bother to buy more than one pair of... ah, well, perhaps not in polite company." Solomon clears his throat.
"Hm. Admirable goals, to be sure. I've always thought there didn't seem to be much point in adventuring if you weren't doing real good out there." Miszen downs her tea in one gulp. She glances around, biting her lip. "When's Mahuudril getting here already? Gives me the heebie-jeebies when I know she's coming but don't know where she is."
Eben takes a glance at Marat's business card, and, while completely and immediately disinterested in it, makes a show of tucking it away in a breast pocket as though it were something he might possibly make use of again. "Congratulations on your title, Lord Marat. It seems like the Emporium had a golden touch for so many of those associated with it!" he says, doing his best to seem impressed, at least once he gets a chance to actually speak around the man.
Did he prattle on like this when you worked for him? Forzamele asks Eben telepathically.
Never actually met him. Or worked for him. I think Zal bought out his share of the Emporium long before I came along.
"So you still acquire the unusual? I do so fondly recall my conversations with Esmerelda. Well, she didn't contribute much, from either head, but she was a good listener. Most of the time."
Carina shrugs. "We had an opportunity to meet the 'who's who' of Alhaster's elite, sir. It would be remiss of us to pass it up." She replies to Mr. Marat.
"Well, bully for you for keeping on top of it. I've heard of adventurers who never even bother to buy more than one pair of... ah, well, perhaps not in polite company." Solomon clears his throat.
"Hm. Admirable goals, to be sure. I've always thought there didn't seem to be much point in adventuring if you weren't doing real good out there." Miszen downs her tea in one gulp. She glances around, biting her lip. "When's Mahuudril getting here already? Gives me the heebie-jeebies when I know she's coming but don't know where she is."
** spoiler omitted **
"So you still acquire the unusual? I do so fondly recall my conversations with Esmerelda. Well, she didn't contribute much, from either head, but she was a good listener. Most of the time."
"Ah, yes, I remember that cow. Pity I had to leave her behind! The Prince here's quite a fan of abnormalities, you know—I'll bet Esmerelda would've caught me a pretty penny. But the old battleaxe wouldn't hear of it. You know how it is." Marat shrugs. "Anyway, I'm hoping to—"
"Eben?"
Eben and the others within earshot turn. Standing in the entranceway, looking momentarily startled into stopping short, is a woman in her early twenties in a dress and tunic somewhat reminiscent of artisan's clothes—just very fancy, and in brilliant sunset oranges and reds. Her sleeves are very short to show off her considerable biceps, and she wears a very fine diadem of delicate silver strands upon a head of long, straight black hair.
Lowri Chau is staring at Eben in mild shock, but she recovers quickly, saying something to those behind her and hurrying over to the Fountain. "Fancy seeing you here!" she exclaims. Catching herself, she clears her throat. "I mean, um, you look familiar. Have we met?"
Captain Vulras blinks, seemingly genuinely startled. "I, uh, yeah? Well, uh, of course, but, you know, nice to... hobnob, isn't it?" He clears his throat. He has the look of a drowning man as he ventures, "Haven't... seen you in a little while? How's it been? Still... rolling well, I hope?"
"As always, you know it!" Farrukh throws back.
"How are your Rangers doing these days? I haven't heard much about you since you mentioned taking care of some orcs up north."
"Hm. Yeah." He nods, clearly still a bit uncertain but, hey, clearly What's-His-Name and he must be good friends if the guy's acting so sure of it. "Yeah, the orcs are the good part of the job. They're just typical a%%@*!%s, you know, and most of them are on Iuz's payroll. But, you know, sometimes you hear things about what's going on back home and just get... homesick, I guess. Or maybe home gets sick when you're gone too long." He clears his throat. "Anyways, when you get an excuse to visit the Palace and meet the Prince—not to mention get some fantastic views of the city's tactical positioning—how can you say no?"
Captain Vulras gives a slightly too-casual laugh.
Eben breaks off his conversation with Marat for the much more interesting company suddenly appearing. "Lowri! You're the last person I expected to see here, I mean that literally, I thought I did a good job sussing out the guest list. You look amazing." A look of concern crosses his face. "Wait, you don't remember me? Oh, man, I knew traveling with Ph'rexis for extended periods wasn't a good idea, the way his brain works, it's probably a condition that spreads whenever he does lots of magic!" He speaks slowly and distinctively. "Look, your name is Lowri Chau, you're a blacksmith from Greyhawk, my name's Eben MacTeague, we've done a whole bunch of long distance dating, we've eaten fried onion... things near your old forge, we had dinner at the Golden Palette once before the board of health shut it down for good..."
Astraden takes a bit of the proffered cookie, only slightly inconvenienced by her new metal incisors. She finishes eating the cookie, chewing and swallowing, before reentering the conversation. "Yeah, Mahuudril... not the most popular around here, eh? My actual name's Astraden, just so we're clear. A joke." She laughs, putting a bit of effort into making it raucous and charming. "Nice to meet you, anyways, Miszen. What kind of spices do they like here? Anything me'n Cuetzpalli would recognize?"
Lowri pinches the bridge of her nose. "Oh, gods, Eben, I know who you are. I thought you might be—oh, I don't know, laying low or something. Alhaster high society isn't exactly where I picture you."
Her look of announce drops slightly, and she watches the little ioun couatls soar. She fiddles slightly with Eben's outfit, an eyebrow raised in admiration. "It's quite a nice picture, though, and I'm, you know, not complaining. I'm guessing we're both here on business, huh? Who are you accompanying?"
"Oh." Eben looks chagrined for a moment. "Well, when it comes to Ph'rexis, I assume nothing. Seemed perfectly logical, at least..." He brightens up. "Anyhow, no, I'm here completely legitimately and not running a grift or anything like that..." He pauses, considers where he is and what he just said, and then follows it through, a little loudly, with: "Not that I WOULD do anything like that, of course! I am simply an honest entertainer!" He smiles, pleased he so brilliantly covered up a potential faux pas. "Anyhow, we're... not exactly here on business, more like 'exotic celebrities from the Free City' kinda. But we're all here... Astraden and Cuetzpalli are sneaking some snacks off that halfling by the fountain, and Farrukh is... oh, boy, Farrukh is talking to someone, that's probably not going to go well, do I need to run damage control...? Eh. And Tanith and Carina are right behind you there, Zalamandra... have you met Zal? Is around somewhere, oh, and get this, you remeber the genie guy Korush from the Tournament? Had all those horses and horse riders, we teamed up with so we could put a beatidown on a bunch of elf maidens? Anyhow, he's here as our 'social secretary', if you can believe that. Oh, let me introduce you..." He turns to Shag and Marat. "Gentlemen, allow me to present Miss Lowri Chau, a brilliantly skilled artificer from Greyhawk. Lowri, may I present the talented haberdasher Shag Solomon, and Lord Montogue Marat, but late of Diamond Lake."
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Astraden takes a bit of the proffered cookie, only slightly inconvenienced by her new metal incisors. She finishes eating the cookie, chewing and swallowing, before reentering the conversation. "Yeah, Mahuudril... not the most popular around here, eh? My actual name's Astraden, just so we're clear. A joke." She laughs, putting a bit of effort into making it raucous and charming. "Nice to meet you, anyways, Miszen. What kind of spices do they like here? Anything me'n Cuetzpalli would recognize?"
Miszen shrugs. "Oh, a pinch of this, a dash of that. They're big on this plant called a 'vanilla bean' they've started importing into the Free City. Real hassle to get ahold of."
"Charmed," Shag murmurs, as Montague moves to shove a business card into her hand.
Lowri nods as Eben prattles. "You haven't changed, Eben. It's good to see you, but, ah, I don't really need an introduction. I'm just here as an attendant. 'Social secretary', I guess you might say."
Montague pulls his hand back sharply, raising an eyebrow. "Oh? And for who might that be, miss?"
calls a booming voice, grandiose and yet as rough as sandpaper on wood,
The announcer is a rotund man with curly gray hair and small, dark eyes, dressed in a very fine red suit with a bright crimson tie. His clothing is high-quality, but, perhaps, a bit rustic or out of date. Beside him stands a very skinny pale man wearing a dark leather robe, with very short black hair, a crooked nose, and a slightly weaselly face. They look extremely familiar to everyone in the party, especially the Diamond Lake natives.
Beyond them steps Merchantmaster Mahuudril, who wears her bright red hair in braids woven around an elaborate headdress. Her clothes are rich and royal, and she is heavily laden with jewelry. Her expression, though, is one of slight mischief—a grandmother plotting the best way to sneak some candy to a grandchild. She glances towards Eben and the others at the fountain before her gaze settles on Lowri, and she laughs.
"Whoops," Lowri says conspiratorially, kissing Eben on the cheek and hurrying away, though she turns to face him as she goes. "I'd best run back. Don't wanna try her patience with all she's doing for me, you know. You should find an excuse to come talk to us, though! I think you and Mahuudril would seriously hit it off."
Carina's attention is inevitably drawn to the announcement--
--and her eyes harden when she sees who's arrived.
Wait a damn minute--aren't Balabar and Filge supposed to be DEAD?
Farrukh opens his mouth to respond to Vulras, before it drops open at the presentation of the people on stage.
"Didn't I kill both of those guys?" he mutters to himself.
