Guess I'm not the only one who comes back to life, Cuetzpalli thinks as he elbows Astraden to make sure she noticed.
Tanith scowls when Smenk enters the scene. "Both of them died while we were dealing with the mindflayer. Both should have stayed dead. That said, I wouldn't pass on a second chance to beat the tar out of Smenk."
"Tanith, not here." Carina whispers to the massive brawler.
"That said, how did they come back to life, anyway?" She adds, mostly to herself as she eyes the two men.
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.
Across the courtyard, Eben echoes Farrukh's statement, albeit a lot less revisionisitically. "Didn't Xyrxog kill both of those guys?" he mutters to himself.
"Oh, vanilla, huh? That's interesting. I always thought it smelled like rodents, but, well, rodents can -" Astraden is interrupted by Cuetzpalli's elbowing. "What is it, babe? Oh, yes, Mahuudril, ugh, wait, why do I recognize that voice?" Her eyes widen, whites flashing as she rapidly takes in the situation. She takes a step towards the approaching entourage, lifting her left foot and almost setting it on the ground. And then diverts course, suddenly breathing normally again, turning to one of the servants. "Might I know the menu for tonight's meal?"
Cuetzpalli tries his best to be subtle, which isn't very good. He takes Astraden's hand, and leans close to whisper in her ear. He pretends to be having a brief moment of intimate intimation among the revelry "Is that really them? Are those illusions or something?"
"I'm not sure we want to try and find out..." Astraden says through a smiles, and then laughs softly but still loudly enough to be heard by people around her. She fiddles with the sun mask around her neck. "I hope the Prince likes my gift," she says, changing the subject. "What did you get for him, Miszen?"
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Zalamandra has been pointedly occupied chatting with a servant since the party arrived, but her eyes flit over to appraise the scene when Mahuudril makes her appearance. A cat's smile curls over her lips as she claps her hand, shooing the servant away after handing her a slip of paper. "Ah, Balabar my dear! What a surprise to see you again!" She strides to intercept the oncoming entourage with the morbid certainty of a seasoned farmhand moving to block a runaway horse from the wheat field. She glances at Tanith and gives a wink. "Balabar Smenk, in the flesh! You know, when I heard you'd 'passed,' I assumed it was a sort of figurative way of saying, like perhaps the old bastard has passed some truly noxious flatulence. But here you are! I hope you don't hold any hard feelings about what happened last time we saw each other. If nothing else, we should remember that old saying: What happens in Diamond Lake, stays in Diamond Lake and slowly leaches out into the Mistmarsh, slowly polluting it with acids and metals until it is no longer safe for humanoid life!" She laughs, a glass-like sound.
"And Mr. Filge! So long since we saw each other. How are the studies going? Are you getting the materials you need?"
After going in to shake Filge's hand and give Smenk a one-shouldered hug, she gives Mahuudril a bow. "Zalamandra of Diamond Lake. Pleasure to be acquainted, m'lady."
Tanith scowls when Smenk enters the scene. "Both of them died while we were dealing with the mindflayer. Both should have stayed dead. That said, I wouldn't pass on a second chance to beat the tar out of Smenk."
Montague and Shag observe this exchange in quiet confusion, exchanging a couple murmurs. They know Smenk, of course.
"Mindflayer?" Toris asks obliviously. "Heavens, what?"
And then diverts course, suddenly breathing normally again, turning to one of the servants. "Might I know the menu for tonight's meal?"
The eyeless woman smiles. She and the other nearby servants seem puzzled at Astraden's outburst, but Miszen's attention is focused on Mahuudril. "It will be scrumptious if the Prince is in a good mood."
"Ah, yes." Miszen rolls her eyes. "Everything tastes better if you're on his good side, as my friends here tell me." She glances around furtively, then leans in (and cranes her neck). "I've also heard it told that he's got a special dish of his own concoction that you might want to prepare for."
"What did you get for him, Miszen?"
"Spice rack. I guess it sings or something. I dunno, the half-gnoll that sold it to me promised me it wouldn't bite anyone's ears off. Very specifically."
The ex-mine manager nods deeply as Zalamandra alludes to the Mistmarsh, as if he not only knows all about that but is in perfect agreement with everything she says. He laughs. "Ah, Diamond Lake. It's been too long, hasn't it? Hated to leave, but we've gotta leave old business behind and look to the future, haven't we?"
Mahuudril blinks between the two, and the still speechless Filge. "Mr. Smenk, you know this woman?"
"Aaaah, an old competitor, Mistress, back in the day. Worms under the bridge now." Smenk grins at Zalamandra.
"I see! Well, that explains it." Mahuudril bows in turn, smiling at Zalamandra. "They call me Merchantmaster Mahuudril, but you can call me Madril if you like. I thought it seemed suspect when you greeted each other as friends. Mr. Smenk doesn't have 'friends', as far as I can tell, but 'competitors', well..." She winks. "That adds up much more neatly. Hopefully nothing too damaging."
Cuetzpalli raises an eyebrow as Miszen. "Oooh, what kind of special dish? Exotic game? Political theater? A stuffed pie!?"
"That last one is closest. Let's just say it's a meat dish."
With a sound like thunder in a deep ravine, the palace double-doors slam open. All conversation halts abruptly.
In the doorway stands a tall man in, perhaps, his late thirties, with long curly dark hair and skin the color of spoiled cream. His eyes are a dark, almost unnaturally vivid blue, and he is dressed in the manner of an aristocratic imperialist—a gold-buttoned high-collared red coat with a fine white silk cravat and a half-dozen military medals pinned to his chest. He has the build of a man who was once in extraordinary fighting shape and now maintains his health through sheer wealth and privilege rather than actual violence.
Before him stands a strange, sinister little man—sort of gnomeish, if one were to squint, with a big nose and bristly sideburns, pointed goblin-like ears. He is dressed in a stetson hat studded with gems and a neon-red leather jacket that is uncomfortably tight. Uncomfortable for the viewer. Not uncomfortable for him, of course, there's a big smile on his face as he shuffles forward, raises and an oversized, absurd-looking horn and blows out a single note. It sounds like a cat being hacked to pieces by a butcher who can't see his own knife.
He tosses the horn aside, clears his throat, and then speaks in a surprisingly strong and deep voice.
"My lords, ladies, and other honored guests! Prince Zeech bids you welcome, and I trust you will enjoy the hospitality of his humble home!" He looks around, leering at the guests, and flaps his free arm and lifts the mummified raven he's clutching up onto 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, if you believe yourselves fit to spit-shine his—"
"Really, now, creature," says a voice as soft and cool as running milk. Despite its softness, the voice carries quite easily across the Vertiginous Terrace. It takes a moment to recognize that it is Prince Zeech himself who speaks. "That will do."
"I said it, not the Ominous Fabler!" protests the raven, but its owner steps back, giggling quietly, as the other guests start to line up before the main entrance.
Her eyes are, like Zeech's, a piercing dark blue. Prince Zeech's "twisted daughter" has arrived.
Cuetzpalli shrugs, and takes his wrapped magic shoulder-head to go stand in line. Hope he likes it...
"Oh, that's really cool! I just got him a sharp knife. Cause he likes death and such." Astraden grimaces.
The tall half-orc starts when she hears The Horn, but seems to listen to the Ominous Fabler's entire announcement with interest. "Guess we better get in line," she says as she follows Cuetzpalli.
Tanith keeps his observation to himself for now. If the girl wanted stay out of view, he wasn't going to point her out.
"You ready to get in line Red?" he asks when the guests start to line up to present their gifts.
Carina sighs and gets her giftwrapped box ready. "Ready as I'll ever be."
Eben's attention is once again stolen away by the arrival of Prince Zeech and, more especially, his personal Fool. In fact, the prince barely attracts Eben's attention at all (although he does cast an admiring glance at Zeech's long curls) compared to the Ominous Fabler. I could do that. I could even do that better, I bet. If I had my talking dragon head with me... I mean, I don't know that I'd want to do that, but I could. Maybe I should quiz the Fabler about job satisfaction at some point. I mean, maybe the job would be better if you weren't working for someone who'll cook you alive if you're not funny enough... Still staring at the fool, Eben gets into line with his jewelry boxed gift for the prince.
Farrukh looks over at Vulras.
"Guess it's time to go....kiss the ring, or whatever Zeech likes."
Captain Vulras can't quite suppress a rueful chuckle as he gets into line behind Farrukh.
The guests slowly hand over their gifts to one of the servants—the ettin from One of Us, who quietly bicker between themselves over who should take the gift and who should bag it. The Ominous Fabler stands by, making some unpleasant or obnoxious quip with every presentation. Montague Marat tries to make a great show of introducing his gift—a menagerie of odd pygmy animals kept inside his bag of holding—but the gnomelike creature shuts him down by heckling him until, shrinking in on himself, Mr. Marat just hands over the bag and hurries past.
"Really, Fabler, quite enough," Zeech says sternly, swatting at the Ominous Fabler's head. The Fabler yelps and apologizes profusely...and then continues to insult the other guests in a similar manner. Especially if they take too long. On the bright side, after a few attempts everyone just hands over their gifts as quickly as possible, and the line goes in no time at all.
As Cuetzpalli, first in line, presents his curious magic item, Prince Zeech seems to nod approvingly. "I've heard of the work of Spiny's Six," he says, eyes glancing over the rest of the party. "Good job back in Greyhawk. If we had more Watchers over here with your level of proactive ingenuity, I expect life would be much more peaceful by now in my little town."
"Maybe if useless bums like Vulras stayed home and helped deal with those gazetteers instead of wasting time playing around with orcs!" the Fabler crows, leaning in. "If you ask me, he's more loyal to his shithole villages than to y—"
Zeech scowls and shoves the little man away. "Now, Fabler, show some respect. I'm sure Captain Vulras has good reason for staying so far from the capital."
The gift-giving proceeds with little additional comment.
Mahuudril's and Zeech's interactions seem especially cool.
Miszen is particularly gracious and flattering in spite of the Ominous Fabler's comments about her weight and her "yeti feet stolen from Marat's collection".
Captain Vulras is visibly uncomfortable. So is "Lady Malaven Kilraven", the wiry plain-dressed woman with the quirk in her hand. "I'm glad you deigned to join us," the Prince comments, when the Fabler is uncharacteristically quiet towards her. "I understand you're very busy."
"Mm-hm," she says, hurrying by.
Only the new arrival—"Lady Hemriss"—escapes any manner of heckling. Zeech greets her by name, and she nods slightly as she offers the Prince a little potted flowering tendriculos. "Make sure to water it with fresh milk, Your Highness," she says with a slight smile. "Wouldn't want anyone throttled, would we?"
As Eben hands over his ring box, he flips the lid open to reveal the gleaming prize inside. "A magic ring, enchanted to keep the Prince safe from a perilous fall!" He makes a point of looking straight at Balabar Smenk, the prior owner of said ring. "Prised from the fingers of a slain enemy, at that!" He faux-lowers his voice to a stage whisper that is expertly 'staged' to be completely audible by everyone on the terrace, Smenk included: "With some difficulty. They were very fat fingers."
"Uhm...for your highness...your highness," Cuetzpalli utters awkwardly as he hands off the package. He retreats as quickly as possible.
Astraden simply hands over her package (a basket, the gleaming blade of the dagger glinting under decorative rich golden straw) and continues on. She raises an eyebrow in the direction of Mahuudril's retinue as she walks away, smiling like a cat that's caught the mine canary.
As she watches the rest of the guests deliver their gifts, she leans over to Cuetzpalli again. "Boy, that Ominous Fabler sure is sad, right? What a life situation to have. I would be that nervous if I was in his place, too."
Carina can easily tell that the words coming out of the Fabler's mouth aren't really his own.
She hands her giftwrapped box to Prince Zeech with a little curtsy. "For occasions when people can't handle a good roast, Your Highness." She adds with a polite look at the Fabler.
Lacking any of his friends' level of wit, Tanith presents the box containing his gift with a level of formality that made it clear to anyone that knew the big man how little he respected the despot. "Just a small token of appreciation for the fine hospitality, mylord."
"I found this thing, it's pretty neat." is all Farrukh says.
Farrukh already suspected the Prince was a prick, so this knowledge does not surprise him.
As Eben hands over his ring box, he flips the lid open to reveal the gleaming prize inside. "A magic ring, enchanted to keep the Prince safe from a perilous fall!" He makes a point of looking straight at Balabar Smenk, the prior owner of said ring. "Prised from the fingers of a slain enemy, at that!" He faux-lowers his voice to a stage whisper that is expertly 'staged' to be completely audible by everyone on the terrace, Smenk included: "With some difficulty. They were very fat fingers."
Zeech gives an almost imperceptible nod of approval. Balabar grins and holds up his hand—a new very shiny ring adorns his waggling finger.
The Fabler raises an eyebrow when Carina looks his way. "Roasts, huh? I'd say that's a better gift for our cooks, but 'good' would be a miiiighty generous phrasing!" He pulls a face at one of the passing servants and cackles as they hurry by.
The other gifts include jewelry, bottles of rare wine, and minor magic items, but Mahuudril actually has Filge and Smenk retrieve her gift from the stables: A towering white pegasus with glimmering blue eyes, fluttering feathered wings, and horseshoes that pulsate with silver light with every hoof-fall. "Horseshoes of a zephyr," she declares. "For a steed befitting the beloved Prince of Redhand."
Prince Zeech looks over the creature coolly. "Hm. So you outfitted a flying pegasus with horsehoes that let it walk on air."
Mahuudril smiles and curtsies low before proceeding past with her two retainers in tow.
The guests proceed into the other half of the courtyard. Padded chairs have been arranged for them, and as everyone finds their seats, the fool reappears and blows his strange, obnoxious 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.'" He moves back as the servants arrange a small stage with a backdrop of a town street at night. "By generous courtesy of actors from all across Alhaster, and with a special thanks to the contributions of the phantasmal Miomay's Playhouse!"
A wooden moon wafts over the scene, and suddenly a host of animated skeletons march on stage. The skeletons are dressed as clowns.
The play is performed in silence as the skeletal clowns perform particularly ridiculous stunts. The Fabler manipulates the undead performers with a wand as he disappears behind the stage. 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.
The play lasts for an hour—during, servants flutter about with wine and trays of lightly roasted almond biscuits. At the end, the skeletons bow and everyone applauds. The Ominous Fabler reappears, now dressed as a scarecrow on stilts and with a hare's skull where his head should be.
He leads guests across the grounds to the next event, singing a song about boiling sparrows as he goes.
The guests arrive at the Balcony of Expectorance, a wide deck jutting from the cliffside about twenty feet down from the palace. The Balcony is sheltered from the wind, and the view of the Redhand coastline is even more magnificent than that from the Vertiginous Terrace.
The fool trundles up onto the balcony railing, somehow managing to balance there on stilts as he addresses the guest. "Wasn't that a great show? Not something any dime-value Free City bard could muster, I'll wager!" He giggles. "And now, welcome to the Balcony of Expectorance, my friends, and the Handsome Slaughter of the Curious Avians!"
The ettin marches out, carrying behind them a large rack of repeating crossbows.
Another group of servants wheel out a number of cages filled with brightly-colored red birds.
The fool claps with delight. "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 and clambers down from the ledge as the prince selects a magnificent-looking crossbow.
"I'm feeling particularly lucky today," he calls, expertly loading the weapon. "If anyone can bring down more than me, I'll give the lucky soul a thousand gold coins."
He gestures for everyone to take a crossbow from the rack. The guests slowly oblige, Korush and the other attendants filing back to avoid getting in the way.
"He killed actors to make this play. That's what he's saying," Astraden whispers to Eben, then feigns guffawing at a comment he makes on the plot. "Ha ha, how amusing!"
She takes a crossbow, but confides in the ettin as she does so. "I don't know how to use one of these . . ."
Cuetzpalli takes a crossbow, naively following the instructions of his host.
After watching the play, Carina is rather reluctant to indulge in any other forms of 'entertainment' the prince has to offer.
However, not wanting to be a rude guest, she takes up a crossbow. It fits comfortably into her hands.
Despite not being entirely clear how on to operate it, Tanith takes one of the crossbows.
Once everyone has selected their crossbow, the guests take turns as the Fabler releases ten of the brilliantly-colored birds. The birds flutter about, sending glittering dust in all directions. The Fabler makes a show of shrieking and clutching his eyes as if he's been hit, bumbling around and nearly tripping several guests who his blundering leads him right into.
Prince Zeech goes first, raising his crossbow and firing off a rapid series of shots. He catches six of the ten, who plummet to the ground abruptly.
Each guest takes their turn—some deliberately do poorly, others just don't do very well. Mahuudril misses all her shots. "Oh, poo, none for me," she says mildly, watching the shimmering birds soaring off over the side of the cliff. Toris shoots a couple down, misses a lot of shots, and gets hit in the face with a spray of stunning color. Most of the guests laugh at the struggling gnome.
As the shoot progresses, servants pass roasted corollax glazed in honey and mulled spice wine among the guests.
Cuetzpalli doesn't really see the point in killing any birds when there are already plenty here dead and cooked. He purposefully misses his shots, though he tries to pretend to aim well.
Astraden clips the wingfeathers of one of her birds, but meets otherwise with no success. In fact, she seems befuddled by the "repeating" quality of the crossbow, and attempts to reload with each missed shot. "Be careful with these devices - they're not as easy as Prince Zeech makes them look!" she remarks to the next in line.
She laughs along with the other guests when Toris bungles his own shots. Notably, though, she doesn't laugh at the more inorganic pratfalls of the Fabler.
While sipping on the provided wine, Astraden takes a moment to observe the crowd of guests. Is there anyone who seems happy to be here?
Zalamandra takes her shots, but misses all three. It seems she did give it an honest try, but simply isn't martially trained.
Farrukh is curious as to what Zeech's response would be if he gets shown up, so he puts in a bit of effort.
Farrukh reloads his crossbow.
Farrukh appraises the crossbow.
"It's kind of hard to shoot and doesn't have a whole lot of punch to it. It's fine for party games I guess."
Not terribly interested in killing a bunch of birds they weren't even going to eat, Tanith fires his crossbow into the open air without attemping to aim in any kind of meaningful way.
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Eben pokes around with his crossbow, trying to get a feel for the unfamiliar mechanism and clearly being less than pleased with it. When it's his turn he shrugs and takes aim. He does hum to himself, though, as he sights possible bird targets.
His first shot is actually quite successful, though the bird doesn't die, rather just falling out of the air and fluttering a wing pathetically on the ground as the crossbow bolt skewers out of it like the hors d'ouevres of its relatives being passed around. The sight seems to deflate Eben's desire to be competitive a bit, as he misses his next two shots.
He puts on a good show about his heart still being in the competition, gamely reloading for his next brace of shots....
... but when the time actually comes, he makes a series of intentional near-misses, though puts on a front of actually trying.
He sets the crossbow back on the rack. "Oh, my, I guess I just don't know anything about archery, really... Well! One lucky shot at least, even if I didn't kill it. I should go put it out of its misery... carry on, all!" He walks over to where the corrolax is peeping on the ground in pain, picks up the odd little avian with a look of intense squeamishness on his face, and then carries it over to the edge of the balcony and pitches it off the cliff while the next competitor is drawing attention with their shots.
Anyone not paying attention to the next competitor might happen to notice Eben surruptitously pulling the bolt out of the near-dead bird and quietly muttering the words to a spell before releasing it to flutter away, more or less unharmed, rather than tossing it over the edge with the spent bolt.
Carina is decidedly uncomfortable with shooting innocent birds, and doesn't even make an effort to shoot accurately.
There are oohs and ahs as the sixth, seventh, eighth, ninth and tenth birds rain from the air, felled by Farrukh's fine shooting. As Farrukh appraises his weapon, Toris and a couple others politely applaud.
"Really, fantastic for a beginner," Mahuudril says, raising an eyebrow. "I haven't seen that kind of technique in years, and I've seen some remarkable fighters." She glances toward the Prince—as do most of the guests—awaiting his response.
After a pause, Prince Zeech smiles and nods graciously. "It looks like I owe you a thousand orbs. I should take you hunting sometime, Mr. Al'Khattel! No wonder the Ebon Triad fears your band."
"Indeed, indeed!" the Fabler declares with a grin, springing over and plucking the birds from the ground. "Lots of new friends for you, ah?" He waves his mummified raven. "Sloppy form, of course, but that's what you expect from sloppy people." He shakes his head up at Farrukh. "I think he spent a third of his time just reloading the Prince's machine!"
The Prince is infuriated, and worse, embarrassed. Behind the smile, his gaze has settled on Farrukh like a jeweler studying a piece of flaming bat guano that has fallen into his collection. There is violent malice in those eyes.