The tattooist lapses into silence for a moment, "They were specific about the divine threat - martyrdom. I don't think that's out of the question when the drow are talking about opening the door to some evil deity. We're pawns, at best, to the higher powers." Senna addresses the strange voices, hoping for an answer, "You said scuttle through this sewer carefully, do you mean this alley right here? Will this lead us to the door the drow are using to move from their world? Or do you mean we should take care in Sigil?"
Braegan shakes his head when Senna addresses the voices, "Oh, sure ... encourage 'em. I love having voices in my head."
"How do voices know about our task? Maybe elfs talked to them someway? Not sure if trust yet..."
Senna smiles at Braegan's reaction, "I'm willing to listen, if they're willing to talk - sorry about that. I can't say whether their advice about sewers rings true, but they are talking sense about the divines and the demons. And since it seems they know our business... I figure if they wanted to sell us out, it would already be done. I wouldn't call it trust, exactly, but I'd like to hear what they have to say." She waits for an answer, "Or they could be all enigmatic and vanish without another word."
"You said scuttle through this sewer carefully, do you mean this alley right here? Will this lead us to the door the drow are using to move from their world? Or do you mean we should take care in Sigil?"
You all hear in your heads the multitude of voices again, "The city, the city!! Don't trust them. Don't trust the angels! Tell us you don't trust anyone and we'll let you go."
You all hear in your heads the multitude of voices again, "The city, the city!! Don't trust them. Don't trust the angels! Tell us you don't trust anyone and we'll let you go."
Senna considers the information and reflects on the 35 Rules of Successful Sorcerers...
Rule 1: Never publicly call the voice in your head a liar...
"Well," She says cautiously, "we appreciate your warning... and, speaking for myself, I don't put any more trust in angels than I do in devils. They've all got their own agendas and I don't see keeping me alive as one of their priorities. However - and you'll appreciate this - I'm finding it hard to trust you right now. I mean you're just a voice in my head, right? You could be some angel or devil yourself. How would I know the difference? So, how about you show yourself, if you can, and let us know who you are?"
You all hear in your minds and it seems the number of voices is increasing, "You do not trust and that is good. And the rest, what do you say? What do you say? What do you say?"
"Davu follow Kols' orders. The Oathkeeper...and respect those beliefs. Davu never met angel, but has no reason to not believe celestial. Not scared of rats either," Davu says menacingly.
Tark has a really hard time coming to grips with what is happening - his dwarven resiliency usually allows him to stave off mental invasions or attacks, but this one seems to be taking place nonetheless - "Get outta ma head, whatever ye are - I don't trust anyone as a principle gods damn ye!"
"Fine. I don't trust anyone." He shrugs, "At least no one so far from this place."
There is a silence in your minds, as you see the rats recede into the darkness and then out of view.
"That's your classic mysterious departure right there..." Senna quips, "So, are rats in a shadow war against the drow or were they just a vehicle for whoever was talking to us?"
"Yeah! What the heck was that?!" - Tark shakes his head - "Them rats were speakin' to us?!"
The best Braegan can manage is a shake of his head. He seems antsy to move on.
"Why trust strange rats over good angels." Davu asks, clearly not the least bit plussed by the apparent withdrawal of assistance from the rats and their strange voices.
Braegan listens to the back and forth, "I don't know ... we know about as much about the brain-talking rats as we do anything else here in this place. At least these rats claim to share our enemy, the Spider Queen. That gives me a weird kind of comfort."
Befuddled by their experience in the alley, the party decides to quickly move away before the rats return. Eventually, you find your way to the Lower Ward, a section of Sigil inhabited primarily by creatures of the Lower Planes, but also by humans and the floating Dabus (Dabus resembles a humanoid with yellow-tan skin, goat-like horns, and a shock of white hair). You even spot occasional darting lantern archons, their light shining pure and holy through the smoke and gloom — and moving very quickly through this ward. You also notice the foul sulfurous stench that seems to emanate from the ground itself.
Before long, your reach your goal, the Styx Oarsman tavern. Bracing yourself, you walk inside. The Oarsman is noisy, and you see three squawking vrocks (similar to one you killed in the cave) come stumbling out of the open archway that is the entrance way. Within you see barbed devils playing at cards, a beautiful human woman confidently serving goblets of wine to monsters, and a motley collection of customers. You remember the dwarf Silveraxe's comments when you look at the bartender serving drinks with her six arms! It’s not the type of inn you’re used to, to put it lightly.
Braegan steps into the room, once again having to force his hands from rising to draw his bow as his dark brown eyes take in the dark, dingy interior of the Styx. His gaze lingers on the devils and the waitress in turn, but hang a bit longer on the six-armed woman behind the bar … his eyebrows rising a bit.
”The dwarf was right … this place is different.” He takes another moment to look past what is immediately obvious, searching for less discernible threats among the patrons, ”Keep your eyes and ears open, boys and girls … we’re not on Golarion anymore.”
The half-elf seems to be waiting for someone else to take the lead.
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Perblentious will walk up to the barkeep and ask about their list of drinks. He will pull out a scroll to keep notes and will pick something which seems particularly exotic to try (after asking if it is toxic to his type).
to hopefully check if they are trying to deceive him about toxicity.
"Yes, but look at the wondrous libations!"
Davu was very uneasy in this place. He held his tongue as he examined the goingson at the bar.
Perception
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As they entered the Oarsman, Tark almost jumped hard right to hammer one of the Vrocks, but then he noticed there were three of them, and apparently... Engaged in a (casual?) conversation?
"What the..?" - he found himself saying that a lot lately - "Eyes open indeed lad" - he answered the elf, as his eyes lingered over the six armed woman slightly longer than he would like to - "That's gotta be handy" - he chuckles.
Following Perblentious, he chips in regarding the possible drinks - "I mean... We just gotta taste somethin' different, right?" - he elbows the Aasimar, turning his back to the bar, and observing the room with curiosity, thinking to leave the conversation to the priest for the time being.
Noticing Jaydavu standing there, he motions for him to join them at the bar.
Upon your entry and your shocked looks, you all get stares from the patrons, especially Perb. Then back to business as usual.
The female six-armed bartender welcomes Perb and Tark and as you approach, you can tell she has glittering otherworldly eyes and a snake body beneath her torso. She also has various arcane weapons within reach behind the bar. As she reads you a menu, you notice most of the beverages are toxic and exotic, most likely because demons are immune to poison. You hear of treats such as Wyvern's Sting, Purple Pain (purple worm ingredients), Ice Worm (cold drink with Remorhaz ingredients), etc.
Upon seeing the aasimar, the outsiders start to chide Perb into ordering one of the drinks! The bartender smiles wickedly at Perb and Tark, "So what'll it be, Primes?"
The snake woman is charmed by Perb's smile and looks at the crowd of outsiders, "They're new to the Styx, let's not poison them just yet. Now get back to yer business!" Her voice is quite commanding, as if she were in a position of authority and power, and she uncoils her lower body, so she stands 10-12' high. The other outsiders quickly back off, giving the aasimar dirty looks.
The bartender coils back to normal size and flashes Perb a sultry smile, "Welcome to the Styx, you may call me Mary. I'm sure I can find you two some non-toxic dwarven ale. That is a popular drink among yer kind." With her six hands moving in fluid motion, the drinks are poured in seconds. "10 gold please."
Senna looks around the tavern with a growing, albeit nervous, smile. "This place must be off the chain on a feast day." After drawing more attention than she's comfortable with while gaping in the doorway, Senna moves smoothly into the room, watching the games and listening to the patrons with interest. When the demon barkeep asks for drink orders, the tattooist doesn't hesitate given the number of wine goblets passing around.
"Port, please. Tawny trumps ruby, and if it's been casked for more than 60 years, I might kiss you."
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Perblentious readily hands over the gold. "Thank you milady. You are too kind. Can you give me a bit of background on this particular ale? I'm something of a devotee of the various intoxicating drink varieties, and try to catalog all I encounter. I've not been to this place before and I relish the change to try new varieties. "
Braegan leaves the talking to the talkers and the drinking to the drinkers. He turns sideways to lean on the counter, his eyes drawn to the curtained booths near the back. While the specifics are no business of his, he can't help but be a little curious to see what faces belong to the voices discussing the contract in Absolom.
After a few seconds—and when he won't be interrupting one of his teammates—he looks over at Mary, his face genuinely curious. "So how many of the people who come here are locals? and how many are out-of-towners like us?"
Mary winks at Senna, "Sure, sweet lady. You're the closest I've seen in this place to even come close to rivaling my beauty." She uncorks a bottle especially for her and pours her a glass. "75 years old. Exquisite in my opinion." Senna does not know if she is talking about the wine or herself, as Mary makes no secret of undressing her with her eyes.
Upon hearing the aasimar chime in, she sighs. "Let me see. That vintage is from the height of the Mithrilhammer clan, about 200 years ago, before they fell to the orcs. Always gets many rave reviews."
Mary's eyes narrow at the Braegan's comments. "You have the audacity of pumping me for information without even ordering a drink?! DoI look like your personal guide or hostess? No? Then stop treating me like one before I eat your entrails!" She looks quite scary when she's pissed.
Braegan recoils from Mary's anger, taking a few steps from the bar, his hands raised in the universal sign for surrender.
”I didn’t mean to offend … I promise. I hope you’ll forgive an out-of-towner’s rudeness, and I’m more than happy to buy a drink. I’m a simple guy .. got something simple?” He gives a weak grin, trying to disarm the situation. "Damn me ... make it two. Something to jump start my heart."
Mary seemingly calms down and pours you two drinks, which your eyes catch is from a normal cask of ale. "30 gold..." She is waiting for your answer and it looks like she is itching for you to complain about the price.
Braegan gives a weak grin, then slides six fat platinum coins across the counter. "For the offense." He shrugs, "I never was good with women."
Mary seems a little disappointed that you paid but takes the coins. Then she smiles, as if nothing had happened. "The only locals here are the humans. Everyone else just visits the Cage, including myself. May I ask what you are doing so far from your homes?"
Tark keeps mostly to himself, tasting the ale and nodding in approval - "It hit the spot. That it did" - he freezes with his mug still to his mouth to confirm if the crowd gathering around them disperses at Mary's command, and when they do he chuckles, and downs the remaining of it.
Placing the mug back down on the counter, he speaks more to himself than for any other around him - "With toxins heh? I am not sure I don't wanna try one of those ta be honest" - he ponders, raising an eyebrow at the tense moment between the elf and the bartender, but not moving for his weapon immediately.
"We've had a spot of trouble with some dark elves, and were following up on it. The trail led to this plane. Did you have any other interesting ales? Without the toxins of course. "
"Hmmm, C'mon Perb. Some drow ran inta trouble with us, he means" - the dwarf laughs, trying to add a tad to the conversation - "Now, we're looking fer more"
Davu didn't follow the nuances of requesting information and blending in as well as the others. "Drows Attack us and elfs. We are here to find drows and make them stop attacks. Davu can pay for information."
Mary smiles. "Problems with drow, huh? And you, mountain man, Oread, I like your directness. How much can you pay? I may be able to make an introduction to someone with your interests at heart."
Davu thinks for a few moments. "500 gold for information. If Iinformation is good and true, we come back and give more. If info not good and true, we come back and take the gold back. And Davu will be mad."
Mary winks at Senna, "Sure, sweet lady. You're the closest I've seen in this place to even come close to rivaling my beauty."
"Close to your beauty?" she purrs with a smile as she leans over the bar a bit, saying quietly, "I'm as close as a mud-hen to a peacock compared to you, Mary... but I appreciate your shameless flattery. I'm Senna."
She uncorks a bottle especially for her and pours her a glass. "75 years old. Exquisite in my opinion." Senna does not know if she is talking about the wine or herself, as Mary makes no secret of undressing her with her eyes.
Senna raises an eyebrow at the virgin bottle opened just for her and watches the demon pour the not-thick-not-thin amber liquor. While she isn't a drinker, as a rule, she would be lying if she said she didn't occasionally enjoy a fine liquor. Senna picks up the small glass carefully and swirls the liquid. She watches the legs run down the inside of the glass approvingly. Despite the odd surroundings, Senna focuses on the drink. She raises the glass to her nose, closes her eyes, and breathes in the scent of it, trying to catalog all the notes - the rich molasses, hints of blackberry and caramel, and the almost imperceptible floral something that lay beneath the rest of it... Her brow furrows as she works through the scents. She noses the liquor again as she swirls it, pulling more notes from it. Satisfied, she opens her eyes and enjoys the moment before knowing what it will taste like, forever losing the mystery of it.
The tattooist recalls her manners and gives Mary an appreciative smile (even as she is being ogled), raises her glass in a silent toast to the demoness, and then takes a small sip. She rolls the liquor across her tongue, savoring it as one can only do with a complex drink. After a long moment and a slow swallow, Senna shivers in pleasure. "Oh, that is a thing of beauty - rare and fine." It isn't clear if she is just speaking of the port. Senna takes another sip and enjoys it all over again, though it comes across with a sour note when Perblentious lays out their mission to the demon.
"500 gold will be fine and we don't want a mad Davu, do we?" Mary snickers and waits for her gold.
Davu forks over the gold. "Mary not be sneaky or Davu come back to get his gold. Tell group about drow's."
Mary takes the gold and looks menacingly at the Oread and only the monk hears in his mind:"Anytime you want to tangle, Rock-man, you know where to find me. Now wait here." She slithers to the back of the tavern out of sight, the other outsiders giving her wide berth.
Five uneasy minutes later, Mary returns and asks you to follow her, her six arms pointing the way.
She leads you to a curtained booth in the back and ushers you in, where you see five empty chairs and an old male figure, definitely not human, as evident by his sharp features and skin tone. Mary leaves you all alone.
The figure speaks, bowing before the party. "Please sit. They call me, I call myself, the world knows I am Lord-of-Three. I understand you are new in town and have a drow problem. Your type, your disposition, your shining characters don’t generally come to the Lower Ward, the wrong side of Sigil, the Styx Oarsman. I like the cheap beer, rough company,and rampant rumor mongering. What exactly brings you down here to this of all places?”
"Like Davu told Mary, drows attacking elfs in our world. Davu helps elfs now, so looking for drows to make them stop that."