Tark's Council of Thieves: Rebels with a Cause (Inactive)

Game Master Tark the Ork

Wand 1d8 + 1 ⇒ (6) + 1 = 7
Wand 1d8 + 1 ⇒ (5) + 1 = 6

Bloodless looks rather startled and amazed that the Skeleton died so quickly, clearly believing he was in a much more perilous fight than he actually was.

"Another trial we have faced and bested friends, and here we all are, alive and kicking"

Update, CL Wand is now at 19 charges. That +1 mace really saved our bacon, even without being used to kill the skellies.

LeVash straightens up, speaking slowly "We are indeed alive, perhaps a first with this play...which leads me to something I'd like to say, and I don't think anyone is going to like it. I know I don't."

"This play calls for a death, and I'm realizing that since we've all had the temerity to live, it likely means that Thesing will be killed in the final act. As much as he deserves it, I think it is in our interest, and more importantly in Westcrown's interest, that no one die here tonight."

"Which means we need to save Thesing."

"That would be against the script and I will not allow it!" Calls Robahl from above. As you look up you see he is dressed in the spitting image of the Prince of Darkness himself. "Besides he's lucky he's only getting dragged under the stage! I imagine if the mayor paid extra he'd have the cleric hurl the man into hell itself! Ha! For the record our good cleric has already left for the evening to attend to other matters! Now put away your sharp bits! We have a show to finish!"

Thesing looks smug enough to stink up the room.

Whisper - I understand, but if it is the difference between one of us dying and him, I will choose him. As I mentioned, I am running short on magic. At this point, I can cast one more spell. It can be anything I know, protection from evil, shocking grasp, enlarge person. But, whatever it is, it will be my last spell.

Bejis appreciatively thanks Asmodia for healing him.

Looking up towards Robahl and Millech, Bejis quietly (mindful of the audience on the other side of the curtain) asks, "What are we going to do with our costumes? Mine is missing a few chunks now..."

LeVash looks up at Robahl, "I didn't say we'd stop him from being dragged off, but I want to make sure he isn't actually killed just to provide blood for the play. Am I understood?"

Bloodless nods back in agreement.

Aerieth nods in agreement as well.
Whisper - Although if he were to suffer some scaring to reduce his ego a little, I would not complain. - You can hear the disdain Aerieth has for the man, although not to the level of hatred of Asmodia perhaps.

Asmodia's clear blue eyes burn like the origin of a point of flame with an expression that she has been placed on the prime material to end Evil, and she will end Thesing to comply with that mission.

Cayden's directives were none. Her faith had no holy book, no words of wisdom, only the example set by their living hero. Protect children, and the innocent, fight gloriously in battle, or retreat soundly to ensure that you live to fight again.

Asmodia turned those hard eyes on Thesing and knew that if she must become a whore to earn the money to enact her plan, she will. And perhaps if she prayed hard enough, Thalis would speed her there with her many wings.

I think we will have a lot to talk about after the play, with fewer witnesses.

Is the Barbarian Chew (1 hour) still ongoing?

To Calseienca, "How are you doing?"

Calseinica and Asmodia should both have Mage Armor as well for another 45 minutes or so since that act only probably took 15 minutes at most. Mine was a 3 hour spell.

The chew should be gone by now depending on when you wate it. The play starts at 4 and ends at 7 before it gets dark.

As all of you pick yourselves up and brush yourselves of what little dust, blood, and sweat that will come away. The curtain rises and once again you are in the courtroom.

Haanderthan's voice has been reduced to col calculation and an undertone of desperation. "The final trial is at hand. Your souls shall be quenched at long last."

Lazarod's voice is tinged with contempt, but mostly it is weary, "This trial is yours, Magistrate Maleficarum. Lord Asmodeus is the only true judge here. Bow before him."

Perform (Act): 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (6) + 6 = 12

Bloodless looks about still, seeing what foul beast might come forth and attack the party in order to drag the player to Hell.

Asmodia's hands begin to shake from withdraw, the first in several days. To accept the humiliation of being seen before an audience portraying Tybain's love for a prince of Darkness bound to shackles of Asmodeus is difficult enough, but to take a contract of his, even a mockery of one in a play is beyond all her faculties to bear.

Quite unlike Aerieth, she has an assortment of spells at her disposal, the least of which are her most powerful cures and a spell to align her allies weapons to Good.

Haanderthan roars, losing his temper and pointing accusingly at Larazod as if the sheer force of his hate would be enough to strike him dead. "Insolent dog! Asmodeus shall scour your soul as sauce from a pan. Ash for bones, and waxen souls melted by the dark lord’s flame to puddle at his taloned feet."

blah, blah, blah, foolish man

"We shall see who is judged!"

And now for the fun.

Aerieth anxiously waits while peering around to see what surprise is next.

Perception: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (2) + 8 = 10

As the nobility watches in awed silence the lights dim and the orchestra starts quietly going into a dark and haunting tune. It picks up slowly becoming slwoly but surely more brassy, more dark and haunting with ever moment. Finnally as the tension in your woul rises to its greatest pitch the devils start appearing. One by one imps, gaavs, and more terrible things flit about you laughing and taunting as they drape scarves about your necks and handed a contract written in human blood.

As the music cresecendo's the Prince of Darkness Robahl, er, Asmodeus! Descends slowly in all his regal glory wreathed in crimson flames the music is terrible, imposing, and demanding of you to cower before his burning gaze. As the prince ofdarkness ceases his descent he gestures with a clawed hand and with an ancient bass found only in the dark depths of the most ancient caves the god speaks.

"Choose. A true heart shall beat strong for all eternity at my side, a false burns to cinders in an instant."

Tentatively you reach up and show him the crimson scarve and you flinsh a little as the illusion ignites the red scarves that burn away from you in ashes.

Haanderthan cries out in horror as Robasmodeus pivots without any leg movement towards him and points an accusing claw as much a condemnation as a gesture.

"Treacherous magistrate who lords false justice over true souls. Your soul shall burn for all eternity— an everlasting torment awaits you."

Gripping the man by his robes Haanderthan cries and roars feebly attempting to escape as a trapdoor underneath the stage opens and the pair begin levitating underneath. Delour's singing accompanies the terrible sight as the false magistrate is dragged bodily into hell.

As Haanderthan disappears beneath the stage the curtains fall and the crowd explodes in applause.

Beaming happily Calseinica snatches Aerieth and LeVash by the arm and tries to drag them before the crowd again. "Come on! Come one! We've got to bow before the adoring crowd now!"

Sense Motive: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (11) + 5 = 16

Smiling, I step forward with Calseinica attempting to put on my most graceful bow while allowing Calseinica to lead the show.

Whisper to the group - Well we survived. Now for the party.

Asmodia Sense Motive 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (5) + 3 = 8 *sigh*

Asmodia can scarcely care less for the applause. She knows each and every one of the attendants is secretly harboring a desire for her blood, and that when she steps of the stage it is just as likely she will abducted by Asmodeans.

She secretly hopes, however, that she can save the relic of Aroden from the theater's grubby paws.

Sense Motive 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (19) + 1 = 20

Bejis is still on the lookout for sabotage or other threats.Perception 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (12) + 7 = 19

Bejis steps up to prepare for the bow.

Bloodless is equally perplexed, also wondering where the final acts of bastardry might suddenly erupt from...

"Just like that? this can'y be the end, surely..."

Hearing Bloodless' concern, I begin to carefully look about the stage, backstage and audience for any new surprises.

Perception: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (20) + 8 = 28

Sense Motive: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (12) + 4 = 16

LeVash isn't paying much attention to Thesing once it seems that he is not in direct dange. Instead, he is paying attention to the audience as he follows Calsenica out to take bows.

All of you brace yourselves for what you feel is inevitable, a hail of arrows, a sudden change of monsters, perhaps they would hurl poison darts at you. Instead you get a standing ovation, followed by a large number of black roses tossed onto the stage. As claseinica and delour smile and give their hearts to the crowd it explodes in jewels and gold hurled at the stage.

Delour sprouts some crocodile tears to go along with her smile the crowd just seems absolutely elated giving you the impression that your survival, perhaps more than your demise, has excited the crowd more.

It's then that the stage becomes flooded with people, the backstage workers, Millech, Robahl, Calseinica (no Delour or Thesing of course)all grab you and lift you bodily into the air with cheers and further applause and you crowdsurf all the way back to the limehouse. Even before you get there bards are forming the proper verses on their lips, pen is being placed to paper, and the Sixfold Survivors is going to be sung in every tavern across Westcrown before the end of the week. You note that at some point back in the nightshade the bearded devil who played a bit part simply shrugged his shoulders at the end of the last act and vanished from sight presumably returning home having fulfilled his end of some infernal bargain.

Going to give people time to react before I post the rest tomorrow.

Popularity Going into the Play: 138

Accumulated bonuses from plays perform rolls: 26

Bonus Popularity for remaining in character: 10

Bonus Popularity for Promotion: 20

Bonus Popularity for Surviving Characters: 600

Final Popularity: 794

Bonus Fame: 2

Bloodless still looks a bit perplexed, but is slowly coming around to the idea that it could be all over.

"I hated that play, and all it cost us" he quietly spits via message.

Bejis wants to talk to the just the group, privately, where he won't be overheard.
"Did you see the look that Thesing gave us when he went under the stage? It makes me wonder if he had some outside deal made where we were supposed to die during the play... Thinking about it, I did have that odd dream last night..."

Bejis switches from thoughtful to serious. "Do you suppose he might try something tonight?"

"He might be full of horrible personal traits, but stupidity isn't truly amongst them. He'd be more subtle in his spite"

"But what if he isn't simply spiteful, but has promised our souls to Mammon? If he needs to fulfill his end of a bargain, me might be desperate."

"But what if he is Mammon himself? We can't just go ahead and gut him on what ifs, we probably need some foundation for our suspicion. This is Westcrown after all, and horrible people abound here, nothing to say he's any worse than any of the rest of them. If he does anything stupid towards us then I'll happily ram three feet of steel into his gizzards though"

"For now, we need to watch our backs. Though we do need to look into his background."

Asmodia sneers. "If that moron was half as intelligent as he believes himself to be, the unpleasantness between us would have been calling the legion of the Prince of Darkness down upon me."

She listens to Bloodless's challenge and her sneer softens to a smirk. "There are far more eloquent and less injurious ways to dispose of a tick like Thesing, and when I have command of those greater magics, it will be my delight to end him."

Asmodia taps her lips gently and thoughtfully. "What is to be done for the leading lady, our little mistress of hell? It occurs to me that Delour is of the appropriate influence to simply have her mauled to death in some dark alley. Truth, she might even have sicked Thesing upon the girl to bre... break her spirit, excuse me," Asmodia says, touching her hand to her belly during her awkward pause, looking far more pale than her toasty complexion should allow.

LeVash raises his eyebrow when Asmodia speaks, the gives his head a quick shake and shrugs.

"We should warn her, of course, but I'm not sure we can do much more than that, unless we intend to appoint ourselves her bodyguards."

"...I'll speak to her during the party. I think she may be willing to listen to me."

"Oh yes, I am quite sure she will be ever so thankful to you, Shade, when she cannot return to her trade after having lost an arm and an eye," Asmodia growls. Her hands begin to shake, and she grips them hard.

"I need a f*cking drink," she grumbles and begins wandering toward the smell of alcohol.

What's our timeframe here? I assume we have to be "settled in" by dark (soon).

LeVash sighs, "Oh, give it a rest, Asmodia. I'm fully aware you blame me for the child's maiming; I don't accept it. The plan was a good one, and had it not been for a madman intent on burning down the area with no consideration of consequences, the child would have been fine."

"As much as you'd prefer someone nearby to blame, I did not light those fires"

Darnit, Aerieth isn't here to ask if she would have cast Message again... gargggh, ah well, I assume we'll all meet up at the batcave soon enough.

I am here - I tend to cast message all the time, I think if it like cheap telepathy.

I cast Message a few times so that everyone is connected.

It's late in the afternoon 7pmish.

Thank you voice from the heavens :P

As Asmodia walks away, she rubs her mouth with her hand, salivating for alcohol.

Asmodia untrained Bluff (ya'll ain't seein' nuffin' but a shitty drunk) 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (10) + 2 = 12

When you get to the limehouse it is to bottles of wine, music and general celebration. After about a half an hour of toasts by Robahl, a heartfelt one by Calseinica, and one that did everything it could to top it done by Delour the crowd disperses and tries to get home before the darkening clouds threaten to blot out the sun.

When things quiet down all that is left is you, the cast, Robahl and Millech. Millech and Robahl both have their own rooms in the upstairs of the theater. While Delour and Calseinica both have their own lit carriages to carry them safely to lit streets and to their own homes. Outside the skies darken, nightfall is coming early as the weather threatens nastiness.

Millech comes out with a velvet lined box full of gold. And Robahl presents it to the group.

"Excellent! Excellent! I do not believe I will be doing such a show ever again!" There's a small laugh from the crew before he shakes his head. "No joke. Never again. In any case I believe our grand survivors here are deserving of a small bonus."

Thesing scoffs. Thunder rolls. Robahl rolls his eyes.

"Does our handsome haanderthan have something to say?"

Thesing peels himself from his corner like a jungle predator slinking out of a topiary shadow the rage burning behind his eyes is clear and his smile is without humor.

"Say? This production was a farce, this crew?" Thesing gestures wildly at the group. "A FREAK! A MISANTHROPE!" Thesing stumbles for words as he attempts to insult Bejis. "A...A COMMONER! AN ELVEN WENCH! AN ALCOHOL DOUSED WHORE!" Thesing's handsome and sharp face is red with rage Robahl stands calmly as Thesing throws hot air and bile in his direction. "I have studied for years under the best that this empire had to offer! Scraping and bowing and training to get everything I have gotten and this, this rabble receive more praise and accolades than me for surviving a fake production?"

Robahl raises an eyebrow quizzically as if Millech was not grumbling earlier about having to rub the blood stains out of Bejis's tattered breasts.

"You know what I mean!" Thesing spits as he point a finger right at Robahl's nose. "You set this up! You hired mercenaries! Crude adventurers when we needed actors! This is an insult to the opera! An insult to the form! AN INSULT TO THE EMPIRE! I WILL SEE TO IT YOU AND THIS RABBLE NEVER WORK IN THIS TOWN AGAIN!"

Thesing panting with fatigue Robahl clears his throat.

"Well, Thesing, if it bothers you that much you can simply take your money and leave. While I do find you an adequate actor and a standard cut and dried leading role like, well, hundreds before you whose names I can't be bothered to remember right now. Your common capabilities are quite useful and even your minor celebrity helps draw in the small crowd of admirers you have." Thesing's eye twitches clearly being tormented by Robahl's terrible wit. For these reasons you will be paid as all the others. However, I find your boorish attitude, and advances towards women more akin to a rutting beast, perhaps something like a stallion. Yes, that fits the description I think. Handsome in bearing, but likely to eat where it defecates and attract all manner of stinking biting flies. Quite simply Thesing you may be an actor of at least passing standards. But as a man? There are things crawling about in the gutters that are worth more. You mistreat women, jewels of the earth each and every one be. You take pleasure in the pain of others, while being too cowardly to inflict it yourself. Indeeed, the whores, freaks, misanthropes and twisted elves have all proven themselves better than you Thesing. Yes better. You can never hope to achieve anything they have accomplished tonight. You simply don't have it in you. And never will. But nonetheless." Robahl smiles mirthlessly as he presents the box to Thesing. "You get paid."

There is an awkward silence as the thunder continues rolling outside disturbed only as the rain begins in earnest and begins slamming the roof of the limehouse drowning out even your own thoughts. Finally with dismissive wave Thesing turns.

"BAH! Keep it!"

And with that he slams open the doors of the limehouse and steps into the pitch black streets.

There is no small amount of muttering as Robahl turns back to you. Clearly Thesing has done something rather suicidal.

Opening the box its filled with gold and jewels most of which has been gathered from the gifts the collective nobility of Westcrown tossed to you earlier.

Divided up it comes out to 1294gp apiece. Enjoy.

With the pay divided Delour boards her enormously garish coach with magical torches hung from every side to drive back the shadowbaeasts as she makes way towards the wealthier and much better lit portions of the city. As calseinica gathers a bundle of the black roses thrown at the stage earlier she leans in to LeVash gripping him and pulling him closer.

With a sultry wink she moves invitingly into her coach.

Pending responses from LeVash all of you are left to your own devices as Robahl and Millech go to their respective rooms and go to sleep.

Sense Motive 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (11) + 2 = 13
Perception 1d20 + 10 + 2 ⇒ (2) + 10 + 2 = 14

"All that time spent on stage has done nothing to improve your ability to act drunk, why you bother with such a ruse is a mystery. No there is nothing left to be said between us, I need not concern myself with you as it would only upset our mutual acquaintances who would no doubt blame me for your demise and they'd spend the next age admonishing me for not bearing a better temperament in the face of your baseless inflammatory accusations and insults."

"Why would I go to that trouble when you are so determined to be killed by everyone we meet, like your dear Thesing? Are you are so heartbroken over Thesing not seeing you for the magnificent catch you truly are and stealing you away from all this drudgery? I see now the man is fixed in your mind, and like a vexed lover you will hunt him until either or both of you are no more. I'd place a gold or two that he'd be the winner of that dance of death. I see now that you are determined to die a horrible death, at least have the decency to serve your deity by having that death serving his interests."

Bloodless simply moves off.

Asmodia watches Robhal lacing into Thesing with some amount of fascination. If either Bloodless or Thesing waxing poetic about her miserable state has any effect on her, she hides it at the bottom of her tankard.

She remains and drinks until her vision is blurred, but not slowed to frames, the stumbles into the street to celebrate with the refuse in the gutters.

Perception 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (11) + 7 = 18

I assume we don't have time to stalk after Thesing, without getting stuck outside after dark?

You can go after him but as you mentioned it is dark and rainy outside. He would be nearly impossible to keep track of even if he doesn't disappear forever into a shadowbeasts hungry maw.

Oh man, if that guy doesn't have plot-tanium armor like Calseinica has plot-friendly kicks, I will be extremely displeased.

Motioning after Thesing's exit, Bejis prompts Robahl, Millech, or any other staff, "Do you know what's got into him? Did he plan on us getting slaughtered?"

Diplomacy 1d20 - 1 ⇒ (7) - 1 = 6

LeVash moves to the door of Calsenica's coach, but stops there, speaking quietly to her

He steps back "Be wary, Calsenica, you've made an enemy of Delour; your talent threatens her, and I do not believe her above murder or maiming to ensure she remains at the top of her profession."

As it's been a long day, LeVash cracks his neck, showing fatigue,"Where do we sleep?"
Bluff: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (19) + 5 = 24 - while a bit battered, LeVash is ready to work through the night...I am assuming Robahl took back the Circlet.