Oscar takes the chiding to heart. "Of course, I'm happy to..." but by then Tess has bought her ticket, and there is nothing left to do but dig out a collection of copper coins, all of an old enough minting they're more valuable for their rarity than their metal content - to a collector.
'I thought it'd add to the disguise, but carrying such small denominations is quite inconvenient' he reflected.
"Well, there's a couple more folks in the line ahead of you to go through the show - Freyday's always a popular night here in the theatre after all!!! Let's get you some tickets", the man ushers the group through to the ticket stand where a wizened old man sits - virtually drowning in robes that may once have fitted, he watches with rheumy eyes. The old man's voice is surprisingly deep for such a frail looking man, "Ahhhh!!! More Sinners here to see what awaits them in the pits of hell... to stare their fate in the face and to consider their choices in life", there is a dramatic pause, "Lest they burn for eternity!!!!"
"...A Pillaster each please".
Oscar dumps his collection of odd copper coins on the table. "Sorry..." he apologises sheepishly. "Two tickets, please."
'Perhaps this wasn't suck a good idea. Euphemia and Tess are Instruments of the Divine, after all. Still - the die is cast.' Oscar reflects.
As the tickets are purchased the old man declares that there's a queue for tonight's show, "It's about twenty minutes or so... time enough for Luther to show you our infernal display", the way in which the man enunciates 'infernal display' suggests it is grander and more impressive than, at least by first impressions, it looks to be, "...and then, of course, there's the bar. Buy a drink... steel your nerves!!!!"
Once all the tickets are bought, the older man waves them away, "Customers... always more customers here to see their fate" and the first of the theatre's staff, 'Luther' guides the group towards the elaborate shelves in the far corner of the room, "You'll have to excuse ol' Chelman, he's got a gift for the theatrics... he's right though, you do have a little bit of time so why not peruse what we have on display here..."
Several sealed glass display cases stand along the lobby’s back wall. Within, dusty old props and relics purporting to be artifacts from the Abyss rest in a museum-like exhibit. There’s a vial of dark liquid labeled 'River Styx', several chunks of porous rock labeled with the numbers of various layers of the Abyss, and an assortment of demonic samples, including leathery snippets of 'Nabasu Wing', an enormous 'Glabrezu Pincer', greasy 'Nalfeshnee Pinfeathers', a withered 'Vrock Spore' vine, and a jar of red 'Babau Slime'. Another case holds a set of mysterious relics that appear to have come from some occult order.
Before an unfurled, weathered banner draped across the case’s back panel are shelves piled with fancy sashes, soiled lambskin gloves, delicate silk aprons, tie-tacks, brooches, censers, and all manner of esoteric ceremonial garb, all heavily decorated with mystic symbolism. Adjacent to the case is a complete ceremonial costume displayed on a disturbingly decaying wax mannequin.
Leaning nearby on the wall is an elaborately decorated wooden coffin with a glass window containing a skeleton itself intricately engraved with glyphs and runes. Above this case, a lopsided banner adorned with the symbol of a chained book hangs from a ceremonial spear. Nearby, a rusted and broken ceremonial longsword is mounted to the wall. A third and final case holds four realistic models of tiny, fiendish-looking creatures in various macabre poses. To complete the effect, part of the stone floor here is engraved with a semicircle, inlaid with fanciful silver runes of some kind that encloses a section of the display.
Oscar marvels at the relics. "Do you think they're genuine?" he whispers to the group.
Velrun shakes his head, "I really cannot say...they look genuine but why would you need such for a mere theatre show?
Drin smirks at Oscars question and laughs to himself, It be just like the Menagerie. All smoke and mirrors to get more coin from the rubes.
Trying to appear wise he says as he winks at Luther, "Of it be real, it be givin me the willies just lookin at the stuff."
Euphemia marvels over the assorted displays — she's already of a mind that nearly everything on display is a fake, but she appreciates the craftsmanship and eye for detail that went into the procurement and display of the esoteric exotica; playing along with it was half the fun. Her pleasant smile remains affixed to her face...
... and falters with a double-take as she sees the runic circle on the ground. She forces the smile to return but it doesn't reach her eyes as she trails her gaze over the occult symbols. For the moment, she doesn't answer the questions of the others; instead, if Luther is still accompanying or otherwise near the group, Euphemia turns her attention to him and asks, "What kind of demons are these?" while gesturing to the case of tiny fiends.
Know. Arcana
Tess shrugs her shoulders. ”Looks like a bunch of hooey to me. I’ve never met a demon, but I can’t think that they have so many authentic samples, Tess whispers, already regretting letting loose of her coin for the sham.
Luther, who has been watching the group's reaction at the collection of ephemera, peers into the models of the fiends... his tone is, in the same way that Chelman spoke, overly theatrical, "Of course the relics here are real.... collected from covens, forbidden societies and cults throughout the land. The power of these, were it to be unlocked, would shake Castorhage society to its very core!!!"
And, of the modelled fiends, "Those? They were found in a demonologist's lair upriver from the city... where the wilds and magicks are unbound by the laws of the city... as to what they are? We believe them to be part of a larger collection of tools for identifying creatures of the abyss".
"Now come, let me find you a table... somewhere to wait and maybe take a drink?" Luther guides the group away from the cabinets and towards a table near the bar...
Drin plops down into a chair and whispers conspiratorially, "Master Oscar sir... perhaps if ye be goin on about burnin people and such ... well... they just might be breakin out the Autumnal Bronze like Master Redmane did back in Wicken." Louder he asks,
Velrun glances alarmed at the modelled fiends, moving off to the table pointed out for them.
No one else is here...what sort of show is this?
Trying to take his nmind off the disturbing images he calls out, "Wine please, the strongest vintage you have."
Euphemia nods at Luther's explanation of the models, "That sounds fascinating! It must be quite a tale."
When they are led to the table she takes one of the chairs as well, adjusting her skirts as she settles into the seat. She playfully swats a hand in Drin's direction at his scheme and chides, "Be good! Let's not get ourselves kicked out," before leaning back slightly in the seat and casting her gaze over the room again and then considering the group gathering around the table; thinking for a moment.
"That runic circle on the floor looks pretty authentic..." she murmurs in a tiny voice with a pointed look cast around the table.
Drin watches Euphemia's hands, making sure to stay out of reach, as he added, "and all that stuff be lookin real too."
While sitting with the group, hearing them talk about authentic magic and demonS, she felt uncomfortable. She stood up and excused herself to use the facilities, looking around for
Anyone paying particular attention to the group.
Perception
Oscar looks askance at Drin. "Your best bottle of mead, please. We're celebrating." Oscar says commandingly, then pauses as he remembers his disguise. "Ah, how much is that, though?"
The barman is dressed in a black and red satin robe that gives him the appearance of a grand warlock, though it contrasts rather sharply with his broad, pockmarked face and patchy beard, both of which lend him an appearance more in keeping with a blacksmith or manufactory worker. "Wine? Why we have a fine vintage from around the glorious age of Phintableus the Inspired... a worthy red and at 2 Pilasters a glass? A bargain even though I do say so myself... and Mead? We have that although not many who would walk the streets of the Quarter would drink such a base drink... not judging though sir, not judging..."
As the various drinks are poured at the bar and the barman jests playfully with the group, there is an exclamation of dismay from one of the tables near the ticket stand. A particularly weasel-featured man, scrawny and pinch-faced, is being accused of having pulled someone's chair from underneath them... the accuser, standing and nursing a spilt drink, is indignant yet the man who allegedly carried out the act is holding up his hands in exaggerated innocence, "Weren't me friend!!! Mebbe it is that you had too much of the old grog?"
Several other men, and a particularly burly looking half-orc watch on with interest...
Drin carefully watches the two fellows argue and thought, Might be a bit more entertaining than this theater.
Velrun nods as the barman returns with the fine vintage, handing over the two Pilasters. "Well if this wine was properly aged, then yes indeed a fine vintage!"
As the argument begins with the two patrons his ears perk up, I wonder if this is part of the act...or maybe someone else is playing a prank? He then surreptitiously scans the other patrons in the tavern area for anyone who may be trying to make himself scarce.
Tess dodges the scrum as she returns to the table. ”Well, the place isn’t going to be boring, I suppose. But I’m not looking to get punched in the face,” she whispers to the others as she takes her chair.
Oscar blinks a little at the price, and when he barman disparages the quality of mead drinkers - though not the mead itself - he carefully doesn't look at Drin.
"Sounds perfect." he acknowledges, sliding the required coins along the table and resolving to test Velrun's wine before the mead.
Looking over at Tess he looks curious. "Punched in the face?" he asks, also in a whisper.
Euphemia blinks and turns her attention to the unfolding scuffle at the other table; for a moment she considers trying to soothe it, but upon seeing the burly half-orc she thinks better of getting between an angry man, a trickster, and someone clearly looking for a reason to throw fists. She politely looks away — best not to stare for too long, now.
"A quaint little den," she comments quietly.
After a few fading rebukes, the man who had fallen prey to the apparent practical joke gives up complaining to the smirking man and takes his seat with his companions - it is quite obvious that his friends were keen to avoid the confrontation escalating and they are mollifying him with cries of "Leave it alone" and "It's not worth it... don't spoil a good night out".
Seeing that he'll get no more out of his supposed victim, the man returns to his friends in high spirits - joking and laughing about 'that clumsy fool'...
Velrun nearly chokes on his wine as he realized the group was being watched. Trying to be as inconspicuous as he can he inclines his head towards where the half-orc is sitting. "That one has taken an...interest in us. Should we ask him about it?"
Perception
Tess tries to be inconspicuous and she peeks around the room. ”Have any of you ever met that orc? He’s not even looking away. He wants us to see him staring....”
Euphemia shakes her head and murmurs, "We're newcomers. He can probably tell we're not from around here. Does he look like he wants to speak, or is he just staring?"
"Orcs be liking to stare and such, pay it no mind," Drin said with a shrug as he turned toward the Orc and tipped his hat.
Oscar - used to being the centre of attention looks puzzled, then nods in understand and whispers "He's probably looking at Euphemia?"
The half-orc, his skin near jet-black, merely sneers at Drin as the halfling attempts to be cordial. Turning to his companions, none of them looking like they are the typical clientele of the eclectic Artist's Quarter or that they would likely be particularly interested in the occult offerings here, the half-orc mutters something...
And a few minutes later, when the friends have lost interest in the group and return to their discussion of what the theatre has to offer, Oscar is just raising a drink to his lips... whn suddenly, he finds someone barging into the back of his chair. Grinning as Oscar deals with a small spillage, the man who barged into the chair - one of the half-orcs compatriots - is mock indignant, "Why'd you push your chair back into me? You drunk or something?"
Not really surprised by the interruption the plucky halfling stood in his chair while he turned to Oscar and asked, "Can we be burning him?"
Velrun waves off the halfling, placing a cold look on his face while trying to keep the yammering of his heart under control.
Now remember what you were taught...
"Perhaps you should have a seat, friend...your motor skills need improvement." He responds in a cold tone.
Oscar freezes in shock as emotions play across his face and thoughts through his head 'Did I? I don't think so. I can't be drunk? Why is he... is he trying to confront me? Drin is right, I should burn him! How dare he... Ah - of course, my disguise. He thinks I'm some commoner man at arms. Probably trying to engage in rough camaraderie! I can hardly blame him for that. Now - how would my disguise behave?'
"Jon?" he asks, in a common accent. "Jon of Lakeholme? How are you, you daft blighter! I heard you got lost in the Fade! Pull up a chair!"
A prickle of annoyance wells up in Euphemia as the man barges into Oscar's chair, shooting the intruder a stern look — but then Oscar responds to him, and that stern look fades to a brow cocked in confusion.
The man that barged into Oscar, a pockmark-festooned face and his hygiene somewhat lacking, looks at the nobleman with a degree of confusion, "Jon? Lis'n mate, I don't know no Jon of Lakeholm... never 'erd of 'im!!! You got me mixed up wiv someone else... and no, I ain't having a drink with you - nor any", the man's face curls with disdain, "of yer friends".
Muttering under his breath, and with the robed Luther rushing up to him, the man is ushered to the bar... and, for a while at least, the friends have a little time to take in the atmosphere - as one group of laughing customers exits the 'show' onto the balcony at the far end of the building, the next gaggle of theatre-goers are ushered - with ostentatious claims of "this being the moment that you turn your lives around" from Chelman - into the spook show...
Drin buried his face in his mug happy to have avoided conflict and quickly drained his mug miss the exchange between the two men. He quick gets up and heads towards the theater, ”Time for the show.”
Velrun catches the exchange between the half-orc and his 'friend' with a note of concern. They are in league with one another...but why? He thinks to himself, resolving to keep a close eye on them as he follows Drin to the theater.
Perception
Observant Tess clearly notices some sort of unspoken agreement between the two. She doesn’t want to let everyone know that she noticed, but she makes a note to not relax her guard during the show.
"I, uh, need to be excused for a moment. Velrun - a word?" Oscar heads to the heads.
Velrun gives Oscar a surprised look, but when seeing the serious look in the nobleman's face he silently rises to his feet and follows Oscar to the lavatory.
Once there he glances behind them to make sure they are alone, "What is it Oscar? What do you think is going on with...them?"
"Frankly I suspect they intend to start something." Oscar answers quietly. "I thought I'd take some precautions, and I anticipated you might wish to do so as well."
Quickly Oscar removed the soldier's leathers that had encumbered him, and - after looking around - muttered a few words in a language that had been dead longer than it was alive. Force shimmered around him for a second, then settled into his clothes. Quickly and roughly he threw the armoured coat back on, looping the bracers through the band that held the armor to his back.
Oscar stretched, luxuriating in the feel of free arms. Though it was doubtful the armor would do much to stop a blow, he felt safer wrapped in his wards.
Velrun's eyes widen at the arcane trick used by the supposed nobleman. "Yes I would like to also partake of this...one thing I was taught is it is best to be prepared, than be ill-equipped." He recalls one of Elsie's most important tenants to follow.
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Oscar is happy to oblige. "I fear it may be up to us to protect the ladies... and Drin, of course."
Euphemia hums, narrowing her eyes slightly as the man Oscar had called Jon sneers and backs away, but ultimately sighing in small relief as the scene does not escalate into anything dangerous. She rests her chin in her palm, elbow propped up against the table, and idly blows a stray bit of blonde hair out of her face.
"Our menfolk appear to be abandoning us, Tess," she comments dryly as Oscar and Velrun scurry off. "Perhaps they have gotten scared of the impending show and wish to escape before it is too late."
”It doesn’t shock me. Boys seem to be more about bravado than actual courage. The ‘spookshow’ Might be too much for their constitution,” she says with a smile.
Drin's arrival at the staircase, having assumed that the show is ready to start, is greeted with complaints from the old fellow who sold the group their tickets, "You got to wait your turn my fellow... there's only so many can go through the show at any one time... otherwise the arcane energies become oversaturated and could cause you lasting damage!!!"
...it doesn't take a genius to work out that Chelman's warnings are probably little more than showmanship and that no such risk truly exists - regardless, he is quite clear that Drin should return to his table and wait his turn. He is a little way across the room, and Velrun and Oscar have just returned from their 'ablutions', when things suddenly become momentarily exciting.
The man at the bar, returning to his half-orc friend, is carrying - somewhat tentatively - a tray with four tankards upon it... already with ale slopping over the rims, he is rather near the table where Tessara and Euphemia remain sitting - and he stumbles... arcing upwards as the tray falls from the man's grasp, one of the tankards - a particularly dark ale already spilling from it - seems certain to catch one of the ladies...
Euphemia is too busy giggling about the faux-bravado of men to even realize someone is passing by her with a tray of drinks until she hears him stumble and send the tray flying. She flinches reflexively at the noise and as she spies something flying at her in the corner of her eye as her head snaps towards the noise she throws one of her arms up in a futile attempt to shield herself — Yet it doesn't do much good, the dark ale splashing over her face and a good bit of her dress, and she yelps out an "Ack!"
Furiously blinking against the sting of ale near her eyes, she brings her other hand up to begin wiping excess drink off of her face.
Reflex
Luckily for Tess, she heard Euphemia’s warning just in time. She quickly schooched her chair straight backwards, making sure the beverage missed her. She smiled at her luck, but then she looked across the table and saw her friend hadn’t been so fortunate.
Tess got to her feet and tried to pat the human dry. She looked around and saw who had caused the mess. ”What’s wrong with you, you ninny?! Did you do that on purpose?”
Oscar is aghast "Good gods man!" he blurts out.
"Wrong with me?" the man who spilled his drinks over Euphemia is indignant, "One of you dimwits musta left something there that I gone and tripped over... way I see it, and sorry about your clothes and everythin' miss, but you folks owe me another round"
Sense Motive
”Big guy, picking on a table of two ladies. Hope you feel all proud. From the looks of you, you probably can’t afford another round by yourself. You’re just sad.”. While Tess was angry, she didn’t even think that she could barely afford another round, either.