Connie grinned slightly. "If you can clothe sixty thousand men in good-quality stuff, you might have a deal. Unfortunately, our driders can't produce nearly that much silk, but they would if they could. My troops have entertainment, yes - happy soldiers do better than unhappy ones, especially if you make it clear that their fun is a reward for effort, not a right." She'd had a lot of fun with that. "Economics aren't really my thing, though - you'd have to talk to Della about that, but I know Richie's dad put some protectionist laws in place on certain goods, and the Countess accepted them as a show of good faith to make it clear that we're not trying to undercut the human businesses." Economies were never as simple as people wished they could be. Also, she was apparently one of maybe four or five people in the Kingdom who could get away with referring to the King that way...
"How many driders do you have, and how much can they produce per-person? And... how long before replacements are needed? What's the turn-over rate? And so on?" she asks.
If you want to hand-waive some of the specific economics and presume she writes them down, that's fine. I'm mostly interested in getting something - anything - that can be used to allure the merchants' sons economically, and grabbing a few figures could be useful to her. She plans on over this with Della later.
Conflaagar shrugs - she has absolutely no idea exactly how many of each race inhabit the Countess' lands, other than the very rare and notable individuals (such as herself) that stick out even among a crowd of monsters. "If you want to know about military stuff, talk to me. All that stuff is Della's... but I don't think money is going to make them listen." she explained. "Like most of the other nobles, the Countess is far wealthier than the merchants. You won't really impress them by waving money - if that would've worked, this problem would have been solved a long time ago. Although..." she eyes you for a moment, apparently considering something.
"Your comments on the war gave me a wonderful idea." the General said, grinning widely. "Still, Della's the one who put you up to this, so let's try it this way..." She pulls you over and starts whispering into your ear.
Whispers:
"Tell the brats that I'm thinking of pressing the King for a draft of eligible young men, recruiting them into the army and forcing them through a period of basic training and service to be sure we're ready if problems in Atlana require us to step up our defenses. Emphasize that those who've avoided service thus far would be the first ones mandated to show up, and buy-outs wouldn't work... but domestic policies aren't being totally tossed by the wayside. If they made a strong effort to advance the King's social agenda, including monster integration through hiring new workers and treating them well, they could be considered too valuable domestically to be recruited into the army... and you're doing everything you can to help protect them because you like them so much. Take special care to note that all the monsters can and do report to the Embassy, so any mistreatment would be called out right away."
She pulls back, still smiling. "What do you think?"
"I think you're the sexiest beast I've run into on this world yet." Fae purrs at the dragoness.
"But please," she adds more loudly - in a tone of voice that could be overheard if someone really wanted to, but was, in the end, normal, "consider a few exceptions. It's... it's important to me." she looks, with a 'worried hope' face, at the woman and then at the bar, meaningfully.
Bluff:1d20 + 10 ⇒ (15) + 10 = 25
Fae nods. "I'll go try to work things out. And thank you for being sweet~ and not angry or vengeful~!" she calls, as she hops up the steps.
She smiles wanly, turns her back to the bar and bows, allowing her hair to fall to the sides so that none can see her face (not even from the windows), smiles wickedly with a wink, and, adopting her more conciliatory and worried expression, turns and heads into the Cup of the Dragon...
"Simply dreadful~..." she 'mutters' loud enough to be overheard.
"Are you all right? Did she hurt you?" Vincent asks, hurrying over as you walk back inside the tavern. "The General's a monster if I ever saw one - did you know that she was personally responsible for at least half the casualties the demons had when they tried to invade? Just walked right out and butchered them like so many sides of meat." You're not sure whether or not this is an exaggeration - but he clearly believes every bit of it, and more relevantly, he's honestly concerned for your safety. "Things like that shouldn't go around scaring honest folk..."
"No, of course she didn't hurt me, silly!" Fae says, 'shocked' at the implication. "Why would she ever do that?!" She takes Vincent's arm as well as one of the other fellows (if he's available), and walks them back to the table.
"No, to me she was an absolute doll." Fae says, firmly. "No, it's you boys that I'm worried about. You could have gotten yourselves killed!" she warns.
"Listen, fellas, she likes me. She likes me because I did something nice for her. She asked if anyone was threatening me, or treating me poorly, and promised to help defend me, if I needed it." Fae explains.
"Here's the thing, though: you, she doesn't like. Apparently, you men have been giving her trouble. Why would you do that? It certainly makes things awkward for me, Magnivincent:" she says curling a lock of hair around her finger, and looking at him worriedly, "I went to bat on your behalf!"
Vincent looks distinctly nervous at your words - as do his friends, who are clearly buying everything you say. "Fae, she's a monster." he says, putting his hands on your shoulders and looking right into your eyes. "She could snap at any time and just start murdering people in the streets. The least we can do is keep things like that off-balance and wondering if we have some kind of weapon that could take them down - then they'll at least hesitate before trying to kill innocent people. She has more than half the children of the nobles as hostages in the army, and they're too scared to even admit it! Every time they're old enough to enlist, poof!" He gestures expansively. "The monsters are all making the next generation of nobles afraid of them, and it's not going to be long before they take over Tarsel outright!"
"Vincent, sweetie, you've completely misplaced the situation. Tell me, what do you know about Atlana? What do you really know? Have you ever been?" she asks.
"I've seen the camps." Vincent said, a bit of a darkness in his tone. "I've seen the sick, the injured, and the exhausted soldiers who just want a day of rest. My father and I went there to make a profit by selling arms and armor they badly needed for continuing the war, and you know what happened? He took one look at things and sold our goods at barely above cost. Those soldiers have been fighting monsters that shouldn't exist for years now, but they haven't given up. Either they win or they die, and that's all there is to it. Atlana was the greatest nation on our planet until the demons took over - now it's a festering wasteland that the largest and most powerful army in the world hasn't been able to recover. Do you really think that monsters don't have more in common with demons than they do with us?"
She stands, and sniffs. "Vince, I thought-" she says, clearly hurt.
"If they didn't care, or 'had more in common', why the **** would they be fighting demons?!"
She blinks.
"I told her you were different. That you could help her."
"Vince, this is serious. Provide clothes, especially boots, for slightly below standard costs. Think if it Vincent: over sixty-thousand creatures. Make them a better deal. They can't undercut you - but the reverse doesn't hold true. That is a ****-ton of money for you to squander just because you... you're prejudiced. I can see, now, that you're just using me. You hate me - I can tell."
"I was planning on helping you. ****, I was planning on being with you. I thought... I thought you liked me. But you don't care about me - I'm not wealthy enough, and secretly you think I'm an ugly, hideous thing. I see that now. I'm sorry I inconvenienced you."
Collectively, all the members of the group still at the table spat out their drinks and started coughing, making various noises of protest... until Vincent walked over and slammed his hands down.
"Look, are we going to let them control everything? If we take the initiative, we're the ones who get to profit somehow. We can't fight and win... so we may as well make them rely on us and make sure they never forget it." Vincent said, glaring at the others. "Money is the force that moves the world, and we are going to be the movers. They might be strong, but they don't understand economies the way we do! We'll be on top for generations!" Maybe it's his personality - more likely, it's the alcohol - but the others slowly start nodding.
Fae dives for Vincent's arm, clinging tightly. "Especially you MagniVincent!" she says. "The way you take charge is great!" And this last, she actually, honestly, genuinely means.
She slams back another beer, then reels a bit, the beer finally "affecting" her.
"And, like you were saying, Francis* - based mostly on MagniVincent's earlier ideas during the game - you guys could possibly access relatively rare materials**: I was just talking to her, and she revealed that their driders can't produce enough for their troops." she slams back another one.
She giggles, "drunkenly", and leans in to whispers. "It's like you were telling me, Harold* - sometimes in gambling somebody's gotta lose. But, as Milon* was saying, where there's a product, there's opportunity to make someone want it - that means, if you clothe them for less, there's suddenly going to be a lot less of a demand in the military for that drider silk... but that - comparatively limited quantity of extremely high quality goods - is just going to go to waste. I mean, it's not like you could buy it from them at standard price to keep 'em in business and then charge more for its exotic nature, right? Like... like... marketing that exclusively to the nobility... right? 'Cause then... 'cause then... wait... no, you couldn't... couldn't make it... couldn't market stuff more rare'n it actually is... right?" she says, innocently.
Bluff:1d20 + 10 + 2 ⇒ (12) + 10 + 2 = 24
* I'm totally making this name up, feel free to use it, or correct her in-character (as she's drunk).
** That may or may not be entirely fabricated - they may be entirely too drunk to realize.
The boys shake their heads. "Protectionist policies." One of them said a bit glumly. "Prices for monster goods - especially ones they make themselves, or their body parts and stuff, are all controlled by the Crown. That headless ambassador of theirs negotiates the prices between the monsters and us merchants, and we have to live with whatever's set... and we can't just change the stuff they make, either."
Another of them nods. "Still... the prices they set do seem to work out for everyone, so there's not much to complain about there. At least we're still profiting, y'know?"
"Yay!" she says. By now, she's clearly "blitzed" and starting to "ditz" a bit. "Everybody wins!" she adds, clinging to Vincent's arm. Tightly. "You guys are so clever!"
They might have been suspicious at that last one if they'd had less to drink - or been less relieved about not getting tossed around like so many rag dolls by someone who, in the depths of their minds, they knew they'd never be able to truly stand against. Della represented trade, commerce, and money - which were things they could understand. In a way, she played by their rules. General Conflaagar, though? Not so much.
"No, it wash ahll you." Vincent said, taking another deep drink of his beer. "A lady ash beautifhul ash you cou'd charm anyone... even th' monshters!" Yup, definitely drunk... and rather less good about holding it than Druli had been. As the alcohol begins to affect your mind, though, you realize that you still aren't entirely sure what your limit is...
The bartender, on the other hand, just whistles a happy little tune as he delivers more cups. Business is great!
And you're under the effects of the Drunk template. No need to change the stat bar - just keep it in mind. XD
She explains, "An' tha'sh wh-why... tha'sh why... y'r... " she trails off, "'Sh'why y'r gonna get a big kiss!" she declares.
She grabs him by the front and gives him a kiss that speaks far, far more eloquently than anything else she could say. A kiss that, despite staying on the lips speaks from head to... foot. Ahem. A full body kiss. It continues for a little while.
After that, she breaks off, panting slightly, and decides she needs to find her limit. The fun way.
Fae continues to slam them back until whatever happens next happens...
Fae has absolutely zero solid plans from this point forward aside from, at some point, seeing Della. She's mostly willing to go with whatever happens, generally keeping these guys out of 'trouble' (for a very loose definition of 'trouble'). EDIT: Fixed an incorrect tag, as well as add another line of descriptive text.
The next thing you feel is a bucket of cold water being splashed over your body and a splitting hangover. The sun is shining far too brightly above your face, your stomach is growling, and a number of serious-looking men in uniforms are looking down at you. "I think she's awake now." One of them said, appearing rather amused.
The next person you see is an older human male, dressed in sturdy but elaborately-embroidered clothing. "So." he said, voice perfectly calm and betraying no emotions. "You're the one my boy Vincent was drinking with last night, convincing him to partner up with monsters."
"Hiiiiiii~!" she starts brightly, then "... oo~oh~! Not so loud!" she hisses at... herself?
Either way, she kind of curls around herself in a ball, a bit.
"M'n'm's 'Fae'" she mumbles, by way of introduction.
EDIT: Not rolling anything because, really: she's hung over, and being woken up with ice water dumped on... her... okay, so she'll roll a charisma, I suppose. Maybe a minor bonus or something for the soaked look. I dunno.
Several arms - very strong arms, now that you think about it - grab your own and haul you upright with no real consideration for the effects of being hung over. Vincent's father merely waits, his arms patiently held behind his back, as he regards you. "Well, Fae... my son came home this morning, announced that he was getting married, gave a completely incoherent plan about a new hiring program, and mentioned your name. Repeatedly. Why, if I didn't know better, I'd say that you'd gotten my boy drunk and put a lot of fool notions into his head." The man is still smiling."I do hope you're about to tell me that he was just drunk and delusional, and that you do not have any intention of pursuing a relationship with him."
"Wh'-... m'rr'd?" she asks, not quite comprehending (totally comprehending, but still), eyes closed.
"Wh'ch not'ns... who... wh'-... wh're you?"
She barely opens her eyes.
"F'mly 'sembl'nce. R't. Magn'v'nc'nt's d'ddy."
Her eyes close, thankfully blocking out much of the sunlight.
"Y'r boy n'v'r m'nsh'n'd 'e w's 'ngayged. 'm n't tr'n' t' br'k 'p 'nythin'."
She holds up a hand.
"H'ld 'p a m'n't. I'll talk b'tt'r 'n 'nd'rst'nd b'tt'r 'n j'st a min'te..."
Fae begins fetching small bits of alchemical elements from her bag, hoping they'll let her brew up a polypurpose panacea to negate her hangover with.
Diplomacy:1d20 + 10 + 2 ⇒ (12) + 10 + 2 = 24
EDIT: it takes one minute; E2: I'm only stopping to give them a chance to stop her from doing something harmless. A minor DC might explain it. I suppose I should add a dice roll.
The soldiers quickly cluster in front of the man, but your obvious inebriation means they aren't treating you as much of a threat... yet, at least. Still, a few shields do come up, and they're obviously trying to be more cautious instead of less. The man in charge simply waits, one eyebrow raised as he watches you work.
Polypurpose Panacea, either the analgesic or the sobriety, whichever is more appropriate (probably the analgesic.
"Unnnngf~!" she says, drinking the thing whole.
Her headache suddenly clears. "Hfffffw~!" she sighs. "Oh, gods, that's better."
She rubs her face in her hands, and licks her lips.
"Sorry, your patronship, but I've really no idea of the Proper around here - I was only introduced to the concept a few days back, really, but, uh, what the **** was that about getting married? I don't recall anything about agreeing to marriage. If, as you say, anyone got anyone else drunk and filled their minds with strange ideas, it'd be the other way around. I purchased exactly zero beverages last night, asked for none, and was supplied with copious amounts of alcohol by your very handsome, very charming son."
She steadies herself, and stands, more fully. Then she shakes her head and instead sits down, propping herself on her arms, and looking up.
"Sorry, still recovering."
She arches an eyebrow at the soldiers and shields. Then she laughs. It's... not a comforting sound, but it's not nearly as extended or overwhelming as what Della had to hear.
"That... is... so... sweet!" she says, in all sincerity. "You guys love him so much that you're willing to protect him from me with your lives! How... adorable~!" she purrs. "Really sweet, but entirely unnecessary. I intend no harm to any whatsoever."
Proceeding to ignore them, she glances at the man in charge. "So do I continue to call you 'Magnivincent's Daddy', or do you have a name? Being able to address you as something simple will make conversation run much more smoothly... and figuring out what the **** you're talking about much easier." she notes, smiling. She really is trying to be nice, here, as she has little idea of what, exactly, is going on. Protective father? Weird. The fathers never stayed beyond their "night" (which, admittedly, might have lasted millennia) where she came from.
She furrows her brow. "Oh, ****, I was supposed to bow or something. Right." she does so, awkwardly, while still sitting. "Sorry. I always forget to treat nobles as nobles." she adds. "It's weird, you know, because they're really just people who-" she stops herself, and looks at the father. "Right, right. Of course. Uh... but I suppose it's a skill I have to remember." she adds. Glancing to the left, "'... whether it's appropriate or not', my ****in'-*** - you set me up." she mutters very softly, though not without affection, to the masked entity from before, a mild smile with softly arched eyebrow - annoyed, but amused and accepting.
Diplomacy:1d20 + 10 + 2 ⇒ (13) + 10 + 2 = 25 Bluff:1d20 + 10 ⇒ (8) + 10 = 18 EDIT: added dice roll, and a bit more about what she was actually thinking to clarify for GM adjucation and reaction. EDit 2: because I realized she'd probably ramble about something inappropriate.
"You will not call me 'Daddy', even when referencing my son." the man said pointedly. "That you don't already know who I am shows that you are clearly ignorant about the state of affairs in this city. Still, as long as you understand - though I suppose I'll have to beat some sense into him anyway... he already has a match lined up, and no son of mine will remain a drunken womanizer." He sighs and shakes his head a little before tapping a richly decorated cane on the ground. "Come, boys. I've heard what I wanted to hear." With that - and without giving his name - he simply starts walking off. The soldiers quickly cluster in behind him, though they look considerably more amused than he had, and one of them even gives you a cheerful wave.
She looks at him darkly. "You presume an awful ****in' lot, you *******!"
"For one, I don't understand, thank you very much, and for two, Dad, you're being a **** for, from what I can tell, no reason, other than you like being arrogant. I sincerely want to know what the **** you're talking about."
She looks after him. "Just so you know, Dad, I did my ****in' best last night to keep your son out of any sort of trouble, put my *** on the line to make sure that he and his don't get hurt, and you come over this way with your pompous 'I'm better than you' attitude for... what? To get the word of a stranger you know nothing about on a subject you clearly know nothing about in order to feel better?"
She simmers in fury.
"Thanks for the cold reality shower, Dad. And thanks for being so up your own *** that you literally have no idea what you're talking about and try to dangle and spray your gloriousness over others because you're nothing but a whiny ***** who doesn't even recognize what a lousy father you are. You're completely ignoring things right beneath your own nose." She feels particular shame and fury at this whole thing because she, too, is a terrible mother, and understands. She hates him right now for being in any regard like her. "It's because you presume. Dad, and don't talk!" she adds.
Fae breathes, once, and then shrugs, dropping it, even the hatred, even the fury. She then waives, genuinely cheerfully to the soldier, nodding, once, before she turns and walks off, heading... somewhere.
Believe it or not, she's going to roll a... diplomacy. Craft (trap):1d20 + 8 ⇒ (18) + 8 = 26; Diplomacy:1d20 + 10 + 2 ⇒ (9) + 10 + 2 = 21 What she's going for is getting the father to realize that he's not having the effect that he wants on his son. She has no idea who or what he is, as a father, but he is definitely on the verge of making things worse. She wants him to feel obligated to either talk and learn, or wait and see things out.
As you finish yelling, there's a twinge in your mind. For just a moment, the image of a card hovers there - on it is a creature known as a Bodak, signifying the card of The Lost, one of the nine that appeared in your spread... and a voice echoes in your mind.
You have a tendency to slide into depravity when confronted with any type of order, regardless of whether or not it is appropriate...
Though you may have meant well, was that the best way you could have gone about convincing someone to change their ways, especially if becoming good is your goal...? Still, he didn't turn back... and one thing gods and mortals alike have learned is that things spoken cannot be taken back so easily.
You're not especially familiar with the town, but it isn't too difficult to locate a main road, and you could probably return to the Embassy from here... or at least figure out somewhere else you'd like to go.
Though you may have meant well, was that the best way you could have gone about convincing someone to change their ways, especially if becoming good is your goal...?
Nope! she challenges herself, right back, But also, yep! He has no one to challenge him, and, at present, he seeks one thing: his own will. It will destroy him. Hopefully, at least, he'll simmer on what was said until it gets through. If not: he will take his way to his own destruction. Which is, in the end, his option.
GM Rednal wrote:
Still, he didn't turn back... and one thing gods and mortals alike have learned is that things spoken cannot be taken back so easily.
And he should have thought of that before doing so! she huffs, mentally, at retreating merchant.
Fully aware of her own failure, she rejects any attempt of her own mind to entrap her. She knows she could have handled it better. Fully. But she absolutely will not accept that she handled it wrongly. The man is going to do terrible things, and do so from arrogance.
She turns, stretches, and wanders around for a while.
Eventually she returns to the Embassy.
"**** you, too, gorgeous, even though I know it'll never happen, now." she tells Della, sadly, before the Dullahan has the chance to speak. "Time to see if you can beat your record. Bear in mind, however, that Vincent was thrilled with me, and I actively prevented an incident between his cronies and Connie. It's entirely his moronic, self-righteous, arrogant daddy who's going to ruin everything because Vincent said one - one - stupid thing, that I never, ever asked for, sought, or wanted."
"Hm?" Della asked, sounding slightly distracted as her torso carefully poured some soup into a hole in its neck. "Oh, no, he was pleased as could be. Finally had an excuse to slap the little twit around a bit and put him on a better path. Sometimes people have to fall before you can pull them back up, you know?" Her face took on a contented expression as the bowl was set down. "Still, I suppose you did well enough. Your letter of introduction is on the table over there. Take it and go already - I still don't like seeing your b****y face."
You've obtained a [Letter of Introduction] and 500 XP for completing your assignment.
"I'm going to miss yours, though." she says, softly. "And if it was just an excuse he was looking for, why bother?" she adds, annoyed. She sighs in frustration. "Whatever. I do have a question, though: what do I do with this thing?" she asks, holding up the letter. "What's it even for?"
Fae was puzzled. It... didn't seem to be another paper with a mission. "Who am I supposed to deliver it to?" she says, "And why do they call it 'male'? I mean, all genders can get it. It's just weird."
"That's because you're a f***ing dumba** b**** without a bit of good sense or understanding of how the f***ing world works." she pronounced. "Try to keep the important information inside your d*** head, all right? Take the f***ing letter to the Countess' estate and show it to the guards. They'll verify it, then let you in, and she'll see you whenever she has the time to. It's not that complicated. And stay on the d*** road while you're heading there." She looks like she's starting to think twice about giving that letter to you...
"You act like I've ever dealt with male before." Fae sniffs. "Well, okay, naturally I have, but, not this kind of male. Weird words. Anyway, thank you, Della."
She turns, then hesitates. "You're... distracted. Is... everything alright? I know you don't like me, but... if it helps... I can listen." she says, gently.
"No." she said. "Quite frankly, I'm still not happy about letting you see the Countess, because you're probably going to do something unforgivably rude and I'll have to live with being party to that. Unfortunately, it's Tio's decision, so I don't really have a say in it." Her words make it clearer and clearer as she speaks that her job - and especially the Countess - are the things that matter the most to her. Even the smallest problem is something that actually bothers her... and perhaps you're simply too strange for her comfort.
She turns to gaze at Della steadily. "I will do my best not to make things awkward for you. I'm still sorry you don't like me, and I still think you're incredibly beautiful." she nods.
"And... if I may borrow a pen and a piece of paper?" she asks.
If so, she takes the paper, and writes words down upon it.
A letter:
A Letter wrote:
Lord Whoever-You-Are,
You should know that my temper got the better of me earlier today. I was, quite frankly, furious, because I saw portion of myself in what little of you I interacted with this morning. It was made all the worse by the fact that I'd genuinely come to respect you for the way your son had spoken of you last night - presumed you were a kind man who cared for others.
This morning did not display that, and it hurt tremendously.
Still, though I do not apologize for all of my words, I do apologize for my over-all tone - I allowed my fury at myself and my own failures to increase my fury at the way you treated me - and that, at least, was unfair to you.
I urge you to genuinely talk to your son, as you refused to talk to me, today, to learn of him and his life, and to instill in him any values you have that he lacks.
He does not seem to respect your great act at Atlana, and I am sorry for it.
On the other hand, if you wait for an excuse like me, of all things, to try to coral him, you're doing a tremendous disservice to both of you.
Though you seem disinclined to believe me, I never intended to hurt him, interfere with any marital plans (of which I was entirely unaware), or otherwise harm 'your' business; instead I did all I could to prevent harm or other ill from consuming him that night.
You are correct that I'm ignorant. I was placed here in a situation I know nothing about, and have had a number of people being furious at me for something that is, distinctly, no fault of my own, while deriding me for ignorance I have no way of curing, as most people are more interested in dismissing me than talking.
Regardless of what you think of me, fix your relationship with him, if there's enough time, and you're able. Being rejected by your children will sting forever, and will harm him, too, in the long run.
- Fae
Charisma:1d20 + 4 ⇒ (17) + 4 = 21
Diplomacy:1d20 + 9 + 2 ⇒ (18) + 9 + 2 = 29
"If you don't mind, please allow Vincent's father to see this. I'd ask you not to read it, but I'm pretty sure you're too protective to ever give me that courtesy. He was exceedingly rude to me this morning - when I was attempting to be polite, before you ask - and I was furious at him. Hence, a partial apology."
She shrugs. "If you deem it to destabilizing, of course, you aren't obligated to give it to him, regardless of how much that disappoints me. And, frankly, as you seem to be set against me and are the only person I can get information from, it's irrelevant what I'd want, and I have little recourse. Sure, I could just ask around - it wouldn't be too hard - but you'd both hate that." She smiles, weakly. "I guess I'll just trust your judgement in this."
She nods, again, bowing, before walking out, tears in her eyes.
She asks around for directions to the Countess' estate, seeking to avoid bothering Della anymore.
Diplomacy:1d20 + 9 + 2 ⇒ (1) + 9 + 2 = 12
EDIT:
She proceeds to find out absolutely nothing, and get thoroughly lost, until she ends up at a tavern, somewhere.
As you take a seat in a tavern, a thought comes to your mind - perhaps you should've simply asked about the road heading to monster territory, and obtained more directions along the way. It's true enough that the average citizen probably doesn't know the exact location of her home - even those who accept the monsters still seem rather nervous about their capabilities, and haven't delved too deeply into things. The most you learn is that she lives in the forest, within a massive manor of some kind...
Finally, though, you do hear a voice - delightfully feminine - as you take a drink from an impressively large cup of alcohol. "Pardon me. Are you the one called Fae?"
Standing before you is a woman with wavy blonde hair and brilliant blue eyes - and far more charismatic than anyone you've seen as a mortal. After a few moments, you realize that the rest of the bar has gone completely silent. The other patrons here at the hour - near high noon, after all that time you spent wandering - seem slacker than you've seen in... well... ever. A pair of white fangs catch your eye as the woman smiles at you... then calmly takes a seat on the stool beside you and nods to the bartender. "A mug of your finest." she told him, smiling kindly. As it's delivered, she takes a long drink, then turns to you. "So, you're the one who's gotten my ambassador so riled up." she says, sounding gently amused. "Well, I suppose needing to tolerate others is something she could stand to learn herself..."
Wantwantwantwantwantwantwantwantwantwantwant she squeezes her eyes closed for a moment, in an attempt to silence it. "Shut it." she says to herself, mentally. Maybe. Hopefully. Crap. ****. Crap-****. She really hopes that wasn't outloud.
Hm. She may be getting to me.
Fae - yes, that's her name, Fae, after all, she was Fae, and thus she need not remind herself that her name was Fae here - stands, slams her hands on the table and leans forward, to hiss, "I would like to apologize in advance for any rudeness, failure, or other indignity that I, in any way whatsoever inflict upon your person or well-being and would note that it is not a failure of your ambassador, but rather entirely my own. She has permitted me the option of meeting you only against her will, and hence cannot be held liable for any breech of the Proper that I may create. Please." she adds.
Entirely sincere. Partially pleading.
Maybe she was starting to understand the rule of nobility after all. She hadn't run into a creature this self-possessed... this worthy, really, since before she was first assassinated.
The visitor's smile slowly grows wider as you speak. "Della is among the most loyal individuals who have agreed to support my cause, and she has my absolute trust." the woman said. "It would take far more than one guest's acts to make me think even slightly less of her, so don't feel the need to be concerned on her behalf." She takes another long drink, her skin still just a little bit too pale... but smooth and soft as well, and certainly not what most would expect from the undead. "However, I did hear the most fascinating story earlier..." she looks towards the bartender again.
"Would you be so good as to serve drinks to your other guests? I do hope my presence will not be so distracting as to keep them from their meals and you from your sales." she told him.
Diplomacy:1d20 + 31 ⇒ (3) + 31 = 34
Only the barest effort on her part had been put into the words... but the bartender nodded right away, dry-mouthed and faintly stunned at the attention, and the lady nodded in satisfaction as she turned back to you. "If it wouldn't distress you, I would like to hear your story from your own lips. Order whatever you like from the menu here - I will cover the charge in thanks."
"Which... story." she states, more than asks. "One could be considered libelous to certain parties near here, and the other could cause... undue distress amongst the... less... enlightened."
"Should my words continue here, or do you have a method of... audible discretion? I would not cause issue where none is warranted."
Diplomacy:1d20 + 9 + 2 ⇒ (19) + 9 + 2 = 30
HexyFae does not wish to scare off the other patrons with stories of being a former fiend from the abyss, darker and more alien than demons, and older than time. Also seen as insane. Either could cause problems which, despite herself, she's not here to do.
The Countess looked at the other patrons - and in less than ten seconds, they were enjoying their food and drinks outside instead of within the building. Quite relaxed, she turned back to you and raised one inquisitive eyebrow. "I did here something about claims to divinity." she said mildly. "A very interesting statement, considering the power of Dees pushes gods and Others alike away from the system, and no gods can walk these lands. Even our children know that much."
"Near-divinity." sniffs Heksfazia, moodily. "Ascendant almost-demon-lord and ex-qlippoth lord, to be precise." she eyes the countess evenly. "Neither really fits anymore." she looks down at the table.
"Honestly, I've been dead for so long, I'm surprised anything could come back. I'm even more surprised it was as a mortal."
She snorts.
"Who would have thought? An ancient beyond reckoning returned as a half-elf half-human mortal. I wonder if it was all the devoured souls, or the image of Ocotlesia that did it?" she muses, idly, looking haunted.
Shaking her head, she looks back at the Countess.
"You have no reason to believe me." she takes the bauble that once contained part of her essence, and fiddles with it a bit.
"If you're still with me, though, I figure I'll go all the way."
She takes a breath and dives in. "I'm broken. Badly. I was murdered. Assassinated, really, on the eve of my apotheosis - less on the eve, and more during the actual event. I recall little of the moment of my death, save the death itself and having my body cast into the depths of a pit once filled with lust - a chasm I'd filled as a trap for my lover, before breaking and devouring her to shed myself of pregnancy."
"I consumed all of the lust there to become a demon lord for the sake of my children born of that union, to care for them. In the midst of my final transformation, before I could succeed, I was murdered and tossed down the self-same pit. I woke up, several eons later, in Axis, aware that both of the twins, though especially my daughter, had survived and thrived in my absence."
She starts to sniff and tear up, but then steels herself.
"This-" she tosses the bauble on the table to the countess, "once held a piece of my soul. I killed a wayward priest who'd fallen into worship of Asmodeus, and freed a celestial named Marmael in my attempt to retrieve it. It was granted to me upon the priest's death. I know there are more like it - rather fragments of things that hold my essence. I am looking for them to return to being whole."
She sighs. "Thereafter, was sent here by a masked entity who had mildly worried a few inhabitants of Elysium. As I wasn't... pure enough... the wards preventing them from entering the door to his realm didn't affect me. Instead, he read my future in cards and sent me to this planet. The dragon emperor is huge, by the way." she finishes. She winces slightly. Off topic.
"Regardless, my name is Heksfazia, known as 'the Neverdemon' by the one who still recalls me, and... the other me, is H'ecks-pha-czu'whaugh."
She smiles. "Your the first person I'd feel safe allowing myself to show you, should you like. I warn, however, she has... less... inhibitions... than I."
Hexy does the 'social buff' up. Bluff:1d20 + 10 + 2 ⇒ (11) + 10 + 2 = 23For hiding some elements of her story. Diplomacy:1d20 + 10 + 2 + 2 + 2 ⇒ (12) + 10 + 2 + 2 + 2 = 281d6 ⇒ 3For getting the truth across convincingly. Charisma:1d20 + 4 + 2 ⇒ (20) + 4 + 2 = 26For getting the Countess to like her. EDITed: for clarity, adding dice rolls, and finishing the story. (I went from an iPad to a PC.)
The Countess continues to regard you with an interested look... though you do get the feeling she knows you're hiding things. If her ability to read people is anywhere close to how charming she can be - which wouldn't be surprising - she'd almost have to deliberately not pay attention in order to be fooled. On the other hand, that would also mean she can detect sincerity... and her teeth glint once more as you make an offer. "By all means. Show me... everything." she said softly. "I think you'll find that I am no stranger to monstrous sides."
She reaches into her pouch, and carefully, almost tenderly, pulls out a vial.
Fingering it gently, she whispers, "I'm no longer anywhere near as potent as I used to be. I don't... I'm not..." she blinks, slowly. "I'm not sure what... I am." she says, at last.
Swallowing, "Or... what I'll do. You should know, that I want you. Badly. But I'm... weak."
"Through ages uncounted, I have always acquired what I truly want... eventually." H'ecks-pha-czu'whaugh says, darkly, promisingly, purringly.
Hexy snaps out of it, and stiffens. Looking in askance at the Countess, who shows no sign of fear or hesitation, she nods.
She drinks her mutagen.
DEX Mutagen
STR:1d20 + 2 ⇒ (16) + 2 = 18To break her Hide Shirt EDIT: Player having second thoughts: it's mah Hide Shirt! WIS:1d20 - 1 ⇒ (1) - 1 = 0To know it's a bad idea and avoid doing so. EDIT 2: Nevermind!
The Countess beholds a striking creature with smoldering eyes and clearly other-worldly features, from the burning shifting red-to-pink-to-blue hair, the strange Abyssal writings inscribed and moving across her flesh, and the shifting skin tone changing from blue to green to gold to copper to red to purple and back to blue over the course of minutes. Dangerous, terrible, yet horribly seductive in her own strange way, and aggressively "friendly".
H'ecks-pha-czu'whaugh casually tosses her armor and other accouterments aside, to the floor.
"H'ecks-pha-czu'whaugh imagines you've seen similar in the past." H'ecks-pha-czu'whaugh notes, idly. "She imagines you've been wanted badly in the past."
She breathes, heavily, stripped, now, to the waist.
She prowls around, padding, like a hunter.
"This one wants you to bite her." she says, purringly, alluringly. "Come... she is willing. Know the truth in her blood." H'ecks-pha-czu'whaugh goads, baring her neck, leaning close to the Countess' face.
"Learn how much desire is held for you. How much this one once was. Taste of one who was once almost a god, and almost one of the enemy you face - and let her taste you." she says, as she places herself against the Countess.
Charisma:1d20 + 4 + 2 ⇒ (20) + 4 + 2 = 26 Because she wants the Countess. CHA/Intimidate:1d20 + 4 + 2 ⇒ (15) + 4 + 2 = 21 Nonstandard use of the skill: she's not trying to scare the Countess into doing her bidding or give her the Shaken condition, but just to be generally impressive. Diplomacy:1d20 + 10 + 2 + 2 + 2 ⇒ (17) + 10 + 2 + 2 + 2 = 33 Because she wants to do well.
So, here's hoping no accidental death - again, brought about by her own actions knowing the danger - due to negative levels or CON loss or anything. But... oh well. We'll see! Images!The internet has them. EDIT: safe for work! EDIT 2: Okay! Well, Hexy sure can be convincing about the darnedest things... Hm. Blast it, Social Buffing! Blast it to dark fade aways!
One of the vampire's hands rose as you came in close... and blurred in a quick movement.
Trip CMB:1d20 + 27 ⇒ (2) + 27 = 29
A moment later you're lying prone on the floor, looking up at the vampiress as she continues to smile. "I'm afraid you'll have to do better than that." she purred, apparently not impressed by the display. Of course, among other things, undead in general aren't so easily affected by anything that impacts their minds or emotions. "I dare say that I'm currently closer to being divine than you are..." As she speaks, you can feel your own mythic energies churning in response to some aspect of the Countess. "So tell me, little godling... have you learned to control yourself and hold back your basest urges, or is your mind only suitable for being dominated?"
"H'ecks-pha-czu'whaugh never said she was divine anymore..." she says, "-nor that she was out of control." her smile grows. "But... she likes being dominated..." she adds, evenly.
"Do it. Make her yours. Take her here, now, and don't ever stop." she asks, arching toward the Countess.
She stands and bites her own hand enough to bring a welt of her blackened blood. "**** her."
Will:1d20 + 5 ⇒ (2) + 5 = 7EDIT: WELP. EDIT 2: for clarity. EDIT 3: for better in-character-voice
"I see." Countess Romalda mused, tapping one slender finger against her cheek and not reacting in the slightest to the blood. "However, I don't think so. You're not really my type. On the other hand, I do believe you're going to start attracting the attention of the Azure soon. You may complete the spell." This last bit wasn't directed towards you - and a sudden shudder runs through you as you feel the energies of a spell reaching out through space and attempting to grasp your essence.
<By your name, I command you to appear - H'ecks-pha-czu'whaugh, make haste to appear within this circle!>
Will Save:1d20 + 4 - 5 ⇒ (7) + 4 - 5 = 6
Perhaps it's your wildness - or perhaps it's merely distraction. Regardless, the spell gets you tight and you abruptly vanish from where you were, only to reappear just outside the building within the confines of a glowing magic circle. A burst of green energy strikes your chest a moment later, even as the sun shines brightly above and the Countess walks out from the building.
You have been called by a Planar Binding spell!
"Oh, good. I was hoping that would work." the Countess said, smiling. "I do apologize, but such things are necessary precautions when dealing with those who could attract unwanted attention from the Others. Really, this is more to protect you than anything else, so I hope you'll be able to settle down soon."
