The Samurai too approaches the Hostess. "Alas, milady, I fear that I too must retire. Who knows what exploits the Decemvirate will send me on next..." He removes his mask, revealing a pleasing face with a few marks of combat upon it. "Should you ever find yourself in the area of Nirmathas or Molthune, please call upon Fangwood Keep and ask for the Viscount Quimby DuCharn. I will be happy to repay the hospitality shown here a hundredfold." He gallantly goes to kiss the Snow Princess' hand. "Until we meet again."
As he rises and goes to leave, he can be heard muttering "Now where did that shiftless herald get to..."
"I am glad that you are confident in your ability to bolster your own reputation," the hostess replies, taking on a playful smile. "Be careful, though. I may feel compelled to bestow a greater challenge upon you. Baron de Bluster, perhaps?"
The Samurai's mischievous grin returns. "Ah, but that title fits so poorly compared to your first. The honor and courage of the Midnight Samurai's true facade has never been in doubt, milady. I have no doubt that such a nickname would be sadly wasted compared to your first."
The Masked Cat wrote:
"And regarding our earlier conversation, I would not make unbelievable boasts that I can influence the entire Qadiran Satrapy, but I am on good terms with several Qadiran agents within the Pathfinders. If a small few show that they can put aside their patriotic differences and work to oppose the demons, then perhaps more will follow that good example. Who can say whether the Decemvirate will grant your request for use of the Hao Jin Tapestry, but I will do what I can to help the cause."
"We would do well to foster other relationships among our other Pathfinder colleagues and allies. I know a few of those sticky-fingered Varisian types who have been adequate companions, and the Andorans don't lack for heroics, even if they're a little idealistic."
The Samurai smiles widely and bows graciously. "My Lady of the Snow, I will do my best to ensure that this title become one of valor and honor, not a name of ridicule and mockery, for that would be poor treatment of such a token from a beautiful lady."
Yes, I am definitely adding that to his list of titles. He collects them and/or makes them up.
The Samurai's style of dance is energetic and physical, but with a certain natural grace to it. The masked man seems untrained, but with an enthusiasm to make up for it.
As the dance ends, conversation is renewed. The Samurai makes a deep and formal bow to the hostess and Stavian before turning his attention to the Kuthona Rat. He gives the man a garrulous slap on the back.
"You made a convert of me tonight, Lord Rat. Your poise and speaking style are truly masterful - you speak in a manner that truly inspires. Tell me, should I need to dismiss my man Stewart, would you be amenable to delivering heraldry? Your gilded tongue and my exploits, there would be a winning combination."
The Samurai gives a helpless shrug at the Snow Princess' question. "The Rat spoke true, and struck a chord - the greater glory in this game certainly stood in cooperation. It would have been a masterful display, the sort of round that would have been storied, particularly as an omen of what could come. I chose to stand against the Cat in order to see whether the game might be prolonged for Master Rat's vision..."
He drains the rest of the glass of wine in his hand. "However, the game is over now. All glory has gone where it need go for the evening, and the evening is yet young. Shall we?" He puts on a rakish smile and offers his arm to dance.
The Samurai stands for a moment, lips pursed in thought as he gazes about the room. He sets his card down on the table.
"You now, Lady Cat, I imagine your haste was inspired by my rebuttal to the Rat before, which is understandable. You must admit, though, he is quite the speaker. Rather than join you on the podium, I shall challenge your play of the Count. In my sign of good faith, I shall also play The Lion Blade on the Merchant, rather than a winning play." He takes a drink from the Winter Fairy and takes a sip from it.
"I will play the Grand Prince," the Samurai remarks offhandedly, before returning to the conversation.
"I, for one, trust that our masked benefactors can guide us to a solution for the Worldwound. Surely the top of the Society recognizes the need for the demons to be driven back in order for them to continue..." He trails off, leaving unspoken his hesitation. "...to continue whatever it is that they are trying to do with the Society."
"Master Rat, I'm afraid I must stay the fly in the ointment. Unified as we must be, there remains the question of personal glory - and I, for one, would never dream of surrendering a battle while there was victory still to be had. I play the Lion Blade on The Snow Princess." The Samurai stands impassive, his mask concealing his emotions.
The Samurai's eyes flash between the Masked Cat, the Snow Princess, and towards his other players. "I play the Priestess!," he yells out in a seeming panic. He rapidly regains his composure. "After all, my feline lady, why end such a fine game so early?"
The Samurai looks toward the Carpenter. "Well, my good man, then I suppose I might dance with your previous partner?" He looks back at the Cat and laughs. "As soon as this charming woman is done trying to rob me of my feathers, of course!"
The Samurai smiles in a rakish manner. "Why, that worked so well I believe I will do it again. I will play the Priestess again, and I believe I will be again benefiting from the charity of the Masked Cat." He bows in the Cat's direction.
"At this point, milady, I'll accept a path to claiming the middle of the pack." He deftly steps closer, blocking the party's room of her fan for a moment - when he steps back, the card remains prominently visible, though it is unclear whether it is hers, or his.
He holds the card in his hands aloft. "Alas, Lady Feline, I'm afraid I must insist on my feathers back, for I currently hold the Priestess, and you, madam, are caught in your deception."
Midnight Samurai is claiming and playing the Priestess.
"Sir Rat, you may enjoy the company of the lady of the North," the Samurai says with a deep bow. "I, for one, must, I believe, return to our hostess... for I feel that may be my most winning move."
The Samurai will attempt to dance with the Snow Princess a second time.
"Careful, friend!," the Samurai calls out to the Green Knight. "If you think she's trying to get you out of your armor for any reason, it's only to sell it to someone else!"
The Samurai takes a look at his card, shielding it from the Frost Witch. "Pardon, milady," he says to the Witch. "I've simply learned to never trust a beautiful lady when there's a reason for subterfuge."
"You must be careful about curiosity while there are felines about, or so they say," the Samurai retorts with a wink. "And I must return the compliments - your home and company are quite the treats. Perhaps one day I might return the favor and you might visit my keep." His eyes twinkle behind the mask.
"Now, who to dance with next... Perhaps my charms might make some amends." Bowing low to the hostess, the Samurai approaches the Merchant. "Well, my Lady of the Sands, I believe you have something of value to me in our sport. Surely you must appreciate such a desire to dance?"
The Midnight Samurai has declared his intent to swap partners with The Merchant of Sands next.
The Samurai watches the Carpenter for a moment, shock plastered about his face. He finally gains enough composure to shake his head and mutter "How unrestrained," under his breath.
He walks over to the Snow Princess, setting his depopulated tray of drinks down along the way, and bows low. "Well, milady, it seems I should be the first to thank you for your hospitality and ask for the pleasure of the dance."
The Samurai joins the Carpenter at the fruit punch, but gives a sigh upon looking into the bowl and instead begins looking for another servant to bring him wine. "Man of action, I assume?," he asks candidly. "There's a certain feeling you get when you're not in plate." He shakes his head. "I'd never expect one of those wand-wigglers to understand it." He finally flags down one of the servants and takes the full platter of wine from the protesting woman's hands. "Here's to the glory of a fallen foe," he says, holding up a glass in a conspiratorial manner.
"Milady, to dance among such fine characters would be my honor," the Samurai says, bowing low. "Hopefully I can keep my wits about me during the dance better than I could with the cards!"
The Samurai wears a somewhat smug grin as the party conversation turns in his favor. The flattery of the Cat makes his chest puff up even more, against the odds of possibility. His grin splits into a full smile at the Snow Princess' suggestion. "What fine tactical acumen," he says, giving the Princess an approving nod before turning back to the assembled guests. "The best the Society has to offer in wits, the best Taldor has of generous hosting, and the best Avistan has in beauty - To the Snow Princess!" He raises a glass high in toast. "I'm certain that the Decemvirate themselves would have no choice acquiesce to such a fine idea coming from the mind of such a fine Pathfinder."
Sick over the weekend and playing catch-up - sorry for the delay!
The Samurai slowly clenches and unclenches his fist, restraining his emotions. "To send an army of vassals without the proper support is folly, yes," he says almost calmly, though a quiver of anger remains in his voice. "That would be like scheduling a new recruit's Confirmation inside Jormundun. What our princess proposes and intends is a joint effort, drawn from those who still possess some noble spine within their backs, from those who wish to be a part of the most heroic endeavor since The Shining Crusade beat back the Whispering Tyrant. We don't want soldiers en masse - we seek heroes, the sort that can stare down one of your demons and drown out their deadly words with their battle cries. We would guard against the Southern Empire? Fine - leave our guards. While you would stand behind the lines and bark orders, those of us who recall what heroes the Empire had shall remind the others of what it takes to defeat a foe as deadly as the Abyss - strength and the power of will to wield it."
He gives a contemptuous laugh at the merchant's line of reasoning. "Perhaps you would do good to remember what your profits cannot buy rather than be concerned by how to achieve those profits. Many was a kingdom that sat upon a gilded throne that is now buried deep in the tombs we plumb, and few are the heroes mighty enough that we remember their names as ages go on. And if we, the best and boldest that the Age of Lost Omens have to offer, fall in the Worldwound, do you truly believe that your riches will dissuade the demons?" The Samurai shakes his head. "If the Abyss possesses all the power our twins fear, then our only recourse is the combined might of our Sociey and allies, led by those of us with the might to do so. And who better than those in this very room?"
The hostess lets out a gentle laugh. "Though the scene is humorous, it leads me to consider a question. If Taldor were to commit its military to the Worldwound, would that not leave the south open to a Qadiran invasion?" she wonders. "How can we both be fully committed to the northern conflict while guaranteeing that the south will be unmolested?"
She turns to the Midnight Samurai after he re-enters. "Noble protector of lord and land, what would be your response to this dilemma?" she asks.
The Samurai furrows his brow at the question. "Why, none." He looks a trifle confused. "Should we march through the heart of the Worldwound and destroy it on our way to the dwarf castle that the Society seeks there, our names and the names of our allies will be those of living legends. I doubt that even the most craven jackal-jumping satrap would lead an attack against us, especially when the other nations of the Inner Sea look upon us with such honor. Any attacker must ask himself whether he can match the fury of the Abyss... and I'm sure they will recognize themselves as wanting in that regard."
The Midnight Samurai gives a terse smile as Stavian addresses him. "Of course, my lord," he says with some effort to sound calm and collected. He bows low and excuses himself, heading towards the door with his fists clenched.
His temper grows more and more visible as he exits the hall, searching for his herald. "Stewart! Stewart! You're never around when I need you!"
Elsewhere In The Chrysanthemum House:
Entangled in a coat closet with one of the serving girls, Stewart hears the bellowing of his master. "Oh no," he whispers under his breath. "We need to stay very quiet. Maybe he'll go away if he can't fi-"
"STEWART! There you are!" The ill-fated herald is unceremoniously hauled out of the closet by his bombastic master.
"You wouldn't believe the sorts out there. One person is masquerading as a Qadiran serpent, would you believe? They're questioning the wisdom of Morilla's crusade! As though there were some better way to remind the world of the glory of our nation!" He makes a gesture as though this were unfathomable. "I'd sent you to scout this place out, hadn't I? To make sure they seemed the Right Sort?" A questioning eyebrow scoots out from under the facemask.
"Well, um... yes sir..."
"Well um Stewart they are most certainly not acting like the Right Sort! Where did you get the idea that this party would be filled with the high society of Taldor?" The Samurai's face grows red.
"I told you, Sir, they turned me away at the gate, saying I didn't have an invitation. I didn't see anything but a posh house," the herald says sulkily. "You started nattering about 'discernment' and then made me go buy your Tien get-up all the way cross town."
"Discernment is a fine quality in a noble house but it's not the only trait to base your judgement on, Stewart!," snaps the Samurai, clearly missing both the herald's point and veiled criticism. "Gods, this party couldn't be less patriotic if it were held by Galtans. At least the man dressed as Stavian seems to have some idea of what is to be expected from the finest of Taldor." He stares for a brooding moment at the empty glass he's been carrying for a little while.
The servant girl, finally having overcome both her momentary paralysis and state of dishabille, attempts to slip away unnoticed. "Ah, perfect," the Samurai says, catching sight of her through his own shallow introspection. "The servers in there can't keep up with me. I'll designate you to be my personal wine wench. Do it well and perhaps you'll receive a noble boon for yourself." He hands her the empty glass, tips her a roguish wink and gooses her. Both servants' faces flush red, one from anger, one from embarrassment.
"But sir, I'm a house maid...," the harassed maid begins to feebly protest, but the herald cuts her off. "Save your breath, he's really rather obstinate." Stealing a quick peck, Stewart chases after his master.
A few minutes later, the Samurai returns without the wine glass and begins to circulate around the room again. His herald has returned and stands by a side door, shifting from foot to foot impatiently.
"The Worldwound is precisely the show of force we need! It's a certain kind of fool that would presume that a display of force need be brought to bear against those we would gather behind us, as though we would salt the fields we wished to sow," the Samurai says with an unsubtle look at the Twins. "To whisper in their ears without having the strength to draw them near enough for whispers to be heard? Bah!" The Samurai's lip draws into a sneer. "The Even-Tongued Conquest did not win an empire, it broke one. To speak of our grandeur with empty words is as much a folly as to march into their lands without allies or a war chest. No, these fractured lands need a threat - the Worldwound - and a leader to rally behind - our princess, leading the greatest party of heroes that the world has seen for to slay the demonic hordes. The nations of the Inner Sea will no more listen to the nation that stayed home to bandy politics when demons came than they will listen to an empire who only swashes it's bucklers and calls for the old tales. We have the might to make new tales, to inspire as we ambitious few are - so let us go forth and make those tales!"
"Thus far, the Society, the organization that binds many of us, has largely stayed away from Taldan business. But we as individuals, with our accumulated wealth, talent, and skill, can obviously do plenty, and we can likely employ utilize our influence with the Society to employ its resources. We all speak of support for the Princess, but what can we do? What sort of ideas or plans have you, my worthy guests, thought of or put into place?"
The Samurai quaffs yet another glass of wine, though seems no worse the wear for his hearty imbibing. He waves at the Snow Princess' question. "One helps Taldor by reminding the Inner Sea of our place and reclaiming it!," he roars. "Once, we have stood upon the backs of the devil-worshippers and anarchic firebrands that pollute the air with their nonsense. Once, we stood as their betters through force of arms and right of rule. Through such great victories again, we shall return to being the pillar of Golarion, the light of Avistan - the divided nations shall again gather willingly under our banner to be a part of the new Age of Destiny that our glory will create!"
The Winter Drake still in its role continues to play. It claps politely with its claws after each toast, directing the Drums in the Orchestra to beat to the claps and the other musicians to stand and clap as well.
The Samurai joins the Drake and his musicians in the applause. "Hear, hear! To the future of Taldor!," he cries out over the applause.
The Samurai's eyes widen, though it isn't clear whether it is from the Rat's play, the Merchant's curse, or the Twins' loss. "Well played... I think?," the samurai says to the Rat with eyebrows cocked. He looks to the Mistress of Games for confirmation of his loss.
Awesome game! I'll take that second loss gladly - though I should have attacked you with other card if you have truly won in the way I think you have? Hard to translate the Rat's world to the rest of the characters - but what a real pleasure to read! Good game, all!
The Samurai holds his new card between his fingers, his play for the moment forgotten at the Rat's story. His jaw hangs open for a moment before he shakes his head, returning his attention to the matter at hand. His eyes shift from the Rat to the Merchant for a few brief moments. He seems to make a decision.
"Madam, I'm not certain how your 'nation' of sand fleas and cultists of the Sun Witch operate, but here, one keeps a civil tongue when speaking to royalty. In this instance, I believe strategy and patriotism happen to coincide when I say that I believe the Baron is precisely the man to teach you some manners." He lays the Baron down in front of the Merchant and takes a sip from his latest glass of wine, looking at her intently over the rim while awaiting the Master of Games to adjudicate.
OOC OOC: Der. Egg on my face. Sorry. Unfortunately, the Samurai is not one to get embarassed.
"What? I don't recall that rule!," the Samurai blusters.
Sense Motive < 20:
He really doesn't remember that rule.
Sense Motive > 20:
No, seriously. He really doesn't remember that rule.
"My apologies, my tablemates. Then, Merchant of the Sands, let me change my attack from the guard to your... your Baron?" He takes a long drain from his newest glass of wine.
The Samurai has wiggled his sword a little loose of it's scabbard and is trimming small eyeholes in his mask as his companions play their cards. As the Master of Games approaches him, he gives her a 'one moment' gesture and deftly twists the fabric, making a second hole on the sharp blade. He ties the result across his eyes, making for a crude yet effectively rakish mask. "There," he says, "all the better for a game of subterfuge!" He accepts his second card and eyes it thoughtfully for a moment.
"Now, if I remember my deductive reasoning from my time in the Scrolls, the odds should be most in my favor if..." He pauses to do some more deductive reasoning. "...if I target the card that has been revealed the least. And I believe that would be the House Guard. So I should suspect... You, mistress Merchant, of having your own House Guard, and play my House Guard against that bet." He lays down the House Guard, looking pleased with his 'cleverness.'
The Master of Games approaches the Midnight Samurai, her hand and expression requesting his card. After receiving, she reveals it to guests, its face that of a House Guard.
"The Twins' card is closer to the Princess than the Samurai's House Guard. The Midnight Samurai is removed from the round," she explains, before approaching the Gallium Paladin with a card for him.
The Samurai's face drops at the proclamation from the Master of Games, then darkens as he glowers at the Twins. "Well played. Milords; milady," he says in a display of barely-restrained civility as he curtly bows to the Paladin and the Twins in turn. He takes his tray of wine from his former table and allows himself to be lead to his next seat.
"Well of course they eliminated me - I would have won if there were two of me too. I bet she took a peek at my card while I was peeking at her - " Remembering himself, he clears his throat and ceases his soliloquy. He bows politely and smiles broadly, and it is a testament to his breeding that the smile doesn't slip even when the Rat speaks his strange tongue or his gross mispronunciation. "And so the game is afoot," the Samurai says, looking to the Merchant for her opening move.
The Midnight Samurai approaches the table. As he passes a wine server, he deftly takes the whole tray out of the servant's hands and brings it to the table, carefully setting the tray down before accepting his new card. He weighs the two in his mind for a minute before gaining a twinkle in his eye. He pulls his face wrap off to reveal a strong, clean-cut chin. "I must confess to not knowing your intentions, dear Twins... but I suspect with a little divine intervention, the Priestess might." He plays the Priestess in front of him, swapping the card in his hand for one of the glasses of wine he'd absconded with. After draining the glass and swapping it for a replacement glass, he approaches the Snow Princess sheepishly.
"Milady, I'm afraid I neglected to calculate my costume's difficulties in allowing me to drink freely. Having left any more seemly utensils at home, the one item I have to do any cutting is... Well, rather unnecessary," he says, gesturing towards his bound katana. "Might I intrude on your hospitality for a dagger or scissors or some other method?"
So with the Winter Drake's assistance... that makes my perception a +1!1d20 + 1 ⇒ (1) + 1 = 2
The samurai leans forward conspiratorially at the imperious woman's kinder tone. "Given the forthcoming party games, I wonder whether concealing and misleading might give us an advantage. Besides, what sort of diversion would this be from our duties if we were forced to act as though we were completely ourselves?" He tips a roguish wink before straightening himself up and scanning the party again.
He sighs at the entrance of the Angel. "Great, another do-gooder," he mutters as he moves away from the small knot of people he had been talking to. He takes a further moment to glare up at the drake circling up above. "How is anyone supposed to focus with that thing making a racket up there?," he mutters again, entirely missing the point. He strides with purpose towards the punch-bowl.
OOC:
I apologize for anyone who gets offended by this character - he is my self-described 'pompous windbag' and a little bit abrasive. If you need him toned down, PM me and I will be happy to oblige.
His conversation with the Snow Princess and his introduction to the Paladin are interrupted by the striking entrance of the latest guest. He shifts his foot while his eyes wander across the beatific form in front of him. "Yes - quite a lovely rendition. True dedication to your craft, terribly beautiful," he says. "Your mastery of such a difficult tongue speaks to your talents, as well."
Spoiler:
1d20 + 10 ⇒ (11) + 10 = 21
DC 21 Sense Motive:
The Samurai has no idea who this person is dressed as, or what she says when she is not speaking Taldane.
He turns back to the Paladin and Princess. "I have some small skill at arms, yes - primarily in the sword forms." He pats the peace-bonded weapon at his hip. "The Tien make a fine weapon, particularly when it is taken from their hands and brought to bear by a fine knight of Taldor - so with such an accessory, having my servants acquire traditional Tien garb seemed a natural step to complete the costume. Couldn't quite bring myself to wear one of those ghastly masks of theirs, so I decided to go the way of one of their quaintly-named ronin, or however you pronounce it." He gestures towards his rudimentary face wrap.
"Welcome," the lady greets him, dressed in a fine ice-blue gown. Her mask has the appearance of fine ice crystals on a white cloth, and her pale-skinned face is framed by lively red ringlet curls. "Having your herald introduce you as your masked identity was very clever of you," she adds, displaying her excitement for the evening's event. "Will your Stewart be all right? He seemed quite cold just now."
"Of course I had him announce me - needs to earn his keep somehow," says Midnight Samurai. "The announcement is something we'd been working on during official business... though we couldn't go and announce my real exploits for a masquerade, could we? We had to improvise." His voice drips with the sort of charm that is typically reserved for a caravan master with meat that he knows is about two days from turning rancid. "I imagine that without my attentions, my herald will find some way to keep himself warm. He seems resourceful enough. But I'm being quite the cad, hogging you, milady!" He gives a boisterous laugh. "Look at me, hogging your attention like one of those devil-dealers with a hint of influence up his snout!" He shakes his head. "My most sincere apologies, my princess." He gives an obsequious bow and moves to kiss the Snow Princess' hand.
The front door to the Chrysanthemum House is opened to reveal a rather cold-looking herald. "Announcing the arrival of my master, the terror of..." The herald sighs and leans back out the door to confer. The tones take on one of a low-key heated argument, with the harried herald saying things like "I can't say that. It's improper, sir! Not to mention ridiculous!," before eventually being bodily shoved back in front of the doorway. The herald slumps in dejection as he continues. "Announcing the terror of the wicked of Absalom and the delight of the women of all Avistan, the thunder of the the storm, the herald of battle, the enigmatic, alluring, and accomplished Midnight Swordsman," the herald announces with all the enthusiasm of a scolded child.
A stout, powerfully built man in ceremonial Tien armor and long flowing robes strides through the door, a finely-wrought katana ornately peace-bound hanging off of his hip. A cloth wrapping hangs over his face in the place of a true mask, giving the appearance of a brigand or bandit. "You failed to pause for effect at the end," he hisses at the herald as he gazes about the room. "This shall be noted in the review of your heraldry."
"Yes sir," the herald says, staring longingly out a window, as if towards escape. "Will that be all, sir?"
"For now, Stewart, for now," the samurai says as he begins to survey the other guests.
