I stand beside the stage hand and, with mock-gravitas, deeply intone my best attempt at theatrical speech:
"It will be good to fight alongside you this day."
While everyone is bustling around backstage and Millech is engaged elsewhere I motion to Euphemi and Ignatio and address them in hushed tones.
Wat expressed concerns about revealing our identities and I share them. As such I think false names are warranted, with the exception of you Ignatio, your name must remain. What do you think?
I go and put on the leather armor, strap in to the shield, and pick up a wooden sword.
I smack the shield a few times with the flat of my wooden sword in an attempt to grab the others attention. "Ah, just like we used to play as children... Who wishes to remain unbruised at the end of this display? I suggest you join me!"
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"I agree. Keep your identities secret for now. I will run as much of the show as I can!" I nod to the women and smile encouragingly.
I move backstage and slip in to the leather armor, cinching the straps tight, before picking up the wooden sword, twirling it experimentally in my hand.
Returning to the front, I face Krazga, leveling the sword at the man, from across the stage. "It is time we two met, what better place than upon this stage? Your doom has been set, the Reapers toll has been paid! Draw your blade knave, and shed your final tear. For this night you dine in hell, this night you will know fear!"
Grinning softly to myself, I stare around the room, taking in my surroundings, noting anything upon the stage, with which I may interact.
I return my gaze to the Half-Orc and begin to speak in Infernal. "Grasp all you hold dear and do not let go, for tonight is your final hour and this shall not be slow!" With a flourish, I spin the blade gracefully in my hand, before setting it point down on the stage.
Rolling my eyes playfully at Ignatio's display I slip into my slightly ill-fitting leather armour and close my hand around the hilt of my wooden sword, testing it's weight and balance.
Walking with a graceful strength I take up a position next to the bard and stand tall.
I have a feeling you may need someone to act as the Half-orcs restraint before he bruises your pretty face I utter jokingly, smiling at him. Looking over at Krazga I give him a quick wink.
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Grinning, I nod softly, before leaning in and whispering. "I think that would be good. I do not believe Master Krazga likes me all that much. Can't say I blame him. I'd be jealous of me too!" Laughing softly I straighten, before looking to Wat and Euphemi. "What say you my old friends? Where do you stand?"
Krazga -
Wat -
Vizarno -
Walking quickly forward I take up position mere feet from enemy lines, directly in front of the imposing bulk that is Krazga and raise my hands, the sleeves of my robe sliding languidly down my arms as runes appear around my wrists. You appear to be a team gifted with fighting I muse calmly, extending my hands, Plumes of brightly coloured smoke flow from my fingertips towards my opponents.
You cannot fight me if you are blindI assert, my voice low and threatening, my smile dark and contemptuous.
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Turning my head, to look out at the audience, I smile darkly. "See you how the mighty have fallen? These men, their arms corded with muscle, their bodies scarred with combats past, fallen prey to those of "lesser" skill! But think you not too long on this, lest you miss the final blow!"
I charge Wat, the last standing member of the opposite team, sending the padded sword whistling towards the mans head, a feral grin painting my face.
As the packed sword slams sharply in to the side of Wats head, the man stumbles, before righting himself once again.
I wince from the blow of Ignatio's sword, but grin and catch his eye as I prepare to the actor's display in kind! "Curse yer strange tongue! Though those by my side have fallen, I yet stand tall!" I roar, lashing out with my flimsy wooden prop
Vizarno collapses to the stage with a thunk, instantly unconcious. Robahl claps from his seat in the front. 'Well played! Very flashy! Still, a little better posture, throw your voice and by the scourge of Hell would you ever emote!'
I drop my sword and stand there dumbfounded.
Standing firm, my arm darts forward pointing at Wat How will you stand against us if you are on your back? .
I lower my hand and focus my gaze towards the floor beneath Wat's feet as runes appear in the air around my wrist, fading into the air. The runes swim back into view and sink slowly into the well traversed wood of the stage around where Wat stands. The sturdy surface of the floor seems to melt away, leaving a small hole in it's place.
You evaded my last attack and for that I commend you, but you shall NOT escape me so easily this time My voice projects and echoes as I reach the end of my threat. As my words fade, I fold my arms gracefully across my chest, narrowing my eyes to punctuate my sentiment.
_HRF.jpg)
Round: 2, Initiative 8
HP: 27/27
AC: 16
Buffs -
Actions:
Rolls: Multiple
I take the time before combat to make myself up as Ilsandra, one of the female roles in the play.
I sneak over to the blinded half-orc (L2) and to see if I can get right beside him without his knowledge.
Raising the padded sword over my head, I slam it into his neck, saying as I do:
"Must be humiliating for such a big man to be dropped by two slight women. I may have a use for one of your size for my own delights however... Perhaps I'll let you live!"
"Yer courtly words and smart tongue may sting th' fops of high society but are as nowt to th' sterner men of th' fields and th' streets."
Incidentally, here's the damage roll for failing the save on Wat (I forgot to roll it earlier)
Stumble gap damage =
Round: 3 Initiative: 8
HP: 27/27
AC: 16
Buffs -
Actions: Attack Krazga
Rolls: Attack, Damage, Perform
"How does if feel to be given no mercy, beast, after all the lives you've take without remorse?"
Incidentally, here's the damage roll for failing the save on Wat (I forgot to roll it earlier)
Stumble gap damage = 1d6
Robahl is leaning forward as he watches now, his bored sneer replaced by a calculating expression as he watches every move, and marks every word and intonation.
I stagger a bit to the side from the force of Euphemi's blow.
Narrowing my eyes, I gracefully unfold my arms and extend one towards Wat, curling my fingers into a point. My brow furrows as I focus my gaze on his eyes a single pure white rune languidly migrates from the back of my hand and sits calmly, poised in the air before my finger
You are a stubborn one and your ability to fight is impressive I intone sinisterly, projecting my voice I should take some of it from you
The white rune suddenly dissipates, reappearing in a flash infront of Wat before slipping under the skin of his forehead
His eyes cloud but he shakes it off, the spell lost
I appear to have underestimated your talent for elusiveness, you shall not be so fortunate next time
With a flourish I withdraw my arm and return to my steady stance, waiting and watching for retaliation, my eyes daring it to find me
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"Victory awaits me. There you lie, like a dog, kicked and beaten and here I stand, your Master, triumphant. Crawl dog!"
My 'blade' slams hard in to Wat's ribs and I grin maliciously. "Your end is nigh. Do you yield? Do not be stubborn here..." I lean down, close enough to whisper to Wat. "Friend this is all acting. You must see you can not win this fight, be reasonable and yield!"
"As long as there's blood in me, I'll nay submit to the will of tyrants!"
With an almighty heave, I rise to my feet and toss the bard away from me, then turn to face my remaining foes.
Ignatio is caught almost unawares, and manages to whack Wat hard with his stick, before the large Andoren man gets a shoulder into Ignatio's midsection and hurls the man five foot away, to land on his posterior on the stage.
Just as the party are preparing for yet more hectic combat a sharp, piercing whistle sounds from the audience. They all turn to see Robahl rising from his seat with a calculating expression on his face, quickly replaced by magnamious cheer, he claps softly a few times, the sound loud in the hall no occupied only by the parties panting.
'That was crude, it was flurried, you blocked each other from the audience, your voice weren't aimed correctly... But by asmodeus, even I'll admit you have alot of potential. With some relentless drilling I'll make of you lot a show to be remembered! We'll put on a play that the critics will talk about for centuries! No get out of here and come back in the morning in clean, plain clothes and well rested,' he looks the party over again, smiles for a moment, then his stern expression returns. 'Millech! Get that lazy varisian off my stage!'
Robahl strides backstage leaving you on the stage as Millech hobbles his way out from behind the curtains.
Releasing my tensely held breath I relax my shoulders. Stepping lightly across the stage I extend my hand to the prone Ignatio, smiling.
For a fighter starved party we fared well my friends I say jovially, addressing Euphemi aswell.
My expression wilts slightly as I look over towards Krazga I can't help but feel a touch cruel for blinding our half orc friend however...I do hope I never have to harm an ally again
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I smile softly and nod. "Yes. I share that sentiment Serjia!" I walk over to Wat and hold out my hand towards him. "You fought valiantly my friend. I am honored to stand at your shoulder!" I bow slightly to the man, before turning back to the group.
"Well we are in. I say this is a shining success. I know a little bar not far from here. What say we go for a celebratory drink before heading home? I'm buying!"
"I'll not say no to that!"
I go strip out of my stage armor and return my stage weapons, and then wait for the others to get ready to leave.
As we head for the door, I go over and start talking to Wat. "I think I must be a natural for this acting. All I remember is bright colors, lines of dialogue, and then Robahl's critique. It is as if I did not have to do anything at all. Nothing to it, I figure, nothing to it."
Flashing a warning glare at Ignatio as he uses my real name I then glance quickly at Millech to make sure he did not hear.
I giggle softly at Krazga as his words echo across the stage and begin to unstrap my stage armour. Hanging it on the peg together with my wooden sword I fall into step beside him and Wat.
I apologise for attacking both of you. As childish as it sounds I do hope this hasn't done anything to harm our, what I view as, friendship
Looking around to confirm the relative privacy we now have I lower my tone, keeping my body language open and convivial
Before we celebrate, I think we should inform the children of our success, they will be very proud of us, don't you think?
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Moving backstage, I remove the armor and replace my own, before grabbing my gear. Making sure everything is in place, I move back to the group.
"It was my thinking we would do that later, just in case anyone decides to follow us when we leave here. It may be a tad cautious, but we can lose them at a Tap house, if we are followed!" I whisper, falling in to step with the rest.
Ignatio leads you to a companionable bar called the Unfound Duck, its sign displaying a duck hiding being a rock. The interior is warm and comfortable, the innkeep a large woman with a big smile and a bigger voice, she had attempted to be an opera singer years ago, but her low birth prevented her rise in that cutthroat world. Her serving girls are her daughters, all three suprisingly slim and tall, with slightly pointed ears.
I go to the bar and buy a round for the party. I make small talk with the landlady, empathising with her struggles that are due to nothing but her low birth.
As we drink, I ask Ignatio "Any tips for us novices in th' theatre business? I'm more accustomed t' bringin' down trees than t' bringin' down th' house."
I wind my way through the bustling bar chatting animatedly to it's fellow patrons. Sidling my way back to where the party is seated I slip into a chair sighing happily as the weight lifts from my feet. I take the glass from the serving girl, expressing my gratitude to Wat and engaging her in polite small talk about the reason behind the pubs lively atmosphere
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As the ex lumberjack poses his question to Ignatio I turn towards the bard in anticipation, hoping to pick up some tips.
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After ordering a round of drinks, I sit back and smile, putting my feet up on a nearby bench.
"Well... That is a complicated question to answer. As most of you have never acted before, I will go with a tried and true method. Keep it simple. No sense in over acting, if you do not have the experience. Say you have a death scene, do not flop about on the stage like a drowned fish. Less is more, when it come to things like that. The same with a love scene. Everyone knows what love is, so don't attempt to plumb its depths. Keep everything simple, your moves precise and remember to project your voice and not to block other actors from the crowds view!"
You arrive at the playhouse early the next morning and are admitted by Millech who smiles warmly at you as you enter. 'Welcome back my friends. Nothing but chaos again this morning. Dame Aulamaxa has decided she doesn't want to sing from he left so we're moving the chairs from one of the balconies to the other side. One must love theater life,' the ugly hunchback says it with the fervor of beleif, he quite clearly loves the lifestyle and madness of preparing for a play.
'Follow my sirs and madams. His highness is on stage.'
Millech leads you in and around to the backstage area, where costumes and vanities await in a profusion of color and variety, before bringing you up onto the stage where Robahl paces back and forth fuming.
'Hurry along would you all! We've got a busy day. I've already cast Henderthaan and Ilsandra, but I have yet to cast my five remaining roles. The four traditional characters and I've decided to reinterpret a classic addition, Monris as Lazarod's silent fiendish right hand man. A genius interpretation.'
He then mutters something to himself before continuing.
'So stand up and quote some lines!'
"I s'pose I ought t' go fer Tybain, as the audience'll never take to a man with my accent on a serious character..."
I stand at the front of the stage, and not doing much to soften my provincial accent, I try to portray my character's naivete and idealism.
"Hurl his arrogance and accusations back at him, Larazod. He wants precious golden-yoked truth? Give him more than he can choke down. For whether revealed by th' brilliance of Aroden’s eye, or th' long red shadows cast by yer Dark Lord’s fiery gaze, a man false at heart and shrouded in hollow faiths is nowt more'n a traitor to all. Let him that judges false be judged by wraiths—smote by his own brand shall he fall."
'A passable performance,' Robahl announces from the front row, 'But the accent alone will nearly carry Tybain. Who else will step forward, for the more serious and challenging roles!?'
Leafing through the character descriptions and Act 1 of the play I am struck by the undeniable knowledge that these characters are quite unlike me.
Well, this shall indeed be a tough test of the long standing acting talent I have nurtured since last night I mutter jokingly so that only my fellow children nearest to me can hear.
I will try for the role of Dentris as I have the necessary magical ability to fulfil this role
Assuming my position center stage I gather my thoughts and slip into the persona of the wizard. Lifting a shackled hand I reach out to halt Larazod before fixing my cold eyes on his and speaking my warning
Hold your tongue, boy, and we’ll escape the firebrand yet,I hiss caustically, my brows knitted in a stern frown. Your father was the model of a devil’s squire. Summon his wiles now, and keep shut that Abyss you call mouth, before we all tumble down into its darkness. Angling my head slightly towards the roof of the theater I sigh regretfully. Had you been born deaf and dumb, this loyal servant would yet live to see another midnight.
With the delivery of this last pointed insult I return to my starting stance and await critique
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I step forward and bow, before speaking. "I will be trying for the part of Lazarod of course!" I smile, before dropping my head, my face going blank. I clutch my wrists and frown at the stage before my feet, before looking up and out at the "audience".
"Larazod knows no lies, great magistrate, and no slanderer’s tongue caresses my dignity. The accusations you speak are as true as Asmodeus’s sword. They cleave clean through. Let the witnesses suffer no more lash. To burn their innards with pokers and steal their eyes is simply to waste precious toil better spent in Asmodeus’s service. There is but one point misaligned in this dark constellation—I seek not your death, though the secrets you harbor in your feeble heart deserve a gruesome demise."
I sigh loudly, so that it carries to the audience. "I carry no assassin’s blade, nor breath-stealing spell to rob your mortality. To end you I need only know you, and to cast you in an honest shade. I pierce your “shadows of truth” and show you for what I know—a false knave, a demon-supping wag-tail, a balor’s bawd, a pus-leaking cataract in the eye of Asmodeus’s justice, and subject to the multi-handed ministrations of a marilith whore, dretchloving plunderer, and traitor to our great Dark Lord."