Dog thanks Martin, with uncharacteristic brusqueness. He lets Tock handle his portion of the loot, but he asks that about 1,000-1,500 of his share be separated out so he can at last offer it to the goliaths. He carries Finnegan out of the hole, flying with his boots.
"We will depart now, and trouble you no more. Hopefully this little one has learned his lesson. These papers will hopefully help us in this larger fight. Do you wish me to bury this again?"
If so, he will use mold earth to cover the site. He readies the helm of teleportation, unless anyone else has anything to pause for.
At the sight of 1000 gp, Sturdyoak is noticeably stunned, though he tries to keep a straight face, either for Dog's benefit or for his own people's. It is probably more money than he has ever seen in his life. Eventually he says, "Yes, we were going to collapse the ruins."
Seeing Dog do so with ease likewise draws an awed silence. Eventually, though, Sturdyoak and his band of goliaths begin to get impatient with Finnegan's presence in their lands, even as he is unconscious.
"It is time for you to leave," Sturdyoak says. "And for...him...to never return."
Dog thanks Martin, with uncharacteristic brusqueness. He lets Tock handle his portion of the loot, but he asks that about 1,000-1,500 of his share be separated out so he can at last offer it to the goliaths. He carries Finnegan out of the hole, flying with his boots.
"We will depart now, and trouble you no more. Hopefully this little one has learned his lesson. These papers will hopefully help us in this larger fight. Do you wish me to bury this again?"
If so, he will use mold earth to cover the site. He readies the helm of teleportation, unless anyone else has anything to pause for.
(I believe we assumed this was the default action in case anyone didn't oppose it. And I don't think anyone had anything to pause for, so I at least assumed it was going to happen without a further prompt)
Dog thanks Martin, with uncharacteristic brusqueness. He lets Tock handle his portion of the loot, but he asks that about 1,000-1,500 of his share be separated out so he can at last offer it to the goliaths. He carries Finnegan out of the hole, flying with his boots.
"We will depart now, and trouble you no more. Hopefully this little one has learned his lesson. These papers will hopefully help us in this larger fight. Do you wish me to bury this again?"
If so, he will use mold earth to cover the site. He readies the helm of teleportation, unless anyone else has anything to pause for.
(I believe we assumed this was the default action in case anyone didn't oppose it. And I don't think anyone had anything to pause for, so I at least assumed it was going to happen without a further prompt)
No idea where Dog will teleport everyone to, though.
The party arrive back in Alciondria in the palace gardens. The large stone obelisk they retrieved from the graveyard of the gods still looms over them, casting a long shadow.
While Tock and Dog each check in with their staff, Martin sees to FInnegan being delivered, and a healer along with, to temporary quarters in the Mage Academy tower. Tock keeps the plans they retrieved, knowing that Finnegan will be surly and possessive over them when he finally awakens.
The news of events during their travel is unsurprising, although conveyed breathlessly. The heavens and hells have agreed on a date, mere days away now. The site in the woodlands outside of the capital is already being prepared, overseen and assisted by Martin's own staff.
Each of the emissaries either sees to business or turns in for the night. The gods will send their delegates to converge on Alcion yet again and there is much to do before they arrive.
Milestone reached! Level up! HP is a straight roll. Post your new character additions in the OOC thread.
Tock gathers the others and says, "It's too much for me. I have to step aside - I cannot carry the burden placed on me."
He hugs everyone in turn and while stepping out says, "The team has most of the funds and magical items and are up to date with everything. They are reliable."
For a thrown-together event, the third gathering of the High Court of the Aasimar Queen is a lavish affair. Instead of set in the ballroom or dining hall of the Queen's retreat, the event is set in a series of connected clearings in the middle of the forest a full two miles from the Long Road and 28 miles from the capitol. Martin's team has rapidly created a passable road from the main highway to a reception area near the clearings for those who would travel by carriage. Very few trees were felled for the event during a a contentious working arrangement with the fey, who are proudly hosting the affair but protective of their wilds. Gash helped facilitate a temporary teleportation circle with the mage academy for those willing to spend coin to attend the event. Dog and his crew have vetted and hired significant security, yet none of them feel it is sufficient for the venue and the myriad of fey, mortals, angels, and devils attending. Tock, in his final days as the court's spymaster, recalled many of the spies and contacts in the field looking for his replacement. One Tristan Corwain has taken up the job, at least for the near future. In addition to the emissaries scrambling to prepare for the event, so too did the royal cooks, florists, carpenters, smiths, tailors, and servants.
As the first guests arrive, they are treated to a blend of royal indulgence within the natural beauty of a forest glade at dusk. The trees have long-since turned their autumn colors and the air is already dipping into a frost-breath chill. Small warming fires dot the open space, an egg-shaped clearing. Tables of miniature foods replace a full seven-course dinner. Small quiches, roasted asparagus, heavenly breads, and spicy cakes are artfully displayed around the clearing. A trio composed of a harpist, flautist, and percussionist play lightly, wandering the glade in a meandering loop. The feeling, at first, is that of a garden party. Then the fey begin to arrive.
To those sensitive to magic, this clearing is obviously one of many places where the material plane and its echo in creation, the Feywild, are barely separated by a veil of reality. It is an easy place to cross from the mortal world to that of the fey, if you know how. This is but one reason the security in this place is challenging to Dog. The second major reason is the fey themselves. The fey arrive in a way utterly different from the lords and ladies of Alcion. They seemingly pop into exist and dart around the clearing, tasting one of everything, landing on the shoulders of puffed-up nobles, and generally turning the place into a madhouse. Certainly more subdued fey arrive, some wearing masquerade masks and giggling at the novelty of a royal gathering of the heavens and hells. Some try to put on airs, just to see how it suits them. Some begin to eye the lords and ladies hungrily, whether to eat them or bed them it is hard to say. Dog's tuxedoed security team is kept quite busy as a result, politely distracting the fey or rescuing harried-looking nobles.
It is mostly the stuffiest of the nobles that struggle in this chaotic environment. Many of the younger or less serious of the nobility find the antics of the fey, and the embarrassment of their peers, delightful. The playful spirit of the event is contagious, at least to some, and they join in with the fairies, pixies, sprites, nymphs, dryads, and other fey in silly games. A food fight briefly erupts on one end of the clearing while on the other, Queen Gentoa is dazzled by a swarm of fairies twirling around her like a benevolent storm.
Llyr Airgetlám, like Dog's security team, spends a lot of time inserting himself between nobility and fey. He is practiced at this, being the mortal ambassador of the fey to Alcion. It is Llyr who provided many of the strategies to Kyva Losein, Dog's primary in organizing security efforts for this event, keeping the fey distracted or engaged and calming the ruffled nobles. Similarly, he spent all too much time with the pair of sprites, Everlily and Galadra, that seem to have adopted Gregory, AKA Gash, the peculiar goblin wizard who serves as emissary to the mages. The sprites pester him now, in fact, as he tries to find a moment of peace in this madness, pointing out to him the strange sights, like the towering Solars fluttering down to the clearing and the half-orc following behind a very human-looking devil in a gown trimmed with hard lines, like that of a soldier's uniform.
The half-orc is named Kulloda. He is perhaps out of place more than anyone here. The devil Centulia is the only one he knows at the event, in fact. He has never met fey or angels or nobility. A garden party is the furthest from his experience that one could imagine. But he is here at the request of the god of war himself, walking behind Tempus' emissary as if her bodyguard. She has no need for his sword, he knows that. She needs only his faith and his presence tonight, no matter how out of place he may be.
Tristan notes much of this, observing in quiet while some of the agents temporarily provided to him engage with the guests to try and learn what they can as fast as they can about the motives of the heavens, the hells, and the fey. So far, the fey seem to be involved purely for the novelty. There are two factions of the gods, though: those who favor reorganizing the heavens and hells to include planes of Limbo and those who are against the idea. Those who are against appear to have become divided yet again, although it is not entirely clear how. By the way the devils and angels cluster and look about at their rivals, the heavens have largely cast out the hardliners of Tyr and Helm while the devils have divided themselves almost completely in two on some unknown issue, leaving the hardliner Cyric, the god of lies, the lone outcast from the hells against any reorganization. Something is definitely brewing, though, but for Tristan, it is hard to say just what is going to happen tonight. It doesn't help that he has barely been read in by his predecessor on what to expect tonight.
Gash and Martin have little to do at the event, having done most of their work in advance. The road and teleportation circle are in good hands now and so the pair are free to enjoy or shy from the chaos as they will. Martin is in conversation with the librarian in training, Viviora. They have not spoken for some time and so there is plenty to discuss, although the stilted nature of the conversation takes some time to smooth out. Nearby, Gash is simply surrounded by an ever-changing crowd of pixies, sprites, dryads, and nymphs, all fascinated with his presence at the affair. They pepper him with a dizzying array of seemingly mundane questions. His occasional quaint magical display gets giggles and pats on the head from the fey who delight in his company.
After a time, tiny pixies swirl up over the tallest Solar, carrying even tinier orbs of light in a coordinated display. The music swells from the bard troupe and then fades before the master of ceremonies gathers the attention of the odd mixture of the crowd. Unlike his usual long, stuffy introductions, he has been informed to keep this brief. The fey are notoriously easy to bore. "Feast on what you will. Dance and gawk, dear guests. The play will begin shortly."
The buzz of conversation and mischief resumes. A tall elven woman, dressed entirely in orange, yellow, and red leaves, stops alongside Dog. "You've done well," she says with a lightness in her tone and her eyes. "The Accords were only the beginning. You've managed to nearly wrangle the gods themselves into reshaping the heavens and ushering in a new god."
From the description given by Althus more than a year ago, Dog is fairly certain this Eladrin woman is Passalwyck, the arbitrator of the Accords that protected the young queen. She lifts her eyes to watch the chaos resuming, of bothered and delighted nobles, of fey being fey, of angels and devils mixing and politicking. She says, "You're not quite there yet, though, Emissary."
Take a moment to insert your character into this scene. What do they do? I will respond as needed, but try to make clear who your character is in the role they have during this chaotic party.
Kulloda turns his head side to side, lifting his chin up, trying to escape the tight collar of the formal wear the priests at the temple had prepared for him. He’s certain this was some sort of joke as the suit barely contains his 6’6” and 280lb hulking heavily scarred frame. Kulloda had even reached for his axe, intent on severing the head from the body of the hardhar dressing him. But he didn’t have time. He had been summoned to join Centulia.
The crowd doesn’t bother him, though the fey are a bit confusing. Why don’t the others just crush them with their fists? But the crowd is familiar. He has stood in the center of many a gladiator ring and seen their kind in the audience. No, what bothers him is he doesn’t know why he’s here.
Centulia mentioned something about Kulloda being a reminder of what Tempus is capable of and that she also needed his faith, whatever that means. Tempus has power. Centulia has power granted to her by Tempus. Kulloda believes Centulia has this power. What does faith have to do with it?
“Bah, all this thinking is starting to hurt,” Kulloda mutters to himself. “Point Kulloda in a direction and Kulloda will destroy everything in that direction. This, this is for children.”
Kulloda maintains a relatively consistent distance from Centulia, but when the opportunity presents itself he takes full advantage of the food on display. As the pixies and sprites flutter about, Kulloda swats at them with his meaty fists if they get too close.
He spots a large goliath who appears to be in charge of the security forces and while he eats, Kulloda appraises the man’s stance. He’s a warrior, Kulloda thinks to himself. He would put up a good fight.
He turns, makes sure he’s not too far from Centulia again, and then gulps back a large flagon of wine.
When he hears mention of a play, Kulloda's throat lets out a low rumbling growl and he grabs another flagon of wine.
Immaculately dressed in finely crafted, detailed dark robes that seemed to favour practicality over simple aesthetics, Llyr stood proudly, rich with Elven grace. His arms swayed naturally as he spoke to Fey and Aristocrats alike, in casual, smooth, flowing motions, the glass in his hands - and the alcohol therein - never threatening to slosh or spill.
Taller than most of his kind by a fair bit, and with golden-white luminescent hair, amber eyes and a faintly glowing, tanned, almost bronze coloured skin, this Eladrin looks as though he swallowed the Sun. Not too differently from many of the Solars about, actually - save for the wings, the pointed ears and the towering frame... or so a set of Pixies told him, again and again, before flying off towards one such behemoth, looking to drag him over and compare, the hulking Angel not looking particularly amused.
Practicedly, the Eladrin lifted his left index finger and jokingly poked the one of the tiny Fey, smushing her cheek ever so slightly, marking her face with glowing, bright light. The others in the cluster, suddenly far more interested in this new form of paint, promptly forgot about the Angel altogether and rushed over to the Eladrin, clamouring for more. A few more casts of Light, and this series of now shining little gremlins rushed off to chase each other’s luminous forms. The Solar - out of curiosity or distaste - made it his point to look the Eladrin in the eye for a long few seconds. Llyr did not shy away, and simply stood there, in silence, until the Angel moved on. “Excuse me.” - he spoke to none in particular, finally extricating himself from the situation he’d successfully defused.
A set of familiar faces had caught the Eladrin’s eye. A pair of Sprites whizzed about in a not too far from where he stood, but closer still stood a Human. Male, aristocratic, middle aged, with a powerful frame that had become a little more rounder with the weathering of age, but one that remained imposing nonetheless.
“Dolan Bavari! How’ve you been, you fat, glorious bastard?” - the Elf exclaimed, smiling, his tone warm and clearly directed at someone he held great familiarity with, giving the aristocrat a hug, and keeping one arm around the man’s neck, the other jokingly prodding at the barest hint of a protruding gut - “How’s the wife? Happier now that the kids are out of the house, no doubt?“
”You really want to know?” - the Noble quipped back instantly, one eyebrow quirking up conspiratorially, his lips mirroring Llyr’s in a smile every bit as beaming - “And you and I both know I’ve never been fat a day in my life! How’ve you been, you insufferable rascal? It’s been years! Still doing nothing and getting paid for it, I trust?”“What can I say?” - the Elf responded with a roguish grin and a lazy shrug, well in earshot of Aristocrats, Devils and Angels alike, not bothering to hide even a sliver of the satisfaction on his face. The conversation ensued for a few more brief moments, before the Eladrin finally made his way to the tiny pair.
“Don’t think I ever would’ve guessed, when we first met, that our paths would lead here. Well done, you two. Well done.“- offering Everlily and Galadra a congratulatory wink and a toast, the Bladesinger took a beat to revel in nostalgia - “What’ve you two been up to, lately? Not getting into too much trouble, I hope?”Sprites were more truthful than most of his kind, and he’d found that often enough, a pointed look and a question like this went a long way when it came to learning things the little ones might otherwise look to keep hidden.
Tristan glides through the crowd with ease, comfortable from years spent in royal courts and noble households throughout the lands. A polite nod to a noble here, a warm handshake with another family there, a discreet whisper with a waiter. Too long away from the capital, he no longer knew all the players, he thought. He followed the fey with hidden amusement, but watched the angels and devils carefully. His eyes are drawn to a tall, broad-shouldered half-orc wearing fancy clothing much too small for him. Tristan had much to learn.
Dressed in the finest velvet tunic with gaudy ruffles and a finely crafted mandolin slung across his back, he could easily be confused for a member of the bard troupe, which was the point after all. Musicians opened doors and loosened tongues, one just needed to know what to listen for. Which he currently did not. He had precious little information. Already on his way back from the kingdoms abroad after he heard the King had passed, he hurried his journey when he received the summons from Tock.
Tock, however, provided precious little information on what was going on with this struggle between the heavens and hells or what was coming next. He was kind enough to loan some local agents, Tristan’s own contacts centered elsewhere. He would have to rebuild his networks, find the key power players again, call in some old favors and earn new ones. Again, too long away from the capital, he cursed. Luckily, he could play both the music of the heart and the mind. He smiled as he wound his way through the crowd. It was good to be home.
Gash does his rounds to be polite. Simply greeting all the nobles, angels, and devils. Their time was precious and they had important mingling to do. As is true with all of these events. As Gash finishes his greets and doing a few tricks for the Queen. He finds himself away from the bustling party only to be joined by pixies and sprites asking him all kinds of questions.
To anyone else, this might be annoying but to Gash, it was simply lovely. Gash always just wanted to fit in. Through his travels along the long road and even before the circus. He felt like he could be his genuine self after delivering Gentoa to take up her throne. The notoriety of which helped him finally shed his self appointed pseudonym, Gregory, and simply embracing his birth name, Gash.
Being swarmed and peppered with questions made him feel welcome even if he was getting all of the attention for being a goblin. No one was afraid of him at least. He happily answered the questions and would respond with magic when he saw fit. Maybe doing a few fun tricks with shape water. His favorite thing to do was always make water dance.
"Try to enjoy yourself, Kulloda" Centulia says, almost demurely, to the large half-orc trailing her. "You will be the center of attention soon and then this little party will really get exciting."
-----
The little sprites giggle in Llyr's ear. "You know us," one of them says...probably Galadra but it is difficult to distinguish their tiny voices sometimes. "Trouble finds us eventually."
"Doesn't this look like enough trouble to you?" says the other sprite in his other ear. To punctuate her point, a nymph gooses an octogenarian, a human at that, and is promptly slapped her her antic.
-----
"So you are the kenku's successor," says an oily voice next to Tristan. "You have big shoes to fill, metaphorically speaking."
Tristan glances to his left, though it turns into much more than a glance. It is one of the devils...pro-reorganization. Her name is buried amidst 3 dozen others of the representatives sent by the heavens and hells. She is dressed in a silk tunic and breeches, which would be scandalous at any other event. In spite of the finely tailored casual wear, she is a striking woman, human in appearance but with a decidedly tiefling shape to her cheeks and eyes.
"Emissary Tock and I had an understanding. I think he was sympathetic to our cause."
Her name worms its way into his mind at last: Felistra, representative of Waukeen. He is still looking at her as she gives him an intensely charming smile.
-----
With fey still swirling around him, one of the mage council dressed in finely tailored robes, approaches Gash.
"Whose idea was it for the fey to host this farce of a gathering?" says Ommulyn Huis, the evocation representative. He is broad-shouldered with a neatly trimmed beard over his weathered face. he speaks with a commoner's dialect, despite his fine attire and well-kept appearance. "Haddian would...well, I'm not sure what Haddian would think. I am certain this would not have been the way he would have gone. How will anything get done during a riot like this?"
The fey begin orbiting Archmage Huis as part of the complicated dance around Gash.
-----
"Actually, a library student," Viviora says quietly to Martin. "And there is a good chance I will be changing careers soon. My destiny looks to be as a follower of Oghma."
Dog was deeply relieved he did not have to think about the play. He'd been asked to do a lot of strange things over the years, and part of him expected some royal official or divine representative so approach him and say that yes, he needed to write and perform the play, given his circus background and familiarity with the court. That relief was short-lived, after finding out Tock was stepping out.
He did allow weapons, though guests were encouraged not to bring them. Keeping the ambiance peaceful, if at all possible. And it's not like banning them would do anything about arcane practitioners. Or those who could summon weapons or conceal them.
Throughout the mingling phase, Dog kept a relatively wide orbit around Genny, allowing her to have space, and fun. He relied on his people, and Tock's--Tristan's-people to keep a closer eye. But he never ranged far away, and kept his other eye out for any external interruptions. The fey were ethereal mini-distractions, and he paid them little mind. He greeted Passalwyck absentmindedly, hoping to have time later for a deeper discussion about the Accords. "We are certainly not."He nodded in sympathy at the uncomfortable half-orc. There was no way Dog's breastplate would fit under a fancy shirt, so his only nod to thee dress code was to wear nicer pants and shoes. It looked odd to him, but the royal tailors had insisted. Was he getting soft?
He smiled at Gash's happiness, it was really good to have him back, delighting himself and others with some basic tricks.
"Actually, a library student," Viviora says quietly to Martin. "And there is a good chance I will be changing careers soon. My destiny looks to be as a follower of Oghma."
Martin looks up.
”With how things are now, that seems a lot like joining the military while on the brink of war. Are you really prepared to do that? This thing has been tense. An assassin came for you once, before any of this was this bad. Now… it’s not safe. Please tell me you’ve been preparing to defend yourself, at least. If I can get you some lessons, or show you some of what I know, I’d be happy to.”
Kulloda eyes the back of Centulia's head. He's learned better than to ask her questions. She either doesn't answer or speaks in riddles, like now. Finally having enough of the constriction around his neck, Kulloda puts down the food he was eating, takes both hands and rips the collar from his shirt.
The closest thing to a smile that he does creeps onto his face, lips curling upwards slightly next to the large tusks at the corners of his mouth. He balls up the remains of the collar and throws it at the closest pixie.
Kulloda then moves his way around the clearing, stopping at each of the small warming fires. The roasted asparagus gives him pause and he sniffs it carefully before trying a bite. He shrugs and takes more.
The dancing water near the small goblin wizard attracts his attention for a moment, but soon he turns and looks for Centulia again, making sure she's still in view.
He then scans the clearing to try and pin point anyone who might be taking an interest in Tempus's representative.
“It’s all fun and games until an orgy breaks out, or someone loses an eye.” - the Eladrin replied, nonchalantly, entirely disregarding the sight the sprites had pointed out - “After that, I do believe the term is ‘not my problem’. Not tonight.” - a pause, as his lips tore into an impish grin - “Oh, how I’ve missed this feeling.” - Llyr’s arms extend to either side, ever so slightly, and the Bladesinger relished this moment, the light emanating from his hair and skin pulsing ever so faintly stronger for a beat.
”It’ll become it soon enough, no doubt.” The Airgetlám scion quaffed the remainder of his drink - with surprising elegance for such an overt gesture - before extending his arm to his periphery and, without looking, dextrously replaced it with a filled one from a passing server’s tray. The Wizard’s expression soured for the briefest of instants, before returning to its carefree, fire-starting smile.
“But until such a time,” - he ruffled one of the two’s heads - "I intend to make the most of this. By doing absolutely everything I possibly can, to accomplish positively nothing at all. That, my sweets, is the goal for tonight.”
”Tell me.” Llyr’s gaze - sharp, even amidst the aura of languish he seemed to exude - panned around the strange mixture of greatly overdressed and almost entirely nude beings surrounding him - “Which of these little gremlins do you expect will be the first to crack, and rain on my parade?”
Tristan glances over at the voice in his ear, and his gaze lingers on the beautiful figure before him. His mind raced when she referenced Tock, he had two options, pretend he wasn’t who she thought he was or go along with the conversation to find out more. She clearly had him figured out and it didn’t matter how she knew, a lie would not go far in this case.
“How interesting, he didn’t mention you at all” Tristan takes a slow drink from a champagne flute “or any understanding for that matter. But a new day brings new friends and new opportunities” he matches her dazzling smile with one of his own as he takes another champagne glass off of the tray of a passing waiter and hands it to her “I am delighted to meet you, let me buy you a drink and you can tell me all about it.”
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
To post a comment, please login or register a new account.
Are we assuming we've lost Ronis due to my erratic DMing as of late?
At the sight of 1000 gp, Sturdyoak is noticeably stunned, though he tries to keep a straight face, either for Dog's benefit or for his own people's. It is probably more money than he has ever seen in his life. Eventually he says, "Yes, we were going to collapse the ruins."
Seeing Dog do so with ease likewise draws an awed silence. Eventually, though, Sturdyoak and his band of goliaths begin to get impatient with Finnegan's presence in their lands, even as he is unconscious.
"It is time for you to leave," Sturdyoak says. "And for...him...to never return."
(If Ronis comes back, that’s great, but I don’t see any sign of him in awhile).
Paladin - warforged - orange
Everyone is just going to linger about to annoy the goliaths?
(I believe we assumed this was the default action in case anyone didn't oppose it. And I don't think anyone had anything to pause for, so I at least assumed it was going to happen without a further prompt)
No idea where Dog will teleport everyone to, though.
Home?
Paladin - warforged - orange
The party arrive back in Alciondria in the palace gardens. The large stone obelisk they retrieved from the graveyard of the gods still looms over them, casting a long shadow.
While Tock and Dog each check in with their staff, Martin sees to FInnegan being delivered, and a healer along with, to temporary quarters in the Mage Academy tower. Tock keeps the plans they retrieved, knowing that Finnegan will be surly and possessive over them when he finally awakens.
The news of events during their travel is unsurprising, although conveyed breathlessly. The heavens and hells have agreed on a date, mere days away now. The site in the woodlands outside of the capital is already being prepared, overseen and assisted by Martin's own staff.
Each of the emissaries either sees to business or turns in for the night. The gods will send their delegates to converge on Alcion yet again and there is much to do before they arrive.
Milestone reached! Level up! HP is a straight roll. Post your new character additions in the OOC thread.
Tock gathers the others and says, "It's too much for me. I have to step aside - I cannot carry the burden placed on me."
He hugs everyone in turn and while stepping out says, "The team has most of the funds and magical items and are up to date with everything. They are reliable."
For a thrown-together event, the third gathering of the High Court of the Aasimar Queen is a lavish affair. Instead of set in the ballroom or dining hall of the Queen's retreat, the event is set in a series of connected clearings in the middle of the forest a full two miles from the Long Road and 28 miles from the capitol. Martin's team has rapidly created a passable road from the main highway to a reception area near the clearings for those who would travel by carriage. Very few trees were felled for the event during a a contentious working arrangement with the fey, who are proudly hosting the affair but protective of their wilds. Gash helped facilitate a temporary teleportation circle with the mage academy for those willing to spend coin to attend the event. Dog and his crew have vetted and hired significant security, yet none of them feel it is sufficient for the venue and the myriad of fey, mortals, angels, and devils attending. Tock, in his final days as the court's spymaster, recalled many of the spies and contacts in the field looking for his replacement. One Tristan Corwain has taken up the job, at least for the near future. In addition to the emissaries scrambling to prepare for the event, so too did the royal cooks, florists, carpenters, smiths, tailors, and servants.
As the first guests arrive, they are treated to a blend of royal indulgence within the natural beauty of a forest glade at dusk. The trees have long-since turned their autumn colors and the air is already dipping into a frost-breath chill. Small warming fires dot the open space, an egg-shaped clearing. Tables of miniature foods replace a full seven-course dinner. Small quiches, roasted asparagus, heavenly breads, and spicy cakes are artfully displayed around the clearing. A trio composed of a harpist, flautist, and percussionist play lightly, wandering the glade in a meandering loop. The feeling, at first, is that of a garden party. Then the fey begin to arrive.
To those sensitive to magic, this clearing is obviously one of many places where the material plane and its echo in creation, the Feywild, are barely separated by a veil of reality. It is an easy place to cross from the mortal world to that of the fey, if you know how. This is but one reason the security in this place is challenging to Dog. The second major reason is the fey themselves. The fey arrive in a way utterly different from the lords and ladies of Alcion. They seemingly pop into exist and dart around the clearing, tasting one of everything, landing on the shoulders of puffed-up nobles, and generally turning the place into a madhouse. Certainly more subdued fey arrive, some wearing masquerade masks and giggling at the novelty of a royal gathering of the heavens and hells. Some try to put on airs, just to see how it suits them. Some begin to eye the lords and ladies hungrily, whether to eat them or bed them it is hard to say. Dog's tuxedoed security team is kept quite busy as a result, politely distracting the fey or rescuing harried-looking nobles.
It is mostly the stuffiest of the nobles that struggle in this chaotic environment. Many of the younger or less serious of the nobility find the antics of the fey, and the embarrassment of their peers, delightful. The playful spirit of the event is contagious, at least to some, and they join in with the fairies, pixies, sprites, nymphs, dryads, and other fey in silly games. A food fight briefly erupts on one end of the clearing while on the other, Queen Gentoa is dazzled by a swarm of fairies twirling around her like a benevolent storm.
Llyr Airgetlám, like Dog's security team, spends a lot of time inserting himself between nobility and fey. He is practiced at this, being the mortal ambassador of the fey to Alcion. It is Llyr who provided many of the strategies to Kyva Losein, Dog's primary in organizing security efforts for this event, keeping the fey distracted or engaged and calming the ruffled nobles. Similarly, he spent all too much time with the pair of sprites, Everlily and Galadra, that seem to have adopted Gregory, AKA Gash, the peculiar goblin wizard who serves as emissary to the mages. The sprites pester him now, in fact, as he tries to find a moment of peace in this madness, pointing out to him the strange sights, like the towering Solars fluttering down to the clearing and the half-orc following behind a very human-looking devil in a gown trimmed with hard lines, like that of a soldier's uniform.
The half-orc is named Kulloda. He is perhaps out of place more than anyone here. The devil Centulia is the only one he knows at the event, in fact. He has never met fey or angels or nobility. A garden party is the furthest from his experience that one could imagine. But he is here at the request of the god of war himself, walking behind Tempus' emissary as if her bodyguard. She has no need for his sword, he knows that. She needs only his faith and his presence tonight, no matter how out of place he may be.
Tristan notes much of this, observing in quiet while some of the agents temporarily provided to him engage with the guests to try and learn what they can as fast as they can about the motives of the heavens, the hells, and the fey. So far, the fey seem to be involved purely for the novelty. There are two factions of the gods, though: those who favor reorganizing the heavens and hells to include planes of Limbo and those who are against the idea. Those who are against appear to have become divided yet again, although it is not entirely clear how. By the way the devils and angels cluster and look about at their rivals, the heavens have largely cast out the hardliners of Tyr and Helm while the devils have divided themselves almost completely in two on some unknown issue, leaving the hardliner Cyric, the god of lies, the lone outcast from the hells against any reorganization. Something is definitely brewing, though, but for Tristan, it is hard to say just what is going to happen tonight. It doesn't help that he has barely been read in by his predecessor on what to expect tonight.
Gash and Martin have little to do at the event, having done most of their work in advance. The road and teleportation circle are in good hands now and so the pair are free to enjoy or shy from the chaos as they will. Martin is in conversation with the librarian in training, Viviora. They have not spoken for some time and so there is plenty to discuss, although the stilted nature of the conversation takes some time to smooth out. Nearby, Gash is simply surrounded by an ever-changing crowd of pixies, sprites, dryads, and nymphs, all fascinated with his presence at the affair. They pepper him with a dizzying array of seemingly mundane questions. His occasional quaint magical display gets giggles and pats on the head from the fey who delight in his company.
After a time, tiny pixies swirl up over the tallest Solar, carrying even tinier orbs of light in a coordinated display. The music swells from the bard troupe and then fades before the master of ceremonies gathers the attention of the odd mixture of the crowd. Unlike his usual long, stuffy introductions, he has been informed to keep this brief. The fey are notoriously easy to bore. "Feast on what you will. Dance and gawk, dear guests. The play will begin shortly."
The buzz of conversation and mischief resumes. A tall elven woman, dressed entirely in orange, yellow, and red leaves, stops alongside Dog. "You've done well," she says with a lightness in her tone and her eyes. "The Accords were only the beginning. You've managed to nearly wrangle the gods themselves into reshaping the heavens and ushering in a new god."
From the description given by Althus more than a year ago, Dog is fairly certain this Eladrin woman is Passalwyck, the arbitrator of the Accords that protected the young queen. She lifts her eyes to watch the chaos resuming, of bothered and delighted nobles, of fey being fey, of angels and devils mixing and politicking. She says, "You're not quite there yet, though, Emissary."
Take a moment to insert your character into this scene. What do they do? I will respond as needed, but try to make clear who your character is in the role they have during this chaotic party.
Kulloda turns his head side to side, lifting his chin up, trying to escape the tight collar of the formal wear the priests at the temple had prepared for him. He’s certain this was some sort of joke as the suit barely contains his 6’6” and 280lb hulking heavily scarred frame. Kulloda had even reached for his axe, intent on severing the head from the body of the hardhar dressing him. But he didn’t have time. He had been summoned to join Centulia.
The crowd doesn’t bother him, though the fey are a bit confusing. Why don’t the others just crush them with their fists? But the crowd is familiar. He has stood in the center of many a gladiator ring and seen their kind in the audience. No, what bothers him is he doesn’t know why he’s here.
Centulia mentioned something about Kulloda being a reminder of what Tempus is capable of and that she also needed his faith, whatever that means. Tempus has power. Centulia has power granted to her by Tempus. Kulloda believes Centulia has this power. What does faith have to do with it?
“Bah, all this thinking is starting to hurt,” Kulloda mutters to himself. “Point Kulloda in a direction and Kulloda will destroy everything in that direction. This, this is for children.”
Kulloda maintains a relatively consistent distance from Centulia, but when the opportunity presents itself he takes full advantage of the food on display. As the pixies and sprites flutter about, Kulloda swats at them with his meaty fists if they get too close.
He spots a large goliath who appears to be in charge of the security forces and while he eats, Kulloda appraises the man’s stance. He’s a warrior, Kulloda thinks to himself. He would put up a good fight.
He turns, makes sure he’s not too far from Centulia again, and then gulps back a large flagon of wine.
When he hears mention of a play, Kulloda's throat lets out a low rumbling growl and he grabs another flagon of wine.
Llyr Airgetlám
(Gabriel ArchiaOryix - Deviantart)
Immaculately dressed in finely crafted, detailed dark robes that seemed to favour practicality over simple aesthetics, Llyr stood proudly, rich with Elven grace. His arms swayed naturally as he spoke to Fey and Aristocrats alike, in casual, smooth, flowing motions, the glass in his hands - and the alcohol therein - never threatening to slosh or spill.
Taller than most of his kind by a fair bit, and with golden-white luminescent hair, amber eyes and a faintly glowing, tanned, almost bronze coloured skin, this Eladrin looks as though he swallowed the Sun. Not too differently from many of the Solars about, actually - save for the wings, the pointed ears and the towering frame... or so a set of Pixies told him, again and again, before flying off towards one such behemoth, looking to drag him over and compare, the hulking Angel not looking particularly amused.
Practicedly, the Eladrin lifted his left index finger and jokingly poked the one of the tiny Fey, smushing her cheek ever so slightly, marking her face with glowing, bright light. The others in the cluster, suddenly far more interested in this new form of paint, promptly forgot about the Angel altogether and rushed over to the Eladrin, clamouring for more. A few more casts of Light, and this series of now shining little gremlins rushed off to chase each other’s luminous forms. The Solar - out of curiosity or distaste - made it his point to look the Eladrin in the eye for a long few seconds. Llyr did not shy away, and simply stood there, in silence, until the Angel moved on. “Excuse me.” - he spoke to none in particular, finally extricating himself from the situation he’d successfully defused.
A set of familiar faces had caught the Eladrin’s eye. A pair of Sprites whizzed about in a not too far from where he stood, but closer still stood a Human. Male, aristocratic, middle aged, with a powerful frame that had become a little more rounder with the weathering of age, but one that remained imposing nonetheless.
“Dolan Bavari! How’ve you been, you fat, glorious bastard?” - the Elf exclaimed, smiling, his tone warm and clearly directed at someone he held great familiarity with, giving the aristocrat a hug, and keeping one arm around the man’s neck, the other jokingly prodding at the barest hint of a protruding gut - “How’s the wife? Happier now that the kids are out of the house, no doubt?“
”You really want to know?” - the Noble quipped back instantly, one eyebrow quirking up conspiratorially, his lips mirroring Llyr’s in a smile every bit as beaming - “And you and I both know I’ve never been fat a day in my life! How’ve you been, you insufferable rascal? It’s been years! Still doing nothing and getting paid for it, I trust?” “What can I say?” - the Elf responded with a roguish grin and a lazy shrug, well in earshot of Aristocrats, Devils and Angels alike, not bothering to hide even a sliver of the satisfaction on his face. The conversation ensued for a few more brief moments, before the Eladrin finally made his way to the tiny pair.
“Don’t think I ever would’ve guessed, when we first met, that our paths would lead here. Well done, you two. Well done.“ - offering Everlily and Galadra a congratulatory wink and a toast, the Bladesinger took a beat to revel in nostalgia - “What’ve you two been up to, lately? Not getting into too much trouble, I hope?” Sprites were more truthful than most of his kind, and he’d found that often enough, a pointed look and a question like this went a long way when it came to learning things the little ones might otherwise look to keep hidden.
Tristan glides through the crowd with ease, comfortable from years spent in royal courts and noble households throughout the lands. A polite nod to a noble here, a warm handshake with another family there, a discreet whisper with a waiter. Too long away from the capital, he no longer knew all the players, he thought. He followed the fey with hidden amusement, but watched the angels and devils carefully. His eyes are drawn to a tall, broad-shouldered half-orc wearing fancy clothing much too small for him. Tristan had much to learn.
Dressed in the finest velvet tunic with gaudy ruffles and a finely crafted mandolin slung across his back, he could easily be confused for a member of the bard troupe, which was the point after all. Musicians opened doors and loosened tongues, one just needed to know what to listen for. Which he currently did not. He had precious little information. Already on his way back from the kingdoms abroad after he heard the King had passed, he hurried his journey when he received the summons from Tock.
Tock, however, provided precious little information on what was going on with this struggle between the heavens and hells or what was coming next. He was kind enough to loan some local agents, Tristan’s own contacts centered elsewhere. He would have to rebuild his networks, find the key power players again, call in some old favors and earn new ones. Again, too long away from the capital, he cursed. Luckily, he could play both the music of the heart and the mind. He smiled as he wound his way through the crowd. It was good to be home.
Gash does his rounds to be polite. Simply greeting all the nobles, angels, and devils. Their time was precious and they had important mingling to do. As is true with all of these events. As Gash finishes his greets and doing a few tricks for the Queen. He finds himself away from the bustling party only to be joined by pixies and sprites asking him all kinds of questions.
To anyone else, this might be annoying but to Gash, it was simply lovely. Gash always just wanted to fit in. Through his travels along the long road and even before the circus. He felt like he could be his genuine self after delivering Gentoa to take up her throne. The notoriety of which helped him finally shed his self appointed pseudonym, Gregory, and simply embracing his birth name, Gash.
Being swarmed and peppered with questions made him feel welcome even if he was getting all of the attention for being a goblin. No one was afraid of him at least. He happily answered the questions and would respond with magic when he saw fit. Maybe doing a few fun tricks with shape water. His favorite thing to do was always make water dance.
Gash - Lvl14 Goblin Wizard - The High Court of the Aasimar Queen
Martin mostly stares into his drink and tries to start conversation with Viviora, badly.
“Still a librarian? That’s interesting…”
cough
He watches the newest batch of weirdos with no small amount of suspicion.
Paladin - warforged - orange
"Try to enjoy yourself, Kulloda" Centulia says, almost demurely, to the large half-orc trailing her. "You will be the center of attention soon and then this little party will really get exciting."
-----
The little sprites giggle in Llyr's ear. "You know us," one of them says...probably Galadra but it is difficult to distinguish their tiny voices sometimes. "Trouble finds us eventually."
"Doesn't this look like enough trouble to you?" says the other sprite in his other ear. To punctuate her point, a nymph gooses an octogenarian, a human at that, and is promptly slapped her her antic.
-----
"So you are the kenku's successor," says an oily voice next to Tristan. "You have big shoes to fill, metaphorically speaking."
Tristan glances to his left, though it turns into much more than a glance. It is one of the devils...pro-reorganization. Her name is buried amidst 3 dozen others of the representatives sent by the heavens and hells. She is dressed in a silk tunic and breeches, which would be scandalous at any other event. In spite of the finely tailored casual wear, she is a striking woman, human in appearance but with a decidedly tiefling shape to her cheeks and eyes.
"Emissary Tock and I had an understanding. I think he was sympathetic to our cause."
Her name worms its way into his mind at last: Felistra, representative of Waukeen. He is still looking at her as she gives him an intensely charming smile.
-----
With fey still swirling around him, one of the mage council dressed in finely tailored robes, approaches Gash.
"Whose idea was it for the fey to host this farce of a gathering?" says Ommulyn Huis, the evocation representative. He is broad-shouldered with a neatly trimmed beard over his weathered face. he speaks with a commoner's dialect, despite his fine attire and well-kept appearance. "Haddian would...well, I'm not sure what Haddian would think. I am certain this would not have been the way he would have gone. How will anything get done during a riot like this?"
The fey begin orbiting Archmage Huis as part of the complicated dance around Gash.
-----
"Actually, a library student," Viviora says quietly to Martin. "And there is a good chance I will be changing careers soon. My destiny looks to be as a follower of Oghma."
Dog was deeply relieved he did not have to think about the play. He'd been asked to do a lot of strange things over the years, and part of him expected some royal official or divine representative so approach him and say that yes, he needed to write and perform the play, given his circus background and familiarity with the court. That relief was short-lived, after finding out Tock was stepping out.
He did allow weapons, though guests were encouraged not to bring them. Keeping the ambiance peaceful, if at all possible. And it's not like banning them would do anything about arcane practitioners. Or those who could summon weapons or conceal them.
Throughout the mingling phase, Dog kept a relatively wide orbit around Genny, allowing her to have space, and fun. He relied on his people, and Tock's--Tristan's-people to keep a closer eye. But he never ranged far away, and kept his other eye out for any external interruptions. The fey were ethereal mini-distractions, and he paid them little mind. He greeted Passalwyck absentmindedly, hoping to have time later for a deeper discussion about the Accords. "We are certainly not." He nodded in sympathy at the uncomfortable half-orc. There was no way Dog's breastplate would fit under a fancy shirt, so his only nod to thee dress code was to wear nicer pants and shoes. It looked odd to him, but the royal tailors had insisted. Was he getting soft?
He smiled at Gash's happiness, it was really good to have him back, delighting himself and others with some basic tricks.
Martin looks up.
”With how things are now, that seems a lot like joining the military while on the brink of war. Are you really prepared to do that? This thing has been tense. An assassin came for you once, before any of this was this bad. Now… it’s not safe. Please tell me you’ve been preparing to defend yourself, at least. If I can get you some lessons, or show you some of what I know, I’d be happy to.”
“I mean… how is this your destiny anyway?”
Paladin - warforged - orange
Kulloda eyes the back of Centulia's head. He's learned better than to ask her questions. She either doesn't answer or speaks in riddles, like now. Finally having enough of the constriction around his neck, Kulloda puts down the food he was eating, takes both hands and rips the collar from his shirt.
The closest thing to a smile that he does creeps onto his face, lips curling upwards slightly next to the large tusks at the corners of his mouth. He balls up the remains of the collar and throws it at the closest pixie.
Kulloda then moves his way around the clearing, stopping at each of the small warming fires. The roasted asparagus gives him pause and he sniffs it carefully before trying a bite. He shrugs and takes more.
The dancing water near the small goblin wizard attracts his attention for a moment, but soon he turns and looks for Centulia again, making sure she's still in view.
He then scans the clearing to try and pin point anyone who might be taking an interest in Tempus's representative.
“It’s all fun and games until an orgy breaks out, or someone loses an eye.” - the Eladrin replied, nonchalantly, entirely disregarding the sight the sprites had pointed out - “After that, I do believe the term is ‘not my problem’. Not tonight.” - a pause, as his lips tore into an impish grin - “Oh, how I’ve missed this feeling.” - Llyr’s arms extend to either side, ever so slightly, and the Bladesinger relished this moment, the light emanating from his hair and skin pulsing ever so faintly stronger for a beat.
”It’ll become it soon enough, no doubt.” The Airgetlám scion quaffed the remainder of his drink - with surprising elegance for such an overt gesture - before extending his arm to his periphery and, without looking, dextrously replaced it with a filled one from a passing server’s tray. The Wizard’s expression soured for the briefest of instants, before returning to its carefree, fire-starting smile.
“But until such a time,” - he ruffled one of the two’s heads - "I intend to make the most of this. By doing absolutely everything I possibly can, to accomplish positively nothing at all. That, my sweets, is the goal for tonight.”
”Tell me.” Llyr’s gaze - sharp, even amidst the aura of languish he seemed to exude - panned around the strange mixture of greatly overdressed and almost entirely nude beings surrounding him - “Which of these little gremlins do you expect will be the first to crack, and rain on my parade?”
“… and shall we make a wager of it?”
Tristan glances over at the voice in his ear, and his gaze lingers on the beautiful figure before him. His mind raced when she referenced Tock, he had two options, pretend he wasn’t who she thought he was or go along with the conversation to find out more. She clearly had him figured out and it didn’t matter how she knew, a lie would not go far in this case.
“How interesting, he didn’t mention you at all” Tristan takes a slow drink from a champagne flute “or any understanding for that matter. But a new day brings new friends and new opportunities” he matches her dazzling smile with one of his own as he takes another champagne glass off of the tray of a passing waiter and hands it to her “I am delighted to meet you, let me buy you a drink and you can tell me all about it.”