Greg freezes like a rabbit caught in the mesmerizing glow of hooded lanternlight afront a cart, the dust settles around him and he does what he always does when caaught doing something he isn't supposed to, he thinks.
The gnome calculates several things very quickly, he accounts for the things that he knows of Endelyn, the things he heard the goblins shouting mere moments ago before his massive cockup, he then clears his throat loudly, "...AND that my fellow actors is what we are looking for! Exemplified before your very eyes! not simply the sweet despair that our good lady is looking for. But a MOUNTING series of MISFORTUNE, a CRESCENDO of CHAOS which builds and BUILDS! until our main character has no way of stopping the dominoes falling and must succumb to despair for there is no alternative! no hope left! gone are the days of flash in the pan hopelessness, WE MUST DO BETTER!"
G'reg however does not calculate that Rowan has made an appearance giving the whole game away.
He gives a little sigh, as if embarrassed by his own outburst. Anyway, if you need a partner, I could… y’know. Play dead. I’m good at that.
Can you do more than play dead? I could use a partner maybe but what is your range?
Mulligan asks this telepathically, of course.
I only just arrived with a couple others. Haven't even had a chance to show anyone our invitations yet. We really don't know the process or what to expect. Besides go for grief and tragedy, what can you tell us?
Mulligan suspects this poor set of bones doesn't know much that will help them but he figures it is worth a try. Perhaps they too started off as a stranger in the land who got a mysterious invitation... Stranger things have happened.
Whump—Thump-Whump-Thump!
Mulligan winces and freezes for a moment, slowly turning his head towards the way he came here from.
That must be Rowan...
Mulligan's telepathic communications don't really convey tone or inflection but it is still obvious to first the marionette and then to the Group Chat that Mulligan is feeling an intense disappointment at the moment. Disappointment caught short when he sees instead g'REgINalD.
Bravo! What an entrance! Bravo!
If Mulligan could speak it would be censored from all but the most salty of salty sailors.
We have to go!
Contrary to what Mulligan "said" to Skeletor and the G'rEGinAlD he doesn't immediately move but instead first grabs up the [Tooltip Not Found] and gives it's bellows a good pumping! (that sounds dirty!). A small cloud of thick smoke pours out in a 5-foot radius from the bellows. ((Each round thereafter, the radius increases by 5 feet until it reaches its maximum radius of 30 feet. If created in this way, the smoke cloud moves with the bellows, and is always centred on it.)). Mulligan figured a nice heavy obscurement of smoke cover might help keep them safe... And in general confuse the situation. He hadn't bothered to consider how a heavy obscurement of smoke would affect him in an area he was totally unaccustomed to and didn't know his way around. Colorful, salty language once more comes to mind but remains "unsaid."
OF COURSE G'ReginalD draws more attention even as Mulligan is trying to obscure it... But what's done is done.
Mulligan tries to grab Skeletor and shove him in his pack even as he tries to make his way towards the g'NoMe so they can perhaps flee together...
--- ((In addition to now trying to pick up the skeleton marionette (no idea if it is doll sized, life sized or what) Mulligan had previously tried to grab "The Champagne bottle and Flower Bouquet should fit easily enough into his backpack though, as well as the Pink Parasol. He quickly adds the Crystal Ball, Deck of Cards, Manacles and Smoking Pipe just because... Just because. Mulligan has passed over the skeleton marionette and is picking up and considering the Cracked Scream Goblin Mask when he hears the voice."
Did Mulligan succeed in grabbing and stowing any/all of the items? I don't suspect it matters much except for future RP but best to ask.))
Barria can't help but laugh when Greg makes his exuberant entrance. She follows behind Rowan, waving to the goblins as well, a grin on her face as she tries to wipe the dust from her clothes.
"Yes, hello there!" she's starting in on her own greeting and is thinking about asking the cranky gnome if he is alright, when smoke starts billowing from Mulligan and she starts a fit of coughing and looks to her friend. Hearing his urgency to get out of there, she lowers her voice and asks him, "Go where?" but is ready to follow him if he actually knows.
If they haven't answered or said anything since he and Barria greeted them, Rowan changes tack "Looks like a fire. Or at least smoke indicating a fire. Do you have that saying of where there's smoke, there's fire? Whoever came up with that has never burned their toast before but I suppose for the most part it holds true. Here for instance, a storeroom full of painted props and backgrounds is likely to be quite flammable. I would suggest the possibility of a fire should be taken seriously."
With that, he pushes through the doorway and out into the hallway, nudging any goblins to the side, creating a gap for Barria and anyone else following to come through.
Before Greg's entrance... Break-a-leg’s voice rattles softly in the dimness. Endelyn made me, y’know. But she said I was too bright for the stage. Too jolly, too jingle-jangle. Can’t have laughter in a tragedy, eh? So here I am, the happiest failure in the storeroom. He gives a wistful little shrug, his joints clacking like loose coins in a purse. But I still love the stage, you know. So I listen. I learn. Ah, theatre is wonderful. What you could do is...
Crash! Bang! Wallop!
The resulting dust is thick enough to choke on, but Break-a-leg claps and cheers enthusiastically. Greginald recovers with remarkable speed, launching into his best monologue ever, drawing every eye toward himself as thick smoke starts to pour from the far corner. Rowan, unfazed, strides from the haze and addresses the goblins peering in, who only stare back with suspicion and disapproval. Barria bursts through behind him, laughing between dusty coughs.
From the workshop beyond, a sharp feminine voice calls out: Nocturli! The word hangs in the air like a spell. There follows a chorus of shuffling, creaking wood, and the heavy drag of something large being pulled into motion. The smoke from Mulligan’s corner spreads further, curling along the floor and walls.
As the haze thickens, Amidor finally emerges from the tunnel, Glister close behind, his fiery hair blazing like a living torch. The goblins recoil, eyes wide with awe at the sight of the glowing elf.
The goblin crowd parts instinctively as Rowan presses forward through the smoke and clutter, stepping into the adjoining chamber. There, under bright torchlight, stands a tall human woman, resplendent even as her theatrical gown is still being pinned mid-adjustment by a nervous goblin tailor.
Surrounding her is a bizarre menagerie of living props: a stuffed owlbear rears with wings frozen mid-roar; a canvas flesh golem lurches awkwardly; a plaster statue of an elf king waves its scepter at nothing; a stuffed boar with a broken tusk snorts and totters closer; a wooden coffin snaps its lid near Rowan’s knee; a crooked stovepipe sways protectively above; and a wrought-iron gate shuffles across to block the stairway.
On a nearby barrel, a lantern flickers—and inside it, a brigganock stares out, hammering uselessly against the glass.
Surrounding her is a bizarre menagerie of animated stage props, moving with a life of their own: a stuffed owlbear rears with forelimbs frozen mid-roar; a canvas flesh golem lurches awkwardly; a plaster statue of an elf king waves his sceptre at nothing; a stuffed boar with a broken tusk snorts and trots closer; a wooden coffin snaps its lid near Rowan’s knee; a crooked stovepipe sways protectively over the woman; and a wrought-iron gate shuffles over to block the stairway.
On a nearby barrel, a lantern flickers, and inside it a brigganock stares futilely through the glass.
The woman barely glances at Rowan as he prattles on about the smoke. Shut up, idiot! she snaps, then looks beyond him toward the storeroom, her gaze following the goblins’ transfixed stares. Peering over the heads, of goblin, gnome, dwarf, and dandelion, her eyes find the shimmer of Glister’s hair and widen in disbelief.
YOU!
A beat passes. She scans the newcomers again: the dusty gnome, the armed dandelion, the smiling dwarf, the talkative elf. Then, as though the tension were only part of the act, her expression transforms into a radiant, practiced smile that belongs to the stage.
Extending her arms in gracious welcome, she croons:
Mulligan is at a loss for words. Not an unusual state for him, to be honest, but even thoughts wouldn't form in his head... When thoughts do eventually form again they are ones of shock. Surprise.
Is that the witch? Evelyn? Endora? Endolyn? He thinks he name was something like that but is that really her? Now? Already??? He supposes he expected to see her but not, like, immediately. He didn't think he... they were ready for this. What not? Fight? Flee? Hide?
Hide does seem to be the most mid of all the options, leaving everything else available. And he was already in a cloud of smoke...
You like it here or you want to escape with us?
He asks Break-a-Leg telepathically, either grabbing for them to bring them along or sidestepping away to put some distance between them depending on the answer. Mulligan then, as much as he can depending on how much the fog limits his own sight, attempts to go the the "northern" edge of the doorway and hide there - Not blocking the door but as the cloud moves with him hopefully obscuring himself and most of his companions from sight. (This would be like 1st of 6 rounds of the cloud cover, it would also expand from 5 to 10' radius...)
Interact with Object - Grab Break-A-Leg if he wants to join Movement - About 20' to edge of doorway Bonus Action: Cunning Action to Hide (Stealth: 20+ whatever bonus from the smoke cloud?) Action: Mulligan holds a throw of his Psychic Blades in case any of his friends are harmed...
Rowan registers the brigganock who appears to be trapped in the lantern. He wonders if that might be the missing brigganock they were asked to find and rescue.
Rowan smiles back at the woman and gives her a short bow.
"Hi. It's nice to be here. Is this the Motherhorn?" Rowan asks, gesturing at the basement area they find themselves in. "Or does that include upstairs as well? And you must be a performer? The lead I imagine?"
Rowan looks down at the goblins around him and waves at them again.
Realizing the others may want to come out of the smokey room, or at least not get themselves trapped in there as they have no way out behind them, Rowan moves further into the room. He nods and smiles at the stuffed owlbear before stopping by the brigganock inhabited lantern.
"This is something special. Does the little one inside power the light?"
Barria follows Rowan out of the storage room and out of the smoke; into the fray of the goblins. She looks around at the cacophony of different characters, wondering if they are alive or powered by some magic. It was curious indeed.
She watches as Rowan makes a beeline for the brigganock and wonders herself if he is the one they must rescue. And look at that, in a little carrying case all ready to go!
The dwarf walks up to the woman and does a little curtsy. "Why thank you! We have been itching to come here and meet all those within. My name is Barria Copperkettle, what is yours? And why, might I be so bold, do you have an issue with our travel companion? I'm sure his hair won't be a fire hazard in this place, no matter what my friend Rowan says."
Break-a-leg reverts to his 'backstage' voice and replies to Mulligan's question:
Well, I'd be lying if I said I hadn't contemplated escaping, even though I'd miss the theater. But if there's any chance of returning to the stage! What theater do you come from? Is it nice? Do they do comedy? Musicals?
The woman maintains her smile with some difficulty as Rowan asks his many questions, and replies without looking at him: Yes, the prima donna, as we say in the business. Then when the elf moves toward the brigganock, she adds curtly: Don't touch that!
The woman has purple markings across her face, and close up and in the light, Barria and Rowan can see that these are not stage make-up, but some kind of permanent tattoo. Her hair is sable black, and she is tall, thin, and beautiful in a somewhat scary way.
Her response toward Barria is a little more cordial, and her smile less forced:
I am called Charmay. Your travel companion is welcome also. However, his presence here does present both a problem and ... an opportunity. Charmay's eyes light up as she says almost to her herself. Yes. A performance that Endelyn will never forget!
Then the authoritative, commanding tone returns, and Charmay speaks quickly:
But first things first! These goblins must not be allowed to spoil our finale. Get rid of that dust or smoke or whatever it is, and find a costume for the sun-elf... something that will disguise that hair. I'll take care of the goblins.
She then turns away from the group and calls all the goblins to assemble before her in the northern part of the workshop, holding her staff high like a tour guide's flag. Gather around, you muppets! This way!
The animated props continue to block the exits from the room, with the gate remaining by the stairs, the owlbear in front of it, the elf-king and the flesh golem standing by the double doors that apparently lead outside, and the stove-pipe, the coffin and the boar moving into the south of the room to block an elevator.
Greginald is yet to emerge from the store-room, as Amidor and Gleam help to extract him from between a half-stuffed scarecrow and a ripped backdrop of a windswept beach. Mulligan remains obscured in the smoke, which is slowly expanding.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
How does a red dragon blow out the candles on its birthday cake?
Realizing the smoker is continuing to smoke and the cloud get bigger and bigger, Mulligan tries to turn the thing off. He can barely see and is afraid that soon it'll change from being a helpful obscurement into being a raging problem that'll just draw more and more investigation! With no off switch to speak of, Mulligan looks around for something that might contain it and the smoke it's spewing - a box or crate, perhaps? Perhaps one of the scene backgrounds could be wrapped around it?
Most recently I was at the Witchlight Carnival.
Mulligan projects this to Break-a-Leg while messing around with the smoker. It's not exactly true but not exactly a lie either, in response to their question.
I'm not exactly a professional actor. Barely even a hobbyist really. But I am sure we could find you somewhere you would be happier than a backroom.
Once Mulligan gets the smoker under control (or not), Mulligan secures Break-a-Leg into or onto his pack as well as he is able to (I'm kind of envisioning them waist deep in the backpack but the torso and arms sticking out and them looking over Mulligan's shadow, not unlike C3-PO and Chewbacca...but they may be too small or large for that.) and then going back to hiding near the door so he can listen and perhaps peek out at what is going on.
Charmay? So that is not Endelyn herself?
He asks / says "aloud" via telepathy to his new companion.
So she puts on the plays for Endelyn? And what happens after the plays? You spoken of losing shadows? I heard a rumor a great machine steals hope?
Mulligan has no idea how much the skeleton marionette may know but now seems a good time to try to find out...
Action - Try to stop smoke from expanding out even further. Bonus Action - Hide still / again
Rowan watches all the moving 'animated' creatures with some interest but keeps an eye on the expanding cloud of smoke as well.
He continues to the brigganock lantern.
"I could have helped with the performance if I had my lute, but some leprechauns stole it," Rowan says. "There seem to be so many rules here that can trip you up but we think the leprechauns really aren't playing by them."
He picks up the lantern and looks more closely at the brigganock.
"I can still tumble and jump and climb. Maybe I could sing. I don't do that very often but it is fun," Rowan says. Then he looks back to Charmay, while still holding the brigganock lantern. "If we helped make this play a big success, could you help us?"
Mulligan wraps the smoking bellows up in a threadbare black cape. It holds the smoke for a moment, but then leaks through the tears. He stuffs the smoking bundle into rusty dairy tureen and closes the lid. That seems to hold the smoke in, with only a few wisps escaping. All the while, Break-a-leg continues to answer Mulligan's questions...
I was at the Witchlight Carnival. ... I am sure we could find you somewhere you would be happier... Oh, a carnival! That would be fun! I could do with a belly laugh... I could do with a belly!
Charmay? So that is not Endelyn herself? Oh no, Endelyn doesn't come down here. Charmay is just Endelyn's favourite... for now, anyway.
So she puts on the plays for Endelyn? She doesn't do all the plays. There's lots of other actors. People from all over. Most of them aren't happy either.
You spoken of losing shadows? They've each lost something, I think... or given up something. Sometimes their shadows. I'm not sure really, most of the actors don't come down here. But Charmay does. I think she likes to be in charge. She doesn't look unhappy. Just... bossy.
And what happens after the plays? After each play? Well they prepare for another one, of course. The show must go on! They are always rehearsing.
I heard a rumor a great machine steals hope? A machine? You mean the Orrery of Tragedies!? Oh, that doesn't steal anything... it just predicts terrible things. Tragedies! But a machine that steals hope... that would make a great premise for a play! No, I don't think there's any machine here that steals hopes. Endelyn does that just fine herself... at least in my case.
---------------------------------------- Rowan speaks as he takes a closer look at the brigganock in the lantern. Charmay either ignores him, or too busy to respond. With the goblins gathered in front of her, she intones an arcane spell. The sense of magic fills the room, like the haze from a hot road on a summer day, without the heat. She lowers her voice as she leans over them, not a soft but an intense voice:
None of you saw a sun-elf in this workshop. None of you saw anyone climb through a wall. She pauses as she catches sight of the expanding smoke. None of you saw anything out of order in my workshop, she finishes through thinly veiled irritation.
Charmay taps the gem at the end of her staff. Once. Twice. A third time. Each tap emits a subtle chime... musical and hypnotic. The goblins' faces glaze over slightly, just for a moment, and then they all turn as one, spread out, and quietly go back to work.
Charmay looks up, sees Rowan with the lantern in his hand, and says with a voice like a frustrated parent to a small child: I said, don't...! Then toning down to a politer voice: ...don't touch that. ... Please.
The haze of smoke hasn't grown any further, and in fact is starting to dissipate. Satisfied that her instructions thus far have been followed, Charmay moves back toward the store room, beckoning to Rowan and Barria.
Let us speak in here, privately.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
How does a red dragon blow out the candles on its birthday cake?
Once G'Reginald is extracted he dusts himself off and gives Glister a knowing nod, trying to convey that whatever this woman has in store for him the group would likely protect him and the flower knight. "So let me get this right..." the gnome begins walking to the rest of the group and adressing Charmay directly, "you, an actor in Endelyn's plays would diguise an uninvited guest in an attempt to obfuscate the truth from your dear good lady? what's in it for you? hm? you give orders and make declarations but who the hell are you? this show wouldn't be possible with out these goblins and you treat them like dirt, Worse than dirt!" making a pivot from his previous statements of wanting the goblins to do better, he tries to get them more on side with an attempt at their unappreciated working conditions, this in the hopes that they'll be more easy to persuade should the need arise later.
Charmay smirks sideways at Greginald, amused. She is tall, even for a human. Her hand drifts theatrically to her heart, voice dripping with mock astonishment.
My, my. A champion of goblinkind. And a gnome, of all people!
Gesturing toward the goblins, who are back at work in the adjoining workshop, she says sweetly:
Tell me, dear gnome... would you have rushed so bravely to their defense if you’d met them on the road? Or is outrage simply your favorite role today?
She lets the question hang, smirking still, her fingers sliding idly up and down her staff. Then once she has the undivided attention of every newcomer, she drops the act.
But let’s speak plainly, shall we? Obfuscate the truth? Absolutely! I do it often. Endelyn only loves truth when she’s the one twisting it. I am no hag-thrall.
She bends down toward Greginald, voice lowering to a conspiratorial purr.
As for what’s in it for me...
A pause. A smile. Then a slow enunciation of each word:
Exactly - the same - as what’s in it - for you.
Charmay stands erect once more, pausing again for dramatic effect before expounding:
You don’t tunnel into Motherhorn unless you’re hoping to deceive the hostess. Only the honest ones... or the desperate ones... come through the front door, waving their invitations. No, you're bolder than that...
She tilts her head.
But still foolish. You don't even comprehend your most potent weapon...
Her eyes flick toward Glister, sparkling, before she turns away momentarily. Then pivoting back with a dramatic swish of her dress, and a voice that would reach the back seats, she confidently declares:
Endelyn’s time is over. She has foreseen her own doom, and you have brought it to her. I intend to be standing when her curtain falls, preferably on her head. With the right allies, perhaps even ones who blunder through storerooms, together we might actually make this work.
With a charming smile and a flutter of eyelashes, Charmay concludes:
So... Shall we drop the accusations and discuss how we help each other?
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
How does a red dragon blow out the candles on its birthday cake?
Rowan keeps holding onto the lantern with the brigganock. He's of the opinion that this probably is the one he said they would try and rescue so he's not giving up on that just yet.
But he does hold it behind his back as to not antagonize Charmay any further.
"Sure. So you would like this place to be yours? Is that what you've said? There was a lot of metaphor and innuendo in everything you said so it was hard to follow along. Do you really want to stand on her head or was that more of a figurative statement? It makes a difference when planning things out. I think we might need to find some ropes and pulleys to make it literally work. But figuratively, well that opens up a lot more possibilities."
He looks at the group.
"A lot of things and people have been stolen from this group and we think some of them are kept here." Rowan says.
Charmay’s head turns slowly toward Rowan, her smile curdling into something brittle and gleaming. Oh, darling, she says, each syllable wrapped in velvet and venom, I was being plain. If that was too complex for you, I truly don’t know how to help.
Her gaze drops, quite deliberately, to the lantern Rowan is trying, and failing, to conceal. She lets the silence linger just long enough to sting. And look at you. Still clutching the one thing I explicitly told you to leave alone. Twice.
She clicks her tongue. It’s very hard to plan the toppling of a hag with someone who can’t follow the simplest instruction about not touching things that don’t belong to him.
One long, exasperated sigh, exaggerated. But! Since we are apparently committed to absolute simplicity today... She straightens, staff tapping once against the floor.
Yes, I intend to take control of Motherhorn once Endelyn’s final act concludes. Someone must. Would you leave this realm to the darklings? Or the goblins? I respect their strengths, truly, but order and vision are hardly among them.
She places a hand delicately atop her staff, posture regal. And make no mistake... I have no delusions of overthrowing the rightful sovereign of this land. With our aid, we can see to it that Zybilna returns to claim her throne. Then I will kneel, smile, and serve… at least until invited to stand. Every realm needs loyal governors, after all. And it's been proven that mere mortals with the right backing might rise to form fey domains of their own.
Her eyes narrow with glittering ambition. But Motherhorn could be so much more than Endelyn’s bleak little mausoleum of misery. Levity. Delight. A stage worthy of a fey court, not a prison for deluded dreamers. Under my guidance, the sun would shine again in Yon, and its people would finally breathe.
She softens into a predatory smile. And if proving my worth to the crown means helping the right heroes topple a traitorous hag... She gives a graceful shrug. Then I suppose I’m willing to play my part.
Her attention snaps back to the lantern. As for that little brigganock you’re so desperate to hide... Her smile becomes slow and predatory. Keep it, if you must. If it’s that important to you, consider it yours. A gift. Or perhaps an investment.
She leans in just close enough to make it clear she is testing him. But if we are going to work together, dear, simple one, you will have to learn to stop grabbing at everything that sparkles and start listening when someone speaks plainly.
She pulls back, expression returning to cool poise. Now then. Shall we talk like adults about removing a hag from her stage?
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
How does a red dragon blow out the candles on its birthday cake?
"I'm not one to take actors at their word but I would hear your plan." G'Reg states bringing Charmay's attention back to him. "you say you are no Hag thrall but you speak openly infront of others, can you speak to their loyalties?" he getures at the goblins and the odd animated objects around. At this pooint the gnome moves all the way up to where Rowan is and places himself between the elf and the actress, hoping to give rowan a little time to do what he likes with the brigganock lantern.
Charmay's eyes sparkle at the gnome's straightforward tone, but she responds just as keenly:
As for the goblins, dear gnome...
She gestures vaguely toward the workshop.
They can’t hear us in here. And I have already plucked the memory of your arrival clean from their little minds. They remember nothing, and they certainly won’t be repeating anything.
A thin, satisfied smile.
Now, as to the plan. Since subtlety is wasted on some of you...
Her glance snaps toward Rowan as the lantern glints behind his back.
Her staff taps once on the stone floor; sharp, decisive.
Before anything else, you must perform. Endelyn expects it of all new arrivals. None may move freely through the castle until they have impressed the Lady of Tragedies. As it is, your unorthodox entrance will arouse suspicion among the darklings, so we must turn this to our advantage. If you appear on-stage immediately and unexpectedly, this will surprise and amuse her ladyship. You'll need that.
A flourish of the hand.
Do your little play, take your bows, and then, only then, can we begin.
TWO!
Her staff taps twice on the floor, after whish she leans toward Glister, her smile softening only for him.
The boy stays in this storeroom until I say otherwise.
Her tone brooks no argument. Then, to the party, she adds:
If Endelyn sees him, or even so much as catches a rumor of him, the entire plan burns to ash. He is the cat, and if he slips bag too soon, every darkling in Motherhorn will swarm
Charmay sighs, as though realising she has missed a crucial plot point.
The worst-kept secret in Motherhorn, is this: Endelyn Moongrave cannot die except during a solar eclipse. A finger lifts. Or... a representation of one. She has foreseen this, and it haunts her day and night. Together, the Selenhelion Twins cast the perfect symbolic eclipse. Their union is the moment the hag fears, for then and only then she becomes mortal. That is why she kidnapped Gleam, and holds her prisoner: to separate the twins.
Her eyes flick to Glister, then back to the group.
Gleam is in the prison room, locked behind wards that only the master of ceremonies may breach, a goblin named Stagefright. You will need his scepter, or a miracle, to reach her. I would fetch it myself, but I must maintain my semblance of loyalty.
A pointed smile.
Once you have free rein within the castle, you must find a way to breach the wards, either with the goblin's scepter, or with your own ingenuity. Whichever option you employ, it must be discreet. Then glancing sideways at Rowan... If you can be trusted not to pick up every glowing object put in front of you.
Charmay raises her eyebrows to ensure that her audience is following along so far, and then...
THREE! (Three taps with the staff.)
We confront Endelyn, but in this, there are several obstacles that must be dealt with. First, Endelyn must not escape. Once she perceives her end is nigh, she will flee, either on that ridiculous bird-machine of hers, or through magic. We must stop her. Ground her ornithopter. Block her magic. Trap her. I don’t care how. Second, the darklings will defend her. Handle them. Distract them. Command them. Terrify them. I'm sure you have your ways. Once Gleam is freed, and Glister is brought forth, the show begins. It will be on the stage, before her beloved audience. We deny her escape and neutralise her minions. And when the twins form their eclipse, we kill her.
A dazzling, condescending smile.
And that's curtains! Now. What do you bring to the table? Tell me your assets, your talents, your little secrets. And do try to impress me... this is your audition, after all. In what roles shall I cast you, for our grand finale?
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How does a red dragon blow out the candles on its birthday cake?
Greg furrows his brows and crosses his arms once more, his go to reaction it seems when he is being told what to do. "I don't like it, waaaay too many variables. Too much to go wrong. You say we should perform immediately to gain free access across the tower, this would certainly help, but then we would need to perform again once the settings of your plan are in place and take her down..." He thinks for a moment. "...how protective is she of her prisoner? Enough to come for a fight if she was made aware of the wards being dispelled? If so I might have the workings of a simpler plan"
Rowan watches Greg's entrance with a growing look of amazement and amusement.
He looks back at Glister and Amidor, "Well that appears to have settled it. I believe we have announced our presence."
Rowan steps through the opening, and gingerly steps around the chaotic mess that Greg has created.
He walks up to the goblins and waves a greeting.
"Hi, we came in through the wall there," Rowan says. "Is this the theatre?"
Greg freezes like a rabbit caught in the mesmerizing glow of hooded lanternlight afront a cart, the dust settles around him and he does what he always does when caaught doing something he isn't supposed to, he thinks.
The gnome calculates several things very quickly, he accounts for the things that he knows of Endelyn, the things he heard the goblins shouting mere moments ago before his massive cockup, he then clears his throat loudly, "...AND that my fellow actors is what we are looking for! Exemplified before your very eyes! not simply the sweet despair that our good lady is looking for. But a MOUNTING series of MISFORTUNE, a CRESCENDO of CHAOS which builds and BUILDS! until our main character has no way of stopping the dominoes falling and must succumb to despair for there is no alternative! no hope left! gone are the days of flash in the pan hopelessness, WE MUST DO BETTER!"
G'reg however does not calculate that Rowan has made an appearance giving the whole game away.
Can you do more than play dead? I could use a partner maybe but what is your range?
Mulligan asks this telepathically, of course.
I only just arrived with a couple others. Haven't even had a chance to show anyone our invitations yet. We really don't know the process or what to expect. Besides go for grief and tragedy, what can you tell us?
Mulligan suspects this poor set of bones doesn't know much that will help them but he figures it is worth a try. Perhaps they too started off as a stranger in the land who got a mysterious invitation... Stranger things have happened.
Mulligan winces and freezes for a moment, slowly turning his head towards the way he came here from.
That must be Rowan...
Mulligan's telepathic communications don't really convey tone or inflection but it is still obvious to first the marionette and then to the Group Chat that Mulligan is feeling an intense disappointment at the moment. Disappointment caught short when he sees instead g'REgINalD.
If Mulligan could speak it would be censored from all but the most salty of salty sailors.
We have to go!
Contrary to what Mulligan "said" to Skeletor and the G'rEGinAlD he doesn't immediately move but instead first grabs up the [Tooltip Not Found] and gives it's bellows a good pumping! (that sounds dirty!). A small cloud of thick smoke pours out in a 5-foot radius from the bellows. ((Each round thereafter, the radius increases by 5 feet until it reaches its maximum radius of 30 feet. If created in this way, the smoke cloud moves with the bellows, and is always centred on it.)). Mulligan figured a nice heavy obscurement of smoke cover might help keep them safe... And in general confuse the situation. He hadn't bothered to consider how a heavy obscurement of smoke would affect him in an area he was totally unaccustomed to and didn't know his way around. Colorful, salty language once more comes to mind but remains "unsaid."
OF COURSE G'ReginalD draws more attention even as Mulligan is trying to obscure it... But what's done is done.
Mulligan tries to grab Skeletor and shove him in his pack even as he tries to make his way towards the g'NoMe so they can perhaps flee together...
---
((In addition to now trying to pick up the skeleton marionette (no idea if it is doll sized, life sized or what) Mulligan had previously tried to grab "The Champagne bottle and Flower Bouquet should fit easily enough into his backpack though, as well as the Pink Parasol. He quickly adds the Crystal Ball, Deck of Cards, Manacles and Smoking Pipe just because... Just because. Mulligan has passed over the skeleton marionette and is picking up and considering the Cracked Scream Goblin Mask when he hears the voice."
Did Mulligan succeed in grabbing and stowing any/all of the items? I don't suspect it matters much except for future RP but best to ask.))
Barria can't help but laugh when Greg makes his exuberant entrance. She follows behind Rowan, waving to the goblins as well, a grin on her face as she tries to wipe the dust from her clothes.
"Yes, hello there!" she's starting in on her own greeting and is thinking about asking the cranky gnome if he is alright, when smoke starts billowing from Mulligan and she starts a fit of coughing and looks to her friend. Hearing his urgency to get out of there, she lowers her voice and asks him, "Go where?" but is ready to follow him if he actually knows.
Rowan looks back from the goblins to the smoke.
If they haven't answered or said anything since he and Barria greeted them, Rowan changes tack "Looks like a fire. Or at least smoke indicating a fire. Do you have that saying of where there's smoke, there's fire? Whoever came up with that has never burned their toast before but I suppose for the most part it holds true. Here for instance, a storeroom full of painted props and backgrounds is likely to be quite flammable. I would suggest the possibility of a fire should be taken seriously."
With that, he pushes through the doorway and out into the hallway, nudging any goblins to the side, creating a gap for Barria and anyone else following to come through.
Before Greg's entrance...
Break-a-leg’s voice rattles softly in the dimness. Endelyn made me, y’know. But she said I was too bright for the stage. Too jolly, too jingle-jangle. Can’t have laughter in a tragedy, eh? So here I am, the happiest failure in the storeroom. He gives a wistful little shrug, his joints clacking like loose coins in a purse. But I still love the stage, you know. So I listen. I learn. Ah, theatre is wonderful. What you could do is...
Crash! Bang! Wallop!
The resulting dust is thick enough to choke on, but Break-a-leg claps and cheers enthusiastically. Greginald recovers with remarkable speed, launching into his best monologue ever, drawing every eye toward himself as thick smoke starts to pour from the far corner. Rowan, unfazed, strides from the haze and addresses the goblins peering in, who only stare back with suspicion and disapproval. Barria bursts through behind him, laughing between dusty coughs.
From the workshop beyond, a sharp feminine voice calls out: Nocturli! The word hangs in the air like a spell. There follows a chorus of shuffling, creaking wood, and the heavy drag of something large being pulled into motion. The smoke from Mulligan’s corner spreads further, curling along the floor and walls.
As the haze thickens, Amidor finally emerges from the tunnel, Glister close behind, his fiery hair blazing like a living torch. The goblins recoil, eyes wide with awe at the sight of the glowing elf.
The goblin crowd parts instinctively as Rowan presses forward through the smoke and clutter, stepping into the adjoining chamber. There, under bright torchlight, stands a tall human woman, resplendent even as her theatrical gown is still being pinned mid-adjustment by a nervous goblin tailor.
Surrounding her is a bizarre menagerie of living props: a stuffed owlbear rears with wings frozen mid-roar; a canvas flesh golem lurches awkwardly; a plaster statue of an elf king waves its scepter at nothing; a stuffed boar with a broken tusk snorts and totters closer; a wooden coffin snaps its lid near Rowan’s knee; a crooked stovepipe sways protectively above; and a wrought-iron gate shuffles across to block the stairway.
On a nearby barrel, a lantern flickers—and inside it, a brigganock stares out, hammering uselessly against the glass.
Surrounding her is a bizarre menagerie of animated stage props, moving with a life of their own: a stuffed owlbear rears with forelimbs frozen mid-roar; a canvas flesh golem lurches awkwardly; a plaster statue of an elf king waves his sceptre at nothing; a stuffed boar with a broken tusk snorts and trots closer; a wooden coffin snaps its lid near Rowan’s knee; a crooked stovepipe sways protectively over the woman; and a wrought-iron gate shuffles over to block the stairway.
On a nearby barrel, a lantern flickers, and inside it a brigganock stares futilely through the glass.
The woman barely glances at Rowan as he prattles on about the smoke. Shut up, idiot! she snaps, then looks beyond him toward the storeroom, her gaze following the goblins’ transfixed stares. Peering over the heads, of goblin, gnome, dwarf, and dandelion, her eyes find the shimmer of Glister’s hair and widen in disbelief.
YOU!
A beat passes. She scans the newcomers again: the dusty gnome, the armed dandelion, the smiling dwarf, the talkative elf. Then, as though the tension were only part of the act, her expression transforms into a radiant, practiced smile that belongs to the stage.
Extending her arms in gracious welcome, she croons:
Welcome to Motherhorn, friends...
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Here's a map. This is not to suggest a battle, but just to get a picture of the scene.
How does a red dragon blow out the candles on its birthday cake?
Mulligan is at a loss for words. Not an unusual state for him, to be honest, but even thoughts wouldn't form in his head... When thoughts do eventually form again they are ones of shock. Surprise.
Is that the witch? Evelyn? Endora? Endolyn? He thinks he name was something like that but is that really her? Now? Already??? He supposes he expected to see her but not, like, immediately. He didn't think he... they were ready for this. What not? Fight? Flee? Hide?
Hide does seem to be the most mid of all the options, leaving everything else available. And he was already in a cloud of smoke...
You like it here or you want to escape with us?
He asks Break-a-Leg telepathically, either grabbing for them to bring them along or sidestepping away to put some distance between them depending on the answer. Mulligan then, as much as he can depending on how much the fog limits his own sight, attempts to go the the "northern" edge of the doorway and hide there - Not blocking the door but as the cloud moves with him hopefully obscuring himself and most of his companions from sight. (This would be like 1st of 6 rounds of the cloud cover, it would also expand from 5 to 10' radius...)
Interact with Object - Grab Break-A-Leg if he wants to join
Movement - About 20' to edge of doorway
Bonus Action: Cunning Action to Hide (Stealth: 20+ whatever bonus from the smoke cloud?)
Action: Mulligan holds a throw of his Psychic Blades in case any of his friends are harmed...
Rowan registers the brigganock who appears to be trapped in the lantern. He wonders if that might be the missing brigganock they were asked to find and rescue.
Rowan smiles back at the woman and gives her a short bow.
"Hi. It's nice to be here. Is this the Motherhorn?" Rowan asks, gesturing at the basement area they find themselves in. "Or does that include upstairs as well? And you must be a performer? The lead I imagine?"
Rowan looks down at the goblins around him and waves at them again.
Realizing the others may want to come out of the smokey room, or at least not get themselves trapped in there as they have no way out behind them, Rowan moves further into the room. He nods and smiles at the stuffed owlbear before stopping by the brigganock inhabited lantern.
"This is something special. Does the little one inside power the light?"
Barria follows Rowan out of the storage room and out of the smoke; into the fray of the goblins. She looks around at the cacophony of different characters, wondering if they are alive or powered by some magic. It was curious indeed.
She watches as Rowan makes a beeline for the brigganock and wonders herself if he is the one they must rescue. And look at that, in a little carrying case all ready to go!
The dwarf walks up to the woman and does a little curtsy. "Why thank you! We have been itching to come here and meet all those within. My name is Barria Copperkettle, what is yours? And why, might I be so bold, do you have an issue with our travel companion? I'm sure his hair won't be a fire hazard in this place, no matter what my friend Rowan says."
Break-a-leg reverts to his 'backstage' voice and replies to Mulligan's question:
Well, I'd be lying if I said I hadn't contemplated escaping, even though I'd miss the theater. But if there's any chance of returning to the stage! What theater do you come from? Is it nice? Do they do comedy? Musicals?
The woman maintains her smile with some difficulty as Rowan asks his many questions, and replies without looking at him:
Yes, the prima donna, as we say in the business.
Then when the elf moves toward the brigganock, she adds curtly: Don't touch that!
The woman has purple markings across her face, and close up and in the light, Barria and Rowan can see that these are not stage make-up, but some kind of permanent tattoo. Her hair is sable black, and she is tall, thin, and beautiful in a somewhat scary way.
Her response toward Barria is a little more cordial, and her smile less forced:
I am called Charmay. Your travel companion is welcome also. However, his presence here does present both a problem and ... an opportunity. Charmay's eyes light up as she says almost to her herself. Yes. A performance that Endelyn will never forget!
Then the authoritative, commanding tone returns, and Charmay speaks quickly:
But first things first! These goblins must not be allowed to spoil our finale. Get rid of that dust or smoke or whatever it is, and find a costume for the sun-elf... something that will disguise that hair. I'll take care of the goblins.
She then turns away from the group and calls all the goblins to assemble before her in the northern part of the workshop, holding her staff high like a tour guide's flag.
Gather around, you muppets! This way!
The animated props continue to block the exits from the room, with the gate remaining by the stairs, the owlbear in front of it, the elf-king and the flesh golem standing by the double doors that apparently lead outside, and the stove-pipe, the coffin and the boar moving into the south of the room to block an elevator.
Greginald is yet to emerge from the store-room, as Amidor and Gleam help to extract him from between a half-stuffed scarecrow and a ripped backdrop of a windswept beach. Mulligan remains obscured in the smoke, which is slowly expanding.
How does a red dragon blow out the candles on its birthday cake?
Realizing the smoker is continuing to smoke and the cloud get bigger and bigger, Mulligan tries to turn the thing off. He can barely see and is afraid that soon it'll change from being a helpful obscurement into being a raging problem that'll just draw more and more investigation! With no off switch to speak of, Mulligan looks around for something that might contain it and the smoke it's spewing - a box or crate, perhaps? Perhaps one of the scene backgrounds could be wrapped around it?
Most recently I was at the Witchlight Carnival.
Mulligan projects this to Break-a-Leg while messing around with the smoker. It's not exactly true but not exactly a lie either, in response to their question.
I'm not exactly a professional actor. Barely even a hobbyist really. But I am sure we could find you somewhere you would be happier than a backroom.
Once Mulligan gets the smoker under control (or not), Mulligan secures Break-a-Leg into or onto his pack as well as he is able to (I'm kind of envisioning them waist deep in the backpack but the torso and arms sticking out and them looking over Mulligan's shadow, not unlike C3-PO and Chewbacca...but they may be too small or large for that.) and then going back to hiding near the door so he can listen and perhaps peek out at what is going on.
Charmay? So that is not Endelyn herself?
He asks / says "aloud" via telepathy to his new companion.
So she puts on the plays for Endelyn? And what happens after the plays? You spoken of losing shadows? I heard a rumor a great machine steals hope?
Mulligan has no idea how much the skeleton marionette may know but now seems a good time to try to find out...
Action - Try to stop smoke from expanding out even further.
Bonus Action - Hide still / again
Rowan watches all the moving 'animated' creatures with some interest but keeps an eye on the expanding cloud of smoke as well.
He continues to the brigganock lantern.
"I could have helped with the performance if I had my lute, but some leprechauns stole it," Rowan says. "There seem to be so many rules here that can trip you up but we think the leprechauns really aren't playing by them."
He picks up the lantern and looks more closely at the brigganock.
"I can still tumble and jump and climb. Maybe I could sing. I don't do that very often but it is fun," Rowan says. Then he looks back to Charmay, while still holding the brigganock lantern. "If we helped make this play a big success, could you help us?"
Mulligan wraps the smoking bellows up in a threadbare black cape. It holds the smoke for a moment, but then leaks through the tears. He stuffs the smoking bundle into rusty dairy tureen and closes the lid. That seems to hold the smoke in, with only a few wisps escaping. All the while, Break-a-leg continues to answer Mulligan's questions...
I was at the Witchlight Carnival. ... I am sure we could find you somewhere you would be happier...
Oh, a carnival! That would be fun! I could do with a belly laugh... I could do with a belly!
Charmay? So that is not Endelyn herself?
Oh no, Endelyn doesn't come down here. Charmay is just Endelyn's favourite... for now, anyway.
So she puts on the plays for Endelyn?
She doesn't do all the plays. There's lots of other actors. People from all over. Most of them aren't happy either.
You spoken of losing shadows?
They've each lost something, I think... or given up something. Sometimes their shadows. I'm not sure really, most of the actors don't come down here. But Charmay does. I think she likes to be in charge. She doesn't look unhappy. Just... bossy.
And what happens after the plays?
After each play? Well they prepare for another one, of course. The show must go on! They are always rehearsing.
I heard a rumor a great machine steals hope?
A machine? You mean the Orrery of Tragedies!? Oh, that doesn't steal anything... it just predicts terrible things. Tragedies! But a machine that steals hope... that would make a great premise for a play! No, I don't think there's any machine here that steals hopes. Endelyn does that just fine herself... at least in my case.
----------------------------------------
Rowan speaks as he takes a closer look at the brigganock in the lantern. Charmay either ignores him, or too busy to respond. With the goblins gathered in front of her, she intones an arcane spell. The sense of magic fills the room, like the haze from a hot road on a summer day, without the heat. She lowers her voice as she leans over them, not a soft but an intense voice:
None of you saw a sun-elf in this workshop. None of you saw anyone climb through a wall. She pauses as she catches sight of the expanding smoke.
None of you saw anything out of order in my workshop, she finishes through thinly veiled irritation.
Charmay taps the gem at the end of her staff. Once. Twice. A third time. Each tap emits a subtle chime... musical and hypnotic. The goblins' faces glaze over slightly, just for a moment, and then they all turn as one, spread out, and quietly go back to work.
Charmay looks up, sees Rowan with the lantern in his hand, and says with a voice like a frustrated parent to a small child:
I said, don't...! Then toning down to a politer voice: ...don't touch that. ... Please.
The haze of smoke hasn't grown any further, and in fact is starting to dissipate. Satisfied that her instructions thus far have been followed, Charmay moves back toward the store room, beckoning to Rowan and Barria.
Let us speak in here, privately.
How does a red dragon blow out the candles on its birthday cake?
Once G'Reginald is extracted he dusts himself off and gives Glister a knowing nod, trying to convey that whatever this woman has in store for him the group would likely protect him and the flower knight. "So let me get this right..." the gnome begins walking to the rest of the group and adressing Charmay directly, "you, an actor in Endelyn's plays would diguise an uninvited guest in an attempt to obfuscate the truth from your dear good lady? what's in it for you? hm? you give orders and make declarations but who the hell are you? this show wouldn't be possible with out these goblins and you treat them like dirt, Worse than dirt!" making a pivot from his previous statements of wanting the goblins to do better, he tries to get them more on side with an attempt at their unappreciated working conditions, this in the hopes that they'll be more easy to persuade should the need arise later.
Charmay smirks sideways at Greginald, amused. She is tall, even for a human. Her hand drifts theatrically to her heart, voice dripping with mock astonishment.
My, my. A champion of goblinkind. And a gnome, of all people!
Gesturing toward the goblins, who are back at work in the adjoining workshop, she says sweetly:
Tell me, dear gnome... would you have rushed so bravely to their defense if you’d met them on the road? Or is outrage simply your favorite role today?
She lets the question hang, smirking still, her fingers sliding idly up and down her staff. Then once she has the undivided attention of every newcomer, she drops the act.
But let’s speak plainly, shall we? Obfuscate the truth? Absolutely! I do it often. Endelyn only loves truth when she’s the one twisting it. I am no hag-thrall.
She bends down toward Greginald, voice lowering to a conspiratorial purr.
As for what’s in it for me...
A pause. A smile. Then a slow enunciation of each word:
Exactly - the same - as what’s in it - for you.
Charmay stands erect once more, pausing again for dramatic effect before expounding:
You don’t tunnel into Motherhorn unless you’re hoping to deceive the hostess. Only the honest ones... or the desperate ones... come through the front door, waving their invitations. No, you're bolder than that...
She tilts her head.
But still foolish. You don't even comprehend your most potent weapon...
Her eyes flick toward Glister, sparkling, before she turns away momentarily. Then pivoting back with a dramatic swish of her dress, and a voice that would reach the back seats, she confidently declares:
Endelyn’s time is over. She has foreseen her own doom, and you have brought it to her. I intend to be standing when her curtain falls, preferably on her head. With the right allies, perhaps even ones who blunder through storerooms, together we might actually make this work.
With a charming smile and a flutter of eyelashes, Charmay concludes:
So... Shall we drop the accusations and discuss how we help each other?
How does a red dragon blow out the candles on its birthday cake?
Rowan keeps holding onto the lantern with the brigganock. He's of the opinion that this probably is the one he said they would try and rescue so he's not giving up on that just yet.
But he does hold it behind his back as to not antagonize Charmay any further.
"Sure. So you would like this place to be yours? Is that what you've said? There was a lot of metaphor and innuendo in everything you said so it was hard to follow along. Do you really want to stand on her head or was that more of a figurative statement? It makes a difference when planning things out. I think we might need to find some ropes and pulleys to make it literally work. But figuratively, well that opens up a lot more possibilities."
He looks at the group.
"A lot of things and people have been stolen from this group and we think some of them are kept here." Rowan says.
Charmay’s head turns slowly toward Rowan, her smile curdling into something brittle and gleaming.
Oh, darling, she says, each syllable wrapped in velvet and venom,
I was being plain. If that was too complex for you, I truly don’t know how to help.
Her gaze drops, quite deliberately, to the lantern Rowan is trying, and failing, to conceal. She lets the silence linger just long enough to sting.
And look at you. Still clutching the one thing I explicitly told you to leave alone. Twice.
She clicks her tongue.
It’s very hard to plan the toppling of a hag with someone who can’t follow the simplest instruction about not touching things that don’t belong to him.
One long, exasperated sigh, exaggerated.
But! Since we are apparently committed to absolute simplicity today...
She straightens, staff tapping once against the floor.
Yes, I intend to take control of Motherhorn once Endelyn’s final act concludes. Someone must. Would you leave this realm to the darklings? Or the goblins? I respect their strengths, truly, but order and vision are hardly among them.
She places a hand delicately atop her staff, posture regal.
And make no mistake... I have no delusions of overthrowing the rightful sovereign of this land. With our aid, we can see to it that Zybilna returns to claim her throne. Then I will kneel, smile, and serve… at least until invited to stand. Every realm needs loyal governors, after all. And it's been proven that mere mortals with the right backing might rise to form fey domains of their own.
Her eyes narrow with glittering ambition.
But Motherhorn could be so much more than Endelyn’s bleak little mausoleum of misery. Levity. Delight. A stage worthy of a fey court, not a prison for deluded dreamers. Under my guidance, the sun would shine again in Yon, and its people would finally breathe.
She softens into a predatory smile.
And if proving my worth to the crown means helping the right heroes topple a traitorous hag... She gives a graceful shrug. Then I suppose I’m willing to play my part.
Her attention snaps back to the lantern.
As for that little brigganock you’re so desperate to hide... Her smile becomes slow and predatory. Keep it, if you must. If it’s that important to you, consider it yours. A gift. Or perhaps an investment.
She leans in just close enough to make it clear she is testing him.
But if we are going to work together, dear, simple one, you will have to learn to stop grabbing at everything that sparkles and start listening when someone speaks plainly.
She pulls back, expression returning to cool poise.
Now then. Shall we talk like adults about removing a hag from her stage?
How does a red dragon blow out the candles on its birthday cake?
"I'm not one to take actors at their word but I would hear your plan." G'Reg states bringing Charmay's attention back to him. "you say you are no Hag thrall but you speak openly infront of others, can you speak to their loyalties?" he getures at the goblins and the odd animated objects around. At this pooint the gnome moves all the way up to where Rowan is and places himself between the elf and the actress, hoping to give rowan a little time to do what he likes with the brigganock lantern.
Charmay's eyes sparkle at the gnome's straightforward tone, but she responds just as keenly:
As for the goblins, dear gnome...
She gestures vaguely toward the workshop.
They can’t hear us in here. And I have already plucked the memory of your arrival clean from their little minds. They remember nothing, and they certainly won’t be repeating anything.
A thin, satisfied smile.
Now, as to the plan. Since subtlety is wasted on some of you...
Her glance snaps toward Rowan as the lantern glints behind his back.
...I’ll speak plainly. Utterly, painfully plainly.
ONE!
Her staff taps once on the stone floor; sharp, decisive.
Before anything else, you must perform. Endelyn expects it of all new arrivals. None may move freely through the castle until they have impressed the Lady of Tragedies. As it is, your unorthodox entrance will arouse suspicion among the darklings, so we must turn this to our advantage. If you appear on-stage immediately and unexpectedly, this will surprise and amuse her ladyship. You'll need that.
A flourish of the hand.
Do your little play, take your bows, and then, only then, can we begin.
TWO!
Her staff taps twice on the floor, after whish she leans toward Glister, her smile softening only for him.
The boy stays in this storeroom until I say otherwise.
Her tone brooks no argument. Then, to the party, she adds:
If Endelyn sees him, or even so much as catches a rumor of him, the entire plan burns to ash. He is the cat, and if he slips bag too soon, every darkling in Motherhorn will swarm
Charmay sighs, as though realising she has missed a crucial plot point.
The worst-kept secret in Motherhorn, is this: Endelyn Moongrave cannot die except during a solar eclipse. A finger lifts. Or... a representation of one. She has foreseen this, and it haunts her day and night. Together, the Selenhelion Twins cast the perfect symbolic eclipse. Their union is the moment the hag fears, for then and only then she becomes mortal. That is why she kidnapped Gleam, and holds her prisoner: to separate the twins.
Her eyes flick to Glister, then back to the group.
Gleam is in the prison room, locked behind wards that only the master of ceremonies may breach, a goblin named Stagefright. You will need his scepter, or a miracle, to reach her. I would fetch it myself, but I must maintain my semblance of loyalty.
A pointed smile.
Once you have free rein within the castle, you must find a way to breach the wards, either with the goblin's scepter, or with your own ingenuity. Whichever option you employ, it must be discreet. Then glancing sideways at Rowan... If you can be trusted not to pick up every glowing object put in front of you.
Charmay raises her eyebrows to ensure that her audience is following along so far, and then...
THREE! (Three taps with the staff.)
We confront Endelyn, but in this, there are several obstacles that must be dealt with.
First, Endelyn must not escape. Once she perceives her end is nigh, she will flee, either on that ridiculous bird-machine of hers, or through magic. We must stop her. Ground her ornithopter. Block her magic. Trap her. I don’t care how.
Second, the darklings will defend her. Handle them. Distract them. Command them. Terrify them. I'm sure you have your ways.
Once Gleam is freed, and Glister is brought forth, the show begins. It will be on the stage, before her beloved audience. We deny her escape and neutralise her minions. And when the twins form their eclipse, we kill her.
A dazzling, condescending smile.
And that's curtains!
Now. What do you bring to the table? Tell me your assets, your talents, your little secrets. And do try to impress me... this is your audition, after all. In what roles shall I cast you, for our grand finale?
How does a red dragon blow out the candles on its birthday cake?
Greg furrows his brows and crosses his arms once more, his go to reaction it seems when he is being told what to do. "I don't like it, waaaay too many variables. Too much to go wrong. You say we should perform immediately to gain free access across the tower, this would certainly help, but then we would need to perform again once the settings of your plan are in place and take her down..." He thinks for a moment. "...how protective is she of her prisoner? Enough to come for a fight if she was made aware of the wards being dispelled? If so I might have the workings of a simpler plan"