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.
-----
"Well look at that, it seems as if they've taken a liking to you. I think the Fey as hosts was the only truly neutral host we could find. At least the chaos is a change from the normal stuffy bickering. Surely it is a welcome one? I suggest you find a way to have fun with it, you know as well as I these gatherings are usually quite long. Better to welcome it now."
Gash flicks little icy drops of fine wine at the the tiny swirling fey to try and tag them with shape water spell.
"Unless of course Huis, you are on business tonight?"
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Gash- Lvl14 Goblin Wizard - The High Court of the Aasimar Queen
Viviora gets very quiet. She leans in a little more closely than Martin might expect. Her soft tone is more out of uncertainty than anything else.
"I...I don't think there will be a war," she says. "But...if there is...I will be ready."
She touches the large, ugly bruise on Martin's hand that he received during the preparation of the site for this event. Divine light flows from her fingertips into his injury and the bruise rapidly heals.
"I have been training," she says. "For a couple of ten-days now."
----
Before any further discussion or activity can progress, a heavy, deep bell resounds through the chilly evening air. The master of ceremonies stands tall, projecting his voice to reach the large and varied crowd.
"In the clearing to my rear, a play," he says. "Please join the players forming a circle at the periphery for three acts each separated by an intermission."
The crowd begins to gravitate, flowing like water through the trees into a larger clearing some 40 feet from the edge of the first, egg-shaped clearing. This one is almost perfectly circular with a lot of room for the guests to spread out around the clearing's edge. Chair are provided to any who request one, but most of the young, the fey, and the celestials opt to stand or sit.
A single glowing orb lights the center of the clearing from 15 feet over the players, situated around a tree stump in the center of the clearing. There is a good 15 feet between the nearest audience member and the players. In a clear, a cappella voice one of the players begins to sing. It is a simple melody, joined soon by a simple strumming of a harp. Soon the remaining players join in a chorus, giving the simple melody depth and character. It is a sad song and not one any in the audience has heard before. This play was written and rehearsed in mere days. The bard responsible will surely go on to great things.
The first act tells the tale of a sorrowful young maiden who yearns to escape her mundane life. In what seems like an unusual choice, the author of the play states plainly things most mortal audiences would understand. She loves her hateful mother in spite of her hate. She has much to fear in the world, being mundane. Her life is hard but it could be much harder. By the end of the first act, the maiden, her mother, the mundane world and all its dangers, and the deep feeling of wanting are well understood by the audience, including the fey.
Once the globe of light extinguishes, a light applause encircles the darkened players. Lights ignite behind the audience, where tables with new refreshments await. Warming fires are brought into the new glen and people begin to mingle, although in a much more subdued, appreciative manner. Even the fey appear to have been affected by the opening act.
Tristan:
Haleek, a fellow bard, an aarakocran, approaches Tristan. He is one of Tock's underlings. Tristan suspects the aarakocran may feel passed over but he has not yet shown anything but professionalism.
"I have word, sir," Haleek says. "Resistance to the Limbo movement has largely crumbled. A few hold-outs resist any reorganization of the heavens and hells into three equal spheres."
There are presently 9 circles of the heavens and 9 of the hells. The proposal for a Limbo dictates 6 circles of each to maintain a balance and prevent any advantage. The proposal also requires an equal number of gods in each of the heavens, the hells, and the limbos, however. With 40 gods, either one god must go or two more must be added. All of this Tristan recalls as Haleek continues...
"The fight now is over who the candidate new gods will be. Two factions favor different candidates, from what we have gathered. Who they are, we do not yet know."
-----
Dog:
"Doggear," says a surly voice from somewhere about his knee level. "Doggear, where are those plans? Kalazath's plans. I know you have them. I require them. This evening."
Finnegan is terse and angry, though no longer bruised and broken. There is a hint of panic in his eyes.
-----
Kulloda is free to wander during the first intermission. Centulia is deep in discussion with several Solars and devils about something far beyond Kulloda's understanding. He is left alone for most of the intermission, drawing increasing interest from a pair of nymphs and a small flutter of pixies who whiz about him talking in tiny voices about him as if he had no ears.
-----
The intermission is surprisingly sedate, as far as fey gatherings go. Nobody seems especially unhappy and some, in fact, have improved moods as they find their evening resemble normalcy.
Passalwyck wanders over from across the glen, which is now fully occupied by the spread-out crowd. "Hello, Llyr," she says in a silky voice. "What bargain did your grandfather strike that indentured the Summer Court to your family for this long?"
She is no more fey than he is but her attitude is decidedly that of an insider towards his outsider-adjacent status. She gives him a captivating smile that only Eladrin can.
-----
Gash finally gets a chance to eat, left alone by the fey for a time. He finds himself by a warming fire chatting with his good friend Scett, a human wizard studying at the mage academy.
Everyone can RP this moment and then the story advances!
“Come now, darling.” - the Summer Eladrin replied, moving towards Passalwyck, disregarding any notion of personal space. Stopping only with less than an inch between them, Llyr - being considerably taller - tilted his head down look the female Elf in the eye, his perfect, pearly white teeth showing in a Fey-like smile of his own, equal parts enchanting and predatory.
“Surely you’re not implying that a humble, mortal Elven family” - he added, placing his left hand on his heart in mock hurt - “could possibly be capable of swaying something as magnificent as a Court?”
The Bladesinger’s grin widened. His hand rose from his chest, moving to the almost nonexistent space between them, before his index slowly curled upwards. A small breeze emerged from nowhere, plucking a single reddish-brown leaf from Passalwyck’s getup, that gently floated towards him, before stopping, suspended in mid-air, just above his palm. Llyr pursed his lips and blew on it slightly, sending it gliding towards a nearby group of small Fey. Like children, the tiny creatures were naturally and immediately enthralled by the sight, and proceeded to track it to its source, approaching the pair and flying in orbit around them, zipping and whizzing by in dervishes of whim and curiosity.
“Autumn is the season of peace and goodwill,Passalwyck.” - the luminescent Elf spoke, still grinning from ear to ear -“All this negativity could end up withering such a pretty dress.”
”Pretty! ~ Pretty!” - the small creatures echoed, not nearly as interested in the conversation as they were in the foliage making up the Autumn Eladrin’s wear.
Passalwyck places a hand on Llyr's chest. "Now, now, Llyr. Not until after the third act."
She steps back and looks at her ensemble, then removes a couple more leaves to balance out the outfit, tossing them after the first for the pixies to play with.
"If this play continues to dwell on its sorrows, though, none of us will be in the mood for festivities after it is done."
The Autumn Eladrin suddenly brightens as she sees someone else somewhere behind Llyr. She places a hand briefly on his chest again as she passes, her gesture a quiet way of saying goodbye. Passalwyck calls out to an 'Axonia' as she departs.
Despite his misgivings at having to attend the play, Kulloda finds the first act holds his attention. The theme of escape stirs something inside him. But as soon as the intermission comes he snorts and pushes further thought away.
He turns to see what new food has been brought forth but the tiny elves with wings fluttering about divert his attention. He catches snippets of their discussion about him and after each passing he becomes more and more irritated.
"They're not elf ears," he responds at one point. Adding "Of course the tusks are real. Why would I wear fake tusks?" He pauses trying to make out their whispered barbs. "Not chicken bones. Fangs. A small sea serpent that is no more."
For reference:
Soon though he notices the nymphs and even his jaded, trampled upon soul responds. He brushes the pixies away and takes a couple of steps towards the pair.
"Elves but not elves," Kulloda says in a gravelly voice more used to growls than compliments. "Too beautiful for elves."
He steps closer to them. Despite his footsteps making almost no sound, Kulloda suddenly feels every ounce of his hulking mass in the steps he takes towards the nymphs.
"What are you?" he asks, louder than he had expected.
But as he steps closer the nymphs smile at each other and step further way, circling, never fleeing but never allowing Kulloda to get too close.
Tristan is making small talk and trying to build rapport with Felistra who, despite his insistence otherwise, was known to him as a potential contact from the first level of hell. A contact he would hate to lose. “Pardon me, a musician is always in high demand. Perhaps we can catch up later?” He excuses himself from the conversation as he sees Haleek approach.
“Thank you, Haleek. Excellent work. Any idea on who the two factions are at least? What players I need to keep an eye on here?” He thanks Haleek for the report. It never hurts to recognize and reward good work, especially as he is a newcomer to the team. He finds a quiet spot to get lost in his thoughts. Very interesting, it appears that they are inching toward a solution. Agreement on the three spheres is significant, but now the organization of the gods themselves present a challenge. He must find out more about these candidates. He shakes his head in disbelief How did he find himself in this dance of the gods?
Dog looks down at the gnome. "Oh. You're awake. And you found yourself at a party. We did get them. And we got you home safely. No need to thank us. Are you going to build it quickly? And do you know what you'll do with it? I have to ask. Matter of royal security."
I'd assume Dog has the plans rolled up in the bag of holding? Also... did he get any items from Tock?
The warrior has trouble paying attention during the first act, and spends most of the time behind the crowd, moving about, looking for anything odd. New arrivals, or departures. Stitches, a small furry pink tarantula, appears on the opposite side of thee crowd/performance and he checks in with her from time to time.
I don't want to unbalance the game by shifting all of Tock's items into the party. Instead, all the new players chose magic items of their own.
A deep ringing of a bell signifies Act II is about to start. Much of the crowd mills about the glen, uncertain about where the play will take place. The master of ceremonies clarifies.
"Behind me you will find a third clearing. Act II will begin there in a few moments. As before, please take a place around the periphery of the clearing."
The guests begin to flow through the trees, following arcane lights cast around a third clearing. Behind Gash, Llyr, Kulloda, and Martin, but ahead of Dog and Tristan, a forceful voice cries out, "You will NOT!"
Two devils, one in the shape of a dark-skinned, burly man and the other a tall, grinning well-tanned man, face each other, oblivious to the crowd parting around them. "Typhorus, please," says the tanned one. "You will only embarrass yourself if you deign to press the issue."
Lightning crackles at the edges of the burly devil. "You would be wise to keep your mouth SHUT, Bael," he says.
"I am here to talk, just as you are," Bael says, looking at his lethal talon-like fingernails.
Typhorus lifts Bael by the throat in a single swipe. "And you would be wise to forgo that directive," the burly devil says.
Bael looks unperturbed. "You don't have the support," he says, not sounding the least bit choked. "Not among the hells. So I will say what I want. You don't have to like it."
Typhorus throws the other devil across the clearing, smashing his foe into a tree and nearly uprooting it as a result.
Fairies, pixies, sprites, arrive quickly to see what is happening. They are disappointed to find the conflict over, for the moment, as Typhorus stomps towards the clearing preparing to begin Act II.
Dog, Tristan, Gash, and Martin:
Typhorus is here representing Talos, the god of storms, from the 2nd circle of the hells. He was staunchly against reforming the celestial planes in prior gatherings.
Bael is here representing Bhaal, the god of murder from the 6th circle of the hells. He was also against reforming the planes, although much more vocally than Typhorus.
During Act II, the two demons stand on opposite sides of the play. In this act, the maiden finds a keyhole in a tree. This event answers the ending of act I, when the maiden finds an unfamiliar golden key. The key and the keyhole match, and the maiden finds herself in the Feywild. This revelation causes quite a stir among the audience, fey and mortals alike. To the mortals, the author of the play, and the players as well, risk greatly offending the fey. To the fey, this is an exciting turn of events, and a humorous one given the completed fabricated nature of how the maiden entered the Feywild.
The rest of act II is about a series of bizarre encounters that the maiden has in the Feywild, from a unicorn (portrayed by two halflings to great laughter) to a hag (portrayed by an elderly human man, to great effect) to a pair of twin dryads. The fey pose riddles in the form of songs, leading the maiden through confusing dances to the each of the next encounters. The players actively recruit the fey in the audience into the play, inviting the tiny ones to dance with them and the larger ones tumble with them. Through some miracle, they clear a space amid the chaos to deliver the final scene. The twin dryads have led the maiden to a tree that is confused as to the season. Its leaves, as described by the players but not seen by the audience, cycle through the autumn colors, the greens of summer, the blossoms of spring, and the bare branches of winter.
"Help us fix the tree," the dryads say to the maiden in a lilting, teasing song, as they dance around the frustrated, exhausted maiden. "Only then you can go home. Only then you can go home."
The fey have been worked into a tizzy. They are not upset, but the description of the tree and the inclusion of many fey in the dancing and tumbling has many of them buzzing about, talking in hushed, excited tones, and generally drowning out the final lines of the song and the subsequent applause.
The players disperse and the lights come up, the warming fires brought out, and drinks made available almost all at once.
Llyr:
Passalwyck locks eyes with Llyr from 1/4 way around the circle of the clearing's edge. Her gaze is not seductive or sharp. There is a weighty meaning in her look. And Llyr suddenly realizes why. The play is about the formation of the Courts. A mortal bard is telling the tale of the origin of the Seasonal Courts to the fey themselves, the fey who know this story well. But the mortals...well there are few mortal bards that would have ever heard this tale.
Tristan and Dog:
Typhorus is being counseled by Morrikal, representative of Keremvor, the god of the dead. His position on the proposal has always been against, though less vocal than Typhorus.
Both Tristan and Dog overhear Syn, devil of Mask, the god of Thieves, say to Bael in a calming tone, "Maybe you should take Typhorus' advice. We have the support. He does not. Just be victorious and let that say everything for you."
Gash and Kulloda:
Dryads and nymphs dance about the clearing in ecstatic joy. They grab the hands of any mortal or fey that they can, pulling them into a large, uncoordinated dance of follow-the leader, which winds its way around the clearing like a long, wriggling snake. The musical trio is playing frenetically along with the dance. Both Gash and Kulloda are swept up in this manner.
Eventually the giant whip cracks and people and fey scatter to the ground in fits of laughter. As the music changes to a less energetic song, the goblin and the half-orc find themselves looking up and down at each other respectively. The fey have left the both of them alone for the moment and the devils, including Centulia, and angels have already gathered into pairs and trios to discuss among themselves in hushed, urgent tones.
Martin:
"I heard this play was based on an old happening, based on something true," Viviora says to Martin, surprising him with her sudden appearance and jolting him out of whatever reverie he spiraled into. "Do you know it? I don't recognize it. But I think the fey do."
She looks around conspiratorially. A long chain of fey and human dancers have begun to snake through the crowd, picking up more and more followers on its tail as it goes. "We should try to find out," she says. "I want to know what is going to happen before they start act III."
“Well… I only know one, although I met a couple satyrs once. Let’s start by looking for Passalwyck and then when she inevitably gives some cryptic answer, go looking for the satyrs. They were… not too weird.”
Up until this point, the performance had been mostly background noise. Llyr had been paying some amount of attention to it, of course - this kind of multitasking was not a difficult thing, for one as practiced as he - but there was a difference between hearing and listening, and watching and seeing. As the realisation struck him, moments before he felt Passalwyck’s gaze, his focus had shifted altogether. He met the Autumn Eladrin’s eyes from a distance, his own look sharp, with a hint of puzzlement. “Was this your doing?” - he mumbled, inaudibly even to those around him, but the Message ringing clearly in his fellow Envoy’s ears all the same.
For the first time since the display had started, the Bladesinger’s gaze panned through the performers intently, committing faces to memory and looking for the one in charge.
Kulloda is disappointed when the two devils don't truly fight. That would have been a worthy spectacle. Disappointment soon turns to deep boredom and confusion when the play resumes. Where the first act reached something in Kulloda, the second act just leaves him shaking his head. Flying elves and trees, men pretending to be women and halflings pretending to be horses. Bah. He's about to walk off when one of the nymphs from earlier grabs his hand and pulls him into the dance line. Something that delicate should not be able to make Kulloda move, not even sway, but he finds he's powerless to resist and follows into the dance.
The whirlwind of movement and music whips all traces of the play from his head as he works hard to keep up and stay balanced. Then it comes to a sudden end and he and the goblin face each other.
Gash and Kulloda:
Kulloda looks down at the goblin for a long moment. He eyes the outstretched hand through a furrowed brow and deep frown; jaw clenched tightly. Finally though he extends his hand to take the goblin's.
"You're the water wizard," Kulloda says. Then he tries out the name proffered. "Gash? Gash. Are you the cutter or the one cut?"
A couple of short grunts escape Kulloda's throat and his shoulders move slightly. Gash realizes that Kulloda may be laughing.
"I am Kulloda," he says and then nods his head at Centulia. "I came with that one. But if you ever watched fights in the Pula Spectacula. I was the gladiator that won."
Tristan walks up next to Dog and watches the devils brief altercation. He had met the big Goliath briefly prior to the gathering and he understands he has some experience with these types of gatherings. “Now what do you suppose that was about? I understood them to be on the same side of the argument. This kind of thing happen often at these gatherings?”
Tristan flips a copper piece subtly among his fingers as he casts detect thoughts and spends the next minute focusing on the surface thoughts of Bael, Typhorus, Syn, and Morrikal, while also trying to prevent each of them from discovering his intrusion in their thoughts.
Gash tenses as the large man talks, "Oh a joke? Well its funny you should mention, Mr. Kulloda, I was the cutter as you so eloquently p-put it." Gash's nerves of being in the presence of such a intimidating being and the memories of his namesake caused his stutter to show its head. He clears his throat and takes a deep breath, "Yea, when I lived among the other goblins, in the muck, you know, doing crimes and robbing I was adept with a dagger. of course, my dagger might be more like a toothpick to you, Mr. Kulloda. But it was not truly me. Thats how I ended here."
He takes a moment more to think, "I'm sorry I've never watched the matches there. But you do look quite impressive. Do you have another fight scheduled? Or some kind of title to defend? I'd love to come see and cheer for you."
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Gash- Lvl14 Goblin Wizard - The High Court of the Aasimar Queen
"You cut and steal," Kulloda says, "But see water magic. Not robbing goblin. Wizard goblin."
Kulloda looks around the clearing for the nymphs but can't pick them out among the constantly moving groups of fey.
"Kulloda doesn't fight in the arenas anymore," Kulloda says then pauses for a moment, his eyes resting on Centulia. "My Ianista sold me to the temple of Tempus. Now fight for Tempus. Say Tempus great god and in return Tempus give Kulloda more power."
He shrugs as if this is the normal course of events for people. He looks back down at Gash.
"Well, I am Emissary to the Mages. And representative of the crown to the council of Mages. I was part of the party that delivered Queen Gentoa here to take her place in the throne. I know its silly having a toddler as a queen, but it was what needed to be done. And she is a lovely child and her mother is strong willed and just as lovely." Gash pauses a moment, "The steeling and slashing is in my past. I never wanted that life. I am now living the life I've always wanted."He looks back at the large figure, "how about you? you say you were sold... are you living as you wish?"
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Gash- Lvl14 Goblin Wizard - The High Court of the Aasimar Queen
"Well, I've only been to a couple of these, but usually the conflict seems to be more telepathic and quiet than physical,"Dog says in reply. "I'm not sure we've met, but you're in Tock's place, right? Big shoes and all that. I'm Dog. Out of curiosity, what does my file say?"
He pauses from casting detect thoughts himself as he sees the bard cast it. He stops actually talking, and lapses into what seems like an incredibly boring story that Tristan has to endure without speaking, wordlessly trying to give him cover to key in on their thoughts. He'll listen for anything Tristan chooses to share afterward, using message to keep it between them.
Typhorus is incensed. He wants to shove Bael's head underwater until the devil stops moving.
Morrikal is unperturbed. He is thinking about Centulia, devil representing Tempus, the god of war.
Bael is pouting, mentally. He was just having fun.
Syn is thinking about Valibatasha, devil of Beshaba, the goddess of misfortune.
Llyr:
"I was about to ask you the same thing. You did not help arrange this with the crown's bard?"
None of the players are present and the bard trio are completely feeling the flow of their performance, which is all too entertaining for a crowd of fey and nobles.
A pair of mortals then approaches Passalwyck, one of them a scruffy-looking man and the other a plain-looking elven woman, which by human standards is still gorgeous. The woman asks Passalwyck a question and she shoots Llyr a puzzled look.
In joining her, he finds the man is Martin, the crown's emissary of the Road, and the elven woman is a library student named Viviora.
Martin and Llyr:
"Ask your question again," Passalwyck says with a polite smile, as a very tall Eladrin elf joins Passalwyck. "If you don't mind."
The elven woman looks unperturbed by the request. "I had heard this play was based on a true event," Viviora says. "But I am completely unfamiliar with the tale. Do you know of it?"
"In fact I do, my dear," Passalwyck says. "But first, let me introduce to you the ambassador from the mortal realm to the Summer Court of the fey, Llyr Airgetlám. He has helped arrange tonight's festivities. Now, as for your question, yes, in fact, I do know this tale, though not scripted as it is performed for us tonight. It is a very old but very famous tale among the fey. Every young fey hears some version of it. It is the tale of how the Seasonal Courts of the fey came to be."
Viviora shakes her head. "I've never heard the origin of the Courts," she says.
Passalwyck smiles knowingly. "Most mortals have not," she says.
"I am very intrigued at what will happen next," Viviora says, sounding a little pleading in her tone. "I don't mind if the ending is spoiled."
"Ah, yes," Passalwyck says, looking at Llyr with concern in her eyes. "There are many endings told with this tale. Sometimes the mortal girl joins the fey. Sometimes she returns to the mortal world. Sometimes she dies."
Viviora lets out a little gasp. "I hope it isn't that ending," she says.
Passalwyck nods. "There is worse to fear in the third act than that," the Eladrin says. "If the playwright for tonight's performance is going to give credit for the Seasonal Courts to a mortal girl, the fey here...well, you haven't seen the chaos of the fey yet. This play about this subject? The crown's bard is walking a tightrope. He or she is either a genius or a fool."
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Martin and Lyr
Martin just shakes his head and starts stretching. “That seems to be about right. Why wouldn’t we add more to the pile of pissed off folks.”
Martin considers how the Accorded deities might react to a similar event where mortals determine the fate of the Accords and their realms of worship. insight 17
Shaking his head in denial, solemnly, the Bladesinger fell into thought, before approaching Passalwyck, thinking she’d moved to find answers.
Martin and Llyr:
Approaching the trio, Llyr offered a polite, noncommittal nod of greetings. Blasé, assuredly, but not particularly grating, the Eladrin stood, one eyebrow quirked in curiosity at his Autumnal counterpart’s introduction.
“It isn’t the same at all, I fear.” - he spoke, after having taken everything in in silence - “The Divines are vying for your faith andworship.” - the Elf paused, believing he’d said everything that needed saying already, and allowing the implications to simmer, before voicing them out all the same -“To them, you holdvalue, and that enforces civility... Enough to ward off a smiting, or two.” The usage of ‘you’ rather than ‘we’ would potentially strike a particularly Insightful person as odd, albeit very par for the course for one of these Elves. Surprisingly, though, it seemed to hold no contempt.
“The Courts possess no such impediments, however. And the wrath of Immortals is long.” - for the first time this conversation, Llyr established clear and direct eye-contact, first with Viviora, then with Martin, fully hammering the point in, before lazily glancing around the room, an action that starkly clashed with the otherwise tense atmosphere -“Not to mention that, while the Gods are renowned for their vindictiveness, I do believe it was the Courts themselves that first coined the phrase cruel and unusual punishment.”
Spoken with a hint of jest but otherwise fervent belief, in a way only the Fair Folk can quite manage, the Ambassador’s tone returned to its low, melodic nature, and his eyes locked with Viviora's once again. “Where did you say you’d heard this rumour, again?”
"Well look at that, it seems as if they've taken a liking to you. I think the Fey as hosts was the only truly neutral host we could find. At least the chaos is a change from the normal stuffy bickering. Surely it is a welcome one? I suggest you find a way to have fun with it, you know as well as I these gatherings are usually quite long. Better to welcome it now."
Gash flicks little icy drops of fine wine at the the tiny swirling fey to try and tag them with shape water spell.
"Unless of course Huis, you are on business tonight?"
Gash - Lvl14 Goblin Wizard - The High Court of the Aasimar Queen
Martin:
Viviora gets very quiet. She leans in a little more closely than Martin might expect. Her soft tone is more out of uncertainty than anything else.
"I...I don't think there will be a war," she says. "But...if there is...I will be ready."
She touches the large, ugly bruise on Martin's hand that he received during the preparation of the site for this event. Divine light flows from her fingertips into his injury and the bruise rapidly heals.
"I have been training," she says. "For a couple of ten-days now."
----
Before any further discussion or activity can progress, a heavy, deep bell resounds through the chilly evening air. The master of ceremonies stands tall, projecting his voice to reach the large and varied crowd.
"In the clearing to my rear, a play," he says. "Please join the players forming a circle at the periphery for three acts each separated by an intermission."
The crowd begins to gravitate, flowing like water through the trees into a larger clearing some 40 feet from the edge of the first, egg-shaped clearing. This one is almost perfectly circular with a lot of room for the guests to spread out around the clearing's edge. Chair are provided to any who request one, but most of the young, the fey, and the celestials opt to stand or sit.
A single glowing orb lights the center of the clearing from 15 feet over the players, situated around a tree stump in the center of the clearing. There is a good 15 feet between the nearest audience member and the players. In a clear, a cappella voice one of the players begins to sing. It is a simple melody, joined soon by a simple strumming of a harp. Soon the remaining players join in a chorus, giving the simple melody depth and character. It is a sad song and not one any in the audience has heard before. This play was written and rehearsed in mere days. The bard responsible will surely go on to great things.
The first act tells the tale of a sorrowful young maiden who yearns to escape her mundane life. In what seems like an unusual choice, the author of the play states plainly things most mortal audiences would understand. She loves her hateful mother in spite of her hate. She has much to fear in the world, being mundane. Her life is hard but it could be much harder. By the end of the first act, the maiden, her mother, the mundane world and all its dangers, and the deep feeling of wanting are well understood by the audience, including the fey.
Once the globe of light extinguishes, a light applause encircles the darkened players. Lights ignite behind the audience, where tables with new refreshments await. Warming fires are brought into the new glen and people begin to mingle, although in a much more subdued, appreciative manner. Even the fey appear to have been affected by the opening act.
Tristan:
Haleek, a fellow bard, an aarakocran, approaches Tristan. He is one of Tock's underlings. Tristan suspects the aarakocran may feel passed over but he has not yet shown anything but professionalism.
"I have word, sir," Haleek says. "Resistance to the Limbo movement has largely crumbled. A few hold-outs resist any reorganization of the heavens and hells into three equal spheres."
There are presently 9 circles of the heavens and 9 of the hells. The proposal for a Limbo dictates 6 circles of each to maintain a balance and prevent any advantage. The proposal also requires an equal number of gods in each of the heavens, the hells, and the limbos, however. With 40 gods, either one god must go or two more must be added. All of this Tristan recalls as Haleek continues...
"The fight now is over who the candidate new gods will be. Two factions favor different candidates, from what we have gathered. Who they are, we do not yet know."
-----
Dog:
"Doggear," says a surly voice from somewhere about his knee level. "Doggear, where are those plans? Kalazath's plans. I know you have them. I require them. This evening."
Finnegan is terse and angry, though no longer bruised and broken. There is a hint of panic in his eyes.
-----
Kulloda is free to wander during the first intermission. Centulia is deep in discussion with several Solars and devils about something far beyond Kulloda's understanding. He is left alone for most of the intermission, drawing increasing interest from a pair of nymphs and a small flutter of pixies who whiz about him talking in tiny voices about him as if he had no ears.
-----
The intermission is surprisingly sedate, as far as fey gatherings go. Nobody seems especially unhappy and some, in fact, have improved moods as they find their evening resemble normalcy.
Passalwyck wanders over from across the glen, which is now fully occupied by the spread-out crowd. "Hello, Llyr," she says in a silky voice. "What bargain did your grandfather strike that indentured the Summer Court to your family for this long?"
She is no more fey than he is but her attitude is decidedly that of an insider towards his outsider-adjacent status. She gives him a captivating smile that only Eladrin can.
-----
Gash finally gets a chance to eat, left alone by the fey for a time. He finds himself by a warming fire chatting with his good friend Scett, a human wizard studying at the mage academy.
Everyone can RP this moment and then the story advances!
“Come now, darling.” - the Summer Eladrin replied, moving towards Passalwyck, disregarding any notion of personal space. Stopping only with less than an inch between them, Llyr - being considerably taller - tilted his head down look the female Elf in the eye, his perfect, pearly white teeth showing in a Fey-like smile of his own, equal parts enchanting and predatory.
“Surely you’re not implying that a humble, mortal Elven family” - he added, placing his left hand on his heart in mock hurt - “could possibly be capable of swaying something as magnificent as a Court?”
The Bladesinger’s grin widened. His hand rose from his chest, moving to the almost nonexistent space between them, before his index slowly curled upwards. A small breeze emerged from nowhere, plucking a single reddish-brown leaf from Passalwyck’s getup, that gently floated towards him, before stopping, suspended in mid-air, just above his palm. Llyr pursed his lips and blew on it slightly, sending it gliding towards a nearby group of small Fey. Like children, the tiny creatures were naturally and immediately enthralled by the sight, and proceeded to track it to its source, approaching the pair and flying in orbit around them, zipping and whizzing by in dervishes of whim and curiosity.
“Autumn is the season of peace and goodwill, Passalwyck.” - the luminescent Elf spoke, still grinning from ear to ear - “All this negativity could end up withering such a pretty dress.”
”Pretty! ~ Pretty!” - the small creatures echoed, not nearly as interested in the conversation as they were in the foliage making up the Autumn Eladrin’s wear.
Passalwyck places a hand on Llyr's chest. "Now, now, Llyr. Not until after the third act."
She steps back and looks at her ensemble, then removes a couple more leaves to balance out the outfit, tossing them after the first for the pixies to play with.
"If this play continues to dwell on its sorrows, though, none of us will be in the mood for festivities after it is done."
The Autumn Eladrin suddenly brightens as she sees someone else somewhere behind Llyr. She places a hand briefly on his chest again as she passes, her gesture a quiet way of saying goodbye. Passalwyck calls out to an 'Axonia' as she departs.
Despite his misgivings at having to attend the play, Kulloda finds the first act holds his attention. The theme of escape stirs something inside him. But as soon as the intermission comes he snorts and pushes further thought away.
He turns to see what new food has been brought forth but the tiny elves with wings fluttering about divert his attention. He catches snippets of their discussion about him and after each passing he becomes more and more irritated.
"They're not elf ears," he responds at one point. Adding "Of course the tusks are real. Why would I wear fake tusks?" He pauses trying to make out their whispered barbs. "Not chicken bones. Fangs. A small sea serpent that is no more."
For reference:
Soon though he notices the nymphs and even his jaded, trampled upon soul responds. He brushes the pixies away and takes a couple of steps towards the pair.
"Elves but not elves," Kulloda says in a gravelly voice more used to growls than compliments. "Too beautiful for elves."
He steps closer to them. Despite his footsteps making almost no sound, Kulloda suddenly feels every ounce of his hulking mass in the steps he takes towards the nymphs.
"What are you?" he asks, louder than he had expected.
But as he steps closer the nymphs smile at each other and step further way, circling, never fleeing but never allowing Kulloda to get too close.
Tristan is making small talk and trying to build rapport with Felistra who, despite his insistence otherwise, was known to him as a potential contact from the first level of hell. A contact he would hate to lose. “Pardon me, a musician is always in high demand. Perhaps we can catch up later?” He excuses himself from the conversation as he sees Haleek approach.
“Thank you, Haleek. Excellent work. Any idea on who the two factions are at least? What players I need to keep an eye on here?” He thanks Haleek for the report. It never hurts to recognize and reward good work, especially as he is a newcomer to the team. He finds a quiet spot to get lost in his thoughts. Very interesting, it appears that they are inching toward a solution. Agreement on the three spheres is significant, but now the organization of the gods themselves present a challenge. He must find out more about these candidates. He shakes his head in disbelief How did he find himself in this dance of the gods?
DM:
Dog looks down at the gnome. "Oh. You're awake. And you found yourself at a party. We did get them. And we got you home safely. No need to thank us. Are you going to build it quickly? And do you know what you'll do with it? I have to ask. Matter of royal security."
I'd assume Dog has the plans rolled up in the bag of holding? Also... did he get any items from Tock?
The warrior has trouble paying attention during the first act, and spends most of the time behind the crowd, moving about, looking for anything odd. New arrivals, or departures. Stitches, a small furry pink tarantula, appears on the opposite side of thee crowd/performance and he checks in with her from time to time.
Dog:
He got only the plans from Tock.
I don't want to unbalance the game by shifting all of Tock's items into the party. Instead, all the new players chose magic items of their own.
A deep ringing of a bell signifies Act II is about to start. Much of the crowd mills about the glen, uncertain about where the play will take place. The master of ceremonies clarifies.
"Behind me you will find a third clearing. Act II will begin there in a few moments. As before, please take a place around the periphery of the clearing."
The guests begin to flow through the trees, following arcane lights cast around a third clearing. Behind Gash, Llyr, Kulloda, and Martin, but ahead of Dog and Tristan, a forceful voice cries out, "You will NOT!"
Two devils, one in the shape of a dark-skinned, burly man and the other a tall, grinning well-tanned man, face each other, oblivious to the crowd parting around them. "Typhorus, please," says the tanned one. "You will only embarrass yourself if you deign to press the issue."
Lightning crackles at the edges of the burly devil. "You would be wise to keep your mouth SHUT, Bael," he says.
"I am here to talk, just as you are," Bael says, looking at his lethal talon-like fingernails.
Typhorus lifts Bael by the throat in a single swipe. "And you would be wise to forgo that directive," the burly devil says.
Bael looks unperturbed. "You don't have the support," he says, not sounding the least bit choked. "Not among the hells. So I will say what I want. You don't have to like it."
Typhorus throws the other devil across the clearing, smashing his foe into a tree and nearly uprooting it as a result.
Fairies, pixies, sprites, arrive quickly to see what is happening. They are disappointed to find the conflict over, for the moment, as Typhorus stomps towards the clearing preparing to begin Act II.
Dog, Tristan, Gash, and Martin:
Typhorus is here representing Talos, the god of storms, from the 2nd circle of the hells. He was staunchly against reforming the celestial planes in prior gatherings.
Bael is here representing Bhaal, the god of murder from the 6th circle of the hells. He was also against reforming the planes, although much more vocally than Typhorus.
During Act II, the two demons stand on opposite sides of the play. In this act, the maiden finds a keyhole in a tree. This event answers the ending of act I, when the maiden finds an unfamiliar golden key. The key and the keyhole match, and the maiden finds herself in the Feywild. This revelation causes quite a stir among the audience, fey and mortals alike. To the mortals, the author of the play, and the players as well, risk greatly offending the fey. To the fey, this is an exciting turn of events, and a humorous one given the completed fabricated nature of how the maiden entered the Feywild.
The rest of act II is about a series of bizarre encounters that the maiden has in the Feywild, from a unicorn (portrayed by two halflings to great laughter) to a hag (portrayed by an elderly human man, to great effect) to a pair of twin dryads. The fey pose riddles in the form of songs, leading the maiden through confusing dances to the each of the next encounters. The players actively recruit the fey in the audience into the play, inviting the tiny ones to dance with them and the larger ones tumble with them. Through some miracle, they clear a space amid the chaos to deliver the final scene. The twin dryads have led the maiden to a tree that is confused as to the season. Its leaves, as described by the players but not seen by the audience, cycle through the autumn colors, the greens of summer, the blossoms of spring, and the bare branches of winter.
"Help us fix the tree," the dryads say to the maiden in a lilting, teasing song, as they dance around the frustrated, exhausted maiden. "Only then you can go home. Only then you can go home."
The fey have been worked into a tizzy. They are not upset, but the description of the tree and the inclusion of many fey in the dancing and tumbling has many of them buzzing about, talking in hushed, excited tones, and generally drowning out the final lines of the song and the subsequent applause.
The players disperse and the lights come up, the warming fires brought out, and drinks made available almost all at once.
Llyr:
Passalwyck locks eyes with Llyr from 1/4 way around the circle of the clearing's edge. Her gaze is not seductive or sharp. There is a weighty meaning in her look. And Llyr suddenly realizes why. The play is about the formation of the Courts. A mortal bard is telling the tale of the origin of the Seasonal Courts to the fey themselves, the fey who know this story well. But the mortals...well there are few mortal bards that would have ever heard this tale.
Tristan and Dog:
Typhorus is being counseled by Morrikal, representative of Keremvor, the god of the dead. His position on the proposal has always been against, though less vocal than Typhorus.
Both Tristan and Dog overhear Syn, devil of Mask, the god of Thieves, say to Bael in a calming tone, "Maybe you should take Typhorus' advice. We have the support. He does not. Just be victorious and let that say everything for you."
Gash and Kulloda:
Dryads and nymphs dance about the clearing in ecstatic joy. They grab the hands of any mortal or fey that they can, pulling them into a large, uncoordinated dance of follow-the leader, which winds its way around the clearing like a long, wriggling snake. The musical trio is playing frenetically along with the dance. Both Gash and Kulloda are swept up in this manner.
Eventually the giant whip cracks and people and fey scatter to the ground in fits of laughter. As the music changes to a less energetic song, the goblin and the half-orc find themselves looking up and down at each other respectively. The fey have left the both of them alone for the moment and the devils, including Centulia, and angels have already gathered into pairs and trios to discuss among themselves in hushed, urgent tones.
Martin:
"I heard this play was based on an old happening, based on something true," Viviora says to Martin, surprising him with her sudden appearance and jolting him out of whatever reverie he spiraled into. "Do you know it? I don't recognize it. But I think the fey do."
She looks around conspiratorially. A long chain of fey and human dancers have begun to snake through the crowd, picking up more and more followers on its tail as it goes. "We should try to find out," she says. "I want to know what is going to happen before they start act III."
Gash and Kulloda
“Well hello there. I don’t think I’ve seen you around here. My name is Gash, I’m one of the emissaries here”
he extends his hand forward and nearly straight up to shake his hand.
Gash - Lvl14 Goblin Wizard - The High Court of the Aasimar Queen
Martin
“Well… I only know one, although I met a couple satyrs once. Let’s start by looking for Passalwyck and then when she inevitably gives some cryptic answer, go looking for the satyrs. They were… not too weird.”
Paladin - warforged - orange
Up until this point, the performance had been mostly background noise. Llyr had been paying some amount of attention to it, of course - this kind of multitasking was not a difficult thing, for one as practiced as he - but there was a difference between hearing and listening, and watching and seeing. As the realisation struck him, moments before he felt Passalwyck’s gaze, his focus had shifted altogether. He met the Autumn Eladrin’s eyes from a distance, his own look sharp, with a hint of puzzlement. “Was this your doing?” - he mumbled, inaudibly even to those around him, but the Message ringing clearly in his fellow Envoy’s ears all the same.
For the first time since the display had started, the Bladesinger’s gaze panned through the performers intently, committing faces to memory and looking for the one in charge.
Kulloda is disappointed when the two devils don't truly fight. That would have been a worthy spectacle. Disappointment soon turns to deep boredom and confusion when the play resumes. Where the first act reached something in Kulloda, the second act just leaves him shaking his head. Flying elves and trees, men pretending to be women and halflings pretending to be horses. Bah. He's about to walk off when one of the nymphs from earlier grabs his hand and pulls him into the dance line. Something that delicate should not be able to make Kulloda move, not even sway, but he finds he's powerless to resist and follows into the dance.
The whirlwind of movement and music whips all traces of the play from his head as he works hard to keep up and stay balanced. Then it comes to a sudden end and he and the goblin face each other.
Gash and Kulloda:
Kulloda looks down at the goblin for a long moment. He eyes the outstretched hand through a furrowed brow and deep frown; jaw clenched tightly. Finally though he extends his hand to take the goblin's.
"You're the water wizard," Kulloda says. Then he tries out the name proffered. "Gash? Gash. Are you the cutter or the one cut?"
A couple of short grunts escape Kulloda's throat and his shoulders move slightly. Gash realizes that Kulloda may be laughing.
"I am Kulloda," he says and then nods his head at Centulia. "I came with that one. But if you ever watched fights in the Pula Spectacula. I was the gladiator that won."
Tristan and Dog
Tristan walks up next to Dog and watches the devils brief altercation. He had met the big Goliath briefly prior to the gathering and he understands he has some experience with these types of gatherings. “Now what do you suppose that was about? I understood them to be on the same side of the argument. This kind of thing happen often at these gatherings?”
Tristan flips a copper piece subtly among his fingers as he casts detect thoughts and spends the next minute focusing on the surface thoughts of Bael, Typhorus, Syn, and Morrikal, while also trying to prevent each of them from discovering his intrusion in their thoughts.
Gash and Kulloda:
He takes a moment more to think, "I'm sorry I've never watched the matches there. But you do look quite impressive. Do you have another fight scheduled? Or some kind of title to defend? I'd love to come see and cheer for you."
Gash - Lvl14 Goblin Wizard - The High Court of the Aasimar Queen
Gash and Kulloda:
"You cut and steal," Kulloda says, "But see water magic. Not robbing goblin. Wizard goblin."
Kulloda looks around the clearing for the nymphs but can't pick them out among the constantly moving groups of fey.
"Kulloda doesn't fight in the arenas anymore," Kulloda says then pauses for a moment, his eyes resting on Centulia. "My Ianista sold me to the temple of Tempus. Now fight for Tempus. Say Tempus great god and in return Tempus give Kulloda more power."
He shrugs as if this is the normal course of events for people. He looks back down at Gash.
"Why are you here? Emissary for who?"
Gash and Kulloda
Gash - Lvl14 Goblin Wizard - The High Court of the Aasimar Queen
Dog and Tristan:
"Well, I've only been to a couple of these, but usually the conflict seems to be more telepathic and quiet than physical," Dog says in reply. "I'm not sure we've met, but you're in Tock's place, right? Big shoes and all that. I'm Dog. Out of curiosity, what does my file say?"
He pauses from casting detect thoughts himself as he sees the bard cast it. He stops actually talking, and lapses into what seems like an incredibly boring story that Tristan has to endure without speaking, wordlessly trying to give him cover to key in on their thoughts. He'll listen for anything Tristan chooses to share afterward, using message to keep it between them.
Tristan:
Surface thoughts:
Typhorus is incensed. He wants to shove Bael's head underwater until the devil stops moving.
Morrikal is unperturbed. He is thinking about Centulia, devil representing Tempus, the god of war.
Bael is pouting, mentally. He was just having fun.
Syn is thinking about Valibatasha, devil of Beshaba, the goddess of misfortune.
Llyr:
"I was about to ask you the same thing. You did not help arrange this with the crown's bard?"
None of the players are present and the bard trio are completely feeling the flow of their performance, which is all too entertaining for a crowd of fey and nobles.
A pair of mortals then approaches Passalwyck, one of them a scruffy-looking man and the other a plain-looking elven woman, which by human standards is still gorgeous. The woman asks Passalwyck a question and she shoots Llyr a puzzled look.
In joining her, he finds the man is Martin, the crown's emissary of the Road, and the elven woman is a library student named Viviora.
Martin and Llyr:
"Ask your question again," Passalwyck says with a polite smile, as a very tall Eladrin elf joins Passalwyck. "If you don't mind."
The elven woman looks unperturbed by the request. "I had heard this play was based on a true event," Viviora says. "But I am completely unfamiliar with the tale. Do you know of it?"
"In fact I do, my dear," Passalwyck says. "But first, let me introduce to you the ambassador from the mortal realm to the Summer Court of the fey, Llyr Airgetlám. He has helped arrange tonight's festivities. Now, as for your question, yes, in fact, I do know this tale, though not scripted as it is performed for us tonight. It is a very old but very famous tale among the fey. Every young fey hears some version of it. It is the tale of how the Seasonal Courts of the fey came to be."
Viviora shakes her head. "I've never heard the origin of the Courts," she says.
Passalwyck smiles knowingly. "Most mortals have not," she says.
"I am very intrigued at what will happen next," Viviora says, sounding a little pleading in her tone. "I don't mind if the ending is spoiled."
"Ah, yes," Passalwyck says, looking at Llyr with concern in her eyes. "There are many endings told with this tale. Sometimes the mortal girl joins the fey. Sometimes she returns to the mortal world. Sometimes she dies."
Viviora lets out a little gasp. "I hope it isn't that ending," she says.
Passalwyck nods. "There is worse to fear in the third act than that," the Eladrin says. "If the playwright for tonight's performance is going to give credit for the Seasonal Courts to a mortal girl, the fey here...well, you haven't seen the chaos of the fey yet. This play about this subject? The crown's bard is walking a tightrope. He or she is either a genius or a fool."
Martin and Lyr
Martin just shakes his head and starts stretching. “That seems to be about right. Why wouldn’t we add more to the pile of pissed off folks.”
Martin considers how the Accorded deities might react to a similar event where mortals determine the fate of the Accords and their realms of worship.
insight 17
Paladin - warforged - orange
Shaking his head in denial, solemnly, the Bladesinger fell into thought, before approaching Passalwyck, thinking she’d moved to find answers.
Martin and Llyr:
Approaching the trio, Llyr offered a polite, noncommittal nod of greetings. Blasé, assuredly, but not particularly grating, the Eladrin stood, one eyebrow quirked in curiosity at his Autumnal counterpart’s introduction.
“It isn’t the same at all, I fear.” - he spoke, after having taken everything in in silence - “The Divines are vying for your faith and worship.” - the Elf paused, believing he’d said everything that needed saying already, and allowing the implications to simmer, before voicing them out all the same - “To them, you hold value, and that enforces civility... Enough to ward off a smiting, or two.” The usage of ‘you’ rather than ‘we’ would potentially strike a particularly Insightful person as odd, albeit very par for the course for one of these Elves. Surprisingly, though, it seemed to hold no contempt.
“The Courts possess no such impediments, however. And the wrath of Immortals is long.” - for the first time this conversation, Llyr established clear and direct eye-contact, first with Viviora, then with Martin, fully hammering the point in, before lazily glancing around the room, an action that starkly clashed with the otherwise tense atmosphere - “Not to mention that, while the Gods are renowned for their vindictiveness, I do believe it was the Courts themselves that first coined the phrase cruel and unusual punishment.”
Spoken with a hint of jest but otherwise fervent belief, in a way only the Fair Folk can quite manage, the Ambassador’s tone returned to its low, melodic nature, and his eyes locked with Viviora's once again. “Where did you say you’d heard this rumour, again?”