The adventuring life of a bard is never a dull one, and you are no strangers to its dangers and delights or its suspense and surprises. On this day, however, you are caught quite off your guard by a fiery circle that has suddenly surrounded you. What began as a faint shower of sparks before your eyes has morphed into a flaming portal...nay, a hellish portal...that overcomes any effort, arcane or otherwise, you make in an attempt to avoid its pull. Your current location begins to fade and a new, unfamiliar place materializes in its place. With the smell of brimstone in your nostrils, you behold a dark, smoky lounge with comfortable furniture. In the distance you hear the faint thrum of music playing, and seated in a chair opposite you is a handsome fellow, notwithstanding his crimson skin and ink black eyes. As your mind races to make sense of all this, three very familiar individuals are suddenly standing near you. Despite your uncertainty about all that is taking place, you are quite certain you are among your old friends from your very first days in the music business. You always hoped for a reunion of sorts, but this isn't what you had in mind...
(In your initial post, please include a description of where your character was, or what your character was doing, when the portal opened).
“...And I said to him, “I don’t care who you know, or who you claim to be, you don’t have papers, you’re not getting in!” Kagenthur said to his fellow city guard. They laughed briefly about inconveniencing minor bureaucrats, when more somber news came. He continued, “Aye but those were better times. I’ll not lie to you, I’ll miss it. I’m only taking the essentials with me, and feel free to help yourself to whatever is left over-”
Kagenthur, and his small collection of household goods, were then pulled into the portal.
“-WHAT IN THE-”
Landing with a clattering of books, cooking utensils and drums, Kag roared, “-SEVEN HELLS?!”
He looked about at his surroundings, the man, and then his friends.
“Ah, speak of the, well…You could’ve sent a letter ya know? I was moving anyway it wouldn’t have-actually let me restart, how’ve ya been?!” He chuckled.
"Alone. We're finally alone sweets. Now lets ... "
"What the... What's this about... Honey yous just wait there. I'll be right back." Gulp "I hope."
As the new locale comes into view, he looks about as he buttons up his shirt; so as to be a bit more presentable. "Is this one of those 'Command' performances I've heard of?" He says to no one in particular.
Seeing the old gang, he steps up with a smile and handshake or pat on the back in greeting his old friends.
(His manner of speech can be best compared to the old speakeasies, with a bit of New York thrown in)
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Zolya was in the middle of a serenade. The worst time for a portal to the hells of all places to open. His job as a musician and performer in the courts of the Holy King payed very well, and he needed that money. He played the lyre with superb skill, his long fingers plucking out a harmonious melody as his voice softly intoned praises to the gods. He had left his old life, traveling with his other bardicly inclined friends, for a simple life in the court of the Holy King. His muse, Everdeen, servitor to the Song Lord, Zolya's angelic mentor and friend, stood in the corner, watching proudly as Zolya pursued his life passion: To sing for and with the angels
As the portal opened, the clutches of hell grasping for him, Zolya looked back at his friend, the one who had inspired him, taught him, trusted him, loved him, and mouthed what he hoped weren't his final words to Everdeen "Don't forget me"
With that, Zolya was taken to the hellish place. It disgusted him, the presence of a devil. Monsters, all of them, silver-tongued manipulators and tricksters, intent on stealing your soul and driving you into sin. But, I must stay strong. This fiend seeks to twist my song. That will not happen.
with a look of surprise, he recognizes his old friends: Kagenthur, the boisterous dwarf, Geoffrey, the suavest of the bunch, and Boisseau, smart, smart Boisseau. His old friends, his band, who had once been his closest confidants. That was before he found Everdeen, who he had been searching for all of those years since he heard that angelic song as a child. "Well, I never thought I would see any of you again. Nevertheless, it is nice to see you all once more." Zolya raises his hand in greeting, speaking softly and with measured composure and eloquence, as well as air of compassion and genuine joy of seeing his friends again. He turns to the crimson-figure, "And You. What do you want?". He studies the fiends face, trying to discern a lie from its response [insight check: 10 plus 1].
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Hi, I'm Raccoon_Master, a young genderfluid actor, writer, explorer, and bass vocalist. Pronouns They/Them/Theirs
My Characters: Brorminthe Devout Crusher; Morgrom the Cunning Summoner;Theathe Rebellious Beauty;
"Sacre Bleu! That is ze last time I order uncooked fish. Tis all ze rage they say. Bah! What do they know." Sitting with his pants around ankles in some back woods town shops outhouse, yhe firey portal opened just inside the doorway, growing larger and larger. Boisseau only had time to to start pulling up his trousers as he got scheduled into this stange dimension ending up with on the floor with his stuff that was hanging on the hook scattered on the floor.
Boisseau stands up, not bothering to worry about doing up his trousers as the shock of his new whereabouts overshadowed the need of social dignity. As his pants resumed there spot around his ankles, his long maroon tunic was long enough to keep his privates to remain that way, he trues to dhow a bit of confidence, standing straight and resisting the urge to cover his lower extremities and gather his belongings. Looking around the room, he sees a few familiar faces. "Ah Geoffrey, we meet again like zis, though it appears ze roles are reversed zis time." As Boisseau waits for the meaning of this reunion to ne revealed. He will set a Mage Hand to work to start finishing his redressing and then to start to gather his belongings.
"Do not worry my friend Boisseau. While this time you are the one, in a compromised situation. Had it been another minute, we would be brothers in this circumstance."
Your crimson-skinned host (for that is what he soon proves himself to be) cannot hide his mild amusement at the timing of your summons, especially that of Boisseau. "I must say, it is good to see all of you again. Seven years has, even for me, been a rather long time."
He places a noticeable emphasis on the word again, seemingly in an effort to remind you of some past interaction you've had with him. His face and manner of speech do seem strangely familiar to each of you.
"Please, be seated and drink, my guests," he says as he rises from his chair and motions toward the comfortable-looking furniture and flagons of wine on the low table in the room. Now that he stands upright, you notice the black leathery wings protruding from his back. That he is a cambion is now quite clear to each of you.
"If you need any clarification...or any reminders...about our arrangement, then please ask. There is certainly time to talk. I'd enjoy it actually."
NOTE: Zolya doesn't detect any outright deception in the cambion.
"Yeah, abouts that. I'm not recalling anything about someone like yous or any sort of 'arrangement'. " Geoffrey says, including the finger 'Air Quotes'. He also twirls a playing card in his fingers.
Hidden Ace. When you finish a long rest, you can imbue one spell from your class’s spell list into a card, which remains imbued for 8 hours. The chosen spell must have a casting time of 1 action and be a level for which you have spell slots. While the card is imbued, you can use a bonus action to flourish the card and cast the spell within.
"I as well do not remember what sort of fiendish deal you bound us too. Maybe that is because I like to forget things like you. Better for my spiritual health" Zolya intones bitingly, suspicious of the cambion. It has not lied yet, but that means it will lie soon. The thing can't help it, its depraved mind is too far gone into sin.
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Hi, I'm Raccoon_Master, a young genderfluid actor, writer, explorer, and bass vocalist. Pronouns They/Them/Theirs
My Characters: Brorminthe Devout Crusher; Morgrom the Cunning Summoner;Theathe Rebellious Beauty;
His skin pales, and Kagenthur feels a chill run up his spine. He remembers making a deal, but not the specifics. He'd hoped it was a nightmare, a fever dream of an overindulged mind.
He looks around at the others in a similar state of forgetfulness, and says, "Devils in the details boys, let's hear him out. I'll not be known as one who goes back on their word, even with present company."
He picks up an offered beverage, but before he drinks mutters,
"Fiendish deal?" repeats the cambion questioningly (and with a slight air of feigned innocence) as his jet black eyes set upon Zolya. "In one sense that is true, but only partially. We might also call it an orcish deal in light of the fact that you consented to it, Zolya Orulan."
After refilling his glass from the flagon of wine on the table, he looks upon Geoffrey. "Arrangement. That's a much better way to look at this. I do appreciate a fey's ability to see things clearly, even when things are a bit nuanced."
The cambion then sips from his glass and addresses Kagenthur. "And the dwarf speaks of keeping his word. Steadfast as the mountains from which he comes. This is wisdom."
After another sip of wine, the cambion offers an apology to Boisseau, who is now fully dressed and decent. "Such poor timing on my part, Boisseau. Please forgive me. Now, allow me to fill in a few details that, understandably, are eluding all of you. First, my name: Rahmzur du Mar. And I welcome you to the Tower of Song, a most distinguished place here in the city Abriymoch, which as you may have surmised stands within the Nine Hells. More specifically, Abriymoch graces Phlegethos, the fourth layer."
As he speaks his name, he places his hand upon his chest and bows slightly. Then, over the span of three or four minutes, Rahmzur provides the following information, all of which harmonizes with your somewhat faded memories of a day seven years in the past:
On a dreary night in Neverwinter, after a lengthy span of earning very little coin and even less respect from the patrons in the various taverns, inns, and music festivals you'd been playing, you were treated to a fine meal by a wealthy and charismatic man named Mr. Rahm. He recognized the potential of your group and sensed you were sharing your artistic gifts with the wrong sort of people. He offered--and you accepted--to set up a number of performance opportunities for you in the weeks ahead at various events attended by a slightly more appreciative and refined crowd. In short, the events went better than any of you could have imagined. Your names began to spread, and your coin purses began to swell. And the agreement you made? It was quite simple really: you agreed that in seven years you would play seven shows for Mr. Rahm, seven shows over the course of seven days. Each of you signed the contract, and Mr. Rahm's final words were, "No need to worry about transportation to those shows in seven years. I'll handle that. No trouble at all."
"Well, then. Thoughts? Questions? Concerns?" asks Rahmzur du Mar upon concluding his summary. "Your first performance is scheduled to begin in roughly five hours. My guests...(he motions toward the wall behind him, beyond which you can hear the muffled sound of live music)...will be delighted. I am sure of it."
"Bah, zis certainly isn't ze most outrageous stunt someone has pull to get some of us to perform, zough I can't recall when at zis current time. But no-one will say Monsieur Boisseau went back on his word! If we made zis supposed deal, zen we shall honor our end of ze bargain." "Looking far less confident then his words. "Clearly there is some point to all zis, ze original deal, zese... performances... Call moi a skeptic but what's ze catch to zese... performances? Something tells moi it would take more zen simple coin to take zis job otherwise." He takes the wine and swirls it like he was going to drink it but keeps getting distracted from actually drinking. He cast Prestidigitation to clean up and straighten his clothes assisting with the mage hand.
"You imagine a catch of some sort? I will assure you this: no physical harm shall come to you. Seven performances over the course of seven days and back to the Material Plane you will go, our agreement fulfilled, and you free to resume your daily business. Say what you will about us devils, we do appreciate orderly business arrangements."
(Zolya senses no dishonesty, just skilled evasion, in Rahmzur's words)
Rahmzur du Mar smoothly finishes off another glass of wine before answering Geoffrey's question. "Here, Geoffrey. Here in the Tower of Song you will perform. Guest rooms will be ready for you after this evening's performance, where you will remain comfortably for the seven agreed-upon days."
Rahmzur then lifts a small silver bell from atop a nearby shelf and uses it to summon a group of fiends who have apparently been waiting outside the lounge door. Three of them are a bit brutish in appearance despite being well-dressed. They carry no weapons, but their hands, in some infernal way, seem to have brass knuckles built into them. With these three comes a fourth: female, elegant, but fully a fiend. She carries only a small matte-black baton.
"Guards," says Rahmzur, addressing the four who just entered the room, "Ensure my guests remain here until called for their performance. Allowing them to wander about would spoil the surprise, yes?"
Turning to the four of you, Rahmzur says, "Rest at ease here. Drink your fill of wine. The guards can fetch more if you like."
Rahmzur then strides out of the room, leaving you to wonder if and when you will see him again. ________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Here's the lounge, roughly 30' x 40', with the three brutish fiends denoted with gray squares, and the female fiend denoted in orange. The sole door is in the upper left corner. I didn't place markers for the four of you.
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Zolya does not touch the wine. Even if he was sure it wasn't poisoned, or worse, taking indulgences now of all times would be unwise. If anyone of his companions reach for the wine, he makes a subtle gesture towards them, motioning for them not to touch it.
With a wave, Zolya motions for his companions to join him in a huddle around the table. Sitting at one of the chairs, he leans forward, speaking in a hushed tone, not low enough to be suspicious, but low enough that any guard who wasn't listening intently would not be able to hear the conversation, instead probably picking up only murmured words.
"As far as I can tell, our host was not lying. Though I sense that, at the least, all the truth was not revealed to us. Our circumstances do not seem to permit us leaving, considering our friends right there. Stay on your guard" With that, Zolya stands, looking around the room, searching for...well, anything. [perception: 9 plus 1]
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Hi, I'm Raccoon_Master, a young genderfluid actor, writer, explorer, and bass vocalist. Pronouns They/Them/Theirs
My Characters: Brorminthe Devout Crusher; Morgrom the Cunning Summoner;Theathe Rebellious Beauty;
"We said we woukd do there little shows, the guards seem unnecessary." He leans in close to Zolya and whispers, "Perhaps we should knock off some of the old dust and leave these 4 crumpled in ze corner as a way of showing our displeasure in ze suggestion zat having zem here suggests." Leaning back for the whoke group to hear but still quiet tones, "But perhaps we should work our powers of persuasion on zese 4 for info on ze job we are doing. Or simply we should rehearse. We know zis be no ordinary performance as ze 'suprise' zat will be ruined if we leave zis room." Boisseau starts to look though his sack and pulls out an old lyre. He starts to tune the strings. He has his mage hand retrieve the shawn from his side were he keeps the larger pipe.
Geoffrey, after their host had left, sat and studied the confines of their room. He opens his bag and pulls out a ration along with his wineskin. He weighs the wineskin and says "Food wise, I think we'll be OK, But, as much as I'd like to pass on the offered drinks, unless one of you can draft some refreshing drinks out of nothing, I'd say we will be forced to drink their offered spirts."
(OOC, what do the four guards look like and where are they in the room?)
The lounge which now has taken on the purpose of being a holding cell for you, is dimly lit, and the floor is covered with plush crimson rugs and the furniture is made from black wood. A chandelier provides murky orange light that barely reaches the walls, which are covered in lurid paintings showing devilish figures revelling with mortal worshippers. Two large windows provide views of a dark grey sky that rains ash. Fires flicker in the distance, and below them sprawls a city that bustles with dark activity. Outside the lounge, particularly through the eastern wall, you can hear the sound of music being played somewhere in the Tower of Song.
The guards show no interest in your movements or hushed conversation; you suspect this scene has played out many times for them in the past. All are medium-sized, slighly larger than Boisseau, slightly smaller than Zolya. Their melee capabilities seem evident to you. Any sort of arcane skills they might have, however, cannot be deduced. The female guard appears comfortable enough with goings-on in the room, for she has actually taken up one of the flagons of wine and poured a glassful for herself.
Spending a few moments at one of the expansive windows, the four of you take in the view of the infernal cityscape below. As you do so, the faintest of sensations register simultaneously in your brains. The floor beneath your feet flexes ever so slightly, and the aroma of brimstone reaches your nostrils. To put it simply, you are certain that someone has approached and now stands very near you; that someone..or something...must be invisible, however.
A barely audible whisper falls upon your ears. "You are in greater danger than you think."
Pondering the information and situation we've been given, Kag sat silent through it all. The ups and downs from thinking oh were just playing some showsto damn I haven't played seriously in years and finally to now we're prisoners of a devil? could it get worse?! Had clearly weighed heavily on him.
Wordlessly, he picked up and replaced his drink several times over his and Zolya's considerations. He shook his head at Geoffrey's mention of conjuring goods, and he took Boisseau's comment to heart.
Picking up his drink a final time, he began to approach the female guard who was indulging in wine as well. He'd gotten all of two steps before he heard an invisible warning.
The adventuring life of a bard is never a dull one, and you are no strangers to its dangers and delights or its suspense and surprises. On this day, however, you are caught quite off your guard by a fiery circle that has suddenly surrounded you. What began as a faint shower of sparks before your eyes has morphed into a flaming portal...nay, a hellish portal...that overcomes any effort, arcane or otherwise, you make in an attempt to avoid its pull. Your current location begins to fade and a new, unfamiliar place materializes in its place. With the smell of brimstone in your nostrils, you behold a dark, smoky lounge with comfortable furniture. In the distance you hear the faint thrum of music playing, and seated in a chair opposite you is a handsome fellow, notwithstanding his crimson skin and ink black eyes. As your mind races to make sense of all this, three very familiar individuals are suddenly standing near you. Despite your uncertainty about all that is taking place, you are quite certain you are among your old friends from your very first days in the music business. You always hoped for a reunion of sorts, but this isn't what you had in mind...
(In your initial post, please include a description of where your character was, or what your character was doing, when the portal opened).
“...And I said to him, “I don’t care who you know, or who you claim to be, you don’t have papers, you’re not getting in!” Kagenthur said to his fellow city guard. They laughed briefly about inconveniencing minor bureaucrats, when more somber news came. He continued, “Aye but those were better times. I’ll not lie to you, I’ll miss it. I’m only taking the essentials with me, and feel free to help yourself to whatever is left over-”
Kagenthur, and his small collection of household goods, were then pulled into the portal.
“-WHAT IN THE-”
Landing with a clattering of books, cooking utensils and drums, Kag roared, “-SEVEN HELLS?!”
He looked about at his surroundings, the man, and then his friends.
“Ah, speak of the, well…You could’ve sent a letter ya know? I was moving anyway it wouldn’t have-actually let me restart, how’ve ya been?!” He chuckled.
Geoffrey -
"Alone. We're finally alone sweets. Now lets ... "
"What the... What's this about... Honey yous just wait there. I'll be right back." Gulp "I hope."
As the new locale comes into view, he looks about as he buttons up his shirt; so as to be a bit more presentable. "Is this one of those 'Command' performances I've heard of?" He says to no one in particular.
Seeing the old gang, he steps up with a smile and handshake or pat on the back in greeting his old friends.
(His manner of speech can be best compared to the old speakeasies, with a bit of New York thrown in)
D&D since 1984
Zolya was in the middle of a serenade. The worst time for a portal to the hells of all places to open. His job as a musician and performer in the courts of the Holy King payed very well, and he needed that money. He played the lyre with superb skill, his long fingers plucking out a harmonious melody as his voice softly intoned praises to the gods. He had left his old life, traveling with his other bardicly inclined friends, for a simple life in the court of the Holy King. His muse, Everdeen, servitor to the Song Lord, Zolya's angelic mentor and friend, stood in the corner, watching proudly as Zolya pursued his life passion: To sing for and with the angels
As the portal opened, the clutches of hell grasping for him, Zolya looked back at his friend, the one who had inspired him, taught him, trusted him, loved him, and mouthed what he hoped weren't his final words to Everdeen "Don't forget me"
With that, Zolya was taken to the hellish place. It disgusted him, the presence of a devil. Monsters, all of them, silver-tongued manipulators and tricksters, intent on stealing your soul and driving you into sin. But, I must stay strong. This fiend seeks to twist my song. That will not happen.
with a look of surprise, he recognizes his old friends: Kagenthur, the boisterous dwarf, Geoffrey, the suavest of the bunch, and Boisseau, smart, smart Boisseau. His old friends, his band, who had once been his closest confidants. That was before he found Everdeen, who he had been searching for all of those years since he heard that angelic song as a child. "Well, I never thought I would see any of you again. Nevertheless, it is nice to see you all once more." Zolya raises his hand in greeting, speaking softly and with measured composure and eloquence, as well as air of compassion and genuine joy of seeing his friends again. He turns to the crimson-figure, "And You. What do you want?". He studies the fiends face, trying to discern a lie from its response [insight check: 10 plus 1].
Hi, I'm Raccoon_Master, a young genderfluid actor, writer, explorer, and bass vocalist. Pronouns They/Them/Theirs
My Characters: Brormin the Devout Crusher; Morgrom the Cunning Summoner; Thea the Rebellious Beauty;
Check out my EXTENDED SIGNATUR and don’t forget to join the Anything but the OGL 2.0 Thread!
"I don't make sense to you, and I don't make sense to myself. Maybe the only one I make sense to is God" ~ Me, trying to sound smart
"Sacre Bleu! That is ze last time I order uncooked fish. Tis all ze rage they say. Bah! What do they know." Sitting with his pants around ankles in some back woods town shops outhouse, yhe firey portal opened just inside the doorway, growing larger and larger. Boisseau only had time to to start pulling up his trousers as he got scheduled into this stange dimension ending up with on the floor with his stuff that was hanging on the hook scattered on the floor.
Boisseau stands up, not bothering to worry about doing up his trousers as the shock of his new whereabouts overshadowed the need of social dignity. As his pants resumed there spot around his ankles, his long maroon tunic was long enough to keep his privates to remain that way, he trues to dhow a bit of confidence, standing straight and resisting the urge to cover his lower extremities and gather his belongings. Looking around the room, he sees a few familiar faces. "Ah Geoffrey, we meet again like zis, though it appears ze roles are reversed zis time." As Boisseau waits for the meaning of this reunion to ne revealed. He will set a Mage Hand to work to start finishing his redressing and then to start to gather his belongings.
"Do not worry my friend Boisseau. While this time you are the one, in a compromised situation. Had it been another minute, we would be brothers in this circumstance."
D&D since 1984
Your crimson-skinned host (for that is what he soon proves himself to be) cannot hide his mild amusement at the timing of your summons, especially that of Boisseau. "I must say, it is good to see all of you again. Seven years has, even for me, been a rather long time."
He places a noticeable emphasis on the word again, seemingly in an effort to remind you of some past interaction you've had with him. His face and manner of speech do seem strangely familiar to each of you.
"Please, be seated and drink, my guests," he says as he rises from his chair and motions toward the comfortable-looking furniture and flagons of wine on the low table in the room. Now that he stands upright, you notice the black leathery wings protruding from his back. That he is a cambion is now quite clear to each of you.
"If you need any clarification...or any reminders...about our arrangement, then please ask. There is certainly time to talk. I'd enjoy it actually."
NOTE: Zolya doesn't detect any outright deception in the cambion.
"Yeah, abouts that. I'm not recalling anything about someone like yous or any sort of 'arrangement'. " Geoffrey says, including the finger 'Air Quotes'. He also twirls a playing card in his fingers.
Hidden Ace. When you finish a long rest, you can imbue one spell from your class’s spell list into a card, which remains imbued for 8 hours. The chosen spell must have a casting time of 1 action and be a level for which you have spell slots. While the card is imbued, you can use a bonus action to flourish the card and cast the spell within.
NOTE - The Spell is Shatter
D&D since 1984
"I as well do not remember what sort of fiendish deal you bound us too. Maybe that is because I like to forget things like you. Better for my spiritual health" Zolya intones bitingly, suspicious of the cambion. It has not lied yet, but that means it will lie soon. The thing can't help it, its depraved mind is too far gone into sin.
Hi, I'm Raccoon_Master, a young genderfluid actor, writer, explorer, and bass vocalist. Pronouns They/Them/Theirs
My Characters: Brormin the Devout Crusher; Morgrom the Cunning Summoner; Thea the Rebellious Beauty;
Check out my EXTENDED SIGNATUR and don’t forget to join the Anything but the OGL 2.0 Thread!
"I don't make sense to you, and I don't make sense to myself. Maybe the only one I make sense to is God" ~ Me, trying to sound smart
His skin pales, and Kagenthur feels a chill run up his spine. He remembers making a deal, but not the specifics. He'd hoped it was a nightmare, a fever dream of an overindulged mind.
He looks around at the others in a similar state of forgetfulness, and says, "Devils in the details boys, let's hear him out. I'll not be known as one who goes back on their word, even with present company."
He picks up an offered beverage, but before he drinks mutters,
"Especially in present company..."
"Fiendish deal?" repeats the cambion questioningly (and with a slight air of feigned innocence) as his jet black eyes set upon Zolya. "In one sense that is true, but only partially. We might also call it an orcish deal in light of the fact that you consented to it, Zolya Orulan."
After refilling his glass from the flagon of wine on the table, he looks upon Geoffrey. "Arrangement. That's a much better way to look at this. I do appreciate a fey's ability to see things clearly, even when things are a bit nuanced."
The cambion then sips from his glass and addresses Kagenthur. "And the dwarf speaks of keeping his word. Steadfast as the mountains from which he comes. This is wisdom."
After another sip of wine, the cambion offers an apology to Boisseau, who is now fully dressed and decent. "Such poor timing on my part, Boisseau. Please forgive me. Now, allow me to fill in a few details that, understandably, are eluding all of you. First, my name: Rahmzur du Mar. And I welcome you to the Tower of Song, a most distinguished place here in the city Abriymoch, which as you may have surmised stands within the Nine Hells. More specifically, Abriymoch graces Phlegethos, the fourth layer."
As he speaks his name, he places his hand upon his chest and bows slightly. Then, over the span of three or four minutes, Rahmzur provides the following information, all of which harmonizes with your somewhat faded memories of a day seven years in the past:
On a dreary night in Neverwinter, after a lengthy span of earning very little coin and even less respect from the patrons in the various taverns, inns, and music festivals you'd been playing, you were treated to a fine meal by a wealthy and charismatic man named Mr. Rahm. He recognized the potential of your group and sensed you were sharing your artistic gifts with the wrong sort of people. He offered--and you accepted--to set up a number of performance opportunities for you in the weeks ahead at various events attended by a slightly more appreciative and refined crowd. In short, the events went better than any of you could have imagined. Your names began to spread, and your coin purses began to swell. And the agreement you made? It was quite simple really: you agreed that in seven years you would play seven shows for Mr. Rahm, seven shows over the course of seven days. Each of you signed the contract, and Mr. Rahm's final words were, "No need to worry about transportation to those shows in seven years. I'll handle that. No trouble at all."
"Well, then. Thoughts? Questions? Concerns?" asks Rahmzur du Mar upon concluding his summary. "Your first performance is scheduled to begin in roughly five hours. My guests...(he motions toward the wall behind him, beyond which you can hear the muffled sound of live music)...will be delighted. I am sure of it."
"Bah, zis certainly isn't ze most outrageous stunt someone has pull to get some of us to perform, zough I can't recall when at zis current time. But no-one will say Monsieur Boisseau went back on his word! If we made zis supposed deal, zen we shall honor our end of ze bargain." "Looking far less confident then his words. "Clearly there is some point to all zis, ze original deal, zese... performances... Call moi a skeptic but what's ze catch to zese... performances? Something tells moi it would take more zen simple coin to take zis job otherwise." He takes the wine and swirls it like he was going to drink it but keeps getting distracted from actually drinking. He cast Prestidigitation to clean up and straighten his clothes assisting with the mage hand.
"Agreed. Wees honor our word. Where will this 'performance' be held?" Geoffrey asks.
D&D since 1984
Zolya nods in agreement of what the others are saying "And don't say there isn't one. There's always a catch with things like you"
Insight: 20 plus 4
Hi, I'm Raccoon_Master, a young genderfluid actor, writer, explorer, and bass vocalist. Pronouns They/Them/Theirs
My Characters: Brormin the Devout Crusher; Morgrom the Cunning Summoner; Thea the Rebellious Beauty;
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"I don't make sense to you, and I don't make sense to myself. Maybe the only one I make sense to is God" ~ Me, trying to sound smart
"You imagine a catch of some sort? I will assure you this: no physical harm shall come to you. Seven performances over the course of seven days and back to the Material Plane you will go, our agreement fulfilled, and you free to resume your daily business. Say what you will about us devils, we do appreciate orderly business arrangements."
(Zolya senses no dishonesty, just skilled evasion, in Rahmzur's words)
Rahmzur du Mar smoothly finishes off another glass of wine before answering Geoffrey's question. "Here, Geoffrey. Here in the Tower of Song you will perform. Guest rooms will be ready for you after this evening's performance, where you will remain comfortably for the seven agreed-upon days."
Rahmzur then lifts a small silver bell from atop a nearby shelf and uses it to summon a group of fiends who have apparently been waiting outside the lounge door. Three of them are a bit brutish in appearance despite being well-dressed. They carry no weapons, but their hands, in some infernal way, seem to have brass knuckles built into them. With these three comes a fourth: female, elegant, but fully a fiend. She carries only a small matte-black baton.
"Guards," says Rahmzur, addressing the four who just entered the room, "Ensure my guests remain here until called for their performance. Allowing them to wander about would spoil the surprise, yes?"
Turning to the four of you, Rahmzur says, "Rest at ease here. Drink your fill of wine. The guards can fetch more if you like."
Rahmzur then strides out of the room, leaving you to wonder if and when you will see him again.
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Here's the lounge, roughly 30' x 40', with the three brutish fiends denoted with gray squares, and the female fiend denoted in orange. The sole door is in the upper left corner. I didn't place markers for the four of you.
Zolya does not touch the wine. Even if he was sure it wasn't poisoned, or worse, taking indulgences now of all times would be unwise. If anyone of his companions reach for the wine, he makes a subtle gesture towards them, motioning for them not to touch it.
With a wave, Zolya motions for his companions to join him in a huddle around the table. Sitting at one of the chairs, he leans forward, speaking in a hushed tone, not low enough to be suspicious, but low enough that any guard who wasn't listening intently would not be able to hear the conversation, instead probably picking up only murmured words.
"As far as I can tell, our host was not lying. Though I sense that, at the least, all the truth was not revealed to us. Our circumstances do not seem to permit us leaving, considering our friends right there. Stay on your guard" With that, Zolya stands, looking around the room, searching for...well, anything. [perception: 9 plus 1]
Hi, I'm Raccoon_Master, a young genderfluid actor, writer, explorer, and bass vocalist. Pronouns They/Them/Theirs
My Characters: Brormin the Devout Crusher; Morgrom the Cunning Summoner; Thea the Rebellious Beauty;
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"I don't make sense to you, and I don't make sense to myself. Maybe the only one I make sense to is God" ~ Me, trying to sound smart
"We said we woukd do there little shows, the guards seem unnecessary." He leans in close to Zolya and whispers, "Perhaps we should knock off some of the old dust and leave these 4 crumpled in ze corner as a way of showing our displeasure in ze suggestion zat having zem here suggests." Leaning back for the whoke group to hear but still quiet tones, "But perhaps we should work our powers of persuasion on zese 4 for info on ze job we are doing. Or simply we should rehearse. We know zis be no ordinary performance as ze 'suprise' zat will be ruined if we leave zis room." Boisseau starts to look though his sack and pulls out an old lyre. He starts to tune the strings. He has his mage hand retrieve the shawn from his side were he keeps the larger pipe.
Geoffrey, after their host had left, sat and studied the confines of their room. He opens his bag and pulls out a ration along with his wineskin. He weighs the wineskin and says "Food wise, I think we'll be OK, But, as much as I'd like to pass on the offered drinks, unless one of you can draft some refreshing drinks out of nothing, I'd say we will be forced to drink their offered spirts."
(OOC, what do the four guards look like and where are they in the room?)
D&D since 1984
The lounge which now has taken on the purpose of being a holding cell for you, is dimly lit, and the floor is covered with plush crimson rugs and the furniture is made from black wood. A chandelier provides murky orange light that barely reaches the walls, which are covered in lurid paintings showing devilish figures revelling with mortal worshippers. Two large windows provide views of a dark grey sky that rains ash. Fires flicker in the distance, and below them sprawls a city that bustles with dark activity. Outside the lounge, particularly through the eastern wall, you can hear the sound of music being played somewhere in the Tower of Song.
The guards show no interest in your movements or hushed conversation; you suspect this scene has played out many times for them in the past. All are medium-sized, slighly larger than Boisseau, slightly smaller than Zolya. Their melee capabilities seem evident to you. Any sort of arcane skills they might have, however, cannot be deduced. The female guard appears comfortable enough with goings-on in the room, for she has actually taken up one of the flagons of wine and poured a glassful for herself.
Spending a few moments at one of the expansive windows, the four of you take in the view of the infernal cityscape below. As you do so, the faintest of sensations register simultaneously in your brains. The floor beneath your feet flexes ever so slightly, and the aroma of brimstone reaches your nostrils. To put it simply, you are certain that someone has approached and now stands very near you; that someone..or something...must be invisible, however.
A barely audible whisper falls upon your ears. "You are in greater danger than you think."
Pondering the information and situation we've been given, Kag sat silent through it all. The ups and downs from thinking oh were just playing some shows to damn I haven't played seriously in years and finally to now we're prisoners of a devil? could it get worse?! Had clearly weighed heavily on him.
Wordlessly, he picked up and replaced his drink several times over his and Zolya's considerations. He shook his head at Geoffrey's mention of conjuring goods, and he took Boisseau's comment to heart.
Picking up his drink a final time, he began to approach the female guard who was indulging in wine as well. He'd gotten all of two steps before he heard an invisible warning.
"Shite."