Outside Hidimba's Head

Hidimba, with the aid of the best medical help money and blackmail can buy, offers his gratitude (and home) to the party as soon as he's able. He makes it clear, without ever being crass enough to state it outright, that he expects discretion from all involved regarding the contents of his memories.

"The Hidimbas," he confesses, "Would be considered something of a an entire flock of black sheep in this day and age. Carnivorous, venomous sheep. Things were different before the Imperium fell...."

Claiming the estate requires a bit of work. The Crazy Bitches, an all-female gang of gnolls, had laid claim to the place and were wholly unwilling to leave. Clearing them out took time, effort, and blood...and was probably the closest thing to a proper military engagement that Artichoke has ever commanded. Once cleared, the buildings are quite livable, but terribly filthy and squalid, and in need of a host of minor repairs. Treasure settles into the greenhouse with apparent contentment, and maybe-divine pig manure indeed proves to be an excellent fertilizer. The greenery thrives, in fact, to the point that keeping it contained it something of an effort.

A few weeks after the defeat of the Bitches, a visitor arrives.

It's a pig, of a sort. While it is both translucent and luminescent, it still looks disturbingly like a tiny Treasure. It's trotting forward, with an air of great excitement, and then turning and racing back to the figure trailing behind it. Who, each time it comes within range, aims a kick or a blow from his staff at the little swine.

He never quite manages to connect, but it's not from lack of trying.

The pig seats itself upon the doorstep and looks around, making happy little noises. Its companion, drawing near, makes a threatening gesture with his staff...but contents himself with spitting something that sounds like a curse at the beast.

"Is hateful beast," he says, in a thick accent, "Its pain is like music to me."

Pulling back his hood, the figure reveals a face that is not wholly human -- sallow, mottled skin covers a skull of subtly strange contours, and his flat gray eyes sport cross-shaped pupils.

"Am Pætros Paranova." He frowns, thunderously. "Am new High Priest of Pig-God."

Pætros sounds in no way happy about this.

"Meow..." says Odanais, then shakes his head and takes another sip of the dark rum he favors, "I mean... greetings!"

He offers his hand and cocks his head to the side to ask, "I'm sorry, but it sounded an awful lot like you just said that you're the new high priest of our pig god..."

He turns to look at Treasure. "So... Treasure... how long has this been going on?"

"Did someone say 'new high priest'? Splendid!" cries Yatagan, his reptilian snout poking out from a high window. "Be right down." A few minutes later the paladin emerges from Hidimba's former manse, carrying a long, wide metal lozenge fitted with pipes and adorned with crude sliver filigree.

"This is for you, High Priest Paranova" says Yatagan in an austere-and-ecumenical voice as he reaches up to set the thing on the newcomer's head. "The Mitre of Might, your badge of station". It is at this point Odanais can make out of fireworks protruding from the metal tubes.

"Once we fire the ceremonial rockets, it'll be official!". The Dragonborn opens his mouths, recalls he spits toxic saliva, not fire, then fumbles in his pouch for a lighter.

"By the way, I'm Sir Yatagan Fracas, poet, propagandist, and pornographer. I'm writing your Gospels."

Artichoke looks up from the table, where he has been working on a large ledger, with a long-suffering expression. "Another one?" he mutters under his breath as he spots the spectral pig, before turning to glance up at the room Christabel has taken. Then he looks back to Paranova and says, politely but firmly, "Care to explain a little more about exactly who, what and from where you are?"

The League's supposed leader sighs as Yatagan bustles in and places the thing he carries on the newcomer's head. Artichoke calmly reaches down, picks up his shield and places it on the table before him, shielding the ledger and most of himself. Peering over the shield's edge, he says, "I'm waiting!"

"Feh!" Pætros irritably removes the hat and begins to toss it aside. He pauses it mid-throw, considering it with one eyebrow crooked high.

"Is good hat," he concludes, replacing it upon his head. "Proper hat for Porcophant." Pætros fusses with it for a moment, settling it properly into place, and then slams the butt his staff upon the ground.

The air cracks open with a sound like thunder, as a winged figure, burning with white light, strides forth from nothingness.

"Kindle hat," Pætros snaps, squaring his shoulders. With a sigh, the angel employs its flaming sword, and steps rapidly back through the hole in the air.

"Is very good hat," Pætros admits at the top of his lungs. "You make hat this good, Gospels must be damned good reading!"

As the last few rockets fire off, and the aroma of scorched flesh begins to fade, he turns to Artichoke.

"Have traveled long and hard, tormented by pig who will NOT be silent," he tosses a glare at the pig spirit, which now appears to be conversing with an oblivious Treasure, "Across waters of Deep Aster to come to this place."

Pætros settles himself into a seat. "Pætros was monk, Order of Seventeen Shadows. Genius, of unsung sort. Brilliant scholar. Meditations were disturbed by appearance of that," he spits the word out, pointing accusingly at the pig again, "And its babble about Pig God. Would not shut up until Pætros agreed to follow it, be high priest of Pig God." He shakes his head. "Been a very long year, only filthy pig for company," he adds in a mournful tone.

"Pig thinks it can sing, but can not!" he bellows the last word at the top of his lungs, and then subsides back into a disconsolate mutter. "Pætros hates pig, so much...."

More spiritual mumbo jumbo, mutters Lizzy. I've got half a mind to to make some heavenly bacon with that thing before we waste more time with it. Sadly, I've forsworn the flesh of the pig in solidarity with my brothers in the swineherd union who are getting raped by the capitalists running the bacon and ham trades. Paying a pittance per pig while they sit fat and lazy and rake in the rewards of the slaughterhouse. Lizzy spits.

Rolzup wrote:

"Kindle hat," Pætros snaps, squaring his shoulders. With a sigh, the angel employs its flaming sword, and steps rapidly back through the hole in the air.

OOC: Lovely.

Quote :

"Is very good hat," Pætros admits at the top of his lungs.

Thank you!" bellows Yatagan back, assuming the volume is customary among his people.

Quote :

"You make hat this good, Gospels must be damned good reading!"

"I have been told they're 'really hot, except for all the politics', whatever that means. I'll have copies made for you after my meeting with the giant talking spider."

Quote :

As the last few rockets fire off, and the aroma of scorched flesh begins to fade, he turns to Artichoke.

OOC: I should have specified that the launch tubes bend outward at the bottom, away from the wearer, though minor burns are probably inescapable.

IC: Yatagan ignores all the business about hating the Miracle Pig and happily bounds off to the Hush, thinking god's in the her sty and all's right with the Port.

OOC: And thus John passes the DM's hat to me. The party is now level 9. Adjust your characters accordingly, including items, which we'll assume you bartered for at 'Huge' Selwyn Mauberly's or some other merchants in Five Fathoms Market.

Should I start a new thread for the next adventure, or continue in this one?

Mallus wrote:

IC: Yatagan ignores all the business about hating the Miracle Pig and happily bounds off to the Hush, thinking god's in the her sty and all's right with the Port.

For the record, he's fairly neutral on the Miracle Pig at this juncture, not having had much chance to make her acquaintance. It's the spirit-pig that he loathes, with all his wizened heart and soul.

Pætros bends his gaze to Artichoke, frowning. "And you? Your job? Clean up after Pig God?"

Mallus wrote:

OOC: And thus John passes the DM's hat to me. The party is now level 9. Adjust your characters accordingly, including items, which we'll assume you bartered for at 'Huge' Selwyn Mauberly's or some other merchants in Five Fathoms Market.

The DM is dead! Long live the DM! Or something.

Quote :

Should I start a new thread for the next adventure, or continue in this one?

Might as well continue here, I think.

Rolzup wrote:

Pætros bends his gaze to Artichoke, frowning. "And you? Your job? Clean up after Pig God?"

"Not really," says Artichoke dryly, before recalling what his room in the old tavern had looked like when he returned to rejoin the group and found Treasure occupying it. He winces at the memory and adds, "And thankfully not often."

Slowly lowering his shield now that the rockets have gone off, he says, "Interesting abilities you have there ... um , high priest, what with calling forth angels and all. Do you do anything of a more violent persuasion? Smite your foes with divine fire or something?"

As he waits for an answer, Artichoke's eyes suddenly narrow, and he quickly adds another question. "Wait - did you say that you've been questing for the ... Pig God for a year?" He turns to glance at Treasure, thinking to himself, "That's a lot longer than we've had her. Maybe there really is something to this damn divine pig business."

shilsen wrote:

Slowly lowering his shield now that the rockets have gone off, he says, "Interesting abilities you have there ... um , high priest, what with calling forth angels and all. Do you do anything of a more violent persuasion? Smite your foes with divine fire or something?"

"Fire, lightning, rain of blood...all of classics. Except locusts! Dislike locusts." Pætros shudders, "Make little crunching noise when step on them, is awful."

shilsen wrote:

As he waits for an answer, Artichoke's eyes suddenly narrow, and he quickly adds another question. "Wait - did you say that you've been questing for the ... Pig God for a year?" He turns to glance at Treasure, thinking to himself, "That's a lot longer than we've had her. Maybe there really is something to this damn divine pig business."

"Is year, maybe two. Time in Deep Aster is funny thing, not always run in same direction or same speed." As he speaks, Pætros gets to his feet and wanders towards Treasure. He sneers at the spirit-pig, and makes a threatening gesture in its direction, but it makes a show of casually turning its back upon the priest.

Pætros spends a moment circling Treasure, making obscure and doubtless mystical gestures with his staff as he considers the enormous beast.

"Is good pig," he says grudgingly. "Seen better gods, but seen many worse."

Rolzup wrote:

"Fire, lightning, rain of blood...all of classics. Except locusts! Dislike locusts." Pætros shudders, "Make little crunching noise when step on them, is awful."

Interesting, thinks Artichoke. Having someone else around who can utilize a large amount of elemental magic would be helpful. Especially someone who isn't apparently, his gaze flickers to Odanais and back to Pætros, From an alternate plane of existence. Supposedly. He's probably crazy, but, he sighs inwardly, Aren't they all?

Quote :

"Is year, maybe two. Time in Deep Aster is funny thing, not always run in same direction or same speed." As he speaks, Pætros gets to his feet and wanders towards Treasure. He sneers at the spirit-pig, and makes a threatening gesture in its direction, but it makes a show of casually turning its back upon the priest.

Pætros spends a moment circling Treasure, making obscure and doubtless mystical gestures with his staff as he considers the enormous beast.

"Is good pig," he says grudgingly. "Seen better gods, but seen many worse."

"Yeah. Wait till you see our Dog." Artichoke looks around. "I wonder where Heyoka went," he muses aloud. "He never seemed quite right after he got pissed on and got religion."

Shrugging, he turns back to Pætros. "So you've sailed the Deep Aster? I'll be very interested to hear about that. But, more importantly, it sounds like you need a job. I'd be happy to offer you a position in the Arseh..., er, Arti..., I mean, The Just-Us League, our city's most successful, famous and up-and-coming adventuring league." Captain's tone becomes quickly more positive, jovial and persuasive as he continues. "We offer reasonable pay," he gestures at the imposing building above them, "excellent room and board, and an opportunity to make a name for yourself, or at least die trying. All while working with a group of bona-fide heroes." Artichoke's gaze falls on Lizzy, whose expression says that he is about to start chewing his axe, and Captain deflates a little. "And," he says, through only faintly gritted teeth, "We have ... health care."

"At least until we get a single payer system in the Port."

Rolzup wrote:

"Seen better gods, but seen many worse."

shilsen wrote:

"We have ... health care."

overeddie wrote:

"At least until we get a single payer system in the Port."

After Yatagan departs, a young-seeming vagrant approaches, materializing from an alleyway on the aptly-named Shadow Street. Crossing the busy intersection at Blackguard, he comes to a stop directly in front of the cruelly-decorated, wrought-cold iron gates of the new League headquarters. His eyes stay fixed on the ground. At no point does he look up at the pyrotechnic spectacle of the new High Priest's welcome.

With his back to the courtyard he lowers himself to the street with incongruous grace. He leans his head back into iron bars streaked with rust and fae blood. Once comfortable, he begins to panhandle.

Only occasionally does he shoot surreptitious glances inside.

OOC: please update your characters.

shilsen wrote:

Shrugging, he turns back to Pætros. "So you've sailed the Deep Aster? I'll be very interested to hear about that. But, more importantly, it sounds like you need a job. I'd be happy to offer you a position in the Arseh..., er, Arti..., I mean, The Just-Us League, our city's most successful, famous and up-and-coming adventuring league." Captain's tone becomes quickly more positive, jovial and persuasive as he continues. "We offer reasonable pay," he gestures at the imposing building above them, "excellent room and board, and an opportunity to make a name for yourself, or at least die trying. All while working with a group of bona-fide heroes." Artichoke's gaze falls on Lizzy, whose expression says that he is about to start chewing his axe, and Captain deflates a little. "And," he says, through only faintly gritted teeth, "We have ... health care."

Pætros shrugs, clearly having dismissed Artichoke as someone of little real import. "Even geniuses and popes must eat," he admits, "And Pætros enjoys a nice, brutal gospel. Makes better reading than prattle about peace and understanding. Is feral pig-god?" he asks in a hopeful tone, "Bloodthirty, eats souls of wicked? If not, can be trained, yes?"

OOC: Character posted.

Rolzup wrote:

Pætros shrugs, clearly having dismissed Artichoke as someone of little real import. "Even geniuses and popes must eat," he admits, "And Pætros enjoys a nice, brutal gospel. Makes better reading than prattle about peace and understanding. Is feral pig-god?" he asks in a hopeful tone, "Bloodthirty, eats souls of wicked? If not, can be trained, yes?"

Artichoke sighs, remembering the time the others tried to feed some of those they'd slain to Treasure. "In a manner of speaking - yes. Then again, she'll eat anything, I think."

After a little more conversation, Artichoke excuses himself and heads upstairs...

Mallus wrote:

After Yatagan departs, a young-seeming vagrant approaches, materializing from an alleyway on the aptly-named Shadow Street. Crossing the busy intersection at Blackguard, he comes to a stop directly in front of the cruelly-decorated, wrought-cold iron gates of the new League headquarters. His eyes stay fixed on the ground. At no point does he look up at the pyrotechnic spectacle of the new High Priest's welcome.

With his back to the courtyard he lowers himself to the street with incongruous grace. He leans his head back into iron bars streaked with rust and fae blood. Once comfortable, he begins to panhandle.

Only occasionally does he shoot surreptitious glances inside.

...only to return very quickly. "Penelope says," he mentions, addressing nobody in particular, "That there's some beggar watching this place. I don't know if she's right," he grimaces slightly, "But I promised to check before she shot him from her bedroom window. Would one of ..."

Artichoke pauses as visions of exactly how his companions normally go about talking to the average person, leave alone interrogate them, flit through his mind. "Never mind," he says hurriedly, moving with a speed that belies his gut, "I'll check."

Artichoke makes his way down to the gate, staying off to the side in case Penelope does get a little too impatient. Exiting, he heads right for the panhandler. Looming over the man, Artichoke growls, just a little bit more deeply than is strictly necessary, "So, buddy - can I help you in any way? How come you're watching my ... our place?"

shilsen wrote:

"So, buddy - can I help you in any way? How come you're watching my ... our place?"

"G'day Guvnor. A few coppers 'er always helpful. Silver moreso. I hear gold helps a man more than he can fathom. Unless he's loose wit his tongue and ends up four fathoms down."

As he rattles on with his bum-patter, his right hand --wrapped in a bandages made from a proper lady's silk scarf-- darts into the layers of clothing he wears. Like most of his lot he's overdressed for the weather. A warm wind, perhaps from Hell, blows in off the Aster today.

The vagrant suddenly turns to face Artichoke. With the deftness of a pickpocket he produces a white evelope from a concealed pocket. "This be for your boss. Which is you, savvy? Unless it's the fat lizard."

The man smiles, showing a surprisingly full, white set of teeth. Looking him over, Artichoke sees that while he's certainly dressed the part of the street person, his motley is mottled with a few pieces of finery; the silk of his bandage, a silver watch-fob, an tasteful, unstained kerchief.

Which would make a courtier, or maybe even squire, to the Unseemly Court of Lord Bum.

Mallus wrote:

The vagrant suddenly turns to face Artichoke. With the deftness of a pickpocket he produces a white evelope from a concealed pocket. "This be for your boss. Which is you, savvy? Unless it's the fat lizard."

"Ha! Vegetable man is for being sued!"

Mallus wrote:

"G'day Guvnor. A few coppers 'er always helpful. Silver moreso. I hear gold helps a man more than he can fathom. Unless he's loose wit his tongue and ends up four fathoms down."

As he rattles on with his bum-patter, his right hand --wrapped in a bandages made from a proper lady's silk scarf-- darts into the layers of clothing he wears. Like most of his lot he's overdressed for the weather. A warm wind, perhaps from Hell, blows in off the Aster today.

The vagrant suddenly turns to face Artichoke. With the deftness of a pickpocket he produces a white evelope from a concealed pocket. "This be for your boss. Which is you, savvy? Unless it's the fat lizard."

"Yes, that would be me, not the fat ... lizard," says Artichoke, before...

Rolzup wrote:

"Ha! Vegetable man is for being sued!"

...turning to glare at the newcomer, who has followed him. "I. am. not," he says, enunciating slowly and carefully, "Vegetable. Man!"

Quote :

The man smiles, showing a surprisingly full, white set of teeth. Looking him over, Artichoke sees that while he's certainly dressed the part of the street person, his motley is mottled with a few pieces of finery; the silk of his bandage, a silver watch-fob, an tasteful, unstained kerchief.

Which would make a courtier, or maybe even squire, to the Unseemly Court of Lord Bum.

What the hell does he want with us? Artichoke reaches into a pouch and produces a few coins, which he reaches down to drop into the beggar's hand. His hand moves quickly as he does so, and when it reenters his pouch it is with the letter. With a brief nod, Artichoke turns and heads back inside. Only when he is in the building does he produce the letter and begin to read it.

Rolzup wrote:

"Ha! Vegetable man is for being sued!"

OOC: Wonderful... the new high priest of Treasure is Borat.

shilsen wrote:

Artichoke reaches into a pouch and produces a few coins, which he reaches down to drop into the beggar's hand.

"Charity raises a man up'" says the homeless courtier as he receives the coins in his dirty left hand. "Unfortunately it's by making his purse lighter. Even so, 'tis noble work we do, and it's rare to see some kindness for it. Thanks". After quickly counting the money he's up and off, disappearing into Blackguard St. behind a trolley being pulled by a team of animated corpses.

Inside, Artichoke opens the letter. The envelope is wax-sealed, white and unadorned. The note itself is a single, thrice-folded paper, of high and thoroughly nondescript quality. It reads:

"I have a proposition for you. An urgent matter. If at all possible meet me tonight at the gallery on the corner of Flyte and Fancy in the Quadrille."

The missive is signed with a single large, letter "L".

OOC: shil, roll a Perception check for Artichoke.

Mallus wrote:

OOC: shil, roll a Perception check for Artichoke.

Got a 9, so he's probably busy trying to spell out the confusing words.

The member 'shilsen' has done the following action : Dice Roller

'd20' : 3

At this point, Heyoka Jumps-Off-Mountains bounds down the stairs. "Who wants coffee? I want coffee. So I'm going to make coffee. I might put drugs in it... I mean spices. That's right. Who's up for some spiced coffee that might give you a lot energy or visions?"

shilsen wrote:

...turning to glare at the newcomer, who has followed him. "I. am. not," he says, enunciating slowly and carefully, "Vegetable. Man!"

"But are for being sued, yes?" Pætros pats Artichoke on the back. "Is no shame: Pætros has been sued many times. Process servers, worse than locusts. Crunch less when stepped on, at least."

He sighs wistfully. "Very good day, that was."