The Godly Bunch

Mallus wrote:

OOC: at Five Fathoms, he'll use his "knowledge" of the lurid potboilers he thinks are history to figure out what *type* of gift is appropriate --History: 28-- and then he'll use his inexplicable --Insight: 27 -- to select the best particular item.

Although customs may have changed over the centuries, Yatagan recalls reading an ancient novel by a disgraced Dragonborn diplomat, wherein the author described a Tiefling wedding where all the gits were either cast from solid gold or manufactured from the purchased or stolen soul of someone particularly innocent.

As such, Yatagan is literally thrilled to find at an antique shop, the captured eternal soul of an Eladrin stillborn baby encased in fine Dwarven gold. The owner of the store proudly demonstrates that when lit on fire, it burns and burns without ever melting.

Mallus wrote:

Lastly, he'll hit the docks and see about booking passage to damnation.

Yatagan has no difficulty finding out that all shipping companies have suspended journeys to the Infernal Isles for the foreseeable future, due to an ill-tempered sentient storm that has been lurking over those particular shipping lanes, striking down numerous ships (anywhere from six to sixty, depending on who's doing the reporting).

One junior harbor master, who allows Yatagan to buy him a drink, however, says that he's heard rumors of some local bigwig chartering, at great personal expense, an imminent voyage to the city of Brass, and, according to one of the bartenders at the Oceanographer's Guild Clubhouse, selectively considering other passengers to help allay the cost. Unfortunately, he can't provide any more information than that as the bartender seems to have quit or been fired.

Fagin with go to the slave markets (there are slave markets in the Port, right?) to seek out some prime young women to be flower girls / the wedding feast.

"Oy, it's a shame we couldn't have taken Lord Dandy's daughters. They would be perfect flower girls, and would even be a vegetarian meal for my meshuggah Buddhist cousins."

As he walks past antique stores, he thinks, "I just hope I don't get another of those stillborn Eladrin baby souls as a present. They're so last season. And they give me such a headache, with their wailing in torment and bursting into flame and random teleporting."

Then he goes into a "pharmacy", and buys ingredients for a potion to paralyze the vocal cords of our new "goddess".

If asked about the fortifications, Fagin would recommend both plans. "With enough urchins farming the Swinestock crowd, and some well-placed bad brown acid sold by shifter accomplices, the party would pay for the real defenders!"

overeddie wrote:

I'm a little miffed that Lizzy gets thrown in there with the others as a trouble maker. I mean sure, he's a bloodthirsty killer with a fanatical distaste for all authority, except his own, but he's got a heart of gold. Just look how he lovingly protect Bogsley. He's the son he never had.

That's very sweet. Fagin doesn't have a heart of gold, but he does have testicles of gold. It's one of the less well known quirks of tiefling physiology. And just look how he lovingly exploits his urchines. They're like the sons he never had after they married goyim*, the ingrates.




* A colloquial tiefling word for devas.

Atlatl Jones wrote:

Fagin with go to the slave markets (there are slave markets in the Port, right?) to seek out some prime young women to be flower girls / the wedding feast.

Sadly, Human life is cheap in the Port (and Halfling life an additional 50% off), so appropriate wedding slaves are all too easy to come by for a man who is about to come into 333,000 gold pieces.

Atlatl Jones wrote:

"Oy, it's a shame we couldn't have taken Lord Dandy's daughters. They would be perfect flower girls, and would even be a vegetarian meal for my meshuggah Buddhist cousins."

Ha!

Atlatl Jones wrote:

As he walks past antique stores, he thinks, "I just hope I don't get another of those stillborn Eladrin baby souls as a present. They're so last season. And they give me such a headache, with their wailing in torment and bursting into flame and random teleporting."

Haha!

Atlatl Jones wrote:

Then he goes into a "pharmacy", and buys ingredients for a potion to paralyze the vocal cords of our new "goddess".

Purchased.

Are you ready to present your prize to Maror and Charoset?

"I don't like having this many gods around," Vox complains. "I feel like a cat in a room full of rocking chairs; someone's going to say the wrong thing at the wrong time, eat the flesh of the wrong animal, or wear the wrong fabric, and they're going to get damned for no fault of their own. And by 'them' I mean 'me', if that's not clear."

"Is being stupid," Pætros says soothingly. "Is being much more likely is being smote, not damned. Damning is involving paperwork, you is being knowing this, and gods is being hating paperwork. Will be bolt from blue, or spectral piggies devouring soul, not damning."

"That's probably the least reassuring thing that anyone's ever said to me, and I should point out that I work with the spirits of the restless dead." Vox stops, levels a finger at the Porcophant. "If I'm going to hell, I'm going on my own terms, and I'll be damned sure -- no pun intended -- that I have a return ticket. And besides, I have...ah...reasons to be getting out of town for a bit."

Pætros shrugs. "Is being no skin off my back. Go, stay, is making no difference to me. Pætros is having work to do, must continue sanctifyings of house, makings for protective spells and such. Hate to be missing good evil wedding, but is having holy calling. Is problem for vegetable man to be having, and is being welcome to it."

Vox waves him on. "I'll talk to the man, never fear." He turns, takes a step down the hall, and then freezes. "Dammit," he says aloud, "I'll need a wedding gift. Hell."

He starts walking again, muttering to himself. Maybe one of those gilded Eladrin baby souls...those are popular with the Infernotrash, from what I remember....

gridley wrote:

Are you ready to present your prize to Maror and Charoset?

Not quite. I'm not sure we have enough for the full Eliza Doolittle treatment, though we'll try.

Fortunately, we don't need "the goddess" to be proper and British, just divinely inscrutable. So Fagin will also buy some opium. "Stoned" is close enough to "inscrutable divinity" in the G-LD's sight.

(Hmm. That last phrase needs to be in the Gospels. Perhaps in 1 Pharmaceuticals. Attributed to Yatagan, but pseudepigraphically written by Fagin. Future scholars will debate whether it's an authentic letter by Yatagan, because of its distinct lack of pornographic rhyming couplets. "Yea though I walk through the valley of free men, I shall not fear for my cup overflows with..."

Edit: By the way, John, your description of your two characters bickering with one another is lovely. It reminds me of Abaxis' snarky commentary on Burne's writing in the CITY story hour.

Rolzup wrote:

"I don't like having this many gods around," Vox complains. "I feel like a cat in a room full of rocking chairs; someone's going to say the wrong thing at the wrong time, eat the flesh of the wrong animal, or wear the wrong fabric, and they're going to get damned for no fault of their own. And by 'them' I mean 'me', if that's not clear."

"Is being stupid," Pætros says soothingly. "Is being much more likely is being smote, not damned. Damning is involving paperwork, you is being knowing this, and gods is being hating paperwork. Will be bolt from blue, or spectral piggies devouring soul, not damning."

"That's probably the least reassuring thing that anyone's ever said to me, and I should point out that I work with the spirits of the restless dead." Vox stops, levels a finger at the Porcophant. "If I'm going to hell, I'm going on my own terms, and I'll be damned sure -- no pun intended -- that I have a return ticket. And besides, I have...ah...reasons to be getting out of town for a bit."

Pætros shrugs. "Is being no skin off my back. Go, stay, is making no difference to me. Pætros is having work to do, must continue sanctifyings of house, makings for protective spells and such. Hate to be missing good evil wedding, but is having holy calling. Is problem for vegetable man to be having, and is being welcome to it."

Vox waves him on. "I'll talk to the man, never fear." He turns, takes a step down the hall, and then freezes. "Dammit," he says aloud, "I'll need a wedding gift. Hell."

He starts walking again, muttering to himself. Maybe one of those gilded Eladrin baby souls...those are popular with the Infernotrash, from what I remember....

John, I think both Paetros and Vox might have to go on this trip, just so that you can carry on conversations like this. We can come up with some excuse for why Paetros isn't always there.

Atlatl Jones wrote:

Fortunately, we don't need "the goddess" to be proper and British, just divinely inscrutable. So Fagin will also buy some opium. "Stoned" is close enough to "inscrutable divinity" in the G-LD's sight.

Ah, just a typical day of shopping for Fagin: slaves, drugs, and potions for silencing transgendered gods.

gridley wrote:

John, I think both Paetros and Vox might have to go on this trip, just so that you can carry on conversations like this. We can come up with some excuse for why Paetros isn't always there.

I agree.

Perhaps we can find a way for Paetros to be stuck in Vox's head. That way, your attempts to speak both sides of the conversation would be fully in-character. Just think, you could be the Smeagol/Gollum of the Port! Only with more pork, and worse diction.

Quote :

Ah, just a typical day of shopping for Fagin: slaves, drugs, and potions for silencing transgendered gods.

It's a simple life.

Atlatl Jones wrote:

I agree.

Perhaps we can find a way for Paetros to be stuck in Vox's head. That way, your attempts to speak both sides of the conversation would be fully in-character. Just think, you could be the Smeagol/Gollum of the Port! Only with more pork, and worse diction.

Yes! Maybe Paetros wants to be able to perform the ceremony without actually having to travel the damned Aster again, so he uses Vox as a vessel!

Excellent idea. So Paetros sends his higher soul - or Po(rk) - to possess Vox, leaving his lower soul - or Hun(gry) - in charge of the church (and his body).

(Yes! I knew that Chinese mythology would come in handy some day!)

gridley wrote:

John, I think both Paetros and Vox might have to go on this trip, just so that you can carry on conversations like this. We can come up with some excuse for why Paetros isn't always there.

We've had PCs theoretically present but just off-camera during fights before this point, so that should be easy to do. And if it would make things easier, I'd happy to run Paetros during combat. If that's not necessary, I'm thinking of running a tiefling ardent, who could be the captain of the ship that's being chartered to travel to the Infernal Isles. Or another passenger, if you'd prefer that, Steve.

Vox raps firmly on the lid of the box, hoping against hope to get the damned thing (literally) inside to stop screaming. It subsides to a muffled whimpering which is, he supposes, an improvement of sorts. "Musical tones, my ass," he mutters sourly. "I shouldn't have gone to a pawn shop, or at least insisted on a soundproof box...."

"YOU! Not-quite-dead-man!"

Vox spins, dropping the box and pulling an inky-black blade from the shadows of his cloak. Again, literally. "Oh. You."

"Of course is being me! If is not being me, is being someone else! And then Pætros is not being here, and is not being able to talk to Not-quite-dead-man, yes?"

There is a moment of silence before Vox blinks. "What?" he decides.

"Is being no matter. Is philosophy, and is being beyond grasping of ignorant mind like yours. Is meaning no offense," the Porcophant adds hastily, "Is just being truth."

"Yes, thank you, but look -- I have things to do, so if you'll excuse me...." Picking up the box, Vox begins to back away.

"Is being no problem! Will be walking, talking, yes? Yes." Pætros throws an arm around Vox's shoulder, and indicates the box. "Elfy baby soul, yes? Pætros is having same though, but decided to make one himself. Is having kit! Home-made gift is for being much more thoughtful, but again -- Not-quite-dead-man is ignorant, yes?"

"Apparently," Vox mutters sourly.

"Is being just as well. Is meaning there is much room for Pætros here." The porcophant raps sharply upon Vox's skull, "Not crowded at all! Can be stretching out, relaxing."

Coming to an abrupt stop, Vox whips his head around to stare at Pætros. "What?" he decides again, "The hell," he adds.

"Pætros has been thinking," he says smoothly. "Am not wanting to miss wedding, and chance to preform ceremony in front of hellish mukety-mucks? Is being BIG opportunity, and should not be missed. But have duties here, yes? So Pætros is thinking, and praying, and eating a little, and then drinking -- must wash down dinner, and wine is being most excellent for purpose -- and thinking a bit more, and praying more, and then is being opening fourth bottle of wine and idea, it comes! Tulpa!"

"No. No, no, no, HELL no!"

Vox is backing away now, sword once again drawn.

Pætros beams at him. "Is no worries. Is not being painful, and can take chance for education on journey! Can relive ignorance, to degree is possible with mind as limited as yours is being, and is being behind you now, so is too late for being worried in any case."

Something horrible happens, with an appropriately horrible sound.

"See? Is not for being so bad. Vomiting will be stopping in hour or so, dizziness in another day."

Vox moans, between retches. "You...bastard...."

Parents is for being married, says a disapproving voice. All six, is for being married long time. Pætros is remembering wedding very clearly.

"Parents is for being married!" the Porcophant says, clearly offended. "All six, is for being married long time. Pætros is remembering wedding very clearly!"

"I'm in hell," Vox whimpers.

"No, no. Is going to hell, is not being there yet. Oh, must to be remembering vestments! What is for being hat size, Not-quite-dead-man?"

Rolzup wrote:

Vox raps firmly on the lid of the box, hoping against hope to get the damned thing (literally) inside to stop screaming. It subsides to a muffled whimpering which is, he supposes, an improvement of sorts. "Musical tones, my ass," he mutters sourly. "I shouldn't have gone to a pawn shop, or at least insisted on a soundproof box...."

"YOU! Not-quite-dead-man!"

Vox spins, dropping the box and pulling an inky-black blade from the shadows of his cloak. Again, literally. "Oh. You."

"Of course is being me! If is not being me, is being someone else! And then Pætros is not being here, and is not being able to talk to Not-quite-dead-man, yes?"

There is a moment of silence before Vox blinks. "What?" he decides.

"Is being no matter. Is philosophy, and is being beyond grasping of ignorant mind like yours. Is meaning no offense," the Porcophant adds hastily, "Is just being truth."

"Yes, thank you, but look -- I have things to do, so if you'll excuse me...." Picking up the box, Vox begins to back away.

"Is being no problem! Will be walking, talking, yes? Yes." Pætros throws an arm around Vox's shoulder, and indicates the box. "Elfy baby soul, yes? Pætros is having same though, but decided to make one himself. Is having kit! Home-made gift is for being much more thoughtful, but again -- Not-quite-dead-man is ignorant, yes?"

"Apparently," Vox mutters sourly.

"Is being just as well. Is meaning there is much room for Pætros here." The porcophant raps sharply upon Vox's skull, "Not crowded at all! Can be stretching out, relaxing."

Coming to an abrupt stop, Vox whips his head around to stare at Pætros. "What?" he decides again, "The hell," he adds.

"Pætros has been thinking," he says smoothly. "Am not wanting to miss wedding, and chance to preform ceremony in front of hellish mukety-mucks? Is being BIG opportunity, and should not be missed. But have duties here, yes? So Pætros is thinking, and praying, and eating a little, and then drinking -- must wash down dinner, and wine is being most excellent for purpose -- and thinking a bit more, and praying more, and then is being opening fourth bottle of wine and idea, it comes! Tulpa!"

"No. No, no, no, HELL no!"

Vox is backing away now, sword once again drawn.

Pætros beams at him. "Is no worries. Is not being painful, and can take chance for education on journey! Can relive ignorance, to degree is possible with mind as limited as yours is being, and is being behind you now, so is too late for being worried in any case."

Something horrible happens, with an appropriately horrible sound.

"See? Is not for being so bad. Vomiting will be stopping in hour or so, dizziness in another day."

Vox moans, between retches. "You...bastard...."

Parents is for being married, says a disapproving voice. All six, is for being married long time. Pætros is remembering wedding very clearly.

"Parents is for being married!" the Porcophant says, clearly offended. "All six, is for being married long time. Pætros is remembering wedding very clearly!"

"I'm in hell," Vox whimpers.

"No, no. Is going to hell, is not being there yet. Oh, must to be remembering vestments! What is for being hat size, Not-quite-dead-man?"

Hahaha.... so great!

shilsen wrote:

I'm thinking of running a tiefling ardent, who could be the captain of the ship that's being chartered to travel to the Infernal Isles. Or another passenger, if you'd prefer that, Steve.

Shil, I already have a captain in mind, so it would be better if you were a passenger traveling to the Infernal Isles on some personal business.

If you want to try your luck, you could be in the employ of the mysterious figure who chartered the ship. He's bringing a small entourage. Might be fun. Hehe....

Rolzup wrote:

Vox raps firmly on the lid of the box, hoping against hope to get the damned thing (literally) inside to stop screaming. It subsides to a muffled whimpering which is, he supposes, an improvement of sorts. "Musical tones, my ass," he mutters sourly. "I shouldn't have gone to a pawn shop, or at least insisted on a soundproof box...."

...

"No, no. Is going to hell, is not being there yet. Oh, must to be remembering vestments! What is for being hat size, Not-quite-dead-man?"

That's just beautiful, John!

gridley wrote:

Shil, I already have a captain in mind, so it would be better if you were a passenger traveling to the Infernal Isles on some personal business.

If you want to try your luck, you could be in the employ of the mysterious figure who chartered the ship. He's bringing a small entourage. Might be fun. Hehe....

Okay. The former would be easy enough to do, but the latter sounds more ... promising. I'll send you an email about it.

OOC:

Bravo, John, bravo!

Mike, props for "1 Pharmaceuticals". We really should write more of the Treasure Bible.

Steve: I posted Yatagan at 12th level. This is Yats in chatty mode. I figure the only way he'll survive the wedding in Hell is through the magical power of bullshit... or is it "the power of magical bullshit"?

IC:

Intrigued by the rumor of a mysterious excursion to the Infernal Isles, Yatagan pursues the lead like a bloodhound who's been drinking sicked on a lady bloodhound in heat.

First he'll hit all the Oceanographer's Guild haunts he can find, "discreetly" schmoozing important nautical-looking people. He'll tell them he's a famous playwright researching his next masterpiece, "The Golden Voyage of Seamen". It's imperative that he sail for the Infernal Isles at once, so he can bargain for the inspiration to complete the play. Failing that, maybe the boat trip might do something for his "writer's block".

OOC: Diplomacy: 36

If that doesn't work, Yatagan will ambush less important-looking nautical people who drank too much, on their way to sleeping it off, and threaten them with great and improbable bodily harm unless they tell him about the Hell expedition.

At no point, however, will he threaten a barmaid. He's learned his lesson.

OOC: Intimidate: 39

Also, distressed that he bought the same gift as Vox, Yatagan will tie a bright red bow around his dead Eladrin baby.

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

'd20' : 12, 20

Mallus wrote:

Intrigued by the rumor of a mysterious excursion to the Infernal Isles, Yatagan pursues the lead like a bloodhound who's been drinking sicked on a lady bloodhound in heat.

First he'll hit all the Oceanographer's Guild haunts he can find, "discreetly" schmoozing important nautical-looking people. He'll tell them he's a famous playwright researching his next masterpiece, "The Golden Voyage of Seamen". It's imperative that he sail for the Infernal Isles at once, so he can bargain for the inspiration to complete the play. Failing that, maybe the boat trip might do something for his "writer's block".

OOC: Diplomacy: 36

Yatagan's works his charming bravado at various nautical establishments and generates a fair amount of interest in his new play, but alas none of his newly-acquired well-wishers know anything about the top secret boat to the Infernal Isles. A few of them even dismiss the rumor outright, saying no one would be foolish or desperate enough to make the journey under the current cataclysmic weather conditions.

Mallus wrote:

If that doesn't work, Yatagan will ambush less important-looking nautical people who drank too much, on their way to sleeping it off, and threaten them with great and improbable bodily harm unless they tell him about the Hell expedition.

At no point, however, will he threaten a barmaid. He's learned his lesson.

OOC: Intimidate: 39

Where his silver tongue fails, his scaly fists do a bit better. While he still doesn't manage to find anyone in the know, he does heartily convince a shifty-looking crew of halfling stevedores that their continued well-being depends upon them turning up some information about the journey. They scurry off, chatting in hushed tones about whom they can threaten or cajole for gossip.

Yatagan is optimistic that there will be a return on his investment in violence, but also suspects that some of his more street-savvy comrades might be able to get the goods even faster than his grungy patrol of half-sized irregulars.

Vox walks the streets. Stalks, really, muttering to himself -- or to the voice in his head, perhaps -- all the while. He comes to a stop in an alleyway, takes a deep breath, and makes an effort to calm himself.

"Look. Clearly, I have to put up with this for the time being, unless I can find an exorcist willing to work cheap. I may not like this...really, that's putting it mildly. But in any case, i undestand it, and I accept it, having no fucking choice in the matter. That said, if you could just shut up for a few minutes, it would be a lot easier for me to operate. Do you understand this?

Is just being hurtful now. Is making you feel like big man, bullying bodiless spirit? Spirit who is being for trying to help you educate ignorant self

The sigh echoes through the alleyway, in a manner most unusual for a sigh. "Couldn't you just...I don't know, restrict yourself to pithy observations, instead of lectures? 'Brevity is the soul of wit,' right?"

Brevity is refuge of mans who is not smart enough to be having words for every occasion. Is being too silent in here anyways, getting tired of quiets.

Vox creates a shadowblade, contemplates it for a moment, decides that it's not worth the risk of his own spirit being tied to Pætros for the rest of eternity. He drops the knife, allowing it to silently shatter on the cobblestones. "Fine. You know, if I can learn to ignore Artichoke, I can do the same to you."

Ha! Pætros is having god on his side! Ignoring that, not so easy! You is to be seeing!

Head bowed, Vox continues on. He has contacts to visit, uncomfortable questions to ask, threats to...threaten. Anything to get his mind off of his mind.

Streetwise: 32

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

'd20' : 17

Rolzup wrote:

Brevity is refuge of mans who is not smart enough to be having words for every occasion.

Ha!

Rolzup wrote:

Streetwise: 32

Vox drops in on an informant who keeps tabs on the comings and goings of the Black Ships for the Eternal Bureaucracy. The informant hasn't heard word one about it, but, based on what Vox tells him, gives him the name of one of the Port's more daredevil navigators, Kai Frellflower, figuring that anyone setting out on such a fool's journey would probably have tried to hire her for it.

Paying Ms. Frellflower a visit as she makes her way from worshiping at the Temple of the Eroded God, Vox learns that she was indeed offered a lot of money for the gig, but turned it down for the suicide mission that it was. "I can dodge pirates and I can dodge sea monsters," she tells him, "but I can't dodge them both while also avoiding The Storm What Wears A Face. I saw that heartless hurricane once, forty miles wide at least, chewing up ships like they were roasted pork."

Kai Frellflower pushed back her jaunty cap. "If you're as hot for death as your daddy apparently was, go talk to Zebulon Morrow. From what I hear, that crazy bastard took their money after I passed on it. Oh, and be quick, the plan was to depart tomorrow."

gridley wrote:

"The Storm What Wears A Face."

OOC: Dammit, I wish that I'd thought of that. The "What wears a face" makes it not merely perfect, but sublime.

"Zebulon Morrow?" Vox repeats. "I'll track him down, and you have my thanks." He raises his hand, lets its shadow fall across the table, and then quickly cuts a small square from it with the shadow of his other hand. "My card. Look me up if you should happen to die; I'll see what I can do about that for you."

Bowing, he flattens into two-dimensionality and leaves.

Is to be noticing? Lady with attractive hat is to be mentioning pork! Is sign from Glorious Treasure of the Heavens that words are for being portentous.

"Or that she's hungry...."

Is being hungry for salvation, perhaps maybe! Is to be going back, spreading good word!

"Maybe later. Time's short, remember? Let me track down Yatigan, and we can find this Morrow fellow together and have words."

Rolzup wrote:

OOC: Dammit, I wish that I'd thought of that. The "What wears a face" makes it not merely perfect, but sublime.

OOC: Heee... thanks!

Rolzup wrote:

"Zebulon Morrow?" Vox repeats. "I'll track him down, and you have my thanks." He raises his hand, lets its shadow fall across the table, and then quickly cuts a small square from it with the shadow of his other hand. "My card. Look me up if you should happen to die; I'll see what I can do about that for you."

Kai takes Vox's card and smiles. "I'll do that. Oh, and Morrow spends most of his time on land at a place called The Wounded Sparrow. Be careful what you drink there. Most of their booze is just watered-down poison."

Rolzup wrote:

Let me track down Yatigan, and we can find this Morrow fellow together and have words.

Vox finds Yatagan at home, "embellishing" the wedding present he purchased. Concerned that *everyone* is going to bring the same sort of screaming tchotchke, Yatagan is making his gold soul prison the centerpiece of a diorama. He's making it by hand. Specifically, by his own clumsy, clawed, monster hands.

"Who doesn't like a diorama?!" he exclaims. Recall Yatagan spends a lot of his time around art and artists without understanding either.

First he considers making a manger scene featuring his god-egg and Treasure, but in a momentary fit of common sense, he remembers the wedding is to take place during an annual festival at which gods are executed, and nixes the idea. His approach will be more... abstract. Without realizing it, Yatagan employs many of the techniques used by primitive Dragonborn artists of ages past, mixing bit of bone, wood, and mucus together to yield something suggesting a surgical procedure in Hell, or perhaps an overly literal metaphor; a screaming gold stature is either being embedded into or forcibly removed from a man's broken-open chest in miniature.

"Perfect!" exclaims Yatagan again. "Wait, it needs something!" Yatagan checks the jagged blade of his new Old Goetic battleaxe. Parts are still stained with the blood of others and his own semen. Carefully collecting both he then mixes them in a cheap mortar and pestle. "Nothing like Potent Pigments to add a splash of color."

OOC: to craft the diorama, Concept (ie, Insight check): 17, Execution (ie, DEX check): 9

After Vox interrupts his making of Art, Yatagan says "I'd be delighted to accompany you to talk with this Mr. Morrow. Will there be the opportunity for hitting as well?"

(rolls)