Tuesday, September 19, 2006

The Demonskar Ball: The Director's Cut

This is what I sent John Peterson prior to our last game. You will notice similarities and great differences. Here goes...

I want to preface my actions with this little blurb:

Sprited gelding, black with white socks, knows four tricks = 300 gp

Gnomeskein harlequin suit with diamond patterns complete with jester's cap and three bells each in a different note with silk chequered scarf = 600 gp.

Ceramic grotesque mask, half black/half white with gold inlaid tatoo patterns around the eyes and cheeks = 100 gp

El Kabonging a nobleman who had a bit too much to drink... priceless!

Having spent 150 gp on dancing lessons, Flaine felt quite confident that his reputation shall do naught but increase at the ball.
Flaine primarily hung out with the religious elite. He expected to find Ix among this crowd, but Link?? Hmmmm. As he played this very rhythmic song which he 'borrowed' (as songsters often do) from the surrounding tribes of the Amedio Jungle, Link started doing this... 'thing'. It was a rather jerky, quirky movement but timed expertly to Flaine's rhythmic strums. Interesting, Flaine thought, but kinda stupid. The strumming bard was frightened that he might be 'associated' with this little golem with motor-reflex issues, so he ends his song hurriedly, grabs a glass of Jungle Juice from a nearby half-naked half-elf and scurries to another murder of nobles.
Some hours later, another bard (Flaine didn't know his name - "Just some amateur", he thought) ended his romantic serenade (he was playing a viol de gamba) and some noble dressed in a blue sash and wearing a sparkling silver eye-mask marched up to him and sputtered, "Silence, you mountebank, I am now...drunk!" Everyone laughed, but this only angered him the more. "Do you think my words are folly?" he continued regrettably, "When I speak in my household (it took him a few tries to say that, btw) I am obeyed! This ball is no different! So...silence, buffoon!" And with that, he took the bow from the musician and snapped it in two against his knee. Everyone in a twenty-foot radius gasped. Flaine strutted toward the noble.
"That wasn't very nice, sire. Taking away the man's only means to sustain himself." Flaine theatrically gestured.
"Who are you?" the noble spat.
"I am Flaine Gilgahar, rhymester and bard, at your service."
"Am I to be plagued with your kind, tonight?"
"Apparently. Fate has a strange way of doing the opposite of what you'd like. Especially, when you tempt fate by doing what you just did here."
"I answer to no one save the gods!" the noble said.
"And what god is it that teaches you to break the bows of bards?"
Whap! The masked nobleman slapped Flaine with his bejeweled, white glove. "I will take no moral lesson from a mountebank!"
At this, Flaine, though stung, started to laugh.
"What's so damn funny?" the noble asked.
"Laugh. And the world laughs at you!" Flaine strummed his mandolin, but the effect he desired did not materialize. So much for Tasha's Hideous Laughter. Flaine went white. Uh oh.
The nobleman unsheathed his gleaming rapier and lunged toward Flaine in a fit of rage. Flaine dodged it, but not easily. "How the hell did he get a rapier in here?" he thought.
The battle went back and forth...but mostly back. Some plumed guards showed up, but Flaine was wroth to discover that they only served as a velvet rope to surround what they considered a fair duel.
Ix made his way to the circle. "Flaine! What did you do this time?" he screamed into the fray.
While dodging thrusts and swipes, Flaine stammered out, "No time to explain."
A twenty seconds later the noble had him. Trapped, with his back to a guard and the point of a very sharp rapier at the nape of his throat.
"I have news for you, bard. I'm not drunk anymore."
Flaine gulped. "I kinda figured that."
"You are a saucy knave. And I'm feeling magnanimous at the moment. That is a very nice mandolin you have there. Why don't you offer it to me. You will GLADLY offer it to me... for your life." the nobleman creased a greasy smile.
Flaine heaved a sigh. He took the mandolin (which he was using to parry a lot of the noble's attacks) and offered it to him; both hands still on the neck. As the noble looked down at it, gloating over his prize, Flaine smacked him with an uppercut to the jaw. Teeth and blood flew from the nobleman's mouth. As well as a roar of pain and rage.
Flaine had no idea how he escaped the clutches of the surrounding guards, but he figured Ix or someone else lent a helping hand. Flaine left the palace grounds and rested near some fountains at a plaza outside the palace. There he saw Avenal filling up a waterskin. "What are you doing here?" Flaine huffed.
Avenal gave Flaine a sidelong glance, "Balls aren't my thing."
Flaine grimaced, "You know under less dangerous circumstances I'd make a joke about that, but I'm too tired."
Avenal looked up and noticed a contingent of guards making their way down the palace steps, glowrods and swords in hand. "Who'd you piss off this time?"
"I don't know. That's the problem. I got an idea he was a bigger wig than I could wear. It was all I could do to keep him off of me."
"They're getting close. You better go." Avenal remarked.
With that, Flaine ditched his bell cap into the fountain and vanished into the shadows of the night.

What a night! So much for reputation...

It's a good thing that John changed it to where I am not doomed or otherwise exiled from Cauldron, but I felt the truth must be told. So, for those who play this game with me and wondered what I was referring to when I mentioned 'the e-mail' to John, this is what it was. Take it for what it's worth.


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