Post by Corrila Daevion'lyr on Aug 3, 2022 16:57:34 GMT
So there I am, croissant in one hand, black coffee in the other, thinking I might fleece a few suckers with a sweet game of three card ante - you learn to play pretty good pretty quickly when you’re in an efreeti diamond smuggler’s basement in the City of Brass, playing for your employer’s freedom - when Boosya comes strolling in to the refectory.
Or whatever they call the place in Fort Ettin where the folded carpets serve you.
Now Boosya I can roll with. Maybe it’s because she’s so old that she doesn’t give a fuck and I can respect that existential endgame.
She wheels up to this elf woman, natural look, thin leathers, fur shawl, looks like snowdrops woven in, actually cheap glass gems but whatever. Pale skin, tick. White hair, bit obvious. Glowing eyes, fucking Eladrin.
There’s a tabaxi god-botherer already head down in the serious nodding and I decide to kick it with Boo because we had a motherfucker of a shipborne-attacked-by-conkers-one-night-only weirdness a few weeks back.
The Eladrin checks me with the kind of ‘did a dog poop in here?’ look that the Oldest of the Fair Folk love to fling around when they see a half breed drow (I know, we’re not supposed to call them half breeds anymore, apparently they have feelings but that’s the phrase she was thinking.)
But the only dog in here is the animal you’re wearing around your neck at the height of summer, bitch, and last time I looked I didn’t choose to be born while your wardrobe… pick out the fury corpse yourself?
And honestly, get to the back of the queue when it comes to hating me, weird weather woman. If you’re not sneering at me you’re either dead, blind or fail to understand how someone so amazingly beautiful and ridiculously dangerous was clearly a cosmic error of epic proportions.
We touch on the business – there’s been a murder. Atypical for midsummer. Eladrin Karen says the stiff was Victoria, daughter of a wood carver, lived in a very small Eladrin village on the coast.
So from the off I’m thinking it’s suicide. I mean, raise me in a small Eladrin village on the cost and unless you have some Avernus grade hallucinogens I’m reaching for the pipe or the blade.
That’s the thing about the Eladrin. They just love it that they were the last to leave the Feywild and still know Sylvan without going to special clever arsehole school. But trust me, Sylvanian families, last-to-leave is only a badge of honour if we’re talking about a four-day bender that you step away from because everyone who can sell you a good time has passed out and you’re still standing.
Clinging on to Elfland while the rest of us kicked it in the pleasure plane just makes you look like you didn’t get the memo.
But I do like the skinny vibe.
Not wanting to be a squad scrape I hang back while the Eladrin Karen ghosts me but then this gnome shows up looking like a bush of pure sticky icky icky, followed by another old school tabaxi in a fine set of threads who clearly knows the back alleys of more than a few dive bars and I figure it’s come one, come all.
The bush is called Sith and the tabaxis are Nakia and Lucky. Don’t look at me, I’m not their mother.
Anyway, long story short – we found out who did it and got the cash.
Kidding. I mean, we did find out who did it. It’s me we’re talking about. I’ll solve your problems or make you forget you had any by frying your brains. But let me give you the deets to this little romp and then probably fry your brains. That’s what makes me so adorable.
We plane shift, natch. Everything was so fucking irritatingly smug when we touched down, with all this hypercolour and fair folk trilling and lush mallorn trees around forest pools with the ocean crashing on the shore that I nearly torched the place. But they’d just be expecting that.
We end up in this one horse dorp hitting the bouji door – town elder – and this streak of a character in white leather answers the door barefooted. Youngster, hair sloped down one side of his face, emo quiff, quite the sort. All wistful, draping himself around the place like he was the first adolescent in the world. Francois. I mean to say.
The first clue was the old dude Gerald Dawnlight’s face. Moustache. I nearly arrested him on the spot for unnecessary foliage in a public place but then I remembered one of the party was essentially a bush so who were we to talk?
After some yada yada, we left the premises to check the stiff and my word, that was one hot cold corpse. Seriously. I didn’t need the sea to get soaked. I tend to accidentally kill people I sleep with, so I’ve often been tempted by a spot of necrophilia. Except a) the party of do gooders I was saddled with and b) this enormous set of slashes and cuts that had taken out of her side that was like ewwwwwww.
Still, I was investigating, so I started rummaging around her underpants and stumbled across a ring – sadly not attached to the body, the girl didn’t party – but maybe a clue.
Somehow I’d managed to miss that the cuts looked like a shark bite, but please. The only time I’ve been to sea was when I was trapped on Prince Aroon’s yacht by mind flayer pirates and escaped by bribing the navigator with sex, so I wasn’t paying attention to the fauna.
Then Boo slays it by – well, by sort of unslaying it. She summons the slab’s spirit, gets Nakia’s knickers in a twist and we find out she loved the person who killed her.
Girl, tell me about it. Probably half the guys I’ve brain melted the last thing they said was ‘but I love you.’
We hit the path to the beach, find another emo mooning about – see what I mean about suicide? – and various footprints hither and yon.
Now this looked like a job for me, so I pulled out one of the two Amazing Items I have stumbled across in my travels – viz the Golden Lions of Wondrous Power.
It was gifted me by an Aasimar lord in recognition of my… OK, yes, I stole it from some fat guy who thought I was easy. I can feel your judgement. It’s palpable. But hear me out… ah fuck it. I just stole it. But when I throw it to the ground, there they are, my magnificent beasts, my strong hunters, my proud beloved pets – Lion and Other Lion.
Nose to the grindstone we track the tracks until we reach… you are never going to guess this. Swear to the Goddess. Shock of the century...
It was Francois' window.
I know. Settle down.
After that it’s admin. Fiendishly complicated admin involving gatecrashing a funeral, finding a cheeky little BDSM dungeon, sweet talking the emo into not committing suicide (why? Give the guy a break… he just ate half his girlfriend. Don’t make him live here any longer.)
He turned into a shark when the full moon hit him. I'm not one to judge - jokes. I'm always judging. And while it's difficult to maintain a relationship under those circs the killing your girlfriend shit was poor form. If it was up to me, I'd have fried his brains but everyone was all - rehabilitation, heartbroken, hurts him more than it hurt her.
Whatever.
Still, we did catch him in the 4k so its case closed, wild applause and a slice of alcoholic pie.
This, by the way, is not a euphemism. Eladrin have a pie that’s basically neat alcohol. I suppose they have to numb their cut glass nerves just to get through the day without hating themselves.
Anyway, I have the big bills – 30 gold – but no sketchy bars to pick up randoms, though I can see Lucky would be a solid wingman. Mental note – when I need the dad vibe on my shoulder this boy might not despise me.
Interesting idea. Not sure how to deal with that.
Or whatever they call the place in Fort Ettin where the folded carpets serve you.
Now Boosya I can roll with. Maybe it’s because she’s so old that she doesn’t give a fuck and I can respect that existential endgame.
She wheels up to this elf woman, natural look, thin leathers, fur shawl, looks like snowdrops woven in, actually cheap glass gems but whatever. Pale skin, tick. White hair, bit obvious. Glowing eyes, fucking Eladrin.
There’s a tabaxi god-botherer already head down in the serious nodding and I decide to kick it with Boo because we had a motherfucker of a shipborne-attacked-by-conkers-one-night-only weirdness a few weeks back.
The Eladrin checks me with the kind of ‘did a dog poop in here?’ look that the Oldest of the Fair Folk love to fling around when they see a half breed drow (I know, we’re not supposed to call them half breeds anymore, apparently they have feelings but that’s the phrase she was thinking.)
But the only dog in here is the animal you’re wearing around your neck at the height of summer, bitch, and last time I looked I didn’t choose to be born while your wardrobe… pick out the fury corpse yourself?
And honestly, get to the back of the queue when it comes to hating me, weird weather woman. If you’re not sneering at me you’re either dead, blind or fail to understand how someone so amazingly beautiful and ridiculously dangerous was clearly a cosmic error of epic proportions.
We touch on the business – there’s been a murder. Atypical for midsummer. Eladrin Karen says the stiff was Victoria, daughter of a wood carver, lived in a very small Eladrin village on the coast.
So from the off I’m thinking it’s suicide. I mean, raise me in a small Eladrin village on the cost and unless you have some Avernus grade hallucinogens I’m reaching for the pipe or the blade.
That’s the thing about the Eladrin. They just love it that they were the last to leave the Feywild and still know Sylvan without going to special clever arsehole school. But trust me, Sylvanian families, last-to-leave is only a badge of honour if we’re talking about a four-day bender that you step away from because everyone who can sell you a good time has passed out and you’re still standing.
Clinging on to Elfland while the rest of us kicked it in the pleasure plane just makes you look like you didn’t get the memo.
But I do like the skinny vibe.
Not wanting to be a squad scrape I hang back while the Eladrin Karen ghosts me but then this gnome shows up looking like a bush of pure sticky icky icky, followed by another old school tabaxi in a fine set of threads who clearly knows the back alleys of more than a few dive bars and I figure it’s come one, come all.
The bush is called Sith and the tabaxis are Nakia and Lucky. Don’t look at me, I’m not their mother.
Anyway, long story short – we found out who did it and got the cash.
Kidding. I mean, we did find out who did it. It’s me we’re talking about. I’ll solve your problems or make you forget you had any by frying your brains. But let me give you the deets to this little romp and then probably fry your brains. That’s what makes me so adorable.
We plane shift, natch. Everything was so fucking irritatingly smug when we touched down, with all this hypercolour and fair folk trilling and lush mallorn trees around forest pools with the ocean crashing on the shore that I nearly torched the place. But they’d just be expecting that.
We end up in this one horse dorp hitting the bouji door – town elder – and this streak of a character in white leather answers the door barefooted. Youngster, hair sloped down one side of his face, emo quiff, quite the sort. All wistful, draping himself around the place like he was the first adolescent in the world. Francois. I mean to say.
The first clue was the old dude Gerald Dawnlight’s face. Moustache. I nearly arrested him on the spot for unnecessary foliage in a public place but then I remembered one of the party was essentially a bush so who were we to talk?
After some yada yada, we left the premises to check the stiff and my word, that was one hot cold corpse. Seriously. I didn’t need the sea to get soaked. I tend to accidentally kill people I sleep with, so I’ve often been tempted by a spot of necrophilia. Except a) the party of do gooders I was saddled with and b) this enormous set of slashes and cuts that had taken out of her side that was like ewwwwwww.
Still, I was investigating, so I started rummaging around her underpants and stumbled across a ring – sadly not attached to the body, the girl didn’t party – but maybe a clue.
Somehow I’d managed to miss that the cuts looked like a shark bite, but please. The only time I’ve been to sea was when I was trapped on Prince Aroon’s yacht by mind flayer pirates and escaped by bribing the navigator with sex, so I wasn’t paying attention to the fauna.
Then Boo slays it by – well, by sort of unslaying it. She summons the slab’s spirit, gets Nakia’s knickers in a twist and we find out she loved the person who killed her.
Girl, tell me about it. Probably half the guys I’ve brain melted the last thing they said was ‘but I love you.’
We hit the path to the beach, find another emo mooning about – see what I mean about suicide? – and various footprints hither and yon.
Now this looked like a job for me, so I pulled out one of the two Amazing Items I have stumbled across in my travels – viz the Golden Lions of Wondrous Power.
It was gifted me by an Aasimar lord in recognition of my… OK, yes, I stole it from some fat guy who thought I was easy. I can feel your judgement. It’s palpable. But hear me out… ah fuck it. I just stole it. But when I throw it to the ground, there they are, my magnificent beasts, my strong hunters, my proud beloved pets – Lion and Other Lion.
Nose to the grindstone we track the tracks until we reach… you are never going to guess this. Swear to the Goddess. Shock of the century...
It was Francois' window.
I know. Settle down.
After that it’s admin. Fiendishly complicated admin involving gatecrashing a funeral, finding a cheeky little BDSM dungeon, sweet talking the emo into not committing suicide (why? Give the guy a break… he just ate half his girlfriend. Don’t make him live here any longer.)
He turned into a shark when the full moon hit him. I'm not one to judge - jokes. I'm always judging. And while it's difficult to maintain a relationship under those circs the killing your girlfriend shit was poor form. If it was up to me, I'd have fried his brains but everyone was all - rehabilitation, heartbroken, hurts him more than it hurt her.
Whatever.
Still, we did catch him in the 4k so its case closed, wild applause and a slice of alcoholic pie.
This, by the way, is not a euphemism. Eladrin have a pie that’s basically neat alcohol. I suppose they have to numb their cut glass nerves just to get through the day without hating themselves.
Anyway, I have the big bills – 30 gold – but no sketchy bars to pick up randoms, though I can see Lucky would be a solid wingman. Mental note – when I need the dad vibe on my shoulder this boy might not despise me.
Interesting idea. Not sure how to deal with that.
