Acheron's Irregulars, Part 2

Before we continue, we must bore you with a rumination on the nature of actors.Adventurers are people who are paid to adventure. Whether it be an adventure down into the acid-soaked depths of Carceri or tromping through a zombie-riddled doldrum of the Negative Plane, adventurers will fight just about anything for the right amount of jink.

They are not to be confused with actors, who sometimes pretend to be adventurers but really are just very good liars. For the right amount of jink, an actor will happily pretend to go down into the acid-soaked depths of Carceri or tromp about a zombie-riddled doldrum of the Negative Plane, but if you asked them to do it for real they'd give you an angry look and ask you if you were crazy. Don't you know that there are zombies down there?!

The problem is that some actors are especially good at lying and some people are especially vulnerable to being lied to. This sort of situation is especially prevalent in places that favor law over chaos, a fact which the Sigilan Acting Troupe became privy to during their Mount Celestia production of 'Blood War: The Musical!' (there were reported to be only two survivors).

So, if you want to save your town from roving adventurers, your best bet is to hire more adventurers. If you want to watch a play about your town being saved from roving adventurers, hire actors. Don't get the two confused or else everyone's just going to have a really bad day.

Sadly, for people who are uninformed as to just what it is actors do, the mistake is quite easy to make. You probably see where this is going. We'll stop boring you.

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Sigil is a very confusing place.

First, take its shape. Most cities are simple and sprawling and easy to map, much to the relief of cartographers. This is not so with Sigil. Instead, the city is built literally upon the inside of a donut, causing its denizens to be able to look up and see the other side on a clear day. This design has so infuriated cartographers over the ages that many of them refuse to believe Sigil exists (much to the confusion of planewalkers using their maps), while others simply believe that Sigil is flat and anyone who says any different is suffering from delusions of curvature.

Clarity and her two companions, the gruffish Rash and the sharp-eyed teen Fact (Timid didn't like traveling to new places), slipped through the claustrophobic miasma of discordant architecture with a perusing eye. Every person they met seemed like they had been thrown together from spare parts found throughout the Multiverse, with horns and hooves added just for good measure. When Clarity finally found someone who didn't either ignore them or spit at them, she asked for directions.

"We're looking for adventurers," The older woman spoke, clearing her throat. "Heroes.""Check th'kip," The grinning midget with horns explained, jerking a thumb some distance behind him.

The name of the bar was The Drunken Minstrel, and it had long learned to live up to its title. Built of varying mixtures of rock, wood, mud, and occasionally a bone or two, it looked more like a shack than a place of entertainment. Slipping into the den, the three travelers fought through the smoky haze that filled the room and found themselves places at the back.

Apparently, there was a stage somewhere near the back end, and something akin to a performance was going on. Most of the seats in front of them were filled.

"And next up," The raspy voice of a dust mephit exclaimed, "We have a play about Rin the Swordsman. Enjoy."Three sets of eyes riveted themselves upon the stage, three individual hearts promptly leaping into their respective throats. Without a doubt, all three of them knew: They had found their hero.

-------------If you are confused, it can only be because you are a hopelessly clueless prime who has never had the opportunity to visit Sigil or any of its respective planes. For your sake, we shall explain the legend of Rin the Swordsman. The rest of you can go off and get some ice-cream or something.

To make things short: Once upon a time, there was a swordsman named Rin. He was especially good at his craft - in fact, some say he was quite simply the best at it. The problem was that he was absolutely merciless about it.

He was so determined to become the greatest swordsman throughout the Multiverse that he would do whatever it took to attain power, no matter what the cost to anyone else. He cut down countless competitors, desecrated temples to improve his weaponry, and even slaughtered villages just to check and see if his sword was still sharp. He made it his business to track down every other legend he heard about and kill them, just on the off-chance that their legendariness might eclipse his.

Finally, someone got bored of this business and told Rin that no matter how good he was the Blood War would always be bigger than him. Infuriated, Rin immediately grabbed the nearest Baatezu recruiter and asked - no, demanded - that he be sent down to the Blood War post-haste just to prove who was more important. If he could survive the Blood War - maybe even end it - then Rin would prove just how legendary he could be.

Yeah, yeah, we know. He wasn't the brightest cutter out there.

No one knows exactly what happened after that. Rin survived, all right - he came back a year later covered in enough scars to make a Tanar'ri cringe and with most of his arrogance throttled out of him. His skill with the sword seemed to have only grown, but now he was set upon doing good things with it - saving villages, fighting evil, and trying to atone for his past.

At least, that's how the story goes.

At least, that's how the story the Aasimar told the villagers goes.

-------------If Fate were kind, the three villagers would have proceeded to watch the play about Rin the swordsman, seen how ridiculous it was, realize something was terribly wrong, then after asking around discover just what a play is.

As many people are fond of saying however, Fate is remarkably unkind. Fate is, in fact, a bitch. A bitch who not only cheats at cards but promptly pulls you into a back-alley after the game then stabs you in the back and steals your wallet.

Seconds after the dust mephit's announcement, another small mephit floated out from behind the curtain - this one a smoke mephit by its appearances - and proceeded to whisper in the former mentioned mephit's ear.

A long and pervasive silence followed, during which the dust mephit's expression went from one of muted amusement to pure unadulterated horror, then back to its casual expression of constant disgust.

"Ah, there's been a change of plans," The dust mephit rasped. "Apparently because of some unforeseen delays, Rin will be unable to put on his show for us tonight."The audience started to boo. Objects were hurled at the mephit. Some people got up to leave.

Three unremarkably plain people with remarkably odd names slipped quietly behind the stage, through the curtain, and crept towards the back rooms where the actors lie.

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"C'mon, Jerald. Don't be like this," Benjamin lamented as he hammered on the door to the actor's room with his fist. "I can't play Rin without his plucky-but-courageous side-kick!"Jerald's voice, muffled through the door, seethed with contempt. "I obstinately refuse to play the part of that dullard," He growled. "It is beneath an actor of my caliber."Ben sighed, the old but stout actor drawing a hand through his graying locks of hair. "Don't be like this. You're the only one short enough to play the part.""I am not short!" Jerald roared, hurling the door open to prove his point as he suddenly towered far above Ben. Just for good measure, Jerald added a face full of menacingly sharp teeth, eyes that glowed a fiery red, and claws that could rend bone and flesh as easily as a knife could cut butter.

This vision of abysmal horror prompted a sigh from Ben, who only stepped back as he peered up at Jerald. "But you can be. You know how hard it is to find a good shape shifter who wants to act?""Incredibly," Jerald sniffed, and suddenly he was an exact copy of Benjamin - that same handsomely aged face, those same clever brown eyes, and even the indigo-blue costume - no more than a throw-over cape and robe - which was meant to signify Rin's uniform. "And as such I should be valued, and-""You are valued," Ben said, holding out his hands. "I mean, come on, Jerald. You're the only one among us who can fill just about any role, and-""And that logically means I should get the good parts. Why don't you hire a halfling or something? I'm sick of being the comic relief.""Stop your complaining," Jaer growled. She was younger dark-haired tiefling who was currently busy wrapping her chest up in restrictive bandages, forcing her breasts back up against the bones of her torso to disguise her gender. "At least you don't have to pretend to be a guy."Ever the peace-maker, Ben turned from Jerald to Jaer, trying to alleviate their mutual irritation. "Listen, guys - er, girls - whatever," Ben muttered. "We've all had to make a few sacrifices to survive, but we need this money. We're down to the bare-bones. What with all the money we blew on getting out of that whole Limbo debacle..." Ben ignored Jerald's indignant look. "...we're in pretty desperate straits, all right? So can we please-""Hello?"All three quarreling actors turned to meet the gaze of three intruding villagers. Their first impression of Clarity, Rash, and Fact was one of clueless naiveté, which lead naturally to their second conclusion: They must be fans.

"We're not available for autographs before the show," Ben grunted.

"We are not here for autographs, Lord Rin." Clarity explained, stepping forward. "We are here to ask for your aid."

Having experienced several fans (most of them just a few degrees removed from the Asylum) who were eager to leap into character off-stage, Ben offered the woman a fetching smile. "Not right now. We're in the middle of getting ready for a performance, and-""You gotta hear us out!" Rash shouted, shaking his fist into the air. "We're in desperate straits!""Fine, fine, fine," Ben muttered, waving his hands to signal for them to stop. "One moment." Turning away from them, Ben went through what he called 'the process'. Smacking his face several times, rubbing his nose, and shaking his shoulders violently, he finally managed to get into character. When he turned about, he shot the three of them the most grim and stoic stare he could manage.

"You've come to ask for my aid," Ben asked in his best approximation of Rin's voice. "Is your village in peril?"

"Yes!" All three of them exclaimed. Ben was taken back by the intensity of their acting - if he didn't know better, he'd say they actually were villagers in terrible peril."I see," Ben said, rubbing his chin in the most grave manner he could manage. "And you require my aid.""Yes," Clarity nodded. "We are willing to pay you for your services, of course... Assuming you will come with us to our town and face down-""Wait," Ben asked, dropping character as he blinked. "Is this for real?""Excuse me?" Clarity blanched."He means, you really want to hire us?" Jaer asked, now sitting up. "For a job? How much?""What roles would we be expected to play?" Jerald followed, having now taken the form of an unassuming handsome gentleman dressed in a long black great-coat and dark, perfectly parted hair.

"Ah, yes," Clarity did her best to quench their curiosity. "Not much, but we have a little. 100 coins for the work. You will need to stand up against a paladin, by the name of Boric...""Ooh, Boric. Never heard of him. He sounds famous, though," Ben thought out loud."We're going to be playing villains?" Jerald asked, sounding as if he had bitten something bitter.

"I've heard of Boric," Jaer glibly lied, not wanting to be left out. "He's really big down on in the Lady's Ward.""No, not villains," Clarity said. "Please, let me explain the situation.""Well, we have to get ready for our performance here first, and-" Ben's explanation was interrupted by the doors to the back room suddenly being flung open. The dust mephit - followed by two particularly burly looking bashers - stepped in, a menacing glower in his eyes and a rotten banana peel atop of his head."You three and the rest of your misbegotten crew will never work in this town again!" The mephit shrieked.

"Well, that's excruciatingly convenient," Jaer boredly noted.

-------------

"I don't know," Jerald - who was currently in the form of a red kimono-wearing elf with gorgeous locks of golden hair lounging across the only cot in the room - sighed. "It's not exactly the most believable story.""But it's entertaining," Ben quickly spoke up, continuing to pace back and forth. "And it's got... It's got an interesting dynamic, and-""It's just not very believable," Jerald mumbled. "I mean, a Paladin? Doing that? Really. And a town of farmers next to Acheron? That's just silly.""They probably think we're really heroes," The glum-sounding voice of Marien began. The dour-looking githzerai was chewing on a block of stale bread, wrapped up in one of her favorite dresses - a grim-looking black one that Jerald often commented was fit for a funeral."Excuse me?" Ben asked, throwing the fellow actor a glower.

"They probably don't know what actors are," Marien continued, chewing steadily and speaking between chomps. "And they think we're really heroes, and this Boric person is really a Paladin who's going to attack their town unless they let him attack Acheron.""That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard," Jerald said."Really, now," Ben mumbled.

"You're such a drama-queen," Jaer harumphed.

Marien, finding the conversation suddenly boring, returned to her stale piece of bread.

"What do you think, Jerum?" Ben turned to the last member of their troupe, a rather ordinary looking boy who preferred simple tunics to the outlandish garnish of his fellow actors. Jerum mostly worked as a stage-hand, although in a pinch he was good in secondary roles.

The red-headed youth smiled in an uncommitting manner and shrugged his shoulders up. "Whatever you say, boss.""Sounds good to me, then. It's settled. This is a great opportunity, ladies and gentlemen. Not only are we going to be performing for money, but we're going to be doing real performance art!" Ben exclaimed, barely able to contain his excitement. "It's a chance for us to really get into our roles!""Whatever," Jaer mumbled.Jerald sighed. "They better not expect me to play a midget."

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The next day, three villagers left with what they assumed were five heroes. And five actors left with what they assumed were three patrons.

All of them assumed that, if nothing else, this job would give them an opportunity to experience an interesting situation. It goes without saying that they were all exactly right.