Game: Devious Machinations (Market Ward, Undersigil) RP- ANYone can join

Patch hummed a "rain is falling down, falling down" tune quietly to himself. He drank the last swollow of wine from the bottle in his hand, then hummed the same tune backwards.

He took the empty bottle and stuck it on his left horn, the smaller one. Patch liked the rain. When Hivers need to sew up leaky tarps, they call Patchwork the Xaositect Tailor ( not to mention, Tiefer, Tout, Troublemaker and ... uh... Troubadour ) Sometimes he found work in other parts of Sigil too. He just unloaded a fine bolt of Athasan Silk ( they sure do grow some blamin' BIG silkworms on that lemon! ) and half of his jink was already spent on wine and cheese. Mostly wine.

Patch leapt gracefully over a puddle, well, almost. He picked himself off the wet cobbles and walked backwards for a block or two, just to make sure nobody was following him....

[ooc - i think Trias has forgotten about us, but i'm going to post here anyway, because i don't have time to join a real game...]

"Get off my stoop you thrice-damned addle-cove." An irate kip-owner woke Patchwork from his drunken stupor with several blows of a dusty broom. Patch did his best to ignore the first few, but once he stood fully erect, drew a shiv and impaled the haft, startling the chubby human on the other end.

"I mean just raining Berk it's because dirt doesn't cover you with your floor just want me to." Patch said with a smile. Nothing riles up the normals like chaos-speak, even though Patch didn't normally go in for such things. A quick twist and withdraw of the arcane steel and the severed broom head sailed into a puddle.

He dusted off his patchwork ramient as best he could (which was at this point a futile effort at best) and switched the black eyepatch from his left eye to his right, just to freak the berk out some more. The baleful red glow from his left eye had the effect he expected and the human quickly retreated back into his kip, slamming the heavy wooden door. Looking out both eyes at once was disorienting to Patchwork, especially when he was drunk, and he usually preferred the darkvision of his pale blue right eye to the infravision of his glowing left one.

The rain quickly matted his long black hair to his scalp, making him look even more the pathetic half-drowned underhiver. He felt around for his purse, scanning up the street for an open tavern or wine shop, but then remembered that he had given the last of his jink to a couple of beggars earlier.

"Time to start looking for a mark I suppose..." Patchwork sighed aloud to the dark and deserted streets.

Shiv Method: (1) Stab Berk in back. (2) Look through Corpse's pockets for something interesting.
-Advantages - Can be fun.
-Disadvantages - Can be decidedly NOT fun if Berk turns out to be a Cutter instead.

Sneak-Thief Method: (1) Sneak up on Mark. (2) Thieve.
-Advantages - If it works, nobody gets hurt except the Mark's finances. Can always fall back on Shiv Method if it doesn't work.
-Disadvantages - Not easy to do, especialy if the Mark is wary.

Friendly Stranger Method: (1) Bump into, offer aid, offer wine, or otherwise distract the Basher. (2) Thieve. (3) Smile, bow, and walk away.
-Advantages - Fun, often for hours afterward, thinking about the total Berk who fell for it.
-Disadvantages - Sigilans don't trust strangers, and nobody trusts Tieflings or Xaositects. Works best on clueless Primes.

Well now....choices, choices, thought Patchwork. He could see that the brown-robed figure wasn't very wary at the present time, kneeling in the rain-slick street. Probably drunk, or wounded. A perfect candidate for any thieving method, really. Shiving the Berk might prove difficult, as Patch could see heavy armor peeking out from under his robes.

Ah! Heavy armor! Perfect for the fun, funny, funnest method of them all.

Snatch Method: (1) Snatch. (2) Run.
-Advantages - Way fun!
-Disadvantages - Only if the Mark is fast. This one ain't.

"What . . . happened . . . to . . . me?" Zerdan whispered through the pain.

"Well first you knelt down in the street then I was going to rob you but this dark shadow snuck up on ME and hung me on a hook which was the most restful night's sleep I've had in a week and a half by the way and then you just stood there like a statue and the shadow looked like it was searching for something but I don't know if it found it because I fell asleep around antipeak but you still stood there for a long time and now it's morning and I'd like to get a cup of coffee but I'm still hanging here and I don't have the jink for breakfast." Patchwork yawnwed and stretched as Zerdan looked up, wincing with the pain and redoubled confusion.

Patchwork produced a small set of silver shears from one of his many pockets and cut at the cloth impaled upon the iron spike from which he dangled. He fell to the ground, landing directly on top of Zerdan in his confusion. He rolled off and defly came to his feet, then turned back around and offered a helping hand to Zerdan.

"Patchwork the Tailor." he offered as he got Zerdan back on his feet. "You can call me Patch if you want to use a shorter version." Seeing that the red-haired Teifling still swayed like a bubber, Patch led him to a doorstoop with a few stairs and sat him down. "Well now, about that coffee." Patch mumbled to himself. "That gentleman over there looks wealthy." He turned to Zerdan and said "Be back in three shakes of a Bariaur's tail, or more like twelve hundred and fourty-seven or so."

The pain in Zerdan's head was so unbearable he had no will to resist the aid of the unsymetrical Tiefling. He watched Patch slide off into the growing market crowd, then bit down as a fresh wave of agony washed over him.

-- FOOL! WEAKLING! I WAS ALMOST STOLEN AWAY, TWICE. TAKE ME THERE MINDLESS COWARD. YOUR SUFFERING WILL GROW EVERY MOMENT UNTIL YOU OBEY ME. MY WILL IS YOUR COMMAND. OBEY! --

Zerdan nearly cried out as the waves of pain broke against the shore of his mind. What was this thing that Xanados had given into his safekeeping? Oh, how he wished he could just be rid of the stone, Xanados be swollowed by the Nine Pits! But something, curse, compulsion, or the will of the stone itself, kept him from simply casting it into a storm drain and returning home to Torch.

Zerdan didn't mark the passage of time as the voice in his head psionicly scourged him, but eventually Patch returned with two mugs and a pot full of a hot, bitter beverage. The drink seemed to lessen the pain in Zerdan's mind somewhat, though the voice still raged.

"Shut up, shut up, SHUT UP!" Zerdan finally blurted out.

Patch seemed completely unphased by Zerdan's outburst, and since he had hitherfore been silently sipping his drink, he took it as an invitation to start talking. "Those are nice robes you've got there, Tiefer. Just kidding of course. They're flimsy, stained with Sigilan rainwater, a hideous earth-tone brown, and torn in four places. I can fix 'em up for you if you like, 'cause I'm a Tailor, you know. Or I can make you something much better, which would match your armor, or clash wonderfully if you prefer. You aren't a Xaositect, I see. Well, rather I seeheartastesmellfeelknow you aren't because I am and we can spot other Xaositects at fifty paces. Plus you don't know the secret handshake and I can't show it to you because it's a secret. By the way, I'm Patch (did I already say that?) but you can call me Patchwork the Xaositect Tailor if you want to use a longer version. What's your name, Tiefer?"

"There's a doorway to my shop around here somewhere...."

Patchwork and Zerdan walked down an alleyway so thin that Zerdan had to walk sideways in his plate armor.

"Its in Undersigil. Thereare a few doors there that open up in the Hive and Lower Wards, but this ... one..." Patches patted several pockets, seaching for something. "AH HAH!" He pulled out a carved wooden hasp for a cloak. It was intricate and accented in Jade. They passed under a clothesline, two stories above, and suddenly found themselves in a dark corrior. Inky blackness lay all around, except for a flickering glow far ahead.

Zerdan's warrior instincts suddenly jumped to life. He was no longer on the streets of Sigil, where an act of violence would have dozens or hundreds of bystanders. Here it was dark, and danger could come from any shadow without warning. It was like coming home for Zerdan. His broadsword was in his gauntleted hand, and the pain now seemed only to make his senses sharper.

Patch trode forward confidently. "Lets see if anybody felt like coming to work today."

As they moved towards the lighted area, Zerdan started to hear a noise. It was like heavy breathing, as if a dragon slumbered in the chamber beyond. Patchy swept through an archway, and Zerdan cautiously followed. A huge pile of fabrics lay in the middle of the stone floor, reaching nearly to the arched cieling overhead. The breathing became snoring, a thunderous sound that made Zerdan wince with pain. He could see one side of the pile moving rythmicly, as if some ponderous beast slept benieth. Patch tiptoed forward towards the pile. He pulled out a long needle, and shot a mischevous look back at Zerdan before attacking.

There was a great roar, and Zerdan retreated three steps and fell into a ready stance, his sword gripped tight. The pile of random cloth seemingly exploded, as a huge humanoid lept upward yelling. He was twelve and a half foot tall, with long black dreadlocks and hands the size of small shields. The floor shook as he jumped up and down, rubbing his left buttock.

"Buttons!" Boomed the towering figure, "Patch is friend very good." He wrapped one huge hand around Patcher's skinny frame and threw him into the pile of cloth (now much smaller without Buttons' bulk under it.) "Where jink Patch? I want jink from job. Buttons! I carried much silk. Good silk, yes. I told patches Athas has best silk anywhere. I was from Athas, where is best silk but no jink. Where jink Patch?""

A muffled reply came from the pile of cloth (which indeed did include a few sheets of the best silk in the known multiverse) "Humm, whll, hats da fing, hy hind of shent hall da jhnn hon fooze. ann feggers."

"Booze and beggers? BOOZE AND BEGGERS!?!" The half-giant raged around the room and kicked at the pile of cloth scraps, spreading half of them around the floor of the chamber. "Booze and beggars AGAIN?!? Say Patch brought some booze," Buttons shot Zerdan a look, "and not just a beggar."

Zerdan's voice shook with anger as he gripped his sword. "I...am...no...beggar! I have never begged, not for jink, nor help, nor mercy, not from anyone, not EVER." The half-giant was big, but unarmed. Zerdan hadn't killed anyone in days, not since the assassins. He waited to see if the ton-and-a-half humanoid was going to make a move, but he secretly longed for a good fight. A good stand up fight, he thought as a twinge of pain stabbed him in the back of the head.

Buttons scowled at Zerdan for a few tense moments, then yawned and started to re-pile the cloth. Patch threw off a blanket and appeared at the huge humanoid's side. "Where's Stitch?"

"Making jink in the Sandstone District."

"Oh. Well, what about Needlehole?"

"At her cousin's in Curlyfoot."

"Yes, charming little chap. He's got a comphy couch. How about Redcap?"

"Merc work."

"Cobb?"

"Buttons! Not seen Cobbler since Gladsheim job."

"Snippy?"

"Scragged by Sodkillers."

"About time, that. How about Template?"

"Went back to Xaos, said maybe to Limbo from there, maybe not." The half-giant shrugged his mighty shoulders.

Patches sighed. "How are we going to have a feared and famous hive gang if nobody's ever at the hideout? What if somone comes to steal the supplies?"

"Surprise?"

"No, I wouldn't be surprised if we got a rush. I guess you and I would have to handle any customers ouselves."

The half-giant just shrugged and yawned again. Patchwork sifted through the random fabrics still spread throughout the room. He turned to Zerdan as he worked. "I'll get started on your new robes, cutter. Lets see, was it going to be reddish green, or greenish red?" Zerdan still gripped his sword. He had fallen in with a bunch of blamin' barmies, that was for sure. The lopsided tiefling never even mentioned what Ward they were under, just that the "shop" was somewhere in Undersigil. Zerdan came fully into the room and sat down on a bare table on the opposite end of the chamber from the half-giant. He set his broadsword down next to him on the table, but he watched the darkness of the corrirors beyond with a sense of forboding, as if invisible enemies watched from the archways.

They did, of course.

[ooc - welcome, enjoy!]

The quiet *pop* of a portal caught Zerdan's attention, but the others did not even look up from their work. Patch was measuring out cloth by the arm-length, while the Half-Giant, with his tongue sticking out the side of his lips, concentrated on threading a large needle that was nothing more than an insignificant speck compared to his huge fingers.

Zerdan spun about, snatching up his sword. "Who's there? Show yourself! And pray to the Lady that you are not assassins, for I'm in the mood to spill blood."

"Just don't get any on the silk, Zerdan," Patchwork said calmly, "At least not before I finish. Not that the shade of reddish-green will be wrong, mind you, it's just that it's hard to sew when its slick." He took out a set of large shears and started to cut at the cloth he was holding.

Tarnil stepped forward cautiously. Still dripping wet from the rain, and still pumped up from the pursuit, he knew not where he was, only that he had somehow arrived somewhere....else, and that those that were chasing him were gone. He cast a glace behind him into the darkness just to be sure, but no, he had not been followed. Tarnil breathed a sigh of relief, before tuning back toward the three strangers (and they were strange indeed.)

The red-haired warrior held his sword in readiness, but Tarnil could tell with a glace that he had not slept a restful minute for days on end. The huge one with the dreadlocks still struggled to thread his needle. The thin man with the mis-matched horns lay his work down on a table and swept around the warrior with an odd lanky grace. He wore an eyepatch, and his clothes were a strange conglomeration of leathers, silks, and cloth, patched together in odd shapes none larger than a hand's span. Though Tarnil had taken him for a beggar at first, as he approached he saw that much of the man's patchwork ramient consisted of top-quality materials, though stitched together in a rather chaotic and sundry manner.

"Ah, another customer! You will have to wait about a bit, basher, if you've come for a fitting. If you've not, perhaps this would be more fitting!" With that, Patch flipped his shears around and caught them by the blades. With a quick flick of the wrist he threw them at Tarnil, who narrowly dodged out of the way. They did, however, slice his sleeve. Patchwork gave him a sardonic sneer, and said "Looks like you'll be needing some new threads after all, eh clueless? Step into the shop and we'll fix you up good."

Was it an invitation or a threat? Tarnil could not really tell.

[OOC - post edited in line with Azure's points, and reposted after Azure's for flow. Gotta love cross-posting... If it's all the same, I'd like to go with pre faction war - I'm more familiar with it.]

In a darkened alley a little way across the rain-soaked streets, a cloaked humanoid stooped over a second prone figure, his shoulders heaving slightly as he fought to catch his breath. It had been a long, winding pursuit through the cloying Sigillian murk, but the predator now stood victorious over his kill; the thrill of the hunt still coursing in his veins. This loathsome creature of darkness and oppression would plague the streets no longer. His second kill of the night - another victory for freedom and the light - but there was so much yet to do. His second kill. There would be a third before the night was out, he knew it.

Bastion’s nose wrinkled slightly in distaste as he knelt beside the fallen human and yanked a faction pendant from around the corpse’s neck; this wouldn’t stop the Hardheads tumbling to the identity of this one, but not knowing the sorry sod was one of their own might slow them down and take the initial fire out of their search for his killer. The rain, too, was his ally. The rain would hide his steps. The rain would mask his scent. By the time they knew the dark of it, Bastion’d be long gone.

He wiped the blood from his steel fighting claws on the corpse’s clothing and stood to properly survey his surroundings, taking in the sights, the sounds, and the smells.

Market Ward.

There had to be a safe house around here. If not, maybe one of the merchants would let him go to ground. Maybe help him into Undersigil so he could make his escape proper. He dropped his hood – peripheral vision is the hunted cutter’s friend – and set off at a run away from the scene, his padded feline feet making little sound as he made his way towards the hustle of Sigil’s busier streets.

Bastion slipped through the crowd easily, trying to attract as little attention as possible. Although the unusual was fairly usual in the Cage, his neat mane of silver-white hair and tall stature made a difficult task of being inconspicuous, despite his best efforts. The Hardhead patrol was a little way off, but heading his way with purpose, and a glint in their eyes that they always seemed to acquire when they spied a known Indep. He made a mental note that speaking at the Trianym was not conducive to maintaining the low profile necessary for the pursuit of his calling.

He made a show of not noticing the patrol and slipped down a back alley, accidentally knocking into a Dabus who was trimming razorvine. A flurry of angry symbols whirled around the creature’s head, but he did not stop to apologise beyond a brief wave of his hand. He burst into a nearby building, mouthing a silent prayer to the light that the Dabus’s remonstrating had not drawn too much undue attention. The familiar but unexpected all-over tug of a portal activation disoriented him for a moment..

The chamber in which he now stood fell silent as four pairs of eyes quickly fell on him. A tiefling, and three others, one of which looking like he’d been dragged through a hedge backwards. Bastion noticed the drawn weapon almost immediately; the muscles in his leonine legs bunched and tensed instinctively – fight or flight, the choice would be made in an instant, but for now he just stood ready, fighting claws ready to fend off any attacker, but otherwise deliberately held motionless and unthreatening. His pale human-looking features betraying nothing of his inner battle. He deliberately avoided meeting the gaze of anyone save Patches as he analysed the scene before him, looking for any other exits besides the portal he’d just come through, and working out how best to get there without getting hit if it turned nasty...

“Have I come at a bad time? If you cutters want to be alone, say so...”

The Aasimar’s voice was warm and calm. The only indication that he was anything other than calm was the gentle flick-flick of a lion tail beneath the rim of his cloak.

Attempting to ignore the Aasimar that just appeared from nowhere, Tarnil hesitated, thinking that if he helps this man perhaps he might have a way to understand this place. That is the way you survive, he thought to himself. How, from being the servant of royalty, did he get to this position?!

He quickly snatched the shears lying only several feet from him and pocketed them. He approached Zerdan carefully and checked if he's still conscious.

He was, but still seemed to be quite dizzy.

Tarnil looked at Zerdan's face, trying to figure out his features. Then, he began helping him to his feet, "Can't have you lying on the ground, can we, sir", he mumbled only to Zerdan and himself.

As the two travelers tried to help Zerdan to his feet in his heavy armor, his body suddenly began to spasm. He let out a loud yell. Blood trickled from his ears and nose. "YAARRRG! Unhende prod! Lathly mibix! GrrAAA! No no no no NO! Torture me to death but NO! Find some other tool to flay, I'll never do your bidding, not for all the jink in Shurrock..." At this Zerdan rambled off a string of obscenities so foul that Buttons dropped his needle and covered his ears.

Patchwork seemed to ignore the entire scene, being once again hard at work by the table.

It was at that moment, when everyone seemed to be preoccupied, that the shadows chose to strike.

Strangely, It was Patch who was the first to react. He lept up, put one foot on the edge of the table and spun about, making a great jump right overtop the first shadowy figure that entered in the archway. He drew a shiv seemingly out of nowhere and landed blade-first on the second dark figure. Seeing his companion react, the Half-Giant surged to his feet. He swung a massive fist at the lead shadow, but it passed through the thing as if it wasn't there. The shadow struck out at the huge humanoid, and where it's blow landed, a frost formed and the skin blackened with instant frostbite. Buttons howled and retreated, but instead of pursuing, the shadow moved with speed towards Zerdan and the duo aiding him.

Hearing the Half-Giant's yell, Bastion looked up and saw a half dozen shadowy figures crossing the room towards them. Behind them, Patch got back up to his feet, his adversary already melting into the cobblestones beneath his glowing arcane blade.

Suddenly the shadows were upon them. The lead one struck at Zerdan, but it could not penetrate the Baatorian steel of his armor. If the shadow could have looked surprised, it would have. Bastion's claws sliced through it's head in retaliation.

[ooc: Moog, you must decide if the slice had any affect or simply passed through]

Tarnil was shocked and terrified; he was used to dealing with humoids, he's never fought something like THIS!

The moment the creature was upon them, Tarnil swiftly jumped back, his moves rough but graceful nevertheless, and the shears that he had picked up just minutes earlier were now in his hand as if by magic.

"I can't use my abilities now, it's not the time", Tarnil thought to himself, "I can still use these people, and showing them everything now will destroy that option".

He took careful aim while Bastion sprang forward and threw his shears at the shadow.

Tarnil caught the dagger and briefly examined it. It wasn't HIS, but anything would do at this moment.
"Perhaps I will find a way to recover mine later on...", Tarnil thought to himself while swiftly and gracefully leaping forward and attempting to slice the Shadow with his new dagger.

The shadows seemed bewildered by the speed in which the mortals turned the tide of battle around. Weakened by the light, facing fairly effective blades, and losing the element of surprise so quickly must have stunned them. Creatures of darkness, they were not bold combatants. Though they still outnumbered their intended victims, they moved about randomly and haphazardly. Two tried to flee back to the dark corridor from whence they came, but were confronted by a much larger shape in the darkness with slanted eyes the color of dried blood. At an unspoken command they turned and shot straight at the kneeling form of Zerdan...

Meanwhile, though only half of his blows were effective, Patches continued to slash away at his adversary with his silver sheers. The shadow's retaliatory strikes seemed only to whip him into an even greater frenzy, until he was literally foaming at the mouth and babbling incoherently, "Fitting! You! Get! How! A! Deadbeat! I! Jink! Want! Alterations! What? Do! No! You! Out! Fitting!"

Whatever was going on, it stank worse than a Hive sewer. Being a freedom-loving basher, Bastion didn't hold much store in fate or predestiny, but this whole affair suddenly reeked of it. Chance that he stumbled into the kip of these curious sods, halfbreeds all? Chance that these Shadows chose that precise moment to launch attack?

And something dark was out there, controlling them. They had look set to flee when the Aasimar's light had filled the room, but now they redoubled their efforts to get to the armoured tiefling. Zerdan was their target, Bastion was now certain, and some... unplaceable... urge... compelled him to protect this tiefling from these shadowy attackers, and Bastion really didn't like feeling compelled.

His thoughts returned to combat, and he realised to his folly that his mental ramblings had allowed his opponent to land another soul-wrenching blow. Furious at himself, but moreso at the shadow before him, he crossed his arms before him, and suddenly threw them apart, slicing through the Shadow's neck in a scissorlike motion. The undead creature let out a gurgling howl of agony, and dissipated, affording the Aasimar yet another respite to get his bearings.

"Why are these shadowy sods so interested in you, Tiefer?" He said as he circled round, narrowly dodging Tarnil's thrown dagger as it whizzed past his arm. "And what's that I sense outside the door? What hunts you?" He had to defend this tiefling, he knew, but he was damned if he would risk life for an unknown cause.

The Aasimar moved closer to Zerdan, his fighting claws weaving, ready to parry any sudden attacks from the circling Shadows. He knew he was agile enough not to impede the Tiefling's attacks, and the armoured warrior would benefit from having his back covered.

It was then that Bastion noticed the half elf was unarmed, and darted a glance to where the dagger lay. Two shadows stood between them and the enchanted weapon, and Tarnil would be precious little use without it. "leatherheaded addlecove..." he mouthed under his breath as he contemplated their predicament. A plan was forming in his mind...

"Fiendling", he called, addressing Patches. "Reckon you could get to that dagger? Our friend here needs something more than harsh language against these things..."

As he said this, Bastion caught motion out of the corner of his eye and managed to react just in time to block a shadow lashing out at Tarnil. His counter-attack caught the shadow across the midriff, causing it to screech and recoil slightly.

"Any time now would be useful" he added, and turning to the prime he said "When you've only got one enchanted weapon, it's more useful in your hand, cutter. I've fought melee with an enchanted crossbow bolt before now."

His strength was failing him, he could tell. Much more of this punishment would pen him in the dead book for sure, and surrounded as they were, more punishment was certainly on the cards. He tensed, and readied himself to try and make a hole so the encircled trio could break out and reach Patches...

[Well, welcome back! I'm glad you liked what came out of this thread.]

(OOC- Hope no one minds this thread necromancy. Actually I'm hoping someone will appreciate it and continue this thread. )

"AAaaahhh ow- Aaah ow- Aah OW!" The dark haired human in loose fitting clothing stared at the piles of refuse strewn around him in shock. "By Illater's fractured third right rib! What have you done to me Zilthos? Zilthos? You accursed wizard! You can't hide from me! I can sense.... you... ?" It was then that Gonze realized that he did not sense his opponent anywhere. "That bloody servant of evil has teleported me! But where in the realms am I?" He glanced again at the piles of unknown refuse. "Somewhere in Amn?" At least he hadn't landed in any of them, and those awnings above had stopped his fall... "By Illmater's swollen shut left eye! Where the hells am I?!" He stared slack jawed at the sky. Or at least what would have been the sky had it not instead been an upside down city above his head. He stood there for several minutes blinking very rarely, when suddenly he sensed it, hostile intent. He body moves to deflect at attack he could not see, and then he turned and looked down again to see his attack stumbling past him as they suddenly found themselves without a target to stop them. "Zilthos!" Gonze shouted; "Thought you could sneak up and stab me in the back did... you?" The person who had tried to stab him was not Zilthos. It was not an arrogant thick browed wizard at all.

In fact, it appeared to be a young human woman with long brown hair, tied into a pony tail, wearing leather armor and a dark gray cloak. Though she had a strange aura about her like... a celestial? Why would a-

"So, yer not quite as much of a berk as I'd hoped eh Clueless? No matter, I'll still nick you, less you wanna give me yer jink first." His contemplation over the strange woman was interrupted as she spoke to him in a strange mostly common accent.

"W- What? Why do you attack me?" The woman smiled, she was quite good looking once you got over the whole trying to stab you in the back thing.

"Blah, it's too much trouble to 'splain it ta a clueless berk like you. I'll just take it after I've put ya in the dead book." With that same smile she lunged at him again with her dagger. He easily dodge the attack however. He had not fought an opponent this inept in a long time. Usually he would not have even bothered, but her etiquette was quite horrible, she had not even offered a challenge. So he had no choice but to deal with this.

On her second miss she turned around again, his face contorted with anger and frustration. It was actually slightly humorous. Apparently she did not quite understand just how completely over matched she was. "Uh... miss..." he dodged another lunge. "Miss?" and again. "Miss!" this time she nearly stabbed herself with her own dagger as she slammed into the wall of the alley. "What berk?! Stand still so I can nick ya!!" She whirled to face him, her face red from the exertion as well as the frustration and embarrassment of repeated failure. "Please stop that. You're going to injure yourself." somehow her expression became even more enraged and she flung her dagger at him in rage, not even noticing him knock it aside as she charged him barehanded. Then her charge abruptly stopped as Gonze's fist collided with her midsection. At first her eyes shot wide open at the intense pain, but then, slowly the lids drooped shut as she slipped into unconsciousness and slumped forward. Gonze sighed as he held up the limp body of his would be mugger, looking around for well... Anyone. There wasn't anyone.

He sighed again and lay her down on a relatively clean spot of ground, then turned to walk down to the end of the alley and take a look into the main street. Seconds later he was sprinting back down the alley again fighting down a heart attack. "Where... In... Illmater's name am I?!" He screamed in his own mind

"Hm, pretty Aasimar, not a deader yet... I'll fix that..." Gonze looked down to see a rag clothed figure leaning over his would be mugger with a rusty dagger in it's hand.

"Ey! Get away you filth! Are you such a coward that you must slay a sleeping victim before you rob them?!" He planted a solid kick into the center of the pass of rags. There was a sickly crunching sound and the ... creature... recoiled and fled, whimpering down the alley. "What hideous place is this?" Gonze pondered, looking down at the apparent Aasimar, though she sure didn't act like it. "I guess I'll just have to ask her, when she wakes up, but I ought to find somewhere safer to wait if I can." He knelt down next to her and methodically searched for any hidden weapons, removing another dagger and some darts. He press with one finger on the armor over her stomach. This was not thick enough that it would provide her much help should she awaken and decide to attack him again. There was no need to remove it as well. He picked her up and slung her over his shoulder like a sack. "Now what?" Looking back one way he remembered to terrifying vision he had seen when he reached the end of the alley. So many creatures he had never seen in his life, there were also demons, and devils, and every other creature he could think of. He decided to go the other way, after the scavenger.

He took a few steps and a light flashed around him. Then he was somewhere else...

[Exclusively due to Azure's natural 20 on a Fun Roll, I will consider jumping in on this game! ]

Gonze stood stock still. Unable to comprehend the situation before him. Who were these bizarre warriors who fought these creatures of death. Still, if they were living, and their opponents were undead, a clear choice of which side to take. With amazing speed he dashed across the battlefield, avoiding conflict with any of the creatures until he had reached the large pile of cloth. There he dropped the strange aasimar not particularly gently, and then rushed towards the largest group of undead surrounding the armored warrior. He lauched himself into the air and sent a solid kick through one of the shadows' heads, causing it's form to disapate. (critical hit!) He landed in a readied stance, daring the shadows to attack him, and shouted to his new ally: "What in Illmater's name is going on here?!"

Jaspar made a beckoning gesture to the tawny catgirl fawning over the silks and sheer fabrics of the vendor to his left. Come along, Duranna. We will return for them later. Nodding, she thanked the fabric merchant for his patience, and took her place at the grey-skinned alhoon's side. I know you desire those things, but I have a pressing engagement with a few of the movers and shakers of the Cage, and it would not do to be late. She nodded, but thought, rather than spoke, that perhaps she might hang back, so as to not be a bother, and to buy a few meals and peruse the Market for things she might like. Very well, to unshield your desires so is little better than asking out loud, though. More discipline in the future, child. Very well. I will retrieve you later. You have the diamond ring I found on the gish raider. Trade it for what you want, and more food for the ship, as well as a replacement for that broken railing. She smiled, and hugged the "old squid-lich", as she liked to refer to him internally, and headed out into the stalls.

Jaspar straightened his robes from the unsightly grapple, and thought clearly for the first time in months, free of the constant buzz of Duranna's flickering attentions. The two yugoloths first, Shemeska, then A'kin, then to the stronghold of the Fraternity, then, armed with what knowledge I can glean among them, to the Cartographer's Guild. They must know of the coming Realignment. I have seen these dread futures, and they must be averted swiftly, before all is lost. He gestures, realigning the weave of personal defensive spells for a duration among the citizens and travellers of the Cage, focusing on augmenting his spell resistance, awareness, and resilience against weaponry. Psionic manifestations slide around arcane glows and settle around him like a second cloak...and he moves through the Market Ward, seeking those who might know of the coming "Unravelling."

The alhoon mind mage proceeded until he reached a portal, one that should deliver him swiftly to the neighborhood of Shemeska's residence, and stepped through, absorbed in his own thoughts...

...only to arrive somewhere quite different than expected, the middle of a combat it seems, betwixt shadowy warriors, and by the thoughtscape, a bunch of near-complete strangers similarly dumped by ill fate into such situations. Before he could raise a hand or tentacle to defend himself, a blade sank -deep- into his side...and lodged solidly. He scowled, and looked at the armored warrior as his protective magicks pushed the blade back out of the wound, sealing it as it went. Not carrying a blade of Power, I see. And now you will wish you had spent the effort to visit Union before your arrival. He raises a long-fingered hand, and gestures, analyzing the nature of the combatants in the room, on both sides. Ectoplasmic forms flicker in purple around his brow, lit with magelight as he modifies a firebrand spell to explosive sonic damage and undead bane on the fly, as well as focusing it's matrix so as not to harm the innocents in the room and releases it, shredding the shadowy creatures and blowing the armored warrior across the room.

"Now then..." he gurgles through tentacles slickening with illithid mucus and not a little saliva at the thought of ending this fight with a meal, "If you would test yourself against me, come at me, else, take this chance to rethink your position." As he speaks, an illithid psiblade, silvery mithril, traced with glowing psionic circuitry, flickers into existance in his hand.