Nim's Tall Tales

Nim Learns How to Speak Slaadi (sorta rhymes with Modern)

Way back in the days of her youth, during one of her many solo forays into Sigil's Grand Bazaar - see, even as a child she knew how to handle herself, so her going off on her own into the depths of the morass that is the Grand Bazaar of Sigil posed little immediate threat to life and limb as far as she was concerned (her parents still worried about her of course, but Nim always ran off on her own when her siblings started going at one another and she had had enough of getting caught up in their fights) - Nim came across an odd pairing of characters: A slaad and a modron.

The modron was going about it business - powers knew what that was- while the slaad was doing its best to mimic and mirror (and match and all sorts of other m-words) the modron. Now, modrons aren't usually ones to get worked up over things, single-minded characters that they are. This one though (whose name Nim decided was Boxford) was getting mightily upset at his mirror. Every so often, it would turn and address the slaad: "Please cease your behavior as it is quite distracting" or "Desist from your mimicking of my actions". Amazingly, the slaad always managed to match exactly what the modron was saying exactly when he said it. Nim loved the performance and followed them around the rest of the day until eventually the slaad grew bored and wandered away. The modron, however, continued to accuse passers-by of mirroring what it was doing. Nim followed Boxic until it got dark, then she headed home. Every once in a great while, she’d see Boxford von Mirrorchatter (his full name, Nim decided) wandering around the Bazaar and she would entertain herself by following him around and watching his antics.

This story is important only insofar as it was from Boxface himself that Nim eventually learned how to speak the Modron language, though it was several years afterwards. By that point the, now rogue (that Slaad made quite an impact on him) Box-of-Nails fancied himself a bit of a poet. Nim cornered him after a (wildly unsuccessful) reading he gave to an audience of Sensates in the Civic Festhall:

“I can’t say the word Slaadi, Box-like von Squareface! Modern moron Slaadi. See! If I want to say Slaadi, I have to sneak up on it from the word modern. Mmmmmmmmodron! See?! Slaadi! Slaadi! Slaadi!” Nim laughed louder than was necessary, while eyes grew large and gained a slightly wild glint.

“I don’t quite understand your…”

“How do you do make those whirring and clicking sounds Boxman?”

“I am not certain I fully comprehend your meaning. Do you mean to ask me how I speak the Modron language?”

“Yes! The Slaadi language. Whirr click whistle! Like that! How do you do that?”

“But you just made those noises, and I am not entirely certain how you managed to do…”

“Ooooh! You’re right! I did, didn’t I? What did I just say? Was it clever? I bet it was clever”

“Complete nonsense. Like the sounds of a broken clock.”

Nim frowned and nodded sagely. “Oh…say something clever in Slaadi Boxy.”

“I cannot speak the language of the Slaad, miss.”

“Oh, sorry. I mean say something in Slaadi. No! Wait! Say something in modern. Mmmodron. Say something moronic! I want to learn how to speak in whirrs and clicks and whistles like you!”

The Modron looked incredulous. ”If you are indeed truly interested, I will teach you. However, before you can appreciate fully the nuances of my native tongue, I must teach you the proper way to think. Tell me what you understand about the nature of logic.”

Now, Nim was a canny student, but growing up as she had, on the streets of Sigil, she had never had much in the way of a formal education and thus was rather lost when it came to organized thinking. For her, things were always done on the spur of the moment and in the spirit of spontaneity, so the idea of sitting down to collect one’s thoughts before acting was somewhat foreign.

Boxford (whose real name Nim never actually learned) lent Nim several books on the topic of logic and well-reasoned thought, written by some prominent Guvners. Nim’s desire to learn how to speak Modron overcame her natural chaotic tendencies, and she forced herself to sit down and understand what the boring books were talking about.

It then took many painfully frustrating sessions for Boxford to impart the connection between the Modron language and what was contained within the books and how: “In order to speak the ‘pretty whirring and clicking’ properly, one must collect and organize one’s thoughts like how they are presented in those books”.

At some point, something finally snapped into place in Nim’s head and she understood. Or at least, she started to understand. But that’s all you really need sometimes. Over time - and after accosting more than a handful of innocent Modrons going about their business in Sigil by endlessly jabbering at them - Nim’s proficiency with the language grew stronger until she felt as though she had a solid mastery.

Eventually, she tried being creative with the language by writing a poem. But that’s a tale for another day.

Still writing the first one. I haven't had the time to devote, sadly.

Edit: There. Hope it's not too hokey.

\"Lenwë\" Considers Joining the Society of Sensation

A number of years after the incident with the Modron and Slaad, Nim had grown up into quite the young lady. She'd left her family behind by this point and she'd started to make her own way in the world (more or less). And, as befits a self-sure and self-reliant individual making their way in that grand city-torus sitting atop the Spire of the Outlands, Nim was starting to seriously toy around with the idea of joining up with one of the factions.

The one that always managed to catch her attention was, of course, the Society of Sensation. Indeed, the very idea of going out into the multiverse just to experience as many things as a body possibly could just strummed the right notes in Nim's romantically infused noggin. Plus, they were all artists and poets and singers and painters and lovers and eaters and cookers of foodstuffs and such like, and Nim facied herself to be quite the creative person, so she naturally assumed that the faction was a perfect match for her.

Of course, living on one's own in the city of Sigil doesn't necessarily provide a body with the knowledge of what it takes to join a faction. Or maybe it does. Nim never paid attention to those things as she didn’t care one lick for all the politics that usually go on between the factions. Besides, the notion of going up to somebody and saying “I’d like to join the Society of Sensation!” never occurred to her (plus, she’d be far too embarrassed!).

Instead, Nim decided that the best approach was to sit out in front of the Civic Festhall and watch the people come and go. And then she would select important looking people and accost them by reciting poetry at them. Poetry that she had written. Poetry that was full of adolescent angst and many, many ways of describing the color black (e.g. raven, midnight, coal, jet, ebon, shadowy, pitch and so forth). She also handed out pictures of eyeballs that she had drawn on scraps of paper to anybody she made eye contact with, but that was more of a sideline thing and not really relevant.

Sadly, outside of having some of the folks she had approached give scathing critiques of her creative efforts - “You call that poetry?!” - nothing came out of what she had done. She decided she needed a new tactic. (For the record, Nim was so focused on joining the Sensates that the insults towards her poetry didn’t even register to her, so she avoided having to deal with having her feelings smooshed by an unfeeling multiverse)

”If I can’t join in that way,” she reasoned, ”then I’ll slip in as somebody else and figure it out from the inside!” So she did just that and ended as Lenwë, a foppish elven chap Nim had seen several times running errands in the Market Ward and whose outfits Nim had always fancied.

So, several days later, once Nim had managed to gather up the proper attire, “Lenwë” strode proudly through the entranceway of the Festhall and announced his presence:

“I am Lenwë! Attend to me!”

The announcement certainly caught people’s attention. Some clerk or representative of the Sensates hustled over to the obviously important person. You can tell how important somebody is by how much they wave their arms around and “Lenwë” was almost dancing.

”Can I be of assistance?

“Yes small man who I assume is a gnome of some kind! I have heard a great deal many good things about this festhall of yours and I wish to see what this place has to offer! I would like to be taken on a tour! If I’m pleased with what I see, I may decide to patronize your faction with my many riches!”

“Uhh...sure. I’ll see what I can arrange. Please, have a seat over there.”

“I shall!” And boldly didst Lenwë stride over to the well-upholstered chair. And boldly didst Lenwë seat himself upon it and wait patiently for several seconds. And boldly didst Lenwë rise up from the uncomfortable chair and admire the artwork on the walls.

”Um…Lenwë?” The question came from a petite woman who had the air of an aasimar about her.

Lenwë spun on his heel to face this new person. “I am he! Are you the one who has been selected to take me on a tour?”

“Yes. Please follow me.”

“Splendid!”

And the tour proceeded in much the same manner, with many loud and lavish comments from Lenwë as well as large arm gestures. “Most impressive!” were the sensory stones. “Quite colorful!” were the pieces of artwork that adorned the walls. And at one point, in an effort to show how creative he could be, he walked into the middle of an occupied lecture hall and improvised a bit of poetry for the assembled crowd: “This is the sort of thing you can expect if I join your faction!”

When the tour concluded: “So, if you’re still interested in joining, all we ask is two things. First, that you relinquish any affiliations you might have with other factions, and second, that you provide an experience or two from your life for our collection of sensory stones. A fair trade for what you’ll gain access to.”

“Hmm! You make a bold point! I must leave now! Good-bye!”

And boldly didst Lenwë leave the Civic Festhall.

Back at where she was making kip, Nim considered what she had learned. She hadn’t counted on needing to share any personal experiences with anybody. She was far too shy to share her personal experiences with anybody, let alone having them recorded for anybody else to have a chance to experience. No, Nim decided that she wasn’t such a good match for the Society of Sensation after all.

Fixed the first, but I don't see what I'm missing in the second.

Edit: Got it.

Nim (briefly) loses her left arm

Shortly after her decision to shed her life of pauperdom on the streets of her fair Sigil and join the ranks of those who would call themselves adventurers, Nim found herself on the plane of Ysgard, amid its floating rivers of rock and mountain and natural splendors aplenty.

Now, I know what you might be thinking. Here's a child whose entire life was confined to the back alleys and plazas of Sigil's Market Ward, and whose talents revolved entirely around being able to tell lies and weave tall tales. What in the Hells is she doing in a place that has a reputation amongst its natives for "Kill first, go out for drinks later"? Well, believe it or not, she took to the place like a fish to water.

Admittedly, those first few days after her arrival, Nim was wide-eyed and couldn't stop herself from gazing on those rivers of stone whose underbellies are all aflame (much to the amusement of her mentor and companions, as she looked as clueless as they come). That can be forgiven somewhat. You spend your whole life hearing stories about far away and fantastic locations, and see how you react when you have a chance to see them first hand!

In any case, those first days of Nim being on Ysgard were perhaps the most magical days of her entire life. Set against that fantastic backdrop, Rats and his companions introduced Nim to the adventuring arts, testing her talents and aptitudes and skills and abilities and other measures of her character.

Oh, we need companion introductions, don't we? So Rats (full name: Eats Rats, though he never did) was Nim's philosophical mentor (Xaositect, specifically), a bariur (think goat-centaur, but don't say it aloud near any of them) and a retired knight clad in shining armor. He was a bit barmy and had a penchant for laughing at inappropriate times. Nim adored Rats and, at the time, would've followed him straight into Acheron if he had asked. He also liked to tell stories, which is what drew Nim to him in the first place.

Sigard was a stereotypical gruff dwarf, complete with full beard, a battleaxe, a penchant for drinking copious quantities of beer and saying "Aye lass!" and "By Moradin's Beard!" a fair bit. He, likewise, was a knight of some kind or another, but didn't go in for all that philosophical crap. "Gimme a sword, a shield and a beastie to hit an' I'm happy. Don't need any larger meaning than that." Nim did her very best to quietly get him worked up and angry since she loved to hear him ranting in that accent of his, which got thicker and thicker the angrier he got.

Copher was human and had devoted himself to the Norse pantheon (or so he claimed). He was quiet and reserved and, Nim always thought anyway, rather weaselly. His nose was too large for his face, his hair was too short and just a touch on the greasy side and he always looked too pale, like he was just on the verge of being sick but never actually got there. Plus, he had vague unplaceable whine to his voice that drove Nim batty at times. Whenever he wasn't around, she'd try to get a rise out of Sigard by imitating Copher's nasally whine and make comments about dwarves that verged on insulting. These sessions always ended with Sigard berating Copher, Copher cringing and utterly confused and Nim and Rats rolling on the ground in tears.

Despite all appearances however (and personal opinions not withstanding) the four of them got along splendidly and functioned well when not engaged in interpersonal shenanigans. Yes, during those first few weeks on Ysgard, Nim truly had thought that she had found her own personal paradise. She had never been as close to anybody as her three companions at any prior point in her life.

Now, Rats had originally asked Nim to come to Ysgard because he felt that her talents were being wasted on the streets of Sigil. Her ability to weave tales and live other people's lives for them were well and good if all you cared about was merely getting by, but Rats had wanted her to thrive. Nim herself always knew that she was destined for something greater and more important that mere street urchinry. Through Rats, she saw a way of finding out what that important thing was.

How does one go about figuring out what one is good at? Well, Sigard had several thoughts on the matter, and they all revolved around putting a weapon in Nim's hands and fighting her. Nim thought this was a fantastic idea and a good way of learning how to handle herself in a fight.

"Now lass, we're gonna fight and we're gonna see how good you are at it! You ready?"

Mimicking Sigard's brogue, Nim cried out: "Aye, come at me shorty!" And they fought.

To her credit, Nim lasted a full ten seconds before Sigard got the better of her and lobbed her left arm off at the shoulder with his axe.

In complete shock, Nim looked down at her arm and went for the obvious joke: "You've...you've disarmed me," and alternated between giggling and crying out in pain in a high soprano. Rats, who had been watching from the sidelines, started giggling as well, his in a rich baritone. "Oh my! Oh no!" was Copher's tenor contribution to the growing chorus. And Sigard's bass "You stupid child! That's not how you fight! Look what your incompetence made me do!" - a melody that was filled with both anger and deep concern for what he had just done to poor, innocent, sweet Nim - complemented the whole composition nicely.

The whole song played out over long seconds before Copher managed to gather his wits about him and rush over to the wounded Nim and perform some basic rituals and ministrations to her detached, then reattached arm. Rats continued to roll on the ground laughing various bits of himself off (so to speak), while Sigard talked about trying something other than straight-up weapon-play for Nim. Nim just tested her arm and admired the new scar she had acquired. Now that was something she could be proud of! Ysgard had left its mark on her!