What a party! Never before have you beheld such unabashed opulence. The Great Hall seems to glow with its own light, reflecting warmly off gilded arches and a flawlessly polished marble floor. Long tables sag under the weight of enough food and drink to choke a purple worm. In one corner is perched a multi-tiered cake twice as tall as a man; in front of it, a band of troubadours, performing tirelessly for the assembly.The hall is crowded with local aristocracy and their courtiers, dressed to the nines as they feast and drink and laugh at their own cleverness. You can see that many of the other Headmaster Wizards are also present: Lord Quintachi, sporting a fine robe of dazzling colors; Lord Plutus, wearing the official colors of the School of High Evocation; even Dame Harrowsong, Mistress Necromancer (so she can come out during the day!), her face covered by a veil of black lace. Duke Ivor Youngblood and his court have made an appearance as well to congratulate the Devil-Tamer on yet another year of exceptional longevity.
Lord Virgis sits enthroned at the head of the room, alone, his expression a mask of displeasure despite the ostensible festivity of the occasion. You are mystified by his dour face. What could be vexing him so? And then you realize that there are no presents! You balk at how such an important component of any decent birthday celebration could be overlooked, but then you wonder: what does one get for a man such as this? What could anyone possibly have to offer someone who can grant his own wishes? And then you reflect that perhaps ultimate power is not so fulfilling after all, for is it not the small pleasures that truly make life worth living?“Uh oh,” Qroc mutters. “The Master looks unhappy! Better let me do the talking. By the way, Orthos, if this gift fails to please him, you can bet that your head will roll for it.”
Qroc flutters to the middle of the chamber. “May I have your attention please?” He squeaks. No one seems to notice, steeped as they are in conversations of their own. “Attention, please! Hey, everyone, be quiet!”
His tiny form quickly balloons into a huge infernal thing, so massive that his wings stretch from wall to wall, covered head to tail in flame and coarse hair the color of dried blood. Thick black smoke jets from his beastly nostrils as he roars: “SHUT'CHER JABBERIN' COCKHOLES!”
The party stops, the guests frozen in place with a mixture of chagrin and horror. A few people actually faint where they stand. Pleased, Qroc shrinks to his normal size and smiles. "Thank you. Ahem. Ladies and lords, esteemed visitors, Your Grace… all of you have gathered here to commemorate the one-hundred-and-ninety-fourth birthday of Lord Virgis Grimrune, Devil-Tamer and Headmaster of the College of High Summoning. Please join me in praising him and wishing many more happy birthdays to come!”
The tiny fiend claps with wild enthusiasm. The guests applaud as well, though somewhat more cautiously. Virgis has one eyebrow cocked at his familiar’s showboating, but otherwise his expression remains unchanged.
“So long has Master Virgis served this city that, to you mortals, it has no doubt seemed as though he has always been here. It is understandable, and not altogether unforgivable, that you might come to take him for granted and be lapse in expressing your appreciation for all that he has done and continues to do to ensure the ongoing supremacy of Freybourne. Well, no more. Today begins a yearlong celebration of Lord Virgis Grimrune!”
The guests look around at one another uncomfortably.
Qroc lands and bows down on one knee. “Master, pardon me for acting without your knowledge, but it has been so long that you have been pleasantly surprised that I thought it worth risking your ire. Since your last birthday, I have been conspiring with Lady Belarva of Haus Lebenskraft to find you something truly special and unique. Although she could not be present today, please accept her best wishes, and please accept this gift from us both.”
He snaps his fingers. “Bring forth the box!”
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Markus, dressed to the nines, swings Laurie around and sways her with a dip. He leans close to her and whispers: "They seven exits out this, mos' na' wiffouta foit. I lika save th' pip ana wolf chit, but... well..."
He picks her up for a twirl.
Salbadore has deposited Orthos' spare clothes and most of his own belongings in the broom closet.
An especially observant person might notice that, as he follows Qroc and Orthos into the banquet hall, Salbadore is indeed taken aback at the opulence. He blinks a few times in the bright, bright lights. He does not engage with the other partiers, preferring to wait with Qroc and Orthos for the moment when his long and difficult quest will come to an end.
Even as the culmination of his efforts draws near, Salbadore looks more comfortable than you have ever seen him. Dressed in his new finery (it looks like a look to which he's very accustomed), he is rather snappily put together. The wonder on his face passes quickly. He lifts his eyebrows high and bites his cheek a little and puts on such a face that - had you not been traveling with him for days now - you might lose track of him among the other petty nobles.
When Qroc summons him, he stands up proud and tall. He struts forward with a measure of poise that he has not previously demonstrated. He strides right up to Lord Virgis. Snapping his heels together, he bows deeply. He does not presume to introduce himself to the legendary Devil-Tamer.
“With Lady Belarva’s best regards.”
He offers the box to the master summoner with both hands.
As Virgis touches the box, another mouth appears on its surfaces and begins to sing:
"Happy Birthday, it's your day!
Hope it's great in every way!
We will help you celebrate,
'Cuz we think you're really great!
Happy Birthday, it's your day!
Hope it's great in every way!"
"It's so light," Virgis remarks, hefting the box and shaking it. "I wonder what it could be?"
"Expositus!" He commands. A seam forms in the box, revealing a lid, which slowly opens.
He looks inside, and both his eyebrows rise. A small smile forms on his lips before he quickly closes the box again.
He turns to Salbadore and says, "Please convey my gratitude to Lady Belarva for her magnificent gift. I sincerely--"
Virgis disappears from sight with an audible pop as air rushes to fill the vacuum where he was just standing. Salbadore feels a sharp pain in his arm and looks down to find a small needle protruding from his sleeve. A cold numbness that quickly begins to spread throughout his body as his legs turn to rubber.
[Fortitude save, Danny!]
"...The fuck?" Qroc squeaks.
The doors to the great hall slam shut and bar themselves as Virgis reappears in front of them as suddenly as he had vanished, the box still in hand.
"An assassin," he muses. "Intriguing. Qroc, it appears you were not the only one hoping to surprise me today."
The crowd buzzes with confusion that threatens to escalate into panic.
"Stay calm," Virgis commands his guests. "You are safe. All entrances have been sealed. No one can enter or leave this hall without my permission."
[Feel free to have your characters roleplay their reactions and to describe whatever actions they will be taking during the scene. I was thinking of randomly assigning major NPC roles for you to play in order to expose the assassin, if you think that might be fun. But if you feel this would be an unnecessary distraction, I could just narrate what happens next. It's up to you guys; let me know what you want!]
"Please convey my gratitude," Lord Virgis begins - and Salbadore is already restraining a beaming grin, for it turns out that delivering a birthday present has not been such a petty task after all. If contributing to the good humor of one of the distant stars of his universe is to be the fruit of his suffering - then so be it, for as we all augment the power and the beneficence of our paragons and our empire, so we all flourish.
As Salbadore drifts away in a reverie on the ultimate harmony of the feudal order, Lord Virgis continues. ". . . to Lady Belarva for her magnificent gift. I sincerely -"
Pop. There is now vacuum in the space where Virgis had been standing. The young wizard feels, first, the subtle wind created by the grand summoner's spell; then he feels a slight prick; and then a slight weight as though a quill or needle were hanging on his skin. Salbadore looks - indeed . . .
. . . a needle.
The rush of air into the vacated zone had been just enough turbulence to throw the needle (where did it come from?) away from its true target, the Devil-Tamer. Salbadore clumsily brushes the needle from his arm and lets a weak whine escape.
He takes one step forward . . . his ankle folds under the weight. His knees bend, and Salbadore pitches . . . face . . . forward.
His head smacks on the floor.
"...The fuck?" Qroc squeaks.
Salbadore lays there, drooling into his beard.
Mayna caws and hops futily as Virgis muses aloud about the assassin and takes command of the percolating crowd.
Observing Mayna, Virgis deduces that Belarva's young surrogate has some life left in him.
"Advectum," he murmurs, causing a small steel vial to appear in his hand.
He holds it out to Orthos. "You there," he says. "Would you like to administer this tonic to that young man before he is beyond aid?"
Orthos, almost forgetting himself in the presence of the High Summoner, nearly snatches the tonic from his hands. Managing what poise he can in his frantic state, he takes the tonic, then slides over to Salbadore, propping his head onto his knees. "Here, Dorey, this'll help," he says, carefully administering the potion to his friend.
Laurie dances with Markus, floating gracefully around the hall and nodding at Markus' comment as they dance. She stops once or twice to sample the luscious delights laid out before them, relishing the decadence of the party.
When Qroc calls the hall to attention, she stops to listen, still hand in hand with Markus. As Salbadore drops to the floor, she rushes over, dragging Markus with her.
The vial's contents slip viscously into Salbadore's open mouth and down his throat. He lets out a few raspy gurgles, but that is all; he seems to be just too weak to choke.
A moment passes when Salbadore does not breathe. Suddenly snapping his mouth shut, he draws a sharp breath through his nose, and begins to pull air in fitfully, as though recovering from exhaustion or a bout of tearful wailing. He gasps and tries to scramble to his knees, but is at first too weak and collapses on the fine, well-polished flooring.
It takes a few minutes for him to recover.
Using Orthos to pull himself up, Salbadore seems to regain his tolerance for living. Looking to the faces of Laurie, Markus, and his other companions, he rasps out, "What happened? What's happening?"
He wipes his face.
[I know that some of you are busy with real-life stuff at present, so rather than impose an NPC role upon anyone at a bad time, I'm going to let those who are interested in playing one to email or IM me with their preferred role on a first-come, first-served basis. The four to choose from are Lord Quintachi, Dame Harrowsong, Lord Plutus, and Duke Youngblood. More NPCs can always be added as needed. I hope this experiment works out well for everyone and, as always, thank you for playing!]
Despite being hand in hand with Laurie, it doesn't keep Markus from flirting with a serving girl carrying a tray full of wine glasses. He takes one with a wink, oblivious to all the excitement going on.
As he takes a sip, he spits it out with an audible "Hrk!" as Laurie drags him to Salbadore's side.
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