031: And I wouldn't live there if you paid me to

[Sierra]

<Cidward> Franceska finds her githzerai houseguest up early performing calisthenics upon her arrival home, dressed in the simplest and plainest loose garments as is her wont, unprepossessing as always. "You persevere through your adventures," she observes with approval as she leans on one leg and then the other. "I am satisfied to report that no assaults upon your property occurred during your absence."
<Franceska> "Surprising. But in a good way!" Franceska frowns. "Can these people really be taught? I have already given up hope, but the universe is a wondrous thing."
<Cidward> "Anyone may be taught," she says. "It is a matter of knowing the proper method to motivate the individual. What is it that you wish your companions to learn? I myself have been tutoring the local guardsmen in unarmed combat in my spare time." She stands up straight. "But one suspects you speak more of behavior."
<Franceska> "I think I already taught them an important lesson about how most enemies we come across need to be killed, but only time will tell if it sticks," Franceska muses. "But other than that my time away was quite horrible, so I would much rather focus on how you passed the time here. The guardsmen are learning proper fighting techniques from you? Are they compensating you properly for your
<Franceska> efforts?"
<Cidward> "It is an object of curiosity for most," she says. "They are accustomed to use of the blade, bow, or halberd. My approach is, for them, novel." She closes one fist, examines it. "It is difficult to subdue a man through other than mortal means with those implements, should circumstances call for it. But without reliance on weaponry, there is no intermediary between yourself and the martial expression of your will."
<Franceska> "That is certainly true," Franceska agrees, nodding to herself. "Does it feel satisfying to teach them?"
<Cidward> "Sometimes," she allows. "It was always my aspiration, albeit more in the manner of a sage than master at arms. It may be that I incline more readily to the latter, as past circumstances have demonstrated." She grimaces in recollection. "But one should recognize where her skill lies truest and recognize it as her duty to employ them responsibly."
<Franceska> "And you could always do this in stages. Once they see how useful your training has been, you can reel them in to teach them philosophy as well."
<Cidward> "Yes. It it important to understand one's own potential. Realizing a sense of competence even in mundane tasks is the first step to aspiring towards great deeds. Given determination, mortal hands may reshape the cosmos." She shrugs. "Of course, for now I am a curiosity. But in mutual respect deeper lessons may find purchase in time."
* Franceska finds herself nodding again. "Speaking of reshaping things, do you have any ideas what we could do with a person that was an illithid's slave? She doesn't really respond much now." It goes unsaid that this was already a fool's quest to begin with, but rescuing drooling retards would lessen the value of their intervention even more.
<Cidward> Calixta frowns. It is as ever a natural expression for her. "They employ their thralls as useful or they devour the brain if not. If this woman is physically unharmed then parting her from the tyrant's company should be all required to return her senses. What is her condition? What was done to her?"
<Franceska> "It was extracting her essence for its master, I believe? With the master being... some sort of gem dragon on Earth?"
<Cidward> She shakes her head. "It is not a procedure I am familiar with. We knew them not to be subtle masters in our days of mental bondage. Employing talents of the mind in no way lessened the brutality of their dominance. Their machinations were straightforward: control or devour. What the illithid desires from its victim is the brain itself. I have not known them to...transfer the self disparate from the brain, if I am comprehending your meaning properly? But the plane of Earth itself is also an unusual haunt for them."
<Franceska> "Maybe we would have learned more had we killed the illithids and the dragon. But instead, a drow went and killed the former... well, if it means not coming in contact with those things, it might be a plus?"
<Cidward> "The only contact anyone should wish with the monsters is their prompt extermination," she affirms.
<Franceska> "Earth truly was dreadful," Franceska laments. "And after all that effort, an angry dao slaver might be coming after us. Truly, the slavers are everywhere. How can such a foolish occupation be so popular?"
<Cidward> "The foolish will always seek the easy path," she says, "and for the weak of will the easiest path is to employ another to do what one might not trouble herself to do. Slavery is the lapdog of indolence. You will ever find them in each other's company." Another shrug. "If a man sought my end I would hunt him down and eradicate him before he found opportunity."
<Franceska> "It all depends on who he might hate more, I suppose? Since I have no idea where he ran off to and looking would mean spending more time on Earth gathering information, you might see why I would wish to put it off."
<Cidward> "You found the plane so inhospitable?" she asks with raised eyebrow. "I am not so familiar with it myself."
<Franceska> "The human were weak and bickered among themselves, and their laws were a mockery. I was forced to restrain myself from hitting the dao when talking to them, and then the drow, and then the yuan-ti, and then there were demons and demon-summoners, and undead and their summoner. And if you overlook all that, and the illithids and the dragon, then the plane itself hated us and tried to bury me
<Franceska> alive no less than three times."
<Cidward> "You should consider your hardships a tempering," Calixta advises. "Every hurt is a lesson. Grow from them in strength, skill and wisdom, else you have suffered an unconscionable waste of your existence. Your experiences must have expanded in some way from this ordeal?"
* Franceska grimaces. "I discovered a way to use my hate for these horrible planes as a weapon, but I probably could have managed it with another week in the elf heaven alone."
<Cidward> "We may consider this a productive journey in that regard, at least?" Calixta ventures. "Every world is as strange to me as another, outside of Limbo where thought alone may shape reality."
<Franceska> "You would have hated Earth as well, then. Not only does it hate being shaped, but you feel slow and fat while there."
<Cidward> "The physical manifestation of sloth is among the most odious of traits," she admits at length, "and I would revile even the suggestion of its burden. In this instance I shall choose to learn from your example and forsake such a place. I have no immediate wish to travel in any case," she says, settling down on a sofa since her morning workout seems to be over.
<Franceska> "I wish I could say the same, but since we obviously must keep on going to all these horrible places, I suggested the next one, at least. Do you know anything about Fire? I was thinking that I might recruit some staff there while we're at it."
<Cidward> She shakes her head. "It is not among my experiences. Little outside of Limbo was before my fall. Perhaps this was among my failings. Ignorance oft precedes arrogance."
<Franceska> "In that case, I'll tell you all about it afterwards." Franceska glances over at Calixta. "You seem done with your workout, yes? In that case, would you like to visit the market together? I really should stock up while I have the chance."
<Cidward> "I have endeavored to keep your residence suitably provisioned during your absence, but if you wish." She stands up again, draws on a coat for the cold outside.
<Franceska> "Traveling supplies," Franceska clarifies. "Even though magic makes it much easier to travel, you still never know when you might need to fall back on something more mundane."
<Cidward> "Yes, of course," she admits. "One should make an effort to prepare for and anticipate hazardous conditions to the best of her ability."

~

<El-Cideon> The sun shines without heat in a cloudless sky, multiplying its glare off of snow-covered streets and houses, and a stiff wind whips skirls of powder about one's feet. It isn't a day for people to be bustling about outside if they've no business there, and accordingly Stephanie finds her foster father reclining before a crackling hearth with a blanket around his shoulders. He looks a smaller, more careworn man then when Stephanie first him, but that old imposing, craggy countenance still promises a swift rebuke for any (excessive) misbehavior.
<Steph> "Father! I'm home!" calls Stephanie, setting down a big, paper-wrapped parcel. "Have you even got up since I left?" she asks, accusingly.
<El-Cideon> "Do you see dust settled about my shoulders?" he snaps. "Cobwebs? Small colonies of gnomes setting up scaffolding for colonization?" He sits upright, setting a bundle of letters aside on a table. "I see you haven't got yourself killed yet, either," he adds with grudging admiration, eyeing the wrapped object with unvoiced curiosity.
<Steph> "I somehow managed to survive everything they had to throw at me. Traitorous elves, lunatic fae, weird snake-cultists, drow..." Stephanie beams at him. "Turns out that all these legendary backstabbers are pretty bad at surviving getting stabbed, you know?" she adds, tearing off the paper and proudly presenting to him. "A zombie I saved from eternal slavery painted this for me! I don't know
<Steph> why I didn't start properly adventuring sooner."
<El-Cideon> "The trick to getting stabbed is to do it to the other bloke first," Sir Martin agrees, settling eyes on the painting. Examining it in a squint for a long moment. "People gave me prizes like this, I might've retired earlier," he concludes. "Ah, he's a dab hand with a paintbrush, I'll give him that much," he concedes before giving Stephanie a penetrating stare. "Posed for him like this, did you?"
<Steph> "Nah. He's blind, actually. Did it by feel, I reckon," she replies. "Seriously! No joke! A blind zombie artist."
<El-Cideon> "Mm-hmm." He sounds skeptical. "So what's with all the, you know--" He gestures to the wind and elements swirling around painting Steph, "--you being out in the void and all?"
<Steph> "Apparently I'm chaos incarnate? I don't really feel it, though," replies Stephanie, feeling skepticle. "He probably paints all the girls like this."
<El-Cideon> "Huh!" he laughs. "Painters. They're all the same, dead or alive. Zombies, huh?" He clucks his tongue. "In my time, only zombies I knew were for smiting. Rather bite your head off than paint. But I suppose," he allows, given present company, "there's exceptions for all sorts. Be a dreary little world if there wasn't, right?"
<Steph> "Yeah. Some ancient king made him a zombie because he was such an amazing painter. How come that doesn't happen more often? If it means another thousand years of life, is it really so bad if your skin turns grey and your teeth fall out?" wonders Stephanie. "Oh, yeah! I met this other tiefling on the Plane of Earth, and she was alright. I'm thinking we should exchange letters! She ran some
<Steph> boudoir. That's not doing the stereotype any good," she admits. "But it don't matter, she's a classy lady."
<El-Cideon> "Thinking like that's why the world begets liches, Steph," he cautions for that first part. "And if it means a thousand years without being able to chew steak, you can count me out." He nods along through the latter part. "So she's a madam, but one with discretion?" he ventures, working through this notion with some incredulity. "You make only the best friends without me around. I can tell I've no need to worry for your good virtue. No, actually--" His tone mellows, and he looks away to the fire as he speaks. "It does me good to hear you're making friends. Never had many as a girl, and you sorts need all the help you can get," he adds without rancor. "So Earth, is it?"
<Steph> "Who needs lots of friends?" replies Steph, haughtily. "You just need one or two good ones, I say!"
<El-Cideon> "It pays to diversify your interests," he answers, appealing to Stephanie's mercantile sensibilities.
<Steph> "Sure," she replies. "But you don't need more then a couple people who you can really count on. Getting on with people's easy ever since I got that hat," she adds, with a smirk.
<El-Cideon> He snorts. "To be sure, the clothes make the man, eh? Well, we all need our little disguises to get by in the world from time to time, I suppose yours is just a mite more literal than most. Ah, but you can't keep it on forever, can you? What happens when some young fellow takes in interest in you and wants to run his hand through your hair?" he speculates. "I don't suppose there is such a young fellow yet, is there?"
<Steph> "There isn't!" replies Stephanie, begrudgingly. "And I wouldn't want someone who cares about this kinda stuff, anyway! I got nothing to prove, right?"
<El-Cideon> "Well that's my point exactly, someday there has to be a lad likes you for you and not the hat, right?" He struggles a bit before the admission: "I've always--I've worried about that moment, when some young man has to find out. It's not always obvious, Steph, who'd hold it against you and who wouldn't."
<Steph> Stephanie gives a shrug. "Rosemund didn't. Neither did her friends. They're kinda weird themselves, though, so I guess they don't wanna throw stones even if they do think something's off," she reflects. "A-anyway, it's just a guy, right? I'm not gonna get so into a guy that I'd kill myself if he held it against me," she insists.
<El-Cideon> "Well, I'd hope not," he says. "You're young, you can shop around yet. So how's young Miss Whitefall managing these days? Dragged you off on crusade at last, has she?"
<Steph> "Rosemund? She reckons she can raise the dead, so I'd say she's doing pretty well. We're tracking down some holy sword that some paladin nicked off with," replies Stephanie, moving to hang a kettle over the fireplace. "It's turned into this quest to rescue a whole bunch of Solata's old heroes that got imprisoned here and there. It's really horrible what's happening to them," she admits.
<Steph> "There's this one woman, Jill? Some kinda paladin herself, I think? Was one, anyway. She used to fight against devils, now it turns out she's training them in Baator! How does that even happen?" she asks, shaking her head. "I don't get it. I'd rather die than get roped into helping those kinda things."
<El-Cideon> "Some folk'd rather not die," he speculates, shifting uncomfortably at the thought. "Sometimes they'd do anything not to. Which lot is this you're looking for? Back from the troubles, is it?" he assumes.
<Steph> "Well, they're shitheels! Someone that cowardly ain't someone you want teaching others to fight," mutters Stephanie. "Anyway, this is about Galina Merowyn and her crew, pretty much."
<El-Cideon> "I remember those days," he says with a nod, chewing his lip in recollection. "Know the name, didn't know the lass. Put out word in the last days of the struggle she wanted to take the fight to the other side or some such. Meanwhile the crown said anyone took to following her wouldn't find their lands or their coin waiting for them when they got back. Said rebuilding was more important than chasing ghosts." He peers into the fire. "Bit of cowardice in that, I thought. What's it say about us if we accept they can corrupt who they like so long as it's not us? But most everyone was just tired of fighting." He eyes Stephanie. "And some of us had our own little parcel of mischief to look out for."
<Steph> Stephanie snorts. "I'll tell you what, though," she notes. "Our little world can't win against hell! It's stupid to try and launch some crusade over there," she reflects. "It's like trying to fight a waterfall, right?"
<El-Cideon> He sighs. "Maybe so. If you believe some of the theologians, it's them what feeds off our foul deeds to start with, so if that's true then the proper place to start the fight's right here in our own hearts." He sits up straight, clears his throat. "Of course, I might be biased here, but I think the important part's just raising people right."
<Steph> "Plenty of bad people around without demons spurring them on. Gotta sort them out first. Can't do it with naval-gazing." She peers at her father. "How d'ya deal with it?" she wonders. "If you can stop one evil by doing a lesser evil, I mean?"
<El-Cideon> "Well, there's some people who'd tell you you can't," he admits. "That if you start out thinking that way then it's just the first step towards becoming what you're trying to fight." He waves this away as nonsense. "I never held with that. The world's not all rules and regulations, and if you go about acting like it is, it makes you predictable. Anyone wants to take advantage of you, there's nothing worse for you to be than predictable. If you've got enemies, you want them thinking you're capable of doing anything, anytime. But still, you have to set standards for yourself. You have to think, if this is something you'd frown on doing peacetime, what makes it fine for me to do it now? What is the clear benefit to a greater good derives from me doing this? It's a narrow line to walk, and I can't lie, I've not always been certain of keeping to the right side of it. You've got to cultivate your conscience...and just maybe keep some friends around who can remind you when you forget about it."
<Steph> "They'll let me know if I'm being dumb. I can't say they're good for the moral side of things," mumbles Stephanie. "I don't wanna lead Rosey someplace bad, though. Or piss her off, more like."
<El-Cideon> "Well, that might just be a learning experience all its own," Martin ventures with a lopsided grin.
<Steph> "I guess. She's the kind of person you wanna, you know, take care of all the icky stuff for so she's never gotta confront it."
<El-Cideon> "Mm." He scratches his nose as he ponders this. "Well, maybe so. You can't coddle someone forever, though."
<Steph> "That's the thing! She's bashed in many a face, now! How do people even stay like- like that!"
<El-Cideon> "Beats me," he admits. "Some people are just built that way, bless the poor souls. I guess just as long as she thinks she's doing right...?" he speculates.

~

<Cidward> Franceska is at home, attending to whatever personal business has accumulated during her off-world adventurers, when there is a knock on her front door. No one was expected and Calixta is engaged in martial instruction elsewhere, so Franceska will simply have to answer the door herself if she wishes to sate her curiosity. Always assuming she has any.
* Franceska struggles with herself, before finally relenting. Instructing Darrin to continue going over her notes and present a summary for her later, she walks through her empty house while lamenting the lack of proper servants and answers the door sourly.
<Cidward> There is an elf outside the door. Bundled somewhat insecurely against winter's offensive, perhaps lacking familiarity with inclement weather, but bearing the chill wind stoically. It's Thela, masked by her loathsome forest elf disguise. "Ah, good, you are not busy," she concludes from the mere fact that you answered the door.
* Franceska twitches, but doesn't let this setback paralyze her. "I'm sure Stephanie was wondering about you," she says. "Still, what can--" Cutting herself off, Franceska says, "Before any of that, can you look like a dwarf?"
<Cidward> It's with visible struggle that she contains obvious revulsion. "Why would I wish to do this?" she asks without answering the question. "May I enter? This 'weather' is proving a very hostile phenomenon," she adds, trying out the unfamiliar word.
<Franceska> "This is a hideous disguise," Franceska says quite honestly. "Human, then?"
<Cidward> "Sufficient," she concludes. Her ears lose their angularity enough to pass casual inspection, and her graceless countenance is not far from human in the first place.
* Franceska steps aside, her sense of aesthetics mollified.
<Cidward> Thela steps inside. Her surface manners are not developed sufficient for her to kick the snow off her boots before trudging in. "I share your discomfort," she says once inside. "Imagine if you will borrowing the aspect of an ancient foe to mollify the sensibilities of a foreign populace." She glances at the pale skin of one hand with evident distaste.
<Franceska> "I am," Franceska responds, wondering how different it can be. Isn't there dirt and grime in drow lands? Don't they wipe their feet when they step in? More importantly, she really needs several maids to do these tiresome things like turning away guests and scrubbing the floor clean. "So, the weather, was it?"
<Cidward> "Hardly the reason for my visit," she clarifies, removing her sodden cloak and with a spark of inspiration hanging it upon a coatrack. "I don't imagine it within your power to talk the snow from falling. No, you have been represented to me as a legal professional, and it's in this capacity that I inquire of you."
* Franceska actually could if she put her mind to it, probably, but that would require them to spend time in close company and so she keeps silent. "Certainly," she says, leading the way to a reception hall where she receives the rare guest that makes its way into her home. "What seems to be the matter?"
<Cidward> "We have not left your city," she starts to explain (though it does not escape possibility that this is part of the complaint). "And as no travel itinerary has been communicated to me, I thought it prudent to understand my legal standing within your community for however long I might be forced to reside here."
<Franceska> "We're tentatively set to leave for Fire in a week," Franceska says matter-of-factly. "Sooner if the means to safely exist there without spells can be procured. Air would likely be next, although that may change based on what happens." That takes care of the travel itinerary, and she takes a few moments to consider the more complicated question before finally deciding a clarification is in
<Franceska> order. "Do you mean your true standing, following full disclosure, or the legal standing of your human disguise?"
<Cidward> "The former," she clarifies. "Drow society is very straightforward about reminding all other races of their proper place--which is of course beneath us. I should know whether I might incur similar opprobrium within your society for being revealed as not one of you. It seems perfectly sensible to me that this should be so, but in my limited experience humans often lay claim to...questionable values."
* Franceska purses her lips. "Simply being a drow is not a crime, and I would take on the case to defend you for a suitable fee should someone wish to bring up charges," she muses. "Your past occupation, however, is another matter entirely. While it's true that it took place in a different jurisdiction, at least one of the slaves was apparently considered some sort of local hero and so they
* Franceska might try to prosecute on that basis alone. It would set a precedent either way, so I couldn't be certain of the outcome."
<Cidward> "So I would not provoke punitive response from the authorities merely for being seen without disguise?" she concludes. "And my business dealings are hardly facts we have advertised; so long as your citizens remain ignorant my past should be without consequence. Of course, I must consider not only official reaction. Not only what people might legally do, but also what they might *actually* do."
<Franceska> "Of course," Franceska agrees, smiling now. "And there is also the matter of baiting to consider. While being a drow is not a crime, prosecutors have certain discretionary powers and they might choose to exorcise them over an altercation if any citizen created one with you, as opposed to letting such things slide for anyone else. Naturally, so long as we could prove that you were unjustly
<Franceska> attacked, we will sue the offender and teach the rest about their proper place. It will simply take time."
<Cidward> "A human found unsupervised in Ilishtir--armed and independent as myself--would be considered public fodder, for whatever enslavement or lethal mirth the first drow to find her might wish," Thela says, turning over this cultural disparity. "Penalties are much more lenient here. Of course, I have no immediate plans to test the tolerance of your citizenry by revealing myself."
<Franceska> "I hate to give such a compliment to these fools," Franceska says, the corners of her mouth twisting into a grimace, "but rather than lenient, I would choose smart to describe the attitude. Any human found unsupervised in your home, as you call it, would likely be someone like me and kill quite a few drow who might try to test my patience. After all, anyone who made it all the way over there
<Franceska> unmolested should really be left alone unless there is a pressing reason otherwise."
<Cidward> "The matron mothers would consider anyone foolish enough to be slain by a human quite unworthy. Not to be missed, not deserving of remembrance," Thela counters. She examines you critically. "You have arguments with your people?" she observes.
<Franceska> "To a degree." Franceska tilts her head. "You put it quite well, I think. With the exception of a few I can count on the fingers of one hand, they won't be missed or deserving of remembrance."
<Cidward> "Yes, quite so," Thela agrees. "It is only proper to exercise exacting standards in selecting your companions. Yours are of use? They are still alive," she observes.
* Franceska actually pauses in consideration. "Julia and Rosemund are. And as for Stephanie... she entertains me sometimes, I suppose." Franceska doesn't sound very certain, but manages to avoid turning it into a question. "Besides, I eagerly await the day when I can just stand back and relax as she fights it out with my enemies."
<Cidward> "A cherished stratagem," she agrees with the first smile you can recall seeing on her. "The soundest possible use for an irritant is indeed to turn it against one's own foes."
* Franceska smiles herself. "It is the least I can do, since I have no choice but to travel all over."
<Cidward> "You are compelled in the service of this Rosemund?" Thela surmises from her limited experience of the group.
<Franceska> "I like her company. Compelled? More like reluctantly following her around to save her from herself. Or the world. Whichever is more dangerous at any given moment."
<Cidward> "Hmph," Thela snorts. "Perhaps best to let one make her own fatal blunders if she is not suited to survival. Unless you think she will learn? She is still...young," she guesses, grappling with human timeframes.
<Franceska> "I will probably feel obliged to avenge her," Franceska says fatalistically. "So either way I will end up leaving my home for planes I hate. But only one outcome has me actually travel in company I enjoy."
<Cidward> "Not an intolerable outcome," she concludes. "If I ever discover such an entity I might consider it myself. Ah yes, a last professional inquiry before I let you return to your studies: property ownership? I do not anticipate lingering enough of a time for it to matter, but I do confess some curiosity as to whether the tolerance of your citizens extends to allowing an alien presence to own part of their city."
<Franceska> "This matter is the easiest to deal with," Franceska assures her. "Rules on real estate are relaxed, so long as the buyer is not a wanted criminal. Of course, crossing any of the city or nation's laws can swiftly have the property in question seized." She looks sour again. "The reason is as you might expect."
<Cidward> She nods, oblivious to whatever personal animosities fuel Franceska's turn in mood. "Then again it would be fortuitous that whatsoever actions of mine might be considered crimes were executed in another jurisdiction," she concludes. She stands up, retrieves her cloak. "Well, I do not plan to relax my masquerade while I am forced to reside in your city," she says, "but it has been instructive to comprehend my standing should this occur beyond my control." One might read this as a statement of thanks, if so inclined.
* Franceska far too often feels the same, and yet, she is still here. Perhaps that suggests something for the drow woman as well, she muses, before dismissing the idea as unimportant. "Are you interested in the plane of Fire?" she asks instead. "Since it does factor into our travel plans if you are."
<Cidward> "I know little of it," she says, fastening on her cloak. "What is the nature of your visit?"
<Franceska> "A business transaction, and a fact-finding mission concerning devils. Although I hope to find some decent help once there."
<Cidward> "It is in my interest to investigate new locales," she says. "I should consider this if your plans allow for it."
<Franceska> "I'll have my owl contact you when it is time, then."
<Cidward> A nod, and she disappears out into the street.

~