Planescape: Sally Forth, Tallymen! (M&M)

[Lost Demiurge]

No one really knows just quite where the light comes from. Or if they do, they aren't talking.

It's not a sun... There's no sun visible in the "sky". It doesn't emanate from any single point... If it did, it would have observable patterns as it shifted. It doesn't, not quite. There's just enough of a pattern for a few "days" to make amateur astronomers think they're onto something... But then it shifts.

When the light waxes, throughout the high time, it eventually touches every angle of the torus city. When it wanes, the darkness seems to seep in from random points, gushing out of windows and sewers to well up and wrap the cobbled streets in something not unlike night.

No stars, though, no moon either. Nothing in the sky but light, either strong or weak depending on the time. And the other side of the city, of course. Like viewing a vast wheel from the inside rim, the city is always ahead, behind, and above the observer.

Time's fuzzy here too, but most people don't dwell on that too long. Saner that way.

But if there were solid time here, then you could say that it was early morning. And if light involved a proper sun here, you could say it was just past dawn. And the light stretches out, revealing weathered stone streets, and buildings of all materials, shapes, and sizes. No pattern to it, nor in the street traffic, the hesitant emerging from relatively safe dwellings and getting to business as those who are comfier in darkness turn in for some rest. The light plays up through the Hive, over the latest crop of dead bodies hidden in alleys, broken houses, and other choice spots waiting to be discovered and loaded onto carts hauled by solemn grey men, the light plays past the miasma of the Lower Ward, illuminating a great foundry sending up steaming clouds of soot, and the light veers uptown, taking a leisurely swing past the absolutely grand buildings and polished streets of the Lady's Ward, before darting... Down? Up? Along the wheel, tracing an orderly flow of neatly-dressed beings, heading through, business in their step. An abacus is clutched firmly in one hand, a scrollcase full of parchment in another's tendrils. A third levitates a bundle of goods with one eyestalk, while another uses bird's claws to adjust her barrister's robes. Signs are flipped over from "closed" to "open", and the hubbub of the day begins to fill the air. This is the Clerk's Ward.

Off to one side of it, lies an enormous multi-story building, that conveys both an aura of respectibility and an aura of fear. Inside it is separated into many rooms, with people rushing back and forth in seemingly a chaotic mess... Carrying armfuls of documents, stamping ink frantically to parchment, and counting handfuls of clinking coins into coffers.

This is the Hall of Records, home of the Faction called the Fated. What's theirs is theirs. What's yours is negotiable. And it's at the height of activity, for it is that most hated of times.

Tax Collection Week.

But no more than a glimpse is to be had of this controlled chaos, before the light darts down below a dusty stairway, and turns from outside light to inside light, as candles illuminate a dark stone passage that twists past door after door, before ending in an open office.

Inside, a roaring fireplace illuminates a high-roofed room jumbled with books from floor to ceiling. The stacks create a maze... It's hard to tell exactly where the walls of the room might be, in the flickering, unevenly distributed shadows.

A space has been cleared between door and fire. In a chair backed with bone sits a red-and-white furred figure wearing grimy robes. It has a fox's head, square spectacles within which the reflection of the fire plays, and black scars marring the visible areas of its neck, face, and hands. The scars almost seem to dance, tracing dark runes as the fox-creature smiles a wicked grin, showing too many teeth. Too many sharp, sharp, stained teeth. It is directing its rictus of a grin toward the second figure in the room. It is holding a charred and damaged book. The book is still smoking.

Across from it, leaning against one of the stacks, is a brown-furred, red-armored, dog-headed being. Its eyes are pure white without pupil or retina, and it bears a slightly glowing greatsword on its back. Around it the darkness seems less cloying, more comforting. It crosses muscular arms, folding them carefully around red plates, and glares at the fox-thing. It is showing teeth back at the fox. Smaller than the fox's, but spotlessly clean. Not a grin, either, but a clear threat.

This scene is interrupted, as six creatures are shoved into the room. Odd creatures... One a cube of shimmering substance... Some sort of jelly creature, that's been temporarily filled with glitter to keep it visible. A winged figure in dirty white that's seen better days. A vaguely humanoid figure of swirling wind and mist. A human with hellish marks on his visible flesh. A woman wearing the clothes of a scholar, with odd stains on her hands. A skeleton in outlandish garb with gilt coating and gems studding him head to toe.

A squad of red-armored men and women behind the six ensure that there is no easy escape, and their expressions promise pain and a sudden sharp end for any who try. A few carry bottles swirling with water under pressure, trained at the glittery cube. One carries a warhammer glowing with angelic runes, just waiting for the skeleton to make a move toward the musical instrument he wears on his back. One carries an axe of green iron that screams and drips blood as the spikes on it align themselves to constantly point at the winged man. Three just carry crossbows, pointed at the female scholar. Oddly enough, no one seems to be particularly menacing the hell-marked man or the wind being. Not at the moment, anyway.

"AHhhhhhhh....." Sighs the fox-man, turning his rictus of a grin on the new arrivals.

"And THESE must be this season's Tallymen..."

[Sliver]

The cube sensed the bottled water. They did their homework. He hated foes that did their homework. That is why he only eyed the arrogant, stupid ones. Never prepare. Damn glitter. No wonder they managed to catch him.

He was not a speaker, he was an observer, a listened. While intelligent, he rarely cared for anything besides the next lunch. There was no reason not to. He didn't need the food, but he liked it. It allowed him to be patient. Now, he was patient. And silent.

[Limos]

Deylos Muertos stood straight backed, arrogant, with a permanent rictus smile on his dead face and a jaunty tilt to his giant sombrero, as was his usual want in matters related to standing. He looked disdainfully at the holy weapon looming over him with promises of a quick and brutal end. He looked with yet further disdain at the dirty flesh creature that had just spoken.

Deylos, the utter picture of suave sophisticated undead, the master of music, the lord of the dance. Despite the imminent death that loomed above him he showed no fear. He is a Lich! A master of the arcane arts! Immortal. Unstoppable. There was more power in his little finger bone than there was in other men's entire bodies!

By Vecna's testicles I'm jonesing for a fix... a traitorous thought scrabbles by.

Of course Deylos had seen better days. He takes a moment to wistfully reminisce about the wild parties he had held in his home kingdom of Hania. How his missed the sprawling halls of his manor, the multitude of skeletal servants always at his beck and call. And the drugs!, that same traitorous node of whatever it was he had a for a brain thinks at him desperately. Oh the drugs, that wonderful Red Dust, that sanguine ambrosia. That was why he was here in the first place after all.

Both here in the sense meaning 'Sigil' and here in the sense meaning this office. The Dust was what got him booted from his manor. Stripped of his title and his dignity. His endless pursuit of the same was what had gotten him arrested, thus landing him here, with an angelic weapon breathing down his vertebrae.

[Lost Demiurge]

"Greetings, junior Tallymen. And woman." Says the seated fox-man. "You may call me Mister Fawkes. This is Mrs. Hund, a representative from our paragonical overseers, the Harmonium."

"That's not my name, fiend." The dog-creature's got a strangely melodious female voice.

"You wish to speak your true name here, my dear? Go ahead, I've got a quill around here somewhere and oh so much parchment-"

"Shut it."

"Alas, I cannot. Rules to explain, and your kind DO so much love their rules, don't they?"

A low, rumbling growl, and Mrs. Hund looks away. Mister Fawkes sneers, and regards you, flame dancing in his spectacles. Funny, with the angle he's at, his head should be blocking the reflection of the fire.

"Now. Then. You are here because we have much work, and not nearly enough hands. To wit, it is nearing the end of the tax collection season, and we have several individuals on our rolls who have NOT seen fit to do their civic duty. Entirely unfair, inconsiderate, and inexcusable."

"This is where YOU come in. I have here a list of eight names. Each of them offenders of the first degree. Each of them has been calculated to owe a certain amount to Sigil, in the form of tax monies. Your task is complicated... Go out and find each of them, make them pay their due into the provided lockbox, and return here with the payment. Sounds simple, yes? Not quite."

He clears his throat, and gives an annoyed glance at Mrs. Hund, who glares back. "Due to various mishaps-"

"Three blocks burnt to the ground!"

"-and somewhat er, overenthusiastic methods employed by prior tallymen-"

"An entire faction wiped from existence!"

"And, well, a few moments of what we can only call insanity-"

"Mass-murder of an uninvolved prime material plane with a sphere of annhilation, twenty rogue modrons, a decanter of endless lava, and a flumph!"

"-well, we've got RULES now."

"And if you screw up, you're MINE." Her glare seems to be leveled at the large, winged man.

"Basically, each lockbox is enchanted. The payment rendered to it MUST be coins or equivalent wealth belonging to the individual you are seeking. Furthermore, it must be placed into the lockbox by their own hands/appendages/telekinetic rays/what have you. Finally, the subject must be alive (or in whatever state he or she was in before you got ahold of them), and offering the payment of his own free will."

He sighs. "Much less fun, I agree-"

"You don't have a choice, fiend."

"-But them's the rules. Anyway... Eight names, six of you. You need only complete six collections, for everyone in your group to go free. So you've got a little freedom to choose, there. Oh, and we've got presents for you." He gestures at a side table, and with a gesture, calls a few bobbing, dancing green lights to illuminate it. On a small side-table, nearly hidden behind a stack of books, lies a tray containing six black rings marked with the faction's symbol, and next to each one, six stacks of silver coins, ten to a stack.

"From the Fated, an obsidian ring proclaiming your authority. Might be helpful in some situations... Not so much in others. I advise-"

Mrs. Hund cuts him off. "From the Harmonium, some basic funds. You might need minor supplies. This is so you murderous scum don't go out and steal stuff left and right in order to equip yourselves. Now you can afford to pay for things. You're welcome."

Mr. Fawkes snorts. "SOOO generous. At any rate, you must have questions, Yyyhhhheeessss?"

[Eurus]

The female human barely pays any mind to the crossbows, although she does shoot a glare at the guards when they less than gently shepherd her into the building. She might be somewhat attractive if she cleaned herself up, but clad as she was in scholarly robes that looked like they had been to hell and back, with plenty of scars and bruises covering her (including a nasty looking stitch mark pattern scar around her wrist, as though it had been sewn back on), combined with her unnerving habit of staring and not blinking ruined any appeal she had.

She seems more focused on staring at the other prisoners than the man addressing them, not bothering to hide her rather impolite level of interest. The airy creature, the glittering jelly creature, and the cube seem to be the primary targets of her observation. Finally, she just shakes her head in disbelief. "A gelatinous cube? Really? Is that some sort of a joke? Because it's kind of insulting."

[Sliver]

The cube shakes slightly and emits a smell. It is kinda bad, but not horrible. Sour, perhaps?

Then, the people in the room hear in their mind "I can help those feelings disappear, little lady. With the rest of your body, of course."

He slowly spins, to make the courteous gesture of turning away "Do the victims need to be in the same state after the payment as well?"

[Lost Demiurge]

Behind the cube, one of the harmonium guards chokes and starts laughing. "It talks with farts? IT TALKS WITH FARTS-"

Another one with a crossbow punches him. "Quit rattlin' your bone-box, berk! D'you know how many sods that thing penned in the dead book? How deadly a SMART one of these things can be?"
Mrs. Hund shakes her head, and covers her eyes. Mister Fawkes chuckles. "A valid question. The answer is no, we do not care if they remain in the same condition. Kill'em if you-" A meaty hand slams down on the back of his chair, and he jumps up slightly, as Mrs. Hund leans down to glare at him, growling muzzle inches away from his face.

"er." He says. "Though I should state that it is the official position of the Fated that it is NOT within our jurisdiction to go around passing sentence upon tax evaders and as semi-empowered unaccountable representatives it is up to you to decide what to do with them after taxes are collected and in fact you can turn them in for tax evasion or set them free or take them as your lawfully wedded wife or whatever." He takes a breath, and Mrs. Hund moves back to lean on her stack of books.

Polishing his spectacles, he glowers at the floor. "At any rate, it might not be good for you or even POSSIBLE for you to kill some of these beings. The political, spiritual, and magical reprecussions will fall on YOU. We make it widely known that we do not back the JUNIOR Tallymen beyond their basic authority, so you can't come running back here when you get into trouble. Whatever you do to get the taxes, it's on you."
Mrs. Hund leans forward. "And if you start making a huge mess left and right and I catch wind you're behind it, I get you. Already been authorized to kill. I won't come alone and I won't come unprepared. I'm a busy bitch, but for YOU lot..." Again her gaze drifts to the winged man. "I'll make the time. Just GIVE me an excuse."
Mr. Fawkes spreads his hands. "Basically, we don't care how you do it. But if you get too loud, the Harmonium WILL."

[Sliver]

Cube ignores the guard, for now. He will remember his features tho.

"Then nothing will be reported" GC replies. "Is information about the targets supplied, or you aren't bothered giving us the records and we need to do so ourselves?"

[Tichrondrius]

The Bird Cage.

The Solar flexed his wings and looked at his Tallymen in crime. This was just one more useless and embarrassing idiotic happenstance that continued to happen to him. It was a disgrace, but he was the disgraced one. "Death would a relief for them, from this insanity." He mentioned, mostly ignoring the talk of those two supposedly in charge of them. Hyperion would have passed righteous judgement upon them, once upon a time.

His tongue itched. His tongue always itched when there was evil around.

"Not that it matters.. life.. is hollow." He stated in a monotone, glancing over at those who threatened him. Fiendish weapons. He could feel the evil from them. "One day.." He began. "There will be another kind of tax taken from each of you. A tax of judgement, taken out for each sin, and on that day, I will smile."

[Lost Demiurge]

"You lost the right to judgement long ago..." Rumbles Mrs. Hund, glaring at Hyperion. Mister Fawkes waves a hand. "Come come now. Feuding celestials is a fun show, but not in my library."

He leans forward, addresses the cube. "Well, funny thing about that..." His teeth are revealed in a sadistic grin. "While I was waiting for you with the information in hand, a spark leaped right out of my fire, and burnt the ledger right up! All that's left are the names." He flips open the burnt covers of the book he's been holding, and shows you the remnants of one page. The rest, ashes, fall to bits instantly.

Mrs. Hund snorts and shakes her head, unamused. "yugoloths..."

"Now, it seems to me that if you want more I DID read the ledger on each tax evader... But I can't give away things for free you see, and this information could be a commodity to you. So we COULD cut a... small deal..."

The guards behind you are muttering in disgust. "Don't do it." One whispers to Doctor Goode. "Nothin' good ever came from their kind..."

Spoiler

Show

The book has two columns. "Names", and “Monies owed.”

Adahn owes 2000 silver pennies.

Agrammalik owes 20000 silver pennies.

Barking Wilder owes 387 and 3/28ths silver pennies.

The Honorable and most wise lord of seven rivers whose breath is tranquility and whose pearl was blemished once by disharmony owes 8092 silver pennies.

Lady Amara Greycowl owes 1000 silver pennies.

#762 Lost Liver Lane owes 2500 silver pennies.

Shudderjack owes 4000 silver pennies

Sir Hollowhelm owes 600 silver pennies

[LoP]

Taradian Creed almost laughed out loud when he saw the new recruits. Save for the woman, they were a truly random lot: a breezy air-man, a big glob of jelly that seemed to be "asking" all the questions, a twitchy, gaudy skeleton, and from the histrionic doom-and-gloom coming from the winged man's bone box, probably a disgraced celestial. ANOTHER one of those. Didn't his last team have a fallen deva...? Oh, no, it was just some barmy with wings stitched to his back and glittery body paint. He didn't last very long.

Creed eyed the air-man with some curiosity. What was it? Air genasi? He'd never seen one of those. Not that it mattered. He also eyed the human woman. Compared to the rest of this motley crew, she was the most normal looking. But then again, from far enough away, Creed was normal looking. You could never tell in Sigil; best to just keep peery and let mephits lie.

Anyway, Creed just wanted to get on with this. Carpe diem, the Takers would say. Actually, they would say carpe omnia, but whatever, Creed was no Taker, yet.

He was a normally patient man - patience was the only thing that kept him alive, back then - but he could never stand being in the same room with Mister Fawkes. It was some twisted god that smiled on him, to have his boss be a piking 'loth. And a doghead, no less. Of course, Creed knew he could never let the fiend know how much he got under Creed's infernal skin.

"Six out of eight this time, Mister Fawkes? I'm guessing you left the best for last, eh?"

[Sliver]

The Cube jiggles a bit "How about you take the ring I can't wear, and give an information for a smoother job you want us to perform?"

It didn't expect Fawkes to actually be convinced by that, and it didn't really care. It wasn't willing to negotiate on information it believed it could get by itself.

[Lost Demiurge]

"Ah, our returning guest..." Smiles Mister Fawkes, at Taradian. "I was wondering when you'd speak up. As to the order... It's alphabetical. I WILL tell you this for free... The difficulty involved in collecting taxes has been figured into the monies owed. So the higher the amount, the more difficulty. At least, as our assessors see it. They have been wrong in the past, no one's perfect..."

Then the cube unleashes his smell once more.

"Hm, no." Says Mister Fawkes to the cube. "We go through dozens of these rings each year. They're only temporary, anyway... Wear off at the end of the month. Which, incidentally, is how long you've got to secure payment from at least six of the people on the list. I was thinking more along the lines of a single, small syllable, one measly sound that makes up your truename. One syllable from one of you per briefing delivered. Not such a large price to pay, mmmmm?"
Behind him, Mrs. Hund is shaking her head, and giving a silent thumbs down.

[Eurus]

"It's intelligent? That's... incredible!" Belinda spends several moments scribbling down notes while gaping at the cube, and taking a quick air sample in hopes of figuring out its method of communication. Finally, she's jarred back into reality by Mr. Fawkes's wheedling.

"That's... actually kind of tempting when you put it that way, but I think I'll have to pass. I prefer to pick up my information firsthand anyway. And the constant whispers of 'no, don't do it, you'll be sorry' kind of undermine any argument you'd make anyway." She shrugs, and glances at the list. "Barking Wilder owes the least, huh? Strange name. Sounds like the easiest mark, at least."

[Unkabear]

Zzhefan looked at the money, the ring, those around him. "I was promised Tea." the wind said, his voice the sound of an autumn breeze. He had no use for money and he really wanted to know how he would pick up the ring. He was a guardian and knew little else.

But he was sure that what he had done for his previous crimes merited some punishment. But it was beginning to seem as if it was going to be of the cruel and unusual kind. Tax Collector?!? What were they thinking??? This was bordering on the most inane thing that he had ever been commanded to do. And he had quite a list.

But he had given his word, and one did not argue with a plethora of Wizards itching to take you apart to figure out how you work.

[Limos]

Deylos flounces forward and picks up his ring, slipping it on to his left ring finger bones. It rattles around on the gilt knuckle loosely as he lifts up his hand to appraise it. "This clashes terribly with my gilding. The lines are all wrong."

While continuing to chatter about his aesthetics and the ring's lack thereof the gaudy undead's other hand snakes down to the table and pockets his own stack of coins as well as those belonging to the air creature and the cube. He flounces back away from the table with the coins stored safely in his pelvis.

"So what say we go pay this Barking Wilder a visit then?" He gives a vague roll of his left hand toward the others, "I'm sure we're all dying to get started, it's a little late for me."

Spoiler

Show

Sleight of Hand check to be a dirty little thief.
(1d20+13)[20]

[Unkabear]

Spoiler

Show

notice - (1d20+13)[30]
roll=SenseMotive]1d20+13[/roll]

[Unkabear]

Spoiler

Show

Counfounded fingers sensemotive - (1d20+13)[19]

Zzhefan watched the skeleton take the coins, but said nothing, happy that the strangely dressed one was kind enough to hold such a treasure for him.

[Lost Demiurge]

Mister Fawkes and Mrs. Hund are too busy glaring at each other to pay much notice to the goings on at the table, and the guards are a bit busy watching the other Tallymen to care. This time.

Mister Fawkes sighs at Doctor Goode's statement. "Very well. Should you ever change your mind, you know where to find me, hmmm?" He wipes ash from his hands. "Any more questions?"

"For either of us?" Chimes in Mrs. Hund.

[Unkabear]

Zzhefan was about to say "Where is my tea" but decided against it for it would fall upon Deaf ears so he kept it to himself.

[Sliver]

"One last question." The Cube 'said' after a moment of silence "Will you get rid of the glitter now?"

[LoP]

Creed is eager to leave Mister Fawkes's presence, and also eager to see what his new comrades are capable of, so he retrieves his ring and stack of coins and lumbers over to wait by the door. He has some questions for Mrs. Hund but would rather not ask them in front of anybody, especially not the 'loth. It could wait.

"We 'bout ready to get on this sodding ride or what?"

[Lost Demiurge]

"Off you go then." Says Mister Fawkes. He slides the lockbox marked "Barking Wilder" over to the group, and draws a book out from beneath his chair, sitting back to peruse and enjoy it. "Once the box is full, bring it back here and pick up the next."
"We'll walk you to the back door." Says Mrs. Hund. "Got a strainer there you can push through to catch the glitter, jelly. Might want to collect the rest of the stuff, first." She gestures to the table.

As Doctor Goode touches her stack of silver coins, it flares up and disappears. "What?" Exclaims Mrs. Hund.

"Ah yes... The doctor's a tax offender, isn't she?" Mister Fawkes smirks. "She'll have the standard curse, then. Whenever we get one of THOSE on this mission, any coins they come into incidental contact with are transported to her OWN lockbox, deep in the vault. Might not want to let her handle any money you want to keep."
Mrs. Hund glares at him. She and the rest of the Hardheads move with you, herding you to the back door.

---

Outside the back of the Hall of Records, the Clerk's Ward is a bustle, the rows of shops seeing a brisk business from the morning's foot traffic. A few off-duty Fated hurridly stub out their deathweed sticks, and clear the area when the Tallymen and the Harmonium guards arrive. One, a fairly cute tiefling with enormous spectacles, pauses to wave at Taradian and yell "Good luck!"

Once everyone's out, Hund sits on the steps and sighs, resting her greatsword on her knees, and gesturing at a large colander. "All yours, cube."

She picks up a half-smoked, smoldering twist of deathweed, and gives it a few puffs. "You lot have a tough row to how. Normally I'd offer my sympathy, but fact is most of you are murderous bastards. The few of you that ain't are dangerous as the hells. So maybe you pull this off. Maybe you don't. We'll see."

[Sliver]

As GC passes easily through the holes, he doesn't seem to reappear on the other side, with the glitter falling off.

"I'll go to listen in, see what I can find about this Barking Wilder. Do you have any methods of maintaining contact, or we will have to stay together?"

[Unkabear]

The stormy nature of the winds of Zzefan faded away and he became nothing more than a mild breeze a vague form could be seen if one was looking hard enough. "I can go with you and if needed return to the others to come aid."

[Tichrondrius]

What a disgrace, a Celestial working in a place like this.

But was he talking about himself or that Hound Archon? The angel followed them as they left, not caring exactly who they went after. "What manner of creature is a Barking Wilder?" He asked his fellow Tallymen, giving his wings an experimental flap. "Our quest is in vain."

[Sliver]

Cube slithers silently as he invisibly heads off into the streets.

Unkabear:

Spoiler

Show

I assume Zzefan can be sensed easily by Cube with his vibration sense, right?

I don't remember exactly my Gather Information bonus... It was around 6. (1d20+6)[13] Awww

[Eurus]

"Maybe he's a druid? I guess we'll find out soon. If asking around doesn't work, I could probably build some sort of person-finding device..."

When the cube mentions needing to keep in contact, Belinda taps her chin thoughtfully. "I can whip something up, if we need it. I have a prototype for a telepathic booster on me, actually; it takes some adjusting every few minutes to keep it working, but it's got a good range."

[LoP]

"Hopefully the sod ain't a lupinal, wolf lord, barghest, or something equally barking horrible..."

He turns to Dr. Goode. "So, what's your deal? We gots weirdo abominations of nature, thugs, and fallen angels in this here team... and you. And when I see someone who looks normal and harmless, I ask me self 'What else is it?' So you build whatzits, is that it?"

[Lost Demiurge]

Cube slithers silently as he invisibly heads off into the streets.

Unkabear:

Spoiler

Show

I assume Zzefan can be sensed easily by Cube with his vibration sense, right?

I don't remember exactly my Gather Information bonus... It was around 6. [roll0] Awww

Spoiler

Show

Yep, figure as long as the Cube isn't trying to hide, zzhefan can find him easily by his unique "jiggling".

Oh, and a quick question... What's the Cube's usual means of gathering information? Does he sneak around and try to overhear things without getting stepped into, or go around smelling up the place asking questions, or what?

An hour or two's work turns up little information on a "Barking Wilder" in the shops and industries of the Clerk's Ward. Either he's a secret in these circles, or he's not well known at all.

Zzhefan catches the attention of a few tiny air sprites wearing veils and harem clothes. They giggle and attempt to puff his misty form out of shape with gentle gusts of wind.