Scene 1: Reintroductions and Catching Up

Music Bed: (Sylvius Leopold Weiss – Courante in F Major.mp3)

Rhomande: The curtain rises, and we rejoin our ““Heroes””—

DM: Great.  We’re back to these assholes.  I had so hoped that I’d get to stay with Chip Dipson and the Criers for a while.

Rhomande: But you must remember, Master Voice, that this is my theatre, and all attentions are to be directed whencever I point.

DM: Give me a Bluff Check, Rhomande.

Rhomande: No.

DM: No?

Rhomande: No.  I spoke nothing but the truth.

((Sfx: shuffling of papers, looking through notes))

DM: Gods. Damnnit.  Fuck.  Why does the Great Celestial Rulebook always come back to bite me in the ass, whenever I’m talking to you guys?  Fine.  What have you ““Heroes”” been up to?

Rhomande: Well, the biggest piece of gossip is that Torrea and I are now divorced.  Or annulled, perhaps.  In any case, it brought me only momentary relief, before we were all subjected to the distressed sobbing of a positive-energy undead paladin, whose dreams of a little cottage in the foothills had been twice broken in as many weeks.  Let’s see… what else… Thrimlach ceatharinn is back from the brink of death, now that Maldreth and Imenand have lifted the Fatwa against foodstufs.  Oh, and we’re ignoring a summons from the Emperor, so we can go visit some penguins.

DM: You guys are the least responsible group of adventurers I’ve ever met.

Rhomande: And who better to introduce the least responsible adventurers on the plane, than Scottalia’s own Irresponsible Rhomande Sorfinde?  It is my pride and joy to reacquaint you with my Insufferable Basterds!

Rhomande: Imenand Shenouda, who serves The Empire as Grand Weaponsmith.  He also fills the posts of President and spokesman of The Shenouda Necromancy Corporation. This mummified Human Wizard is ever accompanied by his Skeletal-Cat Familiar, Bastet.

Imenand: SFX: (4914_noisecollector_cat2.wav) Thank Mëassë that I am still able to scry on my workshop in the Swamp Temple!  I do not fully trust my embalmed Necromages with the development of Shenouda’s Plutonium Elemental-Powered Battle Engine.  The sooner we conquer these penguin tribes, the sooner I can conscript your ““help”” in testing the radiation shields around the cockpit.

Rhomande: The terrible, towering Maldreth the Impius, the ogre-blooded Patriarch of the Church of War, dedicated to Makar, Father of Strife!

Maldreth: Although our purposes are entwined, Master Shenouda, I will never understand your goddess’ desire to make weapons before making war.  War is primal and holds primacy.  If you cannot make war with your own fists, feet, and teeth, then you will be swiftly conquered by someone who can.

Rhomande: Dark Brother Smyd Kaltrops, the Half-Bear Monk!  He also serves as President of Bear Industries. A shapeshifter of insurmountable strength and speed.

Smyd: Father Maldreth is correct.  Those who can’t help themselves deserve to be forced to help others.  ((Sfx: bear roar)) But it still ruffles my fur that those fucking Sky Penguins were able to help themselves!

Rhomande: Stiev “the Chameleon” Pie-rabbat; thoroughly odorless, colorless, and deadly!  Whenever she’s not vomiting over the side of a boat, that is.

Stiev: (sea sick) Bwugh… Thisss…. Thisssss isssssn’t….. Blguagghgh…. (huff) That’ssss a little better… Now if thissss boat would jussssst sssssstop rocking and pitching for a few minutesssss then I could…. BWLARGH!

Rhomande: Issa Featherfoot, Pengonquin Princess. A 7' tall shapeshifting Penguin Assassin!  She is currently attended by her faithful and oft-missing bodyguard, the mysterious Tuxedo Beak, and a raggedy, homeless penguin called Luwok Airwakka!

((Sfx: splash of a breaching penguin, boots/feet/flippers hitting wooden planks))

Issa: Ah!  How wonderful it is to be in the sea!  I dunno why you guys got your pantaloons in such a twist about the whole food thing.  We’re on the ocean, which is full of fish!

Luwok: I completely agree, Lady Featherfoot!  These non-penguins just needed to get over themselves and eat the fish that you, Master Beak, and I brought up in our gullets from the briny depths.

Tuxedo Beak: I think it was actually the lack of fresh water that made them sick.  Most other species don’t have the supraorbital gland that desalinates seawater.

Rhomande: No, penguins, the combination of all of that grossed us out.  Anyway, who’s next… ah, yes!  Thrimlach Lenanien! A blindfolded Elf Sorcerer with a blackened potato perched on one shoulder and a Frankenstein’s Raven on the other.  He is attended by his minions, Torrea Marsvel, an Undead Paladin and Sir Gnome, his faithful Gnome-Skeleton valet.  

Thrimlach: Come along, Torrea.  Oh, Torrea, I’m so sorry.  This is all Sir Gnome’s fault; you know that.  You, too, Lorramar.  Ugh.  And Sir Gnome, I guess.  HOW DARE YOU MAKE TORREA CRY, SIR GNOME!

Torrea: (crying) Yes… (sniff) Lord Thrimlach…. (loud crying)

Lorramar: <kwok> You got it, boss! <caw>

Sir Gnome: Yeth, Mathter.  Thorry, Mathter.  Thorry, Torrea.

Rhomande: And last, but certainly not least: Yours truly, the Inespousible Rhomande Sorfinde! Bard in Extraordinaire, Beloved of Quintillions, The Shattering Light of Every Dawn…

Issa: (interrupting) Get on with it, Bard!  Wait a minute!  You already introduced yourself once at the beginning of this list!

Rhomande: An Elven Bard of pan-dimensional acclaim, who deserves not one, but two introductions! But you already knew that, didn't you? Lords and Ladies of my beloved audience––

Helema: Unca Rho, you forgot to introduce me!  Mom says if I don’t insist on that, you’ll just ignore me every time I’m here, until you need something.

Rhomande: What the fuck are you doing here, Helema!  I thought I told you to wait for me and practice your violin, back at the Frozen Summit!

Helema: I did, but then you guys walked through a portal after Ms. Tamlin and Ms. Lorelei stole your boat, but before you got that new one that Mr. Lenanien put the transdimensional sail on.  Before we left, mom said to tell you––

Rhomande: Yes, yes!  Fine.  I remember, now.  Ahem.  Helema Nisbet Alafinde, my niece.  Spawn of my bitch of a sister’s loins.  By the way, Helema, don’t mention your mother again, or I’ll officially declare your twin brother Jaisin as my Least Unfavorite Niece.  You don’t want to lose out to somebody who plays the spoons, do you, Helema?

Helema: (sheepishly) (sigh) No, Unca Rho.

Rhomande: Lords and Ladies of my beloved audience, please do recline upon your gilded seats, quaff your libations, adjust your listening devices to receive the full panoply of poco a poco primary melodies, that you may thoroughly enjoy your evening at The 20-Sided Theatre!

End Music Bed: (Sylvius Leopold Weiss – Courante in F Major.mp3)