Thieves' Costume Party Thread

[Silver]

//Because I (sometimes) do what the Server Mum tells me.

Four figures sit at a table in the Blade and Stars, drinking and roaring with laughter. Like the beginning of a bad joke, they are a merchant, a wizard, a healer and duelist.

The duelist, a woman wearing leathers and a feathered hat with a rapier at her side, speaks up in melodramatic overtures: "Wah! Don't hang Deus! Don't hurt Abby!" she says, hammering the table with her near-empy tankard, "I want to speak to Toybox now! Or else I'll throw a tantrum and do something stupid with no warning and get myself killed!"

The healer, a woman wearing simple clothes, a red bandana and holding a quarterstaff, chips in with stuttering tones: "I t-t-t-took all three oaths, I'm s-s-so special now. I don't have any f-f-fun in my life. I w-w-w-w-wonder if they have bread for m-m-me. Nothing else...just b-b-bread."

All at the table fall back into hysterical fits of laughter. After a successful Thieves' Come-dressed-as-another-character party, the participants wake up later in strange parts of town with formidable hangovers.

[Silver]

Four figures sit at a table in the Helm and Cloak, drinking and roaring with laughter. Like the beginning of some bad joke, they are a paladin, a rogue, a sorceress and a saint.

The paladin sits proudly at attention, the tavern light catching his gold circlet and bright armour plate emblazoned with the hand of Torm, his deep blue cloak draped behind him.

The rogue, bald and scarred and with an eyepatch over one eye, sits wearing green and black leathers and intermittently swigs from his drink, offering flirtatious winks at the sorceress opposite.

The sorceress, her hair swept back and up in an unusual ploom, wears a pale yellow tunic with an eye emblazoned on the front. She sits with her elbows resting on the table and eyes everyone suspiciously, especially the rogue.

The diminutive saint sits with her head barely visible over the table, having to reach up to periodically sip her tea. She is adorned in plain robes, with a halo poorly assembled from bits of parchment sitting atop her head.

The Rogue looks shiftily around his company. “Any o’ ye want ta buy some mithral? My...eh...supplier just got me a new batch o’ it..” He says. The sorceress suddenly draws a short blade and stabs it in the table in front of the rogue. “I see you!” She declares. “Eh...I ain’t trying to hide...” Protests the rogue. “Shut up sneak!” She yells at him. “I hate sneaks! And I hate dock-folk!” She glances sharply around at the others. “I can see you, you know! I can see you all!”

The little saint sips her tea. “Calm down Rith dear.” She says. “We must show mercy, we must always show mercy!” The paladin nods in agreement. “Yes we must always be noble and righteous in thought and deed.” He says. “And now if you will excuse me, I shall go into the kitchen and volunteer to wash the dishes.”

“Oh I will help you Aethor!” Says the saint. As the paladin marches off to the kitchen, she gets up to follow him. She moves around the table at an inexplicably fast walk and knocks the rogue right out of his chair. “EGADS! Ye knock me out o’ ma cha-...” He coughs and wheezes as the saint reverses back over him at that same ridiculous pace, before he can even finish a sentence. “Sorry Kel!” She says wryly.

The sorceress pouts and slumps a bit on the table. “I wish Jonas or Tomar were here. Meri...call me ‘Goddess’...tell me I’m beautiful...” She says sulkily. “You are a ray of sunshine Rith dear.” Says the saint. “Why doesn’t everybody love me as much as I do? It’s not like I want to kill orc babies, I have to! To protect my people! I don’t want to crush their tiny bodies...to drain their blood in a tub and soak myself in it...” The sorceress trails off and gets a glazed look as she thinks about bathing in the blood of slaughtered orc infants.

All at the table exchange looks and then fall back into hysterical fits of laughter. After another successful Thieves' Come-dressed-as-another-character party, the participants wake up later in strange parts of town with formidable hangovers.

[Silver]

Six figures sit at a table in the Helm and Cloak, drinking and roaring with laughter. Like the beginning of some bad joke, they are a sorceress, two merchants, an arcane trickster, a Beast and a Whisperer.

The trickster wears dark heavy armour with silver ornaments, a white cloak and a gold circlet, and seems to be glued to a sketch book. He looks up and sighs heavily. “I wonder what Mia is doing right now...” The sorceress, adorned in a fiery red dress and pointed hat, furiously turns on the trickster. “Mia? Mia?!” she exclaims, “What do you want with my sister? My sister who runs away to Neverwinter and doesn’t even bother to take me with her? I am so sexually frustrated right now!” The trickster recoils afraid, and tentatively holds up the picture he sketched. “But I drew Mia riding a unicorn on a rainbow. And she is surrounded by little love hearts. And if you look closely, you can see the love hearts are actually little happy Charraj faces.” He bobs the picture up and down, as though this would sell it. The sorceress screams and begins drinking at a dangerous rate.

The two merchants sit apart from this exchange, eyeing each other up. One is a diminutive woman wearing silver-grey chain, a purple cloak and a distinctive domino mask, and she appears to be writing out an incredibly lengthy contract in a flowing hand. The other is a man wearing a red-brown tunic, red cloak and an unusual orange headdress. He is surrounded by promotional materials and keeps shoving a cheap shield under the other merchant’s nose with the letters ‘MVTC’ crudely painted on it.

Opposite this merchant sits the Whisperer, what could only be a man in a black robe and hood. He eyes the second merchant intently, a broad smirk on his face. “I know who you are...” he says quietly. “Want to know why? Because I know everything. Everything.” He swigs ungracefully from his flask and smirks again. “I am watching you.” He says. “Always watching. I know all your plans and dreams and I am going to enjoy watching them melt away through your fingers.”

The Beast, a woman wearing red-stained heavy armour with spiky shoulder pads and a red headband, leers lustfully at the Whisperer. “Eh...hey there sneaky thing. Ye like to watch eh? Heh heh...” She leans across and sniffs his hair, before stroking it lightly. The Whisperer smacks his hand away and scolds him. “Move your hand over here again and I’ll be giving you a stump back.” The Beast chuckles undeterred. “Eh...a stump eh? Stumps can be versatile, lass.” She winks flirtatiously at him.

Meanwhile, the trickster still gazes at his sketch, sighing longingly. “I sat next to her the other day. That means it’s serious. I wonder if it would be rushing things to ask how many kids she wants? I must teleport into her lap again and ask her!” He stands up and makes some absurd flourishing motions with his hands. As he does so, the sorceress stomps around drunkenly, throwing a tantrum. “Why is no one paying any attention to me? I could kill myself and nobody would care! That’s it, I am going to kill myself. I will just kill myself and that will show you all!” She stomps off looking for a crossbow. Nobody seems to care.

The first merchant is now dancing around elatedly, tearing up the contract and throwing strips of it at the second merchant, who is now huddled in a corner, rocking back and forth and muttering maniacally to himself. “Silver thinks I am her puppet, but really the reverse is true and she is my puppet. Yes, haha, that’s it. My puppet. All mine, haha.” He looks around at the others. “You all work for her, don’t you? Don’t you?! I will pay you triple to work for me instead! Please?” He says weakly.

The Beast looks mournfully down at her crotch and then buries her head in her hands. “Eh...the worst thing is I don’t even know if I want to change back now. I just...get so emotional...” She wipes away some imaginary tears. “Eh...I feel like going back to my cave and crying, and waiting for the next lass to come along and try to save me!” She coughs and splutters. “Eh...actually, ye know what the worst thing is? The worst th-...” The Whisperer suddenly interrupts her. “Of course I do! Why do you keep asking me that? Why do I have to keep explaining this to people? I know everything! Everything! All your secrets, and hopes and fears and nightmares! E-V-E-R-Y-T-H-I-N-G!!!”

All at the table exchange looks and then fall back into hysterical fits of laughter. After another successful Thieves' Come-dressed-as-another-character party, the participants wake up later in strange parts of town with formidable hangovers.

[Silver]

Seven figures hover around the sofas in the Thieves’ Guildhall, drinking and roaring with laughter. Like the beginning of some bad joke, they are a Paladin, two Bards, a Thief, a Red Wizard, a Master Transmuter and a Temptress.

The bards are both female, one dressed in a dull grey chain shirt and a feathered hat, the other in a vivid green hood and a grey tunic emblazoned with a fearsome eye. They both pluck mandolins in what is quite possibly the worst musical duet in history, suspect lyrics included. The Temptress, another “woman” wearing red-tinted plate with prominent, spiked shoulder-pads, her face shadowed by a black hood, slumps next to the bards, holding her head and groaning through her apparent hangover.

A male elf wearing a white silken tunic with gold trim and carrying a staff approaches. He chips in helpfully: “Here, let me speed the song to its end with the power of transmutation. I am a Master Transmuter you know.” He begins making exaggerated and dramatic casting motions. The paladin, adorned in purple from head to toe, watches somewhat bemusedly with the air of one forced to attend one too many official functions. “Sing something about how I heroically built an orphanage outside the city walls near a graveyard filled with undead.”

To the paladin’s right, a woman wearing distinctive blood-red robes and leaning on a staff sighs lamentingly. Her staff has coloured bits of parchment hanging off it in what is apparently supposed to be flames. “Everyone thinks Red Wizards are evil, but we are not evil. We are just misunderstood.” She whines. “Maybe if I purchase a beloved Balduran landmark, and renovate it to look as twisted and alien as possible, people will finally accept and love me!” The green-hooded bard immediately stops playing and looks at the Red Wizard sympathetically. “Aww, I’ll’uh love you, Miss Selah…” She pauses and then points dramatically and accusingly. “E’cept you’s a Red Wizard!” The woman in red looks sharply at her. “What did you say?” She demands. The bard hops lightly off the sofa and points defiantly at the red woman. “I said…you’s a Red Wizard!” She then deftly moves and hides behind the paladin, who protectively puffs out his chest.

The Red Wizard sighs again, and looks imploringly at the paladin. “Jonas, we have been friends for so long. Just because I have lied to you this whole time and manoeuvred forces behind your back and paved the way for your enemies does not mean I am evil.” She says. “I am just misunderstood.” The Master Transmuter once again helpfully chips in without invitation. “Red Wizards are, in fact, evil, and are not to come within a hundred paces of Doron Amar or the Academy. Here, let me ward you against her vile ways and tendencies toward slavery...with the power of transmutation! I am a Master Transmuter you know. Did you also know that the history of Transmutation as a studied branch of magic is…” Before he can embark further on this irrelevant tangent, the Red Wizard interrupts, fire in her eyes: “Cease your lecturous ranting you pathetic weakling or I shall set your skin alight!” She then catches herself and coughs abruptly. “Er…I meant to say, let’s agree to disagree on this occasion.” She hugs herself defensively and begins murmuring “misunderstood” over and over.

The paladin suddenly clicks and looks aghast. “Red Wizards? Here?! I shall toss my ridiculously purple cloak to the nearest beggar and storm from the Gate in a huff, so help me!” He proceeds to make good on this pointless and ineffectual threat.

By this point, the grey bard’s “song” has achieved new levels of awful. She finishes it with a long mandolin solo ending in her smashing her instrument against the wall. The atmosphere is thereafter much improved. The green-hooded bard is then joined by a hin dressed in black leathers, and the pair theatrically sneak up behind the Red Wizard, who turns on them both in a flash: “Why do you insist on misunderstanding me? Why must you tar us all with the same red brush? I will incinerate you where you stand!!!” She once again catches herself, her polite tone and manner returning. “Er…I meant to say, it would be most kind and gracious of you both to desist and reduce yourselves to neat piles of ash on the floor.”

The green-hooded bard looks momentarily taken aback, and then sighs. “I’m bored.” She jumps back up on the sofa, promptly arming herself with several cushions, and addresses all gathered. “All of you, fear my cushiony powers! If you appease me, and bring me pie, I shall reward you! Make it cherry.” A few moments pass and it becomes clear that no one is moving to comply. The bard narrows her eyes vengefully. “That’s it! Now you all get cushion-wrath for failing in pie-retrieval!” She begins lobbing cushions at everyone within range.

The Red Wizard turns and levels her staff at her, her voice imbued with rage. “Stop your inane cushion-throwing before I conjure tentacles to flay the skin right off your body!!!” She coughs and splutters for a moment, before recapturing her famous diplomacy. “Er…I meant to say, it is discourteous to engage in cushion-exchange without an appointment, and may invite tentacle-assisted renegotiation of your skin position.”

All gathered exchange looks and then fall back into hysterical fits of laughter. After another successful Thieves' Come-dressed-as-another-character party, the participants wake up later in strange parts of the Guildhall with formidable hangovers.