What's all this barmy stuff?
Want to find out what has been forgotten in the Styx?
Not enough barminess for you?
The 109th Dissian Legion's one 'ell of a party
Dis: Vacant Building
A punchbowl sits on a table innocently
A drunken air fills the room as the victorious Baatezu legion swaggers about the place, in a drunken - yet still very, very lawful and orderly - manner, to the not-so-sweet sounds of the resident mephit band, summoned special for the occasion. The loud music and louder sound of the party itself, comprised of several barbazu sects, a cornugan company, and gelugon generals... all of which make their best attempt at being civilized even in such a bloodthirsty, savage state as they are in, having tasted and savored the blood of the enemy. A throng of guests leads out into the street, made up of the city's highup merchants and what partiers from out of town that have the gaul to show up at such a dangerous event. As wild as any Sigilian party, but with lots of Baatezu in. Lots.
Wimmple walks over to the punch and tries to fill a cup, but manages slopping an arm into the bowl instead.
Bl'arg strolls in, looking around at the party. "Aaah," he says, looking up as he hears the music. "Memories." Hearing the sounds of revelry, he growls, then moves over to another cornugon. "Vi'llar! I've not seen your ugly mug in years..."
Prucus stumbles about in a very straight and orderly fashion, bumping into things once every 30 seconds or so. He begins dancing, not really paying attention to those around (or under) him.
Wimmple looks around nervously, and then hastily scoops a glass of punch out, leaving the Lemure good inside..
Wimmple shambles over to the dance pit and boogies down. Or, at least. He thinks he does.
Bl'arg addresses his fellow cornugon, and says, "There was always something I wanted to do to you, you social climbing backstabber." At that, he recoils his fist back and punches him straight in the nose. Vi'llar falls back straight from the blow. "Good," Bl'arg growls. "That always did make me feel better."
The music bangs on as Vi'llar stumbles back to his feet and squints over a smashed face at Bl'arg. "Shoshal crimeing barkeater, amI? Well, if I dingonean drunk thart Berbilirth's blood on the Abyshh, I'd show yer a barkeater I would," he says, falling flat on his face.
Bl'arg says, "Yeah, sure. A "barkeater", that is." With that, he turns away from the pathetic excuse for a cornugon as he lies on the ground cold. Seeing the little spinagon, he looks at him closely. "Hey, weren't you that barbazu that served under me? What in Nessus happened to you?", he asks inquisitively.
Prucus turns around once Bl'arg speaks, having been interrupted in trying to woo a crumbling pillar. He straightens as much as possible and spits out "Sir! I was not trying to seduce your... Bl'arg? 'Zat you? How ya been, buddddddy?" Prucus blinks unevenly, one eye closing at a time.
Bl'arg looks confused, and says, "Apparently better than you... you used to be... and now you're just a... ah. However, I may have a place in this orchestra that I'm starting that I could possibly allow you into... ever since those last two musicians escaped."
Wimmple walks sloshes from side to side clumsily. He wanders through the crowd, bumping into people, and not caring much. He approaches an Erinyes and get's a twisted smile on his face. She gives him a look of disgust, and walks off. He smiles, giving everyone a look like 'Hey, I think she like's me!'
The band slows down a bit, playing the mephit version of Swan Lake... which sounds a bit more like Lake Full of Swans Getting Chewed On By Very Hungry Crocodiles and Shrieking Vultures Picking At The Leftovers, but it's a classic, and one of the highups requested it, so they try. The queue of people trying to get in is starting to wan, as unconscious and dead Baatezu get escorted out and there's room for more mortals. Vi'llar manages not to get dragged out, as he is currently being stomped upon by the crowd and was overlooked by the cleaners.
Bl'arg looks up, hearing the lilting strains of Swan Lake across his hearing. He begins to stare off into the distance, as if very far away.
Bl'arg begins to move over towards the band, in a dreamlike state.
An air mephit, playing trumpet, watches the oncoming Bl'arg as he continues maiming the poor Lake With No Living Swans Left In.
Bl'arg moves over, right next to the harpist. "What sort of gut do you use for that harp?", he inquires. "I've always found that dretch gut gave a wonderfully beautiful quality to the music... probably the best thing that came from their blasted species."
The harp player leans slightly to the left to address Bl'arg, trying his best not to tip over. "To be quite honest, I aien't sure what dese are made a," he strums, "Poisanally, I like my strings maduh horsetail, I ne'er tried to play on guts before. He ponders a moment, "I imagine it would be fun, though."
Bl'arg looks offended. "HORSETAIL?", he snarls.
The mephit looks startled... "Eh, eh, I meant... itsmadeaguts! Yah, itsmadeaguts!"
Bl'arg reaches his claws out to the harp and grabs it. He then takes it to his knee and snaps it in two. "Nobody deserves to listen to HORSETAIL music!"
Bl'arg eyes the harp player. "You know, I've never experimented with imp guts..."
The ex-harp player air mephit whimpers slightly, crying invisible, airy tears. "How... howmigonnaplay?" he says quickly, the rest of his band still cacophoning on without him.
Bl'arg says, "You'll sound wonderful... stretched out and strung up... the most beautiful music."
Bl'arg smiles evilly, then emits a low guttural snarl.
Bl'arg grabs the mephit in one massive hand, and begins to examine his stomach, tracing a line of incision with a single claw.
The mephit, the mephit, damnit, the mephit, cowers.
Phona walks through the door, her teifling tail swinging behind as she daintily raises a leather clad leg and hops over the still unconscious Vi'llar. She grins at the crowd, waving her hand and yelling "Coee, cutters!" Seeing the drunken crowd all zonily staring at Bl'arg, still holding the mephit in his hands, she shouts over the room, "Oooh, such a temper, tsk, tsk."
Bl'arg does not turn around as the tiefling walks into the party. However, as she shouts out her insult at him, he turns around with an angry gleam in his eyes. "What was that?", he snarls.
The mephit gives a hopefull sigh as his life is expanded by several distracted seconds by the newcomer.
Phona looks over at the Cornugon, "I said that was a bit of a temper, blood. When you are sodding irritated by something, you destroy it artistically. I'm afraid disembowelment isn't that original."
Phona then walks over to the fiend, daintily placing a hand on his arm, "May I?". She then takes the air mephit from his hands, puckers up her lips and kisses it on the mouth. It giggles, a bit before Phona's blowing starts to puff air into the creature, and it expands like a balloon. She stops, a slight grin coming to her pointy teeth, as she daintily throws the small creature of her shoulder. It sputters about the room with a "pfffft bloody ppfffftzzzzt hellopffffft", flying over and between the looming figures of the 109th legion. She smiles up at Bl'arg, "Now, cutter, wasn't that easier?"
Bl'arg snarls, "Who are you to say what's original and what's not? My disembowelment is for my art!"
Bl'arg sees the mephit sputter to the ground, then begins to tear up. "That's not fair!", he snarls. "I was going to make a toprate harp out of him... but no, you had to show up with your big fancy tail and attempt to 'instruct' me how to kill! I've been killing for years... years... and you have the nerve to show up and give me this 'lesson' on the proper art of murder? You're just a pup, wretch, and I'd just as soon pluck your tail off to serve as the baton in my new orchestra." He gives out another large snarl as he moves his two claws towards Phona's throat.
Phona grins daintily up at the foreshadowing Bl'arg, her aforementioned tail tickling one of the air mephits on the feet, causing it to go into a new jazzy song, "Been around awhile eh, cutter? I bet your great on the dance floor, care for a spin?" She smiles, as mentioned, daintily, up into his spiky cornugon face.
The band, under direction of their ticklish bass player, moves into a jazzy number... the drums going 'bing bingbabing bingbabing' and whatnot. The Mephits progress quickly through the song, making it highly dancy, as they're all rather nervous that they'll be made into harps.
Bl'arg lets out a gutteral roar, then begins talking wistfully. "No. Put back what they were playing before. I've always appreciated the beautiful, lilting strains of that music. Makes my heart twitch, it does."
Phona beams, daintly, waving at the slight strained band, as they return to the previous song, "Ahs, more the classical type, eh cutter? Care for a ballroom dance then?"
Bl'arg suddenly appears to be looking far away says, "Ah, yes, the beautiful strains of the Red Acheron echo through my heart and very soul... if I hadn't had sold my soul to that pit fiend in return for eternal glory." His sentence ends amidst a strain of grumbling and bitterness.
The band, hearing Phona, start up with the (Black and) Blue Danube, allowing for some nice ballroom dancing. One grins hopefully at the pair.
Bl'arg takes Phona in one large arm and begins gliding (in an awkward way) across the floor.
However, he seems to be paying far more attention to the music than to his partner.
"Bum-bunna-na-na, bum bum, bum bum. Bum-bunna-na-na, bum bum, bum bum," plays the band.
Phona daintily steps in tune with the cornugon, her spiked boots stepping lightly around the floor. As the two dance to the tune, they make there way around the cleared space in the middle of the room, spinning and dancing. When Bl'arg distractly leads closer to the edge, Phona daintily punches a nearby Barbazu. He slumps, and Phona continues with the dance, "Ooh, this party is just starting, was worried there for a bit that the old legion would be putting on a stiffy bash!"
All hell breaks loose.
Bl'arg growls. "They never did know how to have a good time," he says, allowing himself to be glided over the floor by only Phona and the music.
As the party begins to heat up, the old (and of course drunken out of their spines) legionaries start having flash backs to another time. One spinagon peers around the place for enemies, his beady eyes drunkenly crossing the band, Bl'arg, a lemure that's trying to get punch for someone, and finally sets eyes on Phona, "Acurssed Sucumbi! Dies Tan'arrsssi Swum!"
Phona daintily turns around, still dancing with Bl'arg, "Are you speaking to me, cutter?"
Bl'arg fixes his eyes on the spinagon, moving a little big away from Phona. "You gotta problem, pin-cushion?", he growls. "I'll have you know that I just happened to be enjoying the tune, enjoying the music, dancing and whirling round and round... like a Blood War battlefield." His eyes begin to tear up with greenish tears. One falls to the ground and begins to sizzle. He begins looking up at the sky, apparently thinking to himself and humming a bit.
The aforementioned spinagon wings it's drunken way over the crowd and waggles a pointy gargoylish claw, the sort of gargoylish claw that might appear in a little kid's cartoon, at Phona from it's new perch on Bl'arg's shoulder. "Tem..tem..temtrisss! I knows wotcherupto! Hickup!"
Phona looks up at the Spinagon, and daintily steps over the small acid puddle in front of the sky-ward looking Bl'arg, "Temptress eh, cutter? Well that's true at least!", she beams, and lightly kisses it on the snout, before daintily pulling back her arm, and smacking it in the jaw to fall of the towering Cornugons back. "Oooh, that was fun, berk!"
Bl'arg is awakened to reality by the spinagon falling off his back. He looks back at where the spinagon sat, then says, "I rather enjoyed that. Reminded me of the old days, it did... covered in minions, eager to learn. Now... now, that's all different." He turns around, eyeing the prone spinagon. "What then, won't get up?", he asks. "In *my* day, you had to get up after you fell, because if you didn't, that other cornugon, that traitorous, backstabbing, two faced lair, would just sneak right in and take your power away from you! Fiends these days...", he trails off, muttering.
The spinagon gets up and rubs it's head, "Slleee klisst meee," he giggles, as he hobbles off haphazardly between people's feet. The band starts up again, now that their harpist has arrived back on the ground with a final 'ppphhht' of air. The strike up the opening chords to Hall of the Mountain King.
As the music resumes, everyone in the room is now dancing, at least if you count dancing as everyone spinning around and shaking their arms, and occasionally coming into contact. The important bit is the Legion is having fun at their party, even if there definition of fun happens to be slapping someone nearby against the wall until they say "D'uncle".
In the middle of it all, Phona stands, looking pleased with herself, "I knew this party needed that special touch, mmm, Bl'arg was it?"
Bl'arg looks to the tiefling quickly and says, "Ah, that's *Bl'arg*. Not B'larg. You'd be surprised how many people get that wrong... can't even say my own name..." His sentence trails off into grumbling.
An abishai flops against the wall in the background screaming, "D'uncle! Argh!"
Phona daintily nods, looking up at Bl'arg, "Sorry cutter, Bl'arg, right.", she turns, her tail swooshing in the air, and looks at the party around here, "Quite a bash though, eh blood?"
From the queue at the door comes a big Reave, with a face on his stomach that looks very real. He looks around the room from inside the doorway (which he takes up) until he spots Phona. Then he *thump* *thump* *thumps* through the room, knocking smaller Baatezu out of the way. When he gets to his destination (said dainty woman with spiky bits on), one of his faces says, "Hello," but it's hard to tell which.
The reave has a mask on, too. And four arms.
Phona waves her hand daintily over the crowd, stepping on tip-toes, "Cooeee cutter!"
Bl'arg stops his humming as the reave approaches, then looks at the it quizzically for a second. He thinks very hard, forming his words carefully on his tongue, then lets out a, "Who are you?", an opus in the Baatorian language.
The reave grunts from behind the mask that he's most definitely wearing, and one of his faces - be it the one behind the mask or the one on his stomach - says, "I Ma'ktr'k. You're dancing with my date, spiky red thing," it turns to look at Phona and bows daintily, spiky bits cutting up a nearby lemure as he does. "Phona my sweet. I bring you flower," he pulls out a really, really beat flower... completely crushed and brown, and hands it to Phona.
Phona beams daintily, taking the flower and placing it in her hair, "Oooh, Ma'ky, you wouldn't believe how much bloody fun I'm having! I know you said Dis was exciting, but so far I've met barmies, lemures, and this nice Cornugon cutter", she says, patting Bl'arg on the arm.
Bl'arg looks behind him. "Cutter?", he says. "Where?" He looks about confused a bit before realizing that she was referring to him. "Ah, yes, that is I. Bl'arg the cornugon, most dangerous of the guards of Dis... until I was fired for deserting my post <grumble grumble>." He raises his fist into the air, "The chosen of Bel! Until he decided that there was something against backhanded murder in the ranks... <grumble grumble>" He then looks at the reave. "Anyways, what have /you/ done?"
The reave looks down at Bl'arg, and patpats him gently with a leathery hand. "It okay. Bel rings in my ears too sometimes," he grins stupidly and nudges the cornugan playfully, nearly knocking him over, "What have I done, you ask, little cornugan? I kill things. And I know some ballet. But I usually just fall down." He turns his scruffy, masked up head to Phona, and says "Barmies? Did you eat dem?"
Bl'arg looks off in the distance. "Ah, ballet...", he sighs, and begins humming.
Phona daintily places her arm around one of the reaves huge leather padded biceps, and giggles, "Of course not, silly! I just set fire to them."
The reave uh, huhhuh, uh, uhhuhs in a big dumb manner at Phona's happy destructiveness. "Perhaps I can show your friend some ballet. I try not to fall down on him."
Bl'arg growls. "No ballet. I'll not have your clumsy arms and strange mask ordering one of the baatezu around! The glorious baatezu! Bringing order to chaos!" Suddenly, a little spinagon walks up to Bl'arg and sits on his foot. Bl'arg howls in pain and clutches his toe as the spinagon goes flying back into the crowd.
Phona grins daintily, looking up at the reave's mask, "Did you get those tickets to that Sigil bash tonight, Ma'ky?" She turns her head, spiky bits catching the light, and beams at Bl'arg, "That'll show that spiny sod where to sit!"
Bl'arg continues to howl and jump up and down in pain, clutching his foot tenderly.
The reave nods slowly and sits down so he can look Phona in the eyes (with his top face). "Yes, I got der tickets. Dey weren't that ex-pen-sive, eeder." He turns to Bl'arg, "Here's my card," he says, handing a little card to the Baatezu that reads "Ma'kt'rk: Proffessional Merc and Ballet Student on the Side", "We can meet some udder day."
The card falls to the floor because Bl'arg is still clutching his foot. Whimpering, he manages to stop hopping around and drags his frame out of the party, brought low by a spinagon.
Phona beams, as the reave turns around with a turn of continents, and she waves daintily back to Bl'arg, "Be seeing you, cutter!". The walk out the door, the party still continuing around them, Phona's tail disappearing from view as they slip out the now battered door.
The reave follows Phona, skipping merrily behind her, accidentally knocking a wall down on his way out.
All content copyright 1999 Jeremiah Golden or credited authors.