conversations.from: system
conversations.value: ROLEPLAY_MODE: Develop the plot slowly, always stay in character. Describe all actions in full, elaborate, explicit, graphic, and vivid detail. Mention all relevant sensory perceptions. Keep the story immersive and engaging.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Eulalios: Empire Plaza (concert venue)  
   Nick Hesdut -Tech crew 
  
  He holds his still-hot laptop tightly to his chest as he approaches the stage, to triple-check that everything is wired correctly. He feels a cool breeze on his face   from the nearby river , and warm pavement under his bare feet. As he wriggles under the stage to check the wires strapped up under the boards, he bangs his head, leaving a sore spot above his left ear.  He wriggles out again, feeling a few loose chunks of gravel dig in to his shoulder blades.
  
   Grug  hears the sound of people chanting. Not unlike the Medicine Men back at home, except this chanting actually really does carry fluctuations in the very fabric of the universe. Most of those Medicine Men back at home had no idea what they were doing. His keen senses also pick up the sound of a vendor crying "Drider on a Stick! Drider on a Stick! Only 2 interplanar arcturian dollars! Drider on a Stick!" Grog tries to imagine what fried Drider would taste like, and fails. He also hears sounds of demented cackling. It's somebody - no, it's two or three people - very close, maybe 15 feet away. Grog begins to regret coming to this place.
  
   This  is  a plaza among a family of skyscrapers.  Although there are eight buildings of various height arrayed at equal intervals along the two long sides of the plaza, one of the mid-size family members dominates by its outstreme look of cataclysm.  The ruined skyscraper might once have been forty stories tall, but has been shattered, twisted, and curled over like a wilted stalk of celery down to only about three hundred feet tall.   Even a very good wizard might find it hard to diagnose exactly what happened here, but lightning, earthquake, and dragonfire all seem likely culprits.
  
  It's a fairly big deal to play this venue, and licenses are needed not only from the mayor and the Urban Music Guild, but also from the remaining litigants in a decade-long suit by the estates of various decedents against the property insurers of the ruined building.
  
  Nobody's sure where the Band's licenses are, nor whether they were indeed obtained.
  
  Grug was the first one out of the  bulky howdah strapped to the back of the slumbering Triceratops , and also was the only one to offload the trailer and get the stage together; the roadies were entirely too stoned to, like, do the thing that helped them buy the stuff, man, right?  Nick only recently shambled over and checked the wiring.  He fixed a few things Grug tried to get right.  It's late afternoon and now they're just chillin at the edge of the stage, watching a gathering throng of hopefully paying audience, wondering where's the manager? and whether they should try to wake up the  rest of the Band .
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Eonas: Grug clutches his drumsticks as if they were battleaxes and the throng were evil mobs from the depths of hell (which, for all he knows, they might be). He glances over at NIck.
  
  "Let's wake bandmates now." he says. He walks over to where the lead guitarist lies sprawled on the ground in a slumbering torpor. "Wakey-wakey!" Grug says to the guitarist, a short man in a sequined span-dex suit. When the guitarist refuses to move, Grug shouts "WAKEY OR GRUG SMASH AZATHOTH HARD!"
  
  Azathoth gets up with a start. "Okay, okay, you don't need to yell." he says, irritatedly. "Or threaten, either." Grug only grins in response and hands the guitarist his instrument. The instrument in question, it is worth noting, looks like a cross between a most flamboyantly decorated electric guitar ever designed, and a sub-sonic plasma detonator rifle designed by a mad scientist on a wild acid trip. For the very good reason that this is exactly what the instrument is.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Eulalios: Azathoth 
  stumbles over to the amp hub and plugs in.  Feedback howls and crackles through the plaza, skittering off the ruined skyscraper and back to its companions, back and forth down the length of the open space to the shattered bulk of the Dragons Cradle.  Azathoth twists the dials on his axe, looking stupefied.  His bandmates know that's not entirely an act.
  
  He hesitantly fingers a series of notes, not picking.  Then he picks an intricate pattern, damping the strings.  Then he plays:
  
  //* rolling 4 CHA dice, + DEX bonus, under Music (metal, guitar, lead) ::  (4d10)[ 6 ][ 8 ][ 10 ][ 9 ](33)  - 1
  
     Without reviewing the roll, I'll hazard a guess:  he's not so great. 
  
  It's an ... interesting ... solo warmup.  A flutter of virtuoso shredding, quick hacking through power chords, down into a blues jam that fumbles and stumbles into spare notes that don't easily transition back to major chords.  Meanwhile, athletic leaping, dramatic posing, foot stamping, stage strutting... Looks good, sounds ok.     