Eberron Adventure: Thirty-Fourth Session

So there they were…

In the City of the Dead, just northeast of Sharn. The group, consisting of the dragonborn fighter Rhogar, the elf cleric Professor Thorntongue, the forest gnome druid Whudyalookadah, and the human wizard Kyllar, had traveled just northeast of Sharn, to a sprawling cemetery of sorts in the rocky plateaus surrounding the city, in search of information on their orange-clad monks who were possibly-interested-in-necromancy.

After wandering around the grounds, a scuffle with skeletons, and a minor historical revelation, the afternoon was waning. The group learns of an ancient lich, Ujix the Despoiler, wandering in the unkempt sections of this sprawling cemetery, unwarded, and overgrown. They were in the company of the caretaker of these grounds, the Holy Warden Isabella, who on account of the coming night, offered them sanctuary in her abode; a polished looking white pillar on the grounds.

Intrigued, the party agrees. The tower, with no visible entrances had perplexed them when they had encountered it earlier in the afternoon.

Isabella leads them across the grounds and back to the tower. After regarding it for a moment, she pushes her arm into it, her gloves and armor disappearing. The paladin waves them in. Kyllar, sticks his hand in and then draws it out… just in case. There are no ill effects, and soon, the party tromps inside.

On either side of the door there are 3 cubby nooks, with small stands for armor and weapons, and pegs for cloaks and the like. After shutting the tower door, Isabella moves to one of the nooks, and doffs her armor, gesturing to the empty nooks, should the group of adventurers wish to do the same.

Kyllar discretely writes “Trap?” on the door in an illusionary script, but he nor any other group member believes Isabella means ill. The party doff their armor as well, and stretch, after a long day on their feet.

A thought occurs, and the party asks if Isabella is the only paladin here; the tower is big, and even these cubby nooks suggest there should be more. Isabella concedes that that makes sense… but she is the only one. This place has been around for ages… perhaps in the past there were more, but she has been the only one serving here since she arrived, and had not uncovered any chronicles or tomes since her arrival here. Even if she did find books... she’s a sheep farmer’s daughter, illiterate, and summoned from the pastures to take up sword and shield by her deity.

Kyllar huffs, and from behind her notes, Professor Thorntongue whispers “peasant.” This poor girl is no help to the academically-inclined!

An open, spiraling staircase sits in the middle of the room, leading up to the higher levels, and aside from the cubbies near the door, the first floor is rather sparse, with shelves of simple foodstuffs and basic adventuring gear, like rope and old bedrolls, lining most of the wall.

Something is odd though; the level seems almost compartmentalized, and with the door shut, partially observed gears can be seen turning, first this way, then that way… but the party cannot discern their purpose at first glance.

Isabella points to a few bags of foodstuffs, and the party brings them up to the second floor, which seems to be living quarters. The staircase deposits the group into a kitchen, though the party catches glimpses of other rooms beyond.

The kitchen has an arrow loop build into the wall, and again, partially obscured gears can be seen near the floor and ceiling, turning. Through the loop, the landscape outside seems to oscillate, and the group learns through conversation that the tower twists as a form of defense, and is shrouded with enchantments to both ward and camouflage… Isabella concedes that the workings of the tower are beyond her; she has never had to do any repairs, or ward the tower itself.

In the kitchen, Isabella coordinates the group as they make a simple, hearty meal, directing ingredients to be added here and there. The meal is eventually cooked to perfection, and the party brings their picnic up to the highest level of the tower.

The stairs end under a kind of wide stone gazebo of sorts; its supports turning into small walls reaching out to the exterior battlements of the tower like the spokes of a wheel. There are slots for dropping things at attackers, as well as a higher crenellated wall. At regular intervals, the party notices full quivers and short bows, and Isabella shrugs. Her deity demands she be prepared. The group snakes their way along the battlements, still disguised by magic, to the stone gazebo, which now at this height appears to be more of a patio than anything. A pale silvery flame dances in a large metal saucer, and the party arrays themselves around it, enjoying the company and the meal, chatting until sleep eventually takes them.

The tower twists throughout the night, its motions stuttering the waltz of the stars above.

The morning comes, and the party rises, and nibbles on some bread and cheese as everyone prepares to go about their day. Isabella asks the party about their quarry. While the DieFi rod is still beyond her, as Kyllar explains more about the zombies they have encountered, Isabella interrupts. Dry, preserved zombies, like those found in among the urchins, are essentially unheard of. As are inert ones. Given the description of the Wizened, Isabella thinks that the Wizened are doing the necromancy, and tweaking it a bit.

Armored, the party prepares to depart, but Isabella gives them a final boon, three vials of consecrated oil for their weapons; Oil of the Blessed Repose, which will the party to anoint a few weapons and deal more damage to undead they encounter. She again warns them away from seeking out the lich the Ujix the Despoiler, believing her 1v1 approach to be the best bet of stopping him. The party isn’t so sure (liches have sweet loot, right?), and promise to keep in touch, and stop by again sometime and check in.

The party makes their way back to the enchanted, flying skiff borrowed from one of Rhogar’s friends, and they soon are floating back to Sharn amid another hot, cloudless day, the dragonborn focusing on the controls and fighting his fear of heights, as the rest of the party directs him with course adjustments.

It is decided that the group will visit House Sivis next – a dragonmarked halfling house associated with communications magic – to try and learn more about the magical DieFi rods.

The party gracefully flies through Sharn, landing on a platform near the Sharn Headquarters of House Sivis. Sweet entrance music blaring from Kyllar’s conjurations, and the party approaches the front door, and realizes this may go better if they have an actual DieFi rod to present to the gnomes.

Kyllar turns down the volume, and the quartet returns to their borrowed skiff, and begin a descent into the neighborhood of those merfolk scavengers…

They can’t make it all the way. Lower Sharn is too compact, so they park their skiff in a dark alley, and descend the rest of the way on foot. The group reaches that low, gloomy platform, and wisely take the left street towards the merfolk, avoiding those (probably still angry) street urchins down the street to their right.

They enter the dark, damp, and shabby merfolk neighborhood. The spaces between the tower foundations flooded with water. They spot Bubbles, the merfolk they encountered before, and looking distressed the fish-man thrusts a slightly damp bag into Rhogar’s hands.

The party regards this item, and asks Bubbles what is going on. In between throaty warbles, Bubbles tells the party that the orange man showed up the other day. No one saw him, but he took the scrap, and left the bag and some notes. Bubbles holds up one wet note, the ink washed away. He holds up a second note, also dripping ink, and laments how the orange-clad guy singled him out to give the party the bag (per the now unreadable note) and the merfolk wails in despair.

Rhogar hands off the bag to Professor Thorntongue, while Kyllar and Whudyalookadah embark on a gambit of bad-cop/psychotic-cop against the nearly inconsolable merman.

The wizard points out that those singled out by the orange-clad man don’t generally live long. Remember that merfolk, Steve? Dead! Killed by the orange-clad brute! Kyllar demands the merfolk help the party – or they won’t protect him from the orange-clad monk. Kyllar’s words are backed up with grotesque gestures from Whudyalookadah, and the merfolk is coerced into helping the party retrieve a DieFi rod from the sunken, bloated zombie cohort in the neighborhood.

The party marches through the damp neighborhood, past the branching, sunken alleyways while Professor Thorntongue completes here identify spell on the bag. With a mild curse, the informs the party that the bag… is really a Bag of Devouring. Kyllar curses loudly. Stupid necromancy guy.

Arriving quickly at the end of that sunken avenue. Their destination appears to be unchanged from their last visit. The crude building is still collapses in on itself, toppled into its basement, and rubble, and the only means of ingress, two metal doors twisted shut, all almost entirely submerged.

Kyllar points at the pile, and Bubbles bashfully wades into the little moat, treading water so that his fishy head is just above the surface. He paddles over to the doors, and while they are still slightly battered open from Turnin’s blows, the merman can fit no more than an arm inside, and looks back to the party. They’ll have to help somehow.

Bubbles looks on, still neck deep in the water as the party debates what to do. They could batter open the door? But they’d need to get over to it… Whudyalookadah could shift into a frog? But probably won’t be able to lift out the rod… Professor Thorntongue eventually casts a spell, allowing the party to walk on water… right past Bubbles. The group reaches the rubble, and apparently eager to get on with all this, the Professor smacks the door mightily with her mace, crumpling the weakened metal enough to allow just about everyone (excluding the large and heavily-armored Rhogar) inside.

Whudyalookadah gestures menacingly to the merman while Kyllar tells their forced accomplice that there are zombie bodies in there, and that the group needs Bubbles to bring back a metal rod from one of their bodies. The wizard then points emphatically towards the opening, demanding the terrified merman enter and retrieve the object.

Bubbles sinks, and then kicks, propelling himself out of the water, and over the ruined threshold, and into the dark depths of the ruins.

Seconds later, a bloated body breaches the water, its taught skin bursting against the stones and spilling its rotting guts over the rubble. Bubbles is close behind the body, wailing and trying to clamber out of the sunken pit. Kyllar’s little speech did not prepare him for what the merman saw – bloated or worse yet, corpses, sickly bobbing organs and random digits, all floating in the stagnant water… some of it even got in his mouth! Gross!

Bubbles wails, over the talk of the party, and is eventually coerced again into trying to retrieve the rod,  his face covered by conjured goggles and a bandana, courtesy of the wizard forcing him to slink back into the dark, filthy waters.

A few minutes pass, and then a bloated merfolk body, metal spinal rod in plain sight, is rolled over the threshold, resting on its back on the thin band of dry rubbly between the fetid pool and merely stagnant looking water nearer to the merfolk neighborhood.

Bubbles head breaches, the conjured protective gear disappearing; the merfolk spitting repeatedly and shivering in total disgust. As he eyes the body closer, he wails with renewed gusto – the body has the twisted dead face of the slain merfolk Steve.

Still distressed, Bubbles flops over into the merely stagnant water, wailing and scrubbing furiously at his scaled skin.

Kyllar attempts to wrench the rod from the body with Mage Hand, but the magic is not strong enough. The wizard turns to console the merman, promising him all sorts of new things as a reward for helping the party. His mind anchored a bit by business, the merfolk realizes that Kyllar still hasn’t paid up from the last time he helped the party, and the wizard promises more and more trinkets, and dismisses the merfolk, imploring him to lay low in an attempt the avoid any potential wrath from the orange-clad monk.

Bubbles swims to the edge of the stagnant pool, and emerges, still scrubbing and spitting. The party shares a moment, watching the merfolk go. Nobody thinks he is long for this world.

Rhogar then takes a chance and removing the rod from Steve’s body, and rips it free nearly without incident. The scaly skin tears and bursts, spilling the rotted, waterlogged innards over the rubble as well, but the dragonborn triumphantly holds aloft the DieFi rod… which is still attached to the skull, though the bones are missing a jaw.

Exposed to the air, the rancid zombies begin to stink. Rhogar dips the rod into the stagnant pool, rinsing some of the fleshy bits off, and then hands it to the wizard, who magically disguises it as rosewood staff, with a flowery, pleasant smell, and the part slink away, walking briskly through the neighborhood, moving towards their airship.

Fortunately, the skiff is right where they left it.

Still trying to air out the rod, Kyllar holds it aloft, again conjuring sweet entrance music as the skiff again sets down on the landing platform in the highest reaches of Upper Sharn, and the party again makes preparations to talk with the gnomes of House Sivis.

With the rod, they think it will go well.

The group approaches the tower, still broad, but bathed in light, and only a dozen or so levels from the top of the spire. Unlike below, towers have numerous balconies and windows, and the party spies them all over the place.

The doorway to House Sivis is impressive, like a cathedral; small arched doors inserted into a larger overarching… uh… arch. The House’s coat of arms, a Cockatrice, is engraved in the center of the large, ornate arch. The group enters, throwing open the doors impressively.

To either side, the walls are glass, providing visitors with a cross-section of two-floors of office work. The gnomes make a bit of a show about being busy, and can be see shuffling papers, running documents and instruments from desk to desk, as well as a bunch of gnomes plugging and unplugging wires at some kind of arcane switchboard.

The party is puzzled, but not interested at the display of office life, and walks toward the far end of the wall. There is a pretty-looking gnome lady sitting at a desk marked “Reception”, to whom Whudyalookadah makes a rude (thankfully unnoticed) gesture. On either side of the desk are wide doors, and near each door is a stately looking older gnome, well-dressed and well-poised.

The bubble receptionist welcomes the party to the Sharn branch of House Sivis, and asks how she can help them. Conspiratorially, Kyllar leans over the desk, and launches into a long summary of what the party has been up to. The Receptionist’s eyes glaze over. When Kyllar finishes, she asks for a more succinct summary, and apologizes; she’s new here. The group wants to see someone about a magical rod and communications? She looks to the stately gnome to her left. R&D? He nods, opens the door, and whispers for the messenger to take the group down to the R&D labs.

Practically dancing, a gnome pops into view, happily declares his name is Mort, and asks the party to stick close and follow him. Mort gleefully launches into an unprovoked attack on their ears, reciting a little speech about the origins of the House (3000 years old!) and what they do (translate things! Be neutral diplomats!), leading them down the wrong corridor only a few times. Even with the prepared spiel over, Mort cannot be contained. Seeing Whudyalookadah, Mort giggles with excitement, declaring that he is a city gnome, and wonders what kind of a gnome this gnome is? Whudyalookadah gestures to his simple, rustic clothes and grudgingly admits that he is a forest gnome, and then threatens Mort. Undeterred, the guide turns to Rhogar, reaching for the dragonborn’s weapon, a bright mace. When asked where he got such a neat shining weapon, the dragonborn mutters that he killed a guy. Right-o. In a last ditch effort at conversation, Mort turns to Professor Thorntongue and Kyllar, and asks who’s spellbook is bigger. The wizard’s. Obviously.

After a few tense moments of silence, Mort leads the group to a desolate hallway, and throws open the doors to R&D. The gnomes in this office, a trio clustered around a workbench, look up, and sigh at the sight of Mort. Mort waves, and the office gnomes wave Mort away, and motion quickly for the party to shut the door behind them. Whudyalookadah hocks a loogie, which lands on Morts foot. The city gnome is revolted, trying to shake it off or wipe it across the floor as the door shuts on his face.

Free of Mort, the gnomes, who all appear to have small, faintly luminescent dragonmarks on their body, ask what they can do for the group. Kyllar presents the rod, asking the gnomes if they could help identify it and discern its properties.

The gnomes share a moment, and in the middle of replying that it is obviously a staff made of rosew—Kyllar dismisses the spell, and the rod appears in all its horrid glory. A fish scale falls, plopping onto the desk. One of the gnomes heaves a little. So… you brought us a grotesque skull-themed walking stick?

Kyllar again tries to summarize their experiences… zombies, zombie with rod… rod helps command the zombies… Maybe communication magic is involved? Could you investigate the magic intricacies of the rod?

Rhogar twists the merfolk skull off with a sickening crack, and chucks it into the Bag of Devouring, where it breaks into pieces, before tumbling down and disappearing into the folds of the fabric.

This is beyond the paygrade of these gnomes, and the Bag of Devouring kinda freaks them out. Their office has a pretty open floor plan. Beyond a short wall, there is a kind of shooting range, and the gnomes point the group towards the office on the other side; Rogim’s office. The group makes their way down the range, and slabs of stone wall, plates of lead, a thin, a large piece of paper… all attached to little rolling carts that can be wheeled onto the range to block spells.

The party exits the far side of the range, and is confronted by a very stately looking older gnome. Rogim is wearing a nicely cut tunic, displaying a greater dragonmark for House Sivis spanning from his belly to the back of his shaved, hairless head.

Seeing the studious Professor Thorntongue scribbing at her notes, the gnome guesses that she is in charge, and asks her how he can assist.

The Professor gestures to the skull rod. She states that the rod is used to control zombies. And asks accusingly if Rogim knows of anyone else who could do such magic. That’s right Rogim, you’re on notice!

The gnome is taken aback a bit, surprised at the accusation, he stammers, off guard, extolling the long impartial service House Sivis has given the continent… eventually the gnome is guided towards just investigating the rod, as his hands investigate the rod, inscribed with a “14” on it, as he prods the group for more details on the zombies and the magic witnessed.

Rogim has been around the block a few times, and he too feels the “inactive” and dry zombies are unusual. As is the rod.

The rod itself appears to be just an average metal rod. Most of it is plain metal, which could be produced by any half competent blacksmith or foundry worker, and are likely found all over Sharn, even the continent. The business end, with magical enhancements, is further up on the rod, near where the skull would be attached via graft.

Rogim can discern some of the enchantments, and informs the party that the rod appears to be designed to deal with Command-style magic. The spells themselves are not really complicated… but the gnome is surprised by its genius. The maker has taken very common, simple spells, and applied them in a unique way to the basics of necromancy, receiving basic spells, and then amplifying them over an area.

Exploring further, Rogim conjectures that since necromancy is a bit of a psychic connection, the rod may be primed for reception. Fingers caressing the top of the rod, Rogim notices an orb, that would appear to glow as orders are received. The gnome guesses that it may glow when near the person issuing the commands, and will definitely glow when any commands are issued in range.

It would take weeks for House Sivis to explore and then replicate the rod, and the group decides against it turning it over just yet.

The group continues to question the gnome, and eventually they determine that a zombie apocalypse is unlikely. Sharn is too dense to issue such a wide-ranging command. Either the buildings would block the magic, or the targets too scattered to all rise at once. The zombie hordes, allegedly hidden throughout Sharn would need to be activated in sequence – Rogim is sure there is no way to activate the hordes en mass.

Eventually the group thanks Rogim, and takes their rod with them.

They rehash what they have learned. Steps have been taken to protect the zombies from normal wear and tear, in ways that echo what the party knows about the Wizened – they are the necromancers. The little zombie cohorts have been squirreled for reasons unknown. The rods are common, and would be easy to get ahold of. The rods are enchanted with common magic – the Wizened would not need a real specialist to do these enchantments

The party regards their DieFi rod… Sweeping the city would take way too long with a single rod, and the Necromancer could easily elude them on pure chance.

Rhogar begins to methodically recount where the party has encountered the Wizened previously. There was first the docks district in Grayflood; the massacre of the clerics; the rooftop where a monk received the SMS gargoyle; the moving drop point with Turnin’s gross “arms dealer”; and lastly, the urchins and the merfolk in low Sharn.

As he mentions the merfolk, the dragonborn raises a finger to make a point, but it unfortunately quickly eludes the fighter.

The party feels like they are at a bit of a dead end. They have leads… all of them cold as the zombies themselves. They commit to following up on each of these locales in turn with their new DieFi rod, and heading back to Ghallanda hall, begin to make plans to resupply.