So there they were, resting briefly in the charred remains of the Daask bunk room, deep below Sharn, exploring a network of secret tunnels near the Cogs: Kyllar the human wizard and his kobold manservant Kaz, Gnofulk the gnome barbarian, Shadowale the halfling rogue, Rhogar the dragonborn fighter, and Turnin the human monk, now sporting a very academic-looking bandana, which keeps slipping down to cover one of his eyes. No, not that eye. His other one.
A little over an hour passes without incident or interruption and resting in the dark, the party regains a little of their strength and courage, but soon, a distant cacophonous sound like rolling thunder breaks their calm respite; the rumbling reverberating down the corridor. After a brief pause, another, closer rumble is heard, and then another, the third being very close indeed.
Turnin’s keen ears let him know that the sounds are not from an animal, and were three distinct events. As the party rearms themselves, Kyllar, every-wary of physical harm, cracks open the door out of the charred bunk room, and releases his familiar down the tunnel, while Shadowale and Gnofulk exit to stalk the hallways as well.
The familiar and the two shortest members of the party soon discover that the corridor has collapsed; dust motes float through the air, and masonry is broken around the edge of the collapse. A pile of dirt and rubble blocks the path ahead. As the familiar returns to Kyllar, the halfling Shadowale kicks at the rubble – ignoring the possibility of further caving in the corridor.
Fortunately, the tunnel collapse was an illusion, and Shadowale’s foot passes through harmlessly. The short, deadly duo are surprised by but a moment, and immediately charge through the conjuration, with Shadowale passing through and coming face to face with a small, very surprised satyr; his furry face quickly passing from scrunched concentration to surprise to utter terror to inert lolling slack as the halfling and his new, poisoned blades gleefully eviscerated the satyr, staining the furry beast’s tiny robes with blood as Gnofulk looked on. The satyr expired before the gnome could swing.
The rest of the party arrived, with Rhogar and Kaz the kobold guiding the two humans through the dark. Shadowale proudly and confidently announces to Turnin that the halfling just slew, like, a legit army Daask. Unable to see in the dark, the monk absolutely believes his fellow party member. Shadowale boastfully suggests that he could probably handle everything all on his own, and might not even need the rest of the party, particularly “can’t-even-see-in-the-dark-
The rest of the party ignores the tormenting of monk by the rogue, and they slowly press on down the corridor, Kyllar’s owl-like familiar scouting the way for the party with its night-vision. They soon hear voices ahead, and Kyllar casts Comprehend Languages, and sends his own trotting up to peek around the corner.
In the darkness, Kyllar, via his owl familiar, sees an orc and two satyr brutes moving barrels and crates in a partially obscured room, and hears them discussing moving “the goods” and “the stash” other locations for the time being. The owl retreats.
Kyllar whispers about the three Daask he saw, and the party quickly decides to charge in for a surprise attack.
Unfortunately, Turnin is still fumbling around in the darkness. The party sets up around the final corner, and charges. A little speedier than the rest of the party, Turnin, still a human, and still blind in the dark, manages to get ahead of his peers. Hearing a surprised grunt ahead of him, he skids to a halt and lights a torch with a strike.
The room is larger than Kyllar thought; and far more populated. In addition to the three gangsters Kyllar saw, the room also has two of the smaller satyr bowmen struggling with a crate, and a veritable air force consisting of two gargoyles and a harpy, all in process of shouldering burdens in crates and barrels.
Turnin, lit torch now in hand, decides to play it safe, and simply readies himself to dodge any incoming attacks, while Gnofulk, surly but too cautious to give into his rage, charges around the monk the take some swings at the nearest satyr brute. Kyllar casts a resounding Shatter spell near the back corner of the room, catching a gargoyle, satyr bowman and the harpy, though oddly enough, the stony gargoyle weathers the blast best.
Loot in hand, the gargoyles take flight, gaining altitude with ascending circles, one holding a barrel; one with a crate. One brute charges Turnin, and lands a blow against the monk. Apparently his eyes were still getting used to the light. The other, along with the orc and the grievously wounded (and enraged) harpy counter attack Gnofulk, landing a number of blows against the still-cautious gnome barbarian.
Rhogar comes to aid Gnofulk, and fells the wounded harpy. Shadowale comes to assist too, but is evidently too busy yelling for someone to attack the fleeing gargoyles to land a blow himself. Kaz the kobold, wary of fighting, takes up position behind the party, on the watch for any attacks from behind.
Turnin, torch held high, retaliates against his bestial assailant, as does Gnofulk against his mob of adversaries. Kyllar eyes the fleeing gargoyles and launches a Magic Missile up into the darkness at them; one bolt apiece for the fliers, and one for… the barrel, which is grazed. Caught off guard, the barrel is also dropped by the gargoyle porter, and it begins tumbling back down towards the party.
Rhogar again swings to aid Gnofulk, as the barrel, leaking potent alcohols, crashes between Shadowale, Gnofulk and Turnin; the monks torch momentarily igniting the liquid, injuring the halfling, the gnome, and several of the Daask, though the monk is miraculously able to avoid the damage.
As the flames burn themselves out, Shadowale readies his bow and takes a shot at the still fleeing, crate-porting gargoyle, and lands a near impossible hit, startling this porter to drop his cargo as well, and start it tumbling down toward the party now as well…
The scrum continues as the crate lands with a crash, exploring coins and items everywhere. Turnin, Shadowale and Gnofulk start to focus on the orc leader, and Rhogar runs off to deal with the satyr bowmen, who have been ineffectually firing at the party.
Turnin lans a few blows against the orc, and is able to knock him prone. Gnofulk take the opportunity to embed his enchanted axe into the orc’s chest, ending him, as Rhogar smashes the skull of the last bowman.
The party breathes a sigh of relief. Kyllar’s familiar tries to track the gargoyles, and seeing through high owl familiar’s eyes, finds and relates to the party that the room is actually a large shaft, stretching up into Sharn itself; likely into a part of one of the cities innumerable towers far above the party. A few ledges are seen far above, via the owl familiar, and they are deduced by the party to be either resting spots or possibly starts to exits from the main shaft. As Kyllar is relaying this revelation, the rest of the party sets to examining the other whisky barrels and doing some quality control, picking up some of the coins that exploded around the room, busting open the other crate, and in general, just reveling in the loot they found.
The party doesn’t think they can safely fit the barrels of Ghallanda Hall whisky in their bag of holding, so they leave it for now, mentally retracing their steps. This dead-end to those stuck on the ground was one of three main avenues stemming from the entrance. A second had taken them beneath the Dagger River, and to several hidden entrances around its steep, rocky banks. The third had been partially explored, and contained the amphitheater with what sounded like a “boss lady” issuing commands that the party had... tactfully chosen to avoid previously. They steeled themselves, and set out down this path.
They soon found their way blocked by a second cave in. Having realized that the first was a trick, Kyllar assumes that this one is an illusion as well, and shoves an unsuspecting Turnin towards the rubble pile.
Stumbling, Turnin disappears into the conjuration of rubble, and moment later it disappears, revealing Turnin holding a pint-sized goblin dressed in robes in a headlock, the small green-skinned feet dangling in the air.
Turnin attempts to scare the goblin wizard into talking, but he isn’t able to get much out of the small green man. Opting to play the “good cop” Turnin turns the goblin to face the party, and insists that the goblin would like the monk’s approach better than the rogue’s. Unfortunately, Shadowale sneezes a dainty, almost elf-maiden-like sneeze mid-threat. Attempting to cover for his diminutive brother-in-arms, Gnofulk, mostly fluent in Gobbledygook but lacking some of the hurtful specifics, flubs an insult at the goblin’s mother.
Sick of the bumbling, Rhogar leans over the two short stacks and shows the party how it’s done. Sharp fangs illuminated by the fiery breath building in the back of his throat, and tendrils of smoke rising from his nostrils, he hungrily eyes the goblin, who, much to Turnin’s dismay, appears to pee himself a little bit. Turnin uncomfortable squirms a bit as the goblin begins spilling his secrets.
The party learns that the Daask here are taking orders from one Feral Fawcett, a medusa with a very distinctive haircut, even for medusas. The gangsters have been using these tunnels for some time to smuggle fellow gangsters and all manners of loot in and out of Sharn. The party thinks on this, and then begins to consider what to do with the goblin. When asked directly what he will do if let go, the goblin, oblivious to the unstated implications of the question, recites a Daask slogan and tries to spit at the feet of Kyllar. In a headlock though, the spittle doesn’t go far, and it drips down onto Turnin’s arm, who is officially grossed out and done with this goblin, and drops him to the floor.
Shadowale is immediately on the unfortunate goblin, viciously skewering him. The party eyes each other with a bit of unease, but says nothing.
As they walk back towards the amphitheater, Turnin, his powers of reasoning boosted by the bandana starts to piece things together, deducing that Feral probably had a hand in “creating” the statues found by the party near the entrance to this tunnel network, and that she’s probably dangerous. This deduction is supported by Rhogar’s experience, who has heard reports of medusas turning people to stone, and knows that they generally call the shots, and Kyllar, who recalls that eye contact with a medusa is generally encouraged to be avoided, if one values longevity.
The party makes their way down this avenue, past the dead ends, into the cavern room, over the bridge spanning the lava floe, and back to the entrance to the amphitheater. They pause, and hearing nothing but eerie quiet, Kyllar commands his familiar to scout ahead. Nothing threatening is found, and Turnin, trying to prove his worth to the party, ventures forth.
He scrambles up a column to a ledge of the second level, and cautiously pulls himself up, keeping his eyes closed or downward.
The amphitheater seems abandoned.
The party cautiously investigate, and find a noticeable-chiseled statue of a goblin on a thrown with a crown on the second level. Kyllar casts Detect Magic, and discovers a pile of dusty gray rubble, twisted up with a long raggedy-looking piece of cloth – the latter of which is tripping the detection spell.
Kyllar conjures his Mage Hand, and attempts to extricate the cloth from the rubble. As he does so, it is discovered that the cloth is a cloak, and the party notices that some of the rubble looks humanoid…
The cloak is dusted off as best the Mage Hand can do, and Kyllar starts to pat it down in preparation to identify the source of the item’s magic. In the folds of the cloak, a scrap of paper is discovered. It’s a message written in a cipher that Kyllar doesn’t know, and the party begins to pass it around as the wizard prepares the ritual spellcasting.
Always eager for new duds, Shadowale dons the cloak, which is about twice the size of the halfling, and pools around his feet, though he doesn’t feel any different. Eventually the cipher is passed to Shadowale, who declares that it is in a code used by the group of assassins under House Tarkanan, and informs the party that cloak was a gift to one Sonya (presumably the rubble intertwined with the cloak), from the House, which was meant to aid her in assassinating one Feral Fawcett. He tosses the note aside, and declares that it was super easy to translate. He’s kind of “in” with that group of assassins – but don’t tell anyone.
Shadowale takes a sip from a flask and continues to regard himself in the new cloak. Meanwhile, the rest of the party, eye each other warily once again. Should they ask about this Falco Burrows guy?
As the spell finishes, the rest of the party, shooting furtive glances towards Shadowale, realizes that he’s a little harder to focus on… and Kyllar declares that the cloak magical properties allow the wearer to become stealthier and better at hiding.
Feral Fawcett has eluded the party, but this return to the Cogs had gained them a good deal of insight on the Daask operations, some sweet loot, and more information about the secret spaces in Sharn.
The party departed the tunnel network back into the Cogs neighborhood, where they found Grrrrrrra and the kids still romping around. Kyllar reached into his bags and procured the small goblin axe he had been saving for her. Grinning wildly, the orc child thanked the wizard and scampered off, chasing the other kids (playfully). Still, the party made an expedited departure from the Cogs towards Ghallanda Hall.
Along the way, Turnin heard his name mentioned by a bystander on one of the ubiquitous walkways spanning the towers, and inquiring after who said it, turned to face Agor, a scruffy-looking, hunchbacked “arms dealer” the monk had contracted with earlier for “cool monk fighting gear” and “some good strong arms.”
Agor declared that he had both types of items, but acquiring more arms would take some time. He procured the “odd requests” first: a wad of arm wraps and a new staff, both with a slight blue hue to them. While Turnin was examining the cool monk gear, the party looked on in confusion, then disgust as Agor got to the “more usual stuff,” and pulled open his cloak to reveal several arms dangling from the interior of the hunchback’s cloak.
The rest of the party quickly surrounded Turnin and Agor, their bodies hopefully blocking the transaction from the view of any passersby.
The party realizes the grotesque misunderstanding that lead to this deal, and also learn that because Turnin had paid so generously and up front for the merchandise, Agor had snubbed one of his new regular buyers; probably some kind of necromancer, he thinks.
Kyllar is quick to offer a generous new deal. He wants to scope out this other buyer more than he wants these arms, and convinces Agor to sell this…. Merchandise to this alleged necromancer, and let the party observe the transaction. After a good amount of gold changes hands, Agor agrees.
The party continues their upward trek back to Ghallanda Hall, with Turnin itching at his bandana, finally understanding homophones, and suddenly a little worried about his dealings with that shaggy-looking hedge fund manager… after some more scratching at his bandana, and some mental math, the monk figured that mistake could probably be written off as a “charitable donation” come tax time and the party’s finances would come out strong. Where would the party be without him?
