Eberron Adventure: Twenty-Fifth Session

So there they were, Rhogar the dragonborn fighter; Gnofulk the gnomish barbarian; Shadowale the halfling rogue; Turnin the human monk; and Kyllar the human wizard with his kobold manservant, at the start of Ghallanda Hall’s “Hour of Merriment.” The large bar hall was sparsely populated, and only a few other patrons were scattered around the hall; everyone besides the party focusing mostly on their drinks.

While the party had their own drinks, they were there with more of a purpose. Phat Loot. Kyllar had spent the last few days identifying the items appropriated from the crates that the party had blasted out of the air way down in the secret Daask-held passages of the Cogs, and it was time to divvy up the spoils.

Each item was presented by the wizard as the party caught up with one another. Shadowale says he hasn’t left the hall since their return and is pretty drunk; Rhogar moves to pass along some rumors from the City Watch, by the dragonborn was shut down by Turnin, who informs the party that his keen financial eyes have noticed that apples and raw metals are starting to disappear in Sharn. The monk, unused to alcohol, eyes the other party members warily, scratches his headband, and returns to his drink. In between item presentations, Kyllar eyes his kobold with suspicion as the server brings a few apples over to the table, per the wizard’s request. Kaz had taken a liking to apples recently… could the kobold be to blame? Surely his scaly companion couldn’t impact the apple supply of an entire city?

As Kyllar finished his presentation, most of the party realized that they had not been paying close attention. Gnofulk, however, had, and while informing the party that Rhaal (the orc) and Zeke (the goblin) still did not know the extent of their civic appointment, but were recovering well in the Cogs, invoked the ancient custom of dibsing an item, and soon found himself with a Low Paladin’s Ring, probably stolen by the Daask from a slain Silver Flame soldier. (The ring would let the gnome cast True Strike once a day.)

With the first piece of loot out of the communal running, drinking was postponed and all eyes turned to the shiny things on the table.

After some discussion, Kyllar received an small, glowing Orb of investigation (+2 to Investigation Checks) and Shadowale quickly cinched on a Belt of Suspicion (3 Charges of Alarm) and slipped his halfling fingers into The Master’s Gloves of Diplomacy (a few charges each of Comprehend Languages and Unseen Servant). Stoic Rhogar received the Blade-Bane Bracer (Blade Ward once a day as a Reaction) and the Commander’s Circlet (clear voice amplification up to 300 feet). Turnin received a “Skull Buddy,” a familiar in the form of a flaming skull (providing colorful, mobile illumination and a few charges each of Fire Bolt and Acid Splash).

Enthused by the loot, the party tables the second reason for their meeting; planning for their upcoming meeting with Agor, the literal arms dealer, and embarks on a drinking contest, won handily by the monk, who also finishes Kyllar’s drink as the wizard only sipped. The loser of the contest was, surprisingly, Shadowale. If he was to be believed though, a day or so of near constant drinking may have taken its toll on the abilities of the halfling…

Agor, the shifty hunch-backed peddler of unsavory things, soon arrives at Ghallanda Hall and after hobbling to the table occupied by the party, helps himself to a drink as all begin to plan.

The party learns from Agor that the arrangement with his other “usual buyer” has been going on for a few months. The exchange usually starts with Agor sending a message to his buyer via Sharn’s SMS (Stone Messenger Service –flying gargoyles) system. Agor then usually walks down into the lower areas of Grayflood (the district where the party investigated the disappearances previously), where he is intercepted by the buyer. The buyer hands over a pouch of coins, and Agor deposits the “merchandise” in a small bag held by the buyer… and then they part ways.

The party debates their plan of attack for a while. Follow the gargoyle and risk tipping off the buyer? Ambush the buyer? Simply observe? Show up arm-in-arm with Agor to the exchange? …drink more?

Agor starts to get cold feet helping the party when Turnin insists on searching for a pulse on the peddler. Is this group for real? How do they not have a plan? The shifty merchant offers to come back and they can try this again another day, when the party is less drunk and more prepared… but the party focuses up.

Kyllar will turn his familiar invisible and will attempt to trail the gargoyle courier, hopefully finding the buyer’s dwelling in Sharn. Shadowale will tail Agor to the exchange; Rhogar and Kyllar and Gnofulk and Turnin will also pair up, wandering along parallel paths in the depths. If a fight breaks out, intra-party support should hopefully be quick to come.

Soon the group is off, walking the skyways of Sharn to one of the SMS hubs.

The group approaches the SMS hub; an amphitheater of sorts, open to the air atop a small tower in the Upper City. At a distance, Kyllar summons his familiar and then turns the avian invisible, with commands to follow whichever gargoyle Agor gives the note to, and then patrol the Grayflood district (at which point familiar and wizard should be reunited).

Agor approaches a cracked and disheveled-looking gargoyle, wearing a twisted orange cord around its neck, and a typical SMS courier jersey. A note is passed; and the gargoyle departs, unaware of the invisible familiar tailing it. Kyllar sees through his familiar’s eyes briefly, but it is soon out of range.

Kyllar shrugs. The tail worked, but it will be some time before the connection is reestablished and any useful information is learned. Agor shuffles back to rejoin the party, and soon the group is picking their way through the crowds returning home from a day’s labor; winding their way through and down Sharn’s innumerable spires towards the Greyflood’s lower and deeper sections…

Along the way, the party breaks off into their parings; communication maintained as best they can via Kyllar’s “Message” spell. Shadowale, while keeping relatively close to Agor the whole time, disguises himself as a dirty street urchin. Rhogar smears grime and mud on himself in an attempt to blend in as well. Shadowale’s efforts are by far more convincing.

The party walks through some of the Lower neighborhoods in Grayflood; sparse shops, ramshackle homes, and a handful of dingy inns catering to the dock workers and visiting sailors lifting goods off of ships in the nearby Dagger River. After a fair amount of wandering, a figure clad in long orange robes steps around a corner, and in a matter of seconds the exchange with Agor has been made.

The orange-clad figure spins about, and is gone, with Shadowale scurrying between piles of city detritus in an attempt to catch him. Relieved, the shady merchant hobbles back the way he came, giving a quick thumbs-up to Turnin.

Shadowale reaches the corner around which the orange-clad figure turned, but is too slow to catch even a glimpse of his mark. The path continues, winding its way around this tower, stretching out towards another… but never comes close to spanning the gap, instead crumbling in disrepair only a few feet away from the support of the nearest tower.

The party soon catches up with Shadowale and is itself joined by Kyllar’s still invisible familiar. While the party traverses the path, looking for possible exits, the avian sweeps high and low; everyone searching for some sign – any sign – of their mark, but finding nothing.

From the crumbling ledge, the party cautiously determines (with help from the familiar) that several hundred feet down, some of the sloped tower bases start to merge together in the Depths of Grayflood, and there appears to be a platform down there. Could the orange-clad figure have jumped?

Kyllar consults his familiar, and learns that the SMS gargoyle delivered the message to an orange-clad figure high up in Sharn… who proceeded to jump off his perch and plummet towards the lower portions of the city. Precedent set and assuming that their mark did have access to Feather Fall, the party determines that yes, that this jump down could be a viable path their mark took. Having found no exits along the path, and having no reason to think their mark could fly… they decide that this is probably the path taken by their mark, and ready themselves to descend.

However, lacking any source of Feather Fall themselves, the party is forced to walk, like chumps, down the winding sky bridges and spire paths, winding ever so slowly down into some of the lowest levels in Grayflood.

One of the paths they reach eventually leads them to the “landing,” which they discover connects to two lowly, unknown neighborhoods. This low in Sharn, the innumerable tower bases have begun to meld together, forming shadow-filled valleys in which these ramshackle neighborhoods sit. One neighborhood slithers out toward the Dagger River, and the party ignores that one in favor of the neighborhood that worms its way towards the city center.

Hovels are precipitously balanced against one another, and dirt and grime vie for dominance over the inhabitants’ clothing. Shadowale, still in disguise, fits right in, and charmingly persuades a local named Ralph talk a bit about the neighborhood, as the halfling has been away a while, digging through other dumpsters.

The party learns that the locals have dealt with someone clad in orange before – but not recently. It’s been several days since they last saw him. This individual literally dropped in, killed the most belligerent among the locals – a poor soul named Fred – and then offered the remaining locals a deal. The orange-clad interloper gets a small spot for himself down here, which the locals will not visit, and will dissuade anyone else from visiting, and the orange-clad individual will largely leave them be. Aside from offing Fred – who was never seen again – the locals have had no trouble. Ralph insists that Shadowale and his entourage not visit the abode of the orange-clad interloper at the far end of the neighborhood.

Ralph goes back to his business and the party adventurers further into the neighborhood. Shadowale deflects the polite questions of the other local inhabitants, and promises each one that they’ll avoid the abode, while getting closer to it with each lie.

The locals have given it a wide berth, and the party is eventually able to slip around the “corner” of a tower and out of sight of the locals. The bases of several towers have created a kind of alley down here, and at the end of it, stands the abode. What looks like windows and a door have been carved into the stonework foundation; each covered in thick dark cloth and boarded up to prevent voyeuristic visits.

The party huddles up, discussing what to do. Turnin takes it upon himself to knock, but Rhogar deftly plucks him up, cartoon-style, so the monk is walking in place while the rest of the party discusses it. Kyllar argues for a fireball right through the front door. Eventually Shadowale creeps forward, and hearing nothing from within, the party opts for a gentlemanly knock against the boards, and Rhogar sets Turnin down.

The monk walks up and knocks.

Nothing is heard from within.

The door is boarded up from the outside; not to keep any one person out, but rather keep everyone out. Turnin moves to kick the door open, fails, and decides to take a step back. Rhogar charges past the monk, bursting through the wood and rags.

The party creeps in through the dragonborn-shaped hole, and finds themselves in a sparse room. Over two dozen leathery zombies are sitting cross-legged on the floor in close ranks and files, filling most of the room hidden within the tower’s foundation. Gnofulk is second into the room, and he joins Rhogar in wading through the contemplative-looking corpses and examining them.

As the rest of the party enters, and investigates the desiccated zombies for themselves, Gnogulk and Rhogar find that two of the inanimate corpses in the back of the room have what appears to be DieFi rods, similar to the ones found in Grayflood previously, implanted along their spines. Gnofulk and Rhogar set about ripping the rod out of the one nearer to them.

Mid-yank, the rod clicks to life, a small faceted jewel glowing with a nauseating green tinge, and the zombies begin to rise up.

With a sickening pop, the rod is ripped from the zombie’s dry flesh. The jewel’s glow first falters then fails and the zombies on that side of the room collapse before they can really stand up. Shadowale, in the front of the room, leaves Kyllar and Turnin, and begins stabbing and slicing his way through the struggling rank and file.

Gnofulk scrambles past the grasping hands of the partially upright zombies, and strikes a solid blow against the last rod-bearing zombie, though he is unable to cleave through the body. Rhogar abandons the grisly rod and now re-inanimate corpse, and moves to join his small companion, also weathering the pats and pokes of an almost ambulatory zombie horde. Hacks are ineffectual, and the dragonborn moves to belch fire. Gnofulk sees Rhogar draw breath, and avoids the worst of it, though several other zombies, including the one with the DieFi rod are truly crisped…