DM Thoughts: Grisly Murders and Sojourns

We got a little side-tracked by the grisly murders. I introduced rumor of a brutal murder (not magical or anything) originally as a way to build up the city and warn the players that “Sharn is a dangerous place.” The players apparently thought that sounded way cooler than the other quest hooks I had been tossing out… and so we ended up here, confronting a crazed and twisted former party member.

Dungeons and Dragons is pretty rad.

The rub with all of this, however, were new players. Comfort was new, and I had planned for her arrival and integration, but as things came to a head with these murders, the night before the session I received two messages; two more guest players would be stopping by… which would bring our player count to 8.

Not wanting to derail the story, I tried to roll with it and press on with the showdown. We did ok.

In a combat-lite session, (like any of our previous investigation-sessions) I think I could handle 8 players. In combat heavy… it’s doable, and these two sessions gave me a lot of ideas for future large games, but I will endeavor to make these rarer events. We did well, but it was a bit of a grind.

Given our unusually large player base, and number of outstanding plot hooks, for the next few sessions, I’ve artificially split the party. Two distinct groups will be out and about on their own to tie up some loose ends.

The split will help newer players learn the game mechanics with less pressure; as well as let us tie up a few things while we amble back towards the main plot. As a bonus, we should have some good RP and storytelling when the players meet up later (I won’t post the recaps here until after the reunion).

DM Thoughts – Big Fights

Our grisly murders showdown with Zyn was pretty grindy. Session #31 was almost entirely combat, which is highly unusual for us. It was a good experience, and we did well though.

For combats with an unusually high number of players… here would be my initial tips to another GM:

• Have a board of initiative. Or something. Basically, you want to offload the refereeing of “who’s turn is it?” to the players. Since #31 was mostly a big combat continued on from #30, I typed up the initiative order of the players, and handed out two “cheat sheets” so that they could keep each other focused and moving (“C’mon man! It’s your turn!”). It helped things move along.
• Have a lot of underlings/mooks/adds. It seems counter intuitive to add a bunch of things to an already big encounter, but if you don’t, it becomes a lopsided curb-stomp against the Big Bad, with players getting x activations per round and the Big Bad getting 1. Add mooks to 1) get in the way, and prevent players from surrounding the Big Bad 2) chip away at the party’s resources (spell slots, health, etc) 3) spice up combat. Tank’n’spank isn’t dynamic. This way someone can stand against the horde; some else can try to snipe the big bad… etc. More options for all involved.
• Have simple underlings/mooks/adds. The Big Bad Evil Guy can get cool abilities and what not, but these extras should be simple. One kind of attack, one spell, etc, so you can resolve them quickly. “The 5 goblins on the ledge have bows, and using their vantage point, they fire a volley at the wizard …. 3 hit… etc.” Easy-to-resolve is the desire for these.
• Spread out those enemy activations. While this can result in a player tuning out until it’s their turn, when done with a good group, this can keep players engaged even though they’re spectating. As they’re following what is unfolding, they are also deciding and revising their actions ahead of time (to keep the action moving along). Whether you activate the baddies by group (you see several bands of kobolds; the closest, a group of 4 charge with spears leveled…), by type (goblins first; then orcs…), or by some other method… the goal is spread out the activations a bit, so that the party doesn’t get six characters going in a row and the NPC baddies acting all at the beginning or end of the turn.
• Use Minis. It's easier to track what's going on. It doesn't need to be fancy. I "hobby" and use a lot of minis from Reaper Miniatures, but for baddies, this last session I drew up and used some paper drawings taped to stand up to display the minis. There are tons of pics out there if you want to resize and make your own. And, if you want to get more into the details (you're in a dungeon or something), there are lots of free graph paper options out there.
• Talking as a free action. Having players shout out a complex battle strategy isn’t the idea here. Instead, the Big Bad should be verbally sparring with the players; the players intimidating the mooks; or players shouting in character as a reaction to them being shot at or surprised “more goblins coming through the main gate!”

 I dabbled a bit with all of these, and it went pretty well. This is not something I want to do often, but when it comes around again, I think I will be able to do it better.

Eberron Adventure: Thirty-First Session

So there they were…

…fighting for their lives in the parallel dimension of the Fey Wild, against Zyn, Avatar of the Fey, and perpetrator of these grisly murders.

Comfort had initiated the hostilities, blasting Zyn while he Turnin, and Kyllar were shouting at one another over the storm.

Zyn had called upon his patrons for aid, and in short order the party, consisting of Shadowale, the halfling rogue, Turnin the human monk, Comfort the tiefling sorcerer, Gnofulk the gnome barbarian, Rhogar the dragonborn fighter, Professor Thorntongue the elf cleric, Kyllar the human wizard and Whudyalookadah the gnome druid (yes, count ‘em, 8 players), found itself facing down a tall elven-looking stone golem, Zyn, and a pair of odd, pudgy four-legged beasts with tentacles ending in flowers, that apparently could exert some control over the party through aromas.

Shadowale wasn’t sure how they’d get out of this, for the archway that brought them here was still inert, showing not Sharn, from whence they came, but the raging storms surrounding this grass-covered platform and stony birdcage. However they escaped, there was a fight at hand now, and the halfling drew his blades, and charged in, slicing the pudgy beast on the party’s left, and is joined in his attack by Turnin, whose cool staff whirled ‘round, smacking the beast.

The elven stone golem was more attracted to the vibrant outline of Gnofulk from the Fey’s faerie fire spell than the interposing dragonborn fighter, and shaking off another intervening strike from Rhogar, clobbers the diminutive barbarian, who was grumpily sitting, a result of a run-in with one of the pudgy beasts.

Comfort, whose purple hair had fallen out on account of the wild and unpredictable magic flowing through her body, failed to catch her hairpins, and found herself facing down Zyn, murderer of her lover, separated from the party; alone and unarmed. Hearing the clamor behind her, and knowing Zyn was likely too strong for her, she twinned a magical attack, and threw it back to aid the party, and it arced between the pudgy beast and the stone golem on the party’s right flank. As lightning danced between the pudgy, flower-tentacle beast and the impassive stone golem, Gnofulk raged, and stood up to swing recklessly at the beast.

Zyn’s flaming bird blasts Comfort and babbling, Zyn cuts the tiefling down, showing her the imprudence of ignoring him, before retreating to the eastern side of the platform, healing as he passed through the tall grass…

Rhogar again attempts to draw the golem’s attention away from the bloodied gnome, striking again with a discerning eye at the golem’s knees, but the stone is just too sturdy.

On the left, the Professor continues to concentrate on her summoned spirits, and leaves them to assist Shadowale and Turnin, while running to protect Comfort’s fallen body. As the Professor approaches Comfort, the pudgy beasts make their move. The one on the right again lunges at Gnofulk, mauling the seething barbarian, and while the flower-ended tentacles slap at the barbarian, the  gnome is too enraged to fall victim to the aromas again. The one on the left, however, is done for. As the wounded beast rears back to strike at Turnin and Shadowale, Professor Thorntongue’s summoned spiritual guardians rip it to shreds with their spectral hands.

Their left flank free of danger, the wizard Kyllar turns to reinforce their battered right flank, tossing a firebolt at the second pudgy beast while Whudyalookadah calls forth lightning from the still-raging storm to zap it as well, and it explodes while the druid releases a word of healing to the winds to revive Comfort, who gasps, and rolls to her knees.

His patron’s support proving ineffective, Zyn implores the Fey to aid more – the party’s numbers are simply too great, and from some of the copses of sapling trees, tall plants begin to sway, with a four-pointed blue flower blooming at each of their stems. His scimitar gleaming in the lightning of the storm, Zyn snarls defiantly.

Plants? Shadowale doesn’t care, and neither does Turnin. With the pudgy beast torn to shreds at their feet the rogue cuts down the nearest one without issue, and then runs east, towards Zyn, while the monk dashes towards the golem, and with a deft hand smacks its stone form with an open hand.

The golem is caught off guard and unawares; it was focused too much on the barbarian and fighter. The monk’s smack echoes, even in the storm, and the golem finds ripping away vegetation through friction as the monk’s strike pushes back-

-and off the platform’s edge. Zyn shrieks in concern, trying to deny this rough turn of events, and in response, his patrons summon two more pudgy flower-tentacle beasts, who tumble into existence out of the tall grass on the western side of the platform, eyeing the party hungrily.

Revived, Comfort staggers to her feet, but she is too weak, and her spell against Zyn fizzles, though Gnofulk is able to get a few swings in against the drow. Zyn’s rebuttal is strong however, and upon taking the gnome’s strike, rebukes the gnome with a hellish curse before swinging savagely at the barbarian with his scimitar. Zyn’s familiar spits flames at the gnome, singling flesh. At the end of the onslaught, the gnome teeters, and it’s a wonder the storm’s wind didn’t knock him over.

Coming to the small one’s aid is Rhogar and Professor Thorntongue; the skilled fighter interposing himself in this fight and demanding the drow’s attention with skilled strikes while the cleric props up the gnome with a hand at his back, releasing healing magic into the stout but battered body.

The recently summoned pudges began to charge the party mob, but one was waylaid by the Professor’s spectral guardians, who were still watching the party’s back. The blue flowers, which had been tracking the party now struck. Sacks of air expanded in the stems, and then rapidly contracted, attempting to blast the party members nearest to them with tiny projectiles. Shadowale and Kyllar were both pierced by these little spitting plants, though fortunately the one aiming for the Professor choked, and exploded with a soft, leafy popping sound.

The wizard and druid sought to exert their control over the battle. The pudges weren’t an imminent threat yet, and Kyllar thought to keep it that way, releasing a large green fireball into their path. Both the beasts and the nearby tree were engulfed in green flames, and while the area smoldered, Whudyalookadah sent a healing word towards Gnofulk, and directed the lighting towards Zyn.

The party was bearing down on their former comrade, and Shadowale wanted in on the fun, popping up out of the grass to stealthily fire an arrow into the fray before dashing up into it. Turnin deftly flipped himself over the heads of the party to land behind Zyn, punctuating his “we-were-friends” utterings with smacks from his staff and fists and driving the drow to his knees.

Unable to get a clear shot, and being rather exposed (again), the tiefling Comfort crisped the pudge waylaid by the spirit guardians, and retreated towards the group for safety. Meanwhile Gnofulk swung his axe, gouging deep into the weak drow.

Summoning up the last of his reserves, Zyn screamed, refusing to give up. Surrounded, the drow’s anger fueled the horde-breaking skills once so highly valued by the party… when used against a seemingly endless stream of kobolds. Zyn willed himself upright, and swung, his blade a blur or speed, slicing into Rhogar, Shadowale and Gnofulk before stabbing behind himself and into Turnin.

Sensing the drow was getting weaker and more desperate, Rhogar attempted to end the fight, but struck Gnofulk instead, again sending the poor gnome dangerously teetering. With most of the party bloodied, Professor Thorntongue casts Mass Prayer of Healing, raining strength and determination among much of the party.

Kyllar, unleashes a powerful, boosted Magic Missile towards the exhausted drow, and half a dozen streaks pummel and pierce the wizard’s former comrade from multiple directions. One passes through Zyn’s familiar, while others worm their way around the party before boring deep into the drow. The final green-colored streak of magic drills into Zyn’s screaming mouth, illuminating the drow’s skull from within before exploring.

The now-headless Zyn topples lifelessly into the grass at the feet of the party.

As the party swiftly turns to face the impending beasts, they find that the pudges have disappeared. Looking around, they hear the deep grating voices of the Fey gods high above the party, speaking all at once, but to each other, and in unison no longer. <OUR AVATAR FALLS.> <ANOTHER WILL BE ELEVATED.> <THE TRESASSERS WILL NOT ESCAPE.>

The stone lips freeze – and a tense moment passes.  For a moment, nothing happens, then the feeling of vertigo returns, as the platform is felt to lurch, and despite a lack of visual aids, the stone birdcage seems to be falling.

Blinded by Rhogar’s claims of phat lewt, Kyllar greedily pats down the drow in search of magical treasure… but finds only Zyn’s magical scimitar, and Rhogar admits that he may have misspoke when informing the party of his contact’s summary of the murder of Aetum Bladeblossom… in fact, none of the elf swordsman’s belongings had been looted.

Kicking the grass angrily, Kyllar tosses the stupid scimitar away, and it is picked up by Gnofulk, wind still rushing by as the platform plummets.

With the departure of the Fey gods, the Fey Wild seems to be disappearing, and glimpses of Sharn flash among the clouds, but the glimpses seem almost super-imposed. They are still in the Fey Wild, and are unsure what will happen should the platform actually crash, or if any of their levitation or Feather Fall spells could really save them.

As the party looks around and tries to formulate a plan, Shadowale’s finger is poked while playing with his knives. He regards the ring pilfered by Naman Fireslinger, really for the first time since putting it on. A little enthralled by the beauty, he holds it up to regard it.

There is a single amber gem in the ring, with black and brown whorls, and the golden band appears to be golden antlers, wrapping around the halfling’s finger.

As he lifts the ring up, the flickers of Sharn hold longer, and urged on by the party, the rogue scampers into the center of the platform, and thrusts the ring up high, shouting to be noticed by the Fey gods, and imploring them for power.

Unfortunately, the gods have departed.

Fortunately, the ring flares, and the Archway that brought the party here snaps open, revealing Sharn. The party quickly hustles through the Archway, each lurching slightly while exiting the magical Fey Wild.

Still shouting for power, the halfling is soon alone; the party looking at him from the other side of the Archway.

Sensing the danger in remaining, the halfling, arm still stretched out as high above him as his little arm can get it, Shadowale shouts and dashes towards the archway.

As the ring passes over threshold, the portal snaps shut, and while the halfling makes it across safely, one of his two stealthy cloaks is not as lucky, and is torn in two by the portal’s closing.

The party collapses, exhausted onto the platform in front of the Fey Shrine in Sharn. Dawn is breaking, and the storm clouds are beginning to disburse. Exhausted, the party mob slinks towards rest, sanctuary and a momentary respite from their peril-filled lives.

Ebberron Adventure: Session Thirty

So there they were…

Word about them and their investigation of these grisly murders had been getting around. While the kobold manservant was sleeping off some nausea after eating far too many apples, his master, the human wizard Kyllar, the human monk Turnin, and the dragonborn fighter Rhogar sat, eating and drinking with Whudyalookadah, a black-haired gnomish druid and Professor Thorntongue, a tall lady elf cleric who was furiously taking notes. The two guests were the worse for wear, having availed themselves of the party’s tab as Turnin recounted what he remembered of the murders, hopefully bringing these newcomers up to speed and gaining new insights.

The monk outlined what the party learned (or thought they learned) throughout their investigations, while Professor Thorntongue filled page after page with notes. The party assumed it was one stealthy and strong person. The murderer killed a prostitute named Comfort, but wait, no, the party had made that up. The murderer killed a tiefling named Compassion; a harpy by ripping off her wings, probably like some crazed god of war; an assassin (which you may think would have been a suspect, but wasn't), and a few others. Each investigation is recounted, with Kyllar pausing from nursing his beverage to correct a point or two, while Rhogar kept a protective eye on the group.

As the monk is finishing his story, a sopping wet trio enters the hall, dripping all the way to the bar. Drapped in cloaks, Shadowale (or is it Falco Burrows today?) the halflling rogue bounds up to the bar, and orders several drinks; the gnome barbarian, Gnofulk, clan in actual pants and a giant squirrel-skull pauldron, and a mysterious mahogany-skinned tiefling clad in a wet dress, make their way directly to the party as the monk finishes, declaring that they have no idea who this murderer could be.

Gesturing the yet-dripping trio, Gnofulk declares that they totally solved this; the murderer was their old traveling companion, the secretive and unnerving drown known only as Zyn. Kyllar and Turnin are a little incredulous, and Professor Thorntongue casts Zone of Truth while turning to a new page in her notebook. Zyn’s identity is confirmed in between Shadowale’s second and third chugged beer.

The druid Whudyalookadah, intent on just ending the murderer and restoring a bit of balance to the world, grimly looks at his drink, a little too drunk to do much else at the moment. Rhogar, having never met the drow, is a bit confused, and a little concerned. His companions pal around with murderers? The rest of the party is quick to distance themselves from their old companion, explaining that the drow was one twisted dude… though all the face slashing makes… a little more sense now. Zyn only slashed giants though? Kyllar suggests that the still dripping trio recount the events of the last few hours.

Pulling up a chair, and adjusting her dress, the tiefling signals the bartender for a drink. Before she begins, she introduces herself. Her name is Comfort.

Whudyalookadah takes the news in stride, as does Professor Thorntongue… before flipping back a few pages in her notes. Kyllar, Rhogar and Turnin however are flabbergasted. Wait, wasn’t she killed? Oh, no, she wasn’t. The party had made that up. The tiefling fighter Compassion was killed. Apparently Comfort is not only a real tiefling but also not dead.

Comfort recounts her story, and what led her to the party.

She’s the madam of a certain “bath house” in Sharn, and was Compassion’s lover… prior to his demise. Her sources said the party was investigating the murders, and she also found out she had something that Falco Burrows over there wanted: information on Sandar Fancybrook, a name that strikes a chord with Turnin, though even scratching at his bandana, which is starting to fall over one eye, the monk cannot recall why.

So the tiefling teamed up with Shadowale and Gnofulk a few hours ago, and they went off into the drizzly evening to do some investigation on their own. Comfort had some thoughts on who might be murdered next, as the killer seemed to be targeting more and more competent criminals, and she knew of some of them.

The first two potential victims didn’t yield much actual information, though the third potential victim, a street-fighting druid did. The druid Krung usually meditated in a park when he wasn’t working, and despite the increasing rain, the party did find him there… eventually. With an eye roll, Comfort retells the excruciating 10 minutes spent standing in the rain while Gnofulk coaxed squirrels for information. Krung’s information was useful however, for he had seen this drow, moving in the night, prior to several of the murders.

The forth potential victim… turned out to be an actual victim. Naman Fireslinger, a wizard, and some guards were found dead, Zyn standing over them, accompanied by an odd bird engulfed in green flames. When Gnofulk charged, Zyn flung himself out of an open window into the rainy night, but not before magically whispering something to Falco over there.

Shadowale brushes off the whisper as unimportant. Zyn said something about leaving him to his work.. but the halfling things that that the party will need to take him out. The gnome druid Whudyalookadah nods in agreement.

Rhogar chimes in, informing the group of one more occurrence – another grisly murder, killed yesterday, This victim was a talented elf swordsmen named Aetum Bladeblossom, rumored to be involved with some smuggling. His body was battered, and while his sword had been drawn, he was run through the chest by a blade. Unfortunately his companions were already transporting him back to his island homeland of Aerenal by airship, but his face was also slashed up. Zyn has been busy, and Rhogar states that the elf was missing a number of potent magic items.

Kyllar argues for returning to Naman Fireslinger’s place to investigate, but is eventually overruled. They are investigating on the down low, and probably should be traipsing around a fresh murder scene. The party instead starts to make their way through the rain towards Tower 4 of the City Watch, to inform the authorities of the recent developments.

Gnofulk, still undaunted by the rain, leads the way. Even at midnight in the rain, Sharn is bustling, and the barbarian parts the crows for the rest of the party. Professor Thorntongue, Comfort and Whudyalookadah, travel in the barbarian’s wake, with Kyllar, Turnin and Rhogar behind them; the wizard and the fighter keeping tabs on the drunk cleric and druid. Shadowale just wants to stab something, and brings up the rear, sulking. Seriously guys, there are bad guys out there that need stabbin’!

As the party makes their way over one of the many bridges spanning two of the many towers in Sharn, the trailing halfling lets out a shout; he’s been stabbed!

The party members turn to see five humans with many blades drawn; one stabbing and stabbing at the party’s rogue, and two moving up on either side of the scuffle to prevent the party from intervening.

Kyllar is first to react to the ambush, and whirls about casting Thunderwave at the duo facing down his side of the bridge. As the duo is knocked back Professor Thorntongue marches past the wizard, and using Thaumaturgy, activates her “teacher voice,” booming about the moral implications of a sneak attack and chiding her enemies for being cowards –

-unfortunately, deafened a bit by Thunderwave, her enemies not only ignore her, but recover quickly, regaining their footing and charge the party. The Professor takes a retaliatory blow; Shadowale is again stabbed at; and a blade manages to connect with Rhogar.

Turnin rushes in, his cool staff whirling around and drawing the attacker’s attention away from the Professor while Whudyalookadah, staggers around the dragonborn, a little drunk despite the adrenaline spike, and a lot angry. Gesturing to the rainclouds, the druid calls for lighting; and receives in. The rainclouds turn into thunderheads, and fierce bolts split the sky, zapping dead the two luckless thugs before him; their charred remains sizzling as the rains cool them.

From her safe spot in the center of this mob of a group, Comfort looks to aid her new halfling friend, and releases a Witch Bolt towards the assailant, electrifying him with a sustained arc of lighting. As the assailant convulses, Gnofulk, a little perturbed by the ambush by not that angry about it, pivots and he and Rhogar turn to strike at the electrified thug, though both miss. Gnofulk is not himself when he is not angry, and Rhogar was more concerned with protecting and rallying the generally vulnerable sorcerer than in striking a killing blow.

Already all grievously wounded, the assailants do not survive another exchange of blows. Shadowale’s knives end two of them, and Turnin’s staff bonks the last one on the head, knocking him out cold. Not knowing what else to do, rope is eventually procured, and the remaining assailant tied up and thrown over Rhogar’s shoulder. The City Watch should know what to do.

As the bandit is lifted up, he is also patted down, and in addition to a few stray blades, a note is found, and snatched up by Turnin… but the monk can’t makes heads or tails of it. As they walk, the note is passed around, and soon Shadowale announces that it is in a House Tarkanan cypher. Shadowale translates that these goons were sent to kill him by Sandar Fancybrook, who is associated with the House. Turnin is quite skeptical that that is the note’s actual contents, and again wonders where he has heard that name before.

The party soon arrive in Tower 4. While cloaks were worn and umbrellas conjured, they are still wet; the storm loosed by Whudyalookadah magic is still growing in strength, with wind whipping raindrops almost sideways.

Ned, manning the front desk for Tower 4 tonight, recognizes that party, and waves them back towards the Madam Inquisitive – who is luckily working late tonight. The large group shuffles around the handful of Watchmen desks, and back into the Inquisitive’s assumed office. Professor Thorntongue stops to rips a Watchman a new one about these assailants while Rhogar deposits the still unconscious man with the unfortunate officer of the law. The rest of the party meets with the Madam Inquisitive, who still refuses to reveal her name, and brings her up to speed on the identity of the murderer.

The Madam Inquisitive is quite incredulous, and actually a little beside herself. Really? The party was in here not even a week ago on suspicion of committing these murders, and it is discovered that the party actually knows the murderer?

Whoa, whoa, whoa, knew the murderer, the party corrects her. It’s been months since we saw him. Besides, you were close to guessing the truth, right? Good hunch, Madam.

The Madam Inquisitive inquires that the party is going to do next. Kyllar again wants to backtrack and explore Fireslinger’s hideout himself, but is eventually dissuaded by Comfort, who psssts the wizard, and wiggles a scroll case at him – the hideout was already looted by the trio.

Either not noticing the interaction between these spell casters or choosing not to notice it, the conversation had moved onto more details about Zyn himself, and formulating a plan.

Upon learning that Zyn was both a drow and a ranger, the Madam Inquisitive asks if they have any clue where he might be. The party admits that they do not. Moving to a corner of her borrowed office and moving a few stacks of files, the Madam Inquisitive reveals a highly technical and large crystal ball embedded in a wooden cart of sorts – evidently a tool of her trade – and wheels it out in front of the party.

After some time, the Inquisitive is able to divine the approximate locations of drow nearby. The crystal ball shimmers, and the inside appears to undulate slightly, as if filled with glowing water. Small red blips begin to appear, diffusing slightly into the surrounding liquid inside. After some quick calculations, the Madam Inquisitive is able to determine that is a large spike near the University, but the Professor, having now joined in the discussion and taking copious notes, dismisses it. Morgrave University has an interest in exploring Xen-Drik, and there are several drow from the dark continent on staff.

Kyllar blinks, and realizes that this Professor Thorntongue was the same one that was helping the party investigate the orange-clad monks/presumed necromancers. Professor Thorntongue blinks, and realizes that oh, this is the party she was helping in the library only a week ago. What a small world…

The Madam Inquisitive guides the party’s attention back to the large crystal ball. Drow are rare in Sharn; such urban living doesn’t agree with their usual natural dispositions… but there does seem to be at least one other drow in Sharn, in the north east of the city. The Madam Inquisitive mentions there are a few parks up in that section of the city… including a generally abandoned shrine to the Fey. Perhaps Zyn the ranger found refuge in a more natural environment?

The party thinks that yeah, that’s totally believable.

In short order, it is decided to press on. The Crystal Ball’s information may not be accurate for long.  The party packs up, leaving their assailant from the bridge with the City Watch, and departs.

The storm rages in Sharn; wind howls and the walkways, despite the dark of night and the distortion from blankets of rain are made clear as day through the near constant flashes of lightning. Thunder makes it hard to hear, but Kyllar and Professor Thorntongue both know a little about the Fey, and attempt to impart their knowledge to the party; with Thorntongue’s “teacher voice” doing most of the work, and the party learns that the Fey are the embodiment of nature, hailing from a different plane of existence and obeying their own natural, if different laws.

The party cautiously walks up along an exterior walkway, and arrives at a large platform. With rain pouring down around them, they look at the tower, which is average and boring, save for the tall archway in front of them. It takes the form of two trees, whose branches intertwine at the apex, and the bark and branches appear almost gilded, for they reflect the light of each lightning bolt from the surrounding storm.

The party forms a semi-circle, peering into the shrine, which is probably more aptly described as a preserve or sanctuary, for they can see the ground covered with grass and vines inside. Finding himself somehow in front of the group, Turnin takes another step towards the door, and shouts inside at the darkness. The monk’s voice echoes inside, but he receives no reply. Turnin then pries a pebble from the stonework, and throws in into the darkness, and thinks he hears it smack against the wall –

-and then the monk is flailing and stumbling forward, kicked from behind by an impatient Shadowale. The party sees the monk pass the threshold, hears him hit the ground with a oof, but quickly the sound and sight of the monk fades away.

Shadowale then leaps through the archway, followed immediately by Whudyalookadah and Gnofulk. The rest of the party is bewildered at this recklessness, but decides that it’s all or nothing, and soon each has taken that step over the threshold into the Fey shrine.

As they cross over, each is momentarily stricken by a shiver or spasm; an involuntary action from their bodies exposed to swift and unexpected environmental change. Their brains race to catch up with their bodies as their eyes refocus, and attempt to reconcile their change in situation.

They are not indoors.

The “room” now resembles a large stone birdcage; exposed to a still-raging storm. They appear to be levitating, but how and at what height, they cannot discern. They are surrounded by the inky black thunderheads on all sides, and see none of Sharn’s familiar towers. They are alone.

As it was when they were peering into the shrine, the ground is still covered with tall grass, vines and bunches of flowers, though Gnofulk and Whudyalookadah have begun to sniffle and rub their eyes a bit, apparently allergic to Fey pollen.

There appear to be several pitfalls in the platform; holes to the clouds and then who knows where. Several large trees tower high above the party, high enough that their branches are difficult to discern, while copses of saplings sprout just high enough to obscure some views for party members. Lastly, several large, white stone mounds with inscriptions can be seen. While continuing to take notes, Professor Thorntongue mutters about “burial mounds” while trying to sketch the nearest one, despite the raindrops occasionally being blown onto the page and smearing her notes.

The party continues to look about, mouths agape, Gnofulk and and notices that the perimeter of the platform is marked by the tall stone columns, and that the columns at the cardinal directions have complicated carvings in them, including an ornamental knot whose loops hold several axes and a sword, as well as an elf-looking face – all in stone.

The lips move, and in deep voices the elven faces speak in unison: <TRESPASSERS AVATAR?>

Over the tall grass, the party spots Zyn; the question is directed at the drow, who is looking at the face on the northern column. The party’s former comrade has changed with time. He looks… savage. Gone are most fineries; most of his clothes have been replaces with dull armor, and while you see no trace of the usual adventurer’s pack, a number of blades appear tucked in straps, and the fiery green bird bobs around the drow’s shoulders, now anxious.

The large party mulls gently about, trying to get a good view of the entire platform and their murderous quarry, while Turnin and Kyllar shout questions at their former companion over the claps of thunder.

His speech littered with repetitions and broken by gasps and shrieks, it appears Zyn has perhaps gone a little mad.

Over the thunderous din, the party gains small insights about the drow, who seems to have been chosen by the Fey to kill the drow god Vulkoor, known as the Mocking Scorpion. But Zyn, Avatar of the Fey needed to grow stronger before this endeavor, and the drow found himself honing his skills in the urban hunting grounds of Sharn.

With each word uttered by the drow, Whudyalookadah regards the rest of the party with the contorted face of utter disbelief. What’s with all this talking? The druid knows when an unavoidable fight is just around the corner…

... which is apparently an insight from the laws of nature. The stone-faces of these fey elves attempt to keep their Avatar on track <AVATAR WE DO NOT ABIDE TRESPASSERS>

Also done with words is the tiefling, Comfort. Stepping in front of Kyllar and Turnin while Zyn is raving, magic quickly fills her empty hands, and she flings it her lover’s murderer, catching him in the shoulder, the tiefling’s wild magic smoldering against the drow’s dull armor.

Wounded so abruptly Zyn screams in pain, imploring the Fey to aid him, for the drow knows he is not strong enough to face the party alone. <GRUMBLE> voice the stone faces, again in unison.

The party, weapons rapidly appearing in hands, pause mid-draw. Did they just say grumble? Or did we mishear-

-but the party’s attention is swiftly drawn from idle thoughts to their immediate surroundings. The Fey wasted no time aiding their avatar.

Flowers begin to belch spores, which are carried swiftly by the wind. Kyllar and Gnofulk are unlucky enough to take the brunt of it and begin to glow faintly. "Faerie Fire!" the wizard warns.

Professor Thorntongue bites off a curse and shouts, pointing to the nearest inscribed mound, from which disconcerting slurping and sucking noises - like a boot stuck in mud - begin to emanate. With horror, the party sees a stone golem with an elven face emerge from the mound as if it were exiting water; errant stone-colored globules rolling off the golem's skin and blooping back into the mound.

And from the tall grass, two pudgy beings tumbled into existence, scampering on four limbs right up to the party. Their toothy maws snapped excitedly, while two tentacles undulated menacingly, their tips ending in fragrant pink and white plants. They and the stone golem mostly surrounded the party with their massive forms.

Shadowale turned, and found the archway that brought the party here useless - instead of seeing Sharn on the other side of the threshold, the halfling saw nothing but the storm. Having readied his bow, he turned and shot at the face on the southern column, the one both nearest to and behind the party. The shot flew true, and ricochetted off a stone eye. The archway remained inert.

Turnin decided to follow Comfort's lead, and from the party's left flank, prepared to dash at Zyn... but one of the pudgy beasts slapped Turnin with a tentacle as he attempted to race past. The aroma of the flower overwhelmed the monk's senses, and he stopped in his tracks, compelled by the beast to <stay>. Unable to move forward, Turnin muttered "you literally asked for this," pivoted, and swung his cool staff, clobbering the beast, and then landed several blows, knocking the odd thing prone.

Charging into the rough right flank of the party, the stone golem's fists connected with Whudyalookadah, battering and bloodying the small gnome, and butting the massive stone brute within striking distance of the most of the party. They were starting to get boxed in....

Comfort, near the center of the party, was free for the moment, and moved out to near the center of the platform, singing Zyn with a lighting bolt. As the bolt arced across the drow's armor, Comfort's purple hair poofed and disbursed; a casualty of her wild magic. With the static discharges on the armor quickly fading, Gnofulk flew into a rage, throwing himself at the stone golem in an attempt to save his fellow gnome, Whudyalookadah the druid.

Parts still smoking, Zyn hooted and began running. Passing through the grasses, the drow ceased smoking, and appeared to be reinvigorated the further he traveled. While his green flaming bird blasted magic at Turnin and missed, the drow charged Comfort, his blades cutting deep, though Zyn was Hellishly Rebuked for his attack, engulfed momentarily in flames yet again.

Rhogar joined Gnofulk in reinforcing the party's right flank. They could not let themselves be boxed in. He swings, chipping away a few stone flakes from the golem's leg, and momentarily drawing the golem's attention from the gnome. It will be seen if the golem if compelled to attack the fighter, or be drawn to the still-glowing outline of the spore-afflicted gnome....

Professor Thorntongue attempts to hold the line, and casts Spirit Guardians, instructing the spirits to take the form of Fey beings in the hopes of confusing the party's attackers. As she finishes reciting the spell, shimmering specters looking like impossibly thin elves rise from the tall grasses, moving languidly around the party.

The pudgy beasts on the left is assailed by the spirits summoned by the professor, but eventually is able to stand, preparing itself for another barrage of monk attacks.

The one of the right, as yet uninjured, joins the stone golem attacks, and rakes its front claws into Gnofulk while slapping him with a flowered tentacle, which compells the gnome to <sit>. Seething more than perhaps ever before, the gnome plops himself down into the foliage, to the dismay of the dragonborn who came to aid him.

Fearing the worst to their right, Kyllar attempts to cast Shatter against the golem, but it results in more noise than damage, and only a few stone pebbles are knocked loose.

Whudyalookadah isn't sure about his chances on the right either. and decides to retreat; if he can keep conscious, perhaps he can be of actual help elsewhere. As he turns the run, the golem takes another swipe at him... swatting the druid with massive stone hands, and encouraging the druid to be elsewhere. Scampering towards the crowded and shrinking center of the party near Kyllar, Whudyalookadah casts a spell to heal himself a a bit, but is still quite injured. The druid accompanied the party to put this murdering fiend in the ground... but Whudyalookadah isn't so sure anymore that that's how this fight is going to end...

Eberron Adventure: Twenty-Ninth Session

So there they were…

Two of them, anyways. Shadowale the halfling rogue and Gnofulk the gnome barbarian sat, drinking silently together at House Ghallanda as both dusk and rain arrived in Sharn, the City of Towers.

Turnin, the human monk, was out following up on the party’s investments. Since the only ones the party has heard of so far has turned out to be arms dealer peddling actual dead limbs… this is probably wise. Rhogar, the dragonborn fighter, was following up with his city watch contacts, trying to figure out how and why the Daask loosed the chimera on the city. Kyllar, the human wizard accompanied by his kobold manservant, Kaz, were being rewarded with some lessons in artifice  by the chimera’s owner, an old human wizard named Winnifred who was utterly convinced that Kyllar was the one with the foresight to save her expensive “thoroughbred” chimera, which served as her mount and pet, despite overwhelming evidence and testimony that all Kyllar did in the fight was hide under a bridge. Wizards.

So the shortstack duo sit together in one of House Ghallanda many bars, drinking, and musing silently about how they lost the chance to ride a chimera, and about these murders…

A few drinks in, and the barbarian is no worse for wear, and actually feeling pretty invigorated. But the rogue, drinking drinks roughly the size of him, is starting to feel it a little.

The duo is approached by a apparently unarmed, 5’6” lady tiefling, with graceful ram horns, mahagony skin, and purple hair held together in a loose bun with some long, slim hair pins. She first addresses Shadowale, but addresses him as Falco Burrows, and the halfling is a bit confused at being addressed by his fake/real/alias/streetname.

Shadowale says he left his wallet and gold pouch in his other clothes. Gnofulk, astonishingly has some coin, and is able to buy the lady a drink, as is proper. And they discuss business.

This tiefling, whose name happened to be Comfort, and who had significantly exaggerated reports of her death circulating in Sharn, had some things on her mind. She is the madam of a …. Bath house in Sharn, named Bathomet’s Bath House, and has gleaned some information.

However… this is not the place to discuss it. House Ghallanda is known for is hospitality and its discreetness… but Comfort would rather discuss these matters in private. Plus, the halfling needs some sobering up, and the two of them could use some cleaning up. Even if the barbarian is wearing pants… he is a little grimy and wearing a skull pauldron… The trio finish their drinks, and leave Ghallanda Hall, walking out into the drizzle.

They and make their way across the sky-spanning bridges and partially covered, winding avenues around and through towers to make it to Bathomet’s Bath House, which appears to take up most of an entire level in one of the towers at this height.

The Bath House is warm and resplendent, particularly in contrast to the wind and rain outside. The party is greeted with smiles, and those not otherwise… entertaining, gracefully line up, displaying a wide feature of figures and species. They look on expectantly.

Shadowale and Gnofulk each get an assistant to help them clean up; Shadowale choosing the tallest, most slender, most flaxen hair, while Gnofulk gestures non-discriminately to ladies on the shorter end of the spectrum, and is soon joined by a red-headed dwarf.

Comfort retreats to her private quarters, while the two get cleaned up, with Gnofulk requesting a good rustic cleaning, and Shadowale dropping hints for *coughlotsofbubblescough* and *coughcoughlavenderpleasecough*. The two soon emerge smelling respectively of pine and lavender, and join Comfort in her quarters after redressing in quickly magically-laundered clothes, and rearming themselves.

The trio sit at a low table, with a tiny magical fire in the stones beneath, and a blanket between the table’s frame and top. Nice and cozy. Tea is served, and the trio gets into discussing business. Comfort has indeed learned some things.

The first is that Compassion, her lover was dead: slain brutally by some unknown murderer.

The second, is that the party had been rumored to be peeking around and investigating these murders. Comfort is in the market for some sweet, sweet vengeance, which is why she has sought them out.

Third, she has heard that Falco Burrows, aka Shadowale, has been looking for someone in Sharn – someone who happens to visit her establishment on occasion. He’s an pompus, fair-skilled elf, and… a bit of a dandy. He’s let it slip that he’s closely involved with House Tarkanan. And his name is Sandar Fancybrook.

Fourth, given that she has her finger on the pulse of the underworld, she’s noticed a trend that most others have missed related to the murders. Yes, they all appear to have been criminals… but their competency is a clue. The earliest disappearances (so… presumed killings) were nobodies. Small timers. As time goes on, the victims get more and more competent, be they killers, extortionists or lookouts. Comfort has compiled a list of some nearby potential future victims, based on their competency, a list that includes herself.

Comfort would like to corner and question Sandar, since an elf who is involved with assassinations and House Tarkanan might have insight, or even be pulling some strings. Shadowale suggests they skip the questions and they go right to knifing him. …the plan is put on hold however, when they realize that while Sandar has visited Bathomet’s Bath House before… they don’t know where the elf is at this moment, and the still-tipsy Shadowale wrings his little gloved hands in frustration as alternative plans are discussed...

Could these potential victims be brought here? Probably not, reasons Gnofulk. All the other victims have been stalked, and killed while they have been alone. Plus, the logistics of bringing everyone here? And putting the bath house at risk?

What about the tried-and-true bait method? Comfort may be a potential target… she could saunter around with the two short ones watching nearby… maybe? Though without armor… that seems a little too risky.

Uh, well, what about talking to the potential victims on the list? "Ta-taaaaaaaalk?" The word tumbles awkwardly from the halfling’s mouth. Talk? Well, it’s not knifing Sandar, or knifing anyone really, but the halfling still agrees to talk to these potential victims. Maybe more can be learned.

Finishing their tea, the trio again depart into the night and the rain, which is coming down harder. An umbrella is procured by Shadowale, but snatched up by Comfort, who doesn’t fancy being stuck in the ribs by umbrella arms. The holds the umbrella, herding her short companions a bit like ducklings.

Declaring that he wants another drink to stave off this chilly rain, Shadowale declares that they should check in on the pair of tieflings that tend to spent their time at the Naked Dwarf – a bar in Greyflood that the party has visited before.

It’s not too far away. Again, the trio walk, winding their way through and around towers, and over to the shady docks of Grayflood. They pass the familiar shipping companies and shops visited by the duo previously, and soon come to the Naked Dwarf.

The place, and Grayflood itself, has changed. Dock workers hustle quickly back and forth in the rain, coming from shift change or from bar hopping; the previous quiet terror apparently forgotten and replaced again with work and revelry, even in the rain.

The Naked Dwarf mirrors these changes. Where before it was the again widow and owner behind the bar with a few other staff afraid to go home at night... now, it is a vibrant bustling place. The staff are working; the owner is nowhere to be seen; and the place is a bit tumultuous.

The trio soon spot the tieflings of their search; Whisper, the woman and more rougish of the two is playing five finger fillet with the hand of her companion, Redoubt, whose other hand seems to be nervously moving between the hilt of his sword and the strap holding his shield to his back.

Drinker extraordinaire, Shadowale deduces what they are swilling, and the trio saunters up to the par to order a round for themselves and the tieflings. Hopping up on a bar stool, Gnofulk attempts to pay... but has seemingly run out of funds, and his pouch only contains a few bent coppers, some nuts, one fine looking leaf and a few pebbles. Comfort foots the bill, and they approach the tiefling pair.

Being a little more sociable than her counterparts, Comfort cordially introduces herself, Shadowale and Gnofulk, offers the drinks, and asks for a seat. Gnofulk is perplexed. Why did Comfort introduce themselves? Don't all tieflings just know one another?

Talk turns to the murders. Whisper is unconcerned. She views the people killed so far as rank amateurs. Her and her man can take care of themselves. The did know the harpy, Olethene though.She was good. Worked a few smash-and-grab jobs with her as lookout... but the rest? The rest were noobs. When pressed, the duo, again with Whisper-as-spokeswoman, brushes away knowledge of anyone having it out for the two of them. Sure, they've made a few professional enemies, but work is work.

The party seems to collectively sign, but Comfort catches a glimpse of the taciturn Redoubt, who is gripping his empty drink and has clearly-visable help me eyes, though the halfling and gnome were to focused on their drinks to notice. . 

The party stands to say bid their farewells, and Redoubt also rises, ostensibly to get another round of drinks for Whisper and himself. He takes a few steps to escort the party out, and with Whisper playing with knives again, he quickly confesses to the party that he's spooked. Of the two, he usually defends; she gets to round around all stabby; it's his job to worry and plan. He echoes Whisper's points that they don't know of anyone who would do this, nor anyone who would target them... but they's why there are here in the bar. Surrounded by people. They group reaches the bar, and Redoubt wishes the party luck.

The trio again step out into the rain. A bit dissatisfied with their lack of progress so far, the party takes Redoubt's worries to heart, and opt to pay a visit to Krung, an orc druid who tends to sit, rain or shine, in a nearby park... when he's not shape-shifted and being paid to shake down and threaten people with maulings.

The park sits atop a nearby tower, and the party, forced to traverse a winding exterior tower path to enter the tower, it good and soaked when they arrive. The park is large, but full. It's walls covered in ivy, and a handful of trees and numerous bushes have taken root, creating a sense of denseness and solitude in the bustling city. It seems like it would be rather pleasant, were it not raining heavily.

Comfort is shivering a bit under her umbrella now, and Shadowale has all but disappeared into his cloaks. Glad to be back in the closest to the wilds he had been in a while, Gnofulk breathed deep, and produced one of the nuts from his money pouch, and began to chitter and wander around... a little aimlessly. After a few moments, a noble squirrel is coaxed from his hiding spot among the foliage, and after circling around and up a tree, emerges on one of the boughs, which begins to droop languidly down towards the gnome.

The gnome and squirrel chitter back and forth, and the nut is handed over to the noble little rodent, who heartily munches while the two chat in the rain. Gnofulk learns that the squirrel is named Kim, and that there totally is a druid in the park; he's literally on the other side of these hedge-like bushes behind you.

Shadowale and Comfort, rather damp at this point, are less than amused at the 10 minutes wasted on attracting the squirrel and having this conversation, but Gnofulk is rather pleased with himself for still having these rather rustic communication skills, and he informs the party with a smile the the druid is just around this hedge here-

And as the party rounds the corner, the druid, dressed in scraps of fur greets them with his back turned. As the orc turns to face the party he shrugs and smirks, stating that he smelled them coming, even hindered by the rain. Gnofulk and Shadowale sniff themselves and despite the rain and the damp, and find they do still give off hints of pine and lavender. They nod to each other and give a little shrug. The druid is good I guess.

Gnofulk and Krung seem perfectly fine in the rain, but Shadowale and Comfort are eager to be indoors, and the trio jumps right in to discussing the murders. Krung is philosophic, and unimpressed. Someone strong is hunting, and the weak are falling; it is the way of things, even in the city. Sharn can be a brutal city, and these events are hardly extraordinary to those familiar with violence.

While it was assumed that one person is doing these killings, the party thinks this is the first time someone other than themselves has expressly stated it, and press the orc on it. Krung admits that he has seen the alleged killer, and thinks that even if he would come after the druid… the druid knows the way of prey and predator, and believes he could evade the killer – a keen nose gives plenty of warning. The party continues to press, and Krung tells them that the killer is a male drow, with simple, dark armor. The orc had seen the killer from a distance twice near the murder scenes prior to the murders.

Gnofulk scratches his little beard. He knew a drow once. The gnome whispers to Shadowale, wondering if the murderer could be their old adventuring companion Zyn. Shadowale rolls his eyes at the thought. C’mon Gnofulk, that’s offensive. There is more than one drow on the continent.

Krung waves them away, and Comfort and Shadowale are ready to be indoors. It’s still raining, but they are already soaked to the bone. One more stop won’t hurt anything. Again, they trudge through rain, taking brief refuge under awning or interior tower boulevards as they make their way to the small headquarters of Naman Fireslinger, a strong wizard with a flare for flames, who was rumored to be whipping a small band of thugs up into fighting form.

Fortunately, the wizard’s little headquarters is indoors, and the entrance is just off an interior boulevard of a tower. Unfortunately, as the trio drips their way down the interior boulevard and into the little alcove… they find the door broken, and swaying open. There are wet marks in the tiny hallway leading up to the broken door, but the trio is unable to determine if they were footprints, or coming, or going, or both… there’s just too many drips.

Readying his axe, Gnofulk crashes down the door the rest of the way, followed by Shadowale and his knives, and Comfort in the rear. They practically trip over a dead guard with a halberd laying nearby, and are faced with doors to their front and left, and they quickly turn to their right, to see into a conference room of sorts, with a large table, some bodies, some small fires still burning themselves out in the stone room, and plenty of scorch marks. An open window is at the far end of the room, a drow breathing heavily and rising up nearby.

Shadowale receives a magical whispered message, and the drow implores his tiny murderous brother-in-arms to leave him be and to let him work.

Shadowale takes a step towards the drow, but stops as the message is received. “Do I know you?” he whispers back.

And in fact, he does. Gnofulk’s idle stereotyping proved correct – this is in fact Zyn, the former party member with a penchant for face slashing, though the drow appears to have moved on from “ogres” to “everyone” on his naughty list.

The drow seems different though… more focused… more…. savage. His bow has been neglected, and is nowhere to be seen. Several longer blades (scimitars or short swords) are tucked in sheathes about his person, which is clad primarily with well-worn armor. Most of the superfluous clothes, like shirts, have been discarded.

While Shadowale was momentarily halted by Zyn’s message, Gnofulk was not, and the barbarian has bounded up atop the smoldering table, and is charging at the drow.

Fumbling for a potion, Zyn backpedals in surprise and jumps out the window, and the Gnome is able to catch a glimpse of their former comrade falling slowly into the dark night before being obscured by and lost in the rain.

The Gnome decides not to jump out, and the trio survey the room, finding that the last of the fires are smoldering themselves out on the stone floor, and also that they apparently interrupted Zyn, because all these faces look intact.

Naman Fireslinger is slouched on the floor near the head of the table, his robes both singed and soaked in blood. A quick search reveals some mundane weapons and a ring, and the trio swiftly pockets the latter.

Three thugs are dead around the long conference table as well, daggers and swords drawn but unbloodied, their throats and belies opened by a few vicious cuts. The halberd-holding thug by the door makes a 4^th dead thug. Add in the dead flame-chucking wizard, and the trio deduces that Zyn has uh… gotten pretty good at this killing thing.

As the trio goes to leave, they remember the other rooms in this little apartment, and throw open the door to the room opposite the front door. They find that it appears to be Fireslinger’s room. There’s a bed, a desk, a little drawer of clothes. The trio find and pocket a small case of scrolls, and perusing over the unburned papers in this room, learn that they were just figuring out some future smaller-time schemes – nothing groundbreaking or worthwhile.

The other room is a shared bedroom for the thugs. Two bunk beds, and a dresser sit in the room, and some mundane looking knives and weapons are propped in the corners.

The party decides to beat feet before someone else comes looking – they don’t know how loud Zyn was in dispatching these folks… Watching their back, they quickly melt into the night. They have the identity of the murderer. Now they need a plan… and some dry clothes.