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...