So there they were…
Bloodied, in nothing but their smallclothes, and locked dark in cells. Gnofulk the gnome barbarian, Turnin the human monk, Comfort the tiefling sorcerer, and Shadowale (aka Falco Burrows, aka Shadowale), the halfling rogue wondered what they did to get here. They all recalled Gnofulk massaging a very old dwarf, and Comfort sneaking them through a front company known as “Legitimate Drinking Establishment,” and then down into the lair of Sandar Fancybrook, leader of a murderous cell of House Tarkanan, a conglomerate of violent thieves, assassins and those aberrant dragonmarks.
They recalled interesting-looking candelabra as they entered, failing some attempts at being sneaky, and a fight with lots of magic and fire, and then finally the appearance of Sandar Fancybrook, roused from his quarters by the din.
At this point, their memories became hazy. Each vaguely remembered bits a droning and villainous speech and parts of a fight of some sort. Since they awoke in cells…. The group assumes they lost.
Hours have passed for sure. Probably days. Possibly, a week or more.
The group has been tortured, and Comfort has ratted out the old dwarf Ivar, the receiver of the worst massage ever, and the one who gave the party the means (the key to the Treasury Vault) to rob this cell blind and betray House Tarkanan in the hopes splitting the loot with the group and retiring comfortably. In all likelihood, the dwarf does not have long to live. It is not wise to betray assassins.
So there they were. Alone in the dark.
Each individual cell has walls of smooth stone; and a seemingly enchanted window that functioned as a door. Sound is muffled, and magic nullified. The party has sworn it has heard growls coming from the darkness, and it is to this muffled noise that they each awaken.
The growls abruptly stop, and yellow light spills into the room from the left, the source bobbing around and glinting off the instruments of torture and the hooks and horrid restraints dangling from the ceiling. A trio of masked torturers, dressed in House Tarkanan’s black-and-red come into view; a woman holding the orb, a tall and skinny man with a knife and a key, and a short and burly man with massive muscles.
They approach Comfort’s cell, but before it can open, the growls return, and the party can see portal-like ripples of magic, and fur. The torturer’s knife slashes, and the woman casts magical fire. The party, blinded by their abrasive bright lights can only squint, watching some beastial thing (or is it things) magically teleport. The beasts are driven back, but the last torturer falls too.
Moments pass; their eyes struggling to readjust to the darkness.
In turn, the cells of Comfort, Shadowale and Gnofulk are opened. Finally, Turnin hears the key turn, and his cell door swing open, but alas, as a human in the darkness, the poor monk cannot see his rescuers.
After a tense moment, the monk tentatively asks "hello?" And the rest of the group, with only a little hesitation, replies that it is them. They are free, and though the exact process is baffling, the gnome, halfling and tiefling thank the thing that unlocked them; a blue wingless imp, who is covered with purple bruises.
Shadowale asks the blue imp a question, and she tilts her head in the universal sign of incomprehension. Fortunately, Comfort speaks Infernal, and rephrases it. Turnin is still blind and confused.
The imp is known as Tiny. She relates to Comfort that she was accidentally freed in the scuffle, and points to a box, slightly bigger than her and made from the same enchanted glass. It lies broken on the floor; knocked off a small counter.
The imp conjures a small flame above her head for the benefit of Turnin, and seeing the imp, thanks her as well.
Through Comfort, the party learns that the growls, portals and blurs of fur were Blink Dogs. The imp thinks the Dogs came for the group – demons like her don't usually get along with dogs, so they wouldn’t have come for her. Still… they accidentally freed her… so they can’t be all bad. With a little encouragement, Tiny concedes that she a "better-than-average familiar," and was unfortunately caught trying to spy on House Tarkan for her master, about whom she refuses to speak.
The group wastes no time comparing notes on what they remember about the speech or the fight or anything else. They’re freed, but in a bad spot, their only weapon a solidary dagger pilfered from the corpse of one of the torturers, and held by Gnofulk.
The room has no means of illumination. Opposite the four cells is a dark passageway on the left, which, after a cursorary look, the party believes to be the end of a secret way into the room, and tables and racks of torture devices on the right, separated by the counter from which Tiny’s cage fell. To the left of their cells is a small nook with a few steps leading to a door, which looks mostly like the wall… a flimsy attempt at camouflage.
Comfort asks the imp to run and get help, but she gives them all a look. She’d rather exact a little revenge. She can’t fly, but she’s got a few tricks up her sleeves, and can turn invisible, albeit with a lot of effort.
Shadowale listens at the flimsy camouflaged door, and hears someone shuffling papers. The party asks the imp to leave via the secret passage, circle around, and scout the room. The Imp agrees, extinguishes her conjured flames, and sets out. A few grunts of effort are heard, followed by a whisper that the secret door is too heavy for her to move alone.
The group immediately abandons that plan, and Shadowale opts to stealthily open the flimsily camouflaged door, and have the imp scout the room directly. Tiny, still invisible, is released into the room, and after a few tense moments, appears back in the room, gesturing Shadowale to close the door.
The blue imp informs Comfort that there is one male drow in the room ahead, armed with knives, and looking over stacks of paper and some boxes.
Knives the drow may have, but he still sounds like a nerdy paper pusher. The party psyches up for battle.
Again the door opens, and Gnofulk attempts to creep out. The drow, picking at a fingernail with a knife turns asking if the torturers are done alrea—and the Gnome flies into a rage at being found out. The Gnome strikes with paramount accuracy at the drow, and after a few stabs with the dagger, the aberrant dragonmark on the drow’s arm begins to glow, and is soon surrounded by two-dimensional dagger silhouettes glowing with a pink menace. When the barbarian stabs again once of the flat magical blades interposes itself, mitigating some of the gnome’s strike before shattering and dissolving.
As the gnome angrily takes a step back, preparing for a long fight, the monk bounds up into the fight, and grapples the drow like whoa, and the unfortunate office worker is dragged back into the dark room of torture and thrown into a cell. Tiny locks the door.
Turnin did not disarm the drow, and although trapped, the drow stands defiantly in the cell, blade drawn and still surrounded by pink magical dagger silhouettes.
While deciding what to do, a soft *pssst* Tiny draws the group back into the room, and she points to the boxes. Sticking out of one of them is a squirrel skull pauldron. It’s the party’s clothes! As they slip into dresses and put on robes and armor, the group sees numerous shelves in the room with what appear to be personnel files. Comfort tries to find Sandar Fancybrook, and finds a little snippet, learning that he specializes as an Arcane Trickster, and was a “halfling recruiter” prior to taking over this cell recently.
Shadowale and Turnin both then think to look up Falco Burrows… but the halfling is quicker, and triumphantly pulls his file from the stack, and sits, pouring over the notes someone else has made about his life.
Properly clothed, curiosity wins out over a sense of urgency, and the group launches themselves into the filing cabinets.
Turnin finds an entry for Brenda Halim, the Mover of Pieces, written by Sandar Fancybrook. The dandy was infuriated at being detained by this upstart cleric after setting the recruitment of Falco Burrows in motion, and while he was able to shake off her task, he wanted revenge. He was pleasantly surprised to find she has since disappeared, and considered the matter closed.
Comfort finds a file on Ujix the Despoiler, a lich apparently residing in the City of the Dead and forested hills northeast of Sharn. House Tarkan doesn’t know what the lich is up to… and they don’t like not knowing.
Gnofulk finds an entry for a mindflayer pirate known as Skirge. Apparently he and Sandar had some kind of fashion disagreement, and Sandar wants revenge if ever the pirate is found.
Comfort finds an entry for Feral Fawcett, with House Tarkanan lamenting the trouble she is causing. She has actually organized the Daask gangsters in Sharn towards some yet-unknown goal, and the uncertainty is agonizing to the House, who seeks to maintain and exploit the status quo balance of power.
Turnin finds the final entry, for Sandar’s boss… a beholder referred to only as Boss. Sandar thinks Boss is somewhere in or around Sharn… and that if he can kill Boss, he can take over control of House Tarkanan entirely.
Shadowale exhales slowly, having finished reading his personal file. Slowly realizing the boon his companions have been to him, he passes his file around, letting them each read it in turn.
kShadowale had just only recently shared with this group about his quest for revenge for the murder of his wife Mirabella by Sandar Fancybrook, and his redoubled efforts to find the half-elf murderer since arriving in Sharn. Reading the file, the party learns that House Tarkan often recruits halflings this way. Halflings like to drink. Cause them some misery… and the drinking turns into something they can exploit. Exploit this enough… and the House can point their inebriated murder machine at a target, and have it eliminated with no real ties to the House. Additionally, the drinking likely means the halfling operative is caught and disposed of by the guards or authorities…
Sandar had started the process of “recruiting” Falco and turning him into a disposable killing machine by murdering Mirabella. Falco turned broody, adopting the name Shadowale. However, Sandar had to hand off further involvement as he was promoted within the House. The replacement handler, a dwarf woman, was waiting for Falco on the electric rail heading towards Sharn… but was unfortunately killed when the warforged terrorists attacked the train.
House Tarkanan’s would-be-disposable assassin was allowed to roam free.
While the drinking continued, Shadowale was protected by the presence of the party. House Tarkanan tried to loose Shadowale at Steve Carlsburg von Brighthammer Jr. alone… but the party tagged along, and the halfling not only beat the paladin, but survived.
House Tarkanan doesn’t like what they don’t know and what they cannot control. They decided Shadowale could not be brought into the fold, nor controlled at arms distance, and they decided to rid themselves of the halfling, and failed. And now… Shadowale had located Sandar, with a reckoning close at hand.
Tiny taps her foot impatiently as the party passes around Shadowale’s file. Then then all rise to their feet. They have some “revengening” to do.
There are door other doors leading from HR, both shut. One leading into a hallway, and one into the next office space. Gnofulk attempts to listen into the other office, but cups the wrong ear and hears nothing. Turnin then does the same, and both the barbarian and the monk confidently declare that there could not possibly be anything in the next room.
They throw open the door, and find the room already illuminated.
Fortunately, they recall that the lights are always on most of the lair, due to the reflective ceilings and band of enchanted masonry giving off light. There is no one in this room.
Four desks sit here, with ledgers upon them, and the group realizes that this is the accounting room. In addition to the mundane entrances, before them stands a glowing, gilded door: the door to the cell’s Treasury. They greedily pat their pockets, looking for the key given to them by Ivar. They do not find it… apparently House Tarkanan either recognized their own key from the start, or followed up once Comfort blabbed about Ivar’s involvement. The jerks.
The group had taken the HR files with them, and Tiny asks Comfort to read them (because spying, whispers the blue imp) and the tiefling hands the files over. While rearranging the accounting ledgers to that they are woefully disorganized, Gnofolk sees the hand-off and wonders if the imp does know common, and was just messing with them.
Despite not having the key, Shadowale can’t help by try the vault door.
eeeeeeeeeerrrrrrrrrrrRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
The halfling discovers that the door had an alarm.
EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
Still unarmed, the party panics. They quickly decide to run into the next office.
They are greeted by an angry and bewildered female dwarf dressed in plate armor.
Fortunately, the party spies their weapons, laid out on a desk. Unfortunately, that dwarf is standing next to it, and seeing the party unarmed, attempts to protect the stash. She pulls out a wand, and releases a barrage of Magic Missiles against Shadowale, who is the first into the room. As the rod crumbles, it’s magic spent, she draws a mace, which becomes wreathed in flames.
Shaking off the hit, Shadowale runs around the room, locking the door leading to this office from the hallway, and then running over to quickly survey the next room. He is, unfortunately, still unarmed.
The next room is large; two roughly spherical rooms littered with traps, obstacles, and small wands similar to the one that just blasted him, all poised and ready to be triggered. It is a… dangerous room.
EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
As Shadowale finishes his surveying, and positions himself behind the dwarf but a safe distance away, the monk rushes forward, asking nicely for the groups weapons. The dwarf refuses, and Turnin slips through her defenses, surprising her with a few punches, and knocking her Ki off balance. The topples to the ground, her shield smacking the desk as she hits the ground and sending Turnin’s cool staff flipping into the air.
As the monk reaches out, and continues to spin the quarterstaff around around his limbs and person, Gnofulk spies his axe laying regally on the desk. He rushes in, and hops onto the desk to grab his axe before leaping off to land some vicious blows to bloody the prone dwarf.
Seeing the dwarf launch himself off the table, Comfor t rushes up, and blasts the dwarf in the face with a poisonous spray.
Bloodied and overwhelmed, the dwarf tosses aside her mace, and the fire dissipates. She surrenders.
EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
Having taken a break from perusing the files, Tiny giggles. This group is pretty good. As weapons are reclaimed, Turnin chastises the dwarf for making them do this the part way, and then demands she turn off the alarm. The dwarf spits out blood, and says she can’t. She works in the armory, and has no idea how to turn off the alarm in the Treasury. She refuses to open the door to the proper armory as well.
The group panics, and decided to flee with Tiny in tow.
They run into a large hallway behind the Grand Hall, which is littered with trophies. Pelts of scale, hide, flesh and fur adorn the floor, and the walls are covered with magically mounted skulls, bobbing next to expository plaques like moored ships. The party quickly try to traverse the hall to reach Sandar’s private chambers, but… things catch there eyes.
Comfort spies a fabulous necklace cascading with jewels on a stand behind a cube of glass; it’s multitude of jewels shifting color in waves. She slides to a halt behind the plaque that reads :Mortuary Jewels of Royal Aerenal, punches the glass, but only cracks it. Turnin see her however, and swings wildly, breaking the glass and freeing the necklace, which is quickly snatched by the tiefling.
DAAAAAAAAHHHH DAAAAAAAAHHHH DAAAAAAAAHHHH DAAAAAAAAHHHH DAAAAAAAAHHHH
EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
A throbbing alarm joins in with the alarm from the Treasury.
Gnofulk beholds a massive squirrel skull in the hall, and can only grin at the name “Twiggens” on the plaque below before continuing on.
Shadowale skids to a halt inform of a huge skull labeled “Larelith, Gold Dragon.” The skull is laid out in a kind of double profile (like shark jaws), a mess of bones floating in the center skull from the presumed killing blow. Leaning closer, the halfling considers if he could hide here… and discovers that the wall behind the dragon skull is an illusion.
The rogue sticks his hand through and sees it disappear, and then summons his companions back. They pile in to this secret passage.
A wild stairway appears, and they begin to walk up. As they approach the top, they are confronted by a roaming head with four protruding eye stalks. As it beholds the party, it shrieks a string of incomprehensible babble interspersed with utterings of “fancybrookfancybrook.”
Shadowale, first in line, is blasted, with the eye stalks unleashing a blast of necrotic damage and then paralyzing the poor halfling.
Turnin sees the rogue teeter but remain standing on the steps, and then the monk advances, swinging his staff and beating the Spectator repeatedly about the head. It would be more impressive is the Spectator was made of less head, but still, the monk is able to stun the guardian.
Gnofulk
Comfort
Giggling at the amount of fun she’s having, Tiny scampers up the steps, and jumps up to eye level before letting rip with a Firebolt to the Spectator’s eye, burning keep into the floating skull which collapses lifeless to the group.
DAAAAAAAAHHHH DAAAAAAAAHHHH DAAAAAAAAHHHH DAAAAAAAAHHHH DAAAAAAAAHHHH
EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
The party explores this secret passage. Up on the left is a small nook with dials overlooking the dangerous training room. Up ahead is another locked door, which Shadowale deduces to be magically alarmed as well, though more of a silent alarm than the ones already triggered. To their right are a few steps leading down to what the group thinks is the personal quarters of Sandar Fancybrook.
As they make ready to enter the personal quarters, they realize that Tiny the imp is not in tow, and they hear tiny exertions. The party takes a few steps back and facepalms as tiny tries (unsuccessfully) to work the door to this secret room.
Gnofulk tries to force the door, and on the second attempt, it buckles, revealing a small room similar to a broom closet – cramped and with a few shelves. The gnome grabs a few pouches and throws them back to the party – they are filled with gems. He tosses a tome back at them, and Turnin sees the cover embossed with a flame, and the words “Property of Naman Fireslinger” written in the cover – it’s the slain wizard’s missing spellbook. Lastly, the gnome discovers some leather armor, with a few things left untied, would fit him adequately, and starts squirming into the armor.
DAAAAAAAAHHHH DAAAAAAAAHHHH DAAAAAAAAHHHH DAAAAAAAAHHHH DAAAAAAAAHHHH
EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
In they go. The secret door is thrown open, and the party spill into Sandar Fancybrook’s private quarters.
He’s uh… not there.
They spill into a small study; the secret door concealed by a book case. Beyond that is a bedroom and dresser.. a bathroom, and a kind of lounge by the entryway. A painting of a slim, hairless Sandar Fancybrook reclining on a bear skin hangs alluringly by a hooded fireplace. Conceivably, were there no fire, one could scurry through the fireplace into the library beyond.
Shadowale cannot believe that Sandar Fancybrook isn’t here, and starts looking for an ambush. Books are pulled from shelves and candelabras ripped from walls, but no additional secret passages are found. The halfling then grasps the alluring painting, and gives it a tug. No safe is revealed; the painting only swings off the nail and crashes to the floor.
Shadowale extinguishes the fire with his magic ring of Fey Fire, and discovers that this could be a kind of secret entrance; the fire appeared larger than it was though magic, and passing through (even with the flame) would not be too injurious.
DAAAAAAAAHHHH DAAAAAAAAHHHH DAAAAAAAAHHHH DAAAAAAAAHHHH DAAAAAAAAHHHH
EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
The group exits through the main doors to the private quarters as Tiny shreds the painting on principal with her claws. It’s a gross painting.
At a loss since their target didn’t stay in one reliable place, the party peers down the long hall or rooms, and then decides to slink over into this library.
House Tarkanan has amassed quite a collection, chronicling old histories, ideas and even religions. A particular section of books catches Turnin’s critical eye, and he picks out a nice, small orange tome with the title “The Wizened.” That should come in handy, once the monk has time to peruse it.
DAAAAAAAAHHHH DAAAAAAAAHHHH DAAAAAAAAHHHH DAAAAAAAAHHHH DAAAAAAAAHHHH
EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
As the monk pockets the work, the alarms suddenly switch off, and an uneasy silence engulfs the party.
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