Eberron Adventure: Thirty-Third Session

So there they were….

Napping. As the storm disbursed and was replaced with a radiant dawn, the mob of a party found themselves shuffling back towards Ghallanda Hall after their vicious fight with Zyn, former party member, and former Avatar of the Fey (now deceased). Well known in this establishment, the party trudge in, shaking off the damp of the storm, and collapse into plush, comfy chairs and couches in one of the Hall’s many common rooms, and spend the next day lounging around and recuperating; snacking occasionally and sleeping deep and often.

Turnin the human monk, Shadowale the halfling rogue, Gnofulk the gnome barbarian and Comfort the Tiefling sorceress, were all dozing near one another, sunk deep into the cushions of the comfy furniture. They were awoken by prods and the insistent whispers of a gangly, pimply, half-elf boy, who was urging Madam Comfort to awaken and return to her bath house… things were in motion, related to…. Sandar Fancybrook.

With a snort, Turnin wakes up and is on his feet. He recognizes that name! A name from Brenda’s journal from the very beginning of the adventure, all the way back in Fal-Narah… a name that has caused many inquisitive whispers of “Rogue?” into the darkness. Sandar Fancybrook, the rogue who abandoned his party, and caused the downfall of the warforged Bulwark and the dragonborn paladin Sorai all those sessions ago, providing a good parable about the perils of splitting the party... he wants in on whatever this is.

Comfort arises, placing her slim stiletto knives in her newly regrown purple hair, and is joined by a content Gnofulk and a murderous-looking Shadowale.

The group quickly gathers their things and prepare to depart, grabbing some biscuits to go, and leaving the other half of their party mob behind in Ghallanda Hall to focus on whatever has diverted their attention away from this cool adventure.

At the bidding of Comfort, the pimply half-elf boy rapidly shares the situation with the group (rather than just her), and as the group and boy make their away along the sky bridges and winding tower paths, the little half-elf relates that it’s not Sandar Fancybrook at the bath house... but it is related. Sandar’s alleged accountant is in the bath house… and the old dwarf may know things! So, per Comfort’s instructions, the bath house workers are stalling a bit while the accountant soaks, and this elf-boy, Timit, was sent to try and find Comfort.

It’s still quite morning out when the party arrives at Bathomet’s Bath House, entering discretely through a back door. As the group enters the workers regard their Madam with a mix of relief and concern. The tiefling is quite disheveled, but looks like a weight has been lifted from her mind. They update her that the dwarf – Ivar – still has about a half hour before his massage from a nice strong man is scheduled.

The party decides to retire to the third floor, to Comfort’s private chambers. Turnin is eager to find Sandar, but is curious to know why the rest of the group is interested.

Comfort admits that she’s not quite sure either. She heard Shadowale was looking for Sandar, and is fulfilling her end of a bargain by helping. She had assumed Sandar Fancybrook, with his alleged ties to a house of assassins, might have known something or have even been behind those grisly murders… but that is obviously not the case now.

Grimly, Shadowale twists his hand, summoning a perfect cube of billowing fire within. Everyone sit down. It’s story time. Beverages are brought over as the halfling begins his tale around the conjured bonfire.

Tossing back his hood, Shadowale admits that that was not always his moniker. He was once Falco Burrows. He was also once married. Mirabella was her name; a fellow halfling thief. They stole the hearts of each other, and lived well. They robbed from the rich, kept most of it, and cool sweet parties. But one day, while attempting to rob some poofy-looking jerk, she was killed. The mysterious, murdering stranger taunted Falco and then disappeared. Falco did not know the man’s name, but got a good look and tried to vow revenge.

Falco trained, but also descended into drinking. Well, more drinking. Halflings have good parties after all… but this drinking was the more somber, self-destructive side. Drunk, Shadowale fell in with the party, and while friendship and adventure helped, the halfling was still stricken by grief, and still driven by revenge. He will see Sandar Fancybrook die.

…and with Shadowale’s secrets now aired out, the party is completely on board and ready to hatch a plan in order to reach this jerk.

The group decides to lie in wait in one of the massage rooms, which has wispy silks languidly draped from the ceiling and running down the walls. The unsavory aspects of Gnofulk’s barbarian-ness is disguised, while the desirable ones enhances with oils, and he and Comfort wait by the massage table, while Shadowale and Turnin hide, standing still on either side of the door.

The old dwarf Ivar waddles in wrapped in a towel and still wet from his soak. Turnin is able to discern that the old accountant has a small dragonmark on his left shoulder, though the monk does not know to which House the mark represents, while Comfort and Gnofulk notice a small key dangling from a chain around the dwarf’s neck.

Ivar is happy to see a man like Gnofulk, but a bit puzzled by Comfort’s presence. Is something wrong?

Comfort tries several tracts… each one unfortunately largely unsuccessful in eliciting information. The sorceress knows that Ivar works for Sandar, and Sandar owes her money. While old Ivar, in his exposed state agrees on his business relationship with Sandar, he, as the accountant, promises to make amends on Sandar’s behalf. Ivar also eventually admits that there is a “bit of a back room” at the Legitimate Drinking Establishment, a bar in a building where Sandar, Ivar, and their associates do most of their business. If Comfort really wants to find Sandar… she should ask for him there to get the message worming toward the right people.

Comfort thanks Ivar for his candor and leaves the room, shutting the door behind her, realizing a little too late that the Legitimate Drinking Establishment… like, there has to more to it with a name like that, right? She waits by the door.

Rid of the woman, Ivar grins at the disguised Gnofulk, eager to get to the massage. The dwarf plops himself face down onto the table with a deep sign of anticipation.

The gnome is perplexed. After caressing the dwarf as one would a pet, the dwarf is losing patience, and tells the gnome he can lay into him. Trying to oblige, Gnofulk scampers up onto the massage bed, and begins walking on the dwarf’s back. Gnofulk is eventually pushed off and away; the old dwarf quite dissatisfied. As he flips himself over-

-he sees Shadowale, playing with a knife, and Turnin murmuring prayers and focusing intently on the ceiling of the room. Gnofulk makes a grab for the dwarf, but the old man is able to evade the clutches of the gnome, and retreats, trying to avoid being surrounded.

Turnin steps in front of the door, blocking the exit, and while they are soon rejoined by Comfort, gaining critical knowledge about anything proceeds at a glacial pace.

The party fails dreadfully to either persuade or intimidate the old accountant into giving up much information at all, and eventually Gnofulk makes a play for the key, tugging at it forcefully, though not quite forcefully enough to break the chain; instead yanking the dwarf near and head-butting him. The party again tries to coerce the dwarf into giving up the key, but to no avail. He pleads with them to leave the key alone – Sandar will likely kill him if he loses possession of it. Eventually the dwarf deduces that the party means to do more than just talk with Sandar… and a deal of sorts is cut.

The accountant hands over the key to Turnin, and states that it is the key is to the Treasury, where Sandar, Ivar and their associates keep the illicitly-gained cash, gems, deeds and small treasures accumulated and acquired by the group. For half the cash and gems there – and Ivar knows this amount to the copper – Ivar will hand over the key, and tell the party what it needs to know to make their way into Sandar’s little hideout. The party can make their play against Sandar Fancybrook and raid the Treasury while the dwarf gets a real massage here at the bath house under close watch. If all goes well, the party completes their dealings with Sandar, and the dwarf gets the cash he needs to flee Sharn, possibly even retire in some modicum of luxury… and everyone is happy.

The party agrees to the terms, and gets down to planning.

Sandar is based out of the lowest parts of the Dura Plateau; the roughest parts of a rough district. The Legitimate Drinking Establishment, while a place people can drink, was established as a front. There are two ways into the establishment: the server’s back door (usually guarded by an orc) and the main entrance (usually guarded by a minotaur). In the storage room of the Legitimate Drinking Establishment, there is a somewhat hidden door. The password is “Swordfish” – speak it to the guard… and you should get in no problem.

As for the Treasury… when you walk in to Sandar’s little hideout, there will be a Grand Hall in front of you. Head down the hallway on the left; take the second door you see (just ignore all the other rooms you may happen across), and right in front of you should be the Treasury, a glowing, magical door.

As for Sandar Fancybrook… he has a private residence down there, in the south east of the complex. You can’t miss it if you stick to the mail hallways. Simply take the easternmost door (again, just ignore everything else) you can find… and that’s his residence.

What about the other rooms? Or any other people possibly down there? Bah, whatever. The party has what the info they need to find the Treasury and Sandar, and they prepare to depart, leaving Ivar in the comfortable luxury of the staff at Bathomet’s Bath House.

It’s been a busy morning so far, and after a hike down into the lowest parts of Lower Dura, the group spots the Legitimate Drinking Establishment, arriving on the scene a bit before lunchtime. Two young, incredibly drunk halflings stagger out of the bar wrapped in dark cloaks, and a tall elf in an equally dark cloak attempts to herd them away.

The group opts to just walk right up, but as they approach, the minotaur, massive axe nearby, raises a hand to stop them, stating that they are “at capacity.” The party moves to object, and soon Turnin recognizes this game. He displays a few coins for the minotaur, who concedes that he does have room for them after all, and holds the door open for the party.

As they enter the main room of the Legitimate Drinking Establishment, Comfort is accosted by the serving girl, another tiefling, who thanks the sorceress for finally showing up, and announces that she is going on break. She adds, while leaving, that Gnofulk, Shadowale and Turnin can sit wherever they would like.

Shadowale murmurs that they should “just go with it.” And the party minus Comfort is soon sitting around, surveying the room while the tiefling heads back to the kitchen to procure the drinks. Behind the ubiquitous chase doors to the kitchen, Comfort finds a warforged chef, wearing the nametag “Chef” and a poofy baker’s hat prepping food and drinks with machine-like efficiency.  While he doesn’t recognize Comfort, he recognizes her competence, and thanks her for filling in before sending her out with the party’s order, and a special drink for the wizard.

The trio of dudes has effectively reconnoitered the Establishment. It is most definitely not at capacity. In the southeast is a wizard, just obliterated, swaying back and forth in his chair. In the southwest corner, a dragonborn and lady dwarf are making eyes at one another, and at the northern most table, a tough-looking satyr is making eyes at Comfort as she returns to the group after delivering the drink to the wizard.

In hushed tones, she informs them that there is a warforged chef in the kitchen, and the orc should still be at the back entrance…. But with a diversion, they should be able to sneak around and into the storage room… and then down into Sandar’s lair, but they’ll need a distraction.

Shadowale recuses himself to the bathroom, while Turnin attempts to work the room. The monk first approaches the wizard, and first masterfully convinces Thembar that he is a great wizard… and the wizard looks up from his drink agreeing with the monk. Turnin then tries to convince Thembar that the dragonborn and dwarf lady were saying just awful things about him… but fails. The wizard hiccups and declares that life is too short for grudges, and his intention is to live and let live, just before taking a huge guzzle from his mug.

The monk leaves in disgust.

Making her serving rounds, Comfort approaches the satyr, who declines a drink but infers that there is something else the tiefling can do for him… and pats his lap. She’ll… be right back.

Turnin then approaches the starry-eyed couple, and whispers conspiratorially that he thinks the wizard over there is going to burn the place down any second. As they look over, the wizard hiccups again… and then passes out. Turnin quickly amends his assertion, adding right after this nap. Magical flames take a lot out of you, right?

Comfort approaches Turnin and the apologizes to the dragonborn and dwarf for this patrons behavior and pulls the monk back towards the group, telling him to sit still for a minute. Shadowale returns from the bathroom, declaring there wasn’t anything worth burning – not that that’s what he was trying to do or anything.

While Turnin laments the inconceivable failings of his plans, and Gnofulk and Shadowale do what they do in locations like these (drink), Comfort sets about some real subterfuge.

Comfort whispers to the satyr to meet her in the ladies room in 5 minutes…. And the drunk satyr immediately scampers off. She then enters the kitchen, telling Chef to start cooking all the meats – a huge throng of people just walked in and man are they hungry! The warfroged almost seems to gulp at the news and impending pressure, but readies his station and begins to work.

With the satyr gone, the wizard unconscious, and the dragonborn and dwarf with eyes only for each other… the party is almost ready to go. Chef is busy, but moving from counter to grill to counter. Despite a small protest, Comfort casts Ensmallen on the monk, and the party hustles through the kitchen and into the storage room without being seen. As the chase doors flop shut, Chef calls after Comfort to bring him some onions when she has a minute.

The sorceress agrees, putting Chef at ease, but the party instead sets about finding this door… after a quick moment, they realize one of the shelving units is on wheels, and push it out of the way, revealing a dirty door with no knob but two shut slots; one at roughly Comfort’s eye level; another roughly at Shadowale’s.

The tiny trio tries to hide just out of sight as Comfort knocks high and the top slot opens. A green face and beady eyes fill it, and a gruff voice asks for the password, and Comfort replies with a sonorous “Swordfish.”

The door swings in, and Comfort leads the way, followed by Shadowale, Gnofulk and a still Ensmalled Turnin. The armored orc had moved to close the door behind Comfort, but stopped, surprised at the little parade, and readied his large axe while demanding to know what was going on.

Shadowale, Gnofulk and Turnin all quickly parrot “Swordfish!” … and the troglodyte orc can’t find anything wrong with anything. They do know the password after all. Proud of a job well done, the orc puffs out his broad, armored chest and waves them all on and down into the hideout.

The party marches down the hall and down a little into the earth as Turnin returns to normal size. The find themselves in a bit on an square anteroom, facing two large doors. The ceilings are quite tall – nearly 10 feet, and are both curved and polished. A few feet from the top of the wall is a band of enchanted masonry running around the room, tossing light up towards the ceiling, which is then reflected downward.

A pair of dragon-looking chandeliers is hung at head high against the wall, the serpentine holders cradeling two large candles. They seem a bit unnecessary, but Turnin thinks they add a nice ambiance to the place. A quick second glance from the monk confirms that they look quite nice.

Gnofulk cautiously approaches the door, and tries to listen for any clue of what might be beyond. The gnome hears indistinct, echoed muttering, and the group elects Shadowale to go investigate. Greasing the large doors a bit, the halfling squeezes out, and cautiously approaches the big room while hiding behind the towering pillars.

The rogue peeks in. The room is huge; 20-30 fee high. In the distance, he sees a towering statue, and is able to make out the large Lord Tarkanan inscription holding a mace and a shield embossed with House Tarkanan’s coat of arms – a Beholder.

This… makes some sense to Shadowale. While House Tarkanan is now a house assassins, he recalls that it started out under Lord Tarkanan as a bid to become the 13^th official Dragonmarked House in Eberron, and home to those with the Aberrant Dragonmark…. Before the other Houses united against Tarkanan in the War of the Mark over 1500 years ago, which resulted in House Tarkanan broken into these tiny cells and driven in the shadows. If Sandar Fancybrook is indeed part of the House, that may complicate things.

Besides the statue, Shadowale is able to deduce the source of the noise heard by Gnofulk. The room has several buckets, and half a dozen large banners laid across the floor. Near the statue is a masked wizard (facing near the entrance to the hideout), mumbling and humming to himself while he conducts an angular golem with bulbous joints glowing purple and blue. Shadowale deduces that the golem is painting things on one of the banners; delicate work requiring the direct control of the wizard.

Shadowale slinks back to the anteroom and reports back. The party thinks that with a little luck, they can sidestep the wizard, and with a lot more luck, make their way quickly down to Sandar’s private rooms undetected. The party moves back to the center pillar, and then Shadowale creeps off to the left, ready to wave party members on or half them behind the pillars as needed.

Comfort is the first to join the halfling, but even with his coaching, movement catches the eye of the wizard, and his head snaps up, and he thinks he sees the something disappear around a corner. After a moment, he gestures, sending the golem off to investigate…

Gnofulk presses his tiny frame abound the center pillar, and Turnin decides to return to the anteroom, and investigate those wall chandeliers again, shutting the doors behind him with a soft thud.

Hearing the implacable footfalls of the approaching golem, Shadowale and Comfort scamper into the nearest room, looking for a place to hide. The room is dominated by a huge table, very brightly illuminated by the focusing ceiling above, and surrounded by over a dozen chairs. The pair dive under the foot of the table.

While Gnofulk is deciding whether to go for the golem or the wizard… he realizes the rapid retreat of Comfort and Shadowale has drawn the attention of another person. The golem is interposed between the gnome and this new person, but the barbarian’s keen eyes catch more than a glimpse of metal. The golem and plate-clad figure stalk into the room, and Gnofulk moves back towards the main entrance.

Comfort and Shadowale see two sets of legs enter; the legs of the golem on their right, and legs clad in plate to their left, walking slowly… slowly in time along the table. They hear the soft rasp of a blade and a series of clicks and whirrs. In concert the figures drop. A dark-haired woman is brandishing a glowing sword at Comfort, and the golem has dropped into a squat, arms outstretched, and palms open wide. Shadowale notices a pinprick of light down the wrist-barrels….

Comfort berates Shadowale and they fake looking for an ill-defined object, but the woman isn’t buying it. She gestures with her sword, and demands to know why there are sneaking about. Shadowale professes that he is a member of House Tarkanan, and the woman demands to see his mark.

The table is tall enough that Shadowale doesn’t need to crouch, only hunch a bit. He stalls for time patting down his pockets – when he realizes that she is demanding they show her a Dragonmark. The wheels in Shadowale’s head turn. While he has done work for House Tarkanan… he always felt he was kept a little… out of the loop. He has been working for House Tarkanan... right? The halfling knows he doesn't have a dragonmark, and also knows that he is in a spot of trouble currently...

The woman orders the golem to attack, and from its wrists, a stream of Magic Missiles emerges, streaking into both Shadowale and Comfort. While the tiefling points an accusing finger and wraps the golem in monentary flames, the construct impassively fires again; more streaks of magic tearing into the duo and bloodying Comfort.

Shadowale sprints towards the head of the table, and runs around the corner, entering the Grand Hall from the southeast entrance. The wizard franticly tries to get the golem to react, but is too slow. Shadowale readies an arrow and his bow as he runs, and as he turns the corner, lets it fly… and it flies true, grievously wounding the wizard.

Seeing the halfling bolt and assuming the tiefling will do the same, the dark-haired fighter readies her sword and shield; preparing to run her prey down. But Comfort is unarmored and too quick, and flees, dashing back towards the main entrance to the hideout, the fighter at her heels but unable to catch her.

Gnofulk, hearing the sizzles of Magic Missile, and the screams of the wizard, and the clattering of the fighter’s armor chasing after Comfort, pounds twice on the door to summon the monk before running into the Grand Hall. Gnome procures one of the enchanted knives that slew Duran Punchitfixit, and flings it underhand at the wizard, speaking the command “Kill,” before continuing with the motion, reaching back, and then launching a javelin at him as well.

Turnin, hearing the summons of the gnome, kicks open the door, and as he races to join the fight. As he darts into the Grand Hall on the heels of Gnofulk, the monk sees Comfort sprinting madly back into the hallway. As he passes the gnome and runs toward the wizard, he sees Gnofulk’s magical blade spin and dash, cutting the wizard as it zips through the air, passing through the flesh and then hovering a few feet away, reading itself for another pass. He also sees Gnofulk’s javelin bury itself in the guts of the wizard. Beholding all that has gone down in the past minute, Turnin adamantly asks just what in the hell is going on here.

Face obscured by the mask, the wizard gestures to the javelin in his guts and the arrow in his neck, and echoes Turnin’s question. The conversation continues with the monk continuing to jog towards the wizard, and swinging at his dumb masked face with his cool staff.

The swing misses, and Turnin follows up with a flurry of uppercuts, juggling the masked wizard into the air with his fists.

Ribs crack with each blow, and the robes of the wizard open, revealing a dragonmark of scribbles over his chest, which glows blindingly bright as the wizard loses consciousness. The dragonmark radiates out and along the wizard, cracking his skin and turning it grey-

-and then the stony skin explodes, shredding his robes as chunks are propelled across the room.

Amazingly, Turnin is unharmed.

The force of propelling the flaky stone skin also breaks it, and Shadowale continues his run, though a cloud of rocky dust towards Gnofulk and that southern pillar.

Comfort skidded to a halt by Gnofulk, and was preparing to turn and release a spell against the fighter chasing her. The fighter rounds the corner, quickly finds herself facing far more than just the tiefling.

Her armor is somewhat incomplete – and a dragonmark can be seen in place of her missing gorget, which flashes a menacing red as she shouts in defiance, raising her glowing sword up instead of slashing with it, and a booming fireball emerges from her person, engulfing Comfort, Gnofulk and Shadowale in momentary flames.

As the flames buffet her person, Comfort releases her spell against her pursuer; and massive lightning bolt cuts through the flames, electrifying not only the fighter, but the space behind her as well, reaching all the way down the hall and into a room, igniting something inside.

Angered by being singed, Gnouflk flies into a rage as the flames disburse, and charges, hacking at the fighter, and he is quickly joined by Turnin, swinging his cool staff and Shadowale, who misses with his knives.

The fighter is still standing tall, but knows she is outnumbered. Her dragonmark shines a little less brightly, and with a swing of her glowing sword she disengages, fleeing back into the room with the table, and the party moves to give chase.

As they enter the room, they see the golem, an angular mess on the floor and no longer glowing.

They also see a man standing near the head of the table, dressed in an expensive if garish outfit. With a soft laugh to himself, he gestures to halfling, saying “Ahhh, Falco. You’ve come.”