Eberron Adventure: Session Forty-One

So there they were…

…with rumblings in their tummies. The party descended upon one of the common rooms in Ghallanda Hall, where the warforged known as Chef, with a few added plates of armor around his midsection, and recent hanger-on of the party, was serving up a taco bar with carnitas!

One of the party, the halfling rogue known as Shadowale, but sometimes also known as Falco, had arrived early, and was working through gods know what number of plate and drink, but was unusually, almost eerily happy. He explained his changed demeanor due to a vacation, but whether that was true or not remains a mystery – no one in the party pressed him on it, or asked if the happiness was really owed to sweet, sweet revenge.

Regardless, everyone’s favorite rogue seemed to be a changed halfling, and greeted the rest of the party warmly as they entered. Soon, Shadowale the halfling rogue, along with Kyllar the human wizard, Comfort the tiefling sorceress, Gnofulk the gnome barbarian, Turnin the human monk and Rhogar the dragonborn fighter were chowing down at a fantasy taco bar.

Between bites, Turnin scratched his headband of intellect, and remembered that Chef, the warforged cook, was a warforged, and that the party had recently been having suspicions about a mysterious group of warforged from the Cogs…

The monk produces his broach from this mysterious group, and presents it to Chef, and asks what he knows about the group… or warforged in general. There wasn’t any warforged out in the monastery where Turnin was growing up.

Chef relates to the party how devastating the Last War was – 100 years of brutal conflict all over the continent. The warforged were created, imbued with skills and sentience and sent out to fight. The War ended in the mysterious cataclysm known as the Day of Mourning, a devastating magical blast that turned an entire nation into a dead and deserted wasteland, and an armistice called. The forges operated by House Cannith were turned off… and the warforged were left unemployed.

The warforged people were left to fend for themselves. Some, like Chef embraced work, and continued serving others. Some, like the thugs from the train, turned to banditry. Some, like Bulwark, turned to more ethical adventuring. No matter what they chose to do after the War, questions revolving around existence, purpose, and the meaning of life have plagued the warforged.

Some groups of individual warforged have banded together, creating differing philosophies to answer these questions. The group to which the broach belongs is one of those groups, and while their philosophy is unknown to non-members, their name has been whispered around Sharn….

The Perpetual Legion.

That…. That doesn’t sound like a friendly name.

The discussion turns to the foundry, and the party asks if any new warforged are being created. Alas, no. The secrets of giving the warforged constructs consciousness and agency are trade secrets of House Cannith, and actually part of the treaty ending the war forbids anyone from creating more warforged.

The party eventually turns to discussing what they want to do next, go after Gofer, root around for more information on the Perpetual Legion… but is interrupted by Chef, who informs the party that the Legion has left town. With more coaxing from Comfort, and a little “encouragement” from Rhogar, Chef is able to recall the recent rumor that the Perpetual Legion had boarded a decommissioned train and departed along an abandoned electric rail line into the Mournland.

Should the party wish to follow the Perpetual Legion into the wasteland, they will likely need to follow the electric rail line now known as the Ghost Train.

Swallowing the last of the carnitas, the party all agrees that that sounds like a legit adventure –

-And also a lot of work. They’ve got a potential Beholder beneath Sharn; a Lich wandering the woods; a medusa to fight; a race to win; and a false god to kill in Xen-Drik. Let’s back-burner this Perpetual Legion business for a few weeks, eh?

Kyllar reminds the party that they should visit Asmund and Blume, the paladins belonging to the Order of the Wayward Blades. The wizard notes that at the request of this tiny Order, the party had investigated the massacre of the Daask, and uncovered the meddling of the Wizened and the framing of the Daask. The holy duo would probably want to hear of the demise of the Wizened.

The party exits Ghallanda Hall, and traverses the City of Towers, winding around the spires, and down into a cluster of honeycombed apartments. Kyllar knocks, and Blume, the old white-haired elf answers in a silver tunic and sword at his hip. The elf welcomes them inside, and gestures for them to sit on pillows in the common room. The Order of the Wayward Blades is usually itinerant; this apartment is serving as a temporary living space and chapel for Blume and his mentee, Asmund, who appears to be out at the moment.

Kyllar soon delves into business, and brings Blume up to speed: the Wizened is dead. …but that’s about all the party knows. They were “unable” to question him. It’s not like talking is a free action or anything. Blume chides the party a bit, reminding them of their part in the failed Crusade, where they refused to take Blume’s “stand down” orders as part of the paladin’s plan to stop it… the party’s refusal to take and distribute the orders led to a good number of unnecessary deaths of Silver Flame soldiers, who zealously fought in the streets to the last man. Blume knows the big picture isn’t foremost in the minds of adventurers. So long as they learned something though, Blume is forgiving – his Order exists to help others learn from the mistakes of others.

The party and Blume talk, trying to piece together more of the big puzzle.

The party expands a bit on the Legion in the Cogs, and Blume sits up a little straighter, and asks if the party remembers their early run in with Blume and then the Daask when the party was first poking around the Cogs. The party does.

Asmund was sent by Blume to investigate the Cogs, as Blume, as a result of his paladin training, had felt an evil presence there. All involved had assumed that it was the vicious Daask the elf sensed… but even after the failed crusade, that sense of foreboding pressed on the mind of the elf. Suddenly, a few days ago, the weight lifted… departed almost. Blume had sent Asmund down to investigate… but apparently the party has solved that little mystery for the old paladin.

The Perpetual Legion packed up and left the Cogs a few days ago, and left for the Mournland.

Blume notes that the creation of life (new warforged) isn’t necessarily evil though – it must be other actions and motivations of the group that triggered his paladin senses.

The group try to view the big picture again.

The Wizened and the Perpetual Legion were in cahoots to some extent; working with a combination of zombies and new warforged bodies.

The Wizened and his zombies in disguise massacred the Silver Flame clerics and framed the Daask. Steven Carlsburg von Brighthammer Jr. responded in the Silver Flames usual, zealous and retributive way, and while the crusade failed, they managed to clear out the Daask from around the warforged foundry-

The dragonborn fighter Rhogar interrupts. What about the armory vault in the cleric’s chapel from the investigation of the massacre? It was locked; and only holy magic could unlock it. Did the Wizened take the loot? He’s no cleric…

Blume admits that the holy armaments are still missing, but doesn’t think the Wizened would have taken them. As far as Blume can recall, Steve was jonesing for a chance to prove himself in battle for as long as the elf can remember. The Daask had always been a threat. Steve probably acquired the armaments himself in preparation, and the massacre was simply the spark hitting the tinderbox. Steve was suplexed off the dam into lava. There’s no way to know for sure, but if Blume was a betting man, the holy armaments are slag at the bottom of the lava river in the Cogs.

Kyllar again curses at the party’s chance at phat lewt, despite having neither a cleric nor a paladin in the party.

The discussion again returns to the bigger picture, with Turnin scratching his headband of intellect again. The monk’s eyes go wide as he drops a surprisingly nuanced take on the situation.

The crusade benefitted the Wizened and the Perpetual Legion, who were working together. While the crusade failed, it did rid the Wizened and the Perpetual Legion of the nearby Daask, and the fallout from it preserved the secrecy of what they were working on, namely zombies and warforged, until just recently.

The party still thinks it best to learn more before charging into the Mournland, though when the party is ready to do so, Blume will likely send Asmund with them. The elf is getting too old for serious adventuring, but the young goliath paladin would probably be useful to the party.

Talk turns to Blume and the Silver Flame. The elf is glad to be replaced – the Silver Flame is too zealous for him. While their goal of resisting, fighting, and eradicating evil is commendable, their “ends justify the means” world view is too much for the old elf. He is much happier leading and mentoring his little Order.

Day-to-day affairs have already been transitioned over to Blume’s replacement; a human known as Reginald the Redeemer. As far as Silver Flame leaders and preachers go, Blume thinks his replacement is more thoughtful and considerate that most, but it is still the Silver Flame. Reginald would think longer than most, but would still not hesitate to burn down a village and all its inhabitants to end the life of one monster.

The official ceremony – officially handing off duties and reopening and rededicating the chapel post-massacre – was delayed due to the shattering of an ornate piece of stained glass down near the docks in Greyflood…

Blume also has a bit of general advice to impart to the party. The Silver Flame has arranged for two of their most zealous champions to keep a watchful eye on the ceremony, known as Censers, so named for their holy, magical war mauls, with hollow areas to burn incense.

During the Last War, the Silver Flame sent out a number of missionaries into the barbarous, nomadic tribes of the hulking peoples known as goliaths. Blume found Asmund, and tempered the lad’s strength with patience and wisdom. Many other tribesfolk were not so lucky. These two twins in particular were really enamored with the retributive and violent tendencies of the Silver Flame, and quickly became two of the religions most effective – albeit ruthless - Censers. They would probably not get along with the party too well, and with the Silver Flame being a dominant religion… crossing them would likely get the party in serious hot water, if not killed. So yeah, best to avoid them, if at all possible.

Kyllar stopped listening at magical war mauls, and the wizard winks at Blume as the party moves to depart. Suuuure. The party totally won’t try to acquire any of that sweet sweet Censer loot. Slack-jawed in disbelief, Blume stammers as the party exits the little apartment.

Back on the street, the party ponders what to do next, and decides to focus on the Race of the Eight Winds for the time being. Gnofulk is slated to represent the Cogs, and the rest of the party ready to act as the supporting Wind Guard… but their jockey still needs a mount.

The unusually cheery Shadowale starts to slip into his old dour self. There has been a lot of inane prattling tonight… let’s get Gnofulk a flying mount and be on to the exciting, action-filled bits already!

The party begins brainstorming. Where could they find and/or steal a flying mount? And what mounts would be acceptable? Halfway into a harebrained scheme, level-headed Comfort asks about that old wizard lady. Doesn’t she owe the party a favor for saving her chimera mount? She could be a resource.

Kyllar, apparently still shook up from that experience, can’t recall the details exactly. Maybe? All he remembers from that ordeal was bleeding his own blood and using Spider Climb to cower under a sky bridge.

Still, it’s the best lead the party has, so off they go, climbing higher and higher among Sharn’s mighty towers.

The soon arrive at, well, near to Winnifred the Wizard’s not-so-humble abode.

Several tall levels of towers are being used by Winnifred for her sanctum and her aerie, enclosed in large panes of magical glass. The party stands on a ledge where the sky road ends, and forty feet away is Winnifred’s landing platform. Two massive doors stand, allowing access to the aerie, and next to them, a manor house sits; almost like a castle in a bottle; the structure within the tower, but a wall of the house merged with the wall of the tower.

Facing yet another small chasm of an obstacle… most of the party hesitates and begins to postulate how to cross. Dimension Door? Benign Transposition?

Not Shadowale and Turnin though.

Turnin jumps across the spawn with ease, and the rogue tosses him a rope. Knots are attempted, and the rogue makes ready to jump across too when suddenly the manor door swings open and an old wizarding woman with immaculate robes and a tight grey bun wanders out onto the platform, a sturdy stick leveled like a shotgun.

She soon recognizes Kyllar however, waves, and readies a small sky skiff. She pushes it over, and it floats across the chasm. After some finagling, the party ferries themselves over.

The old woman is elated to see the party again, all these wonderful adventurers that rescued her precious chimera mount. She conjures milk and cookies for the party, and Shadowale starts gorging himself on sweets.

Winnifred inquires about Kyllar’s feat in artifice, and the party wizard replies that it is going well, and he is learning to inscribe spells into his Puzzle Box. Mostly utility spells for now. The old woman glows when the party hesitatingly mentions they are here on business related to the Race of the Eight Winds, and needing a replacement mount for Gnofulk, who is representing the Cogs. She enthusiastically herds the party into the manor house, through a spacious hall with a huge portrait of Winnifred slightly younger, and out a back door into the Aerie.

Unlike the heat of the Cogs, which is brutal, dry, and menacing, the heat situation here is balmy and inviting, with the windows creating a kind of green house. The twittering of birds is heard as the party surveys their surroundings.

Glass encases the Aerie, with tall stone pillars joining floor to ceiling. Several roosts are seen, either built into the pillars or spell shaped into the boughs of trees.

Winnifred waxes on about the Race. Aerial creatures are fascinating to her, and she is housing three of the district mounts here already, including the Owl, the Eagle and the Hawk. She states that as a traditional event, no mounts may be duplicated, but she has a number of creatures in her menagerie that would be suitable substitutes for Gnofulk, and would adhere to the spirit of the event. Each one would have unique abilities in the race. She has large, suitable creatures like; undulating flying snakes; bats; flying mobulas (rays); flying winged fish; flying frogs (with big webbed hands); a huge wasp; a “koopa paratroopa” flying turtle; and a flying squirrel.

…and of course Gnofulk’s barbarian eyes light up at the chance to race with his totemic kin. Winnifred produces two large acorns to help lure the animal; one is snatched up by Gnofulk, the other by Shadowale. Kyllar conjures a third, green acorn to try his luck too.

As they wander the forested enclosure, and around a small artificial pond while looking for the flying squirrel, Winnifred continues to explain the race… how each mount is unique and no spells or weapons (other than the ceremonial sporting crossbow) are allowed, and how it is a time of tourism and commerce for Sharn.

She also brings up the hidden costs of championing a district. You see, riding a mount is one thing, but feeding and caring for it is another. She’ll let the party use the mount, but they’ll need to –

-and a gold coin bounces off Winnifred’s forehead as Turnin commits on the follow through.

She admits that the party could pay her for boarding the animal, but that they might want to spend their gold gambling. She has some errands that need running, and would like to barter. One errand for room and board. The second, and she would again owe the party a favor.

Gnofulk spies the flying squirrel, high up in the trees, and starts chittering, displaying the large acorn before him.

Shadowale holds his high above his head, scampering about.

Kyllar’s extends his arm, displaying the green-tinged conjured nut.

So far, the flying squirrel seems most interested in Shadowale, and parachutes down a few branches towards the party.

Winnifred continues with her proposals. The first potential task is the most simple. The Race of the Eight Winds is not just a race, but also a time for comradery in your district, boasting between districts… and an avenue for both legitimate commerce and underhanded bribes. Winnifred wants to make a “donation” to the Hawk – the niece of one of her old friends is the rider this year – and cememnt that bond of friendship, but because she is linked to the care of several other mounts… she herself cannot make this… donation. Winnifred summons a sealed envelope, and presents it to the party. The old wizard would like the party to deliver it to Boris, a bookie associated with Clan Boromar. If the party wants, that can make their own donations then as well… or place bets many aspects of the race, from who the winner is to who the griffon will gore this year.

The second potential task is more complicated. Winnifred would like the party to acquire something for her. The magical aristocrats in Sharn steal a trophy – the Conjurer’s Cup – back and forth for bragging rights. A no-good warlock and probable harlot named Beatrice Marsh stole it from Winnifred a few years ago, and the old wizard has tracked the trophy to a pocket dimension used by Beatrice. She’ll open a portal, and the party can run in, grab it, and head back out. Winnifred can’t grab it herself since she needs to maintain the portal; and she can’t send a typical hireling or servant, as the pocket dimension may be dangerous. She needs brave adventurers to do this for her.

The party quickly agree to perform both tasks, reasoning that it is nice to be owed a favor. Though they almost immediately start discussing, in hushed tones of course, whether or not they will ever receive this owed favor. Winnifred is old, guys.

As they start debating when to run these errands, the flying squirrel swoops down to land near Gnofulk, who has been chittering sweet entreats to the furry animal. It warily approaches, taking the acorn and letting the gnome scratch it behind the ears.

Achievement unlocked: Mount Acquired!

The party is another step closer to the Race of the Eight Winds!

Eberron Adventure: Session Forty

So there they were…

Breakfasting themselves in Ghallanda Hall.

The mimosas were flowing freely as Turnin the human monk, Rhogar the dragonborn fighter, Gnofulk the gnome barbarian, Kyllar the human wizard, Comfort the tiefling sorceress, and Whudyalookadah the gnome druid devoured an odd breakfast consisting of eggplant parmesan, waffles, bacon, and sausages… all ordered by Comfort and prepared by the warforged cook known as Chef, under the watchful eye of the Hall’s veteran barkeep and waiter, Bud Miller.

Chef had been working hard to perfect some signature dishes… but perhaps the eggplant would have been more suited for dinner… Over the meal, the adventurers got down to their business.

Turnin had spent the time after the warehouse fire meditating on the Wizened, but could gain no insight into the shriveled, now super-dead man’s goals. The monk had likewise been unable to identify the magic imbued in the items recovered, and handed them over to Kyllar.

A few ritual spells later, Kyllar presented to the party a +2 Scimitar known as “Free Samples” that regains health for the wielder; prayer beads known as “Remembrancer” that aid a monk’s Ki recovery; and a very mostly shredded and badly burnt, non-magical, indecipherable book.

Turnin reclaimed the beads; the destroyed tome was tossed in the newly reclaimed bag of holding, and the scimitar was ignobly sent to sit among the party’s spare weapons, piled high in Gnofulk’s room.

As long as folks were showing stuff off, Whudyalookadah produces something he found. An odd broach on a scrap of orange robe that had gotten caught up in his claws when he was a T-rex.

Turnin snatches up the broach, and turns it over in his hands while scratching his intellect-boosting headband… but the monk remains ignorant, and passes it down to Kyllar. The wizard notices that the broach was a femur, with a gear for the ball joint. The wizard also notices that he has the same broach. As does Turnin and Gnofulk (and presumably Shadowale too, where ever the halfling was).

The trio of broach-wearers thinkback, remembering their first encounter with a real, living warforged. They had saved a courier known as Gofer, and he had given them the broaches to wear and mark them as friends of the community of warforged. The party had never bothered to determine the name of the group.

Finishing up the meal, the party debates what to do next. Gofer would be a solid lead, but they aren’t sure where to begin tracking him down. Their only other lead is the warforged operating the little foundry in the Cogs, but the party is thoroughly convinced that the warforged there don’t like the party after the fire elemental favor got out of control.

The party decides to risk potential wrath, and venture down to the foundry.

They depart Ghallanda Hall, winding their way around the massive towers of Sharn, traversing sky bridges, and eventually make their way down, beneath the tower foundations, into the cavernous subterranean spaces that constitute the Cogs, traversing the main path as they had done many times before.

As always, the heat is oppressive down in the Cogs; waves of it radiating off from the dammed up lava river harnessed for industry.

The party is recognized and welcomed with waves and well-wishes, and children run up to fist bump Gnofulk, as he is “kid sized,” and a local hero for suplexing the fanatical paladin Steve Carlsburg von Brighthammer Jr. off the magical dam and into the lava. …While also “kid sized,” Whudyalookadah is probably spitting or glowering something, and receives zero fist bumps. Turnin repeatedly pesters Kyllar for fist bumps, and the wizard grudgingly relents on every sixth pestering.

They eventually arrive at the foundry operated by the warforged. Sort of.

The foundry and the surrounding neighborhood, which was once dominated by the Daask, sits on a little island, joined to a larger strip of land by a bridge. Erm. Was. The bridge, destroyed for an unknown reason and by unknown means as the failed crusade in the Cogs unfolded… is still out.

The party look forlornly at their goal, separated from them by about 40 feet of a lava river. After a long while of boasts (Turnin could just jump it if he wanted to) and ideas (Comfort could teleport some folks over), the party valiantly give up.

They remember there is a second avenue to the island; a stairwell/corridor coming at the island from above ground and out of the outer cavern wall of the Cogs. While it was barricaded last time the party was poking around (during the failed crusade), they decide it’s probably an easier entrance than this destroyed bridge.

Wimps.

They depart the Cogs, pop back up into the city, weave around the foundations of the massive towers of Sharn, and descend via this alternate route.

Thankfully, the alternate route is open this time.

With a careful eye, Rhogar pauses to examine what remained of the barricade. As he recalls, it was essentially a haphazard wall of melted metal blocking the path. He sees no metal, and no signs of ‘splosions or fights. The barricade appears to have been purposefully and meticulously dismantled.

They descend, and exit their rocky path onto the foundry island. Being underground, the foundry is mostly a pillar spanning the rocky ground and ceiling, the insides carved out. They approach the wide maw of an entrance… and hear nothing.

The human wizard Kyllar summons his familiar, which does a quick circuit of the facility, but sees no warforged. The party enter, and proceed to poke around. They see the foundry machinery, tools, and conveyers and such, all in about the places they saw them last time. It’s a foundry, but seemingly abandoned.

The party backtrack a bit, leaving the abandoned foundry and hoping to find the orc girl Grrrraaaa, and they soon do. She is running about her Cogs neighborhood waiving the ax gifted to her by the party, and all in all having a grand old time. She sees the party approach, and runs up excitedly, still brandishing her ax.

Grrrraaaa excitedly thanks the party for the ax, and tells them that swings it every day, and wants to become an adventurer when she is a bit older.

The party asks her if the Daask have been back, and she scoffs. Nope! You sillys. You chased ‘em all away! Remember?

Then the party asks if she knows what happened to the warforged. Graaaa informs the party that they up and left the other day. She saw ‘em while she was practicin’ adventurin’. They were all carryin’ boxes, and marched right up that (alternate) path.

The orc kid also informs them that among the warforged there were two scary-lookin’ figures.

The first was a warforged with what looked like a crown, shiny coat thing, and a staff as big as he was. Grrrraaaa has no idea if it said DieFi or not… it was like, hundreds of feet away.

The second figure was scary, but super-cool. That one wore black, fancy-lookin’ armor, and had a skull wreathed with multicolored flames. How rad is that???

Turnin blinks a bit, and scratches his intellect-boosting headband. That second one sounds an awful lot like Skull Buddy… you know, if Skull Buddy got an armored body and all. But what are the chances of that happening?

Kyllar criticizes the kid for not knowing the names of these scary dudes, reading what may or may not have been on the rods or for knowing what was in the boxes, and she frowns. Wizards are jerks. Kyllar may have made an enemy today. The party departs, deciding that they should check out the other foundry in this part of the Cogs, to see if they know anything about what the warforged foundry was up to.

They depart the Cogs via the alternate route, pop back up into the city, weave around the foundations of the massive towers of Sharn, and descend via the main route back into the Cogs.

More fist bumps are passed around, and soon the party is standing in the entrance to the foundry operated by the regular Cogsfolk, peering in.

It is far larger than the other foundry, and a picture of metallurgical industry. Scaffolding abounds, and the walls are lined with huge vats of liquid metal. It is oppressively hot, and dozens of workers from a variety of races pour molten metal into molds and casings.

A dwarf, with a great big bushy red beard and dreadlocks sticking out from under his hard hat sees them enter, and hurriedly waddles over, gesturing enthusiastically to his head. This is a work zone! It’s dangerous! Turnin covers his head with his hands. Dudley shakes his head and jabs a finger up a scaffold staircase towards an office overlooking the foundry floor, and leads the party up.

The peculiar dwarf waddles behind a desk, and offers chairs to the party as they crowd around, and begins to answer questions.

The party learns from the dwarf that the warforged left, and his bosses – he’s only the foreman on shift – are eager to acquire it. Business is BOOMING. They be swamped with orders, mon. Unfortunately, Dudley isn’t too knowledgeable about the warforged. They never really competed for orders, and the dwarf can’nae recall losing a single order to them. The warforged seemed busy, but he has no idea what they were working on, or for whom, or why.

Turnin and Kyllar are keen to know if the foundry would want any investors on acquiring the abandoned foundry, and Dudley promises to run the proposal past his bosses.

Rhogar wants to ride the small electric rail the foundry uses to moves goods out of the foundry, and Dudley obliges. Rhogar crams himself into a little cart, and the dwarf flips the switch… and the dragonborn fighter starts moving down the line, grinning wildly while he discerns some of the intricacies of travel by rail.

The rest of the party walks a bit behind. A few hundred feet later, the tiny train stops. It is a short route.

Rhogar exits, rejoins his companions, and the party heads north. As long as they are down in the Cogs, they should visit their second-favorite goblin, Zeki, now on the city council and representing the Cogs.

The party follows a meandering street known as “Rhaaal’s Way.” When the crusade was launched, the party was unable to convince the orc to join them, and instead pointed him at a residential neighborhood, and told him to warn people. The orc did, but mostly cleaved through some crusading paladins instead. Still Cogsfolk lives were saved, and then boom, street named after him.

At the end of “Rhaaal’s Way” is a statue of the orc himself. But a terrible one. It barely looks like an orc at all. It’s magically gold and shiny, but just an abysmal work of art. Maybe the Cogsfolk will get an actual artisan to replace it someday.

A house sits in the little cul de sac, and the party walks in, knowing it to be Zeki’s home office. The main room is spacious, and the party sees a number of sitting stools along the wall, and a small goblin in nice robes and little librarian glasses sitting at a large desk piled high with paperwork.

Zeki jumps up from his desk, and warmly welcomes the party, gesturing excitedly to some of the stools and clapping Gnofulk on the back. It is soon apparent that Zeki and the party each have something to ask, and the goblin cedes the floor to the party, who ask about the warforged and their foundry.

Unfortunately, the goblin doesn’t know much yet. They left, but it was one business down here in the Cogs. The goblin apologizes for not knowing much. The warforged kept almost exclusively to themselves. Zeki has no clue what they were working on.

Kyllar has a thought, but it is pushed back as the party moves onto hearing about Zeki’s request.

The goblin announces that the Race of the Eight Winds, an annual Sharn sporting event, is coming up very soon.

Zeki spins a little backstory for the party. You see, back before Sharn had all these huge magical towers, there were only a few districts, all pretty low to the ground (or in the case of the Cogs, underground). These districts had an annual race with traditional flying mounts. As Sharn grew, the tradition persevered, and continues to this day. It's a race, and it’s a heckuva time! There the race! Gambing! Snacks! Uh… you name it.

Gnofulk is practically bouncing up and down on his sitting stool. He wants in soooo badly.

Which is good, because according to Zeki, the Cogs needs a replacement… well… everything, as it turns out.

The goblin informs the party that the Cogs had a jockey. Who was a gargoyle. So he was also the mount. But the gargoyle is really sick now, and Zeki thinks it may be poison due to the severity of the illness. Point being, a replacement is needed, and if Gnofulk will do it, well heck, the job is his - and the pint-sized barbarian immediately agrees no questions asked.

The rest of the party is offered positions in the Wing Guard for the Cogs – a group assembled for the race to help train, feed and house a district’s mount… or at least raise funds enough to cover those expenses. The party agrees to help out.

The party departs, a little concerned that they have this new adventure while they still have this big outstanding mystery… As they debate what to do next, Kyllar voices his thought, and convinces the party to return to the foundry operated by the warforged. While all the machinery and such appeared to be there, the party didn’t investigate too much to see if there were any clues as to what they were working on.

So, the party departs the Cogs via the main route, pop back up into the city, weave around the foundations of the massive towers of Sharn, and descend via the alternate route back into the Cogs near the warforged foundry.

They walk in, and find it still abandoned.

They sweep through looking more diligently at the machinery and the areas immediately surrounding it.

Near the back is the little channel of lava diverted from the larger river into the foundry, and used to heat the metal and power the little forges and crucibles. The party notice a half dozen wire cages - shaped a bit like coffins – around. A few are suspended over the little lava channel by strong looking booms.

Comfort remarks that the coffin shape would totally hold a person, and the whole apparatus could be used to dry out corpses, resulting in the dryer zombies the party had been encountering. The rest of the party thinks that is a ludicrous idea. The tiefling shrugs, knowing she is totally on the mark. The boys will catch up eventually.

The gnome druid Whudyalookadah apparently has the keenest eyes, and spots a number of molds and casings that seem to be important.

One mold half looks rather rod-shaped, and Kyllar confirms that it is a mold for a DieFi rod by placing one into the mold.

The other molds appear to be for simple blades and armor, but upon closer inspection, the armor is far too thick to wear, and the molds appear to be for warforged bodies.

The party doesn’t know much about the warforged in general, but know enough that they were produced for the war… and then production stopped. Virtually no one (outside of the rulers of House Cannith) probably know anything about how a warforged is imbued with agency. It seems weird to just build warforged bodies. Kyllar takes a few of the smaller molds and places them in the bag of holding for safe keeping.

The party departs the Cogs, still conjecturing, and arrives in the district of Greyflood. They move quickly down the main drag, which is bustling with goods and shoppers, and soon arrive at the “5 4 3 Orcs and a Cart” warehouse… currently being cleaned out by some city-paid laborers, who convince the party that there is nothing worthwhile inside. It’s all been burnt to ash.

The dragonborn fighter Rhogar provides the party with a little more backstory, once they are out of earshot from the workers. His contact in the City Watch passed along some information to him.

The “Orcs and a Cart” company had been brutalized by the Wizened since apparently the very beginning of the party’s involvement. Two of their five strong crew disappeared when the party was investigating the original Greyflood disappearances. The three remaining members tried to persevere, but closed up shop a few days ago and hadn’t been seen since…

Given the disappearance and closure, another shipping company was looking to acquire all the boxes and stuff in the “Orcs and a Cart” warehouse, and was probably within a few days of doing so.

As shown with the foundry acquisitions, this whole “acquire the other company’s loot” is pretty normal for Sharn businesses.

With Rhogar’s additional information, the party can deduce that their fiery actions prevented the Wizened and his zombies-in-crates from reaching their intended destination… but they do not know exactly where that was.

As conjecture flies about, Turnin is getting a little worried. All this stuff popping up from the party’s past… what if that being with the technicolor flaming-head and nifty armor was Skull Buddy? He leads the way to Felmore’s Emporium.

*ding*

The door opens, and the party peers into the shop all at once, because Scooby Stack. Half the doodads aren’t flipping or buzzing. Felmore absent-mindedly welcomes the shoppers inside, but recoils a bit when he recognizes the party. The shopkeeper looks exhausted and has some bad news.

Skull Buddy is… well… gone.

He leans over the counter and he and Turnin walk through the whole thing with baby steps. It’s been a long couple of days for the shopkeeper, and he wants his customer to have all the info.

The monk brought Skull Buddy into the shop a while back. Felmore, who used to build the toys knew pretty quickly that Turnin’s Skull Buddy wasn’t a toy. Everyone then determined that this Skull Buddy was not a lich; nor a demi-lich or anything all that crazy. But it was still odd.

Felmore – with Turnin’s blessing – handed it off to the warforged who work, well, worked in his shop. They tinkered for a while, and disappeared two days ago, taking that nice suit of armor with them.

The party surprisingly takes this all in stride. Felmore is relieved, and ushers them behind the counter and into the back workroom. He relates to the party that his arrangement with his warforged workers was… at best… impersonal. They wandered in a few years ago (after the War), and he gave them some shifts. Everything was amicable for literally years. They even put all Felmore’s tools back before leaving. The only things they took were the Skull Buddy and the suit of armor.

Turnin asks Felmore to let him know if he hears anything, and the shopkeeper agrees, and Kyllar offers up Kaz as a potential backroom assistant to Felmore. That could be hugely beneficial. Felmore will gladly pursue that option in the coming days.

The party departs, slowly trekking back towards Ghallanda Hall after a long day of walking all around the Cogs, and a great many other places in Sharn.

They’ve uncovered a number of clues, but no hard truths yet about all these events dug up from their past...

The Wizened and warforged community were definitely cooperating. But the arrangement between them, and the goals of each still elude the party...