So there they were, in Sharn, the City of Towers, on the eve before the eve before the Race for the Eight Winds, strategizing.
The party, consisting of Turnin the human monk (with his new bumpy frog, Jerimiah), Comfort the tiefling sorceress, Shadowale the halfling rogue, Gnofulk the gnome barbarian and Kyllar the human wizard all enjoy a drink of their choice while the wizard runs down what they know about the riders that are not Gnofulk:
Janus Campbell, Brown and Gray, riding the treacherous Owl
Slash, Brown and Red, riding the murderous Griffon
Ruth, Brown and light Brown, riding the hawk
Bolad the Beautiful, Gray and Green riding a pterodactyl
Officer Gladstone, White and Gold riding the hippogriff
So the party knows six of the eight riders in the race. The wizard realizes general knowledge isn’t all that’s been neglected, and suggests that the party may want to start actively participating in the intrigue behind the scenes of the Race. The party agree that Ruth is probably their best option for an easy alliance – they’ve seen her practicing on Winnifred’s Menagerie grounds like Gnofulk.
It is late, but the party decide to pay Ruth a visit, and soon arrive at the Menagerie grounds. They pass a few attendants as they enter the menagerie itself, a few tall levels of a staggeringly tall tower, encased in glass and filled with trees, ponds and rolling grasses. Modest stables are tucked away throughout the area, and the party make their way to where Ruth and her Winged Guard had set up shop for their training.
Turnin, always wary of rogues, whispers Ruth’s name as the party enters the stable, and the monk is surprised when she answers from behind him. She’s a rogue for sure.
Ruth is caught a bit of a bad spot: five adventurers dropping by at an uncivilized hour, and Shadowale decides to make a gutsy move, inquiring, in so many words, if Ruth would “like a little rogue” in her. As it turns out, Shadowale got his groove back and she totally does.
Kyllar and Gnofulk try to steer the conversation away from the steamy, but it isn’t easy. Eventually, Ruth agrees to a truce with Gnofulk – no shooting or fighting between the two until the third lap of the race – as long as Shadowale spends the night with her. The party decides to leave them to it.
The next 36 hours are a blur of last minute preparation, and (most of) the party wakes up in Ghallanda Hall on the morning of the Race of the Eight Winds.
The warforged cook, Chef, is preparing an insane breakfast of lutefisk and lefse as the party enters the dining section in concert, Shadowale looking a bit tired as he enters. Sitting at their usual table is a short red hobgoblin dressed in armor, chowing down on chocolate chip pancakes. He beckons them to sit, and Turnin politely introduces himself.
However the party has already met this creature, it is Kommander Krunk, of the Death’s Noggin Clan, a clan of hobgoblin warriors sworn to defend Sharn since before the first tower was constructed by the humans.
Kommander Krunk formally reminds the party of their agreement – they spared his life, and in exchange, he offered to provide them intelligence about the Leviathan Threat, and about Feral Fawcett, whom the Death’s Noggin thought was planning something close to, if not concurrent with, the Race of the Eight Winds.
The hobgoblin produces two shoddy-looking sticks, and brings the party up to date with what the Death’s Noggin knows. This morning, a squad of hobgoblins got into a scuffle with what turned out to be Daask operatives – their first sighting in over a week. The brutal gangsters had the usual knives and bows and swords – but also a number of these cheap one-shot wands, two of which survived the scuffle. Kommander Krunk informs the party that these wands are ensorcelled with the spell Firebolt. Feral Fawcett and the Daask are on the move, though Kommander Krunk is at a loss for what her motivations or goals are.
The party is equally befuddled, and prefers not to speculate. Instead, Turnin inquires who Kommander Krunk supports in the Race, jerking his head meaningfully and repeatedly towards Gnofulk.
The hobgoblin either doesn’t take the hint or doesn’t care, stating he “supports” Liamond Featherscale, a dragonborn druid who rides the prideful eagle. The districts it represents are included due to tradition, but they don’t much care for the complexities of the race. They don’t participate at all with the politics and intrigue surrounding the race, and so are “supported” by others that don’t much care for the event.
Kyllar decides it is the perfect time to start dishing out some loot, and Kommander Krunk patiently finishes his pancakes.
Turnin nabs the Quill of Mimicry – nabbed from the desk of Beatrice Marsh, the quill aids in forgery, transforming the writer’s words into a script similar to what a reader would expect of the signatory (signed as a king the script turns flowery; signed as a doctor it is made practically illegible.) The script gives off an air of authority and authenticity… but will be found out by anyone who knows the handwriting of the signer being impersonated.
Gnofulk’s shark-like jaws turn out to be the Perfectly Safe Jaws of Holding. Placing and activating the jaws creates a small “safe” dimension behind. Should someone besides the owner reach in… down come the wavy Kris-like teeth will remove the offending limb.
Lastly, the sharp knife Beatrice was using as a letter opener is really a parrying dagger, the blade spring-loaded into a conch shell. Turnin tickles his frog and then pockets the magic quill; the other two items are unclaimed, and returned to Kyllar’s Bag of Holding.
Kyllar also hands out stuff his kobold made in his apprenticeship – spyglasses with which to watch the race. None of magical, but should help the party see things better.
Gnofulk receives a traditional spyglass; Turnin a monocle; Shadowale a full mask with lenses; Comfort a pair of classy opera viewers; and Kyllar a pair of goggles.
Done with his breakfast, Kommander Krunk inquires if there are any spare spyglasses around. Kyllar admits there are… and hands over a rather greasy and phallic spyglass to the hobgoblin, who wraps it up in a House Ghallanda napkin before putting it away.
The Kommander rises as Chef brings out the lutefisk, much to the dismay of the party. Only Gnofulk really sets about eating, determined to get some food in his belly before the race. The hobgoblin warns the party to be careful and vigilant during the Race of the Eight Winds, and departs the hall, leaving the party to their personal business.
Kyllar is not quite done with procurement, and hands over a few pieces of his Artificer’s puzzle box. One fragment will double Gnofulk’s speed briefly, and the other will increase his defense for a few moments. The wizard notes that using either will disqualify Gnofulk from the race (if caught), but if it comes to using it to not die… it might be nice for the gnome to have that option.
Gnofulk agrees, and hides the small items among his riding garb.
With the race nearing, the party gears up, and heads over towards the starting line; a large platform with 8 small temporary “stables” constructed nearby to house the mounts momentarily.
The party is the 7th group of racers to arrive, and they begin sizing up their competition in earnest.
Liamond Featherscale, a brown dragonborn dressed in brown and gold clothes and tending to her large eagle with only a single attendant. They preen the large bird and adjust the final straps, ignoring the other riders completely.
The orc Slash is lounging, wearing sweet, incredibly dark shades while his attendants, dressed in red and brown continue their duties. A few are giving Slash’s top hat and former pirate coat a final clean, but the majority are filing the claws of the massive griffon and attaching red ribbons to its feet. The beast strains idly at its restraints, keen to get on with the race.
The nomadic Bolad the Beautiful is small even by halfling standards, and the party confirms with a shudder that her moniker is definitely an insult-made-her-own. Her reptilian glidewing is perched in the stall, ready and waiting as her large cadre of halfling attendants dressed in gray and green survey the other riders, whispering to Bolad as she adjusts the trigger of her sporting crossbow.
Ruth, the roguish human captivated by our hero Shadowale and dressed in various browns, is focused. Her districts don’t usually finish well in the races, but make a fortune on concessions and other deals. While not expected to win, she checks over her gear and her hawk, and seems ready to exploit any opportunities presented to her.
The stall of the gnome Janus Campbell and his owl are the most secluded of the riders; he and his attendants dressed in brown and gray and working in the shade. Even the eyes of the owl seem to constantly scan the other riders.
Officer Gladstone winner of last year’s race by a sizable margin, is front and center, the proud dwarf constable dressed in a smartly-fitting red and white uniform, his beard impeccably groomed. His hippogriff is likewise regally presented, perched on a small dais nearby, flexing its talons. Gladstone’s Wind Guard was finishing up, giving his boots a final polish as the party enters their stall.
The Cogsfolk are finishing up brushing the gnome’s mount, a flying squirrel named Nutasha, as Gnofulk and the rest of the party arrive at their stall, situated between that of officer Gladstone and a currently empty stall. Zeke, the goblin councilman from the Cogs greets them, but before much pleasantries can be exchanged, there are gasps and skitters as the last retinue arrives.
Dressed in resplendent white and silver, the Wind Guard for House Vadalis move in two groups towards their stall. The first of the retainers lead an elegant white pegasus towards its stall, already outfitted it its peculiar racing gear.
The pegasus wears an unsettling mask of spiked and twisted metal with its eyes covered and its ears constrained. The peculiarity is pointed out by Kyllar, but before the party can really speculate on the purpose of the garb, House Vadalis’ second group of retainers come into view.
Whispers fly from the mouths of all the other Wind Guards. Historically, House Vadalis has a wonderful record in the race, though have lost the last few years. Rumor had it that the dragonmarked house (specializing in animal care) had a secret weapon this year, and it appears to be Gary Vadalis, the black sheep of the House.
The mounts inch away from Gary as he comes into view, and panic as he draws closer. Nutasha is sufficiently spooked to try and buck Gnofulk, and even Turnin’s frog, Jerimiah dives into the monk’s robes for safety.
Gary Vadalis looks pleased with himself, as the masked Pegasus is the only animal unaffected by his mere presence, and adjusts his cloak.
The other Wind Guards are concerned. Quick-thinking Comfort suggests the Gnofulk try to knock off the pegasus’ mask during the race. In the meantime, the tiefling also suggests blinding Nutasha.
Shadowale produces his knives and moves to approach the animal, but Comfort corrects herself, and presents a cloth strip to use instead. Nutasha, however, will not race sightless, and squirms defiantly away.
Other riders have had the same idea, with mixed success. Slash’s griffon gouged a retainer in panic, while Bolad easily wraps something around the eyes of her glidewing, whispering gently to it. The owl and eagle and hawk are still spooked, though slowly calming down, so long as Gary isn’t moving. Officer Gladstone and his Wind Guard seem to have the most success, quickly calming down the hippogriff. The aerial division of Sharn is well disciplined it seems.
The goblin councilman Zeke curses at Gary. It was rumored that House Vadalis had a secret weapon for the race, but no one knew what it was. Apparently the renowned animal handlers have harnessed their family’s black sheep and weaponized him for the race.
Zeke wishes Gnofulk good luck, and departs. The other Cogsfolk are finishing up the final preparations for Nutasha, so the rest of the party decides to head out in search of seats. Keeping in mind the warning of Kommander Krunk to be vigilant, they decide to split up, and cover more ground…
The Race of the Eight Winds is a yearly event on Sharn, a tradition dating back hundreds of years, to just when the City of Towers was building towers. Back then, there were only a handful of districts, all rather low to the ground. Over time, eight riders representing a district or two each became traditional, with a well-known race structure: the first lap a large circle, running around both of Sharn’s inner plateaus; the second lap a figure eight around them and prone to the most violence; and the third lap, another large circle stressing speed.
With the final preparations being made, the party decide not to venture too far, though there are viewing boxes and temporary stands scattered all around the route. Unfortunately, with the race so close to starting, the party do not find the best sections from which to view the race.
Alpha Team, consisting of Shadowale and Comfort, try to stick close to the starting line, and squeeze into the far back of a packed section, dominated mostly by supporters of Officer Gladstone, who represents the Daggerwatch and Overlook districts of Sharn. The greys of their garb stick out among the white and gold of the majority of the other spectators, but in the back, they aren’t hassled too much. Far from a concession stand, Shadowale produces a few hidden flagons, and he and Comfort start to happily imbibe.
... and Alpha Team, consisting of Kyllar and Turnin (and Jerimiah the frog) makes it a bit farther away, trekking quickly through several neighborhoods and over to a different plateau. They face the interior of Sharn. Only the second lap will pass by, and the section is pretty run down. They take their spots near the front of the section, and Turnin peeks over the section ledge to see dozens of stories below him.
Throughout Sharn, air traffic stops; small skiffs are moored, providing vantage points for reckless youngsters to watch, or the City Watch to monitor the crowds. Near every major section, a larger skiff is mounted, with funnels running along from stem to stern, tapering up at the end, pointed at dragonmarked gnomes from House Sivis, each holding a magical stone. Techs adjust the settings on the skiff; the stone; the funnels, and start testing each stone. Soon the announcers are set up, ready to announce the race as it passes by them.
A trumpet sounds, amplified by House Sivis and their skiff-based funnels. With a quick fanfare, the race begins!
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