Eberron Adventure: Forty-Sixth Session

So there they were… in Sharn, the illustrious City of Towers, in the middle of the Race of the Eight Winds.

Such as it was.

A few riders had been eliminated via wounds and crashes – that was not unusual – but a few more left the route due to the arrival of a fiery airship, which loosed arrows and magic into the city. Many of the spectators had fled already, and only four racers remained.

Bolad the Beautiful, a halfling nomad atop a glidewing fought with Slash the orc, atop his murderous griffon. They were the furthest racers behind, but bounced between what was to become second and third place.

The intrepid gnome barbarian Gnofulk was easily in the lead, gliding and bounding through the route atop Nutasha the flying squirrel.

However, there were technically four racers. Second place was in fact held by Officer Gladstone, a dwarf from the aerial division of Sharn’s City Watch, riding a hippogriff. However, seeing the fiery airship and the havoc it has caused, decides to help the party assault the airship.

The first attacks on the airship had been ineffectual. The party sans Gnofulk prepared for a second go at the back of the ship, near the helm.

Shadowale the halfling rogue and Comfort the tiefling sorceress were sobering up, hovering a bit behind the airship on a stolen sky skiff, along with the human wizard Kyllar. Nearby, the bloodied human monk Turnin also hovered, having been polymorphed into a griffon by the wizard.

Officer Gladstone also hovered nearby the party on his hippogriff, holding his weak sporting crossbow and nervously eyeing the sternscastle and helm of the ship. There, three orcs stood defiant. Two marines had been burned with vitriolic magic and then greased. The third orc, likewise harassed, had abandoned the helm, and was shouting in delight at the battle. The trio had moved closer to the gunwales to dissuade the party from boarding.

The standoff was broken with an arrow.

From the forecastle, the serpent-bodied Feral Fawcett has loosed a thick arrow from her war bow, which imbeds itself in Turnin’s feathery flank. The bloodied, polymorphed monk looks up, momentarily enthralled by the gaze of the snake-bodied medusa. Wits slowly seeping out of his bird brain, the monk has the presence of mind to swoop and attack the orcs, in an effort to break Feral’s spell. Turnin successfully breaks Feral’s hold, but fails to connect with any of his griffon strikes. The orc laughs and retaliates with his blade, driving the massive feathery beast of a monk back against the gunwales.

From the sky skiff, Kyllar regards the situation, and Firebolts the greasy deck, igniting the goo. The orcs and Turnin are momentarily immolated.

Shadowale maneuvers the skiff along the port side of the airship, and decides to bail, hopping over and onto the sterncastle deck and the helm. The halfling yanks at the handles of the wooden helm and the ship slowly turns towards the dense towers of lower Sharn.

Watching her former drinking companion unexpectedly bail, Comfort scrambles for the controls of the skiff, assuming control before casting Blight against the unsuspecting orc commander. The orc grins as the necromantic energies wash over him. The greasy goo still burns, and the Blight viably withers his visable flesh. He barks an order, and the two marines swing their blades at Turnin, and the polymorphed griffon breathes its last.

The monk-beast slumps at the feet of the orc commander, and the magic starts to be stripped away. A disbursing flash and moment later, a few nearby feathers are all that remain of the griffon. In its place, is a reclining monk who inclines his head towards the orc commander, calling dibs to the rest of the party. The maniacal orc’s grin somehow gets even wider. What a fight!

Meanwhile, the Race of the Eight Winds… continued. Gnofulk, still many leaps and bounds ahead of the nearest competition, continued his third and final lap around Sharn. Bolad and Slash continued to struggle against one another, neither one able to land a deciding crossbow bolt or talon swipe against the other.

The fiery airship lumbered onward, it’s course altered by Shadowale, and slowly turning towards the densely packed towers this low in the city. From the bow, arrows and magic continued to spew out into the city, spreading terror. At the top of the forecastle, Feral Fawcett continues to shoot large arrows into the fight atop the stern. This shot pierces Comfort, staggers a bit while piloting the skiff.

Turnin kick/flips himself upright to face the orc commander, and attempts to grapple him. The monk is rebuffed, and thrown back into the gunwale of the sterncastle. The two, as well as the two other orcs, continue to smolder, the last of the grease burning away.

From the skiff, Kyllar convinces Officer Gladstone to fly up and draw fire from Feral, and as the wizard surveys the battle, notices four more orcs emerging from inside the airship, and making their way towards a ladder to the sterncastle and helm. One makes it to the level, but the wizard ignites a bonfire on the ladder before the remaining three can advance further. Exerting himself, the wizard then tries to jump from the skiff while holding a rope… but miscalculates. The rope manages to snag one of the small crenellations along the gunwale, and the wizard eventually heaves himself up and over and onto the deck.

Free of her other passengers, Comfort eases up on the skiff’s throttle, and starts to drift back… lining up a shot with the three orcs squaring up against Turnin, releasing a lightning bolt that arcs between all three orcs as the monk looks on.

Shadowale again spins the helm of the airship, which continues to turn towards the towers. Grabbing his Beholder-Nodachi, he turns and advances on the lead orc from behind, stabbing him through the chest. His face splattered with the orc’s blood, Turnin regards the sword, and then the still-grinning orc. The monk whispers something about dibsing, and sighs that the fight could have been (and ended) better. As the nodachi is removed and Shadowale scurries back to Kyllar along the port gunwale, and the orc falls to his feet, and Turnin knows, gazing upon the orc’s still-grinning face, that the fight was good enough.

The two remaining marine orcs see their commander fall, and one steps up to lead. He charges and hacks at Turnin while his companion slices at Kyllar. Orders are shouted at the newcomer to turn the helm away from the towers, and the orc dues his best, slowly turning the ship back onto a safe course.

The party sees Officer Gladstone stiffen, and the hippogriff seems to strain and protest, as if under a heavy weight. Then Feral looses another arrow from her war bow, striking Shadowale, the closest party member.

Turnin points at the marine orc attacking him, trying to get the party to notice. Dibs! The gesture turns into a grapple attempt, which does not go well. The monk finds himself grappled, and his only successful blow – a good slap – sends the two sprawling to the ground, with the monk in a terrible position under the massive orc.

Kyllar swings his staff upward, striking the orc that attacked him with a powerful Thunderwave, pitching him over the rails… and onto the skiff, behind Comfort, who turns in her seat, places a well-manicured hand on the orc, and electrocutes him with a Shocking Grasp.

Having likely the worst of all possible days, the orc in the skiff – who has been hit with acid, lightning, thunder, and electricity – stabs wildly, attempting to sit up. One lucky slice nicks Comfort, and the tiefling Hellishly Rebukes the orc, using her racial power to blast him back. A little waggle and well-placed nudge pushes the corpse out of the skiff.

After taking a stab from Shadowale, but still standing, the orc newcomer continues to try and correct the course of the ship, while the lieutenant continues to grapple with Turnin. The orc forces Turnin to his feet, and then tries to pitch the monk over the railing. However Turnin is able to swing his cool staff with such force that he is able to negate much of the throw’s force, and land awkwardly on the railing at the stern of the ship.

The three other orcs from below manage to put out the bonfire on the ladder, and ascend to the sterncastle.

Turnin is able to land several blows against “his” orc, driving him backward, and making his way down from the railing onto the deck of the sterncastle, while Kyllar releases a boosted Firebolt at the orc helming the airship. The magical bolt bores through the orcs forearm, and the orc stumbles back and expires.

Shadowale heaves at the helm, spinning the wheel and easing the airship’s course back into the towers of Sharn, which are getting closer. The halfling has determined that there is no way to change the airship’s speed from here, and decides that it’s time to go. He takes a few steps and is soon up and over the railing, jumping back into the skiff while firing a parting shot at the orcs coming up the ladder.

Comfort, apparently startled by the arrival of the halfling on the skiff, misses a Firebolt at the advancing orcs, who move seeing only a monk and wizard, to try and secure the sterncastle. The last orc marine strikes at Turnin, nearly dropping him.

The Race for the Eight Winds continued. With Officer Gladstone turned to stone by Feral Fawcett, it was down to three riders.

Slash and his enraged griffon continued to swipe at Bolad the Beautiful, while the halfling continues to distract and daze the orc with her crossbow shots. Neither can land a decisive blow nor get sufficiently ahead of the other to breakaway.

Uncontested, Gnofulk has continued to capitalize on his lead, and made his way through half of his last lap while the airship battle has raged on without him. As he draws near the airship this time, he briefly considers joining the fight, but is determined to win the race no matter what.

The gnome does decide to take a potshot as he passes by though, and lines up a shot against Feral Fawcett, who is still entrenched in the airship’s forecastle. The sporting crossbow bolt hits, but doesn’t really hinder or dissuade Feral, who gazes upon the passing gnome.

With her massive war bow, she fires a shot at the flying barbarian, and her arrow strikes him. For the first time this fight, the poison-tipped arrows manifest, seeping into the barbarian’s veins. The gnome winces, and in his now-weakened state, feels the pull of Feral’s visage but is able to resist. Nutasha continues to scamper and glide, and soon the weakened but resilient Gnofulk is carried out of range… off to finish the last part of the last lap of the Race for the Eight Winds.

Turnin has ignored Gnofulk’s fly-by, too busy gazing inward. The monk’s robes are bloodied, but Turnin focuses, and his body is healed. With this burst in vitality, the monk steps forward, and punches the last marine orc, dropping him, and Turnin beams in victory as he moves next to Kyllar on the port side of the airship.

Comfort and Kyllar sent Firebolts at the three advancing orcs, and Shadowale adds a crossbow bolt into the mix as well. While one orc is rather bloodied, none fall, and all three are able to make their way onto the starboard side of the sterncastle deck, surveying Turnin and Kyllar on deck, and Comfort and Shadowale on the skiff.

While healed up a bit, Turnin still doesn’t like his odds against the orcs, and doesn’t trust Kyllar to be discerning with his magic. The monk remembers something in his pouch, and produces one of Felmore’s specially-made smokebombs. With a quick feint, the monk hurls the smokebomb at the wounded orc, catching the greenskin off-guard. The monk leaps back into the skiff as the orc’s head snaps back, and he collapses to the ground as the smoke envelopes the two orcs still standing.

Alone, Kyllar prepares himself, and advances. He gives the helm a good spin as he passes, sealing the fate of the airship, as he too now realizes that there is no way to change the ship’s speed from the helm. He swings his staff, and casts Thunderwave again, but only dissipates the smoke. The orcs remain standing, and after weathering magic and arrows from Comfort and Shadowale, advance on Kyllar. The wizard is prepared however, and casts a magical shield to blunt the only strike to land.

Shadowale and Comfort see the tower foundations in Lower Sharn swiftly approaching, and the halfling moves to undo the rope mooring the skiff to the airship, and Comfort eases up on the skiff’s throttle, drifting back and behind the airship.

The airship strikes a tower, grazing the starboard side and bouncing off.. The orcs are thrown down to their knees, but somehow Kyllar remains standing. As the ship approaches a second tower, Kyllar summons an image of Turnin at the helm, and the grinning, green-tinted conjuration gleefully mimes gently adjusting the helm. Shadowale tosses the wizard a rope, which the wizard uses to tie around the waist of the fallen, armored orc commander, and pushes the orc overboard before jumping off onto the skiff himself.

The quartet follows behind in their skiff, and the airship continues bouncing off the low parts of Sharn’s lofty towers. Soon it is ensnared against a tower and a few bridges. The fiery ring surrounding the airship continues to burn steadily.

The party cannot spy Feral Fawcett, but sees a few dozen Daask jumping from the stuck airship, and running out into the city. They assume the snake-bodied medusa was among them as they board the airship a second time.

They quickly search the stranded and now-abandoned ship, first descending into the depths and the engineering room, where they idle the engine powered by the captured fire elemental. They then spread out, and find some foodstuffs in the hold, along with a few bundles of arrows and one-shot wands left behind by the Daask up in the forecastle. A few dead goblins and satyrs are found, along with several black-clad halfling thugs, though the party can’t place them.

Meanwhile Gnofulk passes through the damaged starting gate for a final time. The few remaining, uncharred confetti poppers explode signaling the official end of the Race of the Eight Winds. A lone, inebriated spectator near the finish line applauds, oblivious to the carnage just visited upon Sharn. His claps echo around the now-quiet valleys between the plateaus of Sharn, the City of Towers, as the party exchanges glances of disbelief.