Eberron Adventure: Session Fifty-One

So there they were…
Still messing about with hats, for the most part.

Mid-day had arrived in the ruined, odd little village of Dankmire. Floating hats continued to mill about their business, as if it was market day. However, the village sat in the Mournland, a once-vibrant nation magically scoured of life in one cataclysmic moment. The cataclysm was about five years past, but time had taken a toll on the village. Its small well/fountain sat dry, and all the dozen or so buildings were crumbling. No bodies lay about here; just floating hats.

The Mournland was a barren place. Dead Gray Mist bordered the Mournland on all sides, frustrating travel and obscuring the sky at all hours. The land existed in a dead haze, even at midday.
Turnin the human monk was still fascinated with this hat puzzle. He wonders aloud what happens at night, and convinces the party to wait it out. No one objects. The last night was rough, what with the Rays of Frost, and the party could use some downtime. They spend the rest of the day milling about the odd town.

Comfort wonders if there would be a way to see into this oddball realm, perhaps to see the people beneath the hats. The best she has is her little compact pocket mirror. The tiefling unclasps and flips it open peering inside. She gazes upon the village in the mirror…

…and see’s it from a new perspective that can only be described as “reversed.” Drat.

Ula starts building a pyre near one of the homes, practicing her survival skills or something. However, the half-orc leaves it unlit. Gnofulk continues searching through the rubble for trinkets. He finds a mummified goblin hand, and a pair of old socks. I guess that’s a win, though the tiny barbarian is a bit confused by the socks. Does a gnome even wear socks? Does a barbarian?

Dusk falls. The hats continue to float about their business, but slower. In time, the hats seem to be disbursing. Turnin eyes a nice-looking bowler (*ahem* bohler). hat, and follows it after seeing other hats being set on hat racks or the remains of tables and desks in collapsed buildings. It is places on a tilted hat rack, and the monk immediately snatches it up.
Surprisingly without any protest or repercussions. The monk has scored a pretty nice hat. The barbarians are intrigued by these… “hats,” now that they are lootable. Ula finds and swipes grabs a big floppy sun hat. Gnofulk searches for, but is ultimately unable to find a deerstalker hat. Well, two hats for a day’s work. Worth it, I guess.

Before they depart, Francis insists on a prayer, which culminates with a Sacred Flame being cast on Ula’s pyre; a symbol of the cleansing and purifying fire of the Silver Flame. The party departs this odd little village.

The party returns to the idling airship, and the fire uh… starts to spread. Distorted screams of terror are slowly carried on the wind, though as before, the party isn’t exactly sure where the sounds are coming from. Oh well.

The night shift has taken over, and Ruth is at the helm as the skiff is secured, with two goblin deckhands maintaining the ship. The party eats, but it is a little early to call it a night. The continue to rest, and instruct Ruth to get them back to the lightning rail, so that they may follow it east to Kalazart, the old sprawling merchant city.

Night in the Mournland is well, spooky. Enshrouded by the Dead Gray Mist, Eberron’s many moons are obscured, and the moonlight is dully reflected through the haze. According to their own design, patches of mist continue to manifest, swirl and then disappear as the lone fiery airship meanders back towards the lightning rail.

As the party chats, a solitary tune is heard, slowly getting louder as it gets closer. The party take to the deck rails, and soon, the source is seen several hundred feet away, an armored, shambling host emerges from one of the swirling patches of mist.

The party can’t discern too much, but infers that with the shambling.. they may be undead. The tune is the same as the one heard while Francis was scrying the other day, and totally warrants some investigating. They won’t intercept the path of the airship, so Ruth halts the ship, and the skiff is prepared and launched, with all the party members hanging on as they approach.
The party skirts closer to the host, and sees eight more typical looking skeletons, and one brute, towering head and shoulders over the others and clad in menacing plate. One of the smaller skeletons is dooting, trumpet-like object in hand, and all are clad in the armor and colors of Karrnathi undead.
The party zip in front of the skeletons, giving them a little space. They shouting at them, but the skeletons keep marching on. Kylar attempts to swipe the trumpet with his Mage Hand, but the spell cannot contest the feeble skeletal resistance. With the attempt, the skeletons become hostile.
The barbarians of the party are ready. At the first sign of trouble, Ula hurls a javelin at the brute and Gnofulk rages and hops down. As the javelin strikes, the gnome is in the thick of it; axe swinging at the brute and Zyn’s scimitar slashing at one of the other skeletons.
The hostile skeletons strike back, though aten’t as skilled as the barbarians. The plated brute strikes several times against the angry gnome, but the longsword finds purchase only once. Several skeletons in the front move up to engage Gnofulk, but none of their shortswords can find the gnome.
The back ranks of skeletons backpedal and draw their shortbows, loosing a volley at the skiff.. but none of the nearly half-dozen shafts find flesh. Having parked the skiff, Francis draws divine power to shoo the skeletons away. Go on. Get!
Amazingly, most of the host holds. One skeleton turns to flee, and is utterly destroyed. The brute turns as well, and while not destroyed outright, he is turned, and compelled to flee.
The cleric also decides to shield the gnome with a spell. Unfortunately, the magic struggles against the cleric, and as the benevolent benediction is finished, both the gnome and the dwarf wink out of existence.

Kylar is momentarily confused, but quickly settles on a massive fireball into the skeletal ranks, now that the gnome is... well, out of the way. Fortune smiles upon the wizard in multiple respects. While the magic did fight him, the spell goes off with no ill effects. Additionally, while the skeletons proved to be incredibly stalwart against the divine turning, all but the trumpeter fail to avoid the massive fireball, and are obliterated. Charred almost beyond recognition, the lone skeleton continues to doot, angrily, the sweet song still filling the air.
The music is getting to Turnin. In a good way. The monk has a small drum, and joins in the jam, not wanting to harm the skeleton.
Comfort is also intrigued by the dooting, and chooses to Firebolt the still-fleeing brute. Dented and charred, the brute continues fleeing, spooked but undefeated so far.
The music is getting to Ula. In a less good way. The half-orc readies another javelin, and abolishes the dooting skeleton; javelin piercing the horn, pushing through and decapitating the boney warrior. The magic sputters out of the horn in a breathless glissando.
Kylar and Comfort sling additional Firebolts at the fleeing skeleton, and the sorceress is the one to end it; it’s armored head popping like a kernel.
The monk pilots the skiff down, and the party begins to search. The trumpet is ruined, but Comfort sets about some starting magical mending repairs.
About a minute after touchdown, Gnofulk and Francis wink back into existence. Still raging the gnome quickly surveys the scene, and concludes that he blacked out and struck with such force the skeletons were incinerated. You go little guy.
Francis winks back into existence in the air, back where the skiff was. He falls to the ground, landing hard, and his dignity is hurt a little. Neither party member can recall anything of the last minute. They just simple vanished and then reappeared a minute later.
Kylar casts detect magic, but finds naught but the fading necromancy of the skeletons and enchantment of the instrument. The wizard runs out to check on the plated brute. No DieFi rod there, and he doesn’t have any kind of special pouch for orders or anything. He’s just “muscle” for the undead skeletons, so- to-speak. After several tries to drag the towering skeleton, the wizard just shoves him into the Bag of Holding. Further study may prove beneficial.
The rest of the party picks their way through the undead weapons. They are basically serviceable, but mundane and in ill repair. Nothing worth salvaging from the Karrnathi ranks. Comfort finishes with the horn repair, though the magic is long gone. Still, Turnin puts it to his lips and tries his best. The monk does surprisingly ok. The party may have found a bugler!
The party returns to the airship, and again asks Ruth to find the lightning rail line and then follow it east. Most decide to retire in earnest this time around; Ula to her skiff, Kylar to his study, Francis and Comfort to their bunks, Gnofulk to his small hold with Nutasha.
Turnin approaches the roguish pilot, and chats her up. She is hanging in there, but exhausted. Someone needs to be flying the airship basically every moment, and it’s taking a bit of a toll on Rhogar and herself. Twelve hours a day of near-constant struggle would do that.
The monk wonders if he might be able to pick up a shift now and then… but no. Hands on the wheel, the monk’s will proves insufficient to command the elemental caged within. The bottom strut, that supports the burning ring of fire, digs into the ground and the ship lurches as Ruth regains control to right it. A few things tumble about, and Comfort unfortunately tumbles out of the top bunk and smacks her head.
Comfort asks Francis to scooch over; she can’t really make it back to the top bunk with a bump on the noggin. The cleric refuses. He is chaste. He’s got big metal locked underwear and everything. And it is chaffing.
Comfort does have thieves tools, and powder and offers to help. The powder helps, but the tiefling only manages to jam two now-broken lockpicks into the lock on the dwarf’s belt. Francis sighs and begins his evening prayers.
Turnin is up early, and visits their warforged prisoner, Dirk, in the airship’s galley. Chef gives them a moment while the fantasy coffee finishes brewing, and steps out.
Dirk has cleverly concealed arm blades that pop right now, so the monk has taken precautions to nullify those in the restraints. The warforged is tied up to a post, arms pointed right at his head. If the warforged activates the blades he’ll lobotomize himself. Or whatever the warforged equivalent is. Turnin taunts the warforged a bit, and Dirk refuses to cooperate and divulge any information about Kalazart or the Perpetual Legion, their specific location or their activities. Turnin shrugs. The monk has no problem leaving Dirk as-is.
Dawn comes, hazy as usual; the sun obscured by the Dead Gray Mist. Ruth has done well in the night though. The lightning rail was found, and Kalazart should be just a few miles ahead and over the horizon. The potent smells of fantasy coffee wafts through the ship, rousing the party for another day of adventuring. Very likely in Kalazart...

Eberron Adventure: Session Fifty

So there they were…

Clambering on top of an idling lightning rail train. The human monk Turnin dragging their bound and unconscious warforged prisoner by the ankles. The dwarf cleric Francis, the human wizard Kylar, the gnome barbarian/ranger Gnofulk and the half-orc barbarian Ula all tend to the skiff that (most of) the party had used to frantically board the fleeing train. In their scuffle with the warforged, the tiefling sorceress Comfort was hit by a crossbow bolt, and she nurses the wound as the party congregates on the roof of one trains boxcars.

Captain Rhorgar brings the ship up and over the final small crest of the hill, the fiery ring of the airship still hovering mere feet above the ground. The name Taint Tickler greets the party as Rhogar comes alongside to pick up the skiff and the party. Ula snickers.

The party ascends on the skiff, Francis in the back articulating the magical prop. Once aboard, with the help of the cleric, Comfort starts tending to her wound, the dwarf slowly cleaning, stitching and covering the puncture from the bolt. Turnin calls for the warforged Chef to meet the party on deck, to discuss their captive.

While they wait, Turnin is regards the cleric, and the warforged, and Comfort’s wound, and again the cleric. Kylar knows what the monk is thinking, and informs him that it doesn’t work that way. Being made of wood and metal and magic, warforged heal differently than your typical adventurer. Cure Wounds and the like has a reduced effect on them.

Chef makes his way out of the galley and onto the deck, adjusting his appropriate hat, apron and additional bulky armor plates (he heard no one trusts a skinny chef). The party’s cooking companion confirms Kylar’s statement. Heal spells don’t always work as well on warforged, though there is usually some effect. However, they do have other ways to effectively heal, through field repair kits. After some more discussion, Chef convinces the party that warforged can’t self-destruct, and agrees to repair the captive a bit, in the hopes of reviving it.

Chef adjusts his apron, squats by the bound warforged, and produces a small kit. A few clacks of a wrench, a few more twists of a screwdriver, and some squirts from an old timey oil squirter and the damage inflicted by the monk is patched enough. An odd “bonging” some issues from the bound warforged before the faint glow of his eyes returns.

This warforged looks different than the others defeated on the train. More… customized. The chest armor is black, with small silver lines of spikes covering it. He’s a bit of a punk-rock warforged, though he unfortunately lacks a mohawk.

Turnin plies the captive with questions. The monk (and party) learn precious little however. He snidely confirms that “fleshings” can’t heal here in the Mournland. His name is Dirk, and from the bits and bobs on him, he is affiliated with the Perpetual Legion. He can’t or won’t tell the party where the Legion is though, and insists that he and the defeated trio were going on a beer run back to Breland.

While a beer run piques the interest of about half the party, the more they think it over… warforged don’t need to eat or drink, and they don’t know how hard warforged usually party, or if warforged can even suffer the effects (or benefits!) of alcohol. The party steps away to confer. Theories abound.

Maybe it is just a beer run? Maybe it’s a half-truth, and it’s a supply run for the Legion? Maybe the conductor stones aren’t actually busted, and the train goes further into the Mournland to help the Legion?

Rhogar pulls the fiery airship away from the lightning rail, puttering back towards the end of the line, while a duo of goblin deckhands futz with things about the ship. Chef returns to the galley, and Montgomery Dwarf and Ruth remain below, the latter sleeping and awaiting her shift at the helm. Newly stitched up, Comfort nurses her wound and her drink, thinking, while the rest of the party prepare a skiff to investigate the conductor stones.

Being a dwarf, Francis knows a thing or two about stones. However, that proves to be of little help here, and the cleric’s knowledge falters. Each conductor stone consists of a large stone block housing a smaller pyramid-shaped magical focus that deals – nay conducts – the lightning from the lightning rail, keeping it grounded and on track as it moves. The dwarf can tell the next dozen stones beyond are indeed broken, but can’t tell exactly how. (Destroyed by magic? Brute force?)

Kylar tries to detect magic, to rule out illusionary brokenness, and although he succeeds (the stones are indeed broken), the magic fights him, and his voice is altered for a time. As the wizard squeakily imparts his wisdom, the barbarians poke around.

The half-orc Ula hefts her massive tower shield as she walks. There are a surprising number of footprints around, from a variety of races. However, things don’t decay in the Mournland, and she is hard-pressed to say when these were made.

Watching Ula, Gnofulklooks around to help, and realizes that he is actually in a large footprint himself. The track is about 15’ across, and the depression is rather angular, one may surmise that it was caused by something artificial. Calling Turnin over, the monk paces it out, and while scratching his headband and reflecting on his own physique, believes the tracks to be of something obviously large, but moving quite slow and ponderous.

They decide to return to the ship. Dirk will only sarcastically answer the party’s questions about the large tracks, and eventually Ula has enough, and chucks the bound warforged off the deck of the fiery airship, where he crashes into the ground and goes inert again. No one objects, of moves to stop the half-orc. Dirk… kinda has it coming.

As Rhogar prepares to depart, Turnin decides to retrieve Dirk. The monk isn’t done with the warforged yet. The monk tosses down a rope and hauls the now unconscious captive back up to the ship.

The party bicker a bit about where to keep him – the ship wasn’t built with an explicit brig – and in the end, decide to leave him with Chef, though even there, there is some debate. What if Dirk convinces Chef to let him go? Or poison the crew? Or, or worse? And what’s the deal with galleys and galleons? Boats and places to eat? Boats and coins? What gives, words?

In a moment of clarity, Turnin decides to more intrusively search their captive, and between him, Kylar and Kaz the Kobold, they determine the Dirk has sweet, sweet arm blades concealed in his forearms.

Turnin hauls Dirk down below deck, and asks Chef to ignore the new dents. Chef agrees to let Dirk stay in the galley for a while, inert. Turnin reties the warforged so that if the arm blades do come out, Dirk will poke himself in the head. All in all, it’s a terribly morbid situation the more you think about it.

The airship presses on, following both a set of giant tracks and the conductor stones, both moving towards the east. After an hour or so, the tracks veer south, and the party decide to follow them, as best they can.

Dusk descends. The Dead Gray Mist encasing the Mournland deadens the sun anyways. At night, the malevolent fog rolls around, only occasionally illuminated by the reflective light of Eberron’s moons. It is a spooky place, this Mournland.

Kylar withdraws to his room. Gnofolk retires to his bunk with the flying squirrel Nutasha. Ula returns to her little shanty nest on the second skiff. Turnin sets up a small hammock on deck as Ruth and two fresh goblin deckhands start their long shift. And… for some reason, despite having an extra room, the cleric Francis and the sorceress Comfort are bunking together. Literally bunking. Like, with the bunk beds. Having deadened the pain of the crossbow bolt, the tiefling is up top, snoring. The dwarf, for some unknowable reason, got the lower bunk, and begins his lengthy evening prayers.

As few hours pass. One of the goblin deckhands is up front, keeping a lookout for the tracks, and signaling up to Ruth for minor course corrections. Another wanders about the ship, quietly making sure things are in order.

Well… quiet for a little bit. Off in the distance, the goblin deckhand Chester sees some funky twinkling blue lights, undulating out in the foggy distance. He decides to wake the monk, dozing in his hammock.

Turnin is roused, and groggily takes stock of the situation. No, he tells Chester, he hasn’t seen that before. No, he doesn’t know what they are.  

But the monk is intrigued. Ruth shrugs; it is the monk’s call. The lights don’t look to be getting any closer. Turnin decides to give chase, and Ruth wheels the fiery airship ship after the lights.

After a few minutes, the lights seem to notice the pursuit. In the indeterminate distance, they wobble and seem to wheel to face the oncoming airship, bobbing closer and closer. Turnin decides to rouse the crew by sounding the alarm: Chester.

The goblin starts belting “Oogaah!” at the top of his little lungs, and running around, making sure everyone is aware. Ula rouses herself from her skiff, pulling her huge shield along and standing near Ruth and Turnin at the helm. Francis and Comfort leave their bunks and come to the middle of the main deck and are soon joined by Kylar. Gnofulk and Nutasha scramble to the front of the ship, looking to make use of their above-average senses.

It is evidently a little too dark for Gnofulk, but Nutasha is able to discern a little about the shapes as they come closer, and she describes them as flying pancakes, and there is a kind of a cold spicy aroma on the wind.

The trio of flying pancakes come into view; undulating towards the ship quite speedily as the fiery airship itself presses on. They look like nautical rays or skates, except they are covered with innumerable fangs and eyes, and have a faint light surrounding them; icy particles shaken loose from their movements.

In mere seconds, the ships and monsters will meet.

Gnofulk readies his sling, and with a raging primal yell, flings two of the “screaming,” fear-causing stones at the oncoming creatures. Both stones impact, but the creatures are unafraid. Kylar readies his magic, and casts a hypnotizing pattern in the path of the undulating rays. The many eyes of one of the trio is entirely transfixed on the pattern, and the ray simply glides, content and mesmerized towards the ground. The two other rays shake off the effect, and continue, reaching the bow of the fiery airship.

Gnofulk is buffeted by wings and fangs of one of the rays, icy bits piercing the tiny barbarian. An intense aura surrounds the ray too, and the barbarian and his mount are blasted with intense cold this close to the ray.

With both remaining rays in striking distance, Turnin springs forth. His cool staff and wraps land blow after blow on the ray not fighting Gnofulk, but the cool weapons don’t seem to be as damaging to the creatures as the monk hoped. Ula too jumps down from the raised section of the helm, but is slower than the monk, and is unable to get a swing in.

Francis observes this, and casts Shield of Faith and his favorite monk, to protect his dear “Angelwings” as well as releases *ahem* a Scorching Ray blast against the attacking *ahem* rays. Three arcs of flame fly from the cleric’s hand, one burning into the ray by Angelwings, and two arcing over to pierce the frosty hide of the one by Gnofulk. Fire is apparently super-effective here, and the two rays are toast.

The cleric wrestles with the magic just released, and while he senses something odd has happened, the dwarf cannot determine what the extra effect was.

Still a little shy after getting shot with the warforged crossbow on the train, Comfort simply watches the battle unfold and end; over before she needed to act. The last hypnotized ray lazily glides into the hull, and continues its’ gently descent into the ground below, and the goblin Chester stops his “Aoogah”ing.

Gnofulk tries to tend to Nutasha’s wounds from the frost aura, and ever curious, Kylar examines the bodies of the rays before Turnin kicks them over the side. The wizard deduces that these are Rays of Frost – living spells brought into being by the chaotic and mysterious Mournland. The wizard wonders what other deviant horrors await the party in this dead land…

It is the middle of the night; no rest has really been had, and most of the crew is now too amped up to rest. Francis does decide to try and get some shuteye, though his rest is truncated as he begins his evening prayers anew. They rest of the party decide to continue following the tracks as best they can, and after another hour or so in the air, come across the ruins of a small village.

The party wants to investigate the village but are wary. They decide to wait a few hours until morning. Chef maneuvers around the still mercilessly incapacitated prisoner Dirk, to supply the party with some fresh fantasy coffee. After a nice cup (and the conclusion of Francis’ morning prayers), the party disembarks, all hopping into the skiff and puttering down into the village.

Maybe a dozen or so buildings used to constitute the village. It’s hard to say now. Roofs have collapsed, and a few years has taken a toll on the walls. Rubble and debris soften every hard angle. As the party approaches on their skiff, the smell of bacon wafts up, and the sounds of children playing and soft discussion slip into their ears, though turn as they do, they cannot fixate on an actual source for any of these sensory occurrences.

The party sets down in what appears to be a fountain in the center of the village. As they look around, a curious sight greets them; dozens of floating hats, all bobbing around, as if dozens of invisible people are milling about on the start of a festival or market day.

The party is intrigued and sit around the skiff and dried up fountain to observe. Hats of all styles continue to float around, occasionally tipping one another as they pass.

The half orc Ula comes to recognize this place as the tiny village of Dankmire and recalls an old watering hole here… the Taint Tickler, if she recalls correctly. She conscripts Comfort and Gnofulk to help her find the old bar.

Meanwhile, the monk, wizard and cleric attempt to unravel this alleged hat puzzle. The hats ignore greetings, questions and insults. They float right past

Kylar determines that some kind of enchantment magic is in the in the error. Or is it the school of illusion? It’s harder to discern here in the Mournland.

Mage Hand tries to wrest control of a hat, but the green conjured hand proves unable to win a tug-of-war. The wizard hears a harrumph from somewhere.

Francis starts trailing a hat lower to the ground, and the dwarf pops his head in. It works for a handful of steps, but then slips off, with the hat going in its own desired direction.

Turnin is the most intrigued by these wandering hats. He has the wizard conjure one up for him, and the monk tips the green conjuration towards an approaching hat. The hat responds in kind but immediately continues on its way.

The monk then tries to uh, “borrow” a hat. He seems to succeed for a moment, but he hears panicked screams come from somewhere nearby, and the hat is dragged back into place, and then it hustles off.

The drunkards eventually find the Taint Tickler bar and begin poking around. After half an hour gingerly sifting through debris, they are rewarded with a trio of fine Cyrean brandy. Since there is no more Cyre and no more brandy production… these are valuable bottles. Comfort pops one open to celebrate the find. It tastes delicious.

The monk is still occupied, so Kylar begins sifting around as well. Detect Magic has not pinged any items here, so the wizard is searching mundanely. He climbs into one of the collapsed buildings, and finds a small desk with book. The wizard pages through it, to read the secrets of a girl named Gloria. The last entry was on the day of the Mourning event; the cataclysm that transformed Cyre into the Mournland. In the entry she relates that she has gotten a new hat, and is excited to go live with her uncle in Sharn.

All the while Turnin is still trying to figure out these darn hats. The monk jumps on one, squatting down and holding onto the brim. With his good monk balance, Turnin is able to float around on the hat without any real issue.

After a few minutes riding the hat around, the monk wonders if this place under is under a magical curse. Utilizing his dragonmark, the monk reaches down to where the invisible, incorporeal person under the hat would be, and releases his magic.

No curse is lifted, and instead a fireball is detonated. Amazingly, the monk and the hat are unharmed.

The rest of the party hear the boom, and turn to see the mushrooming cloud nearby, and the monk give a wobbly thumbs up as the hat rights itself.

Golly. What a crazy hat puzzle.

Eberron Adventure: Session Forty-Nine

So there they were…

…Flying towards the Mournland; the dead, devastated land formerly known as the great artisan nation of Cyre.

The magnificent Captain Rhogar was at the helm since dawn; longcoat over his armor and a tricorn hat atop his black scaled head. The lizardman looked every bit a captain… though his fear of heights continued to peek through. At the helm, his jaws were clenched, and could only give the briefest of answers.

The lizardman was curtly answering all the piloting and navigation questions of Ruth, recent competitor in the Race of the Eight Winds, former lover to former party member Shadowale, and roguish niece to the aged archmage and friend of the party known as Winnefred.

A quartet of yet-to-be-officially-named, red-shirted goblins from the Cogs scrambled about checking things throughout the airship, assisted from time to time by the tinkering kobold manservant known as Kaz. A dwarf named Montgomery Dwarf and Kaz worked in the engineering room below deck, keeping an eye on the intricate workings of this experimental, fire-powered airship. Lastly, the warforged known as Chef was preparing a pleasant traveler’s lunch of scrumptious, meaty kebabs and flat bread for the PCs.

The tiefling sorceress Comfort, the half-orc barbarian Ula, the dwarf cleric Francis, the human wizard Kylar, the human monk Turnin, and the gnome barbarian Gnofulk all lunched after a blessing of sorts from the cleric.

The ate as leisurely as the ship moved. Referred to as the Burning Inquiry by its builders by never actually christened, an intrepid gnome had painted over the name in the night, dubbing the airship The Jackalope’s Folly.

The party ate and drank and discussed a small detour desired by Kylar, back towards a shadow-themed community from very early on in their adventures. The wizard brought the rest of the party up to speed on their little adventure with this reclusive community…

The short of it, was that a group of people were terrified by the world around them. The devastating Mourning event was particularly unsettling, and they banded together near a long-forgotten tower. A shadow demon had made a secret pact with the group’s leaders; protection and safety, in exchange for their shadows. A magical bargain. The party had snuck in, killed the leaders, and fought the shadow demon, setting fire to the tower in the process, as he was hard to see.

As it turned out, the accidental cultists were actually pretty relieved to be free of the pact, and after putting out the fire and shattering a magic crystal, they got their shadows back, though many members of the community – Shades – had gained/retained the ability to warp shadows around them. Kylar had given the fledgling community mundane weapons scrounged from their earlier adventures, and they had all parted ways pleasantly. It had been a year or so (time is hard to track for an adventurer), and the wizard was wondering how the group was getting along.

Soon, the ship paused at the edge of the forest; the community was only a few miles away. For better or for worse, the airship could get no closer without igniting the canopy; it could only hover a maximum of few hundred feet above the ground, not nearly high enough to get over the forest and get closer. It was time for the party to disembark.

Turnin used his staff catapulted himself off the side of the shup, using his monk skills to land safely. Comfort also jumped off, casting Feather Fall to slow her descent. Gnofulk had harnessed Nutasha, and the flying squirrel sprung off, gliding into the forest. Ula had donned a pair of the “wingies” from one of the numerous railing compartments, and was also floating down towards the ground, massive tower shield at her back.

Kylar and Francis look upon their showboaty companions, unlatch a skiff, and fly down to join their compatriots. On the ground, all but Gnofulk and Nutasha hop about the skiff, and with Francis at the tiller, begin slowly picking their way through the forest. Rhogar will keep the ship here, waiting.

It isn’t long before the party is greeted by two familiar bearded human faces – the Steve’s are waiting for them, and they brought a nice chocolate cake! They heard the party was coming, and just could wait to meet them. Ula and Francis dig into the cake with their hands, and the Steve’s chad and guide the party back to the community, and they pass a small sign, declaring the place as the Shady Tower Township.

The community has done well for itself in the last year. The forest is not particularly dense, but some trees has been felled and replaced with small farms. Travel is frequent enough that distinct paths becomes visable as the parts nears the tower, which now has a roof and looks to have been repaired. All the hovels seem to have been upgraded too, and approach what most would term as houses.

Several members of the community recognize Gnofulk, Turnin, and Kylar from before, and wave, or give simple nods or salutes as they go about their business, acknowledging their freedom as a result of the party’s actions. The group disembarks outside of the palisade, and is brought inside the wall.

Naris, greets them, his shadow still swirling around him. Previously a missionary or sorts, drawing people to the community, he now leads it as the elected mayor. He and the Steve’s invite the party to sit, drink, and finish off the cake.

The party will learn that the community has been busy. They’ve already seen the upgrades around the township, and naris will relate that they’ve been making progress reintegrating into the greater society of Breland. The world is still scary, but they’re trading with nearby towns, and the Shades – former missionaries of the cult – have been repurposed into a bit of spy network, slowly spreading throughout the continent of Khorvaire.

The township has heard all about the dramatic Race of the Eight Winds, the party’s acquisition of the experimental airship, and their departure from Sharn. They’ve also heard of warforged traveling to the Mournland, though do not know the goals of the Perpetual Legion. Still, the warforged are most adept at surviving that intolerable place; their repairs are unaffected by the magical upheavals in the region that prevents all other kinds of healing or natural processes.

Unfortunately, the spies are more concerned with the living than the dead – and have sent no agents into the Mournland. They know arguably less than the party here. Also unfortunately, the party is disinterested in anything besides information on the Mournland. They say misfortune comes in threes, and lastly, unfortunately, Turnin makes an unconvincing argument to the Steve’s to join them, so the crew loses out on two stealthy best friends and their baking and guarding skillsets.

Naris gives the party a final tour of the tower; the bottom floors for community activities and spy networking; the uppermost floor his private little room. The repairs have been great, and there is no sign of the destructive fire!

The party soon decides that it is time to leave, and after the pleasant afternoon of wine, cake, and catching up, again part on good terms with the community. The majority pile back into the skiff, while Gnofulk remounts Nutasha, climbs to the top of the tower and jumps off, gliding back into the forest.

They soon find their way back to the airship, and ascends with the skiff. With Ruth at the helm, they depart, and the party retires for the evening, save for a brief bout of insomnia from Francis, who after a few words with one of the goblin deckhands, decides sleep is definitely preferable to conversation with a goblin.

The morning comes, and the airship is gracefully traveling parallel with the lightning rail. A few trains have passed along the trip, moving far faster than the airship. In the late morning, another train zips by. From his Titanic-like perch near the front of the airship, Francis can see, that about a mile ahead, stones and rocks start battering the train; a trio of giants of some sort seem to be tossing rocks.

The cleric alerts the rest of the party, and weapons are readied. While damaged, the train has not been derailed. The party decides they don’t want to risk damaging the airship and decide at the last minute to give the giants a wider berth. When the giants do see them, rocks still fly, but fall short, and the airship continues on its way. Getting a better look at the giants as they pass, Francis thinks they are rather young hill giants, and the party congratulates themselves on not murdering children.

They continue, following the conductor stones of the lightning rail further and further east, towards the Mournland. As the afternoon wanes, they spot a massive fortification in the distance that should be no more than a tower.

As they approach, they see that the tower is there, with a bustling market surrounding it. The unexpected fortification nearby, is actually a massive, grounded airship, the elementals and presumed energy wings all encased within, protected by thick armor and numerous weapons.

A few party members have heard of these massive ships; of the half dozen or so built by Breland in the Last War, several were lost in the war. The status of several more are unknown, presumably on missions. Only the location of the Argonth is roughly known; it’s mission to patrol Breland’s boarders.

After a brief conference, the party decides this is not worth their time, and continue on. A final evening comes and goes, and at dawn, the party stands on the main deck, watching the border of the Mournland, a dense and supernatural fog, get closer and closer…

Eberron Adventure: Session Forty-Eight

So there they were…

…Flying towards the Mournland; the dead, devastated land formerly known as the great artisan nation of Cyre.

The magnificent Captain Rhogar was at the helm since dawn; longcoat over his armor and a tricorn hat atop his black scaled head. The lizardman looked every bit a captain… though his fear of heights continued to peek through. At the helm, his jaws were clenched, and could only give the briefest of answers.

The lizardman was curtly answering all the piloting and navigation questions of Ruth, recent competitor in the Race of the Eight Winds, former lover to former party member Shadowale, and roguish niece to the aged archmage and friend of the party known as Winnefred.

A quartet of yet-to-be-officially-named, red-shirted goblins from the Cogs scrambled about checking things throughout the airship, assisted from time to time by the tinkering kobold manservant known as Kaz. A dwarf named Montgomery Dwarf and Kaz worked in the engineering room below deck, keeping an eye on the intricate workings of this experimental, fire-powered airship. Lastly, the warforged known as Chef was preparing a pleasant traveler’s lunch of scrumptious, meaty kebabs and flat bread for the PCs.

The tiefling sorceress Comfort, the half-orc barbarian Ula, the dwarf cleric Francis, the human wizard Kylar, the human monk Turnin, and the gnome barbarian Gnofulk all lunched after a blessing of sorts from the cleric.

The ate as leisurely as the ship moved. Referred to as the Burning Inquiry by its builders by never actually christened, an intrepid gnome had painted over the name in the night, dubbing the airship The Jackalope’s Folly.

The party ate and drank and discussed a small detour desired by Kylar, back towards a shadow-themed community from very early on in their adventures. The wizard brought the rest of the party up to speed on their little adventure with this reclusive community…

The short of it, was that a group of people were terrified by the world around them. The devastating Mourning event was particularly unsettling, and they banded together near a long-forgotten tower. A shadow demon had made a secret pact with the group’s leaders; protection and safety, in exchange for their shadows. A magical bargain. The party had snuck in, killed the leaders, and fought the shadow demon, setting fire to the tower in the process, as he was hard to see.

As it turned out, the accidental cultists were actually pretty relieved to be free of the pact, and after putting out the fire and shattering a magic crystal, they got their shadows back, though many members of the community – Shades – had gained/retained the ability to warp shadows around them. Kylar had given the fledgling community mundane weapons scrounged from their earlier adventures, and they had all parted ways pleasantly. It had been a year or so (time is hard to track for an adventurer), and the wizard was wondering how the group was getting along.

Soon, the ship paused at the edge of the forest; the community was only a few miles away. For better or for worse, the airship could get no closer without igniting the canopy; it could only hover a maximum of few hundred feet above the ground, not nearly high enough to get over the forest and get closer. It was time for the party to disembark.

Turnin used his staff catapulted himself off the side of the shup, using his monk skills to land safely. Comfort also jumped off, casting Feather Fall to slow her descent. Gnofulk had harnessed Nutasha, and the flying squirrel sprung off, gliding into the forest. Ula had donned a pair of the “wingies” from one of the numerous railing compartments, and was also floating down towards the ground, massive tower shield at her back.

Kylar and Francis look upon their showboaty companions, unlatch a skiff, and fly down to join their compatriots. On the ground, all but Gnofulk and Nutasha hop about the skiff, and with Francis at the tiller, begin slowly picking their way through the forest. Rhogar will keep the ship here, waiting.

It isn’t long before the party is greeted by two familiar bearded human faces – the Steve’s are waiting for them, and they brought a nice chocolate cake! They heard the party was coming, and just could wait to meet them. Ula and Francis dig into the cake with their hands, and the Steve’s chad and guide the party back to the community, and they pass a small sign, declaring the place as the Shady Tower Township.

The community has done well for itself in the last year. The forest is not particularly dense, but some trees has been felled and replaced with small farms. Travel is frequent enough that distinct paths becomes visable as the parts nears the tower, which now has a roof and looks to have been repaired. All the hovels seem to have been upgraded too, and approach what most would term as houses.

Several members of the community recognize Gnofulk, Turnin, and Kylar from before, and wave, or give simple nods or salutes as they go about their business, acknowledging their freedom as a result of the party’s actions. The group disembarks outside of the palisade, and is brought inside the wall.

Naris, greets them, his shadow still swirling around him. Previously a missionary or sorts, drawing people to the community, he now leads it as the elected mayor. He and the Steve’s invite the party to sit, drink, and finish off the cake.

The party will learn that the community has been busy. They’ve already seen the upgrades around the township, and naris will relate that they’ve been making progress reintegrating into the greater society of Breland. The world is still scary, but they’re trading with nearby towns, and the Shades – former missionaries of the cult – have been repurposed into a bit of spy network, slowly spreading throughout the continent of Khorvaire.

The township has heard all about the dramatic Race of the Eight Winds, the party’s acquisition of the experimental airship, and their departure from Sharn. They’ve also heard of warforged traveling to the Mournland, though do not know the goals of the Perpetual Legion. Still, the warforged are most adept at surviving that intolerable place; their repairs are unaffected by the magical upheavals in the region that prevents all other kinds of healing or natural processes.

Unfortunately, the spies are more concerned with the living than the dead – and have sent no agents into the Mournland. They know arguably less than the party here. Also unfortunately, the party is disinterested in anything besides information on the Mournland. They say misfortune comes in threes, and lastly, unfortunately, Turnin makes an unconvincing argument to the Steve’s to join them, so the crew loses out on two stealthy best friends and their baking and guarding skillsets.

Naris gives the party a final tour of the tower; the bottom floors for community activities and spy networking; the uppermost floor his private little room. The repairs have been great, and there is no sign of the destructive fire!

The party soon decides that it is time to leave, and after the pleasant afternoon of wine, cake, and catching up, again part on good terms with the community. The majority pile back into the skiff, while Gnofulk remounts Nutasha, climbs to the top of the tower and jumps off, gliding back into the forest.

They soon find their way back to the airship, and ascends with the skiff. With Ruth at the helm, they depart, and the party retires for the evening, save for a brief bout of insomnia from Francis, who after a few words with one of the goblin deckhands, decides sleep is definitely preferable to conversation with a goblin.

The morning comes, and the airship is gracefully traveling parallel with the lightning rail. A few trains have passed along the trip, moving far faster than the airship. In the late morning, another train zips by. From his Titanic-like perch near the front of the airship, Francis can see, that about a mile ahead, stones and rocks start battering the train; a trio of giants of some sort seem to be tossing rocks.

The cleric alerts the rest of the party, and weapons are readied. While damaged, the train has not been derailed. The party decides they don’t want to risk damaging the airship and decide at the last minute to give the giants a wider berth. When the giants do see them, rocks still fly, but fall short, and the airship continues on its way. Getting a better look at the giants as they pass, Francis thinks they are rather young hill giants, and the party congratulates themselves on not murdering children.

They continue, following the conductor stones of the lightning rail further and further east, towards the Mournland. As the afternoon wanes, they spot a massive fortification in the distance that should be no more than a tower.

As they approach, they see that the tower is there, with a bustling market surrounding it. The unexpected fortification nearby, is actually a massive, grounded airship, the elementals and presumed energy wings all encased within, protected by thick armor and numerous weapons.

A few party members have heard of these massive ships; of the half dozen or so built by Breland in the Last War, several were lost in the war. The status of several more are unknown, presumably on missions. Only the location of the Argonth is roughly known; it’s mission to patrol Breland’s boarders.

After a brief conference, the party decides this is not worth their time, and continue on. A final evening comes and goes, and at dawn, the party stands on the main deck, watching the border of the Mournland, a dense and supernatural fog, get closer and closer…

Eberron Adventure: Session Forty-Seven

So there most of them were…

….gabbing away with a few new members.

Since the dramatic conclusion of Race of the Eight Winds, in which Gnofulk technically won while the Daask stole an experimental airship, rampaged through Sharn, and were ultimately stopped by the rest of the party, a few months had passed.

The gnome barbarian (now barbarian/ranger) and race-winner Gnofulk had won a heap of gold, and had left the ceremonial magic Rod of the Eight Winds in the care of Zeke, the aldergoblin of the Cogs and friend of the gnome. The gnome also left the posh apartment won in the race to the goblin, and their mutual friend, the Orc Rhaaal. The gnome had also sweet-talked the wizard Winnifred into letting him keep his mount from the race, a flying squirrel named Nutasha, and was working hard to become a Beastmaster.

The tiefling sorceress and madam Comfort, had decided that her excursions with the party around Sharn had been so much fun, that she’d join them on their Mournland expedition. Arrangements were made for Bathomet’s Bath House to be run by comfort’s number 2; a gnome by the name of Robyn while the madam was out adventuring. The tiefling had traded in the elegant dresses of Sharn, for more appropriate adventure-wear.

The human wizard Kylar had also streamlined his wardrobe; exchanging cumbersome robes for adventuring tunics. In the time since the race’s conclusion, he had hit the books, and as an initiate, had scribed over a lot of lower magic spells from the Guild of Starlight and Shadows into his spellbook. The kobold manservant Kaz had been hard at work arranging his small artificer workshop on the airship,

The human monk Turnin had also been hitting the books; taking classes at fantasy night school with

House Kundarak, trying to get an accounting degree in order to better manage the party finances.

The Halfling rogue Shadowale had left the party. Wary of reprisals from any leftovers of the Sharn cell of House Tarkanan, the Halfling had convinced the party to fake his death, and the rogue absconded away to start a brewery and artesian delicatessen.

In addition to the old crew, two new people had signed up for the Mournland expedition.

The first was a pious dwarf named Francis, cleric of the Silver Flame. The dwarf was aware of the party’s run-in with Steve Carlsberg von Brighthammer Jr, and the general zealotry of many of the followers of the Silver Flame. His dissent in these matters led his superiors to push him towards adventuring, and the aged elf Blume nudged him in the direction of the party.

The second was a half-orc barbarian names Ula, who had found herself the recipient of a few rounds celebrating Gnofulk’s win, and was herself found napping in one of the skiffs acquired by the party for use with their airship. Considering it all sorts of fate, the half-orc decided to join up, lending the party another strong arm and a massive magical tower shield, with the face of a demon.

The experimental airship had ended up in possession of the party. Airships are usually powered by air elementals, and are strictly run by House Lyrandar. However, this experimental airship, powered by a fiery elemental, was built with the help of House Orien. Found to be encroaching on the ___ of another House, both agreed to turn the ship over to the party (they saved it after all). Adventures aren’t known for their gentle use of items… perhaps House Lyrandar thinks this slight will solve itself?

Since the Race of the Eight Winds, the party had worked to repair and improve the airship, the Burning Inquiry to their desired specifications. A magical cannon had been mounted in the bow; two small skiffs had been acquired (one came with a bonus Ula); a lightning cannon had been mounted beneath the ship (and charged); and numerous Wingies of Freefall had been stowed along the railings to ease descent if needed.

The dragonborn battlemaster Rhogar (now an NPC), had spent the time with the Clifftop Adventurer’s Guild and House Orien, learning the ins and outs of the experimental airship, and a small crew to help man the ship:

• Kaz, Kylar’s kobold manservant, tinkerer.
• Montgomery Punchitfixit – engineer and a member of the Clifftop Adventurer’s Guild
• Chef, the rotund warforged uh.. chef.
• Ruth, co-racer in the Race of the Eight Winds, former one-time lover to Shadowale, and niece to the powerful wizard and friend-to-the-party Winnifred, as a pilot for the airship.
• Four goblins from the Cogs, to serves as deckhands.

The party had been busy!

Comfort, Gnofulk, Ula, Kylar, and Francis were all enjoying their last rounds in Ghallanda Hall. Their longstanding tab had been settled, and final favors called in. The plan was to drink, retire to their moored airship, and then depart in the morning after a final check. One drink lacked a person though; Turnin the monk was absent.

Halfway through the round, the monk arrived. Comfort had noticed the monk’s absence of late, and Turnin fessed up to studying. First he focused inward, and learned how to run on walls. Then he had started studying accounting. Numbers weren’t big at the monastery where he grew up, and he really wanted to do a good job of handling the party finances. The monk had taken some night classes, and had recently taken an exam.

Turnin told the group that he had passed with flying colors – but then immediately fessed up to the fib. He had failed, but just barely. He could get some extra credit and pass though, if the party helped him.

House Kundarak handles virtually all banking in the civilized continent of Khorvaire, with magically-connected vaults scattered throughout the major cities, including Sharn. To access a local vault, two keys are needed, and recently, Sharn’s vault had a key stolen.

This isn’t a grave concern for the House (the thief would still need the second key to access anything); and they could reforge/rekey the compromised vault, but that would be a headache. Turnin’s professor offers to pass the monk if he can save the House some trouble, and recover the key by 11:59 tonight, when grades are due.

Turnin had agreed, and had rushed off to enlist the party.

The cleric Francis immediately took up a liking to the monk, and pledged to help “Angel Wings” in his endeavor to pass his fantasy night school class.

Turnin sat down, and related what the professor had told him about the robbery. Everyone got a good look at the leader of the heist, a rougish, baby-faced gnome known as “Junior,” who is rumored to be in line to inherit the operations of a well-established crime company in Sharn known as the Burning Hands Band, dabbling in much, but specializing mainly in “protection services.”

The minds of the party are set ablaze. They’ve spent considerable time in Sharn, and each has something to contribute. (Except for Francis; due to poor DMing. Had I been on the ball, Francis should have made a check to possibly reveal that the Twins were known as being fiend-aligned warlocks. My bad.)

In her time running the bath house, Comfort has sussed out a lot of information. While she has never used them herself, she knows the Burning Hands Band run an establishment near Sharn’s literal, physical black market, which is known as the Twilight Shoppe. She also knows the current leaders of the band; a dwarf duo (Bazlor the Stout and Nazra the Wrathful) known as the Twins.

Ula has had some bar brawls with members of the Band, and knows that they are generally dumber, stronger brutes. She doesn’t know the exact location of their headquarters, but has heard that it is very low in Sharn; where the foundations of the mighty towers meet the hobgoblin ruins and the Cogs in the most ancient parts of the city.

Kylar has picked up a few special reagents in the Twilight Shoppe, and knows the Burning Hands Band is based near the outskirts of the black market. The market is dangerous; everyone is shady and everyone is armed, and an unspoken rule of visiting is to keep it brief.

Gnofulk eyes his drink as the party talks, and recalls a few drunken excursions with his orc buddy Rhaaal. They drunkenly left the Cogs, and found themselves in a few gladiatorial bouts run by the Burning Hands Band. Gnofulk is juuust drunk enough to remember the path he took.

As each party member relates their information, a plan begins to form, and eventually the party decides to go with the path of the drunkard. Turnin’s drink is untouched, and the gnome downs it to try and hit that sweet spot with his memory…

The strong quintet departs Ghallanda Hall, and begins the track to the Cogs. They work their way between and through Sharn’s innumerable imposing stone towers, winding down and down, eventually trekking past the foundations of the towers and into the hot caverns known as the Cogs; home to Sharn’s major iron works, foundaries, and a large population of “undesirable” races like goblins, orcs and the like.

The party reaches the area they know so well; the main residential neighborhood of the Cogs, nestled between two foundries and in the proverbial shadow of the lava damn that helps channel the molten power. They’ve found secrets here; sampled soup; allegedly suplexed a paladin, glittering gear and all, into lava. Through his deeds Gnofulk had come to be renowned as a local hero; by winning the Race of the Eight Winds he was exalted as a champion for them.

Unfortunately, the path of the drunkard leads away from the Cogsfolk. The handful of locals that do see them pass do not hesitate to let out a whoop and cheers of encouragement, but quickly the gnome is out of sight, leading the way through the connected caverns down here in the Cogs, avoiding the soft red glow rising from lava fissures and small molten pools.

Major dangers (open lava pits, fissures) are easily avoided as Gnofulk leads the hot caverns. After taking a turn, something catches the gnome’s eye, and he realizes that the heat shimmers in this particular cavern are actually lava snakes! Their nest threatened, they start to slighter towards the party…

…but Gnofulk points them out and the party hurries on, leaving the slithering threats behind them. A quick turn, and the party finds themselves in a large cavern, several stories high and probably over 300 feet in diameter. In every major nook, rocky debris is packed; supporting the foundations of Sharn’s massive towers above ground.

The cavern is a bizarre mismatch of architecture. Some areas look completely natural; in other areas, distinct hard geometries can be seen poking out, and the ceiling looks to be supported by stone arches in places. A stone bridge spans a long fissure on the floor of the cavern, connecting a the paths to few archways to the main area.

Several arched entrances can be seen around the cavern, and small groups of people are walking around. While not the hub in the foot traffic for the Cogs, this is a hub, likely leading to smaller neighborhoods and more foundries.

The most striking thing about this cavern though, is the buried ziggurat, a relic of the long deceased hobgoblin empire based here long, long before the first humans set foot here. Opposite the bridge, and off to the left of the party, the step pyramid sits. Several stories rise up, and disappear into the sloping walls and ceiling of the cavern. The ziggurat is obscured enough, that the party isn’t sure just how wide this buried ruin even is, or how high it might go.

Gnofulk nods towards the ruin. He remembers passing it while drunk with Rhaaal, and thinks he took the archway nearest to it to get to the fights hosted by the Burning Hands Band. The party passes a handful of other travelers, and as they approach the ziggurat, they notice a small portcullis blocking the only visible entrance to the step-pyramid, and two well-armed orcs standing guard. Gnofulk’s eagle eyes notice stylized flames on the backs of each orc’s hands… this is likely an entrance to the Band’s base.

The party briefly confers. They aren’t looking for a fight… but need to be speedy about this. Should they maybe check out the black market, so see if that would be easier to infiltrate?

Comfort decides no. With an air of superiority, she approaches the portcullis and guards with purpose, towing the rest of the party along.

The tiefling insists that she has an appointment with Junior, and while that may be, she isn’t nearly convincing enough to enter this way. No one comes in this way for an appointment. The orcs gesture to the nearby archway (about 60 feet away), and tell the tiefling to take those stairs up and enter that way – like normal people with appointments do.

In a huff, the tiefling spins purposefully on her heal, taking Gnofulk, Francis and Ula with her.

Inexplicably, Turn and Kylar remain, standing by the gate and the orcs, investigating. Turnin makes small talk, which in turn makes the guards uncomfortable, while Kylar looks around. Beyond the gate is a 10’ hallway, which intersects another hallway inside the ziggurat. There is a lever in the wall…

As Comfort and the cohort beckon the monk and wizard to join them, Kylar decides to act, but his timing is off. First he points, shouting for the guards to look over at the lava monster over there, and then he conjures the menacing illusion. “Angel Wings” lets go a full-bodied womanly battle cry, and charges the illusion, swinging wildly as he advances. Kylar decides to Mage Hand the lever, and the portcullis begins to recede.

The guards ready their weapons, and demand the wizard steps back; something is obviously wrong here. The situation is deteriorating rapidly. Kylar conjures an illusion of the still-closed portcullis, and for his lack trick, he benignly transpositions himself with the monk.

From 60 feet away, at the archway leading up to the entrance folks normally use for meetings.. Comfort and the rest of the party hear the kerfuffle. Trying not to spill blood today, Comfort turns, jogging back towards the gate and imploring everyone to calm down.

Even she knows she’s not being convincing.

She decides to twin a Witch Bolt and flying the magic at the orcs.

The tiefling misses.

Technically, no one has been injured yet, but the situation is beyond the hope of a peaceful resolution. The wizard is being tricksy; the sorceress flinging magic around; and the monk is acting just plain weird, running full tilt at obvious illusions. The orcs are simple-minded guards with simple instructions: keep people out. While the portcullis looks secure behind them, they can still hear it moving, and slash at the monk, each one landing a blow against him while yelling inside for someone named Kang to alert everyone of this attack.

Kyllar tries to throw his voice and pretend to be Kang… but Kang is not an orc, and the wizard is not too convincing in this bluff.

Turnin rebuttals. His cool staff hits the orc to his left, slowing it, and he continues on with a flurry of blows, dealing about half of what was done to him. He sweeps the leg, knocking the orc prone, and then pivots to punch the second orc. The monks hand connects, but smarts. He hit the hurty metal bit on the orc’s pauldron, and it was super ineffective.

Seeing the exchange, Ula decides she needs to get into the thick of things, and use that big protective tower shield of hers. She dashes over, past Comfort and onto Turnin, standing over the prone orc, menacingly.

Gnofulk grabs his sling and loads it with the special fear-causing whistling ammo he got from Felmore’s Emporium. The gnome starts jogging over, spinning the sling, and launches it when he gets about even with Comfort. The vile bullet whistles… but misses.

Francis is the last to join in the scuffle, and he turns, casting Shield of Faith on his buddy “Angel Wings”, aiding in the monk’s defense, then casts Sacred Flame on the prone orc. Blinding light coalesces near the top of the cavern, and then streaks down, blasting the orc.

Ula, Turnin and Kylar see a quartet of hobgoblins scurry into view at the end of the hallyway near the lever. One, presumably Kang, calls out the three party members he can see (Ula, Turnin and Kylar), and shoves one of his compatriots off down the hall to the left with instructions to tell the Twins. Confused by the situation (portcullis sounds; lowered portcullis; scuffle “outside”, the remaining trio post up in the end of the hall, watching events unfold.

From afar, Kylar casts Haste on Turnin. The monk is getting all sorts of support today! Comfort casts and misses another Witch Bolt, but fortunately the spell doesn’t hit any of her companions.

The prone orc stands up, and seeing Ula before him, swings in anger at the half breed. The second orc hits Turnin again.

Boosted in ways the monk had never even conceived of, he opts to be absolutely brazen. Reinforced by the arrival of the rest of the party, he decides to try and chase down that hobgoblin. The monk expertly disengages from the orcs, and sprints down the wall of the hallway, flipping over the heads of the trio of surprised hobgoblins, and easily chasing down the fourth. Turnin swings strongly with his cool staff, and knocks out the poor guy with one strike.

The monk doesn’t stop there though, and ends up juggling the limp body with a series of kicks and punches. The monk is just too powerful I guess! After this flurry, the hobgoblin hits the ground, and plops against a door.

The weight of the halfing presses against the door… and it swings open. The monk sees two dwarves standing on either side of and shouting at a baby-faced gnome, rhetorically asking him if he thought the Band needed this kind of heat brought down on them.

With the door swinging open, everyone locks eyes with everyone else.

Still blessed and buffed, the monk impulsively rushes in, overhand smashes the gnome on the noggin, and then stuns him with a series of debilitating punches. Turnin grapples and headlocks the gnome, his little feet swinging and dangling in the air. The monk cautiously backs up with his new hostage.

The dwarf duo is flummoxed. The male is in armor, weaponless for now, but his hands are ready. The female holds a staff, and she demands to know what is going on.

Still hasted, the monk talks fast. Turnin threatens the gnome, but the crime lords are unmoved. Turnin demands the key – wherever it is and uh… whatever it may look like – and the duo acquiesce with a condition, gesturing to a large key on the long table nearby.

Turnin snags the comically large key with his staff, and slides it down towards his grip while Nazra explains. Junior was a moron, acting out of turn and stealing only one of the two required keys no less. This was his idea, not theirs. The Twin’s condition of letting Turnin take and return this vault key, is that the monk convinces the House that this was not a legit act of the Band, and that they get to deal with Junior.

The monk agrees, edging towards the door, and dropping the gnome at the room’s threshold. The dwarves follow him out, gingerly stepping over the unconscious hobgoblin, and calling for an end to the hostilities.

Slowly, everyone stands down, and amazingly, no one has died. Turnin keeps backing up until he reaches the rest of the party, key in hand. The Twins keep advancing, gaining the trio of hobgoblins, and walking all the way to the gate, regarding each member of the party in turn.

Nazra reiterates the condition of giving the monk the key, and replies that they can absolutely trust the word of this monk… Alan Greenspan. Yessir, there was never a monk more honest that Alan Greenspan here. This wonderful and trustworthy Alan Greenspan will tell House Kundarak about this whole mess and square it all right up…

The Twins tentatively thank Alan Greenspan, and cautiously watch the party pack up and retreat from the ziggurat.

Turnin and the party hurry back to fantasy night school and to the monks’ professor, and with a few minutes to spare, he returns the vault key and is passed. As a perk of passing, the House had agreed to issue a small proprietary safe to the newly certified accountant; in this particular case, a magical piggy bank with adjustable coin deposit aperture, allowing for easy access to the pocket dimension within. Additionally, it has a few magical security features too… so it should serve the monk well in the days and years to come.

Very surprisingly, all worked out well for the monk tonight! The party eventually retire to the airship and their new berths, intent on departing Sharn in the morning as planned. As previously decided, the party will follow the lightning rail line, and take the same route their quarry – the warforged group known as the perpetual Legion – took into the dangerous Mournland…