Eberron Adventure: Thirty-Sixth Session

So there they were…

Bloodied, in nothing but their smallclothes, and locked dark in cells. Gnofulk the gnome barbarian, Turnin the human monk, Comfort the tiefling sorcerer, and Shadowale (aka Falco Burrows, aka Shadowale), the halfling rogue wondered what they did to get here. They all recalled Gnofulk massaging a very old dwarf, and Comfort sneaking them through a front company known as “Legitimate Drinking Establishment,” and then down into the lair of Sandar Fancybrook, leader of a murderous cell of House Tarkanan, a conglomerate of violent thieves, assassins and those aberrant dragonmarks.

They recalled interesting-looking candelabra as they entered, failing some attempts at being sneaky, and a fight with lots of magic and fire, and then finally the appearance of Sandar Fancybrook, roused from his quarters by the din.

At this point, their memories became hazy. Each vaguely remembered bits a droning and villainous speech and parts of a fight of some sort. Since they awoke in cells…. The group assumes they lost.

Hours have passed for sure. Probably days. Possibly, a week or more.

The group has been tortured, and Comfort has ratted out the old dwarf Ivar, the receiver of the worst massage ever, and the one who gave the party the means (the key to the Treasury Vault) to rob this cell blind and betray House Tarkanan in the hopes splitting the loot with the group and retiring comfortably. In all likelihood, the dwarf does not have long to live. It is not wise to betray assassins.

So there they were. Alone in the dark.

Each individual cell has walls of smooth stone; and a seemingly enchanted window that functioned as a door. Sound is muffled, and magic nullified. The party has sworn it has heard growls coming from the darkness, and it is to this muffled noise that they each awaken.

The growls abruptly stop, and yellow light spills into the room from the left, the source bobbing around and glinting off the instruments of torture and the hooks and horrid restraints dangling from the ceiling. A trio of masked torturers, dressed in House Tarkanan’s black-and-red come into view; a woman holding the orb, a tall and skinny man with a knife and a key, and a short and burly man with massive muscles.

They approach Comfort’s cell, but before it can open, the growls return, and the party can see portal-like ripples of magic, and fur. The torturer’s knife slashes, and the woman casts magical fire. The party, blinded by their abrasive bright lights can only squint, watching some beastial thing (or is it things) magically teleport. The beasts are driven back, but the last torturer falls too.

Moments pass; their eyes struggling to readjust to the darkness.

In turn, the cells of Comfort, Shadowale and Gnofulk are opened. Finally, Turnin hears the key turn, and his cell door swing open, but alas, as a human in the darkness, the poor monk cannot see his rescuers.

After a tense moment, the monk tentatively asks "hello?" And the rest of the group, with only a little hesitation, replies that it is them. They are free, and though the exact process is baffling, the gnome, halfling and tiefling thank the thing that unlocked them; a blue wingless imp, who is covered with purple bruises.

Shadowale asks the blue imp a question, and she tilts her head in the universal sign of incomprehension. Fortunately, Comfort speaks Infernal, and rephrases it. Turnin is still blind and confused.

The imp is known as Tiny. She relates to Comfort that she was accidentally freed in the scuffle, and points to a box, slightly bigger than her and made from the same enchanted glass. It lies broken on the floor; knocked off a small counter.

The imp conjures a small flame above her head for the benefit of Turnin, and seeing the imp, thanks her as well.

Through Comfort, the party learns that the growls, portals and blurs of fur were Blink Dogs. The imp thinks the Dogs came for the group – demons like her don't usually get along with dogs, so they wouldn’t have come for her. Still… they accidentally freed her… so they can’t be all bad. With a little encouragement, Tiny concedes that she a "better-than-average familiar," and was unfortunately caught trying to spy on House Tarkan for her master, about whom she refuses to speak.

The group wastes no time comparing notes on what they remember about the speech or the fight or anything else. They’re freed, but in a bad spot, their only weapon a solidary dagger pilfered from the corpse of one of the torturers, and held by Gnofulk.

The room has no means of illumination. Opposite the four cells is a dark passageway on the left, which, after a cursorary look, the party believes to be the end of a secret way into the room, and tables and racks of torture devices on the right, separated by the counter from which Tiny’s cage fell. To the left of their cells is a small nook with a few steps leading to a door, which looks mostly like the wall… a flimsy attempt at camouflage.

Comfort asks the imp to run and get help, but she gives them all a look. She’d rather exact a little revenge. She can’t fly, but she’s got a few tricks up her sleeves, and can turn invisible, albeit with a lot of effort.

Shadowale listens at the flimsy camouflaged door, and hears someone shuffling papers. The party asks the imp to leave via the secret passage, circle around, and scout the room. The Imp agrees, extinguishes her conjured flames, and sets out. A few grunts of effort are heard, followed by a whisper that the secret door is too heavy for her to move alone.

The group immediately abandons that plan, and Shadowale opts to stealthily open the flimsily camouflaged door, and have the imp scout the room directly. Tiny, still invisible, is released into the room, and after a few tense moments, appears back in the room, gesturing Shadowale to close the door.

The blue imp informs Comfort that there is one male drow in the room ahead, armed with knives, and looking over stacks of paper and some boxes.

Knives the drow may have, but he still sounds like a nerdy paper pusher. The party psyches up for battle.

Again the door opens, and Gnofulk attempts to creep out. The drow, picking at a fingernail with a knife turns asking if the torturers are done alrea—and the Gnome flies into a rage at being found out. The Gnome strikes with paramount accuracy at the drow, and after a few stabs with the dagger, the aberrant dragonmark on the drow’s arm begins to glow, and is soon surrounded by two-dimensional dagger silhouettes glowing with a pink menace. When the barbarian stabs again once of the flat magical blades interposes itself, mitigating some of the gnome’s strike before shattering and dissolving.

As the gnome angrily takes a step back, preparing for a long fight, the monk bounds up into the fight, and grapples the drow like whoa, and the unfortunate office worker is dragged back into the dark room of torture and thrown into a cell. Tiny locks the door.

Turnin did not disarm the drow, and although trapped, the drow stands defiantly in the cell, blade drawn and still surrounded by pink magical dagger silhouettes.

While deciding what to do, a soft *pssst* Tiny draws the group back into the room, and she points to the boxes. Sticking out of one of them is a squirrel skull pauldron. It’s the party’s clothes! As they slip into dresses and put on robes and armor, the group sees numerous shelves in the room with what appear to be personnel files. Comfort tries to find Sandar Fancybrook, and finds a little snippet, learning that he specializes as an Arcane Trickster, and was a “halfling recruiter” prior to taking over this cell recently.

Shadowale and Turnin both then think to look up Falco Burrows… but the halfling is quicker, and triumphantly pulls his file from the stack, and sits, pouring over the notes someone else has made about his life.

Properly clothed, curiosity wins out over a sense of urgency, and the group launches themselves into the filing cabinets.

Turnin finds an entry for Brenda Halim, the Mover of Pieces, written by Sandar Fancybrook. The dandy was infuriated at being detained by this upstart cleric after setting the recruitment of Falco Burrows in motion, and while he was able to shake off her task, he wanted revenge. He was pleasantly surprised to find she has since disappeared, and considered the matter closed.

Comfort finds a file on Ujix the Despoiler, a lich apparently residing in the City of the Dead and forested hills northeast of Sharn. House Tarkan doesn’t know what the lich is up to… and they don’t like not knowing.

Gnofulk finds an entry for a mindflayer pirate known as Skirge. Apparently he and Sandar had some kind of fashion disagreement, and Sandar wants revenge if ever the pirate is found.

Comfort finds an entry for Feral Fawcett, with House Tarkanan lamenting the trouble she is causing. She has actually organized the Daask gangsters in Sharn towards some yet-unknown goal, and the uncertainty is agonizing to the House, who seeks to maintain and exploit the status quo balance of power.

Turnin finds the final entry, for Sandar’s boss… a beholder referred to only as Boss. Sandar thinks Boss is somewhere in or around Sharn… and that if he can kill Boss, he can take over control of House Tarkanan entirely.

Shadowale exhales slowly, having finished reading his personal file. Slowly realizing the boon his companions have been to him, he passes his file around, letting them each read it in turn.

kShadowale had just only recently shared with this group about his quest for revenge for the murder of his wife Mirabella by Sandar Fancybrook, and his redoubled efforts to find the half-elf murderer since arriving in Sharn. Reading the file, the party learns that House Tarkan often recruits halflings this way. Halflings like to drink. Cause them some misery… and the drinking turns into something they can exploit. Exploit this enough… and the House can point their inebriated murder machine at a target, and have it eliminated with no real ties to the House. Additionally, the drinking likely means the halfling operative is caught and disposed of by the guards or authorities…

Sandar had started the process of “recruiting” Falco and turning him into a disposable killing machine by murdering Mirabella. Falco turned broody, adopting the name Shadowale. However, Sandar had to hand off further involvement as he was promoted within the House. The replacement handler, a dwarf woman, was waiting for Falco on the electric rail heading towards Sharn… but was unfortunately killed when the warforged terrorists attacked the train.

House Tarkanan’s would-be-disposable assassin was allowed to roam free.

While the drinking continued, Shadowale was protected by the presence of the party. House Tarkanan tried to loose Shadowale at Steve Carlsburg von Brighthammer Jr. alone… but the party tagged along, and the halfling not only beat the paladin, but survived.

House Tarkanan doesn’t like what they don’t know and what they cannot control. They decided Shadowale could not be brought into the fold, nor controlled at arms distance, and they decided to rid themselves of the halfling, and failed. And now… Shadowale had located Sandar, with a reckoning close at hand.

Tiny taps her foot impatiently as the party passes around Shadowale’s file. Then then all rise to their feet. They have some “revengening” to do.

There are door other doors leading from HR, both shut. One leading into a hallway, and one into the next office space. Gnofulk attempts to listen into the other office, but cups the wrong ear and hears nothing. Turnin then does the same, and both the barbarian and the monk confidently declare that there could not possibly be anything in the next room.

They throw open the door, and find the room already illuminated.

Fortunately, they recall that the lights are always on most of the lair, due to the reflective ceilings and band of enchanted masonry giving off light. There is no one in this room.

Four desks sit here, with ledgers upon them, and the group realizes that this is the accounting room. In addition to the mundane entrances, before them stands a glowing, gilded door: the door to the cell’s Treasury. They greedily pat their pockets, looking for the key given to them by Ivar. They do not find it… apparently House Tarkanan either recognized their own key from the start, or followed up once Comfort blabbed about Ivar’s involvement. The jerks.

The group had taken the HR files with them, and Tiny asks Comfort to read them (because spying, whispers the blue imp) and the tiefling hands the files over. While rearranging the accounting ledgers to that they are woefully disorganized, Gnofolk sees the hand-off and wonders if the imp does know common, and was just messing with them.

Despite not having the key, Shadowale can’t help by try the vault door.

eeeeeeeeeerrrrrrrrrrrRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

The halfling discovers that the door had an alarm.

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

Still unarmed, the party panics. They quickly decide to run into the next office.

They are greeted by an angry and bewildered female dwarf dressed in plate armor.

Fortunately, the party spies their weapons, laid out on a desk. Unfortunately, that dwarf is standing next to it, and seeing the party unarmed, attempts to protect the stash. She pulls out a wand, and releases a barrage of Magic Missiles against Shadowale, who is the first into the room. As the rod crumbles, it’s magic spent, she draws a mace, which becomes wreathed in flames.

Shaking off the hit, Shadowale runs around the room, locking the door leading to this office from the hallway, and then running over to quickly survey the next room. He is, unfortunately, still unarmed.

The next room is large; two roughly spherical rooms littered with traps, obstacles, and small wands similar to the one that just blasted him, all poised and ready to be triggered. It is a… dangerous room.

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

As Shadowale finishes his surveying, and positions himself behind the dwarf but a safe distance away, the monk rushes forward, asking nicely for the groups weapons. The dwarf refuses, and Turnin slips through her defenses, surprising her with a few punches, and knocking her Ki off balance. The topples to the ground, her shield smacking the desk as she hits the ground and sending Turnin’s cool staff flipping into the air.

As the monk reaches out, and continues to spin the quarterstaff around around his limbs and person, Gnofulk spies his axe laying regally on the desk. He rushes in, and hops onto the desk to grab his axe before leaping off to land some vicious blows to bloody the prone dwarf.

Seeing the dwarf launch himself off the table, Comfor t rushes up, and blasts the dwarf in the face with a poisonous spray.

Bloodied and overwhelmed, the dwarf tosses aside her mace, and the fire dissipates. She surrenders.

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

Having taken a break from perusing the files, Tiny giggles. This group is pretty good. As weapons are reclaimed, Turnin chastises the dwarf for making them do this the part way, and then demands she turn off the alarm. The dwarf spits out blood, and says she can’t. She works in the armory, and has no idea how to turn off the alarm in the Treasury. She refuses to open the door to the proper armory as well.

The group panics, and decided to flee with Tiny in tow.

They run into a large hallway behind the Grand Hall, which is littered with trophies. Pelts of scale, hide, flesh and fur adorn the floor, and the walls are covered with magically mounted skulls, bobbing next to expository plaques like moored ships. The party quickly try to traverse the hall to reach Sandar’s private chambers, but… things catch there eyes.

Comfort spies a fabulous necklace cascading with jewels on a stand behind a cube of glass; it’s multitude of jewels shifting color in waves. She slides to a halt behind the plaque that reads :Mortuary Jewels of Royal Aerenal, punches the glass, but only cracks it. Turnin see her however, and swings wildly, breaking the glass and freeing the necklace, which is quickly snatched by the tiefling.

 DAAAAAAAAHHHH DAAAAAAAAHHHH DAAAAAAAAHHHH DAAAAAAAAHHHH DAAAAAAAAHHHH

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

A throbbing alarm joins in with the alarm from the Treasury.

Gnofulk beholds a massive squirrel skull in the hall, and can only grin at the name “Twiggens” on the plaque below before continuing on.

Shadowale skids to a halt inform of a huge skull labeled “Larelith, Gold Dragon.” The skull is laid out in a kind of double profile (like shark jaws), a mess of bones floating in the center skull from the presumed killing blow. Leaning closer, the halfling considers if he could hide here… and discovers that the wall behind the dragon skull is an illusion.

The rogue sticks his hand through and sees it disappear, and then summons his companions back. They pile in to this secret passage.

A wild stairway appears, and they begin to walk up. As they approach the top, they are confronted by a roaming head with four protruding eye stalks. As it beholds the party, it shrieks a string of incomprehensible babble interspersed with utterings of “fancybrookfancybrook.”

Shadowale, first in line, is blasted, with the eye stalks unleashing a blast of necrotic damage and then paralyzing the poor halfling.

Turnin sees the rogue teeter but remain standing on the steps, and then the monk advances, swinging his staff and beating the Spectator repeatedly about the head. It would be more impressive is the Spectator was made of less head, but still, the monk is able to stun the guardian.

Gnofulk

Comfort

Giggling at the amount of fun she’s having, Tiny scampers up the steps, and jumps up to eye level before letting rip with a Firebolt to the Spectator’s eye, burning keep into the floating skull which collapses lifeless to the group.

DAAAAAAAAHHHH DAAAAAAAAHHHH DAAAAAAAAHHHH DAAAAAAAAHHHH DAAAAAAAAHHHH

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

The party explores this secret passage. Up on the left is a small nook with dials overlooking the dangerous training room. Up ahead is another locked door, which Shadowale deduces to be magically alarmed as well, though more of a silent alarm than the ones already triggered. To their right are a few steps leading down to what the group thinks is the personal quarters of Sandar Fancybrook.

As they make ready to enter the personal quarters, they realize that Tiny the imp is not in tow, and they hear tiny exertions. The party takes a few steps back and facepalms as tiny tries (unsuccessfully) to work the door to this secret room.

Gnofulk tries to force the door, and on the second attempt, it buckles, revealing a small room similar to a broom closet – cramped and with a few shelves. The gnome grabs a few pouches and throws them back to the party – they are filled with gems. He tosses a tome back at them, and Turnin sees the cover embossed with a flame, and the words “Property of Naman Fireslinger” written in the cover – it’s the slain wizard’s missing spellbook. Lastly, the gnome discovers some leather armor, with a few things left untied, would fit him adequately, and starts squirming into the armor.

DAAAAAAAAHHHH DAAAAAAAAHHHH DAAAAAAAAHHHH DAAAAAAAAHHHH DAAAAAAAAHHHH

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

In they go. The secret door is thrown open, and the party spill into Sandar Fancybrook’s private quarters.

He’s uh… not there.

They spill into a small study; the secret door concealed by a book case. Beyond that is a bedroom and dresser.. a bathroom, and a kind of lounge by the entryway. A painting of a slim, hairless Sandar Fancybrook reclining on a bear skin hangs alluringly by a hooded fireplace. Conceivably, were there no fire, one could scurry through the fireplace into the library beyond.

Shadowale cannot believe that Sandar Fancybrook isn’t here, and starts looking for an ambush. Books are pulled from shelves and candelabras ripped from walls, but no additional secret passages are found. The halfling then grasps the alluring painting, and gives it a tug. No safe is revealed; the painting only swings off the nail and crashes to the floor.

Shadowale extinguishes the fire with his magic ring of Fey Fire, and discovers that this could be a kind of secret entrance; the fire appeared larger than it was though magic, and passing through (even with the flame) would not be too injurious.

DAAAAAAAAHHHH DAAAAAAAAHHHH DAAAAAAAAHHHH DAAAAAAAAHHHH DAAAAAAAAHHHH

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

The group exits through the main doors to the private quarters as Tiny shreds the painting on principal with her claws. It’s a gross painting.

At a loss since their target didn’t stay in one reliable place, the party peers down the long hall or rooms, and then decides to slink over into this library.

House Tarkanan has amassed quite a collection, chronicling old histories, ideas and even religions. A particular section of books catches Turnin’s critical eye, and he picks out a nice, small orange tome with the title “The Wizened.” That should come in handy, once the monk has time to peruse it.

DAAAAAAAAHHHH DAAAAAAAAHHHH DAAAAAAAAHHHH DAAAAAAAAHHHH DAAAAAAAAHHHH

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

As the monk pockets the work, the alarms suddenly switch off, and an uneasy silence engulfs the party.

Eberron Adventure: Thirty-Fifth Session

So there they were…

The dragonborn fighter Rhogar, the gnome druid Whudyalookadah, and the human wizard Kyllar were breakfasting in Ghallanda Hall after a restful night, discussing now how best to follow up their pursuit of the Wizened, a near apocryphal order of monks, who had apparently taken up residence in Sharn, as well as in interest in necromancy.

Their previous leads had led them to believe that the Wizened were few in number; and were doing interesting things with necromancy, like actively preserving the zombie corpses and thus prolonging their usefulness,  as well as using the DieFi rods to exert some modicum of control over a larger group (quantity of undead servants over quality) via Command-style spells. The group also learned that the DieFi rod will glow when in the general area of necromantic magic, and flash as the spells it was designed to relay and amplify are cast.

The previous evening, the group was leaning towards returning to the Grayflood district, when they first encountered the zombies, which apparently didn’t sit well with the elf cleric Professor Thorntongue. She traveled back to her office at Morgrave University, leaving the trio to investigate without her.

Over a hearty breakfast, Rhogar again outlined the various places the party had encountered the Wizened, either directly or indirectly.

·         Agor, Turnin’s “Arm’s Dealer”

·         Unknown spire rooftop (where a monk received the SMS)

·         The Chapel of the Silver Flame (cleric massacre)

·         Street Urchin Neighborhood

·         Merfolk Neighborhood

·         The District of Grayflood

The trio had decided unanimously on visiting Grayflood, but presently caught the eye of Buddy Miller.

Buddy was their usual bartender at Ghallanda Hall, and he walked over to their little table. Kyllar was interested to see if there was any word yet on the compensation due the party for finding secret places in Sharn, and Buddy started a story. Yes, in fact! He and his superiors in the House were worried that their contact was taking so long to get back to them, and had taken some precautions. Fortunately, their contact had gotten back to them, and there was a deposit dropped off in Turnin’s room this morning and-

-and the party didn’t care. They had been illiquid for weeks, according to their party accountant, the human monk Turnin. The absconded immediately towards Turnin’s room, clattering utensils and plats bouncing on the table at the speed of their departure.

Turnin shared a two-bedroom suite with Kyllar, and Kaz. The trio worked their way through the little shared common area, past the little shared bathroom, and opened the door to Turnin’s room. There was a bed, a desk covered in ledgers and assorted papers, and, on the floor, a large sack of coins as well as a small scroll case.

The windfall was pillaged; 1/3 for Rhogar, 1/3 for Kyllar, and 1/3 left for Turnin to account for. With snickering from Whudyalookadah, Kyllar left the accursed Bag of Devouring on Turnin’s desk. Knocking aside a stack of papers, he also uncovered Turnin’s rolodex, and after flipping through nearly a dozen entries for the various “Steves,” encountered by the party, managed to get to the beginning of the alphabet, and find the entry for Agor, the graverobber and “arms’s dealer,” who had done business with both the party and the Wizened previously. On each card, Turnin had scrawled “WHO ARE THEY WORKING FOR” in red ink, with some suggestions. Agor’s stated that he could be working for the Wizened… but it was probably just a business arrangement, not a full-fledged alliance. Agor was probably in business for himself.

The trio examines the scroll case. It is cracked open, and the contents shaken out: a key, and a deed to an apartment in Grayflood. The trio is bamboozled by this discovery, and has no idea what to make of it. After careful consideration, they pocked the deed, the key and Agor’s card.

They return to the bar, and talk over Buddy Miller, who attempted to continue his update for the party. With a host of questions on the table, Buddy is eventually allowed to continue.

So, the party had been keeping an eye out for secret passageways in Sharn. One of the entities interested in that knowledge was House Orien; the dragonmarked house that did work with overland travel and the delivery of messages and goods (like via the electric rail). They were slow to respond to the inquiries of recompense to the party… and Ghallanda Hall had started to worry that House Orien might be planning to double-cross the party (which would reflect poorly on House Ghallanda), and so had secretly taken steps recently to protect the five-strong party (Turnin, Rhogar, Kyllar, Gnofulk and Shadowale). The politics was a little above the comprehension of the party.

However, they understand the gist. House Orien is interested in opening up a kind of tram or subway around Sharn, to allow speedier travel among the lower levels, and with the findings of the party, are sure they can do it. The gold is a hefty sum, and constitutes both payment from House Orien for exploring, and the first payment of a retainer’s fee; calling for the party to make themselves available, should House Orien need them to forcefully clear out any ancient crypt or den of monsters as their project gets underway.

The party also understands that House Ghallanda had been looking out for them; and had assigned a Blink Dog from their House kennels to each member of the five-strong party. The dogs are intelligent, loyal, and most importantly, have the ability to repeatedly teleport short distances, allowing for brutal and unsuspecting pack attacks, should anyone wish the party harm.

The trio is impressed, but curious how long they’ve been being tailed, exactly. The thought of being followed unnerves them a bit. Through further conversation, they deduce that the hounds attempted to find them the night of the storm and the showdown with Zyn but couldn’t enter the Fey Wild. The hounds picked up the trail again, and have followed their respective charge the last few days. Furthermore, while the dogs can understand some humanoid languages, communication is not a two-way street. The dogs are protectors; not spies.

The trio questions Buddy Miller about the deed, but the bartender knows nothing specific; just that Turnin received several things recently: the bag of coins and a small scroll case.

The party convinces Buddy to tell Turnin about the Bag of Holding they found on their sojourns, and to make sure the monk knows that they left it on his desk, and then prepare to get on with it.

Kyllar swings back up to his room, and rouses Kaz the Kobold, who immediately takes a dislike to Whudyalookadah. The feeling is entirely mutual. Daggers are stared back and forth. Attempting to intimidate Kaz, the gnome conjures the image of a dead kobold, pointing at Kaz. As the gnome prepares to jump on the image and drive the point home, Kyllar conjures a wall to block his scaled manservant from seeing anything. For better or worse, Kyllar succeeds, and Kaz doesn’t see Whudyalookadah slip and fall on his little gnomish face. Kaz is given the DieFi rod, with instructions to notify the group when and if it glows or flashes, and Kyllar does his best to convince the kobold to ignore Whudyalookadah and “be good,” despite the naturally lawful evil inclinations of the species.

Rhogar is ridiculed for returning the skiff to his friend, and the trio resort to walking, like chumps, down towards the waterfront district of Grayflood.

And boy has it changed.

The party had first come here in the dead of night, during a major public scare. It was almost entirely abandoned. That is far from the case this time.

The trio heads south into the district of Grayflood. On their left are the varied shops, bars, brothels, and avenues snaking deeper into Sharn and the residential sections of this district. On their right, they see the massive warehouses. On the levels below them, large cranes are seen extending out from the towers and pulling up cargo from the ships anchored along the Dagger River far below. Levels above the trio have small platforms for skiffs to transport cargo to the more distant Sharn districts. At their current level in the city, there is a very broad street, crammed with cargo, sailors, porters, and passengers, all shuffling about towards a myriad of destinations.

In short, it is a very busy place these days.

The trio walks down the broad street, moving in and out of crowds. They recognize “Half the Time Shipping” and Rhogar relates the party’s almost-run in with the halfling mafia when the party was investigating the disappearances.

They continue on, and wander into “The Naked Dwarf” – the bar named in memory of the current owner’s late husband, a drunk dwarf that usually got rather naked, and eventually did so on a fateful evening and fell to his presumed death. The trio walk in, and find the place is quite busy. Still, they are able to find the owner, the elderly but stately dwarf Elmora, washing glasses behind the bar.

She remembers the fighter and the wizard, and the trio learn that business is great. The disappearances stopped, business returned, and things are generally back to a hectic normalcy. A light lunch is ordered, and Rhogar and Kyllar introduce the elderly dwarf to spry gnome, which proves detrimental to their appetites. Elmora credits the sea breeze for her wonderful, radiant skin – thanks for noticing Whudya; and Whudyalookadah discretely credits moisturizing lotion, occasionally a few times a day, with why his hands are so darn soft. Battling a little nausea, the fighter and wizard attempt to separate the short, flirtatious couple and get back on with their business.

The party pays, tips well, and departs, continuing south through the district and towards Turnin’s apparent acquisition, which was laughed at by Elmora. It’s apparently not a great place. As they approach, Kaz tugs at Kyllar’s robes – the DieFi rod has started to faintly glow. As they each the apartment building, it flashes twice.

Whudyalookadah swears, and scoffs at the situation. It’s gotta be a trap or something.

Attention back on the strange gnome, Kaz growls angrily. Kyllar attempts to distract his manservant with an apple – which the kobold will only get if he knocks it off. Right. Now. Kaz licks his lips. Kyllar turns back, and the trio attempts to formulate a plan. However, Kyllar soon hears a quiet, almost secretive munching sound, and the wizard turns to find Kaz eating the apple, apparently stolen the wizard’s very pocket.

Mage Hand fails to steal the apple back, and triumphant but found out, Kaz goes full Mr. Peepers on that apple.

Dismayed, Kyllar attempts to get the kobold to release the rod, but the green conjured imitation doesn’t interest the kobold. The wizard resigns to having a bad day with Kaz, and lets him attempt to lead the way, tugging at Rhogar’s gauntleted hand.

The apartment building is organized like a bulbous octagon, two units on each edge, and largely boarded up. The kobold isn’t the brightest, and while the main entrance is unlocked, the kobold is unable to get his bearings, leading them first down into the “basement” levels of the apartment complex, then back to 1, up to 3, then 6, then 2, then 5, and then back down to 1, where the party sees an old man, in a white, tight and stained sleeveless shirt and spacious shorts, shuffling back to his room with his morning paper.

The party accosts him.

The trio learns that the building is set to be condemned soon, that this old man fought in the Last War, has been living here for “too long” and plans to move in with a war buddy down the street when he gets kicked out and renovations happen in a few weeks. However, he has seen a guy in orange coming and going at odd hours, though has never spoken with him, nor knows where he lives, exactly.

The party leaves the old man to his day.

Kyllar pulls out the deed, and guesses that Turnin’s Apartment 316 is on the third floor, and the party returns to that floor, Kaz’s DieFi rod flashing occasionally. As they go to stick the key in the lock to Turnin’s Apartment, Rhogar stops them. He hears something in Apartment 315.

The party walks up to the door of 315, and Rhogar knocks. The shuffling around inside the apartment stops. Rhogar knocks again. And from within, the whispery voice of an old man tells them to go away. Kyllar shouts through the door, asking the old man where he plans on moving too when the place gets condemned, but receives no response. Kyllar sends his familiar outside, but can see nothing through the boarded windows.

Rhogar tries to kick open the door, and while it is bows a bit under his strong legs, it remains both on its hinges and locked. The DieFi rod flashes again, and then Rhogar’s mace shatters the knob, and the battered door swings open.

The common room inside is filled with zombies. Whudyalookadah, peering around the dragonborn notices that the zombies have not only been preserved with their dry desiccated flesh, but that they appear to be being augmented with pieces of metal. Knives have been stitched to hands, and used to splint some broken bones, and to reinforce others. The lifeless eyes of these flesh and metal abominations regard the party.

Kyllar, peering over Rhogar’s shoulder, gets a good look at this stupid monk. The robes are indeed orange, and the monk appears to be carrying a short sword and satchel. His wrinkled ashen skin looks surprisingly taut; the wrinkles not actually loose flappy skin but rather folds vacuum-sealed against the lean, wiry body underneath. A pointy black beard juts from the lean skull, and while the hood of the robe is up, Kyllar thinks that the monk was once human.

The wizard launches into a tirade, chastising the monk for stealing such a sweet Bag of Holding. The monk mockingly gestures to a bag, peeking out from his satchel. Apparently the monk agrees. That was a pretty sweet Bag of Holding. The monk brags about his wonderfully written taunting notes… and the group calls him an idiot for giving the notes to a merfolk. All the ink ran off and the notes were illegible. The monk insists that they were fantastically written, deeply cutting words.

Given such a heads up, the monk is prepared for this incursion, and after this verbal back-and-forth, immediately ducks out of the common room, to somewhere down the hall. Kyllar lobs a fireball into the room, and the zombies, while not felled, are immolated, and they lurch, burning, towards the hallway. They paw ineffectually at the fighter, who fills the doorway, and bats away one flaming zombie with his shield before whacking a larger one (with a DieFi rod) a few times until it falls.

Whudyalookadah, still peering around Rhogar, casts Thunderwave into the common area of the room. The zombies shrug off the boom momentarily, before crumbling; their bodies devastated by fire and percussive force.

The party hears a smash, and Kyllar, through the eyes of his familiar sees the monk launch himself out of a hallway window, and attempt to tuck-and-roll while landing three stories down in the wide street below, shards of glass pattering against the stone street.

Kyllar prepares Feather Fall as the group runs down the hallway, ignoring the small bedrooms with still-burning zombies, and casts it as the group throw themselves from the hallway down towards the monk. The monk is up and running as the group floats down slowly and safely to the street below, immediately attempting to give chase.

As they give chase, the party sees a familiar-looking group of goblins with a large, familiar looking cauldron with familiar looking heraldry on the side. Good for Zoop! It looks like Zoop Soups has started to deliver, or set up a food cart or some-such.  Unfortunately, these look to be low-level workers, not Zoop himself. Also, unfortunately, the crash has startled them, and they have tipped their cauldron over spilling hot and slippery soup (it looks like the “not meat” variety) onto the street.

The monk springs over the spill, as does Kyllar, who fires a Frostbolt, but it goes wide. But Rhogar, Kaz and Whudyalookadah slip, with Whudya also failing a cast of Entangle near the monk’s landing site. Rhogar is able to recover and gain some ground with a surge of effort.

The monk continues to run ahead, winding his way through a dense crowd, with Kyllar not far behind, and with Kaz and Whudyalookadah following in Kyllar’s path. Kyllar’s Frostbolt again goes wide, striking a random passerby, and Whudyalookadah Rhogar attempted to shout a way through the crowd, but is apparently winded, and his urgent wheezes prove ineffective.

Hindered, the monk skids to a stop, whirling to face the party. Kyllar closes, and manages to land a Frostbolt against the monk. Rhogar also closes, and attempts to grapple the monk, with whispers and a orange robes flapping, the efforts of the dragonborn are slapped away. Whudyalookadah, angry, calls forth lighting, which proceeds to snap from the sky and crackle near the monk. Miraculously the lightning avoids both Rhogar and all nearby bystanders, though the monk is able to avoid much of the electrical discharge.

The Wizened monk strikes Rhogar twice with open fists while whispering to himself, and the Dragonborn spasms and falls over. The monk again flees.

A large stained glass window with a Silver Flame had entered the street, pushed on a floating disc and tended to by several workmen, moving it slowly through the crowds. The monk ducks, and slides beneath it, orange robes whipping behind him, though despite the fancy footwork, he catches a Frostbolt from Kyllar for his trouble.

The party continues to chase, with Kaz scampering behind as best he can.

The workmen were startled by the dash of the monk, and Kyllar attempts to slide under the stained glass wall too. Unfortunately, the wizard miscalculates, and catches his head on the bottom edge, knocking himself over, and probably giving him a nasty concussion. Even the adversary of organized religion, Rhogar roars after being helped up by Kaz, and attempts to throw himself spectacularly through the stained glass. The dragonborn is only partially successful. He slips, and loses a great deal of what little momentum he has, and only just manages to stumble through the glass, to the horrific disbelief of the workers. Kaz lingers near these too, while Whudyalookadah shapeshifts into a teacup boar again, easily charging under what remains of the frame of stained glass, though he is not able to gore the monk.

Ahead, the shattered glass has drawn the eyes of much of the passersby, and the party sees a most unwanted sight: a dumb gnome named Mort. Mort is excitedly leading a contingent of stately-looking elves through the crowd when he spies his friends from the other day. With unfettered enthusiasm, he stops mid-speech to tug at the robes of the elves and point to the group. Holy owlbear, those guys are great – except that forest gnome, wherever he is, and you elves just have to meet them!

Rhogar bellows something at Mort, but it is lost in the din. Meanwhile, Kaz helps Kyllar now to his feet, and the two scamper away from the shocked workers before their disbelief departs and their wits return.  Whudyalookadah, gaining speed as he bolts through the crowds, eyes that stupid city gnome.

Lowering his shapeshifted shoulder, the boar bowls into Mort, sending the city gnome flying violently away. With a satisfied grunt, the rampage continues as the boar catches the monk. The monk however, is able to recover, and lashes back at the gnome with kicks and whispers. The boar is injured, but shrugs off the pummeling, attempting to keep pace as the monk procures a small item from his satchel, throwing it hard into the ground.

With a *pop* smoke momentarily fills the air. From his diminutive vantage point, Whudyalookadah loses his quarry. A ways behind, so does Rhogar. Kaz was just following everyone else. Only Kyllar, and only on account of his familiar, is able to see the monk absconding through the crowd a ways away, dashing with unbelievable speed. They’d lost him.

The group catches each other’s eyes and ducks into a nearby alley, aiming to circle back while avoiding the now surly workmen or other injured bystanders.

Slowly they make their way back to the apartment building, and back up to the apartment units. The fires smolder against the stone walls and floors. Among the ash, the part is able to recover Rods 15 and 16, and Rod 17 from one of the bedrooms, along with a pile of unburned, inactive, but preserved corpses. Kyllar turns these undamaged and unmodified corpses to ash as well as the party investigates.

The group discerns that the Wizened have been working here for a while – it would have taken quite a while to move the bodies in here, and graft the DieFi rods to the spines, and then augment and repair the corpses with metal… and that’s all without even known how the corpses had been dried out and preserved. The monk’s work has been interrupted, though his motives still unknown, for the group had not deigned to ask who the Wizened were working for on behalf of their curious monk.

The monk had slipped through their grasp, but was still on the run. With more DieFi rods, and hopefully a reunion with the rest of the party soon at hand, the group trudged, exhausted, back towards Ghallanda Hall. They were closing in. It was only a matter of time before they caught up with the Wizened. 

Eberron Adventure: Thirty-Fourth Session

So there they were…

In the City of the Dead, just northeast of Sharn. The group, consisting of the dragonborn fighter Rhogar, the elf cleric Professor Thorntongue, the forest gnome druid Whudyalookadah, and the human wizard Kyllar, had traveled just northeast of Sharn, to a sprawling cemetery of sorts in the rocky plateaus surrounding the city, in search of information on their orange-clad monks who were possibly-interested-in-necromancy.

After wandering around the grounds, a scuffle with skeletons, and a minor historical revelation, the afternoon was waning. The group learns of an ancient lich, Ujix the Despoiler, wandering in the unkempt sections of this sprawling cemetery, unwarded, and overgrown. They were in the company of the caretaker of these grounds, the Holy Warden Isabella, who on account of the coming night, offered them sanctuary in her abode; a polished looking white pillar on the grounds.

Intrigued, the party agrees. The tower, with no visible entrances had perplexed them when they had encountered it earlier in the afternoon.

Isabella leads them across the grounds and back to the tower. After regarding it for a moment, she pushes her arm into it, her gloves and armor disappearing. The paladin waves them in. Kyllar, sticks his hand in and then draws it out… just in case. There are no ill effects, and soon, the party tromps inside.

On either side of the door there are 3 cubby nooks, with small stands for armor and weapons, and pegs for cloaks and the like. After shutting the tower door, Isabella moves to one of the nooks, and doffs her armor, gesturing to the empty nooks, should the group of adventurers wish to do the same.

Kyllar discretely writes “Trap?” on the door in an illusionary script, but he nor any other group member believes Isabella means ill. The party doff their armor as well, and stretch, after a long day on their feet.

A thought occurs, and the party asks if Isabella is the only paladin here; the tower is big, and even these cubby nooks suggest there should be more. Isabella concedes that that makes sense… but she is the only one. This place has been around for ages… perhaps in the past there were more, but she has been the only one serving here since she arrived, and had not uncovered any chronicles or tomes since her arrival here. Even if she did find books... she’s a sheep farmer’s daughter, illiterate, and summoned from the pastures to take up sword and shield by her deity.

Kyllar huffs, and from behind her notes, Professor Thorntongue whispers “peasant.” This poor girl is no help to the academically-inclined!

An open, spiraling staircase sits in the middle of the room, leading up to the higher levels, and aside from the cubbies near the door, the first floor is rather sparse, with shelves of simple foodstuffs and basic adventuring gear, like rope and old bedrolls, lining most of the wall.

Something is odd though; the level seems almost compartmentalized, and with the door shut, partially observed gears can be seen turning, first this way, then that way… but the party cannot discern their purpose at first glance.

Isabella points to a few bags of foodstuffs, and the party brings them up to the second floor, which seems to be living quarters. The staircase deposits the group into a kitchen, though the party catches glimpses of other rooms beyond.

The kitchen has an arrow loop build into the wall, and again, partially obscured gears can be seen near the floor and ceiling, turning. Through the loop, the landscape outside seems to oscillate, and the group learns through conversation that the tower twists as a form of defense, and is shrouded with enchantments to both ward and camouflage… Isabella concedes that the workings of the tower are beyond her; she has never had to do any repairs, or ward the tower itself.

In the kitchen, Isabella coordinates the group as they make a simple, hearty meal, directing ingredients to be added here and there. The meal is eventually cooked to perfection, and the party brings their picnic up to the highest level of the tower.

The stairs end under a kind of wide stone gazebo of sorts; its supports turning into small walls reaching out to the exterior battlements of the tower like the spokes of a wheel. There are slots for dropping things at attackers, as well as a higher crenellated wall. At regular intervals, the party notices full quivers and short bows, and Isabella shrugs. Her deity demands she be prepared. The group snakes their way along the battlements, still disguised by magic, to the stone gazebo, which now at this height appears to be more of a patio than anything. A pale silvery flame dances in a large metal saucer, and the party arrays themselves around it, enjoying the company and the meal, chatting until sleep eventually takes them.

The tower twists throughout the night, its motions stuttering the waltz of the stars above.

The morning comes, and the party rises, and nibbles on some bread and cheese as everyone prepares to go about their day. Isabella asks the party about their quarry. While the DieFi rod is still beyond her, as Kyllar explains more about the zombies they have encountered, Isabella interrupts. Dry, preserved zombies, like those found in among the urchins, are essentially unheard of. As are inert ones. Given the description of the Wizened, Isabella thinks that the Wizened are doing the necromancy, and tweaking it a bit.

Armored, the party prepares to depart, but Isabella gives them a final boon, three vials of consecrated oil for their weapons; Oil of the Blessed Repose, which will the party to anoint a few weapons and deal more damage to undead they encounter. She again warns them away from seeking out the lich the Ujix the Despoiler, believing her 1v1 approach to be the best bet of stopping him. The party isn’t so sure (liches have sweet loot, right?), and promise to keep in touch, and stop by again sometime and check in.

The party makes their way back to the enchanted, flying skiff borrowed from one of Rhogar’s friends, and they soon are floating back to Sharn amid another hot, cloudless day, the dragonborn focusing on the controls and fighting his fear of heights, as the rest of the party directs him with course adjustments.

It is decided that the group will visit House Sivis next – a dragonmarked halfling house associated with communications magic – to try and learn more about the magical DieFi rods.

The party gracefully flies through Sharn, landing on a platform near the Sharn Headquarters of House Sivis. Sweet entrance music blaring from Kyllar’s conjurations, and the party approaches the front door, and realizes this may go better if they have an actual DieFi rod to present to the gnomes.

Kyllar turns down the volume, and the quartet returns to their borrowed skiff, and begin a descent into the neighborhood of those merfolk scavengers…

They can’t make it all the way. Lower Sharn is too compact, so they park their skiff in a dark alley, and descend the rest of the way on foot. The group reaches that low, gloomy platform, and wisely take the left street towards the merfolk, avoiding those (probably still angry) street urchins down the street to their right.

They enter the dark, damp, and shabby merfolk neighborhood. The spaces between the tower foundations flooded with water. They spot Bubbles, the merfolk they encountered before, and looking distressed the fish-man thrusts a slightly damp bag into Rhogar’s hands.

The party regards this item, and asks Bubbles what is going on. In between throaty warbles, Bubbles tells the party that the orange man showed up the other day. No one saw him, but he took the scrap, and left the bag and some notes. Bubbles holds up one wet note, the ink washed away. He holds up a second note, also dripping ink, and laments how the orange-clad guy singled him out to give the party the bag (per the now unreadable note) and the merfolk wails in despair.

Rhogar hands off the bag to Professor Thorntongue, while Kyllar and Whudyalookadah embark on a gambit of bad-cop/psychotic-cop against the nearly inconsolable merman.

The wizard points out that those singled out by the orange-clad man don’t generally live long. Remember that merfolk, Steve? Dead! Killed by the orange-clad brute! Kyllar demands the merfolk help the party – or they won’t protect him from the orange-clad monk. Kyllar’s words are backed up with grotesque gestures from Whudyalookadah, and the merfolk is coerced into helping the party retrieve a DieFi rod from the sunken, bloated zombie cohort in the neighborhood.

The party marches through the damp neighborhood, past the branching, sunken alleyways while Professor Thorntongue completes here identify spell on the bag. With a mild curse, the informs the party that the bag… is really a Bag of Devouring. Kyllar curses loudly. Stupid necromancy guy.

Arriving quickly at the end of that sunken avenue. Their destination appears to be unchanged from their last visit. The crude building is still collapses in on itself, toppled into its basement, and rubble, and the only means of ingress, two metal doors twisted shut, all almost entirely submerged.

Kyllar points at the pile, and Bubbles bashfully wades into the little moat, treading water so that his fishy head is just above the surface. He paddles over to the doors, and while they are still slightly battered open from Turnin’s blows, the merman can fit no more than an arm inside, and looks back to the party. They’ll have to help somehow.

Bubbles looks on, still neck deep in the water as the party debates what to do. They could batter open the door? But they’d need to get over to it… Whudyalookadah could shift into a frog? But probably won’t be able to lift out the rod… Professor Thorntongue eventually casts a spell, allowing the party to walk on water… right past Bubbles. The group reaches the rubble, and apparently eager to get on with all this, the Professor smacks the door mightily with her mace, crumpling the weakened metal enough to allow just about everyone (excluding the large and heavily-armored Rhogar) inside.

Whudyalookadah gestures menacingly to the merman while Kyllar tells their forced accomplice that there are zombie bodies in there, and that the group needs Bubbles to bring back a metal rod from one of their bodies. The wizard then points emphatically towards the opening, demanding the terrified merman enter and retrieve the object.

Bubbles sinks, and then kicks, propelling himself out of the water, and over the ruined threshold, and into the dark depths of the ruins.

Seconds later, a bloated body breaches the water, its taught skin bursting against the stones and spilling its rotting guts over the rubble. Bubbles is close behind the body, wailing and trying to clamber out of the sunken pit. Kyllar’s little speech did not prepare him for what the merman saw – bloated or worse yet, corpses, sickly bobbing organs and random digits, all floating in the stagnant water… some of it even got in his mouth! Gross!

Bubbles wails, over the talk of the party, and is eventually coerced again into trying to retrieve the rod,  his face covered by conjured goggles and a bandana, courtesy of the wizard forcing him to slink back into the dark, filthy waters.

A few minutes pass, and then a bloated merfolk body, metal spinal rod in plain sight, is rolled over the threshold, resting on its back on the thin band of dry rubbly between the fetid pool and merely stagnant looking water nearer to the merfolk neighborhood.

Bubbles head breaches, the conjured protective gear disappearing; the merfolk spitting repeatedly and shivering in total disgust. As he eyes the body closer, he wails with renewed gusto – the body has the twisted dead face of the slain merfolk Steve.

Still distressed, Bubbles flops over into the merely stagnant water, wailing and scrubbing furiously at his scaled skin.

Kyllar attempts to wrench the rod from the body with Mage Hand, but the magic is not strong enough. The wizard turns to console the merman, promising him all sorts of new things as a reward for helping the party. His mind anchored a bit by business, the merfolk realizes that Kyllar still hasn’t paid up from the last time he helped the party, and the wizard promises more and more trinkets, and dismisses the merfolk, imploring him to lay low in an attempt the avoid any potential wrath from the orange-clad monk.

Bubbles swims to the edge of the stagnant pool, and emerges, still scrubbing and spitting. The party shares a moment, watching the merfolk go. Nobody thinks he is long for this world.

Rhogar then takes a chance and removing the rod from Steve’s body, and rips it free nearly without incident. The scaly skin tears and bursts, spilling the rotted, waterlogged innards over the rubble as well, but the dragonborn triumphantly holds aloft the DieFi rod… which is still attached to the skull, though the bones are missing a jaw.

Exposed to the air, the rancid zombies begin to stink. Rhogar dips the rod into the stagnant pool, rinsing some of the fleshy bits off, and then hands it to the wizard, who magically disguises it as rosewood staff, with a flowery, pleasant smell, and the part slink away, walking briskly through the neighborhood, moving towards their airship.

Fortunately, the skiff is right where they left it.

Still trying to air out the rod, Kyllar holds it aloft, again conjuring sweet entrance music as the skiff again sets down on the landing platform in the highest reaches of Upper Sharn, and the party again makes preparations to talk with the gnomes of House Sivis.

With the rod, they think it will go well.

The group approaches the tower, still broad, but bathed in light, and only a dozen or so levels from the top of the spire. Unlike below, towers have numerous balconies and windows, and the party spies them all over the place.

The doorway to House Sivis is impressive, like a cathedral; small arched doors inserted into a larger overarching… uh… arch. The House’s coat of arms, a Cockatrice, is engraved in the center of the large, ornate arch. The group enters, throwing open the doors impressively.

To either side, the walls are glass, providing visitors with a cross-section of two-floors of office work. The gnomes make a bit of a show about being busy, and can be see shuffling papers, running documents and instruments from desk to desk, as well as a bunch of gnomes plugging and unplugging wires at some kind of arcane switchboard.

The party is puzzled, but not interested at the display of office life, and walks toward the far end of the wall. There is a pretty-looking gnome lady sitting at a desk marked “Reception”, to whom Whudyalookadah makes a rude (thankfully unnoticed) gesture. On either side of the desk are wide doors, and near each door is a stately looking older gnome, well-dressed and well-poised.

The bubble receptionist welcomes the party to the Sharn branch of House Sivis, and asks how she can help them. Conspiratorially, Kyllar leans over the desk, and launches into a long summary of what the party has been up to. The Receptionist’s eyes glaze over. When Kyllar finishes, she asks for a more succinct summary, and apologizes; she’s new here. The group wants to see someone about a magical rod and communications? She looks to the stately gnome to her left. R&D? He nods, opens the door, and whispers for the messenger to take the group down to the R&D labs.

Practically dancing, a gnome pops into view, happily declares his name is Mort, and asks the party to stick close and follow him. Mort gleefully launches into an unprovoked attack on their ears, reciting a little speech about the origins of the House (3000 years old!) and what they do (translate things! Be neutral diplomats!), leading them down the wrong corridor only a few times. Even with the prepared spiel over, Mort cannot be contained. Seeing Whudyalookadah, Mort giggles with excitement, declaring that he is a city gnome, and wonders what kind of a gnome this gnome is? Whudyalookadah gestures to his simple, rustic clothes and grudgingly admits that he is a forest gnome, and then threatens Mort. Undeterred, the guide turns to Rhogar, reaching for the dragonborn’s weapon, a bright mace. When asked where he got such a neat shining weapon, the dragonborn mutters that he killed a guy. Right-o. In a last ditch effort at conversation, Mort turns to Professor Thorntongue and Kyllar, and asks who’s spellbook is bigger. The wizard’s. Obviously.

After a few tense moments of silence, Mort leads the group to a desolate hallway, and throws open the doors to R&D. The gnomes in this office, a trio clustered around a workbench, look up, and sigh at the sight of Mort. Mort waves, and the office gnomes wave Mort away, and motion quickly for the party to shut the door behind them. Whudyalookadah hocks a loogie, which lands on Morts foot. The city gnome is revolted, trying to shake it off or wipe it across the floor as the door shuts on his face.

Free of Mort, the gnomes, who all appear to have small, faintly luminescent dragonmarks on their body, ask what they can do for the group. Kyllar presents the rod, asking the gnomes if they could help identify it and discern its properties.

The gnomes share a moment, and in the middle of replying that it is obviously a staff made of rosew—Kyllar dismisses the spell, and the rod appears in all its horrid glory. A fish scale falls, plopping onto the desk. One of the gnomes heaves a little. So… you brought us a grotesque skull-themed walking stick?

Kyllar again tries to summarize their experiences… zombies, zombie with rod… rod helps command the zombies… Maybe communication magic is involved? Could you investigate the magic intricacies of the rod?

Rhogar twists the merfolk skull off with a sickening crack, and chucks it into the Bag of Devouring, where it breaks into pieces, before tumbling down and disappearing into the folds of the fabric.

This is beyond the paygrade of these gnomes, and the Bag of Devouring kinda freaks them out. Their office has a pretty open floor plan. Beyond a short wall, there is a kind of shooting range, and the gnomes point the group towards the office on the other side; Rogim’s office. The group makes their way down the range, and slabs of stone wall, plates of lead, a thin, a large piece of paper… all attached to little rolling carts that can be wheeled onto the range to block spells.

The party exits the far side of the range, and is confronted by a very stately looking older gnome. Rogim is wearing a nicely cut tunic, displaying a greater dragonmark for House Sivis spanning from his belly to the back of his shaved, hairless head.

Seeing the studious Professor Thorntongue scribbing at her notes, the gnome guesses that she is in charge, and asks her how he can assist.

The Professor gestures to the skull rod. She states that the rod is used to control zombies. And asks accusingly if Rogim knows of anyone else who could do such magic. That’s right Rogim, you’re on notice!

The gnome is taken aback a bit, surprised at the accusation, he stammers, off guard, extolling the long impartial service House Sivis has given the continent… eventually the gnome is guided towards just investigating the rod, as his hands investigate the rod, inscribed with a “14” on it, as he prods the group for more details on the zombies and the magic witnessed.

Rogim has been around the block a few times, and he too feels the “inactive” and dry zombies are unusual. As is the rod.

The rod itself appears to be just an average metal rod. Most of it is plain metal, which could be produced by any half competent blacksmith or foundry worker, and are likely found all over Sharn, even the continent. The business end, with magical enhancements, is further up on the rod, near where the skull would be attached via graft.

Rogim can discern some of the enchantments, and informs the party that the rod appears to be designed to deal with Command-style magic. The spells themselves are not really complicated… but the gnome is surprised by its genius. The maker has taken very common, simple spells, and applied them in a unique way to the basics of necromancy, receiving basic spells, and then amplifying them over an area.

Exploring further, Rogim conjectures that since necromancy is a bit of a psychic connection, the rod may be primed for reception. Fingers caressing the top of the rod, Rogim notices an orb, that would appear to glow as orders are received. The gnome guesses that it may glow when near the person issuing the commands, and will definitely glow when any commands are issued in range.

It would take weeks for House Sivis to explore and then replicate the rod, and the group decides against it turning it over just yet.

The group continues to question the gnome, and eventually they determine that a zombie apocalypse is unlikely. Sharn is too dense to issue such a wide-ranging command. Either the buildings would block the magic, or the targets too scattered to all rise at once. The zombie hordes, allegedly hidden throughout Sharn would need to be activated in sequence – Rogim is sure there is no way to activate the hordes en mass.

Eventually the group thanks Rogim, and takes their rod with them.

They rehash what they have learned. Steps have been taken to protect the zombies from normal wear and tear, in ways that echo what the party knows about the Wizened – they are the necromancers. The little zombie cohorts have been squirreled for reasons unknown. The rods are common, and would be easy to get ahold of. The rods are enchanted with common magic – the Wizened would not need a real specialist to do these enchantments

The party regards their DieFi rod… Sweeping the city would take way too long with a single rod, and the Necromancer could easily elude them on pure chance.

Rhogar begins to methodically recount where the party has encountered the Wizened previously. There was first the docks district in Grayflood; the massacre of the clerics; the rooftop where a monk received the SMS gargoyle; the moving drop point with Turnin’s gross “arms dealer”; and lastly, the urchins and the merfolk in low Sharn.

As he mentions the merfolk, the dragonborn raises a finger to make a point, but it unfortunately quickly eludes the fighter.

The party feels like they are at a bit of a dead end. They have leads… all of them cold as the zombies themselves. They commit to following up on each of these locales in turn with their new DieFi rod, and heading back to Ghallanda hall, begin to make plans to resupply.