Eberron Adventure: Session Forty

So there they were…

Breakfasting themselves in Ghallanda Hall.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wimps.

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

Thankfully, the alternate route is open this time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They walk in, and find it still abandoned.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*ding*

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

Skull Buddy is… well… gone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Eberron Adventure: Session Thirty-Nine

So there they were…

Scheming. With the three DieFi rods, the party, consisting of the gnome druid Whudyalookadah, the tiefling sorceress Comfort, the dragonborn fighter Rhogar, the human monk Turnin, the gnome barbarian Gnofulk, the human wizard Kyllar (and the kobold manservant Kaz) had the means to zero in on the location of the Wizened. Rhogar had made the rounds in Ghallanda Hall at an unimaginable 4 a.m., rousing his comrades and informing them that his friend in the City Watch had spread the word among the patrolmen in Greyflood, and the beat cops had spied a man in orange robes in the area. Rhogar was also excited because the armor he had ordered through Felmore’s Emporium was ready for his final fitting! Finally, the dragonborn could crack heads wearing full plate.

The party, bleary-eyed, munched on a cold breakfast of biscuits and cheese. The rest of the party was convinced to visit Felmore’s Emporium, as both Turnin and Gnofulk also had items that should be ready by now. And maybe that fancy-looking suit of armor Kyllar was eyeing as a conversation piece for their eventual party headquarters might be able to be bought…

Turnin and Kaz each take a rod, and Gnofulk somehow tucks one into is assortment of weapons. Sleepily Turnin excitedly claims his DieFi rod is flaring up, though it may have been a prank by Kyllar. The party ventured out into a cool morning that promised to become a glorious day. Weather-wise. They trudged along the mostly deserted walkways connecting the innumerable towers of Sharn, and soon found themselves beneath a sign bearing the image of a plate-clad minotaur and the words “Felmore’s Emporium (Associated with House Cannith)”.

*ding*

The party burst in on an unsuspecting Felmore, who was just opening up shop, moving from shelf to shelf setting his gizmos, gadgets, and the toy Skull Buddies in motion for the day. Pleasantries were exchanged, as well as the favor scroll for House Cannith obtained earlier. Kyllar noted with some dissatisfaction that the armor he had been eyeing was gone.
Turnin, the human monk received twenty-six smoke bombs, and as Felmore juggled the taskts of making the final fitting adjustments to Rhogar’s new plate armor and explaining the bombs to Turnin, that number became twenty-five, and the monk was engulfed in a rough five-foot cube of dark smoke.

Gnofulk thumbed his ammo warily. The gnome barbarian had asked for special sling ammunition for when raging might be a poor choice of action. (What?!? Bro, do you even barbarian?) Boring a hole seemed like an odd thing to do to a pebble, but Felmore explained that once flung, air would woosh in, and it would sound like the wail of a chain-smoking Banshee. Anyone nearby not in cover would likely be frightened, and anyone nearby already in cover would be quite dissuaded from leavings its safety.

Turnin then remembered that he had left his weird hovering and flaming skull associate, Skull Buddy in the tender care of Felmore, after everyone determined that Skull Buddy wasn’t 1) a toy Skull Buddy 2) a real skull 3) but not a demi-lich. Felmore admitted that the Skull Buddy was beyond his abilities, and his crew of warforged worked were working on it… though they had yet to arrive today. Odd. They are usually so punctual.

*ding*

Turnin claims his rod is acting up, and newly outfitted, the party departs, and arrives in the northern area of the district of Greyflood in the still-early morning.

Viewing this area in the daylight for the first time, Turnin, Gnofulk and Comfort learn a little more about how Sharn functions. A number of small trading vessels travel down the Dagger River, pausing to load and unload cargo, moved by large mechanical cranes looming over the river banks from some of the towers in Sharn. The cargo is briefly handled by these shipping companies, and then sent down the street to transportation companies that sort and disburse it throughout Sharn via porters.

The main thoroughfare – Commerce Road – is getting busy as the morning progresses, becoming clogged with cargo, workmen, sailors, and all manner of pedestrians.

They travel along Commerce Road, and on their right, soon pass by the building of Half the Time Shipping, the almost-certainly-a-front-company for the Halfling mafia. The party briefly considers stopping by, either to talk, or to spy or to fight, but eventually decide against doing anything with the mafia.

Another rough block or so, and they are at the bar known as the Naked Dwarf, and Whudyalookadah is… excited to see the owner Meloria again. But it’s morning still… and the bar is closed. Shucks.

The party, DieFi rods still inactive, decide to duck into the side streets between the towers, and explore the cluster of shops and dwellings just off the beaten path.

An oblivious Turnin, still insisting that his DieFi rod keeps flaring literally stumbles into a shop called “The G-String” – a shop of music boxes, sheet music and mostly stringed instruments. The monk narrowly avoids knocking over the tripod street sign as a hopeful shop keep looks up.

Or… tries to. Despite a normal haircut otherwise, the elf lad has incredibly long bangs hanging over his eyes, and he spends much of the conversation flipping them back or throwing his head in small nods in a persistent and futile attempt to see his potential customers.

Gnofulk is intrigued, as he is proficient in one musical instrument of his choice, and begins to browse, trying to remember which oddity he remembers how to play while Kyllar and Turnin talk to the owner, trying to find their lost “friends” a guy in orange and a gnome named Mort.

Sadly, neither has been seen by the shopkeeper. The party also learns that business has been slow for the little ironically-named music shop. The elf thought more people would chuckle and browse… but the sailors especially have been very disappointed in both his selection and sense of humor.

The party suggests that maybe marketing isn’t the problem. Maybe it’s the merchandise. Or maybe some combination of the two. Why not have a bar with attractive… entertainers, where everyone sings and jams? An idea takes root in the mind of this shopkeeper as the party walks away…

They continue on in these little alleys between the towers, and find a market of fresh street food being sold, and Gnofulk’s primal senses are piqued by the fragrant street meats. The barbarian’s hunger is roused, and he hungrily stalks from vendor to vendor, getting angrier and angrier at each inferior morsel. The best the gnome can do is “fish on a stick,” which is decidedly unusual and unappetizing to this forest-dweller.

The rage is kept in check, and the fish choked down... and Gnofulk finds that it is surprisingly good. Kyllar and Whudyalookadah also order one, and chat with the vendor as the food is prepared. The party is keen to know his business model, which Kyllar guesses as “1) Catch Fish 2) put on stick 3) profit.” The vendor points out that he adds a “seasoning” step in there too... but concedes that his operation is pretty straightforward.

With half the party snacking, they continue to poke around and explore these side streets, bouncing from one cluster of shops to another, with a fair amount of apartment complexes in between.

A long sign swings languidly in the breeze, reading “Coupling Bunnies” with a picture to drive the point of the establishment home. Two large saloon-style doors stand shut before the party. Turnin swings both doors open –

-and blushes a bit. A little ways into this section of the tower stands a lady orc wearing a white lacy dress standing behind a maître d’ stand. She winks at the group, and the doors shut. “The doors work.” Whispers Turnin to himself. “Just checking.”

Some doors are better left closed, but the party decides “why not?” and waltzes in, and quickly confirms that this place is exactly what they expected. The orc’s voice is a little heavier than the party would expect at a place like this, and also find out that she hasn’t seen any wrinkled guy in orange robes. Comfort doesn’t recognize the establishment, but knows sleaze when she sees it. At the suggestion of the tiefling, the party tells the orc to check out the music shop a few blocks north – and depart.

They continue exploring these seedier areas, and eventually sneak up on “Da Club” and walk in. The shop is one large room, and its walls are lined with clubs, small axes and cutlasses and such. A small multi-faceted and glittering ball is suspended from the ceiling, slowly turning, and with an arrow protruding from it. The orc eyes the bauble with dislike, and then welcomes the party.

The orc came in here once, was disappointed in it being a dance hall, and bought the shop to rectify people’s expectations. He caters to visiting sailors and thugs mostly.

Kyllar offers to handle the glittering ball if the orc would answer a few questions? The orc enthusiastically agrees, and the wizard’s mage hand procures a knife and swipes at the cord suspending the orb.

It falls.

Turnin is ready though, and arms outstretched, it lands atop one hand, rolls down both arms of the monk, coming to a stop with a flourish in his other hand.

The orc tells the party that he hasn’t sold anything to a guy dressed in orange, but had seen a guy down a bit south, along the main road, and the party departs.

They eschew traveling along the main road, bypassing the busy Rock Steady Shipping, Everything Goes Transportation and Marsh Shipping towers, and continue along the back streets, coming up on a market for reagents from a less-traveled angle. Eyes of a newt, pinecone dust… you name it – it’s here, but the party doesn’t have need of anything. They see a book market across the street, and Kyllar demands the party travel there next.

They exit the reagents market onto the main street, and as they pass a derelict-looking transportation company. The swing slowly. “5 Orcs and a cart Transportation.” But the 5 has been crossed out and replaced with a 4, and then that replaced with a three. The whole text is crossed out, and a “Closed” sign hands beneath the company one.

As they pass the shuttered company, their DieFi rods begin to glow. The party spreads out, trying to triangulate and soon the rods furthest away wink out. This looks to be the place…

The party takes a stop off the main road, and fans out to regard the building. It appears to be a stout warehouse, taking up the entire level of this skinny tower and being about 60 feet tall.

There are two sections of large double doors covering areas about 40 feet wide and thirty feet tall. An “In” door for receiving shipments and an “Out” door for the orcs and their cart. Both are shut, and secured with chains and a lock. The party decides to go in through the out door. Non one expects such blatant disregard for the rules!

Comfort procures a small lock picking kit – and proceeds to do what the party rogue cannot.

The small padlock clicks open, and the chains loosen. The party gingerly snakes them free, and stealthily opens the door.

It’s shady inside, but not unbearably dark.

A small labyrinth of boxes stand before them, nearly all large (10’ x 10’) crates standing ready for transport. In the back of the room appears to be a 60’ tower and controls for a descending claw arm, rigged to scaffolding and metal runners from the ceiling. The claw holds a large pallet of crate boxes from the ceiling.

There is enough light to see, but shadows abound. Turnin hops up onto one of the walls of crates as Kyllar’s familiar scouts the room, finding nothing. The labyrinth turns out to be full of potential paths, and no actual dead ends.

Just lots of big crates, ready for transportation.

The party sets out, aiming to close in on the control tower. Rhogar’s new plate and Gnofulk’s weapons clatter loudly as the party moves; Rhogar, Kyllar and Kaz and Gnofulk, Comfort separated by a crate wall with a very stealthy Turnin atop. Whudyalookadah shapeshifts into a hawk, and flies up to the control tower, but sees and does nothing.

Turnin wants to see what’s in these crates, and two crowbars are tossed up to the monk. The first crate is broken open, revealing a bunch of soap bars.

The party moves closer, still clattering, and from somewhere in the warehouse - no one can pinpoint where – the breaking of wood is heard. The rods flare to life, but the party can see nothing.

Turnin jumps over to another crate wall, and drives the crowbar in. With a mighty press of the bar, the wall of the crate breaks, splintering wood.

Hearing the noise, Kyllar rounds the corner to the lane where Gnofulk and Comfort in time to see a small mountain of zombies spill forth from the wrecked crate and into the path. Kyllar calls forth flame and ignites the crate, reasoning that he could always snuff it out later. The dry, preserved zombies in and around the crate start to combust.

Crowbar in hand, and seeing Gnofulk and Comfort in danger, Turnin leaps to another crate wall, and picks a new box to try to smash. The monk fails, and only manages to get the crowbar stuck into the sturdy wood case.

Hot on the heels of Kyllar and Kaz, the plate-clad Rhogar stomps around the corner and starts shoving and battering the zombies surrounding Gnofulk as they try to stand; shoving one and battering another with the dragonborn’s sturdy shield.

The mass of zombies paw, scratching Comfort and Gnofulk as the parched undead, modified with metal blades, attempt to stand.

Enraged, Gnofulk and Comfort tear into the mass of limbs from two sides. The gnome barbarian with an uncouth series of attacks with a great axe and scimitar, and the tiefling sorceress seizing the dead with electrifying caresses.

Whudyalookadah, still in hawk form, dive bombs the mass of zombies, and is rewarded with a beak-full of gross. The hawk spits. Gross.

Kyllar unleashes seven hawk’s worth of fury into the swarm, fanning the flames. Kaz, tries to watch his masters back, and shrieks as the Wizened appears.

A blur of orange appears behind the wizard; wrinkled fists pummel the wizard as a shriveled tongue murmurs the forms. The last thing the wizard hears is “Scythe cuts the Wheat” as his body seizes up and he falls to the ground, knocking on death’s door. The Wizened withdraws.

From atop the crates Turnin sees his comrade fall and the victor flee, and the monk catapults himself towards the orange robes, imploring his quarry not to go anywhere. The normally talkative Turnin is rather stoic today; not even bothering to ask actually anticipated questions like “what’s with all these boxes? Why are you here, and who are you working for?” and proceeds to simply smack the Wizened with the cool staff, though his shriveled opponent shakes off the ki-focused attacks. “Ignorant fool,” whispers the inconvenienced Wizened.

Rhogar continues to batter the zombies with mace and shield, and Gnofulk with axe and scimitar. The zombies scratch at Gnofulk, but the barbarian seethes through the most of it, and the dragonborn’s plate proves nigh invulnerable.

Comfort considers a necromantic attack, but decides to rip a devastating line of enhanced lightning at the back of the Wizened, igniting the dust and crates nearby, and adding to the growing inferno in the warehouse.

Both monks easily evade the attack with a mandatory twirl, though the skin of the Wizened starts to char and smolder under the ambient heat of the blast.

Whudyalookadah, still as a hawk, swoops down to Kyllar, returning to Gnome form, and taking the wizards hand, tenderly tells the wizard to nut up.

Kyllar coughs as he regains consciousness, and looks deep into the eyes of the surly, ill-mannered gnome. The wizard murmurs a sweet nothing…

….and the gnome starts to change.

He turns scaly, and toothy, and begins to grow.

In only a few moments, the polymorphed gnome towers over the crates as a regal, murderous lizard. Massive jaws snapping, tail thrashing and tiny arms flailing uselessly. The gnome’s now tiny brain starts to try to make sense of it all. Is he really a.... a... T-Rex?

The Wizened whispers his forms, one wrinkled fist connecting with Turnin’s chest-

-and the other unexpectedly grabbing the cool staff. With a look of contempt, the Wizen plants his feet and flings Turnin into the air, whispering something about meddling and weak fung fu.

Turnin flies and crashes into crate suspended by the iron claw, and the force of his impact breaks it open, dropping zombies down into the room and growing fires as it swings back and forth.

The monk is able to recover quickly from the throw, and manages to regain his footing among the rafters. He briefly glimpsed the Wizened darting through the crate scorched by Kyllar, and decides to jump from the rafters, aiming for the other side of the crate. The monk guesses correctly, and lands close enough to the Wizened to continue the fight.

The numerically reinforced shambling horde swipes at what it can, and the newly arrived members attempt to right themselves and join the fight.

Rhogar and Gnofulk continue to batter the horde, cleaving apwart what is left of the original group and moving on to the new arrivals, while cool-headed Comfort takes a wide stance and twin-casts a spell, blasting apart two control zombies, enhanced with those DieFi rods, but there is still enough rods to keep the horde in motion.

Whudyalookadah the tyrannosaur blinks, and then spits. The old gnome is still in there somewhere. The wheels turn, and the beast lunges forward, swatting teetering zombies off the top of crates with his massive scaled tail, and smashing through other piles of boxes. Merchandise and flaming splinters are flung throughout the warehouse as the dinosaur makes his way towards the last thing that really caught is attention: Turnin throwing himself from the rafters.

The lizard tears through two rows of crates before he happens upon the monk duel, swatting zombies out of the way. The former gnome cannot remember what he is supposed to be biting, and ends up snapping at at Turnin, the bright dragonmark at the back of the monk’s head just too alluring apparently. Fortunately, the massive jaws miss the party's monk.

With the tyrannosaur rampaging about this largely enclosed space, Kyllar proceeds to start more fires, hurlling a fireball into the "zombie pinata." The crates explode, and a half dozen more immolated zombies fall to the floor, while splinters of flaming timber are scattered throughout the room.

A brutal Ki strike against Turnin inflicts grievous necrotic damage, and the muscles of the young monk seize up. The Wizened withdraws a bit, keeping the young monk between him and the dinosaur... but the old bones and shriveled flesh are starting to give, and the aged monk, skin still smoldering, does not make it far.  Even with cramping muscles, Turnin is able to keep pace with his quarry, and even manages to outdistance him slightly, making the Wizened closest to the dinosaur now.

With a huge expenditure of effort, Rhogar sprints, crashing through what is left of the crates left in the wake of the tyrannous Whudyalookadah, spanning much of the warehouse and closing with the weakened Wizened...

...only to miss his strike.

....and interpose himself between the dinosaur and the Wizened. Rhogar, is now closest to the dinosaur.

Whudyalookadah is still adjusting to the polymorph, his dinosaur brain urging him to eat. The former gnome regards the situation, and in a moment of critial clarity, dives at the Wizened snout first. Not quite used to being a Tyrannosaurus Rex, Whudyalookadah eschews the obvious jaw attack, and opts to surprise his jerky-like prey, and uses his mighty jaws to pin the monk to the floor while his tiny arms tear, faster and faster at the robes and dry flesh.

The tiny arms windmill around and around, shredding the aged monk. Miraculously the pilfered Bag of Holding is torn free and flung aside unharmed, and soon the claws scrape nothing but stone, the shredded form scattered behind the T-Rex like dirt from a digging puppy.

The inferno spreads; and the zombies continue to stumble about attempting to fulfill their final commands, but as most are on fire, are quickly dispatched by Gnofulk's weapons and Comfort's magics.

The blaze entirely out of his control, Kyllar implores Turnin to loot what look he can from the Wizened, and everyone starts stumbling towards the exits.

Keeping low to avoid the smoke, Whudyalookada batters through the doors, and stands victorious as the fires continue inside this level of warehouse. A mighty roar is loosed as the rest of the party stumbles out in the wake of the dinosaur...

... and back out onto the bustling thoroughfare of the district, on a simply perfect afternoon.

Eberron Adventure: Thirty-Eighth Session

So there they were…

Worried.

The dragonborn fighter Rhogar, the human wizard Kyllar, and the gnome druid Whudyalookadah sat around Ghallanda Hall under the tender alcoholic ministrations of their usual bartender and occasional middleman, Bud Miller. This group had tracked down some information about the Wizened and the DieFi rods, and had taken to a few days or relaxing, confident that their comrades would likewise quickly fulfill whatever separate tasks they had set out to do.

They, apparently, had been taking their sweet time on their sojourn.

As they began discussions over their drinks on how they might be able to track down their missing members, the missing quartet entered the Hall, beaten, bruised, and sopping wet, despite a string of dry weather the last few days.

Saying nothing the halfling rogue Shadowale, the gnome barbarian Gnofulk, the tiefling sorceress Comfort and the human monk known as Turnin all approach the bar, and ordering a staggering amount of food and drink, declare that they have uh... seen some stuff.

Drinks were downed quickly, and they then declare that they need to dry out before the food comes and the catching up goes too far. A few minutes later they return, and the trading of tales commences.

The quartet relates that they snuck off to murder a half elf known as Sandar Fancybrook. Turnin mentions that this is the rogue talked of way way way back by the dragonborn paladin Sorai in her dying warning not to split the party, a warning received mere days into their adventure as a group, way back with the Sealers of the Stone Maw and Brenda Halim, the Mover of Pieces.

Shadowale also pipes up, noting that the reason Sandar Fancybrook needed to die was… revenge.

The halfling relates his story, and the recent reveals of Sandar’s meddling with Shadowale’s life. Before Shadowale met the party, he was a happy drunk, enjoying minor thievery with his wife. House Tarkanan values disposable halfling assassins, and sought to recruit Shadowale through grief, drink, and manipulation.

Sandar began “recruiting” Shadowale with the murder of the halfling’s wife. Grief would lead the halfling to drink, as is common with his race. House Tarkanan would hand off his recruitment to another operative, who would “handle” the halfling and ply him with drink and lies until the House needed something done.

Unfortunately for the house, their handler – a dwarf lady – was killed on the electric rail, shortly after spotting Shadowale, and Shadowale continued on his own path, moving slowly but ever closer to avenging his wife.

Once in Sharn, Shadowale found himself in contact with House Tarkanan, but with the safety provided by the party, free of their direct control. The halfling also heard news of someone matching the description of his quarry in Sharn.

The House realized that a reckoning was likely… but opted to try and get some use out of Shadowale still, and aimed him at Steve Carlsberg von Brighthammer Jr., with instructions to go alone. Shadowale did not, and survived the encounter, with Gnofulk tossing the paladin into the lava river deep in the Cogs in Sharn via a suplex.

The reckoning was inevitable, but their small hit squad failed to derail Shadowale, and with Comfort’s aid, the secret lair of Sandar Fancybrook, murderer of Mirabella Burrows (who was a pretty lady, tricky rogue and wife of Falco Burrows, aka Shadowale), was discovered during the grisly murders investigations.

So, with the investigations concluded, Shadowale embarked on a journey for revenge, and found himself joined by Gnofulk, Comfort and Turnin, who recognized Sandar’s name from the journal he kept belonging to Brenda Halim.

Comfort then takes up the story, and relates how the group moved to interrogate a known associate and accountant for Sandar, who was an elderly dwarf in her bath house. And long story short, Gnofulk attempted to massage him.

The group gleaned enough information to infiltrate Sandar Fancybrook’s lair – the base of operations for a cell of House Tarkanan, and the group snuck through a Legitimate Drinking Establishment, accidentally started some fights, let most of the baddies live, and was subsequently captured and tortured, apparently for days.

Turnin chimes in that all the baddies the group let go, came back to fight them again later, and the monk asserts that the group should always be killing their foes.

Comfort continues, stating that they were freed in part by the intervention of some Blink Dogs, who knocked over the metal and glass cage of a blue imp familiar named Tiny, shattering it and freeing the imp. The dogs fought with the torturers, were wounded and withdrew. Tiny finished off the torturers, and freed the party.

Kyller interrupts, and mentions that the Blink Dogs were some protection, courtesy of House Ghallanda, nodding down the bar toward Bud Miller, for reasons he can’t quite recall.

The quartet attempted to sneak around, triggering a huge number of alarms in the process of their jailbreak. They learned a little from some of House Tarkanan’s HR files, like about the existence of “Boss” a Beholder and presumed mastermind behind House Tarkanan, “Skirge” a mindflayer pirate, Feral Fawcett, who is still planning something unknown, and Ujix the Despoiler, a secretive lich up in the plateaus around Sharn. However, the imp Tiny absconded with the files.

All was not lost though, as they eventually found a mostly complete spellbook belonging to the late Naman Fireslinger, as well as the pilfered book on the Wizened, procured by Turnin. Kyllar rejoices at the former.

They found a drunk halfling and an elven House Tarkan handler, and through some tough love and dubious logic, convinced the halfling to drunkenly stagger away, and then tied up the defeated and unconscious elf, all without apparently seeing the potential parallel with Shadowale, and what their irascible halfling might have been without their help.

The party pressed on, and eventually fought and defeated a very drunk, pretty lame Sandar Fancybrook, who, through a fumbled release of his dragonmark, cause rain to start falling in the lair, slowly flooding it.

Gnofulk states proudly that they looted a bunch of stuff, and shows off the little armory strapped to his back. The group picking up two sets of armor; a magical sword with a Beholder Eye as a pommel, lots of cash and gems, a royal jeweled necklace from the continent of Aerenal, and a small stone, which is offered up by Shadowale and identified as a Sending Stone by Kyllar, though no one knows how to use one.

…And that brings their story to now.

The human wizard Kyllar, the dragonborn fighter Rhogar, and the gnome druid Whudyalookadah launch into their story.

They, along with Professor Thorntongue, who was still tagging around after the confrontation with Zyn, decided to snoop around, and see what could be discovered relating to the DieFi rods, the Wizened, their missing bag of holding, and necromancy in general.

Unable to track down Naman Fireslinger’s spellbook on their own, Rhogar borrowed a small air skiff from his friend in the City Watch, and they took it out to the City of the Dead – a large graveyard among the plateaus just northeast of Sharn.

There they met a young illiterate and solitary paladin, known as Isaballa, the Holy Warden, who said that she was tending to and protecting the graves, as well as facing off against and keeping tabs on Ujix the Despoiler. She argued that solo was the way to defeat a lich.

After a hospitable evening in a warded pillar overlooking the grounds, the group returned to Sharn, where they hoped to recover a DieFi rod from the merfolk. They returned to the slum to find Bubbles the merfolk, who tried to give them a note from the Wizened, but the ink had washed off. Because merfolk. The Wizened also gave him an apparent Bag of Holding to give to the party.

Kyllar produces the bag, and asks if anyone wants to see what’s inside. Gnofulk gladly jumps in, and moments later, is thankfully dumped out.

For the empty Bag of Holding was really a Bag of Devouring. The gnome could’ve gotten swallowed whole. Kyllar reveals himself to be a bit of a jerk, and potentially the greatest force of moral decay within the party.

The group returns to telling their story, and how they coerced Bubbles into diving into the sunken, destroyed cache of the Wizened, probably scarring him for life, as he retrieved the bloated corpse of one of his friends, which promptly popped like a rotting fleshy balloon once it was out of the water. The group promised him protection, and told him to lay low and that was four days ago.

Yeah, Kyllar may not be a nice man.

The group disguised the rod, skull still attached, and brought it to House Sivis, a gnomish dragonmarked house associated with diplomacy and communications magic. There they met an annoying gnome named Mort, the relative of a House bigwig, and Rogim, a heavily dragonmarked elder gnome, who was able to discern a great deal of about the rod and its magic.

The rod receives and amplifies simple command-style magic, allowing a user to control a group of zombies over a small area. However, the rod needs to be close to the commander, and within line of sight, similar to the Command spell. The raising of the dry zombies appears to be a separate thing from commanding them. Rogim tweaks the rod slightly, causing it to glow around this specialized kind of command magic.

The following day, they take their rod, carried by Kaz the Kobold, to Grayflood, in an attempt to backtrack to the party’s first meeting with the Wizened, as well as explore a deed delivered to Turnin that morning.

After visiting the Naked Dwarf bar, the deed is found to be for an apartment in a section of tower set for demo/reconstruction soon… and Kaz alerts the party that the rod is glowing.

They wander in and explore, eventually kicking in a door and finding the Wizened on the other side, activating two cohorts of dry, preserved zombies while a third lays in a neat stack in an apartment neighboring the one purchased by Turnin.

Kyllar ignites the zombies with a fireball, but the orange monk escaped, launching himself out the window. The group pursued, over a spilled delivery of Zoop’s Soups, sort of under, sort of through a large stained glass window for the re-consecrating of the Silver Flame’s previously massacred chapel, and also through the annoying gnome Mort, who was seeing off a group of elves from Aerenal.

Yeah, Whudyalookadah does not like Mort, and gored him pretty good while in boar-form. Whudyalookadah tells the party that he has heard rumors of a reward from House Sivis… because Mort has gone missing. The group is unsure if they want to go and fess up.

Long story short, the Wizened is quick, and got away, helped by a distracting smoke bomb, just like what Turnin wanted from Felmore’s Emporium. They trudged back to the apartment, burned the few remaining zombies in the stone apartment tower, collected three more rods (#s 15, 16, 17), and returned to Ghallanda Hall… and after a few relaxing days, here they are.

Now, all caught up with each other’s sojourns, after deciding to focus on the Wizened, the reunited party puts their heads together, trying to figure out their next moves...

Kyllar and Shadowale are able to visit Rogim in House Sivis the following day and have the gnome modify two other rods, and retain one for the house to study. The dragonmarked gnome is also able to show Shadowale how to activate the Sending Stone, which is blinking because it has a message-

-which turns out to be the Beholder known as Boss checking in on Sandar, wondering if the "elf slave" has the halfling situation under control. The Beholder would like to get back to business as usual, and has new tasks for Sandar's group to complete...

Turnin is able to delve into the book, and learn a little of the actual history of the monks, as well as their martial prowess, while Rhogar’s City Watch friend has put the discrete word out at Rhogar’s request, and a few Watchmen have seen a figure matching the description of the Wizened monk in Greyflood. Armed with the general location, three rods to help narrow the manhunt, and now plenty of adventurers, the reunited party begins their final preparations for a battle with the Wizened...