Eberron Adventure: Session Forty-Seven

So there most of them were…

….gabbing away with a few new members.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The party had been busy!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Even she knows she’s not being convincing.

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

The tiefling misses.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Eberron Adventure: Forty-Sixth Session

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

Such as it was.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The standoff was broken with an arrow.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Eberron Adventure: Forty-Fifth Session

So there they were… spread throughout Sharn far and wide.

Gnofulk the gnome barbarian was participating in the Race of the Eight Winds and was in the northwest of the city atop a flying squirrel named Nutasha. The aerial race was going well for the gnome. His two biggest rivals, dwarf and former victor Officer Gladstone on his hippogriff, and the frightening elf Gary Vadalis on his masked Pegasus, couldn’t seem to overcome one another to threaten the gnome’s lead. Way further back, not even starting their second lap, the halfling known as Bolad the Beautiful and her glidewing maneuvered away from the Orc Slash and his griffon, who had already taken two riders out of the race with his deadly beak and claws. Not even halfway done with their first lap was the gnome Janus Campbell atop his owl, riding leisurely. Gnofulk had just lapped and “buzzed” Janus. In first place and focused on the race, Gnofulk was giving a fantastic performance and having a good time.

The tiefling sorceress Comfort and the halfling rogue Shadowale were in the southeast of Sharn, near the starting line. They had made a sign for the halfling to hold up to support Gnofulk, and had drunk most of Shadowale’s hidden flasks already. These two were fantastically drunk and having a good time.

The human monk Turnin and the human wizard Kyllar, however, were not having a good time, despite having located some fantastic hobgoblin allies from the Death’s Noggin clan. Sober, they were quite cognizant of the terror unfolding.

Tumbling rubble had silenced the narration of the Race, and an unusual “airship” – powered by fire – had now lumbered into view, spitting numerous arrows and firebolts out into the city.

In Turnin and Kyllar’s section, most of the spectators had now turned to flee. However, they noticed a small squad of goblins and satyrs actually moving towards the commotion. To the monk’s eyes, it looked like they were intending to commandeer the nearby announcer skiff.

Already near both the front of the section and the skiff itself, the monk jostles the wizard, and then moves to interpose himself between the skiff and the advancing Daask gangsters.

Kyllar catches the gist of the situation rather quickly, and tries to warn the announcers and techs to abandon the skiff. They couldn’t hear the wizard over the din, but do notice as a bonfire is conjured atop the skiff and around them. They bail.

The hobgoblins near the duo look to them for guidance, and the duo point the little soldiers at the oncoming Daask with a suggestion to detain them if possible.

None of the racers had yet seen the airship, and so continued on. Gnofulk’s lead began to lessen as he hit the straightaways, but the racer’s order remained unchanged. Officer Gladstone and Gary Vadalis continued to shoot and spook one another respectively; Bolad continued to daze Slash and keep just out of the way of the griffon’s deadly claws; and Janus Campbell puttered onward at his own pace.

Comfort and Shadowale were starting to get wise to the chaos unfolding around them. In the back of their stand section, drunkenly, they blinked in disbelief and nudged one another. Why is everyone leaving? What’s that burny ship-shaped thing in the sky? Why is everyone screaming?

Together, they manage to rouse one another to drunken action. Shadowale sees the fleeing spectators, as well as a group of Daask already boarding the announcer skiff in their section. The halfling starts fighting the rush of people and making his way down to the front of the stand.

With the extra height from the back of the stands, Comfort has a clear line of sight to the skiff, and decides to risk a shot. As Daask satyrs confront the announcer – the last surviving member of House Sivis on this particular skiff – all are engulfed in a large, devastating lighting bolt, and their smoking, charred bodies tumble off the untouched skiff, falling into the dark, low areas of Sharn.

Still blissfully unaware, the remaining racers urge their mounts on. Janus is still leisurely finishing up his first lap; Slash and Bolad race on, far ahead of their fiery airship; and Officer Gladstone and Gary trade shots while closing the gap with Gnofulk.

Kyllar and Turnin watch the skiff burn. The hobgoblins have engaged the Daask; holding the line against the satyrs and goblins. Turnin decides to intervene, and flanks the Daask, bashing a goblin in the head with his cool staff and knocking him out cold. The monk drags the goblin back to Kyllar, and the two humans discuss how best to rouse the goblin and interrogate him while the rest of the Daask and hobgoblin soldiers trade cuts.

Kyllar shouts to the Death’s Noggin hobgoblins to finish up the scuffle and then to try and join them; the duo will be heading out to fight the airship. Kyllar polymorphs Turnin into a griffon. The majestic beast retains the monk’s headband, which billows elegantly in the wind. The polymorphed monkand snatches up the unconscious goblin as Kyllar hops onto Turnin’s new feathery back.

Janus Campbell is finally nearing the end of his first lap; Slash has lagged a bit behind Bolad, though both are far ahead of the airship and still oblivious to it. Gary Vadalis and Officer Gladstone continue to trade barbs while Gnofulk is able to maintain a bit of his lead, and rounds a corner –

-into view of the fiery airship.

The gnome is a bit stunned at the sight, but remembers bets were made. He is determined to win, or at least finish this race and collect. Whatever is going on here; it will have to wait. Gnofulk flies behind the ship, hoping to draft off it a bit, as the ship continues to fire projectiles and magic into the surrounding towers.

Their section mostly empty now, Comfort and Shadowale easily make their drunken way down to the skiff and hop in. Shadowale locates the controls, and guns it. The skiff zips forward but lurches to a halt, bobbing in midair. Comfort is tossed from her seat out into the sky.

The tiefling has the presence of mind to cast Feather Fall on herself, and manages to land on a small bridge a few stories down. The halfling adjusts the controls and cuts the mooring rope, adjusting gingerly descending to pick Comfort up and try this again.

Gnofulk flies up close to the airship, and through the ring of fire. The gnome sees a number of orcs on deck, and small goblins and satyrs moving about. He shoots at the large orc helming the ship as he passes by, but the gnome’s sporting crossbow bolt merely buries itself in the large wooden wheel that is the helm.

Gary Vadalis edges out in front of Officer Gladstone, and turns that into a small lead as the hippogriff is too afraid to approach. Bolad dazes Slash with a well-placed bolt shot, and gets a few hundred feet in front of the murderous griffon. Janus continues to plod along gracefully on his owl.

Turnin the griffon leaps into the air, carrying the poor unconscious goblin in his talons and Kyllar on his back. As they rise up into the path of the airship, they see Gnofulk flying toward them, and Kyllar gives a little salute before turning his attention to the airship. The wizard sees what appear to be orcs, goblins and satyrs manning the ship, with arrows and firebolts flying from out from it at nearly every angle and out into the city causing havoc. With his new improved eyesight, Turnin notices all that plus Feral Fawcett, the snake-bodied medusa loosing her own arrows into the city from a large bow in the upper decks of the bow of the ship. Unfortunately, his cawing fails to attract the attention of Kyllar.

Gnofulk flies away, more than halfway done with his second lap. Gary maintains his lead over Officer Gladstone as the two fly into view of the airship, and Slash continues to chase Bolad with Janus still bringing up the rear.

Comfort and Shadowale fly their skiff into view of the airship at the same time Gary and Officer Gladstone do. The tiefling points out the riders to Shadowale… who proceeds to purposely turn into Gary’s path.

The elf was focused on Officer Gladstone behind him, and his masked (blind) pegasus mount gave no warning. The skiff smashes into the pair, and Gary Vadalis is knocked off, falling into the depths of Sharn, fate unknown. Without sight and now without a rider, the pegasus tumbles away from the crash. It soon reorients itself, and begins flying ever-so-slowly away and downward, “looking” for a place to land.

Comfort drunkenly laughs that was probably a bad thing to do. Then she stammers that she and Shadowale should drink more because they are friends. Shadowale takes a swig, and the two decide that the tiefling should cast the spell “Friends” on the halfling. She does, and no noticeable change occurs between them.

Gnofulk responds to Kyllar’s little salute with a wave, and continues racing. Officer Gladstone watches Gary tumble down and then brings his mount alongside the commandeered skiff of Shadowale and Comfort. Looking around, the dwarf racer notes that the spectators are fleeing; two drunks have knocked off a rider; and a large airship is flying between the plateaus of Sharn, blasting away at the buildings and the inhabitants with arrows and magic as it maneuvers through the city. The dwarf decides to throw in the towel, and, assuming the drunks have a plan, asks how he can help stop this rogue airship.

Turnin bobs and weaves in griffon form, trying to avoid the enemy fire pointed their way. Kyllar casts Message, and tries to formulate a plan with the monk as the ship continues to advance. The polymorphed monk telepathically warns the wizard about Feral Fawcett up near the bow, and the duo decide to strafe the ship.

Turnin dives down at the ship, avoiding most of the arrows while Kyllar releases a fireball at the fiery airship bow. Flames roll over the bow as the ball impacts. However, the airship seems magically warded against the attack, and while some goblins are killed, maimed, and/or crisped, no discernable structural damage is done to the ship, which continues to plod ahead.  

Gnofulk zips into the last stretch of his second lap. The spectators here have not come under fire, but even here too, they are starting to vacate the stands.

Janus Campbell and his owl turn the corner to start their second lap, and they see the aerial fight, and Kyllar’s fireball impact the airship. The rider reins in his owl mount, noting the lack of announcing and rapt spectators. Bolad maintains her lead on Slash as they continue the race, focusing solely on one another and their violent competition.

Officer Gladstone follows the skiff down, getting behind and below the airship. Comforts lets a firebolt fly up at the belly of the ship, but is unable to do more than scuff the hull. With Shadowale’s plan of boarding from below unlikely now, the three confer. They quickly decide not to blindly dimension door their way inside, and instead drift backward, and position themselves behind the stern of the airship, prepping to assault the helm.

Turnin dodges most of the oncoming fire, but he and the wizard do take a few hits from firebolts and arrows. The polymorphed monk decides that interrogation is unlikely, and probably unnecessary, and that it is now time to weaponize the unconscious goblin. Folding his wings back, the griffon precipitously plummets towards the airship, passing through the ring of fire. The monk had hoped to toss the goblin at the helmsmen, and pull up to provide the wizard with his own opportunity, but it was not to be.

During the approach, the monk felt his eyes drawn to the bow of the ship, and his gaze fell upon Feral Fawcett and her undulating, scaly visage. Transfixed, the monk/griffon could not pull up, and instead crashed into the helming deck himself.

Several orcs and goblins are pushed off the deck by the sudden arrival of the large feathery body; and Turnin’s talons unclench, tossing the unconscious goblin overboard. Unfortunately, the impact also tosses Kyllar from the back of the griffon, and the wizard is barely able to grab the edge of the battlements as he goes up and over.

Startled by the arrival of their comrade, Comfort and Shadowale drunkenly wave, and start to position the skiff below the dangling wizard.

Once the wizard is on board, Shadowale nudges the skiff higher, bringing it even with the deck. The orc helmsman bellows in glee as the skiff rises into view. What a move by the griffon! What a wonderful and chaotic battle! He abandons his post to fight, bellowing for reinforcements and commanding the two other orc survivors on his level to help him repel the boarders.

Comfort lobs a small, emerald-colored sphere of magic amidst the orcs, which explodes upon impacting the deck, spraying vitriol everywhere. The orcs’ exposed skin blisters and the helmsman roars in delightful anticipation; and his subordinates seethe in orcish fury.

Kyllar summons grease upon the deck, but the orcs are unfazed so far.

Shadowale fires a crossbow from the hip while piloting, and hits one of the orc underlings. The halfling gestures to Officer Gladstone, and the dwarf likewise ascends with his hippogriff to get even with the deck, and hits the same orc with his underpowered sporting crossbow.

Bellowing in a happy war rage, the helmsman advances upon the prone and polymorphed Turnin, who is wedged into the corner of the deck, legs and wings sticking out in odd directions. The orc swings mightily into the monks flanks and mingles blood with the grease and vitriol already on the deck.

The other orcs advance to the railings, standing ready to repulse the party. The vitriol burns the all orcs again, but despite the injuries, they greenskins appear undaunted.

Turnin flaps about, cawing, but eventually orients himself upright. He then attempts to get airborne while grappling with the orc helmsman. The orc shouts in delight at the attempted maneuver, but breaks free of the talons with a twist of his arm. As the monk flaps just out of striking range to join his companions, the orc helmsman laughs heartily. This will be a wonderful battle!

Eberron Adventure: Forty-Fourth Session

So there they were, in Sharn, the City of Towers, on the eve before the eve before the Race for the Eight Winds, strategizing.

The party, consisting of Turnin the human monk (with his new bumpy frog, Jerimiah), Comfort the tiefling sorceress, Shadowale the halfling rogue, Gnofulk the gnome barbarian and Kyllar the human wizard all enjoy a drink of their choice while the wizard runs down what they know about the riders that are not Gnofulk:

Janus Campbell, Brown and Gray, riding the treacherous Owl
Slash, Brown and Red, riding the murderous Griffon
Ruth, Brown and light Brown, riding the hawk
Bolad the Beautiful, Gray and Green riding a pterodactyl
Officer Gladstone, White and Gold riding the hippogriff

So the party knows six of the eight riders in the race. The wizard realizes general knowledge isn’t all that’s been neglected, and suggests that the party may want to start actively participating in the intrigue behind the scenes of the Race. The party agree that Ruth is probably their best option for an easy alliance – they’ve seen her practicing on Winnifred’s Menagerie grounds like Gnofulk.

It is late, but the party decide to pay Ruth a visit, and soon arrive at the Menagerie grounds. They pass a few attendants as they enter the menagerie itself, a few tall levels of a staggeringly tall tower, encased in glass and filled with trees, ponds and rolling grasses. Modest stables are tucked away throughout the area, and the party make their way to where Ruth and her Winged Guard had set up shop for their training.

Turnin, always wary of rogues, whispers Ruth’s name as the party enters the stable, and the monk is surprised when she answers from behind him. She’s a rogue for sure.

Ruth is caught a bit of a bad spot: five adventurers dropping by at an uncivilized hour, and Shadowale decides to make a gutsy move, inquiring, in so many words, if Ruth would “like a little rogue” in her. As it turns out, Shadowale got his groove back and she totally does.

Kyllar and Gnofulk try to steer the conversation away from the steamy, but it isn’t easy. Eventually, Ruth agrees to a truce with Gnofulk – no shooting or fighting between the two until the third lap of the race – as long as Shadowale spends the night with her. The party decides to leave them to it.

The next 36 hours are a blur of last minute preparation, and (most of) the party wakes up in Ghallanda Hall on the morning of the Race of the Eight Winds.

The warforged cook, Chef, is preparing an insane breakfast of lutefisk and lefse as the party enters the dining section in concert, Shadowale looking a bit tired as he enters. Sitting at their usual table is a short red hobgoblin dressed in armor, chowing down on chocolate chip pancakes. He beckons them to sit, and Turnin politely introduces himself.

However the party has already met this creature, it is Kommander Krunk, of the Death’s Noggin Clan, a clan of hobgoblin warriors sworn to defend Sharn since before the first tower was constructed by the humans.

Kommander Krunk formally reminds the party of their agreement – they spared his life, and in exchange, he offered to provide them intelligence about the Leviathan Threat, and about Feral Fawcett, whom the Death’s Noggin thought was planning something close to, if not concurrent with, the Race of the Eight Winds.

The hobgoblin produces two shoddy-looking sticks, and brings the party up to date with what the Death’s Noggin knows. This morning, a squad of hobgoblins got into a scuffle with what turned out to be Daask operatives – their first sighting in over a week. The brutal gangsters had the usual knives and bows and swords – but also a number of these cheap one-shot wands, two of which survived the scuffle. Kommander Krunk informs the party that these wands are ensorcelled with the spell Firebolt. Feral Fawcett and the Daask are on the move, though Kommander Krunk is at a loss for what her motivations or goals are.

The party is equally befuddled, and prefers not to speculate. Instead, Turnin inquires who Kommander Krunk supports in the Race, jerking his head meaningfully and repeatedly towards Gnofulk.

The hobgoblin either doesn’t take the hint or doesn’t care, stating he “supports” Liamond Featherscale, a dragonborn druid who rides the prideful eagle. The districts it represents are included due to tradition, but they don’t much care for the complexities of the race. They don’t participate at all with the politics and intrigue surrounding the race, and so are “supported” by others that don’t much care for the event.

Kyllar decides it is the perfect time to start dishing out some loot, and Kommander Krunk patiently finishes his pancakes.

Turnin nabs the Quill of Mimicry – nabbed from the desk of Beatrice Marsh, the quill aids in forgery, transforming the writer’s words into a script similar to what a reader would expect of the signatory (signed as a king the script turns flowery; signed as a doctor it is made practically illegible.) The script gives off an air of authority and authenticity… but will be found out by anyone who knows the handwriting of the signer being impersonated.

Gnofulk’s shark-like jaws turn out to be the Perfectly Safe Jaws of Holding. Placing and activating the jaws creates a small “safe” dimension behind. Should someone besides the owner reach in… down come the wavy Kris-like teeth will remove the offending limb.

Lastly, the sharp knife Beatrice was using as a letter opener is really a parrying dagger, the blade spring-loaded into a conch shell. Turnin tickles his frog and then pockets the magic quill; the other two items are unclaimed, and returned to Kyllar’s Bag of Holding.

Kyllar also hands out stuff his kobold made in his apprenticeship – spyglasses with which to watch the race. None of magical, but should help the party see things better.

Gnofulk receives a traditional spyglass; Turnin a monocle; Shadowale a full mask with lenses; Comfort a pair of classy opera viewers; and Kyllar a pair of goggles.

Done with his breakfast, Kommander Krunk inquires if there are any spare spyglasses around. Kyllar admits there are… and hands over a rather greasy and phallic spyglass to the hobgoblin, who wraps it up in a House Ghallanda napkin before putting it away.

The Kommander rises as Chef brings out the lutefisk, much to the dismay of the party. Only Gnofulk really sets about eating, determined to get some food in his belly before the race. The hobgoblin warns the party to be careful and vigilant during the Race of the Eight Winds, and departs the hall, leaving the party to their personal business.

Kyllar is not quite done with procurement, and hands over a few pieces of his Artificer’s puzzle box. One fragment will double Gnofulk’s speed briefly, and the other will increase his defense for a few moments. The wizard notes that using either will disqualify Gnofulk from the race (if caught), but if it comes to using it to not die… it might be nice for the gnome to have that option.

Gnofulk agrees, and hides the small items among his riding garb.

With the race nearing, the party gears up, and heads over towards the starting line; a large platform with 8 small temporary “stables” constructed nearby to house the mounts momentarily.

The party is the 7th group of racers to arrive, and they begin sizing up their competition in earnest.

Liamond Featherscale, a brown dragonborn dressed in brown and gold clothes and tending to her large eagle with only a single attendant. They preen the large bird and adjust the final straps, ignoring the other riders completely.

The orc Slash is lounging, wearing sweet, incredibly dark shades while his attendants, dressed in red and brown continue their duties. A few are giving Slash’s top hat and former pirate coat a final clean, but the majority are filing the claws of the massive griffon and attaching red ribbons to its feet. The beast strains idly at its restraints, keen to get on with the race.

The nomadic Bolad the Beautiful is small even by halfling standards, and the party confirms with a shudder that her moniker is definitely an insult-made-her-own. Her reptilian glidewing is perched in the stall, ready and waiting as her large cadre of halfling attendants dressed in gray and green survey the other riders, whispering to Bolad as she adjusts the trigger of her sporting crossbow.

Ruth, the roguish human captivated by our hero Shadowale and dressed in various browns, is focused. Her districts don’t usually finish well in the races, but make a fortune on concessions and other deals. While not expected to win, she checks over her gear and her hawk, and seems ready to exploit any opportunities presented to her.

The stall of the gnome Janus Campbell and his owl are the most secluded of the riders; he and his attendants dressed in brown and gray and working in the shade. Even the eyes of the owl seem to constantly scan the other riders.

Officer Gladstone winner of last year’s race by a sizable margin, is front and center, the proud dwarf constable dressed in a smartly-fitting red and white uniform, his beard impeccably groomed. His hippogriff is likewise regally presented, perched on a small dais nearby, flexing its talons. Gladstone’s Wind Guard was finishing up, giving his boots a final polish as the party enters their stall.

The Cogsfolk are finishing up brushing the gnome’s mount, a flying squirrel named Nutasha, as Gnofulk and the rest of the party arrive at their stall, situated between that of officer Gladstone and a currently empty stall. Zeke, the goblin councilman from the Cogs greets them, but before much pleasantries can be exchanged, there are gasps and skitters as the last retinue arrives.

Dressed in resplendent white and silver, the Wind Guard for House Vadalis move in two groups towards their stall. The first of the retainers lead an elegant white pegasus towards its stall, already outfitted it its peculiar racing gear.

The pegasus wears an unsettling mask of spiked and twisted metal with its eyes covered and its ears constrained. The peculiarity is pointed out by Kyllar, but before the party can really speculate on the purpose of the garb, House Vadalis’ second group of retainers come into view.

Whispers fly from the mouths of all the other Wind Guards. Historically, House Vadalis has a wonderful record in the race, though have lost the last few years. Rumor had it that the dragonmarked house (specializing in animal care) had a secret weapon this year, and it appears to be Gary Vadalis, the black sheep of the House.

The mounts inch away from Gary as he comes into view, and panic as he draws closer. Nutasha is sufficiently spooked to try and buck Gnofulk, and even Turnin’s frog, Jerimiah dives into the monk’s robes for safety.

Gary Vadalis looks pleased with himself, as the masked Pegasus is the only animal unaffected by his mere presence, and adjusts his cloak.

The other Wind Guards are concerned. Quick-thinking Comfort suggests the Gnofulk try to knock off the pegasus’ mask during the race. In the meantime, the tiefling also suggests blinding Nutasha.

Shadowale produces his knives and moves to approach the animal, but Comfort corrects herself, and presents a cloth strip to use instead. Nutasha, however, will not race sightless, and squirms defiantly away.

Other riders have had the same idea, with mixed success. Slash’s griffon gouged a retainer in panic, while Bolad easily wraps something around the eyes of her glidewing, whispering gently to it. The owl and eagle and hawk are still spooked, though slowly calming down, so long as Gary isn’t moving. Officer Gladstone and his Wind Guard seem to have the most success, quickly calming down the hippogriff. The aerial division of Sharn is well disciplined it seems.

The goblin councilman Zeke curses at Gary. It was rumored that House Vadalis had a secret weapon for the race, but no one knew what it was. Apparently the renowned animal handlers have harnessed their family’s black sheep and weaponized him for the race.

Zeke wishes Gnofulk good luck, and departs. The other Cogsfolk are finishing up the final preparations for Nutasha, so the rest of the party decides to head out in search of seats. Keeping in mind the warning of Kommander Krunk to be vigilant, they decide to split up, and cover more ground…



The Race of the Eight Winds is a yearly event on Sharn, a tradition dating back hundreds of years, to just when the City of Towers was building towers. Back then, there were only a handful of districts, all rather low to the ground. Over time, eight riders representing a district or two each became traditional, with a well-known race structure: the first lap a large circle, running around both of Sharn’s inner plateaus; the second lap a figure eight around them and prone to the most violence; and the third lap, another large circle stressing speed.

With the final preparations being made, the party decide not to venture too far, though there are viewing boxes and temporary stands scattered all around the route. Unfortunately, with the race so close to starting, the party do not find the best sections from which to view the race.

Alpha Team, consisting of Shadowale and Comfort, try to stick close to the starting line, and squeeze into the far back of a packed section, dominated mostly by supporters of Officer Gladstone, who represents the Daggerwatch and Overlook districts of Sharn. The greys of their garb stick out among the white and gold of the majority of the other spectators, but in the back, they aren’t hassled too much. Far from a concession stand, Shadowale produces a few hidden flagons, and he and Comfort start to happily imbibe.

... and Alpha Team, consisting of Kyllar and Turnin (and Jerimiah the frog) makes it a bit farther away, trekking quickly through several neighborhoods and over to a different plateau. They face the interior of Sharn. Only the second lap will pass by, and the section is pretty run down. They take their spots near the front of the section, and Turnin peeks over the section ledge to see dozens of stories below him.

Throughout Sharn, air traffic stops; small skiffs are moored, providing vantage points for reckless youngsters to watch, or the City Watch to monitor the crowds. Near every major section, a larger skiff is mounted, with funnels running along from stem to stern, tapering up at the end, pointed at dragonmarked gnomes from House Sivis, each holding a magical stone. Techs adjust the settings on the skiff; the stone; the funnels, and start testing each stone. Soon the announcers are set up, ready to announce the race as it passes by them.

A trumpet sounds, amplified by House Sivis and their skiff-based funnels. With a quick fanfare, the race begins!