Thread: Delgar's Eberron Campaign
Tuesday, 2nd February, 2010, 04:29 PM #1
Delgar's Eberron Campaign
OKay this is not going to be your typical story hour. More a collection of Cut Scenes and little bits of role-playing, plus some updates on my players progress. It's more a central repository for me to put down what's going on. Feel free to read, enjoy and comment as you wish.
So we started playing a while ago, for most of us this is our first foray into 4th edition DnD. We are playing the game online, using maptools and skype. But the biggest challenge is getting a time when everyone can play as we straddle 3 different time zones. Stupid life, thinks it's so cool. So, we've played 7 online sessions up to this point over several months and from this point on I hope to run a more regular game.
In the meantime, I've started up an in character e-mail thread where between sessions the characters can interact with each other and NPC's so that we can get the feeling of progressing the game outside of the session and it allows us to keep things fresh in our mind.
Also, my wife played in the first couple of sessions (goliath sorcerer) and then had to drop out due to being incredibly busy with work so we added an extra player in the middle.
So hopefully at this point we'll have hit our stride, worked out all our technical bugs and keep on pushing the eberron game forward.
I also still need a good title for my campaign.
Greetings, to whoever may be reading this. I am Harrag, a goblin lorekeeper for the Daughters of Sora Kell. This is, most likely, the last time I get to perform any sort of cognitive thinking before having my internals feasted upon or my mind splintered into 8 different sparks to give sentience to some aberrant creation of one of the “scientists” working within the capital. What can I say? Speaking against the will of the Daughters is folly, even if it is simply to warn them of some pretty ominous signs, ones that don’t bode well for them. So since they’d rather put me to death, I’ll write this down and hope that it gets to someone who will listen and warn the Daughters appropriately… or let them fall.
I suppose an explanation is needed. Fierna, the archdevil of Phlegethos, rules with her father Belial as counsel. Stygia, the hell below Phlegethos, is ruled by Levistus, an archdevil imprisoned in glacier for rebellion against Asmodeus. I’m sure merely writing their names to parchment furthers my death, but it’s important someone knows. Fierna, in a bout of unholy carnal pleasure, finds a way to Levistus, with whom she is forbidden to contact as Belial schemes to overthrow Levistus. When Belial learns of the unholy spawn that has been brought forth between Fierna and Levistus, he snatches the abomination and performs a blasphemous ritual to destroy it.
One cannot destroy such a being so easily, even if it’s the Lord of Secrets attempting to do so. Maybe a being of pure goodness could do it. Perhaps a deity of the Sovereign Host. However, Belial only succeeded in pushing the being to a far corner of the multiverse. So far and remote that no individual being, primordial or deity, has taken note. Most likely as they do not dream, merely us mortals. That is how I found out about this creature. You see, a child was born in the capital several years ago, a child with a strange mark. The mother was as boring as anything, a simple human from one of the nomadic tribes who died shortly after birth. The father was, to no one’s surprise, unknown. I was petitioned to research this mark in attempts to see if this was related to the Draconic Prophecies. Maybe the Daughters could use that as leverage, politically. I could have cared less, because studying this mark became fascinating. However, no books, tomes, or texts had anything on it, nothing. I was worried that I could not come up with a meaningful answer to my requestors regarding this plainly important and prophetic mark. That is until my obsessions lead to dreams.
My dreams took me to the most remote corner of the plane of Dreams, a place where no immortal has traveled, where only one would be banished. The blasphemous spawn visited me there, and my dreams turned to nightmares of the kind never recorded. In these nightmares I was shown things no denizen of Khorvaire should ever see, things that would break one’s mind. I’m not entirely sure I’m all sane as I write this. And so, amongst all these horrid, vivid, vibrant scenes of macabre and madness, I am shown the answer.
The mark of the child is where this devil of madness reached through the dreams of the mother and touched him. This child has been physically touched and warped by the influence of a devil mired in nightmares. I have no illusions that this child could spell devastation for the Daughters of Sora Kell, or domination, or any number of things. Such is the unpredictable nature of a nightmare incarnate.
The low din of thunder rolls in the recesses of my mind…. Sounds of battle rage on in memory…. Yet, the only thing I can truly feel is the divine hand of Dol Arrah on my heart, sheltering me, as he has for lifetimes upon lifetimes.
Warmth is always the first sensation. It was no different this time as I awoke in the holy shrine of my creator, Dol Arrah, in a place unknown to me. Naked and alone, images flash in my mind of my previous life.
The Last War… Warforged armies... The Mournland… The hosts of undead… No escape… A brilliant flash of light.
So, I must have died, again.
Listening about me, there is only the sound of wind in the trees outside, so I focus my thoughts inward and meditate, giving thanks to Dol Arrah and beseeching the knowledge of what I must do now.
It was then that I met Ancorite Josef, a decrepit old man, and hermit, in service to The Sovereign Host, who knew me for what I was. He didn't speak to me then, only made himself busy finding clothing and food for me. It was only later that I found he lived here alone, tending this shrine among the trees of the forest near Woodhelm in Breland.
For a time, I made myself useful to Josef. We discussed war, and regaled in tales of honor and selflessness, the battles of The Last War, and my part as a soldier, and his as a commander. He showed me his armor and weapon, scarred with years of use, now covered in dust.
I spent nearly two years with Josef there caring for the shrine, learning and teaching as I could. It was during my daily devotion that my eyes and mind were opened to my purpose.
Vol… Abominations… Evil… Death….
I struggle with the information in my head, but slowly the fight shifts, and vengeance takes its place. The face of a creature, surely dead, fills my vision, white points of light peer into my very soul. I call to Dol Arrah for strength, and I know that this thing cannot touch me. I hear a whisper of a name, but cannot remember it.
Opening my eyes, I stand quickly. Josef asks what I'll need and I turn to his sword, a monstrous thing of steel. He nods, and retrieves it for me. After a moment of prayer, I leave the shrine, with the clothes on my back, sword, and a week of supplies; the whisper in my head becoming louder and more persistent as my heart beat thrums along side it.
Tor's background has been filled with the blood of his family and friends. It is because of that he is the Shifter his is today.
Years ago his clans had occupied a coastal portion of Xen'drik in hopes to trade with the Drow and live their lives on a land as savage as them. The Drow had "played" along as they were more curious about Shifters on their lands and sought to know more …but when the curiosity wore off they eradicated the entire settlement. Unbeknownst to them was young Tor, not more than 8 summers, was fishing at sea.
Tor saw the smoke from the sea and began to return. With his keen eyes he saw the devastation of the settlement and waited till dark to return. When he returned everything was in ruin. There were so many dead if was hard to tell if any could have survived. In his anger he gave into his primal rage when he noticed two Drow scavenging amongst the dead. His attack was so furious that the Drow were unable to defend themselves against the savage Shifter child. Before he could morn the dead he noticed that more Drow were returning and took his fishing boat out to sea to escape.
It is difficult for even a skilled fisherman to survive in the oceans as he floated for many days until he was fortunately pick up by a trading vessel. It was there a female Half-Orc named Bre'al began to take care of him as her own. She returned with him to her homeland of the Shadow Marches. For many summers until he was 19, she would teach him to embrace his primal side, swordsmanship and to focus his rage.
She never talked about her past and when he would ask it brought great sadness to her face. He would wonder what could cause such emotion. She once told him that her dealings in acquisitions has lead to strained relationships in the very cutthroat business.
One night he returned to find her brutally murdered and an unknown symbol scribed in her blood on the wall. But the fact that another that he loved has died was more than he could deal with. He buried her and this time he could at least morn over her body. He left the Shadow Marches with only his battleaxe, his shield, a parchment with an unknown symbol on it …and his rage.
Vralwyn of the Valenar -- Elven Ranger
The humans of Breland call us mad. I say it is the humans who are mad. It is they after all who call it the Last War. Can there ever be a last war? Surely it is madness to think so. Surely it is madness to claim that the five nations can ever live in harmony again. They have tasted glory. They have tasted power, and though they talk of peace, they scheme and plot to claim all of Khorvaire for themselves. In the marketplace, they greet each other with false smiles and talk of trade, and yet on the roads they hire us to raid and plunder each other. Surely it is madness to pretend this is peace?
We Valenar know better. There will come a time when all races are once again tested in battle. We shall be ready. We shall not be found wanting. On that day, I know the name of Vralwyn shall be known to all Valenar. I shall take my place among the honored ancestors and prove myself worthy of remembrance. Until then, I wait and find what glory I can among the deceitful diplomats who call themselves a nation.
There is always work to do in this supposed time of peace. There is always someone who needs to be found and his bounty collected. There are secrets to be scouted out and adventures to be had. I am glad for their gold, but more glad of the glory. I shall not rest until every bard knows my tale and my name is spoken in honor. You laugh and think me mad. Perhaps it is so, but all truth was once madness. My mad truth merely awaits to be born.
Graelen, Human Warlord
He had thought his life was over for sure. The Elf stood above him as he lay on his back, his sword a mere inches from his outstretched grasp. The sound of the battle, that seemed so deafening moments earlier, had all but disappeared as he tried to focus his eyes through the thick, acrid smoke of the burning building. He finally found the face of his soon to be maker. The elf had a calm look to him, his eyes cold and focused. The blood dripped onto Graelen's chest from the brilliantly shiny steel blade of the long sword, now held high over the Elf's head. As the sword arched down towards him he thought it comical that life did indeed flash before your eyes moments before you meet your end.
He remembered his hometown of Moonwatch, in Breland. And of the day he found out he was an orphan, raised by his Aunt and Uncle as one of their own. He still knew nothing of his heritage as his family refused to speak of it.
He recalled his first kiss. A schoolmate by the name of Glorinda. Oh how his friends had teased him!
He remembered the day he joined " Krendall's Hundred ", the mercenary band named after it's leader. How naive he was and so full exitemnt!
He thought back to his first kill. A stinking Kobold he had impaled with his war pick. He had finally felt like one of his fellow brothers in arms!
He couldn't forget his first women. A whore named Mirabelle at an establishment called the " Divine Ambrosia ".
Now, as he sat quietly on the train, remembering, he realized how lucky he was to be alive. As the Elven blade began it's descent, a crossbow bolt ripped open half of the Elf's throat and the blade had fallen harmlessly to the side, dead before he hit the ground. Graelen managed to collect himself and resume the fight.
Although they were victorious that day, losses were heavy. Over half of their number had perished, all good men. Graelen couldn't help but think that he should have been among them.
So here he was, a week later, on a train bound for Wroat. He had been one of five men charged with finding new recruits to replenish the band. He had found a few good prospects in Sharn and hoped his trip to Wroat would be as fortuitous...
Last edited by Delgar; Wednesday, 24th February, 2010 at 06:52 PM.
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<Screen fades to black>
<A deep booming voice echoes>
<Images begin to slowly appear on the screen>
Peasants work the fields in a small farming community.
A grand ballroom filled with well dressed nobles dancing to a light tune.
A dozen knights kneel before a young girl in a grand hall
<The voice booms again>
Your typical D&D campaign
The peasants begin fleeing towards the town as a horde of goblins swoops in on the village.
One of the nobles begins to spasm and collapse on the dance floor.
The knights raise their swords to the girl queen.
<The voice booms again>
I think not
<The images start appearing faster>
Huge towering castles reach into the sky like skyscrapers on the top of a cliff.
A troop of Halflings rides across the plains on the back of dinosaurs.
An elf leaving the elven court bows to a skeletal guard.
<The voice booms again>
This isn't your fathers D&D
<The images begin appearing even faster>
A train racing along a track, leaving a trail of lightning in it's wake, with several shadowy figures jumping from the top of one car to another
A huge galleon floating in the air is being attacked by two other smaller airborn ships. A figure can be seen swinging from the rigging of one ship to the other.
An army of humans and skeletons charges another army of humans and human like constructs. Off in the distance a mushroom cloud can be seen and the blast wave knocks them all prone.
<Screen fades to black>
<A few images flicker on the screen>
The face of a human man
The face of an elven female
The face of a feral Halfling
The face of a warforged
The face of a dour dwarf
The face of a screaming gnome as he falls to his death, just as he is about to hit the ground
<Screen fades to black>
<The voice booms>
How will you leave your mark
A black gloved hand rests on a worn oaken table, next to a swirling crystal ball. Scattered around the table are many bits of worn parchment covered in ancient runes. The silence is broken by a knocking sound off in the distance.
"Come in," a feminine voice beckons.
The sound of a door creaking can be heard as well as the sound of footsteps of hard soled shoes on a wooden floor. The crystal ball still swirls with random colors. The black gloved hand picks up a piece of parchment than disappears from view.
"M'lady, you summoned me?" a male voice grovels.
"Yes," The female voice hisses, "I have a task for you."
"What is that you are reading M'lady?" the male voice grovels again.
"Ah these. These are just snippets of the draconic prophecy."
"I didn't realize you studied the prophecy M'lady"
"Many a dragon has spent entire lifetimes trying to unravel the mystery of the prophecy. I am not foolish enough to believe that I can unlock its secrets, but I have been trying to piece together pieces of the prophecy that involve me."
"That is most excellent M'lady. So, about the task for me?"
"Ah, yes. He has returned, and this time his heart is filled with vengeance."
"M'lady, of whom do you speak?"
The black gloved hand places the piece of parchment back on the table and then touches the side of the crystal globe. The feminine voice mumbles a few incomprehensible words and an image begins to flicker to life inside the globe.
A lightning rail races along the tracks, a small point of light in the dark rainy night.
"I do not know his name this time," says the feminine voice "but he has been reborn."
The swirling picture in the globe zooms towards the train and reveals the inside of the train car with 5 occupants'.
"I destroyed him last time, and I will destroy him again."
The picture in the globe is of what appears to be a human male with long flowing hair, but he seems to have an unearthly beauty and stillness about him.
"I shall dispatch some assassins right away M'lady. He shall not live out the month."
"No!" the feminine voice shouts, "If I have him killed now, he'll just return again. No, this time when I destroy him it will be permanent. What I want you to do is find out everything you can about him and the other four people riding in that train car with him."
The picture of rugged shifter, dressed in tribal hides flashes on the globe, then the picture of a contemplative human, dressed in chain and lost in thought, followed by the picture of what almost appears to be a large moving statue, playing with some mud and sticks and finally followed by a darkly dressed individual that seems to be trying to hide his identity.
"As you wish M'lady. But it doesn't even look like they know one another."
"They may not know it yet, but their fate and mine is intertwined."
"How very unlucky for them M'lady."
"Yes very unlucky," the women chuckles
The door to the rail car opens, the five strangers stare up and watch as an old man shambles in and sits down in the center of the car. The image swirls into a gray mist.
"You have your mission, now begone."
A door creaks open and then shuts.
Rain trickles down the window of the lightning rail car. A flash of lightning off in the distance briefly brightens up the nearly empty train car. A few moments later the loud boom of thunder can be heard. Sharn is but a tiny spec off in the distance now, as the lightning rail zooms on its way to Wroat.
The door to the car opens and 5 wet figures enter the car. First is a smiling human male, dressed in leather, with a fancy sheathed rapier. Next another male, taller than the first, dressed in chainmail with a greenish hue, with a large sword sheathed across his back. Behind him, is a plated warforged carrying a large steel shield, with a longsword sheathed at his waist. Behind him an older man dressed in tight brown robes, using a staff to walk. Finally, towering over the others is a massive half-orc, with an enormous wicked looking battle axe strapped to his back.
The five figures shake off the water and walk slowly down the aisle to the center of the car. Another flash of lightning goes off, brightening up the car for but a moment. As the thunder claps in the distance, the smiling male stops and sits down beside an elderly gentleman in the center of the train. The rest basically circle around the seat where the elderly man is sitting. The elderly man looks up at the new arrivals.
Another flash of lightning goes off, this time lightning up the elderly mans face, which clearly shows signs of fear. The thunder crashes again, this time sooner and louder than before.
"Well Dr. Lazarus, it seems you were in such a hurry to get out of Sharn, that you forgot to say goodbye to our mistress," Says the smiling man calmly.
The old man swallows very hard and stutters, "I..I.."
"You see, she might take it as a personal insult, you leaving and all so suddenly and taking her necklace with you."
"I…I…don't know what your talking about," the old man stammers.
"Don't be a fool old man, no more games." The smiling man draws a dagger and holds it to the elderly mans throat. "I'm leaving this rail with the necklace, it's your choice whether I take your head with it."
The old man reaches into his pocket and pulls out a golden necklace, his hand visibly shaking.
Another flash of lightning goes off.
Here is just a quick brief overview of what happened to the character's during level 1.
1) you rescued an old man on the lightning rail, who was being mugged.
They wanted a necklace he had stolen. The half-orc managed to get away. Turns out he is a historian with a fascination for the dhakanni empire. Particullarily with a sect that had allied themselves with the daelkyr. He was working with a mysterious women who was funding his research and archeological digs. As time went on, he discovered that her intentions were not entirely academic. In an attempt to make ammends for his bad decisions he tried to flee with the necklace running into you.
2) he is not sure what the necklace does, but suspects that it might be part of something greater, and convinced you to help find out more information. He sent you to Brekville to find the location of a Dhakaani temple, and bring back any secrets or items that may help unravel the mystery. You can contact him via a Sivis message station as he is in hiding in Wroat.
3) in Breckville, you discovered that the town was being harassed by kobolds. Apparently disrupting the flow of trade into and out of the city. Attempts by the town guard to stop this had met with failure. An old magewright by the name of Caleb, requested your help in recovering some dragonshards that had been stolen.
4) you sniffed out the kobold lair, and defeated the beasts and tamed a wild bear an returned some of the towns goods including the bag of dragonshards. Caleb promised to create you something as a reward.
5) back in town, someone hired some thugs to try and scare you out of town. After some investigation your sure it was a merchant by the name of Darius, who had just fled town recently. Your also sure he had something to do with the kobolds. You discovered that he was an agent of the Emerald Claw. But where did he go? What was he up too?
Cut Scene 1
Cut Scene 1
A large half-orc kneels and places a vicious looking bloodied axe on the stone floor in front of him, and he bows his head.
"Where is the necklace?" A feminine voice asks. "Do not tell me five of you were unable to recover the necklace from that feeble old fool?"
The half-orc raises his head slightly.
"Umm," the half-orc pauses for a moment, "Uhh."
"Spit it out fool, I don't have all day to listen to your ramblings," the feminine voice yells out.
The half-orc cringes, bows his head deeper and swallows.
"Milady," the half-orc pauses again, "we were able to recover the necklace, but some of the passengers on the train intervened."
The room is blanket in silence for a few moments. A milky white feminine hand reaches up and touches the half-orc's cheek. The half-orc cringes at the touch.
"What, am I paying you for if you can't take a necklace from an old man and a few wanna be heroes?" the feminine voice asks.
The females hand moves under the chin of the half-orc and tilts his head upwards. The hand then wraps around the half-orc's throat and begins to strangle him.
"Mistress," the half-orc frantically gasps, "they were not…"
The half-orc coughs and reaches up and grabs at the hand holding his neck trying to pry the fingers away. His eyes begin to bulge in their sockets and his face begins to turn purple. The women releases her grip. The half-orc keels over, rests his hands on the floor and coughs violently.
"Mistress," the half-orc coughs, "they were not your average lightning rail passengers."
The half-orc continues to cough and rub his neck with his hands.
"They were seasoned warriors, perhaps not the Tiefling, but the others had definitely seen their fare share of battles," the half-orc wheezes. "I barely managed to escape myself"
The half-orc bows his head again. The females hand pats him on the cheek. The half-orc cringes again.
"I need the necklace Throt, not your excuses," the female voice states.
The hand grasps the half-orcs throat again.
"I don't have the manpower to give you for this, you'll have to hire some mercenaries to help you out," the female says.
The hand releases it's grip on the half-orc's throat and a pouch jingles as it lands at the half-orcs knees.
"You will not return without the necklace Throt," the female voice says sternly. "Am I understood?"
The half-orc reluctantly nods.
"Now get out of my sight, your incompetence sickens me," the female balks.
The half-orc rises from his knees, scoops up his axe and shuffles out of view.
Cut Scene 2
Cut Scene 2
A black crystal sits atop a small metallic eldritch device on an oaken table. Suddenly the crystal begins to glow and hum, and veins of red are now visible snaking the length of the crystal. A male voice from nearby speaks.
"Commander, the kobolds have been eliminated."
The crystal begins glow brighter and vibrate in sync with the voice emanating from it.
"What? You told me the town did not have the resources, to deal with our distraction?"
The crystal returns back to a light glow and slow hum.
"Sir, it seems a small group of treasure hunters are looking for some old ruins in the area. They managed to eliminate our kobold allies in the process. I was unable to get off a warning in time."
The crystal again glows brighter and vibrates in sync with the other voice.
"We cannot have a bunch of do-gooders snooping around, and interfering with our plans. I trust that you will be able to take care of this issue before it becomes a problem?"
The crystal dims again.
"I will take care of it immediately commander, I will not fail you."
The crystal flares up again.
"Just remember, if you do fail, it's not me that you have to answer to."
The other voice answers in a much more somber tone.
"Understood sir, it will be taken care of."
The crystal stops humming and begins to slowly dim, until all that remains is a black crystal sitting atop a small metallic eldritch device.
Level 2 Overview
1) you discovered the possible whereabouts of the temple. A trapper reported that strange creatures had set up camp outside of town near a place animals won't venture. Once there you discovered a group of dolgrim and dolgaunts working for a gauth had just broken the seal on the temple.
2) inside the temple you fought hoards of undead, and necrotic oozes all while trying to keep your sanity. A mural at the entrance depicted a large group of beholders, mind flayers, and other strange creatures bowing down before a very human looking being perched upon stone thrown wearing strange armor. The goblin mentioned freeing someone by the name of "Belashyrra" and that he was amassing an army for him.
3) upon defeating the goblin and closing the portal, the goblins robe made of sinew and flesh attached itself to Tor. You also discovered a large number of books, all written I'm ancient goblin or perhaps another language. Some have pictures, depicting strange experiments and dissections, and some appear to be like some sort of journal entries.
Cut Scene 3
Cut Scene 3
The only sound that can be heard in the darkness is that of the constant clamor of metal scrapping on stone and the occasional grunt.
"Are you sure this is where we want to go Yerra?" says a gruff male voice, barely audible above the ringing
"This is where the circlet led us to, this is where we want to be," a stern feminine voice answers.
The clanging continues, after one loud stroke, a beam of light pokes through the darkness illuminating the face of a red female hobgoblin wearing a circlet made out of mithril and gold.
"We're almost there men," the female voice yells, "For the honor of Kech Volaar!"
Many cheers and grunts erupt as the clamor of the digging increases in intensity until finally the rough-hewn walls of the tunnel give way to a paved floor ahead. Dim white light washes the passage in a pale glow; the light is brighter in the worked chamber farther on. One hobgoblin dressed in chain wearing the circlet leads another hobgoblin and a half a dozen goblins into the chamber.
White motes of light hover in the corner alcoves of this worked chamber, which appears to be the entry to an old tomb. In its center is a pile of blackened skulls, held in place by a low, rune scribed iron barrier. A tattered red banner hangs from a shining steel shaft that rises from the west side of the barrier. On the western wall, the doors of the tomb's original entrance have given way to encroaching earth – part of a dark iron door lies near a pile of rock, and another part is half-buried in that pile. Pillars hold up the high, vaulted ceiling. Alcoves line the eastern wall and the northern part of the western wall, each holding a scattering of old bones. A stair ascends in the center of the far wall to closed iron double doors. All the walls bear carvings of geometric patterns, and scenes of goblins at war, work and play. A constant faint grinding sound of stone on stone can be heard off in the distance
The female hobgoblin moves the rune scribed iron barrier and bends down on one knee and examines it closely, while the rest of the goblins spread out searching the chamber. The other hobgoblin moves to examine the large pile of ruble.
"This is it, Ashurta's tomb, we are very close now," exclaims Yerra
"It seems that this was the original entrance to the tomb," the other hobgoblin say's pointing to the pile of rubble.
"There is a small tunnel broken in the wall over here near the iron door," says one of the goblins.
"I have another small tunnel over here," says another goblin
"There is also another tunnel here in the floor," exclaims another goblin, "what do you think made these small tunnels?"
A faint chittering can be heard.
"Do you hear that?" a goblin asks.
"Yah, what do you think it is?" another goblin responds.
"I dunno, but I think I have some movement down one of these tunnels" one of the goblin responds.
There is a quick flash of movement by the goblin standing by the tunnel in the floor, the goblin screams and disappears as blood sprays up from the hole. Then everything goes black.
"What in the Soverign Host was that?" asks the male hobgoblin.
The chittering and scrapping gets louder and louder. Another goblin screams.
"Fall back, fall back!" screams Yerra, "There are too many of them!"
The gnashing, chittering and scrapping begins to thunder along with the screams and gurgles of goblins.
And then silence
So the characters recieved a message marked and sealed with the House Tharashk mark, asking them to meet a Sergeant Dorn at the old lumber mill outside of town about some possible future employment. The characters were wary and expected some sort of trap but did not want to disappoint there would be ambushers.
At the lumber mill, sergeant Dorn called them thieves and requested they return the necklace to it's rightful owner a member of house Phiarlan. He produced a scroll, signed and sealed the house Phiarlan mark. The scroll was signed A. d'Phiarlan.
When the half-orc, who had eluded them on the lightning rail, stepped out of hiding, the battle was on. The battle was fast and furious, as opponents swung on rusty chains and attempted to shove opponents into the still working blades.
After defeating there ambushers, the party questioned the surviving seargent and tried to get some information. It became clear he was just a hired thug. He offered up money for his life, but the characters decided that it would be easier just to put the lot of them through the saws then to have to worry about someone chasing them down.
After the ambush at the lumber mill it was back to Wroat to give Dr. Lazurus the journals and manuscripts in hopes that he would be able to understand their contents and to plan there next course of action.
Last edited by Delgar; Wednesday, 3rd February, 2010 at 04:03 PM.
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