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Eberron: A Simple Plan - Completed 7/16/05
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<blockquote data-quote="ragboy" data-source="post: 2403972" data-attributes="member: 4151"><p>Dester slid off of the path, slick with greenish gray slime and into a trench ankle-deep in the foul smelling stuff. </p><p> </p><p>“Why, please tell me, did I answer my door?” Dester moaned, hands held wide as he looked at his ruined shoes. “I could be sleeping right now.” </p><p> </p><p>“This is the very exciting spy work that you used as your sales pitch to talk me into joining,” Vrabel said, pulling his friend back onto the path. “I figure exposing you to the actual work will remind you of the thrilling days of your youth.” </p><p> </p><p>A ball of softly glowing blue light floated over Vrabel’s head illuminating their foul path through the underbelly of Sharn. Ahead, just out of the light, a doorway glimmered. </p><p> </p><p>“Look lively,” Vrabel said. “This is the door my contact told me about. You brought your tools, I hope.” </p><p>“Of course,” Dester strolled through the muck, looking every bit like an upper level courtier with one wet shoe. </p><p> </p><p>Vrabel stifled a laugh and followed. The half-elf crouched at the door, eyeing the locking mechanism. </p><p> </p><p>“There’s a lot of corrosion here,” Dester murmured. “You sure about that information?”</p><p> </p><p>“As sure as I ever am.”</p><p> </p><p>The speed of the attack left Vrabel frozen, though some preternatural sense saved Dester’s neck. A whispering blade in the hands of a wild elf maiden clanged on the steel door, and Dester kicked out, knocking her back and into the sewage trench. As the elf struggled to keep her footing, she cursed in a harsh Valenar accent. Dester followed it up with a arcing blow to the side of her head and she went down hard. Two males, just as wildly clad, leaped out of the shadowy tunnel and over their downed mistress. Their short, curved swords whirled, and again Dester dodged and ducked the wicked attacks. Vrabel chanted a quick incantation, and glowing green darts of energy flew from his fingertips, impacting both attackers. One of the elves slammed against the slick wall and slid down, incapacitated. The second turned to flee, lost his balance and Dester shoved a foot-long blade through his kidney. The attacker dropped face down into the trench, unmoving.</p><p> </p><p>“Get that door!” Vrabel yelled, reaching down and dragging the elf girl out by her scruff. </p><p> </p><p>Thick black slime coated one side of her body. He pulled her up and sat her against the wall of the passage, her head lolling then settling at an unnatural angle. </p><p> </p><p>“You could have pulled your punches a little,” Vrabel grumbled, rifling through her clothing, searching for any indication of their attacker’s origin. </p><p> </p><p>“She surprised me,” Dester said, as he worked the corroded lock with a miniscule file. “You didn’t have to blast the other two. So much for surprising whatever’s on the other side of the door.”</p><p> </p><p>In an interior pocket of the girl’s hide coat, Vrabel found a small bronze lump. Holding it up to his light, he saw a symbol emblazoned there.</p><p> </p><p>“Know anyone operating under the sigil of an animal skull? Looks like a deer or something,” Vrabel asked, hearing the ancient lock click. </p><p> </p><p>“Only about half of Eldeen,” Dester murmured. “We’re through here.”</p><p> </p><p>He stood and placed his palm against the door, looking back over his shoulder. Vrabel nodded, and Dester shoved the door open. It banged loudly on the opposite wall, revealing a dank chamber glowing faintly.</p><p> </p><p>“I thought you were the strong silent type?” Vrabel growled. “Any more noise and we can forget finding this…” </p><p> </p><p>“There is no need for silence!” a heavily-accented voice echoed from the back of the chamber. </p><p> </p><p>Vrabel’s floating light revealed a long broad room cluttered with refuse. The hunched woman from the airship stood amid the junk wearing a massive deer’s skull on her head. Two shapeless mounds flanked her; their glittering surfaces seemed to writhe with life. </p><p> </p><p>Flourishing her rough skin robe, the woman stepped back, cackling.</p><p> </p><p>“The one you seek has already gone, little spies,” she said. “All that are left are my children.” </p><p> </p><p>“Lovely,” Dester said, tensing as the mounds seemed to dissolve and flow together, covering the floor with a mass of fiery red centipedes.</p><p> </p><p>Vrabel leaped back, spreading his hands, and sheets of flame jetted from his fingertips. The swarm seemed undaunted and came at them with renew vigor. Dester hopped onto a rotted chest and jumped to a dilapidated bed crammed with boxes of junk. The swollen body of a dwarf rolled off of the bed and hit the floor with a sick wet noise, followed by low moan. </p><p> </p><p>“I’ll get the crazy woman!” Dester called, already running to the shadowed hollow at the back of the room where she’d disappeared. </p><p> </p><p>“Excellent,” Vrabel called, backing out of the rusted iron door. “You do that.” </p><p> </p><p>His mind working fast to think of a way to thwart the demonic vermin, Vrabel tripped over the splayed leg of the dead elf maiden, landing flat on his back. The swarm crested like a hellish wave and collapsed upon him. All thoughts fled as hundreds of chitinous claws tore into his flesh. Acidic fire burned through every nerve ending and Vrabel wailed, struggling to rise. In his mindless state, the Mark etched across his back suddenly flared, sucking the heat away like a cold, hungry mouth. He felt the skittering vermin spasm, and then he seemed to see inside their cloistered minds. Hunger and destruction hovered there as a single thought, indistinct but powerful. </p><p> </p><p>Skin still burning with their touch and poison, Vrabel inched upward to finally stand. Taking hold of the creatures’ combined minds, he willed them away. The swarm slowly descended his body, like an ordered crowd before an opening door, to pool at his feet. With a final thought, the creatures dispersed, crawling aimlessly away, up the walls and into the moldering piles of books and junk. </p><p> </p><p>Vrabel’s stomach heaved. He bent double and vomited on the slick stone floor. Wiping the back of his hand across his lips, he made his slow, tremulous way across the cluttered room, and slumped onto the bed. </p><p> </p><p>“Bones of the Dragon Above,” he mumbled, raking his hands through his hair and coming away with centipede bits.</p><p> </p><p>A numb delirium settled upon him, somehow comforting, willing him to lie down on the dilapidated mattress and sleep. Some part of his mind flared with alarm struggling with the effects of the poison. Minutes passed in this struggle before he finally began trying to move again. At first he thought the wet moaning sound was a hallucination. Looking around, his eyes alighted on the gruesome corpse of the dwarven courier. Only it was not a corpse. </p><p> </p><p>Vrabel beckoned his light closer, only to find that it was not active. Stumbling over a stack of iron bars, he called a new light into existence and examined the dying dwarf. The courier laid face down, the short thick body swollen and distended at the joints and neck. Thousands of bright red dots covered his exposed flesh, it greenish and shot through with black veins. Vrabel mouthed a quick prayer to any god that would listen, and the cognizant part of his mind finally and fully won over the creeping doom in his own veins. </p><p> </p><p>He flipped the body over. The dwarf’s bloated face was already bruising as the poison wreaked havoc on his system. </p><p> </p><p>“I cannot save you,” Vrabel said, holding to his composure with visible effort. His stomach lurched again, but he remained standing. “You can avenge yourself by telling me who did this to you. I promise they will be tracked down and dealt with.” </p><p> </p><p>The dying dwarf leered through fat lips, already splitting and leaking sluggish black blood. </p><p> </p><p>“You will know soon enough,” the dwarf said. His voice was a strained whisper in his closing throat. </p><p>“The keeper of the black gem has exacted his payment for my failure. I go on to my reward.” </p><p> </p><p>“Black gem?” Vrabel said, his enflamed skin going cold. “Do you mean the Breaking Stone? That bastard Friar finally found it? I’ll make sure that your clan gets your body. Passed back to the Mror to bind your spirit to the stone.”</p><p> </p><p>The dwarf’s distended face suddenly flushed. “Yes,” he said. “Yes. I want that.” </p><p>He said the last in a rush of escaping air, his limbs convulsing in a final fight against the end. “It is the Friar. He seeks freedom for…”</p><p> </p><p>Vrabel leaned in, expectant, but the dwarf had died. </p><p> </p><p>“Isn’t that always the way it goes?” he said, sighing in disgust. “They blather on until they get to the important bits.” </p><p> </p><p>Assessing the corpse, he quickly decided that he didn’t care whether another clue could be extracted from it. He turned and stumbled through the junkpile, wary of another swarm of bugs and looked into the shadowy recess where Dester and the woman had disappeared. A narrow, but surprisingly dry passage ended at a stairway that curved up into darkness. Leaning heavily against the wall, Vrabel took a deep breath then headed up toward the lower levels of High Walls.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="ragboy, post: 2403972, member: 4151"] Dester slid off of the path, slick with greenish gray slime and into a trench ankle-deep in the foul smelling stuff. “Why, please tell me, did I answer my door?” Dester moaned, hands held wide as he looked at his ruined shoes. “I could be sleeping right now.” “This is the very exciting spy work that you used as your sales pitch to talk me into joining,” Vrabel said, pulling his friend back onto the path. “I figure exposing you to the actual work will remind you of the thrilling days of your youth.” A ball of softly glowing blue light floated over Vrabel’s head illuminating their foul path through the underbelly of Sharn. Ahead, just out of the light, a doorway glimmered. “Look lively,” Vrabel said. “This is the door my contact told me about. You brought your tools, I hope.” “Of course,” Dester strolled through the muck, looking every bit like an upper level courtier with one wet shoe. Vrabel stifled a laugh and followed. The half-elf crouched at the door, eyeing the locking mechanism. “There’s a lot of corrosion here,” Dester murmured. “You sure about that information?” “As sure as I ever am.” The speed of the attack left Vrabel frozen, though some preternatural sense saved Dester’s neck. A whispering blade in the hands of a wild elf maiden clanged on the steel door, and Dester kicked out, knocking her back and into the sewage trench. As the elf struggled to keep her footing, she cursed in a harsh Valenar accent. Dester followed it up with a arcing blow to the side of her head and she went down hard. Two males, just as wildly clad, leaped out of the shadowy tunnel and over their downed mistress. Their short, curved swords whirled, and again Dester dodged and ducked the wicked attacks. Vrabel chanted a quick incantation, and glowing green darts of energy flew from his fingertips, impacting both attackers. One of the elves slammed against the slick wall and slid down, incapacitated. The second turned to flee, lost his balance and Dester shoved a foot-long blade through his kidney. The attacker dropped face down into the trench, unmoving. “Get that door!” Vrabel yelled, reaching down and dragging the elf girl out by her scruff. Thick black slime coated one side of her body. He pulled her up and sat her against the wall of the passage, her head lolling then settling at an unnatural angle. “You could have pulled your punches a little,” Vrabel grumbled, rifling through her clothing, searching for any indication of their attacker’s origin. “She surprised me,” Dester said, as he worked the corroded lock with a miniscule file. “You didn’t have to blast the other two. So much for surprising whatever’s on the other side of the door.” In an interior pocket of the girl’s hide coat, Vrabel found a small bronze lump. Holding it up to his light, he saw a symbol emblazoned there. “Know anyone operating under the sigil of an animal skull? Looks like a deer or something,” Vrabel asked, hearing the ancient lock click. “Only about half of Eldeen,” Dester murmured. “We’re through here.” He stood and placed his palm against the door, looking back over his shoulder. Vrabel nodded, and Dester shoved the door open. It banged loudly on the opposite wall, revealing a dank chamber glowing faintly. “I thought you were the strong silent type?” Vrabel growled. “Any more noise and we can forget finding this…” “There is no need for silence!” a heavily-accented voice echoed from the back of the chamber. Vrabel’s floating light revealed a long broad room cluttered with refuse. The hunched woman from the airship stood amid the junk wearing a massive deer’s skull on her head. Two shapeless mounds flanked her; their glittering surfaces seemed to writhe with life. Flourishing her rough skin robe, the woman stepped back, cackling. “The one you seek has already gone, little spies,” she said. “All that are left are my children.” “Lovely,” Dester said, tensing as the mounds seemed to dissolve and flow together, covering the floor with a mass of fiery red centipedes. Vrabel leaped back, spreading his hands, and sheets of flame jetted from his fingertips. The swarm seemed undaunted and came at them with renew vigor. Dester hopped onto a rotted chest and jumped to a dilapidated bed crammed with boxes of junk. The swollen body of a dwarf rolled off of the bed and hit the floor with a sick wet noise, followed by low moan. “I’ll get the crazy woman!” Dester called, already running to the shadowed hollow at the back of the room where she’d disappeared. “Excellent,” Vrabel called, backing out of the rusted iron door. “You do that.” His mind working fast to think of a way to thwart the demonic vermin, Vrabel tripped over the splayed leg of the dead elf maiden, landing flat on his back. The swarm crested like a hellish wave and collapsed upon him. All thoughts fled as hundreds of chitinous claws tore into his flesh. Acidic fire burned through every nerve ending and Vrabel wailed, struggling to rise. In his mindless state, the Mark etched across his back suddenly flared, sucking the heat away like a cold, hungry mouth. He felt the skittering vermin spasm, and then he seemed to see inside their cloistered minds. Hunger and destruction hovered there as a single thought, indistinct but powerful. Skin still burning with their touch and poison, Vrabel inched upward to finally stand. Taking hold of the creatures’ combined minds, he willed them away. The swarm slowly descended his body, like an ordered crowd before an opening door, to pool at his feet. With a final thought, the creatures dispersed, crawling aimlessly away, up the walls and into the moldering piles of books and junk. Vrabel’s stomach heaved. He bent double and vomited on the slick stone floor. Wiping the back of his hand across his lips, he made his slow, tremulous way across the cluttered room, and slumped onto the bed. “Bones of the Dragon Above,” he mumbled, raking his hands through his hair and coming away with centipede bits. A numb delirium settled upon him, somehow comforting, willing him to lie down on the dilapidated mattress and sleep. Some part of his mind flared with alarm struggling with the effects of the poison. Minutes passed in this struggle before he finally began trying to move again. At first he thought the wet moaning sound was a hallucination. Looking around, his eyes alighted on the gruesome corpse of the dwarven courier. Only it was not a corpse. Vrabel beckoned his light closer, only to find that it was not active. Stumbling over a stack of iron bars, he called a new light into existence and examined the dying dwarf. The courier laid face down, the short thick body swollen and distended at the joints and neck. Thousands of bright red dots covered his exposed flesh, it greenish and shot through with black veins. Vrabel mouthed a quick prayer to any god that would listen, and the cognizant part of his mind finally and fully won over the creeping doom in his own veins. He flipped the body over. The dwarf’s bloated face was already bruising as the poison wreaked havoc on his system. “I cannot save you,” Vrabel said, holding to his composure with visible effort. His stomach lurched again, but he remained standing. “You can avenge yourself by telling me who did this to you. I promise they will be tracked down and dealt with.” The dying dwarf leered through fat lips, already splitting and leaking sluggish black blood. “You will know soon enough,” the dwarf said. His voice was a strained whisper in his closing throat. “The keeper of the black gem has exacted his payment for my failure. I go on to my reward.” “Black gem?” Vrabel said, his enflamed skin going cold. “Do you mean the Breaking Stone? That bastard Friar finally found it? I’ll make sure that your clan gets your body. Passed back to the Mror to bind your spirit to the stone.” The dwarf’s distended face suddenly flushed. “Yes,” he said. “Yes. I want that.” He said the last in a rush of escaping air, his limbs convulsing in a final fight against the end. “It is the Friar. He seeks freedom for…” Vrabel leaned in, expectant, but the dwarf had died. “Isn’t that always the way it goes?” he said, sighing in disgust. “They blather on until they get to the important bits.” Assessing the corpse, he quickly decided that he didn’t care whether another clue could be extracted from it. He turned and stumbled through the junkpile, wary of another swarm of bugs and looked into the shadowy recess where Dester and the woman had disappeared. A narrow, but surprisingly dry passage ended at a stairway that curved up into darkness. Leaning heavily against the wall, Vrabel took a deep breath then headed up toward the lower levels of High Walls. [/QUOTE]
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