[Eberron] The Forgotten Forge


log in or register to remove this ad

"Right after we killed the spider, you attacked Gannon when he wanted to heal you, then attacked m, and finally threw you axe at Plonk!"

Then Flawed looked around. Somehow, it felt different then before the fight.
"I think we need to go up again, so you all can find a place to rest and recover from your wounds."

Flesh folk. Flawed froze at that thought, and banished it from its head.
 

Rawhide looks to Gannon, to Flawed and then to Plonk. A horribly sorrowfull look rolls over his features like water over a waterfall. "Oh no. Me hurt yous? Me not know. Rawhide's sorry! When Rawhide gets angry....him not knows whos is whos and whats is whats!"

You think that the shifter is about to cry...
 

Gannon gets up, picks up the unconcious gnome and puts him over the shoulder like a bag of potatoes. "Whether you're sorry or not, Rawhide, we need to get out of here now. We cannot possibly complete our mission with our souls so close to leaving our bodies. We need to get Plonk to a healer of some sort, of course, I can't remember which of the Houses does this, but we'll hopefully find out when we get up. Are you with me?" Gannon walks back through the tunnels carrying his sunrod in his right hand and Plonk hangning over his left shoulder. He has seemingly forgot the seriousness of his wounds, his determination to save the gnome has given him new strength to keep going.
 


Rawhide gets up and falls into step beside Gannon. He gently (or as gentle as you have ever seen him) offers to carry the gnome. "Let Rawhide do it, boss. Me done him bads, now let me do him some goods..." There is truly something that has changed about the wild shifter, but you are not sure what, exactly...
 


Somehow, after three hours of wandering, you manage to find your way back to Smallweed's Market (no one seems bothered by the absences of Jobling or Vincennes, and they don't really seem to be paying attention to you, either) and, from there, back up through the mazes of the lower level of Dorasharn Tower into the light.

A Healer's Guild is easy enough to find in Sharn — they have a number of small operations in just about every tower, and House Jorasco does not hide them. You manage to find one only a couple levels below the Brelish Night Owl, an easy walk from the rooms you procured the other night in the Victory.

OOC: My assumptions are that you'll (1) have a cure serious wounds spell cast on Plonk (125 gp) and (2) rent some rooms at the Victory again (I have to go back and check the price again, I'll post it here after I do). If you have any other plans or things you like to do while you're back in the upper levels of Sharn, let me know.
 

When Plonk awakens he looks around. He hugs Flawed. "I thought I'd never see you again!" He doesn't want to speak to Rawhide. He shows the party the wealth obtained from the Spider to split amongst them. "Lucky for the lot of you I got our money back from that Gob!"
 

When it comes time to pay the healer, Rawhide digs around in his rag-like clothing, finally scraping up the sum total of 52 gold. This is places in the healer's hands, saying. "Me know this ain't a'nuff, but its all mes gots. Rawhide did dis and Rawhide's gotta fix dis."

His sorrowful face speaks volumes.

Back at the Victory, the shifter secludes himself to the trash pile in the back and sits alone for a long time. Finally, he begins rooting around in the garbage pile in a rush as if looking for something specific. Finally, it seems that the shifter finds what he is looking for and then spends the next several hours hunkered over the objects, hard at work.

When he is done, he enters the inn and finds Plonk, approaching him with his head down and nearly prostrate, as would a chastised dog. Whether or not the gnome pays him any heed, the shifter slips his crafted prize gently onto the table and then runs away as quickly as he can. He returns to his garbage pile and remains there for the night.

In his wake, upon the table are the two darkmetal gears that Rawhide took from the slain warforged. They have been fitted together and stuck there by some dark, sticky concoction that smells vaguely of grease and glue. Festooned all along the edges of the gears, in a surprisingly beautiful pattern, is a mosaic of smooth pebbles of various hues, multicolored glass, bone bits (that appear to have had all the sharp bits gnawed down), and pieces of scavenged metal. A piece of ragged and frayed string winds through the holes in both cogs and is tied, as if to make the whole ensemble a necklace. Upon each cog a single word has been scratched, over and over again and the words, which reveal the shiny metal beneath, gleam even in the dim light of the inn. They read:

"Me Sorree"
 
Last edited:

Remove ads

Top