Lwaxy
Cute but dangerous
A bunch of misfits get their last chance from their families to regain their reputation and thus their honor and inheritance back. They all end up together in the Eberron beginner adventure and much more.
This is written from the view of an old person, presumably a former member of the party, telling the story during a long winter in a snowed in inn. So there are interruptions from the audience etc. And if anyone reads this and would like to, feel free to pop in a question to be added if something's been unclear. Italic is current happenings in the inn and everyone else, normal is the storyteller.
This is a 3.5/PF/Houserules mix. I'm not the main GM, the GM has never run a game before and she's been afraid she would suck, so if there are some weird moments that's probably why. We love the game though.
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Night One
The fire was crackling, giving the room a nice yellowish glow and, more important, enough warmth for the circle of listeners around the storyteller in the large, comfy chair next to the fire. Outside the inn it was freezing cold, even the bay was frozen and all ships on the river or in the harbor were frozen in. A snowstorm was howling outside, making most people looking out of the bit of window not covered with ice blossoms shiver. Most people, grown ups and children alike, were nursing a hot drink or something that at least made you warm inside.
The storyteller was half buried under blankets, as some others were. He – or maybe she, it was hard to tell – was old. Grey hair covered half the face, and wrinkles were carved deep into a face hardened by weather.
So, you have found out who I am, and now I shall tell you the story of the Dragonmarked Madness. Very well. But I talk slow, and I will probably need all this terrible winter to finish my tale. Which is probably good, as no ship will leave here for a few weeks, at least.
It all started in Sharn.
I know that is a very frowned upon way to open a story, much like 'it was a dark and stormy night.' Yet, it is true. Actually, both of those beginnings are true. Some kind of irony, isn't it, that the tale about the Dragonmarked Madness should start like a bad piece of fiction in one of those fancied bard tales magazines?
Most of the future party had been called to Sharn, to meet with the influential members of their Dragonmarked Houses. They didn't know each other then, but they were very much alike in one way. They had shown the Dragonmark of their House recently, and had disappointed or threatened their Houses badly, despite great expectations set in them. Or maybe because of that, as great expectations often cause great failures.
There was Deniv, from House Cannith. Story had it he was not only human, but that there was also some elven or halfling blood in him, or maybe even both. His Mark, however, was true, so his ancestry probably had not mingled with the other Houses. His abilities were extraordinaire. Unlike most others who had to manifest the abilities of their Mark little by little, he could utilize the standard abilities of his Least Mark all at once, and he was also said to have some other abilities probably linked to it. He was also very gifted in constructing things, but was also lazy and thus his House had deiced he would need to prove himself out in the world, with little help from them. He wasn't really an outcast, but as with the others, he was forced to make his own way or be really thrown out. Very small for a human and not having much of an attention span, which probably caused the impression of him being lazy, he also had the disadvantage of a copper toned skin, copper toned hair, copper toned eyes... the whole boy was of a single color, which made him look strange, bland somewhat, and in a weird way artificial if the light was right.
Then there was Lorraine from House Deneith. Her Mark had manifested at an early age when she had to defend a friend from street thugs in the town she grew up in. She had since developed all benefits of her Least Mark, and everyone was waiting for her Mark to develop to the next step. As each of the Dragonmarked Madness, she had been trained in magical ways since early childhood, too, when she had shown the first talent for it. She was also a good fighter, could wield a rapier like the best her age and throw a knife with astonishing accuracy. Among other things.
Sounds like the perfect thing, no? Except that she was a chaotic nature, not listening to her elders or instructors the way her House would have needed her to. Such behavior just is not accepted in House Deneith. She was also very careful not to put herself in a situation she could not master, and thus some said she was a coward.
Tjuja, she was a typical halfling and would have been a good House Ghallanda member, if not that she was undiplomatic to a fault and did not care at all about her appearance. Her dark, curly hair usually stood away to all sides, and she had to be reminded to wash it at times. She had a small scar on her nose she didn't want removed as it reminded her to be more careful, and that added to her reckless appearance. It was such that the House almost saw the relative early manifestation of her Mark as an insult, as she was so obviously unsuited for their business. Add to that that she seemed to follow all and no god and her tendency to talk in languages she didn't normally speak, she was even feared by some of the House.
Tibunn, on the other hand, was not a typical halfling. His hair had a blueish hue while his skin was pale as death, and there were rumors about him being part dwarf due to his stockiness. His Mark was true as well, though. He was a bit impolite at times, and could be as direct and undiplomatic as Lorraine or Tjuja. His issue with his House related to a personal problem with one of the elders, from what he said. Supposedly, he had been disrespectful and made fun of the traditions. Some House members claimed things had gone missing where he was present. He also was not much into House Jorasco's healing professions, although quite skilled in the art. To him, it was more important to follow his calling, although because he had no idea what that calling was, he was more often than not found doing nothing, so he was told to get out and find what he was looking for.
Filbura from House Kundarak, dark skinned and bright eyed, was a typical dwarf but by no means suited for House Kundarak. She had absolutely no hand for money and didn't care about it much, either. From her earliest days on, she had been more interested in wandering the lands and find out about the animals and people. She could track about anything and survive in bad weather. This would not have been such a big issue in her House, but she had openly talked about the evils of too much wealth, and about some financial secrets she had heard about. She was just never the type to think before talking.
Quavin from House Lyandar was, when they met him, a spoiled son of highly regarded House members. He had two faults that caused him to be sent away for the time being. One was his overly fondness of the other sex, including visiting certain facilities and spending too much money there, and fathering bastards on several occasions. And he was still very young, mind you, so this was no small annoyance and caused shame for his family. The other thing was that he had no real affinity for the element of wind. While he could master all elements somewhat, he was a lot better with the element of fire, and here especially good in using offensive spells. He had managed to almost burn down an airship by accident and was cast out to find his fame elsewhere afterwards. Likely, he was the one hit most by his house shunning him. In all fairness, they probably just needed him to be away from anything that could burn until he learned to truly control the manifestations of his magic. And they still supplied him with some money and other resources. To him, though, it was like the world had come down, and while his arrogance tried to overplay it, it was clear he had been deeply insulted and was at a loss what to do.
Viril from House Medani had not exactly been shunned by his House, although that was what he told everyone. The black skinned, fat half-elf with the Mark right over his forehead – not an advantage to be unable to hide who you are, I can tell you – had been told it would be best to leave for a while until the political consequences of an unlucky love affair, in which he refused to give up the name of a noble he had been involved with, had blown over. Before he joined with the others, he had intended to make his life in another city – he was the only one from Sharn, originally – as a security manager, criminal investigator or private eye.
Then there was Nihil, pony tailed nephew of the current manager of House Orien's Couriers Guild. He was a budding bard of some renown in his part of the world, but then a mocking song about his own House and the secrets it kept brought him misfavor among his own. He was deeply sorry about it and looking for ways to redeem himself. He was not so sorry to be away from his family for a while, though.
With Moreelle, outcast from Phiarlan, it was a secret what she had supposedly done to anger her elders. We gathered it had something to do with her not fully concentrating on one of the disciplines of art. She was often sullen faced and came over depressed, with her blond hair always covering her elven features as if she was ashamed of her race. Only when she talked about her magical art or could entertain – as well as Nihil if not better – did she smile and open up.
Feyan of House Sivis had made one of the few almost unforgivable mistakes for his gnomish House. He had lost an important contract between two major factions while running as a messenger and thus caused significant embarrassment and shame. And it didn't happen because the stub haired, little smooth talker had been robbed or fooled into giving it up. He had simply lost it. However that could happen – he was never clear about it, and maybe he had been conned after all. But his tendency to misplace things, forget important issues and mix up details led everyone to believe he really had been just slacking.
Zolan was the most unconventional orc you could ever imagine. He fit in well enough with his House in regards to scouting out places and hunt down whatever prey he set his mind on. He also loved reading and the arts though, stemming from him having been taken in by a rich merchant as an orphan – he was the later recognized bastard son of a House heir. Zolan, with his red hair and dark body and obviously with a bit of human blood, would go out of his way to do what he thought was right, regardless of what his House would think. So his House and Clan alike wanted him to prove he really belonged into Tharashk before accepting him. Technically, he was just not taken in yet.
With Milayn from Thuranni, the rumor was that she had assassinated the wrong person recently. Of course she would never confirm or deny it and no criminal charges were brought against her anyway, so it might have been just that, rumor. In any case, Milayn was slim, small – you could almost mistake her for an halfling although she was very insistent there was no halfling blood in her line – and very loyal to her friends and comrades. She was also, something that was discovered only later, dual marked. She might have been one of the first dual marked people of the world, although for reasons you'll eventually learn, she never advertised this fact. She, unlike the rest, had not been called to Sharn but sent to Sharn as a divination had revealed she would find her destiny here. That was definitely true.
Yuja, stocky, a bit overweight brown haired girl from the plains, was shunned by House Vadalis because she had preferred to spend her days learning magic above and beyond what was expected in the House, and had neglected all other duties. Her ability to mix and redefine druidic and arcane magic was also something that was deemed dangerous and rebellious. Like with Quavin, she had mostly been sent away until she learned to truly control her unique gift.
And then there was Ahna. The most un-gnomish gnome you could ever imagine. She was of no
House and stumbled into us by... well, not accident, as it later was learned the meeting had been well designed. Dragonmarked she was, nonetheless, but she carried no true Mark and would not reveal the truth for some time. She was strong and agile and could spar with the best of them. As a paladin of Boldrei, she was somewhat of a rarity but well liked by most people. She was, by gnome standards, beautiful as well and definitely radiant. From the whole group, she was the only one who could not be, at first sight, considered a coward. Everyone else was a bit too careful, a bit too lazy, and a bit too quick to care only for themselves. Ahna was quick to come to anyone's aid, but no wonder given her paladin status.
Sharn, back then as now, is a confusing city for anyone not used to it. You have, no doubt, heard about its magical properties, its floating towers, powerful mages serving the city and any other sorts of wonders. Many, if not most, of those stories are true. And as with any city you do not know, it can be very scary, especially if you are young, outcast and at a total loss at what to do. Add rain and storm to it and a late night arrival, and every bard would make a sad song out of it.
Each of the future party walked, heads drawn under cloaks and umbrellas, through the torrents of water raining down without pause. Sharn is not an easy city to get around in even if you know it, when it is dark, raining and you are a stranger, you are much more likely to lose direction – if you even have any idea as to where you are going. The same was true for all of them. In the curtains of rain, it was hard to see more than a few meters ahead, and you could barely see the glowing orbs of the everbright lanterns so abundant in the city.
Destiny had them come to the same bridge on that fateful night, and they all, more or less figuratively, stumbled over the same dead body while more or less bumping into each other. Some of them noticed the dark cloaked figure avoiding the lights and, while lighting illuminated the scene a bit better, slipping over the railing of the bridge, disappearing in the darkness below. But most didn't see that, they just noticed the body in the flash of light. And no doubt, they were suspecting each other.
Then there was another flash of light, in a curious shape looking like an aberrant dragon mark. It is not sure how many noticed the strange shape of the flash at once. But in that moment, all of them were aware that they were not the killers and more, they had to work together. A compulsion or charm was likely involved in this, but right then, no one cared.
Rain and blood was pooling around the victim, who was still clutching a satchel. It was an elderly human male, from the looks of it a scholar. Tibunn, his blue hair standing up in the electric aftermath of the lightning, quickly bowed down to search the corpse. He grabbed everything the man owned, whether from feeling the importance or just because he thought that anything of worth would be an asset to his survival is the question. Maybe a bit of both.
The next moment, before anyone could even say a word, the cloaked figure they thought to have run climbed back onto the bridge right next to the body and attacked Lorraine, who was standing with the back to the railing. Bad mistake, I can tell you. Lorraine felt the axe coming her way despite the rain and the thunder, and evaded the deadly blade with what looked like practiced ease. The rest of the freshly met group just stared for a long moment as Lorraine drew her sword and started to fight back. "A warforged?" someone asked as the cloak fell off the face of the attacker and it was clear that it was one of the widely feared constructs. And then Ahna sprung to action, joining right into the battle. And then Medani, who despite his bodily features, moved surprisingly quick. The others had no ground to fight the construct as well. And it had no chance now, despite flying into a rage. Eventually, it dropped without anyone else being hurt. Something glowing detached from its body and left to wherever.
Right then, late as so often, the watch appeared. They saw the last moments of the fight. "That," the paladin gasped and sounded like she was drowning, "is your killer, sergeant."
The sergeant, a dwarf who had come with two gnomes, stared at the scene and mumbled a few choice oaths. Then he asked everyone what had happened, slightly overwhelmed with so many people being witness to a crime. He was, in the end, satisfied they had the right killer and told everyone to go about their business, considering the dead warforged to have been a hired assassin.
By now, everyone just wanted out of the rain. The next tavern to do so in was the Broken Anvil right across the bridge, as the dwarf pointed out. They might have just walked past as the sign was not really recognizable in the rain, either. There was not much talking and no introductions, everyone just took a room and went to eat and sleep.
The introductions, very cautious ones at that, came the next day at breakfast. They went through the possessions of the victim, although they still couldn't justify that they – or rather one of them – had taken the items, they all felt it had been the right thing to do. They found the identification papers – the man's name had been Bonal Geldem from Morgrave University with the School of Pre-Galifar studies. The satchel held inks, paper, quills an apple – promptly snatched up by Feyan – and a journal. And the money he had had with him was enough to pay for their meals that morning.
The journal was something different. It seemed to be all blank pages, but radiated magic. And it bore the sigil of House Cannith, in about the size of a signet ring. They all turned to the copper colored human and handed him the journal.
Deniv twisted the signet ring on his left hand and then inserted it into the pattern of the journal. The blank pages immediately began to fill with delicate script and line drawings. One of the first pictures appearing was a map of a tower, very scetchy, and that of a place inside the tower.. "Looks like a foundry," some others commented at the same time.
"Look at this," Viril pointed. "That star in that picture."
"A schema?" Deniv wondered. Then he looked up at the others. "I'm not sure what is going on, or why we have met the way we do but it might just be destiny."
"Don't care what it is," Zolan growled. "But if we help each other out and do something for our Houses, then that is what we should do." He pointed at the journal. "Starting with House Cannith, just because it fell into our laps, so to say. And this does look important enough to regain favor with your House."
Making the long talks following this exchange short, they all agreed, and so it was that the Dragonmarked Madness was born, although they did not have a name for themselves, or any idea what it would eventually be. This is the true story of how they met up. Anything else you hear, about the dragons blasting lightning from the sky and so on, is either not true or just an exaggeration of the weather that night before.
Get me some drink, will ya? My old throat is getting pretty much dry from all the talking.
One of the kids hurried to comply, while an older youth who looked more than a bit like a streetsmart scoundrel spoke up. "So, basically, they started out together for each of their own benefits?"
The figure in the seat took a large gulp. Yeah, definitely. Because there is some safety in numbers, and because it would be easier to regain their House status that way. As for the paladin – well, maybe she just needed to prove herself, especially with an untrue mark.
"So how did they find out what to do next?" The boy sitting to the right of the storyteller got all big and curious eyes. "They had so little information."
Oh they had a lot. First of all, some of them went to the unniversity the victim had worked at. Some bribe and some careful inquiry with his distraught secretary brought about the important parts. Turned out that the picture in the journal was the lost foundry House Cannith was after for a while. Some members of the house had hired the professor to do some research for them. It was to recover a family heirloom to gain status in the family. An ancient schema, an adamantine plate in the shape of a 7-pointed star about hand size. By the time he was murdered, Professor Geldem had found out about the location of that foundry. Deep within the Dorasharn tower. And when I say deep, I mean it. When they knew what tower they were looking at, the map suddenly made a lot more sense. They counted 57 levels under the sewer system.
The secretary said when the professor was killed, he had been on his way to secure some fire to bring on the expedition. He had, against all sense, decided to be a part of it. But the old elf lady could not say who of the House would have accompanied him, or if he had planned to hire some professionals.
As to who had killed him, the guard let them know, as a curtesy, that they suspected the Lord of Blades, who, back then, was a real worry for some people. The warforged siding with him thought all the biological lifeforms inferior.
A snort from the warforged innkeeper echoed through the small room. "Yeah right, I remember those times well enough. Some of my kind seemed to have more than a few screws lose. Literally."
The audience laughed, then returned their attention to the storyteller. "Wasn't it awfully dangerous to go to such a deep level without any experience? Did the cowardly among them even know what they were getting into?" a beautiful girl in the back of the room asked while huddling deeper into her warm blankets.
Well, no, most of them didn't realize what they were getting themselves into. But, they had a paladin to push them, and the burning need to get back into their comfort zones. So they went to the lowest inhabited level of the Dorasharn tower. They had brought their best equipment, what wasn't saying much, and had stocked up on potions and scrolls despite the expenses. The tunnels and corridors at this level of the tower were narrow and dark. An occasional window slit looked out upon the crowded walls and foundations of other towers, and infrequently placed torches sputtered here and there, giving off pallid pools of light and clouds of smoke. Even so, rough and dirty people crowded the narrow corridors, and the smell of sweat and sewage permeated the stale air. One tunnel opened onto a large chamber, where a mix of goblins, humans, and shifters gather around a small pile of garbage spread across three rotting blankets. One of the goblins shouted "No pushing! No pushing! There’s always enough for everyone at the Rat’s Market!"
The Rat's Market, you see, popped up here and there in different places of the lower city. Almost all of the goods were considered rubbish by others – salvaged things from the sewers or the ocean. Some stolen items of little value here and there. With their equipment, they definitely stood out but no one said anything. They did not notice that, when they talked to the goblin who ran the market, they were watched by someone. The strange environment took all their attention, so they couldn't probably notice a shifter paid more than due attention.
The vendor agreed to show them to the entrance that was marked on the map – E-213 Valve Cluster. For a good fee, of course, but they had no problem paying him. I think most of them felt pity for the goblin. Skakan – that was his name - pointed out a narrow passage that lead to a staircase that descended deeper into the tower. With each step down, the odor of mold and sewage become stronger, and they could hear liquid sounds increasing in volume as they descended. The narrow staircase was maybe 5 feet across, making it necessary for the party to march in a single file, the first and last carrying a lantern each. It was not really thought about in what order they would go down.
The stairs led to a wider tunnel. A shallow trench, about 2 feet below the tunnel floor, ran down the center of the tunnel, carrying sewer water from east to west. A thick grate allowed water to flow from the east, but was otherwise impassable as no one wanted any bad things – that did not originate in Sharn, of course – to come in. Metal iris valves, evenly spaced along the tunnel walls, opened at regular intervals to dump more water into the tunnel.
A warforged attacked from the shadows just when the last of them, Yuja, was on the last landing before entering the sewers, his rapier piercing the air with deadly efficiency. “You have the provost’s journal,” the warforged said. It was not a question. “Give the book to me, and you can live to see another day. Refuse, and we will make your deaths slow and painful.” At the same time, two shifters were seen by the paladin who had taken the lead, coming towards them through the sewage. Yuja, quick to try and cover her own behind, pointed to the front of the row, far away from her, to indicate she didn't have the journal. When the warforged was distracted for a moment, she ducked out under his arm and ran upstairs. He ignored her, believing her that someone walking in the back wouldn't have what he was looking for.
It was probably now that they began to understand what they were really doing. They had taken the road of what is so commonly called adventure and now they might already pay for it. The only real thing they had going for them was their numbers, and they could not really play them down here.
One of the 12 valves dropping sewage water in from the higher levels opened and almost washed one of the shifters away, wetting both thoroughly. Our heroes-to-be, luckily all in waterproof boots and even pants, co nsidered finiling out into the wide sewer, but they now realized that any of the vales might open at any time, probably washing them away in icky water. This was especially revolting to Quavin. He later didn't know how, as he should not have been able to do it, but he released such an amount of elemental magical energy that the sewers freezed shut, including the valves. And the two shifters, who cried out in panic before becoming dirty ice statues. This caused a real issue for that past of the sewer system later, and repair crews probably cursed whoever had done the damage in the vilest words.
Now they went out onto the ice, Viril, who had been second last in the file, barely escaping the attacks of the construct. It was difficult to keep their balance for most of them. It was impossible for the warforged. The sewers shook with the impact, although the ice didn't break save a few cracks, as it was all frozen through.
In a moment, everyone who had a weapon was upon the construct. With so many to get at it and it being unable to get back up, it didn't take long for it to die. Once more some magical light, a final messenger detatched from it and flew away. Those who knew about those things looked at each other and hurried the others on.
At the next intersection they turned right after a bit of confusion including getting some of each other's names wrong. Very soon, they found the circular metal hatch, set into the tunnel wall and engraved with arcane runes. In the middle of the hatch, a glowing circle of mithral depicted the same icon as on Bonal’s journal, the ancient symbol of House Cannith that predated the founding of the Kingdom of Galifar itself, a stylized anvil and hammer. The door clearly radiated magic.
Tibunn, having a little experience with going places he should not be, pointed out the system of an ancient trap. It appeared to have launched projectiles of some sort at some point, but was clearly empty now. It had probably gone off lots of times. Yuja, who had just caught up with the group, pushed to the front. "What are we waiting for? Just open the door already."
"But that's careless," a halfling boy not much more than a teen piped up. "Just because one trap isn't working does not mean there aren't any others!"
Yes, very true. The storyteller smiled at the boy. But in addition to their inexperience with such things, you also have to consider the size of their group. A small army, they were, compared to the normally much smaller sized of exploring or adventuring groups. With so many inexperienced people in an unfamiliar environment, not knowing each other, it is very hard to communicate. Either everyone talks above each other or, like in this case, no one really talked as they were all scared to make a fool of themselves. Which, of course, made the likelihood of just that happening all the more probable
Fortunately for them, though, there was no other trap. Although the door had to be pushed hard to open, it gave them no other trouble. It opened into a vertical shaft, with air rushing through it towards the higher tower, and it was all pitch black, of course. They held down a lantern and saw that it was a mix of crumbling earth and ancient stone, and centipedes and other insects covered the walls like living decorations. Nihil covered the shaft walks with lamp oil and set it alight to get rid of the critters, but the resulting smoke drove everyone away for a while, and there was a good deal of coughing and cursing. But at least it had the desired result. They knew they had to go down, which provoked an argument as to who would go first or last, or any position between. Not everyone was a good climber, especially Viril had problems. He hardly fit into the opening, as a matter of fact. Jokes at his expense were made, including the all popular permanent reduce person joke. He got quite angry at them and finally went in first just to show them. He almost got stuck but he indeed made it down. The shaft started to angle, and by bracing himself he could actually walk along one of the surfaces. When he, after what seemed a long time, arrived at the nearly horizontal tunnel intersecting the shaft, he was completely out of breath and could be heard huffing and puffing. He was also completely in the dark.
Later on 'Viril in the dark' would be come a saying for when things were done without thinking the through. Right then, it was just annoying as the half-elf began to panic. Feyan quickly took a lantern and followed him down, but as neither he nor anyone else could get past the big bodied Medani, they had to keep him in front and not much light illuminated their path. It mattered only as much as his eyesight, despite being able to see ok in dark surroundings, had some issue with judging distances, and not getting light reflected from where he was going aused him to bump into about everything. Yuja went last again, knowing she was a lot less agile than the others and not wanting to be an obstacle, but also not wanting to be the first to run into any problems. Of course, it didn't occur to her then that being last also held some dangers.
The tunnel eventually opened onto a vast chamber, though it emerged about six feet above the floor. Impossible to see the distant walls in the darkness, and the ruins of nearby walls and building appeared as deep shadows in the eternal tower night. There was a change in air currents and pressure that indicated a large open space ahead.
It was easy to get down to the ground. A constant background noise arose from walls and ruins. It took
a moment to recognize, but eventually the sounds of chittering and buzzing could be picked out from among the cacophony. The chamber seemed to amplify and echo the noise in disturbing ways. A mass of squirming, chittering, shiny black beetles soon emerged toward them with hungry purpose. Once more, Nihil threw lamp oil in flasks with burning tinder in them, and the swarm went up in flames, producing very bad smelling smoke that made everyone but the orc and Nihil retch. "What?" he grinned. "It's how you deal with those critters."
"Just how much lamp oil do we have left?" Zolan asked.
With a grin, Nihil showed several more flasks just for the sake of throwing them. "I brought my own attack supply."
Feeling rather bold now, they started to explore further, but they had not gone far when dangerous looking large rats ran towards them. With a sigh, Nihil threw more of his makeshift firebombs and they ran away squeaking, most of them burning. In the dark only lit by two lamps, it was a weird and scary sight to see squeaking, moving torches illuminating their panic driven paths. After that, no other critter dared to come near them and Nihil's grin was decidedly too smug.
Scouting the rest of the old quarter, they found little - an abandoned temple, an old stone column and the bones of what looked like a dwarf. And the foundry, of course. The adamantine doors refused to open though, and it might have taken days and a lot of noise to get in through the walls, and they didn't want to risk that. Finally, they had the brilliant idea to check the roof, and sure enough, there was a large enough hole in there to lower down a carriage. A large chunk of the ceiling had fallen in, crushing cabinets and shelves beneath the weight of brick and stone. The remains of what appeared to be a metal dog that was also caught in the falling stones jutted from the debris. Dusty shelves, intact, lined the southern wall, and a huge forge and furnace filled the eastern part of the room. Neither appeared to have been used in centuries. Two pairs of glowing eyes emerged from the far darkness, and as they used a rope to get down, they could see two metal dogs creeping cautiously towards them.
The paladin was first one down, the journal secured on her belt. Deniv insisted on going down next. After all, it was his house's secret to be unveiled and returned. Nihil was so confident, he pushed himself ahead of some others to be next. It was when he jumped the last meters that the two metal defenders attacked. Just him, though. Taken by surprise, the man hauled himself up the rope again, looking bewildered.
It took a bit of experimenting to find out that whoever had the journal was fine. Everyone agreed that Deniv was fine because he was from House Cannith. In the end, it was up to him and Ahna to search the place. But while there were some treasures in the form of sellable weapons and armory on the shelves – which they, of course, sent up for the others to pack – they found no schema. Frustration spread, and Deniv, not wanting to admit defeat, walked over to the metal dogs to check them out. He admired the craftsmanship and was wondering if he could bring them along somehow, or maybe at least find some salvageable parts on the destroyed one. Ahna needed a bit of convincing to help him push a piece of rock off the thing, but it was worth it. Out of the dog's head stuck a metal rod in the shape of a pentagon. This was odd because the rod seemed to serve a purpose.
It was the gnome who made the connection to the forge. Above it were 3 symbols, a pentagon, a triangle and a square, and the symbols were clearly made to put something inside. "If one came from that thing's head, it stands to reason the others are in the heads of the other dogs," she reasoned.
Deniv could touch and search the dog constructs without trouble, as they really seemed to react to his mark. He found the latch to pop the heads open and produced the other two rods. The gnome beamed at having been right and was about to bounce up and put the first rod they had discovered into the respective depression when the man stopped her. "My house is known for needing things very much in order," he explained. "3 points, 4 points and then 5." He slid in the rods he had in the order he deemed right, then gave a mock bow to the paladin to continue. She did so with a frown, not being sure if she had been mocked or not, but a hidden vault behind the furnace opened with a pop and a screech – time had not passed without signs here – that caused Ahna to cover her ears and grimace.
They found not only the schema, but also bags of coin. Their comrades hollwered down from above in glee as they roped it all up one by one, nearly overloading their bagpacks. If they had been worried about not getting money from their families, they would have less to worry about for a few months at least, more if they would manage to not waste it all.
Try as he might, Deniv could not make the metal dogs abandon their post, with or without the rods in their heads. As someone finally pointed out, there was no way to get them through the roof anyway, and the door was as locked from inside than from the outside. Eventually, they left and gathered outside the foundry.
As they were about to leave, a flaming crossbow bolt flew from the rubble surrounding the large stone column. “Weak flesh!” a powerful voice called out from that direction. “Now you face Saber, greatest of the devoted followers of the Lord of Blades. Throw down the schema and walk away. This day does not have to end with your blood on my hands.”
Confused looks passed among our future heroes. They had totally forgotten someone else was after the schema and that the final messenger sent by the other construct up a level would have gone to someone. It had been careless of them not to expect being followed and ambushed. Deniv recovered first. "We... we don't have any schema. Just some weapons and the coin we came for. Those dogs in there never let us come close to the vault," he improvised.
"Almost ripped my head off, too," Ahna quickly chimed in. She was sure they had never mentioned the schema while hauling up stuff.
"You are trying to trick me." There was the sound of a crossbow loading, but by then, Quavin had readied his spell components and threw a glittering substance up while mumbling a short word. A shimmering shield popped up between them and the warforged, and the crossbow bolt was deflected easily.
A few of them, around Quavin, made a run for the tunnel they had come through. Some of the others – Lorraine, Anha, Nihil and Zolan – made to engage the warforged. As Quavin was the first up the rope, they heard the sounds of battle and realized not all of them had decided to run. They turned to see what was going on, but it was too dark to see much. The lantern Ahna had held stood a bit off the battle, and a dim glow surrounding two of the fighting comrades – Nihil and Ahna – only let them see part of what was going on, but eventually they saw and heard the warforged fall, and another final messenger detached. Lorraine came back limping, and Zolan had a bleeding gash on his head. Everyone felt in over their head, having been reminded of the bigger picture behind the situation, and they left as quickly as they could. It took a good deal longer to get up, with all the added weight and Lorraine needing assistance from a levitating spell. Only when they were out in the surprisingly still frozen canal did they pause to put a bandage on the orc's head while the orc used his minimal clerical healing power on the warrior woman. She walked a bit better after that, and the blood was no longer trickling down her tigh, but the climb us the long stairs and back into the Rat's Market seemed to take ages in any case. None of them talked until they were well out of the lower parts and back in an area where the likelihood of being robbed was slim. By now, the day had almost passed and the bad weather was gone, replaced by a sinking sun that did nothing to warm up the early spring evening.
"If we are to work together," Zolan announced into the uncomfortable silence, "then we need to do better than this. We need to learn what each of us can do and what they can't. We need to learn about this whole adventuring thing. And we definitely need to pay more attention to our surroundings at all times."
The others nodded and mumbled agreement. "And," Filbura the dwarf said, "we need to change inns just in case someone saw us there. And the sooner we sell the coins and get a place of our own, the better."
"Sell the coins?" There was more confusion among the others.
"Those are old. Don't you know they are worth a lot more to a collector than their metal value? I may not be interested that much in money making and safekeeping, but I know what's worth what, still." She grinned. "I can take care of that, given some of you are helping me carry the coins."
Thus, the Dragonborn Madness, although not having made that name for themselves yet, was truly born. They moved to another inn one by one, so as to raise less suspicion, and found buyers for their treasures. Yet, they kept the schema until they could find out more about what was going on, or at least who in House Cannith to give it to."
The storyteller leaned back, gratefully receiving a cup of spiced tea from someone. "So did they buy some sort of keep?" the girl who had brought the tea asked.
Oh, no. They did not have nearly enough coin then, nor knew where they were heading. At first, after the dwarf managed to sell the coins for a good collector prize and the orc sold the weapons they did not need, they bought apartments in Oakbridge, all in the same, recently renovated tower. Viril was already living there, having been too lazy to pick a new place so he had rather suffered through the noise during the renovations. They bought the other 3 places on the floor so they could easily meet up and moved in in groups. Buying living space and furnishing them toom all of their coin, though. The two entertainers got themselves jobs in the Dragon Towers, with some help of old friends. It was not that easy for the others though. Luckily, Deniv managed to find a House Cannith operative from his branch of the family to give the schema to, and he got paid for it on top of all. On the bad side, he was told that this was not enough to ingratiate him with the House again, but he was assured he would be contacted if there was anything he could probably do for them and asked to check a certain messenger station weekly.
This, in turn, gave Tibunn the idea to post an add in the Sharn Informer that they were looking to do the "odd jobs of adventuring" and reroute the answers to the same messenger station. That way, they would not need to give away their identity or worse, hang around taverns a lot and waste their money on cheap drink there. The others agreed.
Settling in with each other proved to be somewhat difficult. Filbura, used to live with nature, felt particularly unhappy in the city but she made up for it by converting a whole glass covered balcony and the room it belonged to into some kind of greenhouse. Tjuja on the other hand converted one of the rooms to some strange kind of cave-like place with lots of smoke and candles and implements for fortune telling, then proceeded to place an add on her own to get a small business running. She was successful, too, because she was cheaper than most and more accurate. Lorraine turned a former storage room they did not need – after all, they had 4 storage rooms now – into a small training studio and proceeded to teach teenagers "the first steps of the battle dances" as she called it. She had an eye for those who could learn but didn't have enough oin to pay expensive teachers, or were shunned because of their ancestry. And she only asked what they could give, even if it meant some never paid and some paid later. She also got a guard job or two thanks to getting known in merchant circles for teaching their kids privately as well, which paid considerably more to begin with. Ahna, too, secured some bodyguard jobs, mostly for rich gnome brats with parents of her faith. But those jobs were only now and then, and she used the rest of her time to help Viril, Zolan and Quavin to research the Lord of Blades and collect news about him. They all strongly suspected they would have more run ins with him and his warforged.
Tibunn and Millayn sometimes vanished for a while and came back with a bit of coin, and while the paladin looked at this with a frown, she never said anything or tried to investigate. Deniv used his skill as an alchemist and artificer to do the ocassional work for the apothecary around the corner and a workshop he knew someone at. Mostly, he was reading up on his hobbies though, as regular work really bore him. Sometimes he also helped Feyan to run errands for the group and the two of them becamse close friends. Yuja befriended Filbura but otherwise found little to occupy her time with and so mostly kept herself busy with cleaning the apartments – and driving some of the others mad with her overly motherly behavior at times. Sometimes, things would behave weirdly in her presence, like a clock going backwards, or kitchenware breaking without anyone touching them. Waking up screaming in the night was a regular thing for her, but she didn't explain her nightmares.
So they waited for an adventurer job to come by, and as it happened, they had to wait a few weeks. Most people preferred to deal with respective parties to do their dirty work by finding them in taverns. They did not know this, but very often ads of this nature were only responded to if the party in question had already gained some fame or notoriety, or none of the people frequenting taverns wanted anything to do with the job.
How they got their next real work and how it changed their standing is a story for tomorrow. I'm old and need my bed now.
The audience parted respectfully as the storyteller got up shakily, leaning on an intricate staff. "Have a good night's rest," one of the serving women said as she watched the warforged help the geezer into a room on ground level.
This is written from the view of an old person, presumably a former member of the party, telling the story during a long winter in a snowed in inn. So there are interruptions from the audience etc. And if anyone reads this and would like to, feel free to pop in a question to be added if something's been unclear. Italic is current happenings in the inn and everyone else, normal is the storyteller.
This is a 3.5/PF/Houserules mix. I'm not the main GM, the GM has never run a game before and she's been afraid she would suck, so if there are some weird moments that's probably why. We love the game though.
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Night One
The fire was crackling, giving the room a nice yellowish glow and, more important, enough warmth for the circle of listeners around the storyteller in the large, comfy chair next to the fire. Outside the inn it was freezing cold, even the bay was frozen and all ships on the river or in the harbor were frozen in. A snowstorm was howling outside, making most people looking out of the bit of window not covered with ice blossoms shiver. Most people, grown ups and children alike, were nursing a hot drink or something that at least made you warm inside.
The storyteller was half buried under blankets, as some others were. He – or maybe she, it was hard to tell – was old. Grey hair covered half the face, and wrinkles were carved deep into a face hardened by weather.
So, you have found out who I am, and now I shall tell you the story of the Dragonmarked Madness. Very well. But I talk slow, and I will probably need all this terrible winter to finish my tale. Which is probably good, as no ship will leave here for a few weeks, at least.
It all started in Sharn.
I know that is a very frowned upon way to open a story, much like 'it was a dark and stormy night.' Yet, it is true. Actually, both of those beginnings are true. Some kind of irony, isn't it, that the tale about the Dragonmarked Madness should start like a bad piece of fiction in one of those fancied bard tales magazines?
Most of the future party had been called to Sharn, to meet with the influential members of their Dragonmarked Houses. They didn't know each other then, but they were very much alike in one way. They had shown the Dragonmark of their House recently, and had disappointed or threatened their Houses badly, despite great expectations set in them. Or maybe because of that, as great expectations often cause great failures.
There was Deniv, from House Cannith. Story had it he was not only human, but that there was also some elven or halfling blood in him, or maybe even both. His Mark, however, was true, so his ancestry probably had not mingled with the other Houses. His abilities were extraordinaire. Unlike most others who had to manifest the abilities of their Mark little by little, he could utilize the standard abilities of his Least Mark all at once, and he was also said to have some other abilities probably linked to it. He was also very gifted in constructing things, but was also lazy and thus his House had deiced he would need to prove himself out in the world, with little help from them. He wasn't really an outcast, but as with the others, he was forced to make his own way or be really thrown out. Very small for a human and not having much of an attention span, which probably caused the impression of him being lazy, he also had the disadvantage of a copper toned skin, copper toned hair, copper toned eyes... the whole boy was of a single color, which made him look strange, bland somewhat, and in a weird way artificial if the light was right.
Then there was Lorraine from House Deneith. Her Mark had manifested at an early age when she had to defend a friend from street thugs in the town she grew up in. She had since developed all benefits of her Least Mark, and everyone was waiting for her Mark to develop to the next step. As each of the Dragonmarked Madness, she had been trained in magical ways since early childhood, too, when she had shown the first talent for it. She was also a good fighter, could wield a rapier like the best her age and throw a knife with astonishing accuracy. Among other things.
Sounds like the perfect thing, no? Except that she was a chaotic nature, not listening to her elders or instructors the way her House would have needed her to. Such behavior just is not accepted in House Deneith. She was also very careful not to put herself in a situation she could not master, and thus some said she was a coward.
Tjuja, she was a typical halfling and would have been a good House Ghallanda member, if not that she was undiplomatic to a fault and did not care at all about her appearance. Her dark, curly hair usually stood away to all sides, and she had to be reminded to wash it at times. She had a small scar on her nose she didn't want removed as it reminded her to be more careful, and that added to her reckless appearance. It was such that the House almost saw the relative early manifestation of her Mark as an insult, as she was so obviously unsuited for their business. Add to that that she seemed to follow all and no god and her tendency to talk in languages she didn't normally speak, she was even feared by some of the House.
Tibunn, on the other hand, was not a typical halfling. His hair had a blueish hue while his skin was pale as death, and there were rumors about him being part dwarf due to his stockiness. His Mark was true as well, though. He was a bit impolite at times, and could be as direct and undiplomatic as Lorraine or Tjuja. His issue with his House related to a personal problem with one of the elders, from what he said. Supposedly, he had been disrespectful and made fun of the traditions. Some House members claimed things had gone missing where he was present. He also was not much into House Jorasco's healing professions, although quite skilled in the art. To him, it was more important to follow his calling, although because he had no idea what that calling was, he was more often than not found doing nothing, so he was told to get out and find what he was looking for.
Filbura from House Kundarak, dark skinned and bright eyed, was a typical dwarf but by no means suited for House Kundarak. She had absolutely no hand for money and didn't care about it much, either. From her earliest days on, she had been more interested in wandering the lands and find out about the animals and people. She could track about anything and survive in bad weather. This would not have been such a big issue in her House, but she had openly talked about the evils of too much wealth, and about some financial secrets she had heard about. She was just never the type to think before talking.
Quavin from House Lyandar was, when they met him, a spoiled son of highly regarded House members. He had two faults that caused him to be sent away for the time being. One was his overly fondness of the other sex, including visiting certain facilities and spending too much money there, and fathering bastards on several occasions. And he was still very young, mind you, so this was no small annoyance and caused shame for his family. The other thing was that he had no real affinity for the element of wind. While he could master all elements somewhat, he was a lot better with the element of fire, and here especially good in using offensive spells. He had managed to almost burn down an airship by accident and was cast out to find his fame elsewhere afterwards. Likely, he was the one hit most by his house shunning him. In all fairness, they probably just needed him to be away from anything that could burn until he learned to truly control the manifestations of his magic. And they still supplied him with some money and other resources. To him, though, it was like the world had come down, and while his arrogance tried to overplay it, it was clear he had been deeply insulted and was at a loss what to do.
Viril from House Medani had not exactly been shunned by his House, although that was what he told everyone. The black skinned, fat half-elf with the Mark right over his forehead – not an advantage to be unable to hide who you are, I can tell you – had been told it would be best to leave for a while until the political consequences of an unlucky love affair, in which he refused to give up the name of a noble he had been involved with, had blown over. Before he joined with the others, he had intended to make his life in another city – he was the only one from Sharn, originally – as a security manager, criminal investigator or private eye.
Then there was Nihil, pony tailed nephew of the current manager of House Orien's Couriers Guild. He was a budding bard of some renown in his part of the world, but then a mocking song about his own House and the secrets it kept brought him misfavor among his own. He was deeply sorry about it and looking for ways to redeem himself. He was not so sorry to be away from his family for a while, though.
With Moreelle, outcast from Phiarlan, it was a secret what she had supposedly done to anger her elders. We gathered it had something to do with her not fully concentrating on one of the disciplines of art. She was often sullen faced and came over depressed, with her blond hair always covering her elven features as if she was ashamed of her race. Only when she talked about her magical art or could entertain – as well as Nihil if not better – did she smile and open up.
Feyan of House Sivis had made one of the few almost unforgivable mistakes for his gnomish House. He had lost an important contract between two major factions while running as a messenger and thus caused significant embarrassment and shame. And it didn't happen because the stub haired, little smooth talker had been robbed or fooled into giving it up. He had simply lost it. However that could happen – he was never clear about it, and maybe he had been conned after all. But his tendency to misplace things, forget important issues and mix up details led everyone to believe he really had been just slacking.
Zolan was the most unconventional orc you could ever imagine. He fit in well enough with his House in regards to scouting out places and hunt down whatever prey he set his mind on. He also loved reading and the arts though, stemming from him having been taken in by a rich merchant as an orphan – he was the later recognized bastard son of a House heir. Zolan, with his red hair and dark body and obviously with a bit of human blood, would go out of his way to do what he thought was right, regardless of what his House would think. So his House and Clan alike wanted him to prove he really belonged into Tharashk before accepting him. Technically, he was just not taken in yet.
With Milayn from Thuranni, the rumor was that she had assassinated the wrong person recently. Of course she would never confirm or deny it and no criminal charges were brought against her anyway, so it might have been just that, rumor. In any case, Milayn was slim, small – you could almost mistake her for an halfling although she was very insistent there was no halfling blood in her line – and very loyal to her friends and comrades. She was also, something that was discovered only later, dual marked. She might have been one of the first dual marked people of the world, although for reasons you'll eventually learn, she never advertised this fact. She, unlike the rest, had not been called to Sharn but sent to Sharn as a divination had revealed she would find her destiny here. That was definitely true.
Yuja, stocky, a bit overweight brown haired girl from the plains, was shunned by House Vadalis because she had preferred to spend her days learning magic above and beyond what was expected in the House, and had neglected all other duties. Her ability to mix and redefine druidic and arcane magic was also something that was deemed dangerous and rebellious. Like with Quavin, she had mostly been sent away until she learned to truly control her unique gift.
And then there was Ahna. The most un-gnomish gnome you could ever imagine. She was of no
House and stumbled into us by... well, not accident, as it later was learned the meeting had been well designed. Dragonmarked she was, nonetheless, but she carried no true Mark and would not reveal the truth for some time. She was strong and agile and could spar with the best of them. As a paladin of Boldrei, she was somewhat of a rarity but well liked by most people. She was, by gnome standards, beautiful as well and definitely radiant. From the whole group, she was the only one who could not be, at first sight, considered a coward. Everyone else was a bit too careful, a bit too lazy, and a bit too quick to care only for themselves. Ahna was quick to come to anyone's aid, but no wonder given her paladin status.
Sharn, back then as now, is a confusing city for anyone not used to it. You have, no doubt, heard about its magical properties, its floating towers, powerful mages serving the city and any other sorts of wonders. Many, if not most, of those stories are true. And as with any city you do not know, it can be very scary, especially if you are young, outcast and at a total loss at what to do. Add rain and storm to it and a late night arrival, and every bard would make a sad song out of it.
Each of the future party walked, heads drawn under cloaks and umbrellas, through the torrents of water raining down without pause. Sharn is not an easy city to get around in even if you know it, when it is dark, raining and you are a stranger, you are much more likely to lose direction – if you even have any idea as to where you are going. The same was true for all of them. In the curtains of rain, it was hard to see more than a few meters ahead, and you could barely see the glowing orbs of the everbright lanterns so abundant in the city.
Destiny had them come to the same bridge on that fateful night, and they all, more or less figuratively, stumbled over the same dead body while more or less bumping into each other. Some of them noticed the dark cloaked figure avoiding the lights and, while lighting illuminated the scene a bit better, slipping over the railing of the bridge, disappearing in the darkness below. But most didn't see that, they just noticed the body in the flash of light. And no doubt, they were suspecting each other.
Then there was another flash of light, in a curious shape looking like an aberrant dragon mark. It is not sure how many noticed the strange shape of the flash at once. But in that moment, all of them were aware that they were not the killers and more, they had to work together. A compulsion or charm was likely involved in this, but right then, no one cared.
Rain and blood was pooling around the victim, who was still clutching a satchel. It was an elderly human male, from the looks of it a scholar. Tibunn, his blue hair standing up in the electric aftermath of the lightning, quickly bowed down to search the corpse. He grabbed everything the man owned, whether from feeling the importance or just because he thought that anything of worth would be an asset to his survival is the question. Maybe a bit of both.
The next moment, before anyone could even say a word, the cloaked figure they thought to have run climbed back onto the bridge right next to the body and attacked Lorraine, who was standing with the back to the railing. Bad mistake, I can tell you. Lorraine felt the axe coming her way despite the rain and the thunder, and evaded the deadly blade with what looked like practiced ease. The rest of the freshly met group just stared for a long moment as Lorraine drew her sword and started to fight back. "A warforged?" someone asked as the cloak fell off the face of the attacker and it was clear that it was one of the widely feared constructs. And then Ahna sprung to action, joining right into the battle. And then Medani, who despite his bodily features, moved surprisingly quick. The others had no ground to fight the construct as well. And it had no chance now, despite flying into a rage. Eventually, it dropped without anyone else being hurt. Something glowing detached from its body and left to wherever.
Right then, late as so often, the watch appeared. They saw the last moments of the fight. "That," the paladin gasped and sounded like she was drowning, "is your killer, sergeant."
The sergeant, a dwarf who had come with two gnomes, stared at the scene and mumbled a few choice oaths. Then he asked everyone what had happened, slightly overwhelmed with so many people being witness to a crime. He was, in the end, satisfied they had the right killer and told everyone to go about their business, considering the dead warforged to have been a hired assassin.
By now, everyone just wanted out of the rain. The next tavern to do so in was the Broken Anvil right across the bridge, as the dwarf pointed out. They might have just walked past as the sign was not really recognizable in the rain, either. There was not much talking and no introductions, everyone just took a room and went to eat and sleep.
The introductions, very cautious ones at that, came the next day at breakfast. They went through the possessions of the victim, although they still couldn't justify that they – or rather one of them – had taken the items, they all felt it had been the right thing to do. They found the identification papers – the man's name had been Bonal Geldem from Morgrave University with the School of Pre-Galifar studies. The satchel held inks, paper, quills an apple – promptly snatched up by Feyan – and a journal. And the money he had had with him was enough to pay for their meals that morning.
The journal was something different. It seemed to be all blank pages, but radiated magic. And it bore the sigil of House Cannith, in about the size of a signet ring. They all turned to the copper colored human and handed him the journal.
Deniv twisted the signet ring on his left hand and then inserted it into the pattern of the journal. The blank pages immediately began to fill with delicate script and line drawings. One of the first pictures appearing was a map of a tower, very scetchy, and that of a place inside the tower.. "Looks like a foundry," some others commented at the same time.
"Look at this," Viril pointed. "That star in that picture."
"A schema?" Deniv wondered. Then he looked up at the others. "I'm not sure what is going on, or why we have met the way we do but it might just be destiny."
"Don't care what it is," Zolan growled. "But if we help each other out and do something for our Houses, then that is what we should do." He pointed at the journal. "Starting with House Cannith, just because it fell into our laps, so to say. And this does look important enough to regain favor with your House."
Making the long talks following this exchange short, they all agreed, and so it was that the Dragonmarked Madness was born, although they did not have a name for themselves, or any idea what it would eventually be. This is the true story of how they met up. Anything else you hear, about the dragons blasting lightning from the sky and so on, is either not true or just an exaggeration of the weather that night before.
Get me some drink, will ya? My old throat is getting pretty much dry from all the talking.
One of the kids hurried to comply, while an older youth who looked more than a bit like a streetsmart scoundrel spoke up. "So, basically, they started out together for each of their own benefits?"
The figure in the seat took a large gulp. Yeah, definitely. Because there is some safety in numbers, and because it would be easier to regain their House status that way. As for the paladin – well, maybe she just needed to prove herself, especially with an untrue mark.
"So how did they find out what to do next?" The boy sitting to the right of the storyteller got all big and curious eyes. "They had so little information."
Oh they had a lot. First of all, some of them went to the unniversity the victim had worked at. Some bribe and some careful inquiry with his distraught secretary brought about the important parts. Turned out that the picture in the journal was the lost foundry House Cannith was after for a while. Some members of the house had hired the professor to do some research for them. It was to recover a family heirloom to gain status in the family. An ancient schema, an adamantine plate in the shape of a 7-pointed star about hand size. By the time he was murdered, Professor Geldem had found out about the location of that foundry. Deep within the Dorasharn tower. And when I say deep, I mean it. When they knew what tower they were looking at, the map suddenly made a lot more sense. They counted 57 levels under the sewer system.
The secretary said when the professor was killed, he had been on his way to secure some fire to bring on the expedition. He had, against all sense, decided to be a part of it. But the old elf lady could not say who of the House would have accompanied him, or if he had planned to hire some professionals.
As to who had killed him, the guard let them know, as a curtesy, that they suspected the Lord of Blades, who, back then, was a real worry for some people. The warforged siding with him thought all the biological lifeforms inferior.
A snort from the warforged innkeeper echoed through the small room. "Yeah right, I remember those times well enough. Some of my kind seemed to have more than a few screws lose. Literally."
The audience laughed, then returned their attention to the storyteller. "Wasn't it awfully dangerous to go to such a deep level without any experience? Did the cowardly among them even know what they were getting into?" a beautiful girl in the back of the room asked while huddling deeper into her warm blankets.
Well, no, most of them didn't realize what they were getting themselves into. But, they had a paladin to push them, and the burning need to get back into their comfort zones. So they went to the lowest inhabited level of the Dorasharn tower. They had brought their best equipment, what wasn't saying much, and had stocked up on potions and scrolls despite the expenses. The tunnels and corridors at this level of the tower were narrow and dark. An occasional window slit looked out upon the crowded walls and foundations of other towers, and infrequently placed torches sputtered here and there, giving off pallid pools of light and clouds of smoke. Even so, rough and dirty people crowded the narrow corridors, and the smell of sweat and sewage permeated the stale air. One tunnel opened onto a large chamber, where a mix of goblins, humans, and shifters gather around a small pile of garbage spread across three rotting blankets. One of the goblins shouted "No pushing! No pushing! There’s always enough for everyone at the Rat’s Market!"
The Rat's Market, you see, popped up here and there in different places of the lower city. Almost all of the goods were considered rubbish by others – salvaged things from the sewers or the ocean. Some stolen items of little value here and there. With their equipment, they definitely stood out but no one said anything. They did not notice that, when they talked to the goblin who ran the market, they were watched by someone. The strange environment took all their attention, so they couldn't probably notice a shifter paid more than due attention.
The vendor agreed to show them to the entrance that was marked on the map – E-213 Valve Cluster. For a good fee, of course, but they had no problem paying him. I think most of them felt pity for the goblin. Skakan – that was his name - pointed out a narrow passage that lead to a staircase that descended deeper into the tower. With each step down, the odor of mold and sewage become stronger, and they could hear liquid sounds increasing in volume as they descended. The narrow staircase was maybe 5 feet across, making it necessary for the party to march in a single file, the first and last carrying a lantern each. It was not really thought about in what order they would go down.
The stairs led to a wider tunnel. A shallow trench, about 2 feet below the tunnel floor, ran down the center of the tunnel, carrying sewer water from east to west. A thick grate allowed water to flow from the east, but was otherwise impassable as no one wanted any bad things – that did not originate in Sharn, of course – to come in. Metal iris valves, evenly spaced along the tunnel walls, opened at regular intervals to dump more water into the tunnel.
A warforged attacked from the shadows just when the last of them, Yuja, was on the last landing before entering the sewers, his rapier piercing the air with deadly efficiency. “You have the provost’s journal,” the warforged said. It was not a question. “Give the book to me, and you can live to see another day. Refuse, and we will make your deaths slow and painful.” At the same time, two shifters were seen by the paladin who had taken the lead, coming towards them through the sewage. Yuja, quick to try and cover her own behind, pointed to the front of the row, far away from her, to indicate she didn't have the journal. When the warforged was distracted for a moment, she ducked out under his arm and ran upstairs. He ignored her, believing her that someone walking in the back wouldn't have what he was looking for.
It was probably now that they began to understand what they were really doing. They had taken the road of what is so commonly called adventure and now they might already pay for it. The only real thing they had going for them was their numbers, and they could not really play them down here.
One of the 12 valves dropping sewage water in from the higher levels opened and almost washed one of the shifters away, wetting both thoroughly. Our heroes-to-be, luckily all in waterproof boots and even pants, co nsidered finiling out into the wide sewer, but they now realized that any of the vales might open at any time, probably washing them away in icky water. This was especially revolting to Quavin. He later didn't know how, as he should not have been able to do it, but he released such an amount of elemental magical energy that the sewers freezed shut, including the valves. And the two shifters, who cried out in panic before becoming dirty ice statues. This caused a real issue for that past of the sewer system later, and repair crews probably cursed whoever had done the damage in the vilest words.
Now they went out onto the ice, Viril, who had been second last in the file, barely escaping the attacks of the construct. It was difficult to keep their balance for most of them. It was impossible for the warforged. The sewers shook with the impact, although the ice didn't break save a few cracks, as it was all frozen through.
In a moment, everyone who had a weapon was upon the construct. With so many to get at it and it being unable to get back up, it didn't take long for it to die. Once more some magical light, a final messenger detatched from it and flew away. Those who knew about those things looked at each other and hurried the others on.
At the next intersection they turned right after a bit of confusion including getting some of each other's names wrong. Very soon, they found the circular metal hatch, set into the tunnel wall and engraved with arcane runes. In the middle of the hatch, a glowing circle of mithral depicted the same icon as on Bonal’s journal, the ancient symbol of House Cannith that predated the founding of the Kingdom of Galifar itself, a stylized anvil and hammer. The door clearly radiated magic.
Tibunn, having a little experience with going places he should not be, pointed out the system of an ancient trap. It appeared to have launched projectiles of some sort at some point, but was clearly empty now. It had probably gone off lots of times. Yuja, who had just caught up with the group, pushed to the front. "What are we waiting for? Just open the door already."
"But that's careless," a halfling boy not much more than a teen piped up. "Just because one trap isn't working does not mean there aren't any others!"
Yes, very true. The storyteller smiled at the boy. But in addition to their inexperience with such things, you also have to consider the size of their group. A small army, they were, compared to the normally much smaller sized of exploring or adventuring groups. With so many inexperienced people in an unfamiliar environment, not knowing each other, it is very hard to communicate. Either everyone talks above each other or, like in this case, no one really talked as they were all scared to make a fool of themselves. Which, of course, made the likelihood of just that happening all the more probable
Fortunately for them, though, there was no other trap. Although the door had to be pushed hard to open, it gave them no other trouble. It opened into a vertical shaft, with air rushing through it towards the higher tower, and it was all pitch black, of course. They held down a lantern and saw that it was a mix of crumbling earth and ancient stone, and centipedes and other insects covered the walls like living decorations. Nihil covered the shaft walks with lamp oil and set it alight to get rid of the critters, but the resulting smoke drove everyone away for a while, and there was a good deal of coughing and cursing. But at least it had the desired result. They knew they had to go down, which provoked an argument as to who would go first or last, or any position between. Not everyone was a good climber, especially Viril had problems. He hardly fit into the opening, as a matter of fact. Jokes at his expense were made, including the all popular permanent reduce person joke. He got quite angry at them and finally went in first just to show them. He almost got stuck but he indeed made it down. The shaft started to angle, and by bracing himself he could actually walk along one of the surfaces. When he, after what seemed a long time, arrived at the nearly horizontal tunnel intersecting the shaft, he was completely out of breath and could be heard huffing and puffing. He was also completely in the dark.
Later on 'Viril in the dark' would be come a saying for when things were done without thinking the through. Right then, it was just annoying as the half-elf began to panic. Feyan quickly took a lantern and followed him down, but as neither he nor anyone else could get past the big bodied Medani, they had to keep him in front and not much light illuminated their path. It mattered only as much as his eyesight, despite being able to see ok in dark surroundings, had some issue with judging distances, and not getting light reflected from where he was going aused him to bump into about everything. Yuja went last again, knowing she was a lot less agile than the others and not wanting to be an obstacle, but also not wanting to be the first to run into any problems. Of course, it didn't occur to her then that being last also held some dangers.
The tunnel eventually opened onto a vast chamber, though it emerged about six feet above the floor. Impossible to see the distant walls in the darkness, and the ruins of nearby walls and building appeared as deep shadows in the eternal tower night. There was a change in air currents and pressure that indicated a large open space ahead.
It was easy to get down to the ground. A constant background noise arose from walls and ruins. It took
a moment to recognize, but eventually the sounds of chittering and buzzing could be picked out from among the cacophony. The chamber seemed to amplify and echo the noise in disturbing ways. A mass of squirming, chittering, shiny black beetles soon emerged toward them with hungry purpose. Once more, Nihil threw lamp oil in flasks with burning tinder in them, and the swarm went up in flames, producing very bad smelling smoke that made everyone but the orc and Nihil retch. "What?" he grinned. "It's how you deal with those critters."
"Just how much lamp oil do we have left?" Zolan asked.
With a grin, Nihil showed several more flasks just for the sake of throwing them. "I brought my own attack supply."
Feeling rather bold now, they started to explore further, but they had not gone far when dangerous looking large rats ran towards them. With a sigh, Nihil threw more of his makeshift firebombs and they ran away squeaking, most of them burning. In the dark only lit by two lamps, it was a weird and scary sight to see squeaking, moving torches illuminating their panic driven paths. After that, no other critter dared to come near them and Nihil's grin was decidedly too smug.
Scouting the rest of the old quarter, they found little - an abandoned temple, an old stone column and the bones of what looked like a dwarf. And the foundry, of course. The adamantine doors refused to open though, and it might have taken days and a lot of noise to get in through the walls, and they didn't want to risk that. Finally, they had the brilliant idea to check the roof, and sure enough, there was a large enough hole in there to lower down a carriage. A large chunk of the ceiling had fallen in, crushing cabinets and shelves beneath the weight of brick and stone. The remains of what appeared to be a metal dog that was also caught in the falling stones jutted from the debris. Dusty shelves, intact, lined the southern wall, and a huge forge and furnace filled the eastern part of the room. Neither appeared to have been used in centuries. Two pairs of glowing eyes emerged from the far darkness, and as they used a rope to get down, they could see two metal dogs creeping cautiously towards them.
The paladin was first one down, the journal secured on her belt. Deniv insisted on going down next. After all, it was his house's secret to be unveiled and returned. Nihil was so confident, he pushed himself ahead of some others to be next. It was when he jumped the last meters that the two metal defenders attacked. Just him, though. Taken by surprise, the man hauled himself up the rope again, looking bewildered.
It took a bit of experimenting to find out that whoever had the journal was fine. Everyone agreed that Deniv was fine because he was from House Cannith. In the end, it was up to him and Ahna to search the place. But while there were some treasures in the form of sellable weapons and armory on the shelves – which they, of course, sent up for the others to pack – they found no schema. Frustration spread, and Deniv, not wanting to admit defeat, walked over to the metal dogs to check them out. He admired the craftsmanship and was wondering if he could bring them along somehow, or maybe at least find some salvageable parts on the destroyed one. Ahna needed a bit of convincing to help him push a piece of rock off the thing, but it was worth it. Out of the dog's head stuck a metal rod in the shape of a pentagon. This was odd because the rod seemed to serve a purpose.
It was the gnome who made the connection to the forge. Above it were 3 symbols, a pentagon, a triangle and a square, and the symbols were clearly made to put something inside. "If one came from that thing's head, it stands to reason the others are in the heads of the other dogs," she reasoned.
Deniv could touch and search the dog constructs without trouble, as they really seemed to react to his mark. He found the latch to pop the heads open and produced the other two rods. The gnome beamed at having been right and was about to bounce up and put the first rod they had discovered into the respective depression when the man stopped her. "My house is known for needing things very much in order," he explained. "3 points, 4 points and then 5." He slid in the rods he had in the order he deemed right, then gave a mock bow to the paladin to continue. She did so with a frown, not being sure if she had been mocked or not, but a hidden vault behind the furnace opened with a pop and a screech – time had not passed without signs here – that caused Ahna to cover her ears and grimace.
They found not only the schema, but also bags of coin. Their comrades hollwered down from above in glee as they roped it all up one by one, nearly overloading their bagpacks. If they had been worried about not getting money from their families, they would have less to worry about for a few months at least, more if they would manage to not waste it all.
Try as he might, Deniv could not make the metal dogs abandon their post, with or without the rods in their heads. As someone finally pointed out, there was no way to get them through the roof anyway, and the door was as locked from inside than from the outside. Eventually, they left and gathered outside the foundry.
As they were about to leave, a flaming crossbow bolt flew from the rubble surrounding the large stone column. “Weak flesh!” a powerful voice called out from that direction. “Now you face Saber, greatest of the devoted followers of the Lord of Blades. Throw down the schema and walk away. This day does not have to end with your blood on my hands.”
Confused looks passed among our future heroes. They had totally forgotten someone else was after the schema and that the final messenger sent by the other construct up a level would have gone to someone. It had been careless of them not to expect being followed and ambushed. Deniv recovered first. "We... we don't have any schema. Just some weapons and the coin we came for. Those dogs in there never let us come close to the vault," he improvised.
"Almost ripped my head off, too," Ahna quickly chimed in. She was sure they had never mentioned the schema while hauling up stuff.
"You are trying to trick me." There was the sound of a crossbow loading, but by then, Quavin had readied his spell components and threw a glittering substance up while mumbling a short word. A shimmering shield popped up between them and the warforged, and the crossbow bolt was deflected easily.
A few of them, around Quavin, made a run for the tunnel they had come through. Some of the others – Lorraine, Anha, Nihil and Zolan – made to engage the warforged. As Quavin was the first up the rope, they heard the sounds of battle and realized not all of them had decided to run. They turned to see what was going on, but it was too dark to see much. The lantern Ahna had held stood a bit off the battle, and a dim glow surrounding two of the fighting comrades – Nihil and Ahna – only let them see part of what was going on, but eventually they saw and heard the warforged fall, and another final messenger detached. Lorraine came back limping, and Zolan had a bleeding gash on his head. Everyone felt in over their head, having been reminded of the bigger picture behind the situation, and they left as quickly as they could. It took a good deal longer to get up, with all the added weight and Lorraine needing assistance from a levitating spell. Only when they were out in the surprisingly still frozen canal did they pause to put a bandage on the orc's head while the orc used his minimal clerical healing power on the warrior woman. She walked a bit better after that, and the blood was no longer trickling down her tigh, but the climb us the long stairs and back into the Rat's Market seemed to take ages in any case. None of them talked until they were well out of the lower parts and back in an area where the likelihood of being robbed was slim. By now, the day had almost passed and the bad weather was gone, replaced by a sinking sun that did nothing to warm up the early spring evening.
"If we are to work together," Zolan announced into the uncomfortable silence, "then we need to do better than this. We need to learn what each of us can do and what they can't. We need to learn about this whole adventuring thing. And we definitely need to pay more attention to our surroundings at all times."
The others nodded and mumbled agreement. "And," Filbura the dwarf said, "we need to change inns just in case someone saw us there. And the sooner we sell the coins and get a place of our own, the better."
"Sell the coins?" There was more confusion among the others.
"Those are old. Don't you know they are worth a lot more to a collector than their metal value? I may not be interested that much in money making and safekeeping, but I know what's worth what, still." She grinned. "I can take care of that, given some of you are helping me carry the coins."
Thus, the Dragonborn Madness, although not having made that name for themselves yet, was truly born. They moved to another inn one by one, so as to raise less suspicion, and found buyers for their treasures. Yet, they kept the schema until they could find out more about what was going on, or at least who in House Cannith to give it to."
The storyteller leaned back, gratefully receiving a cup of spiced tea from someone. "So did they buy some sort of keep?" the girl who had brought the tea asked.
Oh, no. They did not have nearly enough coin then, nor knew where they were heading. At first, after the dwarf managed to sell the coins for a good collector prize and the orc sold the weapons they did not need, they bought apartments in Oakbridge, all in the same, recently renovated tower. Viril was already living there, having been too lazy to pick a new place so he had rather suffered through the noise during the renovations. They bought the other 3 places on the floor so they could easily meet up and moved in in groups. Buying living space and furnishing them toom all of their coin, though. The two entertainers got themselves jobs in the Dragon Towers, with some help of old friends. It was not that easy for the others though. Luckily, Deniv managed to find a House Cannith operative from his branch of the family to give the schema to, and he got paid for it on top of all. On the bad side, he was told that this was not enough to ingratiate him with the House again, but he was assured he would be contacted if there was anything he could probably do for them and asked to check a certain messenger station weekly.
This, in turn, gave Tibunn the idea to post an add in the Sharn Informer that they were looking to do the "odd jobs of adventuring" and reroute the answers to the same messenger station. That way, they would not need to give away their identity or worse, hang around taverns a lot and waste their money on cheap drink there. The others agreed.
Settling in with each other proved to be somewhat difficult. Filbura, used to live with nature, felt particularly unhappy in the city but she made up for it by converting a whole glass covered balcony and the room it belonged to into some kind of greenhouse. Tjuja on the other hand converted one of the rooms to some strange kind of cave-like place with lots of smoke and candles and implements for fortune telling, then proceeded to place an add on her own to get a small business running. She was successful, too, because she was cheaper than most and more accurate. Lorraine turned a former storage room they did not need – after all, they had 4 storage rooms now – into a small training studio and proceeded to teach teenagers "the first steps of the battle dances" as she called it. She had an eye for those who could learn but didn't have enough oin to pay expensive teachers, or were shunned because of their ancestry. And she only asked what they could give, even if it meant some never paid and some paid later. She also got a guard job or two thanks to getting known in merchant circles for teaching their kids privately as well, which paid considerably more to begin with. Ahna, too, secured some bodyguard jobs, mostly for rich gnome brats with parents of her faith. But those jobs were only now and then, and she used the rest of her time to help Viril, Zolan and Quavin to research the Lord of Blades and collect news about him. They all strongly suspected they would have more run ins with him and his warforged.
Tibunn and Millayn sometimes vanished for a while and came back with a bit of coin, and while the paladin looked at this with a frown, she never said anything or tried to investigate. Deniv used his skill as an alchemist and artificer to do the ocassional work for the apothecary around the corner and a workshop he knew someone at. Mostly, he was reading up on his hobbies though, as regular work really bore him. Sometimes he also helped Feyan to run errands for the group and the two of them becamse close friends. Yuja befriended Filbura but otherwise found little to occupy her time with and so mostly kept herself busy with cleaning the apartments – and driving some of the others mad with her overly motherly behavior at times. Sometimes, things would behave weirdly in her presence, like a clock going backwards, or kitchenware breaking without anyone touching them. Waking up screaming in the night was a regular thing for her, but she didn't explain her nightmares.
So they waited for an adventurer job to come by, and as it happened, they had to wait a few weeks. Most people preferred to deal with respective parties to do their dirty work by finding them in taverns. They did not know this, but very often ads of this nature were only responded to if the party in question had already gained some fame or notoriety, or none of the people frequenting taverns wanted anything to do with the job.
How they got their next real work and how it changed their standing is a story for tomorrow. I'm old and need my bed now.
The audience parted respectfully as the storyteller got up shakily, leaning on an intricate staff. "Have a good night's rest," one of the serving women said as she watched the warforged help the geezer into a room on ground level.
