He's a Chain-Smoking Detective. He's a Robot on the Lam. Together, They Fight Crime!

[Pell-Mell]

A Note from the DM

A couple of things I wanted to mention. First, as always, I appreciate the comments. Thanks for the interest!

To help create a more dynamic game, beginning with Session 7, we started to use the Swashbuckling Cards by Scratch Factory. We use all of the cards, except for "The Only Way To Be Sure". These have really added to the game and I will try to point out notable uses of them in the storyhour.

In addition, we are using the Hot Pursuit: The Definitive d20 Guide to Chases (also by Scratch Factory) to cover car chases. The write-up below represents our first play with these rules and it went pretty well.

Lastly, at this point in the narrative, the characters are: Case Nine, Fighter 4; Dirk Chance, Rogue 4. NPCs are: Meepo, Sorcerer 3; Mere Bertik, Cleric 2/Fighter 1.

 

[Pell-Mell]

CASE FILE 001: THE CASE OF THE MISSING HOLYMAN
Session 7, Part 1: Blood on the Asphalt!

Dirk leaned back in the driver's seat, his face to the sky and blew smoke into the thick summer air. In the gathering twilight, the neon of the Paragon Fuel¹ sign sputtered to life high above and the first of the stars shimmered into view. His eyes slid to the side, finding his quarry: three townie girls loitering outside the fueling station, their skin pale under buzzing florescent lights. He locked eyes with the best looking of the bunch and nodded, the girl smiling and waving her friends to her side. They crowded in, giggling and casting furtive glances at the rogue in the convertible, and planned the next step in the endless dance. Events set in motion, Dirk took another drag on his cigarette, his thoughts wandering for a moment.

Life was good. It had been two days since they had left the ruins of the citadel and they had not run into any trouble on the road. The holy man they had been hired to find was in the trunk. As a bonus, whatever curse the Gulthias Tree had bestowed upon the paladin had rendered him more plant than human, his corpse giving little stink despite being several days old. Now sitting in the parking lot of a fueling station a day or so outside of Asheril, he was about to get his first hot meal in a long time, courtesy of the roadside grill that that had been grafted onto the side of the station. Looking back at the girls, Dirk decided that there was really no rush to get back to Asheril. Originally, he had wanted to return as quickly as possible, but now he was thinking they could at least spend the night in the crossroads town. The corpse in the trunk was certainly not going anywhere.

Dirk turned as the tinkle of bells announced the opening of the door to the diner. Case Nine, Mere, and Meepo made their way across the cracked and stained expanse of concrete, past the gleaming pumps, to the Orion '23. The priestess of Boccob tossed Dirk a hamburger wrapped in butcher paper and Meepo scampered up with a cold beer, its brown bottle devoid of any label. Mere gave the rogue a sour look, "I still don't see why we can't sit in the diner and eat like civilized people, rather than in the car like savages." Dirk smiled and took the beer, which he opened with a doodad on his key chain, "You know, I was just thinking the same thing." The rogue gave the kobold's head a friendly rub and took a swig of beer, "I was also thinking we could spend the night here, maybe find a motel or something. It is not like we are on the clock ..."

The rogue was interrupted by the rumble of engines. From around the corner came a Centaurus '10 and four motorcycles.² The Centaurus was painted a flat murderous black, its hood emblazed with an elongated white skull with a long, lightening bolt split in the jaw bone. Both the truck and cycles were driven by gnolls and the bed of the Centaurus held two more that shouted war cries and shook rifles and axes. They roared into the station and pulled up to the fuel pumps, the diner suddenly dark and the girls already gone. Over the exhaust fumes was the almost palpable stench of unwashed fur and devilweed smoke.³ The gnolls cut their engines and jumped from the truck and cycles, some jamming nozzles from the pumps into their vehicles and other starting toward the diner, barking in Pell-Mell, "Food! Food! or Kill and Burn!"

Dirk muttered, "God-damn it. CrackJaws!"⁴ He watched the gnoll gang in the rearview mirror and said in a low voice, "Get in the car slowly. They look wound up, but if they were going to burn this place, they would have done it already. Don't look at them." The others did so, but as the rogue watched, the scene in the mirror changed. One of the gnolls lifted his head into the air, then another followed, and then several more.⁵ Their noses quivered and they began to bark excitedly in their tongue, but one word was in Pell-Mell: "Bertik". At the mention of her name, the priestess reflexively turned toward the gnolls. One caught sight of the movement and pointed a claw at the Orion. Dirk cursed and shouted, "Hold on!" He floored it and the car flew out into the street, sparks flying as the rear bumper slammed into the curb.⁶

* * *​

Dirk glanced up from the highway and into the rearview mirror, the headlights of the CrackJaws growing closer. "I am pretty sure I can outrun the truck. The cycles I don't know about." They were barreling down the road, the top of the Orion down and the air screaming around them. Beyond the road was the great plains, endless seas of grass whipping by. Case Nine and Mere had their rifles out and Meepo stared back at the glaring headlights, a killing spell at the ready. Dirk himself already had his pistol in one hand, the other clamped in a death grip on the steering wheel.

With a roar, two of the cycles cut forward. Case Nine was ready and took a shot, but not at the rider. Aiming for a vulnerable part of the engine, he severed a belt and the motorcycle went wobbling off the road, throwing the driver into the high grass.⁷ The other rider came roaring up on the driver's side, an axe in one hand. Screaming a war cry, he brought up his weapon to strike Mere, who was behind the driver's seat. Still driving, Dirk leaned back and brought his pistol around, jamming it into the mouth of the gnoll. The rogue shouted, "Not today furball!" and pulled the trigger. The addled brain of the gnoll had just enough to register his doom and then they were blown out the back of his skull. The cycle slammed into the side of the Orion and then tumbled back, forcing the remaining CrackJaws to swerve around it.

The truck barreled forward now, closing the distance between it and the Orion '23. The gnolls in the bed of the truck and the one in the passenger's seat shot wildly, but hit little. As it came closer, Meepo released his spell, twin eye beams lancing into the driver of the Centaurus. However, it was not enough to kill the driver, who brought the truck side by side with the Orion. The CrackJaws in the back of the truck grabbed their axes and attempted to jump into the car, but Dirk swerved away at the last second. They ploughed into the asphalt headfirst and splattered on the road, their axes sending sparks flying as they skittered and bounced.

Dirk pulled the car back close to the truck, as Case Nine had drawn his mace. Undisturbed by the howling wind, the robot leaned out the side of the Orion and began to batter down the driver's side door. In the meantime, Meepo once more lanced the driver with eye-bolts and this time the driver slumped over the wheel. The Centaurus veered wildly as the CrackJaw in the passenger's seat struggled to keep the truck on the road. While this was happening, the other two cyclists appeared unable to keep up with the battle and lagged behind. Mere shot one of these two, sending his bike out of control and one more gnoll slamming into the road.

The gnoll in the truck gained control of the vehicle, but seemed to lose the will to fight. The CrackJaw disengaged and roared off, Dirk letting him go and hit the breaks, the last of the motorcycles roaring past. Coming to a stop, Dirk turned to Mere, "What the hell was that about?" The cleric put up her hands, "I don't know! I don't know!" Meepo cowered in the corner and whimpered. The rogue bellowed, "They knew exactly who you were! What are you hidi ... " Case Nine cut him off, "We can ask one of them. I disabled the motorcycle of one of them and I saw him crash in the grass. I suggest we go find him before he runs off." Dirk gunned it, the tires squealing as he turned the car around and headed toward town.

* * *​

The CrackJaw was indeed still alive, for when they went back, the gnoll took a shot at the Orion from far off the road. Having lost all patience, Dirk wheeled the car off the road and seemed hell-bent on running down the CrackJaw. The gnoll turned to flee, but tripped in the high grass. Case Nine immediately leapt from the vehicle and tackled the gnoll as he regained his footing. Dirk left the car running and Case Nine dragged the CrackJaw into the blinding headlights of the Orion.

Dirk got out of the car and pulled his pistol, leveling it at the gnoll's head. "Okay. So I was having a good day. And, I assure you, it was going to get better. But it has gone south pretty quick since you showed up. You speak Pell-Mell?" The gnoll squirmed and the rogue shoved the gun into his temple. The CrackJaw stared at Dirk, then nodded, "Yah. What ya want?" Dirk thumbed at Mere, "Why did you want with 'her?" The gnoll shrugged, "Old job. We look for her, but never find." Dirk glanced back at the priestess, then back to the CrackJaw, "What were you going to do with her if you found her?" The gnoll shrugged, "She worth money, but boss not tell us where we take her." Dirk asked, "Who wanted her found?" The CrackJaw shrugged, "You ask boss questions, he drives truck."

Dirk took the gun from the gnoll's temple, "Case put him down." The robot did and Dirk looked at the CrackJaw, "Get out of here. If I see you again, you're dead." Seeing no alternative, the gnoll fled into the darkness. In the background, Meepo quietly looted the disabled motorcycle, finding a few coins and the CrackJaw's stash of devilweed. The kobold handed over his findings to Dirk and the rogue put them in the glove compartment of the Orion. He then turned to Mere, about to say something. The cleric was ready, "I don't know how they got involved. My family would have been searching for me, but I know they would never have hired a gang. Maybe they caught wind of the situation and hoped to offer me up for ransom." Dirk rubbed his eyes, "We can talk about it later. Let's get out of here before more of them show up."

They pulled back onto the highway and burned into the night, the red of their tail-lights becoming pinpricks and then disappearing all together.


Notes:

¹ Paragon Fuel is an alchemic fuel manufacturing and distribution company now based in Asheril. The founding members of the company fled from the Protectorate during the tumultuous "Consolidation" many years ago. Their corporate logo is a mighty titan bearing a massive boulder upon his back.
² The Centaurus series is considered one of the most successful auto-cart designs of all time. Renown for its power, reliability and ease of maintenance, the series is well suited for a variety of tasks. The Centaurus '10 described here looks suspiciously like a 1948 Ford Pickup.
³ Devilweed is made from dried leaves of the wyssin plant. It is traditionally smoked to gain strength and courage, although users are typically nervous and paranoid. Devilweed products are illegal in Asheril, although widely used in some circles. The game mechanics for devilweed are described in the Book of Vile Darkness. Briefly, it provides a bonus to Strength, does Wisdom damage, and leaves the user Shaken.
⁴ The CrackJaws are a notorious gang of gnolls. They operate mainly in the mostly lawless areas in between the cities of Asheril and New Lud. They are a rather large group and routinely take part in highway robbery, hostage taking, and sometimes act as bounty hunters or hired thugs.
⁵ In the campaign setting, gnolls have scent.
⁶ The Drive skill has been added to the campaign. This allows the user to drive most general-purpose motor vehicles, such as cars and trucks. It was taken almost whole cloth from d20 Modern.
⁷ A creative use of the "Blooooooon-diiiiiiiie!" Swashbuckling Card.

 

[Pell-Mell]

CASE FILE 001: THE CASE OF THE MISSING HOLYMAN
Session 7, Part 2: Another Day, Another Dollar

**THUCK**

Dirk jumped, startled out of his catnap by the thing at the car window. It was a filthy mutant infant, mostly human except for the two thick tentacles in place of arms, the suckers puckering on the glass. The thing wailed as the child's mother screamed something incomprehensible, splattering the pane with spittle. She was a gaunt, sallow thing, her eyes wide and mad and teeth and mouth the blue of the sannish junkie.¹ Dirk instinctively recoiled and reached for the pistol under his jacket. The woman saw the butt of the gun and drew back in exaggerated horror, the mutie's suckers giving loud pops as they were ripped off the glass, and ran off still screaming. Dirk let his hand fall to the side and slumped back in the driver seat, "What the hell is taking so long?"

The Orion idled in a long line of cars, trucks, carts, and foot traffic outside the high concrete walls of the city of Asheril. Swarming between the stalled traffic were throngs of beggars, merchants hawking food and trinkets, whores plying their ancient trade, and no less than three crazies wearing cardboard placards scrawled with dense text, each foretelling a different but equally imminent apocalypse. The day was hot and humid, the air thick with alchemic exhaust and the stench of sweat and animal offal. Despite the heat, Dirk kept the windows up and the car was stifling hot and hazy with smoke. From the back seat, Mere mopped her forehead and leaned forward, "Can't we just go to another gate?" Meepo made a sleepy confirmatory sound. The rogue shook his head, "This is our best option. Martyr Gate is the loosest gate in town and I know people here. I really don't want to have explain the corpse and guns in the trunk. Capiche?" The cleric sunk back, too hot and wayworn to argue.

They waited for what seemed an eternity in the jam. Eventually they heard a ragged cry rise from ahead and traffic began to move. As they crept closer to the walls of Asheril, they saw the massive gate that lead into the city proper. A guard station warded the entrance, staffed by bored looking human police and several municipal ogres.² The police slowly went about checking papers and identification cards and occasionally inspecting the trunk of a car or the back of a horse-drawn cart. The ogres sat under a make-shift tarp to protect them from the vicious sun, their faces slack and eyes vacant; their souls long crushed by generations of careful breeding and training and extensive use of psychotropic drugs and charm spells. Dirk smirked as they got closer to gate. He could see Chuck. Looking back to the others, the rogue said, "I know this guy, he bribes easy. Just be quiet and stay cool."

Chuck was a man in his late thirties with receding, curly blond hair, a gut that rolled over his belt, and a big idiot grin permanently plastered across his face. Dirk cutoff a truck and edged the Orion '23 over to the lane where Chuck was checking the identification of a long-distance hauler. After clearing the trucker, he waved up the next car, his stupid smile growing even wider as recognized the red Orion. Dirk pulled up and rolled down the window, Chuck exclaiming, "Dirk Chance! Where the hell have you been?" The cop leaned into open window, looking around and not waiting for a response, "I see you are still with the robot. When are you going to get a real partner, eh?" His eyes roved to the back seat, "What do we have here? A beauty and subhuman. What's your name, darling?" Meepo was about to answer, when Mere put her hand on the kobold's knee to silence him and gave Chuck a strained smile.

Dirk drew the cop's attention back him to him with a question, "Hey man, what was the hold up earlier?" Chuck turned to the rogue, "Ah, some dumbass tanker trucker clipped a corner of the wall on the far side of the gate. Punched a hole in his tank and it started spraying some weird alchemical goop everywhere. HEX-Mat came in and cleaned it up, said it was non-toxic anyway."³ Dirk nodded, not particularly interested, "Anyway, I have my papers. Everything should be in order." The rogue handed him the papers and the cop rifled through them quickly until he found what he wanted: two crumpled p-notes.⁴ With expert grace, he pocketed the bills and said, "You got nothing in the trunk, right?" Dirk shook his head, "Nope, nothing at all." Chuck gave him back his identifications and made Dirk sign in some basic information for Mere and Meepo, which the rogue falsified with fake names and locations.

Chuck glanced at this and patted the side of the Orion, "Okay, you are good to go. Give me a call later, we can go out for a beer?" Dirk gave him a thumbs up. "Alright, get out of here. Welcome home."

* * *​

Although Asheril was considered a City of Man, it was by far the most cosmopolitan of them all. Among the throngs of humans were a multitude of non-human races that flourished behind the mighty walls of the city. Making their way through the crowded streets, the group saw many of them: gnoll thugs loitering on corners, flocks of kenku darting about, a gaggle of goblins selling their wares, enslaved ogres digging up a street.⁵ Dirk picked his way home carefully, avoiding several neighborhoods he knew were unsafe and several others because he was unsure of their current status, as he had been gone from the city for several months.

Dirk pulled onto his street, passing the buzzing neon sign of the Blue Dragon Bar, which barring riots or hurricanes, never closed. The buildings were typical of the neighborhood: densely packed row homes, most three stories tall, with shuttered windows and wrought iron balconies on the second and third floors. Many of the first floors held businesses and offices and the windows were covered with steel bars or chain-link fence overlays. They pulled in front of one such building where a battered sign read: Chance and Nine, Investigations. The offices of the duo were flanked by two businesses, on the left was a goblin run junk shop and on the right was the parlor of Moonbeam, a woman soothsayer, herbalist, and occasional midwife. Dirk pulled into an empty spot and cut the engine. Turning to the others, he gestured to the door, "This is it. Home sweet home."

Case Nine popped open the trunk and started to unpack what they could when he noted somebody was coming toward the car. The Lud-Man gestured at the approaching figure, "Dirk..." The thing was clearly dead, skin stretched taught over its nearly bald skull. Dressed in dirty overalls and pushing a broom, the undead gave a groan and lurched toward Dirk, its one good eye fixed on the rogue. Dirk fished around in his pockets, already knowing what was coming next. The zombie shambled up to Dirk, rasping out with some difficulty, "Hey Joe ... Got any smokes?" Dirk put a cigarette in the corpse's mouth and lit it up. He then put a half-full pack of Belkers in the front pocket of the corpse's overalls. The zombie croaked, "Thanks ... Joe." It then shuffled off, sweeping dirt into the street and occasionally picking up a piece of trash and putting it in a sack.

Dirk saluted the corpse and turned to the others, "His name used to be Dan Greene. Now it is just Shambling Dan. He was a maintenance guy and used to live down the street. He died about five years or so. Spontaneous reanimation."⁶ He shrugged, "The only thing he ever asks for is smokes. And for a corpse, he does a pretty good job of cleaning." He hitched his thumb toward the parlor of Moonbeam, "Our neighbor has the DNA License."⁷ He shouldered a bag that Case Nine gave him, "Anyway, let's get unpacked and inside. Mere and Meepo, we can get you some grub from the Blue Dragon. Case and I need to finish this business today." They did so, but as they left the office to give the body of Braford over to Brother Lusin, a gargoyle was waiting for them on the street.

"Mr. Chance and Mr. Nine, we have business to discuss." The stony creature hulked in the space between the door and car, rumbling the words. "The Watcher Guild has been quite patient with you. Our contract specified one month of guarding."⁸ Case Nine stepped forward, ready to engage, but Dirk pushed past him, his hands up in front of him, "Ma-Gog, our agency appreciates the patience. We will gladly pay the overage charges plus any additional costs deemed necessary. We wish to remain in the good graces of the Guild."

Ma-Gog twitched its tail and looked the two over with its dark alien eyes. "We accept your offer and you will remain in good standing with the Guild, Mr. Chance and Mr. Nine." The gargoyle seemed to relax slightly and told the duo of what happened to their property during their absence. In totality, there had been several break in attempts on the office with had been thwarted by the gargoyle and a new kenku gang had attempted to claim the street as its territory, but was rebuffed by the current kenku gang. Using some loot from the ruins, Dirk and Case paid their debt to the gargoyle, which then soared off into the sky.

* * *​

They made there way to Godstreet, where the tiny shine of the Cult of the Seven Lords of Light was located.⁹ Dirk pulled off the main street, making his way down a narrow side one. Parking in front of a small house with a hand-painted sign of the cult's symbol emblazoned on the front, they got out and began to head toward the door. The door of the shine opened and an older man, thin and spry, came down the front steps. "Oh, thank the Seven Lords you are safe! I thought I had sent you to your doom. It has been so long!" He shook each of their hands, "Did you find him? Oh, how I have prayed for this day."

Dirk looked away for a moment, than turned to the priest, "Brother Lusin, we found him. But I think we need to talk." The color drained from the cultist's face and he looked at the empty back seat of the Orion, "Yes, yes, of course. Come inside." At the dinner table, Dirk and Case Nine told the priest of all that had transpired in the distant ruins and what had become of the paladin. When they were done, Case Nine returned to car and carefully removed the corpse of Isaiah Braford from the trunk, bringing the body into the house. Brother Lusin, with a heavy heart, telephoned the other followers of his faith and told them of the paladin's death. One by one, the followers of the faith arrived at the chapel and it was well after dark when they all had assembled.

They buried the paladin in the small lot behind the shrine by candlelight. Case Nine dug the grave, as the cultists sung dirges. Soon, the paladin was laid to rest and Brother Lusin said the final prayer, the warforged filling in the grave. After the ceremony, the duo collected their fee and although the cultists offered them more for their troubles, they refused, taking only what they had originally agreed to. Their job done, Dirk and Case Nine said their good-byes and drove off into the night.

Notes:

¹ Sannish (also known as "Blue Heaven" or "Azure Dream") is a commonly abused narcotic in Asheril. While under the influence, users are euphoric and generally numbed to pain. In addition to being a powerful narcotic, sannish is a deep blue dye that easily stains anything it comes in contact with. As it usually suspended in various liquids to cover its bitter taste, the mouth and teeth of the sannish addict are usually blue. Sannish products are not regulated in Asheril. The game mechanics for sannish are described in the Book of Vile Darkness. Briefly, it makes the user immune to pain effects, does Wisdom damage, and leaves the user with a penalty to Initiative.
² Ogres were first brought to Asheril approximately three hundred years ago by the Neogi, a race of spider-like slavers. Native to a distant continent, only ogre males were brought at first. The rulers of Asheril, immediately seeing the potential of the dull-witted but strong ogre, secretly charged a group of adventurers to discover the homeland of the giants. The adventuring group did so, raiding and taking enough ogres to create a stable breeding pool in Asheril. The Neogi, enraged at being cheated out of what would have been a successful and lucrative deal, severed all relations with Asheril for over a hundred years.
³ A common term for the Department of Hazardous, Enchanted, and Exotic Materials.
⁴ A slang term for one of the dominations of paper money unique to Asheril. A p-note is roughly equivalent to a platinum piece.
⁵ For player characters, the only race available from the PHB is the human. The other races, such as elves and dwarves, are not native to the setting, although a few may have wandered in from alternative worlds, planes, or eras. The other playable player races are gnoll (modified to be a LA +0 race), goblin, kenku, and warforged. The game mechanics and a picture of the kenku can be found here.
⁶ Although rare, corpses in the setting sometimes undergo spontaneous reanimation. Unlike true zombies and skeletons, these undead return with some intelligence and memory of their prior life. It is not unusual for them to continue to repeat some activity they did in life, but given there limited intellect, they generally focus on one facet of it.
⁷ Department of Necromantic Affairs. The governmental department in Asheril whose charge it is to track, license, and collect fees for the ownership of mindless undead (most commonly skeletons and zombies). For a fee, this department will also supply corpses or bones for necromancy spells.
⁸ All gargoyles in the city of Asheril belong to the Watcher's Guild, a group that provides surveillance and security. They always make use of contracts that specifically describe the length, type, and extent of service. For a large fee, a gargoyle will defend the contract property to the death.
⁹ Godstreet is the common name for the temple district in Asheril.

 

[Hatchling Dragon]

So, what's next for our intrepid detective agency?

When are you going to start an online game so I have a chance to adventure in this world?

 

[Pell-Mell]

CASE FILE 002: THE CASE OF THE STOLEN KEY
Session 8, Part 1: ...And All This Before Breakfast

The street was already hot and the ancient sun was barely over the horizon, rays of golden-red light lancing through humid, smog-laden air. Dirk sat in the shadows near the second floor window of the offices of Case and Nine Investigations, his presence betrayed only by the glowing ember of his cigarette. The rogue watched the scene on the street below with detached interest. Across the way, Meldrop's Lock and Key, a locksmith shop, was being looted by a gang of filthy men, each holding a length of broken pipe or makeshift blade. He saw no gang signs or colors among them; they were probably unincorporated, the lowest order of scum.

Dirk took another drag off his cigarette and looked up and down the lane. Where were the RazorFeathers? The gang of kenku that Dirk and Case Nine, as well as the other businesses on the street, paid for protection were nowhere to be seen. In fact, except for the punks, the street was deserted. Even Shambling Dan had vanished, some instinct in the rotten brain of the zombie still providing a vestige of self-preservation. The rogue sighed and crushed out his smoke in the ashtray by the window, the cigarette crumpling on the belly of the bare-breasted succubus on the bottom of the tray, the words "CIBOLA AWAITS!" over her horned head.¹

Dirk got up and walked across the room, grabbing his leather jacket and taking his gun from the night table beside his disheveled bed. They would have to take care of it. If they didn't, the street would get a reputation as an easy target. The rogue made sure the gun was hidden beneath his jacket and hit the dimly lit panel of a box on the wall with the flat of his hand. The device crackled to life and Dirk whispered into it, "Case, we got some trouble up here. Meet me at the front door." The rogue looked back to the street and saw three more men emerge from the shadows of an alley and join their fellows in looting. "Bring your hammer." From his room in the basement, Case Nine responded, "Understood." The intercom went silent and the rogue grabbed his short sword before padding down the stairs into the first floor office.

* * *​

Case Nine was already at the door when Dirk came down, his greathammer in his hands, "I have seen the intruders through the window." The warforged continued, "Mere went to the temple of her god early this morning and Meepo went with her. They will not be able to join us." Dirk nodded, "Try not to kill any of the punks out there. More problems than it's worth." The robot agreed and seeing his friend was ready, the duo made their way to the street.

Dirk had hoped that the sight of the massive Case Nine would send the looters running. Instead the ones on the outside gave a hoarse cry and several of the dregs inside the shop spilled out onto the sidewalk. Dirk stood to one side of the warforged, his blade out and ready, and called to the men, "Now, we can do this the hard way or the easy wa ..." They did not let the rogue finish, instead they swarmed forward with club and knife. The robot was ready for this and blocked the way between them and Dirk. Then the heavy hammer of Case Nine swung and bodies began to fly in all directions. "The hard way it is then.", Dirk muttered and ducked as a thug was sent soaring over him and careened into a nearby parked car.

Knowing that the robot could handle the thugs on the outside, Dirk wove between a parked jalopy of indeterminate make and a late model Centaurus and made his way into Meldrop's shop. Passing by the door, he could see that it was still intact with no sign of forced entry. The inside of the shop was dark, but even in the gloom Dirk could see it was a disaster. The rogue flicked the light switch and a set of overhead fluorescents flickered on. A startled cry from the backroom of the shop drew Dirk's attention and the rogue darted toward it, his blade at the ready.

Dirk nearly collided with a thug coming forward from the backroom, but the rogue rolled to one side, dropping his blade. He hit the ground and swept out with a savage kick, undercutting the punk and sending him sprawling. Before the dreg could recover, Dirk was up and on him, slamming him into the floor, "What are you doing here? You're not any gang I know." The thug spat in Dirk's face and struggled to free himself. The rogue clenched the throat of the looter with one hand and pulled out his gun with the other. Dirk shoved it into the temple of the man, whose eyes were now wide with terror and he went still. "Okay, let's try this again. What are you doing here?"

"Irontusk said the door would be open. Said we could have anything in the shop and the birds would be gone."² Dirk growled, "Who is Irontusk?" The man moaned, realizing he had given out more information than he intended, but Dirk drilled the barrel of the gun into the thug's head until he responded, "Indie. Gnoll. Works out of Barge End. Said he only needed one thing in here, the rest was ours."³ The rogue pondered for a second, "What did Irontusk want?" The man's eyes rolled in anguish, his voice rising in pitch, "How the hell should I know? C'mon man, the cops are going to be here soon!"

Before Dirk could respond, Case Nine answered from the backroom doorway, "They have already arrived." Both Dirk and the thug cursed.

* * *​

The scene outside was bad. The street was littered with broken men, miraculously all of them still breathing, and the gutters ran red with spilt blood. No less than two squads of police had responded, their rifles out and trained on the front of the locksmith shop. Commanding them was their sergeant, who rode high upon a horse and whose face was hidden behind a featureless mask of brown alchemic resin attached to his helmet. Behind them, lumbering up the street, was a Breaker and its keeper.⁴ The sergeant called out, his voice amplified by sorcery or electronics, "Everyone out! You will not be asked twice."

With the looter pushed out first by Case Nine, Dirk and the warforged exited the shop with their hands up and empty. Dirk glanced down the street and saw the Breaker, which by now, was up to the line of cops. Somebody must have called in their was a robot involved. No Scanners or Sniffers, though.^5,6 At least there was that.

The duo and the looter were commanded to their knees, handcuffed, and roughly searched. The police found no weapons on any of them, for they had dropped their melee weapons inside the store and Dirk had hastily hidden his pistol when Case Nine dragged the thug out to face the authorities. Without a Sniffer, the rogue was confident that it would not be found. As Dirk was frisked, he told the cop that the ownership papers for Case Nine and licenses for their sword and greathammer were in his wallet. These were shown to the police sergeant, who by this time had dismounted, and briefly examined them before waving them away. A squad of the police entered the locksmith's shop and quickly determined it was empty, sounding an all-clear.

The police interrogation was brief. Dirk succinctly explained what had happened and the looter, knowing he was doomed, tried to drag the rogue down with him. He told the sergeant about Dirk's pistol, as private ownership of guns is illegal in the city, but the cop had heard enough and cut the thug off. The sergeant turned to one side and made a clicking sound. Then he was quietly talking to someone else, his helmet transmitting his message to elsewhere in the city. In short order, a black Cetus marked with the insignia of the police rolled up the still quiet street.⁷ Dour-faced men in simple dark uniforms disembarked and swung the rear doors open, unceremoniously loading the wounded thugs into the cavernous interior. The last thug was marched into the truck at gun point, the doors secured, and the Cetus rumbled off, its contents bound for the prison farms or necrocycling.⁸

Case Nine and Dirk were released from the handcuffs and the police sergeant mounted his steed. His voice flat from the modulation of his helm, he asked, "Where is the proprietor of this shop?" Dirk rubbed his wrists and shrugged, "He keeps odd hours...Wait, here he comes." From around the corner at the end of the street, came the locksmith Theldrat Meldrop. He was a large man with pale skin and a great mustache of which he was particularly proud. And this morning, he did not look well, staggering and obviously hung-over. The police sergeant's voice was suddenly huge, "Meldrop. I wish to speak with you." At the sound of his name, Theldrat looked up in surprise, his eyes growing wide as he saw the police, the rogue, and the robot. He lurched forward and half-ran down the street. When he saw the condition of his shop, both his hands went to his head, pulling on his hair and he gave a groan.

The events of the morning were relayed to the locksmith, who grew paler with every word. At the end, he managed to croak out a single question in a small voice, "Do you know what they got away with?" The sergeant made a negative sign and instructed him on the procedures for reporting what had been stolen, once he had time to sort it out. And with that, the police departed and Meldrop darted into his shop once they were out of view. He began to ransack the place, babbling to himself. Case Nine and Dirk exchanged a look and they both entered the shop, the robot retrieving their weapons and the rogue speaking to the locksmith, "Theldrat, what are you looking for?" The locksmith turned in surprise, a look of total despair on his face and tears rolling freely down his fat cheeks. "They took it ... my father's key! ... It was a ... family heirloom!" He described the jeweled key in loving detail, only pausing to wipe his nose on the back of his sleeve.

Dirk listened patiently and then explained that he had questioned one of the thugs before the cops showed up. The rogue then smirked, "I think we already have a lead." Theldrat sprung to his feet with surprising speed and put his meaty hands on Dirk's shoulders, "You do? Then you must find it for me! I will pay anything!" Dirk looked over to Case Nine, who nodded, and said, "We will take the case. Should be an easy job."


Notes:

¹ Cibola is a pseudo-city-state to the distant west. Technically part of the Western Kingdoms that lie along the western coast of the Continent, it is a wealthy desert city rumored to be controlled by demons. The city is widely known for its many bars, gambling dens and brothels. It is said that no vice is too dark or vile to be satisfied by the city.
² Birds is a common slang term for kenku in Asheril.
³ Barge End is a small, dangerous dock district in the city.
⁴ Breakers are specially bred and indoctrinated ogres. They are used by the Asheril police for destroying heavily armored targets or gaining entry into reinforced structures or vehicles. When in the field, all Breakers wear heavy armor (usually full-plate) and are armed with a massive greathammer. As the climate of Asheril is far too hot to practically wear this degree of armor routinely, all Breakers are protected by an endure elements spell when deployed.
⁵ Scanners is slang for low-level spellcasters among the police force who routinely make use of detect magic to scan for spell use or magic items among the general populace. Faint auras are usually ignored, but stronger auras may draw the attention of the force.
⁶ Sniffers is slang for worgs that are in the employ of the police. These wolf-like creatures have adapted well to the urban environment and use their exquisite sense of smell to track down suspects and find hidden caches of alchemics and drugs. Worgs are notorious fickle, ill-tempered and self-serving. They are almost impossible to bribe, making them greatly feared.
⁷ The Cetus is a large van-like vehicle used primary for personnel transport.
⁸ For criminals for which the city can not find a use for or are too feeble, the most common fate is execution and delivery to the Department of Necromantic Affairs for eventual reanimation. This process is called necrocycling.

 

[Ethalias]

Just thought I'd add my two cents and say I'm hooked! Love the whole vibe of your game, and you write it well. I look forward to your next post

 

[Peterson]

I would pay for this setting. With real money, no less.

Peterson

 

[jezter6]

I would pay Peterson for this setting. With real money.

 

[Pell-Mell]

CASE FILE 002: THE CASE OF THE STOLEN KEY
Session 8, Part 2: He Can't Swim, But He Can Float

Case Nine strode through the crowd, the people instinctively parting before the massive robot. Dirk followed, scanning the busy docks for their quarry. The sun was at its zenith by the time they had reached the docks and the day was sweltering.

It had taken Dirk longer than he had wanted to get some information on Irontusk after prying the name from the thug in the locksmith's shop. The first few contacts the rogue had reached out to either could not be found or refused to answer. In the end, they had got what they needed from a junkie wizard named Walter Gant. Walt was a talented wizard with a knack for enchanting all manner of items, from weapons to custom charms and wards. He was also a Dreamer¹ and worked fast and cheap to support his habit.

When the duo had arrived at the wizard's back-alley workshop, their hailing had received no answer at first. Then there was a warbling, plaintive screech from beyond the door. Dirk looked at Case Nine, "It's his familiar. He never goes anywhere without it." He glanced back at the workshop door, "I got a bad feeling about this." The rogue quickly inspected the door and determined it was barred from the inside, as he picked the lock with ease and still the door did not open. Dirk then looked up and down the alley and nodded at Case Nine, who kicked in the door with a single blow.

From the darken workroom shot a thin cat the color of smog, its tail swooshing in agitation. It passed back and forth from door to alley and yowled. Dirk looked down, "Lead us to Walt." The familiar shot into the darkness and the duo followed. They found him on the floor of his filthy bathroom, wrapped around the toilet, naked but for a pair of stained boxers. Dirk dropped to his knees and put his hand near his mouth, "Still breathing! Let's get him up." The robot bought the junkie upright as Dirk gave him a gentle slap to bring him around. The wizard's eyes shot open and he tried to jerk free from the warforged, croaking something unintelligible. Case Nine clamped down on Walt and turned to Dirk, "Get him what he needs. He is useless until then. I will make sure he goes nowhere." The rogue got to his feet, considered, and then was off to score for the wizard.

Dirk had a hard go of it, as the dealers were wary of the unfamiliar rogue and he was unfamiliar with the scene. Eventually, he managed to get what he needed: several packets of dreammist power enveloped in precisely folded g-notes.² When Dirk returned to the wizard's workshop, he found that Case Nine had done more than just kept Walt put: he was washed up and sitting forlornly at a battered table eating a bowl of soup. Walt looked with excitement when Dirk walked into the shop and the rogue tossed the packets of drugs on the table. Walter grabbed them greedily and started to get up, when the hand of Case Nine held him down, "Do what you need then return. We have questions for you." And then the wizard was off to the small kitchenette, his familiar creeping from a shadow to lap at the abandoned soup.

Walter returned a new man, his pace languid and easy. He dropped into his chair, put out his hands and looked at his visitors, "Dirk and Case, you are so beautiful! I owe you so much..." Then his eyes went wide as something on an unseen vista caught his attention, "I see ... I see the white domes of Xanadu shimmering in the heat of the high season!" Dirk snapped his fingers in front of the dreaming wizard, "Whoa, before you go off too far, we have some questions." The wizard refocused on Dirk, "Of course! But if only you could see what I see!"

The questioning was frustrating, for the wizard often drifted, but the duo got what they needed: Irontusk was truly a freelancer and was unaffiliated with any gangs. He was a brute of a gnoll and had earned his moniker after he had lost most of one of his fangs in a fight with the minotaurs at the Mall.^3,4 He worked mostly in thievery and fencing, but sometimes as hired muscle. He was rumored to have a terrible temper and a love of gambling. Walt knew all this as he had done some work for Irontusk and enchanted a blade of his, but the wizard had heard that the gnoll had lost it in a game of cards. After the duo had the information they required, they left the wizard to his exquisite hell and made their way down to Barge End.

And now, as they passed yet another set of cramped boats, a glint of reflected light caught Dirk's eye. Out on the deck of a docked boat, a massive gnoll paused in his work of moving crates, sweaty fur plastered to his skin. The gnoll yawned and revealed a steel fang that glittered in the hot sun. Dirk reached out to Case Nine, who stopped and looked where the rogue quietly told him.

Then there was a shrill whistle and the chase was on.

* * *​

There had been a look out, although neither Dirk nor Case Nine had spotted her. The goblin woman had seen the duo though and had dropped her knife and the fish she was gutting to jam her index fingers into her mouth. She gave a single, loud whistle and then was gone, scrambling off the boat she was working in and darting between two ancient warehouses. As the alarm sounded, Irontusk jerked to face land, his hand flying to shade his eyes from the brutal sun. And then he too was in motion.

Dirk cursed, "Damnit, he's fast!" The duo ran down a long dock, watching the gnoll leap deftly from boat to boat. Irontusk moved quickly away, but seemed to make no movement toward land. As Dirk watched, he saw Irontusk pause for a moment and look down a row of docked boats and the rogue knew where the gnoll was going. Dirk pointed at a small boat with an outboard engine, "He heading for that!"

Case Nine need no further instructions and started after the gnoll, but as he jumped from the dock to a nearby boat, the deck gave under the weight of the robot as he landed. He shot through the ship and plunged into the filthy water below. The warforged emerged further along, clambering up the side of a ship, and was attacked by three guard dogs as he crawled over the edge. Paying the dogs no heed, he pushed through them as they growled and bit at him, but their fangs were nothing to this armor. The Lud-Man strode across the deck of the ship and leapt off once again in pursuit of the gnoll, this time landing on small barge. Once more, the heavy robot crashed through the deck into the water, but this time he did not emerge.

In the meantime, Dirk was making his own way across the crowded docks. Leaping from ship to ship, he was having an easier time than the robot, but his path was no less treacherous. He slipped across decks slimy with rank fish guts, ducked under a glob of sticky webbing spat out by a caged giant spider, and dodged a swipe of a broken bottle wielded by the angry, drunken captain of one of the ships he dashed across. But he was catching up with the gnoll, who had to stop once to extricate his leg from a tangle of fishing nets.

Seeing the swift rogue was catching up with him, Irontusk paused as he jumped onto a wooden fishing boat, one of the last ships in a chain leading to his escape boat. Kicking over a rusting steel barrel, the gnoll hastily spilled the contents out onto the deck; the smell of kerosene rose into the hot summer air. With a fanged smile, the gnoll took out a lighter, flicked it alight, and tossed it at the spilt fuel. There was a whoosh and the gnoll staggered back, smoldering slightly as he was too close to his work, and ran off toward his escape boat. Behind him, the fishing boat began to burn with great vigor.

Dirk came up to the burning boat and spat out a curse. Through the flames, he could see that Irontusk was already on his little boat and was pulling the cord to start the motor. Where the hell was Case Nine? Seeing no other way to get to the gnoll, the rogue pulled his leather jacket over his face and dove into the flames, darting and rolling across the smoldering deck. He emerged on the other side, singed but unharmed. But now he heard the motor of Irontusk's boat roar to life and the gnoll started to pull out into the open water. Springing to his feet, he charged forward and made a long jump across the water and landed in the escape boat, the gnoll clearly surprised. Moving back, the gnoll pulled a long knife from his belt and growled, "I don't know who you are, but I'm going to gut you ... "

Suddenly the little boat lurched as a large metal hand shot from the water and grabbed on the side, threatening to capsize it. Dirk was already in motion, grabbing a wrench from the floor of the boat in both hands and smashing it into the side of the head of the distracted gnoll. There was a horrible, flat crack as Irontusk staggered back, screaming in pain. The gnoll tripped and fell as Case Nine pulled himself into the boat, the robot moving to secure Irontusk before he could get to his feet. Dirk maneuvered the boat back into the docks, although not exactly where they had come from, for the ship next to the one Irontusk had torched had caught fire and somewhere in the city, a siren had began to blare.

* * *​

Irontusk choked and foamed at the mouth, eyes ablaze with fury and hatred as he writhed under the steel grip of Case Nine.

The warforged had the gnoll pinned to a moldering brick wall of a warehouse in a narrow, gloomy alley. Dirk looked up from counting a fold of filthy g-notes he had taken from Irontusk, putting them in his own wallet. "Now, are you going to calm down? We don't have a lot of time and I don't think any of us want to be around to explain the boat fire." Echoing weirdly down the alley, the summer air was filled with the sounds of sirens and shouts. The gnoll growled once more, but stopped struggling, "What do you want?" The rogue nodded, "Much more reasonable. You did a job this morning. You took a jeweled key from our client. We want it back."

The gnoll snorted and spat, "Too late, human! I sold it this morning!" Dirk put one hand to his temples, "This was supposed to be easy. Who did you sell it to?" Irontusk spat at Dirk, "Screw you. Find out yourse ..." Case Nine clenched down on the gnoll's throat. Dirk shook his head, "Case Nine, do you mind taking him down to the docks? I am certain there are plenty of people who would like to have a word him." The warforged grabbed the gnoll and began to drag him down the alley, when Irontusk relented, "I'll tell you! But you have to let me go." Case Nine stopped and pulled the gnoll to his feet, Dirk giving Irontusk a thumbs up, "Deal. Now talk."

The gnoll brushed himself off, "I was contracted out by a gang called the Green Daggers. You ever heard of them?" The rogue made a negative sign and Irontusk continued, "Me neither, but they were paying good money for that key. They said they were too busy with other things, but they were lying." Dirk raised his eyebrows and made a gesture for the gnoll to continue, "They looked and smelled sick. Too sick to get this job done, but they wanted this key bad, so they hired me." Dirk leaned against the wall, "What did they want it for?" The gnoll shrugged, "Who knows." Dirk sighed, "Alright. Last question, then you vanish. Where does this gang hole up?" Irontusk grunted, "You already have their address. Check in the bills you just stole from me. I wrote it on one." And sure enough, when Dirk checked the g-notes, he found one that had a street address written in block lettering. The rogue took this bill, folded it, and put it the front pocket of his jacket.

The interrogation over, Case Nine shoved Irontusk down the alley. The gnoll glanced back once, eyes filled with hatred, and then was around the corner and gone. The duo waited a moment, then they too moved out, picking their way through alleys and backstreets to where they had parked the Orion '23. Then they too were gone.


Notes:

¹ A Dreamer is a slang term for a mordayn vapor addict. Mordayn vapor (commonly known as "Dreammist") is a powerful hallucinogen. While under the influence, the user experiences visions of exquisite beauty. It is an extremely potent drug and the user generally seeps a small amount of the drug powder in a tea, inhaling only the fumes. Ingestion of the raw powder or tea itself is almost always fatal. Mordayn products are illegal in Asheril. The game mechanics for mordayn vapor are described in the Book of Vile Darkness. Briefly, it makes the user experiences visions of beauty and does Constitution and Wisdom damage. Once the drug has worn off, the user immediately seeks out more.
² A slang term for one of the dominations of paper money unique to Asheril. A g-note is roughly equivalent to a gold piece.
³ Minotaurs are a race of artificial, near-human creatures created by an unknown elder culture of man. Their original purpose has been lost to time. In Asheril, they primary serve as guards of the Mall (see below), where their inability to get lost serves them well. There are no female minotaurs, rather the race procreates using human women and the resulting child is always a minotaur.
⁴ The Mall is a sprawling, partially enclosed shopping district in Asheril. It covers multiple city blocks, is many stories high in some places, and is rumored to even spread into other planes of existence at points. In the maze-like interior of the Mall, there is nothing one cannot buy or sell, legal or otherwise.

 

[demiurge1138]

Nice! I adapted the same adventure to my Eberron game - that chase is a good one!

Demiurge out.