When last we left the crew of the “Barrel and Hammer” they had just acquired an ancient schema from an ancient and nearly forgotten House Cannith forge for their beautiful but mysterious patron, Lady Elaydren d’Cannith. In the process, we learn that Hamilcar’s bodyguard, Bolgor, is actually a Warforged wearing an arcane glamour that facimilates (I may have made that word up) human skin, (and, oh yeah, did we mention that he’s the little brother of the Lord of Blades? Yeah. That happened too.)

In the weeks that have passed since their successful quest, they have been running their mildly popular tavern, employing the halflings they defeated in the Rat’s Market and enlisting their leader, Rory, as head of security.  They have also made many trips to the House Sivis message station, seeking word from lady Elaydren. As of yet, there has been none, and they, each time, return disappointed.

Part 1: Sharn

- The Message Station

It’s another rainy day in the City of Towers, the thunder rolls in the distance and the rain cascades steadily. As our friends approach the message station expecting more disappointment, they notice that the door to the small structure is hung open at an odd angle. As the lightning flashes, they are able to see one of the door’s hinges has been forcefully removed from the frame.

Bolgor turns his head quickly as he hears a groan coming from the station. “Guys…there’s someone still in there.” He draws his sword, the rest of the party following his lead and drawing their own as well. Hamilcar stops for a moment and closes his eyes, mind scanning the building for life.

“There’s no one else in there, just the one and she’s barely conscious.”

The group, still weary, enter the message station, clearly in disarray. “Well, this place has certainly had itself a thorough ransacking.” Vit remarks, scanning the room and gingerly stepping around the broken objects littering the floor. As he steps behind the counter, he spots the Gnome clerk, lying atop a spilled shelf of scrolls and parchment sheets. She moans as he rests his hand on her head. “Blow to the head. Knocked out.” He mutters, then looks over his shoulder. “Harjonger. We got a Gnome down, lad.”

The Paladin, is there in seconds, kneeling , with Vit, beside the Gnome. He places a hand on her head and mutters softly. “Th’ light of Nesumnee restore ye.” There is a soft glow and a low hum that thrums the air around them and then fades.

The Gnome’s eyes flutter open and she jolts to her feet. “The Messages!” She cries out. “I have to check the messages!” She bounds around the shop, opening and closing drawers and checking shelves and hidden compartments as well.

Othello, still checking the shop, spots a scattering of rounded sling stones, and a set of footprints made in ink. He growls low in his throat. “Kobolds!”

Bolgor finds another ink-made footprint, something erupts in his mind and an image of a warforged in a red cloak appears and is, just as suddenly, gone. “A Warforged was here as well.” He sighs, then looks as his own hand, covered in the arcane glamour that creates the appearance of human flesh. Vit and Horjongr nod and sit the Gnome clerk down,

“Can you tell us what happened here?” Vit asks as Horjongr gestures for Bolgor to keep an eye on the door.

The Gnome rubs her head gingerly as she looks them over, finally recognizing the group. “I…I know you folk! Sure, you’re in here every couple of days. Well, I was minding my own business, you know, tending the shop and all, when a group of about four…no, six Kobolds charged in and just attacked me here. They pinned me to the counter and the others started to go through my things here. Oh, look at the mess they’ve made!” She cries, tears welling in her eyes.

“It’s alright lass, they’re gone now. Tell us what happened next.” Horjongr urged.

The clerk nods. “Well, that’s when a large man, I couldn’t see him well, but he seemed about human-size, he comes in with a deep and rumbling voice. He belted orders at the Kobolds and they followed him without question. Goodness, they all but yelped in fear when he spoke to them. He was asking for…oh, dear.” Her face pales a little and her look becomes apologetic. “He was looking for any messages that were addressed to you.” She gestured to Horjongr and to Othello as well. “It was the most amazing coincidence, that I had just transcribed a message for you from the speaking stone.”

Othello joins the trio on the floor and they all exchange looks, Hamilcar stands with Bolgor, a hand on his shoulder, as they keep watch. “What then, Miss?” Othello asks, his knuckles cracking as his fingers formed a fist.

The Clerk shrugged. “I must have looked at the scroll I was holding, because the next second he snatched the scroll with one hand and then hit me with the other.” She gingerly rubbed her head on the spot where she had been struck. “That’s the last thing I remember.”

Horjongr took a deep breath, his brow furrowing. “Do ye remember what th’ message said?”

Othello places a hand on the Dwarf’s shoulder. “It’s of no use, man. Sivas clerks are trained to transcribe and then forget.” He holsters his gun, giving the clerk a warm smile. “That about right?”

The clerk nods, but suddenly her face becomes a bit brighter. “Oh, but I can remember who the message was from. It was the Lady Elaydren d’Cannith.”

———————————————————————–

 - A Call for Help

The heroes leave the message station, having adequately compensated the Gnome clerk for her trouble and misfortune. Harjongr finds the nearest City Watch guard and gives him some coin to send a detail over to the station to secure and defend it.

As the group make their way into the rainy streets and towards their tavern, a blur of feathers rockets out of the cloud-filled sky. As it circled the group once, Othello recognizes the animal.

“What the?” He exclaims, nearly bumping into Bolgor. “It’s a giant owl…”

Before he can finish, the owl drops the satchel it carries in it’s talons and then streaks off into the air.

Hamilcar, uses his powers to catch the satchel in mid air and sends it to Harjongr, who opens it to find a scroll inside. he reads:

Adventurers,

The normal means of communication seems to have been compromised, so I have sent this special messenger to personally find you and deliver this letter.

You served me once before, and now I need your help again. Time is short. I feel that our enemies have discovered me and are closing in.

Meet me at the Broken Anvil tavern, where we first discussed heirlooms and job opportunities. Act quickly, for I believe that we are all in terrible danger.

Your Patron,

Lady E.

It is Vit who speaks now, “I think it’s safe to say that we shouldn’t waste any time. Let’s go!”

The five arrive at the Broken Anvil shortly after, noticing that the tavern is strangely empty, save for a women in a worn brown cloak. She raises her hand as the group enters, causing it to glow with white fire as if ready to cast a spell, then causes the fire to die. She pulls back her hood and, despite her disheveled hair and the dirt covering her face, she is no less recognizable as the Lady Elaydren.

Rosie, the innkeeper, runs from the kitchen to check on the noise, but is waved away by Elaydren. As she walks back into the kitchen, she spots Othello and gives him a warm smile before darting behind the door.

“Quickly, Quickly!” Elaydren calls out to them in a strained voice, beckoning the group to her. Vit And Harjongr motion for Hamilcar and Bolgor to keep watch on the door. The two nod their consent and move to the main floor with weapons drawn. The remaining three approach Elaydren, Vit keeping a wary eye about them.

Vit speaks first. “My lady, are you alright?”

“Thank Olladra that you’re here. There is no time to waste.” Elaydren exclaims, lifting a leather backpack from the floor and placing it on the table. It looks very nearly empty, but she draws the trio’s attention back to her. “Look, there is no time to explain.” Her eyes are full of fear, darting from the group to the door and windows and then back again. “Instructions, gold, and supplies are all in the pack. Take it and go, quickly. The letter in the left-hand pocket explains everything, but you must go now! You must trust me, if you are able to accomplish this task, the reward will be vast.”

As if on cue, the windows all burst and the front doorway is thrown open. Six small figures leap in through the broken windows of the tavern.

“KOBOLDS!” Othello shouts, drawing his gun and focusing his powers into his weapon.

As he does, a seventh figure, much larger and broader in size, and wearing a dark hooded cloak. He carried a large gun upon his arm, which he aimed and fired immediately…at Lady Elaydren.

The bullet strikes her in the shoulder, and she ducks behind the table in searing pain. She immediately casts a curative spell on her self and then launches a lightning bolt at the hooded figure, striking him in the face and burning the hood away from him.

It is Bolgor who recognizes him first. A series of memories flooding into his mind:

 - he stands before a group of warforged, untested, untried in battle. It is his job to train then, to make them ready for the days and nights of bloodshed that are sure to come. They must fight and fight well to honor the house that created them all. Bolgor will make certain of this. Cutter, the youngest of his brothers stands with the group, as well as … -

“Cutlass!” Bolgor almost hisses, drawing his weapon.

The Gun-armed warforged looks at the Glamoured warforged and laughs. It is a disturbing laugh that comes from his un-moving mouthpiece. “Well, brother, I did hear that you had taken in with some weak-fleshed errand boys. I did not take you for a flesh lover, but I suppose much has changed.”

“Odd.” Bolgor spoke now as Hamilcar moved forward to help his friend. “I always thought you were impressionable. Now you’re a Zealot for a mad, bloodthirsty warforged.” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop himself, memories still flooding his mind. “Can’t say that I’m that surprised, little brother.”

Cutlass’s eyes glow bright red with anger at the jibe and he launches himself into an attack. Bolgor, with the help of his friends, make short work of the Warforged and a couple of the Kobolds as well. Harjongr pauses once Cutlass is felled to speak to the remaining Kobolds.

“Ye’ were obviously under the forced employ of th’ warforged here. If ye’ continue in this way, we’ll be forced to destroy ye’!”

The remaining Kobolds look at each other nervously, and then break out into a run and flee the tavern.

Elaydren moves from behind the table, grabbing a sword from one of the fallen Kobold bodies. “More of these assassins may show up at any moment, my friends. All of the information you need is in the left pocket of the backpack. Take it and go! Get out of the city as quickly as you can!” without hesitation, Elaydren darts out of the tavern and disappears into an alleyway.

Vit takes a hold of the backpack and opens the left pocket, drawing forth a folded up letter. He opens it and reads it aloud to the group:

My friends,

The object you recovered for me from the ruins beneath Sharn is a schema, a piece of a pattern used to create items both mundane and magical. I have learned that another schema connected to this pattern was being studies in a secret Cannith workshop in Cyre, called Whitehearth. I wonder if this research is tied to the Day of Mourning?

Parts of my own house seek this pattern for evil purposes and I do not know whom to trust. So I turn to you. I need you to travel to Cyre, find the workshop, and recover the second schema.

The location of the workshop was a closely guarded secret lost when the patriarch of House Cannith died in the Destruction of Cyre. you must travel to the House Cannith outpost in the town of Rose Quarry in Darguun to recover a record of all of Cannith’s hidden workshops.

In Rhukaan Draal, find a man named Failin in the Bloody Market. He can provide you with transport to Rose Quarry. From there, travel into the Mournland to find Whitehearth and the second schema. It is an admantine plate in the shape of a diamond, about the size of a human’s palm. Once you have retrieved it, return to Rhukaan Draal, where I will meet you. Succeed and I will see to it that you are well rewarded for your courage.

Lady E.

Vit places the letter back into the pocket and them opens the remaining pockets for his comrades to inspect.

Impressed by all of the equipment, Bolgor takes a step back. “Well, she certainly seems to have thought of everything.”

Harjongr looks curiously at the vials of holy water. “S’pect we’ll be encounterin’ some nasty black magic as well.”

“Well I take it we should likely figure out how we’re going to get ourselves to Darguun, and quickly. For all we know, the assassins could already be on to what we’re doing.” Hamilcar suggested, leaning back against a table.

The party, all in agreement, take to the task of researching their travel options.

Air travel, as it turns out, is out of the question. There doesn’t seem to be any Airships, Privateer or otherwise, that can make the trip to the Goblin nation right now.

So their Choices come down to the House Lyrandar galleon and the House Orien land travel by Lightning rail.

Noting that the land travel will take them much longer than any of them would like, the group agrees to the option of Sea Travel by House Lyrandar Galleon, and make plans to depart Sharn immediately.

Part Two: Darguun

The group boards the Galleon at the ports located at the base of the Sharn cliffs. When it departs, it travels from the Hilt and into the Straits of Shargon, staying close to the southern coast as it moves from Brelish to Zilargo waters, eventually turning north into Kraken Bay. From there the elemental-powered vessel enters the Ghaal River for the final leg of the Journey to Rhukaan Draal.

The Ship is run by a half elf crew, tending to the party, a dozen traders, and diplomats. Many of these travelers disembark  when the ship briefly stops in Korranberg, the rest are scheduled to go to the goblinoid nation’s capital.

It’s the third night of the voyage and the ship has entered the Kraken Bay. The Party sit in a cabin playing a game of Three Dragon Ante. The night is warm and quiet, and the trio of moons in the sky reflect a ghostly light onto the water.

There is a scratching sound along the side of the ship and cabin.

“Did anyone hear that?” Othello asks, slightly unnerved.

Vit looks up briefly from his hand. “Probably just a rat.” He yawns. “Don’t get your underoos in a bunch, human.”

There is more scratching, and a loud thump, followed by several more.

Othello rises, his hand on his gun. “Sounds like a big damned Rat, to me.” He slides the gun from its holster. “And several of its closest friends.”

The rest of the party follow suit and open the doors to the deck. As they do, they are able to see a group of animated skeletons climbing over the side of the vessel and onto the deck floor.

The group is lead by a rather flamboyant looking skeleton, who seems to be the only one among them with the ability to speak. (Think of Bootsy Collins as an undead skeleton and you get the picture)

The Skeleton Captain points to the party. “Oh yeah, baby!! Kill those fleshy bastards for daddy! OW!”

Vit gives the Skeleton Captain a look of exasperation. “You really can’t be serious.”

Four of the half elf crew arrive on the deck soon afterwards, witnessing the start of the battle. They all raise their swords as they run in to join the fray and defend the ship. “For Honor!”

It is a long and rather silly battle, as the Skeleton Captain taunts them in a rather colorful manner. But the Skeletons, including Bootsy, are defeated and thrust overboard and into the dark waters.

“Any idea where those things came from?” Hamilcar asks, panting heavily.

The party and crew all shake their heads, equally confused.

Horjongr stands apart from the rest of the group breathing heavily, a darkness overtaking his eyes. Vit and Bolgor are the first to see the vines of shadow writhing across his body.

“Mercy of the Goddess!” Vit calls out as he quickly moves over to his Shield Brother. “You’ve been using that mark again, haven’t you?

Horjongr grit his teeth, trying to remain in control.

Bolgor gave a look of confusion. “Mark? What mark?”

“My brother and I are both Dragonmarked.” Vit began “But not with a normal mark, these marks are twisted and often tinged with dark consequence. His mark calls upon his own inner darkness to give him power and to heal others.” He looks gravely at the warforged. “But it comes with a price, lad. Every time he uses that mark, which I have warned him against time and time again, the darkness takes more of him over. He needs rest to be rid of the effects, but he is always worse for wear.”

Horjongr could only grunt, the vines of shadow moving about him.

“Then I guess it’s a good thing I brought this with me.” Bolgor speaks as he touches his hand to his helm and it begins to glow with a pure, white light that moves to his fingers. The light consumes his hand and moves up his arm, soon covering the rest of his body. The skin illusion of his glamour becomes slightly transparent, revealing his warforged metal beneath it. With the same hand, he touches Horjongr’s head and the tendrils of shadow slowly move from the dwarf and consume the warforged, leaving Horjongr free of the effects of using his mark in battle.

Bolgor, now consumed by the darkness, screams with the intensity of the shadow’s hold upon him. He struggles to maintain control of his artificial body, throwing himself to the floor of the ship to do so. Images flash across his mind’s eye as the helm that helped him absorb the effect of the Dwarf’s mark now fights to dissipate it.

                                                                     ________________________________

Flash:

Bolgor stands beside his brother, the Lord of Blades. Cutter, Saber, and Cutlass all stand before him as Bolgor gives them their orders.

Another Flash:

Bolgor runs across a battlefield, his steel and the greatsword in his hand are both covered in blood. He cuts a man down with a swing of his blade and, with his free hand, wrenches the sword from his victim’s hand. Now dual-armed, Bolgor tears through the battle, his hands whipping the blades about as he mows down his foes like weeds. A shower of crimson sprays and he can hear the Lord of Blades mechanical laughter ringing through the air. This laughter is shortly followed by his own and he feels the slow smile of satisfaction grow upon his face as he continues his path of slaughter.

                                                                   __________________________________

In a flash of light, the shadow tendrils shatter away from Bolgor’s body like dark glass, the shards fading into nothing as they fall. Bolgor sits up on the deck of the ship as the glow from his helm also fades.

Horjongr sits beside him, his face furrowed with worry. “Oi there, lad.” He speaks softly. “Gave us a right fright, ye did.” He places a hand on Bolgor’s shoulder. “How do you feel?”

Bolgor looks around, the entire group seems to have gathered around, yet keeping their distance. He looks at his hands, covered, still, by the glamour. His brother’s laughter still ringing in his ears. “I am…alright, my friend. And you? Are you doing alright? I am sorry for your affliction. None should have to bear a burden such as that.”

Horjongr nods. “Yet it is mine to bear. I didn’t hope to have anyone else take it from me, but ye saved me from what could have been an unfortunate situation, lad. For that, I’m very grateful.”

Vit approaches the two of them. “Blessed light!” He calls out, half in relief and half in worry. “Brother, we’ve spoken of this before. There is no cause for you to call upon the mark at the cost of yourself.”

Horjongr stands and faces his Shield-brother. “I understand that ye see it that way, Vit, but I do not. As far as I am concerned, aiding my friends and brothers is worth any cost. Ye know me well enough to know that I will use whatever means to ensure that ye all don’t fall.” His face goes gravely serious. “Even if it means that I do.”

Vit nods his understanding. “Then understand this, brother. I stand by you, as I always have; sword to your shield, but also as someone to remind you that your life can only be led if you are alive to do so.” He looks to Bolgor now. “Thank you friend, you have saved my friend and shield-brother on this night. Nesumenee’s grace ever be upon you.”

Bolgor smiles and stands up slowly. Wolfie nuzzles his nose against his leg affectionately.

To be continued…

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