Episode 1: The Fist

[Chris]

Briefing:

The memo in your mail-cubby - dated 7th Barrakas, 998K - simply says Briefing Room, noon.. Pelleca is never one to use four words where three will suffice.

Walking into the room, you see Dr. Wodehouse, as usual, and Pelleca, in her customary seat. She's cocked her wheelchair back to lean against the wall, while her clockwork familiar coils around her shoulders.

Settling into the seat, she say, "I'll make this quick and short. Should be an easy one." She pauses, and says, "Yeah, you've heard that before."

She mutters a few words and an image of an object - a golden gauntlet - shimmers into life, suspended in the air in front of the room.

"This is the Fist of Triumph, according to Dr. Dromish over in Golden Age Studies. It's an ancient and powerful magico-religious artifact from the Age of Giants. The Fist was lost to history millennia ago, but, Dr. Dromish says - and I quote, 'it had certain unique characteristics - if the scriptures are to be trusted - that were unique to its manifestations.'"

"Dromish says that he's received communiques from a colleague in Hatheril. Apparently, emanations unique to this artifact were detected originating in the forests just to the northwest of Hatheril. The Museum Curators wish to acquire this artifact. So...you're going to go get it."

A map shimmers into view, replacing the slowly rotating gauntlet. A thin red line traces the lightning rail track northeast out of Sharn, past Wroat, and on to a junction where a spur line runs to Hatheril.

Pelleca continues. "You'll be righting the Lightning Rail to Hatheril. We'd send you via the trade route, but Dromish seems to think urgency is necessary. Your passage is secured. You are to meet up with Dr. Maundra d'Cannith, in Hatheril, who will be your contact there. She should be able to guide you to the artifact."

"So, wait," says Challa Finnian, a half-elf warrior who you've worked with in the past. "If this thing was lost somewhere in Xen'drik during the Age of Giants, what in the name of the Dragons is it doing in Hatheril? It shouldn't even be on this continent, right?"

Pelleca purses her lips. "We don't know why it's here. Still, does it really matter? Saves you a trip to Xen'drik, after all."

Challa shrugs her shoulders and says, "Just wonderin'."

Pelleca says, "See Dr. Wodehouse for your papers and your rail passes. Train leaves tomorrow, folks. Don't miss it."

[Chris]

The lightning rail sways and shifts as it rockets over the trail of suspensor gems embedded in the earth below. The motion is smooth, almost like sailing over water, and for the unitiated it can cause seasickness. The green faces on some of the passengers you saw marked them as first-timers.
Though the train is insulated from its own drive system, the lightning coruscating off of the hull - byproduct of the incredible power of the bound lightning elemental that drove the train - made a faint crackling sound, punctuated by the occasional miniature thunderclap as a particularly strong bolt seared the air.

Looking out the window, you note that the train is passing through another valley between rocky outcrops. Your skin crawls, like it always does - good place for an ambush, your experience says - but so far, nothing untoward has happened.

Things never stay boring long, though. As you wander the train - restlessness and the need to stretch your legs driving the two of you back through the train toward the cargo cars, you run into some old friends.

At the far end of a relatively empty car, you see a stocky, speakin to a really ugly orc. 

The orc is the first to spot you. His eyes widen and he says, "Finn."

The fat-faced human spins around, taking in the two of you as you walk toward him. "Well, look who's here." His tone is oily, used-wagon-salesman smooth. His name is Argo Finn, and he's a regular thorn in the side of the Morgrave University recovery teams. He works under letters of marque from, basically, anyone desperate or stupid enough to engage his services, and he is a first class slime.

He's also pretty damn good at the artifact recovery business, which is why people still come to him even after he screws them over.

Finn jerks his chin toward the rear door, and says, "Make sure they finish up." At that, the orc - one Biniam Hoehnaker, Finn's ever-present right-hand-man, heads back that way. Toward the cargo compartment.

Where your gear is stowed.

Finn smiles as you unlimber your weapons, and then dashes through the door toward the cargo car. He slams the inter-car door shut and you hear a racheting click as you slam up against it. Argo smiles and makes a rude gesture as he leaps across the inter-car gap and slips into the cargo hold.

[Chris]

Argo disappears into the cargo car, but not before flipping the lock on the door and tossing a rude gesture. Theoden pounds his fist on the glass, and then steps back. "Damn that man," he says before slamming his boot into the door at lock height. The simply metal hasp tears away with a brief screech, and the door bangs open. The wind of the lightning rail's passage howls into the empty car, and the three warriors leap across to the cargo car, barreling through the door into the central hold.

There, they see four of Argo's lackeys manhandling crates open, looking for gear that might be valuable to Challa, Theoden, or Relic. So far, the only things they appear to have found were some spare clothes.

Relic swears. "I liked that shirt."

Argo and Biniam turn to face the ranger and wizard, yelling at their lackeys to hurry it up. Argo is the first to move, laying into Theoden with his cutlass, with Biniam moving to assist. A brisk duel begins and steel clashes as Theoden holds off the two with his paired scimitars.

An eeries, slithering howl issues forth from the center of the car as tendrils of living shadow reach up from the floor and entangle the hapless thugs who were desperately ransacking the cargo. A quick glance over his shoulder and Theoden sees Relic's blank eyes staring as he gestures subtly with his wand, guiding the shadow tendrils. Three of the punks are caught, dragged to the ground and choked into unconsciousness by eldritch force. The fourth, a woman, manages to scramble out of reach of the shadow. She turns, spots Relic, and thinks better of engaging the wizard. Instead, she leaps forward and deals a stout thump to Theoden with her short club.

Biniam lunges toward the wizard, seeking to get close and drop the frail-seeming Eladrin.

"A mistake, orc." Relic reaches out and touches Biniam with a hand, discharging a massive blast of arcane force and staggering the orc.

Challa, meanwhile, moves on Biniam and distracts the orc from his target with her glaive. She's unfortunately hampered in such tight confines, but she manages to deal some damage and, importantly, free up Theoden to defend himself, as he was faltering.

Suddenly, Biniam slips past Theoden's guard and runs him through - a flesh wound, no doubt, but grave enough. There is a sensation of pressure, as if a storm had rolled in, and Theoden's entire demeanor changes. His skin darkens, his eyes redden, and he howl a bestial call. His posture changes as he leans forward, hunching into an aggressive, predatory stance.

Biniam recoils as the change takes place, but it is too late. Theoden flurries with his scimitars, delivering blow after blow. Relic chimes in with a well-timed move that conjures an endless maze of mirrors inside Biniam's head, and the hapless female thug as well. She topples, unconscious from the blast of eldritch force. The orc flounders, screaming "I can't see! I can't see!" and Theoden drops him with a brutal smack with the flat of a blade.

Argo, now alone, drops his weapon and pleads. Theoden relaxes a bit, his breathing deep, and punctuated with a quiet rumbling growl. He appears to relent.

Challa, however, says, "Not that easy, Argo," and delivers a whistling slap to Argo's forehead with the flat of her glaive. The poor human falls to his knees, dazed. "See to your friend. And get the hell off this train."

Relic says, "I'd do it now, before Theoden decides to finish this for good."

Argo grabs his unconscious partner, and drags him to the doorway, before shoving him out into the brush. He turns and levels one last threat at Theoden, before leaping into the twilight.

[Chris]

The remainder of your trip is not nearly as eventful as it started. Apparently, neither Argo's rapid departure nor your bruises, cuts, and bloodstains raised any eyebrows with the few Warforged rail guards patrolling the train, and you managed to keep a low profile for the next day, until you finally reach the station in Hatheril. It's a small place, a spur line off the main lightning rail, and when you arrive, a couple of stevedores toss your footlockers out of the train car, tip their hats, and slam the doors shut as the train rolls out again, crackling with electricity. It's a few minutes before the static in the air dissipates, and then it's quiet.

Shrugging, you pick up your cases and drag them toward a ticket booth. The human teller slumps in his chair, snoring softly. Knocking on the glass makes him jump, and shoot you an irritated glance. He slowly gets to his feet, grumbling.

"We need to know where the University Research station is," you say, pitching your voice to carry through the glass but nowhere else.

"Yeah, yeah, Dr. D'Cannith's freakshow. Hang on...ah, well, actually, there's a message for you." His voice is tinged with surprise. "Here."

The teller slides a wax-sealed envelope through the pass, and before you can say thank you, shuts the pass and flops back down in his chair. Challa snorts derisively, and the three of you head over a few steps, before taking a look at the note.

"Errands will carry me into town around the time of your arrival. Meet me at the Barrel & Pony, on Kestavar Way. Yours, Maundra D'Cannith." Challa reads over your shoulder.

"Well, okay then. I guess we go to the Barrel & Pony," you say.

"Yeah, and I guess we're walking," says Challa.

[Chris]

Departing the train platform is like walking into another world. Hatheril seems weighed down by an invisible hand, some pressure bearing down on the city. The light is gray, flat, and a thin mist scuds across the cobblestone streets. People trudge through the streets, but talk only in low tones. Here, a man sits on a stoop, leaning forward as if he wants to rest his head in his hands. There, a woman stares out her window at nothing in particular.

Passing a small saloon, you see the glow of firelight and hear laughter, but it seems forced - too loud, too long, more a donkey braying than a man laughing.

"Can you feel it?" Challa hisses, keeping her voice pitched low and quiet as she warily watches the few cityfolk on the streets. "Like a weight pressing down. Loneliness. I find myself thinking of people I've lost, regrets I haven't had in years." She shrugs her shoulders and adjusts her glaive's sling so that her free hand has better access to the short sword slung at her side. "Something is very wrong here."

More than once, you turn suddenly to look down an alley or up at a roof, convinced that someone - or something - watched you from the gloom. Always, though, there was nothing but the flat gray light and the creeping mists. As you walk, the three of you instinctively arrange yourself in a combat formation, all expecting some unseen threat to lunge from the shadows.

Within a few minutes, there is a peal of thunder, and the promised rain finally materializes. Slanting down out of the gray sky, the rain is cold and hard, drumming against rooftops and making the streets slick. Your cloaks hold off most of it, but the splash from the streets has your boots soaked in minutes, and soon enough you are alone on the street, as even the forlorn wanderers find shelter indoors.

[Chris]

After what seems an interminable hike in the driving rain, you finally arrive at the inn. The Barrel & Pony is strangely lively, given the mysterious oppressive gloom that weighs down on the city. As you approach, you see the windows glowing with warm light, and the sounds of laughter and general merriment can be heard within.

Outside the doorway, you see a middle-aged human woman, wearing a heavy cloak to ward off the rain. She raises a hand as you approach, hailing you.

"You must be the people Dromish told me about. I'm Dr. D'Cannith. I hope your trip was uneventful. Sorry about the rain!" She turns toward the pub, and gestures to the door. "Let's get inside!" She steps forward to open the door, and the warmth of the pub washes out, promising a dry spot, some good food, and some better ale.

You walk through the door, and the whole tavern seems to shift drunkenly, making your stomach swoop. What was a warm and inviting place turns out to be a cold, dark, and abandoned building - all evidence of the fires, barmaids, and hearty minstrels vanishing like a fever dream.

Maundra D'Cannith turns toward you, a sick smile spreading over her face. Suddenly, her features melt away, reforming into the skeletal face of an old man, with a hectic light burning in his eyes. He gestures toward you suddenly, a black and green ball of eldritch force flying from his hand!

"Feel the crushing grip of the Grieving One!" he cackles, as tendrils of energy circle about you, hobbling your movements and sapping your will to fight. While you struggle with the arcane bonds that threaten to crush you, the shapeshifter's allies show up - two massive minotaurs wielding brutal, iron-studded cudgels, and a group of black-clad fighters swinging well-used axes.

[Chris]

Struggling to free yourselves from the bonds of eldritch energy thrown by the changeling mage, our heroes split up, trying to gain some distance from each other lest the mage hurl another spell. The minotaur skull-crackers stomp toward you relentlessly, their heavy cudgels slapping against their hands. They are confident that this will be easy - and how could it not?

Life doesn't always work out, though. Breaking loose of the holds placed on him, Theoden leaps suddenly, his paired scimitars hissing free from their scabbards as he flies toward the nearest minotaur. A quick one-two, and the minotaur is reeling. Theoden turns toward the mage, fury in his eye.

Relic, meanwhile, speaks a brief incantation and makes a swinging gesture with his arm, and a wall of arcane fire suddenly explodes along the southern end of the room. The fire engulfs two of the axe-wielding warriors, immolating one instantly and hurling the other back, unconscious.

Challa and Harran close in on the other minotaur, Challa forced to wield her glaive in a close-fighting stance as she and the mighty dragonborn warlord maneuver together. They rain blows on the minotaur, driving him back in surprise.

The mage continues to hurl bolts of energy, scoring hits that leave blackened welts and bloody rents, but it is not enough. He retreats toward the bar, hurling magic. His efforts to hurt Theoden only put him in greater danger, though: a particularly telling hit drops Theoden to his knees briefly, and the wizard's eyes light up - but his look of triumph turns to horror as Theoden straightens up, his human face replaced by a fanged, bestial visage. The beast inside him has been unchained, and he flies at the mage, cutting savagely. The mage seeks cover behind the bar, to no avail. Boxed in by Challa, the mage cannot retreat from the savage, repeated blows of Theoden's swords. He dies in a pool of blood.

While Theoden and Challa handled the mage, Relic and Harran dispatched the remaining axe-wielding cultists, and Harran has put paid to the final minotaur, chasing him into the street and forcing a surrender.

Afterwards, as the party licks its wounds and attends to the prisoners, Harran discovers a trapdoor poorly hidden behind the bar. Perhaps the mage sought retreat there, but could not escape because Challa and Theoden prevented it.

Opening the trap door slowly, you hear vague sounds of men working - thumps, shouts, and barked orders. Over it all are the hiss and clank of some large machineworks. The air from below smells faintly of stale water, and is warm and wet. 

[Chris]

Descending into the dark below, you find yourself in a small room with heavy steel doors. One door is open just a crack, and the sounds of labor and the machine-like rattling echo more strongly. Theoden, silent as a ghost, slips into the room beyond. He finds a concrete pier on an underground river, whose black water drifts in a slow current. Torches light the area, holding back the gloom.

Massive steamworks - pipes, valves, and radiators - fill the space, criscrossing above the concrete pier. Certainly some old waterworks that served Hatheril. The pier itself may be a legacy of the Last War, something used to ferry men and equipment, or perhaps as an escape route. Right now, it's the launching point for a few rowboats, and near a ladder leading to the boats, you can see more of the black-robed cultists manhandling crates under the supervision of two pike-wielding soldiers, dressed in similar robes but wearing armor cuirasses over them. By their casual stance, they are tremendously bored watching this.

Creeping closer, Theoden spots a more richly - though still in shades of black, and gray, and purple - dressed human speaking with an orc. The orc is a tough sort, wearing leather armor and several weapons. His armor bears a crudely painted red hand, and he is clearly working with, not for, the robed priest.

Slipping back to the anteroom, Theoden relays this information to the group. In short moments, a plan - or, something like a plan - is hatched, and the heroes spring into action. Slamming open the metal doors, they charge into the room, Theoden and Challa leading while Harran and Relic follow. Theoden leaps a pipe to land among the pike wielding guards, laying about with his scimitar as they desperately try to block.

The priest, though surprised, recovers quickly and immediately casts a spell on the group that chains them to the ground with ribbons of force - their legs mired in arcane power. The enemy closes in, but it is to no avail - even immobilized, the heroes are deft with their weaponry, and quickly make short work of the guards.

The orc flees to the boats, while the priest advises him to "warn the others." Theoden leaves Challa and Haran to handle the soldiers as he chases down and eliminates the priest, and Relic races across the pier, blinking in and out of reality as he teleports across gaps and down to the docks to catch the fleeing orc. Though the orc almost escapes, Relic casts Maze of Mirrors, locking the unfortunate orc in a bewildering chamber of illusion. He then uses mage hand to tie a rope to the boat, and slowly haul it back in.

With yet another prisoner, but no more answers - and no further clues to the whereabouts of the real Maundra D'Cannith, the group breaks open some of the crates. They find inside money, military food rations, and - most interesting - weaponry. The crates are stamped with the insignia of the Cyran military...a force that hasn't existed since the Mournland consumed Cyre 4 years ago.

What lost cache produced these weapons? And who are they going to?  

The weapons tell you only a little - they're of mediocre quality, clearly packaged for a military use, wrapped in oilcloth, smelling of grease and long-storage. Rooted out from some forgotten weapons cache, certainly. And being shipped downriver, but to whom?

The orc is no help - Relic's magic seems to have scrambled his memory, leaving him mostly babbling and snapping his tusks at anyone who comes close or tries to speak to him.

You're left with one choice - hop into a boat and head downriver yourself. The tunnel leads away into the dark, though a dim glow seems to reflect off the water.

You climb aboard the two boats, and slowly paddle into the dark tunnel. Though there are no bright light sources - and you dare not light any torches yourself - after several minutes your eyes adjust and you note that a faint bluish glow emanates from colonies of soft lichen that coat the tunnel walls. It's enough to row by, and to see that the tunnel is clearly artificial for the first four of five hundred yards, but links up with a natural cave system thereafter.

After almost an hour of paddling quietly through the near-pitch-dark, you spy a flickering light ahead. Firelight of some sort...which means potential enemies. 

[Chris]

Sliding quietly from the boats into the water, the group splits up and moves silently toward each of the guards. To the north, Relic and Harann creep close enough to the guard to see that his crossbow is close to hand - but not in hand - and he is clearly bored out of his mind. A flick of the fingers from Relic, and a sharp clatter sounds from just the other side of the wall. The guard mutters a string of curses as he walks over to investigate, and when he gets close, Harann lunges out and buries a dagger in him, catching the body before the orcs armor can clatter against the rocks.

At the same time, Theoden and Challa move close to the sentinel to the south - however, there is little cover between their position and the guard. Theoden casts about for a solution, and finds a rock with good heft. He glances at Challa, who nods, and the two of them start to sprint toward the sentry. Just as they start moving, Theoden hurls the rock at the sentry, and it impacts the poor orcs head with a sickening crack. The orc slides to the ground, and when the two arrive, they find that the rock struck just below the edge of the helmet, cracking the orc's neck.

Quickly moving on, the four close on the main encampment, where they see an orc - obviously the warboss, given his huge size and his relatively fancy armor - dressing down a pair of hobgoblin soldiers. Given the amount and creativity of the profanity he was using, they must have done something pretty bad.

Luck runs out for everyone, eventually - a sharp-eyed orc noticed Harann and Relic moving in, and the battle was joined in earnest.

The orcs stood little chance, even with their goblin hexer throwing spells and nasty hexes. Challa and Theoden rolled in from the south, cutting down the hexer and two orc mercenaries, while Relic and Harann plowed into the enemy from the north. Relic threw lightning and fire, while Harann hewed through enemy ranks, all fangs, flashing axe, and poison breath.

Challa and Theoden carved their way to the Warboss, who was the last left standing. He put up a brilliant fight, laying about with a double-ended axe, but the odds were against. The only escapee was a strangely lucky hobgoblin soldier, who, after dodging all manner of attacks, decided that discretion was the better part of valor and ran screaming into the dark of the caves. 

[Chris]

Harann examines a four-inch gash on his arm, left by one of the attackers. The wound is bleeding desultorily, but as the dragonborn stares at the wound, the bleeding slows a bit. The huge reptilian flexes his fist, winces slightly, and draws a bandage from a pouch at his waist. While he wraps the wound, he looks around.

"Well? Anyone tell me what in the name of Asmodeus' butthole those things were?" He coughs and spits a greenish wad of spittle on the ground. "Don't touch that...poisonous."

Relic, drinking from his canteen, stops and looks at the gobbet of poison saliva with an expression like he just found a particularly loathsome grub under a rock. "Wouldn't dream of it. How charming."

Challa crouches by the now dwindling fire hugging her glaive as she stares at the flames. The smell of cold orc blood is strong, but she seems lost in thought. "Quicklings. Feywild creatures. The others were banshrae, I think. Also feywild denizens. Not sure why they're here - or working together. Quicklings are thieves and cutthroats; the banshrae are more unpredictable. Don't know who was in charge here."

"Maybe they just saw an opportunity here - bunch of marks, not at home in the swamp and fog like them. Maybe there's more to it." She looks up. "But we shouldn't stay. That quickling got away from me. It may go for help.

Theoden runs a cloth along his scimitar and says, "Yes. We should go back. We could spend weeks wandering these fens, under the eyes of...whatever the hell lives here. And we're no closer to the damn Fist of Triumph, or finding out what happened to Dr. D'Cannith."

Relic purses his lips, and caps his canteen. "Agreed. We head back - the boats are waiting for us. That inn is deserted - we can use it. Find Dr. D'Cannith's lab, see what's there. And get out of this godsdamned swamp." He raises a hand to one of the raised welts on his neck, where a banshrae dart scored a hit.

Murmured assent, and a swift repacking of gear, and the four heroes set off swiftly through the swamps, hurrying to cross the foggy mire before some other creature takes an interest in them. It's only a few hundred yards to the cave mouth, but in this terrain...anything can happen.

Fortunately, they arrive at the ruins and descend back to the boats unmolested, and after almost a day's paddling upriver, they return to the steamchamber below the inn. The place remains abandoned, and a swift check of the are and the inn upstairs reveals that little has changed in the space of 2 days. The gray pall still hangs over Hatheril, and there is little activity on the gloomy city streets.

The inn remains theirs, and the group quickly sets about wiping up the bloodstains and piling the charred furniture in a corner. Boards go up on the windows, and in short order, a "base of operations" is established.

Facts:

1. Artifact known as "Fist of Triumph" surfaced in or near Hatheril.

2. Dr. Maundra D'Cannith contacted the university about retrieving it.

3. Others know about it - your run-in with D'Argo Finn and his compatriots prove that.

4. Hatheril strange - under some sort of oppressive "gray cloud" of what feels very much like "living sadness."

5. Maundra D'Cannith missing, a changeling sorceror tried to take her place to lure you to your death.

6. In same inn where you were ambushed, down below you find a priest - with powers similar to the sorceror - workin with orc mercenaries bearing the sigil of a red hand on their armor. They are moving crates of weaponry on an underground river. The weapons are unopened weapon stores from Cyre, a country that was wiped out entirely by the "Mourning," a magical cataclysm that killed everyone in the country.

7. Another encounter further down the river with orcs clearly waiting for the weapon shipment - also members of the "Red Hand"

8. Finally, finding the exit to the cave complex in a swamp where you are ambushed by feywild creatures. You are not the only ones - three dead Red Hand orcs attest to the dangers of the swamp.

[Chris]

Regrouping in the abandoned inn, the group decides that the best course of action is to locate the last place Dr. D'Cannith was seen - her labs. Asking around - the few people you can find, at least, who are still out on the street - makes the task easy. D'Cannith located her offices in an older warehousing district, run down and mostly empty. She was somewhat of a hermit, they say, so the deserted area probably suited her well.

After disabling the few security systems - some alarm spells and a partially-functional tanglefoot trap - the heroes move toward the main doors. They're closed, heavy steel doors chained shut. Harann's axe makes short work of the lock, and the way is now open.

[gclouser]

Ok, im replying so maybe it will send me emails.

[Chris]

Cool. I've kicked off a skill challenge on Google Wave. You should see the wave in your inbox when you log into Google Wave. I would like to give Wave an honest try as far as using it for gaming, so check it out.