8th day of Lamashan, 4713 AR
As told by the not so professional ship’s surgeon, dragonsmoke master, and dilettante gunslinger Gorak:
Well, it turns out my friends had another adventure. Without me. I’m kind of angry about that. It’s nothing big.
Just Garr Bloodbane’s gigantic hoard, found without me. I suppose that it’s kinda my fault, as much as theirs. I kinda, maybe, sorta fell into an applejack-and-dragonsmoke based mumbling tirade that lasted through the backstreets of the Bawd District. For two weeks. Sorry about that everyone.
Anyway, when I got sober enough to stumble along and rejoin my friends, our Tulita buddies decided to call a meeting that it was probably worth it to us to come to. They’d decided to arm themselves. Their leader had explained that the Dragoons were just looking for excuses to round up and lock up and maybe kill any last Tulita in the Razor.
They’d secured as many firearms and other weapons as they could. I ran back to the workshop to collect the profit Leonardo and I had made from our foundry/workshop/molten metal vat place. 550GP. Not bad. Clawshots were selling pretty well, I’d say.
I decided to craft a free box of three hundred odd bullets, dragonsmoke cigarettes, and assorted shrapnel chunks stuffed into a shell casing with gunpowder, just for the Tulita. I hurried back to the Tulita camp, to give my ammo and narcotics.
When I got back, Thoran, and another, quite charismatic dudette I hadn’t met yet, were giving classes and demonstrations on raging like a barbarian and being a diplomatic pansy, respectively.
The diplomatic pansy woman introduced herself as Fallens Sicarius. I began to actually like her, or at least as much as I could like a diplomatic pansy type person. I should probably stop referring to her as a diplomatic pansy type person. She’d probably wreck my very soul using diplomacy alone (+26! dayum– Otto.)
We decided to head to our bar to check in on it. Almost instantly both Fallens and Thoran had women clinging to them with their arms, after some terrible catcalls. Wait, Fallens? Woman? What? Whatever Man. Which is my universal answer to almost any non-loot related question.
Anyway, Nightflame and Thoran were working on a plan to break into Fort Stormshield to prove some kind of connection between Gregory Bonedeuce and the mysterious Ring of the Kraken which we knew almost nothing about. But they’re bad guys. Right? Are we the bad guys? WHO IS GOOD? WHO IS EVIL? Ehhn. I’m confused.
But anyway, Fallen’s girlfriend (their friend Jalia Ramires –GM) was just as against the Dragoons and the Ring of the Kraken as we are, and helped us sneak into Fort Stormshield under the guise of civilians wishing for a tour.
We snuck away from our guide easily enough and went in search of Bonedeuce’s office. Not the one with the lewd pictures on the walls. Meh, Bad taste anyway. Not the torture chamber. Close though, “PAIN IS THE ONLY TRUTH” written on the walls in bloodred? Sounds enough like Gregory BoneRdeuce. Dick. Heh. I amuse myself.
Fallens was muttering to herself about “Wanting the Inquisitor’s coat grumble mumble ghrhgef.” I have no idea what’s going on there. The next door, we found a bedroom with a standing cabinet. It was trapped! Actually, I shouldn’t be so surprised at that. It’s Gregory Bonedeuce we’re dealing with. If we’re infiltrating his weird inner sanctum place then there’s probably a few hoops we have to jump through. Skumcrap.
The floor crackled with pulses of electricity and a pair of vaguely humanoid blobs of lightning emerged from the floor. Thoran, who it seems has at this point asserted himself as leader of our crew, told me, “Don’t use your Gun! They’ll hear it in a heartbeat and send half the guard down here!” I actually agreed with him on this. I drew my rapier. It was enchanted, so it probably wouldn’t conduct any electricity. I’d also gotten a Corrosive Burst enchantment on my gun, with my share of Bloodbane’s loot. I assume my gun wouldn’t have any effect on the elementals, or whatever they were.
We made short work of them, the four of us. We found a book of spells and a crystal ball, both of which would be useful to Nightflame. I didn’t want them, even if I could sell them. Nightflame’s gotten us out of so many jams that he deserves some more powerful magic. If I practiced magic I’d probably turn myself into a girl or something by accident anyway. Best leave that to the eggheads. We continued further.
There was a pleasant looking office with four dueling pistols and an assortment of knives on the wall. And a teapot on the shelf. Huh. Was Bonedeuce a Tea-drinker? Real men drink black coffee. With some applejack mixed in. And some Alchemist’s Fire, or paint thinner. Whichever is more convenient for your drinking pleasure. (Recipes copyright Gorak 4713 AR — People discovered reprinting without express permission or a lot of money to pay me will be shot.)
Anyway, I pulled a shiny pistol off the wall with the initials “G B” on the handle. We all heard a soft *Click.* Thoran swore and hissed at us to get out of the room. I said as we hurried out, “But what if that was a secret door handle thing or something?”
Thoran stopped and led us back into Bonedeuce’s office. We looked for a second, and sure enough there was a section of wall that had swung aside to reveal a large ornate lever. I think it was Nightflame who pulled the lever. But anyway, a larger section of the wall swung away and revealed a big, scary-looking, softly lit staircase. We tread carefully downwards.
Down the stairway we came to a steamy room with a large, detailed, and textured model of Port Shaw. Wow. This looked evil. Steam was coming from cracks in the stone floor. Nightflame exclaimed jokingly, “Maybe it’s just Bonedeuce’s Hot Tub!” Fallens laughed.
In the center of the room, there was a large dais with a shrine-looking thingy in the shape of a large octopus, and on the dais, four bowl-shaped indentations in the rock. Hmm. We then noticed strange looking stones on the corners of the model. Somebody, honestly I forget who, had the bright idea to put the stones into the bowl shaped indentations.
Curious about the steam, I whacked the floor hard with my gun-butt. The stone shattered and fell away, releasing more steam. Hmm. As we put the stones into the bowl indentations, a giant BOOM echoed from the city. Then a deep voice boomed. “WHO DARES DISTURB THE SANCTUM Of THE KRAKEN!?” Uh oh.
The floor cracked and fell away, releasing a Chitinous thing, momentarily obscured by the steam that rose with the thing. Nightflame quickly identified it as a Glabrezu Demon, or a demon specializing in deception and manipulation. I managed to find an illustration of its true form later. Desna Weeps! That thing definitely crawled out of the pit that is the Abyss. They probably didn’t want him he was so ugly.
Nightflame did some quick thinking and teleported us the hell out of there to in front of Fort Stormshield. The city we saw before us was in chaos. A running civilian yelled at us as he fled, “The city practically just EXPLODED!” “Rumor has it that a cache of Alchemist’s Fire blew up in the sewers, There’s a gaping, flaming hole in the middle of the Bawd District!” I whistled in awe, as I noticed that that that wasn’t the only problem.
Visible from a half-mile away was an EVEN BIGGER ugly chitinous thing that looked half crab, half scorpion, and all angry. We ran the half-mile odd to where the Bawd District used to be and faced the creature. Skarru, busy with a pipe of dragonsmoke, healed us up from our fight with the elementals and waved us off with a dumb “your MOM needs healing!” joke. We faced the Scorprab, or Crabion, whichever you would like to call it.
Nightflame cast “haste” on us. I instantly felt two times faster. Thoran Crunchball-Tackled one of its legs with his fancy elf blade. Chunks of Scorprabion came off. (Crunchball, for the uneducated, is an Orc custom where you tackle somebody running away with your “ball”, which is preferably the head of one of your enemies, or a bag of gristle, whichever is convenient, and once you’ve tackled She/He/It (Damn Goblins,) you squeeze until something crunches. And then you actually never mind just forget about it.)
I drew my gun. I fired four times, exhausting all my four barrels. They all hit. My second to last shot blew chunks of carapace away and began to eat away at the flesh underneath with acid. Crash. It fell. Its death roar was frightening. But soon everybody, all the civilians who had been paralyzed with fear or that weird disease that one of the ships brought back, were cheering.
We ran off to a side alley. Zalen Trafalgar, cleric of Quell, healed us up. We had taken some damage. He said to us, “You DO know that the Dragoons are blaming this explosion on you and the Tulita, saying you took Garr Bloodbane’s treasure from under the government’s nose to buy explosives? They’re rounding up the Tulita and anybody affiliated with them. Don’t worry, I won’t turn you in. Run.”
What could we do? Hide in the safe house underneath our apartment? Retaliate against the Dragoons? This is NOT GOOD. We hurried off, looking for anything or anybody friendly. It was just then that Nightflame realized that his teleport spell could only teleport 4 people. There were 5 of us. Jalia Ramires had joined us after the fight. Where would we go?
To Be Continued.
XP so far:
Fallens Sicarius, kitsune bard 11 – 112,762
Gorak, orc gunslinger 10 – 101,927
Leonardo, kitsune gunslinger 10 – 93,054
Nightflame, elven conjurer 10 – 92,126
Thoran, gillman barbarian 10 – 79,948
Skarru Bloodbane, half-elven druid 11 – 106,946
Ziara Bloodbane, musetouched aasimar assassin 5 / ninja 5 – 85,18