14th Day of the Arc of Halail

Your time aboard the obviously battle-worn Norfall ship, The Ebon Slipper, is mostly spent avoiding Shadow patrols and warships as it crosses the Pellurian south to Baden’s Bluff. Your time aboard ship is barely long enough to get to know the captain, much less the colorful characters that complete her crew. In the middle of the night after ten days of zigzagging the choppy waters south of the Corbron Isles, you make a hasty transfer to another ship, Master’s Affair, a merchant ship crewed by a mix of Dorns and gnomes. Your departure from the Ebon Slipper is less than amicable, the feeling of relief from the crew is plainly clear. Helping to lower Sigrun into the dingy, the boatswain of the Ebon Slipper presses a worn metal piece into her hand and whispers into her ear, “if yer gonna use the quarries, look or ask about for Girven. He ferries supplies into the Well. He’ll git yer in to the city safe as can be.” With a wink, the boatswain salutes your party as the rest of the crew goes about their business if not shooting dangerous glances as the dingy makes its way to the Master’s Affair. Upon inspection, Sigrun notices the crude metal piece is stamped with the house Norfall crest.

 Another week is spent plying the seas aboard the merchant ship with gnome and a mixed selection of house-less Dorns. A well placed kick to the groin and a few knocked out teeth endured by the Dorn pirates at the hands of Sigrun after a misunderstanding of the Dornish woman’s intentions aboard their ship, gets the entire party sequestered in the ship’s hold. Grumbling under her breath that she’s no one’s whore, Sigrun and the rest of the party are made aware of the captain’s need to keep peace aboard ship. Although spacious, the hold of the Master’s Affair soon grows cramped and quite uncomfortable after a few days. Luckily the merchant ship drops anchor and ferries the party to a gnome raft town somewhere off the coast of Erenland, and within a few days travel to Baden’s Bluff.

The raft town is a strange, almost surreal sight upon the waters of the Pellurian Sea. Comprised of nearly ten broad bottom gnomish barques and rafts, the swaying village is alive with activity of gnomes moving freely about the roped together crafts. Although the party is questioned heavily before being allowed to come aboard the raft town, quick work on Naurdil’s and Ramirez’s parts gain the group a somewhat warmer welcome than had existed on the two previous legs of the journey.

The party’s desire to barter for items, and especially their offers to trade some of the items they had acquired throughout their travels, is met at first with great speculation and suspicion.

Elenon’s diplomatic handling of the gnomes gains the party a somewhat favorable standing as guests aboard the raft town. Following the gnome culture, movement between ships is free and each ship seems to have its own niche. The Erunsil’s bargaining allows you to trade what magical items you have to a speculative old gnome with odd pieces of polished turtle shell attached to his eyes to form makeshift glasses. Although he takes a good amount of time surveying the gear, in the end he gives you access to several chests of accumulated wealth he has stored in his wheelhouse.  In the chests the group found bits of rusty weapons, armor, but most importantly, the means to create disguises for both of the elves.  The party also found a trusted family of gnomes who delivered goods to the besieged elves, running the gauntlet of Shadow patrols along the Pellurian coast.  It was with them that they entrusted much of their remaining magical weapons and items.

After night fell, a small skiff detached itself from the gnomish congregation.  Above the city the party could see silhouetted against the night flying forms that ceaselessly circled the city.  Then a shriek pierced the night, followed by another.  “Takers, it had to be takers,” they thought. Gliding silently into the western edge of Baden’s Bluff, the party quickly ran ashore and hid itself amongst the abandoned quarries that lined the limestone cliffs of this portion of the city.  Several days passed as the two humans and two elves . . . and their legate, cautiously moved from cave to cave, but finally upon the third day they met their guide, Girven.  To him they showed him the coin of the Norfall and it was he who led them to the Well; the Well, explained their guide, was the means for good to be raised up into the middle of the city.  As they approached the platforms, Girven walked ahead to clear the way. 

As they stood about watching the dockhands and stevedores work this subterranean dock, the party lapsed into an almost fatal state of complacency.  Just as they were waiting everyone heard a shout from the deck, “Elenon!  You have returned.”  A chill ran down every spine, or rather, perhaps every spine but one.  His companions stared at the disguised Erunsil and could not quite determine what his expression meant.  Nonetheless, they had little time to question their “dear comrade in arms.”  Altered states and false faces melted off a group of workers to reveal a collect of elves lead by Aowraith, pupil to Lo’Sain. The attack was quick and brutal; blades flashed from this band of Shadow elves as the channeler let loose spell after spell at the party.  Limited means, a dagger or light mace at the most, the group’s means of combat were severely limited.  Naurdil immobilized those he could with an arcane web, as Elenon and Rameriez fought hand-to-hand with several of the lead attackers.  The dainty Dorn, Sigrun, fought atop the platform against the remaining attackers, while after several moments of concentration, Aobarr was able to topple or tear the netting above causing a shower of crates and barrels to land heavily upon the deck below.  With a tremendous collapse, the webbed elves fell into the rushing waters below.

With the commotion and explosion of arcane magics, the familiar call of the takers that had circled above came closer.  Through the dust and debris, all but Aobarr scurried like so many rats up a dangling rope from a crate above and into a tunnel halfway to the surface.  As Aobarr spun whatever lies he would, the party hid for the rest of the day and into the night.  Sounds of repair began the next day, yet they waited still.  Finally as night fell, the party crept up the remaining distance of the Well and make it out upon an open square.  Above they could sense the malevolent hatred of one of Sunulael’s dark constructs, some fell winged thing that hunted the night.  Girven had called it “Zaindrial,” but not even the bravest of them wanted anything to do with the creature.  Staying beneath the eaves of nearby houses, the remaining four crept into a nearby tavern.  Clearly outsiders to this district, they felt every eye fall upon them.  Mustering the courage to approach the bar, they quickly purchased drinks and slid into an out of the way booth.  But before long, a merchant who worked in the area approach them.  Slippery as an eel, Haden, of Haden’s Sundries, watched them and gathered as much as he dare, while giving out precious little in the way of information.  The unctuous fixer smiled as he turned and left.  Uncomfortable with their first foray into urban life, the party quickly rented an upper room in a nearby home and rested for the coming day.

Next day they journeyed into the Worm Docks, looking for a place where they could begin to gather what intelligence they could.  The streets grew rougher and more troubled, as more and more Dornish faces could be seen along this tough dockside neighborhood.  The wave of unfriendly stares were not enough to dissuade the group from its mission, but still they knew they were unwelcome trespassers here. The Brass Coin Inn was recommended by Girven, but the group feared that such a place would be marked now.  Instead they happened upon another bar, The Crooked Bar Inn, where they once again made their way through the glares of local patrons.  Elenon, though perhaps persuasive with his own folk, seemed to rub the Dornish barkeep the wrong way, especially after he displayed the Norfall coin.  The bartender darted him a dirty look and quickly dismissed any thought of help from this place.  Leaving, the group split into two, the “Sarcosans” Naurdil and Rameriz trailed out after Elenon and Sigrun.  Street toughs, no doubt sent by the bartender, attempted to waylay the first group, but this quickly came to no result.  Elenon used his silver tongue to convince the toughs that this was no fight they wanted any part of. 

Working their way south along the docks the party crossed a notable bridge and found themselves in a different world.  Gone were the crude wooden structures and dilapidated buildings.  Here they saw the buildings and warehouses that gave the Stone Docks their name; stout buildings that lined the water supported Grial the Fey-Killer’s forces.  Day and night troop transports filed with orcish troops and their supporting goblin-kin belched forth reinforcements for the armies assaulting Erethor.  Naurdil grimaced at the sight of them and his memory returned to his years along the Burning Line.  But not one of his allies, nor himself, could lift a finger against these Shadow forces.  Instead they kept to the shadows and avoided the brothels and barrooms that lined these docks that catered to the Foe.

Creeping forward the group picked its way into one borough, then another.  As they progressed upwards through the various wards of the city, from the docks to “better” neighborhoods, the number of orcish patrols increased as well.  After one run-in with such a patrol, the party tried to keep to less traveled alleys and side streets.  Finally they arrived in the southwestern part of town and began their next round of efforts to reach their contact, Arla Dell.  To their shock and surprise they quickly learned that Arla Dell was nothing they expected, how could a servant of the Elven queen run a brothel, but a brothel she did run.  As they had before, the party broke into two teams, first Elenon and Sigrun, then Naurdil and Rameriz. 

After passing a guard and entering first, Elenon and Sigrun were seated in plush surroundings.  Towards the corner of the room they could see two madams arguing over some petty squabble, perhaps a question of turf or the market prices?  A stolid, solemn “butler” approached them and asked of their business, they nodded and asked for “Arla Dell.”  After some time the butler returned to say that Madame Dell would see them.  After proceeding to the rear of the building, they entered an office just as Naurdil and Rameriz were entering the building.  After some back and forth, neither side wanting to tip its cards as to their loyalties or intentions, Naurdil joined them in the back to force Arla’s hand.

After a battle of wits, Ms. Dell finally admitted her allegiance remained still with Aradil, the Elven Lady; Arla was a source of information about the Crown, the center of the “false” Baden’s court and the likely location of both the elven prisoner and Aobarr.  Without a means of scrying the area effectively, she could only suggest sending in a spy.  But the cost to enter such a place did not come cheaply; Sigrun was forced to decide between her “maiden honor” and the mission.  Since she was to be the sole source of this information, Sigrun decided to play the temptress and approach the Dornish captain of the guard, Theron Tollson.  After days of preparation, primping and preening before the mirrors, Sigrun was ready for the introduction.  Through gate and guard, Sigrun made her way up to the Crown, from which all of Baden’s Bluff could be seen.  Her first meeting went well, dinner and small talk proceeded apace and the captain showed obvious interest in this sweet, little, Dornish plaything that Sigrun portrayed herself as.  But when she asked for a memento, the sly captain of the guard refused her request, saying that “ladies never tell.”  With that Sigrun was yet invited back for another rendezvous.

As this transpired atop the Crown, Elenon and Naurdil stalked the streets near Arla Dell’s brothel ever on guard.  The night that Sigrun was away for her clandestine meeting, they tracked a shadowy figure atop a building.  In an effort to corner the would-be spy, they were only able to capture one of two watchers.  Grabbing the youngster by the neck of his shirt, Elenon and Naurdil cajoled and threatened the youth for information.  Haltingly he told them a tall tale of a captured elf down near docks, hidden in a secret cell.  Suspicious, yet curious still, the two wondered what this could mean.