A fortnight ago, you and your mates, after a rather lengthy but profitable absence, returned to Waterdeep for some rest, recovery, and reacquainting with old friends, but since your arrival in the City of Splendors you cannot count the number of times you have heard about what the cityfolk are calling the Changing Island. Munching halfheartedly on your midday meal, you mentally sift through the strange list of things you have heard about this landmass that inexplicably appeared in the Sea of Swords roughly one month ago…
Shortly after the island was first spotted, the sea around it became covered by an unnaturally thick bank of fog. That fog never lifts, leaving the island in a perpetual gray twilight.
The water around the island is somehow different from the surrounding sea. No fish swim in this mysterious black water, which features a clear dividing line from the blue-green sea.
The island is unnaturally square and about six hundred feet across. A number of hills and valleys can be seen rising beyond the shore, but it’s impossible to make out details through the fog.
The Changing Island is so-named because those who pass by it have given a number of conflicting descriptions of it. Some say that the island is nothing but bare stone, featuring terraces of sharp, angular rock in white, red, black, and bronze. Others have talked of the island appearing as a pleasant green atoll of palm trees and plant life, with sandy beaches.
Most disturbingly, some witnesses have described the island as covered with bodies, as if the place were the site of some terrible battle. A large number of the fallen appeared to be armored soldiers of various races, but most were as naked as the day they were born.
A number of explorers have landed ships on the island, but none have returned to tell of what they found. Some ships that approached the island have vanished, while others have been found floating with their crews missing.
“And, of course, one of those half-witted explorers that hasn’t returned is my old friend Kivari!” you mutter aloud, startled by the sound of your own voice and the acute note of irritation it conveys. “Damnable wizard! His curiosity exceeds that of a thousand cats but his common sense is less than that of a fencepost.”
You push your bowl of stew away from you, gulp down the remaining contents of your tankard of ale, and exhale slowly and intently.
“What choice do I have? I shall have to go after the fool. No, we shall go after the fool.”
The five of you have gathered at Sham’s Peg, that weathered-looking tavern in the Dock Ward where each of you have spent countless hours during your time in Waterdeep. Despite its shabby appearance the Peg has always proven to be, quite simply, a good place. Good food. Good drink. Good conversation. Good memories. Despite your success over the years--and your improved financial situations--you’ve never been tempted to frequent any of the more refined establishments, of which there are many in this great city.
During the past hour or so there’s been ample criticism of Kivari’s methods and a few remarks about letting the old fellow find his own way back to Waterdeep. None of you, however, are taking such comments seriously because you know that your shared love and admiration for Kivari far outweighs your sense of irritation with his rash decision-making. And it seems right that the five of you should be the ones to save the wizard’s hide, for who else has been through so many scrapes together on Kivari’s behalf?
As you’re discussing the various possibilities for safely reaching the strange, changing island where Kirivani disappeared, one of the diviners from Kivari’s order approaches the table. “Good day to you, friends of Kivari,” she begins. “And I ask your forgiveness for my interruption. I come to you on behalf of our order to speak of the hope that Kivari can be saved.”
The diviner is Rennisae, a rather shy and soft-spoken member of the Watchful Order of Protectors. She explains that the order is offering 5,000 gold to each of you for Kivari’s safe return. If Kivari has already perished, that amount would be reduced to 3,000 gold if his body and possessions are returned. Chief among his possessions is the collection of six Ioun stones (a well-known fact about Kivari). She then draws three spell scrolls* from within the folds of her green robe and suggests they might be used to determine Kivari’s location on the island, if indeed he is there.
“The Order believes your skill and experience--and familiarity with your wizard friend--make you the most suitable party for this task; so, I have been sent to you first and have spoken to no one else about this.”
A strange sight greets anyone who enters the tavern. It's as though a dwarf was stretched to over six feet tall - a huge man with a thick beard to make any dwarf proud - with an even bigger presence - in shining mithral plate armor but with his helm and gauntlets set aside. He was roaring a traditional dwarven song - in somewhat accented but pretty solid Dwarvish - and swinging a full tankard of ale around and pounding the table in rhythm:
Brothers of the mine rejoice! Swing, swing, swing with me Raise your pick and raise your voice! Sing, sing, sing with me Down and down into the deep Who knows what we'll find beneath? Diamonds, rubies, gold and more Hidden in the mountain store...
He interrupted the song when the diviner came in and addressed them. When she was done, he roared "So! Kivari's gone and got himself in trouble, eh? That's too bad, but not too surprising. Wizards always get in trouble sooner or later. Well! We're just the lot for getting him back out of trouble, you're certainly right about that." He glances at the scrolls. "I can do that, myself, but appreciate the help! What's known about his expedition? Any info you can share would be helpful."
Dabbert is a human male, approximately 6 feet tall, roughly two hundred pounds or so. He's lean but strong, fast on his feet. He's always thinking, sometimes being quiet, keeping it all bottled up while he dissects what is happening.
He wears a set of half plate over his clothes that he's had for as long as everyone has known him. The half plate is worn and weathered, a sort of dirty bronze color. There's a hole in the left shoulder area of the armor with the words 'Born Again' written around it. A busted skull emblazons the front of the armor. On the back, a heart with wings bleeds from a dagger that sticks through both sides. Across from it is the only graffiti that isn't tarnished like the rest of his armor. It simply says 'Susan Delgado'.
An army marches on its stomach, the saying went. Dab hadn't wasted time once they entered the Peg. He'd sat down, ordered a drink and a bowl of whatever stew was available, commented about how the Peg always smelled like the docks...probably because it was on the decks...then asked his friends if anyone wanted anything. He was buying.
"I uh...Rogi, here, you're getting one. I'm not taking no for an answer. May be the last decent drinks we get for a few days, and that lick you took in the chops for me a few weeks ago bears another. You really gotta learn to not throw yourself in the way like that though."
He accepted two steins from the barmaid and then slid one to his well armored friend, took his own, raised it to the party, and took a deep pull before he started putting a merciless beating on the stew. He continued to chew as he side-eyed the approaching woman, and listened close as she began to speak. And here he thought they'd be finding Kivari out of the goodness of his heart. Five thousand gold pieces? Couldn't complain about that. And it would be five thousand. Kivari had a knack for getting himself in trouble, but that wasn't going to stop Dabbert from laying it down for his friend yet again. Sure he'd complain about it forever. But, a long time ago, when he'd been the Lieutenant of the Skullsplitters, there'd been a saying amongst his men; if he wasn't *****ing, he wasn't happy.
He watched, and he listened, and occasionally he wiped soup from his chin with a swipe of the back of his wrist...
Rogi has absolutely no intention of declining a good meal and digs in with gusto. Between bites he replies, "You'd have done the same for me. You have before. We're a team, all of us, and we do our utmost for everyone. Thats why we're the best at what we do." He smacked his fist against his chest, and proclaimed. "This rock is for the purpose of taking blows meant for my friends. That's why I throw myself at the enemy like that. When we stand shoulder to shoulder, my shield is always there to turn a blow headed your way."
Korba had been long sitting at the inn enjoying a bit of rest after having just returned, again, from the desert. Anyone who knew him knew that he had a deep connection with the sand and dryness, though few knew, or asked, why. Korba is a drow elf to any but the untrained eye, who could see the small bit of human heritage around his cheek bones and chin. Dark skin, light hair, and dark glasses covering his eyes, he had his hand on a glass of cooled mead, into which he often sprinkled a tiny bit of his own spice that he carried with him. Though he was clearly a fighter, he had no weapon other than a small dagger and whip at his side. Many said he was a holy warrior of some kind, though he often kept to himself, and held his own council.
Hearing of the trouble, he pauses for a brief moment, as if in thought, and then looks up towards the diviner and says, "Another mess the old man has gotten himself into. Hopefully less dangerous than it sounds, but this isn't his first time in trouble. I'm sure he's ok." He then adds, taking a sip of his drink and thinking of the skills the mage in front of him is said to possess, "Have you, or any of your order, attempted to view our dear wizard friend?
"Little is known about Kivari's expedition," the diviner responds to Rogi. "Kivari notified no one in the Watchful Order of his intentions. We know that he hired a captain with a small crew to ferry him into the Sea of Swords, but that captain and crew have not returned according to the harbormaster."
Rennisae pauses briefly, carefully choosing her next words for Korba. "Members of the order have labored to gaze upon Kivari magically, but...but there seems to be interference of some kind. Their efforts cannot penetrate the island's atmosphere perhaps."
Marlin Horos is a relatively young human man of average height and slim (some might even say feeble) build. He has brown, slightly greasy shoulder-length hair, which curiously already has more than the typical number of grey hairs. Indeed, his entire body seems prematurely aged, his posture slightly off and his face more wrinkled than it ought to be. He still appears young, but it is impossible to tell just how old he is behind those eyes. Especially because a pair of intricate goggles covers them almost all the time, the type with more lenses than any sane person would need. He wears a long, dark leather coat with a hint of silver trim. The vest and slacks he wears beneath appear to be made of a material similar to silk, but noticeably thicker. The chain of a pocket watch can be seen peeking out from behind his coat, leading into his vest pocket.
Marlin's most apparent feature, however, is the apparatus that is attached to his body. The entire right side of his upper body, as well as his right arm, is covered by something resembling leather armor, covered with multiple plates of brass. It seems utterly unsuited for actual combat, however, and the various cheap (but thaumically conductive) gems and dials and wires connected to it reveal it to be some sort of thaumechanical device. The wires lead up Marlin's arm until they connect to a bizarre, cylindrical device that he wears on his back. It seems to be equal parts astrolabe, hourglass, sundial, compass, and orrery. It is inert right now, but the rest of you who have seen it in action know that it allows Marlin to achieve some truly bizarre, seemingly impossible effects, even for most wizards.
As Marlin entered Sham's Peg, his two constant companions, Tick and Tock, cling to his body. Tick, a small mechanical owl, perches on his shoulder, its head slowly rotating in a perfect circle as it observes the room with its clock-face eyes. Tock, a heftier beast that resembles a metal snake with leather wings, wraps itself around Marlin's neck and body. Its twin tongues, resembling the hands of a clock, flick out of its mouth, tasting the air. Now that he is sitting, Tock is curled around the base of his stool, while Tick hops about the table, its head instantly flicking to face whoever is speaking... even if it has to turn completely around to do so.
As he listens to the others speaking, Marlin absentmindedly taps the table with his fork, along to some invisible rhythm. His food and drink are both untouched and have gone tepid. At last, he speaks. "Of course divination doesn't work. It it were that simple, our diviner friend wouldn't get it into his litle head that the best possible course of action is to plunge headfirst into the mists, because of course he would be different from everyone who tried before him. Bloody hells. I suppose it can't be helped, then. If damned curiosity has indeed killed the cat, we have no choice but the play the part of satisfaction."
Marlin
The weird arm armour and clock thing that Marlin is wearing: (it's a mizzium apparatus)
Tick and Tock
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"Ignorance is bliss, and you look absolutely miserable."
Korba looks to Marlin. He'd always been a curious character, and he just had so many... toys... But Kivari had mentioned that he was quite helpful out in the field. Mentally nodding to himself, he looks to the diviner, and then to Marlin, and says, "That is a good point, though I have known Kivari to jump into things head first when he was excited about something. Still, it's good to know that others have tried to find him as well." Then gesturing towards the scrolls he asks, "Will those work there then? Either way, it seems we'll need to do some footwork. I always do prefer getting on the ground and seeing with my own eyes."tapping the black glasses on his face.
Rennisae narrows her gaze at Marlin, attempting decipher the wizard's meaning, "Play the part of satisfaction...very well then, I suppose."
She then turns her attention to Korba. "We believe the locate object divination will be effective for anyone who is upon the island and, therefore, on the other side of whatever magic is frustrating our efforts."
As is usual on any night of the week, Sham's Peg is full of locals and travelers seeking refreshment and conversation. Anyone of average human height would be startled to see tankards of ale bouncing along on a seemingly aloft tray. The tray weaves its way through the crowd, tendrils of smoke following behind. The floating tankards come to a stop at table in a corner of The Peg. The table houses an unlikely looking group of companions, but based on their body language and laughter, they all seem to know one another well.
Upon reaching its destination the tray is deposited at the table, revealing underneath a dwarf. Gwinlynn Karmadark (Gwin to her friends) takes the tray that had been balancing precariously on her head and sets it down. At first glance her appearance wouldn't reveal much of interest. As is common with dwarves her age is difficult to determine, but based on the gray in her unruly hair, it's clear she's well into adulthood. Around her neck is an amulet bearing the visage of Tyr, the God of Justice. Clenched between her teeth, a wooden pipe with intricate carvings; a gift from the Sun Soul monks who harvest her favorite strain of pipeweed.
Gwin listens intently to the words of Rennisae, and then taking the diviner's hands in her own says, Tyr knows that wizard gets into more scrapes than anyone I've ever known, but it's that damned curiosity of his I admire the most. Looking around the table she continues, Well, my beloved friends, I suppose we should abandon all hope of leisure time and go save our friend's hide......AGAIN. You know what they say, a friend in tweed is a friend indeed.
Shall we endeavor to get one more night of rest or go to the docks to secure a boat straightaway?
As if she were anticipating, Gwin's query, Rennisae says, "The Watchful Order has directed me to assist you in securing passage to the island, that is, if you're agreeable to it. Preliminary arrangements have been made with a captain friendly to the order: Gelvin Pike."
Your time in Waterdeep has granted each of you a rather extensive familiarity with the city folk, including the more prominent ones at the docks. Pike is a man you know: experienced and respected, if not slightly feared.
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Gwin blows a smoky ring above her head before responding. Ah yes, Pike. Excellent. I met him a few years back when he was captain of a ship called the Enterprise. He can be a bit gruff and rough, but I appreciate his candor. You always know where you stand with him. I'm also anxious to chat about what's he's heard from the other folks around the docks. If anyone has heard anything valuable, it will be him.
As she says this, the cleric gives the room a subtle scan, trying to ascertain if anyone in their vicinity is paying unusually close attention to their conversation.
(Oh, I remember where the name Gwinlynn rings a bell from: Five Feathers of Gruemar!)
Marlin's gauntleted hand drums on the table, adding to the rhythm of his fork. "I agree, information is important. We can't just waltz in and expect the place to be nice and hospitable. I think a touch of rumourmongering is in order. Pike may know something, but there are other snippets we may be able to pick up from the rabble. A delicate touch will be needed to weed out the factual from the fallacious, but with enough information I believe it will be possible."
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
"Ignorance is bliss, and you look absolutely miserable."
Rennisae excuses herself but not before expressing the gratitude of the Watchful Order. "As you make your preparations, I shall go straight away to Captain Pike, alerting him of your intentions."
Dividing and conquering, the five of you seek out those places and people you deem most likely to be informed and, hopefully, reliable. The changing island, or whatever it is, has given birth to a mountain of speculation, and the list you compile bears witness of that fact...
Beyond what he has already heard about the island, Dabbert is told by an old blacksmith friend that some believe the island is nothing less than a giant monster.
Gwin inquires among the priests and acolytes she knows and learns that a sailor was brought to one of the temples for healing after falling into the black waters around the island. The man could barely speak his own name and seemed to have the mind of a child.
A local fisherman tells Korba that before the island and black water appeared, an enormous cube of rock fell from the heavens. Red flames and black smoke followed its passing; so too did a shrieking like the voices of a thousand fiends. The fiery cube smashed into the sea and disappeared.
Marlin sits down with an old and not entirely sober sailor who spends a good deal of time describing what he thinks he saw on the surface of the island: a smoking crater that erupts bodies of the dead, a dreadful fog with tinges of crimson within it, and machine-like creatures roving about the surface.
Rogi tracks down an old acquaintance who operates one of Waterdeep's more clandestine operations, and he's told a ship full of shadar-kai was seen in the waters near the island recently.
The last piece of curious news about the changing island is abruptly presented to the entire party as you approach the Faranak, Captain Pike's galley. Standing on the dock is the ship's first mate and next to him is a spherical, seemingly mechanical being with a single eye, and spindly wings and legs.
Gwin, Korba, and Marlin--although taken aback at the creature's presence here on the docks of Waterdeep--recognize it as a monodrone.
"Found this thing in the waters of that cursed island," blurts the first mate. "Pike says you'll know what to do with it. Welcome aboard."
The first mate then turns and crosses the gangplank to the Faranak, leaving the monodrone to stare blankly at you.
Regarding the rumors, as they walk Korba mentions his, and listening to the others, says, "With things like this there is often a sliver of truth in rumors. But with so many completely different ones, it'll be interesting what slivers are which..."
Arriving at the ship, Korba walks up to the monodrone, and waves his hand in front of the eye to see if it reacts, or taps it on the top if there is no movement. "Well... this is an interesting sliver," he ponders aloud.
"We stand shoulder to shoulder." Dabbert agreed, raising his fist to thump his armored chest in answer to Rogi, a grin on his face. He takes up his stein, turns to his group while listening to the wizard-lady's words, then turns it up, downing a substantial part of the contents. He grins as Gwin sets down the next tray of drinks, picks one up, and toasts the air again to his friends while doing his best to listen and not be a distraction. "I uh...you know Gwin, sometimes, you're alright."
Of course, Gwin is always alright as far as Dabbert cares. He's just offering thanks in the most indirect way possible.
"But leisure time? Wouldn't dream of it." He says, swilling again from the drinks Gwin sits down before wiping his mouth again with the back of the same arm. "I uh...wait. What? Pike? You reckon he's still sore about that business where we accidentally burned his mainsail?"
We in this case was more of a him thing. A long ago him thing that he suddenly hoped Pike had forgotten about.
"I uh...know what? Nevermind. He's forgotten all that business. That had to be what? Two decades ago? Maybe...? Shit. Too many licks of my own to remember that correctly nowadays... Were any of you even there? Maybe that was Ecks I was with that time. He always had a knack for getting me in trouble."
Dabbert loved Tick. He had a thing about owls anyway, but the tiny mechanical owl had never ceased to fascinate him. Frankly, he though it was cool as shit. Tock wasn't bad, but Tick was the bees knees.
This new thing, though, was something else. Dabbert leaned down as the First Mate left this weird little robot fellow in their care, reached out with a finger, and touched it.
"Interesting little guy. But what would a giant monster have to do with these things?" He says, referring to the rumor he'd heard and shared with the others.
A distinct sound rapping sound--both tinny and bright--fills the air as Korba's knuckles make contact with the monodrone's body-head. The construct repeats the process, waving one of its hands before its own face and then tapping itself on the head with its closed fist. Likewise, after Dabbert gives the monodrone a gentle poke, the monodrone gives itself a poke with its own finger.
It then points at its single eye and speaks in a mechanical monotone. "One eye."
Moments later, the monodrone raises both spindly arms in the air and says, "Two work."
Pointing both hands at Dabbert, the bizarre construct says, "Good friend."
Lastly, pointing both hands at Korba, it says, "Good boss."
"It seems there may have been a grain of truth in at least some of the rumours I've been told. If I'm not mistaken, the mechanical beings spoken of by one of the people I interviewed may be modrons such as this... creature. Curiously talkative, isn't it? I wasn't aware that modrons, at least lesser ones such as this, spoke anything beyond their own curious tongue."
As Marlin speaks, Tick flies off of his shoulder and lands on the monodrone's head. It pecks at the metallic surface, then crows like a cuckoo clock. Tock remains aloof, tightening around Marlin's body as it observes the creature warily.
"If it is intelligent, as it seems to be, I believe I may have a method of communicating with it. Beyond the broken common that it speaks, anyhow." Marlin kneels down to the Modron, putting on a friendly smile. "Me friend. Have magic! Use to talk. Okay?"
If it responds positively, Marlin will begin ritual casting Rary's Telepathic Bond with it and the rest of the party, as well as the captain because why the hells not.
As Tick alights, the monodrone motions toward the mechanical owl and remarks, "One resource."
Then, gazing unflinchingly at Marlin, it responds, "Friend. One friend."
Marlin proceeds to connect everyone in the group telepathically. Deciphering the monodrone's mind appears to be out of reach, but the creature repeatedly conveys the following: bad boss...bad six face...square bad...bad boss...bad six face...square bad...bad boss...bad six face...square bad...bad boss...bad six face...square bad...bad boss...bad six face...square bad...bad boss...bad six face...square bad...bad boss...bad six face...square bad...bad boss...bad six face...square bad...bad boss...bad six face...square bad...bad boss...bad six face...square bad...
PROLOGUE
A fortnight ago, you and your mates, after a rather lengthy but profitable absence, returned to Waterdeep for some rest, recovery, and reacquainting with old friends, but since your arrival in the City of Splendors you cannot count the number of times you have heard about what the cityfolk are calling the Changing Island. Munching halfheartedly on your midday meal, you mentally sift through the strange list of things you have heard about this landmass that inexplicably appeared in the Sea of Swords roughly one month ago…
Shortly after the island was first spotted, the sea around it became covered by an unnaturally thick bank of fog. That fog never lifts, leaving the island in a perpetual gray twilight.
The water around the island is somehow different from the surrounding sea. No fish swim in this mysterious black water, which features a clear dividing line from the blue-green sea.
The island is unnaturally square and about six hundred feet across. A number of hills and valleys can be seen rising beyond the shore, but it’s impossible to make out details through the fog.
The Changing Island is so-named because those who pass by it have given a number of conflicting descriptions of it. Some say that the island is nothing but bare stone, featuring terraces of sharp, angular rock in white, red, black, and bronze. Others have talked of the island appearing as a pleasant green atoll of palm trees and plant life, with sandy beaches.
Most disturbingly, some witnesses have described the island as covered with bodies, as if the place were the site of some terrible battle. A large number of the fallen appeared to be armored soldiers of various races, but most were as naked as the day they were born.
A number of explorers have landed ships on the island, but none have returned to tell of what they found. Some ships that approached the island have vanished, while others have been found floating with their crews missing.
“And, of course, one of those half-witted explorers that hasn’t returned is my old friend Kivari!” you mutter aloud, startled by the sound of your own voice and the acute note of irritation it conveys. “Damnable wizard! His curiosity exceeds that of a thousand cats but his common sense is less than that of a fencepost.”
You push your bowl of stew away from you, gulp down the remaining contents of your tankard of ale, and exhale slowly and intently.
“What choice do I have? I shall have to go after the fool. No, we shall go after the fool.”
<> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <>
The five of you have gathered at Sham’s Peg, that weathered-looking tavern in the Dock Ward where each of you have spent countless hours during your time in Waterdeep. Despite its shabby appearance the Peg has always proven to be, quite simply, a good place. Good food. Good drink. Good conversation. Good memories. Despite your success over the years--and your improved financial situations--you’ve never been tempted to frequent any of the more refined establishments, of which there are many in this great city.
During the past hour or so there’s been ample criticism of Kivari’s methods and a few remarks about letting the old fellow find his own way back to Waterdeep. None of you, however, are taking such comments seriously because you know that your shared love and admiration for Kivari far outweighs your sense of irritation with his rash decision-making. And it seems right that the five of you should be the ones to save the wizard’s hide, for who else has been through so many scrapes together on Kivari’s behalf?
As you’re discussing the various possibilities for safely reaching the strange, changing island where Kirivani disappeared, one of the diviners from Kivari’s order approaches the table. “Good day to you, friends of Kivari,” she begins. “And I ask your forgiveness for my interruption. I come to you on behalf of our order to speak of the hope that Kivari can be saved.”
The diviner is Rennisae, a rather shy and soft-spoken member of the Watchful Order of Protectors. She explains that the order is offering 5,000 gold to each of you for Kivari’s safe return. If Kivari has already perished, that amount would be reduced to 3,000 gold if his body and possessions are returned. Chief among his possessions is the collection of six Ioun stones (a well-known fact about Kivari). She then draws three spell scrolls* from within the folds of her green robe and suggests they might be used to determine Kivari’s location on the island, if indeed he is there.
“The Order believes your skill and experience--and familiarity with your wizard friend--make you the most suitable party for this task; so, I have been sent to you first and have spoken to no one else about this.”
*Each contains the locate object spell
A strange sight greets anyone who enters the tavern. It's as though a dwarf was stretched to over six feet tall - a huge man with a thick beard to make any dwarf proud - with an even bigger presence - in shining mithral plate armor but with his helm and gauntlets set aside. He was roaring a traditional dwarven song - in somewhat accented but pretty solid Dwarvish - and swinging a full tankard of ale around and pounding the table in rhythm:
Brothers of the mine rejoice!
Swing, swing, swing with me
Raise your pick and raise your voice!
Sing, sing, sing with me
Down and down into the deep
Who knows what we'll find beneath?
Diamonds, rubies, gold and more
Hidden in the mountain store...
He interrupted the song when the diviner came in and addressed them. When she was done, he roared "So! Kivari's gone and got himself in trouble, eh? That's too bad, but not too surprising. Wizards always get in trouble sooner or later. Well! We're just the lot for getting him back out of trouble, you're certainly right about that." He glances at the scrolls. "I can do that, myself, but appreciate the help! What's known about his expedition? Any info you can share would be helpful."
Dabbert is a human male, approximately 6 feet tall, roughly two hundred pounds or so. He's lean but strong, fast on his feet. He's always thinking, sometimes being quiet, keeping it all bottled up while he dissects what is happening.
He wears a set of half plate over his clothes that he's had for as long as everyone has known him. The half plate is worn and weathered, a sort of dirty bronze color. There's a hole in the left shoulder area of the armor with the words 'Born Again' written around it. A busted skull emblazons the front of the armor. On the back, a heart with wings bleeds from a dagger that sticks through both sides. Across from it is the only graffiti that isn't tarnished like the rest of his armor. It simply says 'Susan Delgado'.
An army marches on its stomach, the saying went. Dab hadn't wasted time once they entered the Peg. He'd sat down, ordered a drink and a bowl of whatever stew was available, commented about how the Peg always smelled like the docks...probably because it was on the decks...then asked his friends if anyone wanted anything. He was buying.
"I uh...Rogi, here, you're getting one. I'm not taking no for an answer. May be the last decent drinks we get for a few days, and that lick you took in the chops for me a few weeks ago bears another. You really gotta learn to not throw yourself in the way like that though."
He accepted two steins from the barmaid and then slid one to his well armored friend, took his own, raised it to the party, and took a deep pull before he started putting a merciless beating on the stew. He continued to chew as he side-eyed the approaching woman, and listened close as she began to speak. And here he thought they'd be finding Kivari out of the goodness of his heart. Five thousand gold pieces? Couldn't complain about that. And it would be five thousand. Kivari had a knack for getting himself in trouble, but that wasn't going to stop Dabbert from laying it down for his friend yet again. Sure he'd complain about it forever. But, a long time ago, when he'd been the Lieutenant of the Skullsplitters, there'd been a saying amongst his men; if he wasn't *****ing, he wasn't happy.
He watched, and he listened, and occasionally he wiped soup from his chin with a swipe of the back of his wrist...
DM of AURYN: The Measure of Devotion - Escape from New York
DM of Legacy of NIMH
Rogi has absolutely no intention of declining a good meal and digs in with gusto. Between bites he replies, "You'd have done the same for me. You have before. We're a team, all of us, and we do our utmost for everyone. Thats why we're the best at what we do." He smacked his fist against his chest, and proclaimed. "This rock is for the purpose of taking blows meant for my friends. That's why I throw myself at the enemy like that. When we stand shoulder to shoulder, my shield is always there to turn a blow headed your way."
Korba had been long sitting at the inn enjoying a bit of rest after having just returned, again, from the desert. Anyone who knew him knew that he had a deep connection with the sand and dryness, though few knew, or asked, why. Korba is a drow elf to any but the untrained eye, who could see the small bit of human heritage around his cheek bones and chin. Dark skin, light hair, and dark glasses covering his eyes, he had his hand on a glass of cooled mead, into which he often sprinkled a tiny bit of his own spice that he carried with him. Though he was clearly a fighter, he had no weapon other than a small dagger and whip at his side. Many said he was a holy warrior of some kind, though he often kept to himself, and held his own council.
Hearing of the trouble, he pauses for a brief moment, as if in thought, and then looks up towards the diviner and says, "Another mess the old man has gotten himself into. Hopefully less dangerous than it sounds, but this isn't his first time in trouble. I'm sure he's ok." He then adds, taking a sip of his drink and thinking of the skills the mage in front of him is said to possess, "Have you, or any of your order, attempted to view our dear wizard friend?
PbP 🎲: Tyekanik; Moneo Noree; Korba Muris; & occasional DM:
"Little is known about Kivari's expedition," the diviner responds to Rogi. "Kivari notified no one in the Watchful Order of his intentions. We know that he hired a captain with a small crew to ferry him into the Sea of Swords, but that captain and crew have not returned according to the harbormaster."
Rennisae pauses briefly, carefully choosing her next words for Korba. "Members of the order have labored to gaze upon Kivari magically, but...but there seems to be interference of some kind. Their efforts cannot penetrate the island's atmosphere perhaps."
Marlin Horos is a relatively young human man of average height and slim (some might even say feeble) build. He has brown, slightly greasy shoulder-length hair, which curiously already has more than the typical number of grey hairs. Indeed, his entire body seems prematurely aged, his posture slightly off and his face more wrinkled than it ought to be. He still appears young, but it is impossible to tell just how old he is behind those eyes. Especially because a pair of intricate goggles covers them almost all the time, the type with more lenses than any sane person would need. He wears a long, dark leather coat with a hint of silver trim. The vest and slacks he wears beneath appear to be made of a material similar to silk, but noticeably thicker. The chain of a pocket watch can be seen peeking out from behind his coat, leading into his vest pocket.
Marlin's most apparent feature, however, is the apparatus that is attached to his body. The entire right side of his upper body, as well as his right arm, is covered by something resembling leather armor, covered with multiple plates of brass. It seems utterly unsuited for actual combat, however, and the various cheap (but thaumically conductive) gems and dials and wires connected to it reveal it to be some sort of thaumechanical device. The wires lead up Marlin's arm until they connect to a bizarre, cylindrical device that he wears on his back. It seems to be equal parts astrolabe, hourglass, sundial, compass, and orrery. It is inert right now, but the rest of you who have seen it in action know that it allows Marlin to achieve some truly bizarre, seemingly impossible effects, even for most wizards.
As Marlin entered Sham's Peg, his two constant companions, Tick and Tock, cling to his body. Tick, a small mechanical owl, perches on his shoulder, its head slowly rotating in a perfect circle as it observes the room with its clock-face eyes. Tock, a heftier beast that resembles a metal snake with leather wings, wraps itself around Marlin's neck and body. Its twin tongues, resembling the hands of a clock, flick out of its mouth, tasting the air. Now that he is sitting, Tock is curled around the base of his stool, while Tick hops about the table, its head instantly flicking to face whoever is speaking... even if it has to turn completely around to do so.
As he listens to the others speaking, Marlin absentmindedly taps the table with his fork, along to some invisible rhythm. His food and drink are both untouched and have gone tepid. At last, he speaks. "Of course divination doesn't work. It it were that simple, our diviner friend wouldn't get it into his litle head that the best possible course of action is to plunge headfirst into the mists, because of course he would be different from everyone who tried before him. Bloody hells. I suppose it can't be helped, then. If damned curiosity has indeed killed the cat, we have no choice but the play the part of satisfaction."
Marlin
The weird arm armour and clock thing that Marlin is wearing: (it's a mizzium apparatus)
Tick and Tock
"Ignorance is bliss, and you look absolutely miserable."
Korba looks to Marlin. He'd always been a curious character, and he just had so many... toys... But Kivari had mentioned that he was quite helpful out in the field. Mentally nodding to himself, he looks to the diviner, and then to Marlin, and says, "That is a good point, though I have known Kivari to jump into things head first when he was excited about something. Still, it's good to know that others have tried to find him as well." Then gesturing towards the scrolls he asks, "Will those work there then? Either way, it seems we'll need to do some footwork. I always do prefer getting on the ground and seeing with my own eyes." tapping the black glasses on his face.
PbP 🎲: Tyekanik; Moneo Noree; Korba Muris; & occasional DM:
Rennisae narrows her gaze at Marlin, attempting decipher the wizard's meaning, "Play the part of satisfaction...very well then, I suppose."
She then turns her attention to Korba. "We believe the locate object divination will be effective for anyone who is upon the island and, therefore, on the other side of whatever magic is frustrating our efforts."
As is usual on any night of the week, Sham's Peg is full of locals and travelers seeking refreshment and conversation. Anyone of average human height would be startled to see tankards of ale bouncing along on a seemingly aloft tray. The tray weaves its way through the crowd, tendrils of smoke following behind. The floating tankards come to a stop at table in a corner of The Peg. The table houses an unlikely looking group of companions, but based on their body language and laughter, they all seem to know one another well.
Upon reaching its destination the tray is deposited at the table, revealing underneath a dwarf. Gwinlynn Karmadark (Gwin to her friends) takes the tray that had been balancing precariously on her head and sets it down. At first glance her appearance wouldn't reveal much of interest. As is common with dwarves her age is difficult to determine, but based on the gray in her unruly hair, it's clear she's well into adulthood. Around her neck is an amulet bearing the visage of Tyr, the God of Justice. Clenched between her teeth, a wooden pipe with intricate carvings; a gift from the Sun Soul monks who harvest her favorite strain of pipeweed.
Gwin listens intently to the words of Rennisae, and then taking the diviner's hands in her own says, Tyr knows that wizard gets into more scrapes than anyone I've ever known, but it's that damned curiosity of his I admire the most. Looking around the table she continues, Well, my beloved friends, I suppose we should abandon all hope of leisure time and go save our friend's hide......AGAIN. You know what they say, a friend in tweed is a friend indeed.
Shall we endeavor to get one more night of rest or go to the docks to secure a boat straightaway?
‘The hardest thing in this world is to live in it.’ - Buffy Summers
As if she were anticipating, Gwin's query, Rennisae says, "The Watchful Order has directed me to assist you in securing passage to the island, that is, if you're agreeable to it. Preliminary arrangements have been made with a captain friendly to the order: Gelvin Pike."
Your time in Waterdeep has granted each of you a rather extensive familiarity with the city folk, including the more prominent ones at the docks. Pike is a man you know: experienced and respected, if not slightly feared.
Gwin blows a smoky ring above her head before responding. Ah yes, Pike. Excellent. I met him a few years back when he was captain of a ship called the Enterprise. He can be a bit gruff and rough, but I appreciate his candor. You always know where you stand with him. I'm also anxious to chat about what's he's heard from the other folks around the docks. If anyone has heard anything valuable, it will be him.
As she says this, the cleric gives the room a subtle scan, trying to ascertain if anyone in their vicinity is paying unusually close attention to their conversation.
Perception: 18
‘The hardest thing in this world is to live in it.’ - Buffy Summers
(Oh, I remember where the name Gwinlynn rings a bell from: Five Feathers of Gruemar!)
Marlin's gauntleted hand drums on the table, adding to the rhythm of his fork. "I agree, information is important. We can't just waltz in and expect the place to be nice and hospitable. I think a touch of rumourmongering is in order. Pike may know something, but there are other snippets we may be able to pick up from the rabble. A delicate touch will be needed to weed out the factual from the fallacious, but with enough information I believe it will be possible."
"Ignorance is bliss, and you look absolutely miserable."
Rennisae excuses herself but not before expressing the gratitude of the Watchful Order. "As you make your preparations, I shall go straight away to Captain Pike, alerting him of your intentions."
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Dividing and conquering, the five of you seek out those places and people you deem most likely to be informed and, hopefully, reliable. The changing island, or whatever it is, has given birth to a mountain of speculation, and the list you compile bears witness of that fact...
Beyond what he has already heard about the island, Dabbert is told by an old blacksmith friend that some believe the island is nothing less than a giant monster.
Gwin inquires among the priests and acolytes she knows and learns that a sailor was brought to one of the temples for healing after falling into the black waters around the island. The man could barely speak his own name and seemed to have the mind of a child.
A local fisherman tells Korba that before the island and black water appeared, an enormous cube of rock fell from the heavens. Red flames and black smoke followed its passing; so too did a shrieking like the voices of a thousand fiends. The fiery cube smashed into the sea and disappeared.
Marlin sits down with an old and not entirely sober sailor who spends a good deal of time describing what he thinks he saw on the surface of the island: a smoking crater that erupts bodies of the dead, a dreadful fog with tinges of crimson within it, and machine-like creatures roving about the surface.
Rogi tracks down an old acquaintance who operates one of Waterdeep's more clandestine operations, and he's told a ship full of shadar-kai was seen in the waters near the island recently.
The last piece of curious news about the changing island is abruptly presented to the entire party as you approach the Faranak, Captain Pike's galley. Standing on the dock is the ship's first mate and next to him is a spherical, seemingly mechanical being with a single eye, and spindly wings and legs.
Gwin, Korba, and Marlin--although taken aback at the creature's presence here on the docks of Waterdeep--recognize it as a monodrone.
"Found this thing in the waters of that cursed island," blurts the first mate. "Pike says you'll know what to do with it. Welcome aboard."
The first mate then turns and crosses the gangplank to the Faranak, leaving the monodrone to stare blankly at you.
Regarding the rumors, as they walk Korba mentions his, and listening to the others, says, "With things like this there is often a sliver of truth in rumors. But with so many completely different ones, it'll be interesting what slivers are which..."
Arriving at the ship, Korba walks up to the monodrone, and waves his hand in front of the eye to see if it reacts, or taps it on the top if there is no movement. "Well... this is an interesting sliver," he ponders aloud.
PbP 🎲: Tyekanik; Moneo Noree; Korba Muris; & occasional DM:
"We stand shoulder to shoulder." Dabbert agreed, raising his fist to thump his armored chest in answer to Rogi, a grin on his face. He takes up his stein, turns to his group while listening to the wizard-lady's words, then turns it up, downing a substantial part of the contents. He grins as Gwin sets down the next tray of drinks, picks one up, and toasts the air again to his friends while doing his best to listen and not be a distraction. "I uh...you know Gwin, sometimes, you're alright."
Of course, Gwin is always alright as far as Dabbert cares. He's just offering thanks in the most indirect way possible.
"But leisure time? Wouldn't dream of it." He says, swilling again from the drinks Gwin sits down before wiping his mouth again with the back of the same arm. "I uh...wait. What? Pike? You reckon he's still sore about that business where we accidentally burned his mainsail?"
We in this case was more of a him thing. A long ago him thing that he suddenly hoped Pike had forgotten about.
"I uh...know what? Nevermind. He's forgotten all that business. That had to be what? Two decades ago? Maybe...? Shit. Too many licks of my own to remember that correctly nowadays... Were any of you even there? Maybe that was Ecks I was with that time. He always had a knack for getting me in trouble."
Dabbert loved Tick. He had a thing about owls anyway, but the tiny mechanical owl had never ceased to fascinate him. Frankly, he though it was cool as shit. Tock wasn't bad, but Tick was the bees knees.
This new thing, though, was something else. Dabbert leaned down as the First Mate left this weird little robot fellow in their care, reached out with a finger, and touched it.
"Interesting little guy. But what would a giant monster have to do with these things?" He says, referring to the rumor he'd heard and shared with the others.
DM of AURYN: The Measure of Devotion - Escape from New York
DM of Legacy of NIMH
A distinct sound rapping sound--both tinny and bright--fills the air as Korba's knuckles make contact with the monodrone's body-head. The construct repeats the process, waving one of its hands before its own face and then tapping itself on the head with its closed fist. Likewise, after Dabbert gives the monodrone a gentle poke, the monodrone gives itself a poke with its own finger.
It then points at its single eye and speaks in a mechanical monotone. "One eye."
Moments later, the monodrone raises both spindly arms in the air and says, "Two work."
Pointing both hands at Dabbert, the bizarre construct says, "Good friend."
Lastly, pointing both hands at Korba, it says, "Good boss."
"It seems there may have been a grain of truth in at least some of the rumours I've been told. If I'm not mistaken, the mechanical beings spoken of by one of the people I interviewed may be modrons such as this... creature. Curiously talkative, isn't it? I wasn't aware that modrons, at least lesser ones such as this, spoke anything beyond their own curious tongue."
As Marlin speaks, Tick flies off of his shoulder and lands on the monodrone's head. It pecks at the metallic surface, then crows like a cuckoo clock. Tock remains aloof, tightening around Marlin's body as it observes the creature warily.
"If it is intelligent, as it seems to be, I believe I may have a method of communicating with it. Beyond the broken common that it speaks, anyhow." Marlin kneels down to the Modron, putting on a friendly smile. "Me friend. Have magic! Use to talk. Okay?"
If it responds positively, Marlin will begin ritual casting Rary's Telepathic Bond with it and the rest of the party, as well as the captain because why the hells not.
"Ignorance is bliss, and you look absolutely miserable."
As Tick alights, the monodrone motions toward the mechanical owl and remarks, "One resource."
Then, gazing unflinchingly at Marlin, it responds, "Friend. One friend."
Marlin proceeds to connect everyone in the group telepathically. Deciphering the monodrone's mind appears to be out of reach, but the creature repeatedly conveys the following: bad boss...bad six face...square bad...bad boss...bad six face...square bad...bad boss...bad six face...square bad...bad boss...bad six face...square bad...bad boss...bad six face...square bad...bad boss...bad six face...square bad...bad boss...bad six face...square bad...bad boss...bad six face...square bad...bad boss...bad six face...square bad...bad boss...bad six face...square bad...