CopperDragon1421 as Caspian Ozfire, Tiefling Warlock
DirtyDogP as Eleven, Dragonborn Fighter/Barbarian
FrandalSilvereyes as Kerthak, Warforged Fighter
Lerus17 as Daejor, Changeling Warlock
Virst as Weasel, Shifter Warlock
Those lost to the ether of the internet
Hermes as Priest, Warforged Paladin
Septhor42 as Tarhorn Laydbek, Firbolg Druid
The below spoiler will be a shortlist of references to when the party are introduced to recurring NPCs.
NPCs in Sharn
Atlan Desmond, a human artificer under the employ of House Cannith. Known contact for Majin Blackthunder and Dalin Rake for doing under the table deeds for the House and other patrons of his artificing shop.
Sharn, the glimmering jewel on the Dagger River, has flourished even after the end of the 100-year war. It has been four years since that war ended, and The Mourning took place. Many a people are still feeling the repercussions of the times, veterans attempting to reintegrate into society alongside the war machines, known as Warforged, who have been given free citizenship.
This group of a dozen people find themselves meeting together in The Lower City, using an old abandoned storage house within Dura as their base of operations. Word has gotten around to the group, as Majin Blackthunder and Dalin Rake came across some old intel. With their old ties to House Cannith mostly severed, they still get the occasional job or hint come down their way. Today, they have been offered a job by one of their old contact, Atlan Desmond, a human artificer and general smith who works for House Cannith, has told them of a whisper on the black market.
There is a shipment coming in on the lightning rail tomorrow night, carrying a shipment of smuggled Dragonshards, crystals with untold power that can be used for many things, in unmarked crates for collection by an unknown benefactor. Atlan's contact has offered them 15,000 gold for the safe retrieval of the crate of Dragonshards, and a bonus if they don't leave any loose ends. Details to follow once the mission has been accepted.
The Hideout (nickname TBC) is a small storage building down a side street from Desmond's Artifice, a workshop that is owned by House Cannith. It is reasonably sizeable for keeping equipment and arms out of the watching eyes of the public, as well as conveniently situated off of a main street. There are some basic tables and chairs, as well as a couple of luxuries for people to stay within the hideout for a couple of days if needs be. Today, the group is being called together for a job.
PLAYERS! If you would like to give a brief physical description of your character, and how they know the people here (or maybe if they only know a couple of people, say who they are familiar with).
Physical Description:Eldin is an odd looking tiefling. He lacks a tail and has green skin. He stands 5ft and 6 inches tall. He has black hair that reaches down past his lower jaw and goes up to half of his neck. He has pale purple arms which he hides by wearing a full sleeved shirt and cheap leather gloves. He wears a big scarf which obscures the lower half of his face. This on top of his dull yellow eyes and thin V-shaped horns gives his face a insect like appearance. Tieflings and other people who are associated with fiends would recognize Eldin's odd appearance signifying the status of a fool among the devils.
Why Eldin is in the hideout: Eldin is a mercenary. Atlan hired Eldin to help the group with the raid on the train. So now he's in the base. He is not familiar with the other members of the party but he doesn't really care since this is just another job for him. He was promised gold in exchange of his services by Atlan.
Eleven enters the TBC, his mannerisms very animated as he is full of excitement. The dragonborn is very imposing — almost seven feet tall and bursting with muscle. He wears, oddly enough, clothes one would associate with a sailor or even ... a pirate? His open shirt reveals that his lower jaw, neck and chest are covered in tan scales instead of the black that cover the rest of his visible hide. He has a line of fin-like protrusions that runs from his forehead down the back of his skull; green eyes; light gray horns, which angle toward his chin; and thick, ropy scales that resemble hair grow from the base of his skull and hang halfway down his back. Hanging from his belt is a longsword scabbard and a gnarly-looking morningstar with a rectangular head covered in spikes. He appears to be wearing no armor, but does have a small pack. He looks around, clearly trying to spy someone. He doesn't appear to be at all shy, and when he doesn't see anyone he knows, he saunters up to the nearest individual and gives them a big, toothy grin. "G'day," he says in a fairly deep, growl-y voice, reminiscent of a dragon's. "I'm Eleven. I mean, my name's Eleven. I didn't miss anything, did I?" He intertwines his fingers together, twists his forearms outward, and stretches, his shirt straining as his shoulders and back muscles expand. He's almost bouncing on the balls of his feet as he looks around again for his halfling friend.
Edric Hannibal Aramis is a slender, crimson-skinned tiefling of average height. He wears the semi-formal academic attire of Silverspire College of Magecraft, and has a backpack slung over his shoulders. A ring with a pinkish-purple Khyber shard is visible on his left hand for a moment. He's currently reading a large book entitled "Understanding Advanced Psionic Theory: 5th edition." A smaller tome, bound in blue leather and decorated with exotic metals and crystals, sits on his lap. He appears to be engrossed in studying. As for why he's here, he says that "Student loans are a bitch... among other things." He's relatively laid-back provided you know what the hell he's talking about. As a Droaamite, he is used to extralegal activity.
A lithe 3' 10” tall light olive-skinned Hafling female makes her entrance. The fashionable-looking teen's large and expressive brown eyes cautiously takes in the layout of the room as she appraises its occupants before moving closer. Recognizing a face or two, she relaxes a bit and offers onlookers a coy, playful smile... and a sly knowing wink as she introduces herself for the benefit of those who have not crossed paths with her before, “Hello boys, the name's, Boosandei Belfrye but most just call me Boo.”
The Halfling is dressed well, apparently above her station in fashionable stylish attire; long jacket over studded leather armor, tight-fitting trousers and posh knee-high boots. Her short shoulder-length dark-brown hair cascades out from under a chic steampunk cap that gives her a certain mischievous and precocious look about her. Only lightly armed... protruding just out of sight behind her are the pommels of twin kukri fighting daggers with inwardly curved blades looking more decorative than functional given the way she carries herself and the look of her well-manicured fingernails. Perched on her shoulder is a raven, possibly a familiar. Those looking at little more closely at her will note on one of her fingers is a Morgrave University signet ring marking her as either a student or faculty member.
When a crimson-skinned Tiefling is heard making the remark, "student loans are a bitch... among other things."She turns his way and silently nods in agreement as she strides directly towards the very imposing Dragonborn... Elven, looking up at him before speaking in Draconic, “how's it hanging Eleven? I had a feeling that I might run into you here... gawds know I could use a good payday... been a long dry streak for me and I got bills to pay, how about yourself?” She takes a spot near him to chat while they wait for the others to arrive.
Eleven looks down, seeing Boo for the first time, and his face lights up even more. "There you are. I was wondering if I got the day wrong." He looks around. "This place is nice." Then, answering the halfling's question: "Thanks for getting me this job. You know I could use the extra coin myself. The day work down at the docks pays next to nothing, and my bar tab's through the roof. I tried lifting a purse last week, but these hands aren't made for delicate work like that." He displays one of his large, clawed hands. "I mean," he says, the tone of his voice changing into that bravado Boo has heard a number of times over drinks, which tells her she's about to enjoy one of Eleven's tall tales, "I had the purse in my hand. The guy never felt me take it, but ... um ... somebody saw. Because they had magic eyes. And then they told the guy. And even though I was much faster than him, he still caught me. Because ... he was magic, too. And, yeah," he says, deflating a little and returning to the truth. "Earned myself a morning behind bars. Don't know why they made such a fuss. I didn't actually get away with it," he gripes. "I don't know why they had to lock me up. Anyway ..." His complaint melts away, and he looks around again, his eyes brightening.
Boo gives an impatient eye roll as she leans back on the bench and pulls her legs up to sit cross-legged. Pulling out a bag of peanuts to snack on, offering Eleven some as she intently listens to his tale of woe. Reaching out with a small graceful hand placing it on his leg, patting it softly to help console him and offer sympathy between bites. "Oh, you poor dear... how dreadful. I tried telling you those slight-of-hand jobs are not your forte... you need to play more to your strengths. But not to worry, I am confident this job will allow you to do just that. So be a good boy and just sit back, relax... take a chill and eat some nuts while we wait. Maybe practice that intimidating grimace face I showed you last time we spoke."
Since Ith asked the time in-character, Eldin will then say, "It's 10 AM (Unless Eberron doesn't have clocks in which case, Eldin will say it's mid-morning) now. I wouldn't really recommend drinking before a mission but I won't stop you from doing it."
(There can be a convenient clockwork device on the wall that keeps track of the time. Rather than hands on a face, it's a turning dial with sun and moon slices, and one arrow pointing to the face as it slowly rotates during the day.)
The district of Precarious is the gateway to Cliffside and the docks of Sharn. The Sharn Watch maintains an active presence in Precarious, securing passage to the docks and watching the many warehouses. The rest of Lower Dura has been left to rot. Ignored by the Watch, it is the domain of gangs and crimelords. The district of Fallen is a haunted ruin; this temple district was abandoned after a floating tower collapsed onto it. Malleon’s Gate is home to the goblins of Sharn, along with other monstrous immigrants from Droaam and Darguun. Callestan is a center for criminal activity.
Things to Do in Dura
Talk About the Race.The inhabitants of Dura are devoted to the Race of Eight Winds and are always willing to discuss the latest news.
Gamble.Legal gambling is heavily taxed and limited in its scope. Dura is home to a wide range of shadier and more profitable games.
Go Shopping. If you’re looking for expensive goods shop elsewhere. But the Bazaar of Middle Dura is an excellent source for exotic goods… legal or otherwise. Clifftop caters to adventurers and has a reasonable selection of magical goods.
A Little Crime.Looking for a fence? Need to find a smuggler or an assassin? Do you want to set up a meeting with a Boromar lieutenant? Lower Dura is the nexus for criminal activities in Sharn.
Suffer A Terrible Accident.The Sharn Watch ignores Lower Dura, and even in the higher wards they’re spread thin. There are even stories of dragonmarked houses and mad wizards conducting dangerous experiments in Lower Dura… who’s going to stop them?
Boo takes notes of another person she recognizes enters... as Ith (Dalin Rake) walks into the hideout a smile plastered on his face. The Halfing remains seated for now near the Dragonborn but gives a slight silent wave as a friendly acknowledgment of his presence and as a sign to the others, there is a connection of some sort between the pair as with Boo and Eleven.
Sitting on a corner and not really paying attention to the chatter around him, sits a relatively tall dwarf with a long, braided beard of black hair. He wears an inexpensive suit of leather armor, clearly not originally made to fit him, over which a over-sized brown jacket hangs. Several loose strands of fabric hang and encircle the jacket, some serving as scarves, other as sashes, but most in shades of gray, tan, or brownish-green. Those looking more carefully might see a few daggers around his waist being hid by the sashes, and a crossbow tied to a somewhat full backpack that is occupying the next chair over.
"Name's Gremmur", he says to absolutely no one in particular as he continues to work on his own shoes, atop the table (he is wearing socks only at the moment). The way he moves his hammer, awl, and knife around a portable shoe stand suggests some level of expertise. On the table, a cutter, spare leather, and thread also rest, awaiting their proper time to join in the fun. "Nice to meet y'all. First time here; looking for some coin. When do we start?" never removing his eyes from the job at hand.
Walking in is a short girl with gray long hair, her hands and feet bare and showing her animal traits on her beige skin. She is clad in leather armor with various leaves and flowers pinned upon it's ends. She walks with a staff, almost as tall as her and with a strange hook upon the top of it. And on her back is a pack along with a mask with bestial features upon it. Somewhat not fitting the appearance of her flat and slightly pinkish nose and large eyes. They darted about the room, as she slightly bite onto her bottom lip. "Call me Weasel...I-I'm here to yelp, I mean help." She does a small bow, ignoring her mistake as she sits at Gremmur's table, a bit interested in how the dwarf is altering his shoe.
“Howdy, young lady. I’d ask if your shoes need a look at but I see you have no need for them. Ha! I think we’ll get along just fine”he follows that with a loud but warm laughter, the only way the old cobbler knows of ‘breaking the ice’.
Sitting two tables from Edric, Priest pours over an old tome. It's bound in a thick, dark leather. He's sitting straight as an arrow, holding the book aloft, and a silver ball of fire is clearly visible embossed in some shiny metal on the cover. If anyone was watching, he hasn't moved in sometime. He's a Warforged of course, a machine made for one purpose; to spread the word of The Silver Flame.
He's tall, close to 6 foot high, but slender for a Warforged. Most of the brutes built for the war were bulky, hulking machines. Priest was different. He had thinner arms with fingers long as spider legs. The better to turn a page, or handle a quill, he'd tell you, if you asked. He was made of a dark wood, and old from the look of his exterior plating. Leaning next to him against the wall stands an older sword, sheathed in nicked and warn leather. Below that a shield painted white, with a silver ball of flame left unpainted in the center.
He hasn't said anything, or really moved at all in at least half an hour, maybe more.