L’Ouverture Zinn, a large and weathered Kobold stands confidently among his fellow mercenaries. He wears fine clothes and a pair of curious spectacles upon his face. With great care he had etched his belongings and tattooed his skin with ancient draconian symbolism from Kobold legend. The Kobold and Draconic iconography, the markings on his robes, the symbols engraved on his staff, and the jewelry he wears, emphasize all his Draconian nature. If there are any other Kobolds among them he will make a point to greet them, using the draconian word for “brother”.
Zinn now sits at the table with his fellow black blades, paging through a large time while his companions bickered over some imaginary boots. He grumbled under his breath a bit but otherwise remained immersed in his research. Though he sometimes found them to be insufferable they were capable and proven allies. He did his best to ignore their antics and focused on his reading. He speaks up after the big man approaches their table.
“This is our table, you’ll need to find another.” He says dryly, not bothering to lift his head to meet the gaze of the human.
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Vercinius Thrax: Lizardfolk Cleric - Hoard of the Dragon Queen
L’Ouverture Zinn: Kobold Sorcerer - Waterdeep: Dungeon of the Mad Mage
Titus Vorenus: Dragonborn Paladin - Waterdeep: Dragon Heist
Nemean Goldenmane: Tabaxi Fighter - Lost Mine of Phandelver (Retired)
"Piss off," Kaltent says, glancing at the man. He waves a hand and mutters a word and another, slightly larger, version of the man appears behind the real thing (where the man can't see it without looking around, but the few others standing further back have a clear view of what's happening) and starts relieving itself on the man's leg, where, as far as the other's are concerned, his pants begin to darken as if wet (the man himself of course feels nothing). Kaltentpauses and glances over at Shiftwith a thoughtful look on his face. "Or I suppose that would actually be 'piss on'," he says, then goes back to cleaning his fingernails with the dagger, apparently finished with the conversation.
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Shift's smile drops away and is replaced by a glower.
"Nobody talks to the Blackblades like that and doesn't come to regret it."
"I suggest you find a new favourite table and save yourself the pain and embarrassment."
As the illusion of the man starts peeing, Shift amends,
"Well at least you can save yourself the pain."
As he has been talking, Shift has slowly been increasing in size and bulk. He now sits constrained by his cloths, muscles bulging at the seams. His teeth have all become sharp fangs in his mouth and ripples of bright blood-red scales have started appearing in lines down his arms and up his neck, disappearing under his hairline.
Intimidation check to try and get the guy to stand down: 18
Insight check to see if Shift thinks the Blackblades could take the large man and his friends, in a fight: 12
The large human stammers a bit. "Th- the Blackblades? I think I've heard of ye."
A large, ill-conceived tattoo is covering up an older tattoo on the man's left bicep. Shift suspects he is former zhentarim muscle. The faction of thugs have been under fire recently, hunted by the city watch.
"I'd be honored to allow you the user of my table today," he says.
Shift's smile returns as he puts his feet up on the table, leaning back with his hands behind his head, his muscles all flexing.
"That's a good boy, now be on your way, we have business to discus."
As he relaxes, Shift's body begins to slowly deflate back to his normal proportions. The red scales retracting back under his cloths and his teeth returning to their more normal human form.
Shiftstill keeps his eyes on the man, even once he finally walks away.
Bronx has finally realized what the man wants. "Oh." He scoots to the side, making room for the man at the table, if he wanted to sit down for some reason. He buries his face back in his mug. He thinks he has finally nailed this social situation.
"Ah, thank you for being prompt, gentlemen,"says a voice seasoned by decades of barking commands to training monks. Looking up, the Blackblades see their employer, Martus Krennic. He is lean and muscular with wise, piercing eyes that have seen 60 years of this world. His dark skin is offset by a short-cropped gray beard covering only his chin. His head is clean-shaven, and likely has been for nearly 50 years, from what the Blackblades know of the old monk. The man is not weakened by age. The trials of time have only sharpened his body and mind.
"i've paid for our entry into the Portal. Grab your gear. We depart."
The quartet of mercenaries know the bargain intimately. They are to provide protective services to Krennicand his package. They will be paid regularly for the progress they make in escorting the old monk and his mysterious crate as far into the Mad Mage's dungeon as is possible. The faster the better, but the old man made it clear that if this journey takes years, then so be it. The only thing that matters is that the crate makes it in one piece. "Don't protect me. I am not the job. The crate is the job. I will protect myself."
As for what is in the crate, they are paid well to not ask or look. "Treat it as if it carries your own infant selves," said Krennicduring their last meeting. "If it is damaged, you will cease to be."
The treasure, glory, and gold will be all theirs."Consider it a bonus," said the monk with a dsmissive wave of the hand.
And how will the crate be transported, several of them asked at once."I have that taken care of."
The crowd cheers and razzes the Blackblades as they descended in the basket to Undermountain. It feels like a long descent but they have all done it before, save Krennic, who seems nonplussed at the swaying basket in the darkness of the well. It touches down with a thump. The cheers and voices have long since faded, due to distance and disinterest. Krenniclights a torch. They stand in a square room 40 feet on a side. A thin layer of sand covers the floor. On the wall hang old dented and graffitied shields.
Next to the basket that bore them down the well sits a large wooden crate, roughly 5 feet by 2.5 by 3 feet. Straw sticks through some of the slats of the crate. Towering over the crate is a perfectly still iron golem. "Hello Statue," Krennic says with a smile in his voice. "Pick up the crate."
The iron golem bends down and lifts the crate effortlessly. It stands perfectly still again, awaiting the next order. "Statue exists solely to transport the crate. It will not help us unless the crate itself is threatened. If Statue falls, then you must carry the crate. So protect it as you would the crate. Any questions, gentlemen, or should we get started?"
(I will provide a partial map of this level of the dungeon later that aligns with what the Blackblades remember from their last trip into Undermountain.)
Kaltentlooks askance at the crate. "Yah...I'm not big on carrying giant crates that weight five times as much as I do. I vote we keep the statue around."
“Of course we’re going to keep the golem.” Snarls Zinn, “The sooner we can get this thing down into the Undermountain, the less time I have to spend listening to this babbling!” He boldly walks ahead of the group as they descend into the darkness.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Vercinius Thrax: Lizardfolk Cleric - Hoard of the Dragon Queen
L’Ouverture Zinn: Kobold Sorcerer - Waterdeep: Dungeon of the Mad Mage
Titus Vorenus: Dragonborn Paladin - Waterdeep: Dragon Heist
Nemean Goldenmane: Tabaxi Fighter - Lost Mine of Phandelver (Retired)
Lanielis still reeling from the vast fortune they have acquired in service to the city. Their tavern is open and they have begun to draw a nightly crowd. But now they have a call to action. And to Laniel, it is personal. He comes downstairs for their appointed meeting but nobody else has arrived yet, save Mal, who is busying himself at the bar.
Jaelester Silvermane is the first to arrive. As he approaches a table, the chair slides out for him. He pauses, looking around while Malsmirks from behind the bar.
Lady Blackstaff arrives next. Like Silvermane, she is surprised at the chair sliding away from the table on its own. "How?" she says, looking at Laniel. The monk shrugs and offers a cryptic, "The old bartender."
Vajra regains her compusure and sits, keeping an out for the ghost attached to the renovated tavern. "We're waiting for another, I believe," she says, eyeing Silvermane, who nods. "Where are Morpheusand Rethan?"
Rethanrealizes he's late to the meeting and hurries down the stairs. Slowing as he reaches the bottom, he makes his way across the room to join the others at the table. "Sorry I'm late," he says.
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L’Ouverture Zinn, a large and weathered Kobold stands confidently among his fellow mercenaries. He wears fine clothes and a pair of curious spectacles upon his face. With great care he had etched his belongings and tattooed his skin with ancient draconian symbolism from Kobold legend. The Kobold and Draconic iconography, the markings on his robes, the symbols engraved on his staff, and the jewelry he wears, emphasize all his Draconian nature. If there are any other Kobolds among them he will make a point to greet them, using the draconian word for “brother”.
Zinn now sits at the table with his fellow black blades, paging through a large time while his companions bickered over some imaginary boots. He grumbled under his breath a bit but otherwise remained immersed in his research. Though he sometimes found them to be insufferable they were capable and proven allies. He did his best to ignore their antics and focused on his reading. He speaks up after the big man approaches their table.
“This is our table, you’ll need to find another.” He says dryly, not bothering to lift his head to meet the gaze of the human.
Vercinius Thrax: Lizardfolk Cleric - Hoard of the Dragon Queen
L’Ouverture Zinn: Kobold Sorcerer - Waterdeep: Dungeon of the Mad Mage
Titus Vorenus: Dragonborn Paladin - Waterdeep: Dragon Heist
Nemean Goldenmane: Tabaxi Fighter - Lost Mine of Phandelver (Retired)
"Who are you?" The human says with a growl. "You're nobody. Now get outta my chair before there's trouble."
"Piss off," Kaltent says, glancing at the man. He waves a hand and mutters a word and another, slightly larger, version of the man appears behind the real thing (where the man can't see it without looking around, but the few others standing further back have a clear view of what's happening) and starts relieving itself on the man's leg, where, as far as the other's are concerned, his pants begin to darken as if wet (the man himself of course feels nothing). Kaltent pauses and glances over at Shift with a thoughtful look on his face. "Or I suppose that would actually be 'piss on'," he says, then goes back to cleaning his fingernails with the dagger, apparently finished with the conversation.
(Silent Image)
Shift's smile drops away and is replaced by a glower.
"Nobody talks to the Blackblades like that and doesn't come to regret it."
"I suggest you find a new favourite table and save yourself the pain and embarrassment."
As the illusion of the man starts peeing, Shift amends,
"Well at least you can save yourself the pain."
As he has been talking, Shift has slowly been increasing in size and bulk. He now sits constrained by his cloths, muscles bulging at the seams. His teeth have all become sharp fangs in his mouth and ripples of bright blood-red scales have started appearing in lines down his arms and up his neck, disappearing under his hairline.
Intimidation check to try and get the guy to stand down: 18
Insight check to see if Shift thinks the Blackblades could take the large man and his friends, in a fight: 12
David Gearlock | Human | Artificer | Revenge Heist
Knox | Warforged | Cleric | Shadowthorn's Out of the Abyss
(Does the man - or the other humans - have anything obviously valuable? Coin purses, anything else like that)
Perception if needed? 10
The large human stammers a bit. "Th- the Blackblades? I think I've heard of ye."
A large, ill-conceived tattoo is covering up an older tattoo on the man's left bicep. Shift suspects he is former zhentarim muscle. The faction of thugs have been under fire recently, hunted by the city watch.
"I'd be honored to allow you the user of my table today," he says.
Shift's smile returns as he puts his feet up on the table, leaning back with his hands behind his head, his muscles all flexing.
"That's a good boy, now be on your way, we have business to discus."
As he relaxes, Shift's body begins to slowly deflate back to his normal proportions. The red scales retracting back under his cloths and his teeth returning to their more normal human form.
Shift still keeps his eyes on the man, even once he finally walks away.
David Gearlock | Human | Artificer | Revenge Heist
Knox | Warforged | Cleric | Shadowthorn's Out of the Abyss
Bronx has finally realized what the man wants. "Oh." He scoots to the side, making room for the man at the table, if he wanted to sit down for some reason. He buries his face back in his mug. He thinks he has finally nailed this social situation.
Shift sees what Bronx does, and rolls his eye's, giving him a tape under the table.
"No need to move away from him because of his smell, Bronx, my death dealing friend, he was just leaving anyway."
Shift gives Bronx a wink, hoping desperately that this time Bronx will understand the hint.
David Gearlock | Human | Artificer | Revenge Heist
Knox | Warforged | Cleric | Shadowthorn's Out of the Abyss
Int saving throw: 7
Bronx stares at you, and slowly, painfully, returns the wink. It may be the first time he's ever purposefully closed one eye before.
"Ah, thank you for being prompt, gentlemen," says a voice seasoned by decades of barking commands to training monks. Looking up, the Blackblades see their employer, Martus Krennic. He is lean and muscular with wise, piercing eyes that have seen 60 years of this world. His dark skin is offset by a short-cropped gray beard covering only his chin. His head is clean-shaven, and likely has been for nearly 50 years, from what the Blackblades know of the old monk. The man is not weakened by age. The trials of time have only sharpened his body and mind.
"i've paid for our entry into the Portal. Grab your gear. We depart."
The quartet of mercenaries know the bargain intimately. They are to provide protective services to Krennic and his package. They will be paid regularly for the progress they make in escorting the old monk and his mysterious crate as far into the Mad Mage's dungeon as is possible. The faster the better, but the old man made it clear that if this journey takes years, then so be it. The only thing that matters is that the crate makes it in one piece. "Don't protect me. I am not the job. The crate is the job. I will protect myself."
As for what is in the crate, they are paid well to not ask or look. "Treat it as if it carries your own infant selves," said Krennic during their last meeting. "If it is damaged, you will cease to be."
The treasure, glory, and gold will be all theirs. "Consider it a bonus," said the monk with a dsmissive wave of the hand.
And how will the crate be transported, several of them asked at once. "I have that taken care of."
The crowd cheers and razzes the Blackblades as they descended in the basket to Undermountain. It feels like a long descent but they have all done it before, save Krennic, who seems nonplussed at the swaying basket in the darkness of the well. It touches down with a thump. The cheers and voices have long since faded, due to distance and disinterest. Krennic lights a torch. They stand in a square room 40 feet on a side. A thin layer of sand covers the floor. On the wall hang old dented and graffitied shields.
Next to the basket that bore them down the well sits a large wooden crate, roughly 5 feet by 2.5 by 3 feet. Straw sticks through some of the slats of the crate. Towering over the crate is a perfectly still iron golem. "Hello Statue," Krennic says with a smile in his voice. "Pick up the crate."
The iron golem bends down and lifts the crate effortlessly. It stands perfectly still again, awaiting the next order. "Statue exists solely to transport the crate. It will not help us unless the crate itself is threatened. If Statue falls, then you must carry the crate. So protect it as you would the crate. Any questions, gentlemen, or should we get started?"
(I will provide a partial map of this level of the dungeon later that aligns with what the Blackblades remember from their last trip into Undermountain.)
"How heavy is this crate, in case something were to happen to our friend Statue here?"
Shift pokes at the crate, seeming to attempt to gauge its weight, by looks alone.
David Gearlock | Human | Artificer | Revenge Heist
Knox | Warforged | Cleric | Shadowthorn's Out of the Abyss
"Please respect our agreement," Krennic says, already exasperated. "It weighs about 680 pounds in total."
Kaltent looks askance at the crate. "Yah...I'm not big on carrying giant crates that weight five times as much as I do. I vote we keep the statue around."
“Of course we’re going to keep the golem.” Snarls Zinn, “The sooner we can get this thing down into the Undermountain, the less time I have to spend listening to this babbling!” He boldly walks ahead of the group as they descend into the darkness.
Vercinius Thrax: Lizardfolk Cleric - Hoard of the Dragon Queen
L’Ouverture Zinn: Kobold Sorcerer - Waterdeep: Dungeon of the Mad Mage
Titus Vorenus: Dragonborn Paladin - Waterdeep: Dragon Heist
Nemean Goldenmane: Tabaxi Fighter - Lost Mine of Phandelver (Retired)
"Revolution must be going poorly," Kaltent mutters to the others as he starts to follow. "He seems to be in a worse mood than usual."
Shift shrugs,
"Ok, no problem."
Shift seems to be thinking as he starts walks along with the others.
"I don't even think I could carry that in one of my beast forms, like a bear or something. That's really heavy..."
Shift looks back at Statue.
"We really can't afford to loose him."
Turning back, Shift takes a deep breath,
"Alright! Time explore Undermountain again."
Shift smiles and heads forward to keep up with Zinn.
David Gearlock | Human | Artificer | Revenge Heist
Knox | Warforged | Cleric | Shadowthorn's Out of the Abyss
"Hmph." sniffs Bronx. He tromps after Zinn and Shift. "...boots..." he mutters under his breath.
Chapter 1: Into the Dungeon
Laniel is still reeling from the vast fortune they have acquired in service to the city. Their tavern is open and they have begun to draw a nightly crowd. But now they have a call to action. And to Laniel, it is personal. He comes downstairs for their appointed meeting but nobody else has arrived yet, save Mal, who is busying himself at the bar.
Jaelester Silvermane is the first to arrive. As he approaches a table, the chair slides out for him. He pauses, looking around while Mal smirks from behind the bar.
Lady Blackstaff arrives next. Like Silvermane, she is surprised at the chair sliding away from the table on its own. "How?" she says, looking at Laniel. The monk shrugs and offers a cryptic, "The old bartender."
Vajra regains her compusure and sits, keeping an out for the ghost attached to the renovated tavern. "We're waiting for another, I believe," she says, eyeing Silvermane, who nods. "Where are Morpheus and Rethan?"
"I was expecting Titus as well," says Silvermane.
Rethan realizes he's late to the meeting and hurries down the stairs. Slowing as he reaches the bottom, he makes his way across the room to join the others at the table. "Sorry I'm late," he says.