Servitor spins back around and reaches towards Razor, but stops himself, remembering Uriah's words. "A fool indeed... You claim we are superior and yet you claim that we are weak? So we are weak when it suits your morality but superior when it suits your ego! Hypocrite! Of course they lead me to kill! I. Am. My purpose is to kill, and I will fulfill it! But my killing is pure because I kill for those whom I protect, those who command it, those too weak to survive its rigors. I am a warrior who does not fight for himself, not like you! Not like your ilk who kill for their own profit and then call it 'justice!'" Seeing as Razor seems intent on only talking to him, Servitor repeats Uriah's question for him.
So, they can feel pain. Perhaps this could be a method of swaying this fellow's decision to speak. Certainly, Jarrot would be suitable for such work.
While the others try to pry information from Razor, Tierney stands and takes a few light steps to test out his injured leg. Once he is satisfied that he can move despite the lingering pain he examines the rest of the forge.
Perception
Tierney picks up the sword. It is the same type of sword he carries, but much nicer. It is jet black with runes down the blade.
Does it detect as magical?
Razor sees Tierney pick up the sword. "She is beautiful isn't she? I got that off of a hobgoblin in Darguun. Be careful. It has a mind of its own." Tierney hears many whispers as he picks up the sword. "Its name is Dur'kalak in the Goblin tongue, meaning Death Blade."
He looks back at Servitor. "We are not 100% sure."
Well, I'm 100% sure that Cannith is no better with it than the Lord of Blades. Let's find it and see what it is...find the keys that go into these symbols here.
Despite the commotion outside, Jarot is happily whistling as he takes apart the two damaged guardians and packs the intact pieces away. He spends more time determining how to ensue the intact hound stays powered down and how to package it for transport without damaging it further. The site of the fleshy colored scorpion working with him as it darts into the hounds mouth to remove the key is rather disturbing.
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Tierney takes up the sword by its hilt and visually examines it. He lightly traces its cutting edge with his finger while mutterings arcane words to himself. In an almost theatrical way, he removes his stained gloves and licks one his fingers and touches it to the tip of the sword. A barely-perceptible spark confirms his suspicions. Then he stares hard at the sword and turns his ear to it as if he were listening to it.
Initially, the whispers startle Tierney and he reflexively holds the sword out from himself as if it were something to be thrown away. Unable to discern coherent speech in the whispered voices , the magus resolves to accept this peculiarity for now. His father had told him of weapons that thought on their own and the stories of their dangers. This would have to be mastered as well.
Tierney holds the Death Blade in his outstretched arm and measures its weight and balance. He is impressed by both as well as the keenness of its edge. After a few brief, slight hops on his injured leg he lunges forward into a thrust then brings his back foot forward and his front foot back as he whirls into a slashing maneuver. This leads into a series of dextrous fighting moves that last for several moments.
Tierney gives a smile of deep satisfaction when he finishes. Then he bends and retrieves Dur'kalak's scabbard. He sheaths Death Blade and then removes one of his wakizashis from his belt and puts Death Blade's scabbard is placed in its place. He then secures the extra weapon to his back.
Responding to Razor, he asks by way of a declaration "The hobgoblin did not surrender it willingly, I presume."
With some deliberation as to who may introduce the keys to their proper receptacles, Jarot inserts the first into the wall... and might very well be startled by a flash of blue light! He takes a moment to blink away the afterimage, taking stock of his fingers and companions, but thankfully finds nothing damaging. Prepared for the next, it does not take him by surprise. As the third key is inserted, there is a groan to accompany the flash as a section of the wall by the forge begins to shudder and withdraw, revealing a small closet-sized vault! You shine your light within and there, upon the floor of the small space is a metal tube, the type that you would expect to carry a scroll, and three small bags which have barely held up to the ages.
At the back of the pile, half-wrapped in a dried out cloth, is an adamantine plate shaped into a seven-pointed star. It is slightly longer than six inches, point-to-point, and is covered with hundreds of strange markings and symbols. While it at once seems unassuming and simple, it also seems... alien.
Potions of CMW x 3
100 gp
Old Map of Cyre (before Valenar and Darguun) with runes between what is now the Mournland and Darguun.
A Magical Ring
So this is it then.. Uriah says, holding up the plate. All this trouble and death for...what? A map? A cypher? Lewis shakes his head The warforged says its a weapon, he says that the Lord of Blades wants it to use it against the fleshbound. What do you think Cannith wants it for? Cannith, the creators of the Warforged, the slave owners who made beings like Servitor for the purpose of fighting and dying in their wars. Uriah looks at the party I say we find some way to smash it right now. Smash it to pieces and deny both sides this awful thing.
"I thought that a schema was some kind of design for building things, like a drawing etched in metal. This is not what I expected at all."
Once Tierney has had a closer look he asks "Do you think it is related to the Day of Mourning somehow?"
"I thought that a schema was some kind of design for building things, like a drawing etched in metal. This is not what I expected at all."
Once Tierney has had a closer look he asks "Do you think it is related to the Day of Mourning somehow?"
"Well, that's a frightening thought from what you've told me. What made you think of that? We can try opening it."
"It was just the first thing that popped into my head. It shows Cyre before the Mourning. And House Cannith is rumored to be somehow responsible for the it, in some way."
"But then, I tend to look for links to the Mourning everywhere. It is a result of reading and hearing stories about it for a long time."
Tierney, rather than speculating in ignorance, you could examine the schema and ring with your magic. After all, nearly everyone has been blamed for the mournland at some point. My homeland more often than most.
After testing them, he passes one of the potions to Tierney, and Uriah. Keeping one for himself. He divides the gold in to four stacks, then thinking for a moment, splits them in to five.
While you do that I will see if a more measured approach to our captive will reveal more.
Going outside, Jarot pulls a chisel and small hammer from his pack as he kneels next to "Razor". He pulls close, just out of bite\headbutt range and speaks softly too him. Too quietly for anyone to hear unless they are right on top of them, which earns them a level stare until they step back.
However, if I believe that you are withholding information or not being sincere, I will deactivate your limbs and reduce you to the smallest package possible, and store you in the secret safe in the forge, then destroy the keys to it. You would retain your awareness and senses, but effectively be trapped for all eternity without any interaction with the world. Eternity is likely a hyperbole, your materials would deteriorate eventually but I imagine your mind would do so far faster.
Do we have an understanding?
Realizing that Jarrot has pointed out what should be blindingly obvious, Tierney mumbles an incantation and holds his hands out over the items. He lightly runs his nail-less fingers over them while his eyes are shut tight. For a brief moment he utters "reveal to me" in a barely audible whisper.
Detect Magic
Yes, Jarrot is right. Everything has been blamed for the Day of Mourning and further unfounded speculation will profit me nothing. I wonder what he is saying to Razor. Then he remembers one of his father's tales about guarding captives during the Last War and amends his last thought. 'The prisoner', not 'Razor' he thinks. 'Don't give an opportunity for familiarity to manifest.'
Uriah continues ranting about the schema and the need to destroy it.
Realizing that Jarrot has pointed out what should be blindingly obvious, Tierney mumbles an incantation and holds his hands out over the items. He lightly runs his nail-less fingers over them while his eyes are shut tight. For a brief moment he utters "reveal to me" in a barely audible whisper.
Detect Magic
Adir watches quietly, trying to feel what Tierney is doing, but the arcane art is beyond his comprehension.
The schema is not magical. Jarot's work with the damaged dog awakens it. It is not aggressive though. It clanks over to his side and awaits simple commands.
Razor looks up at Jarot. "I have told you all I know. My Lord wanted the schema and Servitor. He didn't care about the rest of you." He scowls. "I am not afraid of your threats. I die for my Lord. I can care less if you see me as sentient. You only prove my point. We are the evolved race. The time of the flesh walkers is over."
He yells out. "One day this freak will be dissecting your body. He cares nothing for you. He doesn't even think our kind have souls!"
Razor looks up at Jarot. "I have told you all I know. My Lord wanted the schema and Servitor. He didn't care about the rest of you." He scowls. "I am not afraid of your threats. I die for my Lord. I can care less if you see me as sentient. You only prove my point. We are the evolved race. The time of the flesh walkers is over."
He yells out. "One day this freak will be dissecting your body. He cares nothing for you. He doesn't even think our kind have souls!"
Razor's words echo off the walls of the abandoned foundry, finding their way to Adir's ears, and resonating with his soul. He walks out of the doorway so that he can see the warforged and Jarot. "You waste your breath in this endeavor. We shall not be turned on each other because of your whispers in our ears. Friend Jarot has shown his worth...," he begins to defend his comrade, but then thinks back to the incident with the gnolls and his words trail off. These things always go so much faster if you kill the stupid ones first. A troubled look comes over Adir, and he understands why the warforged's words resonated with him.
When Tierney sees the mechanical hound reanimate his grip on Death Blade involuntarily tightens. But then he realizes that he has been hearing the conversation between Razor and the others.
"This lord of yours sent you to die, like a piece of fodder. Why are you loyal to someone who considers you disposable?"
He is not going to tell me anything about this sword. In any event, I might as well try to find out something useful about his master.
Razor looks at the Tiefling. "NO! He honored me. He sent me as an agent. My life is but a sacrifice to him!"
The group gathers the rest of the contents of the Forge. You all stand over a manacled Razor...
He seems to have passed on what little information his "master" has given him. or at least as his limited cognitive capacity will allow. I would suggest it is up to Servitor to stand as judge over him. I am going to go see if anything can be done to take those adamantine doors with us. We should probably also search the rest of this ruin for usable items. Even if we can only find pieces to help fill out or improve our current tool kits.
Servitor sniffs with contempt at Razor's feeble declaration of his master's honor. Servitor knew his masters rarely honored him, he needed no such comfort. Weak. "Bracelet, or necklace?" The question rings out a final time as Servitor begins quite literally ripping Razor to pieces, its adamatine hands easily piercing and ripping the metal off of the wooden base of Razor a chunk at a time until he's completely stripped. If somehow Razor stays conscious throughout the entirety of this, he is finished at last with a blow from Servitor's hammer. "...I'm sorry I could not do more to him, Provost Bonal..." Why do I feel so... dissatisfied? Looking towards the party, Servitor speaks, its inflection mirroring Adir's slightly, "Friend Bloodmoon, Friend Tierney, Friend Uriah, I apologize if my actions have disturbed you."
"What do we do with the Schema?" Servitor asks stoically, changing the subject drastically as it begins gathering Razor's pieces together. "Friend Uriah suggests we destroy it. As I have sided against his mastery last, I am compelled to listen to it now." Once gathered, Servitor begins placing all of the junk metal into the compartment in its torso.
Uriah looks on in horror at his "companions" barbarity. No better than the damned Lord of Blades.... He seems too shocked to speak with Servitor.
What! I thought he wanted to take him alive!
"Servitor.....I...uh...I think it best if we discuss what to do with captives before....uh...we decide on anything...um...like that."
"He did attack us twice by himself and his allies attacked us on their own as well. There might be more of them waiting for us to leave this place. The attack on the Beginner's Luck endangered innocents on the ship and on the ground. If we had crashed into homes, who knows how many would have been killed?"
"He also showed no concern for the lives of his allies and fled when they were defeated. He murdered Provost Bonal. Whatever this schema does, it is better off with anyone else but him and his lord."
"He also might have tried to attack us again, even in chains. That could have been disastrous if we were in a fight with his allies at the time."
"Now that I hear myself talk about him, the less I am disturbed by his death. But...we still need to talk about what to do before we decide on things like this." Tierney is avoiding eye contact with Servitor during most of his, oddly coherent for him, speech.
Servitor's hands stop immediately at Tierney's interjection. "I apologize Friend Tierney, I have misunderstood the will of this group. I was under the impression that we agreed that he was to die due to his likelihood to attack us again if left alive. Speaking with Friend Bloodmoon, we decided that its death would be delayed until we spoke with it and learned what we could from it. Friend Jarot just suggested that the interrogation was over, and that I should be the one to finish Razor's 'judgement.' So I decided to fulfill the promise I had made to Razor and remove its chassis to turn into jewelry later. I am a smith of tools, so my work may not be worth much for beauty, but hopefully, the money we raise from this can be used to further an attempt to pay for Provost Bonal's resurrection... if I am not too late."
Yes, I suppose we should discuss the key item of the agenda. While my country faced the products of the Dragon-marked houses more than most due to our lower economic status, we found ways to... compensate. I am curious what draws such vitriol from you in this situation friend Uriah?
Do you know what my nation decided I was good for during the war? No battle for me, I was too sickly and frail. I prepared and assembled the dead of my own people to serve in battle. I sewed them up, I lacquered their bones, and I scraped out what wasn't necessary. I even did so to the conscripts from my own village. People I had grown up with.
Do you know why I did it, that I performed such a disturbing function? Because I had to. The other nations had more money, more troops, more resources to bribe allies with. Dwarven banks funded their trade partners, Elven and Halfling raiders were bribed with fine new weapons to harass our farm lands. Goblin mercenaries, conjured elementals, Dragon marked constructs and weapons.
But the war is over now, at least the open war. I have worked to reform my own body and mind to be better than before. To find ways to make regular humans strong enough to resist the attacks of these others. I think you will agree that my experiments have proven somewhat successful, but they are not enough.
I see the same fight ahead for you. The warforged, at least those that show the glimmer of true sentience are few. You would be easily crushed if this lord of blades rallies too many to his cause. He is too loud, too angry. He doesn't seek allies or improvement, he just rages.
If there is ever a time when you wish to speak of you struggles, I am willing. I am not as cold as I perhaps appear. I will do what is necessary to preserve my people, and I think that you must do the same for yours. I believe that struggle will be linked.
I hesitate to say too much, but I believe that the techniques I have used to improve my body and the techniques used to create the warforged may work in combination.
Think on these many things. I will be here.
"Now that I hear myself talk about him, the less I am disturbed by his death. But...we still need to talk about what to do before we decide on things like this." Tierney is avoiding eye contact with Servitor during most of his, oddly coherent for him, speech.
Servitor's hands stop immediately at Tierney's interjection. "I apologize Friend Tierney, I have misunderstood the will of this group. I was under the impression that we agreed that he was to die due to his likelihood to attack us again if left alive. Speaking with Friend Bloodmoon, we decided that its death would be delayed until we spoke with it and learned what we could from it. Friend Jarot just suggested that the interrogation was over, and that I should be the one to finish Razor's 'judgement.' So I decided to fulfill the promise I had made to Razor and remove its chassis to turn into jewelry later. I am a smith of tools, so my work may not be worth much for beauty, but hopefully, the money we raise from this can be used to further an attempt to pay for Provost Bonal's resurrection... if I am not too late."
Much like Uriah and Tierney, Adir is horrified by the nature of the killing. It is a true glimpse into the alien nature of their warforged companion. After taking several moments to recover, he responds, "I said earlier that his death served justice, but this was not justice. To strip him..." Adir shudders. "...before death comes for him... this is not the way to honor the Provost." He kneels down and strokes the she-wolf's head, but for his comfort, not hers.
Servitor nods. "I apologize, Friend Bloodmoon. I will correct the order in which I was doing this." Servitor turns its hammer towards Razor and bludgeons it brutally to death, then returns to stripping the metal.
Razor was willing to die in pursuit of this schema that his lord wants to use as a weapon. Perhaps Uriah is correct about denying it to both sides. Of course, doing so will mark us as fugitives from the pursuit of both sides. We have survived against the minions of this "Lord of Blades" so far. I wonder how we would fare against House Cannith.
Servitor nods. "I apologize, Friend Bloodmoon. I will correct the order in which I was doing this." Servitor turns its hammer towards Razor and bludgeons it brutally to death, then returns to stripping the metal.
Adir buries his head in the she-wolf's fur to hide his face. To those observing, you see his shoulders shake as if in a sob or at least a violent release of energy. His hands move over her fur and he projects his thoughts at her as if they could have a conversation. What is Servitor's nature? Is he maliciously brutal, or is violence mundane to him? He has shown loyalty, can he learn compassion? He seems eager for direction, but am I any more worldly? Are we both naïve to a fault? Adir's head comes up slowly, and he sees Servitor and Jarot ending a conversation to the side. We must do our best. Thank you. He strokes Ghost's head a few more times and stands.
The growing sense of discomfort in the air moves Tierney to pick up the ring from the vault and examine it closely. The magic aura it gives off gives seems inviting to him in a way that provokes his curiosity. It makes him wonder if an object can be coy, a thought that he dismisses as ludicrous.
The magus has enough caution not to put the ring on his finger. There are no shortage of tales about magic rings and the woes that they visit upon wearers. Instead, he holds it with the fingertips of both his hands and minutely inspects it for any telling details. Then he places the ring on the ground where his body block the illumination from his companions' torches so that he can look at it in the dark. He is disappointed that this reveals nothing.
With a sigh, he reaches into one of his pouches for a pinch of salt and some powdered iron. To his dismay, he finds that the odure of the sewers soaked through his clothing and dissolved the salt. To compound matters, there is little of the powdered iron that is clean enough to use. After a muttered curse of frustration, he dusts the ring with the iron. Then he bites his lip hard enough to draw a minutes drop of blood that drips onto the ring. Finally and speaks arcane words over it repeatedly as a mantra while he rocks back and forth with his hands held just over the object of his attention.
Oh yes the ring. Hm... perhaps the ring that granted entry will react to the schema somehow. Surely there is someway to guess at its contents..
1d20+8
The ring shines with a bright blue hue as Tierney scans it for magical properties. He examines it thoroughly. It radiates abjuration magic. It appears to protect the wearer.
Oh yes the ring. Hm... perhaps the ring that granted entry will react to the schema somehow. Surely there is someway to guess at its contents..
Jarot brings the House Cannith ring close to the schema. Nothing seems to happen.
After a few minutes, the group realizes that they have searched the entire forge. With the loot and schema in hand, you all head out of the depths of Sharn back to the surface world.
Thankfully, the combination of Tierney's exceptional night-sight and Adir's committing your winding path to memory, you find your way back without much difficulty. You don't dare slow down for fear of another bloody encounter with desperate denizens of Lower Dura, and after an emotional, nerve-wracking three hour race through moldy warrens infested with goblins, giant spiders, ogres, gargoyles, and rats the size of small dogs, you find yourself ascending the ten-thousandth stair... and lay your eyes upon the anti-warforged graffiti chiseled into a tower wall; a sign that you've made it back! You are so exhausted and filthy from the climb that even the few "low-born" folk of Sharn that you encounter give you funny looks as you crawl forth from the depths of the city and into the city proper. Trash clogs the gutters, causing large pools of water to gather in the streets, but it's a different type of trash than what you've crawled through this night. You are hopping over one of such piles when you see the likeness of a blink dog engraved into a wide, wooden door, lit by the first rays of dawn filtering in between the towers overhead. Above the door is a picture of an anvil shattered in-two. The Broken Anvil! Exactly where Lady Elaydren requested that you meet...
You push the large door open and step into the... surprisingly bright and immaculately clean Broken Anvil? So spotless is the interior that you may believe that a magical portal has whisked you far away to some grand tavern far away from the trash-lined streets of Middle Dura. Sconces hang from the rafters, piled with softly glowing, multi-colored stones which cast soothing colors down on the polished tabletops. And the food... if it tastes half as delicious as it looks and smells, you might need to trade some of your loot for a new belt. A pot-bellied stove, warmed by a tiny spot of light - more than likely a bound elemental - sits behind the half-circle bar, a kettle whistling upon one of its burners. Several halflings, some proudly displaying the Mark of Hospitality upon their arms, move between the tables, making sure that their patrons are satisfied with their visit.
It is an hour or two later, as you relax at a table wondering over the events of the day that she appears, resplendent in her blue, shimmering, glamerweave gown. Silver glints in her hair and all sorts of glittering adornments flash as she moves across the tavern. Close on her heels is that formidable-looking warforged made of mithral armed with a massive shield bearing the mark of House Cannith and a rather wicked looking mace hanging at its belt. The handful of other patrons present are surprised to see such a lady in this part of town, but no one stares for long as a cool glance from the warforged guard does much to remind them to mind their own affairs.
"Did you succeed?" she asks, barely able to contain her excitement...
You sense someone has been following you the previous thirty minutes before entering the Anvil.
"Did you succeed?" she asks, barely able to contain her excitement...
Adir stands and looks at each member of the group, taking time to consider the events that took place underground.
"The question that you ask is not the one that you want answered. We entered the forge and retrieved what we found. Here it is, and our oath is fulfilled."
Adir presents the schema.
Lady Elaydren d'Vown of House Cannith's excitement is barely contained as Adir presents the schema... She gives the shifter a level look before she pushes the cloth aside and speaks a single arcane word... and is awestricken. Speechless, she just stares at the dark adamantine disk for a long moment before she is suddenly aware of your eyes upon her. Hastily, she scoops up the disk, deposits it into what must be an extra-dimensional pocket at her belt, and withdraws five envelopes, each sealed in wax with the heraldry of House Cannith pressed in. You pry a corner up to find a letter of credit from House Kundarak which will allow you to withdraw your agreed upon amount. The woman is good to her word.
"And the ring?" she asks, holding out a hand to accept the Cannith signet ring that she loaned you to enter the hidden underground complex. If that is returned, she seems to relax, even allowing herself a smile now that she is sure that you aren't going to double-cross her.
"Well done," she says, waving for one of the House Ghallanda servers. "I like to think that we could call on each other in the future?"
She pauses for a minute and then continues. "Was there a map?"
Perception
Tierney sits quietly and rubs his injured leg for no good reason, as his touch only produces a sharp pain that dissuades him from continuing. We did promise to return it he thinks. And even if we decided to renege there is little chance of us prevailing against them, in our current condition.
"Of course. I believe friend Jarot has the ring."
Adir will wait for Jarot to return the ring.
"You have proven to be a woman of your word. I will answer the call. Indeed, there was a map. Is it important?"
Tierney looks at the exquisite lady and then at the horribly contrasting appearance of himself and his companions. She pretends not to notice the smells that cling to us he thinks appreciatively.
"We were attacked by agents of the Lord of Blades. They were in Lower Dura and even in the forge itself. Likely one of them followed us there. I hope that your bodyguard is as formidable as he looks because I am certain that they will not stop trying to gain the schema."
Uriah sees the group hand the schema over to Elaydren and is in shock. "You trust this witch? They are going to use the schema as a weapon. All of these Houses are the same. I will no longer be a part of this!" He turns and walks out of the Broken Anvil in anger.
Elaydren responds to his accusations. "As I mentioned before, we have no desire to use this as a weapon. The sect of House Cannith I belong to is doing everything in our power to see nothing evil ever happens again with our House's resources." The warforged guarding her puts his arm around her to support her. He gives Uriah a cold stare as he leaves.
From what you can tell, she is telling the truth. She does not have a desire for the schema to be used for war of any kind.