Ashes of Khyber

Game Master mittean

This is my Return of the Runelords/ Shattered Star mashup set in Eberron using my House Rules system.

Book I: The Forges of Dora'Sharn
Chapter I: Death in the City of Towers
-The Bloody Bridge-

We begin our journey in a world of draconic prophecies, a land of harnessed magic, and a society ravaged by a century-long war. Magically driven mega-corporations vie for power against nation-states and cults worshipping ancient evils, while the people of this world are caught in between, pushed by the whims of the powerful and the elite. A cold war has settled in, with spies and inquisitives, politicians and scholar-adventurers, barons of industry and war-torn veterans all trying to survive and perhaps make a mark on the history of Eberron.

It’s been over a hundred years since the beginning of the Last War, and four years since the Day of Mourning ended it. On that day the country of Cyre was wiped off the face of the continent of Khorvaire. In its place lies a dead, unnatural horror - the gray haunted hellscape now known as the Mournland. No one knows what caused the Mourning…or whether it could happen again.

In the aftermath of the Day of Mourning, a cold truce hangs over the people of Eberron. New countries such as Q’barra and Darguun vie for recognition and power, while much older countries like Aundair and Thrane scheme to maintain dominance. Religions fight to garner influence among the peoples of Khorvaire, while the Dragonmarked Houses seek loopholes around regulation, finding more ways to turn a profit and retain market dominance. New races like the warforged seek to answer the same questions of older races - who are we, and what happens to us when we die?

Sharn - the most populous city in all of Khorvaire, and arguably all of Eberron. Called the City of Towers, the City of Knives, the City of Lost Souls, the City of a Thousand Eyes, and the Gateway to Xen'drik. The city towers atop a cliff above the mouth of the Dagger River in southern Breland, its heights stretching over a mile into the sky.

It’s early fall, the 17th of Sypheros, 998 YK, the midnight that begins the holiday of Wildnight. Less of a holiday and more of a superstition, The Fury, a member of the Dark Six and the Sovereign of Rage and Ruin, is said to reach the height of her power on the second day of the holiday. Indeed, on this night people find it difficult to control their emotions and impulses. While some superstitious and introverted folk stay inside on this night, many use it as an excuse for partying, revelry, and even riots. Whether this is due to a genuine supernatural effect over the three nights, or if it is simply a self-fulfilling prophecy, likely lies in the eye of the beholder.

This far south it doesn’t get quite as cold as it does in the north, as Sharn lies on the southern coast of Khorvaire. Curtains of water plummet from the sky pummeling those who traverse the labyrinthine walkways of the City of Towers. The stone and wood paths wind around and between the towers and spires over three-fourths of a mile above the ground, forming a complex latticework that can be confusing on evenings such as this. The rain falls hard, running off higher walkways and balconies in drenching waves, making it difficult to see more than a few feet. The intermittent glow of Everbright lanterns, spaced out and barely visible in the soaking gloom, does little to light the paths on this cool, wet evening.

Asher walks into the pub, looking around tentatively, before asking the barmaid where he could sit.

The barmaid, a young human girl, leads Asher to a nice round table sat on a plush red rug with intricate designs. A few crumbs dirty the surface of the table which is warmed by a clay stove a few feet away with something that smells delicious cooking in it. A copy of a newspaper hangs on the wall next to him.

“The War is over!”

The headline fills the space under the header - the Sharn Inquisitive. The headline flashes, replaced by another: “Cataclysm strikes the country of Cyre, annihilating it. All of Eberron mourns its destruction.”

Underneath the exclaimer is a picture of a small band of soldiers sitting on a hilltop, looking out over a valley at sunset. A battle had been fought in the valley, and smoke drifts up from a wrecked elemental airship through the headline's text as it switches back to the original headline. The soldiers look exhausted, stunned...shell-shocked. More join them as the scene continues.

The barmaid returns with a rag and wipes the crumbs off the table, her brown eyes smiling politely. "What can I get you?" Despite not being older than perhaps thirty, she had a few grays sneaking into her dark ponytail.

Asher glances around the pub nervously. "I'll have an...an ale, please," he replies, sitting at the table.

The barmaid's lips tighten just a hair at Asher's distraction, but she smiles again as she turns to get his ale.

"And do you have any warm bread?"

The barmaid turns, nodding. "We have a hard-crust sourdough or some cardamom bread."

Asher smiles, before looking down in apparent shame. He glances back up, the smile gone from his face. "Just...just the sourdough, if that's okay."

The barmaid nods. "Anyone joining you tonight?"

"Yes, I'm meeting someone," Asher responds perfunctorily. "Thank you."

Bexellock the warforged ducks their head as they step into the inn, their eyes adjusting to the dimness. They see a young man seated at a table, a bit of untouched bread in front of him, the sides of his head shaved. A young barmaid bustles over and Bexellock gestures toward Asher. "I believe the human I'm meeting is there."

The barmaid smiles, with just a shadow of disappointment flitting across her eyes that Bexellock does not notice. "Oh good, you must be who he's meeting."

Asher stands a little too quickly, bumping his thigh on the bottom edge of the table. He gestures to the seat opposite him.

"I hope you found the place alright. Please, sit."