As the nearly endless arcane wars between the nations of Nex and Geb devastated the very land itself, magic became unreliable within the realm of the wizards’ conflict. It became a vast, ravaged desert named the Mana Wastes. Few now tread there on purpose, for the creatures that have survived in the wasteland are bizarre and powerful. Yet amid this dusty cradle, a settlement of inventors, alchemists, and survivalists constructed a haven for their unorthodox ideas and creations. They developed technology to rival the most powerful spellcasters by harnessing clockwork, primordial steam engines, black powder, and the secrets of alchemy.
Now, in the soot-covered city of Alkenstar, the largest settlement in the Mana Wastes, industry and innovation continue to abound. The wealthy citizens of Skyside harness the erratic but potent magical energies all around them to create colossal constructs, mighty horrors of wood and iron, and weapons of dire portent. Meanwhile, in the smog-shrouded neighborhoods of Smokeside, gunsmiths forge firearms of exquisite beauty, toxic ammunition that defies logic, and armor capable of withstanding the gruesome armaments. Throughout the entire city, inspiration and innovation fuel a vast industry of thunderous technology, explosive discoveries, and cataclysmic powers.
The race for finding the strongest weapon creates fierce competition between factions both legitimate and illicit. Power shifts to whomever claims control over the newest innovation, and patrons are willing to pay top dollar for inventors able to produce results. Occasionally, an inventor or alchemist devises something so dangerous and volatile, it threatens to topple the balance of power completely.
This is one of those moments.
Chapter 1: Punks in a Powder Keg
27 Gozran, 4722 AR
“Draw.” Bang! A crack of thunder fills the air. The smoking gun, held by a powerfully built orc man wearing leather chaps, vest, and a shiny sheriff’s badge, holds everyone’s attention. The orc slowly lowers the firearm, stowing it back in his holster. He carefully and deliberately walks up to a bloody dwarf, surveying his handiwork.
“I’m sorry it had to go down this way, brother. You picked the wrong side and that I can’t abide.” He removes his pinched-front hat, holding it over his heart. After a moment, he lowers his head.
The entire saloon erupts in applause as the pianist begins to play. The orc bows deeply, then helps the dwarf to his feet, who also bows to the attending patrons. The two walk to the bar, arm in arm, and order a bottle of whiskey.
“Thank you! Thank you!” A female dwarf stands on the bar top, addressing the patrons in a loud voice. “Whiskey is only two silver for the next hour, and that includes top shelf. Come back next week for the conclusion of Hearts at High Noon and our after-party! Now, enjoy yourselves!”
She hops off the bar to the sawdust-covered floor and catches your eyes, gesturing for you all to follow her to a back room, where a round table and private bar await. She props one foot up on a stool, leans forward on her knee, and casts a suspicious eye around the room. “Now that the show is over, let’s talk business. I'm Foebe Dunsmith, for those of you who don't know me. I brought you all here because we share some common enemies. With your help, I can make them pay—and get you rich in the process. But first, I want you to tell me why you deserve a job that could pay your weight in gold.”
Drexa lets out a loud, barking cackle as she applauds the play. The powerfully built gnoll woman drains the last of her glass of whiskey before standing and following the dwarf. Though she'd be an imposing seven feet tall if she stood up straight, her perpetual and quintessentially gnollish hunch puts her at a more reasonable six feet. Her dark red clothes are stained with grease, and a complex flail is stowed at her back, the head a jumble of blades, spikes, and switches with copper wire running from the head to a complex mechanism at the base of the handle.
She nods to Foebe, her voice rough and guttural and she speaks Common as if it was a language not designed for her canine snout, "Hrrrrk...Talent with invention. This ffflail on my back is not jusht for show. I can knock shkulls and make mashterworks with equalll...hrrg...shkill. Gold is good, but rrrevenge is shweeter yet." She lets out a short bark of cackling before getting it under control. Non-gnollish manners (which is to say anything better than awful behavior) are not her strong suit.
The stout dwarf sitting in the corner, with his feet on the table, pulls them down, and grins, pulling out the cigar in his mouth and clapping, flagging a barmaid over with a gesture indicating a finger in response to the offer of more whisky. He drains his glass, clears his throat, and then spits out a wad of black goo pretty close to the spitoon. The whisky comes, he downs it in one pull, puffs his cigar, and then stubs it out into his hand before following the dwarf.
He laughs at Foebe's statement, "well, lass, if will and words could get a bullet into Loveless' rotten skull, I would have killed her years ago. Alas, I expect Pauline will need to do the job." He pats the gun, and fishes out a cheap cigar - lighting it by scraping something against his arm, "I'm a fair shot, good at planning, and know the marshals well." He takes a drag, and then, not discourteously blows smoke towards the ceiling, "I'm willing to hurt people who get in my way, and know others who are willing to do it too." He nods towards Draxa "as the lady said, gold can be spent once - revenge pays you for the rest of your life."
Shadows seem to naturally gather around the tall, pale human man who doesn't stand, so much as skulk, in one corner of the private room.
"Well...I'm sure this situation we find ourselves in is some sort of misunderstanding, but it does need to be cleared up, and no one involved seems at all capable of listening to reason."
Sin straightens his black waistcoat, brushing his fingers over the spiderweb of silver embroidery and the craved ivory buttons that resemble skulls of various humanoid species.
"I think you will find me quite dependable, Ms. Dunsmith. Never any complaints from that quarter about my work. I'm something of an expert on the unusual magical phenomena that this area is so famous for."
The Ustalavan student appraises the other folks in the room and gives a shrug.
I'm sure they have their reasons for being so upset.
Tindertwig absently stuffs another biscuit into his mouth, as the goblin gunslinger watches the play. His eyes never straying off the pistols being used by the actors.
Reaching for another biscuit from someone's plate on the table above them, Tindertwig feeds it to his ever-present lucky toad, Dirtbag.
Youses evers seens such nice pistols, Dirtbag? 'memebers whens wees does havs un? Stupids dogs!
Dirtbag (being a toad) licks the biscuit, but the toad makes a face. Instead he tongue snatches a worm half crushed underneath someone's boot.
Shrugging his shoulders, the wiry, but solidly built goblin tosses the unwanted biscuit into his waiting maw.
When the dwarf female points him out (underneath a table) to follow her, the goblin and toad look at each other, shrug, grab another biscuit (or 6) and follow the group into the back room.
When she mentions paying their weight in gold, both the goblin and the toad immediately begin stuffing biscuits into each other's mouths!
Wees bees da bestest ov robbers! Mees bees Tindertwig and dis bees Dirtbag. Wees bees famous!
The dark suit wearing goblin does indeed look the part of a gunslinger, except his holster seems to be currently empty. He does have a wicked looking dogslicer sheathed at his opposite side though.
Both goblin and toad look proudly at those in the room each munching on biscuits.
Foebe grins, seemingly satisfied. "Excellent. So, here’s the game. Ambrost Mugland has a decent portion of his funds invested in an old bank called the Gold Tank Reserve. It’s a rundown temple of Abadar in Ironside Quarter that’s mostly used by ranchers and crooked politicians. I happen to know they’ve sent half their clockwork handlers out for maintenance and won’t have them back until tomorrow afternoon. This is our chance to hit Mugland where it hurts.
“All you have to do is bust up the few clockworks remaining, get the vault key from the bank manager, and fill a sack with gold. Once you’re done inside the bank, run out the back.
“Mugland’s got a few crooked shieldmarshals on his payroll—including that damn bastard, Deputy Loveless. She and her goons are sure to be hot on your tail, but don’t fight ‘em: they’ll gun you down in a second if you give them the chance. Just run away and they’ll look like fools. Nothing’s sure to fry the deputy’s egg like crooks she can’t catch, trust me. You can lose them in the Wailing Scrapyard just west of the Reserve. There’s a sewer entrance within; from there, it’s a straight shot back to this saloon, where you’ll be safe. Any questions?”
Sin coughs. "Uh, you are quite sure that this is a corrupt establishment? I wouldn't normally want to cross the priests of Abadar."
"I'm quite sure," Foebe replies. "Ain't nothin' holy about that place no more. The priests abandoned it long ago. Mugland's just using the shell of the building for his bank."
Tindertwig muses for a moment (biscuit crumbs climbing in attendance).
Dirtbag licks the goblin's chin.
Wees bees robbings (not da batmans?) da Gold Tank Banks? Sounds da fun timings! Sacks ov golds, un key and sym eggs! Wees likes dis plans cousin wees likes da eggs!
Dirtbag shakes his head.
Vock pushes up his hat, ”they’re all crooks or cowards anyway. Priests, marshals, don’t lose sleep over them. I’m in, lass. Has anyone scouted there yet? Do ye know the layout? Do we need explosives to get into a vault, or will tools do?“ He looks like he’s thinking carefully, as he lists questions using his fingers to mark each one.
"Well, that seems perfectly acceptable. We'll liberate their ill-gotten gains and the whole cadre of scoundrel's will end up with egg on their faces." Sin nods and turns to his new comrades. "Are any of you familiar with this junkyard? I can't say it's somewhere I have frequented."
"You'll have time to scout out the bank before you go in," Feobe says. "You can get in through the front door, I’d reckon. If you could get a key from one of the staff, you could even go in the back. There’s an employee entrance in the alley that connects to the junkyard. That’s how you make your escape.
"The vault should be open during business hours. The inside gate’ll be locked, but the bank manager, a Mugland crony named Dresh, has the keys."
When Sinister asks about the scrapyard, Foebe shrugs. "It's haunted," she says before throwing back the remainder of her whiskey. "Well, that's the rumor, at least. It’s probably just the Nailgobbler goblins, though. They live in the heaps. If you need to resupply while you’re there, you can probably trade with them—they’re friendly enough. But if they offer you anything to eat, don’t look at it too closely. Just hold your nose and swallow.”
"Yes, let's hope it's goblins. Hauntings are...tedious." Sin sighs heavily. There's nothing more boring than a ghost.
Drexa tries to recall what she can about the church and the scrapyard.
Drexa and Sin know that the Wailing Scrapyard is home to the Nailgobblers, a group of goblin scavengers who live off the junkyard’s bounty of scrap and waste and sometimes sell good salvage to the city’s junk shops and tinkers. They also know that a mournful wailing can be heard coming from the Scrapyard at night, hence its ominous name. Locals insist a hulking ghost made of scrap metal floats around the scrapyard when the moon is dark. A
Sin also knows a family of evil gnolls called the Sludgespines live in the Wailing Scrapyard. The Sludgespines supposedly launch forays into the city to hunt for victims they use for foul purposes.
Having stuffed their gullets full of biscuits, Tindertwig and Dirtbag just smiles as the others make plans.
Da bestest ov da plans bees ta not bees da dead uns at da end ov da robberies.
Dirtbag just grins at everyone.
"I've heard tell that there is also a family of gnolls living in the scrapyard. A foul group of characters, best avoided."
Once you have asked all your questions, Foebe gives you a bag of holding type I, which you can use to stow the stolen gold, plus a hat of disguise for each of you. “Here’s a few things you might be able to use. Keep the pouch and put all of the gold in it, you hear? Otherwise it’ll slow you down. Put on the hats so you can keep your identities secret, but don’t muss ‘em up—I’ll be wanting them back when you’re done.” Thereafter, she excuses herself from the table and heads back to the saloon, leaving you alone to plot your mission.
CASE THE BANK
Characters who wish to investigate the bank’s physical location can do so with a Perception, Thievery, or relevant Lore check. If they succeed at a DC 12 check, they get one piece of information; if they critically succeed, they get two pieces of information. Multiple pieces of information are available to discover.
FIND A BANK EMPLOYEE
This activity is only available for the first 4 hours of the party’s preparations. By visiting saloons and other establishments in the area around the Gold Tank Reserve, the characters can locate one of the bank’s tellers with a successful DC 15 Diplomacy check to Gather Information.
Sin slips on one of the hats of disguise and it turns into a black pinch-front hat with a wide brim. As his form shimmers, he appears as a grim-face wrangler with a black duster and a scar on one tanned cheek.
"Howdy. Howdy? Howdy!" He coughs.
"I'm happy to try to track down one of the bank employees. It will be nice to have a drink without any suspicious looks from the barman."
Tindertwig takes the fancy hat. The goblin thinks for a moment.
Mees bees tink'n dat if'n wees bees us'n des fancy lids, den magics last un short timimgs?
Having thought that through (Dirtbag whispering in his ear the entire time), the goblin smiles.
He then snaps his fingers.
Wees bees gots'n sum friends down underground. Mees goes un ask'ns dem 'bout da bank.
The little goblin (and his toad) take off excitedly.
In the commonroom, both were witness leaving with a mouthful of biscuits.
Weight in da golds!
With a bit of asking around, Sin is able to locate a wayward employee. A teller named Byrin is currently brooding at the Barrel & Bullet, upset he was recently passed over for a big promotion. A ring of keys dangles enticingly at his belt as he knocks back shot after shot of whiskey.
Meanwhile, Tindertwig consorts with fellow criminals about the Gold Tank Reserve. He learns that the Gold Tank Reserve is in a quiet neighborhood where at least half the buildings are abandoned. A ruckus at the bank is unlikely to immediately draw the attention of shieldmarshals or other outside interlopers.
This isn't the first heist that Drexa's planned. Back with the clan, crime was a part of their way of life. Casing, as an extension, comes naturally to her.
Vock nods seriously, accepting Foebe’s proposition, and takes the bag and the hat. He takes off his own duster, putting it into his own bag, and crams the magical on onto his head. He thinks for a moment, and his form changes into that of a lithe-looking nondescript human man with blond hair in a merchant’s outfit, looking much like a saloonkeeper or clerk. He finishes the cigar and flicks it away, adding quietly - ”blast - it doesn’t change my voice. I’ll case the joint,” He stands up, and blinks a few times, ”as long as I stay quiet nobody should catch me.” His voice is quiet raspy, which is a little incongruous for his disguise.
Vock invites any of the crew who wish to join him in casing the place, offering to clue them in if he gets any insights. When Draxa joins him, he grins, mischievously as they travel to the bank to get what info that they can.
Draxa and Vocktor are able to effectively case the bank. The bank is inside an old temple of Abadar—the outer walls are solid stonework, and the domed ceiling of the main chamber is only slightly cracked. Each entrance has new wooden doors with simple locks.
The back of the bank features an overgrown yard that may once have housed a vegetable garden but is now little more than overgrown weeds and an accumulation of dried leaves. Any activity in the leaf-strewn yard is likely to draw attention. A pathway leads to a side door marked “Staff Only.” This door is locked with a simple lock.
Three clockwork handlers patrol the interior of the bank and can occasionally be seen through the windows. They stop in various locations, open the shutter on the everburning torch in their head, and then slowly rotate their head in a complete circle before moving on.
You've gathered all the info you think you'll be able to.
Along the way, Drexa does her best to make conversation with the dwarf, "Sho, how do you...hrrk...find yourshelf in a condundrrrum shuch as thisch?"
"Well, Brynn. It sounds like the people in charge there don't really appreciate you. You seem like a fine fellow...er a good feller to me. Tell you what: Let me buy you a drink and borrow your keys for a spell. I'll give those ingrates something to think about, and you'll be out here at the bar, sitting pretty."
Happy to stick it to his ungrateful bosses, Byrin happily hands the keys over to Sin. There are four keys—a key to the door in the half wall between the front and the back of the bank's main room, a key to the outside doors, a key to Byrin’s teller station, and one of two keys needed to get into the vault.
The stage is set. Now, it’s time to solidify your plan and put it into action!
Along the way, Drexa does her best to make conversation with the dwarf, "Sho, how do you...hrrk...find yourshelf in a condundrrrum shuch as thisch?"
The “dwarf” shakes his head, ”eh… it’s not much of a tale, lass.” He peers at her, trying to get a sense of how trustworthy she might be, and adds, deflecting somewhat ”and since then I’ve found it hard to trust most folks. Why don’t you tell me how you got on the bad side of these … f-“ he stops himself, ”ahem - foul … people. If your story makes sense, I’ll tell you some of mine.” The voice in the form of the fussy-looking clerk is a little incongruous.
Tindertwig (and Dirtbag) meet back up with the group after a couple of hours mixing and mingling (he lost 2 silver and his left boot) with some of Alkenstar's dirty.
The goblin hobbles over to the dark dude, the sweet-looking gnoll, and the smart-sounding dwarf.
Wees bees gots sums infirmations 'bouts da banks. Bees easy ta bees loud and wreckless.
Dirtbag kicks the goblin in one of his big ears.
Mostly...
Returning to the group to plan, Sin relates how he got the keys. "And I'd say poor judgement on this teller's part. Let's try not to bring his name into it, however. Seems like a nice enough chap."
With the keys secured, he's at a loss.
"So, anyone have ideas about how we'll go about this?"
Tindertwig claps the dark dude on the back.
Whys bees easys now! Youses gots da keys! Two sneaks in da side doors and two walk in da fronts. Wees pincers moves'evs!
Dirtbag is seen whispering in the wide smiling goblin's big ear.
”Why don’t you tell me how you got on the bad side of these … f-“ he stops himself, ”ahem - foul … people. If your story makes sense, I’ll tell you some of mine.”
”I wasch born in Katapesh…hrk…hrk…to a clan of gnolls there. We raided once, a caravan brrringing technology here to Alkenshtar. It was fashcinating to me, and I had to learn morrre. My clan did not trrrusht my passion, and sent me into exile. I wandered for a time, before finding myshelf here.”
When the group is all together Drexa thinks about the intel and says, ”I shay we go in thrrrough the back. When the clockworksh come near ush, which they likely will, we…rrrrg…drop to the ground to avoid their light. If needed, I could trrry to dishable them.”
Vock nods, ”alright, lass. Fine. I’ll give ya this, I was once a marshal. Foolish. Optimistic. Crossed the wrong person - I learned a valuable lesson that day: Don’t put much faith in others to do the right thing. If’n ye want, do it yourself - but you can’t expect the best of anyone.” His flinty eyes narrow, as if he is remembering something, ”back in the family business now.” He tilts his head as if to say ya know? though he doesn’t follow up with any specifics.
When they reconvene, he nods at Draxa’s suggestion. ”Gotta be ready to pound sand and crack skulls if necessary, but it’s always best to avoid detection when possible. Any us lot sneaky-types? ’sides me, of course.” He rests his hand on the barrel of his clan pistol, idly.
Drexa lets out a cackle, "Hyak hyak hyak! Yesh, I shneak verrry well. We gnollsh are excellent at many things."
Tindertwig and Dirtbag look at each other and they both begin smiling.
Wees kins bees sneaks.
In the late night hours, you approach the bank. The stench of manure accentuates the aura of shabbiness in this part of Alkenstar. In accord with the run-down district, the Gold Tank Reserve looms above like a starving behemoth. The bank was crafted from once-gleaming stone, though dust and dirt now cake the domed glass roof. A pathway carved from a stone slab leads from the wooden boardwalk to stone steps and an elevated porch, not unlike a small stage. Two small wings of the building flank the path, each with a weed-choked planter facing the street. Impressions of giant keys etched onto the walls on either side of the entryway lend the building an air of security and stability.
A clockwork handler stands guard outside the entrance. You give it a wide berth as you slip down the side alley and use the keys to unlock the side door marked "Staff Only." A scratched and stained round table stands surrounded by mismatched chairs in this cramped room. A series of tall cabinets lines the southern wall near the entry door; the smell of fish emanates from one of the cabinets. A door on the north wall leads to the teller stations. Just west, a pair of doors open to identical water closets.
The lockers contain little of value other than the worldly possessions of the tellers. From west to east, the lockers contain: a basic crafter’s book, 5 black candles and half a stick of chalk, fishing tackle, a clay ocarina, replacement picks for thieves’ tools, and a half-used writing set containing cartoon drawings of a magical kobold who fights undead.
Tindertwig and Dirtbag stride along the streets with the group on the way to the bank. The goblin smiling. The toad also smiling. The sweet scents of manure and prophetic profits are keenly aware by both.
Tindertwig nods in home decor expertise at the dust and dirt now cake the domed glass roof.
Bees da bestest ov coverings fir da hidings ov riches.
Tindertwig grows silent as they approach the building proper. Viewing the clockwork handler that stands guard outside the entrance, the gunslinger considers how to impede it for later's escape, but he shakes his head.
Bees un stink'n piles ov foreshadowsings anyways.
Entering through the side door of the Bank, Tindertwig (and Dirtbag) move as silent as a mouse about to get the cheese (not cut the cheese, that comes later) throughout the interior.
Ignoring the smell of fish that emanates from one of the cabinets (a bit of drool forming on both their chins), the goblin absently takes the replacement picks for thieves’ tools (grinning and drooling), as he continues on....
Sin's attention is caught by the black candles and chalk.
Ah, a summoning ritual of some kind? Or, just drawing by candlelight?
Vock shakes his head, ”remember - the less we touch - the less evidence there will be that we’re here. Quick and quiet, I say,”
He points at his eyes, crouched, and then where they think the vault is, based on the previous casing they did.
Tindertwig winks at the group, as the goblin begins to slide out of the backroom, ducking further behind the outer counter and makes his way closer to the office for a peek.
Very Sneaky
Dirtbag helps by closing his eyes....
Also, if the gunslinger gets a look at any of the guards?
Worn stone floors and threadbare furniture define the aesthetic of the establishment. A central wooden table crosses parallel to the doors, creating a barrier between those waiting for a teller and the long wooden half wall bisecting the room into north and south. Iron bars stand on top of this half wall and reach nearly to the ceiling, ending in sharp points.
The southern half of the room consists of teller stations and two wooden doors flanking a large metal vault door on six-inch-thick hinges. A single door in the half wall allows passage between the two halves of the chamber. A double door opens to the north outside, while doors in the northwest and northeast corners lead to the east and west wings.
Tindertwig sneaks carefully behind the counters of the teller station, avoiding the lantern-gaze of the clockwork handlers patrolling the bank. He then opens the door on the opposite side of the teller stations and quietly peeks inside.
This elaborately decorated office has mahogany wall panels and a matching desk with a surface so shiny it’s reflective. A pair of comfortable couches are nestled in the northwest and northeast corners of the room. Two very healthy looking potted plants stand to either side of the desk, flanking a large credenza.
A dwarven woman sits at the desk, reviewing a ledger. This is the bank's manager, Irkem Dresh. She hasn't noticed Tindertwig yet.
Tindertwig grins. Dirtbag seems to be making a worried face. The goblin waves the toad's (mostly) unwarranted concerns aside.
The goblin continues to Sneak into the office to Steal the keys!
Peering suspiciously at the Two very healthy looking potted plants stand to either side of the desk, flanking a large credenza, Tindertwig used them as cover on his way to the desk.
Dirtbag seems to be holding his breathe....
Dirtbag smiles weakly!
The goblin looks at the dwarven lady with a s~!@-eating grin on his goblin face!
Dresh looks up at the goblin and toad that have crept into her office. "Ahh! How did you get in here? GUARDS!" she shouts, reaching into her coat for her pistol!
Tindertwig just grins innocently at the nice dwarf sheriff, banker lady. Dirtbag shrugs.
Mees bees looks fir da privy?
Now Hidden from the nice dwarf sheriff, banker lady, the goblin (and toad) decide not to take up any more of her time! Using the suspiciously big plants, Tindertwig backs the f$+~ out of her office.
Very Sneaky
Once outside it, the goblin ◆shuts the door!
Wees may has un problems...
Drexa nods in agreement with Tindertwig and likewise slips out of the room, quiet as a mouse .
"I agrrree. I shay we rush in, my thunderrrflail can...hrrrk...shoften it's blows, give brrruises inshtead of brrroken bonesh."
Tindertwig's diversion is enough for him to quickly sneak out and close the door. Drexa moves out to meet him as the clockwork handlers swivel their heads and shine their lanterns on the tellers' station! Not seeing either goblin or gnoll, they make their way through the door in the half-wall and around to the tellers' stations. Dresh does not emerge from her office.
"The jig is up, it seems." Sin mumbles some words under his breath and a sickly green glow surrounds him. Though it seems eerie, the light is somehow strangely comforting.
Vock appraises that the constructs are approaching to search, but still not visible, and seems to calculate something in his mind. He quickly grabs a vial from his bandolier and chugs it, wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve.