Eberron 4e

Fighter Not a Thief

Finally we worked together as an adventuring party. As the party created a diversion, I snuck around the back door trying to free the white dragon. I must admit, I was concerned for my safety. Being half-human did not phase me, it was being half-elf that worried me. I quickly got the dragon half free while the sorcerer kept dragging the enemy away from me. I must have dropped my lock-pick or something because all of a sudden I became all thumbs. Sometime you have good days and sometime you have bad ones. It got so bad that the sorcerer finally got tired and freed the dragon himself. How embarrassing. The enemy had the nerve to laugh at me, BAD MOVE. Two died with my initial entry into combat and the rest fled immediately thereafter.

Totem Rescue

Our heroes head off with their new ally, Daros Winterhammer, to attempt to free his fellow clansmen and their tribal totem.

Barbarians and Dragon-kind

What could be worst than finding oneself caught between human barbarians and dragonborn lizard worshipers. That was our fate upon arriving on the island. Attacked by multiple weakling drangonborn scum and one large dude, we dispensed of them quickly only to be insulted by a rude elf-hating human barbarian. He was not the brightest man I’ve met. Using his own prejudice against him, he became caught-up by the suspected indignities my mother suffered at the hand of an elfin mate. Little did he suspect that it was my father who was human and abandoned by my mother being left to raise my sister and I alone as my mother pranced around the world in her elfin armor. Anyway, we get to kill dragonborn; let the adventure begin.


As they return to Regalport, our heroes recieve a brief message from Sur’kil via sending stone. “My enemies have found me. I have been taken to Argonnessen. South of Talon Bay, atop the Fang Crater. Do what the Prophecy has foretold.

Aborted Haunting

As a group we are noted for our staunch individualistic approach to adventuring. Deep in the recesses of our bowels we know we need each other but our ability or desire to work together is often suppressed in favor of a desire for individual glory. I must admit, My own insecurities have led me to exhibit the form of behavior myself from time to time, ok almost always. Recognizing the need for battlefield control, I have sacrificed some direct damage for area effect control.

There we were, entering the burial chamber. It was quiet, it was ominous and there went the ranger marching up to the coffin and opening it. To no ones surprised the room was quickly filled with ghostly figures intent on recruiting us to join their immortal ranks. Before I could even assess the threat, our party was surrounded and I had been reduced to a fraction of my health. There was blood oozing from my every orifice and I was gripped by the fear of my own mortality. There was nowhere to run and nowhere to hide (a very unsettling position for me to be in); the enemy was all around us. I am happy to report that after his foolhardy assault on the coffin, the ranger demonstrated that knickers exposed, by an elevated skirt, is not an activity restricted to the warlock.

Ghost wrangling was the order of the day. The sorcerer drew the ghosts together and I rained destruction en-mass. Poised at the boundary of the sorcerer’s ghostly prison, the battlemine, bard, and warden restricted their escape. It was the first time we actually worked together as a well oiled machine leading to our enemy’s rapid demise.

But the journey continues to remove this cursed scar.


A scream of agony is ripped from Freakachu’s throat as he channels psychic energy through his aberrant mark. The door is unlocked and our heroes open it. Across this dark chamber, faint images float gently through the air. Each appears to convey some scene, like a memory viewed through a crystal ball. A raised dais on the far wall is the only feature of the chamber.

Upon the dais is an ornately carved marble sarcophagus covered with strange runes and images of humans and hideous creatures locked in deadly battle.

Our heroes, sensing no immediate danger, realize they have an opportunity for some extended rest.

Lift Up Your Skirt

What is unmanly about delivering death from the shadows? If I were an assassin, attacking from the shadows would spawn fear in my enemies but as a warlock, I considered a girl. Brains over brawn, is my mantra. By the way, I wear a robe not a skirt.

As we entered the tomb, it was obvious that the adventures who went before us met an untimely demise at the legs of some hideous spider. Their preserved half-digested remains indicated that the spider was near. As we entered the second room we were attacked by two swarms of spiders. Positioning myself brilliantly, I would have scorched the spiders if I could only target them. Miss after miss, not paying attention to the monstrous spider approaching from my rear, the next thing I knew my system was ravaged by deadly arachnid. As usual, I teleported out of danger and lay down the smack down on our eight-legged adversary.

Descending into the tomb we encountered a minor trap and then found ourselves in a dimensional rift guarded by some wraiths and some sort of demon dogs. As usual the ranger taunted with irritating stupidity. I should have left him there too die, locked in the portals entry but that is not me, girl or not. At a safe distance, they teleported in and I fried them while the barbarian disarmed the trap leading further into the earth, protected by the bard and the defender. They were happily vaporizing wraiths.

Enter the Tomb

Large as a dragon’w maw, a dark rent in the side of the mountain leads into blackness. The reek of decay comes and goes as the cold wind that howls in through the cave mouth rises and falls.

Hung Out to Dry

Another day another adventure, as the saga continues the party moves forward like the dysfunctional family that they are. Before the ship, the island and the lion’s mouth, we were greeted by the changling Veln, Rengrave and some of their henchmen. Rengrave had changed, there was an unholy look to him and the ambush was unsettling.

Joined by a barbarian, tactically we began to fend off our attackers. An orc henchman dropped his axe with his first attack at me, allowing me to bolt and position myself for battle. Cursing Rengrave to get his attention, I then proceeded to lay down a merciless beat down on his unholy behind.

Functioning as a well oiled machine, we began to take our enemies apart. For the first time it appeared that we had gotten it. All of a sudden they recognized Veln, teamwork out the window. Let’s party at/on Veln. Everyone congregated on Veln leaving me alone with Regrave and a dragonborn. I pointed out that I was not equipped for melee but my companions ignored my plea leaving me all alone. I did what I do best, booked out of there, hitting Regrave with one last blast. Rengrave leaped off the dock and we made short work of the rest of our assailants.

Trebaz Sinara

Our heroes head to Regalport to drop off Jukkeam and claim their reward. Then, armed with Eliam’s journal and the missing notes copied from the corpse of the unfortunate Thraxis, our band of heroes boards the Swiftwind and makes their way to the haunted island of Trebaz Sinara. There, they hope to find the secret of the Dragon’s Eye and their own survival.

As they transited from the Laughing Lady to the Swiftwind, our heroes were accosted by some old “friends” – the changling Veln, dragonborn and Seren barbarians, and Rengrave, the former captain of the Laughing Lady and now bearing a new guise. Once again, they sought the Dragon’s Eye. And once again, they were denied. Veln finally met his end at our heroes hands, but Rengrave cried “Death is only the beginning” and stepped off the dockside, vanishing beneath the waves.

The Swiftwind bore up to her name and brought our heroes to the island of Trebaz Sinara without problems. Going ashore in a small boat, our heroes followed the clues in the journal and eventually found the entrance to the tomb.


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