Hello Darkness

**DM**

* DragonBlood472

Players

* Beckett d'Medani, half-elf investigator (bard/cleric)
* Jawbreaker, warforged juggernaut cleric
* Jorunn Lonefall, human assassin (ranger/rogue)
* Natalie ir'Tinak, changeling bard

Notable NPCs

* Ambrose Harrowyrd, human archaeologist and senior Wayfinder
* Dorann d'Orien, surly human wagoner
* Hilda Magejack, kobold magewright
	+ Bert, celestial lizard familiar
* Tends-to-Sink, flumph
* The Iagrellex, dolgaunt monk and majordomo of Bhodex'av'gr, steward of Yarkuun Draal
* Crown-Breaker, Mabaran succubus, servant of the Queen of All Tears
* Crush, warforged juggernaut member of the Deathsgate Adventurers Guild
* Trixx, half-elf member of the Deathsgate Adventurers Guild
* Pierott, elf Deathsgate member
* Bartul, orc Deathsgate member
* Ozymazrul, bonedrinker and former steward of Yarkuun Draal

### **Introduction**

```
Curious to the missive posted in the chapterhouse lounge, you make your way to the upper levels above the Wayfinder dormitories to the office level. A conference room door is ajar, and Mr. Wencove sits a long darkwood table that is littered with papers and maps. Another figure stands opposite Wencove, his back to you. The gnome notices motion in the hallway, and gestures for you all to enter. "Come inside, there is plenty of room."

```

### **Summary**

At the behest of Mr. Wencove, the Wayfinders are introduced to senior Wayfinder Ambrose Harrowyrd of the Arcane Congress- a gaunt scholar scarred by a life of adventure (more notably by a run-in with a rakshasa).

Ambrose seeks a Mabaran artifact called the Heart of Despair, believing that the recently passed Long Shadows has left a window of opportunity to claim the relic from the bowels of Yarkuun Draal, a reportedly haunted stretch of Dhakaani ruins along Breland’s southern coast.

Eagerly the Wayfinders agree to dive into the Plane of Death, and with a gift of Irian crystals they set off with Ambrose guiding the way. En route the scholar explains that there are others seeking the relic, and he hopes to obtain it before it can fall into the hands of the nefarious Deaths Gate Adventurer’s Guild. Beckett attempts to pry greater secrets from the mind of Ambrose, but finds the perfectly trustworthy man’s thoughts are shielded.

By road they travel in an ornate Orien carriage, driven by one of the surliest beings on the continent- Dorran d’Orien, an aging heir with an unfortunately placed dragonmark upon his bulbous nose. As they camp along the way the party finds clues that they are being followed by Deathsgate, but there isn’t enough evidence or sharing of information to jump to the conclusion.

Turning away from the road proper, the Wayfinders make their way on foot, where they discover tracks of a cart pulled into a crumbled watchtower. The tower is home to Hilda Magejack, a Morgrave drop-out and simple magewright. Hilda, a Brelish kobold, invites the Wayfinders to dinner with her and her esteemed lizard familiar Bert, explaining that the Deathsgate crew had been through the night before- using their cart as firewood. The Wayfinders camp out the storm as Hilda’s guests and move southward in the morning towards the ruins of Yarkuun Draal.

At the edge of the ruins, Ambrose sets up camp, letting the Wayfinders know that he will wait for them and has arranged passage to pick them up from shore in a week. When pressed for details by Jawbreaker and Beckett he admits that fear of another rakshasa attack from an entity named Malazant prevents him from traveling into the ruins himself.

Making their way into forgotten city, the Wayfinders find it to be teeming with all manner of strange (and deadly) plant-life; trees with eyes, strange fungi, murderous vines and the like. They take refuge in an alcove where they meet a good-natured aberration and denizen of the city, a flumph called Tends-to-Sink. Natalie sets about befriending the helpful flumph immediately, though Jorunn remains cautious. Tends-to-Sink explains the nature of the city, informing them of the influence of the daelkyr Bhodex’av’gr trapped below and mentions where the daelkyr’s influence ends, darkness takes over. Cautiously the party continues their descent into the city, trying to find signs of their rivals.

Moving into the city, the Wayfinders encounter the spirits of the goblin-folk that once inhabited Yarkuun Draal. Reluctantly the party fells the spirits and move onward, as the madness of the region starts to take hold. Natalie begins to perceive ever party member as a goblinoid, Jawbreaker has hallucination conversations with his former forge brother, Beckett’s dragonmark animates and attempts to kill her, and Jorunn continues to see the Vaws-Hak in the shadows (his murderous alter-ego from a lifetime ago).

The Wayfinders overcome most of the afflictions with the power of friendship and head deeper towards the Courtyard where the Twisted Gardener is buried below. Gravity is not the only thing warped around the core of the city. Along the way the party encounters a dying bugbear, covered in fungus and going crazier by the moment. He turns out to be a Deathsgate enforcer, to the surprise of no one, and the party grant his request for an honorable death. Jorunn adds another tally into his lengthy list of goblins killed in his career.

Past the aberrant gardens, the Wayfinders find their way into the Throne Room, where Xoriat’s territory ends and Mabar’s takes hold. They encounter the Iagrellex- a dolgaunt who has been warden over Yarkuun Draal on behalf of Bhodex’av’gr for millennia. An epic battle ensues with wall-crawling and bouts of paranoia, but ultimately the tentacled horror is brought low by Jawbreaker’s mighty hammer.

The Wayfinders find a secret room behind the throne where a giant mirror of Mabaran crystal lies- the gateway into the Endless Night. They figure out the key to the puzzle, and find themselves waking up in the plane of Mabar, the Irian crystals keeping them alive. They are in a dark twin of Yarkuun Draal and realize they have to find their way into the chambers of the former Rhukaandaask, the steward of the city. Fighting lingering madness and creatures of night and shadow they press on, and Jorunn succumbs to the wiles of a succubus called Crown-Breaker, who breaks Jorunn’s heart with his first kiss and convinces him to lead his friends into peril.

The party catches up with their rivals who followed them through the mirror, but the Deathsgate have split up- half of them set to stop the party, the others moving to claim the Heart.

The rivals team up to take down a barghest, and Jawbreaker has the warforged equivalent of a heart-to-heart with another juggernaut named Crush. Crown-breaker takes the opportunity to slip away, leaving Jorunn forgotten. Together Wayfinders and Deathsgaters make their way towards the Master Chambers, where they finally meet the rest of the Deaths Gate Adventurers, who have succumbed to machinations of the rakshasa Malazant and turned on their friends in a triple twist.

Ozymazrul the former hobgoblin steward of Yarkuun Draal, is now an undead creature called a bonedrinker, corrupted by Crown-Breaker who is revealed to be an agent of an entity called the Queen of All Tears. The Good Guys (Wayfinders) and the Good-Bad Guys (half of the Deathsgate) team up against the Bad Guys (Deathsgate) and the Bad Bad Guys (Crown Breaker and Ozymazrul) in a battle that ends with some lover’s quarrels and lots of backstabs and betrayals.

With Ozymazrul slain, Natalie reaches up and touches the Heart of Despair, and transports herself and the allied Deathsgate back to Eberron just outside the confines of the city, by Ambrose’s tent. Crush the warforged accepts Jawbreaker’s advice to give up Deathsgate, and the party confronts Ambrose about the powerful influence of the Heart of Despair, which is promptly stored in a container to mitigate its power.

When their ship arrives, the party make their way back to Sharn, a successful mission surviving the horrific monstrosities of Xoriat and the bleak ennui of Mabar.

### **Epilogue**

**=====EPILOGUE 1=====**

*The Dark Shadow of Yarkuun Draal, Realm of the Queen of All Tears, Mabar*

In a corner where shadow and gloom meet, a figure cowers in the dark, her windows of shadow folded around herself. Crown-Breaker is an instrument tied to her Queen’s will, and she knows she cannot hide from the displeasure of her Mistress.
A disembodied female voice, as a lasting sigh into a windless night, reaches the succubus. *”You have failed, Daughter. The petty king is slain, your plaything ruined, and my tears have been stolen away to a world of sunlight and hope. This jewel is nothing without a crown for its mantle.”*

The implement of woe replies softly in the hollow Mabaran language. “I serve you eternally, my Queen.”

*”Your existence lingers upon my whim, temptress. I feel the forbidden pull of curiosity over my hardened tears… there may be promise here for new ruin. Return to the Court. You will bestow My Gift upon the survivor, and you will serve her as you serve Me.”*

“Yes Mistress.”

. . .

Bartul’s broken body lay upon a fallen slab of stone. She did not know how long she had fallen, but she found herself in the same empty chamber, her breath shallow now. Pierott’s mangled body strewn upon the floor was a twin to that of the fallen bonedrinker. Bartul’s life blood was draining away into the nothingness beyond the shadows. She could not lift her twisted neck, so her gaze was fixed upon the entrance as a lithe form sauntered into the room, the hobgoblin succubus. Bartul wanted to hate her, but she lacked the energy to do so. Keeping her eyes upon the manifesting figure was tenuous enough.

“I have a proposition for you, mortal. An escape from your delusions and more power than the fiend you served could ever offer you.”

The orc hesitated, building up her strength to reply. “I… do not have a choice… if I wish to live. Whatever your terms… I accept.”

Crown-Breaker smiled, though the orc could not see it. She kneeled beside the dying fanatic and raised her head in taloned hands. The succubus set her lips to the occultist’s, not to drain her life away but to fill her form with shadow and despair. Gloom enveloped Bartul. She screamed as her body was remade to the Queen’s designs. Entropy flowed through her, empowering her magics like none before. Bartul stood, and unfurled her new wings of shadow.

Crown-Breaker stepped over to wrench the crown from the corpse of Ozymazrul, lifting it high, she whispered a dark rite, “Rise, Sister. The Queen of All Tears names you the new Steward of Yarkuun Draal, the Widow of the Web. Curiosity will bring new mortals to us, and we will offer them rightly to the Queen.”

The Widow once named Bartul flexed a talon. The lifeless husk of Pierott began to pop and crack as bones reoriented. A tether of shadow extended from the new succubus into the dead elf. When the bones were done breaking, the performer had been remade into a mockery of a jester bedecked in umbra and bone. The Haunt bowed to his regents. A crooked grin played on Bartul’s face as she sat upon the throne, ready for new games to begin as inquisitiveness takes hold...

**=====EPILOGUE 2=====**

*Rordan’s Gate, Fairhaven, Aundair*

Notes and files sit scattered upon a writing desk, illuminated by the illusory fire burning in the hearth of the den. An addled woman sits at the desk, tallying figures on conflicting records, ink smeared across her forehead from where she continually pushes back her unkempt red hair.

“Travel to Southern Breland… and…” she scoffed, “Ambrose you can’t just *give* away Irian crystals!” Dorein Rauthevvit threw her hands up in exasperation as she furiously crossed out the balances she had just made upon her records. She stood, leaving the numerous papers spread out across her work station. She moved to pace in front of the fireplace, as she often did while she wracks her brain to juggle the book-keeping.

There was a scratch at the front door. Curiosity winning over nervous hesitation, Dorein opened the door to her home. A rail-thin black cat raced into the room, nearly tripping up the Trustee as it raced through her legs.

“Oh!” Dorein exclaimed. “Mr. Snuggles, you’re back! And just *where* have you been? Gallivanting across all of Fairhaven, chasing your friends in the shadows while I work day after day?” The cat, as always, did not reply or even acknowledge her. It merely hopped up on her desk, undoing most of her recent work.

Dorein rolled her eyes and disappeared into her kitchen for a moment, returning with a plate and a bit of fish, which she set before the fire. “You have a keen eye, Mr. Snuggles. I am balancing the records for a recent excursion into old goblin ruins.” The mangy cat looks over at the human with shining green eyes. “Yes yes, I am sure such things are beyond the attention span of a cat, but I enjoy having *someone* to talk to. Anyways, the relic they retrieved might offset the costs of the journey if we allow it to be circulated throughout some of the museums… once Harrowyrd has finished ‘studying’ it.”

The cat merely turned its head back to the papers, took a few tentative steps before tipping over the inkwell onto the floor.

“Mr. Snuggles!” The Trustee quickly began to dab up the ink with her jacket. “Bad kitty!” Looking back to the desk, to hopefully take away the papers before the cat made a disaster, she noticed a paw print on the sketch of the Heart of Despair. Another print stamped upon the lockbox where the Heart was being held in between Ambrose’s researching. “Well…” Dorein started, “As counterproductive as that is, it certainly is adorable. Fortunately Ambrose has copies of these things. I am going to display these on the ice box! … Oh… Oh, Dorein, you are *talking* to your stray cat and proud of his art…” She stood and wiped away a strand of hair, spreading more ink on her face. “Look at this mess! I am going to clean up, enjoy your dinner, cat. Welcome home.”

As the Wayfinder’s Chief Financial Officer went to clean herself up, the cat hopped down, leaving a trail of pawprints behind it. It sat before the fire, ignoring the fish, its mysterious green eyes reflecting the dancing flames…

**=====EPILOGUE 3======**

*2nd Floor, Museum and Jungle, Wayfinder Foundation Headquarters, Fairhaven, Aundair*

Dim light from several waning moons shines through a paned window, stained glass painting the room in a kaleidoscope of colors. The room was still, stuffed monstrosities standing vigilant over a fabricated jungle.

Heeding neither shadow or sentinel, a scrawny black cat pads through the room, halting beneath a spiraling soarwood tree.

Green eyes flash in the dark.

"Come out, witch." The voice emanating from the cat was coarse, deep, and crackled like fire, spoken in a dark harsh tongue.

"Take care not to insult your betters, *cat.*" A deep and throaty voice rings out in response. A beautiful woman, dressed in rich scarlet and black, steps from the shadows, light flashing deep in her eyes.

"I've talons enough for you in any form. For your sake I hope your actions have not been as idle as your wit in my absence." The cat turns its full attention up at the figure.

"I have been doing my job. The Master would expect no less. What news of the Heart?" She seems irritated, but she hungers for news of his mission.

"The Heart has been claimed. The Deathgaters served their purpose, they are scattered, or slain. *I* have been hindering records and notations to ensure its nature and whereabouts remain difficult to pinpoint. The Wayfinders are suspicious, we must act quickly to secure its possession..." The infernal-tongued feline habitually cleans its fur between speaking.

She pulls a long chain with a Kundarak warding key out of her cleavage. "And this is the key to Ambrose's study. Here." She holds in front of the cat for a long moment before smirking.

"Right, you lost the ability to have thumbs, didn't you? Guess that I'll have to take care of that myself." She smiles victoriously as she tucks it back into hiding.

The cat narrows its eyes. "Yes, Maharishi. Your... Talents are required."

"Such a *shame*, Malazant, that you can't be more useful."

"It was *my* trap that rewarded us the Heart. Ambrose is protected from my... Direct involvements, he has himself warded well, but I find it is easy to ensure manuscripts and logs are lost or destroyed. I need you to keep him sufficiently... *distracted* while I work on a duplication."

A distasteful sneer comes over her face. "I sacrifice much in our Master's service. Do be quick about your... *replication*."

If a cat could grin, this one would be. "Would that I could prolong your carnal suffering with common mortals, but we have neither the luxury of time nor a... Forgiving Master. Not all of the pieces in the game are so easily moved." The cat blinks a few times. "Beyond *your* catastrophic failure, I have read summaries of... Happenings in the East that might have these Wayfinders searching for, shall we say, ways to clean up *dust*."

She nods, satisfied. "Then hopefully I’ll be free to discard this form and... *distraction*." She smiles at Malazant. It is not a nice smile. "I may have failed nearly as disastrously as you, but I was allowed to keep my shapeshifting. I wonder what that makes *you*?"

"I still answer to the Master we *both* serve, harridan, and if this plan with the Heart succeeds I will regain more than favor. *We* must succeed. You have your talents, and I possess mine. Work your wiles upon the scholar, I have crafters and binders to whisper to."

She grabs a small pouch out of dress and tosses it at Malazant. "For your *owner*, in case she wonders where you wandered off to again."

The cat tentatively sniffs the pouch. "Catnip." The cat states flatly before picking up the pouch with bared teeth. "I hate you." Malazant mutters and pads back into the shadows, leaving his associate alone in the jungle.

She smiles a self satisfied smile before disappearing into the shadows herself, leaving nothing but a trace of dry feathers and cinnamon in the air.