# The Adventures of Giacomo Jones!



## Chaldfont (Jul 6, 2004)

*Jounal Entry*

My first term at Morgrave ended one week ago and I find myself in the town of Argev looking for work. As my army pension barely covers room and board, it is up to me to cover tuition and supplies—a considerable expense! I just received notice that I have been accepted into the School of Artificer Arts. My initial joy soon turned to anxiety, though, when I read the requirements. I transcribe them here in case I lose the letter:

100 gp tuition!
A glyphbook
An artificer potion kit
Ten pounds of bronzewood
One pound of targath
One small Khyber shard
One Irian crystal

I am to meet Head Master Warner at the beginning of the term. That means I have just under three months to obtain these items and the necessary funds. My father is no help. He finally received funding for an expedition to Xen’drik—his life’s dream. It has been his absolute obsession since Mother was killed. And the House? Cannith turned my request for scholarship down. My joining the army violated some neutrality rule and now I am being punished. So I am desperate for funds. Which brings me to Ardev.
Even after two years of peace, Breland suffers from the Last War. Ardev has naught but menial jobs. I can’t make it on a silver a day—I’ll need more lucrative work. The patrons of the local alehouse are no help, so I set my tricorne on the street and tell a few tales of my exploits in the war. I surprise even myself at the results, though unfortunately, no one is looking to hire a tale spinner.
I do, however, receive a copy of the Chronicle as a tip. There I read that a caravan for Droaam requires guards. Risky work, but at least I’m qualified. I join the caravan and manage to haggle my wages to a respectable 38 pieces of gold. I also read of mining activities outside of New Cyre. I mention it here so as not to forget. Perhaps I can find a Khyber crystal there.

Amazingly, the brutes of Droaam leave the caravan alone. I do have a bit of excitement one evening. Walking the lines, I heard the sound of wood on metal back in the forest. After alerting my fellow guards, I sneak off into the woods, putting my old army skills to use. My foe turns out to be merely a beaver busily damming a swampy creek. But what was the metal? I endeavor to find out.
It turns out to be a damaged warforged of unknown ensign. I have never seen it’s like before. Its primitive construction hearkens back to the early days of their manufacture. The war machine is stuck under a log and is half-buried in the mire. It’s been here for some time.
Despite growing up in House Cannith, I am unskilled in construct repair. Another thing my father neglected to show me whilst traversing Korvaire seeking antiquities. But I manage to get it in working order nevertheless. I am cautious as it shows signs of awareness, I’ve seen with my own eyes the inhuman cruelty of the machines of death. There’s no place for these units in time of peace—they are constructed only to slay. They are without the compassion or free thought required of civilized life.
But I am desperate. Perhaps I can get some kind of salvage reward for the thing, for it looks like it belongs in a Cannith museum of ancient designs. At minimum, I can sell it for parts. As it activates, I construct a plausible prevarication that is sure to baffle it’s weak will.
After some discourse I learn the thing’s designation: Ten-66. From what I can learn from its faulty memory, it was rendered inert during a battle some thirty years ago. It must be one of the first warforged ever constructed! Surely someone will pay for such a find! I tell it that I am a Cannith salvager, sent to reactivate fallen warforged and return them to Sharn for repair and reassignment. The thing buys this lie for now.
I return to the caravan with my new find in tow. Unfortunately, I am unable to renegotiate higher terms now that I have an extra guard. The master even attempts to claim salvage rights to the unit, but I am persuasive in my arguments.

When the caravan reaches its destination within Droaam, a town named Porlin, I find someone to repair Ten-66. It is costly, but I tell the unit that it will earn back every silver, plus interest. I also buy it a scythe to keep it quiet. It lost a war-scythe in the battle and has not stopped complaining about it. I need to arm the thing, for I have plans of starting a caravan security company to raise tuition money.
To this end, I engage an unemployed drifter in conversation. He turns out to be an interesting one—a shifter named Doran Pigsticker, a name well-earned appropriating livestock as a living. He carries the largest axe I have ever laid eyes to and it looks well-used. We two begin the timeless ritual of friendship-building through drinking.

My dreams of Jones & Co. Security were disrupted this evening however, when the inn we were staying in collapsed into a massive sink hole! The entire ground floor was crushed and we were lucky to survive. I don’t know if this is a natural event or the result of some strange excavations, but we are doing our best to escape. We collected several survivors and are following a natural cave system. All those years following my father into ruins and caverns seeking lost artifacts were not wasted, it seems. At one point we were surprised by a great transparent gellid mass, oozing towards us. The mass filled the cavern and Ten-66 and Doran were forced to chop it to pieces with their massive weapons. The thing was some kind of animal, I think, because it tried to engulf Doran at one point. He narrowly escaped being caught up in the thing. I did what I could with my sling, but I’m not sure I helped much. The other survivors fled. We’ve just now caught up with them.
I want to write one more thing before I put down my quill: Doran is dangerous. Shifters are generally thought to be brutish and dull, but the few I’ve known were good comrades. I see no inherent flaw in their racial character, indeed, they are survivors and very loyal. But this Doran has embraced his animalistic heritage. When that gel-creature managed to burn him with acid, his reaction was terrifying. It was much more than just the typical transformation of which shifters are capable. No. This was feral. It was as though Doran threw off the shackles of intellect and morality to become a monstrous killer.
Still, in the throes of this madness, he made quick work of that ooze. I just don’t want to be near him if that happens again.

_Giacomo Jones d’Cannith_


----------



## ConnorSB (Jul 7, 2004)

Cool! I like it a lot!


----------



## Chaldfont (Jul 7, 2004)

ConnorSB said:
			
		

> Cool! I like it a lot!




Thanks! Now that I'm playing instead of DMing, I feel like I actually have time to write up session summaries.

Here are stat blocks for the PCs:

*Giacomo Jones d’Cannith:* Male human rogue 1; CR 1; Medium humanoid; HD 1d6+1; hp 7; Init +2; Spd 30 ft.; AC 14, touch 12, flat-footed 12; Base Atk +0; Grp +0; Atk +0 melee (1d6/18-20, rapier) or +2 ranged (1d4, sling) or +2 ranged (1d4, dagger) or +0 melee (1d6 nonlethal, sap); Full Atk +0 melee (1d6/18-20, rapier) or +2 ranged (1d4, sling) or +2 ranged (1d4, dagger) or +0 melee (1d6 nonlethal, sap); SA sneak attack +1d6; SQ trapfinding; AL NG; AP 4; SV Fort +1, Ref +4, Will +0; Str 10, Dex 14, Con 12, Int 16, Wis 10, Cha 12.
_Skills and Feats:_ Bluff + 5, Climb +4, Decipher Script +7, Disable Device +7, Hide +6, Jump +4, Knowledge (arcane) +5, Knowledge (dungeoneering) +5, Knowledge (history) +4, Move Silently +6, Open Lock +6, Search +7, Sense Motive +2, Tumble +4, Use Magic Device +5; Action Boost, Educated;
_Possessions:_ Rapier, sap, 4 daggers, leather armor, thieves tools, identification papers, explorer’s outfit, pipe & tobacco, sling.

*1066:* Male personality warforged fighter 1; CR 1; Medium construct (living); HD 1d10+1; hp 11; Init +0; Spd 20 ft.; AC 18, flat-footed 18, touch 10; Base Atk +1; Grp +4; Atk +5 melee (2d4+4/x4, scythe) or +4 melee (1d4, slam); Full Atk +5 melee (2d4+4/x4, scythe) or +4 melee (1d4+3, slam); SQ damage reduction 2/adamantine, light fortification (25%), living construct traits; AL N; AP 4; SV Fort +3, Ref +0, Will +1; Str 16, Dex 11, Con 12, Int 12, Wis 13, Cha 8.
_Skills and Feats:_ Climb –1, Jump +1, Listen +2, Profession (blacksmith) +2, Spot +3; Adamantine Body.
_Possessions:_ Scythe.

*Doran Pigsticker:* Male shifter barbarian 1; CR 1; Medium humanoid (shapechanger); HD 1d12+2; hp 14; Init +2; Spd 40 ft.; AC 15, flat-footed 13, touch 12; Base Atk +1; Grp +4; Atk +4 melee (1d12+4/x3, greataxe) or +3 ranged (1d6/x3, shortbow) or +4 melee (1d4+3, claw); Full Atk +4 melee (1d12+4/x3, greataxe) or +3 ranged (1d6/x3, shortbow) or +4 melee (1d4+3, 2 claws); SA rage 1/day, shifting (razorclaw) 1/day; SQ low-light vision; AL N; AP 4; SV Fort +4, Ref +2, Will +1; Str 16, Dex 14, Con 14, Int 12, Wis 12, Cha 6.
_Skills and Feats:_ Balance +4, Climb +5, Intimidate +2, Jump +9, Listen +5, Survival +5, Swim +7; Powerful Charge.
_Possessions:_ Greataxe, shortbow, 20 arrows, studded leather armor, backpack.


----------



## Chaldfont (Jul 20, 2004)

*Journal Entry*

Now that I’ve had some time to rest, I can again put pen to paper.

We wandered the caves for some time after being attacked by what I now guess to be a gelatinous cube. We weren’t quite lost, but we didn’t quite know where we were either. We settled on always taking the right fork when given a choice in order to better retrace our steps when we ran into the inevitable dead end.

In one of these dead ends we were assaulted by shadowy humanoid shapes that seemed to suck the life out of anything they touched. Despite our best efforts, the things were able to slay two of the survivors. Fear crept over me and I called for a retreat, thinking all was lost. Doran and I fled but that scrapheap Ten-66 stood fast. I don’t know if it didn’t hear me, or if the bloodlust was upon it, but it just stood there, swinging it’s massive war scythe like the Reaper himself. Not even when the souls of the dead rose to join their dread masters did Ten-66 flee. Emboldened by the machine’s last stand, Doran returned to the fight. The two of them hewed into the dark enemy until they were no more.

We continued on after sleeping the night in the shattered remains of the inn. Later we found the skeleton of some long-dead wizard. After making sure it was not some necromantic horror, I searched it and found a magic wand and some other treasure. What a find! I began to wonder how I might be able to activate the wand, thinking back to what little magic I learned from my father. But before I could try anything, Doran started accusing us all of theft.

It seemed he had lost his belt-pouch. He started accusing everyone. Knowing that I might soon have a frothing shifter with a greataxe on our hands, I sprang into action. I immediately asked everyone to empty their pockets. In doing so I hoped to prove to Doran that he had lost his pouch in one of the battles—surely none of us was a thief.

But when his pouch did not turn up, he was not satisfied. I saw the red rage was almost upon him. I had no time to lose. I was desperate. I seized upon the first idea that came to my mind as I stood there holding the magic wand.

“My meditations on this wand have revealed its true purpose!” I exclaimed. That got everyone’s attention! I explained that the wand had the power to reveal when someone was lying and proposed to ask each member of the group if he or she had stolen Doran’s money pouch. I hoped to deceive them enough to reveal their lie in some minor tic or unconscious wink or some such clue. I made a great show of activating the wand, inventing an incantation on the spot.

“Oh great magical wand! Reveal to me if this soul is telling the truth when I ask: Did you steal Doran’s purse?” Unfortunately, my ruse failed and I was no closer to placating the furious shifter.

That’s when Liandra, one of the two remaining survivors turned to me and said, “But there is yet one who has not been tested, Doran.” To prove my innocence, I was forced into handing over the wand. At this point, my ruse proved successful, though not working as I had hoped. For Liandra revealed herself as the thief by activating the wand!

She summoned forth a great spider web to pinion us. I was the only one who reacted quickly enough to avoid its sticky strands. In an instant, I drew my rapier and lunged at her, but she deftly avoided my clumsy thrust. Liandra reacted by tossing her torch into the web. It burst into flame, filling the chamber with smoke and the smell of burning flesh. I would later find out that the conflagration killed the only other survivor and rendered Ten-66 inert. But Doran was still conscious.

And he was angry.

Once again I was treated to the ferocity of a shifter rage. He lunged through the burning web, sticky cinders clinging to him, his hair and beard smoldering. His great charge lent force to the savage blow of his axe and he struck Liandra down with a single mighty blow. I watched, stunned as he recovered his money pouch from what was left of the would-be thief. He gave to me the wand and kept several of her potions. One, he forced into the slack jaws of Ten-66, naively hoping it would be a curative. Nothing happened, so we dragged old bucket head behind us, still seeking escape.

We propped the warforged up in the ruins of the inn, hoping that, scarecrow-like, it would scare off any assailants. We were able to scrounge some food and drink from the ruins, but not enough to sustain us for more than a day or two. We spent a restless night there, gathering our strength for the next day’s search.

_Giacomo Jones d'Cannith_


----------



## Chaldfont (Jul 20, 2004)

Article from the Korranberg Kronicle

*Mysterious Speaking Golem?* 

Frightened peasants from the western parts of Breland have told reporters of this very Kronicle about an early model Golem used in the Last war was mysteriously able to speak. "It certainly looked old" says one Ken Leung of Prattleville who passed a cart carrying the strange contraption. Experts contacted by the Kronicle have stated "It is impossible that a Golem could speak. "Before the warforged became sentient during the very last few years of the Last war, before then the golems were mere brutal killing machines," states Warren Boudlin of the Historical Society of the Last War. Could this be some type of hoax? Or has some brutal relic of the Last War once again reemerged to afflict the peace in Khorvaire? Rest assured readers, that his Kronicle reporter will not rest until the truth behind these rumors is revealed. The standard Kronicle fee is offered to anyone able to capture this Speaking Golem.


----------



## Chaldfont (Jul 20, 2004)

Article from the Korranberg Kronicle

*p 12: Lazy Sphinx Inn Disappears in Unnatural Disaster*

Details are still sketchy, but the Lazy Sphinx in Porlin, Droaam near the border with Breland disappeared in an unnatural conflagration of town leveling proportions. "One minute it was there, the next a crater the size of 1/2 the village appears," says Dalmon Liddle, mayor of Porlin. "I do not think the town can survive this," he continues. Apparently two people died trying to get to the bottom of the pit. "He just disappeared into the rock," claims Margerette Bhogal, wife of one of the slain rescuers. An unknown number of people who were staying at the Inn are all now missing. What caused this calamity? Could some faction be experimenting with very same forces that have created the hauntingly evil Mournland? Threvan Stonebeard, dwarven prospector from the Mror Holds claims, "it could be possible to cause such an event by eroding away of a support structure of an underground cavern." "Balderdash," responds Yert Ilk, troll miner, "D'em Brelanders dis spol'n for anudder war with me Droaam soldiers. If da attack us, we attack em real good." The Hag council of Droaam was unable to comment on the situation. When asked about any strangers being in town at the time of the incident Howard Peltzer, Porlin blacksmith, responded, "there certainly was several strange characters out and about that time. In fact, I recall one strange troll who kept wanting his armor fixed for some reason.


----------

