# Future Imperfect - Eberron Story Hour (Updated 08/02/06)



## nobodez (Jul 23, 2006)

I've decided to start a Story Hour for my Eberron Campaign. Right now they're finishing off the Voyage of the Golden Dragon, but starting in a week or two, they'll be on to a fresh adventure, written by me.

It's called Future Imperfect, and since I don't have any in-game story, yet, I'll just give you some prologues to start off with.

7/24 - added Prologue 2, just finished up the final session of the previous adventure, almost had a TPK on the final fight.

8/03 - added Prologue 3 and the first bit of the first episode/session "Time to Die"


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## nobodez (Jul 23, 2006)

*Future Imperfect - Prologue 1*

Day of Mourning - Olarune 20, 1048 YK - Early Morning over the King's Forest.

The rain was getting worse, already her visibility was barely a hundred feet off the bow. She looked out the glass of the small pilot house, watching as one of her crew, a warforged, came up to the door on the side.

She sighed, and stood up, hoping that the construct had good news, but doubting it in the weather.

It opened the door, quickly stepped inside, and closed it.

"Thirty-Six," she said, looking at the wet 'forged. She then commanded, "Report!"

It bowed it's head, the grey metal of it's armor plating dimly reflecting the small lamp mounted on the back wall of the pilot house, "This one regrets to inform you that the ship has disappeared."

She had expected this, especially in this weather, "Regrettable, but we should still be able to track it's rings, in fact, that's what you were supposed to be doing. So," she paused to adjust her uniform, "tell my how it disappeared."

If the warforged could be nervous, it probably would have been, "One second, the rings were there, just as before. Next second, rings were gone, no where in sight."

She sighed, "Dismissed." She then stared out the glass as the warforged opened the door into the rain, then closed it. She could see it make it's way across the small deck and the secure itself to the bow viewing station.

"Darlona," she said to herself, "what have you gotten yourself into?" She looked around at the small pilot house, barely five feet on a side, it's front dominated by glass windows, and it's back wall by various maps of the area. She sat back down in front of the wheel, and let out a heavy sigh.

"Back to base then," she said, turning the ship in a while arc, "Maybe I won't get demoted for losing the ship. It is quite stormy." She laughed to herself, looked down at the compass, and began the long journey back to base.

Half a mile away, though only a hundred feet or so above the ground, cruised an old and battered luxury airship.

"Captain," shouted a sailor as she let herself into the bridge, "The Kharvin is turning around. It worked."

"Good," said the captain, "we might get to Flamekeep after all." He slid his hand through he short, greying hair. His ship was old, but she had a few tricks up her sleeve. As long as he didn't crash her into anything in the rain.

"Mr. Rancid," said the captain, looking over to the mithral plated warforged that piloted his ship, "take us to two thousand feet, and set a course for Flamekeep."

"Sir," it barked, and obediently began the effort of willing the elementals to go higher.

"Oh, and Mr. Rancid," said the Captain as he headed for the door at the front of the bridge, "do try and be graceful. We have an image to uphold. The Golden Dragon has been flying these skies for over fifty years. I intend for her to keep flying for fifty more."

"Aye Captain," replied the warforged as the Capain left the bridge for a walk in the rain.


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## megamania (Jul 25, 2006)

Curious if this will be influenced by a piece of work of the same name written by Peter David?

Simple but solid start.


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## nobodez (Jul 25, 2006)

*Future imperfect - Prologue 2*

Day of Mourning - Olarune 20, 1048 YK - Evening over Flamekeep

The Golden Dragon slowed and began to fly in a wide circle. Fifty years previous, it would have been circling far above the busy bay around Flamekeep, just one of many ships, both in the air and on the water. It also would be among the rubble it was now circling.

Her captain stood at her bow, hands clasped behind his back. He we looking out at the hills to the west, and as the Golden Dragon circled, his gaze fell upon Scion's Sound, the bustling Throneport in the distance, then once more upon the hills. He gaze never ventured down, to look at the ruins of what was once the greatest capital in the Five Nations.

"Captain," said a tall female shifter, breaking his reverent silence.

"Yes Ms. Fraser?" he asked, a slight tone of annoyance in his question.

"Captain, you asked me to tell you when one of the other ships had arrived," she explained.

"Ah," he replied, then time with interest.

"Yes, the Ash Valley and the Angorn's Fancy have both arrived and have fallen in behind us," she informed him. "April says that the Argentvorax might be late, both otherwise the sending stone has been silent."

"Good, I guess it's time to inform our passengers that they can come out on deck. with both the Valley and the Fancy here, the Riedrans or the Karrnathi shouldn't interrupt us before the ceremony," he said, then sighed and walked aft, towards the bridge. "Dismissed Ms. Fraser."

She nodded, gave a quick salute, then turned on the ball of her foot and jogged off towards the stairs down into the ship.


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## nobodez (Jul 25, 2006)

megamania said:
			
		

> Curious if this will be influenced by a piece of work of the same name written by Peter David?
> 
> Simple but solid start.




I think it'll have more to do with Star Trek: The Next Generation's episode of the same name, as well as _All Good Things_. Because of events that transpired previous to and during _Voyage of the Golden Dragon_, events lead to and will lead to the events described in the Prologues. That's also why I'm using the Golden Dragon, it's already a major part of my campaign, and will hopefully allow the characters to have a grounding in the dystopian future.


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## nobodez (Aug 2, 2006)

*Future Imperfect - Prologue 3*

Day of Mourning - Olarune 20, 998 YK - Mid-morning in Flamekeep

"We gather here this morning to remember those live that were lost four years ago," preached the priest from atop his makeshift pulpit. There weren't many people gathering around him, but it was his duty to speak. "Four years have gone by since Cyre was claimed by the Mists, and we still do not know why. But we do what we can, pray to the Flame that the souls of the departed find refuge and comfort."

The priest paused to take a breath, and heard a dull roar coming from the Cathedral. He turned, and saw a mass of people running down the steep roads that lead to the highest ground in the city. He could not tell what they were running from, but they were panicked.

"Brothers and Sisters. Do not fear, for the Flame protects us here in the city. What harm can come to us here?" he shouted to the first of the evacuating mob. They didn't slow down at all.

The priest stepped down and was quickly swept up in the flow, his body buffeted by the current of bodies. He finally relaxed and moved with the flow, allowing himself to become a part of the rushing mob.

The priest and the mob continued down the streets of Flamekeep, until they reached the edge of the water, and stopped, some, brave or foolish, began to wade into the water.

"What happened?" asked the priest to one of the panicked members of the milling mob.

"The Flame, the Flame, the Flame," was all that he got in response, as well as an arm pointed at the Cathedral.

The priest looked, and even from the edge of the water, he could see the smoke rising from the Cathedral. It was not much, at least now, but as he watched, it increased, and grew darker. Within a minute the smoke flowed from all the windows and doors of the Cathedral, filling the sky with it's billowing darkness.

"Flame protect us," the priest said to himself.

He could not make the motions of blessing himself before he died.

Two miles away a caravan rider stopped when the bright flash erupted from the direction of Flamekeep. He stopped his wagon and stepped to the ground. As he began to walk past the horses, he fell to the ground, a massive shockwave causing him to fall.

An hour later the teamster crested the final ridge before Flameseep and stopped. Before him he saw only devastation. He fell to the ground, head in his hands, weeping uncontrollably. A minute later he stopped sobbing and stared up into the sky, raising his hands in protest, shouting at the top of his lungs, "Why!?"


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## nobodez (Aug 2, 2006)

*Future Imperfect - Time to Die pt. 1*

Olarune 21, 998 YK - Morning, 3000 ft. over the Thunder Sea

The Golden Dragon cruised at fifteen knots over the Thunder Sea, even in the late winter, this close to the equator it was still beautiful weather. Up on the main deck strode the finely clothed form of Destry d'Deneith, the Giant Greataxe Unc'nack Trull clasped easily in her right hand, despite it's six feet of length. She caught sight of one of the passengers, sticking out not only because of his flame-touched symbol of the Silver Flame hanging from his neck, but also because he wore breastplate, an odd sight for a passenger airship, unless one was part of the hired help like Destry and her companions.

The man stood a few inches over five and half feet tall, wearing just his breastplate, the under armor padding, and his holy symbol. Destry strode over to him, as he seemed to be looking for someone or something.

"Greetings," he says as she smiles at him.

"Greetings, good priest," she says, bowing her head slightly, "how are you?"

He paused, and looked her over, "Besides the fact that I have no clothes at the moment, quite well."

"No clothes?" she asks, leaning against her axe as if it was a staff, it's five-foot long soarwood shaft facilitating it's use as such.

He smiled, "It's an interesting story, really, but not one for this time or place. What can I help you with?"

"Ah, well," she began, not sure how to continue. "I've recently become interested in the Silver Flame." She took a breath, and continued, "Recently I met, uh, a pair of paladins of the Flame. Since then I've become quite interested. You are the first of the clergy I've come across since."

"Ah, good," he commented.

"Come, let us have some breakfast," she says, gesturing with the large axe. She then sees the questioning look on his face. "I'm one of the mercenary guards," she says, expecting it to explain.

"Are you indeed?" he asks, then adds, "And who might I be breaking the fast with?"

"My name is Destry d'Deneith," she says, adding a slight curtsey.

"Brother Ivello d'Orien," he says, extending his left hand in greetings, revealing his least dragonmark.

She takes his hand, giving it a hearty shake, the motion revealing a hint of her own lesser dragonmark over her right shoulder, peeking out from under her blouse.

"If I may though," Ivello petitions, "I need to find some clothes first." He motions to his armor, "Because I really don't want to be wearing this on the ship. It's probably not necessary."

Destry smiles, "Only if you promise to tell me the story."

"I would be happy to tell you the story, over breakfast," he says.

"Come," she says, gesturing to the rear of the ship, "I'm sure we can convince some of the crew to part with an article or two with enough coin."

After exchanging some silver for a cotton tunic and a pair of linen breeches, and a quick stop in his cabin to change out of his armor, Ivello and Destry walk towards the dining hall.

"So, you said you were part of the mercenary company onboard ship?" Ivello inquires.

"We are a mercenary guard, yes," she clarifies. "We've saved the ship several times," she extrapolates, "as a matter of fact."

"That's wonderful," he expounds, "I've heard she's had quite the contentious beginning."

"She is a great ship," Destry says, her eyes gazing to the ceiling and her hand grazing the wall as they walk.

"Yes, well, I was late arriving for the departure," he begins.

"I'm glad you made it," she interrupts.

"Well, it seems I should have been here earlier, as you seem to have had a bit of trouble," he admits, "I might have been able to help with it."

"Indeed," she replies, instantly crestfallen, remembering her fallen comrade and the battle of less then twelve hours before. "It was tragic," she stutters, "We lost someone. Very, very precious to us."

"That's sad to hear," he says, sharing her guilt.

"Can you raise him?" she asks hopefully, remembering her own brush with death and subsequent raising not two months before.

"Unfortunately," he admits, and Destry returns to her crestfallen state, "no. The Silver Flame has not gifted me with that power. It seems I am found wanting in that regard."

"Ah," is all she replies. They walk in silence for a while until they reach the dining room.

Seated around one of the tables is an eclectic group. A pair of elves, one, a male wood elf, in armor, and the other, a female high elf, has the distinguishing feature of a green eye, as well as the surrounding skin. There is also a kobold standing on his chair, his copper tinged skin showing from beneath the billowing cloak he wears even at breakfast. In addition there is a woman wearing darkwood studded leafweave under a rather ill-fitting darkweave cloak. In addition there in an empty seat.

"I would like you to meet the rest of the band," she says, sweeping her arm to encompass those seated at the table. It appears they are all still in mourning over their friends recent demise. "The merry band, who've nearly lost the ship twice."

Ivello raises his eyebrows before Destry hastily correct herself, "I mean we've successfully saved the ship twice." She then pauses, and counts on her fingers, "Three times? Yes, three times."

"This band of yours," Ivello says, gesturing at the occupants of the table, "does it have a name?" By now the pair are standing next to the empty chair at the table.

"Why," Destry says, putting on the air of a show woman, "yes, indeed it does." She pauses, "I just can't remember what it was." She taps her chin with her right hand, leaning against the top of the axe with her left elbow. "Shylock's Mercenary Company?" she quizzically answers.

"Saphron's Salvage Company," corrects the wood elf between drinks of ale.

"Saphron's Salvage Company," Destry recovers. "After the first member of our party who died."

"Not quite," corrects the wood elf once again, this time quickly swallowing a fork-full of egg, "he wasn't the first."

"Saphron was not the," Destry thinks.

"Third," interjects the kobold.

"The most influential member of out party," she corrects. "We all loved Saphron," she pauses a bit, "whomever him, it, was."

The merry band lives up to it's adjective with a round of laughter at Destry's apparent gaff.

Destry then introduces Ivello, "I'd like you to meet a potential, uh, at least ally of the party. Just met him, he came on board with no clothes."

The woman in the darkweave cloak, who was facing away from Destry and Ivello, nearly spits her mouthful of food across the table. She then turns and looks disappointed by his lack of nakedness.

Destry then gestures to Ivello, "Ivello. Ivello is it?"

"Yes, Ivello," he confirms, "d'Orien."

"He's not naked," the woman confirms.

"Well, I helped him find some clothes," she explains.

"Well, what'd you do that for?" mocks the woman.

"Cause he wouldn't come meet us without it," Destry explains, not getting the woman's joke.

"It seems inappropriate to wear armor to breakfast," Ivello defends himself with. He then glances over at the wood elf and the woman, themselves both wearing armor to breakfast.

"Let me present," Destry says, continuing where the woman interrupted, who she then gestures at, "Eve. Who dropped into our group not too long ago."

"Literally," comments the kobold.

"Greetings," says Ivello, nodding to the bawdy woman.

"In the midsts of a giant's temple," continues Destry.

"Ivello d'Orien," he says to Eve, introducing himself personally, "of the Church of the Silver Flame."

"And this," Destry continues, gesturing to the kobold, "this is Styx Tal Meek, but we just call him Styx."

"Greetings," stumbles Ivello, "young kobold."

Styx just chuckles.

"Is that a problem?" asks Destry.

"No, no," insists Ivello, "not at all."

"Good, Styx is an incredible magic user. He's um, he's blown up a black pudding. We recently had to re-acquire some magic items to help us in our fight after he sacrificed himself."

"Wow," comments Ivello, "very brave of you."

"Yes it was," quickly comments Styx, "pretty much a self-sacrifice."

"And this, of course," she gestures to the wood elf, "is…"

"Kean K'Nath," he interrupts, setting down his tankard of ale.

Ivello looks over the scruffy elf, noticing the chain shirt as well as the large quiver strapped across his back, "Are you expecting trouble?"

"I always expect trouble," comments Kean.

"This is the Golden Dragon," explains Destry, "of course we are."

"I don't want to have to run and get my armor and weapons from my cabin if trouble should appear. Besides," Kean explain, gesturing at Styx, "he's always armed, unless he runs out of spells for the day. And I never like to be unarmed." He gestures to Destry, "Plus I've got to carry around all her axes."

"Well," corrects Destry, nodding at the one she still leaned on, "not all of them."

"Ah," comments ivello.

"Well, that leaves us with the last but not least of our band," Destry says, gesturing at the elf, "Val'elna. Or just Val."

She nods, though she says nothing, examining Ivello as he stands there.

Destry points at the green eye, "Have you noticed that wonderful thing on her eye? I'm not sure of all of what it does, or anything, but it's really beautiful."

"Oh," comments Ivello, slightly repulsed.

"Isn't it artistic?" asks Destry.

"It's actually something she wanted," comments Styx, "A kind of graft."

"Well," explains Ivello, "you normally don't have plant life growing in your eye."

"Well it is," counters Destry, "if you are a very powerful druid."

Ivello eyes Val cautiously as Destry tries to recover.

"Do you drink?" she asks.

"Well," thinks Ivello, "not this early in the morning, at least not much."

"Good," she then motions for the waiter, "A round of ale please." She then looks over to Eve, "Unless you want wine?"

"No, I'm fine with ale," Eve comments, still looking over the cleric in his simple clothes.

"Well," comments Ivello, "Ale is a little bit heavy, might you happen to have any goats milk?"


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