"It’s not whether you’re right or wrong that’s important, but how much money you make when you’re right and how much you lose when you’re wrong."

– George Soros

"Good accounts make good friends"

– Brahlean Proverb

"You can discover what your enemy fears most by observing the means he uses to frighten you."

- Malek Coppertarnish, Kronos Dwarf Greed Priest

It is one of life's great ironies that good drink, fine board, and excellent company as frequently unlock our innermost demons as hold them at bay. That night, Basile, Hazel and Shroktath endure personal tribulations, and they are none of them ever the same. The next day, the heroes experience the streets of Bral in all of their maddening glory. Assisted by their disabled caninetaur guide, Goodboy, they complete their obligatory errands and begin their investigation into the death of their would-be contact, Hooper Meadowtop. After enduring the humiliating registration of their goblin crewmates at the Office of Potential Threats, the company commanders visit the site of Hooper's old bookstore. There, they discover a secret room filled with adventurer's equipment and learn the name of the former assistant who ran his affairs while he was frequently offowrld. Afterwards, they visit the Undertaker's Guild in the the Middledark. There, a ghoulish bureaucrat shares the official account of Hooper's death that was delivered with his body as well as the exact location, down to the plot number, of his very expensive burial. It is information that anyone with 10 gp and curiosity enough can access. On their way back to the surface, the companions witness two Derro mistreating a larger group of vermin folk before disappearing down a secret passageway. They stealthily follow them through narrow and newly-hewn ratfolk corridors to an ancient chamber with a mighty door flanked by damaged ratfolk statues. The three vermin folk cower as a single Derro and an Illithid puzzle over getting the door to open.

[Placeholder: image, docks district]

With Crumnubbins’s words, a few more conversational highlights are worth pointing out…

• The ACLU doesn’t have the resources to keep an eye on the safety of all the goblins while they’re onboard, so we’ll have to trust the Auditors. However, we can provide very comfortable quarters to help entice them back every night for their OPT curfew.

• Good Boy will take you all to the OPT tomorrow to register. We’ve arranged temporary papers for today.

• Although Janks and Crumnubbins had intended to retire to another location following your welcoming dinner, given everyone’s mood and predisposition, hasty arrangements are made at the Ladels O’Lumpy (123 on Dock Street). Quarters are cramped, but comfortable. 

• We have a few weeks yet before the Imperium and Psurlon fleets are expected to arrive. Bookies are betting on who gets here first. Who knows, maybe they’ll arrive at the same time and fight over who gets to destroy the Rock first! Ha-ha.

Janks...

• Janks speaks gruffly and more than a little suspiciously – “Hooper Meadowtop was an odd sort. We were the only two Sentarean Hobbits on the Rock for an generation, and yet I don’t remember ever saying more than ten words to him in thirty years. Kept his own counsel, that one, when he was ever here. How strange you should mention him so soon after his death.” It’s the first time all evening that less than totally deliberate emotion enters her voice.

• THE NEXT DAY: “We will meet again this evening, to let you know whether we will offer you membership to the ACLU. I know what I am going to recommend.” 

Crumnubbins, again...

• After Janks has dozed off, she confides, “Don’t mind Janks. Hooper has ever been one of her only sore spots. It’s true, they never spoke. However, what bothered Janks more, I think, is that he was also one of the only people whose measure she could never really take… I’ll say this… If he could afford a BURIAL on Bral, he was rather more than a bookseller, that’s for certain.”

Crumnubbins speaks without punctuation. Listening to her has an almost meditative quality. It certainly seems to be having that effect on Janks. The old She-Hobbit is barely visible through her pipe smoke, but judging from her body language, you are fairly certain that her eyes are closed.

Old Mother Shroktath is also only half-listening. He moves about the room, looking to the wellbeing of Khalid (who is sleeping) and the crew, if only to move around and keep from falling asleep himself. Half the goblins are similarly asleep in a tangled pile of full bellies, the others are talking quietly next to the embers smoldering in the hall’s great stone fireplace. Along with Luckums, they seem to be listening intently to Lewis quietly yet animatedly telling a story. Something in their faces tells you it must be old. Like a myth.

Luckums, this is the the tale you remember: In a wooded hill in the borders of the Wilderlands there once had lived a typically friendly, helpful goblin. He wore a red robe and would help the local Elves in their woodland duties by offering a mysterious drinking horn that was encrusted with gold and jewels. When the Elves drank the unknown liquid from the mysterious horn they would become miraculously cooled and refreshed.

The goblin continued to help the Elves, until one day a greedy and deceptive Elf ran off with the drinking horn after he asked the goblin if he could drink from it.

The Elf was soon captured by the Lake Dwarves after he was found bragging about his misdeed and was imprisoned. The goblin's drinking horn was then given as a gift to the King of the Dwarves. From that day fourth the goblin was never seen or heard from again.

Basile, in retrospect, you are not surprised that this after dinner reverie seemed to provoke an altered state of consciousness. It began as a sense of wellbeing and contentment that was easy to mistaken as an extension of such fine company, hearth and board. Had it not been for the ghost ship, you might still trust such feelings. You might not have noticed the deeper subtleties at work

Those subtleties do not feel malicious. Quite the opposite, actually. They put you at ease. Like sharing a conversation with a close friend. The feeling was not unlike having one’s surface thoughts read - willingly. That realization got your attention. A quick look around the room, makes you realize that you were probably the only one interpreting the prevailing sense of comfort in this way.

No. Not the only one.

You make eye contact with Hazel. He nods almost imperceptibly. And that’s when it happens.

You wake up with a start. You are inside the haunted corridors of the Cygnet Terrace… terrified and alone.

REACTION

A moment later, you feels something forcing his hand away, and then a sharp bolt of pain when someone grasps it. It’s Hazel, but not Hazel.

You are filled with as many questions, though of this you are certain, you are both experiencing the same thing and there is a presence alongside your minds.

CHARISMA: You are reminded of the tales of St. Aesop (Mortimer Black arrives on the scene)
SENSE MOTIVE: This presence is not malevolent. It is neither a haunt nor a possession, but it is deeply troubled. Nothing like the Cygnet Terrace – the Cygnet Terrace is the façade your mind is placing on this to try to understand it. With that, it drops away, revealing carved stone corridors, spiraling around themselves. (Jasper Nix arrives on the scene)

KNOW (ARCANA): You being allowed to perceive what is around you now. You are being invited to find something.
KNOW (ENG): These stone halls are old. Very old.
KNOW (DUNG): These halls were carved for Illithid ceremonial purposes. (Father Hazel arrives on the scene)

PERCEPTION: You both hear “Little Band – hand the child over to Cyth V’Sug and succumb to your fears. You cannot hope to face the Vermin Lord…” – is that real, or is it another façade? And that’s when you see him… (Unknown Youngling arrives on the scene)

• you don’t recognize, with his eyes covered in bandages as though her were blind

• “OUR name is Bral, called. WE’re lost and there are monsters hurting US. Find US. Help US.”

• “WE are Bral. WE are everywhere.”

• “WE have to go they hate when WE try to stop them, but they are hurting US and WE can’t hold them off much longer… they’ll ruin everything!” He runs down the twisting corridors before you can stop him

Cyth V’Sug: LITTLE BAND, CYTH-V’SUG WATCHES YOUR EVERY MOVE. STAY WHERE YOU ARE, RUN, HODE… IT MATTERS NOT, CYTH V’SUG WILL FIND YOU AND DEVOUR EVERY LAST STORY OF YOU…

CONCLUSION: What is our plan Pack Warden? What are we to do? They all look to you.

Basile: You wake up in a well-stocked store room with your comrades sleeping either in a goblin pile or on comfortable cots. There’s a cowled figure with a green pastel hood, standing in the corner watching you sleep. You wake up again in the same place to see yourself waking up with a start, through Hazel’s eyes.

Hazel: You wake up in the well-stocked store room. You see Basile stirring. You are filled with purpose. You know not how, but you understand what you have each become and you know what you must do. 

Everyone got ready to start their day. The last of the goblins is awake and sitting down bleary eyed to a simple board of a selection of warm and crusty breads, soft butter and a variety of sweet jams. That’s when you realize that Shroktath is still abed.

Tim reads his thing: "Shroktath lies in his bed, his eyes open as if in horror, his body covered in a sheen of sweat. The body is stiff, but occasionally twitches. The eyes are blank, kind of like the thousand yard stare sometimes seen in the army, and unfocused. Every once in a while, for a second or so, his eyes seem to focus on his surroundings, darting about. Every once in a while too, he mutters a word or two - 'too... much...,' 'make... it... stop,' 'what... happening... me...?' or some grunt of pain. He is almost entirely unresponsive to any efforts to communicate with or rouse him."       

HOW DO THE OTHERS REACT?

When you approach and get within about five feet of Shroktath, you perceive something radiating off of him, though you cannot be sure what. It’s not something you perceive so much as you feel. It’s a feeling of being protected and connected to one another, guided and cared for.

• Sees Hazel and Basile – there are four Basiles in Hazel – each appears as a shimmering expression of vitality of multiple Basiles all trying to occupy the same body.

• e.g. a shimmering vitality that emanates outward from living things. They shine with vitality and life, and Shroktath is the focus, reflecting it all.

Crumnubbins: “Goodness, it sounds like a very serious hangover! Try drinking some of this… (bone broth) if that doesn’t work.. You should see a cleric, or a physician! I’m sure you would be feel better after a good bleeding!”

• You do not like it here (Bral) This place could not be more unlike your verdant home on the banks of the Bithat Sengar. And everyone wants something. Even that ransacked asteroid was better than this. You worry about Carmy. You feel deeply that your fate and his are closely bound.

• The sooner you can finish your business on Bral, find Hooper Meadowtop, and get the Inordinate Amount underway again, the better… even if you also realize it probably will not be as straight forward as all that… it rarely is.

Goodboy is an old Caninetaur – a dog-centaur. Much smaller than an actual centaur, he is a Medium creature with the stature of a Dwarf. His face and mottled colouring are reminiscent of a coyote, but his rheumy eyes bear none of that distant cousin’s skittishness and suspicion. Instead, they speak to his age and a deeper kindness. His hind legs are small and atrophied, tucked up underneath the wheel carriage of a two-wheeled contraption adapted to support his body and carry cargo. They hang there loosely from a leather strap. His front legs and torso are heavily muscled and covered with short tawny fur except where his belts and straps have worn it away. As you approach, he is leaning forward, listening to a small group of fey creatures argue with another. His hands rest easily on his knees and he seems to be smiling his open-mouthed dog smile. His nose twitches and he looks up expectantly as soon as Crumnubbins steps out.

• • •  

• The streets of Low Town are narrow and packed with a bewildering array of creatures, noises, and smells. Sensory overload does not begin to capture what you are feeling. Shroktath in particular is suffering.

• Despite the crowds, there seems to be a general consensus about staying on the right side of the street as you move, creating two separate flow patterns (Ordinance 672 X-9).

• About half the people traversing the streets are operating three-wheeled (Tri-pedallers, Tri-Peds) pedalled transport apparatuses. Most of these are covered with prodigious amounts of cargo. There is an occasional precariously balanced two wheel version can also be seen throughout the crowds (Bi-pedallers). Similarly, there are three-wheeled pedalled transports with multiple people sitting in the back. You learn later that these are called “Trike-Shaws”. Each one tingles with a different bells.

• The roads are largely cobblestone, and waste dumped in the gutters flows towards sewers, though sometimes only with the assistance of desultory sweepers.

• Over there, a bearded man with antlers is roasting sticks of savoury kababs and caramelized fruits; on the other side of the street, a frog person expertly shepherds a dozen large qwawking birds, each slightly bigger than a hobbit, everywhere street hawkers call out, their wares dangling from wooden frames swaying above the crowds’ heads.

• Mixed use Buildings loom on either side, three, four and five stories overhead. People hang out the windows, arguing with others, shouting, bringing in their laundry, selling, singing, and in one case, urinating.

• As ever, the star-dappled blue-smudged black velvet of Wildspace reaches overhead. You can see the twinkling lights of spelljammers waiting their turn for mooring just beyond the gravity well, hanging impossibly close without crashing into the ground.

• The stars seem to be moving slowly across the sky, though fast enough to see.

• DC.F 15 – the sensory overload is overwhelming. A sense of vertigo and spinning from the stars, the noise is extremely distracting, and nausea from the smells (Coleman and the goblins are unaffected by the smells)

• SHROKTATH, you immediately fail your roll – what happens to you?

• You – more specifically the goblins – are attracting a lot of attention. The fact that their appearance can literally stop all activity on the streets they pass, makes it relatively easy for Goodboy to find you a way through the streets.

• Regarding Goodboy, you can’t help but notice that he seems to know everyone, without prejudice to race, alignment or creed – you’re pretty sure you saw a cowled Medusa smile and wave as he went by. You’ve lost track of the number people that have called out to him by name just to say hello, to say nothing of those who briefly carry on snippets of conversations long since begun and that will probably never be finished.  

  • GOODBOY: “Not sure if you’ve notice, but we’re being followed by an Ylven urban tracker.”

• The office is located on Grand Street, near the Great Market  in part of the office of the low magistrate… (130) GOODBOY: “One of the funniest things about our little anarchy here on Bral is how much bureaucracy it seems to generate.”

• It is quicker to get there than you would have expected, but the wait in the office to register is very long, which is frustrating. It’s not like there is anyone else here to register

  • Basile senses something alongside at work, dragging this out; making it take longer than it should

• Like all the rules on Bral – the anti-goblin ordinance are open to being enforced by anyone with an interest in enforcing them. As such, there are four representatives from the Imperyion Embassy Investigations Division already present in the office when you arrive. They are in the process of filing a complaint that you are late (though you are not yet late)

• Sentinel Clockworks hover around the borders of each district to the inform the OPT of any potential violations

• Only one other creature needs to register here: Illithids. There’s a poster, helpfully outlining the restrictions

  • They need not register their whereabouts every day and they have free run of the surface of the rock

  • Interestingly, they are “absolutely forbidden” from entering the Middledark – even the admonishment restricting the goblins’ movement does not say that anything is “absolutely forbidden”

• However, there are more restrictions on goblins

  • Party must register as “responsible” for the Goblins… over and above sponsorship. The bureaucrat is a ferret person, whose neck bends dramatically and disconcertingly to examine all the different bits of paperwork on his desk. he literally scowls while examining the name of Shilynn’s sponsorship shell group (Shattered Sphere Transportation Solutions), but it appears to check out

  • Goblins… Need to report to the OPT each morning and register their intended whereabouts on a daily basis

  • …May travel in Low Town, Middle Town or the Middledark.

  • …Forbidden from entering High Town or Underside.

  • …Required to where their badges at all times identifying them as a “Potential Threat”

• Penalties for “Forbidden” activities are escalatory: fines (2x), detention (1x), expulsion, death penalty.

• Penalties for failing to comply with “Required” activities: fines (4x), detention (2x), expulsion.

The Goblins

• The goblins are delighted to meet their Ylfen Surveillance Team and make a big show of friendly effusiveness, much to the horror of the Ylfe.

• The goblins break up into four parties, and promptly disappear into the city. Before they are out of sight, you can see them working together effectively to ditch the Ylfe who obviously intended to spend the day monitoring their activity.

• The Ylfe are outraged, flustered and left scrambling. 

• Charlotte watches them go.

• She stands calmly though resolutely between Shoroktath and the complaining Ylfe. Though her expression suggests indifference, her feet are planted in a ready fighting stance.

Hooper Meadowtop’s secret room makes abundantly clear whatever everyone apparently already knows. This was no ordinary bookseller.

The room itself is fairly small and cramped. Besides a workbench and small bookshelf, it is filled with all manner of adventuring gear, go-bags and useful magic items. It is also equipped with a second door that opens to an empty and closed off alleyway that you need to climb a ladder over a wall to get out of.

Hooper’s journal is written in Sentarean Common and uses some sort of coded language to make it seem fairly mundane. With more time, you have been able to determine the following:

• It tracks the buying and selling of books through a network of contacts throughout the Shattered Sphere and beyond. However, you are left with the strong impression that it is tracking something besides books. What, you cannot cipher. Why was it left here?

• The code bears a striking resemblance to those used by the Unspoken to mask the movement of supplies and materiel as well as other logistics matters

• The writing style is brusque to the point of austerity, lacking many of the stylistic flourishes one normally associates with Hobbits

You do not have time to take a full inventory of the room, but this is the most notable stuff you do find a great many items (added to Treasure Chest)

[Placeholder: image, map of Bral, middle city]

From the site of Hooper’s old bookstore, Shroktath made his way through Bral’s anthropomorphic crowds to the Temple district on the starboard side of the city. You were all to regroup later at the Edge, your new hotel, before heading on to the Middledark.

Not always one for being struck by details, Shroktath now seemed to notice everything. Thankfully, it was no longer so overwhelming as it was when he first woke up. He smiled toothily, nodding in a friendly manner as all manner of people made eye contact with him, invariably after casting a furtive glance at Charlotte at his side. The little goblin easily kept pace with his long strides. She seemed unfazed by the attention.

Even before reaching the temple district, you noticed the wooden totems in many doorsteps and windows, often filled with nails and surrounded with offerings of food, incense and even coins. A few were surrounded by smaller figures, fashioned of simple red clay or occasionally elaborately painted ceramic. It was these that allowed you to make out more details of cowled figures with coloured hoods.

Closer to the Temple District, you began to notice more Actuaries walking about, always in pairs. The people of Bral treated them with both enormous deference and practiced indifference. They almost never interacted with them unless a formal ruling was required over a trike-shaw accidentally crashed into fruit stall or a un-guilded bugbear cub caught picking pockets. Invariably their decisions were sacrosanct. If the Auditors were the gods of Bral, then the Actuaries were their priests!

The crowded streets opened up to the Temple District from many different neighbourhoods. If anything, there seemed to be even more merchants and street hawkers then before!

You have time to observe four larger temples and several shrines, as follows:

• The Singularity – an austere place of worship, all towers and spheres: This place is swarming with Ylfe. They give Charlotte the stink eye. A couple in a big crowd (10+) even start shouting at you both to begone

• Temple to the Kronos Dwarves – It would appear the civil war in the Dwarven pantheon extended beyond Sentar. This might mean that the gods extend beyond single spheres – do they follow their devotees or is it the other way around?

• The Mulhorandi – a pyramid-shaped structure, cleft in twain on one side to allow worshippers to enter and leave. Very tall and vaguely anthropomorphic humanoid statues stand on either side of the entrance.

• All-Hive – shaped like the top half of a hornet’s nest, this place is literally “crawling” with bug people (especially numbered Formians), but a few non-bugs can be seen entering and leaving as well.

• There are literally dozens of shrines to various manifestations of Moreau-Folk, and clustered around most of them, are painted and colourful devotees and acolytes of various races. They are praying, chanting, meditating, debating, and even singing. The most consistent trope you see is the wooden totem of varying sizes, bristling with all manner of nails and spikes.

Shroktath is weirdly drawn to the Singularity. But it’s more habit- that’s what he associates with religion: Haughty elves who don’t like him. 

He lingers a bit, but as the abuse washes over him, bringing up strange and unsettling feelings of nostalgia? Homesickness? (He actually tears up) He feels sure that this - what he’s experiencing now - is something different than his previous experience of religion. 

He feels oddly drawn to the Hive. He would observe for a bit, see if he can pick up on any customs, and then approach respectfully. “This is important to me,” he says to Charlotte softly as they approach. 

If he is allowed, he would like to see a priest. He is prepared to pay for services. In any event, he would leave an offering even if refused. 

The second one that draws him is the Mulhorandi btw. 

The Singularity of the Ylfe reminds you of the Theoneans’ worship of the One, back on Sentar. You cannot help but wonder if there’s some kind of relationship between them. That being said, although they may be haughty and look largely the same, the Elves you knew on Sentar were never as menacing as those you have encountered here. And they worshiped trees. On Sentar the One was worshiped mostly by Human racialists of the  Monotheocrate Order or wandering zealots and madmen.

Charlotte frowns, “Say the word, boss, and the whole place burns down.” Her complete lack of emotion disturbs you.

You only have to walk past the Mulhorandi to get a sense of how old, dogmatic and hierarchical this religion must be. From there, you can see that there are other temples still that you have not yet identified.

At the temple of the Hive, the two of you draw a lot of attention from the insect people. You immediately realize you are entirely unlike the other non-bug supplicants who have sought refuge here. They are mostly poverty and rags, hollow eyes and despair. They cluster in small open cells stacked along the walls, some of them clutching eating the contents of small packets wrapped in golden paper that acolytes with twitching antennae distribute among them.

Inside, there is a massive entrance hall that stretches nearly to the ceiling of the structure that you saw outside and downwards into the Rock as well. Corridors that can only be reached by climbing or flying twist away into other parts of the complex. All manner of insect people are busy about their business inside.  Acolytes wear a prayer scarf and the colour seems to denote rank.

Those in the church take one look at Charlotte and are only too eager to fulfill your request. A silent acolyte (a Formian) in a black scarf scurries away with your message to talk to a priest and you are escorted to a larger and more private (though still open) hexagonal cell off to the side. Appropriately sized common chairs wait the two of you, as well as another that is shaped for limbs that bend much differently from your own. With a formal flourish, a grasshopper person with a white grey scarf gives you each a golden wrapped packet and the silent acolytes gesture to show that you eat them. Inside is a rich and fragrant translucent red jelly of some sort. It is about the size of Charlotte’s hand and the smell is captivating. It glistens. Her mouth opens and her eyes widen with delight.

Oh I eat. Still paying attention for any additional clues as to rank, manners, culture that I can pick up.   

Would my reading of “The multi-articulated limb” (from Algail) give me any insight?

The jelly tastes like happiness.

After one bite, your chief concern is whether there will be enough for a second. However, by the time you finish the entire square, these concerns disappear, and you are left with a warm and receptive feeling, accompanied by a sense of heightened awareness.

You and Charlotte make eye contact, and nod knowingly at one another. Both of you are smiling with great contentment. All is right with the world. And in the background of it all, you sense a uniting presence. Something that binds you and her – and everyone else for that matter – together.

You do recall a mention of just such a concept in the Way of the Multi-Articulated Limb. The Thri-Kreen call it ute-lay. In fact, it is an excellent way to describe what you felt this morning – was it stopped being overwhelming, the most positive way to put it was “the opposite of loneliness.”

A fuzzy yellow and black bee-person with a white prayer scarf enters your hexagonal cell, offers a formal greeting, settles herself into the third seat and says, “Welcome to the Hive. We are so glad you’ve joined with us today. We understand you have some questions…”

"Thank you, holy one, for allowing this joining, for your generosity (*gestures to the jelly*), and for taking the time to meet with me. Please know, that I do not take these gifts lightly, and that I am willing to back up my gratitude with action. I come to you seeking help, and hopefully understanding. Something is changing in me, and I don't know what it is. I am.. scared. It started a few weeks ago, when I noticed that I could... tap into? No, that's not quite right. Act as a connector? That's closer. to some sort of powerful force. The force felt good, warm, full of energy. Through me, this force could heal others. It started with Charlotte (*gestures with a motion of his head*) who was about to die from terrible wounds. I lay my hands on her as I'd seen Paladins from the Temple of Hieronius do in my childhood. I don't know how, exactly, how - I'm not a Paladin - but it worked. I thought it might be Hieronius, but I prayed and prayed, and nothing. Not even a sense that I was on the right or wrong track.

I was a bit concerned about why this was happening and where this came from, but I was able to put it out of my mind. It seemed like it was a good thing - I could help others - and it didn't seem to impact anything else in my life.

Then, this morning, things changed again. I woke up feeling that I could sense all of the life on the Rock of Brahl. I know that sounds crazy. It was overwhelming - I couldn't focus on anything. I was constantly being pulled to one life, then another, then another, each for a tiny fraction of a second. My head felt like it was on fire.  Maybe this is something like what the Thri-Kreen people call ute-lay? Even now, if I close my eyes (*he closes his eyes*), I'm aware of not just you, holy one, and Charlotte but of [he describes what he can of the life he senses around him].

And there's something else. I feel like my connection to the life around me also takes form in a weird way. I feel like I'm radiating some sort of... warmth?... that protects those around me somehow? It feels good, actually... but strange too. I feel a bit like I imagine a mother feels with her children or (*he looks at the bee priest*) eggs.

Can you offer any help, holy one?"

You’re not sure what the exact words of bee-priest’s response were. You do not remember hearing it so much as sensing it. 

No. Her.

You could smell her approval. She radiates reassurance. You’ve come to the right place. Her answers are deeply satisfying to you.

You repeat your story several more times and each time she approves greatly. You are special. Others must submit to months—no, years—of devotions to begin to sense a fraction of the connections that have come to you so naturally. The All-Hive has chosen you and summoned you here for a reason.

She is Ahuunn. There is a place for you in the righteous order. You are not sure she has actually spoken a word, and yet you know all of these things. You are attuned to the hive. You can feel it pulsing and buzzing with life. Around you. Inside of you. Your transformation has already begun.

How many jellies have you had?

There are more wrappers at your feet. The one in your hand is yellow in colour. It tastes like home. Charlotte is eating an orange one. Her eyes are half shut. Her lips are slick and shiny. She is smiling. Good. She deserves happiness.

Ahuun rises. Come with me. You are ready to see the hive mother.

I follow. (As a player I’m like- oh shit. Is this the part where I get fed to the Queen? I don’t think Shroktath would be though. Jellies plus he’s just inclined to trust religion as we might trust doctors)

Following Ahuun through the twisting corridors of the All-Hive Temple disoriented Shroktath even further. They teamed with life and it felt like he could sense it all. Hear them thinking, even. More than once, it was Charlotte who kept him standing and moving forward.

The two of them were eventually escorted to another unadorned cell, though this one was larger than the others. There, they were introduced to the Hive Mother – the High Priestess of the Temple – a bright orange Formian with big blue-black eyes and a gold trimmed white scarf.

During formal introductions, more delicious jellies were offered, these ones transparent in colour.

She smelled nice.

Welcome. You have so many questions, and we are so glad that you have sought your answers in the All-Hive. Ahuun has shared your story with me, but I would be honoured to know it with your own words.

Struggling to order his tale and many questions through the growing muddle of his thoughts, Shroktath was still taken aback by the High Priestess’s simultaneous and more substantive focus on Charlotte.

Although he was not certain whether the Hive Mother’s communications with his companion were meant for him, he could hear them in his mind regardless, even as the High Priestess spoke directly in his mind about other things. More surprisingly still, he could also hear Charlotte’s honest and unspoken responses.

Of Charlotte, she asked: Are you enslaved by this man? Do you require liberation? [Ha! No. Maybe he needs liberation.] We can protect you from the Ylfe, you know. [*SNORT* Whose gonna’ protect the Ylfe from us!?] It’s true! You are fearsome. Do you have what they seek? [Probably. The bosses got all kinds of things. We keep a pretty good inventory, so it kind of all belongs to us.] And how many goblinkind are you? [Fourteen, including Luckums] Would your fellows also be inclined to join the All Hive along with you? [Join? I dunno – but they’d sure be up for a jelly party! Can I have some more of these transparent ones?] Yes of course! (more transparent jellies are brought in by a very pretty butterfly person) And what about you Charlotte? Are you ready to submit to the All-Hive? Your transformation has already begun. [You keep these jellies coming and I’ll submit to anything you want, uh, so long as I don’t have to betray the bosses…] Never! You can all submit together, and then you will be one of the bosses. [I kind of already am one of the bosses, so uh, yeah… sure, I guess… ]

During the entire exchange the High Priestess never took her compound eyes off the mighty-thewed warrior nor ceased her conversation with him. 

In a moment of clarity, Shroktath wondered, would he even know if she did? She seemed nice, but really, Basile would know for certain whether it was true.

Suddenly, he started feeling uneasy and wished his companions were with him. The High Priestess’s quick response was both comforting and urgent.

Shroktath, tell me more about Basile and Hazel? Can you bring them here to me…?

It's now Shroktath - the interest in his friends, the interest in all the goblins. He knows that the Queen/High Priest is aware of his concerns, so doesn't try to hide them.

He says/thinks, "If you would like to have a chance at our willing cooperation in contacting our friends and bringing them here, it would be best if you let us go now."

Standing before Shorktath, almost demurely, in response the High Priestess wordlessly thrusted her mind more deeply into his than she had yet.

Shroktath’s body reacted. Violently. And then, so did hers.

He trembled, dropped down on all fours, and threw up half digested jellies all over the cell floor.

Immediately he felt differently. More alive. Freer.

How long have I been here? What am I doing? he wondered.

Every instinct screamed that they were in danger.

His attention immediately turned to Charlotte, passively shoving more jellies into her mouth. Her eyes half open. Her cheeks bulging from the excess.

In that moment, energy pulsed out of his body in every direction, and  washed over her. Though she resisted as best she could, her body began purging the royal jellies as well. It is no small thing to make a goblin vomit.

Charlotte heaved again, her hair greased with spew. Wiping her mouth, still staring at the floor, she mumbled, “What the hell just hit me?”

Shroktath’s eyes were burning red dots when he whipped his attention back at the High Priestess.

“What have you done to us?” he snarled.

Blood of the Gardeners! Was the last thing he heard her exclaim in his mind before the hive went silent.

The Formian took a step back and spoke openly – “What are you?” – her voice a tiny crackle. In a moment, a dozen Formian Deacons entered the room, weapons drawn. Several wasp men buzzed overhead.

“You may leave,” she spoke again, trying to regain some of her command. Then she belied her fear with volume – “Get out!”

Shroktath makes no hostile action but doesn’t scuttle out with his tail between his legs either.

“I am one who deserves to be treated with respect, as I tried to treat with you.” He doesn’t say it but he conveys the message clearly and powerfully in his mind: “SHAME on you - a temple- treating a pilgrim from far off lands that has come to you humbly, respectfully, seeking help in this way.” This would be abominable behaviour at the temple of Hieronious, and from deep down near the seat of his soul he mentally portrays his sense of utter disappointment.“We will leave, and peacefully. At least I hope we will.” He smiles and opens his mind to the priest so that she can KNOW/SEE that after his experience on the Cygnet Terrace and aftermath, Shroktath is no longer afraid of death.

He winks at Charlotte, turns, and walks out (or tries to). 

The memory of the Cygnet Terrace reflected off Shroktath’s mind with a fury. For a terrible moment it filled the High Priestess’s cell.

And the assembled priesthood of the All-Hive were diminished in their shame.

They had made no effort to hide their trophy-hunting and grasping. The temptation to add a goblin and its farfaring pet to their ranks was too great. Quickly now, lest these curiosity seekers get spooked and bolt! How many others had they duped in this way? And not just this All-Hive, but any other so-called faith as well?

Shroktath’s contempt for them all was withering.

He knew better than ever what he could trust. His mighty thewed strength. His fierce love for his friends, and that they showed him in return. Life deserves loyalty. Not abstract concepts of good and evil, individuality versus the collective will, gods and monsters. To the Nine Hells with them all.

“Priests and accountants,” he spat and looked to his side. He had nearly marched out of the building. Charlotte was not with him.

He ran back. The priests had moved in on her. They backed away quickly when they saw him return. She groaned when he picked her up gently.

“Nice speech,” she mumbled.

“Ugh,” he whispered, teasing. “You need a bath.”

She vomited again on his back. “Heh. So do you.”

Slick with sick, they walked out of the temple, taller than they had been when they entered.

[Placeholder: image, map as stated above]

Excerpt from the Personal Diary of Khalid al-Walid, Day 200, Rock of Brahl

The civilization of Brahl offends my thoughts and spirit since it feels like I am crawling around inside a banker's account ledger.  Nonetheless, it is a wonder to my senses.  I lack the vocabulary to describe the sights, sounds and smells of this place.  There were colours I did not know existed, smells that made mother's kitchen seem flat and the voices of races beyond the ken of fairytales.  The bureaucracy of this anarchy is maddening but we navigated it and even gave it a mouthful of frustration.  As we cleared that humiliation, we addressed some personal errands and made our way to Meadowtop's Bookshoppe.  Brahl might represent everything I hate about my family's business, but it was still the crossroads of Wildspace.  A marketplace of curios, novelties and relics.  I had a fortune in my pocket and sought acquisitions that might help our cause.  I found a shoppe called the Pale Slinger owned by a gifted dwarf named Edrukk the Black.  It was full of guns and bullets even Malik Ambur Hamil-Alsilah would have not recognized.  In the briefest of flash of an hour I left with a lot less gold towards the Middle Underdark.

The rest of the trek, I chatted with Goodboi. [DM: Deliberate misspelling of "Goodboy"]

Goodboy:  “Forgive me for saying, but you seem a little low. Now, it’s not my place to pry, but I’ve been going on and on about the Rock, without asking you a flecked thing. Tell me a tale of your homeworld to pass the time!”

Khalid: "Thank you for your concern.  Our journey through Wildspace has been a difficult one these last seven months.  I am sure you can understand that not all wounds affect the body.  My companions and I have been also dealing with damage to our spirits as well.  We have a good crew, a family really, and are working through it together.  My own concerns actually seem to improve as I talk.  I was harmed by what I did not or could not do and my team suffered.  I need to understand that better.

My home-world.  It is a planet a long way off from here and I will not name it to protect you.  However, it is beautiful and lush, dangerous and filled with joy and sadness, love and hatred.  While we have advocates in our world, they are vastly different than the ones here.  We have accounts but they do not always balance.  No one pays to breathe.  My family farms the soil and lives by a sea so large I cannot see the land that I know is on the other side.  There are many humans in my land, many more than you find here but we know and accept the other races that you have here, even goblins.  I have never met someone like you but your uniqueness would not surprise us.  Our elves are surprisingly far less vicious than the ones we have encountered here."  

Goodboy spoke slowly, as he always does, “Well, you have a poet’s heart!”  He smiled his dog smile, “You should write some of that down, if you haven’t already.”

Someone called out to Gooboy, and in return the caninetaur asked after the wellbeing of his twelve brothers and sisters. After a moment more of walking together in silence he said, “I can sympathize with you as a new human here. Only one of my kind here, myself. Wouldn’t know what to do if I were surrounded by others. Some of the other ‘taurs are friendly enough.” He leaned in for a stage whisper,  “except the felinetaurs, mind…” he added conspiratorially and winked.

“Like you, my family is also what I’ve made it.”

His hind wheels creaked and bumped on the cobblestones.  “I’ve never seen a sea. Heard of them though. Lookin’ as vast as wildspace from the deck of a spelljammer, but with water. Must be a helluva thing. I’ve seen the Triton waterweird spelljammers come and go. If I ever left the Rock, I’d like to see a place like that, I think.”

“Yessir, poetry soothes the soul. And with inspiration like that? Maybe your damaged spirit could use that kind of soothing. It sounds beautiful. Whyever did you leave?”

Khalid:  I am the youngest brother of five in a successful farming family.  I never took to farming beyond my obligations.  I hated accounting even though I like numbers.  I was happy to care for the animals or work on the crops but hated the selling.  I was happy to make and repair things but according to the challenge of the task, not the urgency to make money.  I could understand and direct the workers and servants but was not aggressive or driven to make the business hum.  My two older brothers have those instincts and skills to maintain and grow the profits.  My sisters have established families of their own as part of commercial interests in our community.  Grandchildren and legacy are well established without any effort from me.

My nation is at war and so I heard the call of St. Cuthbert the Wanderer to take up that responsibility.  I wanted to defend my family and my people from the threat that was very far away but nonetheless serious.  Hard work on the farm and lessons from my teachers made me useful in a fight.  My squad was abducted into Wildspace and we have carved our own path since then.

Poetry?  I had not thought about it.  I compose narratives to record our journey and song because it was important in my Army and now it is useful to my crew.  I am not sure how that would work.

I learned more about Goodboy as we walk. Its easy to understand how he gets his reputation.

The cobblestones beneath my feet made Goodboy’s wheels bump and jangle affably. He listened with his head cocked to one side. Nods when he understood. Shook his head when he sympathized.

“Critters been talkin’ ‘bout you, tellin’ tales they heard. And here I am getting’ to meet you and hear them first-hand! All roads must lead to Bral. To think of the trails you’ve blazed only to wind up here, talking to me.”

In-between snippets of you tale, you learnerd the following from him:

• “Terrible business, war. Bral has witnessed enough fighting as it follows its path through Wildspace, but never here. Somehow, no matter how much folks may wish each other ill everywhere else, here accounts are always balanced. Oh, some-critter’s always turning up dead or someone else is getting tossed or whatnot, but never on scale, you know? There’ve been two race riots and one Hostile Takeover on the Board of Directors, that I can remember. Actuaries and the various associations always got things back under control after a few days or weeks.”

• “I grew up here. Never knew another life. I was told scavengers found me on a derelict slave ship when I was just a pup. Grew up in the temple district. Raised by monks and acolytes, a little bit here, a little bit there. Word to the wise… stay away from the bug religions! When they try to convert you, they try to convert you!”

• “You talked about the elves, they aren’t all bad, you know. There are a few that I trust – that I’d even call friends. It’s no small thing for them to break with their fellows – to break with the Imperyion, but they’re out there.”

• “Abducted!? What happened there? Oh, let me guess… the Neogi! Frightful troublesome critters.”

“There I am going on again! The wonder of all there is to be found in the spheres just never ceases to amaze me.”

Khalid. I am enjoying talking to you, Goodboy.  Honesty is a trait that must be celebrated and protected.  If the universe is made of stories, then truth is perhaps the most valuable substance in it.  

War.  I have had my taste of it and paid dearly to sit at its table.  I am good at it and will work to get better at it to ensure that me and mine are safe and thrive.  I am of course happy nonetheless to hear that violence on Brahl has been limited and that you have avoided the worst of it.  There is another passion I have, to build and wish that I could pursue that without distraction instead.  That has not been our path but I will not stop looking for it.

Goodboy.  What is it you wish to build?

Khalid.  After our time in Wildspace, I think eventually I will build a house on the water with enough of a farm to feed me and a family.  Until then, I will need to keep my ship in the sky and weapons in our hands.

Raised by monks. Was it only their philosophies that you learned or did you also learn their disciplines and their martial arts too?

Goodboy. Wouldn’t say that I learned much of either! Never had the knack for thinking too long on a thing nor fighting.

Khalid.  On my world, I have elves as friends, neighbours, customers and comrades.  There is nothing like an elven Imperyion on my world but it is not impossible to imagine.  Do you know of any elves here that you trust that have broken with the Imperyion?  I would be interested in meeting them.

Goodboy. I could probably arrange for you to meet. They’re Drow folk, living in the Middledark over the years. Fellow I’m thinking of is a tinker and smith. He keeps offering to make me a fine carriage. I always tell, ‘Now what would I want with something like that?’ So he keeps this one in repair for me, but I always have to keep an eye on him to make sure he doesn’t fancy it up.

Khalid.  I would be interested in meeting those Drow especially the tinkerer.  My companion Skroktath would certainly enjoy talking to an elven smith.

Yes, we were abducted by neogi.  We still seek one that dealt with the Psurlon Supremacy.  What do you know of them?

He is surprised and looks around, and speaks in a hushed voice.

Goodboy. Psurlon!? A race so dangerous they have no longer have representatives on the Rock. Nasty critters! Worm people that don’t think like you and me. They can move things around and control the elements with their minds. It’s easier to reason with a neogi. You spoke of the Imperyion being tough – the Psurlon are one race the Ylfe have never brought to heel. They control an entire sphere, themselves. And if it weren’t for the Imperyion, they’d probably control more. There’s plenty enough of them poking around Shatterspace, but for the most part, the Illithid keep them from taking over. Mark my words, stay as far away from the Psurlon as you can!

Khalid. Ah.  I just thought of a poem:

Illuminating

The dark space between the stars

The Rock of Brahl sails

Goodboy. “What did I tell you! A poet’s heart! Ha. I don’t know much, but I know folks!”

Over the course of your conversation, you passed through the Grand Market, with it’s merchants stalls overflowing with all manner of grown, manufactured and salvaged goods – everything imaginable.

You are now approaching the port side of the Rock and your new Inn, the Edge.

Khalid. Thank you for your assistance today.  I very much appreciate talking with you and look forward to more discussions.  I will see you soon Goodboi.  

Hazel observed to himself that two ratfolk traversing the streets of Bral could not be more anonymous. It was so different from walking about with the goblins, or even going about the streets of Riot's Gate. No one paid them the least bit of mind. It had been a long time since he felt alone in a crowd. But not alone. That feeling of an unnamed intimate presence that he had first felt at the Ladles O'Lumpy Oatmeal persisted. Was this what people felt when they spoke of the Auditors?

From Hooper Meadowtop’s bookstore, the warren folk made their way portside, towards the Grand Market. Their goal was to equip Hazel in a manner befitting his station and  employ.

Before reaching that vast calamity of merchant stalls, Basile casually asked Hazel to make a show of surveying the rooftops. Hazel, who was becoming accustomed to trusting the occasionally eccentric flourishes of his other self did so without question. There was nothing to espy, but given the way he was directed, that did not seem to be the point. He raised his hand above his eyes and looked from one side of the street to the next. Laundry. Cats. Children playing. Rooftops.

Basile smiled his toothy smile. Quietly, “On my mark, we will fall back suddenly and enter that alleyway we just passed, as quickly as possible.” Two shakes of a tail, and then he said firmly, “Now.”

That’s where you came face to face. He looked familiar. There were certainly few enough of his kind here. A githyanki spacefarer. Dapper and well groomed, but certainly no one to be trifled with.

Basile picked up the trail of your thoughts. “And how is Captain Hothex? I do not mean to be impertinent, but his interest in our wellbeing must be considerable for him to have you follow us all morning long. Would you be so kind as to extend to him our gratitude once again for his concern?”

“What business do you have with the Pack Warden!”  Hazel stepped in front of Basile as he spoke.

“Calm, brother Hazel.  If this gentleman had meant us harm he would have done so already.”

Basile looked thoughtful as he starred at the Gythanki.

“Your Captain must surely represent a greater power, one who is placing a bet on our continued perseverance on Braal and the spheres.  We have interacted with many great powers since coming to the spheres and not all of those interactions have been gentle.  Braal is important, strategically but is it important for another reason we are not aware of?  

Our passage here, our sudden friendship with the NAACP it is all too convenient.  Either we are the pawns of chance or a greater power is using us to disrupt a game that is either coming to fruition or has been stagnant for far too long.  But I also suspect that you know nothing of this patron or are unable to share their identity, correct?”

(Basile watches closely and reads thoughts as he talks of the greater patron or power behind the Captain.)

The Githyanki looks trapped.

You easily recognize that this is not a man who is accustomed to being trapped. Fight or flight? That would be an easy decision. But this is not a circumstance in which either is really called for. So he stands looking back and forth between the two of you, mouth slightly open.

He responds with certainty, “Uh.”

Following Basile’s elocution, Hazel stands more at ease. Silence prevails as you both wait. The moment builds, and the Gith is able to gather up the wits you made him spill all over the alley.

“That’s right,” he drawls slowly, putting his response together as he speaks. “Can’t be too careful. Captain was interested in your…” thinking, “Safety!” Whew. “Lotsa’ people, er ‘powers’ on Bral that want to take advantage of you. Wouldn’t be right.” Warming up to it. “Wouldn’t be fair. Seeing as you’re newcomers and all. And being your friend, the Captain wanted me to render what assistance I could.“ Now he wonders if he’s gone too far.

He attempts a smile. You almost feel sorry for him as he wonders what he’s gotten himself into.

Basile

I concentrate particularly on the pause, the moment where he is thinking and concentrating.

Sense Motive

Detect Surface thoughts with Empathy.

Hazel

Hazel engages him after the pause with Diplomacy

“Friend, do not mind my over dramatic companion here.  We understand that sometimes a friend is just a friend, and a good deed is just a good deed.  Your Captain is most kind to send such a fine fellow such as yourself to watch over us.  Now I don’t know about you, but I have hours is to kill and coin to burn.  Can we offer you a drink and the swapping of tales at the pub just round the corner?”

The tavern was called "the Balanced Ledger." Of course it is. Kynigos (KYE-nee-gose), as the Githanki is called, knew it to cater to all manner of folk. As you sat across from him, halfway into your first round, you could see him desperately trying to figure out how he wound up in this position.

Hazel kept him engaged. His skills were clearly stealth and not diplomacy. On the way here, he worried a great deal over how you got the better of him. He was right.

He had expected the warren folk to be wary of the rooftops and chose the alleys instead, even though there would be more obstacles. It was those unexpected obstacles that led to the secondary movements of street folk being disrupted by his presence. This is what Basile had noticed. Part of being very good at something is knowing where you made your mistakes.

Kynigos is very good at stealth.

As the warren folk interacted with him on the street, this worry preoccupied much of Kynigos’s thoughts – the rest was how he would explain all of this to Thaliose Hothex.

Hothex had expected Kynigos to observe and report, not make contact. It seemed the Captain of the Brinkmaship regarded as more patient with others’ foibles and the vagaries of the unforeseen than most, but his crew was loathe to disappoint him. Nobody wanted to be around the day his patience with vagaries ran ut. And it was clear that Kynigos knew his failure to remain in the shadows would disappoint his captain.

Making stilted conversation over a pint, he mostly appeared to be grateful for Hazel’s willingness to speak casually and easily. It was also clear that he was beginning to feel a bit more in control again.

Luckums, you follow the directions that Goodboy provided into a labyrinth of shadowy alleys and twisting passageways. You are looking for a purveyor of time magics. The name you got form the ACLU was a Mercane named Molator. His people are famous for being merchants of magic found throughout the spheres. They are said to be the creators of the original helms, and they continue to corner the market on the sale of the spelljamming devices. Though you’ve yet to see or meet one, you’ve read many references to them. They are said to be great blue creatures with too many eyes in their heads and too few fingers on their hands.

A wooden tower leans precariously six or seven stories over the street, blocking out the sky. It is easily the tallest building in the entire district. You know it must be the right place because it features five large clock faces, one on each of its sides. One of them starts up a jolly carillon before small wooden figures pop out beneath it, flap little wings and squawk a musical welcome. Below them it says in Wildspace Cant, omni tempore rebus. Every moment counts. A smiling blue face with several eyes is painted above an arrow pointing up a rickety staircase.

[Placeholder: image, "Omni Tempore Rebus"

You have to traverse several flights of steps. Many more than you would think would be necessary to reach the clocktower. It’s a good thing you have your disc! And some of these passageways are narrow even for you. Finally, you arrive on a small doorless landing that opens up inside an enormous space. It is far larger than it ought to be based on what you saw of it from the outside, and it’s jammed with whirring, clicking, swinging clockwork machinery. You actually have to swoop out of the way of some of it as pendulums of it swing through the room.

That large creature in the flowing robes could only be the Mercane. It is heavy set and taller than Shroktath, so you are a little surprised by its lilting almost feminine voice.

“Ah Luckums! So good to see you again, my friend. How is that spellbook working out for you? Staying out of trouble with the Ylfe, I should hope. Especially with the entire city falling apart around your friends… wait… when are you? What day is today?” The creature consults a pile of notebooks and curling scrolls before shouting, “Maquuna! Would you be so kind as to bring me my notes for the first time I met Luckums. I want to get this right!”

He (she?) smiles at you broadly, “Welcome forward, fellow chronomancer. Don't worry. We'll get to it. We have all the time in the world."

• There are multiple entrances to the Middledark – the labyrinth of caverns inside Bral that are all in one or another connected to the great central cavern and the underground portion of Lake Bral. This is what distinguishes the Middledark proper, from underground tunnels.

• Goodboy recommends entering from Dockside, as it is closest to the Undertaker’s Guild

• Sentinel clockworks watch the entrance

• While travelling down the long ramp into the heart of Bral, you are passed by several groups of zombie work gangs being led to the surface by ghoul foremen. Goodboy explains that the poor and deeply indebted often sell their post-life labour for credit. Zombie work crews are sometimes used to haul cargo up the ramp from the docks. However, the wear and tear on them is surprising.

• The few Moreau folk you see down here are ratfolk. Otherwise, the population is largely underground dwellers – including Dark Folk, Derro, Duergar, Drow a few shambling undead, and couple you think might be actual vampires.

• The Undertaker’s guild is housed in a white-washed wooden building that stands at the confluence of the downward tunnel in a largish cavern. Beyond it lies the fleshmarkets, where bodyparts (including undead grafts) can apparently be bought and sold.

• Luckums and Charlotte draw some attention, but otherwise no one pays  you much mind

• Rivas Reynaso is a ghoul. Given his hairless, bruised purple flesh, unnatural bloodshot eyes, and deformed mouth filled with too many sharpened teeth, it’s hard to tell what he used to be, when he was alive. You find him, sitting at a high desk, gnawing idly on a well-chewed femur while he writes intently in a massive leather-bound tome.

• 10 gp “service fee” to get information.

• He fills out a form and passes it to a shambling zombie, who returns after a little more than an hour later with a large leather-bound book strapped to its back.

• “He died on the decks of a spelljammer, surveying the maelstrom. So brave!”

• “His body arrived back here a month ago. His vanity bookshop was auctioned off and he was laid to rest… You can’t tell me a bookseller could afford burial at Cerulean Reflections, amirighterwhat?”

• Cerulean Reflections is an old Ylfe estate in High City overlooking the forest and Lake Bral. Beautiful location. Well, the family fell on hard times. Started selling off the property in bits and pieces. Finally turned to keeping the last part of it as a pay-as-you-go cemetery. You can pay to be buried on Bral for a few hours, a day, week, month… millenia or in perpetuity…

• “Ooo, he bought his plot a decade ago. Market was good then.”

• “If you can’t afford to be buried somewhere or have your remains jettisoned into Wildspace, my colleagues and I would be happy to devour you for a very modest fee. It is our perennial best seller.

• On the way out of the meeting with Rivas, the heroes see two small gnome-like creatures – some sort of fey folk with pale white skin and wild white hair (Derro) – prodding along three ratfolk.

• They stop in a relatively quiet side area, and while one Derro keeps a lookout while another climbs a few feet of the ground before disappearing suddenly from sight. That’s when the lookout begins to whip the ratfolk mercilessly, before they meekly make their way to the same spot and also disappear. The whip Derro casts one final glance over his shoulder before climbing after them himself.a

• As the heroes follow, they reach a secret door hidden in the rock that would be virtually impossible to find without some point of reference. Through it, there is a narrow and crouching corridor (Khalid barely fits but Shroktath cannot move through stealthily). The group they were following could only have disappeared down this way

• Down the crevasse, you hear voices speaking – hard to make out what they are saying. Sounds like it is likely in Aklo.

• When the players arrive, they find an empty room. Another entrance way leads down a long newly carved corridor (also ratfolk handiwork) down which it is much easier to move.

• You hear what sounds like two voices speaking at once, one lyrical and high-pitched and the other growling and demonic – “What did I tell you? Our tiles are different! Used together they will certainly open the way!

• Again (Derro): “Our Elder said that the way would be opened ‘by the Brood Mother’s blood’… so, which one of these vile rats do you want me to cut first?

The next room you enter is much much older than the ratfolk-hewn corridors and mining room, and it is carved much more finely. An Illithid and a Derro stand in front of an intrically carved old ratfolk-style door that was added to this room after the fact. Three ratfolk cower nearby. The door is flanked by a pair of headless guardian statues that are at least as old as the door. Though they have been deliberately beheaded (and fairly recently at that), it is easy to tell that they were carved in the likeness of ratfolk. Opposite that door is an original passageway blocked by a tunnel collapse. 

• As you enter the room, an Illithid and one Derro turn to face you… a patrician voice sounds telepathically in your heads... "Thank goodness you're here. Perhaps my malodorous companion will finally shut up."

• The Illithid is wearing deep blue robes, almost black, and has a black metallic armband embossed with silver swirling script on his right arm

[Placeholder: image, map of tunnels]

Between the two statues, their is an inscription to accompany the fable illustrated on the door...

By and by, a Warren Folk carried a Vermin Folk who could not swim across a wild river only to be drowned by the Vermin Folk half way. "Alas, what have you done?" cried the Warren Folk, "We are lost!" Although he could not swim, the Vermin Folk claimed that he had to be true to his cruel ways. But he did not die. The Warren Folk had used a hidden flotation device that allowed the Vermin Folk to survive and reach the other side. There, he was welcomed by the deceased Warren Folk’s family as one of their own, which he eventually became. He died an old grayfur, long after he had dedicated his life to re-balancing the ratfolk, and was laid to rest next to the bridge he had seen built over that wild river. 

RATFOLK: Farfalle, Rotinni, & Gemelli

• They are Vermin Folk being compelled by the Derro. They are craven and thoroughly impressed to see two ratfolk among those defeating a Derro Magister and an Illithid!

• They are Derro debt servants

• They confide in Hazel that there have been tales of Ratfolk living on Bral long before the tumult of peoples and corporations. They also confide that the auditors have always been here – a presence that protected and guided and comforted them. 

• The Illithid wears an old pewter necklace – tentacles wrapped around a deep purple, gemstone filled with cracks and imperfections. It is shaped to look like a massive brain, its imperfections fashioned into tentacles reaching out from the brain itself. This thing is ancient and radiates magic.

[Placeholder: image, puzzle tile pieces]

• LINGUISTICS: The ceramic tiles are written in an ancient Ratfolk scrip

• LINGUISTICS+: let them know that they need not line up along their outer edge (they can be staggered)

• LINGUISTICS++ offer the hint that it is 2 across and three down

Once the heroes begin handling the ceramic puzzle pieces, the Vermin Folk speak in a child's voice, not their own...  

• FARFALLE: “They’re hurting US, Little Band.”

• ROTINNI: “We’ve been trying to hold them back, WE can’t much longer.”

• GEMELLI: “The way is dangerous. WE can’t help. Be careful.”

I woke up with a start. I’ve been hungover, I’ve had my bell rung, but I’ve never felt anything like I felt that first morning waking up in the Laddles o’ Lumpy Oatmeal.

I felt like I could hear? Sense? Every living thing on the Rock. I couldn’t seem to focus, I couldn’t seem to turn it off, it was like being caught in a storm of arrows without a shield. Every once in a while I was aware of someone close to me, and then I was overwhelmed with the awareness of everyone on the Rock of Brahl? Sure felt like it. And it wasn’t like I could hear them or actually see them or anything… just all these lives. This one, that one, that one, that one… pulling me in all these different directions at once.  My head felt like it was on fire.

I have a brief memory of Luckums coming up to me. I think I puked all over her. I did. Shit. I remember Khalid casting some sort of spell on me that seemed to fortify me somehow. I felt like I had the inner strength to face whatever the hell was happening to me… But what the hell was happening to me? I’d had a weird feeling about these changes in me for a few weeks now, but I managed to put this aside. The results were good - I could heal people - so maybe it was all for the good?

This freaked me out. And in addition to this strange super awareness, I felt something else strange going on in and around me. It was like I was radiating… no… maybe reflecting the energy of life around me? This felt good, but it was still really weird. I told my mates that I was scared and needed some help. Nobody else seemed too worried about whatever was happening to me, which was disappointing.

Just thinking about it makes me want to throw up again, and frankly, I struggled to keep it together as I moved through the streets with my crew.

We made it to the office where we needed to register the goblins in our crew as “dangerous creatures.” Some elves were already waiting there, trying to throw up some road blocks for us. It was a pain in the ass, really. Waiting for hours, the elves sneering at us. It was at least good to see our crew start razzing the elves, messing with them. There were all kinds of rules and penalties applied to our gobbies, which pissed me off but what were you going to do? We gathered up the crew and explained to them, as best we could. They were paying about as much attention as they usually do, but when I added that any fines would first come out of their pay… that seemed to get their interest. The crew went on their way, and despite the pain I smiled. The Rock of Brahl was about to have an experience.

We made our way to the site of Hooper Meadowtop’s former store just a week or so ago, I gather. Land is so valuable here, that it had already been converted into a couple of different stores - a games store, and a dwarven grocery store - both trying to hustle up business. We made our way in and engaged the owners in various ways, while Luckums and Basile located a secret door, and Luckums worked her way into a basement chamber hidden away, I guess, by the former owner. She came away with a host of loot and a journal written in code. I wondered what this would reveal.

We then went down towards the innards of the Rock and the Undertaker’s Union. It was run by a bunch of undead, and again I almost felt overcome but in a different way. It was all I could do to restrain myself from tearing them to pieces. At one point I caught myself growling. I told my mates that I would never go down to the undertaker’s union again, but what I meant was that if I ever did go down there again, I either wasn’t coming up again, or those undead monsters would be destroyed and damn the consequences. 

The burning desire to end those undead seemed to have given me focus though. I was aware of the life (and unlife) around me, but I wasn’t so overwhelmed. At least we found out some more information on Meadowtop. He’d gone off to a place called “the Maelstrom” about a month ago. Apparently that’s some sort of junction between this sphere and our home one (“Sentar”). I guess it’s unstable, and wildly dangerous - lots of adventurous types head there never to be heard from again. Meadowtop left for there about a month ago, died about three weeks ago, and the body was returned to the Rock about a week ago. Think I got that straight. Here’s the really weird thing - he could afford a permanent burial site on the Rock. “Bookseller my ass!” the abomination exclaimed.

On our way back up to the surface, we spotted something that we weren’t going to let slide. Some Derro, prodding three ratfolk through a hidden doorway in the tunnels, acting like the ratfolk were his slaves. Having experienced slavery ourselves, and especially I think for Hazel and Basile given the fact that these were ratfolk, we followed with intent. My size again got in the way - I was squeezing and scraping my way through these tiny tunnels until Luckums cast a spell to shrink me to half my size. We managed to approach the group now talking to an Illithid. I fuckin’ hate those bastards, don’t mind saying. Enslaving others, taking away the freedom even of their thoughts, sucking out the brains of their victims like a child slurping out the innards of a gujamellon on a hot summer’s day.

He said he’d been expecting us. Cocky. Luckums, gods love her, didn’t wait for much else, but flew straight at the group and blasted them with something that seemed to stun the ratfolk. It was on. 

The battle ended with Luckums carving up the Mind Flayer’s corpse for later munchies, an oily smear where there used to be a Derro, and the ratfolk freed and crowding around Basile. A happy surprise - my last face-to-face fight against one of these Illithids hadn’t gone so well. But that sense of protectiveness I could feel gathering up in me and extending to those around me… Well, turns out it protects me too, and powerfully. I could feel this fierce warmth rising up from within and around me, like waves in an ocean storm, and swatting away the Illithid’s blasts and probes. And Basile… he’d transformed, and powerfully so. That experience of being divided, of the alternate Basiles - brother and father Hazel, Mortimer, Jasper - had been hard on him for weeks now, but it seems to have led him to a good place. Brother Hazel remained and remained clearly devoted to Basile, but the others (Basile told us) had slipped back into his bones - their memory there as a source of strength and wisdom to Basile. He was blinded, but could see through the sight of others. He couldn’t fight others directly, but he could - impressively - help to guide his mates in a fight. I felt his presence in myself, guiding my spear as it struck home true, and shielding me from harm. I felt like one of Basile’s pack, and it felt pretty damned good.

One more thing. As we approached this Illithid and Derro, we’d overheard them having a heated discussion about their “tiles” and combining them, using them as some sort of key to open an old ratfolk doorway now commanding our attention. It was a curious thing, this doorway. Clearly ancient, there were two statues of ratfolk to either side of it - both missing their heads. Both Basile and I got a sense of life behind it, a very old yet young life? The ceramic, patterned tiles our two opponents had been arguing over now were in our hands - we just had to figure out how to use them, I guess.

[...]

Dakarday Eoweek Korda 49th Annum Independencia - Day 200

On the Rock of Brahl

Surprisingly my first night's sleep on the Rock of Brahl was solid.  We woke the next morning slowly.  It is hard to recall what happened first but I thought it had started with Shroktath.  It initially seemed like he was hungover but I knew right way that something else was going on.  He was solidly afraid which woke me up instantly just as he indicated towards Basile and Hazel.  As they related a complex dream, there were distinct shadows of Basile's other selves from the Anomaly, Mortimar Black and Jasper Nix.  They began to fuse together as the story unfolded.  This affected Shroktath more than I would have expected and I granted him magical wisdom of the owl I had just learned.  That seemed to centre his thoughts and provide some insights.  He described his recent journey as a healer and vessel of vitality:  a moon of reflecting light.  

My crew was struggling and much of it seem to be because of Brahl.  We needed to get off this rock.  It was a civilization built around a bookkeeper’s ledger.  It was the ultimate evolution of everything I hated about my family farm and my choice to leave:  not food and life but accounts payable and receivable.

After breakfast, we met our guide for the day who was a canintor called Goodboy.  He took us on a tour around the part of the Lower Town to register our goblins because they were “threats”.  On the way, the now fully-blind Basile nonetheless was able to spot a Ylfe tracker with little trouble.  In the administrative office, we registered our goblins under some corporate figment called the Shattered Sphere Transportation Solution.  This was yet another soul-crushing journey through the bureaucracy staining Brahl that seemed to take even longer than we pessimistically expected.  The goblins were well-behaved given the circumstances but receiving this arrogant pencil whipping became frustrating.  I motivated Lewis to start singing some of our bawdier songs to increase the discomfort of the Ylfe investigators.  Finally settled, we set the goblins free on a day of furlough knowing full-well how expensive the fees and fines of their adventures were going to be.  Goodboy took me, Luckums, Hazel, Basile, Shroktath and Charlotte to Meadowtop’s Bookshoppe.  The bookstore had been turned into a dwarven shop and a merchant’s office.  We went into the shop and talked to the owner.  Luckums and Basile found a secret room filed with hobbit adventure gear.  Shroktath was clumsy to cover their movements.  After that, I bought a dwarven knafatafl game set for our crewroom as a distraction while Luckums cleared out the room.  Meadowtop’s journal would of course require close study but Luckums had also found a wayfinder with an ioun stone; mysteries upon mysteries unfolded.  In the merchant’s office, we learned of a catwalk named Torioug that had arranged affairs for Meadowtop while he travel but she was nowhere to found.

Next we proceeded to the Middle Underdark to find an undertaker named Revous Revaso.  We learned from him that Meadowtop had died in the Maelstrom a month ago and had been brought back to Brahl to be buried in the Ceruillian Estates, apparently a vastly expensive undertaking.  On leaving the undertakers, we saw some derro driving some ratfllk into a type of hidden tunnel.  With Luckums and Basile in the lead, we tracked them through the tunnel and found the derros their ratfolk debt slaves and an ithillid trying to open a strange gate. 

Battle in the Middle Underdark

The illithid sensed our presence and attacked us.  Using my spell of tactical acumen and some quick formation commands, I was able to maneuver the squad into an initially successful attack.  Shroktath went headlong into the fight singing a paen and I was able to encourage that among the whole team and continue our solid formation.  This then allowed me to cast a glitterdust burst between the illithid and the ratfolk and drive those unwilling foes away from its control.  I was controlling my team and I could sense the battle turning to our favour.  My typical battle anxiety was present making my throat choke but I had it under control.  I had not even fired by gun and I thought we might win without its fire but by my careful control of tactics alone.  The ratfolk were ready to breakoff but as I readied my next spell the illithid looked at me and my composure broke.  I felt like a slave again.  Instantly a waking nightmare rushed over me, blackening my vision and filling my ears with the sound of chains.  I was shaking and was going to run.  I should have run.  Perhaps I was pinned between the skirmish and the tunnel wall.  Perhaps the sustaining aura of Shroktath’s faith held me as he stood toe-to-toe with our foe.  Perhaps the tiny Charlotte revelling in her brawl encouraged me.  Perhaps all of it kept me in place.  I was scared to the core but did not run.  My stomach was full of lead and my mouth tasted of ash but I felt the faintest twitch in my right eye…then I fired my gun.  It did not kill the illithid but was dramatic enough to drive the ratfolk out of the fight and behind Basile.  The remainder of our foes fell quickly.

After our victory, I quickly recovered myself and surveyed the situation.  The illithid and derro had been trying to arrange ceramic tiles to open the gate.  Another mystery in the dark…

Session 1

[Narration] So, you’ve spent the last two days and most of the last two nights on double-march ... so our important new lieutenant can hobnob with an Agent of the Unspoken. He, she or “it” probably has critical fucking intelligence to offer…

[The Merchant] [l]ooks at the party, sees Luckums… and grabs her arm… “They know what’s driving the Horde. They know what they seek. Take what’s inside... Alert Sadore of the Lunar Elven Embassy in Riot’s Gate. Our sphere holds the key.” Crossbowman put two more bolts into the merchant. He is now an ex-merchant.”

[Okay - more evidence that the moonstone circlet is the key to the G-NOME. Who is Sadore? Merchant must have thought that Luckums was Jennifer (also a female goblin). So had Jennifer fooled Asteri into thinking she was on his side?]

Session 2 

[Jennifer’s message to Luckums] Luckums -

I am an Agent of the Unspoken, and I think I am going to need your help.

My partner and I were looking for a Moon Elf, Asteri,  travelling from Sunfalls with an important package. Things got complicated. Asteri killed my partner, and I got overtaken by a Horde patrol. Long story short - I had to improvise. And then I had to improvise some more.

My goal was to get Asteri before he got to the other Elves. If he had, that would have been a Very Bad Thing. But it became a Very Worse Thing! Asteri is dead and Skitterex stole the package and brought it offworld! That’s opened up a whole new can of worms. Literally!

Now, Skitterex has gone and made things More Very Worse by selling what he stole! It had promised the package to an Illithid collective that financed its expedition to Sentar, and a lot more. Instead of delivering, it sold the package to a race called the Psulron. It thinks its clever for getting paid twice for the same thing. I’m hiding away on the Psulron ship to stay close to the package.

I hope you found the key I sent you and that you escape before the Illithid find out what Skitterex did. If not, and you’re actually an Illithid or a Neogi reading this… uh… you’re a bunch of jerks. We know what you’re up to and you better stop!

But, if you are Luckums, find Hooper Meadowtop on the Rock of Braal and tell him, “There are more worlds than this.” He’ll know what to do!

You are now all Deputy Agents of the Unspoken, once removed!

Love and Rockets,

 -the package (Moonstone circlet) was clearly viewed as very important. Existence-destroyingly important? More on this later.

-”there are more worlds than this.” might be a password or something with the Unspoken

-Who are the Unspoken?

Session 3

[Shilynn’s exclamation] “You’re the creatures from Sentar, the heart of the Phantom Sphere!”

Dallan Thool - the Illithid double-crossed by Skitterex

Session 5

[Narration] You are in a crystal sphere. Not Between crystal spheres – that’s called the phlogiston. As near as you can tell, there are seven spheres. Six are known, one is called the missing or lost sphere. Each sphere contains multiple worlds, like your own.

There is a debate. Some say that there is an 8th sphere. Other’s say this is ridiculous because 8 is not a prime number. Advocates for an eighth sphere, respond that 8 is a lucky number, therefore they are right. If there were an eight sphere, smartass, where is it? Why hasn’t anyone ever found it? Well, you haven’t found your seventh sphere either, so why can’t their be two missing spheres? After all “2” is a prime number! Ha!... and so it goes (much of this comes from the novel and its exotic marginalia – which is in at least 4 different languages)

The sphere you are in is known as “the Shattered Sphere” in a massive cataclysm, millennia past. SInce then, it has been damaged even more during the Nyn’ylfen Wars, over  the past 1,000 cycles.

A cycle seems to be something approximating a Senatrean year. The original name of the Sphere seems to have been “Magluon” – a name that predates the Nyn’Ylfen Wars (Knowledge – Religion… name echoes “Maglubyiet or Cinderfingers” god of the goblins). It is not clear whether the Nyn’Ylfen Wars are still ongoing. Magluon had one star at is centre, and multiple planets. The Shattered Sphere has two stars, and multiple asteroids and planetoids

[The Shattered Sphere being the original home of the goblins, the name “Magluon,” echoing the main god of the goblins, makes sense. When were the Nyn’Ylfen Wars? When did they start? Are they still ongoing in other spheres, against other races in a bid for “purity?” Probably.]

Session 6

[Havelock’s narration] “The first Sentarian through the Gate, the Feraln Elf Niern Coadali, [Is this concerning? Are there many more to come? The first? Have the (lunar?) elves on Sentar somehow discovered a way through to Magluon? If this contact continues, does the Imperyion inevitably get alerted to the Cradle/gateway to the Phantom Sphere and start invading?] has made contact with the Elven Imperyion, whose proxies are on their way here now to wipe us all out, find the Imperyion a path to Sentar to strip-mine its moonstone, burst through the walls of Creation and face the Architects themselves.”

[The G-NOME is a tool made by the Azlanti for navigating through the spheres, but there is more. It’s power to prophesize was mentioned by Havelock, and he also called it “THE key. The key to everything.”]

“For some reason, when the Architects created the spheres, they nestled Sentar’s away from everywhere else. When the Great Cataclysm [What and when was the Great Cataclysm?] cracked open Magluon—this, the Shattered Sphere—that broke open the path [I think this is the Maelstrom that - possibly - killed Hooper] between the two. But it is fraught, hidden and perilous. And so, it was millennia before anyone really found a way through.”

[Goblins originally came from Magluon - the shattered sphere that we’re currently living in - and Elves originally came from Sentar? Did I understand that correctly, or was there home another sphere?]

“...the backdoor to Sentar provided a reprieve and then a base from which to run a guerilla campaign from the Cradle – from the ancient pathways of the Architects themselves.” 

[Is the backdoor to Sentar the same path that Havelock referenced earlier? The Maelstrom? I think it’s something different. Havelock talked earlier about a path being “broke[n] open” in the Great Cataclysm, yet here he talks about “the Cradle” being an (original?) pathway of the Architects. It also sounds like the Elves don’t know about this, and the goblin helpers do.

Are the goblin helpers “the Unspoken?” I suspect so, though maybe they likely have a larger agenda than just this.

What is the cradle?

How can we find the other pathways of the Architects?]

“...that’s Mavious’s legacy – a sort of secret network helping sentient races escape the Imperyion’s war of Purity.”

[The Unspoken? Who was Mavious? The founder of the Unspoken? When/how did that happen?]

[Havelock then went on to mention “[our] Elven friend [??] Nieran Codall. Codall was young, and didn’t register as a threat because he was to naive to realize he was one. He took off looking for other elves. The Gump - friend of Havelock - took off after him. Codall was taken by the Compact of Steam and Steel (working for the Elven Imperyon) at the Fish Head, and is likely enslaved or worse. Is Havelock a member of the Unspoken? The “head” of the Unspoken?]

“If the Imperyion finds me, finds Algail, finds the G-NOME, any one of those things… the path to Sentar will be open to them.”

[The Imperyion DID find Algail. Does that mean that the path to Sentar is already open to them?]

-which sphere was the Elven home one? Which sphere is the Imperyon home base?

-Havelock referred to the Shattered (Magluon) sphere being “a gateway to the Phantom Sphere” (Which I think is the sphere with Sentar at its heart, because people doubt its existence and its so hard to reach)

[On the Architects, Havelock offered:] ” Who are they? They go by many names. The planters of the first tree. The creators of the spheres. The Carvers of the Cradle. The Grey Men. The Inbetween Men. … And yet they say that we are older than they are… from a time long before them? What does that mean?

But that’s the wrong question. The real questions are:  WHAT? What do they want? WHERE? Where did they go? WHEN? When are they? HOW? How did they do all of this? WHY? Why are they doing this?

If you pass everything through the eye of a needle, is it still what it was or does it become something else?

[I think I missed the importance of that last bit at first. The Architects are transformed into something different now. They are transformed into a different time? Out of the timeline or standard existence? Havelock seems to suggest that there is a purpose to the Architect’s creation of the spheres/existence, and returns to that theme a couple of times. Hunch-ie suspicion (see later) that the Architects are in the 8th sphere.]

“The Imperyion does not control two of the six sphere and casts a shadow upon the rest entirely on its own. People fear the chaos that would follow its absence”

[Okay, so if there are 8 spheres, which do we know about? There's the Shattered Sphere, "Magluon," that we're currently in. There's one Phantom sphere (Sentar/our homeworld at the heart). There's (likely) ANOTHER Phantom Sphere. There's the (now) home sphere of the Imperyion. There are two more they control. There is one (I believe) that the Psuliron Supremacy controls. That's 7. What's the 8th?

“]The G-NOME’s] missing a part. A ring at its base, made with one of the rarest substances in the all the spheres… a substance I suspect, you may have heard of. Whoever gets their hands on that ring wields power beyond imagining. And in true Azlanti style, whoever connects it back to the G-NOME, could crack the Eighth Sphere and reality itself.”

[Either I missed this or forgot about it. I think this must be the moonstone circlet that we were chasing in the very first session? Was it ring shaped? Can someone confirm that - that it was in fact a "circlet" or am I making assumptions? We have not seen the last of either of these two objects. What does “crack” the 8th sphere mean, if there are already pathways to it through the Maelstrom and the Cradle? Cracking reality itself….? Hmmm… Destruction, or just the ability to manipulate like the Architects or both? Also, earlier, Havelock said that if the Imperyion could stripmine the Moonstone this would give them the power to “burst through the walls of Creation and face the Architects themselves.” Is this a reference to the combination of the G-Nome and the moonstone ring, or just the power of Moonstone period?]

Session 11

“[Janks] came to Wildspace during her Yondering days, having accidentally found herself on one of the last Meroeille (MARE-o-way) spelljammers to leave Sentar, about two Hobbit generations ago (80 years). They now guard the way back again.” 

[Did these Spelljammer travel through the Maelstrom, or through the path laid out by the Architects (the Cradle?)? Another path? Who are the “they” that guard the way back? The Meroeille? The Imperyion?]

[Hooper’s] burial was rather a big to-do. Talk of the town for a couple days.

If he could afford a burial on Bral after having his body shipped back from gods know where, I imagine he was rather more than just a bookseller.

Session 12

Janks speaks gruffly and more than a little suspiciously – “Hooper Meadowtop was an odd sort. We were the only two Sentarean Hobbits on the Rock for an generation, and yet I don’t remember ever saying more than ten words to him in thirty years. Kept his own counsel, that one, when he was ever here. How strange you should mention him so soon after his death.” It’s the first time all evening that less than totally deliberate emotion enters her voice.

After Janks has dozed off, she confides, “Don’t mind Janks. Hooper has ever been one of her only sore spots. It’s true, they never spoke. However, what bothered Janks more, I think, is that he was also one of the only people whose measure she could never really take

[Janks seems smart, well connected/powerful and very good at reading others. If Hooper was immune to this, it implies he was quite a powerful member of the Unspoken. And/or that the Unspoken are very powerful.]

[Rivas Reynaso, the Ghoul Undertaker on Hooper:] “He died on the decks of a spelljammer, surveying the maelstrom. So brave!”

“His body arrived back here a month ago. His vanity bookshop was auctioned off and he was laid to rest [in the]

Cerulean Reflections is an old Ylfe estate in High City overlooking the forest and Lake Bral. Beautiful location. Well, the family fell on hard times. Started selling off the property in bits and pieces. Finally turned to keeping the last part of it as a pay-as-you-go cemetery. You can pay to be buried on Bral for a few hours, a day, week, month… millenia or in perpetuity…

“Ooo, he bought his plot a decade ago. Market was good then.”

[Who is this family? Was the deal with Hooper strictly financial?  Do they have any inside info. On Hooper?]

Hooper Meadowtop’s Escape Room (addendum)

[Hooper’s journal] tracks the buying and selling of books through a network of contacts throughout the Shattered Sphere and beyond. However, you are left with the strong impression that it is tracking something besides books.

[Likely, a network of the Unspoken and their contacts/allies.]

[The Steel Fenris novels were both heavily marked and annotated. These are likely ways that the Unspoken have of communicating information in plain sight. Readily accessible, and no one thinks twice about them because they're trashy adventure novels. We should check our novels.] [Khalid added: I suspect the Steel Fenris novels are part of a coded message system.  For example, one gets a coded message and uses a specific book in the series as a key to decode it.  The books are everywhere, appear to be pulpy and therefore ignored.] [We should test Khalid's theory]

3 quick-change outfits

3 identical “go-bags

 [Does this imply that Hooper had 2-3 underlings/associates that worked with him on the Rock? I think so. Why would he need 3 to go in such quick succession just for himself?] 

[Speech Resin, accent pills, disguise kits all seem to suggest that Hooper had to fit into various settings. Thief stiff, that he had to gain entry to settings. Conceal stuff - coins, books - that he had to transport small things/info undetected. Also considerable financial resources just on hand, so he had to pay people off and/or pay for services]

[Weirdness/curiousities - wooden totem filled with nails, magical children’s dolls, bag of marbles]

Elves mentioned by name

Asteri, Elven “Merchant” trying to get the Moonstone ring to Riot’s Gate, and likely the Lunar Elven Embassy there. He killed Jennifer’s partner, so likely an agent of the Imperyion (or their allies).

Sadore, of the Lunar Elven Embassy in Riot’s Gate. If Asteri was trying to get the package to him, he is also likely connected to the Imperyion.

The Feraln Elf [What type of elf is this?] Niern Coadali. Likely captured by the Compact at the Fish Head (and turned over to the Imperyion?). Havelock thinks he’s likely been turned into a zombie/torture for all he knows. [So… there seems to be something missing from the elves in Sentar. They’re trying to make contact with the Imperyion in the other spheres, but they're NOT viewed as allies by the Imperyion? To dumb/ignorant to know what they’re getting into? Why are they viewed as lesser by the Imperyion? Simply because they’re not Imperyion or are the tainted by their shared existence with lesser races?]

Agents of the Unspoken

Jennifer - mysterious, but evidently extremely capable goblin tracking the moonstone circlet. Last known whereabouts - with the Psurilon ship that purchased the Moonstone.

Jennifer’s partner - killed by Asteri in Session 1

Hooper Meadowtop - deceased? Or was his death a ruse?

(Likely - 2-3 trusted associated on Braal. Did these “die” with him in the Maelstrom?)

(Havelock - likely. Last known location -  Algail Asteroid)

(The Gump - likely, or at least an agent of a likely agent. Last known location - Wandering about the Shattered sphere in search of Niern Coadali, but sidetaracked.)

Regarding the Spheres…

• There are six KNOWN spheres

• The Shattered Sphere is one of these KNOWN spheres

• Depending on who you talk to, there are either 1 or 2 so-called “phantom” or missing spheres. Hence, the “seven” vs “eight” spheres debate.

•  three spheres are controlled by the Elves. The Shattered Sphere is not one of them. They retreated from trying to control it. It was too unruly and proved too difficult to rebuild. The now prefer to wield “influence” there through their proxies in the Compact of Steam & Steel – a barely-concealed criminal organization.

Regarding Nieran Coadli...

This is a Feraln Elf that the heroes of Ancorato followed through an Azlanti Gate to Algail. He had been travelling with them and just went through the gate while they were debating whether or not to do so.

• Feraln Elves are “bogeymen” on Sentar – Wild or Barbaric elves with a fearsome reputation. Coadli was rough around the edges – especially by Elven standards – but he did not fit the bloodthirsty image of a ravening maniac you had of these Elves while growing up.

• Codali was not strictly a companion of the Heroes of Ancorato, nor was he a prisoner. They had rescued him (and many other prisoners) from an aboleth they had fought. Codali’s people have apparently taken it upon themselves to defend ancient Azlanti sites. They want to keep Azlanti secrets and technology from falling into the “wrong hands.” Codali (a Ranger) would be the first to admit that his people are no longer as up to the task as they once were.

• His intention was to return to his people upon getting back to Sentar. He departed through the gate with the Heroes of Ancorato.