The Jungle's Claw #042
General Summary
Game Date: 9th day of the Bull, Year 13945
The morning brought unexpected complications to Slazgar Two-Eyes' carefully orchestrated investigations throughout Grizburg's industrial sprawl. Sherman and BöötMóöntch found themselves detained by the city's notorious ICE—the Department of Intimidation, Cruelty, and Expulsion—their absence forcing Fouk Shadim and Thronn the Cursed to undertake the Barnacle Hill mission alone. The half-orc ranger and his Vorcian companion, accompanied only by their familiars Meat-Beak and Spyke, ascended through Grizburg's vertical geography toward the district where maritime law superseded even the Rust Barons' authority.
The canal taxi carried them upward through the Forge Current, designated as Canal A on Grizburg's labyrinthine waterway maps. Cable cars rattled overhead on corroded tracks while their operators displayed the dead-eyed expressions of those who had breathed toxic air for so long that clean oxygen would likely prove fatal. The elevation brought marginal improvement to air quality, though "improvement" remained relative in a city where breathing apparatus constituted formal wear among the discerning classes.
As Fouk and Thronn climbed higher, the industrial sprawl gradually transformed into something stranger—a maritime graveyard elevated far above any rational waterline. Barnacle Hill revealed itself as an impossible harbor where decommissioned vessels had been dragged up the cliffsides and converted into dwellings. Iron-hulled warships sprouted chimneys from their gun ports while merchant vessels had been split open and reconfigured into multi-story residences connected by rope bridges that swayed with every poisoned breeze.
The district's unique character emerged from its residents' stubborn refusal to abandon naval traditions despite their permanent anchorage upon dry land. Here lived the captains who had survived long enough to retire from Grizburg's toxic waterways, carrying with them the accumulated wisdom of navigating rivers where the water itself could dissolve steel hulls. They had hauled their ships up the heights like hermit crabs seeking larger shells, creating a community that operated on maritime law even when the nearest navigable water lay hundreds of feet below.
Slazgar's warnings echoed in their minds as they observed the district's peculiarities. The Rope Watch patrolled the swaying gangways with the rolling gait of sailors perpetually compensating for phantom waves. Every structure bore elaborate figureheads at their "prows"—carved representations of sea monsters, mermaids, and stranger things that seemed to watch passersby with eyes that held too much awareness for mere wood and metal.
The artificially constructed canals that wound through Barnacle Hill contained no water but instead channels of thick hemp rope, creating pathways that residents navigated with practiced ease. These rope-ways served both as streets and as proclamations of identity—those who could not traverse them with sailor's confidence marked themselves as outsiders worthy of suspicion or exploitation.
The Listing Merchant occupied what had once been a four-masted clipper ship, its hull carved open to create a tavern that retained the vessel's essential skeleton. Masts pierced through multiple floors, their cross-beams serving as catwalks where patrons could drink while suspended forty feet above the main deck. The entire structure tilted at a pronounced angle—whether from architectural necessity or aesthetic choice remained unclear—forcing visitors to constantly adjust their balance like sailors in a permanent storm.
The establishment clearly served as more than mere tavern—it was a nexus where Barnacle Hill's nautical traditions intersected with Grizburg's industrial innovations. Through grimy portholes, they glimpsed the interior: a maze of naval detritus repurposed into furniture, where ship wheels served as tables and cannon barrels had been converted into seating. Patrons dressed in the bastard fashion of sailors who had traded open seas for industrial smoke, their peacoats stained with chemicals unknown to honest maritime service.
Fouk, intoxicated and attempting to blend with Barnacle Hill's street culture, ventured outside while Thronn remained within to gather intelligence. The Vorcian rogue's vision swam as he tried to observe the street children moving past—their sunken cheeks, the yellowish tinge to their skin from toxic air, the way malnourishment made them appear simultaneously ancient and childlike. His attempts at casual observation failed spectacularly as he began asking direct questions about Mokresh Coppercoil and soul-forging technology.
A young goblin female, perhaps ten years old with burned hands, recoiled sharply at Fouk's drunken inquiries. "Who the **** are you?" she demanded, her hand dropping to a sharpened spike on her belt. "Nobody talks about soul forging. Nobody asks about Mokresh. Not unless they're Rope Watch or three marks."
Other children emerged from shadows—six, seven, eight of them—surrounding Fouk in a manner that was not quite threatening but definitely evaluating. One made a complex hand signal while another sprinted toward the rope-ways, clearly going to alert someone. Fouk's attempts to calm them with slurred reassurances about "getting in on the action" failed until Peak, the shaman spirit within his bone dagger, warned him mentally: Multiple hostiles approaching from the northwest ropeway, armed with clubs and blades. The street kids are stalling you for handlers. Recommend immediate negotiation or withdrawal.
Fouk pivoted with the desperate brilliance of a practiced street hustler. "You guys like drugs?" He opened his canister, and the chemical smell cut through Barnacle Hill's toxic air—something pure, something valuable. The girl with burned hands paused mid-threat, her eyes flicking to the canister and then back to Fouk's face. The other children shifted, interested despite their suspicion.
With a deception that bordered on legendary, Fouk offered her a bump of Mummy Dust from his long, crinkly fingernail. The girl took a careful bump, and her eyes went wide—not from intoxication, but from quality. This was no cut warehouse trash. This was pure. "**** me," she breathed, wiping her nose and reassessing Fouk entirely. "Okay, landwalker. You got product, you got balls, and you clearly ain't afraid of stepping on toes."
She made a hand signal that even Fouk recognized as "stand down." The approaching footsteps above slowed as whoever was coming decided to wait and see how this played out. "What do you actually want to know about Mokresh?" she asked. "And what's the trade?"
Fouk pulled out his homunculus Spyke, puppeteering the small construct to perform cartwheels and tricks for the children's entertainment. The demonstration marked him definitively as an artificer, explaining his interest in golem technology. The girl's posture shifted from hostility to business as she revealed what the street network knew.
"Mokresh's workshop is a block west—the three-ship hybrid building. But here's what you don't know: Mokresh ain't been seen in two weeks. Someone else goes in and out wearing his face, but the walk's wrong, the smell's wrong. Three marks guard it heavy now—six rotations throughout the day, shift changes at bells."
Another child added nervously: "Heard screaming from inside three nights ago. Chemical fires. Something's being made down there."
The girl continued: "Golem connection? We've seen crates with Blackspire marks delivered at night. Iron Crucible staging symbols. Whatever Mokresh was working on, it's big enough that the fighting pits want it."
When Fouk asked about the three marks themselves, she recoiled. "You don't join the three marks. They take you if they want you. And trust me, landwalker, you don't want to be wanted." She pointed to her burned hands. "See these? Chemical work for them. They paid me to handle substances I couldn't identify. Two other kids on that job went blind. One never woke up. I got lucky."
Fouk distributed cigarettes to seal the goodwill, and the children melted back into the rope-ways, leaving him with crucial intelligence: Mokresh's workshop, the doppelganger impostor, the three-circles gang's involvement, and the connection to the Iron Crucible fighting pits beneath Blackspire.
Inside the Listing Merchant, Thronn approached Sharp Ida with Meat-Beak prominently displayed, attempting to impress her with his well-trained vulture companion. The woman glanced up with bored expression, taking a drag from her toxic pipe before exhaling acrid smoke. "A vulture with meat on its bones. How practical." Her tone made clear she dealt in information, not parlor tricks with trained birds.
Thronn quickly pivoted to business, explaining that he and his companion sought entry into the golem betting circuits. Ida's interest sharpened when real coin entered the conversation. "Golem betting? That's expensive curiosity for someone who just walked in off the rope-ways." She explained that Captain Saltwise handled betting slips, but maritime law required proper vouching. Her services weren't cheap—fifty gold pieces for a basic introduction.
Thronn handed over fifty-five gold pieces and a platinum coin as tip, his generosity transforming Ida's dismissive attitude into professional respect. "Well now. That's the kind of spending that shows serious interest. The platinum's appreciated—shows you understand how business works in Barnacle Hill. Maritime courtesy goes a long way up here."
When Thronn inquired about what to expect from golem fighting, Ida provided a comprehensive education in Grizburg's most popular blood sport. "You got massive mechanical constructs—golems—piloted by folks who bond their consciousness to the machines. When they fight, it's not just metal bashing metal. The pilots feel every hit, every tear, every malfunction. Some walk away. Some don't."
She outlined the three tiers of competition. The Iron Crucible beneath Blackspire hosted elite fights where the Council of Thirteen watched Rust Baron champions settle disputes through proxy combat—minimum bet of one hundred platinum with serious vouching required just to enter. The Brass Pits in the industrial districts offered mid-tier action sponsored primarily by House Brinkburn, with decent odds and ten to fifty gold piece wagers. The Scrap Yards outside the walls provided cheap entertainment where desperate pilots climbed into barely-functional constructs for shots at coin they would probably never live to spend.
"But here's what makes it interesting for bettors," Ida added. "Every fight's got depth. Official odds, underground odds, fixed matches, pilot augmentations, experimental fuel sources. Smart money knows which fights are real and which are staged for political purposes."
Ida led Thronn to Captain Saltwise's table, where the weathered part-orc captain sat surrounded by betting ledgers and maritime charts. His mechanical eye whirred as it tracked entries while his scarred fingers moved with practiced efficiency. When Fouk returned from his street encounters, reeking of chemical smoke and new alliances, Saltwise noted his arrival with dark amusement.
"Your friend's back. Smells like he's been making new acquaintances in the rope-ways. Street kids are chatty if you've got the right currency, ain't they?"
Saltwise explained the upcoming fight in the Brass Pits—Iron Fang versus Ember Crown, scheduled for three days hence. House Brinkburn's champion, piloted by Varrick "Steamheart," held a seven-match winning streak and had never taken critical damage. The odds favored Brinkburn at three-to-one, with a minimum bet of ten gold pieces.
When Fouk expressed interest in the technology behind golem piloting, Saltwise's paranoia flared briefly before Thronn skillfully redirected the conversation. The mention of Deezle experience, however, caught the captain's full attention. "Deezle experience? Then Brass Pits, no question. House Brinkburn's constructs all run Deezle systems—you'd understand the tech, spot maintenance issues other bettors miss, maybe even get hired as fuel specialists if you impress the right people."
Thronn and Fouk each placed fifty gold pieces on opposing fighters, creating a friendly rivalry that Saltwise found amusing. "Save the theatrics for the arena. Though if you want to make it interesting, side bets between yourselves are your business." The transaction complete, they received betting slips and entry tokens for the fight scheduled on the ninth day of the Bull.
Thronn, recognizing their shared orcish heritage, attempted to build rapport with Saltwise through cultural connection. Speaking in Orcish phrases and warrior-to-warrior respect, he carefully steered conversation toward local artificers and recent disappearances. The approach worked brilliantly—Saltwise's maritime paranoia eased when faced with shared cultural touchstones.
Switching to Common but speaking in hushed tones, Saltwise confirmed what the street children had revealed: "Mokresh Coppercoil worked three blocks west of here. Hasn't been seen in two weeks—someone else wears his face now. Three marks took his workshop. I stay clear because maritime law can't save you from what they do to nosy ******** who ask too many questions."
Sharp Ida added her own intelligence: "His creditors stopped asking for payment. That only happens when something bad settles debts." The implication hung heavy in the toxic air—whatever had happened to Mokresh involved forces powerful enough to erase financial obligations through means more persuasive than mere coin.
The session concluded with Fouk and Thronn possessing comprehensive intelligence about their quarry. Mokresh Coppercoil's workshop stood three blocks northwest, guarded by the Eyes—locally called the three marks for their distinctive graffiti of three intersecting circles. A doppelganger wearing Mokresh's face maintained appearances while the real artificer's fate remained unknown. The workshop operated continuously, conducting experiments related to soul-forging technology that had attracted interest from the Iron Crucible fighting pits beneath Blackspire.
They had also established themselves within Barnacle Hill's social fabric through proper maritime courtesy, placed legitimate bets that would grant them arena access, and created networks among both the adult criminal class and the street children who saw everything the Rope Watch missed. The investigation into Mokresh's disappearance could now proceed with local credibility rather than as obvious outsiders.
Yet the revelation of the Eyes' involvement—the same Beholder cult whose surveillance networks spanned continents—suggested complications far beyond simple debt collection. Whatever Mokresh had discovered about consciousness transfer and golem piloting, whatever breakthrough in soul-forge technology Slazgar had commissioned, the Eyes of Tezra wanted it badly enough to replace an artificer with a changeling impostor while conducting experiments that produced screams audible through reinforced workshop walls.
The promised golem fight loomed three days hence, but the real arena awaited in Mokresh's workshop where souls were being processed into fuel for mechanical titans and the boundaries between mortal consciousness and constructed form grew dangerously thin.
Total: 1,500 XP (divided between Fouk and Thronn: 750 XP each)
Approximately one day has passed since Session 41. The current scene takes place during the late morning and early afternoon of the 9th day of the Bull, Year 13945. Fouk and Thronn traveled from Dreadmil to Barnacle Hill via canal taxi up the Forge Current (Canal A), spending several hours in transit and investigation. The upcoming golem fight in the Brass Pits is scheduled for three days hence, on the 12th day of the Bull.
Sherman and BöötMóöntch's detention by Grizburg's ICE (Department of Intimidation, Cruelty, and Expulsion) created opportunity for Fouk and Thronn to demonstrate their investigative capabilities without reliance on their more combat-focused companions. The intelligence gathered about Mokresh, the three marks, and the golem fighting circuits provides multiple narrative threads for upcoming sessions. The establishment of credibility within Barnacle Hill's criminal and street networks will prove valuable for both the immediate investigation and potential future operations in this district. Fouk's discovery regarding the Eyes cult's involvement in soul-forge technology directly connects to Slazgar's interests and the party's eventual descent into the Whispering Depths.
The morning brought unexpected complications to Slazgar Two-Eyes' carefully orchestrated investigations throughout Grizburg's industrial sprawl. Sherman and BöötMóöntch found themselves detained by the city's notorious ICE—the Department of Intimidation, Cruelty, and Expulsion—their absence forcing Fouk Shadim and Thronn the Cursed to undertake the Barnacle Hill mission alone. The half-orc ranger and his Vorcian companion, accompanied only by their familiars Meat-Beak and Spyke, ascended through Grizburg's vertical geography toward the district where maritime law superseded even the Rust Barons' authority.
The Ascent to Maritime Madness
The canal taxi carried them upward through the Forge Current, designated as Canal A on Grizburg's labyrinthine waterway maps. Cable cars rattled overhead on corroded tracks while their operators displayed the dead-eyed expressions of those who had breathed toxic air for so long that clean oxygen would likely prove fatal. The elevation brought marginal improvement to air quality, though "improvement" remained relative in a city where breathing apparatus constituted formal wear among the discerning classes.
As Fouk and Thronn climbed higher, the industrial sprawl gradually transformed into something stranger—a maritime graveyard elevated far above any rational waterline. Barnacle Hill revealed itself as an impossible harbor where decommissioned vessels had been dragged up the cliffsides and converted into dwellings. Iron-hulled warships sprouted chimneys from their gun ports while merchant vessels had been split open and reconfigured into multi-story residences connected by rope bridges that swayed with every poisoned breeze.
The district's unique character emerged from its residents' stubborn refusal to abandon naval traditions despite their permanent anchorage upon dry land. Here lived the captains who had survived long enough to retire from Grizburg's toxic waterways, carrying with them the accumulated wisdom of navigating rivers where the water itself could dissolve steel hulls. They had hauled their ships up the heights like hermit crabs seeking larger shells, creating a community that operated on maritime law even when the nearest navigable water lay hundreds of feet below.
The Rope Watch and Their Domain
Slazgar's warnings echoed in their minds as they observed the district's peculiarities. The Rope Watch patrolled the swaying gangways with the rolling gait of sailors perpetually compensating for phantom waves. Every structure bore elaborate figureheads at their "prows"—carved representations of sea monsters, mermaids, and stranger things that seemed to watch passersby with eyes that held too much awareness for mere wood and metal.
The artificially constructed canals that wound through Barnacle Hill contained no water but instead channels of thick hemp rope, creating pathways that residents navigated with practiced ease. These rope-ways served both as streets and as proclamations of identity—those who could not traverse them with sailor's confidence marked themselves as outsiders worthy of suspicion or exploitation.
The Listing Merchant
The Listing Merchant occupied what had once been a four-masted clipper ship, its hull carved open to create a tavern that retained the vessel's essential skeleton. Masts pierced through multiple floors, their cross-beams serving as catwalks where patrons could drink while suspended forty feet above the main deck. The entire structure tilted at a pronounced angle—whether from architectural necessity or aesthetic choice remained unclear—forcing visitors to constantly adjust their balance like sailors in a permanent storm.
The establishment clearly served as more than mere tavern—it was a nexus where Barnacle Hill's nautical traditions intersected with Grizburg's industrial innovations. Through grimy portholes, they glimpsed the interior: a maze of naval detritus repurposed into furniture, where ship wheels served as tables and cannon barrels had been converted into seating. Patrons dressed in the bastard fashion of sailors who had traded open seas for industrial smoke, their peacoats stained with chemicals unknown to honest maritime service.
The Street Children's Warning
Fouk, intoxicated and attempting to blend with Barnacle Hill's street culture, ventured outside while Thronn remained within to gather intelligence. The Vorcian rogue's vision swam as he tried to observe the street children moving past—their sunken cheeks, the yellowish tinge to their skin from toxic air, the way malnourishment made them appear simultaneously ancient and childlike. His attempts at casual observation failed spectacularly as he began asking direct questions about Mokresh Coppercoil and soul-forging technology.
A young goblin female, perhaps ten years old with burned hands, recoiled sharply at Fouk's drunken inquiries. "Who the **** are you?" she demanded, her hand dropping to a sharpened spike on her belt. "Nobody talks about soul forging. Nobody asks about Mokresh. Not unless they're Rope Watch or three marks."
Other children emerged from shadows—six, seven, eight of them—surrounding Fouk in a manner that was not quite threatening but definitely evaluating. One made a complex hand signal while another sprinted toward the rope-ways, clearly going to alert someone. Fouk's attempts to calm them with slurred reassurances about "getting in on the action" failed until Peak, the shaman spirit within his bone dagger, warned him mentally: Multiple hostiles approaching from the northwest ropeway, armed with clubs and blades. The street kids are stalling you for handlers. Recommend immediate negotiation or withdrawal.
The Currency of Mummy Dust
Fouk pivoted with the desperate brilliance of a practiced street hustler. "You guys like drugs?" He opened his canister, and the chemical smell cut through Barnacle Hill's toxic air—something pure, something valuable. The girl with burned hands paused mid-threat, her eyes flicking to the canister and then back to Fouk's face. The other children shifted, interested despite their suspicion.
With a deception that bordered on legendary, Fouk offered her a bump of Mummy Dust from his long, crinkly fingernail. The girl took a careful bump, and her eyes went wide—not from intoxication, but from quality. This was no cut warehouse trash. This was pure. "**** me," she breathed, wiping her nose and reassessing Fouk entirely. "Okay, landwalker. You got product, you got balls, and you clearly ain't afraid of stepping on toes."
She made a hand signal that even Fouk recognized as "stand down." The approaching footsteps above slowed as whoever was coming decided to wait and see how this played out. "What do you actually want to know about Mokresh?" she asked. "And what's the trade?"
The Revelation of the Three Marks
Fouk pulled out his homunculus Spyke, puppeteering the small construct to perform cartwheels and tricks for the children's entertainment. The demonstration marked him definitively as an artificer, explaining his interest in golem technology. The girl's posture shifted from hostility to business as she revealed what the street network knew.
"Mokresh's workshop is a block west—the three-ship hybrid building. But here's what you don't know: Mokresh ain't been seen in two weeks. Someone else goes in and out wearing his face, but the walk's wrong, the smell's wrong. Three marks guard it heavy now—six rotations throughout the day, shift changes at bells."
Another child added nervously: "Heard screaming from inside three nights ago. Chemical fires. Something's being made down there."
The girl continued: "Golem connection? We've seen crates with Blackspire marks delivered at night. Iron Crucible staging symbols. Whatever Mokresh was working on, it's big enough that the fighting pits want it."
When Fouk asked about the three marks themselves, she recoiled. "You don't join the three marks. They take you if they want you. And trust me, landwalker, you don't want to be wanted." She pointed to her burned hands. "See these? Chemical work for them. They paid me to handle substances I couldn't identify. Two other kids on that job went blind. One never woke up. I got lucky."
Fouk distributed cigarettes to seal the goodwill, and the children melted back into the rope-ways, leaving him with crucial intelligence: Mokresh's workshop, the doppelganger impostor, the three-circles gang's involvement, and the connection to the Iron Crucible fighting pits beneath Blackspire.
Sharp Ida's Introduction
Inside the Listing Merchant, Thronn approached Sharp Ida with Meat-Beak prominently displayed, attempting to impress her with his well-trained vulture companion. The woman glanced up with bored expression, taking a drag from her toxic pipe before exhaling acrid smoke. "A vulture with meat on its bones. How practical." Her tone made clear she dealt in information, not parlor tricks with trained birds.
Thronn quickly pivoted to business, explaining that he and his companion sought entry into the golem betting circuits. Ida's interest sharpened when real coin entered the conversation. "Golem betting? That's expensive curiosity for someone who just walked in off the rope-ways." She explained that Captain Saltwise handled betting slips, but maritime law required proper vouching. Her services weren't cheap—fifty gold pieces for a basic introduction.
Thronn handed over fifty-five gold pieces and a platinum coin as tip, his generosity transforming Ida's dismissive attitude into professional respect. "Well now. That's the kind of spending that shows serious interest. The platinum's appreciated—shows you understand how business works in Barnacle Hill. Maritime courtesy goes a long way up here."
The Golem Fighting Circuits
When Thronn inquired about what to expect from golem fighting, Ida provided a comprehensive education in Grizburg's most popular blood sport. "You got massive mechanical constructs—golems—piloted by folks who bond their consciousness to the machines. When they fight, it's not just metal bashing metal. The pilots feel every hit, every tear, every malfunction. Some walk away. Some don't."
She outlined the three tiers of competition. The Iron Crucible beneath Blackspire hosted elite fights where the Council of Thirteen watched Rust Baron champions settle disputes through proxy combat—minimum bet of one hundred platinum with serious vouching required just to enter. The Brass Pits in the industrial districts offered mid-tier action sponsored primarily by House Brinkburn, with decent odds and ten to fifty gold piece wagers. The Scrap Yards outside the walls provided cheap entertainment where desperate pilots climbed into barely-functional constructs for shots at coin they would probably never live to spend.
"But here's what makes it interesting for bettors," Ida added. "Every fight's got depth. Official odds, underground odds, fixed matches, pilot augmentations, experimental fuel sources. Smart money knows which fights are real and which are staged for political purposes."
Captain Saltwise's Domain
Ida led Thronn to Captain Saltwise's table, where the weathered part-orc captain sat surrounded by betting ledgers and maritime charts. His mechanical eye whirred as it tracked entries while his scarred fingers moved with practiced efficiency. When Fouk returned from his street encounters, reeking of chemical smoke and new alliances, Saltwise noted his arrival with dark amusement.
"Your friend's back. Smells like he's been making new acquaintances in the rope-ways. Street kids are chatty if you've got the right currency, ain't they?"
Saltwise explained the upcoming fight in the Brass Pits—Iron Fang versus Ember Crown, scheduled for three days hence. House Brinkburn's champion, piloted by Varrick "Steamheart," held a seven-match winning streak and had never taken critical damage. The odds favored Brinkburn at three-to-one, with a minimum bet of ten gold pieces.
The Deezle Connection
When Fouk expressed interest in the technology behind golem piloting, Saltwise's paranoia flared briefly before Thronn skillfully redirected the conversation. The mention of Deezle experience, however, caught the captain's full attention. "Deezle experience? Then Brass Pits, no question. House Brinkburn's constructs all run Deezle systems—you'd understand the tech, spot maintenance issues other bettors miss, maybe even get hired as fuel specialists if you impress the right people."
Thronn and Fouk each placed fifty gold pieces on opposing fighters, creating a friendly rivalry that Saltwise found amusing. "Save the theatrics for the arena. Though if you want to make it interesting, side bets between yourselves are your business." The transaction complete, they received betting slips and entry tokens for the fight scheduled on the ninth day of the Bull.
The Truth About Mokresh
Thronn, recognizing their shared orcish heritage, attempted to build rapport with Saltwise through cultural connection. Speaking in Orcish phrases and warrior-to-warrior respect, he carefully steered conversation toward local artificers and recent disappearances. The approach worked brilliantly—Saltwise's maritime paranoia eased when faced with shared cultural touchstones.
Switching to Common but speaking in hushed tones, Saltwise confirmed what the street children had revealed: "Mokresh Coppercoil worked three blocks west of here. Hasn't been seen in two weeks—someone else wears his face now. Three marks took his workshop. I stay clear because maritime law can't save you from what they do to nosy ******** who ask too many questions."
Sharp Ida added her own intelligence: "His creditors stopped asking for payment. That only happens when something bad settles debts." The implication hung heavy in the toxic air—whatever had happened to Mokresh involved forces powerful enough to erase financial obligations through means more persuasive than mere coin.
The Weight of Knowledge
The session concluded with Fouk and Thronn possessing comprehensive intelligence about their quarry. Mokresh Coppercoil's workshop stood three blocks northwest, guarded by the Eyes—locally called the three marks for their distinctive graffiti of three intersecting circles. A doppelganger wearing Mokresh's face maintained appearances while the real artificer's fate remained unknown. The workshop operated continuously, conducting experiments related to soul-forging technology that had attracted interest from the Iron Crucible fighting pits beneath Blackspire.
They had also established themselves within Barnacle Hill's social fabric through proper maritime courtesy, placed legitimate bets that would grant them arena access, and created networks among both the adult criminal class and the street children who saw everything the Rope Watch missed. The investigation into Mokresh's disappearance could now proceed with local credibility rather than as obvious outsiders.
Yet the revelation of the Eyes' involvement—the same Beholder cult whose surveillance networks spanned continents—suggested complications far beyond simple debt collection. Whatever Mokresh had discovered about consciousness transfer and golem piloting, whatever breakthrough in soul-forge technology Slazgar had commissioned, the Eyes of Tezra wanted it badly enough to replace an artificer with a changeling impostor while conducting experiments that produced screams audible through reinforced workshop walls.
The promised golem fight loomed three days hence, but the real arena awaited in Mokresh's workshop where souls were being processed into fuel for mechanical titans and the boundaries between mortal consciousness and constructed form grew dangerously thin.
Treasure and Items Found
- Betting Slips and Entry Tokens: Two sets of credentials granting access to the Brass Pits golem fighting arena on the 9th day of the Bull. Thronn backing Ember Crown (piloted by Varrick Steamheart, House Brinkburn) at 1-to-3 odds with 50 gold wagered. Fouk backing Iron Fang (independent challenger) at 3-to-1 odds with 50 gold wagered.
- Intelligence Gathered: Comprehensive information about Mokresh Coppercoil's disappearance, the three marks/Eyes cult's involvement, workshop location (three blocks northwest, three-ship hybrid building), guard rotations (six shifts changing at bells), and connection to Iron Crucible golem fighting experiments.
- Street Network Contact: Established rapport with Barnacle Hill street children, particularly the young goblin female with burned hands who serves as information broker for the district's underbelly.
Consumed Items
- Filter mask cartridge partially depleted during canal taxi travel through Grizburg's toxic atmosphere
- One dose of Mummy Dust given to street child with burned hands (approximately 0.2 vials from Fouk's supply)
- Pack of cigarettes distributed to street children (8-10 cigarettes total)
- Standard rations consumed during morning travel
- Currency expended: 55 gold pieces + 1 platinum piece to Sharp Ida for introduction services; 50 gold pieces each (100 total) to Captain Saltwise for golem fighting bets
Experience Points Awarded
- Urban Navigation and District Discovery: 300 XP for successfully navigating to Barnacle Hill, identifying key locations, and understanding the district's unique maritime culture and legal framework
- Intelligence Gathering: 400 XP for exceptional investigation work uncovering Mokresh's fate, three marks involvement, and golem fighting connections through multiple sources
- Social Maneuvering: 350 XP for successfully establishing credibility with Sharp Ida, Captain Saltwise, and street children through appropriate use of currency, cultural awareness, and street tactics
- Roleplay and Character Development: 300 XP for excellent character work including Fouk's street hustler tactics, Thronn's orcish cultural connection with Saltwise, and creative use of Mummy Dust and familiar displays
- Environmental Awareness: 150 XP for recognizing and adapting to Barnacle Hill's rope-ways, maritime customs, and social hierarchies
Total: 1,500 XP (divided between Fouk and Thronn: 750 XP each)
Notes to Transcript
- Establish specific mechanics for Barnacle Hill rope-way navigation challenges and Acrobatics/Athletics DCs
- Create detailed stat blocks for Rope Watch enforcers (suggested: Veteran with maritime-themed abilities)
- Develop three-circles gang symbol meanings and organizational structure as subset of Eyes of Tezra
- Design Mokresh's doppelganger impostor statistics and detection methods
- Detail golem fighting arena layouts for Brass Pits, including betting mechanics and spectator areas
- Clarify Mummy Dust dosage—establish how many doses per vial (suggested: 5 doses per vial based on conversation)
- Develop Varrick "Steamheart" as recurring NPC champion pilot for House Brinkburn
- Create mechanics for maritime law vs. standard Grizburg law conflicts and jurisdiction
- Design Mokresh's workshop encounter including guard rotations, doppelganger confrontation, and Eyes cult presence
- Establish Deezle fuel expertise as mechanical advantage for understanding golem tech and betting insights
Time Progression
Approximately one day has passed since Session 41. The current scene takes place during the late morning and early afternoon of the 9th day of the Bull, Year 13945. Fouk and Thronn traveled from Dreadmil to Barnacle Hill via canal taxi up the Forge Current (Canal A), spending several hours in transit and investigation. The upcoming golem fight in the Brass Pits is scheduled for three days hence, on the 12th day of the Bull.
Additional Notes
Sherman and BöötMóöntch's detention by Grizburg's ICE (Department of Intimidation, Cruelty, and Expulsion) created opportunity for Fouk and Thronn to demonstrate their investigative capabilities without reliance on their more combat-focused companions. The intelligence gathered about Mokresh, the three marks, and the golem fighting circuits provides multiple narrative threads for upcoming sessions. The establishment of credibility within Barnacle Hill's criminal and street networks will prove valuable for both the immediate investigation and potential future operations in this district. Fouk's discovery regarding the Eyes cult's involvement in soul-forge technology directly connects to Slazgar's interests and the party's eventual descent into the Whispering Depths.
Report Date
10 Nov 2025
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