Tuesday, May 28, 2013

Tales from Year's End (Undermountain 2)

With the business of the Mad Wizard behind him Jergal was able to recommence his search for the unsanctioned. Moving with the alacrity of a reaper and the cunning of a Minotaur the old god ascended into the Arcturiadoom the private domain of Arcturis, a disciple of the Mad Wizard.

From a vibrant beautiful woman whose duties it was to approach every ship at dock at the Waterdeep piers every day to collect taxes. Many were disarmed by her beauty they often revealed and subsequently paid more than they wanted to Arcturis.  This earned her the attention and ire of many individuals one of who was the Mad Wizard.
                                                                         
One might say she was seduced by the dark side and so after her death during Halaster’s Higharvestide, Arcturia was reborn as a vile and troublesome lich. Dungeon lore refers to her dominion as the Arcturiadoom a level rendered too dangerous to explore because of its fearsome monsters.

As Lord of the Dead Jergal was extraordinarily sensitive to the workings of undead and knew Arcturia’s machinations at once. She was a clever one and would disguise her single vulnerability well, to everyone except the Lord of the End of Everything.


The end of her existence as she knew it was drawing nigh. 

Monday, May 27, 2013

Tales from Year's End (Dretch Lane and Blackstaff)

“How many are left Sargent Granitethews?” The Gunslinger asked.


Sargent Kergitta Granitethews is renowned throughout the Trades Ward for her spirited approach to civil obedience: singing at the top of her lungs at beginning of her shift at Virgins Square she would make her patrols singing out as a warning to law-breakers that Kergitta was on duty and that no quarter will be given if criminal minds were discovered. The Year’s End siege brought her and her own ka-tet from the Trades under the command of two Firelance Gunslingers.

“After the initial wyvern attack Sai…” the dwarf had annoying habit of thinking out loud, a trait Brenton Durinbold could have done without, “and the sudden rise of the dead- some of them our own fallen comrades ye kin… six Sir. Also, our prisoners are asking to be allowed to defend themselves we lost one of them as well.”

“They are?” Brenton said in mock regard to their dilemma. “Should I just return their weapons too Sargent?”

Kergitta was defenseless to Brenton’s authority and remained silent.

A woman’s voice, fine like waves upon the shore broke the silence, “Sai Duringbold please, we lost three good men because we took on your prisoners; the drow are slowing us down.” 

Brenton did not care to be shown his mistakes, especially in front of city guard. How he craved to strangle life out of Tryssia Lanngolyn, but not before he had is fun with her first.

Seeing the way Brenton looked at her, Tryssia looked back to the Sargent. “Free them but only allow them small simple clubs, nothing they can cause trouble with.”

“Aye at once Sai Lanngolyn!” Kergitta said as she pistoned herself into movement.

“Hold.”

Sargent Granitethews stopped in her tracks; gods she could not wait for this day to end!

“Only free one of them he is charged with leading the other three and I want one guard posted to that prisoner.” He offered Tryssia a sly look of victory. “One is easier to bring down if there is any treachery.”

"Make it happen."

“At once.” The dwarf said.

“Free the one who calls himself Domarlynnas, he was injured earlier; he will do fine.”


“Give the order to fall back to Dretch Lane, we will commandeer healing supplies and refresh our numbers.”

The command was given and Brenton, Tryssia, Kergitta, the six remaining guards and four drow converged on the northern most end of Dretch Lane. Ten nondescript buildings sat in a defensive cavity along Mount Waterdeep at the end of Dretch Lane, two hundred foot cliffs surround the north, east, and west protecting the secret contents of these ten regular buildings.

Approaching from the south, the two Gunslingers felt an uneasy element thick in the air; the smell of rot was so pervasive it clung to their nose like a vice. The drow seemed to bear the worst of it- retching, wailing and speaking in painful tones like nails across slate. “don Maer! don Maer!”

“Shut your kin.” Brenton commanded the drow. Then one by one each of the buildings collapsed under the weight of eight huge blue spiders each the size of an elephant with razor edged front claws.


Firing four times from the hip Brenton commanded everyone to concentrate their resources on one spider at a time. One guard had the unfortunate honor of discovering the horrific rotting effects of the spider’s bite; another guard had is armor flayed from is body. There was something familiar about the spiders and what the drow were saying.


A bright flash of light turned night over Waterdeep into hell on earth; searing lances of light shot down from the sky reducing for of the horrible spiders to embers. It was Khelben Arunson riding his Ki-rin, in all his magical glory to save Waterdeep from its laissez faire stance on warfare... Brenton was not amused. 

“Only three spiders left! ADVANCE!” Tryssia commanded as she lifted her deadly calibers to the remaining rot spiders. As she did a figure along top of the cliff caught her attention fast. In the flashes of magical energies Tryssia could make out an emaciated humanoid figure of evil countenance.

“Look out!” She screamed out to Blackstaff.

Brenton looked up in time to see why this all was familiar to him and what the drow were screaming in discourse, it was Moander standing like a skeletal giant and with a single leap Moander fell upon the unsuspecting Blackstaff battering the mage with bone fists all the way until they each hit the stone streets some blocks away.









Wednesday, May 22, 2013

Tales of Ascension

The Clutches of Fate
For the second time, and perhaps inevitably, combat all but ended with Tauren grasped in the claws of the immense dragon of Good. The great beast peered in at him as he struggled to swing mighty Arcanum to force his release, and once again offered to spare Tauren's life in exchange for the blade. Tauren knew that his blade was his first destiny, his to wield, his to defend. It was never to be surrendered - Arcanum had to be defeated to be taken.
The dragon flew straight for the Dragon Pirate armada, and surprised Tauren when he let him go, but it was only for the moment. Grabbed by forces of magic,   
he was slowly being dragged to a group of arcanists on board one of the pirate ships. This would prove to be the dragons mistake, for the power of the mages was not stronger than the strength of Tauren, who wrestled his way free of their grasp and fell into the saddle of Rusher, his magnificent steed. He had been guided along by Briar, for ever staying close by Tauren in combat. The Sister of the Cloak  had taken her shape of crows to escape all the attempts to grab her, and together the three of them fled with godly speed to the shores of Waterdeep. It took only moments for the great dragon of Good to wheel about and grab Tauren again, but this time the Gypsy Lord was ready for her. When she craned her long neck inward to speak to him, the Charging Knight struck out with Arcanum and landed a stinging shot across both of her eyes. The dragon was blinded, and in her rage dove into the ocean where she released Tauren, and swam in retreat to the armada. Rusher was hovering above the waters when he surfaced and the Horseman pulled himself into his saddle and rode back to defend Waterdeep on that Years End of the Dragon Pirate armada.

Friday, May 17, 2013

Tales From Year's End (Waterdeep Castle)

Bent over the table, Piergeiron watched the battle unfold. A marvel of Gond, the table was a scale model of the city. The streets were slots in which tiny flags, colored to represent friend or foe, moved whirring along. Sparks would occasionally fly, representing magical battles. Turning back to the Paladinson, Lecarre studied the battle unfolding as well.
 "The harbor's clear, still. Thank the gods." murmured Lecarre.
 "The fleet has yet to have reached the bay," answered Piergeiron. "We've got the two ironclads assaulting them from the west. Don't know how much damage they'll do but we've got our secret coming up underneath-."
 "The Seaside Colossus?" a voice asked from the chamber's door way. Piergeiron and Lecarre whirled; the Open Lord pulling and aiming a pistol, the master spy palming a dagger. Bryan Kormallis sauntered into the room, the two guards outside the door, looked at each other in confusion, before raising their pole arms. Smirking over his shoulder, the former adventurer cocked an eyebrow at Lecarre.\
 Looking disgruntled, the pocketman sheathed the blade, saying, "I think this man is not a threat, Sai."
Piergeiron glanced at the older spy, uncocked the pistol's hammer and stuck the gun into his belt. "I'm sorry, citizen, we're very busy. I would need to direct you to your home or a temple of your -."
 "Oh please, Sai. I'm no ordinary citizen. I represent a force that has yet been untapped. We can't field mighty warriors, but we can be useful in other, clandestine ways," Kormallis said as he closed the door behind him.
 Confused, the Paladinson looked questioningly at Lecarre. The older man's flicked from the intruder to his lord and back again. "This man represents an outside force I thought we'd run out of the city, years ago. Bryan Kormallis is a Shadow Thief."
 Piergeiron's head snapped back to Bryan, who grinned and nodded. "The honorable Lecarre is correct. We were driven out... but we had to rethink and reform. In fact, one of my daughters is one of the Samular Seven, and has placed her life on the line several times for this city. I'm here to offer you more assistance," stated Bryan, leaning over the model city.
 "First, there's this girl, name of Kiiri..."
 The other two looked at each other, looked back at the Shadow Thief and then leaned over the city as well.

Tales from Year's End (Tower of Luck)


Captain Arina rallied the Horselord’s men from the unseen fright generated by the draconic terrors. Their frightful presence was laughable compared to her childhood that hardened her into the soldier today. Nonetheless she had seen the ‘great’ squire Fallon cower and run with his weapon sheathed. How Tauron rewards that level of service from Fallon she could hardly fathom.

Arina’s earliest orders were to the protection of Heilean and the Tower of Luck, although that had changed Arina had made a personal promise to the Luck Rider to come to her aid if required. Arina looked out from the gates to the Tower of Luck and commanded Alegan to organized fresh guards at all posts, and when Alegan suggested counter clockwise advance and cover patrols of Ivory, Diamond, and the Street of the Singing Dolphin Arina agreed- even approving his choices from the Horselord’s ranks.

Even Alegan would be a better choice than Fallon.  

Then darkness, as deep as a void, black- the unknown color, seized the afternoon light blinding everyone. A rush of forward moving air and then time seemed to stretch into unreality. The air took on a density and made it difficult to move about; that, coupled with the blindness neither Alegan nor Arina could judge how much time had gone by.
 
A large column of fire exploded from the Dragon Tower of Maaril reaching almost one-hundred feet into the sky somehow canceling the darkness. The wizard tower, named for the detailed artistry in the structure’s defenses, pulsed with wild magic that stirred Arina and Alegan from the dream like lethargy.

Several Horselord defenders lay dead scattered around; men with their throats cut open, some almost decapitated. Understanding came slowly as incoherent shouts and commands made situation assessment impossible.

Alegan was calling out and checking for survivors when the heartbreaking news hit Arina like a maul. Dear Spirits! Heilean Eather had been taken.  
                                                                                           

Tuesday, May 14, 2013

Spy vs. Rage



The sounds of battle, a term that does little to describe the chaos and death that permeated the air around Sanford’s small group of hunters, rattled on around them.  It was difficult for everyone to stay silent and still, not giving into the dragon fear or rushing forward to help when a voice called out in pain and terror.  Yet this was the only way if Sanford was to maximize everything he had learned from the Dragon Cultist Kafcar.  While the task was grim Sanford couldn't help but appreciate how Damian and the rest of the Samular Seven inspired others to act.  As Damian was fond of saying, “Follow my lead not my footsteps.” 

Tyrus Skullstorn quietly explained to Elads Edals his understanding of the situation.  “Wizards sometimes use items as a focus and other items as a form of meta magic, enhancing their spells, some priests as well.”  Elads was nodding, the conspiratorial gleam in his eye, obvious to even the newly befriended Tyrus.  “These cultists don’t provide the magic or prayers that are affecting everything but they certainly widen their scope and increase the dragon’s efficiency.  From what Kafcar explained to Sanford, the cultist would use what they learned from their Luskan contacts to enhance the dragon’s breath weapons and to provide a steady flow of information from the city to the enemies armada of ships.”   

A small signal of light illuminated the dark ruins the group hid in near the docks.   Claudia had spotted their prey and signaled them with an alchemically colored flare.  Sanford, his voice gravelly and hoarse, reminded his crew of the plan and their next location, “We may not understand their magic, but we understand the importance of information during war.   Whatever communications you recover is to be hidden in either this location or the next.  Don’t try to hold onto anything too long, the dragon’s fear will only make you drop it should you fail to resist.  If you find yourself overcome by fear, your potions will remove the fear once you gather yourself enough to drink it.  If our information proves correct, we’ll follow this group until we’re sure of their destination before ending their miserable existence.  Hopefully LeCarre and Durnan’s unit meets with similar success.”

Tales form Year's End (Hero's Garden)


Tales from Year's End (Storm Keep)


Lormo tumbled from the courtyard into the west corridor as the blizzard-like cone of arctic cold struck Storm-Keep with deadly efficiency. Escaping the brunt of the blast, his legs were however struck numb from the attack hindering his attempts at moving and even standing.

It was dinner hour because the hall was awash with rich smells of spices and fresh bread from the cookery. Good Lormo thought, many stormtroopers would be in the mess hall, the others however…

Lormo drank from an elixir and slowly got to his feet briskly rubbing warmth back into his legs; he made ready a wand and carefully proceeded outside and found... death.
 
To say it was cold was an understatement of colossal proportions. A thick malaise hung in the air not unlike fog; it and the unearthly silence unnerved the normally nonplussed Lormo Agundar. Vague shapes clarified from the whiteness as guard dogs of the keep, beasts of burden as well as other animals all startled by the dragon fear.

He tentatively called out for any survivors; no reply. Advancing further, Lormo’s boots crunching icy ground, he came across a figure encased in frost. Lormo knew this individual, as it was his job to know everyone…

Trehuger of the Ardeep Forest- his story, as Lormo recalls, was that Trehuger left his family behind to serve the Samular Heirs. Now Lormo will always remember him and the upwards look of terror frozen on his pathetic bearded face.

He found Angia one of Briar’s followers, Toola a neighborhood guard and others…

Belgora emerged from the white gloom and began to delegate the gruesome task of removing the dead and distributing all remaining manpower to posts. The battle still raged in the city; dragons could be herd unleashing their terror, animals everywhere bucked and cried protesting within their stables across the city.
 
Then a silent impact, like a razor sharp wind swept through the keep. The blood wind opened superficial bleeding wounds on Lormo as well as the others, but for the dead it freed them from their icy condition and reanimated them as hungry undead.


Friday, May 10, 2013

Tales from Year's End (The Seventh Ward)


Hannibil spun about, his bastard sword Spirit of the Land held flat as he arced a wide swing at the oncoming zombies. He lacked the further resolve to channel the necessary energy to thwart the undead, but that fact did not diminish Hannibil Raventree’s paladin ability to boost his brethren followers of Kelemvor.

Hannibil Raventree is one of three noble paladins in the Hall of Heroes who seek to aid Kelemvor in his divine bid as Tempus. Before being enlightened to the cause Hannibil, with his fellow brothers of the sword Vilarus Gundwynd and Melykurion Jhansczil, long fought against the corrupt prison warden of Deepwater Isle Castellan Pietor but a higher purpose called their blades and their loyalty this day.  

Hannibil, Vilarus, and Melykurion were what remained of Kelemvor's legions that held the undead from entering the city. The men stood in a triangle formation so they could not be flanked, but that did not stop the corpse gatherer’s cast off zombies from simply surrounding them. Wide earthy grins shown under lifeless eyes as the undead advanced heedless of the paladin’s lethal swords.

Melykurion produced an amulet and held it over his head, his sword held defensively before him as he spoke the amulet's words of power. The amulet, one given to each of the three, was in the shape of Kelemvor’s symbol: Tempus’ sword blazing with goodness and honor. The amulet flew from Melykurion's outstretched hands; it grew in proportion and hovered over the City of the Dead- where they fought to protect the city.

But just as the flame from the projected image reached its highest intensity, a palpable grey entropy thrashed out pervading every ally and city street. It came on the heels of a raking gust of sharp wind that reopened wounds and inflicted new ones all of which bled unabated.  
                                                                                                                                          
To Valarus’ left corpses of fallen city guards were upset as the Blood Wind washed over the fallen bodies; on his right Hannibil, who seems to have dropped his guard and was staring unbelieving at a point beyond the fight. Valarus raised his sword he knocked a creature aside giving Hannibil time to mentally rejoin the combat.

All eyes followed what Hannibil was looking at.

The grey entropy filled the mortal wounds of the fallen city guards; warriors opened lifeless eyes and began to spasm and thrash about trying to stand from where their mortal lives were taken. Bones cracked and tendons stretched, the sound was maddening. The creatures were unlike anything they had ever learned in all their years of training in Daggerford.

They had a hungry malnourished appearance; under coifs and armor of chain pallid flesh seemed to stretch tightly over their starved frame. Hands and fingers burst from leather gloves becoming claws that looked capable of rending flesh, they had teeth that were unnaturally long and each bore a look of ravenous unnatural hunger.

And the worst thing of all Hannibil thought, was that in the dark they still looked like city guards.


Thursday, May 9, 2013

Tales From Year's End (Ravenshield’s Home for Experienced Adventurers)


Wemick the Weird is the youngest retiree at Ravenshield’s Home for Experienced Adventurers and is its current Grand Poobah- a status for which he was proud. Ravenshield’s is along Trader’s Way across the street from the Market where mercenaries have taken over and have managed to organize a central command position. 

Wemick thoroughly enjoyed watching the formations of swords men practicing thrusting tactics needed to combat the dragon terror. In the days leading up to Year’s End Wemick would cheer and motivate the mercenaries from the roof of Ravenshield’s or from his bedroom window- he was their mascot; they in turn showed their appreciation with gestures and remarks that completely gratified Wemick. 

This was it, tonight was Year's End- the Mercenaries of the Marketplace needed him and he would not let them or the city down….

Wemick did not sleep the night before, so when the crash of the white dragon’s tail crashed through the front corner of Ravenshield’s it woke him from his late-day slumber tossing him from his loft. He is late he thinks, and hastily rises to action- damn his sleep apnea!

Then the world around Wemick darkened as shadows began to wax and wane in the corners and halls of Ravenshield’s. Wemick felt a cold wash over him causing some of the strength betraying his legs causing him to tumble hard down the steps. All around him was suddenly a mix of dark glimpses of a dragon, physical pain from the fall, and a sense of darkness at the end of his unfortunate spill.

When Wemick the Weird opened his eyes he was laying on his side with a large painting of Ravenshield’s founder, Matilda the White Lady shielding him from the debris caused by swipe from the dragon’s tail. Moving the bulky painting Wemick realized several things all at once- the dragon was gone, much of the first floor was now open to the street, and he was lying in a growing pool of blood.

Outside he could hear the battle against the dragons continued on, but they were far away, so Wemick took stock, examined himself and found that he was bleeding from the head. Around him the creepy darkness was still present and sent uncontrollable shivers through his legs, he needed to get out post-haste. Emerging from Ravenshield’s Home for Experienced Adventurers, Wemick hastened to the Mercenaries of the Marketplace for aid but what he found instead robbed him of any sanity his simple mind had managed to retain.

Just as the eclipsed sun disappeared beneath the western skyline, a horizon sketched with the tall masts and long shadows of the Captain’s Confederation Armada, divine-death was unexpectedly released on the city.

The Blood Wind, as folks would come to refer to it as, emanated from an area central to the Sea Ward; it was like being buffeted with cold razor sharp pins- every living creature in the city began to bleed. Some bled from exposed skin, some from their eyes, and others retched blood uncontrollably; for Wemick it only further opened his wound from falling.

Coming upon the Marketplace Wemick watched as deceased mercenaries, marketplace defenders fallen in battle, begin to rise up by the dozens and move with gruesome hungry intent. Grunting and slurping the undead fell in a swarm on the unsuspecting living. The presence of blood appeared to excite the undead further; they feasted like ghouls and when the undead finished gorging itself on a victim Wemick watched in horror as it too rose hungrily joining the macabre undead mob.






Tuesday, May 7, 2013

The Abyss, Celestia, and Arborea


A dull crack, like a hammer blow to the skull, cut through the din of grunts, taunts, and battle cries of three mortal enemies locked a dual of the fates. In the background swam a chaotic soup of sounds from intelligible screams of the dying, shouts of warnings spoken too late, as well as unknown weapons clamoring against stout armor or shields, but through it all a bell sounded very clearly one single time. The crisp chime was laced with unknowable magical power.

“You have been betrayed,” a deep commanding male voice said between attacks; his abyssal-like speech was neither labored nor strained but was full of sorrowful truth. “The rest stand against the two of you and you strike out against the one who revealed the treachery that put you at odds… and this is how I am to be repaid?”

A collage of spectacular metallic sounds rang out repeatedly for several painstaking moments.

“You will not return from death by my hand, I assure you....”

Sudden ear splitting death blows drown out, in a desperate rain of attacks, any other heard speech.

… as a false god.” The abyssal voice finished confidently, laughing a little. 

“You lie you black wretch, demon spawn! We are not ignorant to how you and yours operate, you are a vile stain in the North and I swear to you this… I will not allow it in any city under my protection.” This second voice, male, sounded very tired and very strained as if he had been fighting since dawn- racing from one disturbance to another.

“I can undo that witch your black tongue claims,” said a sultry voice who sounded less taxed by the ongoing hostility of Year’s End.

Seven peals of thunderous horn blasts slam down on Waterdeep without warning, a prelude to city-wide panic, the dragons have come again. At this, more conflict erupts between the three; the pace of the battle was quickening and the banter between them becoming less frequent and comprehensible.

“We will end your reign of terror and I will honor my vow by prot---,” whatever the man was going to say it was cut short by several wet punches that sounded like deep vital strikes.

Monday, May 6, 2013

Tales from Year's End (Undermountain)

The Mad Wizard
The Undermountain, once the under-home of the Melairkyn, is populated by many creatures besides the dwarves, unsavory denizens as well as the many restless dead. Clandestine human churche of Obedience, The Alter of Death, and other Evil Cults dominate the upper levels; levels where man cannot bear to leave the lands of light too far behind.

However there are places that the warm light of day never reaches, underground locations that are forever submerged in silent darkness and unchanging cold; completely void of vibrant colors. Then there are even places that no one else, save for only one that ever sees: pockets of cavernous spaces unreachable less magical travel and knowledge of its existence. 

It was these guaranteed factors that caused the wizard to be caught completely off his guard…

Deep in the under-realm below Waterdeep, there is such a pocket-cavern; though its natural formed walls, floors, and ceiling are not naked grey stone; they are instead covered in a nightmarish mosaic of visual art consisting of everything imaginable from scrolls and maps, to vile art objects, the skins of beasts and humanoids some which appear to be flayed aberrations long dead. 

The sole furnishing in this surreal landscape is a great exotic thrown.  History says it was crafted of metals from the seven mines within the kingdom’s realm, the throne's magnificence is in its horrible detail with the addition of the many dragon bones, sharp scales, teeth and talons inlaid throughout the design; it had the look of being seated in the wide mouth of a dispossessed chromatic dragon.

It is on this throne the Mad Wizard would orate at length, sometimes for weeks, at his grotesque mosaic; scheming and arguing with no one on ways to administer revenge on the Lords of Waterdeep. Unfortunately, the Mad Wizard saw little custom in the Undermountain to appease his chaotic whims during the Time of Troubles and the current Siege of Waterdeep. It would seem hapless adventurers are in short supply; instead the Mad Wizard was forced into conflict with an interloper: Maerlyn Gorsomm. The old lich did not even have the common courtesy to palaver before staking a claim in the Tomb Lands. 
Scribe of the Doomed

Maerlyn has since proved a formidable foe, but is predictable unlike the Mad Wizard who intuited Maerlyn would send his black-skulled legions against the living lands of light during Year's End and when the lich was properly distracted the Mad Wizard would move, raging magical destruction.

The Mad Wizard did not know for how long the creature was there, it could have been for hours, it was a human sized being appearing as a Reaper standing in perfect camouflage against the bizarre mosaic. The Reaper's swift unexpected movement and the finality with which the intruder spoke threw the Mad Wizard clumsily from the throne. As the Mad Wizard struggled to get up from his sprawl everything he reached for fell helplessly from his grasp; his attempts at standing continued in vain. 

“I am Jergal,” the Reaper claimed. “Venerate me Mad Wizard and despair- for your service to me will surely exhaust the life from your mortal body extending your eternal servitude into the afterlife.”  



Saturday, May 4, 2013

The Ironclad Project

Reunited with Sai Piergeiron after the Industrial Crusade; Cortland Andrus also came bearing twin pistols wrought from the steel of Sun-Cleaver, Piergerion's stolen Holy Avenger. For the city, Cortland brought blueprints for Ironclad warships to defend Waterdeep; this served to complement the new Firelance Knights with firepower on the seas and it reunited the Wonderbringer with Waterdeep after many years.

With support from the High Palaver as well as from the Helmfast, Hunabar, Lanngolyn, and Stormweather noble houses, Waterdeep began to sell-off their armada, dismantling the current Navy to acquire the funds needed to build a contingent of Ironclad warships.

As of Year's End, in the waning age of the Time of Troubles five Ironclad warships have since been christened and have ventured from Deepwater Harbor.

Spotted all along the Sword Coast it is unclear their mission other than defending against Luskan's Captain's Confederation should the war escalate.

The ships are called: The Peacemaker, Tempus' Gunboat, The Iron Maiden, Gond's Shield, and Pirate's Bane which was the Ironclad recently seen leaving Waterdeep.