Smoke, dust, dirt, grime, shards of metal, and searing flame enveloped the office. The grand bay windows shattered to millions of pieces, and the momentary glass shard cloud blown out into the sky then plummeted 140 feet down to the cityscape rooftop level of Krona Peak below like a waterfall of twinkling light. Graath was first engulfed in flame and choking ash, then shot through the window, and fell like a pile of bricks intertwined in the glass daggers in a hasty exit 140 down – crashing through the rooftop of a building below into darkness. The source of the explosion came from Pegit’s desk, and everyone was pushed back from the point of ground zero detonation, Grouhl and Ratfink slid to the precipice, saved only by being impaled on the glass shards remaining in the window frame, their bodies dangling like wet laundry flapping in the wind. The remaining party members were in dire straights like their friends – burning, deaf, and stunned.
Through the smoke three beguiling beauties scampered across the room, heaving bosoms bounded as the lasses, tightly wrapped in ribboned outfits of black leather, snatched the Shepard’s Gourd and headed for the blown out window. The Mul shook the effects of the detonation first, morphing into a giant snake and constricting the beauty that had grabbed the gourd. As the mysterious lady struggled against the trouser snake she tossed the gourd to her comrades, who proceeded to leap out the window… (at this point Lord March entered, paused with mouth agape and hand in air like he was about to say something, then he promptly turned around and left, closing the door behind him).
The daring rogues planted Ropes of Climbing to the wall as they descended, which pulled taught and the lasses ab-sailed their way down the side of the tower. Scotty shook off the effects of the bomb and to everyone’s surprise scuttled like a spider down the side of the tower after the fleeing dames. In either a moment of brilliance, or pure stupidity, Ratfink turned his form into that of an elephant and proceeded to leap off the ledge, targeting his huge pachy-gluteus maximus to knock the rappelling babes off the wall and tumbling down below. The plan would have worked if Scotty hadn’t gotten in the way, and the blank expressioned Oliphant dropped out of sight without as much as a trumpet.
Grouhl, incensed with the arrival of new brains, promptly ripped himself free of his glass pinnings and also kamikaze dove to take a swipe – he too then dropped out of sight without as much as a “ggggrrrrrrrrrraaaaaaaaaaauuuuuuwwwwwwwwwwwllllllll…”
Leaving Scotty with the three ladies, much grappling, groping, verbal exchanges, and tongue lashings ensued on the high wire romp/orgy now unfolding on the side of the Golden Vault. The last act ended with Scotty’s unconscious form dropping – deathly silent – towards the rapidly approaching ground far, far below…
In the meantime, dwarven brewmaster Garvis Thundermaker was preparing for his 417th birthday, no small feat for a brew guildmaster to stay aloft amongst the political infighting of the Kundarak and Clan Mroranon for the past two centuries. Family, relations, friends, and quite a few grumbling enemies, were in attendance for the grand event, held at the first brewhouse opened by Garvis (now in a crappier part of Krona Peak). As his 14th wife raised a toast in his honor, a baby elephant crashed through the ceiling, split through the grand, formal dining table (fully set with mutton, turkey, and roast grick, and of course more ale than even Graath could imagine consuming), and the pachyderm promptly left via exit by smashing through the floor (taking a few dwarven revelers along with it to the darkness below). This had been preceeded by the sound of smashing timbers just moments earlier a bit to the west (the form of a burning Graath smashing into the brewery), and was promptly followed with the sound of smashing timbers to the east (the form of a dwarven zombie Grouhl smashing into another part of the brewery). A bit later the falling form of Lord March went crashing through a nearby building… wait, what, Lord March?
Using some weird-ass, DM made up power, the Swordmage was able to switch places with the unconscious, falling Scotty. Scotty awoke to an awkward moment alone with Bradley in the elevator lift of the vault, and promptly skedaddled out of the Aurum headquarters.
With all the falling, there were many wacky antics and combat maneuvers that ensued – in the end the party stopped the fleeing ladies (later identified by their tramp stamp tattoos as the Octopussies – a group of all lady rogues and assassins that were known to work exclusively for Sarys Valdur) and recovered the Gourd (now in the possession of Kash).
Notes: Grouhl saw as the femme fatales were dispatched that they puffed away as sand blowing away in the wind… he also barked to the dwarven brewmasters when he landed and smashed a beer keg that “The Summer Ale was Shot” which led to a raucus dwarven purging of all casks of summer ale (the dwarves thought the zombie dwarf was an ancenstor returning to curse the batch so they purged the lot – many a child dwarf and begger were drunk the day the streets ran yellow with summer ale – temperance advocates saw this display as a portent of dark times fortold in Draconic Prophecy…) Also, Ratfink did the math and realized many party members were not accounted for during the melee, and an insipid, doppleganger fear beset the addled brain of the constantly morphing mul drood. The party licked their wounds and Kash opened a portal to step to the approximate location of the Torpal Portal in the Underdark of Droaam.