After the battle within the Everfire, Larquinn and Delzoun debriefed the party on what had transpired above while the group received first aid in a medical tent. The Banite thralls had set off explosions and a huge firework of the Fist of Bane to disrupt the Martyrdom parade, but the authorities were on the lookout thanks to the PCs and the damage was minimal. They didn’t realize that this was all a diversion until the emergency ventilation system kicked in, and Lars, the entralled dwarf that guided them into the Everfire, got past the broken elevator shaft to alert his superiors. The PCs related their adventures and Larquinn and Delzoun expressed their gratitude, adding that Helm Dwarf-Friend, Master of Sundabar, would want to meet them. Delzoun also added that he wanted to talk to them about Tarnruth’s Orb when they had a chance, and then pulled Garvenmov aside, telling him that he could keep the sword he found in the core, but that it was an ugly flop, and that he didn’t want people to know where it came from. Mom’s the word, sort of thing.
After sleeping off their burns and blisters the PCs spend the next day (Mirtuk 20) running errands. Never, finally free from his side job as an adventurer, got back to the pursuit of his dream of being a dealer in bits of broken shit pulled off corpses. They met Delzoun, who told them that the Orb had some radiant magic, and that it was made in a day long ago when dwarves and elves collaborated. Upon returning they discover a great crowd has gathered around their hotel on the rumor that the unnamed heroes are staying there. No one knows what they look like though, and the crowd buzzes, creating all sorts of outlandish rumors of the 8 feet tall heroes who swallow fire and gobble maidens. Waiting for the was a summons to meet Helm Dwarf-Friend.
The Master of Sundabar appeared to be a man of great prowess and quiet confidence. He interviewed them on their adventure against the Jackals and the Banites, warning that they had now made enemies of the Zhentarim, a powerful mercenary trade syndicate, which was closely aligned with the church of Bane. By way of a reward, he handed each of the 200gp, asked them to join the parade on the following day and gave them a special bag called Blech, explaining that while his own adventuring days were over, he was sure that they’d make good use of this odd leather bag with an unhappy face crudely stitched into the side. He then asked them what their adventuring party name was.
(30 minutes of bickering later)
They decide (minus Garvenmov, who was against everything) on The Blades of Earlann, named after the ancient Elven kingdom of the High Forest. <thank>
The next day The Blades of Earlann are the toast of the town. The parade wends throughout Sundabar, and upon the approach of our heroes the crowd goes wild throwing flowers to the passing soldiers, fainting, regaling anyone who’d listen of the time that they too were mighty and did some damage to those damn humanoids, let me tell you! Why we used to have to stack’em square just to clear a spot to sleep at night, so thick were the orc bodies, they were! This one time…
The parade fortunately passed out of earshot of that. Garvenmov held aloft his new scabby cat Vengeance (or was it Judgment? Was that the horse?) and Baelian walked with a book in his face, trying to avoid being swept away by the jubilation. When the parade finished, the stern looking soldiers gathered around to clap them on the shoulders and kegs of beer were opened, Claw made the mistake of prodding Baelian to loosen up. The moment he put the book away a big shit-eating grin spread ear to ear, and the pub they ended up in spontaneously exploded into the greatest merriment. They partied the night away.
The next day, (Mirtuk 22) the visitors came.