Sex, Violence, and Magic: Adventures in Eberron (Penny & RestlessPanda)

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Penny

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Joined
Jul 3, 2017
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Sharn is a city unlike any other. Over half a million people live in its towers - a mind-blowing metropolis by the standards of Eberron - and its architecture and magical infrastructure are unparalleled throughout Khorvaire. At the top of Sharn are the floating towers, its inhabitants gliding through the clouds in magical vehicles or on the backs of wondrous creatures, gazing down at the towers below or outward to the treetops of the King's Forest, the peaks of the Silln Highlands, or the blue water of the Hilt. Below the floating towers is Upper Sharn, where the most wealthy, powerful, and important people of Sharn live. These are the landed members of Breland's nobility, the masters of the Dragonmarked Houses, or the occasional entrepeneur who made their fortune during the Last War. Here, they enjoy all the pleasures of Khorvaire: the magic of the most talented magewrights, the products and performances of the most creative artists, or the discoveries of the most genius scholars. To the lucky few, Sharn provides a life more wondrous than any other in Eberron.

Anastasia is not one of those few.

Anastasia lives in Callestan, a district in Lower Dura where rent is cheap and life is cheaper. It's an open secret that the criminal Boromar Clan controls this district, but every criminal organization in Sharn view for influence here, using street gangs as proxies in a perpetual war that wages barely below the surface of daily life. Neither the Sharn Watch nor the locals make a fuss about corpses turning up in alleyways or gutters overnight; the former barely exist here, and the latter know better than to get involved. Besides the gangs, Callestan is packed with magewrights, merchants, artisans, smugglers, laborers, charlatans, prostitutes, thugs for hire, and anyone else with half a skill and zero money. After the end of the Last War, Sharn was swarmed with desperate refugees and former soldiers, and they settled - as detritus usually does - to the bottom. Everyone is competing for the silvers and coppers - rarely gold - that flows through this district, often with as much if not more violence than the gangs.

Most businesses in Callestan pay protection to some gang or another, if they're not outright controlled by them. Anastasia does not, but her landlord probably does, and that affords her some protection as her home triples as her workshop and storefront.

She awakes from sleep to the sound of someone knocking on her door. She realizes it is working hours. She doesn't know who's at the door, but they may be a customer.

As a character-building exercise, please include a description of your home and what caused you to oversleep in your post. You can be as detailed or as brief as you like, but it should provide some insight into your character.
 
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"One moment!" she calls out, rolling out of bed and onto the floor. She clamors up, pushing her hair out of her face and turning on a nearby light. Her shuffling steps come to the door and she opens it, blinking in the light. It was earlier than she normally got out, hence why she wasn't exactly well put together at the moment. Five five and thick brown hair that reached her mid back, she wore overalls that barely made it to mid thigh, with a white tank top under it keeping her impressive gifts in check. She was barefoot, at the moment, and her eyes looked like they were still coming into focus.

"Hi yes uh... how can I help you?" she asked, trying to will herself properly awake.

The room behind her was a small single room place that looked like a house had been shoved into a room. One wall had a bed and a shelf hanging over it, filled with personal belongings and spare tools. At the foot of the bed was a chest, clothes half hanging out of it. Next to the bed on the other wall was a workbench that looked like it had been used as a surgeons table for a warforged. Metal bits, scorch marks, and more tools all lay in a controlled chaos that didn't leave the realm of the desk itself. The last wall had a bookshelf, which was half books, and half whatever else you might find in a scrapyard. The only order in the room was the wall next to the door, where a short shelf displayed several boxes containing her wares. Trinkets, tools, and the odd magical effect. It wasn't much, but if someone needed a lightstick, she was ready.
 
Shadows dominate the space outside Anastasia's shop. This far down the city of towers, no one sees the sun unless it is directly overhead, and even then the sunlight must thread the needle through crisscrossing bridges connecting towers above. In front of the door is a tall, broad-shouldered young man, probably not much older than Anastasia, but old enough to have served in the Last War. His right arm is prosthetic, connected above the elbow, with a design obviously inspired by warforged. Prosthetic limbs are some of the cheapest magic items one can get - their construction and enchantment is surprisingly easy - but they're still not cheap, and it looks out of place next to the man's threadbare clothes and somewhat grubby appearance.

"Hey," the man says, giving Anastasia a smile. His eyes flick down to her breasts for an instant before returning to her face. "I heard about you. You're an artificer, right? You know how to tinker with enchanted objects?"

He holds up his right arm in front of himself. His body language is cautious, like someone holding up a work of fragile glass, or perhaps an unstable explosive. "I got this not too long ago. It's usually fine, but it's, uh...twitchy? Sometimes it'll move and do things without my wanting it to."
 
Damn sleepy vibes making her think she was staring in the light. She should really stop drinking... While he got an eyeful of her, she looked him up and down as well, her eyes focusing on his prosthetic. Any kind of tech always caught her attention, same with magic.

"Yeah, I am and I do, what do you..." she blinked when she looked at the thing. "Oh... Huh. Curious. May I see it?" she asked, holding out her hands and matching his cautious energy. She knew better than to rough handle magic stuff. One too many explosions and rashes in weird places to not be careful...

I would like to inspect the thing, whatever it is
 
"Yeah, of course," says the man. He holds the arm out towards her, his own eyes focused on it. "It doesn't do anything weird if I'm focusing on it. It just does things on it's own if I'm not paying attention to it."

He hesitates for a moment before he continues speaking, now somewhat nervously. "By the way, just looking at the arm doesn't cost anything, right? I want to discuss the price before I commit to anything..."

Please make an Intelligence (Arcana) check, and link the results of your roll in your post. You won't need to link it every time, but I want to know where you're rolling just so I can check your roll history if need be.
 
Anastasia gives him a smirk. "You know what, you're cute. So for you, I wont charge just to look. This time. Come on in and have a seat." She didn't have much, but she did gesture to her still rumpled bed as she sat down at the desk and pulled out a pair of goggles with magnifying lenses. Sitting down examined the thing, carefully turning it over and letting her magic do the talking. She'd read books and messed around with magical artifice enough to have an okay understanding of things, hopefully this wasn't beyond her.

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Plus 6 for arcana, so 15
 
Anastasia sits the man down and begins inspecting his arm. Upon close examination, the first thing she notices is that its design is not just visually inspired by a warforged, it is seemingly identical to that of a warforged. Its stone, metal, and wooden design relies on the same alchemical and arcane pathways. It is so similar that she would assume it was actually a warforged's arm, if not for two things:
  • Contrary to expectations, warforged parts don't make for good magical items after they're cut up (or at least, no better than any humanoid's severed body parts)
  • The arm is sized for a human and is smaller than any warforged she's seen, outside of very specialized and rare warforged designs
She instructs the man to move or manipulate his arm in a number of ways, but nothing shows any evidence of malfunction. Indeed, it's a high-quality arm: strong, dexterous, and with full sensory feedback. Anastasia remembers that the man said it only malfunctions if he's not paying attention, but getting him to stop paying attention is difficult, like telling someone to stop breathing manually.

Upon request, the man detaches the arm, allowing her to examine it in isolation. Unfortunately, this still does not turn up any clues. Anastasia is not able to attune to the prosthetic arm since she has both of her own, so she cannot get a truly intimate look into its function, but everything seems to be working correctly. When her examination is complete, she returns the arm to him.

"So, about payment..." he says, reattaching his arm with rote, unconscious movements. "I don't really have a lot of money. Would it be possible to pay you with some kind of favour, or - "

He is still in mid-sentence when his hand reaches out and, with a single confident movement, slides up Anastasia's body and squeezes her left breast.

You can add modifiers to the die roll. In the screenshot you posted, you could have written "1d20+6" into the Dice to roll field.

In addition, I'd like to request you open a dice log (hamete virtual dice server) and make your rolls in that log, so there's a record without you having to screenshot each individual one. If you prefer, I can create a log for you and invite you to it, but I'll need an email address to do it (I think it can be a fake one; I don't believe any emails are actually sent in the registration process).
 
Huh. How very curious. She'd never seen a make of this kind before. Honestly other than being built like other warforged arms, there was nothing in terms of makers marks that she could see, or residual worksmanship. It was baffleling and fascinating.

"I's weird. Honestly I wish there was more I could do." She said, helping him reattach the limb, being somewhat closer on the bed know. "But it's that awkward bit where if I can't see it happen I can't do more-"

A squeak came out of her lips as the limb almost stealthfully graoped her, giving her breast a very forward squeeze. She was honestly so shocked she didn't respond, her face going red and her eyes going wide looking at the perverted arm. And it's owner.
 
"Shit!" the man curses, slapping his left hand down on his right forearm and yanking it away from Anastasia's breast. He leaps off the bad and backs away, almost bumping into her cluttered workbench.

"Wait, please don't throw me out!" he shouts before Anastasia can even say anything. He holds out his left hand plaintively, though he stays out of arm's reach of her. "I need your help! I lost my arm in the War and I need both hands to work my family's farm. It took me two years to save up enough money for this prosthetic, but I can't go back to my parents if it keeps doing that! I got nowhere else to turn!"

He closes his eyes and catches his breath, calming slightly. "I don't even know who made the damn thing. The guy I bought it from won't tell me, and he's got security. I learned to handle myself pretty good in the army, but three on one still ain't good odds."
 
Needless to say, she was surprised. And the conversation was... well it felt honest enough. No groper would be sticking around if he wasn't trying to find an answer and not just get a hand full of tit. She cleared her throat.

"Alright, alright, calm down. I was just... very surprised. It's okay, I'm not kicking you out. Sit down, lemme take another look." She took him by the arm and sat him down, rubbing her chin as she looked at the thing. Her mind was clicking and spinning, trying to figure out what was going on. She had an idea on how, but not much more than that. So, she'd try to distract him.

"Look that way please, I want to test something." She said, having him face away from her. She had a hand on the shoulder to move him if things got... TOO crazy. but otherwise she let the arm alone. And she started talking. "Okay so, tell me about the farm. I haven't really been out of the city, what does your family do?"

Her goal was to distract him, get his arm to go into 'autopilot' and see what happens. and see how long it would take him to notice if it did.
 
"Alright," the man says, sitting on her bed. "Thank you."

He holds his arm out to her and looks the other way. "I haven't been back home for a while - not since I lost my arm. My parents don't know yet. The army kept me on as an instructor, and I figured maybe I just keep doing that, but...then the War ended."

His voice turns bitter on those last words. Each of the five nations reduced their standing military after the Last War ended, but Breland cut its forces more than any other. No one knows the exact numbers, but the prevailing estimate is that Breland sacked eighty to ninety percent of its military personnel. The massive influx of suddenly unemployed people - many of which have no training or experience in anything besides combat - had drastic and severe effects on Brelish society and crime, particularly in large cities. Still, it's unusual the man wasn't dismissed immediately after losing his arm - he must been unusually valuable as an instructor.

"Farm's different from the city," the man says. "Quieter. More predictable, usually. You got to keep an eye out for weather or animals that can ruin a crop, but when you wake up in the morning you're pretty sure what you're doing that day. The city's different - you never know what it's likely to throw at you. Even war weren't as crazy as this, most of the time.

"Mom and Pop run the show, mostly. Grandpa - Mom's pop - is still doing some work, but he's getting too old for the fields. There's my older sister, my younger sister, my littler brother, and a baby now, but I've never met her. We got a bunch of crops we cycle through the fields. Grandpa says it's good for the soil to vary it up. Strawberries are my favourite..."

As his voice grows wistful, his arm reaches out for Anastasia again. It moves as confidently as before, but this time it almost misses her breast, the back of its knuckles just brushing her overalls. Undeterred, it turns over to grab and squeeze her again - not forcefully, but still quite boldly. It only lasts a moment before the man pulls his arm away, turning to face her.

"Sorry," he says. His face is red with guilt and shame.
 
"Hey now, it's okay." She gave his shoulder a squeeze. Seeing it coming was weird. Like a blind person trying to find their way around what they wanted. "You've been through a lot and this hand isn't fair. Could be worse, it's not agressive, so thats good. You don't suppose this belonged to a warforged bard do you?" she teased, again, taking the arm and inspecting it.

"I'm not familiar with warforged physiology, but this is certainly not your typical prosthetic. And I don't know many warforged with your..." She gave him a good look up and down. "Particular physique. Hmm... Does it do anything else other than feel breasts up? Have you ever woken up and it was jerking you off?" Her tone was casual but her language was anything but. Maybe the whole seeing a magical sexy arm was making it less awkward for her.
 
The man seems to appreciate the shoulder squeeze, but he still looks ashamed of his arm's actions. As Anastasia takes his arm and begins asking more questions, he turns away from her again.

"Not just breasts. Butts, too. Sometimes it goes right for the crotch. And..." He sighs. "It doesn't do anything while I'm sleeping. But sometimes I've felt it grabbing myself. It's been real hard going outside with this thing. It's alright if I concentrate on it, but I can't do that all day long."

His other hand comes up to rub at his stubbled jaw. "It's not just been groping. It's grabbed drinks a few times. Once, it picked up some fruit when I was walking by a food stall. It was so smooth, the stall owner didn't notice. I didn't even know until it tried to stuff it in my mouth."

As he reminisces, the arm gropes at Anastasia again, this time finding her breast on the first try. Again, he notices immediately, and while he doesn't pull away this time, the arm goes limp as he regains conscious awareness of it.
 
"Fascinating. I can't tell if it was a thief or a really balsy entertainer." She said, looking down as it groped her. Then as it went limp as well. "You're a mysterious one." She said, poking at the arm. She had another idea, tapping her cheek.

"How well do you feel whats going on? Like, are you aware of what it does? I'm not that familiar with warforged or prosthetics. Or do you just realize whats going on and it stops doing?" She lifted the arm and felt it a little, flexing his joints.

"I have another idea, but it depends on how well you are willing to go through with it. How do you feel..." she reached into her nearby cabinet, and pulled out a long bandana, offering it. "About a blindfold. You know, for science?"
 
"I feel it like it's my own skin," the man says. "If I'm paying attention, I know where it is and what it's doing, even I don't look at it. It's like having my own arm back, I can't complain about that part. I guess it's like...you know how you can scratch an itch, or touch your face, without even knowing you're doing it? It only goes off when I'm not paying attention to it, and as soon as I notice it pressing on some body part, I start paying attention, so it stops."

His voice drops and he shakes his head. "I hope it's not from some poor warforged. No one deserves to be chopped up for parts. Guy I bought it from told me it's not, but I don't trust him for nothing anymore."

He remains sitting as Anastasia retrieves the blindfold, regarding it for a moment before responding. "I guess? I don't see a problem with it. What's your plan?"
 
Anastasia sits up in front of him, her chest now at his eye level as she moves, wrapping the bandana around his eyes.

"I want you to be as distracted as possible. No outside stimuli, just breath and don't worry. I've already made up my mind that I'm not going to toss you out, I just want to see how long this thing can remain in... i dont know, auto mode and if it gets worse. Don't worry though" She gave his nose a tap with her finger, grinning once he was blindfolded. "I wont hold anything against you for now. Just relax. Get your mind off things. And don't try to pull away. Unless I tell you don't remove the blindfold, okay?"

Her voice was sweet and soothing, doing her best to calm him down. Poor boy looked frazzled. But maybe this time she'd be able to get some sort of clue as to what was going on, or at least an idea on what direction to take.

She's goona see if the hand gets more physical, and not resist. Also, hoping to try and glean SOME sort of other information cause I'm stumped
 
The man's eyes flick to Anastasia's breasts again as she sits up, then away guiltily before she blindfolds him. Something in her physical closeness, her soothing voice, or her allowance of his wandering hand makes him blush, and clears his throat before responding. "Sure. I'll do my best."

Initially, progress is slow. Blinding the man just makes it harder for him to be distracted from his arm. Eventually, it becomes more practical to redirect his attention by captivating him in mental challenges, such as having him try to examine her tools with his free hand or discussing stories and puzzles. Consistently, once his conscious attention wanders from his hand, it reaches out to feel at Anastasia's breasts again. Holding the arm lower causes it to stroke her thigh instead or, in one case, reach between her legs to rub at her crotch with one thick digit of its three-fingered hand. Holding the arm higher causes the hand to stroke her cheek, hair, or side of the neck in surprisingly gentle, intimate movements. Unfortunately, no interactions last longer than a second. While she can get the man's attention off of a limp arm, he always notices the feeling of his hand on clothing or skin, causing his conscious attention to return to the arm and it going limp again.

One thing Anastasia can confirm is that the arm is definitely blind. Its movements, though its movements are confident. Once it has located the body part it wants, it seems to remember its location, but if she moves the arm it has to locate her again. It seems as aware of her position as the man could be given his blindfolded state. This also seems to confirm that the arm probably has no independent intelligence. It is rare, but not unknown, for magical items to spontaneously become intelligent after their enchantment, but in every instance she's heard of, those items are able to communicate with their users and are aware of their surroundings. If the arm were intelligent, even if it did not opt to communicate with its user, it should not have to feel blindly for Anastasia's body. Evidence would suggest the man is in control of the arm, except that he obviously does not want it to do what it's doing. He makes no attempt to pull away, but just his awareness of the arm's actions is enough to dispel whatever possesses it to move. Anastasia notices that the man looks uncomfortable or shifts in his seat after each incident, even as the bolder ones elicit a short-lived lump in his pants.

"Would it help if we talked to the guy who sold it to me?" the man finally asks after another hour of testing. "He didn't tell me nothing, but you both deal in magic things, right? Maybe you'll have more of a, you know...professional respect for each other?"
 
Watching hte arm work was fascinating. It definetly had a mind of its own, but in the way a person isn't aware they are breathing. It also didn't seem to be explicitly horny, just affectionate? Either way, she'd be lying to herself if she didn't get something out of the whole thing. Even if it was just fleeting touches, it had been a long ass while since she'd been with anyone. And she didn't want to torture the poor boy.

Anastasia took the man's face in her hands and looked at him, still sitting on her bed. She smiled. "Sorry if this made you uncomfortable, that wasn't my intention. You've got my attention with this and I want to see where it ends up. So how about we start over? Let's go see this arm salesman, see what we can dig up. And don't worry, I'm not going to charge you much for this. How about...."

She thought for a moment, taking a step back and touching her chin. "Lunch? And your name. I realize this is all very backward. You probably already know, but my name is Anastasia Crowley. But..." She gave him a smile. "My friends call me Crow."
 
"You're saying sorry to me?" the man chuckles, giving Anastasia a relieved smile. "I was the one pawing at you. I should be sorry. Thanks for being so patient with me and my problem."

He stands. "Lunch is a damn good price for all this! You got a place you like? I know a few." Anastasia knows of a modest, but nice cafe straddling the ill-defined border between middle and lower Callestan where she can get a coffee and a brownie, but it's hardly the only place to eat in the area. "And my name's Rolin. I'm glad I met you, Crow. You want to eat now, or after we meet the seller?"
 
"After!" she said, twirling and grabbing a few things. She was very much not shy about adjusting her tank top or gettingher overall strapspositioned in front of him. She pulled her hairin a ponytail and tugged on some boots, bending over briefly in front of Rolin. She grabbed her backpack and slung it over her shoulder, ushering him out and locking the door behind her. "A celebration if things go well, and a pick me up if things go poor. Now lets go, we've spent a good bit of the morning already."

Crow would follow ROlin closely, a bounce in her step and a smile on her face. IT'd been a while since something this interesting had happened. And she was eager to see it through.
 
Even with her back turned, Crow can tell Rolin is keeping out of arm's reach of her, though she catches his glances as she adjusts her clothes. He leaves the shop in far better spirits than when he entered, waiting as she locks the door. By now, it is very nearly noon; Crow can see sunlight creeping down the sides of the nearest towers, almost banishing the shadows from the streets and bridges that cross Callestan. The two set off, with Rolin placing himself to Crow's right where it is more difficult for his prosthetic arm to reach her.

"Guy what sold it to me is named Oskar," Rolin explains as they walk. Crow recognizes the name as a local proprietor of magic goods, but hasn't met him. "He's got a couple of guards hanging around in his shop. Last time I went there to ask about the arm, I got the idea he'd throw me out if I kept pushing, but he'll probably think twice if there's two of us."

Crow knows it's unusual for shops in the area to have security on standby. Almost all of them pay protection money to, or are owned by, a criminal gang, so theft or violence is likely to invite harsh and disproportionate reprisal. There's likely something different about Oskar's business.

Partway through their walk, a human woman sidles up next to Rolin, matching pace with the pair. She is slim, with short black hair, pale skin, and a crimson shirt unbuttoned nearly to her navel. She has dark circles under her eyes, but she smiles readily.

"Good morning, you two," she says, her eyes flitting to the walls to check if it truly is still morning. The sunlight has crept down the walls of the nearest towers to just barely kiss the edges of the street. "Did you hear about the human a couple streets over that got hit by a brick? They think it fell from a couple hundred feet up and hit her right on the head. Killed her instantly. She prayed to the Sovereigns every day, and random chance takes her out like that. A second earlier or later would have made the difference. Isn't that fucked up?

"Life's cruel, isn't it? Really makes you wonder if the gods are really looking out for us. Tell me, have you ever heard of the Principle of the Divinity Within?"

Please make a Wisdom (Investigation) roll - that is, an Investigation roll using your Wisdom modifier. Also, please make a dice log and invite me to it - if you don't know how to do that, let me know and I can do it for you.

Also, because you are a solo character, I will consider Rolin to be a Warrior sidekick at this time. Sidekick rules are in Tasha's Guide to Everything. If you don't have that book, I can write it up for you.
 
It occurs to Crow that paying protection money only gets one so far. While the gangs will protect their interests from rival gangs or random thieves and vandals, they're not in the business of fighting other people's battles if those people go inviting trouble. For example, such a protection racket would probably tell a business owner to clean up their own mess if someone wrecked their store because the owner was putting pressure on them, had slept with their spouse...or if the attacker was a customer dissatisfied by legitimately poor service. Such a business owner may have to hire security of their own to protect their shop if they make a business of pissing people off.

In short, Oskar may have a habit of screwing customers over, of which Rolin is only the latest.
 
Crow listened, her ears prickling as the woman talked. She began to mess with the glove on her wrist, the servos and gears clicking into place on the back of her hand. The click of a spring being locked into place punctuated the end of the woman's sentence.

"Tragic story really. Never know when the noose is going to snap around your neck, right?"

She gave the woman a smile, one with absolutely no joy behind it. "Although if the gods dont do you in lack of sleep might. You look like you could use some coffee."

Readied Action: If things get hostile, she has Thorn Whip at the ready. Also, Crow would try to see if this girl is alone or if there are more.
 
There are plenty of people on the street. None of them appear to be watching Crow and Rolin, but in theory, any of them could be aligned with the woman and simply playing it cool.

"This is the Blood of Vol, right?" Rolin asks. He voice has as much joy as Crow's smile.

"You have heard of it!" The woman smiles at Rolin before turning her attention to Crow. "Don't worry about me. But you're right! We could die any time, and then, we're off to Dolurrh, where we wither away into nothing, or get snatched up by the Keeper, and who knows what he does with us. And that's if the priests are telling us the truth! Maybe we just cease to exist - " She snaps her fingers. " - like that!"

"So we're better off zombies?" Rolin asks dismissively. "I saw some of Karranth's undead soldiers in the War once. Just once. I'd rather be dead than that."

"That's a misconception!" the woman says. "Zombies aren't us, they're just the meat we leave behind.We don't want to become undead, we want to become gods! I can give you some pamphlets if - "

In the middle of the woman's sentence, Rolin reaches up with his right arm and yanks her unbuttoned shirt open, revealing a perky breast and nipple the colour of grapefruit flesh. The woman's eyes go wide as Rolin releases the shirt and backs up, almost bumping into Crow.

"I - " starts Rolin, but the woman interrupts him.

"Fucking asshole!" she shouts. The woman swings an overhead fist downward onto Rolin, but in her anger she is easily predictable and he bats the blow away from his head.

If you want to use your readied action, feel free to roll your attack roll. The woman has AC 11, so roll your damage as well if you hit.
 
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