S38 — Rova 11th
- Source: Discord aoa-timeline thread
- Thread:
Rova 11th - 13th, 4719 AR - Thread ID:
1483688455505707089 - Generated: 2026-03-18T06:33:23.047879+00:00
- Messages: 11
2026-03-18T04:48:13.391+00:00 — jstrtx
- Message ID:
1483688455505707089
Celebratory Dinner with Mialari
The grand oval salon on the top floor of Lady Docur’s School for Girls glows with warm lantern-light and the scent of roasted quail, spiced wine, and fresh-baked honey-cakes. Polished wood panels and intricate rugs stretch beneath the high ceiling; a grand piano stands ready in one corner while a massive circular dining table dominates the center, already laden with silver platters and crystal goblets. Lady Mialari Docur’s portrait tokens sit at the head, flanked by Captain Gulbran Cornaro and his beaming daughter Adélina. Voz Lirayne lounges with a glass of deep crimson wine, while Arlethi Soumaila hovers near the piano, fingers brushing the keys. The Regulators are already seated exactly where their tokens rest on your battlemap — the perfect vantage to watch the city lights begin to twinkle beyond the tall windows.
It is now Wealday, the 11th of Rova, 4719 AR, at 6pm — almost two full days after the daring strike on Tanessen Tower. The delay allowed the party precious time to rest, fully upgrade gear, restock potions and elixirs, and let the initial chaos in Kintargo settle under City Guard watch. More importantly, it gave Lady Mialari’s Lacunafex agents a head start: swift riders on fast horses could cover the 50 miles south along the Yolubilis River road to Whiterock in roughly a day and a half, arriving ahead to observe, eavesdrop, and gather discreet intelligence on Baron Canton Jhaltero and any unusual activity around the long-dormant Summershade Granite Quarry.
Lady Mialari rises, garnet gown shimmering, and lifts her goblet.
“To the Regulators — the ones who refused to let Kintargo’s newest shadows swallow its light. Tonight we celebrate survival… and the beginning of the real work.”
Captain Gulbran Cornaro claps a meaty hand on the table, his voice like gravel under boots.
“Damn right. From the Raid on Cypress Point where the Scarlet Triad first showed their hand in Ravounel, raiding that sleepy coastal town for slaves right under our noses… to the Skirmish at Sunset Imports where we uncovered their front company and ties to House Vashnarstill… to the brutal Attacks on the Bellflower Network at the Long Roads Coffeehouse, snatching Laria and Jerrina and others to break the abolitionists… and now the Strike on the Scarlet Triad at Tanessen Tower two nights ago. We’ve hit them hard, again and again, and we’re still standing.”
Adélina Cornaro leans forward, eyes fierce.
*“And they would have succeeded if not for all of us arriving when we did. Father, Mialari, Voz — we turned the tide together. But the Triad is like a hydra. Cut one head…” * Voz Lirayne swirls her wine, voice cool and precise.
“Two more grow back. We already knew they wanted Alseta’s Ring from Breachill. Now we know why. Barushak was coordinating everything from that tower — logistics, experiments, breaking the Bellflower Network’s Kintargo chapter. But the letters Kane found change the map — and give us breathing room to plan.”
Attachments:
- Draughthouse Gaming - aoa-timeline - Rova 11th - 13th, 4719 AR [1483688455505707089].json_Files/terrace-view-ldfg-2035ebdab8b31ec3.jpg
- Draughthouse Gaming - aoa-timeline - Rova 11th - 13th, 4719 AR [1483688455505707089].json_Files/barushaks_mask-1413b703b3321a44.jpg
- Draughthouse Gaming - aoa-timeline - Rova 11th - 13th, 4719 AR [1483688455505707089].json_Files/art-scenic-111-2ecfa58ef4f5b0d6.webp
- Draughthouse Gaming - aoa-timeline - Rova 11th - 13th, 4719 AR [1483688455505707089].json_Files/canton_jhaltero.Avatar-0e0bb877e89d507f.webp
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2026-03-18T04:49:36.581+00:00 — jstrtx
- Message ID:
1483688804429860926
At that moment the doors open and Laria Longroad steps in, still bearing faint bruises from her ordeal at the Long Roads Coffeehouse, yet smiling. She is followed moments later by the cheerful halfling Nolly Peltry, arms laden with a fresh basket of pastries
“for the road tomorrow.”
Laria takes a seat as Arlethi begins to play — a graceful, classical Kintargan waltz on the grand piano, notes floating like moonlight on water, filling the salon with elegant calm while the conversation continues. Laria speaks softly, but every ear listens.
“While I was captive I overheard Barushak himself. He was furious, pacing. He kept saying ‘the quarry must expand’ and ‘Laslunn will not tolerate delays.’ Then he named it — Summershade Granite Quarry, near Whiterock. Heuberk and Vavienne laughed like it was already theirs. And those letters confirm it.” She nods respectfully toward the Regulators. “Communications straight to Laslunn — a gnoll war-leader expanding operations fast. Giants involved, from the sound of it. The quarry’s been dormant ten years, but something’s woken it up.”
Lady Mialari’s smile turns sharp, the spymaster beneath the hostess showing through.
*“My little birdies — the Lacunafex — rode south the morning after the tower fell. They’ve had time to reach Whiterock by now, blend in among the farmers and ranchers, and poke around House Jhaltero’s holdings. Canton Jhaltero is an old aristocrat whose family once owned that quarry. On paper he’s clean — casual, disinterested, content with his Silver Council seat and an easy life. But my agents already report strange shipments moving through the town at night, late visitors to the manor, and sudden coin flowing where none should be. By the time you arrive in a day or two, we’ll have solid leads waiting via dead drop or courier bird. If the Baron is in bed with Laslunn… well, the Regulators have a way of making beds very uncomfortable.” * She raises her glass again.
“To unfinished business — and to the quarry that will not stay hidden.”
The piano music swells as the group finishes the feast. Platters are cleared, and Mialari gestures toward the wide terrace doors.
“Come. The night is young, and Kintargo deserves to be admired from above.”
2026-03-18T04:52:43.339+00:00 — jstrtx
- Message ID:
1483689587749552178
Terrace Vista
The party steps outside onto the stone terrace that wraps the curved edge of the penthouse. A cool autumn breeze carries the scent of the Yolubilis River. Below stretches a breathtaking panorama, with the lanterns of northern Kintargo’s noble districts glittering like jewels:
The terrace of Lady Docur’s School for Girls perches high in the Villegre district, one of Kintargo’s quieter, more elevated quarters of stately manors, academies, and tree-lined streets. From this vantage—stone balustrade cool under fingertips, a gentle night breeze carrying the faint salt of Nisroch Bay—the city unfolds like a living tapestry under the vast, clear autumn sky of late Rova.
To the north stretch the noble Greens district: clusters of elegant townhouses and spires where lanterns and enchanted glow-globes wink in warm amber and soft silver, outlining rooftops, arched windows, and private gardens. The lights form irregular rivers of gold, dimmer here than in the bustling heart of the city, as if the aristocracy prefers subtlety even in celebration. A few taller towers rise like sentinels, their upper windows dark or faintly lit, silhouetted against the deeper indigo of the night.
Directly below and eastward, the Harbor District along the Yolubilis River that gleams as a broad, dark ribbon bisecting Kintargo—its surface a mirror for the city’s glow and the scattered stars above. Moonlight and the faint luminescence of water-lanterns from barges traces silvery paths across the current. Bridges arc gracefully over it, their railings dotted with tiny flames from braziers or magical wards.
To the east, Yoluilis Harbor sparkles with a denser constellation: dockside lanterns, ship lanterns bobbing at anchor, and the warm orange of taverns and warehouses along the waterfront. The bay beyond fades into inky blackness, Nisroch Bay swallowing the horizon where distant Varisian coasts might lie hidden.
Southward, across the river the stone walled battlements areb arely visible save for occasional watch-fires. Beyond this, the massive temple to Asmodeus looms—ornate gothic temple architecture dwarfs the surrounding southern city, the only competing structure is Castle Kintargo that sits atop the rocky outcrop overlooking the Nisroch Bay at the mouth of the Yolubilis River.
Framing it all, the distant mountains rise in jagged black silhouettes against the starfield: sharp peaks of the Menador Mountains or their foothills, snow-capped even in milder seasons, catching faint starlight on their ridges. The celestial constalations, The Pack, and The Mother, take center stage in the cosmic arches overhead in a luminous band, thousands of pinpricks sharp and unpolluted by too much city glare—Desna’s domain, perhaps, watching over the liberated Silver City.
On the other end of the terrace:
Nolly Peltry hops onto a bench, tankard already in hand.
“First thing tomorrow I’m back at the coffeehouse with hammers and paint. Those Triad thugs smashed half the windows and burned the back room. But the Bellflower Network’s Kintargo chapter isn’t dead — it’s just waking up again. Laria and I already have three safe houses lined up and two new conductors ready to move people north. Work is never done… but neither are we.”
Laria raises her own cup, eyes reflecting the city lights.
“Tonight we toast the fallen and the rescued. In a day or two the Regulators march on Whiterock. And when you find Laslunn and whatever horror she’s building in that quarry… give her a message from the Long Roads Coffeehouse.” She grins. “Tell her the coffee’s on us — and it’s poisoned.”
Lady Mialari laughs, the sound rich and warm.
“Rest well, my friends. Gear is upgraded, potions restocked, and the road south awaits at first light tomorrow. But for these next few hours… simply be heroes who’ve struck blow after blow against the Scarlet Triad.”
2026-03-18T04:52:53.201+00:00 — jstrtx
- Message ID:
1483689629113913424
Arlethi’s piano continues to drift out onto the terrace — soft, triumphant, promising that the next movement of this symphony is already being written.
The night air is crisp, the city beautiful, and the next leg — the 50-mile journey south along the Yolubilis to Whiterock, the Summershade Granite Quarry, and the gnoll war-leader Laslunn — already calling from the horizon.
2026-03-18T04:53:35.989+00:00 — jstrtx
- Message ID:
1483689808579657831
Changed the channel name: Rova 11th - 12th, 4719 AR
2026-03-18T04:53:54.675+00:00 — jstrtx
- Message ID:
1483689886954553375
Changed the channel name: Rova 11th - 13th, 4719 AR
2026-03-18T04:56:08.114+00:00 — jstrtx
- Message ID:
1483690446638284801
Wealday, Rova 12th, 4719 AR
Road to Whiterock
The fifty-mile two-day journey south along from Kintargo along the Silver Road remains mostly uneventful — a welcome breather after the chaos of Tanessen Tower. The sent of turning leaves and distant woodsmoke, the Yolubilis River glitters to the west following the well-trodden path. Farmers tend the fields, their wagons trundle past with late harvests, and the occasional patrol of Ravounel militia nods in recognition (seems word of the party’s exploits in Kintargo has begun to spread), and the occasional merchant caravan shares campfire tales of “strange lights” in the mountains around Whiterock. No ambushes strike, no Scarlet Triad scouts shadow the party, you wonder if Barushak’s abrupt escape seems to have left his underlings scrambling or scattered. But on the second afternoon, as the road curves through a sparse copse of ancient oaks about 10 miles north of town, something catches the eye.
2026-03-18T04:56:32.74+00:00 — jstrtx
- Message ID:
1483690549927084112
Oathday, Rova 13th, 4719 AR
Barushak’s Discarded Mask
The wind picks up, rustling leaves like whispers, a faint metallic glint half-buried in the leaf litter in the brush just beyond the path draws attention — perhaps Jegan’s sharp scout senses or Kane’s occult intuition pings first. Picking it up reveals Barushak Il’Varashma’s ornate mask, cracked though still radiating faint arcane residue. The mask is heavy bronze overlaid with gold filigree, etched in swirling Abyssal runes that pulse dimly when held. A demonic bull-horn motif crowns the forehead, red garnets set as eyes, though one missing, and the interior bears scorch marks. On closer inspection, Kane noticed a surge of psychic attack, which he was able to easily overcome, doing no mental damage. Why Barushak discarded thee mark is a mystery though.
Welcome to Whiterock
By late afternoon on the second day of travel, Fireday Rova 13th, Whiterock comes into view; a modest market town of about 1,500 souls nestled on the riverbank. Timber-framed buildings cluster around a central square with a general store, farrier, a freshly renovated shrine to Desna with butterflies painted on its doors, a small civic hall, and two taverns spilling laughter and ale, one of which is named “The Polished Stone”, and plenty of locals — ranchers in wide hats, farmers with callused hands — fill the roads, all seem friendly.
Whiterock is a city located on the bank of the Yolubilis River, 50 miles south of Kintargo. It has long been maintained by the wealthy House Jhaltero, and originated as a stop where rocks mined from Jhaltero quarries were smoothed and catalogued for shipment to Kintargo, but has since grown into a market town for local farmers and ranchers who do not wish to take the long trip to the capital. Some locals make mention that Canton Jhaltero is casual and disinterested, viewing himself due an easy life after securing his family’s place on the Silver Council.
The Polished Stone & Dead-Drop Note
The Regulators settle into The Polished Stone Inn & Tavern—a sturdy, two-story timber building on Whiterock’s central square, its sign a gleaming granite slab etched with a foaming mug. The common room is warm and dimly lit by hanging lanterns, smelling of woodsmoke, roasted mutton, and spilled ale. Ranchers and farmers cluster at scarred tables, trading quiet gossip about late harvests and “odd lights up toward the old quarry.” The innkeep, a stout human woman named Mara, serves hearty portions and keeps rooms clean. The party claims a corner table upstairs for privacy, away from prying ears though it doesnt take long for one of several town troublemakers, a drunkard named Tom, who chats up the party given their fancy armor and clothing.
Later that afternoon, as the tavern seems to pickup with the day laborers filing in, more patrons stagger from drink, the wind flows through the tavern as Vanmyr notices shadows move quickly through the crowd, dancing and not able to make them out, visually following one around the bar and into the kitchen. It was at this point, Kane felt a rolled note slip into his palm. The Dead-Drop Note! The Regulators quickly get a room and all shuffle in. When no one else was around, they open it—just a small, sealed parchment envelope slipped under the threshold, bearing no mark but a faint wax seal of a stylized bird in flight (Lacunafex symbol, recognizable to anyone who’s worked with Mialari Docur). The note is written in neat, hurried script on thin paper—clearly penned quickly and discreetly: Dread-Drop Note.
2026-03-18T04:57:55.94+00:00 — jstrtx
- Message ID:
1483690898893312151
The Baron’s Lodge
The Jhaltero residence looms on a gentle rise: an opulent, sprawling manor styled like an oversized hunting lodge — dark timber beams, stone foundations, wide verandas, and tall chimneys puffing lazy smoke. Trophy antlers hang above the main doors; a low stone wall encircles manicured grounds. As the Regulators approach, they spot Baron Canton Jhaltero himself on a ladder, tools in hand, repairing roofing shingles on the second story. He’s a broad-shouldered, middle-aged human that is bald, weathered face with a jagged scar across one cheek, green eyes sharp despite his casual posture, dressed in practical but finely tailored work clothes — a dark-red cloak pinned with a gold clasp bearing his house crest. He descends the ladder as they near, wiping hands on a rag, expression neutral but not unwelcoming.
“Ah, travelers from Kintargo, I presume? Word travels fast on the Silver Road these days — especially about folk who stir up hornets’ nests in the Silver City. Come in, come in, right up the steps. Mind the sawdust; the place is always half under repair. Take a seat around the hearth. Tea? Or something stronger? My steward’s got a decent local rye if you’re inclined.”
Canton leads you into a warm great hall, roaring fireplace, mounted beast heads on the walls, confortable chairs adorning the room. Servants, discreet and well trained, bring refreshments. Canton settles into a well worn burgandy leather armchair, legs extended and crossed as he sips whiskey from his glass. Canton looks at you and inquires:
“So, tell me, what brings you to Whiterock?“
2026-03-18T04:59:51.454+00:00 — jstrtx
- Message ID:
1483691383394144256
Conversation with the Baron
PCs inquire about the Summershade Granite Quarry?
Canton speaks plainly, tone casual and detached, like a man discussing crop yields rather than moral horrors: “The quarry? Closed it down myself about ten years back. Family business — granite for Kintargo’s fancy buildings — but the veins ran thin. Not worth the labor anymore. Left a skeleton crew of guards to watch the site, rotate every few months so no one goes stir-crazy. Haven’t heard from them in… oh, longer than they should be silent. That worries me more than I’d like to admit.”
PCs Press Canton?
“Truth? The diggers hit something odd — old chambers, ancient stonework. Looked like a shrine, maybe to one of those giant gods. Minderhal, smith of tyrants or some such. Place felt wrong. Guards reported shadows moving where none should, tools going missing, whispers in the dark. I called it haunted to save face — childish, perhaps, but effective. Shut it down, posted the watch, and washed my hands of it. If slavers have moved in… well, that’s on them. Not my fight.”
He leans forward, voice lowering: “But if you’re here about that gnoll — Laslunn, was it? — and her crew using my old pit as a slave pen… I won’t pretend I’m thrilled. My guards or staff might be dead, or worse. I can draw you a map of the quarry — main path winds up the mountain shadow, side trails for stealth if you’re the quiet sort. Anything else you need? Supplies? A night’s rest under my roof? Horses? You know it’s a near two day trek by foot up the mountain to the quarry, traveling on horseback will save you time and energy, be there before nightfall that day, just tell them to go home when you’re a few miles out so not to be spotted, they will make their way back home.
The Unsealed Letter?
Baron Canton Jhaltero aludes to the Unsealed Letter sitting on his side table next to his chair and half-smoked cigar. The letter is from Lady Mialari Docur, prior to their arrival through her Lacunafex agents, bearing Lady Docur’s crest. Vanmyr obviously staring at the letter, then at the Baron locking eyes, the Baron motions to Vanmyr. “Go ahead, read it.”
Vanmyr reaches over and picks up the Unsealed Letter, reading it aloud to the group.
2026-03-18T05:02:38.572+00:00 — jstrtx
- Message ID:
1483692084337578094
Additional Questions
“Are you working with the Scarlet Triad / Laslunn?”
Canton laughs dryly: “Working with? No. Tolerated? Perhaps. A monthly envelope arrives, I don’t ask questions, they don’t bother my town. Business, pure and simple. Accuse me in open court if you like — I’ve lawyers sharper than your blades.”
“Can you help us directly — come with us, provide men?”
He shakes his head: “I’m no hero, friends. My fighting days ended with this scar. But I can offer hospitality, fresh horses, or a quiet word to the local militia if you need backup on the way back. Just… don’t burn my quarry to the ground unless you have to. Granite’s expensive.”
PCs push hard on guilt/morality?
Canton shrugs, unapologetic but not cruel: “The world’s not black and white. Slavery was law once; now it’s not. I adapt. If you kill the gnoll and her giants, the payments stop, the threat ends — everyone wins. If you fail… well, envelopes keep coming. Either way, my conscience is clear enough for sleep.”
“Provide us with a map of the Quarry?”
Canton nods in the affirmative as he retrieves it from a desk nearby: “Consider it done, I actually have a rough sketch of the quarry and tunnels from when it was operational.”