When Prophecy Bleeds -Custom Eberron political intrigue campaign

About the adventure

The War is over. At least that is what the newspapers say. The Treaty of Thronehold has been signed. The armies have withdrawn. The great banners have been folded and placed in museums. Soldiers have traded their swords for factory tools, guard uniforms, drinking cups, or begging bowls. The diplomats who survived The Last War now congratulate themselves on securing peace. But no one seems to have told Sharn. In the City of Towers, the war has merely learned to wear finer clothes. Here, wealth lives in the sunlight. The highest towers rise above the clouds, their bridges gleaming with everbright lanterns. Airships drift between impossible spires. Nobles dine in gardens suspended over empty sky, while enchanted music follows them from room to room. Couriers ride the winds. Skycoaches weave between towers. The heirs of the Dragonmarked Houses look down from balconies that most citizens will never see. From below them, the city descends through smoke, stone, and shadow. Factories thunder through the night. Warforged veterans sell the strength of bodies built for battle. Refugees from Cyre crowd into districts where everyone knows someone who vanished on the Day of Mourning. Criminal dynasties collect protection money from neighborhoods the Watch has forgotten. Ancient ruins sleep beneath newer ruins, and beneath those ruins are older things whose names have disappeared from history. Sharn promises that anyone can rise. It does not mention how far there is to fall. Power here does not belong to kings. Not entirely. It belongs to the Houses. House Orien controls the roads and the Lightning Rail. House Lyrandar commands ships and storms. House Deneith sells soldiers and security. House Kundarak guards the vaults. House Sivis carries words across impossible distances. House Cannith built the weapons that ended nations. And built the Warforged who survived them. The Houses do not rule, of course. They simply own the transportation, the banks, the messages, the medicine, the weapons, the guards, the inns, and most of the people making laws about them. Yet beneath the gold towers, a rumor has begun to spread. Someone is watching the Houses. Perhaps these grand machinations do not matter to you. You may have come to Sharn seeking opportunity. You may be a veteran trying to build a life after the war, an investigator hunting the truth, a scholar pursuing dangerous knowledge, or a criminal looking for one final score. You might be a child of privilege or someone who has spent their entire life staring up at it. You might believe the system is flawed but repairable. You might believe it deserves to burn. Whatever brought you here, Sharn has not yet learned your name. Tonight, that will change.