The crews of the Tide-Runner and St. Asmod’s Hope , having had a lovely breakfast on Siegfried’s dime, redoubled their efforts to get the two ships underway towards Leilon, and shifted the last of the foul earth over the side. Siegfried spent his time preparing a full case file for his visit to the Lord’s Court, getting notarized witness statements from sailors. Bob chose to rest and prepare new spells. “I hope I don’t have to put anyone’s arm back on,” he said to himself as he pondered regeneration. “Actually, wait, there are a number of us who can heal our companions, but only I can replace limbs!” He chuckled to himself. Varien asked Herc McGurk for a fishing rod and Erwen joined the paladin at the deck railing. McGurk launched into a discussion about lures, flies, and the intricacies of threading fishing line onto hooks. Varien nodded distractedly as he set up his fishing supplies. Erwen perched himself atop a nearby barrel, eager to watch the paladin at work. He held the bait bucket and when nobody was looking, slurped up the occasional eel. Berrick approached Siegfried with an armful of carefully folded ship’s flags. “Lord Thann, we seem to have discovered something here.” Siegfried cast identify . “Fascinating!” he said. “These are called false flags , and apparently can disguise the ship.” He thought for a moment. “Did we ever complete the task of pulling down the St. Asmod’s Hope banner? If not, let’s get to it!” The crew lowered the ship’s pennant and sure enough, the lines of the St. Asmod’s Hope began to change. The human vellum-like sails reverted to something approaching sailcloth, and the demonic figurehead reduced its garish features. “That’s useful,” Siegfried said. “Apparently this ship can change its appearance depending on which of these fine flags are hoisted atop the mainsail or whatever.” He inspected at the folded flags, “Oh, and they’ve been labeled! Captain Mange, you did run a tight ship.” He looked through them. “We have here the Rabid Dawn , the White Widow , and the Hurling Harpy .” Siegfried called for Captain Laurel. “We’re going to be laid up in Leilon for a bit. See what you can make of these enchanted false flags . Also, I have retained the services of local artisans who will be assisting in our new acquisition’s rest and refit for use in the Thann mercantile fleet. Some gnomes will be overhauling the ship. How do we go about charging that to the family?” Berrick shifted his feet uncomfortably. “That kind of capital expenditure will no doubt have to be authorized by…” he paused and lowered his eyes. “L-Lady Lureena,” he stammered. “That’s absolutely fine,” Siegfried said. “I can handle contacting Lady Lureena, and notify her of these plans. I just need to know what needs to be done to be done in a way that I am personally liable for these proceedings. You and the crew are indemnified against personal liability for whatever happens next.” “I will be sure to include your name in all requisition forms,” Berrick said. “Obviously I don’t have the coin in my pocket to enact the upgrades I’m thinking of,” Siegfried said, “but family politics aside, I will be your go-between with Lady Lureena so that I, and not you fine folk, bear the brunt of her rhetorical explosions.” Berrick nodded. “We will make this ship the best ship in the Thann Family fleet, and it’s going to be because of me,” Siegfried said. “I am picking up what you’re putting down, Master Thann,” Berrick smiled. Captain Laurel’s eyes flashed assent. “Understood.” Varien cast out a fishing line and waited as the sun climbed higher and higher in the sky. The various fishing hooks and lures pinned through the brim of Herc McGurk’s fisherman’s cap jangled as he gesticulated excitedly about proper techniques. The prosthetic limbs hooked to his belt clapped woodenly together in a sort of applause with every gesture and piece of fisherman’s lore he blurted out. Varien rolled his eyes. This was not his first deep-sea fishing expedition, but he humoured McGurk all the same. “I do appreciate your assistance, McGurk. I’m used to fishing through holes, you understand.” “Ah, ice fishing!” McGurk grunted. “Very nice. Tell me, how d’you keep warm out there on the frozen lakes?” “Ah, well you can’t fish with raw worms, at any rate,” Varien said, mis-hearing as he wasn’t actually listening to the salty sea-dog. “Ah, aye, aye,” McGurk continued undaunted. “Love to try ice-fishing myself, but there aren’t a lot of ships traveling northward these days, what with the unnatural winter that’s settled in over Icewind Dale, y’see. There’s ice blocking up the trade routes.” “Mhm,” Varien said in reply. He could see that the St. Asmod’s Hope was still bleeding into the water, and was beginning to attract seagulls, much to Erwen’s delight. The prize crew was working feverishly to mop and scrape every last bit of blood and gore from topside, lest the seagulls infest every square inch of the ship’s deck. “We must be getting close to shore,” Erwen said, pleased with himself. “Yes, she’s starting to smell ripe,” McGurk said. “The heat of the day is going to raise quite a stink.” Suddenly, Varien’s line pulled taut and his fishing pole bent. “Ah, I’ve caught a big one!” he shouted with glee, grabbing the pole and peering over the side of the ship. In the clear waters of the Sea of Swords, he could make out the blurred shape of a thrashing fish that was doing its level best to haul him over the side. Herc McGurk lifted a spear. “Just say the word, matey.” “I’ve got it, I’ve got it!” Varien shouted. He cast lightning lure on the fish, zapping it with electrical damage and magically lifting it out of the chop. The fish ceased its thrashing and sagged. “Aye, a big one indeed!” McGurk said as Varien hauled it out of the water. Alec grasped the pole as well from behind Varien, his muscles rippling as the pair of them brought the fish level with the deck. The fish was at least two metres in length. “Aye, she’s a beauty, she is,” McGurk observed. Erwen cast beast sense and invaded the creature’s mind, reeling from the cold blade of death that was coursing through the dying fish’s psyche. “Bad idea,” he muttered. “Is this what all my victims felt in their final moments?” He shuddered. With a slash of his blade, Varien ended the fish’s struggles. Erwen was booted from the creature’s brain with a start. “Get me off this boat!” the druid blurted in horror. Varien set about expertly gutting and cleaning his prize, which he recognized as an ascallion. He set up an impromptu fish fry, grilling the fish’s flanks on the open deck, much to the delight of the nearby sailors. Siegfried stuck his head out the door of his sequestered sanctuary. “Okay everyone, the evening continental bar is open for supper!” He sniffed. “What’s cooking out here?” “Come here and try something fresh,” Varien said, handing Siegfried a pair of skewers with cubes of ascallion speared on them. Siegfried accepted the skewers and took a cautious nibble. “Just char-grilled fish, yum yum,” Varien beamed. “No fancy ingredients, no manna from the heavens. Just fish.” “I’m still whiskeyed up from that handkerchief from before,” Siegfried admitted. “My senses of taste and smell might not be up to your, er, standards.” Varien smiled. He gave a thick slab of fish filet to Alec. “I’m a growing boy,” Alec said between mouthfuls. “So we should check in on our prisoner,” Siegfried said. “Prisoner?” Varien repeated. “My goodness, I’d forgotten about that guy from the lighthouse.” “Brevindon Margaster,” Siegfried said. “Your basic rich layabout fop from Waterdeep whose idle hands became the devil’s playthings.” They went below deck to the infirmary where Doc Crablegs had kept Brevindon Margaster under suicide watch. The prisoner was lashed to one of the cots in the infirmary. “So, when the time comes to teleport to Waterdeep, we’re going to need to put our prisoner into your portable hole, or else like as not he won’t travel with us when we step through the portal,” Siegfried said to Varien. “Do we need to stick him in a portable hole where he can’t breathe, or just explain to him that if he doesn’t teleport with us, the crew is going to be surrounding him with cutlasses drawn, ready to make him wish he had teleported?” Varien asked. Siegfried nodded thoughtfully. “Compelled willingness is still willingness. Although, he wants to die, because if he dies, he goes to the Nine Hells and gets whatever infernal reward he was promised in exchange for his lackwitted, shiftless soul. We know that will doubtlessly be torture for all eternity, but he is stupid and thinks he’s in for paradise.” “You know, I’m sitting right here,” Brevindon quipped from his trussed-up position in the infirmary. “Oh yes, Brevindon, we’re well aware,” Siegfried shot back. “Let’s get you caught up on current events. Bob?” Bob strolled into the infirmary, resplendent in Markosian’s signature mantle. “So, by the way, the Devil Behind Thrones? Not as intimidating as you made him out to be,” Siegfried said to Brevindon. Brevindon took one look at Bob wearing Markosian’s cloak and began to laugh, first a dry chuckle, then a hearty guffaw. Varien, Bob and Siegfried exchanged glances as Margaster’s laughter continued. It was the laugh of someone quite tickled with himself. “I don’t believe it!” he gasped between belts of laughter. “It’s a nice cloak,” Bob said, chuckling along with Margaster. “You bested Markosian!” Margaster chortled. “Lorcan will be so pleased.” “Oh, of course it was about Lorcan,” Siegfried said shaking his head ruefully. “That simpering coward.” Varien drew his sword. “He said what?” “Now, Varien, you can’t kill this man,” Siegfried said. “He is a nobleman of Waterdeep, and must be tried in the Lord’s Court.” “What law protects scum like this?” Varien said. “Otherwise you’ll get in trouble. We’ll owe you a lot?” “Varien, do you not remember the circumstances of our first meeting, when you were on the run from the law after Erwen killed a nobleman of Waterdeep? There are rules about this sort of thing!” Varien scoffed. “What’s the law going to do?” “A lot of things!” Siegfried replied, aghast. To Brevindon, he said, “So, there’s dissension in the ranks, then?” “Where is Lorcan, then, boy?” Varien asked Brevindon. “That’s a great question,” Brevindon chuckled. To Siegfried he said. “You’ll find, Siegfried, that my loyalties are often situational,” he flashed a wide smile. “You see, whatever my pursuits, I like to back winners.” Siegfried cast a sending spell to Lorcan. I have one of your lackeys, Brevindon Margaster, in my clutches. Would it pain you emotionally if I were to torture him for information? Lorcan snarled in reply. "Why would you presume that I give the least care what you do to the wretches under my thrall? He knows less than nothing." Varien grew impatient at the nobleman’s too-clever-by-half. “What if I just banished you?” “Why would you do that?” Brevindon giggled. “I’d just come back in a few minutes.” “Yes, there’s no point,” Varien agreed. Brevindon laughed again. “What’s so funny?” Varien snarled. Tears ran down Brevindon’s face. “I am a member of the nobility of Waterdeep, you foolish sword-bearer. You cannot. Touch. Me. Don’t you see? Soon I will be walking free, and-” Varien interrupted him by grabbing his right hand and cutting it off with a twitch of Fiendsbane’s blade. Oh yeah, the sword said. One less Hand of Nessus, at least on that guy. “Hey, what? NO!” Brevindon’s laughter turned into a scream of agony. He writhed in his bindings, getting blood everywhere. “No!” Siegfried echoed Brevindon’s scream. “That’s what he wants! You can’t get angry at someone when you’re torturing them! Have you never…of course you’ve never tortured anyone, you’re a Sunnite.” Bob raised his hand. “I’ve been involved in what I like to call an enhanced interrogation.” “Varien! If he comes to Waterdeep marred, that invalidates the claim we have against him.” “I can stop the bleeding,” Varien said. “No! We’ll have to regenerate the entire hand!” Siegfried said. At this Bob straightened up. “I have something for that, actually.” “Varien, if he shows up at court with a hand missing, do you know what the magisters are going to say?” Siegfried said patiently. “He’ll say to the Lords, clearly his testimony must be discarded because he’s been coerced through torture and mutilation to admit he is a cultist of Asmodeus. If you cut off his hand, he goes free, and we won’t be able to drag the rest of the cultists into the sunlight. He’s allowed to giggle and think you stupid, as long as you don’t give him reason to think you stupid!” “Are zones of truth allowed in your courts?” Varien asked. Siegfried nodded. “Common practice,” he said. “Then they’ll know it’s the truth from his testimony,” Varien said. “Yes, but they also know that modify memory exists.” Siegfried replied. Brevindon resumed laughing, though it was tinged now by hysteria and shock from blood loss. “Bob, can you please regenerate his hand?” Siegfried asked. “Violence has been done this day,” Alec muttered. Bob nodded and rolled up the sleeves of his cloak. Varien rolled his eyes and tossed the hand to Siegfried. “Your noble rules and laws make no sense. Can you make no better argument?” “I would become the man who mutilates people in his protection!” Siegfried said. “To be fair, if we regenerate his hand then it’s his word against yours, and you’re both nobles,” Bob said. “If your laws argue that he’s not a cultist if he is when he’s in a zone of truth then why can’t we lie and say his hand was already off?” Varien asked. “We can lie,” Siegfried said. He pushed the severed hand against Brevindon’s bleeding stump. “Bob, if you please.” As Bob did his work, Varien knelt down beside the cultist’s cot and fixed his gaze on him. “You may continue to laugh, but there’s no escape for you, Brevindon Margaster,” he said solemnly. “First, you will be imprisoned on this plane for your crimes, and when you die, you will become a slave to Asmodeus in the next plane. There will be no relief for you.” Siegfried repeated Lorcan’s message back to Brevindon, using the cambion’s voice. “Well, I tried to reach out to your master for favours on your behalf, but he doesn’t give a care about you. That shows you are truly a dumb person, Brevindon.” “I find these pursuits to be quite enjoyable and distracting, Siegfried,” Brevindon said. “If Lorcan truly doesn’t care about me, then that’s to his discredit.” “Fine, let’s talk vampires,” Siegfried said. Brevindon’s eyes widened and his laughter died away. “Vampires? What about them?” “Oh, you didn’t know? Were you not aware that you were working with a faction of the Harpell Vampires below deck?” “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Brevindon said. “Do you have any loved ones in Waterdeep you want to keep alive?” Siegfried asked. “You know the answer to that,” Brevindon said sharply. “Well, did you know that a coven of vampires was on their way to Waterdeep to slaughter the noble folk of our city?” Siegfried said, unfurling the scroll, to make ‘the blood of Ahghairon ’s wards pour into Undermountain’?” “That’s brand-new information!” Brevindon said. “That’s hardcore!” “That’s okay, I’ve got Captain Mange’s paperwork,” Siegfried said. “By the way, Captain Mange, did you know the mission of your passengers?” They just pay for the privilege of transportation, Mange snarled. We don’t usually inquire as to their interests when they reach their destination. “Can you at least tell me where you picked them up?” Siegfried asked. Why would I do that, Siegfried? “I suppose you’re just going to be a sore loser about this?” Siegfried said. “You’re so uncooperative.” To his friends he said, “Varien, Erwen, don’t maim our prisoner. The Courts will get more out of him than we will, unless Varien pulls his hands off.” He paused for a moment. “And next time, merely use a soft-covered tome and strike him through it firmly, so that no marks from your beating are left on his battered body. Don’t put a mark on him you can’t undo.” Varien shook his head slowly. “You’ve got the wrong idea about my intentions, Siegfried.” “I know you’re not a cruel man, Varien,” Siegfried said. “But I think you’re easily manipulated, and some people want you to kill them.” “Siegfried, it benefits nobody for this man to go to jail. He’s clearly insane, he won’t learn or benefit from the experience, and since he’s a rich noble he can probably buy his freedom and will be back on the streets with more cultists, and that’s bad news.” “That’s fine, and all we need is his testimony to ensure that his cultists are no longer a threat to the city,” Siegfried said. “And because you’ve asked, that’s why he is not dead.” Varien said. “And if he gets off with a slap on the wrists, I can lead you to his house in the dead of night, we can don masks, and slit his throat in his sleep.” “I’m right here!” Brevindon protested weakly. Varien rolled his eyes again. Siegfried cast a sending message to Lady Lureena, his distant aunt who occupied a much higher tier of the Thann Family tree than his adoptive parents. For all intents and purposes, Lureena handled the business operations of House Thann, though the matriarch of the family, Lady Cassandra, still held court in the family’s largest mansion. Captured a ship, refitting in Leilon. Will bill via Wolfram & Hart as per standard procedure. Messaging you in advance as courtesy, nephew to aunt. His aunt replied, and if the sound of the grinding of teeth could be conveyed via the sending spell, it no doubt would have accompanied her oily words. Well played, young nephew. Had I known you’d take an interest in our business I might have mentored you earlier. Corylus will be in touch. "There were a lot of things you would have done different had you known better, Aunt." Siegfried chuntered under his breath as he locked eyes with the eastern horizon. As the fish barbecue broke up, a lookout atop the mainmast shouted “Land ho!” Indeed, the Sword Coast was coming into view, the dark lines of the Sword Mountains rising ominously on the horizon. Alec knew from his travels that Leilon was once a boomtown whose silver and nickel mines brought such prosperity and an influx of people that local leaders aspired to make it the next great city of the Sword Coast. Its location, at the midpoint of the High Road, made it an important caravan stopping point and served as a gateway into the Sword Mountains. The fame of the Lances of Leilon, the cavalry unit tasked with protecting the town’s riches, was known along all points of the High Road. But then, of course, calamity struck. A wizard’s tower in the centre of the town, the High Tower of Thalivar, unleashed a destructive force that caused the town to quickly empty, leaving in its terrible wake a ghost town and an obstacle to all overland trade on the Sword Coast. The ruined tower long stood as a landmark, and for generations, the tower proved a tempting target for plunderers—and, too often, a grave for them as well. Siegfried knew that more recently, the town’s revival began under Neverwinter’s ruler, Lord Dagult Neverember, who saw in Leilon a new linchpin in his ambition to fashion a hegemony of Sword Coast city-states. He ordered the House of Thalivar destroyed — at considerable cost and danger — and the High Road rebuilt. And he organized resettlement of the town. The coastline appeared like a smudge of brown against the familiar grey peaks of the Sword Mountains that rose up sharply to the east. The party members could hear the sailors call out a warning as they plumb the depths of the water. “Heavy silt buildup, Captain! We can’t get much closer without risking running aground!” Varien assisted the plumbline. Ironclaw called out over the short distance separating the two ships. “We can’t get much closer! We’ll have to anchor off Leilon until we get the paperwork sorted out!” “Is the issue legal or physical?” Siegfried called out. “Water’s too shallow,” Varien told Siegfried. “Captain Laurel,” Seigfried said. “There’s no water too shallow for us! Push the button and do the thing!” Laurel nodded and began to work the controls of the pirate ship’s shifting hull. There was a series of clockwork bangs from deep within the bowels of the ship, and the sound of iron-reinforced wood creaking into new configurations. “Captain Ironclaw!” Siegfried called out. “There’s no need for you to wait around if your original delivery still needs to be made!” “Ah, but there’s the matter of divvying up the shares properly under the eyes of the Notary in Leilon!” Ironclaw called out. “Plus, the boys and girls have earned a night in port, methinks!” Siegfried nodded. “Well remembered! Thank you!” From his station, Bob could see two ships of similar size to the Tide-Runner anchored to the north of the shoreline, being attended to by a small fleet of barges rowing back and forth through the shallows. The flat-bottomed vessels featured rickety cranes rising from central stems to transfer cargo from the holds of the ship to their open decks. The barges were crewed by rowers and sailors with long poles, pushing the vessels through the muddy waters. Leilon’s shallow, silted-up bay had a few islands, mere bits of sand dredged up here and there. Bordering the mud flats was a ramshackle fishery, identifiable by the unmistakable smell, and a bustling barge yard with several warehouses leaning against one another for support. A network of docks and wharves in varying states of disrepair lined the shore, empty save for a few rowboats and barges tied up. Rising above the dockyard was the town proper, protected by an earthen berm and sporadic wooden palisades. In the centre of town, rising on a hilltop, was the jagged remains of a tower, its broken facades faced with wooden scaffolding. The adventurers couldn’t tell whether it’s being torn down or rebuilt, but its top levels looked to have been violently sheared off. “That tower looks ominous enough,” Varien said. The foothills of the Sword Mountains appeared to butt up against the outskirts of town, dotted here and there with openings that suggested advanced mining operations. The buildings themselves looked to be made of stone with mud rooves. A number of the flat-bottomed barges and skiffs had begun feverishly poling and rowing their way towards the St. Asmod’s Hope even as the Tide-Runner veered off towards the leeward anchorage, drawing its own swarm of parasitic craft. The barge crews, it seemed, were in competition with one another to be the first to arrive. “Are they thinking they’ll get paid for helping us?” Varien asked. Captain Laurel nodded. “That’s usually how this goes,” she said. The St. Asmod’s Hope had begun to slowly rise up out of the water, revealing more and more of her usually-submerged hull, to the point where a normal ship would have keeled over, unbalanced. But the St. Asmod’s Hope was no normal ship. “Forward, Captain!” Siegfried said over his shoulder from the bow. The pirate ship, slowly at first, began to move through waters shallower than any ocean-going craft was capable of plying. Siegfried stood at the bow of the ship, one leg up on the prow. “That won’t be necessary,” he called to the approaching bargemen. The barge crews stood agape as the ship moved through the shallows unimpeded by sandbars or silted-up obstacles concealed beneath the waters. Captain Ironclaw laughed uproariously as she dropped anchor behind them. Siegfried pointed at the Tide-Runner and said to the barge crews, “There’s your prize.” The men began to paddle and pole furiously to catch up to their competitors as the St. Asmod’s Hope slid effortlessly past. “Heave to, or we’ll be salvaging your ship from the shoals!” shouted a disbelieving barge captain. “Wait, no, you’re just sailing right on by.” Distracted by the approach of the ship, one of the bargemen took a tumble into the waters, and then stood up in the waist-high waters, scratching his head as the vessel overtook him. “That’s impossible!” he called out. “That’s gnomish engineering, laddie!” Siegfried crowed. He turned to regard the shock ballistae mounted at the bow. They looked to have been recently installed, and were of a much different design than the other more mundane weapon emplacements. They were emblazoned with signs and sigils identifying them as property of the Church of Lathander, though all of the inscriptions had been desecrated with infernal graffiti. Through the scratches and vulgarities, Siegfried could make out the same verse inscribed along the weapon’s considerable limbs: In Lathander’s name/Consider this beam/A shock to thy darkened eye “Oh, that’s juicy!” Siegfried exclaimed. Then he remembered that the St. Asmod’s Hope had sacked Auckney, the fortress-city dedicated to Lathander in the north. He also recalled that there were several Lathander relics in the treasure vault of the ship. “Plundered relics,” he mused. “Those paintings Varien found were quite lovely.”
