On the Road to Rothé Valley

From the party’s vantage point, it looked like a colony of armor-plated ants swarming a tree branch. Gilded Eye agents were firing crossbows ineffectually into the river while others mounted horses and prepared to pursue their quarry.   Varien readied his flight spell as he prepared to go after Siegfried. He turned to Erwen. “Now, you’re sure you know the way to Rothé Valley?”   Erwen nodded.   “Well then, see you at the farmstead, I guess,” Varien said, casting flight and launching skyward.   Radegast took the opportunity to cast a sending spell, with Javen Tarmikos her intended recipient. The message was a profane pronouncement of the particulars of the High Commander’s parentage, and Radegast stuffed as many foul words into the message as the spell allowed.   The High Commander’s response was not long in coming:   Such language, child. Why don’t you stop running so that we can teach you proper manners? The Gilded Eye would be happy to instruct you.   Radegast ground her teeth and considered sending another spell with a witty retort concerning the state of Javen’s disfigured face, but thought better of it. She might need to hold some magic in reserve, depending on what happened to the party in the next few hours.   The party prepared to move out. To the east was the dark expanse of Neverwinter Wood. To the north, the Crags and Mount Hotenow. Somewhere to the southwest lay Neverwinter.   Bob searched his bag of holding and came up with some vials of perfume that the party had found in the dungeons of Tresendar Manor. He lit some incense and began chanting as he cast divination . His sacrifice was consumed in a puff of holy smoke.   Suddenly, he felt the brush of Sune’s lips against his earlobe, as though his god was close enough to lean over his shoulder and massage his back. The scent of fine perfume filled his nostrils.   You are in the presence of the Lady Firehair, my child. Lay down your burdens, weary one. What counsel do you seek?   Tears of evergold cut glowing channels down Bob’s cheeks as he prayed.   “Oh, Lady Firehair,” he said. “You have blessed me with tears of evergold, and for that I am ever grateful.” He lifted his arms in supplication. “But my arms, they are being covered with strange scales, and I dream of dragons. O Sune, how do I find out what is happening to me?”   Oh, Sune cooed in his ear. It is such a strange beauty, is it not?   There was a long pause. Then, Sune’s lips brushed against his earlobe a second time.   Hear the words of the Lady Firehair.   To the Western Sword Mountains you must travel; The Riddle of Ierithymbul you must unravel.   When at rest are the bones of the Brothers Pheldaer; You will gain an audience with the Unseen Protector.   Bob could feel the presence of Sune withdraw from him, but he felt no sorrow at it. His tears fell, unbidden, but they were tears of joy.   When he felt calm and steady enough to speak, he turned to the rest of the party, who had been politely ignoring his ritual as they walked towards Rothé Valley.   “What do you know about the Western Sword Mountains?”   “What do you want to know about the Western Sword Mountains?” Radegast asked, pointing south. In her mind’s eye she was picturing the peaks of the Spine of the World to the far, frozen north.   “Well, when I was making my pilgrimage to the west, I walked the Triboar Trail before I met you, and I knew I was keeping the Sword Mountains to my south,” Bob said. “And Wave Echo Cave and Wyvern Tor were both in the Sword Mountains’ foothills.”   “Yes,” Radegast rebounded, her internal compass spinning. “That’s true so far as that goes, but there’s a whole second range of Sword Mountains to the south towards Waterdeep, past the Mere of Dead Men.”   “The what of dead what ?” Bob asked, thinking of Varien.   “The Mere of Dead Men,” Radegast said, warming to the subject. “Or more accurately, Merdelain , meaning ‘Slow Marching Court’ in Elvish.”   “Naturally,” Bob said with feigned confidence.   “It’s a saltwater marsh south of Leilon, and the High Road diverts around it on the way to Waterdeep. It was the site of a terrible battle between the Fallen Kingdom of Phalorm and the Horde of the Wastes in 615 DR.” Radegast continued as the group marched along.   “Oh yeah?” Alec asked.   Radegast nodded. “Same old story, an orc horde from the north threatening civilization. This time, the combined armies of the Kingdom of Phalorm were being overwhelmed, but the remnants of that great force made a heroic stand at Iniarv’s Tower, the former home of Iniarv, the Mage Royal of Uthtower.”   “Uthtower?” Bob asked, struggling to keep the names straight.   “Yes, Uthtower, an ancient human kingdom to the west and ally of Phalorm,” Radegast explained. “But that’s a whole other story. Anyhow, what King Uth VII didn’t know when he begged Iniarv for help was that the mage had become a lich in the meantime.”   “A lich?” Bob repeated.   “Oh yes,” Radegast said. “King Uth asked him for help in destroying the orc horde, and Iniarv delivered, flooding the land with seawater from the coast.” Radegast winked darkly and her eyes flashed with the lightning of Talos. “But rushing waters do not discriminate between friend and foe, you see.”   “I do see,” Bob said, nodding. “Iniarv drowned them all,” Radegast continued. “Humanoid and goblinoid alike. And when the waters receded, the land had become a wet, cold, saltwater swamp.”   “Sounds like a real garden spot,” Erwen piped up.   Radegast shook her head. “About as nice as Thundertree, but soaking wet instead. No attempt at resettlement ever took root. Nobody lives there now except some bullywugs, maybe some lizardfolk who like the climate, and all manner of monsters. Why do you ask?”   Bob explained his divination encounter with Sune, including her riddle.   “Ierithymbul?” Radegast let the word roll around on her tongue. “Sounds gnomish, but the gnomes haven’t been a force in the Sword Mountains for generations.” She bit her lower lip in thought. “I’ve seen maps of the region, though.” Her eyes lit up. “That’s it! At the western edge of the range, there are three tall mountain peaks – Mount Phaeldar being the tallest, and westernmost, with Mount Stemhelm to the north and Mount Ardabad to the west.”   “And what about this Unseen Protector?” Bob asked.   “Sounds terribly mysterious,” Radegast said. “A real head-scratcher. But you should really ask Siegfried about it, since he’s more of a local than I am.”   Bob frowned. “Sure,” he said.   “But now, let’s talk about the founding of the Kingdom of Phalorm,” Radegast said brightly. “It’s quite a story, really. The Kingdom was formed in the year 523, that’s Dalereckoning of course, at the Council of Axe and Arrow, which had been convened to deal with the increase in orc marauding in the region, and at this Council, the dwarves, humans, gnomes, elves, and Halflings struck a collective agreement…”   As Radegast continued to wax eloquent about the history of the region, Erwen packed his ears with mud and fixed a serene smile of attentiveness on his face as he marched along.

Siegfried let himself drift to the edge of the Neverwinter River, hauling himself out of the warm waters and wading through the algal bloom that coated the shallows. “Ugh,” he said to no one in particular.   Looking about, he cast  disguise self  and took on the form of a wizened old fisherman dressed in rags, but with a jaunty red scarf, just in case Varien happened upon him and needed a clue as to his true identity.   Rothé Valley should be to the north/northeast of here , Siegfried said. All those months of reading whatever scrap of Neverwintan history he could get his hands on was paying off.   Once the Neverwinter River was far enough behind him, he adjusted his disguise so that rather than a fisherman he now took on the appearance of a human lumberjack, still sporting the jaunty scarf.   He walked alone for several minutes, axe slung across his back.   There was a sound of rushing air and Varien alighted on the path before Siegfried.   “Nice entrance,” Siegfried said.   “Nice outfit,” Varien replied, looking Lumberjack Siegfried up and down. “Recognized the scarf.”   “Of course you did,” Siegfried said.   Varien fell into step beside him.   “So, before we reach Rothé Valley, there are some things we must discuss,” Siegfried said to Varien as the two of them marched north.   “Go on,” Varien replied.   “If we walk into town seeking help, and obtain said help from the villagers, or purchase mounts for our journey to Neverwinter, then the Gilded Eye will interpret that as harbouring fugitives,” Siegfried said. “Even if we only get a bowl of soup from them, they’re going to get tortured. If we want to protect Rothé Valley, we are going to have to hurt them.”   “Come again?” Varien said.   “I’m talking about taking horses from them at swordpoint,” Siegfried explained.   “Ah, I get it,” Varien said.   “If you feel badly enough about it you can return later with a fat sack of gold and an apology, but for right now, we need to play to the Gilded Eye’s narrative.”   “Well,” Varien said, shifting uncomfortably, “I’d prefer we not have to hurt anyone.”   “As would I,” Siegfried said.   “Surely we can just, you know, not be seen?” Varien said as his clanked along loudly in his plate armor, which glinted brightly in the sunlight.   “Well, that would be the preferable option,” said Siegfried, “but I wouldn’t wager on that happening.”   “I don’t know much of anything about this Rothé Valley,” Varien said. “I sailed down this coast once, but never ventured far inland.”   “It’s a quiet little farming village,” Siegfried said with confidence. “No threat to anyone, but still facing the Gilded Eye’s torch if they turn up looking for us there.” He thought for a moment. “It might be best if they don’t have a reason to look for us, but they’ll be able to send the Gilded Eye after us if we cross them.”   “The Gilded Eye has no reason to know we’d be there,” scoffed Varien. “All they know is that a suspicious character in disguise fled south. The opposite way.”   Siegfried shook his head. “Paranoid men with resources tend to spread their bile and will punish whoever they can until they feel better about themselves.”   “Well,” Varien said. “I could cast  zone of truth  on us so that the villagers know we’re not lying to them.” He puffed out his chest. “Or just rely on my natural charisma.”   Siegfried smiled wryly. “There will be time to clear our names later.”   “I still think a stealthy approach is preferable,” Varien said. “Can’t we just  pass without trace  into a cave and then make use of that tiny hut spell you have up your sleeve?”   Siegfried sighed. “If we steal horses, we can make it to Neverwinter by sundown.”   This gave Varien pause. “Can we leave gold for them and then just take the horses, then? You know, a forced purchase deal rather than theft?”   “We can come back later and pay for them,” Siegfried said. “Why not pay now?” asked Varien.   “If they take the money, the Gilded Eye will confiscate the gold at best.” He shook his head. “At worst, they’ll see it as trading with fugitives and hang the entire town.”   “Only if they know about the gold!” said Varien.   “ Zone of truth , they have it too,” Siegfried pointed out.   “Seems unnecessary,” said Varien. “The more we pillage, the more we validate the Gilded Eye’s story.”   “If we make ourselves look like villains, we can come back within the tenday with gold and an apology,” Siegfried said. He took out a double handful of gold pieces and placed them into Varien's hands. “Put this aside. We are not going to convince the Gilded Eye that we are not villains.” Siegfried’s eyes glittered. “We need to convince Neverwinter.”   “Yes, but how are we going to get to our colleagues in Neverwinter if the proof is that we’re out here pillaging and stealing with no excuse?” Varien asked. “We will not be able to come back in a tenday.”   “Well then,” said Siegfried. “If we take the horses without being seen, we drop the gold. If we are seen, we play the villain without harming anyone in town and leave, setting the gold aside to pay them later. It can literally be paid by courier once we are in Neverwinter.”   Varien nodded. “Yes,” he said. “This is acceptable to me.”   Siegfried extended a hand and the two shook on it. “We have an accord, then?” Siegfried asked.   “That we do,” said Varien. “So now, we-”   He was interrupted by the sound of the lowing of cattle that gave Rothé Valley its name.   “So now we just have to find the rest of our party,” Varien said. “And procure us some horses.”       Radegast, Alec, Bob and Erwen approached the town from the southeast.   The quiet farming village was located at the crossroads of a pair of rutted wagon trails and consisted of a handful of buildings of varying sizes, some with enclosed paddocks. Few had more than one storey.   “Places like this have been nearly forgotten by the larger world in the wake of the Spellplague and the cataclysm Neverwinter experienced a few decades ago,” whispered Radegast. “But the recent reconstruction of Neverwinter changes things.”   “Go on,” said Bob quietly.   “Look around,” Radegast said. “Fertile soil, easy access to Neverwinter River. This town is likely an important source of food for Neverwinter. These wagon trails are well-used, as any fool can plainly see.”   “I can plainly see that,” Alec said.   “Then there’s the bridge,” Radegast said. “I’ll bet Rothé Valley sends wagons down to both Neverwinter and Helm’s Hold,” she said, biting each syllable of the last two words sharply.   “Where do you suppose Varien and Siegfried are?” Bob asked, looking around.   Radegast sighed. “I wonder if this place has a tavern.”