Vestments and Investments

“Let’s continue our business here, Undevvur,” Siegfried said to Thort as Derek swept up the remains of the disintegrated staff. “I am interested to know what progress you have made on that strange cursed orc mask I left with you a tenday ago.” “Ah, yes, Master Thann,” Thort nodded his craggy head, limping over to a side table and shifting items around noisily. He returned with the orc mask gripped gingerly in his gloved hands. “Well, this Orcish cave magic is dangerous to play with, and while I’ve made some inquiries and consulted some lore, it seems that disenchanting this item is a very tricky thing indeed. It all depends on what kind of resources you intend to apply to it, if you catch my meaning.” Seeing Siegfried’s stony expression, Thort backpedaled a bit. “Uh, well, of course I am loath to turn away a loyal customer such as yourself, especially after you paid for results, so it might be best if you left it with me a little longer.” Siegfried nodded. “Very well. I do value our relationship and understand that some of these arcane problems are complicated and may take some time to solve. Send a note to my house once the situation progresses. Take as much time as you need.” Thort smiled. “You are eminently reasonable,” he said. “Two more things,” Siegfried said. “I have this ring I might want to unload, but I was wondering about magical items for steeds.” “My, my,” Thort said, his eyes widening. “You are full of surprises today.” He glanced down at the ring. “What’s the story behind the ring?” “Oh, it’s a sordid tale I’m sure,” Siegfried said. “But I’m thinking of keeping the ring for now.” “Well, then let’s move on to other business,” Thort said. “You had asked me to follow up on the possibility of transferring enchantments from one magical item to another. Regretfully, the magic that would allow for such transference was lost during the Second Sundering, I’m afraid,” Thort said. “Something to do with the way the Weave was restored, I gather. Unless the ancient Netherese had a method for doing so, I would hazard to say that it would require more than a wish spell to move enchantments around like they were noble titles or land claims, if you get my meaning.” “It’s a shame, but I wouldn’t ask you to move heaven and earth to make it happen,” Siegfried replied. “After all, that’s my job.” “Indeed,” said Thort. “Most magical items are created as part of the culmination of a magical ritual or as a boon from the gods for a specific purpose, so oftentimes enchantments are a deeply-ingrained part of the item itself, in my experience. Removing the enchantments that make up the very foundations of its creation would end poorly, and many a mage has seen their towers exploded during such experimentations.” He cast his arms out wide. “And as you can see, this is not a laboratory; it’s a showroom. No underwriter in Waterdeep would dare insure me with a policy were I to begin performing such disenchantment rituals in my place of business. It’s simply not done.” Siegfried produced his two shields; the spiked shield he had picked up in Tholl Sla-Houk, and his personal shield that displayed the Thann family emblem. “Based on your experience, how long and expensive would it be to place the same enchantments that are currently imbued within this magical shield to my family’s mundane article?” “What manner of enchantment, I wonder?” Thort murmured as he examined the spiked shield carefully. “My family’s shield has significant sentimental value,” Siegfried continued, “but objectively, the gaudy spiked shield is way more useful.” “I understand perfectly,” Thort said. “The procedure varies from wizard to wizard and church to church, Master Thann. It’s no small thing to enchant an item. But certainly, that is the business.” “Thank you for your expertise in this matter,” Siegfried. “Now, about magical barding…” He snapped his fingers and Violance strode in through the nearest fireplace. The animated armour clanked into a defensive posture. “Easy now, Derek,” Thort chided his assistant. He looked the nightmare up and down. “Now, isn’t this a fine specimen? Please, watch your steps, Mr. Horse.” “Violance, Mr. Thort,” Siegfried made introductions. “Mr. Thort, Violance. I recently came into possession of him and my friend Varien here also recently came into possession of a magical mount, and we were wondering whether you had any stock or recommendation in arcane armour and barding for a steed as fine as this.” “Well, my goodness,” Thort said. “You don’t ask for the small things, do you?” “That’s why I come to the best,” Siegfried said. “Well, I have heard tell of infernal tack that is used to control nightmares such as your steed there, but I am sorry to say that such items rarely make an appearance on this plane,” Thort said. “If you understand my meaning. But allow me to make some enquiries. I think I may be able to find someone in town who would be able to point you in the right direction, to protect your investment?” Violance snorted a puff of purple smoke. “Yes, as impressive as he is, he is not as resistant to a stab in the face as one would like,” Siegfried said. Violance shook his mane. “Are you saying that was my fault back there?” “That’s why we’re here, Violance,” Siegfried said. To Thort he said, “If you happen to know someone who can outfit my steed with some magical armour, we’ll be sure you get your share of the finder’s fee.” “Yes, well, naturally that goes without saying,” Thort said. “Always a pleasure to do business with you. I will present this to you as soon as I find a buyer for your other item, so as to not waste your valuable time.” “Wonderful,” Siegfried said. “Now then,” Thort said as he continued to rummage around in the shelves behind his desk. “There was one other matter you had asked me about, if I recall. You wanted to know more about the lore and dweomer surrounding this banshee’s comb and this curious tome, if I might wax poetical for a moment.” Thort placed the tarnished comb upon a velvet pillow and set the fragile letter and The Chronicle of My Friend Lambrac the Damned next to it. “Ah, yes!” Siegfried’s face lit up. “Now, I have contacts among the clergy of Oghma, who revere knowledge for its own sake, and of course a network of lorekeepers who help me verify the various artifacts that fall into my possession,” Thort began. “It’s only been a tenday since you presented me with this puzzle, but I have found out a few things.” “Do tell,” Siegfried said. “Now, the subject of this cold loveless love letter, Agatha, to begin with,” Thort said. “The name Agatha is actually a corruption of an elven woman’s surname, Auglathla, which means Winterbreeze in the Common tongue. After asking around, because Agatha is quite famous in the north, I discovered that the banshee’s former name was Melarue Auglathla. Melarue was a prominent member of the elven nation of Iliyanbruen, which encompassed Neverwinter Wood in ages past. And this silver comb bears the Elvencraft of Iliyanbruen. It’s a beautiful specimen, and I would not even countenance the removal of the tarnish built up over the years, as it is still glorious, and I know of any number of debutantes or other noblewomen who would love to have this item used by their daughters as part of their coming out ceremonies and introduction to polite society – strictly on a rental basis, of course,” Thort winked. “That is of course my stock in trade, when it comes right down to it.” “Interesting,” Siegfried mused. “And so we turn to this tome, authored by this Arthanas the Blade-King of Elembar,” Thort said. He frowned. “I must confess that my contacts in Waterdeep ran into a bit of a roadblock, because the book made a number of claims – including that Arthanas ruled the Kingdom of Elembar starting in 402DR. And again I must confess that no scholar or scribe could find independent references to this ruler outside of this tome. According to records I was able to peruse thanks to a friendly contact in a local historical society, at the time this book was written, Elembar was ruled by the Darskul Dynasty in an unbroken chain lasting generations. I’m not saying this book if a forgery, or if it were the rantings of a deluded madman, but it is very curious that I was unable to verify its authenticity in the time I had available to me. There may yet be a genealogy that sets this discrepancy to right, but we haven’t seen it.” “This doesn’t surprise me as much as you might think,” Siegfried said. “Speaking as something of an historian, histories are often about altering the records to make them palatable to the ruling class. Not so much in Waterdeep, as we are not ruled by prideful kings, or magistrates, as much as other nations have been, but it is not uncommon for a vain ruler to order the historical documents of his kingdom altered to reflect his own lineage more powerfully.” “That is well-observed, Master Thann!” Thort said. “It could also be that during one Sundering or another, parallel histories were written over one another,” Siegfried said. “Or, this could be a very well-made fiction and ruse.” He thought for a moment. “I shall have to find somebody proficient with the legend lore spell. “Well, I would suggest that either in Black Helm Tower, or even Candlekeep you might find an answer, but this has taxed the resources of the lorekeepers that I keep on retainer for this sort of thing. However,” and at this he pulled out the box that once contained the shard of the ise rune , “I was able to track down the origin of this item. This shard of the ise rune is an artifact from the Shrine of the All-Father, a legendary underground temple to Annam built in the time of ancient Ostoria somewhere in the Spine of the World. Its location is a closely-guarded secret, lost to history.” Siegfried nodded. “Annam of course being the chief deity of the Giants, the Great Creator. Ostoria was a kingdom founded by Annam and his offspring. Ostoria, when translated from Jotun, the Giant tongue, means “Father’s Seat.”” Thort nodded. “The original kingdom of the giants, tens of thousands of years ago.” He looked down at the box. “Now this box is not the originally reliquary, so to speak. Such an item would have passed through innumerable hands before passing to you. You did mention the box hailed from the Delimbyir region, which I verified, and is of much more recent vintage that the object it held. Historically speaking, Elembar, which seems to be tied up with this history, this tome, and the banshee, had as its capital Delimbriyan, which sat astride the Delimbiyr River to the southeast of Waterdeep near Daggerford. I do enjoy tracing the passage of items like this one through many hands, but how Lambrac got a hold of it and then passed it to Melarue, well, that’s a mystery on top of a mystery. What did she do with it?” “Is Lambrac a historical figure, if not this Arthanas?” Siegfried asked. “That is a very important question,” Thort said. “And one that seems to have escaped me. I would recommend following up with the High Heralds in Black Helm Tower, located to the southeast of Waterdeep across the Ardeep River, quite near Daggerford, just north of the Delimbiyr River. Given their long history and deep roots in the region, they might have the information you seek, and it’s a good distance closer than Candlekeep, I daresay.” Siegfried pondered the silver comb. He thought it would make a lovely gift to Lady Hawkwinter. He knew she didn’t care for chocolate, but she might care for this, and it would mean a lot to her coming from him. Siegfried pocketed the comb. “So, what do we owe you for the information?” Thort placed his thumbs under the front strings of his apron and smiled. “Well, I believe the golden pike was part of the exchange for my services.” “Excellent,” Siegfried said. “Then we’ll leave you with this axe of the Bloodsworn , the mask of the orc , and the request to track down the name of a respectable equine armourer.” “Quite so,” Thort nodded. “Wonderful,” Siegfried said, turning to his companions. “Shall we pay a visit to the Lady Hawkwinter?”   Back at the Temple of Beauty, Theryn was being attended to by a cadre of young comely acolytes in preparation for an evening on the town. It was a stark contrast from the ascetic experiences he’d had at his Order’s monastery in far-flung Damara. He pressed the compliant acolytes for information about the upcoming opera. As he bathed, he learned from his attendants that the Lightsinger Theatre was a posh hall in Waterdeep’s sea ward, and was one of the most impressive houses of entertainment’s within the walls of the city, and this particular opera was the social event of the season, and would likely play host to merchants, guildmasters, nobles, visiting royalty and representatives from the Lord’s Alliance, high-ranking political figures including, possibly, a Masked Lord or two, and it was rumoured that perhaps even the Open Lord Herself would make an appearance, albeit in mufti. “Anyone who’s anyone will be there,” one of his bathing assistants purred. “I’m sure,” Theryn replied. He thought about what he knew about Siegfried’s ambitions and plans. Bob was busy dealing with the aftermath of the party’s encounter with the balor. “Nero, what was the deal with that balor?” Nero of the Garden looked somewhat sheepish. “Well, I was hoping you could tell me!” “How would I know?” Bob asked. “A good point, Robert Trevelyan,” Nero said. “Clearly, this Obsidian Circle’s infiltration of the Temple of Beauty ran much deeper than either of us knew.” “Clearly,” Bob said. “Do we know how long it’s been there?” Nero sighed. “You must remember that I was tending to my garden lo these many years.” “Uh huh,” Bob said. “I cannot speak to the arrival of Iseriasha Darkeyes, or her role in corrupting High Lady Ssaeral Shadowstar,” Nero said. “Iseriasha chose to hide her dark ambitions in plain sight, as it were. Distracted by her vanity, Ssaeral was in no condition to thwart such heresy and perversion, so they persisted. The temple’s leadership lost its rudder, clearly.” “Clearly,” Bob said. “You should probably look into fixing that.” Nero gazed at Bob for a time. “You are wise, Robert Trevelyan. Who among us could possibly bring balance to Sune’s disordered temple?” “We need to figure out if anyone else in the temple is up to anything nefarious,” Bob said. “Well!” Nero said. “Do you speak of an inquisition?” “Yes,” Bob said. “Oh, goody!” Nero said, clapping his hands. “It’s been many a year since we’ve had one of those. I would suggest visiting the Scriptorium to consult the Holy Writs and delineate the parameters of our next move…or should I say, your next move.” Bob glanced at Nero quizzically. Nero winked. Nero led Bob to the Temple of Beauty’s Scriptorium, a library of ecclesiastical literature split into two wings containing shelves groaning with scrolls and thick tomes of exquisite handcraft, their outer covers bejewelled and gilded. “Now then,” Nero said, washing his hands in a ceremonial bowl at the head of one of the bookcases. “If I recall, the last major theological schism in the Temple of Beauty dealt with the Cult of the Phoenix and its rightful place within the Church of Sune, and a great amount of writing was generated around the interpretations of the Phoenix’s role within Sune’s domain and whether or not the Sword Abaddon was a physical manifestation or merely an allegorical object.” He thought for a moment. “There have been times when the Church of Sune has strayed from the concept of inner beauty to focus solely on outer beauty, and many disagreements over which beauty should be the focus of our Church’s mission, and the roles played by those with great amount of, shall we say inner beauty, rather than outer beauty.” “I can imagine that High Lady Ssaeral’s own bias on this matter has led to the harsh impositions placed on church behaviour and how welcoming it is to outsiders of our faith,” Bob said. “Well put, Robert Trevelyan,” Nero replied. “So, there are procedures for calling together a Conclave of high-ranking members of Lady Firehair’s clergy to root out heresy. There is precedent for this sort of thing – we would have to send out invitational missives to the high-ranking temples of our Faith in western Faerun and gather the leaders for a meeting to table the theological issues of the day.” “Well then, let’s do that.” Nero’s eyes lit up. “With pleasure,” the aasimar purred. “I will get right on that.” “And who else in the Temple of Beauty is part of the senior hierarchy?” Bob asked. “Oh, well you might remember Celia Orlyar and of course Dhaera Darklight,” Nero said. “There is also Jhalassan Thond, guild speaker for the Guild of Glassblowers, Glaziers, and Spectacle-Makers. He can be found at the House of Crystal. Though not an official officer of our Church he is highly favoured by Lady Firehair.” “I’m thinking promotions,” Bob said. “Send out a holy summons.” “Other high-ranking members of our clergy are either dead or turned out to be a succubus in disguise,” Nero admitted. “It might be time to raise up the next generation of the faithful as you’ve suggested.” “And who will speak for our Temple?” Bob asked Nero. “Well, you are here, and the Temple is in need of someone with your sound judgment and standing as a Chosen of Sune to lead in this trying time,” Nero said. “I can only hold honorary posts given my status.” “Say there was a new interim High Priest,” Bob said. “Would they be able to promote Dhaera Darklight and Celia Orlyar to new positions?” Nero nodded. “There are two important roles to be filled; first, the High Priest or Priestess position, which is the leader and figurehead of the Temple of Beauty, welcoming pilgrims and presiding over ceremonies in the Great Sanctuary, and controlling the flow of capital in and out of the temple. Then, there is the High Exultant, the Herald of the Temple, the Eye of the Goddess, who acts as the High Priest’s secretary, oversees the daily operations of the Temple, sends trumpeters and runners throughout the city to announce official temple business, and arranges appointments for those deemed worthy and important enough to make it past our array of door wards and undersecretaries, and generally acts as the second in command at the Temple of Beauty.” “So, the High Exultant works behind the scenes, while the High Priest is the public face of the Church?” Bob said. “That sounds like my speed.” “We can get started on the Ritual of Investiture,” Nero said with a wide smile. Nero set about quickly convening an assembly of all clerics, acolytes, members of the priesthood and visiting pilgrims who filled the Temple of Beauty’s Great Sanctuary. They would, according to Sunite tradition, bear holy witness to the investiture. The members of the party took their seats on the comfortable pews that faced the altar. Nero led Bob up onto the platform and bid him kneel before the shapely statue of Sune that dominated the sanctuary. “Lady Firehair, we beseech you and seek your favour as we select Robert Trevelyan as our guide through these troubled waters,” Nero intoned with an appropriate amount of gravitas as he stood before the assembly. “We ask that you shine your light on us in these dark and tremulous times.” Two priestesses began to remove Bob’s outer vestments while Nero prayed and lit censers of incense. The priestesses ritually bathed Bob with perfume-infused sponges while a chorister sang a heavenly melody that reverberated throughout the temple’s vaulted ceilings. Then, the priestesses helped Bob don the temple vestments: silken monastic robes which had been dyed a deep crimson and expertly cut to show off his figure. Bob knew that the robes would have been woven and then blessed and imbued with Sune’s favour but never worn prior to him putting them on at this very moment. “Assembled devotees of Sune, I give you your provisional High Priest who shall serve us at the Lady Firehair’s pleasure until such time as a permanent successor is appointed,” Nero said ceremoniously. “Robert Trevelyan will now address the congregation.” Nero ushered Bob forward. Bob surveyed the crowd before him and began to speak. “I have traveled far and wide on my journey to the west, and I have witnessed many works performed as Sune would have wanted them done, but also much work that goes against Her wishes. And I am here now to make sure that from this point on things are done as She wants.” “Here now the truth of Beauty and the Beauty of Truth from the High Priest of Sune, Chosen Tear of Lady Firehair, Robert Trevelyan.” One of the acolytes struck a ceremonial gong that rang in a long, solemn echo that seemed to hang in the air for an unnaturally long period, and the sonorous tone was joined by the joyous peals of the bells in the Temple’s tower. And there was much rejoicing. Bob felt a wave of divine euphoria sweep through his body and was nearly overcome in the moment, but his attention was suddenly captured by a twinkling in the corner of his eye. He glanced over at a ceremonial mirror, which had been cracked from top to bottom and put on display as a reminder of Sune’s displeasure at the state of affairs in the Temple of late. As he watched, the shattered glass began to reform into a pristine whole. Bob knew without looking that the other broken mirrors around the temple were also repairing themselves. Bob was resplendent in his new vestments. Light filtered in through the stained glass as the chorister was joined by the other members of the choir, singing the praises of Sune as the broken glass on the floor crept back into their respective frames. A single tear of evergold ran down his cheek as he looked out over the congregation, who returned his gaze with hope, determination, and love.

The Arcetalos and Violance alighted on the grounds before Hawkwinter Manor. A footman approached Siegfried’s steed, but then backed away when he saw what he was dealing with. “Violance, be nice,” Siegfried said. “Never,” Violance replied. “Violance, be civil,” Siegfried said. “That I can do,” Violance said, shaking his mane. The Hawkwinter family’s major-domo answered the door. “Ah, young Master Thann, we’ve been expecting you,” he said. “It’s great to be back, Siegfried replied with a polite bow. “The Lady is waiting in her parlour,” The major-domo said. “I remember the way,” Siegfried said, nodding to Varien, who followed him. The pair entered Hawkwinter Villa’s main salon, which featured floor-to-ceiling windows that gave a commanding view of the immaculately-manicured grounds. A harpsichord was positioned on an expensive area rug just so. Lady Harianna stood next to a writing table, having stood up from a comfortable chair. She was not wearing her plate armour; rather she was enrobed in a fashionable dress gown that bared her shoulders alluringly and featured a plunging neckline. Lady Harianna had chosen tasteful jewelry as accents at wrist, ears and neck, and her ensemble was completed with a jewelled circlet and a flowing train connected to copper armbands and then cinched just above the upper curve of her backside. Siegfried tried not to dwell on the (likely armoured) corsetry that was accentuating Lady Hawkwinter’s already shapely form, but concluded that it was going above and beyond the call of duty in that regard. He was pleased to see that she was pleased to see him. “Siegfried, it is good to see you,” she said softly, gliding towards him across the polished floor. Siegfried intentionally made a double-take and smiled, saying “it is wonderful to see you as well.” Lady Harianna blushed. “And my I present you with this elven comb,” Siegfried said, presenting the Banshee’s comb to Lady Harianna, who accepted it with wide eyes. As their hands touched during the exchange, it was as if an eldritch blast ran up Siegfried’s arm. He suppressed a shiver. “Why, how thoughtful!” Lady Harianna gushed, turning her gift over and over in her hands. “It’s so lovely! Where on earth did you find this treasure?” “We came across it in Neverwinter Wood,” Siegfried said. “It belonged to an heir of Ilyanbruen.” Lady Harianna seemed delighted. “It looked Elvish, but I wasn’t going to say anything for fear of getting its pedigree wrong. Thank you, Siegfried, I will treasure this always.” She held out the comb to one side and immediately her major-domo was there with a satin pillow to intercept the gift. The servant withdrew, but not before catching Siegfried’s eye and giving him a curt nod. Siegfried smiled. Nailed it . “I could have sold it for a large fortune, or I could have seen you smile. I know which I would find more valuable.” Lady Harianna blushed anew and smiled dazzlingly. “I hope it was worth it, Siegfried.” “An absolute bargain, I promise you,” Siegfried replied. His expression became serious. “Though I must turn to more dour news, I’m afraid. Brevindon Margaster is dead.” “Oh, my!” Lady Harianna said. “Yes, unfortunately his choice of idle pursuits led him to a bad end, along with Veluithan Melshimber and Bellivar Bowmantle, to name just a few Waterdhavian souls lost to Asmodean promises,” Siegfried continued. “I attempted to reach out to him in my own way, and succeeded for a time, but the cambion Lorcan had laid a trap inside his mind, and a horned devil crawled out through his eye. There was nothing we could do.” Siegfried suppressed a thought of Violance’s first meal on this plane. Lady Harianna grew solemn, and approached close enough to Siegfried that he could smell her intoxicating perfume. She touched his cheek with her hand, and softly said, “we can’t save them all, Siegfried.” “No,” Siegfried agreed, steeling himself. “And, sadly, there are more who we will not be able to save. But perhaps we can save others by doing what needs to be done.” He relayed to Lady Hawkwinter what he’d learned from Brevindon about the noble families caught up in deviltry, including the daughter of the Cassalanters. Lady Harianna nodded and turned back to her writing table, inviting Siegfried closer. “That tracks with my own research into the matter, since you first reached out to me with rumours of dark dealings.” She picked up a quill and made copious notes. “I’ve been making my own inquiries, discreetly of course. The Order of the Gauntlet demands a light touch when it comes to matters such as these involving the nobility.” Siegfried laid out the signet rings he’d recovered from the cultists on the table. “I will also entrust these to you,” he said. He then brought Lady Hawkwinter up to speed on the party’s dealings with Markosian at sea. “And, you should know that the fiendish incursions into Waterdeep are well underway,” Siegfried said, showing Lady Harianna the vial of balor ichor. “We slew a devil beneath the streets of our city not two hours ago.” “My goodness! Are you and your friends all right?” Lady Harianna asked, concern marring her perfect features. “Well, you should see the other guy,” Siegfried said. Varien, standing near the exit, rolled his eyes. “My, my, Siegfried, your legend continues to grow,” Lady Hawkwinter said. Making a few final notes, Lady Harianna rolled up the bundle of parchment and presented it to Siegfried with a mix of pride and shyness. “It would seem I have a gift for you as well.” “And it is no less valuable than the comb,” Siegfried said, reading through the papers. “You are doing your Order proud by gathering evidence before making a decisive strike against the darkness.” Lady Harianna beamed. Casting a glance to her major-domo, she smiled and said, “Now, I was told that there was another reason you were coming calling today, Siegfried.” “Well, I had been invited to the opera, for reasons involving my recent subterfuge, but a thought occurred to me that I knew someone who would love to go to the opera?” Lady Hawkwinter batted her long eyelashes. “Yes?” she asked expectantly. Siegfried offered her his arm, which she took enthusiastically. “I see you’re already dressed for it!” Lady Harianna said. “Oh, I am unforgivably shabby when compared to your radiance,” Siegfried said. He leaned in close. “May I tell you a secret?” “Don’t hold back, Siegfried,” Lady Harianna said. “I’ve spoken to the warlord-to-be of Clan Many-Arrows of a united effort against the Ashmadai,” Siegfried said. “And the sort of tool that the Order of the Gauntlet may find useful is an unaffiliated blunt instrument. One that can act without subtlety but without diminishing the Order of the Gauntlet’s reputation.” “Intriguing,” Lady Harianna replied. “My friend Varien here has refused all overtures from the Order of the Gauntlet as well as the Order of the Gilded Eye,” Siegfried continued. “On just such a basis – being free to wreak holy havoc.” Lady Hawkwinter frowned at the mention of the Gilded Eye. “That’s what got my brother into trouble. It sounds like you and your friends have been playing the role of unaffiliated blunt instruments.” “Indeed,” Siegfried said. “Perhaps after my appointment at the Lord’s Court tomorrow my friends and I might go unaffiliated to shake a few birdcages to see what chirps.” “Mmm,” Lady Harianna said. “Perhaps you’ll find their songs pleasing,” Siegfried said. Lady Harianna gripped Siegfried’s arm very tightly. “Well, first things first.” “Yes, the Fall of Tiamat. ” Siegfried said. “Shall we?” “We shall,” Lady Harianna said. “Now, we’ll be expected to make quite an entrance,” Siegfried said, looking over at Varien. “And I think I know just how to make it one for tomorrow’s broadsheets.”   From the Temple of Beauty, a ceremonial Sunite carriage, adorned with red velvet upholstery and gilded engravings and other trimming took off into the evening sky, pulled aloft by an astonishing team of flying mounts – a liondrake, a phoenix, and a nightmare. Violance and Arcetalos eyed one another. “Let’s never speak of this,” the nightmare growled as they flew through the air. From their aerial approach the Lightsinger Theatre was true to its name. The sun had just set but the theatre was lit up like a beacon with arcane lights that refracted off truly ornate and ostentatious architecture. There was a long train of ostentatious carriages and coaches waiting to disgorge their noble passengers onto the red carpet that adored the entrance of the theatre. “Is that a mimic?” Siegfried gawked in spite of himself as he saw a carriage made up to look like a hungry mimic with a toothy landau body that looked like it was ready to chew up its occupants. Another carriage appeared to be moving under its own power, built from artifice and gnomish contrapulations, belching steam from an overheated boiler. Each carriage was more outlandish than the last. While the fancy carriages were certainly turning heads, all heads turned upwards at the sound of the nightmare’s infernal whinny and a burst of phoenix fire as the flying carriage team executed a perfect landing in front of the theatre. There was quite the hullabaloo. All manner of nobility were about, draped in jewels and other finery, being helped by servants that scurried back and forth, helping them out of the growing lineup of carriages in the street outside the theatre, making sure their lords and ladies’ clothes didn’t get muck or rain on them with little plush carpets and small umbrellas. Siegfried activated his armor of the dawn titan and exited the carriage surrounded by a mantle of flames. He turned and helped Lady Harianna out of the carriage. The rest of the party followed, each adventurer dressed to impress. Entering the lobby of the Lightsinger was like stepping into another world - filigree and finery on every corner, even at a small bar that sat between two grand staircases that led to the mezzanine on the second floor. There were pockets of people lounging around before the show, gossiping and ordering drinks; their eyes on each other, on everyone. A glimmering chandelier was hanging overhead with twinkling crystals. Above it, painted upon the vaulted dome ceiling was a mural depicting various gods and goddesses of life and light – Amaunutar was centered as The Sun from which all others seem to derive his light in a circle around him. It looks like a few ones connected to the moon in a sort of outer ring of the mural’s circle, like Selune, and what looks like a newer edition - a dark skinned elven goddess. The building itself was grand and the patrons milling about were dressed in ostentatious finery. To his growing horror, Siegfried could see none other than his aunt, Lady Lureena Thann deep in pleasant conversation with Vitorio and Ammalia Cassalanter. “We’ll have to put a stop to that,” muttered Siegfried, but suddenly his attention was drawn to another well-dressed man. “Is that Volo Geddarm?” Siegfried asked, somewhat starstruck. On the other side of the room he spied the Blackstaff, Vajra Safahr. Siegfried turned to Varien. “Under no circumstances do you engage that woman in single combat. She will beat your ass.” “She may try,” Varien said coldly. Siegfried recognized the leonine profile of a Neverember in the lobby crowed, identifying it as belonging to Renaer Neverember, estranged son of the former Open Lord. Although Siegfried also noted that the man speaking intently with Volo also bore a striking resemblance to the younger Neverember. A closer inspection might be warranted. Siegfried also recognized Hammond Kraddoc, a representative of the Vintners,’ Brewers’ and Distillers’ Guild, never seen without his tiefling scribe Jinny. Also present was Headmistress of New Olamn Bardic College Vlahnya Um'vairar, an elven bard of renown. There was also a rakish elf chatting up a noblewoman. “That’s Quid, a famous gambler,” Siegfried murmured to Lady Hawkwinter. “The bartender is a minotaur,” Theryn observed, noting the well-dressed hulking server behind a large bar on the eastern wall of the theatre’s atrium. Here too was the alluring Lady Yalah Gralhund, who was once again proving that she was so far out of her husband’s league as to be on another plane entirely. Her husband Orond stood, pug-like, by her side, occasionally wiping the drool from his chin absently with an embroidered handkerchief. Standing near the bar was a man dressed in the manner of a male prostitute, wearing a headdress that looked like a chandelier on his head, silk fairy wings across his back, and little else, save for two prominently sheathed daggers on his hips. The hilts of the daggers were giving off an eerie green glow. There was also a priestess of Waukeen, bedecked in gold finery. “Bob, you’re going to want to speak with another member of the clergy tonight, to establish your credentials,” Siegfried said to Bob, pointing out the dark-skinned cleric. Siegfried took note of two young nobles who seemed to stand isolated in the sea of networking and influencing that was taking place all around them. “Ah, the Durinbolds,” Siegfried sniffed. “New Money, feeling the sting of their diminished status of late.” Siegfried turned to Varien and nodded in the direction of the Cassalanters. “Varien, politically speaking, you must not draw Fiendsbane until you yourself are bleeding. Nobles get to throw the first punch here in Waterdeep and may be responded to in kind, but if you were to instigate something it would be the Lord’s Court for you at best. However, they can be goaded into revealing their true colours and attacking, and you would survive such an encounter without getting your hair mussed, I’d wager. Once their true colours are revealed, the law is on your side to begin a true crusade. Strike first, and the crusade is killed before it begins.” Varien nodded, frowning. Siegfried smiled at a foppish middle-aged man who was quick to shake the hands of everyone he met. “And is that Kaidou Crommor out and about? Delightful, he’s the life of any party.” Kaidou stewarded the house in its primary industry, brasswork. A patron of the arts, Kaidou was influential in the Council of Musicians, Instrument-Makers, & Choristers and doubtlessly lived at the theatres. The Durinbolds, on the other hand were rigid, almost ghostlike in the shadows. The woman, Caith, was almost translucent, and her brother Arturo was dressed in dark, muted tones that helped him blend in to the shadows. Siegfried reasoned that the Durinbolds were putting in an appearance as a show of defiance against the cutting looks and social isolation they were enduring. That fact didn’t make them look very happy about it, however. “I’m going to ask you to forego propriety and follow my lead,” Siegfried whispered in Lady Harianna’s ear. “Do you trust me?” “Always,” Lady Harianna said quickly. “Excellent,” Siegfried said. "Now, if I were a cultist looking to exploit the vulnerable, I'd find someone desperate enough to make a deal with the devil. This way." With that, he strode resolutely towards the Durinbolds, passing several high-ranking social elites to do so, and greeted them warmly. “Arturo, Caith, wonderful to see the two of you here this evening,” Siegfried said, taking up Arturo’s hand in a manly grip. Lady Harianna tightened her own grip on Siegfried’s arm until his chain shirt creaked, but was outwardly hospitable and polite. Somewhat taken aback, Arturo returned Siegfried’s handshake. “Ah, thank you. Though I don’t believe we’ve been introduced?” “Siegfried Thann,” Siegfried introduced himself. “Millio’s adopted boy. And I have the absolute pleasure of escorting Lady Harianna Hawkwinter this evening,” he said, indicating his date. Lady Harianna nodded perfunctorily but politely. “I am Arturo and this is my wife, Caith,” Arturo said. “It is good to see you at such an occasion, thank you.” “It is,” Siegfried said. “You know, it was at an occasion much like this one at Waukeentide when I happened to encounter your mother in Neverwinter. Was her journey there fruitful?” Caith and Arturo noticeably stiffened at the mention of the elder Durinbold. They exchanged quick glances. Arturo’s demeanour shifted. “Mother-in-law, actually,” he said, squeezing Caith’s hand. “You may have married into it, but a mother is a mother,” Siegfried amended. He realized that mentioning that stripped away whatever brave front they were putting up. Siegfried leaned in. “It might be hard to hear but it did not seem that things were going well for her in Neverwinter. But know this, not everybody here hates you.” Arturo patted his wife’s arm. “It is good of you to say such things. Sometimes it would appear that we have not friends at all in these Wards which we call home, and to which we have given so much.” “Hey, try growing up in Waterdeep with my complexion,” Siegfried said, winking. Arturo smiled thinly at that. Siegfried surmised that whatever Caith’s mother had been up to in Neverwinter, it had to do with a matter of honour involving Lord Dagult Neverember. He also knew that the Durinbolds had at one time money, but no title, and now had title, but no money.

Theryn gauged the tension in the room and recognized House Thann's matriarch in all but name, Lady Lureena. There was also some tension at the bar, where the minotaur was putting on quite a show of mixing drinks. Theryn watched a ripple of tension follow through the crowd as Siegfried engaged the couple in a corner. Theryn shrugged and headed to the bar. He passed a younger man chatting up an older gentleman, who paused and gave the monk a thorough looking-over before resuming his conversation. “Ah!” the bartender said, snorting. “What can I pour for you?” A ring in the minotaur’s snout caught the light. “Well, good sir, I’ll have a pint of whatever you’re famous for, and you are?” Theryn asked. “I’m Umpok!” the minotaur said proudly. “Well then, I’ll have a pint of whatever makes Umpok famous,” Theryn said. “You’re in for a treat then,” Umpok said as he began to mix a cocktail. “Make it two,” Theryn said. “Done and done,” Umpok said, clanking bottles and setting out two wide-rimmed glasses. Theryn turned and glanced at the male escort, who was standing down the bar putting out the vibe. He was certainly giving anyone who cast a glance his way an eyeful, with jaunty high boots and short shorts and tiny bells hanging from rings pierced through his nipples. “So, looking forward to the show?” Umpok asked. Theryn turned his head quickly back to the minotaur. “I am, actually,” Theryn said. “It’s been quite some time since I’ve taken in such an event. Road-weary, as it were. Have you had a chance to watch or have you been stuck behind the bar this whole time?” “Well, I am but a member of the help here, but I have sat in as an audience member during dress rehearsals and you are certainly in for a treat. This production is Caulminster’s best yet.” “Will it rival your own art?” Theryn asked. “You’ll have to drink this and watch the show and tell me what comes out on top,” Umpok said, sliding the two cocktails across the bar. “I present to you the Djinn & Tonic.” Theryn laid out some gold on the bartop. Umpok bowed his head and smiled, collecting the hefty tip. Drinks in hand, Theryn turned and approached the man who had given him the appraising look. “A gift from the man at the bar,” Theryn said, nodding at the scantily-clad male escort. The target of Theryn’s conversation opened his mouth to reply. “Just kidding, this is from me,” Theryn said. “Well, I was going to say that Lullannyn owes me more than a drink, but thank you!” He accepted the drink. His companion averted his gaze. “Oh, but where are my manners?” the man said. “My name’s Floon, and this is my friend Volo,” he said, indicating the older man. “And you are?” “Theryn,” Theryn said. “I have it on good authority that you’re someone I should get to know.” Floon eyed Theryn quizzically. “You don’t say?” “Well, if the way that one dresses and carries himself is to present the authority there within, then it’s self-evident,” Theryn said. Volo put a hand over his mouth and muttered, “oh, brother.” He coughed. “So, you said your name was Theryn?” “Indeed,” Theryn said. “You from out of town?” Volo asked. “Very much so,” Theryn said. Volo looked very pleased with himself. “Ah, I thought as much. I think of myself as a patron of the vast world we inhabit and do a great bit of travelling, and a great bit of travel writing as well,” he said. Now it was Floon’s turn to roll his eyes. “I’d say you were Damaran, am I right?” Volo asked, squinting. “That’s quite the guess,” Theryn said. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been home. When last were you there?” “Ah, well, it’s been a while for me too,” Volo said. “Some of my observations of your homeland did make the editorial cut in my Guide to the Moonsea and the Guide to the Vast , however the Zhentarim objected strenuously to the publication of the former and the latter went unreleased, though I hear tell the original copy is still owned by a resident in Raven’s Bluff. At any rate, it’s been a long, long time.” Volo seemed wistful for a moment. “What might have been…” he murmured to himself. “It’s not often that one travels that far to the East without attracting untoward attention.” “Untoward attention is what I have been seeking,” Theryn said. “Um, I thought I was the one getting attention here?” Floon interjected. “Hey. Thanks. Nice to meet you. So, what brings you to town?” “Mostly rest,” Theryn said. He was getting a sense that Lullannyn wasn’t the only working professional at the theatre this evening. “Well, you know, if you’re up for it, after the show if you have the energy I could show you were the cast members go to let their hair down and doff their costumes after a successful performance,” Floon said suggestively. “I think that would be a splendid idea,” Theryn said. Floon downed his Djinn & Tonic with an alcoholic’s practised ease. “Splendid! Then I shall see you after the show?” “Where shall I look for you?” Theryn asked. “I can usually be found backstage, but you can look for me here after the bar after the curtail call,” Floon said. “Well then, enjoy the show, gentlemen,” Theryn said. “Yes, yes,” Volo grumbled. “Perhaps we can trade stories about the Damaran climate and politics.” “Indeed,” Theryn said. He sipped his own drink.   Bob made his way over to the priestess of Waukeen. She introduced herself as Obaya Uday, a visiting pilgrim from Chult, far to the south. “You wear the vestments of a Sunite,” she said. “Well met, Obaya,” Bob said. “I am Bob Trevelyan, interim High Priest at the Temple of Beauty.” “Really? I was not aware that the position had become available!” Obaya said, bowing politely. “Tell me, what became of the previous priestess?” Bob blushed. “There was an incident with some fanatics,” he said. “That is a hazard in our line of work,” Obaya admitted. “I had heard tell that not all was well at the Temple of Beauty, but nothing official.” “Things have been moving quickly the last few days,” Bob said. “Well,” Obaya said, “if you need any assistance navigating the clerical waters of Waterdeep, I have been doing my best to acquaint myself with my ecclesiastical peers. I would be happy to show you about.” “That is a kind offer, ma’am, and I will likely take you up on that,” Bob said. “Excellent, I often find that we members of the clergy have to stick together,” Obaya replied, “and I do believe that Lady Firehair’s love of beautiful things is something that I wholeheartedly support as a follower of Waukeen because Waukeen smiles on the trade of beautiful items, and the Coinmaiden supplies a blessing when such items of wondrous import exchange hands.” “That is a beautiful point of view, ecumenically speaking,” Bob said. “Perhaps we can have an ecumenical discussion after the show,” Obaya said. “Perhaps yes,” Bob said noncommittally.   Siegfried made polite departing words to the Durinbolds and turned to the Blackstaff, Vajra Safahr, who looked to have been waylaid by the boisterous Kaidou Crommor who was talking her ear off despite her obvious body language warnings. Judging from her expression the Blackstaff seemed to be about ready to teleport herself to anywhere but here. “Blackstaff! Kaidou!” Siegfried announced. Kaidou turned and without missing a beat loudly shouted “Ah, Siegfried Thann! It has been too long, Young Master!” Siegfried deflected Kaidou’s advancements with the sort of politeness that left the Crommor patriarch feeling like the centre of the attention, but turned to Vajra Blackstaff and said “I wanted to thank you for teaching me the polymorph spell, as it has come in quite handy recently. The form of the Tyrannosaurus Rex, for example, has saved many lives.” Vajra looked as amused as possible under the circumstances. “Siegfried, is it?” “Yes,” Siegfried said. “Well, it’s always nice to hear that one’s magical efforts bear fruit,” Vajra said. “Quite so,” Siegfried said. Kaidou had already wandered off, engaging the next poor soul in a brassy conversation. “I’ve recently come into possession of the Livre d’Aquatha , and it has already proven a venerable study,” Siegfried said. “Ah yes, this was no doubt during the recent exploits of you and your companions at sea?” Vajra said, giving Siegfried a look that suggested she knew more about his group’s recent activities than he realized. “Yes, we managed to ward off a terrible storm before it could break on Waterdeep’s shores,” Siegfried said. “Of course, because otherwise you wouldn’t be here, would you?” Vajra said, giving Siegfried a knowing look, waiting to see what Siegfried would divulge next. “Well, if you’ve been following my exploits this closely, tomorrow you’ll find out if I’m about to be either promoted or executed,” Siegfried said. Vajra smiled at that. “I tremble to know what will happen next,” Siegfried said. “Well, the fact that you’re out and about shows a degree of confidence on your part that might not be unwarranted,” the Blackstaff said. “But you and your companions have been quite busy.” “It is difficult to get an appointment with the Lords of Waterdeep these days, isn’t it?” Siegfried said. Vajra smiled wryly. “You certainly seemed to have cracked that particular nut, haven’t you?” “Well, anger enough people and you shoot to the top of their dockets,” Siegfried said. “Yes, I certainly hope you enjoy tonight’s performance, and be prepared to give a performance of your own tomorrow,” Vajra said. “Would you expect anything less of me at this point?” Siegfried smiled. “I try to keep my expectations low,” Vajra said. “So that I’m always pleasantly surprised. And you have been pleasantly surprising so far in your activities.” “May I continue to be pleasantly surprising,” Siegfried said. “Oh, where are my manners? I would like to introduce to you my companion this evening, the Lady Harianna Hawkwinter. Lady Hawkwinter, this is Vajra Safahr, Blackstaff of Waterdeep.” “It is an honour to meet Waterdeep’s strongest defender,” Lady Harianna said. The Blackstaff smiled politely and bowed. Her eyes told Siegfried that they were excused. Siegfried kept Kaidou’s pleasantly overbearing movements in his sights as he angled towards Renaer Neverember. He could feel Lady Lureena’s glare burning into his back as he moved throughout the lobby. Perfect , he thought.   There was a soft chime announcing five minutes to curtain.   As Varien considered his next move, there was a ripple of commotion near the theatre’s entrance. “What’s he doing here?” someone whispered furtively. Varien turned his head as the theatre doors opened wide with a clap of thunder, and through the entryway strode a man clad in red robes of reptilian skin with a high, leathery collar and scarves that swirled around him in a way that made them seem like silken snakes. The theatre’s lighting reflected off his bald, tattooed head. He wore a ruby-encrusted circlet and carried a staff with bat-like wings at its head. He smiled an unctuous smile as the attention of the room turned to him. He was without a doubt a Red Wizard of Thay.