The animated dragon construct began to menace the front rows of the theatre, its multiple heads looming over the smouldering orchestra pit and the first few rows of seats, its segmented necks creaking and straining against the ropes and pulleys of the set dressing. The audience tittered and there was a scattered clapping; apparently the crowd was as of yet unsure whether or not this was a deviation from the performance. Theryn kicked off the mezzanine railing and leapt across the floor seats to land atop the dragon construct’s back. He maintained his balance as the mechanical construct shifted beneath his feet. Are those real dragon scales? He wondered as he slashed into the leather skin stretched over the creature’s frame with his dagger. He could hear muffled sounds of alarm coming from the five heads. Theryn cut a length of the dragon’s outer covering open, revealing the armatures beneath – greased pulleys and pneumatic levers moved in a complicated dance on either side of a narrow catwalk. There was just enough room to wriggle inside. Alec stood and tore off his silk blouse, revealing the stark musculature of his oiled torso, and leapt down from the balcony into the aisle, rushing at the construct as he bellowed with rage. He sprouted a dragon tail, launched himself over the orchestra pit and whipped his tail at the false Tiamat. To his surprise, the construct’s hide buffeted away his tail attacks without so much as losing a scale. The barbarian frowned. As Siegfried raised his hands to fling a barrage of eldritch blasts at the rogue construct, he was suddenly struck by a memory of his childhood in Three Knife Alley where the neighbourhood kids would play ‘finger poker.’ Many a time, a sniveling Siegfried would have to sit in the kitchen while Cauldar magically reattached some lost fingers. He recalled specifically going all in against an opponent who Siegfried was convinced had a pile of peanuts… “No,” Siegfried said, pulling back his hand. “This is going along with somebody’s script. Somebody who set this up and who wants us to not think, but react. To jump in and make asses of ourselves very publicly. If I go down there without thinking I’m going to get hanged tomorrow.” He scanned the room, looking for people who were not confused, or were openly gloating, or perhaps even concentrating on a spell. A few of the more perceptive members of the audience were looking at one another with confused looks on their faces, especially as the shirtless dragon-tailed man attacked Tiamat, but as Siegfried looked about at the private boxes across the balcony, he noticed that the privacy curtains on Renaer Neverember’s box were still drawn, even though the second act of the opera had begun several minutes before. “Think about this, Varien,” Siegfried said. “The Cassalanters are making a play of some kind, and in our travels in Waterdeep we’ve only heard of one person who can make inanimate objects move with their mind.” “Their daughter?” Varien replied. “If we scale up that sort of talent, it’s possible that Lady Cassalanter is talented enough to animate an object the size of that theatrical prop. Now that’s just conjecture, but for now, notice that there’s something strange going on in Renaer Neverember’s private box.” Siegfried cupped a hand to his mouth and shouted for Violance. “Why’s he calling for violence?” someone behind him asked aloud. “The show’s not that bad.” Outside, where a nervous valet was doing his best to corral the team of a dragonne, a phoenix, and a nightmare, Violance’s ears pricked up. “Duty calls,” the nightmare sighed in a baritone, and effortlessly slipped his harness and launched skyward, flying through the theatre doors that were only just pulled open in time by the alert doormen to avoid destruction. Siegfried stepped off the balcony and landed astride Violance, who with a dark whinny arced across the vaulted dome of the theatre towards Renaer Neverember’s private box. There were assorted oohs and ahhs and a smattering of applause as the purple smoke-enshrouded flying horse did a circuit of the room before approaching the box. The privacy curtain was burned to ash, revealing the contents of the room. Renaer Neverember was being restrained in his seat by two hulking brutes sporting top hats, cravats and tails. Their formal wear did little to conceal their fiendish heritage, though Siegfried appreciated the effort that had gone into their disguises. A gaunt Tiefling holding a wicked-looking hand crossbow was in the process of threatening Renaer. In the shadows a third top-hatted humanoid was lurking. On the floor was the unconscious form of the woman Renaer had escorted to the show. Siegfried recognized the Tiefling as the leader of the gang of fiendish cultists who had assaulted the party in Lady Sala Nidris’s home in Neverwinter. “You,” he gestured to the Tiefling. “Stop talking.” He turned to Renaer who regarded him dazedly. “Is this a consensual conversation between friends or do you require my assistance at this time?” “You know, Siegfried, I think I do,” Renaer slurred after a pause. Siegfried conjured his spirit guardians and in an instant every shadow in the room pounced on the hostile creatures, throttling them with necrotic energy. The brutes squirmed and roared. Siegfried turned and hexblade cursed the Tiefling. “Now, you had something to say, would-be assassin? I know you pissed off like a crying child to his mother last time we spoke. Have your balls finally dropped since House Nidris, or is daddy going to have to take off his belt?” The Tiefling’s eyes narrowed. “That was you?” he croaked. Then he shook his horned head. “Well, uh, actually, we were just leaving.” “Funny,” Siegfried growled. “I don’t recall giving you permission to leave.” He gestured to the chair beside Renaer. “Take a seat. This won’t take long.” The Tiefling’s eyes widened. Chipmunk-wen wriggled out of Theryn’s pocket and dropped his wildshape. He cast wall of stone and a six-inch-thick wall of nonmagical stone panels thudded into existence along the stage like a reinforced wall that cantilevered out over the stage to provide protection to the audience from the looming animated dragon. A series of boos rippled through the front rows as their view of the mayhem was blocked. Varien stood up and said “pardon me,” to Lady Harianna as he called for The Arcetalos, who flew through the air and picked him up in mid-air. Varien cast haste on himself and his phoenix mount. Appreciative applause and cheers rose up as the phoenix arced through the air. From his hiding place, Harvo Caulminster was furiously flipping through his copy of the libretto trying to find a reference to this improvisation. The Arcetalos deposited Varien at the private box and then arced over to the Tiamat prop. The phoenix cast a flaming burst on the construct that blasted both Theryn and Erwen. The two adventurers both cast absorb elements to lessen the fire damage. Erwen winced and lost concentration. The stone wall he had conjured disappeared much to the delight of the audience. The Tiamat construct began to smoulder as the phoenix’s flame attack ignited its leather-bound canvas exterior. Varien landed amid the fiends and began to swing Fiendsbane with abandon, slashing at the hulking brutes. The creatures reeled, their fiendish natures becoming more apparent as they cursed and spat black blood. Bob stood and made his way past Lady Harianna. “Excuse me, milady,” he intoned. Lady Harianna regarded Bob as if for the first time. “For Sune!” Bob shouted as he hopped over the railing and landed hard on the floor. He straightened up and cast haste on Alec and Lady Harianna. Bob then took cover behind a row of seats. “Skraper!” Bob called out. Outside, Skraper watched as Violance slipped his harness, followed moments later by the Arcetalos. He shrugged and said, “Skraper just stay here?” He tapped his forepaws and began to hum, wiggling his tail to the rhythm. A few passers-by tossed the liondrake a handful of silver coins. “Skraper thanks you!” the liondrake growled. The shadowy fiend in the corner of Renaer’s private box tipped his top hat to Varien ironically and lurched forward, his beard suddenly spilling out into a thicket of wiry, spiked tentacles that waved and thrashed at the paladin as the creature approached. A bearded devil, Fiendsbane growled. Perfect. “Wait, you’re attacking me with your beard ?” Varien asked, incredulous. The devil responded by lashing Varien with his prehensile beard. Varien ducked. Snarling, the devil manifested a fiendish glaive and swung it at the paladin, slashing his formal clothing. Renaer sat up in his seat and blinked as he looked up at the two creatures restraining him. “I’m feeling unusually forthright at the moment, so I should tell you that I’m going to enjoy what happens next.” He wrenched an arm free and punched at the first bearded devil, clocking it with an uppercut beneath the jaw that made the creature’s teeth click together painfully. The fiend’s top hat flew off. Renaer was unable to free his second arm, tugging against the strength of the second devil. The devils continued to wither under the necrotic assault of Siegfried’s spirit guardians. They dropped Renaer’s arms and rounded on Varien, their fancy cravats unravelling into a nest of tentacle-like appendages emanating from their chins. “More beards,” Varien sighed. He winced as the creatures’ beards slashed him over and over again. “Yes, yes!” the Tiefling shouted with glee. “Scourge him with the whips of Nessus!” Varien parried the incoming blows. “You came to this fight woefully unprepared,” Siegfried remarked. “Fight? This was merely supposed to be a friendly conversation!” the Tiefling protested. “Dropping Renaer’s arm is the first smart thing you’ve done,” Varien said to the approaching fiend. “But raising your hand against me is the last thing you shall ever do.” The Tiefling sneered but then was slapped across the face by a necrotic shadow. He winced and frowned. “Well, it’s been fun, but I have other places to be at the moment,” he chuckled as he hurled himself over the edge of the private box. “Exit stage left!” “That’s stage right, you uncultured boor!” Siegfried bellowed. The Tiefling landed on the edge of the stage, slowed by the tugging shadows of Siegfried’s guardians. “Violance, eat that man!” Siegfried shouted. A spotlight aimed by a very confused stage hand illuminated the Tiefling. The creature’s expression faltered momentarily. Fire continued to creep along the construct’s carapace. There was a creaking of machinery as the lumbering construct slowly turned, and one of its necks extended, bringing its draconic head level with the auditorium. Its jaws opened wide and it expelled a noxious gas that moved in a swift cloud across the eastern quadrant of the theatre. The gas blasted an entire section of the audience, who fell unconscious instantly, flopping back in their seats. Volo’s high-pitched voice echoed around the auditorium. “What the hells is going on?” In Renaer’s private box, one of the bearded devils succumbed to the gas. Siegfried laughed as the creature fell over, but then unceremoniously slumped to the floor himself, flopping forward onto his face, snoring. Violance sniggered. Lady Harianna dashed towards the stage, intent on protecting Aria Cavatina from being trampled by the animated staging, coming up with her short sword. Theryn took out his stormbow and let loose with an ensnaring strike at the fleeing Tiefling. The arrow found its target, and a writhing mass of thorny vines erupted from the wound, restraining him. He then turned back to the construct, attacking it with his dagger. There was a blast of sympathetic fire as Theryn released the pent-up energy he’d absorbed. Alec unsheathed his mercurial greatsword and faced down the construct. “It’s time to bring down the final curtain!” Alec snarled, jumping across the orchestra, stepping on a flailing tuba, and getting within sword-swinging distance. His first strike missed, but, enraged, he followed through on the backswing and began to viciously strike at the construct. Pieces of machinery, torn skeins of dragonscale, and broken gears began to rain down on the audience as a bellowing Alec waded into an Alec-sized hole in the creature, cutting across its vulnerable neck mechanisms. One by one, the construct’s massive movable necks began to break off at the base and the head-and-neck sections landed with a heavy crash onto the stage in time with the orchestra’s fast-tempo overture, occasionally spilling a flailing puppeteer across the floor. The construct shuddered and collapsed in on itself into a flaming wreck as Alec utterly destroyed the set dressing. Not content to lower his sword, Alec closed in on the restrained Tiefling and ran him through with his sword. “Ah, come on!” the Tiefling screeched, blood running from his mouth. Violance kicked at Siegfried with his dark hooves, but missed in the confusion. Erwen emerged from the ruined construct and approached the edge of his stage, murder in his eyes. He looked up at the mayhem in the private box and cast conjure woodland beings , conjuring a strike team of eight pixies that materialized in mid-air. “Make my friends fly and my enemies cry,” Erwen ordered his thralls. The summoned fey creatures giggled as they flit back and forth, spreading their pixie dust on the druid’s allies, enabling them to fly. One of them poked Siegfried in his rear end with a blade the size of a cocktail sword, giggling. Siegfried’s eyes fluttered open. The other pixies cast confusion on the fiends. Varien grit his teeth as Fiendsbane flashed in his hands. “Do any of you have anything useful to say?” One of the fiends snarled in response, “The Hand of Nessus is going to close around your-” Varien pushed Renaer out of the way and slammed his sword down, sending a shockwave of radiant energy that flash-disintegrated the three fiends in an instant, leaving only piles of ash and three top hats behind. “Wake up Siegfried, you’re embarrassing us,” Varien said to the half-orc as he flew down to the stage to a round of applause and began manacling the bleeding Tiefling with infernal chains . “Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Harvo Caulminster’s The Fall of Tiamat , Abridged Version!” The audience roared with approval as Varien blazed with glorious, heavenly fire. Bob hopped up on stage and administered a healing dance to Landon Rigolo. The famous actor, healed, got to his feet and took a bow as the crowd cheered. Harvo Caulminster looked at the remains of the Tiamat prop. “All my money went into that construct! I’m ruined!” Then, roses began to rain down from the balcony as the performance closed with a standing ovation. Harvo smiled, straightened up, waved, and said “The Show Must Go On!” Offstage, the stage hands and production assistants groaned at the prospect of having to repair the destroyed construct. “Tell me, kind sir,” Harvo said to Varien. “Do you have someone representing you and your troupe?” Siegfried got to his feet and surveyed the theatre, especially the private boxes opposite. He could see that some of the loudest cheers were coming from the Red Wizard Anzim, who had a goblet of wine in each hand and was laughing uproariously. Siegfried figured the mirth was genuine and that the Thayan was likely not involved. In the private box next to him, Vitoro and Ammalia Cassalanter both politely applauded but showed no outward emotion. Hmmmm, Siegfried thought. He turned to Renaer, who was helping his traumatized escort to her feet. Siegfried clapped him on the shoulder. “We do try to be helpful when the opportunity presents itself.” Renaer smiled thinly. “Where should we take that one?” Siegfried pointed to the Tiefling who was being perp-walked offstage by Theryn, Alec and Varien. Bob floated up to Siegfried. “We could take him back to my place for questioning,” Renaer said. “Or a temple?” Bob asked. “If we took him to a temple he might catch fire,” Siegfried said. “If you don’t mind, I should like to bring Lady Harianna with me.” “It’s fine by me,” Renaer said. He stopped suddenly and brought a hand to his neck. “That’s odd, my locket is missing.” Siegfried kicked over the piles of ash and found no locket. “It’s a memento of my dear departed mother,” Renaer said wistfully. “I put it on especially for tonight. Mother always did love the opera.” Siegfried went to the private box next door, popping his head in. “Hope you enjoyed the show, Aunt Lureena.” He ducked out before Lady Lureena could reply.