The rain continued to fall on the steeply sloped gable rooftops of Brandarthall, collecting in the catchbasins to fill the mansion’s cistern, while the excess sloshed into eaves and rushed through the downspouts to wash over the cobblestones. Siegfried walked up the central staircase to the second floor of the home and drew his ethereal elfbane cutlass , which served as a signal to Violance to return from the Ethereal Plane with Varien and the Arcetalos in tow. There was a flash of purple brimstone and a rush of hot air as the trio emerged from the Border Ethereal. Siegfried quickly sheathed his sword – it was bad form to have a blade out in someone else’s home. A young Halfling rushed out of an adjoining room, his arms full of scrolls and assorted paperwork. His expression was a cross between confusion and suspicion on his face. “W-what’s the meaning of this?” he said, wide-eyed as he looked at the nightmare, the phoenix, and the two hulking adventurers standing in the hallway. Siegfried gave the Halfling an appraising glance. The harried young Halfling bore a strong familial resemblance to the house majordomo, Madrak Salibuck. “You’ll be Madrak’s son,” Siegfried said definitively. “That’s right,” the Halfling blinked. “Who are you?” “A business associate of the master of the house,” Siegfried said. “We’ll be needing a needle and thread, hot water, and towels.” “Why?” Varien said. “And,” Siegfried continued, “not your nicest, but your angriest liquor.” The Halfling collected himself. “Ah,” he said, “I’ll fetch one of the downstairs servants for you with no trouble.” He backed into the room from which he had come, and called for someone named Bertram. Siegfried looked about, trying to match the layout of the house to those sections of its ethereal counterpart that had been blocked off to his vision. He moved to a door that was slightly ajar and poked his head in, casting detect magic but detecting nothing. The room was likely the master bedroom, and presently a stout Halfling maid was turning down the king-sized bed. “Clear,” Siegfried said, and left, intent on doing a perimeter check. “Bertram! Bertram!” the Halfling continued to call from the other room, his voice piped downstairs by a tube contraption built into the walls. Varien moved to a small alcove that looked out through a dormer window to the street below. The rain was streaking across the leaded glass, but Varien’s sharp eyes kept a lookout for the approach of his companions and their charges. Erwen sat next to Theryn in the carriage as Renaer Neverember instructed his driver to make for Brandarthall at all deliberate speed. The Halfling chose not to draw attention to himself, but made a mental note to deal with the wall of stone spell. Bob followed behind at the reins of his coach, Skraper grumbling as his fur was saturated by the driving rain. Alec kept the Tiefling in a headlock. The two coaches threaded through the streets before arriving at their destination, a stately manor house of red brick with steep gabled rooftops, atop which were lightning rods and stylish weathervanes. Renaer shook himself out of his reverie and turned to Erwen and Theryn, a thin smile on his face. “Welcome to Brandarthall. Now let’s get inside.” The coach disgorged them in front of the stone steps leading up to the manse’s main entrance before the driver pulled around to the stables behind. They quickly went up the stairs, entered and stood, dripping wet, in the front hall. A Halfling, his wild hair gone white at the temples and his muttonchops styled into scythe-like protrusions that nearly brushed his high collar, greeted them at the door. “Well now, Master Neverember, there’s being ridden hard and put away wet, and then there’s, well, this!” “You’re as hospitable as always, Old Hin,” Renaer said. “Guests, I would like you to meet my man-about-house, Madrak Salibuck.” The party turned back to greet the butler, who had already conjured a number of fine, fluffy towels that wicked away the rain as if aided by enchantments. A harried-looking Halfling servant appeared at Siegfried’s elbow, arms laden with the requested supplies. “Ah! Bertram, please convey those items to the basement parlour, if you please,” Madrak snapped. “Of course, sir!” Bertram nodded obediently and trundled towards the central staircase, heading downstairs. Siegfried looked his companions over and noticed that Erwen appeared to be concentrating on some sort of spell. He sighed. “What did he do?” he asked. “What did I do?” Erwen replied. “Bit of a chase on the way over here,” Theryn said, “but we took care of them.” He tapped his stormbow for emphasis. “Go team!” Siegfried said. He stepped out to assist in the recovery of the Tiefling. Alec’s shadow familiars were sniffing around the house’s exterior. Alec wrestled the Tiefling out and held the humanoid in a powerful headlock. “How are you doing?” Siegfried asked Lady Hawkwinter as he helped her down from the cab. The woman’s eyes were shining and she seemed exhilarated. “The excitement never stops with you, does it, Siegfried?” she asked. Siegfried nodded. “I aim not to disappoint,” he said. “I have not been disappointed yet,” Lady Hawkwinter said. “Now, let’s get this wretch inside.” Alec grinned and squeezed the Tiefling’s head as he hauled the cultist inside. “Skraper, keep watch out here,” Bob said to his liondrake. “Okay,” Skraper grumbled, shaking droplets of water from his hide. The party were escorted down the steps into the basement. Siegfried checked that the room they were entering did not have a fireplace installed. Varien sniffed the air and detected the scent of humid cedar. “Unless I miss my guess, there’s a steam room down here.” Such amenities were popular in the Frozenfar. Renaer nodded. “It was installed by the, uh, previous resident,” he muttered, not meeting Varien’s eye. Neverember strode ahead into the basement study, which was furnished more modestly than the rooms upstairs, and poured himself a considerable drink from a well-stocked sideboard. Draining it, he walked over to a writing desk and sat down heavily in the chair behind it. The windows here were half-sized at street level. Siegfried noted that this room was one of the areas that had been closed off to him in the Ethereal Plane. There were a number of tables in the room, some surrounded by chairs. Bertram began laying out the items on one of them. Alec tossed the Tiefling into a chair. Siegfried cast pillar of lordly might and bathed the Tiefling in healing magic. He then ungagged him. “Hello, friend,” Siegfried said. “Such hospitality!” the Tiefling spat. “Well, I was a trained torturer for more than one secret society that employed such tactics to get information from unwilling people, but I would be a fool if I did not respect that your employers invented the study and the craft, so what could I hope to get of you with such methods that pale in comparison with what your lords are already going to do with you when you come back empty-handed.” “What, indeed?” The Tiefling said. “So, what to do with someone who is immune to the stick?” Siegfried said, then smiled. “Now that’s not quite right, is it? You are going to be tortured, just not by me. I hardly think Lorcan takes fairly lightly…do you know what happened to Brevindon?” He tossed up a coin and cast detect thoughts. The Tiefling sneered. “Brevindon? Amateur! Dilettante!” Siegfried detected contemptuous thoughts of the scion of Margaster. Siegfried prestidigitated a bright light on the end of his finger and looked through the Tiefling’s eyes. The humanoid had one red eye and one black eye. “You know what I’m looking for, so hold still.” The Tiefling chuckled almost to himself. “When you think of it that way, my work as a torturer is already going to be done for me,” Siegfried said. “Lorcan is going to be able to do a lot better than I will for your inability to get questions out of some human. Kind of pathetic, don’t you think?” “What’s pathetic is listening to someone drone on who obviously doesn’t know the first thing he’s talking about,” The Tiefling sneered again. “Please, do continue. I find this very entertaining.” Siegfried withdrew a deck of cards from his pocket and placed it on a nearby table. “The Stone. The Eye. Very well. There are things you don’t know that I want to know. There are things we know that you want to know, and the last thing you want is to go back empty-handed. How about you play for it?” The Tiefling chuckled. “You may find this game is more dangerous than you know. What are the stakes? A man’s got to know what he’s playing for.” “Secrets,” Siegfried said. “Questions. I raise one question, you fold, check, or raise a question of your own. The winner gets his questions answers in a zone of truth .” “I don’t like this, Siegfried,” Varien muttered. “And if a question is too rich for your blood, you can simply fold and give up your mission,” Siegfried said to the Tiefling. The Tiefling leaned back in his chair, considering. “Interesting,” he said. “Of course, that’s just my offer,” Siegfried said, indicating his menacing band of comrades behind him. “Varien, what offer are you prepared to give to get information out of him?” Varien drew Fiendsbane and held its point to the Tiefling’s throat. “I’m not sure we need to get information from him. We could just kill him, follow him to hell, kill him again, and again, and again, down through the Hells until there’s nothing left of him.” “Well, that sounds exciting!” Siegfried rubbed his hands together theatrically. “Renaer, what say you? This one and his bearded brethren obviously had plans for you. What would you like to see done to him?” Renaer accepted another drink from Madrak and sighed. “I want to see this one wrung out, I think. If we can’t get anything out of him, perhaps we can just hand him over to you know who.” Erwen stepped forward. “Who, me?” “Well, I do have to stand before the Lord’s Court to account for Lorcan and his ilk,” Siegfried said. “Might be nice to have a character witness. I’m sure they have ways to get an unwilling person to talk.” “Now, there’s no need to involve the Lord’s Court,” The Tiefling said with a grin. “I’ll play your game, Half-Orc.” “Splendid,” Siegfried said, shuffling the cards. “Who’s in?” Varien dragged the chair with its Tiefling occupant to a round table and sat down, joining Siegfried. Erwen took another chair, as did Bob. “The game is known as 38 Special,” Siegfried said as he cut the deck and began dealing cards. “A hand that totals 38 wins the pot, while a hand of 3 also trumps a higher hand. To ante up, you ask a question, and the winner of the hand gets his question answered by all players.” “Sounds reasonable,” The Tiefling said. “So, I’ll start,” Siegfried said. “What is your name?” Varien cast zone of truth . He looked at his cards. “I’ll raise you: who is your master that you serve?” “I could ask the same of you!” The Tiefling said with a grin, checking his cards. Siegfried idly took out the assassin’s mask, looked it over, and then put it back in his coat. “Ah,” the Tiefling said. “All right, I’ll bite. You’ll tell me what you know about the Gilded Eye’s activities in Waterdeep.” “That’s quite a buy-in,” Siegfried said. “But I’ll see that and raise you: who are Lorcan’s vassals in Waterdeep?” Varien’s eyes narrowed as he watched the Tiefling fiddled with his cards. He stood up suddenly, drawing Fiendsbane, who glowed menacingly. He abjured the Tiefling, and said “On your life, on every single one of your lives, on every single level of Hell, if you dare cheat in this game that you’ve agreed to, I couldn’t even begin to tell you how I would make you regret it.” With Varien looking at the Tiefling, Siegfried deftly dealt himself a card from the bottom of the deck. The Tiefling cringed. “You can’t blame a guy for playing to win, can you?” Varien tapped Fiendsbane’s blade on the table expectantly. “Undo whatever you did, knave.” The Tiefling meekly obeyed, fishing a card from up his sleeve and tossing it back on the table. “Now, I shall raise,” Varien said. “Give me the location of your master.” The Tiefling nodded. “Well then, I propose that if I win, I’m going to ask you a question and you will answer it to the best of your ability, but I will not utter the question now.” Siegfried shook his head. “That’s now how it works. You can’t answer a question if you don’t know what it is worth. I could swear that I have a hundred poker chips in an envelope but it could be a lie. It’s not a fair bet.” Varien raised a hand. “I have no reason to lie.” Renaer snorted. “He’s going to ask you about the Stone, you fools.” “Hey!” The Tiefling snapped over his shoulder. “You’re not playing! But fine! The Stone of Golorr!” Erwen leaned forward with a serious look on his face. “I’m going to raise: which animal is better, cats or dogs? Answer correctly, or I will kill you.” Bob nodded. “I’ll raise too: what do YOU know about the Stone of Golorr?” “Fair, fair,” the Tiefling said. “I will raise you as well: the names of all those involved with the Hand of Nessus,” Siegfried said. “Well?” The Tiefling replied. “Let’s see your cards!” Everyone slammed their hand of cards on the table in unison. Siegfried’s hand contained three aces. “The Special, I believe this hand is called,” he said. Varien frowned at Siegfried, suspicious. The Tiefling snorted and shook his head ruefully. “Now then, we’ll start with the first question: what is your name?” Siegfried said. The Tiefling leaned forward. “Okay, I’ll tell you.”