Meloon Wardragon's Splitting Headache

Siegfried cast a sending spell to Lady Sala Nidris of Neverwinter. The Ashmadai assailant who attacked your son is in irons. I hope you and your house continue to be well and safe. Siegfried Thann. He then cast another sending message to Dagult Neverember. I apologise. Assassins I thought were yours belong to Gilded Eye. They want what you gave to Renaer and Dalakhar. Has Tarmaikos paid his taxes yet? Siegfried wanted to convey that he was implicating the Gilded Eye in the search for Neverember’s Engima while giving the impression that he was following a trail of breadcrumbs in service of Neverwinter’s reputation. He also wanted to foment further discord between the Lord Protector and the Gilded Eye, implying that Javen Tarmeikos was resorting to tax fraud in order to satisfy Dagult’s judgment against the Gilded Eye. Dagult’s reply was swift. Siegfried! I trust my son is safe and well. The Gilded Eye is on notice. Siegfried smiled. He then cast a third sending message to Alphanse Wolfram. Infernally speaking, what could a devil of means do with one million gold or a hundred souls? Wolfram replied promptly. Gold is useful for tempting mortals. It’s the currency to hold power over the avaricious. The pursuit of gold can corrupt even the noblest hearts. “That is a sensible answer,” Siegfried nodded to himself. He reasoned that Wolfram’s silence about the obvious value of souls to a devil itself spoke volumes. Siegfried explained to Lady Harianna that Dagult Neverember had raised the Order of the Gilded Eye’s levies substantially as punishment for their unsanctioned investigations along the Sword Coast, and that it was possible that agents of the Gilded Eye were looking to steal from the Lord Protector’s secret hoard in order to pay what they owed. “This is further evidence of wrongdoing, theft, and tax evasion on the part of the Gilded Eye, which I believe the Order of Gauntlet would be very concerned with,” he said. Lady Harianna nodded. Renaer Neverember bade the party farewell, thanking them for their efforts.   The party traveled under what remained of the night’s cover of darkness to the Halls of Justice in Waterdeep, where the Order of the Gauntlet held court. Lady Harianna kept a careful watch over the prisoner Kovkorin, who alternately snivelled and muttered darkly at his circumstances, clanking the infernal binders at his wrists desultorily. “Are you able to oversee this one’s processing so he isn’t inconveniently misfiled?” Siegfried asked Lady Harianna. She nodded gravely. “Does she need an escort?” Erwen piped up. “You’re the only person I can trust with this,” Siegfried said to Lady Harianna. “Seeing as the last suspect we remanded to the Halls of Justice died suddenly, it’s a good idea to keep him under close surveillance,” Lady Harianna said. Siegfried’s eyes narrowed. “What happened?” “It was Warden Jessia, who was remanded to the Halls of Justice while unconscious with the surviving assassin,” Lady Harianna said. “Apparently upon being awoken she suffered a severe seizure and died.” Erwen silently shuffled so that he was behind Lady Hawkwinter’s dress skirts. “I’m sure I told you this over dinner, didn’t I?” Lady Harianna continued. “Did we eat dinner?” Siegfried asked under his breath. To Lady Hawkwinter he said, “Well, Warden Jessia had been wearing a mask that caused instant disintegration to anyone wearing it when they were brought to the brink of death, so it’s logical to think there was some residual magic in her system.” “I find no fault in your logic,” Erwen said, nodding sagely. “We will put Kovkorin under close observation, perhaps within the confines of an antimagic field ,” Lady Harianna said. She smiled warmly at Siegfried. “Once again, you’ve shown me another exciting evening. I pray it is not the last” Siegfried bowed. It was his turn to blush.   The adventurers were again loosed upon the streets of Waterdeep in the very early morning hours. Siegfried led them to a street vendor and purchased a round of beef skewers dripping with gravy. He took them on a slight detour to the intersection of Sul Street and Heard Lane, to regard the shadowy form of the God-Catcher statue, buried up to its waist in the earth. Even in the semi-darkness it cast a striking silhouette. “That’s the landmark we’ve been hearing so much about,” Siegfried said, pointing out the rickety scaffolding that surrounded the statue’s exterior. “They’ve built quite a set of structures around the old statue,” Siegfried said. “I guess they assume the former Walking Statue won’t ever walk again.” He turned to Varien. “Remember the Blackstaff I pointed out to you at the theatre?” Varien nodded. Siegfried cocked his head at the statue. “She’s the one who decides whether that thing moves or not.” “Property values might take a dip if it does start walking,” Varien observed. “Indeed,” Siegfried said.   The party returned to the Temple of Beauty and were welcomed back with open arms by acolytes, priestesses, and clerics alike. Erwen took a nap and woke up with a new sense of purpose. “I feel the need to acquire a jade circlet,” he said to anyone that was listening. “How can I get a jade circlet?” Siegfried opened his purse and let a handful of gold coins fall through his fingers. “Erwen, you can simply exchange these gold coins for goods and services here in Waterdeep.” Erwen jingled his own bulging coin purse. “You mean I can give people these shiny coins instead of a hard time?” Siegfried smiled. “You can give them a hard time and they’ll smile and take it, because you’re giving them the shiny.” “I already know how to get people to do what I want,” Erwen said. “Erwen, this is for convincing people who don’t want to sleep with you,” Bob said. “What kind of people are those?” Erwen said innocently. Nero of the Garden approached Bob. “Robert, we have some temple business to discuss,” he said placidly. “It is tradition that the High Priest of the Temple of Beauty give a name to the impending gathering of the clerical leadership of our faith. It will be enshrined in our Scriptorium for all time, so make it a good one.” “Oh, I’m terrible at coming up with names,” Bob said warily. Nero nodded. “If I may, I could draw up a list of suggestions for you.” “That would be amazing, Nero,” Bob replied. Nero bowed. “I am merely trying to make myself useful, Robert.” “You are useful, Nero, except when you let a succubus and a balor take up residence in the church basement,” Bob said. Nero’s perfect features nearly slipped into imperfection. “I was merely tending to my one perfect moment, as I’ve said many times, I was carrying out the task that Lady Firehair had set out for me. Not that I wish to heap the coals of blame upon the Temple of Beauty’s previous leadership, but yes, of course, mistakes were made, and that will also be recorded in our Scriptorium for all time.” “Very good,” Bob said. “And, of course, I shall let you know the moment I hear when the Inuus brothers have returned to Waterdeep from their lengthy pilgrimage, spreading the precepts of our faith in parts further east,” Nero said. “Who are the Anus brothers?” Erwen asked. Nero winced. “The Inuus brothers, Naes and Tiberius, were born here in Waterdeep but abandoned by their father, after their mother, a cleric of Sune, died during childbirth. The Church of Sune took them in, raising them in the Temple of Beauty, where they grew into powerful, handsome, pious men who were favoured by Lady Firehair.” “And they occupied positions of leadership here in the Temple of Beauty?” Bob asked. Nero nodded. “That is correct, Robert. Naes is known as the First Hearwarder, and Tiberius a true champion and evangelist for our faith. They have been lately on an itinerant mission to all the major and minor Sunite Shrines in Faerun to spread the word and gather new converts and adherents, and will likely be a major part of the impending conclave here, helping determine the future of our Church. They are well connected, I would say.” “Strong contenders for the top job?” Bob asked. Nero nodded again. “Yes. Had you not presented yourself and delivered our Temple from the heresies that had taken root, they would likely have already assumed leadership. But, nothing is certain. You are the Chosen Tear of Sune and have the High Lady’s favour, which may in fact work in your favour temporally speaking. We will determine the future of this temple together.” Erwen hopped up on Bob’s shoulder. “Bob, if we don’t leave a-Sune, things are going to happen here.” Bob grimaced. “We will talk later, Nero,” he said. Nero bowed. “I will do my due diligence to keep you informed, Robert.” Bob turned to Erwen. “So, where do you want to go? What is it that you need, my friend?” “Well,” Erwen said cheerily. “I woke up this morning feeling like I needed a jade crown. For magic, you know.” “A jade crown?” Bob repeated. “Hmmm. We can do that.” “Also, I think that furry friend of yours needs some armour,” Erwen said, gesturing at Skraper. “Ah, of course!” Bob snapped his fingers. “Nero! My wonderful mount Skraper the Liondrake needs some majestic armour befitting my station.” “Must be fur-lined,” Skraper grunted. “Comfort first.” “Also, Erwen needs a circlet,” Bob continued. Erwen slapped Bob’s leg. “I said a crown!” “So sorry,” Bob muttered. Nero nodded. “Of course, Robert. Now, if I may,” he lowered his voice and leaned in. “The treasury of the Temple of Beauty is much depleted of late. Once again, the decisions made by the previous temple leadership have very nearly exhausted our resources. So though it pains me to suggest it, a donation of an appropriate size for these two items would be greatly appreciated and once again demonstrate your dedication to this temple and to the beauteous work of our diligent, talented artisans, and-” “Nero, cut it out,” Erwen said. He dumped his coin purse out on the marble floor in front of the genie, staring up at him as the coins rang out Nero’s perfectly-manicured eyebrows rose slightly. “Master Erwen, you are generous beyond measure. Now, let’s measure that.” He clapped his hands and a pair of acolytes knelt down to pick up the coins. Erwen was mesmerized by Nero’s eyebrows and began to alter self to match the good-looking genie’s good looks. Nero steeled himself against Erwen’s descent into the uncanny valley. “We will get right to work on that,” Nero said. “The jade circlet and the barding will be forthcoming.”   Varien wandered off to find where the Sunite paladins trained, to see if they were up to his standards. In the centre of the lavish temple complex he found a central open-air ballroom that hosted revels many nights of the year, but by day was used as a training facility by the members of the Order of the Ruby Rose. “Good morning, brothers and sisters!” Varien said to the small group of paladins. He saw two high-ranking temple defenders, Rowan and Shamus, who had been on guard the day that Varien had first arrived in the city. Varien moved to a rack of weapons and selected a halberd, smiling to himself as he remembered how at one time it had been his weapon of choice. He placed the halberd back in the rack and picked up a longsword. “Shall we honour Sune this day with a friendly sparring session?” Shamus and Rowan looked at each other and smiled. The grabbed weapons from the rack and squared off against Varien. The mock fight was over quickly, with Varien mopping the floor with the two temple guards. He knocked Rowan and Shamus on the ground. “You put on a good show, brother!” Shamus said from the floor, rubbing his chest where Varien had slapped him with the flat of his blade. Varien extended a helping hand and hauled Shamus to his feet. “It’s not about putting on a show. Let’s go again.” The sparring continued until both Shamus and Rowan were breathing heavily, bent over with their hands on knees, exhausted.” “Bring me another!” Varien said with a grin. “Shall we dance, brother?” Celia Orlyar piped up from the side entrance. Varien turned to watch the shapely paladin approach. Celia’s wounds had healed save for a distinguished scar of remembrance along her cheek that only enhanced her beauty and mystique. “Have you come to fight me?” Varien asked. “Have at it, brother!” Celia called out with a smile. She hefted her sword and shield. Varien readied his sword. “En garde!” he called out and charged Celia. She tried to parry his attack but his swing got through her defences. Retreating, Celia managed to block Varien’s second slash, but the defensive posture put her off-balance, and Varien shoved her to the ground with a push of his shield. Celia got to her feet, steeled herself, and went on the attack. Varien effortlessly parried her blow aside. She grimaced and brought the sword back for a second swing. This time Varien had to raise his shield to ward off the blow. Varien riposted and knocked Celia back with the flat of his blade, shoved her to her knees again with a strike of his shield, and then brought his sword down with an overhand killing strike that stopped just shy of her exposed neck. Celia’s armoured breastplate heaved with every breath, but she smiled through her windedness. She looked at Varien with respect. “Clearly, we have much to learn from you, brother.” Varien caught up the bruised and battered Celia in a hug. “You have my respect, for you actually landed a hit against my shield,” he whispered in her ear. Celia blushed and returned his embrace a little too warmly. There was a round of light applause from the watching paladins. Shamus and Rowan nodded appreciatively.

Siegfried had taken the opportunity to depart the Temple of Beauty and head towards the Yawning Portal at first light. He and Violance slipped into the Ethereal Plane and their journey was thus unimpeded as they headed towards the Dock Ward, towards one of the most well-known landmarks in Waterdeep. The landmark was a stone building with a slate roof and several chimneys more than a hundred and eighty years old. A signboard that read “The Yawning Portal” in simple lettering hung on chains from a black iron pole above the front door. Siegfried entered. Well-worn boards covered the floor beneath his feet, but the main impression was of comfort as Siegfried took the place in. Rich blue tapestries decorated the wood-paneled walls of the common room, which consisted of a bar and tables of stout wood. Most of the ground floor was taken up by the tavern's common room, which contained a 40-foot-diameter open well at its southern quadrant. A waist-high stone wall had been constructed around the perimeter of the well to prevent tipsy customers from falling in unawares. A rope-and-pulley mechanism hung out over the depths of the well, used to lower adventurers into the well and hoist them out. Siegfried knew that the portal was in fact the remains of an ancient castle tower, sunk into the earth over time as the city built itself over and over in layered strata of urban development. It was one of the few known entrances to Undermountain, a very dangerous place for adventurers without experience to tread. The complex beneath Waterdeep was the domain of Halaster the Mad Mage. To the north there was a large fireplace, its mantle shaped like a goblin’s mouth. Siegfried knew from experience that the upper floors of the Yawning Portal contained comfortable. nicely appointed rooms for guests. There were circular stairwells that led to the upper levels, which had open balconies that gave a commanding view of the portal that gave the tavern its name. As Siegfried surveyed the state of the taproom, he surmised that things had gotten a little rowdy in the night. No less than three burly barbacks were wrestling with the corpse of a large troll that was sprawled in an incredible pool of blood, surrounded by the shattered flinders of tables, chairs, and crockery. A couple of barmaids were doing their level best to mop up the prodigious amount of troll blood that stained the floor. The troll’s corpse was studded with arrows. A wizened old crone was directing the Yawning Portal employees to harvest the most valuable bits of the dead troll. As Siegfried watched, arrow after arrow began to fall from the corpse, pushed out as the disfigured body began to regenerate. “You’ll want to set that body on fire soon,” Siegfried called out. The witch waved dismissively. “Not our first time dealing with a troll, sonny boy.” One of the barbacks indicated a tall amphora brimming with oil nearby. Siegfried shrugged and took another look around. The early morning crowd, or perhaps more accurately, the hangers-on from last evening, were sitting in ones and twos at tables here and there in the main room, dozing with their heads down or nursing hangovers with a mug of hot kaeth. A bard sat on a stool on a corner stage to the northeast, idly strumming a three-stringed lute. Siegfried recognized him as Mattrim "Threestrings" Mereg, instructor at the New Olamn Bardic College and resident musician at the Yawning Portal. Siegfried tossed him a gold coin and was rewarded by a hot lick and tasty riff from the bard. Durnan, the proprietor of the Yawning Portal since time immemorial, was tending bar, and from the looks of it had been up all night doing so. Siegfried approached the bar. “Good morning,” Siegfried said. “Morning!” Durnan replied. The bartender was a man of Illuskan descent, middle-aged, but sturdy and not given to fat. He’d been a fixture at the Portal for longer that Siegfried had been alive, and a great deal longer than that indeed if the rumours were true. Durnan was polishing shot glasses while keeping an alert eye on the slowly-regenerating corpse of the troll that was being pushed to the portal’s edge. “Well, depending on your disposition, it might be too early or too late for a pint of Shadowdark Ale,” Durnan said. “What can I get you?” “Information,” Siegfried said. “I’m looking for Wardragon.” “Ah, Meloon!” Durnan replied. “How is he these days?” Siegfried asked. Durnan smiled a little too widely. “You know, you learn a lot about people when you’ve stood behind the bar for as long as I have, but you also learn to be discreet.” Durnan winked. Siegfried stacked 100 gold coins on the bartop with a flourish. Durnan looked at the gold, looked at Siegfried, looked back at the gold, and sighed heavily. “It’s been a long night. I like a man who gets to the point. What was I saying about discretion?” “If it eases your conscience, I’m not here to do wetwork,” Siegfried said. “Well, if you know Meloon you know he has powerful friends,” Durnan replied. “Any wetwork would be at your own risk.” “Absolutely,” Siegfried said. “I’m seeking one of those friends who may be where Meloon is.” “Of course,” Durnan said. “Meloon actually is on the premises.” He began to flick the coins deftly into the register as he spoke. “He’s taking his breakfast upstairs. As for how he’s doing, well, not great, I’ll be honest with you. He recently led an expedition into Undermountain,” he said, nodding at the well behind Siegfried. “And sadly, the men he was escorting, though they were among the best-equipped martial professionals I’d seen in a while, were killed in the depths of darkness below, with Meloon returning as the sole survivor. I think it affected him deeply, because he hasn’t been his usual cheerful hail-fellow-well-met self ever since as one of Waterdeep’s prime defenders. Member of Force Grey he is and all. In fact, he’s been taking repeated risks with adventuring parties of more dubious abilities, leading them to uncertain fates for far less coin than he should be getting for such escort duties. I think he’s trying to regain some lost honour somehow, but he’s down in the doldrums to be sure. When he’s not going down the Portal, he nurses plate after plate of quipper and pint after pint of ale.” “Are you aware of what happened recently at the Temple of Sune?” Siegfried asked. “Word travels,” Durnan allowed. “Devils masquerading as priestesses, that sort of thing?” Siegfried said. Durnan nodded. “Quite a black eye for the Church, I’d reckon. When the sending spell is coming from inside the house, as it were, all bets are off.” Siegfried thought for a moment. “Durnan, do you have any holy water on tap?” He added more gold coins to the pile. “I’d like to take some up to Meloon with another round of his favourite drink.” “I do keep a strategic reserve for when the occasion warrants,” Durnan replied. With a flourish of his own he produced a tray with a small flask atop a folded napkin next to a tankard of Shadowdark Ale. Siegfried smiled, uncorked the flask, poured the holy water into the ale, and said, “I’ll bring it up to Meloon.” “All right, Durnan said. “Just keep it down. More than a few patrons are nursing headaches at the moment. Let’s not add to their headaches.” “I know to take violence outside,” Siegfried said. “Hopefully it shouldn’t come to that.” As Siegfried mounted the stairs there was a whoosh of flame from the main hall below as the troll was set ablaze. A horrid stench wafted skyward with the smoke. “Come on!” Someone shouted in irritation. “I’m eating here!” With synchronized grunts, the barbacks leveraged the burning troll over the wall of the well and the flaming corpse plummeted down into the darkness, trailing fire and bits of troll flesh. In the corner of the upper level was a long wooden table, and at its head sat Meloon Wardragon. As Durnan had said, the Force Grey member was tucking into a plate of quipper. Siegfried tossed a copper into the air and cast detect thoughts as he approached with the serving tray. To his surprise, he detected nothing. The only thing he did detect was the smell of fish. Before Meloon was a wide platter of raw quipper – toothy fish from the Frozenfar thawed from blocks of ice. He was devouring these fish raw, from the head. Several discarded tankards of ale were scattered about among the fish bones. Meloon was crunching through scale and bone. He paused in his incessant eating to take a long pull from a tankard of ale. Meloon then belched with enough force to ripple the nearest tapestries. “Here’s to feeling good all the time,” the man muttered before going back to his fish. Siegfried approached and placed the tankard down in front of Meloon. “Speaking of which, I was hoping to get some time to talk to that weapon of yours.” Meloon paused in mid-chew and glanced upward at Siegfried as he sat down next to him. He resumed chewing thoughtfully, the sound of bones breaking inside his mouth. “Half-Orc,” he finally grunted. “Noble. Tall. Arrogant.” He shrugged. “Take a seat?” “I’m already seated,” Siegfried said. “Seat taken,” Meloon muttered. He continued to chew for a few more seconds. “You want to spend time with my weapon?” “I have a few questions I want to ask it,” Siegfried said. “ You want to spend time with my weapon?” Meloon repeated. “Er, yes?” Siegfried said. “You want to spend time with my weapon ?” Meloon continued. “I certainly wouldn’t take it out of your sight or anything like that, and I would gladly pay to have a conversation with it in your presence,” Siegfried said. “Pay?” Meloon’s eyes narrowed. “What pay?” “How’s your bar tab?” Siegfried asked, indicating the drink he’d brought for the veteran adventurer. Meloon shrugged and picked up the tankard, draining it in one long pull. He slammed the empty stein down. Siegfried arched an eyebrow. He’d been hoping the holy water would have stirred something up, but Meloon seemed unaffected. Meloon licked his lips. “Palate changed.” “I think they water it down in the morning,” Siegfried said. Meloon grunted. “I think they’re watering it down at the rate you’re guzzling,” Siegfried said. Meloon belched again. “You want to spend time with my axe?” “Right,” Siegfried said. “Nah,” Meloon said and went back to his fish. Siegfried sighed and cast detect thoughts again. “Where’s Azuredge now?” Again, no thoughts were emanating from Meloon’s psyche as far as Siegfried could tell. Siegfried frowned. This person was not behaving like a person. Eating raw fish, talking in circles. Siegfried cast detect magic . Other than the aura from an enchanted dagger at Meloon’s hip, he could detect nothing magical about the man, or the influence of enchantments on him. Siegfried leaned back in his chair. “What are you?” he asked. “I am Meloon Wardragon,” Meloon said. “No, that’s the one thing I know you’re not!” Siegfried said. “Meloon Wardragon is the life of the party, a teller of jokes, and does not have the utter silence of mind that you are displaying at the moment.” Meloon paused and then raised another fish to his lips. “Agree to disagree,” he grumbled as he bit the fish’s head off. “You must be Thann. Siegfried Thann?” Meloon said. “Are you a Mind Flayer?” Siegfried asked. “I am Meloon Wardragon!” Meloon repeated. Siegfried jabbed a finger into Meloon’s mouth. “Well, you’re certainly not a vampire,” he said, leaning forward so that he was abjectly invading the man’s personal space. He was acting in a manner that would trigger a fight-or-flight reflex in any rational person’s mind, but was getting no such reaction from Meloon. “You…you need to back off. Back off!” Meloon muttered, belatedly flinching from Siegfried’s advances. “That’s right. I am Meloon Wardragon. I am a Man About Town. I have powerful friends.” “No, Meloon Wardragon has powerful friends, and you are not Meloon Wardragon!” Siegfried persisted. “You’re an imposter!” “This conversation is beginning to bore Meloon Wardragon,” Meloon said. “You can’t bore someone who isn’t here!” Siegfried said. In a loud voice, too loud for such an early hour, he called out “Azuredge! Do you know what happened to this man?” There was no response. “So,” Meloon said, changing the subject. “Are you looking for an escort to lead you into the Underdark—I mean Undermountain? You’re rich enough. I can give you a discount. But you’re not talking to my axe. You’re not talking to my axe. You’re not talking to my axe. You’re not talking to my axe.” He grunted, satisfied with his oratory. Siegfried cast a sending message to Durnan. Don’t panic. That’s not Meloon. I think he’s been dead since he returned from the Underdark. This person is not alive. I’m going to cause a scene. Which room is his? No shit , Durnan responded. Northeast suite . Siegfried stood up and walked towards the northeast suite. Meloon finished a pull of drink and slammed it down on the table. “Nope!” he said. He hauled himself to his feet unsteadily and staggered after Siegfried. The door to the suite was open a crack, and Siegfried went inside. The place was in a shambles and stank of rotting fish. Flies buzzed over a mound of torn fish skeletons. No maid had touched anything in the room for at least a week. Siegfried’s detect magic spell detected the aura of a powerful magical item coming from beneath the unmade bed. “Trespassing!” Meloon called out from the hallway behind him. “No, I’m graverobbing,” Siegfried corrected him. “Right, you’re going out the window,” Meloon said. Siegfrid said, and cast Siegfried’s Undeniable Authority . Meloon’s legs gave out and he went down on his knees. His upper half pitched forward. “You don’t touch-” Siegfried slammed the door in his face. “Rude!” Meloon shouted through the door. Siegfried pushed the bed aside to reveal an axe on the floor. It had a solid steel handle etched with tiny runes, wrapped in blue dragon hide with a star sapphire set into the pommel. The axe head was forged from silver, electrum, and steel alloys whose edges constantly shimmered wit a deep blue luminescence. “What did they do to you?” Siegfried said as he reached for the axe. “Nobody puts baby in a corner.” To his surprise, it was welded fast to the floor and he was unable to pull the axe off. “Hello?” Siegfried asked. A delicate, deliberate voice answered telepathically. Hello. To whom am I speaking? “Siegfried Alagondar, heir to Neverwinter, and Siegfried Thann, scion of House Thann.” Two in one? Interesting. I am known as Azuredge. Tell me, where is Meloon? “Honestly, I don’t know,” Siegfried said. “His body is outside this room, but he is not home.” Dead? “Not undead,” Siegfried said. “Not enchanted. But I don’t think Meloon would treat you like this.” Yes, I believe I heard you speaking with him just a moment ago. “Yes, and I need your help,” Siegfried said. My help with what? “I want to protect Waterdeep from those who would profit from exploiting it.” A noble goal, to be sure, Azuredge replied. But as you said when introducing yourself, you are a man divided. Waterdeep is your home, but it is not your birthright. “That’s right,” Siegfried said. “I am also a Half-Orc.” Yes. “My father’s house is the House of Many-Arrows. My brother, Warchief of Many-Arrows.” I am familiar with the Kingdom of Many-Arrows. Waterdeep’s relationship with the Orcs has not been a happy one. “I know,” Siegfried said. “My birthright and my heritage bring doubt upon my integrity. I wish to use your reputation, your power and your strength and rely on your integrity against those who would doubt mine.” Hmmmm. Are you willing to dedicate everything in your being to the defence of Waterdeep? “What is Waterdeep?” Siegfried asked. It is the place I have sworn to protect. “Is Waterdeep a place or is Waterdeep a culture?” Siegfried asked. “Is it a city or is it its laws, its history, its commerce, its trade, its holidays? There is nothing I love more than the ideal that Waterdeep upholds, of compassion, of commerce, of trade, and of law that calls out evil as evil and will execute the king as readily as it does the beggar. You know my birthright. I will dedicate everything to the ideals of this civilization and the defence of its city, as I would the other cities that are my birthright.” Hmmmm. “And you know you can disregard me the moment I am no longer serving your ends,” Siegfried continued. “But right now, Waterdeep is in danger. I want to protect it. And you can do nothing while that imposter keeps you locked in here. Should you find my dedication to Waterdeep unsatisfactory, a man divided as I am, I will help you find a worthy successor and not leave you abandoned. I will do better than dedicate my life to Waterdeep. I will save Waterdeep.” Well, your aims sound noble. “They are not,” Siegfried said. “They are selfish, they are self-serving, and they are legal. They are the Right of a Noble, they are the Greed of a King, they are Conquest and Justice, and sometimes…” Siegfried paused and thought for a moment. “It’s funny, in Orcish scriptures there are only two laws. The Law of the Abyss, sometimes known as the Doctrine of the Final Shape, sometimes known as the Law of the Blade. It is Kill or Be Killed. You are brought low, I am exalted. You are diminished and I am made strong. I kill you, I am more worthy than you. There is a Second Law of the Orc, The Way of the Sky. The Cave Mother’s law is as old as the truth of the sky. The Orc that keeps it shall prosper, the Orc that breaks it shall die. As the creeper that girdles the tree trunk, the law runneth forward and back. For the strength of the pack is the Orc, and the strength of the Orc is the pack. The fact is, nobody can do anything alone. I can’t protect Waterdeep from those who would harm it without you, and right now, you can’t protect Waterdeep without me. So, we are both selfish creatures of pride and arrogance. Who will do what it takes to protect those who can’t protect themselves. That’s what a city is.” Well spoken, Siegfried Alagondar and Siegfried Thann. We might be able to come to an agreement. I was quite fond of Meloon. He wielded me for ten years. His fate concerns me a great deal. But perhaps it is time to move on. “I will not force you to cut him down,” Siegfried said. “That would be too cruel.” He may be dead already, though we continue to contest our wills each day. However he was a protector of Waterdeep, Waterdeep the idea and Waterdeep the city. He should be avenged. Will you help me avenge him? “This I say,” Siegfried said. “By the Laws of Waterdeep and the Code Legal: Using magic to influence a citizen without consent: fine or damages up to 1,000 gold and edict. Murdering a citizen with justification: exile up to 5 years or hard labor up to 3 years or damages up to 1,000 gold paid to the victim’s kin. Murdering a citizen without justification: death or hard labor up to 10 years, and damages up to 1,000 gold paid to the victim’s kin. Tomb-robbing: imprisonment up to a tenday and damages covering the cost of repairs plus 500 gold! Yes, I would say that you have destroyed Meloon Wardragon’s room! Public blasphemy against a god or church? Edict! Using magic to influence an official without consent: fine or damages up to 1,000 gold and edict. Murder of a Lord, official or noble? Death! Impersonating a Lord? Death!” Meloon was pounding repeatedly on the door. For now, we have an accord. Siegfried pulled Azuredge from the floor. He hefted it in his hands, smiling. He turned and opened the door. Meloon was still on his knees, frozen in place, but clawed at Siegfried, eyes wild. One hand held his dagger; he had been banging its pommel against the door. At the stairs to the south stood Durnan, holding a greatsword streaked with what looked like troll’s blood. “Meloon’s been dead since he returned from Undermountain!” Siegfried declared. “Something’s been occupying his body.” “Uh-huh,” Durnan said warily. “Azuredge has requested that I avenge a friend’s death,” Siegfried continued. Durnan frowned. “Okay.” Siegfried swung Azuredge down on Meloon, casting hexblade’s curse and booming blade . In one fell swoop he decapitated the warrior. Meloon’s head and body were blasted back several feet towards the edge of the balcony with a crack of thunder. Siegfried advanced on the body. Meloon’s head bounced twice and spun on its bloody gashed neck, eyes wide and staring. Suddenly there was a high-pitched psychic keening sound from Meloon’s head. Something crawled out from the hole that Siegfried had made. It was like a brain with four clubby feet. Unsteadily at first, the monstrosity began to skitter away from the empty head of Meloon Wardragon, its claws tearing long streaks in the hardwood floor. “You’ve got to be freakin’ kidding me!” Durnan blurted. MY HEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAD the creature was telepathically screeching. It jumped into the open space over the portal. Siegfried followed, leaping the mezzanine railing, and launched four eldritch blasts at the falling creature as he jumped. Three of the conjured swords incinerated the screeching creature before it could find safety in the darkness of the portal. Siegfried landed heavily on the main floor. Upstairs, Durnan was shouting orders. “Fetch the Blackstaff! We need a healer up here!” Siegfried darted back upstairs. Durnan was kneeling next to Meloon’s body. “First of all, here’s my shield. My name is Siegfried Thann. You saw what I did, and you know why I did it.” Durnan nodded blankly. “Yes I did. Hell of a thing.” “Take Meloon’s body to the Temple of Beauty. Ask for High Priest Robert Trevelyan of Kirkwall. Show him my shield, tell him I gave it to you, and he will help you.” Durnan nodded again and gingerly gathered Durnan’s head. “There was something…living…inside there?” He shook his head. Then a look of realization crossed his face. “Wait. Who’s going to pay his bar tab?” Siegfried shook his head. “Well, Meloon hasn’t drank here in three months, you said so yourself. So I don’t know who’s paying for that. But, I bet they’re down there.” He pointed down the yawning black portal. Durnan was stunned into silence.