Planetar-wen took note of Alec cornering the strange bald man in the sarcophagus’s hidden entrance. He drew his magical sword and stabbed down at the crouching man, who managed to deke out of the way at the last second. Planetar-wen’s angelic eyes widened as he accidentally stabbed Alec with his sword. “Why, Erwen?” Alec said through clenched teeth and he winced from the attack. “Oops, sorry Alec!” Planetar-wen said sheepishly as he corrected his aim and stabbed the man again, this time spearing him squarely. “Ah! Ouch!” the bald man sputtered as he clapped a hand over a spurting wound. He looked up at Planetar-wen. “Which god to I have to pray to in order to get on your good side?” Planetar-wen leaned down and fixed the man with a severe look. “I am a god,” he growled. “Okay, okay,” he said. “I was just passing through! I mean you no harm, and I did not lift a finger against your friends!” “The only thing passing through is my sword,” Planetar-wen thundered. “Through you!” His angelic countenance detected no lies, which gave the transformed druid the briefest of pauses before he gathered his strength and soldiered on. Another swarm of bats vomited forth from the hearth and covered Grandur in a shrieking shroud. Grandur pondered his next move – either checking out the room beyond the hearth, or pursuing the vampire up the chimney. Safety, treasure, and location were all on his mind. Varien cast fly on himself and Siegfried. Varien flew up the chimney and found the vampire scuttling backwards up the flue, facing downward with his fangs bared. “Hello there,” the vampire said in a syrupy voice. Varien put up his shield and collided with the undead creature. Siegfried flew behind Varien and then misty stepped above the vampire. “Above you,” Siegfried whispered to the vampire. He stabbed down at Morlin, spinning like a drill bit. “It’s yours!” He called out, as his axe crackled with blue flame. He bisected the vampire. Varien looked up at the grinning vampire’s face as it split vertically above him. For a second, the splitting vampire’s body changed – no longer was he a chiseled Tethyrian killing machine garbed in the robes of Shoon nobility, but rather he, or it, was a gaunt, sexless, pale-skinned humanoid with bulbous red eyes and long claws. A torrent of fetid blood gushed over Varien as the creature expelled the contents of its insides. There was a sound of rain on the fireplace bricks as the gore streaked down to splatter on the logs and ash. Grandur saw the radiant flash and heard the splatter of blood. “Guess there’s nothing to worry about, then,” he murmured from within his bat cocoon. What was left of the vampire combusted into a reddish-grey mist. The undead creature’s belongings clattered over Varien’s shield to plummet into the sodden ash of the hearth below, clinking and clanking. “Daylight!” Siegfried called out. “Holy water! We need to double-tap that cloud!” The red mist began to drift malevolently and silently towards the half-orc. Bob moved his spiritual weapons with a thought and then strode into the Chamber of the Caliph to meet his companions. The wounded bald man smiled sarcastically. “Well, now it’s a party!” “Who the heck are you?” Bob asked. The man raised his hands in surrender. “If we’re going to get into this, I’m going to need assurances. If I co-operate with you, am I going to live?” “Probably, yes,” Bob replied. “Unless there’s a compelling reason not to.” Bob took note of the blood running from the man’s mouth and figured he was being sincere. He cast healing word on those in the room who needed it, healing Alec and the bald man. “How’s that for assurances?” Bob said to the man. Behind him, Planetar-wen’s eyes glowed in anger at Bob’s action. The man grinned at Bob. “It’s a start,” he said. “The name’s Unger.” “Unger,” Bob repeated thoughtfully. “That rings a bell.” He looked at Unger anew. “Okay, Unger, next tell us what you’re doing down here.” “Just out for my evening constitutional,” Unger deadpanned. Bob shook his head. “Nah,” he said. “That’s a lie.” “Lie detected,” Planetar-wen said. “You would dare tell a lie to a priest?” Bob asked. “Oh!” Unger said. “Sorry. I didn’t recognize your vestments because your friend here was PUTTING AN AXE IN MY FACE!” He pointed at Alec. “Want him to do it again?” Bob said. “First I will kill you,” Planetar-wen boomed, “and then I will kill Bob!” “Calm down, Erwen!” Bob warned. “Get this avenging angel off my back, please!” Unger said. He shrank back from the planetar. “Okay, look, I’ll level with you. I’m a bartender at the Grinning Lion in the North Ward. Stop by and I’ll give you a free plate of fried onions and a pint of ale, any time.” Bob shook his head again. “Nuh-uh,” he said. Planetar-wen knew Unger was not lying about his day job. Regardless, he turned to Bob. “That was a falsehood! He was a bartender, but he won’t be after this meeting.” “Hold on a second,” Bob and Unger both said at the same time. Unger sighed. “Okay, I can see that you guys mean business, and I’m a businessman, all right. I’m a smuggler. I smuggle things. Sometimes I hang on to things for other people, stash them in secret places. For money.” “I know what smuggling is, thanks,” Bob said. “Just wanted to be clear,” Unger said. “I was passing through here on my way down to Skullport, when you guys came in and made my day a little complicated. But I haven’t raised a hand in anger to any of you because I respect what I’m seeing here. But you really complicated my day here, just my luck.” Unger shook his head and muttered to himself. “Never could get the hang of Ninedays. What can I say.” “What do you smuggle?” Bob said. “I’m supposed to be picking up,” Unger said. “What are you picking up?” Bob asked. Unger’s eyes narrowed. “Why, are you a Magister? Because you have to tell me if you’re a Blackrobe, y’know.” “I am Acting High Priest of the Temple of Beauty,” Bob said with gravitas. “Okay, I know where my next tithe is going,” Unger said. He opened his tunic and fiddled with a collection of chains upon which dangled holy symbols from a dozen faiths. “Hey there, that’s my gag,” Lord Thestus said. He held up an amulet emblazoned with the holy symbol of Sune. “I think this is what you’re looking for.” “Right you are,” Unger said with a smile. “Put that away!” Bob said to Lord Thestus. “Look, I’ve got a deal with the Lord of this dungeon, all right, that allows me to pass through, as long as I leave a little tribute behind.” “That deal is now null and void,” Bob said. “You’re sitting right here until we talk to the rest of my friends.” Unger sat back. “I would like nothing more than to relax.” He sighed again. “Hate Ninedays…” “You can relax when you’re dead,” Planetar-wen said. Unger put his hands behind his head. “We can deal,” he said. “Check my pockets, there’s enough to go around. In fact, I left a bit of tribute on the table back there, which should still be good unless it’s been stepped on by your friends.” He brightened. “Get it? Stepped on? That’s drug dealer humour for you.” Bob rolled his eyes. Planetar-wen seemed to relax a bit. The mist continued to move towards Siegfried. Siegfried smiled fiercely. “Do it, Shadowfeller.” Grandur fought his way past the bats. “Did the vampire go up the chimney, then?” “YES!” Varien and Siegfried shouted in unison. Grandur’s illusory dragon turned its scaly head and breathed fire over the bat swarm, which obediently burned to a crisp. Grandur stood at the bottom of the hearth and cast chill touch on the mist cloud. Varien’s gauntlets began to glow with radiant energy. The vampiric cloud passed around Siegfried, avoiding the flames curling off his Armor of the Dawn Titan. Grandur moved into the chamber beyond the hearth and looked around. The small rectangular hall was of normal height but also featured the same barrel-vaulted ceiling of its grander companion. Like that great hall, the walls here were paneled with ornately-carved wood. A massive four-poster bed dominated the north wall, opposite the hearth. A small writing desk and chair stood against the eastern half of the north wall, and an ornate rug covered the floor. “Such craftsmanship,” Grandur said, running a psychic hand along the wood paneling. Alec sheathed Oathtaker and put Unger in a pinning hold. “Easy on the merchandise, friend!” Unger protested. Planetar-wen turned around and made as if to leave the chamber. Then he turned back, fire in his eyes, and swung his golden sword at the smuggler. “Eep!” Unger said, trying to shrink away from the attack. “No!” Alec said, rolling over to protect the smuggler. Planetar-wen’s sword struck the barbarian instead of Unger. “Easy, Erwen!” Planetar-wen’s eyes flashed with rage. He brought his sword down again, deliberately, onto Alec, slashing him deeply. Alec’s sleeper hold on Unger relaxed as the barbarian fell unconscious. He pitched backwards and was still on the stone floor. “Tyr’s Beard!” Unger breathed. Planetar-wen turned towards Bob, wings at full extension, a vision of holy terror. “Fraternizing with the enemy?” he boomed. “Remember, I am the danger!” Planetar-wen turned and placed himself between Bob and Unger, his sword blazing brightly. Over his shoulder, he said to Bob, “Take care of Alex.” “Alec,” Bob said. “His name is Alec.” Varien continued to fly after the vampiric mist. “Brace yourself!” He called to Siegfried as he cast hunter’s mark on the mist and dismissed his fly spell. He stuck his sabotons out to arrest his descent, jabbing them into the brickwork of the fireplace flue. Siegfried slid about thirty feet down the chimney before coming to a stop. He then cast dimension door to teleport to the hidden passage he’d discovered near the warded space above him. He appeared in the long, narrow corridor instantly. Most of the stonework in the corridor had long been shattered. The walls, floor and ceiling bulged outward, suggesting that something far too large for this hallway had once been shoved inside it. To Siegfried’s left, a broken section of corridor revealed a narrow three-foot-high, three-foot-wide fissure that roughly corresponded to his mental image of where the fireplace flue might be located. Ahead of him was an arched doorway, blocked by a door of metal-bound oak inlaid with steel plates, each of which depicted a coiled snake in bas-relief. Siegfried noted that there was a tiny hole in one of the snakes’ mouths. Inscribed on the floor before the doorway was the coat of arms of a Waterdhavian noble family – a deep green snake on a yellow field with a white eye and a red iris. “House Gost, I presume,” Siegfried said. He knew the Gost Family had built its wealth in caravan-mastering, trading and armour-smithing. Members of House Gost were known to worship Lathander but were also patrons of Siamorphe, the goddess of nobility. The family had a villa in the North Ward of Waterdeep. Siegfried looked at the state of the door, arch and corridor. “You’ve been skimping on maintenance,” he said. Siegfried’s truesight revealed to him that the coat of arms was enchanted with a temporal stasis trap. He also noted that the overlapping walls of force had a gap in them that corresponded with the arched doorway before him, but within the Ethereal Plane there seemed to be an arcane trap floating in mid-air. “Oho!” he said. “Tricky Gosts.” He surmised that the ethereal trap would likely only snare a creature within the Ethereal Plane. Turning around, Siegfried saw that the hallway ended in a blank arch that was filled in with stone. He turned back towards the door that blocked his path and fired off four eldritch blasts towards it. Shadowy skeletons holding a gnarled tree trunk of shadowstuff battered the door off its hinges. He hopped over the trapped coat of arms and landed in a rectangular chamber that looked like had once been a storeroom. From the door debris he picked up a shard of oak that was sufficiently stake-like. “Come to bed, Artor! It’s past your beddie-byes!” He called out to the approaching mist. As he looked back at the corridor, he saw some magical shimmering silver light begin to fill the blocked-up archway at the far end of the hallway. “Curious,” he murmured, preparing himself for whatever was about to happen. Bob quick-cast wish to cast maze on Planetar-wen. He banished the druid into a harmless demiplane. With a breath of life he brought his brother back from the brink. “We should probably move before our friend comes back,” Bob said, heading towards the next chamber. Lord Thestus, Alec, and Unger followed. Grandur thought that there was something off about the four-poster bed. Behind him he heard a clanking sound as a number of objects clattered into the hearth, including a sword, bracers, amulet, ring, and cape. “Hmmm,” Grandur said. He examined the objects but thought better of it and turned back to the bed. His short stature gave him a unique perspective and soon he was able to discern that there was indeed a shallow depression beneath the bed itself. The rectangular depression was filled with something. Grandur’s eyes lit up as he saw that the depression contained a gleaming mithril statue carved in the shape of a recumbent, powerfully-built warrior cloaked in full plate. Grandur cast identify on the statue. He determined that it had no magical properties, but all was not as it seemed. The statue itself was hollow and seamless, with the exception of two tiny holes in the statue’s eyes. Grandur used his psychic hand to probe the eye holes and determined they were similar to the caliph’s sarcophagus. He then picked up the hollow statue and shook it. He heard the slithering sound of dirt on stone within the statue and smelled freshly-turned earth. There was a maker’s mark on the ass end of the statue – Hendever’s Coffins and Coffers. Grandur vaguely remembered walking through a commercial district in Waterdeep known as the Coffinmarch and recognized the symbol hanging from over a shop door. “Quite valuable,” Grandur murmured. He fished out two cork bottle stoppers and plugged the statue’s eyeholes. He then walked to the hearth and called up the chimney. “Hey there, Varien was it? I’ve found something that I’d like to put in your portable hole if I may.” “What is it?” Varien replied. “It’s a coffin, I guess,” Grandur said. “I plugged up the escape holes. It’s valuable I think and something we can use to stop the vampire from regenerating, I think?” In the corridor, the vampiric mist’s tendrils began to drift into Siegfried’s line of sight from the fissure in the wall. “Hello there,” he said. The mist seemed to hesitate for a moment before curling back on itself and disappearing back into the fissure. “What’s wrong, McFly?” Siegfried called, quoting a line from Hark! The Past Beckons , a popular Waterdhavian stage show from his childhood. “Chicken?” From his perch in the chimney, Varien tossed the wizard his portable hole . Placing his hands on the chimney bricks, he relied on his hunter’s mark he visualized the vampiric mist’s escape route. “It’s gone sideways,” he murmured. “Yes,” Grandur said absently as he fished the silken circle from the ashes, “things seem to have gotten out of hand here.” Varien put a dagger between his teeth and began to climb up the chimney. “I only came for the Ettin Axe!” Siegfried called out to the retreating mist. “I’m willing to tell the paladin I killed you and leave you alone if you give that axe up. I can keep chasing you for hours and keep you from your coffin until you cease to exist. Or you can give me what I want and I shall leave.” A voice broke the silence behind Siegfried. “Do not address that impostor. Address me instead.” Siegfried turned around to regard a humanoid creature clad in the vestments of a Masked Lord of Waterdeep, magically warded against divination magic to protect the wearer’s identity. The person had entered the room from one of the side entrances. Siegfried’s eyes widened. The Lord was carrying an oblong object in its hands that was wrapped in oilcloth. “I believe you’ve toyed with him long enough,” the Masked Lord said of the vampire. “I’ve been watching your activities with great interest.” “I hope the Masked Lords are pleased with what they’ve seen today,” Siegfried said. “They might be,” The Masked Lord replied. “They know I’m here on official business on behalf of the Open Lord, Lady Silverhand,” Siegfried continued. “Oh yes, that was loudly and clearly delineated, Prince Siegfried Alagondar,” the Masked Lord said, its magically-augmented voice betraying a hint of amusement. “I do find the idea of granting that which you seek to be quite intriguing indeed.” “I suddenly feel that the answer’s been obvious this whole time,” Siegfried said. “The Masked Lords knew of the Ettin Axe’s location this whole time, but the best way to stop it from getting into the wrong hands was to remove it from the board entirely. I confess that I fell for it just like everyone else.” The Masked Lord nodded slightly. “The only proviso of course is that we leave one another as we found one another. I leave you to your business and you leave me to mine.” “The Masked Lords legitimized any claim I have,” Siegfried said. “Should the Masked Lords revoke that, or should there be no Masked Lords to hold that, I should lose my claim.” “Indeed,” The Masked Lord replied. “I look forward to our future dealings with each other,” Siegfried said, stepping forward. The Masked Lord surrendered the wrapped object to Siegfried. Siegfried accepted it. It certainly felt like a double-headed axe of exquisite balance and heft. “In terms of the Great Game, you wouldn’t have any marble-sized eyes hidden back there, would you?” “I have many trinkets and treasures, but not those which you seek,” the Masked Lord said. “Then we’ll keep an eye out,” Siegfried said. “I do enjoy a good pun,” the Masked Lord said. Siegfried winked and turned to leave. “Well, I can’t guarantee the safety of your body double. Those who I travel with are a persistent lot. However, I can tell them this area was already cleared out save for what we were looking for.” “Well, I rely on your considerable powers of persuasion,” the Masked Lord said. “And yes, that impostor failed miserably in his duty and his fate is his own. No tears shall be shed with his loss.” “Perhaps I can find you an appropriate replacement,” Siegfried offered. “Are you offering one of your companions?” The Masked Lord replied. “Well, that depends on what we meet down there, but I’ll be in touch if I find somebody qualified for the job.” “Don’t call me,” the Masked Lord said. “I’ll call you.” Siegfried sheathed Azuredge and began to unwrap the axe as he walked away. “Oh, and Prince Alagondar?” the Masked Lord called after him. Siegfried turned. The Masked Lord removed its helmet and looked at Siegfied with dark, glittering eyes. Black dreadlocks spilled over the Lord’s vestments as the man’s chiseled obsidian features arranged themselves into a cunning grin that bared prominent fangs. “Rest assured,” Artor Morlin said. “The bill will come due.”