Planetar-wen was lost in a labyrinthine demiplane that branched into endless stairways and corridors in all three dimensions plus a few he didn’t know existed, but now was all-too-familiar with. No matter which direction he traveled, the mist-shrouded gloomy pathways spiralled before him out of sight everyplace he looked. He was alone with his thoughts for what felt like an eternity. Suddenly, he popped out of the demiplane and found himself back in the Chamber of the Caliph within the Dungeon of the Crypt. Before him was the open sarcophagus and its secret entrance, and he saw familiar friezes on the walls around him. Scattered on the ground was the papery remains of the grisgol. The room was full of dread silence. Atop the sarcophagus was a scrap of parchment weighted down by a bunch of carrots. “For me?” Planetar-wen asked himself. He dropped out of his polymorphed shape and padded over to the sarcophagus, grabbing for the carrots. The carrots were raw, but chopped just the way he liked them. Munching happily, he eyed the note suspiciously. Dear Erwen, The party is very disappointed in you. We left you in a time out so you could think about what you’ve done. We’re heading for the Temple of Beauty. Meet us there if you wish. Next to the note are some carrots. Regards, Bob Erwen crumped up the note and threw it down the hallway. He began looking around for a dungeon pest of any kind – a mouse, a spider, or perhaps even a centipede would do in a pinch. His sharp eyes spied a cockroach scuttling along in one corner of the room. Erwen cast enlarge and speak with animals on the creature, which expanded in size until it was as large as a dog, except with six legs, an iridescent carapace and long, wispy antennae that whipped about like a slaver’s lash. The creature’s orb-like black eyes fixed Erwen with a rather confused look. “Wait a minute,” the cockroach blurted. “Did this room just get smaller?” “Uh, something like that,” Erwen said. “But listen, I need a moment of your time.” The cockroach shrugged two sets of limbs. “All right. I’m beyond time, but whatever.” “What?” Erwen said. “Time,” the cockroach said. “I’m beyond it. I will live to see the end of it. My kind existed before it. Nothing can kill me. That sort of thing.” “Oh, well, I don’t know about that, sir,” Erwen said. The roach’s antennae split the air with the crack of a whip. “Whaddaya want, four-limbs?” “Have you seen my fr-” Erwen started to say, then corrected himself. “Have you seen the people I was in here with?” “You mean all those other four-limbs?” the roach said. “The ones that walked out of here alive, yes,” Erwen said. “I like ‘em dead myself,” the roach said. “Yeah, me too,” Erwen said. “But I’m running short on time here.” “Well, it’s of the essence, isn’t it?” The roach said. “But like I said, I’m beyond all that. What’s your name, Four-Limbs?” “Uh, Erwen, Slayer of Cockroaches,” Erwen said. The roach made a chittering sound that Erwen assumed was laughter. “Well, now things are going to get difficult. I’ll take you on. The name’s Gregor.” “Gregor the Cockroach?” Erwen said. “Yeah, what’s it to you? It’s a common name for cockroaches.” Gregor said. The roach raised its first set of limbs menacingly. “C’mon, put up your dukes.” Erwen reached for his staff and twirled it about before striking Gregor with the butt end. There was a sound like a cracking peanut shell. Gregor looked down at the sharp end of the stick he was now skewered on. Then he looked up at Erwen. “Is that all you got, four-limbs? I told ya. You can’t kill me!” Gregor began to scuttle towards Erwen, claws at the ready and mandibles slavering. Erwen dodged the creature’s bite attack. “My kind were here before the beginning of the World!” Gregor shouted. “And we’ll be here long after your kind are gone! You want a piece of me? You’ll have to do better than that! If your four-limbed friends walked in here, they didn’t walk out, you get me?” Erwen conjured animals and manifested a swarm of more than 36 cockroaches that surrounded him in a shimmering swirl of fey iridescence. The creatures spilled out onto the floors and walls of the chamber, chittering and clicking. Gregor suddenly shrunk back down to size and was lost amid the swarm. “Brothers! Brothers!” Erwen heard a tiny voice from within the writhing morass. “This is not the way! We cannot kill each other!” “Sorry, Gregor,” Erwen said. The swarm began to twist into a spiral shape. “Brothers! That four-legger is the real enemy!” Gregor tried to rally the conjured creatures to his side even as they bit at his carapace. “We seem to be at an impasse!” Gregor scuttled over to Erwen and bit him on the Halfling’s big toe with his mandibles. Erwen winced. “Take that!” Gregor squeaked. “Your allied can’t kill me, and neither can you!” Erwen frowned and stomped down with his tough-skinned heel. There was a squishing sound. “My brothers…will avenge me…” Gregor said weakly. Erwen pressed down and spread a green smear on the stone floor with his foot. Erwen dismissed his insect swarm. “It’s time to bug out,” he said. He cast wind walk and turned into a speedy cloud that darted through the nearest crack in the dungeon wall. Cloud-wen found the fireplace flue two chambers over and sped upwards, shooting out of the top of the chimney with a pop of cinders and soot. The cloud streaked its way over Waterdeep’s streets towards the Temple of Beauty. Cloud-wen perused the exterior of the opulent temple and peeked through the stained-glass windows flanking the sanctuary. He spied Bob speaking with Nero of the Garden. Cloudwen squeezed through a tiny gap in the window and drifted innocuously between the flying buttresses. He listened to the conversation as it unfolded, and followed the party at a distance as they collected themselves and prepared for their journey. Erwen traveled via cloud to Daggerford, showing up well after the Conclave of Lords had begun. He loafed around outside the ducal castle with the local fauna. The Conclave of Lords began to break up, with each of the alliance’s representatives milling out, sampling the buffet, and drinking up the finest ducal reserves. Jalaster Silvermane dutifully took Sir Lanniver Strayl into custody, with Ontharr Frume looking stricken at the situation. “Varien, Grandur, you have been granted access to the Duchess’s library here in the castle to research Castle Dragonspear,” Siegfried said to his companions. “I know how to handle a library,” Grandur said. Varien had already left to find the archives. Siegfried moved to Jalaster Silvermane’s side. “What’s the plan should Sir Lanniver be scryed upon by his co-conspirators while Neverwinter prepares for war?” Jalaster smiled. “We have that covered, don’t you worry your handsome little head about it. We have a secure location warded against such activity.” “Nice, you’ll have to show me sometime,” Siegfried said. Jalaster blushed. “How could I refuse the request of a warduke?” he said. Ontharr moved to Sir Lanniver’s side. “I’ll escort the lad to his cell,” he said. “Ontharr, your duty should be to go home and share misinformation about what the Lords’ Alliance is up to in the wake of this conclave,” Siegfried said. “In this situation, because they will be asking you, it’s best for them to think you don’t know what’s happening and that you’re being hoodwinked. You can hold the advantage and find out who is trying to deceive you. I know what you want, and what is right is to demand justice and declare there are traitors in your midst, but that will only alert them and give them the opportunity to escape justice. Play the fool, let them lie to you, and find out who the liars are in your court. Write down their names, so you can get them all at once and none shall escape your gauntlet. This is a hard thing I ask you, but as the Gauntlet knows, to act too quickly without all the evidence prevents justice from being fulfilled.” “That may be true, Siegfried,” Dagult Neverember was suddenly at Siegfried’s elbow. “But Ontharr here and the turncoat Lanniver were seen departing Neverwinter together to attend this very conclave. What questions will be raised if they do not return the same way?” “Ontharr, you should return and say that Lanniver is following Varien into Dragonspear Castle,” Siegfried said. “Huh,” Dagult said. “That sounds adventurous and mysterious.” “Adventurous and mysterious!” Dauner Ilzimmer, who was lurking behind Dagult, repeated that for emphasis. “Varien is already on a Gilded Eye watchlist,” Siegfried explained. “He’s been marked, as they say in their warrants. As a wanted quantity, let’s say. Dragonspear Castle is the sort of place where people tend to disappear, and it would make sense that if Lanniver entered the castle he would be unavailable for some time. It would appear as though Lanniver were pursuing the Gilded Eye’s interest in that regard.” “Well played, Siegfried!” Dagult said boisterously, sipping a flagon of wine. “Well played, indeed. You must have learned a thing or two about skullduggery when you were hanging onto Cassandra Thann’s apron strings, eh?” Ontharr looked thoughtfully at Siegfried. “This is a duty I shall discharge, Siegfried.” “Ontharr, I’ll give you a lift back to Neverwinter, of course!” Dagult slapped Ontharr Frume on the back with a resounding gong of gauntlet on backplate. The Lord Protector turned to Siegfried. “Well, I’ll have my people contact your people about this special military operation coming up, then. In the meantime, mum’s the word.” “Of course, I look forward to continuing to work together,” Siegfried replied. “Speaking of mums, my mother says hello. She didn’t say it quite as nicely as I just did, but we’re all being polite here.” “Ah yes, that is the way of mothers,” Dagult said. “That was Adeline’s way for certain,” Siegfried said, letting his mother’s name slip deliberately. Dagult arched an eyebrow. “Well, say hi to your mother for me,” he said with a lecherous wink. “Hopefully I won’t have to, as Evernight is not a nice place,” Siegfried replied. “Evernight?” Dagult chuckled. “Ah yes, you seem to have a thing for scary bedtime stories, Siegfried. The Thann family nursemaids must have read you some corkers by candlelight.” Dagult spun about on his heel and strode away, Dauner Ilzimmer in tow. The rest of the Alliance leaders were showily glad-handing with Laeral Silverhand and conclave host Lady Morwen Daggerford. Siegfried joined in to schmooze with the leadership. Varien and Grandur were escorted by a Daggerford militiaman to the ducal archives. Daggerford Castle’s library was more of a jumped-up study and reading room, but it would do in a pinch. What it did have was a great deal of information about the history of Daggerford and its environs, including finely-illustrated maps. The resident librarian unrolled a large drawing of Dragonspear Castle and its surrounding environs on a large desk. The resident librarian also procured for Varien a tome entitled “ A Historical Treatise on Dragonspear Castle .” The book looked weather-beaten and scarred from rather rough handling. “We found this on the body of a member of the Shining Crusade, which sacked Dragonspear Castle more than a century ago. It is mostly intact, and contains the crusader’s personal annotations.” Varien began to read: In 1255 DR, Daeros Dragonspear completed construction of the fortress that would soon bear his name: Dragonspear Castle. Daeros first broke ground on the High Moor to be near the lair of his dragon ally, Halatathlaer. Residents of the High Moor recall seeing Daeros taking regular flights on the great copper dragon's back. (Annotation: I located architectural sketches of the castle. Appears Dragonspear built his castle directly above Halatathlaer’s lair. May explain reports of a ghostly draconic presence nearby—must warn crusaders not to interfere with it.) Many coveted Dragonspear’s castle and the wealth of his dragon ally, and in 1290 DR the wizard Ithtaerus executed a complicated plan. By wielding his considerable magic and manipulating other dragons into attacking the castle, Ithtaerus brought about the deaths of both Dragonspear and Halatathlaer. He had little time to enjoy his victory, though, as one of his dragon allies slew him in a rage after discovering that Ithtaerus had made off with Halatathlaer’s hoard. (Annotation: If the dragon’s spirit still lingers, perhaps Daeros’s spirit also remains trapped within the castle’s ruins. Divinations reveal a portal to the Fugue Plane stands somewhere nearby. This would be the perfect place to intercept souls. Then we can use them to fuel the ritual and bolster our ranks.) Dragonspear Castle lay in ruins, but Ithtaerus’s attack had left a dreadful legacy. Beneath the castle, a portal to Avernus, the first layer of Hell, had opened up. For a time, hobgoblins and bandits used the castle as a base from which to conduct raids across the High Moor. Unbeknownst to anyone, devils had found the portal’s other end in Avernus and were quietly infiltrating the castle. In 1354 DR, the devil launched a massive attack, seizing the castle. Forces from Waterdeep and Baldur’s Gate eventually marched on the castle in the first Dragonspear War. (Annotation: They could not destroy the portal, though. My research indicates it remains present, though dormant. Blood tainted by a god’s influence is required to activate its power. H requires us to secure the portal room the moment we take control of the castle.) Devils returned to Faerûn in 1363 DR, when they retook the castle and raised an army. They marched all the way to Daggerford, destroying buildings and slaughtering innocents along their way. A group of adventurers, brought together by chance and necessity, destroyed the army and saw the portal sealed forever. (Annotation: Forever? We shall see about that.) Grandur browed the library’s stacks, looking at political and historical volumes with varying degrees of disinterest. He was really only interested in the arcane arts. However, idly flipping through an already-opened tome atop a large reading table, his analytical eye caught a reference to a Dunstan Forgebar. Clan Forgebar? Grandur thought to himself. We’ve made the history books, have we? He read further. Dunstan Forgebar was identified as a Priest of Vergadain who had been a member of the Council of Shining Stones in Mirabar about a century ago. Grandur recalled the name – Dunstan had been one of the few envoys that the isolationist Forgebar dwarves had ever sent out into the wider world. Perhaps Ambassador Rhundorth stopped by the library to see what they had on his hometown , Grandur thought. He frowned for a moment. Upon recollection, he realized that neither Rhundorth nor Connerad Brawnanvil had been very polite to him at the Conclave of Lords. Their eyes had been daggers, now that he thought about it. The fact that they knew that Grandur had escaped Clan Forgebar and was now here made him deeply uncomfortable. So, my clan is still alive , Grandur thought. It had been decades since he had made his escape from Clan Forgebar’s network of caves in Mount Galardrym. The dwarf sighed. There was more productive work to be done. Clearing the reading desk, he pulled out the musty, dusty sheaf of papers he’d recovered from the grisgol and spread them out. Gazing at them, he felt compelled to begin arranging and collating them into some sort of coherent narrative, a narrative that seemed to elude him just as he was putting the puzzle pieces into place. Varien pulled another book from the shelf, a travelogue entitled Far From the Misty Hills , penned by Aedyn Graymantle. It was a treatise on the independent kingdoms of Western Faerun published within the last few years by Varien’s reckoning. Varien opened it and read: Though the structure is crumbled and perpetually shrouded in mist, more than one of the caravans I've guided through these lands have seen Dragonspear Castle from afar and expressed a desire to seek shelter there. As I tell them at such times, it is better to seek shelter inside an opened tomb in these lands, and crawl in to huddle among the warrior dead within, than to seek anything like sanctuary from Dragonspear. Built by an adventurer named Daeros after he found a wealth of gems in a sunken dwarven settlement, Dragonspear Castle was erected above the very caverns where that settlement- fallen Kanaglym- was interred. Two hundred years ago, sorcerous machinations brought about the fall of Daeros and the opening of an infernal portal in the depths of the castle. After that event, Dragonspear's ruins were occu- pied by hobgoblins and myriad bands of bandits, until Waterdeep and Baldur's Gate sent troops to root them out. Discovering that the portal yet existed, but unable to destroy it, they established the Hold of Battle Lions, a fortified temple of Tempus, in an attempt to prevent anything from coming through. In time, though, devils broke through new portals inside the castle's walls and overran the defenders. Then came the Second Dragonspear War, more than a century ago, during which a strange cloak of mist settled over the castle, and the forces of Waterdeep and Baldur's Gate once more attacked. This time, they defeated the devils, leaving the castle ruined and still cloaked in mists. At least one other time since then, the devils have punched back through, amassing other fell creatures to attack the nearby settlements (notably Daggerford), but they have been fought off by adventurers each time. The most recent stories tell of heroes confronting Red Wizards of Thay and other devilry. I pray that this will be the last time such efforts are necessary, but somehow, I think not. Today, Dragonspear remains crumbled and mist-shrouded. Rumors say that the castle-seemingly quiescent- has become home to undead horrors of some sort, but no one seems terribly inclined to investigate such claims, so long as they don't threaten the folk who live nearby. Some interested parties out of Baldur's Gate offered me more than a fair amount of coin to investigate the truth of these rumors, though I demurred. I don't fancy myself an investigator or a spy, and I know better than to seek out whatever foulness might have taken hold in this place. The book was a history of tragedy and loss, revealing Dragonspear Castle to be a place of peril rather than protection. “So, Dragonspear Castle is an undead and devil factory,” Varien murmured. Varien surmised that every few winters it was seized by humanoids or fiends, until adventurers invariably cleared them out, until it was seized again a few years later. Rumors hinted that a portal to the Lower Planes sits in one of the cellars, disgorging a steady stream of foes. There’s also reason to believe that there were tunnels leading up to those cellars from the Underdark. A century ago, armies from Waterdeep bolstered by militias from other settlements purged Dragonspear Castle of devils from the Nine Hells that had slipped into Faerun through a magical portal in the castle’s lower levels. Priests of Tempus erected a shrine within the castle walls to keep a lid on the portal, but the shrine had long since fallen, its guardian priests eradicated. Varien found references to Baazka sprinkled throughout the text. There were also references to something called the Dragonspear Gate, and the Bloodgate. The Bloodgate ? Varien flipped back to the other book. Blood tainted by a god’s influence is required to activate its power , he read. Varien knew that these gates contained elemental nodes activated by ritual humanoid sacrifice, and each gate would have an accompanying nexus. It could be the corruption of an ancient elven portal network, the paladin thought. He turned several more pages in rapid succession, and a scrap of parchment fell from the book to the floor. Varien picked it up.