Held in High Husteem

The post-synod festivities in the Temple of Beauty continued, a wild bacchanalia of wine, men, women, and song. Varien stole away a few moments of contemplative prayer before the voluptuous statue of Sune in the temple’s sanctuary. As he prayed a prayer of thanks and sought Sune’s wise counsel, he was aware of a melody that began to ring within the upper reaches of the sanctuary’s vaulted ceiling. A woman’s voice, lilting, its pitch so perfect it needed no instrumental accompaniment. Sune was singing to Varien.   You are beautiful. You are beautiful. You are perfect, just the way you are. You are beautiful. You are beautiful. You shall not age, a day beyond this day. You are beautiful. Time’s ravages shall not corrupt you. You are beautiful. Your scars healed, long live your new flesh. You are perfect, just the way you are. You are beautiful. You are beautiful May your days be as stars in the sky.   Varien felt a rush of divine energy ripple through him like pleasurable lightning as he was bathed and baptised in the presence of Lady Firehair. He picked up a nearby hand mirror, a common enough item in the temple, and saw the scars and wounds he’d accumulated during his adventuring days begin to fade away, save for the barest reminder of the lessons he’d learned in his journeys. He felt rejuvenated in a way he hadn’t felt since the last time he’d had a good night’s rest, which was before the Fall of Lorelei. I’m in my prime, now and forever, Varien thought to himself. Just the way Sune wants me. He thought of the difference he could make in the Realms with such a long lifetime ahead of him, and saw no reason to disagree with the decision of his goddess. He smiled, and his reflection smiled back at him.   Varien was called away to review the incoming recruits for the Sunite holy orders present at the synod. Tiberius acted as Varien’s martial advisor during the procession.   “This is the most stingy drug den in all Waterdeep city!” Siegfried declared in an overblown, stilted accent designed to convince all within earshot that he was utterly clueless. The butler he was currently allowing to manhandle him was the absolute inverse of the hired help Siegfried was used to, like Cauldar Maskar, who wouldn’t hesitate to pull out a stiletto in defence of his employers, but who took great pains to hide his combat competency from outsiders. This thug, poured into a fancy outfit, was wearing his brutishness on his sleeve, as it were. The thick cords of his overmuscled neck were not at all concealed by the fancy cravat at his throat. With one hand he perp-walked the dragonborn pimp into Huntinghall’s front foyer, while the other hand was holding a rather obese longhair cat, who was already hissing and snarling at the interlopers. Bob followed along. The door behind them slammed shut of its own volition and a series of locks engaged with a staccato of deadbolts. They were in an inner courtyard with doors leading east, north, and west. There was a second-level mezzanine with a balcony that ringed the second floor above. “You know, I do not think you are even a real butler!” Siegfried declared, even louder than his previous outburst. “Show me to the Galleria!” The butler sighed a war-weary sigh and his cat’s tail swished angrily. Bob found himself suddenly enthralled by the herringbone tile pattern beneath his feet and the rich tapestries adorning the walls of the foyer. He bit his lower lip to keep from snickering at Siegfried’s ridiculous accent. Siegfried’s cocksure composure belied his quiet evaluation of their surroundings. There were obvious guards stationed on the upper balcony, not bothering to conceal their presence. The balcony featured a cage-like fence of small pillars, with enough distance between them for crossbows or magic wands to be aimed at the area below. The butler, thick of brow and bald of head, with a greying fringe of lank hair grown out at the sides and back, cleared his throat and muttered wearily, “are you buying or selling?” The vicious cat under the butler’s bulging bicep growled anew. Siegfried subtly cast suffocate on the butler, letting his magical disguise drop. The dragonborn pimp’s features melted away, revealing his menacing expression beneath. He leaned forward and whispered in the butler’s ear. “Neither, this is a raid. You will take me to Orlpar and you will not raise a fuss. This will be over quickly and without bloodshed and your breath will be restored to you.” The butler stiffened as the invisible hands created by the spell closed around his throat and began to squeeze. His eyes bulged. He nodded shakily and indicated the door to Siegfried’s left. Siegfried’s eyes narrowed. “Is that really the way? Or do I have to find someone else to introduce me to the master of the house? Think carefully. Is your job really worth it? Some people think that jobs are really important, that they’re as essential as, well, air. I want you to think about that, whether taking me through that door specifically is going to be as valuable as something that you take freely every day.” Siegfried’s hands stayed in his pockets. The butler tugged at his collar as his face reddened. Suddenly, he straightened up and inhaled deeply, taking half a step back from Siegfried. “Are you sure you’ve chosen the correct course of action?” he growled. “Interesting,” Siegfried replied. He realized the man must have activated an anti-magic protection device concealed on his person. “Smart, I should get me one of those,” he said. “You can take your threats, and exit through the door behind you,” the butler said as he glared at Siegfried. The cat growled. “On the one hand, I came here to be polite,” Siegfried replied. “On the other hand, kings don’t bow to thieves, so I suppose you leave me no choice but to butcher every mother’s son here in the building.” He polymorphed into a pit fiend, his shape blurring and stretching as he took on a devilish countenance, his horned head now level with the mercenary guards on the mezzanine. “Anyone who wishes to live can throw down their weapons, and drag Orlpar Husteem to face me,” Siegfiend growled with a voice that rang like an unholy gong. An aura of fear rippled out from his winged form, enveloping the house staff like an invisible fog. The guards measured their courage and stared at one another for a few heartbeats as Siegfiend’s threat sank in. Three of them immediately chickened out, throwing down their crossbows, and there was a pell-mell dash away from the balcony to the north through an open passageway leading further into Huntinghall. The other two drew their rapiers and shouted at their companions to stop, following them through a second passage on the northeast side of the mezzanine. The butler backed away from Siegfiend and attempted to flee through the eastern door. Siegfried clawed at him in an attempt to arrest his escape, and succeeded in slicing deep cuts into the butler’s back, shredding his finery. He screamed as he lowered his shoulder and rammed into the door, slamming it open. The cat in his arms screeched in terror. “You’ll have to bring Orlpar out here, or else we’ll have to renovate!” Siegfried thundered after the fleeing butler. Bob cast haste on his polymorphed companion. The stench of brimstone began to fill the chamber. The door to the west slammed out and a cloud of narcotic smoke billowed out. A woman with weathered skin, sunken eyes, and limp brown hair wearing a tattered and stained brown frock stared in confusion. The smile on her skull-like face was more like a rictus than an expression of mirth. She had the look of a used-up, prematurely-aged streetwalker about her. Her eyes widened and she screeched, “No! I’m having a bad trip!” She grabbed the doors and pulled them close as sounds of general confusion echoed behind her. Siegfiend manifested a flaming mace and bashed the protective barrier ringing the mezzanine, breaking several of the supports and setting the ornamental wooden carvings ablaze. He crawled through the hole he made and stomped in the upper hallway. The guards appeared to be fighting amongst themselves, some of them trying to open an ornate door while the others attempted to prevent their comrades from doing so. One of the guards saw Siegfiend coming, dropped to his knees, and shuffled backwards, pleadingly. Siegfiend pointed a talon at the door. “Oh, is that where he is?” He lunged forward with a flap of his leathery wings and swiped at the door with his tail. The remaining guards dove out of the way as his whip-like tail cracked and struck the door with a mighty blow. The door withstood the attack, rattling in its hinges. Must be reinforced , Siegfiend thought. He smashed the damaged door with his mace and knocked it off its hinges. He squeezed through the door frame, mace sizzling as it came into contact with floor, wall, and ceiling. The opulent chamber was decorated with artwork that to Siegfiend’s discerning eye hinted at a depraved indifference towards life on the part of the decorator. The richly-appointed room was consistent with that of a noble-born bachelor, right down to the oversized bed, upon which, tangled in the sheets, was a screeching courtesan. The naked woman’s bare breasts and rouged nipples were no distraction to Siegfiend, who surmised that until just a few seconds ago, she had been engaged in services with the room’s occupant. A hatstand was rocking back and forth near one corner of the room, as though somebody had grabbed their headgear on the way out of a secret exit behind a bookcase that was even now sliding back into place. Siegfiend wasted no time in tearing the bookcase from its sliding track with one snap of his jaws and snorted a snort of brimstone-tinged derision as he realized the books in the case were fake, mere spines glued to the wooden frame. He spat the secret door to the side and dove through the hidden exit, hot on the trail of the fleeing noble. The secret door led to a stairwell. He squeezed through the hole and entered the stairwell, spying his quarry. Orlpar Husteem was hopping on one foot down the stairs as he fought to get his powder-blue pants on, but his jaunty hat was firmly on his head. His jacket and tie were both flapping loose behind him as he fled. “Lord Orlpar!” Siegfiend hissed. “Your hospitality leaves something to be desired – your butler has yet to offer me a drink!” He reached out a claw to grasp the fleeing noble. Orlpar looked over his shoulder, eyes wide, but proved to be a slippery target, ducking out of the way of Siegfiend’s grasp with a flourish. He raised his hands placatingly as he danced away, his pants secured. “Hey, maaaaan!” he whined in a peculiar mock-Calashite dialect used by board-swimmers from the southern coasts. “Let’s talk about this! The kitchen’s right over here! But keep your hands of the merchandise!” He patted the lapels of his very fine coat. “I would love to talk with you,” Siegfiend replied. “Command your manservant to bring me some lemonade.” Orlpar chuckled. “Lemonade? Alright, alright, alright! We can do that, maaaan! Gammon!” he shouted to his servant. “Gammon, where in the Hells are you?” He winced and looked at the pit fiend. “No offence or nuthin’, man.” He turned back to his servant. “And why didn’t you announce this visitor, yo?” From another room there was a sound of a throat clearing, and a weak voice replied. “Sorry, sir. Bleeding out at the moment.” “Well don’t just stand there bleeding, get this fiend some lemonade, man!” Orlpar called back. “C’mon, you’re making me look bad in front of an archdevil, man!” “Okay, sire,” Gammon said, limping into the hall, trailing blood behind him. He was still holding the cat, who was struggling mightily to escape his grasp. “Man, let Rebecca go and get this fiend some lemonade!” Orlpar barked. “Yes, sire,” Gammon wheezed. He limped slowly across the hall towards the kitchen. Orlpar zipped up his fly. “You caught me at a bad time, maaan,” he said sheepishly. “But please, step into my office!” He pointed to a siting room to the east. He ushered Siegfiend into his office, which featured a mahogany desk and some fine overstuffed chairs. Orlpar walked around the desk and collapsed into the chair, tying his cravat as he did so. “Yeah, take a seat, man!” Orlpar said with hospitality. “Wonderful,” Siegfiend said. He sat in one of the chairs before the desk, and it creaked beneath his bulk. “Orlpar, do you know how working for the Two-Cities Consortium is a lot like being a dairy farmer?” “In what way, man?” Orlpar replied. He popped open a tiny hinged box on his desk and withdrew a small tablet. “Haunspier?” he said, offering it to the pit fiend. Siegfiend shook his horned head, and Orlpar shrugged and swallowed the tab of haunspier with a gulp. “Your goal is to extract the maximum amount of milk with the minimum amount of moo,” Siegfiend said. “That’s really well put, bro!” Orlpar replied. “Xanathar’s little plot to place intellect devourers into key heads in the city is creating too much moo,” Siegfiend continued. Orlpar nodded numbly.

Bob listened to the sounds of mayhem recede, replaced by the crackling of fire as bits and pieces of the mezzanine rained down in burning chunks. The sounds of quarreling guards had been replaced by the sound of guards gamely fighting a spreading fire on the second floor. To the west, he heard confused screams and muffled cries. He shrugged and headed to the western door, coughing as he passed through the dissipating vapour. He pulled the door open. He was standing in an obvious drug den. The floor was covered by overlapping thick rugs, with piles of pillows situated next to low tables. Steaming kettles contained poultices of hallucinogenic narcotics that belched dreammist vapours into the air, which was thick with all sorts of flavoured smoke. Those guests who still had control of their faculties had vacated the premises, fleeing through a back door into parts unknown. Several strung-out guests were laying on the floor in repose, dead to the world, while the reed-thin woman Bob had seen before was rushing about, picking pockets and grabbing stashes of party favours from hidden compartments in the furniture, all the while babbling a hysterical blather at a fever pitch. “Oh man, oh man, oh man, you gotta keep reaching for the edge you gotta keep fighting and scratching and pulling and if you don’t you gotta start back at the beginning and you don’t quit, you don’t run, you gotta claw your way back, claw it back, claw back,” she screeched to herself as she filled her stained apron with haunspier tablets, baggies of mordayn powder, plugs of chaunsel tar and tekkil roots. “Gotta go, gotta go,” the woman wailed, shaking like a leaf. Bob approached her carefully and cast lesser restoration as he touched her bare shoulder. The woman stiffened and then stopped her frantic woolgathering, sagging as the various poisons coursing through her system were suddenly withdrawn by Bob’s healing magic. She wobbled, but her expression softened as though she had just had an epiphany. “Wh-what?” she stammered. “Fear not,” Bob said consolingly. “Stay calm and we can help you. You can come with me to the Temple of Sune to recover if you wish.” The woman shook her head. “I just…I gotta sit down.” She collapsed onto a pile of pillows. “Take all the time you need,” Bob said. “Who are you?” the woman asked. “I’m here to help,” Bob replied. “The rest can wait until later.” “Right,” the woman said ruefully. “Here to help. That’s what they all say.” She pulled her knees to her chest and started shivering. Bob took off Glasstaff’s red robe and put it around her shoulders. She accepted his offer and rocked back and forth while the shivering stopped.   The injured Gammon stumbled into Lord Orlpar’s office with a tray of lemonade glasses and a full pitcher. He gingerly served the pit fiend a tall glass of lemonade. Siegfiend sipped the glass daintily. “Maaan, you come in here, talking about cattle, livestock, and dairy farming, like what do you want?” Lord Orlpar said. “Well, I want you to give Xanathar a head’s up that I’m going to do to him what I did to you today on a significantly larger scale as I try and find who’s behind the plot to replace Waterdeep’s best and brightest with intellect devourers,” Siegfiend said. “And that’s not good for business.” “No man, that doesn’t sound like it’s good for business at all,” Orlpar said. “Quite so,” Siegfiend said. “It’s honestly a lot of effort for me to do it, and it will be very inconvenient for Xanathar when I do it, but I have to do what I have to do because Xanathar’s people have been making too much noise up top, do you know what I mean? Xanathar’s been harshing my vibe, so now I have to come in here and harsh your vibe.” “Yeah man, I’m feeling pretty harshed right now, now that you mention it,” Orlpar replied. “So, if you can talk to Xanathar today, make sure he knows this is happening, and then he can shut down that operation since it’s causing too much trouble, more than it’s worth, I can be in and out of there with as minimal damage as possible. Because his operation’s getting shut down one way or another, whether it’s me, or somebody less amenable to doing business, you understand? Because if they try to stop me, there’s going to be a huge mess, because I’m a big guy, you know what I mean?” “Well, that’s not cool man!” Orlpar said. “No, but if I’m not able to do it, they’re going to send someone bigger than me, aren’t they?” Siegfiend said. Orlpar threw up his hands. “What’s bigger than you, man?” “You’d be surprised who’s bigger than me,” Siegfiend replied. Orlpar shook his head in confusion. “Man, I don’t get it. Here I thought you had the wrong house, man, I thought you were looking for that dive on Aveen Street where the guys with horns keep going in and coming out, man.” SIegfiend leaned forward. “Tell me about Aveen Street.” Orlpar sucked the back of his front teeth. “Man, you’re right around the corner from it, man! A block away, man!” “I wanted to speak to you because you’re the guy who handles the business between the upstairs and downstairs,” Siegfiend said. “You’re the guy who knows who if there are rich people up top who have business with the rich people down below…” “Uh huh, uh huh,” Orlpar nodded. “You’re the guy who can say that the rich people need to step off replacing people’s brains,” Siegfiend continued. Orlpar frowned. “Yeah, man, but why do you care, man? You’re some kind of fiend, right? What does that even mean?” “Wizards!” Siegfiend replied. Orlpar was nonplussed. “Uh huh?” “If a wizard gets me, a wizard gets me, and I have to do what he wants me to do,” Siegfiend said. Orlpar leaned back in his chair precariously. “Aw, man!” “True names and all that,” Siegfiend said. “I have to go down there tomorrow, and if Xanathar stops me, I’m going to get killed, at which point, I go back to Hell. But I’m going to cause a whole, huge mess in the process, but that can all be avoided, if Xanathar goes, ‘you know what, this is a lot more trouble than it’s worth, let’s just give the guy his mind flayer, shut down the whole operation, and he’ll be in and out in five minutes without having to burn anything down!’” Orlpar nodded. “Which is going to keep business going, and the rich people upstairs don’t care about the mind flayer’s hobby, they just want the drugs, they want the bloodroot to keep flowing. Whatever you can do to get me in and out the door as fast as possible tomorrow, that’ll make the wizard commanding me happy, that’s going to keep the people lining your pockets happy, and that’s going to keep Xanathar happy, you know what I mean?” Siegfiend sipped his lemonade steadily as he felt his strength waning after Bob’s haste spell wore off. Orlpar tented his fingers and smiled crookedly. “Aw man, that’s funny you mentioned bloodroot, man! That’s real funny. Man, I was supposed to get a shipment of that this week. You wouldn’t know anything about what happened to it, would you?” His eyes twinkled. “You know what,” Siegfiend replied, “if you can sort me out, I can look into that. I’ve got people who can track that down.” “Yeah, yeah, hmmm, hmmm,” Orlpar nodded and leaned back in his chair again. “You know what would work better for me, man? If you just handed over the bloodroot, man, I’ll go talk to anyone you want. I’ll go talk to your boss, I’ll go talk to Asmodeus, right? I’ll talk to whoever.” Siegfiend realized that while Orlpar didn’t know everything, he was putting the pieces together rather quickly, and he was not as airheaded as he appeared to be. “It’s cool, it’s cool, I know things happen, man,” Orlpar continued. “Sometimes you get summoned, you fight somebody and you take what’s left, man, I get it, but you know what, I gotta be made whole man, you know what I’m saying?” Siegfiend patted his hips dramatically. “Well, I don’t have it on me, no pockets, but I might know where it is. I could fly over and drop a barrel into your courtyard.” Orlpar shook his head. “Naw, man, I can’t do that kind of business here, man, but tell you what, it’s just around the corner at the Grinning Lion, drop it in the midden out back, and Bob’s your uncle.” “You know, if I do show up there and I face problems, after giving you the bloodroot, I am going to have to come back here and burn your house down,” Siegfiend said. Orlpar sniffed the air, which was already smelling of smoke. “Dude, my house is already on fire, man! That’s what’s hilarious about this whole situation, man!” “That’s fine. I trust you to do the work in return for your bloodroot, but if you don’t hold up your end, I’m going to have to come down here and murder every mother’s son in the building.” Orlpar winced. “Man, you think I’m going to double cross a pit fiend?” “No, but I’m a devil and we have to make sure all contracts have been fulfilled,” Siegfiend said. “Yeah man, contracts, contracts! I can dig it. Yeah, man, I think we got a deal, bro! I can convey this message man, you just scratch my back metaphorically speaking, not like you did to poor Gammon there, and I’ll scratch yours! Perfect, bro, I can get a message anywhere you want. We’ll get this done, we’ll hammer this out, we’ll solve this problem. I don’t want my best customers to be consumed by infernal fire, I can dig it, I don’t want Skullport consumed by fire either, it really ties Waterdeep together, you know?” “Absolutely,” Siegfiend said. “Think about the economics. I don’t think the wizard who summoned me wants that either, I think it’s personal with her, some of her close friends got their brains eaten by intellect devourers and had to get taken to a church to get resurrected properly. It was a whole thing.” “Sounds terrible, man,” Orlpar said. “And you know how emotional wizards can get!” Siegfiend said. “Do I!” Orlpar nodded. “Bro, I got a wizard on retainer and let me tell you it takes a lot of work to keep him straight. A lot of work.” “Yes, and if I go to Skullport tomorrow and there aren’t a bunch of mindflayers in body bags, the wizard’s going to make me bring Skullport down with an earthquake spell. That’s serious magic!” “Sounds harsh,” Orlpar agreed. “So yeah, man, I’ll convey this down to the Guild, you know what I’m saying?” Siegfiend nodded and stood, horns stabbing the ceiling. “Well, hopefully I won’t be returning here tomorrow, but in the meantime it’s been very amenable working things out with you.” Orlpar chuckled. “Yeah man, yeah. Just, y’know, are you going to pay to fix my mezzanine, man? I think it’s on fire.” “I’m afraid you’ll have to get your insurance to cover that, as your butler was very rude,” Siegfiend glared at Gammon, who shrank into the corner. “Gammon, come on, man,” Orlpar said reproachfully. He grinned at the pit fiend. Gammon shrugged and backed away. “And Gammon, when someone can touch you without touching you, you must assume that they are a powerful wizard at least,” Siegfiend said. “This was your fault.” Gammon looked down at the floor. “Just take it out of his wages,” Siegfiend said, and left Orlpar’s office. Orlpar’s smile stayed plastered on his face until the pit fiend was out of sight, then he dropped all pretenses and gave Gammon a pointed look. “Get me those cowards who were beating down my door earlier,” Orlpar said in a measured, clipped Waterdhavian’s accent. “They’re going to deliver a message on my behalf to the Xanathar Guild if it’s the last thing they do.” He pulled out a piece of heavy-stock paper, dipped a quill into an inkwell, and began to write. Gammon straightened up, nodded, and strode out of the office. Orlpar chewed on the end of his quill. “Knowing Xanathar, it will be the last thing they do,” he said to himself with a smile.   Siegfiend stomped back into the main foyer and saw Bob consoling a rail-thin woman in the side room. He immediately checked to see whether Bob’s pockets had been picked at all. “Check your pockets, check your rings, we have to go,” Siegfiend said. Bob gently removed Glasstaff’s robes from the woman, replacing them with a fuzzy blanket. “You should come with us to the Temple of Beauty and find rest, young lady.” The woman shook her head. “The Temple of Beauty? I’d rather spend the night in lockup, but okay.” The wind was out of her sails. “You’re not being kidnapped, you can stay here if you want,” Siegfiend said. Bob nodded. “I just, I just need to rest, I have to get my head straight,” the woman said, and lay back against the pillows. She began to snore immediately. “She’s not in the best mental state,” Bob said. “Generally, we don’t go around kidnapping people unless we have a reason to,” Siegfiend said. “You can’t save somebody without their consent, otherwise they’re going to go straight back to what it was you saved them from. You can’t go around building a better world for people, because people have to build a better world for each other. The best you can do is build them a better cage.” Spoken like a true tyrant , Bob thought. Siegfiend cast invisibility, returned to half-orc form, and as Bob returned to the Temple of Beauty, he made a side trip to the Grinning Lion, as raucous a tavern as could be found in the North Ward. An old joke claimed that the Riven Shield shop sent the tavern shields that were beyond repair to hang on the walls, and the entire place was adorned with fake battle trophies from across Faerun. The alleyway behind the tavern was rank with the smell of waste and rotting meat. A mound of offal crawling with flies and maggots was visible in the gloom, and some of the waste looked freshly disturbed. Siegfried retrieved the bloodroot barrels from his bag of holding and deposited it amid the midden’s trash heap. Wiping his hands on his trousers, he decided to go to the nearest florist’s shop, buy a bouquet, and head to Hawkwinter Villa.   Back at the Temple of Beauty, Varien attended two sermons, took a yoga class, a combat class, a sculpting class, did a ton of paperwork and took two baths. “Where’s Bob?” he said, looking around. “This is a two-man job!”