On the slopes of Mount Waterdeep, Erwen did his best to clear his mind after his awkward encounter with Prior Hlam. He adjusted the flat rock that had been serving as his pillow, and discovered a small cache left behind – four sticks of his foul-smelling incense and three sachets of tea leaves that looked like dirt, twigs and bugs had been swept up and deposited into the silken pockets. The items were wrapped up with a ribbon. “Oh, Hlam, you old softie,” Erwen said to himself. He dropped the sachets suddenly. “Wait, where was he stashing these before he gave them to me?” He wiped his hands on his fur cloak. Nevertheless, the halfling’s mood had improved—anything was better than a conversation with Hlam—and he was now happy to return to the companionship of his friends, and to cleave to the bosom of whichever of his lady loves would open their blouse. Resolved, he wildshaped into the form of a handsome seagull and took wing to the skies above Waterdeep, soaring on thermals and stretching his wings comfortably. He flew over the now-familiar urban vista of the Sea Ward on his way to the Temple of Beauty. He passed over a very fancy villa, a noble family compound of considerable breadth that took up most of a city block, with its high walls, palatial mansion and several outbuildings, including a greenhouse that was already reflecting the dazzling light of High Sun into his little red bird eyes. Bird-wen blinked. His attention was drawn to the striking red roof of the main building, but then movement caught his eye. He saw a very familiar-looking Tiefling striding out of the main entrance of the mansion towards a gaudy, ornate carriage drawn by a team of jet-black stallions. The expression on the Tiefling’s face as he sauntered was one of immense satisfaction. The Tiefling’s golden eyes glittered and even from the distance in mid-air, Bird-wen recognized him as Mordai Vell. He also noted a pair of small children playing on an immaculately groomed lawn near the manse, and with a shock of recognition realized he had met those children before - Elzerina and Terenzio Cassalanter. Bird-wen wheeled over and dive-bombed the carriage, splattering it with a direct hit of shit. The echo of Siegfried’s shout reverberated through the stalactite-encrusted cavern roof some 120 feet above him. Below, sluicing through the rocky crags, was an algae-slicked sluggish river. To the west he could make out the dilapidated tiered neighbourhoods that made up the Port of Shadows, with decaying buildings propped up on stilts, sagging networks of catwalks and nets strung between them, and hovels carved from low-hanging stalactites from the cavern ceiling. Many buildings looked like they’d been collapsed atop each other like pancakes and then partially rebuilt, relying on dodgy scaffolding to help them retain their shape. At the southern end of town there was an immense island in middle of the river, atop which was built an impressive fortress and battlements, with a thick reinforced bridge connecting it to the main city to the north. A tall pillar of solid rock seemed to connect the island to the cavern roof, as though a stalactite and stalagmite had met in the middle. Greenish-grey mist boiled off the river and floated up forming clouds that lurked amid the fang-like stalactites above. Something else was lurking in the mists overhead – points of light that began to converge on Siegfried’s position. Siegfried cast freedom of movement upon himself. Echoes of insane laughter bounced across the rocky terrain as four floating skulls, each one wreathed in eldritch flame, swooped down towards Siegfried, Violance, and Krumnus the xorn. Krumnus, for its part, looked up at the approaching flameskulls with its three eyes, and ran for it, beating a shambling retreat into the forest of stalagmites as fast as its elephantine legs could carry it. I smell no gems here, the xorn’s traditional farewell echoed in Siegfried’s psyche. Fire bolts began raining down from the blazing eyes of the flameskulls to no effect. One or two splashed off Violance’s hide ineffectually. Skullport isn’t sending their best, Violance sneered. “TRY HARDER!” Siegfried shouted, not at the bobbing flameskulls, but the city of Skullport itself. Violance dashed towards the shantytown at great speed, leaving the flameskulls in its smoking wake. The undead creatures shrieked something in what Siegfried recognized as ancient Netherese, but soon they were reduced to mere dancing motes of light far to east. The southwest quadrant of the massive cavern was dominated by an island that rose from the sluggish, greenish depths of the river. Atop the island sat a massive fortress, an immense array of towers, battlements, and thick stone walls festooned with ballistae, flame cannons and other heavy weapons. In the centre of the island, a natural column of rock rose up to meet a stalactite from the roof of the cavern, a natural column of rock that seemed to bear the weight of the cavern’s roof. The column narrowed at the midpoint. Surrounding the island fortress was a complicated dockworks, and a thick stone bridge connected the north side of the island to the southern side of Skullport proper. The bridge looked to be as well-defended as the fortress. The gun crews stationed on the battlements were now tracking Siegfried and Violance’s approach, though they took no aggressive action at the sight of the nightmare and rider streaking across the cavern towards them. From the centre of the island column, a heavy iron portcullis opened and discharged a hulking armored sentry seated atop a bone wyvern. Wyvern and rider alike were decked out with spikes and overlapping defensive plating. “Oh, he looks rad,” Siegfried said quietly as the bone wyvern stretched out its impressive wingspan and began to close the distance between them. The rider had not yet drawn a weapon, though a fearsome lance was strapped to the bone wyvern’s midsection. He raised a gauntleted hand in greeting and with an amplified voice called out “Who approaches?” “His Royal Highness Prince Siegfried Alagondar!” Siegfried replied. “Oh, a Prince!” The armored rider shouted. “A very fancy title indeed!” ‘No, I’m just one more murderer come here to get what I want!” Siegfried replied. The armored rider threw back his helmeted head and laughed. “Well then, allow me to be the first to welcome you to Skullport, the Port of Shadows. What type of welcome you shall receive depends upon you!” “I have already made my ultimatums,” Siegfried replied. “Skullport’s scheme of replacing persons of interest above ground in Waterdeep with intellect devourers has gone on for too long, and has gotten too loud! It ends when I drag back the Mind Flayers who facilitated this operation, or Skullport stops existing!” “Be that threat or promise, we do not take either lightly in Skullport,” the rider replied. “I am royalty of Neverwinter,” Siegfried said. “What I have said publicly I cannot take back.” The rider banked and circled Siegfried and Violance while remaining at a respectful distance. “Neverwinter?” he replied. “That is quite far from here.” “Yes, this is clearly a diplomatic endeavour, in which I have said something publicly, and I am required to carry out my promise, or be proven a liar!” Siegfried arched a knowing eyebrow at the sentry, indicating that he was perfectly happy to leave Skullport alone if he got what he wanted, or the pantomime could continue until things got messy. The armored rider shifted in his saddle, and then another dry chuckle emerged from his faceplate. “We are both men of action, obviously, but your action interrupted by breakfast. Would you join me, so that we may talk politics indoors rather than share secrets where all ears may hear?” Siegfried drew close and offered his hand. The rider hesitated. “I don’t often shake hands with Princes,” he rumbled. He grasped Siegfried’s hand in a mighty grip. “I am Sundeth, Champion of Skull Island.” “Well, Sundeth, I do not often break fast with champions!” The pair flew back towards the iron door in the side of the column, which opened with a metallic screech as they approached. Sundeth swooped low over the battlements and barked orders at the goblinoids arrayed on the wall and was met with a rash of salutes from the troops. The crews stood down. Siegfried reviewed the troops as well, nodding nobly at their efforts. He collected more than a few salutes himself, much to Sundeth’s amusement. Sundeth and Siegfried entered the outer door. The interior had been hollowed out inside, save for a laddered array of rock pillars of varying diameters that rose up out of the darkness in a spiraling sequence. The pillars’ tops were leveled off, and atop each of them there sat cages and instruments of torture. Steep staircases were carved into the pillars. Most of the cages were rusted and in disrepair. The tallest and grandest pillar served as Sundeth’s roost and panopticon, affording him a view of the entire prison complex. The bone wyvern deposited the champion on the plateau and flew up into the stalactite-covered ceiling to hang like a bat. Sundeth’s roost contained some creature comforts and a large stone table, upon which was arrayed an impressive breakfast. The Champion removed his helmet, revealing sturdy half-ogre features. He stood more than eight feet tall but moved with a quiet grace. A smaller table laden with scrolls and tomes suggested the Champion was well-read. A pair of bugbears in servant’s livery that looked half-butler, half-military snapped to attention from where they lounged near the stone table. One of them held a hefty jug of grog, while the other gripped a pile of clean white linen napkins. Sundeth waved Siegfried to a bench that sat across from his chair. “The food is fresh, I can promise you that,” Sundeth said. Siegfried shrugged and dug in. Sundeth turned to one of the bugbears. “Inform Ahmaergo that our guest has arrived.” The servant saluted and scurried off to the precarious staircase at the column’s edge. Siegfried played the part of the gracious guest while Sundeth regaled him with tales of battle in the Underdark, beckoning the remaining bugbear servant to keep refilling his grog. Suddenly there was a flash of teleportation magic and a dwarf stood upon the platform, resplendent in plate armour including a helmet that invoked the countenance of a minotaur. He appeared to be a dwarf of some station, because the hulking half-ogre snapped to attention at his arrival. “Greetings, Prince,” the dwarf said in an unctuous tone. “I am Ahmaergo. I speak for the Xanathar. Welcome to the Tower of Seven Woes. I trust you have enjoyed Sundeth’s hospitality?” “Sundeth has been hospitable,” Siegfried replied. “Perfect,” Ahmaergo said, removing his horned helmet, revealing a cropped and manicured beard and folded neck sash pinned with an odd ten-pointed badge. “Let us continue that hospitality. A message arrived, just yesterday, for the Xanathar Guild’s attention. You were its author?” “Yes,” Siegfried replied. “But the next messenger is to be Force Grey, which shows the severity of the case being considered top-side.” “I see,” Ahmaergo said, scratching his beard. “I am willing to be a lot less disruptive to business than they are, however I can also be just as disruptive to business as they are, if I do not get what I want.” “Of course, of course,” Ahmaergo replied, leaning back in a chair provided just in time by the bugbear servant. “Of course you realize that disruptions are-” “Bad for business,” Siegfried said. “Indeed,” Ahmaergo continued, hiding his annoyance at the interruption, “but disruptions beneath Waterdeep are felt above its streets as well.” Siegfried revealed Azuredge to the Xanathar’s major-domo. “And that’s not good for Waterdeep.” Ahmaergo chuckled. “I see you have come prepared.” In Siegfried’s other hand was the Ettin Axe of Uruth. “Very prepared, indeed,” Sundeth coughed. “This is odd – the messenger spoke of a pit fiend conjured by a wizard…” Ahmaergo said. “Yes,” Siegfried replied. “That was me.” “That was you? Interesting. I was not aware that the adopted scion of House Thann had followed in his older brother’s footsteps.” Siegfried threw his head back and laughed uproariously, too loudly in fact, and the shadows of the stalactites and prison columns grew longer like grasping talons. The wailing of the unseen prisoners stopped and turned to harmonious laughter. “No,” Siegfried’s voice was echoed by the shadows. “Not in my brother’s footsteps.” Ahmaergo’s eyes widened.