Wary of any remaining goblins, Bob, Alec
and Theryn searched the rest of the castle, discovering little but a curious
collection of platinum coins hidden in the flea-bitten folds of a goblin’s
bedroll.
Then the group recovered their mounts and
headed out for Phandalin. Erwen kept Who under control, riding high up on the
beast’s feathered shoulders, and perhaps because they were being led by a
rampaging Owlbear, no creature in Neverwinter Wood gave them any trouble at all
on their return trip.
Bob took the opportunity to open up to the
other members of his group.
“My brother Alec and I hail from Kirkwall
in the North,” Bob said. “I would like to reintroduce myself as Robert
Trevelyan, Younger Brother of Alec Trevelyan, second in line to the House of
Trevelyan.”
This impressed the other members of the
group.
“I was drawn down south from Kirkwall by a
need to find answers about my magical abilities,” Bob continued. “I – I don’t
know how or why I have them. At least at first I didn’t. Then one day my
grandfather began telling me stories about our family, and about our family’s
past, and my heritage. That somewhere down the line dragon blood has been mixed
in with Trevelyan blood, and once in a generation, a member of our bloodline
manifests strange powers.” At this he rolled up his sleeves to show the party
members the patches of scales that glittered on his forearms.
“That started me on this journey. I left
home two years ago and I have traveled the world in search of answers, helping
people along the way, like you folks.”
Bob continued, “Lately I’ve been having
strange dreams, dreams of flight and fire, and in my mind’s eye I could picture
a place near to here, somewhere along the Sword Coast, that was once home to
many dragons. If I can find that place, maybe I can start finding answers.”
“A fine tale, lad,” Gundren Rockseeker said
from his precarious perch on Who’s backside. “But speaking of answers, answer
me this: where’s that wizard the rest of you were traveling with earlier?”
“Xylon?” Varien said. “He helped us rescue
Sildar from the Cragmaw goblins but he had personal business back in Phandalin
he had to take care of. He should be there when we arrive.”
Alec frowned. “Who is this we’re talking
about?”
“Xylon the Defiler,” Theryn said.
Alec wondered who or what this “Defiler”
character was.
“A magic user who is also a wizard with the
ladies, if you get my meaning,” Ragnar said.
“With Xylon you’re like as not to get a
firework show instead of a proper magic missile,” Erwen said.
“Hmm, perhaps I will just punch him if he
looks at me funny,” Alec declared. “Better to have a plan, than no plan.”
“That’s wise, brother,” Bob said.
The group chuckled.
As they arrived in Phandalin, Erwen
suggested that Qelline Alderleaf’s barn might be a good place to hide Who from
the townsfolk, and declared that he would spend time trying to further cement
the bond he had forged with the Owlbear. Nobody had reason to disagree.
They left Erwen to drag in a few extra
bales of hay for the Owlbear to munch on before he secured the barn door.
Once in town, Bob declared his intention to
purchase enough healing kits for every member of the group. They were a
valuable stopgap against death by exsanguination, he informed the group.
Ragnar mumbled about not having enough
money.
“Come on, what if I say please?” Bob said.
“Fine, here’s enough to buy everyone a
kit,” Ragnar said, giving Bob a small pouch full of gold coins.
Bob went off to Barthen’s Provisions to
purchase the healing kits.
Gundren Rockseeker was effusive and
promised them a reward upon their return to town. He gave them each 15 gold
pieces.
“And to show you the extent of my
appreciation,” he said, “If you travel to Wave Echo Cave and save my brothers
from harm, I am willing to give you an, er, seven percent share in Wave Echo
Cave’s profits once we are up and running at full production.”
That sounded more than fair to the group.
“So what happened to you, anyway?” Theryn
asked.
“Ach, well, Sildar and I went on ahead as
you know, and wouldn’t you know it, we ran straight into an ambush!” Gundren
said. “Blasted goblins shot our horses out right from under us, and it was all
we could do to keep them from gutting them on the spot. They dragged us to
their hideout and said they were going to make a stew of Sildar, but that they
had other plans for me. One of those bugbears ferreted me off to that blasted
castle, and I thought I was done for!”
As the party moved up Phandalin’s main
street, Varien spied a familiar face cantering towards him on horseback.
“Xylon!” he shouted and waved.
On horseback, Xylon leaned over to Zenith,
gesturing at his friends. “See there? Friends can be fun. Why don’t you join
us? We could use a set of healing hands. I think we could offer you better
opportunities than the Harpers can.”
Zenith smiled. “Thank you for the
invitation, brother. I will ponder it.” She kicked her heels against her
horse’s flank and trotted off towards the shrine.
Xylon dismounted and walked over to Varien.
Varien frowned. “What’s wrong with your
face?”
“Uh, it’s nothing,” Xylon said.
“Come here, then!” Varien gave Xylon a
manly hug, and for good measure, cast lay
on hands to heal Xylon’s frostbitten face.
While the two friends were catching up,
Ragnar thought long and hard about the patches of scales on Bob’s skin. The
rogue gave Bob a curious look and decided to try something.
He approached Bob and uttered a question in
his mother tongue. "Dovah Ruknaar,
Hei tinvaak un sahkren, Bob?"
The Draconic query seemed to rattle Bob, a
shiver nearly sending him sprawling. Alec reached out to steady his brother,
who was wracked by seizure.
Bob’s eyes widened as he stared at
something beyond his normal field of vision. He saw an image of a great, golden
dragon, spreading its wings in flight.
Bob could feel the name of the dragon on
the tip of his tongue, but for the life of him couldn’t recall it.
He fell to his hands and knees, arching his
back in agony as he felt a great pain along his shoulder blades, as though his
bones were threatening to push out beyond muscle and skin.
Alec helped Bob to his feet. “What the hell
was that?”
Bob opened his mouth, but no sound came. He
cleared his throat and tried again. “Si
tepohada vi jillepse.” He said in Draconic.
A language he had never spoken a word of
until today.
Alec frowned. “Say again?”
Bob shrugged and repeated. “Si tepohada vi jillepse.”
Ragnar laughed. “Try and speak anything but
Draconic,” he said.
Bob glared at Ragnar.
Ragnar smiled again. “Let’s see if you understand
it as well as you speak it.” He pointed at Gundren. “Svabol jalla si tir mrith wer tundra?”
Bob frowned. "Martvir thric gixustratt tundar."
“Not bad, but your pronunciation is
atrocious,” Ragnar said.
Xylon walked over to Ragnar and Bob. He leaned
in close to Bob and asked, “Kii re wux
renthisjir persvek Vs'shtak?”
Bob shrugged helplessly. “Si renthisj Vs'shtak?” He turned and
gestured at Alec. “Nomeno ui sia isthasy
Alec.” To Alec he said, “Nomeno ui
Xylon wer Defiler.”
“Hello, new person,” Xylon said, nodding at
Alec.
Alec gave him a slow nod in return.
“We may have told him a few tales of your
more scurrilous exploits,” Theryn said.
“None of them are true,” Xylon assured
Alec.
“Well then,” Gundren said. “Good to see you
too,” he said to Xylon.
“Ah, Gundren, so you’re alive as well!”
Xylon said. “It’s time to regroup with Sildar and share what we know about this
unfolding situation.”
“Indeed!” Alec said. “Bob and I will escort
Gundren to where he needs to go, if the rest of you would like to come along.”
“Sounds good,” Theryn said. “By the way,
Xylon, I have these two statues that you might be interested in,” He pulled the
sun elf from his pouch. Xylon accepted it and looked it over.
“Interesting,” Xylon said. "I'll look it over on the way to the Townmaster."
Ragnar turned to Varien. “We need to talk.”
“Yes?” Varien said warily.
“The last time we were in town, I met the
Postmaster, Halia Thornton, who holds court at the Phandalin Miner’s Exchange,”
Ragnar said. “That lady is suspicious. I think she knows something about
Glasstaff and the Redbrands that she’s not letting on.”
“Sure thing, Ragnar.” Varien said.
“I’m serious,” Ragnar said. “I will go in
disguise and hide in the alley behind the shop. You go in, hit her, and we’ll
smuggle her back to Tresendar Manor for some vigorous interrogation.”
“No, I will just walk in and ask her,”
Varien said.
“Suit yourself,” Ragnar said. “But I’m
still going to hide in the alley.”
The pair headed towards the Phandalin
Miner’s Exchange.
Alec, Bob, Xylon and Theryn accompanied
Gundren to the Townmaster’s Hall.
They entered to find Sildar Hallwinter
taking care of some paperwork while Harbin Wester sat at a table in the corner,
fingering his sash miserably.
Sildar did a double-take and stood to his
feet. “Gundren, my old friend! You’re alive!”
“Aye laddie, and it’s good to see you’re
still among the living as well!” Gundren replied.
The pair embraced.
“You look as though you’re running the
place!” Gundren said, motioning at the office.
“Well, I’m here on behalf of the Lord’s
Alliance,” Sildar said, pointedly ignoring Harbin Wester. “The situation in
Phandalin is worse than we first thought.”
Bob handed Sildar his sword and chain mail.
“My sword!” Sildar held the blade high. “I
thought I would never hold it in my hand again!” He turned to the adventurers.
“Tell us about your activities in Neverwinter Wood.”
“Well, it’s been interesting,” Theryn said.
“We found the Cragmaw’s stronghold and discovered that they had a deal with the
Black Spider to hand over Gundren and the map to Wave Echo Cave to him. We
interrupted the deal, you might say.”
“I even got myself shot,” Gundren added.
“Oh, really?” Sildar said.
Bob produced the map that Ragnar had passed
to him.
“Ah, me map!” Gundren said. “I would like
to reunite it with the case I was carrying.”
“You mean this?” Xylon said, pulling the
map case out of his pack.
Gundren’s eyes widened. “Well, well, aren’t
you full of surprises!”
“Are the Cragmaw Goblins still a threat?”
Sildar asked.
“It’s unlikely,” Theryn said.
“We killed them all,” Alec added.
“Genocide against goblins?” Sildar smiled.
“Such scruples.”
“We put the hurt on some of them,” Theryn
said. “I think it will be a long while before you’ll have to deal with such a
large-scale problem again.”
Theryn hefted a bloody sack holding the
severed head of King Grol and placed it on Sildar’s table.
Sildar smiled. “This is a momentous
occasion! The people of Phandalin are in your debt.” He opened a drawer and
pulled out a sack that clinked heavily as he tossed it on the tabletop. “Consider
this payment for a job well done, with thanks from the Townmaster.”
“Eep!” said Harbin Wester from his seat in
the corner.
“And what have you learned about the Black
Spider?” Sildar asked.
“The Black Spider is a drow named Nezznar,”
Xylon said. “He’s trying to make a name for himself in the area. But there’s
another threat approaching. The Red Wizards.”
“Red Wizards?”
“Yes, apparently they are causing trouble
near an ancient tower to the northeast.”
“I may have heard something about that,”
Sildar said. He turned to Wester. “Townmaster, what were you telling me about
the scuttlebutt at Old Owl Well?"
Wester sat up straighter. “Uh, yes, well,
some miners were complaining that someone was digging around Old Owl Well, and
a few of them were chased off by some undead.”
Xylon nodded. That seemed to jibe with what
Agatha had told him.
Varien and Ragnar approached the Phandalin
Miner’s exchange, which was a sturdy structure made from chiseled stone blocks
– more fortress than trading post.
“So what’s this postmaster’s name again?”
Varien asked.
“Halia Thornton,” Ragnar said. “I’ll be in
the alley.”
“You do that,” Varien said, and strode
through the doors.
The Miner’s exchange was one part assayer’s
office, one part records office, and one part vault. A queue of dusty and dirty
miners and prospectors were lined up in rows delineated by thick rope barriers,
with business being carried out at a long counter that separated the lobby from
what looked like private offices and a safe for precious metals.
A serious-looking woman was engaging with
customers from behind the counter.
Varien joined the queue and waited
patiently.
Soon it was his turn.
Halia Thornton looked him up and down.
“Judging by the lack of dirt covering you from head to toe, you’re not here to
register a claim,” she said, smirking. “How may I help you?”
“Ms. Thornton,” Varien turned on the charm.
“Here’s the thing,” he said, leaning against the counter. “You may have heard
of the untimely demise of Glasstaff the leader of the Redbrands. My friends and
I are still sorting out his remaining affairs, and are trying to find out his
intentions, and his connection to the Black Spider. I’ve heard that you may
know a thing or two about that.”
“You’re throwing around a lot of aliases,”
Halia said. “But you’ve heard wrong. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Varien smiled and traced an arcane symbol
with his right hand. “Oh, I think you’re going to tell me everything you know
about Lord Albrek, Glasstaff and the Black Spider,” he said, casting command.
Halia’s eyes unfocused for a moment or two,
and then she blinked furiously. She smiled at Varien with professional
sweetness.
“I really don’t know,” Halia said. “There
was a man named Lord Albrek who came to Phandalin some months ago on behalf of
the Lord’s Alliance, it was said, but he vanished without a trace.”
Varien tapped idly on the desk and gave
Halia puppy dog eyes. “Really?”
“Really,” Halia said firmly. “I know
nothing more.”
Varien sized up the postmistress. She
seemed to be on the level.
“Now, if you’d like to register a claim or
post a letter, I would be happy to assist you,” Halia said.
“No need,” Varien said. “Thank you for your
time.”
Varien exited the Miner’s Exchange and
rounded the corner into the alley. Ragnar stood there, waiting. Seeing that the
paladin was empty-handed, the rogue pulled a face.
“What gives?” Ragnar said. “I thought you’d
have her slung over your shoulders by now.”
“She’s telling the truth about not knowing
anything about Glasstaff or the Black Spider,” Varien said. “
Ragnar sighed and shook his head. “I didn’t
want to tell you this,” He said sadly. “I couldn’t believe it myself when I
heard that Halia was exploring the dark arts in order to bring her grandfather
back to life.”
Varien’s eyes clouded over. “She what?”
“Why do you think all the miners have so
many shovels?” Ragnar asked. “They’re digging her up a necromancer’s army!”
Varien inhaled a breath of righteous anger.
“We will see about that. Oh yes, we will see.” He unbuckled his scabbard and
gave both sword and shield to Ragnar, and then turned around and marched back
to the entrance of the exchange.
Ragnar followed behind, rubbing his hands
with glee.
Varien kicked open the door of the exchange
and began chanting in Celestial.
“Thli
oo, hwinn sunne, al scleenmten fleem al so seatco cel,
cip
so em ou tennim sal un shaken ou co sal pet ca seemshop so hwel ip siack,”
"El
sou fle so cisick ou slup thil so thlem ol su thol ou so flipil ca pet:
cip
so em ou tennim sal un shaken”
"El
sou fle so cisick ou slup thil so thlem ol su thol ou so flipil ca pet:
cip
so em ou tennim sal un top,"
Which translates to:
“Deliver me, O Sune, from eternal death on
that awful day,”
“When the heavens and earth shall be shaken
and you shall come to judge the world by fire.”
“I am seized with fear and trembling until
the trial is at hand and the wrath to come:
when the heavens and earth shall be
shaken.”
This turned more than a few miners’ heads.
Chanting still, Varien strode past the
lineup of miners, his eyes locked on Halia Thornton’s surprised face.
“Oi!” A miner called out. “You can’t cut
the line!”
Outside, Ragnar disguised himself as a
well-dressed noble, and strode through the open door.
“Halia Thornton, you are the grand prize
winner of a date with a Paladin of Sune!” Ragnar said expressively, throwing
his arms wide and, using prestidigitation, caused a rain of rose petals to
cascade about the lobby.
“That’s right folks, Ms. Thornton will be
wined and dined all the way to Neverwinter and back, thanks to our sponsor,
Zapford Clockdrive!” Ragnar clapped his hands and motioned for the miners to do
the same.
A few miners began clapping in confusion.
A stocky dwarf stepped into Varien’s path.
“I said no cuts! Put up yer dukes!”
“Step aside, you know not what you do!”
Varien hissed as he vaulted the countertop and grabbed at Halia.
Varien caught hold of the postmistress and
slung her over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry.
“Why don’t you congratulate these two
lovebirds and clear a carriageway, yes, that’s right!” Ragnar said.
Thornton maintained her composure, but
whispered daggers into Varien’s ear. “I am going to give you one chance and one
chance only to put me down, or you will regret what happens next,” she hissed.
“Save it, devil woman,” Varien said and
turned to exit the exchange.
To his surprise, Halia slipped his grip
with practiced ease and dashed for the door to her office.
Varien cast compel duel on the fleeing postmistress as she stepped over the
threshold into her office. “Ragnar, a little help!” he shouted as he pursued
Halia.
“Thank you, thank you!” Ragnar waved at the
confused miners and jumped into Halia’s office.
Halia’s office consisted of a desk, shelves
full of records, and a tall safe against one wall. A narrow door was on the
east wall.
Halia stood toe to toe with Varien, her
fists balled up.
“Hold it,” said a voice from the corner of
the room. A masked man wearing black leathers was pointing a crossbow at
Varien.
Ragnar shut the door behind him and turned
the lock.
Varien scooped up Halia into his arms.
Still mesmerized by his magic, she made no effort to flee.
“So, this is the point,” Ragnar said.
“She’s not a necromancer, Varien.”
“What?”
“You should learn that beautiful people are
capable of deceit, Varien.” Ragnar said, pointing to himself, and then to
Halia.
“Hi friend!” he said cheerfully to the
crossbow-wielding guard.
“Now this woman says she knows nothing of
Glasstaff, but that is a lie. She is a part of this Drow conspiracy,” Ragnar
continued.
Halia muttered something to the masked man
that Ragnar couldn’t decipher and then turned her head to the rogue. “Were you
struck on the head when you were a hatchling?”
“Many times. Why?” Ragnar replied.
“Do you realize what you’ve done?” Halia
asked.
“I gave rose petals to the guildmaster?”
Ragnar said.
“Well,” Halia said. “I’m not going anywhere
for the time being, so we can have a conversation, if you’ll just put me down,”
she said to Varien.
Varien obliged.
Halia sat down behind her desk. “Now, how
may I help you?”
Ragnar pointed at the crossbowman. “Who’s
he?”
“His name is not germane to our
discussion,” Halia said.
Varien began to feel angry at himself,
realizing that he almost went against his core beliefs by doing what he
believed.
“So you were telling the truth?” he asked.
“Tell your friend to point his crossbow
somewhere else,” Ragnar said.
Halia muttered another strange phrase to
her subordinate.
The man lowered the crossbow.
“Now,” Varien said. “I may have been
deceived by this wretched beast-” he slapped Ragnar. “But he had his suspicions
about you.”
“The only suspicious people I see in this
office are you two,” Halia said.
“Forgive us,” Varien said. “We’ve had a
difficult couple of days, fighting goblins and Doppelgangers. Ignore my
conspiracy-minded dragon friend here.”
Halia examined a tear in her dress.
“How can I make this up to you?” Varien
asked.
“We can exchange information,” Halia said.
“This is the Miner’s Exchange, after all. What do you want to know?”
“Anything about Glasstaff,” Ragnar said in
exasperation. “The situation with the Redbrands, and the Drow!”
“Well, as for the Redbrands, you’ve already
dealt with that threat,” Halia said. “If only you’d come to me first.”
“I did come to you first!” Ragnar said.
“ Before
our first meeting,” Halia said crossly. She composed herself and continued. “A
man named Iarno Albrek came to Phandalin and disappeared, and after that the
Redbrands were put under new management – a wizard named Glasstaff. Do the
math.”
“I am thankful that the Redbrands no longer
pose a threat to Phandalin,” Halia said.
“Because you’re running this town?” Varien
said.
“Nonsense,” Halia said. “I’m just the guildmistress
of the Phandalin Miner’s Exchange.”
“Riiiight,” said Ragnar.
“I’m not the Townmaster,” Halia said.
“Yet?” Ragnar prompted.
Halia said nothing for a few moments. “You
know, during all the time that the Redbrands were terrorizing businesses and
people in Phandalin, they never once came by to menace the Phandalin Miner’s
Exchange. Do you wonder why that is?”
Ragnar was silent.
“Because they knew better. As you should
have known better,” Halia said, pointing a finger at Ragnar.
“Please enlighten this charming idiot,”
Ragnar said.
“I’m just a businesswoman trying to make a
living,” Halia said. “And I do thank you. I desire to protect Phandalin from
outside threats.”
“Because threats are bad for business, are
they not?” asked Ragnar.
“Quite,” Halia said. “Now, do come back if
you’d like to post any more correspondence,” she said to Ragnar.
“And have my letters been delivered?”
Ragnar asked.
Halia smiled. “They will be delivered in
due course.”
“Thank you,” said Varien. “It’s been a
pleasure doing business with you.”
“Indeed,” Halia said.
“Yes, it’s been a laugh,” Ragnar said.
Outside the exchange, Varien slowly turned
around to face Ragnar. “You, dragonborn, are even more reckless and selfish
than I first thought.”
“Guilty as charged,” Ragnar said.
“At first I thought you were harmless, even
silly!” Varien said. “But you’re not silly. You’re dangerous. How can I trust a
single word that comes out of your mouth from now on?”
“Hey now,” Ragnar said. “Trust is the
lesson you should have learned in there. Attractive people can lie to your
face, Varien. She was not innocent. She lied to you and got away with it
twice.”
“Innocent? As far as I’m concerned she’s an
innocent person that I used magic on, Ragnar. Magic ! You told me she was a necromancer and I, being pure-hearted,
believed you. Only to discover that you were lying to me all along. I would
have made her suffer for her crimes against the living, based on your lie!”
“That’s life,” Ragnar said.
“Life?” Varien said. “What about your life?
If I didn't already have evidence that you were interested in tackling the same
problems the rest of us are, I would strike you down where you stand. I should
strike you down where you stand!”
Ragnar paused, sensing that the time for
witty comebacks had passed.
“You and I are finished,” Varien said.
“Cross me again, and you will regret it.” He stalked off towards the
Townmaster’s Hall.
Ragnar considered feeling regret, but
quashed it. He followed.
Varien entered the Townmaster’s Hall and
joined the rest of the party.
“What’s with you?” Xylon said at Varien’s
grim expression.
“He’s just had the hottest of dates,” Ragnar said from the doorway.
“Anyway, we have much to talk about,” Xylon
said. “Though now that you mention it, I wonder what Elsa is up to tonight?”
“Tira
batobot ship ti sail vur sink?” quipped Bob. He and
Ragnar were the only ones in the room chuckling at his joke.
“So,” Xylon continued, ignoring the
Draconic dig. “We need to talk about Wave Echo Cave.”
“Yes!” Ragnar cheered.
“Yes, now that we’ve rescued Gundren he’s
asked us to travel to Wave Echo Cave to rescue his brothers,” Varien said.
“Wait, you guys know where Wave Echo Cave
is?” Xylon said.
The group nodded.
“How sure are you?”
Bob unfolded the map and presented it to
Xylon.
“I should probably make a copy of that,”
Ragnar said, reaching for his ink and parchment.
Xylon looked over the map. “Still,” he
muttered. “I should follow up with my banshee.”
“Your what?” Varien asked sharply.
“After I do her dirty work,” Xylon said to
himself. “I met a very angry, well, she-elf in Neverwinter Wood. Apparently
there are some wizards dabbling in necromancy near an ancient tower to the east
called Old Owl Well.”
“Don’t abuse my prejudices,” Varien said
angrily. “I’ve had enough of that today. What proof can you offer to back up
these accusations?”
“How long have we known each other,
Varien?” Xylon said. “Here’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to see if this
necromancy thing is happening at the tower.”
“They’re necromancers, worshipping a drow,”
Varien declared. “We will investigate this.”
“Okay,” Xylon said. “So we’ve got skeletons
in Thundertree, a Drow at Wave Echo Cave,”
“Don’t forget about the Orcs,” said Harbin
Wester, who was sweating like a pig.
“Orcs?” Xylon said sharply. “What about
them?”
Harbin pointed at the wanted poster on the
wall, which indicated there were orcs near a place called Wyvern Tor.
“These orcs need to be brought to justice,”
Xylon said. “After we kill those wizards.”
“But what about Wave Echo Cave?” Varien
said. “We need to go there.”
“And how are we sure we know the way?”
Xylon asked.
“Fellas,” Gundren said. “I drew that map.”
“Oh,” Xylon said. He thought for a moment.
“What if I told you there was a valuable artifact in that tower?”
Varien shook his head, pointing to the map.
“Wave Echo Cave is closer than this tower of yours. We should clear out the
cave, find Gundren’s brothers, and settle that first.”
“My contact can still give us more
information,” Xylon said. “We don’t know what’s waiting for us inside the
cave.”
“But the Black Spider is already there!”
Varien said. “Wave Echo Cave is important. We can’t leave Gundren’s brothers to
the mercy of that Drow and his minions. We can no longer ignore their cries for
help!”
“Hear, hear.” Gundren said.
“You’ve read the journal,” Varien said to
Xylon. “The Black Spider must be stopped, even if we have to burn the whole
Forge of Spells to the ground to stop him.”
“There’s more,” Xylon said. “I was told to
meet this contact by the Harpers, an organization I belong to. My sister and I
met the Harpers, traveled to meet the contact, and when we returned, the
Harpers had all been killed. By orcs. Perhaps the same orcs from Wyvern Tor.”
“Alas lads, your blood is up, but you
should really rest for the night,” Gundren said.
“Fine,” Varien said. “Bob, I’ll need you to
visit Mirna Dendrar and convey our apologies that we won’t be visiting
Thundertree to retrieve her family heirloom just yet. Other duties call us
eastward.”
Ragnar stood. “I’m going to visit Dendrar
anyway, I can relay that message for you.”
Varien waved his hand dismissively.
Xylon turned to Theryn. “This elven
statuette of yours is quite a find. Carved in gold, of a style that hasn’t been
used in centuries. It was made in the Elven city of Sharandar, a place lost to
time.”
At this, Alec perked up. His last job had
involved escorting a group of adventurers who kept mentioning Sharandar.
“If a person of good intent grasps this
statue and asks it a question about an action it is about to take, the statue
will answer whether the fates will smile on him, frown on him, or some mixture
of the two. And once it has answered that person’s question, its magical
properties are exhausted, at least for its owner.”
“So put the statue down before you
accidentally ask if hitting on Elsa is a good idea or not,” Theryn chided
Xylon.
“Do with it what you may,” Xylon said. “But
in the wrong hands it’s a dangerous object.”
Theryn looked at the sun elf statue with a
wry smile. “This will definitely come in handy, just not now.” He wrapped the statuette
up in its crimson cloth and put it away.
“As for this other statuette of yours, I
have no idea,” Xylon shrugged.
“Reidoth the Druid might know,” Wester
said.
“And where is he?”
“He’s out of town at the moment,” Wester
said. “Walks a lonely road between here and Thundertree, it’s said.”
With that, the party members went their
separate ways for the evening.
Ragnar knocked on the door of the
woodcutter’s home, which was being converted into an alchemist shop.
Mirna Dendrar, still grief-stricken,
answered. “Yes?”
“I just dropped by to tell you that we’ve
found the Black Spider’s lair,” Ragnar said.
“Really?” Mirna said.
“Yes, the person ultimately responsible for
the death of your husband is a Drow named…Sallsar, I think?” Ragnar said.
“I wish you good luck,” Mirna said.
“Oh, but you can do more than that,” Ragnar
said. He pulled a knife from a hidden sheath. “This is the dagger that I will
be plunging into his chest, to avenge your husband’s death.” He flipped the
knife over and offered it handle-first. “Do with it what you will.”
A dark smile crossed Mirna’s features.
“Drop by tomorrow morning before you strike out for this Black Spider’s lair,”
she said.
“Have a malicious evening,” Ragnar said,
tipping an invisible hat to her.
He stopped by Lionshield Coster and
purchased a well-balanced rapier and then dropped by the Stonehill Inn to talk
to Toblen about a new flatbread recipe he had conceived of in a fevered dream.
Varien returned to his room at the inn and
removed his armor and placed his weapons on a chair. He lit a small prayer
candle, knelt next to his bed, and began to pray for forgiveness, for the
strength to do the right thing, and the wisdom to know what that was.
“Answer me, o Sune,” he finished up. “Help
me to smite your enemies and bring your blessings to the righteous.” He
pondered for a moment. “And not kill my friends.”
His room grew quiet. Then, the single
candle he had lit to guide his prayers flared brightly with the Light Undying.
Varien heard a soft, sultry voice:
“My
loving servant, hear me.
Lose
yourself in the love of the Lady Firehair.
Follow
your heart to your true destination.
He
who vexes you follows his own heart’s passion, and passion can be beautiful in
hidden ways.
Remember
my teaching: ‘Encourage beauty wherever you find it.’
Love
those who travel the road beside you, and where love cannot take root, let warm
friendship blossom.
Where
friendship cannot flower, choose the fairer path, and uncouple gracefully but
with joy for having walked together for a time.
And
where an uncoupling is not accompanied by grace, raise not your sword, but a
rose, and remember fairer times.
Love
has many splendours, even where love fails.
Lose
yourself in the love of Lady Firehair.”
Varien’s room grew still yet again, save
for the quickened beating of his heart.
He turned back to his bedside, and saw a
ruby-coloured rose on his pillow.
Xylon went to the Shrine of Luck, but did
not find his sister there. He knocked on the door to the parsonage and received
no answer. He jiggled the handle. Locked.
Xylon thought for a moment. Then he turned
on his heel and went to the Stonehill Inn.
“Ragnar! Where are you?” He shouted in the
common room.
There was the sound of clanging pots from
the kitchen. “Go away, I'm inventing pizza!” Ragnar shouted.
“I need your particular skillset to open a
locked door.”
“Take my battering ram,” Ragnar shouted.
“No, I need something with a little more
finesse,” Xylon said.
“My lockpicking kit is in my cloak’s inside
pocket. No, the other pocket,” Ragnar said from the kitchen.
Xylon found the kit and left. He had to
admit the smell coming from the kitchen was delicious.
“Would a rose by any other name smell as
sweet, and would rosemary by any other name taste so neat?” Ragnar said to himself
as he rolled out the dough.
Xylon traveled back to the parsonage, and
took a closer look at the locked door. He opened up the lockpicking kit,
admiring the specialized tools of Ragnar’s trade. Then he looked back at the
tiny keyhole on the front door. And back to the thieves’ kit.
Xylon looked around to see if anyone was
within earshot.
There was the sound of shattering glass as
Xylon pitched the lockpick kit through the cottage window.
Gingerly, he entered through the broken
frame, careful not to cut himself on the glass strewn about on the floor of the
cottage. He retrieved the thieves’ tools and pocketed them.
“Zenith?” He whispered.
There was no answer.
Xylon searched the cottage’s limited number
of rooms but couldn’t find his sister. In fact, he could not find anything that
belonged to her at all – the drawers were cleaned out, the dresser was
spotless, and the washtub devoid of suds.
He turned and saw the battered cleric’s
armor assembled on the wooden stand opposite a small prayer shrine to Tymora.
“Huh,” Xylon said.
Later that evening, Ragnar tossed and
turned in his bed, as he puzzled over whether Varien or Halia Thornton
represented the greatest threat to his wellbeing.
Suddenly he stopped and stared at the
ceiling. A thought that had been gnawing through his mind for several days
suddenly devoured all others.
“That woman has read all my outgoing mail,”
Ragnar said to the ceiling of his room.
Quick as a flash he was out of bed, fully
dressed, and picked up a quill pen and a piece of parchment.
Ragnar began to write.