Meditations, meetings, and mayhem in Helm's Hold

Varien and Heartward Corynian continued their contemplative stroll around the cloisters of Heartward Hall. “Heartwarder, I had another question,” Varien ventured. “Please, brother, feel free to ask me anything,” Mera said softly. “I have been admiring the architecture of your lovely shrine, and have been looking here and there for signs of worship dedicated to the Phoenix, the Undying Light,” Varien said. “Does anything like that happen here in Helm’s Hold?” Mera sighed. “We are an orthodox temple, brother. We devote all the love within us to the Lady Firehair.” “I see. Thank you for clarifying, Heartwarder.” Varien said. “By the way, where is my friend?” “Ah yes, I have been derelict in my hosting duties, haven’t I?” Mera said. “I will find your traveling companion and ensure his needs are being tended to.” She took her leave, and Varien bowed respectfully, resisting the urge to gaze at the Heartwarder’s retreating backside. Bob wandered around within the Heartward Hall, comparing it to places of Sunite worship he had known back home in Kirkwall. Things were the same in broad strokes, yet different in the details, which was to be expected. He paused at the shrine to Sune, admiring the full-breasted marble statue of Lady Firehair standing amid the supplicating seraphs. He began to pray, intent on asking Sune for guidance, especially concerning what to do about his newly-sprouted scales. Bob felt a warmth wash over him, a glow of growing religious fervour that blossomed within his chest and radiated down his limbs as he knelt before the shrine. Lose yourself to the Lady Firehair , he heard a melodious voice say from somewhere deep inside him. Bob’s soul ached. I give myself freely , he prayed. O Sune, I need your guidance . You have walked a long path alone, my child, the voice echoed inside Bob’s mind. But you were never alone. I have been there to watch over your path as your journey carried you far from home. Bob felt tears run down his cheeks. But know this, my child. You are on the right path. Risking a break in this divine connection, Bob opened his eyes and gazed upward at the statue of Sune that dominated the shrine. It might have been a trick of the light, or it might have been something more, but for a split second it seemed as though Sune’s face was looking down, directly at him. Bob blinked away tears and the marble visage returned to its original orientation. But tears that shone of gold in the waning daylight that filtered in through the stained glass window were running down the statue’s face to drip into the reflecting pool at the base of the shrine. That was no illusion. Matching tears continued to run down Bob’s cheeks as he rested in joyous communion. Armed with what he had learned from the Heartwarder, Varien intended to return to the Hungry Flame and share it with the rest of the party. First he had to collect Bob from wherever he’d wandered off to. Varien walked the rest of the way around the cloister towards the main entrance to the shrine. “Psssst, you there, paladin!” a voice hissed from a nearby hedgerow. Varien stopped, hand on the hilt of his sword. A stout dwarf, dressed in caretaker’s robes, stepped out from behind the hedge. He was getting on in years, even for a dwarf, his beard gone white and his head sporting a friar’s tonsure that owed more to male pattern baldness than it did any religious devotion. In his arthritic hands he held a set of garden shears, and judging from the grass stains on his knees and elbows, he had been hard at work for some time now. “May the Light of Lady Firehair shine within ye, laddie,” the dwarf said as Varien cautiously approached. “And also within you,” Varien said. “What can I do for you, little man?” “Ye might want to think about keeping your voice down, pilgrim,” the dwarf hissed. “because I heard ye speaking with the Heartwarder about the Phoenix.” Varien was intrigued by the dwarf’s tone. “That’s right.” “What know you of Hyolyn?” the dwarf asked. “I know that she’s got a plan for me,” Varien said. “I have had visions of a phoenix soaring over a cauldron of lava.” “Is that so?” the dwarf said. “Well, you heard what the Heartwarder said, that this is an orthodox temple, right?” “Yes,” Varien said. “Well, that’s officially true,” the dwarf said. “But that’s because we have to be cautious here in Helm’s Hold. There are many eyes watching us.” With his free hand, the dwarf twisted his fingers into a fair approximation of a Gilded Eye. “Speak plainly,” Varien said. “There are those of us who still cling to the old faith, the spark that glows deep within Lady Firehair’s, er, tresses,” the dwarf said. “Really?” Varien said. “Yes, but we do not wear our faith on our sleeve, not in these difficult times,” the dwarf said. He rubbed his forehead, leaving a smear of green on his face. “Ah, I forget myself. The least I can do is make an introduction. I am called Brother Satarin. I tend the grounds here at Heartward Hall, but I have been a resident of Helm’s Hold since the day they laid the cornerstone for the Grand Cathedral.” “Have you now?” Varien said. “Yes, I have seen many things change here over the decades,” Satarin said. “And now we must practice our faith away from prying eyes, away from those who are suspicious of unsanctioned heavenly powers.” “I see,” Varien said. “There are meetings, held clandestinely, if ye are interested in joining us one evening?” Satarin said, his eyes darting from side to side. “Ach, I’m taking a risk even speaking about them to you.” “You have nothing to fear from me, Brother Satarin,” Varien said. “I am interested in attending one of your meetings.” “Good man, good man,” Satarin said. “I can send a messenger to wherever it is you’re staying when the time comes to invite you to a gathering.” “I am staying at the Venturer’s Rest,” the paladin said. “My name is Varien Aether.” “And a fine name it is at that,” Brother Satarin said. “How will I know your messenger to look at him?” Varien asked. “Oh, you’ll know,” Satarin said with a smile. “He will be carrying the fire.” Varien nodded, hoping it would be an obvious flame. “Well then, back at it!” Satarin said, his eyes gleaming. “May the light of Lady Firehair yadda yadda yadda…” he turned away from Varien and began clipping the hedge with his shears. “Oh yes, I do love me job, yes indeed!” Varien mounted the steps to the shrine and was met at the top by a breathless Mera Corynian. The Heartwarder’s fine brown hair was tousled and her gauzy robe had fallen open to the waist, revealing a pair of pert, heaving breasts with nipples gone erect with excitement. “Brother, something wonderful has happened!” she gushed at Varien, taking his hand and pulling him into the temple. Sure looks like it, Varien thought to himself. The Heartwarder led Varien to the shrine of Sune, where he saw Bob kneeled over in prayer. He could make out ripples in the reflecting pool as droplets of something that looked like liquid gold fell in regular intervals from the marble carving of Lady Firehair’s face. Mera knelt down beside Bob. “My brother, you have found favour with Sune this day!” She said, her eyes shining. “This is a momentous occasion indeed, for us to be in the presence of a paladin blessed with a Ruby Rose, and then to be here when Sune Herself gave us this sign.” “What sign is that?” Varien said as Bob continued to pray. The Heartwarder ran her long fingers over Bob’s face and showed her palms to Varien. Her hands were wet with a golden liquid. “What does this mean?” Varien asked. “Your friend is crying tears of Evergold!” The Heartwarder smiled. In spite of himself, Varien was impressed. Evergold was the name given to the waters of a fountain of youth and beauty belonging to the Elven goddess Hanali Celanil, waters which she shared with Sune and Sharess, a hedonistic deity. In the Sunite religion, Evergold was a holy water that was used as an ingredient in potions as well as a weapon in its own right for consecration and defense against dark powers. “Sune has chosen your friend to serve as a vessel for Evergold,” Mera explained. She produced a small glass bottle from her robe’s pocket and held it to Bob’s eye, catching droplets in it. Bob seemed to rouse himself from his trance. Mera embraced him, kissing him on both cheeks. “Truly a momentous day in the annals of Heartward Hall!” the Heartwarder said proudly. “I shall record this visitation in our Book of Ages.” “Thank you,” Bob said as he got to his feet. “I feel…strange,” he said as he wobbled a little. Mera caught him before he could faint. “I-I have something else to show you,” Bob ventured. He rolled up his sleeves, revealing the scattering of dragon scales dotting his arms. “Oh, my!” Mera breathed, running her fingers along his forearms and biceps. Her touch was electric. “Whatever is this?” “That’s what I was hoping you could tell me!” Bob said. “They appear to be some sort of scales?” Mera offered. “I believe they have something to do with my ancestry, my magical abilities,” Bob explained. “But I am not sure, and more have appeared as I arrived here at Helm’s Hold.” “Truly, these are quite curious,” Mera said, taking a closer look. “But they are, er, beautiful, in their own way,” she gushed, trying not to let her excitement about Bob’s encounter with Sune bleed away. “Would your annals have any record of this sort of manifestation?” Bob asked. “Do you have any books on this subject?” Mera’s face fell. “We are but a small shrine with a poor library, though our volumes on artistic pursuits are as complete as any other temple’s. This really is outside my area of expertise, but perhaps the House of Knowledge or the Temple of Oghma in Neverwinter would have more information about what it is that you seek.” “Thank you, Heartwarder.” Bob sighed, covering his scales. “No, thank you. Thanks to both of you!” Mera beamed at the two of them. “What a wonderful turn of events! Now, about that donation…” Radegast spent a few minutes helping Alec wrestle the drunken Dalleg up to a spare room on the inn’s second floor, but couldn’t get Jamie’s note out of her mind. She figured he would have gone directly to wherever this Hungry Flame establishment was located to wait for her arrival. Time to get this over with, she thought. She turned to Alec and showed him the note. “I have to rendezvous with the Order of the Gauntlet’s point man here in Helm’s Hold. I am going to go do what is required of me and then find my way back. If I have not returned in an hour’s time, you rally the troops and come find me.” Alec studied the address and committed it to memory. “You got it, Radegast!” Radegast set out into the streets of Helm’s Hold, hoping that her useless sense of direction would improve given that it was Jamie she was trying to find. A few wrong turns down back alleys later, she meekly asked a passer-by for directions to the Hungry Flame. “Why do you want to go there?” the man asked. “Fancy getting your throat slit?” “Er, the tavern came highly recommended?” Radegast offered. “I hear they serve a mean mutton on a stick.” “Well, you’ve got the mean and the stick parts right,” the man said, pointing towards a warren of worn structures to the west. Radegast thanked the pedestrian and ventured forward. Utterly pleased with himself, Erwen-Cat trotted behind the knot of excited priests and clerics as they rushed back to Helm’s Hold, sticking close by as they were waved through a set of gates at the northern side of the fortified town. Erwen-Cat thought he heard someone refer to it as the “Pilgrim’s Gate” as they passed through. Nobody took note of the orange-striped housecat that trailed the group, looking like it had just swallowed a canary. Erwen-Cat glanced around with feline disinterest as he tracked his quarry through the narrow streets of Helm’s Hold. The druid part of him disliked urban environments as a rule, but his feline aspect warmed to the prospect of rats down every alleyway and sunbeams on every windowsill. As he threaded his way through the crowded street, Erwen-Cat thought he caught a glimpse of his friend Radagast, walking uncertainly while checking a scrap of paper. Erwen-Cat, true to his feline form, ignored her as he passed by. Radegast was staring at an intersection, unsure of which side street to take, when out of the corner of her eye she saw an orange cat that looked for all the world like it was staring straight at her. When she turned to look, the creature was gone. Radegast shrugged and took the street on the left. The farther Radegast walked, the more dilapidated her surroundings became, as though there was too little money in the municipal treasury to keep the side streets in good repair. Or any sort of repair at all , she thought as she walked across wooden planks set over rubble-filled sinkholes and sections of street where the raw sewage flowed like a bile-filled stream. This was not exactly a nice neighbourhood. The weathered streets seemed to lead nowhere in particular, bordered by identical sad structures that leaned precariously out over the street. Radegast compared her surroundings to the ruins of Conyberry and found herself appreciating the dead village all the more as she took note of the inexpert attempts to bolster the sagging buildings with splashes of mortar and supporting planks. Her guide’s reluctant instructions turned out to be accurate, however, and soon she stood outside a decrepit tavern, a sign dangling dangerously above the door that appeared to depict a rather ravenous-looking campfire. This must be the place, she thought. Erwen-Cat followed as the group of acolytes passed through an inner gate into another section of the city – this one in much finer shape than the section they had been in earlier. The towering spires of the cathedral loomed over them, ever closer. There were other, smaller temples flanking the grand cathedral, dedicated to gods Erwen-Cat had no time nor inclination to identify. The clerics began mounting the steps of the cathedral after passing through yet another gate, this one manned by paladins whose armor was burnished to a fine shine. Erwen-Cat discreetly followed. The cathedral was easily the largest building Erwen had ever been inside. He estimated that a thousand people could crowd inside with room to spare. The main hall of the cathedral was hung with banners of Helm’s sigil, warded at all corners by suits of armor that featured stylized eyes on their gauntlets and prominent, blank-faced helms. Cavernous chambers soared high through flying buttresses, and great statues of Helm and heroes of legend gazed down upon the acolytes as they marched through the sanctuary, their footfalls echoing on the heavy stone floor. The priests were calling loudly for someone called the “Holy Watcher,” whoever that was. Erwen-Cat kept the shadows, instinctively threading his way through the stout armored legs of the motionless statues. The hall contained several rows of carved wooden pews separated by aisles and rows of supporting columns – plenty of hiding places for a cat intent on listening. Voices echoed through the hall as the priests approached the main hall’s platform. “Holy Watcher! A sign! A portent!” Erwen peeked out from his hiding place and saw a woman wearing white priestly robes enter the hall from a side chamber, walking out onto the platform to meet the acolytes. “What is it?” the woman asked. “Holy Watcher,” one of the clerics said, kneeling before the woman. “We were meditating in the Watcher’s Forest, looking for divine guidance…” “And we received a sign from Helm!” another interjected. “What sort of sign?” the Holy Watcher asked. “It was a majestic elk, striding through the forest!” A third priest shouted. “Verily?” the Holy Watcher asked. She thought a moment. “We bore witness to the hanging of a heretic in the Heartward earlier today. Perhaps our vigilance has been rewarded with this sign.” “Exactly our thoughts, Holy Watcher!” A rather sycophantic paladin declared. “For now, you should pray to Helm and reflect on what you have seen this day,” the Holy Watcher said. “I will meditate on your news further.” “Yes, Holy Watcher. Thank you, Holy Watcher!” the priests replied. As the conversation echoed in the hall, Erwen-Cat’s ears picked out another sound drifting up from the stone floor beneath him. It was an anguished, inarticulate cry. The sound emanated from a small grate in the floor, which Erwen figured helped with the circulation of good air throughout the cathedral’s lower levels. But it was not a good sound – the fur on his back stood on end and his tail bottled involuntarily. Erwen-Cat sniffed at the grate, tasting the air with his mouth open. Thankfully, none of the scents he smelled belonged to any of his traveling companions. But as he heard the faint noise again, a long agonizing scream, he backpedaled and decided it was high time he high-tailed it out of there. As decrepit as the tavern looked, it appeared to be occupied, as Radegast spied a wan orange light spilling out from beneath the establishment’s heavy wooden door. She entered. The room was dominated by a large hearth that blazed with warmth and light, giving the tavern its name. A long bar was set up on the western side of the room, with a scattering of circular tables beyond arrayed near the hearth. Private booths were built into the tavern’s eastern wall, with doors hinting at more rooms in the rear section of the building. A handful of the tables were occupied by brooding drinkers, one or two who risked a furtive glance in Radegast’s direction. Beyond that, her presence did not seem to rattle anyone, at least for the moment. Radegast turned to the barkeep. “Blonde bloke. Pretty boy. Face like you just pissed in his beer.” The bartender’s eyes flicked to the countertop and then back to Radegast. She sighed and threw a gold coin out onto the bar. The bartender nodded to the stairs at the back of the greatroom. “Upstairs, last door on your right.” “Forget you saw me,” Radegast said over her shoulder as she walked to the stairs. The bartender shrugged and returned to his work. Radegast mounted the stairs and found herself at the end of a crooked hallway, which kinked left and right as though the second story had a mind of its own, its dimensions not matching those of the first floor. “My right or the hallway’s right?” Radegast asked the empty hallway. She chose a door at random and knocked. There was no answer. A door further down opened and Jamie’s voice hissed. “Would you stop dallying and get in here?” Radegast made sure to rap her knuckles on the door as she passed by. She surveyed the room. “You always knew how to show a girl a good time.” The bedroll in the corner sat atop a smear of hay and straw that looked like it had been shoveled in from the sty out back. The coverlet was fairly bouncing with fleas. Jamie stood next to a rickety table in the corner of the room, atop which was a guttering candle. “You’ve got to have standards, Jamie,” she said, rolling her eyes. Radegast sighed and used prestidigitation to make the bed more presentable. “So, did you get my message?” She asked. “Which one?” Jamie said, pulling out Kraklos’s missive. “This one, or this one?” With his off hand he pulled out another letter, which had been folded and unfolded so many times it was nearly falling apart in quarters. Radegast thought she had a pretty good idea of who the author of the second letter was. “Is this business, or personal, Pitt?” “Jamie, I was sent here to deliver the business,” Radegast said. “This town is not a good place, I can see that straight off. So I’m happy to let you do what you need to do here.” Jamie nodded slowly. “I see.” He broke the seal on Kraklos’s letter and began to scan it. “That’s not to say I don’t have a personal interest here,” Radegast said. “After all, I know this place used to be known as a place of refuge, only now it isn’t, and I am worried that people who you might get along with a little too well are now in charge here.” Jamie looked up from the missive. “Are you questioning my loyalties, Pitt?” Radegast sighed. “You were always loyal to that which Jamie Lysandra had to be loyal to,” she said carefully. “But you always had concerns, always had reservations, and you were never happy with having to constantly make sure that…” Radegast stopped as she was no longer sure whether she was talking about public or private affairs. “Anyway, I am new in town. What have you heard?” “You would like a briefing? Fine.” Jamie said. “Demon-worshippers and minions of Asmodeus nearly brought Helm’s Hold to its knees just a few years ago, and it was this Order of the Gilded Eye that saved this city, in a manner of speaking. You have heard of Javen Tarmikos?” “Yes, he was the one with the visions,” Radegast said. “Visions, dreams, whatever, but Tarmikos was the first to call the Order of the Gauntlet’s philosophy into question, in that waiting to strike out at evildoers but not evil-thinkers allowed evil to gain strength in the shadows when decisive action could stop it before it started. He was praying to Helm in the Grand Cathedral one day when he received a vision – he witnessed Helm’s unblinking eye weep tears of gold. Other priests, paladins, and clerics – Helmites and members of the Gauntlet alike – began to encounter similar signs and wonders, and Javen drew them under this new banner, creating the Order of the Gilded Eye.” Radegast nodded. “Jamie, in all your distaste for the Nine Hells, you have never taken the devils for idiots, have you?” Jamie shook his head. “What would you say is a greater victory – a city of demon-worshippers surrounded by other cities full of paladins, or the creation of a schism within the greatest Order of paladins in all Faerun?” Radegast stepped forward, an earnest expression on her face. “Do you think Asmodeus’s goal was to gain control of Helm’s Hold, or was it his intent to create a corrupted Order of the Gilded Eye to wreak further havoc here in the north?” Jamie sighed. “You always were quick to draw connections, Pitt, quick to link ideas and thoughts together in a complicated web, even if those links did not in fact exist.” “Well, that’s the job, isn’t it?” Radegast said. “Librarians think their way to the scary places evil is likely to go, scouts verify that paranoia, and hopefully nobody dies.” “I won’t lie to you, there is much in the Gilded Eye’s philosophy that I find agreeable, but I know where my loyalties lie,” Jamie said. “Helm’s Hold’s civic and religious leadership was swayed nearly to ruin by a false prophet, a succubus in thrall to Asmodeus. She led a group called the Ashmadai, are you familiar with that name?” “The Messengers of the Raging Fiend, yes I have heard of them,” Radegast said. “Had they succeeded they would have unleashed the terrors of the Nine Hells across this land,” Jamie said. “There is much afoot here, beyond things in Helm’s Hold.” “Speaking of personal, what happened to your hair?” he asked, narrowing his eyes as he traced the lightning bolt through Radegast’s tresses. She suppressed a flinch at his forwardness. “Well, that was something else I was hoping to take your counsel on, Jamie.” Radegast said. “You know that I have never worshipped just a single deity, holding to just one god or another.” “You always flew a flag of convenience, spiritually speaking,” Jamie admitted. “Well, Talos pitched a flag before me, and he seems to have chosen me as one of his clerics,” Radegast said. “Talos!” Jamie blurted. “You know he has no formal clergy,” Radegast said. “But until he loses interest and sends me naked into the gutter as the storm rages, I belong to him.” “Lovely,” Jamie said. “Seems like you dove headfirst until this, as is your custom.” “Hey,” Radegast protested. “If there is a deity who can control the very weather overhead, I will do everything in my power to do what I can to avoid the smiting. Speaking of which, do you have a pencil that I can borrow and never give back to you?” “Sure, I suppose I can requisition another one,” Jamie said, handing over a pencil to Radegast. She snapped it in two between her fingers without hesitation. “I haven’t broken anything today.” Jamie sighed heavily. “You had better keep your newfound devotion to yourself while you are behind these walls, Pitt.” “I figured as much,” Radegast said. “And while we are on the subject, I have to question your choice of associates,” Jamie continued. “They have the whiff of the otherworldly about them, and that, along with your destructive deity, will attract exactly the wrong sort of attention here.” “You’re not wrong,” Radegast admitted. “I seldom am,” Jamie said. “This place is an altar to Loviatar as far as I’m concerned,” Radegast said angrily. “I would rather leave this to the professionals. You’ve read the note from Kraklos. Does the Gauntlet require our services here or do you have things well in hand?” Jamie held the letter over the candle until it caught, not flinching as it burned away to ash in his fingers. “I will not ask you to stay,” Jamie said. “That is your decision. You are free to leave, unless you can think of a compelling reason to stay.” Radegast left the implied invitation alone. “Do you think the Gauntlet wants a bumbling group of dangerous idiots knocking things around inside Helm’s Hold?” she asked. “My mission here is to gather more information about the Order of the Gilded Eye’s activities, their goals and ambitions,” Jamie said. “Standard Gauntlet protocols – observe and report. You remember what I said about the Ashmadai?” “Yes.” “The Gilded Eye claims it is dedicated to protecting the world and good people by rooting out hidden evils, severing their connections with other planes. They exposed the Prophet and brought down the corrupted leadership of this city, and decisively so. The Order of the Gilded Eye runs Helm’s Hold now, and they are carrying on their campaign against the darkness anew, even as the Ashmadai cultists have scattered and gone to ground. They round up anyone who arouses their suspicions, all in the name of the greater good, of course.” Radegast frowned. “So you say they are looking for evil in places where there is no evil?” “I’m not ready to admit that yet. The Ashmadai may no longer be the force it once was within Helm’s Hold, but there are whispers for those with ears to listen,” Jamie said. “It could be that the Gilded Eye has its eye, if you will excuse the pun, set on a greater prize than Helm’s Hold.” “Could they really be that stupid?” Radegast said. “Wait no, of course they could, because they think they’re in the right.” “You always were good at answering your own questions, Pitt.” Jamie said. “Tread carefully, and if you happen to uncover something, feel free to share it with me.” “Sounds like the Gauntlet needs careful and cautious and diplomatic expertise here,” Radegast said. “My friends are good men, but the longer we stay, the more likely it is that we will bring down the roof of the Grand Cathedral itself. My friends – we – are idiots. I am happy to let you decide if you think subtlety or carelessness will serve the Gauntlet best.” “I will keep that in mind,” Jamie said. “But know this, if you run afoul of the Order of the Gilded Eye, I cannot break my cover, even for you.” “Well then, I guess I will see you around, then?” Radegast said. “Yes, you will.” Radegast opened the door to leave, and stopped, half-turning back to face Jamie. “Hey.” Jamie’s eyes danced in the candlelight. “Yes?” “There was nothing you could have done, Jamie,” Radegast said. “You were great. Your best qualities, your insight, your inquisitive nature, they are what makes you a fine Gauntlet agent, but I couldn’t live under that kind of pressure. I hope you understand.” Jamie nodded. Radegast left, letting the door close behind her. At the bar downstairs she bought a drink and sat with it for a moment, ensuring that a goodly amount spilled down her blouse. She used prestidigitation to amplify the smell of booze on her breath and on her clothes. She turned to a trio of ne’er-do-wells who were drinking at a nearby table. “Can you help a girl find her way to the Venturer’s Rest?” she slurred. “There’s three gold pieces in it for you!” The first man shot the other two a look and then turned back to Radegast, his smile wide and phony. “Of course, dear lass. A young lady should not walk these streets unescorted so late at night.” Radegast grinned a drunken waif’s grin, but her eyes were sharp as the steel each man carried beneath their cloaks. Varien and Bob returned to the Venturer’s Rest. “So, I take it you enjoyed your trip to Heartward Hall?” Varien said to Bob. “Being able to cry tears of Evergold makes up for some of my faith’s shakier moments,” Bob said. “I know what you mean,” Varien said, thinking of his encounter with the Undying Light. The pair turned their attention to Alec and his comrade-in-arms Dalleg. The mercenary had sobered up, reclaiming some of his dignity from the tear-sodden fabric of Alec’s surcoat. “So, why don’t you tell us what happened?” Varien asked. Dalleg wiped his face with a rag. “Okay, I think I can do that.” He let out a ragged breath. “Me, Alec and the rest of our mercenary company were hired to escort a party of adventurers into Neverwinter Wood two tenday ago.” Alec nodded. “The party was led by a wizard named Haladar.” “Yes, Haladar, that arrogant fool.” Dalleg shook his head. “He needed our muscle, but thought we were short on brains, so he didn’t share the true purpose of his expedition into the forest.” “We had to put it together ourselves,” Alec said. “Haladar and his friends kept talking about this place called Sharandar, a hidden place supposedly thick with unclaimed treasures.” “Sharandar, yes,” Dalleg continued. “They had this seeing stone, or what they called a scrying stone, and from what we could tell, they thought that this stone would guide them to Sharandar’s doorstep.” Alec shook his head ruefully. “All that stone did was get us hopelessly turned around in that forest.” “That’s right,” Dalleg said. “Our sergeant thought we were walking in circles, but Haladar and his cronies wouldn’t hear of it. And then…” the mercenary’s voice faltered. “And then…” “The ambush,” Alec prompted. “Gods, yes, the ambush,” Dalleg said, his eyes welling up. “We were on guard, alert, doing our jobs just like they taught us to in the Service, but it didn’t do any good.” He turned away, staring out the window forlornly. “What happened?” Bob asked. “Arrows!” Dalleg blurted. “Arrows raining into our camp like a deadly downpour! And then a horde of bugbears and hobgoblins rushed in. Sergeant Stoneguard went down swinging, but he went down all the same,” Dalleg’s voice caught. “He knew that Haladar had led us into harm’s way. He knew, and it didn’t do us any good.” “Easy, friend,” Alec said. “What of the others?” Dalleg’s expression darkened. “Kerdurron and Jandar are dead for sure. Grim, well, last I saw of Grim he was holding the line just like he did back in the old days. That half-orc was worth half a dozen hobgoblins on his worst day.” “I remember,” Alec said, patting Dalleg’s arm. “He was a formidable fighter. But you thought I was dead for sure, too. Maybe there’s hope.” “Maybe,” Dalleg admitted. “What happened to you, anyway? I saw you hit with an arrow and take a cudgel to the head and thought you were finished.” Alec smiled. “Helm was watching out for me, I guess. After I got brained I think I was dragged back to the goblins’ base.” Dalleg sighed. “Sorry I left you behind,” he said. “You did your best, I’m sure,” Alec said. “How did you survive?” “By running,” Dalleg said tearfully. “I thought I would never see daylight again, but when I stumbled out of the forest, there was Helm’s Hold and safety. I’ve been drowning my sorrows ever since.” “If it’s any consolation,” Varien said. “We may have avenged the deaths of your friends, at least partially.” “Really?” Dalleg sniffled. “Yes, we killed most of the Cragmaw Goblins when we sacked their stronghold.” “I wound up trussed up in Cragmaw Castle, about five minutes away from being the Catch of the Day for a dining room full of goblins, when I was rescued,” Alec explained. Varien waved a dismissive hand. “It was nothing, I was just in the right place at the right time.” “Hey, I was there too,” Bob said. “Of course you were,” Alec said. “Baby brother.” “We also may have another one of these Scrying Stones,” Varien said. “Well, Xylon has it,” Bob said. “But when we capture that sorry creature, we will have the Scrying Stone in our possession.” “That damned stone,” Dalleg muttered. “Do you think that’s what this ambush was all about?” Varien asked. “Well, if they killed Haladar, then they probably have the stone in their possession,” Dalleg said. “Although…maybe…” “We didn’t find a stone inside Cragmaw Castle,” Bob said. “What’s this ‘maybe’ about? Did any of Haladar’s party survive the ambush?” Dalleg looked embarrassed. “Well…yes. They lost more than half their number in the ambush, but I think some of them made it out.” “You think or you know?” Varien asked. “Yes, I know for sure that Ander Stormwind fought his way clear, but only barely made it back to Helm’s Hold alive.” “Where is he?” “Last I heard he was convalescing in the cathedral’s sanatorium.” Dalleg said. “He was in really bad shape.” “Anyone else?” “Well,” Dalleg said haltingly. “I think Tana Timbers survived the ambush as well. But if we’re going to go find her, I’m going to need some backup. She doesn’t want anything to do with me, after what happened, and she’s a remorseless harridan.” “And where can we find her?” Varien asked. “Tana?” Dalleg said. “She’ll be looking for work over at the mercenary barracks on the other side of town. She will know what happened to the stone – Tana and Haladar were thick as thieves.” “Well then,” Varien said to Bob. “Looks like we might not be done with the Black Spider after all.” “Indeed,” Bob replied. Radegast’s new escorts ushered her out into the dark streets. The closing door behind them swallowed up the available light. “The Venturer’s Rest is this way, miss,” one of the three men said, pointing towards a narrow warren of alleys ahead of them. I very much doubt that , Radegast said. I’d rather stick to places I recognize. She pointed a finger in another direction as she swayed drunkenly. “Wouldn’t this way be quicker?” “As you like, ma’am, it’s your gold after all.” The second man said. The quartet moved deeper into the warrens. Still in cat form, Erwen padded down the streets outside the Grand Cathedral. There were few folk moving about as the sun set low behind the walls of Helm’s Hold, save for some conspicuous guards posted at the inner gates and along the walls. Erwen-Cat sniffed the air as he picked up a familiar scent. Radegast is still out here? I’ll bet she’s lost. Better go find her. He darted towards the rougher part of town. When her escorts led her into the third blind alley beyond a side street behind a ramshackle row of tenements, Radegast decided that she was being set up. Of course, that meant her would-be cutpurses were setting themselves up. “Just a few more turns and we’ll have you home, miss,” the leader said, taking a look around as if to check for witnesses. His hand strayed to his hip, where Radegast was fairly certain a dagger was sheathed. Radegast reached out and grabbed the back of his neck, casting inflict wounds and giving the man a taste of the spell. The flesh around his collar sizzled. “You sure you want to do that, friend?” Radegast hissed. “There are three of you and only one of me. I’d say you’re outnumbered.” The man stiffened and cursed as his flesh burned. “But we can put all this behind us,” Radegast said. “Because I’m sure you didn’t mean any harm, did you?” “No…I mean…yes!” the man croaked. His two cronies backed away from Radegast and the bolted back up the alley the way they’d came, abandoning their leader. “You snakes!” the thug called out after them as they fled. They reached the end of the alley and one ducked left, the other right. “Now it’s just the two of us,” Radegast said in mock sweetness. “Of course, normally I would burn you down where you stand, but I actually do need to be led out of his hellhole and back to the Venturer’s Rest. Do that for me, and I might spare your life.” “Sounds like a fair bargain,” the man mumbled. Radegast pushed the would-be robber forward. Erwen-Cat used his claws to scamper up a fence until he could leap onto the tile roof of a house. He surveyed the streets below, sniffing, and then ran as fast as his feline legs could take him from rooftop to rooftop. There was a commotion in front of him as he found himself in a valley between two sloping roofs. A rough-looking human, eyes wild, was shimmying up the drainpipe, scraping his knees as he pulled himself up onto the roof. “That bitch was crazy,” he wheezed to himself. A knife appeared in his hands as he turned back to look down the street. “Time to get crazy back.” Erwen-Cat agreed whole-heartedly. He launched himself at the man, a blur of claws and fangs. “Take your next right,” the brigand said as he jerked against Radgast’s choke-hold. Radegast heard the yowl of an alleycat behind her. “Careful now,” the man said to Radegast. “Wouldn’t want you to step on something sharp !” The tip of a dagger poked Radegast in the ribs. Radegast winced and ducked his next stab. “You are not as good at this as you think you are,” she said. “I’ll be the judge of-urk!” Radegast let the inflict wounds spell go at full strength. “Argh! Stupid polecat!” Erwen-Cat’s victim cursed as he fought to regain control of the ball of furry fury that had latched itself to his head. He grabbed the cat by the scruff of the neck and pulled it from him, leaving deep gouges along his neck and cheeks. “Ouch! Damn you!” The man stabbed at the cat with his knife, slicing it deeply. There was a shimmering blur as the cat’s shape began to change, and suddenly there was a Halfling crouched where the yowling cat had stood seconds before. “What the hell are you?” the man asked, gobsmacked. Radegast pushed the struggling thief away from her. He brought his knife up in a fighter’s stance. Radegast smirked. “Do you know what a bolt of thunder that can be heard from a mile away does to something right next to it? And would you like to find out?” “Try me, you witch!” the thief snarled. “Fine,” Radegast said, and cast thunderwave. The thief clapped his hands over his ears, but stood his ground as the spell swept away everything that wasn’t nailed down in the alley to crash into a pile of shattered refuse at the far end of the street. In the Venturer’s Rest, Bob looked at the jug of water and saw a faint ripple pass across its surface. “Huh,” he said. “What am I?” Erwen said to his attacker. “Why, I’m a skunk!” With that he turned and mooned the man, sending a poison spray from his posterior. “Ack!” The man said, stumbling back. He wiped the spray from his eyes, snarled, and stabbed at Erwen again, opening a deep gash on his chest. Radegast’s ears perked up at the sound of a scuffle two rooftops over. “Erwen, are you all right?” “I’m a skunk!” was the only reply. “You’ll want to be careful with the short ones – they bite!” Radegast shouted. The man in front of her shook his head. “Are you finished?” he said as he stabbed at her. Radegast used her cutting words to mess up the man’s slashing attack. “Your technique sure is improving – psych!” The first stab missed, but the thief displayed a modicum of skill as he slashed her on the backswing. “Hell with you, I’m out of here!” the second thief shouted at Erwen, who, though bleeding profusely, glared at him like a wild animal. He grabbed the drainpipe and slid down to the street, where his companion had recovered some of his own nerve, and was creeping back into position. The fleeing bandit stopped short, turned, and grinned darkly up at the Halfling, drawing a hand crossbow from his cloak. Erwen didn’t like those odds. He didn’t like getting stabbed. And he definitely didn’t like urban environments. The druid cast erupting earth on a spot beneath the two brigands. A fountain of cobblestones and liquefied earth erupted in the middle of the narrow street, catching both thugs in its chaotic churn. Their screams were drowned out by the groaning and cracking of building foundations as structures on both side of the street began to sag, their foundations eroding into the sudden sinkhole, followed closely by their walls and support beams. There was a tremendous crashing sound as a cloud of dust obscured the collapsing buildings. The ground shook. As Dalleg continued to speak about his experience in Neverwinter Wood, the Venturer’s Rest swayed slightly, and there was a muted roar from the city’s northwest quarter. Varien turned to Bob. “Did you feel that?” Bob turned to Varien. “Did you hear that?” Alec sat bolt upright. “Wait, is Radegast back yet? She said if she wasn’t back in an hour that we should go look for her. Varien and Bob looked at Alec. “I think I can take a guess what’s going on out there,” Varien said. “Suit up and let’s go,” said Bob. Radegast and the thief gaped as the street collapsed in on itself. Radegast threw herself at the wreckage, throwing aside rocks and timbers in an effort to see if anyone had been trapped in the rubble. “Is anyone hurt?” she shouted. “Call out if you need help!” She caught a glimpse of Erwen standing at the edge of the roof. “Erwen, help me!” she shouted. Erwen shook his head, staring at the last thief, who was backing away. “What-what are you?” the thief shouted. “I’m. A. SKUNK!” Erwen shouted. The thief broke and ran towards the side street’s exit. Erwen stretched out his hand and cast erupting earth again. A fissure opened up in the street behind the fleeing thief, the road caving in on itself and following behind as the man frantically tried to make his escape. As he turned the corner, the pursuing fissure of churning earth bolted beneath a townhouse, which jumped from its foundations and came crashing down in a second spectacular explosion. The ground shook again as Alec, Bob and Varien rushed into the northwest quarter. A mushroom cloud rose skyward a few blocks away. “Are you kidding me?” Varien said. “Quiet!” Bob hissed, pointing to a group of Gilded Eye guards and paladins who were rushing ahead of the trio. “Let’s follow, but not too close,” Varien said. “Erwen…what have you done…how could you…” Radegast said, wringing her hands as she fought with her instincts to help and her instincts to preserve her safety. “I thought you liked chaos!” Erwen said. “But I guess we should make ourselves scarce.” “You think?” Radegast said, jumping up the wall and joining Erwen on the rooftop. “I guess I don’t have to worry about Talos demanding a sacrifice today. We have to go. Now.” Erwen cast past without trace on himself and Radegast and the two of them struck out across the rooftops, leaping from ledge to ledge in the darkness. Erwen recalled the location of the Pilgrim’s Gate and led the way. “Let’s wait to show up until after the guards get there,” Bob said to Varien. “We wouldn’t want them to get the wrong idea.” “Yeah, or the right idea,” Alec added. “I blame Radegast for this,” Varien said. “Sounds good,” Bob said. They kept a discreet distance as the Gilded Eye charged ahead. The trio found the disaster area with little difficulty. Two heaps of rubble half a block apart lay in piles where once buildings stood. Paladins bearing the symbol of the Gilded Eye combed over the wreckage while town guards stood at the ready. Bob could see Zealot Lysandra leading the operation, shouting orders to other Gilded Eye operatives as they dug through the rubble. “Oh, this has Radegast’s fingerprints all over this,” Bob whispered to Varien. “Indeed, or perhaps Erwen’s,” Varien replied, looking at the erupted earth that had cleaved the narrow alleyway in twain. His eyes followed the trail of destruction to the unsteady building that now teetered at the edge of collapse. “Someone could be trapped in there!” Alec said. “We’ll find out soon enough!” Varien said, and pushed past the town guards on his way to the ruined building. “Oy! Stay back!” one of the guards shouted. “Listen, he’s a paladin, helping the innocent is in his blood!” Bob said to the guard, and then moved up the street towards Jamie, to see what he could discover. “It’s not safe!” the guard shouted, his hand on the hilt of his sword. But neither he nor his fellow guardsmen followed. Varien pushed his way passed fallen roof beams into the darkness of the collapsed building. His eyes lit up with an eerie glow as his Devil’s Sight took over, giving him a crystal clear view of the wide rent in the ground beneath the building’s basement, which had fallen in on itself. Varien picked his way carefully down the slanted floor to the edge of the hole. The smell of offal reached Varien’s nostrils. The ground had opened to reveal the sewers beneath Helm’s Hold. “Ew,” he whispered. He peered down into the hole and saw the prone form of a human laying amid the scattered stones and broken timbers. Before he could call out to the man to see if he was all right, something dragged him out of sight. A snarl reverberated within the sewer and echoed in the basement. Varien’s eyes widened.