Secret Room, Impending Doom.

Varien stepped up and addressed High Commander Tarmikos. “Yes, to business. We’ll need maps, ropes, keys, whatever resources you have at your disposal, and-” “We respectfully request these items, Inquisitor,” Bob said, glaring sideways at Varien. “Well, we need the tools we’ll need to complete the work,” Varien said, shrugging off Bob’s askew glance. Meanwhile, Radegast fished out a copper coin and dropped it into the grate she was standing astride, listening as it clinked and clanked and clattered its way down. She estimated it fell at least 30 feet before she could hear it no longer. She nodded to herself and filed that information away for later. She looked up to see a Gilded Eye guard staring at her. “Offerings usually go in the plate, ma’am,” the guard said. “Duly noted,” Radegast said, and turned to Tarmikos. “Okay, so I’ll just start writing up an invoice for what we’ll need, and-” Birdwen screeched. Bob gave an exasperated snort. “Inquisitor, please allow me to apologize on behalf of my sugar-addled companions-” “Sugar!?” Radegast said. “I haven’t had any sugar since we left Phandalin, that's my problem!” Javen smiled thinly; whatever patient front he had been putting on for the Holy Watcher’s benefit clearly fading quickly. “I pay it no particular mind; as you can see, nerves are easily frayed here in Helm’s Hold.” “We shall waste as little of your time as possible,” Bob said diplomatically. “But please, tell us what equipment we might find useful as we explore beneath the city?” Javen waved a hand. “You may speak with Hilde, our quartermaster, at the Gilded Eye Chapterhouse here on the grounds and requisition an appropriate amount of supplies.” Radegast raised her hand like a schoolgirl. “Could we also get a writ of passage that we could present to those who might block our path?” Javen gave Radegast an appraising look and then shrugged microscopically. “I will consider that.” “Today?” Radegast asked quickly. Javen scowled. “I shall have a scribe prepare such a writ for you, if you don’t mind waiting.” “Not at all,” Radegast said in a saccharine tone. Javen snapped his fingers and a wizened scribe shuffled out from a side room, parchment, feather pen, and writing tablet in hand. Birdwen chose this moment to alight and perch upon the shoulder of the nearest oversized statue of Helm that loomed over the sanctuary. He proceeded to emit a large amount of runny bird droppings that spattered onto the statue and pooled on the stone floor. “Oh dear gods,” Jamie said under his breath. “Calm down,” Varien said. “Have you never seen a bird poop before? I’ve seen seabirds discharge things you can’t imagine-” Javen stabbed the quill into the writing tablet so hard the scribe dropped it to the floor, where it landed with a loud bang. “When you feel sufficiently prepared, we will allow you access to the Transition Room below,” he said, folding the parchment and pressing his signet ring into the wax. He handed the writ to Jamie. “Javen, would you be able to provide us with a man – a guide!” Radegast said quickly. “Zealot Lysandra would be honoured to escort you while you are on the grounds, isn’t that right, Zealot?” Javen said, eyeing Jamie like a crocodile eyeing its next meal. “Indeed, High Commander!” Jamie said, his voice cracking. “If we may make one final request,” said Varien. “Could you reinforce us with a platoon of soldiers?” Javen shook his head slowly. “We have sent our men into the crypts and vaults and have experienced, shall we say, diminishing returns. You have volunteered; I cannot offer you any more manpower than you already have with you.” “You mentioned that some of your men returned from the underground,” Bob said. “Could we speak with them?” “Those wounded warriors who survived are convalescing in the infirmary here on the grounds,” Javen said. “Zealot Lysandra can facilitate interviews with them if you wish.” Jamie handed the writ of passage to Varien. “And now, I have business to attend to,” Javen said. “We will speak again before long I am sure.” The High Commander turned and strode towards the Holy Watcher’s chamber, his bootsteps echoing in the upper reaches of the sanctuary. Birdwen screeched again. The party left the Grand Cathedral and began walking across the grounds of the Inner Court towards the imposing blockhouse-like Gilded Eye Chapterhouse. Radegast discreetly informed Jamie of her brief conversation with Captain Kraklos via her sending spell. Jamie nodded gravely. “Well, the Gilded Eye Chapterhouse contains a library full of the order’s records, but I believe anything truly incriminating would be hidden in the High Commander’s private study.” “Incriminating, you say? And this study is located where?” Radegast asked. “I believe it’s accessible from the library itself,” Jamie said. “I have yet to gain access to it. Might be a two-person job,” he added, looking at Radegast. It was Radegast’s turn to nod. The party approached the entrance of the Gilded Eye Chapterhouse. A pair of Gilded Eye guards moved to intercept them, but Jamie waved them away, followed by Varien waving the writ of passage. Once through the main entrance, they found themselves in a well-appointed great room that featured both hunting trophies and spoils of war mounted on the walls, a bank of open fireplaces, a scattering of overstuffed chairs and tavern-style round tables, as well as a fully stocked bar. “The Gilded Eye know how to relax,” Bob said. Birdwen fanned out his feathers into a protective sheath and moved forward, pushing tables and chairs out of the way, knocking crockery to the floor as he did so. Jamie frowned. He turned to Varien. “The armory is through the western exit there,” he pointed. “The library is to the north.” Radegast smiled. “Okay, you’ve got the writ and I’ve got the guide,” she linked arms with a surprised Jamie. “Be sure to pick me up something nice.” She turned and pulled Jamie along with her on her way to find the library. Varien shrugged as he, Bob, and Birdwen headed towards the armory. The armory was a wide-open space with every square inch covered in weapons and armor. Floor-to-ceiling racks held javelins, halberds, and pikes, while suits of armor stood on wooden stands. The trio could hear the sound of someone whistling while they worked, followed by a rhythmic sound of metal striking wood. Varien edged past a table piled high with battle hammers and spied a stout dwarven woman wearing an impressive suit of heavy battle armor while she threw axes one after the other with pinpoint accuracy into a waiting rack on the far wall. She whistled in time with the thud of each axe landing squarely in its place on the rack. “Hello!” Varien said. “Ach!” the woman whirled about, battle-axe at the ready. “Maybe announce yerself before ye step into me workplace!” Her eyes widened at the sight of Birdwen. “And get that bird out of me shop before he knocks-” Birdwen knocked over a row of plate armor, which made a metallic bonging sound as they collapsed into a pile of mismatched plating. “Ach!” The dwarven woman shouted despairingly. “All me armor!” Varien tried to smooth things over with a smile. “Actually, that’s why we’re here!” “Yer gonna be polishing that with yer tailfeathers!” the woman shouted at Birdwen, ignoring Varien for the moment. “Er, I don’t think that will be very effective,” Varien said. “He’s a dirty bird, that one. Now, if you wouldn’t mind helping us gear up for battle, we would really appreciate it.” “Gear up?” The woman asked, incredulous. “Am I supposed to hand over me prized possessions without so much as a how-do-you-do?” “Well, we could let this writ of passage make our introductions,” Varien said. “But I am Varien Aether, and these are my companions.” He held out the writ. “I’m Hilde the Quartermistress!” the dwarf said proudly, snatching the writ from Varien and popping on a pair of fragile-looking spectacles. “So High Commander Tarmikos wants you outfitted, does he?” Varien grinned hungrily. “Yes, whatever supplies we need.” “I’ll be the judge of that, thank ye!” Hilde said. “Well, we were hoping you could be of assistance,” Bob ventured hopefully. “Well then, what manner of mission has Tarmikos recruited you for?” Hilde asked. “Where are ye off to?” “Down below,” Varien said. “‘Down below?’” Hilde echoed. “As in,” she leaned forward. “ Below below?” “Right down under,” Bob said. “Hmmm,” Hilde muttered. “Ye poor damned bastards.” “What was that?” Bob asked. “Nothing!” Hilde said brightly. “Now, what are you in the market for?” “Well,” Varien said, tapping his chain mail. “We could use a bit of an upgrade.” “Ah, it’s armor yer after, is it?” Hilde asked. “Do you mind wearing something engraved with the sigil of Helm? After all, I can see you fellows are Sunites.” “Beggars can’t be choosers,” Varien said. He felt his eyes being drawn to the suits of polished plate armor leaning against the wall. “Right, let’s see how you stack up!” Hilde said, pulling out a measuring tape. “Drop yer drawers, then!” Birdwen screeched. Jamie led Radegast into a quiet hallway adorned with artwork on the walls. She paused before a painting that depicted a young man putting himself in harm’s way to protect his king on the field of battle. The title Bleth’s Sacrifice was engraved on a brass plate affixed to the painting’s frame. “Oh, a depiction of the Battle of the Witch Lords?” Radegast said. “An evocative painting to be sure, but some of the details are wrong.” She tapped the image of an overmuscled orc driving a spear into the guts of the young noble while a human king recoiled and drew his sword. “It was a actually a rampaging troll that was about to strike King Galaghard the Third down when the young scion of Bleth sacrificed himself. The noble’s sacrifice gave the King time to regroup and lead the charge against the Witch Lords of Wyvernwater. Plus, this painting completely omits the key role played by the elven warrior Othorion Keove and his stag cavalry in turning the tide of battle. Typical human revisionism.” Jamie rolled his eyes. “Spare me the art criticism, Pitt. We have a job to do.” “I’m just saying, I’m not encouraged by the Gilded Eye’s choice in decorations,” Radegast said as Jamie pushed open the library’s doors. “I question their relationship with the Truth, and-” Radegast’s face lit up as she took in the wide room’s row upon row of sturdy bookshelves groaning under the weight of a king’s ransom in tomes, grimoires and ledgers. “Mommy’s home,” she whispered. Here and there between the library stacks were study carrels, each one lit with candles. Chairs and low reading tables were arranged in conversational settings throughout, and there were more paintings on the wall – a large landscape painting of Waterdeep as viewed on the road heading into the city caught Radegast’s eye immediately. Jamie cleared his throat. “Brother Vartan? Are you in here?” A haggard-looking man in robes that identified him as a follower of Oghma tottered out from between the stacks. His ink-stained fingers worried a sheaf of parchment as he nodded at Jamie. “Zealot Lysandra, hello! It’s been some time since you’ve darkened the door of my library!” “Hello my name is Radegast I love what you have done with the place may I browse your collection?” Radegast gushed. “Of course, young lady!” Vartan’s lined face broke into a smile. “Have you by chance read Great Battles of Faerun ?” “Actually, I chaired the committee that corrected spelling errors for the third edition errata,” Radegast said proudly. “Third edition? Why, we only have the second edition in our collection!” Vartan said, his eyes widening. “Oh, you’ll definitely want to put in an order to Silverymoon for the latest edition,” Radegast said. “There are some transposition fixes that completely upend the accepted orthodoxy around the fall of the Second Untheric Empire.” Vartan turned to Jamie, chuckling a dry chuckle. “Zealot Lysandra, what sort of treasure have you brought me this day?” Jamie forced a smile. “Indeed, my friend has been looking forward to browsing these shelves and inhaling their rich mahogany smells since I first bragged about your collection to her. Now, Brother Vartan, I wonder if I might bend your ear a bit about the Crypt of the Vigilant Eye?” “Oh, I am always willing to discuss matters of theology and interment with an acolyte such as yourself,” Vartan said, shuffling towards Jamie. “Just let me set a pot of tea to boil and you can ask Uncle Vartan whatever you’d like.” “Thank you, Brother Vartan!” Jamie said. As Vartan turned to busy himself at his reading desk, Jamie gave Radegast a quick nod as if to tell her to get to work. Radegast didn’t have to be told twice. In the armory, Hilde quickly sized Varien up for a suit of plate armor and a set of half-plate for Bob. “Do you have anything for the magically inclined?” Bob asked the quartermaster. “We do get magic items from time to time,” Hilde said. “What’s your preferred weapon?” Bob twirled his staff. “I think I’m good, actually. Thank you.” Birdwen’s eagle eyes zeroed in on something shiny amid a pile of longswords stacked on a worktable. With a squawk he lumbered over and pecked at the pile until the shiny object had revealed itself. It was a sword, with a mirrored finish on the blade and a golden hilt. Birdwen picked it up in his beak and began swinging it around. “Hey now!” Hilde shouted at the giant bird. “Careful, that’s one of the best ones!” Varien rushed over towards Birdwen. “Easy now, easy, Erwen! Put that nice sword down, there’s a good Halfling!” Birdwen spat the sword out. As it arced towards the floor, it sliced clean through the worktable’s leg like a hot knife through butter. The table crashed to the floor, but Varien managed to scoop up the sword before it disappeared in the jumble. “Hello, what have we here?” Varien said, feeling the weight of the sword in his hand. It was finely balanced, and as he cut a few slow practice swings, he felt as though the sword was guiding his hand and not the other way around.” “I know what you’re thinking, and you can forget it,” Hilde said. “I’m only authorized to requisition that blade to a high-ranking Gilded Eye paladin.” “Now, Hilde,” Varien said, brandishing the writ of passage as he continued to focus his attention on the sword. “We do have the Gilded Eye’s backing on this, and Javen Tarmikos himself signed a writ authorizing us to requisition what we need for this mission. I think I might need this.” Varien felt a tingle of electricity work its way up his arm, shoulder, and neck, until something that felt like quicksilver flashed from one side of his head to the other. Hello , a voice inside his head purred. Varien looked around, seeing if anyone else had heard the voice. “Hello?” Varien thought the word and mouthed it in an attempt to respond. You’re a quick study , said the voice. All I got from the last person holding me was some squawks and birdcalls. “Who am I speaking to?” Varien asked. My name is FIENDSBANE , said the voice in Varien’s head. And I think that you and I are going to have some fun together. Varien looked up from the sword. “Oh, I just got chills,” he said. He turned to Birdwen. “Good eye, Erwen,” he ruffled the wildshaped Halfling’s feathers. “Oh, I’ll be explaining this to the boss for sure,” Hilde muttered. Birdwen screeched. “Now, I don’t think I’ve got barding that will fit your eagle mount there,” Hilde said. “Oh, he isn’t usually an eagle,” Varien said. “He’s our resident Halfling.” “A shapeshifting Halfling?” Hilde smirked. “Well then, little man, maybe I do have something for you after all, when you’re not strutting around like the cock of the walk.” The quartermaster rooted around in a wardrobe and came back with a wooden mask that featured a reinforced metal noseguard, atop which was inscribed a druidic symbol. “Carved from solid oak, that mask is,” Hilde said. “Not really popular with the paladins, but I think it might be right up your friend’s alley.” Birdwen’s sharp eyes took in the symbol on the mask, and recognized it as the first stanza of a famous archdruid’s poem that read “When the beast cloaks itself in the mighty oak, what good is a bow? When the oak wraps itself around a snarling beast, what good is a hatchet?” Birdwen squawked. “Thank you, Hilde,” Varien said as he strapped the mask to Birdwen’s thigh with a length of cord. “Now, I don’t wish to appear too desperate here, but we do have two other members of our party who need to be outfitted.” “A likely story,” Hilde said. “Your friends will have to come here and get measured just like you. I’m not letting any more suits of armor walk out of my door without getting some signatures.” I don’t mean to be a bother , Fiendsbane piped up. But will you be stabbing any devils anytime soon? Because if so, that would be great. “I cannot express to you how much I love your enthusiasm,” Varien thought in reply. To Hilde he asked, “do you have anything lightning-related?” “What, like this?” Hilde reached for the nearest rack of bows and pulled down a longbow that looked like two carved lightning bolts exploding back from the handle. “That’s the stuff,” Varien smiled. “Now then,” Hilde said, pulling out a pile of forms. “Let’s get to filling these requisitions out, shall we?” Varien and Bob groaned. Birdwen screeched. Radegast ran her fingers lovingly along the spines of the books as she walked up and down the shelves of the library. A girl could get lost in between the covers , she thought to herself. She spied a large tome sitting open on a small reading table. Picking it up, she read the title: What Price Victory? Radegast scanned the page: In the aftermath of the battle, a magical miasma descended on the valley, scouring it of life and cursing it for generations. Those who wandered too close told of screams and whimpers coming from within the accursed mists. The corpses of slain soldiers stood and walked once more, to re-enact their deaths time and time again. As the decades passed, the mists thinned, and ambitious settlers attempted to reclaim the land. Within two months, they had vanished without a trace. “Spooky!” Radegast said to herself, making a mental note to check back later to see if she could discover the location of this fog-shrouded valley. She replaced the volume and continued on. The Gilded Eye’s collection bordered on the esoteric. Aside from the expected theological discourses on finer points of the Helmite faith, Radegast discovered a series of novels about an improbably generous drow. “That sounds farfetched,” she murmured. She passed a collection of dusty tomes dealing with Derro battle tactics. “Derro?” she said aloud. “Weird.” She found shelves filled with books about dragon mating rituals. She grabbed one, intending to give it to Bob, but as she flipped through it, it soon became clear that the books were thinly disguised erotica, since the male and female dragons depicted in the text had a habit of polymorphing into human forms before getting down to business. “Churches always have the best porn collections,” Radegast said, making a mental note of the location of the tawdry guidebooks. She continued on, shrugging at a collection of books about Dwarven horticulture but pausing over a series of volumes on Elvish weapon-making. Another series of novels with lurid cover artwork caught her eye. They were the collected works of a Tiefling Bard named Drakhar the Droll. Radegast blushed. “They published my fanfic?” She said. Then her eyes narrowed. “Hey, someone owes me some royalties!” She cocked an ear and listened to Jamie and Vartan’s conversation. It sounded like Jamie was running out of questions to ask the Oghmite lorekeeper. Radegast would have to be quick about her business. She narrowed her search to subjects of interest to the Order of the Gilded Eye. She found a tome entitled “The Plight of the Spellscarred” – a history book that outlined the effect of the Spellplague and the cataclysm that befell Neverwinter nearly 40 years ago. The book dealt with how the spellscarred plague victims were first treated at the House of Knowledge in Neverwinter, under the care of the House’s lorekeeper, Brother Anthus. Anthus, though beloved by his followers and patients, died under mysterious circumstances some time after the cataclysm, and afterwards one of his acolytes, a young woman in residence known as Rohini, championed the relocation of the makeshift hospital and the remaining priests of Oghma to nearby Helm’s Hold, claiming that she had been given prophetic omens of disaster for both Neverwinter and Helm’s Hold if she did not do so. Under the auspices of the Protector’s Law, the spellscarred were provided sanctuary in Helm’s Hold, where elsewhere they were shunned or worse. An agreement with Neverwinter, still in force today, saw spellscarred refugees transported to the sanctuary of the Sanatorium in Helm’s Hold, where they were cared for by Rohini and her growing cadre of followers. “Interesting,” Radegast said, setting the book aside for later study. “Now we’re getting somewhere.” The next tome was entitled “The Banishment of Rohini the Prophet”. “Oh ho ho!” Radegast said, flipping through the book with urgency. The subject of this more recent volume was a detailed account of the battle for Helm’s Hold, which began in 1484 DR. The book appeared to be a spiritual sequel to the Plight of the Spellscarred, as it focused on Rohini’s activities in Helm’s Hold as she began calling herself the Prophet and began making vivid pronunciations of future events that more often than not had a way of coming true. Eventually, the Prophet took the Grand Cathedral as her seat, dispensing her prophecies to congregations of loyal acolytes, fawning supplicants, and awed spellscarred patients, though the book made it clear she laid no claim to the actual structure. Eventually the Ashmadai revealed themselves, and the Prophet Rohini became the de factor ruler of the Hold as her minions seized Helm’s Hold for a time, wresting control away from Helm’s Hundred. Joint forces of loyal knights from Helm’s Hold and a detachment from Neverwinter were assisted by skilled champions and the tide was soon turned, though it came at great cost. The Prophet was banished to whatever plane she had originated from in the final battle that scattered the Ashmadai and resulted in victory for the knights of Helm. It was clear from the author’s tone that the book was more hagiography than history, as it painted Javen Tarmikos and the newly minted Order of the Gilded Eye in the best possible light as they stormed to victory over the demonic forces of the Ashmadai. The Order of the Gauntlet was singled out for scorn in the text, accused of letting the Prophet’s evil machinations gather both speed and strength while they stood by, watching instead of acting. “This is starting to make a certain kind of sense,” Radegast said. She paused and took a closer look at the bookshelves that lined the library’s far walls. Something wasn’t right. The books were meticulously arranged along the centre shelves, but it was obvious to Radegast’s perceptive eyes that three deliberate gaps had been left in between the volumes – each space about the size of a hardcover tome, spaced about a foot apart. “Hmm,” Radegast said. She fingered the slots and sure enough detected a sort of grooved locking mechanism at the base of the shelf. She cast about for any loose volumes and sure enough, there were some books scattered a little too casually nearby for her liking. “They say knowledge is the key to understanding,” Radegast said. “Let’s see if that’s true.” There were four books that looked as though they could fit in the three spaces. “Conflicts, Combat and Calamity”, “The Cost of Valour”, “Courage Before the Fall”, and “Holy Warrior”. “I’m sensing a pattern here,” Radegast muttered, and began shuffling the books, fitting them into place in the slots. “Let’s try for alliterations,” Radegast said. She placed “Courage Before the Fall” in the leftmost slot, “Conflicts, Combat, and Calamity” in the middle, and “The Cost of Valour” to the right. She heard a soft click from the left slot and “Courage Before the Fall” was stuck fast. “All right,” Radegast murmured, rubbing her chin. “Let’s do this.” “The Cost of Valour” went into the middle slot and Radegast heard a click. “Conflicts, Combat, and Calamity” went in the right slot but didn’t fit all the way. “Fine, Holy Warrior, you’re up!” Radegast placed “Holy Warrior” in the right slot. The centre bookshelf began to silently swing open, rotating on its centre axis. Radegast smiled as she ducked behind the shelf. “Oh, my,” she said as the bookshelf door closed behind her. She was standing inside a private study, as long as the library was wide, adorned with religious paintings and scenes of glorious battle on the walls, thick rugs, overstuffed leather armchairs, a massive writing desk and, most importantly, shelves full of books, folios and scrolls. Dominating the room was an imposing portrait of Javen Tarmikos with a banner with the symbol of the Order of the Gilded Eye waving in the breeze behind him. “Jejune,” Radegast sniffed. She cracked her knuckles and got to work. She spied a journal open on the writing desk and glanced at the writing therein. “…after months of interviews and looking at shipping manifests I have located the creature that killed our men at Stone Bridge. It is hiding in Luskan disguised as a beggar.” “Interesting,” Radegast said. She pulled a folio at random from the long shelves. On its cover were embossed the words “Against the Order of the Burning Dawn.” She opened it and began to read. In the name of the Guardian, I, Javen Tarmikos, high commander and Inquisitor of the Gilded Eye, do name the Order of the Burning Dawn an abomination. Though they claim the deaths of their founders cleared them of the demon’s influence, we are not convinced. The roots of demonic possession go deeper than mortals can imagine, to wrap around the very spine of the mortal soul. The information we have gained from our ‘friend’ in the dungeons below has confirmed our suspicions of demonic worship and possession. Let all their members, and all who would aid them, be seen as adversaries and let us end their demonic intentions with the highest prejudice! “The Burning Dawn?” Radegast said, her nose wrinkling as she tried to recall from her days reading Fraternities and Fellowships of Faerun. She remembered that the guild had been formed by a pair of brothers named Dawntreader who sought to recover a holy relic called the Moontear , which had fallen from the very eyes of Sehanine Moonbow long ago. Legend had it that the brothers were corrupted by a balor named Belaphoss, who also sought the Moontear and used the guild for his own foul purposes before the brothers died at one another’s hand. This did not sit well with the Order of the Gilded Eye, apparently. According to the Gilded Eye warrant, the organization had chapterhouses up and down the Sword Coast. And “had” was definitely the right word, as the warrant outlined in gory detail the campaign that the Gilded Eye had carried out against the adventuring guild, wiping it out and destroying its assets. “Lordy,” Radegast said. “So this guild claimed innocence but were still found guilty by the Gilded Eye? I’d say that’s incriminating!” She set aside the warrant and continued to rifle through the scrolls and folios. She began to uncover writ after writ, files that outlined people and organizations who had fallen under the suspicion of the Order of the Gilded Eye for trucking with demons. She quickly noted that there was a system of stamped categories, ominously listed as: Marked. Confessed. Atoned. Cleansed. Some of the subjects of these files had a single stamp in the series, others were adorned with all four, and those ones often included signed confessions written in panicked, or worse, magicked handwriting. Here was a file on a woman named Juetta, an upstanding citizen of Helm’s Hold and proprietress of the Old Dirty Dwarf, accused by the Gilded Eye and detained on suspicion of demonic influence when several foulspawn were “found in” at the inn and tavern. The inn was seized, sold and renamed, and Juetta’s ultimate fate was tellingly absent from the file. There were dozens more like Juetta – farmers, coopers, city guards, artisans. All marked and condemned by the Gilded Eye. All of who confessed and made atonement. Many who were mysteriously “cleansed.” Nowhere did Radegast see any evidence that any of the charges resulted in absolution. Here was a file outlining the connections between the Ashmadai and the Red Wizards of Thay, first through a regent named Sylora Salm, who disappeared and was later replaced by a woman named Valindra Shadowmantle. “Great name,” Radegast breathed. Apparently the Red Wizards had something on the Ashmadai that made the ruthless demon worshippers fall into line – an unholy relic of sorts wielded by Shadowmantle. A sizeable Ashmadai faction was led by a dwarven woman named Favria, who had gathered a band of hellfire warlocks and branded zealots who had dominated Helm’s Hold before the battle five years ago. Favria had been captured and according to her warrant was still being held prisoner. She had been marked, but had not confessed. Next was a warrant issued for a man named Mordai Vell, the surviving patriarch of a noble family of Neverwinter and resident of Vellguard Manor in Neverwinter’s Blacklake District, whose correspondence with the Prophet Rohini had been intercepted by the Gilded Eye before the Prophet’s banishment. Apparently Vell’s pursuit of Rohini was romantic in nature, as some of the letters were considered “scandalously explicit,” but the relationship was enough to bring the noble under the Gilded Eye’s suspicion. Appended to this file were accusations that the Ashmadai lurked amid the ruins of Neverwinter’s House of Knowledge, And here was a bulging file on the Lord Protector of Neverwinter himself, Dagult Neverember. His association with Mordai Vell was enough to bring him into the Gilded Eye’s paranoid orbit, and they considered him to be possibly connected to the Ashmadai along with his mercenary captain General Sabine, who was suspected of falling under the demonic cult’s sway. According to Gilded Eye intelligence reports, the Ashmadai had infiltrated the mercenaries guarding the Chasm, from which the spellscarred and plaguechanged creatures volleyed forth during the worst of the cataclysm. “The Gilded Eye suspects Lord Neverember of worshiping Asmodeus?” Radegast whispered to herself. “This is not good.” Her eyes widened. “Wait. Does anyone I know have a file in here?” She began quickly thumbing through the folios. “Oh, gods, no,” she breathed as she pulled out a sheaf of parchment bearing the name Varien Aether. The Gilded Eye had opened a file on Varien Aether quite recently, according to the date inked on the parchment, but his name had first appeared in other warrants, copies of which were now collated and appended to the document. He had first caught the attention of the Gilded Eye in Luskan, where he had associated with known members of the Order of the Burning Dawn. Aether was suspected of having joined the Order’s cult-like church, and the most recent entry in the ledger against her friend involved his accepting an invitation to meet with a proscribed religious group in Helm’s Hold. “Damn, the Gilded Eye keeps great records,” Radegast couldn’t help but admire their filing system and capacity for drawing connections from reams of isolated bits of data. Something in the northern end of the sanctum caught her eye. It was a campaign table, big enough for half a dozen men to crowd around with no problem. Atop the table was a scale model of the city of Neverwinter and the surrounding coastline. At this scale, Castle Never was as tall as a bottle of wine. Scattered around the miniature walled city were small lead figurines, some of them painted in the livery of the Mintarn Mercenaries, others painted to look like Neverwinter’s own troops. Others, massed on the plains to the east of the city, were painted like the Order of the Gilded Eye. She saw miniature siege equipment. She saw resupply lines – tiny horses and carts laden with sundry items keeping an invading army in fighting trim. In short, she saw what the Gilded Eye had planned for the City of Skilled Hands. “A move against Neverwinter?” Radegast whispered. “Are they mad?” She shook her head in disbelief. Here was the evidence she needed for the Order of the Gauntlet to be persuaded into action. She needed a way to get the incriminating paperwork out of the chapterhouse without being discovered. “Bob!” She said suddenly, inspired. She began to cast sending . Library to the north. Bring your bag. Neverwinter is about to be attacked. By Sune’s glorious tits, get here now. Be subtle. In the armory, Varien tried to engage Fiendsbane in conversation while Hilde filed her paperwork. “So, how did you come to be here in Helm’s Hold?” Varien asked the sword. I depart and return here often, if my wielder does not prove worthy of my skill and strength, Fiendsbane replied. “Are you some sort of spirit trapped in the sword, or what?” Varien asked. You will learn what you need to know in good time, paladin, Fiendsbane said. Now, please go and kill the first demon you see. Bob cocked his head as if listening to something. “Fellows, we have to go.” “Where?” Varien asked. “To the library,” Bob said. “Radegast needs our help.” “Fair enough,” Varien said. Varien, Bob, and Birdwen exited the armory and saw High Commander Javen Tarmikos, flanked by two paladin guards, walking through the great room, heading towards the library’s hallway. “Huh,” Varien said, unsure of what action to take. He decided to step forward and address the High Commander. “I say there, Inquisitor. What brings you here?” Javen stopped and turned to regard Varien. “I am here in my own order’s Chapterhouse on official business. Have you found the armory to your liking?” Bob took the opportunity to head towards the library. He entered the library and saw Jamie speaking with a learned fellow. “Hello there, Trevelyan,” Jamie said. “Lannister,” Bob replied. “Have you seen Radegast anywhere?” Jamie blinked. “I believe she’s browsing the stacks,” he said in a tone that was a little louder than was necessary in a library. Inside the private sanctum, Radegast perked up as she heard Bob and Jamie’s voices. She began to work the mechanism for the secret door. “Well, yes, everything seems to be in order,” Varien said, trying to keep up with Tarmikos as he walked to the library. “But I was wondering if you could tell me a bit more about the enemies you’ll be facing.” Tarmikos snorted in exasperation. “All that you need to know, Brother Vartan our lorekeeper will provide you.” He pushed open the library’s door. “High Commander Tarmikos!” Jamie Lysandra said, nearly shouting as he stood to attention. “What brings you to the library this morning?” “The answer to that question is a little above your pay grade, Zealot,” Tarmikos said. “Now, if you’ll all excuse me, Brother Vartan will be able to sort out what Aether and his companions need to know about the crypts and vaults below. Bob wandered into the furthest reaches of the library, looking for Radegast. “Where could she be?” A hand reached out from behind the bookshelf and yanked Bob in. The shelf clicked shut. “What the hell, did you bring Tarmikos with you?” Radegast whisper-shouted at Bob. “Don’t look at me, he was already on his way here when I got your mental message!” Bob said. “How did you get inside my head, anyway?” “Never mind that, just open your bag of holding while I shovel these documents in!” Radegast said as she began stuffing papers and folios into Bob’s bag. “What is this place?” Bob asked, looking around. “A big ol’ evidence room is what it is,” Radegast said. “Javen’s private study, unless I miss my guess.” “But Radegast, Javen’s heading this way.” Bob said. “Yeah, I’m trying to figure out our next move,” Radegast said. “If we’re very lucky, we can barricade ourselves in here.” “With no other exit?” Bob said incredulously. “Did you not have a plan for getting out when you got in here?” “I had to work fast!” Radegast protested. “And now we have to work fast together.” “So,” Varien said to the room’s occupants. “Where is everybody?” Javen’s honor guard stepped to either side of the library’s entrance and stood stock-still. “Uh, browsing the stacks, I think,” Jamie stuttered. He was sweating. “As you were,” Tarmikos said. “I have business to attend to.” “Okay, I could sabotage the bookcase,” Radegast said, her voice balanced on the knife’s edge of panic. “And trap us in here? And tip off Tarmikos that someone’s inside?” Bob wheezed. "Why don't you use another one of those sending spells and call Erwen for reinforcements?" "I might need to keep my magic in reserve if things in the next room go badly," Radegast said. "Well there must be something we can do!" Bob said. “Fine, I will cast silence on us and we’ll tiptoe out of here.” Radegast said. “We lock this thing behind and steal the key.” “That could work,” Bob said, buttoning up the bag of holding . Radegast cast silence and mouthed here goes nothing. The bookshelf door began to cycle open. Radegast and Bob slipped silently through the opening. Radegast turned as the bookshelf closed, grabbed one of the key books, and placed it inside the bag of holding. She looked up to see Javen Tarmikos staring right at her. “Damn it,” she thought, grabbed Bob by the scruff of the neck and dove behind a bookcase. She dropped silence . Javen Tarmikos’s eyes widened. He half-turned to Jamie, who was standing rigid at attention. “Zealot Lysandra, I fear you have been derelict in your duties.” “I, uh,” Jamie sputtered. Tarmikos turned, his voice booming in the confines of the library. “I say, did you find anything interesting in there, Miss Moonflower?” “Moonflower?” Varien repeated. “Don’t you mean Radegast?” Radegast turned to Bob. “Remember the Deathless Worm?” Bob nodded. “We do that to Tarmikos and get the hell out of here.” She pulled out her bow and nocked an arrow. "What are you doing?" Bob hissed. "You can't start a fight in a library!" He grabbed for Radegast, but the bard easily twisted out of reach. Radegast stepped out from behind the bookshelf, letting the arrow fly with a bowstring's twang. Varien threw up his shield and deflected the arrow’s path. “Wait, why are we attacking Javen?” He turned to look at the High Commander, who had reached up and plucked Radegast’s arrow out of mid-air. Bob peeked out from behind the bookshelf and began plotting his next move. Javen chuckled darkly. “Come now, Pitt Moonflower. The Order of the Gauntlet teaches its agents to never strike first, do they not?” Radegast tossed her bow aside and raised her fists. “Come at me, you evil son of a bitch!” Varien shook his head, confused. “Wait a moment, don’t we want to hurry up and get below the Hold? I know I do, whispered Fiendsbane. Radegast pointed at the High Commander. “That son of a pit fiend can go to the Nine Hells for what he’s done, and what he will do to my friends!” she shouted. Javen laughed again. “And what is it that you think I have done, child?” “I’m a fast reader,” Radegast said. “With a good memory.” She began to recite a litany of names. “Juetta the Innkeeper. Marked, confessed, atoned, cleansed . The crime? Hosting strange people in her inn.” “Then there’s poor Leoril of Luskan,” Radegast said. “His crime? Tending bar and serving one too many drinks to a follower of Asmodeus. Marked, confessed, atoned, cleansed !” Javen shrugged. “You put the village of Hommlet to the torch!” Radegast shouted. “A town, cleansed ! On what evidence?” Javen smirked. “What about Mr. Morlesh, whose only crime was following the tenets of Ghanadaur, the god of oozes and jellies?” Radegast trailed off. “Wait, maybe that’s not the best example…” “Not so fast,” Javen said. “Fast enough!” Radegast said. Another name came to mind. “Bryn Lightfingers, imprisoned by you after you wiped out every chapter of the Order of the Burning Dawn, even though they were innocent of your charges of demonic corruption.” “Wait, the Order of the Burning Dawn?” Varien asked Tarmikos. “What did they ever do to anyone? They gave me shelter when I was alone in the world.” “You’ve even got a file on Varien,” Radegast said. “Is he guilty by mere association? When were you going to serve him with a warrant?” “Wait, what?” Varien said. “What did I do?” Javen shook his head at Radegast's words. “Each of those cases were justified in our crusade against the evil that lurks in the shadows cast by the Ashmadai and other devil worshipers.” Varien looked at Jamie. The ranger’s eyes blazed though the rest of his pale face was impassive. Varien could almost see the scales tipping behind his eyes as he weighed Radegast’s words versus Javen’s. “You want justified? I’ll give you justified.” Radegast stepped forward and pointed at the High Commander. “Javen Tarmikos. Marked . The crime? Heresy. Peculation! You will confess, and you will atone for your crimes, Inquisitor!” Javen threw back his head and laughed. Radegast’s cutting words had little effect, if any. “My dear deluded child,” Javen said. “You could have led your companions to the crypts below as a savior of Helm’s Hold.” “It’s still early in the day,” Radegast spat. “But now,” Javen said, looming over the party. “You will go down to the darkness as a martyr.” He held out the arrow to Radegast. "I believe this belongs to you." Brother Vartan began to back away, his eyes widening in fear.