Siegfried awoke beneath Varien’s bed, coughed out a
lungful of ash, and slid out from underneath the bed frame. He stood and
cracked his back, regarding the pillows on Varien’s bed, which did not have an
assassin’s dagger stabbed through them. He knocked on the wardrobe door and then yanked it
open. “Gaah!” Varien jumped out, Fiendsbane at the ready. “Comfortable in there?” Siegfried said. Varien’s joints creaked louder than his armour. “You’ll have a chance to stretch your legs in a moment,”
Siegfried said. “Come, there’s a place you specifically need to see this
morning.” Varien and Siegfried walked down the stairs to the
main floor. As if conjured, Arris the butler suddenly appeared at Siegfried’s
elbow. “Breakfast, young master?” the butler lisped. “My companion and I are going to take our morning exercise
and will return for breakfast in a short while,” Siegfried said. “We will keep the porridge on the boil, sir,” Arris sniffed,
and departed for the kitchen. Morning was breaking over Neverwinter, and the mists
of the Neverwinter River obscured the entire southern side of the city from
view. The towering bulk of Castle Never was bathed in the light of the sun’s
first rays, and the crashing of the surf was a low, constant rumble that would
soon be overpowered by a city in full bluster. The Blacklake District was still
mostly asleep. Siegfried knew his destination lay in the northeastern
quarter of the city, the Tower District. He began to speak as he strode through the early-morning
pedestrian traffic, steering clear of the first carts that were creaking their
way to market. “I do sense a
kinship between us, Varien,” Siegfried said. “You’ve been transformed by fire,
just like I have, and I believe we have similar ideals about justice.” Varien said nothing.
He’d heard several speeches start out this way before. “You should
know that last night I dreamt of a terrible dragon laying waste to this city.” “Curious,”
Varien said. “Because I had the same dream.” “Skeletal dragon?”
Siegfried said. “Yes,” Varien
said. “Breathing acid
over everything?” Siegfried asked. “Yes,” Varien
said. “That’s the
one!” Siegfried said. “An omen, I fear. We might be charged with some greater
purpose here, and have work to do in order to protect the people of Neverwinter
from this growing threat.” Varien said
nothing. The pair left
the Blacklake District and entered the Tower District, home to Neverwinter’s rebuilding
merchant class. The Tower District, located along the northern shore of the Neverwinter
River had been hit hard during the cataclysm, though not as hard as the southern
river district, where the Chasm had swallowed entire city blocks whole before
vomiting out plaguechanged horrors and other creatures. The district
still bore the scars of the long, hard battle to reclaim it from destruction,
though new buildings and even towers were rising from the ruins to join those
which had survived the disasters of the preceding three decades. “Now, I know it’s
around here somewhere,” Siegfried muttered as he paused at an intersection. “You know what
else is around here,” Varien said. “The Sacred Park of Sune, home to the
largest Sunnite temple in the region.” “The Crystal
Cathedral?” Siegfried asked. “The very same,”
Varien said. “Wouldn’t be right of me to not drop in and pay my respects.” “Well, first
things first,” Siegfried said. He smiled as he spied his destination. “Ah, here
we are then, the House of a Thousand Faces.” Before them
squatted a two-storey structure built of half-timber post and beams, with broad
street-level windows and doors on either side that suggested a storefront.
Hammered over the doorway arch were a number of mannequin torsos, most of which
had their heads still attached, though on average they were missing a limb or
two. “Bit early for
a drink, isn’t it?” Varien asked. Siegfried
opened the left door and entered. Inside, the
common room looked rather crowded for this early in the morning, but as the
adventurers’ eyes adjusted it was clear that the standing throng was in fact
made up of an army of mannequins and dress forms, some dressed in the threadbare
remains of the latest fashions from thirty years ago, with enough ash and dust
coating them to suggest they had been there since the Ruining. The crowd effect
was enhanced by the fact that polished mirrors covered nearly every available
surface in the room – floors, walls, and ceilings alike. To Varien and Siegfried,
it looked they’d walked into a room full of their doppelgangers. The common was
divided into conversation nooks by carefully arranged couches with mannequins
crammed in corners between the armrests. Many of the mannequins held empty
cups, mugs, and bottles in their outstretched hands. There was a
flicker of motion in four dimensions as a sun elf, her tired expression doing
nothing to mar her otherwise perfect complexion, cleaned up the remains of what
looked like an intense revel from the night before. “Bit early for
a drink, isn’t it?” she asked the pair. Siegfried
stepped forward. “My old friend Remy never shuts up about this place, and so I
just had to see it for myself!” Varien squinted
at Siegfried. “Does she now?”
the woman said, warily. “Well, yes, dear
old Remallia holds this place in a certain esteem,” Siegfried said. “And that
it would never close its doors to a proper walking grape.” He indicated his
choice of attire. “What can I get
you, then?” the proprietress asked. “I think I’d
care to look at the goods downstairs,” Siegfried said as he flashed his Harper
pin. “Is the candle lit, d’you think?” The proprietress
put a hand on her exquisite hip. “I’m not sure if I remember,” she said
carefully. Siegfried
smirked. He knew the proper rejoinder to this codephrase. “Harpers never
forget.” The proprietress
nodded slowly. “The candle may yet burn down in the cellar,” she said. “You may
go, but I will fix your friend here a drink.” “You brought me
here for a drink?” Varien exclaimed. Siegfried
smiled and shook his head, putting an arm around Varien. “No, you see I’ve
brought in a new recruit, and thought I’d show him around. He’s definitely our
kind of man.” The tavern-keeper
gave Siegfried a pointed look. Siegfried winked. She sighed. “Go
on, then.” She lifted a hinged section of bar top and nodded at the rear of the
establishment. “Down the stairs.” “Thank you,” Siegfried
said as he swept past the proprietress, Varien in tow. They walked through the
small kitchen into a passageway that rapidly narrowed as it filled with crates
and barrels stacked to the ceiling. “So,” Siegfried
said. “How much did Xylon tell you about the Harpers?” “Xylon knew
enough to keep his secrets secret,” Varien said. “As far as I recall his membership
only came up once, outside of the ziggurat at Old Owl Well.” “The Harpers
are that candle that burns brightly against the long dark,” Siegfried said,
warming to his subject. “They carry the light of justice in the Realms, and
seek to be the candle that burns bright enough to expose evil necromancers, and
make them face Harper justice.” Varien shook
his head. “There are worse things in this world than men,” he said. “Oh, I agree,”
Siegfried said. “There are undead dragon skeletons who burn down whole cities.” He stopped.
Their conversation had taken them down a half-flight of steps that, judging
from the smell, would lead them to a poorly-maintained water closet if they
continued around the corner. Pausing at the landing, Siegfried’s sharp eyes
picked out a small depression in the filthy wall that fit the shape of a Harper
pin. He pressed his to the indentation, and the wall slid smoothly open. “Nice,” Siegfried
said. Then his demeanor abruptly changed as he shouted into the gloomy interior
of the sub-basement. “Brightcandle Absalon, you incompetent fool, this is an
audit!” From inside the
room, someone threw a bottle that shattered against Siegfried’s shield.
“Sod off,” a gravelly voice croaked. “I’m sleeping!” Undaunted, Siegfried
charged into the room. Its walls were covered in floor-to-ceiling shelves upon
which kegs were stacked. In the centre of the room was a makeshift table – a rectangular
board atop four upturned barrels surrounded by rickety stools that looked unfit
for use. There were
still more mannequins stacked about, some of them with arms upraised as if to
buttress the sagging shelving. From within the
shadowy recesses of the room, a shadow moved, grabbing for another loose
bottle. There was a clanking of glass. Siegfried tried
to catch the man, presumably Brightcandle Absalon, up by his lapels, but found
he didn’t sport them. The shaggy haired man ducked back. “Get your hands off
me, whelp! I told Theryis there were to be no visitors!” Varien looked
around at the mannequins, trying to discern if there were any living creatures
hiding in their midst. He cast a daylight
spell to banish the darkness. “Damnation!”
the long-haired man said, shielding his eyes. His beard drooped to about where
his belt buckle would have been had he been wearing one. Varien smiled
as he noticed one or two of the mannequins flinch in the sudden brightness. “There’s
no need to hide. Stand out in the open,” he said sternly. “Waterdeep has
suffered your incompetence long enough!” Siegfried added, his voice booming. “Show
yourselves, if you call yourselves Harpers!” Two young men
and a woman, daggers drawn, stepped out from their positions amid the mannequins. “Waterdeep?”
the bearded man guffawed. “Waterdeep, who ignores our repeated cries for aid in
this ghastly city, suddenly dispatches a blowhard to hurl insults at us ? I think not.” He drew himself up
straight. “Who in the Nine Hells are you?” “I am Siegfried
Thann,” Siegfried said. “Thann?” the
man chortled. “Now there’s a name that has probably opened many doors for you
in Waterdeep.” He gave Siegfried an appraising look. “Which one of your
ancestors would admit to laying with an orc?” Siegfried let
the insult slide as he loomed over the man. “I have another name, a name that
might open even more doors.” He bent over and whispered in the man’s ear. “I am
Siegfried Alagondar of House Alagondar.” Absalon blinked
and then shook his head. “So, you come in here quoting one name to open doors,
and then quote a second, that will certainly see doors slammed in your face?”
Siegfried
growled. “What is it that you want for the City of Neverwinter?” “Justice, of
course,” Absalon said. “Freedom and equality for the citizenry.” Siegfried shook
his head. “No, that’s what the Harpers want for Neverwinter. What do you
actually desire?” “And what is
that to you?” Absalon said. “I,” Siegfried
said. “Want my city to be restored, and I want to know if you’re fit for the job.” Abasalon grimaced.
“You’re not the first to walk through the gates shouting that…that name, armed with
that desire. Nobody but one has succeeded. The Harpers have tried to-” “The Sons of
Alagondar?” Siegfried thundered. “They are but dogs, who bark when kicked! I follow
a different path. Will you help me do this, or will you stand down and get out
of my way?” Absalon exhaled
slowly. “If you can prove your claim, that is something altogether different,
but know that for those who sang the same song before you these last twenty-odd
years, it has ended poorly for them.” Siegfried
glared at Absalon. “And I’m sure you are experienced with poor endings. Enough
of this.” He cast a sending message to Remallia Haventree,
the leading Harper delegate to the Council of Waterdeep, hoping that it wasn’t
too early in the morning for such intrigue. The Candle of Neverwinter is dim and sputtering.
Give it to me. Order me to make Neverwinter shine brightly again and I’ll be
your Brightcandle. The return message
was not long in coming. Do what you can to get the Harpers of
Neverwinter back on the right path. Expose any traitors you find and carry out
Harper justice. Siegfried
grinned a triumphant grin, exposing his prominent pointed teeth.