Seeing that
the formal proceedings were about to begin, Siegfried decided that he needed to
stay at Mordai Vell and Narvos Heg’s table to pump some more information from
them. That was a problem, as there was no spare chair. He tapped
Narvos’s conversation partner on the shoulder. “I’m sorry, we haven’t been
introduced. I am Siegfried Thann, and you are?” “Rannigan,”
the man said. “Investigator Rannigan.” “Ah, a
member of Neverwinter’s esteemed civil service, no doubt,” Siegfried said. Rannigan
frowned. “Something like that.” “Well,”
Siegfried smiled. “I think you’ll find that your investigations will bear fruit
if you put some questions to that crew of adventurers just in from Helm’s Hold
over yonder,” Siegfried pointed across the hall at his companions. “Is that
so?” Rannigan said, standing. Without realizing that he was being turfed from
his seat, he squared his shoulders and strode across the room. Siegfried
slid into Rannigan’s chair and focused his attention on the Lord Protector, who
had risen to speak. “Hail, people of Neverwinter!” Dagult Neverember’s voice
boomed, amplified outside the Moonstone Mask via some form of thaumaturgy so
that the crowds on the docks could clearly hear his remarks. “On this hallowed
day, the Festival of Spheres, I greet you as Lord Dagult Neverember, Lord Protector
of Neverwinter.” “I'm glad to see all of you here to celebrate Waukeentide. I
see in this crowd people of all walks of life, from all across the world.
Nobles and refugees, artisans and merchants, heroes and workmen. Whether you're
newly arrived in our city, or were born and raised here, on behalf of all of
Neverwinter, I bid you welcome to our celebration!” “As you know the Festival of Spheres is the crowning jewel
of our Waukeentide celebrations. Over the last tenday we have elevated and
celebrated mercantilism, singing the praises of open trade and open coin
purses!” Dagult winked at the assembly, who tittered and chuckled in response. “These are time-honoured rituals to honour the goddess of
wealth, trade and prosperity. It is a time for the paying of dues, the renewal
of charters, and sound investments in our shared future.” “It is in that spirit of commerce and comradery that I
pledge to you this day that we will continue to expand and improve Neverwinter.
To bring forth new goods for trade. To open new areas and opportunities. And
that we shall bring new people to our city. And in all these things, I promise
you: We will not rest until Neverwinter takes its place as the premier
destination for one and all.” “Because we know that Neverwinter is not just a city. Yes,
it has houses and people, walls and harbours, temples and markets. But it is
more than just these things.” “Neverwinter is an idea, and an ideal. Neverwinter is not
just the Jewel of the North, it's the very soul of the Sword Coast and the
beating heart of the North. From its gates come the trade and culture which set
the standards that people for a hundred miles aspire to. In Neverwinter,
citizens are free to choose their own fate, to craft their own destiny. Find
their own adventures, and make their deeds echo on as examples to a thousand
more. For Neverwinter is not just a city of skilled hands, but also one of
brave minds and steady hearts.” “So, I say that though challengers may arrive and troubles
may come, Neverwinter will stand. For as we know, citizens of Neverwinter never
give up!” “Before we return to the festivities, I'd like to take a few
moments to praise and thank the many members of the city's decorations
committee. I ask all of you to spend a moment after my speech to appreciate all
their hard work making our city shine for our festivals and holidays. Be it
Summer or Simril, Lliira's Night or the Masquerade of Liars, our events team
works tirelessly for the enjoyment of all citizens and the beautification of
our city. And so, let's have a round of applause, and a hearty 'huzzah' for these
fine folk.” “Now, friends and neighbours, citizens and travelers,
newcomers and natives. I ask you to look out across this beautiful city we've
rebuilt with our skilled hands, this Jewel of the North which once more shines
like a beacon on the Sword Coast, and raise your voice in cheer and triumph!”
Dagult raised a goblet of wine in toast. “To a New Neverwinter!” He shouted. “To Neverwinter!
Huzzah!” The crowd, both inside and outside the Moonstone Mask,
roared its appreciation. Siegfried made sure he was the first person on his
feet, clapping his hands loudly as the assembled guests gave the Lord Protector
a standing ovation. As the applause continued, cooks and other servants
continued their work in the Moonstone Mask’s kitchen adjacent to the festhall.
None took note of the rattling cupboard inside a pantry where two Halflings
were enjoying one another’s company. Danas Winterpole climbed off Erwen and began to straighten
her undergarments and smooth her skirts, studiously ignoring the druid as she
made sure her bodice wrapping wasn’t showing off too much of her endowments. Erwen opened his mouth to say something, but a noise from
the next room stopped him. His ears pricked up in alarm. It sounded like a smack, followed by a grunt, and then the
sound of something heavy striking the flagstone floor. “Did you hear that?” Erwen asked Lady Winterpole. “Hear what?” Winterpole said, annoyed that Erwen still had
the temerity to speak after the lustful thrashing she’d visited upon him. Erwen sighed. “Never mind,” he muttered, and eased the
cupboard door open. Satisfied that nobody was in the pantry, he padded over to
the larder door and opened it a crack. In the kitchen outside were a pair of line cooks busy over
the open flame and butcher block and a
porter pushing a heavy cask of wine towards the festhall. Erwen craned his neck
and established that there was a second door next to the walk-in pantry,
leading to where he’d heard the suspicious noise. “Did you guys hear that?” Erwen piped up. The larger of the two line cooks, a heavyset bald man whose
apron was smeared with gore and sweat, turned to regard the Halfling. “Hear
what?” He asked gruffly, then shook his head. “Wait a minute, this area’s for
employees only, not exploring children!” Erwen frowned and tried to sidle past the cook, who blocked
his path. “If you know what’s good for you, small one, you’ll go back
to your seat and enjoy the rest of the party,” the cook growled. Erwen looked around and spied a kitchen compost bin in the
corner. He cast a spell, apologizing mentally to his companions for the trouble
he was about to cause. Grasping vines erupted from the compost, slithering across
the stone floor of the kitchen to accost the cooks and porter. The porter
shrieked and fled the room, while the burly cook merely brandished his
butcher’s knife and began hacking smartly at the attacking greenery. Erwen took advantage of the cook’s distraction and ran for
the second door. Radegast’s keen eyes picked the civil servant out of the
crowd as he zeroed in on the party. The man looked harried and disheveled, one
hand nervously playing at the chain of office that appeared to hang heavy
across his shoulders. “Is this seat taken?” the man asked, indicating Siegfried’s
chair. “Not at all,” Bob said. Radegast plucked a coin from her purse and fumbled it. As it
clattered to the floor, she bent down behind Bob and poked her face into the bag of holding , casting detect thoughts as discreetly as she
could. Bob shifted in his seat uncomfortably. As the man took his seat, Radegast focused her mind on him. Let’s see what these
jokers can tell me about the Ashmadai , was at the top of his mind. Radegast’s eyes widened. She took on a flirty disposition and leaned towards the
government official. “And who might you be?” “Rannigan,” the man said, somewhat taken aback with
Radegast’s bubbly attitude. “Investigator Rannigan.” “Well, Inspector,” Radegast gushed. “May I ask what you’re
investigating?” Did I give myself
away? Rannigan thought. Out loud, he said. “What makes you think I’m
investigating something today? I might just be here for the festivities.” Radegast smiled and let her attention wander to where
Siegfried was sitting. She took note of the obese man whose unctuous attention
was focused on the half-orc. She realized that the man’s description matched a
woodcut bulletin posted at her university library in Evereska, warning all
librarians that under no circumstances were books to be lent to Narvos Heg, a
book collector who never paid his overdue fines and was suspected of stealing
choice volumes from the archives. “Well, for example, we both know that Narvos Heg over
there-” she pointed in his direction – “has a large bounty on his head for
unpaid library fines.” “Do I look like a library policeman to you?” Rannigan
chuckled. “No, but you look like you might be investigating secret
allegiances and alliances with, oh, say, the Ashmadai,” Radegast replied. Did I give something
away? Rannigan thought. To Radegast he said, “It sounds to me like you
might know more about the Ashmadai than I do, so why don’t you unburden
yourself of that knowledge?” Fiendsbane rattled in his scabbard. Seems like this one knows what to do with devils when he sees them. “How do we know you’re not a pawn for the zealots of Helm’s
Hold?” Radegast asked. Ugh, those guys ,
Rannigan thought. “Certainly not, I work for New Neverwinter.” Radegast figured Rannigan wasn’t lying when he declared his
allegiance. In an overheated conspiratorial whisper, she said, “well, you
didn’t hear it from me, but your superior officers might have some new leads
for you to follow up on in a few days.” “Interesting,” Rannigan said, while thinking I knew these folks would know something. Radegast continued to read the investigator’s thoughts. I need to find out what she knows about the
Ashmadai and Helm’s Hold so I can determine the state of the Helm’s Hold
faction of the Ashmadai and the extent to which there is infiltration in
Neverwinter. “So, do you have any suspects?” Radegast asked innocently. “Suspects? Again, what makes you think I’m on a case?”
Rannigan asked. Meanwhile, images of tieflings flooded his mind, and a quick
flash to Mordai Vell before the thought was discarded. “But if you tell me more
about these new leads, maybe that will jog my memory.” “What of Mordai Vell? He’s an upstanding citizen of
Neverwinter, is he not?” Radegast asked. “That’s so,” Rannigan said. “But you’ve read his love letters, then?” Radegast said. Love letters? To
Valindra, or Karis? Rannigan thought. To Radegast he said, “it wouldn't do
to publicly admit that we read the city’s outgoing correspondence, now would
it?” “Well, that didn’t stop the Order of the Gilded Eye, now did
it?” Radegast said. “So you know of the Prophet, then?” Rannigan said to
Radegast. “The Gilded Eye wrote extensively on Mordai Vell’s pursuit
of Rohini, yes,” Radegast said. “But I’m sorry to say that we handed the Gilded
Eye’s warrants over to agents of the Lord Protector when we arrived at
Neverwinter.” That devil!
Rannigan thought. “Well, you had a job to do,” he said. “However, we did find Javen Tarmikos’ private library.” Rannigan’s eyebrows arched. “Well, if it’s one thing the
Gilded Eye knows how to do, it’s how to fill out and file a report or two.” Radegast explained how she had solved the book puzzle in the
Gilded Eye Chapterhouse Library in order to gain entry to the private study.
“Maybe you’ll have better luck than we did,” she said. “You might make some
discoveries pertinent to your investigations.” You’re darn right I
would, Rannigan thought. Fiendsbane rattled. If
this guy is investigating the Ashmadai we should spend a lot more time with
him. “What about Lady Sala Nidris?” Varien said. “What do you know about Lady Sala Nidris?” Rannigan countered. “Only speculation and a whisper,” Varien said. “She invited
us to be her guests, they have been very hospitable, however the surrounding
artwork was very suspect.” “Meaning?” Rannigan said. “When we arrived at her villa, someone had defaced its walls
with the symbol of Asmodeus,” Varien said. “What do you know about that? What
have you had reported? I am very keen in helping you in your work.” Now here we have a
live one, Rannigan thought. “Why do you suspect Lady Nidris?” Varien pressed. “Or was
this just some graffiti painted on the wall?” “Well, I’m not surprised she didn’t report the incident,”
Rannigan said. “It’s an Ashmadai intimidation tactic, intended to remind the
people of the Blacklake District and Neverwinter as a whole that despite their
defeat at Helm’s Hold, the Ashmadai is still a power to be feared and to be
reckoned with.” “So they intimidate the general public, then?” Radegast
asked. “They paint their symbols on buildings, ruined and intact
alike, reminding the city that they are still at work behind the scenes, and
they often target supporters of the Lord Protector’s faction.” I must investigate the
Nidris family further , Rannigan thought to himself. “I’m confused,” Varien said. “Are they victims, or are they
conspirators?” “Oh, they start out as victims first, of course,” Rannigan
said. At least at first , he thought.
“Rumours swept the city blaming the Ashmadai for disappearances: common folks
snatched out of their beds or off the street and later found with the mark of
Asmodeus branded on their bodies. Although the victims survived the ordeal,
they were never quite the same, and they bore terrible scars, both physical and
mental, from their captivity.” “What other prominent citizens have been targeted in this
manner?” Radegast asked. “Well, there was Elden and Karis Vargas, for one,” Rannigan
said. “This was a few years ago, now, but they were prominent Cormyrean
merchants who were eventually revealed to be under the sway of Asmodeus.” Radegast remembered seeing the Vargas’s names in the Gilded
Eye warrant outlining the Ashmadai threat in Neverwinter. “Karis Vargas fell ill, bewitched, they say, and was taken
to Helm’s Hold for treatment,” Rannigan explained. “Elden spent a fortune on
treatments to heal her, and in his desperation, he was accused of consorting
with servants of Asmodeus in order to make his wife well.” “And what became of them?” Radegast said. “Elden Vargas died, they say,” Rannigan said. “As a result
of his imprisonment at Helm’s Hold.” Cleansed, according to
the Gilded Eye, Radegast thought grimly. “Karis recovered and left Neverwinter after Elden was
imprisoned,” Rannigan continued. “She might have gone back to Cormyr, where her husband lived, or back to her homeland of Rashemen, some say.
Her current whereabouts are unknown.” “Well, it certainly sounds like you’ve got no love lost for
the Ashmadai,” Varien said. “We might be able to help you in the same vein.” “That you might,” Rannigan said. “What would you have us do, Rannigan?” Varien asked.
Fiendsbane rattled his assent. “Well, as an investigator, I live and die by information,”
Rannigan said. “If you’ve got information to share, I might have information to
share in return.” “Where are you operating from, should we need to find you?”
Varien asked. “I’ve got a room at the Beached Leviathan in the Blacklake
Docks,” Rannigan said. “Ask for Harrag when you visit and tell him that you
need to see me, and he’ll take care of you.” “We appreciate your service,” Varien said, nodding. At Vell’s table, Siegfried was busy puffing up Narvos Heg as
best he could with flattering questions and teasing statements intended to put
the book collector firmly into his confidence. “You know, one of my companions has exclusive access to the
Lost Library of Lorelei,” Siegfried was saying, hoping to bait Narvos’s
interests further. “If only he had the proper backing to retrieve the lost
city’s archives.” “A lost library, you say?” Narvos smiled, revealing
blackened teeth. “Very interesting, indeed. Of course, the promises of lost
libraries are often oversold and under-delivered, in my experience.” “Ah, but the knowledge of great men of the North, royals of
ages past like the Kings of Alagondar, that might be worth something to a
discerning collector, and as you’ve said, their words are capable of imparting
so much wisdom and have taught you so much,” Siegfried replied. “Spoken like a true lover of literature,” Narvos said. “And in this instance, there’s only one man alive in
Neverwinter who knows where this treasure trove is located,” Siegfried
continued. “If you were to fund an expedition, the results could expand your
collection significantly.” Narvos smiled again. “Oh, Siegfried, this wouldn’t be the
first time I’ve been asked to fund such a venture, and I find that
improperly-chosen delves, even ones funded properly, can be quite risky
indeed.” “Well, if anyone can salvage tomes from the clutches of a
necromancer, Varien Aether over there is your man,” Siegfried said. Narvos’s eyes widened. “A necromancer you say?” “Yes,” Siegfried said. “Killed a whole city in order to
secure one library.”
Narvos laughed, and the sound was like air leaking from a sheep’s bladder. “Oh
my, that sounds like something Volo would write about!” “That sounds like something Volo would make up,” Siegfried
nodded. “But truth is stranger than fiction.” “And are you in the literary salvage business yourself,
Siegfried?” Narvos said. “You’re too finely dressed to be a book-peddler.” “I’m in the business of business,” Siegfried said. “The
business of restoring things and making them better. Of seeing the knowledge of
our past betters is only added to, and never lost.” “And what is your interest in the writings of dead kings,
like the Alagondar line?” Narvos said. “A man is not dead if his thoughts are still read,”
Siegfried countered. Narvos raked a claw over Siegfried’s forearm. “Clearly, you
and I are of a kind,” he said. “My collection is vast and varied, but I’m
afraid that when it comes to specifics, money does have to change hands. I too
am in the business of business, you see.” How crass,
Siegfried thought. He had a flash of inspiration and reached into his jacket
lining. He pulled out the Orcish tome he had recovered from the wreckage
of the Many-Arrows encampment at Wyvern Tor and, in an exaggeratedly surreptitious
way that made it seem to Narvos like he was secretly receiving something while
it was blindingly obvious to everyone around him, passed it to the book
collector. “One often finds unexpected lore in places where it is not normally
kept,” Siegfried said. “To be the truest words written of all.” “What’s this then?” Narvos purred, looking down at the
half-burned, half-chewed book. “One for private research, dearie,” Siegfried purred right
back. Narvos’s eyes twinkled. “This will make for some interesting
bedtime reading,” he said. “So, what would you like in exchange?” Siegfried waved a hand. “There’s no need, Narvos, this was
just a gift in appreciation of our budding friendship.” Narvos’s smile took on a businesslike line. “That’s fair
enough.” “One can only hope to receive an invitation to peruse this
fantastic collection of yours,” Siegfried continued. “Well now, I don't run a lending library – access to my
collection is reserved for those visitors who meet a certain…threshold,” Narvos
said. “However, we might be able to work something else, perhaps dinner-” “Oh, I see that the Lord Protector is moving the proceedings
along,” Siegfried said briskly, standing. “Perhaps you can invite us over to
dine and continue the conversation about retrieving hidden lore.” He nodded at
Narvos and Vell and turned on his heel. Narvos tucked the book into his waistband with a squelching
sound like a bucket of worms being spilled as he watched Siegfried join his
companions across the room. “Now then,” Lord Protector Neverember said. “It is time for
the Challenge of the Spheres to begin! Challengers, I invite you to join me on
the balcony outside.” The soldiers Durham Shaw and Alphonse Knox rose from the
table of mercenaries and strode out towards the balcony at the foot of the festhall. Mialee Amonodel gave Dagult a kiss on the cheek and left her
seat at the head table. Another competitor, hefting a crossbow, stood up from his seat
and joined the group. An entourage of fawning courtiers swirled around Dagult
Neverember as he made a show of stepping off the dais and heading towards the balcony. “Radegast, do you know that man, why is he looking at us?”
Varien said, nodding at Narvos. “That otteguin-looking fellow.” “I can’t imagine why he’s interested in us, though he seems
very interested in Siegfried,” Radegast said. “So, Varien, what can you tell me about Lorelei’s library?”
Siegfried said as he rejoined his companions. “I’m trying to get an expedition
to Lorelei funded, and there’s a book collector in town who might be gullible
enough to turn out his pockets for us.” “To Lorelei?” Varien said, aghast. “Let me just stop you
right there. No mortal man can venture there, he will die if he goes there!” “Simple paladin,” Siegfried smiled. “He wants to give you
money and resources so that you can go there." “We don’t need gold,” hissed Varien. “We need the might of
gods and the valour of the dawn!” "Gold hires supplies and people to go with you,” Siegfried
said. “He's hoping you'll give him a book from Lorelei's library in return, but
you can always tell him they got eaten by the zombies before you got
there." "Also, gold buys anti-undead armour and weapons,”
Siegfried continued. “For everyone.” He sighed theatrically. “If you don't want
his money, I'll give it to Dagult.” The Lord Protector had waded through the crowd of well-wishers
and led the challengers to the balcony outside. The stonework gave a commanding
view of the city of Neverwinter before them, with the hulk of Castle Never
looming large over the city’s districts. Far below, the Neverwinter River
emptied into the harbour. There was a curved platform at the edge of the balcony where
quivers and bows had been arrayed. The challengers began to take their
positions. Siegfried took one of the spots that looked square onto
Castle Never’s ruined towers. “Excuse me there, Sigurd,” Neverember said. “You’re in my
spot.” “Oh, of course,” Siegfried bowed. “May the Coinmaiden guide
your aim, Lord Protector.” He moved to another vacant position. Nearby, Kavatos Stormeye and a group of magic-user acolytes
were putting the finishing touches on an array of crystal spheres, coloured bronze,
silver, gold and platinum. As their incantations took hold, the spheres began
to float dreamily out into the air over the docks. The roar of the crowds below was deafening.