Shrines, Sovereigns, Schemes and Shamans

The party continued to enjoy the amenities and the company at the Crystal Cathedral. “ Rose-Tender, there is an important manner I wish to discuss with you,” Bob said. "What do you know about tears of Evergold?" Alicia smiled. “That is a rare gift, brother, bestowed only upon those champions and defenders of the faith who have completed the rites and are ranked among the Order of the Ruby Rose, and who-” The Rose-Tender’s mouth opened in shock as a single golden tear ran down Bob’s face. “Truly, Sune has chosen you to be her vessel!” Alicia gushed, taking Bob’s hands in hers. “As a wellspring of evergold, no less! Truly, it is an honour to be in the presence of one who has found Sune’s favour!” Bob withdrew one hand from Alicia’s surprisingly strong grip and fished around in his pocket, coming up with a vial of evergold. He placed it in the Rose-Tender’s hand. “A gift for you, milady.” Alicia’s face flushed. “I-I don't know what to say, but-” she suddenly embraced Bob, planting a warm kiss on each of his cheeks. “S-sometimes you don’t have to say anything at all!” Bob murmured as Alicia drew Bob in even tighter. “Tell me,” Alicia’s lips brushed Bob’s earlobe as she drew Bob’s head towards her substantial bosom. “Have you ever been in Sune’s divine presence? Has the Lady Firehair ever breathed wisdom into you, directly ?” “Well, actually, yes,” Bob said, his voice muffled. “There was this one time at Heartward Hall, and-” “Then allow me to breathe into you as well,” Alicia whispered. “And usher you into a higher plane of devotion.” She took Bob’s face in her hands and stared into his eyes intently. “Unless, of course, there was something else on your mind.” Bob gulped as Alicia’s eyes shimmered. “We can discuss that later.” “Excellent,” Alicia purred, leading Bob into a private alcove in the baths.   Resplendent in his re-consecrated armour, Varien walked the length of the Crystal Cathedral’s great hall and found himself standing before the grand altar to Lady Firehair. It was the largest and most detailed temple shrine to Sune that he’d ever seen, dwarfing the chapel in his home town of Lorelei and eclipsing the fine altar at Heartward Hall in Helm’s Hold. The religious statuary that rose above the angled panes of the altarpiece were of a grand scale, with the flattering depiction of the Lady Firehair, whose form reached very nearly to the apex of the Cathedral, the most detailed of all. Sune was surrounded by lavishly sculpted seraphs who served their deity as sensual, holy attendants. Their state of undress, their overly-detailed anatomies, and the brazenness of the acts depicted were enough to make the normally reserved paladin blush. Varien stepped up onto the wide plinth that supported the immense tableau and knelt before the statue of Sune. He closed his eyes and meditated in silent expectation. Seconds turned to minutes, which themselves lengthened until he had lost all track of time, deep in tranquil devotion to his deity. After a time, he felt a prickling sensation along the base of his neck as though fingers were brushing his hairline. Moments later, he felt, rather than heard, the voice of Sune whisper to him in a voice that seemed to echo in the vast upper reaches of the cathedral. You are in the presence of the Lady Firehair, my child. Lay down your burdens, weary one, and rest on my bosom. What counsel do you seek? Varien cleared his throat before speaking. “O Sune,” he breathed. “My eyes are weak and my perception is lacking. Your guidance is bountiful yet I am still lost. Take my hand and guide me to the Arcetalos, O Sune. Reveal to me the mystery of Aelinthaldaar, help me to behold Illefarn’s Crown. I reach out to you, O Sune. Take my hand and guide my sword, that I might shine your light in dark places. I will go where you want me to go.” With that, he drew Fiendsbane and held it aloft before prostrating himself before the statue.   He could feel Sune’s presence around him, and shuddered as she spoke into him.   Travel the length of the Twilit Land; Where the peaks cut deepest take your stand. Against the ghosts of the Broken Bone; Crystal panes your keys to own.   The Burning Dawn holds sacred fire; Dread’s darkness drowns flames of desire. Where the Obsidian Circle leaves its mark; Vashi claims her holy spark.   Sune’s voice took on a mournful tone as she continued.   Arcetalos locked in a crystal prison; In Beauty’s Temple a rot arisen. For the phoenix’s flame you now must fight; Cleanse the darkness with my holy light.   As a sense of elevation threatened to overcome his senses, Varien struggled to his feet and stumbled towards the nearest scribe, whispering Sune’s words over and over to himself. “I need a quill!” he shouted. “A quill!” A startled poet, who was just about to put pen to paper, handed over his writing implement as the sonnet he had meticulously composed flew out of his head. “Thank you, brother,” Varien said as he unbuckled his gauntlet and vambrace. He dipped the quill into the inkwell and began to write on his forearm.   Siegfried exited the contemplative chamber and left the Cathedral proper. He found a passel of boars frolicking in a sizable patch of dirt nearby. One of the boars bore a striking resemblance to his Halfling companion. “I say there, uh, Boar-wen,” Siegfried called. “Can I pry you away from your porcine playmates for a moment?” He squinted at the creatures – though they looked like wild boars, they had a fey aura about them. To each their own, I suppose , he thought to himself. Boar-wen ambled over and wildshaped back into his Halfling form. “Yes boss?” he asked the half-orc. “Yes, I was just wondering if you had any other transportation tricks up your homespun sleeves, like that cloud walk spell that got us out of the swamped docks earlier today. Druids of your ilk have been known to transport themselves through the vast root systems of the trees of our fair realm,” he said pointedly. “Or so I’ve been led to believe.” Erwen shrugged and yawned expansively. “I’m going to have to sleep on it, boss.” He snorted and the sound was echoed by his entourage of boars. Siegfried frowned for a moment but then put on a placating expression. “You do that, small man. You do that.” Erwen wildshaped back into boar form and rejoined his companions in the dirt. Siegfried turned and left the boars to their business. “Now where is that Shadowfelling paladin when I need him?”   Siegfried found Varien in an artisan’s shop that flanked the main cathedral. There, one of the young priestesses was etching script into Varien’s gauntlets in a stylized script normally reserved for Sune’s holy scriptures. Teagan, the priestess, gingerly bathed the gauntlets in an acid bath. “There you are, Varien!” Siegfried said. “Listen, I’ve done the maths, and if we set off to Waterdeep as a cloud formation we could be eating dinner at my family’s villa by suppertime.” He beamed. Varien nodded distractedly, still muttering a series of repetitive phrases under his breath. “No time, Siegfried. Not now.” Siegfried frowned. “But I thought you wanted to find out more about this Obsidian Circle?” Varien pointed at his gauntlets, the script glinting in the light as Teagan polished the metal. “These are the words my deity has spoken, breathing them into me just a few minutes ago.” “Breathing into you, you say?” Siegfried said, barely supressing a smirk. “If that's what the kids are calling it these days.” Varien shot him a look. “Read the words of the Lady Firehair, Siegfried. Educate yourself for a change.” Siegfried read the script aloud, his eyes widening with each stanza. “Very interesting. Very interesting indeed.” “That’s what I thought, too,” Varien said. “Any idea of what it might mean?”   Travel the length of the Twilit Land; Where the peaks cut deepest take your stand. Against the ghosts of the Broken Bone;   Siegfried frowned, deep in thought. “Well, historically, the Twilit Land referred to that stretch of coastline between Neverwinter and Waterdeep.” Varien nodded. “Where the peaks cut deepest?” “That’s probably a reference to the Sword Mountains,” Siegfried said. Varien grinned. “Another clue!” “Well, wait a moment,” Siegfried said. “Against the ghosts of the Broken Bone…” he trailed off. “An army of skeletons maybe?” Varien said. “That’s right in my wheelhouse, Siegfried.” Siegfried’s frown deepened and he shook his head. “No, the Broken Bone was the name given to one of the hordes of orcs that raided the Sword Coast from redoubts in the Sword Mountains. Led by none other than Uruth Ukrypt himself.” “Why does that name sound familiar?” Varien said. “Uruth Ukrypt led the horde that destroyed Phandalin, for one thing,” Siegfried said. He stared in the direction of the Sword Mountains, imagining their peaks and valleys. “Where the peaks cut deepest…” He suddenly smiled, showing his teeth as he pounded a fist into his palm. Of course! That must be a reference to none other than Tholl Sla-Houk! He thought to himself. He quickly cast message to Varien. “Tholl Sla-Houk. In the language of my ancestors, well, on my father’s side anyway, that’s the “Deep Slash,” an ancient Orcish fortress that legend has it serves as Uruth Ukrypt’s final resting place. I know someone who might be able to tell us where it is located, but the Lord Protector might not like the fact that I have such connections. “Why would Dagult care?” Varien whispered back. “Dagult may find cause to execute me for engaging in a dialogue with an orcish warband,” Siegfried continued. “We are not made by our heritage, Siegfried,” Varien said. “The Lord Protector might disagree with you,” Siegfried shook his head. “After all, we can be unmade by our heritage, something Dagult knows all too well.” Varien shrugged. “All right, but what about:”   The Burning Dawn holds sacred fire; Dread’s darkness drowns flames of desire. Where the Obsidian Circle leaves its mark; Vashi claims her holy spark.   “I mean, that Burning Dawn reference must be the Order of the Burning Dawn,” Varien said. “They had chapterhouses in Neverwinter and Waterdeep, didn’t they?” Siegfried nodded. “That’s right. And there’s another callback to the Obsidian Circle. Find their mark, and we find this Vashi.” “Who is Vashi?” Varien said. Fiendsbane rattled in his scabbard. Vashi. I know that name. Varien looked down at his sword. “Something to say, Fiendsbane?” The sword rattled again. She is one of the Sinister Seven of Nessus, those hellish fiends I have sworn to destroy. “So, she’s not very nice then, is she?” Varien deadpanned. I haven’t heard her name uttered by mortals in more than a century , Fiendsbane said. She is the foul consort of Lorcan, but worse yet, she pursues perversion with none other than Belaphoss. She must. Be. Destroyed. “Lorcan?” Varien repeated. “Belaphoss? Slow down, Fiendsbane!” “Now, this last bit is very cryptic indeed,” Siegfried said. Arcetalos locked in a crystal prison; In Beauty’s Temple a rot arisen. For the phoenix’s flame you now must fight; Cleanse the darkness with my holy light.   “Okay, so this crystal prison is obviously connected to these crystal panes in the, what did you call it, Troll Slack?” “Tholl Sla-Houk,” corrected Siegfried. “Okay, and I am willing to bet that “Beauty’s Temple” is a reference to the Temple of Beauty in Waterdeep,” Varien said. “It would seem that way,” Siegfried said. “All the more reason to visit Waterdeep posthaste, wouldn’t you agree?” Varien shook his head. “We’ve got to visit the Lord Protector first, remember? He’s expecting an update from his Chief Investigator.” Siegfried looked about. “Speaking of which, where is Mr. Trevelyan?” Varien gave Siegfried a knowing look. “I believe the Rose-Tender is ministering to our friend, personally .” Siegfried nodded, another smile creeping across his face. Varien turned to Teagan. “We’ll be off now, love. Can you direct us to the Rose-Tender’s private bath?”   Varien and Siegfried soon stood outside the curtained-off alcove. “Excuse me, Rose-Tender?” Varien said. A giggle passed through the sheer curtain. Then the curtain was thrown open. Alicia stood there, bare-breasted, her body sheened with sweat and oils. Bob struggled in a hammock behind her. “Greetings brother,” Alicia said, panting slightly. She nodded at Teagan and Siegfried. “Do you wish to join us?” “Unfortunately, I am here to tear Bob away from your, er, gentle hands,” Varien said. Alicia pouted and cast a glance over her shoulder at Bob. “So be it,” she said. “I promise to return him in one piece,” Varien said. He too looked over Alicia’s bare shoulder as the Rose-Tender sashayed back into the candlelit recesses of the alcove. “Bob, it’s time to see the Lord Protector,” Varien said. “I have procured for you a robe.” He held up a red velvet robe he’d found hanging on a hook nearby. Bob lunged forward, yanking the curtain closed. "I have my clothes, thank you very much!" Behind him, Alicia was shrugging back into her diaphanous vestments.

The party traveled to the Hall of Justice. Teliann met them at the entrance and ushered them to the Lord Protector’s briefing room. There were several members of Lord Dagult Neverember’s retinue present: Mayor Soman Galt, Kavatos Stormeye, Preceptor Theraclast and Fitzhugh Montgomery, all under the watchful gaze of Zephyris Brightmantle, who stood off to the side radiating both light and menace. Varien noticed that General Sabine Wade was not present. “I notice that General Sabine is not present,” he said offhandedly. Lord Protector Dagult Neverember, who had been leaning over the table inspecting an array of documents, turned at the sound of Varien’s voice. “Well then, if it isn’t Varien Aether, Friend of Neverwinter!” his voice boomed. “You are as perceptive as you are punctual, my good man.” He crossed the room and pumped Varien’s gauntlet, pulling him into a friendly embrace and slapping his back with a clank. Siegfried supressed an eyeroll. “In fact the General is off on official business at the moment,” Dagult said. His attention wandered momentarily until he fixed his gaze on Siegfried. “Why, if it isn’t Sigmund Thann! Why, I haven’t seen you since your little performance at the Challenge of the Spheres!” Siegfried offered the Lord Protector a thin smile. “Yes, it would seem that drawing attention to myself in such a public manner was less than ideal given the circumstances immediately following.” Dagult threw back his mane of hair and guffawed. “Well, it’s all water under the Sleeping Dragon Bridge now, isn’t it?” “Indeed,” Siegfried said. “And we bear a traitor’s corpse as a gift.” “Er, quite,” Dagult said. He turned his attention back to Varien. “Which reminds me, Friend of Neverwinter, I believe I made promises to you about suitable recompense for your valour and bravery, and let it never be said that Dagult Neverember doesn’t keep a promise.” “Now then, Lord Protector, it’s not necessary-” Varien began. “Nonsense,” Dagult shook his head imperiously. “Galt? Galt! Step forward, on the good foot now!” Mayor Soman Galt slouched forward, bearing an object covered by a satin cloth atop a princely purple pillow. “Now then,” the Lord Protector was rubbing his hands with glee. “In ages past, the sovereigns of Neverwinter raised up a band of heroes as personal bodyguards and protectors of the Jewel of the North.” Siegfried’s ears perked up at this. “Yes,” the Lord Protector continued. “The original Neverwinter Nine were the personal guardians of Lord Halueth Never, who founded the City of Skilled Hands. From generation to generation, the leaders of this fine city could count on their ready defence, and eventually old King Nasher reconstituted their ranks, ensuring that they were equipped with the finest masterwork arms and armour, to say nothing of the magically-imbued artifacts collected by the rulers of the city over the centuries.” The Lord Protector’s expression grew wistful. “Unfortunately many of these items were lost during the cataclysms that beset this great city, even before the Spellplague ravaged the realms, while still others were buried with the fallen veterans, lost in the depths of Castle Never.” Dagult’s face brightened. “However, no small number of these artifacts have been recovered or otherwise discovered of late, and in my view, it does them no good to be shut away in a closet while there is still a City to defend. Wouldn't you agree, Varien?” “Well, certainly I can see the value in putting these items to use-” Varien began. The Lord Protector whipped off the satin cloth to reveal a finely polished bucket helm that featured shiny etched lines emanating from the eye slits, hinged visor plates and stylized wings at the temples. There was a creaking sound as Siegfried clenched his jaws tightly together. “It is my pleasure to present to you one of the treasures of the Neverwinter Nine, the Helm of the Regent’s Glare ,” the Lord Protector said, his voice deepening with gravitas. “Flashy,” Varien said appreciatively. “You certainly spoil us, Lord Protector,” Siegfried said in a strangled voice. “How unctuous of you, Sigford,” Dagult said with a grin. The Lord Protector picked up the helm and raised it over Varien’s head. Varien bowed slightly. “Well, thank you Lord Protector. So long as your goals align with mine, I will serve you and Neverwinter faithfully.” Dagult chuckled. “You see now, that’s why I like you, Varien. Your forthrightness is a breath of fresh air and an admirable trait in an environment where so much hot air is exhaled.”  The Lord Protector placed the helm on Varien’s head. “You really should get Sabine one of these helmets,” Varien said, his voice slightly muffled by the helm. There was the sound of a slamming door as General Sabine, with Sergeant Knox bringing up the rear, entered the chamber. “As I was saying, why doesn’t General Sabine have one of these fancy helms, then?” Varien said, his voice amplified by the helm’s breathing slits. Sabine glared at Varien. “Perhaps we should move things along, Lord Protector?” Siegfried said, opening Bob’s bag of holding and pulling out the waterlogged corpse of Rethan the assassin. Rethan’s body hit the stone floor with a splat. There was a moment of silence, and then the Lord Protector chuckled. “It would seem that the Nashers are fond of sending impressionable men with their heads full of foolish glory to an easy death at the hands of Neverwinter’s protectors,” Siegfried said. “Ah, I take this Thann’s theatrics to mean that you have a progress report to make, Robert Trevelyan?” Dagult addressed Bob after arching an eyebrow at Siegfried. Bob cleared his throat. “Yes, Lord Protector.” “Then by all means, the floor is yours.” "We started our investigation by returning to the scene of the crime," Bob began. Siegfried sighed. Bob continued. “We fought a giant sea monster.” “A sea monster!” Neverember repeated. “More like a scrag,” Varien said. “It had scooped up the corpse you see,” Bob explained. “Then we dove into the depths and came upon the underdocks.” “Better the underdocks than the Underdark, wouldn’t you say, Bob?” Dagult chuckled again. “If I may, Lord Protector?” Siegfried called out. Dagult frowned for a moment. “Well, if the investigator wishes to yield the floor to you, I won’t stop him.” Bob gulped. “Siegfried can speak for me about the report,” he said. Dagult nodded. “Very well, Sigford. The floor is yours.” Siegfried gave the Lord Protector the minimum amount of deference as he strode forward to the centre of the chamber. “This scrag that my companions spoke of was working for the Slips. I’m sure you’ve heard of them, since this city is under your…protection. But these Slips were, quite uncharacteristically, in league with the Dead Rats, who as I understand it are normally their fiercest foes.” “You’ve certainly done your homework, Sigmund,” Dagult said. Siegfried kicked the corpse towards the Lord Protector. The body made a horrid squeaking noise as it slid over the stone and polished wood floor. “And as any fool can plainly see, this assassin is not wearing the same face that he wore during the assassination.” “I can plainly see that,” said the Lord Protector. “I posit that this man is a scapegoat, a pawn to hide any trace back to those who used him,” Siegfried continued. “What proof can you offer of this?” The Lord Protector said, leaning forward with interest to study the face of the corpse. “I will get to that,” Siegfried said. “Now, in the chaos following the assassination attempt, I encountered General Sabine, Sergeant Knox, and other members of the Neverwinter Guard at the Sleeping Dragon bridge, where the guards had fought some sort of necrodemonic creature that had clawed its way out from underground. Now, the Sleeping Dragon Bridge is part of the territory that borders the turf of the Slips and the Dead Rats, and we found evidence of some sort of truce between the two factions – there were signs of recent diggings to uncover a tomb beneath the bridge. This tomb had been desecrated by Thayan black magic – necromancy and demonology both. After defeating these Thayan creatures, my companions and I raided the gang’s headquarters beneath the docks in an effort to recover more evidence of their treachery against the city.” Varien sidled up next to Bob as Siegfried’s oratory continued. “Are we also telling them about when we met Sabine? And how she tried to throw us off the tracks, or are we skipping that part? I’m fine either way. It’s your investigation, after all.” “I guess skip it?” Bob whispered uncertainly. “I got the sense that she was more interested in us not getting the credit, not that she wanted us to fail.” “Well then,” the Lord Protector was saying to Siegfried. “You have been busy as well then, haven’t you?” “Lord Protector, when someone sets about to attack this great city, I do take interest.” Siegfried said. “And why are you interested in the Nashers?” Dagult asked. Well then, Siegfried thought to himself. The pieces have been arrayed on the Tinker’s chess board. It is time to set them into motion. He took a deep breath. “Because, Lord Protector, when the Nashers see fit to send a brainwashed blacksmith’s apprentice to infiltrate my Harpers, I want to know why, and more importantly, what they’re planning to accomplish.” The room fell silent. The Lord Protector’s face darkened. “ Your Harpers?”

“Yes,” Siegfried said, staring the Lord Protector down. “I am well aware of the previous state of this organization in the past, and I hope to set this cell on a new path that supports the city and your administration with equal vigour.” General Sabine let out a mocking chuckle. Siegfried turned to the Mintarn leader, staring daggers at her. “And would you care to explain how you sought to interfere in an officially-sanctioned investigation by giving us a red herring in the form of the “Kraken Society”?” Siegfried held up the Nasher totem. “Glad we got through that without getting Sabine in trouble,” Varien chuckled. Bob raised an eyebrow. “Lord Protector, Siegfried no longer speaks for me.” Sabine matched Siegfried’s gaze. “Well, Master Thann, if you had done any real legwork you would have discovered that the Nashers often make use of the old Kraken Society tunnels and hideaways.” “Oh, of course, General Sabine,” Siegfried’s voice dripped with poisonous condescension. “It is of course natural that the first thing one thinks of when seeing this symbol of the Nasher faction is in fact the Kraken Society. Your excuse is a poor one. Do shut up.” Sabine’s glare intensified. Sergeant Knox folded his muscular arms over his barrel chest. “Hey, at least she hates someone more than me now,” Varien said to Bob. “This,” Siegfried pointed to Rethan’s corpse. “Is a 19-year-old boy, sent to join the Harpers after being led astray by the Nashers. He was not a skilled assassin and had no real chance of murdering you. Rather he was set up to fail and serve as a distraction. A distraction from what, I have yet to find out.” “Indeed,” the Lord Protector said. “But I have a working hypothesis, Lord Protector,” Siegfried continued. “These Thayan Necromantic runes would likely catch your interest, would they not?” “They certainly caught mine,” Varien said sharply. “Lord Protector,” Siegfried said pointedly. “When was the last time you were able to get a good night’s sleep in Neverwinter without the aid of a Dreamthief Doll?” “Well now, that’s just part of life in Neverwinter, my dear boy,” Dagult said with a chuckle. “An outsider like you wouldn’t understand.” “Yes, you’re right in that I do not understand how the leadership of Neverwinter allows its children to suffer nightmares every night without doing something about it,” Siegfried said curtly. “Nor do I understand how Thayans could be allowed to resurrect an undead dragon to threaten the city – how is that even possible? How can these nightmares – the broadcasting of the Red Wizards’ plans, go unanswered by a sleeping administration?” The Lord Protector stood upright, puffing out his chest in indignation. “Now, that is a fine oratory, Sigmund, but-” “Lord Protector, you know my name,” Siegfried interrupted. There was a gurgling sound as Soman Galt staggered back in shock. “We don’t have to play these games, Lord Protector,” Siegfried continued. “We are not in Waterdeep anymore. The Harpers have no wish to usurp your legitimate rule of the city – we merely wish to be a partner and assist in solving the greater mystery here.” There was a long pause. Dagult Neverember’s stony expression cracked into a wry smile. “Fair enough, Siegfried . But know this – the Harpers have a great deal to answer for these last twenty years.” “I recognize that,” Siegfried said. “Amends will be made.” “Well, in that spirit, I think it’s time to yield the floor to General Sabine, who has a report of her own to make,” Dagult said. General Sabine stepped forward. “Indeed I do, Lord Protector. On your orders we raided several Nasher hideouts and turned over a few tables at the Driftwood Tavern.” Siegfried chuckled contemptuously. “Of course you did. Please, Sabine, continue.” “And in the course of our investigation, every Nasher agent we interrogated disavowed all knowledge of a plot against the Lord Protector.” Siegfried laughed again. “Of course they did!” Sabine shot another glare at Siegfried. “In fact, they all claimed it was a Harper plot!” Siegfried’s laughter went up an octave. “Of course they would!” “So what you’re saying, Sabine, is that they tried to pin it on the Harpers?” The Lord Protector pulled out a Harper pin and tossed it onto the tabletop. Siegfried shook his head and turned to Fitzhugh Montgomery, who had been watching the exchange with an incredulous expression on his face. “Warduke Montgomery, without divulging any sensitive details, can you please illuminate this assembly with regard to my talents for wetwork?” Fitzhugh coughed. “Well, this is quite irregular, but-” “Please, Warduke. How many organizations have I cut off at the head on behalf of the Lord’s Alliance?” “No small number,” Fitzhugh admitted. “Thank you, Warduke. You see, Lord Protector, if I, or an organization I was in a position to lead, were to attempt an assassination, it would not fail so spectacularly.” There was a creak of plate armour as Zephyris Brightmantle took two steps forward. “Nor would I enlist the services of a blacksmith’s apprentice to bungle the job,” Siegfried continued. As Zephyris drew his sword two inches from its scabbard, Siegfried raised a placating hand. “Don’t misunderstand. I have no interest in such an assignment, and nor do the Harpers. Your leadership of Neverwinter is not in question – but we wish for it to be secure. These cowardly attempts on your life cannot be allowed.” A smile was slow in coming to the Lord Protector’s face. He waved Zephyris back. “On this at least we agree.” “Let’s take that agreement one step further,” Siegfried said. “Allow me to rend your enemies. Allow me to spill their guts in the street. Let us find these Thayan conspirators and place their throats against the blade of Varien Aether.” “That’s the spirit!” Dagult laughed. “Much as I’d like to, the last thing that the Jewel of the North needs is a phalanx of loose cannons causing chaos in the streets. The activities of the Harpers these last few years speaks to the folly of that course. So I will say this. Continue your search for the real culprits, but before you act, clear your activities with General Sabine.” Sabine set her jaw and crossed her arms. “A wise decision, Lord Protector,” Siegfried said, bowing slightly. “I wish you Tyr’s blessing as you seek the Regent’s Justice.” Dagult said. “Justice is exactly what I will seek,” Varien said. Turning on his heel, he walked out of the chamber. “You’ll pardon us as we take our leave,” Siegfried explained. “We head out to Tholl Sla-Houk on the morrow. Our paladin has received a divine revelation from his deity Sune.” “What a lucky fellow!” Dagult chortled. “I have heard that Lady Firehair can be quite revealing when she so desires.” Kavatos Stormeye’s third eye rolled. “You should hold your tongue and show respect!” Varien shouted from the entryway. “Careful now,” warned Siegfried. “Remember whose house you’re in.” Dagult’s laughter chased them out of the Hall of Justice.   “What was that all about?” Bob asked Siegfried in exasperation as they left the Hall of Justice. “Couldn’t you just state the facts plainly?” “What that was about,” Siegfried replied, “was untying a noose that had been slipped around my neck. Being up front about the Harpers removes one potential knife from my back that Sabine could potentially twist, if you’ll forgive the mixed metaphor.” Erwen breathed a huge sigh of relief. He had to deliberately resist the urge to wildshape into an animal form depending on the tenor of the conversation, and was worried that it was going to be a problem going forward. He patted Rethan’s severed finger in his pocket. “So, we no longer need the assassin’s body as evidence,” Siegfried continued. “Someone in Dagult’s employ will no doubt clean it up. But this Thayan Mask of Disguise will no doubt come in handy.” “Speaking of Thay,” Varien said. “Do you really think they’re trying to resurrect a dead dragon?” “No Varien,” Siegfried replied. “I think the dragon has already been resurrected. What do you think was going on in Thundertree, after all?” “So where to next?” Varien said. “Thundertree? Or Lady Nidris’s house?” “Not quite yet,” Siegfried said. “I have to contact someone first.” He swallowed the sudden lump in his throat. He set about approaching the first city guard he could see. “You there,” Siegfried said. “I’m on official Lord’s Alliance business. What do you know about the location of the Kingdom of Many-Arrows?” “Many-Arrows?” the guard blinked. “That’s a bit out of my jurisdiction, I’m afraid. I’m just a city guardsman.” Siegfried sighed. “Fine.” Looking about for an open flame, he spied a street vendor selling roasted chestnuts. He tossed the man a silver coin. “Mind if I take a look at your coals?” “Uh, sure?” the vendor said. Siegfried leaned over the flaming coals at the bottom of the grill. “I know you’re there,” he whispered. There was a crackling and popping from the blazing coals that sounded like laughter. Cinders and embers began to form into a familiar face. A face that Siegfried had hoped never to set eyes on again. There was a hissing and spitting sound from the grill as the chestnuts began to burn. What do you want, abomination? The face asked. “Can you tell me where they are?” Siegfried asked. “Do you know where they are right now?” There was another peal of laughter from the coals. The Sons of Gruumsh are on the march, boy. “Could you be a bit more specific, woman?” Siegfried hissed. They march south, young fool. A warband of purebred Orcs. Perhaps a remnant in the Tower District will know something of their movements. It is beneath my interest. “Of course it is,” Siegfried sighed. Cinders flared and Siegfried felt pinpricks of pain as they burned his face. He stood up. The face in the coals had disappeared. The street vendor looked uneasily from Siegfried to Varien and back again. “Everything okay with my coals?” “Quite,” Siegfried said. He fished out a gold coin and tossed it at the vendor. “For the ruined chestnuts.” He indicated the shrunken, blackened nubs scattered atop the grill. “And for information. I’m just in from out of town. Where would I go if I wanted to mingle with more of my kind?” He flashed his tusk-like teeth. The vendor shrank back. “C-check out the Fallen Tower!” “Thanks for the tip,” Siegfried said. “Where to now?” Varien asked. Normal 0 false false false EN-CA ZH-CN X-NONE /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-priority:99; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0cm; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;} “We’re going out for a pint,” Siegfried said. “But this place might be rougher than most. Small man, I need to know you won’t react poorly if someone we know gets stabbed.” Erwen’s eyes widened.

Normal 0 false false false EN-CA ZH-CN X-NONE /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-priority:99; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0cm; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;} The broken base of an old wizard’s tower had long been the site of a popular tavern in Neverwinter. Built of fieldstone, the tower had been sheared off at some point in the past about two and a half stories up. The stones of the fallen upper section had been rebuilt into a single-story addition to the tower. In place of the destroyed upper levels, a mysterious cylinder of blue light glowed, reaching up a hundred feet or more before blurring into oblivion. Patrons moved through the main doors in decent numbers. “Popular place, looks like,” Varien said. “That blue light is a bit weird,” Bob said. “Yes,” Siegfried said. “Now, Small man. This is one place we don’t want to set on fire, okay?” Erwen nodded. He trotted over to the bushes that grew outside and curled up into a ball.   The Fallen Tower exceeded Siegfried’s low expectations. It was dimly lit, like most taverns, and it had the low, beamed ceiling that all taverns seem to share. The furniture was rough and ready, and the serving wenches buxom. Dominating the open plan was a large cook fire encircled by a railing to keep patrons from falling in. At the far end of the circular room, an addition had been built out, containing the well-stocked bar. Siegfried could see that the bartender was an Orc, wearing a jaunty hat that mostly covered up his severed left ear. The crowd was a mix of wealthy Blacklake District nobles slumming it and rough River District refugees on the make. There were several humanoids scattered throughout, including a group of Orcs engaged in some sort of ritualistic bareknuckled brawl. Siegfried squared his shoulders and made for the bar. Varien, Bob, and Alec took a seat at a vacant table nearby. “Lok-tar, Uruk,” the orcish bartender said to Siegfried. “Lok-tar,” Siegfried replied. The bartender grinned as he looked Siegfried up and down. “Did a noble whip that fashion sense into you?” “They certainly tried,” Siegfried said in Orcish. “You speak like a slow-witted child, but your spirit is strong!” the bartender laughed. Siegfried sighed and switched to Elvish. “Yes, my teachers chose to teach me the tongue of simpletons.” The bartender laughed. “You must be here for the show!” “I am here looking for a shaman who could share some of Luthic’s wisdom,” Siegfried said. “But tell me more about this show.” “Ah, take a seat and enjoy it, that’s all I will say, because it’s almost ready to begin.” The bartender looked over at a disheveled man half-asleep atop a barrel, the foam of a recent drink of grog still on his lips. “You there, bard! You’re up!” the bartender threw a stein at the man, hitting him squarely. The human groaned and got to his feet. “We’ll talk more after the show,” the bartender said. “I find your accent hilarious.” “Can I at least get some water for my friends?” Siegfried asked. The bartender grabbed four pint glasses in one hand and submerged them in a barrel of water with a disgusting skim on top. “So what do we do now?” Varien asked as Siegfried took a seat with the rest of the party. Siegfried eyed the cloudy water in their glasses. “You sure you gentlemen don’t like alcohol? Nothing grows in alcohol, you see.” “I think between the cleric and the paladin we can purify this swill,” Alec said. Siegfried shrugged. “Apparently there’s some sort of entertainment about to begin.” The bartender rang a bell behind the bar. A hush fell over the crowd, and even the brawling orcs took their seats. The tipsy bard hopped up onto the bar and raised his voice. “Ladies and gentlemen, it is about that time. Every night at the Fallen Tower we are graced by the terrible tale of Llomnauvel “Fire-hands” Oloadhin, the master wizard whose hospitality you are all taking advantage of. A master mage whose obsession with learning magical secrets earned the attention of none other than the Arcane Brotherhood!” The crowd murmured at this. “Yes,” the bard slurred. “The Arcane Brotherhood resolved to take his magical items and spells for its own. The Brotherhood’s members attacked old Firehands in his tower one dark night centuries ago, but they got more than they bargained for!” The blue light began to dim. “Spells raged like glittering starfalls through the night air, as Llomnauvel proved a tough opponent!” the bard said. The blue light came back stronger, with sudden silent flashes sending strange shadows up the sides of the tower. “Yes, it was a wizard war like nothing Neverwinter has seen before or since!” the bard said as he swayed back and forth. “Over a dozen of the Brotherhood were slain, mind-blasted, or transformed into helpless forms of marine life and hurled out to sea as the evening passed!” The crowd laughed. “Yet the Overwizard of the Arcane Brotherhood, Glagorn, pressed the attack,” the bard continued. “Knowing that his life was forfeit if he and his companions failed.” Blue lightning played over the tower’s interior. “But Glagorn did not properly reckon with Llomnauvel’s state of mind!” shouted the bard. “Brought to bay in his spell chamber, wands exhausted and spells gone, the wizard unleashed a final spell that hurled down the tower and burned away the lives of all within it, including the Overwizard, the surviving Brotherhood mages, and yes, Llomnauvel himself. Watch now as their final moments play out, as the precise time of the explosion that destroyed the tower draws near.” Blurred shapes of light began to coalesce into the forms of soundless phantoms as two terrified mages, no doubt members of the Arcane Brotherhood, plunged through the tavern’s ceiling over the cooking fire, limbs ablaze as they fell down like rag dolls, vanishing through the floor into the depths of the tower below. These first two were followed by the astonished, struggling figure of the Overwizard, whose limbs were turning to eels that rended the rest of him, boring into his silently shrieking mouth just as he vanished through the floor. Moments later, the figure of Llomnauvel followed. He descended from the tower’s upper reaches upright, his lower limbs skeletal as flesh and robe alike vanished in spirals of lightning that burned up and around his body. All that was left as he vanished through the floor was his terrible, triumphant smile that was stripped away to reveal the eerie skull beneath. The audience held its breath for a few moments more before a scattering of polite applause broke out. The blue light dissipated and then returned at full force, brightening the room. Siegfried got up and went back to the bar. “Nice place,” Siegfried said to the bartender, who introduced himself as Vagdru One-Ear. “I see the Spellplague has left its mark on the tower.” “Oh, that light show predates the Spellplague, or so I’m told,” Vagdru said. “Really?” Siegfried said. “How interesting!” Vagdru nodded. “The Many-Arrows expedition found the place had been long abandoned, and after we got used to the nightly occurrence, we thought it best to pick up where the weaklings left off and make a little coin while we were at it.” “What happened to the Many-Arrows contingent here?” Siegfried asked. “We held this ground for a time,” Vagdru said. “But eventually these weakling humans used treachery against us and killed our leader, Vansi Bloodscar during the final siege of the Cloak Tower.” He shrugged. “Those of us who pledged to uphold the Protector’s Peace were allowed to stay, but most of our kind have drifted away, back to Many-Arrows in the north, or elsewhere.” “I see,” Siegfried said. “Perhaps my father stayed behind with the remnant. Maybe you’ve heard of him? He would have been close in rank to Vansi Bloodscar.” Vagdru shook his head and laughed mirthlessly. “There are a lot of green-skinned, handsome boys like you who don’t know who or where their fathers are, I’m afraid.” “Well, I do know my mother was helped out of the city by a Many-Arrows warrior,” Siegfried said. “Helped, you say?” Vagdru said. “That’s one word for it.” Siegfried let that one go. “There must be a shaman who stayed behind to dispense Luthic’s wisdom to the remnant.” “Well, the Cave Mother does have use for those who can speak on her behalf,” Vagdru said. “If you’ve got the stomach for it, you might be able to get an audience with Sheenzen the Spiteful. And more to the point, if you’ve got the coin, I can point you in Sheenzen’s direction.” Vagdru looked down. The money was already atop the bar. The bartender nodded at a cellar door off to one side. “She sets herself up downstairs when she feels like it. Take care and watch your step. You don't want to get lost down there.” Siegfried nodded his thanks and returned to his table. “Now what?” Varien asked. “We’ve got a date with a shaman of Luthic,” Siegfried said, nodding at the stairway to the basement. “Attend at your own risk, of course.” “Let’s go,” Varien said, standing up. “Alec will watch our backs,” Bob said as Alec nodded agreement. “If anybody follows us, he’ll take care of them.”  

Siegfried, Varien and Bob descended into the depths of the cellar. It was cold beneath the tower, and smelled of freshly turned earth, with a hint of the grave about the air. There was a flickering of candlelight from a long, narrow alcove that once held casks of wine. The smell of freshly-spilled blood filled their nostrils. A bent figure huddled over a grotesque altar, the polar opposite of the pristine shrine to Sune at the Crystal Cathedral. Overhead, an orcish rune, the symbol of Luthic that meant "home," had been pressed into the earthen wall of the cellar, dripping with blood and ichor that spilled over the altar itself, a disarray of bones, totems and eldritch artifacts. The figure was half-humming, half-singing to herself as she gutted an animal, letting its ropy intestines spill out over an array of bone tiles on the altar. Flecks of gore spattered onto the ground and sizzled in the flames of the candles. “You seek the wisdom of the Cave Mother this night?” the crone wheezed, turning to face the trio. The orc priestess was impossibly old and wrinkled, her deep-set eyes staring out from underneath a cowl formed from the upper jaw of a crocodile. Her jowls were long and pierced through with totems and rings. “Ah,” her piggish eyes narrowed as she regarded Varien and Bob. “Are these tributes brought before me?” “Not hardly,” Siegfried said in Orcish. “Adeline’s son requires your aid, woman.” “Does he now?” the crone cackled. “You invoke your mother’s name, yet it is you who stand before me asking for aid. And if you are not sacrificing one of these weaklings this night, then what tribute have you brought me?” Siegfried turned to Bob. “Where’s that gilded skull you took from Wyvern Tor?” Bob handed it over. Siegfried gave it to Sheenzen, who accepted it with wizened hands that sported overlong fingernails. “Ah, I haven’t seen one of these in a long, long time,” she purred, turning the skull over in her hands. “This trophy could very well be a Prince of Phalorm, a piece of the long-lost Bloodbone Throne itself.” Siegfried nodded. “Then you know that what I ask of you is weighty in return.” “So you’re not looking for me to tell your fortune, then?” Sheenzen chuckled. “Or to put you in touch with your dead mother?” “Nope,” Siegfried said. “This is about a much longer quest.” “Then you were right to approach a blood shaman and not some charlatan of the weaker races,” Sheenzen said, spitting. “And besides, all boys love their mothers.” “Wrong again,” Siegfried said coldly. “Haha,” Sheenzen wagged a finger at Siegfried. “Spoken like a true son of Many-Arrows.” “Tholl Sla-Hauk,” Siegfried prompted. “Tell me where it is located.” “Do you wish to die?” Sheenzen said with a choking laugh. “I wish to kill,” Siegfried said. “You wish to disturb a mass grave, then?” Sheenzen said, shaking her head. Her jowl jewellery jingled. “The dead rise as I command, Spiteful!” Siegfried said. Sheenzen cackled yet again. “You’re not the only ones searching for the resting place of Uruth Ukrypt, you realize.” “Do tell,” Siegfried snarled. “The Sons of Gruumsh seek Tholl Sla-Hauk.” “So I’ve heard,” Siegfried sighed. “What are their numbers?” “Small enough to escape the detection of the weak human realms, but large enough to wreak havoc if needed,” Sheenzen replied. “It sounds to me like you’re evading my questions, which I will not abide,” Siegfried growled. “Aw, let an old woman have her fun!” Sheenzen cackled. “Their leader, Rulgar, received a vision from the One-Eyed Gruumsh. This vision told of a leader who would soon emerge and lead his people into glorious battle against the humans, sweeping their cities into the sea. This dream told Rulgar to gather warriors to his banner and wait at the ruins of the once mighty bastion for Uruth Ukrypt’s blessing.” “And Rulgar is this prophesied leader?” Siegfried asked. Sheenzen chuckled and spat a wad of bloody phlegm into the gilded skull. “Well, the Sons of Gruumsh suffered setbacks on their journey south,” Sheenzen said. “One of their leaders, Brughor Axe-Biter, met his end at Wyvern Tor.” She cast a suspicious eye at Varien and Bob. “Brughor Axe-Biter died begging for his life,” Siegfried said. Sheenzen laughed until she choked. “For a scion of Many-Arrows, you sure don’t think much of your countrymen, boy.” “As of late they have not given me much reason to think highly,” Siegfried said. “Can you do different?” “Seek out Tholl Sla-Hauk in the deepest vale,” Sheenzen said, her eyes glazing over. “The Sons of Gruumsh do likewise, but infighting and ill preparation have sent them looking in the wrong place.” “Do tell,” Siegfried said. “They cast about in the southern ranges when they should have focused their search to the west,” Sheenzen wheezed. “You may yet reach your goal before they do.” “I have one final question,” Siegfried said. “My father’s name. Adeline’s mate. You know it. I want to know it.” Sheenzen began to laugh, wet peals of laughter that caused her sides to shudder like a blacksmith’s bellows. “You’ve had your fair share of information this night, scion of Many-Arrows.” She held up the gilded skull, which was now oozing green slime. “Find me a trinket that equals this specimen and you’ll have your answer.” “Truly you live up to your name, Spiteful crone,” Siegfried said. He manifested a handful of ash and wiped it across his face like warpaint, and then strode out of the alcove while Sheenzen cackled with mad glee behind him.   “Well, did you find anything out?” Varien asked as they mounted the stairs to the Fallen Tower’s taproom. Siegfried nodded. “Well, there’s good news and bad news.” “Bad news first,” Bob sighed. “The bad news is that there’s an orc warband searching for the same crypt we seek,” Siegfried said. “What’s the good news?” Varien asked. Normal 0 false false false EN-CA ZH-CN X-NONE /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-priority:99; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0cm; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;} “The good news is that I know how to find them, and we might just have a head start,” Siegfried replied. “We leave first thing tomorrow.”