The party, still in cloud form, streaked out of the depths of Tholl Sla-Houk just ahead of the mayhem, flying up the central shaft and streaming out through the secret channel carved into the mountainside by the underground river and cave-in. There, they massed into a formation that drifted resolutely towards Ieirithymbul. The journey would take less than an hour at top speed as they headed westward, leaving the stale air of the crypt and the sweet taste of victory behind them. Every so often one of the scions would drift away from the group, but a party member would swoop out and gather them back into the formation. Erwen took the lead as he led the party and their Ieirithyn charges down one of the hidden gnomish city’s air vents, cunningly concealed as an eroded rock formation, and into the pipework that fed breathable air into the caverns beneath the Felrenden valley. The clouds rolled towards the Mayor’s Stronghold in the centre of Ieirithymbul. All around them were signs of recovery: gnomish artificers worked to repair the damage wrought by the Black Spider’s arachnid army, and clockwork labour constructs toiled to clean up the spiderwebs. Sitting on a length of track that had been ratcheted out of the river on pylons was the familiar shape of the Tinker’s Damn merchant train, which evidently had made good on Boiler Boss Mottinsleeves’ pledge to return with relief supplies. The clouds funneled into the Mayor’s Stronghold. The adventurers began to rematerialize, slowly forming into solid shapes from their previous gaseous forms. They had, apparently, interrupted a lavish brunch. Mayor Aripine Celfyx Waywocket Silvershaper sat at the head of a table laden with an impressive spread of mushroom yeast croissants, black corn fungus, fried potatoes in mushroom gravy, mushroom toast dipped in cicada egg yolk, a roast mole in the centre of the table stuffed with mushrooms, a platter of isopods on the half shell, their long legs fried in blue cheese, and a wide variety of edible molds. Seated around the table were Charella Mottinsleeves, Boddynock Nackle, Norster Milltall the chief tinker, Fnipper Gladdenstone Lichenscraper Candleshoe, the young woman they had rescued from a cocoon, as well as her companion Belfalcon Rockskipper, the sour-faced Guard Captain Udohorn Littleknight, and other well-dressed gnomes. It didn’t take long for their presence to be noticed. Mayor Silvershaper gasped and called for the guards as the figures began to coalesce. There was a clattering of silverware. A cadre of thundercannon-wielding gnomes marched smartly into the Keep and leveled their weapons at the humanoid cloud shapes. “If this is another one of the Black Spider’s tricks, we’ll give him what for!” Mayor Silvershaper shouted, brandishing her rapier. Charella pulled out a heavy wrench from underneath the table and slapped it hard against her open palm, glaring. Siegfried made sure to materialize with his hands where the gnomes could see them, and also made sure that the gnomish scions were between his companions and the line of fire. Mayor Silvershaper gasped again as she recognized the gnomes as they materialized. “Keladon Braeder!” she exclaimed. “And Bershaw Ardabad, Dellabean Pheldaer, and Benskar Felrenden! You’re all alive!” “Ah, I could kill an orc army for one of those croissants!” Siegfried said cheerily, blustering forward through the confused scions and even more confused gnome guards to grab a tiny pastry from the brunchtable. He popped it in his mouth and didn’t bother chewing. “You know, I grew up in a quarterling’s household and know a thing or two about the meals that exist between meals.” Siegfried returned to the ranks of his companions and gathered up the scions. “Come now, kids, I’m sure you haven’t eaten in days.” He indicated the food before them. The gnome called Bershaw scowled at Siegfried. “I’m 24 years old!” he protested, but then the scions were scampering over to the brunch table, elbowing their way to the piles of food. “You’re alive!” Elphina said as she regarded the party, particularly Bob. “And you rescued the scions, just as the Unseen Protector promised! What happened? Why were you all clouds?” She turned to regard Yeemik. “And who is this?” “Ah,” Siegfried, putting an arm around the Tiefling. “This is none other than James Icke, Killer of the Black Spider and Honorary Champion of Ieirithymbul.” “James Icke” looked ill-at-ease around the gnomes, considering what he had been up to the last time he was in Ieirithymbul. “Ah, it was, er, nothing,” he muttered. There was a general hubbub as the brunch party loudly welcomed the scions home, giving them the cloaks off their backs as the famished young men gobbled up food and knocked back several goblets of mushroom wine. Elphina’s expression turned from one of matronly warmth to one of shocked realization. The more perceptive party members noticed her withdraw from the room’s positive temper, sagging back into her chair as though finally reckoning with the terrible decision that she as Mayor had to make when the Black Spider had visited Ieirithymbul. The end result of that decision, the four haggard, bruised and filthy scions, were now before her, and she was overcome with emotion. She stared off listlessly into the middle distance, ignoring the joyous chaos around her. Siegfried drew up a tiny chair and carefully knelt, not putting his full weight on it as he consoled the Mayor. “You don’t have time for guilt, Your Worship. The orcs were not happy that we rescued the scions from the terrible ritual they were intended for. They are likely to return and exact vengeance. You must prepare for an evacuation, or at least a full-scale defence of your city.” “Let me handle this, Siegfried,” Varien said, placing a hand on the Mayor’s shoulder. “Madam, I would pray over you and offer you comfort and guidance in these difficult times. If you wish it.” Elphina nodded absently. Varien began to pray a prayer of Atonement over the Mayor. Siegfried left the paladin to his business and turned to face Theryn, whose orc-masked face was screwed up in an accusatory glare. “You put this on my face!” he barked in Orcish at Siegfried. You get it off!” Siegfried chuckled. “Of course, my good monk. Oh, Bob!” He called for the cleric. “Can you remove the cursed mask from our poor stricken friend?” “Certainly,” Bob smiled and cast the appropriate spell, breaking the attunement. Theryn tore the mask from his head and ran a hand over his face. “Oh, I’ve been tormented by an itch that I just couldn’t–” with a deft flourish he planted the mask on a shocked Siegfried’s face. The mask molded itself over Siegfried’s half-orc visage, exaggerating its proportions into a profound pout. Siegfried sighed and spoke aloud in Orcish. “Well, I suppose I had that coming.” “Ah, it’s a relief not to be able to understand you for a change!” Theryn said, his knowledge of Orcish having faded instantly with the removal of his mask. “Now, you sit there and like it.” Siegfried glared quizzically at Theryn and then looked expectantly at Bob. Bob burst out laughing. “I need to recharge my magical reserves before removing another curse, Siegfried,” he said in a condescending tone. Siegfried’s face twisted in anger. “Don’t worry, you’ll get it off eventually,” Theryn said. “It is only magic after all.” Siegfried stomped away, muttering Orcish epithets. “Now then,” Theryn said, utterly glad to be speaking Common again. “Master Milltall, I presume?” The tinker started at the sound of his name and turned. “Yes, that’s right.” The gnome squinted. “Didn’t recognize you there for a moment. You’re the one who ordered up that spider venom weapon?” “That’s right,” Theryn nodded. “How is your project coming along?” “Well, if you’ll accompany me to my laboratory you’ll be in for a pleasant surprise!” Milltall said with a wink. “Lead on then,” Theryn nodded. They decamped for Milltall’s workshop. There, several spider’s corpses were strung up, being drained of their bodily fluids, while an apprentice was spot-welding a flexible steel armature that appeared to support a transplanted venomic system that terminated in a pair of spigots. The armature was one of three draped over humanoid practice dummies. “ As Ieirithymbul’s leading artificer and alchemist, I relished a challenge ,” Milltall said, waving at the strange assembly before them. “So the user wears the backpack tank, which is charged with phase spider venom, and then using this nimble armature,” he pointed at the tubing that ran down to the spigot-like emitters at the wrist of each dummy, “he or she can control the spread of poison cloud or concentrate the venom into a high-pressure spray that will banish the target to the ethereal plane for a confusing time. Shall we have a demonstration?” “Yes!” Erwen piped up. “Excellent,” Milltall said, rubbing his hands excitedly. “Bernard!” he shouted. “Your services are required.” There was a heavy, muffled sigh, and a gnome wearing a dented, scuffed and scorched set of padded armor shuffled out from a closet, his heavy breathing exaggerated by the safety helmet with pocked visor that covered his head. Bernard mumbled something in a plaintive grunting that his padded helm made completely unintelligible. “Now, now, this won’t hurt, much ,” Milltall said as Theryn shrugged into one of the contraptions. To the monk he said, “Now, strap that assembly over your forearm there, not too tight, and then flex your wrist when you want to narrow the stream. Careful now, you don’t want to fog us all up here with a poison cloud.” “No,” Theryn said. “That would be out of character for me.” He aimed at Bernard, who cringed, and shot a squirt of concentrated venom at the hapless guinea pig. The venom sizzled and Bernard yelped, and suddenly there was a stuttering strobing effect as he phased out of the material plane. Only a mournful echo remained behind. “Now, watch this,” Milltall said, consulting a timepiece strapped to his own wrist. “Ten, nine, eight,” he counted down. On “three,” there was a clattering of broken flasks and glassware as Bernard rematerialized atop a workbench. He overbalanced and fell backward with an echoing squeak. “There you are Bernard!” Milltall chortled. “Now clean up your mess.” There was a muffled, mournful moan from beneath the workbench. “I have three of these devices, which I’m calling Master Milltall’s Ethereal Venomizer, ready to go.” “Well done!” Theryn said. “We’ll take them.” Siegfried and Alec took the two remaining venomizers. “Well, speaking of rewards,” Mayor Silvershaper said, appearing at the door. Varien’s prayer had energized her and helped get her legs back under her. “To the treasury!” Siegfried and Theryn’s eyes glittered. The Treasury of Ieirithymbul was, if anything, more fortified than the Mayor’s Keep, with twice-thick walls and concentric vault doors with increasingly complicated locking mechanisms within increasingly complicated locking mechanisms. It took Mayor Silvershaper nearly 15 minutes to access the inner vault by solving an intricate three-dimensional puzzle made out of interlocking jadeite fragments. While they were waiting, Varien watched as Siegfried silently needled Bob, poking him sharply on the shoulder repeatedly. “That’s hilarious, by the way.” Bob sighed. “It’s not as funny as it was half an hour ago.” He turned to Siegfried and cast a spell to break the curse. “Thank you!” Siegfried said, pulling off the mask. He looked at it, turning it over in his hands. “Might be useful in future if we need someone to speak Orcish and only Orcish.” He pocketed the mask. At last the vault opened, and Elphina supervised the withdrawal of a number of strongboxes containing gold and platinum pieces, gems, stacks of silver trade bars and gem-studded art objects. “Mayor Silvershaper, surely your city can’t afford this!” Varien protested, eyes wide. Elphina winked. “Listen, kid, we may be an anarcho-syndicalist collective that views wage slavery as a blight, but even we must trade with the outside world, and so are not opposed to collectively collecting wealth, sometimes to a ridiculous extent. This is a tax write-off, as far as I’m concerned.” “Well then, I approve,” Varien said with a curt nod, and bent over and kissed Elphina’s forehead. The Mayor blushed. Bob spied two large diamonds within the box of gems and grabbed them, giving one to Varien. “For resurrections later, if necessary,” he explained. Siegfried nodded. “That reminds me,” he turned to Erwen. “You owe 1,000 gold pieces to somebody in Waterdeep.” “What?” Erwen replied. “What’s a gold piece, and why do I suddenly owe 1,000 of them?” “Remember that little altercation with the Gilded Eye on the Neverwinter River?” Siegfried replied. “When Bob killed Brother Cardan, Varien slit the throat of a Gilded Eye paladin, you cast wall of fire to burn them all down and Radegast cast shatter on them? While Alec and I watched in horror?” Erwen frowned. “I remember you crushed a lot of skulls with that mace.” “Yes, but they were already dead at your hand, y’see,” Siegfried explained. “It just so happened that one of those Gilded Eye agents was a scion of a Waterdhavian noble family, the Hawkwinters, and brother to one of my possible,” he sighed heavily, “marriage candidates.” Bob snickered. “So we had to make things right and during the inquest in Neverwinter we agreed to pay for the cost of his resurrection,” Siegfried said. “The price of life has already been paid,” Varien said. “Our having resources like this diamond for a future resurrection is more useful than giving it up to a noble family.” “Yes, but the principle…” Siegfried replied. Erwen looked into the strongbox. “There must be more than a thousand gold in there. Problem solved.” “Well, once we’re in Waterdeep we can open an account with a treasurer or secure moneylender,” Siegfried said. “We can get an accountant to look after this money.” He stopped before mentioning his family’s preferred banking outfit, Wolf, Ram & Hart. The less Varien knew about the fiends and vampires lurking just below the surface of respectability, the better. “You trailed off there, Siegfried,” Varien said in a rare display of insight. “Is there something I should be concerned about?” Fiendsbane rattled in his scabbard. “No!” Siegfried said, displaying an uncharacteristic bit of uncertainty. “I’ve got my eye on you,” Varien said. “Speaking of things economical,” Siegfried said, loudly changing the subject. “There’s nothing like getting coins back into circulation to get the blood flowing. I am in need of a top-tier set of tinker’s tools and am willing to pay top dollar.” Norster Milltall popped up from behind Siegfried. “I have just the thing! The TinkerToy-2000 set of artisan’s tools that rolls on free-spinning casters. You won’t find a finer set of artisan’s tools on the Sword Coast, and better yet, the end-user-licence-agreement clearly states that the tools must only be used for good, not evil, or it violates the warranty!” A pair of apprentices wheeled out the tool chest, which stood upright like a wardrobe and was indeed on wheels as promised. Siegfried smiled as he thought of his younger brother Kowalski, who spent more time in his workshop than he did in his family’s presence. “Perfect.” He handed over 100 gold from his own pockets and rolled the tool box into the bag of holding . Erwen conjured a flock of hummingbirds. “Hello there,” he said to them. “Can I have a feather from each of you please?” The hummingbirds flew into a conference and then their leader flitted over to address Erewen, introducing herself as Threnody. “Sorry, but since we’re actually fey spirits in the form of hummingbirds, our feathers will be no good to you as spell components, Threnody buzzed apologetically. “No worries,” Erwen shrugged. He dug his hands into the treasure chest and came up with a handful of gold. “Here, each of you take one.” “What’s this for?” Threnody chirped. “Buy yourself something nice,” Erwen said. The tiny birds, struggling under the weight of the gold coin, flew up through one of the exhaust ports and out to freedom on the mountainside, and were promptly dashed to pieces by the mountain wind. Erwen winced.