Battle in the Burning Dawn's Barroom

Siegfried worked his rhetorical magic on Lady Harianna Hawkwinter in an effort to ensure that House Thann was back in House Hawkwinter’s good books, and that he was seen as a reliable colleague who could be trusted. He explained that his endgame was to do good and expose evil, that the Gilded Eye had its own problems, and that there was in fact devilry afoot in the streets of Waterdeep that required a rescue effort to recover his friend Varien Aether. “A fascinating tale,” Lady Harianna said after a time. “But what does all this have to do with the Order of the Burning Dawn?” “That is still a mystery,” Siegfried admitted, detailing the organization’s history back to its early days as an adventuring company that famously raided Tholl Sla-Houk in the Sword Mountains, bringing down an orc horde on Waterdeep bent on revenge, but more recently there was an incident that attracted the Gilded Eye’s obsession and vendetta, something that Siegfried wanted to look into further. “If you’re up for it, there’s a somewhat-abandoned and not-quite-torched safe house in town. Wanna go look?” Harianna smiled and nodded. Siegfried smiled back. Siegfried sent a message to Erwen. “Hey, we’re going to go poke at some shady stuff, hopefully dig up some dirt that can help get Varien back. Let’s go.” In the garden, Equwen’s head poked up from the carrot patch, a mouthful of vegetables in his mouth. He obediently trotted around to the front of the villa at the behest of the angry groundskeeper, and discovered that there was another horse waiting at the front entrance. It was the most beautiful warhorse Equwen had ever seen. The horse was wearing full plate barding and its saddle was polished to a gleam. Equwen straightened up and shook his mane enticingly. The warhorse eyed Equwen coolly. Lady Harianna and Siegfried exited the front door of the villa. How many spells can you cast? Siegfried messaged his wildshaped companion. Equwen stamped a hoof. “I’m always prepared,” he replied with a whinny. “Of course you would have a talking horse,” Lady Harianna said with a half-smile. “Ah, my mount Anastasia must be fond of yours, because she hardly ever lets another horse get within melee range.” She gave Anastasia a fond pat on the neck and chuckled. “You know, normally when I go out riding I have a squire with me, but tonight you’ll have to do,” she said as she gave Siegfried a look up and down. Siegfried smiled, bowed and helped the Lady into her saddle. Equwen rolled his eyes. I cannot believe I am on a double date with Siegfried. Siegfried attempted to mount Equwen, trying to put his foot into stirrups that weren’t there. As he stumbled against the wildshaped druid, Equwen flexed and created a muscular set of handholds to help the half-orc climb aboard. Lady Harianna’s minutely-raised eyebrow was the only sign that she saw Siegfried’s struggle. She placed a magnificent plate helm on her head, its visor a hinged visor a metalworked approximation of her fine facial features. Siegfried was duly impressed. The two riders and their horses headed towards their destination. Siegfried observed all the proper riding and traffic protocols, glad to be back in his hometown. The hour was growing late, but Waterdeep was a city that never slept. Lamplighters were casting spells on lampstands that lined the main thoroughfares, and every second side street was packed full of revellers on parade in varying states of undress and inebriation. As soon as they crossed Waterdeep way, with Castle Waterdeep’s windows twinkling with light on the mountainside, the quality of the neighbourhood began to noticeably decline. The streets narrowed; the buildings grew shabbier. Instead of well-planned roads and streets there was a warren of laneways and alleys crowded with tightly-packed houses, some looking like they were leaning against one another for support. “Ah, the Docks District,” Siegfried said. “How delightfully rustic.” He messaged an order to a street vendor the next block over and procured some skewered treats, which he grabbed with a flourish after tossing a coin at the vendor. Siegfried studiously avoided leading Lady Harianna into any alley that doubled as an open sewer. He could tell that the Lady was thoroughly enjoying herself, possibly at Siegfried’s expense, and, recognizing this, he did his best to play up the Siegfried-as-hapless-fop angle to her great amusement. He was also enjoying how things were going himself, if he was being honest. Playing the fool would likely end up with both Lady Harianna and Siegfried getting what they wanted.   Dhaera Darkeyes led Theryn on a tour of the Temple of Beauty, which more than lived up to its name. “Where would you like to go?” she asked. “Tell me again what your role is here at the Temple?” Theryn asked his guide. “I am an acolyte and servant of Sune, and I work in the temple’s scriptorium as a lorekeeper.” “Oh, so you know all the stories of all the rooms here, then?” “Well, this temple is always under construction and renovation and our architects and designers divine new and even more beautiful designs, so the layout often changes as Lady Firehair’s whims dictate in terms of what it is seen as theologically appropriate artwork and construction. There are always changes being made, and certainly someone has to keep track of them all.” “Well then, why don’t you show me your favourite parts of the temple that have your favourite stories and designs to share?” Theryn asked. Dhaera led Theryn past marvelous stained-glass windows, and she launched into a spiel about the many talented artisans who were wooed into the Lady Firehair’s service. There were equally beautiful mosaic tiles on the floors of the temple. The fervour and tone of her rhetoric came close to proselytizing at times. Here and there, tittering acolytes clustered in groups as they walked cloistered pathways around the perimeter of the temple’s main sanctuary, but Theryn was determined to keep his eye on the prize. Theryn took Dhaera’s measure and found her to be a passionate believer, faithfully relishing the opportunity to share her faith and how it informed the work she did in the Temple of Beauty, and how the temple’s beauty reinforced her faith in a virtuous circle. Dhaera led Theryn into a smaller antechamber off to the side of the main sanctuary, its walls covered in large, intricately detailed frescoes. There were two dominant paintings crafted with loving care. The first featured a stylized illustration of Sune, though this particular depiction was decidedly less voluptuous, more reserved than the norm. Her form was nowhere near as exaggerated as other representations in the Temple of Beauty. She was paired in the first illustration with the Phoenix, Hyolyn, who was depicted as a woman with red wings like that of a flaming peacock folded on her back. “This is Sune welcoming Hyolyn the Phoenix into her floating city of Brightwater in the Gates of the Moon. Brightwater is the city of romance in our mythology,” Dhaera explained. The second painting was also of the Phoenix Hyolyn in a wintry setting, on cross-country skis, holding a sword as she traveled resolutely across the frozen wastes. The Phoenix’s head was surrounded by a holy nimbus that suggested she was traveling with Sune’s blessings and protection. In one hand she held a greatsword in a scabbard marked with glowing runes that flickered like candles. “What is the deal with the sword in this fresco?” Theryn asked. Dhaera smiled wistfully. “Well, I’m glad you asked! We followers of the Cult of the Phoenix do not often get an opportunity to speak about our particular denomination and interpretation of the religious texts in Sune’s scriptorium. This is a representation of the Phoenix’s gift to her Chosen in the form of a sword. This sword is known by many names, among them Abaddon.” “Abaddon, you say?” Theryn said. “Sounds like it’s a weapon of some renown.” “The sword is wielded by the Phoenix’s chosen,” Dhaera explained. “There are those who seek it, and the Phoenix Hyolyn was charged with keeping it secret and keeping it safe. And so the story goes that she left Sune’s protection to hide Abaddon away in a secret place, and we believe she was successful, as the sword has not been seen for some time, nor has the Phoenix.” She frowned. “And so we pray, we light candles and other small conflagrations, in the hopes that Hyolyn, the aspect of the Phoenix, will return one day.” “So the sword is purely symbolic and not an actual artifact?” Theryn asked. “The scriptures are unclear on that point,” Dhaera said. “There are those who believe that the sword will manifest itself in physical form in the hands of a follower of the Phoenix who is impeccable in character who serves Sune and the Phoenix in equal measure. There are others who believe that the Sword never left the Gates of the Moon and still resides on Sune’s divine plane. And the two interpretations result in strongly-worded epistles and missives fired back and forth. You can read some of these in the Scriptorium.” “What’s your take on it?” Theryn asked. “I believe that if the sword was on this plane, it should have been discovered by now,” Dhaera said. “So it’s hard to say. Sometimes I think it’s a symbol of the Phoenix’s power and glory, and sometimes I think it’s a weapon that could be used to defend the faith and other holy purposes.” “So if something like that were to be real, where would it be?” Theryn asked. “Do you think it’s on another plane?” “It’s possible,” Dhaera said. “The Scriptures say the Phoenix traveled into the frozen wastes.” “So, somewhere north?” Theryn asked. Dhaera frowned. “I wouldn’t say North, though others might, as it’s outside the bounds of our interpretation of the Scriptures. It was a frozen wasteland. Some say she buried the sword. Some say she buried herself, waiting to be reborn in fire and flame. It’s a very esoteric topic of discussion amongst Sunites, as they are often more concerned with the beauty that they can see around them – the beauty of Form, the beauty of Art, the beauty of Craft and so on, and as we talk of the Beauty of Things Not Seen, we are often merely tolerated, and some branches of the Sunite faith are not so welcoming and ecumenical, so the Cult of the Phoenix has a safe haven in the Temple of Beauty much in the same way as Hyolyn found safe refuge with Lady Firehair herself in Brightwater.” “So, one of the things that allows us to appreciate beauty in all its forms are the things that are not beautiful. Elsewise, how would we know the difference?” Theryn said. Dhaera frowned. “That’s a view,” she said. “The pursuit of beauty is endless because there’s no upper limit,” Theryn said. “Is it truly endless?” Dhaera said. “You can always achieve perfection.” “If I may inquire,” Theryn said. “I don’t believe I’ve ever found anything perfect, have you?” Dhaera smiled. “That’s a weighty question, Theryn. However, there is one item.” “Do tell,” Theryn said. Dhaera looked around to make sure she and Theryn were alone. “It is spoken about in hushed tones. It is known as the Grey Portrait. This portrait was created by a follower of Sune named Belarion the Beautiful, and it is said that he was so obsessed with beauty and self-improvement, and his self-infatuation was so great that he sought any means to preserve his physical perfection. And it is said that the Grey Portrait absorbs all of the regular ravages of time, the course of life’s journey, the mileage we would say that even the most physically fit followers of Sune attract. Mortality itself. We know that skin-deep beauty is fleeting, and Sune warns against trusting too much in youthful vigour. There are those followers, however, who believe that even aging gracefully is not the best path for a believer of Sune, and some, like Belarion, chose to go beyond what was theologically acceptable. And so this blank canvas takes on the appearance of its owner and takes on the ravages of time, leaving the subject in pristine condition. So, you can see the appeal as a follower of Sune. It will absorb any debilitating effect that impacts one’s ability to live, but in the wrong hands, those who would own the Grey Portrait, the painting becomes more haggard and weathered and ravaged to the point that there is a perverse sort of perfection in that horrible visage that exists upon the canvas. And it is too dangerous a tool to allow to fall into the wrong hands, and so it has been hidden away, lest some be tempted with perpetual perfection.” “So, if this is spoken of in hushed tones, where would something like this be kept?” Theryn asked. “Ah, that would be Sune’s Glory Vault, also known as Lady Firehair’s Dowry Chamber, depending on one’s interpretation,” Dhaera said in a guarded tone. “And how often do you get to go in there?” Theryn asked. “Oh!” Dhaera laughed. “Very rarely. It is well-protected and well-secured.” “Most certainly,” Theryn said. “But surely someone of your place, position and stature must be able to gain access…” Dhaera blushed as she hemmed and hawed for a moment. “Well, I suppose we could take the briefest of all peeks. You can keep a secret, can’t you, Theryn?” “Is not the owl wiser than the fox?” he replied with an engaging smile. Dhaera threw back her head and laughed, and then led Theryn deeper into the temple’s recesses.

Siegfried and Lady Harianna entered Watchrun Alley. The narrow, winding laneway was hemmed in on all sides by warehouses, flophouses, and other structures of uncertain provenance. “This looks to be the place,” Siegfried said, eyeing a two-storey building with the tattered banner of the Order of the Burning Dawn flappy feebly in the evening breeze. The air was tinged with the salt smell of the ocean and the lingering taste of rotten fish. “Not much to look at, is it?” Lady Harianna sniffed. “Rather dilapidated by design, I’d wager,” Siegfried said. “If an adventuring company went all-out on decorating and upkeep, it might give those with prying eyes ideas of what treasures might be stored up inside.” They dismounted and approached the building cautiously. Siegfried marveled at how Lady Harriana could move in near-complete silence given the heavy armour she wore. The chapterhouse’s leaded windows were grimy and dark; no light, if there was any, escaped from within the building’s darkened reaches. Narrow alleys formed a gap on either side of the structure. Equwen scanned the far side of the street and detected no movement from the buildings across the way. He eyed several seagulls perched atop the peaked roof of the warehouse across the way. Siegfried’s eldritch sight detected magical auras surrounding the doors and windows. Taking a closer look, he saw distinct evidence of abjuration magic. “Somebody’s home, after all,” he said quietly to Lady Harianna. “But they don’t want anyone to know it.” He turned to her and flashed a winning smile. “What do you think? Crossbows loosed, or is diplomacy our best option?” The Lady smiled back. “This date was your idea, Siegfried. I’ll back your play either way.” Siegfried nodded and pointed at the doorway. “Unless I miss my guess, someone has warded any point of ingress.” “Well, that leaves us on the outs, doesn’t it?” Lady Harianna said. “Any obvious point of ingress, that is,” Siegfried said with a grin. “Amateur mistake, as they obviously abjured only the windows and doors.” He thought for a moment, and then stooped and plucked a maggot from a piece of rotting trash scattered on the cobblestones. Lady Harianna’s nose wrinkled. Siegfried rapped smartly on the wall of the chapterhouse, careful not to disturb the near-invisible runes of the magical ward covering the door and window. “Anybody home?” he called theatrically. He waited for a beat, but heard no stirrings within the building. Lady Harianna rolled her eyes. “Well, you can’t say I didn’t attempt to maintain propriety,” Siegfried said. He jammed the maggot into a gap between two bricks and backed away to a safe distance, grabbing Lady Harianna’s elbow as he did so. Then he cast polymorph on the maggot, turning into a large brown bear. The effects on both bear and brick was tremendous. There was a roar of surprise and pain as the maggot increased in size a hundredfold, causing the brick-and-plank wall of the chapterhouse to bulge dangerously outward. Pressure caused both brick and bear to shatter explosively. The animal’s anguished cry was cut off as the bear was bifurcated. A section of wall leaned out drunkenly, bricks falling to the ground. Cracks in the wall led to the nearest windowframe, and a tiny diamond-shaped shard of glass popped out from the leaded pane. “Uh oh,” Siegfried said. There was a low hum of gathering magical energy as the runes that marked a hidden glyph of warding flashed into view for a split second, then a popping sound as a ten-foot section of cobblestone in front of the window suddenly disappeared as though it had been scooped out by an invisible ladle the size of a wagon. As the bear messily expired, its blood and guts flashed and disappeared, leaving behind a bear-shaped hole in the wall. Silence descended on the street. “Betcha bearly saw that coming!” Equwen quipped. Siegfried leaned into the gap made by the polymorphed maggot. “Anyone home?” he called. He received no reply, merely the groaning of the structurally-damaged front wall of the chapterhouse. Siegfried listened and thought he could hear the creaking of floorboards on the second storey. Equwen pushed Siegfried aside and nosed his head through the gap. “HELLO! IS ANYONE HERE!” he whinnied. Turning to Siegfried, he asked “what are we even doing here?” “Well, remember those assholes at Helm’s Hold that you burned down?” “Yeah?” “And how these assholes burned down a bunch of the Burning Dawn’s chapterhouses in the Sword Coast and threw a bunch of their members in prison?” “Uh-huh?” “Well, we want to go inside and ask them why the Gilded Eye is burning down their houses in other cities and is throwing their mates in the clink,” Siegfried said loudly, aiming his words through the gap. “Aha,” Equwen replied. Turning to Anastasia, he cast speak with animals. “Listen,” he said to the Lady’s warhorse. “I don’t know what we’re doing here. I don’t mean to make a mess of this whole situation, but what do you say we leave these two to it and just get out of here?” The warhorse looked down her long nose at Erwen. “I serve the Lady,” Anastasia nickered. “Where she goes, I go, unless it’s indoors.” “Great, we’re taking this inside!” Erwen dropped out of wildshape and neatly somersaulted through the hole in the wall. Siegfried winked at Lady Harianna and tumbled through the hole in the wall. He caught his foot on a table leg and stumbled into a chair, breaking it as he fell heavily to the floor. Lady Harianna stepped gingerly through the breach and offered a gauntlet to Siegfried, who grasped it in his hand. She pulled up the half-orc with surprising strength. They were standing in what looked like a taproom or pub, where the Order of the Burning Dawn members would likely meet to share in drink and song. There were tapestries on the walls featuring the Order’s livery, and trophies were mounted here and there. It was obvious from the thick layer of dust on everything that the bar had been closed for some time. The corner hearth was dark and cold. The spirit of camaraderie had long fled this scene, as the venue was desolate and unused. Siegfried’s sharp eyes picked out recent footprints in the dust leading off in several directions. He motioned silently to his companions, pointing to the footsteps, while loudly saying, “doesn’t look like anyone’s been in here in months.” He carefully stepped around the footprints and moved towards a door in the north end of the room. Erwen padded towards the bar looking for a bottle of ale. As he passed the hearth, he snapped his fingers, produced flame and lit the fireplace. The room was suddenly illuminated in a flickering orange glow of firelight, the tables and chairs casting strange shadows on the walls. Axe in hand, Siegfried opened the door slowly to reveal the chapterhouse’s pantry and kitchen. He smelled a bit of decay, a bit of rot, and a bit of disuse. Congealed grease glued a frying pan to a stovetop. Flies buzzed amid a burst sack of rotting grain. Erwen breezed in, on the lookout for corked bottles of ale. He picked up three glasses and wiped them out as he passed through. Behind the bar, he found what he was looking for and lined up the three glasses and a bottle of ale on the bartop, whistling as he did so. “Siegfried, clean these up,” he called to his colleague. Siegfried snapped his fingers and prestidigitated the glasses clean. Erwen stacked the glasses into a pyramid. He uncorked the bottle and expertly poured the booze into the three glasses without spilling a drop. Several shadows in the greatroom began to move towards the trio. As Siegfried examined the pantry, he heard Harianna give a sharp intake of breath and the ring of her sword as it was pulled from its scabbard. “I’m going to need more glasses,” Erwen said, failing to notice a shadow rising up behind him. He yelped in pain as the unseen attacker stabbed him viciously, one of the slashes slamming him in the kidney. Erwen staggered back against the bar as the assassin’s final cut opened an artery. A shadow spun around the corner of the hearth towards the half-orc. Siegfried felt the cold kiss of steel as a blade plunged through a chink in his armor. Spinning about, he was confronted by a hooded figure in studded leather armor, his face covered in an impassive white mask. The same masks that obscured the faces of the killers who had infiltrated House Nidris in Neverwinter. The shock of recognition was overshadowed by the pain of the wound as the attacker’s shortsword danced out again and opened a bleeding cut on Siegfried’s neck. Lady Harianna drew up her sword and squared off as the third shadow darted towards her. She attempted to block the assassin’s accurate strikes, but the attacker was quicker than she was. Harianna winced as the blade hit home, but held her ground. She reflexively parried a blow that turned a killing strike into a near miss, opening a wound on her cheek, and managed to knock the attacker’s final strike aside. Her expression was one of shock and disbelief at the assassin’s audacity as she shouted, “In the name of He Who Watches, I shall watch you bleed!” She valiantly swung her greatsword, which the attacker managed to parry aside, but the assassin couldn’t bring his sword up quickly enough to block her backswing. The attacker staggered back and desperately dodged the Lady’s third strike. Erwen cringed as the assassin struck him again, but ducked the second swing. He wasn’t lucky enough to dodge the third strike, which slashed his arm viciously. Siegfried managed to throw his shield up to block each of the assassin’s attacks. “Oh no, you’ve had your fun,” he snarled at his attacker as he thrust the man’s blade aside contemptuously. Across the room, the third assassin pressed the attack against the Lady Harianna, stabbing her in the thigh between two armor plates. She parried the second and third swings. Her blood was up, her breathing heavy as she glared at her quarry. “Dust elemental assassins!” Siegfried shouted. “Leave none alive; they’re of no use to us!” “Way ahead of you,” Erwen said as he conjured animals . A pack of six dire wolves blinked into existence in the greatroom, growling and snarling. “Get ‘em, boys!” Erwen shouted as he wildshaped into a dire wolf himself and howled in vengeful rage. Lady Harianna cast healing word on the druid and then circled her target, swinging her greatsword with precision. She landed two out of three body blows on the assassin, who stumbled backwards, bleeding from several long cuts across his body. A spectral fist of fire and ash landed on the ground next to Lady Harianna and took the form of a Helmite battle standard as Siegfried cast healing spirit . Siegfried attempted to strike his attacker with a stream of venom from his ethereal venomizer. The assassin ducked as the venom splashed against the wall behind him. Siegfried rushed to Lady Harianna’s side and bathed in the healing light of the battle standard. The pack of wolves descended on Erwolf’s attacker, dogpiling him beneath a furry tornado of tooth and claw. He threw off angry wolves left and right as he tried to stab at Erwolf. He slashed at the wolves in frustration as his quarry evaded his attack. One of the assassins broke and ran towards the far corner of the room. Lady Harianna’s attacker swung wildly as she parried his blows, but managed to slash her arm with his third strike. Harianna cried out as the wound began to bleed profusely. Furrwen bit down on his attacker’s arm and shook him like a rag doll, knocking the man back to the floor. Furrwen leapt away towards Siegfried’s healing spirit . Harianna, enraged, slashed her target with her greatsword, landing a body blow that sent the man spinning away. “One of them’s trying to get away!” she called to Siegfried. Siegfried spun about and pointed at the fleeing assassin. “The lady has not bid you leave,” as he cast Siegfried’s irrefutable command . The assassin wobbled in place for a moment, and then silently bent his knee, staying in place at the foot of the stairs to the chapterhouse’s second level. There was a flash of dust as the pack of wolves tore the assassin apart with a crunch of bone. The pack howled in frustration as their quarry disappeared, denying them their meal. Four of them ran after the other assassin, biting him and dragging him to the floorboards. “After you,” Siegfried said to his target. The man attempted to stand, but failed, staying on one knee. “Finally, someone kneels when I tell them to,” Siegfried said under his breath. The prone assassin slashed at one of the wolves and struggled to get to his feet. Furrwen bit down on the masked assassin’s arm, causing him to drop his sword. “Oh, Helm, I pray you watch this!” Lady Harianna stepped up and swung her greatsword overhead in a savage chop that took the masked man’s head clean off. The body and head both disappeared into ash before they could hit the floor. Lady Harianna grunted in primal satisfaction at her handiwork. Siegfried misty stepped to close the distance with the remaining assassin. “Now,” he said. “if I recall correctly, that mask silences you and destroys your body upon death to hide your identity. I’ve been collecting masks recently.” He deftly removed the man’s mask. “Hello, Gorgeous,” Siegfried said as he took a look at the assassin’s face, which was contorted in impotent rage and frustration. Siegfried smiled as he realized that he recognized this man as a member of the Order of the Gilded Eye. His smile took on a sinister look. “Now, where have I seen you before? Helm’s Hold? The bridge near Rothé Valley? Skulking about in the Hall of Justice’s gallery in Neverwinter? I am simply delighted to make your acquaintance, but first I should introduce you. Lady Hawkwinter, may I introduce this man as a colleague of your brother’s. A man of the cloth, so to speak.” He grabbed the hapless man by the ear and dragged him towards Lady Harianna. “Please don’t eat this one,” he said to Furrwen’s wolves. “Too late,” Furrwen growled. His pack pounced on the unmasked assassin. Siegfried sighed and shrugged. “Erwen, if you kill this one, you’re going to have to bring him back.” He thought for a moment and then brightened. “In fact, that sounds like a peachy idea.” He bent down to the struggling assassin who was moaning in agony as the wolves feasted on his flesh, ignoring the blood spatters and sounds of rending muscle and bone. He waved the mask in front of the man’s face. “I’ve got your exit strategy here, mate.” He shoved the mask into his cloak and stepped back, letting the wolves continue to maul the man. “We will raise you as many times as we need. You will talk eventually.” The man began to weep and cry as he was torn apart. “No, please, stop, oh no, please!” He burbled. “Erwen, we are going to have to send an apology fruit basket to Dagult Neverember,” Siegfried said over the sounds of the dying man’s screams, mentally composing a note. “The assassins that I thought you sent to kill me were instead sent by the Order of the Gilded Eye, in complete disregard of your every command. My apologies.” “Wait, what?” Furrwen said. “I like fruit baskets.”