With a feral roar, Furr-wen lunged at the retreating Gilded Eye agent, his claws digging long furrows in the wood as he threw himself at the door that was slammed shut before him. The door jumped in its frame but held firm. The wildshaped druid turned to his pack of wolves and pointed at the door. His canine companions nodded, their jaws slavering. Lady Harianna elegantly held her greatsword just under the chin of the immobilized and bewitched Gilded Eye assassin as Siegfried finished tying him in a convoluted rope-and-knot restraint. “Go then,” the Lady said to Siegfried. “I shall keep a close eye on this one.” “Siegfried bowed expansively and said. “I’ll go and save our newfound hostages. Please take care not to lose our quarry here.” Lady Harianna smiled and winked. “Wouldn’t think of it, Master Thann.” Siegfried grinned and bounded up the stairway. Reaching the pack of snarling wolves, he made a few mental calculations based on his knowledge of Waterdhavian dockside architecture and with only the slightest misgiving cast dimension door and somersaulted through a planar void to appear with a flash inside the locked chamber. “Hello there,” he said to the room’s occupants as he got his bearings. Of immediate concern was a floating spectral sword hanging in the air before him. The blade flashed towards him in a radiant blur, but Siegfried was quick with his shield and blocked the spiritual weapon’s attack. The rest of the room revealed its mysteries to the half-orc. Across the room, backing slowly away, was a masked Gilded Eye assassin holding an unconscious Halfling before them, a knife to his throat. In the corner near the door was a grisly sight – a male elf tied to a chair, brsuied and bloodied head slumped forward on his chest, his forearms tied to the chair’s arms with his fingers brutally mutilated. The door sagged under a muffled assault of growls and howls as Furrwen’s wolfpack went on the offensive. There was a splintering sound as the wooden door gave way in a shower of flinders and sawdust. The long slavering jaws of two wolves poked in through the ragged remains of the door. Siegfried’s grin turned feral. A flash of cold hearth ashes began to swirl about the assassin as he cast a hexblade curse on the Gilded Eye agent. Theryn, Dhaera, Bob and Alec stepped over the threshold of the Glory Vault. “Bob, how do you feel about us heathens stepping into Sune’s Holy of Holies?” Alec asked his brother in a low voice as the group passed beneath the watchful eyes of the Seraphs above. “Given the circumstances, I think it’s fine,” Bob whispered back. “Behold,” Dhaera said in a hushed voice. “Sune’s Glory Vault and Dowry Chamber.” Behind them, the doors to Sune’s Dowry Chamber slid closed. There was a muffled thump that reverberated through the treasure vault, the soundwave answered by a series of crystal pings and musical tinkling from the precious objects that were stacked on every available surface. At the north end of the chamber was a large sculpture of Lady Firehair, her carved red tresses reaching the floor along with her gown. Overhead, the roof of the Glory Vault was a domed ceiling of leaded and mirrored glass that reflected the light of several shiny driftglobes that orbited one another in an intricate and delicate dance that threatened to hypnotize anyone who viewed the display for very long. The globes bathed the room in a holy light. Many secret and hidden beauties could be seen in every direction on tables, plinths, altars and relic-encrusted shelves around the room. Before them was a statue of a voluptuous mermaid made out of flowing water that was held in place by surface tension. Further beyond was an intricate multi-level house of cards stacked more than twenty feet high. They could tell that the house had been assembled with great care. “Watch your step,” Bob hissed to his burly brother. “Way ahead of you,” Alec said, his eyes and palms wide as he tried to maintain his sense of bodily awareness around the myriad fragile objects that loomed dangerously close to them. Statues, paintings, and other objets d’art surrounded them as they made their way into the Glory Vault. Theryn’s wide eyes took in the treasures around him and allowed Dhaera to direct his gaze towards some trinkets of historical and artistic value. Here and there were a number of objects, five to six feet in height, covered in silken shrouds to protect them from the elements. Bob set about to find the shiniest object in the room. He began to thread his way through the tightly-packed array of treasures as his eyes caught something interesting. The object of Bob’s desire was a large full-length dressing mirror, its face reflecting the overlapping auras of the lightmotes above. The mirror was behind held up by a nude statue fashioned from bronze. Bob could see that a silken shroud had fallen away from the mirror to gather on the polished floor in front of the mirror. Bob approached the mirror and gazed into it. Returning his gaze was the image of his long-dead grandfather Robert, standing amid the reflected treasures of the room. “How is this possible?” “I don’t rightfully know,” his grandfather said. “Where are you?” Bob asked. “I might as well ask the same of you!” his grandfather replied. “Wherever I was, I have been summoned here.” “Well, I’m not dead. I’m in a Sunnite temple,” Bob said. “Well, that’s nice for you,” his grandfather said. “It’s a nice place,” Bob said. Bob’s Grandfather nodded and then fixed Bob with a look of fond seriousness. “Well, it’s been a long time, Robert.” Have you been living up to your family’s legacy?” “One of the family’s legacies,” Bob said. “Not the one that everybody was expecting.” “Oh, do tell,” his grandfather said. “Remember that dragon you used to tell me stories about?” Bob asked. His grandfather smiled. “How could I forget?” “Well, I found him,” Bob said. “Or at least, he found me.” “Really!?” his Grandfather’s eyes went wide. “That’s incredible!” His gaze wavered for a moment. “I see you still have your family heirloom,” he indicated Bob’s dragon staff. “Yes, it’s something to knock heads with,” Bob said with a smile. “Well, I must say I’m very proud of you, my boy,” his grandfather said. “Thank you,” Bob said. “Is there anything you wanted me to tell anyone?” His grandfather thought for a moment. “A great question, yes, yes…” “Also Alec is with me, just over there,” Bob motioned behind him. “Well, this is a treat!” Bob’s grandfather said. “Two grandsons coming to visit! It has been a long time.” “I’m good right here!” Alec said, gingerly trying to avoid knocking over a trove of treasures. “Wait a minute,” he said as he slowly weaved through the treasures until he was within the arc of the mirror. “Ah, it’s a family reunion!” Grandfather chortled. To Bob he asked, “Did Andusk recognize you?” “Somewhat,” Bob said. “He didn’t know who I was specifically, but recognized my lineage.” “Did he honour the covenant, the bond of blood?” Grandfather asked. “Yes,” Bob said. “Fascinating,” his grandfather said. “So you met the famed Golden Dragon of the West.” “And became him, for a short period of time,” Bob said. His grandfather’s eyes went ever wider. “Really! I am doubly proud! And what of Kirkwall?” “I haven’t been back in a few years but from what I’ve heard things are good back home,” Bob said. “That is good to hear,” his grandfather said. “Just remember the bond that was made and the promise to protect. It can go both ways, you see. Kirkwall may once again need the Dragon’s help, but you might need to help this Andusk as well.” “I am doing that right now, grandfather,” Bob said. “Well, my boy, I always knew you were listening when I told you the same stories my grandfather told me, and that his grandfather told him, all the way back to Robert the First.” “So the stories are real,” Bob said. “That they are,” his grandfather said. “My advice to you is take what you’ve learned, settle down with someone you love, have a family, and share what you have learned with your children’s children.” “I will,” Bob said. “And for heaven’s sake, write things down so you can keep the story straight!” his grandfather thundered. “You have had first-hand contact with the Dragon of legend. Don’t forget what you have experienced. Don’t let your memory falter, young one, so that your grandchildren won’t have to piece things together from half-remembered stories from ice-fishing out on the lake.” “I will, grandfather,” Bob said. “That’s good,” Grandfather said. “Well, I must bid you boys farewell. You’re both looking strapping and as dashing as I remember.” “As are you,” Bob said. “Why thank you!” his grandfather said. “I have always said that it’s important to stay in tip-top physical condition so that you can pass on the family legends to the next generation. It would be a shame if neither of you were able to sire children who would have children of their own. I pray that you have descendants who walk in your shadow. But my shadow is fading. It has been so good to see you. Please give my love to your parents.” “We will,” Bob said. “For now, I must rest,” his grandfather said. “Until we meet again. Farewell…” His grandfather’s image faded away, showing only the reflection of the inanimate objects behind Bob. Bob turned to Dhaera. “How did that happen?” “Ah, that is what is known as a Mirror of the Otherworld , that creates a link between its user and a loved one who has been lost,” Dhaera said as she made her way over to them. She bent to retrieve the silken shroud. “Interesting, it usually links one with a lost love, but family connections are lovely in their own way, I suppose.” She cast the shroud over the mirror, obscuring it. “I think we should bring my friend Varien here after we free him from hell,” Bob said. “He would have some interesting conversations with his lost loved ones.” “Indeed,” Dhaera said thoughtfully. “Wait, what did you say about hell?” “Don’t worry about it,” Bob said quickly. “Well, we keep our collection of magic mirrors covered up due to their various properties,” Dhaera said. “Some are, shall we say, harder to look at than others. Sorry, I might have cautioned you, but I was more worried about your brother’s ability to move around safely.” “Hey, I’m managing,” Alec said, almost knocking over the house of cards as he backed up. Dhaera made a seething sound and shook her head. Theryn continued to look around and came upon a glass bottle on its side held up by a wooden stand. The bottle itself was stoppered. Within the bottle was a tiny forest garden replete with bonsai trees placed amid a meditative garden spaced along a pathway of white sand and stones. Theryn’s eyes widened as he saw a tiny human man holding a rake step out from beneath a tree, raking the sand behind him into swirls as he walked the path through the artfully placed trees. At the far end of the bottle was a small shrine. A small placard was placed on the wooden stand in delicate but stern script that read “do not touch.” A shadowy figured stepped out from around the corner in the Burning Dawn chapterhouse room, casting a spell. Siegfried attempted a counterspell , but the attempt fizzled. There was a whooshing sound as a flaming sphere ignited in the space before the open door. At the spellcaster’s command, the sphere rolled across the room and struck the wolves at the door. There was a smell of burning fur and flesh and howls of anger from the targets of the attack. The second assassin used the blade of the dagger to tip up the mask, revealing her features to Siegfried. Siegfried recognized her as one of the Gilded Eye representatives at the trial of the Champions of Phandalin, who had accompanied Sir Benegar Kevethiel, the Gilded Eye’s advocate during the proceedings. At that time, she had been garbed in the outfit of a Warden, a jurist’s rank common to both the Order of the Gauntlet and the Order of the Gilded Eye. During the trial, she had never been officially identified, but Siegfried recalled references to a “Warden Jessia” in the detailed notes that Radegast had left in his care. Siegfried smiled. “But soft, what light through yonder window breaks? It is the East, and Warden Jessia is the sun!” “Well spoken, advocate from Neverwinter,” Jessia responded, her lip curling in a sneer. “Would you speak so eloquently in the defence this one’s life as you did for the defence of your friends?” Her knife was back at the Halfling’s throat. “My fair, beautiful maiden,” Siegfried said. “You misunderstand my adulation. My joy is not with these strangers that you hold hostage with such fervent desperation, but it is in fact with your beautiful face, which is evidence of the treachery that thou has committed, all of your order, and your city, to the very particular, most petty and wrathful Dagger of Neverwinter, whose decree you have violated, despite promised made to his face. I care not for this Halfling you hold, though I will take him if you’re offering, but know that you’re my prisoner now.” He turned to the spellcaster, whose garb resembled that of a cleric of Helm beneath her hooded robe. “Now, you, on the other hand, I do not know if you’re important. I will find that out later. Right now, all I need is your head.” From the flaming sphere, Furrwen clapped his paws. Warden Jessia threw back her head and laughed. “Oh, my dearest advocate, you think that you’ve taken a piece off of some chessboard, but you, fool, are not even playing the game.” She chuckled. “What exactly do you think you have on the Gilded Eye?” “The Gilded Eye? Siegfried said. “I have no quarrel with thee. You overestimate my greed. I came here to impress a girl I like.” “Bully for you, advocate,” Jessia replied. “You think that the Gilded Eye’s presence here in Waterdeep is evidence of some kind of misdeed, or double-dealing against the Lord Protector of Neverwinter, and you could very well send word to him, you could very well claim that our actions here violate the Protector’s Law, and you could bring war to the gates of Helm’s Hold, but then you would be doing nothing other than proving yourself a pawn of Neverwinter, and not a player.” “Milady, you’ve made the same mistake as your dearly departed companions down the hall,” Siegfried said. “They’re not my wolves. I tried to save your brethren on the banks of the Neverwinter River, but they were set aflame. Speaking of which,” he turned to the cleric. “You’ve killed yourself, madam, by setting fire to these wolves. Your fate has been decided and I cannot defend you. Your life ended the moment you set fire to those wolves.” He turned to Warden Jessia. “But I can still negotiate for your safety, perhaps even your escape. The burner of the wolves is already dead. You, however, we can talk.” “We will judge whose death has been ensured,” Warden Jessia said. “Do you have something to offer?” “I could be convinced to allow you to escape,” Siegfried said. “Not you,” he said offhandedly to the cleric, “but I could be convinced to allow the Warden to make an escape, or I can take her head. Both please me. I could take these hostages off your hand, perhaps, but you’d have to convince me of their worth.” “Well, that all depends on what you value, advocate,” Warden Jessia replied. She began to back towards the room’s window. “I’m really not hearing anything productive from you, advocate. Do not confuse zealotry with incompetence. We have powerful friends.” With that, she tossed the Halfling aside and defenestrated, followed quickly by the cleric. Siegfried sighed. The unconscious Halfling landed on a bed nearby, bouncing and rolling listlessly. Furrwen bounded into the room and leapt out, landing in the alley on all-fours. His quarry had disappeared, but his nose told him that they had split, one running east and one west. His keen eyes revealed an open manhole in the centre of the alley. He dropped his wildshape and dragged the manhole lid aside. Inside the chapterhouse, Erwen’s wolf companions popped back to their home dimension. Erwen jumped down, dodging the channel of effluent that ran down the centre to presumably empty into Waterdeep’s harbour. Warden Jessia was running silently along the edge of the channel in full retreat. Erwen cast fire storm down the length of the sewer tunnel. There was a rumbling explosion and every manhole for 100 feet westward was launched into the air on a column of fire. Warden Jessia disappeared in the firestorm. Siegfried saw the orange glow of flames from Erwen’s fire storm . “That’s a good boy,” he said under his breath. Something struck him in the neck. Gingerly, he retrieved the flying crane messenger and unfolded the parchment. He glanced at it: Dearest Siegfried, I have conferred with my partner Mr. Hart and we have agreed that there may be a way or two forward for you on this difficult matter. Please present yourself to our office at your earliest convenience.” - Your Obedient Servant, Alphanse Wolfram. “And they say you can’t find good help these days,” Siegfried said with a smile. He moved to the window and looked down into the alley. Smoke was pouring out of the manholes along the western length of the alley. He stomped on the floor to get Lady Harianna’s attention. “We have two up here who need medical attention!” he called out. Siegfried dropped his undeniable authority and cast his healing spirit spell, bringing forth a banner that looked like the Order of the Burning Dawn’s livery. The Burning Dawn agents began to stir. “Up and at ‘em boys,” Siegfried said. “We’re here to help. The Lady downstairs will see to your injuries. Look alive, you’re being rescued. I’m going after the bitch that did this to us.” Siegfried hopped out the window and landed in the alley. Varien stirred within his tomb of ice. “A bit cold, isn’t it, Fiendsbane?” he said, his teeth chattering. He tried to peer past the foggy, distorted ice and could no longer see the Aspect of Levistus. I care not for the weather, Varien. A cold day in Hell is still Hell. “Well, I do have options at my disposal,” Varien said, and misty stepped out of the ice, rematerializing nearby. Varien looked down. “As if that worked,” he said, brushing ice crystals from his armour. He looked around. Though he was free, his situation had not improved too much. He moved to the warmth of the superheated crystal. He could see no other exit from the crystal cavern save for the way he had come in. From the darkness beyond, he could hear growls and cackles. “Fiendsbane, I have a dangerous idea,” Varien said. All your ideas are dangerous , Fiendsbane replied. The growling, screams and hoots drew closer. Varien steadied himself, drew a mental picture of Siegfried in his mind and cast banishment as a gang of icy devils leaped into the room, their talons outstretched. He swung his blade, tearing open a rift in the fabric of the demiplane, and stepped through it. In Varien’s head, he heard the Aspect’s voice. Oh, well played, Varien Aether. There was a crackling of ice as he disappeared from the planar conduit. The icy devils howled in impotent rage.