There was turmoil in Beauty’s Temple. The twin revelations that High Lady Ssaeral Shadowstar was artificially extending both her life and her beauty through dark magic, and that High Exultant Iseriasha Darkeyes was in fact a succubus in disguise had thrown the Sunnites into disarray. Shamefaced paladins, weeping acolytes, and confused pilgrims milled about inside Beauty’s Temple as the rumours flew at supersonic speed through the cathedral. Theological arguments broke out and dissolved into cathartic sobbing, and the Glory Guard is attempting to maintain order even as the order began to break down. Varien activated his divine sense and could no longer detect any sign of desecration or evil within the temple sanctuary. The aura of goodness that rang like chimes was no longer discordant. He knew that killing a fiend on the Material Plane meant that it was banished to the Nine Hells, where it would reform. Otherwise, he couldn’t detect anything out of the ordinary. Nero of the Garden and the two Seraphs. “The evil has been defeated,” Varien said, sheathing Fiendsbane. “Vashi has returned to the Nine Hells, and for now she is vanquished.” “And probably demoted, now that I think about it,” Siegfried said. “It’s always politics with you, Siegfried,” Varien said. Alec cleaned succubus blood from his sword. “There will be burial rites and rituals that we shall have to observe,” Nero was saying as he gently cleaned up the High Lady’s remains into a conjured urn. The saint mused for a moment. “Unless we were to attempt a resurrection, but I fear she is too far gone.” As he gingerly picked up the High Lady’s skull, it broke apart in his hands, ash sifting through his fingers. He tsked and shook his head ruefully. “Poor, deceived child, you knew not what you had.” Dhaera Darklight was wincing as she pressed her fingertips to her temples. “What happened?” she asked aloud. Theryn approached her and bowed. “It was nothing personal, merely strategical,” he said apologetically. Dhaera frowned at Theryn. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?” she asked. “Because I have a wicked headache.” “No, the headache will pass, but the truth of what happened here will last forever,” Theryn replied. Dhaera sighed. Siegfried listened to the growing murmuration amongst the Sunnites. There was talk of calling for a Magister, and that just wouldn’t do. Siegfried squatted down next to Nero and placed two fingers under the aasimar’s chin, lifting his head to view the chaos in the temple. “Gardener,” Siegfried said softly. “The Lily will still need you after you have put out the forest fire. At the moment you are the only anchor your brothers and sisters have right now.” Nero nodded absently. “Well, Siegfried, your metaphors may be mixed but your message is crystal clear.” Siegfried let go of Nero’s chin and turned to Theryn. “Theryn, shall we two outsiders leave this place and go get some breakfast outside, our work here being done?” “You had my curiosity, now you have my attention,” Theryn said. Nero dusted off his hands and then clapped them sharply enough for them to echo across the sanctuary and cause the stained-glass windows to vibrate. The Sunnites quieted as they looked to Saint Nero of the Garden, who seemed to glow with a nimbus of holy light. “Now then, sisters and brothers, supplicants of Lady Firehair all, things are not as bad as all that,” he said in a soothing tone. “Come now, let us not lose our serenity and betray our inner harmonies with the discord of uncertainty. As followers of the Lady Firehair, we all know our duties, and while tears and group hugs are acceptable for now, we must refocus our energies and move forward together. So, cool yourselves off in the sacred baths and let us reconvene at highsun and speak about our next steps as a congregation. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to contact an undertaker.” “Saint Nero,” Varien said quietly. “Would it be out of place for me to conduct a funeral rite in order to preserve the High Lady’s soul and ensure her remains are incorruptible going forward?” Nero nodded sagely. “I shall witness and observe this rite,” he agreed. “And I of course extend my invitation to breakfast to one and all,” Siegfried was saying to the rest of the party, “back at Sweetsong House where my family resides. My mother is known for her prodigious talent in ordering hashed browns.” “I will join you once my rite has completed,” Varien said, cradling the urn containing the High Lady’s remains. “I believe I owe Lady Ssaeral that much, at least.” Nero smiled. “I would give you a word of caution, friends, that you not stray too far from Waterdeep in the days ahead. The death of a high-ranking member of the clergy in Waterdeep is no small matter, and there will be questions. This event will have to be investigated.” “Of course,” Siegfried said. “And we shall rely on your saintly testimony and sacred accounts to attest to matters so that conspiring minds cannot distort the divine providence of Lady Firehair in this matter.” Nero nodded. “Yes, I feel as though we’ll all be saying that to a Magister in fairly short order. You should expect a summons, I’m sure.” The Sunnites began to gather in the pews as Varien and Nero began to prepare for the funeral rites. Siegfried nodded at Soronil Noonshadow, who he saw lurking at the far end of the sanctuary. The elf returned his nod. The party, minus Varien, left the temple, stepping out into an ominous wind that carried with it stinging, salty raindrops. Siegfried looked about the street. “Now, where might one find a bird box?” He brightened as he saw the familiar shape of Waterdeep’s signature communications system on a street corner nearby. He pulled open the bifold door and took note of the small standing writing desk with its pen on a chain and attendant coin slot. Putting a coin in the slot, he deftly withdrew the box’s entire supply of magical paper with a smirk. He picked up the pen with a jangle of the chain and began to write: Blackstaff, this wind carries with it an infernal element. Should you sound the call, me and mine will fight for Waterdeep this day. Holding the paper close to his lips, he whispered “Vajra Safahr.” The paper folded itself into a crane and flapped out the exit slot in the roof of the bird box. A small glowing gem above the door winked out as the device registered an empty writing box. Siegfried hailed a coach and the party headed towards Tarnath Street to Sweetsong House. The party entered the foyer to find Cauldar Marskyl, the Thann Family’s major-domo, waiting patiently. “Welcome, young master,” Marskyl said. “It’s been too long,” Siegfried said. An eyebrow arched. “Has it, young master? I trust your absence from your bed means that your evening with the Lady Hawkwinter concluded satisfactorily?” “Let’s just say that all hostility the Hawkwinters might have had towards us has been directed to other people,” Siegfried said. Cauldar nodded. “I would expect nothing less from you, young master. Now, you and your friends look as though you’ve been ridden hard and put away wet, as the saying goes. Perhaps some breakfast is in order?” “Ah, Cauldar, you are truly the second saint we met today, the first being an actual saint,” Siegfried said with a smile. “Once again, I am not surprised,” Cauldar said. “Please, friends, make your way to the breakfast hall, first door to your left off the grand foyer.” He gave the group an appraising glance. “If you’d like to freshen up a little bit, feel free to make use of our amenities.” His eyes lingered on Erwen momentarily. Siegfried snapped his fingers and prestidigitated himself clean. “Quite,” Cauldar said. He led the party to the hall reserved for guest breakfast entertainment. It was a wood-panelled room of expansive size, its walls covered with tasteful tapestries and objets d’art. The long dining table was already set with china and silverware, with steaming carafes of kaeth at close hand. Erwen hopped into the seat at the head of the table. Siegfried took one of the side chairs. The rest of the party was seated, including Varien, who had finished the funeral rites in the meantime. A bevy of unseen servants began to ferry dishes and platters from the sideboard to the dining table. Waffles, eggs, hashbrowns, bacon and sundry other comestible requisites were soon piled high along the table, highest atop Alec’s place setting. “My paternal grandmother was a Halfling,” Siegfried explained, “and her legacy at Sweetsong House is the notion that you are not full until grandma says you are full.” He pointed to a painting over the hearth of a matronly Halfling woman staring down at the party almost expectantly. Erwen nodded. “So, first and second breakfasts, then?” “Indeed,” Siegfried said. The party was treated to a Halfling-scale feast, the empty platters whisked away and replaced with full ones until even the largest appetites in the room were beyond sated. Theryn had to adjust his robes accordingly. “I was raised on lentils and discipline,” he groaned. “Not this.” Cauldar hovered politely but unobtrusively during breakfast. “So, young master, have you been showing your friends a good time in Waterdeep?” Siegfried’s mood had improved greatly with each course of the meal. “Have I!?” he said with a smile. He slapped Varien on the back. “This guy right here escaped from hell today! What even is that?” “Really?” Cauldar said, politely impressed. “Bravo, indeed.” Siegfried has no secrets in this house, I see, Theryn mused. The party members could tell that Siegfried was completely at ease and relaxed. “Well, you should know that there has been quite a lot of activity up at the Manor,” Cauldar was telling Siegfried. “As you know, your brother Felix is currently there training, and your sisters Mialee, Willow and Sariel have popped in and out as they have been able to take their leave from their studies or religious duties. They are representing the Thann name quite well in society, I daresay.” There was a banging sound from the townhouse’s upper floor that caused a shudder to ripple through both the building’s frame and through the major-domo. Cauldar winced as his eyes flicked up towards the ceiling. “I wish I could say the same for your younger brothers, but I suppose as long as they are only causing trouble inside of the house, they are not causing trouble outside of the house.” Siegfried smiled. “Tell me, Cauldar, has Kowalski done anything nice for mum lately?” Cauldar smiled wryly. “You know, it was the strangest thing, he emerged from his room yesterday armed with a device of his own design that causes bouquets of flowers to appear at the push of a button within the nearest vase your mother happens to walk by. At first, I thought he was trying to shoot her with the weapon, but instead it has really brightened his mother’s mood. Quite out of character for the young Kowalski.” Cauldar frowned. “Of course, the flowers wilt almost instantly and release a rather noxious smell if not cleaned up promptly, but the young tinkerer claims he’s close to solving that problem.” Theryn sniffed as he picked out the smell of rotting flowers from the breakfast aromas. “Well, I hope his new demeanour sticks,” Siegfried said. There was another boom and rattle from above. “Quite,” Cauldar said. The party discussed their next moves, mulling over the information that Varien and Seigfried had received from Mordai Vell about nearby sites of interest regarding the Sinister Seven of Nessus. Some of the locales were close to Waterdeep, while others lay near Neverwinter to the north. “I do have a few things brewing in Neverwinter at the moment, so if we could let that stew a bit before we all head up there, that would be preferable, Seigfried said.” Theryn arched an eyebrow. “Sorting out the current issue of a gathering orc warband threatening Waterdeep and securing the Ettin Axe of Uruth is one of my primary goals at the moment,” Siegfried continued. “We need to get it before my brother gets it, because the more I can deny a unified warboss the longer Waterdeep is safe from orcs. If everything my brother does to legitimize his claim has already been stolen by me, he will not be able to unify that orc warband underneath him.” Varien arched an eyebrow. “We only need to do that long enough for Neverwinter, Helm’s Hold and Waterdeep to prepare for an orc invasion,” Siegfried said. “And I have already been seeding readiness in those cities.” “Do tell,” Varien said. Siegfried prestidigitated a slate and chalk and began to sketch out his plan visually. “Well, I notified Kavatos Stormeye, Neverember’s trusted advisor, of the gathering orc horde at Tholl Sla-Houk,” Siegfried said, “while also sending word to General Sabine of the Order of the Gilded Eye’s attempts on the lives of Waterdhavian nobles against Neverember’s direct orders.” “While keeping your name out of it, I’m sure,” Theryn said. Siegfried smiled. “There are those whose egos need an appropriate amount of stroking when it comes to giving news to the Lord Protector. Who am I to deny them that pleasure? I simply fed intelligence to Sergeant Knox, who will then turn that information over to the General, who would be absolutely delighted to get back into the Lord Protector’s good graces with some good news about their mutual enemies, leaving Sergeant Knox free to look after my people in Neverwinter, or better yet, look the other way while my other friends in Neverwinter spring them from the gaol.” “Makes sense,” Bob murmured. “And that is why I spoke to Mordai Vell about the plight of my Harpers in Neverwinter, who were charged with the task of charting the Dread Rings that threaten the City of Skilled Hands, but who were arrested on trumped-up charges instead,” Siegfried connected the dots on his slate. “If they were to be released, they would be very happy to leave Neverwinter, and would be very happy to chart out these Dread Rings.” “That’s a lot to keep track of,” Erwen said, scratching his head. “So, to summarize, we need to let these plans gestate for a tenday or so until my allies are out of town, Lord Neverember is in a good mood, Helm’s Hold is angry and back under Neverwinter’s control military, so they will be distracted so that Varien can go back underground and slay some devils. I did that for you, Varien, by the way.” Fiendsbane rattled. “Oh, that reminds me,” Siegfried said, turning to Bob. “I did borrow your identity when I was handing over a Gilded Eye agent to the Order of the Gauntlet to allay any suspicions as to why you might be avoiding the city’s centre with those headaches of yours. Can’t have you running afoul of any anti-dragon ordinances, as it were.” Bob nodded slowly. “Don’t do me any favours, Siegfried, but thank you.” “And Theryn, I know you wanted to explore some of Waterdeep’s other temples,” Siegfried said. “Well, are we going to be harassed walking around the streets of Waterdeep now?” Theryn asked. While they were conversing, there was the chime of a doorbell that echoed in the grand foyer. Cauldar stiffened. “Please excuse me,” he said, exiting the dining hall. Siegfried put his slate away. “Why, we’ve done nothing but be a service to Waterdeep, and I intend to make Waterdeep agree with that sentiment before we take our leave.” “Well, there is the matter of a dead High Priestess,” Bob said. “Ah,” Siegfried said with a dismissive wave. “She was dead before we got here.” Bob snorted. “High Lady Ssaeral shouldn’t have done what she did,” Varien said, “but now she’s dead. Here endeth the lesson.” Cauldar returned. “There is a caller at the door for you, young master.” Siegfried frowned and glanced at his companions. Something about the major-domo’s demeanour was off, and his friends knew it too. The major-domo’s eyes were somewhat glazed over and his posture somehow even stiffer than it was before he’d gone to the front door. Theryn cast disguise self and took on the appearance of a household staff member in Thann livery. Siegfried dipped his thumb into some baked beans, smearing it across his lip, cheek and chin, and then grabbed a napkin, theatrically dabbing his cheek as he headed to the front door. Varien activated his divine sense but could not detect anything out of sorts. Theryn strode ahead and opened the door, regarding the small figure that stood on the front steps in the steady rain. Siegfried, putting on an air of nonchalance, walked over to greet them. The rain was coursing down over the caller, slicking down a mane of scraggly, unkempt hair that clung to the person’s face and shoulders. Siegfried couldn’t tell if the person was a Halfling or merely a child, but whoever it was was dressed in filthy rags that stained the stoop where they stood. The urchin smiled politely but stayed silent, staring up at Siegfried with red-rimmed eyes, her hands clasped before her. Siegfried did not recognize the person. They looked like they had just crawled out of a muddy alleyway. “Yes, I am Siegfried.” “Yes, yes you are,” the urchin chuckled. “Alms, alms for the poor, perhaps?” She reached into a pocket and withdrew a tin cup, which she held out expectantly. “The storm approaches,” the urchin said. “The storm approaches, and so does the Devil Behind Thrones, yes?” she cackled and coughed, showing black stumps of teeth. “I know it’s on your mind.” She nodded at Siegfried’s bean-stained napkin. “So sorry to interrupt breakfast, so sorry, yes?” Siegfried drew a silver thread of thought from his head, that of a pack of wolves devouring a deer, and placed it in the urchin’s cup. “And where might one find such a Devil?” The urchin chuckled harshly as she swirled the ectoplasm around inside her cup. “The druid could tell you, yes. There’s a storm, y’see, and the storm is approaching, and under cover, there be the Devil Behind Thrones. But you know this already, but what you don’t know is that a ship, a sailing ship, two-masted, yes? It raided a settlement, it did, north of Luskan, a certain Auckney, and stole a certain artifact from a temple it did. Yes. The ship goes by many names, you might know it as St. Asmod’s Hope . But concealed within the storm is St. Asmod’s Hope .” Varien lurked just out of sight in the grand foyer, but could hear the urchin’s words. He knew St. Asmod’s Hope as a pirate ship that was the scourge of the Sea of Moving Ice. He also knew that Auckney was a small, remote settlement north of Luskan, a small fiefdom run by a noble family on the Cold Run. Constantly beset by strong, cold winds, it rarely showed up on any official maps. “All you need to know,” the urchin continued, “there are many things, but what I am to tell you today is find the Leaning Lighthouse. If you don’t stop St. Asmod’s Hope before it passes the lighthouse, there is no stopping it. Our mutual acquaintance has a contact there, the lighthouse keeper, goes by the name of Jenks. He can tell you what you need to know. But know this, the Hand of Nessus has its hand out for St. Asmod’s Hope . One if by land, two if by sea, the old saying goes,” her monologue dissolved into hysterical cackles. Varien used his channel divinity as he rounded the corner, storming towards the urchin. “In the Holy Name of Sune, the Lady Firehair, I do denounce thee, wretch!” The urchin cringed as she crouched low before Varien, holding her head in her hands as she began to howl in fear. “Why, why? We are on the same side?” “Enough of your riddles, foul creature,” Varien said. “Tell us more about the Hand of Nessus.” “Varien, I think this might actually be a small child,” Siegfried said. The urchin wept. “Why, I was only having fun, I was just doing what I was told!” “Told by whom?” Varien asked. “The Hand of Nessus,” the urchin blubbered. “The Hand…” “What of them?” Varien asked. “They will oppose you!” the urchin yelped. “They will make a fist! That fist will meet your face!” Her cries dissolved into peals of unhinged laughter as she began to hop from one foot to the other. “What does this have to do with this ship, the Auckney?” Varien said. “Auckney’s a place, haven’t you been listening?” the creature moaned. “I have places to go, you know, but now I can’t!” “The ship was called The Fate of the Abbott ,” Siegfried said. “No!” the urchin stamped her foot indignantly. “Do I have to spell it out for you?” Theryn knew that the Leaning Lighthouse was a decommissioned lighthouse on the coast to the north. “What artifact was removed from the temple?” Varien said. “I don’t know if I should tell you!” the urchin cried. Varien began to slowly draw his sword. “The object of our mutual friend’s affections is an iron flask ,” the urchin said. “A flask?” Siegfried said. “for drinking?” The urchin rolled her eyes. “There’s more to it than that, I’m sure,” Varien growled. “Well it’s what’s inside the flask that matters, surely,” Siegfried said. “This one speaks true,” the urchin said. “What’s in the flask?” Varien said. “That’s between you and our friend,” the urchin said. “Don’t ask, don’t tell, don’t name names!” “The messenger is not given context to their message,” Siegfried said. “Only the messenge-sender knows what they’re on about.” “Just beware the Hand of Nessus,” the urchin said. “And we know who the Hand of Nessus is, don’t we Varien?” Siegfried said. “Yes,” Varien said, uncertainly. “So, there’s a ship in a cloud that sacked a fortress and they’re heading down with an iron flask and we need to intercept them before they reach the Leaning Lighthouse, because if we don’t they’ll open whatever is inside that iron flask and use it to ruin everything,” Siegfried said. “This one’s quick,” the urchin said. “Real quick.” “Now we just need to find out which leaning lighthouse this creature’s going on about,” Siegfried said. The urchin sputtered. “It’s…it’s leaning. I can’t make it any plainer than that. I’m no cartographer, but it’s between here and Thornhold, a stretch of islands and shoals and reefs and all sorts of navigational disasters that could befall any ship, but the Leaning Lighthouse was replaced by other markers ages ago. It is a convenient spot.” “Well then, we need to roll out,” Siegfried said. “All right then, you can go,” Varien said to the urchin. The urchin bowed, made as if to ask for alms, thought better of it, and then scampered out of the front entrance and ran off into the rain. “Okay, all that stuff about waiting around, we need to stow that and head out right now,” Siegfried said. “Want me to follow that?” Erwen asked, cocking his head in the direction of the retreating urchin. “Erwen, we need to go murder a thunderstorm,” Siegfried said. “I’m in,” Erwen said. “If you could just turn us into clouds, I could point you in the direction of the storm and we’ll murder it,” Siegfried said. Erwen scratched his head. “I don’t know if becoming a cloud and then flying into the middle of a raging storm is a good plan. But I can get you to the light house, unless we want to take a sea route.” “I could probably get us passage,” Varien said. “Varien, my family is in shipping. We’ll take one of mine,” Siegfried said. “And I shall sail the beast!” Varien said. “Can you get us there before the eye of the storm reaches us?” Siegfried said. “Damn right,” Varien said. “I have just the ship in mind,” Siegfried said. He turned and rushed to find his father. Millio Thann was in his study behind a desk laden with scrolls and parchment. “Yeah, Siegfried?” “Dad, we need to take the Tide-Runner out, immediately,” Siegfried said. “Oh yeah?” Millio said, shuffling papers. “You are, are you?” “Yes. Possible suicide mission, straight into a storm, murder some pirates, we’ll do you proud,” Siegfried said. “Wait a minute,” Millio said, hunting for some more paperwork. “The Tide-Runner , isn’t that the waterlogged sloop captained by that harridan Ironclaw?” “The very same,” Siegfried said. He knew that the Tide-Runner had an unsavoury reputation in the Thann merchant fleet and that Captain Ironclaw was thoroughly disreputable. Millio chuckled as he found what he was looking for. “Good news, Siegfried, her insurance is paid up. “Awesome,” Siegfried said. “Just make sure you can get her cargo to its destination, that would be preferable,” Millio said. “It might make more sense to unload the cargo before we leave,” Siegfried said. “I’ll tell you what, if you want to take the Tide-Runner , you have to make sure that Captain Ironclaw delivers,” Millio said firmly. “That’s my price for letting you take her out for a spin, and that way, what Lady Lureena doesn’t know won’t hurt us.” “You are wise, father,” Siegfried said. “Right back atcha,” Millio said, shooing him out. “You’ll find Captain Ironclaw passed out at The Mermaid’s Arms. Siegfried left his father’s study and then thought for a moment. “Yeemik!” he bellowed. There was a clattering of chess pieces from the parlour and the Tiefling stuck his horned head out of the door frame. “I thought my name was Jimmy?” He said. “Want to kill some demonic pirates?” Siegfried asked. “I’m in,” Yeemik said without delay. The party headed towards the Dock Ward and The Mermaid’s Arms, navigating a web of increasingly narrower, increasingly seedier streets as they did so. The Mermaid’s Arms was a dilapidated tavern that leaned drunkenly against the building next to it. As the party approached, someone was thrown through the window to land limply on the street surrounded by shards of glass as the sounds of a merry bar brawl reached their ears. “Oh, so it’s not dive chic, this is an actual dive,” Siegfried murmured. “I wonder if anyone I know is slumming it in there tonight?” They entered the establishment. At the centre of the shenanigans was an absolutely plastered half-elven female taking on four brutes twice her size. She wore a jaunty tricorne hat that appeared to be sluicing beer instead of rainwater poured from the balconies that teetered overhead by sniggering onlookers, but the party’s attention was drawn to her right arm, which appeared to be mechanical, terminating in a sharp-looking hook. She was holding her own against her opponents, having gotten one of the bald brawlers in a headlock and pummeling his face with her free hand. She was laughing at the top of her lungs as the sailor tried to buck her off his backside. Siegfried cleared his throat and prestidigitated the sound of a whale being torn apart by a kraken. The brawl screeched to a halt. Captain Ironclaw punched her opponent one last time before letting him drop, and put hand and claw on her curvy hips. “Now, listen love,” she called out. “That’s not the sound of a whale being torn apart by a kraken, believe me.” “That’s the sound of you getting back to work,” Siegfried said. “We’re taking the Tide-Runner out, best be on it.” He turned to leave. She pointed her claw at Siegfried. “That sounds like someone who’s used to giving orders, eh boys?” “She’s going whether you’re on or off the ship, Ironclaw,” Siegfried called over his shoulder. “Ah, you’re a Thann, aren’t you!” Ironclaw said with a derisive snort. “Pat yourself on the back with that claw of yours,” Siegfried said. “Well boys, let’s get to it!” Captain Ironclaw extended her claw to one of the men she’d pummeled and pulled him to his feet. Several of his fellow brawlers fell into step behind her as she stagger-marched out of the bar, dragging an unconscious crewman with her claw. “What’s our port of call?” she asked Siegfried with the exaggerated diction of a person who was trying to cover up their drunkenness. “The port of call is St. Asmod’s Hope,” Siegfried said. Captain Ironclaw. “I can see you don’t exactly have your sea legs, but you should know that a port-of-call is not usually a ship, if you get my meaning.” “Really?” replied Siegfried with a heaping helping of condescension. “Because my understanding is if I say that you’re going to take me somewhere on a ship that the Thann Family owns, then we’re going to go there!” Captain Ironclaw straightened up. “Aye-aye,” she slurred. “If you want a direction, it’s actually heading towards us, by way of the Leaning Lighthouse. We need to kill them before they get to the Leaning Lighthouse and therefore Waterdeep.” “Now you’re talking,” Ironclaw said. “Also, if you manage to deliver your intended cargo afterwards, great.” Siegfried said. “Sounds good to me,” Ironclaw said. “Plus, you’ll get a cut of whatever we take from the St. Asmod’s Hope ,” Siegfried said. “That definitely works for me,” Captain Ironclaw replied. The party and the cadre of salty sea dogs headed towards the Thann dock and warehouse complex, where the majority of the Thann Family’s merchant fleet were berthed. There were several vessels tied up at the docks, the Tide-Runner being the shabbiest of the lot, sitting very low and slightly askew in the harbour waters. “She’s seaworthy, never you mind,” Captain Ironclaw said as she saw Siegfried’s expression. “She’s just got a very low draft compared to other ships in her class.” “I think her ship flunked whatever class it was in,” Alec whispered to Bob. “Now then,” Captain Ironclaw said. “Which Thann are you? You don’t look like you spend a lot of time here at the docks.” “Siegfried, the crazy one,” Siegfried said. “Ah,” Ironclaw said. “Your branch of the family doesn’t dabble too much in the family business, does it now?” “I dabble in the other family business,” Siegfried said. “Ah,” Ironclaw replied. “Well then, welcome aboard!” She strode up the gangplank. “Varien, if there are any ballistas you want loaded on this vessel, just start barking orders. Go shopping.” Siegfried said to Varien. “I may not know boats, but I know how to delegate.” Varien nodded. Soon a crew of longshoremen was shifting a pair of mangonels aboard the Tide-Runner . Captain Ironclaw was leaning over the ship’s rail, hurling her guts out into the murky waters. Wiping off her mouth, she turned and gave Varien and appraising look. “You look like you’ve got your sea legs under you. Take us out, I’ve got a terrible headache.” She turned and flounced towards the captain’s quarters, a bottle of grog already clasped in her iron claw. Siegfried confiscated it. “Nope,” he said. Ironclaw pirouetted around the half-orc, curtsied, and continued on her way, grabbing another bottle of grog before disappearing into the ship’s aftcastle, the bulkhead door slamming shut behind her. The vessel itself stank of alcohol, and Varien began to wonder what exactly this ship was running up the tide. Siegfried used another paper crane to pen a message to Remallia Haventree, leader of the Harpers of Waterdeep. Gone sailing. Off to sink the St. Asmod’s Hope. Be back in port soon. He whispered the recipient’s name, and the paper folded up and flew away towards the spires of Waterdeep. “I guess that makes me the first mate,” Varien said, hands on his hips, as he watched Captain Ironclaw leave. He surveyed the half-dozen sailors milling about on the deck. “Our last one never made it out of Port Llast,” one of the sailors said. “Hell of a thing.” Varien nodded, feeling at home aboard this ship for the first time in a long time. He began to bark orders, telling the crew to weigh anchor, unfurl the sails, and get the ship out of Waterdeep’s Great Harbour, and with Varien behind the ship’s steering wheel, they turned northward towards the gathering storm.