The lighthouse shuddered as it began to lean treacherously over the edge of the cliff face, shedding stone blocks as it lost structural integrity. Theryn and Siegfried lashed out to attack Lorcan as he attempted to escape. Siegfried’s gauntlet swipe missed by a hair, while Theryn’s quarterstaff smacked the cambion squarely. Lorcan recovered and catapulted skyward with a beat of his infernally majestic wings. The hellwasp swarm drove its zombie host steadily towards the adventurers and released a cloud of stingers. The stingers plinked ineffectually off Varien’s plate armour and Theryn knocked aside the projectiles with a spin of his quarterstaff. The remaining Nessian Warhound howled in rage and bounded towards Varien, Theryn and Siegfried. Erwen struck the creature with his spear, driving it into the warhound’s flank. The warhound ignored the druid’s attack, and drew in a double lungful of air, expelling a cone of flaming breath that washed over Theryn, Siegfried and Varien. Theryn managed to avoid the flames entirely, Siegfried resisted the worst of the damage, but Varien’s plate armour glowed a dull red as the fire struck him squarely. Siegfried lost concentration and heard the sounds of organized destruction within the collapsing lighthouse replaced with more mundane sounds of unorganized destruction. It was fun while it lasted , he thought as he imagined his animated allies falling to pieces. Theryn was hit by a wave of exhaustion as Varien’s haste spell dissipated. The monk staggered and fought to stay on his feet. Alec rushed forward towards his infernal enemies and caste shatter , blasting swarm, zombie and warhound alike. Flesh melted off the zombie’s bones as the sound wave struck it, and then its bones turned to splinters. Wasps streamed desperately out of every orifice as their host disintegrated. Alec sent three magic missiles into the swarm, destroying several winged creatures. The barbarian then caught a second wind. Bob nodded at his brother’s actions and quickened a beacon of hope , then twinned a heal spell, sending rejuvenating energy washing over Varien and Theryn. Yeemik hefted his new axe and leaped from the roof to attack the warhound, swinging the axe overhead. He landed a heavy blow that staggered the warhound, and drew the axe back again, chopping viciously into the warhound’s side, splintering its chainmail barding. “By Sune’s Light, Varien, get your ass up!” Siegfried called to the paladin. Varien grit his teeth and through pure force of will managed to get himself moving. Far to the south, the last cultist hollered desperately as he lashed his horse, screaming at it to pull the wagon out of the muck left behind by Erwen’s earthen eruption. Both horse and wagoneer had been blinded by the erupting mud, but by pure luck, the wagon continued to careen south. Erwen cast conjure animals and summoned a swarm of stirges, intent on draining the warhound of its blood. A cloud of creatures that looked like a monstrous cross between a large bat and an oversized mosquito winked into existence, and they swarmed down towards the warhound. Siegfried stood and looked skyward towards the retreating fiend. “Warlock-Keeper! I want that glaive of yours, and this warlock has been left wanting!” He grabbed Varien and cast dimension door , instantly appearing several feet above the ascending Lorcan, intent on causing a collision. Siegfried looked at Varien. “You can have his head. I want his glaive.” Lorcan’s eyes narrowed as he saw the airborne adventurers approaching. “You’ll find that falling is different than flying,” he sneered as he dodged the falling adventurers. “Lorcan, you seem to have misunderstood me!” Siegfried replied. “I want that glaive!” The half-orc reached for the fiend, who twisted out of the way. Varien attempted to grappled the cambion, but Lorcan proved too slippery, jinking and weaving. “Parting is such sweet sorrow,” Lorcan called. “I will tell Vashi that you all said hello!” As he darted out of range, he cast plane shift and disappeared. “Shadowfell!” Siegfried cursed loudly as he plummeted earthward. Varien sighed as he too tumbled towards the ground. Alec swung his mercurial greatsword at the warhound, slashing it violently. The warhound staggered under the blows, and Alec fired his hand crossbow at point-blank range into the creature’s mouth. The shambling mound lurched to the hole in the side of the lighthouse and squeezed through, falling in a heap on the sodden grass. The lighthouse continued to crumble. The warhound turned and focused its ire on Alec, Yeemik and Bob. Alec cast absorb elements as the flames blasted the trio. Bob writhed in pain as the flames encircled him, as Alec and Yeemik weathered the fire breath. The hellwasp swarm zoomed towards Bob, but the cloud of stirges struck at them as they flew by. Several of the infernal insects suddenly found themselves punctured by the proboscises of the stirges. Parts of insect carapaces dropped to the ground as the stirges tore into the hellwasps. The swarm, somewhat diminished, descended on Bob, biting at him. Poison began to course through the sorcerer’s veins, but he managed to resist the worst of the infection. Bob felt faint, but remained on his feet. Alec managed to dodge the hellwasp attack. “Alec, duck!” Bob shouted as he cast dragon’s breath and shot a cone of acid towards the Nessian warhound. The acid ate into the warhound, rendering the fiendish creature down to a puddle of brimstone and animal fat. “Nobody kills Bob but me!” Yeemik shouted at the swarm. He swung his axe at the remaining hellwasps, hitting with one out of three strikes. Varien cast earthbind on himself and golden beams of energy encircled him, allowing him to descend safely. “See you on the other side, Siegfried,” he said. The horse and wagon slowed to a stop as the driver wiped muck from the creature’s eyes. Then he tugged on the reins and got his wagon moving again. There was a creaking and shattering sound from the lighthouse as it split from its surface-level structure and fell apart over the side of the cliff. Sickly yellow light poured out from every aperture and there was a dull roaring sound from within the disintegrating structure. As the lighthouse crashed down against the cliff face, there was an implosion that bit off a spherical section of the promontory and raging waters below that promptly disappeared in a puff of brimstone. As the waters roared into the recently vacated space, a human figure winked into existence in the mid-air space where the lighthouse used to be, tumbling head over heels into the maelstrom, his scream echoing in the storm. Theryn saw the shambling mound lurching towards him and retrieved his bow, firing a pair of arrows deep into the plant creature. It reeled backwards in response. Erwen’s stirges continued to shred the hellwasps, their husks falling lifelessly to the ground. The remaining stirges swooped down on the shambling mound, affixing themselves to the creature and draining it of lifeforce. The mound writhed in agony. Erwen cast sunburst over the shambling mound. Brilliant sunlight flashed into existence, forcing back the storm momentarily. The radiant energy burned away the vine-like creature down into a humanoid shape. The magic-user stood swaying as he was knocked out of wildshape, both his eyes blackened and smoking. He pressed his withering hands to his eyes and screamed in agony as he fell to his knees and pitched forward, dead. As he fell, Siegfried took note of the fleeing wagon and cast dimension door, appearing on the seat next to the wagon driver. The half-orc put his arm around the hooded cultist in a chummy embrace. “Well, it turns out Lorcan was a little bitch, so my business is now with you, representative of Lorcan in this endeavour,” Siegfried said cheerily, his blade gauntlet at his neck. “I’m sure we can be civil about this. Let’s turn this wagon around, shall we?” The wagon driver flinched at the half-orc’s touch but set his jaw resolutely. “Then our business shall soon be concluded,” he growled. “Oh, my sweet, summer child, I am your god in this world,” Siegfried smiled. He took the reins and told the horse to slow down. Bob cast beacon of hope and bathed his allies in healing energy as he cast mass cure wounds . Varien continued to descend, righting himself to fall feet-first. The cultist lunged forward and tried to slice his own throat on Siegfried’s blade gauntlet. Siegfried pulled the weapon away and chided the hooded man. “There is no death, friend, only obedience.” “Is that so?” the cultist said through gritted teeth. He hurled himself from the wagon and fell under the wheels of the slowing cart, which rolled over him with a sickening thump. Siegfried sighed as he brought the wagon to a halt. Theryn set about checking the corpses for loot. He was surprised to find that the cultists all had weighty coin purses laden down with gold pieces, 320 in all. Two of the cultists were also wearing signet rings, each with an insignia that Theryn didn’t immediately recognize. Theryn turned his attention to the burned magic-user and retrieved an odd-looking staff that bore the appearance of an elongated piece of driftwood with sea foam encrusting its head. The magic-user also wore a ring, and had a potion in a belt pouch. The magic-user’s purse contained 160 odd-looking coins that looked almost hand-forged from electrum, along with 100 gold pieces. Theryn noted another pouch on the dead man’s body that appeared to writhe and pulsate. Theryn frowned, leaving it alone for a moment, and pulled an empty rum bottle out of another pocket. “Why is the rum always gone?” he muttered. He turned to the moving pouch as he heard a muffled voice. “Rawk! Either I’m a lark, or I’m in the dark! Rawk!” “What did that pouch just say?” Theryn asked aloud. He tugged the pouch open. There was an explosion of red feathers as a scarlet macaw burst from the bag and half-flew, half-stumbled in the rain. “Rawk! Out of the dark, into the park! Rawk!” the bird said, stamping its taloned feet in the muck. Theryn crouched down and extended a hand. “Hey there, little guy,” he said. The bird hopped up onto his hand and started preening itself. After a moment, it peer down its beak at the body on the ground. “Rawk! Verdhar’s dead, glad it’s not me instead! Rawk!” “And what’s your name?” Theryn said. The bird puffed itself up proudly. “Rawk! Crow, Edgar Allan Crow! Rawk!” it said. “Rawk! Dad had a girl in every port! Every port! Rawk!” “Well, how are you feeling now that you’re free?” Theryn asked. Edgar cocked his head and thought for a moment. “Rawk! Free? We’ll see! Rawk!” “Well, are you hungry?” Theryn asked. Edgar scuttled sideways up Theryn’s arm. “Why, what’ve you got?” “Well, I have some rations here somewhere,” Theryn said, pawing through his carryall. “Rawk! Any port in a storm! Rawk!” Edgar replied. He began to nibble prodigiously on the proffered treat, then he spread his wings and embraced the monk. “Rawk! Friend for life! Friend for life!” Erwen looked on, his eyes shining. Then he realized the extent of his injuries. “I think I need to lie down,” he muttered. In between bites of the rations, Edgar chirped, “Rawk! You guys can’t cope with St. Asmod’s Hope! Nope! Rawk!” Siegfried hopped down out of the wagon and strolled back to the body that lay in the ruts behind the wagon. It looked like a wagon wheel had broken the man’s neck, but he was still wheezing and burbling. “No, no you don’t,” Siegfried said to dying man. “I don’t need you alive for information, but I need you to carry a message with you on your way to hell to give your dark master.” The man coughed and died, but Siegfried pumped him with enough healing energy to bring him back. “Lorcan has something of mine. I told Lorcan, that glaive was mine, and I will take it, and you tell Lorcan that glaive was mine, and I will be taking it.” Siegfried counted 180 gold in the man’s purse, and he noticed a signet ring on the man’s finger. “Wait a minute,” he said. He pulled back the dying man’s hood and his mouth fell open. The man’s face was streaked with blood, mud, and rainwater, but bore the painted mark of a red hand. However, the face itself was familiar to Siegfried. “Brevindor Margaster!” he said. “What would your mother think of you right now?” The man coughed and met Siegfried’s gaze. “S-Siegfried?” he rasped. “Brev! Brev! Why are you consorting with cultists of Lorcan? I’m going to have to tell your mother that you were doing devil worshipping. Brev, what about your poor old dad? I’m not going to send you to hell, but I am going to drag you back to your mother so you can explain yourself.” “Everyone needs a hobby, Siegfried,” Brevindor said. “Also, I think I’d rather go to hell than talk to mom.” “Hey!” Siegfried called over to his allies. “I know this one’s grandmother! She’s a really nice lady!” Brevinder rolled his eyes. “So, I broke my neck for nothing.” “I thought you were in Silverymoon last I heard,” Siegfried said. What are you doing trying to send ships to hell?” “You don’t want to know,” Brevindor said. “Of course I do!” Siegfried said. “But how are you going to explain it to your nan?” He left the prone man in the muck and walked back to Theryn. Theryn showed Siegfried the signet rings. Siegfried nodded for a moment. “One of these is from House Melshimber, and the other is from…” he wrinkled his nose. “Bowmantle. That tracks.” He cast sending to his father. Just arrested Brevindon Margaster from Lorcan devil cultists. Bowmantle, Melshimber rings found among the dead. Try to find out who else is involved. Perhaps Other Thanns. Siegfried knew that the Margasters and the Thanns both sponsored the New Olamn Bard College. House Margaster was also in the trading and shipping business, while House Melshimber was in the business of sage-lore as well as the fine wine trade. The Bowmantles, on the other hand, were an upstart house of no real repute, and weren’t considered a noble house of Waterdeep. Siegfried shook his head at the Bowmantle ring, which was styled as a Waterdhavian noble house, though they had not been so enobled. “Pretenders,” he sniffed. However, a hard knot began to grow in Siegfried’s stomach as he recalled whispers in Waterdeep that the Bowmantles were connected to the mysterious and deadly Xanathar Guild. “We’ve got some other stuff here,” Theryn said, presenting the staff. Siegfried gave part of his share of the gold to Yeemik, and gave 20 gold pieces from Brevindon’s purse to his allies. Siegfried received a reply from his father. Stop killing nobles, Siegfried. But I’ll look into it. “This one’s a suicide risk,” Siegfried indicated the cultist. “He’s also an idiot.” “Big talk, coming from you,” Brevindon growled. “You’re an idiot, selling your soul to the lowest bidder,” Siegfried replied. “You don’t know what was paid,” Brevindon said. “Well, we’re on our way to hell to kill the one who holds the paper on your soul, so you’ll be my bitch forever.” Siegfried turned to his allies. “Varien, Alec, Theryn, Bob, Yeemik, Erwen, random talking bird, this is Brevindon of House Margaster, a noble who used to bully me when we were growing up in Waterdeep, now this dipshit has sold his soul to the devil we’re going to murder. Isn’t that fun, Brevindon? And Varien, you can’t kill him until after he apologizes to his grandmother. She’s a very nice old lady and was one of the few who was actually nice to me when I was a child. Seriously Brevindon, why would you do that to your nan? I’m just upset now.” “So, who is this?” Varien asked. “Well, he’s a noble of Waterdeep, so we can’t just slit his throat as we do with other random cultists, as that legal business we had to deal with recently shows, but he’s invalidated himself by painting that red hand on his face. So, we can take him back to Waterdeep and show people his crimes, and on the bright side we might get paid a lot of money for doing that.” Siegfried identified the staff as a Staff of the Tides , carved from a piece of driftwood with several magical aquatic properties. The magic-user’s ring was a powerful ring of protection . The potions were greater healing and bear’s endurance . Varien entered the ruined first floor of the lighthouse. Wind and salt water were whipping into the opened far end of the building. He saw a painted pentagram glyph on the floor, and black candles were scattered everywhere. “Some sort of ritual was in process here,” he said grimly, as he sliced Fiendsbane through the pentagram, breaking the glyph. “Could be a summoning or a welcoming ceremony of some kind.” The desecration was strong in this area, and it would take more than a hallow spell to wash away the hellish taint left behind by the infernal beacon and the fiendish conspirators who had taken over the lighthouse. Peering out into the storm, Varien caught sight of the Tide Runner making its way close to the coastline. “Time to go,” he told his comrades. “Our work is not yet completed.”