The adventurers, with their prisoner in tow, set out over the waves courtesy of the druid’s water walk spell, slogging their way through the swells until they could rendezvous with the Tide Runner , which pitched about in the storm, its crew swarming the deck and rigging in an effort to keep the ship stable. Varien could see that the ship’s lines had been altered, whether from damage incurred from the stormy sea, or from the hideous beacon at the Leaning Lighthouse. There was extensive damage to the aft quarter of the ship, as though the hull had been split apart and then put back together, sloppily. The lookout spied the group’s approached and hollered for ropes, which were cast over the side of the ship. The party climbed aboard, assisted by the battering waves that threatened to swamp the deck. Erwen, exhausted, curled up near some barrels and began to alter self, sprouting aquatic adaptations, some of them contradictory. Soon he was aware that he was being watched. He turned to regard Herc McGurk, his woolen fisherman’s cap pulled low over his forehead, whose mouth hung half-open like a village idiot. “Mind if I watch?” he grumbled. Erwen shrugged and continued to alter his form. McGurk smiled and brought up two prosthetic hands from the collection on his belt, which he clapped together, thoroughly entertained by the Halfling’s antics. Siegfried pushed Brevindor Margaster ahead of him as he mounted the steps to the bridge with Varien keeping a watchful eye on the prisoner. Captain Ironclaw was at the ship’s wheel, her artificial limb locked onto the steering mechanism. Her blouse was soaking wet and transparent, clinging to her body as she barked orders. “You seem to have gone through it, Captain,” Siegfried said, surveying the damage to the ship. Captain Ironclaw nodded. “I could say the same of you and yours,” she said, nodding at the disheveled state of the adventurers. “That damned beacon played over us once while we were seeking safe harbour in the shallows, and carved half the deck away to gods-know-where. Then it seemed to return, reeking of brimstone and half-ablaze.” “Yes, it was a hellish lighthouse lantern if ever there was one,” Varien said, “but it won’t be troubling you any longer.” Captain Ironclaw smiled. “Yes, we saw the thing blow up. Well played. Do you have anything to show for your efforts?” Siegfried nodded. “We denied the devil-worshippers their victory condition on shore, at any rate. And we have a prisoner.” He pushed Brevindon forward. “This is Brevindon Margaster, heir to House Margaster in Waterdeep, and apparently a part-time worshipper of Asmodeus.” Siegfried cast a glance at Brevindon, hoping for a reaction to his subbing of Asmodeus for Lorcan. Brevindon grimaced but betrayed no surprise at Siegfried’s words. “At any rate, he needs to be returned to Waterdeep to answer for his crimes, and at the very least, apologize to his very gracious and kind grandmother.” “Send him to the brig, then!” Ironclaw said. “I’d say he’s besmirching the name of House Margaster, but they don’t have the best reputation to begin with among seafarers.” Siegfried frowned. “He’s a bit of a suicide risk – he wants to get on with his infernal reward in the Nine Hells, it seems. Can we place him under medical supervision?” “With Doc Crablegs?” Captain Ironclaw smirked. “You said you want him alive, don’t you?” “I heard that!” Doc Crablegs shouted from the main deck, where he was supervising a burial at sea. “As it happens, a bed has just opened up in my infirmary!” With a kick he unceremoniously shoved the shrouded and swaddled body over the side of the ship, where it disappeared beneath the waves. “Leave him in my charge and we’ll have him right as rain in no time!” He scuttled sideways down the stairs below deck. Bob and Alec helped Margaster to his feet and dragged him to the infirmary. Theryn followed, his gaze affixed on the ring of protection in his hand. Siegfried cast sending to Lorcan. That spear will be mine That spear will be mine That spear will be mine That spear will be mine That spear will be mine His reply was immediate. First of all, it's a glaive, not a spear, and second, I would love to see you try and take it from me. Yours, Lorcan. The cambion’s polite sign-off rankled Siegfried, but he decided to channel his own anger into making the fiend even more furious. You’re talking a lot of shit for a devil who shit his pants and fled with his tail betwixt his hooves. Go find what Kurtulmak took from you – your backbone up his ass. Again, Lorcan replied immediately. Oh, I am going to make you my special project, worm. Siegfried smiled to himself. “Great, this way I won’t lose that glaive.” The only thing louder than the thunder above was the voice of bosun Loud Laurel, who was castigating a damage control team as they attempted to repair the damage to the ship’s stern castle. Siegfried stepped up smartly to the bosun and presented himself. “I may not be a carpenter, but I have some magical mending abilities that might assist. I am at your service, bosun.” Loud Laurel blinked and then nodded, seawater draining from the brim of her hat to splash the already sodden deck beneath her feet. “Aye, Master Thann,” she started, and then shook her head and roared. “Then what be ye standin’ there for like a landlubbin’ lackwit?” She pointed at a line of wreckage nearby. “Get that silver spoon out of yer mouth and work for a living for a change!” Siegfried smiled, pleased that he had elicited an appropriate escalation in saltiness from the bosun rather than see her quieted down. He nodded and set about to cast mending where he could. Theryn contemplated the ring he’d taken from the magic-user for a long time. He desired the ring, perhaps too strongly, and found himself heeding the words of his training to avoid succumbing to the risks of greed and vanity inherent in his quest. Bob and Alec were placing Brevindon Margaster in a spare bed in the infirmary, lashing him to the bedrails. Satisfied that he wasn’t going anywhere, they left and joined Theryn in the corridor outside. “Bob, a moment, if you will?” Theryn said. Bob nodded. “What is it, Theryn?” Theryn flashed the ring of protection in front of Bob. “In the right hands, this is a powerful item, and I have every reason to believe yours are the right hands,” he said. Theryn clasped Bob’s hand from underneath with his own hand, and held his other hand over it. With a final wince, he slowly opened his hand, letting the ring fall slowly onto Bob’s palm. Bob accepted the gift. “I know what this means to you, Theryn,” he said. “I will make the most of your gift.” Theryn found Siegfried back on the main deck, assisting in repairs. “Siegfried, we need to talk about next steps,” he said. Siegfried nodded. To Loud Laurel he said, “would it be all right if I temporarily ceased my labours here and briefed my companions below deck?” Loud Laurel nodded and shouted, “If you must leave us in the lurch, then so be it!” “Thanks, boss,” Siegfried said with a grin and then left to go below decks. The party gathered in the ready room. “So, Siegfried, we need to know what the connection is between those cultists and the signet rings we recovered,” Theryn said. “Right,” Siegfried said, casting the rings onto the conference table so that their faces pointed upwards. “Two of these rings belong to Noble Houses of Waterdeep, the Margasters and the Melshimbers. House Margaster, of which our new acquaintance Brevindon belongs, is in the trading and shipping business. House Melshimber is in the business of secrets and sage-lore, as well as the trade in fine wine.” Theryn’s eyes narrowed. “Secrets and sage-lore, you say?” Siegfried nodded. “That’s correct. Now,” he grimaced and indicated the third ring. “This other ring belows to a family called Bowmantle. They’re not a noble house by any stretch of the imagination, though they have pretentions or delusions standing.” Siegfried sniffed. “New money. There was a time in the recent past when noble titles, particularly those from houses who found themselves diminished, financially or otherwise, were up for sale to those with the deepest pockets and the deepest ambitions. However, the current Open Lord put a stop to that and even reversed a few of the most egregious title transfers. More than a few pretenders found themselves strung up from the nearest lamppost, before order was restored. We refer to that unpleasantness as The Culling.” Theryn nodded. “The Bowmantles survived, apparently, because of their whispered connections to the Xanathar Guild.” “The Xanathar Guild?” Theryn repeated. “Yes, a rather powerful criminal enterprise based in Waterdeep, with their fingers in all sorts of pies, and influence that far exceeds their shadowy operations,” Siegfried said. “Slavers, smugglers, assassins. Aside from the Zhentarim, they’re like the Mother of all Thieves’ Guilds, and not to be trifled with, even by those in the nobility.” “Who is in charge of this Xanathar Guild?” Theryn asked. Siegfried shrugged. “Ask anyone on the streets of Waterdeep and you will get any number of answers. It is unwise to speculate. But, back to the matter at hand,” Siegfried indicated the first two rings. “The interests of House Melshimber and House Margaster do unfortunately intersect with my adoptive family, House Thann. Margaster with trading interests, and Melshimber with a taste for fine wines.” “Why is that an issue?” Theryn asked. Siegfried smiled patiently. “All noble families of Waterdeep have skeletons in their closets, and often find themselves engaged in efforts to poke their noses into the closets of their neighbours. And when unpleasant rumours surface, they are usually smothered by cover-ups as the families go into damage control mode. We have become painfully aware that members of two Noble Houses of Waterdeep are involved in deviltry, aided no doubt by this disreputable family, the Bowmantles. This fiendish plot, which we’ve yet to fully uncover, is obviously a plot involving the takeover of Waterdeep. This we cannot abide. Now, if faced with accusations, these families will no doubt cover for one another, but it begs the question, how many other families, or members of prominent Waterdhavian noble houses, are involved?” Theryn nodded. “Our short-term mission, then is to take Brevindon Margaster back to Waterdeep and hang him out to dry,” Siegfried said. “Now, there’s no law against worshipping devils in Waterdeep, so the City Watch will need evidence of wrongdoing before they can act. And our friend Brevindon is small-fry.” “In Beauty’s Temple a rot arisen,” Varien said. “What about the rest of the city? How deep does the rot go?” “Exactly,” Siegfried said. “We can link what happened at the Leaning Lighthouse with Lorcan to the nefarious machinations of Vashi in Beauty’s Temple. This is a clear and present danger to Waterdeep. The fact is, if we managed to pull out that five, six, or twelve houses of Waterdeep are involved in a plot to take the city over, even if it’s only three or four, that’s going to be political chaos,” Siegfried said. “While there’s nothing wrong with paying your dues to Daddy Asmodeus, for a little extra coin in exchange for one of your sons’ souls, which, considering you’ll have many sons, is a pretty good deal,” Varien cleared his throat and Fiendsbane rattled. Siegfried looked over at Varien. “In theory, mind you. However, it is the act of the conspiring against Waterdeep that needs to be exposed.” Siegfried turned to Erwen. “Now then, small man. You mentioned that when you were wandering around in Waterdeep that you met a creepy family. Did any of them carry one of these three symbols?” Erwen squinted at the rings and shook his head. “No, it was a different crest altogether.” Siegfried produced a piece of chalk. “Can you draw it?” Erwen smiled and nodded, proceeding to illustrate a vivid image of a goose, its wings enthusiastically outstretched. Siegfried arched an eye at the Halfling’s artistry. “Erwen, have you ever considered a career in heraldry? The detail on those feathers, tremendous! I never took you for an illustrator.” Erwen beamed, but said in Druidic, “and yet you never believed in me.” Then he wandered off and began to mumble in his native tongue. “Well, back to the matter at hand,” Siegfried said, eyeing the crest soberly. “This is the crest of House Cassalanter. They are one of the richest families in Waterdeep, having made their fortune in banking, money-lending, and, some say, rumour-mongering for the highest payer. They have a villa in the Sea Ward. The patriarch is Victorio Cassalanter, and Lady Cassalanter’s name is Amalia. They had a son, Osvaldo was his name, around my age, but he hasn’t been seen in polite society for at least a year – sent off to school or somesuch. And they also had twins, younger than my own youngest siblings, if memory serves.” “Those were the kids I met in the park,” Erwen piped up from his spot in the corner. “The girl, Elzerina, said she could make her toys walk and talk, so I bolted out of there. That’s just unnatural.” Siegfried thought for a moment. “We may have to rob them. I know a child warlock when I see one.” In the corner, Erwen cast pass without trace on himself. Siegfried cast sending to Lady Hawkwinter. He knew that given their last encounter, his first words to her couldn’t be about business. Siegfried smiled. “That woman loves her justice,” he said to himself. Another bouquet for you. Bowmantle, Melshimber, and Margaster were found among Levistus cultists. Elzerina Cassalanter’s a warlock. I’ll have more when I return to shore. Lady Hawkwinter replied. Oh Siegfried, you know exactly what kind of flowers I like. I shall have to find an appropriate vase for them. See you soon, darling. Siegfried expelled his breath sharply. Keep your eyes on the throne, Siegfried. But man, does she make me weak. To his companions he said. “We’d better rest up, as we’ve still got a pirate ship to storm.” Theryn and the others nodded and departed for their various sleeping quarters in various places across the ship. Siegfried leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, thinking of being seated on a throne with a plate-wearing paladin queen at his side. Erwen left as well, but hid in the corridor outside the conference room for a time until he heard the half-orc’s breathing slow into the rhythm of slumber. Checking to see that he was alone, Erwen snuck back inside the conference room, still muttering a spell in Druidic. He crawled quietly to Siegfried’s side. He cast geas on Siegfried, who remained unaware. Creeping up the side of Siegfried’s chair, he whispered into Siegfried’s ear. “To fulfill the geas, you must not refuse any challenge that starts with ‘I dare you.’” Siegfried snorted but did not awaken. Satisfied, Erwen crawled silently out of the conference room and headed for the livestock deck to find some hay to rest in. The room was silent, save for the sound of breathing, and the crackling of ashes, though there was no hearth in the room. Siegfried roused from his slumber after a restful sleep, hefted the Staff of the Tides, and stepped out onto the main deck. Climbing up onto the bowsprit, he called out to the crew. “My father always told me that no man could control the tides, for all the wealth and wine, no matter how much profit could be made to send a cask of wine to Neverwinter, if the tides did not allow it, no wealth could move them.” The crewmembers stopped their activities, their attention focused on Seigfried. “I say that lacks ambition!” Siegfried shouted, and raised the Staff of the Tides overhead. Lightning cracked and thunder roared defiantly, but a bubble of calm waters began to spread about the ship, tamping down the waves and bringing the heaving ship to rest. “Captain?” he called. “Which direction are we sailing?” Captain Ironclaw spun the wheel and set a new heading into the storm. The Tide Runner plunged forward into the storm. Siegfried spied Varic, the half-elven lead gunner, and proceeded to regale him with the tale of an elven bladesinger, a legendary swordsman, who was soundly beaten in a duel one day by a hung-over, surly fighter who brought an oar to the swordfight rather than a blade himself. “That’s a good story,” Varic murmured. “So, tell me, Varic, are you attuned to the tides?” Siegfried asked. Varic’s eyes flashed lightning white in sync with the lightning forks overhead. “Tides? No. Storms? Yes.” “Excellent,” Siegfried said. He held out the Staff of the Tides to Varic. “I’m a natural showman, but the real power of this staff might be wielded by someone whose magical inclination lean more in the elemental direction.” Varic’s eyes widened. “Master Thann, I couldn’t possibly accept such a gift!” Siegfried smiled patiently. “This isn’t a gift. I want this to be used efficiently. My origin is not quite as elemental as this staff would like, and I would rather it be used effectively in the service of House Thann. It would be no more yours than Ironclaw owns this ship.” Varic bowed. “Ah, of course, I misunderstood and beg your pardon, sire.” “If this property of House Thann would be best served in your hands, then I would see it in your hands during the upcoming battle.” Varic nodded and accepted the staff. “I will use it wisely and will all respect due to House Thann.” “Of course,” Siegfried said. “I will square things with the quartermaster to ensure that this item is properly insured and see to it that your pay increase commensurate with your new duties as custodian of this wondrous item.” “Yes sir! Thank you, sir!” Varic said. Siegfried left and went to visit Quartermaster Barrick. He knocked on the locked door and heard the sound of a crossbow cocking. “Piss off!” the voice behind the door said. “If these strongboxes go down with the ship, somebody has to go down with them, and that would be me!” “You may continue to protect them, Barrick, but House Thann has an addition and amendment to make to the assets aboard this ship!” Siegfried replied imperiously. “It’s your responsibility to ensure these assets are recorded appropriately.” There was the sound of weapons being safetied and many locks being unlocked, and then Quartermaster Barrick presented himself smartly. “Yes sir! Of course, sir! We have an eye for detail on this ship and are ready to ensure that the paperwork will withstand any official scrutiny.” “Splendid,” Siegfried said. “I have recently acquired a new asset for House Thann, and Varic will be operating this magical asset as a trained operative. I would like this asset to be properly insured and for it to be recorded that Varic receive a pay raise considering the expansion of his duties in this regard,” Siegfried said. “And should his contract with House Thann end, the magical item will be returned to House Thann.” A pained look crossed Quartermaster Berrick’s face at the mention of a pay raise for Varic. “Quartermaster Berrick, why does this upset you?” Siegfried asked. Berrick flushed. “Well, ah, I would certainly never question the wisdom of the ship’s owners in making brevet promotions over the drumhead, so to speak, as he sees fit, as it is within your right, but…” he paused and shiftily glanced over Siegfried’s shoulder. “The rest of the crew might not take such an adjustment kindly.” “Well,” Siegfried said, “when the rest of the crew is adequately trained in the magical arts to operate magical items at the level of a trained arcanist, they would also be eligible for a promotion.” Berrick stood so straight his spine threatened to rip out of his back. “If I had a hammer that could repair any ship, I would not use it myself,” Siegfried continued. “I would put it the hands of a boatswain such as Loud Laurel because Laurel is trained to use such an artifact. I have not gifted it, I have added a responsibility to someone’s workload. This is no show of favouratism; this is preparation for war, and I will not tolerate any rumour-mongering relating to it.” Sweat began to pool in Berrick’s starched collar. “Of course, sir.” He produced a set of documents and said rapidly, “merely sign here, here, here, here, here, and here, and then let’s get on to page two.” “And of course, were I to come across a self-writing quill that responded to its user’s command, it would be a magical artifact that one such as yourself would be expected to use. Do I make myself clear?” “If your point were the ocean, I would be able to see straight down to the bottom, sir!” Berrick chirped, sweat running from his hairline in waterfalls. “Thank you for fulfilling your instructions with diligence and accuracy,” Siegfried said. Berrick worked through the paperwork like an expert, producing proxy documents and certificates of insurance that Siegfried accepted. By the end of it, Siegfried’s quill-signing hand was quite sore. Perhaps I would keep that self-writing quill for myself , he mused, massaging his hand. He exited the quartermaster’s office and went out onto the deck, catching sight of Varic, who had climbed up into the rigging over the bowsprit, wielding the Staff of the Tides in expert fashion to produce a bubble of calm ocean that cut through the magical storm surrounding the ship on all sides. “Ah, the right tool in the right hand,” Siegfried said. “I had my fun, but now it’s in the hand of an artist.” Theryn, curious as ever, went to the stern castle in search of Captain Ironclaw, who had retired to her quarters. Edgar Allan Crow accompanied him, preening himself as he perched on Theryn’s left shoulder. He knocked on the door. He heard the clanking of rum bottles beyond, and then a woman’s voice. “Aye?” “Captain Ironclaw,” Theryn asked. “A word?” “If ye must,” she said. Theryn opened the door. Captain Ironclaw was reclining in bed with a pair of rum bottles in each hand, resting atop her bloused chest. Her quarters looked more disheveled than Theryn had expected, though he thought it owed more to the damaged sterncastle windows that had been hastily boarded up than to slovenly upkeep. The overlapping carpets on the floor of the Captain’s quarters were sodden with seawater and reeked of mold. Theryn adjusted his estimation of the Captain’s habits. Edgar looked about, taking in the Captain as well as the number of strongboxes arrayed about the cabin. “Rawk! Chest and booty! Rawk!” “Yer bird has a good eye,” Captain Ironclaw said. “Speak yer piece.” Theryn showed Captain Ironclaw the rum bottle he’d retrieved from the corpse. “Have you seen a bottle like this before? You strike me as a bit of a connoisseur.” There was a sloshing of rum from within the Captain and her bottles as she heaved herself to her feet and swayed across the carpet towards Theryn. “Listen, love, if there’s one thing I know, its rum. Give it here,” She traded her bottle of grog for Theryn’s and inspected it, sniffing at its open neck. Gingerly, Theryn did the same to the Captain’s bottle, and immediately was grateful that he kept himself clean-shaven, as the powerful reek of strong drink would have likely singed off his moustache. Captain Ironclaw inhaled deeply from the bottle, blowing across it like a jug-band minstrel, and tongued its rim a little too energetically for the monk’s liking. Theryn shivered in disgust. “Ah!” Ironclaw smacked her full lips loudly. “Dwarven!” “Dwarven?” Theryn repeated. “Unless I miss my guess, you won’t find rum of this vintage outside of Skullport, my friend,” the Captain said. “I’m not familiar with Skullport,” Theryn said. “Can you enlighten me?” Captain Ironclaw batted her eyelashes at Theryn, the lashes on her left eye sticking together, disrupting the synchronicity of the intended effect. “You’ve come to my quarters seeking enlightenment, have ye? You wouldn’t be the first, love.” She waltzed back to the bed and sat on its edge, suggestively patting the festering mattress with one hand and flashing a come-hither look at the monk. Theryn and Edgar traded glances. “Rawk! Any port in a storm! Rawk!” Egdar screeched. “Dad had a girl in every port! Rawk!” Theryn steeled himself. “What the hell,” he muttered. Cautiously, he sat next to the Captain. The bed creaked ominously. “Ah, Skullport, also known as the Port of Shadows,” Captain Ironclaw began. “You’ll never find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy in the Sword Coast, my friend. Hidden beneath Waterdeep herself, she is. It’s not the kind of place any legitimate sailor would call a port of call, y’know, it’s a place where people disappear from, or disappear to, a very ancient port, subterranean, they say. Some people doubt its existence. Most others cannot find it on a map. One does not simply sail into Skullport, if ye take my meaning.” “Have you been?” “Oh, that would be telling, love,” Captain Ironclaw chided Theryn. “As to your question, I would hazard a guess to say that the last lips to touch this bottle were none other than Ott Steeltoes himself.” Theryn was impressed in spite of himself. “You can tell that?” Ironclaw fixed Theryn with a look. “A lady knows,” she said suggestively. “And who is this Ott Steeltoes fellow?” “Oh, he was a renegade of the Ironmaster Clan,” Captain Ironclaw said. “We might be headed that way in search of fortune and glory ourselves after our business here is concluded. It’s the gateway to Ten Towns, they call it.” Theryn knew that Ironmaster was a dwarven city built into the walls of a coastal valley in the Frozenfar, inhabited by an isolationist clan of mountain dwarves. The steep cliffs of Ironmaster Vale provide protection for the city, which sits astride the mouth of the Shaengarne River where it met the sea. The dwarves of Ironmaster were reclusive, barring all non-dwarves from entering the city. It was the last civilized port in the north before the Sea of Moving Ice would swallow any craft foolhardy enough to press further. “He’s a pirate, or at least he was,” Captain Ironclaw said. “They say he took a desk job of sorts in recent months.” “Who did he take a desk job for?” Theryn asked. Captain Ironclaw looked conspiratorially at Theryn. “What d’ye know of the Xanathar Guild?” Theryn’s eyes widened. “That’s the second time today I’ve heard of the Xanathar Guild. Bit sketchy on the particulars.” “Sketchy doesn’t begin to cover it. You know,” Captain Ironclaw slurred sultrily, “if you’re going to keep asking me questions, I’m going to need a little something from you.” “Such as?” Theryn asked warily. She half-turned away from Theryn and pulled her flimsy blouse down, revealing her back and giving Theryn a close-up view of where her prosthetic limb met her shoulder. “How about a massage, love?” Again, Theryn looked at his new macaw. “Rawk! My lips are sealed. Rawk!” Theryn took a big swig of the Captain’s grog and began to massage her back. He didn’t know whether his training in acupuncture and pressure points was a blessing or a curse at this point. “Oh yes,” Captain Ironclaw breathed. “That’s very nice. Now, the Xanathar Guild. They are a network of criminals and slavers, a ruthless, powerful criminal organization that has influence well beyond Waterdeep.” “They sound quite nefarious,” Theryn said as he worked the Captain’s tense back muscles. “Good that you have found legitimate gainful employment, yes?” Captain Ironclaw was putty in Theryn’s hands. “Oh, quite,” she murmured. “It is quite profitable to work on the sunny side of the street and quite a lot less risky that working the shady side.” “It can’t be entirely without risk, though,” Theryn said. “Oh my, yes. Every ship captain worth her salt would prefer to have steady income, access to the best dry docks, and steady employment for her crew. I’ve got nothing but good things to say about House Thann, nothing but good things.” “Fair enough,” Theryn said. “Where did you get this bottle?” “When we went ashore last, a fellow dropped it,” Theryn said. “What sort of fellow?” Captain Ironclaw asked. “Oh, a magic user with a pet dire bear,” Theryn said. “It was quite the fight,” he said, embellishing the tale of the fight at the Leaning Lighthouse to put him in the most positive light.” “Rawk!” Edgar Allan Crow chirped. “Verdhar! Heavy drinker, that one! Verdhar! Rawk!” “Verdhar! That was his name,” Theryn said. Captain Ironclaw jerked around to look at Theryn with great concern. “What did you say?” Theryn called upon his ascetic training to keep his eyes above her neckline. “Verdhar?” he repeated uncertainly. Captain Ironclaw paled. “Verdhar? Was he a man of great height, likes to wear a horned skull atop his head, dressed in green robes? Carried a staff like an oar?” “Sure,” Theryn said. “I think so.” “Mate,” Captain Ironclaw said in earnestness. “That was the first mate of the St. Asmod’s Hope !” “You don’t say?” Theryn said. “The very ship we’re searching for in this storm.” “The very same,” Captain Ironclaw said. “He served as Captain Mange’s second-in-command!” “Well,” Theryn said, “he’s not commanding anything anymore.” “Well, my estimation of you and your friends has gone up in the last 30 seconds!” Captain Ironclaw regarded Theryn with new appreciation. “If we met him ashore, that means his ship can’t be too far off,” Theryn said. “You are probably right,” Captain Ironclaw, shrugging her blouse back on. “You said yourself that they were to rendezvous at the Leaning Lighthouse. They must have sent an advance party ashore!” “All right,” Theryn said. “Do we have eyes on the ship?” “Find the eye of the storm, and we find the ship,” Captain Ironclaw said. “This is absolutely fascinating,” Theryn said, passing the bottle of grog back to the Captain. She took a long, sensuous pull from the bottle and then unshrugged her blouse. “And how did you come to be under the employ of House Thann?” Theryn asked, taking another drink. Captain Ironclaw matched him drink for drink. Her skill as a sailor was second only to her tolerance for alcohol. She spun a story about how she came up through a seafaring guild. Theryn pretended to listen until the Captain passed out in her bed, a look of relaxed satisfaction on her face. “Finally,” Theryn breathed, intent on searching the room. He stepped off the bed and immediately broke a bottle beneath his feet. “Feel free to show yourself out,” Captain Ironclaw murmured. Theryn sighed, muttered a prayer of admonition, and left the captain’s quarters. “Rawk! Better luck next time, better luck next time. Rawk!” Edgar Allan Crow chirped. “So, bird, who else was with Verdhar?” Theryn asked. “Rawk! A Harpy, a Bear, and also Narn, can’t forget Narn!” Edgar squawked. “Narn? Who was he?” Theryn asked. “Rawk! Devilish fellow! Devilish fellow!” Edgar said, shivering until his feathers began to fall out. “Right,” Theryn said. “Can’t tell you much, I was in a pouch. Rawk!” Edgar said. “Fair enough,” Theryn said. He left to find Siegfried. “Ah, Crow! Just the bird I was looking for!” Siegfried called out. “I had a question for you.” He stopped and sniffed. “Theryn, why do you smell of coconuts and lime?” Theryn grimaced, and tossed Siegfried the rum bottle. “Ott Steeltoes.” Siegfried bobbled the bottle and caught it on the first bounce. “Ring any bells?” Theryn asked. “Yes, he’s a lieutenant in the Xanathar Guild,” he said. “Don’t step on the Xanathar’s Guild’s toes or Steeltoes will step on you, it’s said.” “Apparently this bottle belonged to him,” Theryn said. “Damn, the Xanathar Guild is involved in this little game?” Siegfried blinked. “And I pulled it from the corpse of that magic-user outside the lighthouse,” Theryn said. “Ah, was he anyone important?” Siegfried asked. “Only the first mate of the St. Asmod’s Hope ,” Theryn said. He shared what he’d learned about Skullport. “Yes, Skullport, that’s not a place you go. It’s a rough place beneath Waterdeep,” Siegfried said. “Well, just wanted you to know about the shoulders we were rubbing with and where they were coming from.” Theryn winced as he thought about Captain Ironclaw’s shoulders. “Here’s the thing,” Siegfried said. “I don’t think the Xanathar Guild would be on board with the flooding of Waterdeep, considering they do most of their work in the sewers and underground. If you’re going to flood Waterdeep, you’re going to flood all that as well.” “So if I understand the picture,” Theryn said. “We have representatives from three houses trudging around with a representative of the Xanathar Guild?” Siegfried called up to Varic. “I say, Varic, turns out that stick belonged to the first mate of St. Asmod’s Hope!” “Quite the pedigree!” Varic called down to Siegfried. “Yes, well make sure they don’t take it back!” Siegfried replied. “Will do!” Varic saluted. “So, Theryn, it sounds more like St. Asmod’s Hope’s first mate has been making the round, both with devils and with the Xanathar Guild, but it does paint the ringleader as someone as St. Asmod’s Hope, or at least they are the go-between for everyone else. Skullport is a place for pirates of all pedigree, however, the thing with the Xanathar’s Guild is that they are evil criminals, but they are my kind of evil criminals because their crimes involve the living – their finances, their money. It is in their interest that Waterdeep continues to be a functional city of living people and not devils, while St. Asmod’s Hope is going around turning cities into ravenous bands of undead, which is entirely against the Guild’s interest. Does that make sense?” “All right,” Theryn said. “That said,” Siegfried said. “Skullport is a hive of villainy and I don’t know the ins and outs of criminal organizations, so it makes perfect sense they’ve made deals with then, but I’m also certain that the Xanathar’s Guild would bury them in cement if they were to do anything to diminish the Guild’s profits.” “Hmm,” Theryn said. “What are we waiting for then? Let’s track down that ship!” “That’s what we’re doing,” Siegfried said. “Trying to get close to them, lash on to the side of their ship, and slaughter every mother’s son aboard!” “Well, let’s have at it then!” Theryn said. “Varic, how far are we from the eye of the storm?” Siegfried called. “A few leagues yet by my reckoning,” Varic said. “Possibly less than an hour!” “All right then, let’s round up the lads and make ready to board!” Siegfried said. The party began to make preparations. As they moved about on deck, something caught Siegfried’s eye. Something was scuttling in the shadows just at the periphery of his field of vision. It was a crab. Followed by several other crabs. Siegfried’s eyes widened. “To arms!” he shouted. “We’re being boarded by crabs!” Sure enough, swarms of crabs began to spill onto the deck from all sides, burbling up out of the seas and climbing the ship’s hull. Their claws clacked menacingly as they drew closer.