Go to Part 1

AFTERMATH

A little while later, Pashar and Kora met Vajra at the front door. They briefly explained the situation.

“Is there anything else that needs to be done here?”

Pashar shook his head. “Just dead cultists. Although the woman is still alive if you need to question her.”

“What about the Cassalanter children?”

“We didn’t find them,” Kora said. “But they’re in danger. We need to find them quickly. Before the Festival of Leiruin.”

“You’ve found a solution?”

“After a fashion,” Pashar said.

“We’ll find them,” Vajra promised. “Take Jenks home. You were never here. I’ll take care of it.”

As they left, Kittisoth grabbed Renaer’s hand and gave it a little squeeze. She pulled him after her, and he willingly came.

While the others carefully guided Jenks out of the windmill (Kittisoth covered his eyes with one wing), Pashar lingered with Vajra a little longer to explain what needed to be done once the Cassalanter children were found. “Based off our research, if, when their birthday comes, the parents on whom the blood ritual is attuned and the children are dead with every trace of their original bodies destroyed, then the triggering moment of the ritual will pass. The children could then be returned to life with a true resurrection, and Asmodeus would have no further claim to their souls.”

“That’s very dark,” the Blackstaff said.

“But necessary,” Pashar said, glancing back at the room where they’d left Lady Cassalanter.

A BRIGHTER MORNING

On the ride back to Trollskull, it was clear that Jenks was shattered. The horrific experiences of the last few hours had broken him. When they got back to the Manor, the other kids came rushing out of the maroon dome. There were tears and hugs and endless comforting.

The next morning, Kittisoth woke up in bed with the three kids snuggled around her. One of her wings was protectively draped over the top of them.

Renaer, who had slept in the couch in the front room, was cooking breakfast as they all came staggering out of their rooms. Kittisoth joined him and showed him how to make a pirate’s breakfast. The kids came out a little later, rubbing their eyes. Jenks was clearly still a little shaken by his ordeal, so Renaer made him pancakes in the shapes of various divine symbols and began quizzing him on which gods they belonged to.

After breakfast, Pashar and Edana headed over to Amara’s Bakery and cleaned up the blood. Kittisoth kissed Renaer goodbye and spent the rest of the morning hanging out with the kids. Kora headed to the Market to track down a dragon scale.

“How much for a gold dragon scale?” Kora asked.

“Sixteen hundred gold pieces.”

“… how much for a tin dragon scale?”

Even chromatic scales proved expensive, but they didn’t have time to wait for Zellifarn to fly back from wherever he lived (even if he’d agree to). Kora paid what needed to be paid.

Leaving Pashar to finish up at Amara’s, Edana headed over to Steam and Steel. Embric and Avi were quarreling about which one of them had won their drinking contest the night before.

“Were you drinking at Trollskull?” Edana asked.

“No,” Embric said regretfully. “We went to a friend’s party instead.”

“Oh! So you both lost!” Edana grinned. Embric and Avi laughed heartily.

“What can we do for you?”

Edana wanted two things: A mithril hammer for the vault and a set of Trollskull Manor amulets for the kids: a flask didn’t seem appropriate, but she wanted something they could theoretically cast locate object on in the future.

They could wait a few days for the amulets, but Edana agreed to give them a fistful of free drink tokens for Trollskull Manor if they finished the mithril hammer that same day. Nevertheless, with the cost of the true silver they’d completely tapped out their once substantial cash reserves.

But if everything went well, that wouldn’t be a problem soon enough.

A HARPER TRIAL

As Edana opened the front door of Trollskull Manor, however, she looked down the street and saw Dain storming down the street towards her, accompanied by a pair of men in blue robes. She sighed and went down to the bottom of the stairs to wait for him.

Dain pulled up in front of her, flanked by the other two. One was an albino elf with piercing blue eyes. The other was a dark skinned human male whose eyes were just golden spheres that glowed softly. All three of them wore their Harper pins, openly displayed.

“Where is she?” Dain demanded.

“Not today,” Edana said.

Dain opened his mouth to retort.

“Not. Today.”

“This is Harper business,” Dain said. “Move aside if you honor your oath.”

“It doesn’t have to be like this,” Edana said. “But it can’t be today.

“Are you a Harper or not?!” Dain fumed.

Edana messaged Kora. Dain’s here. He’s pissed. I’m telling him to go away. He’s not listening. Should I convince him?

Inside the Manor, Kora sighed. No. Wait for us.

A few moments later, the others stepped outside. Dain looked up at Kora, who had been the first through the door. “Kora,” he said. “I’m very disappointed.”

“I thought you would be,” Kora admitted.

“You disobeyed orders.”

“I acted with a Harper’s discretion.”

“We’ll see what the High Harper has to say about this,” Dain concluded. “You’ll come with us now. You and your friends.”

“No,” Kora said. “This was my decision. I’ll answer for it alone.”

Dain shook his head. “They’re all Harpers.”

“I’ll come with you,” Kora said. “But I can’t speak for the others.”

“You’re making this worse for yourself.”

Kora sighed. “I can’t make people do things. That’s not how the Harpers are supposed to work.”

“Couldn’t the High Harper come here?” Theren suggested. Kitti laughed from the top of the stairs.

Dain ground his teeth. “For the last time: will you come?”

The others nodded their agreement, but Kora shook her head. “Someone needs to say.” She turned to Dain. “To protect our children.” She dropped her voice to a whisper. “Please. One of them was kidnapped last night.”

Dain softened. “Yes. Of course.”

It didn’t take them long to conclude that Kittisoth — and her temper — was the best one to leave behind with the kids, and then Dain lead them across the city and deep into the Castle Ward. On Waterdeep Way, west of Castle Waterdeep and east of Piergeron’s Palace, their escorts turned abruptly and vanished into what had appeared to be nothing but a vine-covered wall a moment before. Passing through the nigh-invisible gap there, however, they found themselves climbing up the side of Mt. Waterdeep.

They climbed quite high, in fact. The griffon patrols above the city were flying even with them and the air was getting quit thin when they passed into a crevasse on the side of the mountain. There, inside a kind of cleft, they came suddenly upon a cave.

At every step along the way they had been baffled by their route. They would have never seen the gap in the wall, nor the path beyond it. There were several more turnoffs they didn’t see until they’d taken them. Even the cleft had looked like nothing remarkable until they were already on top it. It seemed as if they were in plain sight on the side of the mountain, and yet they weren’t even certain they would be able to find their way back here if their lives depended on it.

As they entered the cave and worked their way into its depths, they noticed that Dain was touching various places along the wall with clear deliberation. Whatever path he was guiding them along here was warded, and there were numerous other passages they did not take (and perhaps were not designed to be taken).

At last they emerged into the heart of a massive geode. Crystals, glittering in the light, lined the dome of the cavern and had been leveled beneath their feet to form a smooth floor. On the far side of the cavern stood a statue of a man with a bald head and long beard. Edana, Kora, and Pashar recognized this as Lord Aghairon, founder of Waterdeep. The statue was gesturing outwards, as if taking in the whole room as a conclave. In one hand it grasped an actual staff — somehow cleverly worked through a grip of stone. Pashar recognized this and gasped. Leaning over to the others he whispered, “That’s the dragonstaff of Aghairon.” The keystone of the dragonward which kept all dragons out of Waterdeep… unless they had been touched by the staff.

They realized that, as they had been captivated by the statue and staff, a dozen people had stepped forward from the darkness rimming the chamber into the light. They wore hoods low over their faces, masking their faces in shadow and leaving them unrecognizable.

Dain stepped forward. “We have brought those who are to be judged.”

A figure floated through the statue of Aghairon. The translucent blue ghost of a young elven woman, with a Harper pin fastened even upon the clothes she wore in death as a tribute to the faith which held her to this world and its business.

“High Harper,” Dain intoned, “I bring before you Harpshadow Kora and her disciples, who have confessed in writing to disobeying orders and the theft of Harper property.”

The spectral Harper spoken then. “Step aside, Harpsinger, and let them answer the charges in their own voice.” She lowered her gaze to them. “We have been told that you have disobeyed the orders of a Harper given to you in good faith, and that you have betrayed the Harper trust by aiding and abetting our ancient foes the Zhents. You have furthermore stolen a cache of Harper supplies which are to be used in the struggle against all evil and injustice in the world. How answer you?”

Kora took a step forward. “First and foremost, we have stolen nothing. We have secured the cache, intending to keep it safe until it could be relocated. This we have done. Nothing has been despoiled. Nothing has been taken.”

“Where is the cache now?”

Theren spoke up. “I have it here in this bag of holding. I can dump it out here if you would like.”

“Unnecessary,” the High Harper said. “And where did you plan to relocate the cache?”

“The city recently bestowed the abandoned property of Thunderstaff Villa to us, beneath which there are hidden chambers which can be easily secured,” Kora said. “We intended to consult with Dain before placing the cache there, but we think it would make a good location.”

“And how do you answer the charge of being complicit in the plots of the Zhents?”

“We killed Manshoon!” Kora said indignantly. “And, yes, in this effort we allied with the Doom Raiders, who are also of the Zhentarim. In working with them, however, we have learned that they are not evil actors. They seek to shake off the malignancy of Manshoon. Are the Zhents truly the enemies of the Harpers? Or was Manshoon enemy to us both?”

Dain harrumphed from his place off to one side.

“You are young,” the High Harper said. “We have often seen the Zhents mislead those who are young.”

“Perhaps,” Kora said. “But if we have been ‘misled’ in to slaying Manshoon, will this council object?”

Edana stepped forward. “Shedding blood merely because they are living in a specific building seems unnecessary. And unjust.”

Theren agreed. “They have legal ownership of the tower. If we had done what we were ordered to do, we would have been in the wrong.”

“And we are not mere thugs to be ordered about!” Kora declared. “We are thinking people! We are a powerful group! We have brought demon-worshipping nobles to heel and thwarted Jarlaxle! We have infiltrated Xanathar’s lair! We have killed Manshoon!”

“We are no children to be summoned for scolding,” Edana said.

“We are Harpers,” Pashar said. “We are meant to be just and lenient! We are meant to use not only our initiative, but our judgment! And Dain has shown no judgment at all! Not only were these orders ill thought, but he had previously ignored us when we told him that one of his superiors had been enthralled by Manshoon!”

The spectral Harper seemed taken aback. “What is this?”

Dain snorted. “It’s a ridiculous conspiracy theory! They accused Mirt of being a traitor, but I think the truth of it is that they are the traitors!”

“We told you that Mirt had been compromised and that he needed help!” Theren shouted.

“Help that the Blackstaff is now providing,” Kora stated simply, laying a calming hand on Theren’s shoulder.

“The Blackstaff?”

“Dain wouldn’t do anything,” Theren said. “So we went to Vajra.”

“Surely someone here other than we are close to the Blackstaff and can verify the truth?” Kora asked.

A murmur passed around the chamber.

Edana spoke up. “The point is that you recruited Kora and promoted Kora because she is wise and kind and just. I became a Harper because of her. And if you don’t trust her judgment, then I have been misled about what it means to be a Harper. She is the best of you!”

The High Harper floated back a few paces. At some unspoken signal, two of the gathered Harpers stepped forward. The rest stepped back. The broken circle looked around at each other, there were nods, and then the two who had stepped forward also stepped back, as if to form a concensus.

“I see,” the High Harper said, coming forward again. “You have been found… innocent. And justified in your actions. Here is my judgment upon you: Brightcandle Kora, you will be taking over responsibility for the North Ward.” (“Oh shit,” Kora murmured.) “You will begin your work with your fellow Harpshadows. You have much work to do and we trust your judgement.” She turned to Dain. “Dain, we understand your concerns. But perhaps it will be best if Brightcandle Kora is allowed the… how did you put it, Pashar? The… initiative to follow her own instincts, in the Harper fashion.”

Kora bowed her head, uncertain of what she truly thought or felt, but certain in this: “You will not regret this.”

One of the Harper lords stepped forward from the circle and lowered his hood. It was… Mattrim Three-Strings, the bard from their own tavern. He winked and led them out of the cavern and back to the wall onto Waterdeep Way. “We’ll talk later,” he said, and then vanished in to the crowds.

KISS AND TELL

“Mattrim Three-Strings?!” Kitti shouted. “That’s amazing!”

They had just finished telling her the tale of their trial. Kora still seemed a little shellshocked. Kittisoth pushed a glass of whiskey over to her.

“For an organization founded to undermine authority…” Pashar mused.

“…they get real twitchy whenever somebody questions theirs,” Edana finished his thought.

“I’m just glad they came to the right decision, otherwise–“

There was a knock on the door.

“Ah, fuck,” Kittisoth said and opened the door.

Amara was standing there.

“Oh my god! Come in!” Kitti gestured with her hand, throwing her wings back to open the way.

Amara was clearly a little shaky. There were tears in her eyes. “The Blackstaff told me what you did for me. I can’t thank you enough!”

“Come in! Come in!” Kitti demanded. “And we should be thanking you! Or apologizing! We had no idea that we were putting you in danger.” She led Amara over to the couch and pushed a glass of the whiskey into her hands.

“Thank you,” Amara said again. “The Blackstaff — I still can’t believe that was the Blackstaff! — told me a lot of what happened. I just wanted to come by and say… I’m all right. Yes. I’m all right.”

Jenks, having heard her voice, came running into the room and gave her a big hug. “Amara! Oh, Amara! I thought your were dead!”

“I was,” Amara smiled. “For a little while. It’s all right Jenks.”

Jenks stepped back and wiped a tear form his cheek.

Amara patted him on the shoulder. “I’ll understand if you don’t want to come back to the bakery—”

“No!” Jenks cried. “We’ve got to bake the bread! We need to break the crust!”

Amara grinned. “That’s right, Jenks. You’ve got to break the crust!”

They hugged again. A little while later, Amara said her goodbyes. Kittisoth waved goodbye as she headed down the street and then shut the door. She turned back to look at the rest of the group. Everyone sighed heavily. It had been a long day and—

There was a knock on the door.

“Gods dammit!” Kittisoth exclaimed.

She opened the door. It was Embric, delivering the mithril hammer. “I’ll see you tonight for those drink tokens!” he laughed, heading back down the stairs.

Kittisoth shut the door again. “So who do we leave in charge of the kids while we head back to the City of the Dead?”

“Hasn’t Renaer been hanging out all afternoon?” Edana suggested.

Renaer — who had, in fact, already been playing with their kids in their room — was more than happy to oblige. He leaned in and give Kitti a deep kiss. The others cheered.

“Stop it!” Kittisoth glared at them. Then, with a grin, she went back in for a second helping, raising her wings to afford a little privacy.

Go to Part 6

Go to Table of Contents

Since we were just discussing Tarina in the Elfsong Tavern, let’s take a moment to talk about the tavern itself.

The tavern is described with:

• A list of tavern patrons
• A map
• A detailed key for all the rooms (upstairs and downstairs)
• The lyrics of an elfsong sung by the local ghost in tribute to lost Elturel

(The tavern has apparently lost the stuffed baby beholder that used to hang over the bar in the 14^th century.)

Structurally, however, this is what happens at the tavern:

• The PCs talk to Tarina, who refuses to give them the information until they help her kill some pirates who are coming to attack her.
• They wait for the pirates to show up.
• The pirates show up. They fight.
• Tarina gives them the information.
• They leave.

The first problem here is that the structure doesn’t make it easy for the GM to leverage all the material presented about the tavern. The most egregious example of this is the sahuagin priestess Oshalla: Three hundred words are dedicated to describing this NPC who the PCs don’t know about, no one mentions, and who is behind a locked door on the second floor of the tavern. (Remember: The PCs have no reason to ever leave the common room of the tavern.)

She seems sort of interesting, but what the hell is she doing here?

Part of the explanation here is that the Elfsong Tavern appeared in the Baldur’s Gate and Baldur’s Gate: Dark Alliance computer roleplaying games. Its inclusion is a nostalgic love letter that will resonate with a lot of players, so it gets an uber-detailed description. On the other hand, this ultimately just emphasizes the problem: If we care enough about the Elfsong Tavern to describe it in encyclopedic detail, why not structure the scenario so that the players at the table can experience that content?

The second problem is that the scenario structure here is very weak. Tarina basically says, “I will help you after the next cut scene.” But then the GM is supposed to make the PCs wait an arbitrary and unspecified amount of time before triggering the cut scene in a location where there’s basically nothing for them to do except say, “We wait.”

(The more cynical take is that the writers are expecting the PCs to act as if they’re in a CRPG and go around picking the locks on every private door in the joint.)

ENTER TARINA

Tarina is the reason that the PCs are there, so she’s going to be the lynchpin of whatever structure we apply here. The biggest problem we have here is the entire “I’ve heard a rumor some pirates might show up and try to kill me tonight” interaction: It’s overly complicated and it doesn’t really make a lot of sense.

The book says that the intention here is to give the PCs time to explore the tavern while they wait. But if they’re supposed to by bodyguarding Tarina, they’re probably not going to wander away, right?

We’re going to make a simple tweak here:

• When the PCs show up at he Elfsong Tavern, Tarina isn’t here.
• She shows up.
• She tells the PCs the information they need.

And that’s it. We don’t need any frills to get the job done here.

ELFSONG

The Elfsong Tavern is haunted by the spirit of an elven woman who periodically sings a ghostly lament for a lover lost at sea. According to Volo’s Guide to the Sword Coast, “the voice is never heard more than twice in an evening, but usually at least every three nights, and never during the sunlit hours.” The song is always the same.

Descent Into Avernus, therefore, has a really interesting moment in which the spirit unexpectedly begins singing a lay to fallen Elturel. This includes a full set of beautiful, poetic lyrics which I suspect some might be suspicious of, but which I think can actually create a great moment at the gaming table.

Unfortunately, the moment won’t actually work because the adventure doesn’t put in the necessary work to make it land. “This surprises everyone,” the book says… except the PCs. Because the PCs have never heard the spirit sing before, don’t know that it never changes its tune, and don’t know that this isn’t the regular tune.

RULE OF THREE: The Rule of Three is a narrative principle in which you (1) establish something, (2) reinforce it, and then (3) pay it off. (And the pay off can also be a reversal of the expectation you’ve established.)

We’ll do the same thing here:

• The Elfsong is being sung when the PCs come through the door. They walk into the “customary hush that falls over the tavern while the ghostly voice sings her sad lament” (Volo’s Guide to the Sword Coast).
• The spirit begins singing again when Tarina arrives. (Some or all of the PCs are likely to be upstairs when you trigger this moment. Note that the song can be heard everywhere in the building.)
• As they’re finishing their conversation with Tarina (just after she’s given them the information), the spirit sings the lay to fallen Elturel.

Basically, you show the players what’s usual so that you don’t have to tell them when it’s unusual. The moment is allowed to speak for itself. (You can still reinforce this, of course, by describing the haunted reaction of the tavern regulars.)

THE REGULARS: It’s fairly plausible that the first or second instance of the song will prompt the PCs to ask someone what the song is all about. Try to color this with that NPC’s personal opinion and relationship with the song. For example, Alan Alyth, the owner of the tavern, might tell about how his grandmother, Lady Alyth Eldendara, heard the song just once and bought the tavern that very night. The former owner agreed only on the condition that he would always have a seat in the tavern where he could come each night to listen to the song. Theomon’s Chair still sits in the corner, sacrosanct and unused by any patron.

(No, I don’t know why Alan’s last name is his grandmother’s first name.)

This allows the Elfsong to become a potential icebreaker or easy topic of conversation as the PCs interact with the NPCs here.

THE FIRST TIMER: You might also add an extra touch to the first or second instance of the song by describing it’s effect on another first timer. Also from Volo’s Guide to the Sword Coast: “A first-timer … who breaks down into tears upon hearing the song is usually embraced and comforted by the nearest regular patron.”

(This is superior to trying to tell the players that their characters “feel really sad” about hearing the song. Telling players what their characters are feeling is generally a bad idea.)

OSHALLA

While the PCs are waiting for Tarina to show up, Alan Alyth comes over to their table. He’s seen the Flaming Fist badges they’re wearing and he’d like their help. He has a tenant renting a room upstairs who has fallen behind on her rent. She’s locked her door and refuses to come out.

The tenant in question is Oshalla, the sahuagin priestess I mentioned above.

(This leverages Oshalla so that the PCs will actually interact with her. It also reinforces their new role as members of the Flaming Fist.)

TOPICS OF CONVERSATION

FALL OF ELTUREL: Use the Rumors of Elturel addendum to seed the conversation here. This will continue building up the enigma around Elturel’s disappearance. (As does the lay sung by the elf spirit later, of course.) As in Part 1, make a point of including High Observer Thavius Kreeg (and the fact he’s presumed to be lost with the rest of the city).

FLAMING FIST LEADERSHIP: With Grand Duke Ravengard missing and presumed dead in the Fall of Elturel, there’s a lot of speculation about who will become the new Marhsal of the Flaming Fist.

• Blaze Beldroth over in the western Lower City has reportedly promoted himself to Marshal and is issuing orders. It’s unclear how many Flames are actually following those orders.
• Duke Portyr has recalled his niece, Liara Portyr, from Fort Beluarian in Chult. It’s assumed he’s planning to push her into the leadership position.
• Blaze Mukar, commander of Wyrm’s Rock, is also in a powerful position.
• This is all just a test by Grand Duke Ravengard to see who’s loyal and who’s not.
• The Eltan family, heirs of the Eltan who originally founded the Flaming Fists but sold off their shares in order pay off debts, is preparing to buy back in, with Taraphael Eltan becoming the new Marshal.
• Yvandre Rillyn, a Flaming Fist veteran, has been running the Rillyn School for Swordplay. The school is actually the front for a conspiracy to seize control of the Flaming Fist. Rumor has it that Rillyn “students” were seen in Elturel before its fall. (See Descent Into Avernus, p. 182.)

THE NEXT GRAND DUKE: Ravengard’s death also opens up the position of Grand Duke. Use this gossip to establish all of the surviving dukes (see Descent, p. 162):

• Duke Belynne Stelmane
• Duke Dillard Portyr
• Duke Thalamra Vanthampur

As for the filling the fourth ducal position, any number of patriar families might be mentioned (including Taraphael Eltan). See p. 165 of Descent Into Avernus.

REFUGEES: There are those who think Baldur’s Gate should be doing more to help. There also those spewing out all kinds of anti-refugee rhetoric and conspiracy theories (like the rumor on p. 18, “I’ll bet my last copper piece that those so-called refugees are advance scouts for an army that’s preparing to attack Baldur’s Gate!”).

REDUX REFUGEE

Grab one of the refugees from the refugee caravan (or a small group/family) and have them come into the Elfsong Tavern. They’re trying to find lodging, but everywhere they’ve checked is sold out. (So is the Elfsong Tavern… unless the PCs have created a vacancy upstairs.)

That refugee who was pregnant and now has a newborn baby is probably a great choice for pathos here.

That guy who was spewing vile anti-refugee conspiracy theories a couple minutes ago? It’s a great time for him to open his stupid mouth again.

THE PIRATES

I’ll be honest: I think the pirate encounter is kind of dumb. I think the setup with Tarina knowing they’re looking for her is awkward at best and the whole thing ultimately contributes nothing to the scenario and means nothing. I suspect it’s largely here because the writers needed to level the PCs up and felt it was even more ridiculous to do without at least some kind of fight.

(If, as I’ve suggested, you’ve either run the refugee caravan scenario or simply had the players create 2^nd level characters, then this is completely unnecessary.)

THE SURPRISE: If you still want to include the pirates, then just have them burst through the doors as Tarina finishes briefing the PCs. “Oh crap, these guys again,” she says, and asks the PCs to help her deal with them.

THE RUNNING GAG: If you’ve replaced Tarina with a PC, the pirates could be worked in as a running gag as long as they’re in Baldur’s Gate. Everywhere they go… more bloody pirates seeking revenge.

THE TAVERN BRAWL: Alternatively, just start a brawl in the tavern. If the PCs do something stupid, great. Otherwise, have a quarrel over the refugees escalate until somebody breaks a bottle.

EVENT SEQUENCE

A quick summary/checklist of everything we’ve just talked about:

• Entering the Elfsong Tavern while the Elfsong is being sung.
• Tarina isn’t there yet.
• Alyth comes over to ask them to deal with the deadbeat Oshalla.
• Refugee enters, desperate for lodging.
• Tarina arrives. Elfsong again.
• Tarina briefs the PCs.
• Elfsong: The Lay of Elturel.
• Optional: Pirate Booty Kickin’ / Tavern Brawl

This should give you enough narrative space to frame conversations around the PCs (implicitly inviting them to join in), have NPCs approach them for a friendly chat, and/or let the players take the initiative and find someone to talk to.

ALTERNATIVE CAMPAIGN HOOKS

Well, we did establish that these killings were targeting refugees, right? Pick one of the refugees from the caravan (preferably whichever one was the players’ favorite) and murder them. Other refugees from the caravan find the PCs and ask for their help again. (The refugees might have found lodging at the Elfsong Tavern, so you can still frame this scene there.) You can then use Part 3D: Investigating the Murders to bring the PCs into the Vanthampur Investigations.

(Alternatively, if you prefer to follow more closely the structure of the original book, you can use an investigative montage to point the PCs at the bathhouse the Dead Three cultists are using.)

Go to Part 3: The Vanthampur Investigations

Go to Part 1

THE STONE OF GOLORR

Blackness.

They were in a void.

Edana still had the Stone in the palm of her hand. They were still all linked in a network of outstretched hands. But all around them was utter nothingness.

Then, abruptly, there was a bloom of light.

Not an explosion. More like the opposite of an implosion. A rapid, organic expansion or unfolding. An entire planet that was bulging and shaping itself into existence before them. Then, as if a hand had swept across the blackness, stars appeared in a vast river that filled the sky. Soft starlight fell across the dark mass of the planet and waters gushed forth, covering its surface in cascading torrents of incomprehensible scale.

And then something went… wrong. The planet seemed to schism, as if their vision were double. Then it ripped. The sound of that washed over them in a horrendous wave. They were seeing impossibilities as the two worlds separated and began phasing back and forth in an impossible superposition.

In the midst of this chaos, there was a bolt of white light; or perhaps something vast and crystalline lancing in from out of the darkness. It plunged into the very heart of the two schisming worlds.

In her head, Edana heard a voice: “Thus I came.”

The planets ripped apart.

… and they found themselves back in the vault, standing atop the sunburst.

The others stumbled back half a step, but Edana could still feel these tendrils of alien thought reaching up along the back of her spine. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. Her sensorium was… not overwhelmed, exactly, but shocked by a wash of sensations she had never experienced before: Not sight. Not taste. Not hearing or smell or touch. Impossible, alien sensations. There were etheric harmonies that she could see/feel/smell/taste passing through her. She was sensate to psychic tendrils that linked the world in endless enigmas.

She was attuning to an alien thought pattern that was emanating from the Stone of Golorr. The Stone was trying to find an interface between the way it thought and the way she thought. After an endless moment it began settling down. The mirrored thoughts still sizzled and warped in a fizzing cascade on the edges of brain, but she ultimately understood what the Stone was.

The Stone was in a weakened state from having been blinded by Lord Dagult, but it would grow in strength over time. Edana would be able to call upon that strength to pull out the secrets (so many secrets!) that had been encoded into the Stone. Knowing what secret to request of the Stone would be difficult – since these secrets had, as she knew from Manshoon’s research, literally been stripped out of reality – but in the absence of a specific conception, the Stone would nevertheless provide some random secret, chosen from its depths according to the whims of its alien logic.

“Gods…” Edana murmured.

When she’d had a moment to collect herself, she explained to the others what she now knew at a primal, even instinctual level.

“Can we just ask what Dagult did?” Theren asked.

“We know what he did,” Kora said. “What we need to know is how to get through this door.”

“Do we think it’s a password?”

Edana held forth the Stone. “Tell me how to retrieve the treasure of Lord Dagult Neverember.”

She felt its thoughts percolating and intermixing with her own. She reached out across the strange interface that the Stone had created between them. It took a long time for their thoughts to align — it was like the Stone was trying to pick her while she was trying to pick it — but they came together like two bodies orbiting into a collision, oscillating faster and faster until a tangle of images and words began bubbling up.

Where laid his wife to rest ‘midst bones of son’s blood sealed, there where Anri laid himself to rest, lies that which Open Lord concealed.

Twisted underground tunnels lit by strange lights. An endless field of corpses. Halls of stone. A golden dragon, aging so rapidly that scales shed from its skin; one of those scaled held in perfect focus as it falls. The sound of a silver hammer striking stone. A beam of sunlight in a darkened room. A chisel carving Dathek characters which transform themselves into two words: BRANDATH CRYPTS.

As Edana related what she had been shown, Theren recalled the enigmatic phrase Pashar had found in his research. “In beam of sun, strike dragon’s scale with mithril true upon the anvil sun.”

“We’re on the sun,” Theren said.

Kora nodded. “So we need to bring a dragon scale and a mithril hammer here?”

“There was something else,” Edana said. “A beam of sunlight.”

“I can do that,” Kora said. “With a daylight spell.”

“We know a dragon,” Kittisoth pointed out, thinking of Zellifarn.

“We can do this,” Kora said. “But we can’t do it right now. So we should leave now. Get out of the graveyard before they lock it for the night.”

Kittisoth nodded. “Let’s get home.”

CRISIS AT THE HOMEFRONT

As they returned to Trollskull, they could see that the tavern was rollicking. It was Goldennight and, as they passed by the windows, they could see the patrons inside were pasted with gold dust and encrusted with jewels streaming down their cheeks and arms. By the bar, Rishaal and Lif were looking in a book and laughing together while Lif served drinks. Fala Lefaliir, with her hair coiffed into an elaborate curly-cue topped with the miniature figure of a dragon with its wings spread, had arranged a huge assortment of teas in front of her and was sampling them in turn.

Outside Trollskull, they could see the Zhentarim, a silent perimeter. Ziraj was standing in the alley, watching the rear of the building. They found Yagra and two other zhents at the bottom of their stairs.

“It’s good to see you, Yagra,” Edana smiled.

“I heard you had cause to worry,” Yagra said. “

“Thank you,” Edana said. “Any problems?”

Yagra shook her head. “All quiet. But we’ll keep a watch through the night. We’ve got another shift coming to relieve us later.”

“Come in for a drink when you’re done!” Kittisoth said.

They headed up the stairs and through their front door, breathing a sigh of relief to finally be home. From the next room over, they could see the reassuring maroon glow of the tiny hut Pashar had created for the kids.

And sitting on the couch was Jarlaxle.

“Good evening.” The dark elf smiled.

“Son of a bitch,” Kora muttered.

“So you take children?” Edana said, her voice dripping with venom.

“Not plural,” Jarlaxle reassured her. “And only when necessary. Honestly, the child is probably safer with me than with his parents. Please! Sit!”

Some of them sat. Others refused.

Jarlaxle nodded. “So it would seem you’re acting as agents for the Gralhunds. I seem to remember suggesting that you’d be better off not getting involved with them.”

“What are you looking for?” Kora asked, cutting to the chase.

“The Stone of Golorr,” Jarlaxle said frankly.

“Why?”

“My understanding is that the Stone contains certain secrets that Lord Dagult wished to keep from the city. I want to see those secrets rightfully restored to Waterdeep.”

“To what end?” Theren asked.

“I’ve made no secret of my agenda. I want to see Luskan risen to its proper place in the Lords’ Alliance. It will be good for Luskan. It will be good for the entire Sword Coast to have that kind of unity in the face of a dark and turbulent sea.” Their faces were stony. Jarlaxle smiled again. “Now, I believe that the Gralhunds have the Stone, based on the information you so kindly gave me when we met under other guises, and I have what they want. It should be an easy arrangement to make. And as you’re acting as their agents, I’m sure you reached out to me to make those arrangements.”

“We heard you were busy tonight,” Edana said.

Jarlaxle’s smile faltered… just a fraction, but it was there. “Those plans were, unfortunately, not as successful as I might have hoped. I’m certain we’ll have better luck here.”

“So you want the Stone, and in exchange you’ll give us the child,” Kora said.

“Yes.”

“There’s a problem,” Theren said. “They don’t have the Stone.”

Jarlaxle laughed. “And yet they did! What do they say happened to it?”

“You could have just tried asking them,” Kittisoth snapped, anger at the stolen child roiling her gut. “Why didn’t you just approach them and ask?”

“I did approach them,” Jarlaxle said. “From a position of strength. Have we not opened negotiations?”

“You could have talked to them first! Before stealing their child!”

“My experience,” Jarlaxle said, “and I think you’ll agree with me from your own experience, that if you don’t warn the people whose houses you’re breaking into and then sinking, that you’re more likely to meet with success.

“Well, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Kittisoth said, arching an eyebrow.

Edana, meanwhile, had gone over to the tiny hut and poked her head inside to check on the orphans. Nat and Squiddly were inside. “Where’s Jenks?”

“He headed over to bakery for his apprenticeship!’

“Everything all right?” Pashar asked as she came back into the room.

“Yes,” Edana said. “The kids are fine. Jenks is over at the bakery.”

But Theren’s eyes grew wide. They’d made a mistake. He dashed out the door.

“Here’s what we’re going to do,” Jarlaxle said, standing up. “The Gralhunds have told you that they don’t have the Stone. This is an obvious ploy. Tell them that this should be a simple arrangement. Bring the Stone to the theater tomorrow. The boy will go home. Waterdeep will be given what is its right. Everyone will be satisfied.”

“And what if they really don’t have the Stone?” Pashar asked. “Or if they’ve secured it somewhere that it will take a great deal of time to retrieve it from?”

“Then send me word and I’ll keep their child safe,” Jarlaxle said. “It’s probably for the best. As Kittisoth said, they don’t seem to keep their own home very well protected.” He opened the door and stepped out. From outside they heard Yagra yell, “What in the Nine Hells?!”

BLOOD AT THE BAKERY

Theren, meanwhile, had run around the tavern and into Trollskull Alley. Racing over to Amara’s bakery, he threw open the door.

Amara was laying in a pool of blood in the center of the floor. She had been stabbed several times. She was dead.

“Jenks?!” Theren screamed.

There was no answer.

Acting on instinct, Theren grabbed Amara’s body and began hauling it across the alley back to Trollskull Manor. He managed to slip past the Goldennight revelers without raising an alarm. As he reached the base of their stairs, Yagra gasped. “What happened? Is everything all right?”

“No,” Theren said coldly. “It isn’t.”

He went up the stairs and into the sitting room. The others gasped as he threw Amara’s body down. Blood stained one side of his clothes.

Pashar rushed to Amara’s side and cast a simple rite that would preserve her body for later revival. As he worked the rite, he found a note pinned inside her clothes and passed it to Edana. She read it out loud.

No one spoke for a long moment.

Then there were a dozen plans swirling: Edana asked Yagra to come in and help clean up the mess. Others were trying to figure out where Amara’s body could be moved so it wouldn’t alarm the kids when they came out. “What do we tell them?” Kora asked. Was there some place they could be moved where they would be safer? Kittisoth headed for the balcony, ready to fly to straight to Renear and demand that he keep them in his secret manse.

Kora cut through the chaos by sending a telepathic message to Vajra: “Ammalia Cassalanter murdered neighbor. Kidnapped our child. Threatening to kill. We are responding in force shortly. Please come to Trollskull. This must end.”

Coming now.

“She’s coming,” Kora said.

“I’m going to tell the children,” Edana said. “They have to know what’s going on.”

Before Edana could even leave the room, however, Vajra and Renaer appeared in the middle of it. Renaer rushed over to Kittisoth to embrace her and–

“Don’t touch me,” Kittisoth said. Her eyes boiled with rage.

“It’s not you,” Kora said.

“I understand,” Renaer said, taking a step back.

Kittisoth turned to Vajra. “What are you going to do? You promised us that you would clean this up.”

“I understand that you’re upset,” Vajra said. “Who is dead?”

Edana peeled back the sheet she had placed over Amara. “A baker who worked on the far side of the alley. Our boy, Jenks, was apprenticed to her.”

“I’m very sorry,” Vajra said. “You should know that Renaer and I have been working very hard. Over the past two days we’d gathered the evidence to take proper legal action. We raided the Cassalanter villa this afternoon to arrest Ammalia, but she had vanished. We don’t know where she is. We’ve impounded the mansion and were investigating both all of its contents and the temple beneath it.”

“What about other locations?” Pashar asked.

“There’s only one I can think of,” Renaer said. “An old windmill on Coachlamp Lane. Although it belongs to someone named Seffia Naelryke, it was originally paid for by the Cassalanters. It’s a thin lead, but…”

“It’s good enough,” Kora said.

Things moved quickly now, but with purpose: Edana went to the children. There were tears and anger and pain, but she talked them through it. Theren, meanwhile, went out to speak with the Zhentarim: they pulled the big guns, with Ziraj and Yagra coming inside to keep a close guard on the tiny hut while they were gone. Vajra told Yagra that she would have people coming to collect Amara for resurrection shortly.

Then they went down the front stairs. With a wave of her hand, Vajra summoned spectral steeds pulling a carriage. “Mount,” she said, and then lifted off into the sky, flying above them as they tore through the streets of Waterdeep to the Southern Ward. As they drew near Coachlamp Lane, Vajra swooped down to speak with them through the window of the coach.

“I’m detecting strong wards,” she said. “Abjurations designed to warn against the approach of strong magic. Lady Ammalia knows I’m the one who’s been pursuing the investigation her. I’ll need to hold back, but I’ll come quickly when needed.”

“Is everything arranged for her arrest either alive or dead?” Pashar asked.

“Do what you need to do,” Vajra said. “We’ll clean it up later.” She swooped back up into the sky.

They rode on. The windmill was easy to spot — a round tower two storeys tall, with some sort of blocky later addition thrust out awkwardly to one side.

They moved quickly but carefully. Edana slipped through the shadows, efficiently checking the perimeter of the building. There was a dark-haired woman in an upper window, looking out over the street, but no sign of Ammalia herself. Edana chose one of the entrances on the opposite side of the building, a door leading into the annex.

There were bedrooms back there. They checked them one by one until they found an occupied bed: Hope surged for a moment that it might be Jenks, but it was a man with a beard and short, dirty-blonde hair. Theren and Edana bracketed the bed to either side, and Kittisoth’s demonic shadow, cast from where she filled the door, fell across the man as they rudely awoke him and thrust the point of poniard against his throat.

“Scream and you die,” Edana said. “Is Ammalia here?”

The man nodded. His eyes wide with fear.

“Does she have the boy?”

He nodded again.

“Is he alive?” Theren asked and then, after another nod, “Where?”

“Upstairs,” the man whispered hoarsely.

“Where is she?” Edana asked.

“Asmodeus will have your souls,” the man said, still in a hoarse whisper.

Edana drove the poniard up into his skull. Blood gushed out across the white sheets. She stood up, dragging a blanket up with her to wipe her blade.

Edana, coming out of the room, put a hand on Pashar’s shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

“No,” Kittisoth said. “No apologies. She took our son. She’s planning to sacrifice him. No more mercy.” She turned to Renaer. “She’s dead. You understand?”

Renaer nodded. “Yes she is.”

They went down the hallway, leaving the annex and entering the first floor of the windmill. Coming to the first door, Edana listened.

Creak. Creak. Creak.

A rocking chair.

Creak. Creak. Creak.

Edana signaled to Pashar and knocked an arrow. Theren came to kneel beside her, also knocking an arrow. She eased the door open. Ammalia Cassalanter was in the rocking chair, reading by the light of a fire.

Creak. Creak. Cre–

Pashar dropped a silence spell over the room. Edana shot.

Ammalia was already rising from the chair, raising her hand as if to cast, only for her eyes to grow wide as she realized she had no voice. Edana’s shot grazed her, but then Theren rapidly shot multiple arrows that struck her in the shoulder and then center mass. Edana shot again, her arrow joining the other blooming in Ammalia’s chest.

Kittisoth pulsed her wings, raw rage made manifest as she flew through the door above Edana and Theren’s heads. Electricity sparked from her eyes and raced down her arms, crackling across the head of her axe as she fell upon Lady Cassalanter. Blood sprayed across the wall, dancing in the flickering firelight. Ammalia reached up one plaintive hand to ward off the blow, but then Theren was there, having cast his bow aside, and his sword swept out and chopped off her hand, sending it spinning across the floor.

Lightning leapt from Kittisoth, burning silent, forked trails in the rug as it scorched Ammalia. Lady Cassalanter screamed silently, her mouth gaped in a rictus of terror and pain, and collapsed back in a hacked and ruined heap into her chair.

Pashar was horrified. They’d unleashed death before, but not like this. Not in visceral rage, nor so clearly in violation of the Code Legal. “I’m still sorry, Pashar,” Edana said. “But this was necessary.”

Revenge was done, but the work was not complete. They raced up the nearby stairs and found three doors. Behind one of them Edana was fairly certain they would find the silent watcher she had seen from outside. Avoiding that one, they quickly checked the others. The first room contained ritual paraphernalia arranged around a pentagram of blood upon the floor. Rage crackled behind Kittisoth’s eyes as a sick dread bubbled in her stomach, but behind the next door they found — in a crumpled pile on the ground, bound and gagged — they found Jenks.

Breathing.

He was alive.

Theren kicked open the other door and Edana used a sleep spell to dispatch the woman behind it. Kittisoth rushed to Jenks’ side and began undoing the bonds. He jerked awake in terror.

Now Edana was there, too. “It’s okay. It’s okay. It’s okay.”

Tears filled Jenks’ eyes. He sobbed. And then again. Uncontrollably. “Mommy!”

Kittisoth wrapped her wings around him.

And slowly, far too slowly, the sobbing eased.

And, at long last, stopped.

Go to Part 5

Go to Table of Contents

In Part 1 we briefly discussed the idea that players should create characters for Descent Into Avernus that were either from Elturel or had other strong connections to the city. Although we concluded that such connections cannot singlehandedly make the players care about the city, that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t encourage players to create characters like this. Quite the opposite, in fact. Although stuff that actually happens at the table will always be more relevant than stuff that just exists in a character’s backstory, establishing stuff in a backstory provides a vector for bringing it to the table.

(Could we turn “at-table” into a word just like “onscreen” or “onstage”? Feels like it would be useful. But I digress.)

On the other hand, don’t feel as if EVERY character needs to have that personal connection. It’s fine if they do, but I’d actually argue it’s probably better if they don’t. It may feel like having all those personal connections will make for a richer experience, but by eliminating the outsider’s point of view you’ve actually narrowed the range of available experiences.

(This advice can be generalized: If I’ve said “this game is about X, everybody create a character who is Y” and one of the players comes to me and says, “I was wondering if I could actually play a not-Y?” I’ve learned to actually stop and think about how we can make that work. Partly because, like most “default to yes” practices, it’s inherently a good idea to follow the players’ lead on what they’re interested in, but also because I’ve learned that having a not-Y at a table of Y’s creates valuable diversity.)

GMPCs

Mostly, though, we’re here today to discuss the GMPCs of Descent Into Avernus.

GMPCs are not the same thing as NPCs. A GMPC is where the GM essentially tries to be a player in their own campaign by running a character that’s indistinguishable from being another PC in the party. Although technically possible (and you can find success stories here and there), this tends to fail spectacularly for one of two reasons:

First: The GMPC becomes the unabashed star/spotlight hog of the entire campaign and/or is used to forcibly railroad the players.

Sometimes the GM specifically chooses to do this, but it’s often not intentional. The root of the problem is that the GM has privileged information unavailable to the other players. When they’re prepping the adventure, the fact that they can predict what the GMPC will do with 100% accuracy can become a crutch that’s easy to rely on. When they’re “playing” the adventure, they know how the scenario was designed and what the intended course of action is, which unavoidably biases their decision-making. Furthermore, the other players know that the GMPC has this privileged relationship with the adventure, so even if the GM can successfully firewall the character side of their decision-making from the GM side of their decision-making, it will still influence the PCs’ relationships with the GMPC.

The other common outcome is for the GMPC to become a weird half-character who awkwardly doesn’t participate in group decisions and/or frequently “vanishes” from the game world because everyone forgets that they’re there.

This usually happens because the GM is specifically trying to avoid the first problem. For example, they know that if they say, “I think we should go check out the Nattic Wood,” that the other players will interpret that as, “The GM is telling us to go check out the Nattic Wood.” So their GMPC never offers opinions. (This scenario often arises when the GMPC is being played to fill something that’s perceived as an “essential” role in the group. The GM would basically prefer to not have the GMPC there, but feels compelled to do so for some reason.)

I’ve previously written an article about this, but the short version is that I try to avoid both GMPCs and NPC allies in general. (When running games with henchmen or hirelings, for example, I prefer to let the players run them.)

Regardless of how you feel about GMPCs, the ones in Descent Into Avernus are generally being used as design crutches and it would be great to eliminate them. The easiest place to eliminate them is in character creation: If you can take any essential role being fulfilled by a GMPC in a scenario and incorporate it into a PC, then you can easily delete the GMPC.

REYA MANTLEMORN

Reya Mantlemorn is the most obvious GMPC in Descent Into Avernus. She fulfills three functions:

• She walks up to the players in the street and says, “Hey! High Observer Kreeg is still alive!”
• When the group plane shifts to Elturel, Reya Mantlemorn needs to say, “We should go to the High Hall.”
• As a Hellrider, she gets to have all kinds of cool, “I can’t believe it?!” emotional reactions whenever the big twists in the campaign happen.

The first of these is just bad design in general: Instead of the PCs discovering that Kreeg is alive (shocking twist!), a random NPC they’ve never met before just walks up and tells them. So we can just eliminate this whole thing.

For the second, we’re going to be completely revamping our approach to Hellturel in Part 5 of the Remix, so we won’t need her for that either. If you decide not to go with these changes, then you can just have literally any NPC in Elturel tell the PCs the same thing (“Lo! The GM has spoken unto me and said that thou must journey unto the High Hall!”).

For the third, it’s clearly very effective to have a Hellrider who can feel personally betrayed in her oaths and then later shocked by the revelation that the entire history and identity of her order is based on lies told by traitorous cowards. (Oddly, the adventure as written has Reya leave the group before the latter bit can happen, but nonetheless.)

It’s probably fairly obvious, though, that it will be even MORE effective if it’s a PC who’s been positioned to have those reactions.

So, in short: Encourage at least one player to play a Hellrider.

And just like that, we’ve eliminated Reya’s whole reason for existing. Delete her from the campaign.

Note: Make sure to give anyone playing a Hellrider or a knight of the Order of the Companion a copy of the Creed Resolute (see Part 4B).

LULU THE HOLLYPHANT

Slightly more unusual is the case of Lulu the Hollyphant.

Lulu, in her form as a golden mammoth, served as Zariel’s warmount during the Charge of the Hellriders. After the Hellriders were defeated, Zariel gave Lulu her holy sword and ordered her to hide it somewhere in Hell. Lulu was later betrayed and sprinkled with the waters of the River Styx, causing her to lose her memories.

Recovering Lulu’s memories is one of the major pillars of Descent Into Avernus, which we’ll be looking at in more detail in Part 6 of the Remix. Playing Lulu as an NPC works just fine, actually: She’s more of a cute sidekick or familiar than a true GMPC.

But there’s no reason that Lulu couldn’t be a PC.

The players are far more likely to get invested in Lulu’s lost memories and the mystery of her past if she’s “one of them.” And playing a small, glowing, gold pachyderm will definitely be a cool and memorable experience for the player.

If you’ve got a player who’s willing to play non-traditionally, just grab the stat block for a hollyphant on p. 237 of Descent Into Avernus and let them go. (Restore her abilities slowly over time as per p. 50.) Alternatively, you could try to rework the hollyphant into a playable PC race. Donathin Frye and Kienna Shaw have done the work for you here.

Of course, the stat block is only one part of the challenge: In the campaign as written, Lulu doesn’t show up until Part 4: Candlekeep. What’s the solution?

Just have her show up sooner.

One option would be to use a very short version of the “Prelude to Disaster” opening: The PCs (who might not even know each other) are walking down a street in Elturel. One of them happens to be a small, flying elephant. Suddenly something goes wrong with the Companion in the sky. “Oh no!” the elephant says. “I know what this is!” Out of sheer, instinctual fear she teleports herself and the people closest to her (i.e., the other PCs) into the wilderness just outside of town.

Once there, she doesn’t know why she did it. She also doesn’t know how she did it (she doesn’t regain her teleport ability until later). She just knows that they needed to get out of that city ASAP! (And a moment later the entire city crumples into the ground and vanishes, proving that to be true.)

(You could even use this setup if Lulu isn’t a PC, but it may need some additional thought about how her presence in the first few scenarios will affect things.)

Isn’t it very convenient that the PC group just happens to include Zariel’s amnesiac ex-warmount? Well… yes. But no more so than Lulu just happening to be hanging out with the guy who the PCs randomly get sent to in order to plane shift them to Avernus. If you want to justify it more than that, give Lulu a holy vision that told her she needed to be at such-and-such a place or needed to seek out such-and-such a PC. But you probably don’t need to.

If you don’t have a player willing to fly into Lulu’s shoes, I recommend nevertheless giving her a physical presence at the table with Gale Force 9’s statuette or Beadle & Grimm’s plushy.

TARINA

Tarina is not a GMPC. She’s the spy that Flame Zodge sends the PCs to meet at the Elfsong Tavern. Her function in the campaign is to point them to a bathhouse where Dead Three cultists have been seen.

But this is actually an ideal way to introduce a PC: Instead of being sent to meet with Tarina, Zodge’s contact is the last PC. Give that player the information Tarina was supposed to have and let them brief in their fellow players. (Unlike Tarina, of course, they’ll be accompanying the group on the op.)

There are a couple reasons this can be a good idea:

• The player who gets to have the “secret” information and perform the briefing feels special; they’re getting to do something cool and unusual.
• From a metagame perspective, the players will all feel more invested in this mission because it was another PC telling them about it and not some random NPC.

Organically introducing PCs to each other like this at the beginning of the campaign can get a little tricky, but, once again, by putting this stuff at-table you make it more meaningful. (How much more interesting is it to see Luke and Obi-Wan meet Han Solo and Chewbacca for the first time compared to the GM saying, “So you’re all on a space freighter heading to Alderaan.”?)

If you’re using the refugee caravan scenario described in Part 1 of the Remix, swapping out Tarina like this is less convenient and may not work. So I mention this here mostly as an interesting opportunity I noticed, particularly for people who are running the campaign closer to “by the book.”

With that being said, you could still make this happen. Obviously if you’ve got a player who has to miss the first session… ta-da. Problem solved.

Alternatively, you can pull this off by just getting the player a little more onboard: Ask them to play one of the refugees in the first scenario. Maybe they get brutally murdered by the Cult of Zariel near the end of the session. Or they survive just fine and simply say goodbye when they reach Baldur’s Gate. Then a few scenes later, the party meets their new PC at the Elfsong Tavern.

I’ve not infrequently used a similar technique when I need to introduce a replacement character or new player to a campaign. Most recently, in my second run of Eternal Lies, I had a new player coming onboard but the group was on an expedition far from where there could be any reasonable explanation for how the new PC could have found them. So I had the player take on the role of a local guide with the expedition.

He played this character for several sessions, and because both I and the player knew that this character wasn’t permanent we both took big risks with him: He eventually ended up completely insane and needing to be institutionalized after gnawing off several of his own fingers.

The rest of the group was shell-shocked: We didn’t plan it this way, but we had never explicitly told the other players that this wasn’t the new player’s PC, and while we assumed they knew, they didn’t. So the complete unraveling and destruction of this character hit them really hard, because they thought it was a PC.

(We can all pretend that players should care as much about every NPC as they do a PC; or that the audience cares as much about Random Mook #23 getting mowed down by machine gun fire as we do about Iron Man dying. But that’s not the way our brains are wired. The PC/NPC divide is particularly real because you empathize with what the other player at the table is “going through” as their character. I’ve seen people literally break down crying at the game table because of an NPC; I’m not saying no one ever cares about NPCs. I’m just saying that the line between Josh at the game table and Santino in the game world is a little less well-defined than the lines between creators and created in other mediums.)

But I digress.

Go to Part 2B: Elfsong Tavern

Go to Part 1

RETURN TO THE SEVEN MASKS THEATER

They didn’t have a lot of time to do everything they suddenly needed to take care of before infiltrating Xanathar’s that night, so they grabbed a carriage and rode to the Seven Masks Theater.

Arriving at the theater, they found it under guard. Suspicious looking thugs were watching the front door from across the street, and a couple more were loitering around the side entrance. The thugs looked human, but… They shrugged and headed down the alley, passing by posters still advertising performances of Sapphiria’s Booty and identifying themselves to the thugs. “We’re here to meet with Rongquan. Is he in?”

The thugs knocked on the side entrance. A moment later Rongquan cracked open the door and peeked out. He broke into a big grin. “Big five!”

The Trollskulls, recognizing the anti-doppelganger code they had set up with him, answered with smiles of their own as they were ushered into his office.

“How can I help you?” Rongquan asked. “Can I get you a drink?”

“That’s all right,” Kittisoth demurred. “What’s with all the guys outside?”

Rongquan, having grabbed a drink of his own, flirtatiously laid his hand over Kittisoth’s own. Kittisoth resisted the urge to roll her eyes out of her head… mostly. “To tell you the truth… it’s a cover story!”

“Really?!” Kittisoth said with faux adulation and naivete. “What do you mean?”

“I’m not really sure,” Rongquan said. “Some very secretive business with the investors. I’m not even allowed to leave my office!”

“Could we speak with the investors?” Kittisoth said, batting her eyes. (The others barely concealed their laughter.)

“Well… I suppose!” Rongquan knocked on the inner door of his office and spoke with some people on the other side. A few minutes later another knock came, Rongquan excused himself, and a dark elf entered. They were surprised to see it wasn’t Jarlaxle.

“Is Mr. J here?” Theren asked.

“No,” the dark elf said. “No he’s not.” He flopped down into a chair and kicked his boots up onto Rongquan’s desk. “Elves,” he muttered. “It’s always elves…”

Theren frowned. “You are an elf.”

“Don’t insult me,” the dark elf said.

“We need to speak with him,” Edana said.

“He has plans this evening,” the dark elf said. “But you could leave a message for him.”

“Where are his plans taking him this evening?”

“If I told you that, I don’t think ‘Mr. J’ would be very happy with me.”

“Well, Mister… What was your name?” Pashar asked.

“Soluun.”

“Well, Mister Soluun, give Fel’Rekt our best, and when you hear back from Mr. J, if you could be so kind as to—”

“If you have a message, I’ll take it,” Soluun said bluntly. “And then get out.”

Kittisoth fumed. “Excuse me? Do you have better things to do? Because—”

Edana restrained her. “Just let him know that we have a concern. About a neighborhood matter.”

“All right,” Soluun said. “I’ll pass it along.”

“We don’t have time for this,” Kora said. “We’re here about the kid.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

“I’m sure you don’t,” Edana said. “And I’m sure that if any harm comes to that kid, it will not be in Mr. J’s best interests.”

“I don’t know who this kid is,” Soluun said. “But I’m sure he’s somewhere safe.” He gave a little smile… and Edana was certain that he kid was here, in the theater somewhere.

But there didn’t seem to be anything they could do about it. They’d played their little dance, but now the music was coming to an end.  They stalked out of the office and back to their carriage.

THE HARPER CACHE

It wasn’t hard to identify the warehouse Dain had been talking about. It was, in fact, backed directly against Yellowspire Tower. Approaching it from the court north of Turnback Court, they found that its windows were boarded up and there was a big padlock on the front door that Edana made quick work of.

The interior of the warehouse was one big space, with various stacks of crates and boxes here and there. Everything had a thick layer of dust on it. The place was clearly ill-used.

“Everyone take your Harper pins off,” Kora said. She slipped their pins into a bag of holding, removing them from this plane of existence, and then cast locate object and zeroed in on a Harper pin underneath a nearby crate.

With a shrug, Kittisoth lifted the crate out of the way, revealing a trap door with a heavy iron pull ring. Hauling the trap door open revealed stairs down to a small basement room. Kora redistributed their Harper pins as they went down the stairs.

At the bottom, they found an empty room. It only took Edana a few moments, however, to find an illusory patch of the wall concealing a small indentation. Following a hunch, she pressed her Harper pin into the indentation: The wall slid back silently, revealing the supply cache. It was packed with useful stuff. There was a rack of swords, shelves filled with iron rations, a small box of Harper pins, several chains shirts, a number of potions, and fourteen bags, each containing a hundred gold dragons.

They rapidly emptied all of it into a bag of holding and reversed their tracks, replacing the crate and the padlock on the front door as they left.

Now they were out of time. They needed to head to the fights.

THE XANATHAR RAID

It was back to the beginning. They returned to the warehouse where Floon and Renaer had been held by the Zhentarim and slipped through the same sewer grate they had dropped through so many weeks (and what seemed like a lifetime) ago.

The Xanatharians had apparently destroyed the chalk marks which had guided them originally, but Theren remembered the path they had taken through the sewers and led them back to the hideout. As he drew near, he motioned the others to silence and slid up towards the intersection.

He knew there were four arrow slits looking out over this intersection from the last time they’d been here. Observing them carefully now, he ascertained that there were two goblins behind each. He waved Edana up and she cast a spell to put them to sleep.

They hugged the wall of the sewer (metaphorically speaking) and came up to the lair’s secret door. Theren slipped through it first. As he approached the landing leading down into to the chamber with the teleportation totem, however, he heard the distinctive buzz-humming of stirge wings ahead.

Peeking around the corner, he saw a goblin leaning up against the teleportation totem with a pair of stirges buzzing around his head. The goblin absentmindedly reached up and patted one of the stirges affectionately on the head.

Stepping out into landing, Theren put an arrow through the goblin’s skull, sending a spray of blood across the stone floor. The stirges immediately swooped down into the pool and began slurping up the blood, but two more arrows left them dead in the midst of their “feast.”

Edana slid across the landing and through another door into the guard chamber where the other goblins were still snoring. She efficiently slit their throats and then returned to the others, who had gathered around the totem. They clasped each others’ arms and Edana slid the teleportal key into the totem. She twisted the key and…

…they were elsewhere.

They had appeared standing in the middle of a large, fifty-foot long chamber with vaulted ceilings. They were standing between four large stone pillars that ran from the floor to the ceiling. The key was inside a depression in one of the pillars, one of several identical depressions which ran around the circumference of that pillar and the others.

There were several halls and a stairway leading out of the chamber. At the far end of the hall directly in front of them they could see two burly men wearing studded leather armor, thankfully facing away from them and looking out into a crowded hallway. The sounds of a party washed over them — people talking, glassware clinking, merry laughter.

Edana and Theren quickly shoved the others behind one of the pillars, where the guards couldn’t see them. Edana peeked out. They hadn’t been noticed.

Kora took the moment to cast locate object, searching the last of the Eyes. She quickly had a vector: It was on the same level they were, roughly in the direction of the guards (“Of course,” Kittisoth said), but somewhat off to the left.

“Which way do we go?”

They’d prefer not to have to try to sneak past the guards. The staircase, even though it led down, was roughly in the right direction. “There might a way down and around,” Edana suggested. “So that we could come up behind or even right on top of the Eye.”

The others agreed and they slipped over to and down the stairs, which curved down to a T-intersection. Edana peeked around the corner: Thirty feet to her left was a door. Fifty feet to her right was another T-intersection. It was a maze down here. And, worse yet, between her and the other T-intersection, hanging down from the ceiling, was a spectral eyestalk.

“I don’t like that,” she muttered and headed back to the others.

Neither Kora nor Pashar had any idea what the ghostly eyestalk might be. “If it’s magic, I could dispel it,” Kora suggested. “But that might just alert Xanathar that we’re down here.”

“What about an illusion?” Theren suggested. “Make it look like the hallway is empty?”

Edana agreed and raised the illusion. Cloaked by the vision of the “empty” hallway, she slipped over to the door at the end of the hall. From the far side of the door she could hear metal clashing against metal… and the smell of something cooking. She came back to the others. “Do you think we can slip through the kitchens?”

“This hall isn’t going the right way,” Theren said. “We’ve gotten twisted around coming down the stairs. I think we should go back up to the main level?”

The others agreed and headed back up the stairs, re-entering the teleportation chamber.

They spread out to check the other hallways, to see if they could figure out a better way of circling around the guards. Unfortunately, the other hallways all went in basically exactly the wrong direction. As they considered their options, however, the sounds of several people shouting came from the direction of the party. Theren darted over to one of the pillars and glanced out. The two guards had turned towards the raised voices… and they were moving away!

“Let’s do it!” Kittisoth declared and stepped forward. But Theren grabbed her and yanked her back behind the pillar. Just moments after the guards vacated their post, three figures — looking back over their shoulders towards the party — had rounded the corner into the hall and were heading their way.

The figures headed towards the stairs. Theren slid to the other side of the pillar and tracked them. As they reached the top of the stairs, a beam of light caught them and he could see their faces plainly: They were drow.

“Jarlaxle’s men,” Kittisoth murmured.

The drow disappeared down the stairs. The Trollskulls darted out, down the hallway the drow had just left, and into the party.

The party filled a grand promenade nearly thirty feet across that curved out of sight to both the right and left. Down the middle of the hall were pillars carved with eyes which seemed to track those who passed nearby. At the moment, those eyes were darting back and forth, as the entire hall was filled with an eclectic, cosmopolitan crowd of ritzy elites rubbing shoulders with scarred gangsters while servants bearing trays of food and drink passed between them.

Off to their left they could still hear the raised voices and confusion of whatever altercation had distracted the guards. Off to their right, they could see other hallways with guards posted on them. Directly ahead, however, a ten-foot-wide circular door led to a smaller passage. The party spilled down this hall and into a larger chamber beyond: That was more or less the direction Kora was detecting the Eye from.

They slid through the crowd. No one seemed to give them a second glance as they passed through the stone door and came to the top of a short flight of stairs led down to the floor of a forty-foot-high dome that was at least eighty feet across. The floor was tiled in black marble, inset with in gold with the circle-and-eyestalk sigil of Xanathar. Jutting from the ceiling was bell-shaped protuberance. On the far side of the dome, directly across from them, an identical set of stairs led up to another open, circular door, this one with two guards flanking it. Off to their left, directly in line with Kora’s vector to the Eye, was another circular door — this one shut, but also with two guards. Small clusters of people were happily chatting here and there throughout the dome.

They walked across the room. Kora pulled out the rod of rulership they had taken from Victoro Cassalanter when they arrested him and discreetly waved it in the direction of the guards. “Would you be so kind as to let me and my friends in?”

The guards came to sharp attention. “Yes, sir!”

They pushed open the stone slab of the door and the Trollskulls strode through it. As they went, Kittisoth glanced nervously over her shoulder to see if anyone was paying undue attention to the exchange. No one was. But at just that moment Jarlaxle walked into the dome, accompanied by two men.

Kittisoth cursed and darted in after the others. It didn’t look like Jarlaxle had noticed them, though. Instead, he seemed to be focusing his attention on the two guards on the other side of the room, albeit while attempting to disguise his interest.

The Trollskulls found themselves in Xanathar’s sanctum. The room was magically lit with a bluish light. Luminous violet particles drifted through the air like mist. A twenty-foot-wide fishbowl dominated the center of the room. Filled with water it also contained a small coral reef, a miniature shipwreck, and a sunken treasure chest. On a small table next to this huge fishbowl they saw a smaller fishbowl, this one containing a single goldfish: Sylgar. On one wall of the room hung a huge mirror with the word XOBLOB carved into its silver frame. In a small chamber beyond an arch in the other wall of the room they could see a huge device of twisted crystal.

“Where is it?” Edana asked.

“There,” Kora said, pointing at the large fishbowl. “In the goddamn treasure chest.”

Kittisoth had fetched up just inside the door and was watching the dome outside. Several Xanatharian guards came rushing out of the door on the far side of the dome — the one Jarlaxle was still keeping one eye constantly fixed on. These guards spoke with a quick but quiet urgency to the two guards stationed there, and then all of the guards there rushed back through the door. No one else in the room seemed to take any note of this, but Jarlaxle, of course, immediately put his drink down and, with his men, beelined to and through the door.

Kittisoth stepped back from the door. “I’m not sure where Jarlaxle is going, but—”

Pashar suddenly dropped to his knees and began babbling incoherently in the Tongue of the Beholders… or at least what he thought was the Tongue of Beholders. It was really just nonsense.

“Dammit,” Edana cursed. “We need to get out of there. Maybe I could use mage hand to try to clear the treasure chest out? It’ll take me forever to sift through it, but I need to see the Eye before I can actually grab it telekinetically, though.”

“I’ll go in,” Kittisoth said. “I’ll just climb up on this table and try to– Wait. I can fly. Devil’s breath, I am so stressed out!” She leapt and flew and dived down to the chest.

Kora, meanwhile, used a quick spell to purge whatever poison had gripped Pashar’s mind.

“I’ve got it!” Kittisoth declared, splashing out of the top of the fishbowl.

Edana snatched it and thrust it into her bag of holding, removing it from the Material Plane.

“Go! Now!”

They walked out of the room. “Close the door, please,” Kora said to the guards. “And kindly escort us to the teleportation pillars?”

“Yes, sir!”

The guards stepped away from the door and took them across the dome, through the door, and into the promenade. The disturbance they had heard earlier had apparently come to an end and they could see that the guards had returned to their posts. But it didn’t matter: Kora’s guards escorted them right through the checkpoint and into the pillar room.

Behind them they heard a gruff voice call out: “Someone has broken into the master’s sanctum! Seal the lair! Find them immediately!”

But they were at the pillar. Edana thrust the teleportation key into the pillar.

They were out.

THE THREE EYES

They would have cheered, but as they reappeared in the sewer hideout, they found four goblins kneeling over the corpse of their dead friend. Reacting instinctively, the Trollskulls lashed out with their swords and cut them down before the goblins even realized they were among them. Then they rushed out through the secret door, back through the sewers, and emerged into the clean, exhilarating air of Waterdeep.

They’d done it!

Kora sent a magical message to the Blackstaff: “We have all of the Eyes and the Stone of Golorr. We believe that the Enigma is located beneath Brandath Crypts. Going there now.”

A moment later, Vajra sent a reply: “Good luck!”

They jumped in a carriage and headed across Waterdeep, racing the sunset to the City of the Dead. Passing through the gates before they were closed for the night, they made their way quickly to the Brandath Crypts, through Lady Alethea’s tomb, into the secret crypts, and down the long, ancient passage to the vault doors.

Standing there, atop the bronze sunburst and facing the dwarven-carved doors of adamantium, Edana drew out the blinded Stone of Golorr and placed it in the palm of her left hand. Taking a deep breath, she pushed the first of the Eyes into the Stone.

A warmth spread through the palm of her hand and she heard a voice murmur in the back of her mind: “Oh… I have returned.”

She took the second Eye and pushed it into its socket.

“You have the Eyes! Unblind me, mortal!”

The voice seemed stronger now.

“Will you give me the knowledge I seek?” Edana said aloud.

“Yes,” replied the voice. “That is my purpose.”

“Wait… what?” Pashar said. Instinctively, he reached out and touched Edana’s shoulder. The other’s, following his example, also reflexively reached out; not certain whether they were warding their friend, seeking to stop her, or volunteering to ride with her into whatever danger she might face. Only knowing that they needed to be together in this moment.

Edana pushed the third Eye in.

Go to Part 4