SESSION 23B: BINDING FOUL AND FAIR

June 7th, 2008
The 10th Day of Kadal in the 790th Year of the Seyrunian Dynasty

CLEARING THE KEEP

They headed across the bridge and into the Cobbledman’s tower. Climbing down, Tee found herself in a chamber littered from broken bones and filth. On a dirty pallet of grey straw, the Cobbledman lay sleeping.

Tee approached him and gently shook him by the shoulder. He stirred, and then the eyes on his second head – the one that hadn’t spoken before – shot open. His hand shot out and grasped Tee by the throat, choking the life out of her. The second head let out a low growl of rage.

Tee panicked for a moment, but then thought quickly. She slapped the other head soundly across the cheek. It woke up, bleary-eyed. It took in Tee. It took in the other head. “No! Don’t!”

The Cobbledman’s other arm darted out and punched the Cobbledman’s second head.

The hand on Tee’s throat dropped away and she fell to the floor (realizing only then that she had been lifted up into the air).

“Are you all right?” the Cobbledman asked. The second head was glaring and sulking.

“I think so,” Tee said, rubbing her throbbing throat. “I’m sorry I woke you up. But you said we might be able to borrow the spiral key that Maquent gave you. Do you think we could do that?”

The Cobbledman grasped at his shirt front. “…I don’t know.”

“We have the other piece,” Tee said., holding it up. “We’d only need it for a little while. And once we were done, you could have both parts.”

“Really?” the Cobbledman’s right face split into a wide grin. “All right.” From under his shirt he pulled out the other half of the spiraled disc.

With a sharp tug, he broke the leather strap it was hanging from and handed it over to Tee. She smiled, thanked him, and gave him some more food. Then she climbed back up to where the others were waiting.

“Got it.”

“What do we do with it?” Elestra asked.

“I don’t know,” Tee said.

“Could this be the key you were looking for?” Tor asked.

“No, I don’t think so,” Tee said. “I think the key we’re looking for is below the statue. I think this is something the cultists made.”

“How will we get the two pieces back together again?”

Tee shrugged and pressed the two pieces together. There was a bright flash of light, and the pieces were seamlessly joined.

“I thought that might work.”

Even with the key in hand, they still wanted to make sure that the rest of the keep had been cleared out before doing anything else. Leaving enemies at their back while they journeyed down into whatever waited beneath the house didn’t seem like a good idea.

Fortunately, they had already explored most of the keep. They started by climbing the stairs that led from the roof of the house up to the central tower. There they found a chamber filled with a weblike nest of bits of old cloth and other rubbish, held together with a hardened, glistening excretion of some kind.

“Disgusting,” Tee said, and then stepped aside to let Agnarr chop his way through it. She could see that there was a ladder on the far side leading up to the tower’s parapet. But a few moments later she was holding up her hand: “Stop!”

Agnarr stepped back and Tee stepped forward: She had been right. There were two more of the red robes which had apparently belonged to the Crimson Coil cult stuck in the nest. “These might come in useful,” she said, carefully prying them out. One of them was in fairly shabby condition (“I can fix that!” Elestra said.), but the other was in good condition (albeit filthy).

Agnarr went back to work, and within a few minutes Tee was pushing open the trapdoor leading to the parapet. Poking her head through, her gaze was immediately arrested by a crown sitting in the center of the parapet.

With a closer look, she quickly realized that the crown itself was nothing but cheap wood painted gold. But her interest was piqued by the eight large blue garnets: To her trained eyes, these appeared real… and, if they were, they would easily be worth 200 gold crowns each.

BINDING FOUL AND FAIR

That left only one nook left to explore: The lower levels of the Cobbledman’s tower. These couldn’t be accessed from above, however, so they circled back down through the keep and then climbed back up.

This brought them to a small, poorly furnished room. In the center of the room there was a rickety wooden table. On the top of the table a pentagram had been inscribed in charcoal. Three objects stood within the pentagram, positioned at points of power within the diagram: A jar of yellowish liquid; a short, fat candle half-expended; and, on a copper plate, a book.

Tor, looking at the jar, grimaced. “We’ve found somebody’s chamberpot.”

Tee turned back to the ladder. “Ranthir! Get up here!”

Ranthir was quickly able to identify the ritual as an exploitation of sympathetic magic. “It’s a binding ritual,” he explained. “The jar is either formed of diamond crystal or a polymorphed diamond – I can’t tell which. But you can see that the purity of the crystal has been corrupted. The pattern of the pentagram also suggests that it was, in fact, a dual-binding ritual: One spirit was bound here, to this jar. But this minor ritual was used, through the laws of sympathetic magic, to trigger a much larger binding somewhere else. And the spirits would have been opposed – one evil or chaotic; the other lawful or good. The burning of the candle would have triggered the sympathetic connections of the ritual and… Yes, here on the candle we can see inscribed the name Segginal in arcane runes.”

“Who’s Segginal?” Tor asked.

“I don’t know,” Ranthir said.

“The Cobbledman,” Tee suggested. “One bad head; one good head. A spirit bound to each.”

“Perhaps,” Ranthir said. “But the nature of the ritual suggests that one of the spirits is still bound here, in the jar. Or rather to the jar.”

“Then which one was bound in the jar? The good one or the bad one?”

“It could be the spirit that haunts the castle,” Tor said. “The ritual could have been what bound it here.”

“Well, the book should tell us more,” Ranthir said, and picked it up. He flipped it open… and the pages seemed to blur before his eyes, forming a black maw that seemed to open inside his very mind… threatening to overwhelm him… to swallow his very mind…

Ranthir jerked the book away, slamming it shut and throwing it onto the table.

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

Ranthir rubbed his forehead. His thoughts seemed blurred. The edge of his intellect dulled. “The book… the book betrayed me!”

Ranthir remained in a rather foul mood as they discussed their options. He’d heard of the foul corruptions which could turn a book into an inversion of itself – a consumer of knowledge instead of a giver of knowledge – but he still felt personally violated by the experience. It was a betrayal that struck at the heart of everything he held dear.

After weighing their options, Tee decided that they should break the jar. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

“Death,” Tor said.

Agnarr, hearing this as they came back down the ladder, grinned. “Sounds like my kind of plan.”

They went down to the courtyard.

“Are we sure we want to do this?” Dominic asked.

Tee shrugged and threw the jar against the stone wall. It shattered into shards and, where the shards fell, a whirlwind sprang up. It grew suddenly in strength, whipping their hair and causing some to fall back a step. Elestra cursed. Tor tightened his grip on his sword.

And then the whirlwind gave way and disappeared. In its place, a tall figure with pale blue skin and white-feathered wings hovered in the air. He looked down at them with eyes of pure light.

“My name is Edlari. I thank you for freeing me from my foul imprisonment. I owe you a debt that cannot easily be repaid.” He turned his gaze to the sky and frowned. “What year is it?”

“790.”

“Has it been so long?” He shook his head sadly. “I can sense a great evil in this place, but it lies beneath us where I cannot reach it. Will you accept my aid, meager though it may be?”

“Of course,” Tee said.

He flew to each of them in turn, his heavy wings beating softly at the air, and laid his hand upon their brows. They felt their wounds and aches fade from their bones and blood. Ranthir could feel the fog left by the evil tome fade from his thoughts. Tee, with great joy, could feel the rigors of the taint fading from her soul… although, in the same moment, she felt the weight of the dark items which lay in the bag at her side.

“And now,” Edlari said, “I must return to the Pale Tower. Seek for me there if you would speak with me again.”

With that, he was gone – his wings carrying him up and over the walls of the keep.

NEXT:
Running the Campaign: Dungeon Clues – Campaign Journal: Session 23C
In the Shadow of the Spire: Index

SESSION 23A: LET SLIP THE DOGS OF HELL

June 7th, 2008
The 10th Day of Kadal in the 790th Year of the Seyrunian Dynasty

“WHO DARES TO VIOLATE THIS SANCTUARY OF CHAOS?”

They whirled around and looked up. Above, on a balcony in the tower directly above them, a demon with a goat-like head was floating several feet off the ground. It carried a vicious looking axe with a blade that gleamed in the sun.

Its powerful legs pushed off the wall behind it, propelling it above their heads. It then dropped to the balcony, floating a few inches above the floor as it swung the axe towards Tee’s head.

Tee tumbled backwards, rolling to her feet in a low crouch. Tor and Agnarr pushed past Ranthir, raised their swords – which they had held uneasily by their sides during the conversation with the Cobbledman – and attacked.

The demon caught Tor’s blade with the broad side of his axe, but Agnarr’s sword cut deeply into its arm. It felt as if he was chopping into a block of solid wood, but the magic blade cleanly cut through the thick skin and found the blood and bone below.

The demon threw back its head and howled in pain. It swept the axe violently back and forth – first smashing the broad side of it against Tor’s head (sending him staggering) and then reversing the blow to smash into the Agnarr’s ribs.

Agnarr gasped as the axe cut through his armor and deep into his side, sending a gush of blood pouring from the wound. The demon’s horns jutted forward, smashing into Agnarr’s forehead.

Elestra reached out, feeling the Spirit of the City and using her own force of will to energize the strength of it around her.

Ranthir, meanwhile, was thinking quickly: He hit the demon with a powerful disenchantment, causing its levitation charm to vanish. The demon fell, landing awkwardly and stumbling forward.

Agnarr, grimacing through the pain, took advantage of the momentary distraction and swung his sword again.

The demon whirled away from the blade, but it still cut deeply into his side. Then it ducked under Tor’s blade and leapt over the parapet, murmuring demonic syllables. Arcane powers caught it up in the air and it levitated out over the central courtyard.

As it turned back to them, Elestra finished gathering her strength and focused a sizzling arc of lightning which tore through the demon where it flew. But the demon seemed entirely unfazed as the electricity leapt from its horns and arced through its body, instead crying aloud: “You will rue the day that you crossed the path of True Chaos!”

Tee, who had retreated back into the keep itself, suddenly heard heavy footsteps thudding across the stone ceiling above her – which would mean that something was on the roof! “Look out!”

But she was too late to warn any of them. Two hounds of hell leapt from the upper level, landing on the balcony near Tor and Agnarr. Their skin had the appearance of cooled lava; their eyes were smoldering pits; and their nostrils breathed gouts of flame. As they skidded across the balcony, they turned and gaped their mouths: Twin cones of flame washed across Agnarr and Tor.

But Tor had raised his shield at the last possible moment, and Agnarr had eased in behind it: Although they still felt a little broiled in their armor, they were mostly angered by the fell beasts.

Although that might have been more true for Tor than it was for Agnarr, because a huge grin was growing across the barbarian’s face: “Dogs! They’re dogs!”

Tee called out from behind him: “You are not allowed to keep one!”

The smile fell from Agnarr’s face, and he dutifully moved forward with Tor. Their blades worked in quick unison and – although the hounds were covered in skin like liquid stone – their magical blades made quick work of them.

Meanwhile, the demon had fled – abandoning his hounds, reaching the far wall of the keep, and dropping down out of sight.

THE SQUARE TOWER

With the demon gone and the demonic hounds reduced to a pile of burning slag, Elestra released the powers of lightning she had called and the smell of ozone faded from the air. Turning to the others she said, “So where to now?”

“I still want to try to get to the square tower,” Tee said. “If Maquent’s journal is still accurate, then the other half of the spiral contrivance or key or whatever it is must be hidden in there.”

There had been a trapdoor in the ceiling of the room filled with arcane symbols and the remnants of old rites, so they climbed up through that to reach the roof. From there they were able to cross over to the square tower.

But they found that the square tower had no doors or windows. Tee donned her boots of levitation to reach the top of tower, but there was no entrance there, either. She then spent the better part of half an hour scouring every inch of the tower’s 24-foot high walls, convinced that there must be some hidden entrance.

Ranthir, meanwhile, was looking through Maquent’s journal. Just as Tee, in frustration, was giving up on her search, Ranthir reread the entry from Noctural 14^th, 787 YD. Then he read it out loud to the others: “I have somewhat befriended the Cobbledman. He grows more mad with each day, however. I hid my half of the spiral contrivance in his tower with him. I shall not even tell Radanna. Of course, she will not tell me where she keeps her half, either, but there’s only one place it could be. Certainly no one could sneak a ladder up to that secret door without her knowing about it.”

“If the key is in the square tower and it requires a ladder to reach the secret entrance, maybe that entrance isn’t on the wall of the tower – maybe it’s under the tower.”

They returned down to the large, empty room on the fifth floor of the tower. “We should be directly beneath the tower here,” Ranthir said.

Tee floated up to the ceiling and quickly found a bit of false plaster. Scraping that aside with one of her dragon-hilted daggers, she revealed a small keyhole. She took out the key she had found in the nook below the ruined garden and found that it was a perfect fit.

When she turned it, however, the entire stone block – 6-feet to the side – came loose and fell. It slammed into her and spun her down and to one side. Agnarr, standing below, was caught squarely by the block and driven to the ground.

Dominic rushed forward to help. Agnarr pushed the rock off of his crushed legs and waited patiently for the priest’s holy energy to repair his broken bones. “I’m getting tired of falling rocks in this place.”

“I think they went with cheap mortar,” Dominic said, reaching out to lay a hand on Tee’s bleeding scalp as she settled woozily to the floor next to them.

“When we move in here it’ll have to be the first thing we fix,” Ranthir said.

“We aren’t moving into the demon-infested house,” Tee said.

Tor smiled. “It won’t be demon-infested when we’re done with it.”

“That’s right,” Elestra said. “We’ve already scared off one demon today.”

“He’ll be back,” Tee said grimly.

The stone block had revealed a hole leading through the floor into the bottom level of the square tower. Niches carved in the sides of the hole would make it easy for someone to climb up if they were at the top of a ladder, but they were superfluous for them: Tee’s head was clearing now and so she floated up through the hole.

She emerged into a small, square room. A ladder of iron rungs driven into one wall led up to a trapdoor. The other walls of the room were covered with carved niches. Most of these niches were empty, but in four of them Tee could see flasks of liquid. In another there were a half dozen sticks of black-and-gold incense. In a sixth lay a small gray idol.

Tee grimaced. “I hate idols. Idols haven’t been nice to me.” She unlaced her boots and dropped them down so that Agnarr could follow her up.

Tee climbed up the ladder to the next level of the tower. Here she found a plain room of stone with an iron chest lying off to one side. The ladder continued up to a trap door of stone secured with a thick iron bar.

The lock on the chest proved tricky, but Tee eventually managed to get it open. Inside she found bags of silver and gold coins, a thick candlestick of pure gold, and a finely-crafted headband of woven silver. Laying at the bottom chest was half of a circular disk of black obsidian with a bright red stone spiraled through it.

Tee climbed back down the ladder and found Agnarr peering quizzically at one of the niches. “Don’t touch anything. I’ve found Radanna’s half of the contrivance… key… whatever it is.”

“Now we just need to kill the Cobbledman for the other half.” Agnarr grinned.

“I don’t think we’ll need to kill him. He seemed all right with the idea of letting us borrow it.”

“I thought it was inside of him. He grabbed his chest when he was talking about it.”

“I think he was just grabbing at something under his shirt.”

“Oh.” Agnarr thought about this for a second and then jerked his head towards the niches in the wall. “Should we take this stuff?”

Tee glowered at the idol. “I guess we’d better figure out what it is. Why don’t you go back down and send Dominic up to look at it.”

Agnarr shrugged and jumped down through the hole.  He handed the boots over to Dominic, who murmured a prayer to Vehthyl and floated up just high enough for his eyes to clear the edge.

He was able to quickly identify the flasks as containing unholy water. The incense had a strong aura of magic about them.

“And the idol?” Tee asked.

“It has no enchantment upon it. I think it’s safe.”

Tee picked it up and found that it was formed of compressed ash. It was really nothing more than a trinket. She stuck it in her bag, decided against taking the unholy water, and then gingerly picked up the incense.

Dominic, meanwhile, had floated back down to join the others. Agnarr threw the boots back up, Tee laced them up, and floated down. She held out the sticks of incense. “Ranthir can you identify what these are?”

Ranthir took them and raised his eyebrows. “I can, actually. These golden runes on the side are unmistakable. This is vision incense. The six sticks must be burned simultaneously, and their conjoined enchantments create a powerful connection between this world and the dreams of those nearby. Great truth can be found in the visions revealed by incense like this. There are many in Isiltur who use it.”

NEXT:
Running the Campaign: Cliffhangers – Campaign Journal: Session 23B
In the Shadow of the Spire: Index

SESSION 22C: WORKINGS OF THE CHAOS CULTS

May 18th, 2008
The 10th Day of Kadal in the 790th Year of the Seyrunian Dynasty

The walls, floor, and ceiling of the room were covered in a haphazard array of magical circles, symbols, and strange characters. The sight was almost dizzying. After little more than a glance, Tee called out for Ranthir to join her.

Ranthir quickly identified the symbols as belonging to a variety of rites, although none were immediately known to him. He did note that many of them bore a more than superficial resemblance to the rites performed by the Seyrunian demon-binding cults of the previous century. And others seemed to have something to do with the creation and binding of energy. Some simply seemed to be mad scribblings to which Ranthir could not ascribe any immediate sense. One particular section of the wall had been completely covered in charcoal, and then written upon in chalk:

Tee, meanwhile, had discovered that one of the wood panels on the floor was loose. Prying it up revealed a small cache containing two books and a gold ring bearing the device of a broken square:

Ranthir was immediately distracted by the books. Eagerly taking them from Tee’s hands he began flipping through them.

TRUTH OF THE HIDDEN GOD

What appears, at first, to be a copy of the Book of Athor is nothing of the sort: The pages inside are covered with scrawled diagrams and heretical desecrations of the Nine Gods.

A closer reading reveals this to be a cult manual for the “Brotherhood of the Blooded Knife”. The cult venerates chaos in all its forms, focusing their blasphemous rituals around the practice of human sacrifice. These sacrifices are given to a Galchutt named Abhoth, who they venerate as the “Source of All Filth” and the “Lord of the Zaug”.

Disturbingly, much of the book is given over to material designed to mock the holy rituals of the Church. It appears that the cult establishes itself secretly in society by posing as other religious orders. Actual followers of the deity may choose to join them, usually to their dismay – either they come to join the cult itself or they die beneath the cult’s “blooded knife”.

In other cases, a few cultists will infiltrate another religion and use force, blackmail, magic, or simple persuasion to sway its members into secretly worshipping chaos. This process can take years, but eventually the cult eats the other religion from the inside out, consuming it until the temple is entirely a front for the altars of the Brotherhood hidden in their subterranean complexes.

The last few pages of the book appear to be a prophetic rambling of sorts, beginning with the words: “In the days before the Night of Dissolution shall come, our pretenses shall drop like rotted flies. In those days the Church shall be broken, and we shall call our true god by an open name.” The remainder of this section is a description of the faux religious practices for a fanciful “Rat God”, with the apparent intention being that a church could be openly established for this “god”. Eventually, the prophecies, say even this “last pretense” will be abolished and “Abhoth shall be worshipped by all who are not blooded by the knife”.

TOUCH OF THE EBON HAND

The pages of this volume are filled with disturbing and highly detailed diagrams of the most horrible physical deformities and mutations. A closer reading quickly reveals that these deformities – referred to as “the touch of the ebon hand” – are venerated by the writers as the living personification of chaos incarnate. Particularly prized are those functional mutations – an extra eye or oversized arms, for example.

The rest of the book describes horrid rites which make it clear that the Brotherhood of the Ebon Hand not only idolizes deformity and mutation, but seek to inflict it and spread it as well: Ritual scarring. Magical alteration. Alchemical experimentation. Chaositech-induced mutation.

Members of the cult have no distinctive garb, but they usually bear the symbol of a black hand in some form: A tattoo. A charm. A small embroidery on their clothes. Or so forth. Of course, most of them are also marked by their mutations.

THE COBBLED MAN

As Tee continued searching, Elestra also came into the room. Looking over Ranthir’s shoulder she pointed at the charcoal wall: “We’ve seen three of these symbols now. The hand, the knife, and the broken square.”

“I wonder what the others could mean.”

“Something to do with the cults, I guess.”

They continued chatting quietly as Tee probed at the walls and the floor.

Dominic, in the tower outside, stood looking in at them. And then pain rushed through his body as a heavy blow landed across the back of his skull.

Stumbling forward he felt a horrible wave of nausea rip through his body. Turning he saw a horrific, monstrous man: A second head had been awkwardly attached to its shoulder, and the muscles of its arms and legs were grotesquely over-developed. The hair on both of its heads was greasy, lanky, and sparse. The eyes on one of the heads was shut, but the eyes of the other were filled with rage. In its right hand it clenched a silvery rod.

“WHY ARE YOU IN WUNTAD’S ROOM?”

Its voice was a dull boom. Its words sullen.

Tor, reacting almost instantly, rushed up the stairs from below. Emerging into the cramped base of the tower, he was clipped nastily along the side of his head. Like Dominic, he felt a nauseous wave pass over him. Shaking it off, he swung his sword – opening a vicious gash in the creature’s arm.

Ranthir rushed out, as well. “Can’t we just work this out?” But his voice was drowned out in the sudden chaos of the melee.

But then Tee shoved her way past him and her voice carried a greater authority: “Stop it! Wuntad sent us! Stop it now!”

The creature froze, its massive hand hovering to deliver a devastating blow on Tor. “Wuntad sent you?”

“Yes,” Tee lied, putting as much earnestness into her voice as she could. “He sent us.”

“He’s been gone so long. I’ve been alone for so long…” The dimwitted voice was filled with painful sorrow.

Tee softened. “Are you the Cobbledman?”

“… someone called me that. Once. They left too. A long time ago.” The Cobbledman clutched absently at the rags on his chest. “They left me all alone… Do you have any food?”

Ranthir fumbled at one of his pouches and then held out an iron ration. “Why didn’t you leave?”

“Can’t leave.”

“Why can’t you leave?”

“Wuntad put something in my brain. Make me loyal. Make it hurt to leave. Can’t leave until Wuntad say I can leave.”

Ranthir had a sickly certainty that this was a betrayal of the flesh. He could see telltale lumps beneath the Cobbledman’s skin – tubes and… other things.

“What happened to Wuntad?” Tee asked.

“Don’t know. The angry men in the metal suits came. There was lots of angry noise. I hid in my tower. And then everyone left… You’ll leave me, too, won’t you?”

No one had an answer for that.

“Cobbledman,” Tee said carefully. “Do you have a piece of metal that looks like a spiral?”

A look of something very like panic entered the Cobbledman’s eyes. “Yes.”

“Could we have it?”

“No! No! My friend gave it to me! I have to keep it safe! She said so!” His hand groped against the rags on his chest, clutching something beneath them.

“I understand,” Tee said gently. “But if we promised to bring it back, do you think we could borrow it? You could even come with us.”

“Maybe…” The Cobbledman seemed to be losing focus. “Do you have any more food?”

Ranthir gave him some more and the Cobbledman chewed it absentmindedly. “I’m going to go to sleep now. So very hungry…”

He began shambling back across the bridge and disappeared into this tower. They watched him go, sadness and pity filling their hearts.

“Well,” Tee said. “At least we know where one part of the spiral key is. Now we just need to find out where Radanna hid hers.”

NEXT CAMPAIGN JOURNAL

Go to Part 1

EPILOGUE: HONORS

They contacted Vajra and made arrangements for the gold to be brought out of Neverember’s Vault. It took workers the better part of a full day to load it all up.

A day later they stood upon the grand stairs in the courtyard of Castle Waterdeep in a carefully negotiated and orchestrated ceremony. Renaer stood at Kittisoth’s side — the son of Neverember returning his father’s ill-gotten spoils along with the heroes of the hour who had been most responsible for its recovery. In her speech to the assembled nobles, burghers, diplomats, guild representatives, broadsheet writers, and other notables, Kora made a point of thanking “the great aid that our sister city of Luskan, by virtue of their Lord Jarlaxle, gave us in pursuit of this gold.” Jarlaxle, who was standing among the crowd of nobles, tipped the broad rim of his feathered hat in silent recognition.

Laeral, of course, had known that this was coming, and her own speech was careful in thanking, “Lord Neverember and all those who aided you in this brave enterprise as part of Force Grey.” Kora appreciated the subtle political touch of pulling an official shroud over the whole affair.

Publicly, Laeral awarded them all the Bright Sleeve – literally a sleeve of cloth-of-gold embroidered with (at their request) “The Trollskulls” in recognition of their “acts of bravery above and beyond expected conduct or paid duties.”

In a private ceremony, afterwards, Laeral passed over a small coffer containing one thousand harbor moons — a tenth of the hoard they’d recovered.

EPILOGUE: J

Even before the ceremony, Jarlaxle had released the Gralhunds’ son. (The Gralhunds could not express their eternal gratitude for what the Trollskulls had done.) A few days later, a note arrived on black paper and written in silver ink:

EPILOGUE: KORA’S SEARCH

Kora stood at the entrance to the Snobeedle Orchard and Meadery in Undercliff. Dim memories danced within her. In the wake of all that had happened, she had come looking for her mother. She’d felt a need to tie off loose ends.

Taking a deep breath, she stepped off the main road and headed down the private drive which drove into the heart of the orchard. The road was shaded by a canopy of tall fruit trees and lined with the gentle swell and distinctive round doors of halfling mounds.

All Kora truly knew about her family was that, after the death of her father in an accident on the docks, her mother had given up her and all three of her siblings to various temples.

Her sister, Kaila, had been taken in by the Hospice of St. Laupsenn, a Triad Temple dedicated to the gods of Ilmater, Tyr, and Torm that had been erected by the Ilmatari knights of the Order of the Golden Cup. Kora was introduced to Vhaspar, an old man in his seventies, half blind with cataracts, to whom Kaila had been apprenticed. Sadly, he told Kora that her sister had caught the spotted plague while tending to the sick in 1488 and died.

She had more luck at the Spire of the Morning, the temple of Lathander where her other sister, Kamara, and her brother, Keryth, had been fostered. The temple was built of pink marble and, as she had arrived, the first light of the dawn had just been striking the seven spires of copper, gold, and silver which had been designed to reflect that light brilliantly across the city.

Delsanra Iangella, the Sovereign Mother of the temple, told her that Kamara had recently gone on pilgrimage to the House of the Triad in Bryn Shandar, a Lathanderian temple far to the north near Ten Towns. “But your brother should be down in just a moment.” Delsanra hadgestured up towards the spires. Keryth had become one of the seven Dawn Priests, charged to stand atop the spires and call out the Songs of Dawn when the sun rose and the Songs of Night’s Warding when it set.

He, too, had thought about contacting their mother a few years before. “She was still working at the Snobeedle Orchard in Undercliff,”

“I was born there!” Kora exclaimed.

“I remember!” Keryth laughed. “But to speak true, I felt… unwelcome there. It felt less like an orchard and more like a cult. I… didn’t find the answers I’d hoped to. I haven’t been back.”

Keryth remembered more of their childhood than Kora did, and he had been able to share a few tales with her before needing to return to his duties. They’d made promises to talk again. Kora wasn’t sure if that would happen, but his words had led her here.

To the orchard.

EPILOGUE: THE CASSALANTER CHILDREN

Meanwhile, the others had been summoned to Blackstaff Tower. Entering the tower they found that, rather than ascending it, all of their paths led down… and down… and down.

They came at last to a room. Vajra was waiting for them outside the door.

“I found the Cassalanter children. You need to be here for this.” She opened the door and stepped in.

“No,” Kittisoth murmured, shaking her head. “No… No.”

But Pashar nodded firmly and followed Vajra. Theren went with him. Edana took Kitti gently and helped her inside. It was horrible, but it was their plan. It was their responsibility. Vajra was right. But she wasn’t sure she could ever forgive her for it.

As Vajra said, “It’s all right. It’s going to be all right,” she drove two blades simultaneously into the backs of the Cassalanter children’s heads, neatly severing their spinal cords. With a wave of her hand, the Blackstaff opened a furnace in the wall of the chamber and levitated the children’s corpses into it.

Kittisoth sobbed and fell to her knees, her wings quaking.

The bodies burned away.

EPILOGUE: KORA’S MOTHER

At the end of the private drive, Kora found a complex of larger buildings, mostly still built in halfling style. The main building, in fact, appeared to be less constructed and more grown directly out of the ground as a tangle of trees winding and twisting around each other.

After some short introductions, she was led to an elderly halfling woman dressed in green robes with silver trim. The old woman smiled at her. “Yes, yes, of course. Welcome. My name is Blossom. Blossom Snobeedle. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” She gave a small smile and her eyes twinkled. “I remember when you were born in the field, just over there.”

“That’s right,” Kora said. “I was born in a field.”

Blossom nodded, hearing the tone Kora couldn’t quite control in her voice. “I remember Samira’s heartache at giving up her children. Those were hard years after your father passed.”

“I’d like to talk with her, please,” Kora said.

Blossom tapped her cane. “You didn’t ever properly know this. Your mother didn’t want you to know. But no amount of hardship could have made her give you up. The only reason she ever gave you up was because she was following the Voice of the Wood.”

“What?”

“She’d joined the Circle of Initiates,” Blossom said. “All that you see here is owned by the Emerald Enclave, a powerful druidic order. Your mother had joined the order. She was still learning the druidic arts when she received a vision from the God of the Ents that she needed to give her children up for the greater good. It broke her heart. But she did what she needed to do.

“I wish I could introduce you to your mother now. But unfortunately that’s not possible. Three months ago she did me a great service: My youngest son, Dasher, disappeared in Waterdeep. He’d just been running some errands, but he didn’t come home. After much heartache, he was found by a man named Davil Starsong. He had been kidnapped by a gang of wererats named the Shard Shunners. They’d infected him. They’d turned my son into a monster; severed his connection from the Old Growth.

“He needed respite and time to heal. Samira offered to journey with him to the Isle of Ilighôn in the Sea of Fallen Stars, where the stronghold of our Enclave is located. They left three weeks ago.”

Kora wiped a tear that was threatening to fall from her eye. “Thank you. I am very proud of her for helping… for helping your son. And you should know that the wererats who plagued your son… they’ve been dealt with.”

“Indeed?” Blossom smiled. “Even out here we’ve been hearing good things about you Kora. About you and your friends.”

“When she comes back, could you please tell her to come and visit?” Kora asked. “I run a small tavern with some friends. I’d love to share a meal with her.”

Blossom nodded. “Of course. I’ll let her know.”

“It’s just off Trollskull Alley,” Kora said. “It’s called Trollskull Manor.”

EPILOGUE: THE FEASTS OF LEIRUIN

Festival season was finally coming to an end with the Feast of Leiruin. In Trollskull Alley, the celebrations they had arranged were a roaring success. Spring garlands were strung between dancing poles. Mattrim Threestrings was singing while laughing children dunked for apples and chased each other through the swirling, chaotic joy of the evening.

In the midst of this merriment, the five of them came together on the porch of Trollskull Manor and headed into the tavern’s common room. They were waving to various neighborhood faces that were starting to become familiar to them when Floon came running up. “Edana!” He was holding an orange tabby cat. “My friend Riklyn Harvester has been transformed into this cat by an irate sorcerer who was upset that he had picked up a girl at the Old Skull Tavern. Now, I’ve got Riklyn right here and—”

“Meow!”

“–I’m really hoping you can help turn him back!”

Kittisoth frowned. “Why do you think she would be able to turn him back?”

Floon looked confused. “Edana helps with everything, doesn’t she?”

Pashar laughed.

Kitti’s eyes narrowed. “Was it Riklyn who was trying to pick up the girl?”

“Of course!” Floon declared. “I was just being a good wingman! Riklyn’s a player! You’d like him!”

“I would not!”

Edana smirked. “Kora, can you do anything?”

Kora sighed and cast detect magic. “Uh… the cat’s not magical.”

“What?”

“That’s not Riklyn. It’s just a cat.”

“What?!”

Kittisoth laughed and laughed and laughed.

“Meow!” The cat leapt out of Floon’s arms and ran off into the crowd.

“Riklyn!” Floon shouted. “Wait… you’re sure that wasn’t Riklyn?”

“Positive,” Kora said.

Floon shrugged. “Then he must be with the girl.” And he headed off to get a drink.

Mattrim danced by with Bonnie, the barmaid from the Yawning Portal, in his arms. He made a point of flashing his Harper pin to them as he spun by. Kitti laughed again.

And then, across, the room she spotted Isgrigg heading toward Ilthaea, one of the floating star elf triplets. She pounded Pashar on the shoulder. “Look!”

Isgrigg nervously said, “Would you… uh… like to get a drink some time?”

“Oh!” Ilthaea blinked. “I always thought you liked Ulthaea.”

“No!” Isgrigg said. “I like you.”

“Thank you,” she said. “Yes. We should go out for a drink. It is written.”

Pashar cried out, “It is written!”

“What?!” Kittisoth shouted.

Just then, coming in from the alley, they saw Valetta, the priestess from the House of Gond, accompanied by Nym the Nimblewright. Nym came over to them. “Thank you very much. For the invitation.”

They had a brief conversation with them, and then Volo came trundling over to them.

“Oh gods…” Kittisoth murmured.

“My friends!” Volo cried. “Trollskull Manor! I must say, this is the finest decision I’ve made in decades! So much activity! I’d actually like to talk to you about arranging for a signing of Volo’s Guide to Mountains… Er… Monsters.” He might have been a few drinks in at that point. “I also have a number of questions to ask you about the forthcoming Volo’s Guide to Spirits and Ghosts!”

EPILOGUE: THE DANCE OF LEIRUIN

Later that evening, Kittisoth and Renaer danced in the midst of the Feast at Brandathall. They swirled about the ballroom, gliding (and occasionally floating) beautifully across the floor. The others were nearby, part of the large crowd mingling around the busy dance floor.

They saw the Gralhunds come in. Their eyes met and, from across the room, the Gralhunds mouthed, Thank you…

Kitti and Renaer swept around the ballroom. Kitti twirled around just in time to see Laeral and Vajra teleport in on one side of the room. Mirt was with them! He was a little pallid, but he gave a grateful nod of the head to the new Brightcandle and her friends.

Kitti danced on. As they passed the door, Jarlaxle came walking in – as himself, for a change. Seeing Kitti’s doubletake, Renaer grinned. “Don’t worry. Osco has an eye on him.”

“Oh good,” Kitti grinned sardonically. “My confidence is restored!”

They passed Hermione, who was dancing with a tawny-haired Calishite noble. She gave Kitti a bawdy wink, and Kitti replied with a bawdier thumbs up.

And then the song was winding down. Renaer took the lead and they twirled out into the middle of the floor. As the music ended, he spun down onto one knee and produced a ring.

“Kittisoth, would you go on one last adventure with me?” Renaer grinned. “The greatest adventure of all?”

The entire room seemed to hold its breath.

“… Yeah. Sure. Let’s do it!” Kitti grinned and blushed red. “But I may need to go to the Sea of Fallen Stars to save my friend’s mom. And I also lost a bet with Pashar, so I’m going to have go Dip first.”

“Well, we could be married in the Yawning Portal,” Renaer suggested.

“No!” Kitti said. “We could not!”

EPILOGUE: THUNDERSTAFF

Time passed. Now they were placing the last of the Harper cache into the secret chamber beneath Thunderstaff Manor. Theren tucked the last package onto a shelf and they all stowed their Harper pins, their business as Harpers completed.

They headed back up the stairs. As they came into the entryway, the doors burst open. The two Cassalanter children came rushing in, joining the other children who were there playing at the new Thunderstaff Orphanage.

EPILOGUE: THE SEA OF FALLEN STARS

Pashar stood at the prow of a ship, the sea wind in his face and an endless horizon before him. Kora stepped up to join him on his right side. Theren stepped up to his left.

Kittisoth swooped down from the skies, flying past them and alighting next to Renaer on the lower deck. She threw her arm around her husband and smiled.

The swanwing ship sailed on into the Sea of Fallen Stars, seeking the next great adventure.

EPILOGUE: TROLLSKULL FUTURE

One year later, Edana stood on the balcony of Trollskull Manor looking out across the city towards Mount Waterdeep. Below her, the Trollskull Gardens that had been meticulously planned by Theren filled the alley — a verdant sweep of green growth and flowering trees. Squiddly was down there, shooting at a target propped up against one of the trees.

Nat was sitting in the bole of a different tree off to one side, nearly of a height with the balcony. Her brow was furrowed in concentration… and little sparks leapt from her fingertips.

Jenks, who was working in the kitchens down below, called out, “Do you want a roll? Catch!” He hurled one up through the window and Edana snatched it nimbly from the air.

Taking a bite from the gloriously fresh bread, she turned to head back into the manor. But as she did, Vajra flew down from the blue sky and alighted gently on the balcony next to her.

There was still work to be done.

The Sea goes ever on and on,
Away from manor where it began.
On distant shores we light upon,
Let others follow us who can!
With them a voyage new begins,
But one day with thought of child and friend,
We’ll turn back to lighted inn,
Where toils began and journeys end.

THE END

GM: Justin Alexander

Kittisoth Ka’iter – Heather Burmeister
Mamoon Pashar Al-Eiraf Um-Hafayah – Peter Heeringa
Kora Marwood – Chris Malone
Edana – Sarah Holmberg
Theren – Erik Malm

POST-CREDIT SCENE

Edana sat cross-legged in the secret chambers beneath Thunderstaff Orphanage. She held the Stone of Golorr in the palm of her hand. Its alien thoughts melded and danced with hers. The secrets it had stolen from the world flowed into her.

She had gained so many of them already: Horrible racial slurs. The elvish word essylathir, which meant the beauty of eyes which are the color of a storm-tossed sea. The existence of tawny-haired bipeds known as “fuzzies” that lived in the High Forest. The Kingdom of Otheria, which ruled a demesne from the Sword Coast to the sands of Anauroch five hundred years before. The name Anu-Devan which had one been the most popular male elven name. The location of sixteen silver bars buried in the rear yard of a tavern in Murann in 916 DR. The spells of blacksteel and midnight shroud. The ritual required for the creation of a Hell cyst. The location of a vast complex of gothic archways, each leading to a different locale holding great secrets.

Now a new secret was leeching into her: An atrocity performed during the Crown Wars.

She saw the utter truth of it. How history had long maintained that the dark elf Ilythiiri had viciously attacked the kingdom of Orishaar on the thinnest of pretenses, thus beginning the Second Crown War.

But there, buried inside, was the secret: That the Orishaari had actually betrayed the Ilythiiri at a wedding which was to unite their two people and slaughtered most of the Ilythiiri royal family. The Stone had wiped this truth from history, leaving the official histories to turn the murderous moon elves into victims and the wronged dark elves into villains who were served with a cold justice when they lost the Crown Wars and were forced underground into the sunless realms of their cavernous kingdoms.

And none would ever know but her.

Her eyes snapped open.

Go to Part 1

INTO THE VAULT

They headed down the long, sloping dwarven hall and emerged back into the shadow-shrouded vault. Edana’s hooded lantern swept back and forth across the immense chamber.

Kora placed the dragon scale atop the bas relief of the bronze sun and cast daylight. The bright light gleamed off the bronze beneath her feet and glittered in the depths of the dwarven runes — as crisp and fine as the day they’d first been crafted — on the adamantine doors.

Theren stepped forward and struck the dragon scale with the mithril hammer.

In that instant, there was a deep, sonorous tone that echoed around them. The doors slid back silently into the walls, revealing a vast chamber beyond. As they stepped up into the doorway, they looked into an even larger chamber — at least a hundred feet long, with a ceiling far above their heads — lit by a silvery, magical light.

Three bridges crossed the chamber above them. These had become worn with age. Stone had collapsed from their spans, and also crumbled from the large support pillars which ran down the center of the chamber to keep them aloft. Despite this damage, they could see that the support pillars had been carved to resemble warhammers with their square heads pressed against the floor.

Down at the far end of the chamber, they could see three tall niches, at least twenty or thirty feet high, which contained chipped frescoes. An equally massive doorway of bronze near these and off to the left appeared to lead out of the chamber.

Before crossing the threshold, Kora cast a ritual which would allow her to detect magical auras and Pashar simultaneously worked a rite which would allow him to more easily translate any inscriptions they found within. The others drunk in the ancient ambience while they waited and then, when the time came, took trepidatious steps forward.

As they approached the frescoes in the far wall, they could see the scenes they depicted more clearly. The first showed the dwarven god Dumathoin placing glowing gems into a range of mountains which appeared to be a primeval representation of the Sword Mountains. The second showed Dumathoin visiting the Illithid god Ilsensine, manifested in its form as a disembodied emerald brain, and bathing with it in the greenish psionic energy of the maze-like Caverns of Thought. And the third showed Dumathoin, Ilsensine (depicted in its form as an Illithid avatar), and Laduguer, the god of the duergar, with hands clasped in a dwarven circle of friendship.

“I don’t understand,” Kora said. “Why would the dwarves depict one of their own gods being in league with the illithid?”

Theren approached the gargantuan door of bronze. Pushing lightly upon it, he discovered that it pivoted easily at its mid-point, rotating into a perpendicular position allowing them to pass to either side of it. The room beyond was only small in comparison to the chamber they had just left. A broad stairway without railing ran up the far wall and then along the wall to the left to an upper level.

“That must go up to the bridges,” Kora surmised.

“I could fly up?” Kittisoth suggested.

“The stairs look sturdy enough,” Kora said, walking towards them.

The wall behind the stairs was covered in another fresco, this one depicting a vast dwarven army battling goblins. As Kora drew near it, she realized the whole fresco was magical. She stepped closer to analyze its enchantments, and then backpedaled: The entire fresco was enchanted to mesmerize anyone looking upon it, drawing them into its ‘glorious’ details.

She quickly explained the problem to the others: The fresco was directly next to the stairs. Anyone walking up it was at risk of studying the fresco for the rest of their lives.

“I’m flying up,” Kittisoth said, and did so.

“Do we need to see it?” Edana asked. “Could we just close our eyes?”

Kora nodded. That would work, and she’d already resisted the effect. The others were quickly blindfolded, and Kora led them up the stairs to where Kittisoth was waiting.

The upper hall, with three archways that did, in fact, lead to the bridges, had a series of pillars running down its length that, like the larger pillars below, had been carved in the likeness of warhammers. The wall opposite the archways bore a cracked mosaic depicting a dwarf smith at a forge, crafting dwarves out of black metal and diamonds. (Kora detected no magic emanating from this mural, but did recognize the figure as Moradin, creator god of the dwarves.)

Looking out at the bridges, they could see that two of them, although damaged, still appeared to be passable, but the third was missing a section in its middle. All three bridges ended in seemingly identical adamantine doors, smaller in scale, but similar to the larger one below.

After a brief discussion, they decided that crossing the broken bridge actually made the most sense. “Because it makes the least sense, if that makes sense,” Kora said.

“Makes sense to me!” Kittisoth said, and flew them across one by one.

Edana discovered that the door had been magically locked, but Kora was able to dispel it. The door swung open, revealing a modest chamber (only roughly the size of the Trollskull common room!). Four suits of rusted dwarven plate stood in the corners of the room, draped in cobwebs. The floor was a mosaic in a dwarven abstract style that was no longer very popular, arranged around a circular motif in the center of the floor. Carved into the far wall, in dwarven characters which Pashar (with magical aid) could read, was an inscription: A secret never told will part Dumathoin’s lips.

Pashar pulled out his notes and read aloud one of the banal, graffitied secrets he had copied form the long hall.

Nothing happened.

“I don’t think it’s a secret any more because it was written on the wall,” Kora said.

“All right,” Pashar said. Then he took a deep breath. “I… I didn’t really do something good. I stole this crystal from my master’s collection and released a djinn. That’s the real reason he erased my name from the Book of Fate.”

The others stood in a stunned silence which allowed them to clearly hear the faint puff of air as the motif in the center of the floor began to rotate up into the room.

“I can’t believe it,” Kitti murmured.

The motif revealed itself to be a hollow pillar which recessed into the ceiling above, allowing access to a staircase leading down.

“This is why you follow the letter of the law so carefully now?” Edana said blithely to Pashar.

“Well, I… We have a treasure to find!” he declared.

“Uh-uh. No!” Kittisoth said, following him down the stairs. “I have more questions for you!”

The circular stairs bottomed out onto a large landing leading to another set of broad stairs. At the bottom of these they could see a glinting, glittering light, almost like sunlight reflecting off a pond at dawn. At the bottom of the stairs was a vaulted antechamber, and a twenty-foot-wide doorway opened into another vast chamber beyond.

There were four more of the titanic, hammer-headed pillars here, defining a central area within the wider chamber, and leaving a kind of walkway around its perimeter. In the space between these pillars was a pile… a mound… a mountain of gold. A hoard of coins eight or ten feet high, spilling down into a haphazard carpet that covered the floor.

So abruptly confronted with the treasure, they were hesitant to enter the chamber. Edana instead reached out with a mage hand and telekinetically pulled one of the coins to herself.

It was a Waterdhavian dragon. Bright, shiny, and new. It was definitely Neverember’s Enigma.

“Hello?” Kora called. Theren echoed her in Draconic and Deep Speech.

Kittisoth walked forward, slightly dazed. The others also took a few steps forward, as if drawn in her wake. Then, with a pulse of her wings, Kittisoth took to the air, as if the earth could not contain the enthusiasm bursting within her.

And then they heard the shifting of some titanic bulk.

The dragon uncoiled from behind his hoard of gold.

THE DRAGON

The red dragon’s head curled up. One heavy foot crashed down atop the pile, unleashing a cascade of coins. Its tail began whipping back and forth.

Kittisoth screamed. Kora cursed, and then cried out, “STOP! We have a legal claim to the gold!”

“Oh no,” Edana said, “I don’t think dragons—”

“MY GOLD?!” The dragon’s voice boomed.

“We can’t cluster!” Pashar shouted. “Split up!”

Edana broke left. Theren simultaneously broke right, racing around the perimeter of the room while pestering the beast with arrows from both sides. Unfortunately, their shots simply ricocheted off its thick scales.

The dragon took to the air, beating its wings. The wind from those monstrous pinions actually blasted Kittisoth back against the wall. As she, knocked slightly senseless, slid to the floor, Pashar, who had also been knocked off his feet, scrabbled across the floor and fetched up behind the thick stone of the doorframe.

He was just in time. The dragon’s chest drew in air like a bellows, and then its fire spewed out. Kittisoth reacted quickly, pulsing her own wings in order to sort of half fly, half leap across the floor, scooping up Kora in one arm as she dived behind the other side of the door. Both of them were still badly scorched as the flames washed around and past them, but they managed to avoid the worst of it.

“IT IS MY GOLD NOW!” the dragon roared. “MINE! NEVEREMBER WILL NEVER TAKE IT BACK FROM ME!”

The dragon dived to one side, looping through the pillars and circling in behind Theren, who cut between another pair of pillars and ran fleetly up the pile of gold. Theren kept up a steady volley of arrow fire the entire time and a few managed to find chinks in the dragon’s armor.

It roared again, this time in pain, and swooped up in a high arc in order to follow Theren through the pillars. Pashar, however, had been waiting for this moment: As the dragon reached the highest point of its flight, he cast a paralyzing enchantment.

The dragon froze in midflight and plummeted from the sky, barreling down straight towards where Theren stood. Theren leapt over the top of the pile, sliding down the far side of it with gold coins scattering around his feet. The dragon plowed into the mountain of gold behind him, sending a huge avalanche of glittering coins cascading down and around Theren as he landed at the bottom of the pile.

Kittisoth swept past him, flying down the length of the dragon and hacking left and right with her greataxe, her mighty thews punching through its scales and laying bare the muscle beneath the ghastly wounds.

In her wake, Theren spun around and lowered his bow. The flame sacs to either side of the dragon’s neck bulged, glowing with a pure, white hot rage… but it could not move while Pashar’s spell laid upon it. Not even to breathe.

Theren shot it in the eye. Drew again. Shot it through the other eye. His arrow lodged deep in the creature’s skull.

With a final, shuddering breath, it was done.

The dragon was dead.

AFTERMATH

“That is a lot of gold,” Edana said.

Theren had set to work preserving the corpse. (“Dragon steaks at Trollskull!”) Kittisoth claimed one of its scales as a memento.

Discussion fell to logistics. How were they going to get all of this gold out? And, once they got it out, what should they do with it? They’d promised Vajra that it would be returned to the city and the citizens of Waterdeep from whom it had been stolen. But now that they were actually faced with the physical reality of all that gold, it suddenly didn’t seem that simple.

“Do we let Jarlaxle take any of the credit for this?” Edana asked. “As a way of—”

“—of getting him off our back?” Kittisoth finished.

“Yes,” Edana said. “There’s the kid. And the Stone. And all of that. But to cut to the heart of it, what he wants is to be publicly recognized as having helped Waterdeep. He wants the political leverage.”

Theren nodded. “I think we can speak honestly on Jarlaxle’s behalf and say that he’s been of help to us.”

“But he took a kid,” Pashar said. “A kid.”

“I know,” Theren said quietly.

“And this might be the best way to recover the kid,” Edana pointed out. “Or, if he knows that the game is done and he gets nothing, does he care about any of this — any of us — any more?”

“No,” Kitti said. “He kills everyone and then he comes for us.”

“Or he might say, ‘Well played,’” Theren suggested.

“I think we should give him credit,” Kora said. “He’s worked with us in good faith. I don’t forgive him for taking the kid, but that’s also why we should broker the deal and get it done. All he wants is the Lords’ Alliance. He just wants a seat at the table.”

“Which, in all fairness, maybe he should have,” Pashar said.

“Having a neighbor that’s constantly in conflict with you isn’t great for business,” Edana said. “As we well know.”

“But is Vajra really going to be all right with this?” Theren asked.

“Does it matter?” Kittisoth snapped.

“We’re talking about negotiating a seat in the Lords’ Alliance,” Theren said. “Is she going to be all right trading that for gold? Even if it’s a lot of gold?”

“Look,” Kittisoth said. “They don’t have to. Just because Jarlaxle gets credit for this, they can still do whatever they want. If they don’t want to accept him as members of their council, bullshit, whatever… That’s on them. If we broker the deal — if we give him credit — it’s not our decision to make him a Lord Whatever.”

The others nodded.

“I think we’re agreed,” Kora said.

Go to Epilogue