AC writes:

When I first picked up Waterdeep: Dragon Heist I’d already looked at some reviews and I knew the module was a bit wonky. After giving it my own read through I knew I wanted to somehow use all the villains provided and fortunately I found the Alexandrian Remix.

After many, many, MANY hours of reading and prep I started out with our game group. Up to Chapter 1 (Ch1 of the module, so 5B of the Remix) things were going well enough. Of course that’s also only the barest start of the whole thing so that’s not saying much.

Since then it’s been an unmitigated disaster.

Things got badly bogged down trying to refurbish Trollskull Manor, this was due to my attempting to introduce the party to all the faces around the neighborhood so that they’d actually be invested in the place AND so that for the investigation yet to come they’d have some folks to actually talk to that wouldn’t just be random Joe/Jane shop-owner whose been (surprise!) next door all this time.

After slogging through that I thought we’d be able to make some headway… WRONG. I made efforts to establish some timelines, throw in a couple of faction missions, then the Cassalanters introduced themselves and their “problem”, and the parades were about to occur along with the opening of the inn.

Unfortunately I guess I miscalculated what the party would do… like I suppose heroes would, as soon as they found out about the cursed children they took off at a gallop to track down Renaer, get whatever info they could from him… and they were on the verge of taking off for Neverwinter to put the screws to his father!

At that point I shut down the game session as I had no idea how the get the damn thing back on track and I’m on the verge of just giving up on it entirely. No fault of the Remix, it’s the DM to blame here.

I’m not a first time DM, I’ve been running D&D campaigns on and off for years. The last campaign I lead was the two part Horde of the Dragon Queen / Rise of Tiamat. Maybe this time I bit off more than I could chew with the Remix, maybe I expected more from our group as I was trying to give them more of a sandbox and not so much a hack ’n slash railroad. I dunno.

What I’m wondering is if anyone else has had things go so badly wrong that they got to the point where they were seriously considering just giving up.

One side note: Trying to game with everyone locked down and remote has been a huge challenge for me. I find the loss of true interaction you get from being face to face with players in the room has killed much of my ability to improvise and is a serious impediment to building up any sort of momentum on game nights. Constantly having to repeat ourselves, pausing for long moments just in case someone else is about to say something, or just straight up technical difficulties. It’s all conspiring to suck the fun out of getting together for game nights.

First, AC, you are not alone in struggling with remote gaming. I’ve had similar difficulties. Everything takes longer. Sitting at a camera is more exhausting than sitting around a table. The channels of communication between players are limited. Body language is limited. It all translates into an experience where it becomes much harder to set tone and pace.

As a long-time GM across many different systems, I have an engrained sense of what a good session “feels like.” Remote gaming seems to be just different enough to trigger a kind of uncanny valley response; even if the session was, on its own merits, a success, it just feels as if something went wrong.

Perhaps the clearest example of this is just the amount of stuff that gets done during a session. Even if you manage to avoid having any technical glitches, the constraints of the remote experience inherently mean less gets done:

• Referencing common material can be cumbersome, particularly if you’re not using a virtual tabletop or if the material in question hasn’t been integrated into the virtual tabletop. (Think of an action as simple as finding a reference in the book and handing it to another player to look at.)
• Constraints on simple physical demonstrations and body language often mean longer descriptions and explanations.
• At a physical table you can have multiple conversations happening simultaneously. This obviously doesn’t happen constantly, but having only one effective voice channel prevents side-table discussions. In combat this means the wizard and fighter can’t coordinate their attack while you’re resolving the cleric’s turn. It also means that Sarah and Chris can’t quietly figure out what they’re planning to do next while you’re running the scene with Peter spying on Heather’s date.

And so forth.

So even the simple metric of, “Did we get a good amount of stuff done in this session?” is disrupted in remote gaming. And it’s not even that the amount of stuff that you get done is actually a problem; it just feels like a problem because it’s out of sync with what years of experience have subconsciously taught you a “good session” feels like.

Something that may help is doing brief post mortems with your players: Literally just check in with them and find out how they felt the session went. You might find that it works well to do this immediately as the session ends (during the chatting and small talk after the action wraps for the night), or you might find it’s more effective to do it a couple days later by e-mail or text message. Either way, you’ll often find that your players actually really enjoyed sessions that you felt were a struggle, and I find that can help buoy my spirits. If they are having problems, turn the discussion towards solutions: Focus on what you all (as a group) could be doing (or doing differently) rather than simply moping over the rough edges. (If you’re having the initial discussion between sessions with each player separately, you may find it useful to open the next session by discussing the problems and collectively brainstorming solutions.)

But I digress. Let’s chat about where you are in your campaign.

MEANWHILE, IN NEVERWINTER…

I’m not there at the table with you, but while this may feel hopelessly messed up and out of control for you, I’m guessing the same is not true for your players.

First, let’s look at what went “wrong”… although I don’t think it’s actually wrong, per se. I would have waited to have the Casalanters approach the PCs until after the Dalakhar explosion. That way, the players would have known that the way to help the Cassalanters solve their problem (if that’s what they want to do) is by continuing their ongoing investigation.

What’s happened here is that you’ve given the players a clear screnario hook (“help the Cassalanters save their kids!”) before you’ve given them a clear way of pursuing that scenario hook. They’ve responded by creating their own way of pursuing that hook and aggressively going for it.

This is not a problem!

Okay, what’s the first thing you can do?

Go with it.

They want to put the screws on Lord Dagult. Following the principles of active play, pick up that toy (Lord Dagult) and ask yourself what the logical outcome of that would be. What would Lord Dagult’s response be?

(I mean, they’re pretty obviously not going to be able to “put the screws to him.” But when they try, what happens?)

Well, if these random blokes from Waterdeep know about the gold, then it’s more at risk than he thought! (That’s particularly true if the PCs let slip that their knowledge comes from the Cassalanters.)

But these folks also saved his son. So he might think of them as useful cat’s paws in the Grand Game? He might even warn them about the Cassalanters (“you’ve been tricked by devil worshipers!”) before offering them a heap of gold to act as HIS agents. Heck, he might even offer them ALL the gold; then the big revelation would be that Dagult doesn’t seem to think that the gold is the most important thing at stake here: It’s the Stone of Golorr itself that he prizes above all else!

“Bring me the Stone of Golorr with all its Eyes and I’ll tell you where the gold is!” he says. “Then you can give it to the Cassalanters or buy a pirate franchise in Luskan or spend it on the richest gigolos on the Sword Coast. Just bring me the damn Stone!”

If the PCs agree, then he’ll tell them to head back to Waterdeep. He’ll be sending one of his local agents to contact them. (That’s Dalakhar, of course. So, then… ka-boom.)

Alternatively, he might let some information inadvertently slip while trying to figure out what the PCs know. (“Does Manshoon know? What about the rest of the Zhentarim?”)

Or maybe it’s a total dead end and all the PCs have done is add another faction to the Grand Game as Lord Dagult floods Waterdeep with his agents.

The point is to just look at what Lord Dagult knows — not just historically, but about the state of the Grand Game right now and the PCs specifically (if anything) — and then just… let things play out. See what happens.

MEANWHILE, IN WATERDEEP…

On the other hand, an epic segue to Neverwinter may be far enough outside the intended scope of the campaign that you would prefer to avoid all that. That’s OK. Even sandboxes have borders, and Dragon Heist isn’t even a sandbox.

What you need to do here is take a step back, identify the thing the PCs need to be pointed at, and then figure out how to deflect their current vector (“Let’s go question Lord Dagult!”) towards the thing they need.

In some cases it may not be possible to do this without railroading them, in which case I think you should find a different way. But if you’re running a robust, dynamic scenario (which I would argue the Alexandrian Remix of Dragon Heist qualifies as), you’ll often find that the PCs’ vector will end up naturally interacting with that scenario.

That’s the case here: If they’re still talking to Renaer, he can just say, “My father has a number of agents still active in Waterdeep. I know how to contact one of them. Why don’t I set up a meeting? They might be able to tell us what he’s up to.”

Renaer, of course, will then set up a meeting with Dalakhar for them. And then … ka-boom.

You’ll note that many of my solutions here are looking for ways to point the PCs back at Dalakhar so that the explosion can happen. But the other key thing to keep in mind here is that Dalakhar’s death and the fireball are only “essential” to the Remix insofar as they’re designed to be the primary hook into the Grand Game for the PCs. But in your campaign, the PCs are already hooked. So Dalakhar and the explosion are relatively non-essential.

Since the PCs are already in the Grand Game, it’s a good opportunity to review Part 7: How the Remix Works. There’s a simple checklist there for the GM to follow when running the campaign:

(1) Are the PCs looking for a lead to one of the Eyes? If yes, pick a Faction Outpost and point them at it.

(2) Did the PCs just piss off one of the Factions? If yes, pick a Faction Response Team and have them target the PCs.

(3) Are the PCs floundering and don’t know what to do next? If yes, pick a Faction Response Team and have them target the PCs. (If you’re not sure how they might target the PCs, just have them show up and try to kill them.)

Repeat until the campaign is done.

This list is really just a default algorithm for actively playing the core elements of the campaign.

If you can’t redirect to the Dalakhar assassination in some way, you’ll have to do a little extra lifting to direct the PCs to the stone itself (since their investigation of the fireball won’t lead them to the Gralhunds). But keep in mind, as described in Part 2 of the Remix, that this chain of events already has a default outcome if the PCs get involved which ends with Jarlaxle in possession of the Stone (i.e., one of the Factions that the default algorithm consistently prompts you to pick up and play with).

To come full circle: I don’t think your campaign is as “out of control” as it feels to you right now. In fact, I think your campaign is in a great place. You’ve got a group of players who are clearly heavily invested in what’s happening AND self-motivated enough to create their own plans and aggressively push for the outcomes they want. That’s FANTASTIC.

Follow their lead.

This is an experimental new series for the site. It might end up just being one-and-done. Let me know what you think of it in the comments. If you have any questions you’d like to have considered for future columns, throw those in, too. The goal here is to address specific situations from actual play; the general gist being, “If I were the GM in this situation, what would I do?” (As opposed to more abstract questions about general methodology or theorycraft.)

Go to Ask the Alexandrian #2

Go to Part 1

I’ve been asked for this enough times that I finally just bit the bullet and did it: Here are versions of the Stone of Golorr with one, two, and none of its eyes.

I ended up commissioning a physical prop of the Stone of Golorr when I ran Dragon Heist, so this wasn’t a high priority for me. But, as I say, it’s been heavily requested. I am by no means a master of Photoshop, but I thought this turned out well enough that others might find value in it.

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

A question I’ve been not infrequently asked is what starting date I used when running Dragon Heist using the Alexandrian Remix. A quick summary:

• PCs arrive in the Yawning Portal on Ches 1^st.
• Grand Opening of Trollskull Manor on Ches 20^th.
• Fireball on Ches 22^nd.
• Cassalanter kids get their souls sucked to Hell on Tarsakh 11^th.

Some of this timeline, particularly as it pertains to the dual festival weeks of Fleetswake and Waukeentide (with the sacrificial feast thrown by the Cassalanters being a Feast of Leiruin on Tarsakh 10^th), is laid out in Part 4 of the Remix. Other dates are given on the master timeline in Part 5. But I apparently never clearly laid out how these dates related to the events in Chapter 1 (rescuing Floon) and Chapter 2 (opening Trollskull Manor and joining factions).

Basically, there are four considerations here:

First, you want to give the PCs plenty of time to resolve the situation before the Cassalanter kids get their souls sucked, but not so much that they don’t feel any pressure. It’s not quite the illusion of pressure, but it’s close: You want the players to look at the calendar and think, “We could run out of time!” without that just kind of accidentally happening despite their best efforts.

Second, you want the Grand Game stuff to play out across the full length of the festival season to give maximum opportunities for onsite surveillance. (Jarlaxle, Xanathar, and the Cassalanters all have opportunities tied to the festivals.)

For both of these reasons, you neither want the fireball (which triggers the PCs’ meaningful involvement in the Grand Game) arriving too early (no time pressure; the onsite surveillance opportunities aren’t available yet) nor too late (no time to save the kids, fewer surveillance opportunities).

However, the third consideration is that the section of the campaign you simultaneously have the least AND most control over is the refurbishing of Trollskull Manor (and simultaneous faction missions): Least because the players can theoretically fritter away a ton of time here in unpredictable ways. Most because once they’re done frittering you can ultimately say, “Okay, and then it takes you [arbitrary amount of time] for the last of the repairs to be finished. Looks like you can open the joint on [arbitrary date]!”

This allows you almost infinite control over the date that the Grand Opening happens AS LONG AS the players don’t run past your desired date. Starting the campaign on Ches 1^st gives you a nearly three week lead time. In other words, you’ll have plenty of time with a healthy margin of error.

But why do we want the Grand Opening on Ches 20^th?

First, it allows the Grand Opening to be its own distinct day.

Second, you get a “normal” operating day on the 21^st (which you can also use to cleanly establish the beginning of the back-to-back festival weeks; see Addendum: The Twin Parades) before you blow the windows out with a fireball on the 22^nd.

You’re letting the Grand Opening be a legitimate payoff for all the hard work the players have been doing and then you’re establishing something at least vaguely resembling the new status quo before you literally blow it up.

The picture at the top of this post depicts an amazing Faerunian calendar that was made by Erik Malm, one of the players in my Dragon Heist campaign. Thanks to Erv Walter, the Patreon patron who prompted me to write up this post!

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