Chapter Four: The Search Continues.

22 Mirtul, Year of Three Ships Sailing (1492 D.R.), late evening.

Healed and energized by our time at Helm’s Hall, we soon find ourselves on Zastrow Street again. Approaching Candle Lane, its winding darkness sending a shiver of dread through my air, I see that there is an inn at the junction of these roads. I do not know what to expect from the Thirsty Throat. To my relief, it is a well-lit, solid building and I hear nothing but bursts of raucous song and laughter from within.

Inside, it smells of mouth-watering spices and roast meat. I notice many more Tieflings peppered through the crowd here than I have seen elsewhere in the Deep. And many Humans with the dark skin and distinctive colorful outfits of the southern Sword Coast. But I do not see Renaer.

Eliana leads us to an unoccupied table near to the bar to wait. Before long, a young Tiefling man approaches, greeting us politely and asking what we would like to eat and drink. My ears perk up and my curls swish gently with pleasure. He sounds like my Papa!

“I think that we should eat before any more – exertion.” Eliana says. “What do you recommend?”

“Oh, I think that you will enjoy our seafood soup. Very fresh tonight!” The Tiefling’s Calimshan accent makes me smile. “We have good Waterdhavian sea-catch but here, at the Thirsty Throat, we like to make it more exciting. With our own special spices.”

“Well, I believe that I will try that. And an ale.” Eliana grins.

“I will also have the soup.” Vaikner agrees. “Do you have any drink that would go well with it?”

“We have very fine mead. From the Snobeedle Meadery in Undercliff. They are known to be the best and we are lucky to be able to source from them.” The server says enthusiastically.

“The mead for me, please.” Vaikner returns his smile.

“I would like some coffee, please.” I say. “And the soup also.”

I sit back, still a little cautious after my experience at the Skewered Dragon but starting to relax into the cheerful bustle of this clean-smelling and friendly place. My enjoyment is only slightly marred by the noisy gulping and guffawing of a tall Human man who sits at the bar nearby. 

He is very large but his appetite for ale seems even greater than his broad chest and muscled arms. He is wearing a battered breast plate and grey-black leathers, and an enormous battle axe hangs over his back. His face is difficult to distinguish under untamed growth of blonde hair, mustache, and beard. He seems to be alone but this does not stop him from listening to the conversations of others around him, chatting with the barkeep, and roaring with laughter at anything approaching a joke. He is loud, but at least he is jovial, I shrug.

Before long, brimming bowls wreathed in fragrant steam are placed in front of each of us. A multitude of sea creatures bob about in a creamy broth, dotted with orange oil and swimming with herbs. It smells very intriguing.

“This…this is really good!” Eliana exclaims through a mouthful of mussel. “I’ve never tasted soup like this before. It’s amazing!”

“It is rather nice, yes.” Vaikner agrees, sipping slowly. “But this mead is truly fine. You should all try it.”

I like the soup, although the spices are not as finely balanced as I am accustomed to. When my Papa prepares the dishes of his home for our family. Still, we are all eating with hearty enjoyment when Renaer arrives. I am relieved to note that he is a little cleaner than when we met in his warehouse prison. And smells less aggressively of fish.

“What are you doing?” He asks, staring at us in dismay.

“Oh, I’m sorry that we started eating without you, Renaer.” Eliana apologizes. “We wanted to replenish ourselves before facing further conflict. You should try this soup – it’s excellent!”

“I thank you, but no. And, it is alright.” He says with resignation. “He started drinking without me. We should go.”

Renaer gestures to the rowdy giant at the bar, calling him over. 

“I did not have much luck finding help. It was difficult to track down anyone who would be able to accompany us with so little warning. I’m just coming back from another stop empty-handed. But I cannot sacrifice more time, Floon’s time, to searching for anyone else!

“This is Meloon Wardragon. My loyal friend is, er, always up for an exciting evening and he will help us in our quest tonight!

“Meloon, meet Eliana Cooper, Elodie Skyshard, and Vaikner.” Renaer says.

The hairy giant has arrived at our table and now sways in inebriated and amicable bows to each of us. I frown.

“It’s off to the sewers for us, eh!” Meloon roars pleasantly, bench creaking painfully as he plops down at the table. “Ha! Nothing like a bit of good clean shit to brawl in!”

Eliana and Vaikner greet Meloon politely and I smile along with them and then turn to Renaer.

I pause, considering how to bring up this awkward subject in a diplomatic way.

“Renaer, I know you had difficulty finding someone to help us in our urgent need.” I whisper through clenched teeth. “But this Human is the worse for drink! He has been imbibing vast quantities of ale and is generally very noisy and…and undisciplined in his behavior! He may prove to be more of a liability than a help.”

“Meloon?” Renaer responds, genuinely surprised. “No, no! He is always like this. An excellent warrior! If I could find only one person to accompany us…well, we are fortunate that it is Meloon.”

I look doubtfully over at the large Human nearby. He smiles happily and, briefly nodding to my bowl in polite question, helps himself to my soup. 

“You said you were going to show us a nearby entrance to the sewers, Renaer.” Vaikner says.

Meloon guffaws, spewing plump pink shrimp debris onto the table. He reaches over and slaps Vaikner on the back affectionately. The Drow is knocked forward into his mead cup. 

“Eager to start, eh?” Meloon exclaims. “I like it!”

“We are right over the entrance, actually.” Renaer replies. “The sewers can be accessed through the privies.”

Eliana grimaces as she quickly gulps down the last of her supper. We pay the pleasant Tiefling attendant – Vaikner promising to return to sample more meads – and then descend into the lower level of the inn. A narrow wooden staircase brings us to a small damp room. A stone wall that looks newer than the rest of the cellar serves as a divider. A passage leads off on each side of the wall. The air that wafts from the left side is chilly and rank. The air from the right is identical.

“These passages meet up in the same privy chamber beyond this wall.” Renaer explains. “It does not matter which way you go. Under the previous owners, this was a fairly notorious access point to the sewers for smugglers and such. The new management is trying to instill a veneer of civility, I suppose. Introducing a modicum of privacy and so forth.”

I sniff meaningfully and try to control a gag.

“It is only a veneer, after all, Elodie.” Renaer grins. “There is only so much that you can do with…well, come and have a look.”

Extremely apprehensive about what may lie down the malodorous passage, I follow my companions. As Renaer warned, the divider wall ends and the passage widens into a large round chamber. It is all stone – floor, walls, and ceiling. The only exception is a long wooden bench that lines the wall along the entire circumference of the privy room. It is broken up by round holes along its length. Roughly two feet apart, they are clearly an access point to the sewers. And the source of the foul smell.

I stare around in surprise. Having grown up amongst the Avariel, I am naturally accustomed to communal bathing. But the act of elimination is usually performed in greater privacy. I cannot help smiling. As unpleasant as the room’s atmosphere may be, the sight of the row of hole-toilets arrayed around the chamber is endearingly odd. The room happens to be empty now but I imagine a crowd of tavern-goers, descending here together, chattering and laughting. All while perched, their small clothes around their ankles, hanging their bottoms over the waiting holes.

“This is a very sociable privy.” I snort.

“Hrrrngh!” Meloon grunts.

He has grabbed the closest end of the wooden bench and is straining as he pries it up out of its stone base. He heaves a section of seating, holes and all, to one side. Revealing the trench beneath. Leaning over the opening, I see a drop of roughly ten feet into darkness. At the bottom of the drop is a wide ribbon of slow-moving brown fluid. A river of…I am just going to think of it as a river, I decide. On each side of the river is a narrow stone pathway, only a foot or so wide. But elevated sufficiently above the effluvia that, with care, we can avoid immediately becoming befouled.

My companions and I each drop down into the trench, aiming with grim determination for solid ground. Teetering on the edge of the stone walkway for a moment, I almost step into the muck but manage to find my balance and turn to Eliana with a sigh of relief. Renaer makes a clean descent. Meloon follows and my eyes widen as I realize that he has made no effort to aim anywhere except in a generally downward direction. He splashes straight into the center of the brown river and a spatter of ooze erupts at his landing. 

“Ugh.” Eliana says quietly.

Renaer brings out a lantern. It has metal shades on each side that he can raise and lower so that only a thin beam of light shines out as needed. He holds up the lamp and looks intently at the walls around us. Vaikner joins him. 

“Here, look here!” Vaikner soon calls excitedly. “Here is a symbol!”

He is pointing to a chalk mark high up on the moisture-slicked stone. Next to a lumpy mass of fungal growth is a sunburst of sorts: a white circle with ten spokes radiating out from it and a central dot within. 

“This is the sign that Click told us her crew follows through the sewers.” Eliana confirms. “She said this will lead us to their hide-out.”

“That makes sense.” Renaer says grimly. “This is the symbol of the Xanathar Guild. The sign of the Eye.”

“Well, now we know which direction to take. Let us go.” I suggest.

Walking, or in Meloon’s case, squelching, we move away from the privy above us and deeper into the dark tunnel. I am relieved to see that, after his clumsy, heedless entrance into the sewer, Meloon’s bearing has changed. He still smiles widely at anyone who catches his eye;  he simply radiates benign goodwill and delight to be where he currently is. But at least he is quiet now and clearly straining to pay close attention to his surroundings. Very slightly reassured, I step up to the front of our group with Renaer. Leaving Meloon and Eliana to guard our backs.

I focus intently on my own air, pulling it close around me and keeping its flow brisk to create a shield of fresh, sweet smell about myself. With this, the slog through the foul tunnel becomes a little more bearable. Within moments, I hear a soft fluttering and Fukurou lands on my shoulder with a quiet coo.

“Hello there, little friend!” I whisper in surprised pleasure.

“He says it smells better where you are.” Vaikner grumbles behind me. “He wants to ride with you.”

I smile, just a little smugly, and cautiously stroke the owl’s sleek little head. 

We walk quietly for a good while, staying on the stone pathway next to the flow of excrement and keeping mostly dry. I hear the occasional splash and quiet curse as Meloon blunders off the walkway, slipping and plunging with one foot or the other into the sludge below. 

We pass several side tunnels and our passage branches more than once. Every time, there is a chalk outline of an Eye to guide us as we move deeper and deeper into the sewers. We have just reached another one of these divisions in our road when I see a rusted metal ladder stretching up to the tunnel’s arching ceiling. At this junction, one of the available directions is up, following the slippery rungs to a trapdoor that I can just make out high above us. 

Distracted and tempted by the sight of this easy access to fresh air and freedom, I do not immediately see the small shape that darts towards us from the shadowy recesses of the far passage. It is only when I hear a ripping, crackling noise, and feel a sudden wave of cold pressure, that I realize that we are under attack.

“Look out!” I manage, diving to one side and feeling something like the burning of a bitter wind off the glacier gust past me.

Renaer and Eliana both tense and flatten themselves against the tunnel wall. Meloon simply drops down into a crouch. Only Vaikner is exposed to the rippling wave of cold. He takes a wobbling step back as it strikes him. I watch a silver tracery of frost form on his robes. His face is very still and gleams strangely. His eyes become misty and his lips turn blue. He falls back, limp. 

Meloon rises unsteadily from his crouch, looking down at Vaikner with concern on his face.

“Whaa?” He manages, before there is another odd noise, another wave of pressure.

This time, the sound is like the deep ringing of a gong. And the sensation that whips past me is that of being viciously pummeled. Even huddled up to the slick stones of the tunnel, just on the periphery of this curse, I feel my hair flatten and my joints creak as if being mercilessly crushed.

The blast hits Meloon and sends his large form tumbling like a wet puppy. He skims over the surface of the brown ooze and rolls many yards down the tunnel before finally coming to rest, dazed. 

I turn swiftly back towards the hanging ladder. There! Floating just behind its flaking orange rungs is the ghastly shape that attacked my companions. It is as if one of the chalk symbols that we have been following has come to vengeful life! A small, bulging purple globe bobs towards me. Its entire surface is made up of a madly glaring eye. All except for the slash of a mouth at the base of the rabid orb. Lips the color of raw and desiccated flesh open to reveal vicious rows of sharp teeth. The floating eye is crowned with four tentacles. Each of these straining stalks is topped with a smaller, equally malignant, eye.

“It is a floating Eye. It has fangs.” I mumble unnecessarily.

Renaer is already moving. Still pressed up to the tunnel wall, he is adroitly circling around to get behind the Eye, making it impossible for it to target us all at once. Eliana lifts her bow. She shoots but the Eye jags rapidly to one side and the arrow flits off into the darkness.

I take advantage of its momentary distraction to draw my blades. I will not be able to close with the Eye before it turns its vile gaze upon me but yet it is not entirely out of my reach. Quickly switching my grip around, I aim and throw Quen directly at the levitating little monstrosity. I can almost hear my sword sing as it flies, straight and true. It hits the glowering pupil with a distinct and upsetting little sound – half jellied-squelch, half high-pitched pop. The eye wrinkles sadly as clear fluid pours out around my blade. The tentacles wave briefly and desperately, and then slump, along with the rest of the globe. It falls to the ground like a deflating balloon. 

I run over and kick it away from myself and my companions. It offers no resistance, flying high and landing against the wall with a satisfying splat. 

I race over to Vaikner. Eliana is kneeling next to him, concern marring the sweet lines of her face. 

“Is he alive?” I ask urgently, dropping to my knees beside her. 

Fukurou flutters anxiously above us.

“He is not responding. Deeply unconscious, I think.” She whispers.

I reach within myself, feeling my Lady’s power stir and flow. Placing a trembling hand on Vaikner’s forehead, I murmur a prayer. My palm aches from how cold his skin feels. Then, very slowly, I feel a little warmth return to him and he takes a deep, gasping breath. Suddenly drained, I lean back on my heels and close my eyes.

Then, remembering Meloon, I turn back to peer down the tunnel. Renaer is helping his friend to his feet. Meloon shakes his head, wincing and rubbing at his temples. Then, like a bright light suddenly illuminating the dank passage, I see his grin resurface. He enfolds Renaer’s shoulders in a grateful bear-hug. Renaer flinches as he is squeezed but smiles back up at his friend with relief.

“Is everyone alright?” Vaikner rasps out.

“We are fine.” Renaer assures him. “Let us keep going. Carefully.”

Eliana helps Vaikner up. The Drow looks around as Meloon and Renaer approach. After his bonelessly bouncing flight through the tunnel, Meloon is even more befouled than before. And squelches even more liquidly as he walks. Vaikner totters over to the large Human and places his elegant hand on Meloon’s soiled sleeve. He frowns for a moment and a green light flares out from the end of his staff. Watching curiously, I see clean and gleaming leather appear between the thick goo spattered over Meloon’s boots. As if the boots were being assiduously wiped by an invisible hand, the clean patches spread to encompass more and more of the leather surface. Finally, Meloon is standing, still dripping and reeking, but now clad in shiny, dry footwear. My eyes widen, impressed.

“Hey!” Meloon beams when he notices the change in his condition. “You cleaned my boots!!”

He bellows laughter and pulls Vaikner to him. The giant man embraces the slender Drow enthusiastically.

“Thank you!” He roars. “Thank you –  Bootsman!”

As Renaer hushes the delighted Meloon, I see that Vaikner still stands, unmoving after the grateful Human hugged him. His stares off into the distance, pensive. Then a small, surprised smile creeps over his face.

 All of us, rather shaken and much more malodorous than before, find the next chalk symbol and turn to face the next tunnel into the gloom.

I rejoin Renaer at the front of our party; once again carefully looking ahead as we continue stealthily on. Vaikner and Meloon follow, both stumbling and weaving just a little more than they were before but supporting each other as they limp along together. Eliana strides along behind them, on watch for any threats that may emerge from the dark that follows.

We have been moving this way for a time when Renaer points out another Eye symbol on the wall some distance ahead. At the same moment, I notice a crevice in the tunnel wall to our left. It is the entryway to a narrow low passage. Unlike all of the other dark paths that we have passed, a friendly flickering light glints from somewhere in its depths. Stopping and listening closely, I hear nothing.

“The Xanathar symbols lead in that direction.” Renaer says in a low voice. “We should keep going.”

“I do not like to leave this passage without at least checking for a guard.” I whisper in argument. “If there is someone there, then we will be leaving them behind us. To attack us from the back if they should choose to.”

After a brief discussion, we agree that Vaikner, Meloon, and I will quietly follow the narrow passage to ensure that no danger to us lies within. Eliana and Renaer will remain on guard outside. I follow the warmly inviting light down the tunnel branch, hearing Vaikner’s cloak brushing against the stone walls close behind me. The passage soon opens up into a small cellar. Glancing hurriedly around I see neat stacks of boxes and several open crates. The sewer smell is replaced with a more benign basement mustiness. And the strong smell of apples. There is a wooden staircase leading up to a closed trap door. A table and several chairs are positioned to block easy passage from the cellar to the staircase. Three candles on the table illuminate the guard that I was looking for. A neatly dressed Hin man is seated at the table, leaning comfortably back in one of the chairs, and meditatively eating an apple.

“And who might you be?” His bright eyes turn to me as I stare at him.

“Er, Citizen, are you aware that your cellar opens up to tunnels currently being used by illegal gangs underneath the Deep?” I sputter, thrown off-balance by his cheerful tone and innocent demeanor.

“What is upstairs?” Vaikner has emerged into the cellar and is looking at the Halfling with narrowed eyes. “What are you guarding?”

The Hin makes a rude noise and takes another bite of his apple. 

“You would be wise to answer my companion quickly!” I warn, suspicion aroused by the guard’s needlessly insolent response to our polite questions. “We are in a hurry and we will not take the time to argue with you!”

“Hurry on then.” The Hin sneers. “I’m giving you one chance to leave here. It’s your lucky night.”

He makes another, even more rude, noise. This time accompanied by some sort of hand gesture that, I assume, is equally unflattering.

My anxious patience exhausted, I draw Vess. At the same time, I reach into a nearby crate and help myself to an apple of my own. I leap up onto the table, knock the Hin’s fruit out of his hand, and hold the blade to his neck. 

“Speak!” I growl out. “Are you alone? Do you have Floon upstairs?” 

Then I take a bite out of my apple. It is tart and mealy and not pleasing.

“Well, I did warn you.” The Hin grins widely.

To my surprise, he entirely ignores the sword at his throat. His form trembles and changes. He writhes, hair sprouting from his skin and nails lengthening into claws.

“Vith!” Vaikner calls behind me. “He is some kind of Were-creature!”

I kick out at the amorphous shape in front of me, connecting solidly, and then vault back down onto the floor. What follows me, scurrying out from under the table, is a rodent version of the Hin guard. Powerful tail dragging through the dust on the floor, grey-black bristles covering scabrous pink skin, whiskers trembling eagerly, and rabidly gleaming eyes: a Were-rat!

“Meloon! We could use some more help here!” Vaikner calls.

“I’m coming, Bootsman! Or I will be, when I am no longer stuck! This passage is very narrow.” I hear Meloon’s grunts of efforts as he squeezes his way towards us.

I kick out again, deflecting the Were-rat’s lunging attack and sending it tumbling against a stack of boxes. Apples roll across the floor as the crates tip and fall. Frustration surges through my air as monstrous guard scuttles in my direction once more. The Were-rat shakes off all the kicks and blows that I shower upon it, squeaking in raucous glee as it tries again and again to bite and scratch. 

“Alright. Here I am.” Meloon announces.

He ducks into the cellar, assesses our predicament briefly and then, stepping forward, reaches his brawny arms out to pick up the charging Were-rat.

“Got him!” He booms out with satisfaction. “Now, what do you want me to do with him?”

The Were-rat struggles and kicks but Meloon has it engulfed in his grip and raises it up high off the floor. 

“Hold on to it for just one more moment!” I cry.

I turn to the fallen boxes. Grabbing the biggest empty crate, I set it upright again. 

“Put him in the box! Put him in the box!” I yell, as Meloon struggles to contain the giant rodent.

As soon as Meloon drops the Were-rat into the crate, I slam its plank lid closed and start to pile up a tower of boxes upon it. I choose the fullest, heaviest crates to set on top of, and around, the Were-rat’s impromptu prison. With Meloon’s help, I soon block in the foul creature. It squeals furiously and we hear mad scrabbling, scratching, and thudding as it fights to free itself. But our barricade of boxes holds!

The frantic noises from within the crate taper away and we hear the Hin’s voice, only slightly squeaky now.

“Alright. You got me. Now let me out please. Things will not go well with me if the other Shunners find me here. I’ll talk to you if you let me out.” He wheedles.

“The Shunners?” Vaikner asks curiously. “You are not with the Xanathar Guild, then?”

“No! The Shunners are not with anyone! I mean, the Eye knows we are here. But, we stay out of their way and they stay out of ours.” The Hin explains.

Meloon shrugs, looking blearily at Vaikner and myself.

“The Hin have their own gang, it would seem. It is likely that they are not involved in this and therefore have no reason to interfere.” I say. “I suppose it is fine if we move on.”

“Wait! Let me out of here first! Let me out!” The Hin’s raging quickly devolves into a growl and the boxes start to tremble and shake once again. Our hastily built box-tower starts to topple.

We retreat hurriedly back down the narrow passage to rejoin Eliana and Renaer.

“Well?” Eliana asks. “What did you find?”

“There was a Were-rat. He is in a box now. Let us keep moving.” I say quickly, already headed deeper into the sewer tunnel again. 

Thankfully, there is no sign that the irate Hin chose to pursue us. We continue on our rank path until the passage widens into a large round room. Here the brown river expands into a sort of lake, with a central stone island. A small building, like a stunted watchtower, occupies the island and I can see windows; darker slits within the grey-black stone. Our elevated walkway now divides. We have a choice between continuing forward, following our current route until it curves away, left and out of sight behind the little stone building in the center of the lake, or taking a sharp turn right, circling around the fecal lake on the near side of the island. 

There are no symbols to guide us and we pause and confer quietly. Alas, our approach is not sufficiently stealthy to escape the notice of the denizens of sewer island! Our only warning is a malicious cackle from within the watchtower and then a vicious little feathered bolt whistles out at us from one of the slit windows. Goblins!

Eliana immediately drops back, stringing her bow and returning arrow for arrow. Renaer and Meloon hurry forward, protectively surrounding Vaikner and hustling him along the narrow slippery path to the far end of the chamber.

And I…I fall into the lake. It is a controlled fall; more of a half-fall, half-jump, really. I have no desire to suffer another arrow wound tonight and so decide to rush up to the stone building in a surprise attack. In the shelter of the wall’s shadow, concealed from the archer in the window above, I will look for an entrance to the watch outpost and confront our enemy directly. Even though I can think of no better plan in this hectic moment, I still grimace at the necessity of entering the greasy, reeking pool below me.

I drop in, holding my breath. The tan sludge reaches up to mid-calf and I watch, furious, as it soaks into my boots and splatters my coat. Gritting my teeth until my clenched jaw aches, trusting to Eliana to provide me with the cover of her rapid arrow-fire, I wade as fast as I can up to the stone wall ahead. I hear the plopping splat of bolts landing in the fluid around me but I make it safely to the goblin island. I have been carefully watching the windows and tracking the archer’s position. Now I creep up to the slotted opening that the most recent arrow emerged from. Sickly yellow light glows dimly from the window. And then even that feeble illumination flickers as a dark shape passes in front of it. A goblin’s shadow form; lining up for another shot at myself and my companions.

Recalling my earlier success with the floating Eye monster, I draw Quen and take careful aim. With a swift motion, I throw the blade at the window slit. It slices silkily through the reeking air and enters the window just as I intended. I hear a startled squawk of pain as Quen continues its lethal journey into the goblin’s throat. Also as I intended. What I did not plan for was the generous width of the window. I had thought that Quen’s cross-guard would catch on the rim of the narrow casement, arresting its forward motion. Instead, my treasured blade keeps flying forward, continuing onto into the watch room and out of my reach.

I gasp in dismay and stand staring stupidly at the black gap where Quen has fallen. It cannot be! I have lost one of my Grandmatron’s precious swords! Hair roiling in horror, I reach into the window but feel nothing except cold stone under my scrabbling fingers. I hear only silence from within the stone building and there are no more arrows flying out at us. I also see no obvious entrance into the solid round structure. 

I splash heedlessly through the muck to circle the watchtower. It is not a free-standing structure standing on an island as I had at first thought. Rather, it is built directly out of the far wall of the chamber that we are now in. Jutting out on a sort of overhang into the fetid lake filling the round room. On either side of the watch building, dark passages open into the far wall. The two pathways we were earlier considering, that branched to seemingly circle the guard tower as we entered the chamber, lead into these passages. There is no indication which of the tunnels will take me to a doorway into the stone watch room. But, I vow to myself, if I do not find a way in, I will break down all of the walls that stand between me and my blade. 

Furious with myself, deeply ashamed at my rash use of Quen, I rejoin my companions. 

“There! There is another mark!” Renaer points up to the wall of the left-hand passage with satisfaction.

I shrug, looking at the chalk marking blankly. I have lost all appetite for this adventure but I force myself to focus on Floon. He is alone in this foul darkness. At the mercy of creatures like the floating Eye and the vile goblins. The ones that now have my sword…

Our path chosen, we continue forward. Conditions in this new passage are not an improvement. The narrow stone walkway that kept us out of the slow-moving sludge now tapers away and disappears entirely. Soon we are all splashing grimly through the effluvium of the city. Fortunately, we only travel in this miserable way for a few dozen steps before the passage widens again. 

“I hear voices ahead.” Renaer murmurs. “And there is light flickering.”

I nod to him and then advance cautiously, in near-silence. I see that there is another stone chamber ahead. It is small: merely a storage room or guard’s rest area. The passage continues beyond. There are two figures standing in one corner of the chamber. A bald Human man, his head patterned with familiar orb tattoos, and a grey-skinned Dwarf. A Dark Dwarf! Both are dressed in purple.

“Just keep this door shut! Here, help me block it!” The Human grumbles at his companion.

The Dwarf says nothing but shoves at what I now realize is a wooden door to a wardrobe or vertical storage chest. 

“There are two Xanathari beyond.” I report quietly back to my companions. “One I recognize: he was among the group of ruffians that attacked Yaghra at the Yawning Portal. He was wounded and his friends dragged him away when the Troll attacked.”

Renaer stares in surprise and curiosity as I speak. He is disciplined enough not to ask for an explanation just then.

“There is also a Dark Dwarf.” I continue. “Both seem distracted by something in the corner of the room. There is a cabinet there and they are busy with keeping its door closed. It may be that they have Floon trapped within.  Either way, we will need to get past them to find out, or to keep going.”

Renaer’s jaw sets. 

“We can take them by surprise.” He hisses. “Meloon, with me!”

Renaer slips into the room. Meloon lumbers in alongside him. They charge at the Xanathari. I follow, while Eliana and Vaikner remain in the passage to guard our rear. Meloon is exchanging blows with the tattooed Human and Renaer is cautiously approaching the Dark Dwarf, who is still standing with his back against the closed wooden door. I step forward to join him.

“Oh no, not you again!” The bald Human sees me and scowls. 

Twisting and ducking away from Meloon’s grasp, the man weasels his way out of the room. I hear him curse briefly and there is the sound of a heavy blow. Then, damp footfalls fade away into the dark distance.

Meloon looks to me, shrugs, and we both turn to help Renaer.

“You are alone!” I bark at the cornered Dwarf. “Surrender now and you will not be harmed.”

The Dwarf’s grey face crinkles unpleasantly as he laughs. His laughter turns into a hollow bellowing sound; deepening in timbre until it sounds as though our enemy was mocking us from the bottom of a well. At the same time, the Dwarf grows taller and wider. His shape is unchanged but he is now towering over us all, hunched uncomfortably as his head bumps against the stone ceiling of the room.

“Hmm, I seem to recall that Dark Dwarves can do that.” Renaer comments mildly.

After that, the three of us are kept far too busy ducking the giant Dwarf’s windmill-like pummels and kicks to continue the conversation. Our return strikes, whether with fist or steel, seem to do little more than irritate the huge form. The best we can manage is to evade immediate crushing death but we are certainly not making much progress in vanquishing our enemy.

At this moment, Eliana enters the room, supporting a dazed Vaikner. A still-red bruise is visible on his jaw. Eliana considerately props the Drow against the wall and quickly takes stock of the scene before her.

“Right.” She says simply.

With great relief, I hear the twang of her bow string. Her arrows, well and steadily aimed, hit their mark. One feathered shaft sinks deep into the Dwarf’s shoulder. The other pierces his eye.  The creature gives a shocked gasp and topples back, collapsing like a rubble-pile of grey boulders. He shrinks as he falls and sighs again. Now there is just a Duergar, bleeding and twitching, lying at our feet.

“Thank you, Eliana.” I bow to her. “He was guarding this door. Maybe we will find what we are looking for here.”

I spring quickly past the body of the Dark Dwarf and move to the corner of the room. Pulling open the warped wooden door, I do not immediately comprehend what I am seeing. It is not Floon. The little space beyond the door is mostly empty. And, even though we are in a gigantic cesspool, this appears to be a privy! Shaking my head at the illogic of this, I peer in at the strange gleaming mass that covers the floor of the space. Just as I lean forward, it oozes back out at me!

I leap back, slipping and slithering on blood and slime. Drawing my sword, I swing through the questing tentacle of black goo that is pouring and roiling out of the doorway. The blade passes through the mucoid gob as if through mist. The strange, jelly-like flesh is uninjured but, with fresh horror, I see that Vess emerges scarred and etched. As if by acid. I wince, feeling a slight stinging at my feet. And realize that tendrils of the black slime are exploring my boots, leaving corroded spots on the leather.

“Ugh! What is this thing?” I exclaim, frightened and disgusted.

“Some kind of gelatinous monster or ooze! Most certainly corrosive.” Vaikner mutters, moving forward curiously.

Eliana pushes him back against the wall. 

“Get away from it, Elodie! Quickly!” She calls urgently. “Meloon! Help me!”

With the big warrior’s help, she maneuvers the body of the Duergar towards the privy and its toxic inhabitant. Prodding the Dwarf forward until the ooze’s searching glob-growths encounter the body. The gelatinous substance moves rapidly over the Duergar, coating his arm and the side of his face. It retracts, carrying its prize with it, and flows slowly back into the privy. Bounding forward, I slam the door behind it.

“Alright, so that was not a good door.” I pant. “Eliana, again, I thank you.”

Eliana nods briskly but makes no answer as we all take a moment to catch our breath.

I do my best to wipe Vess down on the rapidly shrinking portions of my coat that are still clean. Crestfallen, I see that the acid damage to the blade is deep and ugly. Shaking my head, I gently return Vess to its scabbard. I try to ignore the agonizing asymmetry of one full and one empty sheath on my belt. I think of my Grandmatron’s hallowed hands on the hilts of Quen and Vess. Their very names, Gust and Gale in the common tongue, hint at the heroic deeds that she performed with these blades. It is almost too much to bear that my swords should be lost or hurt. Hair drooping despondently, I join my companions as we continue into the sewer tunnels once again.

Beyond the guard room, the passage widens while the flow of sewage narrows to a trickle. It is suddenly very cold. The tunnel curves lazily and I cannot see very far ahead. Then, even though we are now deep under the streets of the city, bright sunlight floods my vision. I hear an achingly familiar voice scolding me. And I am no longer in the dark tunnel at all…

“Please explain to me, young Elodie Skyshard, why you deem it so important that you join my Wardens?” Tillenia’s clear, and clearly impatient, voice rings in my ears.

I stagger slightly, thrown off balance as the feel of my air and the scents that I smell cry out in panicked warning; conflicting with what I am hearing and seeing. But then the foul odors dissipate. I am smelling only sun-warmed feathered wings and the resin of nearby fir forests. The damp cold that was chilling my air softens into a fresh mountain breeze. I sigh contentedly. Of course! I am in the central court of the Sky Warden fortress in the Aerie; smooth pale flagstones under my feet, the joyous calls and the whipping wind of Avariel in flight above me. And the leader of the Sky Wardens before me.

Nervousness flutters through my wayward curls. This meeting is so important! This is my chance to convince Tillenia Stormkissed of my purpose! I cannot fail.

“High Warden.” I bow my head respectfully and then raise impassioned eyes to her face. “I have dreamed of joining your ranks all of my life. I have been helping Altiir prepare to become a Warden. Assisting with his studies and his combat practice. I know the rigors of this path. And I…I know I can thrive here. I would like to join, along with my best friend. We can continue to train together…”

“You wish to become a Sky Warden simply to follow another? So that you will not be separated from your…friend?” She asks scathingly.

The scar on her face twists her expression into a slight sneer regardless of what Tillenia is truly feeling. But today she sounds even more sardonic than usual.

“No! That is not it at all!” I protest. “Of course, I know that we would make an excellent team. And I could protect him! Protect Altiir. But I just meant…I have been thinking and planning and preparing for this path for a long time. I know the determination that is required. The strength and the sacrifices. I am ready! That is all.”

Tillenia’s frown is smoothed away by my fervent speech but yet she continues grave.

“Elodie. Your mother plans for you to follow a different road. She desires that you stay in the Temple with her. Continue your studies and, in time, take her place in our Lady’s Hall of Learning.” The High Warden says gently.

“That is not fair!” I cry mutinously. “And it is not right. She cannot determine my path for me. No one can do that for another! The Lady is calling me to serve my People. I need to help protect the Aerie. Like my Grandmama!”

“Kestriel Skyshard was the greatest Warden that I have ever known.” Tillenia sighs.

“And I have her swords!” I blurt out. “I need to learn: to train with you. So that I may have her strength also! It is wrong that Quen and Vess should wait idle while any threat to the Avariel yet remains!”

“You wish to follow your Grandmatron’s path? To serve as she did?” The High Warden’s ice-pale eyes meet mine in stern inquiry.

“That is my path too.” I say solemnly.

“But, my fledgling, how are you to do this? You are…you cannot join the Wardens in flight. How will you patrol? How will you fight?” She shakes her head, pained.

“I have studied this problem.” I answer eagerly. “There are many mighty Wingless fighters in this world! They have a different style and some limitations, this is true. But they can still be effective. And surely it is sensible to take advantage of every tool that you are offered? I will not be able to perform all of the same tasks in the same way as the other Wardens. But I can support and…and complement the Winged Ones! I can run and climb and be their eyes in deep and hidden places. 

“And I can engage with an enemy directly. No foe battling the Avariel will expect a simultaneous attack from the ground! It could be a deadly advantage.”

The High Warden looks at me for a long time.

“I see that you have been giving this a good deal of thought.” She nods. “And I see in you all of the enthusiasm and ruthless courage that your Grandmama possessed.”

Tillenia sighs again.

“Kestriel was my High Warden, you know. She trained me. And, on that last day, she sacrificed everything so that I, and the others in our unit, would return safely to the Aerie. 

“When Kestriel and Wind’s Call fell, I was amongst those who searched the snowy wastes for her body. I recovered Quen and Vess, gently lifting them from her broken form. She still held them, you see…”

We both sit in silence for a bitter time.

“Those blades: I returned them to her family. But they were not forged to lay in ceremonial rest, unused. She would have wanted them back in battle.” Tillenia pauses, grim-faced.

“Elodie, I have some familiarity with the Wingless and their fighting style. They use swords too. I could teach you what I know of their techniques. With Quen and Vess at your side, and Kestriel’s spirit in your heart, well…I think that, even in your grounded state, you could be formidable. We will work on training you to be so.” She gives one quick and decided nod.

Then the High Warden stares at me disapprovingly as my hair expands out into a rapturous cloud around us. I bite back my happy exclamation.

“Be prepared: the other Wardens may not see this for some time. They may not understand.” Tillenia continues gravely. “Do not expect them to welcome you into this nest. But I see it.

 “And I know that it is time that Quen and Vess’s thirst was once more quenched by the blood of the Aerie’s enemies. Loriot…Loriot will just have to accept that this is not her decision.

“Welcome to the Wardens, Elodie Skyshard…”

Joy and pride surge through me. A soft, golden light flows from somewhere behind the High Warden and her scarred face is soon eclipsed by this dazzling glow. I am lost in a luminous cloud. There is sweet music around me and my air spins with me. I smell my beloved mountain meadow flowers and fresh snow tickles my bare feet.

In a haze of delight, I blink slowly and smile dreamily about me. But yet it is so cold! And so damp. And foul fumes smelling of excrement are creeping their malodorous tendrils into my air! 

Suddenly aware of my surroundings once more, I gasp and scrabble for Vess. Darting panicked glances about, all that I see is a dark and empty tunnel. Closer to me, my companions appear as dazed as I feel. But, while my heart still trembles with happiness at the cherished memory that I just re-visited, their faces are grey and anguished. 

Vaikner’s back is pressed against the passage wall: his face is a mask of fear. Renaer and Meloon look as if they have both been struck a grievous blow. And Eliana…I look at her drawn features with concern. Has she been weeping?

There is no time to unravel the mystery of this latest curse. Distressed as we all are by what must have been a potent attack on our minds, there is still more trouble ahead. A brutishly rough bellow and a cry of pain sound out from nearby. Cautiously following the curving passage, we find that it soon opens out into a straight path leading to a large, cave-like room.

I peer ahead, trying to see what the room contains, and my attention is immediately drawn to a tall thin figure seated on an ornate chair at the far end of the chamber. Its dark shape looms and wavers, swaying very slightly but otherwise seeming unbothered by our unannounced arrival. It is most strange: every time that I focus on the figure and notice some new and concerning detail – robes that are simultaneously shadowy and yet somehow greasy, shifting tentacles where a face should be – my concentration melts away like a snowflake touching warm skin. And I am still unsure what I am looking at. I am able to see two pink-grey, round shapes like massive fleshy cauliflowers resting on the figure’s lap. It is running very long fingers over them in a gentle stroking motion.

Close by, and intruding urgently on my confused attention, is an enormous greenish form. An Orc! He stands perfectly motionless, staring at us in surprise. But the slow growl that rises from his throat suggests that his shocked stillness will not last much longer. He is unarmored and not carrying any blades that I can see. He is unlikely to need them. His bare chest and limbs, solid with muscle, and the sharp fangs curving at his jaw are not as disconcerting as the sight of the Orc using the Art. He is holding one huge hand out in front of him, apparently guiding a levitating chunk of sharp-edged stone through the air. He keeps the rock hovering over a body sprawled out limply at his feet.

The figure laying before him is a pale Human, tall but appearing child-like next to the hulking Orc. The man’s gold-red hair is sodden with blood. I nod wisely, not at all surprised to note that the injured Human is wearing a particularly fine suit of sea-green velvet with foamy lace ornamentation at cuffs and collar.

“Floon!” Renaer chokes out.

The man lifts a wan face towards us and his eyes fill with horror.

“Ren! No! Ren, you must run!” He gasps out. 

The Orc mutters a garbled word and the floating rock trembles for a moment before hurtling in our direction. Diving desperately to one side, I hear the crunching rattle as the boulder smashes against the passage wall behind us.

Floon, spasming like a wounded ferret, lunges up and starts to claw and punch at the Orc’s legs. He tries to clamber up his captor and grapple him. But, with an impatient grunt, the Xanathari kicks down once, hard, at Floon’s face. The Human slumps back, more blood flowing over his grimy features.

I hear Renaer growl quietly next to me. My fists clench in sympathy. Floon, while obviously not a warrior, is touchingly brave and selfless. The love that he and Renaer so clearly share is precious and must be protected! With new determination, I surge forward. But before Renaer and I can close with the Orc mage, the figure on the throne-like chair stirs fretfully.

“Gruumsh’ar, you fool! Your hide-out has been breached. Take care of this or do not bother to return.” The voice is in my mind, obliterating all my thoughts.

Fighting against the strange languor that now overwhelms me, I watch in silence as the cloaked figure descends from his raised seat. He seems to float rather than walk. With a careless gesture, he brushes one of the pink lumps off his robe and gives it an encouraging little push towards our company. Then he is amongst us.

I still cannot force myself into mobility. Not even when I see the creature’s long, bonelessly shifting fingers reach out to Renaer’s face and run gently over the young noble’s features. What ghastly thing is it doing? I strain and focus and try to will my frozen form to respond. One of my curls give the slightest ripple as I feel exhaustion overwhelm me. Renaer does not move. The cloaked figure’s restless appendages fall away from his pale face. Meloon is also still. As the figure brushes past him, I hear Meloon exhale sharply. There is final swish of dark robes and the thin shape slips into a side room, all but invisible from the passage.

I cough, feeling as if my air has been stilled and has grown stale around me. Shuddering in fear and disgust, I turn to my companions. Renaer looks very sleepy and moves as if struggling to come back from a dream. The small creature unleashed by the mysterious figure has skittered wetly up to his boots. It is a brain. A large pinkish-grey brain on thin, tendril-like legs. I gag as it starts to slither effortfully up Renaer’s leg.

“An intellect-devourer…” I hear Vaikner’s whisper.

I leap forward to slash the monstrosity away from Renaer but Meloon suddenly appears directly ahead of me. His eyes are dull and his face is angry. Extremely, frighteningly, angry. He mutters and jerks and then lifts his axe!

Gruumsha’r roars. Behind me, Vaikner answers with a shout and the green flare of an offensive spell. Eliana spins away from the exchange of magical blows and readies her bow.

I dance and pivot to escape the maddened Meloon. He is clearly in the thrall of that strange tentacled being! I am now grateful for every sip of ale the huge warrior imbibed. And for every bump and bruise that he endured earlier this night. He is surely slower and clumsier than he otherwise would be. And still, I have to call upon every bit of my training and experience to escape his deadly blows.

Renaer is swiping uselessly at the intellect devourer. His motions are gradually becoming more coordinated but the creature is still making steady progress up his limbs. Desperate, I duck one more of Meloon’s axe swings and then dart in low towards the giant fighter. I dive into a slide, aiming carefully and striking with all the strength of my legs at his crotch. I have read that intense pain can sometimes be effective in rousing a victim cursed by a spell of mind-control. In the dire situation that we now find ourselves, I judge that a rapid test of this theory is required.

Meloon makes a sad little “urk” sound, sinks to his knees, and vomits. But he is no longer coming after me with the axe! I nod, satisfied, and turn back to Renaer. He has recovered sufficiently to draw his short sword and slash the eagerly ascending brain into messy jellied clumps that he now stomps on in furious disgust.

I whirl past Meloon, wincing guiltily at his continued retching, to check on Vaikner and Eliana. There is a deafening rumbling and the damp stones in front of Vaikner crumble, up and outwards. In a stinging flurry of chipped flagstones and brick, the pulverized ground coalesces into a gigantic rocky hand. It rushes, stony fingers outstretched, towards Vaikner. Enveloping the Drow in a pitiless hold as they close into a fist. Vaikner gasps and the green light emanating from his staff wavers.

I hear the singing of Eliana’s bow. Grey feathers suddenly sprout from the Orc mage’s neck and he shudders and falls back. With relief, I see the rocky hand disintegrate and Vaikner drop, wheezing slightly, to the ground.

I call out laughing congratulations to our gifted archer as I watch Renaer spring forwards towards Floon. He sinks to his knees, cradling Floon’s bruised face in his lap as he pulls a small flask from his pocket.

“Here, drink this!” Renaer mutters.

His urgent tone belies the tenderness with which he carefully drips the healing potion past Floon’s bleeding lips. The young man stirs and then raises bleary eyes to Renaer who calls his name in joyous relief.

“I did not want you to come after me, Ren.” Floon announces seriously. “But I am glad you did because otherwise I would be dead.”

I burst into sunny laughter: something about Floon’s earnestly matter-of-fact statement striking me as both charming and hilarious. For a happy moment I feel nothing but delight at this endearing conclusion to our mission. I look to my companions. Meloon is rising to his feet, looking at me in sheepish apology. I shake my head, unable to hold back another laugh at how much like a guilt-stricken fledgling, caught out at some mischief, this giant warrior’s face can look. Eliana’s eyes have softened, a pleased smile wreathing her features as she looks at Floon and Renaer. Vaikner is beaming. 

Renaer says something in a choked voiced, too low for me to hear. Not wishing to intrude on the private joy of his reunion with Floon, I turn to Vaikner and Eliana. We confirm that the fallen Orc is dead and move on to check that there are no other enemies waiting to hurt us in this room. 

The chamber is empty but for the ornate, throne-like seat mounted on a low dais at one end of the room. With a weary sigh, Eliana sinks into the chair. Then, leaning over quickly, she rummages in the space underneath it. I hear muted glassy clinking as she pulls a small chest onto her lap. Inside are several bottles of a viscous fluid, glinting lazily in poisonous green tones as the vials shift against each other. There are also coins. After examining her find briefly, Eliana shrugs and hands the chest over to Vaikner to stow away safely. He is the only one of us who carries a rucksack. I left my own road-pack in my chamber. I assume that Eliana also prefers to travel light. She has only her cloak, bow, and quiver. And a large snack bag.

Leaving our companion enjoying a small, but nourishing, meal on her throne, Vaikner and I turn to find Meloon. The inebriated warrior had no qualms about intruding on Renaer and Floon’s loving greetings. He helped get Floon up off the ground and is currently holding him propped up against his large frame. Floon, eyes still a little unfocused, is beaming all about him contentedly. His woozy smile grows dazzlingly bright when he sees us approach.

“My friends! My new friends! You saved us! Thank you!” He calls. 

His voice, in its plummy richness and warmly satisfied tones, reminds me of Volo’s. There is also something of Meloon’s unembarrassed frankness and simplicity in Floon’s manner. The one person he does not resemble is Renaer. There is nothing of his friend’s weary caution and burdened thoughtfulness in Floon’s open countenance. Other than in their physical forms, the two are nothing at all alike. I study them curiously.

Renaer turns to face us. There is a steady glad light in his eyes that I have not seen until now. But his joy is too deep for simple smiles or laughter. He merely bows low and makes introductions, explaining that Floon is weakened from the blows to his head but strong enough to walk.

“We should leave here as fast as possible if we are to avoid more trouble.” Renaer says.

“An…enemy went into that side chamber. We should investigate.” Vaikner speaks up.

It is the first time that I have heard him sound reluctant to further examine an intriguing unknown. I recall the look of hopeless fear on the Drow’s face when we encountered the mysterious curse that played such tricks on our senses. But, deeply unsettling as our ordeal with the cloaked figure was, now that I know that Floon is safe, there is only one thing that I can truly focus on.

“I have lost Quen. My sword. I need to find it.” I say shortly.

“More trouble it is. Well, let us at least get going.” Renaer grimaces.

Our company moves cautiously into the side chamber off the tunnel. There are several doorways leading out of the small round room that we find ourselves in. The room itself is empty. There is no sign of the robed figure that we saw enter this chamber. He could have taken any of the doors to leave here but we soon conclude that he chose a different path. There is a large circle of metal sigils laid into the dank floor of the chamber. 

“A portal.” Vaikner breathes. “A travel spell set into this room’s floor. The figure we saw most likely left through this magical circle. There is no way to know where it took him.”

Recognizing that exploring this mystery is beyond what we, all damaged in various ways and smelling very pungent, are currently ready for, we carefully step around the magical circle. Still, I am captivated by this idea: simply enter into a pattern of enchanted symbols, whisper the spell, and be transported some uncharted distance…elsewhere. I think of all of the long and dangerous days of journeying from my home to the Deep. I imagine side-stepping off the map of the sprawling Realms and arriving, nearly instantaneously, precisely where I wish to be. Home could feel so close…

Moving swiftly but carefully, we check each of the doorways out of the room. Two lead into small storage and sleeping areas. We find nothing and no-one of interest there. The third door, furthest from the tunnel entrance, opens into a short passage that leads into another circular chamber. The room’s high stone walls are broken up by numerous arrow slits and there is a dead goblin lying on the grimy floor. My steps quicken, hair whirling in excitement. We have found the entrance to the watch room on sewage lake!

Praying desperately to my Lady, I hurry inside. The chamber is abandoned; no new guards have arrived to replace the goblin that I slew through the arrow slit. Relieved tears fill my eyes to see Quen. It is still here, still safe! It rests upright, sheathed in the guard’s throat. He lies on his back, twisted and gory, where he fell near the narrow window. I still my air, which is swirling in nausea at the grisly sight. And, with a sharp jerk, retrieve my blade from clinging flesh and bone. Wiping the sword tenderly and satisfying myself that Quen remains undamaged, I whisper another prayer to Aerdrie Faenya. 

My companions remained, in watchful sympathy, just outside. When I return with two swords on my belt, they each congratulate me in their own fashion.

Vaikner nods, feelingly but briefly, and returns to silently communing with Fukurou. Eliana smiles briskly and starts to speak. Whatever she may have wished to say is drowned out by Meloon’s happy bellow and Floon’s artlessly delighted comments. 

“Those are fine blades. And clearly of great value to you, Elodie.” Renaer says quietly. “I am very glad that you were able to recover your sword.”

Now it is I who beam dazzlingly at all my companions. New strength flows through my chilled limbs and I ignore the slimy wetness in my boots as we turn back to the main room of the Xanathari hide-out. We re-trace our path through the guard chambers and wearily winding tunnels.

Just as my dizzy relief at recovering Quen is starting to give way to cold and fatigue once more, we reach the ladder where the fanged, floating Eye ambushed us. It still lies, glistening moistly like something expelled from a sneezing giant’s nostril, against one wall of the passage.

Stopping here for a brief rest, we find that we are all of like mind. None of us wish to prolong our time in these reeking tunnels. We decide to brave whatever lies above the round trap-door that the ladder leads to. 

“I have two swords. I will go first.” I offer, basking in the assurance of two blades in my belt.

I climb up. Rusty flecks stain my fingers but the cold metal of the ladder’s rungs holds solid. The round door above me opens easily, requiring only one solid push. The well-oiled hinges make no sound and I spring up, catching at the trap-door before it can fall to one side and give us away with its clang-thud. 

There is no-one about and I quickly motion for the rest of the company to join me. We find ourselves in a cool basement. The floor and walls are of stone, moisture-slicked and mushroom-dotted. There is a stairway ahead of us, leading to a sturdy wooden door. Our luck holds – this way too is unobstructed and the door swings open easily. Or rather, it is easily opened after Meloon hammers at the lock with his mighty fist…

The next room is not empty, however. It is, in fact, as fully occupied as a room can be. Shelves line every inch of the walls. And books, scrolls, papers, and various mementos line every inch of the shelves. The floor is a labyrinth of small tables, desks, armchairs, and footstools. Amidst this clutter sits an elderly Hin man. Candle flame wavers as he puffs out an irritated breath, raising his head from a thick ledger and setting down a rasping quill.

“Who are you?! Miscreants! Not again!” He complains in a reedy voice.

I stare at him blankly.

“Er…” Eliana begins.

“I have already lodged a formal complaint with the Cellarers and Plumbers Guild! And still you good-for-nothings persist in using my lower floors as a…as a through-way for your disreputable doings! Something must be done…” The Hin scolds.

“Oh. No, no!” Eliana speaks swiftly and soothingly. “We actually work for the Guild. We have just completed our…our inspection. Everything is in order. No problems here, I assure you!”

The Hin’s eyes narrow in suspicion.

“Most irregular! And at this hour? I shall need all of your names!” He cries.

“Well, I am in charge here. You do not need to worry about the rest of my team.” Eliana hedges.

“And what is your name?” He questions.

“Um. Beyoncé.” Eliana prevaricates wildly.

I stare at her, awed by her quick-silver wits and her skills in deception. She winces, blushing bright red and cursing quietly.

“Right.” The Hin gives us a dark look. “The Cellarers and Plumbers Guild will be receiving a sharply-worded letter about this!”

His voice fades into unintelligible bluster as we rush past him and up another set of stairs.

And through another crowded set of rooms, and another stairway. Then, finally, a double door that leads, blessedly, outside! I feel the cool fresh breeze off the sea and look up at the velvety, star-bedecked sky in wonder. Thrilled, I inhale deeply: here is the relative freshness of the Deep’s open streets! I hear a sloshing sound nearby. 

Meloon has trotted over to a rain barrel on the corner and dunked the upper part of his body inside it. I watch as he rises up, tossing his head back with a pleased puffing and snorting noise. A silvery arc of water soars out above his form and a glittering sprinkle of droplets fly off his hair and beard as he shakes himself like a bear. I am torn between amusement and envy. For hours now, I have been craving a long soak in my Temple’s bathing chamber. But in my current begrimed state, even a brief scrub in a cold water barrel looks appealing. I pause, undecided, but Renaer, hissing with impatience at any delay, urges us to keep moving.

He leads us down several winding lanes and into a secluded alley before he feels safe enough to stop. I take hungry breaths of sewage-free air. Then, looking at Floon and Renaer, standing together quietly with their arms around each others’ shoulders, I break into a helpless smile.

“Well, we didn’t make a very good impression on that Hin.” Eliana is shaking with jangly laughter.

“No.” I am still smiling. “We are not exactly dressed for evening visits.”

“Ah. I believe that I can assist with that. At least, a little.” Vaikner offers eagerly.

“Bootsman!” Meloon guffaws encouragingly.

Vaikner, moving with thoroughness and deliberation, begins to clean our clothing, shoes, and gear. It is difficult to describe the relief as the foul sludge is deftly removed from our persons. While my body is still sweat-soaked and trembling with the lingering aftermath of chase and battle, I am wearing clothes as fresh as if they had just been handed to me by the weaver and the tailor. And, most delightful of all, my belt, scabbards, and weapons are clean and dry!

“This is so kind of you. Such useful magic!” I exclaim.

Vaikner smiles modestly as all of the company burbles over with praise and gratitude for his Art. 

“Well, I think we are done with this job, yes?” Meloon claps a heavy hand on Renaer’s shoulder and then crushes Vaikner in a one-armed hug. “I will say goodnight. I’m thirsty! Good to brawl with you all. Goodbye! Goodnight Bootsman!”

With another friendly grin and beer-scented belch, Meloon wends his way out of the alley.

“You were right, Renaer.” I acknowledge. “I will admit that I had underestimated Meloon’s courage and determination. He proved a valuable comrade in arms and seems especially kindly disposed to Vaikner. I am happy that he was here with us this night.”

Renaer smiles.

“I think that we are sufficiently presentable to take a hansom north. I do not know about the rest of you, but I am ready to call it a night.” He says.

“Yes. Let us leave here and never come back again.” Floon agrees fervently. “But it is barely high moon! We need not necessarily go home quite yet.”

Renaer and Floon laugh and argue quietly as they lead us out onto one of the larger roadways. Even at this late hour, there are carriages here and it does not take long before we successfully flag one down. Crammed comfortably onto worn leather seats, we travel north. At Renaer’s direction, the hansom cab meanders through the winding streets of North Ward. It stops in front of a large grey house, its small fore-court separated from the street by a fanciful set of black iron gates. As soon as the carriage slows, the front door of the manor flies open and, in the path of warm light flowing out of the doorway, two small figures hurry towards the gates.

“This is my home.” Renaer explains. “I would invite you in but Floon has a different plan for you all tonight I believe. Still, another time. Very soon. I would like to meet with you again. Perhaps for dinner tomorrow? Here, at eight bells? I will alert my staff.”

He kisses Floon, smiles warmly at us all, and hops out of the carriage.

His staff must be the Hin man and woman who have now reached the gates and, on seeing Renaer step down from the hansom cab, break into a mixture of anxious scolding and happy greeting. He strides quickly towards them and they exchange brief embraces before their remonstrations and questions begin anew.

It is entertaining to watch Renaer, the man who so easily eluded capture by the City Watch and so bravely fought ghastly monsters to rescue Floon, being herded indoors by a pair of fussing Hin retainers. His manor is large but not coldly formal and, much as I am not entirely certain that he can be trusted, I felt a little empty leaving Renaer and his small family group to their comforting reunion. 

Floon waves enthusiastically out of the carriage window until Renaer’s home is out of sight. Then he turns to us with a wide smile.

“I am so pleased that dear Volo found you all to help Ren!” He says. “In the old days, Vajra would have come to rescue him but she’s the Blackstaff now and can’t always be out and about like before. Meloon of course, good old Meloon, was so helpful too!”

“Renaer is acquainted with Vajra Safar?” Vaikner questions eagerly.

“Renaer knows the Blackstaff? The chief of the Deep’s mages?” I ask at that same moment.

“Why, yes!” Floon confides with another of his sweet smiles. “Ren, Vajra, and Meloon are all good friends. They used to spend more time together I believe, but then Vajra was elevated to become Blackstaff. And Meloon followed her, serving as one of her Gray Hands. And Ren, well, he has had a lot happen to him too…”

The Gray Hands! I sit back with an impressed sigh. An elite fighting force who serve exclusively at the direction of the most powerful magic user in Waterdeep: the Blackstaff. Meloon must be a very gifted warrior. And surely the Blackstaff would not trust or befriend anyone who was truly nefarious? So Renaer cannot be evil! I am most reassured by Floon’s information.

“Where are we going now?” Eliana asks politely.

“Oh, yes!” Floon’s eyes light up. “My friends, I would like to invite you to spend the remainder of the evening with me, at the Temple of Sune. No mere coin can repay bravery and kindness such as yours. But I at least wish to ensure that you receive healing and care tonight. They really do lovely work at the temple.”

Sune is the Human deity of love and beauty. Similar to the Hanali Celanil of my People, I muse. It is most generous of Floon to offer us all temple care.

“That sounds lovely!” Eliana smiles.

“Thank you.” Vaikner echoes her.

“You are very kind.” I say, then hesitate. “May we wash there?”

“Certainly! There are fine steam rooms and baths and all manner of beauty rituals!” Floon calls rapturously. “You will be sure to find something that you adore!”

Thus reassured, we settle in comfortably for the trip west to Sea Ward. Before long, we leave the carriage, disembarking in a quiet street in front of a graceful marble building. I feel a slight chill at my feet and look forlornly at my boots. The acid damage from the privy-ooze is deeper than I realized. In several places the leather is a lace-work of small holes and I feel the cold air blowing through them. I wriggle my toes, smiling ruefully and shaking my head. Floon notices.

”Oh, Elodie! What a shame about your footwear!” He calls. “Do make sure to see Sulmest about that. He is the only one that I would trust with my boots!”

”Sulmest?” I ask.

”Oh yes! Sulmet’s Splendid Shoes and Boots! On the High Road. He is wonderful. Tell him that Floon sent you to see him!” Floon gushes.

I nod gravely, obediently making a mental note of the name and location of the shoe shop. Then I follow my companions up to the door of the lovely marble building.

Floon beckons us inside and, as I take my first steps into the temple of Sune, I hear gentle music and tinkling laughter. Rosy, warm light surrounds me and my air fills with lovely smells. There is the sweetness of orchids and the spice of dark vetiver and the creamy comfort of vanilla. It is all most pleasant.

“My darling Floon! How absolutely delicious to see you! And you bring friends. Oh, you are all so beautiful! Welcome!” A Human woman greets us ebulliently.

She moves as liquidly as a dancer. She is swathed in a diaphanous gown. The bodice of her dress is decorated with pale lace and the rich crimson of her skirt makes me think of tulip petals, swaying and bowing gracefully with the wind. Her skin is a warm brown color and her head is crowned with unruly black curls.

“Murra! It’s so good to see you. And that is a simply gorgeous gown!” Floon calls happily.

I nod enthusiastically as he speaks, swallowing envy.

“My friends,” Floon continues. “May I introduce Lymurra Auldahn, Enrapturand of Sune here in the Deep. Murra, we are all in desperate need of your kind attention!”

Floon shares our story with Lymurra, briefly but very colorfully. The immense heroism of all involved is repeatedly emphasized. Eliana shifts awkwardly. Vaikner and I beam. The priest’s lovely face moves through interest to concern and, finally, turns to us with a radiant smile.

“How thrilling! You must all be wishing to get cleaned and be cared for. Darling Floon is here with us often enough that I know what he will require. But you will each of you need to tell me what you desire. And which attendant will please you best.” Lymurra says.

I nod even more ardently at the mention of bathing.

She leads us from the fragrant entry hall to a much larger chamber. The floor here is tiled in shimmering mosaics and strewn with jewel-bright carpets. Divans and sofas are scattered throughout the room. Alongside each seat are nestled small carved tables containing sparkling carafes of water and bowls of fruit. The walls are hung with silken fabrics that give the room the soft feeling of a cosy nest. All but the upper part of the walls, and the ceiling. These are ornamented with an elaborate frieze of sculpted figures.

I turn around, wide-eyed, examining the carving. It is made up of representatives of every living, sentient Being that is to be found in the Realms. Every form, size, shape, and identity is here. All are naked and all are cavorting in play; some wildly and inventively erotic, others simply and joyously affectionate. What all of the figures have in common is the meticulous care with which the sculptors have brought forth each detail of each body. The soft illumination that graces this room caresses each line and curve of the piece: I could almost convince myself that the figures are moving. I have never seen such a proud and rapturous celebration of love and beauty. Not like this: in all of its myriad variations. 

It is with difficulty that I pull my eyes away to attend to Lymurra. She is gesturing to several of the divans and instructing us to each select an acolyte of Sune to serve us. I look uncertainly to where she is pointing and gasp quietly. Much of the mellow feelings of safety and welcome that this seductive place has enveloped me in now drain away. 

A Dragonborn! One of the attendants that is rising to greet us with respectful bows is Dragonborn. Her scales glint silver-white and her red robes swirl like flames all about her. I tense in fear and anger. And then squirm uncomfortably to see Vaikner, his face filled with smiling curiosity, wave to the Dragonborn in friendship.

“Vaikner, be careful! Do not trust…” I start to murmur an urgent warning.

I get no further because Vaikner, a slight frown marring his face as he cocks his head at me in silent question, is now speaking to his enormous attendant.

Then I am distracted by a new surprise. I am a little comforted, but entirely taken aback, to see a Sun Elf rising to greet us. It is most odd to find one of the Tel’quessir serving as acolyte to a Human deity. Still, I reason to myself, she is the one most likely to understand me. Spending the evening in her company will surely be more pleasant and less awkward than being attended to by any other stranger. I bow and smile shyly in her direction. She returns my gesture and walks towards me. Her movements are marked by calm elegance and her wine-red robes cling to her graceful form. I now know where the orchid-sweet perfume is coming from.

Beside me, Eliana smiles in cheerful greeting at a very brawny Dwarf. He grins in return and hurries to her. He smells delightfully of geraniums and mint. And his hair is colored scarlet and white; the variously hued locks intricately braided and styled.

Finally, peeking hesitantly from behind one of the silken hangings before sidling in our direction, comes a tiny gnome. Skin grey-tinted and hair mossy, her robes are the russet of autumn leaves. She stares up at Fukurou with glowing eyes and, after a moment’s hesitation on the part of both the owl and his Drow, Fukurou flutters down to perch on her outstretched arm. Smiling broadly and cooing at her new friend, the gnome skips out of the room.

“Very good.” Lymurra says in warm tones. “Your attendants will show you where to leave your belongings while you bathe. And then you can each select what other care rituals you would enjoy.”

“I’m going to get my hair done!” Eliana says with satisfaction.

The Dwarf with her chuckles and nods. 

“I very much wish to get clean.” I sigh. “And then…it has been a busy day. In my training and combat service I would commonly get massages. As a soothing aid after much exertion. To help restore strength and prevent the muscles from seizing up. I would like a massage treatment like that, if possible.”

“Certainly.” The Sun Elf inclines her head with a pleasant smile.

“I would also like such a massage.” Vaikner says. “But I do not wish to leave my…that is, I do not choose to have the bath first. I am ready now.”

The lithe Dragonborn bows politely and leads Vaikner out of the main chamber. I stare after him for a moment, puzzled, then turn raised brows to Eliana. She shrugs. She does not share my curiosity as to Vaikner’s strange reluctance to be properly cleansed. I decide that she is wise in this. I return her shrug; I am sure that the Drow has many peculiarities that we have yet to learn about. 

And soon I have more pleasurable activities to occupy my attention. The perfumed bath and gleaming marble steam room are all that I wistfully yearned for throughout the miserable slog in the sewer tunnels. I emerge, glowing a flushed lavender and limp with relief. Wrapped in cloud-soft robes, Eliana and I are encouraged to recline on divans and enjoy the warmth that suffuses our clean selves. We are plied with a pale-peach wine, delicately sweet and effervescent. Tiny bubbles tickle our noses and we laugh and drink with relish. Then each of our attendants leads us out of the bathing rooms to receive our selected beauty and care rituals.

“Good Evening, Sister. I am Elodie, Elodie Skyshard.” I follow the Sun Elf.

“I am Mirasol Vermell.” Mirasol replies. “Here, make yourself comfortable.”

I lie down as instructed and, placing myself in the Sun Elf’s capable hands, enjoy the most sensuous and soothing post-exercise massage that I have experienced since leaving the Aerie. Mirasol’s strong fingers work the soreness and tension out of each muscle group in turn. Before long, contented and relaxed, my mind begins to wander.

“Mirasol?” I ask, curiosity getting the better of politeness.

“Mhhmm?” She murmurs.

“I have only just arrived here in Waterdeep. And am currently staying in our Temple, the Temple of the Seldarine. I was a little surprised to see you here. In a house worshipping a Human deity. Have you lived in the Deep very long?” I ask.

She pats the heel of my foot absentmindedly and I hear the smile in her voice as she answers my question. I twitch ticklishly, wriggling my leg away so that I can focus on her voice.

“I have lived in the Deep for a long time.” Mirasol says. “I came here after the town of my birth, Ordulin, was destroyed by the Shadovar.

The terrible fate of the Sembian capital, and the wars that tore apart that country, happened in the Year of Lightning, over a century ago. And the strife there was bloody enough that word of it reached even my People in their safe nest on the Great Glacier.

“Oh, I am so sorry.” I breathe.

She acknowledges my pained reaction with another pat, this time to my calf.

“I did not continue west to Evermeet, as many of our People did then. Here in the Deep I met a Human man.  We fell in love.” She continues softly.

“You received Hanali Celanil’s gift? With a Human?” I marvel.

“Yes. And we were very happy. He was an Craefter of Sune and I began to spend more and more of my time here with him. I grew to value the openness to all types of beauty, all manner of love, that was espoused here.” She explains.

“Oh. Yes.” I say noncommittally 

“When he grew old and died, long and long before I was ready be alone, I continued to seek healing in Sune’s house. I feel like here I am still close to him. To what we shared and to what we cherished. When we were together.” She sighs.

“Your story is very moving. And beautiful. And sad.” I whisper, uncertain what comfort to offer.

Mirasol graciously accepts the heartfelt sympathy behind my words, even if what I fumble to say is clumsy and insufficient. She continues to soothe me with her touch and talks to me quietly about her time amongst the Humans of the Deep. And of the wisdom she has gained here over the years.

The hour is late and I am very sleepy when Mirasol returns my belongings to me, bids me to dress, and then leads me back to the welcoming chamber of the temple. My companions arrive just as I do.

“Eliana!” I gasp, overwhelmed by admiration. “Your hair looks so vivid! It is lovely, like flames woven, flickering, around your face!”

“Thank you. It was overdue for a touch-up.” She chuckles, pleased. “Markle here did a great job. And then we had a really delicious supper.”

Her Dwarven attendant, clearly delighted with the compliment, nods his head and introduces himself as Markle Bellmender.

Then he turns to Eliana and they talk comfortably in Dwarven. Eliana seems to have forged a lasting bond with Markle. I begin to see why Mirasol finds such meaning in her time at this temple. All here are certainly very caring and welcoming.

“Hrsska took good care of me too.” Vaikner joins us.

I draw back a little, turning my gaze away from the shimmer of candlelight on silver scales. Perhaps the Sun Elf has been here long enough to learn better but, unlike Mirasol, there are limits to what I find beautiful. Or lovable.

“I hope that your owl friend is enjoying his snack.” Markle turns to Vaikner jovially. “I put on a fine supper for my friend Eliana, but Sapling made sure that Fukurou was even more lavishly attended to. First she made him pretty and then she found something for him to dip his little beak into!”

“That was very thoughtful of her. Thank you.” Vaikner says.

I follow his smiling glance to see Fukurou, perched on the side of one of the couches, leaning over a golden plate piled high with morsels of meat, nuts, and fruit. The owl’s feathers look more fluffy than I remember and he is wearing a stylish ribbon around his neck. Fukurou is daintily picking over the varied and ample offerings in front of him, and haughtily ignores our chuckles. I had not thought it possible for a bird to look smug but I am learning many things here in the Deep.

Our attendants explain that Floon has already left to return to his home. But that, given the lateness of the hour, we are welcome to take our rest at the temple. They encourage us to make ourselves at our ease on the divans, assuring us that none will disturb our sleep in this safe haven. We are provided with warm blankets and, before they leave, Mirasol, Markle, and Hrsska dim all but one or two candles so that we are surrounded by restful dark. After the bleak discoveries and the cruel violence of the day, all this luxurious comfort already feels like a dream. It does not take long before I fall into a deep sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I hope that you enjoyed this chronicle of the beginning of our adventuring party’s descent into the Deep’s sewers and their first meeting with Floon! Please head over to the images section (coming soon) to check out some of the art that I found inspiring for Meloon, Renaer, Floon, and, of course, the Were-rat.

Before getting into the music for Chapter Four, here are some tunes that I forgot to include for the crew’s previous encounter:

For Saer Ederick:

The Impossible Dream (The Quest) from Man of La Mancha, various artists

For the children of Helm’s Hall:

Hard Knock Life, Jay-Z

And then, as always, I have several songs that play along in my mind for this chapter:

For Meloon:

Holding out for a Hero, Jennifer Saunders in Shrek 2

For Floon:

Lover Boy, Queen

Life has been Good to Me, Randy Newman

For the Shard Shunner Hin/Were-rat:

Shifty Screavy, Mary Crowell

For Elodie’s training with Tillenia Stormkissed:

Do it For Her, (Steven Universe), Rebecca Sugar, Deedee Magno-Hall, Grace Rołek

For the Mindflayer/Gruumsh’ar encounter:

Where is My Mind, Pixies

Slow Chemical, Finger Eleven

For the Temple of Sune:

Beautiful, Christina Aguilera

Please also visit my playlist on Spotify. I will be populating this with all of our campaign tunes as we adventure onwards: