Chapter Five: Good Bones

23 Mirtul, Year of Three Ships Sailing (1492 D.R.), seven bells after highmoon.

I wake from a dream of a Kenku, blood welling bright from a large hole in her chest. She is cawing hopelessly and she clutches onto Quen. I watch, unmoved, as she scrabbles to use my sword to stop herself from sinking into a thick, stinking, brown bog. I stand on a rocky ledge nearby, looking on coldly as the remorseless muck pulls down the little bird creature. Along with my blade.

I start awake, grieved and repulsed, and untangle myself from stiflingly warm blankets. The sweet fragrances that linger about me remind me of where I spent the night.

“Good morning, Elodie.” Eliana is sitting up on a nearby divan.

She stretches, pats her crimson hair into place, and smiles happily.

“This is quite the place, isn’t it? But it is time for me to move on. My cousin, George, and I stopped at the Court of the White Bull, away south. Now that I have met Brother Helmsing and I know that I can stay at Mielikki’s temple, I’m going to get my luggage and get settled in there. Much as I enjoyed the soft beds here, it’ll be good to be back in a green place again.” She sighs contentedly.

“I did not sleep, of course.” Vaikner’s voice comes from the depths of a sofa where he has curled up with several books and a large piece of paper. “But this was a very restful place for my meditation. Once I was done and the sun was up, I ventured outside.

“Look, this is most curious: I purchased this broadsheet with Waterdeep’s news printed on it from a young Human in the street. It is called The Wazoo. I believe that you will find it interesting.”

Eliana and I crowd onto the sofa with Vaikner and examine the flimsy sheet that he is holding. The writing is very small and slightly smudged; the ink is of poor quality and the paper is little more than pulp and glue. But the words! My eyes grow wide as I absorb what I just read.

“It is about us!” I gasp, horrified.

“Yes. Only they got our names wrong. All but Meloon’s. And, I suppose, yours Vaikner.” Eliana chuckles. “You are now officially Vaikner Bootsman. This anonymous associate of Neverember’s is clearly Meloon. Or, perhaps Floon…”

“No! I mean this part here – the other story!” I cry. “It talks about the disturbance on Candle Lane and it describes us. At least, it talks about Vaikner and I. Our hair and our skin! This is terrible.”

“Hmm. Not necessarily so.” Vaikner disagrees. “This is a very big city. There are many Elves and Half Elves here. And Drow. Too many that fit that vague description of ‘azure skin’ and ‘silver hair’ for it to truly endanger us.”

I think over this and then nod reluctantly.

“Perhaps. But we will still need to be cautious. Especially whenever we are together. Even if you now have a…a pleasing last name, Vaikner, I am not certain that drawing attention to our actions of the previous night was a sensible idea. I wish that Meloon had been more discreet. Or Floon, if it was him who talked to this…this G. Rudderbust.” I say.

“Well, I have known both of them less than one day but I think I can confidently say that you wish for the impossible, Elodie.” Eliana laughs.

“That is an insightful observation.” I acknowledge, sighing. “I suppose that it is too late to undo any damage that may have been done by these news-stories. I, for one, had not intended to have my name widely distributed throughout the Deep immediately after my arrival here…

“I will just repeat my counsel to you both: be careful! It is good that you are moving to more secluded quarters in a temple, Eliana. Vaikner, where are you lodging? Is it a safe place?” I ask.

“I am staying at the Ship’s Prow in Dock Ward. It seems adequate and it is affordable. They always have hot soup.” Vaikner shrugs.

As an assessment of the security measures taken for guest safety by his lodgings, I find Vaikner’s response leaves much to be desired.

“Right.” I say carefully. “Well, I wish to return to my Temple for a time. But, if you do not mind accompanying me there, then I can come south with you afterwards, taking you to your lodgings later this morning. I can inspect your room, Vaikner, and determine how defensible it is. And then accompany you to the Yawning Portal. That way you will not need to cross the entire Deep alone.” 

“That is a kind offer, thank you.” Vaikner smiles absentmindedly. “Fukurou acts as a scout for me when I am out in the streets. So I am not truly alone.”

“I am glad of it.” I smile at Fukurou.

Eliana looks at Vaikner keenly, and then turns to me with a brief nod.

“I want to be off. Vaikner, we share the road south for a good way. Why don’t you come with me, at least as far as the Court of the White Bull.” She pauses. “And then we will be meeting both Floon and Volo at the Yawning Portal, yes? Volo said he’d be there at highsun to pay us the rest of the gold he owes. Or so he promised.”

She snorts and then shakes her head at my enquiring glance. 

“Actually, before we parted last night, Floon asked whether we could meet him at his home.” Vaikner speaks up. “He confessed himself still a little nervous to walk the streets alone after his ordeal. And asked for our company. He suggested that we meet at his lodgings at eleven bells and walk to the Yawning Portal together.”

“Excellent!” Eliana beams. “That gives us plenty of time. If you need to return to your room this morning, Vaikner, I can walk with you there. As long as you do not mind accompanying me to check on George and to retrieve my bags after that. We can then stop at the Shrines of Nature where I can drop off my luggage. And then meet with Floon.”

“I do not need to go back to the Ship’s Prow this morning.” Vaikner replies. “But I am happy to go see this White Court with you, Eliana. And to help you with your luggage. Elodie, will you join us?”

“I have some matters to attend to at my Temple first.” I shake my head. “If this does not occupy me for too long, then I will find you at the Court of the White Bull. If the hour grows too late, then I will meet you at Floon’s home at eleven bells.”

Content with our plan, we leave the Temple of Sune together. The morning is cloudy and damp. I see only a few people out on the streets of Sea Ward but the roads closer to my Temple, once we cross into Castle Ward, are more lively. At the Street of the Sword I part ways with my companions.

“Until our next meeting.” Vaikner says politely.

Eliana grins and waves.

Bidding a courteous goodbye to them both, I walk briskly south. At the Temple of the Seldarine, I cross the secluded and still drowsing garden that separates the street entrance from the main Temple gates. The guards at the gate greet me with friendship. I bow my head in silent gratitude to Heron Renestrae. She has obviously given instructions that I am to come and go as a welcome guest. 

Passing through the carved doors that lead to the central courtyard of the Temple of the Seldarine, I am warmed by the same sense of home-coming that I experienced here yesterday. I pause to admire this, the shared heart of the Elven temple. The vaulted roof above me, whether through the use of crystalline panels or simply through enchantment, is transparent; open to the first of the day’s light high above. Flowers wind around slender columns and their blooms are re-created in the intricate patterns formed by multi-hued tiles on the floor. There are singing fountains that mist beautifully sculpted statues of my People’s deities in a shimmering weave of tiny droplets. The Seldarine look like they are dancing amongst fancifully shifting scarves of water and light. Peace fills me. And love for my Lady glows in my heart. All that keeps me from complete contentment is the memory of my damaged sword. 

I turn slowly, considering the estuaries that lead to each individual Seldarine’s place of worship. Like spokes off a central wheel, these gateways branch out from the courtyard where I stand. Almost every Seldarine claims the prayers and service of a protective order: a warrior caste among priests. And thus, there must surely be smithies and armories here at the Temple. But which knightly order is the most militant? Which smiths are the most skilled? Where should I go to obtain help for my Vess?

I whirl about, uncertain. And bump directly into a tall Moon Elf garbed in the rich raiment of a senior priest. He walked up to me in unobserved silence and is now watching my flustered indecision with an amused quirk to his lips.

“Good morning to you, Sister.” He smiles brightly at my anxious apologies. “You must be our newest arrival. Elodie Skyshard, yes?”

“Yes, Brother.” I bow cautiously and wince, noticing that the Elf wears the robes of Erevan Ilesere. 

I do not have much knowledge of the Seldarine’s trickster deity; only that his acolytes can be unpredictable and tiresome in their endless foolish japes. This priest has very dark blue eyes, almost black, and he smells of lemons.

“I am Kintaren.” He introduces himself without apparent trickery. “And how are you enjoying your time in our fair city?”

“Oh, it has been most interesting! I have met some courageous fighters and rescued a Human from a fish-storage loft and another from an Orc mage in the sewers…But, alas, I have damaged my Grandmatron’s blade! I cannot return home with my sword in this condition! I am too ashamed; everyone will be heart-broken. And Tillenia will be so angry!” I pause for breath.

“A family blade? Damaged? That is ill news. Let me see this sword.” Kintaren cries.

Exceedingly reluctant to obey, but unwilling to offend a Temple Elder, I unsheathe Vess and hand my blade, hilt-first, to Kintaren.

“You will see the acid markings along the edge: there and there. I made the mistake of striking at a corrosive ooze of some kind. It was unharmed but my sword…” I swallow back my distress. “Do you know where the Temple guardians get their weapons forged? And repaired? Can you advise me as to who the best Elf to see about this would be?”

My speech grows increasingly rapid and my tone high-pitched as I watch Kintaren. The Moon Elf, ignoring all of my questions, is tossing Vess casually from hand to hand. My impatience turns to grave concern as he waves the blade about in a chaotic parody of proper forms.

“What…please, may I…please, be careful!” I stutter. “It is damaged!”

“Is it?” Kintaren grins.

He suddenly stands very still, handing Vess to me with a mocking flourish. I grab my sword and look at it with suspicious wonder. The blade is perfectly smooth; gleamingly unmarked! I gape up at Kintaren and then break into delighted laughter. This is a very good kind of prank!

“Remarkable! It is pristine. Thank you so much!” I beam.

Eyes twinkling, he bows.

“Well, we cannot have Tillenia angry with us, can we? I hope that your time in the Deep will continue blessedly entertaining.” He says. “I know that your stay here at the Temple is sure to be so. I understand that you are sharing a room with our dear Bowstring Plaviir?”

“Aubray? Yes. We are already becoming fast friends.” I assure him.

Kintaren laughs merrily.

“I look forward to seeing how that works out.” He remarks cryptically.

Then, colorful robes swirling, he smiles once more and drifts gracefully away.

Thrilled to have both my swords back in perfect condition, I skip down the estuary that leads to Sehanine Moonbow’s tower. Cheerfully throwing open the door to my bed chamber, my happy greeting falters when I see that the room is empty. Perhaps Aubray has not yet returned from her nightly devotions. Or perhaps she left early to fulfill her civic obligations to the Watch.

The Watch! I frown, shrugging out of my coat and tossing it and my sword belt onto my bed. I splash my face with soothingly cool water from the bowl on my dressing table. I had hoped to establish a good working relationship with the Watch here but, to my disappointment, I have not seen much similarity between them and the Sky Wardens that I am accustomed to. Still, I hope that Aubray performs her duties for them with diligence. Although, hopefully, she will work on matters unrelated to the recent disturbance at Candle Lane. I do not wish her investigations to cause any problems for myself and my new companions. 

Setting aside such concerns for the present, I think of my roommate with fondness. I decide to leave a kind message for Aubray in our shared chamber. I do not want her to be worried by my prolonged absence.

My Dear Aubray,

I hope that you are well. I have only been here for one day and I have already encountered some troubling and illegal activities in the Deep. I have therefore been busy. For example, I was made aware of a nefarious plot to steal away two young Humans into the city sewers. Fortunately I soon met stalwart companions with whose able assistance I was able to rescue the kidnap victims from their distressing plight. It went rather well. I am leaving again to meet with my comrades of last night’s adventure. I expect to return to our room this evening and I look forward to seeing you then!

Yours most affectionately.

Elodie. 

Marking the note with the date and time, I leave it on Aubray’s divan. Satisfied, I stop briefly at the main dining hall of the Temple to obtain morning feast. The coffee is richly fragrant and I help myself to fluffy yeasted rolls, baked around a filling of sugared berries. Happily full, I venture out into the Deep once again. I no longer have to worry about finding a way to repair my sword so I can concentrate on the smaller inconvenience of my damaged boots.

I enjoy the walk to High Street, still equally startled and charmed by most of the sights and smells of the Deep. The clouds are clearing and it is a fine morning. Before long, I step out of the rising, slightly muggy, heat and into the cool quiet of Sulmest’s Splendid Shoes and Boots. A little bell tinkles as the door shuts behind me. The shop is rather dim. Strategically arranged within the beams of light that shine through the window and sparkle from lanterns placed around the room, are little pedestals and small shelves. They contain…shoes. 

I suppose they must be called that; they are surely designed to be placed on the foot and walked about in. But it seems almost sacrilegious to imagine such a fate for the exquisite works of art and craft that surround me. None of them, not even the boots, appear the least bit practical. And they are all beautiful. Unusual shapes, colors, and styles: I covet every single one. I take quick inventory of the contents of my travel trunk. There is not much spare room remaining. But, if I were to purchase another trunk, this one dedicated to footwear alone…

“Good Morning. How can I help you?” The crisp voice jolts me out of pleasant planning.

The shop’s proprietor, Master Sulmest, I suppose, has come out from the rear of his store at the sound of the doorbell. As he approaches, the mellow fragrance of superb quality leather that infuses the air is enriched with the odors of glue, fresh wood shavings, and wool. Sulmest is a Human man and he holds himself with upright elegance. It gives him a more imposing presence than I would expect from his medium height and simple leather apron. He speaks with a distant politeness that is close neighbors with impatience. He is clearly focused on whatever project he left behind him in his workroom.

“Good Morning to you. I am Elodie, Elodie Skyshard. I have come here on the recommendation of a new, er, friend. Floon Blaagmar. My boots got damaged you see, and Floon thought that perhaps you may be able to help.” I smile hopefully.

“Master Blaagmar and his unrealistic expectations!” Sulmest scoffs. “I do not do…repairs. At least, not for anyone but my most valued and esteemed clients.”

I shrug and step back, preparing to make my apologies and farewells. Sulmest, mouth still pursed disapprovingly but professional curiosity clearly sparked, cranes to see my boots.

“And what exactly are you wearing?” He asks, coming around his shop counter to examine me. “What type of damage are you speaking of?”

Then he stops and stands in silence for a few moments. I shuffle my feet uncertainly.

“What…where did you get those?” Sulmest finally mutters. “This design: who made these for you?”

“Oh, they are standard issue for the Wardens.” I explain cheerfully. “That is: those who serve as guardians and protectors in my community. My Mama is Elven. The boots are from my home.”

“Aaah.” He says musingly. “Yes, I can see some of the elements of that style. I have seen something a little like this coming out of Myth Dranor. But there are distinctive differences. And the work there, and there: it is wondrously fine.”

“Well, yes. My People are from farther north. The weather is colder and the terrain is more rugged. Different demands lead to varying styles, I suppose.” I say.

“Indeed, indeed.” He murmurs. “But, even if they are standard wear for you, Lady…did you say it was Lady Skyshard? Even if they are nothing out of the common way for you, they are quite unique here. I have seen nothing like them in the Deep. Here, please be so kind as to sit. May I take a closer look?”

As he gestures to a chair, I am relieved to see that he seems to have no further interest in where I am from. 

“Please call me Elodie.” I smile. “And yes, of course you may look at them.”

I take off the acid-spattered boots and Sulmest carries them carefully to the counter, setting them down reverently on a swatch of white silk and adjusting a lamp over them to examine them in detail. I sit quietly, wriggling my toes in time to the restless shifting of my hair, and admiring the lovely slippers on the shelf closest to my seat. They are decorated with tiny rubies and have silver straps. I sigh.

“Elodie.” Sulmest speaks up. “I would like to make you a proposal. These boots, lovely as they are, are badly damaged. It will not be possible to restore them to anything like their proper state. But, with your permission, I would like to craft you a new pair, just like them. 

“This will take some time, of course. But, in the meanwhile, you would be welcome to select any other pair of shoes from my shop. Wear those while you wait for the replacement that I will be making. What I ask in return is your agreement that I may continue to make boots based on this design for my other customers. I would like to work with you on this. I would like us to enter into an arrangement where I, and only I, may replicate this particular Elven style for the discerning shoppers of the Deep. I assure you, they will be a fashion sensation amongst the Waterdhavian nobility! And only I, Sulmest, may do justice to the demands of such an intricate project!”

“I am glad that you like them.” I laugh. “And yes, if you are willing to make me a new pair of boots, I am certainly pleased for you to use the same design to craft more boots for your other clients. It is very exciting to think of Av…my People’s footwear starting a fashion trend here on the Sword Coast. My Mama will never believe me when I tell her!”

Sulmest smiles for the first time. It is a very sweet smile and he does not look nearly as imposing any more. But it only lasts a moment, and then he is looking longingly back to his workroom.

“Good! Excellent! Well then, Elodie, let us get you fitted with your stop-gap footwear so that you may leave. I mean, so that I may get to work on this fascinating challenge!” He says.

I study the ruby slippers for a wistful moment. Then, grimly determined to be practical, I accept Sulmest’s help in finding a pair of well-fitted boots. The ones we settle on are suede-soft but Sulmest assures me that they will repel water and resist the every day street stains of the Deep. They are the deep grey of dark steel. And nearly as comfortably as my Warden’s boots.

“Check back with me at the end of Mirtul.” Sulmest says. “I should have something to show you by then.”

I nod and wave to the shoe-master happily as I leave. I continue south, intending to use the time left to me before eleven bells to explore the Deep a little more and find the Court of the White Bull. Perhaps Eliana and Vaikner will still be there and I will gain companions to walk with when I turn my steps north to Sea Ward once again.

I do not attain my goal. I am just preparing to cross Zastrow street, frowning a little at the familiar front of Xoblob’s shop, when I see two City Watch officers walking towards me. Hoping that they failed to see my start of guilty surprise, I allow my curls to casually float outwards. I attempt to pass by the officers just like any untroubled citizen would.

“Here, stop a moment!” My hair churns nervously at the cry. “You! Yeah, I’m talking to you! Stop!”

With heroic effort, I arrange my features into an innocent and charming smile.

“Good day!” I turn to the officers. “Did you wish to speak to me?”

The pair are eyeing me sourly. One of them, a pallid-skinned Human man sighs and spits something unsavory onto the paving stones. The other, a Dwarven female with ruddy, wind-chapped cheeks, narrows her eyes suspiciously.

“You’re not from here, are you?” She asks. “Is it just you then? Or do you pal around with anyone else that’s, you know, similar to you in looks?”

“Pal around?” I repeat slowly, widening my eyes until they are swimming purplish pools of confusion. “It is true that I am a visitor to your lovely city. But I travelled here alone. I do not know anyone else who is like me. I was actually just walking this way in the hopes of seeking out some companionship. I have been alone most of the morning and hope to change this.”

My disarming honesty clearly convinces the Human officer.

“Leave it, Rugna.” He sighs. “You can’t just go accosting every blue-skinned person you see. She’s clueless, can’t you tell? Just like every other tourist here: out looking for a good time. And we’re about to go off-shift. Just leave it.”

“Right you are.” Rugna shrugs. “You go on back to the Watch-house, sign off for me and file our report. You owe me. And I could use a good time myself.”

She takes of her helmet, revealing closely shorn, honey-colored hair. She runs her hand through the bristles and then grins up at me.

“We do our best to be welcoming to visitors to the Deep but, you know how it is. Things have been rough lately. Still, if you are looking for companionship, something real memorable, you do not have far to go. The Purple Palace is just here, just down the road. I will be happy to show you the way. May even nip inside myself, for a bit. Seeing as my shift is over…”

“Oh. Ah. That is very kind of you.” I stammer. 

Glumly, I follow the jaunty Dwarven officer, nodding blankly whenever she speaks to me. I am too busy recalling Volo’s description of the Purple Palace to pay attention to her friendly chatter. I had forgotten that this famous house of self-indulgent pleasures was located nearby. I do not have the time to partake in the decadent pursuits offered there. Especially not in the company of an officer of the City Watch. I shake my head, setting aside my shocked disapproval that a uniformed patrol Dwarf is so blithely abandoning her duties and her partner to head to a house of sensuous frivolities. I focus on plotting my own escape. 

This proves very simple. Officer Rugna, entirely preoccupied with her pleasant destination, pays less and less attention to me the closer we get to her goal. By the time she is striding through the purple door, calling out humorous greetings that make it clear that she is quite familiar with this place, I have merely to peel away from her side. I pivot out of the entrance, unnoticed, and hurry back to lose myself in the crowds churning through Fillet Lane. 

Sighing in relief, I decide not to risk being seen in Vaikner’s company in Dock Ward today. Instead, I turn back and hurry to Stormstar Towers. I get there in time to see Eliana and Vaikner approaching from the west. We meet in front of the building’s front door. Eliana looks up at the sky where the sun is peeking out from behind frayed strips of clouds.

“We are a little early.” She greets me with a nod. “I am glad to say, the Shrines of Nature are all that I was looking for. Quiet, with a lovely green grove. And goats.”

“I am pleased to hear it.” I say. “I hope that you will find it peaceful and safe. Are you happy with your rooms?”

“Rooms? Hmm, it is more like a hut.” She laughs. “But yes, it is peaceful. I share the hut with another one of Mielikki’s followers. And her mice. Many, many mice.”

“Mice?” I ask.

“Yes. My roommate is a Firbolg and a Druid. She seems to have a close relationship with the mice in our hut. She promised to tell them to keep away from my luggage.” Eliana explains.

“She sounds lovely!” I smile warmly. “I also have a roommate at my Temple! Her name is Aubray and she too is lovely. I hope that you enjoy the company of your roommate as much as I do that of mine.”

“Well. Alright.” Eliana says, turning as the door behind us opens. “Look, here is Floon.”

After an exchange of greetings: calmly happy on Vaikner’s part, cheerfully matter-of-fact on Eliana’s, and rapturously, endearingly, enthusiastic on Floon’s, we start south towards the Yawning Portal together. 

“Are you well today, Floon?” I ask. “Do you feel recovered from the unfortunate events of the last days?”

“I do feel better.” He flashes his bright smile. “And how are all of you? Did you find the temple of Sune as pleasing as I do?”

“Oh yes! It was delightful. Thank you very much for ensuring that we were cared for there.” I reply.

“Yes. Thank you. It was most soothing.”  Vaikner nods.

“It was wonderful!” Eliana sighs happily.

Floon glows.

“I am glad that you are feeling better, Floon.” She continues. “But there is something that has been bothering me. And I wanted to talk to you about it. We found out last night that Renaer’s mourning necklace for his mother was damaged during his interrogation by the Zhents.”

Floon’s glow winks out.

“Oh no.” He shakes his head. “Poor Ren.”

“Yes.” Eliana’s lips tighten. “It was cruel, destroying a precious keepsake like that. Maybe more hurtful to him than the beating he took. But, what I have been thinking about is that hidden compartment within the ivory carving of his mother. Renaer said he knew nothing about it. And it was empty when we found the remains of the necklace. If there was something in there, if your capture and his torture have something to do with Renaer’s parents…”

“His mother died many years ago.” Floon shrugs. “Ren tells me that all of yesterday’s awfulness would have been because of his father.”

“Perhaps.” Eliana acknowledges. “But if his father had used Renaer’s mourning necklace to conceal something, perhaps he also, well, exploited, her passing in other ways. And in other places. Do you know where her grave is, Floon?”

“Ren’s mother rests in the Brandath plot. In the City.” Floon says slowly.

“Do you think that you could show us?” Eliana says. “Even if the gangs were unable to find whatever they were looking for inside the necklace, it may yet have turned their attention to Renaer’s mother. They may now be searching other places linked to her. I would feel better if we could make sure that her burial site is undisturbed.”

Floon frowns, dismayed.

“I would not be surprised if the foul Zhentarim stooped to robbing the dead.” I say darkly.

“I will take you there now.” Floon announces. “We will check together. And, if we find that all is well, it will be something less for Ren to worry about.”

Having resolved to act, Floon immediately seems less burdened. His ambling gait quickens as he ably weaves through the mid-morning crowds. We follow, pleased to see him so imbued with purpose. Soon, Floon recovers sufficient of his natural cheer to begin talking once more. 

He entertains us with complex anecdotes involving many people that I do not know. Shining through all the tales like a dazzling display of sunshine is Floon’s out-sized personality. Without conscious intent on his part, each of Floon’s stories reveals flashes of his own good nature, or examples of his devotion as a friend, or instances of his uncomplicated kindness. He is a most endearing companion and I can see that, the more time that we spend with him, the more Vaikner and Eliana like him too. 

It does not feel like very long at all before we reach a quiet square lined with large smooth cobbles and fronted on three sides by small homes and shopfronts. Along the fourth, the southern, side of the square runs a high stone wall. I see tree branches, delicately dressed in spring-green leaves, leaning out over the top of the wall. Floon leads us to a gate, wrought of black iron and placed in the western corner of the wall. The stone boundary itself turns south here, running out of view. It also continues east beyond the square and out of my sight. Whatever garden it encloses must be very spacious. I wonder whether the home we saw Renaer enter last night is just an outpost property and this park, where presumably his mother has been laid to rest, represents the true family holdings.

The gate is unlocked and Floon beckons us inside. Immediately, the bustle and complex aromas of the Deep’s streets fall away. There are people here: quiet voices, a child’s laugh, a woman’s weeping are carried to me on the gentle breeze. But the sounds I hear most clearly are the peaceful songs of nature: leaves whispering, wind rustling through grass, birds fluttering and chirping in the boughs. I smell freshly cut grass mixing with the lush perfume of flowers: roses, peonies, lilies. And somewhere, wafting faintly towards me, the smoky sweetness of a bees-wax candle. I close my eyes and let my hair float out around me in soft delight. 

Then, regaining my focus and looking about me again, I see that Eliana’s eyes have filled with a pleased light and that she too is taking deep, deliberate breaths. I smile at her.

“I would like to stay here a while.” She smiles back.

Vaikner is staring all around. Curiosity and wonder mark his face. Floon, seemingly familiar with this beautiful garden, simply walks quietly on. We follow him down a path of white stones, winding around beds of flowers, copses of small trees, and many, many little stone buildings. Some are intricately sculpted and ornate, others are very simple. The building materials are as varied as the designs; I see the white gleam of marble, the cloud-grey lines of granite, and the mossy, variegated rusts of brick. There are crests and statues and flowers bedecking the small houses. And some are lit with incandescent rafts of candles. It is a quietly lovely and intriguing place.

“Ren’s mother was placed in her birth family’s mausoleum. That is why I brought you through the northern gate. The Brandath plot is close by. In this, the oldest part of the City.” Floon explains.

“The City?” I ask. “Are we no longer in Waterdeep, then?”

Floon stares at me for a confused moment, then chuckles.

“The City of the Dead, Elodie. That is where we are. The cemetery where the Waterdhavians bury their dead.” He says. “It is, in fact, counted as its own separate Ward of the Deep.”

“Oh.” I gaze around with new interest.

An entire Ward for its Dead? Waterdeep is certainly a great city! But this is a most melancholy way to mark that greatness. Volo wrote about the City of the Dead, I recall now. It was one of the few portions of his text that I did not closely attend to. I felt that I already knew all that I needed to of Human death rituals and his descriptions of this place did not hold my interest.

What I knew, but what is now poignantly demonstrated for me by being in this City, is that death is a much more frequent and common occurrence amongst Humans than amongst my People. Elves die in combat, certainly. Many, too many, Avariel died by violence. But now that my People have secured their Aerie, protecting it with endless vigilance, such death is much less likely. And, without a cruel misadventure to cut it short, an Elf’s life is long almost beyond measure. 

When one of the Tel’Quessir grows weary of this plane, when their soul yearns for rest in Arvandor before beginning its journey once more in a new physical form, the Elf will have prior knowledge and understanding of this. Their eyes will slowly fill with the peaceful glow of starlight. And they will grow remote, saying farewell to those whom they love and withdrawing from the places they once adored. I have heard that some of my Elven family eventually fade and lose their physical form. Dissolving into a shining mist before departing this world. Others choose a place in nature for their rest: allowing their forms to become one with the trunk of a tree, for instance. The Avariel prefer to reach out to our Lady, searching for her in the high and lonely places. 

A Winged Elf who is killed in battle, like my Grandmama, may be laid to rest in an ice-cave behind a waterfall. Where she may turn into a frozen, glittering pillar while her voice still sings and murmurs in the weeping waters. Avariel who know that they will be dying soon will fly to make their nests in the high mountain peaks where none will ever find them. There, under the comfort of snow and the cleansing of sun, they wait for Aerdrie Faenya to take them.

I do not know of any Elves who would plant their physical forms under the soil. Like a dismal crop hopelessly awaiting new growth, far from light and free air. This Human habit, when I heard of it, made me very sad. This place however, this City of the Dead, is not sad. It is achingly beautiful and serene. And there is life here too: Humans, walking along the paths and sitting together in the green meadows, many birds, enough trees even for an acolyte of Rillifane Rallathil to find safety and solace…

I have been lost in my thoughts and did not notice when we stopped in front of a small temple-like structure carved of blue-grey stone. There is writing inscribed on the front of the little builing. Vaikner and Floon are standing close by, examining the letters and talking quietly. Eliana has walked away from us and is sitting, head bowed, in the deep shadow of a large tree on the other side of the path. But for Vaikner’s soft words and the surrounding bird-song, I hear nothing.

“All seems well here.” Floon confirms.

“I see no signs of damage. No obvious attempts to break in.” Vaikner agrees. “When Eliana has finished her prayer, I suppose that we should continue on to meet with Volo, yes?”

I nod in silent acquiescence. Eliana rejoins us after a short while. There is an ease and joy to her movements that is pleasing to see. Sadly, I notice that, as soon as we leave the City and immerse ourselves back in the lively streets of Trades Ward, she grows tense and wary once again. Vaikner tolerates our return to the Deep with apparent equanimity. And Floon, clearly relieved to have found no evil done to Renaer’s mother’s grave site, is increasingly excited to be seeing his friend Volo again. We arrive at the Yawning Portal and step inside.

So much has happened since our last visit here that I feel almost let down to find the Yawning Portal entirely unchanged. The same warm firelight, the same savory smells, the same ring of laughter and raucous clatter of plates and cups…No one gives our triumphant entrance a second glance. Or a first one, really. I smile inwardly at my foolish musings as I look about.

A slightly fluttery warmth fills me to see that Yaghra is also here again. It must be relief that she is unhurt by yesterday’s brawling, I decide. She is sharing a table with an exquisitely beautiful, bronze-skinned Sun Elf and they are leaning towards each other in intent conversation. They are both solemn but there is no tension between them; it does not seem to be an overtly adversarial meeting. There is also none of the joyous warmth or physical affection that marks an encounter between close friends or lovers. So, perhaps trusted comrades mulling over a shared difficulty together? I conclude that Yaghra would not wish to be disturbed during a serious discussion so, when the Half-Orc suddenly raises her face to me and our eyes meet, I merely smile cheerfully and give her a polite wave. Surprise flickers in her gaze for just a moment and then her expression grows thoughtfully blank. She nods briefly to me in greeting before returning her attention to her companion. He continues speaking, not noticing, or choosing to ignore, her momentary distraction.

I am soon drawn away to a large table in the corner. Volo has commandeered this seating area and his delighted voice booms out at us.

“Floon! Floon, my dear boy! How wonderful to see you safe and well!” Volo appears overcome by emotion as he hurries towards us.

“Volo!” Floon’s voice rivals Volo’s in volume and enthusiasm.

The famous author and Floon meet in happy embrace. They talk loudly together, employing many emphatic gestures and exclamations of fervent relief and joy. Their mutual affection is clear and, despite some stirrings of concern that yesterday’s events have raised about Volo’s poor judgement and lack of responsibility, I am very pleased to witness the warm-hearted reunion of these two friends.

Once we are all seated, celebratory drinks in hand, and our tale told – dramatically and with many embellishments by Floon – Eliana turns and regards Volo fixedly.

“So, about the remainder of our payment.” She says quietly.

“Ah. Yes. Yes, unfortunately I find myself rather awkwardly placed in regards to gold.” Volo’s voice is suddenly much quieter than usual and he deflates a little. “In that, I fear that I do not have any.”

“Right.” Eliana sighs, apparently entirely unsurprised.

“But what I do have: is this!” Volo reaches into his pocket, pulling out a stained scroll, and flourishing it proudly.

“What is that?” Vaikner cranes forward to inspect the scroll.

“You may well ask, my dear Vaikner, you may well ask!” Volo cries, restored to all his previous pomp and twinkling at the Drow as he magnanimously hands over the rolled up document.

“A deed? A deed to a Waterdhavian property?” Vaikner quickly examines the text before him.

“Yes! And not just any property! A very fine and historic manor in the North Ward. I propose this as your payment. To share between all three of you heroic individuals. It is worth far more than the three hundred gold that I promised you.” Volo announces.

Vaikner is still perusing the scroll. Brows lifted curiously, Eliana leans over to read also. I stare at Volo in stunned dismay.

“I did not agree to do this because you offered gold.” I say slowly. “Your friend needed urgent assistance and I was happy to help you both. But, for you to now go back on your word and offer us a…a Human house? I am not interested in such things. I have no need nor wish to tie myself to this city in such a way. This is most disingenuous of you.”

Volo squirms, but only a little. I continue to regard him coldly.

I am crestfallen to realize that Volo more closely resembles a bluster-filled rogue than the learned guide I had thought him. His offer to pay us for Floon’s rescue with a deed to a manor in the city is absurd! I am not here to collect property. 

“This may not be genuine: is this manor really yours to dispose of? And, if so, what’s wrong with this house?” Eliana is wisely skeptical. 

“You wound me!” Volo cries. “It is most certainly my property. Which you may very easily check at the Hall of Records. We will need to go to the Magistrate’s chambers together to transfer the deed anyway. 

“As I said, it is an old home. Rich in history! But there is very little wrong with it than some slight sprucing up cannot fix! Nothing amiss that an eager bunch such as yourselves, young and strong and enthusiastic, cannot quickly put right.”

Eliana’s doubting gaze now joins my icy stare. Volo coughs.

“There is the very small matter of the haunting.” He mutters.

“Haunting?” Vaikner’s head snaps up.

“A slight restlessness of the spirit is perhaps a better way to describe it.” Volo backtracks rapidly. “Just a little disturbance of a supernatural nature. That the previous owners have found…off-putting. For some reason. Haha.”

Vaikner’s shoulders slump very slightly.

“Ah, just a little thing.” He murmurs, disappointed.

“A slight restlessness did I say? That was only out of habit: trying to spare you from the true horrors that lie within! But I forget that you are individuals of exceptional courage. More than capable of hearing the grim facts. The truth is that the manor is most haunted! Most haunted indeed. A mysterious evil dwells there…” Volo contorts the shape of his tale with magnificent speed and conviction. “

“A haunted manor…” Vaikner breathes delightedly. “Yes! I mean, this is certainly something very interesting for us.”

Eliana looks pensive. I stare between both of my new companions in surprise. Vaikner and Eliana seem interested in accepting Volo’s offer. I bite back another hasty response and think over what I have just heard.

Becoming the owner of a manor in the Deep, along with a Human and a Drow encountered by chance? Embarking on a joint venture like this would certainly tie our new company together. In the brief time since our first meeting, I have seen selflessness and courage from both Eliana and Vaikner. In their very individual ways, they have each shown themselves eager to follow the path of light: serving good and helping those in need. I feel that we can be of continued use to each other. And, I realize with surprise, I am happy at the thought of seeing more of Eliana and Vaikner. I am willing to align myself with these companions for a while longer. 

And, perhaps most importantly, Volo mentioned that an unseen evil dwells in the manor. I see a clear responsibility to look into this matter. And to help cleanse the place if I am able to do so.

“Alright.” Eliana finally speaks. “But only if all three of us agree to take this on. I suppose it will not hurt to at least take a look at the place? We can decide how we wish to proceed after that.”

“I am willing to take a look. I suppose.” I nod reluctantly.

“Oh yes, certainly! I want to see it.” Vaikner agrees.

“Splendid!” Volo exclaims, beaming around him. “Here is the address, right here. It is Trollskull Manor. In Trollskull Alley, you see. I am sure that you will find it quite the inspiring sight.”

“I’m sure.” Eliana interjects snidely.

“And, should you decide to accept my offer, we can meet at the Hall of Records tomorrow. At  nine bells after highmoon. Get it off my hands. I mean, get everything formalized, eh?” Volo continues cheerfully, handing Vaikner a heavy, rust-stained key.

This matter settled, Floon calls for another toast and Eliana suggests that it is time for highsun feast. While the table fills up with platters of bread, cheese, pickles, and cold roasted meats, I move closer to Volo.

“May we please speak in confidence for a while?” I whisper. “I have a tale that I think you will wish to hear. And I seek your advice.”

Volo looks regretfully at the repast before him but his eyes sparkle with curiosity and he inclines his head in a gracious bow. I lead him to a small bench close to the fireplace. It is within sight of the other tables; I can see if anyone is paying us too much attention or tries to approach too closely. Yet it is far enough removed from the bustle of the main floor, and close enough to the Human musician blaring out a jovial melody on some kind of metal horn, that we should not be overheard.

“What is this tale you speak of, Saer Skyshard? You can tell all to me. Be assured of my complete and utmost discretion!” Volo says eagerly.

I look at him, doubt stirring my hair. He smells like wine and ink and warm spices; cloves and nutmeg. While I no longer hold Volo’s judgement in high esteem, his books make it clear that he is a well-informed man. And, while currently he may be financially compromised, I am certain he still has the means and connections to obtain knowledge. Knowledge that I require. And yet his ill-dealing and bluster have left me unsure how to proceed.

“I would like to trust you. To believe that you can help me.” I hesitate. “You have already helped me so much. I have learned a great deal from reading your books…”

“So kind of you to say! So kind.” Volo bows again.

“But…judging at least by Floon’s collection, which seems to be exhaustive, you have not written any new books for a long time. Longer than most Human lifespans, it seems.” I continue remorselessly. “And now you appear in an unflattering light: making promises that you cannot keep to strangers that you beg to help your friend. These do not seem like things that a Realms-renowned author would do. How comes this?”

Panicked pain flashes in Volo’s eyes and he frowns for just a moment.

“I have been…away.” He says slowly. “I was rather tied up, ahem, helping the great Elminster. You may be familiar with him? Yes? Well, it has been some time since I have been to the Deep. And since I have had the opportunity to write. But a new and enthralling Volo publication is imminent! Imminent, I say! And, meanwhile, I am always interested in more stories.”

I gaze at him, awestruck. Naturally I have heard of Elminster! A Human mage of unrivaled skill with the Art; a figure of legend! And Volo was helping him!

Or so he says.

I lean back, the ends of my hair twitching crossly as I force my burgeoning admiration aside. I must remember not to blindly trust this Human. Volo may be as much a friend to Elminster as I am to…to Mirt the Merciless! I must be more circumspect in my dealings with the wily writer.

“Hmm. If I tell you my tale, we would have to have an understanding. An agreement that you will share my story with no one until I determine that it is safe for you to do so.” I hedge. “But that, once that time comes, you will have the full telling of it. In any way that you choose. And, in the meanwhile, you will help me. Bring me information to assist me. The sooner I complete my quest, the sooner my People will be safe. And then you may tell my story.”

“Why, this all sounds most intriguing!” Volo replies. “I agree to your terms, of course. You may place your complete trust in me.”

I narrow my eyes at him dubiously but nod to confirm that our bargain is struck. Hoping that the reward will make this risk a wise one, I quietly explain to Volo where I have come from, who my Mama’s People truly are, and what I am seeking for in the Deep. 

Even sitting awkwardly on a narrow bench, leaning our heads together and whispering hurriedly, I cannot keep the emotion from my voice when I speak of the suffering of the Avariel. And Volo proves to be a surprisingly engaged listener. He puffs up like an excited pigeon when I first reveal the truth of my heritage to him. And, when I speak of the terrible dangers facing the Aerie, his face falls and his eyes grow moist. He nods in eager understanding. Satisfied, my tale finished, I sit back and regard him closely. I can tell that, not only is he intrigued by the opportunity to be able to eventually tell my tale, but his sense of justice is stirred by my People’s plight. 

“My dear Saer Skyshard!” Volo cries, dabbing at his forehead with an embroidered square of white linen cloth. “This is a most stirring, a most thrilling story! And I am to have publishing rights? Well, that is an extremely wise decision on your part. I can think of no other writer whose paltry skills may be up to this task! No one else qualified to do justice to this grand epic! Nobody that…”

“You may call me Elodie.” I interrupt gravely. “And, having heard what I had to say, do you have any information that you judge may be of use to me now? Anything that you have heard that may help me in my search for the Tears of the Seldarine?”

He subsides, frowning in thought.

“You are surely aware, my dear Elodie, that the great Elven city of Aelinthaldaar lies in ruins beneath our City of Splendors. What remains of it is lost in the twisting darkness of Undermountain. Where even such intrepid and ambitious explorers such as myself hesitate to venture! But there have been those who have braved those endless tunnels. Returning bearing great riches and, in many cases, a haunting legacy of the nightmares they witnessed in the depths below!” Volo pauses, clearly pleased with his prose.

“Yes. Durnan, whose tavern we now sit in now, is such a one.” I nod.

“Well, the Open Lords of the Deep have traditionally been keen collectors of rare historical and magical artifacts. Many treasures, some certainly brought up from the roots of the mountain, were on display, or secreted in the vaults, of the Palace.” Volo continues. “Ancient Elven gems and weapons were among these.”

“You believe that the Tears may have been recovered by explorers of Undermountain? Brought up and hoarded as pretty loot by Humans in the Palace of the Open Lord?” I ask.

“It is possible.” He agrees.

“That is excellent news!” I cry, forgetting to modulate my volume in my excitement. “It will surely be easier for me to check for my People’s gems in the Palace than search for them in the Underdark. And then, when I inform the Open Lord that the Tears rightfully belong to the Avariel, I will get them back with no trouble!”

“Well…yes. Laeral Silverhand is a just and honorable ruler.” Volo hesitates. “But, the Open Lord before her, Lord Neverember…he not only stole a great deal of the city’s money during his ignominious and perfidious departure. He left the Palace missing some iconic, indeed, some irreplaceable treasures! Ahghairon’s Dragon Staff and robe are gone! I have also heard that some antique Elven treasures have disappeared.”

“I see.” I say glumly.

“Alas! To this day it remains uncertain whether these valuable items were hidden somewhere within the Palace, whether iniquitous Lord Neverember had one or more secret caches in the Deep where he concealed money and precious goods, or whether he took everything with him to Neverwinter.” Volo explains.

“This is all very interesting.” I try to smile at Volo. “I had intended to secure a meeting with Laeral Silverhand as soon as may be. With all that you have told me, I now know that this audience is of even greater importance than I previously thought. I will have to find a way into the Palace to examine the remaining of the Deep’s treasures. That is a starting place, at any rate.”

Volo nods solemnly.

“Indeed, indeed! A worthy goal, my dear Elodie.” He intones benevolently. “And I will put my time to good use by seeking out any further information that I can. The myriad taverns and eateries of this fine city are always a fruitful source of tale and rumor. Speaking of which…”

He gives me one more twinkling smile and then hurries back to the table to enthusiastically sample the remaining food on offer. I sigh, staying in my seat by the hearth for a while longer. I stare into the dancing fire, dreaming of home. I can almost trace the arcing towers of the Aerie in the leaping flames. Then, a burnt-out log collapses into powdery ash, there is a puff of woodsy smoke and a shower of sparks, and I shake myself out of my reverie. I follow Volo back to rejoin my companions at our table.

Eliana, whose attention has been contentedly divided between her meal and Vaikner and Floon’s conversation, now indicates that she is ready to leave. Vaikner suggests that we go together and head to Trollskull Alley. 

“And then we will also be close to Renaer’s home. If you remember, he wanted us to arrive at eight bells for dinner. Floon, will we see you there too?” Vaikner asks.

“No.” Floon smiles a little ruefully. “I think that Ren wants a little time to get to know all of you and to thank you properly. And I have had sufficient excitement these last few days. I will have a quiet afternoon: visiting with Volo and, perhaps, doing a little shopping. I will see Ren tomorrow.”

We leave Volo and Floon to enjoy the last few dainties on the table, talking over each other amiably and calling for more wine. As we troop out of the Yawning Portal, I pause. Standing within the shelter of the tavern’s entryway, I surreptitiously check my map. We have only to head east and north: it should not be difficult for us to find Trollskull Manor. 

Our walk north is pleasant and, as always, there is much to observe and wonder at in the streets of the Deep. The neighborhood where Trollskull Alley is located seems comfortably prosperous, if not as opulent as the tree-lined avenues closer to Renaer and Floon’s homes. There are thriving emporiums and neat work-shops peppered in amongst well-cared-for homes. The afternoon light is mellow, burnishing the stone of the nearby buildings with a warm gleam. I see many people outside, on business or leisure, lifting appreciative faces to the friendly skies.

When we turn off Delzorin Street and into Trollskull Alley, a shadow taints the golden light. I look up but no cloud is passing over the sun. And yet, the alley feels colder and darker than the streets all around it. It is quieter here. Nothing else appears different to the neighborhood that we just passed. There are fine, large buildings here too. I see what appears to be a shop selling books and a sign advertising various herbs and potions; perhaps an apothecary’s store. But I see no one on about. We continue east and get our first look at Volo’s manor.

“Why, it’s….it’s huge!” Eliana comes to an abrupt stop.

“It is very large.” I nod politely. “There is even a tower. But it has a very forlorn, abandoned look to it.”

“Volo said that it is quite old.” Vaikner says excitedly. “And remember, it is also haunted!”

“I mean, it’s massive!” Eliana grows thoughtful. “It’s run down, certainly, but nothing like as bad as I expected. I suppose that the interior may be completely dilapidated. But, from out here at least, it looks like it has good bones.”

I examine the house with trepidation but see nothing skeletal about it. I set aside Eliana’s interesting remark for later consideration and take a step towards Trollskull Manor. It is a sprawling building, taking up the entire intersection of Trollskull Alley and Saerdoun Street. It sits on a patch of weeded and scrubby yard, surrounded by a low iron fence. The spot where the gate should be gapes like a missing tooth in a crooked jaw. I look closer and see that I was mistaken; the gate is not missing, merely fallen over into an undisciplined rose-bush that is more resentful thorns than blossoms. An uneven path leads to the front of the building. The entry door at least is solid. Shut tight and most unwelcoming.

Trollskull Manor is made of grey stone on the first floor, turning to timber and wattle on its higher levels. It looms a full three stories tall. Its many-gabled roof is made of blue slate, weather-worn and chipped in many places. There is a round tower, the same height as the house, built off its northern wing. In addition to the front door, it seems possible to enter the building by a wooden exterior staircase. This leads to a balcony off the first story of the house but the rickety steps look ready to splinter under the weight of a sparrow’s hop. Some of the manor’s windows are cracked but only those on the bottom floor are entirely missing. The holes remaining have been stuffed with rags and partially boarded up. It all appears most unprepossessing.

Vaikner is looking avidly all about, radiating thrilled curiosity. Eliana is still methodically assessing the outside of the structure. Surely neither of them can be completely insensitive to the unhealthy air of the place. Hair tightening in nervously around me, I take several more steps forward. I reach my hand out to the closed door before me. With a quick effort, I focus and send out the Touch of Air, some of my Lady’s questing breath. Inhaling deeply, I smell sour, reeking decay; the pollution of Undead within that clean breeze. And then a faint whiff of scorched, stale air; a weaker, Fiendish presence that disrupts the flow of wind but is perhaps not so near. 

“This house is not clean.” I turn to my companions quickly. “I can sense an Undead presence here. And, perhaps, something else…a Fiendish breath.”

Eliana and Vaikner step up to me, faces concerned. At that moment, piercing cries erupt from within the manor.

“No! Don’t do that! You can’t!” A thin voice screams.

Exchanging grave looks, Eliana and I reach for our weapons. Vaikner draws Volo’s key out of his robes and rattles it into place. He pushes open the heavy door and I slip inside, blades held out in front of me. Darting swift glances into the dimness ahead, I see that, beyond a small, square entry hall, the bottom floor of the manor is largely one echoing, open space. It is littered with broken furniture, drifts of wadded up paper and rags, and bits of pottery and glass. There are four small figures standing next to a teetering fort-like structure made up of cracked barrels and a roll of moldering carpet. A gust of afternoon breeze follows me through the open front door, a waxy stump of candle gutters in the drought, and four grimy, startled faces look in my direction.

I hastily sheathe my swords. These are only children. Squaring off, two against two, armed with sticks, their fierce cries of complaint were part of their war play. I interrupted their game and now their wide eyes regard me with shock and suspicion.

“Er…” I say.

Eliana and Vaikner push past me into the room. My companions and the little ones stare at each other. I realize that I know these fledglings! I have seen them playing out in the streets. And then again, disobeying Saer Ederick’s orders to sneak out of bed. They are the orphans from Helm’s Hall. Or rather, three of them are. I recognize the tall thin Human girl, pale-skinned with long and straight hair. Black and shiny as a raven’s wing, her tresses are slipping out of their braid and tangling about her watchful face. The red Tiefling boy next to her is familiar also. I have not seen him this clearly before and I am grieved to see that he is missing an eye. A small patch covers part of his scowling face. His remaining eye blazes out, golden-yellow and insolent. The round-cheeked boy next to him is the smallest of the group. I remember him whispering about my swords. His light-brown skin is smeared with a soot-like substance and his dark eyes are wide and worried. 

But it is the fourth young one that my eyes linger on. I cannot help giving out a little gasp. She is almost as tall as the Human girl and her stance is as defiant as the Tiefling boy’s. Her skin is blue! It is only one shade lighter than mine. And her hair…her hair is a shock of white that gleams bright even through the gloom as it shifts restlessly. My curls swish out in surprise and I watch, disbelieving, as the movement is mirrored by her hair. There are differences: my locks are looser and they float and flow moodily with the changes in my air. Her little head is capped with tighter, cloud-like puffs and her tresses waft up in swaying tendrils that seem to dissipate into the cool dark above her. She returns my intent stare and I see my curiosity brightly reflected in her eyes. But there is none of my wonder: just a strange mingling of excitement and distrust. She is obviously Element-touched. But I have never encountered one of my kind quite like her before. As I watch, she shifts to step protectively between her friends and ourselves. I do not know what type of Genasi she may be, but I like her already.

I breathe in, and once again the taint of the Undead offends my senses.

“What are you little children doing here?” I whisper aghast. “Why are you in this place?”

“This is our place.” The young Genasi answers defiantly.

“Yeah, we don’t have to talk to you!” The Tiefling pipes up.

Vaikner steps forward.

“Hello children.” He says in stiffly cheerful tones. “Do you want to see my owl? He has remarkably fine plumage. If you come outside with me now I can show him to you.”

There is a stirring and muttering amongst the fledglings.

“Creep-o.” I hear a small voice whisper.

The orphans now stand shoulder to shoulder, facing us and holding their stick weapons raised. 

Next to me, Eliana sighs deeply.

“Alright kids. You’re from Helm’s Hall, right? Does Saer Ederick know that you are up here, playing in an abandoned old house?” She asks sternly.

The children’s martial postures wilt slightly.

“What are you doing so far from your home?” I try again. “This place…it is not safe. There is evil here. A haunting of some kind.”

The Tiefling blows air out through his lips in a rudely impatient noise.

“We know that.” He scoffs. “Our friend told us. He keeps us safe.”

“There is somebody else here?” My hands stray back to the hilts of my swords. “He has spoken to you about this place?”

The Human girl does not answer aloud but makes several rapid gestures with her thin hands. The Tiefling boy glances at her and then back to us.

“There are other ways of talking than speaking aloud. He got his message across.” He says disdainfully.

I nod in chastened acknowledgement and Eliana laughs quietly.

“You are right.” She says. “Let us start again. I am Eliana Cooper. This is Elodie Skyshard and Vaikner Bootsman. He really does have an owl. Who are you?”

“I am Bekhir.” The Genasi announces boldly.

Bekhir…I do not wish to scare her so I bite back my eager questions.

“Squiddly.” The Tiefling says.

“I am Jenks.” The small Human boy lisps out. “We are here because there is a school nearby where I take my elocution lessons. I don’t like them. So usually we just come and play instead.”

“She’s Nat.” Squiddly points to the Human girl. “She doesn’t talk. Out loud.”

I smile cautiously at the fledglings. 

“We are here evaluating this property because we may become its new owners.” Vaikner explains kindly. “We will want to fix many things. As you can see, it is not a safe play space for you.”

“No, it’s alright, really.” Jenks insists, spitting through thick ‘s’ sounds. “There is a ghost here, yeah, but he’s our friend.”

“Your friend is a ghost?” I ask.

“Yeah.” Squiddly confirms. “He’s ok with us playing here. He knows we won’t go upstairs, see? There’s no way up from in here. Only the stairs outside and we don’t go there. And, this one time, when we wanted to explore the basement, he wouldn’t let us. He keeps us safe.”

“How did he stop you?” Eliana asks curiously.

“He put letters, a big N and O in the way. And wouldn’t open the door.” Jenks pipes up. 

“Alright.” Eliana shakes her head. “I’ve heard enough. You lot need to go and find yourselves a different place to play.  If I see you back here again, Saer Ederick is going to find out about those missed elocution lessons.”

Glaring and grumbling mutinously, the fledglings file past us and out of the manor. After craning and squinting to see that they have truly left the property, Vaikner shuts the front door and turns the key in the lock. 

“I felt nothing but decay and rage and menace here.” I say slowly. “Undead corruption. I would not expect darkness like that to be protecting these children.”

“Perhaps there is another presence here.” Vaikner suggests. “You said you could detect a Fiendish echo?”

“Yes, but it was very faint and distant. I am not sure if it was even coming from this house.” I shrug.

“I expect we will know more soon.” Eliana states grimly. “That is, if you both still want a better look at this place.”

“Certainly!” Vaikner’s voice is anxious. “Especially now that we know that these orphans play here. They could come to harm!”

“I agree.” I say. “They believe that they are safe here but, while I admire their determined courage, I am sure that they are wrong. Also, they seem like exceptionally reckless and stubborn fledglings. I feel that they are likely to try to return to this house. We must make sure that there is nothing here that will hurt them.”

Eliana signals her agreement by moving forward to explore the first floor. We walk with her, picking our way over refuse. The planks beneath the detritus are worn but smooth and solid. They creak musically as we move further into the manor.

Beyond the entry hall, and past the large chamber where we encountered the orphans, there is a smaller room. Based on its location, on the northern side of the house, this must be the first level of the tower that I observed outside. But, as the children informed us, there is no staircase or any other obvious way to move between this ground level and the upper stories. At least, not inside the manor. I suppose that we will need to use the precarious-looking stairs outside if we wish to investigate the higher levels of this house. 

There is also a kitchen, its entrance off the south-east corner of the large ground floor room. A massive open fireplace, the smell of smoke baked in to its black-stained walls, takes up one side of the space. There is also a masonry oven but the tiles are too grimy for me to discern their color and pattern. I see tilting, rotten, storage shelves and a water pump. And a small door. There is no visible lock on it but it sticks stubbornly. It requires a powerful shove to force it open; a fetid-smelling darkness awaits within. 

Here are stairs. But they lead only down. This must be the entrance to the basement: the lower level that the fledglings said was forbidden to them by their mysterious protector.

“Perhaps this spirit is trying to keep us from coming down here also.” I suggest, smiling. “Maybe that is why this door was so difficult to open.”

“Maybe.” Eliana shrugs doubtfully. “The ghost’s going to have to do better than an old door, swollen with damp. Elodie, you and I should go ahead. Vaikner, watch our backs.”

We start down the narrow staircase. The basement level of the manor is constructed deep underground. After the first turn of the staircase, the dreary gloom of the house darkens to lightless blackness. There is a creaking and splintering as we step onto the next stair. Eliana pauses.

“It was difficult enough to make anything out on the ground level. Now I can’t see at all. Do you have light?” She asks.

“Light?” I reply.

Of course! Eliana is a Human with a Human’s need for illumination in shaded spaces. My Mama’s Elven blood means that I have no trouble distinguishing the details of my surroundings, even in deep gloom. And Vaikner, as a Drow accustomed to life in the Underdark…I imagine that he can see through the blackness of an obsidian wall.

“I am sorry.” I say sadly. “I have no light.”

“You need illumination?” Vaikner’s voice drifts down to us. “Wait one moment! I will send some down.”

We stand patiently in the tight stairwell. Eliana suddenly sniffs suspiciously. I inhale sharply, concerned that I may have missed some danger in the air.

“What is it?” I whisper in agitation.

“Hmm? Oh. Nothing. You smell good.” She answers casually.

“Thank you!” I exclaim, beaming. “And you smell like cheese!”

“What? Oh. Right.” She mutters.

She does not seem happy. This is not as I intended.

“I thought you liked cheese.” I say uncertainly.

“I do. I like to eat it. But, you know, not necessarily to whiff of it.” She grumbles.

“Hmm. Well, I like cheese too.” I confide. “Especially creamy and tangy and salty cheese. With a little hint of goat’s milk. That is how you smell.”

“Sister.” Eliana says succinctly and incomprehensibly.

“I beg your pardon?” I ask politely.

“Sister. The Firbolg that I am staying with at the Shrines of Nature. She takes care of a herd of goats and makes cheese from their milk. She shared some with me. It was quite tasty.” Eliana explains.

“Ah. That does sound good.” I nod, pleased. “I wonder if Vaikner also enjoys such delicacies. If so, that will be another common trait that we all share. Our bonds are certainly growing!”

“Will the two of you please keep your voices quiet?” Vaikner calls down in irritation. “I am concentrating!”

I shoot him a stormy look but say no more. I had been meaning to inform Eliana that, when not redolent of Sister’s dairy-craft, she smells like elderflowers and oak moss in a sun-washed  forest clearing. I will have to tell her later. 

After another moment of quiet focus, Vaikner stirs. I hear his light footfall on the steps above us. 

“Here are two lights. I have divided my illumination spell into three orbs. I will leave one up here and send these two down to you.” He announces.

Floating down through the dark are two pale green orbs. Their glow casts a milky light about us and we continue down the creaking stairs in safety. When we reach the cellar, the orbs hover above us to illuminate the small chamber. The walls are lined with sturdy wooden shelves. A few of these contain empty jars of thick cloudy glass. Otherwise, the room is empty. This appears to be only one part of the manor’s basement, however. There is a door in the wall opposite the staircase. It is closed.

“This is a big house. It would make sense that there are more storage rooms beneath the ground than just this antechamber.” Eliana muses. “A wine cellar, perhaps a cold room for perishable foods…”

“Let us go on.” I nod. 

As we approach the door, the shelf closest to it rattles and there is the painful scraping sound of wood on stone. Two or three jars topple down and smash into heavy splinters at our feet. The shelf cracks and leans, partially blocking the doorway ahead.

“I think that the ghost is making more of an effort now.” Vaikner says thoughtfully.

“He does not mean for us to move forward. That makes me wish to know what lies ahead.” I agree.

Working carefully, we clear away the debris of glass and shattered wood. The spirit makes no further attempt to stall our passage and the door opens easily. We pass through into a second, larger, cellar. One corner of the room looks damaged: a pile of broken bricks partially blocks a grimly gaping hole in the manor’s foundation. Cold, rank air wafts from this direction and I frown as I recognize the familiar reek of the Deep’s sewers. The remainder of the room is furnished with very large wooden barrels. They lie on their sides on low racks, their curved girth larger than my out-stretched arms. On the far side of the space is a stack of planking from a shattered table, as well as a big, metal-studded, wooden chest.

“Do not touch that.” Vaikner cautions, pointing to the trunk. “It may be more than it appears to be: a monster or curse-warded!”

Eliana inclines her head and walks curiously over to the barrels.

“These are of good craftsmanship.” She nods approvingly, running her hand over the wood.

“You have knowledge of such things?” Vaikner asks.

“My last name is Cooper.” She chuckles in reply. “Barrel-making is the family business. I chose not to follow that path but I still grew up around our cooperage. That large open room on the ground floor, all those broken chairs and cups, that kitchen, now these barrels…I wonder if this place was a tavern.”

She knocks on the barrel’s wall. There is a hollow rapping sound.

“This one, at least, is empty.” She says. 

She repeats the gesture on the next barrel in line.

“And this.” She adds.

Eliana reaches for the third barrel in the row and places her hand against the cleverly jointed wood. There is no hollow echoing this time. There is no sound at all, except for a strangely moist slap as Eliana’s palm meets the side of the barrel. And stays there.

“What? Um…I can’t move my hand.” She says with quick nervousness. “Um…help?”

Vaikner and I watch, stunned, as the dark wood, so old and stained that it is almost black, lightens, for just an instant, into the mauve of an aging bruise. The skin of the barrel ripples – why does it have skin?! I gasp as the cylindrical shape wavers and changes. The many small metal rivets wink at me; transformed into myriad orange eyes. The iron bands holding the curving wooden staves in their barrel shape whip loose. Flailing and reaching: they are now aggressively lashing around like sharp-edged tentacles. The base of the barrel cracks and widens into a champing mouth. 

I do not know what this creature is. But it has an enormous, slimy purple tongue. The tongue darts out warningly in our direction and then the entire once-barrel, now-disintegrating, chaotically-perilous assortment of metal and wood skitters up the cellar wall. Eliana, her hand still painfully trapped against the creature, gives a hiss of pain. As the monstrosity reaches the ceiling, she dangles, frantically straining to free herself.

I whip Quen and Vess out of my belt and spring forward. Anxiously aware that, the last time I attempted bladework on shape-shifting foes, they remained frustratingly unharmed. I aim for the flailing tongue. Quen slashes through the appendage with a satisfying spurt of purplish gore. There is a squeal-roar of pain and half of the tongue drops, writhing, to the floor. So! This monster is solid enough to suffer from sword strikes! 

Without further hesitation, I whirl in a double-bladed attack, slicing and stabbing at the creature holding Eliana captive. I call upon my Lady’s fury to imbue my strikes with cold blue shivers of lightning. The deceptive barrel-creature, wounded, releases its grip on Eliana. She plops to the cellar floor, still glaring up at her attacker. It no longer resembles its original shape at all; distorted and amorphous it slithers across the ceiling on purple tentacles. I do not allow this confusing turn of evens to distract me. I follow the monster, slashing grimly upwards. The lavender blob reaches the archway above the door. Then, finally, carved neatly into oozing segments, it loses its purchase on the domed stone ceiling. It falls heavily to the cellar floor and, spasming once more, lies stickily still.

“That was a very unpleasant being.” I say.

“Thanks, Elodie.” Eliana says.

“A mimic!” Vaikner cries, kneeling down quickly.

He pokes at the mauve slime briefly, before scooping some up. 

“I will keep this sample for later research.” He protests, seeing our repulsed faces.

“What an intriguing ability: to mimic banal objects while it waits to attack the unwary!” I shake my head.

“Yes. They often take the form of an inviting or tempting item. That is why I suggested that none of us touch the chest.” Vaikner springs to his feet.

We all turn and regard the wooden box across the room.

“Do you think it likely that there would be two of these things together in one chamber?” I ask darkly.

Vaikner makes a helpless gesture, indicating his uncertainty. Eliana picks up a plank from the floor and prods the chest cautiously. She repeats this act with all of the other objects in the room. Barrels, bits of broken table, tumbled bricks; none squirm to malevolent life. 

Thus reassured, we return to the chest. The hinges squeak and the lid falls open. The contents of the trunk are covered with tan oil-cloth. Atop this is a rolled up parchment. Vaikner picks up the paper and peruses it eagerly. Eliana and I lift away the fabric wrappings. The shape and weight of the items within are recognizable even before we move aside their covering. Swords. The entire chest is full of short swords. Plainly but solidly made. A perfectly serviceable cache of deadly blades. With no maker’s mark anywhere upon them.

“Zhentarim again.” Vaikner states, pointing out the black winged serpent impressed, writhing, into a wax seal on the parchment . “And once again encoded. I cannot read all of this message but I believe that this chest was part of a shipment of weapons. The mimic that you just dispatched, Elodie, was intended as a deterrent to any that ventured in here.”

“A guard-mimic.” I breathe out, peeking over Vaikner’s shoulder to read the letter for myself.

                                                                                28th Ches, Year of the Three Ships Sailing

Faiyswyxv, 

This is the last of this month’s crates for the Lords of the Maw. Looks like you drew the short straw this time. Get it to those creepy bastards by way of our normal contact in Stillwater, that shifty little bugger Vhrulgehun.

I’ll be blunt: Vtrbzcyj isn’t happy with you after that cache on Rednose Alley was found by the Watch. He says he’s giving you one last chance before turning you over to Ciikq for target practice. Plus, this gets you out of the city long enough from things to die down.

Keep your head low, get the job done, and for Tempus’ sake steer clear of whv xlk Xdqsyyvb’s zealots. Also, don’t let the clients eat you.

Baxbh Gerqewszh.

PS.: Remember to feed the mimic this time.

“Lords of the Maw…” Eliana whispers, frowning deeply.

“They are the creepy bastards referred to in the letter.” I say helpfully. “It appears that they are clients of the Zhentarim. I wonder what is happening in Stillwater that necessitates these regular shipments of arms. I have not heard of this place.” 

“I am curious about this too.” Vaikner nods. “And about this Faiyswyxv, whoever that may have been. This chest is covered with dust. And the letter is ten days old. Clearly the shipment never reached its intended destination. I wonder if the recipient of this letter forgot to feed the mimic.”

I wince.

“The letter also warns against these clients. We have no way of knowing who actually ate Faiyswyxv.” I point out.

“I am not going to try to pronounce that.” Eliana announces. “But, damn his lace cuffs, Volo has handed us another mess to unravel. I have to think about this. These Lords of the Maw…Stillwater is in a swamp, yes?”

Vaikner and I look at each other, then back at Eliana. She grimaces at our blank faces.

I shift uneasily, smelling the fetid breath of the sewers once again. 

“There is a break in the cellar wall there, behind those bricks.” I point. “That is the most likely access point for the gang members using this place as an arms drop-off.”

Vaikner carefully tucks the parchment into a pocket and we approach the rubble of stones and brick together. Pushing aside several larger pieces of rock allows us to squeeze into the opening in the wall. The space beyond is dark and foul-smelling, but the floor is even and the tunnel is wide enough for us to walk abreast. We follow it reluctantly for three or four yards before it widens out into a small room. There is a round table and several chairs in the center of this chamber. All are damp-damaged and lean unsteadily against each other. We pass through the room and approach a door on its far wall. There is a bolt across it but it is unlocked. This door opens onto another tunnel. We tread quietly for a dozen yards before the passage branches. My companions retch quietly as the smell grows distressingly recognizable, even to them. I hear slow-flowing liquid nearby. 

“Well, I think this should be as far as we go for now.” Eliana says. “We came here to examine the house and its immediate environs. And we should focus on that, especially if we want to find a way to keep those pesky kids safe. We can come back here later, with more lights and supplies. If we really need to explore the sewers again.”

“Yes.” I agree pleasantly. “The bricks at the entrance to this tunnel were strewn with cobwebs. And the slimes and mold along this floor were undisturbed before our passage. Even if this was once a secret lair of foul arms-dealers and smugglers, it does not appear that anyone has used it for some time. This puzzle can wait while we make the house safe.”

“Certainly! We need to ensure that the children will not be hurt when they return to the manor.” Vaikner hurries back to the cellar.

We follow the Drow, pausing only to throw the bolt that locks the door leading from the small guard room to the sewer. Stooping to pass back through the ragged opening in the basement wall, I breathe the musty air with distaste. It is only fractionally better than the rankness behind us. Still, we remain here long enough to pile bricks and stones in front of the hole in the cellar’s wall.

“That will have to do for now.” Eliana sighs. “It’s a bit of a barrier, in any case. Later, if we are fixing this place up, we’ll put a sturdy door here. With several locks.”

Vaikner is back to prodding the dead mimic.

“Do you think that this was the danger in the manor?” He asks hopefully.

“I sensed the corruption of Undead. This monster is – was – a living creature.” I shake my head.

“Perhaps it was the spirit that you were sensing. And it may be that it truly is benign. Attempting to protect the children and other visitors to the manor by not allowing them access to the lower level. Where the mimic would attack them.” Vaikner suggests.

I look around doubtfully. I still feel a concentrated menace in the clammy dark. 

“This place seems blighted, somehow.” Eliana speaks up. “I fear that there is more to it than a mimic guarding smuggled swords. And a friendly ghost.”

The door to the outer cellar slams suddenly. We startle, whirling through sickly shadows cast by bobbing glow-lights. A dark stain appears on the door. It drips and clots. As I watch, air chilled with dread, the black liquid forms into letters:

LAST 

 CALL

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I hope that you enjoyed this chronicle of our party’s first venture into the cut-throat world of real estate in Waterdeep! Please head over to the images section (coming soon) to check out some of the art that I found inspiring for Kintaren, Sulmest, Trollskull Manor, and, of course, those pesky fledglings!

I have several songs that play along in my mind for this chapter:

For Elodie’s first experience of the City of the Dead:

Merry-Go-Round of Life, Joe Hisaishi

John Walks Home, Rachel Portman

For the party’s first look at Trollskull Manor:

Ghost Children and Dreaming, Bruno Coulais, Laurent Petitgirard, The Children’s Choir of Nice, Hungarian Symphony Orchestra, Budapest.

Dreams are Dangerous, Bruno Coulais, Hélène Breschand

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