23 Mirtul, 1492 D.R., Year of Three Ships Sailing. Early evening.
“Um. Yeah. Like I was saying.” Eliana takes a step back from the glaring message on the door.
“Last Call? That sounds terribly menacing.” I whisper. “What do you think it means?”
“Perhaps it is the last call for help? Before something even worse happens to this spirit.” Vaikner whispers back.
“It means that I like my tavern theory more than ever.” Eliana says. “Last Call is what the barkeep yells when the place is getting ready to close for the night. It’s the last chance to get drinks before you’re kicked out.”
“Hm, I agree that this supports your idea that Trollskull Manor was used as a tavern once. And that perhaps this spirit inhabited the place during that time.” I nod. “But as a message to us – intruders on its haunted ground – it lacks a certain clarity. That is all that I am saying.”
“Indeed.” Vaikner picks up the thread of my argument. “Now that you have explained the colloquial use of the phrase, I assume that the spirit is telling us that it is time for us to depart. But I did not understand it at first. It could have been a little more direct.”
Eliana rolls her eyes. There is a stirring of dust and an ominous rattling of splintered planks nearby.
“Let’s just get out of here.” She groans.
Without further debate, we follow Eliana up the cellar stairs and out into the main floor of the house.
“We should try to access the upstairs rooms, yes?” Vaikner suggests.
Eliana and I agree: we have ample time to continue our exploration. While the aging staircase at the side of the house looked frail and unsteady, we are all curious enough about what we may find on the upper floors that we choose to test it. Locking the front door behind us, we wade through nettles and burdock plants, stamping down a path to the base of the stairway. The weatherbeaten planks complain and buckle under even Vaikner’s slight weight, but they hold as he carefully climbs the steps.
“Who goes next?” Eliana looks me up and down, then glances at her own form.
“You are taller but I am rounder. It makes no difference.” I shrug.
Taking a deep breath and holding it anxiously, Eliana starts her ascent. She places her feet away from the sagging centers of the planks, patiently testing and then selecting the sturdier edges of the steps where they meet the railing. The stairway holds. As she gains height, I see her tension gradually subside. Once she has joined Vaikner on the balcony at the top of the staircase, I climb also. The way sways and shifts a little under my feet but I do not fear high places. I skip lightly up and meet my companions on the wooden deck. We stand together in front of a tall door.
Vaikner’s key is not needed here: the door creaks open with a gentle push of his hand. Inside is a long narrow room that mirrors the shape of the balcony behind us. This opens onto a central landing. There are stairs leading up to the higher levels of the house here, and doorways into several rooms beckon on either side of the landing. The wooden floor of the balcony room was warped and stained; damaged by many seasons of Waterdhavian weather encroaching through cracked windows. Once further into the house, the planks under our feet feel solid. There are water stains on some of the walls though. Here, rotten plaster curls and peels away in places, like skin sloughing of a butchered, charred limb. But, unlike in the rooms below, there is no refuse scattered about. There is only dust, dulling the sound of our footfalls and tickling my nose. It smells of mouse droppings.
The dust swirls suddenly in the still air. It rises in circling drifts before settling again. Portions of the floor have been cleared and the dust-free areas form another message:
CLOSING TIME
I cough.
“Is that another reference to the instructions provided by tavern keepers?” Vaikner asks.
“Yup.” Eliana confirms, looking about her cautiously.
“It does not look as though anyone has been in here for a long time. I am glad that the fledglings told us the truth about that. I am glad that they do not come up.” I say.
We move from room to room, finding them all similarly small, dreary, and empty. They were probably sleeping chambers for the inhabitants of this house. Perhaps for guests of the inn, if Trollskull Manor was indeed used for such an enterprise. Approaching the steps that will take us to the manor’s third story, we see a small storage cupboard underneath the staircase. Eliana opens this and jumps back, hissing a curse. I peek over her shoulder and my hair curls tightly in shocked dismay.
“What is this? You poor little one!” Vaikner gasps.
Huddled in the cramped darkness, face tear-streaked, is a young boy. He cannot have seen more than eight summers in these Realms. Backed as far away from the door as he can get, panting in fear, his hopeless eyes dart past us and grow even wider. Panicked horror glazes his stare.
My air, whipping around me in agitation, clouds my vision with dust. Or perhaps it is rage that dims my sight. My breathing grows as ragged as the terrified fledgling’s and my hands clench into fists. Even as I turn to find the monstrous being that would imprison a child in this manner, I hear further surprised exclamations from my companions. Pivoting back, I see that the boy is gone! Ducking into the little space and feeling frantically about, I find only cobwebs. I gust them out of my hair impatiently.
“What was that? Where did he go?” I cry.
“I do not think that he was really here at all.” Vaikner answers slowly. “It was a vision. Maybe this is our ghost?”
“Seemed a bit young for a tavern keeper.” Eliana mutters. “Not even old enough to take a drink himself.”
I turn swiftly towards her, about to snarl out a reproof of her callous levity. Then I see that her lips are held tightly together to keep from trembling. Her face is pale and I see the depth of her shock in her bruised-looking eyes. Her jaw clenches as she inclines her head to the inside of the little cupboard’s door. I subside, leaning in to see what she is pointing to.
Scratches. There are many, many scratches on the inside of the door. Pathetically shallow; the desperate gouges are splintered and stained. I swallow, hard.
“Those, at least, are real.” Vaikner whispers brokenly, running his hand over the scars of cruelty left in the wood.
Crouching to leave the horrid little place, I slam its door behind me. I straighten up.
“Let us go.” I snap.
We go up the stairs in silence. My mind foments with terrible images. I pray to my Lady to help me calm my wrath and to allow me the focus that I need.
The third floor is similar to the second in its stillness, peeling plaster, and dust. There is another small storage room near the stairs here. Unease roiling inside me, I set my jaw and carefully open the door. Eliana and Vaikner look on curiously.
“This is…unexpected.” I mutter. “Even in such a big house, would it not be more logical that food be stored in one place. Near, or in, the kitchen?”
I glance at Eliana, thinking of her conscientious and determined efforts to ensure a reliable source of snacks.
“Is it the Human habit to secrete nourishing meals throughout their homes?” I ask.
“Not like this, no.” She shakes her head.
We continue to stare at the cupboard’s contents. They are less distressing than the vision from downstairs. And yet, my air is choking me with a sense of dread that I do not understand.
There is a cruelly sharp metal hook affixed to one wall of the little closet. Impaled upon it is a joint of raw meat. It is a shapeless slab of flesh, not readily identifiable as a particular portion of a particular beast. Bloody fluid rolls in lazy rivulets down the hanging meat, dripping towards the closet floor. The gore dissipates before it reaches the ground; where I expect a clotted red puddle there is only a faint patch of blackened wood. When I look back up from the shadowy stain, the flesh is gone. Only the hook, rusted and bent, remains.
“I do not like this.” Vaikner pithily sums up all of our feelings.
I close this door gently, stepping back just as another little storm of dust surges past me and swirls about the nearest wall. It settles, leaving a new pattern of rips in the fading wall paper.
GET OUT
“The ghost is communicating quite clearly now.” I mutter.
“Mmhm. I say we do as he advises.” Eliana suggests. “I would like to know more before we come back again. About whatever may have gone on here. And about what is going on now. I don’t like these visions.”
“Yes. It will be good to research the history of this manor.” Vaikner agrees. “Returning armed with knowledge: I like this plan. We will then surely be more effective in helping prevent harm from coming to the orphans. Let us look for a place where we can obtain such information for study.”
“I was thinking of starting with the neighbors.” Eliana shrugs. “Let’s talk to those who have lived in this area for a while. See what they can tell us about the manor.”
I offer quiet agreement, impressed, as ever, by Eliana’s skill at investigating puzzling clues and by Vaikner’s dedication to helping the helpless. We pass down the outdoor staircase in safety and pause in the alleyway, looking about. I feel some of the chill tightness in my stomach lessen as I raise my face to the western sky. The late afternoon sun, swathed with fluffy rose-pink clouds, is mellow and sleepy. To the south, towards Delzorin Street, I see smoke rising from a nearby chimney. It smells like wood and heated metal. The comforting image of an industrious workshop forms in my mind. Full of life and bustle. With no dust. And no ghosts.
“I will go that way.” I announce. “There seems to be some activity in that building.”
“I would like to talk to the owner of that apothecary shop there: the Corellon’s Crown.” Vaikner says. “I may need to purchase herbs soon and I would like to see what they stock.”
“Alright.” Eliana nods. “I will go with Vaikner. Will you be alright, Elodie?”
“Of course.” I smile in sweet dismissiveness at her concern.
In truth, I am pleased to have several solitary minutes under my Lady’s sky. I let my hair flow out as I breathe air free of mildew and fear. I think about the unsettling sights of Trollskull Manor, trying to make sense of our experience there. By the time I reach the eastern end of the alleyway, and the source of the smoke, the raw edge of my distress has smoothed over into controlled concern. And troubled curiosity.
I stand before a long, low building. It is separated from the alley by a tall fence. There is a small, walled-off courtyard to one side of the house. But the open gate in front of me leads down a short path to a wide, sturdy door. I step forward and knock briskly.
Silence greets me. I knock again, slightly louder.
“What do you want?” The door suddenly flies inward under my tapping knuckles.
I am already tensing in surprise – in response to the voice. It is rich and low, but harsh. Like heated coals shifting in a fiery stove. And the deeply melodic accent! Calimshite, just like my Papa.
The figure standing in the doorway frowns deeply, returning my stare. She is shorter than I am but her stance – supremely confident and haughty – makes me feel like she is looming over me. She is broad, with heavily muscled arms. Her skin is the reddish-brown of clay bricks cured in eager sunlight. Her long hair is gathered into braids behind her glowering face. It is one shade darker than the ocher color of her skin but, flickering through her plaits, like living molten rock under a thin, cracking crust of cooling stone, I see shimmers of orange, red, and yellow. She wears a heavy leather apron over her work clothes. I smell the leather. And I smell her: the searing cleanliness of heated metal and oddly perfumed smoke. She glows.
“Hello.” I breathe, my air gusting forward in helpless excitement.
My hair floats with it, questing tendrils reaching unwittingly towards her.
Her eyes narrow and a dazzling yellow light flares in their depths. The air over her head shimmers with heat and the fiery glow from her gaze spreads in a web of red-lit lines over her face and down her neck.
“Do we have a customer, Love?” A merry, burbling voice sounds out from deeper in the building.
The woman’s flame-blaze subsides but she is still scowling.
“Shop entry is in the front. This is not a customer door.” She grates out.
“Well, we don’t need to worry about that…” A second figure stops suddenly in the doorway.
I stare at him also. It is so rare that I get to meet other Element-touched! And here are two of them! With difficulty, I restrain my whirling hair and try to remember my manners.
“Hello.” I say again, my smile blindingly bright.
The man smiling back is of medium height and his movements are both lively and graceful. His skin is a beautiful shade of light aquamarine. He has dark green hair that, even pulled back into a practical tail over his shoulders, ripples and flows hypnotically. Small white glints, like the foam on cresting sea-waves, shine out as his tresses shift. His face is lit with delight and his clear green eyes, when he turns them to his companion, are filled with excitement. He smells like that first intoxicating wash of fresh sea air when a ship strikes out of the harbor and heads into deep, clean water.
I let out a giddy little laugh. Thrilled and shy and eager – all at once.
“Hello, fellow Blessed One!” The Water Genasi turns back to me. “Welcome! I am Avi. And this is my wife, Embra.”
He gestures to the Fire Genasi next to him. She inclines her chin so slightly in my direction that I nearly miss the grudging nod.
“I am Elodie, Elodie Skyshard.” I bow deeply to them both.
“Please come in. What can we do for you at Steam and Steel?” Avi laughs.
I follow the couple through a short hallway and into a spacious, well-lit workshop. Looking all about me furtively, I am relieved to see no mysterious closets or creaking ancient barrels. It is hot here: a small forge breathes sparks in one corner. Otherwise, there are merely the tables, tools, and work-benches of a well-organized smithy. Or armory.
“Steam and Steel?” I ask.
“Yes. This is our home and our shop. We run an armory.” Avi confirms. “Embra’s specialty is weapons-craft. And I work on armor. Are you not here looking for equipment? I see that you already have blades.”
His voice and glance are as welcoming and curious as Embra’s are suspicious.
“Actually, my companions and I are considering taking ownership of Trollskull Manor. That big house on the corner.” I say. “I was curious to meet some of our new neighbors.”
Avi and Embra exchange glances. She meets his startled look expressionlessly and then returns to staring at me darkly.
“Of course! We know the house. And how lovely to have new neighbors…” Avi begins.
“Mama!” A familiar piercing voice interrupts him. “Bekhora does not want to play quietly. She keeps disturbing me when I am trying to do my schoolwork!”
The little blue-skinned, white-haired fledgling that I met at the manor earlier bounces into the room. Her voice conveys deeply injured dignity but her face is truculent as she stares at the tiny copy of herself that she carries in her arms. Little wisps of steam curl up from her hair.
“And these are our daughters, Bekhir and Bekhora.” Avi grins.
“I..of course!” I gasp. “Your Mama is Fire and your Papa is Water. You are Steam Genasi!”
Bekhir stops as suddenly as if she were traversing a glacier and a crevasse had opened in the ice before her. Her eyes grow wide and panicked. Regarding her curiously, I see that Embra’s sharp gaze has now shifted from me to her daughter.
“I have never seen…that is, I am delighted to meet you for the first time!” I say quickly. “To meet all of you. I am Air.”
“Yes. I know.” Bekhir’s face is transformed by her mischievous smile. “It is nice to meet you, Elodie.”
Embra’s eyes twinkle with fiery light. It is not a happy twinkle.
“You speak to an adult like that?” Avi scolds gently. “This is…Saer Skyshard? Yes?”
I nod uncertainly.
“Saer Skyshard, I mean.” Bekhir flashes me a grin of deep conspiratorial glee.
I wince, hearing a threatening rumble coming from somewhere deep in Embra’s chest.
“And you are Air Genasi. Have you been in the Deep for long?” Avi questions.
“I arrived yesterday.” I reply. “You both also sound as if you started your journeys somewhere other than Waterdeep.”
I turn to Embra’s brooding face.
“My Papa is Djinn. He knows the desert.” I say to her in Calimshite.
She just stares.
“But I have never been that far south.” I speak in Thorassian once again. “I was raised far from here. North and east of the Sword Coast. With my Mama’s People.”
Embra only nods but I see a little of her tension leave her as I speak.
“And you, Avi?” I ask eagerly. “Your speech does not sound like any that I have heard before. Where is your birth place?”
“The Moonshae Isles.” He replies. “But the Deep has been home for Embra and I for a good while. And, I hope, you too will find it comfortable.”
“I like it very much. At least, so far. It has been most interesting.” I sigh happily.
While Embra watches over us quietly, Avi and Bekhir ask more questions about my travels here and about my purpose in coming to Waterdeep. It is difficult not to speak with full frankness to such kind and welcoming companions. But, remembering the wise advice of my roommate and dear friend, Aubray, I force aside my affectionate enthusiasm. I skate around the edges of their inquiries to focus on Trollskull Manor. I describe Eliana and Vaikner, and tell the tale of how we seem to have acquired a haunted house to repair and maintain.
“Haunted?” Avi laughs. “Who told you such a story?”
Embra simply shakes her head.
“Well, it does have a rather grim aspect.” I say carefully. “We were hoping to find out a little more about its history. Perhaps Behkir knows something of that?”
“Why would Bekhir know about this old house?” Embra growls out.
“Oh. Well, you know young ones.” I reply airily. “They have such curiosity. And they observe so much. They find out many things about the world around them that way. And by exploring…”
My hair tousles as I allow myself a moment of relieved pride. I have been most careful. Embra is an intimidatingly keen observer but I feel fairly sure that I have managed to avoid getting Bekhir into trouble.
“Bekhir knows better than to trespass in some abandoned building. It is not safe.” Embra states with threatening finality.
“That is true. It is not.” I deflate, unable to disagree with Embra in this matter. “Bekhir, you should listen to your Mama.”
Embra nods approvingly. Bekhir scowls.
“Actually, I do know something about it!” She announces triumphantly. “And it is haunted!’
“What are you talking about, Bekhir?” Avi frowns at the steam puffing energetically from his daughter’s hair.
“A hag lived there!” Bekhir says with relish. “An evil hag. And there was an orphanage there once. The hag ran it.”
I think of a child’s pleading eyes and of marks scored inside a door.
“You should listen to your Mama, Bekhir.” I say again quietly. “But…I thank you for what you told me.”
Avi now takes a dozing Bekhora from Bekhir’s arms and firmly directs his older daughter back to her schoolwork. He turns the conversation to the manor’s state of disrepair and recommends that we visit the Bent Nail, just across the alleyway.
“They do good carpentry work. And are trustworthy.” Avi assures me.
Thanking him, I gather my resolve and turn to Embra, politely asking if I may see some of her work.
“I am looking to buy several small blades. Daggers, throwing daggers.” I explain.
Embra is clearly a Genasi who prefers silence over superfluous speech. She beckons me to a cupboard and, opening shallow, felt-lined drawers, displays a selection of knives. I examine them, impressed. Embra’s work is meticulous. The blades are beautifully balanced and honed to a wicked edge. They are precisely the weight that I am looking for. I select several, along with their matching sheaths, and then pick out a many-looped belt that I can load up with daggers and hang over my hips or chest. Embra calculates the price of my purchases and I reach for my coin purse.
“Perhaps a discount? For a new neighbor?” Avi nudges his wife.
Embra lets out a little hiss, glaring at him in irritation. But he only smiles at her, his eyes limpid pools of sweetness. His devotion to her shines out: elated and unwavering. I turn away. Feeling joy in witnessed love mingle with a chill of loneliness; this is a comfortably familiar wistfulness that I am accustomed to experiencing. I am caught in a wave of longing for the Aerie. I miss my parents very much. And I am suddenly fiercely envious of Bekhir and her cosy home.
Embra, her jaw set a little less firmly, shrugs and takes five coins off the price of the knives.
“Thank you both very much!” I exclaim, forcing a grateful smile. “I am so happy that I came here and got to meet your lovely family. I hope to see you all again soon.”
Embra, fiery and unthawed as ever, and Avi, chatting pleasantly and chuckling infectiously at his own jests, walk me out of their home. I wave to them as I skip away to rejoin Eliana and Vaikner. They are waiting in the lengthening shadows cast by Trollskull Manor. The sun is recklessly squandering the last of its light, washing Mount Waterdeep with gold. The clouds to the west glow with unabashedly showy purple and vivid rose. I sigh with pleasure.
“The smoke that I saw: it was coming from an armory called Steam and Steel! I met the family that run it and they are wonderful! They are Genasi. Fire and Water! The parents of Bekhir, the little one we met at Trollskull Manor. She is a Steam Genasi: can you believe that?” I start rapturously describing my visit with the Element-touched family as soon as I am close to hailing distance of my companions.
Eliana and Vaikner listen with confused patience as I explain how special and unique Bekhir and Bekhora are.
“Oh. And, as for the history of the manor: it may have been an orphanage once. Run by a Hag.” I finish, losing my smile. “I fear that such a creature would have preyed on the children in its care. It may explain what we found upstairs.”
“A Hag?” Eliana’s nose wrinkles. “I have not had the displeasure of meeting one of those before.”
“That is very interesting.” Vaikner nods. “We also met a very pleasant person. The herbalist, Fala. They are a Wood Elf and a follower of Corellon. They run the apothecary shop, just across from us.”
He points to a well-kept building. The first floor windows are dim but I can make out attractively displayed herbs, plants in pots, and myriad jars and bottles within. The masonry of the lower part of the house turns to the usual timber and wattle on the second level; the typical design of the homes in this part of the Deep. The setting sun turns the upper windows dazzling orange, but I still see a flicker of motion as a watching figure moves away from the panes, backing out of my view. The third floor is constructed mostly of glass. Even as it gleams and flares, mirroring the gaudy western sky in its casements, I see a wilderness of plants in this rooftop conservatory.
“That is impressive.” I say.
“Fala seems well-informed and friendly.” Eliana takes up the tale. “They said that Trollskull Manor was indeed a tavern. To their knowledge, that was the last business to flourish in that house. This was about fifteen or twenty years ago. The tavern was run by a Half-Elf. After it closed, others attempted to make something out of the manor. But Fala says that no enterprise has lasted more than a year here.”
“Do you think the ghost…”I trail off, fascinated.
“I would guess he has something to do with the time that Trollskull Manor was a tavern.” Eliana nods. “But this other story – the Hag story – that certainly fits better with the little boy that we saw.”
“More research is required.” Vaikner says with satisfaction.
“Well, we can ask Renaer if he has any suggestions on where to find the information that we need. We should be on our way if we want to be in time for dinner.” Eliana’s steps suddenly quicken.
Vaikner and I hurry to keep up with our hungry companion. We walk west, watching the Deep transform from the frantic bustle of the day to the more languid pace of evening. Carriages move less swiftly, shop-keepers bid each other cheerful farewells as they head home for supper, and velvety shadows coalesce to kindly conceal any imperfections in brick and cobblestone. Vaikner stops squinting and stands straighter, sighing in relief. Glow lights float around us, moving up through the Deep from the south. But their silvery illumination is gentle. I watch, intrigued, as members of the Guild of Chandlers and Lamplighters walk about the streets, opening the shutters that cover lanterns enchanted with continual flame. As the lamps’ light is released, an orange-gold color in this Ward, it brings warm cheer to our walk.
Thanks to Eliana’s urging to be punctual, we arrive at Renaer’s home shortly before eight bells. As we approach the garden gate, the front door opens and the same Halfling that we saw last night bows to us in dignified welcome. Then, striding through the open door and past his grumbling retainer, Renaer waves us forward.
“Welcome!” He calls cheerfully. “I am very glad to see you all again.”
At his kind urging, we hurry to him. With relief, I note that I no longer smell fish when greeting our new friend. Renaer is surrounded by nothing but pleasant fragrances. He smells a little of the orange-blossom scent that I noticed at Floon’s home. And a little like Vaikner: of paper and leather and ink. And then also, very faintly, like my new blades: of polished, ready steel. We step inside and all other fragrances are lost in the delicious cloud wafting into my air. The savory aromas of cooking.
“My friends, welcome to my home. May I introduce Madrak Salibuck?” Renaer calls merrily. “My old friend and care-taker of this house.”
We give our names and respectful greetings to the Halfling at the door. He turns to each of us, squeezing our hands warmly and making us welcome with a sincerity that I attribute to his affection for Renaer. And to his gratitude to our company for helping return the “young Master Brandath” home safe.
“Gerta Salibuck, Madrak’s wife and the true ruler of this house, is in the kitchen at the moment.” Renaer continues. “She has been cooking all day.”
“Ooh.” Eliana grins. “She sounds wonderful! We would like to meet her but there is no hurry. I mean, don’t feel that you need to disturb her at her work.”
Renaer laughs heartily. It is difficult to reconcile this friendly man and his easy, charming manners, with the bitter, bruised figure, eyes frantic with worry, that we met only yesterday. A rush of immense gratitude to my Lady of Wind and Skies fills me. Her guidance and intervention bring the bright light of goodness into this world. My prayer is followed by a sense of peaceful contentment. I enjoy quietly listening to Renaer’s animated conversation with Vaikner. I struggle to contain laughter while watching Eliana’s face glow with delight when she meets Gerta. The Halfling immediately half-promises, half-threatens the slim archer with sufficient food to “put some meat on those skinny bones of yours!”.
I gaze about with admiration as we are led to a fine dining chamber. The light of many candles shimmers off clear goblets and silver-framed mirrors. Large frosty spheres of white hydrangea are softened with swaying fronds of purple wisteria. It smells very sweet.
The results of Gerta’s work keep us happily busy for a long time. She brings out a flat, round pie. Its top is an intricate pattern of caramelized vegetables, overlapping slices of potato and carrot richly glazed and sprinkled with herbs. She serves this with wedges of a creamy fresh cheese and tender salad greens. Then there is a baked fish, spicy and succulently flaking. It is presented with a mound of flinty grey lentils that pop with herbaceous flavors and glisten with the juices of small tomatoes that were roasted and placed, like rosily blistered grapes, over the grains. Small puffs of delectably chewy and cheese-rich bread accompany the fish. Finally, swaying slightly under the weight of a crystal bowl larger than an ice-bear’s head, Gerta brings out dessert. It is a layered construction containing all manner of good things: cake, cream, fruit, crushed meringue…The Halfling chef smiles and blushes when all stand to applaud her labor and to marvel at her craft.
“You have really outdone yourself this time, Gerta.” Renaer smiles.
“Very good! Everything is very, very good.” Vaikner confirms enthusiastically.
Eliana groans and hold onto her stomach.
“That was amazing. I really don’t think I can do another bite. Much as I want to.” She shakes her head regretfully.
My mouth is full of dessert but the sweetened cream melts away like a whipped cloud, and I soon join my voice to the chorus of approbation.
“Thank you, Gerta. This was all lovely.” I sigh blissfully.
While the wine flowed and the parade of delectable dishes were brought before us, we took turns telling Renaer about Volo’s offer of the deed to Trollskull Manor, about our experience there tonight, and our questions about the haunted house.
Renaer wipes his lips and lays down his napkin thoughtfully.
“I do not know anything about Trollskull Manor.” He says. “But the Hall of Records at Piergeron’s Palace, where you will be meeting with Volo tomorrow, holds all available details about a property and its past owners. And then the Font of Knowledge, the Temple of Oghma here in the Deep, is always a rich source of information about this city and its history. I am sure that you will find what you need there.
“I can offer you help of a more concrete nature. If, that is, you are indeed going to take ownership of this manor. A cousin of Madrak, Tomair Salibuck, works as my solicitor and is most experienced with the complexity of business dealings in the Deep. If you will allow it, I will ask him to meet with you when you go to the deed transfer tomorrow morning. He will be a valuable source of advice; he can help you manage your affairs. You say this house is in poor condition: he can also assist you as you find trustworthy guildfolk to perform repairs.”
“This would be most helpful. Thank you!” Vaikner cries.
“Having someone who understands business in the Deep, and who we can trust, at our meeting: yes, we would like that!” Eliana agrees.
“Thank you.” I smile.
“I am very much in your debt. All of you. I owe you my life. And, more significantly, Floon’s.” Renaer shakes his head. “I would do much more to help you. Is there is anything else that you need?”
I look to my companions. Eliana and Vaikner both seem pensive but neither speaks. I remember Volo’s musings on the treasures of Undermountain that may have been on display in the Palace of the Open Lord.
“Perhaps you can answer my curiosity on a certain matter.” I hesitate briefly, then continue. “I am here on the Sword Coast with an interest in history. Specifically, the history of my Mama’s People, the Tel’Quessir. I am most eager to examine and study any artifacts that may have been recovered from the great Elven city of Aelinthaldaar. And I have heard that some of these precious items may have been brought to Piergeron’s Palace.”
I take a breath. Renaer, whose eyes filled with sympathetic attentiveness when I mentioned an interest in history, regards me closely.
“Do you know of any such artifacts? And, if so, do you know the best method to apply to see them?” I ask.
“A fascinating subject.” Renaer smiles kindly. “Our knowledge of Aelinthaldaar is sadly lost to time and, quite literally, to the dark depths below. But I do recall many wonders on display at the Palace; treasures from many cultures and many eras. When my father ruled the Deep, when I was a boy, I roamed those halls freely. Poking my nose in every part of the Palace: whether it was welcome there or not!
“I recall a particularly beautiful jeweled diadem that had been recovered from the ruins of Aelinthaldaar. It was kept in the private chambers of the Open Lord. I do not know what happened to it after…after my father left the Deep. And, unfortunately, I do not see an easy way for you to get inside such a protected space.” He concludes regretfully.
“Thank you, Renaer. That is interesting. If, as I continue with my research, this diadem proves worthy of further investigation, then I will find a way to get to it.” I state calmly.
He bows politely and then, smiling at our company, suggests that we join him in recovering from our gargantuan meal with the aid of more spacious seats, a warming fire, and continued cheerful conversation.
Pleased at our continued compliments on the delightful food, the Salibucks lead us out of the dining room and invite us to make ourselves comfortable in a high-ceilinged chamber across the passage. It is Renaer’s library and, as Eliana collapses happily in an armchair by the fireplace, and as our host busies himself at a little table of drinks, Vaikner and I wander hurriedly off to inspect the bookshelves. He is soon engrossed in a thick tome but I find myself distracted by the glint of steel above the marble mantel. A rapier, graceful and fine, is mounted over the fireplace. I step closer, curious. The sword’s hand grip and basket is an extravagant, sculptural fantasy of delicately shaped metal, gilded and sparkling. All serving to distract from the very unadorned and very grimly sharp blade, I note with amusement. There is no question as to the deadly practicality of this weapon.
Eyes wandering up, I see a smaller version of the same rapier reproduced in colorful pigment. There is a large painting hanging on the wall above me, depicting the same library that I now stand in. In the image, the weapon is in its place above the mantel. But, in front of the fireplace, stands a long low sofa. Seated upon it are a woman and child. She has her arm around the boy’s shoulders and is looking at him with laughing affection. Dressed in grey silk, with silver gems in her black curls, she is pale and elegant. Her eyes – Renaer’s eyes- shine out lovingly at her son. Renaer is very young in this family portrait. No more than ten years of age. His gold-red curls tumble about his ears and his smile is half sweet and half impatient. The artist has managed to capture the essence of restless boyhood: Renaer begrudgingly suppressing his need to fly off to more adventures. And, instead, pleasing his mama by sitting for a painting.
I look at the lovely faces above me with an uncertain smile. Pleasing as the picture is, there is something off-balance about the composition of the piece. The mother and son sit over to one side of the sofa. Behind them looms a hole in the happy harmony of the scene. The size and shape of the dissonant emptiness would be perfectly filled by a third person. Perhaps standing behind the pair on the sofa with his hand on the woman’s shoulder? That would complete the family grouping. My hair flutters and then stills momentarily: as I peer more closely at the blending of pigments and the paintbrush strokes in that part of the image, I realize that there once was just such a third in that spot. The standing figure has been deftly concealed with a near-perfect continuation of the background painted over his image. The missing Lord Neverember; disappeared from the Deep and now meticulously banished from his family’s portrait. Aching sadness for Renaer fills me.
“Here you are. I hope that you all try some of this brandy. It is really rather fine. Floon likes it very much…” Renaer approaches us, handing out heavy crystal goblets swirling with amber liquid.
Seeing where I am standing, a look of unexpected mischief darts over his face.
“Ah, I see you are admiring the Brandath sword.” He remarks.
I take the goblet he offers me as Eliana and Vaikner draw near, looking with interest at the mantelpiece. I breathe in the sweet oaky fragrance rising from the glass in my hand.
“Brandath? This was your mother’s weapon, then?” I ask.
“My great, great-grandfather’s, actually. Kulzar Brandath: he was quite the buccaneer. I think you understand what I refer to when I tell you that the Brandath family made its name and fortune on the high seas.” Renaer says. “My mother…well, let us say that she enjoyed keeping up with some of the family’s, er, swashbuckling traditions. She was skilled with this blade. And it is she who taught me to fight with a sword. As a youngster, I too dabbled in some of the more adventurous Brandath ways. Now, of course, I live an entirely mundane and law-abiding life.”
Renaer grins. Eliana chuckles. Vaikner smiles knowingly.
I stare at them all, eyes widening in shock and hair stiffening in disapproval.
“Is anything amiss, Elodie?” Renaer’s smile fades as he looks at me in concern.
He has just revealed to us all that his mother’s family were pirates! And that he himself was tempted by the buccaneer’s life as a younger man! Disappointment surges through me and I tighten my fingers around my goblet as I try to find a way to answer my host.
“Um…” I mutter.
And just as I was starting to let my guard down around Renaer! Just as I had decided that my earlier mistrust of him was unearned! But then, he is not responsible for the choices made by his ancestors, far in the past. And he himself said that, setting youthful misbehavior aside, he has turned to a more righteous path. And is now living as a law-abiding man. And he has been so kind to us! No: the faults of his parents cannot be laid upon him. I decide to cautiously trust in his good nature.
“No. All is well.” I lie. “Your mother sounds like she was a strong and determined woman. And a skilled fighter too. I am sorry that you lost her. How did she come to die so young?”
“She took ill. Very suddenly and very seriously. Before anyone realized…before we were able to help her, she was gone.” Renaer sighs.
“Do you think that your father killed her?” Vaikner asks matter-of-factly.
I gasp, horrified. What must life be like in Menzoberranzan for such a monstrous thought to even pass through Vaikner’s mind, let alone be given such nonchalant voice? Eliana scowls deeply and kicks Vaikner’s ankle, brutally hard. He startles, staring at her with a look of injured innocence on his face.
Renaer is oblivious to all of us. He stares, eyes fierce, at the now-empty space in the painting above.
“No. Not directly. But, through his inattention to her, he might as well have.” He says quietly.
I sip brandy, welcoming the searing sharpness as it flows down my throat. It helps to mask the ache in my heart. I do not know what to say.
Vaikner opens his mouth as if to speak, but Eliana glares at him and, after another well-placed kick to his shins, he subsides.
The awkward silence is finally broken by Renaer himself.
“Vaikner, during our meal you mentioned that you would like my help with something that you found at that vile warehouse on Candle Lane. What is it?” He asks.
“Ah, yes. It is this letter. Apparently a Zhentarim message. But we cannot read it. Perhaps you can make it out.” Vaikner offers eagerly.
“I will happily take a look. Come, there is a bright lamp at this table.” Renaer motions Vaikner over to a small desk and then looks towards Eliana and myself. “Will you join us? Or perhaps you would like more comfortable seats? Eliana, I noticed you found a good chair. There, by the fire.”
“Yes.” Eliana returns to her armchair with a smile. “This is perfect. And there are some very interesting-looking books right here, on this little side table.”
“That is Floon’s favorite seat.” Renaer laughs. “He always settles there when he is over in the evenings. He clearly left his reading material behind. You will probably have a choice between poetry and several novels.”
“Mmhmm. Thank you.” Eliana has already buried her nose in one of the volumes.
Its cover is gaudily colorful. And depicts, in intriguing detail, several very scantily-clad Humans wielding fierce weapons and exchanging smoldering glances, one with the other. I am just leaning in, cocking my head for a better look when:
“And Elodie, how do you prefer to occupy yourself?” Renaer asks kindly. “What do you like to read?”
“Oh. Yes. As I mentioned, I find historical works very interesting. I also always take the opportunity to learn what I can about dragons.” I leave Eliana to read in peace.
“That’s right. Well, you will find my modest collection of histories on those shelves, over there.” Renaer directs me. “But, if you are interested in dragons, it is a pity that Meloon is not here tonight.”
“Really? Why?” I ask.
“He would be very proud to tell you some of his family tales. His ancestor was Laroun Wardragon, Lady Protector of Waterdeep in her time.” Renaer explains. “She was a mighty warrior. She was killed by a dragon. This was before the Dragon Ward was put in place, of course.”
I spin away from the shelf before me to stare at Renaer, eyes aglow with fascination.
“Before her death, she created a magical ax. A most potent weapon that is now a cherished heirloom of the Wardragon family. Meloon carries it to this day.” Renaer concludes, smiling gently at my rapt expression.
I am unable to keep myself from placing protectively proud hands on the grips of my Grandmama’s swords.
“Laroun Wardragon…I wish very much that I could have known her.” I whisper reverently. “I understand now, even more than before, why Meloon serves as a member of the Gray Hands. I mean, beyond just due to his friendship, and yours, with Vajra Safar. It is very right and proper that Meloon would wish to continue his family’s legacy of heroically protecting the Deep.”
Renaer raises his brows, even as his lips quirk.
“Floon?” He asks.
“Floon.” Eliana calls out in answer.
“Yes.” I confirm helpfully. “Floon told us yesterday about your friendship with the Blackstaff. About how you and Meloon Wardragon and Vajra Safar were all devoted companions before her path took her to the Blackstaff Tower and before Meloon joined the Gray Hands. It helped me to trust…that is, I very much admire the Blackstaff. I should like to meet her.” I finish hurriedly.
“Oh yes! I too wish to meet the Blackstaff.” Vaikner speaks up animatedly. “Since you and she are old friends, do you think that you would be able to arrange for us to see her, Renaer?”
“As I said, I would like to help you if I can.” Renaer smiles. “I will see what I can do. Now come, Vaikner, what do you have to show me?”
Dreamily, I look over the many beautiful books from Renaer’s collection as he joins Vaikner at their work table. I find a most detailed account of the dark deeds done beneath the Deep in A Brief History of Undermountain by Diazez Melairkyn of Clangeddin’s Hearth. I page through this intriguing work while listening to Eliana chortle delightedly over her novel. Behind me, claiming increasingly more of my attention, I hear Vaikner tell Renaer about the dead winged serpent that we found in the Zhentarim warehouse. And of the indecipherable message it carried.
“We also came across another Zhent communication, along with a cache of swords, in the basement of Trollskull Manor.” Vaikner explains, setting both documents out on the table. “This is a longer letter. And we can understand most of it. But yet, some crucial portions of the text are garbled.”
Renaer examines the letter and the message intently.
“It is a code or cipher.” He finally says. “These kinds of encrypted messages require a pass key – a specific word or phrase – to unlock the cipher. When one has that, the meaning behind the jumbled letters is revealed. I have some books on this subject: we can try to break the code. That is, if you have a little time to dedicate to this project.”
“Of course!” Vaikner sighs happily. “Let us see what we can accomplish here.”
Renaer gathers the texts that he needs and, after that, a studious silence falls over the little desk. It is interrupted only by brief exchanges; an eager word here, a hopeful suggestion there. I get lost in the grim, tumultuous events of Undermountain’s construction, registering only vaguely that the voices at the work table behind me are growing more frustrated.
“It is no good, I’m afraid.” Renaer’s chair creaks as he sits back in disgust. “None of these established ciphers match the code you have here. This is beyond my skills to unravel, I fear. But here, let me make a copy and I can keep trying during spare moments. Maybe our luck will turn, eh?”
“Thank you, Renaer.” Vaikner politely conceals his disappointment. “It is good to know that it is not a simple pattern: we have checked those and at least we know we are not missing a previously published sequence. An intriguing challenge…and yes, let us each keep working on it. Perhaps we will become lucky.”
We finish our brandy and, in generous response to Vaikner’s fervent praises of the rich beverage, Renaer gifts him with two bottles of the fragrant liquor. Thanking our host and the Salibucks profusely for a charming evening, we leave Renaer’s home together.
“Well, we know a little more about Trollskull’s history than we did previously.” Eliana stretches and turns to look at us. “And some fresh air would do us good after that meal. Shall we return to our new manor and see what more we can find out about our ghost?”
Vaikner and I agree with her suggestion and we retrace our route east until we reach Delzorin Street. The dark conservatory roof of Corellon’s Crown melds seamlessly with the velvety evening sky above us. The second floor windows of Fala’s home glow cheerily bright. The smoke above Steam and Steel, the Genasi armory and smithy, has faded into barely discernible wisps. It is very quiet. Trollskull Manor sits in its own pool of deeper night and, once again, I feel a chill as we enter the alleyway and approach the rambling old house.
Glad that we traced out a path through stinging weeds while it was still daylight, we now easily find our way back to the rickety steps. Ascending with care, we once again find ourselves stepping softly through the dust and cobwebs of the upper stories of the manor.
“This is interesting.” I point up. “I had not previously seen a way to enter the top of the turret jutting off the north side of this house. But that little square door in the ceiling, up there, perhaps that is the entrance to the highest level of the tower.”
Eliana squints up at the trap door. Vaikner, who has created another of his light globes for her use, now helpfully wafts the orb upwards to illuminate the high ceiling of the room.
“That is odd.” She frowns. “But I also see no other way up. We would need a ladder or a rope to get to that door.”
A cold drought swishes through the dust; malicious flurries smelling of long-dead mice rising, powdery and unwelcome, into my air. The door above us rattles ominously.
“Ah. It seems that our spirit is here.” Vaikner whispers, pleased.
“Hello.” Eliana says pleasantly. “We apologize if our first visit here was, er, intrusive.”
“We are the new owners of this manor!” Vaikner continues excitedly. “I am Vaikner Bootsman, and here are my companions, Eliana Cooper and Elodie Skyshard. What is your name?”
“We know that this place was a tavern once. Did you live or work here then?” Eliana asks. “Or were you here when Trollskull was an orphanage?”
I say nothing. Hands moving reflexively to the hilts of Quen and Vess, I gust the pernicious dust out of my air and turn slowly in place. I see no immediate sign of ghostly life. Then, with a shattering crunch that startles Eliana and myself, Vaikner throws a bottle against a nearby wall. I recognize one of the mysterious flasks from Xoblob’s store in the emerald shards now scattered on the floor. The aroma of fruit, over-ripe and cloyingly sweet, joins the smell of mildewing plaster.
“Here!” Vaikner calls eagerly. “Use this green liquid as ink, if you like. That may make this easier. We would very much like to talk to you. What is your name?”
The verdant stain on the wall is unmoving but for small streams that dribble downwards, reaching, like confused little spring-pea shoots, for the floor instead of the sun. Then the air around us trembles and the green fluid on the wall is smudged as if by an unseen hand.
LIF
The letters appear in wrathful slashes on the clean wall above Vaikner’s mark.
“Lif.” Vaikner smiles. “It is good to meet you.”
“Did you work in the tavern here?” Eliana questions.
YES. DIED HERE. KILLED HERE.
“I am sorry.” I look at the stark words, shining out damply in Vaikner’s light globe. “And I believe that you are the one who attempted to keep us from venturing into the cellar. Where we would encounter the mimic-guard. Thank you for that warning.”
“And are you the friend that the orphans talked about?” Vaikner continues with quick questions. “Have you been trying to keep them protected?”
YES. YOU ARE WELCOME.
“What do they need to be protected from?” I ask. “There is another presence here, yes? You are not alone?”
NO. NO. NO. NOT ALONE.
“Is it something that hurt children here in the past?” Eliana questions gently. “Can you tell us?”
NOT SAFE. NOT SPEAK. ONLY DARK.
I bite my lip and then look at my companions. They, like me, seem weighted down with worry.
“Lif,” Eliana begins. “We would like to examine all of the rooms here. To make sure this place is safe. We haven’t been up there…”
NO. MINE.
The words are splashed onto the wall before Eliana finishes pointing to the trapdoor above us.
“Does that door lead to the top of the turret?” I ask. “What is up there?”
MINE.
“Very well. That is your tower. But we just wish to see…” Vaikner starts in a sweetly wheedling voice.
NO. MINE.
“I do not like this.” My hair tightens in with suspicion. “We cannot know that this Lif is what he says he is. We cannot know that there is not some evil up there that needs, well…smiting. We must go up.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Eliana demurs.
“I also would like to know what is in that room.” Vaikner whispers. “But how will you get up, Elodie?”
“I…perhaps I can climb up on something.” I mutter, looking about me.
A jumble of broken wood and rotten upholstery looms in one corner. Perhaps the remains of an armchair. I move towards it.
“Something here may serve.” I say.
NO. NO. NO.
The greenish letters are now smearing, as the same word is hastily and angrily painted over and over. The pieces of glass on the floor shiver and then rise menacingly. They rotate in a sharp-edged whirlwind, juddering in my direction as I step forward.
“But Lif, we are to take ownership and to refurbish this place. See?” Vaikner, attempting to reason with the increasingly furious ghost, proudly holds up the front door key that we received from Volo earlier this day.
“Er…” Eliana takes a step back.
A blast of air buffets into me, forcing me back and slamming me against the wall. The bottle shards whip forward like daggers. As my coat flaps open under the continued onslaught of gusting air, the glass splinters pierce the cloth on either side of me, pinning me to the crumbling plaster. I growl.
At the same moment, the hulking ruin of the chair in the corner heaves into disjointed motion. Gouging scratches into the floor and shedding bent nails and tufts of horse-hair as it goes, it speeds inexorably in the direction of the room’s window. The pane, already spider-webbed with aged cracks, fragments like the thinnest of ice sheets as the bulky chair plummets through it. And down, with a painfully illustrative crash, to the hard, nettle-infested ground beneath.
With a final taunting snap of weaponized air, the key to the manor is whisked out of Vaikner’s numbly outstretched hand. It follows the ruined armchair, flying out of the broken window and into the night.
“I don’t think that Lif cares too much about who has rightful ownership.” Eliana says blandly.
Snarling, I shove my own air against the dusty wall of pressure holding me in place. The glass shards, loosened easily from the rotting plaster, reverse their direction and tumble down to the floor. As they fly out of my coat and fall, one nicks my thigh and I wince at the sting. The buffeting force compressing me against my outward gust immediately falters and fails. I straighten, looking at the blood trickling down my leg with irritation. And then, noting the holes in my coat, green-stained and sticky with Xoblob’s mystery beverage, I flare into true annoyance.
“Of all the obnoxious infestations of obstreperous spirits!” I grumble in Elven. “I cannot believe that this ghost would show so little compunction about injuring the clothing of the house’s rightful soon-to-be owners. And tossing their keys out of the window ! A most petty being!”
“He did tell you not to go up there, Elodie.” Eliana’s tone is far too smugly amused for me to acknowledge her with anything more than a haughty head toss.
“And he does seem to truly wish to protect the children who come here.” Vaikner attempts a conciliatory smile.
I, furious at the perforated and ragged appearance of my coat, and entirely uncertain about Lif’s true nature and intentions, remain grimly silent.
“Hmm, perhaps we can begin over again?” Vaikner asks. “Lif, let us not talk about intruding into your tower anymore. Let us discuss the things that we already agree upon, yes?”
?
Dust settles back into quiet drifts as Lif condescends to resume our conversation.
“Well, we all want to keep the neighborhood children safe.” Eliana speaks up. “I think that you care about this as much as we do.”
YES.
“We mean to clear any evil that dwells here from this house.” I announce stiffly.
YES.
“And, if you would like this, we could repair this manor and return it back to its previous useful function. As a tavern.” Vaikner suggests.
I glance, surprised, at Eliana. She looks startled for only a moment, but then nods slowly.
YES.
It seems that three out of the four beings currently laying claim to Trollskull Manor wish to see it restored to its purpose as a neighborhood watering hole. I shrug moodily. As long as whatever curses this place, threatening Bekhir and her friends, is cleansed, a cheerful tavern is as good of a function for this house as any other.
“So, we are in agreement on many important matters already!” Vaikner exclaims. “This is a better beginning.”
YES. GOODNIGHT.
“Goodnight.” I reply begrudgingly.
Eliana does not attempt to hide her smirk at my scowl.
“Well, I think that we have done enough here for one evening. Shall we go outside and look for the key?” She smiles.
A quarter of an hour later, after a fruitless search through the dark and overgrown garden surrounding the manor, Eliana is no longer smiling.
“This is no good.” She grumbles. “It’s not like we need the key to get inside. Let’s come back and look again tomorrow. In the sunlight.”
Vaikner and I pause in our methodical sweep of the grounds.
“Very well. I would like to wash. All that I can smell is Xoblob’s green drink. For some reason.” I say stingingly.
“I am ready to return to my inn, too.” Vaikner speaks up. “Shall we plan to meet at the Palace of the Open Lord tomorrow? At nine bells?”
He ignores my accusatory glare. But then he silently repairs and cleans my coat. I smile, once again immensely grateful for Vaikner’s practical use of his Art.
We bid Eliana goodnight. Then Vaikner and I walk south together until I veer off west and he continues on to Dock Ward. As I near the Temple of the Seldarine, my steps unwittingly quicken. I hiss in pain as the slash on my leg protests this more rapid pace. Then, shaking my head and feeling my air warm pleasantly around me, I smile. I am happy to be returning to the enchantment of the Elven sanctuary. I am relieved to know that, after the demands of this curious day, the comfort of my cosy room awaits me. I have barely been in the Deep any time at all. But now, flying with an eager heart to my Temple, for the first time in all my long journey from the Aerie, I feel like I am coming home.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I hope that you enjoyed this chronicle of our party’s first meal with Waterdhavian nobility (alright: just the one noble) and continued exploration of Trollskull Manor. Please head over to the images section (coming soon) to check out some of the art that I found inspiring for Lif, Renaer and the Salibucks, and, of course, the charming Genasi family at Steam and Steel!
I have several songs that play along in my mind for this chapter:
For Embra and her possibly complicated past (fear not – Bekhir will blab soon):
Fire, Delta Rae
I See Fire, Ed Sheeran
For Avi:
All I Want is You, Barry Louis Polisar
For Avi and Embra and the family they made together:
Home, Edward Sharpe & The Magnetic Zeros
For Bekhir, when she is feeling feisty (so – always):
Confident, Demi Lovato
For Lif:
Closing Time, Jaya the Cat.
Please also visit my playlist on Spotify. I will be populating this with all of our campaign tunes as we adventure onwards:
Tears of the Seldarine 
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