Chapter Seven: Meddling.

23 Mirtul, Year of Three Ships Sailing (1492 D.R.), close to highmoon.

The Tower of Sehanine Moonbow is at its most bewitching during the nighttime hours. It glows under starlight as if the Moon Goddess were infusing her living light into its very walls. It shimmers with the myriad silver lanterns that are borne aloft by Sehanine’s acolytes in their slow, spiraling ascent to the tower’s glimmering peak. From the stairways and galleries, and from the soaring top of the tower, comes a harmony of Elven voices raised in prayer-song. 

I stand in silent awe for a few moments. Or for the span of an hour, or of a night: I cannot be sure. Then I turn to climb the interior stairway leading to the tower’s residential quarters. The song from above still shivering through my air, I slip into my room. Expecting Aubray to be at highmoon devotions, I light up in joyful surprise to see her sitting at her desk. 

“Aubray! How lovely that you are here!” I call merrily.

“Oh. You’ve come back.” She looks up from her reading, eyes solemn.

“Well, yes. I said that I would be back later this night. I hope that you were not concerned. Did you not get my note?” I question worriedly.

“Oh. Yes. It’s here somewhere.” Aubray pushes my letter out of sight, under the book on her tabletop. “I guess it’s good that you’re telling someone where you’re going. Because it sounds like you are doing some really strange things.”

She stops and sniffs suspiciously.

“Why does it smell like moldy fruit and mouse crap in here?” She regards me sternly.

Oh no.

“I’m afraid that is me.” I explain contritely. “I do apologize: I need to bathe. But it has been a very busy and eventful day. I was attacked by a most inconsiderate ghost! You should have seen the state of my coat before one of my companions, magically gifted, repaired it! I spend much of my evening in a house that has long laid abandoned. I may have not yet successfully removed all the cobwebs from my hair.”

As I speak, I carefully set my coat and sword-belt down on my bed, and then strip off my dust-laden and mimic-slime-smeared outer clothes, kicking them into a pile by the room’s door. Conveniently ready to take with me when I leave to clean myself, and them. Then, clad in my shift, chest still wrapped in silk bindings, I perch on the bed and look over at Aubray affectionately. She eyes the discarded garments, and then me, beadily.

“Hmm. Your hair does look more wi…” My roommate pauses as I tense and raise my brows warningly, “…disheveled than I remember it being. A ghost? What are you talking about?”

“Oh! I am so glad you asked! And I am so pleased that you are here! I thought you would be up with the other acolytes, at highmoon devotions. Which would have been regrettable because I have a great deal to tell you!” I cry.

“I intended to take tonight for personal prayers to my Lady.” Aubray says quickly. “Like, solitary devotions?”

“Oh dear. And here I am, telling you such intriguing tales of my day that you are now far too curious to concentrate on anything else!” I laugh.

“Um. What?” She stammers.

I note with interest that Aubray has the impressive ability to simultaneously widen her eyes in incredulous disbelief even as she furrows her brows in a disapproving scowl. But, though I do not know her well yet, I can see the gleam of curiosity in her suddenly fixed gaze.

“Do not worry, I will not tease you any more.” I reassure her. “I will tell you all about my experiences over these past two nights.”

Settling more comfortably on the bed, I launch into an animated re-telling of my first meeting with Eliana and Vaikner, and of our rescue of Renaer and Floon. Resigned to the inevitable, Aubray curls up on her divan, listening silently. She sighs and shakes her head at moments: probably with relief at our many close escapes from dire danger. I am certain that, while her face remains coolly neutral, my roommate is impressed with my adventures.

“As you see, it has been a busy and rewarding beginning to my time here in the Deep.” I suppress a yawn. “It is clear to me that I have a responsibility to face whatever evil inhabits that manor in Trollskull Alley. To make that house safe for the fledglings that insist on playing there.

“As a Bowstring of Sehanine Moonbow, do you have advice on how to handle hostile spirits? Did you not say that you communicate with the dead? That skill may be useful in determining whether this Lif ghost is trustworthy. And whether he can be induced to respect personal property.” I turn eager eyes to Aubray.

She leans back, blowing out an exasperated puff of air through pursed lips. 

“So, first off, that is, like, a lot.” She stares at me. “But, as to your question: no.”

“No?” I repeat, confused.

“No. No, I do not have good advice for you. I cannot convince this Lif not to mess with your clothes. Or your hair.” Aubray sniffs, looking with delicate distaste at the grime staining my face. “I need a physical body to work with when I communicate with the dead. That is how I speak to them. At the very least, I require a skull with a functioning jaw.”

“Oh. That is interesting.” I reply politely.

“If this place is haunted by dark spirits that linger when they should have passed on, you could have the manor consecrated.” Aubray suggests. “Such a cleansing would remove all spirits in the house. Permanently.”

I consider this. Tempting as such a direct approach may be, Lif did show true concern for the children visiting his home. And he tried to keep our company from being hurt by the mimic in the cellar. It does not seem right to exorcize him. No matter how badly he may have cut up my coat.

“I think, perhaps, that may be a little too aggressive. At least, until we find out more about this manor’s history.” I say regretfully.

“Right.” Aubray shrugs carelessly. “Meanwhile, if you think it is necessary to insert yourself into Human affairs, I will say that you are right about some kind of…conflict they seem to be having. What did you say these gangs were called?”

“The Zhentarim are engaged in a gang war with the Xanathar Guild. Their fight is spilling out of the shadows and into the Deep’s streets. Affecting innocent civilians.” I spring up and pace the room in agitation.

Aubray watches me, boredom in every line of her graceful form.

“Yes. Them.” She nods. “Two of my recent, hmm, interview subjects were members of opposing factions. The ones you said. They did report that they perished in a battle. They were fighting over a treasure of some kind. It was unclear – a stone or gem or eye – different interpretations are possible. But each seemed to think that the other side already possessed this item. And thus were in conflict to retrieve it.” 

“That…that is intriguing!” I drop into the chair by Aubray’s desk, thinking furiously. “I am sure that it is very important.”

“Yeah, I’m not. So much.’ Aubray shakes her head. “But, at least these Humans believed that they were fighting and dying for something meaningful to them. That made a nice change.”

I stare at her, hair swirling in sudden concern at the bitterness of her words.

“Didn’t you say you needed to bathe?” Aubray asks pointedly.

“I…yes. I will do so now.” I stand and hurry to the door. “Thank you for talking to me, Aubray. I appreciate your insight and advice.”

“It’s fine. You’re welcome.” She mutters.

Returning to the seat I just vacated, she fastidiously swipes a sprinkling of dust from her book and straightens the tomes on the table.

When I come back to our chamber, warm and fragrant from an indulgent soak in perfumed waters, Aubray is on the divan, wrapped in her velvety blanket. She looks to the multi-hued casement, now muted by the darkness outside into calming blue-grey shades. But her eyes are starry and unseeing, lost to her nightly reverie.

I snuggle in under my own bed-covers and, pausing only to energetically pummel my pillow into proper submission, allow my tiredness to take me to my rest.

I am flying. Wind buffets me and my air feels seared with dry heat. The land below me is a forbidding corrugation of reddish sand and harsh stone. But none of that matters! I am flying! Powerful russet wings are above and about me. I feel the flexing of strong muscles and hear the fluttering of many feathers. Wild and fierce delight surges through me. I feel my rapture mirrored, as if my eager heart were beating in time with another. Equally joyous. Equally untamed. I am suddenly aware of pressure against my back. A large but lithe form; lifting me up or flying with me, above me – I cannot be sure.

“My little Cuckoo.” A low voice tickles my ear. “I am so happy that you have come to me.”

I try to turn but a warm, insistent grip on the back of my neck prevents me from moving my head.

“I am so happy too! I am flying!” I laugh.

“Yes. This is what you want, is it not?” The voice is soothing and amused at the same time. 

“Yes! I have always…yes.” I watch carmine sand dunes waver below me like uncountable blood drops turned crystalline; cresting in undulating peaks.

My hair whips and snaps freely all about me, in time to the savage caress of the wind.

“I can give you this.” The voice murmurs.

“How? How would you do that?” My words gust away as I soar.

“All I ask…” The voice fades as the fiery light dims and the wind cools.

Desolation sinks me and I feel cold panic. I am losing height! I am losing myself in a white chilly cloud! Then, another voice…

“Hello my Starling! Have you arrived safe? I have been worried. And your Papa. We miss you! All is well here. Many kisses! Kiss! Kiss!”

Mama! I bolt upright, feeling only my pillow behind me as the swirling mists part and I realize that I am sitting in my bed at the Temple. And receiving a Sending from my home! How wonderful to hear from my family! Smiling broadly, I speak loudly and clearly in a return message:

“Mama! I am well and safe! No news of the Tears but Waterdeep is most interesting. I am saving Humans in need! Kisses to you both!”

I hear soft movement across the room. Looking over, I see Aubray regarding me stonily.

“I thought that you would be silent when you slept. Whatever you are doing, please stop doing it.” She grates out.

“Oh certainly! I am done now. But I am so happy! I just received a message from my Mama. And my family and my home are fine, are safe! I was replying to her, to tell her that I am well and safe also. And that I already like Waterdeep very much! I am sorry if it disturbed your devotions, my friend.” I wriggle back down to lie on my side, regarding Aubray with shining eyes.

“Oh. Right.” She looks down, unnecessarily straightening the even fall of her skirts. “Goodnight, Elodie.”

“Goodnight, Aubray.” I murmur, already drowsy once more.

Warmed through with relief that all is well at the Aerie, I sleepily will myself to revisit the ominous red desert of my interrupted dream. I shudder slightly: the sand there looked like it has been soaking up the blood of generations of warfare. But I was above it and free! I want to feel that giddy joy once again. I want to continue my intriguing conversation with the silky voice that whispered its tempting promise in my ear. But he does not return. Instead, I dream of home. The light is clean and bright. And the air is cool and fragrant. I am not flying but I am safe. And happy.

Waking up refreshed, I see that Aubray has already left our room to start her day. I clean my face and brush my teeth. Then, donning the tight-fitting blouse and breeches that I like to exercise in, I set out in search of a sparring companion. I find what I am looking for in Corellon’s estuary. There, in a well-equipped training hall under the pale light of the dawning sun, the initiates of the First of the Seldarine are engaged in battle practice. They calmly accept my request to join them in their work. I admire the strength, masked beneath deadly grace, that their ritualized motions bring to bear against me. They remark on the swiftness and dance-like movements that characterize my response. They say that I touch the ground only lightly, as if preparing to take flight at any moment. I smile in secret delight. We learn much from each other, sharing an invigorating training session.

Morning feast at the dining hall today is rice, cooked to a silky porridge consistency and mixed with succulent crab meat. Topped off with golden onions fried crisp, bitingly hot peppers, fresh herbs, and a soft-boiled egg. My appetite sharp from my sunrise exertions, I gulp down a brimming, fragrant bowlful. And then decide to try out the bathing chambers in the estuary of Deep Sashelas, Seldarine of the Seas. 

I quickly decide that this will probably be my most favorite of the bathing halls. Going inside it feels like entering a seashell: all softly curving passages, pearlescent ivory, rose, and peach toned walls, and the quietly haunting song of waves murmuring all around. After a brisk wash in cool water scented with bergamot, I feel ready to face any challenge that this day has to offer.

Returning to my room to dress for the streets of the Deep, I am just settling Quen and Vess more comfortably around my hips when I pause. Returning to my bed, I pull my travel trunk out from underneath it. After a brief search, I retrieve what I am looking for. With Volo and Renaer’s information about the Elven artifacts at the Palace in mind, I decide that, going forward, I should always be prepared in case I am able to arrange a meeting with the Open Lord. I carefully place two items in the inner pockets of my coat. A bundle of papers sealed with the light blue wax mark of the Aerie, and a small oval shape, wrapped in soft silk. I run my fingers longingly over the second treasure, yearning to pull back its gossamer cover and look upon the beauty of Winterglass. A piece of my home. A fragment of my heart…

But I do not wish to be late for the meeting with Volo and my new companions. I hurry out of the Temple complex and skip through the Welcome Garden that lies between the sanctuary’s main entry gates and the Deep’s streets. A tall Wood Elf peers at me, looking up from what seems to be an intent conversation with a lilac bush. This must be Thelaraan, Master Gardener. I have heard Temple-talk of his great gift with fruited vines and flowers. I bow to him respectfully and he smiles benignly at me as I pass by.

By nine bells, I am standing in front of the Palace of the Open Lord, looking curiously at the crowds milling around the square. Eliana strides over, giving me a jaunty wave as she comes.

“Morning!” She calls. “Had a good night?”

“I did, thank you.” I smile. “And how was your rest?”

“Lovely.” She says with satisfaction. “And the breakfast pasties they have here in the market: not bad!”

She shifts her stance as if something tickled her. I notice a small, furred face peeking out of her sleeve. A tiny pink nose sniffs the air cautiously and then, in a grey blur, a little creature skips up her arm to perch on Eliana’s shoulder.

“You have a mouse.” I point out helpfully.

“Yes. This is Pip.” She laughs. “Or, as he was previously known, number 732. Sister very kindly allowed me to take one of her mice to keep me company.”

“That was very generous of her.” I say doubtfully, watching the small rodent nose at Eliana’s neck. “As long as he does not bite you…”

“Good morning.” Vaikner’s quiet greeting interrupts me.

I look over at the Drow with a smile. He has changed out his purple robes for a similar outfit in beige-tan. It is a much less attractive shade than the amethyst tones he was wrapped in before. Much less striking. But, perhaps, this is not a bad thing.

After a brief exchange of pleasantries, we turn to the Palace entrance. A polite City Guard directs us to the Hall of Records. It is an imposing place, with soaring ceilings and floors of polished stone. The crest of Waterdeep, purple and blue framing a golden crescent moon, is proudly displayed on fluttering banners. People swirl about, meeting in small groups to converse or hurrying about on various errands. I am drawn to a massive table in the center of the hall.

Displayed upon it is a beautiful model of the entire city of Waterdeep. Enchantment shimmers around it. The air directly above the miniature city trembles as if a strong wind were blowing. Clouds gather, tiny and ominous, and a gauze of grey mist covers the Deep. Silvery needles of rain start to fall. Laughing in delight, I realize that this magical model of the city includes its weather patterns! Given the sunny cheer of the day outside, I wonder how reliable its depiction of my Lady’s gifts actually is.

“And here you are! So happy to see you, my dear Friends!” Volo greets us rapturously.

He hurries forward to join us.

Also stepping up to us, eyeing Volo sourly, is a well-dressed Halfling. He bears a strong resemblance to Madrak, the kindly retainer we met at Renaer’s manor. Except that he has a golden pince-nez balanced on his round noise. And that his waist-coat is more elaborate in its floral embroidery. Also, he has a little paunch. Like a sleekly well-fed robin.

“Good day.” He says politely. “I am Tomare Salibuck. And you, presumably, are the party that Master Neverember requested I meet with. A pleasure. Yes. Very nice to meet you all.”

Tomare leads us through introductions with brisk efficiency, and then guides us to a tall counter lining one side of the hall. Seated behind it are many clerks wearing long black robes. Most of them are busy writing. Or helping citizens who lean up against their work stations to explain their needs. Tomare steers us to one of the few unoccupied clerks. She is clearly expecting him, nodding to the Halfling and turning to an array of documents that she already has prepared on her desk. I study her with interest. She is a Tiefling, easily recognizable due to the gleaming onyx-black horns curling out of her hair. But I have never before seen a Tiefling with rich indigo-blue skin.

“I took the liberty of asking Magistrate Silmerhelve to retrieve the deed and all relevant information about Trollskull Manor.” Tomare tells us.

We greet Magistrate Silmerhelve. She acknowledges us in a business-like way, then returns to her papers.

“I also inspected the manor itself early this morning. At least, I had Master Geddarm show me the outside of the property.” Tomare continues. “This is what I have discovered:

“The house itself has not been in regular use for fourteen years. Not since the previous owner stopped paying for its upkeep and fell behind with the bills and taxes owed. He appears to be missing. Prior to falling into arrears, he had applied to use the building as a tavern.

“The city now has a lien on the property. It cannot be sold outright. No-consideration transfer, such as Master Geddarm is suggesting, is permitted. Alternatively, the property can revert to the Deep’s ownership, in lieu of payment of back taxes. 

“If you accept the transfer of the deed, I have prepared an estimate for you. Here. The initial renovation costs with their associated guild fees – an approximation, you understand – as well as the annual basic upkeep, guild tithe if you plan to run a tavern out of the building, and taxes. It comes to one thousand, two hundred, and fifty gold. This should be sufficient to get the place up to the point where the building would be water-tight and useable as a business. At least, to where the lower floor could be functional as a tavern. And, even including outlay for the day-to-day expenses such as wages and supplies, may be expected to start bringing in some income. Not included in this start-up cost would be a plan, to be executed at a later date, to bring the upper floors into a condition where you would perhaps be able to run a full-service inn instead of simply a tavern.

“I have additional information from Master Neverember for you, regarding the initial infusion of funds that you will require.” Here Tomare pauses and looks bleakly at Volo. “But I can discuss this with you in private.”

A tense silence follows his pronouncement. I have been struggling to keep up with the unfamiliar terminology and ideas that the Halfling was expressing. I have come away with solid comprehension of several key points. Firstly, Trollskull Manor is encumbered, practically and legally, and this is why Volo, despite his current financial straits, has not sold it for easy gold. Secondly, it will require funds that I do not possess to make anything of the place. And, thirdly, if Volo or ourselves, as new holders of the deed, decide to give up on the manor, we can transfer ownership back to the Deep. Although what may happen to the house then is unclear. 

Eliana, Vaikner, and I all start talking at once. Our argument is heated, but similar to the conversation we first had on hearing about the manor from Volo yesterday. Vaikner is eager to enter into a partnership with us because it will enable him to have a safe home in the Deep, help keep the orphans and Lif from harm, and provide him with the intriguing mystery of a haunted mansion to unravel. Eliana is cautiously optimistic; willing to accept some of the risks involved in this business because she would also like to make the manor safe. And because she can see the potential value in running a tavern in the North Ward of the Deep in the future. And I…I continue deeply unsettled by the knowledge that we would be involving ourselves in any venture initiated by Volo. And by the idea of tying myself so irrevocably to any persons or to any place in the Deep. When I am here only to fulfill a specific, urgent task for my People. 

Finally, with nothing new to add to the discussion, we are all left where we were before. Needing to each make our choice. Eliana and Vaikner both elect to accept the transfer of the deed. I settle my air and try to think calmly. I have enough work to do yet in the Deep that I cannot hope to leave in the near future. Whether Trollskull Manor is owned by Volo or by ourselves, I will be here in Waterdeep for some time to come. And, as rightful owners of the manor, we will be able to come and go as needed to first uncover, then remove, whatever evil dwells therein. Even if we do nothing more, even if we return the manor to the city’s ownership after this is achieved, it will be that much less of a blight on the neighborhood than it is now. Cleansing the manor, and finding some peace for Lif, are worthy goals.

“I will sign also.” I sigh.

Magistrate Silmerhelve, who has been listening to our anxious talk with a look of supreme boredom, now turns to the task of transferring the property from Volo to our company. Moments later, I find that I am now the owner of one third of a broken-down house in Waterdeep. Shaking my head in mild disbelief, I turn to my new business partners. Neither of them looks as queasy as I feel, but they both seem properly cognizant of the solemnity of this moment. We all shake hands in the Human style, smiling uncertainly.

“Well, congratulations and the very best of luck to you, my heroic friends!” Volo’s voice rings out. “I believe that I will head to the closest establishment that can offer a decent beverage. A celebratory drink is in order! Eh?”

“There will just be the filing fee, then.” The Magistrate drones out.

“Ah yes. Master Neverember provided that. Master Geddarm, I believe you have it.” Tomare turns to Volo expectantly.

Volo scowls slightly and reaches reluctantly into his purse. He produces the asked-for coins and, with one more elaborate bow of farewell, leaves the Hall of Records.

“Very well. That is our business concluded, I believe.” Tomare also prepares to go. “If you are in further need of my services as you continue on this venture, you may contact me at my office. Or, naturally, reach me through Master Neverember. 

“Oh, and here is the information that I alluded to. Firstly, I was advised that you were looking for additional details about the manor’s history. With this in mind, I had Magistrate Silmerhelve provide you with a copy of this property’s record of deed transfers. A list of prior owners, as it were. And the dates on which the manor changed hands, from one owner to the next. Secondly, Master Neverember asked me to give you this letter.”

Tomare hands us a creamy envelope, sealed with red wax. Then, bowing crisply, he hurries away.

Vaikner opens the envelope and we crowd in on either side of him to read Renaer’s letter. Our new friend’s kindness extends to worrying about whether we need funds, as well as to concern that we are able to find gainful employment if we should desire this in the future. Renaer suggests that we meet with an acquaintance of his, Mirt, who can offer us both.

I gulp, taking a step back. Thoughts and hair whirling, I turn to Eliana and Vaikner with shocked eyes.

“Mirt? Does he mean…” I breathe.

“Yes. Mirt.” Vaikner replies calmly. “It says so right here.”

“Yes. And this is not a very common name, is it? So it must be…” Once again, I am too rattled to complete my thought.

“Ooh! Oh, look here! This is terrific!” Eliana calls, thrilled.

I turn a grateful smile to her, pleased that she understands the reason for my wild excitement.

“The meeting Renaer invites us to is to be tonight. At the opera! Here, look! There are tickets for us!” Eliana cries eagerly.

I have never yet heard my companion sound this pleased about anything not related to food. Or trees. Or mice. But I am confused: she has not mentioned Mirt at all.

“What is Opera?” I ask.

“Ah, I have read about this! It is a show with music. Like a stage performance, but the story is told not just through acting but also through song. It is a highly prized art-form amongst Humans. Considered the pinnacle of musical achievement.” Vaikner explains happily.

“It’s wonderful!” Elie nods enthusiastically. “And I have never been to the opera in a big city like Waterdeep. I’m sure they’ll have the most marvelous vocalists!”

“Thank you.” I smile at them both. “It is an intriguing choice of venue for such an important meeting. But it does sound appealing. I am looking forward to hearing good music. I like to listen to singing.”

Eliana is still beaming but her face grows troubled as Vaikner speaks again.

“It says here that the wear is to be formal.” He peruses the letter. “How formal? Does this mean that the clothing we have on now will not suffice?”

Eliana looks at her cape, stained from the dust and mud of long travel, and shakes her head. She examines the thinning, worn areas on Vaikner’s velvety robes and her mouth narrows into a disapproving line. Finally, she takes in my new belt, bristling with Embra’s fine daggers, and the torn lace at my collar. She frowns.

“I have not had the time to repair that!” I exclaim, tucking the loose threads out of sight defensively.

“No. This will not suffice.” She says grimly.

“Do you know who has the most luscious clothes?” I ask dreamily. “Floon. Did you see his dressing room?”

“That is a fine idea!” Vaikner perks up. “Floon has an extensive wardrobe. And is a kind and generous friend. We can ask him for advice about our dress!”

Eliana and I agree that this is a reasonable suggestion. And, of course, we are all pleased to have a reason to meet with Floon once again. Vaikner carefully stows away the second document from Tomare – the list of the manor’s prior owners – for us to study when we have more leisure. Then, leaving the busy Hall of Records, we travel north to Stormstar Towers.

Kareen Delmar greets us with smiles and, when we ask to see Floon, hurries upstairs to inform him of our arrival herself.

“At this early hour, Master Floon is still mid-toilette!” She trills, returning to the entry hall and catching her breath. “But he begs that you excuse this and come up directly!”

Floon meets us at his door wearing a light blue dressing gown and dark-blue slippers. 

“Good Morning!” He blinks at us a little sleepily but his voice is as sonorous and enthusiastic as ever. “Your pardon, I am still getting ready for the day. But it is so good of you to stop in!”

He waves us inside politely and we all hurry to explain the reason for our mid-morning visit, words tumbling over each other.

“Ah, Renaer is having you go to the opera! How lovely!” Floon grasps the key point out of the tumult of our story-telling with remarkable quickness. “Yes. You will certainly need to be…more formally attired for this occasion. How exciting! And how lucky that I have so many clothes!”

“Your clothes?” Eliana is dubious.

“Yes! Certainly!” Floon sips contentedly from a steaming cup of coffee, and then gestures to a table containing a fragrant silver pot. “Would you care for some? No?

“Well, I will be the first to admit that I have a little bit of a weakness for fine fashion.” He continues.

His smile is radiantly unrepentant and I nod, returning it warmly.

“Of course, I never throw clothes away if I do not need to. Certain designs are simply timeless!” Floon resumes. “And, if nothing else, there are the fine fabrics to hold onto. To turn into something else later. I therefore have many of my mother’s old gowns. I kept the most elegant, beautiful pieces. Some of those would do for you, Eliana.

“And Vaikner: you are a similar size to myself in my boyhood! I have just the outfit for you. One of my absolute favorites from when I was a youngster!”

Clearly intrigued, Vaikner allows Floon to lead him to his dressing room. Eliana and I wait in Floon’s bedchamber. Joining us there a short while later, Floon indicates that Vaikner will emerge to show us his new raiments as soon as he is ready. It does not take long.

“Ooooh.” I breathe in wordless admiration.

Eliana cackles loudly.

“Wonderful! Wonderful!” Floon calls encouragingly.

Vaikner grimaces.

I have recovered both the power of movement and of speech, and I approach the Drow’s fabulous form, prodding at him experimentally.

“This…oh this is lovely!” I exclaim. “There are so many little puffy pieces! And ruffles! And lace!”

“I am accustomed to a more simple style, I think.” Vaikner says tightly.

“Oh, do not say so! You look like a fine confection of some kind. Made of blueberries, and whipped cream, and sugared violets!” I call rapturously.

“You know, that actually does sound really good.” Eliana is still chuckling.

Vaikner frowns doubtingly.

“I confess: I had a strong preference for blue velvet at a certain time in my heedless youth.” Floon announces disarmingly. “And that season’s style was, well, rather deliciously over-the-top, if I recall.”

“Are you certain that I should attend the opera wearing this?” Vaikner pleads hopelessly.

“Yes!” Three voices, in varying tones of sincerity and amusement, answer him resoundingly.

“Very well.” Vaikner, trying to droop but prevented from a truly dejected posture by the stiffly rustling frills around his neck, retreats to Floon’s dressing room.

When he returns, swathed once more in his depressingly beige cloak, Eliana takes her turn selecting a gown from Floon’s wardrobe. Our host and Vaikner remove themselves to the living chamber, leaving her the privacy of the bedroom. I remain with Eliana to assist her with dressing.

She chose a dark green gown; its fabric rippling with a silken sheen and its color reminiscent of hidden glades in the summer woods. The design of the dress is a sleeveless sheath, with a square neck line and a simple fitted silhouette over the chest, to the waist, and then all the way to the ground. It is a good choice. Eliana’s supple arms are uncovered, with their pretty gradient from tanned brown at her wrists to creamy pale at her shoulders.

Floon knocks and hurries in.

“Vaikner is reading but I wanted to see what you picked out.” He calls.

Frowning in concentration, Floon and I walk around Eliana, assessing her selection.

“That is a beautiful shade for you.” Floon says approvingly. “Just right with your hair and eye color.”

“Yes.” I nod. “But, look – it will be better like this.”

Stepping up to Eliana, I grasp handfuls of fabric at her back and hips, pulling it tight. She gives a hiss and wriggle of discomfort.

“Right, well. Now I can’t breathe.” She complains.

“Perhaps.” I say patiently. “But, with this silky material, the gown should not be loosely cascading. It needs to be enveloping you closely and snugly, draping over every line of your form with grace. Like this. Then you will look like a tulip: a willowy stem and a beautiful red bloom at the top.”

I see a pleased little light in Eliana’s eyes at this, but she continues to grumble and contort herself to try to gain more room in the tight dress.

“The bloom I was referring to was your head, with its russet hair.” I add helpfully.

“Yes. Alright. I got that.” Eliana puffs out.

“I know a very gifted tailor who can take that gown in. Can make any adjustments needed.” Floon nods happily. “Alright Elodie, your turn next.”

I pause uncertainly. At the bottom of my travel trunk, wrapped safely and not required during any of my travels thus far, I do have clothes more elegant than what I am currently wearing. But I do not know if they would be deemed appropriate for a Waterdhavian opera. And this meeting is a most important one for our company. Also, it is great fun to explore Floon’s wardrobe room! I agree to take a brief look.

Some time later, pleasantly lost amongst silk, satin, and lace, I am drawn to what looks like a piece of night sky hanging between otherwise unremarkable garments. It is a dress. Velvet, like Vaikner’s fancy frilled suit. But this velvet is midnight blue, lightly bespangled with clear white gems like a wash of shimmering stars at skirt and bodice. The neckline sweeps down from mostly exposed shoulders to well below my collar bone. The dress is tightly form-fitting down to the level of the waist, at which point it opens like a lily blossom. Forming full and pleasantly swirling skirts. The sleeves are long and narrow at first, but then widen into delightfully impractical, trailing creations. The gown is a little long for me. And a little tight around the chest. But it is lovely. And Floon did suggest that necessary adjustments can be made…

“I would like to wear this.” I announce, fairly floating out of the room.

Floon appears delighted to have outfitted us so splendidly for this evening’s show. 

“Let me take a few moments to dress. And then we will visit Lacer’s Mercery: the best place for fine fashions! They know me. They will make any changes that we need and have the garments ready for you by tonight.” He promises.

The fabled fashion destination is in Sea Ward. We have another pleasant walk with Floon. And then are introduced to Orlando Lacer, a narrow-faced Half-Elven man with a sly smile and long brown hair. It is evident that, as a master craftsman, he would prefer to sell us his own rarefied creations. Which are dazzling: in quality, beauty, and in the amount of gold that Master Lacer is asking for them. But, as Floon continues to exert his irresistible charm and flash his peculiarly endearing smile, Orlando Lacer, like all the others that I have seen won over by our new friend, shakes his head wearily and agrees to his request. He will not only tailor our outfits to better suit us but he vows to have the work done in ample time for our first visit to the opera!

After being positioned, measured, fitted, and, finally, released back to the freedom of the Deep’s streets, we say our grateful and fond farewells to Floon.

“Well, now that we know that we will not disgrace ourselves amongst the formal Humans,” Vaikner still sounds a little uncertain. “Can we please focus on our research into Trollskull Manor?”

“Sounds good.” Eliana nods. “Renaer recommended Oghma’s temple library, this Font of Knowledge. Anyone know where that is?”

“I do!” Vaikner calls.

“Of course!” I exclaim simultaneously.

“Of course.” Eliana echoes with a sigh. “Well, we know that this city has a daily news page. Libraries usually archive those, yes? Depending how far back the records go, we could cross reference the names and dates on the manor’s deed history that Tomare gave us with the Wazoo articles. See if anything of concern, anything unusual, comes up.”

Vaikner and I stare at her for a moment.

“That, ahem, that sounds like a reasonable plan.” Vaikner coughs in acknowledgement.

“Very good idea, Eliana!” I smile at my companion encouragingly.

Eliana rolls her eyes.

“Alright you two scholars, let’s go!” She marches off.

Before long, I am rapt and breathless once again. This time it is due to the wonder that is the library at Oghma’s temple. Hall after hushed hall, room after vast room of shelves! Scrolls, documents, ancient tomes and colorfully bound editions of the newest books – all are to be found in the library’s extensive collections. Reading tables are surrounded by comfortable seats. Intriguing little balconies and gallery levels are connected with the main floor via carved spiral stairways. Drowsy golden light filters through many high casements. The air is still, disturbed only by a scholar’s occasional whisper, or the brief rustle of paper. It is a marvelous place; a soaring, silently triumphant celebration of knowledge. Undeniably impressive, it makes my hair float out in pleasure. And my heart clench painfully with thoughts of home. 

I force my attention back to my companions. At first, Vaikner was gazing about him with a wide smile. The farther we venture into the library however, the more anxious he becomes. I can see him practically twitching as he compels himself to walk away from an enticing display of scrolls. Or to continue on his path with us, rather than veering off to lose himself in a delightful labyrinth of shelves. I grin in sympathy. 

Eliana maintains her steady focus in the face of inky temptation. She turns our steps to a small desk. Behind it sits a gnome dressed in parchment-colored robes tied with a red sash. I have seen others in similar garb, quietly tidying shelves and helping scholars with their work. A librarian! 

“Good day.” Eliana begins cheerfully.

“Please, I enjoin you, a little more quietly!” The gnome squeaks.

“Good day.” Eliana whispers.

I am delighted to meet one who does work similar to my own Mama’s. Smiling, I salute the gnome with the silent greeting used by Keepers of Books. His face creasing in surprise, he returns my salute and my smile.

“I am Savant Sandrew.” He flutes. “What may I do for you?”

“Savant, we are looking for an archived collection of the Deep’s newspapers. If you have such a thing.” Eliana explains.

“Of course! The Waterdeep Wazoo collection here is complete, all the way to the first year of its publication in 1400 D.R. Which year do you require?” He beams his question.

“We are not sure.” I admit. “We may need a little time reading different articles to determine exactly what it is that we are looking for.”

Savant Sandrew, unperturbed by my uncertainty, obligingly leads us to a dusty room a short way from the library’s main reading hall. He shows us how the older editions of the Wazoo are organized and invites us to seat ourselves at a work table to begin our studies in comfort.

“Excellent.” Vaikner sets the chain of title of property for Trollskull Manor in front of him. “It was very helpful of Tomare to obtain this for us. Let us get started!”

My eyes are immediately drawn to a familiar name.

“Oh look! Volo has only had this house for one year. He bought it on 19 Kythorn, 1491! And for so little, compared to the original cost of the property!” I mutter excitedly.

Eliana makes a satisfied “Hmmph” sound.

“Well, it seems that we have our first set of dates to check into. Here: ‘20 Uktar, 1465: Intereste Of Mathilda Graegrimes (Gristlegums) seized for crimes most foule’! I did not expect anything quite so, well, dramatic. At least, not on a dusty document recording transfers of a property title…” She shakes her head.

“And here is Lif!” Vaikner points to the next entry. “Lif Erwaren, proprietor of the Trolleskulle Aleslingers, Ltd. He acquired the manor seven years later, in 1472. And then, see here, his interest is recorded as returning to the city as a result of abandonment, only six years after that. Poor Lif!”

“Yes. I wonder very much what happened to him.” I pause, sensing Vaikner’s sadness. “And then the manor seems to have been unoccupied for another six years, until this Calim Developmente took it over in 1484. They only managed to hold onto it until 1490 and then, what is this: ‘ceded to Right and Juste City of Waterdeep in lieue of tax payments’? This means that they could not make their business profitable, correct? And then Volo purchased it at auction, one year later.” 

We sit in thoughtful silence, absorbing what we just learned. Then we begin the search for pages of the Wazoo dating back to Uktar, 1465 D.R. As promised by Savant Sandrew, the news-paper is cataloged in chronological order and it does not take us long to find what we are seeking. And perhaps more than we had looked for…

“‘Cannibal Hag unmasked and sentenced to death for crimes most foul: orphanage revealed to be ghastly abattoir.’” Eliana’s voice slows as she reads.

These are the words – unsparing, stark, and shocking – that shriek out at us from the Waterdeep Wazoo dating to 12 Uktar, 1465. Even in this meditatively quiet place, gazing at a document browned with decades of age, I reel at the horror announcing itself so matter-of-factly from the news-page. My air drawing in around me, grimly cold, I clutch at my stomach. I try to prepare myself for the article that is to follow such an introduction.

Vaikner, blinking rapidly, and Eliana, her face set and expressionless, read with me. It is amongst the most vile and heart-rending of tales that I have ever encountered. Even counting all of my painful research into the Avariel’s tormented history with foul Dragon-kind. I swallow back tears and rage as I read how the Hag Gristlegums, posing as Mathilda Graegrimes, a kind-hearted Human running Trollskull Orphanage, preyed upon the most innocent and vulnerable of victims. The orphaned fledglings in its care. I feel like a part of my heart is darkened, touched by the Hag’s corruption. I know that I will never forget the details of what this monster did. 

I seek solace in the heroic acts performed to investigate and apprehend the Hag. The City Watch showed determination and ingenuity in their good work. And this Ushien Stormbringer, novitiate of the Knights of Samular, along with Alric Wends, Apprentice Abjurer of the Watchful Order of Magists and Protectors – they were clearly courageous and noble warriors. Together, they were able to bind the Hag in its gruesome home. And rescue the surviving children. On the morning that this Wazoo page was published, Gristlegums was in city custody. And due to be burned to death in the courtyard of Castle Waterdeep at highsun of that same day.

I lean back, trying to purge my air and my mind of the sound of childish screams, the pattering noise of blood falling from butchered limbs, the reek of burning flesh, the greedy light behind the eyes of a sweet old woman…

Vaikner shudders.

“It must be the Hag haunting the manor.” He says. “This must be the corruption in that place.”

“How could this be? The creature was burned in order to destroy it completely.” I frown. “Would that not prevent this very thing from occurring?”

“The Hag must have found some way to return! It must be very powerful.” Vaikner argues, increasingly excited. “This would explain why Lif cannot speak of it. Why he is so afraid. And why he believes that the neighborhood children are at risk!’

“We don’t know that Gristlegums was actually burned.” Eliana points out. “It only says here that the Hag was sentenced to die by fire that day. Maybe something went wrong and that is why the manor is haunted now.”

We return to the archived Wazoo pages and look at the days following 12 Uktar. There is no mention of any interruption of the Hag’s execution. As far as we can uncover, this terrible chapter in the Deep’s history was closed with justice served upon the monster. There is no further mention of Trollskull manor in the news of that month.

“Perhaps, now that we know specifically what to ask him about, Lif will be more forthcoming about the evil that still infests Trollskull manor.” Vaikner suggests.

“Perhaps. But we should also speak to those who encountered this Hag directly in life.” I add. “Ushien Stormbringer and Alric Wends. I wonder what happened to them. If they are still in the Deep we can find them and ask for more information about that day. And seek their advice. If they were able to defeat the Hag in its physical form, perhaps they will also know how to fight its ghost.”

“They both belonged to different orders.” Eliana nods, rising from the table. “This Knights of Samular for Ushien. And the Watchful Order of Magists and Protectors for Alric. Whew, that’s a mouthful. Let’s find Savant Sandrew and see if he can tell us more about where in the Deep these groups may be found.”

“The Watchful Order is the organization for magic users in the city. I know where it is located. I have been intending to visit there.” Vaikner says quietly.

“Great!” Eliana says briskly.

Vaikner and I each make note of the names of those individuals and groups that we wish to investigate. Then, returning the ancient pages of newsprint to their places, we hurry to the main hall of the library and approach Savant Sandrew’s desk once again.

“The Knight’s of Samular?” His brow creases in thought. “That…I believe that is a militant offshoot of the church of Tyr. You will want to enquire at the Halls of Justice, the temple of Tyr. Just across the square. They will surely be able to tell you more.”

As we thank the gnome librarian, my gaze is drawn to an intriguing sign. Archeology and Ancient History reads the plaque over the entry to a large hall nearby. While I am distracted, plotting my return to start research on the fate of the lost Tears in this promising section of the library, Vaikner draws Savant Sandrew into conversation about the Font of Knowledge’s lighting. He is intrigued by the enspelled illumination present throughout, and the librarian kindly explains the need for such magical light.

“No open flame is allowed within the Font of Knowledge, of course.” He squeaks quietly. “The risks involved, you understand.”

“So I couldn’t bring in even a small taper? I would be very careful – wouldn’t start more than a tiny fire.” Eliana chuckles.

There is a sudden silence, leaden and cold when compared to the calm and industrious quiet that surrounded us before. It is interrupted by the soft whisper of cloth and my eyes widen as, turning about me, I see that many more Savants have materialized from behind shelving and desks. They are approaching us, grim-faced.

“Ah. Ah ha ha. Our friend here was only joking.” Savant Sandrew raises his voice very slightly.

The approaching librarians startle as if he had just urgently bellowed an obscenity.

“You had best be going now.” The gnome turns to us.

Shrugging, Eliana threads a path between the glowering Savants. Vaikner and I follow in sheepish silence. Once outside the building, I cannot suppress my smile.

“You may not be allowed back in here, Eliana. I think that from now on they will be keeping close watch for the tall, red-haired, archer and arsonist.” I laugh.

She smirks.

“Just a very tiny fire.” She repeats mischievously.

“I wish to return as soon as possible.” Vaikner says, looking at us worriedly. “There is so much reading that I would do here! In fact: maybe I can go back in now that a little time has passed What are your plans for the afternoon?”

“Maybe let a little more time pass before you head in there. Maybe wait long enough for a new group of librarians to come on shift.” Eliana suggests helpfully. “Anyway, the day grows late and we still have to finish getting ready for the opera.”

“Yes. We will need to acquire the proper footwear to go with our gowns.” I point out. 

“And, you know, get cleaned up and do something about our hair. Things like that.” Eliana continues.

“Oh.” Vaikner is crestfallen.

“You know, Master Sulmest, who is so kindly crafting new boots for me, has many beautiful shoes in his shop. Many, many beautiful shoes.” I focus on this pleasant recollection, choosing to ignore Eliana’s ominous statement about doing things to our hair.

We walk east, talking quietly about what we learned from the old copy of the Wazoo. We take turns putting forth increasingly unlikely theories about how it is that Gristlegums still has a dark hold over Trollskull manor. By the time we reach Master Sulmest’s shop, I do not think that any of us has much of a heart for finery and evening outings. Fortunately, the footwear on display is of truly superb craftsmanship. It is difficult to resist its happily distracting call.

Master Sulmest greets us pleasantly, if a little vaguely. Then, his eyes clearing as he scrutinizes my boots, he gestures me forward. Eliana and Vaikner examine the fine shoes on display while I politely listen to Master Sulmest’s detailed update on our joint venture. He speaks of grades of leather and of the processes needed to both soften this material and make it more resilient. He talks about types of blades and needles he has acquired that will allow him to do the most fine and detailed work. I nod and smile as my glance escapes to one side; I check to see if the ruby slippers are still in their place on the shelf. I note, with sadness, that they are not.

Vaikner and Eliana each make their selection. Vaikner, insisting that he needs a calm counterpoint to all of the cheerful blue in his outfit, picks simple formal shoes in black leather.  Eliana nods in satisfaction as she tries on a pair of elegant rose-gold slippers. They will look most captivating with her deep green dress. I stoically conceal my disappointment at the absence of the glittering scarlet shoes that I so admired during my first visit here. They were the wrong color for my gown. They were the wrong color for me – I never wear red! I eventually settle on silver sandals. With sparkling straps and heels that add a good two inches to my height. Eliana smiles approvingly. Vaikner restlessly paces the small space, frowned over by Master Sulmest.

Our purchases paid for and meticulously wrapped, we pause outside of the shop.

“I was thinking that we revisit another friendly place.” Eliana turns to us. “The Temple of Sune. Markle could help me with my hair again. He really knows what he’s doing.”

Thinking back to the fragrant baths and kind acolytes at the temple, I nod eagerly.

“I will not require so much preparation. I will return to the library. There is so much useful research that I can do there. Shall I meet you at that shop we went to earlier? The one that is preparing our outfits? At what time does the opera begin?” Vaikner asks.

“Nine bells.” Eliana replies promptly. “We will need time to dress, make our way back south, eat dinner…I would say that you should be at Lacer’s Mercery no later than six and a half bells after highsun.”

“Very well.” Vaikner sets a rapid pace as we travel north.

We leave the Drow at the Font of Knowledge before continuing on to Sune’s temple. Our walk through the early afternoon streets is leisurely and pleasant. I would like to ask Eliana more about her home in the north. And about her reasons for leaving it to come to a city where a follower of Mielikki is bound to feel unease. But, walking quietly alongside me, Eliana seems lost in thought. I do not wish to disturb her. Nor to impose on her with a request to confide her private affairs to me. Not when I would be unable to return her confidence. So, instead, we walk in companionable silence until we reach the graceful building that houses the temple to Sune.

Once inside, Eliana courteously explains our need and we are invited to wait for Markle in the same luxurious chamber where we rested when Floon brought us here for temple care. The elaborately coiffed Dwarf soon greets us. He talks rapidly with Eliana in Dwarven, even as he smiles and bows cheerfully in my direction.

“So,” Markle switches to Thorassian. “We are getting you ready for a special occasion tonight! And I see that we have plenty to work with.”

He looks between Eliana’s thick coils of gleaming russet braids and my unbound silver-white curls. Which tighten in apprehension under his assessing gaze.

“Well, I am certainly looking forward to indulging in your lovely steam chambers again.” I say uneasily.

“Yes, yes. You should both start there. And then I’ll take Eliana first and…” Markle begins.

“Yes, that will be good!” I blurt out. “Take all the time you need. I will just enjoy getting very clean.”

Enveloped in warm clouds of gardenia-scented steam, I am pleasantly close to drowsing. I barely register Eliana’s departure from the bathing chambers. My mind wanders far, very far, from Waterdeep. While still retaining a thread of connection to Sune’s delightful sanctuary. I think about my friends, the other Sky Wardens who accepted the great task of leaving our nest and searching Faerun for the Tears of the Seldarine. I close my eyes, picturing Altiir’s powerful wings as he flew south. He circled the Aerie swiftly, effortlessly catching the wind, and then left without once looking back. I wonder if he has made more progress with his Tear than I have with mine; looking for his gem in the distant land of Thay. I idly reflect on what he would think of Mirasol. Of the Sun Elf’s service in a temple of a Human deity. Of her love for a Human man…

“Come along, my dear. Markle is ready for you now.” A kindly voice sounds out of nearby billow of steam.

Sighing heavily, I robe myself and despondently follow the comfortably round and rosy-cheeked Halfling who leads me to Markle. The Dwarf performs his worship in a cosy room. It is circular and glitters like the inside of a jewel box. The walls are softened by multi-hued silken hangings and there are many mirrors hanging above a polished counter that curves along the side of the room. Cushioned seats, upholstered in satin-soft fabric are set around; some against the counter, some arranged in comfortable groups for chatting. Eliana sits on one of these, holding her head carefully away from the chair’s back as she contentedly shares a plate of fruit with Pip, her little mouse.

“What do you think?” She smiles and waves as I come in.

Her richly red hair has been swept upwards, accentuating the graceful line of her neck and shoulders. Then it has somehow been prevailed upon to remain in a tall, smooth mound on the top of her head. It is a very neat style; brushed up cleanly and kept off her face which I have noticed Eliana prefers. But it is simultaneously very glamorous.

“Ooh! It looks like a small mountain upon your head. I like it very much!” I call warmly. 

“Thank you, Elodie.” She laughs. “I like it too. And the best part is…well, you can’t see it from outside. It’s kind of like a secret chamber.”

Intrigued, I draw closer.

“I told Markle what my dress looks like, and that I won’t have a place for Pip to rest in my outfit. So he piled up my hair around this little basket. A nest that Pip can hide in where no-one will see him.” She is still laughing.

“Your hair has a mouse home inside it now?” I ask, reaching forward curiously. “That is most interesting!”

Markle takes my elbow and firmly guides me away from Eliana’s complex and multi-purpose coiffure. Inviting me to sit before one of his mirrors, he looks critically at my hair.

“What will you be wearing tonight? And what would you like me to do with your pretty tresses?” He asks.

Obediently, I describe my borrowed gown and silver slippers. Then my voice trails off.

“I do not think that I want you to do anything with my hair.” I resume warily. “It does not usually…that is, I am not accustomed to others touching it. As the part of me where my Element-blessed nature is most strongly expressed, my hair is generally just free to move as it will. Within my Air.”

“Hmm.” Markle cocks his head, considering the restlessly shifting white waves on my head. “With the style of dress that you will be wearing, something relatively free-flowing would work, actually. But perhaps just…tidied a little bit. Just enough to add that touch of refinement, of formality, to your overall look. How about a snood?”

I eye him suspiciously as he reaches into a deep drawer and, after a brief search, turns back to me. In his hands is a cage. A cage for my hair. It is very beautiful: all shimmering silver netting embellished with ice-like gems. But it is still a prison. I squirm uncomfortably.

“It’s your hair, Elodie. You can wear it however you like.” Eliana advises.

“Yes. I mean, I know. But I value Markle’s advice. He made a mouse-nest in your hair – he is clearly very talented! And it is an important occasion for us. I do not wish to offend Mirt. Or anyone else at this Opera.” I mumble.

Markle moves forward with the shiny net.

“No, wait!” I wince away from him. “Perhaps you may just explain to me how this trap works. And then I will restrain my hair myself.”

Looking pained but remaining polite, Markle hands me the glittering snood.

“You put all of your hair in it, here at the back. And then you fasten it at the sides – use these little attachments that have pearls covering them – those you clip at the hairline behind your ears to secure the snood. That will keep it from slipping off the back of your head. And your hair from, um, escaping.” He says gently.

“It is my hair. I am sure I can prevent it from escaping.” I say coolly.

A few flustered moments and Elven curse-words later, the net is in place and clipped to my head. My hair surges resentfully against this confinement. 

“I do not like it.” I whisper. “It feels very strange.”

“It does look most becoming.” Markle comforts me.

Eliana pops the last slice of sweet apple into her mouth and picks up Pip. 

“It will go very well with those starry jewels on your gown, Elodie.” She shrugs. “But take it off if you don’t care for it.” 

I am a Sky Warden of the Aerie of the Snow Eagles, I remind myself. I have found my way home through raging blizzards and I have fought to keep the Aerie safe from the ravages of the Frost Giants. I can control my hair, I decide sternly.

I remain morosely unconvinced.

“I will be fine.” I say in high-pitched tones. “Thank you very much for your kind attention Markle.”

“Of course! Of course!” The Dwarf smiles at us both and then winks at Eliana. “I’m here whenever you need that little touch up, my dear.”

Leaving our donation to Sune in the entry hall, we turn our steps to Lacer’s Mercery. The sun is lowering into the Sea of Swords and the air grows refreshingly cool. Inside the tailor’s establishment, it is all cheerful bustle and swirling colorful fabric. Vaikner is not there. Eliana and I step outside to wait where we will not intrude on the work of the Mercery.

“Vaikner is late.” I fidget with the hated hairnet.

Eliana looks over at me and her lips quirk.

“You should stop that.” She suggests. “You’ll ruin it.” 

“We should not have left him to walk in the Deep alone.” I fret. “Do you think some misadventure befell him? Maybe an attack by one of the gangs we have encountered? We will need to rescue him…”

“I think we should not have left him alone in a library. That’s what I think.” Eliana replies phlegmatically. “Oh, look. There he is.”

Vaikner runs up to us. Then he stops, puffing to catch his breath.

“Yes. Here I am. I had a very good afternoon. How was yours?” He pants.

“Very nice. Thanks.” Eliana smiles.

I make a non-committal little sound.

“Shall we?” Eliana uncrosses her arms and, opening the shop door, gestures for us to go inside.

As befits gifted craftspersons, Master Lacer and his assistants completed the adjustments to our formal outfits in a timely and painstakingly meticulous fashion. Now, garbed in the exquisitely fitted dresses, Eliana and I spin around and admire each other. Vaikner presses himself into a shadowy corner; he is impressively well-camouflaged next to the rich, vibrantly blue drapes that cover the Mercery’s windows. 

“We did not perhaps plan very well.” I say once we are back out on the street again.

I wrap my trailing sleeves around my arms as I arranged Quen and Vess, my boots, my coat, and my outer garments into an unwieldy bundle.

“Yes. We will need to leave our regular belongings elsewhere before we enter the opera.” Vaikner agrees, shifting his shoulders uncomfortably under his heavy pack.

“The Shrines of Nature are close by. All our things will be safe there. Let’s head over to a busier street and flag down a hansom cab. We can’t walk all the way to Lightsinger Theater in these shoes. We’ll ask the driver to make a stop at my Temple, leave our stuff, and then head south. To dinner and a show.” Eliana says happily.

We follow our companion’s sensible suggestion. My brief meeting with Brother Helmsing left me with a strong impression of his competence and kindness. I am sure that none will interfere with my swords while they are under his care. It does not take long to hail a carriage. Vaikner and I wait within the cab while Eliana, burdened by the weight of all of our possessions but insisting that she does not require help, runs into her Shrines of Nature. Returning moments later, her step light, she stops and talks to the coach driver for a moment.

“I hope that neither of you will mind a little surprise.” She falls back into her leather seat as the coach lurches forward. “I picked a place for us to have our meal before the show. And asked our driver to take us there next.”

Vaikner and I look at her curiously.

“Markle suggested that we try the Gralkyn’s Tankard for evening feast.” She continues. “It is very close to the theater, so it is a popular location for pre-show dinner. And, apparently, is rather spectacularly situated. He said everyone should try it at least once. The whole place is on the legs of one of those huge statues. What did Markle call it? Oh, the Drunkard.”

“We may climb up onto one of the Walking Statues?” I gasp, delighted. “Oh yes! Let us definitely eat off his lap!”

“What a kind recommendation!” Vaikner agrees enthusiastically. “That would be a wonderful experience to try.”

Pleased that her suggestion garnered such immediate approbation, Eliana now settles back with a polite sigh while I share some of the fascinating history of the Walking Statues that I learned from Volo’s guide books.

Our carriage driver leaves us at the base of the Drunkard. Gilded with the sunset light, the weathered rocky figure towers above us. Steps have been carved into the side of the statue’s ankles and shins. We climb to Gralkyn’s Tankard which, as Markel assured us, is built out directly on the wide base formed by the ancient figure’s lap. The tavern is designed in a cleverly self-effacing way. The decorations and furnishings are kept to a simple minimum. Every effort is made to direct the guest’s focus to the awe-inspiring vista that is so unique to this location. I am instantly enthralled, hurrying across the tavern’s outdoor courtyard to stand at the edge of statue’s knees.

Waterdeep is spread out below and before me. It is like observing a map, only everything in sight, from twisted lanes to ramshackle houses to imposing temples, is three-dimensional. And real. It may seem like I am looking at another clever model of the city, like the one I admired earlier at the Hall of Records. But life is being lived in the streets of this Deep. There is murder and corruption, commerce and deception, small acts of cruelty and tiny steps towards redemption, laughter, love, and loss; all are happening below. So many stories unfolding before me. I feel like I could reach down and page through them all with eager fingers. 

And then to the west, beyond the crowded city and its stump of a mountain, stretches the restless sea. It glows, pink and gold, beneath the setting sun. The wind tugs at the jeweled net on my head. My hair shifts eagerly in reply. I long to stand here, high above the Deep, breathing in the sea while letting my curls dance freely. The discomfort of their restraint brings me harshly back to the present moment.

Vaikner is waving me over to where he and Eliana have claimed a table for us. The custom at this tavern is to order a variety of small dishes to share with one’s companions. We feast on golden rounds of toasted bread topped with sweet roasted peppers and little curls of fatty grilled fish. There are olives and cubes of sharp cheese, mixed together in oil redolent of herbs and garlic. There are small fritters, their exteriors crispy and their cloud-like centers studded with pieces of pink shrimp and sunny corn. There are morsels of chicken, spicy and smoke-rich from the wood-fire they were prepared on. The bewilderment of little delicacies continues as we watch the sun sink into the waters of the west. Our meal is accompanied by a lively red wine. And finished with an elegant touch: we are served bite-sized oval cakes, the initials GT embossed into their delicate tops. They come with thimble-size portions of a clear strong liquor. The cakes and the drink are both flavored with the same tantalizing spice. They taste like pine and honey.

It is evening when we have finished our feast. The sun is only a memory in the rare golden glint of foam on now-dark waters. The Deep below has come alive with flickering candles, cheerfully dancing firelight, and the steady illumination cast by street lanterns. From here, the demarcation between the city’s Wards, both in intensity of light and in the color of the street lamps, is easily visible. Finally, when I thought I could not be more enchanted, floating orbs, glowing gently silver, drift over the Deep. They are coming from somewhere behind us, to the east. It is like an irritating tickle in my memory: I am certain that I should know the source of this magical phenomenon. I watch the graceful motion of the orbs, like a display of dreamy fireflies, but I cannot remember what I have forgotten about them. I sit back, letting the luminous night soothe me.

“This is truly a special place. Thank you, Eliana. And Markel.” I say happily.

“Aye, I wouldn’t mind coming back here again.” Eliana sighs.

Vaikner simply smiles contentedly, his eyes reflecting the shimmering lights below.

The Lightsinger Theater is close to the Drunkard. And the weather is fine enough that we decide to walk. Arriving at the performance venue, we join the milling throng on a sweeping marble staircase. Carriage after carriage stops briefly to add more figures in finery to the crowd. Looking about me curiously, I see that Floon, Master Lacer, and Markel prepared us for this evening with thought and skill. Our elegant garb in no way stands out from the formal suits and gowns all around us. 

The entrance to the theater is very grand with yet more marble and additional, imposingly soaring staircases. There are enormous vases filled with flowers and many paintings upon the walls. Pictured seem to be patrons of this theater, or perhaps vaunted performers of Opera: I am not sure which. From their placid smiles, the people in the paintings all appear quite pleased to be here. I hear music somewhere ahead and turn to my companions. Vaikner looks politely curious. Eliana’s eyes shine with delight. 

The splendor continues after we show our tickets to one of the attendants greeting the crowds, and follow this guide into the theater itself. It is a massive and opulent room. The front of the theater is taken up by an enormous stage. Part, or most, of this is concealed behind voluminous folds of rich maroon curtains. The same color is used in the upholstery of the rows and rows of seats that fill the main level of the theater, as well as the chairs arranged on an upper gallery that juts out halfway over the lower room. There are also more velvety curtains screening off little balconies that are built out like small hanging nests from the walls on either side of the hall. The walls are decorated with intricately painted murals. And, anywhere that there is stonework, it is elaborately carved into garlands of flowers, grapes, and frolicking beings of all kinds. The music is coming from a pit between the edge of the stage and the first row of seats. Craning in this direction, I see that there is an even lower level here. It is filled by a group of musicians busily tuning their instruments. 

We are shown to seats right at the front row of the upper level, with a good view of the theater below us and the stage ahead. I continue to look around uncertainly. It is all very magnificent but my air swirls with an uncomfortable variety of perfumes. The scents layer and build: flowers and mothballs, candle wax and wine. As more spectators crowd into their seats, the odors intensify and the room grows stuffy. Gazing up, I regard the vaulted ceiling, with its gigantic hanging chandeliers, dubiously. The light fixtures are suspended above the room, each one its own sparkling, regimented constellation of glittering brilliance. But I had expected to see real stars. I am accustomed to singing under the open sky…

Perhaps it is the nagging unease from my hair endlessly testing the bounds of its confinement. But I begin to feel like I am closed in too tightly in this place. Matters do not improve when the heavy curtains ripple aside and the performance begins. A few stunned moments of staring at the stage, a short sharp inhalation of distress, and a quick glance at the ticket clutched in my hand, and I am dismally certain that I do not enjoy Opera. At least, not this Opera. This is a display of songs telling the story of the wars between Dragons and Giants! The Avariel’s only, and most murderously bitter, foes! And here they are, together on a Waterdhavian stage. Their evil deeds presented as a musical entertainment. This cannot be!

The music, now dreary, now piercingly shrill, grates against my trembling ears. The performers simply stand to intone their dolorous and implausibly melodramatic responses to the trials supposedly taking place around them. They do not even attempt to act. Although, this may be for the best because I would have no interest in seeing a truly talented performer portraying such foul subject matter in a realistic manner. It is unfortunate enough that the backdrops and props that populate the stage were designed by someone with skill. Vivid paintings and the clever play of fabric and flame and shadow are combined with judicious use of the Art to bring the cruel world of Dragons and the battlegrounds of Giants to life. Visceral and bloody life. It is all most upsetting.

I fidget in my seat. Next to me, Eliana sits entirely still. Her whole being is lost in the performance. Beyond her, Vaikner leans forward, studiously observing. All that he is missing is a notebook and pencil, I think dourly. I adjust my trailing sleeves and sigh quietly. My waist feels oddly naked without the weight of Quen and Vess around it. I comfort myself by silently swirling my favorite scents into my air: new grass under a spring sun, meadow flowers, fresh bread, the milky breath of nestlings in arms. I have only to tolerate this unpleasant spectacle until intermission. When we are bidden to our meeting with Mirt. 

Every moment until the longed-for hour seems to last an age. But, finally, the curtains swing jauntily as they close and the audience below us stirs. 

“Right!” I spring up. “It is one half through being over. And we do not wish to be late. Where do we go to find Mirt?”

“His…box.” Vaikner reviews Ren’s letter. “Box C. That would be one of those private seating areas that we can see on the side walls, there.”

“Mmm.” Eliana rises dreamily. “We can always ask someone where the entry to the box is.”

Leaving the theater’s main hall, we tell the first attendant that we find on the staircase about our meeting with Mirt. Our news is greeted with a respectful bow and we are quickly ushered down a side passage. It is quieter here and the air is fresher. Our footfalls are cushioned by thick carpet. Several doors, padded with the ubiquitous maroon upholstery, open off the side of the hallway. The usher stops at one of these and knocks deferentially. 

There is a low bass rumbling, like the first stirring of boulders under snow just before an avalanche. I cannot make out any words but, a moment later, the door opens. A tall, thin figure stands in the entrance to the box. It glints in the candlelight that flares behind it. I hear quiet whirring and clicking noises. And the audible intake of awestruck breath from Vaikner beside me. Holding the door open and beckoning us politely inside is a man entirely made out of metal. He is the height and width of an average Human. His limbs are cleverly articulated, their joints fastened with shiny silver rivets. The rest of his form gleams with a warm copper color. His face has features worked into it. But the eyes, nose, and mouth do not form any recognizable expression. They are just a collection of blankly neutral shapes. He does not speak but continues to gesture steadily.

The Opera attendant smiles at us, briskly and superficially, and then hurries away. We slowly step past the metal man, entering the box. The shiny figure noiselessly shuts the door behind us. 

The secondary impression that I will receive of the place is that the hanging nest is surprisingly spacious. I will be reluctantly impressed by the fine view of audience and stage that it commands. And appreciative of its comfortable furnishings: a divan, armchairs, carved sideboard and little tables. But, for the present, all that I can focus on is Mirt. 

With awed curiosity, I note that the Human is absolutely enormous. Lolling on the divan at his leisure, he reminds me very much of the great walruses that lounge on the shores of the northern seas at the center of the Great Glacier. And that our friends, the Ice Dwarves, rely on for their generous stores of tasty blubber. The tales of his daring adventures lead me to suspect that Mirt is as dangerously fierce as one of these marine beasts. He certainly appears to be as short-tempered and irritable as a walrus chieftain.

“Fodder!” He roars, ignoring us. “This tankard has a hole in the bottom. More ale!”

Mirt’s metal servant steps forth, smoothly collecting the faulty cup, and turning to refill it from a small barrel on the sideboard. This time it is Eliana who whistles quietly, clearly impressed. I can understand why: the board is stacked with barrels, bottles, and carafes. And generously laden with food. There is a whole roast chicken, a vat of buttery potatoes, some kind of stew bobbing with bright pieces of carrot, and an assortment of cakes and pies. Including a plate of many-hued little confections that Eliana seems particularly drawn to. She looks at the platter longingly. Vaikner eagerly studies the mechanical motions of Fodder. I continue to stare at Mirt.

He appears to be in his fourth or fifth decade of life. Although, if the tales about him are true, he is much, much older. He wears a suit that shares many ornate features with Vaikner’s delightful blue outfit. Mirt’s garb is all teal and gold, however. Except where it is splotched with tan-brown. A regrettable spill of gravy, apparently; I shake my head sympathetically. Mirt’s generous blonde mustache is flecked with foam and his face turns even rosier as he drains his tankard of ale. He looks at us now. The primary emotion that I catch from his blue-grey eyes is annoyed boredom.

I firmly advise myself to remain coolly observant. To form my impressions based on the reality before me instead of my youthful enthusiasm for the books that I so enjoyed about this man. I will not repeat the mistakes that I made with Volo: acting on pre-suppositions and allowing myself to get carried away by my boundless awe for the writer. I have seen Durnan, in external appearance no more striking than an other quiet tavern-keeper, turn into a vicious blur of sword strokes when he sliced up the Troll invading the Yawning Portal. And I have seen Volo, finely garbed and projecting cheerful confidence, prove to be disappointingly like a common trickster in his dealings. I will wait. And let Mirt’s actions show me who this famed adventurer truly is.

Avoiding impulsive behavior and speech is made unexpectedly easier by the wave of shyness that now overwhelms me. My hair, depressed by the ongoing restraint of the snood, and by the melancholy Opera that I just endured, barely stirs at all. I stay back, close to the door, as Eliana and Vaikner move further into the box. 

“So! You are the lot that helped out our Renaer?” Mirt barks out. “And got yourselves a crumbling old house for your trouble? Well, don’t hover. Come in! Eat and drink. There is plenty of everything! Sit and take your ease.”

Thus encouraged, Vaikner obtains cups of ale for all of us. And Eliana fills a generous plate with a rainbow of fragrant little cakes. Perching on the edge of one of the chairs and eager to find something to do with my trembling hands, I steal one of the confections from her dessert pyramid. It is pink. It crumbles and then melts sweetly away when I bite into it. Leaving the flavor of rose petals and lychee fruit on my tongue. My eyes grow wide.

“The pink ones are really excellent.” I whisper to Eliana.

She nods, mouth full.

“Tell me about this manor.” Mirt orders.

Slowly at first, then with growing confidence, we take turns describing our experiences at Trollskull Alley to Mirt. He already alluded to the manor’s state of disrepair but we do not start by mentioning Tomare’s projections for reconstruction or our need for a loan. We are entirely focused on the alarming discoveries that we made in the house. Mirt too shows no particular interest in discussing business matters. He simply allows us to talk. He is clearly familiar with our activities of the past few days. And so directs us brusquely to hurry through descriptions of the events that he must have already heard about from Renaer. Instead, with only a few well-placed words and gestures, he encourages us to confide many of our thoughts to him; our fears and plans for the house in Trollskull Alley.

“What we have discovered of the manor’s history thus far suggests that there is evil there that was never fully cleansed. That some portion of the Hag still has power in that place and continues to pose a threat to Bekhir…” I bite my lips. “To any children that enter that place.”

“There is a group of children that have taken to playing in the manor!” Vaikner confirms worriedly. “They are all in danger. And the poor spirit of Lif, the previous owner of the manor, is trapped and tormented!”

“The place is a blight.” Eliana sums up. “Our first goal is to make it safe. To get rid of the Hag’s influence and to find a way to bring peace to Lif. He indicated that he would like to see the place returned to its function as a tavern.”

Mirt nods, drinks, and eats, as he listens. 

As time passes, I begin to feel a little less oppressed by the momentous nature of this meeting. I shift in my seat, leaning out a little over the edge of the balcony to admire the sculpted trees carved into either side of it. The hanging box appears as if it were being held up by these marble boughs. Looking up, I gaze at the boxes across the theater from ours; on the opposite wall. They too are elaborately decorated. Peeking within the ornate seating areas, curious to see if they are populated by anyone remotely as impressive as Mirt, my attention is immediately and entirely captured by one individual. Or rather, one individual’s garment.

Directly across the audience from us sits a Human man wearing a cloak of such unabashed, such gaudily ostentatious splendor that my lips curve into an involuntarily merry smile. Even as a tiny spike of envy ripples through my confined hair. The fabulous coat is make up entirely of peacock feathers. From the man’s collar down as far as the edge of the box permits me to see, swirl and blink hundreds of iridescent blue-green eyes. I shake my head, awe-struck and a little horrified, to think of how many of these proud birds lost tail feathers to this resplendent bit of fashion. And how many hours of meticulous work creating this cloak required. 

I shift my focus to the man wearing the coat and he is…a surprise. Firstly, because he strikes me as truly wearing the cloak. I can think of very few who would achieve this feat (Floon is perhaps the only one who immediately comes to my mind). In the vast majority of cases, I muse, still smiling, it would be the marvelous coat wearing the person. This man, oozing smugly supreme self-assurance across the entire theater space that separates us, manages his  extraordinary garb without trouble. And yet, even as he airily pulls off this feat of couture, it still seems a strange fit. The man appears to be in his later middle years and his steely grey hair is pulled back into a thick ponytail. His face is lean and tanned. And scarred. He is missing one eye. Or, at least, one eye is covered with a blue patch that perfectly matches his coat. His mouth is quirked into a small smile. He looks hungry. His features, taken together with the outlandish coat make me think of a wickedly sharp blade. Its edge eager but its grip, for some odd reason, wrapped in lace, pearls, and gold thread. 

With a little start, I realize that, even as I am inquisitively studying this odd man, he is unceremoniously staring at our box. His eye is fixed on Vaikner. The Drow, having waited for a polite moment to indulge his curiosity, is asking Mirt about his metallic attendant. The peacock-swathed man across the room looks at Vaikner and his small smile grows simultaneously more cheerful and more thoughtful. I watch as his gaze shifts to Eliana. Now his grin is even more delighted and his face more hungry. I also look to Eliana. She has finished her cakes and is returning the strange man’s assessment boldly. She smiles too. Her eyes sparkle and there is a speculative look on her face that I have not seen there before. She gives a tiny nod. The man bows courteously in reply. I continue to stare, seeing him beginning to turn, starting to look away from Eliana, when the squawking blast of a trumpet distracts me. I glance in dismay to the musician’s pit, concerned that more Opera is imminent. Happily, it is only one musician, back early from her interlude of rest and starting to tune her instrument. With a relieved sigh, I turn my attention back to Mirt.

“That is Fodder. My nimblewright.” His rumbling voice is explaining to Vaikner. “A very clever piece of work from the artificers of Lantan.”

Mirt does not elaborate, but his next words make me forget everything else: fabulous peacock coats, strangely weighty glances, even the rapidly approaching torment of the second half of the performance…

“Now, pay attention all of you!” His tone grows more authoritative. “From what I have heard, and now seen: you three like to meddle!”

We look at him uneasily. None of us respond.

“Good.” He continues. “I too like to meddle. Sometimes, when the light fades and there are none to stand for those who cannot protect themselves from the dark, meddling is absolutely called for. In fact, if you are so inclined, I am of a mind to invite you to meddle further.”

Cautious silence greets his statement.

“There is a whole group of us, a society of Meddlers if you like. Renaer and I both belong to this group. And I think that your posse would find a place with us. I can tell you more but I will first need you to answer two questions.” Mirt announces.

Despite myself, my air swirls in excitement and my eyes grow wide and starry. Mirt has called us a “posse”! And he is setting us challenges to test our worthiness to join him and Renaer in some mysterious purpose!

“For my first question,” Mirt continues, gesticulating with a greasy, gnawed chicken leg. “How resourceful and convincing can you be?

“We Meddlers employ informants. One of these is Maxeen. She spends her days transporting the good people of the Deep around our fine streets in a dray. You will recognize her by the violet flower in her hat. I need you to find her. Convince her to trust you and get her latest report for me. What has she seen of late?”

I nod, looking at Eliana and Vaikner. They both appear as intrigued as I am.

“The second question,” Mirt drains yet another tankard and wipes his mouth. “Is how kind and courageous can you be?

“To answer this, you are to find a former Meddler, Uza Solizeph. She lives in the Trades Ward and, in her, ahem, peaceful retirement, runs a shop. It’s called Curiosity and Satisfaction. But she is not there now. You see, she claims that there is a dragon on her property. Threatening her well-being. And that of her cat. She awaits assistance from any wiling to help her. At Felzoun’s Folly tavern.”

“A Dragon?” I gasp.

“That’s what she said.” Mirt answers tonelessly.

I frown. Then, setting aside my questions, I jump up.

“Uza’s plight sounds urgent. We should leave the Opera right away! We need to help her.” I say with genuine satisfaction.

Then, seeing the shadow of unspoken disappointment flit quietly and quickly over Eliana’s face, I turn to her.

“I am so sorry that you will not see the second half of this show.” I strain for sincerity.

She shrugs, smiling ruefully.

“You would like to see the whole show?” Mirt turns to Eliana. “You can come back another time and use my box. I reserve it for the whole season. Not for the Opera – can’t stand the damned stuff!”

My respect for Mirt’s judgement grows by several orders of magnitude and I smile at him with relief and approbation. He looks at me blankly.

“It’s a good place to have these kind of meetings. To entertain, eh?” He goes on carelessly. “You can inform me whenever you wish to come back. Finish watching this performance at your leisure.”

“Thank you! That is very kind.” Eliana replies.

“That reminds me.” Mirt grumbles, reaching into a pocket. “If you succeed in answering one or both of my questions, send me a message. Write only what you need to, fold this back up again, and it will find its way to me.”

He holds a piece of paper out to Vaikner. It has been cleverly folded into the shape of a graceful bird. It must be enspelled. I have never seen a message bird before: what a practical idea!

Promising Mirt that we will have news for him soon, we bow politely and leave the opulent box. 

Soon, I am happily breathing in the smoky, briny, free air of the Deep’s streets. I turn to my friends with a sunny smile. We are together, we have met Mirt, and he has assigned us work to test our kindness and fortitude. It promises to be an exceptionally fine night.

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

I hope that you enjoyed this exciting chronicle of our party’s finalizing of their real estate deal. But really, I hope you enjoyed our version of “taverns and talking” – in this case “chatting and shopping”. And, of course, Elodie, Eliana, and Vaikner’s first meeting with Mirt and the intriguing invitation that our party received. Please head over to the images section (coming soon) to check out some of the art that I found inspiring for Mirt, Fodder, and, of course, our characters in evening wear.

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

For Floon, in his element as he helps dress our characters for their special night:

Happy, Pharrell Williams

Girls just want to have Fun, Cyndi Lauper

For the meeting at the Opera:

La redécouverte, Yann Tiersen

Eliana’s impression of the performance:

Can’t Help Falling in Love, Elvis Presley

Down by the River, Hildegard von Blingin’

Vaikner’s impression of the performance:

Blinding Lights, The Weeknd

Dreams, The Cranberries

Elodie’s impression of the performance:

Bad Romance, Lady Gaga

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