26th Mirtul, Year of Three Ships Sailing (1492 D.R.), distressingly close to one bell after highsun. Or maybe a little after…
I feel like I am floating along the shining white paths that lead me out into the streets of Waterdeep. The time I spent with Amber today has made me so happy! We did nothing remarkable. We were not fighting our foes. Or even training together. We were not studying. Not seeking out knowledge to advance an important mission. And yet, our simple time spent in talk together was enough. It made me more content than I remember being in a very long time. What a confusing, awkward, and delightful encounter!
As I dreamily wend my way through the people and animals crowding the streets, I wonder what may be happening to me. By the time I am within sight of the Temple of the Seldarine, my quiet suspicion is a clamoring certainty. My first thought is that more research is required. And perhaps a helpful conversation with an Elder to seek advice?
Pleasure, disbelief, and dread mix to make havoc out of my hair. My pace slows. Am I truly considering this? Do I really feel that I, Elodie Skyshard of the Aerie of the Snow Eagles, require guidance from the Order of Hanali Celanil regarding, of all things, a Human Man?
Reluctance and uncertainty war with the need to follow the correct procedure in such a case. After all, I have not yet sought out Amber’s consent for a even simple encounter of pleasure. Let alone anything more rare and…and unsettling.
I walk on, realizing that I what I really desire is to guard my feelings. Holding them close to my inmost self as one does with a precious gift. I fear that if I share them with anyone, even in search of understanding and guidance, they will lose their delicate glow. And this dizzying new happiness may be lost too. Like the rainbow iridescence of a bubble that always disappears when you reach for it too eagerly. I decide to keep my feelings my own. They, after all, concern none but myself and I need trouble no one else with my innermost musings for now.
Satisfied with my resolution, I hurry through the outer Temple gates and into the welcome garden beyond. Eliana and Vaikner are already there. Thelaraan the Gardener is with them, sharing the first of the season’s fruits and nuts with our guests. I bow to him and he returns the greeting, turning to come towards me. He moves easily through the lush plantings and offers me a handful of golden-green translucent fruit. Gooseberries! I pop one into my mouth eagerly and then pause, lips tingling as the berry’s taut skin gives way to a burst of tangy juiciness. My mouth puckers.
“Eliana! Vaikner! Hello, my friends!” I call to the company cheerily, continuing to munch as I hurry up to them. “I am very sorry to have kept you waiting!”
My guilt at my unprecedented tardiness is somewhat lessened when I see them at pleasant rest, enjoying Thelaraan’s gifts.
“It has been a busy and successful day. I joined the Order of the Gauntlet! I made the oath to Saer Savra this morning!” I share my exciting news.
“Already? Well, congratulations Elodie. I know that this was something important for you.” Eliana answers.
Vaikner nods in agreement but looks at Eliana, seeming a little aggrieved. He fidgets with a brooch on his chest. It is a piece that I have not seen before. A shiny V-shaped pin of silver and gold.
“That is a very lovely brooch, Vaikner.” I say politely.
“Thank you, Elodie.” He stops fussing with the brooch. “I signed up with the guild of wizards, the Watchful Order of Magists and Protectors. This is the membership pin.”
“Well, that is exciting news too! Congratulations to you, Vaikner!
“Does this mean that you were able to meet with Alric? I am sure that we have plenty of news to exchange.” I finish my gooseberries and turn all my attention to my companions.
“Thank you for saying so. It was important for me and I – ” Vaikner is still looking at Eliana meaningfully as they both speak up at the same time.
“Yes.” Eliana turns to me, continuing to speak as Vaikner subsides into inaudible grumbling.
“Yes, we do have plenty to talk about. And here is the first of the news.” Scowling, she hands me this morning’s edition of the Wazoo.
The noise of the Deep does not pass the Temple’s walls and I hear only the soft susurration of wind among leaves as I bend my head over the finely printed page. My attention is caught immediately as I see Amber’s name in a story about the City of the Dead. The news about the cemetery’s closure was certainly released in a timely manner! This explains why I was the only one at the locked gates this morning. The disturbing events of last night are described but the story does not contain much detail. And does not mention us by name. I see nothing immediately objectionable to explain Eliana’s concern. I look up to tell her so. The expectant face I see looking back at me suggests that I am missing something.
I pore over the paper again and start to understand. Beyond the headline story I find a most upsetting report: several Waterdhavian residents of Elven descent have been murdered in the Dock Ward! There is no explanation for these terrible crimes and no culprits have been identified. This is distressing. I am surprised that I have not heard anything about it before! I must remember to ask Aubray is she has any knowledge of these concerning events. And to offer my assistance to the Temple Elves in putting a stop to this evil.
Biting my lips and sitting back, I almost miss the next story. Then, as the words snag my mind, a chill gust passes around and through me. The Wazoo’s writer switches from warning the Elven community about unexplained murders to describing the discovery of a Human woman’s corpse. She was mutilated and marked with the foul Zhentarim symbol. Her punishment for “a wagging tongue”. I recognize her name: Kaylin “The Chisel” Holbrook. The informant that gave us the location of the Zhentarim warehouse when we were searching for Floon and Renaer’s kidnappers! Reeling with guilt, I barely notice the paper drop from my hands.
“This is all our fault!” I cry out in stunned pain.
The golden bubble of secret joy inside me has been replaced by a dark, nauseated void.
“Yes,” whispers Vaikner disconsolately.
“What?!” Eliana is fuming. “This woman chose her life and her actions. She suffered the consequences of her own choices! This is not our doing.”
I look at her, shocked.
“We do not know anything about her life or how much choice she actually had in what she did. But, even if she was not a good person, her death would not have happened this day if we had not spoken with her. Perhaps if we had found her sooner, made sure to pay her immediately so that she could escape the Deep safely…” My mind circles despondently through belated realization and regret.
“She lived a dangerous lifestyle and she chose to betray those she worked for. Her death is not our responsibility!” Eliana insists.
I look to Vaikner in distressed confusion. He looks weary and sad but does not seem ready to speak.
Over these past days, I have come to admire and respect Eliana. This respect, along with the recent conversation with Amber about my struggles learning when it was wiser not to speak, make me unusually hesitant to respond.
“Let us walk to a more removed meeting place.” I finally suggest. “We can talk further there.
As I lead my companions through the inner Temple gates and into the beauty of the central court, I continue to grapple with hurt. And with anger.
I try to examine recent events logically: assessing our decisions, Kaylin’s behavior, and our actions after we rescued Floon and Renaer. I turn the memories over in my mind, looking at that night from every angle. I try to find the moment when we could have taken a different path. Identify the choice that, if made differently, would have led to a better outcome for Kaylin.
There were so many such moments! My self interrogation serves only to highlight how hopelessly quickly the results of even our best-intentioned actions can become…complicated. And unpredictable. Even a seemingly insignificant choice in the most brief and thoughtless moment can impact the lives of so many around us…
Still, one dismal realization cuts through the complexities like Vess through silk: no matter who the Zhentarim informant was and how she chose to act, I will never be able to agree with Eliana. I know that we share in at least some of the blame for Kaylin’s brutal death. This knowledge will stay with me. Always.
I look over at my friends as we walk. Eliana strides along stormily, her face set and determined. Determination to do what, I wonder?
Vaikner looks uneasy. His distress is clearly ongoing and separate from the heart-breaking news about Kaylin. He pauses frequently and continually glances around with anxiety.
I gaze about me. I have chosen to invite my companions to Corellon Larethian’s estuary. The heart of the Temple of the Seldarine. We are passing a series of shaded glades, carpeted with tiny pale blue flowers that shimmer like a field of sky-reflecting dew drops when light strikes them. Several of the larger trees surrounding each glade are encircled by spiral staircases, carved of silvery-white wood and ornamented with leaf, berry, and flower in lacy patterns. Each stairway leads to a series of platforms constructed around the inner branches of the trees where one can retreat into a leafy solitude for rest and meditation.
Next we walk past lofty stone spires, subtly embellished with crystal and precious metals so that the light of the sun, moon, and stars is filtered, enhanced, and worshipped at the proper times.
Elegant statues of the Seldarine and their noble defenders dot the landscape. Their otherworldly beauty inspires and invites reflection.
The sight of all this soothes me in my pain. But it seems to be having the opposite effect on Vaikner.
“Do not fear,” I tell him gently. “The Elves here are welcoming of all good Peoples. They have been nothing but kind and tolerant of me.”
“You are an Elf, one of them. Think about who I am, what my People are!” He says shortly.
“My Mother’s people are like them. But I am not a full-blooded Elf. And yet they have helped and supported me in my quest here.” I shake my head.
Vaikner does not look reassured. It is doubtful that he trusts me, let alone the Temple Elves. And, I think sadly, given our argument of the past day, I am unlikely to gain his trust soon.
I turn towards a small, shaded grove, beckoning for Eliana and Vaikner to follow. I have brought my companions to this quiet wooded courtyard to talk in peace and privacy. It is important to start the conversation on the right note.
“Eliana,” I begin hoarsely, trying to keep my voice steady. “I do not believe that we will come to an agreement about who is to blame for Kaylin’s death. But we have much to do. And much news to share. So I think we should set that tragic matter aside for now. And talk over our tidings and our plans.”
Each of us will need to find our own way to deal with the role we played in Kaylin’s murder, I think. But I leave this unsaid.
Instead, I tell my companions about my conversation with Aubray and the Soul Fletcher. I share the good news that my roommate will assist us at the manor. And that the Soul Arrows are already helping Amber with his watch over the Restful.
“I stopped in briefly at the City of the Dead to check on things this morning. That is how I know that the Moon Elves are already there.” I explain.
Willing my tumultuous hair into submission, I move on to the rest of my news quickly. I have a suspicion that Eliana’s raised eyebrows are merely a precursor to awkward questions that I do not wish to answer at present.
So, stumbling over the words a little in my hurry, I talk about the Halls of Justice and relay what I learned about Ushien’s defeat of the Hag.
“Can you repeat these names again, please?” Vaikner requests, ears pricking up when I come to the strange places that I read about in Ushien’s record.
Checking my own notes, I do as he asks.
“Ah, yes. I recognize these names. The City of Bronze is found in the Gray Wastes, a dark dimension of the Lower Planes. Ushien and Alric must have suspected a Fiendish influence right away.” Vaikner says thoughtfully.
I am pacing as we talk, smelling leaf mulch and the earthy scent of moss on shade-bathed brick. Vaikner has found a place to sit with his back to the garden’s wall. Eliana settles on a stone bench nearby and, when I have told my part of this morning’s news, I join her.
Eliana and Vaikner then talk of their meeting with Alric, at the Watchful Order. Vaikner’s anxiety lessens as he speaks; it is clear that he enjoyed visiting this haven of the Art and being around other wizards. As is his habit, he takes comfort in the new knowledge that he has gained. Seeing this, Eliana sits back and allows Vaikner to tell their tale.
“It was most useful, most helpful, to meet Alric and question him directly about these events!” He exclaims. “Alric did attend Gristlegum’s execution, you see. He was able to confirm that the Night Hag was burned to ash. But, knowing now that Trollskull Manor remains haunted by its presence, he theorizes that Gristlegums had ties to both the Shadowfell and the Infernal Plane. It was able to draw great power from this. Allowing part of its evil substance to continue on. To exist, in some form, in these dark realms!”
While pleased that Vaikner has stopped glancing queasily around him, as if expecting imminent attack from the Temple Elves, I do not feel comforted by this information.
“Because the hauntings occur on the night of the new moon, when the strength of this world’s reality is weakest and the pull of the Shadowfell is strongest, Alric suspects that the Hag is attacking the manor from outside our physical plane.” The Drow continues. “Indeed, he fears it is drawing the whole house into the Shadowfell on those nights. And continuing its feeding.”
I close my eyes for a moment, listening for my Lady’s voice in the wind, while I absorb his words.
“This casts our quest in grim new light.” I finally say.
“Yeah.” Eliana agrees. “To get rid of the last of the Hag’s spirit, we will have to enter the Shadowfell ourselves. On new moon night.”
“That twisted reflection of our world is not a place I have ever had call to visit. Nor have I ever wanted to.” With an effort, I keep my voice steady.
“Nope. Same.” She says succinctly.
“Alric offered us much helpful advice. To prepare us for this place.” Vaikner remains focused on his encounter with the Elder magist. “He warns that the shadow plane feeds on the darkest of our emotions. We must therefore guard against feelings of pain, bitterness, rage, and despair. So as not to empower it.
“He counsels us to fight in the light where we can. Blessed and enchanted weapons are most effective. And cold steel and silver. In some cases.
“Also, Hags prefer to gather in covens. Alric urges us to keep watchful because there may be more than one monster involved in the Trollskull hauntings.
“Oh, and he also made the very kind offer to enchant one of our weapons before we face the Hag.”
Vaikner falls silent.
I grip the edges of the stone bench as I consider the task before us. Moss yields like a velvety sponge to my touch and leaves green smears on my palms. I look guiltily around for Thelaraan but the grove is as still and empty as before.
Then I hear the fluttering of wings. A gleaming white bird circles overhead. As Vaikner reaches for it, mid-flight, I realize that it is a letter; enspelled paper like the message charm that Mirt gave to us before.
After reading over it, Vaikner passes the letter to us. It is indeed from Mirt and I review the contents eagerly. Mirt thanks us for our timely completion of our assigned tasks. And invites us to another meeting! At nine bells tomorrow! Oh, at the opera…
Still, the letter ends with “Prepare to meddle!” and that seems encouraging. Mirt writes as if pleased and I am hopeful that he will be open to longer conversation with me when we next meet.
Vaikner scribbles a reply on a blank portion of the message bird. Confirming that we will meet with Mirt as instructed. We watch the little wings flap busily away as we plan for the coming days.
Vaikner has visited the Dungsweeper’s Guild and noted where and when the sweepers usually meet for their daily work. Anxious that we fulfill our obligation to Vajra, to work three shifts over the following tenday, Vaikner has left our names with the Guild Master. Promising that we will return in a timely manner to begin guard-duty.
Meanwhile, Eliana reminds us of the request from the priest at the Shrines of Nature, Brother Helmsing, to look into the mysterious animated scarecrows that are disturbing the peace of the Snobeedle Meadery. She is hoping to leave the Deep this afternoon on this errand.
I would like to pay another visit to the Font of Wisdom before new moon night. I wish to spend more time with the extensive collection on Waterdhavian history that I noticed during our first trip there. And, knowing now that we will be facing a Night Hag in the Shadowfell, I would also like to search for any information that may help us in that grim task.
And then, of course, we all plan to attend the meeting with Mirt tomorrow evening.
As the sun starts its downward arc and the clouds return to threaten a stormy afternoon, we decide to begin with a journey to Undercliff. If time permits, we will return to the Deep and join the Dungsweepers by dawn tomorrow. And then, after a day spent guarding the street cleaners as they shovel away foul garbage, we will proceed to our meeting at the Opera. An unfortunate progression that leaves the most unpleasant task for last, I muse sourly.
Eliana’s roommate, Sister, is to join us in our work today. We leave the peaceful grounds of my Temple and rejoin the crowds in the street. Eliana hails a hansom cab, intending to stop by Mielikki’s temple for Sister, and then continue on out of the Deep as quickly as possible.
Once we arrive, the cab driver agrees to wait for us outside the Shrines of Nature as Eliana hurriedly follows the sounds of goat bells within to retrieve Sister. I wish to feel the first rainfall on my face, so I also step out of the carriage. To my surprise, Vaikner chooses to wait in the street beside me.
“Vaikner,” I hesitantly voice my concern. “I noticed that you seemed uncomfortable venturing onto my Temple’s grounds. I am sorry to see that. The Seldarine are not going to judge or punish you for where you come from. They can be a source of great support and strength. And perhaps, if you find a deity that you can truly align with, you will feel more at ease. Less fearful about going into the temples of other deities. Like my Temple and Eliana’s Shrine.”
A pained pause follows. I can hear the cab driver clucking aimlessly to his horse.
“Elodie, I am not afraid of going into holy places because I do not have a deity that I worship. I do have one. I am a follower of Eillistraee. I just need to find her temple here in the Deep. I believe that is is located in the Field Ward.
“No, I did not go in with Eliana because she was only briefly stopping in to retrieve Sister. And earlier, at your temple… well, it is difficult to feel comfortable at a holy site of the people that your family has been at war with for generations. Almost the entire history of our People is about our conflict with each other.” Vaikner sighs.
“Hmm, that is understandable. Although now, of course, we are all here trying to heal the wounds of our respective histories, are we not? I am glad that you have Eillistraee, though I am sorry you have had difficulty getting to her temple. I would be happy to help you in any way that you need.” I offer.
“Thank you.” He nods briefly.
I look down the street and then check the skies. They are darker and I think I see the haziness of distant rain in the East. The driver starts to whistle but does not succeed in creating recognizable melody.
“It looks like we may get wet on our trip to Undercliff.” I venture, achingly polite.
“Yes. I prefer it to bright sunshine. It is easier on my eyes.” Vaikner responds equally politely.
“Oh! Elodie, something else came up in our conversation with Alric…” the formality drains from Vaikner’s tone and he frowns in worried recollection.
“Alric told me that he was very busy; that the whole Watchful Order was stretched thin. This is why he could not send out anyone to help us in dealing with the Hag…more directly. It seems that most of the Order members are occupied arranging for the arrival of the Thayan ambassador.
“I am not sure how much you know of Red Thay, Elodie, but it is a nation ruled by wizards. And the Red Wizards of Thay are not known for benign magic. Their cult is infamous for its skill in Necromancy!
“I was struck by the peculiar timing. A Necromancer seems to be active in the City this last tenday, raising dead warriors in the cemetery. And that this should be happening just at the time when the Thayan embassy is opening in Waterdeep… it cannot be simple coincidence. I believe we should talk to Ambrosius about it. He may need this information.” He trails off.
I stare at Vaikner with some consternation.
“My knowledge of Thay is not extensive,” I say slowly, “but I am aware of it and of its powerful wizards. Surely you remember my quest and the news that I received from Samark, ancient Blackstaff, at Vajra’s tower? Samark confirmed the rumor that one of the Tears has been taken by the Red Wizards of Thay.”
Vaikner looks a little blank.
“I do not remember Elodie. I, frankly, do not remember much of that conversation at all. I was, hmm, somewhat preoccupied with other matters…” He shrugs.
“Yes, I recall. With your book. Your book of evil. That was taken away by the Blackstaff. All the Blackstaffs.” I remind him stonily.
We both study the pavement for a lengthy period. The cab driver appears to be cleaning the soles of his boots. They make an unpleasant scraping sound on the roof of the cab.
“Yes. That’s right. I am sorry Elodie. I apologize that the events around my presenting the book interrupted your conversation. And that you may not have gotten all the information you were seeking for.” Vaikner mumbles.
“It is alright. I did find out a great deal of value. And, as Eliana rightfully pointed out, I will have other chances to seek knowledge. I have some ideas about that in fact…
“I am also sorry Vaikner. Sorry that you lost your important book in that abrupt manner. And sorry I threatened you and, you know, held a knife to your throat.” I mutter.
We now both study the clouds, diligently noting the many signs of impending bad weather.
“Well,” I clamber out of this social morass with determination. “As you seem to have missed the finer points of my explanation yesterday…”
In a rapid whisper, I recount the legend of the Tears and tell Vaikner of my quest to retrieve the gems and unite them. I end with my hard-won revelation from Vajra’s Tower: one of the Tears is held by the Red Wizards of Thay, at least one was known to be lost in the Undermountain, and one may be held by the Open Lords of Waterdeep.
“What would one of these Tears, held apart from the others, do for its owner?” Vaikner enquires eagerly. “Does a single gem confer power?”
“I am not certain.” I pause to remember all that I have read about the Tears. “I believe that the Tears are most powerful when united. Their intended purpose is to be used together; to give divine grace to the Avariel in their need. But, almost certainly, each gem alone is still imbued with great magical might. And, when held by a knowledgeable individual, may confer significant power to its holder.”
“I wonder if the Red Wizards bring their Tear to Waterdeep. If possessing it has given them power and confidence to come here and start some sort of Necromantic attack.” Vaikner ponders.
“I would not be surprised if possession of one of the Tears of the Seldarine played a role in the Red Wizards’ rise to power. It seems distressingly plausible. My fear now is that, if they do indeed hold one of the gems, and if they truly understand its worth and origin, they will be searching for the others. I do not necessarily think that they bring their Tear to Waterdeep. But rather that they have somehow discovered the existence of the other Tears. That they know their rumored locations. And are now seeking to possess them too. That cannot be allowed to happen!” I gasp out.
I have spoken one of my worst fears aloud but this does nothing to lessen its power. Because I do not know how I would prevent such a calamity from occurring.
Vaikner seems to be thinking deeply. He suggests that we bring up the possible connection between necromantic activity in the City of the Dead and the arrival of the Thayans during our meeting with Mirt. And that we warn Alric that the Red Wizards may be here seeking for power sources in the form of ancient Elven gems.
“I think consulting with Mirt about the Necromancer is a fine plan.” I agree. “Indeed, given his history with Undermountain, he may have more direct knowledge of the gems than even the Blackstaff. And his reputation is formidable; I can feel safe confiding in him.
“But I am hesitant to reveal the existence of the Avariel and of our quest to the Watchful Order. Human wizards have previously proved rather…grasping. I am not certain whether I am ready to trust Alric with knowledge of the Tears. Perhaps we can give him a less specific warning – tell him that the Thayan embassy may be looking to steal something of historic and magical value from Waterdeep, for example?” I suggest.
“I am not optimistic that such a vague warning, containing so little helpful detail, will be useful” Vaikner replies, troubled. “But this secret belongs to your People, Elodie. I promise to abide by your request. We will not reveal the existence of the Tears to Alric until you decide to do so.”
The creak of the entry gate to the Shrines of Nature resembles the squeak-groan of tree branches rubbing against each other. I turn at the sound and see Eliana, accompanied by Sister, coming over to the cab.
Seeing Sister on Mielikki’s temple grounds, in quiet harmony with her surroundings and less obtrusive even than is Thelaraan at labor in his gardens, is a very different experience than the jarring sight of her on the streets of Sea Ward.
Sister looms.
Over everyone and everything around her. She plods stolidly towards us, the shagginess of her pelt only emphasized by its contrast with the velvety pink expanse of her flat wide nose. Her scent arrives before she does. She smells of sweet hay, of the blending of floral and barnyard that is goat milk, and of the acrid aroma of mice. Many, many mice. In preparation for our outing, Sister has wrapped her upper half in an entire sheep’s skin, as shaggy as she herself is. And she is carrying a tall staff of gnarled and twisted wood.
I look up at the driver, checking to see whether there is room next to him on his high seat. I believe that I would like to climb up and share his bench. I prefer to remain in the open air for this part of our trip. There is no bench. Only a narrow seat just big enough to accommodate one slender form. The face of the driver currently occupying it reflects my concerns about the presence of a bulky Firbolg in the cab of his vehicle.
Sister’s face holds nothing but thoughtful and gentle interest.
“Hello. Excuse my being so agitated. I am excited – this will be my first ever hansom ride” Her deep voice rumbles serenely over us as she draws near.
I resign myself to the close quarters to come, not wishing to detract from her pleasure.
A brief but heated exchange between the driver and Eliana follows. It is most unfortunate, but Sister innocently let slip that there will be many mice joining us in the cab. After extracting sufficiently fervent assurances of their good behavior as regards the upholstery, the driver relents. And we all find our seats. I share my side of the cab with Vaikner, while Eliana squeezes into the sliver of available space next to Sister. A brief straining pull by the horse and we are rolling down the street.
We do not make it very far at all before Sister’s serious voice resonates through the cab.
“This is not very comfortable, is it?” She muses.
Her form wavers momentarily and then is gone. In its place, in the center of the suddenly wide expanse of seat next to Eliana, sits a small red fox. Its coat is perhaps just a little more shaggy than is normal but is a rich russet nonetheless. The fox climbs up on its back legs, leaning its front paws against the lower edge of the window frame. Then, in apparent enjoyment, it gazes out at the Deep as the cab jolts and rolls along. It placidly ignores our shocked gasps.
“I did not know that your roommate could shape shift!” I laugh in surprised pleasure. “May I pet her?”
“Why are you asking me? You should ask her.” Eliana replies.
I look over at the Sister-fox and see a faint flaring of the gleaming black nose and a slight incline of the alert head. Leaning over cautiously, I luxuriate in the feeling of soft glossy fur as I scratch Sister behind one ear. All the while wondering what has happened to the mice…
Sister-fox is curled up comfortably on the seat, sleeping soundly, when the cab passes the City Guard barracks on the northern perimeter of Waterdeep and then draws alongside the Upper Towers. This is the dividing line between the older Wards and the Deep’s newest, as yet unofficial, neighborhood: the Field Ward. It is cramped here and the air is fetid with strong odors of mud, human and animal waste, and rotting vegetables. The wooden homes are small and there is no stone or brick construction here. People bustle about, as preoccupied with their affairs as those in the center of the Deep. But there is a more hungry, thread-bare look to their clothes and faces.
Our driver stops in the North Yard, a large square just inside Waterdeep’s North Gate. We disembark and pay our fee. The driver barely acknowledges our polite goodbyes as he checks the upholstery in his cab with a hurtful degree of suspicion.
Sister shifts back to her Firbolg self and we all join in a line that waits patiently to pass the City Guard inspection post before leaving Waterdeep.
The crowd shifts forward in waves; the queue to leave the City surging steadily through the gates. I notice two Humans darting rapidly through the slow-moving masses of people. They are approaching our company, stealthily and from different directions. I begin to watch them closely. Fixing the position of each in my mind, I look from one to the other with open distrust as they minnow and flit their way towards us. They seem to notice my stare, each briefly pausing and then reversing direction. They slip seamlessly back amongst the crowd just as Eliana whispers urgently,
“Watch your pockets. Keep your possessions close to you!”
We all take this lesson in caution to heart but arrive at the North Gate without seeing anything else suspicious. The guards posted here look bored and allow the line leaving the City to move quickly. I notice that there is a longer, slower-moving queue waiting outside the gates. The arriving crowds are questioned and checked by a larger and more alert group of guards. Entry into the Deep takes much longer than departure from it.
“Anything to declare?” A nasal voice mutters this question as we step up to the guard’s bench.
I take a deep breath, considering how best to answer such a wide-ranging question.
“No, nothing at all.” Eliana interjects smoothly, herding our group quickly through the gates.
We have only been in Waterdeep for a few days but leaving it is oddly wrenching. I feel a brief pang of loss as the all-encompassing sense of so many lives being lived to the full around me falls away. The constant hum of talk, arguments, industry, and laughter is fading. And the swirling scent currents of food, brine, sweat, waste, and sun-warmed stone are now diluted by fresher winds.
This last, at least, is a relief. While the roadway coming up to the gates is milling with a variety of beings, we move past them quickly and are soon in the open countryside. I breathe the fresh sweet scents of clover and dandelions with pleasure. There is still a salt tang to the chilly wind and the clouds tower ominously over Undercliff. But the rain amounts to no more than an occasional fat drop absent-mindedly plopping onto my upraised face. We turn south-east and our walk is very pleasant.
We pass horse-drawn carts and foot traffic but the wide country road never feels crowded. To the east stretches verdant land. There are many farms, orchards, and homesteads here, all cosily nestled together in this sheltered belt of countryside. Protected from cold winds and violent coastal storms by the bulwark of Mount Waterdeep. Its high cliff walls rear up to our right, shadowing the lands on the western side of the road. Like a graceful farewell from the city we left behind, we see small specks circling through the gray-streaked skies above the Waterdhavian skyline.
“Griffons!” I point upwards excitedly. “Have I told you that Saer Savra’s family, the Belabronte clan, breed the animals for Waterdeep’s City Guard’s Aerial Cavalry? They have a large ranch north of here and specialize in raising and training these noble beasts.”
I continue my enthusiastic exposition on griffon husbandry for some small time. My companions show only middling interest in the useful information that I am imparting but I cheerfully persist. Surely, the more they learn, the more intrigued they will become!
“I would like to get my hands on some of those eggs” muses Sister in her typical doleful manner.
At least she feels proper appreciation for these wondrous animals!
“They would make good eating.” She grunts.
I give up on my efforts to educate Sister about griffons.
Still, her remarks start a general conversation about food. Exercise and fresh air have sharpened everyone’s appetites.
Sister shares a salty cheese of her own making to sustain us during our journey. While we enjoy the crumbly funk of the curds, she begins telling us of her newest passions: beekeeping and honey making. Her voice rumbles with as much vivacity as the mournful spectrum of a Firbolg allows. The mellow tones forms a soothing auditory backdrop to our walk.
We reach the Meadery a little after four bells after highsun. Approaching the main house, we pass neatly planted fields, tidy out-buildings, and, to my delight, a sweeping expanse of orchards. Almond, cherry, and apple: the trees are a snowy blizzard of blooms. Their sweet smell is almost too intense, filling my air and perfuming every breath that I take.
We do not see the expected bustle of activity as we approach this well-maintained farm. There are no laborers in sight, even as we arrive at the main Meadery house. A solitary low hill rises out of the flat landscape. The manor house is built into and around it, sprawling comfortably over the grounds. This is Hin architecture, though it is uncommon to see true under-hill design on the flat coastal plains of the far West. Still, it is no surprise when our door knock is answered by a young Halfling man.
He peers out with nervous suspicion unusual in the hospitable Halflings. And he rests his hand on the back of an extremely large dog. It appears to be a mastiff of some kind and its growls rumble out of the doorway in menacing greeting. The sleek tawny coat of the powerful animal gleams in the golden afternoon light. As does the richly finished embroidery of his master’s fine waistcoat. With his affluent garb, perhaps the Halfling fears theft.
Eliana speaks calmly and steadily, making introductions and explaining the reason for our visit.
“Oh! Oh of course! You are most welcome.” Our host’s relief is palpable. “I am Beltin Snobeedle. Please, come in. Come in! Never mind Gallop. He’s a good boy, aren’t you, Gallop?”
Gallop certainly seems to be a very discerning and calm dog. Once we are invited in, he pads deeper into the house, paying us no further attention.
We are surrounded by quiet comfort. From the carefully laid stone pattern of the floor, to the warm glow of assiduously polished wood panelling lining the walls and the rich vibrant cloth of window hangings and furniture. All is well-appointed and speaks of tasteful affluence.
Beltin asks us to wait in a large sitting room while he fetches the rest of his family to greet us. Gallop comes into the room and settles down with a drawn-out dog sigh to wait with us.
The room is dominated by a large painting of two Halflings; it is prominently displayed on the wall opposite the doorway. Studying it, I see a strong family resemblance between Beltin and the Halfling man in the picture. They share the same wide and open smile, slightly flat nose, and brown curling hair. Leaning happily into the man’s embrace, a radiant and elegant Halfling woman looks confidently out of the painting. Both figures in the portrait appear to be of Stoutheart descent.
Before long, Beltin returns, accompanied by two Halfling women. I recognize the first: an older, less formally attired, version of the figure we have already encountered in the painting. Her dark hair is pulled back in a careless twist and her sharp eyes sweep swiftly over the room. Gripping her hand tightly is a young girl, shyly peeking at us from behind the older woman’s skirts. The older Halfling man from the painting is not with them.
The Halfling woman takes charge of the gathering.
“Good day to you all. Please, sit, sit!” She orders authoritatively. “Now. Are you hungry? Are your thirsty? Speak!”
Most of the furniture in the room is of a size to match the home’s inhabitants. There is, however, a single higher table with matching seats of larger size that is, clearly and hospitably, intended for bigger guests. Sister, as the tallest of us, is encouraged to make herself as comfortable as she can there. Sister, however, has been making Gallop’s acquaintance and prefers to curl up on the floor with her new jowly friend. I remain standing and position myself close to an open window. Enjoying the wafts of floral sweetness exhaled by the orchards nearby. Vaikner and Eliana take places at the guest table.
“I wonder, Madam, if I may sample some of the renowned Snobeedle mead?” Vaikner asks politely.
Remembering his enthusiastic descriptions of Sword Coast mead, I turn to our hosts.
“I too would like to try this, please.” I smile.
The Halfling woman peers beadily at us both for an instant.
“Cathilda!”
We all start as she gives a piercing screech.
“Bring wildflower mead for our guests!”
I am certain that her voice can be heard throughout the house. And she does not look around to check whether her perfunctory order is being carried out. She seems to be accustomed to being obeyed. Instead, the Halfling looks at us intently.
“I am Blossom Snobeedle, owner of this Meadery. These two are my children. My…my two children are Beltin, who greeted you at the door, and this little one, Poppy.” She says.
Poppy tries her best to disappear behind her mother. Blossom’s skirts swirl as she turns to the door. She impatiently shifts her daughter out of the way of a young attendant who comes into the the room burdened by a tray of brimming flagons. But she softens the gesture with a gentle hand placed on little Poppy’s cheek.
A pretty young Halfling, presumably Cathilda, briskly disposes of the contents of her tray. She looks harried and does not stop to exchange pleasantries.
Eliana makes our introductions to the family, while Vaikner and I bow, thank our hosts, and investigate the contents of the flagons.
Honeyed ripples spread out along the surface of the golden liquid as I raise the cup to my lips. A floral fragrance meets my air. It is like a wildflower meadow, concentrated and cleverly mixed with fruit and smoke and spice. I take my first sip with interest. Eyes wide and shining, I look over at Vaikner.
“I told you it was good.” He whispers gleefully.
Hearing this, Blossom seems gratified, though unsurprised.
“I am pleased that you like it. That is our original and, I believe, still finest recipe.” She nods.
Blossom starts to talk of the craft of mead making, the history of the Meadery, and of how she came from a far country to work this land after falling in love with her husband-to-be in her hometown of Gullykin. They first met during a High Harvestide ball.
Our host is a gifted story teller, evoking place and mood with just a few well-chosen words and gestures. I find myself drawn away from my place at the window, coming closer to Blossom to better hear her tale. I enjoy learning about how charming she found Dandin. And how she knew right away that she did not wish to leave the harvest celebration without him; that is particularly interesting.
“First moment I laid eyes on him at the ball, I said to myself: ‘Blossom, if you let that man walk out of here on anyone else’s arm but yours, you’re a fool. And your mother didn’t raise any fools’.” Blossom reminisces.
I would like to hear more about where her certainty on this point came from. About how she came to this decision so quickly after meeting him. But Blossom ends her tale with a deeply wistful sigh.
“Dandin is gone now. We lost him four years ago.”
It does not seem like a good time to ask questions.
We all drink quietly for a moment, relishing the sweetness of the fine mead.
“This is lovely, thank you.” Eliana sets down her flagon. “Now, I’d like to hear more about the troubles you’ve been having here. Brother Helmsing asked me to aid your family. And my friends, Sister, Elodie, and Vai, are here to help if needed.”
“You are the only one here from the Emerald Enclave, then?” Blossom asks brusquely.
I have noticed that, when not speaking affectionately of her late husband, Blossom’s speech is marked by an unceremonious directness.
“I am not from the Enclave, no.” Eliana seems a little disconcerted. “I am here because you requested assistance from the Shrines of Nature.”
Blossom narrows her eyes.
“I had a letter from Brother Helmsing. About an acolyte of his with a vision to unravel. Presumably that is you. You seek help too, yes?” She presses.
“I…yes.” Eliana is taken aback but recovers her usual equanimity with admirable speed. “I want to help you and your family. There’ve been some odd happenings here lately, haven’t there? My friends and I will look into it and do what we can to assist you. But yes, I do have some questions of my own. I am looking for help with those.”
Intrigued, I watch the women as they talk. Looking to Vaikner, I can see that he is as curious as I am. Emerald Enclave? Mysterious vision? I am eager to find out more but the conversation has moved on to details of the recent local troubles.
“Hmm, odd is one word for it.” Blossom grumbles. “The first damages were a tenday ago. There’d been heavy rains – it was hard to tell what was natural at first. And what…wasn’t.
“But, since then, we’ve had clear nights and wet. And all have been troubled. It’s the scarecrows, see? They’re moving. Coming alive in the darkness. They wander the farms, frightening folk.”
“Scarecrows?” Vaikner asks slowly.
“These are straw-stuffed effigies of Humans used by farmers to startle birds, keeping them away from their fields.” I mutter helpfully.
“I know what scarecrows are.” Vaikner’s reply is testy. “It is just…they are not intended to be animated, no?”
“No. I do not believe so. They are only models. An illusion meant to fool birds into thinking that there is someone in the field who would harm them if they ate the crop. But most winged creatures are quite intelligent. I do not think such a trick would fool them for long.” I say loftily.
“Hmm…” Vaikner subsides, pondering.
Blossom stares at us for a long moment. She glances at Eliana. Eliana shrugs.
“At first it was just mischief.” The Halfling resumes stolidly. “Fences knocked over, maybe some crops trampled. But lately these creatures have grown more violent. Livestock’s been torn apart and left to rot in the fields! Sweet Waters Vineyard, they’ve been hit the hardest.”
“Sweet Waters? Nice name. Where is that?” Eliana asks.
“Those are our neighbors.” Blossom seems even more troubled than before. “Right close by. They make cider. Our biggest competitors, in fact. Not that we’d wish these kinds of…of depredations on anyone! Certainly not on a neighbor. Even if they do insist on claiming that their brews are…well, it doesn’t matter. This is affecting us all! Folks are too scared to go out and work their fields. The livelihood of the whole community is suffering!”
“I ran into one of the creatures!” Beltin breaks in, his voice unsteady. “I was out with Gallop in the evening and saw it coming towards me. You can believe I returned indoors right quick.”
Sister has been curled up in a hairy, odiferous huddle with Gallop. My own tresses wafting out in delighted curiosity, I watch raptly as she exchanges a series of growls, whines, and snuffles with the huge dog.
“He didn’t like it. The scarecrow.” Sister announces glumly. “It smelled strange. Like bad straw. Straw that’s old and, like, how it gets when it’s damp and mucky.”
“Mildewed?” Eliana suggests quietly.
“Mildewed.” Sister confirms in her deep rumble. “He was happy when Beltin ran away.”
The Halfling coughs uncomfortably. Gallop whines.
“When Beltin chose to go inside quickly. Go home. Where it is safe.” Sister adds.
This is all the information that the Hin clan have for us. We question them for a while. About possible enemies of the community, other recent odd occurrences, any strangers seen nearby – none of their answers bring us any useful knowledge.
“I think that we will just have to take a look at these scarecrows.” Vaikner finally says.
“Yes. But it is not quite dark yet. And such a mystery is best looked into on a full stomach. Come and join us for supper, won’t you?” Blossom offers, gesturing for us to follow her out of the room.
“Yes, please!” Eliana is already rising from her chair.
Blossom Snobeedle leads us to a dining hall, warmed and cheered by logs crackling and sparking in a large fireplace. Cathilda has been busy: we are invited to a table that is creaking under a myriad of platters, bowls, and cups. Savory smells fill the room. Eliana swallows audibly next to me. Once seated, a contented silence falls over our company. The Snobeedles and Cathilda also waste no time on extraneous chatter. Appetites are hearty in this family and all tuck in with enthusiasm.
The honeyed richness of the mead was delicious but I am still hungry. My ears prick up to see a large platter of mushrooms at my elbow. They are roasted to a succulent brown and their crisped up crenellations gleam with buttery sauce. It is difficult to see past this tempting treat to the many other delicacies served alongside it. But I particularly like a dish of pillowy-soft dumplings, showered with snippets of spring-chives. As well as a salad of bitter greens, liberally splashed with lemony garlic dressing and garnished with shavings of a strong, salty cheese. These complement the woodsy mushrooms exceptionally well. It is a memorable feast and we are heartily sincere in our compliments.
“You have Poppy to thank for the mushrooms.” Beltin smiles at his little sister. “She gathered them. A proper little forager, is our Poppy!”
His brotherly pride brings forth another round of praise. But Poppy is too shy to take pleasure in our kind remarks to her. She looks away fearfully from our smiles.
“Pip would also like to thank you, wouldn’t you, Pip?” Eliana nudges the little gray mouse towards the Halfling girl.
He has been partly hidden in her sleeve, rapturously nibbling. Now, whiskered nose snuffing inquisitively, Pip patters onto the table. Bead-bright eyes twinkle up at Poppy and her face shines with very brief joy. But, all too quickly, the child withdraws once more. She curls up around an ungainly doll. It is clearly hand-made, constructed of corn husks and appears very well loved. Poppy clutches at it for comfort and hides behind her Mama again. I have still not heard her speak but I see her whisper something to Blossom.
Before very long, the generous repast is only a memory of crumbs and smudges. I sit back with a contented sigh. Blossom has also finished eating and she is looking intently at Eliana.
“I mentioned that Brother Helmsing sent me a letter.” She says. “Not exactly a regular message, I must say. But I reckon it’s one that you’ll recognize:
From forests high in waters deep,
A stain into your world doth seep.
Reaching tendril, grasping claw,
Questing eye, devouring maw.
So leave your home, your hearth, your nest,
Fly far from comfort, glade, and rest.
Lest this creeping rot take hold,
Loose your arrow sure and bold.
Break through wall and gates and wards,
The answer lies among the Lords.”
Blossom falls silent; her strange poem complete. I swallow thickly. I did not like this sing-song recitation of menace and warning. It seems out of place in the cheery room, greedily drawing away all warmth and light from our pleasant gathering.
“This is the prophecy whose meaning you wish to unravel?” Blossom’s keen gaze is back on Eliana, her voice losing its querulous, rustic quality and ringing out grimly in the fire-lit space.
I spin towards my friend, hair a-whirl, just in time to see Eliana give a brief nod. I stare at her, surprised and fascinated, but all of her attention is on the Halfling.
“Hmmph.” Blossom reverts to her impatient tone. “Can’t say it makes any sense to me. But it did bring someone to my mind. It…it seems to fit with her somehow. She may be able to help you. If you can find her.”
“What exactly are you talking about?” Vaikner is unable to restrain his curiosity.
I give him a brief, grateful smile. Eliana and Blossom ignore him.
“There’s a Human woman, a member of the Emerald Enclave. Her name is Galerina.” Blossom continues. “She used to visit the Undercliff farms often. She cared for the land and she helped us. Helped the people here. She was a friend.
“We haven’t seen her for at least three years. When I talked to her, during her last visit to the Meadery, she told me that she was traveling north. Headed for the Mere of Dead Men. Said there was some business she needed to look into there. Business involving the Lords of the Maw.”
Our host pauses. My lips silently shape the foreboding names that she invoked: Mere of Dead Men, Lords of the Maw…
Eliana is frowning speculatively.
“I have not heard from Galerina since. The Mere is a haunted place.” Blossom speaks again. “Folks lived there once. But they were all drowned. During a time of war. When someone called in the sea to cover the land in the midst of some forgotten battle. Now new folk have reclaimed the land. People live there again. But, it is said, so do things other than people…”
With this disturbing statement, Blossom looks down and dedicates her attention to lighting a carved wooden pipe. She leans back in her seat, lost amongst lazily curling tendrils of scented smoke.
I wait, eager for further tale and clearer explanation. But Blossom says no more. She obviously believes that she has done her part in helping Brother Helmsing’s acolyte interpret the prophecy.
Eliana makes no immediate response either. She sits quietly, ignoring the last morsels on her plate, deep in thought.
I shift in my chair, fidgeting with a loose button on my shirt. There is so much that I wish to know! Where did this prophecy come from? Who or what granted this quest to Eliana? What of the rest of the riddles the poem poses?
But my questions will have to wait. The sun has set and, although he sounds miserable at the very idea, Beltin urges us to join him outside. We prepare to return to the main road and search the surrounding fields for walking scarecrows.
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I hope that you enjoyed this chapter, full of important conversations, conflicts, and decisions. And what promises to be a most interesting outing from Waterdeep into the surrounding countryside!
For Kaylin:
Wagging Tongue, Depeche Mode.
For Blossom and Dandin Snobeedle:
The Parting Glass, The Wailin’ Jennys.
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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