27th Mirtul, Year of Three Ships Sailing (1492 D.R.), two bells after highsun
My heart cheered by the time that I spent at the Halls of Justice, I now turn my steps to the Font of Wisdom. I am cautious, looking around warily as I walk. But I see no one suspicious on my way to the great library. Inside, surrounded by the soothing rustle of paper and the smell of books, I start by finding all the texts that I can on Shadowfell and Night Hags. Requisitioning a large work-table for myself, I spread books and parchments around me, settling in for the afternoon with a contented sigh.
There are many works that deal with Shadowfell and as many more dealing with Hags. But material on the confluence of the two is thin. Still, I learn that, imbued with Fey essence, Night Hags walk in dreams. They also commonly gain power from forging a connection to the Lower Planes. Some operate alone, others form covens. Of all the Hag subtypes, the Night Hag is least likely to form a coven because it dislikes competition in its feeding.
Grimacing at the unsavory subject matter and pinching the stiffness out of my furrowed brows, I turn to a fresh stack of books. Leaving the nightmarish Hags for a time, I allow myself to finally delve into the history of Waterdeep. I have put off this important research for too long! There has been so much of the present and its preoccupations to fill my time. Glancing quickly through the tomes that I have pulled off the shelves of the Ancient History section, I feel a tingle of excitement as one book in particular calls to me. My fingers brush over the flaking golden letters of the title:
The Shining Vale: A history of the lands once belonging to Illefarn.
By Sharwyn Nelorothi, Magist of the Academy Astrolara.
I lose myself in the dense text. Sharwyn, a learned Sun Elf, has set down a faithful account of the long history of Illefarn. And, heart racing, I see that she has included details of the founding of Aelinthaldaar, modern Waterdeep. My eyes grow wide and I struggle to suppress a small squeak when I see it – her chapter on the Tears of the Seldarine! The description of the Tears as “crystalline receptacles for the grief and power of the Seldarine” is familiar to me, as is the claim that the gems were disseminated amongst the Tel’quessir of the world “to assist their survival in a world torn apart by the Crown Wars”.
Unusually for a Sun Elf, Sharwyn briefly acknowledges what my People know to be true:
“the Tears were not shed due to the Crown Wars, which earned all earthbound Tel’quessir the ire of the Seldarine, but instead for the predations faced by the winged Avariel at the jaws of dragons. Their race was nearly scoured from Toril by a resurgence of flights of chromatic dragons during this period, and the other Tel’quessir were uniquely unsuited to lend their aid due to their embroilment in the Crown Wars.”
Sharwyn’s failure to follow this thesis to its logical conclusion, that the Tears are meant to be held and used by the Avariel, does not come as a surprise. I have encountered this reluctance to give my People their due many times in the past.
The shock comes in Sharwyn’s account of how the Tears of the Seldarine were distributed among the Elven subraces after the first Council of the Elven Court. According to The Shining Vale, the matriarch of House Audark and later the first ruler of Aelinthaldaar, Lady Nyanthara, brought home three of the Tears! They were set into the crown of Illefarn, the Audark Tarlspira, as a symbol of the Lady Nyanthara’s divine right to rule. And there they remained for seventeen centuries. Until -1100DR, when the Coronal Syglaeth Audark “formally ordered a Retreat to Evermeet and the razing of Aelinthaldaar by High Magic. He forsook his crown as a gesture symbolic of leaving the old world behind, and it is believed that it remained behind in the razed remnants of Aelinthaldaar, or perhaps in the Dwarven kingdom of Melairbode beneath.”
The rest of the melancholy tale, dealing with the decline of the Elven kingdoms, can capture only a little of my attention. Skimming the remainder of the text to ensure that no further mention of the Tears can be found, I lean back and try to organize my thoughts.
Three Tears! I had the count wrong from the first! I believed that only two Tears were retrieved from the darkness of the Undermountain. One was taken and held by the Lords of Waterdeep. It may still be in the palace or it may have been taken, along with many other Waterdhavian heirlooms, by the perfidious Lord Neverember. The other Tear – its fate I have not yet discovered. But this account by Sharwyn suggests that there remains at least one more gem, deep in the darkness of ruined Aelinthaldaar! I shudder, considering what other horrors await there.
Under the watchful eyes of Oghma’s librarians, I carefully return my research materials to their rightful places. I have spent more time in my studies than I intended, and now I hurry back to my Temple. The sun is already setting, daubing the heavy cloud cover with moody purples and mauves.
“Where have you been? You were gone all night and much of this day!” Aubray’s accusing tone startles me as I walk into our room.
“Oh! Oh, I am so sorry Aubray! I did not mean to worry you. My new companions and I had work outside of the Deep last night and we did not return until this morning. Eliana had a task that she needed our help with. We went to this Meadery…”
Flustered by the ferocity of her frowns, and still preoccupied with my findings at the Font of Wisdom, my account is a little disjointed.
“You were out all night drinking?!” Aubray voices outraged disbelief.
“What? No! We were engaged in an important investigation. I mean – we did drink some mead. But that was unrelated to the task. Mostly we unraveled the mystery of terrifying walking scarecrows and battled a foul fungal contamination in Undercliff!”
I dutifully update my roommate on the events of the last day and night. My hair droops as I talk about the abomination haunting little Poppy’s corn husk doll. And the fungal growth animating the poor dead farm boy. Aubray’s irritation fades and she listens attentively.
“I did actually receive a bottle of mead from Blossom Snobeedle.” I admit. “As a thank you for our help.”
Aubray sniffs.
“I would like to share it with you. It is very fine.” I continue my attempts to placate her.
I produce the bottle and Aubray examines it critically.
“But, if it is going out to drink that interests you,” I wheedle, layering temptation upon temptation. “I have had occasion to visit several interesting taverns here in the Deep. After we are done with the Hag we can all go out.”
“Go drinking in a Human tavern?” Aubray asks doubtfully.
“Well, defeating the Hag will mean we have much to celebrate.” I point out.
“Hmph.”
Aubray does not seem eager to explore Human drinking establishments.
“I think that you are getting a little ahead of yourself. First we will have to actually win the battle against the Hag.” She is frowning again.
“Elodie, I have been preparing for Moonrise night tomorrow. I think that the best thing for me to do will be to consecrate an area within the house. I can keep the spirits of the children safe there if you will lead them to me.”
I like her idea. A consecrated space would keep Aubray out of harm’s way, avoiding any direct interaction between her and the Hag. And it would offer us a safe haven to keep the children, while we focus on battling our enemy. I think it is an excellent plan and I tell Aubray so.
My enthusiasm fails to be infectious. Aubray simply stares at me quietly.
“I need to warn you. Elodie…how much do you know about Shadowfell?” She asks.
“Not a great deal. I have done some research of late. None of what I have found out has brought me any comfort.” I acknowledge.
Aubray seems oddly reassured by my unease.
“So long as you do not take this jaunt lightly. Remember: we are likely to encounter many spirits in Shadowfell. And a great many of these will lack what complete souls require. They may try to leech it from you. Just…just keep direct contact with them to a minimum. So they do not drain you.” She says grimly.
I swallow hard. I am not sure how to keep away from the foes that I am specifically called upon to fight.
“Have you had evening feast yet?” I force foreboding aside.
“Hmm, no. It is the turn of the acolytes of Erevan Ilesere to make Temple meal tonight. So I was planning to fast actually.” She says with languid regret.
I do not conceal my confusion. Aubray sighs and continues.
“Oh, I forget. You have not been here very long at all. There is always some trickery or joke when Erevan’s initiates are involved. You will see.” She finishes darkly.
Curious, I hurry through my bath. Properly clean, I once more put on Floon’s Mama’s dress. But I forego all of the other elaborate preparations that the artists of Sune inflicted upon me. Leaving my hair free to curl in the evening damp, holding my gauzy skirts out of the early dew, I speed to the Temple’s dining hall.
This large chamber is a fine place to refresh oneself. The walls are cool and creamy marble. The tall arched windows, tinted the most delicate sky blue, are positioned so that, no matter the time of day, light can stream inside. Even the fading sunlight is sure to glint off the tracery of golden veins that weave through the marble walls and infuse the chamber with subtle glamor.
Tonight, some enchantment of Erevan Ilesere has made the room more overtly opulent. The walls have been washed with a warm ivory shade and glow rosily. The windows appear deep indigo blue. I look about me doubtingly. I just came in from a gray dusk still lightened with sunset hues. But now the sky pressing on the windows outside the dining chamber is that of full purple-blue night. And it is snowing! The warm golden light of many lanterns strikes the blue windows, illuminating the restless flurries outside. Homesickness comes with a sudden sweet ache. I remember this. Or something very like this…this dance of snow where darkness mingles with light. I remember sitting by a camp fire on the glacier near my Aerie. And watching snow flakes twirl into the flame’s glow from the blackness all around.
I laugh aloud in glad wonder. If this is the trickery of Erevan’s acolytes, then it is lovely. And they certainly outdid themselves with the evening meal! Still looking dreamily around me, I head to serving tables that are spread with fare much more rich than is usual for a standard Temple supper. Surveying the bounty, I think of Eliana and wish that she was here to enjoy it.
There are crystal bowls filled with garden fresh leaves and bitter-sweet blossoms. Plates piled pleasingly with peaches. Towering confections of cream embedded with gleaming red berries. There are golden pastries served with savory gravy, and poached fish decorated with saffron-yellow creamy sauce. There is even a glistening, fat-basted joint of some large roast beast, possibly stag, surrounded by golden crispy nuggets of baked potatoes. Perhaps tonight is a Feast Day that I did not know about.
Pleased at the chance to fortify myself before this evening’s meeting, I reach towards a platter of baby peas dressed with butter. My attempt to scoop a portion is unsuccessful as the top of the dish is strangely solid. And then, as I push the serving spoon with a little more force, the peas crumble. The entire platter is a cake.
I start to pay more attention to the sounds in the room around me. Melodious Elven voices are evenly split between rude exclamations, exasperated groans, and delighted chuckling. Cautiously, I sample some of the other elaborate dishes on display. It is all cake.
Sighing deeply, I sit down. I eat the light lemon sponge, layered with raspberry cream, that was masquerading as buttered peas. I also munch stolidly through a peach, which turns out to be a sticky ginger-spiced bun.
Slightly queasy, I return to my room. Aubray is not there. I still have time before taking the short walk to Lightsinger Theater. I sit down and, my writing unusually jittery as my stomach churns, I update the report that I am writing for the Avariel Elders. Satisfied that I have included a complete record of my activities in the Deep, I carefully return the papers, as well as my swords, to the travel chest under my bed. I take my daggers with me.
A damp chill has fallen over the streets and walking outside is refreshing. By the time that I arrive at the theater, the regrettable peach bun feels less like a solid boulder weighing down my insides. I am able to greet my friends cheerfully. They are both in their Floon-gifted finery and Eliana, with her auburn hair upswept, looks particularly elegant. We hurry through the ornate receiving hall, plush carpeting swallowing our footfalls, until we arrive at Mirt’s box.
There, to our happy surprise, we see Renaer. He stands, leaning against the wall opposite the closed door to Mirt’s box. Dressed with understated elegance in shades of dark blue, he is absently tucking a strand of blonde-red hair back with the rest of his locks which are tied in a neat tail at the nape of his neck. His expression is strangely pained but clears into a welcoming smile when he notices our company.
“Renaer! How are you, my friend?” Vaikner calls.
“I hope that you’re well!” Elie greets him warmly.
“And that Floon is in good health?” I add affectionately
“Thank you, yes! Hello to all of you. I am happy to see you.” Renaer’s smile grows brighter.
Satisfied that our friends are well, I turn to the door.
“Shall we go in? Mirt is expecting us.” I ask.
The pained expression returns to Renaer’s face.
“Well, erm, well.” He coughs uncomfortably. “I think, perhaps, not yet. Mirt is having a – meeting – right now, you see.”
“But Mirt is expecting to have a meeting with us!” I exclaim anxiously. “I do not wish him to think that we are late. Will you please knock and announce us?”
Renaer approaches the door reluctantly. His hesitant knock is greeted by a wave of wrathful bellowing. Mostly inarticulate, the words “Renaer”, “Dammit”, and “Not yet” are recognizable. The irate roar is interspersed with feminine giggles.
Oh dear.
Wincing, Renaer turns back to us.
“Mirt does not like to be interrupted when he is entertaining.” He shrugs lamely.
A short time passes in regretful silence, interrupted only by Elie’s quiet chuckling. Before long, the door opens and Fodder jerkily beckons us inside. We troop into the box. Trepidation battling with intense curiosity, I glance around for our host. Mirt is sprawled comfortably on a divan, fine clothing slightly rumpled, and a large mug of beer in his hand. Snuggled against him, similarly mildly disheveled, is Uza!
It is such a wonderful surprise to see her there! She beams at the stunned expressions on our faces.
“Uza! How good it is to see you safe and well!” Vaikner cries.
“Our, er, apologies for the interruption.” Elie grins. “It is so good to see you here! How is the work on your shop coming along?”
“Uza! How lovely! And how fares your soft cat with the rotund, fluffy belly, Master Pierogi?” I ask.
Mirt tolerates the commotion of pleased greetings and curious questions for a short time. Then, as the cacophony shows no sign of quieting, he harrumphs impatiently.
“Well, well, so you are all here. Apologies to keep you waiting. My dear Lady Uza and I were – reminiscing. Old friends and so on…”
Uza twinkles at him.
“I hear that you have completed the tasks that I set for you. Good, good! You did a fine job. And have shown yourselves worthy to join the ranks of Those Who Harp.” Mirt resumes.
I look quickly at my friends but they are both gazing intently at Mirt.
“Fodder! Break out the beer for our guests!” Mirt roars. “Renaer, go ahead and fill them in, there’s a good chap!”
Renaer steps forward with a warm smile.
“Congratulations my friends! I am happy that you have shown interest in joining our ranks. Your courage and determination are just what we need in the Harpers.”
Renaer’s face is alight with conviction and he speaks movingly of Those Who Harp. He outlines the history of the group, remembers some of its most storied members, and explains the Harpers’ most sacred tenets. Their most passionately held belief is in the right of each Being to live in freedom. I find that I am holding my breath, heart racing to hear my Lady’s most cherished teaching espoused by this heroic Human.
Renaer reaches into a leather pouch on his belt and withdraws several thin stacks of paper, each loosely bound together into a pamphlet of sorts. He hands three of them to our company. Vaikner and I both nod appreciatively to see that Renaer has prepared reading materials for us. Eliana takes her pamphlet without comment.
Renaer keeps a fourth text for himself and he rustles quickly through the pages to find his place. Then he reads to us directly from the pamphlet.
“Remember friends, ‘The rule of law aids peace and fosters freedom, so long as the laws are just and those who enforce them lenient and understanding’.”
My fluttering heart slows a little at this. I frown very slightly at “lenient”.
But Renear continues.
“We Harpers work to protect people, not governments. ‘No extreme is good. For freedom to flourish, all must be in balance: the powers of realms, the reaches of the Cities and the Wilderlands into each other, and the influence of one being over another.’”
Renaer looks up and studies our faces eagerly.
“We have found that we are most effective when we work without fanfare and flourish. ‘The subtle plan outstrips the bared blade’, as the saying goes.”
I shift restlessly as he speaks these words, but Renaer is not finished.
“We rely on each other – pride never rules the deeds of a true Harper. But trust is key. Transgressions against your fellows or against our beliefs will be reviewed and judged by your peers. Harpers police their own. And, finally, a Harper must be free. You are never burdened by the pins you may bear.”
Renaer pauses and once again looks searchingly at our faces. Vaikner and Eliana are both nodding. Tendrils of my hair spiral uncertainly, flustered.
A part of me, the Elodie that spent many a stormy night at the Aerie curled up reading about the brave exploits of Mirt and his band of Harpers, is giddy to simply be in the same room as these legendary figures! Let alone to be invited to join their ranks! Another Elodie, the Sky Warden who sacrificed much to train with a disciplined cadre of warriors and who then pledged her service as Raptor to The Lady of the Winds…that Elodie feels a flash of doubt.
Uneasily, I inspect my surroundings. A clandestine meeting in an opulent theater box, a gruff and scowling figure lounging on a sofa surrounded by strong drink and rich dainties, an overwrought performer yodeling on the distant stage, talk of subtle plots in the dark…
I feel…uncomfortable.
And yet, the Harpers do such good work in the world! My doubt keeps me silent even as my hair stirs with aimless anxiety. Then the moment for objection is past. Renaer is pointing out the words that we should speak. It is a ritual, a set of vows, that will bind our company to the brave ranks of the Harpers.
“‘What do Harpers work toward and believe?’” He asks.
“All beings should walk free of fear, with the right to live their lives as they wish.” We respond.
I sincerely believe in these words.
“‘Harpers work against villainy and wickedness wherever they find it – but they work ever mindful of the consequences of what they do.’” Renaer goes on.
“‘I shall do no less.’” We complete the vow.
Again, I can find no fault with such a promise.
Beaming and clapping us heartily on the shoulders, Renaer herds us towards Mirt and Uza’s divan. Mirt nods as he hands each of us a pin. I examine my pin closely. It is silver and bears the stylized image of a harp and moon.
“Keep those out of sight. They are not to be worn openly but they will serve to identify you to your fellows.” Mirt instructs.
“Now, tell me all about what you have been doing. I understand that you have been busy – catch me up!” He continues.
Each of us finds a seat amongst the plush sofas and armchairs. Fodder brings around carved wooden mugs of ale. Mirt tells us that it is brewed by Dwarves who live along the shores of the Lake of Steam. It is certainly unusual – both smoky and mineral-rich. We toast our host and then, sharing the task of tale-telling amongst our trio, we relate our experiences of the past days to Mirt.
Mirt, Uza, and Renaer listen attentively to our account.
“These Lords of the Maw – you plan to follow up on this group soon, yes?” Mirt questions.
Seeing our nods of confirmation, he continues.
“Good. They could do with looking into. Anyone who is being tacitly encouraged by the Zhents is of interest. We need to find out why they are sending them arms shipments.
Your group can head north and then report your findings when you return. You – what is it that you call yourselves?”
Our chorus of voices, each answering differently, responds.
“What? What? Something to do with cheese? No, that will not do! Look here – your group has been drawing attention to yourselves. You need a name. Because people are talking about you. If you do not adopt a moniker that is suitable, one will be assigned to you. It will likely stick, whether you like it or not. It may turn out much worse than any name referencing cheese! Of course, that is assuming that you all live long enough to continue to be talked about. I will not pretend that I do not have some concerns about that. Look at you!”
We look at each other.
Mirt grumps on.
“Elodie – you are a soldier. Trained to operate as one part of a squadron, side by side with other warriors. Eliana – you are adept at tracking and maneuvers in the wild lands. Vaikner – you are used to fighting – paperwork.”
Mirt glares at us, brows like ferocious caterpillars.
Uncertain whether to be pleased that Mirt knows so much about us, or to bristle at his accusatory tone, I remain silent.
“Here is what you are going to do.” Mirt resumes. “Tomorrow, you will join me for morning feast. Eight bells sharp. After a modest meal, we will do some work. Train you up to function better as a unit. With that in mind, take some time to think over what you would like your group to be called. And let me know when we meet again in the morning. Any questions?’ He finishes brusquely.
“I…I have a question.” I take a sip of ale to fortify myself in the face of Mirt’s scowl and then, realizing I now have a mustache to match Mirt’s brows, hurriedly puff briny foam off my lip.
“You asked us to find and talk to Maxeen. We did this. She is lovely and seems very devoted to the Harpers. But she is so desolate! Endlessly waiting for this boy of hers who never arrives. Who is he? Why does he not come for her?” I ask.
Renaer sighs and even Mirt’s eyes lose some of their fierce light.
“Her owner’s name was Danil. He and his lover, Lyrien, were both fine Harpers. But they made a mistake. Went up against Old Gnawbones, a Green Dragon. She ate them both.”
A little growl rises from my throat before I can still it.
“Were they avenged?” I demand.
“Avenged?” Mirt stares. “They were foolish. They decided to challenge a Green Dragon having not nearly enough power and nothing in the way of leverage. And attempted to threaten her into leaving off her depredations of a village nearby. Naturally enough, she ate them and then, to make her point more fully, wiped out the entire village too.”
“But, but – was the ruler of those lands not moved to action? Did no-one send warriors against such a scourge?” I question in angry distress.
“She had already destroyed a small town. Why send in more lives to be lost?” Mirt frowns at me.
I frown back but can think of no immediate response so I subside, staring moodily into my beer.
“Danil had not wanted to put Maxeen in danger. So he had left her at a friend’s stable. After he was killed, his friend, Endrith Vallivoe, also a Harper, sent Maxeen to me. We thought that she could be cared for well in the Deep, and kept busy. I decided to keep the news of Danil’s death from her. This way she can spend her days in useful work and be mostly content. Always looking forward to seeing him one day. And never crushed by the loss of hope that comes with knowing he is truly gone.” Mirt finishes the sad story and, draining his mug without relish, calls for more beer.
A chill infuses my breeze and my hair settles into unhappy stillness. Mirt’s words are difficult for me to hear. And to agree with. Surely it would be better to tell Maxeen the truth? To have your heart broken once and then given its chance to heal must be better than having a small sliver of it carved away every day that Danil does not come?
Still, even as a stranger to these Harpers, I can see that the choice Mirt made for Maxeen was not an easy one for him. Gazing at him thoughtfully, noticing his sudden shifting on the comfortable divan and the restless way he reaches for his mug, I see that he is not at peace. It is troubling that even this hero of many tales struggles to determine what is right. I fidget with my Harpers pin. I certainly do not envy Mirt the need to make decisions such as the one that left Maxeen in melancholy ignorance.
Startled out of my unpleasant thoughts, I suddenly realize that Renaer is kindly repeating his congratulations and wishing us all a good night. He leaves shortly afterwards.
His departure stirs my remaining companions into announcing their own plans for the evening.
“I…there is someone here that I need to meet.” Vainer stands.
I follow his gaze across the theater and see a familiar figure in the box opposite. Even in the dim light, the jewel flash of peacock-feather cloak and the keen eye in a scarred face would be impossible to miss. I recognize the tall man who was present at our first opera ordeal. The one who had stared with such hunger, first at Vaikner and then at Elie.
“You know him?” I ask, curious.
“Er, yes.” Vai mutters. “And, if you are here when I return, I would like to introduce you to…”
His voice trails away as, still speaking, he hurries out into the hallway.
I make no effort to follow him or to truly listen, distracted when I notice that Mirt and Uza are also preparing to leave. Mirt is helping Uza into an evening cloak. As I watch, touched by his attentiveness, he swigs down the last of his drink, grabs three macarons from a silver platter, and walks towards the door, chewing.
“As I said before, you are welcome to stay and enjoy the remainder of the performance.” He says through crumbs. “Eliana, I believe you in particular regretted leaving early last time. Be comfortable and return again if you would like to.”
Elie, with obvious delight, thanks Mirt and announces her intention to remain for the second half of the show. She appropriates the platter of macarons and settles into a soft chair, eyes fixed happily on the stage. I smile my good wishes at her and step quickly up behind Mirt.
“May I speak to you for a short while longer? May I join you as you walk?” I ask politely.
I am chagrined to see Mirt wince slightly at this respectful request. He nods his head in agreement, however, and ushers me out of the box along with Uza.
I pad down the thickly carpeted halls to the lobby, leaving Lightsinger Theater behind me without regret. Outside, the night has grown colder and the rain is pattering down steadily. It is ten bells.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I hope that you enjoyed this account of Elodie’s day in the Deep. I believe that she found it both useful and filled with surprises. From her sickly sweet supper to a happy reunion with friends to making a vow of uncertain loyalty to the Harpers…it was an eventful evening! And, as the Trio splits up once again for the night, the lessons and revelations are sure to continue. Except for Eliana. She is just going to have a quiet evening enjoying the show. Definitely…
Tears of the Seldarine 
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