27th Mirtul, Year of Three Ships Sailing (1492 D.R.), ten bells after highsun
Mirt, Uza, and I stop in the wide doorway of the Lightsinger Theater. Fodder keeps going, plodding down the sweeping marble stairs and disappearing across the street. I briefly wonder whether the downpour will not damage him but realize that the marvelous mechanism powering his movement is surely designed to stand up to Waterdeep’s damp climate.
Drawn by the chilly air, I unconsciously move forward to look out over the square. Mirt and Uza huddle in the doorway behind me. It may be a dreary night but there is still so much that is fascinating in the Deep. We stand at the intersection of Sea, Castle and North Wards. And here the light spells unique to each ward are all on display at once. And they are joined by the eerie drift-globes that float nightly out of the City of the Dead and spread, glowing, throughout the Waterdhavian streets. The lights twinkle pale silver, bright flaming gold, and milky green. Merging, they create a hazy luminosity more Fey than Faerun. Mist swirls around the flickering lamps and then dances away to fill the shadowed alleys.
Water drips, gleaming, down stone walls and is impatiently shaken off cloaks in showers of reflective-rainbow drops as passers-by hurry to get out of the damp. I tilt my head up, feeling the rain gently anointing my face. I take slow deliberate breaths of the cool air, intensely relieved to be out of the stuffy theater. I feel tension drain from me as I open myself to My Lady’s gifts. Then I stiffen again as Uza throws an arm around me, wrapping me in voluminous folds of her warm cloak.
Why does she accost me? As she solicitously tucks heavy fabric about me, I realize that she is attempting to screen me from the wind and the rain. I consider her with amused annoyance.
Among my People, such an intrusion on an Avariel’s moment of communion with her Goddess, such a disruption of my meditation on the Lady’s many moods, would be seen as a grave offense against propriety. Uza, being Human, clearly does not understand the severity of the spiritual crime that she is committing. And so, instead of a sharp rebuke, I content myself with merely throwing her a chilly look.
Mistaking my coolness for shy reluctance, Uza urges me.
“Come my Dear! No sense ruining your lovely gown. There is plenty of room for us both!”
Staring at her now, away from the distractions of a crowded theater box, I see that something is very different about Uza. I cannot stop looking at her. What is it that has changed?
I remember our first meeting. Seeing her, drunkenly slumped on a tavern’s stool, rambling about dragons and cats to an unsympathetic bar keeper, was not a pleasant introduction. As a retired Harper, she must have lived through her share of danger and distress. Experiences that left scars, visible or otherwise.
I imagine that these unseen wounds created distance between her and the community she chose to reside in. Then, her unpredictable behavior and paranoia nourished by abuse of a hallucinogenic food additive, her reputation as a reliable, reasonable woman was likely broken beyond easy repair. And thus, her very real fear after encountering a basilisk was expressed to an audience that reacted only in callous amusement, disgusted disbelief, or weary impatience. She braved the unfriendly world to beg for help in rescuing her remaining faithful companion, her cat, only to be met with derision. She seemed so desperately diminished by misfortune when we first met.
Now….now she is filled with a confident light. She looks like she has remembered something that was long forgotten. Or lost. What could it be?
Uza chuckles fondly as, with her free arm, she takes Mirt’s elbow and attempts to pull him close. She is now trying to shift two stubbornly immoveable forms towards herself. Despite meeting with dubious success, she is still smiling gaily. I continue to gaze at her, wondering.
She is clearly pleased to be here with Mirt and is enjoying his company greatly. But it does not seem as if Mirt is the cause of her happiness. Not precisely. It is more that she is able to be here, having a good time with her old friend, because she is…joyful. Why is that?
My thoughts fly to today’s newspaper. Naturally, during my reading of the Wazoo, I had been most focused on the lead article. Detailing the disturbing incursion of Red Wizards into Waterdeep under the guise of establishing a Thayan embassy. But, of course, I had also read all the usual Advertisements, Crime Reports, and Letters to the Editor. This last category, well…I have not been in the Deep long but I have come to notice that Letters seems to be an outlet for oddly angry voices. Not today’s letter, however.
“You publish bad news on such a regular basis that it’s easy to forget that good hearts persist in the Deep. I’d like to express my gratitude to kind folks willing to meddle when needed.
– Uza Solizeph.”
Uza’s words suggest that she has been able to regain a little faith in good outcomes. But surely this cannot be the explanation for her radiant smiles tonight. It seems very unlikely that the small task we performed would cause such a change in her. Doubtless there is another part to her tale that I do not know. I shake my head, impatient with my own musings. No matter the cause, it warms my heart deeply to see Uza so happy.
And, in this same moment, I recognize Uza’s intrusive enfolding of my shoulders with her cloaked arm as an echo of a familiar Avariel gesture. What she is doing is similar to the gentle embrace of a curled wing, softly wrapped around a weary warrior by a comrade. Or by a friend.
I see that Uza is a person who, when gifted with joy or with good fortune, turns outwards. To share her happiness with those around her. It is a rare quality and one to be treasured.
Touched, I let her draw me towards her and I snuggle in to share the comfort of her warm cloak. Uza smells like a bird. Like the clean feathers on the sun-warmed wings of a kestrel. This scent mixes strangely, but not unpleasantly, with her other fragrances of lemon, honey, and cat fur. I stumble a little over my words.
“Thank you for the nice things that you said about us. In your letter.” I whisper.
“You are welcome, Dear!” She whispers back.
A pleasant quiet falls between us. Mirt’s booming voice interrupts it.
“Well? You wanted to talk to me. Talk!” He grumbles out.
Uza gives my shoulders an encouraging squeeze.
“Of course,” I hurriedly begin. “To start, you should know that I have come a very long way to be here in Waterdeep. And, first while growing up in my distant home and then all along my journey here, I have heard tales of Mirt and his brave deeds. I have lived with the legend of you and your Harpers all of my days.”
Voice sinking low with sudden emotion, I stare into the rain. I think back to happy memories of home and of the adventures that wide-eyed fledgling Elodie shared with Mirt in the Temple library. With a start I recall that he has stepped out of the pages of my books; that the actual Mirt stands close by. I turn my earnest gaze to him. Then I startle again as Uza caws laughter.
“Oh stop flattering him!” She chortles. “His head will get too big for me to manage him.”
“It’s alright, it’s alright. What are you trying to say, Elodie?” Mirt asks.
“I do not tell you this to flatter you!” I blurt.
My hair curls in tightly, horrified at the idea that Mirt should conclude that I am insincere or manipulative. But no: his voice is milder and his tone more patient than it has been all of this evening and I accept the change gratefully.
“I said all this so that you would understand why I am coming to you for help. I have been sent here to Waterdeep to investigate ancient gems that are deeply important to my People. Gems that I believe you may have some information about. Given your history, your legendary exploits in Undermountain, I have reason to think that you can help me! I – I do not ask for myself. I am here representing my People in their dire need.” I finish breathlessly.
At that moment, a coach shakes and rattles its way down the street. It is drawn by a team of four horses, their harnesses gaudily decorated and their heads crowned with bobbing teal plumes. The vehicle that they are pulling behind them is also teal, generously trimmed with curlicues of gold and burgundy. In the coachman’s seat, bringing the whole striking ensemble to a smooth stop at the foot of the theater steps, is Fodder.
“Ah, there is my carriage!” Mirt says, pleased. He looks at me expectantly.
“Why, it is very….” Do not say garish, do not say garish! “…unique and imposing!” I gasp out.
“Come along then!” Mirt starts to guide Uza down the stairs.
“Oh!” I turn my face longingly back to the gentle rain. “I thought that I would walk back to my rooms.”
“Well, I am not going to bloody walk in this downpour!” Mirt grumble-roars. “So if you wish to talk, you had better get in the carriage!”
Glumly, I follow Mirt and Uza down the steps and allow Fodder to hand me into the the coach. The seats are very wide and plush. The entire interior of the coach is like a jewel box, full of velvet cushions, brocade trim, lattice-like carved wood surrounding the mullioned windows, and cleverly designed little drawers and storage pouches scattered around the inside of the coach’s cab.
Mirt and Uza have tumbled down into one shared seat. I settle carefully onto the padded bench opposite them. I feel a jerk as the coach starts to move, headed South.
“I am staying at the Temple of the Seldarine.” I venture. “If you are sure that is not too much trouble…”
“Fodder!!” Mirt thumps on the coach wall. “Make for the Temple of the Seldarine, if you please!”
I feel us make the change in direction, and focus once more on my hosts.
Mirt has pulled Uza close to him. Despite the exceptionally commodious seats, she is practically perched on his lap. He smiles at her affectionately as he reaches into a storage compartment near the window. He removes a wooden box, its lid inlaid with a pattern of opalescent stones. Opening the lid, he shows her the contents. Looking on curiously, I see an icy sparkle coming from the box.
Mirt reaches inside and withdraws a single white flake of something that glitters in the lamplight. He brings it gently to Uza’s face, caressing her mouth with it until she parts her lips and he slips the treat in between them. Smiling mischievously, she licks his finger with a pointed pink tongue. I think of Pierogi lapping milk from a saucer. Uza purrs with delight as she nibbles on the confection.
Mirt turns to me and, with much more formal politeness, offers me the box.
“These are petals of the moonflower. Sugar-coated. They are known for their richly creamy taste. As well as for the slight stimulating effect that follows ingestion.”
Curious, and not wishing to give offense, I cautiously take a crystallized petal from the carved box. Nodding a stiff thank you, I gulp down the petal.
It is deliciously smooth, melting like snow on my tongue and spreading a light floral sweetness through my mouth. My lips, though they had barely touched the wisp of flower as it passed through them, begin to tingle distractingly. My mouth feels a little numb but, nonetheless, I determinedly purse it tight, resisting the urge to lick any remaining sugared flower off my lips.
Mirt and Uza are cooing at each other as they consume the contents of the box. I look out of the window and listen to the jangling of the horse harnesses. Their clinking mingles with the drumming of the rain on the coach roof. The rivulets of downpour swirling on the outside of the glass pane form odd shapes. I stare, fascinated, as a watery cat with Mirt’s face chases an ornately carved beer mug. It runs from him on Fodder’s mechanical legs before both tumble through thick folds of a velvet red curtain and descend onto a stage. Where a basilisk is singing loudly…
“I think that it is time that you tell me who you really are. Where are you from and who are you here in service to?” Mirt’s sudden demand makes me jump. I shake my head to clear it of the strange visions.
“There is no point in us having further talk until you do” Mirt continues.
I briefly consider my choices. Every time that I reveal my true nature, every time I talk about my People, I risk endangering the safety of the Aerie. But there is so much that I may be able to learn from Mirt! If I can convince him to talk to me. Sighing, I realize that I will have to extend trust to gain trust in return.
“I am Elodie Skyshard, a Sky Warden of the Aerie of the Snow Eagles. I am here representing my Mother’s People, The Avariel of Pelvuria, in their most urgent need.” I say with quiet pride.
“The Avariel…” Mirt nods thoughtfully. “I have met one or two of them before. A good sort. But they are usually very protective of their fledglings. You do not seem – you cannot be older than fifty? How is it that they allowed you out alone in the world?”
“I am thirty” I answer, surprised at his knowledge of the Winged Elves. “And yes, I did have to overcome some doubts and demurrals to be permitted to come on this journey. But I am fully trained! I have spent a long time in preparations. And, as I was the one to discover the information that made this mission happen at all, it was only just that this task fell to me!”
Mirt’s familiarity with the Avariel and our ways reassures me that confiding in him is the right choice. Eagerly, I tell him about the Aerie of the Snow Eagles: the last safe haven of the Winged Elves. Kept hidden for generations, growing in beauty and strength, it is our only remaining home on Faerun. It is concealed by magic and nourished by it. Kept in a bubble of warmth and life amid the blizzards of the Great Glacier by a powerful Mythal. This mighty work of spell craft has, for reasons that none understand, begun to falter. Slowly, its power has been seeping away. And with it, so has the warmth and light and safety of my home.
To avoid the terrible fate of being left exposed to both the uncaring climate of the Glacier and to the vicious enemies of the Avariel, the Winged Elves have been searching desperately for a way to save the Aerie. After finding accounts of the Tears of the Seldarine, I came to believe that finding and using these gems may repair the Mythal and ensure the Aerie’s survival.
After hearing my plea and studying the story, our wise Elders dispatched brave young Avariel to all corners of Faerun. To wherever the legends and ancient records suggest that the gems have been scattered. I was assigned to Waterdeep. The Elven city of Aelinthaldaar that once stood where Waterdeep stands now was home to several of the Tears. They fell when the city did, into Undermountain.
“I must retrieve them! You see, each gem was formed from the tears wept by one of the Seldarine in their pity for the suffering of the Avariel. Their magic and power was sent to help our People in our plight!” I finish passionately.
“Humph. Never knew the gods to care enough to weep for anyone in this world.” Mirt responds.
“Well, the Seldarine did! For my People!” I snap. “And, as the most famed explorer of Undermountain, I was hoping that you could tell me if you encountered any of these holy gems. If, on your journeys below the Deep, you ever found a jewel that could possibly be one of the Tears!”
A tendril of hair swirls loose from my curls and whips forward towards Mirt, eagerness and irritation commingled in the unruly lock. I frown and force it calmly smooth.
Mirt looks at my curls without expression for a moment.
“Have you had audience with the fair ruler of our city yet?” He asks mildly.
“The Lady Laeral Silverhand?” I ask. “No. But I would very much like to find a way to arrange one; to have a chance to see the Palace and Waterdeep’s collection of heirlooms!”
“I think that you will find the experience – interesting.” Mirt ignores my eagerness and does not explain the reason for his question.
Instead, he begins to speak of his time as a young explorer. Of his reckless ventures into the depths of Undermountain to find artifacts of buried cities and lost wizards. Ignoring known and as-yet undiscovered perils, irresistibly tempted by waiting riches.
“I went with Durnan. We were foolish and very lucky. And we found such wealth…such wealth! Of course, that was all we thought of then. Mercenary young men that we were. Bring it up and sell it as fast as may be. To the highest bidder. And then back for more…” His voice is jovial, tinged with tolerant amusement at his younger self’s rapacious ways.
“There were so many gems. I was not considering their stories or their previous owners. I was there to make coin, you see. But, even so, a few treasures do stand out to me. Even all these years later.
One was a crown, gold, and of very fine make. Set into it was a very large, beautifully cut, emerald. That one went straight to the Palace. The Open Lord at the time, Lord Piergeiron, bought it from us.”
“Pierogi…” I breathe out and Uza laughs quietly.
“Indeed.” Mirt smiles. “The other was a gem without a setting. It was milky white, maybe the size of my fist. There was something about it…
That one I sold to a Sun Elf. This would have been in the 1320’s.” Mirt muses.
“What Elf?” I ask, trying to suppress my anxious curiosity. “Where is he now?”
“He was traveling through the Deep. On his way to Evermeet. So I imagine that he took the gem there with him. That is all I can tell you.
But Durnan – well, he has kept his hand in with the Undermountain expeditions over the years. And he was generally more sharp than I was. Less, uh, distracted by other matters when it came to selling our finds. Talk to him, he may be able to tell you more. When you see him, say ‘The Lord Walrus sends his greetings and asks him to share what he knows’.” Mirt says.
Then, seeing my fervent nods as I take this all in, he continues quellingly.
“Elodie, the gems that I remember likely have nothing to do with the stones that you are looking for. And, even Durnan and I, famed explorers as you name us, only ever went down to the superficial levels of Undermountain. We did our searching through the first six levels.”
“How many levels are there?” I ask in surprise.
“No one knows. But an educated guess is perhaps two dozen. Two dozen levels of soul-numbing dark inhabited by monsters and curses the like of which most cannot even imagine. Finding anything down there, well…” Mirt trails off grimly.
I sink down into the pillowy seat, darkly awed by the vastness of horrors he has conjured.
Mirt’s sigh brings me back into the present moment. I am taken aback by his expression. It is gentle and sad. Tilting my head in surprise, I lean in to listen again.
“I have seen this before.” Mirt says wearily. “Homes and communities grow and thrive and then, through some twist of fate or magic or malevolent will, they fall into ruin. They disappear into history and their people are scattered or destroyed. If it means anything coming from this old wolf, and I know that it may not, I am sorry about the Aerie, Elodie.”
Mirt sighs again.
I blink furiously, banishing tears that burn sudden and ice-cold. He is speaking as if my home was already lost!
“But…but you have given me some good news! Some useful information!” I speak quickly in my surprised hurt. “I will follow the trail of these gems that you remember until I discover whether or not they are the Tears! And if they are not, well, I at least now know that there is much of Undermountain left unexplored. And…and that may be where I will need to focus next.”
“That is no job for a near-fledgling! Alone!” Mirt scoffs impatiently. “Did you not hear me Elodie?”
I bristle, hair snapping with tiny sparks. Uza elbows Mirt gently, and he softens his tone slightly.
“Have you heard of Halaster Blackcloak?” he asks.
“Of course! The Mad Mage.” It is my turn to be impatient.
“All know of his tyrannical rule over early Waterdeep. And of his descent into insanity. Of his disappearance into Undermountain. Durnan’s tavern, the portal within it, is at the site of Halaster’s old tower. That is why so many use it to start their expeditions into the dark.” I conclude.
“Indeed.” Mirt agrees. “It will give you some idea of his power when I tell you that it was one of Halaster’s laboratories that Durnan and I found and raided. Where we obtained the potions that have granted us, mere Humans, near-immortality. Think on this: no one is sure when, or if, Halaster died. He may still be down there.”
I cannot avoid thinking on it. I hide a shudder.
“What is certain,” Mirt continues, “is that his seven mad apprentices are down there. Roaming around in their various forms. Some few have melded with the Weave, become malignant, distorted parts of the Magical Web itself. With all of the power that is granted by such a transformation. Others have made more crude changes. Used less successful spells perhaps. I have heard of one that is part scorpion but with select parts forged of metal…
I think that you are sensible enough, Elodie, not to venture alone into such a place? You would find a quick end, similar to that of Danil and Lyrien when they charged, brave but heedless, into the dragon’s stronghold.”
He looks at me meaningfully.
“I still think that they should have been avenged.” I grumble quietly.
Then, very much wishing to confirm Mirt’s opinion of me as sensible, I pause to consider his words.
“I have been tasked with a sacred duty to my People. I have much to do. And, while I am willing to sacrifice everything for the Aerie, it would not be responsible to throw my life away foolishly.” I say seriously.
“Thank you for all that you have told me. I recognize that a more measured approach will be needed if I am to follow my duty into Undermountain. Perhaps I will need to gather an army first…” I suggest.
This idea is bewitching.
“Actually, that would be my approach to fighting this green dragon also.” I continue happily. “I am not as naive as you may think. I realize what a powerful foe she is.
But I believe that, once the other Wardens and myself have found the Tears for my People, I must turn to my true calling. To protect the Avariel from their ancient enemy! To avenge…to go into battle with an army of worthy warriors and destroy the scourge of dragons wherever I find it!” I finish fervently.
“Perhaps that will be your fate, Elodie.” Mirt begins.
I jut my chin forward proudly.
“If you survive the next few days.” He finishes crushingly.
I droop back into the seat.
“You talk of battles and armies!” Mirt scolds. “You are not focused on your present reality! This is what I was concerned about before. You are used to having a squadron of winged warriors that function as a seamless unit behind you. An order is given and all react together. You cannot expect that, cannot rely on that, in the company that you are in now!”
“We have already faced difficulties and fought many foes, even in the short time that we have been together!” I flare up.
“And how has that gone for you all?” Mirt asks with exquisite patience.
“I think that we have handled ourselves rather well.” I respond loftily.
Fleeting but vivid, memories kaleidoscope through my mind. Splashing in sewer waters, swords acid-etched or lost. Following a thieving Halfling into a dark alleyway and the subsequent battering we endured there. Vai, Elie and I happily consuming platefuls of poisoned mushrooms at the Meadery. Firmly, I suppress these intrusive recollections, not permitting doubt to waver over the still surface of my expression. I stare at Mirt with injured dignity.
I see Kaylin’s face in my mind, thin and hungry with fearful eyes. I blink and bite my lips, calm faltering.
“And how many Hags have you defeated so far?” He presses.
“None to date. But two nights from now Waterdeep will be down one extremely vile Night Hag!” I force confidence into my tone.
“Bravo!” Uza’s cheery voice pipes up. “Spoken like a true Harper. You are bringing credit to us already, my Dear!”
I smile gratefully at her.
Mirt shakes his head with irritation at us both.
“Humph. Well, make sure that you and your heroic friends all attend the training session tomorrow. You must learn to work together as a group if you are to continue to survive your meddling! And then, well, nothing like a spot of hag-hunting to top off your instruction!” He seems to have relented.
“There is one other matter that I would talk to you about. That has been worrying me.” I diplomatically change the subject.
Mirt drapes his arm over Uza’s shoulder, pulling her close to him, and then they both look towards me questioningly as I speak.
“It is the news that a Thayan Embassy is opening here in the Deep. You must have seen the story in the Wazoo. I can now reveal a distressing suspicion held by the Avariel: that one of the Tears of the Seldarine has been taken by the Red Wizards!”
Quickly, I explain my suspicions that the necromantic attacks on the City of the Dead are connected to the recent arrival of Thay in Waterdeep. And reveal my fears that the Red Wizards are in the Deep looking for the other Tears. I also believe them to be connected to some larger malevolent conspiracy that seems to be swirling around Waterdeep. Drawing in the Deep’s gangs, Zuggtmoy the Fungus Queen, and the Lords of the Maw.
Mirt’s hand has disappeared from Uza’s shoulder and is hidden somewhere under the folds of her cloak. He gives her a quick kiss before turning back to me.
“Elodie, Thay is an ancient and powerful empire, of enormous wealth and influence. And Waterdeep is an ancient and powerful city. It is possible that this embassy is simply what it appears to be on its surface. The coming together of two established powers to further trade and improve diplomatic relations. And thus to increase their wealth even further.”
Seeing me draw breath to argue, Mirt grins and holds up a hand placatingly.
“But,” he continues, “the benefit of a long life in this world is that one learns that few things are simple. One sees the insidious slow patterns developing and the complex webs of plans being built. Why do you think that the Harpers so often stay back in the shadows? We can learn more about the motives and intent of our enemies if we observe their subtle maneuvering and the webs of long-term plans that they construct. And thus have more hope of forestalling them. Of turning their plotting to our advantage!
Take these weapon deliveries north by the Zhentarim. There is clearly some attempt to spread their foul influence to the Mere. We need to know what they are up to.
The Zhents are ancient foes of our order. Through the centuries, the Harpers and the Zhents have been at odds on countless issues. We have seen them do much harm. You probably would have us stop spying on them from the shadows and gather in force to stamp them out once and for all, yes?”
I was not even aware that I was nodding enthusiastically as Mirt spoke, and he waits for no further answer.
“Well, but what then? There is no shortage of evil in this world. And, with the havoc and power vacuum caused by the disappearance of a group like the Zhentarim, more darkness will quickly rise to fill the gap. And we will have no advantage, no knowledge of, or access to, these new threats. Right now, we have a wealth of information about the Zhents. About their leaders, their power structures, their plots. And their weaknesses. We are in position to act when we need to!”
I sit quietly, studying the shape of these new ideas that Mirt is putting before me. Forcing my mind to assess them for worth and weakness rather than to be simply overwhelmed by the, well, Mirtness of Mirt’s forceful presence…
“You are suggesting ‘Better the demon you know…’”I finally say.
“Exactly!” Mirt’s voice is jocular as he shifts in his seat. I cannot see what he is doing but I hear Uza giggle.
“And you are likely to meet with plenty of demons, given the path you have chosen.” He continues more seriously. “Some evil can be battled in the open but there are enemies that require a more nuanced approach. Some darkness cannot be destroyed but can at least be quietly challenged and its damage in the world lessened in more measured ways.
That is why not every Harper is a warrior. There are just as many who you would not expect to be Meddlers but who are important eyes and ears for us. A new embassy – who will clean its rooms and feed its inhabitants? Who will tend the grounds and the animals? We have people who we can send in to do this work. And they will be able to watch and listen. Reporting back with what the Thayans are up to in their new enclave.” He concludes.
I nod thoughtfully, then smile, impressed with Mirt’s plan.
“Thank you!” I exclaim gratefully. “For all of your advice this evening and for this help with the Red Wizards. I am certain that there is something nefarious going on in that embassy. I know that you will find out something useful by investigating the Thayans. And, the sooner you do so, the better. It is easier to remove a single questing finger than to have to chop off an invading arm!”
“That depends on where the finger is questing.” I hear, muffled, from Mirt. Immediately followed by a surprised shriek of laughter from Uza.
More giggles, squeaks, and sighs follow. As well as creaking and rustling. The light in the carriage is dim but I can make out some increasingly frenetic movements on the seat opposite.
Oh dear.
I now understand the pained expression on Renaer’s face earlier this evening.
Oh dear. Oh dear.
This is most awkward. It is increasingly clear that Mirt and Uza wish to indulge in my Lady’s gift of carnal pleasure. But, strangely, they seem to be doing so in this small and confined space. Cut off from the Lady’s sky, from the free air! I suppose, earth-bound as they are, they have no choice but to pursue their play in this odd place. I remain uncertain as to what my role in these events should be. They did not invite me to join them, thus sparing me the necessity of declining my consent. But do they require an observer of their pleasures? Or do they expect me to remove myself and allow them the privacy that I would grant any mated Avariel?
I hesitate, knowing only that there is growing urgency to make my decision. Then I realize that the coach itself is no longer moving. Engrossed in the intense conversation, l had not noticed when we had reached our destination. I am not sure how long we have been sitting and talking in a stationary carriage. And I do not care as, overcome with relief, I reach for the door handle.
I mumble hurried goodbyes but do not wait for a reply before tearing open the door and, half-falling in my hurry, stumble down the carriage steps and outside.
Standing on the wet pavement in front of my Temple gates, I hear raucous laughter from behind me as the coach pulls away.
Aubray is not in our room. At this time of night she is almost certainly at her devotions, preparing for moon-rise tomorrow. With some difficulty, I peel off my soddenly clinging dress. Hanging it up carefully, I tell myself that the gown will certainly regain its elegant appearance when it dries. I pull on my oldest comfortable breeches and a faded linen shirt. Then, remembering Aubrey’s anxious interrogation this afternoon, I leave my roommate a note to explain that I returned from the Opera safely, was going out again briefly on business related to my People’s quest, and then would be leaving early in the morning for a combat training session with my companions.
Leaving the letter on Aubray’s divan under the window, I walk back out into the breezy hallway with relief. I do not know where I am going. I know only that I am restless and strangely dissatisfied. I need to accomplish something. My path leads me to a nearby training yard. My first eager thought is to expend my excess energy in sparring. Enthusiasm for this activity wanes quickly as I gaze about at the gray misty grounds; the obstacle course and training dummies barely visible in the gloom. There is no one else practicing at this time and under such conditions. And I do not feel like training alone.
I do not stop to think further. Directing my steps back to the street entrance, I leave the Temple and return to the city. Even at this late and rainy hour, Waterdeep is awake and bustling with soggy life. I stride forward, relishing every sound and sight. Before long, I reach the familiar sign advertising the Yawning Portal tavern.
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I hope that you enjoyed this account of Elodie’s growing friendship with Uza and of her rather hapless efforts at keeping her focus while faced with hallucinogenic treats, spine-tinglingly horrifying and intriguing tales of Undermountain, and the overwhelming and increasingly awkward physical proximity of one of her fledglinghood heroes…
Tears of the Seldarine 
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