27th Mirtul, Year of Three Ships Sailing (1492 D.R.), shortly before highmoon.
After talking to Mirt, I knew that I would need to seek out Durnan. And, here at his tavern, I may also find Volo. I can hope that the wily writer has uncovered new information for me about the Tears!
And then…then there is Yaghra.
Maxeen’s report about a Half-Orc regularly meeting a Sun Elf with known ties to the Zhentarim came as an unwelcome shock. Surely there are many strong Half-Orcs in the Deep! But Maxeen’s description of this particular fighter, and the location where the meetings occurred, were unsettlingly familiar. The first friend to fight at my side in the Deep immediately came to my mind when I heard the mare’s tale. Perhaps it is only an odd coincidence. But one strange enough to have made me apprehensive about meeting with Yaghra again. Now, however, I am reckless. Curiosity and frustration at my lack of progress overrides caution. If she is at the tavern, I intend to speak to her too.
I step inside the Yawning Portal, breathing in the lovely smells of ancient ale, fresh-baked bread, and wood smoke. These aromas mix uneasily with the undercurrent of sour, dank air that is exhaled from the gaping cavern at the center of the famed tavern’s floor. Both the downstairs and upper galleries are noisily crowded. I look about me with interest and my hair wilts slightly. To my disappointment, neither Volo nor Yaghra are here.
Durnan’s voice floats my way from the bar, fluting and musical. For such a solidly built man, his voice is strangely high in pitch. Especially when compared to his old friend’s deep growling and rollicking tones. I suppose that Durnan is the hunting dog to Mirt’s old wolf.
I walk over to the bar. Here, Durnan’s long solemn face, with its melancholy jowls, only serve to confirm the impression of an old hound. Seeing how busy he is, I content myself with greeting him politely and asking whether I may speak to him when he has a free moment.
“Of course!” He smiles. “And I believe that you are owed a drink on the house. For your help dispatching that troll!”
Pleased that he remembers, I accept a cup of Zzar and sip the raisin and almond-tasting concoction with pleasure.
I am just considering whether to order a second cup, when Durnan walks over to my corner of the counter, holding a tray of glass chalices and a polishing cloth.
“What would you like to talk to me about?” He asks kindly.
“I – my name is Elodie, Elodie Skyshard. And I have some questions about your visits to Undermountain and the artifacts that you brought up from below. I have just been speaking to an old friend of yours about this same matter and he recommended that I seek your advice.”
I look around me and lower my voice before continuing.
“The Lord Walrus sends his greetings and asks you to share what you know” I finish in a conspiratorial whisper.
“Aah!” Durnan’s smile widens. “And how is old Mirt doing?”
His enthusiastic cry echoes through the nearby crowd. I wince.
“He is very well.” I return to my normal speaking volume. “I had asked him about any particularly fine or clearly magical gems that the two of you may have located while in Undermountain. He suggested that you had a better memory for these things and may be able to help me.”
Durnan takes a moment to think. He is clearly possessed of a finely organized mind and I listen with interest as he starts to list various fabulous treasures that he and Mirt recovered in Undermountain. Moving forward from least to most recent finds, and describing each in exquisite detail, his tale is so fascinating that it almost consoles me in my disappointment. Because, sadly, as treasure after treasure is listed it fails to fit any of the, admittedly scant, descriptions of the Tears of the Seldarine that I have committed to memory. Then..
“One stone I particularly remember. A large, multi-faceted, white stone. At first I thought it was a diamond. But then I realized that no diamond contains within it so many rainbow shades in the light, and yet adopts such a moon-lit milky glow in the darkness. It’s shape – well it was similar in shape to that pendant that you wear around your neck.” Durnan says.
My heart speeds up.
“Is that the gem that you sold to the Sun Elf?”
“Yes, yes. That would have been in the year 1320 or so. I did not know our buyer’s name. I am afraid that I cannot tell you more than that. I remember that he did not intend to stay on the Sword Coast long after we met with him. A matter of three days, I believe, before he sailed West.” Durnan muses.
At that moment, the loud rhythmic clanging of a bell fills the tavern. An excited murmur passes through the crowd and I see people in the upper rooms leaving benches and armchairs to gather at the gallery railings.
“Excuse me, Elodie.” Durnan says pleasantly. “We can speak more again later if you have other questions. But now it would seem that we have an Arrival.”
Remembering the giant spidery troll that emerged from the darkness during my last visit here, my fingers tighten on the hilts of my swords.
Durnan has walked over to a tall narrow desk close to the edge of the main bar. He opens a heavy, leather-bound ledger chained to the table’s surface.
“Who is it that rings?” His high pitched voice rises easily over the calls of the crowd.
The tolling of the bell stops. Echoing strangely from the yawning hole in the floor, a voice answers!
“The Ferrets of Phandalin! Hurry up and get us out of here!”
Durnan flips pages, studying one entry closely, then looks up and nods to a very large figure waiting on the gallery above.
“Let them up, Minder!” He calls.
Minder is an Iron Golem. I marvel at its strength as the Golem starts to wind the handle on a gigantic winch. The mechanism activates a hinged lever arm mounted over the portal. Normally tucked to the side, out of sight, it now shifts, creaking, into position directly above the cavern. And, as the giant figure turns the handle, a platform and chain descend from the lever down into the dark depths below.
Before long, there is one more pronounced clang of the bell, and the Golem reverses direction. Now the chain is wound in and the platform raised. Variously clinging to, and lying on, the contraption, is a group of bruised and disheveled figures. And a cloth-covered bundle, uncomfortably human-shaped.
I watch with rapt attention as the platform is raised flush with the edge of the pit and the figures step off it and into the tavern. The crowd cheers and parts as the group walks slowly up to the bar. Carrying the cloth-covered bundle, there is a fearsomely armed Shield Dwarf woman. Next to her, and leaning on her sturdy shoulder, is a Halfling man. His robes are heavily stained and blood continues to leak from the stump of his right arm. Roughly bound, the ghastly injury does not seem to be causing him pain as he waves his other arm urgently for a drink.
Finally, the tallest of the group steps up towards Durnan, who has returned to his previous post behind the bar. Wearing a dark leather coat, she is very thin and her skin is a rich carmine red. Curling out of thick glossy black hair is a set of horns, one shade darker than her skin: the deep brooding red of a banked coal fire. She has a tail which is whipping impatiently across the floor behind her. And…and she has wings.
Intrigued, I note that her wings are not feathered! Just that same red skin, stretched over a frame of finely formed joints and bones. So that every powerful flight muscle is clearly visible as the wings curve out behind her. I sigh with envy.
The mysterious winged woman lays a large gold scepter on the bar with a thud. I recognize her weary rasping voice as the same one I heard calling to Durnan from the pit.
“Add this to our account. I think you will find it goes a long way towards clearing our bill.”
Unable to restrain myself, I lean forward.
“What did you see down there?” I ask eagerly.
Without looking away from the treasure in front of her, the woman growls out.
“Fodder to fuel your nightmares for a tenday.”
“A drink for your tale?” I blurt out, hopelessly curious.
The woman turns in my direction. She gives me a tired smile.
“My companions and I are weary and in need of a temple’s aid. Perhaps another time, once I have rested…”
“Of course! Of course you must attend to your friends!” I remember my manners with a guilty start.
But I am still not entirely able to let go of my curiosity.
“Do you do much flying?” I ask nonchalantly.
I deliberately adopted a casual tone but the flurried swirling of my hair belies my calm exterior. The woman gazes at me and I see my own curiosity now mirrored in her stare.
“Not down there.” She answers slowly. “Not enough space. But, when I have time, I like to fly in the Deep.”
I sigh again. I think longingly of how this sprawling, seedy, sparkling city would appear when seen from above. While soaring through the free air.
“My name is Lament.” The winged woman continues.
“I am Elodie, Elodie Skyshard…” I begin.
“Highwater!” Lament’s Dwarf companion’s gravelly voice sounds out in irritation.
“Let us go! I am tired of carrying this one. And Him – he never carries anything!”
She gestures at the Halfling. He is still leaning half-drunkenly against her shoulder.
“I beg your pardon!” The Halfling slurs his words, whether from blood-loss or from the rapid infusion of drink that he managed to gulp down during my brief conversation with his companion.
“I do more than my share of the carrying! But I am a little short-handed currently!” He cackles deliriously.
Lament snorts in amusement and turns back to me.
“I must take my friends and get them cared for now, Elodie. But I am back here often enough. I would welcome that drink then.”
“I wish you all a speedy recovery.” I say politely, glancing uncomfortably at the bundle still hefted by the Dwarf. “Until we meet again!”
I watch the Ferrets of Phandalin alternately limp and stagger out of the tavern and then I turn back to Durnan.
“What advice would you have for someone venturing…down there?” I nod towards the yawning pit.
And tense in preparation for another barrage of discouragement akin to Mirt’s earlier lecture.
Durnan scratches his chin and squints slightly before replying.
“Take plenty of food and drink for all your companions. You are likely to be down there longer than you expect. And make sure that you have plenty of light. And tools. Especially rope. Take as many healing potions as you can afford. Prepare as many works of the Art as your group is capable of. Ideally, have a portal marked out for escape in an emergency.”
After a brief pause as I scramble a small journal out of my pocket and jot notes, Durnan continues.
“But do not pass through just any portal you find down there! Not unless you are certain that you know where it leads. You do that and you will likely find yourselves in a much worse place than the one you left.”
Knowing that he has a thirsty crowd to attend to, I thank Durnan warmly for his advice and prepare to leave. I have much to think about.
“Certainly! I am glad to help any friend of Mirt’s. You tell the Old Walrus to keep his chins clean!” Durnan chortles.
“I…I will not be doing that.” I reply frankly. “Good health to you until my next visit, Durnan!”
Winding my way around noisy tables and pirouetting around attendants hefting laden trays, I find myself near the fireplace in the corner. Sitting next to it, strumming a lute, is a Dwarven man. He is clad in a velvet suit of pleasingly muted green tones, with tasteful gold embellishments around cuffs and neckline. His flame-orange hair is neatly combed back. Even his mustache is braided, to match with the elaborate styling of his russet beard. His elegant appearance is matched by the artistry of his playing. The raucous conversation and guffaws of the tavern goers cannot drown out the delightful melody produced by the Dwarven bard.
I grow still, listening, until the song is ended. Then, inclining my head in acknowledgment of the beauty of the music, I turn to the Dwarf with a smile.
“Good evening. You play very beautifully. May I ask you a question?”
“Why, thank you. And of course! It would be my great pleasure to be of any service that I can to such a lovely lady this evening.” The Dwarf’s teeth gleam as he grins.
His voice is as melodious and modulated to enchant as his playing was earlier.
“Um…I do not require a service, as such. Just information.” I straighten, adopting my most business-like manner. “Working here, for Durnan, you are paid in coin, are you not? As well as receiving room and board?”
My simple question evokes a curious response from the Bard. His seductive manner drops away, his eyes turn speculative, and his voice, while still a very pleasant smooth baritone, loses something of its dark, chocolate-cake richness.
“Who is offering such terms? Is it you? Are you hiring now?” He questions me rapidly. “I do have some availability in my schedule, if you are hiring.”
I step back, a little overwhelmed by this response. Perhaps Eliana was correct. The terms that Vaikner and I offered to the Halfling musicians we met in Trollskull Alley may have been a little too generous. Perhaps we inadvertently promised just a little more than the generally accepted rate here in the Deep. I attempt, diplomatically, to withdraw.
“Oh no! That is, my companions and I are possibly looking to open a tavern. At some future date. We are not hiring now. My questions are more…theoretical.” I stammer.
The Bard frowns, and then turns back to his lute.
Turning from the Dwarf as I search for a polite escape, I see two familiar faces at the door to the tavern’s kitchen. It is George, Elie’s cousin, and Bonnie, the charming attendant that we met during our first visit to the Yawning Portal! I wave happily at them both.
Bonnie’s eyes narrow briefly, as she glances at George and then back at me. Then, brow clearing with recognition, she smiles and lifts a hand in return. She speaks a few words to George and then smiles at me again before whisking busily off into the fragrant depths of the kitchen.
George waves too, beckoning me over. I nod and pick my way through the crowd, studying him as I go. It is interesting to note the similarities in his face and hair to my friend, Eliana. Yet, at the same time, he is so different!
“Miss Skyshard, yes? How nice to see you again. How is Elie? Have you seen much of her of late? I suppose that she has been busy with all of her – important missions?” George’s patter flows over me as soon as I arrive within earshot of him.
“Hello. Please call me Elodie.” I smile. “Eliana is well. And yes, she has been working tirelessly to combat evil-doers. Both in Waterdeep and without. She is very valiant. But it has been keeping her rather busy.”
George’s open face lights up with awe as he soaks in this news. Encouraged that our friendly conversation is progressing so well, I continue.
“ And how have you been? And your friend, Bonnie? She is looking very well.”
“Oh, she is beautiful, isn’t she? We are…we are together now. She has even found me a job here at the tavern so that we can spend time in each other’s company. And so I can stay in the Deep until I find something better.” George gushes.
“How nice.” I nod supportively. “And so interesting too! Because Elie is also looking at working in a tavern. Well, we are all thinking of converting that old haunted house that Volo gifted us into a tavern. So I suppose, it is more that Elie is looking into owning a tavern…”
I note that George’s eyebrows have risen nearly into his hairline.
“Elie owns a tavern now?!” He chokes out. “Does she – do you need anyone to work there? Because I would certainly be interested.”
Having learned some uncomfortable lessons from my experiences with the Halfling musicians and the Dwarven Bard, I hesitate to offer too much.
“Well, I will need to confer with my associates.” I say, wincing at the pompous ring of my words.
I am unable to withstand the obvious hurt in his eyes.
“But I am sure that we could use all the help we can get George! It would be wonderful to have you working there. And Bonnie too, if she would be willing! And there are a great many rooms. Once it is in better repair, it will make a comfortable nest…I mean home. A comfortable home for you both.” I continue hurriedly.
George grins widely.
“You tell Elie to come and see me here. I start my shift at eleven bells tomorrow. I would like to catch up with all of her news!”
“Certainly, George.” I answer. “I will pass that on. For tonight she is quite engaged I’m afraid. She is at the Opera.”
“The Opera?” George appears flabbergasted.
“Yes. She insisted. She did have her hair done beautifully for the occasion. All swept up in a lovely towering structure.” I sigh with admiration at the memory. “And she was wearing the most striking, vividly green dress. Matching her eyes so well!”
“Oh.” George seems thoughtful. “Do you think that I should take Bonnie…do you think that Bonnie would like to go to the Opera?”
“Well, Bonnie seems like a sensible woman.” I consider his question seriously. “So I would say: no.
But surely you can find somewhere else to take her. There are so many points of interest in Waterdeep. I know that you have Volo’s guidebook so I am certain that you are aware of the Deep’s many fascinating attractions.”
“We have had some nice outings.” George perks up. “We went to the Mud Flats last evening. That was very romantic.”
He smiles at my inquisitive expression.
“Yes, it was splendid. I recommend it.” He continues happily. “Particularly if you have anyone that you would like to walk along the beach with? Watching the sunset and eating oysters. It is lovely…”
“I…I shall have to keep that in mind.” I say noncommittally. “If I happen to come across such a person.”
For some reason, George’s smile grows broader.
“Well, I need to get back to work. Bonnie will dunk me in the dirty dish water if I stay here chatting all night!” He turns to the kitchen.
I understand that he is jesting. But I still make sure to ask him to pass on my most respectful greetings to the fearsome Bonnie before we part.
The rain has stopped but it is still a bracingly cold walk back to my Temple. By the time I reach my room, I feel tired enough to yearn for the warm comfort of bed. I offer a prayer to my Lady, brief but heartfelt. As I change my garments and prepare for sleep, I think about all that I have learned this night. And all that I have to do. An organized approach is what I require.
First, of course, the Hag. If we are successful in defeating that monster, I will perhaps wish to stay in Waterdeep for a time. Helping Ambrosius in the City of the Dead, working with Mirt to investigate the Thayan Embassy, and guarding the dung sweepers in their labor.
Or perhaps I should travel north right away, accompanying Eliana to the Mere to find Galerina and look into the mysterious Lords of the Maw? Regardless of when I start on that journey, I will have to find time during my travels to check in with Saer Braford Roaringhorn and the other knights of our Order. I have my instructions from Saer Savra.
After returning from the journey north, well, then I need to secure an audience at the Palace and obtain permission to inspect Waterdeep’s prized and priceless collection of historical treasures.
And I will need to find the location of the Academy Astrolara. I very much want to speak to the historian Sharwyn Nelorothi about her book. There may be more information about the Tears of the Seldarine that she did not include in her published chapter. And, at the very least, I need to find out what her sources were, so I can research those historical documents for myself.
I also have to find a way to trace a nameless Sun Elf that was buying gems in the Deep one hundred and fifty years ago. And perhaps mount an expedition to Undermountain to search its near-endless depths for the Tears…
And, after all that is done, there are always dragons, I think sleepily.
Truly exhausted now, I fall into bed. I spend only a few more moments in dreamy contemplation of the day’s events before the cosy cocoon of blankets does its work and I start to drift.
Soon, I am soaring again. The same golden desert light and spice-scented wind around me. The same whispering presence behind me.
“I can help make sure that you triumph.” The tempting voice tickles the hair on my neck. “You can save those little souls.”
Despite the sun-drenched landscape around me, I suddenly feel cold. How? How does He know? The cold spreads further through me. I have failed to hide the fear freezing my heart. What if I cannot save the spirits of the children trapped in the Hag’s domain?
“How? How can I triumph?” I dance on the edge of the righteous path just by asking.
“Reach out and take my hand. Accept my offer. Be mine and I will be yours…”
I shudder slightly.
“No.” I force out.
“Oh! Are you in the middle of something?” A familiar voice screeches out over my demurral.
My smoothly effortless flight stutters. Then it is over. The desert is gone, the sunlight is gone. Replacing it is a blank, mist-filled space. I cannot see the surface that I am standing on but it feels solid. The damp fog wreathing me feels chillingly real. There is still a focus of strange heat behind me, warming my back and gently illuminating this odd new place. A slight fragrance of spice emanates from it. I am unable to turn around to see it. But as I stand frozen, staring ahead, a new figure looms in front of me. A tall skeletal form. It is surrounded by floating globes of colorful light.
“Larloch? Larloch the Warlock? What are you doing here?”
This dream is most confusing.
“I came to see when I could expect your armies! When are you coming to do battle with me?” He responds testily.
“We are not – just leave! Both of you! Leave my head!” I fume.
“Well, it you are going to be that inhospitable, I suppose that I will just go and visit your new young companion. She seems to share that Archer’s love for cheese.” Larloch says peevishly.
Even in this strange place, my hair roils in horror.
“Stay away from Sister! Just – just stay away from her. You need not leave. We can talk here, now, if you like.”
There is only sullen silence but the figure does not recede.
“May I ask you a question?” I persist. “Can you see who is here with me? Who is behind me?”
“Behind you?!?” Larloch caws in delight. “You do not know?”
At that moment, I feel the warming presence at my back vanish. Clammy tendrils of mist flow over my skin in its place and I flinch, longing for the heat to return.
“Well, what will you give me if I tell you?” Larloch bargains happily.
“I will reveal to you the day that my company will arrive on your doorstep to defeat you!” I announce dramatically.
“Pish posh! You can do no such thing! I can tell that you do not have a plan to defeat me!” Larloch sounds deeply disappointed.
“Well, we do not know enough about you to formulate our battle strategy.” I maneuver weakly.
“You wish to know more?! I can tell you all about the wonders of the Netherese Empire! Before which all of your paltry civilizations are as nothing!” Larloch rages excitedly.
“Actually, that does sound very interesting” I admit. “In fact, I remember some fascinating essays on the Netherese and their flying cities that I read at the..”
I do not finish speaking before the empty gray space before me is filled with flickering color, light, and sound. Images appear out of the mist and a jaunty, slightly fussy voice, quite unlike Larloch’s but strangely reminiscent of one of my tutors when I was a fledgling, narrates a description of each vision.
Larloch is showing me a very abbreviated version of Netheril’s history and I am as enthralled by the content as by his method of delivering the information. Sadly, the display does not last long. The images fade away. The voice slows and grows slurringly, disturbingly deep before it too disappears.
“Nooo! There is still the section on our economical development!” Larloch’s voice trails away as the skeletal figure vanishes.
I sit up in bed, head pounding and hair tangled in confusion. Surely these were all visions created by my overwrought and weary mind? Surely the dreaded Larlock did not just indulge himself in giving me a lesson on Netherese history? I shake my head, trying to clear it of the odd experience. It is at least an hour before dawn but I do not think that I will sleep any more tonight.
Instead, I quietly pad to the closest bathing room. There, surrounded by hot fragrant waters, I soak and sluice the unsettling night’s visions away. Refreshed, I watch the sun rise in a small garden planted with white and purple lilies. They, like me, lift their grateful faces to the new day. Still touched by fear, I pray fervently that I will see another dawn spread over the sky. That I will be able to look towards the light, untouched by shame and failure. A gentle breeze caresses my hair as I commune with my Lady and I find some calm again.
Not having anything else to fill my time that morning, I decide to walk to Mirt’s home. I have not been in that part of the Deep before. I have no wish to get lost and arrive late.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I hope that you enjoyed this account of Elodie’s return to the Yawning Portal. We all know that it is deeply unwise to split the party but it seems to be working out very well on this occasion. Elodie is making new friends and learning new things! And surely Eliana and Vainer are having just as enjoyable of a night…
As already established, I am just a faithful and reliable narrator for our shared game. Diligently relating what actually happened at our table. And indulging myself with only the littlest bit of food porn and descriptions of pretty Elves and not-so-pretty Waterdhavian scenery. But I will say this: I recognize that these past few chapters have been a little on the kooky side. I remember these gaming sessions very fondly as the light-hearted calm before the storm. We are, after all, about to venture into the shadows and challenge our first major foe. The Hag battle approaches!
Also, as I have been rather, ahem, leisurely, in my narration, so much has happened in our campaign since the early days that I am describing here. So much growth for all of our characters, so many changes, so much loss, so many, many stories. In a lot of ways, things are much darker. So I am happily wistful to see Elodie grappling with how to deviously ask a bard about the Deep’s going rate for a tavern performer. Or failing to master her envious curiosity when meeting a winged Tiefling. It is fun to look back at the slightly (or extremely) silly hijinks that filled our game in the early Waterdeep days. No regrets!
For Durnan:
The Wanderer, Johnny Cash
For Lament:
Don’t Give a Damn About My Reputation, Joan Jett and the Blackhearts
For Rondo:
Snake Oil, Steve Earle
For Garmund:
You’re Welcome, (Garmund Edition), updated lyrics by our very own GM, DocWebb!!!
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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