For anyone unfortunate enough to look upon cleric of Gargauth in his elated state would say his thin-lipped even smile was both disarming in its charm and possessed with a hint of madness simmering behind his straight white teeth. He wore robes of blue and gold to avoid being recognized but one thing remained unchanged, the olive green tiefling horn that hung from a fine gold chain about his neck.
The cleric strode towards his destination in silent contemplation, Staff of Striking tapping the pavers along the way. He thought of how certain world events have progressed; all over a single magical tome. A grimoire of collected nether scrolls gathered by an emperor from one of the original seven realms: Calimshan. The cleric had watched the tome pass from archaeologists in Calimport; to become lost at sea only to reemerge years later to kick off a war between Luskan and island nations of Ruathym.
Now with an apparent alliance between the Islanders and Luskan, both seem eager to wage their need for conflict upon Waterdeep and the Sword Coast. Fortunate for them the north is fractured into many governments, groups, and factions none of whom work in concert. All the pieces were set to purpose.
Sai Piergeiron, with help from the church of Gond, has created a military powerhouse to quell rising hostilities from many fronts: Luskan pirates, barbarian hordes, as well as the dragons who have yet to make their plans known.
Khelben, “Blackstaff” resigned as a Masked Lord to pursue an alliance initiative in an attempt to unify cities in the North. Blackstaff says falling into conflict is what the architects of these conflicts want.
There are others, the cleric thought; now he must carefully get them working together and when his greatest enemies are at their most vulnerable… expose the betrayal to them all!
A short time later the cleric stood in the presence of Tyrus “Skullstorm” of Thay, Ambassador Homen’s councilor and Red Sorcerer. Tyrus, like all Thayan sorcerers, did not shave their heads but grew their hair long to show superiority over vancian spellcasters. His attire was typical of Thayan arcanists save for the Rod of Smiting he carried. The cleric knew his fear for constructs. He may, the cleric thought, betray this information at the worst time possible for Tyrus, or mayhap not.
Tyrus and the cleric palavered often in secret; usually, as was now the case, upon a bridge that was just in sight of Bryntyn’s Brews.
“What am I to do with a mated pair of dwarves?” Tyrus asked the Gargauth cleric. “Have little dwarves?” He finished in a dry sarcastic tone.
“If you wish it.” The cleric answered.
“I fail to see their value outside the norm, right now there is no market for dwarf slaves. I may come from the East but even I can see how the North adores the bearded ffolken. It is not feasible priest.” Tyrus was just about at his end with the scheming cleric.
“That is what gives the dwarfs their value.” The cleric said as he looked out over the waters of Skullport. “Dwarves are reclaiming the first level of Undermountain. Surely you know this. If you want to maintain your convenient location and the benefits you reap, then I suggest releasing them to their kin. Mayhap they will overlook your trustworthy guise and agree to a lease. At the very least it will temporarily bond the Melairkyn dwarves and Thayans against a common enemy… the Chaos Fiend.”