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Tristeza House was built by one of the greatest and most tragic of the Kordova
family’s patriarchs: Alderlard Kordova, the first in a long line of family
engineers, architects, and builders. A few decades after the Weeping War five
wealthy nobles gathered their individual investments and used Alderlard and his
blueprints to build a manor house along the river in an area of Cormanthor
called the Verduran woods where they could enjoy their privacy while keeping
close to Tragidore, Shadowdale, and the Ashaba River.
Over the weeks the construction site was plagued with mysterious
accidents and mishaps that resulted in several unexplained deaths. Alderlard
undaunted continued his efforts with singular purpose but when it was well
after the promised deadline for the keep's completion the five nobles returned
to find the manor finished but Alderlard had gone mad during its construction.
Over the decades the house has had several owners and occupants many of
whom are rumored to have met with some tragedy or betrayal; the most recent occurred
during the godsfall when the unfaithful Tristeza couple poisoned one another with drink during an ugly love
affair over the same Woman. It is has since been referred to as Bitter
Manor. Whatever the name, it is said
that the manor house has an extensive network of secret rooms, halls, and
sub-levels engineered by Alderlard the mad that have not yet been discovered or
occupied in decades.
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(Fifty Years ago… Feast of the Moon)
“Are you sure the Zhents are in there?” Dern Fosimuth, cleric of Gwaeron Windstrom asked Rhoma Vistani who looked at him incredulously. Doubt did not
often come between the members of the Golden Watch, but ever since Dern
announced his imminent departure from the group and from the Harpers, he was
becoming more hesitant in his actions and overall less willing to venture far
from Tragidore. In truth Dern did not want to accompany them on this bounty at all but
eventually acquiesced when Taergan Flinn convinced Dern he would only be there to
heal and provide medical treatment to the group if necessary.
Rhoma the Golden Watch's wizard nodded a silent answer to Dern’s question, looked out
from her vantage, and could hear the signal from Branda Tulles, their rogue
which indicated to Rhoma that Branda and her lover Igneous were in
position near the bridge. As usual the half-elf Taergan was nowhere to be
seen; searching the stone bridge for traps or similar subterfuge she mused.
The early evening was overcast and a chill breeze was beginning to blow gently down the Ashaba Valley causing the Manor Houses’ sparse foliage to wave
subtlety. The effect seemed hypnotic to both Rhoma and Dern.
Inside the old manor house the leader of the Zhentarim River Lords, Jonark Uptal awoke to his magical
ring signaling an alarm. Instantly awake he drank a potion, took up his pack
and weapon, and began to kick awake his two companions.
“Hey what the hell?” protested Cassomir, a middle-aged wizard for hire
out of Dagger Falls. “A simple ‘wake up’ would have done just a well and with
better results I’m sure young-master Uptal.”
The Daggerdale wizard had an annoying ability to find just what agitated you the most
and be able to exercise it as often as situations allowed. Jonark hated his youth but
ignored the wizard and turned his attention to Tanodar, a beast of a man and cleric
of Bane whose anger and reflexes warranted more careful arousal.
“You two get up, I need you to focus or we are as good as dead. This
exchange is important and everything I have worked for, everything I have sacrificed
has led me to this exchange. So don’t mess it up.” Jonark barked as he gathered
his alchemy as well as the precious soul-gems. “We have company.”
“Is it your contact?” asked Cassomir belting on his components and
taking up his walking-stick as Tanodar gathered his heavy mace and trusty steel
shield.
Jonark looked up at a cracked window overlooking the eastern forest
canopy and considered the time of day, it was just after dark. A purplish glow
had settled in the eastern sky.
“No, it is too early.”
On the other side of the cracked window the alchemist Taergan Flinn
watched this scene play out. He and his fellow Golden Watch members had tracked the River Lords to the manor house earlier today and waited for
just the right time to strike. Taergan was vain, fancied himself
independent, and would not suffer the Harper code; he instead preferred a
straightforward information gathering approach. They called it reckless,
Taergan said it was because of his gold-elf blood that he was just naturally
‘adventurous’. Let them believe what they want; Taergan was here to find out
what made these individuals such people of interest in the eyes of the Harpers.
Igneous and Branda hunkered low where the manor house bridge met the
eastern shore. The Ashaba was calm and icy giving it a magical-like clarity
even in the twilight hours. Together they could see Dern and Rhoma in position just
as unconsciousness took them both. Like all magical forms of sleep it came
suddenly and without prelude like falling into a well of darkness.
Alodia Nasadra emerged from obscurity out of the forest like a shadow.
Intricate luminous webbing clad her lithe drow form without mind for protection
but instead for seduction and coercion. A deadly viper curled around her
off-hand while her entire right arm was a fantastic adamantine prosthetic limb.
The drow woman considered her sleeping victims but wasted no time and climbed
up the side of the stone bridge traversing as would a spider on a wall to the
manor house.
The moments stretched into several minutes making the wizard Cassomir
more than a little nervous, many of his protections had expired and more were
due when he broke down and asked, “Why don’t you tell us why we going through
all this trouble Jonark?”
From the front door Tanodar looked toward the sudden
outburst from the wizard, briefly stealing his attention from his post. Jonark
went from irritated to irate but before he could respond Taergan Flinn boldly stepped
out from the shadows of the upper level.
 |
| Taergan Flinn |
“Yes, please Jonark share with us why we are ALL here.” Taergan said, his
words matching his tone of bemused curiosity.
The sudden presence of the half-elf caught everyone off guard, but
since Taergan did not strike when he had the chance, bespoke much to the young
aspiring Jonark about this individual.
“Who the hell are you?” Cassomir said now utterly paranoid stepping to
the side placing a pillar between himself and the newcomer mumbling the words
to more defensive spells.
“All right, I’ll go first,” Taergan said in the spirit of diplomacy. “I
travel with four bounty hunters who are outside this very moment who are
interested in the lot of you. I however come as myself and am most curious as
to why you are so important.”
Jonark and the wizard exchanged worried glances then each looked to
Tanodar who was suddenly and wordlessly clutching his throat. Blood stained his
breastplate as it spilled silently from between the cleric’s tense fingers in a
futile attempt to stop his bleeding. A few disturbing moments later the great cleric Tanodar, the Villain of Hillsfar was dead.
Deep in Dern Fosimuth’s mind the sentient sword Clarity urged him out his fascination just as Rhoma Vistani was
doing the same; neither had any idea of how many minutes had gone by but there were
now sounds of battle coming from the manor house. Dern prayed to Gwaeron
Windstrom that Igneous and the others were not in dire straits and fighting
without them.
Without heed to stealth or caution the cleric and wizardess ran toward
the bridge only to find Igneous and Branda sleeping peacefully
on a cold bed of moss, Igneous snoring lightly.
“And now you,” Taergan said as Tanodar was still in his bloody death
throws, “I would advise the condensed version.”
After immediately identifying the half-elf as a neutral player in this
game and the fact that Jonark was down one henchman left him really no choice.
“I am brokering soul-gems for Tragen Gundwynd’s Divine Amulet. The weapon of legacy from the Weeping War! A relic
that has the potential to unite the dalesfolk,” Johark said, his passion was
undeniable.
“Soul-gems?” Taergan began to inquire when no sooner did Tanodar
breathed his last when a lithe drow woman entered the manor house like a
whisper. She stepped over the dead cleric retrieving a deadly dagger from the
man’s throat cleaning the blood off the blade with one fast flick with her adamantine arm.
“Shut up and play along.” Jonark instructed Taergan.
Taergan Flinn decided there and then that only one person was leaving
here with the soul-gems. These gems, he remembered could be used to unlock
more alchemical discoveries and if the Harpers didn’t know about them- all the better.
More out of habit than anything Taergan stepped into the shadows
leaving Jonark who stood facing the drow woman. Cassomir, with newfound
courage, stepped up between the two to translate the exchange.
“You have the souls of the men who hunted down clan Nasadra?” the drow
woman asked through the interpreter wizard. During the Weeping War a famed unit
of Torm clerics called ‘the Valiant’ were decisive in routing drow aggressors;
most notably clan Nasadra from Myth Drannor.
“Were you able to recover the Divine Amulet?” Jonark asked before he
revealed the truth of his findings.
Taergan was watching it all and knew instinctively that Jonark was
holding back something and that Cassomir too was waiting patiently for a chance
to act; Taergan took two vials between his fingers from his sleeves and began
to mix them, in the other hand was a alchemy bomb.
Her only answer to Jonark’s question was the Divine Amulet in one metallic
hand and a potion, her means of escape, in a natural ebony hand. The act was intended to convey her
level of readiness.
Seeing the object of his goal Jonark Uptal quickly quipped, “Unfortunately
was I was only able to recover three of the five commissioned I’m afraid; I do
hope that is not going to sour our exchange, I am more than…”
But before the translation was finished Alodia Nasadra moved swiftly to
imbibe her potion but Taergan instantly rendered the contents of the vial
inert. This sparked a flurry of activity from each individual as Jonark, Cassomir
and Taergan moved to overwhelm the drow woman.
Meanwhile outside the Harpers, after gathering themselves, began
crossing the one hundred eighty-foot length of the manor house bridge.
Alodia allowed Jonark a glancing blow with his mace across her metal shoulder so she could instantly slay the wizard with a quick throw of her dirk. It was a common tactic against unobservant sentries and overzealous wizards who thought they had the upper-hand, but it also gave Taergan the chance to punch Alodia in the face with an alchemy bomb. The bomb was laced with a sonic effect that caught the drow woman off guard and off balance.
Again Jonark came at the woman but was caught by the drow’s
metal arm lifting him off the floor by his neck.
For the second time Taergan reached into his sleeves and produced three vials of liquid; components that were harmless by themselves until combined... Taergan splashed the three vials at
the drow causing her skin to melt off where the liquids adhered to her flesh.
The drow screamed dropping Jonark to the stone floor. She turned her
full attention toward Taergan who thought this had suddenly turned badly.
Alodia stepped toward the half-elf kicking the dead wizard Cassiomir as
she did. From the wizard’s robes dropped a soul-gem. She bent over and
picked up the gem with her adamantine arm causing intense pain as skin continued
to burn off her flesh.
“You will pay for that!” Alodia screamed in drow lunging for
Taergan with the soul-gem.
Outside, the Harpers assembled near the manor house's entrance. From
here they could see the double doors to the keep were open and that there is a
dead body just inside the entrance. Dim lights revealed the form of a large man
when suddenly a dire scream of anguish issued from inside the keep.
Jonark recovered from his near strangulation and could not believe what
he saw. When the drow attacked Taergan with the soul-gem all color was
instantly stolen from them both, they were changing- no had changed. Jonark
stood transfixed at the transformation wrought in the drow and half-elf then
noticed the Divine Amulet lying unattended, check-mate he thought.
Jonark bent low, took the Divine Amulet and the soul-gems and reconsidered.
“Please consider these gems as recompense for your troubles half-elf, although I think
it a paltry sum considering what you have lost today. My hands are bloodied from
them already and are lighter without them.”
Taergan Flinn could do nothing but stare at the ceiling of the keep in shock, he showed no sign of comprehension. Without further word Jonark
took a dagger from Taergan’s possession, turned to Alodia who also shared Taergan’s
look of disconnected shock, and drove the dagger into her temple.
“I’m sure you will able to convince your compatriots that you were
successful in turning the River Lords against themselves.” Jonark said, “In the
meantime… long life.” This last statement came with a laugh that followed his wake.
(Two weeks later… Mother’s Care Home)
Taergan Flinn, Mother’s Care Home first patient, awoke surrounded by The Golden Watch.
“Hey,” Rhoma said smiling, honestly pleased to see Taergan awake. “How are you
feeling?”
 |
| An Older Taergan Flinn |
Taergan was about to speak when he saw the uneasy way each of them
looked at him.
“Fine, tired- please my flask, I need a drink.” He said as he laid his head
back lacking strength until his flask entered is vision.
Taergan took it but stopped when he saw his hands- they were different,
discolored and wrinkled. “What has happened to me?” Taergan said emotion welling up
in his throat.
“Taergan,” Dern Fosimuth said. “I estimate that your battle with the
Zhents has somehow aged you. Some strange drow magic judging from the battle
scene; honestly Taergan you are lucky to be alive. If it was not for your half-elf parentage...”
“By my estimations Flinn it seems you have aged almost fifty-five years.” But
whatever else Dern said was drowned out by Taergan’s now familiar dire scream of anguish.
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