Truemanhorn and Durat

“Lemmy do all da talking.” Durat said to his counterpart as they walked up the Street of the Singing Dolphin; his unremarkable mace in hand while the crisp clean wind blew back his black hood. “We dunt want to look stupit, we speak for Sai Tauron.” He swung his mace in an underhanded swing aimed to loosen the jaws of some imaginary opponent.

Truemanhorn looked desolate; he wanted to be a part of the investigation and to experience some notoriety for being more than an indentured servant. While the brisk north wind made his eyes water up frequently, Truemanhorn was still able to see and be enthralled by the buildings and sights on this side of Waterdeep. The Sea Ward, nicknamed the Temple Ward, was a moving experience for Truemanhorn in its graceful steeples and the expressions of art. It reminded him of the art in some of the books he read as a child. Inspired, Truemanhorn formulated a plan and tactfully interrupted his friend who was still insisting he be the one to make their inquiries.

“We need a ploy to trick them into slipping up or mayhap uncover opposing stories.” Truemanhorn said. Durat looked at him as if insulted.

Ahead of them on the street, a group of five individuals turned in their direction; Truemanhorn thought they looked a little out of place for this side of town, but so, he mused- did they. To him they reminded him of Bordane for some reason, smug and opposing.

“I be gettn dem to talk.” Durat tested the weight of his mace in his hands; his voice began to take on a brutish quality that was definitely not conviction. “Dees people wheeled in a token gift when itz an evil trap aimed at me friends, and you wanta talk it outta dem!?” Durat looked at him as if Truemanhorn has just suggested they present them with perfumes and oils. “Have you gone mad?”

“No.” Truemanhorn replied; he was not discouraged by Durat’s protests.

“We can have it both ways my eager friend.” Truemanhorn said; Durat’s look of skepticism was comical, to Truemanhorn he looked like a stupefied thumb-sucking cully.

The five individuals were advancing closer now, Truemanhorn could see their black armor, red helms, and fearful wands; one of them could be mystic or warlock Truemanhorn thought because he held aloft a incense censor that bled aromatic smoke ahead of them, it was hard to look at that one for very long as that one was surrounded by a glamor that displaced his form from one blink of Truemanhorn’s eye to another.

“We can use a trick called good guard- bad guard. I’ll be the good guard who asks the questions like: are you missing any wagons and who they may have sold to that matches the description Tauron gave us. You can be the bad guard who then barks a more forceful interrogations.” Pointing at Durat’s mace, Truemanhorn paused for the understanding he knew would soon come. And when it did, Durat’s simple features began to smile.

As the good guard and the bad guard approached and stopped at the Assumbar estate; Truemanhorn realized why the group reminded him of Bordane, it was their symbols of Bane the Dark Lord.

End of chapter three: Avatar

On the road to Waterdeep Part Deaux

After a night in the crumbling tower Geoff understood things better.  He couldn’t explain how he knew what he did, yet he was certain of his knowledge.  The long nosed bird that had been caught in the magical conflagration now touched Geoff’s consciousness and magical talent similarly to what wizards experience with their familiars.  Geoff suspected that wizards enjoyed a much more cordial relationship with their familiars than he was experiencing with his.  While the stirge followed all his instructions and was fully under the control of Geoff, the creature’s mental communications were full of anger and threats of recrimination.  It wasn’t until Geoff fell asleep that he came to realize that somehow the wild magical surge that obliterated Ilrin Sharadin, cast his soul or consciousness or both into that of the stirge.  When Geoff woke up the next morning, the tower was still cloaked in a huge swath of dark smoke that still flowed from the un-stoppered urn.  Not sure how he gained all the new knowledge, he now realized that the urn had taken on some divine property.  The phrase “greater than gold” echoed in his head whenever his stirge wasn’t interrupting.  

Geoff’s morning was spent ignoring the taunts and screams of the Ilrin/Stirge while trying to find something to stop all the smoke and nothing seemed to work.  Ilrin/Stirge was taunting him for being unable to stop the smoke, muttering about chaos and the divines.  For at least an hour Geoff ignored him.  Geoff’s Sorcerous blood was pounding in his head; the more he handled the urn, the greater his head ached.  Angry at the constant barrage of hatred from his new familiar, he ordered the creature to him and mounted the stirge, telling the creature to fly him above the smoke.  Once above the haze of smoke, some fifteen to twenty feet, Geoff’s head began to clear, the pain receding.  Ilrin/Stirge still held the urn in its rear talon; smoke trailing as he flew.  Geoff had been unable to find a way to separate them or to stop the smoke from spilling out.  Soon the sorcerous Halfling rogue heard noises below him, the voice’s owners hidden by the black smoke.  Geoff wasn’t surprised that others in the vicinity were now investigating, probably quite confused at not finding a fire or even feeling heat.

With his head clearing and strangers arriving to investigate, Geoff commanded his new familiar to continue flying North West towards Waterdeep.  Ilrin/Stirge continued on about chaos and the divines while Geoff’s attention was diverted by the new experience of flying and a bird’s eye view of the North.  Geoff had reduced the voice in his head to mere background noise until he was shocked from his reverie hearing Ilrin/Stirge insult him for ignoring wealth greater than gold.  At that moment, Geoff of Triboar, knew why he travelled to Waterdeep.  He would traffic in knowledge greater than gold.  Ilrin/Stirge now became silent, staying that way for at least two or three minutes.  When the Ilrin/Stirge spoke again Geoff realized  he wasn’t speaking about chaos and the divines.  The familiar was identifying the urn as Divine Chaos.

The Wizard's Task

The beast stood three feet taller than the wizard, who was tall among his colleagues, and weighed on the order of 800 or mayhap 900 pounds. The air surrounding the creature did not originate from it; the odor came instead from the company the creature often kept as they are often in the service of fiends and other more terrible lower planar entities.

The wizard was cautious of the extra planar guardian and its powers of inducing memory loss with an exhalation of its dangerous breath; just its normal breathing vibrated against the wizard’s chest. The beast’s carapace was plated in areas to that formed a natural shell that looked scarred from many battles; obscenely large hands ended in rending claws; and atop its sloping shoulders is a head like that of a smallish pachyderm- coined a maelephant

The wizard had prepared for many months and had nearly bankrupted his family for this day to be realized. The maelephant had to come by its own will, the wizard tricked it; the beast understood it was here to guard over a ship in Waterdeep harbor…

The maelephant stood hulking over the wizard; together they palavered in the reinforced and remodeled cargo hold of the ship, the creature awaited instructions.

“Beast,” the wizard began. His tone even and measured to pass as believable; he motioned toward the object in the hold, hoping the creature knew nothing of maritime operations. If the maelephant suspected treachery, the wizard would simply prompt the sea zombies that awaited his command to attack. “This engine will propel the ship efficiently without the reliance of wind or sea currents. Many of my adversaries as well as some colleagues covet my invention and would have it as their own.” He added a bit of tension at the end of this statement to add realism.

“There is a cost as you know.” The maelephant stated deeply and flatly.

“I offer a Harp of Charming. It allows the performer to plant suggestions within the minds of those treated to its beautiful notes. I know you may not find it useful,” gesturing at his large claws. “but I am sure you know of an enchanter who would make your simple task for me seem trivial.” The wizard felt the maelephant fall deeper into his plan.

“What would you have me do?” The trunk of the beast writhed and lashed in excitement.

“Guard my device for 24 hours whilst I enjoy the Higharvestide festivities.” The wizard smiled. “That’s it.”

The maelephant considered, while it did the creature began to grunt and fart; the wizard assumed this was normal albeit unpleasant behavior.

“Very well; 24 hours for the harp.” The beast agreed.

“Very good.” The wizard handed over the harp and produced a festival hat to show that for the wizard, the party was about to begin. The wizard led the maelephant to the William Device and indicated where locate, “I just need you to be ready ‘here’ if anyone but me enters the hold until tomorrow. Well enough?”

“24 hours,” the beast corrected as he assumed a posture as directed.

You will not be here for another 24 minutes; the wizard thought and flashed the maelephant another smile.

It must have sensed treachery; the wizard thought later, because just as he activated the William Device the beast suddenly reacted. The wizard was just about to call the sea zombies when the maelephant began to slowly settle from spastic fits to mild convulsions then dead stillness.

Time passed as the machine removed what the wizard hoped would be essentia; the material needed to bind spells to one’s self. What the machine gleaned from the maelephant was not essentia, but a planar substance; from creature of neutral morals and laws, exhumed by an intricate and complex machine, materializes the planar aspect of Mechanus.

On the Road to Waterdeep

The Halfling named Geoff had many gifts, one of which was to always know when he was being watched. Beyond that knowledge, he also received a mental image of whatever the person watching him was paying the most attention to. Geoff had left Triboar for Waterdeep two days ago with a group of four elf friends. They had parted company yesterday and soon after Geoff became aware of someone following him. The halfling’s size made it easy for anyone to keep up, overcoming any minor delay with their greater speed. The first few hours were very tense but Geoff understood if it were a simple bandit the criminal would have already made his move. No this person wanted to know where Geoff was going. The only image he had received of his follower was of a tall, familiar looking human, kneeling down studying the ground. The Halfling assumed his opponent was studying his tracks.


Geoff spied a three story crumbling tower. Years before the tower guarded a bridge over a now dry barren river. Geoff’s uncle had told him what the bridge & river’s name was but he hadn’t cared enough at the time to remember that now. Geoff ran past the tower some twenty feet hoping that whoever was tracking him would follow him past the tower. The hollow stone was still there, appearing to the naked eye to be a boulder, another lesson from his uncle. Back when the tower guarded the river, the hollow stone was used by the river guard to keep some weapons and personal items, such as their lunch, dry. Now there was just enough space for the Halfling to hide inside the stone and await his pursuer.

Geoff’s patience was rewarded after a half hour. Stepping into view, being exceptionally wary of the tower, the human was revealed to be Ilrin Sharadin, a guide from Triboar and an agent of the drow. The dark haired ranger was preoccupied with something at the tower, his attention so captured he did not see or hear his quarry step out of the hollow stone and begin to cast a spell. Geoff needed just a few more seconds to finish his spell when he noticed what had interested the ranger so. An orange brown owl like creature with an obscenely long and pointed proboscis flew down from the tower in a dive, straight for Ilrin. The ranger quickly drew forth his blade, preparing to defend himself against the strange avian creature, but he would never get the chance. As the flying creature buried his pointed beak into Ilrin Geoff’s spell struck the ranger and beast, the spell transformed by a wild magic surge.

Geoff was blown back some fifty feet by the magical explosion into the dry river bed. The area itself was suddenly, chaotically erupting in smoke, the sounds of the ruined tower falling, hidden from view. Geoff shook his head and gasped for breath, the wind knocked from him, his chest aching. Shocked but unable to move, the rumor mongering Halfling’s eyes widened in fear as flying out of the smoke filled area was the strange flying creature trailing smoke from its hind end. Much to Geoff’s surprise the creature merely hovered above him while he collected himself. Catching not only his breath but his wits Geoff realized that he felt a connection with this creature. Geoff wasn’t sure yet why, but he would stay at the tower this night and study his new companion. Moving closer, Geoff spotted a strange metal urn held in the rear talon of the bronze flyer, held close against its body. The urn was emitting smoke at an unnatural rate, thick and dark. Geoff searched for the human who had followed him but only the creature remained. Geoff walked towards the tower, the flyer hovering closely behind him, the tower and grounds completely obscured by the black smoke. Geoff thought back to his uncles lessons and he remembered the name for such a flying creature; Stirge.

Tempus guide thy heart, Gond bless thy gun.

The Lord of Waterdeep stood at the edge the cave-in from where the dragonwrought basilisks emerged; stone horses stood sentinel in their pens while the air from the rift- rich in age and emptiness tossed his salt and pepper hair back away from his face. Sai Piergeiron ‘The Eld’, turned his attention away from the crevice into the lower castle structure and to his favorite riding horse, a snow-white stallion now preserved as lifeless pitted stone; he spat as he noticed bits of the stone were already beginning to degrade and flake off the ugly effigy. Soon it would be just a mound of useless white dust.

“We are fortunate we did not lose more head Commander.” Madeiron Sunderstone said. He was not good with sympathy; he was Piergeiron’s Champion and as such accompanied The Eld on sport many times and knew of his affection for the stallion. His condolences, however sounded forced and hollow in the empty stone stables.

From the darkness footsteps approached behind Madeiron’s towering eight-foot frame; from the stairs came Uthrac Ruldegost, Balin Jardeth, a smug Brenton Durinbold and a seemingly anxious Vhaas Gauntyl; answering the summons of the Paladinson. Each expressed their own brand of curiosity at the scene they were called to.

“Gunslingers, I want to know where these creatures, the basilisks came from.” Piergeiron stated as he pointed to the uneven cavity in the floor. “I’m sending you four down there to secure the lower levels and eliminate any further threats be them draconic or otherwise. It will be dangerous, but I will not send you without aid.” The four gunslingers exchanged mixed looks of determination, duty, opportunity, and trepidation; but no one questioned the Paladinson.

A short time later the four men stood ready and equipped with weapons as well as items like Keoghtom’s Ointment, Scrolls of protection from magic and potions of diminution. Their hope was to plan for the best, expect the worst.

“’Tempus guide thy heart, Gond bless thy gun.’ Good luck.” Sai Piergeiron wished the group well in the words of the Knighthood.

“Thankee Sai.” Vhaas expressed to Piergeiron as a castle guard lowered him into the stale, deadly darkness.

Standing nearby, watching as Piergeiron offered his words to the four gunslingers before they were lowered into the undermountain, were three fulcrums of power in the city; each individual offered a different prospective to the events of the night before.

Baerom Tunderstaff, firm and confident in the company of The Eld, his white scattershot Frost-Brand comfortably resting in a scabbard across his back; Jhassin Hiilgauntlet, Paladin of Helm, he of might and screwed cunning his guns fine and polished; and Giles Hawkwinter, a well-known noble in the city, Piergeiron doubted if the man even knew the word weakness. Madeiron stood sentential in the stairs to the upper feasthall while Piergeiron, Baerom, Jhassin, and Giles palavered.

“We must react to this before the day is out. The ffolken of Waterdeep relies on us for protection and we must show that we are capable of that. We are fortunate the dragons did not attack, though I fear that my still be our fate.” Piergeiron stated with finality. He knew the sentiment would be shared, but he wanted to see who upheld his sentiment.

“I concur Sai, as we all do.” Baerom stated, “and I have an idea.”

Piergeiron bent low to examine a shell casing, cast aside from the battle with the basilisk. “Speak your notion Sai Thunderstaff.”

Baerom looked to his colleagues before continuing. Dim torch light flickered the Thunderstaff’s form against the back drop of the castle’s under halls. “My son has acquired divine power.” He let the implications of the statement settle. “He has the power to discern where the dragons have gone, if they are close or far; mayhap he could identify a landmark necessary to dispatch Knights… with your command.”

Piergeiron rose to his feet and considered the plan. “No, Firelance Knights are not the answer here.” Piergeiron said tossing the spent casings into the hole.

“The Knights are needed here in Waterdeep.” Jhassin Hillgauntlet agreed with Piergeiron, correctly assuming his directive. “In fact the people need to see even more military support and tighter laws.”

Giles Hawkwinter then spoke up. “We dispatch adventurers instead; we cannot afford to spread our already reduced numbers any farther. Furthermore we have yet to hear from the Knights you dispatched to Luskan, Sai Piergeiron.” Giles was stoked, at last there would be adventure; he was not for all this politics- if it was not for the family...

“You speak of my reducing the Knights from twenty-eight? It was my intention all along to hold at twenty-one. In the eyes of the people, those who did not survive until now received a fair gamble and were not subject to a ‘selection’ process. Our ka-tet is very specialized Sai Hawkwinter- as are our enemies, we must be one in purpose and cause!” Piergeiron disposition and candor had the attention of each of the men as well as the majority of the steeds who stood anxious ready to charge if given the command.

The Paladinson returned to the issue at hand. “Baerom if it does not endanger your son then you have my leave to find where the dragons have gone. Jhassin coordinate with Brother Carmichael and see to recruiting more watchmen; and Sai Hawkwinter visit the Nobles of the City and appeal for contributions toward equipping adventurers on their…” Piergeiron hesitated. He had to sell this so that the people could rest easier- no one would believe he was sending dragon slayers against the numbers that flew in the skies over Waterdeep last night. “Quest; inquire about donations of malady and entropy.”

“Outstanding Sai,” It was Madeiron who understood immediately, “deliver items of mischief like a flask of curses or a ring of clumsiness into their midst or mayhap divine aspects that offer malaise instead of exaltation to weaken them and cause conflict in their number.”

Piergeiron once again thanked Tempus and his own judgment in his choice of champions.

Honoring Invitations

The young Wands wizardess felt the shadow of her ambitious brothers more and more in recent years. She was the youngest of them all, and was- as far as she knew, the only one to pursue divine power. 

Peering out over the city she wondered why Marcus has summoned her; mayhap it was new information on the Hosttower; the undead threat that occupies the Temple of Mysteries; or whether Frostburn is a legitimate threat…

Syndra Wands was a child prodigy in the Art; able to conjure mage armor by the age of 7 and command undead by 10, she was able to perform these and many other magical feats through her affinity with music. It was a family talent thought lost generations ago, but now rediscovered through her; she was the pride and joy of her parents: Sai Natasa and Lady Hyacia Wands, until that is their high adventuring and dungeon crawling caught up to them and brought the couple to an abrupt and early end. The city was in shock. 

It was at this point in Syndra’s life when she turned to the church of Azuth for strength and guidance. Without the praises of her mother and father, Syndra felt alone and lost focus for her talents; so she prayed. She was accepted with overwhelming enthusiasm. The Lord of Spells seemed to acknowledge the plea because opportunity soon presented itself to the young wizard. On her sweet sixteenth birthday she received her scholarship and later that year Syndra began to teach. In her lectures of magic formulae and alchemy she incorporated teachings from Azuth’s Blessed Tome of Spellcraft.

…Making steady progress through the temperature regulated halls; Syndra could see a bitter windstorm battering the windows of the villa with sleet and misery. For a wonder, each corridor’s magical features remained unchanged in the Time of Troubles; some other things did not escape unscathed.

Marcus’ office remained as she remembered it for the most part; however now it was monochromatic, lacking any color and therefore character. Much like Marcus in her opinion, his extremist habits were much akin to fits of black or white temperaments.

Knowing the door would yield to anyone expected, she opened the door, entered, and stood quietly. Marcus paced pensively looking down on a scaled model of Waterdeep. Perfect in every detail, it was impossible to look away when one learned to appreciate the master work quality of such a thing.

“Sister.” He greeted. “Thank you for coming, would you be as kind as to make me a drink?”

Confused, Syndra acquiesced and poured him is favorite ale. It was late at night, but she doubted she was called down here for her barkeep skills.

“Here you go... Marcus is everything ok?” Handing the goblet to her brother, she could feel his fury simmering when she saw his demeanor- even in the colorless environment of his office.

“Sister… Syndra, I trust you.” Marcus stated simply. After a movement he continued. “I want you to hear me very well and understand what that means. I know we have our disagreements, but we are family and a family needs to stay strong.”

“I agree brother, and I trust you as well.” Syndra’s conviction in this was never stronger. She spoke the honest truth.

Marcus stopped his pacing and looked at Syndra. “I have a favor to ask of you Syndra. I want you to represent the family at the Samular’s Higharvestide Ball at Castle Waterdeep tomorrow night.”

“Are you serious? A Wands among all those gunslingers and Tempus zealots?” Syndra asked, her eyes taking on a serious look.

“I wish to honor an invitation, and give you an opportunity to make acquaintances with others who see themselves as you do. Syndra, you will be in the company of those like yourself that acquire these divine aspects and desire palaver with others to mutual benefit.” Marcus said. He walked to his elaborate but colorless work desk and produced a box embossed with the Wands family crest. “There is one in their company I trust; however, I will not send you unaided sister, behold.”

“Is that…” Syndra began as she indeed beheld the Amulet of Beguiling. Such an item in social situations would prove to be a boon in making acquaintances and alliances.  

“Yes it is and I will also arrange for you a Rod of Enemy Detection to aid in your… networking.” Marcus smiled hoping she would not be insulted.

Syndra took the amulet and in fact did catch the slight, but let it pass; she took this as another opportunity whether by Azuth or some other power, she would continue her aspirations for the heavens.

Planting the Seeds

"We wuz kissed by Tymora hersef, to get outta here alive," the balding man said to Dannerlee as the young noble picked his way through the ashes of the cobbler's shop. Much of the timber was still smoldering as the younger Bladesemmer looked around, absently nodding and agreeing with the human.

"Yes, yes, this was a terrible thing to happen, and probably at the worst time of year as well. You lived here, I take it?" Dannerlee asked.

Pulled from his thoughts, the cobbler looked up and blinked, "Why, yes m'lord. Me, the wife and my fourteen chil'ens lived above the shop there," he then nodded his head upwards, where the nonexistant upper floor would've been had it not been burned away.

"Amazing that none of the other buildings caught flame, what with the winds that have struck Waterdeep," remarked Azrael, her leather-clad frame enveloped in a thick, warm cloak. She was on the other side of the shop, toeing through the debris. " 'Tis a good thing Sai Bladesemmer and I were making our way from the docks, and were able to help put out the fire."

The commoner nodded and bobbed his head, knuckling his forehead to both the striking noble and his lady, "Yea, 'course milady. You both have methanks." Although not for the first time did it pass through his head that all he really had to thank them for was just that, helping put out the fire. None of his shoes had made it through the conflagration.

From beneath his fur hat, Dannerlee watched Azrael picking through the ashes. They both knew their roles in this play. He had paid Quickfingers well to steal that bootbuckle from the dwarf cobbler Buckleburr. Days of research had led to the discovery that these two tradesmen had a price war going on between themselves. With a few deft words in the fellow tradesmen and buyers' ears, he and Azrael had inflamed that war. And then a few more coins, and empty promises, some street "rags" had gone about and set fire to the cobbler shop.

"Hey," started Azrael, stooping to pick something from the floor. The cobbler and Dannerlee made their way over to her as she straightened, brushing off a small, silvery object she held in her hand. "Does this look familiar?" she said as she held up the item.

"Huh, that looks like a... a buckle?" the cobbler said. "Not one o' mine, though." He took the buckle from Azrael's grasp, frowning at it as he turned it over in his hands.

"And how do you know it's not one of your's, Heckleman?" Dannerlee asked, shooting a quick glance at Azrael.

"Well, for one thing, this design. T'aint mine. And 'nother, here's the maker's mark. This aint the smith I use. This is, lemmesee, it's that dwarf's, Buckleburr's mark. Him's up the street a little ways." Heckleman instructed them as he examined the bent, and smudged buckle.

"Hmmm, now what would that buckle be doing here?" asked Azrael, her breath creating clouds that joined the smoking remains of the shop. "Has this dwarf been in your shop lately?"

"Nnnnooo, no he has-" the cobbler stopped, his eyes going wide as connections were made. "Wait, do you-, would he-, could he have started this?"

Dannerlee placed a calming hand on the man's shoulder. "Who else would want to not only deprive you of your livelyhood, and your life as well?"

Azrael stepped closer to Heckleman, her voice low, her eyes intent on the man. "Who's been undercutting you at every step, using every trick in the book to gain, nay, steal your customers away?"

Heckleman's eyes were fixed on a distant point as wheels turned in his head. He slowly nodded as the nobleman's and his lady's words sank in and took root. "Yea, I do sees it clearly now. That vile dwarf's been jealous o' me ever since he opened shop. He's got shoddy work, and you kin smell the ale on his breath, even in the morn."

Dannerlee clapped the man on the shoulder. "I think you know what to do. First, be sure to pass it around about the buckle. That way everyone knows that you had proof of who started this. Oh, and make sure you talk to your human... counterparts. Your neighbors, y'know. You don't want to accidentally tell the dwarf's... cousin, or sister or whomever." He ended with a chuckle.

"Ayuh, and then?" the man asked.

"Why, then, the dwarf pays," answered Azrael, batting her lashes at him.

Run and Hide

Max Rinnen stopped in the small stand of trees, his breath frosting the air as he searched the landscape behind him. Two weeks out from the crumbling keep known as Killraven Hold, he hadn't stopped for more than a few scant hours at a time, fearful that his pursuers would fall upon him. If he could just make it to Waterdeep, he could lose himself in the crowds, and a skillful merc like him, it'd be no time at all and he'd have a network of contacts for money, shelter and food.
Employed for the last four years by a powerful necromancer known only as The Magister, Max was one of the few living servants that had accepted the mage's coin. With the Gods' Fall, he felt now was the time to strike out on his own. Well, that and he had a nagging suspision that his time was soon to end. The Magister was making more and more undead, and sending out some of these servants to find others of the undead persuasion. Rinnen had finally gathered up his courage, and stole a scroll that would provide some protection against the spellcaster's minions. However, there was only one of the scrolls, and only one of him. He'd served in enough small armies to know, no matter how skilled an enemy is, superior numbers usually prevail.
Still peering out of the copse of winter-dead trees, he could make out the specks of trackers still following him. Max turned and looked in the direction he was going, north-by-northwest. If he squinted hard enough, he could make out the dark line of Waterdeep's southern walls. A day? A day and a half? He then looked up at the cloud strewn sky, the weak winter sun peeking out between the fast moving greys. About... four hours of daylight. Max sighed wearily, leaned against a bole of a tree and then pushed himself upright.
With a glance over his shoulder at his pursuers, he forced himself into a light, distance devouring jog to civilisation, and safety.

The man leaned back in his chair, away from the scrying bowl, and nodded to himself in satisfaction. He ran a hand through his unruly mane of coal black hair and then thumbed his bottom lip. Was he right in letting the mercenary go? Waterdeep was a meeting ground of powers, beings like Lord Darkness had been seen traveling in and around there. The Magister himself stayed away, knowing that even in the turmoil of these troubling times, he'd be targeted by many of the city's do-gooders. Yes, the mercenary was the right choice. The mage could follow him, and, if need be, assume command of the man to draw potential allies to his fold.

The Lost Legion of the Melairkyn

Udall stood before the portal home, his thoughts returning to that fateful day all those years ago.  His cousin Vanos stood beside him as he had throughout all their battles.  Where once the legion stood one hundred thousand strong now only ten thousand remained, the best of the best Udall grimly thought.  It was almost impossible to comprehend that they had finally achieved the victory their king had envisioned all those years before.  Udall and Vanos, the leaders of the lost legion, destroyers of Edomira, stood before the flame portal home, their memories overwhelming them...

The drow spy lay dead on the floor, his formerly invisible blade lay at the feet of the Dwarf King Melair IV.  Silence filled the King’s chamber, the lack of sound almost as loud as the noise of battle the preceded it.  All six of the king’s men stood waiting for their monarch to speak, silently wondering if one of their numbers was also a magically disguised drow elf.  Udall looked across at his cousin Vanos who stared back and gave a short nod.  They both knew that the drow only would attempt something this brazen if they had already planned to attack.  Their army would not be far from the Melairkyn walls, their spies wreaking havoc throughout the dwarf city. 

“Now comes the true test of loyalty my brothers!” The king’s voice echoed loudly through his chamber piercing the silence that held everyone still and silent, “The advisors will be here soon filling my ears with their worries, certain that I must lead them to a war we will not win.”  All six of his men stared at their king, uncertain what he was addressing.  “Our fate is not this temporary home and our war is not with these cockroaches in the earth, the drow that hate us and lust after our mithral.” 

Udall and Vanos knew then that their King intended to continue with his plan, despite the drow army that was coming to vanquish them.  The other four dwarves, also generals in the King’s army, stared at their king, confusion on their faces.  “Our war, if it is truly to be won, is with the Red Watcher!” continued the king, “The beast will continue to send its allies and followers, manipulating the drow and other creatures, empowering this world’s dragons while hoarding all this world’s riches.  Shall we stay and fight wave after wave of an army without end? Shall we spend all our resources fighting to hold onto a strip of land while our enemy rests easy waiting for mortality to do what she could not? Nay! We shall take the fight to her.  None of our brethren that stay here can know the truth of our sacrifice.”

King Melair IV continued to outline his plan to send his best legion of warriors through the recently discovered flame portal to the City of Brass.  From the fabled city they would launch a battle to bring an end to the most of evil of dragons, Edomira, The Red Watcher.  The remaining dwarves would fight the losing battle against the drow army here, their defeat hiding the true goal and allowing the legion to gain a foothold in the elemental plane of fire.

A clap of thunder and both the dwarf generals were shaken from their thoughts, the portal stood ready.  Vanos called out to the troops of dwarf warriors, “At last to home! Let us return, reborn through fire!” The dwarven army’s cheers echoed across the battlefield where the elder dragon lay dead.  Each dwarf carrying all the riches they could recover from the limitless hoard, they followed their generals lead into the portal that returned them to Toril.