Evening along the Waterdeep Way

Arina, Captain of Tauron’s regulators in the name of Tymora, earned her rank and status by her wits and by her physical strengths in both a warrior’s power and a woman’s charm. She was idolized by women far and wide across the realm; indeed women who ever thought to raise a weapon in their own defense or in the defense of their faith- Arina was the paragon of that vision. She was a hero to the women who knew her. Arina though to one day lead a matriarchal society or a barony mayhap with a company of warrior women of Tymora.

She looked up and smiled to the cleric of Gond who again accompanied her this cold and stormy night. He was a strong man- tradesman at heart, and with that came a confidence with his talented hands- hands who knew how to handle a woman. Again she smiled, and continued to walk up the street while sharing her background with the charming Gondsman.

“After the investigations in Yartar and my following adventures with Cirillo, Miltiades, and Sai Holloran that summer, I have now been given the honor to further Tymora’s calling.” She looked longingly into his eyes and then away. Silence passed like a cold wind between them. The storm was still gathering strength; ‘dear spirits’ she thought- ‘no storm god to pacify, no shield of protection- only...’

“Come, ‘Rina” Taking the woman by the hand, the Gondsman motioned to the tavern across Waterdeep Way. “We can take refuge in yon tavern my Lady Fair.” He gave her a mischievous smile that was infectious and turned for the Dragon’s Head Tavern, their passage creating parallel prints in the new snow… then a pulse of soundless thunder rippled out from yon tavern and Arina and the Gondsman were suddenly thrown off their feet and into the slush.

Arina quickly looked about, her perceptions still in a haze but she steeled herself and noticed the cleric was knocked unconscious; not seriously hurt. From across Waterdeep Way the tavern, which only seconds before promised a warm hearth and warmer company, now flickered erratically in and out of existence- its patrons in a confusion of muted screams, bloody weapons, and wild destructive magic.

Fear Creeps Like A Shadow

"Captain!"

Myndalyn Arbannon looked up from the map that he'd been frowning over, reviewing the route of the next leg of their voyage. His second-in-command, what the humans would call his first mate, came barreling into the maproom of elven cog, Jhavarin's Blessing, moored at a pier at Waterdeep docks.

The second dropped a twine-tied bundle onto the map desk, "This was found on the deck. Lorash had the watch last eve and states no one ever approached the ship. Nor did he see the package 'til I pointed it out."

Myndalyn looked from his second to the bundle and back, his frown switching from concentration to confusion. "And no one else saw this, either?"

"They were just getting updeck, setting about the morning chores." the second informed.

Nodding, Myndalyn drew the knife that was thrust through his belt. The wide blade, more a tool than a weapon, easily sliced through the cord that held the bundle together. He then unwrapped the bundle, which was an animal skin, revealing a tunic. It was blue in color, but there were large rust-colored stains covering. Slashes covered the fabric.

"What is... " started the second.

Myndalyn unfolded the tunic, the shirt stiff from the colored patches. He ran his hand over the embroidery, recognition dawning upon his face. "This is Kendal's" he muttered to himself.

"The cabin boy? Surely not, my captain!" whispered the second.

The elven captain looked up sharply, anger clouding his face. "I would certainly recognize the tunic given by my sister to her youngest son, my nephew, before he left on his first voyage."

Myndalyn continued to unfold the tunic, finding a scrap of parchment amongst the folds. He unfolded it, holding it close to the cabin's lamp. Scrawled crudely in elven, the message read "elves go home". The captain looked up at his second and asked "Do we have any crew offship today?"

"No, my captain. All hands are remaining aboard. We merely await Kendal and the prince. I assumed the boy was simply lost in a lover's arms, spending away his money at his first port," answered the second.

The note crumpled as Myndalyn's hand balled into a fist. In a voice mixed with rage and fear, he said, "Open the weapon's chest. I need to make a trip to Celegral the delegate."

Tales from the Undermountain

From a Knight of the Firelance dispatch report.

Undermountain day 1

Within hours of being lowered into the sewers, Uthrac- Balin- Vhaas and I observed several cave-ins and structural weaknesses to the main sewer lines under what we agreed to be Waterdeep Mountain. It is not clear if the dragon-kin we were sent to investigate caused them or the monsters simply took advantage of the exit. Several unexplained events occurred during this time (spectral sounds and minor ethereal lights); however none brought harm or loss.

The basilisk’s back trail lead down into what Uthrac recognized as one of the fundamental levels of the mad wizard’s undermountain. During a brief respite we began to her sounds of battle- and gunshots. We hastily proceeded north- deeper into the dungeon toward the sounds. After several turns and hallways we discover the basilisk trail ended exactly where forces were engaged in battle: a trio of exotic looking dwarves armed with rifles against a dozen dark-fey.

Finding a commonality with the dwarves, we rallied against the dark-fey and successfully drive them off. Due to injuries sustained in the battle, we were unable to offer chase.

The dwarves showed us gratitude and identified themselves as Udall, Mikor, and Vanos, of the Melairkyn and keepers of the Melairbode. They spoke in an archaic dwarven dialect and gave off a supernatural aura. They related their story to us and explained their mission to us: in the treasure acquired from the Edomira’s dragon hoard was a chaotic evil weapon- vorpal sword. They intend to discover a means to destroy or neutralize it.

The dwarves have agreed to accompany us on our return tomorrow. Also of note these dwarves display a great understanding of artifice and smith work as exemplified with their familiarity of firearms.

End of Gunslinger Report

Brenton Durinbold

Ghoul’s Blossom

Arnivon, then Paladin of Ilmater, treasured the icy northlands for their solitude and their mystical nature that inspired self-discovery. All paladins under the Crying god in the North are required to live a nomadic life; visiting isolated communities where savage frontier life was embraced and endured. Those who prayed to Illmater would shortly receive a visit from the Paladin who would ease their suffering by taking a bit of it upon himself. Through his god, Arnivon was able to shoulder a measure of suffering away from the follower in an about based on his faith in Ilmater; it was a power granted to only a few by the Crying god.

In the first six months of Arnivon’s ten years of service, he was hastily overwhelmed with the immensity of his task. It was more torment and grief upon the lands than the paladin had ever dreamed could exist. Arnivon began to question himself and his calling. Was he up to the task? Could he relieve such burdens from these hardened ffolk? He did not think so. The North was brimming with hardships for hunters, barbarians, and farmers alike; not to mention the emotional suffering felt by the children of these frontiersmen who worried sleeplessly for their fathers, who after setting off to hunt, may one day never return.

Fueled by the desire to liberate the suffering or chronicle their death in the case of martyrdom; the paladin turned to an alchemist who told him of a pollen that would allow Arnivon to endure more pain… in the name of his god. Little did the paladin know that the pollen would lead to an addiction so powerful that it poisoned his soul and ultimately resulted in Arnivon falling from favor.

“The flower is commonly called the Ice Rose.” Garegamel explained to the paladin. “It only blooms in the winter and is so rare that one dose costs more than most of these humble folk of Uluvin will ever see in their life time.” The alchemist convulsed in giddy laughter at his own cleverness. “He-e-e-e-g!"

“Where may I find this white rose?” Arnivon asked, already skeptical of the evil little man.

Garegamel turned, hiding his nervous twitch gets when he tells untruths. “Ice Rose! You will find it near sacred or blighted grounds, yes- yes that’s where best to look. He-he-e-e-e-e-g!”

Producing a book Garegamel turned a well-worn page or two and showed Arnivon a drawing of the flower. The alchemist was careful to hide the script that infact described exactly where to find the undead plant: ‘upon grounds where an undead, typically a ghoul- was defeated and was buried within the earth.’

It was a month later when Arnivon finally found a medium sized (and oddly man-shaped) grove of wild Ice Roses. Harvesting them as the alchemist instructed, the paladin crushed the petals into a white powder so fine that even the slightest of breath threatened to ruin his weeks of searching.

When Arnivon first inhaled the powder, the paladin soon found that his capacity for enduring pain and easing ones suffering was increased manifold. Arnivon marveled; such a flower with properties such as like these must be a gift. Ilmater’s Respite Arnivon came to call it, and for over the next twenty-one months the paladin became addicted to the flowers’ properties. Arnivon preached vigorously the properties of Ilmater’s Respite, paying no heed to his own responsibilities for the easement of suffering; instead distributing Ilmater’s Respite to the faithful with the hopes that others received the same ‘blessing’.

There was no enlightenment for Arnivon; there was no self-discovery; and by the time the paladin arrived to Waterdeep and realized his sins, there was no Ilmater.

Sorvani's Carpet of Travel

Sorvani cursed his luck again and again. Zhentil Keep was far less hospitable than even its reputation would would lead one to expect. Still, even with the infighting between the guilds and ridiculous political scheming, he had managed to make himself a place in Lord Thagdals Tower of the Art. That is until these recent times of troubles had brought the damnable wild surges of magic.

Wind rushed through his hair and roared past his ears as he sped along over the black road. The meteor shower that changed everything had implications that simply eluded the way Sorvani thought. He understood that the forces that power magic were in world wide flux. That was obvious in the surges of magical power he seemed to summon at will, but not control. He knew that the star stone that struck his prized carpet that night changed it into something more, an item of Legacy, and he was lucky to have it. However, he just could not believe it had transformed into a "divine aspect". You see, the break between divine faith and magical power is a complete one, they do not mix. Nonetheless his carpet had a nearly sentient passion for Travel, and Sorvani could hear its triumphant glee as it fled the scene of his latest horrible mishap, at a speed he had never felt before.

The "duel" with the Zhent wizards was actually an ambush perpetrated by the Zhent trio. They desired his carpet and his death. Of course his carpet's Travel abilities helped him escape being pinned and trapped by the three, giving him time to summon his fiercest defender. Pressed by his dire situation, he spoke to quickly and missed the last syllable of the Vaporighu demons name, and he felt the familiar surge of uncontrolled power. Although he felt certain he was about to die, the demon appeared. As the air thickened with poison, the demon smiled, terrifyingly, hungrily, at Sorvani. " You have finally called me." it breathed. "Ha ha ha ha haa. Your death shall come after theirs!"

The staff-spear that once served as the summoning focus for the demon now seemed dull and spent. Sorvani still clutched it tight as he fled the three wizards and their battle for survival.Sorvani knew they would not win, but hopefully they hurt the beast badly enough to force it to wait and rest and heal. The staff-spear was the only magic weapon he had, and that demon would be hunting for him as soon as it could. He fled for the only place he could think of. He simply killed to many people to be able to return any where he had been before. Waterdeep, the City of Splendours, was a place big enough to hide in, and far enough away the demon might even be killed by something else before it found him there.

The morning after Higharvestide.

The private parlor, more a safe room, was the setting for many discussions such as this Kalina Kormallis mused; for all of the nine hells, the death list was scrawled on the wall here, complete from the ashes of their fallen opponents. The room was the twin of the attic loft at the Pampered Traveler, sans the protections, so the ka-tet was forced to use other methods to hide and censor their palaver.

Gun oil hung heavy in the room as Arsten Thunderstaff and Damian Agundar worked at cleaning their guns. Bordane Agundar, complete with that particular task paced the length of the room; his boot falls made his disgust clear to all, and his new sword swung casually at his side.

After detailing her plans for ascension and possible ways to incorporate more divine power into her portfolio; Eva Maerklos mentally summoned Frederic who appeared diligently, awaiting her command. The undead servant nodded mutely and proceeded to service its mistress.

Tauron Tarm responded as his typical measured and thoughtful self; carefully choosing the right words regarding his beliefs on the matter. Briar Belabranta watched him closely with affection and adoration; the other men, while they reveled in discovering new ways to raise her ire- she loved them just as equally as the rest.

“It was someone who said,” Arsten began at last. “They admitted to knowing where a certain specific divine aspect lay; a power that was assumed to be an obvious goal for this faith, but resolved to leave it be for now. Somehow equivocating that knowing its location is much akin to possessing it.”

“Not that they would be able to use the power.” Kalina added but did not voice any opposition in Arsten’s line of thinking; only applying constructive questions to facilitate reason.

“Yes.” Arsten agreed. “However, it is a far easier feat to wage only one battle for control of the aspect than many battles as its defender. There is wisdom in staying ones hand, I warrant.”

“But if an aspect crosses our path as Eva has expressed,” Briar added. “and it falls into the framework of what Eva wishes to embody… do we act?”

“That is not the real question though.” Kalina said, quick now to get to the crux of the subject. “The question is: Do we choose our intermediaries or does AO? The overgod has already made it known that the cosmology as we knew it will or has changed. We know this because the limiting quantity of seven. No power’s bailiwick will hold more than seven. Nevertheless; will AO accept whom WE deem as our demi-gods? Our intermediaries?” Kalina stood, her pacing matched the cadence and sound of Bordane’s own.

“We presume,” Kalina continued. “AO will accept each of our concepts of what a god of the Dead, Trickery, or War needs to be. What if the overgod envisions a totally different pantheon structure than the old Greater, Intermediate and Lesser deities? What if the cosmology is limited to only seven? We simply do not know at this time; we can only work and hope for the best.” Her eyes rested on Briar; Kalina’s questions were leading to a possible solution.

“There may be a way.” Briar said returning Kalina’s look; together they smiled as the answer came. “Understand this guarantees nothing but mayhap there is a way to ascend with more than seven conceptual aspects.” Briar looked to Eva, who out of all of them currently qualified for this possibility. “One must open another vessel for divine power, by binding an eighth chakra focus.”

What you don't know will kill you

Arlos Dezlentyr stood inside his family vault weeping. Arlos’s hands which held his son’s note shook as he cried. His son had left him the message hidden here in the vault where only his father’s eyes would read them. All this time Arlos presumed his son Corin captured by the same pirates who stole his ships, only to discover today that his son has been leading a double life when travelling the high seas, sabotaging his own family’s trade and using that bounty to advance himself into a pirate king.


Arlo found the note in the staff’s case; a lead lined case specially designed for the magical staff it once held. Countless scrolls of elementary protection were missing along with a magical throwing axe, the trail of treachery leading the broken hearted father to the note his trembling hands now held. Corin had stolen the Staff of Power prior to leaving the city to personally escort their ships. Arlos’ choice was between his city , his life’s work or his son. The irony of the situation was even should Arlos choose Waterdeep Sai Piergon will kill him when it is discovered just who this pirate king is.

Becoming Bordane

Schhhhhhhiiiiiiiick... schhhhhhhhhhiiiick... Bordane rinsed the straight razor in the basin, the water had gone lukewarm by now. He looked into the mirror, studying his face in the silvered glass. His dark auburn hair had turn white after the last battle in Amphail, where he had been burned and dropped from a great height. That had resulted in his death. Through mysterious happenings, he was revived and returned to life with even more zeal. His hair had started growing back within the last week and a half. His face had become thinner, and if the mirror could be believed, was starting to become lined. The weak winter sun sent shafts of light into his darkened bedroom. Through them, in the mirror, Bordane watched Sim as he sat cross-legged on the floor, polishing his master's breastplate, making sure to get into the corners of the Samular device embossed in the steel.

There was a knock at his door. Over his shoulder, Bordane called out, "Come." The door was opened, and Lormo stepped in.

"The alchemist is in the entrance hall, with a package for you, Sai," Lormo quietly announced.

Bordane nodded, "I will see him there." He went to a chair and put on the robe that was draped over it. He then circled to where Sim was squatted and reached down to take the slave's leash.

Waiting in the entrance hall of the Samular manor, the wizened man nicknamed "Hues" shifted from foot to foot, idly examining the Agundar portraits that were hung on the walls. In his arms was a four foot long package wrapped in cloth. He turned at the sound of approaching steps, in time to see the youngest Agundar stalk downstairs, flanked on one side by Lormo, the ever correct manservant; and on the other, the foreigner named Sim, his neck encircled by a heavy leather collar and a leash that was clasped in Bordane's grasp.

"Sai Borda-" started Hues, then quickly stopping, realizing his error in speaking to a noble before being spoken to.

Raising an eyebrow, Bordane gazed at the little man, waiting a few moments as the man averted his eyes. "You have something for me?" spoke the Agundar.

"Yes, yes Sai. It's your sword, I have finished it," Hues announced, unwrapping the bundle and holding forth the blade. The hilt was wrapped in black leather, as was the sheathe. Adorning the scabbard were three diamond shaped studs down the length. Bordane reached out, grasped the hilt and drew forth the sword. He held the blade up, scrutinizing the sword closely.

"Forged of cold iron, I have been able to place an edge so keen, one could cut oneself simply by looking at it" said Hues, beaming with pride.

Bordane glanced at Lormo, who stared into a middle space. In a blink, Bordane broke into his sword forms. The Laughing Gentleman flowed into Parting the Silk, which became The Widow's Kiss. The blade sang through the air around the alchemist's form, first, then spinning to dance around the slave's body. The alchemist shrunk in on himself, stiffening, to present as small a target as possible. Sim, on the other hand, also gazed into nothingness, completely unfazed by whirling iron around him.

After five minutes of this, Bordane stopped, again holding up the blade before him, eyeing the edge. Hues looked expectantly. The young noble turned to the alchemist, "The blade appears sufficient, but only battle can tell truly. You have your payment, you may go."

Turning to the manservant, Bordane ordered that a puddle that had suddenly appeared at the feet of Hues to be cleaned up and headed for the stairs down, the slave obediently following.

Bordane stopped, half turned and said to Lormo before the butler was able to leave. "I shall be downstairs, practicing. Have word sent to Cherylynn, I'll have need of her... attentions."

A Jealous Heart

Finnegan Blackcross cursed the cold wintery weather as he approached the old familiar tower. He had just returned, yesterday on Higharvestide, stayed one night at the Pampered Travelers and already he’s received a message inviting him to return- return to the tower. Although the masters change, the tower stays the same he thought as he found himself now standing in the shadow of that same tower. Finnegan removed a glove from his hand and pressed his hand to the door. Knowing it would open for him he promptly stepped in and was surprised when he discovered there were servants waiting just inside. Finnegan noted how they were dressed in thick hooded robes so that one could not see their features; they had the smell of rotten fruit about them which put Finnegan on his guard. Without a word of acknowledgement they simultaneously turned and motioned for Finnegan to follow. He checked his sword Riesen-Fluch to make sure it was clear before he entered and followed them into the tower.

Being the last scion of the former noble Blackcross' of Waterdeep, he'd left Waterdeep to seek out fortunes to try and pull his family back up the highborn ladder. Finnegan believed his fate to be in Waterdeep and the restoration of his noble family; a task not to be realized overnight and not without time, careful effort, or assistance. Now, with some recently captured treasure at his disposal Finnegan thought, it was time to stet these assets to task for him. He then realized that even if it was not for the message brining him, Finnegan would have found himself at the tower soon enough.

Walking at a safe distance behind the robed servants, Finnegan admired the four paintings of the tower’s former masters as well as Mardus and Korindell the builders of Blackspire Gap. Finnegan felt heavy pangs of nostalgia as he was at last lead to the familiar conversational room. It was an inviting parlor complete with a heavy dark wooden table were lain a map and several scrolls; several lush couches were illuminated by floating nodes of pale light; and a fire pit in the center that rigorously fought off the outside cold. A woman, more beautiful than Finnegan could have dreamt in seven lifetimes walked in front of the fire pit briefly cutting off the fire’s radiance; Finnegan thought the fire flared out in a red burst as she did. Amazing Finnegan thought; he would fight the gods if she wished. From a couch came a familiar male voice.

“Finn, how happy we are that you have come.” Jarred Mallred said. “When I received word that you returned to Waterdeep, how could I not extend an invitation to my old friend? How long has it been, five- six years?”

“You were not yet master of the tower Sai Mallred” Finnegan said after tearing his gaze from the woman.

“Sai? Please Finn- Jarred, like before…. Okay?” Jarred insisted.

“But things are not like before, are they?” Finnegan’s gaze was pulled back to the woman, who continued to linger just beyond his senses- enough to almost drive him mad.

“No, they are not,” Jarred said with a chuckle. “Many things have changed are many more are in motion, my friend. Please relax and make yourself at home… I believe we can all be of service to each other in unique ways the three of us. Finn this is Lilith.” Jarred motioned to the woman who entered into the light; her terrible beauty a thing beyond worlds or description.

“She has come to me in good faith in pursuit of divine power and has offered to assist me in ending a nuisance that has been a… ‘wand’ in my side for many years.” Jarred gave him a wink at the word wand.

“So how do I fit in?” Finnegan asked.

“Well, you see… I believe you can help her with her pursuits; there is a rival beauty, an Avatar of Sune and Lilith… well, let us just say she possess a jealous heart. As for me… well, I know I can help you realized your goal in restoring the Blackcorss family- something I know you have been trying to do for over five years.”

A man, in wolf clothing

The scarab shimmered around Mika’s neck as the Axebeak circled. Its ability to enrage others had proven useful during his long trip south. With dinner tracking him down he was able to minimize his hunting time and increase his time spent traveling. The large bird charged Mika determined to shred him limb from limb. Mika easily sidestepped his opponent and chomped down on the large neck of the Axebeak, killing it.

It had been over a week since he had left his village. The return of his older brother Orkondon as village shaman had given him the opportunity to follow his dream. Not only had his brother not forbid his leaving, but he had guided him toward an individual who might be willing to help him. They both knew Mika’s fate would be uncovered in Waterdeep, and he had spent every waking hour since his departure pushing himself to get there. As he began to devour the bird his mind filled with fantastic thoughts of adventure and danger in this City of Splendors. He was determined to be the most famous Uthgardt to travel the realm and it would all start in Waterdeep. With eager anticipation he ripped a large chunk of flesh from the carcass of his prey, and bolted south as fast as his four legs could carry him. He just hoped this Briar Belabranta was going to prove as helpful as his brother said she would.