Z’hind-del Syrendross: Sixth Entry, Day One Hundred Sixty Seven

Protected in a three inch iron wood box, scorched and blackened from heat exposure, it had house symbol on the lid, one that I recognized immediately. In side the small box, lined with a purple cloth stitched with a symbol of Mystra, was a magical stone from another world.

The stone itself, I have discovered, is commonly called webstone in the Realms or spiderweb obsidian, is a stone coveted by underdark races for its fractal beauty and ability to retain enchantments. Webstone is an obsidian variety in which small pieces of the stone have been cemented together by heat and pressure in an irregular mass; the joints show as irregular, weblike lines. It is usually black with whitish join lines, like this one, but inferrior webstones of brown, reddish brown, and rust-red hues with lighter webbing is also known.

As I bring the stone from its protective box I am struck with a strange feeling of detached nostalgia when I first saw the webstone; then surprised elation when my mind aligned with Shar’s allowing me to recall the magical properties of the stone. Memories came in like a tide reminding me of how the stone originally came to Shar’s possession as a gift of the goddess of magic for heroics beyond the call of valor in saving the celestial child from Delrach the Vile. 

09/21/16 The Celestial Child

The Holy Man

For the patrons and staff at a dusty roadside inn, the day begins as usual, but when a near-dead Stranger arrives and odd occurrences escalate throughout the night, it's a harbinger of the terror to come.

As the horrifying nature of the situation sinks in, help arrives in the form of a Holy Man, who tells a pregnant barwench that her unborn baby is a celestial chosen of Mystra, and he will do anything to protect it against Delrach the Vile.

(Shadows of Waterdeep) The Assignment

From the desk of Maskar Wands

Fifth day Winter 1370

I often look back to the events taking place during Smendric’s birth. It was a time of troubles when the gods of magic perished leaving the weave unguarded and vulnerable. Waterdeep was at war with Luskan; The Order of Magists and Protectors were targeted by the Arcane Brotherhood; and all the while noble houses battled each other in the city. Our house was attacked that night, and powerful spells were exchanged between wizards which may have had something to do with the young boy’s wondrous magical nature. Perhaps the wild magic surges are Smendric’s way to vent an overabundance of arcana within him or worse, and my greatest fear, that the chaotic fey discovered a way within Smendric to avenge the terrible things we did to the fey during the godsfall in order to survive. Whatever turns out to be true, chaos magic or no, it saved his life and the lives of six of his friends. 

Lydda Artemel was horribly murdered recentlly and two suspects are in custody although Smendric and his friends maintain there was a third individual named Delrach involved; nevertheless, the investigation is only beginning. The victim was the first Artemel cleric to depart from her family’s patron deity and embrace a post-godsfall new Tymora. It is a definite setback for the Artemel family and the financial community but one, with the right help, will emerge stronger for it.

In the meantime, in light of Smendric’s recent involvements, Bryan Kormallis has agreed to look into any correlation between the Brown Back Hard Men scuffle with the Parade of Maidens clerics of the and Lydda Artemel’s murder. 

“Nobody puts their hands on Smendric Wands and gets away with it,” He said to himself watching Mister Broken-thumbs, the drunkard who manhandled him behind the Pampered Traveler. It took Smendric a series of obtuse questions before Bryan Kormallis would give up the name of Mister Broken-thumbs without suspecting something, but eventually Smendric had the man’s name- Vicarzo DeMarcain. 

Over the weekend Smendric devoted himself to Vicarzo from a far, employing all the techniques taught to him by Bryan, Greywolf, and Wykkar to identify a pattern in Vicarzo’s activities- and before long Smendric saw a rich opportunity. 

*******

Vicarzo was shadow of his former self, aged and gaunt, as if he wagered everything on one bet and had lost it all. To Smendric he seemed to wander about Waterdeep looking for where it all went wrong, searching for something. Vicarzo visited many places over the two days Smendric trailed the unkempt noble. Smendric saw that having broken thumbs presents a host of inconveniences the least of which is pulling one’s boots on but another is a release of one’s tensions wether by sword play on the battlefield or solo sword play in privacy. 

Vicarzo had a bunk at Storm Keep, but would wander shops during the day, resting briefly at Heroes’ Garden before finally settling on a swanky establishment late Saturday night. The Efreeti Bottle it seems was Vicarzo’s choice for the release that he himself could not provide with his broken thumbs.

Smendric, having never been inside such an establishment, had no idea of the inner layout. He was not ignorant of what took place inside but Smendirc would rather not subject himself to the depravity. He considered, and remembered the tunnels; perhaps there were underground ways into the Bottle. And of course there was. 

*****

Coming out of a lower level and into an adjacent room inside the Efreeti Bottle Smendric found the old noble relaxing in a pool, the purpose of his visit served. Pale skin pulled taught over a bony skeleton, Smendric could hear sultry music playing unseen somewhere close but was nearly overcome with the rich perfumes laden in the air. The pool in Smendric’s adjacent room was empty unused, there were several broken piles of furniture each spotted with many stains. The young mage gathered the necessary props lying about for his ruse and approached the vent separating Smendric from Vicarzo. 

“YOU DISHONOR ME VICARZO!” said a high ear-ripping, banshee-like voice. “WHERE IS MY RING?” Admittedly it was a ridiculously fabricated wail, but it was Smendric’s only other ‘voice’. 

Vicarzo reacted immediately, standing up causing water to splash about, obviously expecting to see an irate woman but when he looked about there was no one, just a disembodied voice.

“What ring? I…” the naked Vicarzo said as he pawed in vain for his clothes and spectacles. 

“MY RING VICARZO? YOU PROMISED ME A RING BUT INSTEAD YOU HAD ME KILLED. I WANT MY RING!”

“Dear spirits,” Vicarzo said dismayed. “I thought you…”

“MY RING YOU MURDERING…” but as the banshee wailed, Vicarzo puled off a ring from his small finger and offered it to the voice. The iron ring was hardly fit for a woman, but Smendric did not care- he was having too much fun at the old noble’s ‘expense’. The duality made Smendric giggle. 

“Take this and be gone vile spirit.” Vicarzo said tossing the jewel onto the wet stone floor as if it were on fire. Vicarzo bolted for the door sliding on the wet floor disturbing many patrons along the way. 

*******

“Are we having fun Smendric?” Bryan Kormallis said as Smendric was inspecting Vicarzo’s ring. He thought himself alone, but the appearance of his mentor did not surprise Smendric. Obviously Bryan successfully discerned why Smendric was so interested in Vicarzo and tracked them both to the Efreeti Bottle. 

“Nobody puts their hands on Smendric Wands and gets away with it,” he said insistently. “Mister Vicarzo DeMarcain here is simply paying recompense for his assault on my person.” Smendric finished, approximating the ring’s value to be just higher than paltry. 

“He did pay, I broke his thumbs,” Bryan said evenly, always testing Smendric’s actions, reactions, and motivations. 

“So I am to rest easy knowing you are satisfied?” Smendric said in a sarcastic tone. “No, he put his hands on me, and here we are.” Smendric finished offering Bryan a sly grin as the young mage offered the ring to the man. 

“Keep it, I have come bearing a message for you Smendric.” Bryan said with gravity implying that Smendric would want to devote his entire attention to this. Bryan held out a roll of parchment sealed with a familiar but exclusive alchemical substance that burns the message away once the seal is broken. One only has but a moment to decipher the inscriptions before the substance consumes the parchment and the message contained therein. 

“An assignment?” Smendric asked Bryan with unbridled excitement taking the message greedily. Taking a deep breath Smendric broke the seal and quickly unrolled the message…

S.W.

Your impressive heroics on the streets during Moonfeast and your sly cunning in discovering the Artemel murder has got you noticed and eligible for your first task. An old evangelist has come out of retirement and is causing undesirable ripples in Waterdeep’s financial district, his name is Randal Flagg- a follower of the Grim Lord and he is not working alone. Find out where he is speaking, who he has with him, who he may be preaching to, both 

publicly and privately; and report to B. K., do not under any circumstances engage Flagg or his associates. 

The Master of Shadows

*******

It was later that evening on the High Road when most of the stalls in the financial district had closed for the night, there were many people are still in the open market. An orator stood at the edge of the market easily attracting a crowd around him. 

“People of Waterdeep. The Cassalanter’s are dangerous and are still a threat to our way of life. Do not trust them with your gold! Lest not forget that eleven short years ago the Cassalanter’s were known cult of the dragon-financiers bent on seeing the North fall to dragon rule.” The orator shouted over the growing crowd causing many to nod in dumb agreement. 

Smendric listened to Randal Flagg a safe distance away and watched as the crowd begin to get restless. Flagg did have an assistant that aided his huckstering by offering words of either protest or support depending on how the crowd swayed. Wow, he thought either the orator was that good or the people of Waterdeep are thick in the skull. This was over ten years ago, Smendric mused. Had not the Cassalanter’s proven themselves since then? They had turned their backs on Waukeen, who was really behind the infiltration of the house, and embraced the new Tymora like the rest of the city. Something was not right here.

“… and food from your children’s mouths to fatten themselves in luxury!” Flagg said bringing his diatribe to an end, presumably to find another corner of the district to preach upon. But as several men began to shout in shared protest against the Cassalanter’s throwing their fists in the air, lead by the mysterious second man, a clatter of horse hooves and the ring of steel being drawn made the crown turn. 

Ringing the outer edges of the market stood thirty financial-district guardsmen ready to break up the angered crowd. These private guards, commissioned by moneylenders like the Cassalanter’s and the Cragsmere’s, now became the object of the orator’s protests. The crowd grew silent as three of the riders slowly kicked their mounts towards the center of the crowd. 

“The markets are closed people, please disperse immediately.” One of the private security guards said. 

Without warning a fowl cry erupts from somewhere in the thick crowd, then something flew through the air; Smendric observed it was Flagg up to mischief. The object struck the speaking guard knocking him off balance, the other two raised their shields as the crowd transformed into a mob swarming angrily towards the riders. The other man made a sign in benediction then suddenly channeled wave of power that rocked the crowd enraging them further. 

“Ok I see Mister Randal Flagg, get the crowd worked up and evacuate.” Smendric said aloud. “Your friend too? now where are you going?”

The orator, Flagg, slipped out of the mob and turned down a corner that, because of a good angle, Smendic could see. Looking back Smendric lost the second man in the mob. Then with a speed that none of Flagg’s earlier movements hinted at, the evangelist bounded down the street taking long magical strides. Oh that’s cute, Smendric thought as he stood up and secured his equipment, but he doesn’t have these... Smendric then took a deep breath and vaulted into the air. 

Three-league boots, an exclusive item of the mages of the Order, allowed Smendric to jump from one side of the city to the other in just a few magical leaps. Travel in this way was a hazardous because folk could not see where they were going to land, but the trick was to know Waterdeep three-dimensionally not two-dimensionally. To know the tallest buildings in each ward and to jump to those first, then to shorter buildings like great steps down a staircase of rooftops. 

Following the evangelist was not easy, not only was the man magically aided in his strides he was also sensitive to his surroundings. Smendric saw that Flagg was retracing parts of his route to evade followers, but what Flagg did not account for was a mischievous mage-thief wearing his father’s magic boots. 

After about an hour of tracking Flagg, losing him once, and finding him again, Smendric watched intrigued when the evangelist stopped to speak with a group of ten men keeping warm around a small fire behind Gounar’s Tavern, among them was the channeler. The wind was up and that made it impossible to hear what the evangelist was telling the men, but when Smendric saw Flagg produce gold he intuited Flagg was hiring them for something. But what surprised Smendric the most was when the channeler passed out iron rings just like the one Vicarzo had. 

Smendric dared to get closer, he wanted to impress Bryan Kormallis and the Master of Shadows with good useable information. Eventually the wind picked up again, this time from the other direction carrying with it some of the conversation. 

“Ca...dorn… Jade Sea… drow… tonight...” Was all Smendric could make out before the wind reversed itself again. The reversal caused the fire to flare up and briefly illuminate Smendric’s hiding spot. Without waiting to see if he was noticed, Smendric jumped and was landed heavily in front of Gavin and Hextor’s Haberdashery. 

It did not take long to relay the story and even shorter amount of time for Bryan to tell Smendric he is suiting up on this one- as a Shadow Thief.

The Zhentarim

The Zhentarim or the Black Network in some Realms are a collection of egotistical evil arcane spellcasters, clerics and priests, as well as warriors, and rogues by the hundreds each devoted to attaining dominance and ruler-ship over everything in their preview. It is a organization of many intelligent races unified in their wanton desire for power.

Anything that cannot be controlled outright must be threatened into compliance or hobbled and crippled so that it can never pose a threat. This desire to rule manifests itself in many ways in the objectives of the Zhentarim, which in the North seem to encompass: Establish a monopoly on trade between the Moonsea, the Sea of Fallen Stars, and the Cities of The Sword Coast, in particular Waterdeep. Destroy all who stand in the way of these objectives.

 Through blood dampened lips the corpse of Oran spoke the names of seven Black Network agents secretly operating in Waterdeep: Maskul Mirrormane, Lord Ferestian Halaster, Vicarzo DeMarcain, Delrach the Vile, Boris Nahal, Rikus and Wijon.

Boris Nahal was raised in the ways of the Black Network. He is a fierce brute who has never fled from or avoided a battle. He observes the disciplines of the Zhentarim and his clan with crewel bloodthirsty abandon. Like other members of The Strangers he is able to seamlessly blend unnoticed into any city's power structure and take control.

When it rains...

It was raining again in the streets of Waterdeep; the kind of rain that comes down as small wet ice shards that harmed exposed animals, individuals, and caused innumerable minor inconveniences from frozen doors to broken bones. Different people referred to it in different ways, the most common was sleet and with the damp ice came the penetrating cold that rendered hearth fires woefully inept. The sleet was a curse… or blessing, according to old tales of lore about the gods Umberlee and Auril after the contest for the Sword Coast before written history. 

“I miss the warm golden sky of Calimshan,” Greywolf said to his compatriot making an obvious gesture to the miserable weather.

Wykkar remained silent however. Many of Greywolf’s banter fell flat as of late on the assassin. Wykkar was not a sentimental type toward anyone aside from his oldest friend Greywolf, but the disappearance of an agent—especially now, had everyone concerned.  

Without warning Wykkar took his friend by the arm and ducked into the Pampered Traveler so that the natural course of movement would indicate the two intended to pass the establishment but instead bounded low up the steps and in just inside the wide deck. Wykkar believed someone was following them. Greywolf trusting his partner followed his lead into cover where they quickly exchanging hats and cloaks.

Greywolf emerged casually from his spot and glanced down at who was following them. It was an unfortunate looking creature that quickly evaded notice after a brief pause as whomever this was considered its options. Then, with its back to the Shadow Thieves, it took a step disappearing into the background folds of the city.

Inside the Pampered Traveler Wykkar and Greywolf preceded to the business table, a corner booth Mason Thorvald reserves for palavers such as this one.

Towards the end of the night when the darkness is deepest Kalina, Lady Darkness, emerges from the shadows with impatient eyes.

“You were followed.” She remarked. 

“Yes.” Wykkar said without hesitation. 

Without further discourse Greywolf handed the Mistress of Thieves seven scraps of parchment containing the identities of individuals in possession of aspects.  

Yamun Kahan, an Uthgardt war chief who this winter, has become the scourge of Goldenfields. (War, Luck) ** Information gained from Briar through Briosar Helmsing, Anarakin, and Tehtira Bellsilver. 

Delrach the Vile (Undeath, Repose) 

The Avatar of Umberlee (Storm, Ocean)

Maskul Mirrormane (Limbo)

Vicarzo Demarcain (Envy)

Nobilius (Nobility)

Eriadne Thann (Travel)

These Mean Streets

The girl child sank to her knees in the deep snow, in the intersection of two streets. Clutching her ragdoll to her chest, her whimpers were lost in the howling wind. The blizzard roared on, a heavy curtain of snow veiling the buildings around her. The sounds of the battles that raged throughout the city were deadened by the thick snowfall.
 Trogun Smith, paladin of Tempus, turned a corner onto the street, his breath pluming out in great clouds of steam. He'd been sent out by his temple to see to the safety of the citizens, while others of his order were battling the dragons. Anyone that was in danger, Trogun was to lead them back to the temple grounds. Spying the child in the crossroads, lit in the dim lamplight, he trotted towards her.
 "Child, what are you doing out here? Where's your family?" he called out, dropping to one knee beside her. He undid the clasp of his cloak, cocooning the girl in the thick folds of the lined fabric. Trogun rose to his feet, taking a couple of swift steps to the north end of the intersection. He came to an abrupt stop, seeing a silouette through the blowing snow, impeding his way. Something spoke to Trogun's warrior instincts that something was not right about this figure. Trogun turned to his left, holding the bundled up child to his steel breastplate and stopped short again. This exit was impeded by another shambling figure, stumbling it's way into the intersection.
 Trogun quickly looked to the other two exits, and saw that they too were blocked. A sinking feeling developed in his gut. The girl was bait, he'd fallen for the trap. The figures stepped into the light thrown off by the streetlamps, they were undead. Simple zombies. They weren't smart or cunning enough to have set up a trap.
 "Child, I need to set you down, just for a moment. I need you to stay where I put you, understand?" he asked.
 The girl nodded, her whimpering becoming louder as the fear of the situation sank in. The paladin set the bundle down, and drew the hammer that hung at his side. Casting a glare to each of his opponents, he called out to them "Come on, you bastards! Feel the kiss of Tempus, god of battle!"

 Safely above the streets, watching from a rooftop of one of the buildings, Delrach the Vile watched his minions close on the human. A chuckle tumbled from his undead lips. He had no doubt that the paladin could easily dispatch the zombies, but the trail back to the church's haven was long. He could wear the warrior down, and if possible, deliver the remains back to his mistress. She could raise him and add to her substantial army. Oh, glorious days were ahead...

(Shadows of Waterdeep) Birthright

From the Desk of Maskar Wands. 

First day of Winter 1370

My attempt at crafting a bonded wand for Smendric has met with failure. I have spent half the year empowering the wand's base components only to have the final enchantment miscast. I will consult with our diviners to know why, but I will document this: it felt like the magic responded but was pulled back at the last millisecond. My instincts say there is an intelligence or force at work. Concerning but most of all heartbreaking to see the Wands long family tradition of a father crafting his son's first bonded wand; to give to him upon his twelfth name day will sadly come to an end. 

Smendric would not know this however, because he failed to come home last night. I admit am torn - punish him as would be expected, or perhaps give him some freedom that comes with his new age and new responsibilities. Both choices come with equal danger not just for him but for those closest to him. 

Brother Rhone was the unofficial mascot for the students. Officially Specularum did not have a mascot, having only a complex symbol to represent itself. Nevertheless the passive gargoyle happily guarded and watched the scores of student that passed under its protective gaze. Brother Rhone's favorite student was of course Smendric Wands; he appreciated the young mage’s whit and tomfoolery, but most of all it was his honesty when it came to his friends. 

The gargoyle recalled two years ago as a first-year student he told Brother Rhone, "One day I will be as famous as you." The gesture warmed Brother Rhone; yes Smendric was honest and true to his word.

"Hey Rhone! Brother down here." Smendric said to the gargoyle outside the school commons. It was a brisk morning, the north wind wrapped her arms around the boy necessitating the use of endure elements magic. Smendric's long red hair covered his features like a veil in the breezes. 

"Friend Spendric." Brother Rhone growled happily, landing heavily on the cobbles shattering one. 

Tossing his hair back revealing his best smile Smendric asked, "Rhone you see who comes and goes from the Specularum, did you see anything unusual yesterday?" Smendric asked casually. 

"The Dean let the students out early, probably because it was your birthday." Brother Rhone said endearingly. 

"Yea but Teena Tarm swears she saw a drow elf yesterday. What do you know about it? Is she crazy?" Smendric asked the gargoyle inquisitively. 

"Not at all friend Smenric, she is right we do in fact have a drow visitor." Brother Rhone said innocently. 

"Have? Luck of Tymora! You mean...where is it?" Smendric asked thrilled at the danger. 

"He, friend Smendric. He was in the library when I was last there with..."

But Smendric did not hear the rest of the statement as he darted past Brother Rhone, into the Specularum, and toward the master library. The school's master library was filled with books and tomes donated or bought with assets and gold seized from families with known ties to the cult of the dragon. It was an ironic way of assuring Waterdeep's future prosperity and protection. 

Coming up fast on the tall double-wide doors Smendric intended to skid to a stop, pull down on the release, and open the heavy door in one impressive move. But when the door opened and Priestess Rhodhan Eltorchul stepped out, Smendric slid right into a surprised cleric of Mystra. 

"Smendric Wands! Where the hell are you going so hasted?" Rhodhan asked, her tone incredulous and her face twisted in outrage. 

"I'm sorry I have a book to return." Smendric said snapping his fingers about magically straightening the Priestess' vestments.. and hair.. and

"Stop that, I'm fine. Now lets slow those quickling feet ok Smendric." She said, her annoyance now turned into a smile on her thin lips. 

Trying to un-straighten her hair Rhodhan retreated into the morning bustle of Specularum's halls leaving Smendric holding open the door to the library. He crossed the threshold into musty library. Smendric knew the cavernous library well; it was multi-tiered with texts and tomes from the world over. Natural sunlight was used to illuminate the central study but Smendric noticed thick drapes now closed off the bright morning light. 

A shuffling of pages and the thud of a book broke Smendric from his observations. The boy darted and tumbled under a table his heart now racing. Smendric saw a shadow move near a familiar scribe's desk. He could not see the drow elf but could see a shape; a silhouette of voluminous robes and long hair pulled up like an elf. Smendric dared to peek over the table to see...

"Mother?" His mother was the last person he was expeciting to discover, she was wearing not voluminous robes but a red dress with her hair pulled up as he would always remember her.

"Hello Smendric." Olanhr Wands said smiling at her son. She was standing near his scribes desk that was piled with books and journals; Smendric saw that most of these works were recent, having mostly to do with the godsfall. "We missed you last night. Why did you not come home?"

Smendric looked at her, "I was having fun, it was.."

"Your birthday yes, but you cannot just have fun regardless of cost or consequence. You are too important in ways you do not understand yet." Olanhr said with sincerest love for her red-headed son. 

 

"I suppose father is angry, should I expect to be teleported home directly after class?" Smendric asked, knowing the answer before he asked. 

"No son. You are have reached the age of maturity and with that comes responsibility." Reaching into her magical purse Olanhr produced and held out a folding knife. The knife had a dragon bone handle with a blade forged, fire-hardened, and sharpened from a dragon's single-toughest scale. 

"It’s name is Avildar, it was your grandmother's and she left it to you for when you were old enough." Olanhr said as Smendric grasped the weapon. "She stipulated that you should discover the weapon's properties on your own, without aid. Those were her conditions son." 

The weapon responded immediately conforming to fit Smendric's hand size. He could feel magic at work but Smendric could not tell its nature. Smendric looked for a way to unfold the knife but as soon as the thought entered his mind the blue blade sprung out.

"Come Smendric, I will walk you to class." She said escorting him toward the door and into the hall.

Students were filing to their respective classes as mother and son walked and conversed to Smendric’s first class of the day: Father Malusiel’s class for advanced creature studies. Father Malusiel’s lectures were utter torture for Smendric; boring did not begin to scratch the surface of the tedium of seminars on cave-fishes or rust monsters, but as the boy wizard neared Father Malusiel’s classroom a feeling of trepidation crept over Smendric.

After a brief goodbye in which Smendric promised his mother he would come home tonight- early in fact, he walked into the Father Malusiel’s class and what he saw in the center of the room filled Semendric with abject wonder.

“Well, hello Mr. Wands glad you could join us this morning.” Father Malusiel said smugly. Malusiel was a hard-assed cleric in service to Azuth and Specularum’s expert on magical creatures, outsiders, and dragons. Up until ten years ago Malusiel adventured with the famous Blinkstone Companions liberating the north from evil, now he taught his valuable experience to young aspiring spell-casters.

Bindon Salt and Alyssa Roaringhorn as well as other sixth and seventh year students filled most of the seats around the wonder positioned in the center of the circular room.

“Boys and girls can anyone tell me what this creature is?” Malusiel asked the class returning to his normal pompass composure.

“It’s a Kobold.” Smendric said flatly hoping to get back on Malusiel’s good side. Standing in the center of the room was a stuffed kobold in an attack stance. The creature looked every bit as menacing as in real life.

“That is very good Mr. Wands, now if you could next time raise your hand.” Malusiel said then continued, “Kobolds are often characterized as filthy little reptiles barely greater than goblins.”

As the cleric demonstrated different physical features on the kobold touching vulnerable areas Malusiel continued to lecture, “They’re malicious but of little actual menace. Catch kobolds in their lairs, where they are almost certainly hard at work mining, and such a description might be fitting.” He paused for dramatic effect, “No one ever suspected that being underestimated was the kobolds’ goal…”

Smendric could very well teach this class if he had the patience so he let the drone of Father Malusiel’s discussion carryon while he dexterously twirled Avildar in his palm and studied the stuffed kobold.

After school Smendric and his alchemy classmates where eating at the Castle Grocers; the day was late and a cold wind was whipping through the city streets and it was beginning to rain. A dog steped in from the rain and shook itself off prompting one of the Grocers to run the animal off; somewhere a dish breaks in the kitchen. A few moments later the Grocer reenters wet and flustered without the dog, but with an old woman obviously in distress. The woman’s wet grey strands covered her features like a web that hid her crying face. Bindon stood suddenly, somehow shaken by the old woman.

“What is it Bindon, what is wrong?” Mykka Cragsmere asked as several people including Alyssa and Tenna came to the distressed woman’s aid.

“In my homerand to harm a woman is to invite dishonor.” Bindon said calmly.

“In Thay?” Smendric asked, his face screwed up in disbelief.

Ten feet away the woman was pleading, “Please, someone come quickly.” Panic threatened to overcome her as she looks about for heroes. “Please there are creatures below my house… maybe spirits!”

At the sound of a possible haunting many of the patrons quietly excused themselves.

“Spirits?” the grocer asked fearfully.

“I heard them. They said they wanted me dead.” she whispered pointing to the growing night and her humble home. “Is there no one who will help me?”

“This should be fun and free from consequence,” Smendric said as the seven school mates descended into the old woman’s cellar where she said the sounds originated. At the bottom of the ladder was a dry dirt cellar. Bags were piled against the far wall and cobwebs filled the corners and rafters. There was two old chairs standing alone and a sack of dried apples that was spilled across the floor.

“This is where she was when she got startled,” Tanner Tarm correctly intuited.

A dissident squeaking began from the far wall where many of the bags where piled. Both Bindon and Smendric drew weapons; Bindon, a small katana the size of a dagger with a red weapon crystal and Smendric, Dreamcatcher’s Avildar. Alyssa picked up one of the chairs and held it defensively in front of her, the rest of the children backed away.

Then, without warning, a dire rat burst from the pile of bags. Grains and dried vegetables exploded giving it the element of surprise. On its flank the dire rat sported an injury and was in pain. The creature did not stop, only darted for the largest group of kids. The rat came at Alyssa who held the feeble old chair before her as she tried to defend Mykka, Tenna, Tanner, and...

Dimitros Cassalanter, in a shock of heroics, picked up the second chair and brought it down across the dire rat’s grotesque spine. Both the rats back and the chair broke apart leaving only the screams of the the girls and the matching looks of surprise form Smendric and Bindon.

“Well done sir!” Mykka Cragsmere said praising the first-year Dimitros.

To this Dimitros replied, “I was too small for it to notice me, so I was not afraid,” his smile beamed.

“That was next level Dimitros, good work,” Smendric said embracing the younger boy.

“I have found something,” Bindon said motioning to where the dire rat came from, “a rat hole.”

“Someone has been digging a tunnel,” Alyssa said looking into the rat hole and the crossing tunnel. “It’s big enough for a man.”

“It looks like the rat had found where the tunnel breached the old lady’s cellar and smelled food.” Mykka said after looking into the rat hole.

“The rat was injured, look blood,” Smendirc said pointing out the red drops of blood, “I wonder who or what...”

“and look I see footprints, the tunnel extends both north and south.” Bindon said affirming Alyssa’s observation.

“Shh I hear something.” Tanner Tarm said.

An unknowable distance away down the tunnel mage-children could discern two voices. As they listened the voices seemed to grow louder, “Delrach said we need to finish the job…” but then receded up the tunnel quickly passing the children. Each of the children let out a collective sigh of relief and huddled together.

“It’s just a couple of thugs, possibly burglarizing the neighborhood through these tunnels.” Smendric said intrigued. Thieves? “They went north, we follow them and subdue them from behind, should be easy.”

Lining up one by one each of the kids crawled into the tunnel and was soon following the foot prints north. Smendric took the lead, Bindon guarding the rear of the file and the youngest in the center with Dimitrous holding a light-stick.  

“I heardz the voizez down herez..”

The strange speech froze the children in their steps, this was nothing like the voice of the two men they were folloing. Teena Tarm started to shake in fear; Alyssa took her briskly in her arms thinking suddenly that this was a terrible idea. They had traveled a good distance from the rat hole and it would only be a matter of time that one of them would alert the blood freezing voices.

Then from a previously unseen hole in the wall, three small scaled creatures jumped into the meagre light of Dimitrous’ light-stick. They were kobolds, but different from Malusiel’s model in class, they had shorter arms and large over muscled hind quarters like marsupials. Draconic spines grew from the sides of their temples coming together at the tail which was also over-muscled like its legs. In their stunted arms two kobolds held crude three-foot staffs defensibly as they menaced and frightened the mage-children. The third was marked with crude tattoos, had a skull for a helmet, a bone tabard, and lofted a terrible gnome-skull mace sheathed in green-fire.

“Kurtulmak!” it said as they advanced hungrily on the children.

For Smendric the sources of this morning’s trepidation stood before him. It was strange for the red-headed mage; it was like he could sense the kobold’s presence. He flashed out Avildar, but the blade did not respond. He tried his favorite command phrase, “turtle soup!” but nothing.  

Bindon twirled his dagger impressively about while he surrounded himself in red disturbing illusions in an attempt to dissuade the hostile creatures. Mykka formed a magical breeze through the irregular tunnel blowing the kobolds a few feet farther away from the group. Alyssa spun defensively and threw a magic missile at the mace wielder striking true, blasting apart the bony tabard. Dimitros, still holding the light stick moved defensively behind Smendric covering his flank armed with a chair leg. Tanner and Teena Tarm, in synchronistic harmony cast identical spells targeting the two staff wielding kobolds hoping to make them unwitting allies.

The gnome-skull mace wielder leaped forward propelled by its meaty tail in an attempt to drop-kick Alyssa, but as he crossed between his two companions each of them spun about pivoting on their staffs one tail high, one tail low sending their leader face first onto the tunnel floor, prone right in front of Smendric. The two traitorous kobolds looked at each other in terrified confusion and tried to regroup.

Smendric felt trapped without an means of escape, tried to tap into his unbridled side hoping for a wild surge but the magic would not come. Next to him Bindon Salt closed the distance on the two confused kobolds with his wicked display continuing his efforts. Mykka Cragsmere pointed his finger at the standing kobold on the left; an icy ray of frost stung the creature briefly paralyzing its stunted arms. Alyyssa repeated Mykka’s example and loosed her own ray of frost to similar effect on the right kobold, she was now backed up defensively against a wall. Dimitros came forward from around Smendric bringing the old chair leg down across the prone kobold’s weapon arm breaking it in three places. The twin Tarms each stepped back while maintaining their enchantment over the strange breed of kobolds.

The two traitorous kobolds, too terrified to succumb as whiting allies again, darted for the rat-hole they emerged from chattering in panicked draconic. The remaining kobold, with a broken arm was slow to get up.

Smendric reached for an alchemist fire, Avildar flashing perceptively, thinking if they play this right they would all get extra credit. Smendric raised it above his head but before he threw it Smendric realized with astonishment that he had retrieved Dimitros’ potion and not an alchemist fire. Bindon did not hesitate with the opportunity attack and found the kobold’s ear canal with his dagger- just like Father Malusiel had taught them, killing the creature.

*******

“What do you want to do with it?” Alyssa asked the over excited group. They had just fought and defeated their first a real monster and were in various stages of shock, anxious pacing, or as was in Smendric’s case confused frustration.

“The body or the mace?” Bindon asked rhetorically, he too was excited having made his first kill.

“Leave them both,” Smendirc said suddenly. “The other two kobolds may come back for the weapon and we do not want them following us and the besides body is not going anywhere.” The mirth returning to Smendric’s features.

Now that the combat was over, from further up the hall, they could hear sounds of banging and scraping as if to remind them they were following a couple of burglars. The sounds got each of them on back on alert; the kobolds it would seem was just a warm-up.

*******

 “Come on,” a voice said. “I think this is deep enough. Let’s get it buried and go.”

“No,” said a second man. I want to make the hole deeper. Delrach The Vile wants it deep enough that no one finds it.”

So something happened back there Smendric admitted to himself, but he had not lost any spell energy, it just would not come before. And what about the prestidigitation with the potions? To Smendric’s knowledge he was not in possession of any of Dimi’s potions. He did not feel limited now however and Smendric had a plan.

“Excuse me gentlemen, I am with the Waterdeep Public Works department and I’m here to inspect these tunnels.” Smendric said as he emerged formally from the tunnel into a cellar. The cellar was dry and smelled of meats, hams and plump sausages that hung from the beams. In the center of the room two men were busily digging up the floor. As the base of the ladder to the cellar was a large human-sized bundle.

Before the two could even respond Smendric continued. “…and what are your names?” Smendric asked as he pulled a quill and parchment from the sleeve of his robes. Above the three sounds of people moving about began where before there was only silence.

Standing in the rough hole was a balding man who was looking nervously at the celling and the source of the sounds, the other…

“I am Truemanhorn and that’s Durat. D-U-R-A…” a quick hit with Durat’s shovel cut the spelling of his name off, albeit by one letter.

“You fool, this is just a kid. Get lost kid- you weren’t here and you didn’t see anything.” Durat said climbing out of the hole shovel menacingly in hand.

“Oh but I am here and so are you Durat and ...”

“Truemanhorn.” Truemanhorn said earning him another bash with Durat’s shovel.

Above the beams the sounds were getting louder, and were changing somehow. Gone now were the marching feet but replaced with sound of fighting, swords clanging in some unseen duel.

“Did you bring the city guard?” Durat asked incredulously.

“As a matter of fact I did.” Smendric bluffed. “You see, I know what is really going on here…”

“YOU DOWN THERE SURRENDER, PUT DOWN YOUR WEAPONS AND COME UP REAL SLOW.”

“Ah, well now you see.” Smendric said apologetically as he motioned to the unseen sounds, pleased the plan was working.

As Durat and Truemanhorn threw their shovels into the hole and turned for the ladder, the noise and the commands to surrender ceased. One by one Smendric watched as Alyssa, Bindon and the rest were forcefully thrown out of the tunnel and into the crude hole by long links of hooked chains. Entering like a spider with chains for arms was a vile old-man battle scarred and crazy eyed, he held the gnome-skull mace high above his head.

“Oh Shit!” Smendric did not hesitate; he tapped into his unbridled side and cast a spell releasing a wild magic surge.