Dragonwings of Wrath

The Rise of Tiamat

1. A Murder in Waterdeep

And so the heroes returned to Waterdeep. The more traceable part of the hoard was returned to the City Bank, some for later transport to where they originated from. But this still left much of the fortune to them. With their new-found wealth, the Elf-Brothers, Vander and Thalek spent a large part of their share on buying a mansion, and employing servants to run it. Thalek himself took the opportunity to plant a garden of exotic trees and plants, and had a large outhouse built in which to house the solitary Wyvern they had found left behind in the the stables of Skyreach. Despite its distress and wild nature, the animalhandling skill of Thalek soon saw the beast practically eating out of the Druid's hand. Rhogar payed rent to stay, but preferred to spend days (and nights if he could) in the various city libraries, always seeking for more knowledge of the histories and dragons. Ishtra elected not to stay: instead she sought lodgings in another part of the City, and decided instead to fund a new orphanage. Şillic was still happy to rent, though he would often disappear into the city for days, and none knew where he went; though for some reason, the increase of incidents of pic-pocketing in broad daylight began to disturb The Watch. Şillic claimed he knew nothing about this, but that he was trying to track down what had become of the "payment" they had been offered for following and thwarting the Cult of the Dragon – a bright-red shining Ruby that he had conservatively guessed must be worth at least 2,000 in gold. But there had been neither sign nor word of this.

There were, however, many rumours and exaggerated tales abound in the streets and taverns of Waterdeep: an increase of bandit raids in the south, some involving dragons, Night-monsters stalking the alleys of Baldur’s Gate, A Dark Mage allying himself with the Warlord of Mulhornad, and how their terrible hulk-ships haunted the seas, striking at unwary merchantman. However, it was said that there’d also been a drop in the frequency of piracy, though no-one attributed this to Lord Neverember’s mismanagement and privatisation of the City’s Navy. But the northern city of Neverwinter was reported as rising up again from the destruction that it had unwittingly endured; the feeling among Waterdeep citizens was that Lord Neverember cared more for his ancestral city than their own.

But the big talk of the town was of murder: Arthagast Ulbrinter, and one of the Masked Lords who governed Waterdeep, had been found slain in his own house. It was rumoured that he had been killed by assassins from the Cult of the Dragon, though why, no-one seems to know. His grief-stricken wife, Remi Haventree, had put a large bounty of 1,000 gold upon the heads of the assassins, and both these things perked the interest of the heroes. So they decided that they would do some investigating of their own.

The night before, a stranger delivered a letter to their butler to give to Şillic. He read it, frowned, pocketed the paper, and said no more about it.

So in the morning, once Ishtra arrived to join them, the group set out to find Lord Ulbrinter’s house. Rhogar, however, did not go with them. He went off again "to do some more research"; and this time Şillic noticed the Dragonborn had also taken with him the large Book of Summoning that they’d seized from the Red Wizards of the Dragoncult. The streets were crowded with many people as was normal for the city. If anyone followed them, the heroes did not notice.

They eventually found the house, and that it had been cordoned off by the City Watch. But that did not stop the smooth-talking Warlock winning over the confidence of the lone watchman on guard. Soon, Vander obtained permission for them to enter the house. The Ulbrinter’s body had already been taken from the hallway where the heinous crime had taken place, though where it had been found lying was outlined in chalk. They set to work. They soon deduced that whoever had killed him had been wearing gloves, but that their real target had been a scroll that was now missing from the glass-smashed cabinet. But what was on it that was so important? They had learnt that Lady Haventree was now being looked after by the Lady Laeral Silverhand: both a Waterdeep noble and Mage of considerable renown. So they decided to go and pay a visit.

But on the way, Vander noticed that, despite the large crowds, a group of cloaked figures were following them through the streets. After warning the others with a nudge and discrete hand-signals, he subtly vanished, and manoeuvred himself behind the figures following them. The crowd thinned at last; the cloaked figures drew out daggers, engraved with writhing serpents, and crying “Dragon-murderers!”, tried to set upon the heroes. But the would-be avengers found themselves unexpectedly struck from behind. Despite the numbers of Dragoncult fanatics, the heroes prevailed. Inspector Crabapple soon turned up with many men of the Watch, but all that seemed to be left for them to do was to arrange for a cart to remove the bodies. One, however, still lived. Without Crabapple’s men noticing, Şillic took him out of the way, revived the wretch with a bucket of water, and sought to interrogate him. Not easy since the cultist was both delirious and a dedicated fanatic. The man soon slipped back into unconsciousness, but not before the Half-Orc had the name “Striking Asp” out of him. Şillic grimaced: his way of grinning.

They eventually arrived at Lady Silverhand’s mansion. The butler did not seem surprised to see them, welcomed them in, and led them into the garden, before going off to get them drinks. Thalek couldn’t help but admire the trees and flora; and the exquisitely carved statues of elf-heroes and heroines of ancient times.

Suddenly, the wind shifted, and with it came a strange sense of unease. It seemed to herald the approach of a violent storm: the tremors of an earthquake far away. Waterdeep itself became unnaturally quiet: no barking dogs, no bird-song; even the hustle and bustle of the streets silenced. Ishtra looked out, and with her eagle-sharp trained eyes saw far away to the north, three flying shapes of dragons heading south. Soon, they could all see them, though the dragons passed by far to the east of Waterdeep, and onwards into the distant sky. The sounds of normal city life soon returned.

“What you have just heard, is the Draakhorn – an ancient horn whose sounding alerts dragons across Faerun to gather, for great events are unfolding.” They turned to see who seemed to be a young woman with waste-long silver hair, wearing a long, shapely purple dress adorned with a silver girdle. But elf-eyes could see that many years and many cares lay upon her. She then spoke of a secret meeting – not of the Masked Lords, who governed the city, but of the Lord’s Alliance: a gathering of the key leaders of the cities of the Sword-Coast who only met together at times of great need. It would be tomorrow morning, and they themselves had been invited especially to attend: “For you know much more more about the grave peril we all face in the coming days.”

That evening, after Rhogar had returned, and Ishtra left for her own lodging, Şillic slipped out of their house, and made his way to the seedier part of the city known as Castle Ward. In the dim light of a street lamp, he read again the letter he had received earlier:

I have the ruby for you. Meet me this evening at the Asp's Strike. Make sure no-one follows you.

He could see that the Asp’s Strike building was four stories high, but there was no obvious sound of mirth or merriment. Disguised, he entered the front door. There was only a few people there, sitting at tables both near to his left, and further to his right; but something wasn't quite right. The men wore clothing similar to the goons that had tried to jump him earlier – even the barman. Only the barmaid, Kaidalin, seemed genuine. She greeted him nervously, and asked if he would like a drink. He declined graciously, but as she moved away to mop the floor, he perceived something troubled her. He turned and walked back out into the night, only to turn again, re-enter, and wave his hand.

One of those to the left slumped in sudden slumber, the other with him became groggy, but not with drink. The barman realised what had happened: “Şillic is here!”. The other men got up, and drew out their knives. “Dragon-Murderer!”, they hissed. Kaidalin burst into tears and ran away into the kitchen, as the cultists advanced upon Şillic. The half-Orc leapt over the table to quickly deal with the sleeper and the dazed man. Suddenly, he felt a sharp pain. He spun around to see one of the other cultists had just jumped onto the table, lashing out at the half-orc. Şillic kicked up with his foot, upending the table and sent the fanatic sprawling. He then leapt up for the chandelier, but failed to get a firm grasp, finding himself crashing over instead to where the cultist had fallen. Turning misfortune to advantage, he soon dealt with the man before lancing his rapier into the other.

The "barman" swore and ran to the kitchen. He soon returned, clutching Kaidalin before him, with knife at her throat. “Drop your weapon, Şillic!” – and Şillic did. The astonished man did not see the sudden sleight of hand until the fire bolt struck him backwards away from the girl. Şillic leapt over the counter after him, and finished the job.

When she finally calmed down, Kaidalin urged Şillic to go down to the cellar. There locked within and bound was the real proprietor, Andarin. Both he and the barmaid were most grateful to their rescuer, helping to bandage his wounds, and giving him a stiff drink to counter the pain he could still feel. They freely told him that the fanatical leader had taken over the tavern the day before with many more cloaked men. Most of them had left the night before, and had not returned. Şillic grimaced, then searched the body of the leader. He could not find any concealed scroll or other book or letter. He searched some more, and grimaced again.

The black bat flew over the roof of the mansion, and into the garden of exotic trees. The bat transformed back into the much larger shape of Şillic. A footfall! He turned to see a tall figure, dark in the moonlight. “You’re late!” said Thalek. Şillic grimaced back.

1.5. The Lord’s Alliance

They were quickly admitted in. Lady Silverhand introduced them to the company of the great that sat in secret council. First, the chairman, Lord Dagult Neverember: Open Lord of Waterdeep, and Lord of Neverwinter. Next to him, still in her veil of mourning, Lady Remi Haventree, a victim of the Dragoncult whose actions had brought about this meeting. Next to her would sit Lady Silverhand herself, by virtue of her wisdom, and ancient lineage. Then Ambassador Connerad Brawnanvil: A dwarf of Mithral Hall. Beside him, and opposite Lord Neverember, sat Marshall Ulder Ravengard: Duke of Baldur’s Gate and Commander of the Flaming Fists. “Ah! So these are the adventurers who caused chaos in my city and embarrassed my soldiers!” The dark-faced Marshall Ravengard, rose up. “But I understand that I should be thanking you for dealing with a crime-menace and a murderous terror. Well, at last we meet!” He saluted them and sat down again.

Next was King Melendrach: Elf Monarch of the Misty Forest. The seat for the ambassador of Silverymoon was vacant – no word had been heard from the Reclusive City to the summoning for council. (“What did you expect!” snorted Brawnanvil. “We dwarves have not forgotten their betrayal of Sundabar!”
“Not betrayal”, countered Melendrach. “Neglect, maybe.” Brawnanvil scowled.) However, Sir Isteval, representing Daggerford, had made the journey, despite getting on in years. He smiled to the heroes – for they had met before at night in the streets of his town when together they had slain the Zhentarim assassins that beset them. Also, beaming, was the larger than life Paladin Ontharr Frume, Knight Captain and appointed messenger for the Orders of Elturel.

Once Lady Silverhand took her seat, Neverember opened proceedings. With golden goblet in hand, he made a speech that was far too long-winded for Şillic’s liking – and probably for everyone else in the room, too. After praising each and every noble there with meaningless platitudes, he launched into a long narration about the Cult of the Dragon, and how their activities had grown from nuisance petty-crime to blatant banditry, and mass murder. Finally, he was about to stop. “And now we must hear about what the Dragoncult are up to, from our most courageous guests who ventured forth and infiltrated their ranks!”

Silence. Then Lady Silverhand spoke: “That is your cue to speak and share about your adventures. You may not wish to share everything, but the more you say may help guide us in the grave decisions we must now make.”

And so the heroes shared much about their struggles with the Dragoncult. The lords were visibly concerned about the account of how Greenest was wrecked by dragon-fire. Ravengard was particularly interested in their doings in Baldur’s Gate; though there were some things deliberately left out, the Duke seemed to know more than he let on. But he could not resist one outburst: “Had I known these inferno-hearted cultists were inside my very gates, I would have had them arrested and hung by the harbour’s edge!”
Neverember himself shifted uneasily when they recounted how the cultists had gathered their ill-gotten loot inside Waterdeep, and had infiltrated the Open Lord’s own road construction company. Brawnanvil visibly enjoyed their account of battles both in the Mere of Dead Men and Skyreach Castle. Isteval was disturbed both by the Ghosts of Dragonspear Castle, and by their own confrontation with the Red Wizards – these tales seemed to bring back grim vivid memories to his mind. More than once, Haventree was nearly reduced to tears, depite her noble, stoic bearing. And Commander Frume was visibly angry to learn of Jameena’s treachery: “How could you have even dared trust an Agent of the Black Network!!?” Only Melendrach and Silverhand showed measured composure through the whole account, though their sharp ears and far-seeing eyes beheld all that was said – and perhaps unsaid. The final end of their tale and how they got back to Waterdeep was met initially with silence; then Lady Haventree stood up and spoke.

“We must take action against these murderers!” she insisted.

Neverember countered: “I am not sure there is anything else we need to do. These, ah, heroes seem to have had everything in hand. The Dragoncult has been thwarted and denied their hoard.”

“So you are again going to do nothing, Lord Neverember?” challenged Ravengard. “Or has Waterdeep sold off its army, too?” The Open Lord scowled as the Marshal continued. “I just have to give the word, and my Fists will march with me to this Well of Dragons, to put and end to this menace once and for all!”

“Marching right across the Western Heartlands to do so, no doubt!” countered Frume. “I doubt the Lords of Scornubel and Berdusk will countenance such an incursion.”

Neverember smiled. “My lord, the Knight Commander of the most Holy City of Elturel is right. While we are indeed angered by the devilry of the Dragoncult, we must not, ah, engage in any hasty action.”

“That's not quite what I meant,” returned Frume. “When the time comes to march against the Cult of the Dragon, be assured that the Knights of Elturel will march, too!”

“Why all this talk about war and marching?” questioned King Melendrach, calmly. “You humans are so keen to draw the sword and charge in. We do not know who exactly we are facing, nor how they will respond to their defeat. Perhaps they will at last see reason?”

“So much like your fellow elves of Silvermoon,” retorted Brawnanvil, “Instead of taking action, you much rather sit and wait until the enemy stands right in your face!”

“I merely suggest,” returned the Elf-King, “that we do not take hasty actions. Instead we take a measured approach on what we know. And what do we really know?”

“This!” Rhogar slammed the heavy tome down hard on the table.

The Paladin stood up, visibly shaken: “What is this cursed book? And how did it get here?” Even Lady Silverhand and Melendrach looked visibly troubled. Şillic, who had up to now shown little more than distain for the conference, was now alert: what in Faerûn was that Pyromaniac Sorcerer doing now?

“Your pardon, my lords,” replied Rhogar, in his deep Dragonborn growl-like voice. “But this is the Book of Summoning we seized from Rath Modar. In its cursed pages, is a spell, a ritual for summoning Tiamat, Queen of the Dragons, and Nemesis of the Gods. And those who can read Inferno will see that ritual requires not only the masks, but thousands and thousands of lives. This madness must be stopped!”

Silence.

It was Sir Isteval’s turn to speak. “Yes, we must stop the Summoning. But how? The masks you say – but three they already have, and the fourth is now in the Dark Hold of the Zhentarim. What if they are bought, and hand it to the Dragoncult?”

“I do not think that is their purpose.” Laeral Silverhand finally spoke. “The Black Network still seek power, but will suffer no rival. For good or ill, the Black Mask is safe for now.”

“Then what about the other?” growled Brawnanvil, “You speak of five? We can account for the Red, the Green, and the Black. We can also account for the Blue – if indeed that is what Ironfist found before he disappeared.” Vander was uncomfortable, remembering the young dwarves, Ulfgar and Tordek, and their quest to find their father. Would they have found him? and what else would they have found?

Brawnanvil continued: “But what about the White?”

Silverhand smiled. “That is for my other guest to say.” She motioned with her hand, and one of the guards nearby, bowed, and opened the door.

In came a tall, cloaked and hooded figure. The figure turned to them all, and threw back his hood. Revealed was a sharp, angular goat-bearded red face, and from his head grew horns. “A Tierfling!” Gasped Ontharr Frume, half rising.

The stranger spoke with a deep, gravelly voice. “I am Sonnereem: A Mage Lord of the Arcane Brotherhood of Luskan; and I have been sent to bring news and ask for aid.”

“And what ‘aid’ can we give the Brotherhood?” responded Lord Neverember, seeing an opportunity to regain charge of the debate.

“The horn you heard”, Sonnereem replied, “once belonged to us. Over a century ago, during a time known as the "Rage of Dragons", several dragons came from the north and attacked us. We fought them back with our powers, but not before they had plundered one of our towers. Only after did we find the Draakhorn gone.

“A couple of years ago, Maccath, once one of one of our brightest students, took upon her the quest to find the horn. She wrestled with divining magic and consulted powers we will not name. She found little about the whereabouts of the horn, but then started babbling about a Dragonmask, that was white, and could help her speak to Arveiaturace, the Ancient Dragon known as the White Wyrm, that is said to inhabit Icewind Dale. From her she’d hoped to learn where the Draakhorn had been taken.

“And so she set forth in a ship to the Sea of Moving Ice. At first she reported her progress to the Brotherhood by way of spells. Her last report was of seeing ice-hunters, paddling seal-skin boats towards a huge iceberg, whose flat centre was ringed by icy peaks. Then, nothing. No more reports came. Our own attempts to find her revealed only her ship, stricken and adrift in the moving ice. But of Maccath herself, no sign.

“We have great power, but what we have is thwarted by some other magic. We understand that you have heroes that have faced dragons before and won. It is their help we seek.”

Ontharr Frume rose angrily from his seat. “I will have no part in aiding the Necromancy of these devilspawn!” He stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

2. The Coast of Swords

The heroes had a private audience with Duke Neverember, Lady Silverhand, and Lady Haventree. In exchange for taking on the quest, the heroes would be Knighted, and so elevated to the Nobility. A ship would be provided, along with the crew, and the provisions required. At a signal from the Duke, a guard opened the door, and in came a tall, lean man wearing a hood. He was introduced as Captain Largoth Half-Face: so-called because the right hand side of his face had been ruined by frostbite, which is why he wore the hood. He was the skipper of the Frostskimmr: a Longship crewed by veterans, who had many times made trade-voyages to Icewind Dale, and explored beyond into the Sea of Moving Ice. He was willing to venture those waters again for the quest at hand.

The next day, the Frostskimmr was made ready, and provisions stowed aboard, including padded, fur-lined clothing and waterproofs. The heroes also took the opportunity to hunt out "provisions" of their own. Vander bought a fine-crafted Handaxe. Şillic found one merchant that sold him such a finely crafted leather armour jacket, that when worn, did not impede movement. Thalek bought himself a new shield that was surprising light to carry. Ishtra, however, allowed herself a bit of feminine indulgence, checking out the perfume apothecary. She’d come a long way from the outcast enslaved orphan she had been, and she did not forget it: a large anonymous donation of gold arrived at the orphanage she’d help found. Meanwhile, down one unassuming alley, Şillic found what appeared to be a pawnbrokers. Rings! Şillic had developed a real liking for rings. Especially rings that did things, like the one he previously found on the Doppelgänger back in Cragmaw Castle. That had proved most useful! Now one especially caught his eye.

“I see that the gentleman is interested in this one.” The elderly, skin-knarled man with the triangular beard took it out of the cabinet for Şillic and held it up to the light. Şillic was slightly abashed: someone was actually giving him respect freely – without intimidation nor for service given.
The money, he thought to himself, it must be because I now have money – and more than I could ever have dreamed of. “It does look special”, he acknowledged out loud, “but does it DO anything?”

“Sir is most discerning. It does indeed! When sold to me, its former owner said it had a virtue: apparently improving his ability to climb. But sir will understand that I have not put this to the test myself.” Şillic’s eyes glinted, and before long he left the shop with the new ring carefully wrapped up. Hmm, he thought to himself afterwards. I could have purloined it without paying so much. But then, why bother? Besides, he then reasoned, I might want to return to this shop another day.

That night, the heroes, Captain Largoth, and his First Mate had a meeting in a private room of the Tearful Mermaid. Largoth explained to them two routes they could take. The first was to sail the trade route up the coast, within sight of land. But many perils lurked that way: piracy, the notorious Red Rocks, and many the monsters that made their lairs in roosts up on the cliffs, or hidden among the rocky caves. The second was bolder: to sail due west to the northernmost of the Moonshae Islands, and then strike north over the open seas until they reached the ice flows. But though potentially faster, that risked great peril indeed. They would be alone, far from shelter, at the mercy of the wind and waves – and who knows what else lurked on or under the chill waters. Thalek was keen to take this way: eager to see new aquatic life. Ishtra, claiming to be from the Moonshae Isles, also showed interest. Şillic, however, was far less excited: “I want to stay within one hour’s bat-flight of land!” he declared. Şillic won the subsequent vote.

At the first light of dawn, the Frostskimmr slipped out of Waterdeep. But they had not voyaged far along the coast when another ship, a caravel, was seen bearing down on them, win no obvious flag flying. “I do not like the look this,” Captain Largoth glowered, and all the men were called to stand-to, and weaponry prepared. Closer the other ship came, and then a shout: a black flag was raised to the masthead and unfurled in the wind, revealing the device of a white dragon above crossed bones. “Pirates!”

But the corsairs were soon to learn to their fateful cost that they’d picked on the wrong ship. As they closed to board, an Eldritch Spear, followed by a Fireball blasted their decks, in the midst of the exchange of arrows. Some who tried to leap aboard were overcome by sudden sleep and pitched into the water. And in the melee, the pirate captain himself was cursed by the Druid with Blight that withered him there and then. Then it was the turn of the Frostskimmr’s crew to counter-board. No quarter was asked nor given in the bloody fight, and the caravel was soon captured.

A prize crew was put aboard, and they continued onwards. Under the guidance of Captain Largoth, they had little trouble in navigating the Red Rocks. Beyond that, they skirted the edge of the Mere of Dead Men. Ishtra looked out – her eyesight now as keen as an eagle – and though she saw fell bird-like creatures flying above the swamp, she did not see any dragons. By dawn they had left that fetid place far behind, and were sailing with cliffs again to the east. But though they heard many strange birds and other creatures calling out from the heights, nothing launched out to attack them: no harpies, manticore-spikes, or other vicious monsters. Another boat was sighted, a longship like theirs, but that ship soon turned tail, and they did not feel the need to pursue.

Eventually, they made port at Neverwinter. The city had indeed been mostly rebuilt since the volcanic eruption a few decades ago, though some of its outer walls and suburbs still lay in ruins. They found a buyer for the caravel they had captured, and the proceeds were split between the heroes, and the Captain and crew. But they did not stay long, and were soon off again. This time, they were blessed with the sight of sea-birds gathering off the port bow, as dolphins came and played in the Frostskimmr’s wake.

But after Port Llast, the weather took a sudden turn for the worst. The skies darkened, the wind grew strong, and the rising waves lashed against the ship’s hull. One particularly strong wave crashed over the side, sweeping Ishtra overboard, and nearly taking Şillic. Shocked by the sudden chill of the churning waters, Ishtra struggled to swim. But just a she felt her strength ebb away, she felt herself rising. She broke through the surface of the water, to find that she could now walk upon where she’d earlier struggled for her life. She looked up to see Thalek standing on the deck, heedless of the weather, with his arm stretched out towards her.

The storm abated, and they next reached Luskan. But though it was the city where the Hosttower of the Arcane Brotherhood rose up, Largoth strongly counselled against them staying there long among the filthy streets, the ramshackle docks, and the so-called "sea traders" who were pirates, barely disguised. Now the air was bitter-cold, and the coast turned North-West to avoid the great mountain mass known as the Spine of the World. They saw the great black, snow-crowned rocky escarpments rising to near unimaginable heights. Then there came a shot from the watchman: out to sea a large plume of water launched into the air, as a majestic sea-creature rose up out of the water, headless of their little craft, and then dived again back into the depths. Their final stop was at Fireshear: a small trading settlement of squat housing, and a way up to Bryn Shander and Icewind Dale. The people there also tended to be short but hardy, knowing how to resist the cold.

And so finally they came to the Sea of Moving Ice. Before them, snow-covered islands and icebergs stretched out across the frigid waters. Carefully, Largoth, piloted the Frostskimmr among them. Icehunters: small tribes of humans who inhabited the chill wastes, were known to live and fish in these waters, and surprisingly, the crew of the Frostskimmr soon spotted a group of them in their small kayak fishing boats. The Icehunters turned and began paddling fast away from them. “That is odd,” commented Largoth. “Ice-Hunters are naturally shy, but not that unfriendly.”
“Then we must pursue”, growled Şillic.

They followed the Icehunters around one ice-covered rock. But as they passed, the sharp eyes of Ishtra spotted a body lying on the snow. They all saw a group of White Polar Bears swimming towards the rock. The Frostskimmr hauled alongside long enough for Thalek, Vander, and Ishtra to leap onto the rock to retrieve the Icehunter, and take him back aboard. The short human was not dead, but had passed out from weapon-wounds. They bandaged him, and forced a healing potion between his lips. He revived, and was clearly grateful for his rescue, though he could only speak a few words in the Common Tongue. What they did learn, though was that he’d been attacked by other hunters.

Rounding another iceberg, they saw lying dead in the water, another longship, its deck and mast encased in ice. As they approached it, Vander felt there was something eerily familiar about the blue translucent ice that covered the ship, and the bodies of its crew. Memories flooded back of the ice they saw, and the trapped victims within, when they made their way deeper down into the rocky core of Skyreach Castle. Vander motioned for the Frostskimmr to close alongside the ice-stricken vessel. Then the Warlck reached out his hand to one doomed man, and spoke to him: “What happened to you?”

As if from the dead man's mouth, came a whisper in answer: “We were set upon by a White Dragon.”
“What happened to Maccath?”
The whisper came back: “I do not know of whom you speak.”
Vander questioned again, and the whisper replied. But it was clear that in life, the seafarer had not known the Arcane Mage. And then the Whisper answered no more.

The Frostskimmr left the stricken ship, and passed on into the cold frigid waters.

3. Bonecarver

The Frostskimmr continued on in pursuit of the Ice Hunter canoes. Around another towering iceberg – and then they saw it.

The great mount of ice rose from the sea to more than one hundred feet, dividing into much smaller peaks that reached higher still. They could not tell whether it was a ginormous iceberg, or an island encased in ice. The canoes they pursued rounded a headland. Frostskimmr followed silently behind. But the canoes had gone. Şillic scanned the cliffs, and saw a cleft in the ice-wall. Frostskimmr made for it.

The cleft opened into a natural harbour, at the far end of which floated a large shelf of ice that only rose a foot or so above the water. Upon it, pulled up, were the canoes they had been chasing. Also upon it lay many bones: some like large ribs taller than a man. The longboat carefully came alongside the shelf, and the heroes jumped out. They walked to the far end of the shelf, and sure enough, they found a stairway in the ice-cloven rock that led upwards. They climbed, wary that to slip and fall could be fatal.

At the top, a plateau of ice stretched out before them, encased within the peaks. Fresh tracks led out towards the centre, then seemed to vanish. But to their left was a free-standing wall of translucent ice. Encased within, ten figures stood, preserved in their fate. Six were ice-hunters, a seventh a dwarf; the last three were warriors clad in the livery of Luskar, where the Tower of the Arcane Brotherhood rose above like a many-branched conifer tree. Vander pointed them out to the others. They continued.

They found the tracks disappeared down into a natural bowl-shaped depression. There below them, sheltered somewhat from the chill wind, lay a village of yurts made of sealskin stretched over bone. The yurts clustered around a larger structure, decorated with the skulls of large fish and sea-mammals. They noticed that one of the other yurts stood slightly apart from the others, with carved poles adorned with totems and animal carvings. Thalek recognised them as belonging to a Druid, and proposed that was where they should head to. Ishtra however noticed something else: dispersed around the village were rack upon rack of drying meat: fish, whale, walrus, and seal – and far more than the villager would surely need to support only themselves.

But their descent into the bowl was not unnoticed: despite a spell to conceal their passing, their scent was pick up by husky-dogs whose yammering and barking alerted the entire village. Ice-people came out, many with weapons, and some with children. They came and stood in front of the heroes like a great crescent preventing them from continuing on. Then from their ranks, two stepped forwards: the Tribal Chief and the Shaman. They soon made it clear that strangers were unwelcome. After a bit of haggling, the Chief relented, on the condition that a wrestling contest be held, champion to champion: the best of ten rounds, and with no interference, or magic allowed. If the heroes won, they could stay, but should they lose, then they were to depart from the island immediately. The heroes agreed. Ishtra wanted to take up this challenge, but the others weren’t sure whether having a woman as their champion might upset any deep-held prejudicial honour code held by the Icehunters (not that there were any signs of any, save all the hunters were men). And so Thalek stepped forwards.

The chieftain whistled. Out from the crowd came a great hulk of an Icehunter. He tore off his outer garments, revealing muscle-rippling arms that were heavily tattooed. At first, the two champions circled each other warily. Thalek turned his head and smiled to the other heroes – and was promptly brought down by the other man. The tribe cheered. The elf got up, and dusted off the snow. The Icehunter charged again, this time grabbing Thalek and throwing him across the makeshift arena, and back into the snow. The tribe cheered again. The elf got up, and dusted off the snow. This time he was ready and met the charge, but the man grasped him and threw Thalek to the floor again. Now the crowd jeered. The contest was looking very one-sided. Ishtra clenched and unclenched her fists: she knew she could beat this brute: but two more rounds like this, and it would be over.

Thalek got up again, incredibly with his back to the Icehunter. The man charged again. But at the last moment, the elf ducked and reached behind him, catching the bull-rushing man, and using the Icehunter’s own momentum, threw him back over his shoulder to land hard in front of the Druid. The crowd gasped. Thalek calmly waited for the man to get up. The Icehunter glared at him, then made a sudden lunge to grasp him – but the elf was too fast, dodged behind him, and a well-placed kick to the re sent the big man back to the floor. Again, the Druid waited, for the Icehunter to get up. This time he growled, and again those tattooed arms shot out to grasp the elf. This time they did not grasp air, but no sooner had Thalek felt the muscled arms close around him, he kicked upwards, leaping out of the bear hug, summersaulted behind his opponent, and sent the man sprawling again. But the next time, the Icehunter was ready for sudden tricks. Even as the elf tried a summersault dodge again, the Champion suddenly changed his stance, grabbed Thalek before he landed, and swung him around and around into the snow.

So evenly matched were they, that the fight continued to the tenth round with no clear winner. Ishtra watched with mounting frustration. While she admired Thalek’s speed, swiftness, and agility, she felt that hand to hand, muscle to muscle, face to face, she would surely have prevailed. But now this contest, on which their quest depended upon, was going down to the wire.

The two wrestlers grappled again. This time, hands clenching arms, eye-balls locked. Suddenly, Thalek crouched, the man, now tiring, saw this too late – pushing against no resistance, he shot over the Elf. The Icehunter hit the ground. The duel was won.

True to their word, the Icehunters welcomed them to the village, and they were escorted to a yurt that was used for storage, but was made ready for them to stay in. The shaman, who gave her name as Bonecarver, said that she would personally honour them by serving them a meal herself. But this aroused their suspicion. Sure enough, when she brought the food, Thalek’s spell soon detected the poison hidden among the strong pugnant smell of slightly spoiled raw fish. A few words from Rhogar swiftly put her to sleep; when Bonecarver woke up, she found herself on the makeshift bed, bound and gagged with a grimacing Half-Orc face not far from her own. She soon went quiet. Her startled eyes widened further as Şillic calmly ate some of the food in front of her. Then he remove her gag, and brought his plate to her mouth.

Ishtra kicked the plate out of his hand. “You can’t just kill her!” Şillic glared back with barely controlled rage. Ishtra’s undaunted eyes met his.
Vander held her back. “Don’t worry,” he whispered. “My brother has this in hand.” Ishtra relented. Şillic picked up the plate that held Ishtra’s portion, turned back to Bonecarver, and forced her to eat.

Her panic stopped when she realised the poison was having no effect. Then her eyes changed from fear to wonder – could these strangers be...? Thalek noticed this change. Taking over from Şillic, he explained as best he could that heŞd purified the food so that it could no longer harm. Her demeanour to them changed, and Thalek signalled that she should be unbound.
“At last!” she exclaimed; but it was about being freed from someone else. With more gentle questioning, she revealed that the island-iceberg was also the lair of a White Dragon, who had enslaved the tribe, and would not permit them to leave. Much of the meat and fish they caught from the sea and ice were his tribute. Then the "Horned Lady" had come. Bonecrusher hoped she would be their saviour, but sadly this was not to be: he soon dealt with her companions, and the Lady taken into his ice caves below. In the morning, after the ritualistic tribute-giving, she could show them a secret way in. The heroes decided that, now they had won BonecrusherŞs trust, the best thing the could do was to rest and prepare for the morning. But they also needed to send someone back to the Frostskimmr to keep the captain informed. “And I know who,” growled Şillc.

A deep fog surrounded the village. Through it, Ishtra made her way with little noise past the yurts and out onto the plateau. She did not mind being the one sent. Actually, she wanted to get outside and on her own again for a while. She’d always preferred solitude, and so far this voyage had given her precious little time and opportunity to be on her own. Now at last she was free. Free to her own thoughts, and to understand her feelings.

Despite the gloom, her keen senses, honed by experience, found the way back to the cleft and the stairway. As expected, Icehunters were there on watch. But only one was looking out of the cleft, keeping an eye upon the ship moored below. The others were wrapped up against the ice in slumber. Quietly, Ishtra crept up behind the guard. One blow sent him to the floor. “Sweet dreams!” she breathed. Soon she was at the bottom, answered the challenge from the Frostskimmr’s own sentries, and warmly welcomed aboard. Captain Largoth was still awake, and Ishtra passed on the news on what had been discovered, and what the heroes proposed to do; and that come dawn, the ship should be prepared for swift departure. Then she left the longship, slipped up the stairway, and strove back over the snow-covered fog-wrapped plateau to the Icehunter village.

Come the morning, when the fog fled before the sun, and the chanting sounds ceased, Bonecarver came to them, and led them to her own dwelling. There, under some old furs placed on top of large mammal bone poles, they found a narrow opening leading to a stairway crudely cut into the ice. They spiralled down a long way. This time, Şillic took the lead. As he descended, he saw that the steps became increasingly obscured by frost. Suddenly, he slipped: careering down the stairs to crash and land on a hardened ice floor. “Did you find the bottom?” Rhogar called after him.

Picking himself up, Şillic looked around. He seemed to have landed in some sort of larder. Stacked to one side were a dozen leather and bone baskets of frozen food and rotting meat. The others soon joined him, using a rope to make their descent safer. A passageway led ahead. This led into another passage that transcribed a great arc, left and right. It was surprisingly lit by lamps fuelled by whale-oil. Şillic led the group right because, to him, it smelt better that way.

Another passageway led right, and from it, strange squeaking could be heard – and not from rodents. They crept down to investigate. A group of Kobolds seemed to be polishing the walls of a cavern. The heroes burst in and quickly dealt with the kobolds. After the fight, Rhogar lit and held a torch to the wall – and was startled to see a very large figure staring back at him. It was a Frost Giant, but it wasn’t moving. Indeed it was dead, frozen in ice as clear as crystal, perhaps a trophy for whatever had ripped his armour and caused the fatal, claw-ripped gash that killed him. Holding the torch higher, they saw several other giants entombed in the the ice-walls: Fire, Cloud, and seven other Frost Giants. “Grim!”, said Vander, with sarcasm concealing concern.

Continuing down the tunnel, the heroes were surprised to hear the sound of coughing from another small chamber to the left. Entering, they realised that this place was directly under the large hall-like structure at the centre of the Icehunter village. Above them was the shaft used by the tribe to bring their tribute. The chamber itself was now empty, save for a bed of piled furs. A tribesman lay among them, sick and quarantined from the rest of the tribe. Thalek tended to him, and the sickness swiftly passed. Grateful, the man told them that there were creatures in the caves, some short with snouts, but others large, ugly, and leering – one he had seen looking at him from the passageway, licking its over large lips. But none had yet approached him. They followed the man into the chamber beyond. There they were hit by the stench of rotten fish. Indeed, here was stored the tribute that the Icehunters had lowered, and the Kobolds had collected. Other things, mainly junk, was also piled in there: a gauntlet here, a broken knife there, and other bits that may have been recovered from the stomachs of some sea-haunting creature. Also in there were coils of rope, spikes, and a couple of pulleys. The next room to the left was full of junk, and plenty of waste and litter.

The heroes swiftly passed through to the passage leading to the next. Down it, they could hear the sound of more Kobolds. This time, the cavern looked like their den: a group of Kobolds were sat in a circle in the centre playing knucklebones while others slept in makeshift fur bedding around them. Again, with sorcery, incantations, arrows, sword, and knife, the heroes made short work of the awake and sleeping. One tried to flee by running for the passage on the other side, shrieking to find his escape blocked by a Wall of Stone. Şillic grabbed the Kobold and "encouraged" it to calm down, before they questioned the wretch.

“Show us the way to the Dragon!” demanded Vander. “And we might spare your life.”
Pleading pitifully, the Kobold offered to take them. Now that Thalek was no longer concentrating on it, the stone wall was dispelled, and the Kobold loped through it. They found themselves back in the main passageway, and indeed not far from where they had first entered. The Kobold led them the other way. Downwards it sloped, into swirling icy fog, somehow rolling in from the sea outside. They came to another passage on their left, that opened into another dark cavern, where something glinted with the light of their torch. But the Kobold led them passed it. Further along, another opening led right. “Follow Sawtooth,” he hissed, and entered.

They followed. Inside was a narrow cavern, that felt far colder than where they’d already been. Before them, a yawning pit opened, with chill air rising from it in vapours. Wooden walkways went around it, leading to another tunnel on the other side, while above the pit, an iron hook was embedded in the ceiling ice. Sawtooth stopped right before the pit. “Down there!” he pointed.

Just then, Thalek, at the back of the party, whispered a warning. They turned to the passage they had come from. There, walking past, and seemingly oblivious to them, was the unmistakable shape of a human figure, robed and hooded. They grabbed the kobold, and returned to the main passage, to see ahead of them, the same figure, wreathed in swirling mist. The figure turned left, and they followed. The chamber beyond was large but empty. Perhaps it also awaited new trophies to display as defeated foes? Across the room to the right was another passageway. They entered, and stopped, surprised. Taking up most of the room of the next chamber was a tent: a tent in the style of the desert nomads of Calimshan, many, many miles to the South. Via a flap, they entered.

Inside it was warm, heated by a small stove, and with finely-decorated tapestries hanging from sturdy frames of whale-bone. Thick woven carpets covered the floor. To one side was a cushioned bed, and on the other a writing desk. Seated at the desk sat a woman. Her robes were crimson, cloaked over fur; her hood thrown back, revealing a woman with an angular face, and horns protruding from her forehead. Fastening her cloak, a silver broach emblazoned with the stylised branching tree and symbol of the Arcane Brotherhood. Two Kobold attendants stood nearby, looking nervously at the strangers. The woman put down her pen and looked up, her face an expression of cool indifference.

“Well,” she said. “Have you come to save me, or kill me? Not that there will be much difference between the two.”

4. Arauthator

The kobolds screeched: both Sawtooth and Maccath’s two attendants. They tried to bolt past the heroes and out of the tent. Only Şillic was ready for them, and quickly dealt with one. The other two were running back down the passageway. “They must be stopped!” warned Maccath, “or they’ll bring the Ice-Trolls.” But Şillic was already after them. Using another incantation he’d learnt from the Black Spider’s scrolls, he stretched out his hands: strands of sticky fibre shot out, entangling the fleeing kobolds in an enveloping web, and brought down. Their shrieking had to be silenced. Maccath herself stabbed the last one with a knife she still had: “I’ve had enough of kobolds!”

With that unpleasant business done, Maccath felt she could speak more freely. She had come in search of the White Mask. She knew of its powers, and had hoped to use it to help her speak face to face with the Ancient Dragon, Arveiaturace, who resided somewhere near Icewind Dale. It is said that Arveiaturace took the Draakhorn from the Arcane Brotherhood, and Maccath wanted to be the one to bring it back. But when she came to this island, she found that another White Dragon ruled here: Arauthator, the White Wyrm of the North. The Dragon killed her companions, and took her prisoner. Her life was spared in exchange that she help translate and identify various magic books and scrolls he has in his hoard. To this she had agreed, thinking that it gave her time to find a way to escape. But her own magic has been thwarted by his. He mesmerised her with his eyes, and bound her with spells so that she was unable to leave, nor cast magic herself. For weeks on end, he would leave her – for he has other lairs hidden among the icy seas. But every time he returns, he checks on her work.

Şillic couldn't help but notice that Rhogar’s ears had twitched and perked up at the mention of the dragon names Arveiaturace and Arauthator. “He knows something about them”, he thought. “Hopefully something useful”. He then asked Maccath, “And what happened to the White Mask?”

She sighed, and then told them that only a few days ago, a group of dragon cultists, led by a purple-robed white-bearded dwarf, came to entreaty with Arauthator, and flatter him; and the dragon agreed to give them the White Mask that she herself had sought. The Cultists had wanted to take her, too, but to this the White Dragon refused: “I have other plans for her.” Maccath admitted that she did not know what those "other" plans were – and she didn’t like the sound of it.

“Well,” said Şillic, “You can help us deal with him.”
“But I can’t go with you!” she replied. “Do you not understand?”

Maccath explained again that she was bound by spells, and so could not go down to the lower levels with them. “But,” she added, “I can still help you.” She went back to her desk, looked for a hidden package in a draw, and on finding it, placed it on the desk in front of them. Then she unwrapped it. Inside, were two arrows: crudely made and black. Also with them, lay a ring embedded with a cold white jewel. “These two arrows, I have enchanted to become Arrows of Dragon Slaying. And this is a Ring of Cold Resistance.” Şillic took the ring to add to his growing, collection. The arrows they gave to Thalek – the best shot with the bow in the group.

She then beckoned them to follow her out of the tent, and up another tunnel to a room full of shelving, with many books and scrolls. There she pulled out ten scrolls of magic spells, and gave them to Rhogar and Vander. “But do not try to read any of the others!” she warned. “For many are too dangerous for the uninitiated to read.” For now at least, they headed her warning. But they were greatly encouraged by scrolls handed to them: including spells of water breathing, wall of fire, black tentacles, and disintegrate. She also told them that Ice-Toads lived in the caves, but that they acted as librarians, and were harmless, if not provoked. But she also warned them of dangerous Ice-Trolls that also haunted the caves both on this level and the Dragon’s Lair below, and were hungry for new meat. “And how are we to get down to his lair?” they asked.

She pointed to the western end of the chamber. Only then did they notice the fifteen foot wide chute leading steeply down. “When Arauthator comes to check on my work, he climbs up through here.”
“Not a big dragon, then,” thought Vander aloud.
“Oh,” Maccath retorted, “he’s big enough!”

“Well”, said Şillic. “Either we’re all going to get killed, or we’re going to succeed.” He then drew himself up to his full height, and his voice changed: becoming like that of a legendary Captain urging his warriors to fight with valour and courage: “We have come a long way since we first met on the long road eastwards. We beat Shardstaff, the Black Spider, the Dragon Lady Rezmir; and this is not the first Dragon we’ve fought. We slew Cloudchaser in Skyreach Castle, and if we stick together, we will slay this one, too!” With this speech, they were emboldened, prepared their weapons, and planned their descent.

Thalek was the first to climb down into the cavern below. When he reached the bottom, the Druid found he was on a shelf of ice. The edge of the shelf dropped a foot or so to the cavern floor. The cavern itself was not as high as Cloudchaser’s had been back in the rocky core of Skyreach Castle. However, it seemed to be bigger: the cavern stretched back further via two large passageways that were spit apart from each other by a jagged wall of rock and ice, possibly to meet again much further in than the eye could tell. But in the chamber he now found himself in, Thalek saw three pools of seawater, covered with the slush of ice that could not freeze over.

One by one, the others came down the rope to join him. No sign of the dragon. But there was certainly signs of Arauthator’s wealth. Gold, silver, and bright-coloured jewels gleamed out of the ice that covered the cavern walls and floor. “He must be lurking somewhere near the back of the cavern,” cautioned Şillic. Thalek said nothing, and proceeded to climb off the shelf onto the cavern floor. Only then did he realise how slippery it was. Rhogar followed him down, also finding it slippery, though his clawed feet were able to dig in and hold him upright. Seeing this, Vander took out his knife, and crafted words to warm it hot, before using the knife to cut deeper grooves into his boots. This did the trick, and soon he was safely standing on the cavern floor with Rhogar. The others followed his example by cutting grooves or embedding broken metal into their own footwear.

Cold air wafted through the cavern passageways. The group moved forwards to explore, with Şillic scouting ahead. They threaded passed the pool to their left and the slightly larger pool to their right. Then, following Şillic, they turned and moved left towards the wide entranceway of the far passage.

Crashing out of the ice-pool behind them, Arauthator rose, head rearing high; frigid seawater cascading off his scaly white hide. Shocked by this sudden appearance, Thalek and Rhogar were rooted to the spot. The others dived either side. Vander rolled left, returned to a crouch, and threw his hands towards the dragon. But Arauthator seemed to shrug off the Blight spell. Ishtra, likewise moved right, turning to face the foe, notching an arrow to her bow. She couldn’t miss – but the wooden metal-tipped shaft barely grazed the scales of that mighty beast. Thalek recovered from his initial shock, drew his scimitars, and faced the White Wyrm with defiance. Rhogar, however, was still frozen by the terrifying presence of the great dragon in rage, as Arauthator reared up above him.

Fortunately for the Sorcerer, the White Wyrm’s anger was focused on others. His jaws lunged at Thalek, who dived out of the way of the gaping maw. Then one clawed foot lashed out at the Warlock. Vander moved quickly, but not quick enough. One claw raked his shoulder, but instead of hot pain Vander felt a deep icy numbing chill. In agony he threw back an Eldritch Blast, but the green flame seemed to be absorbed by the white scales. Drawing the Golden Sword, now shining bright, Ishtra screamed rage, and charged the beast. The swung sword struck through scale and flesh. The dragon roared, reared, and thrashed back with his tail. The Barbarian leapt. In that unnoticed moment, Şillic also jumped the tail, landing just under the unscaled belly of the beast, and lunged upwards. Enraged by this sudden stab, the dragon recoiled, reared, chest-expending, and exhaled at Şillic a blast of frigid, ice-freezing air. It was to Şillic’s great fortune that he was wearing the ring given by Maccath that resisted the cold: sudden warmth spread over him that withstood the blast, though he himself was water-soaked.

By now, Rhogar had recovered both his wits and his courage. With renewed determination, he threw a fireball at the White Wyrm’s head. This time the blast of flame struck the dragon; the beast writhed in the flames, though still shielded by scales. But such was the size of that furnace of fire that Şillic leapt back like a singed cat. Ishtra, however, was not so fast and screamed from the scorch of the blast.

A bow twanged: Thalek’s Black Arrow sang through the air, embedding itself in the White Wyrm’s hide, its slaying spell striking home. The beast recoiled and reared again: such agony Arauthator had not borne since the Wars of Dragon-Wrath eons before. Vander compounded its misery by striking out again with another spell of Blight. Though not aged, the Wyrm visibly weakened. Ishtra, now wrathful beyond wrath, struck out again with the bright-shining blade. The sword struck deep, blood-ice gushed out. Arauthator, breaking from the fight, writhing in his death-throws, sought the chill comfort of its frigid sea-pool, seeking to escape via the tunnel below. But as the dragon tried to heave its bulk back into the waters, its breath failed: the White Wyrm sank down beneath the waters, never again to terror the North and the Icy Seas.

The battle over, the heroes collapsed on the ground in exhaustion. Thalek, the least shaken, recovered first and set off down one passageway on his own to explore. The seatrolls saw this dragon-slayer come, and quickly dived for safety in the sea-waters. When he returned, he found the Ishtra, aided by the others, trying to hack away at the ice that contained within some of Arauthator’s wealth. Vander was delighted to find encased in the ice leather boots that somehow still seemed as good as when first crafted. He took them to replace his own ruined footwear. On putting them on, he found that they seemed to imbue a new lightness to his feet for they were indeed Boots of Striding. The others sought to cut out jewels until falling stalactites warned them that the cavern was in danger of collapse.

“So,” asked Şillic. “Without the Dragon Mask, what are you going to do now?”
Maccath sighed. “I still have not completed my quest. I sought the Dragon-mask to make it easier for me to seek an audience with Arveiaturace to see if she will return the Draakhorn. I still plan to go to her – I cannot return to the Arcane Brotherhood without it.”

Again, Rhogar’s eyes lit up, and his ears twitched at the Ancient Dragon’s name.

7. The Dragoncult Strikes Back

And so, after their adventures in the Frozen North, the heroes finally returned to Waterdeep – but the city was not the same as when they had left. As the Frostskimmr finally rode into port, they could see a hive of activity in the docks and the shipyards. Many vessels were being built and being prepared for war. On landing, Şillic grabbed a newspaper from a vendor, to find that Lord Neverember was no longer in charge – Laeral Silverhand was now the new Open Lord. The heroes decided first to retire to their mansion. There, over some very welcome hot food, the butler filled them in on the political intrigue that had occurred while then had been away.

Lord Neverember had been embroiled in a scandal when it was found out he had been trying to use magic to uncover the identities of some of the other Masked Lords that ran the city council. Forced to resign, he had fled back to Neverwinter, where he still ruled by hereditary right. Upon his abdication, Laeral Silverhand was appointed as the new Open Lord; one of her first acts being to reverse Neverember’s policy on the Navy – no longer would the city rely on mercenary ships: a new fleet was to be built to clear the seas of piracy.

It was not long before a messenger from Silverhand herself arrived at the mansion, summoning them to her house. On their arrival, they were ushered immediately to her private meeting room. There they briefed her on the outcome of her quest, presenting to her the medallion that Maccath had given into their safe keeping. As they told their tale about their meeting with Arveiaturace, Thalek noticed a slight reaction across the face of Laeral that was swiftly repressed – though not fast enough for his keen elf-eyes to miss. “Hmm”, he thought: “she knows something about the Ancient Dragoness”.

Silverhand seemed satisfied at the success of their mission, though they had confirmed what she had feared – that the Drakkhorn was now held by the Dragoncult, and the White Mask was likely to be in their hands, too. But their rescue of Maccath had won them potent allies in the Arcane Brotherhood. “And,” she added, “we will need all the allies we can get in these coming dark days.” She confirmed that, for their deeds, they would indeed be knighted. However, such awards were not done in secret: a public ceremony would be arranged for a week’s time.

And so the announcement was given. But in the meantime, the heroes went their separate ways. Rhogar invested in a larger cloak with which to conceal his wings better. Then he disappeared again to long sessions in the City Library. Ishtra visited the orphanage, and continued her work among other waifs and strays. Thalek continued his mystical meditations: making pilgrimages to every tree he could find in Waterdeep, and planting one of his own. Şillic suspected there was more to this madness – especially when one evening he stole upon the elf standing by the tree while reciting a spell of Transportation. Vander, on the other hand went to see if the sword he had commissioned months before was ready: it was. Şillic, meanwhile, paid another visit to his favourite shop. The elderly shopkeeper was pleased to see him again, and drew his attention to two new rings he had been able to acquire: a Ring of Water breathing and a Ring of Protection. Şillic’s eyes glinted as he eagerly bought both.

And so the day finally arrived. The city was awash with pageantry, flags flew proudly, and bright bunting hung across the streets. Crowds of revellers flocked around the City Square, where a richly-decorated dais had been raised. Guards of Honour lined either side, while in the centre stood Lady Silverhand, with other City Dignitaries behind her. She publicly invited the heroes to the stage, and then read out a citation praising their heroism, and that it was the Masked Lords wish that they be honoured with Knighthood. Then they knelt down, and with a ceremonial sword, she dubbed each of them.

But as they rose to the acclamation of the crowds, the eastern sky suddenly darkened. Over the city walls swooped a terrible Black Dragon: upon its back rode several dark figures. Others among the crowd threw off their cloaks, revealing they were Dragon Cultists, and started attacking those around them. As pandemonium broke out, the dragon hovered over the square: the black figures jumped down – not Dragonwings, but elite cultist Dragonfangs. Using their winged cloaks to slow their descent, they landed in the square and immediately ran towards the dais to attack. If that wasn’t bad enough, three hellish gargoyle-like shapes flew down from the sky, armed with pitchforks. These Nycaloths landed on the dais: one attacking Vander, while two others closed on Laeral Silverhand. The guards and the other heroes had little time to react before the Dragonfangs were upon them.

Rhogar blasted the one before him, then threw off his cloak, spread his wings and leapt into the air to join the battle in the square between the cultists and the city guard. Ishtra, Dragonblade in both hands, strove against three of the Dragonfangs. Şillic deftly dodged aside from the lunge of one to skewer another with his rapier. Vander drew out his new sword: its iron-red blade bursting aflame with fire. Thalek dived and weaved through the melee, seeking to strike beams of bright light at the Nycaloths, burning one and blinding another. The third fiend was thrown back as Silverhand unveiled her power.

It was a desperate, bloody struggle. Eventually Dragonfangs was brought down, the last of the cultists slain by the guards in the square, and the last of the Nycaloths caught in the back by Şillic, disappearing in a cloud of sulphur. It was only then that the Black Dragon flew down and landed in the square, its acid-breath overwhelming some of the guards. But even as Silverhand and the heroes leapt down from the dais to confront the beast, the dragon suddenly beat its wings, and flew into the air. As it fled into the east, a silver shape flew overhead and pursued.

Laeral Silverhand turned to the heroes and smiled: “It seems that we may have other allies…”

“I don't care!” Şillic replied, still angry. “In order to get us, the Dragoncult has attacked innocent people … This time it’s got personal!”

With the terror defeated and victory won, the crowds returned from their hiding places to the square. And now the Saviours of the City were cheered with real heartfelt acclaim.

8. Hunt the Wyrmspeaker

The Second Council of Waterdeep took place a week after. And it was a heated affair. As Open Lord of Waterdeep, Lady Laeral Silverhand led the proceedings. Lady Haventree, whose husband had been murdered by the Cult of the Dragon, sat on Silverhand’s right. She has become Lady Laeral’s personal assistant. She could not understand why anyone would want to delay taking action against the Dragoncult; and she herself had taken matters into her own hand by contacting the mysterious Guardians known as the Harpers, and urging them to focus their resources on thwarting the cult.

One who clearly disliked this kind of direct action was Lord Dagult Neverember, who had returned to Waterdeep for the Council. Though he was no longer the leader of the council, he was still Lord of Neverwinter, and as such has every right to be there. He voiced his continual reluctance to commit money and resources to fighting the cult – but he also saw the Council as an opportunity to court the favour of Neverwinter’s new neighbours, the Dwarves who had returned to reclaim Mithral Hall.

Connerad Brawnanvil, the dwarf ambassador, on his part expressed strong distaste for a future ruled by dragons. With continued and ongoing strife with orcs and goblins, the dwarves were wary of committing troops. However, they in turn were fast waking up to the need to do so. The larger than life Marshall Ulder Ravengard, Duke of Baldur’s Gate and Commander of the Flaming Fists proudly started that his city was already making preparations for an expedition to the Western Heartlands. This time, Ontharr Frume: Knight Captain of the Paladins of Elturel was not there to oppose him. In fact, he was noticeably absent. When last the Council met, he had left in disgust when the Tirfling from the Arcane Brotherhood was granted admittance. Could this be why he had not answered the summons? “But maybe there is another reason?” suggested Sir Isteval of Daggerford. “There are rumours from the south that war has already come to the Western Lands.”

New to the Council was Delian Winterhound of Silverymoon. Despite the self-imposed isolation of The Gem of the North, High Mage Taern Hornblade has dispatched Delian to the Council for the times were grave. He also had another purpose, for Delian was also a senior Lieutenant in the Emerald Enclave, and was very concerned about the reports recent dragon attacks upon the wood-elves of the Misty Forest. However, King Melendrach dismissed this "alarmist talk": with a wave of his hand he stated that he had ordered the borders to be reinforced, and that there had been no further attacks since by this "dragon".

“Besides!” interrupted Brawnanvil. “Since when was Silverymoon even remotely interested in protecting even their own neighbours? What happened with the debacle in the Silver Marches? Who failed to aid the City of Sundabar? Who betrayed our cousins!”

With this outburst, the council became heated, not helped by Şillic also accusing Ravenguard of negligence in not stopping the Dragoncult pass through his very City. Marshall Ulder protested in very strong terms that he would have stopped them personally, had he known of their whereabouts.

Then there was a commotion outside the door of the Council Chamber. A familiar but urgent voice cried out to the guards to let him in immediately. It was Leothsin Erlanthar, Harper Agent – and the monk whom the heroes had rescued before from Rezmir the Black’s encampment. He had come with an urgent message for Lady Haventree: Varram the White had been seen in Daggerford.

The heroes considered the news. As far as they could tell, they had two options: to go to Daggerford after Varrum; or to investigate the report of dragon attacks on the Misty Forest. To capture the White-bearded Dwarf who had thwarted them in the north seemed too good an opportunity to waste – and it was likely he still had in his possession the White Dragonmask. And so they chose to accompany Sir Isteval on his way back to Daggerford.

Once there, Şillic led the group to the Silver Flood – the very inn where the Dragoncult had stayed a year ago. There they learnt that a dwarf matching Varrum’s description, stayed there one night before heading south to the lands of Elturgard via Boareskyr Bridge. The heroes followed him down the road that led to Boareskyr Bridge via the haunted Dragonspear Castle. On the way, a foolish band of bandits tried to ambush them; but several times the heroes meet refugees fleeing the other way. The refugees claimed they were fleeing from ever increasing raids by "the dragon people" to seek relative safety in the North. They had also seen a dwarf, that matches Varrum’s description. He was heading the other way, accompanied by taller cloaked and bearded companions.

Boareskyr Bridge was a black granite bridge that crossed the river known as the Winding Water. It was the only consistently safe crossing over the River for more than a hundred leagues either side. The bridge itself was renowned as the place where, during the legendary Time of Troubles, Bhaal, the god of Murder, was himself back-stabbed by Cyric, the god of Lies. Great statues of the two gods stood upon great arches at either end of the bridge, facing each other across the span.

Because of its strategic position, the nearby Fort Tamal was sited to the south, and was garrisoned by Paladins from the Holy City of Elturel. A settlement had grown around the fort, catering for traders travelling north and south, and a special merchant caravan park was maintained outside. It was to the fort that the company rode. Şillic overawed the youth on guard at the gate to get the Castellan. When this elderly man arrived, Şillic presented him with the letter and seal of Knight Commander Onthar Frume. The castellan immediately co-operated. From him they learnt that only young and old men made up the fort’s garrison – most of the able-bodied Paladins had been sent to the defence of Elturgard, that was now being assaulted by forces from the Cult of the Dragon. Şillic instructed that a message be sent to Onthar, warning him to intercept Varrum at Triel.

They also learnt from the castellan that a dwarf, matching Varrum’s description, had been involved in an incident in Bolo#8217;s Tentside Inn. So they went to speak to the Halfling proprietor, Bolo Lacegirdle. Apparently, Varrum had knifed a cloaked stranger – who was then found to have been a spy from the Snake-People known as the Yuan-ti, who were known to live in the Serpent Hills. For this, the dwarf was considered a local hero. But he was noticeably agitated, and did not stay for very long. There had been a rumour that, despite the bodyguards, the dwarf had been ambushed on the road down from Dragonspear Castle, and this had made him nervous. Whatever the truth of the matter, the dwarf had found a Ranger, by the name of Arvegir, who claimed he could lead Varrum into the Serpent Hills to find the lost City of Caerallan. On receiving this news, the heroes held their own council. Since when they had first met, each of them had now grown in might. Thalek in particular could take the form of many creatures, and transport others over distances with his druidic powers. And so it was decided that Thalek would see if he could trail Varrum alone.

The Druid took the form of an Owl, and launched into the night, leaving the others behind at the inn. It did not take much to pick up the trail as Varrum had been in haste and had done nothing to conceal it. The trail led along the edge of the moor, following the line of the river to the Serpent Hills But as Thalek flew down the river, a think mist rolled down from the moors, making flight dangerous. So the Druid landed and took wolf form instead. However, it wasn’t long before he heard howls from a wolf-pack shadowing him! Wolf-Thalek turned to meet them, and was able to convince the other wolves that he was no threat either to them or their territory. They let him continue.

Near dawn, the Shape-Shifter magic waned, and he became an elf again. But then he heard moans of despair coming from the mist, and a ghostly apparition took shape ahead. The Druid hid among the rocks, even as the Wight approached. Somehow, the Wight passed by and did not see him. Then a sudden glow in the sky: as the sun’s rays broke through the fog, the Wight vanished. Thalek pressed on.

Not long after dawn, he heard harsh cries and the ring of steel upon steel. Warily approaching the valley before him, he saw below two bands of orcs and hobgoblins fighting each other. Thalek skirted around them, not wishing to disturb the skirmishers. After he had put some distance, he called a crow to him, and sent the bird back to the others with a message.

The druid was deep in thought when CRASH! A rock landed nearby. Startled, he looked about him. On either side of the track, though both some distance away, were two very large people. Thalek had met giants before: the fearsome Frost Giants of the north, and the noble Cloud Giant of Castle Skyreach. But these giants were certainly not noble: they were Hill Giants. The Druid froze, eyes and ears keen. But judging by the insults and rocks the two giants were throwing at each other, he soon realised they hadn’t noticed him at all! Quietly, he slipped passed them both.

Meanwhile, back in Bolo’s Tentside Inn, the day swung to noon. Ishtra learnt from Hob the halfling Stable boy that the lost City of Caerallan, that Varrum seemed to be heading to, was the dwelling place of Diderius the Diviner. He was a famous wizard with a great reputation for foresight, and Emperors and Kings would seek his wisdom and knowledge. But though the city was destroyed long ago by the Serpent People, his tomb was still said to be hidden in a cliff that towered over Caerallan. Her news to the others was interrupted by a crow that sought to land by Vander in particular. The Warlock perceived the hand of his brother at work, and was rewarded with the message that Thalek had sent: I am on their trail but this journey is taking longer than expected. Wait for me – and do not leave the inn.

“Then we wait!” Şillic grimaced.

Early evening, as the sun was setting, the Druid saw a large fire between a distinctive group of rocky tors. He crept up to investigate. He found it to be three Hill Giants roasting sheep. One was complaining about having mutton too many times. One of the other giants suggested they could catch one or two of the pony’s that the "small folk" herd. Thalek decided to leave them well-alone, and continued on into the gathering gloom. The moon rose.

9. Serpent Ruins

A crash downstairs woke Ishtra up. Her quick wild-honed reflexes shook herself out of dreams back into reality. Another crash! Warily, she made her way to the side of the window and looked down. Below, guarding the back door were two dark figures – Dragonfangs! She woke up the others. Carefully opening the door slightly, they heard aggressive voices questioning their host, Bolo Lacegirdle. Two more Dragonfangs had her pinned against the bar, and their leader who stood by, was questioning her about Varrum the dwarf. Seeking no reason to be silent, she was trying to say what she knew, but they were very impatient with her. The heroes had a quick council on what to do.

Bolo’s eyes, full of terror before, suddenly changed to shocked surprise when two unknown dwarf guests came downstairs: one was a lady with a fancy curled beard, her companion a rich-dressed dwarf with a white flowing well-groomed beard that any respected dwarf would be most proud of. “What's going on here?” he exclaimed.

The Cultists looked up to see the two dwarves descending the stairs – but they were only interested in one: “It’s Varrum! Get him!” The two Dragonfangs charged up the stairs, branding their dragon-fang-shaped short swords. But even as they reached the couple, a sharp rapier appeared in the hand of the white-bearded dwarf and skewered one cultist right between the eyes. The transfixed cultist tumbled down the stairs even as Şillic threw off his magical disguise. The dwarf-lady, likewise, transformed back into Vander, and the Warlock struck the other cultist with his sudden-flaming sword.

Ishtra, running down the stairs behind them, saw two more cultists in the common room. Vaulting over the banister, she landed feet first on the table in front of them, sword-swinging. Rhogar stood upon the balcony and threw down a fireball. Ishtra saw it coming and leapt off the table and somersaulted over the Dragonfangs. One leapt out of the way, but the other was engulfed in flames. The cultist that had escaped the inferno was then caught full in the back by the barbarian’s sword, and went sprawling to the floor, never to rise again. Their leader threatened to kill Bolo, but then Rhogar leapt into the air, wings outstretched, hand extended, that sent Scorching Rays: blasting the cultist away from the Halfling, and to the floor. The Dragonfang tried to get up – but Şillic was upon him with his knife.

A shout! Running booted feet. More Dragonfangs ran into the Common Room from the front and back. The heroes regrouped in a circle. The cultists closed in.

“Put up your weapons!” a deep woman’s voice cried out in command. Without question, the Dragonfangs disengaged. In strode a woman in white dragon-like scale mail, dragging Hob the stable boy with her. It was Talis – the Dragoncult leader they had met before in the mansion high up in the mountains above Parnast. She flung the Halfling towards the heroes.

“So we meet once more, ‘Heroes of Waterdeep’! But again this time you are not my enemy. I am after a white-bearded fool. A grovelling fool who thinks himself worthy of being a Wyrmspeaker! I’m surprised the White Dragons haven’t eaten him for breakfast! I suppose they didn’t fancy getting his beard stuck in their teeth! No matter, these two have told me all I need to know, and we must be on our way.”

With that, she turned on her heal. But then she looked back. “We have an ‘understanding’, you and I – and I trust that you will not be following us!” As she left, the Dragonfangs followed her. Outside, at her command, they mounted their horses and rode after her.

Ishtra turned to Şillic: “You better find out where she’s going.”

It did not take Talis long to find the trail: “The clumsy oaf went this way! Follow!” High above, a bat flew until he was certain which way they were going. The cultists rode out across the moor, heading in the direction of the Serpent Hills. But Şillic returned to the others.

“Well that complicates things!” shrugged Vander.

***

The Druid’s dawn was not so eventful. And not long into the morning, Thalek passed out of the High Moor into the Serpent Hills: a badland of broken, rocky hills where here and there could be seen ancient ruins from peoples and civilizations long gone. Then around mid-day he saw it: a giant long grey snake across the path ahead. Instantly, he took cover and observed: the serpent did not seem to move. Thalek got up and crept closer towards it: the serpent still did not move. Then the druid realized: the snake was as of stone. As he approached the petrified serpent, Thalek could see the trail he was following went right under an arch formed from one of the snake’s great loops. He passed under its shadow and emerged on the other side unharmed. And so he continued on his way.

Sleep – or what the elves call sleep – was easier that night. Without the moorland fog, he was able to find a good dry place to stop and stay. The next morning, refreshed, he set off again. As the day wore on, he espied another encampment among a small growth of trees. He crept up to investigate. This time, it was a gang of Lizardmen. Unlike the folk he had aided in the Mere of Dead Men, these creatures had snake-like eyes; and were led by a thin robed and hooded figure. To one side of the encampment, were two human prisoners, clothed in the garb of the nomadic tribes that roamed the lands nearby.

Thalek decided to see what he could learn from the gang about his own quarry. Openly he stepped out and approached the camp. “Who arrre youuuu?” challenged the nearest sentries. The other Lizardmen turned around, alerted to him. The hooded figure also turned to face him, and he could see she was feminine in shape.

“Greetings! I’m following a dwarf and his companions, and the dwarf has a long white beard – have you seen him?”

The Lizardfolk seemed taken aback by this bold request. Only the robed figure unperturbed. She threw her hood back, and now the druid could see her reptilian snakehead. “Nooo, indeeeed!” She replied, “else he would be with ussss as our guessst.”

“OK, I’d better move on then,’” replied Thalek.
“Why not join ussss for a while? You musst be tired.”

But Thalek hadn’t survived as long as he had by accepting such invitations. “Thank you for your gracious offer, but I really must be on my way.”

The eyes of the snake-woman narrowed. “Get himmmm!” she hissed – all pretence at civility thrown. The nearest Lizardmen moved with menace towards him. Quick as a startled hare, he suddenly ran at one of them, summersaulted over the Lizardman’s grasping hands, and disappeared into the tree beyond. But as his thwarted captors surrounded the tree, the Druid walked out from another further away. By moving from tree to tree, it did not take long for the elf to lose his pursuers.

“You could have rescued the humans!” a voice in his head seemed to say, accusingly.
“Why should I?" The Druid countered back. "Reptilians are entitled to hunt for prey, too. Nature must find its balance.”

As the sun was beginning to set, Varrum’s trail stopped abruptly at the edge of a ridge. Below lay a deep valley, where the ruins of an ancient city lay in a semicircle, centred upon the sheer grey cliff on the far side. A path wound its steep way down the slope. The shadows lengthened. Thalek reached the edge of what was once Caerallan, and passed into the lost city.

Eventually, the ruined buildings gave way to a overgrown paved plaza, laid out before the foreboding wall of the cliff face. At its centre stood what was once a fountain; but its statue and plinth had long since gone, as had the cool clear water that flowed around it. By the cliff-side stood two great statues: one held a set of measuring scales in one hand, while the other was stretched out in warning. The other statue held a Shepherd’s crook, and its other hands was also raised in warning. Beyond them, a wide stairway led up to a stone platform and then an archway that led to the Tomb of Diderius.

But in front of the statue, the elf could also see an encampment. Makeshift beds were laid out around a fire that, though unattended, was still smouldering. Thalek decided it was time to withdraw and find the nearest tree.

***

That evening, the other heroes were outside the Inn enjoying the evening air, when suddenly the Druid walked out the tree. Without so much as a “hello”, Thalek strode past his startled friends, and on towards the open doorway. “Right, I’m off for a nap now! Meet me here in four hours’ time!”

Şillic was the first to recover: “Well? Did you find the Dwarf?”
“Not yet!” replied the elf without looking back. “But I’ve found where he is!”
Elves can be really infuriating! thought Şillic. He started sharpening his knife.

It was near midnight when the heroes gathered again before the tree, weapons and other kit ready. The druid spoke and against the tree-trunk a portal opened. One after the other they followed Thalek in, even Ishtra despite still having her fear of magic.

They approached the campsite. By now the fire had gone out. Still no-one guarded it, and the makeshift bedding was empty. Then Ishtra heard a noise. She turned to face where it came from. On the other side of the camp, a stairway led down underground. She motioned to the others. Even as she did, Vander found a large footprint in a small patch of mud. It had only three toes. Warily, Ishtra approached the stairway, stood half-crouched to the side, and listened. Not far below, she heard the sound of someone – or something – chomping food.

“I found him!” exclaimed Rhogar in a loud whisper. The others turned. The sorcerer had been checking the bedding on the cliff-side of the camp, when a newly-made mound of earth caught his attention. It had not taken much digging to find part of a green cloak buried underneath.

“Looks like they had no more need of the Ranger,” said Vander, grimly.

10. The Tomb of Diderius

Şillic didn’t like the murder of the Ranger one bit. “Well,” he said. “It seems that whoever was left to guard this camp has become Troll-Food. I think we’ll leave the trolls to it. We need to get into that Tomb.”

But as they approached the stairs leading up to the entranceway, the statues moved. As one their heads turned, and looked down at them, and spoke in unison: “Halt. You come before Diderius: walker of the Ether, and conduit of Clairvoyance. Diderius gives wisdom, and Diderius gives knowledge. Which do you seek?”

“Wisdom,” replied Ishtra.

The Statues responded: “Diderius shall grant what you seek – but only if you heed him and give proper respect.” The statue heads reverted back to their original poise. Ishtra knelt and then climbed the stairway with her head bowed. The others follow suit. Ahead, the gilded carvings of starts and planets on the cliff wall suddenly faded: the enchanted illusion giving way to an age and weather-worn cliff face in which a dark opening led to a stone door. On either side of the opening, were dozens of alcoves that suspiciously looked like funerary niches. The door itself had been forced open, and was ajar.

Ishtra pushed the door open wider and thrust a flaming torch through the opening, revealing a hallway lined with three statues of wizened men, leaning on staffs, but with their faces obscured by hoods of deep darkness. Human bones lay strewn about the place, and slumped up by the door on the other side was a body. A cultist. The group moved into the hallway, and quickly made their way to the body. His face had a wild, maddened look, and a single dagger wound to the chest.

“Looks like he went insane, and so was killed by the other cultists,” observed Rhogar.

“But what drove him mad?” Vander asked. He looked up, seeing again the statues and the dark shadows under their hoods. Had the unfortunate cultist dared to take a closer look at their faces? What was it he saw? The elf shivered. “I think we’d better move on.”

They passed on into a larger chamber, with a high vaulted dome. Opposite stood two double doors, while passageways opened left and right. In the centre of the floor was an elaborate mosaic. At the centre was a bright sun, flanked by the image of a knight fighting a three-headed chimera on the other side: one the head of a lion, the second a goat, and the third a dragon. But as they beheld this marvel, the tiles depicting the chimera began to move. They rose up, and there before them, the three-headed monster formed into seeming flesh. And roared.

Vander was the first to act: he flung an Eldritch Spear and dived for the corner. But the green flame barely singed the beast. Ishtra and Şillic charged. With a loud cry, the Barbarian dived under the Chimera’s three heads, at the same time swinging the Dragon blade with such strength, that the beast’s stomach was gashed open. In great agony the beast thrashed, that the Rogue was unable to get near. With tortured rage, the monster’s dragonhead glared at Ishtra, and blasted her with fire. Behind her, Vander was also caught in the heat of its fury. The lion head lunged also at Şillic, even as an arrow from Thalek’s bow struck its eye, causing the head to rear back. Running into the other corner, Rhogar blasted the beast with Scorching Rays, before the maddened Barbarian plunged her sword right in. As the beast finally seemed to die, its body disintegrated back into mosaic tiles that fell back to their very places in the floor.

Putting salve on his burns, the Warlock winced as he made his way to a cloaked shape slumped by the entrance to the right passage. It was a cultist body, severely burned. Şillic, however, approached the double-doors with care. Despite the poor light, he saw that the passage leading that way was blocked by fallen masonry and rock: buried within was the cloak of another cultist caught in the cave-in. He looked up above the door, and realised that the bulge there revealed another cave-in that could fall at any moment. “Not this way!” he grimaced. Thalek looked down the left passage. All he could see was that it led to a well. Instead they went right.

It was a long passage sloping down. But as they walked down, they heard a click from one of the flagstones. At the back, Thalek saw the sun mosaic open, and from it rose a large boulder – not of stone, but of bone. It rolled down the passage towards them, skeleton hands reaching out as it rolled. Thalek shouted a warning and he, Rhogar, and Vander dodged out of the way. Şillic was caught by the bony hands and would have been pulled inside, but for Thalek grabbing and pulling the half-orc to safety. Ishtra was not so lucky. The ball crashed right into her, and she was found herself dragged within, as the boulder continued rolling down the slope. Enraged, she struck out with both hands and broke free, splintering bone everywhere. The remnant of the boulder rolled on down into the blackness until finally they heard it impact a wall. Vander calmed Ishtra down.

The bottom of the sloping passage opened into a room with murals painted around it, showing various long-forgotten dignitaries coming to seek the wisdom of Diderius. A pile of broken skeleton hands lay before the far wall, and in their midst the body of another cultist – who had fallen victim to the boulder of bone, imprisoned by the hands that clutched him, and crushed by the final impact against the hard wall.

Further to the right was a closed door. But the heroes were drawn to the double-doors in the left wall that were partially open. But even as they approached, each of them heard an audible voice in their heads: “Those seeking Wisdom must offer humility in the manner of Mystril.”

“Mystril,” explained Rhogar, “is a long-forgotten goddess of the ancients. It is said that her priests would lower their heads, while raising their hands together as if holding a lamp.” So this they did, and so passed through the double-doors without hindrance.

The room beyond was much larger, and had the decor of a throne room. Indeed, a throne was set upon a massive dais. Seated upon the throne was a giant of a man: 12-foot-tall, well-muscled, with a flowing white beard and a purple toga. “Not Varrum,” whispered Şillic. At the foot of the throne a golden bowl was set, brimming with coins and jewels.

The giant spoke: “Ye who seek Diderius’ wisdom must first furnish tribute – or depart.” With the corner of his eye, Şillic glanced at the treasure already given. But instead of heaps of gold, the most valuable coins he could see were of silver. And the jewels weren’t particularly special either – he’d seen more value dropped in the offering plates of temple gods the what lay here. Still, the heroes were not going to take chances: as each of them proffered jewels and coins, the voice spoke: “Gift accepted.” They passed on through the door in the far left wall.

This time, the passageway was shorter, but now they could smell something like rotten eggs ahead – and Vander certainly did not like this. “It’s brimstone! We must be wary!” Ahead they could see a light and an open doorway. Şillic peered around; then reported in whispers to the others: “There are five people in there, sitting around a table. They are cloaked and hooded, but with strange looking beards. If they noticed me, they have shown no sign of reaction.”

Thalek pushed past and stepped boldly into the room. The hoods turned to gaze at him, and now he could see the hideous fiend-faces within. But the druid was unperturbed by what he saw. “Hello!” Thalek said in greeting.

The bearded devils made no attempt to attack. In fact, they didn’t seem bothered by Thalek at all! And he found it surprisingly easy to have polite conversation with them. He soon found out they were indeed working for Varrum. The fiends were bound to the very words of their bargain, but perhaps they could be "persuaded" to talk? “So how much did he pay you?” the druid asked, and found that the dwarf had made his bargain with gems. “So how about this?” he asked, holding up a bright ruby.

The fiends hissed with undisguised interest. “And what,” one rasped, “do you want to know?”

And so Thalek learnt that the Devils had accompanied Varrum into the tomb. Stars led down from the room into darkness. Varrum’s party had ventured down those stairs and had found a treasure vault of unimaginable wealth. But it was also guarded. Three of the cultists had fallen before Varrum and the remaining survivors fled back up the stairs. In desperation, the dwarf had ordered the devils to "attack anyone or anything that came up those stairs". And so here the Devils wait until their summoning ends.

“And why is Varrum here for?”

“He is here because he has lossst something. Something important. He has lossst the Dragonmask. he has come here to see if the diving pool of the ancient seer can showww where it issss.”

The rest of the group moved into the room, and had a discussion on what to do next. Some were for going down the stairs. “No!” warned Şillic. “That’s the trap. If we survive whatever is down there, when we come back up the stairs, these fiends will fight us, too!” And so they decided to move on through another passageway.

This turned and led into a large hall. Four pillars held up the roof. To the left were double-doors, leading to the same caved-in passageway that had led from the room of the mosaic floor. And in the centre stood a great earthen bowl. From the wall which would have been the direction of the well, a stone channel led to the bowl. Spent arrows lay about the room with splatters of dry blood. And to the left lay the body of another cultist.

The walls were decorated with more images and writing. To these, Rhogar was drawn. “The writing is Netherese – an Ancient Civilization long since lost…” Thalek, however, approached the bowl. It was empty, though there was evidence that water had recently filled it, and had recently evaporated.

“Looks like we have to go all the way back to the well,” grimaced Şillic. “That channel must lead from there.”

“I don’t need to fetch water.” replied Thalek. And with that the druid raised his hands and liquid filled the bowl. The waters took on an unnatural black hue and swirled. Unnatural shapes played in the waters, and Thalek’s eyes were mesmerised by them.

Vander and Şillic tried to pull Thalek away, but in an insane state, he threw them off. Then Ishtra stepped up, grabbed him with both hands, and flung the druid to the ground. Thalek lay there, unmoving, eyes still glazed with swirling lights. An experience far more intense than any he had previously experienced eating wild mushrooms. “Ah!” exclaimed Rhogar, still enraptured by his study of the walls. “It says that to use the divination pool, one must first make a sacrifice.”

Şillic, still a little shaken, went over to the body. Instead of arrow-wounds, he found a dagger wound, and the face very pale. “I have found Varrum’s sacrifice. Vander?”

Vander approached the cultist and spoke. And from his mouth, the cultist answered with a ghostly whisper. From his shade, Vander learnt that the Cultist had indeed accompanied Varrum. But he had been betrayed and Varrum had him killed to thirst the evil power that the Divination Pool had become. “And what was Varrum seeking?”
“He has been seeking the whereabouts of the Dragonmask.”
“How did he lose it?”
“On the road south we were attacked by bandits. One of their number was a woman cloaked in black. We fought them off, but then Varrum found the mask had gone, and that unnerved him.”

“We know that woman!” growled Şillic. “Another grudge to remember!”

“And where is the Dragonmask?” asked Vander. But the cultist did not know. For he was dead before the dwarf saw.

Another set of double-doors in the right hand side wall led from the room. Through them they entered into another chamber, unnaturally lit by fiery braziers. The walls were decorated with frescoes of lost gods of the Netherese. But at the centre, on top of a large stepped dais, lay a massive stone sarcophagus. And as they approached, a voice of authority spoke.

“You approach Diderius in repose. I know what you seek. You seek the one known as Varrum. Yuan-ti have captured him, and have taken him beyond their portal in the north wall. Be prepared! For I shall open the way to peril.”

There came a chiming sound. “No wait!” shouted Rhogar. But it was too late. A door in the opposite wall rose up. Beyond led another passageway, not of the Tomb’s dry stone, but green and slick with slime. And down the passage, a group of snake-shaped reptilian figures looked back at them, startled.

11. The Lair of the Snakes

The two Snake-People – also known as Yuan-Ti – guarded the gears that were supposed to operate the portal. So they were startled to find the portal open seemingly by itself, and five strangers walk through it. Both creatures were known as Malisons, having the body and legs of a human, but heads and arms of snakes; and three Lizardfolk served them.

Thalek stepped forwards. “We have come in search of a dwarf with a white beard.”
Now over their initial surprise, one of the Malisons answered with a rasping, hissing voice: “The dwarf isss a guessst of our High Priestessssss.”
“Can you take us to him?” asked the druid.
“Yessss, but firssst you mussst give usss your weaponsss.”

Şillic did not like this reply one bit. “We will keep our weapons – but we promise to leave them in our sheaths.“ No sooner had he said that, then a though came to his head: “Why not give up my weapons? Surely these beings are friends?“ That surely was not from his own mind! And he dismissed it straight away. Ishtra also had a similar thought – and she didn’t like it. Surely these snake-people were somehow responsible for these suggestions? She suspected treachery.

The druid however unbuckled his weapons and handed them over to the nearest Lizardman. As he did so, one of the other Lizardmen left the other guards and disappeared down another tunnel to the right. The Malison leader however looked at the heroes with a serpent-smile: “Well, then guessstts, come forwardsss and join usss.”

Led by Thalek, the heroes made their way to the guards and found themselves being ushered forwards between the snake and lizard people; though Şillic stayed near the back. But as they turned towards the other tunnel, it was then they saw more Lizardmen marching up the stairs towards them.

Ishtra’s well-honed Barbarian senses heard the scrape of metal against metal. Immediately, she drew out her own sword and, in the same motion, swung it into the reptilian torso of the Lizardman that was about to stab her. Vander, likewise, was alert and struck out at the Mallison beside him. Enraged, one of the snake-arms struck out at him, and he felt the snake-head at the tip of the arm bite deep with venom. Thalek was not so quick and was likewise bitten with poison, his eyes swimming with the agony. The Lizardman that Thalak had given his weapons to, threw them down and reached for his own – but Şillic was faster. A scimitar bounced off Rhogar’s scaly hide even as he sought space for some sorcery. Summoning a ball of fire, he flung it down the passageway at the advancing Lizardmen. Some dodged, only to slip from the bridge they were crossing, to fall screaming into the pit below. The rest were caught by the blast; blown off the bridge on fire. But behind them came two more Malisons, this time with human arms that held bows and arrows. Forcing himself to focus, Thalek staggered to the side of the Mallison that had bit him, and unleashed a beam as bright as the sun. The Malison was blinded; the beam striking also one of the other Malisons at the far end of the bridge. That snakeman was also blinded, but the other drew his bow and fired – the arrow flying over the heads of the combatants. He didn’t get off a second shot: Rhogar followed up with scorching rays that scorched the two Malisons and sent them also screaming into the pit. Ishtra struck off the head of the Malison before Thalek, while Şillic skewered the other that had bitten Vander.

Regaining his composure, Thalek resorted to a Restoration spell to help everyone recover, and cure the poison. Everyone felt relieved – though Şillic was furious at how easily they’d been tricked.

“Right everyone!” the half-orc growled, “Listen good! And especially you, Thalek!…”

Ten minutes of serious admonishing later, the heroes moved on. Şillic led the way over the slime and moss-covered bridge. Ishtra followed, only to slip and fall. Reacting quickly, she reached out and clung to the bridge, stopping her fall, even as clumps of moss and masonry fell around and past her into the pit below. Down there, some things writhed in the darkness. Ishtra easily swung herself back onto the bridge.

Ten minutes of serious admonishing later, the heroes moved on. Şillic led the way over the slime and moss-covered bridge. Ishtra followed, only to slip and fall. Reacting quickly, she reached out and clung to the bridge, stopping her fall, even as clumps of moss and masonry fell around and past her into the pit below. Down there, some things writhed in the darkness. Ishtra easily swung herself back onto the bridge.

“Hmm,” said the Druid. “I think the rest of us better rope ourselves together before we cross.”

On the other side, steps led down, ending leading to a long corridor stretching off to the right. On the other side of the corridor, another flight of stairs led upward. As they looked down the corridor, they could see it led all the way to a left-turning: on its right side, two tunnels led off the corridor, and opposite the second of these was a wooden door in the left corridor wall. They blinked: the length of the long corridor seemed to writhe like a giant serpent. They listened.

It was then they heard a man screaming from the tunnels leading off from the corridor. Quickly, they moved to its opening, and looked down it. The other end opened into a large chamber. From where they were they could not see who or what exactly was in the chamber – except two snakemen, backs turned, holding between them a bound and struggling cultist. Ishtra swiftly and silently ran towards them. As she advanced, the Malisons threw the screaming cultist into the pit before them – so intent on this murderous action, that they did not see the Barbarian until she was upon them. One was immediately decapitated, the second found the sharp end of Şillic’s rapier protruding from its torso. As it slid off the blade and into the pit, the half-orc saw that the square pit dominated the room. All around it was a ledge. Below in the pit, hundreds of snakes writhed around each other, slivering over broken egg-shells, and coiling around their victims. Upon the ledge two more Malisons held between them another struggling cultist, and on the ledge opposite, presiding over the executions, an abomination of a being: a massive green snake rearing up, with two muscular arms. At his merciless signal, the second cultist was thrown screaming into the pit. Upon landing, the doomed man shuddered and convulsed, as the snakes did their deadly work.

Rhogar rightly guessed that the second tunnel also led to the same room, and behind the snakemen. Rage rose up within him, and from his own nostrils, fire. The first Malison was engulfed in flames and also fell into the pit, the second was also on fire and ran half-screaming, half-rasping into Ishtra’s sword-swing. Thalak and Vander charged in behind Şillic. Thalek had his bow ready, and upon seeing the Abomination, let fly. The arrow struck the snake-being’s tail, pinning it to the wall. The Abomination was helpless to the Warlock’s Eldritch Spears; Şillic dashed around the ledge to finish it off.

Since no-one relished retrieving any of the dead cultists from the pit, Vander tried to question the shade of the Malison that laid dead on the ledge. But the shade was unwilling to divulge any information of use:
“Where is the High Priestess?”
“She’s far enough away from here…”

Moving back down the tunnel that Rhogar had used, they came to a door he’d passed in his haste to join the fight. They threw it open, only to wish they hadn’t: The stench that hit their nostrils was terrible, and the room beyond like a pigsty. Perhaps this was where the Lizardmen slaves were kept? Not wanting to go in, the heroes shut the door again quickly before returning to the long corridor. Now opposite them was the wooden door they had seen earlier. Şillic put his ear to the door and listened: He could hear both Lizardmen and another voice that sounded like that of a snakeman – but the voices were low and quiet as if trying to hide their presence.

Suddenly Lizardmen shouts! Around the far corner of the long passageway, came four more of the reptile-folk. Ishtra charged and made short work of the first, the other three fell to magic and arrows. But then the wooden door opened, and out leapt two more Lizardmen, followed by someone almost human, but for snake-like eyes and reptilian markings upon their skin. This Pureblood, as she was known, rasped her command: “Kill the intrudersss!”

Rhogar and Vander, Sorcerer and Warlock, were surprised by this sudden assault to their rear. Thalak and Şillic rushed to help, and were soon caught up in the desperate melee. As if this wasn’t bad enough, two Malisons, with arms that wielded wicked serpent-shaped scimitars, also came around the corner. Ishtra saw them too late as they made for her. Her sword parried their scimitars, but they were too close: Both snakeheads lunged forwards past her guard and bit into her flesh. In agony the Barbarian keeled over as the poison seemed to course like fire through her.

The others were locked in a desperate battle of their own. Elf-blade met snake-blade, hand held off knife, Dragon-snout faced Lizard-snout. And all the while the snakemen rained blows down against the incapacitated Ishtra.

Vander summoned his blade: distracting his foe with the green Seelie light, he struck out with the other that flamed. Thalek’s blades found their mark; Şillic pushed the Pureblood back into room she’d come from, following after her and finishing with a thrust.

Blooded, bowed, and venomed, Ishtra’s face and jaw contorted, striving to survive. Pain mastered, she steeled her strength. With a sudden roar, she struck out with the sword still in her hands. The Dragonblade swung through, dicing snake-stomachs.

The disembowelled Malisons sank to the floor. Ishtra stood there, lungs gasping; victorious.

12. The Dwarf and the Serpent

After slaying the Pureblood, Şillic looked around him. The chamber he was in had walls thick with slime. Raised up on one side stood two totem poles of gold depicting snakes, and cut into the floor were many tube-like holes. “This must be where the snake-people sleep,” he thought. Despite the slime, he crouched down and, using the hand that was not adorned with rings, felt within one of the holes. His adventure was rewarded when he felt coins sequestered away in a cubbyhole. He drew them out, cleaned them with a rag, and examined them. Pleased with what he found, he checked the other holes.

The others were busy binding wounds and administering healing. The bodies of the fallen Lizardmen and Malisons were also searched, but only returned handfuls of copper. Noting that Şillic had been in the other room on his own for a while, they passed through the door to join him.

As they entered, Şillic was staring at one of two passageways leading from the room. One led out as if through a stoneworked arch – and it was this that held his attention. “This,” he reasoned, “must lead to somewhere important.”

When the others were ready to follow, he led the way down, but with care. This caution was rewarded when he found ten paces in a flag-stone suspiciously having the hallmarks of a pressure plate. He halted the others and looked about. Now along the walls of both sides of the tunnel, he could see regular sets of holes. One by one, they stepped around the flagstone, and stooping below the level of the dart-traps, they made it safely to the apparent end of the tunnel.

“Somehow,” said Şillic with his customary grimace, “I doubt they would have taken all that trouble to trap a dead-end!!” And sure enough, he soon found a hidden door in the tunnel wall. The others readied their weapons as he sought the mechanism to open it.

The door opened into a prison. Barred cells lined one side of the room, and implements of torture hung from the walls. Two men were in those cells, guarded by a Pureblood – one of the snakemen with the most passing resemblance to a human, including the head and face of a human – though the eyes were snake-like, and the mouth, cruel. The snakeman was startled to see the heroes emerging through the secret door, and tried to run for the prison door opposite – only to be blasted asunder by Rhogar.

Şillic noticed that the two men seemed to recognise Thalek. “Interesting”, he thought. “Thalek, do you know these people?”.
“I don’t remember them,” The Druid replied. So Şillic let them out of the cells with the keys that hung from the wall.

Both men were eager to be free. However, one of them suddenly tensed. Pausing before Şillic, he exclaimed: “I do not recognise you…” Then the big man strode over to face the Druid. “…But you I do recognise! You left us to die!!” and with that he seized Thalek’s throat with both hands, and began to strangle.

Şillic’s rapier pommel restored the angry man to his senses. With both men calmed down, the group learnt that they were Utleg and Vorbotski, and were from the Girondi tribe that also lived among the hills. They had been ambushed and captured by Lizardfolk who served the Yuan-Ti. In fact, it was the very same group of kidnappers that Thalek had encountered on his journey through the serpent hills – and these men were the same two captives Thalek had seen with the Lizardfolk. It was likely the tribesmen had been taken as slaves for they were strong, well-built, and the snake-people had kept them fed. Somewhat calmer now, they accepted Thalek’s apology. After all, as he was on his own at the time, what could he have done?

The heroes also learnt from these tribesmen that they had not seen a dwarf. However, they had seen two thin black-robed men briefly imprisoned who were sullen, kept themselves to themselves, and not long before had been taken away to their doom. “Well let’s find this dratted dwarf, and get out of here,” growled Rhogar. He’d had quite enough of the damp and slime – his dragon-red blood liked it not at all.

The prison door led back into the long corridor, though much further down from the corner where Ishtra had fought the Malisons. The bodies of snake and lizard-men still lay there. The passageway continued to another turning. There they stopped. The tunnel continued on until it came to a large opening. They readied their weapons: Then Şillic led them forwards, wary for further traps and ambushes.

They entered an immense multi-pillared hall. Each pillar had been carved in the likeness of rearing snakes: giant stone serpents with open mouths guttering green flames. Between the pillars on both sides, partially concealed by the shadows of the flickering flames, stood Yuan-Ti and Lizardmen. They hissed at the heroes, but made no move on their part to attack.

At the back of the room, upon an altar overlooked by the form of a giant open-mouthed cobra, lay a dwarf with bedraggled purple robes and a white dishevelled beard. Varrum was bound and unmoving, unseeing eyes staring up into the shadows above.

Three tall figures stood nearby in crimson-red robes. Two, like other Malison Yuan-Til, had the bodies of humanoids, but the heads of snakes (one of whom Thalek recognised from his encounter in the Serpent Hills). The tallest, like the other Abomination, had an all-snake body. The elaborate robes she wore set her apart as the High Priest of the Snake-Temple. Suddenly, she drew what looked like a Dragoncult dagger from her robes, slithered quickly to the altar, and held the dagger to the dwarf’s throat. “Come no clossser, or he diessss!”

The heroes stopped but fanned out on either side of Şillic. “What do you want?” asked Thalek.

“Give usss treasure, and you can have your dwarfff.”

But after everything they had fought though, Şillic was in no mood for petty-bargaining. The half-orc drew himself to his full size, and as he spoke, made sure his incisors showed clearly, the menace emphasised in his words:

“Go on then! Kill the dwarf – or I will kill him for you. And I will kill you, too! I will gut every last one of you! Though maybe I will be merciful and spare your slinking miserable lives if you show us the way out. I’ve had enough of this stinking place!” and he spat on the ground.

The hisses were silenced. The snakemen were shocked. The High priest consulted her two companions with hurried snake-whispers. Then she turned again to the altar, and sliced the bonds that bound Varrum upon it. Sheaving her knife, she grasped the dwarf with both hands and pushed him forwards; he rolled off the altar, landing hard in front of Şillic.

“Take him then, and go!!” the High Priest cried, pointing to an opening at the back of the hall. Şillic grabbed the dwarf, non-too gently, and tucked the wretch under his arm. The snake and Lizardmen made way for the heroes to leave, but closed behind their wake. The heroes themselves were wary of the hisses and hate-filled eyes behind them, but quickly moved down the tunnel. No creature followed them. Eventually, they reached its end. Pulling a leaver, they found it opened open the outside world. In flowed daylight – and fresh, clean air.

On leaving the tunnel, they found themselves back among the city ruins. It had gone passed mid-morning, but they were glad to be out. None of them more glad than Ishtra.

“Now it’s time to question this dwarf!” said Şillic, throwing him down. The dwarf was now awake, and looked thoroughly wretched. But then there came the sound of hooves. From the ruins on both sides came Dragonfang horsemen. And riding between the ruins in front, accompanied by more Dragonfangs, came Talis the White.

She commanded and they reigned their horses in, forming a semi-circle around the heroes. “So we meet again – though how you got here so soon before us I do not know. Since your Druid is now with you, I suspect he helped you all sprout wings! No matter! I see you have saved me the trouble of finding the dwarf. I would be most grateful if you hand him over to me – along with any possessions he might have.”

“By possessions,” Ishtra whispered, “I assume she means the Dragonmask.”

“So what are you going to do with Varrum?” called back Rhogar. “I gather you’ve not exactly come to rescue him.”

“The fool is wanted for ‘questioning’”, replied Talis, not bothering to conceal her animosity to the dwarf who had stolen her place in the ranks of the Dragoncult.

“And I want to ‘question’ him, myself!” retorted Şillic. To emphasise his point, he drew out his knife and dragged the dwarf back onto his feet. Varrum’s eyes were now wide awake and full of terror, looking both at the half-orc towering over him, and his rival who cut off his escape. Şillic grimaced, grabbed the dwarf by the beard, and hacked it off his chin. Suddenly free, the dwarf darted for Talis, grasping at a chance to save himself.

He reached the White Rider, and grasped the saddle. “The Mask!” he babbled. “The Zhentarim have taken it! They have it in Darkhold.”

Talis looked down upon the wretch with contempt. “Then Lord Severin will have no further need for you, fool!” With that, she struck him with her sword. He collapsed.

Talis turned to the heroes. “I leave you now. But let me give you a warning: no longer mess in the affairs of dragons – and do not enrage them!” With that, she turned her horse and rode off – the Dragonfangs following after her.

The heroes debated whether to follow after her, or even return to Waterdeep.

“Maybe,” growled Şillic, “It’s time we paid a visit to Darkhold and had a little word with these Zhentarim!”

“I for one,” replied Ishtra, “want to have words with Jameena.”

“Join the queue!” responded Vander, “Though now may not be the time the challenge the Zhentarim in their very own lair.”

“At least,” added Rhogar, “If it’s in the hands of the Zhentarim, then it’s not in the hands of the Cult of the Dragon. The Black Network will not sell it to them – for they will suffer no rival for power”

“But the Dragoncult wants all the masks,” cautioned Thalek.

Meanwhile, the Tribesmen, Utleg and Vorbotski, had a more welcome proposal. They would lead the heroes to their tribe. There the Girondi would reward them with food and a place to rest for the night. And so it was proved: before sunset they reached the stockade village and were warmly welcomed by the Tribal Chief. A great feast was laid in their honour. The food was good and there were lots of it: roasted lamb washed down with fermented milk. The tribal bard offered to play music while they ate, but was promptly hauled away by burly tribesmen who broke his instrument. Şillic approved!

The next morning’s breakfast was just as lavish. But not long after it began, guards came from the gate, leading a rider, clad in green and brown. He threw back his hood: it was Delaan Winterhound, Lieutenant of the Emerald Order, whom they had met at the last Council of Waterdeep. He climbed off his horse and strode especially to the Druid.

“Hail! Thalek Wildwalker, and now Windrider!” he greeted.

Over his chest, he clearly wore the emblem of his Order: The stone pendent with the two engraved marks: A straight line crossed by a second in a semi-circle. And now Thalek openly drew out his – given to him by the Herbalist, Fieth Thistlebury, back in the ruins of Greenest that seemed a long time distant, and yet was barely more than a year ago. “hmm,” thought Şillic, “I wonder what else the elf hasn’t told us?”

But though his greetings were warm, his news was grim. “The Elves of the Misty Forest are threatened with dire peril, though King Melandrach refuses to admit it. He did indeed strengthen the defences, and for a while peace returned – but now the raids have started again. And…” and here his voice almost whispered, “Masked figures have been seen accompanying the dragon. If this is true, then it is a grave threat that must be countered. On behalf of Crown Prince Alagarthas, who is one of us, I am asking you to go to the forest and investigate.”

Together, with the goodwill of the Tribe, they left the village. “It’s a long way from here” noted Rhogar, though not forgetting that Thalek’s spellcasting had brought them quickly to Diderius’ Tomb. “And you have not visited the trees in that forest.”

But Thalek smiled: “Did you not hear the new title Winterhound gave me?” He raised his arms and blew his breath slowly into the air. And as he did so, they all felt a rising breeze, then a gust. As the wind grew stronger around them, the lands around the heroes seemed to dissolve into insubstantial shapes.

Delaan watched the strange cloud rise up into the sky and move off towards the northwest. “Farewell, heroes of Faerûn!” he called out. Then remounting his horse, he turned, and headed on to Elturiel.