It smelt of burning flesh. The city gates had been closed, allowing passage to none but a select few officials. All districts were quarantined; some for the purpose of keeping the Wailing Death in, and others to keep it out. NeverWinter had never before seen such blight upon its lands; the plague had hit hard and fast, cutting down nearly the whole of the resident population and sending the remainder into a state of frenzy. What was left of the city guard were scattered about the city core and four adjoining districts, their work turned from passive protection to running chaotic errands. The majority of them spent their time loading plague-ridden corpses into wagons and building unceremonious funeral pyres helter-skelter about the streets; the others gathered in tight groups by the district gates, staring out at their ruined city with dirty, tired faces and listless eyes. Mourning families and desperate, dying individuals roamed the streets like ghosts, most wailing indefinitely and some begging their fellow diseased for help they knew they couldn't get. Others still barricaded themselves in their homes or sought refuge in the unwavering arms of Tyr.
The Hall of Justice – the single religious establishment of the city – stood like a beacon of hope in the eyes of the population. Within, Tyr's faithful offered help to the sick in whatever way they could; exempt from the plague, the clergymen and women would offer reassuring words and a compassionate ear to the dying. That was unfortunately all they could offer, for they had soon discovered that their clerical talents could do nothing to counter the rampant disease.
This peculiar impotence was the lead concern of city officials, as it raised a most poignant set of questions: was the Wailing Death an unnatural disease, an artificial creation of sorts? And if so, who was behind it and why? These questions weighed heavily, in particular, upon the regent Lord Nasher and his right hand Lady Aribeth deTylmarande, a paladin of Tyr. Both worked together to defeat the Wailing Death and find its originator; a group of rare creatures were sent to the city from WaterDeep, creatures with which, with the knowledge of the Waterdhavian archmage Khelben Blackstaff, Nasher and Aribeth would be able to devise a cure for the plague.
Despite the substantial ray of hope that the arcane recipe represented, there was still much to be done within and for NeverWinter. And too much, at that, for Aribeth and Nasher to tackle alone. With Tyr's brotherhood tied to dying and the militia straining to keep the city from becoming a gargantuan graveyard, summons were sent to certain residents in hopes of finding them alive – and willing to work. The situation was dire, and there was no shame in asking for help outside city council…after all, NeverWinter was the peoples' as much as it was Nasher's.