01. Help / Waterdeep's Last Resort
The Atlantis Option
Something was very wrong. Halaster felt afraid.
Halaster, the great mage, the rogue wizard, was afraid as he sat cooped up in a miserable heap in his dungeon. His demeanor was usually excited and mysterious, but the luster had worn away under the stress from the passing weeks, the last ounce of optimism and patience expelled from him and replaced with irritability, tiredness, and agony. He couldn't say that things could be worse because they really couldn't; the world was falling down with he to blame for a small portion of it, the rest laying on selected other, most of who were dead.
It had all started that one day when the Valsharess attacked Undermountain. She ushered legions of drow into his precious maze, treating it like an ill-conceived fortress instead of the magnificent puzzle it was. Drow were allegedly quick and clever things, yet they were easy prey to the ogres and fairies that already inhabited the labyrinth, and the rest of the faithful ones made little progress into the upper layers towards the surface. Despite her 'unmatched' aptitude of battle and extrasensory abilities, he was able to successfully trap her beneath the monster warren just as the other one entered.
This girl was different form the Matron; she was calm, quiet, respectful, and humble, yet brutal, strong, steady, and quick. Halaster could find no true master in her, for she was as deft with a blade as she was with a wand. Her saw her pick lockets, disarm traps, and even operate the underground machinations of Undermountain with ease. She ousted the Valsharess, stuffed the ragtag drow down into the Underdark, and then swiftly dispatched the Matron before she could launch a single attack against the rebel drow stronghold. Her speed was nigh impersonal, but Halaster liked to think that he knew her well, through their relationship had suffered when he placed the geas on her. In time, maybe she would forgive him.
But despite her valiant efforts to defuse the situation, the archduke Mephistopheles rose to the surface and began his assault on Toril. Halaster could feel the tremor of the devil's wake as he disrupted all the magic fields binding Waterdeep to safety. The survivors of the initial raze of the city—numbering well over fifty-thousand—crammed into Undermountain, figuring the great wizard could harbor them in the labyrinth and suppress the devil with power of his own.
Oh, how wrong they were. Undermountain was a jackpot for adventurers, not a home for refugees. The monsters killed even more and, in addition to violent requests for a hero, Halaster was blamed for the massacre. He had barricaded himself in the farthest part of the puzzle, sending word to her, hoping she'd come to save him. It was almost a year since the Valsharess died—who knew if the hero had even bothered to return after the Matron's death.
With the Valsharess dead, the drow armies were shredded or assimilated into the House Maeviir, though a good many dedicated themselves to Elistraee. Mephistopheles petitioned his younger brothers in the Hells for assistance, but after several scandals, he eventually withdrew the appeal and collected support from the cavernous landscape of Underdark. With the drow in civil war and the surfacers in their usual complacency, he was completely prepared for an attack on Toril.
And now Halaster was here. Elves, dwarves, gnomes, and humans were packed into his basement, demanding that he set things right. Since he was a surviving member of a silent triumvirate of Waterdeep—himself, the heroine, and Durnan of the inn—it was an unspoken duty, one of valor, something he did not possess, and, if he did possess it, would not condone since his policies were chaotic and hapless. He doubted he even had the power to dismiss an archduke of Hell. And if he died, the people would sweep him under the rug and write him off as a failure. His dungeon would fall into disrepair and the wonder of Undermountain would pine away. No, that couldn't happen. It never occurred to Halaster that he could face Mephistopheles and thoroughly intend not to lose, but he preferred to cower in the maze, waiting for her.
He knew she would come. She always came. That's what heroes do, appear in the hour of need, and Halaster was sure their need could not be greater.
"Halaster! She's here!"
HER. She was finally here. He was saved. Undermountain would live.
"Open the doors!" he screamed, running to the entrance hall as fast as his old, timid legs would take him.
The throngs of people parted as an air of awe pervaded the crowd, washing over them like a cleansing rain. A body, only a speck from Halaster's perch above the iron staircase, was gliding through the chasm. He caught the undulating flash of honey-coloured hair; it was the rich yellow of gold, and Halaster happened to know it matched her eyes as well. Oh, to gaze into those eyes and lose himself in her safety…
He now noticed she was clutching a wrapped parcel to her chest. It was crescent-shaped and he guessed it was fragile based on how measured her stride was and the manor in which she walked. There was no clanking of armour, only the oiled shine of her breastplate and the soft pat of her boots against the stone. Her cloak was studded with small diamonds and fixed under her chin with the gold insignia of the Many-Starred Cloak Enclave, and the pearly gleam off the stones scattered light in different directions as it tagged along after her.
Halaster almost burst into tears as she genuflected at the base of the staircase, signaling for him to come down. He flew down the stairs with more joy in his heart than the day someone first died in Undermountain. He embraced her, close to sobbing, muttering thanks and blessings into her hair. The people, confused but jubilant, stared blankly back at him over her shoulder. As he pressed her against himself, the bundle squealed and coughed, causing him to draw away in surprise.
Her eyes were the same fluorescent gold, lighting up her face with an intrinsic glow that warmed any beneath her stare. Her seashell-pink lips spread into a delicate smile, and Halaster's heart swelled with happiness. She was smiling. Everything's going to be all right.
Her eyes swooped down to the parcel in her arms. She pulled at a knot synching the top shut, pulling away at the silk to reveal a chubby face, the traces of birth present but not obvious. Its cheeks were still plump and droll, but the eyes, a jaundiced blue, were keen and alert. A normal child would have been screaming in this situation, but not hers. But was it her child?
"Atlantis…is this yours?"
"Yes," she said, her voice pure and high, like an angel. "Her name is Demeter Bell."
"Who has that surname?" The only noble family Bell were gnomes, and the babe lacked the trundling forehead.
She smiled, this time more wickedly than before. "It was Aarin's surname the night we…got acquainted." She touched the girl's cheek lovingly. "Nasher's spymaster was sent to collect information on 'the Waterdeep girl' the night I went to Neverwinter to find my guild mistress. He came to me under the name 'Gideon Bell'. In exchange for my company, he agreed not to tell Nasher a thing."
Astonishment graced Halaster's face. "Atlantis…I did not think you were one to barter with your body."
"I've been in touch with him ever since the Plague." She sighed heavily, touching the necklace dangling at her bosom. A light seemed to echo from it. "It's a warm feeling. Listen, Halaster, I need a favour of you."
"Anything, milady. I'm yours, Mistress Atlantis."
"I need you to take Demeter to the Reaper while I go to Mephistopheles."
So she was indeed going to challenge the archduke. Then all the people would do back to their town, and he could rebuild Undermountain. Yes, and maybe Demeter would grow fond of him and visit him in the future or help with traps in the dungeon. Then her mother would be proud of him for taking such good care of her daughter and she's come too. Maybe even the spymaster would come! Thoughts raced through his mind like colourful blurs as he pictured Atlantis standing triumphant over Mephistopheles and the resulting aftermath.
He gently pulled the girl close to his chest, watching Atlantis' arms slither off of her reluctantly. He'd never noticed the maternal glow about her under the child was taken from her, and she looked sad and empty, as if regretting the loss. At last, her eyes rose to his, and she sighed once more, tears pulling into drops at the corners.
She handed him an oddly shaped ball strung to an envelope. "This is the Reaper's Relic. I've enclosed two rogue stones, one for travel there and one for travel back. You'd do well to stay there until this is all over." She tapped the envelope. "Give this to the Reaper. I also would like it if you could give him my personal farewell and assurance of trust. He will be happy to hear it."
Halaster nodded. Warp to the Reaper give him the envelope and the child, wait around for an hour or so, then warp back to Undermountain to begin reconstruction. Easy enough.
Atlantis turned to the people. "Mephistopheles knows you're down here. He'll storm Undermountain in the next couple of days."
Whispers and terror swam through the crowd, devouring hope like hungry sharks. Heads turned to wag tongues, but she continued. "Your best bet is to warp to cities on the Sword Coast…Neverwinter, Luskan, Port Llast, West Harbor…I can set up portals with the last bit of magic I have."
Relief seemed to flood the room in an intangible wave. But a voice piped up from the ranks, saying, "But what about you? You need the energy for the battle with Mephistopheles!"
Agreement came in scattered tones across the chamber. Atlantis waved them away. "Even at full-strength, I'd never be able to beat him. I can buy you maybe seven, eight hours at the most. Undermountain needs to be evacuated. If you all can get to the Sword Coast, then you might be able to spread the warning and unite the cities before his army grows too strong."
Before further protests could be made, she flung her wrists to the sky and tore open a portal in the center of the room. A wind swept like a cyclone from the stairs and funneled its energy into the doorway, sparking in a bright blue light. Over the roar of lament and confusion, she commanded, "Everyone, through the portal as fast as you can!"
A mad scramble for the gateway began as people crushed each other in efforts to enter the magic hole. Eventually, a violent rhythm was established, and hundreds were dumping through the portal in minutes. Sad glances fell like leaves around them as they stole final looks at Atlantis, telling themselves that she would make it. Atlantis found Halaster again.
"You can't let him find out there's a child. Mephistopheles will hunt you to Judgment if you do. This world is as good as his—"
And then she was gone, briskly walking up the pathway to the inn, cloak fluttering in her wake with just as epic an air as she. He suddenly realized that she had no intention of returning whatsoever, and here he stood, the daughter of two legends cradled in the arms of a third, watching the passing of a legacy. A swell of integrity dealt him an internal slap on the face.
"Atlantis!"
She turned for a moment, sadness and remorse in her eyes. There was no weakness there, only strength, courage, vitality.
"You made a difference," he said, jaw trembling. "You mattered!"
A smile graced her lips, but it was laden with sorrow. "Demeter, I love you! Thank you, Halaster, for everything. Goodbye."
And she was up the rope in an instant. Halaster listened to the fading resonance of her boots lightly scuffing the ground, and when the sound had dwindled, he dissolved into tears and wept for the end of justice; while he, a selfish, sadistic man, lived with a newborn in his arms, she, the good soldier and even-hearted, was torn from her child and served death. Righteousness fled with his rationale, and he ran, baby against his chest.