The Crown of Neverwinter

by Grounders10

Thirty years ago Nodoka ran away from home. For thirty years she has tried to forget what she left behind. To forget what she was told was destiny. Ranma has always seen his mother as a just a homemaker, that changes when a Wizard shows up on their doorsteps looking for Nodoka. Warning: Locked Ranma

4. Meetings

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A Ranma ½ Forgotten Realms Crossover

The Crown of Neverwinter

By: Grounders10

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Meetings

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The sun reflected off the polished windows of the shops and homes of Protector's Enclave as Nodoka led the way through the streets. She paused to examine the wares of the tailors that were on display in a foggy window. The sign by the door proclaimed it 'The Sheltered Maiden'. She had gotten quite used to the universal clarity of glass back on Earth. She had become used to a lot of things. Clean water, plumbing, easy access to heating, and the sheer convenience of entire stores filled with new clothing just waiting to be purchased.

Her group; consisting of herself, her son turned daughter, Nabiki, and Mason, was ostensibly shopping to replace clothing lost during their trip south from a town called Cutburough further to the north. She was pretending to be 'Lady Marie Westphilia of Cutburough', which was technically a minor title her family had a claim on. Minor and at this point probably lapsed, but it was distant enough that she wasn't likely to run into anyone who actually knew the current 'Lady Westphilia of Cutburough'. Among those who knew of the title it would serve as a decent explanation for her hair colour as well since Cutburough's people tended towards red hair.

"What do you think, does their skill look adequate?" She asked her daughter as she examined the displayed dress. It was of a familiar style that had fallen quite out of fashion on Earth, but which had persisted for many centuries in Faerun.

"Hmm?" Ranma turned from her absent watching of the crowds around them and looked into the window. Like herself, her daughter and Nabiki were also wearing the spare 'apprentice robes' that Blackburn had packed. They were rather right on herself, but Ranma managed to make an adorable 'apprentice'. "It might be… Anything is better than what we're wearing."

Nodoka nodded her agreement. "Quite." As if to accentuate her point the chest of her robe gave a worrying creak as the fabric strained against her frame. Perhaps they should have taken the risk and dressed in their clothes from Earth? A public wardrobe malfunction would possibly attract more attention than the jeans and windbreaker she'd worn on the hike home.

"I don't know… I've seen better, even in the windows around here," Nabiki said as she cast a pointed glance back up the street to the two other tailor's they'd passed on their way.

Nodoka took the prompt as an opportunity to look back, peering through the mild crowd of people that were going about their business. It was, of course, an act. They had been directed to this particular store by Madam Rosene. The proprietor, a woman by the name of Sherrie, was apparently one of the Sons of Alagondar and as Rosene put it 'had a better understanding of the Enclave'. Primarily on account of having lived there since before Neverember arrived.

As her eyes raked over the crowd, Nodoka took the moment to catalog what she was seeing. She would admit that her skills were quite rusty, but even her out of practice self was more than capable of picking the Mintarn enforcers out of the crowd. Of note was a particularly heavyset man in fine clothes was picking his way through the stalls in the square a little ways behind them. The Mintarn mercenaries at his back and the white feathered cap he wore denoted his identity as one of Dagult's tax collectors.

"I think this one will do fine," Ranma said, shaking her head.

"Yes, I think it will," Nodoka said as she turned back to the building. "Lady Mason, if you would?"

"As you wish, milady," the Paladin stepped forward and opened the door for them. A small bell rang. The trio, with guard, stepped into the shop. It certainly wasn't the largest tailor's shop in the area, even from what little they had seen, but it was well maintained.

"I'll be out in a moment!" an aged and rough woman's voice called from the backrooms.

"Take your time!" Nodoka replied. The room had several mannequins dressed in finery set up around the room. Paired up in men and women and different species. At a glance she could see mannequins for humans, elves, dwarves, halflings and what appeared to be a form of dragonkin.

The dresses and other clothes were of a solid quality. The details were easier to recognize without a hazy glass window in the way. Intricate embroidery and lace decorated many of the outfits and a close inspection proved the quality of the decorations. Ms. Sherrie was apparently a talented woman.

It was a minute or so before a woman of advanced age, her hair gray and silver with a fairly gaunt frame, stepped out of the backrooms. She herself may have aged poorly, but the dress she wore was as fine as any on display. Her own work, Nodoka could only assume. She peered over half-rimmed spectacles at their group.

"Welcome to The Sheltered Maiden. I am Sherrie Winterfell, the proprietress and seamstress," she said, "I can see at least three of you who require my services." She sniffed pointedly. Nodoka could hardly blame her. The apprentice robes they were wearing were hardly fashionable.

"I am Lady Westphilia, we're here on Madam Rosene's recommendation," Nodoka said, stepping forward. The old woman eyed her for a moment. A single long and gaunt, but steady, finger uncurled to point at her. It traced something, possibly her hair.

"Yes, yes Rosene sent word. An incident with a dragon was it? Oh, you are fortunate the beast was not hungrier. They are usually more diligent when it comes to such, generous fare," The finger dipped to point at Nodoka's chest as a smirk crossed the old woman's face.

"So we've been told," she said, ignoring the older woman's amused grin.

The old woman turned and beckoned them to follow. "Come come. Into the backrooms," she said, "I won't work on you out front for all to ogle." Nodoka followed her, the rest of the group at her heels, around the main counter and into the backrooms. The first room had two platforms for customers to stand along with material and tools that lined the tables around the room. Lighting was provided by a mixture of oil lamps and a pair of glowing crystals whose light seemed slightly dim and flickering.

Once Mason joined them the door slammed shut behind them, dislodging dust from the ceiling, as the old woman turned to face them. Out of the corner of her eye Nodoka caught Mason placing a hand on her sword hilt. She waved for the paladin to hold off.

"Now that we have some privacy, let me see you properly," the proprietress said as she stepped into Nodoka's personal space. Her face leaned close and it was all Nodoka could do not to lean back from the faint smell of garlic on the woman's breath.

Ranma took a step closer as well.

"Hrm… Yes… Nodoka Alagondar Rosene said." the woman mused, "Hrm… I see, I see." She stepped back and offered a truncated curtsey. "Welcome back to Neverwinter Your Highness. If indeed you are her. You have the features, and you do resemble the child I recall, but it has been years. I will trust Rosene's judgment for now."

Nodoka, after a moment, bowed back in her own truncated courtesy. "I thank you for the chance, Mrs. Winterfell," she said.

"Hmm, we'll see the worth of it in time. For now, you have questions… and unless I was misinformed, a need for clothing worthy of a Queen."

"Something less conspicuous might be initially preferable," Nodoka replied.

"Hmm, I have to ask, how much of a cover story was that dragon?" Sherrie questioned, "Off with the robe. Which of these two is your daughter, the short redhead I assume?"

Nodoka pulled the robe up and over her head, leaving her clad in only her underwear. Once it was clear she said, "Yes. Mrs. Winterfell, this is my daughter, Ranma." There was a part of her that felt odd introducing Ranma as a girl. Not wrong, but odd. A glance her daughter's way showed an odd expression on the younger redhead's face that she couldn't decipher. Elements of confusion, worry, and something else flickered over her expression before disappearing.

Ranma curtseyed as she'd been instructed to if introduced. "Hello," she said, her voice was a touch nervous. Beside her Nabiki covered her mouth with obvious amusement.

"Hello to you, dearie," Sherrie said as she pulled out a pair of tape measures, two quills, and two sheets of parchment. She paused to glance Ranma's way. "Off with your robe as well, then up on the platforms for both of you." Ranma went red, but obeyed. Moments later they were up on the platforms.

Sherrie looked them over from across the room as she laid out her tools. "Hrm… Yes, excellent figures, and a remarkable hair colour Princess," she said, nodding to Ranma, "Unusually vibrant even for your family. Now, Meisero." With a flick of her hands and something drawn from her pocket that Nodoka failed to identify before it puffed away in a flash of light, the measuring tape, parchment, and quills took flight. Nodoka managed to stifle her surprise as the cold tape measure met the skin around her waist. Ranma let out a yelp of surprise and tried to squirm away from the tape measure until Sherrie added, "Keep struggling and the spell will wear off before it's done. Then we'll have to do this again."

Nodoka did her best to ignore the tape measure taking measurements of everything on her body as the quill recorded it on the parchment. "I have questions, if you don't mind answering them Mrs. Winterfell," she said.

Sherrie had moved onto sorting through swatches of cloth in different colours and materials. "Rosene had mentioned something along those lines. Ask away Your Highness," she said as she began to compare swatches of cloth to Nodoka's skin and hair.

Questions swirled as she considered what to ask. Rosene had been very definite, but hers was the experience of someone pushed to the fringe of a city. "Tell me, have things improved since Dagult arrived?" she asked.

"Immensely," came the instant reply from the seamstress. The old woman gave her a glance over her shoulder as she pulled out another swatch. "The city was dead, we just hadn't accepted it yet. Dagult Neverember changed that. For that I can forgive a lot, even his presumptuous sponsored looting of the castle," she continued. She held a swatch of vibrant green wool against Nodoka's skin and hummed to herself.

Nodoka's eyes narrowed at the mention of the castle. "I've heard that adventurers have been searching the castle, but that most don't return."

"They don't," Sherrie confirmed as she glanced at the parchment recording the measurements for Ranma. Her eyes turned to take in the teenager. "My my, you are going to be beating off the suitors once we have you properly dressed."

"No thanks," Ranma replied irritably, "I've had way too much of that." Sherrie raised an eyebrow and glanced Nodoka's way.

"It's complicated," she sighed.

"I see."

"You say things have improved, but you are a supporter of Rosene's. I don't understand why," Nodoka said, shifting the topic.

"Better does not mean good. An improvement from the hells does not mean you've reached the heavens," the seamstress said as she moved over to Nodoka's parchment, "I see where your daughter gets it from." She turned to retrieve more swatches from the table. "The issue with Dagult Neverember is that he is overbearing, presumptuous, and relies on the loose morals and even looser discipline of Mintarn mercenaries." Swatches of wool and cotton, both as fine as any Nodoka has seen on Earth, were held up to Ranma and her hair. "Hrm… There is also the matter of his poor control over his tax collectors and his toady Soman Galt's inconsistent rulings. We are better, we are improving, but I doubt Neverwinter will go much further unless we rid ourselves of the anchors that fool tied around our necks." Her fingers curled around the edge of a table, the skin turned white from the force she used to clench the wood.

Silence fell as the older woman worked until the tape measures rolled themselves up and settled, along with the quills and parchment, upon the table they had been on. Sherrie Winterfell abandoned her search for a particular swatch and examined the results. "I see. Well, I have all the measurements I need. The question now, is what am I making?" she asked, turning to Nodoka expectantly.

"Dresses I believe. We have other forms of clothing, but they are… quite different from Faerun's styles," Nodoka said. A t-shirt and jeans would stand out just as much as a kimono or yukata. "We simply need… call it four dresses. Three day wear, one formal."

"I've got party dresses packed, mother," Ranma said, looking slightly strained. She had crossed her arms over her chest and turned away. Her mother had to wonder at that. Their intention had been to introduce her as a man, not a girl. Did her son make a habit of carrying clothing for all occasions for both forms? Not that it was a bad thing given the situation. Preparedness was being rewarded in this- Her eyes narrowed as she recalled a glimpse of a dress she had seen in her daughter's bags.

"I've seen that dress you packed. Just putting it on would cause a scandal," Nodoka said with a frown, "Where on earth did you get it?" She hadn't asked, but the seafoam green dress her daughter had packed was more suited to an evil sorceress than a Princess, regardless of whether or not the Princess was supposed to be a Prince.

"The wandering isle, Togenkyo. The Prince let us keep what we wanted after everything was said and done," Ranma said with a shrug, "I think it looks good on me."

"That might be the problem," Nabiki drawled from the seat she'd found by the door.

"Evidently it isn't to your mother's standards," Sherrie mused, "Very well. Dresses. Day wear and formal? Nothing for at night?"

"I have plenty for at night," Nodoka said, "We all do." They needed the dresses for day cover and formal occasions, for everything else they had more than enough clothes from Earth.

"Very well. Both of you can get dressed. Girl," a long thin finger was pointed in Nabiki's direction, "Lose the robe and get up on the platform."

Nabiki hesitated for a moment before pulling the robes over her head. As she did so Nodoka and Ranma stepped off their platforms and pulled back on their robes. As Nodoka pulled the robe over her head it snagged her bun and with a pop the elastic hair tie she had been using to hold it up snapped. Her hair fell loose about her shoulders as she finished pulling on her robes.

She tsked and pulled her hair out from her collar as she took a seat. It had been quite a while since she had walked around with her hair down. Nearly as long as she had been gone from the city in fact. She hadn't wanted to get rid of her long hair while adventuring, but keeping it long had brought its own issues. It was a habit she had kept once in Japan.

Nodoka watched Nabiki squeak and squirm under the attention of a fresh, and equally cold, tape measure for a few moments before starting in on her questions again. "How available is food currently?"

"Troublesome," Sherrie said as she held a swatch of red wool up against Nabiki's arm. "Food was scarce before Dagult came. Since then it is easier to get food, but the prices can be high. Did you walk into the city?"

"We did."

"Mhmm, then you saw the villages?" Sherrie looked over her shoulder at Nodoka who nodded, "Local food supplies are at an all-time low compared to the population of the city. Most food is being shipped in these days and that has driven prices sky-high for all but the basics. Dagult has prioritized the port and all but ignored the regions around the city. The support network of towns and villages that once funneled food to the city is barely standing. Many have been wiped out by orcs or Uthgardt barbarians. I've heard rumors of undead further out while those close to the city can find themselves under siege by the creatures from the chasm."

She held up a fairly sheer blue swatch of wool to Nabiki's skin.

"So the city is barely hanging on then," Ranma said. Her daughter had taken to leaning against the wall by the door, her arms crossed under her chest. "If Waterdeep pulls out, the city will starve."

"Possibly. There will still be a profit to be made sailing here, so true starvation is unlikely, but I cannot say how much control over the prices Dagult is exercising," Sherrie said.

"If any," Nabiki noted before squirming as the tape measure wrapped around her chest.

"Stop that," Sherrie chided.

"What about water? Medicine?" Nodoka asked.

"Water was difficult immediately after the cataclysm, but we're mostly fine now. The quality of the well water is almost as good as it used to be," Sherrie said, "Though we did have to dig new ones. The old ones were utterly befouled by the time the ash stopped falling."

That at least was something. "And Medicine?"

"Expensive and rare if you don't go to the Hall of Justice," the seamstress replied, "The priests there may be Dagult's toadies, but they do try to do their duties." Another good thing.

"Why is it expensive?" Ranma asked.

"For the same reason as food. The towns and villages around have little to offer that they themselves do not use. Neverwinter offers no protection anymore," Sherrie replied.

Nodoka closed her eyes. Neverwinter was a skeleton, no, it was less than a skeleton of what it had been. The town and villages had been its arms and legs, and now they were missing or mangled. The support network her family had built over the last two centuries, which had survived the onset of the spellplague, was now a rickety house ready to blow over in the next fierce gust of wind.

"With so many people returning," she noted, "there can't possibly be enough repaired homes for them all. Do you know what Neverember is doing for the displaced and the homeless?"

"He's taken to the Waterdeep philosophy when it comes to such things," Sherrie sighed. She checked the parchment for Nabiki as the quill continued scribbling away measurements. Nodoka suppressed a giggle as the tape measure measured the bridge of Nabiki's nose. Her eyes crossed as she stared at the tape measure.

"I'm not familiar with Waterdeep's approach," Nodoka said once she had her giggles under control.

"Sink or swim on your own. You can appeal to temples or other groups like them, but anyone without a home sleeps on the streets when the guards don't drive them off," the old woman said with a grimace, "Not even half as kind as your father's methods."

"And food?" she asked. The Waterdeep method reminded her of how things tended to work in most places on Earth.

"Distributed from the Hall of Justice at below market prices. If you have a license from the Hall, which costs money or favors," she replied. The seamstress paused to compare two swatches of cloth to Ranma's face. Her daughter blinked at the old woman who turned away to compare the same two to Nabiki.

Nodoka pursed her lips. "Or favors? Officially or…?"

"Unofficially. I doubt that the Lord Protector would be happy to learn of this sort of… privateering on the behalf of his scribes."

Nabiki snorted. "Proving it though," she snarked.

"Precisely," Sherrie nodded.

Nodoka leaned back in her chair. Just listening to this was making her feel agitated. The man had helped pull up the city from ruin, yes, but he was also trying to bleed it of money. Like he was trying to make a profit off the disaster. At least, it felt like it. "Do you know what he's working on restoring at the moment?" she asked as she tried to ignore the way her foot was tapping against the ground.

"The west bridge I believe," Sherrie said, "There's been a push from merchants for better access to Blacklake, and I believe the Lord Protector intends to smooth the walk from the North Docks."

"Anything else?"

"Roads, houses. The usual," she replied. She pointed a finger at Nabiki, "You can get dressed now, girl."

Nabiki dressed quickly and hopped off the platform.

"I will need you to come back for fittings," Sherrie said, "I'll have a message sent to Madam Rosene when you need to come in." She laid the parchment with the rest and started carefully stacking swatches next to each of them.

"You mentioned Tax collectors earlier," Nodoka said.

"I did," she nodded, "Corruption is rife amongst the tax collectors. When one comes to collect, you never know if you'll be taxed at the official rate or not."

"And Neverember lets it happen?" her daughter demanded with disgust.

"Not when he catches it, but that has only happened once," Sherrie said, "I have no proof, but I suspect he was the only one not playing ball with the mercenaries. The rest of them always seem to be supported by the Mintarn mercenaries when they come knocking."

Nodoka closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She was feeling ill all of a sudden. Sick like she'd eaten something wrong and there was a lump in her throat all of a sudden. "Thank you," she said, "For your information."

"I live to serve, Princess," the seamstress said.

Nodoka slowly opened her eyes and let out her breath. Her family's city was in ruins and those who had come to 'save' it were apparently engaged in bribery and extortion. The thought was almost enough to draw tears from her eyes once again, but she managed to suppress the urge, though she could feel the wetness in the corners of her eyes. She stood up and turned towards the door.

"Ranma, Nabiki, come, we have other places to see. Mrs. Winterfell, we will await your message," she said, a slight hitch in her voice.

"I will endeavor to be swift, Your Highness," she replied.

Nodoka led them out of the backrooms and out of the store, her daughter, guard, and tagalong at her heels. The moment she stepped out onto the street, however, she stopped. Her eyes sweeping the street. The tax collector from before was gone, but she could see people giving the Mintarn mercenaries a wide berth. They shouldn't feel the need to shy away from those who were supposed to protect them.

This was not the Neverwinter she remembered. She shivered despite the warm day. This was not the Neverwinter she remembered, and she didn't know where to start to fix it.

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Ranma's mother had always appeared to be composed, collected, and in control. Even during some of the more dramatic moments leading up to her learning about Ranma's curse she had maintained a stoic level of control that was profoundly impressive and reassuring after dealing with Genma and his emotional tendencies over the years. So to see her looking around the busy street with the hint of tears in her eyes hit Ranma hard. Sure, her mother was trying to look in control, but there was a shake in her hands that hadn't been there before.

The young redhead shared a look with Nabiki, the brunette had a nonplussed look on her face as she shrugged. Ranma frowned at her before turning her back to the other girl. "Mother?" Ranma said, reaching out to touch her mother's arm. The older woman jumped and shook herself.

"I- Yes, Ranma?" her mother asked as she shook her head.

"What next?" she asked, hoping to distract her mother.

"I believe there were a few others that Madame Rosene suggested," Mason said. The Paladin was scanning the rooftops and streets.

Nodoka took a deep breath and nodded. "Yes. Yes, we should visit the rest of the list," she replied, "Lady Mason, please lead the way." The Paladin bowed briefly before forging a path through the crowds. Nodoka followed close behind and Ranma found herself at the back of the group as they meandered their way to the next destination. A cobbler's shop as it turned out.

Inside the conversation went much as the meeting with the seamstress had gone and without much new information, they were soon on their way with an order for three pairs of shoes each placed. As their route took them through the western half of the enclave, Ranma watched the people. It was a habit from her days on the road. You could learn a lot about a small town or village by paying attention to how the people behaved. It was always a warning sign when the people started shying away from police or government officials.

Neverwinter's people were skittish, and it wasn't just the guards. Sure, in the plazas where merchant stalls were set up or in the stores themselves people tended to give the Mintarn mercenaries and the few tax officials they came across wide berths. Their white-feathered caps created instant open spaces in otherwise busy streets and sent people scurrying to different stores or stalls when they stopped. The mercenaries also provoked similar reactions, though to a lesser extent.

People were clearly worried about attracting the attention of the Mintarn or the officials, but Ranma couldn't see a direct reason as to why. It felt like there was something more going on than just the complaints about taxes and corruption. There was real nervousness, and yet it wasn't the only source. Many people often kept their distance from what appeared to be manhole covers. Eyes of many residents would turn east when a bell rang. At moments like that the distance around the Mintarn mercenaries vanished as though the crowds were seeking protection. It would last for a few minutes before the normal spaces opened up again. It was strange.

As they left the fourth shop, an arcane supply shop called 'The Widow's Wand', her mother found a seat on a slightly disused bench by the door. "A moment please," she said, sounding exhausted.

Nabiki took a seat as well. She bent down to rub her ankles. "I really didn't expect to do this much walking," she complained.

"You were warned," Ranma replied with a roll of her eyes. Nabiki huffed, but didn't reply. "So, where are we headed next?" Ranma asked her mother.

Her mother looked down at her hands, then up towards the sky before turning to Ranma. "I don't know," she said, "The more I hear… I had planned to walk by the Hall of Justice, but…" She clenched her fists and exhaled.

"I wouldn't get too worked up," Nabiki said, as she stretched, "This lot sound like they've got an agenda. They keep talking about the same things unless you ask a question. Trade, food, water, and politics. That's it." Ranma frowned. There was something that was bothering her about the people they had been talking to. It wasn't the topics, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it.

"They're talking about what's important to them," Mason observed before Nodoka could reply, "We've been solely talking to shopkeepers. These are the things they would be concerned with."

Nodoka nodded, looking thoughtful.

Ranma snapped her fingers and pointed at her mother. "There's also their age," She said, "They're all old enough to know Neverwinter before the cataclysm. We haven't heard from a single person who's grown up with this."

Mason nodded. "Hearing what the upcoming generation thinks would be a good idea, milady. Unfortunately, going around and asking questions without knowing who to trust could be… tricky. If word gets back to Dagult and he decides to not be friendly…" She trailed off as a trio of guards escorting an official turned the corner. He lacked the feathered cap, but the lidless eye pin holding his blue half-cape up made his allegiance clear.

As they approached Ranma picked up the conversation. "So I think we should make a visit to the House of Knowledge," she said as the guards passed them.

"I do believe Madame Rosene warned us to keep some distance from that area of the city," her mother replied, her eyes subtly tracking the group of guards.

"True, but I think the Cleric there, Abigail, could help us with our problem," Ranma said. Mason's eyes snapped from the guards to her.

"A Cleric? Of whom?" Mason asked.

"Of Oghma. I met her last night while taking a walk," Ranma said with a shrug, "I helped her out and walked her back to the House of Knowledge."

"Oh look, another city and already womanizing," Nabiki said with a sarcastic smirk. Ranma stuck her tongue out at the other girl, earning her a snort.

"Ignoring my instructions in the process," Nodoka sighed. Ranma felt her cheeks grow hot as she blushed.

"Well she's my age, and might be able to help," she said as she tried to ignore her blush. She hadn't meant to ignore her mother's instructions and walk through the enclave, but what was, was.

The guards disappeared into the crowd down the street. "Do you know anything about her?" Mason asked, "I'd rather not have word getting back to Dagult."

"We don't have to tell her who we are," Ranma replied, "We can just ask her if she'd mind having a chat. We don't have that many other options, unless you want to keep talking to shopkeepers?"

Her mother remained silent for a little bit. Her hands were clasped in her lap and her eyes shut. As Ranma watched, her mother mouthed something. Words, evidently, though the movements of her mouth didn't line up with anything that Ranma could recognize. Perhaps it was the local language? She was still relying on the amulet that Blackburn had given her.

After a minute she stopped and looked up. "I think…" She pursed her lips in thought, indecision warring on her face. "We need to split up. Ranma, dear, you've spoken with this cleric before. Go to the House of Knowledge and speak with her. You aren't in any rush, so take your time."

"With respect, I can't protect both of you if one of you is gone," Lady Mason protested. The paladin looked worried.

"You don't need to," Ranma said, cutting in, "I've been in fights that destroyed mountains and walked away the winner. Unless you expect something like that to be walking down the street I'll be more than fine."

"She's not joking. It hit the news back home," Nabiki said.

Lady Mason looked askance at Ranma's mother. The older redhead nodded. "They aren't lying, Lady Mason. I did tell you back in Nerima that my… Child was more than capable of taking care of herself," she said. Ranma nodded and crossed her arms.

"Be that as it may, I cannot recommend splitting the group up," Lady Mason said with a frown, "Given the situation by rights we shouldn't have even left the Inn with such a small escort. We should have waited for Agatha to bring word. This risks you far too much, milady." The crowd was flowing past them normally by then, the worries of guards having faded quickly.

Her mother groaned. "And where do you expect they would stay? In the Inn? Lady Mason, I understand your worries, but…" She closed her eyes and breathed out heavily, the weight of the situation clear from the slump of her shoulders. "My daughter can handle herself better than any of us can, that includes you and your companions. I've worried, I'll admit, about the dangers of magic, but this far into the city we should be safe from such threats. Broad daylight would be a bad time for a wizard to strike and even then what cause would they have? We are no one at the moment, Lady Mason."

"Safe is relative," the Paladin of Torm replied with a frown.

"I'll be fine," Ranma said, "Compared to Nerima this place doesn't seem so nuts, even with the monster horde pouring out of that chasm." Which was an assessment mostly born of the fact that said horde of monsters wasn't trying to break through the wall to marry her.

"I think we have different impressions of Nerima," Her mother said with a wry smile. Ranma shrugged. Nerima wasn't bad for most people, she could admit that, but for her it alternated between pleasant and maddening depending on the plots, weather, and mad coincidences.

Lady Mason sighed. "I will not insist," she said, looking down at Ranma, "But do be careful. Your world was weak in arcane and divine magic. There are many magic tricks a cunning sorcerer or wizard might use that you will have no experience with."

"See chanting person, punch chanting person," Ranma deadpanned, "Weird glowy lights are fair game too."

The Paladin paused for a moment before nodding. "Not a bad philosophy," she admitted, "But do be careful. Kazale will have my head if something happens to you."

"I'll be fine, the question is, what are you going to be doing?" she asked her mother.

"We are going to be continuing our explorations. I need to see what else has changed," her mother replied, "But we will cut it short and return to the Inn sooner than originally planned if things start looking dangerous." Lady Mason nodded. She looked relieved at the show of sense.

"Don't stay out longer than you need to, Ranma," her mother finished.

"I won't," she replied, only to squeak in a very unmanly manner as her mother pulled her into a hug.

"I'm serious, be careful," Nodoka said into her ear, "Nerima has not a tenth the magical dangers that wander Neverwinter right now."

Ranma nodded and hugged her back. "I know. I'll be careful," she said, pulling away to smile, "I'm used to knowing when to run."

She ignored Nabiki's scoff, "As if." with long practice. She could too run away. It was a special technique after all.

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The walk to the House of Knowledge took only a short while thanks to Ranma's ability to slip through crowds that had been honed over the years in Tokyo and later Shanghai and other major cities in China, Japan, and Korea. Not that she'd ever talk about those weird six months in Korea if she could help it.

The square before the House of Knowledge was both crowded, and empty. The western entrance that they came in from had a cluster of merchant stalls set up around a pair of smithies. The 'Iron Belt' and the 'Mithril Stoat'. They sold a variety of wares that seemed tailor made for combat and their customers were primarily a large group of browsing Mintarn Mercenaries along with an eclectic mix of mismatched warriors, most of whom seemed to be on their own.

The rest of the square was practically barren except for two enterprising food stalls set up by the non-functional fountain in the center of the square. A few mercenaries appeared to be buying… Ranma glanced at the sky. Lunch by the looks of it. Slightly late, but lunch nonetheless. She was already starting to miss reliable access to clocks. She was also missing clean water, but given the state of the city that was less than surprising.

Lacking any form of money at that moment, Ranma ignored the stalls and walked towards the steps of the House of Knowledge. A few people in worn and slightly tattered clothing were sitting about the steps and around a pair of campfires. Amongst them were a pair of Mintarn guards sitting and eating at one of the campfires.

Trying to look as inconspicuous as possible, she walked past the fires and up to the open doors of the House of Knowledge. The moment she started approaching the building, however, she felt her attempt to be inconspicuous go up in flames as eyes shifted to her. She stifled a sigh. The issue with being a pretty redhead was the same no matter where you went, people were going to notice you, even when you didn't want to be noticed - the apprentice robes she was wearing were not helping the matter either if she was being honest.

Straightening her back she ignored the stares, and the one whistle from the fire with the guards, and walked into the building. Her first thought when walking through the doors was that it looked neither like a library nor a temple. The first room was more of a lobby with a decorative fountain featuring a stately-looking scholar examining a scroll as its centerpiece. The water wasn't running, but then that seemed to be the general case most everywhere in the city. A few stone benches were around the room and light was provided by a chandelier that was only half-lit with candles and the open doorway. A few people were talking in a corner as she stepped in. They didn't seem to notice as she padded across the hall to the doors leading further inside.

She poked her head through the door beyond and stared at the bookshelves that started not four feet into the next room. Running from floor to the ceiling dozens of meters up, the aisles ran as far as she could see before turning abruptly and disappearing into the rat's maze of shelves. The light was provided by a scattering of lanterns that hung at various heights to illuminate the bookshelves. Most were dark, but a few were lit.

"This is more like it," she muttered as she stepped into the room.

"What is?" she jumped as right behind the door someone spoke up. Sitting wedged into a bench behind the door was an elderly-looking man who was squinting at her over cracked half-moon spectacles.

"Uh, who are you?" she asked. The elderly man smiled a toothy grin. Beneath his chapped lips and wrinkled leathery skin, his teeth seemed remarkably clean, practically shining white beneath the grim of the rest of his body.

"Reginald Barbuckle," he said, offering a hand in the western manner. She accepted it and felt something crawl up her spine as he shook her hand. Like a pair of damp crooked fingers had traced their way across her skin. She surreptitiously wiped her hand off once he let go. "Cobbler by trade, not that I get much business these days. Lost my tools to orcs you see."

She grimaced. "Oh, how long ago was that?" she asked, feigning some sympathy as she tried to keep from shuddering. She wasn't normally one to be weirded out, but just shaking his hand was setting off alarms she couldn't place.

"A few years ago now. Same as most of the people here," he said, "Now, what can I do for you? Here to look around, or looking for someone?" He looked her over, his gaze reminded her of Happousai for a heartbeat before smoothing over to simple curiosity so quickly that she'd have wondered if she had imagined it if not for the creeping sensation still dancing along her spine.

"Just looking for Abigail," she said, "I was told she lives here?"

"Abigail- Ah, yes the Cleric of Oghma. She's taken up residence in the senior priestess's quarters," Reginald said. He gestured along the wall to his left. "Follow the side of the wall, about a third of the way along there's a door. She'll be in one of the rooms beyond. If not, then she's probably roaming the stacks and searching for her in there could take a while."

"Thanks," she said, bowing her head politely to him before scampering off down the hallway. She wiped her hand off again on her robe's arm. It felt greasy where he had touched it. She inspected it carefully beneath a lamp. Nothing seemed wrong with it, so it might just have been her imagination. She shook herself and kept walking. He was probably just a creepy old man. She'd met plenty of those before.

His instructions were, at least, quite good and she found the wing of rooms with ease. The door was a nice oak with scrolls and other undoubtedly symbolic signs carved into the door. It had clearly been made by a master artisan, like the rest of the building, but the years had not been kind to it. The reliefs were worn down and there were scorch marks on the wood.

She pushed it open to find a cluttered hallway filled with desks along the walls that were stacked with books, manuscripts and scrolls. The lighting was even worse, with only a single lantern hanging from the ceiling providing a dim flickering light. There was another door at the far end that was decorated in much the same way as the first and she passed through it into a circular room with a wooden spiral staircase leading up in the center. Around the perimeter were doors, some of which were opened to show a mix of broken-down furniture and yet more parchment.

There was a distant mumble of voices from up the, recently repaired by the looks of them, stairs. "Hello up there!" she called rather than walk in further.

The mumble stopped and after a moment she picked up a rattle of metal alongside the clunk of boots. Steel-clad boots appeared first, followed by the rest of Abigail, clad in a long chainmail tunic, as she walked down the steps. She paused and leaned forward to peer under the lip of the next floor. "Well well, I didn't expect you to take me up on that invitation so quickly," she said, descending the rest of the stairs to allow the person behind her to come down as well. Persons as it turned out.

The first was a short figure, a dwarven woman by the looks of her, with fair skin and rich brown hair pulled back into a bun. She was wearing less armor than Abigail, but had a Two-handed hammer over one shoulder. "This the girl you mentioned earlier, Abigail?" she asked. Her voice had a strong accent that came just shy of butchering the words she was saying.

"I would imagine so," the next figure said as he descended the stairs. Clad in rich red robes and clutching a white staff that ended in a complicated plant-like feature of dripping petals that looks as though they were carved or molded from pearl. His hair was long and black, as was his beard, with just the barest hints of white tipping a few strands.

"Yes, she is," Abigail said, shaking her head, "Ranma be known to Bruldora Farthing and Gerald Redfall, companions of mine." Bruldora the dwarf waved with her free hand while Gerald simply inclined his head towards her.

Ranma raised an eyebrow. "So do you all live here, or do I just have bad timing?" she asked.

"What can I say, you've got timing," Abigail said with a chuckle, "You proved that last night. Thanks again, by the way, that was getting hairy."

"No problem," Ranma replied. It really hadn't been an issue.

The dwarf stepped off the stair and walked around her humming. "She doesn't look like much," She said, "She looks like some prissy Wizard's apprentice."

"Who are you calling prissy?" Ranma asked with a scowl.

"You, clearly," Gerald said, shaking his head.

Behind him, Abigail shook her head. "Really Dora?" Abigail said.

"While she does appear to be an apprentice, the robe is plain and of the material is rough," Gerald continued, "She's hardly the definition of prissy, Dora."

"Right, because apprentices of poor wizards show up with nicely cared for hair and make-up. Sure," Bruldora said as she looked up at the scowling Ranma. The redhead sniffed and crossed her arms. Yes, she was wearing makeup. It was just a little eyeshadow and eyeliner as was her habit when planning to spend a long time in girl form.

"That doesn't make me prissy, and it doesn't mean I can't kick you through a wall like the beach ball you resemble," she replied.

There was a moment of silence. "What in Moradin's name is a beach ball?" the dwarven woman asked with a look of confusion.

"... A type of ball used back home when people visit the beach," Ranma said after a long moment. She probably should have expected that. These people didn't have plastic, let alone inflatable balls. "They can be as big as you are."

The dwarf snorted and let out a barking laugh. "Like a pretty little thing like you could even lift me let alone- Oi!" Ranma held the dwarf up, her arms pinned to her sides with the force of her grip, with a dull expression. In so doing her weapon was also being pinned to her side without enough length or leverage to swing at her. "Put me down!"

On the stairs, Abigail groaned and palmed her face while Gerald laughed. "What have we said about judging by appearance, Dora?" he asked between laughs.

"You dress-wearing asshole, help me!" She snapped at him.

"Sometimes we must accept responsibility for our own words, Dora," Gerald chided. The red-clad wizard appeared to be enjoying the spectacle quite a bit.

Abigail groaned. "Enough. Ranma, you've proved your point, and Dora… I did tell you about last night. Do you really think I'd lie?" she asked.

Ranma set the angry Dwarf back on the ground and took two large steps back with a smirk. "Can't even pick you up, huh?" she asked with a laugh.

Bruldora huffed and adjusted her clothing. "Fine. I'll admit, you've got some strength to ya," she grumbled, rubbing her arm where Ranma had squished it to hold her in place. She eyed Ranma pointedly. "What I'd love to know is how a girl like this drops off a building to save your ass, Abigail?" Bruldora asked.

"I was taking a walk, exploring the city," Ranma shrugged.

"And she wasn't wearing that robe either," Abigail said, "Now just lay off. Ranma, want to come up? I just put on some tea."

"That sounds great," Ranma replied, pointedly ignoring the dwarf as she followed Abigail up the steps to the room above. It turned out to be a quiet sitting room with windows around its circular structure through which light poured and a single door led back towards the main structure of the House of Knowledge. A fireplace was merrily burning with a kettle hanging above the flames.

The Cleric of Oghma checked the kettle and waved to a nearby wooden table surrounded by chairs. "Take a seat, but avoid the one opposite the window. It's rickety," she said as Ranma found a chair that didn't appear too rickety Abigail turned to her, "So what brings you to my door today?"

"It's… complicated," Ranma said with a shrug, "It looks like my mother and I are going to be staying in the city for a while."

"Welcome, try not to get eaten by one of the shambling horrors crawling out of the chasm," Gerald said sarcastically as he found a seat himself. Bruldora found a place to lean against the wall across the room from them with a suspicious look at Ranma.

"We'll manage," Ranma said dryly, earning a grim chuckle from the red-clad mage. He leaned his odd staff against his shoulder.

"Welcome, I suppose. Anything I can do to help you settle in?" Abigail asked, "Keeping in mind that the House of Knowledge only has myself at the moment." She smiled wanly and checked the kettle again. Since the water appeared to be boiling she pulled it off with a linen towel and carried it over to the table where she poured it into a prepared teapot.

"We don't really need help settling," she replied, "My mother asked me to ask around and see if I can get some information on how- erm… Stable, the city is." Stable was a good way of putting it.

"Stable? You mean between the orcs, cultists, rebellion, secret societies, the walking dead, and the freaky spellplague monsters?" Abigail replied with a snort, "If your mother is hoping for good news then I'm sorry to say there isn't any." She retrieved four brass cups and set them down beside the teapot.

"If she's so worried about stability, why are you two staying here?" Bruldora asked, "Waterdeep ain't that far to the south if you want to grab a ship. Nice and quiet down there in comparison to this place."

Ranma brushed a lock of hair behind her ear. "Family reasons. It looks like we're going to have to pick up where a few others left off when the cataclysm hit," she said. Abigail let out a soft 'ah'.

"So you're looking to make a home here then?" Abigail asked.

"... Possibly. We haven't really talked about it yet… We'd come to visit only to discover…" She waved out the window. The state of the city really said everything she needed to.

Abigail nodded. "That's not an uncommon tale, though usually, people have an idea of what happened before they arrive," she said.

"Where in the nine hells were you that you didn't hear about Neverwinter getting practically wiped off the map?" Bruldora asked, disbelief in her voice, "I heard about it and I was all the way on the east side of the Sea of Stars."

Ranma eyed the Dwarf for a moment. She didn't know these three, though she'd gotten on with Abigail well enough the night before. How much should she reveal? After a moment she sighed and folded her arms behind her head, leaning back in the chair until it tipped back on two legs. Balanced there she looked up at the dusty ceiling. "We were on another world," she answered. There was no harm in sharing that.

"Another world? Like Eberron or Krynn? Perhaps Greyhawk?" Gerald asked. The Wizard appeared quite curious.

"My world is known as Earth," Ranma replied with a dismissive wave of her hand, "I've never heard of any of those before. I didn't even know about Toril until my mother's old teacher came looking for her to bring her home." She paused and felt a small blush appear. She probably shouldn't have mentioned that. Not yet, anyway.

"Her old teacher?" Bruldora asked, "What sort of teacher goes jumping across worlds looking for his student just to bring her home?" She had a look of suspicion as she stared at Ranma.

"I'll admit some curiosity as well," Gerald said, "There aren't that many people capable of simply crossing between worlds and finding natural paths to traverse is even more tricky."

Ranma was starting to feel like this visit might have been a bad idea, or at least poorly timed.

Abigail groaned and picked up the teapot. "Now, now, both of you reign it in, I'll not have you badgering someone who saved my life yesterday just because they've come to ask a few questions," She said as she poured out the cups of tea. She passed a brass cup to Ranma who accepted it with a thank you. "Though I'll admit some curiosity, I don't normally get people asking about stability. Lost magics, genealogies, history, that sort of thing is a bit more common. By Oghma, what could be so important that your mother would spontaneously decide to settle here despite having only come to visit?"

Ranma sipped the tea. "I'm not sure how much I'm allowed to say," she said with a shrug.

The dwarf lady snorted. "Well if that isn't a sign of something nefarious, I don't know what is," she scoffed, "

"True, but good nefarious or bad nefarious," Gerald said conversationally, "She could be a Harper for all we know."

"A what?" Ranma asked, half-turning to the wizard. The man gave her a nonplussed look.

"Or not," he said with a little shrug. She stared pointedly at his forehead.

"Enough, may I remind both of you that this is Oghma's house, not yours. We will not pry," Abigail said, walking over to each of them to hand them their own cups of tea. She stared pointedly at them as they quietly accepted the drinks. "I say that," Abigail continued as she turned back to the table.

"Ah, here comes the hypocrisy, right on schedule," Gerald said with a chuckle. Bruldora snorted into her tea.

"Button it, both of you," the Cleric said one last time and both mimed buttoning their mouths shut, a wide grin on Gerald's face as he did so. Abigail shook her head and sat down again. "I tell them not to pry, but I have to agree, your words make me wonder what purpose you're here for Ranma and if it's for the good of the city."

This was, Ranma reflected, not exactly how she'd expected this conversation to go. Not that she'd really thought about how this should go. She probably should have had more of a plan than 'go chat up Abigail' given that she didn't really know the Cleric. She let out a heavy breath. "I'm not explaining very well," she admitted, rather painfully for her pride.

"Not particularly," Abigail said gently, "Why don't you start from the beginning? Oghma willing I'll be able to provide some help." She smiled and sipped her tea.

Ranma sipped her tea as well. It was only mediocre tea, but that was hardly the fault of her hostess. "Well…" How much could she tell them? Her mother and everyone else had emphasized secrecy until they knew more, but it was looking like she wasn't going to get much unless she shared… something…

Oh, screw it. She hated wordplay. She set her tea down with a thunk. "My mother is Princess Nodoka Saotome nee Alagondar. We're considering whether or not to stay and push a claim for the throne," she said bluntly. Which technically made her a Princess. Prince. Princess. Some days she seriously questioned her life.

There was a sharp inhaling sound followed by a gagging cough and the splatter of tea hitting the wooden floor as Gerald inhaled his entire teacup. Across from her Abigail's teacup slipped from her hands, only to be caught by Ranma before it could spill.

"What- guh," Gerald coughed hard.

"I thought the entire Royal Family was dead. You said they were dead Abigail," Bruldora said sharply.

"I thought they were!" The Cleric sputtered, "I- All the records show nothing. Everyone was presumed dead after the cataclysm! I figured that if they hadn't died they'd have been helping the city already! I mean, yes there's a Nodoka Alagondar listed, but she left on some diplomatic mission or something thirty years ago and never came back. I figured she'd been eaten by a dragon or captured by devils or something."

"Thirty years and an entirely different universe," Ranma said dryly, sipping her tea as she spared a little attention for the red Wizard who seemed to be trying to cough up his lungs. He seemed to be getting a handle on the inhaled tea rather well now. "I didn't even know about Neverwinter until a group of people led by Kazale Blackburn showed up looking for my mother."

Abigail slumped back in her chair looking utterly flabbergasted. She reached up and rubbed her forehead as she stared at Ranma for a few moments, then her eyes went wide and she bolted upright, knocking her chair over, before dropping to one knee. "Your Highness!" She blurted out as she bowed her head.

Ranma groaned. "Get up. Seriously, get up," she replied.

"Yeah, seriously. You don't even know if she's telling the truth yet," Bruldora said. The dwarf was patting at the front of her shirt with a handkerchief.

"She has red hair," Abigail said, simply, refusing to rise.

"Just get up already. I only found out like three days ago," Ranma said, standing and pulling the Cleric to her feet.

"But still-" Abigail protested. Off to the side, Gerald broke into laughter interspersed with coughing.

"And what does red hair have to do with it? Half the north's nobles have red hair, that doesn't mean they're Alagondars," Bruldora said as she pocketed the handkerchief, "Still, true or not this explains your question earlier 'Princess'." Ranma wrinkled her nose at the Dwarf's tone. Punting her out a window was getting tempting, but she managed to restrain herself with the reminder that there was no way of knowing if the dwarf could survive the experience.

She was getting really tempted to punch her lights out, however.

"More like a third according to genealogies, but that's not important, Dora," Abigail said. The girl looked like she was practically hyperventilating. "Nodoka was the only of the family to be confirmed as out of the city at the time. She disappeared-" She paused and looked at Ranma.

"Thirty years ago," Ranma said.

"That's correct," Abigail said with a nod, "Do you know why? The books made mention of some unspecified diplomatic mission, but most of the time that sort of language just means 'ran off for adventure', especially when they don't come back." She paused. "It usually also means they're dead if they don't come back in a couple of decades at most. Or they married some far-off prince, or got eaten by gnolls, or- Well…" She trailed off at the combined looks of Ranma and Bruldora. "It probably isn't that important…" She blushed.

Ranma sighed. "I don't know the full story," she said as she stepped over to the window and peered out towards the Hall of Justice. Just visible over the rooftops was the distantly waving speck of Neverember's flag. "My mother was apparently visited by a priest of Torm who gave her a prophecy that said she would be Queen after a lot of blood and ash had settled. I don't know the exact words," she added, cutting off Abigail before the Cleric could ask.

"Prophecy is always a strange beast," the Cleric of Oghma noted as she stepped up to the window with Ranma, "Your mother feared it meant fighting within the family, didn't she?"

"She didn't say, but I got that impression," Ranma replied. She crossed her arms as she leaned against the window frame. "I'm just here to get some information. We've been talking to people who still recognize Mum, but they're a bunch of old shop owners and just walking around town tells me this city is mostly younger groups at this point. We're wondering what the word on the street is about Neverember and… everything else I guess. We know about the orc issues and got jumped by a pack of Kobolds when we first showed up. Anything else I need to know about?"

"There are a few problems," Gerald said, clearing his throat as he stood up and walked over, "We've had encounters with both the undead around the graveyard and Ashmadai cultists throughout the city over the last several months we've been working together. Another of our friends suspects the presence of Shadovar out of Netheril as well."

"Great, zombies," Ranma muttered, "And what the hell are the other two?" And who knew what else. With her luck ghosts as well, which would suck. Ghosts always sucked.

"Ashmadai are cultists," Bruldora said, taking a seat at the table. She poured herself a cup of tea and sipped it.

"Cultists of what?" Ranma asked. Given the way everything else had gone over these last few days she doubted it was something as innocent or innocuous as worshiping bunnies.

"Asmodeus, the Lord of the Nine Hells, God of Sin," Gerald said. Despite the sun the room seemed to dim as clouds cut across the sunlight and the distant twitter of birds ceased as everyone in the room fell silent. The light returned after a heartbeat and the twitter of birds resumed.

"You had to name him," Bruldora grumped.

"Demon I guess?" Ranma asked Abigail. The Cleric shook her head.

"Devil. Similar, but of opposing nature to demons," she said, "They are said to live in the Nine Hells while demons maintain their homes in the Abyss. They used to be in constant war, but the Spellplague sent things into disarray when the Lord of the Ninth Circle managed to steal divinity from one of the Gods."

Ranma winced. She couldn't even imagine how that sort of thing could occur. Even though the idea of Gods that actually did things was new, the thought that anyone could allow a Devil to acquire the powers of a God seemed rather negligent even by Earth's standards. Hell, it was negligent by Nerima's standards. People reaching for godlike power tended to get buried under every martial artist in a hundred kilometers.

"A careless moment, Dora. It won't happen again," the Wizard said looking chagrined, "I should have expected his eyes to already be turned to Neverwinter. What with his cult in the city."

"How bad is it?" Ranma asked, turning to Gerald.

"We don't know," he replied, "They've gotten bold enough to start leaving their master's mark in open places and mentioning the cult is enough to get someone to shut their business down for the day. We've learned not to inquire openly about such things."

"At the very least it means it's bad. The group we had a run-in with included some shopkeepers and a couple of the Guard," Bruldora said. She gestured with her cup, "Someone we trusted was part of the group and led us into an ambush. A clerk with Neverember's administration."

So they had devil-worshiping cultists in the local government. Ranma rubbed her forehead with a palm. Great, just fucking great. As if they didn't have enough issues. "I'm going to take a guess and say devil-worshiping cults aren't considered the sort of thing people want to advertise?" she asked.

"The followers of the Torm and other good gods tend to try and kill people who aid Devils and Demons as a matter of principle," Abigail said, "Oghma certainly frowns upon association with them, though he does not forbid the knowledge of them for all knowledge is viewed as sacred." She made a sign with her hand.

"Yes, not that it matters," Gerald said, "Most Ashmadai know disturbingly little about their own master or the tenets of his faith." He fished a small leather-bound notebook out of a pocket and flipped it open. Finding what he was looking for he turned it around to show her a sketch of three triangles pointing towards each other with the bottom one hollowed out. "Here, this is the mark of Asmodeus," they paused when nothing happened. "Strange, perhaps the last time was a coincidence then," the Wizard muttered.

"Like we're that lucky," Bruldora said. He nodded to her with a worn smile.

"Sadly true," he agreed before turning to Ranma, "Princess," Ranma stifled a sigh, she was going to have to get used to that, wasn't she? "we have found that the Ashmadai in the city are a fragmented organization. They identify each other using this marking on some part of their body. Usually the chest," he tapped over his heart, "or on their upper arms or legs in places where being covered isn't conspicuous. Despite the average temperature being warmer than other places in the north, Neverwinter still gets chilly enough for long sleeves to not be suspicious."

"So we're treating her as a Princess now?" Bruldora asked, "No offense, but all we have is her word. I'd like a little more to go on than one girl's words."

"None taken," Ranma shrugged, "You don't know me, and I don't really know you. I mean, for all I know she isn't a Cleric of Oghma and you're all the real cultists." Gerald chuckled.

"That would be quite the reversal, wouldn't it?" he said, "All I can offer is my word, which is all you can offer as well. With luck, neither of us has misplaced our trust."

Bruldora set her cup of tea on the table. "Remember what happened the last time we trusted without proof?"

"Just because you got chained up by a Succubus for six hours doesn't mean we can't take a risk," he replied with a grin.

"I am not spending six hours hanging by my ankles, while naked, from the ceiling again," she replied, huffing as she finished her cup.

Ranma pinched her nose and tried to not think about the images that generated. "What would you say is the biggest problem we're dealing with right now then?"

"Orcs," Bruldora said without hesitation.

"The Sons," Abigail said.

"The undead," Gerald said.

There was a moment of silence before Ranma sighed. One question, three answers. "Okay, first, we're staying with the Sons right now, so why are they a problem?" Ranma asked, pointing to Abigail.

"Which faction are you staying with?" the Cleric replied.

Ranma blinked in confusion. "Faction?" she asked. She hadn't heard about factions last night, or today for that matter.

Abigail sighed. "From what we've been able to tell there's two factions. The Nashers, who are made up of mostly the younger generation," Abigail said.

"They've been getting more violent since the death of the larger group's leader about six months ago," Bruldora said, "Finally fractured hard over it about two months back. They all still claim to be 'The Sons of Alagondar', but their methods are completely different these days."

"We still trade information with the other faction, however," Gerald said, "The Greycloaks. They're the older crowd for the most part. They still remember the glory days and have been trying to uphold the principles. They stick to mostly nonviolent methods."

"The Nasher's on the other hand are far more likely to simply jump someone working for Neverember and leave him for dead," Bruldora said, "We've taken a job or two for Neverember over the last while, the pay is usually pretty good and while we're not mercenaries all of our endeavors can get expensive."

"We ran into them while investigating a sighting of undead in Neverdeath for the Lord Protector," Gerald said as he found a seat, "They attacked us once we made our reasons for being there clear."

"As I said, the Sons are the biggest issue at the moment," Abigail said, "So long as this violent streak of theirs continues, they remain a potential threat to the safety of the people. The Nasher's attacked us because of whom we were working for, despite the fact that anyone sensible should be against allowing the undead to infest the city." She crossed her arms. "It makes me wonder if that faction has started to fall in with less savory elements in their effort to effect change."

"Which brings us around to my point," Gerald said. The red clad wizard seemed to age before Ranma, his eyes gazing off into the distance before he shook himself. "Thay is a nation in the east ruled by an Archlich known as Szass Tam-"

"Lich?" Ranma asked, "Please tell me you don't mean what I think you do."

"He's an undead wizard kept alive through powerful and dark sorcery," the Wizard confirmed, "The forces of Thay have, since long before his rise to power, sought to use Neverwinter as a pawn in the west. Their efforts have always come to nothing, but they haven't stopped." He tapped his staff against his shoulder. "Ever since Szass Tam came to control Thay it has become a land of Necromancers and the undead and with an upswing in undead activity I can't help but wonder if Thay is up to its old games again." He closed his eyes with a pained look.

"There are other possible explanations, but the undead have definitely been getting more prominent and obnoxious," Abigail said.

Ranma nodded. That was something she needed to mention for sure. Some undead monster looking to infest the city with the living dead was… Well, it sent a shiver up her spine. After her last few encounters with the undead, mostly ghosts, she'd learned to respect the danger the undead could represent. "And orcs?" she asked Bruldora.

The Dwarf tapped her cup against the table. "The orcs are the biggest immediate issue. There's things bigger, but the orcs are immediate. You see, the Lord Protector doesn't have the forces to kick them out of the city so he just leaves them be. The issue is that they roam out from the old wizard's guild and harass the people in the River District," she said.

"Not that there's too many of those anymore. The River District is protected from the chasm by the river, but when the orcs moved in they originally sacked and burned a bunch of the district," Abigail said. The Cleric looked distressed as her hand clutched the sigil of Oghma she wore around her neck.

"The Lord Protector tried to force them out at first, but the Orcs threw him back. They clashed a few times before settling into the current state. These days if anything happens both sides meet up at the Fallen Tower. A bar in the River District that's run by an old orc named Vagdru One-Ear," Bruldora said, "Don't eat there if you've got options. He won't tell you what the meat he's giving you is from."

"I'll keep that in mind," Ranma said dryly. She didn't have any intention of eating sketchy meat handed out by an orc. She'd go hunting if it came down to it. She'd spotted quite a few deer on the way into town. Not that it was likely to come to that.

"We've got more than a few refugees around from the River District. You probably saw the group that's taken up residence here," Abigail said. Ranma nodded. "They were here when I arrived in town."

"I've been here longer than either of these two and I can say that things have been getting worse since the orcs moved in," Bruldora said, "Spellplagued creatures might strike the River District from time to time, but they aren't coordinated in the same way the Orcs are. You saved Abigail last night from a bunch of 'em. They've been doing that sort of thing all over the River District for a few years, but now they're getting bold enough, or maybe bored enough, to try and restart trouble with the rest of the city."

"There's been more around than before as well," Gerald said, "It's possible they received reinforcement from the Kingdom of Many-Arrows up north."

"Many-Arrows? Was the Kingdom of Pointy-Sticks taken?" Ranma asked sarcastically, getting a snort of laughter from Bruldora.

"Orcs aren't the smartest or most imaginative race out there," Abigail said with a sigh, "But the Kingdom of Many-Arrows has survived the last century fairly well from my readings. A civil war here or there, but it's the closest thing to a civilized orcish nation you'll find anywhere. Orcs tend to be quite combative you see. It makes it difficult for them to cooperate on such a scale usually."

"The group occupying the River District is from the Kingdom of Many-Arrows," Gerald said, "It is possible they've gained some measure of additional assistance from there or coopted one of the many goblinoid groups that have begun to encroach upon Neverwinter. It's really hard to say, but I have to agree with Bruldora. Something has stirred them up."

"Cultists, rebels, undead empires and shambling monsters," Ranma muttered, " And that doesn't include Neverember and his mercenaries." The three before her nodded and she ran a hand over her face. This was… Nuts? Crazy? A web of magic and intrigue that she was totally not qualified to deal with? The answer was yes, of course, but like normal did she really have a choice?

She could see it in her mother's eyes and her words. Even if her mother hadn't verbally committed to it she saw this as her responsibility. As their responsibility, because when her parents did something it always managed to get Ranma involved. If her mother wanted to tackle this insanity then…

She let out a sigh. If it was just her she'd be tempted to walk away. This wasn't her home, not that Nerima was much better. It had the Tendos but that was as much a bad thing as a good at times. But her mother… She couldn't leave her mother to try and tackle this mess by herself.

"Oh what are we getting ourselves into," she groaned.

"And that's just the stuff we three know about," Bruldora said with a grin, "Who knows what the hell else is poking around the city. It's a big place, who knows what's lurking in abandoned mansions or forgotten side streets."

"Every time we head out into the city there's no way to tell what we're going to encounter," Gerald said, "Things are chaotic and the only place that really feels calm is the area around the Hall of Justice. Say what you will, but the Lord Protector has managed to bring a measure of sanity to this madness. For now at least."

"But that could change if you and your mother put forward a claim. Without some measure of proving who you are he will fight it," Abigail said. She poured out another cup of tea and sipped it. "He's committed a lot to prove his claim on the city… honestly, unless Oghma grants me a vision of the future there's no way to tell how he'll react. None of us are close to him. Even myself. He's approached me to try and find information on his claim in the House of Knowledge, but it's a big library." She shrugged. "Who knows how real his claim is."

"He's a cousin," Ranma said, "Distant from what I've been told, but if everyone else is dead, then he'd be as good as any." She shrugged at the looks the three sent her. "It came up yesterday when we saw the flag."

"Ah, yes, well, I hope this helps," Gerald said, holding out a hand. Ranma gave it a glance before taking it. It was odd being in a place that used western customs.

"Thank you, all three of you," she replied honestly, "I'll let my mother know what you've said and… Well if she wants to talk to you, would it be alright if I brought her by, or…?" She trailed off looking at Abigail.

"I wouldn't make the Queen come visit. Let me know and I'll be glad to make the trip to wherever she wishes to meet," Abigail said, looking quite flustered at the thought.

"She's still a Princess until she's crowned," Bruldora pointed out. Abigail made a shushing gesture in reply.

"That's fine. I'll come by and let you know when and where then. I better get going," Ranma said. She drained what was left of the tea and set the cup down on the table. "Thank you for the tea," she said.

"You're welcome. Come by anytime, Your Highness," Abigail said, bowing deeply. Ranma sighed.

"Stop that. What if someone is watching through the windows?" she asked, causing the other girl to abruptly stand as straight as a rod. She started towards the steps. "Later," she called, waving idly back to the Cleric and her friends as she walked down the steps.

Now, how was she going to explain this to her mother? How did you even explain that basically every faction on the continent had a stake in your city?

-0-0-0-0-0-

"... and that was when I decided to leave," Ranma finished. She was leaning back in her chair at the table beneath the Driftwood Tavern. Around the table was Kazale, her mother, and their companions. Nabiki was sitting off to the side doodling something in a notebook.

"Thay, Netheril, Many-Arrows and Ashmadai," Kazale repeated. She nodded, and then winced at the string of curses the Wizard uttered. "Of all the thrice-damned bastards that could have gotten involved, why did we get all of the worst ones?" he demanded before resting his head against the palm of his hand.

Nodoka wasn't feeling much better compared to her old teacher. She could remember overhearing reports, reports she was certainly not meant to listen in on, of the agents of Thay and Netheril being caught poking around. She'd stopped listening in after some of the reports gave her nightmares. To make matters worse they had to contend with Ashmadai cultists. The only group on that list that she felt certain they could untangle from the city were the Orcs.

"Assuming this is true," Kazale said, "We're going to have to check everyone. Damned cultists get everywhere."

"It also means we'll need preparations to deal with devils," Lady Mason said, the Paladin of Torm was looking particularly grim.

"Not much you can do to prepare beyond sharpening your sword," Formond grumbled. The dwarf rested one hand on his blade with a scowl as he ran a hand thoughtfully through his beard.

"There are magics that can be of use against Devils," Kazale replied, "But I'm afraid my spellbook includes only a few. I could make better preparations if I had access to the Cloaktower archive. Unfortunately, it's occupied by Orcs so who knows what condition the books are in."

"What about the House of Knowledge? As a temple of Oghma it should have what we need," Lady Mason suggested.

"Without an archivist?" Kazale asked with incredulity, "We could spend years searching the stacks. You would need dozens of helpers just to catalog the archives in anything resembling a reasonable amount of time. Hundreds perhaps."

Nodoka sighed. Eyes turned her way from around the room. "As concerning as the presence of so many dark and horrific factions in my Family's city is, what concerns me more is this suggestion of this split in ideology," she said. She looked up to Madam Rosene who was standing by the door. "You said nothing about that."

The older woman pursed her lips. "We still meet regularly as a group in an old Kraken Society building. While we have had something of a divide in opinion as of late, we are hardly fractured," she said stiffly. Her tone, nearly bristling.

"Your tone, Rosene," Kazale said calmly. The woman exhaled sharply and sagged.

"Yes, of course, my apologies, Your Highness," she said with a small bow, "Things have been rough since Cymril died."

"Cymril?" Nodoka asked.

"She was our leader for the last five years and a… friend for several more," Rosene said, "She died only six months ago and… Well, we haven't been able to agree on a new leader since. The circumstances of her death haven't been helping matters." She clutched at her skirt with one hand.

"How so?" Kazale asked. Her mentor leaned forward in his chair as though it would allow him to listen more closely to the woman halfway across the room.

"We suspect betrayal, but by whom we aren't sure. She had gone alone to a meeting with someone and when she didn't return a group of us under Arlon Bladeshaper went to find her," she said.

"Come, sit," Nodoka ordered, waving to a chair at the table. The Tavernkeeper nodded her thanks as she took a seat.

"Arlon returned with her body and a blade that he said he had found stuck in her back. It had the mark of the Harper's on it," she said.

"The Harpers? Truly?" Kazale asked.

"Yes. To make matters worse… We knew that Cymril was a Harper herself. The other agent we know of claims that they had nothing to do with her death, but that dagger was not Cymril's. She only kept a small pin with their sigil on it. Anything more was too conspicuous she said." Rosene sagged in her chair.

"We simply didn't know who to trust until you returned, Princess," she said, bowing in her chair. Nodoka smiled despite feeling a chill crawl up her spine. This was what she had been trying to avoid. She hadn't wanted to rule, because ruling meant she'd have lost everyone. Because as the youngest child it meant everyone else was dead. She reached out and placed a hand on Rosene's.

"And I'm here now and… I can't in good conscience leave now," she said, finally saying what she'd been refraining from admitting to herself since the day before. She couldn't leave. Not now after she has seen what had befallen her family's city. What its people were going through. She was an Alagondar and it was their duty to protect Neverwinter. With their lives if necessary.

"I-" Madam Rosene closed her eyes, tears forming, "Thank you, Your Highness. Thank you. Perhaps… Perhaps now things will start turning around for us."

"We'll need to meet this other faction of the Sons," Kazale said. Rosene nodded.

"Yes, of course. There's a meeting in a couple of days. We should be able to get you all sorted for the meeting by then," she said, "You'll need identifying marks to get past the Kraken guarding the door."

"Kraken?" Nabiki asked from the corner somewhat dimly.

"I second that. What Kraken?" Ranma asked, pushing her chair back to a normal position. Her daughter had a focused look to her as she sat up.

"As I said we meet in an old complex that belonged to a criminal organization known as the Kraken Society," Rosene said, "There is a Kraken that guards the facility. It recognizes the mark of the society."

"Krakens are malignant entities and revel in destruction. I've never heard of one being willing to act as a guard dog before," Kazale said.

"Honestly, I have no idea why it does what it does, but it doesn't attack anyone unless they lack the mark of the Society," the leader of the Greycloaks replied with a helpless shrug.

"Concerning," Nodoka's teacher muttered.

"Is there anything else we need to know? Perhaps about these rumors around the other group?" Malleth asked.

Rosene was quiet for a moment before speaking, "Some of us have been… We have concerns about the sort of allies the Gnashers have begun to court under Arlon Bladeshaper. They've been getting weapons from sources he's refused to divulge and some of the actions we've heard about are… Well they're far away from the ideals of Neverwinter. It worries us, but until now we haven't been able to do much to reign them in. The fact is, they are the larger of our two factions. Most of them are younger and they've had to grow up in the ruins. It hasn't been easy for them…" She sighed.

"Between monsters out of the chasm and all the foreign influences…" Kazale shook his head. "What can you tell us about the other factions?"

Their conversation went on long into the night, but eventually, they were forced to concede that the Graycloaks didn't know much about many of the factions. They hadn't even suspected Netheril or Thay of involvement. It was, as Nodoka reflected on her way up to her bedroom that night, not terribly surprising. They were focused on the obvious issues. Neverember's government and his Mercenaries, the Orcs and their raiding, and the Ashmadai's attempts to subvert what was left of the city to their dark god.

Of the Ashmadai there was disturbingly little to go on. It was, unfortunately, not surprising. The cult of the god of sin had long been a nuisance that no one had been fully able to uproot.

Once situated back in the room she was sharing with her daughter she dropped into the seat by the fire. The younger girl who should have been a boy walked over to the window and opened it, letting in the cool night breeze. While a bit cool it was certainly nice after hours in the stuffy downstairs room full of burning candles.

Ranma leaned out of the window and gazed up at the castle once again. There seemed to be a little bit of wonder in her eyes as she looked up at their family's ancestral home. Wonder and a little bit of longing unless Nodoka missed her guess. It brought a smile to her seeing her child being so interested.

Smiling, she pulled out her spellbook and set to reading.

"So we're staying," the younger redhead said quite abruptly only a few minutes later while still staring up at the castle.

"... Yes. I can't leave, not again Ranma," she sighed, "I can easily arrange for Kazale to send you back to Nerima if you-"

"I'm not leaving you," her daughter interjected, turning back to her, "I'm staying here." She brushed a loose strand of hair back behind her ear.

She smiled and set her book aside before striding over to her daughter. Ranma let out a squeak of surprise as she pulled her into a hug. "Thank you, Ranma," she said, before pulling back. "Thank you." She brushed a hand along her daughter's cheek and marveled, not for the first time, at just how alike her at that age she appeared to be. Even if she hadn't known about magic there was no denying the family connection between them.

Ranma blushed and looked away fidgeting. "Its nothing," she mumbled.

"No, it isn't. Neverwinter is dangerous in ways that Nerima wasn't. Staying here is not a small thing," she replied.

"I think you might have a skewed view of Nerima," Ranma replied, "Because there was plenty of danger and monsters and magic in Nerima."

Nodoka hesitated. "Well… yes, I suppose there is, but when was the last time it killed someone?" she asked.

"... Dunno," Ranma admitted, "But at times its been more by luck than by planning. Remember how many times they've tried to kill me over the last couple of years?"

Nodoka could honestly say she didn't know. She had never asked that question. Not of Ranma, or Genma, or any of the Tendos. "I'm almost afraid to ask," she admitted. The nonchalant tone that Ranma used when talking about people trying to kill her had always disturbed the adventurer portion of her. A death threat was something to take very seriously and plan accordingly.

"It's been a lot. Like, every few days, Mother," Ranma said with a shrug, "At least Ryouga stopped trying." She shrugged again.

"... Perhaps I have underestimated Nerima," she admitted. She returned to her seat. "But that doesn't mean I'm overestimating Neverwinter. Please, Ranma, be careful. There is far more magic here than back on Earth."

"I know. It's got active gods for one," Ranma noted.

"Well yes. I always found it strange that Earth didn't have gods like Torm," she said.

"It does, but they're a bit on the weak side at the moment. Not enough magic in the world to work with at the moment," Ranma said, "At least that's what that priest you sent me to work with said."

"Yes, I suppose… You are certified as a Miko after that, aren't you?" she mused as she pulled her spellbook over to her.

"Yeah. Thanks for that, by the way," her daughter grumbled as she crossed her arms.

"You're welcome. Have you tried praying since we arrived in Neverwinter?" she asked. Unsurprisingly her daughter shook her head. She wasn't the most observant of Mikos. "Try it. Gods can communicate between worlds," she said, "You might be surprised."

Her daughter looked unconvinced as she turned back to looking out the window. The breeze ruffled her braid. With the castle in the background, it was a sight she'd have never thought she'd have seen. Her child and her ancestral home. She closed her eyes and tried to keep the tears from forming. If only her family was alive to see it.

It was hours before she fell asleep there in the chair with her spellbook in her lap. There by the warmth of the fire, a blanket wrapped about her legs. Perhaps not as warm as those in the castle, but of solid quality nonetheless.

Her dreams were hardly restful, however. Whispers, cries, fire in the streets and something dripping that echoed as though it were in a cavern bothered her relentlessly until a distant thump shook her awake even as it rattled the shutters.

"Wha-" She cried out as she looked around wildly. A moment later the door opened and Lady Mason poked her head in.

"Is everything alright?" the Paladin asked.

Nodoka shook her head to clear it. "I-yes. Just a bad dream and- what was that sound?" she asked, looking around. Her eyes fell upon both beds in the room. Both empty beds. Her eyes scanned the room and after a moment her stomach dropped. "Where's Ranma?" she demanded.

"She went for a walk about an hour ago," Lady Mason said, "She said she needed a little bit of fresh air."

Fresh air. She'd been leaning out the window for over an hour. She had plenty of fresh air. So- Another distant thwump sounded and she rose to walk to the window. Throwing it open she looked out eastward. Just visible around the bulk of the Castle's hill was a glow of light from somewhere out of sight. Her heart sank.

"Ranma, what are you doing?" she asked aloud.

"Princess?" She turned back to Lady Mason.

"Get everyone up. Ask Madam Rosene to keep an eye on Nabiki," she told her firmly, "Then meet me at the front door. We're going to go find my daughter before she gets herself hurt."

"Wait-" There was another whump in the distance.

"Or at least before she draws Dagult to us," Nodoka said with a sigh. Oh they were so having a talk about brash actions after this. She really should have known better than to think her passive streak was going to last. She really, really should have. Ranma was far too much like her father used to be. Danger was just a challenge.

-0-0-0-0-0-

A/N: Next time on the Crown of Neverwinter~ What is Ranma doing? Where is she going? Tune in to find out next time~ *Narrator Kitsune steps back from the podium*

Grounders10: Whoooo~ Proofreading done at last~

Gekkou: Sorry for taking so long, life has been… its been a ride. Can we stop the world? I wish to get off. Quality might be lower than normal, am not feeling my best.

Grounders10: *patpats* Sorry, one speed only.

Gekkou: Drat. My brain is basically deep fried for energy at the current time.

Grounders10: I know the feeling, though I can only imagine yours is worse. Still, onwards! We've more writing to do!

Gekkou:To Infinity and Beyond!

Grounders10: Words for the Word God!

Gekkou: Floof for the Floof Throne! (it always can use more padding)

Grouders10: Thrones are never comfortable, alas.

Gekkou: Und most importantly! Books for the Infinite Library!

Grounders10: o/