Allegiances
(9:00 PM)
"You're wasting your time with this thuggish posturing, you know." Ryloch grinned through his bruised lips, looking past Dace at Cerdan. "Every minute you spend here makes it more likely that you'll both be caught."
Dace suddenly seized the Duke's wrist, holding it down against the armrest of the chair. Wordless, the mercenary brought up his dagger and drove it down with all his strength. A splash of blood spurted out from the wound as the blade impaled Ryloch's palm, and the nobleman howled out at the top of his lungs.
"Are you mad?!" Cerdan hissed, advancing toward the mercenary. "If there are guards nearby…"
"Shut up, elf." Dace's arm went to the side, directing a finger of warning at the rogue. Staring impassively, the mercenary remained focused on keeping the hostage's hand pinned to the chair.
Breathing rapidly, the Duke turned a pair of fierce eyes on the elf. For a just moment, Cerdan could have sworn that they glinted yellow as the man got his panting under control. "Are you that weak?" asked Ryloch, "You take orders from a human?!" He was swiftly silenced when a black-gloved fist struck his mouth.
"Sir," the Duke's wife said to Ryloch in a sharp whisper, "We don't have to endure this… our 'gift'–" Her husband immediately shook his head, and the woman fell silent.
"Gift? What gift?" asked the elf. Both nobles remained clammed up. What were these people planning? And why would the woman call her husband 'sir'?
Dace leaned forward, bringing his face close to the Duke's, with only a few inches between them. "Tell me about Balduran," said the mercenary. For a moment, everyone in the room was silent.
"What? Why would we even want to kn–"
"I already told you, elf, to shut up." The mercenary looked back to the Duke. "Well?"
Ryloch's expression betrayed his confusion and the edge of his lip quivered. "I confess that I don't know as much about him as I should, beyond the fact that he founded this city."
"I see." Dace stood up straight and moved back a step. The Duke let out a sigh and relaxed a little, releasing his grip on the armrests of the chair. Before he could say anything else, however, Dace suddenly raised his leg and kicked the man squarely in the chest, knocking Ryloch with enough force to send his chair tipping over backward. The Duke grunted from the hard impact on the back of his head as the leather chair struck the ground, and he grabbed at the sides of the chair, struggling to get up.
The mercenary planted a foot on the Duke's chest and pointed his dagger down at the man's face. "I have been asking the wrong questions thus far." Narrowing his eyes at Ryloch, the man said, "What are you, and what are you planning for the magical artifacts you and Cyrael have been smuggling?"
"…Hold a moment," Cerdan cut in, "What are you talking about now?"
"This 'Duke' is an impostor of some kind. I have been in this city long enough to know that even a newly appointed Duke is required to know a full history of Balduran and the founding of the Baldur's Gate. He also has absolutely no scent, does not behave like a noble-born, and just now referred to me as 'a human'." Dace suddenly flipped his dagger in his hand, caught it by the flat of the blade, and whipped it overhand to the side at Ryloch's wife. The woman, who had quietly risen from her seat as the others were talking, wavered as the blade 'thunked' into in the right side of her chest and collapsed back down to the chair. "Enough charades, 'Duke', what are you?"
Ryloch glowered at the mercenary, not even showing a remote concern for the woman in the next seat. "Fine. The truth, then." He closed his eyes and folded his arms over his chest, causing his form to blur momentarily.
Cerdan's hand quickly fell to his hip, but he then remembered that he wasn't wearing a weapon at the moment. Looking around, he quickly snatched up an iron fireplace poker sitting beside the hearth. When the noble's blurred physical appearance finally cleared up, the esteemed city Duke was replaced with a naked, grey-skinned creature. Running a clawed hand over its hairless pate, it opened a pair of long, yellow eyes and blinked at the pair of intruders. The elf couldn't tell if the creature's expression was one of anger; its face seemed to be fixed in a single pose like a mask. Whatever it was, it certainly wasn't human, or even a demi-human.
"A doppelganger," Dace growled at the creature. "You may have tricks, but you still bleed."
"It is useless to try and interrogate me," the creature wheezed. Its voice sounded to Cerdan like an elderly person speaking with dry dust in their throat. "It is already in motion, even I cannot stop it now."
"Stop what?!" shouted Dace, clearly unperturbed by the beast's alien appearance. "You have given nothing useful thus far. Monster or not, you will answer me."
"That is exactly the problem with you humans: so quick to condemn us as 'monsters', so easily convinced of your own inflated righteousness," hissed the creature. "You dominate the realms through swarming and attrition, and then pretend to claim moral superiority. My associates and I are going to put an end to all that. We will attain immortality and become heralds for our dying races, and then we'll see how well you humans stand against truly righteous foes."
"What are you babbling about?" Dace demanded, kicking the grey-skinned creature in the torso. "The artifacts you and the celestial have stolen grant immortality?"
"Not yet, but Cyrael will bring about the change. He is the siphon; the magical energy will imbue us with the power. All our people, we'll survive despite your best efforts to drive us to extinction." The creature looked past the mercenary, focusing its yellow eyes on the elf. Its maw opened slightly, revealing an array of pointed teeth. "You should be with us, elf. Even your kind is threatened by humanity's run."
Cerdan frowned, and held the iron poker ready. "Why are you even telling us all this? Are you so confident that we'll be unable to oppose you?"
"No, I'm confident that you'd both be stupid enough to pay no attention as my associate changed form behind you."
The thief and the mercenary both stiffened for a moment and, as one, turned around to see a second, identical grey-skinned creature behind them. The second beast suddenly blurred and its body rapidly expanded until it was large enough that it wouldn't even be able to fit through the doorway. The Fara-doppelganger's physical appearance snapped to clarity, and the elf found himself staring up at a towering green troll. The dagger wound on its chest now looked like nothing more than a mere scratch. It didn't seem to be healing itself, however, so these 'doppelgangers' probably only took on the appearance of other races, not their inherent abilities.
Cerdan tried to raise his weapon, but the troll was faster and smacked him in the side with its huge slimy hand, sending the elf flying across the room into the wall, just missing the doorway to the Duke's study. The sound of the iron poker clattered on the floor near Ryloch's chair, and bright stars obscured the elf's vision for a moment. "Urgh," murmured the elf, gripping his head. "But it sure feels like a troll."
As the elf attempted to regain his stance, he saw Dace throw himself toward the dagger, which was lying flat on the ground just behind the troll. The creature swung its long arm across, trying to club the mercenary over with the back of its massive green hand. Instead, Dace managed to seize the creature by the wrist and latched on tightly, even as the monster effortlessly hoisted the man up off the ground.
Still clinging to the beast's arm for support, Dace swung his body sideways in the air and landed a kick to the creature's face, driving the sole of his boot across the troll's hawk-like nose hard enough to make a damp 'cracking' noise. Roaring loud enough to force Cerdan to cover his ears and fall against the wall, the troll covered its nose with its free hand. It then charged toward the front of the room and hammered the mercenary against the chamber's heavy wooden door. With his face screwed in a look of pain, Dace lost his hold on the troll's arm and slid to the floor, his back still pressed against the door.
Meanwhile, Cerdan noticed the Ryloch-doppelganger had used the distraction to pick up the iron poker, and was slowly advancing on the elf. Struggling to keep his balance, the rogue shook his head a little, trying to ignore the dizzying pain in the back of his skull.
The doppelganger's smooth and nearly featureless face had no sign of emotion as it closed in. Were it not moving, it might have passed for a grey, pointy-eared mannequin of some sort. "Do not be so quick to pass judgment on me, elf, especially when your own species stands to gain from what we are doing. There is more going on and more at stake than you know." The creature's yellow, almond-shaped eyes narrowed into slits, and Ryloch suddenly broke into a run in the elf's direction, swinging the blunt weapon in a wide arc.
Cerdan saw it coming long before it struck, and easily jumped aside to let the blow swish past. But instead of stopping to swing again, the doppelganger continued to rush past, charging through the doorway beside the elf and into Ryloch's study.
At a loss for a weapon, and unable to receive aid from Dace as the mercenary continued to fight the troll-doppelganger, Cerdan seized the nearest solid object, a metal chamber pot lying on the floor beside the study. Standing in the doorway to block the doppelganger's escape, Cerdan stood straight and made his best attempt to look threatening with a chamber pot in one hand. "Enough of this, impostor. You're not going to… escape?"
The creature had its back to the elf and was currently touching a series of symbols that were etched onto the gilded, golden frame of the mirror that stood at the back of the study.
"What are you doing?" demanded the rogue, bracing himself in case his opponent was activating a spell.
The reflection in the mirror pane suddenly shifted to a noticeably different image, one that showed the interior of some sort of dark, rocky cavern. The doppelganger turned to the throw a look over its shoulder and stretched its lips back, baring its teeth in what might have been construed as a smile. "I will say again, elf. You should be on our side of this conflict." Its face and body suddenly blurred, then changed to reveal a duplicate image of Cerdan himself. "We have more in common than you think."
The elf stood stunned, not because of the creature's mimicry, but because of the clothing that the creature had chosen for its chameleonic imitation… it was an exact replica of the uniform that Cerdan had worn back during the battle of Caden's Hill. How could this creature possibly know…?
The doppelganger grinned again, then leaped through the mirror-portal, vanishing into the darkness of the cavern beyond.
A loud crash forced the elf to turn around, just in time to see the troll sprawled out on the ground, its head driven into the sealed chamber door at the entrance of the room, creating a large cracked indentation in the wood. Dace sported a large welt on the side of his face, and some of the hair on the right side of his scalp had been torn out, leaving a trickle of blood running down over his ear.
"Where is the other one?!" he growled, breathing hard as if almost out of breath. In his left hand was the mercenary's dagger, stained with a thick, dark-coloured fluid of some kind.
Cerdan pointed over to the mirror-portal, which still remained open to the shadowy cavern. "He created a gateway to somewhere, but I'm not sure I like how convenient it all–"
Knocking the rogue aside, the mercenary raced forward and went through the mirror, brazenly seeking the escaped enemy. The elf immediately stepped forward intending to pursue, but mere seconds after the mercenary had passed beyond, the mirror pane began to flash with a blinding white light, forcing the elf to halt and cover his eyes.
After three pulses, the image of the cave interior dissolved and the mirror abruptly shattered into tiny shards that fell out of the stand and pattered to the floor, eventually leaving behind nothing but an empty frame. Cerdan stood silently and surveyed the scene for a moment, then rubbed the back of his head once more. He'd just lost his only lead, but at least he now had a better idea of what Cyrael and the deva's co-conspirators were doing…
A loud banging suddenly sounded from the other side of the door outside. "Duke Ryloch? Open the door, we heard a loud commotion coming from your room, and we've brought a squadron of guards for your protection. Are you alright?"
The elf swallowed and let the chamber pot fall to the floor with a dull 'clunk'. Glancing around, he saw that the room had no windows or visible means of escape other than the front door. "Well," he muttered aloud, "this is certainly going to turn out ugly…"
(9:11)
Everything was wet and stank of salty brine. With the dark storm clouds overhead and the fierce rain pounding her face, the young woman could barely see anything as she was pulled over the edge and onto a solid, wooden deck. Coughing and sputtering, she managed to turn over and sit upright as voices barked incomprehensible commands all around her. Wiping the hair out of her eyes, the woman saw that she was, thankfully, still alive and on the top deck of what she hoped was a more solid craft than the tiny skiff she'd been on before.
"We've got two survivors down here, captain!" shouted a nearby figure. "A few cargo containers, too!"
"Bring them to my quarters!"
The young woman squinted around at the sailors that pulled her aboard, but she didn't recognize the colours of their uniforms. "Wh-what ship is this?" she managed to get out between coughs.
A clean-shaven man in what must have been officer's attire came forward and helped the young woman get to her feet. He continued to hold her arm as he helped her walk across the wet deck. The ship continued to heave and creak violently, and the woman grabbed the man's shoulder to steady herself.
The officer leaned close as he spoke, but she still had to strain to hear him over the sounds of the storm. "What's your name, lass?"
"Nell," she yelled back, "Nell Morgan."
"Well Ms. Morgan, you're on board the Ever Dauntless, flagship of the four thrones of the Sword Coast," the officer shouted over the thunderstorm. Rain continued to blast at them from all directions, and they stumbled their way down the slippery stairs into the decks below, followed closely by a large number of sailors behind them.
"Ah, that's better," sighed the officer as they took cover from the storms above. "I'm Officer Pitt, first mate of this vessel. But you can call me Tarin." He let go of Nell's arm and pointed down the narrow wooden corridor as the other sailors squeezed past them. "The captain is on his way to his private quarters, he said he'll meet with you and the other castaway immediately."
"I'm sorry, but I had with me a black, rectangular case while I was on the skiff. Did you bring that aboard as well?"
"Uh, you'll have to check on it later, once we've sorted everything out. Tymora must be smiling down upon you, to have survived in a storm like this." The first officer continued to lead her through the ship.
Nell brushed a hand across her head, trying to shake off the lingering rainwater. "Ugh. I was on a passenger boat, but we were attacked early in the evening. Sahuagin, fish-folk… I was lucky enough to have been on the opposite side of the ship when they attacked." She coughed as a drop of seawater rolled down the back of her throat. "I managed to grab a few of my important belongings and made it to one of the skiffs just as this other passenger, a creepy-looking man, was about to cast off. I imagine the sahuagin were too busy trying to punch holes in the ship's hull to bother coming after me."
"Well, you won't need to worry about that here. Our hull is made of reinforced Tethyrian wood, built and specially enchanted to stand up against sahuagin attacks."
The officer came to a sealed, windowless door, and rapped on it three times. A voice bid them to enter, and Nell followed the first mate inside the Captain's quarters. A bald, middle-aged man with a wet, drooping grey moustache sat at the head of the table inside, speaking with a tall man with heavy scars across his face, dressed in a dark coat. Nell recognized the taller man as the other survivor from her ship.
"Take a seat," ordered the captain, wiping the moisture from his hairless scalp. As Nell sat in the nearest chair, well away from the scarred man, she noticed that a few of her suitcases were stacked on the table at the captain's right side. The woman suddenly sneezed, and she started to wonder why the captain didn't even permit her time to change into a set of dry clothes before meeting him.
"Allow me to present Ms. Nell Morgan," spoke First Officer Pitt, standing stiffly at the side of the table. "Ms. Morgan, you are in the presence of Captain Callen Masque, and Mister… ah, I'm sorry, I haven't met the other survivor yet."
"Gorven," said the scarred man, without elaborating. He didn't even pay Nell a single glance, instead focusing his attention on the captain.
Capt. Masque opened one of the suitcases and pushed it forward on the table toward the two survivors. Inside the case was a simple, wooden lute. It had evidently been sealed tight enough to keep the interior dry. "My sailors brought this in just before you two arrived. One of you owns this instrument. Who?" He cast an accusing glare at the pair of passengers.
"Uh, it's mine, sir," Nell said, raising her hand slightly. "But as glad as I am to get it back, I'm more concerned about a black, rectangular case that–"
"Are you a bard?"
The woman swallowed and felt a nervous chill for some reason, as if the captain was blaming her for something. "Well, yes, technically. But I prefer to be called an 'artist'. You see–"
"You are strictly forbidden from casting spells, bardic magic, or using any magical devices while on board my ship, do you understand?" The captain sneered. "We are only a few hours away from the shoreline, but I will not make any exceptions for you. We're carrying some extremely sensitive cargo, and the slightest use of magical energy could mean destruction for us all."
"Oh, I see," she stammered. "But as I was about to explain, I'm only a bard in the sense that I'm a performer of the musical arts. I don't actually possess any magical aptitude. Even the slightest cantrip is beyond me." Nell reached forward and took her suitcase, wondering if her more valuable black case was recovered as well.
The captain nodded along, but his frown remains. "Very well, but those conditions apply for you as well," he said, pointing a thick finger at Gorven. "Absolutely no magic until after you've departed our company."
The scarred man gave a single, stiff nod in return.
Officer Pitt spoke up, "Our deckhands are preparing two rooms for you in case you require a quick rest before we reach shore. We don't normally accommodate passengers, you understand, so you'll be situated in the lower decks of the ship…"
"Just stay out of the cargo hold," warned Capt. Masque. "Officer Pitt, if there is nothing else, order the navigator to change our bearing to the left, back toward Waterdeep."
"Portside," Nell said.
The Captain stared at the woman, "What?"
"The nautical term you're supposed to use is 'portside', not 'left'."
"You're dismissed," the captain growled, ignoring her words. "Don't interfere with the operation of my ship."
First mate Pitt showed Nell and Gorven outside and pointed to down the corridor. "You'll find your assigned quarters on that side of the ship if you go down three floors. The sailors should have marked each of your doors with a piece of blue fabric, and they've also provided some dry clothing."
Gorven didn't wait for anything else, and immediately set off. Nell, however, lingered behind with Pitt and whispered to the officer, "I don't trust that fellow, sir. He never spoke a word to anyone, before or after the sahuagin attack. If I didn't know any better, I'd say he was a criminal of some kind."
Smiling at the minstrel, Tarin shook his head, "Well, rest assured, he won't dare to try anything on this ship. We're a navy vessel, the first ship to sail under the banner of the Sword Coast alliance."
"Yes, I suspected as much," Nell said, nodding along. This ship was from the naval alliance commissioned by several nobles from Waterdeep, Baldur's Gate, Tethyr, and Athkatla as part of the Siron Accord, established three years ago. "I thought this naval force was made in order to stop sahuagin attacks."
"Well, like I said, the Ever Dauntlessis only the first alliance vessel to ever be established. Such things take time to develop, especially when there are so many different nations involved. I imagine the stress of such a high position has taken its toll on the captain as well. He hasn't really been himself ever since we left port from Baldur's Gate. Rather odd." The officer paused a moment to clear his throat. "In any case, you'd best be off to change into a set of dry clothes and get some rest. You've been through quite an ordeal, after all."
Nell nodded, but before she could move off, Tarin caught her by the arm. "One more thing, lass. In addition to the cargo hold, I will warn you not to go into the rowers' hold, either."
"Why is that?"
"Well, our oarsmen are a band of indentured prisoners who were arrested down in Baldur's Gate a few months back. Believe me, Ms. Morgan, you don't want a collection of motley barbarians to know that we have a woman on board. Vicious savages, they are, and there's no telling what they might try if given the opportunity..."
(9:21)
Her holy symbol of Tyr felt unusually heavy as Selena turned it over in her hand. Perhaps it was a sign that her faith was wavering, or that her actions thus far had betrayed Tyr's edicts. The metallic medallion had been a gift from a friend long since departed, back around the time when she was first named a cleric in the Church of Tyr.
No, that wasn't the right way to be thinking. No use in obsessing over the past when there more immediate concerns. The Prelate would probably raise noise about her alleged 'criminal' actions, but aside from the matter with Sir Treysen during the Verskul incident, her history with the Church was spotless and the she would likely be cleared eventually.
But none of that would solve the matter with Cyrael or Caden. After all the work and precautions they had taken to secure the Sigils after the mess with Verskul, it felt shameful that she had practically handed the artifacts over to the celestial. There were still a few leads to follow up on, including Dace and Cordas' gang, but nothing solid. Of course, the lingering problem at hand was convincing the Prelate to send someone to look into the matter in the first place.
There was a knock at the door of her quarters, and Selena stood from the table as she bid the visitor to enter. The fact that they knocked first indicated that it wasn't the Prelate or one of his Royal Horsemen. Charell stepped inside and closed the door behind her.
"Hello, priestess. Uh, are you well?" asked the younger cleric.
The elf sighed and shrugged, releasing her holy symbol and letting it fall against her chest. "My time could be better spent on a recovery effort for the Sigils of the Fallen. I'm surprised Saudere allowed you to visit me."
"Well, he actually wants me to take an official statement from you, so he can have you taken away for holding in a local prison during the investigation."
"Ah." Selena ran a finger along her brow as she spoke. "And what do you think of this whole matter?"
Charell hesitated a moment before shaking her head. "I think the Prelate's judgment is a little clouded, what with the way things turned out for the Treysens. Probably looking for someone to blame." The cleric moved to the table and sat in the chair opposite the priestess. "I've known you for the greater part of my life, ever since I was a child; I know you're not the sort to suddenly throw everything away like this. So please, I'm asking you to tell me why you released the Bloodletter."
"As a confession?"
"No, as a conversation with a concerned friend."
The priestess sat down and lowered her head. "You're going to think this is foolish, but it's because of a serial killer called Kespin Larke… a man I captured decades ago."
Shaking her head again, Charell made her confusion clear on her face. "I don't know who that is."
"It happened just after I was ordained as a cleric. I was… I wasn't in my right mindset at the time, but I had taken it upon myself to put an end to a string of murders that were cropping up in the city's eastern districts." The elf glanced up toward the cleric. "Did you know that I was considered a highly skilled diviner, even for someone of my experience fifty years ago? That sort of thing leads to the flaws of youth… A little too proud, a little too confident in my abilities. Maybe I still haven't outgrown my self-righteousness." Cerdan certainly thinks so.
She continued, "Eager as I was to please my superiors in the Church of Tyr, I called on the spirits of the deceased, and they gave me the name of the man who killed them, Kespin Larke. Simple enough, right? After that, I had no difficulty finding out Larke's patterns, and I eventually tracked him down and cornered him in one of the dead-end alleys in the market district."
"Er, what does all this have to do with the Bloodletter?"
Selena leaned forward with her hands folded, elbows touching the table. "Larke cried his innocence and wanted me to let him go, because he claimed to be hunting down a vengeful spirit that had the ability to possess different hosts whenever the previous one died. I thought he was a raving lunatic, of course, and I had him arrested on the spot." The elf's eyes turned away from Charell, as if she were seeing her memories play out before her.
"That night, the spirit entered one of the local guards, and violently murdered Larke in his cell before cutting a bloody trail through the city streets on its way out of town. Nearly three dozen people brutally murdered, and I wouldn't believe the one man who could have helped stop the monster responsible. We didn't find the spirit again until decades later, for all the good that did."
"Well, you couldn't have known–"
The priestess' hand slammed down onto the table, momentarily startling the cleric. "Wrong; I'm a diviner! I should have known he was telling the truth. A simple spell or two, and I might have been able to help him… all the death could have been averted, but I wouldn't see past my own self-convictions. That… changed my approach to the pursuit of justice."
"But this all happened a long time ago, don't you think it's a little much to be holding yourself to that single mistake?"
"Elves have long memories, Charell. For all the time I've lived among humans, I don't have your tendency to accept things and move on so quickly. No, it's a shame I must always bear… it's mine by right."
Charell coughed, and neither person said anything for a moment. In a gentle voice, the cleric asked, "But what about Caden the Bloodletter?"
"I couldn't put any faith in Larke, just like I didn't want to place my trust in Cerd– I mean, Caden. This whole personal crusade of the Prelate seems to be blinding him to the fact that someone is deliberately turning us against the Bloodletter.
"As much as I am loathe to admit it, I had to free the murderer… he may not be innocent like Larke, but I won't have another life on my conscience because I was too concerned with keeping afloat my own status in the temple. But if I continue to aid him, I commit a crime against the lives lost in the past. If I don't, I may be committing a crime against those in the future. He's connected with Cyrael somehow, but deep down I know that he's not a bad person. Maybe a little bit of an ass, though." Her right hand briefly made a fist. "...I want to hate him. He makes everything so... complicated.
"Ugh, but I suppose I can't use inexperience as an excuse this time. Fifty years after Kespin Larke, I've learned a few things about the divergence between what is lawful, what is just, and what is right. Maybe I just did the wrong thing for the right reasons." Selena winced slightly, as she recalled that Caden had spoken those same words earlier in the afternoon.
"So what do you intend to do now, Priestess?"
"Are you asking because you have an opinion to offer?"
Charell smiled slightly and shook her head. "I could offer one, but while taking advice from others is well and good, it's not a substitute for making your own decision. And it sounds to me like you're already resolved to see this through in your own way."
"Hmm… that ranger, Norris, said that people are sometimes faced with the lack of a right choice. I suppose there's no clean way for me to get out of this situation." Selena absently fingering her holy symbol as Charell nodded hesitantly. Rising from her seat, the elf let out a breath and stood straight with as much dignity as she could muster. "Well, then. There's nothing more to be said. But if you're willing to indulge me, there are two things I must ask of you." She removed a small green vial from the pocket of her robe and passed it to the cleric. "See that this is fed to the foreigner I brought in earlier, the one from Kara-Tur. I imagine Norris won't be using it, after all."
"Of course, priestess. And the second thing?"
"It's time you went and informed Prelate Saudere that I'll only give my statement to him alone." The priestess tugged at the hem of her robe, straightened out the creases, and held her head high. "I think I'm ready to talk now."
(9:28)
The heavy wooden doors to Duke Ryloch's chamber finally caved in as the hinges gave out, and a squad of armed guards charged inside, weapons drawn. They were greeted by near-total darkness, as the lanterns within had apparently been extinguished earlier. The light from the hallway outside illuminated the ground immediately past the door, and the guards were met with the sight of an unconscious troll sprawled out on the carpet.
"How in the hells do you morons let a monster like this get inside the building?!" bellowed the guard captain as his five men slowly fanned out, surrounding the fallen beast. "Get some torch light in here, and search the rooms for the Duke. I swear you lazy blighters will all hang if something–"
One of the lanterns hanging in the hallway outside suddenly went out, creating a shroud of darkness in the corridor. A moment later, there was a tearing sound from outside, like fabric was being ripped apart.
"Halt! Who's out there?"
The guard captain aimed his pike forward and carefully stepped out of the room. Suddenly, a figure surged from the shadows at the guard's left, and a blue banner was thrown over the officer's head. A moment later, the captain felt a heavy object slammed down over his head and heard the sound of glass breaking. The top of the sheet suddenly felt extremely hot. He immediately dropped his weapon and flailed around with his arms waving about, yanking the cloth standard away when he caught the scent of burning oil atop his head.
The five guardsmen began shouting, but the captain suddenly felt the prick of a metal blade at his throat. He quickly dropped the burning banner and held his arms out, warning his men to stay at the ready. The flame began to grow as the banner burned, and the smoke made the captain cough briefly.
"Now let's all relax, and we can all live to see another day," said the voice of his assailant. The intruder gripped the back of the captain's head by the hair, and held the blade tightly against his neck. "All of you, slowly take a large step back into the room."
One or two of the guards did so immediately, while the others obeyed only when the captain gestured for them to follow. "What have you done with Duke Ryloch, you fiend?" demanded the captain.
"Not a thing. I'd advise you to keep an eye on the 'troll' in there… not quite as harmless as it looks." The intruder suddenly slammed his foot against the back of the captain's knee and his leg caved. The captain then felt himself being shoved forward, and he crashed into the rest of his guards, who had to quickly lower weapons or aim them out of the way to avoid spearing him.
Hearing the sound of light footsteps sprinting away down the corridor, the captain immediately waved toward his men. "Go, pursue him! Don't let him get out of the district."
A number of the lanterns further down the hallway were suddenly knocked to the floor as the assailant passed, causing a fire to spread across the palace's carpet. A few of the guards stopped or stumbled as the flames sprang up, and the captain could only make a pair of fists as he got up off the ground. "Morons," he muttered under his breath, "shows just how lax the 'city's finest' are becoming."
The captain turned and looked back inside the chamber as a sixth guard hurried past after the others. A furrow appeared on the captain's brow as he surveyed the inside of the Duke's quarters. Oddly enough, the unconscious troll had vanished from the room…
(9:32)
"Where is the blasted privy on this cursed vessel?" Nell mumbled aloud as she staggered down the narrow, rocking corridor. "Damn those shipwrights. It's like some people expect me to go a full twenty-four hours without taking a leak." She shuddered at the thought of having to go back up on deck in the middle of the storm just to take her business.
She suddenly lost her balance as the ship violently shifted upon the waves, hard enough to make the young minstrel lose her balance and stumble to the side, banging her head against a line of crates stacked against the corridor wall. Swearing incoherently, the woman had to sit down for a moment until the pulsing pain subsided, then wondered if she ought to just wait out the rest of their trip in her quarters. Thus far, life at sea wasn't agreeing with her any more than her life back in Neverwinter.
Well, at least it was almost over. Still, there was no word on whether the sailors had recovered her special black suitcase from the skiff. If it had been lost at sea in the midst of the storm… Nell narrowed her eyes at a set of double-doors down the hall. That might be the cargo hold. Even though the officers warned her not to enter that part of the ship, she just wanted to make sure her most important package was safe.
Just as she was about to shamble closer, Nell noticed the creepy-looking fellow, Gorven, emerge through the doors. The man pulled the door shut behind him and briefly glanced around, but Nell quickly ducked low behind the pile of crates. Peeking around, she watched as the man raised his arm and stared at a cube-shaped box that appeared to be made of some sort of crystal. Something inside the container was giving off a menacing glow of green light.
Even at her distance, Nell could feel a slight buzz running through the air, sending goosebumps along her skin. Whatever it was, it clearly wasn't something the scarred man should have been holding. The room that Gorven just left was definitely the cargo hold… so this was a matter to be taken up with the crew of the ship.
A rumble went through the floor of the vessel without warning, and one of the crates suddenly toppled over. The wooden container crashed against the floor, and the unexpected noise startled Nell, causing her to yelp slightly as she fell backward, grabbing the wall for support.
"Someone there?" Gorven called out, slowly coming closer.
Not willing to stay and face the stranger's wrath, Nell immediately bolted away, nearly tripping as the boat continued swaying in all directions. Running through the corridors, Nell wondered why she hadn't seen any sailors around ever since Officer Pitt left her. Right now, anyone would be a greater comfort than the scarred fellow pursuing her from behind.
Sending a glance back over her shoulder, she saw that Gorven was standing back near the crates, giving her a chilling glare. The boat suddenly heaved again, and the minstrel's right foot touched ground at a bad angle. Her own momentum carried her forward, and she crashed through a door at the end of the hall, hitting the wooden floor of the room beyond.
"Ugh. What god's wrath did I earn today?" she muttered into the planks.
A large number of low murmurs and growling noises sounded from all around her. Raising her head, Nell was hit with a wave of horror as her eyes were met by at least three dozen beady yellow eyes, and just as many tusks as well.
"Orcs!" Nell scrambled to her feet, but a streak of pain shot up from her right ankle when she put her weight on that leg. Still, the fear of her current situation was enough to keep her on balance and moving backward toward the door.
The orcs were seated in rows, two on each side of the oarsmen galley, and fortunately chained by the legs to their seats. Each creature was drenched with water and gripping one of the thick, wooden poles that were connected to the ship's oars. All except the one orc immediately to Nell's left, who lashed out and seized the woman by the arm.
Shrieking loudly, she instinctively banged her fist repeatedly against the creature's dark-green wrist until the barbarian grunted and released her. The creature recoiled and held its wrist, growling and spitting in Nell's direction like a savage dog.
"Stop, Brahg," said a low, guttural voice from the opposite side of the hold. Clutching her arm, Nell took a step away from the orc and looked toward the speaker. One member of the orcs, a less robust creature with a series of red, diagonal lines painted on his chest, fixed Nell with a stare that seemed even colder than that of the other orcs in the room.
His lower jaw jutted out slightly, exposing a row of jagged yellow teeth, but he spoke Common in a relatively clear voice. "He has not seen a woman in some time, human. He is very upset, as you can tell." The other orcs in the room quieted down as this particular orc spoke, leading Nell to assume that he was their leader. His speech had a distinct slur to it, no doubt from the shape of his jaw, but he spoke with surprising clarity and diction, especially for an orc. "You are not with the sailors? No, of course not. You did not board the ship with the others. So who are you, woman?"
Nell said nothing and reached backward for the door handle, keeping her eyes on the monsters in the room.
The orc persisted, even as she moved away. "I am Gartok, leader and speaker for my tribe. Or it's remnants. Before you go, you should hear me out. The captain of this vessel is not what he–"
The door suddenly opened and someone grabbed Nell by the shoulder. The minstrel whirled around, and let out a sigh of relief when she saw that it was the first mate, Pitt. "That's enough, Gartok," he said. "You don't want the other members of your tribe to fall in any more trouble than they already have, do you?" The orc chieftain grimaced, but went into a brooding silence. The other barbarians did the same, each one now focusing their hateful eyes at the ship's first officer.
Ignoring the creatures, Tarin Pitt gently took the woman by the arm and led her outside, guiding her in the direction of her quarters. "I did warn you not to walk in on our barbarian prisoners, Ms. Morgan."
"Orcs… they're orcs," she whispered, still holding her arm where Brahg had grabbed her.
"Yes. Vile things, aren't they, lass? How did you end up in there, anyway?"
"I-I was looking for one of my–" Nell stopped as she suddenly remembered Gorven's theft. "Wait, that scarred vagabond who came aboard with me… he stole something from your cargo hold! A glowy box of some kind."
Tarin's eyes suddenly went wide, and his face took on a serious expression. "I see. Thank you for telling me, lass. The captain gave me explicit orders to keep the ship's cargo safe; I don't know much about it, save that it's a highly dangerous artifact of some kind that could place this entire ship at risk. I'll have to inform him of this immediately. For your own protection, then, I'd advise you to stay in your quarters until we arrive at shore and sort this whole matter out."
Nell nodded and let the subject drop as she returned to her quarters. Locking the door behind her, she quickly settled down on the stiff mattress and took a deep breath, hoping to get a short nap in before they made landfall. All the while, the boat continued to heave as thunder rolled by outside. In the back of her mind, Nell had the strangest fear that she wouldn't be getting much rest throughout the night.
(9:40)
"How long do you intend to drag this out, priestess?" asked the High Prelate. "I grow weary of these increasingly insolent conversations with you."
Selena glanced between the two Royal Horsemen who had been guarding the door outside. They were now standing silently on either side of the Prelate, as if they thought she actually posed a serious threat to him. "What do you hope to gain from this?" she said. "Is this vengeful crusade of yours really about justice?"
"Of course it is. All I'm concerned with is the Bloodletter; you are nothing more than a peripheral concern, an example of weakness in the moral fibre of this temple and city. If you can't see the righteousness of my cause, then you clearly have a divergent view of justice."
"Clearly." The elf reached for her holy symbol and ran her fingers over the etched design.
The Prelate stepped around the table, slowly circling the priestess. "Perhaps you do not understand just how much sway I carry in the Church of Tyr. While I may not be able to have you formally charged for criminal actions, I am still the highest ranking faithful in this entire city at the moment." He paused and leaned in close to her ear. "So I can have you stripped of your title and ejected from practicing your faith at this temple, if you do not tell me how and where I can find the Bloodletter."
"I can't do that, sir. What you intend for Caden can't possibly be a just cause. My apologies, but I will have no part in apprehending this man if you're going to simply have him killed without due procedure."
Saudere's lips curled as he returned to where he was originally standing, between the two Royal Horsemen. "I take it that is your official statement, then. So be it; you will be taken to one of the local prisons for incarceration until further notice. I imagine there is nothing left to be said, unless you have some more forked words to add?"
Selena let her eyes close and exhaled. Evidently, there was no graceful way out of this. "In fact, I do: amandil ithil'quessir!"
"Eh? What did you sa-"
A blast of yellow light erupted from the priestess' holy symbol of Tyr, enveloping the entire area in front of her. Saudere and his guards were too slow in averting their gaze, and immediately found their bodies locked in position, as if their own flesh had betrayed them. The flash of light cleared quickly, but the magical blast had rendered the three men completely immobile.
Selena calmly opened her eyes again and left her chair. "This paralysis spell will wear off soon enough," she said, stepping closer to the Prelate. "But long enough for me to leave the tower without incident." The Prelate's eyes were still moving, but quickly settled on the priestess. No doubt he was currently thinking all manner of curses at her. Regardless, she kept her voice neutral, unwilling to let go of her tone of formality. "I'm sorry it had to come to this, Prelate, but it is my duty to do what is right, even if it means going against the law and your personal perceived notion of 'justice'."
Taking a step back, Selena held up her holy symbol. "I realize that I will be forevermore be unwelcome here in the temple, perhaps even the city, and that I may never again answer to the formal title of priestess, but make no mistake Prelate…" She raised her amulet high for the Prelate to see. "No one will ever take my faith away from me. Not the Church, not Caden, and not you. I am and forever shall be a loyal faithful of Tyr, even if I must do so alone and without the support of the Order." She lowered the holy symbol and tucked it safely beneath her robe. "Farewell, High Prelate, I wish we could have met under more stable circumstances. I expect that you will not see me again." With that, the elf offered a deep bow and then went to remove the key from the belt on one of the Royal Horsemen.
In a short while, Selena had the door unlocked and stepped out into the hallway. Glancing about to make sure no one was around in the corridor, she quickly locked the door behind her and tossed the key in a potted plant nearby. Taking a deep breath to calm herself after what she'd just done, the priestess glanced up at a banner that hung from the ceiling overhead, sporting the scales of justice, Tyr's sign.
The elven woman lowered her head and whispered a quick prayer, then pulled her sleeve back and touched the silver bracelet she had put on her wrist a few hours ago. Closing her eyes, she focused on the magic within the artifact and felt a tingle run through her body and over her clothes. Although her eyes remained closed, she found that she could now see straight through her eyelids. Moreover, she was no longer able see her own body, as if it had turned to air.
Satisfied that the bracelet's invisibility spell would hold for at least a few minutes, the elf quickly made her way toward the tower's main staircase. Now that she had the means to leave the building, her next move would be to track down the deviant celestial and the stolen Sigils. While she wasn't particularly thrilled by the notion, the priestess knew that she was going to need help for that.
(9:47)
"This one can't possibly be the Bloodletter," muttered the red-armoured man as he roughly grabbed Dace by the chin, turning the mercenary's head from side to side. "Lenthyrr said he was supposed to be one of her people."
Duke Ryloch – or rather, the doppelganger posing as the Duke – made a 'tsk' sound and ran a finger along the rough wall of the tiny cavern, wiping some soot off. In his other hand was a burning torch, the sole source of light in the room. "I'm not that blind, Pryus. It was this human's companion that I meant to capture… I didn't think this one would escape my fellow shifter."
Though he couldn't see very well in the darkness of the room, Dace spat in the general direction of Pryus' boot as the armoured man stepped back. Tugging on the ropes that bound his wrists and ankles to the cave wall, the mercenary took a moment to gauge the situation. The chill of the room probably meant they were underground. He'd clearly made a brash mistake by charging through the mirror in pursuit of the doppelganger, but at least they hadn't decided to kill him yet. Of the two captors, the red-armoured man was clearly the greater threat. While the other doppelganger back at the Ducal Palace could imitate raw physical strength, it clearly lacked the ability to copy a creature's resilience to injury. It only took a well-placed blow to the head to knock out the doppelganger-troll.
This 'Pryus', however, had an air of vigour about him. His skin was tinged a slight shade of red and felt unusually brittle when he touched Dace's face. Even stranger was the slight burning feeling that lingered on the mercenary's chin on the spot where the man had grabbed him. Perhaps the blood of a devil or fiend flowed in his veins.
"Neither of you were to take any unplanned action against the Bloodletter without my leave to do so," Echoed a new voice from the entrance of the cavern as the source of the light appeared. Cyrael stood at the cave opening, accompanied by a shorter hooded figure at his side. In the darkness of the cavern, the celestial's skin seemed to exude an otherworldly glow of white light, which illuminated the area surrounding him. The celestial adjusted the collar of his white coat as he stepped close to the prisoner. "So the blackheart lives. It is a tragic state of the world where men of evil survive, yet good souls perish so easily."
"He may be of use to us, Cyrael," said Ryloch. "If we were to use him as bait…"
"Only a fool could possibly mistake a predator for bait, doppelganger. No, he must be removed before he causes any further damage. Sintag!" At the celestial's command, the hooded figure straightened and stood at attention. "Bring this human out to the sewer tunnels and kill him."
Sintag pulled his sleeves up and tossed his hood back, revealing a completely bald scalp and one of the most ravaged faces Dace had ever seen. It took every fibre of his self-control to keep from recoiling. The mercenary saw that every part of the man's face was covered in thick red welts and blackened scars. Even his ears had been torn off, leaving dark red patches in their place. He bore so many marks of mutilation that his visage would likely make even a self-flagellating follower of Loviatar wince in discomfort.
Nonetheless, the freak didn't show any discomfort, despite the freshness of some of his wounds. That meant he was either resistant to pain or under the influence of something to dull the sensation. Judging by the amount of muscle on his forearms, Dace had a feeling it would be the former. Probably an enforcer, thought Dace, so the scarred freak would likely need to be taken out first, if the mercenary wanted a clear strike at any of the others.
"It shall be done, my saviour!" the scarred man shouted to Cyrael with animated zeal. "In your name, I will bind a rope to his wrists and suspend this heathen over a pit of rats. Then I shall slowly lower him, inch by inch, so that he may feel the rodents' bites over every part of his body before he finally meets the just punishment for his sins!" Sintag began to laugh at his own words. "And as the beasts are feasting upon his flesh, I will abandon him to his fate, confident that he cannot possibly return to hinder us!"
For a moment, no one said a word as the scarred acolyte stood proudly, holding a perverse grin on his face. Pryus spoke in a sharp growl, "Don't be so addled, you maniac. Slit his throat and dump him in a pile of offal."
"And make certain he's dead. We lack the time for any further complications," Cyrael added as the madman began to remove Dace from the wall. "And this one deserves death more than any of the others we have faced thus far. The blackest of hearts deserves no less."
Dace suppressed a smile. They were sending him off alone with a half-crazed fanatic. Things were starting to slide in the mercenary's favour…
(9:52)
"Boring, boring, boring…" Villet murmured to himself, tossing a small chisel in the air. When High Prelate Saudere said he had a special task for the young acolyte, the boy imagined it would be something fun for a change. Instead, here he was crouched in an empty, dimly lit stall of the stables just outside the Tower of Tyr, with nothing more than the pick and a large bucket of yellow paint to entertain himself.
Writing amusing body limericks on the wall lost its appeal rather quickly when he could barely even read his own work without any decent lighting. He couldn't even begin to imagine why the old man wanted him to watch for the priestess when she was safely locked away in her room.
His thoughts were interrupted as he heard a scraping sound from near the door. Peeking over the side of the stall, he saw the stable doors open wide, as if on their own accord. The acolyte was about to stand and investigate when he noticed a translucent shape as the dust on the ground kicked up. Squinting, Villet could barely make out what appeared to be the bottom of a pair of boots and a robe, all but invisible to his eyes.
Listening carefully, the boy could hear a step of footsteps crossing the stable floor toward one of the horses, in a pen nearest to the entrance. The mare snorted loudly as its saddle appeared to float off the nearby hook and settle into place atop its back.
The acolyte's suspicions were confirmed as the unseen person suddenly materialized, their invisibility apparently wearing off. Priestess Shademoor quickly mounted the horse, and directed the steed to take her out of the stables. Villet waited until she was out the door, then grabbed the sole torch from near the door and hurried after the elf.
On the ground, the boy could make out a distinct trail of footprints left by the priestess' horse in the dirt, but he knew that the trail wouldn't be nearly as visible once she hit the stone streets. Taking the chisel in one hand and hanging the bucket of paint off his opposite arm, the boy swiftly stabbed a tiny crack in the base of the pail. A slow, steady drip formed, and the bright paint began to leave fat yellow dots the ground. Confident that the paint trail would work, Villet quickly raced off after the elf, quite pleased that the stuck-up priestess would be taken down off her high horse in due time.
(9:56)
"Damned ocean…"
Her stomach felt as if it had been turned upside-down inside her gut. As the Ever Dauntless continued to tread through the waters of the Sea of Swords, the violent swaying seemed to intensify. It probably would have felt calmer if the vessel was a ship in a bottle being shaken up by a wayward child. A shiver ran up Nell's legs, and she lamented the fact that quarters were right at the edge of the ship.
There was a flicker of light from outside the window, followed a few seconds later by a resonating blast of thunder. The violent noise struck just as the shutters to her window suddenly creaked ajar. The winds didn't relent either, and the pane blew wide open, making an annoying clattering noise as it smacked repeatedly against the wooden wall.
"That's it," the minstrel muttered, swinging her feet out of the cot. "From now on, I travel only by horseback. I'll be lucky if I make the attendance at this rate. And I'd bless my soul if I even manage to stay awake through the whole audition." Of course, all that was moot if she ended up having to play that damned lute rather than her violin; hopefully the sailors recovered her black case in which the prized instrument was stored. If not, she might as well lie down in the mud and become a borderline vagrant, like all the other bards in the Realms. No, she had to prove that she was better and above the rest of the warbling mob… she was an artist.
She crossed the room and began to close the window shutters, hoping to block the sounds of the storm for a semblance of peace before they reached Waterdeep. The lantern hanging nearby rocked slightly as she began to pull the window closed.
A wet, scaled arm burst into the room from outside the window and seized Nell by the wrist. A disturbingly familiar phlegmatic growl came from the creature that was clinging to the hull in the dark just outside the window. Instantly, the young minstrel was stricken with cold shock as she found herself staring into the fierce, piranha-like features of a green-scaled sahuagin invader.
(10:00 PM)