---

Madam Portencia emerged for the evening activities in a stunning pant suit and new wig, much to everyone’s delight. Spider was in a perky mood as he led the group back to the bathhouse, and he shimmied up the wall with enthusiasm.

Inside the courtyard there were no guards, but the internal door and perimeter gates were closed, the latter held closed by a large bolt. Samael whispered to Spider, “There’s something here. In the courtyard. I can sense it, but I can’t see it.” Spider nodded cautiously, and reported this back to the gathered group. “I’ll open the gate and let you inside.”

“I’ll take a look - I can see things that might be hidden,” Madam Portencia volunteered. She nimbly ascended the wall, somewhat to Spider’s surprise. In fact he was so surprised that he didn’t notice the vine he was climbing crack and break, dumping him unceremoniously to the ground.

Madam Portencia chuckled to herself, before scanning the courtyard. She quickly found what she was looking for - sitting atop the Northmost fountain was a red-winged imp. It cocked its head and smiled, looking directly at Madam, then shot straight up into the air and out of sight.

“Get up here Spider, and come open the gate.” She sprung down, her new pant-suit making the athletic activity look easy. Together they pulled the gate open, and the group stepped warily into the compound. “There’s an imp, and it saw me,” Madam Portencia warned.

“Let’s just go, we’ve got to hurry,” Spider whispered. The door to the baths was locked closed, and there was no sound other than the gentle burble of water from within. Mak put his hand on Spider’s shoulder preparing to charge inside while Spider rapidly picked the lock.

Madam Portencia was searching everywhere for the imp, and saw it suddenly reappear, perched on the eave of the roof smiling. It waved. “Imps are universally bad, am I right?” she asked of the group. “Spider - what’s the deal with your little cousins?”

Spider frowned. “What are you talking about? Imps?! Madam P just fookin' shoot it or something!”. The imp hopped out of sight again at this threat.

Mak pulled the door open a crack and looked inside. All was dark and still, the floor lit by the dim light glowing through the stained-glass. Spider slipped inside with Mak following close behind. As they entered, three cloaked Nightblades emerged out of the darkness, vicious curved knives drawn.

Madam Portencia ran to the doorway and shot a weak bolt of fire into one of the cultists, who laughed it off. He wasn’t laughing for long as Mak came thundering across the room and sliced through his chest with a massive axe swing.

Morad, finally feeling this was a worthy combat, pulled out his scimitar and carved a brutal slash into the thigh of the Nightblade nearest Spider. The cultist retaliated, but Morad easily parried the blows with his shield. Spider wasn’t so lucky, a dagger thrust piercing his side.

Torman leapt onto the side of one of the pools and crashed his hammer into the attacker, leaving him vulnerable to Spider who finished the job, skewering the cultist who fell dead to the ground.

Bili jumped into the nearest pool and pulled an ice blade out of the water, directing it to the cultist attacking Morad. The blade missed, but it shattered into hundreds of shards as it struck the wall behind. Both the Nightblade and Morad were engulfed in a cloud of frozen ice, dropping the cultist and causing Morad some unpleasantness. Bili apologised to Morad - but healed Spider instead, perhaps remembering Morad’s hard-line anti-eating stance.

With the Nightblades dead, the room returned to stillness and silence. Spider moved to the door to Jabaz’s room, and heard what might have been a rustle of cloth from within. He knelt down and sniffed under the door, recoiling as he smelt the same sewer stench from the visit earlier in the day. He nodded at Mak, who pulled the door open and charged into the room.

Inside was a single Necromite in filthy clothes with a ratty bead, eyes glazed in a trance as he swung a skull on a chain. Mak swung his huge axe again and it crunched into the cultist. Spider scooted in behind Mak and threaded his dagger into the ribcage of the cultist, who fell to the ground praising Myrkul as he died.

The secret door stood open in the corner of the room, and the party stepped into the darkness.

---

A five-foot wide corridor descended into a chamber flooded with two-foot deep murky water. The ceilings were only 8-9 foot high, making it difficult for Mak who had to stoop occasionally. The foul stench of raw sewerage overwhelmed the senses. Spider whispered to Mak and Morad to douse their lights, Morad complying by closing the gates on his eye-of-Al’Akbar lantern, leaving both effectively blind.

Spider placed his hand on the side of the wall, and Samael scuttled up his arm and onto the limestone surface. Those that hadn’t seen the spider before (who was the size of Spider’s head) tensed for a moment, before realising it was no threat. Samael scouted ahead and quickly reported back that the West side of the chamber led to a dead end, while to the South corridor swung to the East before rising up some steps out of the water.

Bili edged into the water and silently moved toward the South corridor, with everyone else following. Morad opened his lantern light again so both he and Bili could see the way. Bili turned to Spider and offered to carry him on his back, which offer the chef gratefully accepted.

Torman looked around and confirmed his suspicion that this was one of the endless Baldur’s Gate sewers - the thought of which surfaced a bit of Baldur’s lore he had forgotten. Before occupying her current grand station, Thalamra Vanthampur had spent her youth in the cellars and sewers of Baldur’s Gate, repairing pipes and clearing out the city’s filth. She rose from such lowly work to become the minister of the city’s sewers and waterworks, before finally rising to become one of the four ruling Dukes of the city. The bathhouse being owned by her, and the Cult of the Dead Three using these sewers as a base of operations, began to make sense.

Wading through the water was unpleasant due to the stench and sense of unease. The raw limestone walls leaked trickling water, the source of which no-one wanted to consider too closely. Torman looked back to see Morad hesitating on the top step. “So…is there anything down there?”

“After you,” Torman invited Morad down.

“Uh, no, no. I do not…look, if you find something, I come in. But so far - nothing.”

“All the answers are down this way.”

“Ok. Go have a look, yell if you need help. I do not want to go in there. It’s shit.”

“Yes yes we know it’s shit.”

“Don’t be such a baby, come on,” Madam Portencia urged.

“You don’t need me! There’s nothing down there!”

“We need you. Come on,” Torman waved.

“Why?”

“You have the light. You have your gods' light. Come.”

Morad was snookered, again. He groaned and stepped into the dirty water reluctantly.

---

Climbing the steps out of the water was a relief, though the lower ceiling made Mak particularly uncomfortable. He wasn’t used to enclosed spaces like this, let alone underground.

The corridor opened into a room, with three carved wooden doors. The East door bore a carving of Bane, the lawful evil god of tyranny, depicted as a tall, armored man wearing a bucket helm. His right gauntlet was painted black and clutched a set of shackles. The West door was a carving of Bhaal, the chaotic evil god of murder, depicted as a powerfully built, skull-headed man with long curved blades where his hands should be. The final door to the South depicted Myrkul, the neutral evil Lord of Bones, portrayed as a cloaked figure, face hidden under a cowl. In his skeletal hands he clutched a screaming human skull.

Spider listened at each door, hearing lapping water from Bhaal’s door on the East, the soft crackle of flame from Myrkul’s South door, and nothing from Bane’s door to the East. He unlocked the Eastern door, which revealed a path descending back into the foul water. Samael crawled ahead again, and reported a mouldy curtain hanging on the South turn, and some kind of alter to the North - but nothing alive.

As the group started down the narrow corridor, Madam Portencia heard a whisper in her ear. “You’re going the wrong way!” She spun around and saw the imp scooting back up around the corner.

Madam Portencia scratched her neck. “Um, Spider - I’ve just been informed by the imp that we’re going the wrong way.”

“I thought I told you to fuckin' kill that thing?”

“Well I didn’t have a chance, and it’s run off again!”

Morad broke in. “What did you just say? You are trafficking with a demon??”

“Morad. There is an imp that’s been bird-dogging us since we’ve been here,” Spider explained patiently.

“And we take advice from him now?”

“I’m not saying we should take advice! I’m just saying, in the interest of full disclosure-”

“Point out the imp and we kill it!” Morad demanded.

“It flew off. If you can find it, be my guest.”

“Bili - go bite it!”

Bili looked shocked - Morad was now encouraging him to bite?!

Morad stomped off down the corridor, and turned to face the filthy wall-hanging. The tattered tapestry depicted a grizzly scene of four faceless figures ripping apart a screaming fifth. Morad closed his eyes and spoke a quick prayer, then drew his scimitar and slashed the unholy image in two.

A cloud of noxious yellow spores erupted from behind the curtain, enveloping Morad, Bili, Torman, and Mak, all of whom started coughing hard trying to get the poison out of their lungs, gasping for breath.

The cloud quickly sunk into the fetid water, allowing the group to continue whilst the sickened members recovered their breath and spat the bile from their lungs. “Maybe this is what the imp meant by going the wrong way,” Madam Portencia observed wryly.

The next chamber contained three wooden beams bracing the low ceiling, and a stone alter slathered in dried entrails. A wax tablet and stylus sat next to the entrails. Above the alter was a three-foot steel mask cast in the form of a frowning human skull. Madam Portencia studied the entrails and determined they were human. “This is not good. I believe we are going the wrong way.”

Torman picked up the tablet and studied the inscriptions, which were all written in infernal. He read them to the group as Spider copied the translations into his notebook:

When the box is opened, the path forward will be revealed

One of the four shall be damned to hell, one of the four shall be struck by a thunderbolt, one of the four shall rise

The great sun shall be blackened, and the devil legions shall conquer Elturel

“That’s some incriminating evidence right there,” Spider said gleefully.

Torman agreed. “I think the game is afoot, gentlemen. Whoever the four are, they were involved in the calamity we saw at Elturel.”

“Surely the one that ‘shall rise’ refers to Vanthampur?” Spider speculated.

Torman read on:

Conflict shall come to the great cities of Waterdeep, Iriaebor, and Baldur’s gate

Volcanic fire shall tremble the peaks of Orsraun

Of the West shall speak the tears of Selûne, and they shall weep upon the Inner Sea

As he read these last few, Madam Portencia recognised some of her art in the phrasing, and raised her eyebrows with some scepticism at the accuracy of the predictions.

Further on in the connected rooms a body floated face down in the stagnant water. Mak approached it carefully, confident it was dead - and had been for some days judging by the bloated nature of the skin. The clothing identified it as a dead Bhaal cultist. He flipped it over, and was greeted with the gruesome sight of skin sloughing from the bloated face. There was no sign that this body had been the source of the entrails, however.

---

The party retreated to the room of doors, Madam Portencia murmuring to Spider, “It looks like we were going the wrong way”.

“But you don’t leave doors behind.”

“True - but I’m interested in the imp’s motivation.” She wandered back up the entry corridor to see if she could find it - and she did. The imp laughed before sprinting out of sight. Madam Portencia grimaced and turned back. As she did a voice called out, “Told you!”. She spun around again - but there was nothing there.

Spider meanwhile unlocked Myrkul’s Southern door. Morad and Mak stepped into a smallish room to find three Necromites lying face down on the floor. A lit torch burnt softly in the middle of the bodies which lay around it in a vaguely triangular shape. A staircase led down to the West.

Torman reached out to one of the bodies, and as he did all three sprung to their feet pulling their skull flails out to attack, chanting in unison in some strange language. Bili charged into the room, and Morad was horrified to see Bili changing shape into a massive brown bear as he did. Bili swiped his huge claws into one of the Necromites, before biting it and ripping his throat out.

Madam Portencia unleashed another trademark bolt of fire that smoked into one of the cultists. The Necromite screamed out, swinging his flail into Morad, but it was a weak blow as he tried to recover from the flames. Torman shrugged off a similarly weak attack from the uninjured Necromite. Morad retaliated hard, finishing off his charred victim.

Spider leapt over to the final cultist, skewering him with a nasty dagger blow. Mak smashed into him with a crushing axe blow, bisecting his victim. Not a very successful ambush!

Madam Portencia studied the skull flails, and also noticed each body had a hollowed out skull hanging on their waist. She theorised they were some kind of channelling device or focus - she asked Spider to grab them for further research.

In the room to the West was an open sarcophagus, piled full with humanoid bones. Spider sifted his knife around the bones, which caught on something beneath the pile. Spider smiled, glanced at Mak, and hovered his hand above the sarcophagus. The bones started to shift slightly, before exploding apart as a red-leather bound book shot out of the casket and into his hand.

Mak looked on in amazement. As Spider studied the book, Mak walked over to the sarcophagus and saw two two more books inside. He hovered his hand over the coffin and waited. Nothing happened. He looked at Spider, who smiled, “No, like this - " and a second umber-coloured book with a runed front flew into his hand. Mak frowned… then quickly grabbed the final scaley black reptile-hide bound book out of the cavity. He glanced at it, grunted, and handed it straight to Spider. Stupid flying books.

“Madam P,” Spider called and passed all three books over to her. She waved a hand over the books and discovered they were all magic. She cautiously opened the red book, and found it full of spells. The other two books were the same, each full of wizardly spells of all description. Madam Portencia was impressed - this was quite a haul and there were several spells she was unfamiliar with.

The first spellbook is bound in red leather and contains the following spells: burning hands, detect magic, disguise self, fog cloud, ray of sickness, silent image

The second has the personal rune of its previous owner burned into its umber cover and contains the following spells: charm person, find familiar, identify, magic missile, sleep

The third is bound in scaly black reptile hide and contains the following spells: cloud of daggers, darkvision, detect magic, feather fall, mage armor, magic missile, Tasha’s hideous laughter

---

Spider unlocked the final door that led East behind the carving of Bane. Morad was disappointed to see it descended down into water again after about thirty feet. The party moved down it quietly, including Bili lumbering along in bear-form, taking a turn to the South and into an open chamber supported by thick wooden beams.

Morad bravely waded into the foul water, and immediately saw two figures standing on a raised platform to the West. A powerfully built woman in chainmail holding a mace in her black gauntlet, and a huge man wearing a bucket helm drawing a blade across the chest of a naked man chained to the far wall. Morad yelled out and charged, and the two cultists spun to face him, beckoning him forward. “More blood for the blood god!”

Spider, hampered by the chest-high water he was wading through, flung a dart toward the man, but it pinged harmlessly into the wall. Disgusted, he dumped his remaining darts and equipped his cache of shuriken instead.

Mak thundered through the water growling with rage, creating a wave as he rushed toward the bucket-head. But his fury and the water didn’t mix and the axe swing went wide. Morad had more success, stepping up onto the platform and slicing the man. As he mounted the platofrm he noticed a shining suit of armour in an alcove to the north.

The Iron Consul dropped the dagger and thrust his spear at Mak, but he too failed to connect. He yelled out in a strange language and his companion swelled with inspiration, and she swung her mace twice into Morad, pounding his torso with the blows.

Torman saw Morad being bludgeoned and flung a bolt of holy radiance into the cultist. She exploded into many parts, splattering those closest with gore. Torman looked at his hands with surprise - such power!

Bili climbed onto the platform, his bite missing but claws connecting and tearing a chunk of flesh away. Madam Portencia conjured a chromatic lightning ball that floated across the room and exploded inside the strongman’s helmet, killing him instantly. She glanced toward Torman and raised an arched eyebrow. Torman tipped his hat.

Morad instantly turned his attention to the barely breathing figure chained to the wall. His chest was carved with bloody infernal script oozing blood. Morad rested his hands on the man and uttered a prayer of healing, calming the man’s breathing. As he did so, the gauntlets on the suit of armour in the niche detached and flew across the short gap, pounding into Morad’s back. Morad cried out in pain.

Spider jumped onto the platform and tried to attack the floating fists, but they moved too fast for his swings. Mak too found them too tiny to easily hit with his huge blade. Morad fared better, smashing his blade into one that shattered into parts and dropped to the ground - but he paid for that when the other fist crunched into his skull.

Torman stepped forward and hurled another guiding bolt into the last floating gauntlet, destroying it instantly.

The man on the wall let out a soft cry. “Thank you, thank you for saving me. Please - let me down?”

Morad was looking sore and badly hurt, but when the man spoke he shook his head and warned the party. “This man is evil.”

“Evil? I am not evil! Look at what they have done to me,” the man cried, pointing to the fresh carvings in his chest.

“What is your name,” Madam Portencia asked.

“My name is Klim Jhasso. I am a noble in this city - we can reward you greatly! Please let me down!”. The name Jhasso was vaguely familiar to Spider and Madam Portencia - just another of the hundreds of striving lower-rank noble families.

“I was captured days ago and my bodyguard was slain. Please, cut me down, and my family will pay you!”

Torman looked at the man’s chest and read the infernal script brutally carved into his flesh:

In the name of Bane, we offer adulation to 7…

The last letter looked like the start of another letter - perhaps a Z? “There is evil cast upon him, but it is an incomplete spell that has been cast.”

Morad shook his head. “It is not the carving, it is the man.”

Spider disagreed. “I think what you’re detecting is - a lot of the nobles in this city are just dirtbags. I think he’s more in the asshole category.”

The man protested. “Please! One hundred gold!!”

Morad didn’t know Baldur’s Gate well enough to judge this, but he could see the man wasn’t the same as the cultists. He was not a good man, but he may not deserve summary execution.

Torman stepped forward and started to unchain the man. “Wait! Wait!,” Madam Portencia protested, casting a spell as she spoke. “He’s lying about the gold, and the reward, but he’s not part of the cult,” she asserted, concentrating harder. “He knows nothing about them - he was taking from the bathhouse several days ago. His family is feuding, he’s got nothing. He family does pay allegience to Vanthampur however. He’s just a schmuck.”

Torman nodded and released the man. “Thank you, thank you so much. Um - which is the way out?”. Torman pointed and the man waded off into the darkness. “Please, come and see me and your reward shall be forthcoming!”

Moments later there was a scream from around the corner, suddenly truncated. Everyone looked at each other for a moment, then rushed back to the corridor. The imp stood over the limp body of Jhasso, shredding his flesh with its claws in a frenzy. It looked up, wiped the blood off its face, grinned, and vanished.

Madam Portencia groaned. “Somehow I feel like I’m responsible.”

---

The party gathered in the ritual room, Spider quickly searching the cultist bodies. He found - then mysteriously didn’t find - a few gold coins, and retrieved the dagger the helmed cultist had been using to carve Jhasso’s chest. The blade was dark, non-reflective, and silent when trailed through the air. Jhasso’s blood clung to the razor like the blade was hungry to keep it, even when Spider shook it hard. Impressed, he wiped it clean on the body and slotted it into his arsenal.

---

Heading down the South steps led to a closed door. Spider listened carefully with Bili the Bear close behind, and heard what could have been the sound of flesh tearing and a bubbling sound. “There might be a pot in there or something?” he whispered. Bili shook his head, unable to speak but not smelling food cooking.

Spider pulled the door open and Bili charged through, closely followed by Mak and Morad. In the large open room lay a body on a slab, its chest ripped open by a Necromite cultist who had her hands deep inside the cavity. By her side a swarm of skeletal undead rats raced toward the intruders.

She looked up and grinned, “I have been expecting you!”

Morad pushed past Bear Bili and ran toward the cultist, bringing his blade down with precision. He was sure his swing was true, but it somehow only sliced the air by her side.

Madam Portencia barrelled into the room and pointed to the cultist. A acidic chromatic orb floated from her finger but instead of exploding on the Necromite, it floated far wide and exploded harmlessly in the air - luckily missing Morad.

Mak pushed through the skeletal rats swarm, who latched onto his bare legs ripping nasty cuts with their paws and teeth. He swung his axe hard toward the cutlist, but just like Morad, the blow only managed to cut the air in half instead of her.

Torman stepped into the room and turned his attention to the rats, calling on the power of Torm to turn the rats away. Unfortunately Torm was busy dealing with more important matters and the rats merely shuddered before continuing their assault on Mak.

Bili watched all this incredulously - who were these companions who so far had done nothing. This was battle! He rumbled across the room and swung his paws and claws at the rat swarm with a growl, shattering at least half of them.

The Necromite, looking pleased with herself, vanished in a column of mist only to reappear in the corridor behind everyone except Spider. She cackled and summoned a huge fireball that exploded in the middle of the party. Torman cried out in agony as the explosion of flame engulfed the room, falling lifeless to the ground. The cultist laughed with delight - despite having also roasted her remaining rats.

Spider watched the explosion with horror, gritting his teeth as he stepped out of the darkness and buried his blade deep in her back. She screeched as a flood of dark blood sprayed out of the wound.

Morad was badly burnt, but he tore across the room in rage, smoke billowing from his singed clothing, and tried again to hit her - with the same result. The blade skimmed along her instead of piercing her flesh.

Madam Portencia spun to face the Necromite and this time made sure that the acidic orb hit its mark, showering her target with a rain of acid. The cultist howled in pain, but the smile stayed etched on her face. She was enjoying this.

Bili changed back to his regular lithe form, dragging the body of Torman out of the line of fire. He placed his hands on the body and life surged back into the fallen Fist.

From across the room Mak came thundering over and dived full length over Morad, somehow managing to skim the gap between the rough ceiling and Morad’s smoking turban. Everyone watched as he flew impossibly toward the Necromite, his axe primed. Unfortunately the universe was unwilling to suspend its disbelief any longer and the axe caught on the wall and missed the cultist.

She closed her eyes and vanished again, appearing back on the other side of the room. She grinned a crazy smile and unleashed another fireball that exploded, covering everyone in scorching magical flame.

Torman was instantly killed, again, and Morad too collapsed to the ground in the inferno.

Spider cursed and jumped ahead into the room, flinging a shuriken across the room. Those still standing followed the almost slow-motion flight of the whirring blade as it thunked into the left eye of the Necromite. Her other eye rolled back in her head and she slowly collapsed in a heap to the ground.

---

Torman’s Deaths

The first time you died, all was silent.

The second time you died, Torm spoke to you.

From his white gauntlet, glowing in the darkness of death, you heard the unmistakable voice:

You walk a difficult path, yet the path is a righteous one.

Elturel has fallen. A holy city. A city of Torm. This you know. What is not known is your role in that great city’s ultimate destiny. And in the destiny of something greater still.

Do not waver. Do not hesitate. Do not be led astray. Save Elturel. The cost will be great, the choices difficult. One will come to guide you, yet needs you to guide. Trust them. Help them.

Now go, and do what you must.

---

Morad’s Death

You fall to the ground under the inferno from the second fireball, whispering a desperate prayer as you collapse.

Darkness surrounds you and all is silent.

In the far distance you see a glow that slowly grows ever closer, until you clearly see your sacred symbols: the Cup and eight-pointed Talisman of Al’Akbar.

A deep, hollow voice echoes from the holy artefacts:

I sent you the vision of flames, and you have sought them as you must. But the inferno that has felled you here is not the flame you seek.

Nor is this your time. You must descend further and embrace the vision, though it will test your faith sorely.

You wish to be a Voice? Listen, always listen. Put aside the false prophets, and when you hear the True Voice, know it and follow it.

Only then will you find the Path. Only then will you come to the Light.

---

Madam Portencia hurried over to Torman, suffering badly from her own burns - and the hole torn in her new pant-suit - but knowing Torman was in deep trouble. She tried to stabilise him, but Bili could see she had no idea what to do. He stepped forward and repeated his earlier healing, bringing a gasp of air from Torman.

Spider meanwhile gave mouth-to-mouth resuscitation to Morad, bringing him to subconsciousness. Bili ran over to Morad and healed him too - the cannibal turned saviour.

The two resuscitated party members looked stunned, lying on the ground recovering. Morad was silent, solemn, and those nearby noticed him wipe a tear from his eye. Torman was likewise quiet, but his eyes shone with a new light as he healed himself before also helping Bili.

Spider, relatively unscathed, patted down the body of the cultist. She had a fancy looking silvered flail, with skulls replacing the regular flail-heads. He also found a dusty book covered in black leather with a tiny skull-shaped locking mechanism. He found the key embedded in her rather unpleasant dreadlocked hair, and inserted it into the lock before spinning the book over to Madam Portencia.

---

She turned the key and opened the book. As she did a wisp of black smoke rose out of the pages of the book and coalesced into a skull which cackled for a few seconds before dissipating into thin air. “Oh. That’s not good,” Spider grimaced. Madam Portencia felt a shudder run down her spine, but she managed to purge the surge of discomfort. She smiled quietly. “It’s nothing, I knew ahead of time this wasn’t where I died”.

She turned back to the book finding another list of spells, including the devastating fireball that had almost wiped the party. The book contained the following spells, growing progressively more powerful as Madam Portencia paged through it:

chill touch, mage hand, message, prestidigitation

burning hands, detect magic, ray of sickness, shield

darkness, misty step, scorching ray

animate dead, fireball

Spider looked around the wounded party, tossing the flail to Torman. “Ok. So we’re all pretty fucked. Everybody looks pretty knocked around. But if we leave now we might not get another crack.”

Bili grunted. “We need a rest.” Madam Portencia and Torman nodded.

“Well need to go up and clean up the bathhouse first, so those bodies aren’t discovered. That might give us the time we need.”

“Why can’t I stay down here?” Madam Portencia asked wearily.

“Because you’d be on your own and if some undead freak comes to attack you you’d be pretty much defenceless. Well, obviously not defenceless, but you know.”

“Watch your mouth boy.”

“Never split the party,” Mak observed.

“And we know there’s an unpredictable imp in here somewhere,” Torman agreed.

“Oh very well, I see what you’re saying,” Madam Portencia sighed.

Everyone hauled themselves to their feet wearily to head back to the baths.

---

At the room of Dead Three doors, the imp reappeared at the far end of the Northern corridor shaking its horned head. “I told you, I told you, you went the wrong way! You should have listened to me.”

“You didn’t tell us which way to go,” Madam Portencia countered.

“You didn’t ask.”

“You didn’t stick around.”

“I didn’t hear anyone call after me?”

“I’ve been known to give tasty snacks to those that give out information.”

“Snacks? What sort of snacks?”

“Little bits of crumpet, and such?”

“I’ll need more than that. What would you like to know?”

Torman jumped in. “Which was the right way?”

“What will you give me?”

“Crumpet,” Madam Portencia repeated.

“Hmph,” the imp said, vanishing.

Madam Portencia looked surprised. “Never been known to fail before.”

All was still in the bathhouse, the four cultist lying where they had fallen. They were dragged down and dumped in the fetid sewer water below, and it was a quick job to clean up the blood-stained floors using the rather fresher water above.

As you cleaned, the now invisible imp started whistling a cheerful tune to encourage the labour.

“What about gold?” Madam Portencia ventured.

“Gold! Mmmm, yes, definitely!”

“Right. How much do you want?”

“How much do you have?”

“Some… two. I have two gold,” Madam Portencia offered confidently.

The imp started whistling again. Madam Portencia looked around the room at the cleaners. Mak flicked over a single gold, and Morad handed over two, “Give it to the creature.”

“Five - how about five?” Madam Portencia held out the small pile.

The imp appeared and counted out everyone in the room on its fingers. “One, two, three, four, five…six!”

Torman forked over the missing coin. “Six then.”

“Ahhhh, yes. Put it in the bath here. Like a wishing well! What do you wish for?”

“I wish for you to tell us where we should go.”

“Not the way you went,” the imp advised.

“Is there a way we should go?”

“You saw it. You didn’t go there. One of the Vanthampur’s is down there!”

“Which one?”

“The big one. We don’t like him.”

“Him?”

“Yes. You should kill him.”

Spider interrupted. “The big one is not a him, the big one is a her.”

The imp chuckled. “Not this big one!”

“Apart from the Duke, who do we know in the family?” Madam Portencia asked.

Mak spoke up. “Mortlock.”

The imp clapped its hands. “That’s the one.”

“I know him. He is still short, but bigger than all of you.”

Torman nodded. “I know him too. I owe him a whack in the chops.”

“Listen. If we can sit down and have a cup of tea, I’m as game as anyone,” Madam Portencia said, wiping down her torn pants.

“You should kill him,” the imp repeated.

“I’d like to try him,” Mak said rubbing his hands.

“First we must rest,” Torman warned.

“Would you like me to protect you?” the imp asked.

“How would you do that?” Madam Portencia queried.

“I’d tell everyone not to come in!”

“Who?”

“The others.”

“Which others?”

“The ones outside.”

“There are others outside?” Madam Portencia’s eyes wandered to the closed bathhouse doors.

“Yes.”

“How many?”

“I’m not going to tell you!”

Torman interrupted. “Who are you with?”

“Ahhhh. That will cost you more than you can afford!”

“Who has bought your interest?”

The imp started happily humming again.

Madam Portencia saw an angle. “Let me ask you this: whoever has bought your interest, is it in their interest that you succeed?”

“Well I wouldn’t be telling you otherwise, would I?”

“So why are we paying you as well?” Madam Portencia concluded triumphantly.

“Well you don’t get nothing for free in this world. Or any other world for that matter. You rest - I’ll go and tell them to wait,” the imp said, flying away toward the entrance.

With some misgiving but little choice, everyone found a spot to rest and tried their best to recover and prepare for the dungeon ahead.

---

Somewhat refreshed, the party returned to the first ritual chamber. An unexplored passage led South, and there was a door closed to the East.

Spider started headed South before Torman pulled him up. “Wait. We’ve been there already.”

“We don’t want to leave anything behind us,” Spider frowned.

Madam Portencia nodded. “Just look around the corner, Spider, see what’s down there.”

“Hold on, hold on. This is the first place we haven’t been,” Torman said pointing to the East door, “And we’ve just been told that we’ve been going the wrong way.”

“You’re correct. But luvvie, what you’re missing out on is we know we’re going the wrong way now,” Madam Portencia concluded. “We’re just checking. Spider - pop around the corner.”

“I’m not sure why you’re going that way, we’ve got to go this way. We just got told we went the wrong way!”

Spider was fed up. “We just got told by a devil to go down a door. By a devil.” Samael shifted inside his hood as he spoke.

“We paid them six gold!”

“That’s good Torman. Anyway, who’s for checking this door?” Spider said stomping off to the South. There were two doors down the corridor. He listened at both and heard silence. “Nothing. If you want to leave them behind knock yourselves out. Let’s just get a move on.”

Madam Portencia tried to quell the growing ruction. “I say we leave them behind for the moment. Let’s kill this Vanthampur bastard, whoever he is, and then we can deal with whatever is behind those doors when we get back. I know you don’t agree Spider, but in the interest of harmony.”

“That’s fine,” Spider grunted, moving to the East door.

Torman shook his head, beating the same drum. “I’m just not sure why…”

“TORMAN!” Spider hissed. “It’s simple tactics! If you don’t know the ground and what’s behind you, you find out first and move ahead. People can sneak up behind us and kill us! Do you understand that? Yes or no Torman??”

“Then why did we leave this door behind? I understand you’re used to working alone. As a military man I don’t follow what you’re saying! Let’s go through this door.”

Spider glowered angrily as he checked the door. It was unlocked, but he suddenly held his hand up. He sniffed the air around the door, his nose for cooking coming to the fore, then turned to the group. “There’s like a sulphur, eggy smell coming from behind this door. Other than the smell, there’s no traps.”

Bili stepped forward and pulled the door slowly open. A larger chamber lay beyond, and the smell wafted strongly through. Bili recognised it instantly - magic casters from his tribe had often ventured to the swamps in the lowlands to fill vials that had the same odour. The samples were used to create magical fire that would blow-up when the vials shattered. He turned the party. “I know this. It makes a banging noise. A flame noise.”

Everyone looked nonplussed except Torman, who leaned on his Dwarven heritage to solve the puzzle. “If we open this door, there’s a danger of an explosion. Does anyone have open flame?”

“I have a lantern,” Morad nodded.

“Put the lantern out.”

“I won’t be able to see.”

“Not being able to see is better than exploding.”

Morad nodded and quenched his light after moving with Mak to the safety of the dais platform, leaving both in total darkness.

Bili cautioned everyone to wait as he waded into the room. He searched for water plants or mould that might be the source of the smell, but it seemed to be coming more from the air. He confirmed the larger chamber was otherwise empty, and called everyone through. The sagging ceiling was barely held up by several large wooden struts.

Torman sniffed the air and consulted with Bili. “This is different to what we smelled Elurel, right?” Bili nodded. “This is organic. From the air.”

Spider waded in, the water getting deeper as he moved through the room, reaching up his chest to just below his head. In the Northern corner of the room a collapse of rubble seemed to be the source of the rotten-egg smell - perhaps leaking in through the wall. Two exits led South.

Spider climbed the steps on the Western exit, finding himself in a medium-sized ritual chamber. An alter stood surrounded by piles of humanoid skulls and bones. On top stood dozens of half-melted black candles, all unlit. He pushed ahead to a door down a short corridor, listened, and called everyone forward. Madam Portencia escorted Mak and Morad into the room, hand-in-hand.

Spider opened the door and Bili moved inside, finding a curving corridor with a door to the South. Spider gave a short laugh as he realised this was the very corridor that had been left behind at Torman’s insistence.

The door opened to a small room and thin crumbling corridor leading West, quite narrow in places where the walls had collapsed slightly. Bili prowled ahead as the floor dropped again into flooded water. Everyone else followed, Madam Portencia weakly questioning the route, “I think this isn’t the way to go. This is not where the guy is.”

“No, but we’re here now,” Spider said happily.

Spider opened another closed door, behind which was a small room with a similar sagging ceiling propped up by rotting wooden beams. Bili immediately detected the rotten-egg aroma again, and warned everyone to stay back and douse the lantern again. The volcanic gas again seemed to be leaking through rubble in the corner. “The smell doesn’t make sense to me,” Torman cautioned.

“Before I lost my carvan, I used to have a small vial of yellow powder that smelled like that,” Madam Portentia pondered.

Another corridor led North, the water dropping again. Spider, Bili and Torman waded down into a small square room in the centre of which stood an open sarcophagus, the cover lying broken in the water. Spider hopped up on the ledge and peered inside the cavity. It was full of a goopy black sludge, with small bone shards floating within. He summoned his ethereal hand to sift through the goo, but as soon as he did a ghostly battleaxe emerged from the sludge and swung hard.

Luckily it missed, but so did Spider’s riposte attempt which seemed to go straight through the air. “Can’t hit it,” he called to Torman and Bili, before disengaging and moving down the corridor. Torman fired a bolt of sacred flame, which luckily for everyone was flame-like rather than actual flame. But it too passed harmlessly through the glowing axe. Bili tried a different approach and fired a frostbite toward the axe - with similar non-results. The axe tried to hit the barbarian in retaliation, but it missed again.

“Just leave it,” Spider called. Bili and Torman retreated, and as soon as they left the room the battleaxe disappeared. Bili tentatively stepped inside, and it didn’t reappear. Spider tried again in the goop, pulling out a chunk of decayed knucklebone. “I don’t think there’s anything else in the sludge,” Spider said.

Bili picked up the broken casement lid from the water and placed it back in place over the sarcophagus. He was surprised to see something he almost recognised: the covering was carved in the likeness of a huge axe-wielding barbarian in mid-combat. It was obviously a random rendering rather than anything of religious significance, but Bili was pleased to see something that reminded him of home. So pleased he reached into the sludge and retrieved the knuckle, adding it to the collection of trinkets in his loincloth.

---

Everyone moved back to the first gas-filled room and followed the Eastern exit. Steps led out of the water to a long corridor with three doors leading off to the South and several collapsed corridors to the North.

“There’s too many doors in this place,” Morad complained.

“You’re just used to tents, that’s all,” Madam Portencia observed.

The first door opened to an empty room, the Southern wall partially collapsed on an empty sarcophagus.

The room behind the second door was also empty, though still in one piece. The stone coffin at the Southern end was open, with a faded fresco of spear-wielding warriors on horseback charging across an open plain. Morad looked surprised - like Bili, he recalled his homeland fondly.

Bili interrupted his reverie. “That’s ridiculous. Who would do that? You’d ride an elk, not a horse. That doesn’t happen.”

“What? I have done that, you crazy bear. I have been in that picture!” Morad corrected.

“There are no elks where you live, that’s obviously why.” Morad rolled his eyes and walked away.

Mak poked around inside the coffin, full of old bones and dust, but nothing else that he could see.

Spider listened at the third door and held up his hand in warning. “Shuffling and moaning,” Spider whispered.

“Get the bear,” Morad said. “It’s an abomination - let’s go.”

Mak opened the door and reeled back at the sight of six hideous zombies, faces ripped and torn. The looked hungrily toward the living party and lumbered forward. Mak tried desperately to pull the door closed, and got it most of the way before an arm lunged through. Morad swung down slicing the hand clean off.

The door thumped closed, but as Mak tried to keep it that way the creatures managed to pull it open again.

A short fight ensued, the zombies managing a few weak blows against the strong-men, but they fell quickly under the axe, scimitar, and fist blows - particularly after Madam Portencia unleashed burning hands by reaching around Mak’s handsome chest.

The empty sarcophagus in this room had another fresco - a disturbing diorama of humans feasting on other humans. Bili couldn’t believe his eyes. “It is allowed!” he cried, pointing.

“Bili, these are the bad guys, we’re killing the bad guys,” Torman corrected.

“No they’re not. They’re just hungry. I knew it,” Bili mumbled.

Everyone moved back to the corridor while Spider checked the door at the end of the corridor. He listened closely and heard a very weak cry. “Someone might be calling for help,” Spider whispered. He pulled the door open and Mak stepped inside.

The walls and floor were streaked with splashes of dried blood. In the centre of the room, a bloody whip lay draped over a study chair with leather restraining straps, a bucket of salt standing next to it. A naked man and woman were chained to the walls, pools of fresh blood on the floor below them, their bodies covered in terrible cuts and bruises. The man looked dead, but the female lifted her head weakly. “Help,” she gasped, before her head collapsed again to her chest.

Morad rushed to assist her, pulling off his cape and wrapping her. Her hands were caught in manacles above her head which Morad couldn’t unlock. “Spider! Please, help!”

Spider pulled out his tools, which floated away from him held in ethereal hands. They made short work of the lock and Morad lowered the woman to the ground carefully, noticing one of her arms hanging limply. Mak knelt beside her and examined the wounds, quickly determining that compression on the whip and knife wounds would help. He also used his strength to force the dislocated shoulder back into place, drawing a cry of pain from the semi-conscious woman.

“What’s the plan for her?” Spider asked. “We can’t take her with us.”

“What?? We aren’t leaving her.” Morad gasped.

“Well we can’t fight and carry her at the same time.”

“The imp will eat her if we leave her behind,” Madam Portencia worried.

“I’ll carry her,” Morad insisted. “I’ll carry her and I’ll fight as well!” He picked up the woman and lofted into her shoulder.

Torman called Bili into the room, thinking of the imp following. “Close the door behind you Bili. What were you born in a tent?”

“I was actually,” Bili nodded innocently.

---

Spider moved to the North door, hearing nothing behind. He pulled it open and poked his head around the corner. He heard footsteps in the flooded water at the end of the passageway, then running and splashing. Spider rushed forward and saw a Fist of Bane running to the East out of sight, then the sound of pounding on a door and yelling, “Intruders! Intruders!”

Everyone ran forward behind Spider, Morad trailing behind with his patient. Mak pushed ahead and saw several more Fists coming out of a room to the South-East, clad in chainmail with shields and maces clutched in black gauntleted hands.

Madam Portencia saw the new arrivals and fired a bolt of fire toward the nearest cultist. The narrow angles proved too hard to overcome and the bolt exploded harmlessly into the wall. Spider darted forward and sliced fast with his shortsword, drawing blood before disengaging. “Bane curse you!” the cultist cried.

Torman rushed into the fray, smashing his warhammer into the Fist who howled in anger. Torman’s satisfaction with his blow was quickly drained when he saw a massive figure emerge from the room beyond, dressed in blood-red chainmail with a brutal mace clutched in his matt-black gauntlet. He swung his mace twice, crushing Torman with two brutal blows. Torman staggered back under the assault, badly wounded, luckily avoiding a swing from the injured Fist.

Mak was infuriated by Torman’s treatment and growled with rage. Arcane energy surged around him and his skin seemed to glow as he roared forward. As he reached the Black Gauntlet of Bane he had a moment of fear, the presence almost overwhelming him. But he swung his axe trustingly, and was rewarded with a solid hit into the enemies torso.

Madam Portencia saw the danger and floated a crackling lightning ball into the Gauntlet, exploding into his chest drawing a cry of fury, “Bane grant me power!!”

Bili stepped forward and hurled a bolt of ice toward the big cultist, missing, but charging ahead anyway. Both assailants swung at him as he moved through the combat zone, the Fist connecting with a solid blow.

Torman threw his shield up and desperately retreated from the warzone, disengaging to get behind Spider. Spider sprinted forward into the aura of the red-armoured cultist, and felt his legs wobbling with fear as he did. His offhand sliced into his target before he slipped back into the shadows.

Morad laid the woman down in a dry alcove, pulled his scimitar and rushed into the gap created by Spider, channelling the power of Al’Akbar into his blade as he swung, but the close quarters meant his blade couldn’t swing true. The massive foe parried the blow away with his mace, before withdrawing back into the room behind the cohort of Fists, his legs shaking as Spider’s booming blow shook his insides.

The badly injured Fist stepped forward fearlessly, swinging his mace into Bili and landing a thumping blow. Another approached Morad but was unable to get past his skilfully wielded shield. The discipline of the enemy combatants was clear as they attacked - even as they fell there was no sign of lack of morale or panic.

The fight continued with the Black Gauntlet throwing bolts of flame from the rear while the Fists took turns to sacrifice themselves beneath the blows of party. As the bodies piled up, Spider continued his darting hits, while Madam Portencia’s firebolts were sadly off-target - until they weren’t, exploding in the Fist faces. Bili the Bear ripped the throats out of several combatants, and even Morad cheered him on. Spider slipped Torman an unexpected vial which healed him a little, but not enough to allow him to enter the combat. Morad’s scimitar blows found their targets as he settled into the combat flow.

Eventually all of the Fists had fallen, leaving just the Black Gauntlet. Bili rolled into the room and mauled him viciously, taking a blow in response. Madam Portencia followed up with an explosion of lightning, which caused the Gauntlet to stagger back into the sarcophagus. Spider stayed out of range of the aura of fear, pulled out one of his deadly shuriken and flung it with force directly into the eye of the cultist. He howled in pain, grabbing his eye, and toppled forward slowly, calling out “Bane will welcome meeee…” as he died.

---

As everyone caught their breath, Spider rifled the bodies, finding some coin but not much else. Torman noticed Spider pocketing a few coins. “I hope you’re keeping track.” Spider ignored him.

“He means for our share little one,” Morad hinted.

“Yeah yeah, I’m keeping track,” Spider promised, convincing no-one.

Madam Portencia examined the jet-black gauntlet of the fallen warrior, realising there was some power imbued in the armour. Morad focused on the gauntlet, but there was no evil aura to be found.

“Matches your dress,” Torman suggested.

“My pant suit, thank you very much. Which is torn all down this leg,” Madam Portencia complained.

---

Torman turned his attention to Bili the Bear, who was quite badly torn up and ripping shreds of flesh from the dead body. “When we were in the circus, we used to keep ‘em hungry,” Madam Portencia noted.

Mak looked at Torman who was in worse shape than Bili. “You are fucked. You cannot fight any more.”

“Unfortunately I have no way to heal myself.”

“I can’t help you.”

“I was the one who was meant to help you all,” Torman said regretfully.

“Maybe we are finished?” Morad said hopefully.

“If you’re all buggered lads, then we can either move on or we can block off and try and recover,” Spider commented.

“I think we should keep going,” Torman said bravely. He volunteered to carry the injured woman in Morad’s place. Morad agreed, though he looked slightly crestfallen at having to give up the role of being her protector.

Madam Portencia wandered off and opened a door to the South. Four torches illuminated the room, including an open sarcophagus in the centre that was full of humanoid bones. Six bedrolls lay on the floor of the room. Spider moved to the North door and listened, hearing nothing. He opened the door and Mak stepped inside.

This room was also torchlit, but instead of bones the sarcophagus in the centre was full to the brim with fresh blood. Crouching fearfully behind the tomb was an frail elderly woman, who cried out weakly, “Help me, please, get me out of here before they kill me!”

Mak was sceptical and stepped across the room to loom over her. Morad followed inside and immediately called to Mak, “She is evil - that witch is evil!”. Morad tried slashing her with his scimitar but missed due to his surprise as she transformed into a shrouded cultist, dripping with blood and cackling. “A blood hag!” Morad yelled.

Madam Portencia’s reacted by shooting a flame bolt into the cultist, but it was doused somewhat by the blood making it less effective than hoped. Bili mauled her savagely with his massive paw, renting her chest, the scent of so much blood sending him into a frenzy. Spider stepped forward and calmly flung another shuriken across the room. It whizzed past Mak’s head and plunged into her eye, killing her instantly.

Mak looked at Spider wide eyed. Three shuriken, three killing blows. He picked up the small metal disk and compared it to his huge axe, shrugged, and handed the weapon back to Spider. “Incredible.”

“Oh… we didn’t want to question her did we?” Spider asked ruefully, recalling his pre-mission order to keep at least some cultists alive.

---

With every door explored, Torman scratched his (sore) head. “Is this a dead end?”

“Everyone look around the walls of these rooms for a door we’ve missed,” Spider directed.

“Have we been everywhere?” Madam Portencia queried. A voice piped out of the darkness behind her, “Nope.” She spun but couldn’t see the imp. “Any clues then?”

Silence. Madam Portencia ventured back down the corridor to the steps into the short watery area. “Wet here, isn’t it?” the imp commented slyly.

“Yesss, yes it is,” Madam Portencia pondered looking around. As she approached the North wall she noticed a small seepage of water from some of the mortar. “Spider - there’s water coming through here. What do you make of that? Also - there’s an imp somewhere close.”

Spider quickly spotted a slight handhold in the face of one of the stones. He pulled it to the side and a small rush of water equalised the levels between the two areas. A long passage led to the North, the ceiling held up by several sturdy wooden pillars. The corridor curved to the West, from where the sounds of battle could be clearly heard.

Madam Portencia grabbed Morad by the shoulder and pushed him forward.

Spider crept forward and looked around the corner. Beyond the hall, a flooded chamber opened up with rough hewn steps climbing to the south, north, and northeast. The floor buckled up above the water line in the middle of the room, forming a small island. Corpses and doused torches floated in the water around the island, atop which two men circled each other with weapons bared. One of the men - a tall, unarmored brute with a greatclub and a scarred face - towered above his opponent but was gravely wounded. The smaller figure was muscular and bare chested, clutching a bloody dagger in one hand and a torch in the other, and Spider was horrified to see he had no flesh covering his skull.

Mak poked his head around the corner and immediately knew the big fighter: Mortlock Vanthampur. It seemed the imp was right - and the Duke’s outsider son was fighting for his life. Torman recognised him too.

---

“Why are they fighting?” Madam Portencia whispered to Torman.

“Good question.”

“This seems like an internal battle. Two evil guys,” Morad guessed.

Mak shook his head. “Mortlock was ok. The rest of the family didn’t like him much - they were all shits, but he was slightly less shitty than the rest of them. He was picked on by his brothers, less so his mother. Very much part of the family, but the enemy of our enemy might be our friend.”

Torman nodded and moved up to a small niche in the North and carefully placed the injured woman down before joining the huddled group.

“If we stand back here, I can take a shot at the skinless guy,” Spider whispered, pulling out his crossbow. He crept forward with most of his body submerged to get in closer range with the rest of the party following close behind. As he drew closer he glanced at one of the dead bodies - it was a cultist whose head had been caved in. Seems Mortlock has been busy.

Unfortunately Mak was too big to make a silent approach, ripples of water making enough noise to alert the flayed-head combatant who parried a swing from Mortlock before spinning around to see the party approaching. He glanced at Mortlock and spat out, “This isn’t over,” before sprinting through the water out the North exit. Spider fired an opportunist shot after him as he fled, landing a nasty wing-blow.

Mortlock turned urgently and his eyes opened wide. “Mak!? What are you doing here? Help me kill him!”

Madam Portencia heard the imp interjecting from the niche, “Uh-uh. Kill the big guy.” Madam ran to the alcove and picked up the woman and hefted her toward Bili, not wanting to leave her vulnerable to the imp. “There’s an imp in that corner,” she whispered suggestively to Bili.

Morad charged through the water toward Mortlock, who prepared his weapon to defend himself. Morad sensed Mortlock’s evil nature, and paused briefly to look at Mak. Mak made no bones of his opinion, looking directly at Mortlock: “You destroyed that city.”

Mortlock shouted back. “We haven’t destroyed Baldur’s Gate yet!”

Morad didn’t hesitate a second time, slicing his scimitar through the Vanthampur boy who reeled from the pain. Mak charged forward, enraged. “Stop this Mak! Don’t kill me, kill him!” Mortlock begged. Mak growled, “‘Yet’?!?” and smashed his axe into Mortlock who staggered back.

Mak saw Bili rumbling through the water toward Mortlock, yelling to him as he passed, “Don’t kill him!”. It was enough for Bili to slightly pull his attack in confusion - did Mak say dont eat him or don’t kill him?

Torman yelled out too. “Stop!”

Mortlock agreed, “Yes, stop!”

“You should drop it, pal” Spider said indicating Mortlock’s club.

Mortlock immediately obeyed, flinging the weapon into the water. “I haven’t attacked you, you’ve attacked me! Don’t kill me! Mak - don’t kill me!!” he cried. “Kill Vaaz, not me.”

Mak looked to Spider and Torman, confused. Torman approached, Flaming Fist demeanour set on his face. “Tell us what’s happened here,” he demanded.

Mortlock wiped blood from his face and spat into the water. “We don’t talk to the Fist.”

“You don’t have a choice.”

“Do I have a choice?” Mortlock asked Mak.

“Spider?” Mak asked.

“No he needs to talk,” Spider nodded.

“I’ll talk to Mak, and he’s the only one I’ll talk to.”

Mak was direct. “What is happening?”

Before he could answer, Madam Portencia shot a fiery bolt into the corner where the imp had spoken. “You missed. And you missed Mortlock too,” the imp hissed.

“The imp is up there, and he wants Mortlock dead,” Madam Portencia called to Mak.

“The imp has been pretty good to us,” Torman considered.

“And it wants this guy dead,” Madam Portencia agreed. “Do you want this guy dead? I’m confused about what we’re doing.”

“No, we’re trying to get him to talk,” Torman said rolling his eyes. Good cop bad cop was obviously only for the professional law-enforcers, he thought ruefully.

Mak addressed Mortlock again. “Mortlock. There’s an imp here who wants you dead. Others want you dead,” he said, pointing to the floating bodies. “What are you doing here?”

“That would be one of my brother’s imps. Thurstwell. He’s got spies everywhere. My brothers like to keep an eye on me - they keep threatening to kill me, maybe they mean it this time. But they don’t really want me dead,” he concluded hopefully.

“Don’t they?” Mak asked.

“Why would an imp be telling the truth? It’s Thurstwell you should be worried about.”

“That’s true. What are you doing here - what’s going on??”

Mortlock looked around. “Can we trust these guys?”

“These are my friends,” Mak stated simply, happily realising as he said it that they were. “They’re with me.”

“And are you with us?” Mortlock questioned. “Why are you here? What happened to Elturel, why are you here already? You were sent and now you’re back - it’s too soon.”

“What did happen to Elturel?” Mak countered. “I think we were sent to our deaths. The city is gone.”

Mortlock looked nonplussed. “What do you mean the city is gone?”

“It is gone. It has been sucked into Hell. There is nothing left.”

Mortlock looked confused. Torman stared hard at Mortlock, then turned to Mak. “I don’t think he knows.”

“I don’t know anything about Elturel.”

“You don’t know anything? You don’t know the city is gone??” Mak pressed. Mortlock shook his head.

“He said you weren’t supposed to come back, Mak,” Morad interjected.

Mak nodded. “Why was I not supposed to come back? What was the plan? Did you mean to kill me?”

Mortlock blinked. “Me? Have I attacked you?”

“Has your family attacked me? What is going on?”

“Not you. You know. You know my mother. We have hired the Dead Three to sow discord and chaos in Baldur’s Gate. She wants to be the Grand Duke and is undermining everything here. We took Ravengard out, and now the Flaming Fist are flaming out, and when they do she will be the Grand Duke.” Mortlock looked at Torman triumphantly.

“You work with the Dead Three?” Mak growled.

“I did work with them. But just now they have started to attack me.”

“Why?”

“Ask my brothers,” Mortlock grunted angrily.

Spider and Bili poked around the Eastern corridor, opening a door to the North. Rats scurried away, hiding under nine sealed wooden crates. Bili stood guard at the exit the faceless cultist had ran to, smelling his presence.

“Who is the skull?” Mak demanded.

“That’s Vaaz, he’s a Death’s Head. He wants to kill me.”

“What have you done to anger the Three?”

“Ask them! We hired them, we gave them this place, and now they’re attacking me. If you hadn’t come along I’d probably be dead,” Mortlock said feeling the truth of this as he spoke.

“Mortlock,” Torman said firmly. “Your brother has sent an imp after you, and the Three have turned against you. Sounds as if you’ve got nowhere to run.”

“You might be right,” Mortlock said quietly. “But I don’t think my mother will be happy. My brother’s might not like me, but she does.”

Mak nodded, having seen her treat her big son with tough love, but love none-the-less.

“Mortlock. You’ve been left out of this. They’ve left you behind,” Torman pressed.

“Well…that might be true. But…you might be right. Maybe they’ve finally turned against me.”

“I think they have,” Mak reinforced.

“Sounds like you’re at a crossroads,” Madam Portencia begun, much to Spider’s delight. “The crossroads speech!” he whispered to Samael.

Mortlock looked down for a moment, then up at Mak. “Let me go. Let me go and I’ll give you some very valuable information.”

“Don’t you think your time is short, if you go back to your family?” Torman asked.

“I won’t go back. If my brothers want me dead, there will be no place for me here,” Mortlock said sadly.

“Where will you go? You can’t just slide around this city unnoticed.”

“Somewhere. I won’t tell you. I know people who can get me out.”

“We can’t just let you walk out of here.”

“Why not? What have I done to you?”

“What have you done? All you’ve given us is a disrupted city,” Torman said, warming to the task. “Elturel is gone. Your family is at the root of this! You yourself have admitted you are a part of this. All we need do is cast judgement here and toss your body into the water!”

Mortlock looked angry. “It’s absurd to accuse me, or the Cult, of whatever happened to Elturel! I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh honey it’s gone,” Madam Portencia said kindly. “It’s just a lake of solidified lava.”

Mortlock scratched his head. “I don’t believe you.”

Spider had heard enough. “Torman can you hogtie this fucker so we can go kill this other guy please?”

“Don’t hogtie me. Let me free and I’ll talk.” Mortlock pleaded again.

Mak grabbed Mortlock and walked him to the corner. “Stand here. Don’t move. You’re not safe, and you’re not safe from me if you move from this spot. I will kill you if you move from here.”

Mortlock looked at Mak. “Kill Vaaz. I’ll stay.” Madam Portencia picked up the woman again and placed her on the steps leading to the South-Eastern room, noticing four large chests in the room as she did. She and Torman stood guard over Mortlock as everyone else moved to the North to confront this ‘Vaaz’.

The chamber around the corner was a desecrated chapel. Burned torch stubs littered the floor of the hall, the western end of which was occupied by three six-foot-tall, painted wooden statues. Each statue stood atop a two-foot-high block of red stone, making it look taller and foreboding.

The centre statue resembled a heavily armoured man whose face was hidden behind the fearsome visor of his helmet. He was painted red except for his right gauntlet, which was black. Clutched in this gauntlet was a blood-red spear, pointed upward. The statue to the north depicted a purple-garbed male noble wearing a harlequin mask and holding a dagger behind his back. The statue to the south portrayed a black-robed skeleton with its jaw opened wide and its bony hands outstretched.

The Death’s Head stod in the middle of the three statues, twirling his blade. He smiled a hideous smile and beckoned you forth, “Come to your death!”

Morad scoffed at the threat, rapidly closing the distance and cutting through the arm of the cultist. Vaaz barely reacted, looking instead over to Mak who felt something try to walk over his soul - but Mak shook it off. Vaaz turned his attention back to Morad and sliced his dagger twice with such speed it was barely visible, piercing Morad once.

Mak charged over to join the fray, but the cult leader dodged the huge swing with uncanny ease. Spider slid forward and decided to continue his streak, flinging a shuriken over Mak’s shoulder (again) which embedded itself in Vaaz’s chest. Mak smiled widely - though he was slightly surprised the villain didn’t drop dead immediately.

Bili the Bear charged through the water, looking forward to feasting on the skinless head. His target dodged again though, like he had with Mak. No barbarians were touching him it seemed.

Morad however wasn’t to be denied, his second scimitar swing hitting just as hard as the first. Vaaz grunted, hurt, and tried to freeze Morad in place - but Morad was feeling the blessing of Al’Akbar and pushed the fear aside. Vaaz cursed, but sensed Mak was vulnerable and cut him badly with two nasty slices. Mak reacted quickly by flexing his huge strength which seemed to somehow turn his skin to stone and seal the gashes. The Death’s Head’s eyes opened wide with surprise.

Mak smiled again and struck an axe blow in return. Spider saw his chance to go four-for-four, but finally his shuriken magic ran out, and the throw going wide and shattering as it struck one of the statues. Mak couldn’t believe it. Bili meanwhile tore a chunk of flesh from the torso of the cultist with his jaws - finally something to eat.

The Death’s Head was surrounded now, and Morad took the opportunity to finish him. His third and final scimitar swing struck true, slicing through the chest of Vaaz and felling him.

Morad immediately kneeled and offered a prayer, feeling the need for the obvious evil of his opponent to be purged by Al’Akbar. The horror of the flayed face was confronting, though both Torman and Morad knew of extreme religions that demanded such self-abuse - in reward for great power. Indeed the Death’s Head’s are in the upper echelons of the Dead Three for that reason. “We have struck a great blow tonight,” Torman observed.

Madam Portencia escorted Mortlock into the room, who saw the body of Vaaz and looked greatly relieved. Mak met his eyes and said pointedly, “You owe me.”

Mortlock nodded slowly. “I guess I do. You have saved my life. Swear to me that you will let me go.”

Mak shook his head. “I think you overestimate your position in the chain of command, buddy,” Madam Portencia scoffed.

“There are people that want to talk to him,” Spider chimed in.

“I’ll tell you everything I know, but don’t give me over,” Mortlock pleaded to Mak. “My family has done some bad things. But let me go. I can tell you much.”

“I don’t think you can tell us anything we don’t already know,” Torman countered.

“Oh, I can. And I will. "

“Your family aren’t the people you’re going to be talking to,” Spider threatened.

“I can also choose not to talk,” Mortlock .

“I don’t think that’s actually true,” Madam Portencia said archly. “Is that true, Spider?”

Spider shook his head with a nasty smile.

“Oh but it is. Free me, and I’ll talk to you. Don’t free me and I’ll never talk.”

“We can protect you,” Torman offered.

Mortlock stared at Mak, ignoring everyone else. “I’ll talk to you. But let me free. Swear it. And I’ll tell you.”

Morad saw truth in the big man’s words. “He is giving his word.”

Mak agreed, nodding. This was part of his culture too. Spider, on the other hand, rolled his eyes. Madam Portencia too - “It is no part of the carny-code, that’s for sure.”

Mak stood face to face with Mortlock. “You help me. You help my friends. And you help the people. Then you can go free. But you have yet to do that. You show me.”

“How can I help the people?”

Morad knew how. “Don’t destroy the city.” Mak nodded again - the Jakkari was making good sense.

“I can’t stop that.”

“All I see is someone who has done great harm, and has done nothing to stop that,” Torman threatened.

“I can give you information that may help you stop it.”

“Tell us then,” Mak demanded.

Mortlock pointed at Torman. “That one is going to kill me.”

Morad shook his head vigorously. “No! We let you go. You tell us everything. You give your word.”

Bili, back in barbarian form and covered in blood, walked over to Mortlock and licked his lips. “He won’t kill you.”

“Start singing,” Spider said, tired of the debate.

Mortlock sighed, resettled his shoulders, and told his tale. “Listen. Someone arrived at Vanthampur Villa two days ago, under great secrecy. Looked like he had been travelling in a hurry, very few possessions. And older man, bald, rotund, seemed even older than he looked from the way he talked.

I have no idea who he was, but he was smuggled in. Obviously a noble from the way he treated the staff, and my mother addressed him as an equal - not something that happens often, believe me. No-one else knows this,” Mortlock emphasised.

Torman pondered this. A noble, arriving only a few days after Elturel’s fall. But the noble quarter was at the centre of the city - only someone who had been warned could have escaped in time. Who? An idea started to percolate, but he needed more evidence.

“We need more information about this person,” Torman pressed. “How did he carry himself? What was he wearing?”

“As I said, clearly a noble. Used to being obeyed. His clothing was hidden beneath a dusty travel cloak,” Mortlock recalled. “But… now you ask, there was something. He wore a silver ring, fancy, with an insignia of a horse on a sunburst background.”

---

Torman started. “Are you sure about the sigil?”

Mortlock nodded. Torman looked troubled, shocked, and worried - surely this was impossible. That was the sigil of the Hellriders, and only one noble from Elturel was permitted to wear it: Thavius Kreeg.

Mak noticed Torman’s distress. “Is the visitor still at the Villa,” Mak questioned. Mortlock nodded.

“And can you get us close to this… person?” Torman asked.

“We’ve just been discussing how my brothers have tried to kill me, so I doubt I can get anywhere near him.”

“Is that all you’ve got to say?” Madam Portencia interrupted.

“I am answering the question that was asked.”

“You tell us how to get to him,” Torman demanded.

Mortlock looked at Mak. “Mak could get you in.”

“True. I do know the Villa,” Mak confirmed.

“As far as they know, Mak is still working for us - are you still working for us? I’m confused.”

Mak grunted. “I don’t think I would want to work for you, or your family, ever again. I don’t understand what you’re up to.”

“Well they don’t know that. You probably have a small window where you can get in there without them realising.”

“Agree. That is true. I think we should travel to the Villa.”

Madam Portencia nodded in agreement. “But I don’t think this guy has finished talking.”

Mortlock stared at her. “Mother also has something else. I… she won’t let me near it, or let me see it, but she has something else. Something she tasked the Cult with digging up six months ago.”

“From where?”

“From the Hhune Manor.” The Baldur’s Gate locals knew of the Hhune family - an established Baldur’s Gate noble family who had risen to power in a hurry many years ago, before falling from favour in more recent times.

“You’re essentially saying the Cult stole it from Hhune Manor?” Spider asked.

“That’s exactly what I’m saying. And in return they were given this complex,” Mortlock waved his hands around the chambers. “So whatever it was they took, it must have been important.”

“Because they were given a sewer in exchange,” Madam Portencia said sceptically.

“They didn’t seem to mind,” Mortlock countered.

“Looks like it was fit for purpose,” Torman agreed.

Spider leaned back, satisfied that Mortlock had given what information he had. Mak too - though he wasn’t sure why he was so sure. But between the two of them: they were sure.

“Are we eating him now?” Bili asked.

Mak looked surprised.

Spider sighed. “No. No we’re not.”

Madam Portencia looked surprised at Spider’s pronouncement.

“The big guy is the big guy. If we promised him, then…” Spider shrugged.

“We gave our word!” Morad reinforced.

“He’s told us everything he knows,” Mak declared. Spider agreed.

“I think your time in this city is done,” Torman said to Mortlock.

“So do I,” he replied. “I will leave immediately, trust me. Thank you for honouring your word,” he said nodding to Morad.

Mak threw him his club, which he caught. He backed away slowly, before taking one last look at Mak, turning his back, and walking away.

“He’s all yours, imp!” Madam Portencia called out. Mortlock didn’t react, and disappeared around the Eastern corner.

---

Spider went and checked the four chests Madam Portencia had found, while she and Morad checked the stablity of the woman.

None of the chests were trapped, and unlocking them was an easy task. All except the last was full of coins.

Chest one: 4,500 cp and two red crystal vials with gold stoppers, each containing a potion of fire breath

Chest two: ten eye agates (10 gp each) scattered amid 1,250 sp

Chest three: a delicate porcelain dragon mask resting on a bed of 2,400 cp and 500 sp

Everyone gasped when they saw the dragon mask - Spider recoiled slightly. Even those from far flung lands had heard the legends of the mighty Stormwatch, who had recovered the Dragon Masks of Tiamat in order to thwart her diabolical plans. Even though it was quickly clear this was a mere replica, it rekindled the memory of those terrible times and the triumph of Stormwatch.

Bili had turned white. “It’s beautiful. But that’s a myth,” he stammered.

“What’s a myth,” Spider wondered.

“Sky lizards are a myth,” Bili whispered weakly.

Spider looked confused as he cautiously opened the final chest.

Chest four: a bronze crown with five spires. Each spire is shaped and painted to resemble one of the five kinds of chromatic dragons (black, blue, green, red, and white). An inscription in a language no-one understands was traced on the inside of the crown.

No-one could believe what they were seeing. A crown of Tiamat? “We’ll need someone to decipher than inscription,” Torman said solemnly.

The treasure secured, everyone prepared for the journey back to the Howling Harpy. Mak looked around at his friends and said simply, “We must visit the Villa.”

Torman concurred. “We must visit the Villa.”

---

---

Sessions played: 17, 25 & 31 August, 2020