Chapters

Castle Never: “The man is not right in the head”
Neverdeath Graveyard: “We always used pigs”
For Whom the Bell Tolls: “It’s one way to stop a ritual”

---

Castle Never

Stepping out of the portal and back to Neverwinter was a bit of a shock. From the luxury of Sigil to the dirty streets of the city. To those that made their home here it was at least a familiar dirt. Eli knelt and ran a handful of grit through his hands, grounding himself in a finally understandable reality. Idris did the same, scanning the streets to assure himself this was Neverwinter, not some Vecna-cursed alternate.

Looming overhead was Castle Never, where Lord Neverember held court and resided. Marko was alert to the presence of two guards who were surprisingly unsurprised by the surprise appearance of six adventurers. “Here to see the Lord Protector, we believe?” one asked, walking over. “Sent from Sigil?”

“Yes,” Marko nodded warily.

“Huh. You see something new every day in this job. Follow me.”

Sifer made a point of observing his companions' manner, seeing if they were feeling or acting more important having been given this task—or indeed more sketchy. Eli was slightly agog at being inside the castle, but that was Eli for you. And Idris was anything but agog—if anything it seemed like he had been here before. By his estimation everyone seemed very ‘on-task’ which was pleasing. A company that can go through the eye of the needle and come out steady was a company he was prone to trust. Other than Three.

The two guards led the company through the gates to a modest villa on the castle grounds. Inside the villa stood the Lord Protector of Neverwinter, Dagult Neverember.

---

To Uthar’s eye Neverember looked older and more worn than he had expected, and less noble. Running a major city like this took it’s toll, it would seem. Standing around the room were a collection of robed religious figures, more wizened again, and a relaxed honour guard led by a familiar figure: Kevori Fearnehart, the death of whose cousin had started all this Vecna trouble. She nodded respectfully at her old colleagues, or those she recognised—Three having pulled his hood down close to obscure his face once he saw her.

Marko stepped forward and bowed to Lord Neverember (causing Eli to quickly follow suit).

“Thank you, sir, and welcome. Mordenkainen told us to expect you and not a moment later, here you are. Please, sit, take a refreshment and we will get to the business at hand.” Servants appeared from the shadows to pull chairs and serve drinks and delicious snacks (for everyone suddenly realised they were famished).

“Some of you will know me already,” Neverember began, nodding to Idris who inclined his head with a smile. He also glanced quickly at Marko, almost shyly. “For way of introduction for those that don’t know me, I am Dagult Neverember, Lord Protector of this great city. Several days ago I requested assistance from my more powerful friends in Sigil for a small problem we find ourselves having, and here you are!” he smiled widely. “Including you, Idris, to my surprise. Good to see you—I still owe you for that game of three-dragon ante don’t I?”

“Not a discussion for now,” Idris smiled. Neverember owed him a fortune, but it was worth more to have the Lord Protector in his debt than to call it in.

“Of course, of course. I trust Elsabah is as charming as ever,” Neverember said, flushing slightly.

“She is indeed,” Idris said with a forced smile. “Busy as always,” you letch, he did not add.

Neverember’s eye landed briefly on Three (Sifer thought he saw a hint of recognition there) before shifting away just as quickly. He turned to Marko, eyes shining. “Mr Marko, of course, it is a singular honour!” The rest of the company realised that the all powerful Lord Protector was in fact a fan-boy of the Stormwatch veteran, almost simpering in his delight to be in Marko’s company. “I do not presume that you would remember me, but I was a member of the Waterdeep Council during your triumphs?”

“I certainly do remember, my Lord,” Marko assured kindly. “And I appreciate you hosting us at such short notice. Thank you, sir.”

Neverember almost blushed. “I was alway a strong supporter of your campaign, and your companions, of course!”

Casting his mind back, Marko wasn’t so sure this was true, but he let it pass. “Yes, sir.

“Then why aren’t they here?” Three muttered.

“They are off doing other things,” Marko said mildly.

“More important than Vecna?” Three said, watching Neverember carefully to see if he reacted—there was no sign he did, but he was clearly still enraptured by Marko and had maybe missed the reference. Kevori, on the other hand, immediately perked up.

“There are many more important things throughout this world that are happening,” Marko scowled. “I cannot say more.”

Idris shot a death stare Three’s way, trying to get him to shut up unaware of Three’s intent, and reinforced it by trying to insert an message into his head. Idris frowned when he found he could not—Three had some way of blocking his thoughts.

Marko turned back to Neverember. “My Lord, these men are suited to the task ahead of us. They have had some experience with the threat that we face, and they are the right people for this job.”

“Very good, Mr Marko—not that I have explained our exact circumstance,” he smiled, some of his regal confidence returning. “‘Ready for anything’ is what you are saying—no surprise coming from a Stormwatcher,” he grinned, all regality lost again.

Marko was used to this and was doing his best to get things back on track. “Yes, sir. So—can you impart the information that we need?”

“Of course, yes, down to business. There is something unsavoury happening in Neverwinter,” the Lord Protector explained, leaning in. “Prominent members of the nobility are disappearing, vanishing without a trace. I would normally pass this off as a nocturnal mishap, but it’s happening too frequently. We can’t have our gentry spontaneously vanishing, as you would understand—who would the lesser folk look up to?”

Eli looked shocked, it was unclear whether at the mystery disappearances or at the common-people insult.

“These last several days four more have been taken,” Neverember continued. “As you can imagine this has caused something of a crisis amongst the upper echelons of society. Some have even questioned my authority. Hence my call for help. I can give you the names of those taken, and what I would ask is that you find out what has happened to them and, if at all possible, bring them back safely.”

“Um, Sir…Lord…” Eli said, glancing around for guidance that wasn’t forthcoming, so he pressed on. “Your honourship: from where were they taken?”

“Why from their very houses, from the safety of their mansions, and some were apparently even taken on the streets. An outrage, you will agree.”

“And there were no witnesses?”

“Only to the fact that they had vanished.”

“So none came to take them, they just…vanished?”

“That is all we know.”

“So ‘taken’ probably isn’t the right word, is it,” Eli concluded. “They might have left of their own accord.”

“As if captured in a portal?” Sifer suggested.

“Perhaps?” Neverember said, looking doubtful. “It seems a bit far fetched if you ask me—but you are the experts.”

“Who were they?” Three asked bluntly.

“There were four, as I said. ‘Eldon Keyward’, a highly knowledgeable scholar who specializes in the Outer Planes. And dear Indrina Lamsensettle—some of you may know her? A wonderful actress, moves in Neverwinter’s highest social circles, and quite the beauty.” Neverember looked again to Idris: “If I can’t have Elsabah, Indrina is a fine substitute. Joking, joking!” he flushed deeply as Idris did his best to remain poker-faced. Eli blushed instead as he pieced together the sordid implications. Marko scrawled the names in his notebook as Neverember continued.

“The other two are Sarcelle Malinosh, some variety of sorcerer who plumbs mysteries I would rather know nothing about, and one of your folk,” Neverember said glancing patronisingly at Marko. “A wee gnome who goes by Flukespan Timbers. Female, I think?”

“Flukey!” Three exclaimed involuntarily.

Marko sat bolt upright at this, and became very still. “I see, I see. That is…concerning.” Flukespan was one of his inner circle, and had been responsible for establishing the Wee Folk in Neverwinter. For him—him, not her—to be taken was a problem both professionally and personally.

Eli stared at Marko with eyes wide. Flukespan was in danger! “We must act!” he blurted.

“We will,” Marko nodded grimly.

“There is more,” Neverwinter said, clearly enjoying the drama his words had stirred. “At great personal cost, for I would not drain the city coffers to defend my name, I have funded divination from Oghma’s House of Knowledge, and my priests,” he said waving a vague hand at the robed figures, “My priests have traced the mystical trail of the victims to a singular location: Hallix Mausoleum in Neverdeath Graveyard!”

“Oft the place where the dead will go,” Eli nodded solemnly.

“You think they are dead?”

“Oh, no—they’re not dead,” Three said ominously.

A robed priest stepped forward. “We are unable to see deeper into the mausoleum, which concerns us greatly. An unknown—and powerful—opponent must be blocking our divinations.”

“You have not ventured inside?” Eli asked.

“Well we are priests, we do not take physical investigation under our remit,” the figure said smugly.

“Where I come from priests are often to be found in the graveyard,” Eli said.

“Not these priests,” the hood repeated.

“Did you send any solders inside instead?” Three asked Neverember.

“We have the mausoleum guarded, but we are concerned that the power that stops the divinations findings would make short work of mere soldiers—no offence,” he smiled to Kevori. “We think we need greater skills,” he said nodding to the company.

“Sacrificial skills,” Three grunted with a wry smile.

“Brother Cooper!” Eli scolded.

Marko hushed the discussion. “Is there a history of the mausoleum we can study?”

Kevori nodded. “We can certainly give you information about the Hallix family. What we have found is they are—or were—a respected family. Their tomb is not in the Pauper’s yard, it is in the Noble quarter. They are beyond reproach as far as we are concerned.”

“The Hallix mausoleum is very nice,” Three said, to everyone’s surprise. “As mausoleums go, it’s a real good one.”

“Ok?” Marko said, not sure how Three would know this. “Well, we should—”

“Let’s just go take a look, Mr Marko!” Three interrupted, standing, joined by Sifer.

“I agree, let us make haste,” Marko said.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Eli protested. “Our host has provided us with a meal, it would be wrong of us not to partake?”

“No, no, he does not care,” Three said contemptuously. “We’ve got to go to the mausoleum and die.”

Eli looked confusedly to Idris. “Is that how it is?”

Idris hadn’t moved an inch, not close to standing up.

“I think I might have misread the situation,” Three muttered under his breath with a chuckle.

Idris glared, struggling to understand Three’s personality transplant. He gritted his teeth and hissed. “Are you quite well, Three?”

“Thank you for asking,” Three said, now guffawing loudly, “I feel great. We should all be dead and we’re not!”

Eli nodded solemnly. “Brother Cooper, then let us give thanks.” He looked around the company. “Let us all give thanks! That we live this day, and that we are still here to be of service to our Lord, and that he has presented us with this meal.” Eli bowed his head.

“Yes!” Three encouraged as Neverember started to raise his glass, “Let us pray to the God of Death, Kelemvor.” Neverember stopped abruptly as Three started chanting his god’s name softly.

“Brother Cooper, would you like to pray with me?” Eli said kindly.

“I would,” Three said.

Eli reached his hands over the table and started a generic prayer. “I give thanks that we live this day, and that we are here and whole, and we pray that our souls may be repaired of the trauma that they have encountered.”

Three gripped Eli’s hand tight. “Kelemvor will save us both,” he declared with impassioned certainty.

Eli smiled weakly, confused, but pleased Eli was holding on so tight. Perhaps too tight. A death grip? Sweat dripped down Three’s face as he stared intently into Eli’s. Eli attempted to continue with his rather more vanilla prayer. “Um. And may we see further days, and may the healing continue…”

“Yes! Yes brother!!” Three exclaimed with holy fervour.

“And may our quest be a quest not only for the healing of the world—”

“And for us, and for us, brother!”

“…And for us. And our love ones,” Eli said quietly as Three finally released his grip and slumped into his chair.

“You’re a good man, Eli,” Three said through his exhaustion.

“I only wish that were true,” Eli sighed.

“It is. I can see right through you, I see everything, brother. It is true.”

Idris shook his head, raising his glass to Neverember and draining it. Eli started tucking into the food, and soon Three too was shoving meats into his torn mouth. “Good grub,” he said to Idris as juices rolled down his chin.

Idris turned to Uthar. “What do we think has happened to Three? Where is the Brother Cooper we once knew?”

“The man is not right in the head,” Uthar shrugged.

Sifer reached a hand to Uthar’s shoulder as he joined the meal. “But he is one of us. And who better to save the world than this crazy bunch!”

---

As the meal concluded, a priest stepped by Three’s side. “Lord Neverember would like a word,” he whispered. Three nodded and walked to the reach of the chamber where Neverember stood with his guard.

“He’s clearly getting the help he needs,” Eli said, comforted by the presence of the priest.

Sifer watched the interaction closely, noting that Neverember never met Three’s eye, and that the conversation was very brief. Three nodded once and walked away, his face as unreadable as ever. “Neverember’s asking for his autograph,” Sifer joked to Uthar.

“I find these meals tiresome. We should get on with this,” Uthar grunted.

“My father always told me,” Eli intoned, “When you are presented with food, eat, for you know now when you will be able to eat again.”

“Wise,” Uthar said, “But it’s time to leave.”

---

Neverdeath Graveyard

The city guard escorted the company Neverdeath Graveyard, the enormous burial ground and cemetery of Neverwinter. Neverdeath was named for a common blessing given over the dead: as long as the city remained in summer, it was believed that the dead would not turn into undead. Despite this the graveyard was often heaving with undead—skeletons, zombies, visitors kept safe by an eternal guard provided by the Eternal Order of Kelemvor, under who’s care Neverdeath lay.

A thick blackstone wall pierced by stark black gates surrounded the graveyard, splitting the Main Graveyard and the Pauper’s Field. The guards led the company directly to the Hallix mausoleum in the main yard. Three acknowledged several Kelemvorites who patrolled the grounds, and under questioning acknowledged that for the last while this had been his employ. “Not killing undead,” Three explained, “But preparing bodies, leading funeral rites—for pauper’s, mainly.”

“Your priests should dig deeper,” Sifer said as he watched a rattling skeleton being clubbed into submission.

“You’ve been here?” Idris asked, “Since when?”

“Since after ‘this’,” Three said, indicating his ruined face.

“And how long ago was that?”

“Five years.”

“Right. Big city I guess…” Idris was surprised to not have encountered Three in that time, given their shared past.

“People don’t see me. I was here,” Three said, pointing to the pauper’s graves. I wasn’t at banquets, or whever you go.”

Idris laughed. “I get the idea.”

Three shrugged. He stepped in front of the guard to lead unerringly to the Hallix mausoleum, which lay near the dividing wall between the two graveyards.

The mausoleum was a squat, unassuming, granite building, standing in the shadow of larger structures nearby. “I was expecting something bigger,” Marko said.

“The dead don’t need a reception room,” Sifer smirked.

“I assume there are catacombs, yes?” Idris asked.

“Ohhh yes,” Three said grimly. “Let’s hope they are the actual catacombs. For there are other things that live under here.”

“Have you been within this sanctuary?” Eli asked.

“I’ve been in all of them,” Three nodded, “Because dead go everywhere.”

Eli bowed his head. “Once again I stand shamefaced before you, Brother Cooper. You have done a thankless task for a city that thanks you not, I assume. And I am humbled in your presence.” When he lifted his head he was surprised to see Three was obviously upset, despite pulling up his hood to hide it.

---

Sifer walked to the metal double-doors of the tomb. A rusty chain secured the doors, but Sifer could see the padlock holding it loosely together was unlocked. “Was this broken into, or out of, or is it simply unlocked?” he asked Marko.

“Unlocked with a key,” Marko quickly deduced, “In the last months.”

Three was a little shocked. The graveyard was huge, but this kind of intrusion would normally get picked up. Which meant one of two things: someone was on the take to hide it, or whoever was using it was working from the inside.

Marko shoved the doors open, surprised they opened without a squeak given their condition. “Someone has oiled these so they can be opened any time, night or day, without attracting attention.”

“Mister Marko—can I go first?” Three asked.

“Ahhh…if you wish?” Marko said doubtfully, but Three immediately walked inside.

Inside were six upright stone coffins, each bearing the name and dates of a Hallix family member. Most had died approximately forty years past, around the time the eruption of Mount Hotenow. A set of stone stairs led down at the far end of the room.

“Undefiled,” Eli said with relief as he looked around. Sifer walked softly to a tomb and found himself less sure—where he expected the top to be sealed, it clearly wasn’t. “Idris,” he hissed.

Idris nodded as he slipped on a pair of incongruously dark glasses. He stepped to another tomb and found the same: obviously tampered with. “These coffins have all been unsealed,” he said to Marko, as Eli paled.

“Tampered from the outside,” Sifer emphasised.

Marko concurred. “And this room is well-used,” he said, pointing out the footprints that led down the middle of the room to the stairs.

Eli’s eyes followed the trail to the stairs and he paled. He tapped Uthar on the shoulder and pointed at the flickering apparitions that lay below. “There are things down there,” he hissed. Uthar nodded as he slowly drew his weapon.

Everyone followed suit: there was something down there in the darkness, fading in and out of sight. They weren’t reacting at all. Three had donned a pair of goggles, all the better to see with, the lens covering his dead eye empty. “Do you want me to go down there where there is probably undead,” he said with surprisingly little concern, “Or look at these coffins?”

“We should check these first,” Idris said.

Three nodded and went to work. His familiarity with gravework made it easy to determine what had happened here: each coffin had been pried open and left unsealed. “You’re right Sifer. Opened, no doubt looted, and left unsealed—though closed, so a casual check would not notice.” He eased the top off one coffin, shifting it slightly. He panicked as realised the weight was too much, when he felt it lift. He glanced at Idris who was holding his hand aloft, and nodded thanks.

The coffin was empty—no skeleton or remains, just chips of bones and scraps of cloth. “The body has been taken for consumption—likely by a ghoul. They’re probably all empty.”

Sifer opened his coffin and confirmed as much, as were the others when they were quickly checked.

“What are the odds that the former occupants of these coffins are ambulant now?” Idris asked.

“Pretty good…they’ve either been eaten, or they’ve been raised and are walking around down there.”

Idris turned to Uthar. “Red—we have to assume there’s at least six former residents somewhere in here. Unless they’ve walked outside.”

“Would you let me go ahead,” Eli asked Marko. He was keen to make a telling contribution, feeling he was falling behind Brother Cooper’s example.

“Yes, if you wish,” Marko nodded.

“Do you want me to come with you, Eli?” Three asked.

“Brother Cooper it would be my honour,” Eli said truthfully, if wistfully.

---

Eli took a step down. The ethereal forms downstairs reacted immediately, a ghostly warrior striding forth wearing nasty looking armour, still flickering in and out of visibility. “Incoming!” Eli cried as several more catacomb haunts appeared behind the first.

Three quickly decided these were not the risen Hallix, the armour and weaponry being all wrong. “It’s not the coffin-dwellers!”

The company swung into action, weapons, spells, and curses flying free. “I am not afraid!” Eli cried as a ghostly weapon lunged at him. Idris covered the battlefield in writing black tentacles, allowing free reign for Marko’s sneak attacks and the melee fighter’s hefting blows. Eli took a particularly brutal hit, necrotic agony ripping his flesh, but he was just thankful it was him taking the punishment and not his companions. The battle was short, despite the ferocity of the ghostly foes, and soon all three were dead. Eli looked slightly disappointed, like he was waiting for Hell to take him but it didn’t.

The now quiet subterranean chamber had more stone coffins sitting on sturdy shelves around the room. Part of the west wall had collapsed, creating an opening into another chamber. Three checked one of the (open) coffins, finding several wool cloaks and wide hats.

“Mister Marko, this is where people would disguise themselves, put a costume on so they could come and go unnoticed,” Three said, lifting the simple clothing. “Very similar to what I would wear when tending the graves.”

---

Marko called for silence and pointed to the shattered wall. “I hear dripping water,” he said as he stepped cautiously through into the large chamber beyond. Roots protruded through cracks in the ceiling, the southeast corner having completely collapsed under the intrusion. There were three doors in the north wall, the middle door bearing a new padlock. To the west, stairs led to a small balcony that overlooked the room from five feet above. The sound of water was clearer here, emerging from an opening in the soUtharn wall.

Marko immediately went to work on the first of the doors, finding it unlocked and untrapped. He popped it open to reveal a small ten-foot square room with a metal grate in the centre of the room. Something glowed with golden light from below the grate. “Is there anyone there?” he whispered, suspecting a subterraneous prison. When there was no response (other than from Three outside who replied in the affirmative), he stepped to the edge of the grate, finding a shallow pit below. On the foot of the pit was a small gold harp, a handful of loose papers, and a piece of bloody cloth.

The grate grid was five inches wide. “I’ll just grab it,” Marko offered as he started to reach.

“Or you could get Idris,” Sifer suggested strongly, holding Marko back. Idris obliged, carefully lifting the harp free without setting off any traps. Marko took it gingerly, eyes widening when he realised it’s value. “2000 gold, at least,” he murmured. “But I’m more interested in the papers.”

“Those Stormwatch guys are made of money,” Sifer smirked.

Idris retrieved the papers and cloth. The blood on the cloth was not fresh, and as Marko gussed the papers were of more interest. The papers detailed plans to kidnap a Neverwinter aristocrat named Indrina Lamsensettle. The notes included a map of her estate, schedules of her movements, and suggestions that she knows an important secret about Lord Neverember. A scrawl in the margin of the note claimed that “her secrets will make a worthy sacrifice.”

“Was ‘Lamsensettle’ one of the names the Lord Protector mentioned?” Eli said, wracking his memory.

“Yes,” Marko confirmed, “A ‘wonderful actress’. And remember Alustriel described ‘secrets’ being used by…” he trailed off knowingly.

“Let’s move people,” Sifer said, finding the reminder of Vecna troubling. He glanced to the opening in the south, seeing large rusted pipes running along the walls and ceiling, dripping water into a pool below. He shuddered as he remembered all of what happened last time he hung around with Brother Cooper in a watery trap.

Marko tried the lock on the next door, unlocking it with ease despite it’s difficulty. An old crypt held a single open coffin containing a few tattered blankets. A pouf of wild black hair sprouted from the end of one of the blankets.

“Do you want me to…?” Idris asked to a nod. He sent the mage hand to pull the blanked away, expecting the worst.

Instead a woman sat bolt upright with a start, waking from a deep slumber.

---

“Sarcelle?” Marko guessed wildly.

“How did you know that is me?” the woman exclaimed.

“What are you doing in a coffin?” Eli said incredulously.

“Do I know you? Are you here to rescue me?”

“We’ve been sent here, and yes we are,” Sifer said.

“Thank the gods—get me out of here!” Sarcelle demanded. Despite the imbalance of power it was obvious she was one of the nobility.

“Relax, everything is under control.”

“It’s not under control! I’ve been locked in this—they are going to sacrifice me!”

“Not any more,” Sifer said.

“What do you mean? Are you here to sacrifice me?” Sarcelle said, suddenly scared.

“No,” Idris sighed, already tired of her.

Sarcelle frowned. “How do I know that? Why are you mocking me?”

Sifer spoke patiently, as someone who had been in a lot of situations with dumb civilians, deescalating the situation brick by brick, until Sarcelle was somewhat mollified. “You’re safe with us now.” Eli finally dropped his bow’s aim on her.

The tension slowly left Sarcelle’s shoulders. “Thank you,” she said softly, choking down a sob. “I had a vision that I was to die.”

“You were, but we’re here now. Follow me, I will lead you to the city guards who will take you back home,” Sifer said firmly and he led her forth. “How many of you are still alive?” he asked.

“There were others? I have no idea. I had terrible visions which might explain it. I fear for them.”

“Tell me about the visions.”

“I saw a desiccated man,” she recited, almost like she was entering a trance, “Levitating off the ground. A holy figure, gathering evil energy about his dark form in glowing wisps—”

“Enough,” Sifer said, covering her mouth. “We know who that is, it’s is enough.” He led Sarcelle to the guards, doing a quick hand off to the astonished guards (“you found a living one?!") before returning to the company. As he walked he felt the power of the secret Sarcelle had spoken swirling inside him, and he realised he now held that power—he was not sure why, or for what reason, but it was his.

---

The third room was lined with stone shelves containing boxes and bags, with a few crates are stacked against the wall. A quick search revealed nothing of particular use—lantern oil, chains, manacles and the like—other than two potions labelled ‘Healing Use Only’, and a third that looked empty but had something swirling inside on closer inspection.

Marko scrambled up the stairs to the door and listened, again hearing nothing. He eased the door open. The enclosed corridor beyond was encased in the same blackstone that formed the walls of the graveyard outside, and Marko realised the corridor must be an underground crossroads between the different parts of the graveyard. He looked up to see four bells of different sizes hanging from leather cords affixed to the ceiling and groaned—a puzzle. A door stood closed on the opposite side of the corridor.

He turned back and described the scene, everyone agreeing that avoiding the bells was paramount for now.

Eli led the way into the watery room to the south. In the centre of the room was a deep stone basin set into the floor and filled to the brim, fed by water dripping from the pipes above. As Eli looked, the surface of the water rippled, revealing several watery creatures below the surface. Four doors led off the room.

Three was momentarily baffled—what was this reservoir doing under the graveyard?—before he suddenly realised what he was looking at. “The Water Clock Guild—it was real!” he muttered with awe. He turned to the company. “I know exactly what this is,” he said with uncharacteristic excitement. “A long time ago—over a century if not more—there was an organisation called the Water Clock Guild. An organisations of artisans and geomancers who would build much prized Water Clocks, prized throughout the realm. Hotenow’s eruption destroyed the guild, but this must be where they used to practice.”

Idris wondered if Marko’s four bells were related. “Does that mean you know what the bells are?” Idris asked Three.

“Well I would guess the bells were once part of the Water Clock system, but no longer,” Three said. “But I do think they might be a warning system. You know like in the olden days they would have geese that would squark to warn of attack? I bet the bells do the same.”

“We always used pigs,” Eli said, delighted with this insight. “We used to keep the sty near the gates.” He pointed to the figures in the water which were a more pressing concern. There were three shapes, one significantly larger. “These are like the things we fought all those years ago,” Eli said.

“Perhaps then we should just leave them be,” Idris suggested.

“I don’t think we should interfere with them,” Marko agreed. “Let’s check the doors.”

Marko opened the first door on the east wall which had an overhead pipe leading into it. More pipes along the soUtharn wall of the room beyond disappeared into the walls near the ceiling at either end. A complicated series of cogs and hand-turned wheels connected to the pipes, but there were no gauges. Despite the temptation of the cogs, Marko moved quickly to the only door, opening it once safe. Another smaller alcove had rusty standpipes and interlocking cogs covering the walls, but these cogs seemed rusted in place.

“This all looks very mysterious to me,” Eli said looking around. “Is this normal for cities? Knobs, wheels, is that a thing?”

“It would normally be the province of gnomes and such,” Idris offered.

“This sort of technology is magic and evil,” Sifer affirmed.

“No—it’s just pipe-works,” Idris scoffed.

“It’s not magic,” Three agreed, “It’s what geomancers do—they use the pressure.”

“To what end?” Eli exclaimed.

“Water for drinking,” Three shrugged.

“In a graveyard?”

“No, this is odd, as I explained. This was not part of the graveyard, this was a hundred years ago…”

Sifer frowned as the discussion got louder and louder, turning to Idris. “Tell them to shut up,” he said, eyes warning as he stood near the pool-room door.

Idris passed the message one, and everyone followed Marko back to the next door. From beyond he heard a soft tapping of metal on metal. The door wasn’t locked so he pushed it open.

Rubble choked the far corner of the room, some of which had been reassembled into a low table, upon which stood a collection of small clockwork components. Sitting at the table was a hulking, fish-headed creature wearing exquisite silk finery, carefully examining the tiny parts.

---

Marko, more experienced than his companions with the strangeness of the multiverse, showed no surprise. “Good morning…sir?”

The creature finished its careful work, then turned to face Marko and nodded. “Mrgle mglrmglmglmgl.”

To Marko’s blank face, it sighed, then repeated in broken watery Common: “Correct, it is a good morning and we are blessed.”

Marko beamed. “I’m sorry to disturb you, sir, and I see you are working very meticulously on some sort of mechanism, but have you seen a young gnome down here somewhere?”

“Are you from the cult?” the creature rumbled.

“No sir! I’m missing a friend of mine and I believe he’s down here.”

“Are you here then to kill me?” the creature asked, unconcerned.

“N…no? Are…are you a member of the cult?”

“Of course I am not. My name is Shanzezim, I am a clockmaker, and I am making a clock,” it said waving a clawed hand at the table.

“Oh! Are you part of the Guild? My friend was just talking about it with great respect.”

“Why yes I am!” the creature said with evident pride which was quickly replaced with sorrow. “Though I suspect I am the last.”

“That is a great shame,” Marko said compassionately. “Do you make many clocks?”

“I have been working on this one for quite some time. I am trying to reassemble it.”

“Who for?” Eli interjected.

Shanzezim glanced over at Eli. “Why for the multiverse. For the betterment of all.” He paused then looked slightly crestfallen. “In the end it is for no-one, and for myself. No-one else would appreciate it.”

“I would—I am quite astounded,” Marko assured to a soft rubbery smile. “Did you make the pool here?”

“No that was not me. The Guild did. This is my work, and I enjoy it greatly,” he said indicating the hundreds of tiny clockwork pieces.

“Sir I had better be off to find my young friend. You are sure you have no idea where he might be?”

Shanzezim assessed Marko and seemed to come to a decision. “Someone was bought by the cultists—I do not like them, they bully the creatures in the pool—and taken into the room to the south. Perhaps it is your friend.”

“Thank you!” Marko beamed. “And what are the creatures in the water?”

“Elementals, weirds—they won’t harm you if you leave them to themselves. The cultists will order them against you though,” he warned.

“Does it not trouble you that you are at the auspices of the cult?” Eli said.

“They do not trouble me. There is nothing they can do with me nor I for them.”

“Sir—why do you suffer to work amongst these cultists?”

“I am bound here. I may not leave,” Shanzezim explained simply.

“Who says?”

“Why the Water Clock Guild.”

“Your own guild says you may not leave?”

“I am bound, and I am happy. I have considered trying to leave, as I have not heard from the Guild for many years, but I do not want to take that risk while I have my work.”

“But no-one has these ‘waterclocks’,” Eli stressed, “They are not a thing now.”

Shanzezim looked down as his life’s work littering the tabletop. He looked up to meet Eli’s gaze. “I have a waterclock,” he said with conviction.

Three stepped into the room. “The guild does not exist now,” he said, as kindly as he could, “You can go now.”

Shanzezim looked over. “Do you speak the truth?”

Three nodded.

Shanzezim paused. “I will complete my work. And then…maybe I will leave.”

“We will leave you to your work,” Marko said. “If you can tell the elementals that we are not their enemy that would be appreciated.”

Shanzezim nodded slowly. “And I appreciate your interest in my work. There is one other thing I can tell you—occasionally I hear the ringing of bells beyond this room.”

“Yes! What are they?”

“Stolen from the old clock mechanisms,” Shanzezim said sadly. “I do not know for what purpose, but I can hum for you the sequence of their chimes.”

“Ah! That would be incredibly valuable to us, sir!” Marko enthused.

“Very well: Re, Mi, Do, Do, So,” Shanzezim intoned, his voice from the depths deeply resonant. “The second ‘Do’ is an octave deeper,” he said as he repeated the phrase.

“Thank you, sir, thank you.”

“I wish you well on your journeys, and finding your friend. Do come back if you wish—you may like to see the clock when it is complete,” Shanzezim smiled.

“I certainly will!” Marko beamed at the invitation, then ushered everyone from the room.

Once everyone had left the room, Eli turned back. “I have one last question for you,” he said, drawing a look of keen interest from Shanzezim. “How is it that you sleep at night knowing that this cult exists around you and you do nothing?”

Shanzezim frowned, taken aback, then leaned forward. “What could I do, young Orc?”

“You could fight them?”

“You have not been listening: I cannot leave this room!” Shanzezim rumbled, temper rising.

“So you have said but you clearly have not tried.”

“I am bound!”

“By what? You are complacent. You disgust me,” Eli scowled, slamming the door closed.

---

Marko unlocked the padlock on the soUtharn door which was oozing water from beneath the frame. Crouched inside the waterlogged room was a sodden Flukespan! He leapt to his feet. “Mister Marko! You found me!” he cried with joy.

---

“Young Flukespan! How are you—are you ok?” Marko asked.

“I have been better!”

“Why were you taken?”

“Not long after you met with the others they took me? They have been trying to get secrets from me about the Wee Folk!”

Marko frowned. “You didn’t reveal anything…?”

“Not yet!”

“Reveal your secrets to us,” Eli commanded, still smouldering about Shanzezim. Flukespan may once have been a companion but now it seemed he was another useless gear in the cultist machine.

“I have no secrets from Mister Marko—nor from you, my friends. You know all about me!” Flukespan beamed, looking around.

“Hold you secrets,” Sifer cautioned, still feeling the hidden power of Sarcelle’s words.

Flukespan nodded. “I shall. Not that I have one. Or…well I do, but…”

“Tell us—have you had visions?” Sifer asked.

“No? Well…maybe. I wouldn’t tell you if I had though because then…I would be revealing my…maybe I have?! Ha ha,” he laughed nervously. He turned back to Marko. “I’ll get out of here and get back to the Wee Folk and tell them what has happened. Is there any message you would like me to pass?” he whispered.

Marko nodded. “Be very vigilant at night, and during the day. People like yourself are being taken away.”

Eli scratched his head. “I am confused. I heard that people from high levels of society are being taken. Yet here is Flukespan, who I hadn’t remembered being a noble?”

Flukespan looked affronted. “Well, sir. Mr Eli isn’t it? Brother Eli if I recall? Well. The Wee Folk are rising and we—”

“Eli,” Idris interrupted, “A lot has happened here in ten years. There is more to Mr Timbers than you might recall.”

Marko was scowling at Eli who suddenly looked devastated. Had Marko thought his words somehow heightist? “I meant no insult,” Eli apologised, “I just didn’t know that Flukespan had such status in society.”

“The Wee Folk work at all levels of society,” Flukespan declared.

“Forgive me,” Eli said in Halfling, which surprisingly Flukespan understood, despite being a gnome.

“Given our history I will forgive you. But don’t be so hasty to judge, young Brother—you should know better.”

Eli nodded solemnly. Though he did still think his judgement of Shanzezim had been spot on.

“It’s not about status, it’s about secrets,” Sifer concluded as Flukespan scurried away.

The final room was a another cog room full of pipes and dripping water. As it was being examined, Idris slipped back into Shanzezim’s room. The creature didn’t acknowledge his entry, so Idris spoke up.

“Shanzezim, my name is Idris, and it’s nice to meet you. You are obviously not originally from here, no unlike myself. Should you ever find yourself wanting to leave, once your clock is finished—across the river, go east along the north bank to an inn called the Shining Serpent, and tell them Idris sent you. You’ll have a place to stay until you get yourself sorted.”

Shanzezim nodded slowly, not turning his head from his work. Idris wondered at the fish-creature’s saddened demeanour, not having witnessed Eli’s outburst, closing the door softly as he rejoined the company.

Marko led everyone up the stairs to the passageway between the graveyards where four bells hung ominously overhead.

---

For Whom the Bell Tolls

The metal bells hung on lengths of chain ten feet above the gently sloping stone floor. All four were different sizes and made of varying metals. A solid stone door stood at the far end of the corridor, lit by a flickering lantern.

“A bridge over a sewer,” Idris speculated, though there was no sign of such.

“What did the slaad tell us about those?” Three asked, pointing to the bells.

Uthar surprised everyone by singing the answer: “Re–Mi–Do–Do–So.” The hulking hobgoblin had quite a voice, his lower register handling the octave lower second ‘Do’ with comfort.

“If that’s the order we just need to work out which bells to strike,” Eli said, singing Uthar’s melody back.

“That sounds familiar,” Idris said, “Like I’ve had a close encounter with it before.”

“Three times,” Three nodded.

“It means something, something important,” Idris nodded.

“If I’m guessing right, I know which bells to strike,” Uthar announced.

“And the bell size corresponds to tone,” Three said.

Marko had been surveying the passage, the bells, the door. Everything about it smelt like a trap. “Let me tie a rope to you before you do,” he said to Uthar, who agreed gratefully as Marko passed the rope to Eli, hoping he would be strong enough to yank Uthar to safety.

“I’m expecting to set off a terrible poison trap if I get it wrong,” Uthar warned with a grimace as he stepped cautiously out onto the ‘bridge’. Nothing set off and the door stayed closed.

“A gold says there’s no trap,” Idris whispered to Three, weaving a single coin through his fingers. Three stared back but said nothing, drawing a sigh from Idris.

He pulled his weapon free and prepared to strike the mid-sized bell he judged matched the first note.

“Wait!” Eli cried. “There are five notes in Shanzezim’s tune, but only four bells?”

Uthar nodded thoughtfully. “You’re right. Presumably that means we strike the one twice for the ‘do–do’?”

“Perhaps it’s how you hit that bell?” Three suggested. “You hit it at the top rather than the bottom?”

“Or maybe the door is one of the notes?” Eli said.

Uthar shrugged. “I’m going to try striking them.”

“Uthar! Let the lord guide your hand!” Eli called confidently.

Uthar smiled, then struck the bell with the hilt of his sword…and breathed a sigh of relief when a resonant ‘Re’ tone sung out. He turned and grinned at his companions as he moved to the next bell. A lovely ‘Mi’ rang across the passage. He felt good, moving to the next.

“Are you sure that’s right?” Eli said in a panic, confidence gone. “You want to go a note up, don’t you?”

He struck it with some force…and immediately ducked his head as a sonorous ‘Sooooo’ echoed free.

Everyone froze seeing Uthar’s reaction—but nothing bad happened. “Wrong note,” Uthar muttered, wiping sweat from his brow.

“Well nothing’s happened so it’s all good,” Eli said encouragingly.

Uthar stepped beneath the fourth, unrung bell. “I might have to put my finger against it, to get the octave harmonic,” he explained to blank faces. As he studied the bell he saw the solution. “I see it—look to the top of the bell, there are indentations up there, and more at the bottom.”

“Different tones depending on where it is struck,” Three coughed. “Pity we didn’t notice that before,” he added wryly.

“I don’t know how to start again other than just starting again,” Uthar said, looking for help. “How do we reset it?”

“Just start again,” Idris said, very confident his bet was right.

Uthar nodded and started again, this time hitting the highest point of the biggest bell, followed by the lowest. He was rewarded with a satisfying octave-split ‘Do’. “Got it,” he said before letting the final ‘So’ ring out. He looked to the door expectantly but it stayed resolutely closed.

“Nothing happened when we got it wrong…and when we got it right,” Uthar said with some concern. He walked to the door and studied the lamp, but it appeared to be what it appeared to be. “Would someone like to come and check this door?”

“I will,” Marko volunteered, rewinding the rope as he approached. He checked it quickly and found nothing untoward. “It’s well used,” he said pointing out the oiled hinges, “And not trapped. Nor does it have a lock.” As he spoke he heard what sounded like furniture being scraped over a stone floor behind the door.

Brace yourselves,” Marko said and hauled the door open.

Four humanoids in dark robes stood inside atop tables, eyes locked on the door. Behind them a woman with her face wrapped in a silk bandana watched with piercing eyes as Marko stepped into the frame.

“Hello!” Marko said with studied confidence.

“We were not expecting guests,” the woman sneered softly.

“I know,” Marko shrugged happily.

“You played the chimes correctly…eventually,” she said suspiciously.

“Yes—we were just playing around, you know how it is.”

“Playing around?”

“You know how it gets…” Behind his back, Marko ushered his companions to join him.

“No, I do not know how it ‘gets’,” she hissed, “You’re a little short for a cultist.” She raised an arm in a manner that Marko immediately recognised as spell preparation. He urged his companions faster.

“You could not have reached the bells, little man,” she said as she unstrapped a dark scythe from her back. “Who else is with you?” Her fellow cultists heard the tone of her voice and started to draw daggers.

“Other members,” Marko sighed.

“Members of what?”

“His master’s entourage,” Marko ad-libbed. “What’s your name, lady?”

The woman paused, obviously confused by Marko’s lack of fear or care. “My name is Oxtu—who are you?”

“Mister Marko, to you.”

“And who is this ‘master’ you speak of?”

Marko shook his head. “You don’t know? Are you sure you’re in the right place?” With his fingers he indicated five to his companions.

“Am I sure? I am quite sure—it is you who is lost!” she said with a forced laugh which drew echoes of the same from her companions. “If you serve the same master as we, you should join us for a drink!” She waved to the cultist at the foot of the stairs, who stepped away to reveal a fetid basin being fed by drips from a pipe above.

Marko frantically signalled ‘death’ with his hands to those behind, wondering what was taking them so long, and slowly reached for his own dagger.

Eli saw the signal and turned to Three. “Are these guys good, or bad?”

“They’re really evil,” Three said. Eli nodded, drew his bow, and started running.

“Anyway we’ve got to move on,” Marko said hearing Eli charging forward. “Boring conversation anyway.”

A arrow whipped across the room and buried into Oxtu’s shoulder. “Don’t just stand there you snivelling memories—kill them!” she cried. The cultist’s weapons all burst into black flames as they leapt to the task with enthusiasm.

Marko leapt down the short stairway and plunged his dagger into the nearby cultist—or he tried, but the smell from the basin was so rank he found his strike going wayward.

Uthar came charging out of the corridor and leapt onto the nearest table, splintering it into pieces as he landed with a crash. He wasn’t dissuaded, slicing the cultist’s abdomen, but the collapsing table meant he couldn’t follow through with another.

Oxtu looked seriously displeased. She bullied her fellows—“Bathe them in your flames you fools!"—and pointed an arched finger at Uthar. A bolt of black death shot into his chest and he felt the grip on his weapon loosen.

Three arrived on the scene and jumped into the far corner. Seeing Oxtu’s cast, and her cultists appearing to prepare spells of their own, he summoned his own. “Silence witch!” he cried, dropping a circle of absolute quiet in the midst of the assailants.

Oxtu reacted with surprise and tried to curse…but made not a sound.

Idris grinned when he saw what Three had done. He stood atop the staircase and cast with impunity. Oxtu shuddered under a twin psychic attacks that left her befuddled and barely able to take action—her mind lashed into taking a single task at a time.

The cultist nearest Marko was, luckily for him, outside the silent zone. He reached a hand toward Marko muttering a spell as he did: “Embrace his wounds!” Marko felt his skin starting to tear, but he ripped free before any damage could be done. A floating, spiritual dagger appeared behind him, but he managed to avoid it’s sudden strike with ease. A second weapon appeared directly above Three but he too stepped aside from it’s attempted blow. Marko spun on his attacker and killed him with a single dagger plunged to the throat.

Sifer launched twin arrows into Oxtu, followed by a repeat dose from Eli. Her screams of agony went unheard and she started moving toward a door in the opposite wall.

The cultists inside the zone were frustrated by not being able to cast, drawing their daggers as a fallback. Uthar’s target took brutal revenge, plunging twin weapons into each side of Uthar’s abdomen. Uthar grunted and (silently) uttered a thanks for his adamantine armour that blunted the worst of the damage—as it did the stray arrow from Sifer’s latest attack.

The zone of silence nullified Oxtu and soon her cultists started to drop. She looked with fury at Idris and Uthar, then staggered to the door and pulled it open. She froze for a moment, then turned back to the room, her face etched with panic and fear.

She was met by an errow to the neck from Eli. She clutched uselessly at it then collapsed lifeless to the floor. The remaining cultists were cleaned up by a combination of Uthar’s sword, Idris’s magic missiles, Three’s insouciance, Sifer’s now accurate shots, and Marko’s deadly blade.

---

“That was an inspired spell,” Idris nodded to Three.

“Uthar—the door,” Three said urgently, ignoring the compliment but secretly pleased, as he dropped the silence. He had seen the look in Oxtu’s eye. “She looked scared when she opened that door.”

Uthar stepped into the doorway. Bones lined nooks along the walls, some pushed aside to make room for folded robes and personal effects. Four narrow cots lay against the north wall, but the room was otherwise empty. “Not what I was expecting,” Uthar reported.

“I expected something to come out of there—and so did she,” Three nodded. “But she found it empty. She was hoping for help.”

“Who would have guessed evil cultists would abandon their minions,” Idris said wryly.

“There are no exits from this room, so if she was expecting someone where did they go? Someone should do a search,” Uthar said, summoning Marko.

In the entry room Eli was praying over the bodies of the fallen. Idris ignored that and looted each body, finding nothing of interest except a necklace threaded with human teeth and four plain keys on Oxtu. He collected the daggers, no longer aflame but he suspected quite powerful. Sifer examined the foul basin and quickly decided it was best left alone.

Marko stepped into the small room and didn’t take long to find a disturbed panel in the soUtharn wall. “Get ready,” he said, causing Idris crouch as Eli tensed his bow on the panel. Marko pushed the secret door open, revealing a five foot passage ending in a similar panel. Marko climbed into the gap and opened the second panel.

The room beyond was furnished to resemble a comfortable bedroom and study. Tapestries depicting feasting undead creatures hang on the wall, which was otherwise empty. Marko moved quickly to the desk and indicated for Uthar to join him. He studied the papers on the desk, judging from the still wet quill that they were only recently abandoned. “Get Three in here—these writings look like rituals,” he whispered to Uthar who was guarding the sole door from the room.

Three arrived moments later and buried himself in the journals and notes. Before long he nutted out the intents, which he reported quietly to his companions. “This appears to have been written by someone going by ‘Jerot’. The notes describe a ritual draining and sacrificing a victim’s secrets and knowledge…to Vecna. The first tests of the ritual used disloyal cultist as the victims, and more recent attempts have chosen townspeople from Neverwinter whom Jerot believes have particularly meaningful secrets. Their secrets are the cultists’ best offerings to Vecna.”

“That’s where our missing nobles have gone,” Sifer grunted.

“I’m curious about what exactly was extracted and where it went,” Three said, gathering the notes.

“We don’t know—maybe it just went straight into Vecna,” Eli offered.

“There’s more, but I suspect it’s a sidetrack. Jerot mentions a magical phenomena called ‘Crevices of Dusk’ that sometimes spontaneously appear in Neverwinter. The crevices are magical gateways that connect to a plane populated by undead. Has anyone heard of such things?”

No-one had.

Eli had withdrawn to the cultist chamber and carefully cracked open the northern door. He was greeted by sight of a hunched, clammy-skinned, clearly undead creature with its back turned, standing incongruously over a low shelf full of books with a handful of volumes held in clawed hands. A voice hissed from out of line of sight: “The necromancy books must be filed after Kelemvor, not before you fool!”

---

Without a pause Eli pulled the door quietly closed. He turned to Sifer. “Brother Sifer—there’s more bad guys up there.”

“I assumed so,” Sifer nodded.

“How many?” Idris asked.

“Fiiiiive…?”

“And how big is the room?”

“Big.”

“Can you give me an idea?” Idris said patiently.

“Oh. Thirty feet across, forty wide. Full of library shelves and books. And at least four of five quite frightening looking undead creatures.”

Idris moved back into the empty bed-chamber. “Red!” he hissed quietly into the secret passage. “The room north apparently has five hostiles.”

“I was always told we don’t leave a door behind us?” Eli called rather too loudly, drawing a smirk from Idris and mock salute from Sifer.

Uthar updated Marko and Three. “Mr Marko should we stay here and guard this door?”

“No, let’s join the others.” All retreated back to the first room, closing the panelled secret doors on the way.

Once everyone was gathered, Idris gestured for everyone to stand back. “I’m going to force whoever is up there to come to this doorway,” he explained. “I’m going to cast a spell that’s going to cause a problem. They’ll need to come out here if they want to get out.”

“Don’t we lose our advantage of surprise?” Sifer pointed out.

“Yes, but they will be at a significant disadvantage. It will be fine,” Idris said.

“The Lord will protect us,” Eli added. “Sifer, never forget—the Lord is behind us.”

Sifer raised an eyebrow and stepped back into the other room, out of line of sight of the northern door.

“Eli, he doesn’t believe,” Three explained.

“I know, Brother Cooper,” Eli said sadly.

Idris signalled for Uthar to pop the door, and with a short count it was open. Idris took a short step into the corridor beyond, seeing several of the undead, and cast his spell, seemingly pulling something from the stone floor beyond.

A moment later a gateway to the Far Realm opened, a region infested with unspeakable horrors. A 20-foot-radius sphere of darkness appeared centred on the makeshift library. Strange whispers and slurping noises emerged from the sphere. Idris stepped deftly back, enjoying the looks of wide-eyed horror in the eyes of his companions.

“Do you think perhaps we might be the bad guys?” Eli muttered.

Three looked his way and smiled, Sifer cocking his head.

Idris spun his coin in the air and slapped it onto his palm. He looked down at it then over and Eli. “Nope!” he smiled.

Idris was right about the reaction. Cries of terror and guttural moans sounded from the impenetrable blackness. A ghoul stumbled free, chased by writhing milky tentacles that grabbed at it as it fled. Uthar didn’t waste any time, stepping through the doorway and slaughtering the creature. He shied away from the horror that lay just beyond and the cries from within.

Another ghoul was ejected, finding itself face to face with Uthar. Not being particularly smart, it instinctively plunged its claws into Uthar. That was a mistake, and it allowed Eli to make short work of the slime-covered creature with two well-placed arrows.

A cultist was next to arrive, obviously questioning it’s life choices. Luckily it didn’t have to question them for long as she was topped off by Sifer’s arrows.

Three, seeing everything was going as Idris had predicted, knelt down by Oxtu’s body and added his prayers to Eli’s earlier. Or so it seemed to everyone else—unbeknownst Three was trying to retrieve the tooth necklace he had seen on her neck. He cursed to find it gone, glaring at Idris who he realised must have already taken it.

This cycle of chaos continued in the library until there were six dead creatures lying outside the swirling zone of horror: four ghouls and two cultists. Some had been blindly struck by arrows fired into the vortex, and all had been efficiently dispatched once they emerged.

“Seems you were right about significant disadvantages,” Sifer nodded to Idris, who grinned and dropped the gateway. Three finished off his ‘prayer’ with an actual prayer than healed those that had been nicked during the combat.

The remains of the library dripped with fast dissolving ethereal goop. The long, low shelves were canted at irregular angles due to uneven stones in the floor, and crammed with books, scrolls, and folios.

Uthar moved through the library, finding a stone coffin against the north wall, its top carved to look like pages of an open book. Engraved on the book’s pages is a name: Ayren Griffynstone.

“I know that name,” Uthar said. “A historian from many decades ago, quite famous for his research into the history of Neverwinter.”

“And he was entombed with his books?” Eli said.

“Not his books,” Three said as he scanned the broken shelves. “These are a hodge-podge of works—nothing unique or particularly interesting. It’s so random I suspect it’s a library of books supplied by the cultists themselves.”

Everyone retreated to the corridor behind the library. There were two doors leading north, a single door to the west, and a corridor with several openings to the south. Eli found a red ‘X’ scrawled on the ground outside the western door, summoning Marko.

“We shouldn’t open this door,” Marko said. “It’s always bad when you see a red cross. And it smells bad behind there…”

“Obviously we should kill everything,” Eli said, “But let’s try these doors to the north first?”

Marko tested the first of the pair. It was unlocked, a large padlock hanging unlatched from the handle.

“It’s going to be full of rice and rubbish, open it up,” Eli ordered.

Inside was a squalid room with nothing but a foul-smelling bucket and a small heap of filthy blankets. “A cell,” Marko said. “Can someone look through those blankets,” he added, demonstrating a surprising squeamishness.

“Let me,” Three said. He shook the blanket vigorously and was rewarded when a small booklet dropped from inside the ripped seam of one blanket. The cover had a name in cursive script: “Eldon Keyward”.

“One of our missing nobles,” Three said. “The planar scholar.” He paged through the notebook. “This notebook focuses on the Shadowfell and an evil echo of Neverwinter called Evernight.”

“If there were two versions of Neverwinter how would we know which one we were in?” Eli asked.

“I personally don’t believe in the multiverse,” Sifer declared, rather shutting down Eli’s line of enquiry.

Three went on. “Keyward seems to believe there are cracks between the two versions of Neverwinter which traverse the Shadowfell, allowing travel between them. These crevices can be stable (very rare) or unstable and spontaneous.” Three closed the slim volume. “This aligns with what the other journal we found described.”

“What do you make of it, Three?” Marko asked.

“It is more evidence that there is some link between this and an evil other version of this place.”

“Or a good other version,” Eli said hopefully.

“No remains or a body?” Marko asked.

“No—I think he was kept here, he’s hidden this, and been taken away. Probably sacrificed.”

“What a dreadful fate,” Eli said solemnly.

“All right. Next doors,” Marko said, moving on. This door was rather larger. “I can hear something, like an animal scratching itself,” Marko whispered. “We ready?”

He pulled the door open to reveal two enormous, red-furred gorillas with blue skin, who leapt to their feet and roared with animal hunger.

“Close the door!” Eli screamed, too late.

---

---

The demonic gorillas leapt toward the doorway allowing Uthar to cleave the closest with two swift blade strikes—which drew two massive and angry blows in response. The second bounded over the top of Uthar and into the corridor, landing atop a surprised Three and pounding him with its fists. An attempt to tear a chunk of flesh from his neck was less successful. Eli, horrified at Brother Cooper’s assault, slashed it with his sword and kicked it with a flurry of foot-attacks as Three continued to be rag-dolled.

Sifer slipped into the corridor and fired two quick shots into the beast, allowing Idris to send a quiver into its brain and kill it in an instant. He spun and forced the other gorilla backwards, giving Uthar and Marko an opportunity to bury both their blades in it’s retreating belly, leaving it just as dead as its late companion.

Eli knelt by Three’s side and quickly dabbed his wounds with a handkerchief. “Thank you,” Three said as he silently healed himself. Eli looked briefly astonished at his success, then smiled warmly. “Don’t thank me, thank the power of the lord!”

“Oh I do,” Three assured him.

Uthar looked around the room that housed the gorillas. Hundreds of names were etched into metal plates set into the walls of this room, many scratched over and unreadable, and a padlocked door stood in the western wall. “Some sort of memorial wall,” Eli offered. “And the gorillas have been busy scratching out the names,” Uthar nodded.

“The padlock is well used,” Marko advised.

“So they haven’t just bolted this area off, this is somewhere they go,” Eli said, “So it’s not like there is all hell down here,” he added confidently.

“But it did have a couple of guards,” Sifer cautioned.

Marko screwed up his nose as he smelt the same sewer odour he had outside. He crouched and put a piece of scrap paper under the frame to see if there was a draft. There wasn’t, but he was surprised to hear two tentative footsteps approach the door then stop. “There’s someone behind the door,” he whispered to his companions. “Uthar, Idris, be ready. Eli—to the side.” Eli obeyed, also preparing his hanky for healing anyone behind the door who might need it.

Marko quietly disabled the padlock and stepped to the side as he pushed the door open. The smell from within was horrendous. A woman stood in front of a foul mattress atop a low shelf, her once-fine clothing in tatters and a silk scarf wrapped around her face.

---

Seeing Uthar, she shied away. “No! No more, please!” She looked over Uthar’s shoulder to spy Idris, which drew a small scream as she collapsed back onto the mattress.

“I’d better not go in,” Three muttered to Idris, pulling up his hood.

“M’lady,” Marko said quickly, stepping inside, “You’re safe.”

“What are those monsters?” she said fearfully.

“They’re not monsters, they’re my friends.”

“One of them has red skin! And the other looks like a devil with horns!”

“Yes—but they are all good men.”

“A lady knows she’s in trouble when the most trustworthy person is a midget,” Eli whispered to Idris.

Idris shook his head and stepped into the doorway. He spoke with a honey-toned voice. “Miss Lamsensettle please don’t be alarmed. My name is Idris, I’m a native of this city, and we are hear to rescue you.”

Miss Lamsensettle, for Idris had guessed correctly, flushed. “You’ve heard of me?”

“Yes, of course,” Idris smiled. He knew the thespian type well.

“Well—I’m flattered. I mean I’m not flattered, but I am delighted. That’s wonderful—even in this bedraggled state you know who I am,” she said, looking forlornly at her torn clothing. “And the stench down here…you don’t happen to have any perfume, do you?”

“Alas not, but once we get you out of this horrendous chamber I may have a little something to get you cleaned up.”

“Well that is the first good news I’ve heard in some time. Indrina Lamsensettle is my name, and I am surprised but pleased to meet you Mr Idris.”

Three’s ears perked up. He overcame his earlier reservation and stepped into the room. “Lady, did you say you want perfume?” he said, offering a small stoppered bottle.

She hesitated looking at Three’s ravaged face.

“I am a priest,” he reassured her, holding the treasured vial forth. “You dab it on a cloth—I have one if you need—and—”

“I know how to use it!” Indrina reached hungrily, beaming uncontrollably when she opened the bottle. “Sir you have no idea how happy I am to receive this!” she said as she bathed herself liberally. The combination of the perfume and sewer smell wasn’t a pleasant one, but Idrina was none-the-less overjoyed. “I am sorry for your appearance but I can’t thank you enough.”

As she spoke Idris waved a quick spell that cleaned up her clothing and restored her complexion. She gasped with delight. “Who are you! You must be heroes—are you here to rescue me?”

“Indeed,” Idris bowed as Three smiled from behind. Indrina burst into tears at both the news of her rescue and Three’s hideous smile. “Thank you, thank you,” she sobbed.

Marko started to explore the room, pleased to find the smell wasn’t coming from Indrina (for he had feared she was undead). The stench was strongest from the wall that adjoined the ‘x’ marked room.

“Mr Marko there’s a sewer next door,” Three said watching, “It’s not the smell of a grave.” Marko agreed, with some relief.

“Will you escort me to freedom?” Indrina asked.

Idris extended a hand. For a moment she hesitated, then gritted her teeth and took the offered hand. It shook slightly in Idris’s grip, who continued his charm crusade. “It’s truly a pleasure to meet you—I have heard much about your work. In fact we should discuss you coming to do a small vignette at my establishment.”

“I am all astonishment—you have an establishment?”

“Oh yes I am the proprietor of the Shining Serpent.”

“The Shining Serpent? Well! Of course I have heard of it. A little low rent, perhaps, for me,” Indrina stammered. “But you did rescue me.”

“It may be low rent but it’s certainly populated by wealth adventurers who come through town…”

Indrina steadied her nerves. “If you get me out of here I promise I will give at least one performance for you. One or two songs,” she added, not wanting to over commit.

“Of course,” Idris said, expertly hiding his annoyance at the arrogance, leading her from her cell.

“Wait!” Indrina said looking worried, “Before we leave—you’re not taking me to Dagult are you? The Lord Protector?”

“No…” Idris said slowly, seeing a mixture of fear and disrespect on Indrina’s face. “Would that be of concern?”

“It certainly would,” she said, turning to Three.

“I am my own man,” Three said simply.

“You swear you are not with Dagult? Not sent here on his behalf?”

“Oh, no, of course not,” Idris said, easily deceiving her. He sensed she wanted to believe, and her next words confirmed that.

“Good!” Indrina said, leaning in. “I am convinced that he is the one that put me here,” she said conspiratorially.

“He put you here you say?”

“Well who else? And what is more—that man has no right! No right to murder us, and no right to his throne!”

Three was astonished. “What? What do you mean?”

Indrina looked very pleased to be asked. “I know something about him. A secret.”

Marko pulled out his notebook and wet a quill, ready to record every word.

“I should not tell you this,” Indrina said as she prepared to to just that. “But since you have rescued me, and because you gave me that perfume, and obviously you are all good…men….of a kind.”

“For future reference I am a githyanki,” Idris offered.

“And I am a man,” Three smiled wanly.

“Well Dagult is most certainly not,” Indrina continued. “Lord Neverember is an illegitimate holder of the throne.”

“Illegitimate you say—that’s a bold claim,” Idris frowned.

“Yes. It is. And that is why I have kept it quiet, only telling those I trust—like you, my saviours. I have paid great sums of money to skilled genealogists who have assembled proof. Proof that ‘Neverember’ isn’t descended from our great hero, Lord Nasher Alagondar. He is a fraud! And I will expose him!”

Idris looked around his companions then back to Indrina. “My lady I want you to know that we will take your concerns very, very, seriously indeed. Once our task is done here and the other unfortunates, like yourself, have been attended to, rest assured the matter will be looked into.”

Indrina looked very pleased. “Thank you sir. I appreciate your trust and faith in me. I am thrilled to hear that there are others that believe, as I do, that he is not what he seems. The true heirs are the Dolindar family and I intend to restore them to their rightful place!”

Three’s ears perked up. The Dolindar family? That was a well known name amongst the grave-tenders: their abandoned tomb in the noble graveyard was the subject of much speculation. Rumours had it that the family had been exiled to the Shadowfell for reasons never shared. A family that were on high who overstepped some hidden mark and paid a price. There was talk they were cursed, that the studied dark necromancy, that they meddled in planar travel for their own benefit.

“The Dolindar’s were not a happy family,” Three offered quietly. “Exiled, and not just from the city…”

“Dagult’s doing, I am sure of it. I am convinced Dolindar is the last name that can be tied to the crown.”

Three watched her closely. She certainly believed what she was saying, but it was also entirely possible she was a victim of her ‘skilled genealogists’. It was an easy con to run, their ‘discoveries’ perfectly matching her prejudices. “This evidence—is it with you or do we need to take you to it?” Three asked carefully.

“Of course its not with me. It is safely hidden at my estate.”

“Very good. Well we should leave,” Three nodded. “I will take you to the guards who can escort you to safety.”

“I’ll do it,” Sifer offered. Three hesitated before nodding agreement.

“Those guards came with us from the palace,” Eli hissed to Idris, pulling him aside.

“She wouldn’t necessarily know that,” Idris shrugged.

“But if she’s right you don’t want to put her into their hands.”

Overhearing this, Three had an idea. “Sifer let me take her. I know the graveyard and can take her to safety—no need for the city guard. I’ll get her past them given she doesn’t trust them.”

Sifer nodded. “Makes sense. But I will track you just in case of trouble.”

“Thank you all,” Indrina said, doing her best to smile at Three who led her forth. She stepped into the room where Eli stood, finding him leaning smoulderingly against the wall, trying his best to look as aloof and irresistible as was possible. He later had no idea why he had done so—his mother had never explained such things.

Indrina glanced at Eli then away to Uthar. She leant in closer to three, who was at least ‘human’. “You keep very strange company,” she whispered. Eli shifted uncomfortably.

“Mr Marko has picked these people because each of us is good at one thing,” Three explained. “And I know the graveyard very well.”

“A strange profession to choose, but I’m glad you do.”

Three led Indrina through the catacombs to the foot of the stairway at the entrance of the mausoleum. The guards stood above, alert to the approaching footsteps. Indrina shrunk back into the darkness and turned on Three. “You told me you were not—these men are Dagult’s men!” she hissed angrily.

“We have to get around them,” Three whispered. He grabbed one of the grave-tender’s shrouds that the cultists had been using and started to fit it on Indrina, ignoring her protests.

Sifer stepped forward and put a hand on Three’s shoulder. “Get her changed then wait here.” He climbed the stairs. The guards nodded. “Have you found another?”

“No but I need some help. Come with me.”

“Down there?”

“Outside. I need heavy equipment and you’re going to help.” The men obeyed and followed Sifer outside. As soon as they were gone Three hustled Indrina up and out, hustling her away to one of the grave-keepers' work houses. He left her safe and hurried back.

Sifer arrived shortly afterwards with his men lugging shovels and picks. “Good work. Drop that here and get back outside,” Sifer said gruffly.

The men obeyed, though one lingered. “Sir, sorry to take your time but…you haven’t found Ms Indrina, have you?” He blushed as he spoke.

Sifer stared at the man, hard. “Keep your wits about you, you fool! This is a dangerous exercise!”

“Of course sir. Sorry sir. She’s one of my favourites, is all.”

“And that’s why you’re up here! Good bye.”

---

“Did you see that she looked at me?” Eli said hopefully to Idris.

“Yes, she did,” Idris said with a warm smile.

Marko moved down the corridor, past the X marked door. It seemed clear the sewer, if that’s what it was, was behind this door—there was no lock and the aroma coming from within was brutal. “Do we really want to open this door?”

“We have to search this whole place—we may even have to open the ‘X’ door,” Uthar said.

Marko sighed. “This is going to stink,” he said inching the door open. Inside was a filthy latrine—a deep pit with a few boards across it and an overpowering stench. “We don’t need that,” Marko grunted, pulling the door closed.

As he did a shadowy man in impressive robes stepped into view at the south end of the corridor. An instant later a cone of surging, frozen air blasted up the passage. Uthar, Marko, Eli, Idris and Sifer were all sliced with shards of piercing ice, only Three able to avoid it by being outside the blast radius. A second figure, a woman, stepped into the half-light next to the first and flung three bolts of necrotic magic into Uthar who was crashed back into the wall barely alive.

Marko reacted fast and sprinted toward the cultists. “Stay back!” Idris cried, but Marko was already going. He passed the small passage to the leader’s retreat, seeing a dripping, one-eyed creature creeping forward. Ignoring it he kept running, then buried his dagger into the woman. From behind he felt the one-eye horror trying to drain his energy, but he shrugged it off. “Are you ok Uthar?!” he cried.

Back up the corridor Uthar felt himself on the verge of collapse. The necrotic magic was draining him and the frozen air made it difficult to breathe. He closed his eyes and prayed, feeling the hands of his god healing him better than any magic. “Much better than I was 6 seconds ago,” he gasped. He lifted his head to face the wizards and focused on the man, using his divine inspiration to compel him to focus all his attention on Uthar.

With a grin Eli tossed a handful of glittering dust into the air, causing Idris, Sifer, Three and himself to vanish. The female mage cursed and muttered a spell, causing five zombies to claw their way out of the stone ground to the north. She grinned and spoke a single word of power and a black, pulsing sphere of dire energy rippled out from the library area. Everyone staggered under the wave of deathly necrotic power. Three of the zombies dropped dead, bringing a smile to Uthar’s face—until he saw that their death energy was transferred to the woman and healed her.

Three, still invisible, stepped forward to see the two remaining zombies. “Kelemvor!” he cried, and both zombies exploded instantly, turned by the power of Three’s god.

The mage who was focused on Uthar snarled and flung his fist open. A bright streak flashed from his hand and started to blossom…until it just as quickly fizzled out into nothing. Idris, hidden, grinned as he lowered his hands, his counterspell stopping the deadly explosion before instantly. The mage swore with surprise, and again a moment later when Uthar buried his sword in his belly, his mage-slaying hunger rising to the fore, aided by Marko’s fortunate presence.

Idris wasn’t finished. He summoned a beast of his own, a slime-covered slaad appearing behind the two mages and swinging its barbarous claws at the woman. Sifer drew his dual long-swords and misty-stepped his way to the mages, attacking the man from behind, once, twice, three times. The third strike dropped the man who fell to the ground stunned and very dead. Sifer grinned and used his fourth and final attack on the woman, drawing more blood.

From behind, Uthar heard a curse—“Embrace his deathly love!"—and two black tendrils reached across the corridor and sunk into his flesh, sapping his health and strength—almost causing him to drop his sword. The nothic tried to add to his pain but Uthar wouldn’t allow it inside. Marko scowled as he saw Uthar shuddering again, but continued attacking the woman. His brutal dagger strikes left her struggling, no longer able to draw strength from her creatures.

Uthar spun to face his new attacker, seeing another woman hiding in a side cavity. He was furious now, tired of being a punching bag for the cultists. He smote her with the power of his weapon and the power of his god, the two holy strikes levelling her.

Eli drew his bow and singled out the woman. His first shot missed, making him visible once more, and his second was no better, the arrow plunging into Sifer, who accepted it as part of the chaos of the battlefield.

The woman turned to Sifer and growled as she sent three necrotic bolts into him. “You shall not stop our ritual!” Sifer rocked as the foul magic siphoned his energy, the woman leaning in triumphantly and grabbed Sifer around the neck. “You shall not!!” But her fury caused the two further spells she cast to surge out of control and somehow miss the defenceless Sifer.

Three saw that healing was needed, desperately for some, and cast a wave of rejuvenation which did enough to prop up those on the edge. The nothic tried its rotting gaze on Three, but it was third time unlucky. Uthar took the opportunity to finish it like he had the mage, his blades making no mistake.

Idris turned his attention to the last—and most deadly—mage standing. He quivered his hand and a sliver of light pierced her forehead, drawing a gasp of pain, and another when the slaad slashed her back.

Sifer, still in the woman’s grasp, reached up and tried to pull her hands away. A stillness came over him and he grinned at her scowl. With his free hand he buried his sword in her chest. She twitched and gasped, eyes still locked on Sifer. He pushed the weapon further and saw the light in her eyes start to flicker and fade. “You’re…too …late,” she whispered.

Marko grabbed the woman’s head and yanked her head back, exposing her throat and drawing the dagger across it. Sifer was bathed in a flood of blood as the mage died.

Uthar lent against the wall, a wave of relief and adrenalin induced exhaustion flooding him now the battle was done. Marko handed him a healing potion which he sucked down with gratitude.

In the sudden quiet, Sifer and Three heard the distinct sound of a ritual chant starting to cresendo behind the double doors at the end of the corridor.

“No time to rest,” Sifer cursed, wiping the blood from his armour.

---

“Come to me, quickly!” Three called. He gathered everyone and—“In Kelemvor’s name!"—blessed them with powerful healing. Potions were sculled in quick succession and fey gifts bestowed.

“The lady said that we were too late, and it sounds like their church service is coming to an end,” Eli stressed. “But do we have enough power to deal with whatever is behind those doors?”. He’d seen a lot of powerful magic being exchanged and knew there had to be some limit. “I’m low,” Three said, “But what choice do we have?”

“If you let me have a look at the room first, before you run in, I may be able to do something,” Idris offered, causing everyone to think back to Idris’s library trick. It seemed there might be a chance.

Three leaned into the door to listen. “They’re nearly there!” he hissed.

“Let’s go!” Marko cried, yanking the doors open with only a cursory check.

The enormous chamber within was decorated with blood-red candles and huge Vecna-inspired paraphenalia. Raised galleries stood at the east and west, upon which stood chanting figures, their hands raised toward a spherical cage hanging from a 30-foot-tall ceiling, within which was a limp, terrified elf. A ritual leader in rich red robes led the chants from the west balcony, surrounded by more of the hunched, one-eyed creatures with knobby hides.

---

The cultists in the room ignored the new arrivals, totally focussed on completing the ritual. The sweat on their brows and concentration on their faces made it clear this had been going on for some hours. The nothics, on the other hand, spun toward the doors with foul intent.

“Kill the elf! And the woman with the spellbook!” Eli cried from the back, flooded with guilt about the elf but (almost) convinced there was no choice. “And hold off the nothics while we do that!”

“I can do the whole room if you’re not worried about the person in the cage, and more worried about the ritual succeeding??” Idris yelled.

“Yes!” Marko cried.

“Yes, burn them all,” Three said, strangely calm.

Idris nodded grimly. He stepped to the doorway and focused on the ritual leader. There was a brief ripple in the air and an explosion of psychic agony covered the room. Everyone felt the wave of pressing pressure on their minds, horrified to think what it must feel like to those in the eye of the spell.

Half of the nothics lost all focus, particularly vulnerable to psychic attack, and many of the cultists were left staggering and clutching their heads. Those that remained stumbled over their words, the chant wavering for a moment before returning, weakened. In the cage the elf moaned, the pain of Idris’s attack no worse than what he was already undergoing.

The leader appeared untouched. She raised her hands in a ritual fervour, and ten black tendrils stretched out from her fingers and started drawing from the barely conscious elf. His back arced as she drew from him with merciless delight. The tension in the room welled with a further wave of ritualistic power, clashing with Idris’s.

“They are drawing his secrets for Vecna!” Three cursed. “Jerot’s book spoke of exactly this!”

Idris suddenly remembered what Three had done earlier. “Silence them!” he said with excitement. Three nodded, having thought of the exact same thing. He focused on the tendril-wielding leader and dropped the zone of silence directly on her. The chanting was suddenly silenced, only a few weak voices from further in the room continuing.

The magical pressure inside the chamber wavered again, surging and collapsing in equal measure.

Uthar looked up at the slumped elf. “That must be Eldon Keyward, the final captive. If he was to die it might interrupt the whole thing,” he said unhappily.

“It’s one way to stop a ritual,” Idris nodded.

“Or warp it in an unexpected way…” Three warned.

“Target reduction, Sifer,” Eli said quietly.

Sifer nocked an arrow in his bow. “The elf?”

Eli looked down at the ground sorrowfully.

Sifer nodded and lined his shot up. “Let’s seal those secrets away from Vecna.”

His shot ricocheted whipped through the chamber and buried into Eldon’s chest. He cried out, collapsing to the floor of the cage. He reached a desperate hand out of the cage seeming to plead for mercy.

In the background, Three prayed to Kelemvor to take the soul of Eldon Keyward.

Sifer tapped Marko on the shoulder. “Good to go?”

“Yep.”

The arrow pierced Eldon’s neck, killing him instantly. His arm dropped limp outside the cage.

Something that shouldn’t have happened, happened. The ritual was rent asunder and a riot of silvery-purple energy filled the room. Everyone felt a sense of space tearing open—then falling, falling, falling, and everything went dark.

A vision emerged from the impenetrable darkness.

Around the world and across the planes, everyone perceived innumerable cults of Vecna. They snatch away people and strip their secrets in rituals like the one just stopped. Behind them, the withered form of Vecna gathers the secrets like threads, adding them to a glowing sphere of hidden knowledge in some impossibly distant place. The vision fades into darkness, leaving only Vecna’s glaring left eye. Glaring at you.

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Sessions played: September 9 2024, January 13, 20 2025

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