Dragonspear After Hours

Petra Pistokles expertly guided Herman's Regret out of Orlumbor's protected bay amid cheers and applause from the town who had come in droves to send off the Animal Spirits, heroes of the Battle for Orlumbor. Grundelle set to work on dinner, and from the galley grumbled a tale about his first job as cabin boy and how it nearly saw him fired after he kept the crew hungry for hours preparing beans. The captain kept checking in on him until finally confronting the young Grundelle who explained he hadn't realized he needed to soak the beans first! The venerable goblin laughed and promised he'd do better for them. Falka sure hoped so, for his sake. 

The company reflected on all that had happened and their newfound connection with Arumbelle. They got into the Telling of Delights  as the waves lapped gently against the mistwood hull. Safad pondered their role in all this and thought about the shrine locations they had uncovered at Candlekeep. Perhaps they should go to one of those to find Arumbelle, as insttructed. 

But what about the Monarch in Waterdeep? 

What about Telloux the Pious and the cancerous spread of the Rites of Felak'Doun?

The party considered where to go and what was nearby. Grundelle came up from the galley with dinner and said he heard them talking about Arumbelle, and that he knew the name. It rang a bell so he dug up some old journals he had around his cabin. He claimed his great-grandfather was a renowned Orlumbor ship captain who kept extensive logs. Grundelle remembered seeing the name Arumbelle in some of them, how his ancestor would turn up Unicorn Run when making trips up the Delimbyr River. He talked about visiting a shrine up there called Candlestick Thicket, which was well-hidden, but he knew where to anchor the boat when he spotted a rock he thought looked like a sea lion. His great-grandfather also had a collection of scrimshaw holy symbols, Arumbelle's Hearthsign--that the party had been carving everywhere--among them. 

Talk about a sign at an important decision point! 

The party decided to make for Candlestick Thicket, by way of the High Moor and a stop off in Dragonspear to see Dala'gse's sister--and maybe even Melarn's Door to see Safad's girlfriend, Alicia! Pistokles tacked towards the Winding Water, the closest navigable river to Dragonspear. 

As they made their way upriver, Falka decided to test their new captain's prowess beyond the prow. She shot an arrow into the top of the mast and asked Petra to see if she could come close to the arrow with a throwing knife. Petra said she was of average skill with the thrown weapons, but would do her best. Safad rolled his eyes and mumbled something about her job not involving target practice, and to leave the poor woman alone. Dala'gse was oblivious to happenings in the boat, dangling a tentacle-shifted-arm into the water and watching it play with the detritus that flowed past. Ironica encourged Falka, "Yeah, how do we know you will be able to help in a fight?" 

Petra flipped a knife out from a sheath on her thigh, pulled back her arm and let it loose. The knife split Falka's arrow in twain. Petra was genuinely surprised, "I was just hoping to hit the mast and miss the sail or the mainsheet, to be frank," she shrugged. 

"It seems our captain is full of surprises," Falka purred, well pleased. Petra caught the blood hunter's eye, and smiled. 

Herman's Regret sailed on and the companions swapped delights in the evenings. 

At a bend in the river just before the Trollclaws, Petra guided the boat to shore and bid her new employers farewell.

The party hiked through the countryside toward Dragonspear. They met few people on the road, and Dala'gse found a "striped squirrel" that he had Ironica cook for dinner. He kept the pelt. Everyone agreed it smelled surprisingly like a skunk for a squirrel, but Dala'gse did not seem to notice. 

As they approached Dragonspear, they recalled their harrowing psychological journey with the thrall. And so they were on edge when they waited at the Red Dragon Inn in for Ems Gallton, captain of the guard. They met a few folk, but one middle-age gnome made a particular impact on the group. He and Safad struck up a conversation. This gnome was slight, with rough hands, and a large nose. He introduced himself as Alabaster Fallus, and he was new to town working on the the road for what they were calling the Brown New Deal. His friends called him Al-Fal. He explained the common misconception with his name, Fallus, it was the gnomish word for stone. He came from a family of masons. It was pure coincidence he also happened to enjoy carving gypsum phalluses, so he said, over what must have been the little fellow's umpteenth cup. He complained he got no end of ribbing from his crew that worked with him on the Moorroad, laying gravel and other stones for drainage. But best to lean into to this kind of teasing, Al-Fal reasoned, and so soon every member of his shift found themselves with his artwork. 

The gnome was drinking a rice liquor that became one of the more popular imports in his forest after the gnome community found an abandoned caravan with loads of the stuff. He called it "bye-juice" and invited Safad to have some. 

"Now, I'll wager, you're an adventurer, aren't you!" Al-fal sputtered to his new friend. 

"Well, what are you wagering?" Safad inquired. 

"Ohhhh there you go, see I always am a gambler but I never win! Well, fair is fair, here's your prize," Alabaster reached into his pocket to hand over Safad's winnings as the confused artificer replayed the gnome's nonsensical non-sequiturs in his head. Before Safad could puzzle it out, he found an alabaster phallus pressed into his palm. The Calamshani's propriety was shocked and he quickly pocketed the piece--though he couldn’t help but notice it was exquisite. 

Al-fal carried on, carried away now, "Now, sir, I'll wager that barkeep there, is 47 years old! Mind you, tending bar is a hard profession and can pile on the years! What do you say? I'll wager you're a wagering sort!" 

"Um...sure? Well, uh, I'd say not a day over 20?" Safad ventured. 

Al-fal hopped up on the bar and tapped the youthful half-orc on the back.  "You there, what's your age, we have a wager to settle here!" 

"I'm sixteen, sir," the half-orc squeaked out, voice cracking.

"Ha-ha!" Al-fal settled back into his chair. "Correct again mister...goodness me, you're good, I'll wager you're a professional wagerer! Well, here's what I owe you!" The gnome handed Safad another phallus carved from alabaster. Safad ferreted it out of sight quick as could be. 

"It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Fallus, I've got to be going now, though," Safad said as he saw the captain come through the tavern door. Falka shot him eye-daggers and mouthed the word "thrall" indicating the little, inconspicuous gnome. Safad's eyes grew large and he found himself fingering the phallus in his pocket. 

Before they could think about it more, Ems approached and offered heartfelt pleasantries to the VIPs, only to be cut short by a terse party demanding counsel immediately with Lady Canaglym. Ever the soldier, Ems Gallton asked no questions and had his men lead them quickly out of the Red Dragon. 

Safad made a brief stop at the Temple of Torm before they were shown their rooms, where they dropped their bags, and then made haste to Sheena's private dining hall. Lady Canaglym was seated, looking exhausted, with a glass of firewine. When Dala'gse walked in she stood quickly and wrapped her brother in a strong hug. She then held him at armslength, looked him in the eye and said, "You know you are welcome here, always, right? I've made up a room for you. It is always available. I lost you once, I know you are a free-traveling adventurer, but I won't lose you again on my account. Come whenever you can, stay as long as you like, and if you would entertain it, consider helping us rebuild our family's home and legacy." She looked at Falka, Safad, Ironica, and Rya, and added, "Your companions, too, you are welcome. We could use people like you here." 

Dala'gse nodded, averted his eyes, and then said, "Sister, we have to talk about things, but first, Safad..."

Safad had met with some of the clergy of Torm, and found one who could cast Detect Thoughts. He had the priest probe everyone's mind to make sure they were not thralls. Once satisfied, they turned to business. 

• The party explained what had happened in Orlumbor, how half the town was lost, the TRP was thrown into disarray, and the Trollbarks in a power vacuum. Dala'gse suggested sending the more idle workers to help Orlumbor and forge stronger economic ties. Sheena worked through the logic and quickly agreed. 
• Falka suggested they needed to make a thrall quarantine zone, testing everyone new to town with Detect Thoughts. Sheena worked through the logic and quickly agreed. 
• Dala'gse suggested they send someone down to Candlekeep, where a certain venerable old Reader might agree to help them gather the necessary spells and scrolls to reverse thralldom. Sheena worked through the logic and quickly agreed. 

Business concluded, they asked about how the Brown New Deal was going. Sheena said they were making progress and trying to drum up business in Waterdeep. Sheena told Safad Iago was waiting for him outside the hall. 

Iago greeted the party and said he heard they were asking around about magical items. He said if they have coin to spend there is a place for people like them. He could vouch for them. 

What was this? The party wondered. Iago told them about the Forum Cantata (FC) run by the Erudites-- a professional guild of sorts--that created a safe underground auction house, catering to the high class, involving membership dues but an extremely easy shopping experience and authenticated sourcing. The party decided even at 100gp per person, and 25gp monthly dues, the value proposition was there. They were in, and with Iago as sponsor, they met with the local representative, granted them FC emblems in exchange for the coin. They also learned that other towns hosted these auctions, and to find if there was one, to ask at a local apothecary or potions shop for an Elixir of Fox Cunning. If the shopkeep was clued in and the town had an auction planned, they would indicate the date and location. The representative also told them there happened to be an auction that very evening. 

As night fell, they followed the instructions, going to a ruined lot by a temple that had a broken entrance into the old undercity. As they followed the twist and turns of old storage facilities, they finally emerged at a dusty door with two sleepy-looking guards looking inconspicuous slouched up against the wall. They glanced furtively at the FC emblems and waved them through. 

They left behind the dusty undercity and emerged into a breathtaking, enchanted, chamber. 

The Erudites had curated a fantastic space, replete with magical embellishments. And it was full of masked shoppers, browsing illusory replicas of the more costly items for sale. There was also a central trinkets table with more common magical items displayed and an attendant waiting attentively. 

The group had found what they were looking for. This was their scene. They took stock of the items, entered into bids and had a great night. The dues also pay for upscale catering, and the food and drink were divine. 

High off the exciting shopping experience, the party descended upon the town for a night out. They went to the Red Dragon and met Al-Fal, who it turns out, was not a thrall, but an enthralling drinking companion. Ironica met her old dun-kan drinking buddy, the Red Tusk orc, who tossed her high into the air in revelry. 

And that's when Safad had an idea...

He looked around and cast Major Image, creating a bewitching sensory scene of a carnival. Lights, smells, vendors, magicians, food, revelry--all packed into the popular drinking square outside the Red Dragon. It was magic, literally. And the people loved it. They came streaming out and engaged with the illusory environment. Dala'gse added to it with dancing druidcraft lights and using plant growth to grow vinous melons--real ones!--all throughout the square. The enterprising owner of the Red Dragon would not miss out, and took some melon and mixed it with the local firewater. And now the night was really kicked off. 

The rest of the party joined in, offering their various magiks as entertainment. Ironica got in on the illusion game. Falka showed everyone the amazing terrifying bleeding bloodthirsty werewolf, causing more than a few Dragonspearans to faint from the fright. Safad even sent someone on a banishment ride for a whole minute! And Alabaster was in his element, handing out his stone carvings to everyone.

 

Safad extended his spell as long as he could and kept casting it to keep the party going until the morning, when, exhausted, they went back to Sheena's tower and settled into bed. 

They woke to an exasperated attendant explaining to Sheena loudly outside of Dala'gse's door how her brother and his feral friends had ruined Halatah Square! Dala'gse heard and roused himself. He opened his door and saw Sheena smirking behind her whiskers, soothing the man, telling him the people needed it, they had worked so hard! Dala'gse felt guilty and said he would help. He rushed out toward the square and saw the guards and other Dragonspear workers cleaning the melon-stained streets. And he knew just the spell! 

With a quick cry to get out the way, he cast Tidal Wave on the square, flooding it and sending the force of the ocean over the cobble stones. And it worked, clean streets! Nevermind that it washed all the debris, dust, and melon rind into the adjacent shops, flooding them. Ems Gallton shook his head at the scene, and kindly requested the party pitch in to help. And they did, spending much of the day tidying up. As they did, they were greeted by many townspeople, heading out to work the road, who thanked them for last night's revelry. 

After the excitement of the morning, they decided to spend they day in a more low key manner. Taking care of business about town. And so as night fell, they each settling into their rooms for a quiet evening. 

Or so they each thought...

Channel Entropy

Safad went off to see Iago Willsunc, a family friend who had emigrated from Calimshan. He climbed up the stairs to the old man's tower. He found Iago seated at his telescope, looking toward the heavens. Safad greeted the scholar warmly and they shared a drink from the homeland, before settling into the matter at hand. 

"Well then Master Safad, Master Kulius…yes…well now. After our last meeting, when you reminded me so much of your uncle, I thought I’d do some research. As you know, the Kulius feature prominently in the Old Sands of Chaos mythos and people say they were one of the first clans to form out of entropy in the desert and you are all descended from that chaos. So I bent to my library, the largest of it’s kind outside of Calimport I should say. And I found something…something about the Kulius that may be interesting to you. It describes in very exact detail how they used to be able to channel entropy, and I found one passage that lays out how they would do it—likely doesn't mean much to anyone who does not have Blood of Chaos, and it didn’t mean much to me but here it is," Iago then showed him a passage written a millennium ago from some “Sajf Kulius”. 

The passage begins, “Playing with convexity can be dangerous, unless you were born into it. Then you can shape it. You can understand how to harness convexity such that the rapid and hard-to-fathom shifts in order can be used for positive gain. In other words, positive convexity..." Sajf then goes on to describe a meditative focus to feel the blood within and instead of fighting chaos, riding it.

And Safad understood. He had uncovered an old family secret to channel entropy. 

High Huntress of the Western Heartlands

Meanwhile, Falka was approached by two self-styled priests of Malar. "We’ve heard rumors of a she-wolf huntress," a bald, canine-sharpened man began. "A local priest interpreted signs from Malar, to seek you out, to watch and learn from you. They said the rumor is you uncovered the Lost Shrine of Malancour and carry the sacred tools of the hunt within." 

Falka looked guarded and growled. The priests' eyes lingered on Malar's ring of the hunt on Falka's finger, and lit up. "It's true, isn't it! Come with us, join us in a hunt, show us your ways! If you are willing, we would take you to Golgotha, 'the place of the skull', our region's sacred hunting grounds." 

"A midnight hunt? Fine," Falka assented, inwardly thrilled. 

The priests led her a few miles out of town, doing their best to keep up as she turned hybrid and stretched her legs on the open trail. They led her to a rocky outcropping above a lush valley, where a fire glowed at the side of a sheer rock wall.  A number of odd-looking folk were gathered. One, dressed in skin and fur robes and tattooed with various animals, stepped forward. 

"It is our pleasure to greet you here, huntress. There is a creature that lives down there," he indicated the valley below. "It is dangerous and primal, and savage in the hunt. Bring us its head as a trophy. We would watch from the ridge. You honor Malar in this." 

Falka agreed and as she mingled pre-hunt with the hunters--the closest to what might count as a "church" of Malar, one of the band approached her and said joyfully, "to honor Malar, we drink this in the hunt! It will feel strange, but drink it all and you will feel closer to our god." 

Falka drank. And indeed, felt strange, poisoned almost. Her vision was distorted, she was unsteady. Very much, poisoned. She shook it off, and leapt down the cliff face to the valley below. 

When she settled on the forest floor she let her primitive side take control. She crouched motionless for many minutes, absorbing the sounds and smells. Finally, she set off walking, stealthily, through the brush. But still, the drink, the poison, lingered. It was unsettling. After ten minutes or so, she heard the background noise of the forest change, and her hair stood on edge. Before her brain could realize she was doing it, Falka spun around and dove to the side as an arrow thudded into the tree next to her. 

The battle was on. But what beast was this? 

Falka did not waste time thinking about it, and sprung up the tree, after her assailant. She saw it was a tiefling, but only caught a glimpse before the man disappeared in a puff of smoke. It reminded her of one of Safad's tricks...she growled and pulled out her bow. Searching for the enemy in the dark. An arrow sunk into her thigh. She pulled out her own bow and launched a series of arrows at the tiefling. But in her poisoned state they did not land. 

A few more rounds of arrows struck her, as the tiefling misty-stepped, attacked, misty-stepped, attacked around Falka. Finally, the assailant misty-stepped behind Falka, plunging a rapier deep into her gut.

This battle was not going as hoped. 

But Falka turned on the man, evoked a blood hunter curse, and froze the Tiefling in its tricksy tracks. "That's better," she smiled her wolf's grin and let loose with her electric claw attacks and blood curses, renting flesh from the tiefling with ever slash. But the tiefling tore loose from the curse and engaged Falka on even grounds, rapier dazzling in the scant starlight. Falka felt pain and force behind the weapon like she had not in a long time, and new it was no natural item. She was dripping blood from her face, her torso, her leg, dizzy from the poison, and close to passing out from losing blood. She had only one desperate cure left to utter. Her attacks were flailing. 

This battle was not going as hoped. 

But she had a thought, get that painful rapier out of this man's hands and level the playing field. She focused all her attacks on disarming the tiefling, and after a couple wild swipes, the rapier clattered to the forest floor. He drew a pair of daggers instead, but these were mundane, Falka learned, and her hybrid form meant they barely pierced her thickened skin. 

And with that, the tide had turned. She dug her claws into the man, and did not let go. She let cry the last foul curse she knew, binding the man to her. And in a final ploy, she let herself open for his attack. As he stuck a dagger into her shoulder, she watched with relief as the tiefling's face turned from triumph to shock, and a cackle of electricity passed between them -- psychic damage from Falka's curse finished off her opponent. He crumpled to the ground, dead. She took his head and limped back to the campground. 

When the followers of Malar saw her, they rushed toward her. One noticed some telltale foam at the corner of her mouth. Poison. They all looked at the man who had given her Malar's "ceremonial" drink, and before he could protest, a sword was through his chest, and the snake was sent tumbling over the cliff. 

The small group nodded solemnly at Falka, a few bowing their heads reverently. The tattooed leader introduced himself as Ghest, a priest of Malar, such as they existed. He explained how he oversaw the High Moor region, the Western Heartlands, and how followers banded loosely together to hunt and honor the beastlord. Laxmay Shindo, the slain tiefling, had been the region's high hunter. When they learned of this interloper who had uncovered an ancient shrine, Laxmay set up a challenge. This was the way. Falka defeated him, and now she was the region's High Huntress. This meant she was responsible for defending her title from those who would challenge, and for challenging other regions' High Hunters to bring honor to their pack. The group laid out a celebratory feast and they told Falka they would be honored to learn of some of her ways and hunt with her whenever she was around. 

Falka felt like she was with her people. They joked and told stories, tales of the hunt, but no one embellished their own exploits. No. They were serious and reverent in their depictions. At the end of the feast, Ghest presented Falka with Shindo's cloak. He said it was the region's artifact of Malar, the Vestments of Savage Fury. Falka donned them and felt a warm certainty, a primal power, spread throughout her veins. 

The feast concluded and Falka stalked back to Dragonspear, slipping quietly into her chambers as dawn approached. 

The Misty Forest Circle

Dala'gse found a chipmunk crawling up his leg as he took a stroll about town before bed. He held out his hand and the creature dropped off a hornbeam leaf and then quickly departed. "Huh," Dala'gse thought--or rather, didn't think much about it. Later that evening, he wound up sitting atop the Westgate's wall--much to the protest of the guards before they realized he was the eccentric brother of their ruler--with his leaf, an acorn, a bit of striped squirrel fur, and an alabaster phallus, all laid out next to him. He was admiring the sunset and his collection of items when the moon rose, revealing a message written on the leaf. 

Meet us under the crescent moon, by Gilbred's mount, in the copse of hornbeams. 

Dala'gse smiled. An adventure! He hopped off the wall and asked a guard if they knew where Gilbred's mount was. Sure, a couple miles or so outside the city, toward the Misty Forest. Dala'gse thanked her and started walking north. Along the way, he met a plover, who helped serve as his guide, and after a couple hours he found himself looking at a group of Hornbeams in a forest, under the prominent crescent moon. 

In a clearing, by a log and a patch of glowing mushrooms, was the raggiest taggiest group of shaggy haired grime covered humanoids Dala'gse had ever seen. He felt...well, he felt normal, here. He met Busala (a cis elf woman), Neagawn (a human trans woman), Nefizak (an old drow man), Lipi (a middle-aged halfling), Kern (a dwarf male), Ioscent (a halfling man with braided hair), and "Spike" (a giant halfling?). They all wore brooches woven out of delicate fern stems in the shape of various animals, glowing in the moonlight. He spent time getting to know the various personalities. Ioscent was the leader, Kern spent more time in Bear form than as a dwarf. 

Ioscent cleared his throat and acknowledged Dala'gse. "We have heard from our animal friends, that one of our persuasion--a druid of the cirlce of the moon--has passed by this region before. Are you a roamer or are you part of a circle?"

Dala'gse thought he must be a roamer but explained that he had not really considered that he could join other druids in communion. The group told him that this was the Misty Forest Circle and they were gathered tonight at the CrescentMoot. 

"Welcome. I hope you come in stewardship to this land, and in peace. Selune and Silvanus grant us wisdom during our discussions today," Ioscent said. 

They then turned to business and shared what they had learned since their last Moot. Some of the learnings were communicated in animal form, and were a bit disjointed. But it felt natural to Dala'gse. 

• Trollbark great disturbance. A darkness that had been clearing returning. Not chaos we fear but the aberrations…the deepspawn caves are alive again. Yes. 
• There is civilization activity in the high moor…building a road. Ruining some habitats. We will send sabateurs so they get the message. 
• The Malarites were active that night, seems they have chosen a new Champion of the Western Heartlands. A savage lycan with much cunning and will.
• Lipi found a new use for druidcraft - she found herself in town penniless needing to purchase supplies and made some coin predicting the weather!

Dala'gse asked about the Trollbarks and suggested a gentler approach to the new road. He said he knew those involved and could instead get them to build tunnels every so often to allow the passage of critters. Some argued it still created a blight on the land. Dala'gse said it would keep aberrations in the Moors at bay. Some disagreed. They tabled the discussion. 

After the updates, everyone got a mischievous glint in their eyes. Nefizak spoke, explaining that Dala'gse could join their circle. "Notice, the moonlight creates some kind of nocturnal border world as it falls through the hornbeam leaves…filters the light in such a way…can you almost see a line where it divides to another realm? Yes you might notice…well, if you walk through that shimmering and retrieve the Cyathea Lunae within, we will craft you a brooch from it that will enhance your wild shape with a particular blessing from Selune. Just go beyond, find the cyathea lunae, moonfern, and bring us back material to make the brooch. Must get it as quick as you can so we can use the crescent moonlight to harness it’s power." 

Ioscent added, "Take the silver rod from the dias to open the burrow to the hidden grove…but beware of how you use your resources…Selune makes you prove your worth." 

Dala'gse went through to the moonlit realm and faced a number of challenges that drove him to the limit of his druidic resources. He eventually faced an ethereal bear that guarded the moonfern. The bear would not be affected by regular weapons, and Dala'gse had to resort to driving the bear off with the silver rod. He claimed the moonfern and made his way back to the group. 

But when he returned, he  realized it would not be enough material to weave the brooch. He was defeated. Yet as the moon waned he remembered his new spell, Plant Growth. He cast the spell, and watched as the moonfern grew into copious material for a brooch. The Misty Forest Circle smiled at him, and helped him weave an octopus brooch. When they were finished, Ioscent said a prayer to Selune and Dala'gse's brooch glowed. He put it on, and as the moon fell, he said goodbye to his new friends and walked back to town. 

Shifu's Ghost

Ironica made her way to bed, but awoke at the feeling of a slight breeze in Sheena's tower in Dragonspear. Enough to wake the ever-alert rogue. 

She watched stealthily from between mostly-closed eyes as a transparent, eerie, figure shimmered into her chambers, passing through the wall without a sound. The figure was humanoid, from what she could tell, and before it reached her bed, it sat in the chair resting next to the nightstand. 

That's when she saw clearly that it was Shifu. 

"I don't mean to disturb you, my dear Ironica, but I have traveled long and wish to palaver," Shifu's comforting old gravelly voice filled her up with warm recollections of their time together. 

"First, I would tell you of my demise. Lord Woddier Damien, the vampire spawn, proved an honorable sort. In the end, I stayed on my own accord to help him. We almost finished building the weapon, my part was complete, but I died. Peacefully, of old age. I was well cared for and Damien and I even became close friends. He took great care of me on my death bed." 

"But that is not why I have come. I have come because I heard through the world of the dead, through what you call shigatse, of a little halfling lass who has the power to see beyond the pale. I met the soul who had run into you, and questioned it. Eventually, I found you, and here we are. I had been terribly distraught after learning of your sfos addiction in Old Weir, but I wrote to you and received no reply, and I knew something more sinister was at play. I never uncovered it, and now I am beyond all that mortal struggle, but I am glad to see you hale and healthy here and now. But that is not why I have come."

Ironica was sitting up in her bed at this point, cozy with a pillow under her and a lone candle burning on the nightstand. 

"I have come to ask you a simple question with a difficult answer. Who are you? It is something I saw you evolve in our mountain refuge, and I know perhaps some shades of the answer, but it feels like unfinished business to me. Who is this halfling rogue - trickster - Monk of the Long Death who sees the world with such appraising eyes, never wants to be put in a box, always wants to consider a different angle or approach-- and to surprise, loyal to her friends. Who are you, and what are your motivations? I don't ask to know, but to mentor, as is my way as Shifu. I would sit with you now and discuss, if you will."

With that, Shifu crossed his legs and looked imploringly at Ironica.

Ironica thought, and responded to her old mentor. When she awoke in the morning she wasn't sure if it was a dream. Though she supposed just because it might have happened inside her head, why should that mean it wasn't real? 

Back to reality

After the night's furtive escapades, the party awoke in their beds in Sheena's tower. They set out to depart Dragonspear for Melarn's Door and decided to stop at the central watch to check in on the thrall detection campaign before they left. 

What they found shook them to the core. 

Ems Gallton was there to greet them, looking nervous, and fidgety. He cleared his throat, "Um, ahem, yes, there is a situation here. You should come. Safad, Dala'gse...be warned. They were asking for you by name. And, we did not confiscate the items they had on them, we thought, well, we weren't sure--but...better you just come."

The hell?

The party descended the musty stone stairs into the cellar gaol where they were led to a cell with a solitary figure standing back to them, calmly, waiting. As they approached, the person slowly turned. It was a half-elf, smiling coldly at them, with a zealous look in their eyes. 

"This one, when they did the mind probe, it-- well, it talked back at them, it knew and it...it laughed," the guard explained. 

The mind flayer thrall took up the tale. 

"So you have come, traitors. How could you leave us like that? Your home, your colony. We were all...us!" Red hot anger flashed in the thrall's eyes before it calmed again. "No matter. I have come on behalf of us, to deliver a message," as it spoke it reached toward a dirty sack that was slouched next to it.

"Return and renounce. Return to Old Weir and renounce what you have said about us. If they know and believe, and feel they can win, they will come. Instead, let us survive peacefully as we desire, until we can achieve our aims. Come back to us and do not spread news of us." 

The party looked on at the thrall, remembering their years lost to the illithids. Horror. 

"We told you before, there would be consequences if you did not comply. And here they are."

The thrall pulled loose the sack and let roll two decapitated heads on the dirty cellar floor. One was Safad's child, the other, Dala'gse's. 

A wave of nausea washed over them and they felt as though they had been punched in the gut by an ogre. They couldn't speak. Falka's hair stood on end. Ironica's ire flared up. They gripped their friends, steadying them against the awful scene. 

But with their companions at their side, they recovered enough to speak. 

Dala'gse began, "This--" But he was cut short. 

A fiery bolt leapt from Safad's hands into the chest of the thrall, knocking it back into the cell's wall. It was dead before the body hit the floor. Safad's face was set into a stone mask and his eyes glowed a terrible orange. A dead, terrible, orange. 

Falka patted him on the back. Ironica stroked his arm. Dala'gse collected the heads, cried, and muttered some words to Silvanus. Ems Gallton nodded, and led the party upstairs. Safad stumbled, woozy and lost--grounded only by the touch of his friends. 

Ems led them to the gate where they had been planning to depart. A crowd greeted them, happy to see off the rabble-rousing relatives of their magnetic leader, Sheena. Shell-shocked, the party waved, acknowledging the generosity of the townsfolk. Ironica and Falka supported their grieving friends. They thanked everyone for such hospitality while in Dragonspear, and turned to the Northgate to leave. As they did, they spotted an animated Alabaster Fallus, their newfound gnome friend, cheering among the assembled well-wishers. 

He was waving an alabaster phallus.